ofif in the orchard this amiable encounter.
E3
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52 MUCH ADO ACT HI.
Con. And thought thy Margaret was Hero ?
Bora. Two of them did, the prince and
Claudio ; but the devil my master knew she wa»
Margaret ; and partly by his oaths, which first
possessed them, partly by the dark night, which
did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany,
which did confirm any slander that don John
had made, away went Claudio enraged ; swore
he would meet her as he was appointed, next
morning at the temple, and there, before the
whole congregation, shame her with what he saw
o'er-night, and send her 'home again without a
husband.
1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name,
stand.
2 Watch, Call up the right master constable :
we have here recovered the most dangerous
piece of lechery that ever was known in the
commonwealth.
1 WcUch. And one Deformed is one of them ;
I know him, a wears a lock.
Con, Masters, masters.
2 WaUh, You'll be made bring Deformed
forth, I warrant you.
Cotu Masters, —
I Watch, Never speak ; we charge you, let us
obey you to go with us.
Bora. We are like to prove a goodly com-
modity, being taken up of these men's biUs.
Con, A commodity m question, I warrant you.
Come, we'll obey you. iExeutU,
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sc. IV. ABOUT NOTHING. 53
SCENE IV.— ^ Room in LeonatoV House.
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice,
and desire her to rise.
Urs. I will, lady.
Hero. And bid her come hither.
Urs. Well. lExii Ursula.
Marg^ Troth, I think your other rabato were
better.
Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.
Marg. By my troth, it's not so good ; and I
warrant your cousin will say so.
Hero. My cousin's a- fool, and thou art ano-
ther ; I'll wear none but this.
Marg. I like the new tire within excellently,
if the hair were a thought browner : and your
gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the
duchess of Milan's gown, that they praise so.
Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.
Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in
respect of yours : cloth of gold, and cuts, and
laced with silver ; set with pearls down sleeves,
side-sleeves, and skirts, round underbome with a
blueish tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, gracefiil, and
excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.
Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart
is exceeding heavy !
Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight
of a man.
Hero. Fie upon thee I art not ashamed ?
Marg. Of what, lady ? of speaking honour-
ably ? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar ?
Is not your lord honourable without marriage ?
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S4 MUCH ADO act IIL
I think, you would have me say, saving your
reverence, — a husband: an bad tiiinking do not
wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody : is there
any harm in, — the heavier for a husband? None,
I think, an it be the right husband, and the right
wife ; otherwise *tis light, and not heavy : ask
my lady Beatrice else, — here she comes.
Enter Bkatricb.
Hero, Good morrow, coz.
Beat, Good morrow, sweet Hero.
Hero. Why, how now ! do you speak in the
sick tune ?
Beat, I am out of all other tun^, methinks.
Marg. Clap us into — Light d love ; that goes
without a burden ; do you sing it, and I'll dance it.
Beat, Yea, light d love^ with your heels; —
then if your husband have stables enough, you'll
look he shall lack no bams.
Marg. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn
that with my heels.
Beat, 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis
time you were ready. By my troth I am exceed-
ing ill : hey ho !
Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ?
Beat, For the letter that begins them all, H.
Marg, Well, an you be not turned Turk,
there's no more sailing by the star.
Beat, What means the fool, trow ?
Marg, Nothing I ; but God send every one
their heart's desire !
Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they
are an excellent perfume.
Beat, I am stuffed, cousin, I Cannot smell.
Marg. A maid, and stuffed ! there's goodly
catching of cold.
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sc. IV. ABOUT NOTHING, 55
Beat, O, God help me I God help me ! how
long have you professed apprehension?
Marg, Ever since you left it : doth not my
"wit become me rarely ?
Beat, It is not seen enough, you should wear
it in your cap. — By my troth, I am sick.
Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus
Benedictus, and lay it to your heart ; it is the
only thing for a qualm.
Hero, There thou prick'st her with a thistle.
Beat,. Benedictus ! why Benedictus ? you have
some moral in this Benedictus.
