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H^^ARD COL
^
^K^MEMC^ OF
JioDORE S^
NCER
^WvLSTON PROF«
SOROF
MThetoric and ol
^TORY
If ■946-.,49
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A NEW VARIORUM EDITION
'■/",
*
Shakespeare ^
EDITED BY
HORACE HOWARD FURNESS, M.A.(Harv.)
BOM. PH. D. (HALLB), HON. L. H. D. (COLUMB.), HON. LL.D. (PBMII. BT HMMW,}
HON. LITT. D. (CANTAB.)
Much adoe about Nothing
\FIFTH EDITION']
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
LONDON: 5 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN
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r^
HARVARD
UNlVtRSlTY
LIBRARY
V ^
Copyright, 1899, by H. H. FURNESS.
Wbstcott & Thomson,
EUctrotypers, Phila.
Prbss of J. B. Lippincott Compant,
Pkila,
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IN MEMORIAM
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PREFACE
The Text, here reprinted, is that of the First Folio ; which is not,
however, the earliest. Much Ado About Nothing had already appeared,
in a Quarto form, in the year 1600, twenty- three years before it was
printed in the First Folio. Nevertheless, there is in reality but one
text, inasmuch as it is from this Quarto that the Folio itself was printed,
a fact which any one can discern for himself by an examination of the
Textual Notes in the following pages. Wherever the Folio differs
from the Quarto, it is 'mostly,' Dvce says, 'for the worse;' this
'worse,' however, consists chiefly of trivial typographical errors. Oc-
casionally, the variations in the Folio are improvements, as, for instance,
where, in the Quarto, Dogberry says ' any man that knowes the stat-
' utes,' the Folio, with a nearer approach to Dogberry's language, has
' anie man that knowes the Statues ;' again, where the Quarto regardless
of rhyme says: —
' Hang thou there vpon the toomb
' Praising hir when I am dead,'
the Folio has: —
' Hang thou there vpon the tombe
' Praising her when I am dombe.'
Where Leonato, full of amazed horror at the sight of Borachio,
recoils and asks (according to the Quarto) :
'Art thou the slaue that with thy breath hast killd
'Mine innocent child?'
the Folio, with heightened dramatic effect, repeats the 'thou', 'Art
'thou thou the slaue that with thy breath hast kild mine innocent
'childe?'
Furthermore, the stage directions are rather more exact, even to the
specifying of names of actors, in the Folio than in the Quarto ; where
the Quarto has 'Enter prince, Leonato, Claudio, Musicke,' the Folio
has ' Enter Prince, Leonato, Claudio, and lacke Wilson.'
The most noteworthy difference between the two texts is the omis-
sion in several places in the Folio of lines and portions of lines which
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vi PREFACE
are in the Quarto. This of itself proves that the Folio was not printed
from an independent text. Were it otherwise, there would be lines in
the text of the Folio not to be found in the Quarto, and of such there
is not a single one. All the noteworthy changes lie in words, in omis-
sions, and in stage directions. The inference, therefore, may be fairly
drawn not only that Heminge and.CoNDELL used a copy of the Quarto
as the text for their Folio, but that it was a copy which had been used
on the stage as a prompt-book, wherein for the benefit of the prompter,
fuller stage-directions had been inserted, even, as we have seen, to the
very names of the actors, such as Jack Wilson, who were to be sum-
moned, and wherein, possibly, some passages had been stricken out.
We all know that these two friends of Shakespeare assert in their
Preface to the Folio that they had used the author's manuscripts, and
in the same breath denounce the Quartos as stolen and surreptitious.
When we now find them using as * copy ' one of these very Quartos,
we need not impute to them a wilful falsehood if we suppose that, in
using what they knew had been printed from the original text,
howsoever obtained, they held it to be the same as the manuscript
itself, — ^most especially if the copy had been a prompter's book during
the very years when Shakespeare himself was on the stage, and, pos-
sibly y used by the great Master himself at some of the many performances
of a play, whereof the extreme popularity we learn from Leonard
DiGGES, who says: —
* let but Beatrice
' And Benedicke be seene, loe in a trice
'The Cockpit, Galleries, Boxes all axe full.'
To set forth in detail, or to tabulate, all the variations of the Folio,
its additions of words or. syllables, its omissions of lines or phrases, its
reproduction of unusual spellings, or of misspellings, in the Quarto,
its prose where the Quarto has verse, etc., etc., is superfluous in a
volume, like the present, where all the material for such a summary is
presented in the Textual Notes on every page. If the student be so
happily, or unhappily, constituted as' to find refreshment or intellectual
growth in such work, it is better for him to make the tables for himself.
If he find no interest therein, (and in a stage aside^ let me whisper
that he has my cordial sympathy,) it would be a sheer waste of time to
make it for him ; let him, therefore, tranquilly accept the assurance
drawn from a laborious collation, which I gladly spare him, that the
Text of the Folio, as I started with sapng, is taken from a copy of the
Quarto, which probably contained some manuscript changes, and that
variations between it and the Folio are mainly accidental ; where they
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PREFACE vu
are noteworthy, and apparently not accidental, they will be discussed,
in due course, as they occur in the following pages.
As I have had occasion, more than once, to say, if this printed text
of the Folio, over which we pore so earnestly, had been ever scanned
by Shakespeare's eyes, then we might accept it as a legacy where
every comma becomes respectable ; but since we know that, when the
Folio was printed, Shakespeare had been in his grave seven years,
we discover that we are herein dealing merely with the skill, intel-
ligent or otherwise, of an ordinary compositor ; and that in our minute
collation we are devoting our closest scrutiny to the vagaries of a
printer.
Thus we have the source of the Text of the Folio, but when we
seek to discover that of the Quarto, we are met by the mystery
which seems inseparable from all things connected with Shakespeare's
outward life (I marvel that in the four thousand ways, devised by Mr
Wise, of spelling Shakespeare's name no place is found for spelling
it ' M-y-s-t'e-r-y *), and yet, in the present instance, I doubt that mys-
tery is the exactest term. It is merely our ignorance which creates
the mystery. To Shakespeare's friends and daily companions there
was nothing m3rsterious in his life ; on the contrary, it possibly ap-
peared to them as unusually dull and commonplace. It certainly
had no incidents so far out of the common that they thought it worth
while to record them. Shakespeare never killed a man as Jonson did ;
his voice was never heard, like Marlow's, in tavern brawb ; nor was
he ever, like Marston and Chapman, threatened with the penalty of
having his ears lopped and his nose slit ; but his life was so gentle and
so clear in the sight of man and of Heaven that no record of it has
come down to us; for which failure, I am fervently grateful, and
as fervently hope that no future year will ever reveal even the fisdntest
peep through the divinity which doth hedge this king.
We are quite ignorant of the way in which any of the Shakespearian
Quartos came to be published. Were it not that Heminge and Con-
dell pronounced them all to be ' stolne and surreptitious ' we might
have possibly supposed that Shakespeare yielded to temptation and
sold his Plays to the press, — a dishonest practice indulged in by
some dramatists, as we learn from Heywood's Preface to his Rape of
Lvcrece where he says : 'some have used a double sale of their labours,
' first to the Stage, and after to the Presse.' But not thus dishonestly
would the sturdy English soul of Shakespeare act, — a trdit not suffi-
ciently considered by those who impute to him an indifference to the
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viii PREFACE
offsprings of his brain. His Plays once sold to the Theatre passed
for ever from his possession, and to all allurements of subsequent
money-getting from them he gave an honest kersey no.
This vexed question of origin, the Quarto of Much Ado about
Nothing shares in common with all the other Quartos, and, in addi-
tion, has a tidy little mystery of its own, which it shares with only
three or four other Plays. The earliest mention of it appears in the
Stationers' Registers as follows : — *
4- 9U8U0tt
As you likeytl 2i booke
Henry the Ffift \ a booke
Euery man in his humour / a booke \ to be staled.
The commedie of muche Adoo about
nothing a booke /
This item does not stand in the body of the volume of the Sta-
tioners^ Registers, but is on one of a couple of fly-leaves at the begin-
ning, whereon are thirteen or fourteen other entries, all of which
contain a caveat, such as : * This to be entred to hym yf he can gett
* Aucthority for yt' or *yf he can get yt aucthorised.' The year is
not given. With one exception, all the other entries on this and the
opposite page, nine in number, are dated 1603. The exception, im-
mediately preceding the Much Ado entry, is dated in the margin:
* 27 May 1600.' It is quite possible to suppose, with Malone, that
the clerk seeing this date, 1600, in the preceding item, did not think
. it worth while to repeat it in the present. It is also quite possible to
suppose, that the date being of less importance than the fact that the
plays were ' to be staled,' the clerk believed that his memory would be
sufficiently jogged by the heading, at the top of the page : ' my lord
'chamberlens menus plaies Entred.' But after all, here the date is
of small importance ; a subsequent entry gives us a date beyond gain-
saying. The real mystery lies in the three words: 'to be staled.'
Why they should be stayed, or at whose instigation, must for ever
remain a problem. It is reasonable to suppose that, inasmuch as the
plays were the property of *my lord chamberlens menu,' the remon-
strance against their printing, came from these proprietors. And yet
if this remonstrance was effective in the first week in August, why did
its efficacy fail in the last week of August, when the Quarto actually
appeared ? It never did fail in the case of As You Like It, whereof
the appearance was stayed until it was issued in the Folio, in 1623.
* Arber's Transcript^ vol. iii, p. 37.
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PREFACE ix
Dr William Aldis Wright, our highest living Shakespearian author-
ity, suggests, in regard to this latter play, As You Like It^ that the
staying was due to the fact that the announcement was ' premature and
'that the play may not have been ready,' and he adduces certain signs
of haste in the naming of the Dramatis Persona^ such as two Jaques,
etc.* But the staying in the case of Much Ado about Nothing was not
permanent, as it was in the case of As You Like It, and yet we have
in it a possible sign of haste rather more emphatic than any in As
You Like Itf in the introduction of a character, Innogen, who never
speaks throughout the entire play. Moreover, to 'stay' the play
because it was not ready, implies, I am afraid a certain complicity on
the part of Shakespeare in the publication of the Quartos which I,
for one, should be loath to accept.
Mr Fleav suggested at one timef that all these four plays were or-
dered to be staled, because ' they were probably suspected of being
* libellous,' and were therefore ' reserved for further examination. Since
*the "war of the theatres" was at its height, they may have been
' restrained as not having obtained the consent of the Chamberlain, on
'behalf of the company, to their publication.' Inasmuch as Henry
the Fifths Every Man in his Humour^ and Much Ado about Nothings
when they finally did appear, were issued by different publishers, Mr
Fleay afterward J said : ' it seems clear that the delay, of which so
' many hypothetical interpretations have been offered, was simply to
' enable Millington and Busby, who probably [Italics mine] had the
* copyrights of all four play's, to complete the sales thereof to the other
'publishers.' It seems equally clear, it must be acknowledged, that
an explanation which rests on a probability is not far removed from
all others of a hypothetical nature ; and when once hypothesis has sway,
what is to hinder us from supposing that in this, as in other cases, the
cause of the ' staying ' was James Roberts? It has been assumed by
all editors, I think without exception, since the days of Malone, that
the entry in the Stationers* Registers of August the fourth belongs to
the year 1600, because the entry immediately preceding bears that
date, and the clerk thought it needless to repeat it. But the preced-
ing entry couples, with the date 1600, the name 'James Roberts,'
as the stationer who wished to enter two plays. Now, if the clerk
thought it needless to repeat the i6oc, why is it not equally likely that
he thought it needless to repeat the name, James Roberts, if to him
both entries belonged ? What may be assumed of a date, surely may
* See As You Like It, p. 295, of this edition.
t Life and Work, 1886, p. 40.
X Chronicle of the English Drama, 1 891, vol. ii, p. 184.
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X PREFACE
be assumed of a name, especially since all six plays belonged to the
Chamberlain's company. Thus stand the entries on the page of
the Register: —
my lord chamberlens menns plaies Entred
viz
27 May 1600 A moral of clothe breches and velvet hose
To master
Robertes
27 May Allarum to London \
Tohym
4- flugu0tt
As you like yt / a booke
Henry the Ffift \ a booke
Euery man in his humour / a booke
The commedie of muche A doo about
nothing a booke /
. to be staled
Is it straining the plain facts before us too far, to assume that all
these plays were entered by James Roberts, and that the caveat was
due to his shifty character? It will be merely crambe repetita to
rehearse what I have heretofore assumed* as to the character of
James Roberts, and his influence in connection with Shakespeare's
company, — an influence, whereof the origin and extent must remain to
us unknown, merely because we do not know and never shall know
what was once the common gossip of the day. Nor, in reality, is
the ' staying ' of these Shakespearian Quartos of any real importance ;
it is worth mentioning only as another happy instance of our utter
ignorance of Shakespeare's mortal life.
But little more remains to be said about the Quarto. In the Sta-
tioners^ Registers \ under the running title: '42 Regin\a\ey that is,
1600, we find as follows: —
23 9ugu0tt
Andrewe Wyse Entred for their copies vnder the handes of the
William Aspley wardens Two bookes. the one called Muche a
Doo about nothinge, Thother the second parte of
the history of kinge Henry the iiif' with the hu-
mours of Sir John Ffallstaff: Wrytten by master
Shakespere xij<*
* Ai You Like It^ p. 296, Merchant of Venice^ p. 271, Midsummer Nigh f 5 Dream
p. xvi, of this edition. f Arber's Reprint iii, 170.
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PREFACE xi
Here, then, we have the exact, final date of the publication of the
Quarto.
Arber remarks, in parenthesis, after the foregoing entry, that this is
* the first time our great poet's name appears in these Registers.' It is
perhaps worth while to remark in reference to the spelling of the name,
as there given, that both Collier and Dyce in reproducing the entry
spell it Shakespeare, so uncertain is the reading of old chirography,—
especially if it be Court-hand or Chancery-hand, which Shakespeare
used when he subscribed to his Will, and to the Blackfriars Deed and
in which, like other laymen, he was but little skilled. Halliwell-Phil-
Lipps ♦ reproduces the same entry from the Stationers' Registers^ and
yet his copy varies from Arber* s in ten or twelve minute particulars,
such as twoo where the latter has *Two,' adoo for 'a Doo,' Kinge for
'kinge,' humors for 'humours,' Mr, for ^master', &c.— quite insignif-
icant all of them, it may be readily acknowledged, but, nevertheless,
they are variations, and full of sad warning when we approach the
awful problem of the spelling of the Poet's name as deduced from his
written signature. For myself, I at once acknowledge that I prefer to
accept the spelling, Shakespeare, adopted by the Poet himself, and so
printed by his fellow- townsman, Richard Field, in both Venus and
Adonis and in Lvcrece. This alone is for me quite sufficient, and evi-
dently his contemporaries shared the same opinion. Out of all the
twenty-eight editions of the Quartos bearing the author's name on
the title-page, and published during the Poet's lifetime, fifteen spell
the name Shakespeare, twelve spell it Shake-speare, and one spells
it Shak-speare. To this unanimity (the hyphen is merely a guide
to the pronunciation) we may add the Poet's personal friends, Hem-
INGE and Condell, who thus print it, Shakespeare, in the First
Folio.
There is one other item, in reference to the Text, which I think
worthy of note. When it is asserted that the Folio follows the text
of the Quarto, we assume that the compositors of the Folio had
before them, as 'copy,' the pages of the Quarto, either printed or in
manuscript. If this assumption be correct, there will remain an
unexplained problem. At the present day, when compositors set
up from printed copy, they follow that copy slavishly, almost me-
chanically. Surely, the same must have been true of the less intel-
ligent compositors of Shakespeare's time, and we might justly
expect that the printed page of the Quarto which had served as
copy would be exactly reproduced in the Folio, in spelling, in
* Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare, 1882, p. 528.
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xii PREFACE
punctuation, in the use of capitals, and of Italics. Yet, this is far,
very far from being the case ; ' don Peter of Arragon * in the Quarto
of the present play, becomes ^ Don Peter of Arragon^ in the
Folio, in Italics, and with a capital D\ with 'happy' before him in
print, it is almost unaccountable that the compositor of the Folio
should take the trouble of adding another type and spell the word
'happie;' or that he should change '4 of his fine wits* into 'foure
' of his fiue wits ' or change ' lamb ' into ' Lambe * with a needless
capital and a needless e \ and so we might go on in almost every line
throughout the play. And yet it is incontestable that the Folio was
printed from the Quarto, — the very errors of the Quarto are repeated
in the Folio, such as giving the names of the actors, Kemp and Cow-
ley, instead of the names of the characters they impersonated.
The solution of the problem is to be found, I think, in the practice
of the old printing offices, where compositors set up the types not from
copy before them, which they themselves read, but by hearing the copy
read aloud to them. We now know that in the printing offices of afore-
time, it was customary to have a reader whose duty it was to read aloud
the copy to the compositors.* This will explain not only all these trivial
differences of spelling, punctuation, and of Italics, which I have just
mentioned, but also the cause of that more important class of errors
which Shakespearian Editors have hitherto attributed either to the
hearing of the text delivered by actors, in public, on the stage, or to
the mental ear of the compositor while carrying a sentence in his
memory. The voice believed to be that of the actor is in reality the
voice of the compositors' reader. Be it understood that I here refer
mainly to the instances where the Folio was printed from a Quarto.
That plays were sometimes stolen by taking them down from the
actors' lips on the stage, we know, — Hey wood denounces the prac-
tice in that same address ' To the Reader ' prefixed to his Rape of
Lucrece,
The happy days, the Golden Age, when Much Ado about Nothing
was seen, enjoyed, and read by men, unvexed by questions of its Date of
Composition, came to an end with Malone, of whom, in this regard, I
am afraid Grattan's description is true, when he spoke of that worthy
commentator as ' going about looking through strongly magnifying spec-
' tacles for pieces of stmw and bits of broken glass. ' Since the days
of Malone the study of the Chronology of Shakespeare's plays has
been deemed of prime importance, and it is become needful that our
accumulated evidence in that regard should be duly marshalled ; we
* The Inuentum of Printing, Ac, by T. L. De Vinnk, New York, 1876, p. 524.
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PREFACE xiii
must have External Evidence, which is indisputable, and, forsooth, Inter-
nal Evidence, which is of imagination all compact ; and, owing to the vo-
luminous detection of this internal evidence, the heap of bits of broken
glass assumes portentous proportions, under which the plays themselves
are like to be hid ; reminding us of the venerable cemetery at Prague,
where the records of departed worth are hidden under the pious peb-
bles deposited by admiring friends.
Happily for us, in the present play the External Evidence of the Date
of Composition is concise, and the Internal Evidence meagre. To the
. former belong merely two facts : the entry in the Stationers^ Registers
(which has been given above) and the title-page itself of the Quarto,
which is as follows : —
' Much adoe about | Nothing. | As it hath been fundrie times pub-
*' likely I adled by the right honourable, the Lord | Chamberlaine his
* feruants. | Written by William Shakespeare, \ [Vignette] | London |
' Printed by V. S. for Andrew Wife, and | William Afpley. | 1600.'
This title-page, (where, by the way, ' V. S. ' stands for Valentine
Sinmies,) and the entries in the Stationers^ Registers are all that we
know of the Date of Composition. How long before August, 1600,
Shakespeare wrote the play, we can merely guess. The title-page
sa3rs that the play had been sundry times acted; even without this
assertion we might have been reasonably certain of the fact. Unless
a play were many times acted, it is not likely to have been popular ;
unless it were popular, no stationer would care to publish it, as a
Quarto, especially if, in addition, there would have to be some trouble
in procuring the Manuscript.
It has been assumed by a majority of editors that an early limit has
been found in the fact that Meres, in 1598, does not mention this play,
by name, among the other plays of Shakespeare which he enumerates.
Meres nowhere professes to give complete lists of all the works of the
authors whom he mentions. Mr Fleay, however, believes that, in
the case of Shakespeare, Meres's list of twelve, includes every one
of Shakespeare's plays which had been 'either newly written or
'revived between June 1594 and June 1598.'* Nay, as a fact.
Meres does more; he gives the title of one play: Love labours
wonne whereof no trace is known elsewhere. The late Mr A. E.
Brae maintained, and Mr Fleay agrees with him, that under this
title the present play is designated. When Meres wrote: 'so Shake-
* speare among the English is the most excellent in both kinds for
* Life and Work of Shakespeare, 1886, p. 135^
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xiv PREFACE
*the stage; for Comedy, witnesse his Gentlemen of Verona^ his
^ Errors J his Loue labors losty his Loue labours wonne^ his Mid-
* summers night dreame, and his Merchant of Venice : for Tragedy his
* Richard the second, Richard the third, Henry the fourth. King lohn,
' Titus Andronicus and his Romeo and Juliet,'^ he must have written
from memory, and, under Love labours wonne, I suppose he may have
had in mind any one of several Comedies, wherein the labours of love
were successful, as they generally are in all Comedies.
But Brae is not of this opinion, and the whole question is germane
to the present subject only in so far as that, if Brae be correct, the Date
of Composition may be placed at any indefinite time before 1598. His
argument, that the present play is Love's Labours Won will be found
in full in the Appendix; in brief, it is that because Much Ado about
Nothing was printed in 1600, it does not follow that it was not
known several years before that date, especially since the title-page
says that 'it hath been sundrie times publikely acted.' Brae further
contends that in its plot Much Ado about Nothing affords the needed
contrast to Lovers Lctbour's Lost, and quotes certain passages which
show an assumed similitude or parallelism between the two plays.
Lastly, he maintains that in Lovers Labours it is the labours of the
little god of love that are intended and not the love manifested by the
characters in the play.
Brae's strong point is that Much Ado about Nothing actually ap-
peared in Quarto form in 1600, within only two years of Meres's enu-
meration in 1598; he might have made it stronger, had he noticed that
in this respect Much Ado about Nothing stands in the same relation,
to Meres, as far as the date is concerned, as stand A Midsummer
Nights Dream and The Merchant of Venice, both of which are in
Meres' s list, and both appeared in 1600. The appearance of these two
Comedies proves unquestionably that there were plays which, although
written before 1598, were not printed till 1600; and what is true of
these two might be easily true of a third.
Brae's weak point is in claiming for Much Ado about Nothing a
date of composition several years before publication, and at the same
time denying it to other Comedies. Neither The Two Gentlemen of
Verona nor The Comedy of Errors appeared in print until 1623, and yet
both were written twenty-five years before this date ; Meres mentions
them. Mr Fleav believes f that Meres enumerates all of Shake-
speare's Comedies, which had appeared; but until this can be con-
clusively proved, it is possible that there were others, already then
* Wits Common Wealth. The Second Part, by F. M. 1598, p. 623.
t Life and IVork, p. 135.
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PREFACE XV
written, which had to wait, like The Two Gentlemen of Verona and
The Comedy of Errors^ for the publication of the Folio ; it is, there-
fore, uncritical, I think, to exclude wholly from a competition for the
place of Love's Labour's Won all the Comedies which appeared only in
the Folio.
Brae's weakest point lies in the 'similitude and contrast,' of which
he endeavours to prove the existence, between Much Ado about Noth-
ing and Love's Labour's Lost. If a companion to Love's Labour's
Lost is to be sought for, which in 'similitude and contrast' shall
prove Love's Labour's Won^ it would not be hard to find it in As
You Like Itj or in Twelfth Night, Dr Farmer and a majority of
editors believe that AlVs Well that Ends Well is the missing Comedy.
Hunter thought that he had found it in The Tempest; and Craik
and Hertzberg urge the claims of The Taming of the Shrew. But it is
all guess-work, from which the guessers alone retire with intellectual
benefit. However, 'the fox is worth nothing when caught,' says
Sydney Smith, 'it is the catching alone that is the sport.'
In conclusion, all that to us simple folk is given, and we must get
from it what comfort we can, is the fact that Love's Labours Won is
not come down to us, and to know that Much Ado about Nothing
was published in the year 1600. "'I hope," cried the Squire, "that
' " you'll not deny that whatever is, is." — "Why," returned Moses,
'"I think I may grant that, and make the best of it." '
Thus far External Evidence.
It is a subject of congratulation that the severe scrutiny, to which
all of these plays have been subjected, has been able to discover in the
present play only four items of Internal Evidence of the Date of Com-
position ; three of them harmonize, within a year, with the External
Evidence.
The first item, which is thought to indicate the Date of Composi-
tion, was detected by Chalmers, who, in the wars from which Don
Pedro is returned, where, as Beatrice says, there were ' musty victuals,'
finds an undoubted reference to the Irish campaign of 1599. 'The
'fact is,' says Chalmers,* 'as we may learn from Camden, and from
' Moryson, that there were complaints of the badness of the provisions,
' which the contractors furnished the English army in Ireland. And
' such a sarcasm, from a woman of rank, and fashion, and smartness,
' must have cut to the quick ; and must have been loudly applauded
' by the audience ; who, being disappointed by the events of the cam-
' paign, would be apt enough to listen to a lampoon on the Contractor,
* Supplemental Apology, 1 799, p. 380.
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xvi PREFACE
* rather than on the General ; who, by his great pretensions and small
' performances, had disappointed the expectations of the Queen and
' the hopes of the nation. From all those intimations, it appears to Dc
' more than probable, that Much Ado about Nothing was originally
* written in the autumn of 1599-'
First, as for the wars, which Chalmers thinks refer to the Irish cam-
paign, they are in Bandello's Novell from which Shakespeare is sup-
posed to have drawn his plot, whereof the scene is laid in Messina,
whither Don Pedro of Arragon repaired after defeating in battle Charles
the Second of Naples.
Secondly, Chalmers cites Camden and Moryson for his authorities
in regard to ' musty victuals,' but does not name chapter or page ; he
evidently trusted to his memory. A careful reading of the account of
Essex's expedition to Ireland given by Fynes Moryson fails to reveal
a single complaint as to the provisions. The soldiers were disheartened
by the defeats inflicted on them by the Earl of Tyrone, but I can find
no word against either the sufficiency or the quality of their food. An
equally careful reading of Camden has been alike fruitless. To be
sure, Camden wrote several volumes, but I examined that one where,
if anywhere, the complaints referred to by Chalmers would be most
likely to be found. I do not say that these special complaints about
musty victuals in Essex's campaigns are not mentioned by Camden.
All I am sure of is that there is no word about them in his Annates
Rerum Anglicarvm et Hibemicarvniy Regnante Elizabethan etc., ed.
1625. The soldiers in the year 1599 are mentioned only twice, as far
as I can find. Once their numbers are given, and again (p. 736), in
speaking of Essex, Camden says, < Nee ante mensem lulium jam di-
'vergentem rediit, militibus lassatis afflictis, numerisque supra fidem
'accisis.' I am thus urgent about a trifle, because Chalmers's
assertion has been accepted without questioning, down to this day.
The second item, which is supposed to have a bearing on the
Date of Composition, lies in the reference by the Watch to *one De-
' formed, a vile thief this seven year.' This is said to be an allusion to
' Amorphus, or the Deformed,' a character in Ben Jonson's Cynthia's
Revels, Apart from the somewhat refractory fact that Cynthia's Revels
and Much Ado about Nothing both appeared in the same year (accord-
ing to Gifford Much Ado about Nothing preceded Cynthia's Revels)
there is no intimation that Jonson's * Amorphus ' had been a thief within
or without seven years. In reality, there is not the smallest trait soever
in common, in the two men ; and, if Gifford be right, an allusion by
Shakespeare to Jonson's 'Amorphus' is an absolute impossibility.
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PREFACE xvii
That there may be a topical allusion in * Deformed ' is not impossible ;
but it is not needed, and, if it exist, is probably now for ever lost.
This * Deformed/ however, is not to be whistled down the wind thus
easily ; his yield of allusions is not exhausted. Mr Fleay thrills us
with a solution of the mystery which makes the bedded hair start up
and stand on end. The Deformed in Much Ado about Nothing is ' of
'course,' he says,* 'an allusion to Shakespeare himself. ''A vile
' " thief these seven year," indicates the time that he had been steal-
ing instead of inventing his plots.' We pause in doubt with which
emotion to dilate: the effrontery of the thief, or the magnanimous,
and uncalled for, confession of the Poet. Had this remark been
made about Shakespeare by a luckless foreigner, it is painful to
imagine the character of the chorus, led, I fear, by Mr Fleay, with
which it would have been received.
Dr FuRNivALL t discovered a contemporary, political allusion, (the
third item) in the following lines : —
' like fauourites
' Made proud by Princes, that aduance their pride,
'Against that power that bred it.' — III, i, 11-13.
Here, we are supposed to have a reference to the petted and insolent
favourite, Essex, who, disgraced by his fatal campaign in Ireland, had
been put in confinement, only to issue therefrom on the twenty-sixth
of August, 1600, and plot against the Queen, who had so bred his
advancement. To be sure, the date is unlucky ; it is later than either
the fourth or the twenty-third of August, the dates when Much Ado
about Nothingy already written, was presented for registration at
Stationers' Hall. This obstruction, however, Dr Furnivall smoothes
away by 'noticing that the evident "political allusion" is 'in just
' two lines, removable from the text, and that it may, therefore, have
' been inserted after the play was first written, and after the outbreak
'of Essex's conspiracy.' Dr Furnivall accepts 'favourite' in the
special sense of minion.
This acceptation, Mr Richard Simpson % denies, and asserts that
'favourite' means merely 'the confidential agent or minister of a
'prince.' Thus interpreted, the allusion is to 'Cecil, or the Lord
' Admiral, or to Raleigh, who were accused of monopolising all her [the
' Queen's] favours.' A difficulty here, not undetected in the discussion
* Introduction to Shakespearian Study, 1877, p. 23.
t The Academy, 18 Sqit 1875. % ^^^-9 ^S Sept. 1875.
B
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xviii PREFACE
by Dr Furnivall, is that nowhere do we find the Cecils or Raleigh
advancing their pride against Elizabeth.
The fourth and last item which furnishes Internal Evidence of the
Date of Composition, has been detected by Mr Fleay ; it induces
him to place this date £eu: earlier than any other critic has placed it,
whereby the striking and unusual unanimity of editors and critics in
this regard is broken. Mr Fleay puts the date at 1597-98, and he
would have, probably, put it much earlier were it not that he draws a
distinction between the original play and the play as we have it. The
Almanacs are invoked to help us to the date of A Midsummer Nighfs
Dream^ and Mr Fleay invokes them here. * It is very frequent,' says
this author,* ' in old plays, to find days of the week and month men-
*' tioned ; and when this is the case, they nearly always correspond to
* the almanac of the year in which the play was written.* [Qu. per-
formed ? It is to be regretted that examples are not furnished.] ' Now, in
' this play alone in Shakespeare is there such a mark of time ; com-
'paring I, i, 274 "The sixth of July, your loving friend, Benedick"
' and II, i, 341 : '^ Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just
' "seven night," we find that the sixth of July came on a Monday;
'this suits the years 1590 and 1601, but none between ; an indication
'that the original play was written in 1590. Unlike Lovers Labour's
* Lost, it was almost recomposed at its reproduction, and this day-of-
' the- week mention is, I think, a relic of the original plot, and probably
'due, not to Shakespeare, but to some coadjutor.'
It is so very satisfactory to know not merely the year of composi-
tion, but the exact day, that we are filled with regret that the resources
of knowledge, in this drama, are, possibly, still unexplored and unex-
hausted. One fact, hitherto unnoticed, may yet cheer and elevate us.
From what Beatrice says, in the first Scene of the Second Act, that a
* Partridge wing will be saved ' at supper in consequence of Benedick's
melancholy, it is reasonable to suppose that Shakespeare was particu-
larly fond of ' partridge wings ' and contemplated with keen zest that
one would be saved for his luncheon on Tu^day noon, the seventh of
July, on the day after the supper on Monday evening, the sixth of July.
Finally, Mr Fleay, in corroboration of his date of 1597-8, for
this play, observes f that ' Cowley and Kempe play the Constables ;
' but Kempe had left the company by the summer of 1599.' This is, I
think, a mere inference on Mr Fleay 's part. Kempe acted in Borneo
and Juliet in 1599, and is introduced in The Return from Parnassus,
1 601, IV, iii, where he speaks of Shakespeare as his fellow-actor.
* Life and Work of Shakespeare, p. 204. f ^/* ^'^m P- ^5-
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PREFACE xix
That the name of an actor of a part should be entered on the
prompter's book in place of the name of the character he impersonated
is likely enough, but that his name should be there retained after he
had left the company and when another actor was suppling his place,
is not so easy of belief. The fact that Kempe's name appears in the
Qto of 1600 is a proof so decided that he had not then left the com-
pany that it would compel Mr Fleay, I should think, to be extremely
cautious, and certainly to lay before the reader all proofe, within his
power, of his assertion. A temporary trip to the Continent does not
prove a retirement from a company.
To Shakespeare the plots of his dramas were of trifling impor-
tance, be it that they are as involved as the plot of the Comedy of
Errors, or be it that the imaginary characters are as few as they are
in his Sonnets; he took plots wherever he found them made to his
hand. Any situation that would evoke characteristic traits in any
Dramatis Persona was all that was needed. Dr Johnson, as we
all know, went so far as to say that Shakespeare ' has not only shown
* human nature as it acts in real exigencies, but as it would be found in
^ trials, to which it cannot be exposed.' What need then had Shake-
speare to invent plots ? Under his hand all stories were available, but,
apparently, those especially with which his audience was familiar, who,
possibly y found a certain pleasure in recognizing old friends under new
faces, and who could, assuredly, bestow on the characters themselves
an attention, which need not be distracted by the need of unravelling
an unfamiliar plot. Has a comedy ever been written which gives
more pleasure than As You Like Itf Well may it be called flawless.
And yet it contains absurdities in its construction so gross, that their
readiest explanation is the supposition that the original common-
place thing, on which the play is founded, has been allowed, by
Shakespeare's careless indifference, here and there to obtrude : there
are two characters bearing the same name, — it is unthinkable that a
dramatist in devising a new play should have committed such an
oversight ; in one scene Celia is taller than Rosalind, and in another
Rosalind is taller than Celia ; the Touchstone of the First Act is not
the same Touchstone as in succeeding Acts, and, though he has been
the clownish Fool about the old court all his days, neither Jaques,
nor the Exiled Duke, has ever before seen him when they meet in the
Forest where the Duke has been in exile only a few months. And can
there be any device to end a story, more preposterous than that a head-
strong, violent t)rrant at the head of * a mighty power ' should, merely
after ' some question with ' ' an old religious man,' be ' converted ' and
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XX PREFACE
instantly relinquish his campaign and retire from the world ? But what
did Shakespeare, or what do we, care for all such things ? They are
no part of the play. It is Rosalind who enthralls our hearts, and love
is blind. Were there oversights ten times as gross the play would still
have power to charm. They are worth mentioning solely as indications
that Shakespeare's play is a superstructure. And thus it is, also, with
this present Much Ado about Nothing, We may read, as I have tried to
gather them in the Appendix, every story in literature, wherein parallels
to this play may be traced, and yet X^catfons et origo will not be there. The
old insignificant play (had it been other than insignificant, it would have
survived), whereof the dramatic possibilities Shakespeare detected, and
moulded into living forms, — this old, insubstantial play, discarded as
soon as its brighter offspring appeared, has long since faded and left
not a wrack behind, except where here and there its cloth of frieze
may be detected beneath Shakespeare's seams of the cloth of gold.
At the very first entrance of the players on the stage, for instance,
there is what I regard as an unmistakable trace of the original play :
' Innogen,' the wife of Leonato and the mother of Hero, is set down as
entering with the others, and yet she utters no single word throughout
the play, not even at that supreme moment when her daughter is belied
before the altar, and when every fibre of a mother's heart would have
been stirred. That her name is here no chance misprint is clear ; she
reappears in the stage direction at the beginning of the Second Act.
Her recorded presence merely shows that for one of the characters
with which the original play started, Shakespeare found no use, and
through carelessness the name was allowed to remain in the MS prompt-
book where nobody was likely to see it but the prompter, who knew
well enough that no such character was to be summoned to the stage.
Then again, it is likely, or, rather, possible, that in the old play the
paternity of Beatrice was distinctly given. In the present play, there
is no hint of it ; indeed, it is not unreasonable to ask of a dramatist
that in developing his action he should give some account of his heroine,
a line will be sufficient, and perhaps save some confusion, which in the
present play has really arisen. An eminent critic speaks of Beatrice
as the ' worthy daughter of the gallant old Antonio;'* undoubtedly
Brother Anthony was both gallant and old, but in neither attribute
so advanced, as to be obliged to commit his daughter to the care
of a 'guardian.' We see clearly why, dramatically, Beatrice must
be not a daughter, but a niece, and an orphan ; a father or a mother
would have checked that brave and saucy tongue. All I urge is that
a dramatist in writing a new play, and not rewriting an old one, would
* Introduction to <The Leopold Shakspere/ p. Ivi.
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PREFACE xxi
hardly have failed to refer to the parents of his heroine. Furthermore,
many a critic has somewhat plumed himself on what he considers his
singular shrewdness in detecting that Beatrice and Benedick are in love
with each other at the opening of the play. But the assertion of Beatrice,
in the First Scene of the Second Act, is always overlooked that ' once
* before ' she had possessed Benedick's heart and he had won hers ; which
is only one of many unexplained allusions to events which occurred
before the opening of the play ; when, for instance, Beatrice had promised
to eat all the victims of Benedick's sword ; and when Benedick had set
up his bills in Messina and challenged Cupid at the flight. In all these .
allusions, I think we may discover traces of the original groundwork
of Shakespeare's plot. It is possible that in the old play of Benedicte
and Betteris we have this original, and in it the hero and heroine
are acknowledged lovers, but become separated by a lover's quarrel,
in the course of which Beatrice earns the name of 'Lady Disdain,'
and the quarrel is smoothed away by the device which Shakespeare
afterward adopted. This, of course, is pure conjecture, — but does it
herein differ from the majority of Shakespearian assertions ?
This same play of Benedicte and Betteris demands a word of refer-
ence, I wish I could say, of explanation. In the Lord-Treasurer Stan-
hope's Accounts* * for all such Somes of money as hath beine receaved
'and paied by him within his office from the feaste of St. Michael
* Tharchangell, Anno Regni Regis Jacobi Decimo [1612], vntill the
'feaste of St. Michaell, Anno Regni Regis Jacobi vndecimo [1613],
'conteyning one whole yeare,' there occur the following two
items : —
' Item paid to John Heminges vppon the cowncells warrant dated
'att Whitehall XX® die Maij 1613, for presentinge before the Princes
' Highnes the Loidy Elizabeth and the Prince Pallatyne Elector fower-
' teene severall playes, viz : one playe called ffilaster, one other called
'the knottof ffooles. One other Much adoe abowte nothinge;' etc.
(The titles of the remaining eleven do not concern us here.)
Again: 'Item paid to the said John Heminges vppon the lyke
'warrant, dated att Whitehall XX® die Maij, 1613, for presentynge
' sixe severall playes, viz : one playe called a badd beginininge [sic"]
' makes a good endinge, . . . And one other called Benedicte and
'Betteris.'
It is extremely easy to assume, with Ingleby and 7^e New Shaks-
* Rawl. MS. A. 239, leaf 47 (in the Bodleian), Reprinted in Shakespeare Soc,
Papers, ii, 123; New Shakspere Soc, Trans., 1875-6, p. 419; Ingleby's Centurie of
Prayse, p. 103.
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xxii PREFACE
pere Society ^ that these two titles refer to the same play ; but the fact
that no other of the plays was acted twice, and after the title, as it has
come down to us, had been distinctly given in one warrant, that a
different title should be given, in a second warrant, issued on the same
day, to the same play, must give us pause. It seems to me that where
two titles are given the logical assumption is that two plays are referred
to. At the same time, it is possible that Much Ado about Nothing mzy
have had, originally, a second alternative title, like Thvelfth Night; or^
What you Willy and that this alternative title bore the names of the two
principal characters. Halliwell * says that Charles the First, in his
copy of the Second Folio, preserved in Windsor Castle, has added the
names ' Benedick and Beatrice,' as a second title. Could it be proved
conclusively that Benedicte andBetteris is not Much Ado about Nothing
but an entirely distinct play, it would much simplify the question of
the Source of a portion of the Plot.
In the present play, as in others of Shakespeare, there are two sep-
arate actions : here, there is the false personation of Hero, and the deceit
practised on Beatrice and Benedick. Unless we suppose that there
existed a preceding play combining both actions, Shakespeare must
have drawn from two separate sources. For the dual deception of Beat-
rice and Benedick, no parallel has been found ; we may therefore con-
cede thus much to Shakespeare's originality, but we must do so on tip-
toe lest we waken the commentators, who will not listen to Shakes-
peare's originality in any direction ; but for the former action, the felse
personation of Hero, it is said that he had but to go to Ariosto, or
to Ariosto' s translator Harington, where he might find this false
personation of a heroine by one of her ladies-in-waiting. He would
find this there, it is true, but he would find nothing more ; there is no
feigned death and burial to bring repentance to the lover, but instead
a grand tournament whereat the false contriver of the harm is slain by
the renowned Rinaldo. When, therefore, Pope repeated that the plot of
the present play was taken from Ariosto, he was only partially correct,
which is, after all, about as exact as Pope is generally in his notes on
Shakespeare, so that really no great harm is done. And when we
come to look still further into details, we find the discrepancy between
Ariosto and Shakespeare becomes still greater. The scene in Ariosto
is laid in Scotland ; in Shakespeare the scene is in Messina ; Genevra
in Ariosto becomes Hero in Shakespeare; Ariodante, Claudio;
Dalinda^ Margaret ; Polynessoy Don John ; Polynesso is prompted to
his wicked stratagem by love of Genevra, Don John by innate deprav-
* Outlines, etc. p. 262.
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PREFACE xxiii
ity; Folynesso attempts to kill Dalinda, his mistress and the decoy^
Don John has no acquaintance with Margaret, who is supposed to have
been an unwitting and innocent accomplice ; when Ariodante becomes
convinced of Genevra's falseness, he attempts to drown himself, but,
changes his mind in the water, unromantically though not unnaturally,
and swims ashore ; how very far Claudio's thoughts were from suicide,
we all know, together with his treatment of Hero. Without continuing
this comparison further, it is evident, I think, that Ariosto could not
have been among the direct sources whence Shakespeare drew this
portion of his plot. The sole incident common to both Ariosto and
Much Ado about Nothing is a woman dressed in her mistress's gar-
ments, at a midnight window, and for this incident Shakespeare
might have been indebted to common gossip concerning an actual
occurrence, — an explanation which I do not remember to have seen
noted. Harington, in a note at the end of his translation of the
Fifth Book of the Orlando^ wherein is set forth the story of Ariodante
and Genevra, remarks : * Some others aflirme, that this very matter,
' though set downe here by other names, happened in Ferrara to a
' kinsewoman of the Dukes, which is here figured vnder the name of
' Geneuroy and that indeed such a practise was used against her by a
'great Lord, and discovered by a damsell as is here set downe.
'Howsoever it was,' he goes on to say, 'sure the tale is a prettie
' comicall matter, and hath beene written in English verse some few
'yeares past (learnedly and with good grace) though in verse of
'another kind, by M. George TurderuiL'
Here we have the story stated as a fact, and mention of a translation
of Ariosto into English ; the commentators can now resume their
secure nap, which we had like to have disturbed by suggesting that
Shakespeare could have originated anything. Turbervil's version,
however, is not come down to us, according to Collier, who,
therefore, casts some doubt on its existence, and suggests that
Harington's memory played him false. But this need not daunt
us ; in the same breath Collier tells us of a version whereof the title
is given by Warton * as ' The tragecall and pleasaunte history of
Ariodanto and Jeneura daughter vnto the kynge of Scots ^ by Peter
Beverley. This evidently points to Ariosto ; which is really more than
can be afiirmed of the title as it appears in the Stationers Registers'^
under date of 22 July, 1565 : ' Recevyd of henry Wekes for his lycense
' for pryntinge of a boke intituled tragegall and pleasaunte history
'Ariounder Jeneuor the Dougther vnto the kynge of [?] by Peter
'Beverlay.'t
* History of English Poetry, iii, 479, ed. 1781. t Arber's Transcript^ i, 312.
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xxiv PREFACE
This 'history/ written in verse by Beverley, may be the founda-
tion of the play to which we find a reference in the Extracts from the
Accounts of the Revels at Court, edited by Peter Cunningham for The
Shakespeare Society^ 1842, where (p. 177), under date of 1582, is the
following entry: — 'A Historie of Ariodante and Geneuora shewed
•before her Matie on Shrovetuesdaie at night enacted by M' Mul-
^casters children. For w** was newe prepared and Imployed, one
* Citty, one battlem* of Canvas vij Ells of sarcenet and ij dozen gloves.
*The whole furniture for the reste was of the store of this oflSce,
* whereof sundrey garments for fytting of the Children were altered
*and translated.' Possibly ^ this play, founded on Ariosto, ipay have
given Shakespeare the idea of having Hero personated by Margaret ;
but it is not probable, inasmuch as there are many circumstances, such
as the feigned death, the burial, the epitaph and the second marriage,
whereof there is no trace in Ariosto ; the one solitary incident of a
maid's appearance in her mistress's robes does not form an adequate
connection, when that incident might have been well known as a fact
within the common knowledge of Italians, or of Italian actors, then in
London.
It is to Capell, the learned, intelligent, and infinitely uninteresting
editor, that we are indebted for the discovery that a story, similar in
many respects to that of Hero, is to be found in a novel by Bandello,
the same source to which we owe a version of the story of Romeo and
Juliet and of Twelfth Night, We have not, it is true, in this novel by
Bandello, a maid personating her mistress, but to offset this we have
several springs of action common to both novel and play, and springs
of action are more potent in revealing paternity than identity of the
names or even the repetition of certain words or phrases ; these may
have occurred by hap- hazard, but those are of the very fibre of the
plot. Bandello and Ariosto were contemporaries and it is extremely
unlikely that the Orlando Furioso was unknown to the Bishop of
Agen, and as the latter was fond in his stories of imparting to them
an air of truth by fixing dates, and giving well-known scenes and
names, he may have changed this personation of a lady by her
maid, for the very purpose of taking it out of that domain of allegory
in which the Orlando is written. Be this as it may, we have in Ban-
dello the ascent of a man at night by means of a ladder to the
chamber of the heroine, the despair and fury of the lover, his rejec-
tion of his mistress, her death, her secret revival, her seclusion, her
pretended funeral, with an epitaph on her tomb. At this point, there
is a divergence in the two stories ; in Bandello the repentance and
confession of the villain, whose motive had been jealousy, are brought
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PREFACE XXV
about by remorse, and, at the tomb of his victim, he proffers his
sword to the heart-broken lover, and entreats the lover to kill him,
but the lover forgives, and the two disconsolate men mingle their tears
over the past, — ^a situation of such dramatic power and pathos, that I
cannot but believe that had Shakespeare ever read it, we should
have received Much Ado about Nothing, from his hands, in a shape
different from that it now bears. There is one character who figures
prominently in Bandello, to wit : the heroine's mother ; she appears
by mistake, as I have just noted, in the stage directions of Shake-
speare's play, under the name 'Innogen.* As far as any inference
is to be drawn from the similarity of names Bandello is only very
slightly better than Ariosto. The scene, however, is laid in Messina,
both with Bandello and Shakespeare; we have Don Pedro and
Leonato common to both, and there an end. Hero is Fenecia ; Claudio
is Don Timbreo di Cardona; Don John, Signor Girondo Olerio VaUn-
tiano ; and Brother Anthony is Messer Girolamo, The conclusions of
the story and the play run parallel, and the end in Bandello is reached
amid the gayest of festivities, wherein, perhaps^ we may see the Dance
at the end of Much Ado about Nothingy a jocund ending used nowhere
else by Shakespeare.
Here, then, we have what is unquestionably a source of a Much
Ado about Nothings whether or not it be Shakespeare's source, and
Shakespeare*s Much Ado about Nothings who can tell ? Bandello's
novels have never been translated into English until within recent
years.
For those, however, who would deny Shakespeare any knowledge
of Italian, there is a version of Bandello, it cannot be called a transla-
tion, by Belle- Forest. But this version is in French, and, there-
fore, to those who would deny any learning whatsoever to Shake-
speare, almost as unpalatable as the Italian of the original. But there
is no help for it. Shakespeare read it either in French or not at all.
I incline to the latter belief, not by any means because I think Shake-
speare could not read French, but because he needed to read nothing
save the old play which he remodelled. Belle- Forest I would eliminate
entirely from consideration. I do not believe Shakespeare made use
of him, nor do I believe that the elder dramatist made use of him.
There are dramatic elements in the French version, such as the dis-
honourable wooing of the heroine, accompanied by languishing love-
songs, and high moral sentiments expressed in return, of which a: dra-
matist with the story before him would be likely to retain some trace.
Minor details common to both story and play I leave to the reader to
discover for himself in the Appendix to the present volume.
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xxvi PREFACE
In brief, the remote Source of the Plot of Much Ado about Nothing
is, I think, Bandello's novel. The immediate source, I believe to be
some feeble play modelled on Bandello and containing Dalinda's per-
sonation of Generva, which vanished from sight and sound on the Eng-
lish stage, the day that Shakespeare's play, with its added plot of
Benedick and Beatrice, was first seen and heard.
There still remains another question which deserves consideration
in any investigation of the Source of the Plot. We meet with it in
dealing with The Tempest, The Merchant of Venice, The Two Gentle-
men of Verona, and of others of Shakespeare's plays. To enter into
all the details of this question, which concern the history of the Ger-
man stage more deeply than that of the English, would exceed the
limits of this present volume. It must be sufficient to give general
conclusions merely, and, for authorities, refer the reader to the
Appendix,
In 1811, TiECK* called attention to the remarkable fact that, at the
beginning of the seventeenth century, there was travelling through
Germany a troupe of English comedians, who performed plays, mainly
at court, in their own language, before German audiences.
From that day to the present, German scholars have been busy ran-
sacking Archives and Court Journals until now, thanks to Hagen,
KoBERSTEiN, CoHN, Gen^e, Trautmann, Meissner, Tittmann, and
many others, we know not only the routes travelled by these strolling
English players, and the companies into which they were divided, but
even their names, and, occasionally, the titles and subjects of their per-
formances. It is these last two : who the actors were, and what were
their plays, which mainly concern us here.
That the visits of English actors to Germany were well known in
England and that they were actors of repute, although some of
them were mere clowns and posturemasters, we learn from an unex-
pected English source. HEvwooD,f Shakespeare's fellow-actor and
dramatist, informs us that: 'At the entertainement of the Cardinall
*Alphonsus and the infant of Spaine in the Low-Countreyes, they
'were presented at Antwerpe with sundry pageants and playes: the
*• King of Denmarke, father to him that now reigneth, entertained into
' his service a company of English comedians, commended unto him
* by the honourable the Earle of Leicester : the Duke of Brunswicke
' and the Landgrave of Hessen retaine in their courts certaine of ours
* of the same quality.' Elsewhere (p. 58) Heywood refers incidentally
* Alt'Englisckes Theater, p. xii.
t Apology far Actors, p. 40, ed. Shakespeare Society.
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PREFACE xxvii
to these, his strolling countrymen, and to their fair reputation: — *A
^company of our English comedians (well knawne) [Italics mine]
* travelling those countryes [Holland], as they were before the burghers
* and other chiefe inhabitants, acting the last part of the Four Sons of
'A3rmon,' etc. The company commended to the King of Denmark
by the Earl of Leicester touches us more nearly than would be at first
supposed. It is not unlikely (this unfortunate refrain, which is fated to
accompany, as a ground tone, every assertion connected with Shake-
speare) it is not unlikely, that, at one time. Will Kempe was a member
of this same troupe, which Leicester took with him on his ill-fated expe-
dition to the Netherlands. Sir Philip Sydney accompanied Leicester
and a few months before his own honourable and pathetic death wrote,
under date of 24 March, 1586, to his father-in-law, Mr Secretary
Walsingham: *I wrote yow a letter by Will, my lord of Lester's
* jesting plaier, enclosed in a letter to my wife,' etc. Mr Bruce*
shows, by a process of exclusion, that this ' Will ' can be none other
than William Kempe named, in the First Folio, as the actor of Dog-
berry.
The list of names which the records in Germany reveal is scanty ;
naturally, the names, not of every individual in a troupe, but only
of the leaders are recorded. Among these we find George Bryan
and Thomas Pope, all-sufficient to bring us close to Shakespeare ;
these two are familiar to us in the list of twenty-six actors given in
the First Folio. Thus we learn, that actors from Shakespeare's own
troupe travelled in Germany, and went even further south into Italy
(we know that Kempe, for instance, went to Venice), just as Italian
companies came to London, where in 1577-8 there was an Italian
Commediante^ named Drousiano with his players, — a fact, by the way,
disclosing an intimate relationship at that early day between the Eng-
lish and the Italian stage of which too little account is made by
those who wish to explain Shakespeare's knowledge of Italian man-
ners and names. That these foreign trips of English actors to Germany
were profitable, may be inferred from the comfortable fortune of which
Thomas Pope died possessed, as shown by his Will.f
With his fellow-actors thus combining pleasure and profit on the
Continent, can it be that Shakespeare remained at home? Of
course, there are not wanting those who maintain that Shakespeare
actually did travel professionally. Mr Fleay,{ for instance, says that
inasmuch as Shakespeare's company. Lord Strange's, ' visited Denmark
* Shakespeare Society's Papers, 1844, i, 88.
t CoUicr's Memoirs of Actors, etc., 1846, p. 1 25.
% TVans. of the Royal Hist. Soc, x88x, vol. ix.
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xxviii PREFACE
* and Saxony, he [Shakespeare] in all probability accompanied them ;
' we are not told which way they came home, but if Kempe took the
'same route as he did in 1601, he came through Italy. This would
'account for such local knowledge of Italy as Shakespeare shows.'
This ' probable ' transportation of Shakespeare into Germany and
Italy incites me to say that profound as are my veneration and gratitude
to Shakespeare as a poet, they are deeper to him as a man. With that
prophetic glance, vouchsafed only to the heaven-descended, he foresaw
the inexhaustible flood of imaginings which would be set abroach to
account for any prolonged obscurity enveloping his life. Clearly,
with this end in view, he evaded all public notice for seven long years.
From 1585, when his twin children were baptised (common decency
must assume that he was present at that ceremony,) until 1592, we
know absolutely nothing of him. For one momentary flash, in 1587
when the terms of a mortgage given by his father, had to be adjusted,
we may possibly catch a glimpse of him ; but for all the rest a Cimme-
rian midnight holds him. And what a priceless boon ! What an
unobstructed field wherein to prove that he so devoted himself to
the ^dy of every trade, profession, pursuit, and accomplishment that
he became that master of them all, which his plays clearly show him
to have been. It was during these seven silent years, while holding
horses at the doors of theatres for his daily bread, that he became, if we
are to believe each critic and commentator, a thorough master of law
and practice down to the minutest quillet ; a thorough master of medi-
cine, with the most searching knowledge of the virtue of every herb,
mineral, or medicament, including treatment of the in&me and an an-
ticipation of Harvey's circulation of the blood ; he became skilled in
veterinary medicine and was familiar with every disease that can afflict
a horse ; he learned the art of war, and served a campaign in the field ;
he became such an adept in music that long afterward he indicated
prodigies and eclipses by solmisation ; he went to sea and acquired an
absolute mastery of a ship in a furious tempest, and made only one
slight mistake, long years afterward, in the number of a ship's glasses ;
he studied botany and knew every flower by name ; horticulture, and
knew every fruit ; arboriculture, and knew the quality and value of all
timber ; that he practised archery daily, who can doubt ? and when not
hawking, or fishing, he was fencing -, he became familiar with astronomy
and at home in astrology ; he learned ornithology through and through,
. from young scamels on the rock to the wren of little quill ; a passionate
huntsman, he was also a pigeon-fancier, and from long observation dis-
covered that doves would defend their nest, and that pigeons lacked
gall ; he was a printer and not only set up books, but bound them
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PREFACE xxix
afterward \ as we have just seen he was a strolling actor in Germany,
and travelled in Italy, noting the tide at Venice and the evening mass
at Verona ; he got his Bible by heart, including the Apocrypha ; he
read every translation of every classic author then published, and every
original in Greek, Latin, Italian, and French (of course he learned
German while strolling) and, finally, he read through the whole of
English literature, from Chaucer down to every play or poem written
by his contemporaries, and as he read he took voluminous notes (sly
dog !) of every unusual word, phrase, or idea to palm it off afterward
as his own !
My own private conviction is that he mastered cuneiform ; visited
America ; and remained some time in Boston, — greatly to his intel-
lectual advantage.
Having discovered who some of these English comedians are, it
behooves us next to learn something of the plays they acted. Here a
curious fact is revealed. Although nowhere are the plays of these English
comedians professedly printed, there yet exist certain German plays,
written during the years that these English players were strolling in
Germany, whereof the titles and the plots impressively remind us, not
only of plays then on the English stage, but even of certain plays by
Shakespeare himself. Among the earliest of these German plays are
those written by a certain Duke Heinrich Julius of WolfenbQttel,
who, in 1590, went to Denmark to marry the sister of that King to
whom, four years before, Leicester had handed over his company of
actors. It is highly probable (pardon the stereot3rped phrase !) that the
Duke brought away with him some of these former players of Leices-
ter. Be this as it may, certain it is, that from this date Duke Heinrich
Julius, during eleven years, wrote about as many Comedies, Tragedies,
and Tragi-comedies, which remained for a long time, unrivalled, I
think, in the German drama, such as it was ; they bear unmistakable
signs of English influence. The only one which concerns us here
is the Comcsdia von Vtncentio Ladiszlao wherein Herman Grimm,
whose opinions are worthy of all respect, finds the prototype of
Benedick. The subject will be found more fully treated in the
Appendix.
As certain critics, mostly German, detected the plot of The Tempest
in Jacob Ayrer's Die schoene Sidea^ so here in the same old ponderous
folio of AvRER, printed at 'NQrmberg Anno M DC XVIII.,' it is
suggested that the plot of Much Ado about Nothing is to be found,
that is, as much of the plot as relates to Hero and Claudio. It is
hardly worth while to enter into a discussion of the date when Ayrer
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XXX PREFACE
wrote his comedies. He died in 1605, and Cohn * thinks that it is
* beyond a shadow of doubt that he wrote nearly all his pieces after 1593.*
Keeping in mind that Shakespeare's indirect source was Bandello,
it is only requisite to show that Ayrer's source was not Bandello,
but Belle-Forest, in order to prove that no connection exists between
Shakespeare and Ayrer.
The full title of Ayrer's play from which Shakespeare is sup-
posed to have drawn his inspiration is: '-^ Mirror of Womanly
* Virtue and Honour. The Comedy of the Fair Fhanicia and Count
* Tymbri of Golison from Arragon^ How it fared with them in their
* honourable love until they were united in marriage' In this title
alone there is almost sufficient evidence of the source of Ayrer's plot.
It can hardly be Bandello. In Bandello Don Timbreo is never once
styled a * Count ' and far less * Count of Colisano ; ' that he had received
the * County of Colisano ' is mentioned only once at the beginning of
Bandello's story. It is Belle-Forest, who speaks habitually of the
* Comte de Colisan.'
Moreover, Belle-Forest, within the first few lines of his story,
speaks of the conspiracy of Giovanni di Procida, which led to the * Sicil-
ian Vespers,* and styles the conspirator *Jean Frochite' Bandello
refers to the 'Sicilian Vespers,' but never mentions Procida. In
Ayrer, at the very beginning when Venus enters and complains of
the coldness in love affairs of 'Tymborus Graf von Golison/ she
acknowledges that he fought most bravely 'When, in Sicily, that
'great slaughter was made by Frochyte,' The presence alone of this
name and in its French form, is sufficient, I think, to show that
Ayrer's source was Belle-Forest. For many other similar paral-
lelisms, such as love-letters and love-songs, etc., the reader is referred
to the Appendix. Were it not for these parallelisms, there might be
a faint possibility that Ayrer was .indebted to a play of which we find
a notice in the Revels Accounts^ for the ' i8th of Decembre,' 1574, as
follows :t — * The expence and charge wheare my L. of Leicesters men
'showed theier matter of panecia.' If under this disguise 'panecia'
we detect Feniciay then the date which is too early for Belle-Forest
indicates Bandello, whose Novels were issued in 1554. In view,
however, of the many proofs that it was Belle-Forest and not Ban-
dello to whom Ayrer was indebted, ' my L. of Leicesters' ' panecia'
need not disturb our conclusions.
My present purpose is attained in the statement that while Ayrer's
* Shakispean in Germany^ 1865, ?• huii*
t Revels at Court in the Reign of Queen Elisabeth^ etc., Shakespeare Society»
1843, p. 87.
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PREFACE xxxi
direct source was Belle- Forest, Shakespeare's indirect source was
Bandello; and that Shakespeare was not indebted to Ayrer; a
conclusion not without its gain if it set at rest the supposition that in
Ayrer we have the original plays which Shakespeare afterward re-
modelled. I think it was shown in the New Variorum Tempest^ that
there is no connection whatever between that play and Ayrer' s Schoene
Sidea. Nevertheless, Mr Fleay * in speaking of these plays of Ayrer,
together with those contained in another collection first printed in
1620, four years after Shakespeare's death, says: 'A close exami-
' nation of these German versions convinces me that they were rough
Mrafts by juvenile hands in which great license was left to the actors to
' fill up, or alter extemporaneously at their option. [There is no indi-
* cation of this * option ' in Ayrer that I can detect.] Successive changes
' made in this way have greatly defaced them ; but enough of the orig-
' inals remains to show that they were certainly in some cases, probably
' in others, the earliest forms of our great dramatist's plays. I have no
* doubt he drew up the plots for them while in Germany.'
If this last assertion be correct, it is pleasing to reflect how thor-
oughly and utterly in after years Shakespeare discarded these juvenile
drafts. That these first feeble bantlings of the German drama were, on
the contrary, the offspring of the pla}'s acted by English comedians I have
no doubt ; at times we feel the very whiff and wind of the early London
stage; than this, there is, I think, nothing more substantial. Nay,
does not the very Preface of Ayrer's folio (p. iii) acknowledge that
his plays were written after the new English fashion — ' auff di neue
^ Engliscke manier vnnd art* 7 and are not four of his Operettas y
so to call his Singets Spil^ sung 'to the tune of the English
' Roland ' ? These early German dramas will alwa3rs remain a curious
and interesting field to English and German students. It would be
pleasant to think that we might turn to Germany to find the plays,
lost to England, which Shakespeare remodelled, but, I fear, it is not
to be. Possibly, the connection between the present play. Much Ado
about Nothing and The Fair Phoenicia is as close as any we shall ever
find between the English and the German plays.
In a note on the first line of the present play Coleridge is quoted
as saying that * Dogberry and his comrades are forced into the service,
'when any other less ingeniously absurd watchmen and night-con-
' stables would have answered the mere necessities of the action.'
Aliquando bonus Homerus^ etc. This remark by him who is, perhaps,
our greatest critic on Shakespeare, has been, it is to be feared, the
* Op, cit. p. 4.
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xxxii PREFACE
cause of much misunderstanding not only of Shakespeare's plays
in general, but of this present play in particular. An idea is thereby
conveyed that Shakespeare worked, to axrertain extent, at hap-hazard,
or, at least, that at times he lost sight of the requirements of his story
and was willing to vary the characters of his creation at the suggestion
of caprice, to introduce a blundering constable here or a drunken
porter there just to lighten his play or to raise a horse-laugh in the
groundlings. It would be difficult to imagine a falser imputation on
Shakespeare's consummate art. Never did Shakespeare lose sight
of the trending of his story; not a scene, I had almost said not
a phrase, did he write that does not reveal the true hard-working
artist labouring, with undeviating gaze, to produce a certain effect.
The opinion is abroad that Shakespeare produced his Dogberry and
Verges out of the mere exuberance of his love of fun and that in
this * star y-pointed ' comedy, they are the star of comicality, merely
to give the audience a scene to laugh at. This inference is utterly
wrong. They do, indeed, supply endless mirth, but Shakespeare
h€ul to have them just as they are. He was forced to have char-
acters like these and none other. The play hinges on them. Had
they been sufficiently quick-witted to have recognised the villainy of
the plot betrayed by Borachio to Conrade, the play would have ended
at once. Therefore, they had to be stupid, most ingeniously stupid,
and show ^ matter and impertlnency ' so mixed that we can understand
how they came to be invested with even such small authority as their
office implies. Men less stupid would never have had their suspicions
aroused by what they supposed to be an allusion to * Deformed, a vile
' thief;' even this allusion is hot hap-hazard ; stupid by nature as these
watchmen are, no chance must be given them to discern the importance
of their prisoners, their attention must be diverted from the right direc-
tion to something utterly irrelevant, which shall loom up as important
in their muddled brains. Hence, this ' Deformed ' is not a mere joke,
but a stroke of art ; and does not, of necessity, involve a contemporary
allusion, as is maintained. At no previous point in the play could Dog-
berry and Verges have been introduced ; where they first appear is the
exact point at which they are needed. Through the villainy of Don
John and the weakness of Claudio the sunshine of this sparkling comedy
is threatened with eclipse, and the atmosphere becomes charged with
tragedy. Just at this point appear these infinitely stupid watchmen, all
whose talk, preliminary to the arrest of Borachio and Conrade, is by
no means merely to make us laugh, but to give us assurance that the
play is still a comedy and that however ludicrous may be the entangle-
*ment in which these blundering fools will involve the story, the resolu-
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PREFACE xxxiii
tion, the denouement, will be brought about by their means and that
the plot against Hero, which we see is hatching, will by them be
brought to nought. Had Dogberry been one whit less conceited,
one whit less pompous, one whit less tedious, he could not have failed
to have dropped at least one syllable that would have arrested Leonato's
attention just before the tragic treatment of Hero in the marriage
scene, which would not have taken place and the whole story would
have ended then and there. Dogberry had to be introduced just then
to give us assurance that Don John's villainy would come to light
eventually, and enable us to bear Hero's sad fate with such equani-
mity that we can listen, immediately after, with delighted hearts to the
wooing of Benedick and Beatrice:
I do by no means say that Shakespeare could have dramatised this
story in no other way, his resources were infinite, but I do say that,
having started as he did start, he was forced^ by the necessities of
the action, to have stupidity rule supreme at those points where he
has given us the immortal Dogberry.
Knight among editors, and Boas among critics, are the only ones
that I can recall, who have had even an inkling of the true position
which Dogberry holds.
One pleasure yet remains to me whereby to enliven the dulness of a
Preface : to thank my sister, Mrs Annis Lee Wister, for translating
the extracts, in the Appendix^ from German Critics. In regard to
one portion, therefore, of this volume I can be shut up in measureless
content.
H. H. F.
November y 1 899.
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MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING
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Dramatis Perfonae.
Dan Pedro, Prince of Arragon.
Leonato, Governor of Messina.
Don John, Bajlard-Brother to Don Pedro.
Claudio, a young Lard of Florence, Favourite to %
Don Pedro.
Benedick, a young Lord of VdiAudLjfavouf^d likewife
by Don Pedro.
Balthafar, Servant to Don Pedro.
Antonio, Brother to Leonato. lO
Borachio, Confident to Don John.
X. Dramatis Personae] Rowe.
X. First given by Rows, whose List is here reprinted.
2. Don Pedro] It is frequently said that this name was taken from Bandello's
Novell whereon, it is maintained, Shakespeare founded the present play. The
name may have been so taken, but it does not appear in the Ncvel in its present
Spanish form; it is there: 'il Re Piero d'Aragona.' Nor is it 'Don Pedro' in
Belle-Foresfs version of Bandello's novel, where it is. Me Roy Pierre d'Ara-
gon.' Twice in the first ten lines of the first scene it occurs as < Don Peter.' — ^Ed.
3. Leonato] In Bandello's A^^/, 'Lionato.'
5. Clmudio] In Bandello, this character is named < Timbreo di Cardona.'
7, 17. Benedick, Beatrice] Flktcher (p. 281) after discussing the improba-
bility of any discord in the married life of Benedick and Beatrice, concludes as
follows : — ' We recommend to all who are disposed to think that Shakespeare him-
self, in winding up his drama, seriously contemplated the '' predestinate scratched
face,*' to consider that it would be extremely unlike his own instinctive and unvary-
ing logical consistency, that he should have chosen to give the reverend name of
Benedictusy or the blessed^ to the hero upon whom the scratching was to be inflicted,—
and that of Beatrice^ — the great poetic name of BecUrice^ or the bUsser, — to the
heroine who was destined to inflict it.'
9. Bmlthasar] Burney : This character was perhaps thus named from the cele-
brated Baltazarini, called De Beaujoyeux, an Italian performer on the violin, who
was in the highest fame and favour at the court of Henry II. of France, 1577. — ^W.
A. Wright : But Shakespeare probably never heard of Baltaiarini, and he uses the
name Balthasar in some form in three other plays : TTte Cam. of Err, ^ The Mer, of
Ven., and Jiom. ^ Jul,
XX. Bormchio] ^Bourrachon: m. A tipler, quafler, tossepot, whip-canne; also,
a little Bourrachoe.' — Cotgrave. ^Oudre, ABorrachoe; a great leatheme bottle,
or budget like a bottle, made conmionly of a Goats skinne, and vsed for the conuey-
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DRAMATIS PERSONjE
Conrade, Friend to Borachio, I2
Dogberry, 1 ^^^^^;^ q^^^^
Verges, J ^ ^
Innogen, Wife to Leonato. 15
Hero, Daughter to Leonato and Innogen.
Beatrice, Neice to Leonato.
13. Dogberry] Dogberry, a foolish x6. and Innc^en.] Om. Theob. et
'instable. Cap. seq.
14. Verges] Verges, his Partner. 17. Neice] Niece Rowe ii, Johns, et
Cap. seq.
15. Innc^en...] Om. Theob. et seq.
ing of wine, oyle &c ; through places which cannot bee passed by carts.' — lb. * I
shoulde doe like the good wiues henne, which beeing fedde so fat, coulde laie no
more egges. And meniaile not I praie you, for it is the propertie of a Boracho not
to sounde or speake at all, when hee is full.' — The ciuile Conuersatum of Guazso^
1586, p. 202.— Ed.— Th. Elze {Jahrbuch, xv, 255) : Whether or not it be derived
from bora, a kind of snake, or borra, loquacity, or boraccia^ a canteen, it bears &
bad sense, as its termination accio indicates ; and Shakespeare uses it with a foil
knowledge of that meaning, just as he uses < Trinculo ' in The Tempest,
13. Dogberry] Steevens : The first of these worthies had his name from the
Dog-berry y i. e., the female cornel, a shrub that grows in the hedges in every county
in England. < Verges ' is only the provincial pronunciation of Verjuice, — Halu-
WELL : I find that Dogberry occurs as a surname as early as the time of Richard the
Second in a charter preserved in the British Museum (Harl, 76, c. 13).
14. Verges] Halliwell : In MS Ashmol. 38 is a couplet, < Uppon old Father
Varges, a misserable usurer, — Here lyes father Vaiges, who died to save charges.'
An allusion in Shirley's Constant Maidy 1640, ' my most exquisite Varges,' seems to
aim at Shakespeare's officer, but the particular application of the name in that place
is not very apparent. [The quotation is useful, however, as showing the late date
of the pronunciation, which may still survive in England, for aught I know, and
should be retained on the stage. Dr A. Schmidt, with German fidelity, includes
even this name in his translation, and gives it as Schleewein, It is doubtful if Lk
Tourneur's *Vergy' be not preferable. — Ed.]
15. Innogen] Haluwell (Memoranda^ p. 53) : It may be worth notice that the
name was perhaps taken from that of the wife of Brute in legendary British history, —
' Brute and his wife Iimogen arrive in Leogitia.' — Holinshed, ed. 1586.
16. Hero] In Bandello, 'Fenida.' Had Shakespeare taken his play directly
from the Italian, or even from Belle-Forest's version, it is not easy to see why he
did not retain this pretty name, especially when its derivation from Fenice^ a phoenix,
could not have been unknown to him, and its applicability to the character apparent.
But I have expressed elsewhere my belief that Shakespeare did not go directly for
his plot either to the Italian or to the French. — Ed.
17. Beatrice] Walker (iii, 30) : Bettrisj the beloved of George-a-Green, in
Greene's play, is undoubtedly an English form of Beatrice, Hence I conjecture that
where [in the present play] Beatrice is a dissyllable, the name is to be pronounced
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DRAMATIS PERSONjE 3
Margare , 1 ^^ Gentlewomen attending on Hero.
Urfula, J
A Frier y Meffenger^ Watch, and other Attendants. 20
Scene MeJJina.
ao. A Frier...] a Friar, an Attendant, ao. A Frier] Friar Francis. Coll.
a Boy, a Sexton, two Watchmen, and Dyce, Wh. Cam.
three Messengers. Cap. 2X. Pope adds: The Story fnmi An-
osto, Orl. Fur. /. 5.
Betiris; where a trisyllable, Betteris.—^Yyono (A Warlde of Wbrdes) : Donna
Beatrice, Dame Bettrice, it is taken in mockerie, and ironically, for an idle hus-
wife. — New Sh. Soc. Trans, x88o-6,.p. 646. ['And many times those which at
the first sight cannot fancy or affect each other, but are harsh and ready to disagree,
offended at each others carriage, like Benedict and Betteris in the * Comedy
[* Shakespeare] ... by this living together in a house, conference, kissing, colling,
and such like allurements, begin at last to dote insensibly one upon another.' —
Burton, Anat, Part 3, Sect. 2. Memb. 3. Subs. 4. p. 480. ed. 165 1. This allusion
is valuable, but it does not follow therefrom that Burton had ever seen or even read
the play. It was not by the arts he mentions that Benedick and Beatrice were won.
Reference has been made above to Schmidt's translation of the name Verges.
This is quite insignificant beside the sweeping changes of Rapp, who thus improves
Shakespeare (Beatrice, be it observed, he does not change because the name exactly
hits the character of a gay and sprightly girl who always receives this name in the
old Italian Masks, and later in Goldoni's comedies) : — < On the other hand, the
gentle, demure and blonde maiden bears the name Hero, but this Greek name does
not chime in well with the Italian, and, indeed, cannot be readily translated into
this language ; I have therefore taken the liberty of giving her the name, correspond-
ing to her character in Italian Masks and in Goldoni, Rosaura, On Ursula and Mar-
garet, I have bestowed the thoroughly Italian names, Lisetta, and Corallina, . . .
To the Constables, Shakespeare has given downright English names ; we believe
that it is due to the scene of the play to nationalize them, and have, therefore, called
Dogberry SuccianespoU^ and his comrade Brighella, and the Sexton Cavoiicrespi.*
In this connection it may be perhaps worth while to mention that Gbrvinus,
Ulrici, Schmidt (but not Deuus) and the whole world of German commentators,
almost without exception, change * Benedick ' to Benedict, — a venial error, into which
the First Folio itself, and many an English writer has inadvertently fallen ; see the
foregoing quotation from Burton and the quotation on I, i, I, from Coleridge, and
a certain Preface to one of the volumes in this VarioruimtidaAoTu Possibly the differ
ence was but very litde marked in Shakespeare's time. This is certainly implied in
Margaret's purming allusion to Carduus Benedictus, It is its universality and per-
sistency, like ^ Romeo and Julia,' in German literature, which is noteworthy. — ^Ed.]
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Much adoe about Nothing,
A dius primus, Scena prima.
Enter Leonato Gauemour of Meffinay Innogen his wife ^He-
ro his daughter^ and Beatrice his Neece, with a mejfenger.
Leonato, 5
Leame in this Letter, that Don Peter of Arra--
gon^ comes this night to Mejfina.
Mejf. He is very neere by this : he was not
three Leagues off when I left him. 9
1. adae\ ado F^ (and throughout). 3. Innogen his wife] Om. Theob. et
2. Om. Q. seq.
Scena] Scaena F,. 6, 14. Don Peter] don Peter Q. Dm
[A Court before Leonato' s House. Pedro Rowe et seq.
Pope. Before L.'s House. Cap. 8. this:'] this, Q.
I. Coleridge (i, 75) : It seems to me that [Shakespeare's] plays are distin-
guished from those of other dramatic poets by the following characteristics : . . .
4. Independence of the dramatic interest on the plot The interest in the plot is
alwa3rs, in fact, on account of the characters, not vice versa, as in almost all other
writers ; the plot is a mere canvass and no more. Hence arises the true justification
of the same strategem being used in regard to Benedict [sic] and Beatrice, — the
vanity in each being alike. Take away from the [present play] all that which is
not indispensable to the plot, either as having little to do witn it, or, at best, like
Dogberry and his comrades, forced into the service, when any other less ingeniously
absurd watchmen and night-constables would have answered the mere necessities of
the action ; — take away Benedict, Beatrice, Dogberry, and the reaction of the former
on the character of Hero, — and what will remain ? In other writers the main agent
of the plot is always the prominent character ; in Shakespeare it is so, or is not so, as
the character is in itself calculated, or not calculated, to form the plot Don John is
the main-spring of the plot of this play ; but he is merely shown and then with-
drawn. — Fletcher (p. 242) : A little more attention to [Coleridge's] view of the
matter might have saved more than one critic from pronouncing some notable mis-
judgements upon this piece, and especially as regards the character of Beatrice. . . .
The first critical oversight, which has commonly been committed in examining this
play, has been the not perceiving that the complete unfolding of the characters of
Beatrice and her lover forms the capital business of the piece. The second error,
5
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6 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. i.
Leon. How many Gentlemen haue you loft in this lo
a£tion ?
lo, 13. Leon.] Leona. Q.
involYing such strange misconceptions respecting the heroine in particular, has been
the overlooking or disregarding that dose affinity which the dramatist has established
between the two characters, rendering them, as far as the difference of sex will
permit, so nearly each other's counterpart, that any argument that shall prove odious-
ness in the one [Campbell declared Beatrice an < odious woman.' — ^Ed.] must of inev-
itable necessity demonstrate it in the other. Consequent on these, is the third and
most important error of all in estimating the predominant spirit of this drama. Its
critics have 'overlooked entirely the art with which the dramatist has contrived and
used the incidents of the piece in such a manner as to bring out, by distinct afkid
natural gradations, the profound seriousness which lies beneath all the superficial
levity seen, at first, in the true hero and heroine, — until the very pair, who have
given the most decidedly comic character to the outset of the play, are found on the
point of giving it the most tragic turn towards its close. — Lloyd (ap. Singer, ed. ii) :
The characteristic incident of the play is much ado, arising from misconception of an
overheard conference, and ending in nothing at all. This theme, with the forms of
incident, and of mental tendency that give it effect, is varied in the play with end-
less, or, rather, with exhaustive diversity. — Haluwell-Philupps {^Memoranda^
59): Charles the First, in his copy of the Second Folio preserved at Windsor Casde,
writes against the tide of [the present play], < Benedik and Betrice,' not perhaps
meaning a new tide, but merely that these were the leading, and probably his
favourite characters. — ^Ulrici (ii, 105) : The viuch ado about nothing is obviously
not conceived merely in an external sense ; it rather denotes the internal contra-
diction into which all human existence &lls, when wholly engrossed with individual,
special, and accidental interests and relations ; in other words, when man, — treating
important matters with playful levity, — ^recklessly follows his momentary impulses,
feelings, and caprices, without asking whether they are justifiable, and whether his
resolves are based upon safe foundations. This serious ethical maxim Shakespeare
has carefully concealed under the mask of comedy, under the gay picture which
represents human life itself as a 'much ado about nothing.* — OechelhAuser (ii,
337) : The tide of this play can be brought into logical connection with its contents
only by forced casuistry. As in the case of Tkuelfth Nighty As You Like Ity etc.,
the tide of the present play is merely one of those humourous devices fainUy tinged
with the reflex irony with which Shakespeare was wont to bring his lighter wares to
market. Lessing's view that the tide should disclose as litde as possible of the con-
tents, has been here even exceeded. — R. G. White (ed. i, p. 226) : We call this
play Much Ado about Nothing; but it seems dear to me that Shakespeare and his
contemporaries called it Much Ado about Noting; a pun being intended between
' nothing ' and < noting,' which were then pronounced alike, and upon which pun
depends by far the more important significance of the tide. [The ortho€pical dis-
cussion, which follows, with Ellis's review of it, will be found more appropriately
in the Commentary on II, iii, 60. White's conclusion, here given from his second
edition, is as follows : — ] The play is made up of much ado about noting, that is,
watching, observing. All the personages are constanUy engaged in noting or watch-
ing each other. Hero's sufferings come from noting, — by her uncle's servant, by
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ACT I, sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 7
Mejf. But few of any fort^ and none of name. 12
Qaudio, and by Don Pedro ; her release and her happiness by the noting of the
watch ; and Benedick and Beatrice are brought together by secretly noting what
their friends plot that they should note ; and yet the principal serious incident, the
accusation of Hero, about which there is so much ado, rests upon nothing.
3. Innogen] Theobald : I have ventured to expunge [this name] ; there being
no mention of her through the play, no one speech addressed to her, nor one syllable
spoken to her. Neither is there any one passage, from which we have any reason to
determine that Hero's mother was living. It seems as if the poet had in his first
plan designed such a character ; which, on a survey of it, he found would be super-
fluous, and therefore he left it out. [Dyce and White acquiesce in this explanation
of Theobald's, wherefrom I beg leave to dissent. We must remember that we cannot
see a group on the stage as clearly as Shakespeare saw it in his mind's eye. And in
the Elizabethan theatres, where there were no play-bills with their list of actors,
every member of a group, especially of an introductory group, must be accounted
for, and give a reason for his or her appearance. A far easier explanation than
Theobald's is, I think, to suppose that Shakespeare, in remodelling an old play,
perhaps even retaining the first manuscript page of it, carelessly suffered the old
stage-direction to remain and merely omitted to erase the name of a character which
did not enter his plan. A sin of omission is here more conceivable than a sin of
commission. Collier, however, thinks * it is clear that the mother of Hero made
her appearance before the audience.' But how was the audience to know that she was
* the mother of Hero ' or her aunt, or her grandmother, if she neither spoke one word
herself nor a single remark was made to her by others ? In his Second Edition,
Collier notes that in his copy of a corrected folio of 1632 (hereafter, as heretofore,
indicated in this present edition by 'Collier's MS' or in the Text, Notes by 'Coll.
MS ') the words < Innogen his wife ' are erased, and, therefore, concludes that < there
is little doubt that [Innogen] neither made her appearance here, nor elsewhere.'
Dyce (Nates, p. 37) thus states the case : < One thing I hold for certain, viz. that,
if [Innogen] ever did figure among the dramatis personse, it was not as a mere
dummy ; there are scenes in which the mother of Hero must have spoken ; — she
could not have stood on the stage without a word to say about (he disgrace of her
daughter, etc' — ^Ed.]
4. messenger] Collier (Notes, etc., p. 66) : The MS converts this word into
Gentleman, and the manner in which he joins in the conversation shows that he
must have been a person superior in rank to what we now understand by a messenger.
In other dramas, Shakespeare gives important parts to persons whom he calls only
Messengers ; and it requires no proof that in the reign of Elizabeth the Messengers
who conveyed news to the court from abroad were frequendy officers whose services
were in part rewarded by this distinction. It was in this capacity that Raleigh seems
first to have attracted the favour of the Queen.
6, 14. Don Peter] It is only in these two lines that this name is thus given —
perhaps, another instance of the same oversight which allowed * Innogen ' to remain
on what was, possibly, the first MS page of the play which Shakespeare remoulded,
and to which, as merely introductory, he gave little heed. It is elsewhere Don
Pedro, to which Rowe changed it here ; he has been herein properly followed ever
since. — Ed.
12. sort] A needless controversy has arisen over this word. — Stesvens, at first.
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8 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. L
Lean. A viftorie is twice it felfe, when the atchieuer 13
brings home full numbers : I finde heere, that Don Pe-
ter hath beftowed much honor on a yong Florentine ycal- 15
led Claudia.
J/^.Much deferu'd on his part, and equally remem-
bred by Don Pedro^ he hath borne himfelfe beyond the
promife of his age, doing in the figure of a Lambe, the
feats of a Lion, he hath indeede better bettred expefla- 20
tion, then you muft expeft of me to tell you how.
13. aichieuer] atchiutr Q. 20. bettreif] bettered F^F^.
14. numbers] number F^, Rowe i.
asserted that it meant rank, distinction^ but afterward inclined to MoNCK Mason's
easier explanation. The latter says (p. 49) that * sort ' (in line 36) is cerUinly used
in the sense Steevens gives to the same word here, but that in the present line it is
used in * a more general sense ; and " of any sort " means of any kind whatsoever z
—There were but few lolled of any kind, and none of rank.' But Dyce (Notes, 38)
adheres to Steevens's first interpretation, and pronounces Mason's ' manifestly wrong.'
* The reply of the messenger,' he says, < is equivalent to— But few gendemen of any
rank, and none of celebrity. So, presendy, [he uses the word in line 36] so, too, m
Mid, N, Dream, III, ii : ** none of noble sort Would so offend a virgin ;" and in
Jonson's Every Man in his Humour, — Works, i, 24, ed. Gifford : <' A gentleman of
your sort, parts ;" and in A Warning for Faire Women, 1599 : " The Queene . . .
Allowes this bountie to all commers. much more To gentlemen of your sort,** ' —
Staunton thinks that the meaning is 'questionable,' 'but every one acquainted
with our eaily literature is aware that « sort" was commonly used — [as in line 36]
to imply stamp, degree, quality, etc Thus, in Jonson's Every Man out of kis
Humour, II, vi : <' Look you, sir, you presume to be a gentleman of sort** Again
in Ram Alley, IV, i : '* Her husband is a gentleman of sort, Serjeant, A gendeman
cisortl why, what care I ?" '— R. G. White (ed. i) denies that * sort' < unless used
absolutely, without qualification of degree or merit, as we sometimes use " character"
to mean good character, can be thus arbitrarily raised from its inferior and general
sense to one higher and particular ;' and he further asserts that * no instance of such
use has been quoted' and that 'throughout Shakespeare's works and those of his
contemporaries it is used to mean class and condition, of all sorts.'
This assertion of White is certainly dogmatic and possibly hasty. He forgot one
instance in Shakespeare where ' sort ' means rank, which he himself quoted in his
Shakespeare s Scholar (p. 179) ; in Meas. for Meas, (IV, iv, 19) Angelo, in speak-
ing of the noblemen who are to meet the Duke, says to Escalus, ' give notice to such
men of sort and suit as are to meet him.' It is almos^ equally evident, I think, that
here, and in line 36, < sort ' means rank. The fact is, that this word, like many
others, has various shades of meaning, ranging from class io rank; the particular
shade must be determined by the context according to the insight of the reader.
—Ed.
20. better bettred] That is, * he hath bettered expectation better than you must
expect,' etc. — ^Ed.
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ACT I, sc. i.j MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 9
Leo. He hath an Vnckle heere in MeJJina^yrX be very 22
much glad of it.
Mejf. I haue alreadie deliuered him letters, and there
appeares much ioy in him, euen fo much, that ioy could 25
not (hew it felfe modeil enough, without a badg of bit-
temeffe.
Leo. Did he breake out into teares ?
Meff. In great n^afure.
Leo. A kinde ouerflow of kindneffe, there are no fa- 30
ces truer, then thofe that are fo waftiM, how much bet-
ter is it to weepe at ioy, then to ioy at weeping? 32
26. dad^"] F,F^. 30. kindfujfe ,"] kindness ;Vo^ kind-
mss. Warb.
22. wil] At present, instead of slurring the relative, we slur the verb, and say
•who'll/— Ed.
23. much glad] For other examples of ' much ' used adverbially, see Abbott,
551.
26. modest] Warburton : Of all the transports of joy, that which is attended
with tears is least offensive ; because, carrying with it this mark of pain, it allays the
envy that usually attends another's happiness. This he finely calls a * modest joy,'
such a one as did not insult the observer, by an indication of happiness unmixed with
pain. — ^Edwards (p. 160) : Our honest hearted old Poet, who had nothing of the
atrabilaire in his make (nay, I question whether he had ever heard the word) never
dreamed of such stuff as that it wtLsJim to think one's self insulted by the indication
of happiness in another. How different are the reflections he puts in the mouth of
good Leonato on this occasion in lines 30-32. — Capell (p. 119): Joy wore the
modestest garb that joy can do, f. /. silence and tears.
26. badg] Douce (i, 334) : In the reign of Edward the Fourth the terms livery
and badge appear to have been synonymous, the former having, no doubt, been bor-
rowed from the French and signifying a thing delivered. The badge consisted of the
master's device, crest, or arms on a separate piece of doth, or sometimes silver, in
the form of a shield, fastened to the left sleeve. — W. A. Wright : A badge was a
mark of service ; hence appropriately used for a mark of inferiority, and as such an
expression of modesty.
29. measure] Steevens : That is, in abundance. — W. A. Wright: The Author-
ised version of Psalm^ Ixxx, 5, is ' and givest them tears to drink in great measure,'
where the Prayer-Book Version has < and givest them plenteousness of tears to drink.'
30. kinde] That is, natural. Dyce ( Gloss. ) gives what may well be the mne-
monic line for this meaning ; it is in the description of the painting which Lucrece
recalls, of Priam's Troy in which, although there was much that was imaginary, yet
it was all so natural as to seem to be reality ; it was ' Conceit deceitful, so compact,
so kind,' line 1423. — Ed.
31. truer] Johnson : That is, none honester^ none more sincere,
32. weeping] Rann : As some profligate heirs are supposed to do ; whence the
proverb : ' The merriest faces in mourning coaches.'
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lO MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act I. sc. i.
Bea. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returnM from 33
the warres, or no ?
Meff. I know none of that name, Lady, there was 35
none fuch in the armie of any fort.
Leon. What is he that you aske for Neece ?
Hero. My coufin meanes Signior Benedick of Padua
Mejf. O he's returned, and as pleafant as euer he was. '
Beat. He fet vp his bils here in MeJ/inaySi challenged 40
33. MounUnto] Ff Q, Cam. Glo. Wh. 40. bils] F^ bills Q.
ii. Montanto Pope et cet 40, 42. chalUn^d\ chalmgde Q.
37. for\ for, F^.
33. Mountanto] Capell {^Notes, iii, 471) was the first to call attention to the
use of this word, as one of the tenns of the fendng-school, in Jonson's Every man
in his Humour, where Bobodil says, < I would teach [them] the special rules, as
your punto, your reverso, your stoccata, your imbroccato, your passada, your mon-
tanto' (IV, V, p. 121, ed. GifTord) ; Vincentio Saviola does not mention it in his
Practise, but Cotgrave, among other definitions of Montant, gives < an Tpright blow,
or thrust.* This 'montant' occurs in Mer, Wives, II, iii, 27. — Ed. — Fletcher
(p. 249) t It is the prior interest which Benedick has in Beatrice's heart that makes
her, in the opening scene, so eagerly inquire of the Messenger concerning Benedick's
present reputation and fortune. How plainly we see her, under the ironical guise
which her questionings assume, delighting to draw from her informant one com-
mendation after another of the gendeman's valour and other eminent qualifications.
36. sort] See Notes on line 12.
40. set vp his bils] Steevens : In Nashe's Haue with ycu to Saffron- Walden,
1596, [vol. iii, p. 179, ed. Grosart,] we find : * — ^hee branes it indefinendy [sic] in her
behalfe, setting vp bills, like a Bear-ward or Fencer, what fights we shall haue, and
what weapons she will meete me at.' The following account of one of these
challenges is taken from an ancient MS : ' Item a challenge playde before the King's
majestie [Edward VI.] at Westminster, by three maisters, Willyam Pascall, Robert
Greene, and W. Browne, at seven kynde of weapons. That is to say, the axe, the
pike, the rapier and target, the rapier and doke, and with two swords, agaynst all
alyens and strangers being borne without the King's dominions, of what countrie so
ever he or they were, geving them waminge by theyr bills set up by the three mais-
ters, the space of eight weeks before the sayd challenge was playde ; and it was
holden four severall Sundayes one after another.' It appears from the same work
that all challenges * to any maister within the realme of Englande being an Englishe
man ' were against the statutes of the ' Noble Science of Defence,* Beatrice means
that Benedick published a general challenge, like a prize-fighter. — Douce (i, 162) :
The practice to which [this phrase] refers was calculated to advertise the public of
any matters which concerned itself or the party whose bills were set up ; and it is
the more necessary to state this, because the passages which have been used in
explanation might induce the reader to suppose that challenges and prize-fightings
were the exclusive objects of these bills. This, however, was not the case. In
Northbrooke's Treatise against dicing, dauncing, vain plaies, etc., 1579, we are
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ACT I, sc L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING \ i
Cupid at the Flight : and my Vnckles foole reading the 41
Challenge^ fubfcribM for Cupid, and challenged him at
the Burbolt. I pray you, how many hath hee kil'd and 43
43. Burbolt.'] QFf, Rowe, Popei. 43-45* I- -killing.'] Mnemonic lines,
bird-bolt Pope ii et seq. Waxfo.
many] nany F^.
told that they used < to set up their billis upon postes certain dayes before, to admon-
ish the people to make resort unto their theatres.* In Histriomastix^ a man is intro-
duced setting up text billes for playes ; and William Rankins, in his Mirrour of
monsters^ IS^?* P* ^t says, that * players by sticking of their bils in London, defile
the streetes with their infectious filthines.' Mountebankes likewise set up their bills.
' Vppon this Scaffold, also might be mounted a number of Quaek-saluing Empericks^
who ariuing in some Country towne, dappe vp their Terrible Billes, in the Market-
place, and filling the Paper with such horrible names of diseases, as if euery disease
were a Diuell.' — Dekker's Lanthome and Candle-light, etc., 1609 [vol. iii, p. 293,
ed. Grosart]. Again, in Tales and quick anstueres, printed by Berthelette, bl. let
n. d., a man having lost his purse in London, * sette vp bylles in diuers places that if
any man of the cyte had found the purse and woulde brynge it agayn to him he
shulde haue welle for his laboure. A gentyllman of the Temple wrote vnder one of
the byls howe the man shulde come to his chambers and told where.' It appears
from a very rare litde piece intided Questions of profitable and pleasant concemings
talked of by two olde seniors, etc., 1594, that Saint Paul's was a place in which these
bills, or advertisements, were posted up. Nashe, in his Pierce Pennilesse, etc.,
1595 [vol. ii, p. 63, ed. Grosart,] speaks of the ' Masterlesse men, that set vp their
bills in Paules for services, and such as paste vp their papers on euery post, for Arith-
metique and writing Schooles ;' we may, therefore, suppose that several of the walks
about Saint Paul's cathedral then resembled the present Royal Exchange, with
respect to the business that was there transacted. [Possibly, our familiarity with
modem methods of advertising, whereof this ' setting up of bills ' appears to be the
germ, veils our appreciation of the bitterness of the sneer wherein Beatrice places
Benedick on a level with trades-folk and prize-fighters.' — Ed.]
41. Flight] Farmer : The/^i^ was an arrow of a particular kind. The tide-
page of an old pamphlet [reads] : ' A new post — a marke exceeding necessary for
all men's arrows : whether the great man's flight, the gallant's rover, the wise man's
pricke-shaft, the poor-man's but-shaft, or the fool's bird-bolt.' Gifford {Cynthia* s
Revels, p. 370) asserts that * flights were long and light-feathered arrows, which went
level to the mark,' and Dyce (Gloss,) follows him, but neither gives any authority.
I cannot find that Ascham anywhere refers to ' flights ' as a particular kind of arrow.
Cotgrave, however, among other meanings of Volet, gives : " also, a flight, or light
shaft,' where, possibly, * flight ' is a misprint for slight. The shooting with flights is
cleariy in strong contrast with the shooting with bird-bolts, and as we know what the
latter were, we can certainly infer somewhat of th^former. — Ed.
43. Burbolt] Theobald (Sh. Restored, p. 175) somewhat needlessly changed
this to Birdbolt, and also conjectured that it might be ' But-bolt.' It is found else-
where thus spelled, ' Burbolt,' and probably gives us phonetically the pronunciation
then in use, and, certainly, that of the printers; just as we have 'Berrord' for Bear*
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12 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i. sc. i.
eaten in thefe warres.^ But how many hath he kil'd ? for
indeed, I promise to eate all of his killing. 45
Leon. ^Faith Neece, you taxe Signior Benedicke too
much, but hee'l be meet with you, I doubt it not. 47
45. promi^d\ prtmiifed Q. promije 47. he^lbe\ h^lYf^ Rowe L
F^, Rowe, Pope. be meef^ be met Cap.
46. 'Faith'\ Faith Q.
ward. Steevens quotes the following from the Induction to Marston's What You
Willy 1607: 'Some boundlesse ignorance should on sudden shoote His grosse
knob'd burbolt/ where not only is the same spelling found, but the bird-bolt itself
is adequately described as <gross-knobb*d.' Steevens further defines bird-bolt as a
< short, thick arrow without a point, and spreading at the extremity, so much as to
leave a flat surface, about the breadth of a shilling. Such are to this day in use to
kill rooks with, and are shot from a cross-bow.* Douce (i, 164) gives a pictorial
illustration of several varieties. The meaning of the whole passage, however, is to
me extremely obscure. I know of but two attempts at an explanation, and neither
is satisfactory. Capell's whole note is as follows: "< flight*' is, as the word
expresses, — an arrow; sharp, and of greatest speed, sent from cross-bows: the
"bird-bolt,** the reverse of the other arrow; blunt, and sent from ord* nary bows
against rooks etc : Hence the wit of this passage ; Benedick* s challenge intimates —
that he had sharpness and wit to^ from Cupid ; and the fooPs — ^that his wit was
as dull as his, and he in the same danger : If this be not the passage* s tendency, the
editor gives it up as inexplicable, that is— to him.' Surely, this is obscurus per
obscurius, DouCE says, ' the meaning of the whole is — Benedick, from a vain con-
ceit of his influence over women, challenged Cupid at roving (a particular kind of
archery, in which ^i]f>&/-arrows are used). In other words, he challenged him to
shoot at hearts. The fool, to ridicule this piece of vanity, in his turn challenged
Benedick to shoot at crows with the cross-bow and bird-bolt ; an inferior kind of
archery used by fools, who, for obvious reasons, were not permitted to shoot with
pointed arrows : Whence the proverb—'' A fool's bolt is soon shot.** ' Both of these
explanations seem to be founded on the assumption that Beatrice refers to a fact,
that Benedick actually set up bills and actually challenged Cupid, and that the
challenge was actually accepted by the Court Fool. This is, of course, absurd.
Nothing of this kind really happened. The question then arises what could have
been the circumstances which Beatrice* s wit thus distorted. Without a foundation of
truth, which her hearers would recognise, the allusion would have been pointless ; and
Beatrice was not the girl to indulge in pointless sneers. Could it have been the time
when Benedick so aired his assurance that he was loved of all women and was treated
therefor by Beatrice with such scornful mirth that she gained the title of < Lady
Disdain*? But this does not account for the 'Court Fool.' — Ed.
43. kil'd and eaten] Steevens : So, in Hen V: III, vii, 99 ; * Rambures. He
longs to eat the English. Constable, I think he will eat all he kills.* — ^W. A.
Wright: Cotgrave has: 'Mangeur de chairettes ferries. A notable kill -cow,
monstrous huff-snufT, terrible swaggerer ; one that will kill all he meets, and eat
all he kills.*
47. Meet with you] Steevens : A very common expression, and signifies, ' he*ll
be your match,' 'he'll be even with you.*— Orey (i, 121 ): Used in the same manner
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ACT I. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 13
MeJfM^ hath done good feruice Lady in thefe wars. 48
Beat. You had mufly vidluall^ and he hath holpe to
ease it : he's a very valiant Trencher-man, hee hath an 50
excellent ftomacke.
Mejf. And a good fouldier too Lady.
Beat. And a good fouldier to a Lady. But what is he
to a Lord ?
Mejf. A Lord to a Lord, a man to a man, ftuft with 55
all honourable vertues.
Bear, It is fo indeed, he is no leflfe then a (luft man :
but for the (luffing well, we are all mortall. 58
48. f^/t] thofe Ff, Rowe. 50. valiant^ valiaunt Q.
49-51. Mnemonic lines, Waib. Treiuh^-man] irencA^r man Q.
49. Beat] Mef. F,. 52. foo Lady\ too^ lady QF^.
vUluaH\ vittaiU Q. vi^uaU F^, 58. fluffing well^ Ff, Rowe ii. Pope.
Rowe, + . fluffing welj Q. stuffing well; Rowe i.
50. ea/e\ eaie QF^ eai F^F^. stuffings well! Han. stuffing I—well^
h^s] Ae is Q, Steey. '93, Var. Cap. stuffings-well^ Theob. et cet
Knt, CoU. Sing. Wh. Cam. Sta. KUy. (subs.)
by Barten Holiday, Marriage of the Arts^ 1618, I, i : ' Astronomia, Will he prevent
her, and go meet her, or else she will be meet with me.*
49. musty] For Chalmers's use of this phrase, in determining the date of this
play, see the Preface to the present volume.
49. victuall] W. A. Wright : Shakespeare elsewhere uses the plural form.
55. stuft] Steevens: 'Stuffed,' in this instance, has no ridiculous meaning.
Mr Edwards observes that Mede, in his Discourses on Scripture^ speaking of Adam,
says, < he whom God had stuffed with so many excellent qualities.' — Edtoardis MS,
— Halliwell : Cotgrave gives a phrase nearly parallel with that in the text [s. v.
Estoffe\ : < Chevaliers de bonne estoffe. Knights well armed, and well managing
their arms.' [Cf. Rom, &* Jul. Ill, v, 183 : ' StufiPd, as they say, with honourable
parts.' Be it kindly noted, that when parallel passages from Shakespeare are
quoted, it is merely to save readers the trouble of looking them out in a Concord-
ance where, of course, many more examples may generally be found ; and not for
the sake of showing any superior erudition. — Ed.]
58. stuffing well,] Theobald was the first to amend the punctuation and thereby
retrieve the meaning. It is true, as Farmer states, that he might have found it in
Davenant's Law against Lovers ^ where this speech of Beatrice occurs, as here, in
the opening scene. But Theobald was not the man to accept aid without an
acknowledgement He concludes his note with : <<Our Poet seems to use the word
'stuffing' here much as Plautus does in his Mostellariay I, iii, [line 13]: *Non
vestem amator mulieris amat, sed vestis fartum.' Farmer says that the reason for
this 'abruption' of Beatrice is that she < starts an idea at the words « stuff' d man,"
and prudently checks herself in the pursuit of it. A '* stuffed man " was one of the
many cant phrases for a cuckold,* W. A. Wright vindicates Beatrice from this ill-
mannered suggestion of Farmer. ' Beatrice,' he savs * i^ ^^ thinking of Benedick's
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14 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i. ^. i.
Leon. You muft not (fir) miftake my Neece, there is
a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick, & her : 60
they neuer meet, but there's a skirmifli of wit between
them.
Bea. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our laft con-
flift, foure of his fiue wits went halting off, and now is
the whole man gouern'd with one : fo that if hee haue 65
wit enough to keepe himfelfe warme, let him beare it
61. there i\ there is F^F^, Rowe i, simile.
Steev. Var. Knt, Sta. Ktly. 63. that, In\ that, in Q.
bHufeen] betwecne Prsetorius Fac- 64. f<mre\ 4 Q.
prowess as a valiant trencher-man. She is free-spoken, but there is no necessity to
attribute to her the coarse reference suggested by Farmer ... for the sufficient
reason that if it were so it would have no point in being applied to. Benedick, who
was unmarried. Nor is there any ground for supposing that Beatrice checks herself
for fear of being misinterpreted.' Pace Dr Wright, whose word in the interpretation
of Shakespeare carries utmost weight, I doubt that Beatrice has in mind Benedick's
capacity for stuffing at the table, but that Theobald has hit upon her meaning in his
quotation from Plautus : < 'Tis not the woman's garment that a lover loves, but what
that garment holds,' that is, simply the woman herself. — Ed.
