sc. III. ABOUT NOTHING. 35
says : Shall 7, says she, that have so oft encoun-
tered him with scorn, write to him that I lave him ?
Leon. This says she now when she is beginning
to write to him : for she'll be up twenty times a
night : and there will she sit in her smock, till
she have writ a sheet of paper : — my daughter
tells us all.
Claud, Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I
remember a pretty jest your daughter told us of.
Leon. O ! — When she had writ it, and was
reading it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice
between the sheet
Claud. That.
Leon. O ! she tore the letter into a thousand
halfpence ; railed at herself, that she should be
so immodest to write to one that she knew would
flout her : / measure him, says she, by my own
spirit ; for I should flout him, if he writ to me ;
yea, though I lave him, I should,
Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls,
weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays,
curses ; — O sweet Benedick I God give me patience!
Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says so :
and the ecstacy hath so much overborne her, that
my daughter is sometime afeard she will do a
desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.
D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew
of it by some other, if she will not discover it.
Claud. To what end ? He would but make a
sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse.
D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to
hang him : she's an excellent sweet lady ; and,
out of all suspicion, she is virtuous.
Claud. And she is exceeding wise.
Z>. Pedro. In ever)rthing, but in loving Bene-
dick.
D 2
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36 MUCH ADO ACT ii.
Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combat-
ing in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to
one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry for
her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her
guardian.
D, Pedro, I would she had bestowed this
dotage on me; I would have daffed all other
respects, and made her half myself : I pray you,
tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say.
Leon, Were it good, think you ?
Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die ; for
she says she will die if he love her not ; and she
will die ere she make her love known ; and she
will die if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate
one breath of her accustomed crossness.
Z>. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make
tender of her love 'tis very possible he'll scorn it :
for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible
spirit
Claud. He is a very proper man.
D. Pedro, He hath, indeed, a good outward
happiness.
Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.
D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks
that are like wit
Leon. And I take him to be valiant.
Dp Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the
managing of quarrels you may see he is wise ;
for either he avoids them with great discretion,
or undertakes them with a Christian-like fear.
Leon. If he do fear God he must necessarily
keep peace ; if he break the peace he ought to
enter mto a quarrel with fear and trembling.
D. Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man
doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him,
by some large jests he will make. Well, I am
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sc. III. ABOUT NOTHING. 37
sorry for your niece : shall we go see Benedick,
and tell him of her love ?
Claud. Never tell him, my lord ; let her wear
it out with good counsel.
Leon. Nay, that^s impossible ; she may wear
her heart out first.
D. Pedro, Well, we will hear further of it by
your daughter. Let it cool the while. I love
Benedick well : and I could wish he would
modestly examine himself to see how much he
is unworthy to have so good a lady.
Leon, My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.
Claud, {aside. ] If he do not dote on her upon
this, I will never trust my expectation.
I>. Pedro, [aside.'] Let there be the same net
spread for her : and that must your daughter and
her gentlewoman carnr. The sport will be, when
they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and
no such matter ; that's the scene that I womd see,
which will be merely a dumb-show. Let us send
her to call him in to dinner.
{Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.
Benedick advances from the athour.
Bene. This can be no trick. The conference
was sadly borne. — They have the truth of this
from Hero. They seem to pity the lady; it
seems her affections have their full bent. Love
me ! why, it must be requited. I hear how I am
censured : they say I will bear myself proudly,
if I perceive the love come from her ;. they say
too, that she will rather die than give any sign of
affection. — I did never think to marry — I must
not seem proud : — ^happy are they that hear their
detractions, and can put them to mending. They
say the lady is fair ; tis a truth, I can bear them
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38 MUCH ADO act il
witness : and virtuous — 'tis so, I cannot reprove
it ; and wise, but for loving me. — By my troths
it is no addition to her wit ; — nor no great argu-
ment of her folly, for I will be horribly in love
with her. — I may chance have some odd quirks
and remnants of wit broken on me, because I
have railed so long against mamage : but doth
not the appetite sdter ? A man loves the meat
in his youth that he cannot endure in his age :
shall quips, and sentences, and these paper buUe^
of the brain, awe a man from the career of his
humour ? No : the world must be peopled.
