Much Ado about Nothing
There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy
that he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman today, a Frenchman
tomorrow; 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.
CLAUDIO.
If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old
signs: a’ brushes his hat a mornings; what should that bode?
DON PEDRO.
Hath any man seen him at the barber’s?
CLAUDIO.
No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with him; and the
old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis balls.
LEONATO.
Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.
DON PEDRO.
Nay, a’ rubs himself with civet: can you smell him out by that?
CLAUDIO.
That’s as much as to say the sweet youth’s in love.
DON PEDRO.
The greatest note of it is his melancholy.
CLAUDIO.
And when was he wont to wash his face?
DON PEDRO.
Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of him.
CLAUDIO.
Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into a
lute-string, and now governed by stops.
DON PEDRO.
Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude, conclude he is in love.
CLAUDIO.
Nay, but I know who loves him.
DON PEDRO.
That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not.
CLAUDIO.
Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite of all, dies for him.
DON PEDRO.
She shall be buried with her face upwards.
BENEDICK.
Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. 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.]
DON PEDRO.
For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.
CLAUDIO.
’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.
DON JOHN.
My lord and brother, God save you!
DON PEDRO.
Good den, brother.
DON JOHN.
If your leisure served, I would speak with you.
DON PEDRO.
In private?
DON JOHN.
If it please you; yet Count Claudio may hear, for what I would
speak of concerns him.
DON PEDRO.
What’s the matter?
DON JOHN.
[To Claudio.] Means your lordship to be married tomorrow?
DON PEDRO.
You know he does.
DON JOHN.
I know not that, when he knows what I know.
CLAUDIO.
If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it.
DON 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!
DON PEDRO.
Why, what’s the matter?
DON JOHN.
I came hither to tell you; and circumstances shortened,—for she
has been too long a talking of,—the lady is disloyal.
CLAUDIO.
Who, Hero?
DON JOHN.
Even she: Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every man’s Hero.
CLAUDIO.
Disloyal?
DON JOHN.
The word’s 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, even the night before her wedding-day: if you
love her then, tomorrow wed her; but it would better fit your honour to
change your mind.
CLAUDIO.
May this be so?
DON PEDRO.
I will not think it.
DON 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.
CLAUDIO.
If I see anything tonight why I should not marry her tomorrow,
in the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her.
DON PEDRO.
And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee
to disgrace her.
DON JOHN.
I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses: bear
it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.
DON PEDRO.
O day untowardly turned!
CLAUDIO.
O mischief strangely thwarting!
DON 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.
DOGBERRY.
Are you good men and true?
VERGES.
Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul.
DOGBERRY.
Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should
have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince’s watch.
VERGES.
Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.
DOGBERRY.
First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable?
FIRST WATCH.
Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and read.
DOGBERRY.
Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. 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.
SECOND WATCH.
Both which, Master Constable,—
DOGBERRY.
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 lanthorn. This is your charge: you shall
comprehend all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince’s
name.
SECOND WATCH.
How, if a’ will not stand?
DOGBERRY.
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.
VERGES.
If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the Prince’s
subjects.
DOGBERRY.
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 to talk is most tolerable and not to be endured.
SECOND WATCH.
We will rather sleep than talk: we know what belongs to a watch.
DOGBERRY.
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.
SECOND WATCH.
How if they will not?
DOGBERRY.
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.
SECOND WATCH.
Well, sir.
DOGBERRY.
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.
SECOND WATCH.
If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him?
DOGBERRY.
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.
VERGES.
You have been always called a merciful man, partner.
DOGBERRY.
Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who
hath any honesty in him.
VERGES.
If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse
and bid her still it.
SECOND WATCH.
How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us?
DOGBERRY.
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.
VERGES.
’Tis very true.
DOGBERRY.
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.
VERGES.
Nay, by’r lady, that I think, a’ cannot.
DOGBERRY.
Five shillings to one on’t, with any man that knows the
statutes, he may stay him: marry, not without the Prince be willing; for,
indeed, the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to stay a
man against his will.
VERGES.
By’r lady, I think it be so.
DOGBERRY.
Ha, ah, 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.
SECOND WATCH.
Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon
the church bench till two, and then all to bed.
DOGBERRY.
One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you, watch about
Signior Leonato’s door; for the wedding being there tomorrow,
there is a great coil tonight. Adieu; be vigitant, I beseech
you.
[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.]
Enter Borachio and Conrade.
BORACHIO.
What, Conrade!
WATCH.
[Aside] Peace! stir not.
BORACHIO.
Conrade, I say!
CONRADE.
Here, man. I am at thy elbow.
BORACHIO.
Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there would a scab follow.
CONRADE.
I will owe thee an answer for that; and now forward with thy tale.
BORACHIO.
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.
BORACHIO.
Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats.
CONRADE.
Is it possible that any villainy should be so dear?
BORACHIO.
Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any villainy should
be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may
make what price they will.
CONRADE.
I wonder at it.
BORACHIO.
That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou knowest that the fashion
of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man.
CONRADE.
Yes, it is apparel.
BORACHIO.
I mean, the fashion.
CONRADE.
Yes, the fashion is the fashion.
BORACHIO.
Tush! I may as well say the fool’s the fool. But seest
thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is?
WATCH.
[Aside] I know that Deformed; a’ has been a vile thief
this seven years; a’ goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember
his name.
BORACHIO.
Didst thou not hear somebody?
CONRADE.
No: ’twas the vane on the house.
BORACHIO.
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 codpiece seems as massy as his club?
CONRADE.
All this I see, and I 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?
BORACHIO.
Not so neither; but know, that I have tonight wooed Margaret,
the Lady Hero’s gentlewoman, by the name of Hero: she leans me out
at her mistress’ chamber window, bids me a thousand times good
night,—I tell this tale vilely:—I should first tell thee how the Prince,
Claudio, and my master, planted and placed and possessed by my master Don
John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable encounter.
CONRADE.
And thought they Margaret was Hero?
BORACHIO.
Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my
master, knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which first
possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but
chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that Don John had
made, away went Claudio enraged; swore he would meet her, as he was
appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before the whole
congregation, shame her with what he saw o’er night, and send her
home again without a husband.
FIRST WATCH.
We charge you in the Prince’s name, stand!
SECOND WATCH.