58. we are all mortaU] Staunton prints this, like a proverb, in italics.
60, 61. betwixt . . . between] Note the two synonyms in almost the same sentence.
Possibly, the ear instinctively avoided the use of ' betwixt ' before ' them.' Dr Mur-
ray (/T. E, D. ) says that ' betwixt is now archaic, between is the living word.' — ^Ed.
61. skirmish of wit] < Wit' is used, as here, in its modem sense, more fre-
quently, I think, in this play than in any other of Shakespeare's ; see the first Scene
of the last Act^ED.
64. fiue wits] Johnson: The < wits' seem to have been reckoned five, by
analogy to the five senses, or the five inlets of ideas. — Knight: In his 141st
Sonnet, Shakespeare distinguishes between the five wits and the five senses : * But
my five wits nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee.'
By the early writers, the ' five wits ; were used synonymously with the five senses ;
as in Chaucer (The Persones Ta/e) : 'certis delices ben the appetites of thy fyve
wittes, as sight, hieryng, smellyng, savoring, and touching.' [p. 275, ed. Morris.]
66. warme] Capell (p. 120) : This phrase is proverbial, and spoke of — ^keeping
from harm, out of harm's way. It occurs in Tarn, of the Shr. II, i, 268 : < Pet, Am
I not wise? Kath, Yes ; keep you warm.' — Stbevens : Thus, in Cynthio^s Revels,
II, i : * Madam, your whole self cannot but be perfectly wise ; for your hands have
wit enough to keep themselves warm.' — ^W. A. Wright : It is still a common saying
in Ireland. See Blackwood* s Maga, September, 1893, p. 367.
66, 67. bear it for a difiference] An heraldic phrase. Clark (Introd, to
Heraldry, p. 115) defines a 'difference' as * certain figures added to coats of arms,
to distinguish one branch of a family from another,- and how distant younger branches
are from the elder.' — Steevens : So, in Hamlet, Ophelia says [IV, v, 182] : *0, you
must wear your me with a difierence.'
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«
ACT I, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 15
for a difference betweene himfelfe and his horfe : For it 67
is all the wealth that he hath left, to be knowne a reafo-
nable creature. Who is his companion now ? He hath •
euery month a new fwome brother. 70
Mejf. Fstpoffible?
Beat. Very eafily poffible : he wears his faith but as
the ialhion of his hat, it euer changes with ^ next block. 7 j
69. creaiure,'\ creature, Q. 71. Pst'l Ift Q. I^t F3. Is it F^,
70. month'] moneth Fj. Rowe, + , Mai. Ran. Steev. Var. Knt^
fwome hrother\ sworn-brother Sta. Ktly.
Cap^ 73» ^] F,.
67. horse] Warburton» who changed the preceding line into 'keep himself
from harm ' asks, of the original text, how would keeping himself warm < make a
difference between him and his horse?' — Heath (p. loi) pertinently remarks that
Warborton's question < deserves only to be answered by another : Did he ever know
a horse that had wit enough to keep himself warm ?'
68. wealth] Hanmer needlessly changed this to wearth, < an old English word
signifying to wear or wearing of anything.' — Ed.
69. companion] Weiss (p. 288) : Beatrice, for all her devemess, shows that
she loves Benedick in the first words she utters in the play. For she asks if he i&
returned from the wars, and gives him a fencing-term for a nickname, to pretend a
profound unconcern ; then disparages him in a most lively way, and asks whom he
has now for a companion, seeming to allude to men, but expecting to know by the-
answer if his affections have become involved with any woman. [See line 77.]
70. swome brother] Hunter (i, 244) : This is one of the popular phrases of
England to denote strict alliances and amities, and has survived the recollection of
the circumstances in which the term arose. The fratres conjurati were persons
linked together in small fellowships, perhaps not more than two, who undertook to
defend and assist each other in a military expedition under the sanction of some
stricter tie than that which binds the individuals composing a whole army to each
other. They are found in genuine history as well as in the romances of chivalry. —
Steevens : Thus, ' we'll be all three sworn brothers to France.' — Hen, V: II, i, 13.
[I think Capell is unquestionably right in joining these two words with a hyphen v
* sworn-brother.' — ^Ed.]
72. faith] Capell: This means, fidelity, constancy; constancy in friendships,
companionships.
73. block] Steevens : A < block ' is the mould on which a hat is formed, some-
times used for the hat itself. — Staunton : As the muUbility of fashion was shown
in nothing so much as in the head-dresses of both sexes, these blocks must have
been perpetually changing their forms. — Rushton (5'^.'j Euphuism, p. 52) quotes,
the following from Lyly's Euphues [p. 323, ed. Arber] : Thy friendship Philautus
is lyke a new fashion, which being vsed in the morning, is accompted olde before
noone, which varietie of chaunging, being oftentimes noted of a graue Gendeman in
Naples, who hauing bought a Hat of the newest fashion, and best block in all Italy,
and wearing but one daye, it was tolde him yat it was stale, he hung it vp in his
stndie, and viewing al sorts, al shapes, perceiued at ye last, his olde Hat againe to
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l6 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i. sc. i.
Mejf. I fee (Lady) the Gentleman is not in your
bookes. 75
come into the new fashion, where-with smiling to himselfe he sayde, I haue now
lined compasse, for Adam^s olde Apron, must make Eue a new kirtle. ... I
speake to this ende Phxlautusy yat I see thee as often chaunge thy head as other do
their Hats . . . but when thou shalt see that chaunge of friendships shal make thee
a fat Calfe and a leane Cofer, that there is no more hold in a new friend then a new
fashion, yat Hats alter as fast as the Turner can tume his block,' etc. [In the fore-
going extract, it is evident, that in order to make a jingle with < cofer,' Lyly < clepeth
calf, cauf^^ a pronunciation denounced by Holofemes, in Lov^s Lab. Lost, — ^Ed.]
75. not in your bookes] As Halliwell says, the origin of this phrase is
▼ery doubtful ; whatever its special meaning may be, it is clear that Beatrice perverts
it to the ordinary meaning of books in a library. < This phrase,' observes Johnson,
< is used, I believe, by more than understand it. <' To be in one's books" is to be in
one's codicils f or will, to be among friends set down for legacies,^ — ^Kenrick, in his
Revitu) of Dr Johnson's edition, made merry over this ddinition, and asserted that
the phrase referred to albums, wherein the owner's friends subscribed their names
together with some compliment or device. < It was very natural, therefore,' he con-
tinues, for [the owners of the albums] to say, in speaking of their favourites or
friends that they were in their books ; and of their enemies, that they were not in
their books.' Furthermore, Kenrick observes with pertinency: <It is a thousand
to one if the Last Will and Testament of the buxom Beatrice was written ; and a
much greater chance if it had codicils annexed to it.' — Barclay, who feebly
defended Dr Johnson, says (p. 76) that in Beatrice's reply there is a plain allu-
sion < to the custom, prevalent among lovers, of writing their names in the books
belonging to each other.' — Steevens, fertile in explanations, supposes that the
' books ' are ' memorandum-books, like the visiting books of the present age ; or,
• ]>erhaps, the allusion is to matriculation at the university. So, in Aristippus, or the
Jovial Philosopher, 1650 : " You must be matriculated and have 3rour name recorded
in Albo Academise." \Album was originally used as a professedly Latin word, and
so inflected. — H. E, Diet,"] Again, in Palsgrave's Acolastus, 1540: '<We weyl
haunse thee, or set thy name into our felowship boke, with clappynge of handes,"
etc. I know not exactly to what custom this last quoted passage refers, unless to the
album; for just after the same expression occurs again : that << — ^from henceforthe
thou may* St have a place worthy for thee in our whyte; from hence thou may'st have
thy name written in our boke." It should seem from the following passage in
Taming of the Shrew, that the phrase might have originated in the Herald's OfBce :
<< A herald, Kate! oh, put me in thy books!" [II, i, 225].'— Farmer : The phrase
originally meant to be in the list of retainers. Sir John Mandeville tells us, < alle
the mynstrelles that comen before the great Chan ben . . . entred in his bookes, as
for his own men.' — ^M alone: A servant and a lover were in Cupid's Vocabulary
synonymous. Hence, perhaps, this phrase was applied equally to the lover and the
menial attendant. [But, as W. A. Wright remarks, this suggestion of Malone ' does
not suit the relationship between Benedick and Beatrice.' Dr Wright himself pre-
fers, as 'perhaps the most probable,' the derivation of the phrase 'from the memoran-
dum or visiting books which contained a list of personal friends and acquaintances.'
But to this derivation, and to one or two others, I think an objection lies in the
use of the plural books. It is this same plural which, I imagine, led Dr Johnson
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ACT I, SC. I] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING IJ
Bea. No,and he were, I would bume my ftudy. But 76
I pray you, who is his companion ? Is there no young
fquarer now, that will make a voyage with him to the
diuell?
Meff. He is moft in the company of the right noble 80
ClatuUo.
Beat. O Lord, he will hang vpon him like a difeafe :
he is fooner raught then the peftilence, and the taker
runs prefently mad. God helpe the noble Claudia j if hee 84
76-79. Mnemonic, Warb. Theob. et seq.
76. and hi] if he Pope, Han. an he 79- diueU] DevUT^^.
to suggest a corresponding plural, codicils; he apparently felt the incongruity of
explaining, at first hand, the plural books by the singular Willy he therefore put
'codicils' first and let 'Will' follow it- So, too, in regard to an 'album' and a
' visiting list,' had either of these been meant, would not the phrase have been in
(he singular, « he is not in your book ' ? This objection, however, does not lie
against the books or the records of a corporation or of a College, which, where there
is not a disUnctive name, such as the < Black Book of the Exchequer,' are always in
the plural. Hence I accept one of Steevens's suggestions and am inclined to think
that in early times (Dr Murray in the H, E, D. gives an example as early ai 1509)
the phrase may have originated in the books or records of a corporation. In Greene's
Quippe for an Vpstart Courtier y we find: 'the churlish illiberality of their mindes,
bewraide their fathers were not aboue three poundes in the kinges bookes at a
subsidie.' p. 215, ed. Grosart. — Ed.]
76. and he were] It is well enough to explain that ' and ' is here used for an,
equivalent to if but for the sake of euphony it would be well to retain ' and ' in the
text— Ed.
77. his companion] Again Beatrice's eager solicitude to discover in this round-
about way whether or not Benedick were still heart-free. See Weiss' s note on line 69.
78. squarer] Johnson : This I take to be a choleric, quarrelsome fellow, for in
this sense Shakespeare uses the word to square, — Staunton : It may, perhaps, mean
quarreller, as to square or to dispute, — R. G. White (ed. ii) : Boys now about to
fight square off at each other; but, perhaps, Shakespeare wrote 'young squire.'
[Cotgrave has : ' Se quarrer. To strout or square it, looke big on't, carrie his armes
a kemboll braggadochio-like. ' And see Notes in this ed. on Mid, N. D. II, i, 29. — ^Ed.]
78. that will] Allen (MS) : That is, who is resolved, is determined.
84. Ood] Lady Martin (p. 302) : In some recent reproductions of Shake-
speare's plays, the frequent repetition of the name of the Deity has struck most
painfully upon my ear. I suppose, when Shakespeare wrote, the familiar use of this
sacred name, like many other things repugnant to modem taste, was not generally
condemned. In this play, the name of * God ' occurs continually, and upon the
most trivial occasions. It so happens that it rises to Beatrice's lips more often than
to any other's. In the books from which I studied, ' Heaven ' was everywhere sub-
stituted for it ; and I confess the word sounds pleasanter and softer to my ear, besides
being less irreverent. I cannot help the feeling, though it may be considered fastid-
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I8 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. i.
haue caught the Benedi6l, it will coil him a thoufaiid 85
pound ere he be cur'd.
Mejf. I will hold friends with you Lady.
Bea. Do good friend.
Leo. You'l ne're run mad Neece.
Bea. N09 not till a hot lanuary. 90
Mejf. Don Pedro is approach'd.
Enter don PedrOyClaudio^BenedickejBaltkafary
and lohn the baftard.
Pedro. Good Signior Leonato^ you are come to meet
your trouble : the fafliion of the world is to auoid coft^ 95
and you encounter it.
Leon. Neuer came trouble to my houfe in the likenes
of your Grace 2 for trouble being gone^ comfort (hould
remaine : but when you depart from me/orrow abides,
and happineflfe takes his leaue. 100
Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly: I
thinke this is your daughter.
Leonato. Her mother hath many times told me fo. 103
85. Benedid\Ki, BmedukeY^. Ben- 92. Enter don Pedro,] Enter Don
edick F F^. Pedro, attended ; Cap.
86. L bi\ a dfQ, it be Ff, Rowe, Scene II. Pope, Han.
Pope, Han. a' be Cam. 94. you are] are you Q, Coll.
89. Yot^l n^re] You wiU neuer Q, 95. troubU:] troubUf Coll.
Cap. Steey. Van Coll. Sing. Dyce, Sta. 96. encounter] ineounter Q.
Ktly, Cam. Wh. ii. loi. too willingly] more willingly Yi.
most willingly Rowe, Pope, Han.
ions. The name of the Deity, I think, should never rise lightly to the lips, or be
used upon slight cause. There are, of course, occasions when, even upon the stage,
it is the right word to use. But these are rare, and only where the prevailing strain
of thought or emotion is high and solemn.
S4. presently] That is, immediately. See Shakespeare, passim,
87. I will] That is, I wish to, I prefer to ; < will * is here used as in line 78.
89. run mad] Referring to what Beatrice has just said that the taker [of the
Benedick] runs presently mad. Of course, the emphasis in the line falls on * You.*
93. lohn the bastard] W. A. Wright: [This distinguishing appellation}
probably accounts for his moody, discontented character. Bacon {Essay of Envy^
p. 30) says: 'Deformed Persons, Eunuches, and Old Men, and Bastards, are
Envious : For he that cannot possibly mend his owne case, will doe what he can to
impaire anothers.'
loi. charge] Johnson : That is, your burden, your incumbrance. — ^W. A.
Wright: Hence responsibility, expense, and so equivalent to 'cost' in line 95.
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ACT I. sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 19
Bened. Were you in doubt that you askt her ?
Leanato. Signior Benedicke, no, for then were you a 105
childe.
Pedro. You haue it full Benedicke,we may gheffe by
this, what you are, being a man, truly the Lady fathers
her felfe : be happie Lady, for you are like an honorable
father. no
Ben. If Signior Leonato be her father, flie would not
haue his head on her fhoulders for al Meirina,as like him
as fhe is.
Beat. I wonder that you will ftill be talking, ftgnior
Benedicke, no body markes you. 1 1 5
104. doubt'\ doubt fir Q, Theob. 107. we may"] you may Rowe ii,
Warb. Johns. Cap. Mai. Ran. Steev. Pope.
Var. Coll. Sing. Dyce, Sta. Glo. Wh. ii.
104. Were jrou in doubt, etc.] Fletcher (p. 250) : In all [the conversation
with the Messenger] the lady's part of the dialogue seems inspired quite as much by
the desire to hear good news of Benedick as by the love of turning him into ridicule ;
it is of his < good parts ' that she is chiefly thinking. But he no sooner makes his
appearance, than he re-awakens all her resentment by indulging, in the first words
that he utters, his habit of satirical reflection upon her sex. And accordingly, in the
altercation that follows, we find the whole ardour and ingenuity of [Beatrice] exert-
ing themselves to humble and silence, if possible, the satirical loquacity of this
vivacious cavalier. [The adoption of the 'sir' of the Qto somewhat softens the
rudeness of the speech. — Ed.]
107. full] That is, completely, thoroughly ; examples of the use of < full ' in this
sense may be found in the H, E. D. s. v. 4. In Snorting language of to-day, I>on
Pedro would have said : ' You have a facer. Benedick.' — Ed.
108, 109. fathers her selfe] Steevens : This phrase is common in Dorsetshire :
'Jack fathers himself;' is like his father — Staunton : There was a French saying
to the same effect, older than Shakespeare's time : ' II pourtrait fort bien k son pfere.'
114, 115. I wonder, etc.] Schlegel (ii, 166) : The exclusive direction of the
raillery of Beatrice and Benedick against each other is in itself a proof of their grow-
ing inclination.— Mrs Jameson (i, 131) ; This assertion of Schlegel is not unlikely ;
and the same inference would lead us to suppose that this mutual inclination had
commenced before the opening of the play. In the unprovoked hostility with which
she falls upon him in his absence, in the pertinacity and bitterness of her satire,
there is certainly great argument that he occupies much more of her thoughts than
she would have been willing to confess, even to herself. — ^Anon. {Blackwood* s
Maga. April, 1833, p. 542) : They are not in love ; but Beatrice thinks him a
proper man, and he is never an hour out of her head. — Lady Martin (p. 303) :
The others turn away to converse together, but Beatrice, indignant at what she con-
siders Benedick's impertinent speech to her uncle, addresses him tauntingly.
1 14. still] That is, always ; as in Shakespeare, passim.
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20 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act I, sc. i.
Ben. What my deere Ladie Difdaine ! are you yet 1 16
liuing ?
Beat, Is it poflible Difdaine fliould die, while fhee
hath fuch meete foode to feede it,as Signior Benedicke?
Curtefie it felfe mud conuert to Difdaine^if you come in 120
her prefence.
Bene, Then is curtefie a tume-coate, but it is cer-
taine I am loued of all Ladies, onely you excepted : and
I would I could iinde in my heart that I had not a hard
heart,for truely I loue none. 125
Beat. A deere happinelTe to women, they would elfe
haue beene troubled with a pemitious Suter, I thanke
God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that, I
had rather heare my Dog barke at a Crow, than a man
fweare he loues me. 130
Bene. God keepe your Ladifliip ftill in that minde,
fo fome Gentleman or other (hall fcape a predeftinate
fcratcht face. 133
119. to feede f/] to feed on Ktly conj. \2\, a Aard"] an hard Rowe.
Huds. to feed her Kdy conj. Huds. 127. pemitiousi pertinadous Grey (i,
oonj. Wagner conj. 122.)
133. fcratcht"] fcracht Fj.
116. Disdaine] Lloyd (p. 198) : Again at the masked ball it is his charge
against her that she is ' disdainful/ and disdain is a complaint that scarcely occurs
but to a lover ; hence it is Hero's charge, * No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful^ I
know her spirits are as coy and wild,* etc. [See Note on II, i, 267. — ^Ed.]
120. conuert] W. A. Wright : Here used intransitively, as in Rich. II: V, i,
66: 'The love of wicked men converts to fear.' The Geneva Version (1560) of i
Kings, xiii, 33, is 'Howbeit after this, leroboam conuerted not from his wicked
way.'
123. you excepted] Abbott (§ 118) : We find < excepted' placed after a noun
or pronoun, apparently as a passive participle, as in the present case, and, secondly,
before, as a preposition, as in * Always excepted my dear Claudio.' — ^III, i, 98. The
same is true of ' except ' ; where the absence of inflections leaves it uncertain, in
many instances, whether it be a preposition or a participle.
126. A deere happinesse] W.A.Wright: That is, a precious piece of good luck.
132. predestinate] For many other examples of verbs ending in -/^, -/, and -^,
which ' on account of their already resembling participles in their terminations, do
do not add -ed in the participle,' see Abbott, § 342. — ^W. A. Wright : It might
be maintained that these fonns are derived from the Latin form of the participle in
-atus [see Earle's Philology of the Eng. Tongue, § 309. — ^Ed.], but there is no evi-
dence of this, and there are many instances of verbs ending in d or t the participles
of which drop the d of the termination. See * consummate,' III, ii, 2.
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ACT I. sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 21
BeaL Scratching could not make it worfe,and 'twere
fuch a face as yours were. 135
Bene. Well, you are a rare Parrat teacher.
Beat. A bird of my tongue, is better than a beaft of
your.
Ben. I would my horfe had the fpeed of your tongue,
and so good a continuer, but keepe your way a Gods 140
name,I haue done.
Beat. You alwaies end with a lades tricke, I know
you of old. 143
134, and 'iwere\ if* fwere Tope, H11, F^,, Rowe. ^rrot'teack<r ThttA}. ^
an ^iwtre Rowe, Theob. Warb. et seq. seq.
134. 135. As mnemonic lines, Warb. 138. your."] yours. QFf.
135. yours tvere] yours Coll. MS, 140. a Gods] QFf, Rowe, Pope, Han.
Huds. f* Cod's Cap. Cam. Glo. Wh. u. o* Cod's
136. Parrat teacher] Parrat-teacher Theob. et cet
135. 3rour8 were] Collier (ed. ii) : In the MS < were' is erased; . . . though
it was certainly the language of Shakespeare's day; therefore we preserve it
— Dyce (ed. iii) quotes this note of Collier, and then adds : ' The old text may be
right ; but, I confess, I am not quite satisfied with it.' — See Abbott ($ 301) where
examples are given of the use of an obsolete subjunctive which is often used 'where
any other verb would not be so used, and indeed where the subjunctive is unneces-
sary or wrong, after if, though, etc., and in dependent clauses.' — ^W. A. Wright :
Cf. ' He were an excellent man that were made,' etc., — H, i, 9. In Latin also the
subjunctive is used for the indicative, and its presence is accounted for by the assimi-
lating power of a neighbouring dause. [In N. 6r* Qu, Ser. 5th, vol. xii, p. 244, ' F*'
suggests the plausible emendation: 'such a face es you wear,* This, however,
might imply that Beatrice refers merely to a passing expression, — the face that
Benedick wore at that minute and not to his natural face. Dr Wright's view is
clearly correct, that 'were' here is attracted by "twere' in the preceding line. Dr
Wright dtes Latin usage ; the same assimilation or attraction takes place in Greek.
See Goodwin's Creeh Moods and Tenses, §64. I am, therefore, not sure that the
foregoing note from Abbott is strictly applicable to this second 'were.' — Ed.]
140. continuer] Madden (p. 55) : Now can the happy possessor of a good
continuer (as a stayer was then called by horsemen) realise the force of the ditty,
' As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire.'
142. lades tricke] Twice elsewhere {^AWs Well, IV, v, 64, and Tro, &* Cres.
II, i, 21) Shakespeare refers to a 'jade's trick,' but in no instance can it be inferred
what the particular trick is, if there be one. Perhaps the resources of a worn-out,
old horse in the way of biting, stumbling, bucking, kicking are unsearchable ; and in
literature the trick must be inferred from the context. Here, I think, Ben Jonson
helps us ; W. A. Wright quotes from Every Man in his Humour, III, ii, p. 82, ed.
GifFord, where Cob says : ' An you offer to ride me with your collar, or halter either,
I may hap shew you a jade's trick, sir.' In Cash's questioning reply, which seems
to have escaped Dr Wright's attention, we find the meaning we look for in Beatrice's
retort ' O,' says Cash, ' you'll slip your head out of the collar V As soon as Beatrice
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22 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i. sc. L
Pedro. This is the fumme of all: Le<matOy{\^or Clou-
diOydSid fignior Benedicke\ my deere friend Leonato^ hath 145
inuited you all, I tell him we (hall flay here, at the leaft
144. This is\ That is Q, Coll. Cam. »«/<?,— Theob. et cet.
Wh. u. 145. Benedicke;^ Benedicke, Q, Coll.
tfi7.Z^w<i/<>,]QFf,Rowe,Pope. ii. Cam. Wh. ii. Benedick^-^TYitoh.
all: Don Johtiy Han. Ran. alL'—Leo- et cet
if<i/<>,--Coll. i, iii. all, Ltonato.—CoW. 146. tell him] teU you FjF^
ii. Cam. Rife, Wh. ii, Dtn. all: Leo- Rowe i.
has fairly collared Benedick he says ' he is done/ and by this jade's trick, slips his
head out of the collar, and Beatrice may talk to the empty air. TiECK, followed by
Dr A. Schmidt, translates the phrase : ' mit lahmen Pferdegeschichten ;' WiL-
BKANDT translates it by: 'mit lahmen Gaulswitzen ;' Simrock by: 'mit einem
Stallknechtswitx ;' Francois-Victor Hugo by : * une malice de haridelle ;' MoNTfc-
GUT by : ' une made de haridelle ;' and Le Tourneur by : ' une epigramme k quatre
jambes,' which he explains in a footnote, as ' une comparison de bftte, grossi^re,
brutale.' We have, therefore, no aid from foreign sources. — Ed.
142. Fletcher (p. 251) : Here it must be admitted the lady's object is evidently
to talk the gendeman down, by dint not only of perseverance, but of poignant wit
and merciless retort. She has no opportunity for argument, were she ever so much
inclined to use it ; for it is by anything but argument that Benedick himself carries
on his verbal warfare against her sex ; in this matter, as Qaudio says, he ' never
could maintain his part, but in the force of his will.' And this pertinacity of asser-
tion in him is rendered more annoying by his rather obtrusive loquacity ; for this
over-talkativeness, let us observe, is not merely attributed to him by Beatrice under
the excitement of their ' skinnishes of wit ;' we find it, in the opening of the second
Act, coolly descanted on by herself and her unde, and deliberately placed in con-
trast with the taciturnity of Don Pedro's brother. Beatrice, then, we repeat, if she
will maintain the honour of her sex at all, has no choice but to fight Benedick with
his own weapons of unsparing raillery ; and in the use of these, possessing, with
superior exuberance of invention, the great advantage of ' having her quarrel just,'
she constandy proves herself an over-match for him. This is the kind of defeat
most mortifying of all to a man of his character, — the more humiliating that he
receives it from a woman, — ^the most irritating of all from the woman for whom he
really entertains the like personal preference that she cherishes for him. Hence it is,
that this ' merry-hearted, pleasant-spirited * lady, as everybody else finds her to be,
seems to him an incarnate fury, — as we find him declaring just after this first skirmish,
in reply to Claudio's commendations of Hero's personal charms.
144-146. This . . . all] The correct punctuation of these puzzling lines seems
to have been given by Collier (ed. ii) who, after beginning with That of the Qto
instead of 'This,' reads as follows: 'That is the sum of all, Leonato. — Signior
Claudio, and signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all.' His
note thereon is : ' Don Pedro, we must suppose, has been talking apart with Leonato ;
and, ending with this sentence, turns to Claudio and Benedick to tell them the sub-
ject and result of his conversation.' This punctuation the Cambridge Editors
adopted first in their own ed., and afterward in the Globe ed., and this in turn has been
followed by Rolfe, White, ii, Deighton, and, naturally, by W. A. Wright in
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ACT I. sc. i.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 23
a moneth, and he heartily praies fome occafion may de- 147
taine vs longer : I dare fweare hee is no hypocrite, but
praies from his heart.
Leon. If you fweare, my Lord, you (hall not be for- 1 50
fwome, let mee bid you welcome, my Lord, being re-
conciled to the Prince your brother: I owe you all
duetie.
John. I thanke you, I am not of many words, but I
thanke you. 155
Lean. Pleafe it your grace leade on /
150, 151. f0r/wome^..,Lard^,„broih' sworn. ...Lord ;,.. brother^ Han. Cap. ct
er:^ QFf (subs.), forstoom ; ...Lord^ cet (subs.).
...brother; Rowe. forsworn. ...lord,... 151-153. let...duetie.'\ To Don John.
brother; Pope, forsworn. — ...lord,... Let.. .duty. Han. Cam. Wh. ii.
brother; Theob. ii, Warb. Johns, for- 158. Exeunt Manet...] Exeunt all
but... Rowe.
the Clarendon ed. In a note the Cambridge Editors say : < We must sui4>oae that
during the "skinnish of wit'' between Benedick and Beatrice, from line ill to line
143, Don Pedro and Leonato have been talking apart and making arrangements for
the visit of the Prince and his friends, the one pressing his hospitable offers, and
the other, according to the manners of the time, making a show of reluctance to
accept them.' I suppose that the majority of Editors, who follow Theobald,
assume that Don Pedro is about to tell Claudio and Benedick of Leonato' s proffered
hospitality, and beg}ns : ' Leonato — ' ; he then pauses, conscious that so much kind-
ness deserves some recognition choicer than the bald, bare name, and so repeats the
name prefixed with ' my dear friend.' Hanmer changed the former ' Leonato ' into
Don John, because, I suppose, he thought that Don Pedro would hardly have said
that Leonato had invited them 'all' when only two, Claudio and Benedick, are
mentioned. Collier, in his ed. iii, deserted the excellent punctuation of his ed. ii.
—Ed.
150-153. If . • . duetie] The modem punctuation is the result of a gradual evo-
lution. Pope saw the need of a fiill stop after ' forswome ' ; Theobald indicated
that the words following ' forswome' were addressed to Don John by placing a dash
before them,— a mode of indicating a change of address which has obtained in every
critical edition of Shakespeare from the days of Theobald down to, but not including,
the Cam. Ed. Hanmer, finally, gave the punctuation (see Text. Notes) which has
been substantially adopted by all editors since Capell. — Ed.
154. I thanke you] Sir J. Hawkins : The gloominess of Don John's character
is judiciously marked by making him averse to the common forms of civility. — ^W. A.
Wright : It might be added that bluntness of manner does not of necessity indicate
honesty of purpose.
156. Please it] Abbott (§ 361) : < Please' is often found in the subjunctive,
even intem^tively ; 'Please it you that I call.' — Tarn, of the Sh. IV, iv, I ;
* Please it your majesty Command me any service to her thither?' — Lov^s Lab. Lost,
V, ii, 311. It then represents our modem 'may it please,' and expresses a modest
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24 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. i.
Pedro. Your hand Leonato;^^ will goe together, 157
Exeunt. Manet Benedicke and Claudia.
Clau. Benedickey&AH thou note the daughter of fig-
nior Leonato ? 160
Bene. I noted her not, but I lookt on her.
Clau. Is (he not a modeft yong Ladie ?
Bene. Doe you queftion me as an honeft man fliould
doe, for my fimple true iudgement ? or would you haue
me fpeake after my cuftome, as being a profeffed tyrant 165
to their fexe /
Clau. No,I pray thee fpeake in fober iudgement.
Benex Why yfaith me thinks fhee's too low for a hie
praife,too browne for a faire praife, and too little for a
great praise, onely this commendation I can aiToord her, 170
that were fliee other then (he is, (he were vnhandfome,
and being no other, but as (he is, I doe not like her. 172
158. Manet] Manent Q. Theob. ii, Warb. Johns.
Scene III. Pope, Han. 168. yfaitKl IfaUh F3. 1? faUh F^
166. their^ her Cap. conj. et seq.
167. pray thee\ prethee Ft prithee a hie] QF^ an high F^F^,
Rowe. /rv'M^ Pope, Theob. i. pr'ythee Rowe, + . a high Cap. et seq.
doubt [For the common omission of to before the infinitiye ' lead,' see Abbott,
5 349, if necessary.]
163-166. A very noteworthy confession by Benedick that his raillery against
' their sexe,' and, by inuendo, against marriage, is not genuine, but assumed ; the
subject was merely a fertile one, whereon to expend his exuberant wit. This seems
to have been quite overlooked by all critics. I cannot recall any who have noticed
this phase of Benedick's complex character. — ^Ed.
164. simple] That is, frank, honest, sincere ; its classical meaning.
165. t3a'ant] An extremely unusual use of the word, wherein there cannot be
involved the idea of dominion, usurped or otherwise. The hatred felt for a tyrant
is transferred to the objects of his tyranny. — Ed.
168. me thinks] If needful, see Walker, Vers, p. 280 ; Abbott, § 297, ad fin, ^
or the notes on Ham. V, ii, 63, in this ed. It is to be borne in mind that ' thinks '
here, comes from the Anglo-Saxon thincan^ to seem, to appear, and not from thencan^
to think.
168. hie praise, etc.] Allen : That is, to be praised as high, too brown to be
praised as fair, and too little to be praised as tall ( ' great ' ^grandisy French grande),
172. like her] Thomas White (p. 29) : Signior Benedick reminds us of the
man in the epigram : < Non amo te, Sabidi, nee possum dicere quare,'etc. [Martial y
i, 32. — the well-known epigram, which was imitated in the seventeenth century to Bt
Dr Fell, Bishop of Oxford, who died in 1686 : < I do not love thee. Doctor Fell,'
etc.— Ed.]
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ACT I. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 25
Clau. Thou think'ft I am in fport, I pray thee tell me 173
truely how thou lik'ft hen
Bene. Would you buie her, that you enquier after 175
her?
Oau. Can the world buie fuch a iewell ? •
Ben. Yea, and a cafe to put it into, but fpeake you this
with a fad brow ? Or doe you play the flowting iacke,to 179
173. think'Jl'\ thinkest Steev. Var. Cam. Sta. Ktly.
Knt, Coll. Dyce, Cam. Sta. Ktly, Wh. ii. 175. f>^'\ ^y Ff-
174. /i*;/f] likest Steev. Knt, Dyce, 178. into] in too Han.
178. Yea] Marsh (p. 578) : Our affirmative particles, ^^a and yes^ nay and no
were formerly distinguished in use. The distinction was that yea and nay were
answers to questions framed in the affirmative; as. Will he go? Yea or Nay, But
if the question was framed in the negative^ Will he not go? the answer was Yes or
No. . , . The etymological ground of this subtlety has not been satisfactorily made
out. ... It may be doubted whether modem scholars would have detected the
former existence of this obsolete nicety if it had not been revealed to us by Sir
Thomas More*s criticism upon Tyndale, for neglecting it in his translation of the
New Testament. That it was, in truth, too subtle a distinction for practice is shown
by Sir Thomas More himself, for he misstates the rule when condemning Tyndale for
the violation of it, and what is not less remarkable is the Hurt that Home Tooke,
Latham (Eng, Lang, ed. ii, p. 528), and Trench {Study of fVords, 156), have all
referred to or quoted Morels observations, without appearing to have noticed the dis-
crepancy between the rale, as he states it, and his exemplification of it. The passage
will be found in TAe Confutacyon of Tyndales Aunswere made anno 1 532, by Syr
Thomas More, p. 448 of the collected edition of More's works, 1557. [The passage
will be found in the Century Diet, s. v. Kra, — with the error noted by Marsh of
' No ' for Nay corrected in brackets. In the present line, Benedick answers correctly,
but, as W. A. Wright remarks, ' Shakespeare does not always observe this rale,
and even in the earliest times, the usage appears not to have been consistent' For
instance, in Mid N. D, IV, i, 213 (of this ed.) Demetrius asks * Do not you thinke,
The Duke was heere, and bid vs follow him?' To which Hermia should have
replied Yes^ but instead, she says ' Yea.' — Ed.]
179. sad] That is, serious, grave.
179. flowting iacke] <Jack' is a common term of contempt and reproach, of
which a Concordance will fumish at least fifteen or sixteen examples. It is perhaps
worth while to notice that the word had so completely lost all connection with a
proper name that in the Folio, as well as in the Qto, it is spelled without a capital,
whUe ' Cupid ' and * Vulcan,' ' Hare-finder ' and * Carpenter ' all have capitals, in
both editions. Whatever difficulty there is in the whole passage lies in the word
'flowting,' which was first adequately explained by Staunton, who adduced a
passage in Puttenham's Arte of English Poesie, 1589, where an illustration is given
of *Antiphrasis or the Broad floute,' as follows : ' Or when we deride by plaine and
flat contradiction, as he that saw a dwarfe go in the streete said to his companion
that walked with him : See yonder gyant : and to a Negro or woman blackemoore,
in good sooth ye are a faire one, we may call it the broad floute.' [p. 201, ed. Arber.]
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26 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. i.
tell vs Cupid is a good Hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare 1 80
Carpenter : Come, in what key fliail aman take you to
goe in the fong ? 182
181. aman] F,.
The ' broad floute ' in the present sentence is thus set forth hj Tollet : * Do you
scoff and mock in telling us that Cupid, who is blind, is a good hare-finder, which
requires a quick eye-sight; and that Vulcan, a blacksmith, is a rare carpenter?' Or as
R. G. White tersely expresses it : 'do you mean to tell us that the blind boy has
the eyes of a greyhound, and that Vulcan's forge and anvil are used to work wood?'
— ^W. A. Wright : Etymologically, * floute * is the same as ' flute,' used as a veifo,
to play the ftute ; and hence, metaphorically, to cajole^ to wheedle, Kilian, in his
Etymologicum Teutonicae Linguae ( 1 777) , has * Fluyten. Fistula canere, tibiis canere,
^ metaph. Mentiri, blandi dicere.'
180. Hare-finder] W. A. Wright : In 'The Lawes of the Leash or Coursing'
as given in Markham's Country Contentments^ 1675, p. 42, we find 'That he which
was chosen Fewterer, or letter-loose of the Grey-hounds, should receive the Grey-
hounds match [t] to run together into his Leash, as soon as he came into the field,
and to follow next to the Hare-finder till he came unto the Form.' And in Harsnet's
Declaration of Popish Impostures^ 1603, p. 64 : 'They that delight in hunting, . . .
doe vse to haue an Hare-finder, who setting the Hare before, doth bring them
tpeedily to their game.' — Madden (p. 172) : First comes the hare-finder, most
venerable of institutions. For Arrian, writing some fourteen centuries before our
diarist, tells us that in his day it was the custom to send out hare-finders (nAf^ isaroir^
r^ovraq) early in the morning of the coursing days. To detect a hare in brown
fallow or russet bracken needs sharp and practised eyes. — Schmidt (Notes to Trans.
p. 248) : All the explanations hitherto given of this passage are to me perfectly
unintelligible, not alone in themselves, but even more in reference to the circum-
stances under which Benedict's [sici ^P^®^ >s delivered. It is dear, that up to this
point, Benedict has not supposed that Claudio has conceived a serious affection for
Hero, and has answered Claudio' s remarks in his customary antagonistic style.; but,
when Qaudio terms the lady a jewel, then Benedict is puzzled. The train of
thought in his reply may be, perhaps, as follows : ' Art thou in earnest or art thou
joking in thus speaking of indifferent things, nay, of stuff and nonsense which is
neither here nor there ? Thou mightest just as well tell me that Cupid is a good
hare-finder, and Vulcan a good carpenter. What have I to do with the god of Love
or the god of Labour?' — Ulrici (Footnote to the foregoing) : Benedict [sic'\ says
in effect : Dost thou speak in earnest? Art thou really wounded by Cupid's arrow?
Or, as hitherto, is Cupid, as far as thou art concerned, only a Hare-finder, who is
dangerous only to wanton hares, and Vulcan a good carpenter who will provide
Cupid not with brazen, mortal arrow-heads, but only with wooden buttshafts?
That is, Is thy love an earnest passion or mere sensuousoess and superficial incli-
nation? [Later, in his Lexicon^ Dr Schmidt suggests that the word should be
hair-finder^ one who finds fault easily (Cf. the German ein Haar finden) \ the
excellent Lexicographer overlooked the fact, I fear, that Shakespeare was not
German by birth, and that his idioms are not purely Teutonic ; hair finder demands,
in this connection, a commentaiy more profound than, possibly, English research
can supply. Dr Murray knows it not — ^Ed.]
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ACT I. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 27
Clan. In mine eie, (he is the fweeteft Ladie that euer 183
I lookt on.
Bene. I can fee yet without fpeflacles, and I fee no 185
fuch matter : there's her cofin, and flie were not poffeft
with a furie, exceedes her as much in beautie, as the firft
of Maie doth the laft of December : but I hope you haue
no intent to tume husband, haue you ?
Clau. I would fcarce truft my felfe, though I had 190
fwome the contrarie, if Hero would be my wife.
Bene. Ift come to this? in faith hath not the world one
man but he will weare his cap with fufpition ? fhall I ne-
uer fee a batcheller of three fcore againe ? goe to yfaith,
and thou wilt needes thruft thy necke into a yoke, weare 195
183. euer I^ / «;^ Pope, + . 192. this? infaitli] QFf. ihisr In
186. an^] QFf, Rowe ii. (^Pope, + . /ai/AKoweu this; In faiih Kowt i\,
an Rowe i. et cet this, in faith f Pope, + . this 1* faith f
187. Ttrith a\ with such a Rowe ii,+. Cap. et seq.
189. haue'\ 'have F,. 194. yfaith^ Yfaith F^ Rowe et seq.
192. I/l'\ lit FjF^. Is it Steev. 195. and thou] if thou Pope, + . an
thou Cap. et seq.
181, 182. to goe in the song] Stsevbns : That is, to join with you in your
song.
184. I lookt on] To the ear, this is the same as * ever eye looked on ;' jnst as in
Hamlet: * He was a man, take him for all in all, £ye shall not look upon his like
again,* — an inteq^retation of both passages, which I prefer. — ^Ed.
185. 186. no such matter] That is, nothing of the kind: as in II, iii, 208 ;
V, iv, 89 (Qto text).
192. to this ? in faith] Clearly, Pope here supplied the proper punctuation by
placing the interrc^tion after < faith * ; and he was also wise in retaining the full
fonn ' in faith,' instead of the abbreviated t* faith of Capell and of all subsequent
editions. When both Qto and Folio agree in an unusual form of a common expletive
we should be wary of changing it. Here, Benedick is speaking with that slow
deliberative manner, dwelling on each syllable, indicative of unbounded astonish-
ment, — a form of expression common enough in every-day life, in < Up— on — my —
wordl' 'Well — I— de— clare !* Thus here, we can see Benedick's handsome,
upturned eyes, as he slowly utters, with a serio-comic expression, as though appeal-
ing to heaven : ' Is't come-^o— this — ^in — yfaith ?' — Ed.
193. his cap] Johnson : That is, subject his head to the disquiet of jealousy. —
Henderson gives the following quotation from Painter's Palace of Pleasure^ which,
with Dr Johnson's note, quite adequately explains the unsavoury allusion : ' — all
they that weare homes be pardoned to weare their capps vpon their heads.' — p. 233
(vol. i, fol. 229, ed. 1569,— ap. VfnghL-^The fifty-first Nouell^ p. 384, ed. Hasle-
wood.)
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28 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i. sc. i.
the print of it^and figh away fundaies : looke, don Pedro 196
is returned to feeke you.
Enter don Pedrojohn the bajiard.
Pedr. What fecret hath held you here, that you fol-
lowed not to Leonatoes ? 200
Bened, I would your Grace would conftraine mee to
tell.
Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegeance.
Ben. You heare, Count Clatidio^ I can be fecret as a
dumbe man, I would haue you thinke fo (but on my al- 205
legiance, marke you this, on my allegiance) hee is in
198. Scene IV. Pope,+. 204. can he\ cannot be F^, Rowe,
Enter.. .baftard.] £nter...Don Pope.
John. Rowe. Re-enter... Don John. 206. aUegiance) hee\ QFf, Rowe i.
Pope. Re-enter Don Pedro. Han. allegiance^ he Rowe ii. allegiance: — he
TOO. Leonatoes] Leonato F^F^, Rowe Theob. + , Cap. Mai. Steev. Var. Knt,
i. Leonato' 8 house. Pope, + . Leonato' s Sta. allegiance. — /r<f Johns. Ran. Coll.
Rowe ii, Cap. et scq. Dyce, Wh. Cam. Ktly.
196. sigh away sundaies] Warburton: A proverbial expression to signify
that a man has no rest at all ; when Sunday, a day formerly of ease and diversion,
was passed so uncomfortably. — Steevens : I cannot find this proverbial expression
in any ancient book whatever. ... It most probably alludes to the strict manner in
which the Sabbath was observed by the Puritans, who usually spent that day in sighs
and grunlingSf and other hypocritical marks of devotion. — Halliwell : On the
suspicion that a person who was sad on the only holyday of the week, would be
alwajTS in low spirits, ' sigh away Sundays ' may be equivalent to sigh always. —
Wordsworth (p. 273) : Neither Warburton' s nor Steevens' s explanation appears
satisfactory. It would be simpler to suggest that Sunday is the day of the week
which is generally spent most domestically. — W. A. Wright : That is, when you
will have most leisure to reflect on your captive condition. [And when, owing to the
domesticity of the day, you cannot escape from your yokefellow. — Ed.]
198. lohn the bastard] Again we have, possibly, a reminiscence of the original
play. Like < Innogen ' at the opening, this character has, in the present scene, noth-
ing to do or say. Moreover, the substance of the conference between Oaudio and
Don Pedro was afterward reported to Don John by Borachio. Don John has been,
therefore, properly omitted in the stage direction here, since the days of Capell. — ^Ed.
204. secret as] For other examples where the first cu is omitted, see, if needful,
Abbott, § 276.
205, 206. (but . . . allegiance)] I cannot say that the changes here in the
punctuation, adopted by the various editors (see Text. Notes) have been great
improvements on the old text. There may well be a fiill stop after ' Count Claudio.'
But as to the words enclosed in this parenthesis, whatever the punctuation, they are
merely the comic iteration by Benedick that he is forced to violate confidence ; it is
like FalstafF's reiterated 'upon compulsion.' — ^Ed.
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ACT I. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 29
loue, With who ? now that is your Graces part : marke 207
how fliort his anfwere is, with HerOy Leonatoes fliort
daughter.
Clan. If this were fo,fo were it vttred. 210
Bened. Like the old tale,my Lord,it is not fo,nor ^twas
not fo : but indeede^God forbid it ftiould be fo. 212
207. whof^ wham? Ff, Rowe, +, 3io. Clau.] Don Pedro. Huds.
Coll. v;ere it vttred'[ it were uttered
208. his] the Coll. MS (< injuriously/ Rowe i.
says Coll.).
207. With who ?] For examples of this frequent n^Iect of inflection, see Abbott,
§ 274. ' Who ' for whom again occurs in V, i, 233.
210. If . . . vttred.] Johnson : This and the three next speeches, I do not well
understand; there seems something omitted relating to Hero's consent, or to
Claudio's marriage, else I know not what Claudio can wish 'not to be otherwise.'
Perhaps it may be better thus : < Claud. If this were so, so were it. Bene. Uttered
like the old tale, etc' Claudio gives a sullen answer, < if it is so, so it is.' Still
there seems something omitted which Claudio and Pedro concur in wishing. —
Steevens : Claudio, evading at first a confession of his passion, says, if I had
really confided such a secret to him, yet he would have blabbed it in this manner.
[Steevens is right in his inteq^retation of the first half of Claudio' s speech, but he
fails, I think, in interpreting the second half. < If it be that I am in love,' says
Claudio in effect, 'my answer to your question of ** with whom," must be even just
as short as Benedick has given it.' — ^Ed.]
211. old tale] Blakeway [whose 'integrity,' says Halliwell, 'is unimpeach-
able.'] : This 'old tale' may be, perhaps, still extant in some collections of such
things, or Shakespeare may have heard it, (as I have, related by a great aunt,) in his
childhood : < Once upon a time, there was a young lady (called Lady Mary in the
story), who had two brothers. One summer they all three went to a country-seat of
theirs, which they had not before visited. Among the other gentry in the neighbour-
hood, who came to see them, was a Mr Fox, a bachelor, with whom they, particu-
larly the young lady, were much pleased. He used often to dine with them, and
frequently invited Lady Mary to come and see his house. One day that her brothers
were absent elsewhere, and she had nothing better to do, she determihed to go
thither, and accordingly set out unattended. When she arrived at the house and
knocked at the door, no one answered. At length she opened it, and went in.
Over the portal of the hall was written, " Be bold, be bold, but not too bold." She
advanced ; over the staircase, the same inscription. She went up ; over the entrance
of a gallery, the same. She proceeded ; over the door of a chamber, ' Be bold, be
bold, but not too bold, lest that your heart's blood should run cold." She opened
it ; it was full of skeletons, tubs full of blood, etc. She retreated in haste ; coming
down stairs, she saw, out of a window, Mr Fox advancing towards the house, with
a drawn sword in one hand, while with the other he dragged along a jroung lady by
her hair. Lady Mary had just time to slip down and hide herself under the stairs,
before Mr Fox and his victim arrived at the foot of them. As he pulled the young
lady up stairs, she caught hold of one of the bannisters with her hand, on which
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30 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. i.
[211. old tale . . . iWs not so, etc.]
was a rich bracelet. Mr Fox cut it off with his sword : the hand and bracelet fell
into Lady Mary's lap, who then contrived to escape unobserved, and got home safe
to her brothers' house. After a few days Mr Fox came to dine with them as usual
(whether by invitation, or of his own accord, this deponent saith not). After dinner,
when the guests began to amuse each other with extraordinary anecdotes, Lady Mary
at length said she would relate to them a remarkable dream she had lately had. " I
dreamed," said she, "that as you, Mr Fox, had often invited me to your house, I
would go there one morning. When I came to the house, I knocked, etc., but no
one answered. When I opened the door, over the hall was written, * Be bold, be
bold, but not too bold.' But," said she, turning to Mr Fox and smiling, " it is not
so, nor it was not so ;" then she pursues the rest of the story, concluding at every turn
with, « It is not so, nor it was not so," till she comes to the room full of dead bodies,
when Mr Fox took up the burden of the tale, and said, " It is not so, nor it was not
so, and God forbid it should be so ;" which he continues to repeat at every subse-
quent turn of the dreadful story, till she comes to the circimastance of his cutting off
the young lady's hand, when, upon his saying, as usual, ''It is not so, nor it was
not so, and God forbid it should be so," Lady Mary retorts, '* But it is so, and it was
so, and here the hand I have to show," at the same time producing the hand and
bracelet from her lap : whereupon, the guests drew their swords, and instantly cut
Mr Fox into a thousand pieces.' — Collier, Dyce, and Halliwell refer to The
Faerie Queene^ Bk III, Canto ii. But there is nothing in Spenser corresponding to
Blakeway's story, except the inscriptions: 'Be bolde, be bolde,' and 'Be not too
bold,' which 'faire Britomart' sees over the doors in certain rooms in Busirane'a
castle. Halliwell further observes that ' other traditional tales of a like description
[to Blakeway's] have been printed, but there are reasons for suspecting the authen-
ticity of one purporting to relate to the Baker family, and which is very similar to
the above narrative, and the others are not sufficiently illustrative to deserve inser-
tion.' In his Memoranda^ 1879 (p. 47), he prints an unpublished letter, written by
Blakeway, giving an interesting account of the source whence he derived his tradi-
tional story. 'This letter, dated from Shrewsbury, December the 29th, 1807, has no
superscription to indicate to whom it was addressed. It commences as follows:
" Your letter found me at Kinlet in the very act of removing into winter quarters
here, the bustle attending which has prevented me from answering it till now. I am
glad my old story amused you, and I dare say what you mention is very true, that it
has received several modern sophistications in the course of its traditional descent, each
narratrix accommodating it to the manners of her age. You are the best judge
whether it is likely to have been of Italian origin, but you are perfectly right in your
remark that the relater has inserted familiar names of the county, for the family of
Fox, not the least akin, I believe, to the deceased orator of that name, was formerly
a very opulent and widely extended one in Shropshire. In answer to your enquiry
when my great aunt, from whom I had the story, died, I have the pleasure to inform
you that that truly venerable old lady is still living, and at the advanced age of 92,
for she was baptized, as appears by a copy of the register now before me, July 26th,
1 715, in the full enjoyment of her mental faculties. From the history of our family
I think it likely that she may have received the tale from persons bom in Charles the
Second's time, but when I see her next I will ask her if she can recollect." '
214. otherwise] Steevens : When Benedick says, ' God forbid it should be so,*
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ACT I. sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 31
(^au. If my paflfion change not ftiortly,God forbid it 213
fliould be otherwife.
Pedro. Amen, if you loue her, for the Ladie is verie 215
well worthie.
Clan. You fpeake this to fetch me in, my Lord.
Pedr. By my troth I fpeake my thought.
Clau. And in faith, my Lord, I fpoke mine.
Bened* And by my two faiths and troths, my Lord, I 220
fpeake mine.
Clau. That I loue her, I feele.
Pedr. That (he is worthie, I know.
Bened. That I neither feele how fhee (hould be lo-
ued, nor know how (hee fhould be worthie, is the 225
opinion that fire cannot melt out of me, I will die in it at
the flake.
/Vrfr.Thou wafl euer an obflinate heretique in the de-
fpight of Beautie.
Clau. And neuer could maintaine his part, but in the 230
force of his will.
221. /peake\ /peak FJP^. fpoke Q, Dyce, Cam. Sta. KUy, Wh. ii.
Cap. Steev. Var. Knt, Coll. Coll. MS, 228. heretique'] HereHck FjF^.
t. e, God forbid he should even wish to marry her, — Qaudio replies, God forbid I
should not wish it
217. to fetch me in] Bradley (/T. E, D. s. v.) gives two examples of the use
of this phrase in the sense of to cheats viz : ' they were all fethered of one winge to
fetch in young Gentlemen by commodities vnder the colour of lending of mony.' —
Greene's Qitippe for an Vpstart Courtier^ 1592 [p. 276, ed. Grosart] ; and 'Who
will be drawne at Dice and Cards to play. . . . And be fetched in for all that's in
his purse.' — ^Rowland's Afore Knattes Yetf [p. 33, ed. Hunterian Club]. This ia
rather too uncivil a meaning for the phrase to bear in the present connection ; but it
suggests to beguile^ to overreach^ or, as W. A. Wright has it : to entrap, — ^Ed.
221. speake] I see no urgent need of changing this to spoke of the Qto. Collier
says that spoke is preferable because ' Benedick is referring to what he has already
said ;' so does Don Pedro when he says < I speak my thought,' and yet no one has
proposed to change Don Pedro's * speak' to the past tense. By using the present
tense. Benedick makes his assertion a general truth, as ^regards the expression of his
own feelings, which, as every one about him knew, was a comical untruth, especially
when it needed the asseveration of ' two faiths and troths.' — ^Ed.
228, 229. heretique . . . Beautie] Don Pedro does not mean that in the doc-
trine of despising beauty Benedick was a heretic, on the contrary he was therein
extremely orthodox, but that by showing his contempt and scorn for beauty he was a
heretic to the predominant faith, which worships beauty. — Ed.
231. force of his will] Warburton : Alluding to the definition of a heretic, in
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32 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i. sc. L
-fi^.That a woman conceiued me, I thanke her : that 232
fhe brought mee vp, I likewife giue her moft humble
thankes : but that I will haue a rechate winded in my 234
234. rechate^ recheate Rowe ii.
the schools. — R. G. White : Warburton's professional eje detected the allusion
here to heresy, as defined in scholastic divinity; according to which it was not
merely heterodox opinion, but a wilful adherence to such opinion. The subject was
a familiar one in Shakespeare's day. — W. A. Wright : That is, by wilful obstinacy ;
not by argument, or because he believed what he said. [Wright's interpretation of
' wilfiil obstinacy' is consistent with Warburton's explanation. The Will is an essen-
tial element of heresy. Thus Milton says : ' Heresie is in the Will and choice
profestly against Scripture; error is against the Will, in misunderstanding the
Scripture after all sincere endeavours to understand it rightly ; Hence it was said
well by one of the Ancients, "Err I may, but a Heretick I will not be." ' — Of
True Religion^ p. 409, ed. Mitford. — ^Ed.]
234. rechate] Hanmer i^Gloss,) : This is a particular lesson upon the horn to
call dogs back from, the scent ; from the old French word Recety which was used in
the same sense as Retraite, — ^Johnson : That is, I will wear a horn on my forehead
which the huntsman may blow. — Steeyens : So, in The Retumefrom Parnassus :
* Amoretto. ...when you blow the death of your Fox in the field or couert, then you
must sound 3. notes, with 3. windes, and recheat ; marke you sir, vpon the same
with 3. windes. Academico, I pray you sir — Amoretto, Now sir, when you come
to your stately gate, as you sounded recheat before, so now you must sound the
releefe three times.* — [II, v, 848, ed. Macray.] Again, in The Book of Huntynge^
etc. bl. 1. n. d. : ' Blow the whole rechate with three wyndes, the first wynde one
longe and six shorte. The second wynde two shorte and one longe. The thred
wynde one longe and two shorte.' — Nares gives an instance of its use as a verb
from Drayton : < Rechating with his home, which then the Hunter cheeres,' etc. —
Po^yolbiouy xiii [p. 305, ed. 1748]. — ^W. A. Wright: In the Qto and Folio it is
spelt «is it was no doubt pronounced. . . . It is impossible to say precisely what the
word means, and its etymology is only guessed at. Blount, in his Glossographia^
suggests that it is from the Fr. rechercher^ * because oftentimes, when they wind this
lesson, the Hounds have lost their game, or hunt a game unknown.' Skinner
(£/ym. Ling. Ang/u.) derives it from the Fr. rachet^ redemptio, racheter, redimere.
. . . One of the forms given by Godefroy (Diet, de Vancienne Lang. Fran,) for
the old verb receter is rechaiter^ and for recet he gives rechet and rechiet^ so that
Hanmer may be on the right track ; but there is no evidence that receter and recet
were hunting terms. Among the ' Antient Hunting Notes ' given in The Gentle-
man^ s Recreation^ we find * A Recheat when the Hounds Hunt a right Game,' 'The
Double Recheat,' * The Treble or S"" Hewets Recheat,' « A New Warbling Recheat
for any Chace,' * The Royal Recheat,' * A Running Recheat with very quick time,'
and 'A Recheat or Farewell at parting.' In fact a recheat app>ears to be almost
anything but what the books describe it as being. . . . See also the old English
poem Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight y 1. 1911. [Halliwell gives the notes for
*The Rechate, with three winds' from the Appendix to Turbervile's Book of Hunt-
ings ed. 1611 ; and also an account of the recheats from Holme's Academy of
Armory y 1 638, as follows: 'A Recheat, when they hunt a right game, — ton-ton-
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ACT I. sc. i.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 33
forehead, or hang my bugle in an inuifible baldricke,all 235
women (hall pardon me: becaufe I will not do them the
wrong to miftruft any, I will doe my felfe the right to
truft none : and the fine is, (for the which I may goe the
finer) I will liue a Batchellor.
Pedro. I fhall fee thee ere I die, looke pale with loue. 240
Bene. With anger, with fickneffe, or with hunger,
my Lord, not with loue .* proue that euer I loofe more
blood with loue, then I will get againe with drinking, 243
241-246. As mnemonic lines, Waib. i, 165. luvenes dissoluti vires suas, lux-
242. th€U euer /] that I Rowe i. uriosis moribus enervatas, bibendo renoT-
243. /m^] In sens. obsc. ut ait Douce ariputabant; utideminsuperaddit — ^Ed.
tavern tone, ton-ton-tavem ton-ton-tavem ton-ton-tavem tavern tavern tavern,' and
so on, 'dizzying the arithmetic' in nearly nine more lines on Halliwell's broad, folio
page of continuous tofCs and tavern* s which those who list may look out and read, —
to their edification and further comprehension, let us hope, of Benedick's meaning.
—Ed.]
235. inuisible baldricke] Staunton : Benedick's meaning appears to be, I will
neither be a wittol, glorying in my shame, nor a poor cuckold who must endure and
conceal it.— Murray {H. E. D.) : < Baldric' is identical in sense with MHG.
balderich^ palderUk (Schade) ; also with OF. baldrei^ baudrei (in later Fr. baudroy)^
and with med. Lat baldringus. The origin and history of the word are alike
obscure. ... Its meanings are : I. A belt or girdle, usually of leather and richly
ornamented, worn pendant from one shoulder across the breast and under the oppo-
site arm, and used to support the wearer's sword, bugle, etc.; 2. The zodiac, viewed
as a gem-studded belt ; 3. A chain for the neck, necklace, etc.
238. the fine] That is, the conclusion.
239. Batchellor] Anon. {Blackwood* s Maga, April, 1833, p. 543) : When you
hear a man perpetually dinning it into your ears that he is determined to die a
bachelor, you set him down at once as a liar. You then begin, if he be not simply
a blockhead, to ask yourself what he means by forcing on you such unprovoked
falsehood, and you are ready with an answer — ' He is in love.' He sees his danger.
A wild beast, not far off, is opening its jaws to devour him. Why must Benedick
be ever philosophizing against marriage ? The bare, the naked idea of it haunts him
like a ghost. In spite of all his bravado he knows he is a doomed man.
240. I shall . . . loue] Walker (Crx/. i, 2 and Vers, 237) : The expression
seems poetical ; I suspect that we have here a line of verse, and that we ought to
read * Shall or perhaps TIL [This appears to be one of several instances which are
to be found in Walker where he fails to appreciate, to the full, that Shakespeare, who
must have almost thought in verse, frequently falls into rhythmic prose. In this
scene of continuous prose, and properly prose from the very nature and style of the
conversation, a solitary line of verse would be, not merely out of place, but genu-
inely discordant. There is another striking instance of this oversight on Walker's
part in the third scene of this Act, line 18, where Walker would convert a long prose
speech of Conrade into verse. — ^Ed.]
243, 244. loue . . . penne] Sighs due to any cause, from a lover's melancholy
3
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34 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act I. sc. i.
picke out mine eyes with a Ballet-makers penne, and
hang me vp at the doore of a brothel-houfe for the figne 245
of blinde Cupid.
Pedro. Well, if euer thou dooft fall from this faith,
thou wilt proue a notable argument.
Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a Cat,& (hoot 249
244. BaUet''\ Ballad' Q. 247. dooffl doft Q. ddft F,F^.
up to heavy grief, were supposed to consume, or drink, the blood. There is evidently,
in this sentence, both in its loss of blood and in its ballad-making, a parallelism to the
typical lover in Jaques's 'Seven Ages': 'And then the lover. Sighing like furnace,
with a woful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow.' The 'Ballet-maker' is the
lover, and the loss of blood is due to his sighs. — Ed.
244. BaUet-makers penne] Halliwell: In extreme contempt at such a
worthless instrument, not, as Warburton says, because ' the bluntness of it would
make the execution extremely painful.' Edwards well observes that 'the humour
lies, not in the painfulness of the execution, but the ignominy of the instrument and
the use he was to be made of after the operation.'
247. this faith] Here ' this ' is the emphatic word. Don Pedro has just pro-
nounced Benedick an obstinate heretic in reference to the worship of beauty, and he
now taunts him with a possible fall from his professed faith in regard to love. — Ed.
248. notable argument] Johnson : An eminent subject for satire. [Not neces-
sarily ' for satire,' though in the present case vexy probable. See II, iii, 1 1 : ' the
argument of his owne scorn.' — Ed.]
249. bottle] W. A. Wright: Probably a twiggen botUe {0th, II, iii, 152), or
wicker basket
249. bottle like a Cat] Steevens : In some counties in England, a cat was
foimerly closed up with a quantity of soot in a wooden bottle (such as that in which
shepherds carry their liquor,) and was suspended on a line. He who beat out the
bottom as he ran under it, and was nimble enough to escape the contents, was
regarded as the hero of this inhuman diversion. In fVarres, or the Peace is broken^
bl. 1., we find: ' — arrowes flew faster than they did at a catte in a basket, when
Prince Arthur, or the Duke of Shoreditch, strucke up the drumme in the field.'
In a Poem, however, called Comv-copuEy Pasquil^s Night-cap: or^ Antidot for the
ffead-achcy i6i2, the following passage occurs: 'Which in a cart (as theeues to
hanging ride) Are thither brought by Archers in great pride. Guarded with gunners,
bil men, and a rout Of Bow men bold, which at a cat doe shoot' [p. 52, Grosart's
Reprint]. Again : 'Nor on the top a Cat- Amount was framed. Or som wilde beast
which nere before was tamed,' etc. [lb.] These quotations prove that it was the
custom to shoot at factitious as well as real cats. — Douce : This practice is still kept
up [anno 1S07] at Kelso, in Scotland, where it is called : Cat-in-barreL See a
description of the ceremony in an account of Kelso, 1789, by one Ebenezer Lazarus,
who has interlarded his book with scraps of puns and other poetry. Speaking of this
sport, he says : ' The cat in the barrel exhibits such a farce. That he who can relish
it is worse than an ass.' [This description by Lazarus is given in full in Brand's
Popular Antiquities^ iii, 39 (Bohn's ed.). It is needless here to repeat the details
of the brutal sport wherein the cat was not shot, but beaten to death. It is enough
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ACT I. sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 35
at me, and he that hit's me, let him be clapt on the fhoul- 250
der, and cal'd Adam.
251. Adam] a dab (i. e. 'dabster') Bishop, ap. Nichols lUmt. ii, 298.
to know that Benedick refers to a genuine custom, of which the details were suf-
ficiently familiar. TiECK says that in 1793, he saw < in Nflmbezg, at the comer of
a street a bucket of blood suspended from a rope, under which two boys dragged a
third boy on a sled, who struck at the bucket as he passed under it.' Schmidt
( Trans, p. 250) suggests that the game is, perhaps, connected with the worship of
Trees of Blood and Sacrifice (cf. Mone, Gtschicktt des HeidenthumSy ii, 199, and
Grimm's Mythologies^) whereof Leo (Geschichte Italiens^ i, 62) reports a survival
in the Dukedom of Benevento. — Ed.]
251. Adam] Theobald is the earliest to suggest that the reference here is to
Adam Bell, a famous archer. Percy (i, 129): Adam Bell, Qym of the Clough,
and William of Cloudesly were three noted outlaws, whose skill in archery rendered
them formerly as famous in the North of England, as Robin Hood and his fellows
were in the middle counties. Their place of residence was in the forest of Engle-
wood, not far from Carlisle. . . . Our northern archers were not unknown to their
southern countrymen. [Bishop Percy then goes on to say that ' Theobald rightly
observes' that 'Adam' (in the present passage) means Adam Bell ; and in this view
all subsequent commentators, except Collier, have either agreed, or been non-com-
mittal. CoLUER expresses a doubt ; in his ed. i, he says the allusion may be to
Adam Bell, or < perhaps the meaning only is that the person who hit the bottle was
to be called, by way of distinction, the first many i. e. Adam.' In his ed. ii, he
adopted in his text, from his Corrected Folio, <he that first hits me.' Hunter
(i, 245) asserts that Adam Bell was 'a genuine personage of history;' and believes
that he has had < the good fortune to recover from a very authentic source of infor-
mation some particulars of this hero of our popular minstrelsy, which shew distinctly
the time at which he lived.' Hunter's particulars are as follows : King Henry the
Fourth, by letters, enrolled in the Exchequer, in Trinity Term, in the seventh year
of his reign, and bearing date the 14th day of April, granted to one Adam Bell
an annuity of 4/. lOf., issuing out of the fee-farm of Qipston, in the forest of Sher-
wood, together with the profits and advantages of the vesture ahd herbage of the
garden called the Halgarth, in which the manor-house of Clipston is situated. Now,
as Sherwood is noted for its connection with archery and may be regarded also as the
patria of much of the ballad-poetry of England, and the name Adam Beli is a
peculiar one, this might be almost of itself sufficient to shew that the ballad had a
foundation in veritable history. But we further find that this Adam Bell violated his
allegiance, by adhering to the Scots, the king's enemies; whereupon this grant was
virtually resumed, and the sheriff of Nottinghamshire accounted for the rents which
would have been his. . . . The mention of his adhesion to the Scots leads us to the
Scottish border, and will not leave a doubt in the mind of the most sceptical that we
have here one of the persons, some of whose deeds (with some poetical licence per-
haps) are come down to us in the words of one of our popular ballads.' Child
(Pt. V, p. 21) thus disposes of the bearing on the ballad of Hunter's authentic
sources c^ information : ' Hunter's points are, that an Adam Bell had a grant from
the proceeds of a farm in the forest of Sherwood, that Adam Bell is a peculiar name,
and that his Adam Bell adhered to the king's enemies. To be sure, Adam Bell's
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36 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. i.
Pedro. Well, as time fhall trie : In time the fauage 252
Bull doth beare tne yoake.
252. €u time] as th^ time RF^, Rowe. Cap.
252, 253. In time,,. yoake] As verse, 25
253. tne] F,.
retreat in the ballad is not Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire, but Englishwood or
Inglewood in Cumberland. . . . But it would be captious to insist upon this. . . .
The historical Adam Bell was granted an annuity, and forfeited it for adhering to the
king's enemies, the Scots ; the Adam Bell of the ballad was outlawed for breaking
the game-laws, and in consequence came into conflict with the king's officers, but
never adhered to the king's enemies, first or last ; received the king's pardon ; was
made yeoman of the queen's chamber ; dwelt with the king ; and died a good man.
Neither is there anything peculiar in the name Adam Bell. Bell was as well known
a name on the borders as Armstrong or Graham. There is record of an Adam Arm-
strong and an Adam Graham ; there is a Yorkshire Adam Bell mentioned in the
Parliamentary Writs (II, 508, 8 and 17 Edward II.) a hundred years before
Hunter's annuitant; a contemporary Adam Bell, of Dunbar, is named in the
Exchequer Rolls of Scotland under the years 1414, 1420 (IV, 198, 325) ; and the
name occurs repeatedly at a later date in the Registers of the Great Seal of Scotland.'
Halliwell has gathered from nine different sources extracts wherein Adam Bell in
connection with archery is mentioned, and doubtless the number can be increased, but
in every instance the full name, Adam Bell, is given, never the Christian name alone,
as is given by Benedick. This Deurt, together with the fact stated by Child that there
were others of that name who were not archers, constrains me to believe that in
Benedick's < Adam' we have not yet discovered the true allusion. It is barely pos-
sible that ' Adam ' might be a generic term for an unrivalled archer, but of this there
is no evidence. Moreover, it is not of Adam Bell's skill that the greatest feats of
archery are told ; he was not even the most skillful of his three fellow-outlaws. It
was William of Qoudesly, who cleft the hazel rods at twenty score paces ; it was
William of Qoudesly who shot the apple on his son's head. It may, after all, turn
out that Collier's face was set in the right direction. — Ed.]
252. time shall trie] Cf. As You Like It^ IV, i, 190: <Time is the olde lustice
that examines all such offenders, and let time try.'
252, 253. In time . . . yoake] This is the first line, somewhat altered, of the
Forty-seventh 'Loue Passion' of Watson in his Ecaiompathia, 1582, p. 83, Arber's
Reprint. The original reads : < In time the Bull is brought to weare the yoake.'
Steevens notes that the line occurs also in Kyd's Spanish Tragedy , II, i, p. 36, ed.
Hazlitt-Dodsley, again somewhat varied, 'In time the savage bull sustains the
yoke.' From the fact, that Shakespeare's line varies from both, it is dear that he
quoted from memory, and from the use of the word ' savage ' I am afraid that he
recalled Kyd's line and not the exquisite original Love Passion^ which is almost beau-
tiful enough to have been his own composition. In the Remarks (probably by Watson
himself, although written in the third person) prefixed to this Forty-seventh Love
Passiony it is said that < the two first lines are an imitation of Seraphine, Sonnetto, 103.
"Col tempo el Villanello al giogo mena El Tor si fiero, e si crudo animale," ' etc.
Halliwell quotes Ovid, Tristia^ IV, vi, i : * Tempore ruricolae patiens fit taurus
aratri,' (it is not easy to see why Halliwell did not add the next line : ' Praebet et
incurvo colla premenda iugo.') and Ovid, Ars Amat, I, 471 : 'Tempore difficiles
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ACT I. sc. i.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 37
Bene. The fauage bull may, but if euer the fenfible
Benedicke beare it, plucke ofT the bulles homes, and fet 255
them in my forehead, and let me be vildely painted, and
in fuch great Letters as they write, heere is good horfe
to hire : let them fignifie vnder my figne, here you may
fee Benedicke the married man.
Clau. If this fhould euer happen, thou wouldft bee 260
home mad.
Pedro, Nay, if Cupid haue not fpent all his Quiuer in
Venice, thou wilt quake for this fhortly.
Bene. I looke for an earthquake too then. 264
254. «wy,] f»<iy Ashbee Facsimile. 257, 258. heere .., here] Here,., Here
256. vildely\ vildly QF^, Rowe i. FjF^.
vilely Rowe ii. 257. is good'\ isagoodKowtu
veniunt ad aratra iuvenci,' in which passages, the origin of Seraphino's lines may be
possibly found. — Ed.
261. home mad] Halliwell: 'So th' horn-mad bull must keep the golden
fleeces,* OpticJk Glasse of Humors^ 1639. * And then for home-mad citizens, he
cures them by the dozens, and we live as gently with our wives as rammes with
ewes,' Brome's Antipodes y 1640. One of the tracts of Taylor the Water-Poet is
entided. Grand PltUo^s Remonstrance ^ or the Devil Horn-mad^ 1642. 'Nay, faith,
Uwould make a man home-mad,' Homer h la Mode, 1665. 'Some are hora-mad,
and some are Bible-mad,' Epilogue to Neglected Virtue^ 1696. The phrase con-
tinued long in use, an instance of it occurring in Poor Robin^s Almanack for 1741. —
W. A. Wright : That is, raving mad ; mad as a mad bull, according to the common
explanation. But ' horn ' may be a corraption of the Scottish and North-country
word 'haras' for brains, akin to the German Hirn^ whence Himwuth^ frenzy.
Another form is ' horn-wood.' Whatever the etymology, there is no doubt the word
was always understood in the sense given above. Cf. Merry Wives ^ III, v, 155 :
' If I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb go with me : I'll be hora-mad.'
And Com, of Err. II, i, 57 : Dro, E, Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.
Adr, Horn-mad, thou villain ! Dro, E, I mean not cuckold-mad ; But, sure, he is
stark mad.'
262. 263. Quiuer . . . quake] Possibly, by the association of sound and sense,
the former word suggested the latter. — Ed.
263. Venice] Warburton : All modera writers agree in representing Venice in
the same light as the andents did Cypras. — Capell : Venice was in Shakespeare's
time, and is now, of such celebrity for its dissolute gallantries, that there is small
occasion for extracts from any writer to prove the fitness of making that city the
exhauster of all Cupid's 'quiver.' [See Coryat's Crudities^ i, 38, ed. 1776.]
264. I looke] I have but litde doubt that there is here a case of absorption, and
that Benedick really says 'I'// look.' Grey (i, 132) calls attention to the local
colouring imparted by this reference to earthquakes, to which Sicily is subject. But
this is doubtful ; it is not their frequency, but their infrequency which is the point
'Then,' the last word in the line, is emphatic, at that same time, — Ed.
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38 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i. sc. i.
Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the houres, in 265
the meane time, good Signior Benedicke^ repaire to Leo-
natoeSy commend me to him, and tell him I will not faile
him at fupper, for indeede he hath made great prepara-
tion.
Bene, I haue almoft matter enough in me for fuch an 270
Embaffage, and fo I commit you.
Clau, To the tuition of God. From my houfe, if I
had it. 273
265, 266. houres f in thi\ hours in 371. you.'\ you — Theob. et seq.
th^ F^, Rowe i. hours; in the Rowe ii, 273. had ii,'\ had U^ — Theob. had
Pope, + . hours. In the Cap. et seq. i/,) Cap.
Fletcher (p. 248) : It is plain that a man who not only professed such vehement
hostility to marriage, but habitually grounded it upon the gravest of all imputations
that can be brought against womankind in general, must bring upon him the assaults
of such a spirit as Beatrice, so ardent and so intelligent. She must attack him in
sheer defence of her own sex ; and we see that he is the only individual of the piece
whom she does attack. But it is a cause of quite an opposite nature that gives double
keenness to the shafts of her sarcasm. Benedick' s talkatively pertinacious heresy ' in de-
spite of beauty ' irritates and tantalizes her the more by continually obtruding itself upon
her from the lips of a man who otherwise attracts her personal preference as one who
' For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour, Goes foremost in report through Italy.
265. temporize with the houres] Rann : That is, you are for putting off the
evil day. — Schmidt {^Lex,') : You will come to terms, compromise, with the hours.
— RoLFE : You will come to terms in the course of time. — Deighton : You will
come to terms with, accommodate yourself to, the hours; not, as it has been
explained, you will come to terms in the course of time. — ^W. A. Wright : You
will come to terms as time goes on. [Is it possible to suppose that Shakespeare here
coins a word, and the verb should be spelled temperize f that is, you will become
attempered by the hours, your temper will change and become more pliant and
yielding. None of the explanations hitherto given is to me wholly satisfactory. I
offer this interpretation with all the more confidence, in that I fifid that it occurred
independently to the late Professor Allen, in whose maiginal notes I find the follow-
ing : ' Delius understands : to act with the time, so as to suit the time. Perhaps so ;
and yet in all the three places, in which "temporize'' occurs, "with" may be the
instrument or cause : King John^ V, ii, 125 : " [He] will not temporize, with my
entreaties"; Tro, and Cress, IV, iv, 6: "If I could temporize, with [Now, I see,
perhaps, tn, considering] my affection ;" and, lastly, in this place : " You will tem-
porize, with the hours" (in process of time). At all events, Shakespeare appears
to have the idea of one's becoming tempered^ softened (like wax tempered yriih the
fingers) ; and this meaning the word will bear in all of the passages cited.' It is
just this meaning which it occurred to me the word would gain by spelling it as I
have suggested, temperize. — Ed.
270, 271. I . . . you] I am almost clever enough to undertake such a mighty
embassage.
271, 272. commit . . . tuition] Reed : Bamaby Googe thus ends his Dedica-
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ACT I. sc. L] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 39
Pedro. The fixt of luly.Your louing friend, Benedick.
Bene. Nay mocke not, mocke not ; the body of your 275
difcourfe is fometime guarded with fragments, and the
guardes are but (lightly bailed on neither, ere you flout
old ends any further, examine your confcience, and fo I
leaue you. Exti.
Clau. My Uege, your Highnefle now may doe mee 280
good.
275. mocke not;'\ mock not Coll. Cap.
276. f<muHme\ sometimes Mai. Scene V. Pope,+.
277. nettker,'\neifker:F^F^,Kowe9-\-, 280. Liege] LeigeY^.
tion to the first edition of Pa/iMgenitts, 1560 : < And thus committjng your Ladiahip
with all yours to the tuicion of the moste merdfiill God, I ende. From Suple Inne
at London, the eighte and twenty of March.' — Malone : Michael Drayton concludes
one of his letters to Drummond of Hawthomden, in 1619, thus : 'And so wishing
you all happiness, I commend you to God's tuition, and rest your assured friend.' —
Halliwell: Thus, in a Letter in the Loseley Manuscripts^ p. 267: 'Thus leving
youe to the tuicion of the lyving God, I byd youe hartely farwell : From Burton,
this x.th of Julye, 1577.* Again, Alleyn Papers^ p. 35 : 'And thus . . . wee comitt
you to Godes tuition : From Douglas, in the Isle of Manne, this first of June in Anno
Domini, 1608.'
272, 273. if I had it] Dyce (Notes^ p. 40): There is the same sort of joke in the
translation of the Menaechmi^ 1595, by W. W. (William Warner?) : Men. What mine
owne Peniculus? Pen, Yours (ifaith), bodie and goods, if I had any.' — Sig. B.
274. The aizt of luly] W. A. Wright : Old Midsummer Day, an appropriate
date for such Midsummer madness. Fleay has used this reference as an indication
of the very day and the month when Shakespeare wrote this play. It is to be
regretted that he failed to note that it was probably in the afternoon before ' sup-
per.' It is also unfortunate that Shakespeare has given us no comforting dew as to
the state of the weather, or even the direction of the wind, as he does when he tells
us that Hamlet was mad north-north-west. — ^Ed.
276. 277. guarded . . . guardes] That is, trimmed or faced, as in Mer. of Ven,
II, ii, 164 : ' Give him a livery More guarded than his fellows;' and Lov^s Lab. L,
IV, iii, 58 : ' rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose.'
277. neither] Deighton : An old colloquial idiom, still to be heard among the
lower classes.
278. old ends] Capell (p. 120) : These 'old ends' are the old and foimal con-
clusions of ancient letters. — Haluwell : The expression is exceedingly common.
— Johnson : ' Before you endeavour to distinguish yourself any more by antiquated
allusions, examine whether you can fairly daim them for your own.' This, I think,
is the meaning ; or it may be understood in another sense, ' examine, if your sar-
casms do not touch yourself.' [The latter paraphrase is the better, or, as it is given by
W. A. Wright : 'see whether they do not apply to yourself.' Deighton thinks
that there is no such 'recondite meaning' here, and that Benedick 'merely says
with mock solemnity ; " Be careful how you ridicule things so veneiable and sacred
as these old ends." '—Ed.]
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4C MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. L
Pedro. My loue is thine to teach, teach it but how, 282
And thou fhalt fee how apt it is to learne
Any hard Leflbn that may do thee good.
Clau. Hath Leonato any fonne my Lord ? 285
Pedro. No childe but Hero^ (he's his onely heire.
Doft thou affeft her Claudia ? 287
282. teach^'\ teach; Cap.
282. to teach] Walker {^Crit, i, 295) conjectured that 'pexhaps' this should
read ' to use''\ so many are the cases in the Folio where a word has been substituted,
by the printers, for another which stands near it. Here, the presence of two teach* s
in succession awakened Walker's suspicion. As far as grammar is concerned,
examples are not infrequent of the use of the present infinitive where we should
now use the past Thus in As You Like It^ I, ii, no : < for the best is yet to do ;'
Ham, IV, iv, 44: 'I do not know why yet I live to say "This thing's to do." '
—Ed.
285. any sonne] Lloyd (p. 195) : When Claudio opens the subject to Don
Pedro, he does so with the economical inquiry : < Hath Leonato any son, my Lord ?'
and Don Pedro, with full intelligence of the purport of such an inquiry, on such an
occasion, replies that < Hero is his only heir.' The attachment is one of that class
that comprehends the greatest number of convenient and comfortable matches ; the
greatest proportion of all matches, therefore, that arrange themselves in an agreeable
and not over-ezdtable zone of society. Thus, it is the most natural thing in life for
Leonato, when he proposes the substitution of his brother's daughter, to mention
incidentally that she is < heir to both of them,' as, at the previous contract, he had
said, < Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes.' Such people do
not fall in love for the sake of money ; the state of the case is singly that, with all
ingenuousness, it does not occur to them, when no property is in the case, to enter-
tain the notion of falling in love. So the world goes on and becomes peopled,
and each rank of social distribution keeps in its groove with no coercion, and the
problems of prudence and tenderness settle themselves, and harmonize with each
other, with no distasteful aid from avowed selfishness and sordidness. — C. C. Clark
(p. 306) : Qaudio had an eye to the cash first and then the girl, and the circum-
stance of her being an only child confirms him in his suit Claudio is a fellow of no
nobleness of character, for instead of being the last, he is the first to believe his
mistress guilty of infidelity towards him, and he then adopts the basest and the most
brutal mode of punishment by casting her off at the very altar. Genuine love is
incapable of revenge of any sort, — ^that I assume to be a truism ; still less of a con-
cocted and refmed revenge. Qaudio is a scoundrel in grain. — Allen (MS): I can't
think that Claudio had in mind the question of Hero's being Leonato' s sole heir,
although Don Pedro (not being in love) so understood him. Claudio may have
been thinking of using the intercession of the brother, or he may have intended to
speak of a brother (in the awkwardness of a lover's delivery) as a step toward
speaking about the sister,
287. Dost thou affedt her] Theobald {Nichols^ p. 299) ; How comes Pedro
to ask this question, when the affair had been so amply talked of before. [Claudio' s
former avowal of his love had been forced from him by the light-hearted banter of
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ACT I, sc. ij MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 41
Clau. O my Lord, 288
When you went onward on this ended action,
I looked vpon her with a fouldiers eie, 290
That likM, but had a rougher taske in hand,
Than to driue liking to the name of loue:
But now I am return'd, and that warre-thoughts
Haue left their places vacant : in their roomes,
Come thronging foft and delicate defires, 295
All prompting mee how faire yong Hero is,
Saying I lik'd her ere I went to warres.
Pedro. Thou wilt be like a louer prefently,
And tire the hearer with a booke of words:
If thou doft loue faire Hero^ cherifh it, 300
And I will breake with her : *and with her father,
294. vacant r^ vacanty Cap. her father ^ And thou Jhalt haue her:
295. thronging] thronged Rowe i. waji Q, Theob. Waib. et seq.
297. warres. 1 roars — Coll. Sta. 301. Iwill'] PU Pope, Han.
301, 302. her.'^.waftl her^ and with
Benedick, whose very presence was an obstacle to seriousness. Here the two are
alone, and Qaudio must speak heart-free and in all sincerity. — ^Ed.]
292. liking . . . loue] W. A. Wright : The same gradatiox^ occurs in As You
Like /f, V, ii, 2 : < Is 't possible . . . you should like her? that but seeing her yon
should love her ? and loving woo ?'
293. now I am] For other examples of the omission of that^ — < now (that) I
am,' — see, if needful, Abbott, § 284.
297. to warres.] Collier thus punctuates : ' to wars—,' with the remark that
' it is obvious that Claudio is interrupted by Don Pedro just as he is beginning to
<< twist so fine a story." ' For many examples of the omission of the definite article,
see, if needful, Abbott, § 90.
298, 299. louer . . . booke] Whiter, whose observations are always entitled
to respect, has gathered (p. 107, etc.) a number of instances in Shakespeare where
< the idea of a Lover, as described by his mistress, or as represented with respect to
her, is associated either by metaphor, or comparison with a book and the binding of
it This,' he goes on to say, < is not merely accidental ; though I know not by what
intennediate idea so strange a combination has been formed.' [See line 315, below. ^
—Ed.]
298. presently] That is, at once, immediately. See Shakespeare, passim,
301. breake with her] Craik <Note on Jul. Cos. II, i, 150, p. 139) : That is,
I will open the matter to her. This is the sense in which the idiom tc break with is
most frequently found in Shakespeare. See also line 318 of this scene. But when
in Merry WtveSy III, ii, Slender says to Ford, in answer to his invitation to dinner,
* We have appointed to dine with Mistress Anne, and I would not break with her
for more money than I'll speak of,' he means he would not break his engagement
with her. The phrase is nowhere, I believe, used by Shakespeare in the only sense
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42 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act I, sc- i.
♦And thou fhalt haue her :* waft not to this end, 302
That thou beganft to twift fo fine a ftory ?
Clou. How fweetly doe you minifter to loue,
That know loues griefe by his complexion ! 305
But left my liking might too fodaine feeme,
I would haue falu'd it with a longer treatife.
/Vrf. What need ^ bridge much broder then the flood?
The fairest graunt is the neceflitie : 309
302. wajl'\ wa^t Rowe et seq. plea is th^ Han. ground is the Coll. ii,
304. doe you] you do Q, Cam. Glo. iii (MS), warrant is and garanfs the
Wh. ii. Anon. ap. Cam. currenfs the Bulloch.
306. fodaine'] fuddain F^. argument is Bailey (ii, 189).
309. graunt is the] graunt in the F^F^.
which it now bears, namely, to quarrel with. [See Abbott, § 194 and line 318,
below.] — ^Lloyd (p. 197) : It is Claudio*s wooing by proxy, in the first scenes, that
makes his later conduct less grating to the feelings, than if we had seen the mutual
melting of the pair in love's own confidence.
301, 302. *and . . . her*] The line here marked with asterisks is found only in
the Qto. The compositor of F,, or his reader, mistook the second * her ' for the first
303. a story] Walker ( Crit. iii, 29) : Surely ' stoxy ' is wrong. [Lbttsom,
Walker's editor, hereupon queries string}]
305. his complexion] Had its come into use, possibly, Shakespeare would have
said ' its complexion. ' * Complexion ' often means external appearance, and by several
editors, it is so interpreted here ; except < love's grief' be manifested externally by a
woe-begone, lackadaisical expression, — not a pleasing conception, — ^it can be detected
only by blushing, in which case ' complexion' may refer, as in many another instance,
to the tint of the face. Note, that while ' action,' in line 289, is pronounced as two
syllables, ' complexion ' is here pronounced, as the grammarians say, dissoluti, that
is, as four syllables : com-plex-i-on. — Ed.
307. aalu'd] W. A. Wright : Literally, anointed ; hence, softened down, palli-
ated. See Cor, III, ii, 70 : < Speak fair ; you may salve so, Not what is dangerous
present, but the loss Of what is past.'
307. treatise] That is, discourse, story ; as in Macb, V, v, 12 : < My fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir,' etc
308. What need] Abbott (§ 297) : The impersonal needs (which must be dis-
tinguished from the adverbial needs) often drops the s ; pardy, perhaps, because of the
, constant use of the noun need. It is often found with ' what,' where it is sometimes
hard to say whether ' what ' is an adverb and need a verb, or ' what ' is an adjective
and need a noun. Thus here, it may be either, ' JVhy need the bridge (be) broader?'
or *what need* is there (that) the bridge (be) broader?'
309. The . . . necessitie] Warburton: That is, no one can have a better
reason for granting a request than the necessity of its being granted. — Steevens :
Mr Hayley, with great acuteness, proposes to read : < The fairest grant is to necessity ;'
t. e, necessitas quod cogit defendit. [Hudson adopted Hayley' s conjecture. ] — Capell
(ii, 120) : 'Grant' is equivalent to cause of granting; the fairest argument you can
urge to prevail on me to be your advocate, is the necessity you stand-in of one to do
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ACT I. sc. i.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 43
Looke what will ferue^is fit : 'tis once^thou loueft, 310
And I will fit thee with the remedie,
I know we fhall haue reuelling to night, 312
311. remedie y'l remedy, Rowe.
you that service. [Rann follows Capell substantially.] — M. Mason : If we suppose
that < grant ' means concesium^ the sense is obvious ; and it is no uncommon accepta-
tion of the word. Collier (ed. ii) adopted ground from his MS, and explains that
Don Pedro was referring to the ground of the sudden love of Claudio for Hero.
[This, I am afraid, I do not understand. Can it mean that the fairest ground for
Claudio' s love was his necessitous circumstances? It is to be hoped not. — ^Ed.] —
Staunton : The sense is : the best boon is that which answers the necessities of the
case; or, as Don Pedro pithily explains it, 'what will serve, is fit' — ^Haluwell:
To use the words of Mr Smibert, < if one receives a grant to the full of his necessity ^
he is served in the fairest way, and needs no more.' — Keightlky (A^. 6^ Qu,
3d, xii, 61 ; and Exp, 384 b) : The meaning is this : the fairest, most gradous grant
of your suit by Hero is the necessity, the thing needed, what we want It is not
improbable that the poet wrote < is thy necessity,' which would make the passage less
enigmatical. [Wagner makes the same conjecture. Staunton's paraphrase, which
is accepted by both Rolfe and W. A. Wright, appears to me the simplest and
the clearest The best thing you can do for a man is to do that which his necessity
demands. — Ed. ]
310. once] Upton (p. 317) : That is, once for all ; as in Cor, II, iii, i : *Once,
if he do require our voices, we ought not to do deny him. So the Greeks use dira^,
certOy omninOy plane et vere. So in Psalm Ixxxix, 35 : ' Once have I sworn,' etc . . .
Semel is used sometimes in this sense by the purest Latin authors. Milton has, < He
her aid Can never seek, once dead in sins, and lost' — Par. Lost^ III, 233. —
Staunton (Note on 'Once this,' Qm, of Err, III, i, 89) : The truth is, *once' or
ones was very commonly used by the old writers in place of nonce^ or nones^ imply-
ing the occasion^ the purpose in hand^ the time being [Staunton gives here six or
seven examples from various Elizabethan authors in proof of his assertion ; and in
his Illustrative Comments at the end of the play, he quotes, as helping to confirm
his opinion, Gifford's note on Ben Jonson's The Fox^ vol. iii, p. 218, as follows:
* For the nonce^ is simply for the once^ for the one thing in question, whatever it may
be. This is invariably its meaning.' Abbott (§57) gives the meaning here as once
for ally and adds that, hence < once ' is xistAiox positively in V, i, 217 of this present
play. — Schmidt (Z^jt.): That is, it is a fact past help; German: du liebst nun
' einmal, — Hudson : It is pretty clear that ' once ' was occasionally used in the sense
of enough ; and such is the aptest meaning here. — Deighton : Once for all is per-
haps the nearest modem equivalent. Don Pedro briefly sums up the case, ' enough
has been said ; you admit that you love her, and that being so, I will,' etc. — ^W. A.
Wright : That is, so much is certain, there can be no question about it [Hudson's
paraphrase certainly excels in conciseness, and seems to include all that the sense
requires. — Ed.]
312. I know we shall, etc.] Theobald (Nichols^ ii, 299): Where is this
spoken ? Antonio immediately comes in with Leonato, and tells him that a servant
of his had overheard the Prince and Claudio concerting this business in an alley near
Antonio's orchard ; and afterwards Borachio tells John the Bastard he had overheard
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44 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i. sc. i.
I will affume thy part in fome difguife, 313
And tell faire Hero I am Claudw^
And in her bofome He vnclafpe my heart, 315
And take her hearing prifoner with the force
And ftrong incounter of my amorous tale :
Then after, to her father will I breake,
And the conclufion is, fliee fhall be thine,
In prafHfe let vs put it prefently. Exeunt. 320
316. the force] a force F^, Rowe i. Staunton's, and Praetorius's Facsimile.
318. after,'] Ashbee*s Facsimile, after 320. Exeunt. Om. F .
them, from behind an arras in Leonato's house, laying the same scheme. And yet
it is plain from Pedro's words [lines 199, 200 of this scene] that Claudio had not yet
been in Leonato's house. [Theobald did not, in his subsequent edition, refer to this
inconsistency. Possibly, he found the knot < too intrinse to unloose.'] — Halliwell
says : < The only method of reconciling part of this inconsistency is to presume a
lapse of time between the first and the second scene, which perhaps would be more
naturally assumed were the Second Act to commence with the second scene of the
First Act [Wherein Halliwell is anticipated by Spedding.] <As the text now
stands,' Halliwell continues ' there is a discrepancy in the localities noted as the scene
of the conference between the Prince and Qaudio, which seems inexplicable, except
by the assumption that they had had more than one conversation on the subject.' —
RoLFB asks : Is it one of those instances of the poet's carelessness in the minor
parts of his plot similar to Hamlet's knowledge of the scheme to send him to Eng-
land, and to Philostrate's hearing a rehearsal of 'Pyramus & Thisbe'? — ^W. A.
Wright says that * probably Shakespeare was careless about the matter, which is of
no importance.' [See Note on the first line of the next scene ; or Spedding, on the
Division of the Acts, in the Appendix, — ^Ed.]
315. vnclaspe] See Writer's note on lines 298, 299, above. 'In her bosom'
must be either, in meaning, on her bosom I'll unclasp the book of my heart and by
reading the contents take her reason prisoner, etc, or I'll unclasp my heart and into
her bosom pour the contents, so as to, etc. I prefer the former. — Ed.
316. take . . . prisoner] Peck (p. 227) : This is borrowed from Judith, xvi, 9 :
'Her beautie tooke his minde prisoner.' So also, Cym, I, vi, 103: 'this object,
which Takes prisoner the wild motion of my eye.'
318. breake] See line 301, above.
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ACT I, sc. ii.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 45
[Scene IL]
Enter Leonato and an old man jbr other to Leonato. i
Leo. How now brother, where is my cofen your fon :
hath he prouided this muficke ? 3
Scene II. Cap. Scene continued. i. Enter...] Enter Leonato and An-
Pope. Act II. Spedding. tonio. Rowe. Re-enter... Pope.
A Room in Leonato' s House. Cap.
I. Enter, etc] Toward the close of the preceding scene (line 312) Theobald
called attention to the obscurity involving the locality of the conversation between
Don Pedro and Claudio. Spedding suggested a solution by a new division of Acts,
wherein the Second Act begins with the present scene. He recognises the needs of
the scene-shifter, and therefore claims consideration for his division as only for an
imaginary stage. The interested reader must turn to the Appendix for a full exposi-
tion of Spedding* s suggestion, which is too long for insertion here. To me it carries
conviction. I do not see how it can be gainsaid. It adheres to the law of dramatic
construction ; the denouement begins at the close of the Third Act, in the arrest of
Conrade and Borachio. Spedding speaks of the needs of the scene-shifter which are
undoubtedly real, and not to be overlooked ; but then these needs are supposed to
have been far smaller in Shakespeare's day than they are at present, I say < supposed
to have been ' because I think there were more scenery and stage accessories in those
days than is generally believed ; why, for instance, should the rough makeshifts by
the rude mechanicals in A Midsummer N^kfs Dream excite such mirth in Theseus
and his court if they were not seen to be caricatures of the real stage-scenery to
which that court was accustomed ? Be this, however, on the old stage as it may, on
the UKxlem the stage-setting must be always considered, and time allowed for it.
Apart from this consideration, the chiefest objection to Spedding* s division would be,
I suppose, the shortness of the First Act. But this is hardly an objection, if the Act
fulfil its dramatic requirements and be complete in itself. As a general rule, Shake-
speare, like the careful and infinitely pains-taking workman that he was, makes his
First Acts somewhat longer proportionately than the others. This is more noticeable
in the five great tragedies, where the First Act is almost of prime importance, than
in the Comedies. In Lear the First Act is nearly two hundred lines longer than any
of the others ; in Othello also, it is the longest ; in Romeo and Juliet there is but one
Act longer than the First ; in Hamlet the First Act has eight hundred and fifty lines,
and is exceeded only by the Third, which has seventy-eight lines more ; Macbeth' s
First Act of four hundred and seventy-seven lines is exceeded only by the Fourth,
which has four lines more. According to Spedding* s division of the present play,
the number of lines in the Acts is as follows : First Act has 320 ; Second Act, 515 ;
Third Act, 668; Fourth Act, 574; and the Fifth Act, 611. Thus the First Act is
nearly two hundred lines shorter than any of the others. But this is of no real
importance, I think. The ultimate test of Spedding* s arrangement must be its effect
upon an audience, which cannot but be salutary, if it obviate the confusion, observ-
able to all, in the present arrangement. — Ed.
I. an old man] Inasmuch as the name of this brother is Anthony (as we learn
from V, i, 102, iii), that name, or rather Antonio, was given here, and through-
out, by Rowe, who has been uniformly followed. I suppose that Rowe selected
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46 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. ii.
Old. He is very bufie about it, but brother, I can tell
you newes that you yet dreamt not of. * 5
Lo. Are they good ?
Old. As the euents ftamps them, but they haue a good 7
5. newesl ftrange newes Q, Cap. 5. dream/"] dreanCd F^F^.
Steev. Mai. Var. '21. Coll. Dyce, Cam. 7. euents] event Yl^ Rowe ct scq.
Glo. Wh. ii.
Antonio, not only because it is more Italian than Anthony, but because, in the
masking scene in II, i, 106-1 18 Ursula banters a man named Signior Anthonio who
is supposed to be an old man by the ' wagling of his head ' and the dryness of his
hand — ^but there is no evidence that he was Leonato's brother. — Ed.
Horn (i, 263) : The question may arise : Is this brother, Antonio, really neces-
sary to the play ? At the first blush the answer might be, no ; for the subordinate
part which he plays in Leonato's house, as well as the 'strange news' which he
brings to his elder brother might have been easily undertaken by another ; later on,
however, his part becomes eventually much more important ; alter Hero's pretended
death, and the establishment of her innocence, he must come forward as the father
of a daughter as a new bride for Claudio. Wherefore, it is very necessary that an
actual personality in the shape of the bride's father, should give colour to the fiction
of a daughter. And it seems to me that there is another, a tenderer reason for
Antonio's existence. In such terrible trials as assail Leonato, he must (both poesy
and the himiane poet require it) not be left alone ; some one allied to him by kin-
ship and friendship must be at hand, to whom he can pour out his woes. His
lamentations must not be entirely withdrawn from our view, but the lonely grief of
an old man would be too grievous a sight for even a tragedy. Lear has his Kent,
and his Fool. How attractive is the presentment of these two old men, brothers in
very deed, and how admirably Antonio recalls Leonato to the actual present, when
in V, i, he is bewailing himself alone. It might well be said that Leonato' s heart-
rending lamentations expose him to the danger of exceeding the bounds of a comedy,
but his brother Antonio brings him within them at just the right moment.
2. coaen] Murray (H. E. D,)i The regular phonetic descendant of Lat. can-
sobrinusy cousin by the mother's side. ... In mediaeval use, the word seems to have
been often taken to represent Lat consangmneus. Formerly, very frequently applied
to a nephew or niece.
2. your son] See V, i, 299.
5. you yet dreamt not of] For other examples of the simple past for the com-
plete present, see Abbott, § 347, where it is said that * this is in accordance with
the Greek use of the aorist, and is as logical as our more modem use. The differ-
ence depends upon a difference of thought, the action being regarded simply dApast
without reference to the present or to completion, ... On the other hand, the com-
plete present is used remarkably in V, i, 252 : " I have drunk poison whiles he
utter'd it" This can only be explained by a slight change of thought: "I have
drunk poison (and dmnk poison all the) while he spoke." '
6. they] A Concordance or Schmidt's Lex, will give many instances where
'news' is used as a plural.
7. euents stamps] The compositor evidently composed by his ear, wherein
* euents ' followed by ' stamps ' sounds the same whether it be singular or plural.
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ACT I, sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 47
couer : they fhew well outward, the Prince and Count 8
Claudio walking in a thick pleached alley in my orchard,
were thus ouer-heard by a man of mine : the Prince dif- 10
couered to Claudio that hee loued my niece your daugh-
ter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance,
and if hee found her accordant, hee meant to take the
prefent time by the top, and inftantly breake with you
of it. 15
Leo. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this ?
Old. A good Iharpe fellow, I will fend for him, and
queftion him your felfe.
Leo. No, no ; wee will hold it as a dreame, till it ap-
peare it felfe : but I will acquaint my daughter withall, 20
8. nOward^ F,. Wh. ii.
^. thick pleached^ thick peached l^, and if^catdYf ^,
Rowe ii. thick-pleached Theob. Warb. hee meant'] meant F^, Rowe, Pope,
et seq. Han.
my] mine Q, Cam. Glo. Wh. ii. 20. withall] with aU Y^^ Rowe,
10. thus] thus much Q, Cap. Mai. Pope, Han.
Steev. Var. Coll. Dyce, Sta. Cam. Glo.
9. thick pleached] Steevens: That is, thickly interwoven; so afterward, in
III, i, 9 : 'the pleached bower.* — Halliwell : The term is still in use, applied to
a method of lowering hedges, by partially cutting the principal stems, and inter-
twining them with the rest [In the present passage, it may be that it is the sides
of the ' alley ' that are < pleached,' but in III, i, 9, it would appear that the bower
is pleached overhead by the honey-suckles. The overhead pleaching seems more in
accordance with Italian practice, but thick pleached hedges are better adapted to
conceal listeners. — Ed.]
9. orchard] Skeat {Diet.): A garden of fruit-trees. . . . The older form is
ortgeard . . . signifying * wort-yard,* f. e. yard of worts or vegetables. ... It is
singular that Lat hortus is related to the latter syllable yard; but of course not to
the former.
10. thus] The addition of the Qto ' thus much * is hardly necessary. But, if
adopted, it should be printed, I think, with a hyphen 'thus-much.* — Ed.
14. by the. top] Compare AlPs well, V, iii, 39 : ' Let's take the instant by the
forward top.* — Deighton : That is, to take time by the forelock ; in reference to
the old presentment of Time as having a lock of hair in frodt and being bald behind.
Compare Bacon, Essay xxi : ' For occasion (as it is in the Common verse) tumeth
a Bald Noddle, after she hath presented her locks in Front, and no hold taken.*
16. wit] Here used in its common meaning: sense, understanding; unlike its
meaning in the preceding scene.