When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not
think I should live till I were married.— Here
comes Beatrice. By this day, she's a fair lady :
I do spy some marks of love in her.
Enter Beatrice.
Beat, Against my will, I am sent to bid you
come in to dinner. '
Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.
Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks,
than you take pains to thank me ; if it had been
painful I would not have come.
Bent, You take pleasure, then, in the message ?
Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon
a knife's point, and choke a daw withal. — You
have no stomach, signior ; fare you weU. \Exit.
Bene. Ha I Against my will^ I am sent to bid
you come in tp dinner— there* s a double meaning
in that. / took no more pains for those thanks^
than you took pains to thatik me — that's as much
as to say. Any pains that I take for you is as easy
as thanks.— If I do not take pity of her I am a
villain ; if I do not love her I am a Jew : I will
go get her picture. {ExU.
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SC. I. ABOUT NOTHING, 39
ACT III.
SCENE I.— LeonatoV Garden.
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero,
[lOOD Margaret, run thee to the parlour;
There soalt thou find my cousin Bea-
trice
Proposing with the prince and Claudio :
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse
Is all of her ; say, that thou overheard'st us ;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honeysuckles, ripen d by the sun.
Forbid the sun to enter ; — like favourites,
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it : — there wiU she
hide her.
To listen our propose : this is thy office,
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.
Marg, I'll make her come, I warrant you,
presently. \Exit.
Hero, Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth
come.
As we do trace this alley up and down,
Our talk must only be of Bene4ick :
When I do name him, let it be thy part
To praise him more than ever man did merit :
My talk to thee must be, how Benedick
Is sick in love with Beatrice : of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
That only woimds by hearsay. Now begin ;
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40 MUCH ADO act III.
Enter Beatrice, behind.
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.
Urs, The pleasantest angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait :
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now
Is couched in the woodbine coverture :
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
Hero, Then go we near her, that her ear lose
nothing
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. —
\They advance to the bower.
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ;
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock.
Urs, But are you sure,
That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ?
Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed
lord.
Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ?
Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it :
But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick,
To wish him wrestle with affection.
And never to let Beatrice know of it
Urs, Whydidyouso? Doth not the gentle-
man
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed.
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ? '
Hero. O God of love ! I know he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man :
But Nature never framed a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice :
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on ; and her wit
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sc. r. ABOUt NOTHING. 41
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak : she cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection.
She is so sdf-endeared.
Urs, Sure, I think so ;
And., therefore, certainly, it were not good
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.
Hero, Why, you speak truth : I never yet saw
man.
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured,
But she would spell him backward : if fair faced.
She would swear the gentleman should be her
sister;
If black, why. Nature, drawing of an antic.
Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed ;
If low, an agate very vilely cut :
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds ;
If suent, why, a block movM with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out ;
And never gives to truth and virtue that
"Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.
Urs, Sure, sure, such carping is not com-
mendable.
Hero. No ; not to be so odd, and from all
fashions.
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable :
But who dare tell her so ? If I should speak.
She would mock me into air ; O, she would laugh
me
Out of myselfi press me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like covered fire.
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly :
It were a better death than die with mocks ;
Which is as bad as die with tickling.
Urs, Yet tell her of it ; hear what she will say.
Hero, No ; rather I will go to Benedick,
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42 MUCH ADO ACT in.
And counsel him to fight against his passion :
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders
To stain my cousin with : one doth not know
How much an ill word may empoison liking.
Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong.
She cannot be so much without true judgment,
(Having so swift and excellent a wit
As she is prized to have,) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick.
Hero, He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.
Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam.
