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Much Ado About NothingAct II

By William Shakespeare

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ACT IISCENE I. A hall in LEONATO’S house.

Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, HERO, BEATRICE, and othersLEONATOWas not Count John here at supper?

ANTONIOI saw him not.

BEATRICEHow tartly that gentleman looks! I never can seehim but I am heart-burned an hour after.

HEROHe is of a very melancholy disposition.

BEATRICEHe were an excellent man that were made just in themidway between him and Benedick: the one is toolike an image and says nothing, and the other toolike my lady’s eldest son, evermore tattling.

LEONATOThen half Signior Benedick’s tongue in Count John’smouth, and half Count John’s melancholy in SigniorBenedick’s face,–

BEATRICEWith a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and moneyenough in his purse, such a man would win any womanin the world, if a’ could get her good-will.

LEONATOBy my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee ahusband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.

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ANTONIOIn faith, she’s too curst.

BEATRICEToo curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God’ssending that way; for it is said, ‘God sends a curstcow short horns;’ but to a cow too curst he sends none.

LEONATOSo, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.

BEATRICEJust, if he send me no husband; for the whichblessing I am at him upon my knees every morning andevening. Lord, I could not endure a husband with abeard on his face: I had rather lie in the woollen.

LEONATOYou may light on a husband that hath no beard.

BEATRICEWhat should I do with him? dress him in my appareland make him my waiting-gentlewoman? He that hath abeard is more than a youth, and he that hath nobeard is less than a man: and he that is more thana youth is not for me, and he that is less than aman, I am not for him: therefore, I will even takesixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead hisapes into hell.

LEONATOWell, then, go you into hell?

BEATRICENo, but to the gate; and there will the devil meetme, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, andsay ‘Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you toheaven; here’s no place for you maids:’ so deliverI up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for theheavens; he shows me where the bachelors sit, andthere live we as merry as the day is long.

ANTONIO[To HERO] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruledby your father.




BEATRICEYes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make curtsyand say ‘Father, as it please you.’ But yet for allthat, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or elsemake another curtsy and say ‘Father, as it pleaseme.’

LEONATOWell, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.

BEATRICENot till God make men of some other metal thanearth. Would it not grieve a woman to beovermastered with a pierce of valiant dust? to makean account of her life to a clod of wayward marl?No, uncle, I’ll none: Adam’s sons are my brethren;and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred.

LEONATODaughter, remember what I told you: if the princedo solicit you in that kind, you know your answer.

BEATRICEThe fault will be in the music, cousin, if you benot wooed in good time: if the prince be tooimportant, tell him there is measure in every thingand so dance out the answer. For, hear me, Hero:wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig,a measure, and a cinque pace: the first suit is hotand hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full asfantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as ameasure, full of state and ancientry; and then comesrepentance and, with his bad legs, falls into thecinque pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.

LEONATOCousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.

BEATRICEI have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight.

LEONATOThe revellers are entering, brother: make good room.

All put on their masks




Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, BALTHASAR, DON JOHN, BORACHIO, MARGARET, URSULA and others, masked

DON PEDROLady, will you walk about with your friend?

HEROSo you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing,I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away.

DON PEDROWith me in your company?

HEROI may say so, when I please.

DON PEDROAnd when please you to say so?

HEROWhen I like your favour; for God defend the luteshould be like the case!

DON PEDROMy visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove.

HEROWhy, then, your visor should be thatched.

DON PEDROSpeak low, if you speak love.

Drawing her aside

BALTHASARWell, I would you did like me.

MARGARETSo would not I, for your own sake; for I have manyill-qualities.

BALTHASARWhich is one?

MARGARETI say my prayers aloud.




BALTHASARI love you the better: the hearers may cry, Amen.

MARGARETGod match me with a good dancer!

BALTHASARAmen.

MARGARETAnd God keep him out of my sight when the dance isdone! Answer, clerk.

BALTHASARNo more words: the clerk is answered.

URSULAI know you well enough; you are Signior Antonio.

ANTONIOAt a word, I am not.

URSULAI know you by the waggling of your head.