19, ao. appeare it selfe] Dyce (ed. ii) : Qy. ' approve * ? i. e, prove. (In Cor,
IV, iii, 9, the Folio has * appear* d,* where the sense requires approz/d,) — ^Abbott
(§ 296) : ' Appear * is, perhaps, here used reflexively ; as also in Cym, III, iv, 148 :
'disguise That which to appear itself must not yet be.' Though these passages
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48 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i. sc. iii.
that fhe may be the better prepared for an anfwer,if per- 21
aduenture this bee true : goe you and tell her of it : coo-
fins, you know what you haue to doe, O I crie you mer-
cie friend, goe you with mee and I will vfe your skill,
good cofm haue a care this bufie time. Exeunt. 25
\Scene III.]
Enter Sir John the Bajlard^and Conrade his companion. i
Con. What the good yeere my Lord, why are you
thus out of meafure fad ? 3
21. for an an/wer\ for anfwer Ff, Var. '13, Sta. Ktly.
Rowe, + . Scene VI. Pope, + . Scene III,
22. [Enter sevend Persons, bearing Cap. et seq.
Things for the Banquet. Cap. Exit Scene changes to an Appartment
Antonio. — Several Persons cross the in Leonato's House. Theob. The Street
Stage. Dyce. Enter Attendants. Cam. Han.
22. 23. coojens^'l comin^ Johns. Var. i. Enter...] Enter Don John and
'85, Ran. Dyce ii, iii, Huds. Conrade. Rowe et seq.
23. to doey O"] to do, [several cross the 2. good yeere]¥^. goodyeereQ^, good-
stage here] O, Theob. yVr Theob. Warb. Johns, goujeres Han.
24. skUl'\ skill Q. goujere Steev. good-year Mai. Dyce,
25. cofin\ cousins Steev. Var. '03, Cam. Glo. Wh. ii. good year F^F^,
Rowe et cet.
might be perhaps explained without the reflexive use of < appear,' yet this interpre-
tation is made more probable by * Your favour is well appear'd,* — Cor, IV, iii, 9.
[Note that this example from Cor, is the one which seemed to Dyce to justify his
mistrust of the present word. It is the position in the sentence of Mtself that
causes the slight difficulty, and leads Abbott to suggest a reflexive use. ' Itself
qualifies ' it,' but the cacophony of < it itself appear ' (which is the true meaning, I
diink) caused * itself ' to be placed after the verb, and so give to it a reflexive appear-
ance. Of course, 'appear' here means, to come true, to become reality, — Ed.]
22, 23. cooaina] Steevens : ' Cousins' were anciently enrolled among the depend-
ants, if not the domesticks, of great families, such as that of Leonato. Petruchio, while
intent on the subjection of Katharine, calls out, in terms imperative, for his Cousin
Ferdinand. Walker (Cril, i, 247) includes this plural in his long list of instances
where final s has been interpolated. — Dyce (ed. ii) : Here the old eds. have
'coosins,' and, two lines after, 'cosin'; but Leonato is evidently addressing the
same individual ; and his first speech in this scene shows plainly wko that individual
is — * Where is my cousin, your son f hath he provided the music ?* The said * cousin,'
son to Antonio, now crosses the stage along with musicians, and, it may be, with
others. [In a case like this, it is impossible to affirm or to deny, and a conservative
course which follows both Qto and Folio is certainly safe. For the derivation of
* cousin,* see line 2, above. — Ed.]
I. lohn the Bastard] Lamb (iii, 400) : It is praise of Shakespeare, with refer-
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ACT I, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 49
[i. lohn the Bastard]
ence to the play- writers, his contemporaries, that he has so few revolting characters.
Yet he has one that is singularly mean and disagreeable — the king in Hamlet,
Neither has he characters of insignificance, unless the phantom that stalks over the
stage as Julius Caesar, in the play of that name, may be accounted one. Neither has
he envious characters, excepting the short part of Don John in Much Ado, Neither
has he nnentertaining characters, if we except Parolles, and the little that there is
of the Qown, in AlPs well that Ends Well, — ^Hartley Coleridge (ii, 134) :
There is, alas ! but too much nature in this sulky rascal. Men who are inly con-
scious of being despicable take it for granted that all their fellow-creatures despise
them, and hate the whole human race by anticipation. Such men there are who
immerse their souls in wilfull gloom, and think that all joy insults their sullenness ;
that beauty is only beautiful to make their deformity more hideous, and that virtue is
virtue purely to spite them. — Kreyssig (p. 214) : By a single fortunate touch, the
Poet has attained his end. Compound of envy as he is, Don John amuses us more
than he terrifies us, for Shakespeare has denied him the one characteristic that could
produce the latter effect He cannot possibly feign. Let him but be able to do this,
and the repulsive but harmless reptile becomes the subde venomous viper ; as it is,
we have a flattering honest man, a plain-dealing villain. It is in lago that Shake-
speare gives us the frightful embodiment of human depravity. In vain does Don
John's companion admonish him that he cannot take true root, but by the fair
weather that he makes himself that he must not make full show of his gloomy mood
until he may do it without controlment, Beatrice cannot look at him without suffer-
ing from heartburn for an hour. It better fits his blood to be disdained of all than to
fashion a carriage to rob love from any. Sooner than put constraint upon himself,
he prefers to be a canker in a hedge j rather than a rose in the princ/ s grcue. Thus
he arouses suspicion and mistrust in the audience, who feel beforehand that his
plotting cannot be successful. It is dear that the comedy gains by this. — D. J.
Snider (i, 358) : There is a reason for Don John's conduct and disposition, — there
has been committed against him a wrong whose sting has injected its poison into his
whole existence, and transformed his nature. The villain, pure and simple, is a
horrible monstrosity without human lineaments, and is certainly not a Shakespearean
creation. Don John, therefore, has some ground for his present character ; the Poet
has indicated it plainly, — ^it is to be found in his illegitimacy. The Bastard is the
natural villain ; he is punished for an offence which he never committed, and neces-
sarily turns against institutions which make him an outcast and an outlaw. Above
all, the Family disowns him, though it is the special function of the Family to love
and cherish the child. He thus inhales the atmosphere of wrong from his birth ;
law, — justice itself, — ^becomes, in his case, the instrument of injustice. With ven-
geance he turns upon society, and especially upon the Family, which, however,
cannot recognise him without its own destruction. The Bastard represents a per-
petual conflict, which in a strong nature, must become tragical ; he has to obey that
which destroys him, or, if he disobeys, he becomes the villain. Shakespeare has
elsewhere made him the scourge of his kindred. In Lear it is the father, — the real
author of the violation, — whom he hates and destroys ; here it is the brother, whom,
as a member of his family, he must hate, but whom he must not destroy. It is also
natural that he should detest marriage ; and his efforts to undermine the legitimate
union of Claudio and Hero spring from his own position and character.
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50 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act I, sc. iu.
loh. There is no meafure in the occafion that breeds,
therefore the fadneffe is without limit. 5
Con. You (hould heare reafon.
lohn. And when I haue heard it, what bleffing brin-
gethit?
Con. If not a prefent remedy,yet a patient fufferance.
loh. I wonder that thou (being as thou faift thou art, 10
borne vnder Satume) goeft about to apply a morall me-
4. breeds] breeds it Theob., + , Cap. 9. yei] at leaft Q, Coll. Cam. Glo.
Var. Ran. Mai. Steev. Var, Coll. ii, Wh. ii.
iii, (MS), Dyce ii, iu, Wh. i, Ktly, la wonder] wonder not Theob. MS
Rife, Huds. ap. Cam.
7, 8. brmgeth] brings Q, Coll. i, ii, thou] than F^.
Cam. Glo. Wh. ii. as. ..art] In parenthesis. Cap.
II. mora//] morta//F{, Rowe.
2. good yeere] Blakeway: When Sir Thomas Moxe was confined in the
Tower, his wife ' like a simple ignorant woman, and somewhat worldlie to, with
this manner of salutation homelie saluted him. « What a good yeer, Mr More,
quoth she, I marvaile that yow that hetherto have binne taken for a wiseman will
now soe plaie the foole to lie heere in this close filthie prison." ' — Life of Sir T.
More^ by Roper, ed. 1731, p. 88. [This extract is here quoted from W. A. Wright,
who undoubtedly gives it more correctly than Blakeway.] — Farmer : Florio writes
< With a good yeare to thee !' and gives it in Italian, * II mal anno che dio ti dia t' —
W. A. Wright : This is an interjectional expression of frequent occurrence, but
unknown origin. Hanmer invented a French equivalent for it, which has apparently
no other existence than in his invention : gouj>re^ a disease contracted from a gouge
or camp-follower. It may possibly be a corruption of quad yere, equivalent to bad
year, which occurs in Chaucer, and would so be equivalent to the Italian imprecation
maP anno ! Or it may be a euphemism for the latter. [It was evidently a good
mouth-filling oath, which was not dangerous, in that it had lost all meaning. While
it is become obsolete, its twin brother in obscurity : ' What the dickens !*, also used
by Shakespeare, has survived. In Lear^ V, iii, 24, we find the phrase : * The good
yeares shall devour them, flesh and fell,' which gives, phonetically, so much author-
ity to Hanmer* s imaginary ^<w;>r«'j, that a majority of Editors have there adopted
the latter, — ^unwisely, I think. In Lear its meaning is still to seek. — ^Ed.]
4. breeds] Excellent Editors have followed Theobald in making this verb
transitive by adding 1/, but, I think, needlessly. Shakespeare elsewhere uses it
intransitively, as in Mecu, for Meas, II, ii, 142 : * She speaks, and 'tis Such sense
that my sense breeds with it.' It is even more forcible, thus used absolutely. Don
John says, in effect : ' That which occasions my sadness is for ever breeding.' — ^£d.
9. sufferance] That is, endurance. In V, i, 41, it means, suffering.
II. Satume] Inasmuch as saturnine is a word in every-day use, it is superfluous
to give any note on the present passage. But the description in Batman vppon Bar-
iho/ome, of the effect of the planet, is so quaint that I think I shall be pardoned for
quoting it : ' Satumus ... is an euill willed Planet, colde and drie, a night Planet
and heauie. And therefore by fables he is painted as an old man, his circle is most
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ACT I, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 5 1
didne, to a mortifying mifchiefe : I cannot hide what I 12
am : I mud bee fad when I haue caufe^ and fmile at no
mans iefts, eat when I haue ftomacke^ and wait for no
mans leifure : fleepe when I am drowfie, and tend on no 15
mans bufinefley laugh when I am merry ^and claw no man
in his humor.
Con. Yea, but you mud not make the ful (how of this , 1 8
12. mi/chUfi] mifcheife F,. 18. ful^ fulll F,.
15. /end on] iiftd/oWBi.* OS,* 1 3t* 21.
fane from the earth, and neuerthelesse it is most noifiill to the earth. And for that
he is far from f earth, he ful endeth not his course before 30. yeres. And greeueth
more, when he goeth backwarde, then when he goeth forth right And therefore by
Fables it is feined, that hee hath a crooked hooke, and is pale in coulour or wanne as
Lead, and hath two deadlye qualityes, coldnesse, and drynesse. And therefore a
childe & other broodes, that be conceiued & come forth vnder his Lordship, dye, or
haue full euill qualyties. For ... he maketh a man browne and fowle, misdoing
slowe, and heauie, eleinge [ailing f] and sorie, seldome giadde and merrye, or
laoghing[, and therefore . . . they that be subiect to Satumusy haue ofte euill drye
chinnes \cracks\ in the hinder part of the foote, and be yeolow of coulour, and
browne of hayre, and sharpe in all the body and unseemly, and be not skroymous
\5qtuamish'\ of foule and stinking clothing, and he loueth stinking beastes and
▼ncleane, sower things and sharpe : for of their complection melancholike humour
hkth masterie.' — ^fol. 129, versoy ed. 1582. — Ed.
11, 12. morall medicine, etc.] Bucknill (p. 112): Sadness dependent upon dis-
position is [here] truly stated to be more radical and less curable than that which can
be referred to a definite outward cause. The would-be physician recommends reason
as an anodyne, but the patient repudiates the moral medicine. — ^W. A. Wright :
Like patching grief with proverbs, V, i, 20, or giving preceptial medicine to rage.
In Lyly's Euphuesy p. 107 (ed. Arber), there is the same alliterative contrast between
medicine and mischief, ' Be as earnest to seeke a medicine, as you were eager to run
into a mischiefe.'
12. mortifying] Used causatively, in the present participle, and in its literal
meaning of death-dealing.
12, 13. I cannot ... I must] In both of these places, 'I ' is emphatic — ^Ed.
12. I cannot hide, etc] Johnson : This is one of our author's natural touches.
An envious and unsocial mind, too proud to give pleasure, and too sullen to receive
it, always endeavours to hide its malignity from the world and from itself, under the
plainness of simple honesty, or the dignity of haughty independence.
16. claw] Murray {H. E. D.)\ So lo claw the ears, humour y etc. : to tickle,
flatter, gratify (the senses, etc). Thence claw itself came to mean : To flatter, cajole,
wheedle, fawn upon [as in the present passage].
18, etc. Yea, but, etc.] Walker (CVtT. i, 2) suspects that this whole speech of
Conrade is verse, and thus divides the lines :
' Yea, but you must not make full show of this,
Till you may do 't without controlement :
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52 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i. sc. iu.
till you may doe it without controllment, you haue of
late ftood out againft your brother, and hee hath tane 20
19, 20. of iate] ^tUl of late Coll. ii, 20. tane\ ta'en Pope,
iii (MS). untU of late Sing. (MS).
You have, of late, stood out against your brother.
And he hath ta'en you newly into *s grace j
Where ^tis impossible you should take root.
But by M' fair weather that you make yourself :
[ ] 'tis needful that you frame the season
For your own harvest.'
He adds : In the first line I have expunged ' the ' before 'full show ' as injurious
even to the sense. ' Controlment ' is also written controlement in King John, I, i,
ao. . . . In line 5, the common editions have * take true root,' which perhaps is
right ; true may have been absorbed by ' take ' ; the Folio omits true. This metrical
use of impossible f terrible, and the like, is (as is well known) very common in the
Elizabethan poets. [It is found in V, i, 289, of the present play.] It occurs even
in Chapman's Iliad, where it is very remarkable. In the penultimate line, perhaps
* Therefore ' tis needful,' etc. [Walker, in the first place, fails, apparently, to appreciate
the nice discrimination with which Shakespeare apportions verse and prose not only
among his characters, but also according to the elevation of his theme. Throughout
the play, neither Don John, nor Conrade, nor Dogberry and the Watch, nor Mar-
garet, nor Ursula utters one line of verse, nor does Borachio except in the first Scene
of the Fifth Act, and there, in a high-pitched, almost tragic interview, where all the
characters speak in verse, for five lines Borachio speaks in the same, at all other
times he speaks, as befits his character, in prose. In the second place. Walker
overlooks the tendency of all Shakespeare's prose, when any characters, above the
lowest order, are speaking, to run into metric prose, that is, there is an harmonious,
measured cadence which seems to need but a few trifling changes to convert it into
regular blank verse. Take Orlando's opening speech in As You Like It: ' As I |
remem | ber Adam | it was | upon | this fashion | bequea | thdd me | by will | but
poor I a thou | sand crowns,' and so on, throughout the whole speech ; the very
inversion: 'but poor a thousand crowns' seems intentional for the sake of the rhythm.
To have written it all in blank verse would have imparted too much dignity to what
are really only the querulous complaints of a neglected boy, but he is the hero of the
piece, and is destined to develop into a most attractive character ; insensibly, there-
fore, our minds are prepared for his high position by this metric prose, which we find
also, in this present speech of Conrade ; not because Conrade' s character was like
Orlando's, but because the sentiments he utters are to be considered of a more ele-
vated tone than the repulsive selfishness of Don John. There is a positive indica-
tion, I think, that the rhythm was intentional, in line 20, where is the contraction
' tane ' for taken, and it is barely possible that it was this contraction which started
Walker's suspicion that the whole was blank verse. See I, i, 240. — Ed.]
19, 20. of late] Collier (ed. ii) : ' 'Till of late' is from the MS, and is clearly
required by the sense. — Anon. (Blackiuood' s Maga, Aug. 1853, p. 192) : This MS
correction, as any one, looking at the context even with half an eye, may perceive
both spoils the idiom and impairs the meaning of the passage. [The correction is.
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ACT I, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 53
you newly into his grace, where it is impoffible you 21
fliould take root,but by the faire weather that you make
your felfe,it is needful that you frame the feafon for your
owne harueft.
lohn. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, then a rofe 25
in his grace, and it better fits my bloud to be difdain'd of
all, then to faihion a carriage to rob loue from any : in this
(though I cannot be faid to be a flattering honed man )
it mud not be denied but I am a plaine dealing villaine,! 29
22. take root'\ take true root Q, Cap. '13, '21, Knt, Sto.
Steey. Var. Coll. Dyce, Sta. Cam. Wh. ii. 29. plaine eUaling] plain-dealing
21^. but I am] that I am Var, '03, Rowe et seq.
perhaps, superfluous, but it cannot be said greatly to impair the meaning. The
brothers had undoubtedly quarrelled until very recently. — Ed.]
22. take root] Inasmuch as the Folio was printed from the Qto, the omission of
words in the former is in all likelihood due merely to the carelessness of the com-
positors, and the reading of the Qto should be here restored. — Ed.
25. canker] Johnson : A ' canker ' is the canker-rose, dog-rose, cyanosbatus^ or
hip. The sense is, I would rather live in obscurity the wild life of nature, than owe
dignity or estimation to my brother. He still continues his wish of gloomy inde-
pendence. But what is the meaning of the expression, < a rose in his grace ' ? If
he was a rose of himself, his brother's ' grace ' or favour could not degrade him. I
once read thus : ' I had rather be a canker in a hedge, than a rose in his garden ;*
that is, I had rather be what nature makes me, however mean, than owe any exalta-
tion or improvement to my brother's kindness or cultivation. But a less change will
be sufficient ; I think it should be read : ' than a rose by his grace.' — Steevens : I
think no change is necessary. The sense is, — I had rather be a neglected dog-rose
in a hedge, than a garden-flower of the same species, if it profited by his culture.
See Sonn, liv, 5 — Ellacombe (p. 194) : The Canker-Rose is the wild Dog Rose,
and the name is sometimes applied to the common Red Poppy. [The fact that Shake-
speare himself uses 'canker' in two quite different senses led RiTSON {Remarks^ p.
30) to maintain that the word is here used as it is twice used in Mid, N, Dream^
for the envious worm that feeds on ' the muske rose buds,' and that such ' a meta-
morphosis suited to the malignancy of the speaker's disposition.' Had this been
Shakespeare's reference it is not likely that he would have spoken of < a canker in
a hedgeJ* Unquestionably, the 'canker' is here the Rosa canina. — Ed.]
27. fashion a carriage] Boas (p. 306) : It would seem as if the dramatist in
this most radiant of comedies had not wished to focus our attention upon the villain
by investing him with the fascination which underlies evil-doing masquerading under
the guise of good-humoured honesty. Moreover, we are not inclined to augur very
disastrous results from the schemes of a mischief-maker who wears his heart upon
his sleeve in so transparent a fashion, and who seems so ill-fitted for an intriguer's
part.
27. carriage] Bearing, deportment. See Shakespeare, passim.
29. denied but] Abbott (§ 122) : That is, * there must be no denial to prevent
my being supposed a plain-dealing villain ;' where, however, ' but ' is used transi-
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54 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. iii.
am trufted with a muffell, and enfranchifde with a clog, 30
therefore I haue decreed, not to fing in my cage : if I had
my mouth, I would bite : if I had my liberty, I would do
my liking : in the meane time, let me be that I am, and
feeke not to alter me.
Con. Can you make no vfe of your difcontent ? 35
lohn. I will make all vfe of it, for I vfe it onely.
Who comes here ? what newes BoracfUo ?
Enter Borachio.
Bor. I came yonder from a great fupper, the Prince
your brother is royally entertained by LeonatofiXid I can 40
giue you intelligence of an intended marriage.
30. muffell"] muzsel F^. Dyce, Sta. Cam. Wh. ii.
36. / will make] I make Q, Cap. 39. came] come Cap. conj.
Var. Ran. Mai. Stecv. Var. Knt, Coll.
tionally, almost as an adversative. Cf. < It cannot be but I am pigeon-liver' d.'>^
Ham. II, ii, 605, which approximates to ' It cannot be (that I am otherwise than a
coward),' f. ^'.< it cannot be that I am courageous ; on the contrary (hut adversative),
I am pigeon-liver* d.' — Deighton : Possibly, there is a slight confusion due to the
excessive negative in 'denied.' If Shakespeare had written, *It must not be said
but I am,' etc, the sense would have been plain.
29, etc. I am trusted, etc.] Deighton : <They show perfect trust in me, — ^yes,
by putting a muzzle on me like a dangerous dog ; they give me perfect freedom, —
yes, by fettering me with a clog, like an animal they are afraid will run away ; so,
like a caged bird, I am determined I will not sing to please them.'
32. mouth . . . liberty] Here, of course, ' mouth ' refers to the < muzzle ' and
* liberty* to the *clog.' Let it not be hereafter said that Shakespeare never mixes
his metaphors. A bird ' in a cage ' with a ' clog ' on its 1^ to keep it a prisoner,
and a * muzzle ' on its beak to keep it from ' biting,' would be a sight for gods and
men. — Ed.
33. that I am] For examples of the omission of the relative, ' that which I am,'
see Abbott, § 244, if necessary.
36. I will make] The present ' I make ' of the Qto is better than this future.
36. I vse it onely] Steevens : That is, I make nothing else my counsellor.
39. I came] Deighton : That is, the aorist for the perfect ; the action being
regarded simply as past without reference to the present or to completion. — ^W. A.
Wright : That is, I am come. The same tense is used in Jul. Cces. V, v, 3 :
'Statilius show'd the torch-light, but, my lord, He came not back.' And Rich,
III: V, iii, 277 : *Who saw the sun to-day?* In these cases we should now say
*He is not come back,* and * Who has seen the sun to-day?' Similarly in Genesis
xliv, 28 : * I said, Surely he is torn in pieces ; and I saw him not since.'
39. yonder] Were it not that Shakespeare allows himself great licence in the
transposition of words I should think that this is a compositor's mistake for 'a
great supper yonder.' — Ed.
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ACT I. sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 55
lohn. Will it ferue for any Modell to build mifchiefe 42
on ? What is hee for a foole that betrothes himfelfe to
vnquietneffe ?
Bor. Mary it is your brothers right hand. 45
lohn. Who, the moft exquifite Claudio}
Bor. Euen he.
John. A proper fquier, and who, and who,which way
lookes he ? 49
45. brothers] bothers Q. 48. andwho^ which] and who? which
Rowe ii, et seq.
42. Modell] W. A. Wright : That is, ground plan. Compare 2 Hen, IV: I,
iii, 42 : *■ When we mean to build. We first survey the plot, then draw the model/
43. for a foole] Dyce {Remarks, p. 32) : This is equivalent to — ' What manner of
fool is he?' See GiSoxA* s Jonson, iii, 397 [where GifTord, in a note on ' What is he
for a vicar?' remarks: 'This is pure German in its idiom, and is veiy common in
our old writers : was ist dasfUr ein. It is somewhat singular that £. K., the com-
mentator on Spenser's Pastorals, should think it necessary to explain the expression
in his time. On the line, <' What is he for a Ladde you so lament?" [ — April]
he subjoins, <<a strange manner of speaking, q. d. What manner of lad is he?"
** What is he for a creature" occurs in Every Man out of his Humour, III, i.']
Dycb (Notes, p. 40) adds two more examples: Middleton's A Mad World, my
Masters: 'What is she for a fool would marry thee?' — JVorks, ii, 421, ed. Dyce.
And Warner's Syrinx, etc : ' And what art thou for a man that shouldest be fastidious ?'
Sig. Q 4, ed. 1597. Staunton says that * this construction, though no longer per-
missible, was trite enough in the poet's time ;' and adds fresh examples from Peele's
Edtifard I, and Ram Alley, IV, ii. And DsiGHTON contributes three more from
Middleton. Abbott ($ 148) says that the phrase is 'more intelligible when the
order is changed: "For a fool, what is he," i. e. "considered as a fool, — it being
granted that he is a fool — what kind of a fool is he ?" '
48. proper] Used with even more intense irony by Beatrice in IV, i, 316 : 'a
proper saying ?'
48. and who] Walker {Crit, iii, 29) : Compare Shirley, Witty Fair One, IV,
ii, vol. i, p. 333, ed. Gifford and Dyce : ' — and when, and when ?' lb. Wedding,
III, ii, p. 406 : * — ^And how, and how do you like it ?* lb. Gentleman of Venice,
III, iv, vol. V, p. 50 : — ' And how, and how shew these things?' lb. Cardinal, V,
ii, p. 339 : * — And how, and how ?' R. G. White, not having had the advantage
of seeing these parallel examples collected by Walker, believed this iteration of ' and
who' to be a printer's error, and proposed to omit the second. Allen (MS) pro-
posed to punctuate 'and who . . . and who . . . which, etc.?' with the following ingen-
ious explanation : ' Don John had it in mind to ask directly : Who is the lady that is
to have him ? but, with the peculiar obliquity of his character, he shrinks from an
inquiry so straight forward, and finally begins his question again in another form.'
This interpretation is so ingenious that even granting the applicability, to the present
passage, of the examples from Shirley, it may serve to explain why Don John employed
this form of expression. This ^me interpretation occurred to F. A. Marshall,
independently of course, for Allen's, written thirty years ago, was never in print
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56 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act i, sc. iii.
Bor. Majy on Hero^ the daughter and Heire of Leo- 50
nato.
John. A very forward March-chicke, how came you
to this /
Bor. Being entertained for a perfumer,as I was fmoa-
king a mufty roome, comes me the Prince and Claudio^ 55
hand in hand in fad conference : I whipt behind the Ar-
ras, and there heard it agreed vpon, that the Prince (hould 57
50. on Hero] one Hero Q. 54, 55, fmoaking a\ smocMng in a
52. canul come Ff, Rowe, + . Rowe ii, Pope.
53. to this\ to knew this Johns, Var. 56. whipfl Ff, Rowe,+, Knt, Wh. i.
'73? '78, '85, Rao. whipt me Q, Cap. et cet
till now; Marshall's note reads: — < As we have pointed the passage [And who—
and who — ], the meaning would be that Don John is going to ask And who — and
who is the Lady f when he changes his mind and puts the question in another form.
It may be that the phrase is a misprint for And how and how f but even then there
does not seem much sense in it' — Ed.
52. March-chicke] Of course, here used as a t3rpe of precocity.
54. 55. smoaking a musty roome] Steevens : The neglect of cleanliness
among our ancestors rendered such precautions too often necessary. In the direc-
tions, drawn up by Sir John Puckering' s Steward {Harleian MSS, No. 6850, fol. 90,
Brit Mus.) relative to Suffolk Place before Queen Elizabeth's visit in 1594, the 15th
article is — 'The swetynynge of the house in all places by any means.' Again, in
Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, p. 251, ed. 1632 : * — the smoake of juniper is in
greate request with us at Oxford, to sweeten our chambers.' [In a note on 2 Hen,
IV: V, iv, 21, Steevens adds several other quotations bearing somewhat on the
question ; among them, one from a Letter from the Lords of the Council, in the reign
of Edward VI. (Lodge's Illust, i, 141) where we are told that Lord Paget' s house
was so small that, ' after one month it would wax unsavery for hym to contynue in,'
etc.] Halliwell quotes from Muffett {Health^ s Improvement, ed. 1655, p. 25)
certain advice to persons, in localities infected by the plague, with regard to * correct-
ing the air about them with good fires,' which cannot be said to apply to the present
passage ; incidentally, however, Muffett mentions the estimation in which juniper
was held for its purifying qualities, it < retaineth,' he says, < his sent and substance a
hundred years.* [It has been noted (first, I think, by Thombury; but I speak
under correction) that Shakespeare nowhere alludes to tobacco. It is clear that
those who make this claim did not read their Shakespeare in either Rowe's Second
Edition or in Pope, where Borachio is made to say that he was ' smoking in a musty
room. — ^Ed.]
55. comes me] The familiar ethical dative.
56. sad] For 'sad' in the sense oi grave, Schmidt's Lex, will give many an
instance.
56, 57. Arras] Drake (ii, 1 14) : Arras or tapestry, representing landscapes and
figures, formed the almost universal hangings for rooms below and chambers above.
When first introduced, it was attached to the bare walls ; but it was soon found
necessary, in consequence of the damp arising from the brick-work to suspend it on
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ACT I, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 57
wooe Hero for himfelfe, and hauing obtained her, giue 58
her to Count Claudio.
lohn. Come, come, let vs thither, this may proue food 60
to my difpleafure, that young ftart-vp hath all the glorie
of my ouerthrow : if I can croffe him any way, I bleffe
my felfe euery way, you are both fure, and will aflill
mee?
Conr. To the death my Lord. 65
lohn. Let vs to the great fupper, their cheere is the
greater that I am fubdued, would the Cooke were of my
minde :ftiall we goe proue whats to be done ?
Bor. WeeMl wait vpon your Lordfhip.
Exeunt. 70
64. mee^"] me, Q, Theob. Warb. et cet.
Johns. Ran. Mai. 67. of my\ a my Q.
67. I am fubdued'\I fubdmdY^^y 68. minde :'\ mind! Theob. Warb.
Rowe i. et seq.
would^ QFf, Rowe, Pope, Han. 70. Exeunt.] Exit Q.
Dyce, Cam. (subs. ) ^ would Theob. ii,
wooden frames, placed at such a distance from the sides of the room, as would easily
admit of any person being introduced behind it, a facility which soon converted these
vacancies into common hiding-places. Thus Shakespeare, during his scenic develop-
ments, has very frequent recourse to this expedient. [The derivation of the word
from the name of the town in France, where it was first made, is well known.]
58, 59. hauing obtain'd her, giue her] When women were accustomed to be
thus freely bandied about in marriage, is it to be wondered at that Hero so lightly
condones Claudio' s insult? — Ed.
61. displeasure] Deighton interprets this as referring to the malice which Don
John bears to Claudio. It is possible ; but I incline to think that it refers to the hos-
tility to all the world which Don John has just expressed. — Ed.
61. start-vp] In the New Shakspere Society s Trans, 1877-9, p. 42,* another
example of this word is given : ' It is reported that a new start-up fellow, whom
they call Paracelsus, changeth & subverteth all the order of ancient, & so long time
received rules.* — 1603, Florio's Montaigne^ p. 321, ed. 1632. And Deighton has
found a third in Middleton's Women beware Women^ IV, i, III : 'A poor, base
start-up.'
62. crosse • . . blesse] Deighton : Though ' cross ' here is, of course, primarily
to thwart, to hinder, yet the use of the word * bless ' immediately afterwards suggests
an allusion to the making of the sign of the cross, as by a priest when blessing, or by
a layman when endeavouring to avert a danger, a curse, etc.
63. sure] Steevens : That is, to be depended on.
68. proue] Cf. / Thessalonians, V, 21 : * Prove all things.*
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58 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. i.
Adlus SecMfidus.
Enter Leonato^ his brother ^ his wife^ Hero his daughter^ and
Beatrice his neece,and a kin/man.
Leonato. Was not Count John here at fupper ?
Brother. I faw him not. 5
Beatrice. How tartly that Gentleman lookes, I neuer
can fee him, but I am heart-burn'd an howre after.
Hero. He is of a very melancholy difpofition.
Beatrice. Hee were an excellent man that were made
iuft in the mid-way betweene him and BenedickefHivt one 10
is too like an image and faies nothing, and the other too
like my Ladies eldeft fonne, euermore tatling.
Leon. Then halfe fignior Benedicks tongue in Count
lohns mouth, and halfe Count lohns melancholy in Sig-
nior Benedicks face. 15
Beat. With a good legge,and a good foot vnckle,and
1. Om. Q. 5. Brother.] Biot. Ff. AnL Rowe et
LeoDato's House. Pope et seq. seq.
(subs.) 8. very\ Om. FgF^, Rowe i.
2. Enter...] Enter Leonato, Antonio, I3» I5* Benedicks] Benodicf s Koiwe
Innogen, Hero, Beatrice, Margaret and ii, Pope.
Ursula. Rowe. 15. face,'\ QF^. face--, F,. face^^
3. and a] and F^F^. Fj. face— Rowe et seq. (subs.)
< Scene. A hall in Leonato's house.' — Cambridge Edition : It may be doubted
whether the author did not intend this scene to take place in the garden rather than
within doors. The banquet, of which Don John speaks, line 1 64, would naturally
occupy the hall or great chamber. Don Pedro at the close of the scene says, ' Go
in with me,' etc. If the dance, at line 148, were intended to be performed before
the spectators, the stage might be supposed to represent a smooth lawn as well
as the floor of a hall. On the other hand, the word ' entering,' at line 78, rather
points to the scene as being within doors.
6. tartly] Shakespeare constantly uses adjectives as adverbs ; note that here he
uses an adverb as an adjective. — Ed.
7. heart-bum'd] Bucknill (p. 113): Heart-bum referred to acidity is good
medical doctrine.
9. were . . . were] See I, i, 135.
12. Ladies eldest sonne] J. C. Moore {N. &* Qu, Ser. 7, vol. iv, p. 474) :
That is, the spoiled brat of the family, and therefore pert and talkative. [See
Fletcher, I, i, 142.]
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ACT II, sc. i.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 59
money enough in his purfe, fuch a man would winne any 17
woman in the world, if he could get her good will.
Leon. By my troth Neece, thou wilt neuer get thee a
husband, if thou be fo flirewd of thy tongue. 20
Brother. Infaith fliee-s too curft.
Beat. Too curft is more then curft, I (hall leffen Gods
fending that way: for it is faid, God fends a curft Cow
Ihort homes, but to a Cow too curft he fends none. 24
18. world, i/1 world,-^f Cap. Var. 18. he\ a Q. a* Coll. i. Cam.
Ran. Mai. Stccv. Var. Knt, Coll. Dyce, 19. thee a\ hee ta F^.
Sta. 22. I/haiq and I shall Han.
20,21, shrewd . . . curst] Craik (p. 141) : It is a strong confinnation of the
deriyation of < shrewd' from the veib to shrew that we find < shrewd' and 'oirst'
applied to the disposition and temper by our old writers in almost, or rather, in pre-
cisely, the same sense. [The present use of the two words is a case in point] So
in Mid. N Dream, III, ii, Helena, declining to reply to a torrent of abuse from
Hennia, says, < I was never curst ; I have no gift at all in shrewishness.' And in
Tarn, of Shr. I, ii, first we have Hortensio describing Katharine to his friend
Petruchio as * intolerable curst, and shrewd, and froward,' and then we have
Katharine, the shrew, repeatedly designated ' Katharine the curst.' At the end of
the Flay she is called ' a curst shrew,' that is, as we might otherwise express it, an
ill-tempered shrew. ... As it is in words that ill-temper finds the readiest and
most frequent vent, the terms curst and shrew, and shreivd and shreivish are often
used with a special reference to the tongue. But sharpness of tongue, again, always
implies some sharpness of understanding as well as of temper. The terms shrewd
and shrewdly, accordingly, have come to convey usually something of both of these
qualities, — at one time, perhaps, most of the one, at another of the other. The sort
of ability that we call shrewdness never suggests the notion of anything very high ;
the word has always a touch in it of the sarcastic or disparaging. But, on the x>ther
hand, the disparagement which it expresses is never without an admission of some-
thing also that is creditable or flattering. Hence it has come to pass that a person
does not hesitate to use the terms in question even of himself and his own judge-
ments or conjectures. We say, < I shrewdly suspect or guess,' or, < I have a shrewd
guess, or suspicion,' taking the liberty of thus asserting or assuming our own intel-
lectual acumen under cover of the modest confession at the same time of some little
ill-nature in the exercise of it.
20. shrewd of thy tongue] Allen (MS) : Shrewd of tongue would not strike
us as more singular than swift of foot ; it is the Pronominal Adjective ' thy,' that
makes the singularity.
23. sending that way] Allen (MS) : One must suspect that the original form
must have been ' sending in that way ' and that the in got dropt out in mere care-
lessness of speech. But the g, in Participles in -ing was, probably, no more pro-
nounced in Shakespeare's day than by the Scotch, North-English, and others now.
I suspect, therefore, that the true solution is the absorption of the in by the inJi of the
Participle, i. e, in pronunciation, while it was felt to be there still. /, therefore,
should write : * sending 'that way.'
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6o MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. i.
Leon. So, by being too curft, God will fend you no 25
homes.
Beat. luft, if he fend me no husband, for the which
bleffing, I am at him vpon my knees euery morning and
euening : Lord, I could not endure a husband with a
beard on his face, I had rather lie in the woollen. 30
Leonato, You may light vpon a husband that hath no
beard.
Batrice. What Ihould I doe with him ? dreffe him in
my apparell,and make him my waiting gentlewomanPhe
that hath a beard, is more then a youth : and he that hath 35
no beard, is lefTe then a man : and hee that is more then a
youth, is not for mee :and he that is leffe then a man, I am
not for him : therefore I will euen take fixepence in ear-
ned of the Berrord,and leade his Apes into hell. 39
25. you\ Om. F,F^, Rowe i. 38. /ixepence^sixpenceY ^ ^^<3mt^-\- »
30. in the woollen] in wooll€n'Royfe,-V, 39. Berrord"] dearward Knt^ E)yce»
31. TJponI on Q, Coll. Dyce, Cam. Sta.Cam. bir-^ard Wh. i. bear-^ard
34. waiting gentlewoman] waiting- Wh. ii. Bearherd F^F^, Rowe, + , Cap.
'gentlewoman Rowe. et cet. (subs. )
23. God sends, etc. ] H alliwell : This is a very common old English proverb.
* Curst cowes have short horns, Dat Deus immiti comua curta bovi; Providence so
disposes that they who have will, want power or means to hurt.' — Ray's Proverbs^
ed. 1678, p. 118. .. . 'But herein I have tolde hym my opinion, whiche is, that
sithe he will leane so muche to his owne inclination, that God will sende a shrewde
CO we shorte homes,' — A Letter sent by F. A. touching the Proceedings in a prhjate
Quarell and Unkindnesse between Arthur Hall and Melchisedech Mallerie, 1576.
[The same variation (in the substitution of shretvdior * curst') is noted by W. A.
Wright in Froude's Hist, of England, also (IV, 512) : *God sends a shrewd cow
short horns,' says Lord Surrey to Blage.]
27. lust] Exactly so. See V, i, 174, where it is again Beatrice's word.
30. in the woollen] Capell asserts that this means Mn my shroud'; but
Steevens supposes that it means < blankets without sheets.' As regards Capell' s
interpretation, W. A. Wright remarks that ' the custom of burying in woollen
appears not to have come in till the Act of 18 & 19 Charles the Second for the pro-
tection of the woollen trade, which made it compulsory for all to be buried in
woollen.' [The so-called * Woollen Act' came into operation August ist, 1678.
Halliwell says that * the practice was, to some extent, in vogue previously [to the
dose of the seventeenth century] ; a woollen shroud being occasionally mentioned.'
Although I prefer Steevens' s explanation, yet the use of the definite article, * in the
woollen ' seems as though Capell were right, and the phrase were euphemistic for
'being buried.' Halliwell calls attention to the reading * in woollen,' in Davenant's
Law against Lovers ; he might have noted that it is the reading, in the present
passage, from Rowe to Johnson. We all remember Mrs Oldfield's last words,
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ACT II, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 6l
Leon. Well then,goe you into hell. 40
Beat. No, but to the gate, and there will the Deuill
40. helL'\ QFf, Rowe, + , Cap. Mai. A^//,— Theob. hell? Han. et cct
immortalised by Pope : < ''Odious ! in woollen ! 'twould a Saint provoke I" Were
the last words that poor Narcissa spoke,' etc. — ^Ed.]
38. not for him] Lady Martin (p. 306) : Who does not see what a pleasant
person Beatrice must have been in her uncle's home, with all this power of saying
quaint and unexpected things which bubble up from an uncontrollable spirit of
enjoyment ? Her frankness must indeed have been a pleasant foil to the somewhat
characterless and over-gentle Hero. See how fearlessly she presendy tells Hero not
to take a husband of her father's choosing, unless he pleases herself.
39. Berrord] Inasmuch as this word is spelled ' bear-herd ' in Tarn, Shr. Ind.
ii, 21, and in 2 Hen. IV: I, ii, 192, Schmidt (Lex,) asserts, unwisely, that this is
< the Shakespearian form of the word ' ; he then gives the several spellings as they
occur in the Qto and Folios, and adds it is < never ' there found, spelled ' bear-ward^
as some modem Edd. choose to write.' * On the other hand,' says W. A. Wright,
* in The First Part of the Contention^ ^ i» 124, which is the original of 2 Hen, VI:
V, i, 210, we find '* Despight the Beare-ward that protects him so," while the First
Folio of 2 Hen, VI, reads '< Bearard." '< Bear-herd " is formed on the analogy of
shepherd^ and neat-herd^ but as bears are not kept in flocks or herds it seems likely
that ** bear- ward " is the more correct form.'
39. hell] Capell (p. 120) : The saying now apply'd to the maiden, to frighten
her into marriage, is — that, if she dies an old one, she goes to hell certainly ; and
her office there will be leading of apes; 'tis of 'great antiquity, and it's reason
untraceable. — Steevens (Note on Tarn, Shr, II, i, 34) : That women who refused
to bear children, should, after death, be condemned to the care of apes in leading-
strings, might have been considered an act of posthumous retribution. — ^Malone
(72^.) : 'To lead apes' was in our author's time, as at present, one of the employ-
ments of a bear-ward, who often carries about one of those animals along with his
bear ; but I know not how this phrase came to be applied to old maids. Halliwell
(/^.) remarks that old bachelors were doomed to be bear-leaders in the same place.
Twenty-three references to old authorities are supplied by Halliwell of the use of
this phrase, and doubtless more could be added, but they do not advance our
knowledge beyond the threat that those who led a virgin's life on earth must lead
apes in hell. Possibly, it is one of those phrases, like Hamlet's ' hawk from a hand-
saw,' where words which had become obsolete and of no meaning were replaced by
others which were familiar, but so inappropriate as to obscure wholly the original
meaning of the proverb. What the word could have been, for which 'apes ' was sub-
stituted, it is difiicult to conjecture. — Ed.
Lines 40-48 Warburton asserted to be Mmpious nonsense,' written *by the
players' and 'foisted in without rhyme or reason.' Of course, so believing, he
could do nothing else than put them in the margin, — whereupon Dr Johnson
suppressed them altogether, a little mistrustfully, however, inasmuch as he ex-
pressed a fear that they were * too much in the manner of our author, who is
sometimes trying to purchase merriment at too dear a rate.' To the excellent
Heath, however, (p. loi) they appeared 'no other than the harmless pleasantry
of a lively girl.* — Ed.
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62 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. i.
meete mee like an old Cuckold with homes on his head, 42
and fay, get you to heauen Beatrice ^ get you to heauen,
heere^s no place for you maids, fo deliuer I vp my Apes,
and away to S. Peter : for the heauens, hee ftiewes mee 45
42. with homes\ with his horns F^, heat/ns; Pope, Theob. Han. Waib.
Rowe, + . Peter for the heavens; Cap. Var. Mai.
45. Peter : for the heauens,"] QFf, Steev. Var. Coll. Wh. Cam. Peter; for
Knt, Dyce, Huds. Peter, for the the heavens! Sta.
41. but] For other examples where 'but' means only, see Abbott, § 128, if
necessary.
45. for the heauens] If these words are to be considered as a petty oath, the
punctuation is of small moment ; Beatrice may say either : ' I'm off to Saint Peter; by
the heavens, he shows me,' etc. or, 'I'm off to 8aint Peter, by the heavens; he shows
me,' etc. But to those who deny that the phrase bears this meaning, the punctuation
is important ; in this case, they adopt the punctuation of Capell, and interpret the
words as connected with 'away:' I'm away for the heavens to Saint Peter; he
shows me,' etc. Gifford is emphatic that the words are a petty oath, and adduces
many examples. In Every Man out of his Humour, II, i, Fungoso says : ' some
ten or eleven pounds will do it all, and suit me, for the heavens !' On this, Gifford
(p. 67) has substantially the following note: 'This expression occurs in the Mer, of
Fen.: " Away ! says the fiend, for the heavens T* These words are merely a petty
oath ; and wheresoever they occur, in this manner, and by whomsoever they are
spoken, mean neither more nor less than — by heaven ! That no future doubts may
arise on the subject I will subjoin two or three of as many score examples which I
could instantly produce: the first shall be from Jonson himself: "Come on, sir
Valentine, I'll give you a health, for the heavens, you mad Capricio, hold hook or
linel" — Case is Altered, I, i, ad fin. The second from his old enemy Dekker:
" A lady took a pipeful or two (of tobacco) at my hands, and praised it, for the
heavens /" — Untrussing of a Humourous Poet, p. no, ed. Hawkins. And, to con-
clude, Twedle, the drunken piper, in Pasquil and Katharine, exclaims, " I must goe
and dap my Tabers cheekes there, _^ the heavens,** ' — IV, p. 182, ed. Simpson.
In a note on the foregoing example in The Case is Altered, (vol. vi, p. 333) Gifford
adds two more quotations : ' I was' liquored soundly ; my guts were rinced, for the
heavens r—UsLrsion*s What you Will, III, i, p. 256, ed. Halliwell. Again, 'An't
please the gods now, . . . you shall see me tickle the measures, for the heavens P —
/ Ant. and Mellida, II, p. 24, ed. Halliwell. ' Assurance,' Gifford concludes, ' is now
"made doubly sure," I trust.'
On the other hand, pace Gifford' s dogmatic assertion, it is possible that no thought
of an oath, petty or otherwise, was in Beatrice's mind, — ^indeed, her merry speech
needs no such garnishing, — but that, being freed from her apes, she intends to make
all due haste 'for the heavens.' Allen (MS) suggests, as a bare possibility, that
the text ought to read, * 'fore the heavens,' that is, in front of, at the gate of, the
heavens; she goes from the "gate" of hell (line 41) to that of heaven.' Halli-
well quotes Cotgrave (s. v. Haul) : *Faire haul le bois ... to quaffe, tipple, carouse
for the heauens,' which might be fairly and familiarly paraphrased by ' carouse for
dear life,' and from this, again, we might thus paraphrase Beatrice's words: 'and
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ACT II. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 63
where the Batchellers fit, and there liue wee as merry as 46
the day is long.
Brother. Well neece, I truft you will be ruPd by your
father.
Beatrice. Yes faith, it is my cofens dutie to make curt- 50
fie, and fay, as it pleafe you : but yet for all that cofin, let
him be a handfome fellow, or elfe make an other curfie,
and fay, father, as it pleafe me.
Leonato. Well neece, I hope to fee you one day fitted
with a husband. 55
Beatrice. Not till God make men of fome other met-
tall then earth, would it not grieue a woman to be ouer-
maftred with a peece of valiant duft ? to make account of
her life to a clod of waiward marie ? no vnckle, ile none :
Adams fonnes are my brethren, and truly^I hold it a finne 60
to match in my kinred.
48. [To Hero. Rowe. * ii,+. <wr^^, F^, Rowe i. eurfsyOx^.
50, 51. curt-fie\ F,. cur/u Q. curtfie Mai. courtesy Steev. et cet (subs.)
FjF^ Rowe, + . couresy Cap. Mai. 53. //^tf/"if] //^tf/"« Ff, Rowe, + .
cursey Hal. curtsy Wright, courtesy 57. earthy earth; Rowe.
Steev. et cet. (subs.) 58. make account'} make an account
S^> fayyas^fayyfathtr^ ajQ.Theob. Q, Cap. Steev. Var. Coll. Dyce, Wh.
Warb. Johns. Cap. Var, Mai. Steev. Cam.
Var. Coll. Dyce, Wh. Sta. Cam. 59. waiward} cold wayward FJF^.
pleafe} pleases Theob. ii, Warb. 60. my} Om. FjF^, Rowe i.
Johns. 61. kinred} kindred Rowe.
52. curfie} Q. curtfie F^Fj, Rowe
away to Saint Peter, for dear life.' When an expletive becomes very conmion, it will
not do to restrict it to one sole meaning. — ^Ed.
46. merry] W. A. Wright : In the sixteenth century this word was used in
the sense of ' joyful ' and without the notion of levity which now attaches to it. For
instance, in the Prayer-Book Version of Psalm xlvii, 5 : < God is gone up with a
merry noise.' And Sir Thomas More (Life by Roper, ed. 1 731, p. 98) said to the
Constable of the Tower, < Good Mr Kingstone, trouble not your selfe, but be of
good cheere : For I will praie for you and my good Ladie your wife that wee maie
meet in Heaven together, wheare we shall be merrie for ever and ever.'
5O9 5i» 52. curtate . . . cursie] Custom appears to have now decided in favour
of the spelling courtesy for a movement of obeisance generally, and curtsy or curtsey
for an obeisance by a woman.
51. say, as it] Unquestionably the Qto here supplies an omission in the Folio.
58. with] Equivalent to by; see Abbott, % 193 ; it occurs again III, i, 84, 85 :■
V, i, 130; V, iii, 8.
61. kinred] Anon. {Blacktoood^s Maga. April, 1833, p. 542) : There is some-
thing very kindly in all this contempt of marriage. Nor did ' Lady Disdain ' sup-
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64 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act il, sc. i.
Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you , if the 62
Prince doe folicit you in that kinde, you know your an-
fwere.
Beatrice. The fault will be in the muficke cofin,if you 65
be not woed in good time : if the Prince bee too impor-
tant, tell him there is meafure in euery thing, & fo dance 67
66. waed"] wooed Q. looodY^. wodd (i6^6T, tmpor-tani']importunate'Ro^t
FjF^. ii, Pope, Han.
pose that any rational person would credit her antinuptial asseverations. What
superior young lady ever professes a rooted resolution to marry ? . . . Beatrice knew
that she would have to be married at last, like the rest of her unfortunate sex, but
'twas not even like a cloud her marriage day, but quite beyond the visible horizon.
Of it, she had not even a dim idea ; therefore came her wann wit in jets and gushes
from her untamed heart It is sincere, and in 'measureless content' she enjoys her
triumphs. Marry when she may, she will not be forsworn. She has but used her
< pretty oath by yea and nay,' and Cupid in two words will justify the fair apostate
in any court of Hymen. But 'tis different with Benedick. [See I, i, 239.]
66. in good time) W. A. Wright : There is the same play upon words in
Merry H^ves, I, iii, 29 : ' His filching was like an unskilful singer, he kept not
time.' And in Twelfth Nighty II, iii, 98 : < Mai, Is there no respect of place,
persons, nor time in you? Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches.'
66, 67. important] Johnson : < Important ' here, and in many other places, is
importunate. [See Text. Notes."]
67. measure] This word means both moderation and a dance. — Reed (Note on
Lov^s L. L. V, ii, 184) : The measures were dances solemn and slow. They were
performed at court, and at public entertainments of the Societies of Law and Equity,
at their halls, on particular occasions. It was formerly not deemed inconsistent with
propriety for even the gravest persons to join in them ; and, accordingly, at the revels
which were celebrated at the Inns of Court, it has not been unusual for the first
characters in the Law to become performers in treading the measures. See Dugdale's
Origines Jurididales, Sir John Da vies, in his poem called Orchestra , 1622, describes
them in this manner. *■ But after these, as men more civil grew. He [/'. e. Love] did
more grave and solemm measures frame ; . . . Yet all the feet whereon these measures
go. Are only spondees, solemn, grave and slow.' Staunton quotes from Riche his
farewell to MUitarie profession^ 1581 : ' As firste for dauncyng, athough I like the
measures verie well, yet I could never treade them aright, nor to use measure in any
thyng that I went aboute, although I desired to performe all thynges by line and by
leavell, what so ever I tooke in hande. Our galliardes are so curious, that thei are
not for my daunsjmg, for thei are so full of trickes and toumes, that he which hath
no more but the plaine sinquepace, is no better accoumpted of then a verie bongler ;
and for my part thei might assone teache me to make a capricomus, as a capre in the
right kinde that it should bee. For a jeigge my heeles are too heavie ; and these
braules are so busie, that I love not to beate ray braines about them. A rounde is
too giddie a daunce for my diet ; for let the dauncers runne about with as muche
speede as thei maie, yet are thei never a whit the nier to the ende of their course,
unlesse with often touming thei hap to catch a fall ; and so thei ende the daunce
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ACT II, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 65
out the anfwere,for heare me //ifr^, wooing, wedding,& 68
repenting, is as a Scotch ijgge, a meafure, and a cinque-
pace : the firfl fuite is hot and hafly like a Scotch ijgge 70
68. heare mi] here tne Q. 69, 70. ijggel F,.
69. is as] is Rowe, Pope, Han.
with shame, that was begonne but in sporte. These homepipes I have hated from
my verie youth ; and I knowe there are many other that love them as well as I.
Thus you male perceive that there is no daunce but either I like not of theim, or
thei like not of me, so that I can daunce neither.' [p. 4, — Reprint Shakes^are
Society."]
69, 70. cinque-pace] Naylor (p. 137): This interesting book [Arbeat^s Orchi-
sographie'\ on the Art of Dancing was published at MaQon, in 1588. The author
was Jehan Tabourot, but his real name does not appear in the work, being ana-
grammatised into Thoinot Arbeau. The treatise is written in the form of Dialogue
between Master (Arbeau) and Pupil (Capriol) ; and gives a most clear description
of all the fashionable dances of the time, as far as words can do it ; dance tunes in
music type ; and, incidentally, many instructions as to the manners of good society.
On p. 25, Capriol asks his Master to describe the steps of the *■ basse ' dance. This
was the *■ danse par bas, ou sans sauter,' which was of the 15th century, was in triple
time, and contained three parts : A, basse dance ; B, Retour de la basse dance ; C,
Tordion. This 3rd part, or Tordion, *■ n'est aultre chose qu'une gaillarde/ar terre*;
i, e. the Tordion of a Basse dance was simply a Galliard/ar terre^ without the leap-
ing or 'Sault majeur.' Before Arbeau answers his pupil, he gives him some pre-
liminary instruction as to the etiquette of the ball-room. He says, 'In the first
place . . . you should choose some virtuous damsell whose appearance pleases you,
take off your hat or cap with your left hand, and tender her your right hand to lead
her out to dance. She, being modest and well brought-up, will give you her left
handy and rise to follow you. Then conduct her to the end of the room, face each
other, and tell the band to play a basse dance. For, ii you do not, they may
inadvertently play some other kind of dance. And when they begin to play, you
begin to dance. CaprioL If the lady should refuse, I should feel dreadfully
ashamed. Arbeau, A properly educated young lady never refuses one who does
her the honour to lead her out to dance. If she does, she is accounted foolish
{sotte\ for if she doesn't want to dance, what is she sitting there for, among the
rest?' . . . Arbeau then describes (p. 141) the Tordion, which is Part 3 of the basse
dance. He says, it is still in triple time, but *■ plus legiere et condt^e,' and does not
consist of 'simples, doubles, reprises,' etc., like the first and second parts, but is
danced almost exactly as a Galliard, except that it is/ar terre^ i. e. without any capers,
and low on the ground, with a quick and light step ; whereas the Galliard is danced
highf with a slower and weightier 'mesure.' He gives the following tune, which
will fit any of the innumerable diversities of Galliard. If played fast, it is a Tordion,
if slower, a Galliard. (There are, of course, no bars in the original. )
Here are the steps of the Galliard, consisting of five movements of the feet, and
the caper, or < sault majeur.' The five steps give the Galliard the name of Cinque
pas, I. Greve gaulche (*Greve* is explained as a 'coup de pied') ; 2. Greve
droicte ; 3. Greve gaulche ; 4. Greve droicte ; 5. Sault majeur ; 6. Posture gaulche.
I, 2, 3, 4, 6 are the ' Cinq' pas, and 5 is the characteristic leap or caper.
5
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66 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc.^.
(and full as fantafticall) the wedding manerly modefl, 71
71. manerly moaUfi"] mannerly-modest Theob.
TORDION OR GALLIARD (CINQUEPACB).
I ^^n ^ J J l r f JU J j l J, jj | J J J l
12 8 4 5 6
l ^)» f^ J J l . JU -i l l J J J I J J J V I
l ^.>p.JJ;Jh. | ^^^ l JJrrJJL J l ^
The next six minims are danced to the Kevers, which is just the same, except that
the words droUte and ^oi^t:^^. change places all the way down. Then repeat till the
tune is finished. [Surely, the curiosity is pardonable which would fain be enlightened
as to the exact style of a ' sault majeur ' especially sinc^ it appears that high-flung
capers were the most admired steps of the dance. Witness the description by Orazio
Busino, chaplain to the Venetian Ambassador, of a performance before James I,
in 161 7 : <At last twelve cavaliers in masks, the central figure always being the
prince, '< chose their partners and danced every kind of dance, . . . and at length
being well nigh tired, they began to flag, whereupon the king, who is naturally
choleric, got impatient, and shouted aloud, 'Why don't they dance? What did
you make me come here for ? Devil take you all 1 Dance !* On hearing this, the
Marquis of Buckingham, his majesty's most favored minion, inunediately sprang for-
ward, cutting a score of lofty and very minute [qy. elaborate ?] capers with so much
grace and agility, that he not only appeased the ire of his angry sovereign, but,
moreover, rendered himself the admiration and delight of everybody. The other
masquers, being thus encouraged, continued successively exhibiting their prowess
with various ladies, finishing in like manner with capers. . . . The prince, how-
ever, excelled them all in bowing, being very exact in making his obeisance both to
the king and to his partner. . . . Owing to his youth, he has not much wind as
yet, but he, nevertheless, cut a few capers very gracefully." ' — Quarterly Rev. Oct.
1S579 P* 4^ >^so reprinted in New Shakspere Society s Harrison's England ^ Part
II, p. 58.*— Ed.]
70. Buite] That is, wooing, courtship. See line 333, below, where Leonato says
that Beatrice * mocks all her wooers out of suite.'
7a hot and hasty like a Scotch ijgge] Naylor (p. 124) : The name ' Jigg'
(later Gigue zsaSiJig) comes from Giga (Geige), a sort of fiddle, in use during the
1 2th and 13th centuries. The oldest jigs are Scottish, and were < round dances'
for a large number of people. As for the Time of the Jig tunes, those of the i8th
century were certainly written in triple rhythm, like }, }, or J^. The Jegge, given
in Stainer and Barrett's Diet, of MusUal Terms ^ dated 1678, is in quick f time.
But 'The Cobbler's Jig,' 1622, is very decidedly in quick } time. Moreover,
Bull's 'The King's Hunting Jigg' is also in quick \ time, and is probably earlier
than 1600.
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ACT II. sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 67
fas a meafure) full of ftate & aunchentry^and then comes 72
repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-
pace fafter and fafter, till he finkes into his graue.
Leonata. Cofm you apprehend paffing (hrewdly. 75
72. auHchmtry] ancherUry F^F^, 74. finkes\ F,. finks FJP^, Rowe. +
Rowe,-t-. ancientry Cap. et seq. Var. '21. fincke Q, Cap. et cet.
into hii\ into the Rowe L
72. state ft aunchentry] That is, full of stately fonnality and antique fjubion.
The phonetic spelling * aunchentry ' accords with the similar spelling of ' his Moore-
ships Anntient' in Otk, I, i, 35. — Ed.
74. sinkes into] Capell (Nates, ii, 121), in giving his reasons why <in the
woollen ' is to be preferred to in woollen, says that the latter lacks the ' numerous-
ness ' of the foimer, which means, I suppose, that it has not as many syllables. His
note continues : * which numerousness, together with some addition of humour, we
may and ought to give to another word coming from this speaker [i, e. Beatrice] by
giving that <* cinque-pace'' a kind of Gallic pronouncing, approaching to — sink-a-
'ptue,^ I cannot find, howev^, that Capell anywhere suggests that in the present
line we should actually read, 'till he sink-apace into,' etc.; his note refers only
to the pronunciation of 'dnque-pace.' But in the margin of Collier's Second
Folio the word apaee is added in manuscript after < sinkes.' Collier does not tell
us that the final s of * sinkes' is erased, but it is to be presumed that it is so.
This emendation, < till he sink apace into ' Collier adopted in his text, in both his
Second and Third eds. wherein he has been followed by Hudson. Anon. (Black-
wood* s Maga, Axig, 1853, p. 192), in referring to this text of Collier, remarks: *we
admit that Shakespeare might, — nay, ought, — ^to have written ['* sink apctce into"]
but we doubt whether he did.' Haluwell speaks of the emendation as < an alter-
ation of singular ingenuity,' and then continues, ' but, even if such a double play
upon words is likely to belong to the time of Shakespeare, it is, I imagine, somewhat
at variance with the author's intention, who is making Beatrice in this speech sarcastic
rather than jocular. The nature of the pun seems to be modem.' Dyce (ed. i)
dryly observes that 'there is no denying that, in this instance at least, Mr Collier's
MS Corrector has drawn on his invention with considerable success.' • R. G. White
is even less lenient ; he pronounces the pun * a tolerable one for the old dabbler,
but out of place. ... It occurs, where Mr Collier's corrector may have found it, in
Marston's Insatiate Countess, Act II,' [i : * Mendosa. For Heavens love, thinke of
me as of the man Whose dancing dayes you see are not yet done. Lady Lentulus,
Yet you sinke a pace, sir.' The chiefest objection to Collier's text, i^Murt from its
lack of authority, is to me, its obviousness ; the play upon words is amply evident
without it For those to whom it is not obvious it is quite sufficient to have the pun
suggested in a note as Capell suggests it. — ^Ed.]
75. apprehend] < Apprehend' and < apprehension ' sometimes occur when the
meaning is not as manifest as it is here, where < i^prehend ' means to see or perceive
clearly. In III, iv, 64, where Beatrice asks Margaret, * how long haue you profest
apprehension ?' there is clearly the idea of quickness of wit, or of repartee, with a
slightly contemptuous tone. Note the distinction which Shakespeare draws in Mid,
N D. y, i, S, 9, between * apprehend' and 'comprehend': 'Louers and madmen
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68 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. i.
Beatrice. I haue a good eye vnckle, I can fee a Church 76
by daylight.
Leon. The reuellers are entring brother , make good
roome.
EnUr Prince J PedrOyClaudiOyandBenedkke.andBalthafaTy 80
or dumbe lohn, Maskers with a drum.
Pedro. Lady, will you walke about with your friend?
Hero. So you walke foftly,and looke fweetly,and fay 83
79. [Leonato and his Company mask. Urs. and Others, mask'd. Cap. ct seq.
Cap. (subs.)
Scene II. Pope, + . 81. Maskers with a drum.] Om. Q.
81. or... drum.] and others in Mas- 83. So you] So, you Q.
querade. Rowe. Don John, Bor. Maig.
haue such seething braines . . . that apprehend more Then coole reason euer com-
prehends. ' — Ed.
77- dayUght] Lady Martin (p. 307) : Beatrice is now in the gayest spirits,
and in the very mood to encounter her old enemy, Benedick. ... In the difdogue
that follows between them the actress has the most delightful scope for bringing out
the address, the graceful movement, the abounding joyousness which makes Beatrice
the paragon of her kind.
80. 81. The insufficiency of this stage-direction was first supplied by Capell,
and the action of the scene described in the following note (ii, 122) : Leonato (the
house's master), his niece, daughter, and brother enter before the rest [t. e. at the
beginning of this scene], and they only are privy to each other's persons and dresses ;
they receive their visitors, masked ; and the Prince, — ^having singled-out Hero, by
chance or otherways, — after a few speeches open, engages her in a conversation apart,
his last words intimating its nature ; while this is passing between them. Benedick,
who is in search after Beatrice, lights upon Margaret ; a sharp one, her voice suiting
her sharpness ; this voice which she raises at [line 99] betrays her to Benedick, who
quits her smartly and hastily; a manner resented slightly by Margaret, who ex-
presses it in her prayer ; for her ' good dancer ' means— one that could move as
nimbly as the one who had just left her.
81. dumbe lohn] M alone : Here is another proof that when the first copies of
our author's plays were prepared for the press, the transcript was made out by. the
ear. If the MS had lain before the transcriber, it is very unlikely that he should
have mistaken Don for * dumb ' ; but by an inarticulate speaker, or inattentive hearer,
they might easily be confounded. Reed actually deems * dumb ' ' not improbable,'
on account of Don John's * taciturnity.' 'Balthazar and John,' says Collier,
* were two distinct persons,' and, therefore, * or ' is incorrect. To Collier's assertion,
wherein he follows Malone, that *dumb John' was doubtless a mishearing for 'Don
John,' Dyce (Strictures, p. 48) replies: *No: "dumb" was put by mistake for
Dom, [I doubt. — Ed.] So, there is a poem entitled The Loue of Dom Diego and
Gyneura, appended to Diella, etc., 1596.
82. friend] A common term for a lover, applicable to both sexes.
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ACT II. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 69
nothing, I am yours for the walke, and efpecially when I
walke away. 85
Pedro. With me in your company.
Hero. I may fay fo when I pleafe.
Pedro. And when pleafe you to fay fo ?
Hero. When I like your fauour , for God defend the
Lute fhould be like the cafe. 90
Pedro. My vifor is PkUemons roofe , within the houfe
is Loue.
Hero. Why then your vifor fhould be thatcht.
Pedro. Speake low if you fpeake Loue. 94
86. company. '\ company f "Rovte ii. speak^ Jove. Anon. ap. Cam.
88. when pUafe you to'l when will you 94. Pedro] Marg. Heath, Ran.
pUase to Rowe i. Speake...Loue'\ In Ital. as a quo-
92. Loue'\ iove Ff. loui Q, Theob. tation, Han.
et seq. [Drawing her aside to whisper.
93, 94. Hero. .„ thatcht. Pedro. Han.
...Loue"] Hero. ...thatched. Speah...
89. Qod defend] Halliwell : That is, foibid. < God diffende it, a Dieu ne
plaise^ — ^Palsgrave, 1530.— W. A. Wright : In Rich. IH: III, vii, 81, where the
Quartos read < God forbid ' the Folios have ' God defend.'
90. case] Theobald : That is, that your face should be as homely and coarse as
your mask.
91-94. My viaor . . . speake Loue] Blakeway : Peihaps, Shakespeare meant
here to introduce two of the long fourteen-syllable verses so common among our early
dramatists, and the measure of Golding*s Translation: <My visor is Philemon's
roof; within the house is Jove. || AVhy then your visor should be thatch' d. Speak
low, if you speak love.' [This suggestion of Blake^^ay Dyce adopted in all three
of his editions, and was followed by R. G. White, in his First, and by Staunton.
After quoting Blakeway' s query, Dyce replies (Notes, 41) : ' Nobody, I should sup-
pose, that has eyes and ears could doubt it. But are the lines Shakespeare's own,
or taken (at least partly) from some poem of the time which has perished? To me
they read like a quotation.' If the lines occur elsewhere, they must be in some
drama, and they flow so smoothly, and the memory clings to them so readily that, at
this late day, they could have hardly escaped detection did they actually exist
Hanmer, in part, anticipated Dyce, inasmuch as he suggests that line 94 is 'quoted
from a song or some verses commonly known at that time.' — Ed.]
92. Loue] Theobald was too honest not to acknowledge his indebtedness, had
he known of the Qto's reading. His note is as follows: — "Tis plain, the poet
alludes to the story of Baucis and Philemon from Ovid [Met. viii, 630] ; and this old
couple, as the Roman poet describes it, lived in a thatched cottage : '' Parva quidem,
stipulis et canna tecta palustri." Though this old pair lived in a cottage, this cottage
received two straggling Gods, Jupiter and Mercury, under its roof. So, Don Pedro
is a prince ; and though his visor be but ordinary, he would insinuate to Hero»
that he has something godlike within ; alluding either to his dignity, or to the qualities
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yo MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. i
Bene. Well, I would you did like me. 95
Mar. So would not I for your owne lake, for I haue
manie ill qualities.
Bene. Which is one ?
Mar. I fay my prayers alowd.
Ben. I loue you the better , the hearers may cry Amen. 100
95, 98, 100. Bene.] QFf, Rowe, 99. Mar.] Mask. FjF^.
Pope, Cap. Var. MaL Steev. Var. Knt, 100. [turning off in Quest of another.
Coll. i, ii. Balth. Theob. et cet Cap.
96. Mar.] Mask. F,. Mas. F^.
of his mind or person. By these circumstances, I am sure, the thought is mended ;
as, I think verily,, the text is too, by the addition of a single letter — <* within the
house is Jove." Elsewhere our author plainly alludes to the same story, in As You
Like Ity III, iii, 8: <<0 Knowledge ill inhabited, worse then loue in a thatch' d
house." ' The line in Ovid is thus translated by Golding , < The roofe thereof was
thatched all with straw and fennish reede.* — p. 106, ed. 1567.
94. Speake . . . Loue] Hrath (p. loi) : This speech is quite foreign to the
conversation which immediately precedes between Pedro and Hero. It should
therefore undoubtedly be given to Margaret, as the beginning of that which follows
between her and Balthasar. [Don Pedro's express purpose is to make love to Hero ;
it seems i^ropriate, therefore, that he only of all the maskers, should be the one to
refer to love. I do not think that < you ' here refers to Hero ; it is the impersonal
< you.' Love-making should be carried on in whispers ; here, therefore, it is hinted
}hat Don Pedro takes Hero aside to fulfil his pledge to Qaudio. — Ed.]
95. 98, loa Bene.] Theobald : 'Tis dear that the dialogue here ought to be
betwixt Balthasar and Margaret ; Benedick, a little lower, converses with Beatrice ;
and so every man talks with his woman once round. Dyce {Notes ^ p. 42) pertinently
asks, * is not the effect of the scene considerably weakened if Benedick enters into
conversation with any other woman except Beatrice V He then continues, < Two
prefixes, each beginning with the same letter, are frequently confounded by transcribers
and printers; in Lov^s Lab. L. II, i, six speeches in succession which belong to Biron
are assigned in the Folio to Boyet. Walker (Crit, ii, 177) devotes an Article (No.
Ixxxv] of nearly twelve pages to ' Instances in which Speeches are assigned in the Folio
to Wrong Characters.' It is needless to remark that the present is among them (p.
178), and, I think, justly. Collier, on the other hand, maintains that the Folio is
right ' The fact is,' he asserts, * that Margaret turns from Benedick with the words,
** God match me with a good dancer I" maliciously implying that Benedick is a bad
one ; and then Balthasar takes up the dialogue with "Amen," meaning that he is
what Benedick is not.'
96. Mar.] Cambridge Editors : Mr Halliwell mentions that Mar. is altered to
Mask, in the Third Folio. This is not the case in Capell's copy of it. [This is
one of the very many instances where copies of the same edition vary. Halliwell
undoubtedly is correct, according to his copy. Since the foregoing note was written
by the Cambridge Editors, Trinity College Library has received, so Dr Wright
kindly informs me, a second copy of F„ wherein, varying from Capell's Copy, the
word is Mask. The two copies also of F, in my own library have Mask, — ^Ed.]
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ACT II, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING yi
Mar. God match me with a good dauncer. loi
Ba/L Amen.
Mar. And God keepe him out of my fight when the
daunce is done : anfwer Clarke.
Ba/L No more words^ the Clarke is anfwered. 105
Vrftda. I know you well enough^you are Signior An-
ihonio.
Anth. At a word, I am not.
Vr/ula. I know you by the wagling of your head.
Anth. To tell you true, I counterfet him. i lo
Vr/u. You could neuer doe him fo ill well, vnlefle
you were the very man : here's his dry hand vp & down,
you are he, you are he.
Anth. At a word I am not.
Vrfula. Come, come, doe you thinke I doe not know 115
you by your excellent wit ? can vertue hide it felfe f goe
to, mumme,you are he, graces will appeare, and there's
an end.
Beat. Will you not tell me who told you fo ? 119
loi, 103. Mar.] Mas. F F^. -wUI.Vbx. '85. m-weU, Theob. et. cet
104. dcfu .'] done / Theob. iii. well, vnleffe'] well unless F^.
Ctarke"] clerJk Kowe. 117. mumme'] mum Kowe, mummer
105. [parting different ways. Cap. Anon. ap. Cam.
III. ill wellf"] QFf, Cap. Sta. ill 118. [mixing with the Company. Cap.
mil, Kowe, 1//, «vi/. Pope, Han. iU-
lo8y 114. At a word] Halliwbll : * Absohere uno verba, to make an ende
ahortely, to tell atone woorde.' — Eliote's Dictionarie, 1559. — ^W. A. Wright : That
is, in brief. Cf. Car. I, iii, 122 : < Valeria. Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out
o' door, and go along with us. Vir. No, at a word, madam. Indeed I must not'
And Holland's Pliny, xvii, 5 : < Well, to speake at a word, surely that ground is
best of all other, which hath an aromaticall smell and tast with it'
111. ill well] Steevens : A similar phrase occurs in the Mer, of Ven. I, ii, 57'.
< He hath a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine.' [AVhere, possibly,
Steevens slightly misunderstands the text. Portia does not mean * a better-bad habit,'
but < a better bad-habit' Staunton's paraphrase is: < You could never represent
one, who is so ill -qualified^ to the life, unless you were the very man. W. A.
Wright paraphrases < so ill-well ' by < so successfully imitating a defect ;' which is,
I think, exact— Ed.]
112. dry hand] As a sign of old age.
112. vp ft down] Staunton (Note on 7W Gent, II, iii, 32) An expression of
the time, implying exactly, as we say, < for all the world,' or < all the world over.'
Deighton quotes Middleton, A Chaste Wife, etc., Ill, ii, 13: 'The mother's
mouth up and down, up and down.'
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72 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act II. sc. L
Bene. No, you fhall pardon me. 120
BeaL Nor will you not tell me who you are t
Bened. Not now.
Beat. That I was difdainfull, and that I had my good
wit out of the hundred merry tales : well, this was Signi-
or Benedicke that said fo. 125
Bene. What's he?
Beat. I am fure you know him well enough.
Bene. Not I, beleeue me.
Beat. Did he neuer make you laugh ?
Bene. I pray you what is he ? 130
Beat. Why he is the Princes ieafter,a very dull foole,
121. !«?/] Om. Ff, Rowc 127. Beat] Om. F,.
124. M^ hundred merry lales] In 131. >!/] Om. F,.
Italics, as a title, Han.
121. Nor will you not] For other instances of this common double negative, see,
if necessary, Abbott, § 406.
124. the hundred merry tales] The title of this book is frequently mentioned
in old literature, and, since no copy was known to exist, a discussion arose as to its
contents, and whether it were not in reality, a translation of Les Cent NouveUes
NouvelleSf or of The Decameron, A fragment of it, however, was found by Pro-
fessor Coneybeare, of Oxford, and printed by Singer in 1 81 5. A perfect copy, and
the only one known, printed in 1526 by John Rastell, was at last discovered, about
1S64, in the Royal Library of the University in Gdttingen, by the librarian, Dr
Hennan Oesterley, and by him published in 1866. It is a coarse book, the natural
product of coarse times, and its flavour is not unlike the atmosphere of the houses
which demanded daily and prolonged fumigations. Well, indeed, may Beatrice have
deeply resented the imputation that from it she drew her wit, — and yet, there is a
tradition that this book and others like it, were the solace of Queen Elizabeth's
dying hours. In N. df Qu, (I, iii, p. 151) 'Spes' gives the following extract from
an ' intercepted letter, . . . preserved among the Venetian Correspondence in The
State Paper Office': 'London, 9 Martii, 1603. About 10 dayes synce dyed the
Countess of Notingham. The Queene loved the Countess very much, and hath
seemed to take her death very heavelye, remayning euer synce in a deepe melan-
cholye, w^ conceipte of her own death, and oomplayneth of many infirmyties,
sodainlye to haue ouertaken her, as impostumecofi [Mmpostum, megrin' ap. Halli-
well] in her head, aches in her bones, and continuall cold in her legges, besides
notable decay in judgem* and memory, insomuch as she cannot attend to any dis-
cources of govemm* and state, but delighteth to heare some of the 100 merry tales,
and such like, and to such is very attentiue ; at other tymes uery impatient, and
testye,' etc.— Ed.
131. the Princes ieaster] W. A. Wright : Mary Lamb in Tales from Shake-
speare acutely remarks on this : ' This sarcasm sunk deeper into the mind of Bene-
dick than all Beatrice had said before. The hint she gave him that he was a coward,
by saying she would eat all he had killed, he did not regard, knowing himself to be
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ACT II. sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 73
onely his gift is, in deuifing impofsible flanders, none 132
but Libertines delight in him, and the commendation is
not in his witte, but in his villanie, for hee both pleafeth
men and angers them, and then they laugh at him, and 135
beat him : I am fure he is in the Fleet , I would he had
boorded me.
Bene. When I know the Gentleman, He tell him what
you fay.
Beat. Do, do, hee'l but breake a comparifon or two 140
on me, which peraduenture (not markt, or not laughM
132. onely ifj] his only Ran. 136. the Fleet] the fleet F^, this Fleet,
134. plea/eth'] plea/es Q, Coll. Dyce, Rowe i.
Wh. Sta. Cam. Huds. Rife.
a brave man ; but there is nothing that great wits so much dread as the imputation
of baffoonery, because the charge comes sometimes a little too near the truth. — C. C.
Clarke (p. 303) : Benedick shows that it touches him to the quick, by reverting to
it in soliloquy, and repeating it again to his friends when they come in.
132. onely his gift] See < but with/ line 230. Also ' only wounds by hearsay/
III, i, 25 ; ' only be bold,' III, ii, 8. For other examples of the transposition of
adverbs (* most frequent in the case of adverbs of limitation, as but^ only^ even,^ etc.)
see Abbott, § 420.
132. impossible] Warburton : We should read impassible , i. e. slanders so ill-
invented, that they will pass upon nobody. — Johnson : * Impossible ' slanders are,
I suppose, such slanders as, from their absurdity and impossibility, bring their own
confutation with them. — M. Mason : Ford says, Mer. fi7ves. III, v, 151 : 'I will
search impossible places.' [See line 234, post.]
134. villanie] Warburton : By this she means his malice and impiety. By his
impious jests, she insinuates, he pleased libertines ; and by his devising slanders of
them, he angered them. — Capell (ii, 122): < Villany' has no such harsh meaning
as the fifth modem [t. e, Warburton] puts on it, but only — roguery, roguishness,
hidden under a term that suited better the speaker's purpose.
136. Fleet] Halliwell : This seems to be used by Beatrice in the sense of, * in
the fleet, or company of sail ' ; in other words, in the company here present . . .
If any reliance may be placed on the use of capital letters in the early editions, it
may be mentioned XhaX. fleet is so distinguished in the Qto and Brst three Folios ; a
reading which, if adopted, would lead to the impression that Beatrice intended to
insinuate that Benedick was imprisoned for his slanders. [The use of the word
' boarded ' which, in its primary meaning, carries out the simile of a ship, precludes,
I think, any implied reference to the Fleet prison ; to board is only figuratively used
by Shakespeare in the sense of accost. Corson (p. 184) refers to 'the Fleet' as
* the prison for insolvent debtors,' but the Fleet was not thus exclusively used until
1640. — Ed.]
137. me] The emphatic word.
140, 141. breake ... on me] See also II, iii, 225 ; in the present instance the
figure is taken, as W. A. Wright says, from 'breaking a lance at tilting'; in Bene-
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74 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act n. sc. i.
at) ftrikes him into melanchoUy, and then there's a Par- 142
tridge wing faued, for the foole will eate no fupper that
night. We muft follow the Leaders.
Ben. In euery good thing. 145
Bea. Nay, if they leade to any ill, I will leaue them
at the next turning. Exeunt.
Mufickefor the dance.
lohn. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero^ and hath
withdrawne her father to breake with him about it: the 1 50
Ladies follow her,and but one vifor remaines.
Borachw.Axid that is C^audw, I know him by his bea-
ring.
loAn. Are not you fignior Benedicke?
Clau. You know me well, I am hee. 155
lohn. Signior, you are verie neere my Brother in his
144. {Music within. Theob. Music Theob.
begins : Dance fonning. Cap. Scene III. Pope, 4- .
148. Muficke...] Dance exeunt Q. 149-153. As aside, Cap.
Manent John, Borachio, and Claudio.
dick's soliloquy it is pQssible that somewhat rougher treatment is implied, as with
sticks or cudgels. — ^£d.
140. a comparison] W. A. Wright : That is, a jest or scoff, which took the
form of a disadvantageous comparison, and may be illustrated from Falstaffs vocab-
ulary in / Hen. IV: II, iv, 272 : * O for breath to utter what is like thee I you
tailor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing-tuck, — Prince. Well
breathe awhile, and then to it again ; and when thou hast tired thyself with base
comparisons, hear me speak but this.* See Lov^s Lab. L. V, ii, 854 : * The world's
large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks. Full of comparisons and
wounding flouts.'
142, 143. Partridge wing] Halliwell : The wing seems to have been formerly
considered the delicate part of this bird. — Deighton : But the jest turns not upon
the saving of the best part of the bird, but upon the effeminacy of Benedick's appe-
tite, for whose supper such a trifle was sufficient. [Deighton apparently overlooks
what W. A. Wright recalls, namely : that Beatrice had described Benedick as * a
very valiant trencher-man'; and the latter is not likely, therefore, as Wright goes on
to say, * to have made his supper off a partridge wing. Beatrice means that he would
eat what he would call no supper, because he had not flnished up with a little game.'
Nevertheless, I am inclined to doubt that there is any hidden meaning in her words,
the jest would have been equally pungent had she specified any other delicacy, — the
point is that Benedick's appetite would be utterly gone. — Ed.]
144. the Leaders] That is, of the dance, to which * turning,' also in line 147,
refers.
150. breake] See I, i, 301.
156. verie neere] Staunton : That is, you are in close confidence with my
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ACT II. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 75
loue, he is enamor'd on HerOj I pray you diiTwade him 1 57
from her^ (he is no equall for his birth : you may do the
part of an honeft man in it.
Claudio. How know you he loues her ? 160
John. I heard him fweare his affection,
Bor, So did I too, and he fwore he would marrie her
to night.
lohn. Come, let vs to the banquet. Exjnanet Clou.
Clau. Thus anfwere I in name of Benedicke, 165
But heare thefe ill newes ^ith the eares of Claudiox
'Tis certaine fo, the Prince woes for himfelfe :
Friendfliip is conftant in all other things,
Saue in the Office and affaires of loue :
Therefore all hearts in loue vfe their owne tongues. 170
160. y<m\ ^^Theob. Waib. Johns. 17a lauev/e their <ntmetmgues,'\ hue,
164. Ex.] Exeunt: Q. use your <nm tongues! Han. Warb.
166. the/el this FjF^, Rowe, + . Johns.
167. woes'\ woos Rowe, Pope.
brother. This explains a passage in it Hen, IV: V, i, 79 : < If I had a suit to
Master Shallow, I would humour his men with the imputation oC being near their
master.'
163. to night] W. A. Wright : This qualifies < swore' not 'marry.' [Is it not
also possible that in the excess of his desire to curry favour with his master, Borschio
grossly exaggerates, and means what his words imply, that the ceremony was to be
performed at once ? — ^Ed. ]
168. Friendship, etc.] Hudson (p. 13): Claudio's being sprung into such an
unreasonable fit of jealousy towards the Prince at the masquerade is another good
instance of the Poet's skill and care in small matters. It makes an apt preparation
for the far more serious blunder upon which the main part of the action turns. A
piece of conduct which the circumstances do not explain is at once explained by thus
disclosing a certain irritable levity in the subject
170. aU hearts . . . vse their owne] Hanmer interpreted <vse,' in this line,
as an imperative, and changed 'their owne' \Ti\o your awn, Edwards (p. 55)
denied the need of any such interpretation or change ; ' Let ' in the next line, he
says, Ms understood here.' And this suggestion that Met' is understood, whether
or not from the next line, is accepted by Deighton and by W. A.Wright. Heath
asserts, and Capell agrees with him, that the ' English language easily admits the
imperative in the third person, even without the assistance of the auxiliary ^/.' But
I see no need of an imperative here at all. Rolfr, and Deighton also, refers to
Abbott, §§ 364, 365, where examples are given of * the infinitive used optatively or
imperatively.' I cannot see that this is applicable here. All difficulty seems to
be avoided by understanding the line as a simple statement of fact ; which may be
paraphrased by * even a friend's tongue cannot be trusted in love affairs, and therefore
it is, that all lovers use their own tongues.' The full period of the Qto and of the
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76 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. i.
Let euerie eye negotiate for it felfe, 171
And truft no Agent : for beautie is a witch,
Againft whofe charmes, faith melteth into blood :
This is an accident of hourely proofe,
Which I miftrufted not. Farewell therefore Hero. 175
Enter Benedicke.
Ben. Count Claudio.
Clau. Yea, the fame.
Ben. Come, will you go with me ?
Clau. Whither? 180
Ben. Euen to the next Willow, about your own bu-
172. for] Om. Pope, + . 176. Enter] Re-enter Cap.
175. therefore] then Pope, + , Coll. ii, 177. Claudio.] Claudia^ Rowe ii et
iii, (MS). Huds. seq.
First Folio, at the end of the line, need not have been replaced, as it has been in
every succeeding edition, by a comma or a semi-colon. — Ed.
172, 173. beautie . . . blood] Capell's language is far from smooth, but his
interpretation is true. < The metophor here,' he says, < is from bodies of some
solidity (a waxen image, for instance) exposed to a charmed fire, and melting against
it; ti known practice of witches ^ to bring decay upon the person represented ; such a
body is "faith** or fidelity in friendship, and such a fire is "beauty"; which, when
faith is expos' d to it, melts away into "blood," i, e. passion or appetite, a child of
blood say philosophers.' — Heath : That 'blood' signifies < warmth of constitution'
is evident from II, iii, 160 : * wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we
have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory.' [See also II, iii, 160 ; IV, i, 61.]
174. accident] We should now say, incident,
175. Which . . . Hero] To avoid this Alexandrine, Pope substituted then for
'therefore', a substitution which was found in Collier's MS, and by Collier, on
its authority, adopted io his text. Abbott (§ 472) believes that the -ed in * mis-
trusted ' was not pronounced, and therefore scans : ' Which V \ mistrdst^^/ | not :
iixt I well th^re | fore, H^io.' < But,' says Deighton, < the line read thus [i. e.
by Abbott] is intolerably harsh, and there seems no reason why the accents should
not be : " Which V \ mistrtlst | ed n6t ; | farewell | therefore, | Herd," 1. e. either a
genuine Alexandrine with the pause fully marked after the third foot, or what Abbott
calls an apparent Alexandrine, but really a regular verse of five accents followed by
an isolated foot (Hero) containing one accent' [It is useless to apply to broken
Knes, like the present, the same rhythmical rules that are applied to unbroken ones.
It is common enough in Shakespeare to find proper names forming extra syllables, at
the end of the line. — Ed.]
176. Enter Benedicke] Of course, Claudio still remains masked and Benedick
has to ask if it be he ; Benedick, however, must have divested himself of his
masquerade dress ; both Claudio and Don Pedro know him at once. — Ed.
181. Willow] Even if the 'willow* were not well known to be the emblem of
a forsaken lover. Benedick's speech here would show it. The illustrations, here
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ACT II, sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 77
fmeffe, Count. What fafhion will you weare the Gar- 182
land off> About your necke, Uke an Vfurers chaine ? Or
vnder your arme, like a Lieutenants fcarfe ? You muft
weare it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero. 185
Clau: I wifh him ioy of her.
Ben. Why that's fpoken like an honeft Drouier, fo
they fel BuUockes : but did you thinke the Prince wold
haue ferued you thus ?
Clau. I pray you leaue me. 190
Ben. Ho now you ftrike like the blindman/twas the
boy that ftole your meate, and you'l beat the pod. 192
182. Counf\ county Q. Glo. Rife, Dtn, Wh. ii. Drover Rowe
183. off^l of? Q, F^, Rowe et seq. ii et cet
an Vfurers'] a Ufurers F^, 191. Ho now\ Ho no! F,Fj. No
Rowe i. no ! F^, Rowe. Ho ! now Pope et seq.
187. Drouier] QFf, Rowe i, Cam, blindman] blind-man FjF^.
blind man Rowe et seq.
given by some editors, of the willow as an emblem of death, seem quite inapplicable.
—Ed.
183. Vsurera chaine] Reed : Chains of gold of considerable value were then
usually worn by wealthy citizens in the same manner as they now are, on public
occasions, by the Aldermen of London. — Steevens : From various sources, in books
printed before the year 1600, it appears that the merchants were the chief usurers of
the age.
187. Drouier] This spelling should be retained, I think, in modem editions ; I
doubt, however, that it was pronounced as a trisyllable ; but rather, on the analogy
of the -ier in lancier, targetier, etc., as a disyllable, drav-yer, — Ed.
192. post] It is difficult to imagine a complicated story told in fewer words. Its
substance is here, but what it is in full has hitherto eluded research ; that there was
a real story or jest is evident, because Benedick says ' the blindman,' implying that it
was the blindman in some familiar anecdote. A hundred and twenty years ago, EscH-
ENBURG, in a footnote to his translation of this play, said that he ' thought there was a
story in Lazarillo de Tormes to which there was here, perhaps, an allusion.' What
Eschenburg gave, with the caution of a tru? scholar, only as a surmise, LeTourneur,
in his French Translation three years later, announced as a fact ; and he has been fol-
lowed by one or two French translators ; but, as far as I am aware, no English Editor
has noticed it, nor any German Editor since Voss, in 18 x 8. The story to which Eschen-
burg presumbly refers is to be found in the Tratado primero of La Vida de Lazarillo
de Tormes: y de sus fortunas y aduersidades, 1554, and is as follows: — *. . .
** Lazaro,*' said the blindman to me, " let us return, betimes, to the inn." But to
get there, however, we had to cross a small stream which had become swollen with
the rain ; so I said : ** Nunde, the stream is very broad ; but, if you wish, I see where
we can cross it more easily, without getting wet, because it is so much narrower there,
and by jumping we can get across with dry feet." This seemed to him good advice,
and said he : *' Thou art discreet ; take me to the spot where the stream is narrow ;
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78 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc i.
Clau. If it will not be, He leaue you. Exit. 193
Ben. Alas poore hurt fowle, now will he creepe into
fedges : But that my Ladie Beatrice fhould know me, & 195
194. f(noU\ fouU Q. fouU F^ foul F^F^, Rowe.
it's winter, and water is bad, but wet feet are worse." I saw that things were
taking the turn I wished, so I took him under the arcades and led him direcdy
opposite to a pillar, or stone post, which stood in the maxket-place, upon which and
upon others rested the jutties of the houses, and I said to him : << Nunde, this is the
narrowest part of the stream, hereabouts ;" since it was raining hard, and the wi«tch
was getting wet, the need was pressing that we shquld escape from the water which
was fialling on us. But the chiefest reason was (for the Lord at that moment had
blinded his understanding) that I might have my revenge. He trusted me, and said :
" Place me exactly right, and then leap thou over the stream.'' I thereupon placed
him directly opposite the post, and then gave a great jump, and dodged behind it like
a man awaiting the onset of a bull, and cried to him : ** Whoop I jump, for all you
are worth I so as to land on this side of the stream." Hardly were the words out
of my mouth, when the poor blind wretch steadied himself like a he-goat, and
having taken a step backward to make a longer leap, jumped with all his force, and
and struck the post full butt with his head, which sounded as though it had been struck
by a gourd and he fell back instantly from the blow, half dead, and with his head
split " Aha ! how happens it that you could smell the sausage, but not the post?
smell away ! smell away !" I cried to him. And I left him to the care of the people
who had gone to help him, and then, at a trot, passed through the City-gate.' — ^pp.
23-25, ed. Qarke, *conforme d la edicidn de 1554,' Oxford, 1897. I do not vouch
for the exact literalness of my translation. The Spanish of three hundred and fifty
years ago is not the Spanish of to-day. But it is exact enough to show that
it could not have been the story to which Benedick alludes. And although there
might be some satisfaction in finding Benedick's very story, it is, luckily, by no means
needed to understand his meaning. It is possible, however, that this horrid practical
joke of Lazarillo may be the material out of which Benedick's story was made.
There is no jest at all resembling either of them in Tht Hundred Merry Tales or in
any of the numerous Jest-books^ reprinted by W. C. Hazlitt. At the same time,
we must remember that Lazarillo de Tormes was translated in 1586 by David Row-
lands, and has been always a popular, well known book, as is proved by its very
many editions. Possibly, the foregoing story may have been floating in Shake-
speare's memory and he 'twisted so fine a story' to suit the occasion. — Ed.
193. If it will not be] Abbott (§ 321) : That is, if you will not leave me. A
perplexing passage. The meaning seems to be < if it is not to be otherwise,' and
in Elizabethan English we might expect *If ii sAall not be.' But probably <it'
represents fate, and, as in the phrase, * come what TviH,* the future is personified :
< If fate will not be as I would have it.' And this explains, IV, i, 218 : * What
sAaU become of (as the result of) this ? What Ttnll this do ?' The indefinite unknown
consequence is not personified, the definite project is personified : < What is destined
to result from this project ? What does this project intend to do for us ?'
194, 195. into sedges] Harting (p. 236) : Naturalists have frequently observed
that when any of the diving-ducks are winged or injured, they generally make for the
open water, and endeavour to escape by diving or swimming away, while those which
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ACT II, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 79
not know me : the Princes foole! Hah? It may be I goe 196
vnder that title, becaufe I am merrie : yea but fo I am
apt to do my felfe wrong : I am not fo reputed, it is the
bafe (though bitter) difpofition of Beatrice^ that putt's
the world into her perfon, and fo giues me out: well,Ile 200
be reuenged as I may.
196. Hahf\hahy(i. HafYi, hat 199. bafe {thimgh biiter)] base, the
Rowe. Ha I Cap. bitter Johns, conj. Var. '73, Steev. Var.
197. yea'\ you F,. yet F F^. yea, '03, '13, *2I, bare, though bitter Axion,
Pope, + , Dyce, Cam. Wb. li. Yea; 9,^, Caxsu false, though bitter Cw[twn^i,
Cap. Ran. Mai. Steev. Var. Knt, Coll. base thought— the bitter Kinnear. base-
Wh. i, Sta. tongued, bitter Orson.
197, 198. fo.„wrong'\ so; (I am.,, 20a world'] wordY^^,
wrong) Cap. and subs. Ran. Mai. Steev. Scene IV. Pope, + . .
Var. Knt, Sta.
do not excel in diving, usually make for the shore, when wounded, and, as Shake-
speare tells us, 'creep into sedges.'
196. Hah ?] This interrogation mark should be retained, I think ; albeit DvcE,
Collier, Staunton, and some others prefer an exclamation. — Ed.
197. so I am] Capell's punctuation is ingenious and has been adopted by some
careful editors ; he thus explains it (p. 123) : * the words [< Yea ; but so ;'] appear
retractions of what the speaker had half assented to, — ^that *' fool " might be his name
abroad, upon the score that he mentions ; and his <* but so " is — ^hold, soft, stop there ;
followed by an accusing his own proneness to indulge suspicions that hurt him. * I prefer
the Folio ; the emphasis should fall, I think, on < am '; it is a concession in Beatrice's
favour, that sometimes his meniment does injure him. Perhaps, it is this faint con-
cession, coupled with a dim, unacknowledged sense of her personal charm, that
startles him, by reaction, into the use of the harsh terms applied to her immediately
afterward. — Ed.
199. base (though bitter)] Johnson : That is, < It is the disposition of Beatrice,
who takes upon her to personate the world, and therefore represents the world as
saying what she only says herself.' In the phrase 'base though bitter,' I do not
understand how base and bitter are inconsistent, or why what is bitter should not be
base, I believe we may safely read, < It is the base, the bitter disposition.' Walker
(Crit, ill, 30) 'doubts' this correction. Knight paraphrases: *The disposition of
Beatrice is a grovelling disposition, although it is sharp and satirical,' which does not
help us; a grovelling disposition is quite consistent with a sharp and bitter one.
Staunton considers the present text ' not very intelligible ' ; Dyce confesses outright
that he does 'not understand' it W. A. Wright, by softening the terms some-
what, and by inverting the clauses gives an intelligible paraphrase, which is not so
far from the exact letter of the text as not to be what Benedick meant to say :
' Though it is the disposition of Beatrice to be sarcastic, it is mean of her to put her
own sayings into the mouth of others.' Wright then continues: 'According to
Bacon (Essay xxii) this was called " The Turning of the cat in the pan." ' If any
amendment of the phrase is to be tolerated, an anonymous conjecture, recorded in the
Cambridge Edition, of through-bitter is to be preferred, as more genuinely Shake-
spearian than the rest — Ed.
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8o MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. i.
Enter the Prince. 202
Pedro, Now Signior, where's the Count, did you
fee him ?
Bene. Troth my Lord, I haue played the part of Lady 205
Fame, I found him heere as melancholy as a Lodge in a
Warren,! told him, and I thinke,told him true, that your
grace had got the will of this young Lady, and I offered
him my company to a willow tree, either to make him a
garland, as being forfaken,or to binde him a rod, as be- 210
ing worthy to be whipt.
202. Prince] Prince, Hero, Leonato, 208. the 'will'\ the goodwil Q, Cap.
John and Borachio, and Conrade. Q. Var. Ran. Mai. Steev. Var. Coll. Djrce,
Don Pedro. Rowe. Don Pedro, Hero, Wh. Sta. Cam. Ktly, Huds.
and Leonato. Cap. White i. of thi5\ of the Ran. of his
207. told'\ I told Q, Cap. Var. Ran. Walker, Huds.
Mai. Steev. Var. Coll. Dyce, Wh. Sta. 210. him a] Ff, Rowe, Pope, Han.
Cam. Ktly, Huds. Knt. him vp a Q, et cet.
202. Enter the Prince] This stage-direction is as deficient as that of the Qto is
redundant ; the latter includes Don John and Borachio, who do not appear till the
next scene, and Conrade who does not speak till the next Act. From what Benedick
says, in line 208, * that your grace had got the will of this young lady^ Capell (p.
123) considered that it was 'a capital absurdity* to omit the entrance, with Don
Pedro, of Hero and Leonato ; but Walker ( Crit, ii, 223) with plausibility proposed
his instead of * this * because the latter * has nothing to refer to.' (This emendation,
be it noted, is in an Article where Walker has collected very many instances of the
manifest confusion of this and ^w.) Dyce (ed. ii) says that Walker * may be right ;
but our early authors sometimes use *' this " rather loosely.* Apart from all this, it is
not easy to comprehend how Hero, demure and reticent though she be, could have
stood silently by and heard Beatrice so *bethump>ed with words,' as in Benedick's
long mock-tirade ; then add to this that she knew that Don Pedro did not woo for
himself, as Benedick says he did, but for Claudio. Had she been present, she must
have spoken. — Ed.
206, 207. Lodge in a Warren] W. A. Wright : Such a lodge is necessarily a
lonely dwelling, and solitariness breeds melancholy. Steevens would have us
suppose that as an image of desolation there is a parallelism of thought between
this Modge in a warren ' and the prophet Isaiah's ' lodge in a garden of cucumbers.'
TiESSEN's emendation (Englische Studien, 1878, II. bd, i. hft, p. 200) I will
endeavour to translate literally, and will certainly give without comment further
than to state that it is to be found in a reputable Journal : * Delius thinks that the
lonely situation of a lodge in a warren must make a melancholy impression. But
the image befits neither Benedick's style of expression, nor a languishing lover,
hanging his head. I therefore conjecture that 'lodge' is a misprint for dog: a dog
in a rabbit-warren may well have cause enough to hang his head when the rabbits
escape underground ; and if, in addition, he goes yearningly snuffing about, he is
assuredly a perfect image of melancholy.' — Ed.
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ACT II, sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 8l
Pedro. To be whipt, what's his fault? 212
Bene. The flat tranfgreflion of a Schoole-boy, who
being ouer-ioyed with finding a birds neft, ftiewes it his
companion^ and he fteales it. 215
Pedro. Wilt thou make a truft, a tranfgreflion ? the
tranfgreflion is in the ftealer.
Ben. Yet it had not beene amifle the rod had beene
made, and the garland too^ for 'the garland he might haue
wome himfelfe, and the rod hee might haue beftowed on 220
you, who (as I take it)haue ftolne his birds neft.
Pedro. I will but teach them to fmg, and reftore them
to the owner.
Bene. If their fingfing anfwer your faying, by my faith
you fay honeftly. 225
Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrell to you, the
Gentleman that daunft with her , told her ftiee is much
wrong'd by you.
Bene. O fhe mifufde me paft the indurance of a block:
an oake but with one greene leafe on it, would haue an- 230
fwered her: my very vifor began to aflume life, and fcold
with her : fliee told mee , not thinking I had beene my
felfe, that I was the Princes lefter, and that I was duller 233
212. whipty'\ wkipt! Pope, et seq. 228. wrong' d"] wong'dF^.
214. dirds neft'] QFf, Rowe i. bird^ 229-239. Mnemonic lines, Waib.
nest Cam. Wh. ii. bird^s nest Rowe ii 230. but with] with but Cap. conj.
ctcet (subs.) 233. and that] that Q, Cap. Steev-
227. daunji] Q. danjl F,. dan^d Var. Coll. Sta. Cam. Ktly, Wh. ii.
F^V
226. quarrell to you] See Abbott (§187) for examples of the various
uses <^ tOf even without verbs of motion ; here it means motion against. In
IV, i, 227, 'That what we have, we prize not to the worth,' it means up to, in
proportion to,
228. wrong'd] W. A. Wright : That is, injured by being misrepresented,
slandered. For this peculiar sense of the word, see V, i, 10, 59, 60, 71, and Rich,
HI: IV, iv, 211 ; 'Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.' Cf. Temp, I, ii,
443 : * I fear you have done yourself some wrong ' ; that is, in representing your-
self as King of Naples.
229. misusde] The meaning here is plain enough, but the same word is used in
a different sense in II, ii, 26 : 'to misuse the Prince,' where it evidently means to
mislead f to deceive,
230. but with] One of Shakespeare's very frequent transpositions; see line 132.
above.
6
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82 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act il. sc. i.
then a great thaw, hudling ieft vpon left , with fuch im-
poiTible conueiance vpon me^ that I flood like a man at a 235
234, 235. im-pcffible] impaJfabU tm/ar/a^/rJohns.conj.Coll. ii,iii, (MS).
Theob. Warb. Johns, impetuous Han. 235. at a^ as a KUy conj.
234. thaw] Halliwell : Dr Sherwin transforms * thaw * into the Anglo-Saxon
theowy a bom slave, a serf. The great thaw is unquestionably an allusion to the
oppression of spirits experienced on the weadier changing from a cheerful frost to a
general thaw.
234* 235. impossible conueiance] Theobald : I have ventured to substitute
impassable. To make a pass (in Fencing) is to thrust, push ; and by impassable, I
presume the poet meant that she pushed her jests upon him with such swiftness that
it was impossible for him to pass them off, to parry them. [This is here given as it
appears in both of Theobald's editions. The Cam. Edd. have the following note : —
< In the copy before us of Theobald's first edition, which* belonged to Warburton, the
latter has written " Mr Warburton '' after the note in which the reading « impassable/'
adopted by Theobald, is suggested and recommended, thus claiming it as his own.
We have accepted this authority in this and in other instances.' They then add in
brackets : * [But it is given in a MS letter from Theobald to Warburton.]' It is dis-
agreeable, under any circumstances, to impute unfairness, but, in this instance, if
any one is to be considered unfair, it should not, I think, be Theobald whose treat-
ment of Warburton was generosity itself, compared with Warburton' s mean and con-
temptible treatment of Theobald. With all deference to the Cambridge Editors.
