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. 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. 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 a to-morrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as a German from the waist downward, all slop; 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. Why, what's the matter? D. John. I came hither to tell you; and, circumstances shortened, (for she hath been too long talking of,) the lady is disloyal. Claud. Who? Hero? D. John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero. Claud. Disloyal? 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 tonight, you shall see her chamber-window entered; D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? even the night before her wedding-day: if you love Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen her then, to-morrow wed her; but it would better with him; and the old ornament of his cheek hath fit your honour to change your mind. already stuffed tennis-balls. Claud. May this be so? Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by| the loss of a beard. D. Pedro. I will not think it. D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, conD. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet: can fess not that you know: if you will follow me, I you smell him out by that? Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love. 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. 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-ach.—| 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. D. 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 Don John. D. John. My lord and brother, God save you. D. Pedro. Good den, brother. D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak with you. D. Pedro. In private? D. John. If it please you;-yet count Claudio may hear; for what I would speak of concerns him. D. Pedro. What's the matter? D. John. Means your lordship to be married tomorrow? [To Claudio. D. Pedro. You know he does. D. John. I know not that, when he knows what I know. 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 (1) Large loose breeches. 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 I 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 ! [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 Seacoal. God hath blessed you with a good name: to be a wellfavoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature. 2 Watch. Both which, master constable, Dogb. 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 lantern: 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 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. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 129 Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none now forward with thy tale. 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. for it drizzles rain; and I will, like a true drunkard, Bora, Stand thee close then under this penthouse, utter all to thee. 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, a 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 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. Watch. [Aside.] Some treason, masters; yet stand close. John a thousand ducats. Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so dear? Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were posvillains have need of poor ones, poor ones may sible any villany should be so rich; for when such make what price they will. Con. I wonder at it. knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief this Bora. Tush! I may as well say, the fool's the fashion is? vile thief this seven year; he goes up and down Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody? Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed all the hot bloods, between fourteen and five and thief this fashion is? how giddily he turns about soldiers in the reechy painting; sometime, like god thirty? sometime, fashioning them like Pharaoh's like the shaven Hercules in the smirched wormBel's priests in the old church window; sometime, eaten tapestry, where his cod-piece secms as massy as his club? Con. All this I see; and see, that the fashion thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou wears out more apparel than the man: but art not hast shifted out of thy tale to tell me of the fashion? 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. Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that I think he cannot. Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentlewoBora. Not so neither: but know, that I have tothat knows the statues, he may stay him: marry, man, by the name of Hero: she leans me out at not without the prince be willing: for, indeed, the her mistress' chamber-window, bids me a thousand watch ought to offend no man; and it is an offence times good night,-I tell this tale vilely:-I should to stay a man against his will." Verg. By'r lady, I think, it be so. Dogb. Ha, ha, 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. first tell thee, how the prince, Claudio, and my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this master, planted and placed, and possessed by my amiable encounter. Con. And thought they, Margaret was Hero? but the devil my master knew she was Margaret; Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio; and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours: I but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door; for slander that Don John had made, away went Clatthe wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great dio enraged: swore he would meet her as he was coil to-night: adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. Enter Borachio and Conrade. Bora. What! Conrade, Watch. Peace, stir not. Bora. Conrade, I say! Con. Here man, I am at thy elbow. before the whole congregation, shame her with appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, what he saw over-night and send her nome again without a husband. 1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, [Aside. stand. Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there would a scab follow. Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and (1) Weapons of the watchmen. (2) Unoractised in the ways of the world. 2 Watch. Call up the right master constable: of lechery that ever was known in the commonwe have here recovered the most dangerous piece wealth. 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; 1 know him, he wears a lock. Con. Masters, masters. Marg. Well, an you be no turned Turk, there's 2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, no more sailing by the star. Beat. What means the fool, trow? Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's desire! Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an excellent perfume. Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. Marg. A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly [Exeunt. catching of cold. Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you. SCENE IV-A room in Leonato's house. ter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Beat. O, God help me! God help me! how En-long have you profess'd apprehension? Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. Marg. By my troth, it's not so good; and I warrant, your cousin will say so. Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another; I'll wear none but this. Marg. Ever since you left it: doth not my wit become me rarely? Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap.-By my troth, I am sick. Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm. Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral' in this Benedictus. Marg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain holy thistle. You may think, perchance, that I think you are in love. nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, I list; nor I list not to think what I can; nor, inif the hair were a thought browner: and your deed, I cannot think, if I would think my heart gown's a most rare fashion, i'faith. I saw the out of thinking, that you are in love, or that you duchess of Milan's gown, that they praise so. will be in love, or that you can be in love: yet Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. Benedick was such another, and now is he become Marg. By my troth it's but a night-gown in re- a man: he swore he would never marry; and yet spect of yours: Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced now, in despite of his heart, he eats his meat withwith silver; set with pearls, down sleeves, side-out grudging: and how you may be converted, I sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish know not; but methinks, you look with your eyes tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excel-as other women do. lent fashion, your's is worth ten on't. Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy! Marg. "Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of a man. Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? Re-enter Ursula. Urs. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, of the town, are come to fetch you to church. signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula. [Exeunt. Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed? Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I think you would have me say, saving your reverence,a husband: an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody: Is there any harm inthe heavier for a husband? None, I think, an if it be the right husband, and the right wife; otherwise, 'tis light, and not heavy: Ask my lady Bea-bour? trice else, here she comes. Enter Beatrice. Hero. Good morrow, coz. Hero. Why, how now! do you speak in the sick tune? SCENE V.-Another room in Leonato's house. Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you, that decerns you nearly. Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see, 'tis a busy time with me. Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir. Leon. What is it, my good friends? Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. the matter: an old man, sir, and his wits are not Marg. Clap us into-Light o' love; that goes so blunt, as, God help, I would desire they were; without a burden; do you sing it, and I'll dance it. but, in faith, honest, as the skin between his brows. Beat. Yea, Light o' love, with your heels!- Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any then if your husband have stables enough, you'll man living, that is an old man, and no honester see he shall lack no barns. Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels. Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time you were ready. By my troth I am exceeding ill ;hey ho! Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? (3) Aokind of ref. (4) 22 4. for an ache or pain. than I. Dogb. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges. Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor duke's officers; but, truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a Ag, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your vorship. Leon. All thy tediousness on me! ha! (5) Hidden meaning. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Dogb. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more than tis: for I hear as good exclamation on your worship, as of any man in the city; and though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. Verg. And so am I. Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina. Leon. I dare make his answer, none. what men daily do!. not knowing what they do! Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! Bene. How now! interjections? Why, then some be of laughing, as, ha! ha! he! Claud. Stand thee by, friar:-Father, by your Will you with free and unconstrained soul Dogb. A good old man, sir; he will be talking; Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose worth, bour! Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. Dogb. Gifts, that God gives. Leon. I must leave you. D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. There, Leonato, take her back again; Dogb. One word, sir: our watch, sir, have, in- Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, deed, comprehended two auspicious persons, and To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, we would have them this morning examined before All you that see her, that she were a maid, your worship. She knows the heat of a luxurious bed: By these exterior shows? But she is none: Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. Leon. What do you mean, my lord? Claud. it Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you. me; Dogb. It shall be suffigance. Not to be married, Leon. Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well. Not knit my soul to an approved wanton. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband. Leon. I will wait upon them; I am ready. [Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. Dogb. Go, good partner, go; get you to Francis Seacol, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol; we are now to examination these men. Verg. And we must do it wisely. Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's that [Touching his forehead.] shall drive some of them to a non com only get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet me at the goal. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.-The inside of a church. Enter Don Leon. 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? Claud. No. Leon. To be married to her, friar; you come to! marry her. Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count? Hero. I do. Friar. If either of you know any inward impedi-! ment why you should not be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it. Cland. Know you any, Hero? Friar. Know you any, count? Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof Claud. I know what you would say; If I have And so extenuate the 'forehand sin: I never tempted her with word too large;3 You seem to me as Dian in her orb; I Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you? Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. Claud. Leonato, stand I here? (4) Remote from the business in hand. Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name With any just reproach? Claud. Marry, that can Hero; Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. What man was he talk'd with you yesternight Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one? Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. I am sorry you must hear; upon mine honour, D. John. Fie, fie! they are Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoke of; These is not chastity enough in language, Without offence, to utter them: thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been, If half thy outward graces had been placed About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart! But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, Thou pure impiety, and impious purity! For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious.2 Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? [Hero swoons. Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink you down? D. John. Come, let us go: these things, come thus to light, Smother her spirits up. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio. Bene. How doth the lady? Beat. Dead, I think ;-help, uncle Hero! why, Hero!-Uncle!-Signior Benedick friar! Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny (1) Too free of tongue. (2) Attractive. Into a pit of ink! that the wide sea Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied! Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made, Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron! For I have only been silent so long, Leon. Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accused of? Hero. They know that do accuse me; I know none: If I know more of any man alive, Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, Friar. There is some strange misprisions in the princes. Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour; And if their wisdoms be misled in this, The practice of it lives in John the bastard, Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. Leon. I know not; if they speak but truth of her, These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour, The proudest of them shall well hear of it. Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Pause a while, Friar. And let my counsel sway you in this case. Your daughter here the princes left for dead; Let her a while be secretly kept in, And publish it, that she is dead indeed. |