Hero. So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing,

I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away.

Pedro. With me in your company?

Hero. I may say so when I please.

Pedro. And when please you to say so?

Hero. When I like your favour, for God defend the lute should be

like the case!

Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove.

Hero. Why then, your visor should be thatch'd.

Pedro. Speak low if you speak love. [Takes her aside.]

Balth. Well, I would you did like me.

Marg. So would not I for your own sake, for I have many ill

qualities.

Balth. Which is one?

Marg. I say my prayers aloud.

Balth. I love you the better. The hearers may cry Amen.

Marg. God match me with a good dancer!

Balth. Amen.

Marg. And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done!

Answer, clerk.

Balth. No more words. The clerk is answered.

[Takes her aside.]

Urs. I know you well enough. You are Signior Antonio.

Ant. At a word, I am not.

Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head.

Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him.

Urs. You could never do him so ill-well unless you were the very

man. Here's his dry hand up and down. You are he, you are he!

Ant. At a word, I am not.

Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not know you by your excellent

wit? Can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum you are he. Graces will

appear, and there's an end. [ They step aside.]

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so?

Bene. No, you shall pardon me.

Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are?

Bene. Not now.

Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the

'Hundred Merry Tales.' Well, this was Signior Benedick that said

so.

Bene. What's he?

Beat. I am sure you know him well enough.

Bene. Not I, believe me.

Beat. Did he never make you laugh?

Bene. I pray you, what is he?

Beat. Why, he is the Prince's jester, a very dull fool. Only his

gift is in devising impossible slanders. None but libertines

delight in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in

his villany; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then

they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet.

I would he had boarded me.

Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you say.

Beat. Do, do. He'll but break a comparison or two on me; which

peradventure, not marked or not laugh'd at, strikes him into

melancholy; and then there's a partridge wing saved, for the fool

will eat no supper that night.

[Music.]

We must follow the leaders.

Bene. In every good thing.

Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next

turning.

Dance. Exeunt (all but Don John, Borachio, and Claudio].

John. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero and hath withdrawn her

father to break with him about it. The ladies follow her and but

one visor remains.

Bora. And that is Claudio. I know him by his bearing.

John. Are you not Signior Benedick?

Claud. You know me well. I am he.

John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love. He is

enamour'd on Hero. I pray you dissuade him from her; she is no

equal for his birth. You may do the part of an honest man in it.

Claud. How know you he loves her?

John. I heard him swear his affection.

Bora. So did I too, and he swore he would marry her tonight.

John. Come, let us to the banquet.

Exeunt. Manet Claudio.

Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick

But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.

[Unmasks.]

'Tis certain so. The Prince wooes for himself.

Friendship is constant in all other things

Save in the office and affairs of love.

Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;

Let every eye negotiate for itself

And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch

Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.

This is an accident of hourly proof,

Which I mistrusted not. Farewell therefore Hero!

Enter Benedick [unmasked].

Bene. Count Claudio?

Claud. Yea, the same.

Bene. Come, will you go with me?

Claud. Whither?

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, County. What

fashion will you wear the garland of? about your neck, like an

usurer's chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You

must wear it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero.

Claud. I wish him joy of her.

Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drovier. So they sell

bullocks. But did you think the Prince would have served you

thus?

Claud. I pray you leave me.

Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man! 'Twas the boy that

stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.

Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. Exit.

Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into sedges. But,

that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The

Prince's fool! Ha! it may be I go under that title because I am

merry. Yea, but so I am apt to do myself wrong. I am not so

reputed. It is the base (though bitter) disposition of Beatrice

that puts the world into her person and so gives me out. Well,

I'll be revenged as I may.

Enter Don Pedro.

Pedro. Now, signior, where's the Count? Did you see him?

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame, I found

him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren. I told him, and I

think I told him true, that your Grace had got the good will of

this young lady, and I off'red him my company to a willow tree,

either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him

up a rod, as being worthy to be whipt.

Pedro. To be whipt? What's his fault?

Bene. The flat transgression of a schoolboy who, being overjoyed

with finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals

it.

Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is

in the stealer.

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the

garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the

rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n

his bird's nest.

Pedro. I will but teach them to sing and restore them to the owner.

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith you say

honestly.

Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you. The gentleman that

danc'd with her told her she is much wrong'd by you.

