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HERO.
There thou prick'st her with a thistle.

BEATRICE.
Benedictus! why benedictus? you have some moral in this Benedictus.

MARGARET.
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 may be converted, I know not; but methinks
you look with your eyes as other women do.

BEATRICE.
What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?

MARGARET.
Not a false gallop.

[Re-enter URSULA.]

URSULA.
Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, Signior Benedick, Don John,
and all the gallants of the town, are come to fetch you to church.

HERO.
Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.

[Exeunt.]


Scene 5. Another Room in LEONATO'S House

[Enter LEONATO and DOGBERRY and VERGES.]

LEONATO.
What would you with me, honest neighbour?

DOGBERRY.
Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you, that decerns
you nearly.

LEONATO.
Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me.

DOGBERRY.
Marry, this it is, sir.

VERGES.
Yes, in truth it is, sir.

LEONATO.
What is it, my good friends?

DOGBERRY.
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.

VERGES.
Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an
old man and no honester than I.

DOGBERRY.
Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges.

LEONATO.
Neighbours, you are tedious.

DOGBERRY.
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.

LEONATO.
All thy tediousness on me! ha?

DOGBERRY.
Yea, an 't were a thousand pound 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.

VERGES.
And so am I.

LEONATO.
I would fain know what you have to say.

VERGES.
Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship's presence,
ha' ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina.

DOGBERRY.
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.

LEONATO.
Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.

DOGBERRY.
Gifts that God gives.

LEONATO.
I must leave you.

DOGBERRY.
One word, sir: our watch, sir, hath indeed comprehended two
aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined
before your worship.


LEONATO.
Take their examination yourself, and bring it me: I am now in great
haste, as may appear unto you.

DOGBERRY.
It shall be suffigance.

LEONATO.
Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.

[Enter a Messenger.]

MESSENGER.
My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband.

LEONATO.
I'll wait upon them: I am ready.

[Exeunt LEONATO and Messenger.]

DOGBERRY.
Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacoal; bid him bring his
pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we are now to examination these men.

VERGES.
And we must do it wisely.

DOGBERRY.
We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's that shall drive some
of them to a non-come: only get the learned writer to set down our
excommunication, and meet me at the gaol.

[Exeunt.]


ACT 4.

Scene 1. The Inside of a Church.

[Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, LEONATO, FRIAR FRANCIS, CLAUDIO,
BENEDICK, HERO, BEATRICE, &c.]

LEONATO.
Come, 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?

CLAUDIO.
No.

LEONATO.
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 impediment, why you should not be
conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it.

CLAUDIO.
Know you any, Hero?

HERO.
None, my lord.

FRIAR.
Know you any, count?

LEONATO.
I dare make his answer; none.

CLAUDIO.
O! what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not
knowing what they do!

BENEDICK.
How now! Interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, as ah! ha!
he!

CLAUDIO.
Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave: Will you with free and
unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter?

LEONATO.
As freely, son, as God did give her me.

CLAUDIO.
And what have I to give you back whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?

DON PEDRO.
Nothing, unless you render her again.

CLAUDIO.
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.
Comes not that blood as modest evidence
To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior shows? But she is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.

LEONATO.
What do you mean, my lord?

CLAUDIO.
Not to be married,
Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.

LEONATO.
Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity, -

CLAUDIO.
I know what you would say: if I have known her,
You'll say she did embrace me as a husband,
And so extenuate theforehand 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?

CLAUDIO.
Out on thee! 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 blood
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals
That rage in savage sensuality.

HERO.
Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?

LEONATO.
Sweet prince, why speak not you?

DON PEDRO.
What should I speak?
I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.

LEONATO.
Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?

DON JOHN.
Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.

BENEDICK.
This looks not like a nuptial.

HERO.
True! O God!

CLAUDIO.
Leonato, stand I here? Is this the prince?
Is this the prince's brother?
Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own?

LEONATO.
All this is so; but what of this, my lord?

CLAUDIO.
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.

LEONATO.
I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.

HERO.
O, God defend me! how am I beset!
What kind of catechizing call you this?

CLAUDIO.
To make you answer truly to your name.

HERO.
Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach?

CLAUDIO.
Marry, that can Hero:
Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
hat 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.

DON PEDRO.
Why, then are you no maiden.
Leonato, I am sorry you must hear: upon my honour,
Myself, my brother, and this grieved 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,
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret.