I incline to believe that the credit of this reading, whatsoever it may be, and it is
not much, is due to Theobald, and that, possibly, Warburton was really honest when
he intimated, by writing his name opposite to it, that it was his own. For the
emendation of impassable for ' impossible,' in line 132, Warburton was solely
responsible; his note will be found above, at that line. With this emendation,
wholly his own, in his memory, and perhaps confusing the two ' impossibles' , Warbur-
ton might have written his name opposite the same word in this present passage, quite
forgetting that Theobald had proposed it to him in the letter to which the Cam-
bridge Editors refer. — Ed.] — ^Johnson : I know not what to propose. * Impossible '
seems to have no meaning here, and for impassable I have not found any authority.
Spenser uses the word importable in a sense very congruous to this passage, for
insupportable, or not to be sustained: *So both attonce him charge on either syde
With hideous strokes and importable powre, Which forced him his ground to traverse
wyde.' — [Faerie Queene, II, viii, 35.] . . . It must, however, be confessed, that
importable appears harsh to our ears, and I wish a happier critic may find a better
word. — M. Mason (p. 51) : It is probable that * impossible ' is used in the sense of
incredible or inconceivable, both here and in line 132 of this scene, where Beatrice
speaks of 'impossible slanders.' Cf. Fletcher's Fair Maid of the Inn : *Did you
see How they prepar'd themselves . . . you would look For some most impossible antic'
[III, i.] — Malone: The meaning is 'with a rapidity equal to that q{ jugglers, who
appear to perform impossibilities, Cf. Thuelfth Night, III, ii, 77 : * For there is no
Christian . . . can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness.' ' Convey-
ance' was the common term in Shakespeare's time for sleight of hand. Halliwell
paraphrases it by * such extraordinary dexterity* ; and Staunton by * such incredible
dexterity*; the last, W. A. Wright pronounces the proper explanation.
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ACT II. sc. ij MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 83
marke, with a whole army (hooting at me : ftiee fpeakes 236
poynyards, and euery word ftabbes : if her breath were
as terrible as terminations , there were no liuing neere
her, ihe would infefl to the north ftarre : I would not 239
236. me\ him Ktly. 238. temnn€Uions'\ her terminations
237. ftabbes\ ftabs me F^F^, Rowe i. Q, Thcob. et seq.
235, 236. man at a marke, etc.] Rushton {^Shakespeare an Archer^ p. 93) :
The men who gave aun stood a short distance from the side of the mark. They had
little to fear from the good archers ; . . . The dangerous shots came from the bad
shooters whose arrows constantly fell wide of the mark. Therefore the good shot
was dangerous to the enemy in the field of battle, and the bad shots were dangerous
to the marker at the butts or clouts. Shakespeare was well aware of this. [The
present passage, therefore, refers] to the dangerous position of the marker. [This
explanation, which is evidendy the true one, shows that Keightley (for whose
emendation, see Text. Nates) failed to understand the allusion. — Ed.].
237. posmyards] Steevens : So, in Hamlety III, ii, 414 : < I will speake daggers
to her, but use none.'
238. as terminations] Dyce {^Gloss.)\ That is, words, terms. — ^Walker {Crit,
iii, 30) : [The Folio is] palpably wrong ; possibly Shakespeare wrote < her mina-
tions, — one of his many coinages from the Latin. The great objection to this is, that
it seems quite unlike comedy. [The still greater objection is, that Beatrice used no
'minations,* or menaces, whatsoever. — Ed.] — Lettsom {Footnote io^vWici): This
is very ingenious, but, as the Qto reads < her terminations,' we have probably in the
Folio merely one of the omissions so common in that edition. When these occur in
verse, they, of course, produce those limping lines of nine syllables which some
editors receive as part of Shakespeare's metrical system. The word < termination,'
however, never occurs elsewhere in Shakespeare; nor, indeed, does mination, —
Orger (p. 30) : This passage, if it is not given over as past cure, requires at all
events a violent remedy. . . . Benedick must be supposed to say that if Beatrice's
breath were as poisonous as her words were cruel, she would infect everywhere.
* Breath ' is constantly used for * words.' ... In this sense her breath was * terrible,'
as she * spoke poniards.' But to * infect ' it must be ' contagious.' No other quality
can be applied. . . . According to this, the natural reading would be : ' If her breath
were as contagious as terrible, there were,' etc. To arrive at this, we must suppose
minations is a corruption of contagious, and that the copier of the MS, after putting
* terrible ' in its wrong, began to put it in its right place by repeating the initial
syllable ter, and left a mixture of the two in the strange word 'terminations.' The
Qto, it is true, makes this solution more problematical by its reading * her termina-
tions,' but the point to bear in mind is that < terrible ' cannot be the quality of breath
by which to 'infect.' The addition of *her' before *ter' is perhaps only another
proof of the displacement of the words and the faulty character of the MS. [No
one found any difficulty in this word, before Walker, and no one has found any,
since then, except the Critic just quoted. ITiat it means (accepting *her' of the
Qto>, terms y epithets, is to me as clear as it is simple. — Ed.]
239. to the north starre] Warburton's text follows the Folio, but in his note,
he quotes the words as ' the North-Star,' without the * to,' and explains them accord-
ingly : < That is, there is nothing of so pure and keen a brightness, that her calum-
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84 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. i.
many her, though (he were indowed with all that Adam 240
had left him before he tranfgreft, (he would haue made
Hercules haue tumd fpit, yea, and haue cleft his club to
make the fire too: come, talke not of her, you (hall finde
her the infemall Ate in good apparell. I would to God 244
241. UfC^ lent Coll. ii, iii, (MS). 241. before\ after Ktly conj.
Ktly. abotU Ktly conj. 244. her the'\ her in the FjF^.
nious tongue would not sully/ — a wholly superfluous change ; it is the diffusion of
the infection which is implied. — Ed.
239. 240. I would not marry her, though, etc.] Lloyd (p. 198) : It matters
not what follows, for conditions were indifferent after the thought was once fieurly
entertained. It is comic and characteristic that the acute, the observant Benedick,
never catches a glimpse of the true incitement of the persecution of Beatrice ; he
supposes a base or bitter disposition, — anything rather than the truth that at heart
she thoroughly admires him, and would be pleased and flattered to be admired and
attended to in turn, and that it is pique and not contemptuousness that arms her
tongue.
240. many her] Lady Martin (p. 309) : Not marry her ! Are we to read in
this, that Benedick had at some time nourished dreams about her, not wholly con-
sistent with his creed of celibacy ? Not unlikely, if we couple this remark with what
he said to Claudio about her beauty as compared with Hero's.
241. had left him] Collier (ed. ii reading in his text 'had lent him') : That
is, had bestowed upon him, when he was in his early state of perfection ; the usual
text, *■ left,* would be proper, if the poet were speaking of what Adam had left him,
after he transgressed. Deighton thinks that the phrase means all that Adam ' still
possessed ' ; while W. A. Wright defines it as ' all that was bequeathed [to Adam],
all to which he was heir, and that was dominion over the rest of creation,' which is
evidently the meaning, although the strict legal meaning of the phrase < left him '
does not seem, at first sight, to bear it out. Inasmuch, however, as Shakespeare
uses 'bequeath' in the sense oi give^ hand over^ etc., as in Xing John, I, i, 148,
where Eleanor says to Faulconbridge : • wilt thou forsake thjr fortune. Bequeath thy
land to him, and follow me ?' it is possible that he here uses ' leave ' with the same
broad meaning. Hence, the plausible reading of Collier's MS is needless. — Ed.
242. haue tumd] Abbott (§ 360 j says that this infinitive ' seems used by attrac-
tion ' from the previous, verb. [* Seems, — nay, it w.' — Ed.]
244. Ate in good apparell] Warburton : This is a pleasant allusion to the
custom of ancient poets and painters, who represent the Furies in rags. — Steevens :
At^ was not one of the Furies, but the Goddess of Revenge or Discord. — Craik
(p. 213, Note on Jul. Cas, III, i, 271 : 'With Ate by his side, come hot from hell ') :
This Homeric goddess had taken a strong hold on Shakespeare's imagination. In
King John, II, i, 63, Elinor is described by Chatillon as ' An Ate stirring him to
blood and strife.' And in Lov^s Lab. L. V, ii, 694, Biron, at the representation of
The Nine Worthies, calls out, ' More Ates, more Ates, stir them on !' Where did
Shakespeare get acquainted with this divinity, whose name does not occur, I believe,
even in any Latin author? [It is impossible to say where Shakespeare heard of her,
but he might have learned about her in Spenser. See next note.] — W. A. Wright :
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ACT II, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 85
fome fchoUer would coniure her, for certainely while (he 245
is heere, a man may Hue as quiet in hell, as in a fanftuary,
and people fmne vpon purpofe, becaufe they would goe
thither, fo indeed all difquiet, horror, and perturbation
followes her. 249
249. foll(mes\ QFf, Cap. Steev. Dyce i, Cam. Wh. ii. folUnv Pope et cet
[Warburton's statement in regard to the < rags ' of the Furies] is, so far as I have been
able to ascertain, entirely without foundation. In Spenser's elaborate description of
Ate and her dwelling {^Faerie Queetu, IV, i, 19-30), nothing is said of her charac-
teristic attire, although she comes upon the scene * in good apparel,' with the false
Duessa, in the guise of two fair ladies. < But Ladies none they were, albee in face
And outward shew faire semblance they did beare ; For under maske of beautie and
good grace Vile treason and fowle falshood hidden were.' — Stanza 17.
245. some scholler] M. Mason : As Shakespeare always attributes to his ^xor-
cists the power of raising spirits, he gives his conjurer^ in this place, the power of
laying them. [Exorcisms were carried on only in Latin, and therefore by scholars.
Cf. HamUt, I, i, 42 : 'Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.'] Dyer (p. 45) :
The schoolmaster was often employed. Thus, in the Com, of Err, IV, iv, the
schoolmaster. Pinch, is introduced in this capacity. Within, indeed, the last fifty
years the pedagogue was still a reputed conjurer.
246. as quiet . . . sanctuary] Staunton : This passage is very ambiguous.
The obscurity may have arisen from the author's having first written < in hell,' and
afterwards substituted * in a sanctuary,' without cancelling the former, so that as in
many other cases, both got into the text Or the compositor may have inserted the
second ' as ' instead of or^ in which case we should read, — ' as quiet in hell, or in a
sanctuary,' etc.— W. Sykes {N, <St* Qu, VIII, ii, 202) : Benedick speaks of Beatrice
as an evil spirit or devil. . . . While this devil is on earth people may live as quietly
and happily in hell, her natural home, as in a sanctuary, because she is not there. —
W. A. Wright : A sanctuary is no refuge firom her tongue, and a man may live as
quiet in hell. — Marshall : The sentence would have been perfectly dear if the
author had written < for certainly a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary
where she is.* Perhaps, if, instead of * here ' we were to read there, it would convey
very much the same meaning ; but it may be that the poet advisedly wrote 'here,'
meaning here in this world, [Whatever of ambiguity there is in this passage is due,
I think, to connecting 'sanctuary' with Mive', instead of restricting 'live' to *hell ;'
that is, while she is about a man may live as quiet in hell as if hell were a sanctu-
ary, or, in freer phrase : hell itself becomes a sanctuary in quietness, in comparison
with her presence. — Ed.]
248. indeed] This is emphatic : in very deed.
249. followes] Note the singular number, after several nominatives, here used
by Shakespeare's compositors. — Ed.
249. her] Anop^. {Blackwood, April, 1833, P- 543) • Poo— poo— poo— what is all
this? 'She had misused him past all endurance,' not thinking that he had been
himself; yet really she was not so bitter bad upon him as he says, — ^he is manifestly
more mortified than any man would have been, if fairly out of love ; and believing
(oh ! the simpleton, ) that she spoke her sincere sentiments, he has the folly to say
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86 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. i.
Enter Claudia and Beatrice yLeonato^ Hero. 250
Pedro. Looke heere (he comes.
Bene. Will your Grace command mee any feruice to
the worlds end ? I will goe on the flighted arrand now
to the Antypodes that you can deuife to fend me on : I
will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the furtheft inch 255
of Afia : bring you the length of Prejler Johns foot: fetch
you a hayre off the great C^a^^ beard : doe you any em- 257
Scene V. Pope, + . 257. kayre of] hair cfWzx. '85, Coll.
250. Leonato, Hero] Om. Q. Huds.
253. arratuf] errand F^F^.
to Don Pedro, < I cannot endure my Lady Tongue/ [Benedick is not serious, he
says all this in a wild spirit of comic exaggeration. They were not his real senti-
ments ; had they been, he would have been the last to confess that he was utterly
routed and vanquished, and at the end of his resources in 'jade's tricks.' — Ed.]
250. Here we have a correct stage-direction, and, after the manner of play-house
copies, the presence of the characters is indicated a few lines before they actually
appear. — Ed.
255. tooth-picker] The use of a toothpick was apparently an indication of
elegance, see Wint. Tale IV, iv, 840, and of having travelled, see King John II,
i, 189 ; from which the inference is not extravagant that its material, in those days,
was not the convenient quill, or the homely wood, but of some enduring material
which served the use of many years, — perhaps a life time. — Ed.
256, 257. of Prester . . . off] Cambridge Edition: Though *of' and 'off*
are frequently interchanged in the old copies, yet, as in this place both Qto and Ff
are consistent in reading 'of in the first clause and 'off' in the second, we follow
them.
256. Prester lohns] Halliwell : See, for a most profound and learned disserta-
tion on the personage and history of Prester John, M. D'Avezac's Introduction to
his History of the Tartars^ by John de Plan-de-Carpin, 1838, pp. 165-168. Early
notices of this personage are all but innumerable, and he is also frequently mentioned
by writers of the Elizabethan period. — W. A. Wright : Prester John was a fabulous
Christian King of vast wealth and power who was supposed to live in some inaccessi-
ble region in the east of Asia. Marco Polo identifies the original Prester John with
Unc Khan, the chief of the Keraits, a Mongol tribe said to have professed Chris-
tianity. In the sixteenth century the name was applied to the King of Abyssinia,
whose title Prestegian, according to Purchas {Pilgrimage^ p. 670, ed. 16 14), was
' easily deflected and altered to Priest John.* Benedick is not thinking so much of
the danger of such an enterprise as of its remoteness, which would take him out
of the reach of Beatrice. — [Syr John Maundeville {circa, A. D. 1322) : I beleve
y* we haue herd say why this Emperour is called Prester John but for those that
know it not I wil declare. There was sometime an Emperour that was a noble
prince, & doughty, & he had many christen Knights with him and y* Emperour
thought hee woulde see the service in Christen churches, and then was churches
of christendome in Turkey, Surry and Tartary, Hierusalem, Palistine, Araby and
Alappy, and all the lordes of Egypte. And thys Emperour came with a Christen
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ACT II. sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 8/
baflage to the Pigmies, rather then hould three words 258
conference, with this Harpy : you haue no employment
for me ? 260
Pedro. None, but to defire your good company. ■
Bene. O God fir, heeres a difh I loue not, I cannot in-
dure this Lady tongue. Exit. 263
263. this Ladytongue\ Theob. Warb. Ladie torque Q, Var. '78, et cet
Johns. Var. ^73, Wh. i. this Ladyes 263. Exit] Om. Theob. Warb. Johns.
tongue Ff, Rowe, Pope, Han. Cap. my Steev. Var. Knt.
Knight into a church of Egipt and it was on a saterday after Whit sonday when the
byshop gaue orders, and he behelde the service and he asked of the Knight what
folke those should be that stode before the Byshop, and the Knight sayd they should
be prestes, & he sayde he wold no more be called Kinge ne Emperour but preest,
and he would haue the name of him that came first out of the prestes and he was
called John, and so haue all the Emperours sythen be called Prester John.* — ^p. 207,
ed. Ashton. Batman vppon Bartholome ( Lib. xviii, cap. 45, p. 364) : The Empire
of the Abissines or of Presbiter lohn^ whome the inhabitants of Europe doe call
Presbiter lohny is sumamed of the Moores Aticlabassiy of his owne people, that is
of the Abissines^ he is teanned Aceque & Neguz^ that is Emperour & king for the
proper name (as among vs is giuen by the parents. ) . . . This Presbiter John,, is
without doubte to bee reckoned among the greatest Monarchies of our age, as he,
whose dominions stretcheth betweene the Tropikes, from the red sea, almost to the
Aethiopike Occean. — Ed.]
257. Chams beard] W. A. Wright : The Great Cham or Kaan was the
supreme sovereign of the Mongols. In Dekker's Shoemaker's Holiday^ V, v, we
find, * Tamar Chams beard was a rubbing brush toot.' Speaking of what lovers will
do for their mistress. Burton {Anat. of Melancholy ^ Part 3, Sect. 2, Mem. 4, subs.
I ) says, < If she bid them they will go barefoot to Jerusalem, to the great Chams
Court, to the East Indies, to fetch her a bird to wear in her hat.* In the travels
which pass under the name of Sir John Maundevile he is called the Emperor of
Cathay. [One of the tasks which Charlemagne imposed on Huon of Bordeaux
was to go to the * cyte of Babylone, to the admyrall Gaudys,' and * bringe me thy
handfull of the here of hys berde, and .iiii. of hys grettest teth.' It is barely possi-
ble that this task may have crept into some play now forgotten, where the Great
Cham was substituted for Admiral Gaudys. It has been conjectured that a play
called Huon of Bordeaux was in some way connected with the sources of the plot
of Mid, N. />., and it is merely possible that this substitution occurred in this lost
play. — ^Ed.]
258. Pigmies] Batman vppon Bartholome (Lib. xviii, cap. 86, p. 377): Pigmei
be little men of a cubite long, and the Greekes call them Pigmeos^ and they dwell in
mountaines of Inde^ and the sea of occean is nigh to them, as Papias sayth. And
Austen sayth in this wise, that Pigmei bee vnneth \hardly'\ a cuibite long, and bee
perfect of age in the thirde yeare, and waxe old in the seauenth yere, & it is said, that
they fight with Cranes. Lib. 7, ca. j, Plinius speaketh of Pigmeis, and sayth, that
pigmei be armed in yron, and ouercoroe Cranes, and passe not theyr bounds, and
dwell in temperate land vnder a merrye parte of heauen, in mountains in the North
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88 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act k, sc. i.
Pedr. Come Lady, come, you haue loft the heart of
Signior Benedicke. 265
Beatr. Indeed my Lord, hee lent it mee a while, and I
gaue him vfe for it, a double heart for a fingle one, marry
once before he wonne it of mee, with falfe dice, therefore
your Grace may well fay I haue loft it.
Pedro. You haue put him downe Lady,you haue put 270
him downe.
Beat So I would not he fliould do me, my Lord,left
I ftiould prooue the mother of fooles : I haue brought
Count Claudio^vfhom you fent me to feeke. 274
266. lefU] sent Rowe i. KUy, Huds.
267. a /ingle] his Jingle Q, Cap. 267. one^ marry] one marry: F^.
Steev. Var. CoU, Dyce, Wh. Sta, Cam. one; marry, Rowe, ct seq.
side. — W. A. Wright : According to Marco Polo, the Pygmies were manufactured
out of the monkeys of Sumatra.
263. this Lady tongue] Heath (p, 103) : As a dish has just been mentioned,
I suppose [the reading of FJ is right. — R. G. White (ed. i) : The reading of F, is
possibly right [The agreement of the Qto and First Folio in reading « Lady * prevents
us from accepting < Ladyes ' of the Second Folio, happy though it be, as other than
a chance guess of the compositor. In a choice between 'this Lady' and <my
Ladie,' I prefer the former as more pointedly referring to < here's a dish,* and also
for its tone of contempt. — Ed.]
263, tongue] Lady Martin (p. 309) : All this time Benedick quite forgets that
he was himself to blame, if Beatrice has dealt sharply with him ; for had he not
given her the severest provocation by attacking her under the shelter of his mask ?
If volubility of speech were her sin, how much greater was his ! Rich as her inven-
tion is, and fertile her vocabulary, Benedick excels her in both. But what great
talker ever knew his own weakness?
267. vse] Malone: This, in our author's time, meant interest of money. — W. A.
Wright : See Sonnet, ▼!» 5 : ' That use is not forbidden usury Which happies those
that pay the willing loan ? [The usury here is, that, while the loan lasted, Beatrice
gave her own heart by way of interest; 'marry' she repeats (for I think there
should be a full stop after 'single one,') 'Benedick's heart that I thought was
mine. Benedick reclaimed by unfair means.' It is strange that into no discussion
(that I can recall) is any weight given, or indeed any reference made, to this speech.
Enough is here told to explain Benedick's first greeting to Beatrice as 'Lady
Disdain.' Between the lines, there can be almost discerned the plot of another
play.— Ed.]
272, 273. Mrs Jameson (i, 149) : If the freedom of some of the expressions of
Rosalind or Beatrice be objected to, let it be remembered that this was not the fault
of Shakespeare or the women, but generally of the age. Portia, Beatrice, Rosalind,
and the rest, lived in times when more importance was attached to things than to
words ; now, we think more of words than of things ; and happy are we, in these
later days of super-refinement, if we are to be saved by our verbal morality. [Shake-
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ACT 11, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 89
Pedro. Why how now Count, wherfore are you fad? 275
Claud. Not fad my Lord.
Pedro. How then ? ficke ?
Claud. Neither, my Lord.
Beat. The Count is neither fad, nor ficke, nor merry,
nor well : but ciuill Count, duill as an Orange, and fome- 280
thing of a iealous complexion.
Pedro. Ifaith Lady, I thinke your blazon to be true, 282
280. ciuUl Count,] QFf, Rowe, Pope, et cct
Han. Sta. Cam. Huds. Wh. ii. civile 281. 0/ a ualous] Ff, Rowe, Pope,
cintnt, Theob. Warb. Johns. Coll. Wh. i. Han. Wh. i. of as jealous a Coll. MS.
nvU, count, — Dyce. civile Count; Cap. of thai iealous Q et cet
speare*s plays were acted before his Queen. Is it not most unreasonable to demand
that a dramatist's refinement should exceed that of the highest standard of his time?
—Ed.]
273) 274* I haue . . . seeke] We have received no intii^ation that the Prince
had sent Beatrice for Claudio ; but it is by these commonplace, natural touches, which
we accept without question, that Shakespeare not only interlaces the scenes of his
plays, but also explains the presence of characters on the stage, and renders needless
many stage directions, which after all are useful only to the prompter, or to a
reader. — Ed.
280. ciuill Count, ciuill as an Orange] Dyce {Notes, p. 43): It may be
noticed that a ' civil (not a Seville) orange ' was the orthography of the time. See
Cotgrave, in Aigre-douce [where the definition is : * A ciuile Orange ; or. Orange,
that is between sweet and sower,* — which is exactly what Qaudio was, neither sad,
nor sick, nor merry, nor well, but between sweet and sour. That the Folio's
spelling was exactly the spelling of Seville, in very early times, we learn from Arnold's
Chronicle, in a 'Scrap' in the Trans, of the New. Sh, Soc, 1880-6, p. 578, con-
tributed by W. W. Skeat: *ix tonne of good Ciuill oyle.'— p. no; 'They had
freighted dyuers shippis at Cyuill.' — ^p. 130, ed. 181 1. The phrase 'dvil as an
Orange' is, according to W. A. Wright, <of frequent occurrence.' — Ed.]
281. of a] Note the emphatically better reading of the Qto.
282-287. Walker (CnV. iii, 31) : Perhaps this whole speech is a kind of verse,—
< I' faith. Lady, I think your blazon to be true ; | Though I'll be sworn, if he be so,
his conceit is false. | Here, Claudio, | I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is
won ; I I have broke with thy father, and his good will obtain' d ; | Name the day of
marriage, and God give thee joy.' [See I, iii, 18. — Ed.]
282. blazon] Murray {H, E. D.): Adopted from the French ilason ... of
which the original meaning was not [as Diez and Littr4] assume, 'glory,' or
< proclamation,' or even < armorial shield,' but simply * shield ' in the literal sense.
This is proved by the earliest quotation in French and English, and by the derived
old French sense of < shoulder blade.' From its proper senses of I. A shield used in
war ; 2. A shield in Heraldry, armorial bearings, etc.; 3. Description, according to
the rules of Heraldry, of armorial bearings ; it came to have the transferred sense
[as in the present passage] of a description or record of any kind ; especially, a record
of virtues or excellencies.
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90 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. i.
though He be fworne, if hee be fo, his conceit is falfe : 283
heere Claudio^ I haue wooed in thy name , and faire Hero
is won , I haue broke with her father, and his good will 285
obtained, name the day of marriage, and God giue
thee ioy.
Leona. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her
my fortunes : his grace hath made the match, & all grace
fay, Amen to it. 290
Beatr. Speake Count, tis your Qu.
Claud. Silence is the perfefteft Herault of ioy, I were 292
283- Ile]I¥i. Coll. Dyce. and his... obtain* dftheoh,
284. Claudio] Claudio [leading him et cet.
to Hero] Cap. 291. Qu.'\ Cue. Rowe ii.
285. 286. and his.. .obtained^ QFf, 292. Herault^ QF^ fferalt Fj.
Rowe, Pope, Han. and^ his... obtained^ HercUd F^.
283. conceit] Craik (p. 125): 'Conceit' which survives with a limited mean-
ing (the conception of a man by himself, which is so apt to be one of over-estima-
tion) is also frequent in Shakespeare with the sense, nearly, of what we now call
conception^ in general.
286. obtained,] The majority of Edd. substitute a semicolon in place of this
comma. It might well be a full stop. The punctuation of Collier and of Dyce
dislocates the sentence. — Ed. ^
286, 287. God giue thee ioy] This wish appears to be peculiar to a marriage ;
see line 320. It is also Audrey's exclamation when Touchstone promises to marry
her. As You Like It, III, iii, 43, where, in this ed., there is the following passage
quoted from Lilly's Mother Bombie (p. 138, ed. Fairholt) : *Lucio. Faith there was a
bargaine during life, and the docke cried, God give them joy. Prisius. Villaine ! they
be married ! Halfepenie, Nay, I thinke not so. Speranius. Yes, yes I God give us
joy is a binder.' — Ed.
288. take of me] For other examples of < of used for < from,' with verbs signi-
fying depriving, etc., see Abbott, § 166; also, V, i, 329, where *of' is used in a
somewhat different sense.
289. his grace ... all grace] W. A. Wright : That is, may he who is the
fountain of all grace say, etc. There is a similar play upon words in Alls well, II,
i, 163 : ' The great' st grace lending grace.'
291. Qu.] Murray (H. E. D.) : Origin uncertain. It has been taken as
equivalent to French ^ueue, on the grround that it is the tail or ending of the pre-
ceding speech ; but no such use of yueue has ever obtained in French (where * cue '
is called rkplique'), and no literal sense of qtieue or cue leading up to this appears in
1 6th century English. On the other hand, in the i6th and early 17th centuries it is
found written Q, q, q., or qu, and it was explained by 17th century writers as a con-
traction for some Latin word (sc. qualis, quando), said to have been used to mark in
actors' copies of plays, the points at which they were to begin. But no evidence con-
firming this has been found.
292. Silence, etc.] Lloyd (p. 197) : Considering the vicissitudes and mistakes
through which the settlement [of the wooing], in the first instance, is suddenly
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ACT II. sc. i.] MUCH AD OE AB O UT NO THING g i
but littie happy if I could fay, how much ? Lady, as you 293
are mine, I am yours, I giue away my felfe for you, and
doat vpon the exchange. 295
Beat. Speake cofin, or (if you cannot) ftop his mouth
with a kifle, and let not him fpeake neither.
Pedro, Infaith Lady you haue a merry heart.
Beatr. Yea my Lord I thanke it,poore fooie it keepes
on the windy fide of Care, my coofin tells him in his eare 300
that he is in my heart.
Clau. And fo (he doth coofin.
Beat. Good Lord for alliance : thus goes euery one 303
293. how much F"] how much. Rowe. 302. Clau. ] Leon. Han.
299. ii^ poore foole] QF,Fj. it; poor 303. for alliance] our alliance ThocA},
foolf Knt. it, poor fool, F^ et cet. conj. MS. ap. Cam.
301. my heart"] Yi, Rowe, Pope, her alliance :] QFf, Rowe. alliance
heart Q et cet Coll. i. alliance ! Pope et cet.
arrived at, we cannot wonder at a certain want of spontaneousness in Claudio!s
acknowledgements. In the sudden veering of feeling, there is naturally a moment
of pause; and when Beatrice prompts him, — 'Speak, Count; 'tis your cue,' — it is
in plain prose, and somewhat of the coldest, that he takes it up. ' Silence is the per-
fectest herald,' and so forth ; till Beatrice, again impatient at the lagging dialogue,
su^ests a rejoinder to her cousin, and hints that a kiss on such an occasion would
be quite in due place. Such prelude defines the nature of the engagement and of the
lovers in a manner to soften the violence of the ensuing breach, and to reconcile us
to the facility with which Claudio accepts a wife in substitution and on blind con-
ditions, and to the completeness of Hero's satisfaction in regaining him, in a manner
so perfectly independent of personal compliment to herself.
292, 293. I were . . . how much ?] Cf. Ant. 6r* Cleop. I, i, 15 : * There's beggary
in the love that can be reckon' d.'
299. poore foole] Malone : This was formerly an expression of tenderness.
300. windy side of Care] W. A. Wright : That is, so as to have the advantage
of it The figure is nautical. In naval actions in the old days of sailing-ships it
was always an object to get the weather-gage of an enemy. Cf. Tro. and Cress. V,
iii, 26 : < Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate.' Schmidt explains it as a hunt-
ing metaphor, and interprets < keeps on the windy side of care ' to mean ' so that care
cannot scent and find it' But the scent would be carried down by the wind, and
this cannot be the explanation. Cf. THoelfth Nighty III, iv, 181 : < Still you keep o'
the windy side of the law.'
303. for alliance] Capell (p. 124) : A sprightly answer to Claudio, who, in his
new flow of spirits, calls her < cousin ' ; its meaning — < Good lord, here have I got a
new cousin !' In line 320 she gives him joy by this tide, in conjunction with Hero.
— Steevens : I cannot understand these words, unless they imply a wish for the
speaker's alliance with a husband. — BoswELL: I explain them: 'Good Lord, how
many alliances are forming I' Staunton follows Steevens, and interprets the
exdamadon as equivalent to < Heaven send me a husband !' W. A. Wright jusdy
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92 aMUCH ADOE about nothing [act II, sc. C
to the world but I, and I am fun-bumM, I may fit in a cor-
ner, and cry, heigh ho for a husband. 305
304. to the world'\ to be wooed Wag- comer ^ and cry heigh ho Pope, Han.
nerconj. I>yce, Cam. Huds. Wh. ii. corner^
fun-bum* d'\ sundered [from it"] and cry heigh ho ! Theob. Warb. Johns.
Baile;- ii, 190. comer ^ and cry^ heigh ho! Cap. et cct.
304, 305' comer and cry, heigh ho'] 305. heigh ho for a husband] In
comer, and cry, heigh ho Rowe, Sta. Italics, as a quotation, Sta.
remarks that Staunton's interpretation cannot be right 'however ironically' the
exclamation 'may be spoken ; for ''alliance'* does not express the relation of hus-
band and wife to each other, so much as the relation into which they are brought by
marriage with the members of the respective families.' [The plurals of substantives
ending with the sound of j are so often found without the addition of s or es (see
Walker, Vers, 243), that I am not sure that the present 'alliance' is not a case in
point, and that Boswell does not come the nearest to the true interpretation. It
seems to me that the plural is more in harmony with Beatrice's high spirits and
characteristic exaggeration. — £d.]
304. to the world . . . sun-bum'd] Johnson : What is it to 'go to the world'?
perhaps to enter by marriage into a setded state ; but why is the unmarried lady
' sun-burnt ' ? I believe we should read, * Thus goes every one to the wood but I,*
etc. < Thus does every one but I find a shelter, and I am left exposed to wind and
sun,* * The nearest way to the wood,* is a phrase for the readiest means to any end.
It is said of a woman, who accepts a worse match than those which she had refused,
that ' she has passed through the wood, and at last taken a crooked stick.' But
conjectural criticism has always something to abate its confidence. Shakespeare in
AWs Well, I, iii, 20, uses the phrase ' to go to the world,' for marriage. So that
my emendation depends only on the opposition of wood to * sun-burnt.' — Steevens :
' I am sun-burnt* may mean, ' I have lost my beauty, and am consequently no longer
such an object as can tempt a man to marry? — ^Hunter (i, 248) : It is melancholy
to see such a man as Dr Johnson proposing [wood for ' world '], when there are few
phrases more decidedly unsophisticated English than going to the world, tying oneself
to the world, to express entering on the cares and duties of married life, just as the
nun betaking herself to the cloister is said to forsake the world. But the phrase
* I am sun-burned ' requires more explanation. It does not appear that Beatrice had
at any period so mean an opinion of her personal merits as to utter such a sentiment,
even to herself, [as Steevens attributes to her in the foregoing note], and it is certain
that she is not accustomed to speak in so pointless a manner. ' To be in the sun,'
'to be in the warm sun,' ' to be sun-burned,' were phrases not uncommon in the
time of Shakespeare, and for a century later, to express the state of being without
family connections, destitute of the comforts of domestic life. ' To go to the world '
was to be settled in a family ; ' to be sun-burned ' was to remain sole, or, as the
lively Beatrice further pleases to express herself, ' to sit in a corner and cry heigh ho
for a husband !' . . . My conjecture is that at first [the phrase 'to be sun-burned']
denoted the absence of family endearments in a more particular and confined appli-
cation, and that in time it expanded so as to comprehend any and every kind of lone-
liness in respect of kindred. The state I mean is that of being without children. It
can hardly be supposed that in a northern latitude the being in the sun, or even the
being in a warm or burning sun, would pass into current use among the people,
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ACT II, sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 93
[304. to the world but I, and I am sun-bum'd]
associated with ideas of discomfort and destitution, unless there was some peculiar
reason for it. . . . Whence, then, arose this phrase in which the connected ideas are
inverted ? I explain it thus : the one hundred and twenty-first psalm, in which, in
the Old English version, is found the passage, < So that the sun shall not bum thee
by day, nor the moon by night,' is found in the earlier Rituals of the Church as part
of the office for the Churching of Women, so that the matron surrounded by her hus-
band and children was one who had received the benediction that the sun should not
bum her; while the unmarried woman, who had received no such benediction came
to be spoken of, by those who allowed themselves such jocular expressions, as one
* stiU left exposed to the burning of the sun,' or as Beatrice says, < sun-burned.' . . .
According to my view of it, [this phrase] in its first and original use denoted the
state of being unmarried, or at least without children ; this is the sense in which
Beatrice uses it It then expanded so as to include the state of those who were
without family connections of any kind ; in this sense it is used by Hamlet where he
says, I, ii : ' I am too much i' th' sun.' It expanded still wider, and included those
who have no home ; in this sense it is used by Kent in Lear^ II, ii : ' Thou out of
heaven's benedictions com'st To the warm sun.' And it seems to have expanded
wider still, and to have been sometimes used for any species of destitution, or dis-
tress, or evil. Thus Wilson in his Arte of Rhetoric, 1585, p. 38 : * So that he [the
lawyer] gaineth always . . . whereas the other [laymen] get a warm sun oftentimes,
and a flap with a fox-tail for all that ever they have spent' ... In brief, stripped of
its popular phrase, what Beatrice says is this : ' Thus every one finds her mate, and
I am left in the world a solitary woman.' [See notes on Ham, I, ii, 67, and Lear,
II, ii, 157 in this edition. In N. &* Qu. Ill, xi, p. 413, Dr Brinsley Nicholson
contends that Hunter is wrong in his conclusions concerning the phrases in Hamlet
and Lear; these conclusions, it is true, have not been generally accepted, nor, in-
deed, has Hunter's explanation of * sun-burned.' On the strength of what Hector is
quoted by iSneas as saying in Tro, ^ Cress, I, iii, 282 : *• The Grecian dames are
sunburnt and not worth The splinter of a lance,' Halliwell believes that Beatrice
means, ironically, that she is * homely \' Staunton adds ill-favoured; and hence, as
W. A. Wright says, < not likely to attract a husband.' The irony which Halliwell
detects is founded on his supposition that Beatrice was, not a brunette like Hero who
was 'too brown for a fair praise,' but, a blonde. Any interpretation is better, it
seems to me, than that of supposing that Beatrice was angling for a compliment,
which the disparaging remark of a woman on her own good looks always is. I hold,
therefore, to Hunter's explanation. W. A. Wright, in support of Steevens's inter-
pretation, which he adopts, quotes Hen, V: V, ii, 154 : where Henry speaks of him-
self as ' a fellow ** whose face is not worth sunbuming," because he has no good looks
to be spoiled by it' But the sunbuming of a man is not unmanly, and is very dif-
ferent from the sunbuming of a woman. ' There is, possibly,' Dr Wright continues,
< a reference to the Song of Songs^ i, 6, and the expression may be intended to hint
at the unsheltered condition of an unmarried woman who had no home of her own '
—Ed.]
305. heigh ho for a husband] Malone, in a note on III, iv, 51 (but more
appropriately here), gives the title of an old ballad in the Pepysian Collection, in
Magdalene College, Cambridge [vol. iv, p. 8. — ^W. A. Wright] : * Hey ho, for a
Husband. Or, the willing Maids wants made known.'. — ^W. A. Wright: It is
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94 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. i.
Pedro. Lady Beatrice^ I will get you one. 306
Beat. I would rather haue one of your fathers getting :
hath your Grace ne're a brother like you ? your father
got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.
Prince. Will you haue me? Lady. 310
Beat. No, my Lord, vnleffe I might haue another for
working-daies, your Grace is too coftly to weare euerie
day : but I befeech your Grace pardon mee, I was borne
to fpeake all niirth, and no matter.
Prince. Your filence mod offends me, and to be mer- 315
ry, beft becomes you, for out of queftion,you were born
in a merry howre.
Beatr. No fure my Lord, my Mother cried, but then
there was a ftarre daunft, and vnder that was I borne :co-
fins God giue you ioy. 320
Leonato. Neece,will you looke to thofe rhings I told
you of?
Beat. I cry you mercy Vncle,by your Graces pardon.
Exit Beatrice. 324
307. / wouW} I had Cap. MS, ap. 319. was /] / was F^F^, Rowe, + .
Cam. 321. rhings'\ F,.
316. out of ^ out a Cl, out c^ Cam. 324. Scene VI. Pope,+.
Edd. conj.
referred to in Burton's Anat, of Melan, (ed. 1 651, p. 565), Part 3, Sec. 2, Mem. 6,
Subs. 3 : * Hai-ho for an husband, cries she, a bad husband, nay the worst that ever
was is better then none.' — Cambridge Edition : The old copies here give us no
help in determining whether Beatrice is meant to cry * Heigh-ho for a husband,' or
merely ' Heigh-ho ' and wish for a husband. Most editors seem by their punctuation
to adopt the latter view. We [take] the former. [Staunton is the only editor,
however, who distincdy marks the whole phrase as a quotation. — Ed.]
305. husband] Fletcher (p. 247] : Here we find this anti-matrimonial lady
thinking much rather of getting a husband for herself, than of preventing her cousin
from accepting one. But it is not only her habitual raillery against marriage in gen-
eral, that amounts to mere pleasantry and nothing more ; her antipathy to the indi-
vidual cavalier, upon whom she exercises her riotous wit, is not any more in earnest.
314. no matter] That is, nothing serious, no sound sense. Jaques calls Touch-
stone ' a material fool.'
319. a starre daunst] W. A. Wright: As the sun was supposed to do on
Easter Day. 'We shall not, I hope,' says Sir Thomas Browne in his Vulgar
Errors, v, 22, § l6, ' disparage the Resurrection of our Redeemer, if we say the Sun
doth not dance on Easter-day,*
323. mercy Vnde] An apology to her uncle, for having neglected * those things,'
with an instant request to the Prince to pennit her to leave. — Ed.
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ACT II, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 95
Prince. By my troth a pleafant fpirited Lady. 325
Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her
my Lord, (he is neuer fad, but when (he fleepes, and not
euer fad thendfor I haue heard my daughter fay,fhe hath
often dreamt of Ynhappinefle , and wakt her felfe with
laughing. 330
325. pUafant fpirUed'\ pleasant-spir- 329. of vnhappinejfe\ QFf. of an
ited Theob. et seq. happiness Theob. of an unhappiness
Warb. Johns. Var. '73.
325-330. pleasant spirited . . . laughing] Fletcher (p. 244) : Surely no
terms can well be devised more expressive of a disposition to good-humoured gaiety
and raillery, as opposed to everything ill-humouredly sarcastic and satirical. We
have not only the lady herself protesting that she speaks * all mirth ' ; not only the
testimony of her uncle and guardian, supported by that of his daughter, — with whom
she has been brought up as a sister, — that her disposition is devoid of * the melan-
choly element * ; but here is the Prince himself, after a full and varied experience of
her deportment and conversation, declaring her to be 'a pleasant-spirited lady.' On
this consideration it is, that he so immediately determines, ' She were an excellent
wife for Benedick,' — not in mere levity, as the critics seem commonly to have con-
strued it, but in serious care for the welfare of this other favoured follower of his, as
he had already shown it in providing so advantageous a match for his prime favourite,
Claudio. It should be observed, also, that the Prince's declaration of her fitness to
become the wife of Benedick is made by way of rejoinder to Leonato's assurance
that ' she mocks all her wooers out of suit ;' so that Don Pedro, when observing just
before, * She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband,' had already satisfied himself
that this non-endurance of hers, like all the rest of her raillery, had no serious inten-
tion, but, according to her own definition, was * all mirth, and no matter.'
326. melancholy element] Batman vppon Bartholome (Lib. IV, chap, i, p.
24) says that 'mans bodie is made of foure Elements, that is to wit, of Earth,
Water, Fire, & Aire '; and further (p. 29] that 'the humours be called the children
of the Elementes. For euerye of the humours commeth of the qualitie of the Ele-
ments. And ther be foure humours, Bloud, Fleame, Cholar, and Melancholy.'
Wherefore, I doubt that 'melancholy element', as here used by Leonato, has any
reference whatever to the Four Elements, or to their 'children ', but means simply
that a melancholy constituent there is not, in Beatrice's character. — Ed.
328. euer] An anonymous conjecture of even for 'ever', recorded in the Cam-
bridge Edition, I cannot but regard with favour, inasmuch as it occurred indepen-
dently to the present Ed.
329. vnhappinesse] Theobald's acuteness here deserts him, and strangely
enough he thus paraphrases the sentence : ' and not ever sad then ; for she hath
often dream' d of something merry y (an happiness ^ as the Poet phrases it,) and
wak'd,' etc. ; and thereto he conformed his text, and of course completely missed
the point, which is that even in dreams she was not sad for long, but immediately
woke herself with laughing. Warburton, almost as far afield as Theobald, whom
he sneers at, says that ' unhappiness ' here signified 'a wild, wanton, unlucky trick ',
which in the concrete it may signify, but then it requires an article before it, and this
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96 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. L
Pedro. Shee cannot indure to heare tell of a husband. 33 1
Leonato, O, by no meanes, ftie mocks all her wooers
out of fuite.
Prince. She were an excellent wife for Benedick.
Leonato. O Lord, my Lord, if they were but a weeke 335
married, they would talke themfelues madde.
Prince. Counte Claudioy when meane you to goe to
Church ?
Clau. To morrow my Lord, Time goes on crutches,
till Loue haue all his rites. 340
Leonata. Not till monday, my deare fonne, which is
hence a iuft feuen night,and a time too briefe too, to haue
all things anfwer minde. 343
335. O L(yrd^ my Lord'\ O Lord^ 341, 352. Leonata] F,.
my iord Q. 342. brie/e too] brief io, F^, Rowe i,
337. Counte] Countie Q, Coll. Cam. 343. minde] Ff. Knt. my mind Q
Rife, Dtn, Wh. ii. Count Ff et cet et cet
article Waiburton did not hesitate to insert in his text. Thereupon, Capell (p.
124) approving of Warburton's definition to the extent that ' unhappiness ' may
mean unluckiness^ proposed to read 'dreamt an unhappiness'. — Ed.
331. heare tell] R. G. White (ed. i) : This form of speech, which Shakespeare
constantly puts into the mouth of personages of the highest rank, but which is now
never heard in Old England, except, perhaps, in the remotest rural districts, is in
common use in New England. The idiom is pure English. W. A. Wright, after
quoting the foregoing note, observes : ' So far from its being the fact that Shake-
speare constantly puts this expression into the mouth of personages of the highest
rank, I question whether it occurs in any of his writings except in the present passage.
And it is rather a colloquialism of common occurrence than a rare provincialism in
Old England.'
333. suite] See line 70, above. Deighton suggests that the word is here used
* probably with a quibble on non-suiting a plea and putting anybody out of court, in
the legal sense of that phrase.'
336. themselues] Used for each other,
337. Counte] Inasmuch as this title has been hitherto spelled ' Count ' (see lines
177, 182) it is not impossible that the present spelling is an attempt to reproduce the
'Countie* of the Qto. See * Princes and Counties,' IV, i, 322. — ^Ed.
340. rites] Deighton thinks that there is here, possibly, a pun on < rites ' and
rights. It may be so ; but it is to be borne in mind that the compositors, * setting
up' by ear, could by no means distinguish the words. In Mid. N. D. IV, i, 147
we have in F, : * No doubt they rose up early, to obserue The right of May,* where
manifestly * the rite of May ' is intended. — Ed.
342. a lust] That is, exactly, precisely, as in Latin ; see Abbott, § 14. Cf. the
well-known passage in Mer, of Ven, IV, i, 325 : • nor cut thou less nor more But
just a pound of flesh ; if thou cut'st more Or less than a just pound,* etc.
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ACT II. sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 97
Prince. Come, you shake the head at fo long a brea-
thing, but I warrant thee Claudia^ the time fliall not goe 345
dully by vs, I will in the interim y vndertake one o{ Her-
cules labors, which is, to bring Sigfnior Benedicke and the
Lady Beatrice into a mountaine of affeflion, th'one with
th'other, I would faine haue it a match , and I doubt not
but to falhion it, if you three will but minifter fuch afli- 350
ftance as I (hall giue you dire6tion.
y^6,2A^. ffer-{uUs]H€rcuUisKo^e, 348, 349. M'] QFf, Wh. i. the
+ . Hercules^ Cap. ct seq. Rowe et cet.
348. m(mntain€\ maintain{i,e, 'hold, 348. th^&ne] the one Wh. ii.
or held, a maintaining of) Herr. 349. other ^ other; Rowe.
349, 350. not dut] not Rowe ii, + .
348. mountaine of affe^ion] Johnson : A strange expression, yet I know not
well how to change it. Perhaps it was originally written, to bring Benedick and
Beatrice into a mooting of affection ; to bring them not to any more moottngs of con-
tention, but to a mooting' or conversation of love. This reading is confirmed by the
preposition * with * ; * a mountain toith each other,' or * affection 7aith each other,*
cannot be used, but <a mooting with each other* is proper and regular. [Dr
Johnson in his Preface remarks that ' the laborious collator at some unlucky moment
frolics in conjecture.' To the many, very many admirable qualities in that Preface^
are we to add the gift of prophecy? — ^Ed.] — Steevens : All that I believe is meant
is, a great deal of affection. Thus also in Hen. VHIvf^ find ^^sea of glory.' In
Hamlet^ 'a, sea of troubles.' In Howel's Hist, of Venice, * though they see moun-
tains of miseries heaped on one's back.' Again, in Bacon's Hist, of King Henry
VII; 'Perkin sought to corrupt the servants ... by mountains of promises.'
Little can be inferred from the present offence against grammar; [Steevens here
refers to the last sentence of Dr Johnson's note — ^Ed.] an offence which may be
imputed to the negligence or ignorance of the transcribers or printers. — Malone :
Shakespeare has many phrases equally harsh. He who would hazard such expres-
sions as a storm of fortune, a vale of years, and a tempest of provocation, would not
scruple to write a mountain of affection.
348, 349. th'one with th'other] R. G. White (ed. i) : The pronunciation of
these words was fone and f other, — the later of which survives to us. [Before
White printed his Second Edition, he probably noticed that 't'one,' as we should
pronounce it, does not correspond to the Elizabethan pronunciation. — Ed.]
349. I would . . . match] Corson (p. 185) : There are some commentators
who go so far astray as to understand this stratagem as little more than a practical
joke. . . . Shakespeare would certainly not have condescended to anything so small
as that, whereby to excite mirth. If it were so, it would degrade the whole play. . . .
If Beatrice's affections were not already enlisted, the stratagem would be silly. Don
Pedro is entirely serious when he says, * I would fain have it a match,' etc. Leonato
. . . doesn't understand what is about to be done, as a practical joke, to entrap his
niece into an ill-assorted marriage. No. It is because he feels assured that Bene-
dick and Beatrice have already a secret love for each other, and because he feels
assured that their union would be one of happiness. . . . The speech of Don Pedro,
7
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98 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. L
Leanata. My Lord^ I am for you^ though it coil mee 352
ten nights watchings.
Claud. And I my Lord.
Prin. And you to gentle Hero 7 355
Hero. I will doe any modeft office, my Lord, to helpe
my cofm to a good husband.
Prin. And Benedick is not the vnhopefuUeft husband
that I know : thus farre can I praife him, hee is of a noble
ftraine, of approued valour, and confirm'd honefty,! will 360
teach you how to humour your cofm, that (hee (hall fall
in loue with Benedickey and I, with your two helpes,will
fo pra6life on Benedicke , that in defpight of his quicke
wit, and his queafie ftomacke,hee (hall fall in loue with
Beatrice : if wee can doe this, Cupid is no longer an Ar- 365
cher, his glory (hall be ours, for wee are the onely loue-
gods, goe in with me, and I will tell you my drift. Exit. 367
355- y<^ ^^] yo^ ^<^ QFf- 367. in] Om. FjF^ Rowe i,
360. honefty^ honefty. Ff.
which doses the scene, testifies to Benedick's noble lineage, his approved Talour and
confinned honesty.
351. dire^ion] W. A. Wright : The sentence is incomplete unless^ or about
be supplied.
353. watchings] This does not mean being on tfu watch, but, as W. A. Wright
explains it, lying awake, 'Cf. Afacb. V, i, 12 : '< To receive at once the benefit of
sleep, and do the effects of watching." Lady Macbeth was fast asleep, and yet with
her eyes open had the appearance of being awake, and acted as if she were so.'
358. vnhopefuUest husband] This expression does not quite accord with the
seriousness of Don Pedro and with the lack of any thought of a practical joke which
Fletcher and Corson have urged. It sounds as though Don Pedro were trying to
find arguments to justify himself in his own mind for putting in train his ' practise,'
and as though the result were not whoUy satisfactory, for he adds, in effect, that in
certain other regards, he is perfectly sure of his ground. Still, Corson and Fletcher
are essentially right. — ^Ed.
360. approued valour] That is, tried, proved in war. See < approved wanton,'
IV, i, 47, and * approved in the height a villain,' IV, i, 309.
361. humour] This does not mean, I think, to cajole but to manage.
363. pra^ise] In the use of this word, there is almost always a subaudition of
underhand dealing.
364. queasie] Rushton {^Shakespeare i Euphuism, p. 32) : Cf. Lyl/s Euphues:
' I well perceiue that . . . thy stomacke is as quesie as olde Nestors, vnto whome
pappe was no better then poyson.' — [p. 322, ed. Arber]. — ^W. A. Wright : That
is, squeamish. Lyly's Euphues, p. 248 (ed. Arber): <I cannot tell Philautus
whether the Sea make thee sicke, or she that was borne of the Sea : if the first,
thou hast a quesie stomacke : if the latter, a wanton desire.'
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ACT II. sc. UJ MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 99
\Scene II.]
Enter lohn andBarachio.
loh. It is fo, the Count Claudio (hal marry the daugh-
ter of Leonato.
Bora. Yea my Lord^but I can croffe it
John. Any barre, any croffe, any impediment, will be S
medicinable to me, I am ficke in difpleafure to him, and
whatfoeuer comes athwart his affe6Vion, ranges euenly
with mine, how canft thou croffe this marriage ?
Bar. Not honeftly my Lord, but fo couertly, that no
diflionefty (hall appeare in me. lO
lohn. Shew me breefely how.
Bor. I thinke I told your Lordfliip a yeere fmce,how
much I am in the fauour oi Margarety\!h^ waiting gentle-
woman to Hero.
lohn. I remember. 1$
Bor. I can at any vnfeafonable inftant of the night ,
appoint her to look out at her Ladies chamber window.
lohn. What life is in that, to be the death of this mar-
riage?
Bor. The poyfon of that lies in you to temper , goe 20
Scene VII. Pope, + . Scene II. i. Enter lohn] Enter Don John
Cap. et seq. Rowe.
Scene changes. Pope. Scene 2. /<?,] so; Cap. et seq.
changes to another Apartment in Leo- 3. Leonato.] Leonato t Anon.
nato*s House. Theob. The same. 8. mine^"] mine; F^.
Cam. 14. Hero.] Hero*: Cap.
2. shal] That is, is to ; frequent in Shakespeare, just as ' will ' is equivalent to
intend; as in Benedick's declaration * I will live a bachelor.* — ^I, i, 239.
6. sicke in displeasure] Allen (MS) : Two equivalent propositions : l.) I am
sick ; — ^2.) I am in a state of displeasure (uncomfortable feeling) towards him.
7. Affection] W. A. Wright : That is, inclination^ desire. In I, i, 287, the
Prince asked : < Dost thou affect her, Claudio ?' — Allen (MS) : ' Affection ' is here
equivalent to the Greek frd^of, that is, the way in which his and my mind are
affected.
12. since] For other examples of ' since ' used adverbially for ago^ see, if neces-
sary, Abbott, § 62.
18. What life is in] For similar ellipses of there^ see III, ii, 26 ; and for an
ellipsis of f?, see III, iii, 53.
20. temper] In addition to its various meanings, still common at present, this
word was especially used, as W. A. Wright points out, in reference to the mixing
of poisons. Cf. Rom, ^ Jul, III, v, 98 ; Cymb, V, v, 250; Hand, V, ii, 339.
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100
MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. ii.
you to the Prince your brother, fpare not to tell him, that
hee hath wronged his Honor in marrying the renowned
ClaudiOy whofe eftimation do you mightily hold vp, to a
contaminated ftale, fuch a one as Hero.
John. What proofe (hall I make of that ?
Bar. Proofe enough, to mifufe the Prince , to vexe
Claudioyto vndoe HerOy^^xid kill LeonatOy looke you for a-
ny other iffue ?
lohn. Onely to despight them, I will endeauour any
thing.
Bar. Goe then,finde me a meete howre, to draw on
Pedro and the Count Ci^udio alone , tell them that you
know that Hero loues me, intend a kinde of zeale both
to the Prince and Claudio ( as in a loue of your brothers
honor who hath made this match ) and his friends repu-
tation, who is thus like to be cofen'd with the femblance
21
25
30
35
27. Leonato,] Leonato; F^ et seq.
(subs.) Leonato? Sta.
31, 32. on Pedro] Ff, Rowe, Pope,
Han. don Pedro Q, Theob. et seq.
33. know that"] know Rowe, + ,
34-37. (<w ... match) ... who is.,, of a
maid,"] as.„matehf...who is,.,of amaidy
Rowe, Pope, Han. as.. . match ;,„(who
is„,of a maidy) Theob. Warb. as...
match ; ... who is ... 0/ a maid, Johns.
as — ...match ;,., who is,,, of a maid, —
Cap. Var, Ran. Mai. Steev. Var. Knt,
Sta. (oj ... match; ... who is .,. of a
maid) Coll. Wh. i, Ktly, (subs.) <w, —
,„match,,„who is. ..of a maid, — Dyce,
Cam. Huds. Rife, Dtn, Wh. ii.
34. in a lotu] Ff, Rowe^ + , Cap.
Knt. in loue Q, Mai. et cet.
24. stale] A wanton of the lowest t3rpe.
26. misuse] See II, i, 229.
26. veze] This word bore a harsher meaning than at present. Thus, Cotgrave :
* Vexi:m, ke:f. Vexed, afflicted, tormented, turboyled, extreamely grieued, or
disquieted.' — ^Ed.
29. despight] Haluwell quotes Palsgrave, 1530 [p. 521, ed. 1852] : I dispytc
a person, I set hym at naught, or provoke hym to anger. Je despite.
31. draw on] The Qto has here preserved the true reading.
33. intend] That is, pretend, as often in Shakespeare.
34. as] For other examples where ' as ' is equivalent to namely, for example, etc,
see Abbott, § 113.
34. in a loue] The Qto text is, possibly, preferable here. — Ed.
34-37. in a loue . . . maid,] It was Capell's acuteness that first discerned that
this is all parenthetical, and that the dependent clause (introduced by 'as') after
* intend ' is < that you haue discouer'd. ' His punctuation has been essentially adopted
by Collier, and by Dyce also, except that Dyce more properly substituted a conuna
for a semicolon after 'match.' — ^£d.
36. cosen'd] Cotgrave : Tromper, To cousen, deceiue, beguile, delude, circum-
nent, cheat, ouerreach.'
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ACT II. sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING loi
of a maid, that you haue difcouer'd thusrthey will fcarce- 37
ly beleeue this without triall: offer them inftances which
(hall beare no leffe likelihood , than to fee mee at her
chamber window, heare me call Margaret ^ Hero ;he3ire 40
Margaret terme me Claudia ^ and bring them to fee this
37, 38. /carce-ly] hardly Rowe,+. 41. Claudio] Borachio Theob. Popl
39. likelihood,'] likelihood Pope,+, ii,+, Steev. Coll. ii, iii, (MS), Kin-
Knt, Coll. near.
41. Maigaret] Marg, Q,
38. instances] A word of various shades of meaning in Shakespeare. Here, it
is clearly used iox proofs, examplesy as in As You Like It, II, vii, 164 : ' Full of wise
sawes, and modeme instances.'
41. Claudio] Theobald : In the name of conmion sense, could it displease
Qaudio to hear his mistress making use of his name tenderly ? If he saw another
man with her, and heard her call him Claudio, he might reasonably think her
betrayed, but he could not have the same reason to accuse her of disloyalty. Besides,
how could her naming Qaudio make the Prince and Claudio believe that she loved
Borachio, as he desires Don John to insinuate to them that she did ? The circum-
stances weighed, there is no doubt but the passage ought to be reformed : — < hear
Margaret term me Borachio.^ — Steevens : Though I have followed Theobald's
direction, I am not convinced that the change is absolutely necessary. Claudio
would naturally resent the circumstance of hearing another called by his own name ;
because, in that case, baseness of treachery would appear to be aggravated by
wantonness of insult ; and, at the same time, he would imagine the person so distin-
guished to be Borachio, because Don John was previously to have informed both him
and Don Pedro, that Borachio was the favoured lover. — M. Mason: We should
surely read Borachio instead of ' Claudio.' There could be no reason why Margaret
should call him Claudio; and it would ill agree with what Borachio says in the last
Act, where he declares that Margaret knew not what she did when she spoke to him.
[Capell dammed the tide that was setting in favour of Borachio ; and no break
occurred until Collier's Second Edition appeared. In his First Edition, Collier
adhered to the original text but said that < '* Claudio " can hardly be right, inasmuch
as Qaudio was himself to be a spectator of the scene.' In his Second and Third
Editions, he followed his annotated Folio, wherein Borachio was substituted for
< Claudio.' Capell, who thought acutely and wrote bluntly, appears to have detected
some elements of the case, which seem to have escaped the notice of his successors.
His note is as follows :] In all places where this villainy of Borachio is spoke of,
Claudio and the Prince are said to see Hero ; at [II, i, 243] to see the person
impos'd on them wear 'Hero's garments' [The innuendo that Capell would here
convey is, I think, that it was not necessary that the Prince and Claudio should hear
any name, but merely see an interview.] an artifice of Borachio' s, who had persuaded
her, — ^that, to cover their night-interview, it was necessary she should appear so, that
she should be call'd Hero, and himself Qaudio ; the overhearers he knew would
start out upon him when she was retir'd, and in [III, iii, 152] we find they did so;
for there, he acknowledges confirming his master's 'slander'; which can only be
understood of their seizing him to know who the Qaudio was who had been talking
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102 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. ii.
[41. Margaret terme me Claudio,]
with that Hem, who when seiz*d had confirmed them in their deception ; see too
what is said by the Prince at [IV, i, 97-99 : ' Who hath indeed . . . Confest the vile
encounters they have had/ etc.] ; What Don John promises, that they should see
the * window entered' is but a stroke of his villainy, to wound the deeper ; Margaret
was light, not wanton, and upon no such terms with her wooer Borachio. — Malone :
Claudio would naturally be enraged to find his mistress, Hero, (for such he would
imagine Margaret to be,) address Borachio, or any other man, by his name, as he
might suppose that she called him by the name of Claudio in consequence of a secret
agreement between them, as a cover, in case she were overheard ; and he woidd
know, without a possibility of error, that it was not Claudio with whom, in fact, she
conversed. — Knight : The very expression ' term me ' shows that the speaker
assumes that Margaret, by contrivance, would call him by the name of Claudio.
[Dycs quotes this note, and calls it an 'apt' observation, and Halliwell also
approves of it ; but W. A. Wright observes that ' no weight can be attached to it,
for otherwise we ought to read in the previous line, ''hear me term Margaret,
Hero." '] — Halliwell : The correctness here of the old text scarcely merits serious
discussion. . . . The reader need scarcely be reminded that it is not necessary the
plot should be carried out in the exact form described in Borachio' s speech. In
point of fact, the Prince and Claudio witnessed the occurrence at some distance off,
and probably out of reach of hearing. — R. G. White (ed. i) : Theobald's reading
is plausible ; as to those who were deceived, Hero's error would have seemed of a
very different kind if they had had reason to suppose she thought her visitant really
Claudio, and as Claudio himself was to be a spectator of the scene. . . . The old
text is right ; for, plainly, Borachio wheedled Margaret into playing with him at a
scene between the other lovers. He himself declares in V, i, that she was innocent
of any attempt to injure her mistress ; and as for Claudio, it was enough for him to
know (as he thought) that he heard Hero 'term' another than he, Claudio. — Dyce
(ed. ii) [that vacillating but sturdily honest editor] : I am now (1863) less confident
as to the correctness of the old reading ' Claudio.' — Cambridge Edition : The sub-
stitution of Borachio for 'Claudio' does not relieve the difficulty here. Hero's
supposed offence would not be enhanced by calling one lover by the name of the
other. ... It is not clearly explained how Margaret could, consistently with the
' just and virtuous ' character which Borachio claims for her in the Fifth Act, lend
herself to the villain's plot Perhaps the author meant that Borachio should per-
suade her to play, as children say, at being Hero and Claudio. — Hudson : Both
Claudio and the Prince might well be persuaded that Hero received a clandestine
lover, whom she calUd Claudio, in order to deceive her attendants, should any be
within hearing ; and this they would naturally deem an aggravation of her offence. —
W. A. Wright : The text must be right, for it was necessary to the plot to make it
appear that Hero was endeavouring to conceal her intrigue with Borachio. It was
also necessary to induce Margaret to take part in it innocently, and she would at once
have suspected something if she had allowed Borachio in his own name to address
her as Hero. That she was not an accomplice is evident, and yet it is difficult to
explain how she could have been induced to help forward the conspiracy without
knowing it, and at the same time should remain silent when a word from her would
have explained the mystery. This is the defect in the plot. [Unquestionably, it is
a defect ; but it is a defect which is noticed only in the closet, not on the stage. We
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ACT II, sc. ii.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 103
the very night before the intended wedding, for in the 42
meane time, I will fo faftiion the matter, that Hero Ihall
be abfent,and there (hall appeare fuch feeming truths of
Heroes difloyaltie, that iealoufie (hall be cal'd aflTurance, 45
and all the preparation ouerthrowne.
John. Grow this to what aduerse iffue it can, I will
put it in pra6Vife : be cunning in the working this, and
thy fee is a thoufand ducates.
Bor. Be thou conftant in the accufation, and my cun- 50
ning (hall not (hame me.
43. /o] Om. FjF^, Rowe i. 45. Heroes] Herifs Rowe, her Cap.
44. truths\ truth Q, Cap. et seq. Wh. i, Dyce ii, iii.
proofs Coll. MS. SO. thou\ Ff, Rowe, + , Var. Ran.
Mai. Knt, Sta. you Q, Cap. et cet
know very little of Maigaret thus far, having only seen and heard her in a bright,
sauqr dialogue with Balthasar, and we do not know how powerful is the hold which
Borachio has on her. For aught we know she may be none too good to enter fully
into the plot, and as for her silence when a word would have saved her mistress, we
must remember that that word would also carry with it the ruin of her lover ; at this
alternative she might well have paused, and during that pause the opportune minute
passed and her chance was gone. It is only by what we afterward learn from
Borachio that we must believe Margaret to be innocent ; then it is, with this know-
ledge, that we look back and try to account for her conduct here. This is work for
reflection at home, it cannot be done while the play is before us. It was only in the
goodness of his benign heart that Shakespeare rehabilitates Margaret's character.
Don John's case was hopeless ; so he was put to flight ; but Borachio and Margaret
remained and all stains must be removed, the man must receive our pardon, and the
woman our respect, no blot or other foulness shall mar the joyous ending of the
Play. I think Theobald's emendation is needless. — ^Ed.]
43, 44. so fashion . . . absent] It is almost impossible here to disbelieve in
Margaret* s intelligent, guilty connivance, — ^nor is it certain, by any means, that, at
this time, as is intimated in the preceding note, Shakespeare at all designed that we
should believe in her innocence. He knew his own power over us, and that, at a
word from him, we should all be ready at any minute to swear that black is white.
—Ed.
45. Heroes] R. G. White (ed. i) : There can hardly be a doubt that this very
needless and unpleasant repetition was the result of a mistaking of < her* in the MS
for a customary abbreviation of the proper name. [In his Second Edition, White
restored the original text, without comment]
45. iealousie . . . assurance] W. A. Wright : Suspicion shall be called cer-
tainty.
48. the working this] For a discussion of verbal nouns, see Abbott, $ 93.
50. Be thou] The preference, which is here given by the majority of Editors to
you of the Qto, is probably due to the fact that hitherto Borachio has employed
you in addressing his superior, Don John. But it is hardly over-refinement to infer
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I04 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. iii.
lohn. I will prefentlie goe leame their day of marri- 52
age. Exit.
[Scene III.]
Enter Benedicke alone. i
Bene. Boy.
Boy. Signior.
Scene VIII. Pope, + . Act III. Rowe.
Spcdding. Scene III. Cap. et seq. 2. Boy.'\ Boy^ — Theob. Boy! Coll.
I. Enter...] Enter Bened. and a Boy.
that < thou ' might have been here purposely used after Don John had descended to
Borachio's level and become his fellow-conspirator. In As You Like It, Adam
addresses Orlando, his master, with an inferior's you until Orlando accepts Adam's
money, and forms, as it were, a fellowship with him, then Adam at once addresses
Orlando as thou, — ^Ed.
52. presentlie] That is, at once ; as in Shakespeare, passim,
52, S3, their day of marriage] That is, of course, * the day of their marriage,'
which seems almost too plain to require a note. But Shakespeare has many a similar
transposition (Abbott, § 423, gives more than twenty examples) where the meaning
is not at once obvious. For instance, Horatio is terrified at the thought that the
Ghost might deprive Hamlet of * your sovereignty of reason,' that is, the sovereignty
of your reason ; or where Macbeth says that Macduff's announcement of his mode
of birth <hath cow'd my better part of man,' that is, the better part of my manhood.
Again, in the present play, IV, i, 234, we have < his studie of imagination,' that is,
the studie of his imagination, or as W. A. Wright paraphrases it : ' his imaginative
study or contemplation.' — Ed.
Pope laid this scene in * Leonato's Garden.' Theobald, mindful of what Bene-
dick says in line 5, changed the phrase to 'Leonato's Orchard,* and so it remained
in all editions down to Malone's in 1790; M alone held 'orchard' to be inappli-
cable ; perhaps, because there is no proof that the plantation was devoted to fruit-
trees, perhaps, because 'orchard' is not sufficiently high-sounding; at any rate, he
restored the more elegant 'Garden'; salving his conscience for deserting Shake-
speare's own word by the remark that, * orchard * ' in our author's tinie ' signified a
garden. And ' garden ' the stage-direction remained till the Cambridge Edition
had the moral courage to restore the vulgar 'orchard.' — Ed.
I. alone] Collier's text (ed. i) reads ' Enter Benedick, Bene, Boy I Enter
a Boy, Boy, Signior ;' and his not6 thereon is : In the old copies Benedick enters
' alone ' before the boy makes his appearance ; and the reason is obvious, for Bene-
dick should ruminate, and pace to and fro, before he calls the boy. In all modern
editions ' Benedick and a Boy ' enter together ; a very injudicious arrangement —
Dyce (Notes, p. 43) : But probably, when Mr Collier reprints his Shakespeare he
will acquiesce in the modem arrangement, since the MS Corrector of the F, has
added to the entrance of Benedick : ' Boy following,* The truth is, the entrances
of ' such small deer ' as Pages are frequently omitted in the old copies of plays. Cf.
Dekker's Match me in London, 1 631, where a scene commences thus : Enter Don
John, Joh, Boy! Pack, My lord?' etc — ^p. 54, — ^the entrance of the page Pacheco
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ACT II, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING loS
Bene. In my chamber window lies a booke, bring it
hither to me in the orchard. 5
Boy. I am heere already fir. Exit.
Bene. I know that, but I would haue thee hence, and
heere againe. I doe much wonder, that one man feeing
how much another man is a foole, when he dedicates his
behauiours to loue, will after hee hath laught at fuch 10
(hallow follies in others, become the argument of his
owne fcorne, by falling in loue, & fuch a man is ClaudiOy
I haue known when there was no muficke with him but
the drum and the fife, and now had hee rather heare the
taber and the pipe : I haue knowne when he would haue 15
6. Exit.] After againe^Xvat 8, Johns. 12. loue^ 6*] Iffve^ andQFJP^, lave!
After tAat, line 7, Coll. and F^, Rowe, + . /ovt; and Cap. et
7. that^'\ that; Cap. seq.
9. fooUf when] fool when Cap. et seq.
not being marked. [There is, however, a particularity in the present stage-direction
of the Qto and Folio : < Enter Benedicke alone,* which is lacking in Dekker's stage-
direction. Dyce foretold correctly: in Collier's next edition, the stage-direction,
in conformity with the MS Corrector's marginal note, ran * Enter Benedick with a
Boy following, * — Ed. ]
6. I am heere already] Deighton : What the point of the boy's remark may
be does not seem plain, unless perhaps he took the word < hither ' to mean ' come
here.' [The jest, which is feeble enough, lies not in the boy's remark, but in Bene-
dick's reply. The boy's phrase means simply that his alacrity will be such, that, in
intention, he is gone and returned again ; somewhat like Puck's answer to Oberon :
< I go, I go ! look how I go !' although Puck had not, at that instant, left the spot.
Benedick's jest lies in taking the boy's words literally. — ^Ed.]
6. Exit] Lloyd (p. 199) : The boy who was sent for a book, and does not reap-
pear, seems to have been the means of the conspirators learning his master's where-
about, and to have been kept away by their management
10. behauiours] W. A. Wright : The plural indicates the details of his behaviour,
the various ways in which he shows that he is in love.
11. argument] That is, the subject See I, i, 248.
14, 15. drum and the fife . . . taber and the pipe] Naylor (p. 161) : The
former were of a decided military cast (see 0th. Ill, iii, 352) whereas, the latter
were more associated with May-day entertainments, bull -baitings, and out-door amuse-
ments generally. (P. So.) The Tabor and Pipe were common popular instruments.
The tabor, of course, was a small drum, used as an accompaniment to the pipe, a
small whistle with three holes, but with a compass of eighteen notes. In its
curiously disproportionate compass, it may be compared to the modem * Picco * pipe
of the music shops. — Aubrey (ii, 319) : When I was a boy, before the late civill
warres, the tabor and pipe were commonly used, especially Sundays and Holy-
dayes, and at Christnings and Feasts, in the Marches of Wales, Hereford, Glocester*
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Io6 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. iU.
walkt ten mile afoot, to fee a good armor, and now will i6
he lie ten nights awake caruing the faftiion of a new dub-
let: he was wont to fpeake plaine,& to the purpofe (like
an honeft man & a fouldier) and now is he turn'd ortho-
graphy, his words are a very fantafticall banquet, iuft fo 20
19, 20. ortho-grapky\ Ff, Rowe i, thographut Cap. conj. orthographer
Sta. Cam. Rife, Dtn. ortography Q. or- Rowe ii et cet.
shire, and in all Wales. Now it is almost lost ; the drumme and trumpet have putte
that peaceable musique to silence.
16. a good armor] W. A. Wright : That is, a good suit of armour. In the
Authorised Version, in the Preface of the Translators to the Reader, we find : « It
is not only an armour, but also a whole armoury of weapons, both offensive and
defensive.'
17, 18. the fashion of a new dublet] Peck (p. 227) : There never was such a
variety of fashions, so different & so whimsical, as in the days of Q. Elizabeth, The
reason whereof, I conceive, was : Q. ElUabeth loved to see an handsome man,
& that handsome man well dressed. Her gentlemen-pemumers therefore were always
studying how to please & delight her in this particular. To this end all the fashions
of Spain^ I^^y^ France, Germany, & every other part of the world, were severally
introduced. . . . The ladies also took the hint, & studied as many fashions to
catch the gentlemen-pensioners, as they did to please the queen. — Steevens : This
folly, so conspicuous in the gallants of former ages, is laughed at by all our comic
writers. So, in Greene's Farewell to Folly ^ 1591 : ' We are almost as fantasticke as
the English gentleman that is painted naked, with a pair of sheeres in his hande, as
not being resolved after what fashion to have his coat cut * [p. 253, ed. Grosart]. —
Reed : The English gentleman in the above extract alludes to a plate in Borde's
Introduction of Knowledge, — ^Malone : The English gentleman is represented, by
Borde, naked, with a pair of tailor's shears in one hand, and a piece of doth on his
arm, with the following verses : *\ am an Englishman, and naked I stand here.
Musing in my mynde what rayment I shall were. For now I will ware this, and now
I will were that, Now I will were I cannot tell what,' etc. See Camden's Remaines,
1 614, p. 17. — RusKiN : Care for dress is always considered by Shakespeare as con-
temptible. — ^vol. iv, p. 391, ed. New York. [What then are we to think of Rosa-
lind's admiration of Orlando's * point device' dress? — Ed.]
19, 20. orthography] Drake (i, 472) believes that there may be here a satirical
allusion to the innovating pedantry of the times. Bullokar, in An Amendment of
Orthi^aphie for English Speech, 15S0, proposed ' not only an entire change in the
established mode of spelling, but a total revolution also in the practice of printing.
To level a sarcasm at the head of this daring innovator may have been the aim of the
poet ' in the present passage. — Staunton : If the Qto and Folios read correctly, as
we believe, then the change of ' sonnet ' to sonnets or sonneteer in Lov^s Lab. Z. I, ii,
190 : 'Assist me some extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet,' —
was uncalled for and injurious. — Dyce (ed. ii) : The reading in Lov^s Lab. L. :
* I shall turn sonnet,' I believe to be a stark error. — ^W. A. Wright : If the text is
right it must be explained as an instance of the abstract used for the concrete ; and,
in support of this, reference is generally made to 'turn sonnet' in Lov^s Lab, L, /
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ACT II, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING • 107
many ftrange diflies : may I be fo conuerted, & fee with 21
thefe eyes ? I cannot tell , I thinke not : I will not bee
fwome, but loue may transforme me to an oyfter,but He
take my oath on it, till he haue made an oyfter of me, he
(hall neuer make me fuch a foole: one woman is faire,yet 2$
I am well : another is wife, yet I am well: another vertu-
ous, yet I am well : but till all graces be in one woman,
one woman (hall not come in my grace : rich ftiee (hall
be, that's certaine : wife, or He none : vertuous,or He ne-
uer cheapen her : faire, or He neuer looke on her :milde, 30
or come not neere me : Noble, or not for an Angell : of
good difcourfe : an excellent Muritian,and her haire (hal 32
22. noi:'\ noi? F^. 31. not for] Ff, Rowe, Pope, not I
24. an oyfter\ and oyfter Q. for Q, Theob. et scq. not nu for
37. be\ come Daniel. Quincy MS.
where < sonnet ' is taken to mean sonneteer. But I am not satisfied that this is the
meaning, and understand the phrase ' turn sonnet' differently. [Irrespective of any
phrase in any play, I believe that 'orthography' is right, — the abstract for the con-
crete, and that any change of this word would be a 'stark error.' Benedick does
not mean that Claudio is one who is proficient in orthography, but that he is 'orthog-
raphy* itself.— Ed.]
21. may I] That is, can /. See III, ii, 105.
30. cheapen] Baynes (p. 279) : To cheapen at present means to reduce in value,
to make cheap. But in Shakespeare's day, and indeed down to a recent period, it
meant, as it still does provincially, to look at or examine a thing with a view to
buying it ; to inquire the price, think of purchasing, attempt to purchase or bargain
for. This is the sense in which it is used by Benedick ; and his meaning, of course,
is that the lady must be virtuous, or he will not think of her, — ^will not make any
inquiries about her, become a suitor for her hand, or attempt in any way to try his
chances of success as a lover. The word was used in the same sense down at least
to the middle of the last century, as Uie following extract from a letter in The
Rambler y on the changes produced by loss of fortune, will show : ' She that has
once demanded a settlement has allowed the importance of fortune ; and when she
cannot show pecuniary merit, why should she think her cheapener obliged to pur-
chase?'
31. Noble . . . Angell] One of the innumerable puns, which, to the early dra-
matists (Shakespeare included), yere irresistible whenever these coins were men-
tioned. Here, the joke lies in the inferior value of the noble, which was 61. &/.,
while the angel was worth lOf. If she were not noble in character he would not
give lOf. for her, and if she were worth only 6;. &/. he would not have her though
she were an angel.
The Qto reading ' not I for an angel ' has been preferred by a large majority of
editors. But I doubt its necessity. The ellipas as it stands in the Folio is by no
means unwarrantable, and brevity is all-important. I think there should be a dash
after ' or ' : ' Noble, or — not for an angel.' — Ed.
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Io8 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. iii.
be of what colour it pleafe God, hah/ the Prince and 33
Monfieur Loue, I will hide me in the Arbor.
33. Gody'\ Ff. God^ Q (Staunton.) 34. [withdraws. Theob. ct seq.
(7a</ Q ( Ashbee. ) C^<?^. Q (Praetorius.) (subs.)
33. of what colour] Steevens : Perhaps Benedick alludes to a fashion, very
common in the time of Shakespeare, that of dying the hair. In Stubbes, Anatomie
of AbmeSy 159$, we find : * if any haue heyre of her owne naturall growyng, which
is not faire inough, than will they dye it in dyuerse colors ' [p. 68, New Sh. Soc.
Reprint]. Halliwell gives several receipts for ' waters for the dying of heares of
the heed and other ' which are more curious than valuable ; and he quotes from
Gerard's Herbal^ 1597, p. 114$ : *the rootes of the (barbery) tree steepled for cer-
taine daies togither in strong lie made of ashes of the ash tree, and the haire often
moistned therewith, maketh it yellow.' [The 'barberie plante' is again the chief
ingredient in Lyte's Niewe Herbal^ IS78, p. 684, where we find that * the roote thereof
stieped in lye, maketh the heare yellow, if it be often washed therewithall.* In
Coryat's CrudiHes, 161 1 (vol. ii, p. 37, ed. 1776) there is the following account of
the process of dyeing the hair practised in Venice : * All the women of Venice every
Saturday in the afternoone doe use to annoint their haire with oyle, or some other
drugs, to the end to make it looke faire, that is whitish. For that colour is most
affected of the Venetian Dames and Lasses. And in this manner they do it : first
they put on a readen hat, without any crowne at all, but brimmes of exceeding
breadth and largeness ; then they sit in some sun-shining place in a chamber or
some other secret roome, where hauing a looking-glass before them they sophisticate
and dye their haire with the foresaid drugs, and after cast it backe round vpon the
brimmes of the hat, till it be thoroughly dried with the heat of the sunne ; and last
of all they curie it vp in curious locks with a frisling or crisping pinne of iron, which
we cal in Latin Calamistrutn, the toppe whereof on both side aboue their forehead
is acuminated in two peakes. That this is true, I know by my owne experience.
For it was my chaunce one day when I was in Venice, to stand by an Englishman's
wife, who was a Venetian woman borne, while she was thus trimming of her haire :
a fauour not affborded to euery stranger.' — Ed.]
33. it please God] For the personal and impersonal use of 'please,' see
Walker (i, 205). While not wishing altogether to deny the correctness of the
interpretation commonly given to this phrase, namely, that the colour of the hair
shall be natural, and that Benedick is really indifferent to it, there is another inter-
pretation, which, it seems to me, is not impossible. Benedick has been, quite uncon-
sciously, describing Beatrice. The very phrase ' mild or come not neere me ' ought
to have revealed to him that the mental picture he was drawing, if only by contra-
ries, was the reflex of her who was uppermost in his thoughts and who exceeded
her cousin as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December ; but
the vision, as he inventoried its several charms, was too alluring to be discontin-
ued until he came to the colour of the hair, then, of a sudden, he became aware
that he was about to name the very tint of Beatrice's, and the dangerous tendency
of his heart flashed upon him. There was a long pause, almost of alarm, after
•her hair shall be,' then he adds with a sigh of relief *— of what colour it please
God.'— Ed.
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ACT II, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 109
Enter Prince yLeanatOy Claudio^ and lacke Wilfon. 3 5
Scene IX. Pope, + . Leon. Claud, and Bait. Rowe. Enter
35. Enter...] Enter prince, Leonato, Don Pedro, Claud, and Leon. Cap.
Claudio, Muficke. Q. Enter Don Pedro,
35. lacke Wilson] Instead of this proper name the Qto says < Musicke,' which
probably means, says Collier, that it * was heard off the stage.' As to who Jacke
Wilson was, there has been much conjecture. There are two Wilsons, either of
whom might be the man ; to these may be added a third, and possibly a fourth. In
Collier's Memoirs of Edward AlUyn^ the Actor, (.SA. Soc. 1841, p. 153,) there is a
memorandum, dated Oct. 22 [1620] written by AUeyn, as follows : 'This daye was
our weding daye, and thcr dind with us Mr Knight, Mr Maund, and his wife, Mr
Mylyor, Mr Jeffes, and 2 frendes with them, a precher and his frcnd, Mr Wilson the
singer, with others.' Hereupon, Collier remarks that * it seems highly probable that
this "Mr Wilson, the singer" was no other than Jacke Wilson in Much Ado,*
Some years later Collier found one or two facts about a John Wilson whom he
assumed to be this same Jacke Wilson. « Hitherto,' he says, {Sh. Soc. Papers, 1845,
vol. ii, p. 33,) *it does not seem to have been known that John Wilson was not
merely a singer, but a composer, and in all probability the composer of " Sigh no
more, ladies, sigh no more," as sung by him in the character of Balthasar. He
certainly was the composer of the song in Meas. for Meas. IV, i, ** Take, O ! take
those lips away," etc., as is proved by a book of manuscript music, as old in some
parts as the time of the Civil Wars, although in others it seems to have been written
in the reign of Charles II. That song is there found with Wilson's name at the end
of it, as the author of the music ; unluckily the manuscript says nothing regarding
the authorship of the words. ... As it is, the case stands precisely thus : one stanza
is found in Shakespeare's Meas, for Meas,, while both are inserted in Beaumont &
Fletcher's Bloody Brother, V, ii ; but, on the other hand, both are imputed to
Shakespeare in the edition of his Poems, 1640. There is no doubt, however, that
John Wilson was the composer of the song ; and, as he certainly belonged to the
company of players to which Shakespeare was attached, it may slightly strengthen
the belief that one member of the association wrote the words of a song, to which
another member wrote the music, especially when, as far as we know, it was not
Shakespeare's practice (though it was that of some dramatists of his time) to adopt
into his plays songs which had been written by others for other performances. We
are without the same proof that Jack Wilson was the composer of " Sigh no more,
ladies, sigh no more"; but as he was the singer of it, it may not be too much to
presume that he wrote the music which he sang.' Dr Rimbault ( Who was Jack
Wilson f etc., London, 1S46) goes further than Collier, and endeavours to prove that
the 'Jacke Wilson * who took the part of Balthazar was no other than * Doctor John
Wilson, Professor of Musick in the University of Oxford,' in 1644. *John Wilson
"the Composer," ' says Rimbault, * was a native of Feversham, in Kent, and bom
in the year 1594.' This date is fatal to the supposition that he could have been
either the composer or the singer of Balthazar's song when Much Ado was first
acted, in 1599 or 1600. But between the Qto and the Folio lie twenty-three years, —
ample time for the little Jack to grow up and be of exactly the right age to sing, at
least, if not to compose, the song during the decade before the Folio was printed from
a play-house copy where the name * Jack Wilson * creeps into the stage-direction,
and ample time for him to become known as * Mr Wilson, the Singer ' at Edward
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I lo MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. iii.
Prin. Come, (hall we heare this muficke? 36
Claud. Yea my good Lx)rd : how ftill the euening is,
As hufht on purpofe to grace harmonic.
Prin. See you where Benedicke hath hid himfelfe ?
Clau. O very well my Lord:the muficke ended, 40
Wee'll fit the kid-foxe with a penny worth.
36. heart this\ hear his this F,. Cap.
39-41. As an aside. Cap. 41. htd'/oxe"] hid-fox Warb. Cap.
41. Enter Balthafer with muficke. Q, Coll. ii, iii (MS), Dyce ii, iii, Huds.
Alleyn's wedding dinner in 1620, when he was twenty-six years old. Rimbault
says that ' nothing is known of [John Wilson] until the year 1626,' when he was
'constituted' a 'Gentleman of the Royal Chapel.' Apparently, Rimbault did not
know of the wedding dinner, or, perhaps, he did not consider the list of Alleyn's
guests as an adequate historical document. At all events, unless Alleyn's 'Mr
Wilson' and Rimbault' s 'John Wilson' are the same man, there must have been
two Wilsons who were singers. The connection which Rimbault finds between Dr
John Wilson, the composer, and Shakespeare's stage lies in the fact that when, in
1660, Dr Wilson printed his Cheerful Ayres, he gives, as his own composition, the
notes to the song of Autolycus : ' Lawn as white,' etc. (see Winters Taie, p. 388,
of this ed.), and, furthermore, shows not only that he knew the songs in The Tem-
pest ^ but also who was the composer of them (see The Tempest , p. 352, of this ed.).
' In my own mind,' observes Rimbault, p. 8, 'the circumstances connected with the
Shakespearian lyrics in this book, are almost conclusive of the identity of John
Wilson the composer^ with John Wilson the singer. Unless the composer had been
intimately acquainted with the theatre of Shakespeare's day, it is not likely that he
would have remembered, so long after, the name of one of its composers [Johnson].
. . . (P. 15.)! cannot but consider that my position is clearly established. The
Doctor's settings of the Shakespearian L}rrics, — his knowledge of the original com-
poser of the music in The Tempest^ — his companionship with the great dramatic
composers, the two Lawes's, — ^his familiar appellation of "Jack Wilson," — and,
above all, the thirty-two years gap in the early history of his life, all these circum-
stances combined are evidences not to be slighted, and, until these evidences can be
set aside by something more conclusive, I shall rest satisfied in my own mind, that
"Jack Wilson," the singer of Shakespeare's stage, and Dr John Wilson, the learned
Professor of the University of Oxford were one and the same person.'
The claims of the third Wilson are indeed meagre ; but as Halliwell brings
him forward, it is proper to add Halliwell' s note that ' in a list of inhabitants of
Southwark, near the Bear-garden, in 1596 (a MS preserved at Dulwich College) there
is mention made of " Wilsone the pyper," who may be the individual in question.'
The Wilson who was a guest at Alleyn's wedding dinner, might be, so Halliwell
thinks, 'the John Wilson, musician^ who is so named in the register of St. Giles's,
Cripplegate, in 1624, the son of Nicholas Wilson, minstrel, and who was bom in
1585.' [This is, possibly, a fourth Wilson. It seems to me that Dr Rimbault' s
supposition is the most plausible, and, also, that Edward Alleyn's friend, 'the
singer,' and Dr John Wilson were the same person. As for the others, their daim
seems to rest on but little more than identity of name. — Ed.]
41. kid-foxe] Hanmer changed this to c€uie-fox, because, as he says in his
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ACT II, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING \ 1 1
Prince. Come Balthafarj\i^€)\ heare that fong again. 42
BcUth. O good my Lord,taxe not fo bad a voyce,
42. Balthafar] Baltha/er Q. 43. taxe\ task Cap. conj.
Glossary y cade, when 'joined to the name of any beast, signifies tame^ brought up by
hand;^ this implies a knowledge, on the part of Hanmer, of Benedick's infancy
which he could only with difficulty have extracted from the text Grey referred to
the Chaucerian word kid^ meaning made known , discovered; but Warburton
changed it to hid-foxy that is, as he explains, < the fox who had hid himself.* Capell,
in adopting Warburton* s text, explained (ii, 125) that he did not do so * with opin-
ion that this " fox ** was an animal, but that fox among boys which Hamlet speaks
of' in IV, ii, 33 : < Hide, fox, and all after.* RiTSON (p. 31) thinks that it means
no more than a young fox ^ or cub, — Dyce {Remarks^ p. 32) : * Kid-fox* means a
young fox. Richardson in his valuable Dictionary dtes the present passage under
the substantive kid. Collier (ed. ii) adopts hid, because it so stands in his MS,
and justifies it in the following note : < Benedick has already said, in the hearing of
Qaudio, *< I will hide me in the arbour,'* and Don Pedro has just stated that <' Bene-
dick hath hid himself.'* It is true, as Mr Dyce says, that Richardson dtes this
passage under '<kid,'* but he does not show that a <' kid-fox*' means a young fox,
and he would find it difficult to adduce any instance to that efiect Neither could
Benedick be considered a young fox ; he was much more of an old fox, and for this
reason it was the better joke to entrap him.* — Halliwell : A young fox is what is
probably meant, but the term kid is certainly erroneously applied, the young of foxes
being properly cubsy the male-fox being called a dog-fox. The term kid was used to
designate a roebuck or roe in the first year. [This unparalleled instance of * kid-
fox,' coupled with its singularly inappropriate application to Benedick, is a strong
argument against retaining it in the text. Hid fox, for the reason ghren by Capell,
seems the true phrase ; Hamlet virtually uses it. — Ed.]
41. penny worth] Halliwell: Qaudio* s meaning is obvious, but no other
example of the phrase has been pointed out. To fit a person, in the sense to be
even with him, is suffidendy common, and there is a passage in the play of English'
men for my Money, which is somewhat parallel to the line in the text : — ' Well, crafty
fox, you that work by wit. It may be, I may live Xofit you yet.' < I care not for the
loss of him, but if I fit him not, hang mee.' — Heywood and Broome's Late Lan-
cashire Witches, 1634. The nearest approach to Shakespeare's phrase I have met
with, occurs in the English trans, of Terence by R. Bernard, ed. 1 614 : * De te
sumam supplicium, I will take my penie- worths of thee ; I will punish thee.' —
W. A. Wright: That is, a bargain. Cf. Wint, Tale, IV, iv, 650: < Though the
penn3rworth on his side be the worst' To fit one with a pennyworth is therefore to
sell him a bargain in which he will get the worst. [In the Wint, Tale there is a
regular exchange of commodities between Florizel and Autolycus, with, as Camillo
says, ' the penny-worth,' that is, the margin of profit or the balance of trade, against
Florizel. Assuming this to be the meaning of ' penny worth,' < to fit a man with a
penny-worth ' can hardly mean to give him the worst of a bargain ; is it not rather
to give him the best of the bargain ? in fact, when used as a threat, to give him
rather more than he wants ? I think, in effect, Qaudio says, to use a slang phrase,
* we'll give him his money's worth.' — Ed.]
43. taxe] Skeat (Diet.) gives task as a doublet of ' tax.'— W. A. Wright : In
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112 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. iii.
To flander muficke any more then once.
Prin. It is the witneffe ftill of excellency, 45
To flander Muficke any more then once.
Prince. It is the witnefle ftill of excellencie,
To put a ftrange face on his owne perfection,
I pray thee fing,and let me woe no more*
Baltk. Becaufe you talke of wooing, I will fmg, 50
Since many a wooer doth commence his fuit,
To her he thinkes not worthy, yet he wooes,
Yet will he fweare he loues.
Prince. Nay pray thee come,
Or if thou wilt hold longer argument, 55
44. once] <me F^. 51. /uif\ suit thus Ktly.
46, 47. Thus repeated from preceding 52. wooes^'] QFf, Coll. Dyce, Cam.
page, F,. wooes; Theob. etcet.
49. woe\ wooe QFf.
Lear^ IV, i, 16, where the Quartos have, ' I task not you, you elements, with
unkindness,' the Folios read 'tax.'
48. a strange face] Deighton : That is, to pretend to be ignorant, possibly with
a reference to the pretended ignorance of unwilling witnesses in a court of law. —
Wordsworth (p. 250) : We know the prominence which the New Testament gives
to the gn^ce and duty of humility. And surely these lines, 47 and 48, could only
have occurred to one who had deeply reflected upon and desired to practise that
Christian teaching. [I And it difficult to accept the interpretation that would impute
to these fine lines any element of pretence or of affected ignorance. Excellency
ceases to be excellency if there be in it any trace of affectation or of pretence.
* Strange * does not here mean singular or foreign^ but rather unconscious, unknow-
ing, perhaps even hostile; the whole phrase is an instance of that transposition of
which Shakespeare is so fond ; relieved of this transposition we should read : ' put
on a face strange to its own perfection.' And the lines might be paraphrased: *It
is always ('still') a proof of excellence that, in demeanour, it is unconscious, or
unknowing, of its own perfection. — Ed.]
49, 50. I pray thee . . . Because you talke] Note the use of ' thee ' and ' you '
in this dialogue between the Prince and his servant. — Ed.
50-64. Because . . . done] Pope, followed by Hanmer, removed these lines to
the maigin, but gave no reason for it. Capell surmises that it was Benedick's
speech, beginning with line 61 : ' Now divine aire,' which was the cause of offence ;
this he removed, as he believed, by inserting before it a stage-direction \^Air,'\
'teaching us,' as he says (p. 125), 'that a musick preceeds the '* Song," and that
Benedick's wit turns upon that musick.'
51. Since] Deighton: 'Since' here does not refer to his promise to sing, but
rather to a suppressed clause such as : ' And you may well talk of wooing,' since
you act very like many a wooer who begins and continues to woo one whom he
nevertheless does not think more worthy of being loved than you in reality think me
worthy of being asked to sing.
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ACT II, sc. iu.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 113
Doe it in notes. 56
Balth. Note this before my notes,
Theres not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
Prince. Why thefe are very crotchets that he fpeaks,
Note notes forsooth, and nothing. 60
60. Note nfae5\ Note noUs^QxXL.V>yQit^ ii, iii, Wh. Cam. Huds. Rife, Dtn.
Wh. i, Huds. Note^ notes, Theob. et cet noting Theob. et cet
nothing] QFf, Rowe, Coll. Dyce 60. [Air. Cap. Music. Mai.
6a Note . . . nothing] The orthoSpical discussion to which reference is made
at I, i, I is substantially as follows : — R. G. White, a pioneer in the investigatioa
of English pronunciation in Elizabethan times, in the last volume of his First Edition
discusses the pronunciation of the vowels and of many consonants. His remarks on
th are here condensed : The sound, or rather the mode of utterance, indicated by / is
so invariable, and has been associated with it for so many ages, in so many languages,
that its presence in a word leaves no doubt as to the purpose of the author ; it is
unmistakeable. But there is not the same certainty as to the sound of M. It may
have the sound either of th in thee or of M in thin; and in some words we, at this
day, give it the sound of /.- Thames, and thyme, for instance. And J. Jones, M. D.,
in his Pr<utical Phonography, London, 1 701, says, (p. 106) that 'the sound of /is
written as th in antheme, Anthony, apothecary, asthma, author, authority, authorize,
Catharine, Cantharides, Esther, isthmus, Lithuania, Thames, Thannet, thea, Thomas,
Thuscany, thyme, which are commonly sounded as without the h,* When, therefore,
we find certain words spelled indifferendy, at the same period by the same authors,
with t or th, the sound of the former being fixed and universal, what must be our
conclusion? Instances in point are nosetrills, nosethrills ; th'one, fone; th* other,
f other; swarthy, srvarty ; Mih, Jift ; sixth, sixt ; eighth, ^^^/ Satan, Sathan ;
quoth, quot, quote, or quod. Very noteworthy evidence upon this question is con-
tained in The Interpreter of the Academie for Forrain Languages, etc., London,
1648, by Sir Balthazar Gerbier, a Flemish miniature painter, an inferior artist, but a
successful courtier. His associations were with the highest-bred English people of
his day. This book is in French and English, printed on opposite pages ; by whom-
soever the English versions were made, the maker intended to express with great
particularity the English pronunciation of the day. In this book we find words spelled
with th in which we know there was only the sound of /, and, what is of equal
importance, words written with / which were then, as now, spelled with th. For
instance ; * we doe celebrate the remembrance on the IVith Sundayes,' p. 25 ; * that
my lips may seth forth thy prayse,' p. 58 ; * which the Academy will theach in par-
ticulars,' p. 66 ; < gives him strencht to resist,' p. 78 ; * who entertaine the yaught,*
p. 82 ; *\ have passed mj yought in combats,' p. 121 ; 'to bend under the strencht
of my arm,' p. 122 ; * nor is there any dept but it descends in it,' p. 141 ; 'but a
good brought (un bon potage) good meate and foulle is put on the table,' p. 182.
< I do not see,' continues White, 'how we can avoid accepting these spellings as
evidence of the pronunciation of th at the time when they were written, and that the
h was then silent at least in youth, strength, depth, and broth, as well as in those
words in which, according to the testimony of Dr Jones, it was not heard half a
century later.' Upon the theory that th was pronounced like /, White explains, for
the first time, the pun of Moth (who, by the way, is proved conclusively by White
8
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1 14 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. iii.
[60. Note notes forsooth, and nothing.]
to have been called Moti) in Lav^s Lab. L. I, ii, 94, where in reply to Armado's
reference to Delilah that ' Samson . . . affected her for her wit,' Moth replies * It
was so, sir, for she had a green wit** Here ' wit ' is wiih^ and alludes to the green
withes with which Delilah bound Samson. Furthermore, White calls attention to the
fact that th and ^appear to be used interchangeably in such words as murder, further^
fathom, hundred, tether, quoth ; and quotes a line from the First Folio in Tit^ And^
V, ii, ' Good Murder stab him, he's a Murtherer.* He then goes on : ' did William
Shakespeare pronounce murder and muriher in one breath ? I cannot believe it ;
but I do believe that in the Elizabethan era, and, measurably down to the middle of
the seventeenth century, d, th, and / were indiscriminately used to express a hardened
and perhaps not uniform modification of the [th as in breitthe"] ; a sound . . . which
has survived with other pronunciations of the same period, in the Irish pronunciations
of "murder,** "farther,** "after,** "water,** etc, in all of which the sound is
neither d, th, nor /.*
Before turning to Elus's criticism of these remarks it is advisable to note their
application to the present play, as set forth in White's Introduction; 'We call this
play Much Ado about Nothing,* says White (p. 226) — a remark which I have already
quoted at I, i, I — * but it seems clear to me that Shakespeare and his contemporaries
called it Much Ado about Noting; a pun being intended between 'nothing* and
noting, which were then pronounced alike and upon which pun depends by far the
more important significance of the title. ... (P. 227. ) The play is Much Ado about
Nothing only in a very vague and general sense, but Much Ado about Noting in one
especially apt and descriptive ; for the much ado is produced entirely by noting. It
begins with the noting of the Prince and Claudio, first by Antonio's man, and then
by Borachio, who reveals their conference to John ; it goes on with Benedick noting
the Prince, Leonato, and Claudio in the garden, and again with Beatrice noting
Maxgaret and Ursula in the same place ; the incident upon which its action turns is
the noting of Borachio* s interview with Margaret by the Prince and Claudio ; and
finally, the incident which unravels the plot is the noting of Borachio and Conrade
by the Watch. That this sense, "to observe," "to watch," was one in which
"note** was commonly used, it is quite needless to show by reference to the literature
and the lexicographers of Shakespeare's day ; it is hardly obsolete.*
Ellis (p. 971) thus comments on White : In the present passage in Much Ado:
* Notes, notes, forsooth, and nothing,* Theobald proposed noting for the * nothing '
of the Qto and Folios, a correction which seems indubitable. . . . Acting upon this
presumed pun noting, nothing, Mr White inquires whether the tide of the play may
not have been really ' Much Ado about noting,* and seeks to establish this by a
wonderfally prosaic summary of instances, all the while forgetting the antithesis of
much and nothing, on which the tide is founded, with an allusion to the great con-
fasion occasioned by a slight mistake — of Ursula [sic"] for Hero, — ^which was a mere
nothing in itself. The Germans in translating it : yiet Ldrm um Nichts certainly
never felt Mr White* s difficulty. [A remark so weak that it is well nigh incredible
that Ellis should have seriously meant it ; it would be no unfair reply to say that
still less have they felt Mr White's difficulty who have never read the play at all. —
Ed.] It seems more reasonable to conclude that [in the present passage and in
Wint. Tale, IV, iv, 625] nothing was originally a misprint for noting, which was
followed by subsequent editors. It is the only word which makes sense. . . . The joke
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ACT II. sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 115
[60. Note notes forsooth, and nothing.]
on noting and nothings supposing the jingle to answer, is inappreciable in both cases.
[All this, however, does not touch the ground of Whitens remarks. He does not at
any time say that noting is the only word which makes sense here. He asks why,
both here and elsewhere it is spelled nothing, if the th were not sounded like /? To
this Ellis gives no reply that I can discover except that it is a misprint, which in view
of White's long catalogue of identical misprints, seems hardly sufficient; White's
plea is founded not on one instance but on many, and to disprove one is no answer to
all. — Ed.] But dismissing all reference to making and noting as perfectly untenable,
there is no doubt that Mr White has proved Moth in Lov^s Lab. L, to mean Mote
or Atomy, and in all modernized editions the name should be so spelled, as well as
in the other passages where * moth ' means mote. Again, in Lovis Lab, L, there
can be no doubt that * green wit' alludes to Delilah's green withe, . . . The
usages of the Fleming, Gerbier, are not entided to much weight He probably could
not pronounce M, and identifying it with his own / followed by an aspirate, which
was also his pronunciation of /, became hopelessly confused. In his own Flemish, th
and / had the single sound of / followed by an aspirate. His ff^iM-Sunday may be a
mere printer's transposition of letters for ^f^i^-Sunday. There does not appear to
be any reason for concluding that the genuine English th ever had the sound of /,
although some final /'s have fallen into th. As regards the alternate use of d and th
in such words as murther^ further y father, etc., there seems reason to suppose that
both sounds existed, as they still exist, dialectically, vulgarly, and obsolescendy.