Marg, Moral ! no, by my troth, I have no
moral meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle.
You may think, perchance, that I think you are
in love : nay, by r lady, I am not such a fool to
think what I list ; nor I list not to think what I
can; nor, indeed, I cannot think, if I would
think my heart out of thinking, that you are in
love, or that you will be in love, or that you can
be in love : yet Benedick was such another, and
now is he become a man : he swore he would
never marry; and yet now, in despite of his
heart, he eats his meat without grudging : and
how you maybe converted, I luiow not, but,
methmks, you look with your eyes as other
women do.
Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps ?
Marg. Not a false gallop.
Re-^enter Ursula.
Urs, Madam, withdraw ; the prince, the count,
signior Benedick, don John, and all the gallants
of tiie town, are come to fetch you to' church.
Hero, Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg,
good Ursula, lExeunt
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56 MUCH ADO act hi.
SCENE V. — Another Room in lutOTia.io's House,
Enter Leonato, ivith Dogberry and Verges.
Leon. What would you with me, honest neigh-
bour ?
Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confi-
dence with you that decerns you nearly.
Leon, Brief, I pray you ; for, you see, it is a
busy time with me.
Dogb, Many, this it is, sir.
Verg, Yes, in truth it is, sir.
Leon, What is it, my good friends ?
Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off
the matter : an old man, sir, and his wits are not
so blunt, as, God help, I would desire they were ;
but, in faith, honest, as the skin between his
brows.
Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as
any man living, that is an old man, and no
honester than I.
Dogb. Comparisons are odorous: palabras^
neighbour Verges.
Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious.
Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we
are the poor duke's officers; but, truly, for mine
own part, if I were as tedious as a king I could
find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.
L^on. All thy tediousness on me ! ha !
Dogb. Yea, an 'twere a thousand times more
than 'tis : for I hear as good exclamation on
your worship, as of any man in the city ; and
though I be but a poor man I am glad to hear it.
Verg. And so am I.
Leon, I would fain know what you have to say.
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sc. V. ABOUT NOTHINV, 57
Verg, Marry, sir, OTir watch to-night, excepting
your worship's presence, have ta*en a couple of
as arrant knaves as any in Messina.
Do^» A good old man, sir ; he will be
talking; as they say. When the age is in, the
wit is out ; God help us ! it is a world to see ! —
Well said, i* faith, neighbour Verges : — well,
God*s a good man ; an two men ride of a horse,
one must ride behind. — An honest soul, i* faith,
sir, by my troth he is, as ever broke bread : but
God is to be worshipped : all men are not alike ;
alas, good neighbour !
Leon, Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short
of you.
Do^, Gifts, that God gives. •
Lwn. I must leave you.
Dogb, One word, sir: our watch, sir, have,
indeed, comprehended two aspicious persons,
and we would have them this morning examined
before your worship.
Leon, Take their examination yourself, and
bring it me ; I am now in great haste, as may
appear unto you.
Dogb, It shall be suffigance.
Lwn, Drink some wine ere you go : fare you
welL
Enter a Messenger.
Mess, My lord, they stay for you to give your
daughter to her husband.
Leon, I will wait upon them ; I am ready.
\Exeunt Leonato and Messenger.
Dogb, Go, good partner, go, get you to
Francis Seacoal; bid him bring his pen and
inkhom to the gaol : we are now to examination
these men.
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58 MUCH ADO act iv.
Varg, And we must do it wisely.
Do^, We will spare for no wit, I warrant
you ; here's that [touching his forehead] shall
drive some of them to a non com : only get the
learned writer to set down our excommunication,
and meet me at the gaoL {Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE 1.— The Inside of a Church,
Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar
Francis, Claudio, Bbnbdick, Hbro, Bbatricb,
and Attendants.
Leon,
|OME, friar Francis, be brief; only to
the plain form of marriage, and you
shall recount their particular duties
afterwards.
Friar, You come hither, my lord, to marry
this lady ?
Claud, No.