ANTONIOTo tell you true, I counterfeit him.

URSULAYou could never do him so ill-well, unless you werethe very man. Here’s his dry hand up and down: youare he, you are he.

ANTONIOAt a word, I am not.

URSULACome, come, do you think I do not know you by yourexcellent wit? can virtue hide itself? Go to,mum, you are he: graces will appear, and there’s anend.

BEATRICEWill you not tell me who told you so?




BENEDICKNo, you shall pardon me.

BEATRICENor will you not tell me who you are?

BENEDICKNot now.

BEATRICEThat I was disdainful, and that I had my good witout of the ‘Hundred Merry Tales:’–well this wasSignior Benedick that said so.

BENEDICKWhat’s he?

BEATRICEI am sure you know him well enough.

BENEDICKNot I, believe me.

BEATRICEDid he never make you laugh?

BENEDICKI pray you, what is he?

BEATRICEWhy, he is the prince’s jester: a very dull fool;only his gift is in devising impossible slanders:none but libertines delight in him; and thecommendation is not in his wit, but in his villany;for he both pleases men and angers them, and thenthey laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is inthe fleet: I would he had boarded me.

BENEDICKWhen I know the gentleman, I’ll tell him what you say.

BEATRICEDo, do: he’ll but break a comparison or two on me;which, peradventure not marked or not laughed at,strikes him into melancholy; and then there’s a




partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat nosupper that night.

Music

We must follow the leaders.

BENEDICKIn every good thing.

BEATRICENay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them atthe next turning.

Dance. Then exeunt all except DON JOHN, BORACHIO, and CLAUDIO

DON JOHNSure my brother is amorous on Hero and hathwithdrawn her father to break with him about it.The ladies follow her and but one visor remains.

BORACHIOAnd that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.

DON JOHNAre not you Signior Benedick?

CLAUDIOYou know me well; I am he.

DON JOHNSignior, you are very near my brother in his love:he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade himfrom her: she is no equal for his birth: you maydo the part of an honest man in it.

CLAUDIOHow know you he loves her?

DON JOHNI heard him swear his affection.

BORACHIOSo did I too; and he swore he would marry her to-night.




DON JOHNCome, let us to the banquet.

Exeunt DON JOHN and BORACHIO

CLAUDIOThus answer I in the name of Benedick,But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.‘Tis certain so; the prince wooes for himself.Friendship is constant in all other thingsSave in the office and affairs of love:Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues;Let every eye negotiate for itselfAnd trust no agent; for beauty is a witchAgainst whose charms faith melteth into blood.This is an accident of hourly proof,Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!

Re-enter BENEDICK

BENEDICKCount Claudio?

CLAUDIOYea, the same.

BENEDICKCome, will you go with me?

CLAUDIOWhither?

BENEDICKEven to the next willow, about your own business,county. What fashion will you wear the garland of?about your neck, like an usurer’s chain? or underyour arm, like a lieutenant’s scarf? You must wearit one way, for the prince hath got your Hero.

CLAUDIOI wish him joy of her.

BENEDICKWhy, that’s spoken like an honest drovier: so theysell bullocks. But did you think the prince wouldhave served you thus?




CLAUDIOI pray you, leave me.

BENEDICKHo! now you strike like the blind man: ’twas theboy that stole your meat, and you’ll beat the post.

CLAUDIOIf it will not be, I’ll leave you.

Exit

BENEDICKAlas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into sedges.But that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and notknow me! The prince’s fool! Ha? It may be I gounder that title because I am merry. Yea, but so Iam apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: itis the base, though bitter, disposition of Beatricethat puts the world into her person and so gives meout. Well, I’ll be revenged as I may.

Re-enter DON PEDRO

DON PEDRONow, signior, where’s the count? did you see him?

BENEDICKTroth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame.I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in awarren: I told him, and I think I told him true,that your grace had got the good will of this younglady; and I offered him my company to a willow-tree,either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, orto bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.

DON PEDROTo be whipped! What’s his fault?

BENEDICKThe flat transgression of a schoolboy, who, beingoverjoyed with finding a birds’ nest, shows it hiscompanion, and he steals it.