But we must remember that b, d, g, between vowels have a great tendency in different
languages to run into M, dh, gh. . . . The upshot of Mr White's researches seems,
therefore, to be that writers of the xvi th and xvii th centuries were very loose in
using /, M, in non-Saxon words. That this looseness of writing sometimes affected
pronunciation, we know by the familiar example author and its derivatives.' [It
seems to me, that White having discovered what he believed to be a pronunciation
of M, hitherto unsuspected, was led by pardonable zeal into giving to this pronuncia-
tion too wide a range. His argument that the tide of the present play must have
been pronounced Much Ado about Noting because the noting of each other by the
characters therein is peculiarly emphatic, is, I fear, unsound. There is not more
noting in this play than in many another. In Roni. ^ Jul, in the very first Scene,
the servants of the Capulets and Montagues note each other ; the Prince takes note
of the fray, so also does Romeo ; Romeo notes Juliet at the ball, and Juliet notes
Romeo, and they both note each other again in the Balcony scene with very much
closer scrutiny than the Prince and Claudio noted Margaret. Not to multiply
examples, the parallelism between the two plays is rendered even more exact
by a pun on < note' which is quite as emphatic in Rom. &* Jul. as in Much Ado,
In IV, V, 112 of the former play Peter says : * I'll re you, VWfa you ; do you note
me?' to which the First Musician replies : 'An you re us and yZi us, you note us.'
In one regard. White was certainly hasty in his conclusions ; he failed to detect
the haphazard way in which the th and / in Greek and Latin words were used,
and to eliminate them from his list. But maturer years brought wisdom. In his
First Edition he printed, rather ostentatiously, f adorn, murther, etc. ; in his Second
Edition this spelling was not uniformly maintained. Ellis's criticism of White is
not satisfactory ; he whisUes down the wind rather too summarily Gerbier* s testi-
mony which is at least noteworthy, and ignores the probability that Gerisier was
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1 16 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. Ui.
Bene. Now diuine aire, now is his foule rauiflit, is it 6i
not ftrange that fheepes guts (hould hale foules out of
mens bodies ? well , a home for my money when all's
done.
The Sang. 65
Sigh no more Ladies y Jigh no more^
Men were deceiuers euer^
One foot'e in SeUy and one onjhore^
To one thing conjlant neuer, 69
61-64. [Aside. Cap. Coll. Dyce, Sta. 65. Song] Son3 Q (Sfau and Prte-
In the arbour. Wh. tonus. )
61, airef.,.raui/ht,^ air ; .^ravishU ! 66. Sigh, ^/r.] Bal. 5i^ii, etc. Cap.
Rowe. air /. . . ravish* d ! Cap.
assisted in his English by an Englishman, as would be reasonably the case with every
foreigner. Neither White nor Ellis takes note of the Miltonic higkth, which is neither
Greek nor Latin, where the final / has not fallen by modem use into M, but the
th has uniformly, I believe, fallen into /, except in New England where the th is to
this day not infrequently heard. In my own early education I was taught to say
< high/yi.* Finally, the 'upshot' of the question seems to be that the list of words
whereof the pronunciation was indiflferently /or M ( just as in these days the pro-
nunciation may be either or eether) is not as large as White would have it, nor as
small as Ellis would have it. — Ed.]
6i. diuine aire] Capbll printed these words in Italics, as though a quotation,
and was therein followed by Malone and Stbevens, and even Staunton. Knight
adopted quotation marks, and Dycb did the same. As W. A. Wright justly
observes, there is ' no reason to suppose that this affected ejaculation is a quotation.'
62. sbeepes guts] Halliwell quotes Topsell, Hist, of Foure-footed Beastes^
1607 [p. 621] : < His [i. e. the sheep's] flesh, blood, andmilke is profitable for meat,
his skin and wooll both togither and assunder for garments, his guts and intrals for
Musicke, his homes and hooues for perfuming and driuing away of Serpentes.'
62. bale] Murray {H. E.D,): In the sense of to dragy to pull, it is now super-
seded in ordinary speech by haul.
65. The Song] Lloyd (p. 199) : The song of Balthazar is interposed not with-
out purpose ; ... the burden of his song, encouraging ladies to sigh no more, is that
of the ensuing conversation on the desirableness of Beatrice suppressing her passion.
Benedick's preference for wind music is also a point of nature, and his sudden
change of attitude, from that of a wearied overhearer of sentiment that bores him,
to an anxious listener, when his proper affections are in question, is laughable
enough ; but the introduction of the music has also the effect of supplying an
intermediate tone of association, that softens the transition that we witness from
one declared condition of feelings to another. In the corresponding scene of the
deception of Beatrice, the effect is obtained by another artifice, by the tone of romance
communicated to our impressions by the sweetness and flow of the versification in
which Hero and Ursula hold their discourse.
[See the Appendix for sundry translations of this Song.]
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ACT II, sc. iii.] MUCH ADo£' ABOUT NOTHING 1 17
Then figh notfo^ but let them goe^ 70
And be you bliUhe and bonnie^
Conuerting all your founds of woe^
Into hey nany nany.
Sing no more ditties ^ fing no moe^
Of dumps fo dull and heauy^ 75
The fraud of men were euerfo^
Since fummer firfl was leauy^
Then figh notfo^ &c.
Prince. By my troth a good song.
Balth. And an ill finger, my Lord. 80
70. A» two lines, Cap et seq. (except 75. Of ] O Coll. MS.
Wh. Cam. Rife.) 76. fraud.. .were]/rafM^...tttfr^ Pope,
72. your] yours F,. +, Var. Mai. Coll. MS. fraud,„W€u
73. nony nony] nonny, nonny Cap. Q, Cap. et cet
74. fing no moe,] fing no more, Ff, 77. leauy] leafy Pope, + .
Rowe, Pope, Han.
7a Then . . . goe] R. G. White (ed. i) objects to the diyision of this line into
two lines, as in modem editions. Such divisions are, however, only for the eye, and
are of small moment*.
74. moe] See note on As You Like It^ III, ii, 257, of this edition. — Koch (4tes
Buch, $ 292) : The difference seems to be firmly fixed that more is used with the
singular, and nto with the plural ; whence it comes that the oldest grammarians like
Gil and Wall is, set forth mo as the comparative of many^ and more of mtuh. — ^W. A.
Wright: The distinction seems to be that <moe' is used only with the plural,
' more ' both with singular and plural. [Wright subsequently added :] The state-
ment that ' moe ' is used only with the plural requires a slight modification. So far
as I am aware, there is but one instance in Shakespeare where it is not immediately
followed by a plural, and that is in The Temp, V, i, 234 : < And mo diversitie of
sounds.' But in this case also the phrase ' diversity of sounds ' contains the idea of
plurality. [Skeat says, of the distinction between moe and more^ that moe relates
to number and more to size. Wherein he is followed by Franz (p. 59, 5 68) the
latest German grammarian in reference to Shakespeare. MXtzner says (2te Afl.
s. 293 ; vol. i, p. 277, trans. Grece) that more Mn relation to extent of space bears
in Old English the meaning magnus. . . . But the meaning multus soon preponder-
ates.*— Ed.]
75. dumps] Murray (H, E, D.\i 3. A mournful or plaintive melody or song ;
also, by extension, a tune in general ; sometimes apparently used for a kind of
dance. Cf. Udall, Roister Doister^ II, i (p. 32, ed. Arber) : 'Then twang with our
Sonets, and twang with our dumps. And heyhough from our heart, as heauie as lead
lumpes.' Also Sidney, Sonn : 'Some good old dump, that Chaucer's mistress
knew.' — p. 180, ed. Arber* s Gamer y vol. ii.
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1 18 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. iiL
Prince. Ha, no, no faith, thou fingft well enough for a 81
fliift.
Ben. And he had been a dog that fhould haue howld
thus , they would haue hang'd him, and I pray God his
bad voyce bode no mifchiefe, I had as liefe haue heard 85
the night-rauen, come what plague could haue come af-
ter it. 87
81. noy no faiihf'] no, no, faith, F,. ^3-^5- As mnemonic lines, Warb.
no, no 'faUh, F3. ne, no faith, F^. 83. And'\ If Pope, + . An Cap.
no; no faith; Rowe ii, + . No; no, et seq.
faith; Cap. no, no; faith. Coll. no, bem] bin Q.
no, faith; Dyce, Wh. Sta. Cam. 85. liefe] liueQ. UifeY^ lieveY^^,
83-87. [Aside. Johns. Cap. Rowe. lief Pope et cet.
83. should haue howld] The subjunctive is here used in the subordinate clause
to emphasise the fact that it is the bad singing that deserved death ; had the condition
been expressed in the principal clause, and the indicative in the subordinate : ' An he
should have been a dog that howled thus/ etc., the sense would be perverted ; the
dog would have deserved death not for his howling but because he was a dog. — ^Ed.
86. night-rauen] Batman, in his < Addition' to Bartholomews chap. 27, 'Of the
night crowe,' has the following : ' This kinde of Owle is dogge footed, and couered
with haire, his eyes are as the glistering Ise, against death hee vseth a straunge whoup.
There is another kinde of night rauen blacke, of the bignesse of a Done, flat headed,
out of the which groweth three long feathers like the coppe of a Lapwing, his bill
gray, vsing a sharpe voice, whose vnaccustomed appearaunce, betokeneth mortal -
itye : he prayeth on Mice, Weesells, and such like.* — ^p. 186, ed. 1582. [Omi-
thologically, this extract from Batnuin is worthless. It is given merely because the
< night raven * is mentioned tc^ether with its boding * whoup.*] Steevens says that
the '"night raven" is an owl, wKTucdpa^ ;* 'which assertion, as far as **owl" is
concerned, is,* says Dyce (Gloss.), *at variance with sundry passages in our eariy
writers, who make a distinction between it and the night-raven ; e. g. '* And after
him owles and night-ravens flew." — Faerie Queene, Bk. ii, can. vii, st. 23. Cotgrave
regards the ** night-crow** and the " night-raven** as synonymous ; " A night-crow.
Corbeau de nuict** "The night raven. Corbeau du nuict'** so did that eminent
naturalist, the late Mr Yarrell, who considered them as only different names for the
night-heron, nycticorax, and who, in consequence of some talk which I had with
him on the subject, wrote to me as follows, Sept. 21, 1854: "The older authors
called it [the night-heron] a raven, in reference probably to the word corax ; and by
Shakespeare it was called a crow because corax is a corvus,** * — Harting (p. 100):
Even to this day there are many who believe that the raven's croak predicts a death.
. . . Willughby thought the so-called * night-raven * was the bittern. Speaking of
the curious noise produced by the latter bird, he says : < This, I suppose, is the bird
which the vulgar call the night-raven, and have a great dread of ( Ornithology, Bk
i, p. 25, ed. 1678). The bittern was one of the very few birds which Goldsmith, in
his Animated Nature, described from personal observation, and he, too, calls it the
' night-raven.' Its hollow boom, he says, caused it to be held in detestation by the
vulgar. ' I remember, in the place where I was a boy, with what terror the bird's
note affected the whole village ; they considered it as a presage of some sad event.
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ACT II, sc. iii.J MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 1 19
Prince. Yea marry, doft thou heare BcUtha/ar} I pray 88
thee get vs fome excellent mufick : for to morrow night
we would haue it at the Lady Heroes chamber window. 9c
88. Yea marry, "} Vea, marry; [To 89. vs\ Om. Rowe.
Claudio] Mai. Steev. Var. Knt night^ Om. Pope.
and generally found, or made one to succeed it If any person in the neighbourhood
died, they supposed it could not be otherwise, for the night-raven had foretold it ;
but if nobody happened to die, the death of a cow or a sheep gave completion to the
prophecy.' [Doubdess it would be pleasing to a naturalist's heart to identify this
bird, (which is possibly more than Benedick himself could have done). But, amid
the clash of opinion, it is enough for us to know that a bird is indicated whose ay
boded harm. — Ed.]
88. Yea marry, etc.] The present is an example both of the need and of
the needlessness of stage-directions. All of Benedick's preceding speech is, c^
course, spoken aside, from the arbor in which he hid himself, at line 34. Omit this
speech, and the Prince's two speeches then become continuous from line 82 to line
88 ; but they do not join in sense. There is clearly a break, and this break shows
us that we must read between the lines that while Benedick is speaking and has the
ear of the audience, the Prince has been conversing with Claudio or Leonato, and
Claudio with a lover's impatience has reminded the Prince of the serenade proposed
for Hero. Whereupon the Prince turns at once to Balthasar and says in effect : ' Yea,
well bethought,— -dost thou hear?' etc. Capell is the only editor who has noticed
this point, but he thinks that < Yea, marry ' is addressed to Claudio or Leonato. It
may be so, but I prefer to consider the words of the Prince as spoken thoughtfully
to himself although spoken aloud. In any event, they are not addressed directly to
Balthasar.— Ed.
90. we would haue it] What becomes of this serenade on which such emphasis
is here laid, and of which we hear no more ? It may have taken place early in the
evening before the midnight interview of Margaret and Borachio. But then where
was Hero that she was not for the first time in a twelvemonth Beatrice's bed-fellow?
Borachio said to Don John that he could ' so fashion the matter ' that Hero should
not be in her bed-chamber that night. Could it have been that under the plea of
listening to this serenade stationed by Borachio' s cunning under a distant window of
the palace. Hero had deserted her bed-chamber that night and occupied a room whence
she could listen with entranced soul to her lover's music? Then, when she was
accused in the Church, the thought of the serenade might have flashed into her mind
as part of a plot and sealed her tongue from confessing her weakness in having
changed her room. I offer this merely as a suggestion to help unravel some of the
intricacies of this defective plot, — defective only to too curious and too prying eyes
when poring over the printed page, but perfect from beginning to end when seen on
the stage. Lady Martin gives a far more delicate and exquisite reason for the
separation that night of Hero and Beatrice (see IV, i, 156), but she does not explain
(and if she does not, I think no one can) how Borachio could make the promise
which he did that Hero should not be in her accustomed bed-chamber that evening.
Furthermore, it is clear that Margaret never appeared at Hero's bed-chamber window.
Hero' s bed-chamber and Beatrice' s were the same. Margaret could not have appeared
at one of the windows in it without the knowledge of Beatrice. That Qaudio should
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I20 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. iiu
Balth. The beft I can, my Lord. Exit Balthafar. 91
Prince. Do fo, farewell. Come hither LeonatOy what
was it you told me of to day, that your Niece Beatrice
was in loue with fignior Benedicke ?
Cla. O I, ftalke on, ftalke on, the foule fits. I did ne- 95
uer thinke that Lady would haue loued any man.'
Leon. No, nor I neither, but moft wonderful, that (he
(hould fo dote on Signior Benedicke^ whom (hee hath in
all outward behauiours feemed euer to abhorre. 99
91. Exit...] Exeunt Bal. and Mu- 95. JlalAe,../as] [Aside, Johns, et
side. Cap. (After farewell line 92) seq. (except Cam.)
Steev. foule'] foul FjF^.
95. O If'\ O ay^ Rowe, Pope, Han. 97. neither^] neither; Rowe.
t>, «;//— -Theob. Warb.
have accepted the window, where Margaret appeared, as that of Hero's bed-chamber,
merely on the word of Don John, only adds another proof of Qandio's shallowness.
—Ed.
91. Exit Balthasar] Cambridge Edition : We have adhered to the old stage-
direction, because it is not certain that any musicians accompanied Balthasar. The
direction of the Qto at line 41 : ' Enter Balthaser with musicke,' may only mean that
the singer had a lute with him. In the direction of the Ff, at line 35, only < Jacke
Wilson ' is mentioned.
95. stalke on] Steevens : This is an allusion to the stalking-horse ; a horse,
either real or fictitious, by which the fowler anciendy sheltered himself from the
sight of the game. So, in Drayton's Poly-olbion^ Tkventy fifth Song: 'One under-
neath his horse, to get a shoot doth stalk.' — Staunton : • But sometime it so
happeneth, that the Fowl are so shie, there is no getting a shoot at them without a
Stalking-horse, which must be some old Jade trained up for that purpose, who will
gently, and as you will have him, walk up and down in the water which way you
please, flodding and eating on the grass that grows therein. You must shelter your-
self and Gun behind his fore-shoulder, bending your Body down low by his side,
and keeping his Body still full between you and the Fowl : Being within shot, take
your Level from before the forepart of the Horse, shooting as it were between the
Horse's Neck and the Water. . . . Now to supply the want of a Stalking-horse,
which will take up a great deal of Time to instruct and make fit for this Exercise ;
you may make one of any Pieces of old Canvas, which you must shape into the Form
of an Horse, with the Head bending downwards as if he grazed. You may stuff it
with any light matter ; and do not forget to paint it of the Colour of an Horse, of
which the Brown is the best. ... It must be made so portable, that you may bear it with
ease in one Hand, moving it so as it may seem to Graze as you go. Sometimes the
Stalking-horse was made in shape of an Ox ; sometimes in the form of a Stag — and
sometimes to represent a tree, shrub, or bush. In every case the Stalking-horse had
a spike at the bottom to stick into the ground while the fowler took his level.' — The
Gentleman's Recreation, [See As You Like It^ V, iv, 107 of this ed., if necessary.]
95. sits] Keightley added yonder; <for the sake of metre,' he says (p. 165) ;
but as the scene is in prose, it is not easy to see the necessity.
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ACT II. sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 121
Bene. Is^t poffible ? fits the winde in that comer ? icx>
Leo. By my troth my Lord, I cannot tell what to
thinke of it, but that (he loues him with an in raged affe-
flion, it is paft the infinite of thought.
Prince. May be (he doth but counterfeit.
Claud. Faith like enough. 105
Leon. O God ! counterfeit ? there was neuer counter-
feit of paflfion, came fo neere the life of paffion as (he dif-
couers it.
Prince. Why what effefts of paflTion (hewes (he ?
Claud. Baite the hooke well, this fi(h will bite. no
Leon. What effefts my Lord ? (hee will fit you, you
heard my daughter tell you how. 112
100. [Aside. Theob. et seq. (except seq. (subs.)
Cam.) 103. U is\ in shorty U is Cap. oonj.
102, 103. of ity.,.affe-(fliony'\ of it;.,, no. [Aside. Theob. et seq. (except
affecHon^Ya^^^-, of ii;.,,affectiony — Cam. Rife, Dtn). Speaking low. Han.
Warb. Cap. Mai. Steev. Var. Knt of this fijh'\ the fish Ff, Rowe,
ity...afeaion:'—Vai. '85, Coll. Wh. et Pope, Han.
102, 103. inraged affe^ion] That is, frenzied affection.
103. past the infinite of thought] Warburton : It is impossible to make
sense and grammar of this speech. And the reason is,' that the two beginnings of
two different sentences are jumbled together and made one.'. . . Those broken dis-
jointed sentences are usual in conversation. However, there is one word wrong,
and that is * infinite.' Human thought cannot sure be called infinite with any kind
of figurative propriety. I suppose the true reading was definite. This makes the
passage intelligible. ' It is past the definite of thought,' — i, e, it cannot be defined
or conceived how great that affection is. — Johnson : Here are difficulties raised only
to show how easily they can be removed. The plain sense is, ' I know not what to
think otherwise^ but that she loves him with an enraged affection : It {this affection)
is past the infinite of thought.' Here are no abrupt stops, or impexfect sentences.
'Infinite' may well enough stand ; it is used by more careful writers for indefinite;
and the speaker only means, that thought^ though in itself unbounded^ cannot reach
or estimate the degree of her passion. — M alone : The meaning, I think, is : ' but
with what an enraged affection she loves him, it is beyond the power of thought to
conceive.'
no. the hooke . . . this fish] One is tempted to suppose that there has been
here a transposition, and that it should read : ' Bait this hook well, the fish will bite,'
that is, heap high the description of the effects of passion, these are what no self-
complacent man can withstand. But transposition or not, the task of baiting the
hook well, or at all, is almost too much for Leonato's old brains, and he simply
follows a lead until line 130, when his invention at last gets fairly to work. — Ed.
III. shee wUl sit you] Here * you ' is an ethical dative, which is defined by Brad-
ley {H. E. D,)^s used < to imply that a person, other than the subject or object, has
an indirect interest in the fact stated ;' or, as W. A. Wright defines it, when the ethical
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122 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sa iii.
Clau. She did indeed. 113
Prin. How, how I pray you ? you amaze me, I would
haue thought her fpirit had beene inuincible againft all 115
afTaults of affe6tion.
Leo. I would haue fwome it had, my Lord,efpecially
againft Benedicke.
Bene. I fhould thinke this a gull, but that the white*
bearded fellow fpeakes it : knauery cannot fure hide 120
himfelfe in fuch reuerence.
Claud. He hath tane th'infe£lion,hold it vp. 122
1 19-122. [Speaking low. Han. Aside. 121. him/elfe] itself Var. '03, *I3,
Theob. et seq. (except Cam. Rife, Dtn.) *2i. Knt
dative is, not me, which is, perhaps, the commoner form, but you, as hete : < the
speaker takes the audience into his confidence and makes them personally interested.
So, in Mid, N, D, I, ii, 84: *'I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove." '
Hand, V, i, 157 : ' a' will last you eight year or nine year.* See Mfltzner, ii, p. 211
(trans. Grece) ; Abbott, % 220 ; Franz, § 160.— Ed.
112. tell you how] Here Capell says (ii, 126) 'common sense directed to an
exclusion ' of the < you ' : and he accordingly omitted it in his text, to the detriment
of the colloquial character of the dialogue, however much common sense may have
been benefited. — Ed.
114, 115. I would haue thought] Abbott ($331): In this passage 'would'
seems on a superficial view to be used for should. But it is explained by the follow-
ing reply : ' I wotdd have sworn it had,' i. e, * I was ready and willing to swear.'
So, ' I was willing and prepared to think her spirit invincible.' [But this explana-
tion does not satisfy W. A. Wright, who says that it will not explain Merry PVtves^
II, i, 192 : ' I would be loath to turn them together'; or TkaelftA Night, III, i, 44:
< I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my
mistress.' He, therefore, declares that < would' is ' here used as the conditional for
should,^ It is safer, I think, at times, to accept an occasional oversight on the part
of Shakespeare's compositors, than to refine too nicely or too positively, in explana-
tion of the puzzling use of would and should. — Ed.]
117, etc. Fletcher (p. 256) : In this piece of acting, be it observed, Leonato
himself, Beatrice's uncle and guardian, sustains the principal part ; he it is who most
particularly describes her pretended sufferings, which, he says, are reported to him
by her bosom-friend and companion, his daughter, Hero. Benedick, then, may well
be excused for exclaunlng as he does [lines 1 19-121] in his concealment. While on
the other hand, those critics are less excusable, who have regarded the venerable
governor as a personage so devoid of serious care for his niece's welfare, as to carry
on a plot like this for idle and even mischievous diversion.
119. gull] Cotgrave: ^ Baliveme: f. A lye, fib, gull : also, a babling, or idle
discourse.' Again, *Baye: f. A lye, fib, foist, gull, rapper; a cosening tricke,
or tale.'
122. bold it vp] That is, keep it going. See Mid. N. D. Ill, ii, 246: <hold
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ACT II. sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 123
Prince. Hath fhee made her afieflion known to Bene- 123
dicket
Leonato. No, and fweares (he neuer will, that's her 125
torment.
Claud. 'Tis true indeed, fo your daughter faies : (hall
I, faies (he, that haue fo oft encountred him with fcome,
write to him that I loue him ?
Leo. This faies fhee now when (hee is beginning to 130
write to him, for fhee'll be vp twenty times a night, and
there will (he fit in her fmocke, till (he haue writ a (heet
of paper : my daughter tells vs all.
Clau. Now you talke of a (heet of paper, I remember
a pretty ieft your daughter told vs of. 135
Leon. O when (he had writ it, & was reading it ouer,
(he found Benedicke and Beatrice betweene the (heete.
Clau. That.
Leon. O (he tore the letter into a thoufand halfpence,
raild at her felf, that (he (hould be fo immodeft to write, 140
to one that (hee knew would flout her : I meafure him,
faies (he, by my owne fpirit,for I fhould flout him if hee
writ to mee, yea though I loue him, I (hould. 143
129. thaC^ Om. Rowe. 136. ouir\ euer F,.
131. tf nigfu\ a-night Pope, Han. 137. Jhe€U,'\ sheet f Cap. et seq.
135. pretty\ pretry F,. 138. That.^ That— Theob. Warb.
vsof'\ ofvsQ^. Johns.
136. dr* was] and F,F^, Rowe. 142. for] Om. Rowe.
the swecte iest vp.' Merry Wives, V, v, 109 : *I pray you, come, hold up the jest
no higher.'
133. paper] In his Second Edition, Collier adopted the reading of his MS : ' a
sheet of paper fuil,' on the score that it added force. But in his Third Edition, he
abandoned iL
138. That.] This is almost unintelligible, unless the interrogation which Capbll
placed at the end of Leonato's speech, be adopted. Then it is clear, that it is the
answer to Leonato's query if this be the pretty jest Claudio asked for. ' Yes, that is
the one* is what 'That' expresses. 'Similarly' observes W. A. Wright, Mn/«/.
Cas,lly i, 15 : "Crown him? — that : — "; 1. e. that is the danger.'
139. halfpence] Inasmuch as these coins were of silver, they were necessarily
small. Halliwell gives a wood cut of one ; it is exactly half an inch in diameter,
hence it was the size of our half-dime. Steevens refers to Chaucer's description of
the Prioress : ' That in hire cuppe ther was no ferthing sene Of grees, when sche
dronken hadde hire draught.' — Prologue, line 134.
140. so immodest to write] For other examples of the omission of as after < so,'
see Abbott, § 281.
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124 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. iii
Clau. Then downe vpon her knees (he falls, weepes,
fobs, beates her heart, teares her hayre,praies, curfes, O 145
fweet BenedickCy God giue me patience.
Leon. She doth indeed, my daughter faies fo, and the
extafie hath fo much ouerbome her, that my daughter is
fomtime afeard (he will doe a defperate out-rage to her
felfe, it is very true. 150
Princ. It were good that Benedicke knew of it by fome
other, if (he will not difcouer it.
Clou. To what end ? he would but make a fport of it,
and torment the poore Lady worfe.
Prin. And he (hould, it were" an almes to hang him, 155
(hee's an excellent fweet Lady, and(out of all fufpition,)
(he is vertuous. 157
145. praieSf cur/es^'] prays^ curfes; 153. but maJke] make btU Q, Cam.
F^, Rowe,-f, Cap. Var. Ran. Mai. Dtn, Wh. ii.
Steev. Var. Knt, Coll. i, Dyce, Cam. 155. And^ QFf, Rowe. ^Pope, + .
prays^ criesy Coll. ii, iii, Sing. Ktly, An Cap. et seq.
Huds. Wh, ii. prays; — cries^ Wh. i, almes'\ alms-deed Coll. ii, iii,
149. fomtime'] sometimes Coll. i, ii, (MS), Sing. Wh. i, Huds.
iii, Wh. i. 156. excellent fweet] exceUent-sweet
afeard] afraid Rowe, + , Ran. Walker {Crit, i, 24), Dyce ii, iii.
Steev. Var.
145. praies, curses] Coluer (ed. ii) : Cries [instead of 'curses'] must have
been the poet's word, and it is obtained from the corrected Folio of 1632. — Halli-
WELL: If any alteration be requisite, the transposition ['curses, prays'] which I
have adopted is more probably right than the violent alteration [of Collier's MS].
Claudio is endeavouring to impress an opinion of Beatrice's being frantic with love,
and this is well imagined by her alternately cursing and praying. — W^hite (ed. i) :
Cries might easily be misprinted ' curses,' and is, there can be no doubt, the correct
word ; for why should Beatrice curse ? But the needful correction was but partly
made ; for Claudio having already said that Beatrice ' weeps, sobs,' it is plain that
cries means that she cries out^ ' O sweet Benedick !' Hitherto the text predicated
nothing of her exclamation. — Deighton : It is hardly likely that if cries had been
in the original it would have been changed to ' curses,' nor is it perhaps necessary
that we should take ' curses ' with the words immediately following. Even if taken
with them, it may mean nothing more than utters adjurations, [It is Claudio who
speaks, and his words are less temperate than those of the white-bearded Leonato.
—Ed.]
148. extasie] That is, madness. Cf. HamL II, i, 102 : * This is the very ecstasy
of love, Whose violent property fordoes itself And leads the will to desperate under-
takings.'
155. an almes] Collier (ed. ii, reading tlms-deed) : Deed\s from the MS, and
though not absolutely necessary, is a most plausible addition. — R. G. White (ed. i) :
There can scarcely be a doubt that Collier's MS is correct. ' An alms ' meant only
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ACT II. sc. iii.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 125
Claudia. And (he is exceeding wife. 158
Prince. In euery thing, but in louing Benedicke.
Leon. O my Lord,wifedome and bloud combating in 160
fo tender a body, we haue ten proofes to one, that bloud
hath the viflory, I am forry for her, as I haue iust caufe^
being her Vncle,and her Guardian.
Prince. I would (hee had beftowed this dotage on
mee, I would haue daft all other refpe£ls, and made her 165
halfe my felfe : I pray you tell Benedicke of it , and heare
what he will fay.
Leon. Were it good thinke you ?
Clou* Hero thinkes furely (he wil die, for (he faies (he
will die, if hee loue her not, and (hee will die ere (hee 170
make her loue knowne, and (he will die if hee wooe her, •
rather than (hee will bate one breath of her accuftomed
crofTeneflTe.
Prin. She doth well, if (he (hould make tender of her
loue, 'tis very poflTible hee'l fcome it, for the man ("as you 175
know all) hath a contemptible fpirit.
165. dafi\ QFf, Rowe. dojfl Pope, 167. he\ a Q. a^ Coll. i, ii» Cam.
Han. dafft Theob. Warb. Johns. Cap. Dtn.
daffed Dyce, Sta. Cam. dajpd Var. 176. contemptible] contemptuous Han.
'73 et cet.
a charitable gift ; but * an alms-deed * was a recognised phrase, almost a word, sig-
nifying not only such an act, but any equally worthy. Thus Queen Margaret says to
Gloster, j Hen, VI: V, v, 79 : ♦ murder is thy alms-deed.'
160. bloud] See II, i, 173.
164. dotage] See line 9S, above ; and line 203, below.
165. daft] See V, i, 88: 'Canst thou so daffe me?'— Murray (/T. E, />.):
Daffy a variant of Doff^ to do off, put off. . . . 2. To put or turn aside ; especially in
the Shakespearian phrase < to daff the world aside ' ( » to bid or make it get out of
one's way), and imitations of this (sometimes vaguely or erroneously applied) / Hen.
IV: IV, i, 96 : * The . . . Mad-Cap, Prince of Wales, And his Cumrades, that daft
the World aside. And bid it passe.'
171. die] A comma, which Capell was the first to supply, is needed after ' die,'
to show that the phrase ' if hee wooe her' is parenthetical. — £d.
172. bate] Although this is, in fact, an aphetic form of abatCy according to the
H E, />., it is not necessary to spell it *bate as it is often spelled in modem editions.
It may be fairly considered an independent word. — ^Ed.
176. contemptible] Johnson : That is, a temper inclined to scorn and contempt
— Steevens : In the Argument to Darius, a tragedy, by Lord Sterline, 1603, it is
said that Darius wrote to Alexander < in a proud and contemptible manner.' In this
place * contemptible ' certainly means contemptuous, Capell says that Don Pedro
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126 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. iii.
Clau. He is a very proper man. 177
Prin. He hath indeed a good outward happines.
Clau. Tore God, and in my minde very wife.
Prin. He doth indeed (hew fome fparkes that are like 180
wit.
Leon. And I take him to be valiant.
Prin. As Hedar^ I affure you, and in the managing of
quarrels you may fee hee is wife^ for either hee auoydes
them with great difcretion, or vndertakes them with a 185
Chriftian-like feare.
178. happines\ appearance Long MS, Var. '85, Knt, Wh. i. may fay Q.
ap. Cam. Gould. Theob. et cet
179. 'Forel Before (^^ Coll. Cam, 185. with a] with a mofl Q, Cap.
182. Leon.] Qaudio. Q, Cap. Mai. Mai. Steev. Var. Coll. Dyce, Sta. Cam.
Cam. Wh. ii. KUy, Wh. ii.
184. may fee] Ff, Rowe, Pope, Han.
uses it in both senses. For many examples of adjectives in /w/, /«j, ble^ and ive
which have both an active and a passive meaning, see Walker {Crit, Articles
xxvin and xxix ; or Abbott, § 3).
177. proper] Steevens: That is, a very handsome one; see V, i, 182: <thou
wast the proprest man in Italie.' — W. A. Wright : In the Authorised Version of
Hebrews^ xi, 23 : * By faith Moses, when he was bom, was hid three months of his
parents, because they saw he was a proper child.' Lyly, in his Euphues (p. 352,
ed. Arber), says of Adam and Eve, * Yet then was she the fairest woman in the
worlde, and he the properest man.'
178. outward happines] That is, in effect, he is tolerably good looking; the
Prince is continuing his part of damning with faint praise. — Ed.
181. wit] Staunton here says : * it must be remembered that wisdom and wit
were synonymous.' This assertion is, possibly, too broad. They are not always
synonymous. Where Leonato, in the First Scene speaks of the < skirmishes of wit '
betwixt Benedick and Beatrice, wit is not there synonymous with wisdom. Thus
here, when Claudio in exaggerated phrase asserts that Benedick is * very wise,' the
Prince does not reply that Benedick does indeed show some sparks that are like
wisdom^ which would be a natural rejoinder, in so far as a repetition of the same
word is concerned, but he is more restrained in his praise, and will grant to Bene-
dick merely some sparks that resemble rmt, which is inferior in dignity to wisdom.
—Ed.
182. Leon.] The Qto gives this speech to Claudio. It does, indeed, seem more
natural that Claudio should be the speaker, inasmuch as the speech begins with
* And,' as though in continuation of some preceding remark, rather than Leonato,
who had been silent for some time. On the other hand, there should be no doubt as
to Benedick's valour in the estimation of Claudio, who has been Benedick's com-
panion in arms. — Ed.
183. As Hector] Walker {Crit, iii, 31) : Possibly with an under-allusion to
the incident of Hector's running away from Achilles. (Too far-fetched, I fear, yet
see context )
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ACT n. sc. iii.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 127
Leon. If hee doe feare God^a muft neceflarilie keepe 187
peace, if hee breake the peace, hee ought to enter into a
quarrell with feare and trembling.
Prin. And fo will he doe, for the man doth fear God, 190
howfoeuer it feemes not in him, by fome large ieafts hee
will make : well, I am forry for your niece, (hall we goe
fee Benedicke^ and tell him of her loue.
Claud. Neuer tell him, my Lord, let her weare it out
with good counfell. 195
Leon. Nay that's impoflible, fhe may weare her heart
out firft.
Prin. Well, we will heare further of it by your daugh-
ter, let it coole the while , I loue Benedicke well, and I
could wifti he would modeftly examine himfelfe, to fee 200
how much he is vnworthy to haue fo good a Lady.
Leon. My Lord, will you walke? dinner is ready.
Clau. If he do not doat on her vpon this, I wil neuer
truft my expedlation. 204
187. a mu/l} QFf. a* Cam. Huds. et ceL
Mg must Rowe et cet 194. tueare] wait Rowe i.
187, 188. keepe peace\ keep the peace 198. further] farther OqVl. Wh. I.
Dyce ii, iii, Huds. aoo. to fee"] to shew Rowe i.
187-192. Leon. If„make:'\ In mar- 201. to haue] Om. Q, Steev. Var.* 03,
gin, as spurious, Pope, Han. '13, Coll. Dyce, Sta. Cam. Ktly, Huds.
190-192. for.,. make'] As mnemonic Wh. ii.
lines, Waib. 203-210. [Aside, Theob. Warb. et
193. fee] Ff, Rowe, Pope, Han. Var. seq. (except Cam.)
'o3»'»3>'2i, Knt feeke Q, Theob.
191. large ieasts] Halliwell: 'Large' is liberal, free, licentious, as again in
IV, i, 54. It is not every one who uses profane jests, who is necessarily an infidel ;
and the remark, here applied to Benedick, is one of the poet's happy moral senti-
ments. — ^W. A. Wright : We use 6road in the same sense, and * liberal * is so used
by Shakespeare in this play, IV, i, 97, and in the phrase * liberal shepherds ' in
Hamlet f IV, vii, 171. [Possibly, /ree, in modem usuage, will also express the
mraning of Marge' both here and in IV, i, 54. — ^Ed.]
195. counsell] That is, reflection. Schmidt {I^x.) will supply numerous
examples. See IV, i, 107 ; * counsailes of thy heart,'
202. walke?] That is, withdraw, retire. Thus, Lear, III, iv, 111 : 'Flibberti-
gibbet; he begins at curfew and walks at first cock.' Kbightlby conjectured
'walk in,' which is needless. — ^£d.
203. vpon this] That is, in consequence of this. See also, IV, i, 232 ; IV, ii,
63 ; V, i, 247, 256 ; V, iv, 4; or Abbott, § 191. In all these cases it is difficult to
decide whether or not mere sequence in time, without any idea of causality, would
not explain the use of ' upon,' — and after the decision is made, it would be of little
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128 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii. sc. ui.
Erin. Let there be the fame Net fpread for her, and 205
that muft your daughter and her gentlewoman carry:
the fport will be, when they hold one an opiniop of ano-
thers dotage, and no fuch matter, that's the Scene that I
would fee, which will be meerely a dumbe fljiew : let vs
fend her to call him into dinner. Exeunt. 210
206. gentleivoman] Ff, Rowe, Pope, Theob. Warb. Johns. Van Ran. Mai.
Han. Knt, Wh. i, Sta. gentlewomen Q, in to Q,F^, Rowe ii et cet
Theob. et cet 210. Exeunt] Om. Q.
207, 208. one an opinion of ano- Scene X. Pope, •♦- .
^thers\ an opinion of one another* s Benedick advances from the Ar-
Pope, + , Cap. hour. Theob.
210. into"] F^Fj, Sta. to Rowe i,
consequence. The question is of less interest to an English grammarian than
to a foreigner, who in translating is obliged to select the appropriate preposi-
tion.— Ed.
207. 208. one an opinion of anothers] Abbott ($ 88 ; note on < Who loues an-
other best,' — Wint, T, IV, iv, which see) : Our common idiom : * they love one an-
other' ought strictly to be either, 'they love, the one the other,' or *they love, one
other.' The latter form is still retained in * they love each other ' ; but as in < one other'
there is great ambiguity, it was avoided by the insertion of a second 'one' or 'an,' thus,
* they love one an-other.' This is illustrated by MaH, xxiv, 10 (Tyndalk) : « And
shall betraye one another and shall hate one the other ;' whereas Wickliffb has, 'ech
other.' So, i Cor, xii, 25 : Wickliffe, • ech for other'; the rest * for one another.'
' One another' is now treated almost like a single noun in prepositional phrases, such
as * We speak to one another.' But Shakespeare retains a trace of the original idiom
in * What we speak one to an other:— AIT s Well IV, i, 20.— W. A. Wright : In
Shakespeare's time 'another' was used in such expressions where we should now
say 'the other.' So, in the Authorised Version of the Apocrypha^ Susanna^ 10:
' And albeit they both were wounded with her love, yet durst not one shew another
his grief.' [Both of these notes explain the use of ' another,' but neither touches
what seems to me the real difficulty in the present passage : ' one an opinion,' where
' one ' is apparently an ellipsis of < each one ' ; to this I can find no parallel. From
Pops to Capell, the editors boldly overleaped the difficulty. In the almost needless
hermeneutical * torture,' to which such phrases are subjected, it has occurred to me
that possibly there is here a compositor's transposition, and that we should read :
' when they hold an one opinion,' that is, the same opinion. There is authority for
the phonetic use of ' an ' before < one,' in Macb, IV, iii, 66 : ' better Macbeth Than
such an one to reign.' This is the only explanation I can offer; it is to be feared
that it is like the proverbial straw at which a drowning man dutches, not that there
ts any value in the straw, but it is the only thing there. For * dotage ' see 11. 98 and
164 of this Scene. — ^Ed.
208. no such matter] See I, i, 184.
209. dumbe shew] Because embarrassment will tie their tongues. .
209, etc.] Anon. (Blackwood^ April, 1833, p. 545): We laugh at Benedick
* advancing from the aibour,' gulled, by what he has there overheard, into the coq-
"viction that Beatrice is dying for him ; but at Beatrice, who ran ' like a lapwing dose
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ACT II. sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 129
Bene. This can be no tricke,the conference was fadly 21 1
borne, they haue the truth of this from HerOy they feeme
to pittie the Lady : it feemes her affeflions haue the full
bent : loue me ? why it muft be requited : 1 heare how I
am cenfur'd, they fay I will beare my felfe proudly, if I 215
perceiue the loue come from her : they fay too, that (he
will rather die than giue any figne of affection: I did ne-
uer thinke to marry, I muft not feeme proud, happy are
they that heare their detraftions, and can put them to
mending .• they fay the Lady is faire, 'tis a truth, I can 220
beare them witneffe : and vertuous, tis fo, I cannot re-
prooue it, and wife, but for louing me, by my troth it is 222
21 1-224. As mnemonic lines, Warb. Cam.
212, 220. /ruM] irueth Q. 221, 222. re'prooue\ disprove KUy
213. the fuU'\ their full Q, Cap. conj.
Steev. Var. *2i, Coll. Dyce, Wh. Sta.
by the ground, to hear the conference ' that deceived her with a corresponding belief,
coming out of the ' pleached bower,* with her face on fire we do not laugh ; we con-
dole, we congratulate, we love her, — ^for that fire flashes from a generous and ardent
heart Why laugh we at Benedick ? Chiefly for these few words, ' they seem to
pity the poor lady.' He sees her in his mind's eye 'tearing the letter into thousand
half-pence ;' he hears her in his mind's ear, * railling at herself that she should be so
immodest to write to one she knew would flout her.' . . . Vain as we once were of
our personal charms, — ^to say nothing of our mental, — (the rare union used to be
irresistible) not, in our most cock-a-hoop exultation, in the unconsciousness of our
transcendant powers of cold-blooded feminidde, could we have given implicit cred-
ence to such a stark-staring incredibility (we do not say impossibility) as is involved
in the narrative which by Benedick, in one wide gulp of faith, was swallowed like
gospel. — Lloyd (p. 200) : To Benedick the possibility does just occur that all may
be a gull, but his penetration gains small glory by this, for he rejects the notion forth-
with, and the fiction which he gives in to, was set forth with an exaggeration and
extravagance that argue in him a credulousness not moderately exalted. The ten-
dency to the not slight self-appreciation which betrays him, is the same that had
prompted his original error of insulting the majesty of the sex by professed non-
allegiance, — ^we have a hint of it in his avowal that he was loved of all ladies but
Beatrice, yet in hardness of heart, loved none.
211, 212. sadly borne] Steevens : That is, was seriously carried on,
213. 214. the full bent] Rushton {Shakespeare an Archer^ p* 44) : A bow is
bent when it is strung. It is full bent when the archer draws the string until the
head of the arrow touches the bow. [See IV, i, 194.]
214. loue me?] Lady Martin (p. 312) : Benedick's first thought b not of his
own shortcomings. In this, he is very different from Beatrice.
215. censur'd] That is merely, what judgement is passed upon me, — ^not neces-
sarily adverse.
221, 222. reprooue] That is, disprove. — ^W. A. Wright : In the Authorised
9
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I30 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act ii, sc. iil
no addition to her witte, nor no great argument of her 223
folly; for I wil be horribly in loue with her, I may chance
haue fome odde. quirkes and remnants of witte broken 225
on mee, becaufe I haue railM fo long againft marriage :
but doth not the appetite alter f a man loues the meat in
his youth, that he cannot indure in his age. Shall quips
and fentences, and thefe paper bullets of the braine awe
a man from the careere of his humour ? No, the world 230
muft be peopled. When I Csdd I would die a batcheler, I
did not think I (hould liue till I were maried, here comes
Beatrice : by this day,ftiee's a faire Lady, I doe fpie fome
markes of loue in her.
Enter Beatrice. 235
Beat. Againft my wil I am fent to bid you come in to
dinner. 237
225. haue] to have Rowe, + . 228. y<mth ... age] age »„ youth Coll.
rentfuints] remaines F,. remains MS.
FjF^ Rowe. ' 236. in to] into F,.
Version of Jod, vi, 25 : ' How forcible are right words ! but what doth your aiguing
reprove ?' [It seems to be used as in French. Cotgrave : * Reprouver» To reprone,
chide, checke, blame, condemne, find fault with, disallow.' — ^Ed.]
223. nor no] For double negatives, see Abbott, % 406.
225, 226. broken on mee] See II, i, 140.
225. odde quirkes] W. A. Wright : Irrelevant conceits or turns of expression.
* Odd ' is applied to anything which is taken away from that to which it belongs, such
as a phrase out of its context. [Hence ill-assorted^ fantastic^ or absurd, ' Odd '
qualifies 'remnants' also, making the phrase strongly contemptuous. — Ed.]
229. sentences . . . paper bullets of the braine] ' Sentences ' are sententious
saws, gathered from books ; hence becoming ' paper bullets,' not bullets made of
paper, as it has been interpreted. In Webster's LhUchess of Malfi^ Ferdinand says :
*One of Pasquil's paper-bullets, court-calumny,' III, i, p. 228, ed. Dyce. The
Dutchess of Malfi was written about 16 16. — Ed.
230. careere] See V, i, 148.
236, 237. Against . . . dinner] Rann : I should otherwise have done it volun-
tarily.
237. dinner] Halliwell : There is a slight oversight here, the scene being in
the evening, as appears from a speech of Claudio's [* how still the euening is,' line
37, above]. Late dinners were then unknown ; and, to make the action oonsbtent,
supper should be substituted both here and in Benedick's subsequent speech [and in
line 210 also. — Ed.] — Cambridge Edition : Such inaccuracies are characteristic of
Shakespeare, and this cannot well have been due to the printer or copier. [Rather
than acknowledge such an inaccuracy in Shakespeare, we ought not to hesitate, boldly
and loyally, to change the dinner-hour. What do we know of Leonato's domestic
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ACT II. sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 1 3 1
Bene. Faire Beatrice^ I thanke you for your paines. 238
Beat. I tooke no more paines for thofe thankes,then
you take paines to thanke me, if it had been painefull, I 240
would not haue come.
Bene. You take pleafure then in the meflage.
Beat. Yea iuft fo much as you may take vpon a kniues
point, and choake a daw withall : you haue no ftomacke
fignior, fare you well. Exit. 245
Bene. Ha, againft my will I am fent to bid you come
into dinner : there's a double meaning in that : I tooke
no more paines for thofe thankes then you tooke paines
to thanke me, that's as much as to fay, any paines that I
take for you is as eafie as thankes : if I do not take pitty 250
of her I am a villaine, if I doe not loue her I am a lew, I
will goe g6t her pifture. Exit. 252
243. kniues\ knifes Pope et seq. 247. into\ in to QFf. to Var. ' 03,
244. and choakel and not choke Coll. '13, '21.
MS, Huds. 250. is as'\ are as Han.
arrangements, or how much they were disordered by the advent of so many and royal
guests? We must remember that it was Lear's turbulent haste to advance the dinner-
hour that led to the outbreak between him and Goneril. Let us not, therefore, for our
lives, interfere with Leonato's. — £d.]
244. choake] Collier (ed. ii) : The MS has *not choke'; which seems to add
some force to the speech, implying that Beatrice did not take so much pleasure as
would lie upon a knife's point, and was insufficient to choke a daw. Still, the
emendation is by no means necessary. — ^Rolfe : As the difference between the tnaxi-
mum that would not choke and the minimum that would is practically nil, the emen-
dation [of Collier's MS] seems a most superfluous one.
247. double meaning] Halliwell : The second meaning he alludes to, would
be probably, — she was unnecessarily desired to bid him to dinner, for she was per-
fectly willing to go of her own accord. There is, however, more humour in con-
sidering Benedick to be completely under the power of imagination in the supposed
discovery of a double meaning in the words of Beatrice.
252. Exit.] Lloyd (p. 200) : Certainly Shakespeare, with manly gallantry,
makes Beatrice fair amends, for the balance of mirth is beyond computation directed
upon Benedick. His conviction is no whit more positive than hers, but the working
of it differs. Benedick shaves, dresses, perfumes, is forward, eager, complaisant,
and expectant, and were it not that we know that his conceit is not without some
grounds to justify it, not even his high mental qualifications would save him from the
ridiculousness that fastens on Malvolio, betrayed by a like pitfall. Malvolio, cross-
gartered in the presence of Olivia is a companion picture, — ^how admirably discrimi-
nated, — to Benedick, after h^ has donned lovers' livery of trimness, and in. his mis-
takes of demeanour he only completes that one important step which Benedick
commences when he interprets the saucy message to come in to dinner into covert
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132 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NO THING [act hi. sc. L
A£lus Tertius.
Enter Hero and two Gentlemen^ Margaret ^ andVrfula.
Hero. Good Margaret runne thee to the parlour, 3
1. Actus Tertius.] Om. Q. 2. Gentlemen ...Vrfula.] Gentlewo-
[Continues in the Garden. Pope. men...Vrfley. Q.
Leonato*s Orchard. Cam. 3. to tke\ into the Pope, + , Cap. Var.
2. Enter...] Enter Hero, Margaret Ran. Mai. Steev. Var. '03, '13. in to
and Ursula. Rowe. the Ktly.
tenderness. Here again he is on the brink of the absurdity that engulphs Slender
when greeting a like summons from Anne Page, and yet he must be dangerously
self-confident who is not restrained by a certain awe from laughing at him outright.
Apart from Beatrice he is mute, abstracted, has the toothache, and Beatrice, it is true,
becomes sympathetically exceeding ill, stuffed, sick, no longer professes apprehension,
can attend to nothing, and has positively to be waked and bid to rise by Ursula on
her cousin's wedding morning.
2. Vrsula] It is probable that the Qto here, and in line 6, gives the familiar pro-
nunciation.
3. Good . . . parlour] To those who would fain believe that every dramatic line
in Shakespeare must have five feet, this line presents a difficulty. Walker ( Vers,
7) quotes it in an Article whereof the heading is : < Words such as Juggler^ Tick-
ling. Kindlings England^ Angry ^ Children , and the like, are, — as is well known, —
frequently pronounced by the Elizabethan poets as though a vowel were interposed
between the liquid and the preceding mute.' [Again quoted at line 85 of this scene.]
He would therefore scan this line thus : — * Good Mkr | gar^t, | rbn thee | to the |
parH I our.' His comment is, that * (others read, run thee into the parlour.) I sus-
pect diere is something wrong. (This would belong to the same class as pearl,
form, adomedy etc.)' Prose seems to me preferable to parelour, Abbott (§ 507)
thinks to solve the difficulty by a pause after ' Margaret ' which supplies the thesis, so
that the ictus or arsis falls on < run ' : < Good Mkr | gar^t. | Riin | thee td | the p^-
lour.' This is probably the best that can be done rhythmically with the line. — Ed.
3. runne thee] Abbott (§ 212) : Verbs followed by thee instead of thou have been
called reflexive. But though * haste thee,* and some other phrases with verbs of
motion, may be thus explained, and verbs were often thus used in Early English, it
Is probable that ' look thee,^ < hark thee ' are to be explained by euphonic reasons.
Thte, thus used, follows imperatives, which, being themselves emphatic, require an
unemphatic pronoun. The Elizabethans reduced thou to thee. We have gone further,
and rejected it altogether. — W. A. Wright : * Thee ' is here used redundantly, as
in III, iii, 102, IV, i, 25 : ' Stand thee.' Schmidt {Lex,) gives this as an instance
of thee for thou ; but in all the cases he quotes thee is either redundant, representing
what Latin grammarians call the dativus commodi, or reflexive. [That * thee ' here is
redundant is unquestionable, just as in some cases, we now treat thou as redundant
But that it stands for thou and has been changed for euphonic reasons, as Abbott
suggests, is uncomfortably apparent to all who are wont to hear the so-called < plain
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ACT III. sc. I] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 133
There fhalt thou finde my Cofin Beatrice ^
Propofing with the Prince and Claudioy 5
Whifper her eare, and tell her I and Vr/ulay
Walke in the Orchard,and our whole difcourfe
Is all of her, fay that thou ouer-heardft vs,
And bid her fteale into the pleached bower,
Where hony-fuckles ripened by the funne, 10
6. Whi/per] Whisper in Ktly conj. 10. ripened] ripen* d Rowe et seq.
Vrfula] Vrfley Q. 10-13. As mnemonic lines, Warb.
language ' of Friends or Quakers, where such phrases as * How dost thee F* * How
art ihee?^ are consUntly heard. — Ed.]
5. Proposing] Steevens : That is, conversing. From the French : propos, —
W. A. Wright : The word does not occur again in Shakespeare in exactly this
sense. For instance, in 0th. I, i, 25 : < The bookish theoric, Wherein the toged
consuls can propose As masterly as he,* ' propose * has rather the sense of laying
down propositions, submitting points for formal discussion. And in Hamlet II, ii,
297, a 'proposer' is one who puts forward formal statements for consideration, not
merely a speaker. [See * propose' of the Qto, line 14.]
6. Whisper her eare] For many examples of the omission of prepositions, see
Abbott, 5 aoo.
7. Orchard] Again the locality is distinctly given, which all those editors, who
give the scene as in < Leonato's Garden,* have disregarded.
9. pleached] See I, ii, 9.
10. hony-suckles] Prior (p. 117) : Anglo-Saxon hunig-sucle^ a name that is
now applied to the woodbine, but of which it is very doubtful to what plant it
properly belongs. In the A. S. vocabularies it is translated Ligustrum, which in
other places means the cowslip and primrose. Neither is it dear what sucie means.
The instrumental termination le would imply that with which one sucks. The name
seems to have been transferred to the woodbine on account of the honey-dew so
plentifully deposited on its leaves by aphides. In Culpeper and Parkinson and other
herbalists it is assigned to the meadow clover, which in our Western Counties is still
called so. [Prior evidently considers the Honeysuckle and Woodbine as identical ;
his name for the latter (p. 244) is Lonicera periciymenum^ which is the name of one
of the native British species of Honeysuckle; see next note.] — Ellacombe (p. 95) :
There can be little doubt that in Shakespeare's time the two names [the Woodbine
and the Honeysuckle] belonged to the same plant, and that the Woodbine, where
the names were at all discriminated, as in Mid. N. D. IV, i : * So doth the woodbine,
the sweet Honeysuckle Gently entwist,' was applied to the plant generally, and
Honeysuckle to the flower. This seems very clear by comparing [the ' hony-suckle '
of the present line with 'the wood-bine couerture' of line 33]. In earlier writings
[Woodbine] was applied very loosely to almost any creeping or climbing plant. [It
has been variously applied to the Wild Clematis ; to the Common or the Ground Ivy ;
and to the Capparis or Caper-plant.] Milton does not seem to have been very clear in
the matter. In Paradise Lost he makes our Brst parents * wind the Woodbine round
this arbour' (perhaps he had Shakespeare's arbour in mind) ; and in Comus he tells
of the * flaunting Honeysuckle.' While in Lycidas he speaks of 'the well -attired
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134 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. i.
Forbid the funne to enter : like fauourites, 1 1
Made proud by Princes, that aduance their pride,
Againft that power that bred it, there will (he hide her,
To liften our purpofe, this is thy office, 14
II. like\ like to Pope, + , Cap. Dyce fme Ff, Rowc, + . our propofe Q,
ii, iii. Theob. et cet
14. <mr purpo/e] Knt. to our pur-
Woodbine.' We can scarcely suppose that he would apply two such contrary
epithets as ' flaunting ' and < well-attired * to the same plant. And now the name,
as of old, is used with great uncertainty, and I have heard it applied to many plants,
and especially to the small sweet-scented Qematis (C.Jlammula), But with the
Honeysuckle there is no such difficulty. The name is an old one, and in its earliest
use was no doubt indifferently applied to many sweet-scented flowers (the Primrose
amongst them) ; but it was soon attached exclusively to our own sweet Honeysuckle
of the woods and hedges. We have two native species {Lonicera perufymenuniy
and Z. xylosteum) and there are about eighty exotic species. [It is clear that the
Woodbine and the Honeysuckle are so intinmtely entwisted that the knot is quite too
intrinse t* unloose, for us in America where, according to Gray, they are one and the
same plant When Shakespeare wrote A Mid, N. Z>. he thought that they were two
different plants, when a year or two later he wrote Much Ado about Nothings he
thought they were one, and, of course, he was right in both cases. — ^Ed.]
11-13. like . . ; bred it] Furnivall (Introd. to The Leopold Sh, p. Ivii, foot-
note) : These lines are so unexpectedly and incongruously brought into [this speech]
that I suspect they were an insertion after Essex's rebellion in 1601. They will lift
out of the scene, and leave the speech more natural when they are removed. Shake-
spere must have aimed the lines at some contemporary favourite, I'm sure. [See
Preface to the present volume.]
II. fauourites] Simpson {Academy, 25 Sept. 1875): In Shakespeare, < favour-
ite ' does not mean minion, but the confidential agent or minister of a prince. In
Rich, II: III, ii, 88, < the King's favourites' are Salisbury, Aumerle, and the Bishop
of Carlisle. In / Hen, IV: IV, iii, 86, they are the King's * deputies,' Bushy, Bagot,
Greene, and the Earl of Wiltshire. In those unconstitutional days, the counsellors
most listened to by the prince were his * favourites.' Then, * made proud by princes '
does not mean < tempted to the vice of pride by the prince's favour,' but invested by
the prince with < proud titles ' of honour, and places of power. So < pride ' means
precisely these titles of honour, this dignity of power. Cf. Sonn, 25 : < Let others
Of public honour and proud titles boast. . . . Great princes' favourites their fair
leaves spread But as the marigold at the sun's eye. And in themselves ihtix pride lies
buried.' * Pride' used of flowers means their luxuriance and over-growth ; applied
to courtiers it means their titles, glory, and power. [See Preface to the present
volume. ]
14. listen] See Abbott (§ 199) for the omission of the preposition after verbs
of hearing. The present line is thus scanned by Abbott (§ 480) : < To Hst \tTioh\r
pur I pose. This is | thy bffice.' (*This is' is a quasi-monosyllable.)
14. purpose] Steevens : Propose is right.— tReed : * Purpose,' however, may
be equally right. It depends only on the accenting of the word, which, in Shake-
speare's time, was often used in the same sense as propose. Thus, in Knox's Hist,
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ACT III, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 135
Beare thee well in it, and leaue vs alone. 15
Marg. He make her come I warrant you prefently.
Hero. Now Vr/ulay when Beatrice doth come,
As we do trace this alley vp and downe,
Our talke muft onely be of Y^enedicke,
When I doe name him, let it be thy part, 20
To praife him more then euer man did merit.
My talke to thee muft be how ^Renedicke
Is ficke in loue with Beatrice : of this matter,
Is little Cupids crafty arrow made.
That onely wounds by heare-fay : now begin, 25
Enter Beatrice.
For looke where Beatrice like a Lapwing runs 27
16. warrant youl warrant Ff, 25-36. As aside, Cap.
Rowe, + . 26. Enter...] After line 28, Q. Enter
prefently, ] Q. prefently. Exit Ff. Beat running towards the Arbour. Theob.
of the Reformation in Scotland^ P* 72 : ' — ^with him six persons ; and getting entrie,
held purpose with the porter.' Again, p. 54: 'After supper he held comfortable
purpose of God's chosen children.' Knight, who follows the Folio, quotes, in
justification, the use by Spenser of ' purpose ' in the sense of conversation : < the
wanton Damzell found New merth, her passenger to entertaine : For she in pleasant
purpose did abound And greatly joyed merry tales to fieune.' — [Bk ii, cant vi, line
51]. — ^W. A. Wright: Though 'purpose' is used in Shakespeare in the sense of
proposal^ purport^ it does not appear to signify merely talk or conversation, as it does
in Spenser ; even in Spenser, although ' purpose ' is used for discourse or conversa-
tion, the accent is not changed. For instance, in Faerie Queene^ I, ii, 50 : * Faire
semely pleasaunce each to other makes. With goodly purposes, there as they sit.'
In I, xii, 13 : 'On which they lowly sitt, and fitting purpose frame.' But after all it
must be remembered that Spenser, because of his affected archaisms, is a doubtful
authority in questions of language. [The Qto has here the better reading, especially
since the same word has just been used in line 5. It is possible that there is also a
reference to this preceding word ; Beatrice has been proposing with the Prince and
Claudio, now she will hide her to listen our propose ; the rhythm gives emphasis to
•our.'— Ed.]
18. trace] Had Shakespeare here meant merely to paee (as Schmidt defines it)
the supposition is not violent that he would have used that word ; but in ' trace '
there is involved the idea of following the windings of the alley, or of following the
path whether it be winding or not. Pace is merely a gait, ' trace ' is a gait determined
in a certain direction. — Ed.
25. onely wounds] See II, i, 132.
27. like a Lapwing] Hazutt (p. 301) : There is something delightfully pictur-
esque in the manner in which Beatrice is described as coming to hear the plot —
Anon. (Shakespeare s Garden of Girls, p. 196) : Hero has used her eyes when she
has gone abroad, and not, as many of our present-day young ladies do, devoted her
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136 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act xxx, sc. L
Clofe by the ground, to heare our conference. 28
Vrf, The pleafant'ft angling is to fee the fifti
Cut with her golden ores the filuer ftreame, 30
And greedily deuoure the treacherous baite :
So angle we for Beatrice^ who euen now,
Is couched in the wood-bine couerture,
Feare you not my part of the Dialogue.
-flVr.Then go we neare her that her eare loofe nothing, 35
Of the falfe fweete baite that we lay for it :
No truelyVr/u/a,{hc is too difdainfuU,
I know her fpirits are as coy and wilde,
As Haggerds of the rocke.
Vr/ula. But are you fure, 40
That Benedicke loues Beatrice fo intirely ?
Her. So faies the Prince, and my new trothed Lord.
Vrf. And did they bid you tell her of it. Madam f
Her. They did intreate me to acquaint her of it,
But I perfwaded them, if they louM Benedicke y 45
32. euen mno] ien new Popc,-h. Var. '78.
33. wood-bine couerture'] woodbine- 37. No"] [loud] No Coll. MS.
-coverture Theob. Warb. Johns. Jhe is\ sh^s Popc,+, Dyce ii,
35. loo/e] lo/e Ff, Rowe et seq. Huds.
36. falfe fweete] false-sweet Walker, 39. Haggerds] haggards Han.
Dyce ii, iii, Huds. 43. bid you tell her] bid her tell you
37. [They advance to the bower. Var. '21 (misprint). Coll. i.
sole attention to gossip, or the peculiarities of her neighbour's dress. So, in describ-
ing Beatrice's running [she accurately describes the lapwing's flight.] — Harting
(p. 220) : Immense numbers of Lap^i^ings ( Vanellus cristatus), or Green Plovers, as
they are called, find their way into the London Markets. . . . Like the partridge and
some other birds, it has a curious habit of trying to draw intruders away from its nest
or young by fluttering along the ground in an opposite direction, or by feigning lame-
ness, or uttering melancholy cries at a distance.
33. wood-bine couerture] See line 10.
39. Haggerds] Steevens : Turberville, Falconry, 1575, tells us that, ' the haggard
doth come from foreign parts and a passenger ;' and Latham, who wrote after him,
[1658,] says that * such is the greatness of her spirit, that she will not admit of any
society, until such time as nature worketh,* etc. — Dyce ( Gloss. ) quotes Cotgrave :
* Faulcon hagard. A Hagard ; a Faulcon that preyed for herselfe long before she was
taken.' — Harting (pp. 57, 58) : By * haggard' is meant a wild-caught and unre-
claimed mature hawk, as distinguished from an ' eyess ' or nestling, that is, a young
hawk taken from the < eyrie ' or nest By some falconers * haggards ' were also called
' passage-hawks ' from being always caught at the time of their periodical passage or
migration.
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ACT III. sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 137
To wifh him wraftle with affeftion, 46
And neuer to let Beatrice know of it.
Vrfula. Why did you fo,doth not the Gentleman
Deferue as full as fortunate a bed^
As euer Beatrice (hall couch vpon ? SO
Hero. O God of loue! I know he doth deferue,
As much as may be yeelded to a man :
But Nature neuer fram'd a womans heart,
46. wraftle\ wrestle Johns, et seq. Cam. a fuU as Gould, as fully as
49. as fidl as'\ QF^, Rowe, Sta. Wray, ap. Cam. asfuU^ as F^F^ Rowe
Cam. Wh. iL atjull, as Long MS, ap. ii, et cet.
46. wish him wrastle] For other examples of the omission of to before the
infinitive, see Abbott, § 349.
46. with affe<5tion] An instance of the absorption of the definite article : ' wi/A'
affection.' — Ed.
47. know of it] Fletcher (p. 260) : The brevity with which Hero and Ursula
speak of Benedick's alleged passion, and the ready credence which it nevertheless
obtains in the mind of Beatrice, as contrasted with the more hesiuting admittance
which Benedick yields to the story of Beatrice's 'enraged afiiection' for himself,
results with perfect nature and propriety from the very different character of the
source from which the pretended information comes. Benedick might well, in the
first instance, have suspected that the talk which he heard going on upon this matter
between the Prince and Claudio, — so accustomed to pass their jests upon him, espe-
cially on that very point, — might be, as he says, ' a gull,* in which it was just possible
they might have induced the old gentleman to take part, for the sake of humouring
their momentary diversion. But when we consider the quiet, modest, simple char-
acter of Hero, and the relation of sisterly intimacy and affection so long established
between her and Beatrice, we see it to be utterly impossible that the idea should once
enter the apprehension of the latter, that her cousin might be engaged in a plot of
this nature, however innocent, upon herself. — Mrs Jameson (i, 138) : The imme-
diate success of the trick is a most natural consequence of the self-assurance and
magnanimity of Beatrice's character: she is so accustomed to assert dominion over
the spirits of others, that she cannot suspect the possibility of a plot against herself.
48-50. doth . . . vpon?] M. Mason (p. 52): What Ursula means to say is,
*that he is as deserving of happiness in the marriage state as Beatrice herself.* —
Deighton : Whether or not a comma should be placed after * full,* whether, that is,
we are to take ' full * in an adjective or in an adverbial sense, it seems certain that
* As ever . . . vpon * means * as complete happiness as to marry a wife in every way
equal to Beatrice.* The two next lines show this. — W. A. Wright : Ursula asks,
< Does he not deserve as much happiness in marriage as if he were to marry Beatrice ?*
53, etc. But Nature, etc.] Mrs Jameson (i, 136) : The character of Hero is
well contrasted with that of Beatrice, and their mutual attachment is very beautiful
and natural. When they are both on the scene together. Hero has but little to say
for herself; Beatrice asserts the rule of a master spirit, eclipses her by her mental
superiority, abashes her by her raillery, dictates to her, answers for her, and would
fain inspire her gentle-hearted cousin with some of her own assurance. But Shake-
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138 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. L
Of prowder ftuffe then that oi Beatrice :
Difd^ine and Scome ride fparkling in her eyes, 55
Mif-prizing what they looke on, and her wit
Values it felfe fo highly, that to her
All matter elfe feemes weake : (he cannot loue,
Nor take no fliape nor proieft of affection,
Shee is fo felfe indeared. 60
Vr/ula. Sure I thinke fo.
And therefore certainely it were not good
She knew his loue, left (he make fport at it.
Hero. Why you fpeake truth, I neuer yet faw man.
How wife, how noble, yong, how rarely featured. 65
But (he would fpell him backward: if faire fac'd,
55. eyes] eye Ff, Rowe. Rowe.
60. felfe indeared] QFf, Mai. self 66-72. As mnemonic lines. Waib.
'indeared Rowe et cet. 66. faire fa^d] faire faced Q. fair-
63. Jhe make'lJheele make Q. fae'd Fj. fair-fa^ d F^.
65. featut^d,] featured,^, feaiuf^d^
speare knew well how to make one character subordinate to another, without sacri-
ficing the slightest portion of its effect ; and Hero, added to her grace and softness,
and all the interest which attaches to her as the sentimental heroine of the play,
possesses an intellectual beauty of her own. When she has Beatrice at an advan-
tage, she repays her with interest, in the severe, but most animated and elegant
picture she draws of her cousin's imperious character and unbridled levity of tongue.
The portrait is a little over-chaiged, because administered as a corrective, and intended
to be overheard.
56. Mis-prixing] Johnson : That is, despising'^ contemning. [Cotgiave has :
*Afespriser. To disesteeme, contemne, disdaine, dispise, neglect, make light of, set
nought by.']
59. proiect] W. A; Wright : That is, imaginary conception^ idea ; something
much less definite than shape or form with which it is contrasted.
65. How] Sec Abbott, § 46, for examples of * how ' used for however,
66. backward] Steevens : An allusion to the practice of witches in uttering
prayers. [That is, turn his good qualities into defects, or as Hero says, in line 73,
< turn him wrong side out.'] For a similar train of thought, see Lyly's Euphues [p.
46, ed. Arber.] : 'if one be hard in conceiuing, they pronounce him a dowlte, if
giuen to studie, they prodaime him a dunce : if merry, a tester ; if sad, a Saint ; if
full of words, a sot ; if without speach, a Cipher. If one argue with them boldly,
then he is impudent; if coldly, an innocent' [P. 115] 'doe you not know the
nature of women which is grounded onely vpon extremities ? ... If he be deanelye,
then terme they him proude, if meane in apparell, a slouen, if talle a lungis [t. e,
booby], if short, a dwarfe, if bold, blunt ; if shamefast, a cowarde : Insomuch as
they have neither meane in their frumps, nor measure in their folly. ... If shee be
well sette, then call hir a Bosse, if slender, a Hasill twygge, if Nutbrowne, as blacke
as a coale, if well couloured, a paynted wall, if shee bee pleasaunt, then is shee a
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ACT III. sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 139
She would fweare the gentleman (hould be her fifter : 67
If blacke^ why Nature drawing of an anticke^
Made a foule blot:if tall, a launce ill headed :
If low, an agot very vildlie cut : 70
Iffpeakingywhy a vane blowne with all windes:
67. She would^ QFf, Rowe, Cap. 70. agotl QFf. agai Rowe, Pope,
Knt, Dyce i, Wh. Cam. Sh^d Pope Cap. agUi Theob. Han. Warb. Johns,
et cet Var. '73. agate Mai.
68. anticke^ antique Q. anHck F,F^. vildlie'\ F,. vildfy QF^F^, Rowe.
69. ill headed^ ill-headed Ft vilely Pope.
wanton, if suUenne, a clowne, if honest, then is shee coye, if impudent, a harlot.'
[Striking as are these parallels, there need be no thought of borrowing. A hun-
dred and seventy years ago, Theobald (Nichols^ ii, 301] recalled the well-known
lines in Lucretius where there is a similar perversion, only that it is a softening,
by a lover, of his mistress's defects into beauties : ' Nigra melichrus est, immunda et
fetida acosmos, Caesia Palladium, nervosa et lignea dorcas, Parvula, pumilio, chariton
mia, tota merum sal, . . . Balba loqui non quit, traulizi, muta pudens est,' etc. —
nil, 1160, ed. LAchmaqn. — Ed.]
68. blacke] Malone : This only means, as I conceive, swarthy^ or dark brown.
— Douce ; A black man means a man with a dark or thick beard, not a swarthy or
dark-brown complezioned man. — Steevens : When Hero says, ' that nature drawing
of an antick, made a foul blot^* she only alludes to a drop of ink that may casually
fall out of a pen, and spoil a grotesque drawing,
68. anticke] Hunter (i, 253) : 'Antic' was used in a variety of senses, but
here it means a grotesque and distorted figure, such as were sometimes drawn in
black on the white walls of country churches.
70. agot very vildlie cut] Warburton's emendation would deserve no notice
here but be relegated to the Text, Notes merely, were it not that its speciousness
beguiled three editors to give it a place in the text. It is as follows : — But why
an 'agate,' if low? For what likeness between a little man and an agate} The
ancients, indeed, used this stone to cut upon; but very exquisitely. I make no
question but the poet wrote : < an aglet very vilely cut ;' an aglet was a tag of those
points, formerly so much in fashion. These tags were either of gold, silver, or brass,
according to the quality of the wearer ; and were commonly in the shape of little
images ; or at least had a little head cut at the extremity. The French call them
aiguiUettes, Mezeray, speaking of Henry the Third's sorrow for the death of the
princess of Conti, says, ' — ^portant meme sur ses aiguiUettes de petites tetes de Mort.'
And as a 'tall' man is before compared to a ' lance ill-headed'; so, by the same
figure, a little man is very apdy liken! d to an 'aglet ill-cut.' Steevens rejected
Warburton's emendation, but ascribed the ill-cutting of an agate to the natural
' grotesque ' veinings in the stone. Capell discerned, as often, the true meaning :
* agate is confirm'd by the word "cut"; and by 2 Hen, IV: I, ii, 19: "I was
never so manned with an agate till now" [where Fal staff compares his diminutive
Page with his own bulk] the Poet's aglets were form'd in molds, and not c%it,*
[Mercutio's description of Queen Mab should have revealed Hero's meaning : 'she
comes In shape no bigger than ' [in] an agate-stone. — Ed.]
71. vane . . . windes] Deighton : Perhaps, also, with a reference to the
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140 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. i.
If filent, why a blocke moued with none.
So tumes (he euery man the wrong fide out,
And neuer giues to Truth and Vertue, that
Which fimpleneffe and merit purchafeth. 75
Vrfu. Sure, fure,fuch carping is not commendable.
Hero. No, not to be fo odde,and from all fafhions,
As Beatrice is^ cannot be commendable,
But who dare tell her fo? if I fliould fpeake.
She would mocke me into ayre,0 (he would laugh me 80
Out of my felfe,pre(re me to death with wit,
77. iktf] for Rowe, + , nor Cap. Ran. Mai. Steev. Var. Dyce ii, iii, Huds.
Dyce ii, iii, Huds. no; Wagner. 80. ayre^ an air Rowe i.
80. Ske would'\ She'd Popc,+, Van
constant creaking of the weather-cock, as it is blown about from one point of the
compass to another. Cf. Borachio's question. III, iii, 125.
75. purchaseth] As a legal term, purchase, in its enlarged sense, refers to any
acquisition of lands other than by inheritance, but it is frequently used by Shake-
speare freed from its limitation to land, and as applying to any method of acquisition.
—Ed.
76. commendable] W. A. Wright: < Commendable ' has the accent on the
last syllable but one, as in all but one instance in Shakespeare. Schmidt marks the
accent on the first syllable, but even so there must be a secondary accent on the
penultimate. Cf. / Henry VI: IV, vi, 57 : * And, commendable proved, let*s die
in pride.' And Cor, IV, vii, 51 : 'And power, unto itself most commendable.'
In Spenser adjectives in -able have the accent on the penultimate. See Faerie Queene,
II, vi, § 44 : ' O how I bume with implacable fyre !'
77. not to be] Staunton : The word * not ' is here redundant, and reverses the
sense. [Capell's emendation gives partial relief. — Ed.]
77. from] For other instances where * from * means different from, contrary to,
see Abbott, § 158.
81. presse me to death] Heard (p. 71) : Peine forte et dure was a punish-
ment by which a prisoner indicted for felony was compelled to put himself upon his
trial. If, when arraigned, he stood mute, he was remanded to prison, and placed in
a low dark chamber, and there laid on his back on the bare floor naked, unless when
decency forbade ; upon his body was placed as great a weight of iron as he could
bear ; on the first day he received no sustenance, save three morsels of the worst
bread, and on the second day three draughts of standing water that should be nearest
the prison-door, and such was alternately his daily diet till he pleaded or died. This
punishment was vulgarly called ' pressing to death.' — Malone (1790): This pun-
ishment the good sense and humanity of the legislature have within these few years
abolished. [It has never been entered on any of the Statute books of the United
States. A defendant who, in this country, stands mute, is presumed to plead guilty,
and his trial proceeds. — Ed.] W. A. Wright reads between the lines that * Bea-
trice would first reduce Hero to silence by her mockery and then punish her for not
speaking.'
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ACT III, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 141
Therefore let Benedicke like couered fire , 82
Confume away in fighes, wafte inwardly :
It were a better death, to die with mockes ,
Which is as bad as die with tickling. 85
82. couered"] cauerd Q. than Theob. et cet.
84. better deaths to] bitter deaths to Ff. 85. as bad as] as bad a death as Ties-
bitter death to Rowe, Pope, Han. Ran. sen {^Eng, Stud, ii, 201).
Wh. i. better death, then Q. better death as die] as 'tis to die Pc^, + .
84. better death, to] R. G. White (ed. i) mistakenly conceived that Hero here
referred to her own ' danger of being pressed to death with wit, if she reveal Bene-
dick' s passion, and < ' therefore, * she says, ' * let Benedick consume. ** J/eis threatened
with no other danger from Beatrice than that in which he is already represented to be
from her charms.* In his Second Edition, he yielded without comment to Theobald's
reading of the Qto. — Dyce : The Second Folio gives a meaning to the passage, but
a meaning which the construction of the speech shows to be wrong (I say so, though
aware that Mr Grant White has adopted the reading of the Second Folio). [The
Qto must be followed here. Unquestionably Hero refers to Benedick's death, not to
her own. — Ed.]
Through an oversight. Collier, in both his First and Second Editions, says that
the First Folio here reads ' than to die.'
84. death, to die] Having adopted the reading of the Qto : ' than die,' W. A.
Wright observes that ' the omission of to before the infinitive is not unconunon after
'* better" when it stands by itself, and this oonslruction is here imitated. See, for
instance, 7W Gent, II, vii, 14 : " Better forbear till Proteus make return," where
the verb is in the infinitive. Compare also Twelfth Night, II, ii, 27 : '' Poor lady,
she were better love a dream." ' — Abbott (§ 351) : It is often impossible, without
the context, to tell whether the verb is in the infinitive or imperative. Thus in
Macb. Ill, ii, 20 : * Better be with the dead,' it is only the following line, ' Whom
we to gain our peace, have sent to peace,' that shows that * be ' is infinitive.
84, 85. with] Equivalent to by; see II, i, 58.
85. tickling] Walker ( Vers, p. 7) : Words such as juggler, tickling, kindling,
England, angry, children, and the like are, — as is well-known, — frequendy pro-
nounced by the Elizabethan poets as though a vowel were interposed between the
liquid and the preceding mute. [See line 3, of this scene. I prefer to believe
that when these words had to be pronounced as trisyllables, the pronunciation
slurred, as much as possible, the added syllable, and that the real pronunciation
would be better expressed by juggle-er, tickle-ing, kindle-ing, Engl-and, etc,
wherein no more emphasis is given to the le than would be given to it in the
ordinary pronunciation of the infinitive, and in the case of such words as Eng-
land, children, etc., a slight, very slight pause takes the place of the needed
syllable. I think that a nice ear will detect a difference between juggeler and
juggle-er, ticketing and tickle-ing. This distinction will hold only partially good
with certain words which have to be lengthened by an additional syllable, such
as rememberance, commandement, etc., even here, however, the added syllable
should be slurred as much as possible, or, better still, indicated by a very slight
pause. — Ed.]
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142 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. i.
Vrfu. Yet tell her of it, heare what (hee will fey, 86
Hero. No, rather I will goe to Benedickey
And counfaile him to fight againft his paflfion,
And truly He deuife feme honeft flanders,
To ftaine my cofm with, one doth not know, 90
How much an ill word may impoifon liking.
Vrfu. O doe not doe your cofin fuch a wrong,
She cannot be fo much without true iudgement, 93
91. Haw much'\ Hew such so quoted, Mrs. Griffith.
89. honest slanders] Slanders which shall be true and yet no disgxace. It
is not easy to grasp what such slanders can be, but perhaps we can perceive some-
what of their innocence, if we suppose that Hero had said ' some dishonest slan-
ders'; what these may be, we who are familiar with (he plot, know only too well
from Hero's own sad experience. That these < honest slanders' were merely
Mil words' we learn from the next line, and yet even these were to leave a
' stain.' Whatever the meaning, it must be remembered that Hero had no inten-
tion whatever of carrying out her professed purpose, but that she was merely talking
at Beatrice. — Ed.
91. liking] Lady Martin (p. 313) : Now it is Beatrice's turn to (all into a
similar snare ; and in the very exuberance of a power that runs without effort into
the channel of melodious verse, Shakespeare passes from the terse, vivid prose of the
previous scene into rhythmical lines, steeped in music and illumined by fancy. . . .
It is, of course, an overwhelming surprise to Beatrice to hear that < Benedick loves
her so entirely.' She is at first incredulous. Still, her attention is fairly arrested.
She listens with eager curiosity ; but begins to feel a tightening at the heart when
her cousin says, 'But nature never framed a woman's heart,' etc. [lines 53-60].
Hero with a power of witty and somewhat merciless sarcasm, new to Beatrice in her
gentle cousin, drives still further home the charge of pride and scomfulness, when
she says: 'Why you speak truth,' etc. [lines 64-72]. All this somewhat surprises
and yet amuses Beatrice, for it reminds her of her own thoughts about some of her
unsuccessful wooers. But what follows sends the blood in upon her own heart : ' So
turns she every man the wrong side out. And never gives to truth and viitue that
Which stmpleness and merit purchaseth.' Why, why, if this be so, has not Hero
let her hear of it from herself? The feeling of shame and bitter self-reproach
deepens as Hero goes on : ' To be so odd, and from all fashions As Beatrice is,' etc.
[lines 77-S4]. We know that all this is oversUted for a purpose. But Beatrice
has no such suspicion. She is wounded to the quick, and Hero's words strike
deeper, because Beatrice up to this time has seen no signs of her cousin's having
entertained this harsh view of her character. The cup of self-reproach is full, as
Hero proceeds : * No, rather I will go to Benedick,' etc. [lines 87-90- '^^ ^"
too much, and it seemed to me, as I listened, as if I could endure no more, but must
break from my concealment and stop their cruel words. Ursula's more kindly
rejoinder is some bahn to Beatrice [lines 92-96]. What follows is not unwelcome to
her ears, for it is all in praise of Benedick.
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ACT III, sc. i.] MlfCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 143
Hauing fo fwift and excellent a wit
As (he is prifde to haue, as to refufe 95
So rare a Gentleman as fignior Bcnedicke.
Hero. He is the onely man of Italy,
Alwaies excepted, my deare Claudia,
Vr/u. I pray you be not angry with me, Madame,
Speaking my fancy : Signior Benedickey lOO
For ftiape, for bearing argument and valour,
Goes formoft in report through Italy.
Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name.
Vr/u. His excellence did earne it ere he had it:
When are you married Madame? . 105
Hero. Why euerie day to morrow, come goe in,
94. /wifi] sweet Rowe, Pope, Han. 106. euerie day to morrcw^'] QFf
96. figniorl Om. Pope, +. (euery QFf), Sta. Dyce ii, iii. every
97. Given to Ursula, Long MS ap. day^ tomorrow; Rowe, Pope, Han.
Cam. every day — tomorrow — Johns, every
loi. bearing argument'] bearings ar- day, to-morrow. Cam. Wh. ii. every
gument F^ et seq. day; to-morrow; Theob. et cet
94. swift] The Duke says of Touchstone, in As You Like It, V, iv, 67 : < he is
▼ery swift and sententious,* where the meaning is not quite so evident as it is here ;
the Duke means, I think, off-hand, and Ursula means ready. — Ed.
95. prisde] That is, of course, estimated, rated; as in IV, i, 227 : * we prize not
to their worth.'
98. excepted] See I, i, 123.
10 1, bearing argument] The comma which is lacking here is supplied by F^.—
Capell (p. 127) : 'Bearing,' the greater part of readers will know, is— carriage,
carriage of the person, address ; but many may stop at ' argument,' which must be —
reason, reasoning, excellence in that faculty; for without insertion of that, the
speaker has said nothing. — ^W. A. Wright : Ursula describes Benedick's qualities
In what she regards as an ascending scale ; his personal appearance, demeanour,
intellectual qualities, and, to crown all, his courage.
106. euerie day to morrow] Capell (p. 127) : This reply is a levity, indicating
her rais'd spirits ; they are quickly to have a tumble ; Divers of these ominous
speeches occur in Shakespeare,-— as from Hotspur, Caesar, Antony, Desdemona, etc,
'twas a doctrine of the ancients, — that the Genius suggested them, and he has given
it full credit — Collier (ed. ii) : The MS has ' in a dBj,* and it seems a reasonable
emendation : perhaps ' every day ' is to be taken for any day. In Middleton's Your
Five Gallants, IV, v, [p. 289, ed. Dyce] : ' when shall I see thee at my chamber,
when? Fitzgrave. Every day shortly.' — R. G. White (ed. i) : Hero uses a form
of expression which has survived in America, although it is not in common use. It
appears, for instance, in business announcements, sometimes seen in the newspapers,
that certain goods will be ready ' in all next month.' — Staunton : Hero plays on
the form of Ursula's interrogatory: 'When are you married?' 'I am a married
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144 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. L
He (hew thee fome attires, and haue thy counfell, ^^ 107
Which is the beft to furnifli me to morrow.
Vrfu, Sheets tane I warrant you,
We haue caught her Madame ? no
Hero. If it proue fo, then louing goes by haps,
Some Cupid kills with arrowes, fome with traps. Exit.
Beat. What fire is in mine eares? can this be true?
Stand I condemn'd for pride and fcome fo much? 1 14
108. me to morrow] nUf — to-morrow! no. We haue] Wive Dyce ii, iii.
Anon, ap Cam. Huds.
109-112. [Aside, Cap. Madame f] madame. Q.
X09, no. One line, Pope i et seq. 112. Qax^v^ kills] QF,. Cupids kills
(subs.) Prose, Pope ii, Theob. Warb. F^. Cupids >&»// F^, Rowe, + .
Johns. Exit.] Om. Q.
tane] Ff. ta^en Rowe, Pope, 113. Beat.] Beat, [advancing] Theob.
Han. Cap. Knt, Wh. i. limed Q et cet. mine] my F^, Rowe, + , Var. '73.
woman every day, after to-morrow.* — Daniel {^New Sh. Soc, Trans. ^ ^ 877-9, P*
145) : I cannot consider either the emendation [of Collier's MS] or [Staunton's]
explanation as satisfactory ; I fancy that * every day ' is here used in the sense of
immediately f without delay ^ as the French incessament, I have met with one other
instance of the use of the phrase and I quote it as evidence in favour of the integrity
of the text of Much Ado, [Hereupon Daniel gives Collier's quotation from Your Five
Gallants, as above. It is not difficult to fancy, in our eagerness, that a phrase yields
the very meaning we desire. If Hero had said : ' Why every minute, every hour ; to-
morrow !' her meaning would have been, I think, unmistakeable ; and that, instead
thereof, she uses < day,' should not, I think, obscure her meaning. This, too, is
apparently the interpretation of W. A. Wright, when he says that ' Hero thinks of
nothing else.' I prefer some mark of punctuation after ' day,' more decided than a
comma. Dr Johnson's dash is good. — Ed.]
109. tane] Limed of the Qto, that is, taken with bird-lime, is a noteworthy
improvement ; it is by far the better word to apply to Beatrice, who came like a lap-
wing. — Ed.
1 13. What fire . . . eares ?] Warburton : Alluding to a proverbial saying of
the common people that their ears bum when others are talking of them — Reed :
Cf. Pliny : * Moreover, is not this an opinion generally received, That when our ears
do glow and tingle, some there be that in our absence doe talke of us?' — Holland's
Trans, b. xxviii, p. 297 ; and Brown's Vulgar Errors. [Rare is it, indeed, that a
more unworthy interpretation is given to any line or thought in Shakespeare. In the
first place, the burning of the ears to which Riny refers is a glow and a tingling in
the external ear, the auricle, and has no application whatever to a fire which Beatrice
sa3rs: 'is in mine ears.' In the next place, to suppose that Beatrice, after over-
hearing words, destined to wrench her very frame of nature, should express a
mild surprise that her ears bum, would be ludicrous were it not so feeble. If
there be any reader who does not apprehend what that fire of purification is, lit up
by Hero, by whose quickening light Beatrice sees a new world with a new heaven
and a new earth, he had better close his Shakespeare and read no more. — ^Ed.]
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ACT III, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 145
Contempt^ farewell, and maiden pride adew, 115
No glory liues behinde the backe of fuch.
And Benedicke y\ou^ on, I will requite thee,
Taming my wilde heart to thy louing hand : 118
116. behinde the backe] Collier (ed. ii) : Here we have a singular instance
of mishearing, whether on the part of the old transcriber or printer, we cannot deter-
mine. Behind whose back? To what does 'such' relate? Assuredly to 'con-
tempt ' and ' pride * in which Beatrice had hitherto indulged, and begins to find that
she had indulged so much, that it had destroyed her matrimonial prospects. She
therefore resolves to abandon them, and to requite Benedick for his love; she
declares that 'no glory lives hut in the lack of such' qualities as contempt and
pride ; she had long tried them, and they had done nothing but secure for her defeat
and disappointment The words but in the lack were imperfectly heard, or read,
and ' behind the back ' inserted instead of them. [Collier adopted this reading in
his Second Edition but abandoned it in his Third.] — Anon. (Blackwood^ August,
1853, ?• 192) • Beatrice means to say that contempt and maiden pride are never the
screen to any true nobleness of character. This is well expressed in the present line
which Collier's MS Corrector recommends us to exchange for the frivolous feebleness
of ' hut in the lack of such.' This substitution, we ought to say, is worse than feeble
and frivolous. It is a perversion of Beatrice's sentiments. She never meant to say
that a maiden should lack maiden pride, but only that it should not occupy a
prominent position in the front of her character. Let her have as much of it as she
pleases, and the more the better, only let it be drawn up as a reserve in the back-
ground and kept for defensive rather than for offensive operations. This is all that
Beatrice can seriously mean when she says, 'maiden pride, adieu.' — Singer (5>l.
Vindicated^ p. 18) : That is, ' Behind the back of such as are condemned for pride,
soom, and contempt, their reputation suffers, their glory dies.' — Staunton : The
proud and contemptuous are never extolled in their absence, — a sense so obvious, and
so pertinent, considering the part of listener Beatrice has just been playing, that it is
with more than surprise that we [learn of Collier's MS substitution]. — Singer:
They who would be well spoken of in their absence must renounce contempt and
maiden pride. — ^Deighton : No good repute is to be won by those who are con-
temptuous and scornful of others. — ^W. A. Wright : When their backs are turned no
one speaks well of them. [Glory cannot precede a hero ; it must follow him, it is
always behind his back. In the self-illumination which Beatrice is now experiencing,
her past life flashes before her, and she sees that for the ' pride and scorn,' in which,
as a girl, she had gloried, she now stands condemned ; no glory waits on them or is
behind their back ; therefore she abjures them. « Maiden pride ' is not, I think,
maidenly pride, a virtue eminently fair, but rather girlish pride, which can be, on
occasion, eminently cruel, as Beatrice had been more than once to Benedick. To
this and to ' contempt,' intellectual contempt, springing from the pride of intellect,
she bids adieu. — Ed.]
118. louing hand] Johnson : This image is taken from falconry. She had been
charged with being as wild as ' haggards of the rock ' ; she, therefore, says, that ivild
as her heart is, she will tame it to the hand, — Madden (p. 150) : All the masters of
folconry, ancient and modem, would bid Benedick be of good cheer. Mark their
testimony : ' onely I say and so conclude,' says Bert [Treatise of Hawks and Hawk-
10
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146 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. L
If thou doft loue, my kindeneffe ftiall incite thee
To binde our loues vp in a holy band. 120
For others fay thou doft deferue^ and I
Beleeue it better then reportingly. Exit. 122
1 19. my\ thy Theob. ii, Warb. Johns.
u^^ 161 9] ' that your haggard is very loving and kinde to her keeper, after he hath
brought her by his sweet and kind familiarity to understand him.' * Moreover/ says
Mr Lascelles, [Falconry^ Badminton Series,] ' though we cannot definitely account
for this, the temper of the wild-caught hawk is, as a rule, far gentler and more
aimiable when once she is -tamed than is that of a hawk taken from the nest'
122. reportingly] Fletcher (p. 264) : It is neither simplicity nor vanity that
makes both the hero and the heroine so readily admit the suggestion artfully addressed
to them by their respective friends. It is, that the heart of each whispers them how
very possible it is, after all, that the other may be inclined to love, in spite of all
appearances to the contrary, — and that it is not possible for them to suspect the
nearest and most attached of their common friends, of combining to trifle with them
in such a matter. Moreover, the impulse on either part, which so rapidly brings
about a mutual declaration, is not of a selfish, but a generous nature. Neither does
ity when considered with reference to the previously habitual language of both
parties respecting marriage, imply any real inconsistency of character. Neither
man nor woman ever railed against marriage who had once experienced true love ; —
but persons of the bold and ready wit attributed to Benedick and Beatrice, and there-
fore the more incapable of any merely commonplace attachment, not only might very
naturally sport their humour on matrimony, but would of necessity do so, until their
own turn came to find an object capable of engaging their affections. . . . The primary
solicitude of each is, to remove the uneasiness of the other, by acquainting them that
their love is requited ; for generosity predominates in both characters, but in that of
the heroine especially ; whereas, had vanity been ascendant, the first desire, on either
side, would have been to enjoy and to parade so signal a triumph. But Benedick
concerns himself little about the jests that are likely to be retorted upon him by his
friends after his candid avowal of his passion ; and as for Beatrice herself, the like
consideration seems not once to have occurred to her. — Corson (p. 187) ; There is
no transformation wrought, — only a barrier has been removed which the two have
co-operated to place between themselves by their sharp-wit skirmishes. Their
mutual misnoting, along with their mutual love, is what essentially constitutes the
comedy of the situation. If it be understood, as it i> understood, more or less dis-
tinctly by some critics and readers, that a transformation has been wrought in each
by the similar stratagem practised upon each, the comedy of the situation is quite
destroyed. At any rate, it is of a very much inferior quality, and, I would add, it is
not of a Shakespearian quality.— Lady Martin (p. 315) : When they are gone,
and Beatrice comes from her hiding-place, she has become to herself another woman.
It is not so much that her nature is changed, as that it has been suddenly developed.
She is dazed, astounded at what she has overheard. Am I such a self-assured, scornful,
disdainful, vainglorious creature ? Is it thus I appear to those who know me best,
and whom I love the best? Efo I look down contemptuously on others from the height
of my own deserts? Am I so ' self-endeaied' that I see worth and cleverness only
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ACT III. sc ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 147
\Scene IL]
Enter Prince^ Cl^udioj Benedickiy and Leonato.
Prince. I doe but ftay till your marriage be confum-
mate, and then go I toward Arragon.
Clau. He bring you thither my Lord, if you'l vouch-
fafe me, 5
Prin. Nay, that would be as great a foyle in the new
gloffe of your marriage, a^ to (hew a childe his new coat 7
[Scene II. Pope. i. Prince,] Don Pedro, Rowe et seq.
Leonato' s House. Theob. 3. go /] I go F^F^, Rowe, Pope, Han.
X. Enter] F,. Var. '03, '13, *2i, Knt.
in myself? Do I carry myself thus proudly? Have I been living in a delusion?
Have my foolish tongue and giddy humour presented me in a light so untrue to my
real self? What an awakening ! She does not blame others. She feels no shade
of bitterness against Hero, her reproaches are all against herself. After this com-
plete self-abasement comes fresh wonder, in the remembrance of what Hero and
Ursula have said of Benedick's infatuation for her. That he likes her she has prob-
ably suspected more than once ; and now she learns that it is her wicked, mocking
spirit which has alone prevented him from making an open avowal of his devo-
tion. All this shall be changed. If, despite the past, he indeed loves her, he
must be rewarded. No one knows his good qualities better than she does. She
will accept his shortcomings, — ^for what grave faults of her own has she not to
correct? — and for the future touch them so gently, that in time they will either
vanish, or she will hardly wish them away. It is now that for the first time we see
the underlying nobleness and generosity of Beatrice leap into view. If she were
indeed what Hero described, — still more, if this were, as Hero had said, the general
impression, — she might well be excused, had she asked why Hero, her bosom friend,
her * bed-fellow,' as we are subsequently told, had never hinted at faults so serious?
But Beatrice neither reproaches her cousin, nor seeks to extenuate the defects laid to
her charge. She trusts Hero's report implicitly, and being herself incapable of
deceit or misrepresentation, she regards Hero's heavy indictment as a thing not to be
impugned. This is the turning-point in Beatrice's life, and in the representation, it
should be shown by her whole demeanour, and especially by the way these lines are
spoken, that a marked change has come over her, since, ' like a lapwing,' she stole
into the bower of honeysuckles. Thus the audience will be prepared for the devel-
opement of the high qualities which she soon afterwards displays.
2. consummate] For the form of the participle without the final edy see I, i, 132.
— W. A. Wright : As in Meas. for Meas, V, i, 383, the Duke orders the Friar to
marry Angelo and Mariana : ' Do you the office, friar ; which consummate. Return
him here again.' In both these cases the word is used of the completion of the
marriage ceremony.
7. shew a childe, etc.] Steevens : So, in Rom. ^ Jul III, ii, 28 : 'so tedious
is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new
robes And may not wear them.'
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y
148 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. ii.
and forbid him to weare it, I will onely bee bold with 8
Benedicke for his companie, for from the crowne of his
head, to the fole of his foot, he is all mirth, he hath twice ID
or thrice cut Cupids bow-firing, and the little hang-man
dare not (hoot at him, he hath a heart as found as a bell, 12
8. weare it^'\ wear U,Y^, II. hang-man\ hangman Rowe.
henchman Upton.
8. onely] For the transposition of onfyf see II, i, 132.
9. from the crowne, etc.] Wordsworth (p. 8x) : The description of Absa-
lom's personal beauty is in these words : * From the sole of his foot even to the crown
of his head there was no blemish in him.* — 2 Sam, xiv, 25.
11. hang-man] Farmer : This character of Cupid came from Sidney's Arccuiia^
where Jove gives Cupid the office : < In this our world a hang-man for to be Of all
those fooles that will have all they see.* — Lib. ii, p. 156, ed. 1598. [In / Edward
IV: V, iii, Sellinger quotes Hobs as saying: '"How doth Ned?" quoth he;
"That honest, merry hangman, how doth he?" ' Whereon Barron Field, who
edited the play for The Shakespeare Society ^ has this note : ' Hangman was a term
of endearment, and this explains the passage in Much Ado, without having recourse
to Dr Farmer's exquisite reason. So in Lov^s Lad. Z. V, ii, 12 ; where to Rosaline's
remark that " Cupid hath been five thousand years a boy," Katharine replies : " Ay,
and a shrewd unhappy gallows too." ' This passage from / Edward IV, which is
also cited by Nares, adequately explains the use of 'hangman' in the present
passage. — Ed.] Dyck {Notes, p. 44, where Farmer's note is quoted ; Dyce adds :)
Perhaps so. But I suspect that 'hangman' is here equivalent to— rascal, rogue.
(In Johnson's ZHct. sub ' Hangman,' the present passage is cited to exemplify the
word employed as a term of reproach. ) It is at least certain that hangman, having
come to signify an excutioner in general — (so in Fletcher's Prophetess, III, i,
Diocletian, who had stabbed Aper, is called ' the hangman of Volusius Aper ' ; and
in Jacke DrunCs Entertainement, Brabant Junior, being prevented by Sir Edward
from stabbing himself, declares that he is too wicked to live — ' And therefore, gentle
Knight, let mine owne hand Be mine own hangman.^ — Sig. H 3, ed. 1616) — was
afterwards used as a general term of reproach (so in Guy Earl of Warwick, a
Tragedy, printed in 1 661, but acted much earlier: 'Faith, I doubt you are some
Xyiiiig hangman^ i. e. rascal). — ^Collier (ed. ii): ' Little hangman ' is here equiva-
lent to little rogue ; so, in Two Gent. IV, iv, 60 ; ' hangman boys ' is used for
rascally boys, and does not mean hangman's boys, the boys of the executioner. —
W. A. Wright : Schmidt gravely remarks that ' Cupid is called so in jest as the
executioner of human hearts.' In the same literal manner he interprets ' the hang-
man boys' of the Two Gent,, as 'probably the servants of the public executioner.'
12. as sound as a bell] Haluwell: An old proverbial expression. [And
still common. ] — Steevens : A covert allusion to the old proverb : ' As the fool
thinketh. So the bell clinketh.'— W. A. Wright : The allusion is so covert as to be
very doubtful ; for the proverb apparently means that the fool gives his own inter-
pretation to what he hears, not that he speaks all that he thinks. Burton {Anat, of
Melon, Part I, sec. iii, mem. 3) says : ' The hearing is as frequently deluded as the
sight, from the same causes almost, as he that hears l)ells, will make them sound
what he list. As the fool thinketh, so the bell clinketh,''
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ACT III, sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 149
and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinkes, 13
his tongue fpeakes.
Bene, Gallants, I am not as I haue bin. 15
Leo. So fay I, methinkes you are fadder,
Claud. I hope he be in loue.
Prin. Hang him truant, there's no true drop of bloud
in him to be truly toucht with loue, if he be fad, he wants
money. 20
Bene. I haue the tooth-ach.
Prin. Draw it.
Bene. Hang it.
Claud. You muft hang it firft,and draw it afterwards.
Prin. What ? figh for the tooth-ach. 25
Leon. Where is but a humour or a worme.
15. bin'\ been F^. 23. Bene.] Leon. Anon, ap Cam.
17. he be'\ he is Pope, + . 26. Where"] Which Rowe, +.
21. tooth-ach] BoswELL: So, in Beaumont and Fletcher's The False One:
* You had best be troubled with the tooth-ache too, For lovers ever are.* — II, iii, p.
254, ed. Dyce.
23, 24. TiECK omitted these two lines (a note, for which I am indebted to the Text.
Notes of the Cambridge Edition) and the omission I supposed was due to an over-
sight, or else, perhaps, that Tieck had found the punning allusion too unmanageable.
But on collating Tieck' s first edition of 1830 with his edition of 1869, very carefully
edited by Dr Schmidt, I found the omission repeated, and no note of explanation,
nor comment anywhere. I was completely puzzled, until, on turning to Dr
Schmidt's own Lexicon^ I found, s, v. 'hang,' these very lines quoted, followed by
the grave remark : ' with an obscene quibble.' This then explains the omission ; and
proves that it was intentional. The lines are too obscene to be translated ! Every
reader of old literature, in any language, must, I suppose, undergo an education in
mud and be graduated in slime ; but I am very confident that no English reader ever
scented the faintest trace of either in this perfectly innocent allusion of Claudio to
the public execution of a criminal. Let Orlando's sigh : ' How bitter a thing it is to
look into happiness through another man's eyes,' be changed into: 'how marvellous
a thing it is to look into Shakespeare through a foreigner's eyes !' — Ed.
24. hang it . . . draw, it] Deighton : An allusion to hanging, drawing, and
quartering, a punishment which Middleton applies in the same way : The Wtdow^
IV, i, 108: ^Martina. I pray, what's good, sir, for a wicked tooth? Ricardo,
Hang'd, drawn, and quartering.' {The Widow was written about 1 61 6. — Ed.]
26. Where is] For a similar ellipsis of there^ see II, ii, 18.
26. worm] This cause of toothache appears to have been unknown to LAnfranc,
who in his Chirurgie (circa 1380, possibly the most ancient of our treatises on sur-
gery ; printed by the E, E, T, Soc.) enumerates four or five causes, but this is not
one of them. Nor does he specify 'humours,' by name, as a cause. But both
* humours * and * worms ' are given in Batman v/>pon Bartholome ; in Lib, Quintus^
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ISO MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. ii.