Speaking my fancy ; signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour,
Goes foremost in report tlu-ough Italy.
Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.
Urs, His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.
When are you married, madam ?
Hero. Why, every day, to-morrow : come, go
in;
I'll show thee some attires ; and have thy counsel,
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow,
Urs. [aside,] She's ta'en, I warrant you ; we
have caught her, madam.
Hero, [aside.] If it prove so, then loving goes
by haps :
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
{Exeunt Hero and Ursula.
Beatrice advances.
Beat, What fire is in mme ears ? Can this be
true?
Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so
much?
Contempt, fareweU ! and maiden pride, adieu !
No glory Uves behind the back of such.
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sc. II. ABOUT NOTHING, 43
And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee ; -
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand ;
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
To bind our loves up in a holy band i
For others say thou dost deserve ; and I
Believe it better than reportingly. \Exit
SCENE \l,—A Room in LeonatoV House.
MnUr Don Pbdso, Claudio, Bbkkoick, mmi
Lbonato.
Z>. Pedro, I do but stay till your marriage be
consummate, and then go I toward Arragon.
Claud, VVl bring you thither, my lord, if you'll
vouchsafe me.
D, Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil
in the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a
child his new coat, and forbid him to wear it
I will only be bold with Benedick for his com-
pany; for, from the crown of his head to the
sole of his fool, he is all mirth ; he hath twice
or thrice cut Cupid's bowstring, and the little
hangman dare not shoot at him : he hath a
heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the
clapper; for what his heart thinks his tongue
speaks.
Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.
Leon, So say I ; methinks you are sadder.
Claud. I hope he be in love.
D, Pedro, Hang him, truant ; there's no true
drop of blood in him, to be truly touched with
love : if he be sad, he wants money.
Bene. I have the tooth- ache. '
D. Pedro, Draw it.
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44 MUCH ADO act hi.
Bene, Hang it !
Claud, You must hang it first, and draw it
afterwards.
D. Pedro, What ? sigh for the tooth-ache !
Leon, Where is but a humour, or a worm ?
Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but
he that has it
Claud, Yet say I, he is in love.
Z>. Pedro, There is no appearance of fancy in
him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange
disguises ; as, to be a Dutchman to-day ; a
Frenchman to-morrow ; or in the shape of two
countries at once, as, a German from the waist
downward, all slops ; and a Spaniard from the
hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a
fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he
is no fool for fancy, as you would have it to
appear he is.
Claud, If he be not in love with some woman,
there is no believing old signs : he brushes his
hat o* mornings : what should that bode ?
D, Pedro, Hath any man se^n him at the
barber's ?
Claud, No, but the barber's man hath been
seen with him ; and the old ornament of his
cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls.
Leon, Indeed, he looks younger than he did,
by the loss of a beard.
D, Pedro, Nay, he rubs himself with civet :
can you smell him out by that ?
Claud, That's as mudi as to say. The sweet
youth's in love.
D, Pedro, The greatest note of it is his melan-
choly.
Claud, And when was he wont to wash his
face?
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SC. II. ABOUT NOTHING, 45
D, Pedro, Yea, or to paint himself? for the
which, I hear what they say of him.
Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; whidi is
now crept into a lutestring, and now governed
by stops.
D, Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for
him : conclude, conclude he is in love.
Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.
D, Pedro, That would I know too; I warrant,
one that knows him not.
Claud, Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in
despite of all, dies for him.
jD. Pedro, She shall be buried with her fiice
upwards.
Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth -ache.
— Old signior, walk aside with me; I have
studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you,
which these hobby-horses must not hear.
[Exeunt Benedick and Lsonato.
D, Pedro, For my life, to break with him
about Beatrice.
Claud, *Tis even so : Hero and Margaret have
by this played their parts with Beatrice; and
then the two bears will not bite one another
when they meet
Enter Don John.
D. John, My lord and brother, God save you.
D, Pedro, Good den, brother.