DON PEDROWilt thou make a trust a transgression? Thetransgression is in the stealer.

BENEDICKYet it had not been amiss the rod had been made,and the garland too; for the garland he might haveworn himself, and the rod he might have bestowed onyou, who, as I take it, have stolen his birds’ nest.

DON PEDROI will but teach them to sing, and restore them tothe owner.

BENEDICKIf their singing answer your saying, by my faith,you say honestly.

DON PEDROThe Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: thegentleman that danced with her told her she is muchwronged by you.

BENEDICKO, she misused me past the endurance of a block!an oak but with one green leaf on it would haveanswered her; my very visor began to assume life andscold with her. She told me, not thinking I had beenmyself, that I was the prince’s jester, that I wasduller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jestwith such impossible conveyance upon me that I stoodlike a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting atme. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs:if her breath were as terrible as her terminations,there were no living near her; she would infect tothe north star. I would not marry her, though shewere endowed with all that Adam bad left him beforehe transgressed: she would have made Hercules haveturned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to makethe fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall findher the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to Godsome scholar would conjure her; for certainly, whileshe is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in asanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because theywould go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horrorand perturbation follows her.




DON PEDROLook, here she comes.

Enter CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, and LEONATO

BENEDICKWill your grace command me any service to theworld’s end? I will go on the slightest errand nowto the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on;I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from thefurthest inch of Asia, bring you the length ofPrester John’s foot, fetch you a hair off the greatCham’s beard, do you any embassage to the Pigmies,rather than hold three words’ conference with thisharpy. You have no employment for me?

DON PEDRONone, but to desire your good company.

BENEDICKO God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannotendure my Lady Tongue.

Exit

DON PEDROCome, lady, come; you have lost the heart ofSignior Benedick.

BEATRICEIndeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gavehim use for it, a double heart for his single one:marry, once before he won it of me with false dice,therefore your grace may well say I have lost it.

DON PEDROYou have put him down, lady, you have put him down.

BEATRICESo I would not he should do me, my lord, lest Ishould prove the mother of fools. I have broughtCount Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.

DON PEDROWhy, how now, count! wherefore are you sad?




CLAUDIONot sad, my lord.

DON PEDROHow then? sick?

CLAUDIONeither, my lord.

BEATRICEThe count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, norwell; but civil count, civil as an orange, andsomething of that jealous complexion.

DON PEDROI’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true;though, I’ll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit isfalse. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, andfair Hero is won: I have broke with her father,and his good will obtained: name the day ofmarriage, and God give thee joy!

LEONATOCount, take of me my daughter, and with her myfortunes: his grace hath made the match, and angrace say Amen to it.

BEATRICESpeak, count, ’tis your cue.

CLAUDIOSilence is the perfectest herald of joy: I werebut little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, asyou are mine, I am yours: I give away myself foryou and dote upon the exchange.

BEATRICESpeak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouthwith a kiss, and let not him speak neither.

DON PEDROIn faith, lady, you have a merry heart.

BEATRICEYea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on




the windy side of care. My cousin tells him in hisear that he is in her heart.

CLAUDIOAnd so she doth, cousin.

BEATRICEGood Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to theworld but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in acorner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!

DON PEDROLady Beatrice, I will get you one.

BEATRICEI would rather have one of your father’s getting.Hath your grace ne’er a brother like you? Yourfather got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.

DON PEDROWill you have me, lady?

BEATRICENo, my lord, unless I might have another forworking-days: your grace is too costly to wearevery day. But, I beseech your grace, pardon me: Iwas born to speak all mirth and no matter.

DON PEDROYour silence most offends me, and to be merry bestbecomes you; for, out of question, you were born ina merry hour.

BEATRICENo, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then therewas a star danced, and under that was I born.Cousins, God give you joy!

LEONATONiece, will you look to those things I told you of?

BEATRICEI cry you mercy, uncle. By your grace’s pardon.

Exit




DON PEDROBy my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.

LEONATOThere’s little of the melancholy element in her, mylord: she is never sad but when she sleeps, andnot ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say,she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and wakedherself with laughing.