Bene. Well,eueiy one cannot mafter a griefe,but hee 27
that has it.
Clau. Yet fay I, he is in loue.
Prin, There is no appearence of fancie in him,vnlefle 30
it be a fancy that he hath to ftrange difguifes,as to bee a
27. cannot\ can Pope et seq.
cap. 201 Of the Teeth^ we find: <The cause of such aking is humors that come
downe from the head, eyther vp from the stomackcy by meane of fumositie, either els
by sharp humours, and beating in the gums. . . . Also sometime teeth be pearced
with holes & sometime by worms they be changed into yelow colour, greene, or
black.' Again in the Chapter of tooth ache : * Wormes breede in the cheeke teeth
of rotted humours that be in the holownesse thereof, . . . Wormes of the teeth be
slaine with Mirre and Opium,* — ed. 1582. Inasmuch as decay in the teeth is now
known to be of microbic origin, the wheel is come full circle, and between Bar-
tholomews worm and the modem microbe there is merely a question of size. — Ed.
27. cannot] Pope's emendation is probably the most certain that he ever made.
—Ed.
31. a fancy] Johnson : Here is a play upon the word * fancy,' which Shake-
speare uses for /ove, as well as for humour, caprice, or affectation, — Knight :
' Fancy ' is here used in a different sense from the same word which immediately
precedes it,— although fancy in the sense of love is the same as fancy in the sense
of the indulgence of humour. The fancy which makes a lover, and the fancy which
produces a bird-fancier, each expresses the same subjection of the will to the imagi-
nation. [Again, at the dose of this speech there is a play upon this word, where the
Prince says that if Benedick has a taste for this foolery he is no fool for love. See
As You Like It, II, iv, 32 (of this ed.) for Arbor's four changes in the meaning of
fancy, — Ed.]
31. strange disguises, etc.] Steevens: So, in Dekker's The Seuen Deadly
Sinnes of London, 1606 : ' For, an English-mans suite is like a traitors bodie that
hath beene hanged, drawne, and quartered, and is set vp in seuerall places : the
coller of his Duble and the belly in France : the wing and narrow sleeue in Italy :
the short waste hangs ouer a Dutch Botchers stall in Vtrich : his huge sloppes speakes
Spanish : Polonia giues him the Bootes : the blocke for his heade alters faster than
the Feltmaker can fitte him, and thereupon we are called in scome Blockheades,
And thus we that mocke euerie Nation, for keeping one fashion, yet steale patches
from euerie one of them, to peece out our pride, are now laughing stocks to them,
because their cut so scuniily becomes vs'. [p. 60, ed. Grosart. For the curious
reader, Halliwell supplies a folio page and a half of extracts, all ridiculing or
describing the English love of variety in dress ; none, however, is better than the
foregoing extract from Dekker, except, perhaps, the following from Lodge's Wifs
ARserie, 1596: <Who is this with the Spanish hat, the Italian ruffe, the French
doublet, the Muffes doak, the Toledo rapier, the Germane hose, the English stock-
ing, and the Flemish shoe?' (p. 35, ed. Hunterian Club,) albeit this is a description
of a 'Sonne of Mammons that hath of long time ben a trauailer.' At all times,
however, the fashions in dress have been a cheap source of satire and denundation.
In Fynes Moryson's Itinerary (Part III, Booke 4, Chap. 2, p. 178) there is a
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ACT III. sc. ii.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NO THING 1 5 1
Dutchman to day, a Frenchman to morrow: [*or in the 32
* ftiape of two countries at once, as a Germaine from the
* wafte downward, all flops, and a Spaniard from the hip
* vpward, no dublet :*] vnlefle hee haue a fancy to this 35
32. Dutchman] Dutch man Rowe, + . of two countries at once^ as a Germaine
32. Frenchman'] French-man Q. from the waste downward^ allflopSy and
French man Rowe, + . a Spaniard from the hip vpward^ no
32-35. to morrow :,..vnleJ]re]¥i,Kow^, dublet: vnleffei^. Pope ii^Theob, Waib.
Pope i, Han. to morrow^ or in thejhape et seq.
passage relating to the fashions in dress, not so denunciatory as calmly descrip-
tive, which is valuable for the side light it throws on English life in Shakespeare's
day, especially in the last sentence which shows the catalogue in which Shake-
speare and his fellow-players were put, and the estimate in which they were held,
socially, by well-bom gentlemen like Fynes Moryson : ' The English I say are
more sumptuous than the Persians, because despising the golden meane, they affect
all extreamities. For either they will be attired in plaine cloth and light stuffes,
(alwayes prouided that euery day without difference their hats be of Beuer, their
shirts and bands of the finest linnen, their daggers and swords guilded, their garters
and shooe roses of silke, with gold or siluer lace, their stockings of silke wrought in
the seames with silke or gold, and their cloakes in Summer of silke, in Winter at
least all lined with veluet), or else they daily weare sumptuous doublets and breeches
of silke or veluet, or cloth of gold or siluer, so laid ouer with lace of gold or silke>
as the stuffes (though of themselues rich) can hardly be seene. The English and
French haue one peculiar fieishion, which I neuer obserued in any other part, namely
to weare scabbards and sheaths of veluet vpon their rapiers and daggers. ... In the
time of Queene Elizabeth the Courtiers delighted much in darke colours, both simple
and mixt, and did often weare plaine blacke stuffes ; yet that being a braue time of
warre, they, together with our Commanders, many times wore light colours, richly
laced and embroidered, but the better sort of Gentlemen then esteemed simple light
colours to be lesse comely, as red and yellow, onely white excepted, which was then
much wome in Court. Now in this time of King lames his Reig^e, those simple
light colours haue beene much vsed. If I should begin to set downe the variety of
fashions and forraign stuffes brought into England in these times, I might seeme
to number the starres of Heauen and sands of the Sea. ... In the generall
pride of England there is no fit difference made of degrees ; for very Bankrouts,
Players, and Cutpurses, goe apparrelled like Gentlemen.' — Ed.]
32. to morrow:] The lines enclosed in brackets are from the Qto. Possibly,
their omission in the Folio was not accidental. Capell accounts for the omission by
suggesting that when the Folio * was printing the Spanish match was on foot, and
Spain govern' d.' To this Halliwell replies that there is no doubt the First Folio
was in type before 1623. Malone, following Capell' s clew, but avoiding the chance
of error in specifying 1623, says that the omission was ' probably to avoid giving any
offence to the Spaniards, with whom James became a friend in 1604.' W. A. Wright
thinks < it was rather to avoid offending the King himself.' Collier conjectures that
it was < perhaps, on account of the change of fashion in dress between 1600 and
1623.' < Some alteration,' he goes on to say, ' had taken place even between the
date when this play was written and 1606, when Dekker published his Seven Deadly
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152 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. il
foolery, as it appeares hee hath, hee is no foole for fancy,
as you would haue it to appeare he is. 37
Clau. If he be not in loue with fome woman, there
is no beleeuing old fignes,a brufhes his hat a mornings,
What ftiould that bode? 40
Prin. Hath any man feene him at the Barbers ?
Clau. No, but the Barbers man hath beene feen with
him, and the olde ornament of his cheeke hath alreadie
ftuft tennis balls. 44
36. fooU\ food Ktly conj. i, ii. Cam. he brtuhes Rowe et cet
37. to appeared Yi^ Rowe, + , Mai. 39. <i w^nw'wf j] QFf, Rowe. a-nwrn-
Knt. appeare Q et cet ings Pope, Han. <f mornings Theob. et
he is] he his F,. cet.
39. a hrufltes] QFf. a' brushes Coll. 42. beene] bin Q.
Sins of London, for there he says that <' huge slops speak Spanish," and not German,
as Shakespeare has it' In the Mer. of Ven, I, ii, 73, when Nerissa is over-naming
Portia's suitors, only, apparently, that Portia may turn them to ridicule, the word
' Scottish ' in the Qtos is changed to * the other ' in the Folio, possibly to avoid, as
Capell elegantly expresses it, < Portia's gentle wipe upon Scotland,' James's native
country ; if such were the true cause, that change and the present omission become
parallel, and W. A. Wright thinks that they are so. — £d.
34*. slops] Steevens : Large loose breeches or trowsers, worn only by sailors at
present [t. e. 1793]. — Halliwell : Slop-hose, afterwards called slops, were the large
loose breeches so fashionable during the second half of the sixteenth century. The
' cutted sloppes,' mentioned by Chaucer, appear to have been hose of a different kind,
in £eu:t, tightly fitting breeches ; and the term was used for other parts of dress. The
slops, however, which are alluded to in the text, appear to have first come in much
use under that name in the reign of Henry VIII. * Payre of sloppe hoses, braiettes
a marinier,^ Palsgrave, 1530. * Sloppes hosyn, brayes a marinier,* ibid. John
Heywood, in his Epigrammes, ed. 1577, relates a curious story *of a number of
rattes mistaken for develles in a mans sloppes,' in which it is stated that a man
stowed a large cheese in his sloppes, and when he put them on again, enclosed
within them some rats who had taken up their quarters there. Wright, in his
Passions of the Minde, x6oi, speaks of slops as 'almost capable of a bushel of
wheate, and if they bee of sackcloth, they would serve to carry mawlt to the mill.'
The slops of the Germans are frequently mentioned, though by no means were they
peculiar to the Continent.
34*. no dublet] M. Mason (p. 53) asserted that we should read 'oZ^ doublet,'
inasmuch as ' no doublet ' is * a negative description, which is, in truth, no descrip-
tion at all '; Rann adopted the emendation. But Malone correctly interpreted the
phrase : Mn other words, all cloak.'
44. tennis balls] Steevens: So, in Nashe's A WonderfuU Strange and miracu-
lous Astrologicall Prognostication, etc., 1591 : *this Eclipse . . . sheweth that some
shall ... sell their haire by the pound to stuflfe Tennice balles' [p. 149, ed.
Grosart]. — Henderson: Again, in Ram Alley, 161 1 : *Thy beard shall serve to
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ACT III, sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 153
Leon. Indeed he lookes yonger than hee did, by the 45
loffe of a beard.
Prin. Nay a rubs himfelfe with Ciuit,can you fmell
him out by that ?
Clau. That's as much as to fay, the fweet youth's in
loue. 50
Prin. The greateft note of it is his melancholy.
Clau, And when was he wont to wafh his face ?
Prin. Yea, or to paint himfelfe? for the which I heare
what they fay of him.
Clau. Nay, but his iefting fpirit, which is now crept 55
into a lute-ftring,and now gouem'd by ftops.
47. a rubs\ QFf. a' rubs Coll. i, ii. Walker, Dyce ii, iii, Huds. governed
Cam. he rubs Rowe et cet. Anon. ap. Cam.
47. can] cannot Allen MS. 5^- ^ops.] QF3F3. ^ops F^. stops--
SI. Prin.] Bene. Q. Rowe, + , Var. '73.
56. now gouem'd] neithgovemed
staff those balls, by which I get me heat at tennis' [III, i, p. 315, Hazlitt's
Dodsley\.
51. Prin.] Here the Qto is manifestly wrong.
52. wash his face] R. G. White (ed. i) : In Shakespeare's time our race had
not abandoned itself to that reckless use of water, either for ablution or potation,
which has more recently become one of its characteristic traits. [The unfair innu-
endo is here conveyed that Benedick neglected his daily ablutions, whereas, as
W. A. Wright observes, Claudio's question refers to the use of cosmetics ; which
is in keeping with the reference to ' painting ' in the next line. * Benedick was not
a sloven,' Wright indigpiantly adds. Qaudio's question is not only in keeping
with 'painting,' but it follows naturally after the reference to the 'barber's man.'
Greene {A Quippe for an Vpstart Courtier^ Works y xi, p. 247, ed. Grosart) in a
passage describing the officious performances of the barber, confirms the interpreta-
tion that Claudio refers to the use of cosmetics : — ' His head being once drest [by the
barber] which requires in combing and rubbing some two bowers, hee comes to the
bason : then beeing curiously washt with no woorse then a camphire bal, he descends
as low as his herd and asketh whether he please to be shauen or no,' etc — ^£d.]
56. lute-string] Capell (p. 128) : Love and the melancholy passions are sooth'd
by lutes and ih^Jiute, the serenade is perform' d with them ; hence the picking-out
these by Qaudio as indications of what he and the Prince find in Benedick.
56. now gouem'd] Walker (Crit. ii, 214) enumerates this 'now' among many
others as an example of the confusion of now and new, I think he is right. The
proximity of the ' now ' in the preceding line induced the erroneous repetition. — Ed.
56. stops] Dyce ( Gloss, s. v. frets) : < Small lengths of wire on which the fingers
press the strings in playing the guitar.' — Busby's Diet, of Musical Terms, third ed.
— Naylor (p. 25) : In Shakespeare's days, the viol, the lute, and cittern all had
frets on the fingerboard, but they were then simply bits of string tied round at the
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154 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. ii.
Prin. Indeed that tels a heauy tale for him: conclude^ 57
he is in loue.
Clau. Nay, but I know who loues him.
Prince. That would I know too, I warrant one that 60
knowes him not.
Cla. Yes, and his ill conditions, and in defpight of all,
dies for him.
Prin. Shee fhall be buried with her face vpwards. 64
57. conclude] Ff, Rowe, + , Knt, Wh. 64. her face] her heels Theob. Han.
i. conclude, conclude, Q, Cap. et cet Cap.
60. warrant] watrant F^.
right places for the fingers and made fast with glue. They were used to * tune ' the
strings, t. e. to < stop ' the string accurately at each semitone.
57. conclude] Of course, if we accept the Qto as the edUio pHnceps, we must
follow it here; otherwise I see no great force in the repetition. — Ed.
64. face vpwards] Theobald : What is there any way particular in this? Are
not all men and women buried so ? Sure, the poet means, in opposition to the gen-
eral rule, and by way of distinction, with her heels upwards, or, face downwards. I
have chosen the first reading, because I find the expression in vogue in our author's
time. So, Beaumont & Fletcher's WUd Goose Chase i * — love cannot starve me;
For, if I die o' the first fit, I am unhappy, And worthy to be buried with my heels
upward' [I, iii, p. 127, ed. Dyce]. Again, in The Woman* s Prize, by Fletcher:
* some few. For those are rarest, they are said to kill With kindness and fair usage ;
but what they are My catalogue discovers not, only 'tis thought They are buried in
old walls, with their heels upward ' [III, iv, ad fin. Theobald found, among editors,
only two adherents : Hanmer and Capell ; among conunentators, M. Mason and
Mr J. Churton Collins, the latter says (p. 307) : *Of the many certain correc-
tions which his [Theobald's] knowledge of the Elizabethan dramatist enabled him
to make, we have [the present passage] where he shows conclusively, by pertinent
references to passages in Beaumont & Fletcher, that the word ^^face upward" must
be altered into heels»* M. Mason (p. 53) prefers feet to heels, 'merely because it is
nearer to the old reading.' Hanmer resorted to that convenient refuge of the early
editors : * a proveri>ial saying,' an assertion which soothes without satisfying the in-
quiring mind, and is to be accepted solely on the word of the editor. * This phrase
[' buried with their heels upwards '] was a proveri>ial saying/ says Hanmer, ' hereto-
fore in use and applied to those who had met with any piece of fortune very surprizing
and very rare.' Capell, whose g^narled almost unwedgeable English I prefer to trans-
mit unchanged to the reader, observes as follows : < no pronouncer of the passage, with
face, can convey to us any image of the humour conceited, or of any other humour,
in this editor's [f. e, Capell' s own] mind : for which reason, he has acceded to a
change of the third modem's [t. e, Theobald's] that is fertile enough of it, if he has
conceiv'd the phrase rightly ; which it's corrector has not, nor the one who has fol-
low' d him — the Oxford editor [«. e. Haimier] : The corrector proves it a phrase in
use by some quotations from Fletcher, but goes no further ; nor do his quotations
come up to what we think was it's sense, but without power of proving it fix>m any
other quotations : — ^let us suppose, for once, that this mode of burying was us'd
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ACT III. sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 155
[64. buried with her face vpwards.]
anciently for the felo de se ; there is something in it significant of the church's sen-
tence upon the guilty of such a crime, — that they were not to look for mercy, or cast
an eye towards heaven ; Will not the Prince's phrase, thus interpreted, be both a
proper and a witty reply to what Claudio has said of Beatrice ? Phrases not under-
stood are subject to these corruptions.' Thus far Theobald's followers. Heath
(p. 106) believes that Shakespeare prepares the reader to expect somewhat uncom-
mon and extraordinary, and that the humour consists in the disappointment of that
expectation, like lago's : ' She was a wight, (if ever such wights were) — ^To suckle fools
and chronicle small beer.' Johnson thought Theobald's emendation very spedous,
and that the meaning seemed to be that ' she who acted upon principles contrary to
others, should be buried with the same contrariety,' but he did not adopt it.
Steevens repeated Theobald's quotation from The Wild Goose Chase^ without credit
to Theobald, and added another from A Merye Jest of a Man that was called
HowleglaSj etc. 'How Howleglas was buried' which happened to be upright,
owing to the sni4>ping of the cords as the coffin was lowered into the grave — a
quotation so utterly foreign to the present passage that it would not have been even
alluded to here, were it not that it led Karl Simrock astray, who, in 1868, trans-
lated the present passage : < Die muss aufrecht begraben werden ;' and in a note says
that the meaning is ' she is a fool.' He refers to Eulenspiegel's burial, but gives no
credit to Steevens. Steevens added : ' The passage indeed may mean only — *< She
shall be buried in her lover's arms." So, in Wint. Tale, Perdita says to Florizel
* Not like a corse ;— or if, not to be buried. But quick and in my arms.' Steevens
thought but little of this explanation and said that on the whole he preferred Theo-
bald's conjecture. It led M alone, however, to an interpretation (which, W. A.
Wright says, is so ' obvious ' that it is not easy to understand how it can have escaped
any one) : — * Don Pedro is evidently playing on the word dies in Claudio' s speech, and
alludes to that consummation which he supposes Beatrice was dying for.' [It is quite
possible, however, that it is not the most obvious that would occur to an auditor in
Shakespeare's day. It would be hardly safe to say that the phrase * to be buried with
the face downward' always betokened suicide; and yet we have evidence that the
phrase was at one time, and not far removed from Shakespeare's time, understood as
referring to the custom of thus burying a suicide. An Anonymous Tragi-comedy
entitled Th€ Female Rebellion, in MS in the Hunterian Museum of the University of
Glasgow, has been edited and printed privately by Alexander Smith, esq. ; where-
of the date is about 1681 or 1682. In II, ii, p. 23, one of the characters says:
' they politickly starve themselves to save charges, and deserve to be buried with
their Paces downward, for their Life is but a lingering self murther.' Attention is
called by Mr Smith to the bearing of these words, on the present passage. I sup-
pose the train of thought in the Prince's mind is, that a woman who loves Benedick
cannot possibly know him ; and when Claudio replies that the woman does know him,
and yet dies for him, the Prince reflects that though her death be thus apparently
self-inflicted she cannot be strictly termed a suicide; it is the love of Benedick
which really kills her, and she shall be therefore buried with her face upwards. If,
in addition to this familiar interpretation of the phrase, the audience can catch the
somewhat more remote meaning implied in Perdita' s exclamation, — so much the
better. There is no meaning in any phrase which we can see that Shakespeare could
not ; we have the liberty to interpret his words to the full. — Ed.]
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156 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. ii.
Hene. Yet is this no charme for the tooth-ake, old fig- 6$
nior, walke afide with mee, I haue fludied eight or nine
wife words to fpeake to you, which thefe hobby-horfes
muft not heare.
Prin. For my life to breake with him about Beatrice.
Clau. ^Tis euen fo, AT^r^ and Margaret haue by this 70
played their parts with Beatrice y^xiA then the two Beares
will not bite one another when they meete.
65. Yei\ YesY^, 68. [ExeuntBened. and Leon. Theob.
o^^,] ake, Rowe.
65. charme] Halliwell quotes from Aubrey's Miscellanies: *To cure the
tooth-ach : Out of Mr Ashmole's manuscript writ with his own hand : — << Mars, hur,
abursa, aburse : — ^Jesu Christ for Mary's sake, — ^Take away this Tooth- Ach." Write
the words three times ; and as you say the words, let the party bum one paper, then
another, and then the last. He says, he saw it experimented, and the party imme-
diately cured,' p. 141. [Halliwell quotes several others, but ex uno, etc. Bene-
dick, possibly, refers to the nonsensical terms of these charms by comparing with
them what the Prince and Claudio have just been saying, and covertly contrasts
their talk with the eight or nine wise words which he is about to speak to Leonata
—Ed.]
67. hobby-horses] Douce (ii, 465) gives an extract from Beaumont & Fletcher's
IVomeu Pleased, IV, i [p. 63, ed. Dyce], to show the disfavour into which the
hobby-horse had fallen under Puritan influence, and where Hope-on-high Bomby, a
cobbler turned Puritan, throws off his hobby-horse and will no more engage in the
Morris-dance. Douce then continues : The hobby-horse was represented by a man
equipped with as much pasteboard as was sufficient to form the head and hinder-parts
of a horse, the quadrupedal defects being concealed by a long mantle or footcloth
that nearly touched the ground. The perfoimer on this occasion exerted all his
skill in burlesque horsemanship. In Sampson's play of TAe Vow-breaker, 1636, a
miller personates the hobby-horse ; and being angry that the mayor of the city is put
in competition with him, exclaims, ' Let the mayor play the hobby-horse among his
brethren, and he will, I hope our towne-lads cannot want a hobby-horse. Have I
practised my reines, my careeres, my pranckers, my ambles, my false trots, my
smooth ambles and Canterbury paces, and shall master mayor put me besides the
hobby-horse ? Have I borrowed the forehorse bells, his plumes and braveries, nay,
had his mane new shome and frizl'd, and shall the mayor put me besides the hobby-
horse?' Whoever happens to recollect the manner in which Mr Bayes's troops in
The Rehearsal are exhibited on the stage, will have a tolerably correct notion of a
morris hobby-horse. — Dyce {Gloss.): Many readers will probably recollect the
spirited description of the Hobby-horse in Scott's Monastery, [For once, Dyce
did not 'verify his quotations.' It is not in The Monastery, that the description of
the hobby-horse is to be found, but in The Abbot, Chap, xiv ; where, also, Scott
quotes in a footnote the foregoing extract from Douce, which really renders super-
fluous the later definition of * hobby-horse,' by Nares, — the definition usually given.
—Ed.]
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ACT III. sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 157
Enter John the Bajlard. 73
Bajl. My Lord and brother, God faue you.
Prin. Good den brother. 75
Bajl. If your leifure feru'd, I would fpeake with you.
Prince. In priuate ?
Baft. If it pleafe you, yet Count Claudio may heare,
for what I would fpeake of,concemes him.
Prin. What's the matter? 80
Bafta. Meanes your Lordfhip to be married to mor-
row?
Prin. You know he does.
Baft. I know not that when he knowes what I know.
Clau. If there be any impediment, I pray you difco- 85
uer it.
Baft. You may thinke I loue you not, let that appeare
hereafter, and ayme better at me by that I now will ma-
nifeft, for my brother (I thinke, he holds you well, and in
dearenefle of heart) hath holpe to effeft your enfuing 90
marriage : furely fute ill fpent, and labour ill beftowed.
/>7«. Why, what's the matter?
Baftard. I came hither to tell you, and circumftances 93
73. Scene III. Pope, +. S9, 90. (/Mm>&if...-A^dtr/)] Noparen-
Enter...] Enter Don John. Rowe. thesis, Rowe et seq.
76. Uifure\ UfureY^, 89. well,'\ QFf, Rowe, + . Coll. Wh.
80. Prin.] Claudio. Cap. conj. Cam. well; Cap. et cet. (subs.)
81. [To Claudio. Rowe. 93. and circumstances] and^ ctrcum-
^. ayme] aim F^F^, Rowe. stances Cap. et seq. (subs.)
75. Good den] Narks (s. t. Den) : A mere corruption of good ^en, for good
evening. This salutation was used by our ancestors as soon as noon ¥ras past, after
which time, good morrow, or good day, was esteemed proper. Dyce ( Gloss.) gives
the following forms which occur in Shakespeare : God dig-you-den (God give you
good e'en) ; God g€ god-den; God ye (give ye) god-den.
80. Prin. What's the matter?] Capell's conjecture that these words are
spoken by Claudio is highly probable, not alone because of the surprise which
Claudio would naturally feel that the private matter should concern him, but also by the
personal address to him by the Bastard which immediately follows. Moreover, when
the Bastard's speech touches the Prince in line 89, the latter says in turn 'Why,
what's the matter?' and it is, perhaps, unlikely that he would thus repeat himself.
—Ed.
88. ayme better at me] That is, gauge my character more accurately.
89. (I • . • heart)] By discarding the parenthesis, Rowe properly makes < in dear-
ness of heart' a dependent clause after * hath holpe.'
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158 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. ii.
fliortned, (for fhe hath beene too long a talking of) the
Lady is difloyall. 95
Clau. Vf ho Hero}
Bq/l. Euen (hee, Leonatoes Hero^ your HerOj euery
mans Hero.
Clau. Difloyall?
Baft. The word is too good to paint out her wicked- 1 00
nefle, I could fay fhe were worfe, thinke you of a worfe
title, and I will fit her to it : wonder not till further war-
rant : goe but with mee to night, you fhal fee her cham-
ber window entred, euen the night before her wedding
day, if you loue her, then to morrow wed her : But it 105
would better fit your honour to* change your minde.
Claud. May this be fo ?
Princ. I will not thinke it.
Baft. If you dare not truft that you fee, confefle not
that you know : if you will follow mee, I will (hew you no
enough, and when you haue feene more, & heard more,
proceed accordingly.
Clau. If I fee any thing to night, why I fhould not 1 13
94. hcUh btene\ has bin Q, Coll. Wh. 100, loi. tvickednefe^^^.wor/e^l wick'
Cam. ednefs;„.worfe; F^ et seq.
96. Who Heror\ Who! Herof F,F,. ct seq.
Who? Herof F^, Rowe. Who^ Herof 103. to nighty y(m\ to night you Q.
Dyce. 105. her^ then"] her then, Han. Cap.
100. paint"] point Gould. et seq.
93. 94. circumstances shortened] W. A. Wright : That is, cutting short the
details. Schmidt (Lex,) puts this passage with others in which 'circumstance'
means ceremony. But the plural is not so used by Shakespeare.
94. a talking] For the grammatical form, see Abbott, § 140.
95. disloyall] W. A. Wright ; Unfaithful, especially in love. See II, ii, 45.
Othello says of Desdemona, 'Give me a living reason she's disloyal,' III, iii, 409.
96. Who Hero?] Dyce (ed. ii) : Mr W. N. Lettsom writes to me: 'Some
very necessary words seem to have been omitted here. Qu. 'Who, Hero? my
Hero f Leonatds Hero /* [Does not this verge on improving Shakespeare ? — Ed.]
97. 98. eueiy mans Hero.] Langbaine (p. 152) : Dryden has here nearly imi-
tated Shakespear, in his All for Love: 'Your Cleopatra; Dollabella's Cleopatra;
every man's Cleopatra.'
100. paint out] Deighton : 'Out' here, as in many words, intensifies the
meaning. [Cf. 'smother up,' IV, i, 117.]
105. loue her, then] Hanmer discerned the correct punctuation here.
107. May] That is, can^ as in II, iii, 21.
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ACT III. sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 159
marry her to morrow in the congregation, where I fhold
wedde, there will I fhame her. 115
Prin. And as I wooed for thee to obtaine her, I will
ioyne with thee to difgrace her.
Bajl. I will difparage her no farther, till you are my
witneffes, beare it coldly but till night, and let the iffue
fhew it felfe. 120
Prin. O day vntowardly turned /
Claud. O mifchiefe ftrangelie thwarting !
Bajiard. O plague right well preuented ! fo will you
fay, when you haue feene the fequele. Exit. 124
114. her tomorrow in\ QFf. her; iv^i/ Q, Cap. et seq.
/■^Mwrrwwr^ t» Cap. Var. Mai. ker tomor- 12^^ 12^ /o.^/equeU] One line, as
row; in Theob. Han. Warb. Johns. verse, Rowe, + , Cap. Var. Steev. Knt,
Steev. Sta. htr tomorrow^ in Rowe, Dycci Ktly.
Pope, Knt, Coll. et seq. 124. you] Om. F,.
119. nighq Ff, Rowe, + , Knt. mid- Exit] Om. Q. Exeunt Ff.
114. marry her to morrow in the] Between Rowe's punctuation and Theo-
bald's, there is little difficuhy in deciding in favour of Rowe. But between Rowe's
and CapelPs, a decision is not so easy. W. A. Wright pronounces in favour of
Rowe's 'because of the contrast between "to-night" and "to-morrow.*** But
might not Capdl reply that wherever * to-night* and * to-morrow' appear in the same
sentence, they are necessarily contrasted ? Moreover, by coupling * to-morrow * with
his marriage, Claudio is not mad^ to say when he would disgrace Hero, and we miss
the swiftness of his vengeance ; he might postpone his marriage for days and weeks
and yet still shame Hero in a congregation which had been invited to witness his
marriage. What Don John professed to be able to show was to be sufficient to keep
Claudio from marrying Hero not only to-morrow but for ever ; and the headlong
swiftness of Claudio* s vengeance is indicated by his vow to brooke no delay, but to
disgrace her to-morrow^ he will seize the very earliest minute. On the whole, Capell's
punctuation seems to me the better of the two. — Ed.
119. coldly] We still say, in cold blood.
121. turned] Walker ( Vers, 44) says that some editors have tum'd^ but that
* turned * seems better. The inference is, that Walker supposed this scene should
have a lyric ending, to which the exclamations of the Prince, of Claudio, and of the
Bastard lend some colour. But I doubt. Many and good editors have followed
Rowe in printing the last line as verse ; but I can find no edition wherein turned is
given. — Ed.
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l6o MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. ui.
\Scene III.]
Enter Dogbery and his compartner with the watch.
Dog. Are you good men and true ?
Verg. Yea, or elfe it were pitty but they ftiould fuffer
faluation body and foule.
Scene IV. Pope, + . Scene III. i. and his compartner] and Vexgea,
Cap. et seq. Rowe.
The Street. Theob.
I. GiFFORD (Jonson's Bartholomew Fair, Ind. p. 365) : The guardians of the
night, for what reason it is not easy to say, had been proverbial for their blundering
simplicity, before Shakespeare was bom ; and it is scarcely possible to look into an
old play without seeing how deeply this opinion was rooted in the minds of the
people. Till Glapthome's excellent comedy, no one supposed it possible that wit
could be found in the watch, or in the constable who headed them ; and they are
never introduced on the stage without the 'mistaking of words,' mentioned by
Jonson. It would be too much to require us to believe that Shakespeare was the
6rst who noticed this fertile source of amusement, especially as he seems rather to
content himself with improving and dignifying what was already on the stage than
to have laboured after the introduction of novelties. — Coleridge {^Notes, etc. p. 77):
As in Homer all the deities are in armour, even Venus, so in Shakespeare all the
characters are strong. Hence real folly and dulness are made by him the vehicles of
wisdom. There is no difficulty for one being a fool to imitate a fool ; but to be,
remain, and speak like a wise man and a great wit, and yet so as to give a vivid
representation of a veritable fool, — Au labor, hoc opus est, A drunken constable is
not uncommon, nor hard to draw ; but see and examine what goes to make up a
Dewberry. — Collier {^Shakespeare Soc. Papers, 1S44, i, i) : There is an original
letter, discovered by Mr Lemon in the State Paper Office, entirely in the handwriting
of Lord Buxghley, dated from Theobald's on the loth of August, 1586, only two
months and a day before the meeting of the Commissioners at Fotheringay for the
trial of Mary Queen of Scots. The letter, which is addressed to Secretary Walsing-
ham, relates to some circumstances preparatory to that event, when a watch was set,
and the ' ways laid,' according to the ordinary expression of that day, for the capture
of conspirators. It gives us a curious account of the proceedings of the Dogberrys of
that day for the arrest of suspected persons, and shows how much to the life our great
dramatist drew the characters he introduced. Lord Burghley observed at Enfield
such inefficient and Dogberry-like arrangements for the seizure of the parties impli-
cated, that, on his arrival at home, he dispatched the letter in question to Sir Francis
Walsingham. The extreme speed with which he was anxious that his communica-
tion to the Secretary should be conveyed may be judged from the superscription, in
the following singular form :
* To the R. Honorable my verie loving frend Sir Francis Walsingham, Knight,
Hir Ma" Principall Secretary, at London. hast
hast
hast ^ P°^^-
W. Burghley.* hast
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ACT III, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING i6l
Dogb. Nay, that were a punifhment too good for $
them, if they (hould haue any allegiance in them, being
chofen for the Princes watch.
Verges. Weil, giue them their charge, neighbour
Dogbery. 9
8. charge] ckarg F^.
In order to render its contents perfectly intelligible, we must premise, that by the
lOth of August, 1586, the ministers of Elizabeth were in full possession of the details
of a plot by Antony Babington, in concert with the Queen of Scots, to murder the
Queen of England ; and they had' just arrived at that point, when the arrest or escape
of any of the conspirators would have been of the utmost importance. Ballard, one
of the principal conspirators, had been taken up on the 4th of August, which in-
stantly alarmed the rest, who therefore fled in all directions. These were the parties
who, according to Lord Burghley were * missing,' and to arrest whom the Dogberrys
of Enfield were upon the watch, all the means of identification they apparently
possessed being that one of the accused individuals had ' a hooked nose.' It is
worthy of note also that Babington and some of his co-conspirators were arrested on
the very day that Lord Burghley' s letter bears date ; and hence we may infer, per-
haps, that the description, however defective, was sufficient
' Sir — ^As I cam from London homward, in my coche, I sawe at every townes end
the nombre of z. or xij. standyng, with long staves, and untill I cam to Enfield I
thought no other of them, but that they had stayd for avoyding of the rayne, or to
drynk at some alehouses, for so they did stand under pentyces [penthouses] at ale-
houses. But at Enfeld fynding a dosen in a plump, whan ther was no rayne, I
bethought myself that they war apoynted as watchmen, for the apprehendyng of such
as ar missyng ; and thereuppon I called some of them to me apart, and asked them
wherfor they stood ther ? and on of them answered, — ^To tak 3 yong men. And
demandyng how they shuld know the persons, on answered with these words :^-
Mary, my Lord, by intelligence of ther favdr. What meane you by that ? quoth I.
Many, sayd they, on of the partyes hath a hooked nose. — ^And have you, quoth I, no
other mark ? — No, sayth they. And then I asked who apojmted them ; and they
answered on Bankes, a Head Constable, whom I willed to be sent to me. — Suerly,
sir, who so ever had the chardg from yow hath used the matter negligently, for these
watchmen stand so oppenly in plumps, as no suspected person will come neare them ;
and if they be no better instructed but to fynd 3 persons by on of them havyng a
hooked nose, they may miss therof. And thus I thought good to advertise ]row, that
the Justyces that had the chardg, as I thynk, may use the matter mor^ circumspectly.'
Haluwell gives in full the scene of the Constable and Watch, at the end of the
Fourth Act of May's The Heir (p. 569, ed. Haxlitt-Dodsley), acted in 1620, and
evidently written in imitation of the present scene.
8. charge] Malone : To ' chaxge ' his fellows seems to have been a regular part
of the duty of the Constable of the watch. So, in A New Trick to Cheat the Devil,
1639: <My watch is set — charge given — and all at peace.' Again, in Marston's
Insatiate Countess, 1613 : * Come on, my hearts ; we are the cities securitie — He give
you your charge, and then, like courtiers, every inan spye out ' — [III, p. 145, ed.
Halliwell.] Lord Campbell (p. 53) must have overlooked this note of Malone
11
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l62 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. iii.
Dog. Firft, who thinke you the moft defartleffe man lo
to be Conftable ?
Watch. I. Hugh Ote-cake fir, or George Sea-coale^ for
they can write and reade.
Dogb. Come hither neighbour Sea-coale , God hath
bleft you with a good name : to be a wel-fauoured man, 15
is the gift of Fortune, but to write and reade, comes by
Nature.
Watch 2. Both which Mafter Conftable
Dogb. You haue : I knew it would be your anfwere :
well, for your fauour fir, why giue God thankes, & make 20
no boaft of it, and for your writing and reading, let that
appeare when there is no need of fuch vanity, you are
thought heere to be the moft fenfleffe and fit man for the
Conftable of the watch : therefore beare you the lan-
thome : this is your charge : You ftiall comprehend all 25
10. de/artUJfe\ dis/artU/s F^, Rowe, Johns.
Pope, Han. 18. ConftabU] Conftable, Q. Comta-
12. Ote-cake...Sea-coale] Otecake... bU — Rowe et seq.
Se&cole F^, Rowe. 22. noneed'\ more need'VftcAi. (with-
Sea-coale] Sea-cole Ashbee and drawn, — N. &* Qu. VIII, iii, 142.)
Pr^etorius (Facsimile). Sea cole Sta. 24. lanthortu] QF,. lanthom F,F^.
(Facsimile). lantern Steev. et seq.
15. io bel and to be Theob. Warb.
when he said : *■ There never has been a law or a custom in England to * give a
chaige' to constables.'
12. George Sea-coale] Halliwell changed * George' to Francis^ because in
III, V, 54, Dogberry so calls him, and ' mentions his pen and inkhom.' * But,' says
W. A. Wright, < Francis Seacole there mentioned is not necessarily the same person.
If it is a slip of Shakespeare's it is one easily made. In the Merry Wives^ Page is
called Thomas in I, i, 46, and George in II, i, 153.'
16. gift of Fortune] Halliwell : This may be partly an adaptation of an old
proverb, an instance of which occurs in Lyly's Eupkues and his England: — *My
good Sonne, thou art to receive by my death wealth, and by my counsel wisdom, and
I would thou wert as willing to imprint the one in thy hart, as thou wilt be ready
to beare the other in thy purse ; to bee rich is the gift of Fortune, to bee wise the
grace of God.' [p. 228, ed. Arber.]
22. No need] Warburton : Dogberry is only absurd, not absolutely out of his
senses. We should read, therefore, * more need.' [Change places, and, handy-dandy,
which is Dogberry, which is Warburton. In fairness, however, see Text. Notes. — Ed. ]
24, 25. Xanthome] Miss Grace Latham {Sh, Jahrbuch^ xxxii, 140) : The
constable's efficiency must have often depended on his activity and secresy, and he
could scarcely have been provided with a less practical costume ; a long clinging
black gown, which must have wofully impeded his movements in a fray ; in one
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ACT III. sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 163
vagrom men, you are to bid any man (land in the Prin- 26
ces name.
Watch 2. How if a will not ftand ?
Dogb, Why then take no note of him, but let him go,
and prefently call the reft of the Watch together, and 30
thanke God you are ridde of a knaue.
Verges. If he will not ftand when he is bidden, hee is
none of the Princes fubiefls.
Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but
the Princes fubiedb : you ftiall alfo make no noife in the 35
flreetes : for, for the Watch to babble and talke, is moft
toUerable, and not to be indured.
Watch. We will rather fleepe than talke, wee know
what belongs to a Watch.
Dog. Why you fpeake like an ancient and moft quiet 40
28. a will'] he will Rowe, + , Cap. 3S-44. Mnemonic lines, Warb.
Var. Mai. Steev. Var. 38, 45, 49, 54, 65, 86. Watch.] QFf,
36. /ii/i^]/<>/'a/ieQ,Cap. Mai. Steev. Cam. Rife. Watch 2. Rowe et ceL
Cam. (subs. )
hand he held a bell, as though to give evil-doers notice of his approach, and in the
other a lanthorn, the flickering light of which was absolutely necessary to guide his steps
through the Hi-kept streets, while on his shoulder he bore a cumbersome brown bill,
which could, however, inflict very severe wounds. Dogberry reminds Oatcake and
Seacole not to let their bills be stolen, showing that they were often laid aside, while
their owners rested, and lost
30. presently] It is not to be forgotten, whether used by D<^;berry or by any one
else, that this means immediately,
36. most tolerable and not to be endured] In Heywood's Fair Maid of the
Exchange^ i^T, III, iii, the Clown, Fiddle, uses this phrase. ' This echo,' says
Barron Field, the editor of the play for the Shakespeare Society, * proves the long
popularity of Much Ado about Nothing, ** I am horribly in love with her," Bowd-
ler's speech just before, is the same as Benedick's.' — ^Ed.
40. watchman] Halliwell : < This watch is to be kept yearly from the feast
of the Ascention until Michaelmas, in every towne, and shall continue all the night,
se. from the sunne setting to the sunne rising. All such strangers, or persons sus-
pected, as shall in the night time passe by the watchmen (appointed thereto by the
towne constable, or other officer), may be examined by the said watchmen, whence
they come, and what they be, and of their businesse, etc. And if they find cause
of suspition, they shall stay them ; and if such persons will not obey the arrest of the
watchmen, the said watchmen shall levie hue and crie, that the offendors may be
taken : or else they may justifie to beate them (for that they resist the peace and
Justice of the Realme), and may also set them in the stockes (for the same) untill
the morning ; and then, if no suspition be found, the said persons shall be let go
and quit : But if they find cause of suspition, they shall forthwith deliver the said
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l64 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. iii.
watchman, for I cannot fee how fleeping fhould offend : 41
only haue a care that your bills be not ftolne : well, you
are to call at all the Alehoufes, and bid them that are
drunke get them to bed.
Watch. How if they will not ? 45
Dogb. Why then let them alone till they are fober, if
they make you not then the better anfwere, you may fay,
they are not the men you tooke them for.
Wauh. Well fir.
Dogb. If you meet a theefe, you may fufpeft him, by 50
vertue of your office, to be no true man : and for fuch
kinde of men, the leffe you meddle or make with them,
why the more is for your honefty. 53
43. bid them] bidtho/e(i. Cap. Stecv. 52. office] oJUce F,.
Var. Coll. Dyce, Wh. Sta. Cam. Huds.
persons to the sherife, who shall keepe them in prison untill they bee duely deliv-
ered ; or else the watchmen may deliver such person to the constable, and so to
convey them to the Justice of peace, by him to be examined, and to be bound over,
or committed, untill the offendours be acquitted in due manner.' — Dalton's Countrey
Justice, 1620.
41. Bleeping] Halliwell (Memaranday etc. p. 52) : Compare the following
curious passage in Parkes's Curtaine- Drawer of the World, 161 2 : 'not many nights
since, when we had walked all our stations, from the first bounds of our Wardes to
the last step it contained, and had not met any incounter worthy the examination,
or the Counter, from whence wee might extract or derive our customary fees, till at
the last we accosted one, that by his attire and behaviour seemed to be some great
personage whom we thought it not our parts to call in question, but very dutifully
making our obaysance unto him, gave him the time of the night, for the which he
not only gave us thankes, but also b^an to commend our diligence and care and
good attendance, when before his face sate halfe of our company asleep, leaning
their heads against their bils, and their billes against the wall.'[ — ^p. 52, Grosait's
Reprint. Dyce in his Recollections of the Table- Talk of Samuel Rogers (p. 53)
relates the following : ' A friend of mine,' said Erskine, ' was suffering from a con-
tinual wakefulness ; and various methods were tried to send him to sleep, but in
vain. At last his physicians resorted to an experiment which succeeded perfectly :
they dressed him in a watchman's coat, put a lantern in his hand, placed him in a
sentry-box, and — he was asleep in ten minutes.' — Ed.]
42. bills] Johnson : A 'bill' is still carried [1765] by the watchmen in Lich-
field. It was the old weapon of English infantry, which, says Temple, * gave the
most ghastly and deplorable wounds.' It may be called securis falcata,
50-59. Lord Campbell (p. 55) : If the different parts of Dogberry's charge are
strictly examined, it will be found that the author of it had a very respectable
acquaintance with crown law. The problem was to save the constables from all
trouble, danger, and responsibility, without any regard to the public safety. Now
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ACT III, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 165
Watch. If wee know him to be a thiefe^fhall wee not
lay hands on him. 55
Dogb. Truly by your office you may, but I think they
that touch pitch will be defil'd : the moft peaceable way
for you, if you doe take a theefe, is, to let him (hew him-
felfe what he is, and fleale out of your company.
Ver. You haue bin alwaies cal'd a merciful m3 partner. 60
Dog. Truely I would not hang a dog by my will, much
more a man who hath anie honeflie in him.
Verges. If you heare a child crie in the night you muft
call to the nurfe, and bid her ftili it.
Watch. How if the nurse be afleepe and will not 65
heare vs?
59. ycur^ his F-F^, Rowe i. t\, hy my\ for my Rowe.
6a bin\ beene QF^.
there can be no doubt that Lord Coke himself could not have defined more accu-
rately, than in these lines, the power of a peace-officer.
52. meddle or make] W. A. Wright : A conmion alliterative expression, of
the kind which has a great charm for those who cannot invent phrases for them-
selves.
53. the more is] For the ellipsis of t/, see II, ii, 18.
57. defil'd] < He that toucheth pitch shall be defiled therewith.'— ^<:r/^jMJA'acf,
ziii, I.
63, 64. If . . . still it] Capell (p. 128) : The interference of Verges in ,his
learned brother's department, peiplexed the editor something ; but looking forward
a little, he saw the cause of it : This fine * charge ' was a standing piece of wit of
good Dogberry's, known to Verges as having often been treated with it : he retails
an article in a fear his partner should miss it, and himself and company lose the rich
conceit it is follow' d by.
63. a child crie] Steevens : It is not impossible but that a part of this scene
was intended as a burlesque on The Statutes of the Streets^ imprinted by Wolfe, in
1595. Among these I find the following : ' 22. No man shall blowe any home in
the night, within this dtie, or whistle after the houre of nyne of the dock in the
night, under paine of imprisonment. — 23. No man shall use to go with visoures, or
disguised by night, under like paine of imprisonment. — ^24. Made that night-walkers,
and evisdroppers, have like punishment. — 25. No hammer-man, as a smith, a pew-
terer, a founder, and all artificers making great sound, shall not worke after the
houre of njme at night, etc. — 30. No man shall, after the houre of nyne at night,
keepe any rule, whereby any such suddaine outcry be made in the still of the night,
as making any affray, or beating his wyfe, or servant, or singing, or revyling in his
house, to the disturbaunce of his neighbours, under payne of iii s. iiii d.' etc. etc.
65. How if, etc.] Jacx)X (ii, 7) : There are people who delight in mooting points
after this sort, whether or not there be a Dogberry at hand to determine them. [Here-
upon, from this as a text, there follow in this entertaining volume illustration after
illustration, drawn from literature, old and new. — ^£d.]
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70
l66 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. iu.
Dog. Why then depart in peace, and let the childe 67
wake her with crying, for the ewe that will not heare
her Lambe when it baes,will neuer anfwere a calfe when
he bleates.
Verges. 'Tis verie true.
Dog. This is the end of the charge : you conftable
are to prefent the Princes owne perfon, if you meete the
Prince in the night, you may ftaie him.
Verges, Nay birladie that I thinke a cannot. 75
Dog. Fiue (hillings to one on't with anie man that
knowes the Statues, he may ftaie him, marrie not with-
out the prince be willing, for indeed the watch ought to
offend no man, and it is an offence to ftay a man againft
his will. 80
Verges. Birladie I thinke it be fo.
Dog. Ha, ah ha, well mafters good night, and there be
anie matter of weight chances, call vp me, keepe your 83
70. he bUates] it bleats FjF^, Rowe i, Coll.
Var. '21. 81. Birladii\ B^r-lady Cap.
72. y(m conflabU] you, constable, 82. Ha, ah ha,"] F,Fj, Wh. ii. Ha
Pope. ah ha, Q. Ha, ah, ha, F^, Cam. Ha,
75. a cannof] QF^Fj, Knt, Coll. ah-ha ! Dyce, Huds. Ha, ha, ha!
Byct, Wh. Sta. Cam. / cannot F^, Rowe et cet.
Rowe i. he cannot Rowe ii. et cet. 82, 86, 105. majlersl maifters F,.
77. Statues'\flatutesQ¥i, Rowe, Cap. 82. and there"] an there Pope et seq.
70. he bleates] Boswell (Var, 1821) unwisely followed the Third Folio in
changing *h^* to it. It is dangerous to meddle with any word of Dogberry. The
sequence of * U baes * and * he bleates ' is in character. — Ed.
74. you may stale him] Miss Grace Latham (Sh, Jahrbuch, zxxii, 143) :
The authorities in that age of conspiracy were very jealous of all unexplained
travelling, mysterious conferring, and moving about after dark.
77. Statues] Unquestionably, Dogberry's own word, let the reading of the Qto,
or of innumerable Quartos, be what it may. — Ed.
77, 78. without] For this use, where we should now use unless, see Abbott,
§120.
82. Ha, ah ha,] I doubt that this is meant to express laughter. An element of
humour in Dogberry's character strikes me as discordant ; the heavy cares of office
are too serious to permit, from his lips, any cackling laughter. It is the aha / of
triumph over Verges, with the intonation of / told you so. — Ed.
83. call vp me] W. A. Wright : For this transposition of the pronoun for the
sake of emphasis, see Jul. Cas, I, iii, 134: * Cass, Cinna, where haste you so?
Cinna, To find out you.'
83, 84. keepe . . . your owne] Malone : This is part of the oath of a grand-
juryman ; and is one of many proofs of Shakespeare's having been very conversant.
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ACT III, sc. ui.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 167
fellowes counsaileSy and your owne, and good night,
come neighbour. 85
Watch. Well mafters, we heare our charge, let vs go
fit here vpon the Church bench till two, and then all to
bed.
Dog. One word more, honeft neighbors. I pray you
watch about fignior Leonatoes doore,for the wedding be- 90
ing there to morrow, there is a great coyle to night,
adiew,be vigitant I befeech you. Exeunt.
Enter Boracldo and Qonrade.
Bar. What, Conrade7
Watch. Peace, ftir not. 95
Bar. Canrade I fay.
Con. Here man, I am at thy elbow.
Bar. Mas and my elbow itcht,I thought there w<7uld
a fcabbe follow.
Con. I will owe thee an anfwere for that, and now 100
forward with thy tale.
Bar. Stand thee clofe then vnder this penthoufe,for it 102
84. fillawes] fellows F^^. fellovfs 92. Exeunt] Eeunt F,. Exeunt
Pope, + . fellow]^ Han. ct cet Dogb. and Verg. Pope.
cotm/ailes] QF,. coun/el F^, 93. Scene V. Pope, + .
Rowe, Pope, Han. counfells Theob. Borachio] borachio F,.
et ceL 95, 105. Watch] 2. W. Cap.
91. coyWl coiU F,. coU F,F^ et seq. [Aside. Rowe.
92. vigitani\ vigilant Ff, Rowe, -c , 98. Mas\ Mafs F^F^.
Var. Ran. Knt loi. with'\ Om. Rowe i.
at some period of his life, with legal proceedings and courts of justice. — ^W. A.
Wright : The exact words of the oath at present are : * The Queen's counsel your
Fellows and your own you shall observe and keep secret.'
91. coyle] Dyce (Gloss,) : Bustle, stir, tumult, turmoil.
98. Mas] That is, by the mass.
98. elbow itcht] Halliwell: It is just possible that there may be here an
allusion to some provincial proveibial saying that something will follow if the elbow
itches. * From the itching of the nose and elbow, and severall affectings of severall
parts, they make severall predictions too silly to be mentioned, though regarded by
them.' — Demonologie, 1650, ap. Brand. [In Macbeth it is the thumb of one of the
Witches which itches. — Ed.]
99. scabbe] A term of gross contempt, still in current use in this country, applied
to those who refuse to join their fellow- workmen in a strike. Of course, it is used
with a double meaning, in the present passage. — Ed.
102. Stand thee] See < run thee,' III, i, 3.
102. penthouse] Halliwell : This is an open shed or projection over a door
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l68 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act m. sc. iU.
driflfels raine^ and I will^like a true drunkard^ vtter all to 103
thee.
Watch. Some treafon mafters,yet (land clofe. 105
Bar. Therefore know, I haue earned of Dan John a
thoufand Ducates.
Con.Is it poiTible that anie vilianie fhould be fo deare?
Bar. Thou (hould'ft rather aske if it were poffible a-
nie vilianie fhould be fo rich/for when rich villains haue 1 10
neede of poore ones, poore ones may make what price
they will.
Con. I wonder at it.
Bor. That (hewes thou art vnconfirm'd,thou knoweft
that the fafhion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloake, is no- .115
thing to a man.
Con. Yes, it is apparell.
Bor. I meane the fafliion. 118
103. drifgls] drUUs F^F^. 106. Don] Dtm Q.
raitU] QF,. rain F^F^, no. villanu] villam Waib. Walker
105. [Aside. Johns. (Crit, ii, 46), Dyce, ii, iii, Huds.
or shop, forming a protection against the weather. The house in which Shakespeare
was bom had a penthouse along a portion of it [Ity pronunciation may be gathered
from Lord Burghley*s letter quoted above at the first line of this Scene ; and also
from Hollyband's Dictionaries I593» where we find : < Auvent^ an arbour, a shadow-
ing place : m. Se pourmener soubs Us Auvens, to walke vnder pentices.' — Ed.]
103. true drunkard] Steevens supposes that Mt was on this account that
Shakespeare called' this character, Borachio, from the Spanish word for drunkard;
and Steevens evidently inferred that Borachio really was a drunkard. He may have
been ; but this passage does not prove it That there is an allusion to the meaning
of his own name, is possible, but it is certain, I think, that the chief allusion is to
the fact, expressed in the familiar in vino Veritas, that a ' true drunkard will utter
all.'— Ed.
105. yet stand close] There is humour in this <yet.' — ^Ed.
no. vilianie] Warburton: The sense absolutely requires us to read, viliain.
Steevens : The old reading may stand. [Warburton's dogmatic assertion prevailed
with both Walker and Dyce, who failed to note that Borachio is merely repeating
Conrade's identical words, except the last one 'dear,' which he changes to 'rich.'
Theobald (Nichols, Illust, ii, 302) proposed to read * any villainy should be so
cheap,* But this was in Theobald's salad-days; he did not repeat it in his
edition. — ^Ed.]
114. vnconfirxn'd] Capell (p. 129) : That is, a noviciate in roguery, one not
confirmed in it R. G. White: Though 'unconfirmed' may mean 'not fixed in
the ways of the world,' it seems to me more than probable that Shakespeare wrote
unconformed — ^to the world, of course.
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ACT III, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 169
Con. Yes the fafhion is the £dhion.
Bor. Tufti, I may as well fay the foole's the foole^but 120
feed thou not what a deformed theefe this fafhion is ?
Watch. I know that deformed, a has bin a vile theefe,
this vii. yeares,a goes vp and downe like a gentle man :
I remember his name.
Bar. Did'ft thou not heare fome bodie ? 125
Con. No/twas the vaine on the houfe.
132, 133. a kas...a goes] QFf, Knt, Johns, these seven year Var. '78, '85,
Coll. Dyoe, Wh. Sta. Gun. he has,„he Ran. /Ais vii. yeere Q. iAis seven year
gees Rowe et cet Cap. et ceL
123. this vii, yeares"] this seven yeares 1^3 gentle manlQ. gentle-man Y^,
FjF^, Rowe, Pope, Theob. i, Han. Wh. gentleman F F^.
iL these seven years Theob. ii, Waib. 126. vaine] vane QFf.
122. Watch] Inasmuch as, in line 162, it is the First Watchman who refers to
' one deformed/ Capell inferred that is the same who now speaks, and according
printed ' i Watch' ; and also marked it as an 'aside.*
122. that deformed] Flray (Introd, to Sh.*n Study, p. 23) : The Deformed
mentioned here, and in V, i, 318, is of course an allusion to Shakespeare himself.
[This remark I am at a loss to understand, otherwise than on the supposition that
it is based on the monstrous idea, drawn from a perverted interpretation of the
Thirty-seventh Sonnet, that Shakespeare was lame. No explanation is given us of
the ' lock * which Shakespeare ' of course ' wears, nor of the remarkable * key in his
ear.' But Fleay goes on to tell us that 'a vile thief these seven year' 'indicates
the time that [Shakespeare] had been stealing, instead of inventing his plots.' At
least, it is a comfort to know ' he goes up and down like a gentleman.' — Ed.]
123. this vii. yeares] A number used merely to designate an indefinite term, —
fiuniliar enough to the readers of Scottish ballads.
123. a goes vp and downe] Deighton : Instead of being locked up, as he
ought to be, in jail.
126. vaine] Walker (Crit, iii, 31) : Read raine. See above, 'it drizzles rain.'
I know not whether the spelling vaine for tuine was uncommon ; if it was, this would
be another argument in addition to internal evidence. Minshieu (ed. 2, 1627, the
edition I have consulted) has both vaine and vane, each in its place according to
the order of the letters ; and in the only other two passages of Shakespeare beside
the present, in which the indices mention it as occurring, it is spelt in the Folio
vane [III, i, 71, above] and veine (Lov^s Lab. L. IV, i, 97; 'What veine?'
This part of Lovis Lab, Z. is most corruptly printed in the Folio. ) I do not
remember noticing the spelling vaine in other old books. — Dyce (ed. ii) : But
Walker was not aware of the very strong objection to his ingenious reading which
is furnished by the Qto [see Text. Notes, line 103, and the present line.] Now
properly speaking, there is only one old text of this play, — ^that of the Qto ; from
which, beyond all doubt, that of the Folio was printed (with a few omissions, and
a few slight changes, mostly for the worse). [But neither Walker nor Dyce was
aware that Halliwell mentions a copy of the First Folio 'which reads raine, a
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I/O MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act in. sc. iiL
Bor, Seeft thou not (I fay) what a deformed thiefe 127
this fafhion is^how giddily a tumes about all the Hot-
blouds,betweene foureteene & fiue & thirtie, fometimes
fafliioning them Uke Pharaoes fouldiours in the rechie 130
painting, fometime like god Bels priefts in the old
Church window, fometime like the fhauen Hercules in 132
128. !>,]»/ Theob. et seq. reachy Theob. Warb. reeky Cam. i.
giddily^ giddy Rowe i. reechy Han. et cet
a tumes\ QFf, Coll. Dyce, Wh. 131. fomeHme'\ sometimes F^F^,
Cam. he turns Rowe et cet. Rowe, + .
128. 129. Hat-blouds'\ hot bloods Cap. like\ lik F,.
et seq. god'\ the God Pope, + .
129. fometimes'] QFf, Rowe, + , Cap. god Eels'] god- BelV 5 F^F^, Rowe.
Dyce i, Sta. Cam. sometime Var. '78 132. fometime] fomtimt F,. some-
et cet times Rowe, + .
130. rechie] QFf. rechy Rowe, Pope.
curious variation,' Halliwell continues, 'just worth noticing.* It would be not
uninteresting to trace this copy. It is not mine. — Ed.]
129. foureteene] It must be acknowledged that this seems an early age at which
to figure as a ' Hot-blood,* be it as a soldier of Pharaoh, a priest of Bel, or a shaven
Hercules. But, then, we must remember the old shepherd in The Winter's Tale
(III, iii, 66) started the career four years earlier, which is so extremely precocious in
reference to the pranks he specifies that some of the commentators were forced to
interfere, and twist his ten years into thirteen, sixteen, and nineteen years respect-
ively. No one, however, has thought it worth while for propriety's sake to inter-
fere here — ^Ed.
129. some times] Dyce (ed. ii.) : The old eds. have 'sometimes;* but see
what follows.
130. rechie] Pope*s notes are rare ; there are but seven which can be fairly so
considered in this play ; one of them is on the present word, which he defines as
' valuable,* on what ground no one has been able to discover. Hanmer ( Gloss. )
rightly defined it as * smoaky or soiled with smoak.*
131. god] Staunton reads good; evidently a misprint, else there would have
been a note on it. — Ed.
131. Bels priests] Steevens: Alluding to some awkward representation of
the story of Bel and the Dragon, in the Apocrypha.
132. shauen Hercules] Warburton : This means Sampson, the usual subject
of old tapestry. . . . What authorised the poet to give this name to Sampson was the
folly of certain Christian mythologists, who pretend that the Grecian Hercules was
the Jewish Sampson. — Edwards (p. 161) : However barbarous the workmen of the
common Tapestry may have been, I fancy, they were hardly so bad * Christian myth-
ologists,* as to draw Sampson (not with the jaw-bone of an ass, but) with a massy
club. — Heath (p. 107) : This same 'shaven Hercules* is most certainly no other
than the Grecian Hercules himself, when he was shaven, and dressed like a woman,
and set to work at the distaff by his Lydian mistress, Omphale. — Halliwell : The
story of Hercules was represented [as well as that of Sampson], for in an inventory
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ACT m. sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 171
the fmircht worm eaten tapeilrie^ where his cod-peece 133
feemes as maflie as his club.
Con, All this I fee^and fee that the fafliion weares out 135
more apparrell then the man;but art not thou thy felfe
giddie with the fafliion too that thou haft fliifted out of
thy tale into telling me of the fafliion ?
Bar. Not fo neither, but know that I haue to night
wooed Margaret the Lady Heroes gentle-woman, by the 140
133. fmircktl smirch Warb. smirtcht 135. andfee\ and I see Q^, Coll. Dyce,
Cap. Wh. Sta. Cam.
worm ea/en] warm-ea/en QFf 137. too"] Om. Rowe, Pope, Han.
(luorm-eatan F^). 140. ^en//e-woman} gentlewoman F^
134. clud.] e/uSPHuL
of the ' hangings ' at Kenil worth Castle, 1588, the original MS of which is preserved
at Penshurst, there is mentioned : * six peeces of the historic of Hercules, being all
in depth ▼. Flemishe ells 3. quarters,' etc. It is worthy of remark that Sir Philip
Sydney speaks of a representation of Hercules, when spinning for Omphale, in
which the 'great beard' is retained : ' So in Hercules painted with his great beard
and furious countenance in a womans attire, spinning at Omphales commandement, it
breedes both delight and laughter '[ — Defence of Poesie, p. 515, ed. 1598.] — Brae
(p. 146) : The real allusion is evidendy to the Hercules Callus, about which there
is a long description in one of Lucian's minor treatises. This, the French Hercules,
was an emblem of eloquence, and was represented as a bald old man with a huge
club ! And although Lucian does not exactly say that he saw it in old tapestry, yet
he does describe it from having seen it in a picture, [A bald old man is not a
' shaven ' one. Had the tapestry picture been really intended for the Gallic Her-
cules, it is far, very far from likely that Borachio, or any one else, would have recog-
nized it. Lucian thus describes him : ' The Gauls call Hercules, in their own tongue,
Ogmius ; his appearance they describe as monstrous, — in their eyes, he is an extremely
old man, with a bald forehead, and his remaining hair white, his skin wrinkled, and
tanned to the very blackest hue (StoKeKavfiivoc eg rd /leXdvrorov), like men who have
grown old in a seafaring life. You would suppose that he was Charon, or lapetus
from lower Tartarus, or anything rather than Hercules ; but, while he is thus repre-
sented, they give him the equipment of Hercules, the lion's skin, and the club in
his right hand,' etc. — Opera, iii, 129, ed. Jacobitz, 1 88 1. It is to be feared that
Brae had not before him the original Greek. — Ed.]
135. and see] I prefer the Folio here, to the Qto.
137. shifted out of] Deighton: In this phrase, the play upon words is still
kept up, as though he had shifted out of a garment.
139-142. Franz Horn (i, 270) : It is well that the action of this plot is not car-
ried on upon the stage, but is only narrated by Borachio to his companion. If the
deception were carried on before our eyes, we should be far less ready to forgive Don
Pedro and his favourite for allowing themselves to be so beguiled ; as it is, our fancy
comes into play as we listen, and we are ready to believe it possible that they should
be deceived.
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172 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. iiL
name ol HerOy (he leanes me out at her miftris chamber- 141
window, bids me a thoufand times good night: I tell
this tale vildly. I (hould first tell thee how the Prince
Clatidio and my Mafter planted, and placed, and poflefTed
by my Mafter Don lohn^ faw a far off in the Orchard this 145
amiable incounter.
Con. And thought thy Margaret was Hero t
Bor, Two of them did, the Prince and Claudiojhut the
diuell my Mafter knew (he was Margaret and partly by
his oathes, which first poffeft them, partly by the darke 150
night which did deceiue them, but chiefely,by my villa-
nie, which did confirme any flander that Don John had
made, away went Claudio enraged, fwore hee would
meete her as he was apointed next morning at the Tem- 154
141. miftri5'\ Mistres^s Rowe, + , Johns, a farre Q. far Pope, Han.
Var. Ran. mistres^ Cap. Mai. et seq. afar F^, Rowe et cet
143. vildiy.1 vildly Q. vildly-^ 147. thyl F(, Rowe» Pope, Han.
Rowe,+. viltly-^Htin. Johns, vilely: Knt Wb. i. /i^ Q» Theob. et cet
Cap. 149. diuell] devil F,F^.
144. 145, etc Mqfler'] Maifter F^ 154. apointed] appointed F,F^.
145. a far] FJF^, Theob. Warb.
141. leanes me] The familiar ethical dative, for which, if necessary, see Abbott,
§220.
142. a thousand times good night] This is not exactly in accordance with Don
John's promise, which was that Don Pedro and Claudio should see Hero's 'chamber-
window entered.' Here, the interview is represented as over. Nor does Claudio at
any time say that he saw more than Hero talking with a man out at her chamber-
window ; it was this sight which prepared his mind to accept as true Borachio's sub-
sequent fidse statements, whereof we are happily spared the hearing, but we should
be willing to concede their influence in mitigating our condemnation of Claudio' s
conduct — ^Ed.
144. possessed] That is, informed, instructed, Antonio, referring to Shylock,
asks Bassanio : ' Is he yet possessed How much we would.' It is quite possible
that there may be also here the sense of demoniac possession, inasmuch as Borechio
refers in his next sentence to ' the devil, my master.' — ^Ed.
146. incounter.] Marshall : Borachio is a long time telling his story, and it is
evident that Conrade is naturally impatient ; so that it is very likely that, if Borachio
paused at this point, he would interpose a suggestion rather than a question, espe-
cially as the point of the story must have been clear to him. On this account I
should prefer to put a break at the end of Borachio' s speech, and to adopt ' thy' of
F, without the note of intern^tion.
147. thought thy Margaret] The majority of the editors have here preferred the
Qto : < thought they, Margaret.' A choice between the two readings is not easy ; the
preponderating weight, however, in favour of ' thy ' is, with me, the possibility of a
contemptuous tone ; ' And thought thy Margaret, forsooth, was Hero !' — ^Ed.
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ACT III, sc. iii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 173
pie, and there, before the whole congregation fliame her 155
with what he faw o're night, and send her home againe
without a husbaud.
Watch.i. We charge you in the Princes name ftand.
Watch.2. Call vp the right mafter Conftable, we haue
here recouered the moft dangerouspeece of lechery, that 160
euer was knowne in the Common-wealth.
Watch. I. And one Deformed is one of them, I know
him, a weares a locke. 163
156. he faw] he had seen Cap. 161. in /he} in a FJP^, Rowe i.
157. hnsSaud.] F,. 163. a wears} QFf, Knt, Coll. Dycc,
158. [Starting out upon them. Cap. Wh. Sta. Cam. he wears Rowe et oet
159. right master] Dsighton : * Right* seems to be used here as an adveib, as
in such phrases as < right honourable/ ' right worshipful.'
163. locke] Capell (p. 134) : Writers, prosemen, and versemen, banter the men
of dress of that time, for a lock of hair, hanging below the rest, which they cherish' d
and curl'd nicely, and call' d— a love-lock. — Malone : Fynes Moryson, in a very
particular account of the [personal appearance] of Lord Moun^oy, says that his hair
was ' thinne on his head, where he wore it short, except a locke vnder his left eare,
which he nourished the time of this warre [the Irish War, 1599], and being wouen
▼p, hid it in his necke vnder his ruffe.' — Itinerary ^ Part II, p. 45. The portrait of
Sir Edward Sackville, Earl of Dorset, painted by Vandyck, (now at Knowle,) ex-
hibits this lock with a large knotted ribband at the end of it. It hangs under the
ear on the left side, and reaches as low as where the star is now worn b]^ Knights of
the Garter. — Nares : Charles the First, and many of his courtiers, wore these love-
locks; nor did he cut his off till the year 1646. Against this fashion Prynne wrote
a treatise, called The Unkvefyness of Love-locks^ in which he considered them as
very ungodly. He speaks of them also in his Histrio-mastix, with detestation : 'And
more especially in long, unshome, womanish, frizled, love-provoking haire, and love-
lockes, growne too much in fashion with comly pages, youthes, and lewd, effemi-
nate, ruffianly persons.' Haluwell remarks that this passage ' deserves quoting,
because Prynne there assigns the habit of wearing these love-locks to ruffianly per-
sons, a testimony which affords a valuable illustration of Dogberry's reason for pro-
ducing it against the prisoner.' Halliwell further notes the statement of an anony-
mous critic, that it appears from Manzoni's I promessi Sposi 'that in the sixteenth
century, in Lombardy, the wearing of a lock of hair was made highly criminal,
merely because it was considered the testimony, of lawless life led by the young
men of the day.' Staunton quotes the passage from Manxoni, from which it
appears that these locks were by no means braided love-locks, but a mass of
hair sufficient to draw over the face like a vizor. Marshall remarks: <It is
curious that the only survival of this custom of love-locks, apparently, should
be among the sorcalled dangerous classes. It was the practice of thieves, in
our own time, to wear the hair very short with the exception of one lock, called
a ''Newgate Knocker," which curled round the ear.' Nares further remarks
that it was originally a French custom: 'will you bee Frenchefied with a loue-
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174 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. iii.
Conr. Mafters, mafters.
Watch.2. Youle be made bring deformed forth I war- 165
rant you,
Conr. Mafters, neuer fpeake,vve charge you, let vs o-
bey you to goe with vs.
Bor. We are like to proue a goodly commoditie, be-
ing taken vp of thefe mens bils. 170
164. meters J\ masters^ — ^Theob. et seq.
seq. 167, 168. nemr /peake,.,vs] I Watch.
167. Mafters,'\ Mastfrs,'-Theoh. et Ntver speak,„us, Theob. et seq.
lock downe to your shoulders, wherein you may weare your mistresse fauour?' —
Greene's Quippe for an Vpstart Courtier [p. 247, ed. Grosart Greene further
refers with such particularity to love locks in connection with a certain set of men in
London, that it almost seems as though the allusion < to one Deformed ' might bear a
significance now lost to us, but known to Shakespeare's audience. *Is there not
heere resident about London^ a crew of tenyble Hacksters in the habite of Gentle-
men, wel appareld [Italics mine], and yet some weare bootes for want of stockings,
with a locke wome at theyr lefte eare for their mistresse favour, his Rap3rer Alia
reuoltOf his Poynado pendent ready for the stab, and cauilevarst like a warlike mag-
ni/ico.* — Defence of Conny- Catching^ 1592 p. 76, ed. Grosart. Schmidt, in his edi-
tion of Tieck's Translation (p. 252), says that 'fops were wont to wear roses, rib-
bons, locks of their mistress's hair, and occasionally their shoe-strings, passed
through holes bored in their ears ;' he grew in knowledge before he published his
Lexicon,
I have nowhere seen any cause given for this custom. Its origrin seems, however,
to be distinctly intimated in Sir Philip Sidney's Astrophel and Stella^ where in Sonnet
livy we find : ' Because I breathe not love to every one. Nor doe not vse set colours
for to wear. Nor nourish special locks of vow^d hair,* etc. (Arber*s English Garner^
i, p. 530). If the locks were thus < vowid ' we have the explanation of the mistress's
favour wherewith they were decorated ; and the fashion is changed from something
fantastic and ridiculous into what is, in its inception, sentimental and chivalric, and
by no means devoid of a certain charm. — Ed.]
167, 168. neuer speake . . . with vs] To Theobald belongs the credit of
giving these words to one of the Watchmen, to whom they clearly belong. < It is
evident,' he says, ' that Conrade is attempting his own justification, but is inter-
rupted in it by the impertinence of the men in office.'
167. obey] Whiter (p. 121) : Is *obey ' meant to allude by way of mistake to
the legal phrase abeyance? In Jonson's Bartholomew Fair^ Mistress Overdo says :
' I am content to be in abeyance, sir, and governed by you.' [I, p. 390, ed. Gif-
ford.]
169, 170. coininoditie . . . taken vp . . . bils] M alone : Here is a cluster of
conceits. ' Commodity ' was formerly, as now, the usual term for an artide of
merchandise. To 'take up,' besides its common meaning, — to apprehend^ — ^was
the phrase for obtaining goods on credit < If a man is thorough with them in honest
taking up,' says FalstafT, * then they must stand upon security,* 2 Hen, IV: I, ii, 45.
We have the same conceit in 2 Hen, VI: IV, vii, 13S : * My lord, when shall we go
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ACT III. sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 175
Conr. A commoditie in question I warrant you, come 171
weele obey you. Exeunt.
[Scene IK]
Enter Hero^and Margaret,andVr/ula.
Hero. Good Vrfula wake my cofm Beatrice^ and de-
fire her to rife..
Vrfu. I will Lady.
Her. And bid her come hither. 5
Vrf. Well.
Mar. Troth I thinke your other rebato were better. 7
Scene VI. Pope, + . Act IV. 6. [Exit Han.
Spcdding. Scene IV. Cap, et seq. 7- rebato\ QFf, Rowe, Pope, Theob.
Leonato's House. Pope. Hero's Waib. Cap. Sta. n^tUo Han. et cet.
Appartment in Leonato's House. Theob.
to Cheapside, and take up commodities upon our bills?' [but with a very different
meaning. — Ed.]
171. in question] Steevens : That is, a commodity subject to judicial trial or
examination. [The present phrase has not precisely the same meaning as, <who
now Has these poore men in question.'— ff^n/. Tale^ V, i, 242; although it is so
classified by Schmidt (Z^x.).— Ed.]
172. Exeunt] Miss Grace Latham (p. 148) : The constables were butts for
the wit of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries ; but London remained under
their care down to the establishment in 1829 of the 'New Police.' There still
remains [1896], behind St Sepulchre's Church, opposite the new buildings of St
Bartholomew's Hospital, Smithfield, the quaint little octagon watch-house, where
the constable of the last century locked up his prisoners till he could take them
before the magistrate.
I. Margaret and Vrsula] C. C. Clarke (p. 313) : These two may come
under the denomination of * pattern waiting-women,' — that is, the patterns some-
what surpassing the order of the women. Margaret has, perhaps, too accomplished
a tongue for one of her dass ; she, however, evidently apes the manner of Beatrice,
and, like all imitators of inferior mind, with a coarse and exaggerated character.
She forms an excellent foil to her mistress from this very circumstance ; and both
domestics are samples of that menial equality that exists between mistress and
dependent still common in Italy.
7. your other] Macdonald (p. 151) : When we find Margaret objecting to her
mistress's wearing a certain rebato, on the morning of her wedding, may not this
be intended to relate to the £Eu:t that Margaret had dressed in her mistress's clothes
the night before ? She might have rumpled or soiled it, and so feared discovery.
7. rebato] Hawkins : An ornament for the neck, a collar-band, or kind of ruff.
Fr. Rabat. Menage saith it comes from rabaitre, to put backf because it was at first
nothing but the collar of the shirt or shift tum'd back towards the shoulders. —
Steevens: Thus, in Dekker's Guls Hornbook^ 1609: 'Your stiffenecked rebatoes
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176 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. iv.
Bero. No pray thee good Megy He vveare this. 8
MargS&y my troth's not fo good, and I warrant your
cofin will fay fo. ID
Bero. My cofin's a foole, and thou art another, ile
weare none but this.
Mar. I like the new tire within excellently, if the
haire were a thought browner : and your gown's a moft 14
8, II, 17. Bcro.] F,. Mai. Steev. Var. Knt, Coll. tt^h^ 's
9. troth's] troth it^s Rowe ii, + , Var. Cap. et seq.
II. i/e\ rUY^.
(that liaue more arches for pride to row Tnder, then can stand vnder fine London
Bridges) y' p. 211, ed. Grosart — Halliwell: It was kept in shape by wire, and
appears from some notices to have been properly a kind of short falling raff, which
was frequendy used as a supporter for a larger ruff; and, if I mistake not, was an
improvement of the device called by Stubbes < a supportasse or underpropper.' ' Da
rivolto^ taming downe, as a falling band, or a womans rabato.' — Florio's Worlde
of fVordeSj 1598, p. 96. * Rabat^ a rebatoe for a womans ruffe,' — Cotgrave. 'A
rabato for a woman's band, G. robot, \ rabhtre, id est, to fall or draw backe, because
the band doth fall backe on the rabato.' — ^Minsheu. * Arandilo, rebatoes, supporters
for womens ruffes.' — Perci vale's Spanish Diet, 1599. 'Give me my rebato of cut-
worke edged ; is not the wyer after the same sort as the other?' — Erondelle's DiO"
logues, * I pray you, sir, what say you to these great ruffes, which are borne up with
supporters and rebatoes, as it were with poste and raile.' — Dent's Pathway to
Heavefiy p. 42. Moryson {Itinerary^ 1617,) [Part III, Booke 4, Chap. I, p. 165]
mentions that in Prussia, the men ' weare long ruffes, with rebatoes of wire to beare
them vp, such as our women vse, which seemed to me lesse comely, because they
were seldome made of fine doth, as cambricke or lawne,' a passage which in itself
is nearly sufficient to confirm the notion above mentioned. [It is difficult to decide
whether the rebato is the collar itself or its wire support. Origrinally, it was prob-
ably a collar, and in the course of time was confounded with its peculiar feature, the
wire support — Ed.]
9, 18. troth's] Capell (p. 129) : The movements of this most rapid of all dis-
coursers, Margaret, the four latter modems [t. e. Pope, Theobald, Hanmer, War-
burton] have thought fit to retard a litde, by reading — ifs not, ifs but. Clap us,
[line 42] and with thinking [line 79], here and in other parts of this scene ; her
o' thinking [line 79] is— on thinking ; and the party's wind must be good, who can
follow her as she ought in that speech's delivery. Of like rapidness is her descrip-
tion of the dutchess of Milan's gown. [Praise is certainly due to Capell for his
keenness in attributing to a characteristic rapidity of speech in Margaret, the omis-
sion of it both here and in line 18. The Cambridge Editors observe, ' the recur-
rence of this phrase, *< By my troth's " makes it almost certain that the omission of
it is not a printers' error, but an authentic instance of the omission of the third per-
sonal pronoun.' WalIcer (Crit, \, 79) refers to the omission of the first or second
person in ' What means the fool, trow ?' line 55 ; and Abbott, { { 400, 401, has
gathered many examples of similar omissions. — Ed.]
13, 14. the haire] Stbevens : That is, the false hair attached to the cap. [Stee-
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ACT III, sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 177
rare fafhion yfaith, I faw the Dutcheffe of Millaines 15
gowne that they praife fo.
Bero. O that exceedes they fay.
Mar. By my troth's but a night-gowne in refpeft of
yours, cloth a gold and cuts, and lac'd with filuer, fet with 19
15. yfaithy'\ i^ faith. Pope. 18. in\ i/Q.
18. tratA^s] troih, i:^*jPope,+, Var. 19. a ^old] of gold Popc, + , Var.
Mai. Stecv. Var. Knt, ColL troths *s Mai. Steev. Var. (/ gold Cap. et
Cap. et cet cet
▼ens qaotes from Stubbes's Anaiomie of Abuses to prove that women wore false hair,
but he need have gone no further than Shakeiq)eare himself, who refers to the custom
in the Mer. of Ven. Ill, ii, loi ; Sown, 68 ; Timotty IV, iii, 144, where Steevens
himself has collected many references in point] M alone quotes from Fynes
Morison, Part III, Book 4, Chap. 2, p. 179 : ' Gentlewomm viigins [he is speaking
of England] weare gownes close to the body, and aprons of fine linnen, and goe
bareheaded, with their haire curiously knotted and raised at the forehead, but many
against the cold (as they say) weare caps of haire that is not their owne.' [The
same fashion prevailed also in France ; on the page preceding the one just noted,
this observant traveller tells us that the French < Gentlewomen beare vp their haire
on the fore-heades with a wier, and vpon the back part of the head weare a cap of
other haire then their own, ouer their cawle, and aboue that they weare a coyfe of
silke, lined with Veluet, and hauing a peake downe the forehead.' I suppose the
' tire within * refers to this inner trimming of hair on the headdress, but Dbighton
supposes that *' within ' means < in an inner room.' — Ed.]
17. that exceedes] As in the French of to-day : < cela surpasse I' — Ed.
18. night-gowne] This is not what we now understand by this term. * Dressing-
gown,' which is usually given as its equivalent, belongs more to men than to women,
and strikes a singularly discordant note if substituted for ' night-gown ' where the
latttf word occurs. The Ghost of Hamlet's father, according to the First Qto, in
III, iv, I03, enters in his < night gowne ' — a costume, which, from its very vague-
ness and suggestion of frills and airiness, and with Hamlet's ' shreds and patches'
stiU in our ears, I should much prefer, for downright ghostliness, to ' dressing-
gown,' or even at a pinch to ' pyjamas,' and we know that neither can be appro-
priate, for Hamlet says that his father appears < in his habit as he lived.' So that
in Hamlet we know that < night-gown ' must mean merely the garment which the
King of Denmark wore when he was divested of his armour or of his rojral robes of
day-time wear. So too, < night-gown' must have this same meaning when Lady
Macbeth tells her husband, after the murder of Duncan, to get on his < night-gown
lest occasion show us to be watchers.' But when we come to feminine attire the
same explanation will hardly apply. We are told that Lady Macbeth rises from her
bed and throws her night-gown upon her, which is evidently the same artide of
clothing that Margaret here refers to, and for which the best modem equivalent that
occurs to me, is wrapper, I speak under correction in so weighty a question. — ^Ed.
19. cuts] Deighton : This probably refers to the slashed sleeves of the period,
which had their counterpart in the ' rated shoes ' mentioned in Hamlet ^ III, ii, 388. —
W. A. Wright : Apparendy slashed openings in the gown which were filled in with
some other material.
12
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178 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act in, sc. iv.
pearles^downe fleeues,fide fleeues,and skirts, round vn- 20
derbom with a blewifh tinfel,but for a fine queint grace-
full and excellent faftiion, yours is worth ten on't.
20. pearlis^ downe JteeuiSf] pearls Warb. Johns. Knt, Cam. skirts^ rounds
dcwn-fleeves^ F^¥^, Rowe, + . pearls F3F4, Rowe, Pope. sJtirts round Dyce.
doum sleeves, Dyce. skirts round, Han. et ceL
skirts, round] QF„ Theob.
20. pearlea, downe sleeues, side sleeues,] Steevens : To remove an appear-
ance of tautology, as * down sleeves ' may seem synonymous with ' side-sleeves ' a
comma must be taken out, and the passage printed thus : < Set with pearls down
sleeves, or, down tk* sleeves.' [Knight and Dyce followed Steevens in this omis-
sion of the comma after * pearls,' and both explain that the pearls are to be set down
the sleeves. Haluwell says that 'set with pearls' refers to the gown.] ' Side-
sleeves' mean /<;i^ones. So, in Greene's FareweUto Follie, 1591 : 'as great selfe
loue lurketh in a side gowne, as in a short aimour.' [vol. ix. p. 250, ed. Grosart]
Again, in Laneham's Account of Queen ElitabetlCs Entertainment at Kenilworth-
Castle, 1575, the minstrels 'gooun had syde sleevez dooun to midle^e' [p. 50,
Reprint 17S4; on p. 49, this same minstrel is mentioned as having <a side gooun
of Kendal green ;' again, on p. 16, a Poet is described as dad in a < long ceruleoous
garment, with a side and wide sleeves Venecian wize drawen up to his elboz, his
dooblett sleevez under that, Crimzen.' — ^Ed.] Side or syde in the North of England,
and in Scodand, is used for long when applied to the garment. — Reed : 5ii</f-sleeves
were certainly long sleeves, as will appear from the following from Stowe's Chronicle
[p. 530, ed. 1600, 3rd year of Henry IV, A. D. 1401] : * This time was vsed exceed-
ing pride in gaiments, gownes with deepe and broad sleeues, commonly called poke
sleeues, the seruants ware thS as wel as their masters, which might wel haue bin
called receptacles of ^ deuil, for what they stole, they hid in their sleeues, whereof
some hung downe to the feete, and at least to the knees, full of cuts & iagges, where-
upon were made these verses [Tho. Hoccliue (in margin)]. Now hath this lord
[' land ' ap. Stowe] but litil neede of broomes | To swepe a-way the filthe out of the
street, | Syn syde sleu^s of pen^Iees gromes | Wile it vp likke, be it drye or weet.'
[p. 20, ed Fumivall, E. E. Text Soc, Elsewhere in this Regement of Princes^ there
is an instance where side means long : * What help schal he, Wos sleeu€s encom-
brous so sydfi traille. Do to his lord?' p. 18.— Ed.]— R. G. White (ed. i) : The
dress was made after a fashion which is illustrated in many old portraits. Beside
a sleeve which fitted more or less closely to the arm and extended to the wrist
[the down sleeve], there was another for ornament, which hung from the shoulder,
wide and open [the side sleeve ; this explanation is quoted, without dissent, by
RoLFE, Deighton, and W. A. Wright, and it may be, therefore, accepted as cor-
rect. — Ed.]
20, 21. vnderbom] Capell (p. 129) : This is meant of the < pearls,' that they
had under them strips of <a blueish tinsel ;' and not of the gown's lining, as has
been thought. — Halliwell : It clearly relates to the skirts, Margaret meaning to
say that the skirts were trimmed with tinsel. — ^W. A. Wright; Schmidt (Lex.)
interprets 'underbear' in this passage * to guard, to face, to trim.' It seems very
improbable that a gown which was made of cloth of gold should be merely trimmed
with 'a bluish tinsel,' and it is more likely that this was the material either of the
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ACT III, sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 179
Hero. God giue mee ioy to weare it, for my heart is 23
exceeding heauy.
Marga. Twill be heauier foone , by the waight of a 25
man.
Hero. Fie vpon thee, art not aftiamM f
Marg. Of what Lady ? of fpeaking honourably ? is
not marriage honourable in a beggar ? is not your Lord
honourable without marriage ? I thinke you would haue 30
me (ay, fauing your reuerence a husband : and bad thin-
31. fay ^ fauing. ,M husband :'\ QFf, your reverence) *a husband*; Pope
Rowe. say* saving,., a husband:* Cam. et cet.
Ktly, Rife, Wh. ii. say {saving your . 31. and'\ Ff, Rowe. <Sr» Q. If
reverence) a husband: or say {saving Pope, + . an Cap. et seq.
lining of the skirt or of a petticoat worn under it so as to set it out. [Capell evi-
dently supposed that pearis were set everywhere, on the down sleeves, on the side
sleeves, on the skirts ; and that they were everywhere sewn over tinsell — a profusion
not unlikely, to judge from the costumes of the ladies in Virtues print, engraved in
Stubbes's Anatomy of Abuses, published by The New Shahspere Soc; on the whole,
I think his explanation of *underbom' the least objectionable. -^Ed.]
21. tinsel] Thus, Cotgrave: * Brocate/ : m. Tinsell; or thin cloth of gold or
siluer ;' and again ' Pourfileure : f. Purfling ; a purfling lace or worke ; baudkin-
worke; tinselling.'
21. queint] Thus, Cotgrave: * Coint : m. cointe : f. Quaint, compt, neat, fine,
spruce, briske, smirke, smug, daintie, trim, tricked vp.'
29. honourable in a beggar] Deighton: Probably a reference to Hebrews,
xiii, 4: 'Marriage is honourable in all,' etc, a passage which forms part of the
marriage service in the English Church.
31. husband] Cambridge Editors [reading 'say, ''saving your reverence, a
husband." '] : Modern editions have 'say, saving your reverence, "a husband." *
But surely Margaret means that Hero was so prudish as to think that the mere men-
tion of the word ' husband ' required an apology. — Deighton : This note of the
Cambridge Editors seems quite to miss the point. Margaret, in effect, says, I see
what it is that shocks your modesty ; instead of saying ' by the weight of a man* I
should for the sake of propriety (saving your reverence) have said 'by the weight
of a husband ;* for unless immodest thoughts put a bad construction upon honest
words, you cannot at all events find anything objectionable in my amended version,
' the heavier for a husband* [I cannot quite agree with Deighton in thinking that
'saving your reverence' can qualify any other word in the sentence but 'husband.'
It is the apologetic phrase when an improper word is used ; Margaret implies that
Hero would insist upon its use before the word ' husband ' ; as she uttered it she laid,
I think, a strong satirical emphasis on it, reserving, however, the stronger emphasis
for 'husband.' In Jonson's Tale of a Tub, I, iv, we find : * Lady Tub, . . . Who,
when I heard his name first, Martin Polecat, A stinking name, and not to be pro-
nounced In any lady's presence without a reverence;' with the following note by
Gifford : ' An allusion to the good old custom of apologizing for the introduction of
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l8o MUCH'ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. iv.
king doe not wreft true fpeaking, He offend no body, is 32
there any harme in the heauier for a husband ? none I
thinke, and it be the right husband, and the right wife,
otherwife 'tis light and not heauy,aske my Lady Beatrice 35
elfe,here (he comes.
Enter Beatrice.
Hero. Good morrow Coze.
Beat. Good morrow fweet Hero*
Hero. Why how now? do you fpeake in the fick tune? 40
Beat. I am out of all other tune, me thinkes.
Mar. Claps into Light a loue , (that goes without a
burden,) do you fmg it and He dance it. 43
33. the.„husbandf^ As a quotation, 38,92. Cozi^ Cbz Rowe. Cw Dtn.
Cap. et seq. 42. aaps\ Clafs Q, Rowe i, Cap.
heauier for] heauier^ /or C^. Ran. Dyce, Wh. Cam. Rife. Clap w
34. amt it] if it Pope, + . an it Cap. Rowe ii et cet
et seq. Light a] Light <^ Rowe ii.
36. Scene VII. Pope, + . 43. lie dance"] iledaunceQ^,
a free expression, by bowing to the principal person in company, and saying, — " Sir,
with reverence^** or, "Sir, reverence,^* ' — ^Ed.]
34. right husband . . . wife] That is the right husband's right wife.
35. light and not heauy] Great is the number of times that Shakespeare plays
on the double meaning of the adjective < light,' which, in his day, to the ordinary
meanings it now bears, added that of wanton, I suppose he did so, not from any
love of punning in general or of puns on this word in particular, but from necessity ;
because the class of characters, into whose mouth he generally puts this pun, is one
that is especially fond of cheap and obvious plays upon words, — a class, unfortu-
nately, not yet extinct. — Ed.
42. Light a loue] Steevens : This tune is mentioned in Two Gent. I, ii, 83
[and with the same play upon words as here]. — Sir J. Hawkins : This is the name
of an old dance tune. I have lately recovered it from an ancient MS [Hawkins
gives merely the melody. Knight added a bass and a few notes of accompani-
ment, but to me the arrangement is not as pleasing as that by Chappell, given below ;
of course the melody is the same in both. — Ed.]
Chappell (pp. 221-224) : The words of the original song are still undiscovered.
When played slowly and with expression the air is beautiful. In the collection of
Mr George Daniel is A very proper dittie : to the tune of Lightie loue; which was
printed in 1570 [see below]. The original may not have been quite so < proper,' if
Light d Love was used in a sense in which it was occasionally employed, instead of
its more poetical meaning. . . . Inasmuch as Margaret says, * do you sing it and I'll
dance it,' it appears that Light d Love was strictly a ballet^ to be sung and danced.
. . . Besides the air found by Sir J. Hawkins, the air is also contained in William
Ballet's MS Lute Book, and in MusicJ^s Delight on the Cithren, 1666. Halliwell :
The earliest notice of the tune yet discovered is in A Gorgiom Gallery of Gallant
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ACT ui. sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING
Beat. Ye Light aloue with your heeles, then if your
i8l
44
44. Yi\ QFf, Hal. Cam. Dtn, Wh. ii.
Yes Rowe, +, Cap. Var. '73. Yea Cap.
conj. Var. '78 et cet
aloue'] Q. alove. Ff. a love
Rowe i. dlove Rowe ii. i^ loves Mar-
shall conj.
44. heeles, "] heels / Cap. et seq.
Inventions, 1578, where 'the lover exhorteth his lady to be constant to the tune
of— Attend thee, go play thee— not Light of Love, lady.* The ballad, 'The Ban-
ishment of Lord Maltravers and Sir Thomas Gumey,* in Delone/s Strange His-
tories, etc., 1607, and of 'A song of the wooing of Queen Catharine by Owen
Tudor, a young gentleman of Wales* are also to the tune of Light & Love,
[Chappell gives the words and the music of the ballad, whereof the copy was in
Daniel* s Collection and is referred to, above. Halliwell gives a facsimile of the
ballad which is signed : ' By Leonarde Gybson* and is undated : Chappell states, as
above, that it was printed in 1570, but how this date was determined he does not
state. Moreover, this date will not accord with Halliwell' s assertion that the earliest
mention of Light d Love is in 1578, if the phrase « Lightie Love' used in Gybson' s
ballad be merely a corruption of Light <f Love, which I suppose it is. On the
whole, the question is enveloped with so much vagueness that all that is left us is
to take what is given, without further curiosity, and with gratitude that the question
is of no importance. The following is from Chappell, p. 224 :
A VERY PROPER DITTIE : TO THE TUNE OF UGHTIE LOVE.
Very Slow and Smoothly,
riri,r^inini^i;i,n;i^^iiui,ii
f By force I am fix-€d my Ian -or to write. In gra-ti tude willethme not to re-frain : )
\ Then blame me not, ladies, al-tnough lin-dite What lighty love now a-mongst you doth leign: /
m,\M I
m
r=f
'^^^
r
^^^^wi
f Yonr tra-ces in pla-ces to out-ward al-lurements. Do move my en-deavour to be the more plain: \
\ Your nicings and *ticings,with sundry pro-curements,To publish your lightie love do me constrain, j
^EE
aJ
I
m
^
fct:
r
Hereupon follows the rest of the ballad of more than a hundred lines, all quite as
uninteresting and commonplace as the foregoing. — Ed.]
43. burden] Chappell (p. 222) : The burden of a song, in the old acceptation
of the word, was the base, foot, or under-song. It is derived from bourdoun, a drone
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1 82 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. iv.
husband haue ftables enough, you^U looke he fhall lacke 45
no bames.
Mar. O illegitimate conftruftion ! I fcorne that with
my heeles.
Beat. 'Tis almoft fiue a clocke cofin, 'tis time you
were ready, by my troth I am exceeding ill, hey ho. 50
Mar. For a hauke,a horfe,or a husband ?
Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. 52
45. y(m'll look/] Ff, Rowe,+, Var. . Cap. et cct.
Ran. Mai. Knt, Wh. i. youU fee Q, 49. a clocke^ o* clock Theob.
base (French, bourdm). Thus, in Chaucer, <This sompnour bar to him a stif bur-
doun, Was nevere trompe of half so gret a soun.* — [Prologue, 673.] Margaret says
that the song goes without a burden because there was no man or men present to
sing one.--NAYLOR (p. 23) : The earliest 'burden* known is that in the ancient
Round * Sumer is icumen in,' of the 13th century. Here four voices sang the real
music in canon to these words: 'Sumer is icumen in, Lhud% sing Cuccu,' etc.,
while all the time two other voices of lower pitch sing a monotonous refrain, * Sing
cuccu nu. Sing cuccu,' which they repeat cui infinitum till the four who sing the
Round are tired. [Cotgrave gives, * Bourdon : m. A Drone, or Dorre-bee ; also,
the humming or buzzing of bees ; also, the drone of a Bagpipe,' etc. Again, ' Faux-
bourdon. The drone of a Bagpipe.']
44. Ye Light aloue] Capell's conjecture Yea is plausible, but inasmuch as
Beatrice addresses Margaret throughout, except in line 86, with you, there seems to
be no need of change in view of the uniformity of Qto and Folios. Possibly, there
is here an absorption : * Ye [*11] " Light o' love ** with your heels.' Let those who
do not understand the double meaning in Beatrice's words and in Margaret's reply,
deem themselves blest in the protection afforded by their ignorance. They are per-
fectly innocent, maidenly remarks for the times of that Queen, who in her djring hours
could find a pleasing distraction in listening to the very coarse stories of the ' Hun-
dred Mery Tales,'— Ed.
46. bames] Johnson : A quibble between bams, repositories of com, and
bairns, the old word for children. — Murray {H.E.D.)': This is the obsolete
form of Bairn, a child ; it still survives in northern English ; bairn is the Scotch
fonn, occasionally used in literary English since 1700.
47. 48. scome . . . heeles] Steevens (Note on Mer. of Ven. II, ii, 9) : That
is, I recalcitrate, kick up contemptuously at the idea, as animals, throw up their hind
legs. [Walker {Crit. iii, 347) detects in Ven, &* Ad., 312, an allusion to this
phrase wherein, possibly, the origin of the phrase may be found, although he does
not suggest it. The lines are : ' She [the mare] puts on outward strangeness, seems
unkind. Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels, Beating his kind embrace-
ments with her heels.' — ^Ed.]
50. hey ho] Pronounced Aay ho,
51, 52. For] For other examples of *for' used in the sense ol for the sake of^
because of, see Abbott, §§150, 151, if necessary.
51. husband] See II, i, 305.
52. letter . . . H.] Johnson : This is a poor jest, somewhat obscured, and not
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ACT III, sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING . 183
[52. letter that begins them all, H.]
worth the trouble of elucidation. Margaret asks Beatrice for what she cries ' hey
ho'; Beatrice answers, for an H, that is, for an acAe or pain, — Steevkns: Hey-
wood among his Epigrams, 1566, has one on the letter H : '/T is worst amongst
letters in the crosserow, For if thou finde him in thine elbow. In thyne arme, or
leg, in any degree. In thy hed, or teeth, in thy toe, or knee. Into what place so euer
H may pyke him, Wher euer thou finde acAf thou shalt not like him.' — Barron
Field (Shakespeare Soc. Papers^ iii, 132) : The following has hitherto escaped the
oonmientators : ' Nor hawk, nor hound, nor horse, those letters hkh^ But ach itself,
'tis Brutus' bones attaches.' — Wifs Recreatiom^ 1640. Although this collection of
epigrams was not published till 1640, yet its contents are both old and new. Many
of them doubdess had been in vogue before the date of this play. [The verb was uni-
formly pronounced ake. The noun alone was pronounced aitch^ or, possibly, at times
atch; see Walker, Vers, p. 117. — Ed.] Hunter (i, 22S-244) believes that under
this H there is a veiled allusion to young William Herbert to whom the Sonneis are
supposed to be dedicated ; he finds, from 7^ Letters and Memorials of the Family
of Sidney published in 1746, that toward the close of 1599 and during the year 1600
(the date of the publication of Much Ado About Nothing) there were notable en-
deavours on the part of young Herbert's unde. Sir Robert Sidney, to bring about,
for political reasons, a match between his young nephew, then in his twentieth year,
and a niece of the Lord Admiral, Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham. But the
match came to nought The young < Mr W. H ' was wild and intractable, < came
not to court,' as one of the Sidney letters states, under date of October, I599» 'but
passed away the time in London merely in going to plays every day.' * In writing
thus, as it were,' says Hunter, < for two descriptions of persons at once, a dramatist
has a difficult task. It was necessary that Shakespeare, in this case, should steer a
middle course between leaving his hero absolutely without marks of individuality by
which he might be recognized, and so clearly exhibiting him that an ordinary spec-
tator would be able to refer the character to its original. This singular introduction
of the letter H, here representing ache to the many, and Herbert to the few, is one
of those marks of individuality.' Between the character of Benedick and of young
Herbert, Hunter finds a parallel : both were averse to matrimony, both attempted
verse, both sung and both danced, and if Lord Herbert was not a downright soldier,
•as Benedick was, it is recorded that ' he hath been away from court these seven days
in London, swaggering it among the men of war, and viewing the manner of the
musters.' [Inasmuch as Benedick is portrayed by Shakespeare as an accomplished
young gallant, I suppose it would not be very difficult to draw a parallel between
him and dozens of the young springalds of that day, if we knew their lives inti-
mately enough. — Ed.] Hunter sums up as follows: 'what I contend for is this:
that the poet was cognizant of the design to bring about the union of his noble friend
with a certain noble lady, and that out of this design arose the second plot of this
play, those characters and incidents which are added by the English poet to the story
of Hero as he found it in Bandello. Shakespeare, however, makes the scheme suc-
cessful, which is the opposite of the result of any such scheming in the real story.
This is as if Shakespeare had said : Some ingenious devices have been tried and
failed, I will show you how such a design might have been carried out to a success-
ful issue ; and this he has done so skilfully that the whole has an air of being per-
fectly in nature.' [See Appendix, Identification of the Characters. — Ed.]
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l84 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. iv.
Mar. Well, and you be not tuniM Turke, there's no 53
more fayling by the ftarre.
Beat. What meanes the foole trow ? 55
Mar. Nothing I, but God fend euery one rheir harts
defire.
Hero. Thefe gloues the Count fent mee , they are an
excellent perfume.
Beat. I am ftuft cofin, I cannot fmell. 60
Mar. A maid and ftuft ! there's goodly catching of
colde.
Beat. O God heipe me, God help me, how long haue
you profeft apprehenfion ?
Mar. Euer fmce you left it, doth not my wit become 6$
me rarely ?
53. fliK/] i/Pope, + . fl»Cap.etseq. di, goodlyl a goodly F^, Rowe,
56. rAeir] F,. Pope, Han.
65. left i/f'i left U; Rowe.
53. tum'd Turke] Steevens : Hamlet uses the same expression, III, ii, 264 :
* If the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me.* And in Cook's Greenes Tu quoque :
' This it is to turn Turk ; from a most absolute, complete gendeman to a most absurd,
ridiculous, and fond lover' — [p. 226, ed. Hazlitt-Dodsley. Margaret here refers to
the success of the trick that has been played on Beatrice, who, if she be not utterly
changed in her nature, and therefore, in love, there's no sure guide on earth or in
the heavens. — Ed.]
55. trow] Lettsom (Footnote to Walker, Crit. i, 79) : The phrase here has the
same meaning, and apparently answers to the modem, / wonder, — W. A. Wright :
'Trow' is used in questions either for ' I trow,' which is nearly equivalent to I won-
der ^ or for ' trow you ?' equivalent to do you think f can you tell? The former occurs
in Merry PVives, I, iv, 140 : * Who's there I trow?* With the present passage com-
pare Cym, I, vi, 47 : * What is the matter, trow ?' Halliwell gives numerous
examples from old plays.
56, 57. their harts desire] Compare Psalms xxi, 2. For the change from the
singular * every one ' to the plural * their,' see IV, i, 327 ; V, i, 40.
58, 59. an excellent perfume] Some preposition seems to be here lacking,
either 0/ or d ; but, perhaps, for * an ' we should read in, misheard by the com-
positors. — ^Ed.
W. A. Wright : Among the attributes of a lover, according to Burton {Anat. of
Mel, part 3, sect. 2, memb. 4, subs. I, p. 535, ed. 165 1 ), were ' a long love-lock, a
flower in his ear, perfumed gloves, rings, scarfs, feathers, points, etc'
64. apprehension] See II, i, 75.