Bene. O, she misus'd me past the endurance of a block! An oak but

with one green leaf on it would have answered her; my very visor

began to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not

thinking I had been myself, that I was the Prince's jester, that

I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such

impossible conveyance upon me that I stood like a man at a mark,

with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every

word stabs. If her breath were as terrible as her terminations,

there were no living near her; she would infect to the North

Star. I would not marry her though she were endowed with all that

Adam had left him before he transgress'd. She would have made

Hercules have turn'd spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make

the fire too. Come, talk not of her. You shall find her the

infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would

conjure her, for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as

quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose,

because they would go thither; so indeed all disquiet, horror,

and perturbation follows her.

Enter Claudio and Beatrice, Leonato, Hero.

Pedro. Look, here she comes.

Bene. Will your Grace command me any service to the world's end? I

will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can

devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the

furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's

foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any

embassage to the Pygmies—rather than hold three words'

conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me?

Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.

Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not! I cannot endure my Lady

Tongue. [Exit.]

Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior

Benedick.

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile, and I gave him use for

it—a double heart for his single one. Marry, once before he won

it of me with false dice; therefore your Grace may well say I

have lost it.

Pedro. You have put him down, lady; you have put him down.

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove

the mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent

me to seek.

Pedro. Why, how now, Count? Wherefore are you sad?

Claud. Not sad, my lord.

Pedro. How then? sick?

Claud. Neither, my lord.

Beat. The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but

civil count—civil as an orange, and something of that jealous

complexion.

Pedro. I' faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though I'll

be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I

have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won. I have broke with

her father, and his good will obtained. Name the day of marriage,

and God give thee joy!

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes. His

Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it!

Beat. Speak, Count, 'tis your cue.

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy. I were but little

happy if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours.

I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.

Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss

and let not him speak neither.

Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.

Beat. Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy

side of care. My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her

heart.

Claud. And so she doth, cousin.

Beat. Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the world but

I, and I am sunburnt. I may sit in a corner and cry 'Heigh-ho for

a husband!'

Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting. Hath your

Grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got excellent

husbands, if a maid could come by them.

Pedro. Will you have me, lady?

Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days:

your Grace is too costly to wear every day. But I beseech your

Grace pardon me. I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.

Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes

you, for out o' question you were born in a merry hour.

Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star

danc'd, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle, By your Grace's pardon. Exit.

Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.

Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord. She

is never sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then; for I

have heard my daughter say she hath often dreamt of unhappiness

and wak'd herself with laughing.

Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.

Leon. O, by no means! She mocks all her wooers out of suit.

Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick.

Leon. O Lord, my lord! if they were but a week married, they would

talk themselves mad.

Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to go to church?

Claud. To-morrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches till love have all

his rites.

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just

sevennight; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer

my mind.

Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing;

but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us.

I will in the interim undertake one of Hercules' labours, which

is, to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a

mountain of affection th' one with th' other. I would fain have

it a match, and I doubt not but to fashion it if you three will

but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction.

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights'

watchings.

Claud. And I, my lord.

Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero?

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a

good husband.

Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know.

Thus far can I praise him: he is of a noble strain, of approved

valour, and confirm'd honesty. I will teach you how to humour

your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I,

[to Leonato and Claudio] with your two helps, will so practise on

Benedick that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy

stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this,

Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we are

the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift.

Exeunt.

Scene II. A hall in Leonato's house.

Enter [Don] John and Borachio.

John. It is so. The Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of

Leonato.

Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.

John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be med'cinable to me.

I am sick in displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes athwart his

affection ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this

marriage?

Bora. Not honestly, my lord, but so covertly that no dishonesty

shall appear in me.

John. Show me briefly how.

Bora. I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in

the favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.

John. I remember.

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her

to look out at her lady's chamber window.

John. What life is in that to be the death of this marriage?

Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the

Prince your brother; spare not to tell him that he hath wronged

his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do

you mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such a one as

Hero.

John. What proof shall I make of that?

Bora. Proof enough to misuse the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo

Hero, and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue?

John. Only to despite them I will endeavour anything.

