Much Ado about Nothing
It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she
will not discover it.
CLAUDIO.
To what end? he would make but a sport of it and torment the poor
lady worse.
DON PEDRO.
And he should, it were an alms to hang him. She’s an
excellent sweet lady, and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous.
CLAUDIO.
And she is exceeding wise.
DON PEDRO.
In everything but in loving Benedick.
LEONATO.
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.
DON PEDRO.
I would she had bestowed this dotage on me; I would have daffed
all other respects and made her half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of
it, and hear what he will say.
LEONATO.
Were it good, think you?
CLAUDIO.
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.
DON 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.
CLAUDIO.
He is a very proper man.
DON PEDRO.
He hath indeed a good outward happiness.
CLAUDIO.
’Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.
DON PEDRO.
He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.
CLAUDIO.
And I take him to be valiant.
DON 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 Christian-like fear.
LEONATO.
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.
DON 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?
CLAUDIO.
Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with good counsel.
LEONATO.
Nay, that’s impossible: she may wear her heart out first.
DON 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.
LEONATO.
My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.
CLAUDIO.
[Aside] If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never
trust my expectation.
DON PEDRO.
[Aside] Let there be the same net spread for her; and
that must your daughter and her gentlewoman 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.
[Advancing from the arbour.] 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: 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 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 bachelor, 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.
BEATRICE.
Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.
BENEDICK.
Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.
BEATRICE.
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.
BENEDICK.
You take pleasure then in the message?
BEATRICE.
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.]
BENEDICK.
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.]
ACT III
SCENE I. Leonato’s Garden.
Enter Hero, 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 Ursala
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 honey-suckles, ripen’d 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.
MARGARET.
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 behind.
Now begin;
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.
URSULA.
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 advance to the bower.]
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;
I know her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock.
URSULA.
But are you sure
That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?
HERO.
So says the Prince, and my new-trothed lord.
URSULA.
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.
URSULA.
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,
Misprising 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-endear’d.
URSULA.
Sure I think so;
And therefore certainly it were not good
She knew his love, lest she 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 antick,
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.
URSULA.
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.
URSULA.
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.
URSULA.
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.
URSULA.
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.
URSULA.
His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.
When are you married, madam?
HERO.
Why, every day, tomorrow. Come, go in:
I’ll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel
Which is the best to furnish me tomorrow.
URSULA.
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.
[Advancing.] 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.
DON PEDRO.
I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I toward Arragon.
CLAUDIO.
I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll
vouchsafe me.
DON 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.
BENEDICK.
Gallants, I am not as I have been.
LEONATO.
So say I: methinks you are sadder.
CLAUDIO.
I hope he be in love.
DON PEDRO.
Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of blood in him
to be truly touched with love. If he be sad, he wants money.
BENEDICK.
I have the tooth-ache.
DON PEDRO.
Draw it.
BENEDICK.
Hang it.
CLAUDIO.
You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.
DON PEDRO.
What! sigh for the tooth-ache?
LEONATO.
Where is but a humour or a worm?
BENEDICK.
Well, everyone can master a grief but he that has it.
CLAUDIO.
Yet say I, he is in love.
DON PEDRO.