DON PEDROShe cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.

LEONATOO, by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.

DON PEDROShe were an excellent wife for Benedict.

LEONATOO Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married,they would talk themselves mad.

DON PEDROCounty Claudio, when mean you to go to church?

CLAUDIOTo-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches till lovehave all his rites.

LEONATONot till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a justseven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have allthings answer my mind.

DON PEDROCome, you shake the head at so long a breathing:but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not godully by us. I will in the interim undertake one ofHercules’ labours; which is, to bring SigniorBenedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain ofaffection the one with the other. I would fain haveit a match, and I doubt not but to fashion it, ifyou three will but minister such assistance as Ishall give you direction.




LEONATOMy lord, I am for you, though it cost me tennights’ watchings.

CLAUDIOAnd I, my lord.

DON PEDROAnd you too, gentle Hero?

HEROI will do any modest office, my lord, to help mycousin to a good husband.

DON PEDROAnd Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband thatI know. Thus far can I praise him; he is of a noblestrain, of approved valour and confirmed honesty. Iwill teach you how to humour your cousin, that sheshall fall in love with Benedick; and I, with yourtwo helps, will so practise on Benedick that, indespite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, heshall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this,Cupid is no longer an archer: hi s glory shall beours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me,and I will tell you my drift.

Exeunt

SCENE II. The same.

Enter DON JOHN and BORACHIODON JOHNIt is so; the Count Claudio shall marry thedaughter of Leonato.

BORACHIOYea, my lord; but I can cross it.

DON JOHNAny bar, any cross, any impediment will bemedicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to him,and whatsoever comes athwart his affection rangesevenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage?




BORACHIONot honestly, my lord; but so covertly that nodishonesty shall appear in me.

DON JOHNShow me briefly how.

BORACHIOI think I told your lordship a year since, how muchI am in the favour of Margaret, the waitinggentlewoman to Hero.

DON JOHNI remember.

BORACHIOI can, at any unseasonable instant of the night,appoint her to look out at her lady’s chamber window.

DON JOHNWhat life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?

BORACHIOThe poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you tothe prince your brother; spare not to tell him thathe hath wronged his honour in marrying the renownedClaudio–whose estimation do you mightily holdup–to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero.

DON JOHNWhat proof shall I make of that?

BORACHIOProof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio,to undo Hero and kill Leonato. Look you for anyother issue?

DON JOHNOnly to despite them, I will endeavour any thing.

BORACHIOGo, then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro andthe Count Claudio alone: tell them that you knowthat Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal both to theprince and Claudio, as,–in love of your brother’shonour, who hath made this match, and his friend’s




reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with thesemblance of a maid,–that you have discoveredthus. They will scarcely believe this without trial:offer them instances; which shall bear no lesslikelihood than to see me at her chamber-window,hear me call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term meClaudio; and bring them to see this the very nightbefore the intended wedding,–for in the meantime Iwill so fashion the matter that Hero shall beabsent,–and there shall appear such seeming truthof Hero’s disloyalty that jealousy shall be calledassurance and all the preparation overthrown.

DON JOHNGrow this to what adverse issue it can, I will putit in practise. Be cunning in the working this, andthy fee is a thousand ducats.

BORACHIOBe you constant in the accusation, and my cunningshall not shame me.

DON JOHNI will presently go learn their day of marriage.

Exeunt

SCENE III. LEONATO’S orchard.

Enter BENEDICKBENEDICKBoy!

Enter Boy

BoySignior?

BENEDICKIn my chamber-window lies a book: bring it hitherto me in the orchard.

BoyI am here already, sir.




BENEDICKI know that; but I would have thee hence, and here again.