65. you left it] This * it ' does not refer to ' apprehension ' with the meaning of
quickness of wit, as Beatrice uses it, but to apprehension in its more usual meaning of
seeing clearly. Thus understood, this speech of Margaret is an allusion to the decep-
tion practised on Beatrice which the latter failed to ' apprehend ' or see through. I
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ACT III, sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 185
Beat. It is not feene enough, you fhould weare it in (>y
your cap, by my troth I am ficke.
Mar. Get you fome of this diftill'd carduus beuediSlus
and lay it to your heart, it is the onely thing for a qualm. 70
Hero. There thou prickft her with a thiffell.
Beat. BenediiluSy why benediilus ? you haue some mo-
rall in this benedUltis.
Mar. Morall ? no by my troth, I haue no morall mea-
ning, I meant plaine holy thiffell , you may thinke per- 75
69. of this] of the Cap. conj. 75. holy thiJfeU^] holy-thutU; Rowe.
69. beuedictus] F,. holy thistle. Cap.
71. There] TheereY^,
think Margaret replies slowly and archly: 'Ever — since — ^you — ^Icft it,* and then
gaily and rapidly, * doth not my wit,' etc. — Ed.
68. I am sicke] We who have heard Beatrice's soliloquy, 'What fire is in my
ears,' etc., know that she was thoroughly < limed,' but Hero and Margaret can know
it only through these confessions of Beatrice that she is sick, betraying as they do her
sleepless, restless night. — Ed.
69. carduus beuedidtus] Steevbns: Thus Coghan [<or Cogan' according to
W. A. Wright, whose text in the following extract is followed, as more correct than
Steevens's] in his Haven of Health, 1584, in which there is a chapter (46) 'Of
Blessed thistill.' ' Carduus benedictus, or blessed Thistell so worthily named for
the singular vertues that it hath. . . . Howsoeuer it be vsed it strengtheneth all the
principall partes of the bodie, it sharpeneth both the wit and the memorie, quicken-
eth all the senses, comforteth the stomacke, procureth appetite, and hath a speciall
vertue against poyson, and preserueth from the pestilence, and is excellent good
against any kinde of feuer. . . . For which notable effects this heibe may worthily be
called Benedictus or Omnimorbia^ that is a salue for euery sore.' — Coluer : It is
material to give the date of the earliest edition of Cogan's work, because he tells us
that the use of the carduus benedictus had only lately been recognized. [Herbals
and medical books published during the sixteenth century and down to the middle
of the seventeenth are garrulous in praise of the vertue of this plant in healing every
human ailment ; it would needlessly encumber these pages, to give even half of those
which Halliwell dtes. It was evidently one of the great medicines and lotions of
the age. Mai^aret by the use of 'this' evidently means 'this well-known cure.'
Hunter (i, 253), from certain quotations, which he gives, deduces the theory that
the herb was, as Margaret urges, especially efficacious in heart-troubles : ' About the
beginning of the year 1527 Luther fell suddenly sick of a congealing of blood about
his heart [Italics Hunter's], which almost killed him; but by the drinking of the
water of Carduus Benedictus, whose virtues then were not so commonly known, he
was perfectly helped.' — Abel Redivivus, 165 1, p. 44. — ^Ed.]
73, 74. morall] Johnson : That is, some secret meaning, like the moral of a
fable. — Malone : In the R, of Z., 104, the verb ' moralise ' is used in the same
manner : < Nor could she moralise his wanton sight,' that is, investigate the latent
meaning of his looks. Again, in Tarn, of Shr, IV, iv, 78 : ' but has left me here
behind to expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens.'
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1 86 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. iv.
chance that I thinke you are in loue, nay birlady I am not 76
fuch a foole to thinke what I lift, nor I lift not to thinke
what I can, nor indeed I cannot thinke, if I would thinke
my hart out of thinking, that you are in loue, or that you
will be in loue, or that you can be in loue : yet Benedicke 80
was fuch another, and now is he become a man, he fwore
hee would neuer marry, and yet now in defpight of his
heart he eates his meat without grudging, and how you
may be conuerted I know hot, but me thinkesyou looke
with your eies as other women doe. 85
79. of thinking\ with thinking Pope, %\: a man^'] a man; Rowe.
+ . o* thinking Cap. Var. Ran. Mai.
74-80. When Beatrice accuses Margaret of having some meaning hidden under
this allusion to Benedictus, Maigaret se^s instantly that she is gone too perilously
near to betraying the plot, and she tries to throw Beatrice off the scent by a voluble
gabbling on what she thinks, or might think if she chose, or might choose to think
if she could, or indeed could not think at all, even if she should think her heart out
with thinking, until she has succeeded in leaving Beatrice utterly bewildered, with
the current of her thoughts completely diverted from herself to Benedick, so that she
can only gasp out ' What pace is this thy tongue keeps ?' and Margaret can with per-
fect truthfulness say that the gallop was a very genuine one. — ^Ed.
83. eates . . . grudging] Johnson : I do not see how this is a proof of Bene-
dick's change of mind. It would afford more proof of amorousness to say, 'he eats
not his meat without grudging ;' but it is impossible to fix the meaning of proveri}ial
expressions ; perhaps, * to eat meat without grudging ' was the same as, to do as
oth^s doy and the meaning is, *• he is content to live by eating like other mortals, and
will be content, notwithstanding his boasts, like other mortals, to have a wife.' —
M. Mason : The meaning is, that Benedick is in lave^ and takes kindly to it, —
Malone : The meaning, I think, is, ' and yet now, in spite of his resolution to the
contrary, he feeds on love, and likes his food.* — Deighton : It seems doubtful
whether anything more is meant than that Benedick, in spite of his heart being
touched with love, does not find himself any the worse for it. — ^W. A. Wright :
Though he is in love, he has not lost the appetite for which he was famous. I doubt
Malone' s interpretation. [In this extremely skilful speech of Margaret, it would
have been rash and headlong, I think, to have openly asserted that Benedick was in
love. There is just enough of a passing touch to create a faint impression that such
is the fact, and also enough to make his case parallel to Beatrice's. It is merely the
three little words: 'and yet now' that gives this impression in Benedick's case, and
merely 'but methinks' in Beatrice's. In what follows there is no hidden meaning,
but merely the statement of a commonplace fact In spite of his heart, and of his
oath never to marry, he eats his meat like all other men, and Beatrice, in the same
way, looks with her eyes as all other women look, for a husband or for anything
else. Both are mortal and, in ordinary life, will do as all mortals do. lago, in his
talk with Roderigo, brings Desdemona down to the level of common humanity, in
the same way, by exclaiming: 'the wine she drinks is made of grapes.' — Ed.]
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ACT III, sc. v.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 187
Beat What pace is this that thy tongue keepes. 86
Mar, Not a falfe gallop.
Enter Vrfula.
Vr/tila. Madam, withdraw, the Prince, the Count, fig-
nior Benedickcj Don lohn^ and all the gallants of the 90
towne are come to fetch you to Church.
Hero. Helpe to dreffe mee good coze, good-Jf^^,
good Vr/ula. 93
[Scene K]
Enter Leonato^ and the Conjiable^ and the Headborough.
Leonato. What would you with mee , honeft neigh-
bour?
ConJl.Dog, Mary fir I would haue fome confidence 4
86. that thy\ thy F^, Rowe i. House. Theob.
88. Enter] Re-enter. Cap. i. Enter...] Enter Leon, with Dog-
93. [Exeunt. Rowe. Om. QFf. berry and Verges. Rowe.
Scene VIII. Pope, + . Scene V. 4, «. etc. Conft. Dog.] Dogb. Rowe.
Cap. et seq. Mary^ Marry Rowe.
Another Apartment in Leonato's
87. false gallop] Madden (p. 296) : Although the horse in a state of nature
will walk, trot, and gallop, yet he must needs be ' paced ' if he is to acquit himself
well under artificial conditions, while the amble and the < £edse gallop ' are purely
artificial movements. . . . The fiedse gallop, or artificial canter, was denoted by the
Latin term siucussalura, and the idea of jolting would be naturally associated with
that pace in the case of the straight-pastemed, thickset horse of [Shakespeare's] day.
With this knowledge we understand why Touchstone calls doggerel rhymes ' the
Tery false gallop of verses.' Sadler, in his work De procreandis^ etc, equis (1587)
gives the following account of the false gallop : < my meaning is that your horse
knows thorowly from his trot to rise to his false gallope, from his false gallope get to
a swifter, and then from this swifter to descend again to his false gallope, and trot
againe by tumes when and as oft as the rider shall thinke good, before you teach him
to tume.' [Many quotations will be found in Murray's H, E, D, s. v. < gallop,'
from Lord Bemers in 1533 to Quarles in 1635.]
I. Headborough] Haluwell: The subsequent directions show that Verges
was the Headborough. ' Headborow signifies him that is chief of the frankpledge,
and that had the principal government of them within his own pledge. And, as he
was called headborow, so was he also called Burrowhead, Bursholder, Thirdborow,
Tithingman, Chief-pledge, or Borowelder, according to the diversitie of speech in
several places. Of this see Lambert in his Explication, etc., verbo, Centuria;
Smyth d< Rep, Angl, lib. 2. cap. 22. The same officer is now called a constable.' —
Blount's Law Diet,, 1691.
4. confidence] Walker {Crit, iii, 226) : In Rom, 6r* Jul. II, iv, 114, the
Nurse says, < I desire some confidence with you ;' she means, I imagine, to say coH'
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l88 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi, sc. v.
with you, that decemes you nearely. 5
Leon. Briefe I pray you , for you fee it is a bufie time
with me.
Qon/l.Dog. Mary this it is fir.
Headb. Yes in truth it is fir.
Leon. What is it my good friends ? lo
Con. Do. Goodman Verges fir fpeakes a little of the
matter, an old man fir, and his wits are not fo blunt , as
God helpe I would defire they were , but infaith honeft
as the skin betweene his browes.
Head. Yes I thank God, I am as honeft as any man li- 15
uing,that is an old man, and no honefter then I.
Con. Dog. Comparifons are odorous, palabras, neigh-
bour Verges. 18
6. it is\ QF,Fj, Cap. Coll. Dyce, Var. Ran. Mai. lUtU off Cap. conj.
Wh. Sta. Cam. 'tis F^, Rowe et cet. Steev. et seq.
8. fir,'\ siry — Dyce ii, Hi. 13. infaith'] in faith Rowe.
9, 15, etc. Headb.] Vcrg. Rowe. honeft"] as honest Rowe ii, + .
II. little of] QFf, Rowe, + , Cap. 15, 16. Mnemonic lines, Warb.
ference. So Mistress Quickly in Merry Wives ^ I, iv, 171, says, *I will tell your
worship more of the wart the next time we have confidence.* Vice versd^ in Shirley,
Love Tricks^ V, iii, p. 96, ed. Dyce, Jenkin, the Welshman, says, * well, Jenkin
were even best make shumeys back into her own countreys, and never put credits or
conferences in any womans in the whole urld.'
5. decernes] Dogberry might possibly have known that there is such a word
as ' decern,' although Shakespeare uses it nowhere else, but, in a modem text, dis-
cem, I think, would more nearly reproduce the word which Dogberry uttered. — Ed.
14. skin . . . browes] Reed: So, in Gammer Gurion^s Needle, 155 1, Dame
Chat says : ' I am as true, I wold thou knew, as skin betwene thy browes.* — Hawkins,
Origin of the English Drama, p. 230. [May it be possible that this phrase arose
from the fiact that it was on the forehead that the brand of shameful conduct was
set?— Ed.]
15, 16. Yes . . . then I.] Warburton : There is much humour, and extreme
good sense under the covering of this blundering expression. It is a sly insinuation,
that length of years, and the being much * hacknied in the ways of men,' as Shake-
speare expresses it, take off the gloss of virtue, and bring much defilement on the
manners. For, as a great wit [Swift] says : * Youth is the season of virtue ; corrup-
tions grow with years, and I believe the oldest rogue in England is the greatest' —
Johnson : Much of this is true ; but I believe Shakespeare did not intend to bestow
all this reflection on the speaker. — ^W. A. Wright : No one will doubt about the
humour ; but for the good sense there is just as little as Shakespeare thought appro-
priate to Goodman Verges. Sir Andrew Aguecheek spoke even more modestly of
himself. See Twelfth Night, I, iii, 122 : * Sir Toby, Art thou good at these kick-
shaws, knight ? Sir Andrew, As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the
degree of my betters ; and yet I will not compare with an old man.'
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ACT in. sc. v.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 189
Lean. Neighbours^ you are tedious.
Can. Dog. It pleafes your worihip to fay fo,but we are 20
the poore Dukes officers, but truely for mine owne part,
if I were as tedious as a King I could finde in my heart to
beftow it all of your worfhip.
Lean. All thy tedioufnefle on me, ah ?
CanJl.Dog. Yea , and 'twere a thoufand times more 2$
than 'tis, for I heare as good exclamation on your Wor-
ihip as of any man in the Citie, and though I bee but a
poore man, I am glad to heare it.
Head. And fo am I.
Lean. I would faine know what you haue to fay. 30
Head. Marry fir our watch to night, excepting your
worfhips prefence, haue tane a couple of as arrant
knaues as any in Meflina.
33. finde in\ find U in Glo. Rife, pound Q ; [reading an'\ Cap. Coll.
Huds. Dtn, Wh. ii, Qa. Dyce, Sta. Cam. KUy, Huds. Rife.
34. me^ahf\me! ah — Rowe i. me^ and twice a thousand times Pope,
Ai/* Roweii, + . me! ah! Q«^, me? Han.
ha! Coll. 32. haue'\ ha Q. hcf Cam. Rife,
35. and ^twere,,.times'\ and U were.., Wh. ii. hath Pope, + .
17. palabras] Steevens: So, in the Tam. of Shr., Ind. I, 5, the Tinker sajs
pocas pallabriSf that is, few words, — a scrap of Spanish which might once have been
cairent among the yulgar, and had appeared, as Mr Henley observes, in The Spanish
TVagedy: * Pocas palabras, mild as the lamb.' IV, p. 139, ed. Hazlitt-Dodslej. —
W. A. Wright : 'Palabras' may be Dogberry's blunder for poccu palabras, but it
may not
19. tedious] Jacox (ii, 13) : Some experts in the art of writing fiction appar-
ently fail to understand that the tiresomeness of a bore ought to annoy only the other
persons of the story, not the reader of it. Dogberry and Shallow, for example, as a
shrewd critic has remarked, impress us with a strong conviction that, if we were
doomed to live with them, life would be a dreary burden ; but as readers or spectators
we find them infinitely amusing.
21. the poore Duke's] Steevens : This stroke of pleasantry (arising from a
transposition of the epithet ' poor,' ) occurs in Mecu. for Meas. II, i, 47, where
Elbow says: 'I am the poor duke's constable.'
22. find in] See Text, Notes for a reading which, by an oversight, crept into the
Globe Ed, and remained undetected by the Editors who printed therefrom.
23. all of your] W. A. Wright : This is not one of Dogberry's blunders. See
Thvelfth Night, III, iv, 2: 'How shall I feast him? what bestow of him?' And
AlPs Well, III, V, 103 : < I will bestow some precepts of this virgin.' [See Abbott
($175) for examples of of and on used almost interchangeably.]
35. times] Unquestionably, pound of the Qto is the better word. — Ed.
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igo MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act hi. sc. v.
Con.Dog. A good old man fir, hee will be talking as
they fay, when the age is in the wit is out, God heipe vs, 35
it is a world to fee : well faid yfaith neighbour Verges ,
well, God's a good man , and two men ride of a horfe,
one muft ride behinde, an honeft foule yfaith fir, by my
troth he is, as euer broke bread, but God is to bee wor-
fliipt, all men are not alike, alas good neighbour. 40
Leon. Indeed neighbour he comes too fhort of you.
Con.Do. Gifts that God giues.
Leon. I muft leaue you.
Con. Dog. One word fir, our watch fir haue indeede 44
34-40. Mnemonic lines, Warb. Ashbee.
34> 35« talking... fay ^"1 talking... say ; 37. ami two] an two Pope et seq.
Pope, Han. talking, ,.. say ; Theob. ride of a horfe\ ride of horfeY^,
Warb. Johns, talking ; ...sayyCK^.^\.sitx\. rides an horfe F^F^, Rowe i. ride an
35. is in the] is in, the QF^, Rowe et horse Rowe ii, +.
seq. 44. watch Jir] Watch F^ Rowe,+»
37. God's] his Rowe ii, + . Gods Var. Ran.
35. age . . . out] Halliwell : The old proverb, < when wine is in, wit is out '
(Ray's English Proverbs, 1678) occurs at an earlier period, and in a form more nearly
aUied to Dogberry's version, in Heywood's Epigrammes vppon Proverbes, 1577, —
* When ale is in, wit is out,' etc.
35. is in the] After 'in' there is a comma in Booth's Reprint of F,. There is
none in Vemor and Hood's Reprint of 1807, nor in Staunton's Photolithography nor
in my original. — Ed.
36. a world to see] Steevens : That is, it is wonderful to see. — Holt White :
Rather, it is worth seeing. Barret, Alvearie, 1580, explains, < It is a world to heare,'
by ' it is a thing worthie the hearing. Audire est operae pretium. — Horat.' —
Dyce (Gloss.) : This expression was in use as early as the time of Skelton, who has
in his Bowge of Courte, ' It is a worlde, I saye, to here of some.' Works, I, 47, ed.
Dyce ; and it is found even in the second volume of Strype's Annals of the Reform.,
first published in 1725, and which must have been written only a few years earlier :
'But it was a world to consider what unjust oppressions,' etc., p. 209. [It is a
common phrase, and occurs in Tarn, of Shr. II, i, 313.]
37. God's a good man] Steevens : Thus, in the old Morality, or Interlude, of
Lusty fuventus : ' He will say that God is a good man. He can make him no better,
and say the best he can.' [p. 73, ed. Hazlitt-Dodsley.] Again, in Burton's Anat,
of Melon. : ' there are a certain kind of people called Coordes . . . who worship the
Divel, and alledge this reason in so doing : God is a good man and will do no harm,
but the divel is bad and must be pleased, lest he hurt them.' [Pt. 3, sect. 4, memb.
i, subs. 3, p. 668, ed. 165 1.] — Halliwell: In Shakespeare's time, the term man
was applied, with great latitude, to any allegorical or spiritual being.
37. a horse] The familiar use of ' a' for one; see a second use of it by Dogberry
In IV, ii, 32.
38. behinde] Johnson : This is not out of place or without meaning. Dog-
berry, in his vanity of superior parts, apologizing for his neighbour, observes that
' of two men on a horse, one must ride behind.' The first place of rank or under-
standing can belong but to one, and that happy one ought not to despise his inferior.
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ACT III. sc. v.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 191
comprehended two afpitious perfons, & we would haue 45
them this morning examined before your worihip.
Leon, Take their examination your felfe, and bring it
me, I am now in great hafte,as may appeare vnto you.
Conjl. It (hall be fuffigance. {Exit.
Leon. Drinke fome wine ere you goe : fare you well. 50
Mejfenger. My Lord, they ftay for you to giue your
daughter to her husband.
Leon. He wait vpon them, I am ready.
Dogb. Goe good partner, goe get you to Francis Sea-
coaliy bid him bring his pen and inkehome to the Gaole : 55
we are now to examine thofe men.
45. a/piHous] auspicums Roweii, + » 54. Sea-] See- Ff.
Dyi» ii, iii, Huds. 55. Gaole] Goaie F^ GoalV^, jail
48. as may] as it may Q, Steev. Var. Pope.
Coll. Dyce, Sta. Cam. Ktly. 56. examine] Ff, Rowe, Wh. Rife,
49. (Exit] Om. Rowe. Dtn. examinatum Q, Cap. et cet.
50. [Enter a Messenger. Rowe. tho/e] thefe Q, Cap. Var. Ran.
53. them^ /] them, I FS^, Rowe. Mai. Steev. Var. Knt, Cam. Ktly,
[Ex. Leon. Rowe. Exeunt Le- Wh. ii.
onato. Johns.
54. Francis Seacole] See III, iii, 12, where, possibly, this same Fiands is
called George ; in both places his qualifications as a writer are referred to.
56. examine] R. G: White (ed. i) : The blunder in the Qto is entirely out of
place in Dogberry's mouth ; it is not of the sort which Shakespeare has made char-
acteristic of his mind. Dogberry mistakes the significance of words, but never errs
in the forms of speech ; he is not able to discriminate between sounds that are like
without being the same ; but he is never at fault in grammar ; and this putting of a
substantive into his mouth for a verb is entirely at variance with his habit of thought
His blunders are those of pretending ignorance and conceited folly. If he would
but use a vocabulary suited to his capacity, and talk only about what he understands,
his speech might be without ideas, but it would also be without faults. Often as
there was occasion for him to utter a falsely constructed sentence or misuse the parts
of speech, Shakespeare never makes him do so ; unless we are to believe the evidence
of the unauthentic against that of the authentic copy, that this is a solitary instance
of such incongruity. — Rolfs : It may be added in support of the folio that Dog-
berry has just used the verb correctly in line 46. — ^W. A. Wright : As to White's
remark that Dogberry * never errs in the forms of speech,' it may be noted that he
has just used ' suffigance ' for sufficient, and though a nonsense word it is substantive
in form. It is urged also in support of the Folio, that in line 46 he uses * examined '
correctly. But Dogberry is not consistent in his blunders, for in III, iii, 50, he uses
* suspect ' in its proper sense, while in IV, ii, 72 it stands for respect. [I see no
reason why Dogberry should be exempt from the common lot. We all agree that
the rule : durior lectio praeferenda est, is of general application, why, then, should it
not be applied when Dogberry speaks? Of all others, his is the very case for it.
Therefore, I prefer examination of the Qto. — Ed.]
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192 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act rv. sc. L
Verges. And we muft doe it wifely. 57
Dogb. Wee will fpare for no witte I warrant you :
heere's that fhall driue fome of them to a non-come, on-
ly get the learned writer to fet downe our excommuni- 60
cation, and meet me at the laile. Exeunt.
A£lus Quartus.
Enter Prince ^ Bajlardj Leanato^ Frier ^ Claudia y Benedicke^
HerOy andBeatrice.
Leonato. Come Frier FranciSy be briefe, onely to the
plaine forme of marriage, and you Ihal recount their par- 5
ticular duties afterwards.
Fran. You come hither, my Lord, to marry this Lady.
Clau. No.
Leo. To be married to her : Frier, you come to mar-
rie her. lO
Frier. Lady, you come hither to be married to this
Count.
Hero. I doe.
Frier. If either of you know any inward impediment 14
58. you\ Om. Pope, + . 2. Leonato,] Leonata, F^.
59. heeris that"] heris Thai [touch- 3. Beatrice] Beatrice and others,
ing his forehead.] Johns. Dyce.
to a non-come^ Ff, Rowe, -V, to 7. Fran. ] Frier. Rowe.
a noncotne Q, Cam. to non-come Pope. Lady,'\ QFf, Rowe i, Cam. Wh.
to a non-com Cap. Var. '73 — *21, Knt. ii. Ladyf Rowe et cet.
61. Iaili\Jaile¥^, Goa/F^,Kowei. 9. her : Frur,^ Q, Knt, Coll. Dyce,
Exeunt] Om. Q. Wh. Cam. her^ Frier ^ Ff. Rowe i.
Scene I. Pope. her. Friar; Rowe ii et cet.
A Church. Pope. The inside of a i\, to this'\ to the Rowe.
Church. Coll. 12. Count.'] QFf, Rowe i. Cam. Wh.
ii. Count? Rowe ii et cet.
59. non-come] Capbll (p. 129) : This form is significant, as we know, of —
non compos ; a pleasant quid pro quo of the speaker, who means — non plus,
2. Franz Horn (i, 274) : Shakespeare's stage-setting is worthy of note, when
misfortune is to befal. Jest and the dance prevail in cheerful rooms and pleasant
gardens, but the tragic element of life is presented in a church, — the most fitting
place, for here we must first seek consolation for earthly woes.
14. If either, etc.] Douce : This is from our Marriage Ceremony, which (with
a few slight changes in phraseology) is the same as was used in the time of
Shakespeare.
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ACT IV. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 193
why you fliould not be conioyned, I charge you on your 15
foules to vtter it.
Claud. Know you anie, Hero?
Hero. None my Lord.
Frier. Know you anie, Count ?
Leon. I dare make his anfwer, None. 20
Clau. O what men dare do/ what men may do ! what
men daily do ! * , not knowing what they do ! *
Bene. How now ! interieftions ? why then, fome be
of laughing, as ha, ha, he.
Clau. Stand thee by Frier, father, by your leaue, 25
Will you with free and vnconftrained foule
Giue me this maid your daughter ?
Leon. As freely fonne as God did giue her me.
Cla. And what haue I to giue you back,whofe worth
May counterpoife this rich and precious gift ? 30
Prin. Nothing, vnleffe you render her againe.
Clau. Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulnes :
There Leonato^ take her backe againe,
Giue not this rotten Orenge to your friend.
Sheets but the figne and femblance of her honour ; 35
22. daily dof\ daily do^ not knowing 25. by Frier^'\ by Frier: FJF^. by^
what they do ! Q, Theob. Warb. et seq. Frier : Rowe.
23. interiedlions] interictfHons Sta. 26. with free"] with this free F^.
Facsimile. 28. Leon.] Leonata Q.
24. ha^ ha^ he,"] Ft, Rowe, + , Mai. 33. Leonato] Leonata F^.
Var. ah, ha, he Q, CauL Wh. n. ha 34. Orenge] Orange F^F^.
hay hat Cap.
22. * not knowing . . . do *] These words are in the Qto. There are so many
exclamations ending in ' do/ that this last might have been easily lost to the ear of
the compositor and forgotten, or overlooked by the eye.
24. ha, ha, he] Hunter (i, 254) : Shakespeare had been anticipated in this
ludicrous mode of applying the language of the grammar. It occurs in Lyly's
Endymion, where Sir Tophas says, ' An interjection, whereof some are of mourn-
ing : as eho, vah P [III, iii, p. 43, ed. Baker.] — W. A. Wright : Ben Jonson, in
his English Grammar, gives as examples of interjections 'ah, alas, woe, fie, tush,
ha, ha, he.'
25. Stand thee] See III, i, 3.
32. 3rou learn me] This use of < learn ' instead of teach may be still heard in this
country. In Temp, I, ii, 425 (of this ed.), Caliban uses both words, within three
lines : < You taught me Language, and my profit on't Is I know how to curse; the
red plague rid you For learning me your language.' — ^Ed.
13
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194 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv. sc. l
Behold how like a maid (he blufhes heere ! 36
O what authoritie and (hew of truth
Can cunning finne couer it felfe withall !
Comes not that bloud, as modeft euidence,
To witneffe fimple Vertue ? would you not fweare 40
All you that fee her, that (he were a maide,
By thefe exterior fliewes ? But fhe is none :
She knowes the heat of a luxurious bed :
Her blufh is guiltineffe, not modeftie.
Leonato. What doe you meane, my Lord? 45
Clau. Not to be married,
Not to knit my foule to an approued wanton.
Leon. Deere my Lord, if you in your owne proofe, 48
46-48. Three lines, ending foule.., Steev. conj.
Lord,., proofe Var. '78, '85, Ran. Walker 48. Deere"] Dear^ dear Cap. Dearest
( Vers, 137). Wagner conj.
46, 47. Not to be. ..foule'] One line, Lord,] lord — [He pauses from
Dyce, Walker ( Crit. iii, 21 ) Huds. emotion] Marshall.
47. Not to knit] Not knit Ff, Rowe, proofe] approofTheob,-{-, person
+ , Cap. Var. Ran. Steev. Nor knit Gould.
37. authoritie] Deighton : That is, warranty, guarantee; rather than dignity,
nobleness, as Schmidt explains it
3& Can] This affirmative form <^ question is not uncommon in Shakespeare.
We should now say Cannot, See also line 270 below : ' Ah, how much might the
man deserve,* etc. — Ed.
39. modest evidence] That is, evidence of modesty.
41. that she were] Allen (MS) 'Were' is here in the subjunctive by attrac-
tion by * would ' in the preceding line. [The only satisfactory way, I think, of
accounting for this subjunctive. See Abbott, § 368, where this present passage is
quoted, and apparently the subjunctive explained as implying futurity. — ^Ed.]
43. luxurious] Johnson : Luxury is the confessor's term for unlawful pleasures.
[In Roman Catholic Moral Theology the definition, to this day, of ' luxury ' is
Mnordinatus appetitus rei veneres.' — Ed.]
46-48. See Text, Notes for a metrical arrangement of these lines proposed by
Walker, not knowing that he had been anticipated by the Variorum of 1778. Dyce
in his First Edition pro)posed the arrangement of lines 46, 47 (wherein he, too, had
been anticipated by the same Variorum,) which he afterward adopted. But all these
divisions of lines, on which Walker lays so much stress, are merely for the eye. No
ear could or should detect them. — ^Ed.
47. approued] See II, i, 360, if necessary.
48. Dear] By many examples, Malone, Walker ( Vers, 136), and Abbott
(J 480) prove ihaX dear, fear, your, our, etc. were disyllables. With 'dear' thus
pronounced, the metre in this line is faultless, with the emphasis falling where it
should on 'you.' But neither Theobald nor Capell, nor, in our own days,
Wagner, noted this pronunciation ; Theobald, therefore, proposed to correct the
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ACT IV. sc. i.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 195
Haue vanquifht the refiftance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginitie. (her, 50
Clau. I know what you would fay: if I haue knowne
You will fay, (he did imbrace me as a husband.
And fo extenuate the forehand fmne : No Leonato^
I neuer tempted her with word too large,
But as a brother to his fitter, (hewed 55
Ba(hfull finceritie and comely loue.
Hero. And feem'd I euer otherwife to you ?
Clou. Out on thee feeming,! will write againft it, 58
49. of her\ of your F^F^. et seq. (except Sta. )
50. virginiHe,'\ virginity — Rowe et 55. Jhew€d'\ shert^d Rowe.
«eq. 57. feetrid\ fem'd F^
52. K»««tti7]QFf,Cap. DyccijCam. 58. tAee /eeming,] QFf, Rowe. /Ae
Wh. ii. Kw'i/ Pope et cet seeming f Knt thee, seeming/ Coll.
53. Andfd] And to FJF^. thee! seeming! Seymour, Wh, Sta. Cam.
forehand'\ ^forehand Mai. 1790. thy seeming! Pope et cet
No Leonato] Separate line, Pope
metre at the end of the line by reading approof for < proof whereby the emphasis
is wrongly laid on * if ' and • in.' The Text, Notes show CapelPs text and Wagner's
conjecture. — ^Ed.
48. proofe] Tyrwhitt : This may signify, * in your own trial of her.' — ^Halu-
WELL: The word 'proof may also be interpreted example, with every probability
of that being the meaning intended. *A proofe: an example, a saie, a token, a
pateme, a shew.' — Baret's Ahearie, 1580.
52. You will] Howsoever these two words are written, they must be pronounced
yot^ll in reading.
52. husband] Deighton : Betrothal in Shakespeare's day was looked upon as
a contract much more binding than the * engagement' of modem times, and was
accompanied by certain ceremonies, such as the joining of hands before witnesses,
see Wint, Tale, IV, iv, 400 ; the exchange of kisses, see King John, II, i, 532 ;
the interchange of rings, see Tkoelfih Night, V, i, 159, Rich, HI: I, ii, 202, 7\oo
Gent, II, ii, 5.
54. large] Johnson: So he uses Marge jests' [II, iii, 191, which see] in this
play, for licentious, not restrained within due bounds. [I think we should now say,
either broad, as W. A. Wright suggests, or free. — Ed.]
58. thee seeming] Knight : We believe that the poet used * Out on the seem-
ing,' — the specious resemblance, — ' I will write against it* — that is, against this false
representation, along with this deceiving portrait, ' You seem to me,' etc. The com-
mentators separate * I will write against it ' from what follows, as if Qaudio were
about to compose a treatise upon the subject of woman's deceitfiilness. — Collier :
There is no reason for Pope's change. Claudio addresses Hero as the personification
of ' seeming,' or hypocrisy. The MS has ' thee ' needlessly altered to thy, — Dycb
{Strictures, p. 49) : Collier's lection is proved to be wrong by the second part of the
line : if Qaudio, 'addressing Hero as the personification of << seeming" or hypoc-
risy,' had said, ''out on thee, seeming!" the words must have been followed by
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196 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv. sc. i.
You feeme to me as Diane in her Orbe,
As chafte as is the budde ere it be blowne : 60
But you are more intemperate in your bloody
Than Venus, or thofe pampred animalls, 62
59. /e^fm to] seem*d to Han. Mai. 59. Diane] Diana F^^. Dian'Rowt,
conj. Walker, Dyce ii» iii, Huds. Ktly.
"I will write against thee."* [For once, Seymour, (see T^xt Notes), whose
witless notes together with Jackson's, Becket's, and Lord Chedworth's, are
banned in general from these pages, seems to have hit upon a happy reading and
the best. Kind Nature never utterly deserts her oflfspring. — Ed.]
58. I will write] Warburton: What? a libel? nonsense. We should read,
' I will rate against it,' i, e, rail or revile. — Edwards (p. 52) : Does Mr Waiburton
then find it impossible to write unless he writes a libel ? However that be, his emen-
dation makes the matter worse ; for we cannot say, I will rate against a thing, or
reviU against it, tho' rail^t, may ; but that is not much better than libelling, — Heath
(p. 107) : I take the meaning to be this : In opposition to thy seeming innocence, I
will testify and avouch under my hand the truth expressed in the five lines which
immediately follow. — Capell (p. 130) : This editor [t. e, Capell] sees no reason
why 'write ' should not be accepted in its common and ordinary sense, and Claudio's
intention in it, — that were he a poet, he would take the pen up, and play the satirist
upon such a *■ seeming ' as that he exclaims against ; which, upon these words, he
proceeds to set forth in the very colours of satire. — Steevens : So, in Cym, II, v,
32, where Posthumus, speaking of women, says : < I'll write against them, Detest
them, curse them.' — Haluwell: The verb 'write' is sometimes used metaphori-
cally in the sense of, to pronounce con'fidently in words fit to be written, or generally,
to pronounce or proclaim. So in Lear, V, iii, 35 : < About it, and write happy,
when thou hast done.' Posthumus scarcely means to use the phrase literally, but
rather in the sense that he will inveigh strongly against the sex. It is by no means
impossible that * against ' is used in the sense of over-againsty and that Claudio will
write and publish his sentence in the front of her apparent innocence. [In which
case, the two succeeding lines are, I suppose, that which Claudio would write. This
would involve the objectionable change of ' seem' to seemed, — Ed.]
59. seeme] Hanmer's reading (with an excellent array of followers,) destroys
one of those pictures which Shakespeare gives us by indirection. When old Capulet,
in hurling epithets at Juliet, calls her, ' tallow-face I' the coarse words betray the
looks of agony on Juliet's face, so blanched with terror that it catches the attention
even of her father in the midst of his vituperative wrath. When Bassanio, pleading
for forgiveness from Portia for parting with her ring, swears by her ' fair eyes,' we
see those eyes so sparkling with merriment over the success of the trick, and with
love for its victim, that there was nothing else for Bassanio to swear by, they rivetted
his gaze and became his world. Thus here, before the very eyes of Qaudio, Hero
stands, not in the past but in the present, as pure as moon-light, and the very type
of chastity, and, in the rosy tint which, catches his eye, we see the deepening blush
of indignation on her cheek. — Ed.
60. budde . . . blowne] Before it can be even kissed by the wind, that * char-
tered libertine,' * that kisses all he meets.'— Ed.
61. blood] See II, i, 172, if necessary.
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ACT IV. sc. i.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 197
That rage in fauage fenfualitie. 63
Hero. Is my Lord well, that he doth fpeake fo wide?
Leon. Sweete Prince, why fpeake not you ? 65
Prin. What (hould I fpeake f
I ftand difhonour'd that haue gone about,
To linke my deare friend to a common ftale.
Leon. Are thefe things fpoken, or doe I but dreame ?
Bqfi. Sir, they are fpoken, and thefe things are true. 70
Bene. This lookes not Uke a nuptiall.
Hero. True, O God / 72
63. rage] range Coll. MS. 71. [Aside. Ed. conj.
64. tru/^] wt/a^ Coll. MS. 72. True,] True I F^F^, Rowe, + ,
65. Leon.] Claudio. Tieck, Dyce u, Mai. Dyce, Cam. Wh. ii, Ktly. Truef
iU, Delias, Huds. Coll. Sta. Wh. i.
64. so wide] Stbkvens : That is, so lemotelj from the present business. So, in
Tro, &• Cress, III, i, 97 : * No, no ; no such matter ; you are wide.' [See also Lear^
IV, vii, 50, where the old king is recovering his untuned and jarring senses and
imagines Cordelia to be a soul in bliss, Cordelia says aside ' Still, still far wide I']
65. Leon.] TiECX (p. 357) : In my opinion this speech belongs to Qaudio, who
looks about him, and is astonished that the Prince does not confirm his words, as he
had promised that he would. Leonato is too horror-stricken to have any thought of
the Prince at that moment, or to address him as 'Sweet Prince.' — ^Knight (ed. ii)
called attention to Tieck's reading ; and Dyce quoted Knight, adding : < To Claudio,
as I saw long ago, [this speech] assuredly belongs ;— and Claudio has, only a few
speeches before, addressed Don Pedro in the same terms, — ' Sweet prince^ you learn
me noble thankfulness.' — Haluwell : The speech is scarcely suited to [Claudio]
who has but just been involved in the utmost extremity of anger ; and it is more
appropriate in the mouth of Leonato, who is overwhelmed with astonishment at
Qaudio' s language and now appeals earnestly to Don Pedro in his daughter's
behalf. — Deighton regards Tieck's change as 'probable.*— W. A. Wright: After
what Hero says of Qaudio' s words it seems natural that her. father should appeal
to the prince. [Should Qaudio appeal to the Prince, would it not imply that he felt
the need of corroboration ? whereas he would have died for the truth of what he had
seen.— Ed.]
68. stale] See, if necessary, II, ii, 24.
71. This . . . nuptiall] Surely this is spoken aside ; if for no other reason, than
to avoid the supposition that Hero's exclamation, in the next line, is in response to
it — Ed.— W. A. Wright : Shakespeare uses the plural ' nuptials ' only in Pericles
V, iii, 80, and in 0th, II, ii, 8, where the Qq have the plural and the Ff the singu-
lar. In The Tempest^ V, i, 308, and A Mid, N, D, I, i, 125, V, i, 75, the plural is
introduced in the later Ff.
72. True,] It makes but little difference whether this be followed by a mark of
interrogation or of exclamation, as long as it is understood to be a repetition of Don
John's last word. In a modem text, I think it would be well to print it with quota-
tion marks. — ^Ed.
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198 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. i.
Clau. Leonato^ ftand I here ? 73
Is this the Prince? is this the Princes brother?
Is this face Heroes? are our eies our owne ? 75
Leon. All this is fo, but what of this my Lord ?
Clau. Let me but moue one queftion to your daugh-
And by that fatherly and kindly power, (ter,
That you haue in her, bid her anfwer truly.
Leo. 1 charge thee doe, as thou art my childe. 80
Hero. O God defend me how am I befet.
What kinde of catechizing call you this ?
Clau. To make you anfwer truly to your name.
Hero. Is it not Hero ? who can blot that name
With any iuft reproach ? 85
Claud. Marry that can Hero^
Hero it felfe can blot out Heroes vertue.
What man was he,talkt with you yeftemight,
Out at your window betwixt twelue and one ?
Now if you are a maid, anfwer to this. 90
Hero. I talkt with no man at that howre my Lord.
Prince. Why then you are no maiden. LeonatOy 92
8a doe] Knt. to do FjF^. do fo 83. Clau.] Leo. or Leon. Ff, Rowe,
QF,, Rowe et cct Pope, Han.
81. God defend m/] Q. O God de- 87. it /elf e"] herself Rowe, +.
fend me, Ff, Rowe, + , O God defend 89. detwixt} betwUxt F,.
nul Cap. Sta. O God, defend me I 92. you are] Ff, Rowc, + , Vat. Ran.
Var. '21, Coll. Wh. i. O, God defend are you Q, Cap. et cet
met Dyce, Cam. Wh. ii. Leonato,] Leonata, F^.
78. kindly] Johnson : That is, natural power. Kind is nature,
80. doe] Knight adopts the reading of the Folio, and defends it with the remark
that * the pause which is required after the " do,** by the omission of so [of the Qto],
gives force to the command.' [Why, then, should we retain ' do ' ? it is not essential
to the sense. If force be gained by the omission of one word* would not more force
be gained by the omission of two words? I prefer the Qto. — Ed.]
83. answer . . . name] Deighton : This refers to the answering by a man to
his name when called upon to give evidence in court, or on similar occasions ; but
Hero, bewildered by the strange turn which the proceedings have taken, answers
literally. [Possibly, Qaudio's answer was prompted by the word ' catechizing' in
Hero's question. The first question in the Catechism is: 'What is your name?'
Deighton also has this suggestion. — Ed.]
87. Hero it selfe] The very name, by becoming a byword and a reproach, can
Mot out virtue. — Ed.
9a if ... a maid] If you are innocent you can explain this fact.
92. Why ... no maiden] By denying what we know to be a fact, you confess
your guilt
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ACT !V, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 199
I am forry you muft heare : vpon mine honor , 93
My felfe, my brother, and this grieued Count
Did fee her, heare her, at that howre laft night, 95
Talke with a ruffian at her chamber window.
Who hath indeed moil like a liberall villaine,
Confeft the vile encounters they haue had
A thoufand times in fecret.
lohn. Fie, fie, they are not to be named my Lord, ICX)
Not to be fpoken of,
There is not chaftitie enough in language.
Without offence to vtter them: thus pretty Lady
I am forry for thy much mifgouemment IC4
93. / am\ Pm Dyce ii, iii, Huds. 100, loi. they are».,/poken of] One
97. m^ like a /tderali'} like an UHb- line (reading y><»^^), Sta.
eral Han. Waib. like a most liberal loo, loi. to be,„/poken of^OvAVaat^
Anon. ap. Cam. Ktly.
100. Fie^fie^l Fie, Han. loi. fpoken] /poke Q, Cap. Var.
100, loi. not to be named ,„ fpoken Ran. Mai. Steev. Var. Coll. Dyce, Sta.
of] One line, Han. Cap. Var. Ran. Mai. Cam. Wh. ii.
Steev. Var. Knt, Dyce i. 104. / am] Pm Dyce ii, iii, Huds,
97. liberall] Johnson : ' Liberal here, as in many places in these plays, means
frank beyond honesty, or decency. Free of tongue. — Steevens : So, in The Fair
Maid of BristoWy 1605 : ' But Vallinger, most like a liberal villain. Did give her
scandalous ignoble terms.' [See also the note on Marge,' II, iii, 191. May not
' liberal ' be also used here in the sense of lavish, free-handed anticipating (prolep-
tically, the grammarians call it) the * thousand times' ? — ^Ed.]
103. Without . . . Lady] Fleay (Ingleby's Shakespeare the Man, etc. ii,
80) : There are few Alexandrines in this play, and of these few some are dubious.
In the present line, I would pronounce 'utter 'em' as two syllables. [Except on
the principle that < when giddy be holp by backward turning,' it is not easy to see
how one blemish is to be obliterated by the substitution of another and a greater one.
Vile as Don John is, and worthy of racking torture, I do not hate him enough to
condemn him to say uttrem for < utter them.' — Ed.]
103. thus] Collier (ed. ii) : Thou is evidently more proper, with reference
both to what follows and what precedes ; it is the emendation of the MS of an easy
and common misprint. [Collier adopted thou in his Second Edition, but deserted
it in his Third.]
104. much] For 'much' thus used, see Abbott, 2 5i*
104. misgouemment] W. A. Wright: Thy grievous misconduct. Shake-
speare does not again use * misgovemment ' for disorderly, indecorous conduct, but
he has < misgoverning ' in the same sense in Lucrece, 654 : < Black lust, dishonour,
shame, misgoverning. Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.' On the con-
trary, Katharine in Henry VHI : II, iv, 138, is praised by the king for her 'wife-
like government'
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200 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. i.
CUmd. O Hero ! what a Hero hadfl thou beene 105
If halfe thy outward graces had beene placed
About thy thoughts and counfailes of thy heart ?
But fare thee well,moft foule^mofl fake, farewell
Thou pure impiety, and impious puritie.
For thee He locke vp all the gates of Loue, 1 10
And on my eie-lids fliall Coniefture hang.
To turne all beauty into thoughts of harme, 112
105, 106. heene\ bin Q. Var. Knt, Coll. Dyce i, Wh. Sta. Cam,
107. thy thoughts^ QFf, Cap, Steev. the thoughts Rowe ct cet
X05. O Hero !] Lady Martin (p. 318) : Hero is at first so stunned, so bewil-
dered, so unable to realise what is meant by the accusation, that she cannot speak.
When Claudio, assuming conscious guilt from her silence, went on with his chaige,
I [as Beatrice] could hardly keep still. My feet tingled, my eyes flashed lightning
upon the princes and Claudio. Oh that I had been her brother, her male cousin,
and not a powerless woman ! How I looked round in quest of help, and gladly
saw Benedick withdrawn from the rest I And how shame seemed piled on shame
when the hateful Prince John [spoke so insultingly] to the victim d[ his villainy.
Oh for a flight of deadly arrows to send alter him ! Then Claudio' s parting speech,
with its floweiy sentimentalism, so out of place in one who had played so merciless
a part, sickened me with contempt.
105. what a Hero] Johnson : I am afraid here is intended a poor conceit upon
the word Hero. — Halliwell : Dr Johnson's supposition is unnecessary, and at
variance with the tenor of the speech. She is called, in the next Act, 'virgin
knight,' but most probably in neither instance is there any allusion to Hero's mar-
tial name. [What Halliwell says is eminently just We do not associate mere
physical beauty, 'outward graces,' and 'counsels of the heart' with a hero. — Ed.]
107. thy thoughts] Rows' s change to *the thoughts' is extremely tempting.
Dyce (ed. ii) boldly pronounces 'thy' a 'mistake, arising from the occurrence of
" thy " both in the preceding and in the present line.'
107. counsailes] See II, iii, 195.
109. puritie] Walker ( Vers, 201) : The i in -ity is almost uniformly dropt in
pronunciation. [This remark must pass without comment further than that I do not
believe it That the i was slurred, and reduced to a mere ripple after the liquid r
is most likely, but that it was ' dropt,' and the word pronounced pun-ty^ oxen and
wun ropes cannot hale me to the belief. — Ed.]
109. Thou . . . puritie] Deighton quotes Tennyson, Lancelot and Elaine^
lines 871-2 : ' His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him
falsely true.' [Compare Juliet's frantic raving, in the first moments after learning
that Romeo's hand had shed Tybalt's blood.— Ed.]
III. ConieAure] M alone: That is, suspicion, [Schmidt gives two other
instances of this use of 'conjecture' : Wint, Tale, II, i, 176: 'Their familiarity
Which was as gross as ever touch' d conjecture' ; and Hamlet^ IV, v, 15 : ' she may
strew Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.' But it is quite possible to give
'conjecture' its ordinary meaning in both passages. — Ed.]
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ACT IV, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 201
And neuer fhall it more be gracious. 113
Leon. Hath no mans dagger here a point for me ?
Beat. Why how now cofin, wherfore fink you down? 115
^o^. Come, let vs go:thefe things come thus to light.
Smother her fpirits vp.
Bene. How doth the Lady ?
Beat. Dead I thinke, helpe vncle,
Hero^ why HerOy Vncle, Signor Benedicke^ Frier. 120
114. [Hero swoons. Han. et seq. 120. Hero ... /Wfr.] Hero! why^
117. [Exc. D. Pedro, D. John and Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick!
Claad. Rowe. Friar! Rowe et seq. (subs.)
Scene II. Pope, + .
114. Hath ... for me?] Lady Martin (p. 316): When Claudio brings
forward his acxnisation against his bride, Beatrice is struck dumb with amazement.
Indignation at the falsehood of the charge, and at the unmanliness that could wait
for such a moment to make it, is mingled with the keenest sympathy for Leonato as
well as Hero. I never knew exactly for which of the two my sympathy should be
most shown, and I found myself by the side now of the one, now of the other.
Hero had her friends, her attendants round her ; but the kind unde and guardian
stands alone. Strangely enough, his brother Antonio, who plays a prominent part
afterwards, is not at the wedding. [Antonio's explosion of wrath had to be reserved
for a later scene. Had he been present, his outburst would have befallen at the
very altar, and have interfered with the plot. It seems like an attempt to gild
refined gold to add a word to these inimitable revelations of Lady Martin. — Ed.]
114. <Oh, how one ugly trick will spoil. The sweetest and the best!' Thus
begins one of Jane Taylor's Original Poems^ familiar to us all in our nursery. The
words constantly recur to me when I see admirable, nay, most excellent editors
follow the lead, in stage-directions, of commonplace mediocrity. No dramatist
needs stage-directions, in the text, less than Shakespeare; he leaves nothing to
conjecture, he tells us everything. When Beatrice exclaims in terror, ' Why, how
now. Cousin I wherefore sink you down ! ' whosoever needs to be told, in a stage-
direction, that * Hero swoons' ought to have the word * says' inserted in the text,
for his better comprehension, before every speech. — Ed.
117. Smother . . . vp] Here 'up' is not redundant, but intensive. Compare
'paint out,' III, ii, 100; and also see note on *kill them vp,' As You LVte Ity II,
i, 66 (of this ed. ) where references will be found to many similar phrases. On this
present passage W. A. Wright quotes * stifle up,' — King Jokn^ IV, iii, 133 ; poisons
up^ — Lav^s Lab. L. IV, iii, 305.
118. Bene.] Fletcher (p. 267) : Since Benedick is not at all in the confidence
of his friend the Count, and his princely patron, as to their alleged observations
respecting the conduct of Hero, we see him, when her accusers have retired from the
scene, remaining with perfect propriety, except the officiating ecclesiastic, the only
impartial adviser and consoler of the afflicted family. [But was it for no other reason
that he lingered where Beatrice was? — ^Ed.]
120. Vncle] To reduce this line to a semblance of decorous rhythm with only
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202 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. L
Leonato. O Fate ! take not away thy heauy hand^ 121
Death is the faireft couer for her fliame
That may be wiflit for.
Beatr. How now cofin Hero ?
Fri. Haue comfort Ladie. 125
Z^on, Doft thou looke vp ?
123-126. As two lines, ending Hero 126. looke vp'\ still look up Steev.
.,»vpf Steev. Var. '03, *I3. conj.
twelve syllables instead of fourteen, Fleay (Ingleby's Shakespeare the Man^ etc.,
ii, 81) omits this repetition of 'unde.' It is quite sufficient, for Beatrice, though
Fleay does not allude to it, to have summoned her uncle once^ and, no matter what
were her alarm and terror, nothing should have induced her to call upon him twieey
at the risk, I tremble while I write, of uttering fourteen syllables in one line ! — Ed.
120. Signer Benedicke] Lady Martin (p. 317) : Beatrice's blood is all on
fire at the disgrace thus brought upon her family and herself. When she hears the
vile slander supported by Don Pedro ; and when Don John, that sour-visaged hypo-
crite whom she dislikes by instinct, with insolent cruelty throws fresh reproaches upon
the fainting Hero, her eye falls on Benedick, who stands apart bewildered, looking
on the scene with an air of manifest distress. In that moment, as I think, Beatrice
makes up her mind that he shall be her cousin's champion. Were she not a woman,
she would herself enter the lists to avenge the wrong ; since she cannot do this
directly, she will do it indirecdy by enlisting this new-found lover in her cause.
How happy a coincidence it is, that Hero has so lately brought the fact of Benedick's
devotion to her knowledge ! All remembrance of the harsh, the unkind accusations
against herself, with which the information was mixed up, has vanished from her
mind. It was Hero who revealed to her the unsuspected love of Benedick, — at least
its earnestness and depth, — and Hero shall be the first to benefit by it. Benedick is
so present to her thoughts, that when Hero faints in her arms, she calls to him, as
well as to Leonato, and the Friar, to come to her assistance. Nor is he unmoved by
what he has noted in Beatrice.
125. Fri.] C. C. Clarke (p. 310) : Shakespeare has, I think, never introduced
a Friar in any of his plays but he has made him an agent to administer consolation
and provide means for securing domestic peace. All his Friars are characters im-
plicitly commanding love and respect Now, living as he did, in the early period of
our rupture with the Church of Rome ; and v^hen, to lend a helping hand toward
pulling down and bringing into disrepute that hierarchy, was considered an act of
duty in every proselyte to the Reformed Church, it is not a little remarkable that he
should have uniformly abstained from identifying himself with the image-breakers.
To this may be retorted, that in the plays where he has introduced the Friar, the
scene was laid in Catholic countries, and where that religion was paramount ; that
he was a painter of nature and character, not a sectarian, civil or ecclesiastical ; and
lastly, that it was not his cue to be controversial, either actively or implied. But as
the mental bias in every writer will casually betray itself ; so we find, that when
Shakespeare has introduced a member of the Z^t>-Church party, — ^such as the Oliver
Martezts, the Sir Hughs, the Sir Nathaniels, and the Sir Topazes, — ^he has usually
thrown them into a ludicrous position ; for like his brother poet, Spenser, and other
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ACT IV, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 203
Frier. Yea, wherefore (hould fhe not ? 127
Leon. Wherfore ? Why doth not euery earthly thing
Cry (hame vpon her? Could fhe heere denie
The ftorie that is printed in her blood ? 130
Do not Hue Heroy do not ope thine eyes :
For did I thinke thou wouldft not quickly die,
Thought I thy fpirits were ftronger then thy fliames,
My felfe would on the reward of reproaches 134
128. Why doth'\ IVhy, dathTheoh, et 134, reward'^ ColL ii. rereward Q,
seq. Rowe, + . rearervard F,. rearward
133. Jkames\ /hame's FjF^. F,F^, Cap. et cet
master-intellects of the day, he was disgusted with the unimaginative interfering
spirit, and gross intolerance of Puritanism, which had then come in, and, indeed,
was prevailing. In the play of King John he has, it is true, with sufficient explidt-
ness denounced the intolerance of the Papal dominion ; but there (like the majority
of his countrymen) he was but testifying to a long-existing opprobrium.— RUSKIN
(Modem Painters, iv. Chap, xx, § 36) : The Friar of Shakespeare's plays is almost
the only stage-conventualism which he admitted ; generally nothing more than a weak
old man who lives in a cell, and has a rope about his waist.
130. in her blood] Johnson : That is, the story which her blushes discover to
be true. — Seymour : This explanation is more elegant than correct ; for Hero had
just then fainted, and consequently could not be blushing ; the story that is printed
in her blood is the pollution with which she is supposed to be stained, pollution so
indelible that it permeates the vital principle of her being. — Haluwell : To print
is constantly used metaphorically in the sense of, to impress, in the generic meaning
of that verb. Dr Johnson's interpretation, however, is supported by the Friar's sub-
sequent notice of the < thousand blushing apparitions,' unless we suppose that Leonato
is now alluding to Hero's present condition. — W. A. Wright : Johnson's explana-
tion is more natural than that given by Schmidt (s. v. Print) , the story < with the
stain of which her blood is polluted.' [For which Schmidt was, possibly, indebted
to Seymour. — Ed.]
133. spirits] This word, where the metre does not require us to pronounce it
disyllabically, is monosyllabic; pronounced sprit, or sprite, or, possibly, sprete.
See Walker, Crit, i, 197.
134. reward] Evidently a misprint for < rearward.' — Collier (ed. ii, reading
'reward') : The meaning is, that Leonato was willing to run the risk of being
rewarded with reproaches. The MS substitutes hazard for * reward.' [Collier reads
'rearward' in his ed. iii.] — Haluwell : So, in some old versions of the Bible, in
Isaiah, Iviii, 8 : * the glory of the Lord shall be thy rereward^ where the last word
has sometimes been misinterpreted reward. The meaning of the text is clearly either
a threat to take his daughter's life, after heaping reproaches on her, or that he will
follow the heavy reproaches that have been lavished upon her, by * striking at her
life.' Compare Sonnet xc. [Collier's MS] reads hazard, but Leonato is in too
great a fury to pass a thought as to what might be said of his determination. — Brae
(Collier, Coleridge, and Shakespeare, p. 145) : The true word lies within a hair's-
breadth of the original : for * reward ' read re-word, * Re- word ' was a favourite with
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204 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. i.
Strike at thy life. Grieu'd I, I had but one ? 135
Chid I, for that at frugal Natures frame ?
one too much by thee : why had I one ?
Why euer was't thou loulie in my eies ?
Why had I not with charitable hand
Tooke vp a beggars ifTue at my gates, 140
Who fmeered thus, and mir'd with infamie,
1 might haue faid, no part of it is mine :
This (hame deriues it felfe from vnknowne loines,
But mine, and mine I lou'd, and mine I prais'd, 144
I'^t, fraihe\handlA.2Si, froTtmCoVL. I4f>, gates] gat^sV^^.
ii, iii (MS). 141. fmeered] fmeer^ dY ^, fndrched
137. O] Om. Ff. Pve Rowe, + . Q, Steev. Var. Knt, Coll. Dyce, Wh. ii,
139. / not] not I Rowe, Pope, Han. Sta. CaixL Rife, Huds.
Shakespeare. [He uses it exactly twice. — Ed.] . . . Leonato means, that if he
thought Hero would survive this open shame, he would, upon the re- word, or repe-
tition of the reproaches she had been subjected to, himself strike at her life.
136. frugal Nature's frame] It is enough to record merely that Warburton's
text reads 'frugal Nature's ^fraine* i. e. refraine, 'or keeping back her further
favours, etc' ; without giving his long note. — Johnson : < Frame ' may easily signify
the system of things, or universal scheme. — Steevens : ' Frame ' is contrivance^
ordery disposition of things. So, in line 197 of this scene : ' Whose spirits toil in
frame of villanies.' — M. Mason (p. 54) : 'Frame' here means framings as in line
197. — CoLUER (ed. ii) : The MS corrects 'frame' to frown, meaning ihit froum
which forbad him to have more children. — R. G. White (ed. i) : It is not impos-
sible that Collier's MS is correct. The misprint would be very easy, and the word
is highly appropriate. — Halliwell : ' Frame ' is framing, contrivance ; or, order, as
in Lov^s Lab, Z., Ill, i, 193: 'like a German clock . . . ever out of frame.'
'Frugal nature's frame' is equivalent to * nature's frugal frame.' — Staunton : May
it not mta.n limit, restriction ? [' Frame' is here equivalent to framing, as Mason
and Halliwell observe. Allen (MS) refers, for its form, to Sonnet, xix, 8: 'Or
say ... By oft predict that I in heaven find,' where 'predict' is equivalent to
predicting. Its grammatical form having been thus accounted for, its meaning may
well be left to the intelligence of the reader, or to a selection from the meanings
furnished in the foregoing notes. Compare Horn, dr* Jul, III, v, 164 where Old
Capulet utters a similar complaint : ' we scarce thought us blest That God had lent
us but this only child. But now I see this one is one too much.' — Ed.]
141. Who smeered thus] Smirched of the Qto is the stronger word. For
another example of a participle thus used with a nominative absolute, see Mer, of
Ven. IV, i, 142, of this ed. : 'who hang'd for humane slaughter, Euen from the
gallowes did his fell soule fleet ' ; or see Abbott, } 376.
144, 145. and mine] Warburton, not perceiving that, in each case, 'mine'
is the nominative in apposition to ' she ' in line 147, reads ' as mine ' wherever ' and
mine' occurs, a reading which was deservedly condemned by Edwards (p. 56)
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ACT IV, sc. i.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 205
And mine that I was proud on mine fo much, 14S
That I my felfe, was to my felfe not mine:
Valewing of her, why (he, O (he is falne
Into a pit of Inke, that the wide fea
Hath drops too few to wa(h her cleane againe,
And fait too little, which may feafon giue 150
To her foule tainted (le(h.
145. onmimlon.mineYi^Ko^e^-V. 148. /«>fc^,] ink! Cap. Var. Ran.
4m; mine Cap. et seq. Mai. Steev. Var. Knt, Sta.
146. 147. m>>f^.- Vaiemng\ mine, i$i, foule tainted'^ soul-tainted CoW,
Valuing Rowe. ii, iii (MS), foul-tainted Dyce, Walker,
147. whyfhe^ 0\ why y she— O Theob. Cam. Wh. ii, Rife, Huds.
Heath (p. 108) Capell and Johnson. For other examples of the omission of
the relative, as here, ' mine whom I loved,* etc., see Abbott, § 244.
145. proud on] For other examples of the use of * on * where we now use ^, see
Abbott, 5 181.
146. not mine] W. A. Wright : That is, I set no value upon myself in com-
parison with her, and did not reckon myself as part of my own possessions.
148. Inke] Capell' s unfortunate exclamation mark after this word had a longer
life than it deserved. It obliterates the connection of the sentence, wherein 'that'
is the relative referring to < such,' omitted before < pit of ink' : ' She is fallen into
sueh a pit of ink, that,' etc See Walker i^Crit, iii, 32). Possibly 'that' is
equivalent to * so that'; instances where 'that' may be thus explained are fre-
quent See Abbott, § 283. — Ed.
149. cleane againe] Steevbns: Compare Macb. II, ii, 60: 'Will all great
Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand?'
150. too little, which] Abbott (§278): 'Which' is here irregularly used after
' too.' Allen (MS) : This is certainly a reminiscence of the Stratford Grammar-
School ; the idiom is un-english, and exists only as the regular school-boy translation
of the relative with the subjunctive.
150. season] This refers of course to the preservative quality of salt. Shake-
speare plays on the word in Mer, of Ven, V, i, 118: ' How many, things by season,
seasoned are To their right praise,' etc Steevens calls attention to the same idea
in Twelfth Night, I, i, 30 : ' eye-offending brine ; all this to season A brother's dead
love.' And W. A. Wright refers to Macb, III, iv, 141, where sleep is called 'the
season of all natures ' as that which preserves them from decay.
151. foule tainted] Collier {Notes, etc, p. 73) : The MS shows that Shake-
speare, instead of using such commonplace epithets as ' foul ' and ' tainted,' employed
one of his noblest compounds: soul-tainted, — Dyce (ed. ii) : This substitution of Mr
Collier's MS (like his substitution of '^^w/pure' for 'sole pure* in Tro, 6* Cress,
I, iii) can only be regarded as an ingenious attempt to improve the language of
Shakespeare,— or, in other words, as a piece of mere impertinence. Be it observed
that Leonato, who now uses the expression, ' her foul-tainted flesh,' presently goes
on to say, ' Claudio . . . speaking of her foulness, etc. With < foul-tainted ' we
may compare 'foul-defiled' in the R. of L. : 'The remedy ... Is to let forth my
foul-defilM blood.' — ^line 1028. Dyce also says (Strictures, p. 50) that there should
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206 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. i.
Ben. Sir, fir, be patient : for my part, I am fo attired 152
in wonder, I know not what to fay.
Bea. O on my foule my cofin is belied.
Ben. Ladie, were you her bedfellow laft night? 155
Bea. No truly : not although vntill laft night,
152, 153. As verse, ending lines: not^ F,. truly: nd; F^. truly ^ not;
padenl.,, wonder^... fay Pope et seq. Rowe et seq.
156. truly: Hot'\ truly, not Q, truly:
be a hyphen between 'four and 'tainted;* herein anticipating Walker {Crit. i,
36). [I mistrust the propriety of a hyphen, both here and in ^. 0/ Z. If 'foul'
be an adverb, the expression is tautological ; it is impossible for anything to be
sweetly tainted. If ' foul ' be an adjective, as I think it is, all that is needed is a
comma. — Ed.]
152. attired] In addition to the present passage, Schmidt gives, as another
example of this figurative use : ' Why art thou thus attired in discontent?' — R, 0/ L,,
1601 ; and also refers to a similar use of wrap and enwrap; for instance : ' I am
wrapped in dismal thinkings,' — AlPs IVeU^ V, iii, 128 ; 'my often rumination wraps
me in a most humourous sadness,' — As You Like It, IV, i, 19 ; * though 'tis wonder
that enwraps me thus.' — Twelfth N, IV, iii, 3. And W. A. Wright adds appo-
sitely a corresponding figure in Macb. I, vii, 36 : ' Was the hope drunk Wherein you
dress' d yourself.' It occurs many times in the Old Testament, especially in the
Psalms: 'Let them be dothed with shame and dishonour that magnify themselves
against me.' — ^xxxv, 26. All these instances are needed in weighing the plausibility
of an ingenious emendation of Allen (MS), who proposes to read attend d, that is,
overwhelmed, cast to the ground ; from the French atterrer, which Cotgrave defines
as: 'Couered with, ouerwhelmed, ouerthrowne to the earth; ruined; oppressed.'
Nares quotes from Sylvester's Du Bartas, II, Ded. p. 74, ed. 1632: 'Your
renowne alone . . . Atterrs the stubborn and attracts the prone.' Murray i^H E, D,)
adds : Bethulian, iv, 2, ' Judith the while, trils Rivers from her eyes, Atterrs her
knees.' — 1 614. It would be eminently befitting that Benedick should say : 'I am
so prostrate with wonder that' etc., but in view of the many times tliat Shake-
speare uses the simile drawn from clothing, dressing, etc., I am afraid this happy
emendation must be discarded. — Ed.
156. No truly] Corson (p. 188) : This frank reply, which gives strong circum-
stantial support to the chatge against Hero, Beatrice makes fearlessly, evidently feel-
ing that the case can bear to have the whole truth told without the least reservation,
and that Hero must be innocent, and will finally be proved so, all testimony, direct
and circumstantial to the contrary, notwithstanding. The dramatist has, with great
skill and by the simplest means, made the nobleness and perfect genuineness of
Beatrice's character stand out here in the strongest light.
156. vntill last night] Lady Martin (p. 319) : I felt with what chagrin Bea-
trice, when asked, was obliged to confess, that last night she was not by the side of
Hero. And yet how simple to myself was the explanation ! Each had to commune
with herself, — Hero on the serious step she was taking on the morrow, — a step re-
quiring ' many orisons to move the heavens to smile upon her state ;' and Beatrice,
to think on what had been revealed to her of her own short-comings, as well as of
Benedick's undreamed-of attachment to herself. At such a time, hours of peifect
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ACT IV, sc. i.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 207
I haue this tweluemonth bin her bedfellow. 157
Leon. Confirm'd, confirmM, O that is ftronger made
Which was before barrM vp with ribs of iron.
Would the Princes lie, and Claudio lie, 160
Who lou'd her fo, that fpeaking of her foulneffe,
Wafli'd it with teares ? Hence from her, let her die.
Fri. Heare me a little, for I haue onely bene filent fo 163
157. Inn\ been F^F^. 163, 165. As three lines of verse,
160. the Princes lie^ aif^Claudio lie^ ending : long.., Fortune, „mar ff d Rowe
the Prince lie, and Qaudio would he lie ii. As four lines, ending : little... long,.,
Ff, Rowe, Pope, Han. the two princes Fortune y„. mar l^ d Pope et seq. (except
lie^ and Claudio /i>, Q, Cam. the two Glo. Cla., which end lines : ^^^if...tW^...
princes lie? and Claudio lie ? Theob. et fortune — ...ntarl^d).
seq. (subs.) 163. bene'\ Hn Q. been F^F^.
162. Hence from her,"] Hence ! from benejllent"] silent been Wh. Dyce
her; Coll. i. ii, iii. Rife, Huds.
rest and solitary meditation would be welcome and needful to them both. [See II,
iii, 90.]
160. the Princes] The Qto undoubtedly here supplies the syllable which is lack-
ing to make the line rhythmical.
162. Wash'd it] Abbott (§ 399) : Where there can be no doubt what is the
nominative, it is sometimes omitted. Allen (MS) suggests the possibility that in
rapid pronunciation He might have been uttered and ' it ' absorbed in the d of
* wash'd': *He wash*d*with tears,' etc., but * it' is too important a word, I think,
to be here absorbed and merely suggested to the ear. — Ed.
163. Fri.] Mrs Griffith (p. 156) : The good Friar, with that charity and
humanity which so well become the sacred office of Priesthood, and from that obser-
vation which his long experience in the business of auricular confession had enabled
him to form, stands forth an advocate of Hero's innocence. [Inasmuch as the Friar's
conviction was founded on what he saw, it is not easy to perceive how his < business '
could have helped him much ; a Father Confessor does not, as a rule, see his penitent
—Ed.]
163. onely bene silent] R. G. White (reading both in his ed. i, and in his ed.
ii : ' only sUent been ' ) : The line, as it has been always hitherto printed, is just such
a sort of verse as : * Lay your knife and your fork across your plate.' The reason
of the corruption is that in the Qto and Folio the lines are printed as prose. Can
there be a doubt, that after the passage was put in type in the Qto it broke down ?
and that, not being easily divided, on account of the hemistich, it was arranged as
well as possible in the form of prose, the transposition in question being then acci-
dentally made ? The Qto having been used as a stage copy, and the Folio printed
from it, this arrangement of the passage was perpetuated ; for the error was not of a
sort which demanded coirection in a prompter's book. [White's reading, 'silent
been,' was anticipated by Warburton, according to a MS note in his copy of Shake-
speare. — See Notes dr* Qu, 8th Series, vol. iii, p. 142.] — Cambridge Editors:
This commencement of the Friar's speech comes at the bottom of page, sig G, recto
of the Qto. The tjrpe appears to have been accidentally dislocated, and the passage
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20S MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv. sc. L
long, and giuen way vnto this courfe of fortune, by no-
ting of the Ladie, I haue markt. 165
164. c<mr/e] ^wj Coll. ii, iii (MS). 165. marJk/.] markt, Q. marl^tY^
fortune,'] fortune, better to ob- marked F^F^ et seq.
jerve it Wagner conj.
was then set up as prose. . . . Some words were probably lost in the operation, giving
the Friar's reason for remaining silent, viz. that he might find out the truth. [Ac-
cordingly, in the Globe and Clarendon (W. A. Wright's) edition, there is the sign
-of an omission after * fortune.' — Ed.] The usual punctuation [with merely a comma
after 'fortune'] makes but indifferent sense. 'I have only been silent' may mean
*I alone have been silent.' — Daniel (Introd, to Praetorius's Facs. p. viii ; refer-
ring to the foregoing note) : I do not perceive that any words are wanting for the
sense, and my examination of the page inclines me to believe that there was nothing
accidental in the printing of a portion of it as prose. The page is abnormally long,
■and consists of 39 lines ; whereas the regular full page, including line for signature
and catch-word, has 38 only ; but if this page had been printed metrically through-
out it would have required 42 lines ; of which three would have been occupied by
Benedick's speech, 11. 152, 153, and four by the commencement of the Friar's speech,
11. 163-5. Now it is not to be supposed that the whole play was set up by one man,
4md it is therefore allowable to imagine that the portion assigned to, — ^let us say, —
Compositor A. may have ended with the last line of this page ; the following por-
tion, given out to Compositor B., may have been made up into pages before A. had
finished his stint. Were B.'s pages to be pulled to pieces to make room for the fag
-end of A.'s work? I imagine not ; it was less trouble to compress a few lines of
verse into prose and, with the help of an extra line, to get all A.'s work into his last
page, as we now see it in the Qto. It is worth noting that this same page of the
<3to has received some slight corrections in its passage through the press ; in line 131,
< Do not line Hero, do not ope thine eies :', the British Museum copy, C. 12. g. 29,
lias a comma in lieu of a colon at the end of the line [as in Staunton, Ashbee, and
Praetorius.' — ^Ed.] ; in line 155, 'Lady, were you her bed-fellow last night?' the same
•copy has no comma after * Lady ' and has a full stop in place of the note of interro-
:gation at the end of the line [herein varying from Staunton, Ashbee, and Praetorius.
— Ed.] ; the last words also of the page, * haue markt,' do not in this copy range with
the line above, but are the breadth of one letter within the line.
164, 165. by noting of the Ladie] Deighton : * By noting ' seems to be equiv-
alent to 'being engaged in,* < occupied by,' < marking,' etc. — ^W. A. Wright:
Possibly, some words may have been omitted after 'fortune.' <By noting' is inter-
preted ' because I have been engaged in noting,' a sense which I do not think the
words will bear. [In the manifold divisions and subdivisions into which M abtzner
distributes the meanings of < by,' there is one which, I think, will include the pres-
ent instance. It is where the instrumental meaning and the causal closely approach
each other, and the latter predominates. ' In these cases ' says Maetzner, (vol. ii,
p. 397, trans. Grece) < by corresponds to the Highdutch durch and von, and touches
the English through, with, and of, as it has taken the place of the Anglosaxon^^am,
thurh, and of,* Abbott ({ 146) gives examples wherein he thinks that 'by' is
•equivalent to in consequence of; an interpretation which will suit the present passage,
perhaps as closely as Maetzner* s. The Friar says that he has been silent and allowed
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ACT IV, sc L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 209
A thoufand blufhing apparitions^ 166
To ftart into her face, a thoufand innocent fhames,
In Angel whiteneffe beare away thofe bluflies,
And in her eie there hath appeared a fire
To bume the errors that thefe Princes hold 170
Againfl her maiden truth. Call me a foole,
Truft not my reading, nor my obferuations,
Which with experimental feale doth warrant
The tenure of my booke : truft not my age, 174
i66y 167. apparitions To Jlart into\ 173. ^/^M] </<!» Theob. ii, Waib. Johns.
apparitions To ftart in F^. apparitions Mai.
start Into Steev. Var. Knt, Dyce, Huds. 174. tenurel tenour Theob.
167. fliames'\ Jham^s F-F^. tenure of my booke"] tenure of my
168. beare] bear F^F^. beate Q, Coll. cioak Wagner conj.
Dyce, Wh. ii, Sta. Cam. Huds. booke] books Heath, Walker,
172. obferuations] observation Han. Hads.
Cap. Var. Ran. Coll. ii, iii, Dyce, Huds.
events to take their coarse through noting, or, in consequence of noting the lady.—
Ed.]
165. markt.] Pbrring (p. 88) : The only change which I have made, the only
(me which is required, is the obliteration of the Qto's comma after 'mark't.' No
such reason [as that given for the Friar's silence by the Cam. Edd.] was wanted ;
he himself tells us how his silent time had been employed ; while others had been
listening, believing, condemning, he had been observing. No lines, nor line, nor
fimgment of a line do we miss here. [Perring was, probably, not aware that in his
' obliteration of the comma ' he is anticipated by the Second Folio, and by every
edition thereafter.]
167. To start] Thus in Temp. Ill, i, 75 (this ed.) : < and would no more endure
This wodden slauerie then to suffer,' etc. ; where W. A. Wright quotes from the
Prayer-book Version of Psalm Ixxviii, 4, ' That we should not hide, . . . but to
shew,' etc., 'That they might put their trust in God, and not to forget,' etc. For
other examples of the insertion and of the omission of to^ see Abbott, § 350.
170. To bume the errors] Steevkns : The same idea occurs in Rom, <&• J$il,
If "> 93* 'Transparent heretics be burnt for liars.' [It is by no means the same
' idea. In Rom, &* JuL it is the eyes themselves which are to be burnt for liars.
Here it is the eyes which are to start the fire. — Ed.] — W. A. Wright : The stake
was the recognized punishment f«r a religious opponent who would not be con-
vinced. It was so much easier to bum a heretic than to convince him of his error.
173. Which . . . doth] See Abbott (§ 247) for other examples of the singular
following a relative which refers to plural antecedents. W. A. Wright says that
the ' singular is due here to the intervention of a singular noun, '* seal " between the
verb and its subject'
173. experimental seale] W. A. Wright: That is, setting the stamp of
experience upon the results of his reading.
174. the tenure of my book] Because we can imagine no special ' book,' Heath
(p. 108) conjectured that it should be in the plural. Walker (Crit, i, 263) made
U
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2IO MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. i.
My reuerence, calling, nor diuinitie, 175
If this fweet Ladie lye not guiltleffe heere,
Vnder fome biting error.
Leo. Friar, it cannot be :
Thou feeft that all the Grace that (he hath left,
Is, that (he wil not adde to her damnation, 180
A finne of periury, (he not denies it :
Why feek^ft thou then to couer with excufe.
That which appeares in proper nakednefTe /
Fri. Ladie, what man is he you are accus'd of? 184
175. reuerence^ calling^'] reverend 177. biting] blighting Coll. u, iii
calling Coll. ii, iii (MS), Dyce ii, iii, (MS), Dycc ii, iii, Huds.
Huds. 178. /Wtfr,] Om. Han.
diuinitie'] dignity F^F^.
the same conjecture, on the ground that x is so often omitted in the Folio. Capell
properly explained ' book ' as equivalent to reading; of its use in this sense Schmidt
(Lex,) will supply many examples.
175. reuerence] Collier (ed. ii) : The Friar's •reverence' is his calling, but
his * reverend calling ' [the reading of the MS] is his profession as a churchman.
* Biting error' [line 177] is poverty and feebleness itself, compared with < blighting
error,' [again the reading of the MS]. — ^R. G. White (ed. i) : The conectness of
[Collier's MS] is so probable, and the misprint which it involves so easy, that, were
it not for the great danger it would involve to the whole text, thus to set aside an
intelligible authentic reading, there oould be no hesitation in accepting it; this is
almost equally true of bliting, (i. e. blighting), for 'biting.' W. A. Wright pro-
nounces * reverend calling' an unnecessary change ; and of 'biting,' used by Shake-
speare elsewhere, he quotes the following examples: 'biting affliction' — Merry
Wives, V, V, 178; 'biting laws,' — Meeu. for Meas., I, iii, 19; 'biting statutes,' —
2 Hen, VI: IV, vii, 19 ; and * a biting jest,* — Rich, III: II, iv, 30.
181. she not denies it] For this transposition of 'not' see many examples in
Abbott, % 305.
184. what man, etc] Warburton : The Friar had just before boasted his great
skill in fishing out the truth. And, indeed, he appears by this question to be no
fool. He was by, all the while at the accusation, and heard no name mentioned.
Why then should he ask her what man she was accused of? But in this lay the
subtilty of his examination. For had Hero been guilty, it was very probable that
in that hurry and confusion of spirits, into which the terrible insult of her lover had
thrown her, she would never have observed that the man's name was not mentioned ;
and so, on this question, have betrayed herself by naming the person she was
conscious of an affair with. The Friar observed this, and so concluded, that were
she guilty, she would probably fall into the trap he laid for her. — Halliwell : It
is inconsistent with the tenor of the Friar's previous speech to assume, with War-
burton, that the enquiry was made with any view of ensnaring Hero. — W. A.
Wright : The Friar, who stoutly maintained Hero's innocence, would never have
asked such a question if the point of it had been that he suspected her to be guilty ;
and if Hero had been guilty, the question would at once have put her on her guard.
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ACT IV, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE AB O UT NO THING 2 1 1
Hero. They know that do accufe me, I know none : 185
If I know more of any man aliue
Then that which maiden modeftie doth warrant,
Let all my fmnes lacke mercy. O my Father,
Proue you that any man with me conuerft,
At houres vnmeete, or that I yeftemight 190
MaintainM the change of words with any creature,
Refufe me, hate me, torture me to death.
Fri. There is fome ftrange mifprifion in the Princes.
Ben. Two of them haue the verie bent of honor.
And if their wifedomes be mifled in this : 195
The pra£tife of it lines in lohn the baflard,
19a Aoures] Aour's F,F^. 196. /wes] lies Walker, Dyce ii, iii,
193. Princes'^ Prince Ff, Rowe. Hads.
195. this .•] Mm, Q, Rowe ct seq.
There is therefore no probability that the Friar had any such motive for his question
as Warbnrton attributes to him, and if he had there is little subtlety in the question
itself, for it would have defeated its purpose.
189. Proue you] That is, if you prove.
193. misprision] Dyce ( Gloss, ) : Mistake. [Cotgrave : Mespris<m : f. Misprision,
error ; offence ; a thing done, or taken, amisse.]
194. Two of them] There were three Princes. Benedick pointedly excludes
Don John.
194. the verie bent] Johnson : * Bent ' is used by our author for the utmost
degree of any passion, or mental quality. — ^W. A. Wright : That is, the aim and
purpose of their lives, the direction of their thoughts, is truly honourable. Compare
Rom. &*Jul. II, ii, 143 : 'If that thy bent of love be honourable'; that is, if the
aim and object of this love be honourable. To ' bend,' originally a term of archery,
signifies to aim, to point, and is used of a cannon or a sword. See King John^ II,
i) 37 : ' Our cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town.' Hence
< bent ' signifies direction ; and so, inclination, disposition. As in Jul. Cas. II, i,
210 : 'For I can give his humour the true bent.' — Murray {H, E. D, s, v. Bent,
9) : Extent to which a bow may be bent or a spring wound up, degree of ten-
sion; Aence degree of endurance, capacity for taking in or receiving; limit of
capacity, etc. [See II, iii, 214.]
196. praAise] In a bad sense, — the underhand contrivance. See Schmidt (Lex. )
for many examples.
196. Hues] Walker (Crtl. ii, 209) devotes a chapter (not, however, a long one)
to the confusion of lie and live, which, he says, are repeatedly confounded. In the
present passage, lies seems to me more Shakespearian than 'lives.' But Dbighton
thinks othenvise and prefers * lives ' which means, he says, ' has its vitality from,'
etc. W. A. Wright quotes / Hen. IV: I, ii, 213 : 'In the reproof of this lies the
jest,' where the First Qto has * lives.' * On the other hand, in / Hen, IV: IV, i,
56, we find " A comfort of retirement lives in this." '
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212 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. i.
Whofe fpirits toile in frame of villanies. 197
1^0, I know not : if they fpeake but truth of her,
Thefe hands Ihall teare her : If they wrong her honour,
The proudeft of them fhall wel heare of it. 200
Time hath not yet fo dried this bloud of mine,
Nor age fo eate vp my inuention.
Nor Fortune made fuch hauocke of my meanes.
Nor my bad life reft me fo much of friends,
But they (hall finde, awakM in fuch a kinde, 205
197. frarru of^ fraud and Coll. MS. 204. refi] 'reft Han.
200. afii^ <^F,F^. 205. awa^d^ awakteC^,
202. inumtian] intetUian Coll. MS. kinde] cause Cap. conj. Coll.
ap. Cam. MS, Walker, Dyce ii, iii.
197. in frame of villanies] That is, in framing villainies. See line 136, above.
198. I know not] Leonato is too much absorbed with the facts of the case, to
care to speculate as to their origin.
200. wel heare] Here, ' well ' is intensive and emphatic
202. eate] For a list of participles where the two forms eat and eaten, spoke and
spoken, wrote and written, etc., are used indifferently, see, if necessary, Abbott,
§343-
202. invention] The connection shows that 'invention' here refers -to mental
activity. See ' policie of minde,' line 206.
205. kinde] Capell (p. 130) begins the following note, awkwardly expressed,
but sensible, with a protest against imposing on editors too great restrictions in
emending phrases, simply because, as the passages stand, a certain sense can be
tortured out of them. Thus ' Princesse,' in line 210, can be plausibly justified on
the ground that Hero's future husband has been called a prince ; and yet a change is
necessary. He then continues : * In the same predicament are << kind" in the present
line and 'Mife'' [in line 233] ; both perfectly intelligible, and disagreeing with noth-
ing round them in sense ; 'tis sound that creates suspicion in both, the latter strength-
ened by repetitions ; For where is that contemner of Shakespeare, who will attribute
to him such a poverty of sense and expression as that passage exhibits, retaining
" life " ? whose over-frequent occurrence in it hurts another way ; disgusting the ear
as much, or nearly as much, as do the jingle of ^^find, kind, and mind,** in the
lines referred to in this page ; Upon these grounds chiefly (but others are not want-
ing), the editor \i, e. Capell, himself] sees his fault and his fearfulness, in putting
into the class of things specious, readings to which the text is intitl'd ; namely —
cause for "kind," in the present line; and love for **life" in the other from the
second and fourth modems' [t. e. Pope and Hanmer]. — Collier (ed. ii) : Cause
[for * kinde'] says the MS ; but 'kind' may be right, although it reads badly, with
' find ' and ' mind ' so near at hand. Cacophony is no adequate reason for alteration.
— ^Walker (Crit, ii, 166) : This [rhyme of * kinde' and *minde'] in the midst of
blank verse, is inadmissible ; to say nothing of the sense. Perhaps Shakespeare
wrote, — *in such a cause,* — Dyce (ed. ii) : The occurrence of *Jittd* and *mind*
in this passage probably occasioned the corruption of 'kind.' — W. A. Wright:
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ACT IV. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 213
Both ftrength of limbe,and policie of minde^ 206
Ability in meanes, and choife of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.
Fri. Paufe a while :
And let my counfell fway you in this cafe, 210
Your daughter heere the Princeffe (left for dead)
Let her awhile be fecretly kept in.
And publifli it, that (he is dead indeed :
Maintaine a mourning oftentation.
And on your Families old monument, 215
Hang moumfuU Epitaphes, and do all rites,
208. throughly] thorot^My F^ Rowe left for dead Theob. et seq. {Prince^
i, Johns. Warb.)
211. Princeffe {left ftfr dead) ] Princes
Cause has no point In lines 224, 225, there is another instance of rhyme, where no
one proposes to change the reading.
206. policie of minde] This corresponds, in the series, to ' invention ' in line
202y above ; the one explains the other.
211. the Princesse] Theobald: But how comes Hero to start np a Princess
here? We have no intimation of her Father being a Prince ; and this is the first
and only time that she is complimented with this dignity. The remotion of a single
letter, and of the parenthesis, will bring her to her own rank, and the place to its
true meaning: < the Princes left for dead.' — Halliwell: Theobald's correction is
most probably necessary. In the first Scene of the third Act, Hero makes a dis-
tinction of rank, when she observes, — < so says the prince^ and my new-trothed
lord;* but in the fifth Act, Leonato, addressing Don Pedro and Claudio, says, ' I
thank you, princes ^ for my daughter's death.' [Theobald's emendation has been
adopted by all subsequent editors. There could hardly be a more conclusive proof
than this word affords that the composers set up their types by hearing the copy read
aloud to them. — ^Ed.]
214. ostentation] Johnson: Show, appearance. [In a good, not a bad,
sense.]
215. Families old monument] Hunter (i, 254) : It appears that the great
families in Italy had each its monument, not as in England, each principal individual
of a family having a monument to himself. Thus, there is the Scaliger monument at
Verona; and the tomb of the Capulets in Rom, ^ Jul, seems to be a vault and
monument for the whole race.
216. Hang . . . Epitaphes] Gifford (Jonson^s Works, ix, p. 58) : In many
parts of the continent, it is customary, upon the decease of an eminent person, for
his friends to compose short, laudatory poems, epitaphs, etc., and affix them to the
herse, or grave, with pins, wax, paste, etc. ... In the Bishop of Chichester's verses
to the memory of Dr Donne, is this couplet : < Each quill can drop his tributary
verse. And pin it, like a hatchment, to his herse.' Eliot's lines are these: 'Let
others, then, sad epitaphs invent. And paste them up about thy monument,' etc. —
Poems, p. 39. It is very probable that the beautiful Epitaph on the Countess of Pem-
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214 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv. sc. i.
That appertaine vnto a buriall. 217
Leon. What fhall become of this ? What wil this do f
Fri. Marry this wel carried, fhall on her behalfe,
Change flander to remorfe, that is fome good, 220
But not for that dreame I on this ftrange courfe.
But on this trauaile looke for greater birth :
She dying, as it muft be fo maintain^,
Vpon the inftant that Ihe was accusM,
Shal be lamented, pittied, and excus'd 225
Of euery hearer : for it fo fals out.
That what we haue, we prize not to the worth, 227
222. trauaiW] travel Rowe, Pope, 226. it /o\ fo it F., Rowe L
Han. Theob. Waib.
broke was attached, with many others, to her herse [see Jonson's fVorkSf voL viii, p.
337]* ^c know that she had no monument ; and the verses seem to intimate that
they were so applied : * Underneath this saiU herse Lies the subject of all verse,* etc.
— ^W. A. Wright : The custom which Gifford described was last practised in Cam-
bridge on the occasion of Porson*s funeral. — Staunton : Many fine and interesting
examples of this custom existed in the old cathedral of St. Paul's and other churches
of London, down to the time of the Great Fire, in the form of pensile-tables of wood
and metal, painted or engraved with poetical memorials, suspended against the
columns and walls. Among these may be particularised the well-known verses on
Queen Elizabeth, beginning: 'Spaines Rod, Romes Ruin, Netherlands Reliefe;'
which appear to have been very generally displayed in the churches of the realm.
[Compare Wint, Tale^ III, ii, 255 : < One grave shall be for both, upon them shall
The causes of their death appear ;' although this might have been only the record
usually engraved on monuments. — Ed.]
218. shall . . . wil] See note on II, i, 193.
218. of this] Abbott (§168) : That is, < what will be the consequence of this?'
219. carried] See II, iii, 206. We still use the word in such phrases as ' carry-
ing the jest too far,' and as applied to practical jokes, we generally add off or out,
220. remorse] That is, pity. See Lear^ IV, ii, 73 ^ * A servant that he bred,
thrill' d with remorse, Opposed against the act.'
223. as] That is, <as regards which' or < for'; see Abbott, § hi.
227. prize] See III, i, 95.
227. to] See II, i, 226.
227, 229. That . . . value] Theobald refers to Horace, Od, III, xxiv, 31 : *Vir-
tutem incolumem odimus, Sublatam ex oculis quaerimus, invidi.' Wh alley (p. 56)
compares Plautus, Captivi, I, ii, 33 : * Tum denique homines nostra intelligimus
bona, Quum, quae in potestate habuimus, ea amisimus.' Halliwell adds from
Sir Phillip Sydney's Arcadia : * But such we are with inwarde tempest blowne Of
windes quite contrarie in wanes of will : We mone that lost, which had we did
bemone.'— Zf^. II, p. 148, ed. 1598. W. A. Wright refers to Ant, &* Cieop, I,
iv, 43 : < And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth love, Comes dear by being
lack'd.' And Coriol. IV, i, 15 : * I shall be loved when I am lack'd.'— RusHTON
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ACT IV, sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 21 J
Whiles we enioy it ; but being lack'd and loft, 228
Why then we racke the value, then we iinde
The vertue that poffefsion would not Ihew vs 230
Whiles it was ours, fo will it fare with Claudia :
When he (hal heare (he dyed vpon his words, 232
229. racke] reck Cap. conj. Johns. 232-239. Mnemonic lines, Pope^
231. fVki/es]PVkilstKowe, + . (IVhist Warb.
"Warb. misprint).
(N.^* Qu, IV, zi, 360) : For the sentiment, compare Ascham, Toxophilus: * Whiche
thing howe profitable it was for all sortes of men, those knewe not so wel than whiche
had it most, as they do nowe whiche lacke it moste. And therefore it is true that
Teucer sayeth in Sophocles, ''Seldome at all good thinges be knowen how good to be
Before a man suche thinges do misse out of his handes." ' [ — p. 41, ed. Arber. Ex-
cellent Ascham erred in attributing the speech to Teucer. It is Tekmessa who says :
01 yap KOKoi yv6fiatai rayaffbv x^P^^ 'Exovreg ov« laaai^ vpiv Tif tKfidXg. — '
AiaSf 908, 909. — Ed.]
228. lack'd and lost] Coluer (ed. ii) : The words Mack'd' and Most' are
made to change places in the MS, with some apparent fitness, but the old reading
may very well stand. — Haluwell : In strict accordance with modem usage these
words should be transposed [as Collier's MS indicates], but it was an ordinary usage
in Shakespeare's time to disregard exact nicety [in such matters]. Puttenham, Ar^e
of English Poesuy 1 589, gives the following quaint description of the practice : < Ye
have another manner of disordered speech, when ye misplace your words or clauses
and set that before which should be behind, et > canverso^ we call it in English
proverbe, the cart before the horse, the Greeks call it Histeron proteron^ we name it
the Preposterous, and if it be not too much used is tollerable inough, and many times
scarce perceiveable, unlesse the sence be thereby made very absurd ; as he that de-
scribed his manner of departure from his mistresse, said thus not much to be mis-
liked. I kist her cherry lip and tooke my leave : For I tooke my leave and kist her :
And yet I cannot well say whether a man use to kisse before hee take his leave, or
take his leave before he kisse, or that it be all one busines. It seemes the taking
leave is by using some speach, intreating licence of departure ; the kisse a knitting
up of the farewell, and as it were a testimoniall of the licence without which here in
England one may not presume of courtesie to depart, let yong Courtiers decide this
controversie. One describing his landing upon a strange coast, sayd thus prepos-
terously. When we had climbde the clifs, and were a shore^ Whereas he should have
said by good order. When we were come a shore and clymed had the cliffs. For one
must be on land ere he can clime. '[ — ^p. 181, ed. Arber.]
229. racke] Capell (p. 131) : In the class above mentioned [see Capell's note
on ' find,' line 205] is enter' d, properly, an emendation of a word [see Text. Notes'] ;
for if * rack ' be interpreted, as it may be, — over-stretch, over-rate, — ^there is seem-
ingly an anticlimax ; but this is left to opinion. — Steevens : That is, we exaggerate
the value. The allusion is to rack-rents, — R. G. White ': The use of 'rack' in the
sense of violently increase the vcUue is certainly three hundred years old, if not more.
It frequently occurs in the Conceipt of English PoUicie, 1589.
232. vpon] See II, iii, 202.
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2l6 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc, L
Th^Idea of her life ftial fweetly creepe 233
Into his ftudy of imagination.
And euery louely Organ of her life, 235
Shall come apparelM in more precious habite :
More mouing delicate, and ful of life, 237
233. ThWdea] ThldaaQ^ (Ashbee, 237. niouing delicate ^'\ moouing deH-
Pnietorius) Th' Idaa Q (Sta.) The ca/e,Q, moving, de/icaU, F(,Kowe, + ,
Idea Cap. ct seq. (except Dyce ii, iii, Van Coll. Wh. i. maving-delicatef Cap.
Wh. i). Mai. Steev. Var. Knt, Dyce, Sta. Cam.
life] love Pope, Han. Ran. Wh. ii.
233. Th'Idea] As a possible instance of a trifling, an exceedingly trifling, vari-
ation in old copies of the same edition, the apostrophe after this Th' may be noted.
It is not present in either Ashbee's or Praetorius's Facsimile of the Qto, presumably,
therefore, it is lacking in the originals, from which these Facsimiles were made. It
appears, however, in Staunton's Photolithograph of the Earl of Ellesmere's Qto. A
copy of this Photolithograph was presented to me many years ago by my valued
friend, Haluwell, wherein he had recorded minute collations with the Charlemont
copy. In this copy he had at first struck out the apostrophe, but he has aflerward
added in the margin : * On a closer inspection I think the faintest possible trace of
the ' can be seen. None in the Daniel copy.' That variations occur in Elizabethan
books in copies of the same edition is well known. Wherefore all that can be safely
predicated of any collation is that it applies only to certain specified originals. — Ed.
233. life] H ALLIWELL : The several repetitions of the word * life ' are in Shake-
speare's manner, and may be intentionally introduced in contrast with the subject of
the assumed death of Hero. Pope's reading, however, of love is, at least, worthy
of attention. [That Capsll, whose opinions are always to be respected, preferred
hve, we learn (if we can) from his note on * kinde' in line 205. But W. A. Wright,
whose opinions are also always to be respected, condemns it : < the whole point of
the passage,' says the latter, ' is the contrast between the living Hero and Hero sup-
posed to be dead, and this is emphasized by the threefold repetition of *Mife;"'
wherewith I agree, and beg to add that, jarring to the ear, as the threefold repetition
of ' life ' may possibly be, it is not, I think, so jarring to sound or sense as would be
* The idea of her love shall sweetly creep. . . . And every lovely oigan of her life,'
etc. — Ed.
234. his study of imagination] See II, ii, 52. Claudio would fall into a
' study ' ' when to the sessions of [sad] silent thought, [He] summoned up remem-
brance of things past.' — Son, xxx.
237. mouing delicate,] Capell (p. 131) : The comma that modems put after
' moving ' they had from the Second Folio ; there is none in copies before it, and
none should be ; 'tis a compound of great beauty, expressive of female movements
in gait and otherways, as * life ' is of the sprightliness that often goes with their
delicacy. — Deighton : It seems doubtful whether Capell' s hyphen is a gain. ' Mov-
ing-delicate' would mean 'impressively graceful.' — Marshall: I cannot tell why
all the editors hyphen these adjectives ; they seem to be much more expressive when
used as separate and independent epithets. [If we adopt the hyphen, < moving '
qualifies ' delicate ' ; without the hyphen it qualifies < every lovely organ of her life ' ;
our choice lies between the two. I think the hyphen gives a rather more refined
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ACT IV, sc. L] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 217
Into the eye and profpeft of his foule 238
Then when fhe HuM indeed : then fhal he moume,
If euer Loue had intereft in his Liuer, 240
And wifti he had not fo accufed her :
No, though he thought his accufation true :
Let this be fo, and doubt not but fuccefle
Wil fafhion the euent in better fhape,
Then I can lay it downe in likelihood. 245
But if all ayme but this be leuelld falfe,
The fuppofition of the Ladies death, 247
238. and'^ aud F^. Pope, Han.
240. In parenthesis, Cap. et seq. (ex- 246. btU th%s\ in this Kdy oonj. at
cept Cam. Wh. u.) this Huds.
242, 254. though'l tho F^ Rowe,
sense than the comma ; ' every lovely feature shall come more touchingly delicate '
is to me more expressive than 'every lovely feature shall come more touching,
delicate.'— Ed.]
238. eye and pr08pe(5t] This is not a mere reduplicative phrase, as Deighton
suggests; each noun has its distinct meaning; Hero's image shall rise before his
eyes, take possession there, and thence irradiate every memory of her life. — Ed.
240. his Liuer] That the liver was deemed of old to be the seat of love is
fiamiliar enough to every student who remembers his Anacreon and his Horace, if
he forget all else. The present passage and others sufficiently prove that sentimental
qualities were still attributed, in Shakespeare's days, to the liver, as well as to the
heart — ^Ed.
242. though . . . true] C. C. Clarke (p> 313) : A line instinct with touching
knowledge of human charity. Pity attends the faults of the dead ; and survivors
visit even sin with regret rather than reproach.
243. successe] Hunter (i, 255) : 'Success' is here used in a very unusual
sense, that which is to come after, without regard to its character, whether fortunate
or the contrary. — ^W. A. Wright : * Success * was fonnerly a colourless word, which
required to be defined by a qualifying adjective. So, in Joshua^ i, 8 : < Then thou
shalt have good success.'
246. but this] Keightley (p. 166) : I would read in; for <but,' suggested
by 'But,' makes nonsense. I have, however, made no change in my Edit-
ion. — Hudson : ' This ' evidently refers to what precedes ; and the meaning of the
passage appears to be : * But if all expectcUion of, or all planning for, this result
be falsely, that is, wrongly directed,^ Deighton thus paraphrases : < but if (though
I hope for better things) we should not in any other respect hit tl^e mark at which
we aim, 1. e. if we altogether fail to re-establish Hero's character, the supposition of
her death will, at all events, stop the tongues of those who would otherwise always
be exclaiming at her guilt' — ^W. A. Wright: *But this' refers not to what pre-
cedes, but to what follows. [If ' but this ' were transposed to the end of the line,
we should see at once that Deighton' s interpretation is correct. It is placed where it
is, I think, for greater emphasis.' — Ed.]
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2l8 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. i.
Will quench the wonder of her infamie. 248
And if it fort not well, you may conceale her,
As bed befits her wounded reputation, 250
In fome reclufiue and religious life ,
Out of all eyes, tongnes, mindes and iniuries.
^ene. Signior Leonaio^ let the Frier aduife you.
And though you know my inwardneffe and loue
Is very much vnto the Prince and Claudia. 255
Yet, by mine honor, I will deale in this,
As fecretly and iuftlie, as your foule
Should with your bodie.
Leon. Being that I flow in greefe.
The fmallest twine may lead me. 260
Frier. 'Tis well confented,prefently away,
For to ftrange fores, ftrangely they ftraine the cure, 262
250. In i>arenthesis. Cap. et seq. (ex- alas! Han. (reading In gri^f^.me. as
cept Coll. Wh. Cam.) one line), alas! I flow in gritf^ Cap.
259,260. I flow,,, me,"] One line, (leading /^^^...m^. as one line).
Mai. 261-264. As a quatrain. Pope et seq.
259. I flow in greefe^ I flow in griefs (except Hal. Wh. ii, Dtn).
249. sort] Rann : That is, turn out in the event. — Skeat {Diet, s. v.) : All the
forms of < sort ' are ultimately due to Lat. sortem, accusative of sors^ lot, destiny,
chance, condition, state. [See I, i, 12 ; V, iv, 8.]
252. iniuries] Deighton : * Injuries ' seems in a way to qualify the whole line,
making it by a kind of hendiadys equivalent to < injurious looks, remarks, thoughts,
and actions.'
253. aduise] Staunton : ' Advise ' here, and in many other instances, implies
persuade,
254. inwardnesae] Steevens : That is, intimacy. Thus Ludo, in Meas, for
Afeas, III, ii, 138, says : 'Sir, I was an inward of his.' Again, in Hick, III: III,
iv, 8 : ' Who is most inward with the royal duke ?'
259. I flow] Daniel (p. 24) : The sense of the passage surely requires that we
should change 'flow' to float. In Q, of Rom, &* Jul, III, v, we have: 'For this
thy bodie which I teaime a barke. Still floating in thy euer-falling teares,' etc
[This plausible conjecture receives corroboration from the fact that it occurred inde-
pendendy to Allen ; I find it written in the margin of his copy of the play, in
1867.— Ed.]
260. may lead me] Johnson : This is one of our author's observations upon
life. Men overpowered by distress, eagerly listen to the first offers of relief, close
with every scheme, and believe every promise. He that has no longer any con-
fidence in himself is glad to repose his trust in any other that will undertake to
guide him.
261. preaently] That is, immediately. See Shakespeare, passim,
262. to atrange . . . cure] Bucknill (p. 1 16) : This is evidendy copied from
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ACT IV, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 219
Come Lady, die to Hue, this wedding day 263
Perhaps is but prolonged, haue patience & endure. Exit.
264. Exit] Exeunt. Rowe. 264. [Manent Bened. and Beat
Scene III. Pope, + . Rowe.
the Sixth Aphorism of Hippocrates, sec 2 : * For extreme diseases, extreme methods
of cure as to restriction are most suitable.' Galen and other commentators, says Dr
Adams, understood these extreme methods to apply to r^imen only, but Heumius
understands them to mean that in any dangerous ^seases the physician is warranted
in using ' diaeta quam tenuissima, pharmacia exquisita, et crudeli chirurg^a.' Cicero
adopts the maxim, though without referring to the authority. * In adeundis periculis
consuetudo imitanda medicorum est, qui leviter aegrotantes leniter curant ; gravioribus
autem morbis periculosas curationes et ancipites adhibere coguntur.* — De Officiis^ i,
24. Dr Adams says, that our earlier modern authorities in surgery also adopted this
mterpreUtion(— -A%^<vrtf/«, Syd, Soc), I have not, however, met with the doctrine
in the works of the contemporaries of Shakespeare, and therefore am inclined to
think that he derived it from spme work in the original. [For the sentiment, see
Rom, &»Jul. IV, i, 68: * I do spy a kind of hope. Which craves as desperate an
execution As that is desperate which we would prevent*; and HamL IV, iii, 9:
< Diseases desperate grown By desperate appliance are relieved.* And in Euphues^
p. 67 (ed. Arber) : ' But seeing a desperate disease is to be committed to a desperate
Doctor, I wil follow thy counsel,* etc.].