D, John, If your leisure served, I would speak
with you.
Z>. Pedro, In private ?
D, John, If it please you ; — ^yet count Claudio
may hear ; for what I would speak of concerns
him.
D. Pedro, What's the matter?
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46 MUCH ADO act in,
D, John, \to Claudio.] Means your lordship
to be married to-morrow ?
Z>. Pedro, You know he does.
D, John, I know not that, when he knows
what I know.
Claud, If there be any impediment, I pray
you discover it.
D, John, You may think I love you not ; let
that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by
that I now will manifest. For my brother, I
think, he holds you well ; and in deamess of
heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage :
surely, suit ill spent, and labour ill bestowed !
D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter ?
D, John, I came hither to tell you : and, cir-
cumstances shortened, (for she hath been too
long a talking of,) the lady is disloyal.
Claud. Who? Hero?
D. John, Even she; Leonato's Hero, your
Hero, every man's Hero.
Claud. Disloyal^
D. John. The word is too good to paint out
her wickedness ; I could say she were worse ;
think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to
it. Wonder not till further warrant : go but
with me to-night, you shall see her chamber-
window entered; even the night before her
wedding-day ; if you love her then, to-morrow
wed her ; but it would better fit your honour to
change your mind.
Claud, May this be so ?
D, Pedro. I will not think it.
D, John. If you dare not trust that you see,
confess not that you know : if you will follow
me, I will show you enough ; and when you have
seen more, and heard more, proceed accordingly.
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sc. III. ABOUT NOTHING, 47
Claud, If I see anything to-night why I should
not marry her to-morrow, in the congregation,
where I should wed, there will I shame her.
D, Pedro, And, as I wooed for thee to obtain
her, I will join with thee to disgrace her.
D. yohn. I will disparage her no farther, till
you are my witnesses: bear it coldly but till
night, and let the issue show itself.
D, Pedro. O day untowardly turned !
Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting !
D. John. O plague right well prevented !
So will you say when you have seen the sequel.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III,— A Street.
Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch.
Dogb, Are you good men and true ?
Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should
suffer salvation, body and soul.
Dogb, Nay, that were a punishment too good
for them, if they should have any allegiance in
them, being chosen for the prince s watch.
Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour
Dogberry.
Dogb, First, who think you the most desart-
less man to be constable ?
1 Watch, Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Sea-
coal ; for they can write and read.
Dogb, Come hither, neighbour Seacoal : God
hath blessed you with a good name : to be a
well-favoured man is the gift of fortune ; but ta
write and read, comes by nature.
2 Watch, Both which, master constable, —
Do^, You have; I knew it would be your
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48 MUCH ADO act iir.
answer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give
God thanks, and ma^e no boast of it ; and for
your â„¢ting and reading, let that appear when
there is no need of such vanity. You are thought
here to be the most senseless and fit man for the
constable of the watch ; therefore bear you the
lantern. This is your charge : You shall com-
prehend all vagrom men; you are to bid any
man stand, in the prince's name.
2 Watch, How if a will not stand?
Dogb, Why then, take no note of him, but let
him go ; and presently call the rest of the watch
together, and thank God you are rid of a knave.
Verg, If he will not stand when he is bidden,
he is none of the prince's subjects.
Do^, True, and they are to meddle with none
but the prince's subjects : — You shall also make
no noise in the streets ; for, for the watch to
babble and talk, is most tolerable and not to be
endured.
2 Watch, Wc will rather sleep than talk ; we
know what belongs to a watch.
Dogb, Why, you speak like an ancient and
most quiet watchman; for I cannot see how
sleeping should offend : only, have a care that
your bffls be not stolen : — Well, you are to call
at all the ale-houses, and bid them that are drunk
get them to bed.
2 Watch. How if they will not ?
Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are
sober; if they maJce you not then the better
answer, you may say they are not the men you
took them for.
