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INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

66

HE sparkling comedy of " MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING" is like one of those feminine fascinators, who, in real life-despite of some irregularity of feature and some trifling incongruities of conduct-charm all beholders, and convert the sternest would-be critics into delighted admirers. The comic and serious portions of the dialogue relieve each other admirably. There is rather too much salt, perhaps, and that not invariably attic, in the verbal encounters of Benedick and Beatrice; but the combatants are, at any rate, always alive, and never fail, either in reading or on the stage, to infuse a portion of their superabundant vitality into the most lethargic spectator or reader. The better natures, too, of this cantankerous pair, too wise to woo peaceably," are finely drawn forth by the wrongs of the amiable Hero. The tender friendship, and instinctive glowing scorn of meanness, falsehood, and cruelty, evinced by Beatrice on this trying occasion, however vehemently expressed, are to us proof potential that she is no less capable of ardent, genuine love of "taming her wild heart to the loving hand" of any gallant possessing sufficient sense and sympathy to feel and appreciate its inner and less obvious qualities. The meridian sunbeams do not the less warm and invigorate the earth, because they flicker in our eyes, and will not indulge them in a long and placid gaze. Marriage, to such natures as those of Benedick and Beatrice, comes like evening, with its illumined clouds, its softened lights, and balmier odours. We cannot allow ourselves to doubt for a moment, even with Mr. Campbell, that these brilliant lovers, when they thoroughly understood each other, led very harmonious and contented lives. Of the depth of Benedick's sentiment," the wise may make some scruple of a doubt," although the tendency of evidence is, upon the whole, decidedly in his favour; but Beatrice, our life upon it, subsided into a charming, reasonable wife, and a most affectionate, devoted mother.

Of the serious characters, the Friar is the only one to whom we can thoroughly accord our personal liking. Goodness and wisdom seem to stand on either side of him, as visible supporters. His speeches, in what may be termed the accusation scene, are perhaps the finest things in the play. Don Pedro, however, and his bastard Brother, Leonato, Antonio, and Claudio, are all exhibited with Shakspere's usual nicety of discrimination, and enlivened with numerous masterly touches of poetic truth.

Merely to name that marvellous "pretty piece of flesh," Dogberry, is to give signal for "the lungs to crow like chanticleer." Blessings on his good-nature and his bad grammar! We respect the one, while laughing at the other. "Truly, he would not hang a dog with his good will; much more a man who hath any honesty in him." When the heart speaks, there is no fear of a blunder. In this feeling, honest Dogberry, thou wert the " right master constable," after all.-Affectionately we commit thee to thy pleasant destiny. Happy, and making happy, long mayst thou bestride thine innocent hobby, charging watchmen and detecting plots, till thou and the world grow tired of each other. Methinks we see thee at this moment, cantering off, Goodman Verges seated humbly behind thee ("if two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind"), yet turning round benignantly to vent the pregnant admonition to thine admiring satellites, "An there be any matter of WEIGHT chances, call up ME!" And so they will, of course. Depend upon it, your worship will not easily be forgotten by those who have once had the advantage of hearing thine erudite exposition of " the statues," and sitting with the docility of little children at the foot of the learned tribunal over which (in the richest of thy two justly-vaunted gowns) thou presidest with a dignity so amusing and so self-complacent.

"MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING" was originally published in quarto, and entered at Stationers' Hall, August 23, 1600. The serious incidents of the plot, in their main features, appear to have been derived from one of the "CENT HISTOIRES TRAGIQUES" of Belleforest, who in his turn copied from the Italian novelist, Bandello.

J. O.

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SCENE I.-Before LEONATO's House.

Enter LEONATO, HERO, BEATRICE, and others, with a Messenger.

Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina.

Mess. He is very near by this; he was not three leagues off when I left him.

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever

brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine, called Claudio.

Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro: he hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age; doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion: he hath, indeed, better bettered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell you how.

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it.

Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and

there appears much joy in him; even so much, that joy could not shew itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness.

Leon. Did he break out into tears?

Mess. In great measure.

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at weeping!

Beat. I pray you, is Signior Montanto returned from the wars, or no?

Mess. I know none of that name, lady; there was none such in the army of any sort. Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece? Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick, of Padua.

Mess. O, he is returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and challenged Cupid at the flight: and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt.-I pray you,

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how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars?

But how many hath he killed? for indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing.

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not.

Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these

wars.

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it: he is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath an excellent stomach.

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord?

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable virtues.

Beat. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man: but for the stuffing-well, we are all mortal.

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece: there is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her: they never meet but there is a skirmish of wit between them.

Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.

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Beat. No: an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer now, that will make a voyage with him to the devil?

Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.

Beat. O Lord! he will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured. Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. Beat. Do, good friend.

Leon. You will never run mad, niece.
Beat. No, not till a hot January.
Mess. Don Pedro is approached.

Enter DON PEDRO, attended by BALTHAZAR and others; DON JOHN, CLAUDIO, and BENEDICK.

D. Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave.

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your daughter.

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her? Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.

D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly the lady fathers herself.-Be happy, lady! for you are like an honourable father.

Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is.

Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick; nobody marks you.

Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain! are you yet living?

Beat. Is it possible disdain should die, while she hath such meet food to feed it, as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.

Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for truly I love none. Beat. A dear happiness to women; they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that; I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.

Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that

mind! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face.

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 't were such a face as yours were.

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.

Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue; and so good a continuer. But keep your way o' God's name; I have done.

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick; I know you of old.

D. Pedro. This is the sum of all: LeonatoSignior Claudio and Signior Benedick—my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him we shall stay here at the least a month; and he heartily prays some occasion may detain us longer. I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart.

Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all duty.

D. John. I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank you.

Leon. Please it your grace lead on?

D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato; we will go together. [Exeunt all but BENEDICK & CLAUDIO. Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?

Bene. I noted her not; but I looked on her. Claud. Is she not a modest young lady? Bene. Do you question me as an honest man should do, for my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex?

Claud. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judg

ment.

Bene. Why, i'faith, methinks she is too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her; that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I do not like her.

Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport; I pray thee tell me truly how thou likest her.

Bene. Would you buy her, that you enquire after her?

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel?

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack; to tell us Cupid is a good harefinder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go in the song? Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on.

Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I

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