Bora. Go then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count

Claudio alone; tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend

a kind of zeal both to the Prince and Claudio, as—in love of

your brother's honour, who hath made this match, and his friend's

reputation, who is thus like to be cozen'd with the semblance of

a maid—that you have discover'd thus. They will scarcely believe

this without trial. Offer them instances; which shall bear no

less likelihood than to see me at her chamber window, hear me

call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me Claudio; and bring them

to see this the very night before the intended wedding (for in

the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be

absent) and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's

disloyalty that jealousy shall be call'd assurance and all the

preparation overthrown.

John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in

practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a

thousand ducats.

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not

shame me.

John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage.

Exeunt.

Scene III. Leonato's orchard.

Enter Benedick alone.

Bene. Boy!

[Enter Boy.]

Boy. Signior?

Bene. In my chamber window lies a book. Bring it hither to me in

the orchard.

Boy. I am here already, sir.

Bene. I know that, but I would have thee hence and here again.

(Exit Boy.) I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much

another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love,

will, after he hath laugh'd at such shallow follies in others,

become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love; and such

a man is Claudio. I have known when there was no music with him

but the drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor

and the pipe. I have known when he would have walk'd ten mile

afoot to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake

carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain

and to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and now is

he turn'd orthography; his words are a very fantastical banquet—

just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted and see with

these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not. I will not be sworn but

love may transform me to an oyster; but I'll take my oath on it,

till he have made an oyster of me he shall never make me such a

fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am

well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in

one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall

be, that's certain; wise, or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never

cheapen her; fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not

near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an

excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it

please God. Ha, the Prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in

the arbour. [Hides.]

Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, Claudio.

Music [within].

Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music?

Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,

As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony!

Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself?

Claud. O, very well, my lord. The music ended,

We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.

Enter Balthasar with Music.

Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that song again.

Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice

To slander music any more than once.

Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency

To put a strange face on his own perfection.

I pray thee sing, and let me woo no more.

Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing,

Since many a wooer doth commence his suit

To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes,

Yet will he swear he loves.

Pedro. Nay, pray thee come;

Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,

Do it in notes.

Balth. Note this before my notes:

There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks!

Note notes, forsooth, and nothing! [Music.]

Bene. [aside] Now divine air! Now is his soul ravish'd! Is it not

strange that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies?

Well, a horn for my money, when all's done.

[Balthasar sings.]

The Song.

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more!

Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea, and one on shore;

To one thing constant never.

Then sigh not so,

But let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into Hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,

Of dumps so dull and heavy!

The fraud of men was ever so,

Since summer first was leavy.

Then sigh not so, &c.

Pedro. By my troth, a good song.

Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.

Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith! Thou sing'st well enough for a shift.

Bene. [aside] An he had been a dog that should have howl'd thus,

they would have hang'd him; and I pray God his bad voice bode no

mischief. I had as live have heard the night raven, come what

plague could have come after it.

Pedro. Yea, marry. Dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee get us

some excellent music; for to-morrow night we would have it at the

Lady Hero's chamber window.

Balth. The best I can, my lord.

Pedro. Do so. Farewell.

Exit Balthasar [with Musicians].

Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day? that

your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?

Claud. O, ay!-[Aside to Pedro] Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits.

—I did never think that lady would have loved any man.

Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote

on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours

seem'd ever to abhor.

Bene. [aside] Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner?

Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it, but

that she loves him with an enraged affection. It is past the

infinite of thought.

Pedro. May be she doth but counterfeit.

Claud. Faith, like enough.

Leon. O God, counterfeit? There was never counterfeit of passion

came so near the life of passion as she discovers it.

Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she?

Claud. [aside] Bait the hook well! This fish will bite.

Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you—you heard my

daughter tell you how.

Claud. She did indeed.

Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me. I would have thought her

spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord—especially against

Benedick.

Bene. [aside] I should think this a gull but that the white-bearded

fellow speaks it. Knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such

reverence.

Claud. [aside] He hath ta'en th' infection. Hold it up.

Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?

Leon. No, and swears she never will. That's her torment.

Claud. 'Tis true indeed. So your daughter says. 'Shall I,' says

she, 'that have so oft encount'red him with scorn, write to him

that I love 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, rail'd at

herself that she should be so immodest to write to one that she

knew would flout her. 'I measure him,' says she, 'by my own

spirit; for I should flout him if he writ to me. Yea, though I

love him, I should.'