DON JOHN.
Fie, fie! they are not to be nam'd, my lord,
Not to be spoke of;
There is not chastity enough in language
Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.

CLAUDIO.
O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
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,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.

LEONATO.
Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?

[HERO swoons.]

BEATRICE.
Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?

DON JOHN.
Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light,
Smother her spirits up.

[Exeunt DON PEDRO, DON JOHN and CLAUDIO.]

BENEDICK.
How doth the lady?

BEATRICE.
Dead, I think! help, uncle! Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior
Benedick! Friar!

LEONATO.
O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand:
Death is the fairest cover for her shame
That may be wish'd for.

BEATRICE.
How now, cousin Hero?

FRIAR.
Have comfort, lady.

LEONATO.
Dost thou look up?

FRIAR.
Yea; wherefore should she not?

LEONATO.
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 shames,
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame?
O! one too much by thee. Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in mine eyes?
Why had I not with charitable hand
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates,
Who smirched thus, and mir'd with infamy,
I might have said, 'No part of it is mine;
This shame derives itself from unknown loins?'
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
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-tainted flesh.

BENEDICK.
Sir, sir, be patient.
For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
I know not what to say.

BEATRICE.
O! on my soul, my cousin is belied!

BENEDICK.
Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?

BEATRICE.
No, truly, not; although, until last night I have this
twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

LEONATO.
Confirm'd, confirm'd! O! that is stronger made,
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron.
Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie,
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd 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
To 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 burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;
Trust not my reading nor my observations,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenure of my book; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.

LEONATO.
Friar, it cannot be.
Thou seest 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 is he you are accus'd 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 convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

FRIAR.
There is some strange misprision in the princes.

BENEDICK.
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 villanies.

LEONATO.
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,
Nor age so eat up my invention,
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awak'd 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 awhile, And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead;
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
And publish it that she is dead indeed:
Maintain a mourning ostentation;
nd on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.

LEONATO.
What shall become of this? What will this do?

FRIAR.
Marry, 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 accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pitied and excus'd
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 fare with Claudio:
When he shall hear she died upon his words,
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination,
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate, and full of life
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,
Than when she liv'd indeed: then shall he mourn, -
If ever love had interest in his liver, -
And wish he had not so accused her,
No, though be 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.

BENEDICK.
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.

LEONATO.
Being that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may lead me.

FRIAR.
'Tis well consented: presently away;
For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.
Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day
Perhaps is but prolong'd: have patience and endure.

[Exeunt FRIAR, HERO, and LEONATO.]

BENEDICK.
Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?

BEATRICE.
Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

BENEDICK.
I will not desire that.

BEATRICE.
You have no reason; I do it freely.

BENEDICK.
Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.

BEATRICE.
Ah! how much might the man deserve of me that would right her.

BENEDICK.
Is there any way to show such friendship?

BEATRICE.
A very even way, but no such friend.

BENEDICK.
May a man do it?

BEATRICE.
It is a man's office, but not yours.

BENEDICK.
I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that
strange?

BEATRICE.
As strange as the 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.

BENEDICK.
By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.

BEATRICE.
Do not swear by it, and eat it.

BENEDICK.
I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that
says I love not you.

BEATRICE.
Will you not eat your word?

BENEDICK.
With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee.

BEATRICE.
Why then, God forgive me!

BENEDICK.
What offence, sweet Beatrice?

BEATRICE.
You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved
you.

BENEDICK.
And do it with all thy heart.

BEATRICE.
I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.

BENEDICK.
Come, bid me do anything for thee.

BEATRICE.
Kill Claudio.

BENEDICK.
Ha! not for the wide world.

BEATRICE.
You kill me to deny it. Farewell.

BENEDICK.
Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

BEATRICE.
I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray
you, let me go.

BENEDICK.
Beatrice, -

BEATRICE.
In faith, I will go.

BENEDICK.
We'll be friends first.

BEATRICE.
You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.

BENEDICK.
Is Claudio thine enemy?

BEATRICE.
Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered,
scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O! that I were a man. What! bear
her in hand until they come to take hands, and then, with public
accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, - O God, that I
were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.

BENEDICK.
Hear me, Beatrice, -

BEATRICE.
Talk with a man out at a window! a proper saying!