Exit Boy

I do much wonder that one man, seeing how muchanother man is a fool when he dedicates hisbehaviors to love, will, after he hath laughed atsuch shallow follies in others, become the argumentof his own scorn by failing in love: and such a manis Claudio. I have known when there was no musicwith him but the drum and the fife; and now had herather hear the tabour and the pipe: I have knownwhen he would have walked ten mile a-foot to see agood armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake,carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont tospeak plain and to the purpose, like an honest manand a soldier; and now is he turned orthography; hiswords are a very fantastical banquet, just so manystrange dishes. May I be so converted and see withthese eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will notbe sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster; butI’ll take my oath on it, till he have made an oysterof me, he shall never make me such a fool. One womanis fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I amwell; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till allgraces be in one woman, one woman shall not come inmy 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 notnear me; noble, or not I for an angel; of gooddiscourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shallbe of what colour it please God. Ha! the prince andMonsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour.

Withdraws

Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO

DON PEDROCome, shall we hear this music?

CLAUDIOYea, my good lord. How still the evening is,As hush’d on purpose to grace harmony!




DON PEDROSee you where Benedick hath hid himself?

CLAUDIOO, very well, my lord: the music ended,We’ll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.

Enter BALTHASAR with Music

DON PEDROCome, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.

BALTHASARO, good my lord, tax not so bad a voiceTo slander music any more than once.

DON PEDROIt is the witness still of excellencyTo put a strange face on his own perfection.I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.

BALTHASARBecause you talk of wooing, I will sing;Since many a wooer doth commence his suitTo her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes,Yet will he swear he loves.

DON PEDRONow, pray thee, come;Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,Do it in notes.

BALTHASARNote this before my notes;There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.

DON PEDROWhy, these are very crotchets that he speaks;Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing.

Air

BENEDICKNow, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is itnot strange that sheeps’ guts should hale souls out




of men’s bodies? Well, a horn for my money, whenall’s done.

The Song

BALTHASARSigh 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 woeInto Hey nonny, nonny.Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,Of dumps so dull and heavy;The fraud of men was ever so,Since summer first was leafy:Then sigh not so, & c.

DON PEDROBy my troth, a good song.

BALTHASARAnd an ill singer, my lord.

DON PEDROHa, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.

BENEDICKAn he had been a dog that should have howled thus,they would have hanged him: and I pray God his badvoice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard thenight-raven, come what plague could have come afterit.

DON PEDROYea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee,get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night wewould have it at the Lady Hero’s chamber-window.

BALTHASARThe best I can, my lord.

DON PEDRODo so: farewell.




Exit BALTHASAR

Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me ofto-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love withSignior Benedick?

CLAUDIOO, ay: stalk on. stalk on; the fowl sits. I didnever think that lady would have loved any man.

LEONATONo, nor I neither; but most wonderful that sheshould so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath inall outward behaviors seemed ever to abhor.

BENEDICKIs’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner?

LEONATOBy my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to thinkof it but that she loves him with an enragedaffection: it is past the infinite of thought.

DON PEDROMay be she doth but counterfeit.

CLAUDIOFaith, like enough.

LEONATOO God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit ofpassion came so near the life of passion as shediscovers it.

DON PEDROWhy, what effects of passion shows she?

CLAUDIOBait the hook well; this fish will bite.

LEONATOWhat effects, my lord? She will sit you, you heardmy daughter tell you how.

CLAUDIOShe did, indeed.




DON PEDROHow, how, pray you? You amaze me: I would have Ithought her spirit had been invincible against allassaults of affection.

LEONATOI would have sworn it had, my lord; especiallyagainst Benedick.

BENEDICKI should think this a gull, but that thewhite-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot,sure, hide himself in such reverence.

CLAUDIOHe hath ta’en the infection: hold it up.

DON PEDROHath she made her affection known to Benedick?

LEONATONo; and swears she never will: that’s her torment.

CLAUDIO‘Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: ‘ShallI,’ says she, ‘that have so oft encountered himwith scorn, write to him that I love him?’

LEONATOThis says she now when she is beginning to write tohim; for she’ll be up twenty times a night, andthere will she sit in her smock till she have writ asheet of paper: my daughter tells us all.

CLAUDIONow you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember apretty jest your daughter told us of.

LEONATOO, when she had writ it and was reading it over, shefound Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?

CLAUDIOThat.




LEONATOO, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence;railed at herself, that she should be so immodestto write to one that she knew would flout her; ‘Imeasure him,’ says she, ‘by my own spirit; for Ishould flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though Ilove him, I should.’

