Much Ado about Nothing
DON PEDRO.
By my troth, a pleasant spirited lady.
LEONATO.
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 dreamed of unhappiness and waked
herself with laughing.
DON PEDRO.
She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.
LEONATO.
O! by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.
DON PEDRO.
She were an excellent wife for Benedick.
LEONATO.
O Lord! my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk
themselves mad.
DON PEDRO.
Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church?
CLAUDIO.
Tomorrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.
LEONATO.
Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night;
and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind.
DON 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 the one with
the 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.
LEONATO.
My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights’
watchings.
CLAUDIO.
And I, my lord.
DON PEDRO.
And you too, gentle Hero?
HERO.
I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good
husband.
DON 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
confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she
shall fall in love with Benedick; and I, 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. Another room in Leonato’s house.
Enter Don John and Borachio.
DON JOHN.
It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato.
BORACHIO.
Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.
DON 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?
BORACHIO.
Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall
appear in me.
DON JOHN.
Show me briefly how.
BORACHIO.
I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the
favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.
DON JOHN.
I remember.
BORACHIO.
I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to
look out at her lady’s chamber window.
DON JOHN.
What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?
BORACHIO.
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.
DON JOHN.
What proof shall I make of that?
BORACHIO.
Proof enough to misuse the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero,
and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue?
DON JOHN.
Only to despite them, I will endeavour anything.
BORACHIO.
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 cozened with the semblance of a maid,—that you have
discovered 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 called assurance, and all the preparation overthrown.
DON 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.
BORACHIO.
Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me.
DON JOHN.
I will presently go learn their day of marriage.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. Leonato’s Garden.
Enter Benedick.
BENEDICK.
Boy!
Enter a Boy.
BOY.
Signior?
BENEDICK.
In my chamber window lies a book; bring it hither to me in the orchard.
BOY.
I am here already, sir.
BENEDICK.
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 laughed 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 walked 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 turned 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.
[Withdraws.]
Enter Don Pedro, Leonato and Claudio, followed by Balthasar
and Musicians.
DON PEDRO.
Come, shall we hear this music?
CLAUDIO.
Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,
As hush’d on purpose to grace harmony!
DON PEDRO.
See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
CLAUDIO.
O! very well, my lord: the music ended,
We’ll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth.
DON PEDRO.
Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.
BALTHASAR.
O! good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
To slander music any more than once.
DON 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.
BALTHASAR.
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.
DON PEDRO.
Nay, pray thee come;
Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.
BALTHASAR.
Note this before my notes;
There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.
DON PEDRO.
Why these are very crotchets that he speaks;
Notes, notes, forsooth, and nothing!
[Music.]
BENEDICK.
Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! 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.]
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 mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.
DON PEDRO.
By my troth, a good song.
BALTHASAR.
And an ill singer, my lord.
DON PEDRO.
Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.
BENEDICK.
[Aside] And he had been a dog that should have howled
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.
DON PEDRO. Yea, marry; dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee, get us
some excellent music, for tomorrow night we would have it at the
Lady Hero’s chamber window.
BALTHASAR.
The best I can, my lord.
DON PEDRO.
Do so: farewell.
[Exeunt Balthasar and Musicians.]
Come hither, Leonato: what was it you told me of today, that your niece
Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?
CLAUDIO.
O! ay:—[Aside to Don Pedro] Stalk on, stalk on;
the fowl sits. I did never think that lady would have loved any man.
LEONATO.
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.
BENEDICK.
[Aside] Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner?
LEONATO.
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.
DON PEDRO.
Maybe she doth but counterfeit.
CLAUDIO.
Faith, like enough.
LEONATO.
O God! counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came
so near the life of passion as she discovers it.
DON PEDRO.
Why, what effects of passion shows she?
CLAUDIO.
[Aside] Bait the hook well: this fish will bite.
LEONATO.
What effects, my lord? She will sit you; [To Claudio] You
heard my daughter tell you how.
CLAUDIO.
She did, indeed.
DON PEDRO.
How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her
spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.
LEONATO.
I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick.
BENEDICK.
[Aside] I should think this a gull, but that the
white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such
reverence.
CLAUDIO.
[Aside] He hath ta’en the infection: hold it
up.
DON PEDRO.
Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?
LEONATO.
No; and swears she never will: that’s her torment.
CLAUDIO.
’Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: ‘Shall I,’
says she, ‘that have so oft encountered him with scorn, write to him
that I love him?’
LEONATO.
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.
CLAUDIO.
Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your
daughter told us of.
LEONATO.
O! when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found
Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?
CLAUDIO.
That.
LEONATO.
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.’
CLAUDIO.
Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart,
tears her hair, prays, curses; ‘O sweet Benedick! God give me
patience!’
LEONATO.
She doth indeed; my daughter says so; and the ecstasy hath so
much overborne her, that my daughter is sometimes afeard she will do a
desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.
DON PEDRO.