Leon, To be married to her : friar, you come
to marry her.
Friar, Lady, you come hither to be married
to this count ?
Hero. I do.
Friar, If either of you know any inward im-
pediment why you should not be conjoined, I
charge you, on your souls, to utter it
Claud, Know you any. Hero ?
Heroi None, my lord.
Friar, Know you any, count ?
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SC. I. ABOUT NOTHING. 59
Leon, I dare make his answer, none.
Claud, O, what men dare do ! what men
may do ! what men daily do ! not knowing what
they do !
Bene. How now I Interjections? Why, then,
some be of laughing, as, ha ! ha ! he !
Claud, Stand thee by, friar : — Father, by your
leave;
Will you with free and unconstrained soul
Give me this maid, your daughter ?
Leon, As freely, son, as God did give her me.
Claud, And what have I to give you back,
whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift ?
A Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her
again.
Claud Sweet prince, you learn me noble
thankfulness.
There, Leonato, take her back again ;
Give not this rotten orange to your friend ;
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour:
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here :
O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal I
Comes not that blood, as modest evidence.
To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a inaid.
By these exterior shows ? But she is none :
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed :
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
Leon, What do you mean, my lord ?
Claud, Not to be married.
Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.
Leon, Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof
Have vanquished the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity,
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6o MUCH ADO act iv.
Claud, 1 know what you would say j if I have
known her,
Youll say, she did embrace me as her husband,
And so extenuate the ^forehand sin :
No, Leonato,
I never tempted her with word too large ;
But, as a brother to his sister, show'd
Bashful sincerity, and comely love.
Hero, And seem'd I ever otherwise to you ?
Claud. Out on the seeming ! I will write
against it.
You seem to me as Dian in her orb ;
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ;
But you are more intemperate in your bloo^
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals
That rage in savage sensuality.
Hero, Is my lord well, that he doth speak so
wide?
Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you ?
D. Pedro, What should I speak ?
I stand dishonoured, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.
Leon, Are these things spoken ? or do I but
dream?
D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these
things are true.
Bene. This looks not like a nuptial.
Hero. True? OGod!
Claud, Leonato, stand I here ?
Is this the prince ? Is this the prince's brother ?
Is this face Hero's ? Are our eyes our own ?
Leon. All this is so : but what of this, my lord?
Claud. Let me but move one question to your
daughter ;
And, by that fatherly and kindly power
That you have in her, bid her answer truly.
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SC. I. ABOUT NOTHING, 6t
Leon^ I chaiige thee do so, as thou art my child.
Hero, O God defend me ! how am I beset I —
What kind of catechising call you this ?
Claud, To make you answer truly to your
name.
Hero, Is it not Hero? Who can blot that
name
With any just reproach ?
Claud. Marry, that can Hero ;
Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one ?
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.
Hero, I talk'd with no man at that hour, my
lord.
D, Pedro, Why, then are you no maiden. —
Leonato,
I am sorry you must hear : Upon mine honour.
Myself, my brother, and this grievM count,
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night,
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber- window ;
Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain,
Cbnfess'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret
D, John. Fie, fie ! they are
Not to be named, my lord, not to be spoken of;
There is ndt chastity enough in language,
Without offence, to utter them : thus, pretty lady^
I am sorry for thy much misgovemment.
Claud, O Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been placed
About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart !
But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell.
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity !
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love.
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang.
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62 'MUCH ADO ACT IV.
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm.
And never shall it more be gracious.
Leon, Hath no man's (^gger here a point
for me ? [Hero swoons.
Beat, Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink
you down ?
D, John, Come, let us go : these things, come
thus to light,
Smother her spirits up.
\Exeuni Don Pedro, Don John, am^Claudio.
Bene, How doth the lady ?
Beat,^ Dead, I think ; — ^help, uncle ; —
Hero I why. Hero ! — Uncle I — Signior Benedick !
— friar!
Leon, O fate, take not away thy heavy hand !