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her

heart, tears her hair, prays, curses—'O sweet Benedick! God give

me patience!'

Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so. And the ecstasy hath so

much overborne her that my daughter is sometime afeard she will

do a desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.

Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she

will not discover it.

Claud. To what end? He would make but a sport of it and torment the

poor lady worse.

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.

Pedro. In everything but in loving Benedick.

Leon. O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating 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.

Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me. I would have

daff'd all other respects and made her half myself. I pray you

tell Benedick of it and hear what 'a 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.

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.

Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward happiness.

Claud. Before God! and in my mind, very wise.

Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.

Claud. And I take him to be valiant.

Pedro. As Hector, I assure you; and in the managing of quarrels you

may say he is wise, for either he avoids them with great

discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christianlike fear.

Leon. If he do fear God, 'a must necessarily keep peace. If he

break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and

trembling.

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

sorry for your niece. Shall we go seek 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.

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 so good a

lady.

Leon. My lord, will you .walk? Dinner is ready.

[They walk away.]

Claud. If he dote on her upon this, I will never trust my

expectation.

Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her, and that must your

daughter and her gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when they

hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter.

That's the scene that I would 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 arbour.]

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 censur'd. 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 witness; and virtuous —'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me—by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument 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 marriage. But doth not the appetite alters? A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets 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.

Enter Beatrice.

Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she's a fair lady! I do spy

some marks of love in her.

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.

Bene. You take pleasure then in the message?

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knives point, and

choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior. Fare you well.

Exit.

Bene. Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.'

There's a double meaning in that. 'I took no more pains for those

thanks than you took pains to thank 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. Exit.

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ACT III. Scene I. Leonato's orchard.

Enter Hero and two Gentlewomen, Margaret and Ursula.

Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour.

There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice

Proposing with the Prince and Claudio.

Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursley

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, ripened 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 will 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 Benedick.

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 wounds by hearsay.

[Enter Beatrice.]

Now begin;

For look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs

Close by the ground, to hear our conference.

[Beatrice hides in the arbour].

Urs. The pleasant'st 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 approach the arbour.]

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 lov'd Benedick,

To wish him wrestle with affection

And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman

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 fram'd a woman's heart

Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,

Misprizing what they look on; and her wit

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 self-endeared.

Urs. Sure I think so;

And therefore certainly it were not good

She knew his love, lest she'll make sport at it.

Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,

How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,

But she would spell him backward. If fair-fac'd,

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 silent, why, a block moved 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 commendable.

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 myself, press me to death with wit!

Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd 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

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 priz'd 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 through 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.

[They walk away.]

Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you! We have caught her, madam.

Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps;

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

Exeunt [Hero and Ursula].

[Beatrice advances from the arbour.]

Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?

Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?

Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!

No glory lives behind the back of such.

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;

For others say thou dost deserve, and I

Believe it better than reportingly. Exit.

Scene II. A room in Leonato's house.

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato.

Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go

I toward Arragon.

Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe me.

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 company; for, from

the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, 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.

Pedro. Hang him, truant! There's no true drop of blood in him to be

truly touch'd with love. If he be sad, he wants money.

Bene. I have the toothache.

Pedro. Draw it.

Bene. Hang it!

Claud. You must hang it first and draw it afterwards.

Pedro. What? sigh for the toothache?

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.

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 appear he is.

Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing

old signs. 'A brushes his hat o' mornings. What should that bode?

Pedro. Hath any man seen 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 stuff'd tennis balls.

Leon. Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.

Pedro. Nay, 'a rubs himself with civet. Can you smell him out by

that?

Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love.

Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy.

Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face?

Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which I hear what they say

of him.

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is new-crept into a

lutestring, and now govern'd by stops.

Pedro. Indeed that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude, conclude,

he is in love.

Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.

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.

Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards.

Bene. Yet is this no charm for the toothache. 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 Leonato.]

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 John the Bastard.

John. My lord and brother, God save you.

Pedro. Good den, brother.

John. If your leisure serv'd, I would speak with you.

Pedro. In private?

John. If it please you. Yet Count Claudio may hear, for what I

would speak of concerns him.

Pedro. What's the matter?

John. [to Claudio] Means your lordship to be married tomorrow?

Pedro. You know he does.