BENEDICK.
Nay, but Beatrice, -

BEATRICE.
Sweet Hero! she is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.

BENEDICK.
Beat - -

BEATRICE.
Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly Count
Comfect; 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! But manhood is
melted into cursies, 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.

BENEDICK.
Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.

BEATRICE.
Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.

BENEDICK.
Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?

BEATRICE.
Yea, as sure is I have a thought or a soul.

BENEDICK.
Enough! 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, farewell.

[Exeunt.]


Scene 2. A Prison.

[Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and SEXTON, in gowns; and the Watch,
with CONRADE and BORACHIO.]

DOGBERRY.
Is our whole dissembly appeared?

VERGES.
O! a stool and a cushion for the sexton.

SEXTON.
Which be the malefactors?

DOGBERRY.
Marry, that am I and my partner.

VERGES.
Nay, that's certain: we have the exhibition to examine.

SEXTON.
But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them
come before Master constable.

DOGBERRY.
Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your name, friend?

BORACHIO.
Borachio.

DOGBERRY.
Pray write down Borachio. Yours, sirrah?

CONRADE.
I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.

DOGBERRY.
Write down Master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you serve God?

BOTH.
Yea, sir, we hope.

DOGBERRY.
Write down that they hope they serve God: and write God first; for
God defend but God should go before such villains! Masters, it is
proved already that you are little better than false knaves, and it
will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves?

CONRADE.
Marry, sir, we say we are none.

DOGBERRY.
A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about with him.
Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear: sir, I say to you, it is
thought you are false knaves.

BORACHIO.
Sir, I say to you we are none.

DOGBERRY.
Well, stand aside. Fore God, they are both in a tale. Have you writ
down, that they are none?

SEXTON.
Master constable, you go not the way to examine: you must call forth
the watch that are their accusers.

DOGBERRY.
Yea, marry, that's the eftest way. Let the watch come forth.
Masters, I charge you, in the prince's name, accuse these men.

FIRST WATCH.
This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother, was a
villain.

DOGBERRY.
Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat perjury, to
call a prince's brother villain.

BORACHIO.
Master Constable, -

DOGBERRY.
Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look, I promise thee.

SEXTON.
What heard you him say else?

SECOND WATCH.
Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John for
accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.

DOGBERRY.
Flat burglary as ever was committed.

VERGES.
Yea, by the mass, that it is.

SEXTON. What else, fellow?

FIRST WATCH.
And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero
before the whole assembly, and not marry her.

DOGBERRY.
O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for
this.

SEXTON.
What else?

SECOND WATCH.
This is all.

SEXTON.
And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this
morning secretly stolen away: Hero was in this manner accused, in this
manner refused, and, upon the grief of this, suddenly died. Master
Constable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's: I will go
before and show him their examination.

[Exit.]

DOGBERRY.
Come, let them be opinioned.

VERGES.
Let them be in the hands -

CONRADE.
Off, coxcomb!

DOGBERRY.
God's my life! where's the sexton? let him write down the prince's
officer coxcomb. Come, bind them. Thou naughty varlet!

CONRADE.
Away! you are an ass; you are an ass.

DOGBERRY.
Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O that
he were here to write me down an ass! but, masters, remember that I am
an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass.
No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee
by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer;
and, which is more, a householder; and, which is more, as pretty a
piece of flesh as any in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to;
and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and
one that hath two gowns, and everything handsome about him. Bring him
away. O that I had been writ down an ass!

[Exeunt.]


ACT 5.

Scene 1. Before LEONATO'S House.

[Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO.]

ANTONIO.
If you go on thus, you will kill yourself
And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief
Against yourself.

LEONATO.
I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine:
Bring me a father that so lov'd his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
And bid him speak to me of patience;
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,
And let it answer every strain for strain,
As thus for thus and such a grief for such,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;
Bid sorrow wag, cry 'hem' when he should groan,
Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.
But there is no such man; for, brother, men
Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air and agony with words.
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow,
But no man's virtue nor sufficiency
To be so moral when he shall endure
The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

ANTONIO.
Therein do men from children nothing differ.

LEONATO.
I pray thee peace! I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods


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Online LibraryWilliam ShakespeareMuch Ado about Nothing → online text (page 4 of 6)