Death is the feirest cover for her shame
That may be wish'd for.
Beat, How now, cousm Hero ?
Friar, Have comfort, lady.
Leon, Dost thou look up ?
Friar, Yea ; wherefore should she not ?
Leon, Wherefore ? Why, doth not every
earthly thing
Cry shame upon her ? Could she here deny
The. story that is printed in her blood ?
Do not live, Hero ; do not ope thine eyes :
For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die.
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches.
Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one ?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ?
O, one too much by 3iee 1 Why had I one ?
Why ever wast thou lovel;^ in my eyes ?
Why had I not, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ;
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sc. I. ABOUT NOTHING, 63
Who, smirched thus, and mired with infamy,
I might have said, No part of it is tnine^
This shame derives itself from unknown loins ?
But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised.
And mine that I was proud on ; mine so much.
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her ; why, she — O, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink ! that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again ;
And salt too little, which may season give
To her foul tamted flesh I
Bene, Sir, sir, be patient :
For my part I am so attired in wonder,
I know not what to say.
Beat, O, on my soul, my cousin is belied !
Bene, Lady, were you her bedfellow last night ?
Beat, No, truly not ; although until last night
I have this twelvemonUi been her bedfellow.
Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! O, that is
stronger nDade,
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron !
Would the two princes lie ? and Claudio lie ?
Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash*4 it with tears? Hence from her; let
her die.
Friar. Hear me a little ;
For I have only been silent so long.
And given way unto this course of fortune,
By noting of the lady ; I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear away those blushes ;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire.
To bum the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth. — Call me a fool ;
Trust not my reading, nor my observations,
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64 MUCH ADO . act iv.
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book ; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.
Leon. Friar, it cannot be :
Thou see'st, that all the grace that she hath left
Is, that she will not add to her damnation
.A sin of perjury ; she not denies it :
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
. That which appears in proper nakedness ?
Friar* Lady* what man b he you are accused
of?
Hero. They know that do accuse me ; I know
none :
If I know more of any man alive
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant.
Let all my sins lack mercy ! — O my father.
Prove you that any man with me conversed
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
Maintained the change of words with any creature.
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.
Friar, There is some strange misprision in
the princes.
Bene. Two of them have the very bent of
honour ;
And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
The practice of it lives in John the bastard.
Whose spirits toil in frame of vUlanies.
Leon. I know not : if they speak but truth of
her.
These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her
honour.
The proudest of them shall well hear of it
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Kor age so eat up my invention,
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sc. 1. ABOUT NOTHING, 65
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awaked in such a kind.
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.
Friar, Pause a while,
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead ;
Let her a while be secretly kept in,
And publish it that she is dead indeed :
Maintain a mourning ostentation ;
And on your family's old monument
Hang moumfid epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.
Leon, What shall become of this ? Wh^ will
this do?
Friar, Many, this, well carried, shall on her
behalf
Change slander to remorse ; that is some good :
But not for that dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accused.
Shall be lamented, pitied, and excused.
Of every hearer : for it so falls out,
That what we have we prize not to the worth
Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost.
Why then we rack the value, then we find
The virtue that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours. — So will it feire with Claudio :
When he shall hear she died upon his words,
The idea of her life shall sweeUy creep
Into his study of imagination ;
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
3 F
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66 MUCH ADO Kor^ iv.
More moving-delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,
Than when she lived indeed : — then shall he
mourn,
(If ever love had interest in his liver,)
And wish he had not so accusM her ;
No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so, and doubt not but success
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
The supposition of the lady's death
Will (Quench the wonder of her infamy
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her
(As best befits her wounded reputation)
In some reclusive and religious life.
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.
Bene, Signior Leonato, let the friar advise
you:
And though, you know, my inwardness and love
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As secretly and justly as your soul
Should with your body.
Leon, Being that I flow in grief.
The smallest twine may lead me.