John. I know not that, when he knows what I know.

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it.

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 dearness of heart hath holp to

effect your ensuing marriage—surely suit ill spent and labour

ill bestowed!

Pedro. Why, what's the matter?

John. I came hither to tell you, and, circumstances short'ned (for

she has been too long a-talking of), the lady is disloyal.

Claud. Who? Hero?

John. Even she—Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero.

Claud. Disloyal?

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 ent'red, 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?

Pedro. I will not think it.

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.

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.

Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with

thee to disgrace her.

John. I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses.

Bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.

Pedro. O day untowardly turned!

Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting!

John. O plague right well prevented!

So will you say when you have seen the Sequel.

Exeunt.

Scene III. A street.

Enter Dogberry and his compartner [Verges], with the Watch.

Dog. Are you good men and true?

Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation,

body and soul.

Dog. 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.

Dog. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable?

1. Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write

and read.

Dog. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath bless'd you with a

good name. To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune, but

to write and read comes by nature.

2. Watch. Both which, Master Constable—

Dog. You have. I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your

favour, sir, why, give God thanks and make no boast of it; and

for your writing 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 lanthorn. This is your charge: you shall comprehend

all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince's

name.

2. Watch. How if 'a will not stand?

Dog. 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.

Dog. 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 to talk is most tolerable, and not to be

endured.

2. Watch. We will rather sleep than talk. We know what belongs to

a watch.

Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I

cannot see how sleeping should offend. Only have a care that your

bills be not stol'n. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses

and bid those that are drunk get them to bed.

2. Watch. How if they will not?

Dog. Why then, let them alone till they are sober. If they make you

not then the better answer, You may say they are not the men you

took them for.

2. Watch. Well, sir.

Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your

office, to be no true man; and for such kind of men, the less you

meddle or make with them, why, the more your honesty.

2. Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on

him?

Dog. Truly, by your office you may; but I think they that touch

pitch will be defil'd. 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.

Dog. 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?

Dog. 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.

Dog. 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 I think 'a cannot.

Dog. Five shillings to one on't with any man that knows the

statutes, he may stay him! Marry, not without the Prince be

willing; for indeed the watch ought to offend no man, and it is

an offence to stay a man against his will.

Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so.

Dog. Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good 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. Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge. Let us go sit here

upon the church bench till two, and then all to bed.

Dog. One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you watch about

Signior Leonato's door; for the wedding being there tomorrow,

there is a great coil to-night. Adieu. Be vigitant, I beseech

you. Exeunt [Dogberry and Verges].

Enter Borachio and Conrade.

Bora. What, Conrade!

2. Watch. [aside] Peace! stir not!

Bora. Conrade, I say!

Con. Here, man. I am at thy elbow.

Bora. Mass, and my elbow itch'd! 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 penthouse, for it drizzles

rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.

2. Watch. [aside] 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 possible any villany

should be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones,

poor ones may make what price they will.

Con. I wonder at it.

Bora. That shows thou art unconfirm'd. Thou knowest that the

fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, 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 seest thou

not what a deformed thief this fashion is?

2. Watch. [aside] I know that Deformed. 'A bas 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. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is?

how giddily 'a turns about all the hot-bloods between fourteen

and five-and-thirty? sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh's

soldiers in the reechy painting, sometime like god Bel's priests

in the old church window, sometime like the shaven Hercules in

the smirch'd worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as

massy as his club?

Con. All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears out more

apparel than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the

fashion too, that thou hast 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 gentlewoman, by the name of Hero. She leans me

out at her mistress' chamber window, bids me a thousand times

good night—I tell this tale vilely; I should first tell thee how

the Prince, Claudio and my master, planted and placed and

possessed by my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this

amiable encounter.

Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero?

Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my

master knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which

first possess'd 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 enrag'd; 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'ernight and send her home again without a husband.

2. Watch. We charge you in the Prince's name stand!

1. Watch. Call up the right Master Constable. We have here

recover'd the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known

in the commonwealth.

2. Watch. And one Deformed is one of them. I know him; 'a wears a

lock.

Con. Masters, masters—

1. Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you.

Con. Masters—

2. Watch. Never speak, we charge you. Let us obey you to go with

us.

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of

these men's bills.

Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you.

Exeunt.