CLAUDIOThen down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs,beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; ‘Osweet Benedick! God give me patience!’

LEONATOShe doth indeed; my daughter says so: and theecstasy hath so much overborne her that my daughteris sometime afeared she will do a desperate outrageto herself: it is very true.

DON PEDROIt were good that Benedick knew of it by someother, if she will not discover it.

CLAUDIOTo what end? He would make but a sport of it andtorment the poor lady worse.

DON PEDROAn he should, it were an alms to hang him. She’s anexcellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion,she is virtuous.

CLAUDIOAnd she is exceeding wise.

DON PEDROIn every thing but in loving Benedick.

LEONATOO, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tendera body, we have ten proofs to one that blood haththe victory. I am sorry for her, as I have justcause, being her uncle and her guardian.

DON PEDROI would she had bestowed this dotage on me: I would




have daffed all other respects and made her halfmyself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hearwhat a’ will say.

LEONATOWere it good, think you?

CLAUDIOHero thinks surely she will die; for she says shewill die, if he love her not, and she will die, ereshe make her love known, and she will die, if he wooher, rather than she will bate one breath of heraccustomed crossness.

DON PEDROShe doth well: if she should make tender of herlove, ’tis very possible he’ll scorn it; for theman, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.

CLAUDIOHe is a very proper man.

DON PEDROHe hath indeed a good outward happiness.

CLAUDIOBefore God! and, in my mind, very wise.

DON PEDROHe doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.

CLAUDIOAnd I take him to be valiant.

DON PEDROAs Hector, I assure you: and in the managing ofquarrels you may say he is wise; for either heavoids them with great discretion, or undertakesthem with a most Christian-like fear.

LEONATOIf he do fear God, a’ must necessarily keep peace:if he break the peace, he ought to enter into aquarrel with fear and trembling.




DON PEDROAnd so will he do; for the man doth fear God,howsoever it seems not in him by some large jestshe will make. Well I am sorry for your niece. Shallwe go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?

CLAUDIONever tell him, my lord: let her wear it out withgood counsel.

LEONATONay, that’s impossible: she may wear her heart out first.

DON PEDROWell, we will hear further of it by your daughter:let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and Icould wish he would modestly examine himself, to seehow much he is unworthy so good a lady.

LEONATOMy lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.

CLAUDIOIf he do not dote on her upon this, I will nevertrust my expectation.

DON PEDROLet there be the same net spread for her; and thatmust your daughter and her gentlewomen carry. Thesport will be, when they hold one an opinion ofanother’s dotage, and no such matter: that’s thescene that I would see, which will be merely adumb-show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.

Exeunt DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO

BENEDICK[Coming forward] This can be no trick: theconference was sadly borne. They have the truth ofthis from Hero. They seem to pity the lady: itseems 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 perceivethe love come from her; they say too that she willrather die than give any sign of affection. I didnever think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy




are they that hear their detractions and can putthem to mending. They say the lady is fair; ’tis atruth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous; ’tisso, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for lovingme; by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, norno great argument of her folly, for I will behorribly in love with her. I may chance have someodd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me,because I have railed so long against marriage: butdoth not the appetite alter? a man loves the meatin his youth that he cannot endure in his age.Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets ofthe brain awe a man from the career of his humour?No, the world must be peopled. When I said I woulddie a bachelor, I did not think I should live till Iwere married. Here comes Beatrice. By this day!she’s a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love inher.

Enter BEATRICE

BEATRICEAgainst my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.

BENEDICKFair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

BEATRICEI took no more pains for those thanks than you takepains to thank me: if it had been painful, I wouldnot have come.

BENEDICKYou take pleasure then in the message?

BEATRICEYea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’spoint and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach,signior: fare you well.

Exit

BENEDICKHa! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come into dinner;’ there’s a double meaning in that ‘I tookno more pains for those thanks than you took pains




to thank me.’ that’s as much as to say, Any painsthat I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I donot take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do notlove her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture.

Exit

[Much Ado About Nothing – Act III]




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