Friar, *Tis well consented ; presently away ;
5'or to strange sores strangely they strain the
cure. —
Come, lady, die to live ; this wedding-day,
Perhaps, is but prolonged; have patience, and
endure.
\JExeunt Friar, Hero, and Leonato.
Bene, Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this
whUe!
Beat, Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
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sc. I. ABOUT NOTHING, 67
Bene, I will not desire that.
Beat You have no reason, I do it freely.
Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is
wronged.
Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve
of me that would right her !
Befie, Is there any way to show such friend-
ship?
Beat, A very even way, but no such friend.
Bene. May a man do it ?
Beat. It is a man's ofl&ce, but not yours.
Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well
as you : is not that strange ?
Beat. As strange as 3ie thing I know not
It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing
so well as you : but believe me not ; and yet I
lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing :
— I am sorry for my cousin.
Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.
Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it
Bene. I will swear by it that you love me ;
and I will make him eat it that says I love not
you.
Beat. Will you not eat your word ?
Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to
it : I protest I love thee.
Beat. Why, then God forgive me I
. Benei What offence, sweet Beatrice ?
Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour ;
I was about to protest I loved you.
Bene. And do it with all thy heart
Beat. I love you with so much of my heart,
that none is left to protest.
Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.
Beat. KillClaudio.
Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world.
F a
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6» MUCH ADO ACT IV.
BtaL You kill me to deny : £fu%welL
Bene, Tarry, sweet Beatnce.
Beat I am gone, thoufh I am here : — ^there
if no love in you : — ^nay, I pray you, let me ga
Bene, Beatrice, —
Beat, In (ieuth, I will ga
Bene, We'll be friends first
Beat, You dare easier be friends with me than
fight with mine enemv.
Bene, Is Claudio thine enemy ?
Beat Is he not approved in the height a vil-
lain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured
my kinswoman ? — O, that I were a man !
What 1 bear her in hand until they come to take
hands ; and then with public accusation, un-
covered slander, unmitigated rancour, — O God,
that I were a man 1 I would eat his heart in
the market-place.
Bene, Hear me, Beatrice ; —
Beat, Talk with a man out at a window? —
ft proper saying.
Bene* Nay but, Beatrice ; —
Beat, Sweet Hero! — she is wronged, she is
slandered, she is undone.
Bene, Beat
Beat, Princes, and counties ! Surely a princely
testimony, a goodly Count Confect; a sweet
gallant, surely ! O that I were a man for his
sake ! or that I had any friend would be a man
for my sake 1 But manhood is melted into
courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are
only turned into tongue, and trim ones too : he
is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a
lie, and swears it: — ^I cannot be a man with
wishing, therefore I will die a woman with
grieving.
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sc. II. ABOUT NOTHING, 69
Bene. Tany, good Beatrice: by this hand,
I love thee.
Beat, Use it for my love some other way than
swearing by it
Bene, Think yon in yonr sonl the count
Claudio hath wronged Hero ?
Beat, Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a
souL
Bene, Enoup^h, I am engaged, I will challenge
him; I will kiss your hand, and so leave you.
By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear
account : as you hear of me, so think of me.
Go, comfort your cousin: I must say she is
dead ; and so, ^eweU. \Exttmt.
SCENE 11.—^ Prism,
RiUtr Dogberry, Verges* and Sextcm, in gowns; and
the Watch, with Conradb attd BoRACHia
Dogb, Is our whole dissembly appeared ?
Verg, O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton !
Sexton, Which be the malefactors ?
Dogb, Marry, that am I and my partner.
Verg, Nay, that's certain; we have the ex-
hibition to examine.
Sexton, But which are the offenders that are
to be examined ? let them come before master
constable.
Dogb, Yea, marry, let them come before me.
— What is your name, friend ?
Bora, Borachio.
Dogb, Pray, write down, Borachio. ^Yours,
sirrah?
Con, I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is
Conrade.
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70 MUCH ADO act iv.
Do^, Write down, master gentleman Con-
rade. — Masters, do you serve God ?
Con, Bora, Yea, sir, we hope.