Enter Don John and Borachio. D. John. It is so: the count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato. to humour your cousin, that she shall fall in love such shallow follies in others, become the arguwith Benedick-and 1, with your two helps.ment of his own scorn, by falling in love: And will so practise on Benedick, that, in despite of such a man is Claudio. I have known, when his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall there was no musick with him but the drum and fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be the pipe: I have known, when he would have ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with walked ten mile afoot, to see a good armour; me, and I will tell you my drift. [Exeunt. and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving SCENE II. Another Room in Leonato's House. 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 orthographer; 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. [Withdraws. Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it. D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable 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. D. 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. D. John. I remember. Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to look out of her lady's chamber-window. D. 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. D. 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? D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing. D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself? Claud. O, very well, my lord: the musick ended, We'll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth. Enter Balthazar, with musick. D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that To slander musick any more than once. Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the count Claudio alone: tel! them, that you know that Hero loves me; intend D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, a kind of zeal both to the prince and Claulio, To put a strange face on his own perfection:as-in love of your brother's honour, who hath I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. made this match; and his friend's reputation, Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing: who is thus like to be cozened with the sem- Since many a wooer doth commence his suit blance of a maid,-that you have discovered To her he thinks not worthy; yet he woos; thus. They will scarcely believe this without Yet will he swear, he loves. trial offer them instances; which shall bear no D. Pedro. less likelihood, than to see me at her chamber-Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, window; hear me call Margaret, Hero; hear Do' it in notes. Margaret term me Claudio; and bring them to Balth. see this, the very night before the intended wed-There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. ding; for, in the mean time I will so fashion the D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that matter, that Hero shall be absent; and there shall! he speaks; appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the preparation overthrown. D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it SCENE III. Leonato's Garden. Nay, 'pray thee, come: Note this before my notes, Note, notes, forsooth, and noting! [Musick. Bene. Now, Divine air! now is his soul ravish ed-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. Balth. Balthazar sings. D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. D. Pedro. Ha? no; no, 'faith; thou singest well enough for a shift. Bene. [Aside.] An he had been a dog, that should have howl'd thus, they would have hanged him: and I pray God, his bad voice bode no mischief! I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it. D. Pedro. Yea, marry; [To Claudio.]-Dost thou hear, Balthazar? I pray thee get us some excellent musick; for to-morrow night we would have it at the lady Hero's chamber window. Balth. The best I can, my lord. D. Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar and musick.] 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:-Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. [Aside to Pedro.] I did never think that lady would have loved any man. my daughter is sometime afraid she will do a tage on me; I would have daff'd all other reD. Pedro. I would, she had bestow'd this dospects, and made her half myself: I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say. Leon. Were it good, think you? Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die; for she says, she will die if he love her not; and she will Bene. Is't possible 7 Sits the wind in that cor-die if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate one die ere she makes her love known; and she will ner ? breath of her accustomed crossness. Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. [Aside. 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. D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. Claud. 'Faith, like enough. Leon. O God! counterfeit! There never was counterfeit of passion came so near the life of passion, as she discovers it. D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she? Claud. Bait the hook well; this fish will bite. [Aside. D. Pedro. She doth well: if she should make tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. Claud. He is a very proper man. D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness. D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. that are like wit. Leon. And I take him to be valiant. D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you: and in the Leon. What effects, my lord! She will sit you,-managing of quarrels you may say he is wise; You heard my daughter tell you how. for either he avoids them with great discretion, Claud. She did, indeed. or undertakes them with a most christian-like fear. D. 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 itself in such reverence. Claud. He hath ta'en the infection; hold it up. [Aside. D. 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 encounter'd 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 Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. keep peace; if he break the peace, he ought to fear God, howsoever it seems not in him by some D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for him of her love? your niece: shall we go see Benedick, and tell Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it out with good counsel. her heart out first. D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your Leon. My lord, will you walk ? dinner is ready. never trust my expectation. Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will tells us all. [Aside. D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I re-her; and that must your daughter and her genmember a pretty jest your daughter told us of. Leon. Of-When she had writ it, and was read-hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no tlewoman carry. The sport will be, when they ing it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet 7 Claud. That. Leon. O she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she knew would flout her; 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 pa tience! Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that such matter; that's the scene that I would see, [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 censured: they say, I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too, that she will rather die than give any sign of affection-I did never think to marry ;-1 Urs. But are you sure, must not seem proud:-Happy are they that Of the false sweet bait, that we lay for it.hear their detractions, and can put them to mend[They advance to the bower. ing. They say the lady is fair; 'tis a truth, I No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful; can bear them witness: and virtuous;-'tis so, I know her spirits are as coy and wild I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving As haggards of the rock. 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 alter? 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 bache-Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, lor, I did not think I should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice: By this day she's a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her. Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you take pains to thank me; if it had been painful, I would not have come. Bene. You take pleasure then in the message? Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choke a daw withal:-You have no stomach, signior; fare you well. [Exit. Bene. Ha! Against my will I am sent to bid you come 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. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice To listen our propose: This is thy office, Enter Beatrice, behind. For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Vero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam 3 Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman As ever Beatrice shall couch upon? Sure, I think so; And therefore, certainly, it were not good man, How wise, how noble, young, how rarely fea- But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac'd, Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commend Hero. No: not to be so odd, and from all As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable: Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say. Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. Hero. Why, every day;-to-morrow: Come I'll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel, Urs. She's lim'd 1 warrant you; we have Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. [Exeunt Hero and Ursula. Beatrice advances. [Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so Contempt, farewell! and, maiden pride, adieu! Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: Conclude, conclude, he is in love. Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. D. Pedro. That would I know too; I warrant, one that knows him not. Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite of all, dies for him. D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards. Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee-Old signior, walk aside with me: I have [Exit. SCENE II. A Room in Leonato's House. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato. D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then I go toward Arragon. Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll Vouchsafe me. D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his 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. D. Pedro. Hang him, truant; there's no true D. Pedro. Draw it. Bene. Hang it! Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. D. Pedro. What, sigh for the tooth-ache? Leon Where is but a humour, or a worm? Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but be that has it. Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. D. 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: he brushes his hat o' mornings; What should that bode ? D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been Been with him; and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls. Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet: D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face? D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of him. studied eight or nine wise words to speak to Claud. 'Tis even so: Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts with Beatrice; and then the two bears will not bite one another when they meet. Enter Don John. D. John. My lord and brother, God save you. D. John. If it please you :-yet count Claudio Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, discover it. D. John. You may think, I love you not: let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will manifest: For my brother, I think, he holds you well; and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage: surely, suit ill spent, and labour ill bestowed ! D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter? D. John. I came hither to tell you; and, circumstances shortened, (for she hath been too long a talking of,) the lady is disloyal. Claud. Who? Hero? D. John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your D. John. The word is too good to paint out her wickedness; I could say, she were worse; think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till further warrant: go but with me to-night, you shall see her chamberwindow entered; even the night before her wedding-day: if you love her then, to-morrow wed her: but it would better fit your honour to change your mind. Claud. May this be so? D. 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 any thing to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow; in the congregation, where I should wed, there will 1 shame her. D. Pedro. And as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. D. John. I will disparage her no farther, till you are my witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself. D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned ! Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting! will not hear her lamb when it baas, will never answer a calf when he bleats. Verg. 'Tis very true. Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, constable, are to present the prince's own person; if you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. D. John. O plague right well prevented! So will you say, when you have seen the sequel. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Street. Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch. Dogb. Are you good men and true? Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul. Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's watch. Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry. Dogb. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable. 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal for they can write and read. Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Sencoal. God hath blessed you with a good name: to be a well favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature. Verz. Nay, by'r lady, that, I think, he can not. Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any marry, not without the prince be willing; for, man that knows the statues, he may stay him: it is an offence to stay a man against his will. indeed, the watch ought to offend no man; and Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night Verg. By'r lady, I think, it be so. an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good night.-Come, neighbour. let us go sit here upon the church-bench ult 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge: two, and then all to bed. 2 Watch. Both which, master constable,Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours: 1 Dogb. You have; I knew it would be your pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door: answer. Well, for your favour, sir, why give for the wedding being there to-morrow, there God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for is a great coil to-night: Adieu, be vigilant, I your writing and reading, let that appear when beseech you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch; therefore bear you the lantern: This is your charge: You shall comprehend all vagroin men: you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 2 Watch. How if he will not stand ? Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a knave. Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince's subjects. Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but the prince's subjects:-You shall also make no noise in the streets; for, for the watch to babble and talk, is most tolerable and not to be endured. 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk; we know what belongs to a watch." Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend; only, have a care that your bills be not stolen:-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? Dogb. 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. Dogb. 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 is for your honesty. 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him? Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may; but I think, they that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company. Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will: much more a man, who hath any honesty in him. Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse, and bid her still it 2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us? Dogb. Why then, depart in peace, and let the shiki wake her with crying: for the ewe that [Aside. Enter Boracbio and Conrade. Bora. What! Conrade,Watch. Peace, stir not. Bora. Conrade, I say! Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought, there would a scab follow. Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and now forward with thy tale. Bora. Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain; and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee. 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 unconfirmed: Thos knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man. Con. Yes, it is appare 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? Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a vile thief this seven year: he goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his name. Bora. Dilst 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 he turns about all the hot bloods, between fourteen and five and thirty? sometime, 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 smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his cod-piece seems as massy as his clus? Con. All this I see: and see, that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man: But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou 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 gen tlewoman, by the name of Hero; she leans me |