2 Watch, Well, sir.
Dogb, If you meet a thief, you may suspect
him, by virtue of your oflfice, to be no true man ;
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SC. III. ABOUT NOTHING, 49
and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle
or make with them, why, the more is for your
honesty.
2 Watch, If we know him to be a thief, shall
we not lay hands on him ?
Dogb. Truly, by your ofl&ce, you may ; but I
think they that toudi pitch will be defiled : the
most peaceable way for you, if you do take a
thief, is to let him show himself what he is, and
steal out of your company.
Verg. You have been always called a merciful
man, partner.
Dogb, Truly, I would not hang a dog by my
will ; much more a man who hath any honesty
in him.
Verg, If you hear a child cry in the night, you
must call to the nurse, and bid her still it.
2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, and
will not hear us ?
Dogb, Why, then depart in peace, and let the
child wake her with crying: for the ewe that
will not hear her lamb when it baes will never
answer a calf when he bleats.
Verg, *Tis very true.
Dogb, This is the end^of the charge. You,
constable, are to present the prince's own person ;
if you meet the prince in the night, you may
stay him.
Verg, Nay, by'r lady, that, 1 think, a cannot.
Dogb, Five shillings to one on't, with any man
that knows the statutes, he may stay him : marry,
tiot without the prince be willing : for, indeed,
the watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an
>ffence to stay a man against his will.
"^^g- B/r lady, I think it be so.
'b^ Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good
B
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50 MUCH ADO act hi.
night: an there be any matter of weight chances,
call up me : keep your fellows' counsels and
your own, and good night — Come, neighbour.
2 Watck. Well, masters, we hear our charge :
let us go sit here upon the church-bench till two,
and then all to bed.
Dogb, One word more, honest neighbours : I
pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door ;
for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is
a great coil to-night. Adieu, be vigilant, I
beseech you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.
Enter Borachio and Conradb.
Bora. What! Conrade,—
Watck. [aside.'] Peace, stir not
Bora, Conrade, I say !
CofK Here, man, I am at thy elbow.
Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought
there would a scab follow.
Con. I will owe thee an answer for that ; and
now forward with thy tale.
Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent-
house, for it drizzles rain : and I will, like a true
drunkard, utter all to thee.
Watch, [aside.l Some treason, masters ; yet
stand close.
Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of don
John a thousand ducats.
Con. Is it possible that any villany should be
so dear?
Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were
]>ossible any villany should be so ridi ; for when
rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones
. may make what price they wilL
Con, I wonder at it
Bora, That shoMrs thou art unconfirmed t thou
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sa III. ABOUT NOTHING, 51
knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat,
or a doak, is nothing to a man.
• Con, Yes, it is apparel.
Bora. I mean, the fashion.
Con, Yes, the fashion is the fashion.
Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the fool's the
fooL But see'st thou not what a deformed thief
this fashion is ?
Watch, [aside.'] T know that Deformed; a has
been a vile thief this seven year ; a goes up and
down like a gentleman : I remember his name.
Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody?
Con, No ; 'twas the vane on the house.
Bora, See'st thou not, I say, what a deformed
thief this fashion is ? how giddily he turns about
all the hot bloods, between fourteen and five-
and-thirty? sometime, fashioning them like Pha-
raoh's soldiers in the reechy painting; sometime,
like god Bel's priests in the old church-window ;
sometime, like the shaven Hercules in the
smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his cod-
piece seems as massy as his club.
Con, All this I see ; and see that the fashion
wears out more apparel than the man : but art
not thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that
thou has shifted out of thy tale into telling me
of the fashion ?
Bora. Not so neither : but know, that I have
to-night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gen-
tlewoman, by the name of Hero ; she leans me
out at her mistress's chamber-window, bids me
a thousand times good night, — I tell this tale
vilely : — I should fet tell thee how the prince,
Claudio, and my master planted, and placed,
and possessed by my master don John, saw afar