264. proloiig'd] W. A. Wright : That is, postponed. See Etekiel, xii, 25 :
* The word that I shall speak shall come to pass ; it shall no longer be prolonged.'
' Perhaps * might be omitted.
264. Bxit] Lady Martin (p. 319) : Beatrice is no dreamer. The Friar's plan
of giving out that Hero is dead, and so awakening Claudio's remorse, will not wipe
out the wrong done to her cousin, or the indignity offered to her kin. Therefore she
lets her friends retire, lingering behind, to the surprise, possibly, of some who might
expect that she would go with them to comfort Hero. She is bent on finding for iier
a better comfort than lies in words. Benedick, she feels sure, will remain if she
does. And he, how could he do otherwise? This beautiful woman, whom he has
hitherto known all jojrousness, and seeming indifference to the feelings of others, has
revealed herself under a new aspect, and one that has drawn him towards her more
than he has ever been drawn before towards woman. He has noted how all through
this terrible scene she has been the only one to stand by, to defend, to try to cheer
the slandered Hero. Her courage and her tenderness have roused the chivalry of
his nature. So deeply is he moved, that I believe, even if he had not been pre-
viously influenced by what he had heard of Beatrice's love, he would from that time
have been her devoted lover and servant. [The foregoing sentence deserves to be
printed in Italics. — Ed.] There should be tenderness in his voice as he accosts her,
' Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?' But it is only when she hears him
say, < Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is wronged,' that she dashes her tears
aside, and can give voice to the thought that has for some time been uppermost in
her mind : * Ah, how much might the man,' etc. — Fletcher (p. 270) : The injury
done to Hero, however distressing in itself, affords a relief to both lovers on the pres-
ent occasion ; since, by presenting to them an unforeseen object of common and
pathetic interest, it wonderfully facilitates that reciprocal avowal at which each of
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220 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. i.
Bene. Lady Beatru:e,hsLue you wept all this while ? 265
Beat. Yea, and' I will weepe a while longer.
Bene. I will not defire that.
Beat. You haue no reafon, I doe it freely.
Bene. Surelie I do beleeue your fair cofin is wronged.
Beat. Ah, how much might the man deferue of mee 270
that would right her !
Bene. Is there any way to (hew fuch friendfhip ?
Beat. A verie euen way, but no fuch friend.
Bene. May a man doe it ?
Beat. It is a mans office, but not yours. 275
Bene. I doe loue nothing in the world fo well as you,
is not that ftrange ?
Beat. As ftrange as the thing I know not, it were as 278
them is anxious to arrive, but the approach to which, after the terms on which they
have hitherto encountered one another, each may weU find embarrassing.
270. how much might,] We should now say, how much might not^ etc. See
line 38, above.
273. euen] Plain, smooth, easy.
275. It . . . not yours] Fletcher (p. 270) : That is, < it is a man's office but'
not the office of a man standing in the friendly relation that you do to the offending
parties.* [This cannot be right. If Beatrice asserts that it is Benedick's relation to
Claudio which properly bars his way to righting Hero, she is inconsistent when she
afterward tells Benedick to kill Claudio. Lady Martin, with far truer insight, exactly
interprets Beatrice's words. — Ed.] — Lady Martin (p. 320) : These words are not to
be regarded, as by some they have been, as spoken in Beatrice's usually sarcastic vein.
She only means that, being neither a kinsman, nor in any way connected with Hero's
fiamily, he cannot step forward to do her right. In this sense the words are under-
stood by Benedick, who takes the most direct way of removing the difficulty by the
avowal of his love. [I think the words are uttered almost plaintively. The thought
that at this tender moment Beatrice would cast a slur on Benedick's manliness, — an
interpretation occasionally suggested, — is degrading not only to Beatrice but to
Benedick, who would have been a craven indeed had he not resented it. That such
a thought never entered Benedick's mind is clear, from the fact that his very next
words are a declaration of his love, which such a pointed insult would have been
sure to chill. — Ed.]
277. strange ?] Lady Martin (p. 320) : After what she has overheard, this
makes Beatrice smile, but it causes her no surprise. With the thought of Hero's
vindication uppermost in her heart, what can she do but answer Benedick's avowal
by her own ? And yet to make it is by no means easy, as we see by her words,
somewhat in the old vein.
278. as strange as, etc.] Allen (MS) : Beatrice begins with the intention of
saying : As strange as that / love you ; but she checks herself, and goes on With a
disappointing je ne sais quoi, [Allen would therefore punctuate : ' as strange as^
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ACT IV, sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABQUT NOTHING 221
poflible for me to fay^I loued nothing fo well as you^but
beleeue me not, and yet I lie not, I confeffe nothing, nor 280
I deny nothing, I am forry for my coufm.
Bene. By my fword Beatrice thou lou'ft me.
Beat. Doe not fweare by it and eat it.
Bene. I will fweare by it that you loue mee,and I will
make him eat it that fayes I loue not you. 285
Beat. Will you not eat your word ?
Bene. With no fawce that can be deuifed to it, I pro-
teft I loue thee.
Beat. Why then God forgiue me.
Bene. What offence fweet Beatrice ? 290
Beat. You haue flayed me in a happy howre, I was a-
bout to proteft I loued you. 292
283. fweare by if^ fweare Q, Glo. Cam. Wh. ii, Dtn.
the thing I know not ;' an interpretation which carries conviction, at least to the
present Ed.]
279. so weU as you] Lady Martin (p. 320) : {Half confessing^ and then
withdrawing) 'but believe me not, and yet I lie noV {again yielding, and again
falling back). To extricate herself from her embarrassment, she turns away from
the subject with the words, spoken with tremulous emotion : * I am sorry for my
cousin.'
282. sword] Corson (p. 191) : There seems to be implied in 'by my sword,'
that Benedick, who is characterized by great quickness of perception, already antici-
pates what will be required of him, as soon as the confession of love is mutual. Bea-
trice replies, ' Do not swear and eat it ' ; in which there is evidently implied her sense
of the severe task it will necessarily be for Benedick to challenge either of his friends,
in support of the honour of Hero. Benedick again is quick to understand, and
replies : * I will swear by it,* etc. Beatrice tests him still further, though with the
kindest and most honourable feeling, by saying : ' Will you not eat your word ?'
After Benedick's reply thereto, Beatrice then feels that the final word, with all that
is involved in it, can be uttered, and says, ' Why, then, God forgive me,' etc. [After
Beatrice has said that there is ' none of her heart left to protest'] Benedick at once
feels that they are now all the world to each other, and that there are no outside con-
siderations in the way of Beatrice's making any demands upon him, and abruptly
says, * Come bid me do anything for thee ;* upon which Beatrice makes the unex-
pected and startling demand, *Kill Claudio.' [If Benedick in his oath: 'by his
sword' 'anticipated what would be required of him,' as Corson says, Beatrice's
demand to kill Claudio, could have been neither 'unexpected ' nor ' startling.* He
could have anticipated no other use for his sword but in the defence of Hero, and if
in her defence, upon no other persons but Claudio and the Prince. — Ed.]
283. Doe not sweare by it, etc.] In the omission of 'by it,' the Qto gives the
better reading. Beatrice refers merely to the oath.
291. in a happy ho wr%] This is good French. Thus, Cotgrave: *Ala bonne
heure. Happily, luckily, fortunately, in good time, in a good houre. — Ed.
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222 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv. sc i.
Bene. And doe it with all thy heart. 293
Beat. I loue you with fo much of my heart, that none
is left to proteft. 295
Bened. Come, bid me doe any thing for thee.
Beat. Kill Claudia. 297
295. protest] At the close of this speech, OECHELHiGUSER inserts the stage-
direction : ' She falls into his arms ; then suddenly wrenches herself free, and covers
her fiEu:e with her hands. ' This stage-direction, Oechelh&user thus explains (EinJUkr'
ungen in Shakespeare s BUhmn-Dramenf etc. 2te Afl, ii, 345) : After Bassanio*s
choice of the casket has been made there is a scene wherein Portia's deep emotion
breaks through all play of wit ; and so it is here, with Benedick and Beatrice. The
present situation, I think, justifies the stage-direction which I have added, whereby,
after Beatrice has responded to Benedick's declaration of love, they both fall into
each others' arms ; no such direction woidd be allowed were the scene to be consid-
ered as humourous ; whereas it seemed to me to be one that is required by the gravity
of the situation and the earnest nature of the lovers' emotion. When once this has
had its due, humour may resume its sway. — ^Mrs Jameson (i, 136) : Here again [in
the dialogue which precedes,] the dominion rests with Beatrice, and she appears in
a less amiable light than her lover. Benedick surrenders his whole heart to her and
to his new passion. The revulsion of feeling even causes it to overflow in an excess
of fondness ; but with Beatrice temper has still the mastery. The affection of Bene-
dick induces him to challenge his intimate friend for her sake, but the affection of
Beatrice does not prevent her from risking the life of her lover. [It savours almost
of disloyalty to quote this extract from one whom we all admire as much as we do
Mrs Jameson, so utterly has she failed, not only here but throughout almost all that
she says about the present play, to appreciate fully the character of Beatrice. — Ed.]
297. Kill Claudio] Fletcher (p. 271): Benedick is hereby called upon to
choose at once between his friendship and his love ; for Beatrice's intellect, no less
than her heart, dictates to her that this, under the peculiar circumstances of the case,
is the proper test of his affection ; and she therefore proceeds unflinchingly to apply
it. . . . Heartbroken at her 'sweet Hero's' wrong and affliction, she argues most
logically and truly, that if her lover's protestation be sincere, he tmtst, were it at the
cost of all other friendship in the world, show himself that champion of her own
peace, her cousin's fame, and her family's reputation, which he has constituted him-
self by that very avowal. So that the interests of her love, no less than of her friend-
ship, are concerned in pressing upon him this test of the seriousness of his attach-
ment. — Anton Count SzftcsEN (German Trans, from the Hungarian, p. 51) : It is
an extremely happy device which makes the innocent practical joke, played by Clau-
dio and the Duke on Benedick, culminate in a demand by Beatrice on Benedick to
kill Qaudio. Corson (p. 191) : Beatrice utters these words the moment all obsta-
cles are removed from her making demands upon Benedick, just as the gentlest and
kindest person might use a strong expression when under the influence of deep feel-
ing. It exhibits the intense moral indignation she has felt and still feels, by reason
of her cousin's wrongs. [Marshall says that these two words * ought to be spoken
with the utmost passion, in fact almost hissed into Benedick's ears,' regardless, I
fear, of the phonetic difficulty of * hissing ' words which 'contain no sibilant.
Fletcher's interpretation of these words, which are so generally misunderstood
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ACT IV, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 223
Bene. Ha, not for the wide world. 298
Beat. You kill me to denie, farewell.
Bene. Tarrie fweet Beatrice. 300
Beat. I am gone, though I am heere, there is no loue
in you, nay I pray you let me goe.
Bene. Beatrice.
Beat. Infaith I will goe.
Bene. Wee'U be friends firft. 305
Beat. You dare eafier be friends with mee, than fight
with mine enemy. 307
299. dmiel ^^> Rowe, + , Knt, Wh. self) />i^^ u Marshall.
i. deny it Q, Cap. et cet 303. Beatrice.] Beatrite—Theoh, et
300. [He seizes her. Hal. seq. (subs.)
301. there is'\ (Struggling to free her-
as an outburst of vindictiveness, cannot be too strongly commended. Not even in
Imogen, not even in Cleopatra has Shakespeare entered more deeply, it seems to me,
into a woman's heart than here, in this demand of Beatrice. With a swiftness stimu-
lated by love, she sees that the moment is supreme, — ^herein is the only sure and
absolutely infallible test of Benedick's devotion. If he fail here and now, though she
cannot control her heart, which would be always his, her hand never can be given
to him ; as she says afterward, she would be here, yet she would be gone. So far
from any display of intense passion or of melodramatic hissing, the words are more
powerful if said almost quietly with a piercing and unflinching gaze into Benedick's
eyes. — ^Ed.]
299. me] This is the emphatic word. — Ed.
301. I am gone, though I am heere] Stebvens : That is, I am out of your
mind already, though I remain here in person before you. — M. Mason (p. 54) : I
believe Beatrice means to say : ' I am gone,' that is, < I am lost to you, though I am
here.' In this sense Benedick takes them and desires to be friends with her. —
Douce (i, 175) : Beatrice may intend to say that notwithstanding she is detained by
force, she is in reality absent ; her heart is no longer Benedick's.
306. than fight, etc.] Lady Martin (p. 322) : It has been, I know, considered
by some critics [see Mrs Jameson, line 295, above] a blemish in Beatrice, that at
such a moment she should desire to risk her lover's life. How little can such critics
enter into her position, or understand the feelings by which a noble woman would in
such circumstances be actuated ! What she would have done herself, had she been
a man, in order to punish the traducer of her kinswoman and her bosom friend, and
to vindicate the family honour, she has a right to expect her engaged lover will do
for her. Her own honour, as one of the family, is at stake ; and what woman of
spirit would think so meanly of her lover as to doubt his readiness to risk his life in
such a cause? The days of chivalry were not gone in Shakespeare's time ; neither,
I trust and believe, are they gone now. I am confident that all women who are
worthy of a brave man's love will understand and sympathise with the feeling that
animates Beatrice. Think of the wrong done to Hero, — the unnecessary aggrava-
tion of it by choosing such a moment for publishing what Beatrice knows to be a vile
slander I Benedick adopts her conviction, and, having adopted it, the course she
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224 AfUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. i.
Bene. Is Claudia thine enemie ? 308
Beat. Is a not approued in the height a villaine, that
309. Is a\ Is he Rowe et seq.
uiiges is the one he himself must have taken. Could he leave it to the only male
members of his adopted family, Leonato and Antonio, two elderly, men, to champion
the kinswoman of the lady of his love ? — Fletcher (p. 276) : It is not * temper,'
as Mrs Jameson phrases it, but just principle and generous feeling combined, that
actuate the heroine to place her lover in this hostile position towards her cousin's
traducer, whom he can no longer, consistendy with his protestations to herself, con-
sider as his friend. The moment before he made these solenm professions, she had
told him respecting the righting of her cousin's wrong, < It is a man's office, but
not yours.' The moment after he has made them, she tells him what is equivalent
to saying, ' It is mnv your office, beyond all other men,' . . . This drama, let us
observe, is laid in the time when, however it may be now-a-days, a woman of spirit
as well as tenderness would have shrunk from the remotest idea of requiting her lover
in so mean a sense, as to risk his honour for fear of risking his life. The more dearly
she loved him, the more she loved his honour, as the dearest part of him to a woman
worthy of his affection.
309-314. Is . . . market-place] Mrs Griffith (p. 159) : There is a generous
warmth of indignation in this speech which must certainly impress a female reader
with the same sentiments upon such an occasion. I am not so disingenuous to take
advantage of this passage as an historical fact, but am willing to rest it upon the sole
authority of the Poet's assumption, as this will sufficiently answer the design of my
introducing it ; which is, to vindicate my sex from the general, but unjust charge of
being prone to slander ; for were this the case, were not the resentment of Beatrice,
in this instance, natural, how could it move our sympathy ? which it actually does
here, even though we acknowledge the circumstance to have been merely imaginary.
I believe that there is nothing which a woman of virtue feels herself more offended
at, than defamation or scandal ; first, against her own character, and proportionably
when others are the victims. There are women, indeed, who may be fond of slander,
as having an interest in depreciating an idea of chastity ; but this is owing to their
frailty, not their sex, — ^Vice is neither masculine nor feminine ; *tis the common of
two. — Mrs Jameson (i, 139) : A haughty, excitable, and violent temper is another
of the characteristics of Beatrice ; but there is more of impulse than of passion in
her vehemence. In the marriage scene, where she beheld her gentle-spirited cousin, —
whom she loves the more for those very qualities which are most unlike her own, —
slandered, deserted, and devoted to public shame, her indignation, and the eagerness
with which she hungers and thirsts after revenge, are, like the rest of her character,
open, ardent, impetuous, but not 'deep or implacable. When she burst into that out-
rageous speech [the present lines, 309-314], and when she commends her lover,
as the first proof of his affection, to * kill Gaudio,' the very consciousness of the
exaggeration, — of the contrast between the real good-nature of Beatrice and the
fierce tenour of her language, keeps alive the comic effect, mingling the ludicrous
with the serious. [Alas! alas!— Ed.] — Anon. {Blachvood, April, 1833, p. 546) :
This is one of the very few views in which we cannot go along with our guide [Mrs
Jameson]. We do not think it an * outrageous speech.' Never in this world before
or since had a woman been so used as Hero. A governor's daughter accused of
incontinence not with one varlet, but with mankind, by her lover at the altar 1
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ACT IV. sc. i.J MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 225
[309-314. Is he not approued ... a villaine, etc.]
Sweetest Hero, she who was once so ' lovely in his eyes/ by her own father called
* smirched and mired with infamy !' Why, Hero had < this twdvemonth been her
bed-fellow,' and Beatrice knew she was as chaste as herself-~as they lay bosom to
bosom. Her pride of sex, as well as her sisterly love, was up in arms at the base
and brutal barbarity ; she felt herself insulted, her own maidenhood subjected to
suspicion, since soot might thus be scattered on the unsunned snow of a virgin's
virtue. And who was Claudio? She had heard his praises from the messenger ere
she had seen his face. And this paragon led her Hero into the church to break
her heart, and *• mire her name with inOeuny !' ' Oh, God I that I were a man 1 I
could eat his heart in the market-place,' is a proper prayer and a just sentiment We
repeat, it is not *• outrageous.' Did he not deserve to have his heart eaten in the
market-place? And if Beatrice could have changed her sex, and into a man's
indignant heart carried too the outraged feelings of a woman's, the man of the
Corinthian, or rather Composite order, of whom the world would then have had
assurance, would have hungered and thirsted after Claudio' s heart, and eaten it in
the market-place, which we presume is only a figurative style of speaking, and
means stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed it, piercing it through, and through, and
through, till the blood bolted from breast and back, and Claudio fell down a clod on
the pavement-stone of sacrifice. In Beatrice commanding Benedick to < kill Claudio,'
we cannot bring ourselves to think that there can be any consciousness of exaggera-
tion in the mind of any auditor, and least of all in that of such a high-minded lady
as she who has happened to say so, or that the effect is particularly comic Doubt
there can be none, that it was a duty incumbent on Benedick, not only as a gentle-
man and a soldier, but as a Christian, to challenge Claudio to single, and, unless
that craelest of calumniators (however deluded) licked the dust and drenched it with
tears, to mortal combat Was not Benedick the lover, the betrothed of Beatrice, and
was not Qaudio the betrothed and the worse than murderer of her dearest and near-
est (female) friend? She knew Hero's innocence, and so must Benedick ; for dared
he to doubt the word of his Beatrice as to the honour bright, the stainless purity of
her whose head had so long lain beside hers on the same pillow ? If he did, then
was he not worthy to lay on the down his rough chin dose to the smoothest that ever
hid or disclosed a dimple in balmy sleep. We cannot help feeling painful surprise
that 'Signior Montanto' had not put his finger to his lip with an eye-look that
Claudio could not misinterpret, before that redoubted warrior left the church. It
is not ' temper' [as Mrs Jameson terms it] that has the mastery with Beatrice. She
was a high-bom, high-spirited, high-honoured, high-principled, pure, chaste, and
affectionate lady, and therefore she said, and could say no less : < Kill Qaudio.'
Benedick was bound to challenge Claudio for his own sake, and that of the profession
of arms. And what was the life of her lover to Beatrice in comparison with his
honour? She, God wot, was no love-sick girl, but a woman in her golden prime, —
and had Gaiidio killed Benedick, — why, she needed not to have broken her heart,
nor would she, though verily we believe she might have worn widow's weeds for a
year and a day. But she had no thought of its being within the chances of fortune
that her beloved could be vanquished in such a cause. That would have occurred to
her, had they gone out ; but in her indignant scorn of the insulter, she saw him
beaten on his knees, and her own knight's sword at his throat, that had so foully
lied. \^Aut Christopher North, aut diado/m.—ED.}
16
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315
320
226 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv. sc i.
hath flandered, fcomed, difhonoured my kinfwoman ? O 310
that I were a man ! what, beare her in hand vntill they
come to take hands, and then with publike accufation
vncouered flander, vnmittigated rancour? O God that I
were a man ! I would eat his heart in the market-place.
Bene. Heare me Beatrice.
Beat. Talke with a man out at a window, a proper
faying.
Bene. Nay but Beatrice.
Beat. Sweet Hero^ fhe is wronged, fliee is flandered,
(he is vndone.
Bene. Beat ?
Beat. Princes and Counties ! furelie a Princely tefti-
monie, a goodly Count, Comfeft, a fweet Gallant fure- 323
313. rancour?^ rancour-^Ysrvt. et 322. Couniiesl Counts Rowe ii,-»-,
seq. (subs.) Cap.
3I5» 3«8. Beatrice.] Beatrice; Cap. 323. Count, Comfea;\ Counte, ComUe
Beatrice^ Coll. et seq. (subs.) Comfect Q, Cam. Rife, Wh. ii, Dtn.
316. windo7v,'\ window?^ Pope, + . count-Com/ect Ff. Rowe, + , Var. Ran.
window— Rowe et seq. (subs.) Mai. count-confect Cap. Stcev. Var.
321. Beatr-^ Q. Bettf F^F,. But? Knt count, count confect Coll. Dyce
F^. ^i«/~ Rowe, Pope, Han. But ii, iii. fw«/, <:w«/-f^/^/-/ Dyce i, Ktly.
Beatrice-^ Ran. Beat— Theob. et count— confect Wh. i. Count! Count
cet. Confect Sta.
309. approued] See II, i, 360.
311. were a man] Boas (p. 312): This speech springs from 'a noble and
righteous fury, the fury of kindled strength ' ; but in the very measure of her strength
the woman is made, with the finest truth, to find the measure of her weakness, and
Beatrice, in this hour of her self-revelation, cries aloud for the powers of the sex that
has hitherto been the butt of her scorn.
311. beare her in hand] That is, sustain by false promises. — Elwin {Note on
Macb. Ill, i, 80) : In the 14th of Eliz., 1572, an Act was passed against 'such as
practise abused sciences, whereby they bear the people in hand that they can tell
their destinies, deaths,' etc.
313. vncouered] That is, slander that had not been uncovered, revealed, detected
as it might have been, or, perhaps, it is slander unveiled, unabashed without any
pretence of a di^[uise. — ^Ed.
316. proper] See I, iii, 48.
322. Counties] See II, i, 337.
323. Count, Coinfe(5t] Capell (p. 131) : That is, < sugar-plum Count.' — VL, G.
White (ed. i) : Beatrice's wit and her anger working together, she at once calls
Qaudio's accusation 'a goodly conte confect,' 1. e, a story made up, and him a
< count confect,' t. e, a nobleman of sugar candy ; and then she clenches the nail
she has driven home, by adding 'a sweet gallant, surely.' This sense of the pass-
age (which seems to have escaped all apprehension hitherto, the consequence bang
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ACT IV, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 227
[323. Count, Comfedt J
an almost universal corruption of the text) is further evident from the inter-depend-
ence of the whole exclamation, 'Surely a princely testimony^ a goodly fwn/,'— the
first part of which would be strangely out of place, if there were no pun in the
second. In Shakespeare's time the French titie 'Count' was pronounced like
< conte ' or * compte,' meaning a fictitious story, a word which was then in common
use. For instance, * to let you heare Proueibes, which very Artifficers haue in their
mouth, and comptes, which are vsed to be told by the fire side.' — Guazzo, The
CiuUe conuersation^ 1586, fol. 6, b. Again, 'Sentences, pleasant Jestes, Fables,
Allegories, Similitudes, Prouerbes, Comptes, and other delightfull sp«u:h.'— fol. 62,
b. Comfects, confects, oomfets, or comfits (for the four orthographies were indiffer-
entiy used) were so called because they were made up, as the etymology shows.
* Conte ' suggested not only ' count ' but * confect,' the first vowel sound being the
same in all. The Qto has been generally adopted with the explanation that ' Beat-
rice first calls Qaudio "Count" and then gives him his titie, "count confect!" '
But surely this acceptation, which has been hitherto universal, loses the point of
Beatrice's innuendo, deprives what is left of its proper connection, and is inconsis-
tent with the quickness and concentration of her wit and the state of mmd in which
she is. We can easily imagine the bitter sneer with which Beatrice flings out
' Count— confect,' lingering a perceptible moment on the first syllable of the latter
word ; but that her stopping ' in the tempest and whirlwind of her passion,' to repeat
' a goodly Count, Count confect,' would be unnatural in any one, and particularly
unlike her, we do not need the evidence of the authentic edition [FJ to tell us. It
has taken many lines, as it almost always must, to describe and explain what would
flash instantaneously upon the mind of an auditor in Shakespeare's day, or of a
reader prepared to receive it in this. The text should be ' a good r^if/^^— confect,'
were it not that ' conte,' ' compte,' and ' count ' were used interchangeably when the
play was written. [The text of White's ed. ii reads : < a goodly count. Count Com-
fect' — Ed.] — Staunton: A tide of derision, as my Lard Lollipop, — ^W. A.
Wright: In *a goodly Count' there is possibly a pun between 'Count,' a titie,
and 'count,' the declaration of complaint in an indictment. The occurrence of the
word ' testimony ' favours this. Grant White's suggestion is very probable that there
is again a play upon the meaning of ' confect' He interprets the phrase ' count
comfect ' as a fictitious story ; but I prefer to think that the legal meaning of < count '
is rather pointed to, and that it means a fictitious charge. [I distrust all interpre-
tations as fine-spun as Grant White's ; while it is impossible to deny them, it is hard
to assent to them; I cannot but believe that an auditor in Shakespeare's day, on
hearing the word County and especially in the present passage, would think instantiy
of the titie, and not at all, unless the connection were very pronounced, on conte^ a
story. If there be any pun here, which I doubt, the train of thought which led to it
was the use, at the outset, of the word ' testimony.' This led to the legal use of the
word 'count' as W. A. Wright suggests. But how 'count' led to 'comfect' I do
not see by any logical connection ; it can hardly be that at the word ' comfect ' every
auditor thought that a ' comfect ' was either a composite or a ' fictitious ' article ; its
chief meaning is a sweet-meat, as Beatrice at once proves. That Beatrice paused
before ' Comfect ' I can well imagine ; she was searching for a term of supreme con-
tempt, — that she was tolerably successful, I think we may infer, if a 'comfect' was
popularly held to be what Cotgrave gives as a translation of * Dragie' . • . any
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228 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv. sc. L
lie, O that I were a man for his fake | or that I had any
friend would be a man for my fake/But manhood is mel- 325
ted into curfies, valour into complement, and men are
onelie turned into tongue, and trim ones too : he is now
as valiant as Hercules ythdX only tells a lie, and fweares it :
I cannot be a man with wi(hing,therfore I will die a wo- 329
326. cur/ies] Q. curifies F,. curte- sies Han. et cet
yies FjF^ Rowe, + . courfsies Cap. 327. tongue\ tongues liBXk,
Wh. courtesy Coll. ii (MS), courte-
ionkets, oomfets, or sweet-meats, served in at the last course, (or otherwise) for
stomach-dosers.' It is possible that Webster had this passage in mind when he
wrote T%e Dutchess of Ma^^ and if he did, he took neither ' count ' nor < confect '
in any recondite sense; Ferdinand proposes as a husband to the Dutchess 'the
great Count Malateste' whereupon the Dutchess exclaims: 'Fie upon him: A
count 1 he's a mere stick of sugar-candy,* III, i, p. 227, ed. Dyce. — Ed.]
325, 326. melted into cursies] Steevkns : That is, into ceremonious obeisance,
like the courtesies dropped by women. Collier (ed. ii) adopts the change of the
plural 'cursies' into the singular 'courtesy,' as it stands in his MS, because 'man-
hood,' ' valour,' and ' compliment' are all in the singular. [And yet the plural is used
after * tongue' in the very next line. — Ed.] — R. G. White : It is possible that we
should read curses^ — Beatrice meaning that there was nothing left of men but words
—curses and compliments. — Haluwell : Steevens is probably right The spelling
' cursies,' I believe usually (though not always) implies courtesies in the sense of
obeisances. Thus in the next act, the Qto reads ' courtisies,' where the word is used
in the ordinary sense. Baret, Alvearie^ 15S0, has, however, ' Make a legge, or cur-
tt&\t,flecte genu,* The isxX is, that cursey^ or courtesy y was applied in Shakespeare's
time, to the obeisance both of men and women ; so that the application of the word
in the passage in the text is perfectly appropriate. It may be just worth notice,
without assigning too much importance to the circumstance, for the early editions
differ in orthography, that in the Second Act of Othello^ where the word occurs
four times, in the three cases where it is intended in its usual signification, it is, in
the Folio, spelt courtesie and curtesies whereas, in the other instance, where it means
obeisance, it is, in the same edition, printed in the abbreviated form, curtsie, — ^W. A.
Wright : Beatrice is still playing on the confectionery metaphor. Compare / Hen.
IV: I, iii, 251 : ' Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then
did proffer me !' In HamL III, ii, 65, ' the candied tongue ' was the tongue of
courtesy and compliment, as sweet and unsubstantial as comfits and sugar-candy.
327. trim ones] Steevens : The construction is, — ^not only men but trim ones
are turned into tongue, that is, not only common but clever men, etc. Malone,
who apparently shares Steevens' s error of supposing that ' trim ones' refers to men,
observes that ' " trim" does not mean clever^ but spruce, fair-spoken, " Tongue "
in the singular, and " trim ones " in the plural is a mode of construction not uncom-
mon in Shakespeare.' [See III, iv, 56 ; V, i, 40.]— W. A. Wright : They are so
smooth-spoken that their tongues have lost their roughness. [Wherein the trim-
ness consists is not, I think, in smoothness of speech, but, as Beatrice intimates in
the next line, in readiness to tell a lie. Of course, ' trim ' is strongly ironical, as it
is in many another place in Shakespeare. — ^Ed.]
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ACT IV. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 229
man with grieuing. 330
Bene. Tarry good Beatrice^hy this hand I loue thee.
Beat Vfe it for my loue fome other way then fwea-
ring by it.
Bened. Thinke you in your foule the Count Claudia
hath wronged /^<?r^ ? 335
Beat. Yea, as fure as I haue a thought, or a foule.
Bene. Enough,! am engagde,! will challenge him, I
will Idfle your hand, and fo leaue you : by this hand Clau-
dio (hall render me a deere account : as you heare of me,
fo thinke of me : goe comfort your coofln, I muft fay (he 340
is dead, and fo farewell.
338. fo Uaue\ fo I Uaue Q, Coll. i, FjF^, Rowe, Pope, Han.
ii, Wh. Cam. Dtn. 341. [Exeunt Ff.
339. a deere] Q. deere F,. dear
337. I am engagde, etc.] In Oxberry's edition of this play, as 'performed at
the London Theatres Royal,' there is the following ending to this Scene : —
*Bene, Enough, I am engaged, [puts on his hot,] I will challenge him.
Beat, Will you?
Bene. Upon my soul I will. I'll kiss your hand, and so leave you. — By this
hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account
Beat, You '11 be sure to challenge him.
Bene. By those bright eyes, I will.
Beat, My dear friend, — ^kiss my hand again.
Bene, As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your cousin ; I must say
she's dead, and so farewell, [both going]
Beat. Benedick, kill him, kill him, if you can !
Bene, As sure as he 's alive I will. [Exeunt.*
The date of this edition is 1823. I find the same ending, with some trifling veri)al
changes, repeated in Lopet and IVemys^ Acting American Theatre of 1826. I do
not know who is responsible for the impertinence, and time would be misspent in
any prolonged search. I hope it was not Ganrick, whose Acting copy was never, I
believe, printed. It is not in Kemble's edition, nor in Mrs Inchbald's. — ^Ed.
338. by this hand] * This ' is the emphatic word ; it is not his own hand that
Benedick now swears by, he had just sworn by it, but by Beatrice's fair hand that
he is holding. — ^Ed.
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230 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv. sc iu
\Scene IL\
Enter the ConfiableSy BorcLchioy and the Taivne Gierke i
in gownes.
Keeper, Is our whole diflembly appeard ?
Cowley. O a ftoole and a cufliion for the Sexton. 4
Scene IV. Pope, + . Scene II. and Sexton, in Gowns ; and Watch, with
Cap. et seq. Conr. and Bor. Cap.
Changes to a Prison. Theob. A 3. Keeper.] To. CI. Rowe, + . Dog.
Jail. Cap. Cap. et seq.
I. Enter...] Enter Dogb. Virg. Bor. 4, 7. Cowley.] Dog. Rowe, + . Ver.
Conr. the Town Clerk and Sexton in Cap, et seq.
gowns. Rowe, + . Enter Dogb., Verg., and rt] and Ff, Rowe, Pope, Han.
1. Towne Gierke] This is evidently the same roan as the Sexton, who speaks at
line 5, and is throughout the scene the only man of intelligence except the Prisoners.
Nevertheless, Rowe, followed by all editors down to Capell, retained * Town Clerk '
and added * Sexton ' in the present stage-direction. Capell was the first to perceive
that they were one and the same character. * In Shakespeare's time,' says Halli-
WELL, * in small towns, different offices were held by one person. The Sexton here
introduced should be Francis Seacoal, if the poet had not forgotten the arrangement
named at the end of the third act' In this scene, the substitution of the actors' own
names for the names of the characters they impersonated reveals, in a clear and satis-
factory manner, that the Qto was printed from a play-house copy. The reader need
find but little difficulty, if he will bear in mind that William Kempe acted < Dog-
berry,' and Richard Cowley acted 'Verges.* Wherever, in the text, Kemp.y JCtm,,
or Kee,j appears, let * Dogberry* be substituted. Keeper in the very first line is evi-
dently, as Capell says, a 'press-corruption of Kempe'; so also * Andrew^* in line 6,
which is, again as Capell says, 'suppos'd a nickname of Kemp's,' 'from his playing
the part of Merry Andrew,' adds W. A. Wright. ' We know of no actor,' says
Collier, 'of the Christian, or surname of Andrew in the company of the Lord
Chamberlain's players. Andrew Cane, or Kane, was a popular comic performer
anterior to the publication of the F, ; but he could not have had the part of Dog-
berry so early, even if he filled it afterwards.' Fleay (Actor Lists, p. 14) makes
the statement, without comment, that 'Andrew performed in MueA Ado about
Nothingy 1599,* but, as I can find no reference whatever that he makes elsewhere to
this actor, I incline to think that it is an oversight, which is indeed venial, when the
immense mass of material is considered, which Fleay has garnered. For a Life of
Kemp, see Collier's Memoirs of Actors in the Plays of Shakespeare, Sh. Soc, 1846,
p. 89.
Wherever Cowley or Couley appears, be it remembered that it is Verges who
speaks. Of Cowley very little is knovm, and for that litde the student is re-
ferred to the volume of Collier, just mentioned, p. 159.
2. in gownes] Maix>ne : It appears from The Black Book, 1604, that this was
the dress of a constable in our author's time : 'when they mist their constable, and
saw the black gowne of his office lye full in the puddle,' etc.
4. Btoole and a cushion] Malone : Perhaps a ridicule was here aimed at The
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ACT IV, sc. u.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 23 1
Sextan. Which be the malefaftors ? 5
Andrew. Marry that am I, and my partner.
Cowley. Nay that's certaine, wee haue the exhibition
to examine.
Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be ex-
amined, let them come before mafter Conftable. 10
Kemp. Yea marry, let them come before mee,what is
your name, friend ?
Bor. Borachio.
Kent. Pray write downe Borachio. Yours firra.
Con. I am a Gentleman fir, and my name is Conrade. 15
Kee. Write downe Mafter gentleman ConradAx mai-
fters, doe you ferue God :
* Both Yea fir we hope.
* Kent. Write downe, that they hope they ferue God :
* and write God firft, for God defend but God ftioulde goe 20
♦before fuch villaines:* maifters, it is proued alreadie
6. Andrew.] Verg. Rowe, + . Dog. 17, 21. God : maifters] Godf Both
Cap. et seq. Yea fir we hope, Kenu Write down^ that
10. mafter'] maifter Q. they hope they feme God : and write
11, 14, etc. Kemp, or Kee.] To. Q. God firft ^ for God defend but God
Rowe,+. Dog. Cap. et seq. fhoulde goe before fuch villaines : matf
16. gentleman Conrade] gentleman^ ters^ Q, Theob. et seq.
Conrade^ Rowe i.
Spanish Tragedy : * Hieronimo, What, are you ready, Balthazar? Bring a chair and
cushion for the king.* — [Act V, p. 157, ed. Hazlitt-Dodsley. ] — Halliwell : It may
be worth observing that the allusions to these [articles] are too common to warrant
any certain deduction of the kind. Moveable cushions for the seats of single stools
and chairs, although now nearly out of fashion, were most common in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries.
7, 8. exhibition to examine] Steevens : Blunder for * examination to exhibit.'
See III, V, 47 : ' Leonato, Take their examination yourself, and bring it to me.' —
Halliwell: 'Exhibition' is probably the speaker's blunder for injunction, per-
mission, or some word of similar import. They are now proceeding to obey Leonato' s
direction and Dogberry and Verges are extremely anxious to take the first opportunity
of asserting their right to examine Conrade and Borachio. Steevens is perhaps right,
although the previous explanation seems more in accordance with the tenor of the
context, and with the class of blunders usually perpetrated by the worthies who are
DOW speaking.
17-21. *Both Yea . . . villaines*] Theobald was the first to restore to the
text these lines from the Qto ; without them, as he says, Dogberry < asks a question
of the prisoners, and goes on without staying for any answer to it.' — Blackstone :
The omission of this passage may be accounted for from the stat. 3 Jac. I., c., 21,
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232
MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. U,
that you are little better than falfe knaues, and it will goe
neere to be thought fo {hortly,how anfwer you for your
felues ?
Con, Marry fir, we fay we are none.
Kemp. A maruellous witty fellow I affure you, but I
will goe about with him : come you hither firra, a word
in your eare fir, I fay to you , it is thought you are falfe
knaues.
Bor. Sir, I fay to you, we are none.
Kemp, Well, (land afide, Yore God they are both in
a tale : haue you writ downe that they are none ?
Sext, Mafter Conftable, you goe not the way to ex-
amine, you muft call forth the watch that are their ac-
cufers.
Kemp. Yea marry, that's the efteft way, let the watch
come forth : mafters, I charge you in the Princes name,
accufe thefe men.
22
25
30
35
22. will goe\ will grow Rowe ii.
26-32. Mnemonic lines, Waib.
28. eare fir ^ /] ear fir; lY^, ear:
sir^ I Cam. Glo. Rife, Wh. ii, Dtn.
ear, sir; I Rowe et cet
32. downe"] drowne F,.
tha^ Om. F^, Rowe i.
33$ 43* Conftable'] Town-clerk Rowe,
34. forth] Om. Rowe, + .
36. efiejf] easiest Rowe, Pope.
«/Theob. + .
watch] Watch ¥^.
38. [Enter Watchman. Pope,+.
defl-
the sacred name being jestingly used four times in one line. — Coluer : Possibly,
it was a player's interpolation. — R. G. White (ed. i) : It probably tuas interpolated
by a player of the company, — one William Shakespeare ; there were hardly two in
one theatre who could do that
32. a tale] < A ' is here, as very often in Shakespeare, equivalent to one; see III,
▼, 37. The meaning is, that they both tell one story ; or, possibly, Dogberry may
use the old law term, < tale,' for which, in modem pleading, we have substituted
'declaration.' If so, the lawyers in Shakespeare's audience would appreciate the
absurdity of representing the prisoners, the defendants, as both joined in what is
always a < dedamtion ' of the cause of action by the plaintiffs. — ^Ed.
36. eftest] Theobald : A letter happened to slip out at press in the first edition ;
and 'twas too hard a task for the subsequent editors to put it in, or guess at the word
under this accidental depravation. There is no doubt but the author wrote, as I have
restored the text : deftest, t. e. the readiest, most commodious way. — Steevens :
Shakespeare, I suppose, designed Dogberry to corrupt this word as well as many
others. — Boswell : Dogberry has here been guilty of no corruption. The eftest
way is the quickest YitLj, See Eft in Johnson's Diet, — Halliwell : Eft is solely
used as an adverb. [To attempt to correct Dogberry is merely to range oneself by
his side. — Ed.]
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ACT IV. sa ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 233
Watch I. This man faid fir, that Don lohn the Princes
brother was a villaine. 40
Kemp, Write down, Prince lohn a villaine: why this
is flat periurie,to call a Princes brother villaine.
Bora, Mafter Conftable.
Kemp. Pray thee fellow peace, I do not like thy looke
I promife thee. 45
Sexton, What heard you him fay elfe ?
Watch 2. Mary that he had receiued a thoufand Du-
kates of Don lohn^ for accufing the Lady Hero wrong-
fully.
Kemp. Flat Burglarie as. euer was committed. 50
Conjl. Yea by th'mafle that it is.
Sexton. What elfe fellow ?
Watch I. And that Count Claudia did meane vpon his
words, to difgrace Hero before the whole aflembly, and
not marry her. 55
Kemp. O villaine! thou wilt be condemned into euer-
lafting redemption for this.
Sexton. What elfe?
WaUh. This is all.
Sexton. And this is more mafters then you can deny, 60
Prince lohn is this morning fecretly ftolne away : Hero
was in this manner accused, in this very manner refusM,
and vpon the griefe of this fodainely died : Mailer Con-
ftable, let thefe men be bound, and brought to LeonatOj
I will goe before, and (hew him their examination. 65
Conji. Come, let them be opinion'd.
43. Con/iable.'\ Town-clerk-^ Theob. 59. Watch.] 2 Watch. Rowe.
+. Constable— Cap. et seq. 64. Leonato] Leonatoes Q, Cap. Var.
48. for accujingi for the accufing Y^f Mai. Stcev. Var. Coll. Dyce, Cam.
Rowc. Wh. ii.
51. th'maJire'] Ff, Rowe, + , Cap. Wh. ' 65. [Exit Theob.
i. maffe Q, Cam. Wh. ii. the mass 66. Confl.] Dog. Rowe.
Var'73etcet
51. by th'masse] Halliwell : This oath was gradually becoming oat of
fashion, and is therefore suitably placed in the mouth of Verges, — * a good old
man, sir.' — ^W. A. Wright : But Borachio is not a good old man, and yet he
uses it
63. vpon] See II, lii, 202.
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234 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. ii
Sex. Let them be in the hands of Qoxcombe. 67
Kent, Gods my life, whereas the SextonPlet him write
downe the Princes Officer Coxcambe : covsx^yMwidit them 69
67. [Exit. Rowe. Let them be in the—- Con. Hands off I
Sex. Let them,„Coxcombe,'] Ff coxcomb! Kinnear, Lloyd. Vtxg, Let
(Coxombe F,), Rowe, Pope. Couley. them. Bind their hands. — Con. Off^
Let them,..Coxcombe. Q. Sexton. Let coxcomb! Anon. ap. Halliwell. Veig.
them be in hand. [Exit.] Conr. Off^ Let them be in the hands of— Con.
coxcomb / Vfaib. Johns. Var. '73. Ver. Coxcomb! Sta. Ver. Let them be in
Let them be in bands. Con. Cff, cox- the hands — Conr. Off, coxcomb ! Mai.
comb ! Cap. Ver. Let them be in hand. Var. '21, Knt, Coll. Sing, ii, Dyce, Cam.
Con. Off, coxcomb! Var. '78/85, Ran. Ktly, Glo. Rife, Huds. Dtn, Wh. ii,
Ver. Let them be in band. Con. Off, Marshall.
coxcomb. Steev. '93, Var. *03, '13. 68, 72. Kem.] Dog. Rowe.
Ver. Let them be in the bands— Con. 69. Officer] Officers F^F^.
Off, coxcomb! Sing, i, Hal. Jervis. 69, 70. binde them thou] F,. bind
Sexton. Let them be bound. Borachio. them, thou Q, Rowe, + . bind them;
Hands off, coxcomb. Coll. MS. Verj. thou F^F^, Han. et cet. (subs.)
67. Sex. Let . . . Coxcombe.] Theobald's wonted insight here deserted him.
All that he saw was, that it is hardly becoming in the Sexton to call the Constable a
Coxcomb, and that this epithet < ought to come from one of the prisoners.' Accord-
ingly, he concluded that * Couley ' (of the Qto) was a misprint for Conrade, and to
Conrade he gave the speech without further change, wherein he was exactly followed
by R. G. White (ed. i), except in placing a comma after 'be.' Hanmer also fol-
lowed Theobald in giving the speech to Conrade, except in changing more appro-
priately, 'Let them' into Let us. Here Theobald's influence ceases and we are
indebted to Warburton for the happy solution which has been essentially adopted
with some variations by almost every subsequent editor. Warburton saw that the
whole line did not belong to the Sexton, and that Conrade spoke only a part of it ;
he reads accordingly, and explains thus : "' Sexton. Let them be in hand. [Exit.]
Con. Off, coxcomb!" Dogberry would have them pinioned. The Sexton says, it
was sufficient if they were kept in safe custody, and then goes out. When one of
the watchmen comes up to bind them, Conrade says "Off, coxcomb 1" as he says
afterwards to the Constable ** Away ! you are an ass !" ' Capell next changed the
< Sexton ' into Verges, herein following the Qto, which has * Couley,' the name, as
it will be remembered, of the actor of Verges ; and instead of ' in the hands,'
Capell reads in bands; wherefrom Steevens's in band is only a slight change ; as
is also in the bands of Singer (ed. i). Tyrwhitt says that he once conjectured
that Verges should say : * Let them bind their hands,' but withdrew it in favour of
Steevens's reading. — Malone : Perhaps we should read and regulate the passage
thus : * Ver. Let them be in the hands of — {the la^v, he might have intended to say).
Con. Coxcomb !' — Brae (p. 148) : Verges, to assert his share of authority, repeats
Dogberry's order ; and that he may orig^inate something from himself, he tacks to it
the superfluous addition : * Let them be — in the hands,' — Cam. Editors : The first
words may be a corruption of a stage-direction [Let them bind them] or [Let them
bind their hands]. — R. G. White (ed. ii) : This passage seems to be hopelessly
corrupted. [The only words, it would appear, of which we are quite sure, are Con-
rade's *Off", coxcomb.'— Ed.]
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ACT IV, sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 235
thou naughty varlet. 70
Cotdey. Away, you are an affe, you are an afle.
Kemp. Doft thou not fufpefl my place? doft thou not
fufpeft my yeeres ? O that hee were heere to write mee
downe an afle ! but mafters, remember that I am an afTe :
though it be not written down, yet forget not ^ I am an 75
afTezNo thou villaine,y art full of piety as fliall be prou'd
vpon thee by good witneile , I am a wife fellow , and
which is more, an officer, and which is more, a houflioul-
der,and which is more, as pretty a peece of il^fh as any in
Meffina, and one that knowes the Law,goe to, & a rich 80
fellow enough, goe to, and a fellow that hath had loflfes,
71. Couley.] Conr. Rowe. Rowe, + , Var. Ran.
73. yeerei] years F^F^. 79. any in] anie is in Q, Cap. Var.
76. J>] /Aou F,F^. Ran. Mai. Steev. Var. Knt, Coll. Cam.
77-^ Mnemonic lines, Waib. Ktly, Wh. ii.
78. a hau/houlder\ an householder
70. naughty] This word was formerly, as we all know, a much stronger term
than at present, when it is chiefly restricted to children. But, possibly, in the mouth
of Dogberry, and coupled with 'varlet,' it may have had to Shakespeare's auditors
almost as weak and comic a sound as it has to us. See V, i, 307. — Ed.
81. hath had losses] Scott (Quentin Durward^ Introd. p. il, ed. 1853) : I
have always observed your children of prosperity, whether by way of hiding their
liill glow of splendour from those whom fortune has treated more harshly, or whether
that to have risen in spite of calamity is as honourable to their fortune as it is to a
fortress to have undergone a siege, — ^however this be, I have observed that such
persons never fail to entertain you with an account of the damage they sustain by
the hardness of the times. You seldom dine at a well-supplied table, but the inter-
vals between the champagne, the burgundy, and the hock, are filled, if your enter-
tainer be a moneyed man, with the fall of interest and the difficulty of finding invest-
ments for cash, which is therefore lying idle on his hands ; or, if he be a landed
proprietor, with a wofull detail of arrears and diminished rents. ... I therefore put
in my proud daim to share in the distresses which affect only the wealthy ; and write
myself down, with Dogberry, *a fellow rich enough,' but still 'one who hath had
losses.' — Collier (ed. ii) : It is not very evident how Dogberry was to prove that
he was a ' rich fellow enough ' by having had losses, unless he meant that he had
been able to sustain them. The MS has leases or leasses, for Mosses' ; but we are
unwilling to disturb the old, and almost proverbial, *ext by substituting what is
questionable. — Herman Merivale (Edin. Rev,, April, 1856, p. 374) : Before we
condemn [Collier's MS] let us think again. We enter very unwillingly into the
domain of aesthetic criticism, but, afler all, does the received reading appear free
from objection in its place ? The ostentation of past losses would seem rather more
appropriate in one who is seeking to varnish his present decay by the lustre of
times gone by, than in one, like Dogberry, who is making a vulgar boast of present
prosperity. And * one who has had leases ' was a pointed description of a wealthy
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236 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act iv, sc. ii
and one that hath two gownes^ and euery thing hand- 82
fome aboMt him: bring him away:0 that I had been writ
downe an afle / Exit. 84
churl, which would have been fully appreciated by an audience in Queen Elizabeth's
reign. For many a fortune had been made by people in Dogberry's dass, out of
the common abuse of beneficial leases of church and corporation property ; while, —
if such very minute criticism may be allowed, — the words 'who has ^^ leases'
seem to point to the circumstance that, just about the time of Shakespeare's first
familiarity with theatres (in 1586) the last 'disabling statute' had rendered the
farther perpetration of such unprofitable jobs impossible. — Rev. John Hunter : Dog-
berry here magnifies himself as having been so rich, that in spite of losses he is ' a
rich fellow enough' still. — Ingleby {^Shakespeare HermeneuticSy etc., 1875, p. 35) «
Dogberry's Mosses' may have been intended for Uno-suits, [See also N, ^ Qu,
I, vii, p. 524, 1853, where ''John Doe" makes the same suggestion. The reader
wHl find an entertaining chapter, with Dogberry's phrase for its motto, in jACOX's
Shakespeare Diversions (ii, 21 ) wherein many and many an example is recorded,
gathered from the whole field of English literature, where past losses and ' better days '
minister great consolation. — Ed.] R. G. White (ed. ii) Incomprehensible ; and
probably corrupt Query? — that hath had horses. — Bailey (i, 193) : To substitute
leases would be adopting an alteration quite destitute of appropriateness. I have
two rival suggestions to offer : (i) that the true reading is horses, or hosses, — a per-
version of horses now, at least, widely prevailing both in town and country amongst
persons of Dogberry's rank. ... I venture, therefore, if my first suggestion be
rejected, — in which I am disposed to concur, — (2) to propose trossers in its place.
Trossers or trowses is a word, we are told, very frequently met with in our old dra-
matic writers, and it occurs once in Shakespeare, coupled with the epithet strait, to
denote tight breeches. ' Had losses ' may possibly have been converted from strait
trossers. [Happy indeed is it, for decency's sake, that Bailey, in regard to cloth-
ing the nether limbs by trowses, could convert ' hath had ' into « hath,' be the gar-
ment never so tight ! As for comment on hosses, I can only say that I knew the
soul of Dogberry to be immortal, but that until I had read this, I did not know that
his spirit still walked. — Ed.]
84. writ downe an asse] Collier (Actors in Shakespearis Plays, Robert
Armin. Shakespeare Society, p. 198) : Armin preserved the same designation of
'servant to the King's most excellent Majesty,' when he published his next tract.
The Italian Tailor and his Boy, which came out in 1609. . . . The most remark-
able passage in the preliminary matter to [this tract] is contained in the epistle to
Lord and Lady Haddington, where Armin refers to his poverty, and makes such a
reference to Dogberry as seems to render it certain that he succeeded to the character
after Kemp resigned it, on retiring from the Lord Chamberlain's players,- and joining
those of the Lord Admiral : Armin' s words are, ' Pardon, I pray you, the boldness
of a beggar, who hath been writ down an ass in his time, and pleads under
/ormd pauperis in it still, notwithstanding his constableship and office.' Kemp
was certainly dead when this was written, and Armin may possibly not have per-
formed Dogberry until after that event ; but our notion is, that the character devol/ed
into Armin' s hands when Kemp abandoned the Globe and went to act at the For-
tune.
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ACT V, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 237
Adlus Qutntus.
Enter Leonato and his brother.
Brother. If you goe on thus, you will kill your felfe,
And 'tis not wifedome thus to fecond griefe,
Againft your felfe. 5
Leon. I pray thee ceafe thy counfaile,
Which falls into mine eares as profitleffe,
As water in a fiue : giue not me.coiinfaile,
Nor let no comfort delight mine eare,
But fuch a one whofe wrongs doth fute with mine. lo
Bring me a father that fo louM his childe,
Whofe ioy of her is ouer-whelmed like mine,
And bid him fpeake of patience, 13
Scene I. Rowe. Theob. et seq.
Before Leonato' s House. Pope. lo. doth"] Ff, Rowe, Pope, doe Q,
2. his brother] Antonio. Rowe. Theob. et seq.
3. Brother.] Ant. Rowe. 13. fpeake] speak to me Han. Coll. ii,
8. Jiue] Jieve F^F^. iii (MS), Dyce ii, iii.
9. comfort] comfort els F,. comfort patience] patience to me Ktly.
elfe FjF^, Rowe, Pope, comforter Q,
3. Brother] Lloyd : Leonato at the beginning of this Act is immersed in grief
for the disgrace of his child, but the spectator already knows that this grief will be
speedily allayed by the publication of her innocence, and the additional knowledge
that he is bound to exaggerate consciously the expression of his grief by the pre-
tence of her death, still further checks the spontaneousness of our compassion.
Sympathy is balked and puzzled, and would rebel in affinont, but that the poet fur-
nishes a fair excuse for the laugh which incongruity invites, by the grotesque comi-
cality of the indignation of Antonio. With like humanity, in the scene where the
sleeping Juliet is mourned by her parents as dead, a vent for our importunate sense
of absurdity is supplied in the ludicrously exaggerated wailings of the nurse.
8. water in a siue] W. A. Wright : Compare Plautus PseudtUus^ I, i, 102 :
< Non pluris refert quam si imbrem in cribrum ingeras.'
10. wrongs] See II, i, 228.
13. speake] Hanmer, for the sake of the metre, added to me, reading 'patience,*
as three syllables. Coluer's MS also added them ; and Walker (CWV. ii, 256)
suggested, independently, the same. Barron Field also proposed the addition,
which, he says {Sh, Soc. Papers, ii, 54), 'would set off well with "And I of him
will gather patience,*' ' line 22. On the other hand. Anon. (Blackwood, Aug.,
1853, p. 193) says : ' Let any reader, who has an ear, read the opening speech of
Leonato, and he will perceive at once how greviously its effect is damaged by the
insertion of the words *< to me '' in this line.' [It is the very readers, who believed
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238 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc. i.
Meafure his woe the length and bredth of mine,
And let it anfwere euery ftraine for ftraine , 15
As thus for thus, and fuch a griefe for fuch,
In euery lineament, branch,fhape, and forme:
If fuch a one will fmile and ftroke his beard.
And forrow,wagge, crie hem, when he ftiould grone, 19
19. And.„hem,'\ QF,. And hallow. And, sorrov^s wag, cry hem, Wh. i.
wag, cry hem, F,, Rowe ii. Pope. And And sorrow sway; cry Hem! Ktly.
hollow, wag, cry hem, F^, Rowe i. And At sorrow ivink, cry hem Anon. ap. Cam.
sorrow waive, cry hem, Han. Warb. At sorrow wag, cry hem Bcke ap. Cam.
And sorrowing cry hem I YitBXh, Warton, And sorrow swagge or swage Ingleby
Hal. And, Sorrow wag! cry; hem, (Athenaeum 6. Feb. 1864) withdrawn.
Johns. Var '73, '78, '85, Ran. £id And so forth ; wag, cry * hem T Bulloch,
sorrow, wag; cry, hem! Cap. Sta. In Aud sorrow-wrung, cry ^hemP Herr.
sorrow wag; cry hem, Mai. Oy— And sorrow weigh, cry hem, Wagner.
sorrow, wag! and hem, Johns, conj. (Sh. Jhrbch. xiv, 289) Call sorrow wag
Steev. Var. '03, '13, '21, Sing. And or At sorroitfs rage crie 'hem.' Leo.
'sorrow wag' cry; hem, Knt And Hem sorrow away, and sigh Orger. Bid
sorrow, wag! cry hem. Coll. i. Coil sorrow wag, cry * hem P Dyce ii, iii,
sorrow joy; cry hem. Coll. ii, iii (MS). Cam. Glo. Huds. Rife, Dtn, Wh. ii,
And^sorrow, wag! — cry hem, Dyce i. Kinnear.
that they had ears, that demanded the extra syllables. Hitherto, in quoting in these vol-
umes the Notes of this Anonymous critic, I have attributed them to Lettsom, on the
authority of Ingleby in N. 6* Qu, 5th. vii, 224, and I think that I once found a ref-
erence in Dyce which corroborated Ingleby, but I cannot now recall where. I have
come to the conclusion, however, that it is safer to quote them as they appear in the
magazine : Anonymous ; especially since Lettsom himself in his Preface (p. liv) to
Walker's Text of Shakespeare holds this Anonymous reviewer up to ridicule. — Ed.]
15. straine] Deighton : Schmidt interprets * strain ' as feeling. But in the large
majority of the passages cited by him under that head, there is the notion of stretch-
ing (inherent in the verb), and that notion seems to be present here, and to be indi-
cated by the next two lines. — W. A. Wright : That is, every emotion by which it
finds expression. Compare Son,, xc, 13: 'And other strains of woe, which now
seem woe. Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.' There may be also a ref-
erence to the musical sense of the word as is suggested by the use of < answer,* which
might mean re-echo. See Lucrece, 1131 : ' So I at each sad strain will strain a tear.'
[Wright's expression 'every emotion,' will, of course, include the lightest emotion
as well as the deepest, but here, I think, every light emotion is excluded, and only
those that are the heaviest are meant, those ' strains ' which in common phrase, we
say still carrying out the simile, * rack the very soul.' The suggestion of a possible
allusion to a musical strain is good. — ^Ed.]
17. lineament] R. G. White (ed. ii) : Pronounced properly in three syllables:
line-ament.
19. And sorrow . . . grone] Theobald : How are we to expound Rowe's
reading? ' If a man will halloo, and whoop, and fidget, and wriggle about, to shew
a pleasure when he should groan,* etc. This does not give much decorum to the
sentiment I flatter myself that a slight alteration of the Qto, and F,F, has led me
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ACT V, sc. i.] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 239
[19. And sorrow, wagge, crie hem]
to the true readmg : 'And sorrow wage ; cry hem I when,' etc, L e, if such a one
will combat withf strive against sorrow, etc — Heath (p. 109) : I am inclined to
think it not improbable our poet wrote : ' And sorrowing cry hem ! when,' etc. The
participle sorrowing signifies ' while he is actually under the influence of his sorrow,'
as in the next line. Warton, independently of Heath, proposes the same emenda-
tion, and adds : ' Sorrowing was here, perhaps, originally written sorrowinge [see
Halliwell, post^y according to the old manner of spelling ; which brings the cor-
rection I have proposed still nearer to the letters of the text in the early editions.' —
Capell (ii, 133) : The method taken at present [see Text, Notes} gives sense to the
member quoted [the present line,] and withal the strictest conformity in manner and
cast of language with every other part of the speaker's argument, and the change
that gives them is of the minutest. [Although Dyce and others say that they have
adopted Capell' s reading, the semi-colon in Capell' s text has been overlooked;
this semi-colon is of minor importance, but I have nevertheless deemed it best to
be strictly correct and separate Capell' s reading from Dyce's. — Ed.] — ^Johnson : I
cannot but think the true reading nearer than it is imagined. I point thus : * And,
sorrow wag ! cry ; hem, when,' etc. That is, ' If he will smile, and cry sorrow be
goney and hem instead of groaning.' The order in which *and' and * cry' are
placed is harsh, and this harshness made the sense mistaken. Range the words in
the common order, and my reading will be free from all difficulty : *• If such an one
will . . . stroke his beard. Cry, sorrow, wag ! and hem when,' etc — Steevens : In
my opinion Dr Johnson has left succeeding critics nothing to do respecting the passage
before us. — ^Tyrwhitt (p. 30) : I think we might read : * And sorrow gagge; cry
hem, when,' etc. — Ritson (Remarks ^ p. 33) : Every editor and commentator has
offered his proper lection, and therefore here 's a new one to increase the number :
'And, sorrow waggery ^ hem when,' etc., ue, 'sorrow becoming waggery'; or,
'converting sorrow into waggery, hem,' etc. — Steevens (1778) : We might read:
'And, sorry wag! cry hem I when,' etc, i,e, unfeeling humourist! to employ a
note of festivity, when his sighs ought to express concern. [Steevens afterward said
that he had 'inadvertently offered' this reading. It was, adopted, however, by
Marshall, who says that ' the expression seems very applicable to the type of char-
acter that Leonato is describing.'] — M alone (1790) r For the emendation now made
I am answerable: 'In sorrow wag; cry hem, when,' etc.. And and In, hastily or
indistinctly pronounced, might have been easily confounded, supposing (what there
is great reason to believe) that these plays were copied for the press by the ear ; and
by this slight change a clear sense is given, the latter part of the line being a para-
phrase on the foregoing. — Steevens (1793) : To cry — Care away! was once an
expression of triumph. So, in Acolastus^ 1540: ' — I may now say. Care awayeP
Again, ibidem: ' — ^Now grievous sorrowe and care away P Again, at the con-
clusion of Barnaby Googe's Third Eglog : 'Som chestnuts have I there in store.
With cheese and pleasaunt whaye ; God sends me vittayles for my nede, And I
synge Care away P Again, as Dr Farmer observes to me, in Geoi^e Withers' s
Phiiarete, 1622 : ' Why should we grieve or pine at that ? Hang sorrow ! care will
kill a cat.' Sorrow go by ! is also (as I am assured) a common exclamation of
hilarity even at this time, in Scotland. Sorrow wag! might have been just such
another. The verb to ivag is several times used by our author in the sense of to go
or pack off, — Barron Field (Sh, Soc, Papers, ii, 54) : I prefer Knight's reading.
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240 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc. i.
[19. And sorrow, waggle, crie hem]
It appears from the following two passages in Lcv^s Lab, Z. that ' Set thee down.
Sorrow I' which very much resembles ' Sorrow wag V was a byword : < Affliction may
one day smile again, and till then, sit thee down. Sorrow.* — I, i, 316; 'Well, set
thee down, sorrow ! for so they say the fool said, and so say I.' — IV, iii, 4. —
Collier (ed. i) : The meaning is clear, though not clearly expressed. ' And,
sorrow, wag 1' is and sorrow away ! (for which indeed it may have been misprinted)
similar to the exclamation, < care away !' . . . Heath's suggestion is the most plausi-
ble emendation. — CoLUER (ed. ii) : The words in the MS are, * Call sorrow joy ;
cry hem, when,' etc. and we give them place in the text more willingly, because not
only are they in exact accordance with the rest of the sentence, but because no body
(with the exception perhaps of Heath,) has offered even a plausible solution of the
difficulty. The old reading, * And sorrow, wag I* cannot be what Shakespeare wrote. —
Anon. (Blackwood, Aug., 1853, p. 193,) : Collier's MS gives us a gloss not a rep-
aration of the text We believe * wag ' to be the German word weg — away— oflf
with you. — Halliwell (adopting Heath's reading) : The plausibility of this correc-
tion becomes more apparent, if it be supposed that, in the original MS the second
word was spelt sorrowynge, and that the letter^ was written short and widely. It
should also be observed that great stress is laid, throughout the dialogue, on the
individual personally feeling the effects of sorrow ; so that the insertion of the word
4orrowing in this line cannot fairly be considered pleonastic. Another suggestion is
readily imagined from the notes of Steevens on this line although it has not, I believe,
been offered amongst the numerous conjectural readings, ' And, sorrow away ! cry
hem,' etc. The expression, sorrow away, was most likely proverbial. To cry —
Care away / was once an expression of triumph. . . . An instance of re- writing,
similar to Collier's MS, occurs in an early MS Commonplace-book, where the line is
thus curiously given : < Bid sorrow go, cry hem,' etc. Dr Sherwen, in opposition to
all other critics, adheres to the original text * It is,' he observes, * one of those
Latinised transpositions of words frequently observed both previous and posterior to
the age of Shakespeare ; a species of affectation which, if properly attended to, will
enable us to clear up many other obscurities in the progress of this work. « And,
sorrow wag ! cry hem," has the same meaning as if the natural order had been
observed, viz : "And cry hem I sorrow wag (or begone) when," etc' — R. G. White
(ed. i) : All the attempts at emendation have rested on the assumption that * wag'
is a verb, or represents one, except Steevens' s, who read ' And sorry wag ;' but is it
not plain that Leonato calls the man who in his affliction smiles and strokes his
heard, hems, patches grief with proverbs, and drowns it in midnight revelry,
* sorrow's wag ' ? [White decided that it was not plain before he printed his second
edition, wherein without comment, he followed Dyce. — Ed.] — Staunton: We
adopt a suggestion by Capell, which deviates little from the original, and affords a
plausible meaning, but have not much confidence in its integrity. — ^Walker (Crii. i,
307) : Qu,, 'Say, sorrow, wag;* etc. There are three lines in the neighbourhood
beginning with And. — Dyce (ed. ii) : I adopt Capell' s emendation, which is incom-
parably the best yet proposed, and, I think, not to be objected to because the word
* bid ' occurs in the seventh line above. . . . That the words ' sorrow wag ' are uncor-
rapted, and equivalent to * sorrow be gone,' I feel quite confident. — Keightley
(Exp. 167) : For *wag' which gives no sense, I would read sway, which gives
most excellent sense. [Here Keightley gives examples of the use of sway, which any
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ACT V. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 241
Patch griefe with prouerbs, make misfortune drunke, 20
With candle-wafters : bring him yet to me,
20-35. Mnemonic lines, Pope, Warb. dU-waJters F,. WUh-candleTvaJlers F^.
21. With candU-waftersl Wiih-can- 21. yef^ you Coll. MS.
Concordance will supply.] It seems evident that the initial 5 of sttfay was effiured, a
thing not unusual. [It is to me far preferable to consider this line as irredeemably
corrupt than to accept any emendation, or any punctuation, that has been hitherto
proposed. Dyce's authority is august, and Dyce is 'quite confident' that 'sorrow
wag ' is uncomipted, but not even his authority, nor, indeed, any other, can ever
persuade me that Shakespeare put such words, at this passionate moment, into
Leonato's mouth. There is a smack of comicality about *wag' which is inefiieu:e-
able ; it would be hardly worse had Leonato bid * sofnoiw toddle !' Let us unflinch-
ingly consign this line to any limbo that will receive it, and, beyond a peiadvent-
ure, our enjoyment of this delightful play will not be by one hair's breadth dimin-
ished.— Ed.]
21. candle-wasters] Steevens : This may mean, wash away his sorrow among
jthose who sit up all night to drink, and in that sense may be styled wasters of can-
dies, — ^Whalley : This is a term of contempt for scholars ; thus, Jonson in Cynthu^s
Revels, III, ii : • unluckily perverted and spoiled by a whoreson book-worm, a can-
dle-waster '[ — ^p. 277, ed. Gifford]. In The Antiquary, III, is a like term of ridi-
cule : ' He should more catch your delicate court-ear than all you head-scratchers,
thumb-biters, lamp- wasters of them all ' [ — p. 469, ed. Hazlitt-Dodsley]. The sense,
then, is : * stupify misfortune by the conversation or lucubrations of scholars, the pro-
duction of the lamp, but not fitted to human nature.' [This interpretation receives
the approval of Gifibrd in a note ad loc. in CynthUCs Revels, Malone, however,
had ' no doubt that " candle- wasters " here me^s drunkards. The word '* drunk "
strongly supports this interpretation,' which was also adopted by Dyce and Staun-
ton, both of whom defined the word by revellers,'^ — Knight : That is, stupify mis-
fortune with learned discourses on patience, that the preachers did not practise.
Ingleby, in 7^ SHU Lion, p. 119, and Shakespeare Hermeneutics, p. 129, agrees
with Whalley. Here (p. 104) diverts the current into a new channel by 'inclining
to the belief that the interpretation should be, — inasmuch as it is known Shakespeare
was familiar with the Irish custom indicated, — rather in this wise : <' those who sit
up with the dead, as at an Irish wake, where everybody foi^ets his grief in drunk-
enness." ' — ^W. A. Wright: Whalley gave the true interpretation, which is in
keeping with the rest of Leonato' s speech and with his reference to the philosopher
in line 38. [The word * candle- waster ' indicates so clearly one who wastes candles
in any way, whether by revelry or by study, that the testimony of Ben Jonson or
of Shakerley Marmion is hardly sufficient to limit it to a < book- worm.' The context
must determine its limitation. Here, from the use of the word < drunk ' we should
be inclined at once to decide that < candle- waster ' referred to revelry, were it not
that Leonato goes on to say that 'there is no such man;' it cannot be, there-
fore, that Leonato means that no one ever by drinking lulled misfortune in
sleep, — < to drown sorrow in the bowl ' is a hackneyed expression ; — ^this, therefore,
cannot be his meaning, and we are, accordingly, compelled as an alternative to
accept with Whalley, ' candle- wasters ' as meaning 'philosophers.' Of those who
have successfully assuaged misfortune by philosophy, or, as Leonato afterward calls
it, by 'preceptial medicine,' none is to be found. — Ed.]
16
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242 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc. i.
And I of him will gather patience : 22
But there is no fuch man^for brother, men
Can counfaile^and fpeake comfort to that griefe,
Which they themfelues not feele, but tafting it, 25
Their counfaile tumes to paffion, which before.
Would giue preceptiall medicine to rage,
Fetter ftrong madneffe in a filken thred,
Charme ache with ayre, and agony with words,
No, no, 'tis all mens office, to fpeake patience 30
To thofe that wring vnder the load of forrow :
But no mans vertue nor fufficiencie
To be fo morall, when he fliall endure
The like himfelfe : therefore giue me no counfaile, 34
24. fpeake\ give F,F^, Rowe, + . .30. No^ iw,] SqMiate line. Field ( Sh,
Soc. Papers, ii, 54).
21. yet] I suppose the train of thought in Leonato's mind is ' it will be very hard
to find such a man yet if you do, bring him to me ;' and then his thoughts growing
dearer, he asserts outright < there is no snch man.' — Ed.
23-25. men ... not feele] Theobald: I have observed [several classical]
passages, which seem a very reasonable foundation for these sentiments : * Facile
omnes, quum valemus, recta consilia aegrotis damns ' — ^Terence [Andria, II, i, 9
— W. A. Wright] ; k^a^pbvt boric iriffidruv lf« irdda 'B;t«*» ^ap<uvtlv^ vovSerelv
re rdv kok&c Up6aaovT.* — iEschylus [Prametkeus, 263] ; j^uv irapatvelv f waB&vra
Koprepelv, Euripides [Alcestis, 1078.]
25. not feel] For examples of the omission of do before not, see Abbott, $ 305.
25. usting it, Their] Abbott ($ 379) : Sometimes a pronoun on which a par-
ticiple depends can be easily understood from a pronominal adjective. [It seems
hardly necessary here to resort to the pronominal adjective 'their' when an antece-
dent ' men ' and a pronoun < they ' are in such dose proximity. — Ed.]
27. preceptiaU medicine, etc.] Bucknill (p. 117) : These lines are remark-
able in these days when the moral treatment of mental a£fections is supposed to be a
great novelty ; although < preceptial medicine ' may still be as inefficient as ever to
influence frenzy, we do not now use even silken threads to restrain strong madness,
any more than we use 'a dark house and a whip,' according to Rosalind's recipe,
for the treatment of lunatics.
29. Charme, etc.] Compare: 'And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of
words.' — Lucrece, 1330. — Ed.
31. wring] Were it not that Schmidt has found two other examples of this
intransitive use {^Hen, V: IV, i, 253, and Cym, III, vi, 79) I should incline to
doubt the word, here, as a misprint — Ed.
32. sufficiencie] That is, adequate ability. Compare Wint, Tale, II, i, 221.
33. morall] That is, to be so ready with moral sentences about patience. Com-
pare < When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time.' — As You Like It,
II, vii, 31.
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ACT V, sc L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 243
My griefs cry lowder then aduertifement. 35
Broth. Therein do men from children nothing differ.
Leonato. I pray thee peace^I will be ilefli and bloud.
For there was neuer yet Philofopher,
That could endure the tooth-ake patiently,
How euer they haue writ the ftile of gods, 40
And made a pufh at chance and fufferance.
Brother. Yet bend not all the harme vpon your felfe,
Make thofe that doe offend you, fuffer too.
Leon. There thou fpeak'ft reafon,nay I will doe fo.
My foule doth tell me. Hero is belied, 45
And that (hall Claudio know, fo (hall the Prince,
And all of them that thus di(honour her.
Enter Prince and Claudia.
Brot. Here comes the Prince and ClaucUo haftily. 49
39. tootk-ake] tooth'och F,F^. 48. Scene II. Pope, + .
41. /«/%] /£r^ Rowe ii, + , Cap. Mai. Enter...] Enter Don Pedro,
Steev. push ! Coll. ii, Ktly. Rowe. After line 49, Cap. Dyce, Sta.
42. your felfe ^'\ your self Rowe Cam.
35. aduertisement] Johnson : That is, than admonition, than moral instruc-
tion. — ^W. A. Wright : Shakespeare had, no doubt, in his mind the other and now
more usual sense of ' advertisement,' and this suggested the expression < cry louder.'
Cotgrave gives the following meanings d[ Advertissement : < An aduertisement, signi-
fication, information, intelligence, notice ; a warning aduise, monition, admonishment.'
40. they] See III, iv, 56.
40. of gods] Warburton : This alludes to the extravagant titles the Stoics gave
their wise men. [This is nonsense. — W. A. Wright.] — Steevens : Shakespeare
meant an exalted language ; such as we may suppose would be written by beings supe-
rior to human ^amities, and therefore regarding them with neglect and coldness.
41. push] BoswELL : I think <push' [and not pish] is right. To make a push
at anything is to contend against it, or defy it. [*But,' says W. A. Wright, *in
the case of accident and suffering this is what ordinary mortals have to do, whereas
philosophers professed to treat them with indifference or contempt'] — Collier
(ed. ii) : This interjection, *push!' was constantly so spelt. Many instances in
proof of it might be collected from our old dramatists. It is used in Beaumont &
Fletcher's Maid^ Tragedy, III, i, p. 363 (ed. Dyce) ; in Chapman's Gentleman
Usher; and repeatedly in Middleton's plays, see IVorkSy i, 29 ; ii, 24 ; iv, 259, and
Y, 4 (ed. Dyce). — Dyce {JVbles, etc., p. 45) : This passage was misunderstood, till
Mr Collier explained * push ' to be an interjection (a form of pish),
41. sufferance] That is, suffering. See Meas, for Meas, III, i, 80 : * the poor
beetle, that we tread upon. In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great as when a
giant dies.' See I, iii, 9, where it means endurance, as in Mer, of Ven, : * For
sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.'
49. comes] For singular verbs preceding plural subjects, see Abbott, § 335.
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244 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. i.
Prin. Good den^good den. 50
Clau. Good day to both of you.
Lean. Heare you my Lords ?
• Prin. We haue fome hafte Leonato.
Leo. Some hafte my Lord!wel,fareyouwel my Lord,
Are you fo hafty now ? well, all is one. 55
Prin. Nay,do not quarrell with vs,good old man.
Brot. If he could rite himfelfe with quarrelling.
Some of vs would lie low.
Claud. Who wrongs him ?
Leon. Marry y doft wrong me, thou diffembler,thou: 60
Nay, neuer lay thy hand vpon thy fword,
I feare thee not.
Claud. Marry beftirew my h'and.
If it ftiould giue your age fuch caufe of feare,
Infaith my hand meant nothing to my fword. 65
Leonato. Tufti,tufti, man, neuer fleere and ieft at me,
52. Lords ?'\ lords ! KovTt I. lords^ — Ktly. wrongs him iAmYfagaer conj.
Cap. et seq. 60. Afarry"] As dosing line 59, Mai.
57. rirg] right QFf. Steev.
59. wrongs him] wrongeth him Han. y\ thou QFf.
wrongs him^ sir Cap. wrongs him? ^ dq/l"] Thou, thou dost Steev.
Leon. IVhof Walker {Crit. ii, 143), Var. '03, '13. 'tis thou dost Wag-
Dyce ii, iii, Huds. is it wrongs him ner.
55. Are . . . now ?] Deighton : That is, yoa were not always so anxious
to escape from our society. [Of course, much of the meaning of these re-
plies of Leonato depends on the gestures with which they were accompanied.
—Ed.]
59. him ?] Inasmuch as this line lacks a syllable, Walker in his Article on the
Omission of repeated words {Crit, ii, 143), suggested that the missing syllable was
'Who?' uttered by Leonato, — which possibly gives animation, where none was
needed, and certainly completes the metre. Hudson adopted the suggestion, and
reads * Who? Marry, thou wrong* st me,' etc. See Text. Notes.
63. beshrew] Murray (ff. E. D.) : Now only in imprecatory expressions:
< Evil befall, mischief take, devil take, curse, hang !' ; also, with weakened force,
'plague on,' and often humourous or playful. (Perhaps not imperative, but an
elliptical form, like (1) thank you ! (I) pray ! (I) prithee!) [Hereupon the present
passage is quoted.]
65. my hand . . . sword] The construction and the sense are : ' my hand to my
sword meant nothing.'
66. fleere] Halliwell : To fleer was, properly speaking, to sneer in the peculiar
manner thus described by Palsgrave, 1580, •! fleere, 1 make an yvell countenaunce
with the mouthe by uncoveryng of the tethe'[— p. 551, ed. 1852].
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ACT V, sc. i,] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 245
I fpeake not like a dotard, nor a foole, 67
As vnder priuiledge of age to bragge ,
What I haue done being yong,or what would doe,
Were I not old, know Claudia to thy head, 70
Thou haft fo wronged my innocent childe and me.
That I am forced to lay my reuerence by,
And with grey haires and bruife of many daies,
Doe challenge thee to triall of a man,
I fay thou haft belied mine innocent childe. 75
Thy flander hath gone through and through her heart.
And ftie lies buried with her anceftors :
O in a tombe where neuer fcandall flept,
Saue this of hers, framM by thy villanie.
Claud. My villany ? 80
Leanato. Thine Claudio^ thine I fay.
Prin. You fay not right old man.
Leon. My Lord, my Lord,
He proue it on his body if he dare,
Defpight his nice fence, and his a£liue pra£life, 85
His Maie of youth, and bloome of luftihood.
Claud. Pi}N^y^ I will not haqe to do with you.
Leo. Canft thou fo daffe mePthou haft kild ray child.
If thou kilft me, boy, thou ftialt kill a man. 89
68. age to bragge,'\ QFf {brag, F,FJ. 72. fored'\ forft Q.
age to brag Rowc ii. age, to*brag Theob. 73. brui/e] weight Gould,
et seq. 75. mine"] my Rowe ii, Pope, Han.
70. oU,']old:Y^^, 78. C] O, Theob. 0/Cap.
71. my] mine Q, Cap. Steev. Var. 88. daffe'] dofeVfai^.
Coll. Dyce, Sta. Cam.
70. to thy head] Halliwell : Forby, Vocabulary of East AngUa, obsenres,
'We say, " I told him so to his head,* not to his face, which is the asual phrase.
Ours is as old as Shakespeare : ** Know, Oaudio to thy head." ' [Compare Mid,
N, j9.' I, i, 1 15 : ' Demetrius, lie auouch it to his. head'; and Meas. for Meas, IV,
iii, 147 : <he shall bring you . . . and to the head of Angelo Accuse him home.']
71. Thou] Leonato shows his respect for the title and person of the Prince by his
address of 'you.' But after the excessive contempt of the 'thou,' addressed to
Claudio, he retains throughout that form of address to the latter. — Ed.
73. bruise of many dales] W. A. Wright : Compare Rom, ^ Jul, II, iii, 37 :
' Unbruised youth.'
86. Maie of youth] W. A. Wright : This passage supports the conjectural
alteration of ' way of life ' to ' May of life,' in Macb, V, iii, 22.
88. daffe] See II, iii, 165.
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246 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. L
Bro. He (hall kill two of vs, and men indeed^ 90
But that's no matter, let him kill one firft :
Win me and weare me,let him anfwere me,
Come follow me boy,come fir boy,come follow me
Sir boy,ile whip you from your foyning fence,
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 95
Leon. Brother.
jBr^/.Content your felf, God knows I louM my neece.
And fhe is dead,flander'd to death by villaines.
That dare as well anfwer a man indeede, 99
93. Ccme folhw me^ boy'\ OmUy fol- Dyce ii, iii, Hnds.
low, boy, Huds. 96. Brother, '\ Brother! Han. Bro-
come fir boy, come follow me"] ther — Theob. Waib. et seq.
come fir boy; come follow me F^F^, 99. man indeede,'] QFf, Rowe^Pope,
Rowe. come, boy, follow me Pope, + , Cap. man indeed Cam. Dyoe ii, ili.
Steev. come, sir boy, follow me Cap. man, indeed, Theob. et oet (sabs.)
90. He shall, etc.] Warburton : This Brother Antony is the truest picture
imaginable of human nature. He had assumed the character of a sage to comfort
his brother, overwhelmed with grief for his only daughter's affront and dishonour ;
and had severely reproved him for not commanding his passion better on so trying
an occasion. Yet, immediately after this, no sooner does he begin to suspect that his
age and valour are slighted, but he falls into the most intemperate fit of rage himself;
and all he can do or say is not of power to pacify him.
92. Win me and weare me] Haluwbll : < Win it and wear it/ Ray's Prov-
erbs, 1678, p. 277. It occurs also in Heywood's Fayre Mayde of the Exchange,
first printed in 1607. — RusHTON {Shakespeare s Euphuism, p. 83) : <If thou fall in
loue with one that is beautifull, . . . hearing of hir lightnesse, and if then shee looke
as fayre as before, wooe hir, win hir, and weare hir * [p. 307, ed. Arber],
93. The Textual Notes display the praiseworthy efforts of the editors to make the
irascible Anthony express his rage in a respectable pentameter and not, as in the
text, in a humiliating Alexandrine. Fleay, however, is more indulgent, and accedes
to Antony the comfort of the good mouth-filling line, here g^ven, (see Ingleb/s
Man, etc. ii, 81). Again, in line 95, * gentleman' adds too many syllables to the
line. Of course, Walker ( Vers. 189) would ruthlessly pronounce 'Wgenfman, I
Tprtfer gent, myself. — Ed.
94. foyning] Douce : A term in fencing, and means thrusting. Dyce ( Gloss,)
Cotgrave: * Estoquer, To thrust, or foyne at' — Halliwell : It sometimes sig-
nifies to thrust so as to make a slight wound. This meaning is recognised in
Huloet's Abcedarium, 1552, — * ¥oyxke, punctus ; foynen, or gyve a fojne, punctum
dare; foynyng, or with a foyne, punctum* , , , There can be little doubt but that,
in Shakespeare's time, there was a particular kind of thrust called the foin.
99. man indeede] Theobald injudiciously inserted a comma after < man ' ; and
although Capell removed it, and restored the punctuation of the Folio, it remained
even down to the first Cambridge Edition. In the meantime, Walker (Crit. iii,
32) had observed : ' Point — " answer a man indeed," i, e. one who is indeed a man.
See the whole context. And so understand indeed, Hamlet, III, iv, — ''A combi-
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ACT V, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 247
As I d are take a ferpent by the tongue. icx>
Boyes'apes, braggarts, lackes, milke-fops.
Leon. Brother Anthony.
BroU Hold you content, what manfl know them, yea
And what they weigh, euen to the vtmoft fcruple,
Scambling, out-facing, fafhion-monging boyes, 105
loi. braggarts^ lackes] jacks ^ brag- 103. man}'] man! Q.
garts Han. 104. weigk\ wey Fj.
102. Anthony, "] Anthony — Theob. 105. m<?if^Vf^] Q, Johns. Knt ii, Hal.
et seq. Sta. Cam. Dyce iii. mongring or
103-I10. Mnemonic lines, Warb. mongring or mongering Yi et cet
nation and a form indeed/' etc.' It is a little strange that the imprc^riety of the
comma here was not noticed, when the very same phrase occurs in line 90, where no
comma is, and where no editor ever supposed that a comma was required. — Ed.
loi. lackes] Seel, i, 179.
loi. braggarts] Neither Hanmer nor Dyce will permit Brother Anthony's
wrath to explode otherwise than metrically. Hanmer transposes his words, and
Dyce, by a careful accent, makes him call the Prince and Qaudio 'bmgglUts.'-^
Ed.
105. Scambling] Percy (Note on Hen, V: I, i, 4) : In the household book
of the 5th Earl of Northumberland there is a particular section, appointing the
order of service for the scambling days in Lent, that is, days on which no rqrular
meals were provided, but every one scambltd^ i. e. scrambled and shifted for himself
as well as he could. So, in the old noted book entitled Leicester's Commonwealth^
one of the marginal heads is, ' Scrambling between Leicester and Huntington at the
upshot' Where in the text, the author says, ' Hastings, for ought I see, when hee
Cometh to the scambling, is like to have no better luck by the beare [Leicester] then
his ancestour had once by the boare [Richard III.].' — [Cotgrave: ' Griffe graffe.
By hooke or by crooke, squimble, squamble, scamblingly, catch that catch may.']
105. fashion-monging] Dyce {^Few Notes, etc., 1853, p. 46) : Here Knight,
alone of the modem editors, prints < fashion-monging,' — and rightly, for instances
of that form are not wanting in our eariy authors ; so, in Wilson's Coblers Proph-
ecies 1594: 'Where the Courtier with his brauerie. And the money-monging
mate with all his knauerie.' — Sig. B 3. [Dyce refers to Knight's second edition,
1842, where the words are printed as in the Folio, with this foot-note : < So in the
original copies; but always altered to fashion-mong' ring. The participle of the
Anglo-Saxon verb, meaning to trade, would give us monging ; as the verb gives us
the noun, signifjring a trader, a monger,^"] — Collier (ed. ii, 1858) : Dyce would
have this word spelt ' monging, merely because he so finds it in Wilson's CobUr's
Prophecie, This is to desert the etymology of the word ; and the same reason would
require adherence to every old and exploded form in any other word. In Wilson's
comedy we may be pretty sure that the letter r, in 'mong'ring,' was accidentally
omitted. Dyce (ed. i) after quoting his own words in his Few Notes, adds ' but
now, on considering the inconsistency in spelling which those old copies exhibit, I
think the other modem editors have done more wisely [than Knight] ' — ^Arrow-
smith {^Shakespeare s Editors, etc, p. 33) : It is not a matter of any importance
which mode of spelling may be adopted, so Ceu: as the sense is concerned, but Shake-
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248 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc. L
That lye, and cog, and flout, depraue, and flander, io6
Goe antiquely,andfliow outward hidioufneffe,
107. anHquely] atUUkly F^F^, Rowe 107. otOward^an tnaufardKowef-i-^
et seq. CoU ii. (MS).
and'] Om. Dyce ii, iii, Huds.
speare being in the hands and on the lips of all, upon his writings, next to our ver-
sion of the Bible and to the book of Common Prayer, depend the perpetuation of
old, and the defence of calumniated English. What avails that ' monging ' is found
in the FuneralUs of King Edward the Syxt, 1560 : * Your monging of vitayles,
come, butter, and cheese.' [Dyce's line for the CobUrs Propkicie quoted, as above.]
In Lord Brooke's Treatise of Religion^ composed many years before, but first printed
in 1670: 'Book learning, arts, yea school divinity New types of old law-monging
Pharisee8.*--Stanza 67. In Gee's New Shreds of the Old Snare, 1624: 'But the
Pope's benediction, or any the least touch of sainting, mirade-monging fiction is able
to iiifuse the highest worth into the basest baggagely new-nothing to hang upon the
sleeve of admiring, adoring, ghostly children of the Jesuites.' — ^pp. 49-50. What
avfiil these, or any number of like instances, buried in writers that are never read?
Banish the true and genuine form ' monging ' from Shakespeare, it becomes an out-
cast from our language, and leaves a gap in the eldest branch of a most useful family
of words. ' Monging ' is the present participle regularly inflected from the Anglo-
Saxon verb mangian to traffick ; whence we get monger, now used only in compo-
sition, but in Shakespeare's time occurring as a simple noun, e,g. in Ben Jonson's
Tale of a Tub : ' This canon has a . . . shaven pate, and a right monger, /vaith.' —
II, i, [p. 164, ed. Giflford.] In Philemon Holland's translation of Plinies NaturaU
History^ 1600 : ' it falleth out that sometime one rich munger or other (praezMilens
manceps) buying up a commoditle,' etc. — Bk. 33, p. 485. The learned but crotchety
master of St Paul's School, Alexander Gil, 1619, says, 'munger inseparabile est &
ilium denotat qui rem venal em habet ut fishmunger, cetarius.' As to mongering,
that form also is quite legitimate, being the present participle of mangheren, termed
by Kilian an old Dutch word ; but why should an inflection from the more element-
ary and indigenous root be shouldered out by one which is in all liklihood but an
ofishoot from it.
106. depraue] To villify, to traduce.
107. antiquely] That is, like an antic, as a buffoon was called.
107. hidiousnesse] Steevens : That is what in Hen, V: III, vi, 81, is called
< a horrid suit of the camp.' [I cannot discover the smallest relevancy in Steevens' s
quotation, and no Editor or critic has furnished a second. The ' horrid suit of the
camp ' was such a suit as Henry refers to when he tells Montjoy that their ' gay-
ness and their gilt were all besmirched,' and ' time had worn them into slovenry,'
— just such a suit, in fact, as Pistol would be likely to wear ostentatiously on his
return to London. Surely this is not applicable to the point-device Oaudio. Brother
Anthony in his foaming rage has exhausted the list of Claudio's mental and moral
defects, and then, for lack of more material, resorts to Qaudio's deportment and to
his clothes, which, as both were beyond reproach, his fury, in wantonness of insult,
transmutes to their opposite ; Qaudio's deportment is that of a merry Andrew, and
his gay apparel becomes 'outward hideousness.' — Ed.]
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ACT V, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 249
And fpeake of halfe a dozen dang'fous words, 108
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durft.
And this is all. 1 10
Leon. But brother Anthonie.
Ant. Come, 'tis no matter.
Do not you meddle, let me deale in this.
/W.Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience
My heart is forry for your daughters death : 115
\<A. /peak 0/] speak off Theob. Anthony: Rowe i. Anthony! Han.
Warb. et seq. Anthony^ — Theob. Warb. et seq.
dan^rous\ dangerous Rowe et 114. itfake"] rack YitJi, waste TtXboi,
seq. task Ktly con).
III. Anthonie. ] Anihonie Praetorias.
108. speake of] Theobald: These editors are persons of unmatchable indo-
lence, that can't afford to add a single letter to retrieve common sense. To ' speak
off,' as I have reformed the Text, is to speak out boldly, with an ostentation of
bravery, etc. So, in Tkoelfth Nighty III, iv, 198 : < A terrible oath, with a swagger-
ing accent sharply twanged off.'
109. enemies, if] Deighton : To mark the sarcasm, it woald be better, it seems
to me, to point * enemies — ^if they,' etc.
1 14. wake] Warburton : This implies a sentiment that the speaker would by
no means have implied, — that the patience of the two old men was not exercised,
but asleep, which upbraids them for insensibility under their wrong. Shakespeare
must have wrote : wrack^ i. e. destroy your patience by tantalizing you. — ^Johnson r
This emendation is very specious, and perhaps is right ; yet the present reading may
admit a congruous meaning with less difficulty than many other of Shakespeare's
expressions. The old men have been both very angry and outrageous ; the Prince
tells them that he and Claudio < will not wake their patience,' will not longer force
them to endure the presence of those whom, though they look on them as enemies,
they cannot resist. — Heath (p. no) : That is, we will not on our parts awaken
your patience into anger by further provocation. — Capell (p. 133) : Brother Antony's
patience has been so exemplary, and Leonato's likewise, that their replier could do
no less than remind them of it in this ironical complement ; where < patience ' is its
reverse ; and they are told that that reverse is asleep, and should not be wak'd by
them by angry speeches on their part ; all remembrance of irony is wiped clean out
of editors. — Halliwell : That is, ironically, we will not keep your patience awake
by any further discussion. — Dyce (ed. ii) : 'Wake' is a most suspicious lection,
though defended by several commentators. — Schmidt (Zat.) : Compare Rich, II:
I, iii, 132: *To wake our peace.' — ^Allen (MS) : I suspect that the Persons are
here interchanged ; that is, you will not so wake our present state of patience into
one of anger, that we will fight with you. (Don Pedro says this while making a
motion to withdraw. ) There could be a sense in : 'we will not wake our patience.'
[The Camb. Ed. records an Anonymous conjecture of passions for ' patience,' which
is noteworthy. In dictating copy to the compositors, ' patience ' would be almost, as
lawyers say, idem sonans with passions^ and passions leaves nothing to be desired
in the way of sense. — ^Ep.]
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250 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. L
But on my honour fhe was charged with nothing 1 16
But what was true, and very full of proofe.
Leon. My Lord, my Lord.
Prin. I will not heare you.
Enter Benedicke. 120
Leo. No come brother, away, I will be heard.
Exeunt ambo.
Bro. And (hall, or fome of vs will fmart for it.
Prin. See, fee, here comes the man we went to feeke.
Clau. Now fignior, what newes? 125
Ben. Good day my Lord.
Prin. Welcome fignior, you are almoft come to part
almoftafray. 128
117. But what was] But was Yt But 121. No] No! Ff. Nof Cap. et
was most Coll. MS, ap. Cam. seq.
1 1 8-1 21. As two lines, ending Nof come] Om. Steey. Var. '03, '13.
„.keard Coll. 122. Exeunt ambo] After line 123,
1 18-124. As three lines, ending No! Rowe ii.
„.shaii...it Han. Steev. Var. '21, Knt, Scene III. Pope,+.
Dyce, Sta. As three lines, ending Nof 123. for it] forU Walker, Dyce ii.
,.,shalL,.see Qv^, Ran. Mai, 124-128. here comes .., fray] Three
118. my Lord,] my lord — Pope et lines, ending signior ,.. signicr ...fray,
seq. Cap.
120. Enter...] Enter Ben. (after line 124. wc]AeF^F^.
123) Q. (after line 124) Cap. 128. almq/i] Om. Rowe ii.
123. for it] Walker ( Vers. 273) : Single lines of four or five, or six or seven
syllables, interspersed amidst ordinary blank verse of ten, are not to be considered as
irregularities ; they belong to Shakespeare's system of metre. On the other hand,
lines of eight or nine syllables, as they are at variance with the general rhythm of
his poetry (at least, if my ears do not deceive me, this is the case), so they scarcely
ever occur in his plays, — it were hardly too much to say, not at all. [More than
once I have found that Walker seems to regard as the accepted text, the division of
lines in the edition before him, which, I think, was one of the Variorums. This was
most probably the case, in the present instance ; in all of these editions, since that of
Steevens, in 1793, the words ' Or some of us will smart for it ' form a single line of
eight syllables; to this line Walker's rule, as above, applies, and he therefore
instructs us to read 'for 't,' whereby the line is brought into 'Shakespeare's system
of metre.' Had Walker gone to the Folio, or marked Hanmer's division, he would
have seen his error. Capell's division, also, would have enlightened him, — ^which,
however, I think is wrong, inasmuch as it involves a portion of the speech of Don
Pedro, who speaks in prose throughout the rest of the scene. — Ed.]
127, 128. almost] This word, in line 128, Rows, in his Second Edition,
omitted, and Steevens expressed a wish that the omission had been licensed by
the ancient copies, 'as the sense is complete without it.' Marshall cannot 'help
thinking' that it is the 'almost' in line 127, that 'is redundant' A second atgu-
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ACT V, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 25 1
Clau. Wee had likt to haue had our two nofes fnapt
off with two old men without teeth. 130
Prin. Leonato and his brother, what think'ft thou?had
wee fought, I doubt we (hould haue beene too yong for
them.
Ben, In a falfe quarrell there is no true valour, I came
to feeke you both. 135
Cldu. We haue beene vp and downe to feeke thee, for
we are high proofe melanchoUy, and would faine haue it
beaten away, wilt tbou vfe thy wit ? 138
129. likt'\ Q. Walker.
131. brother, wka/] brother what Q. 134. /» a] In F,F^,
brother; whaiY^, Rowe. 137. high proofe^ QFf, Knt high-
134, 135. As verse, lines ending : -proof Theob. et cet.
valour,„both, Var. '78, '85, Ran. Mai.
ment against the repetition, he finds in the fact that the sentence thereby ' makes
a blank verse, which, as it occurs in prose, is objectionable.' But, on the other
hand, Halliwell correctly states that the repetition is exactly in Shakespeare's
manner and in proof quotes, Levis Lab. Z. I, i, 161 : < I am the last that will last
keep his oath'; King John, III, i, 9: * Believe me, I do not believe thee, man';
Hen. VIII: II, i, 74 : ' whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying.' To these,
may be added, among almost innumerable instances, / Hen. IV: I, iii, 20 : 'You have
good leave to leave us ' ; Levis Lab. L. I, i, 49 : ' Your oath is passed to pass away
from there '; Macb. Ill, ii, 20 : ' Whom we to gain our peace have sent to peace';
again lb. V, iii, 44: 'Cleanse the stuff' d bosom of the perilous stuff,' etc. ; again
in the present play, V, iv, 1 10 : ' since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing
to any purpose that the world can say against it.' Moreover, is there not, in the
very next line to the present, another example of this same love of repetition : ' two
noses ' and ' two old men ' ; Steevens might have urged, with equal propriety, that
the ' sense is complete' without the former ' two.' — ^£d.
130. with] See II, i, 58.
132. too yong] Walker {^Crit. ii, 169) thinks that there is here some current
phrase or proverb, and that ' the joke is pointless, except on such a supposition.
The same proverb seems to be alluded to in Tam. of Shr. II, i, 236 : ** Kaih.
Well aim'd of such a young one. Petr. Now, by St George, I am too young for
you !" f. /. I am too much for you, I am an overmatch for you.' [It is not likely
that Don Pedro would have to resort to proverbs in order to express what was so
manifest; nor, as far as I can see, is there any 'joke' intended. — Ed.]
134. In a . . . valour] Walker i^Crit, 1, 4) suggested that this is a line of
verse, not knowing that Steevens had so printed it, nearly a hundred years before.
137. high proofe] Deighton : A weapon is said to be 'of proof when it has
been tested after manufacture ; spirits are under or over proof according as they have
been refined above or below a fixed standard ; and the metaphor in the text may have
its origin in either of these processes. In the Mer, of Ven. II, ii, 38, Launcelot
jestingly speaks of his father as being ' more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind.'
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252 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc. i.
Ben. It is in my fcabberd,lhall I draw it ?
Prin. Doeft thou weare thy wit by thy fide ? 140
Clau. Neuer any did fo, though verie many haue been
befide their wit, I will bid thee drawe,as we do the min-
ftrels,draw to pleafure vs.
Prin. As I am an honeft man he lookes pale, art thou
ficke, or angrie ? 1 45
Clan. What, courage man: what though care kiFd a
cat, thou haft mettle enough in thee to kill care.
Ben. Sky I (hall meete your wit in the careere, and
you charge it againft me, I pray you chufe another fub-
ieft. 1 50
C/au. Nay then giue him another ftaffe, this laft was
broke croffe. 152
142. minfirels,'] minsfrels ; Rowe. 148. careere] car^re Fy career F^,
146. ff^tf/,] WhatlFf, «m/]i/Pope, + . «» Cap. Mai.
147. in thee^ Om. F^F^. Rowe. et seq.
W. A. "Wright defines * high-proof * as * in the highest degree, capable of enduring
the severest tests/ and then adds with dry humour : ' applied now to other than low
spirits.*— TiESSEN {Englische Siudien^ II, Bd, I. hft. p. 202, 1878) : * High-proof*
isy perhaps, here used because of the suggestion in sound of alcohol in the word
melancholy. [I can merely repeat the comment which I have already had occasion
to make in regard to those random interpretations of Tiessen : that they appear in a
reputable literary Journal which is supposed to represent the ripe scholarship of Ger-
many in the study of English. — Ed.]
142. bid thee draw] Douce sees here *an allusion, perhaps, to the itinerant
STvord-dancers* ; [Dyce once said that ' except for those explanatory of customs, dress,
etc., the notes of Douce are nearly worthless.* — Remarks y p. 96.] — M alone: The
meaning is this : ' I will bid thee draw thy sword, as we bid the minstrels draw the
bows of their fiddles merely to please or amuse us. Schmidt {Lex,) mistakenly
defines * draw* in the present line by * draw the bow of thy fiddle.' [Neither Don
Pedro nor Gaudio could have had any idea that Benedick had approached them
with any hostile intent, and they therefore met him with the customary banter,
which they supposed Benedick had encouraged when he said that his wit was in
his scabbard ; they could not possibly imagine that he really referred to his sword.
Therefore, Claudio says to him in effect : 'just as we bid minstrels draw their instru-
ments from the cases to give us pleasure, so I bid you draw your wit from the scab-
bard for the same purpose* ; he had just said they were ' high-proof melancholy.* —
Ed.]
147. cat] Reed: In Jonson's Every Man in his Humour^ I, iii, ad fin. Cob
says: 'Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care *U kill a cat*
148, 149, 152. careere . . . charge . . . crosse] Metaphors taken from the
tournament. To meete his * wit in the careere * might mean to meet it in the lists ;
* career ' was sometimes applied to the space between the barriers ; or it may mean,
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ACT V, sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 253
Prin.By this light, he changes more and more, I thinke 153
he be angrie indeede.
Clau. If he be, he knowes how to tume his girdle. 155
153. h^ changes] he charges Han. ii (misprint).
in full charge, somewhat as Benedick uses the word in II, iii, 2jo : < shall these
paper bullets of the braine awe a man horn, the careere of his humour.' < Charge it '
explains itself. For < broke crosse ' there Is a full explanation in As You Like It,
III, iv, 41 : * breaks [oaths] bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover ;
as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breakes his staff like a noble
goose,' that is, instead of splintering the staff, snapped it off. Scott has used this mis-
adventure in Ivanhoe, Chap, viii : ' The antagonist of Grantmesnil, instead of bearing
his lance-point fair against the crest or shield of his enemy, swerved so much from
the direct line as to break the weapon athwart the person of his opponent, a circum-
stance which was accounted more disgraceful than that of being actually unhorsed ;
because the latter might happen from accident, whereas the former evinced awkward-
ness and want of management of the weapon and the horse.'
155. tume his girdle] Gray (i, 129): A proverbial phrase. *If you be
angry, you may turn the buckle of your girdle behind you.' — Ray's Proverbs, ed.
ii. p. 226. — Capell (p. 134) : Possibly, turning the girdle's buckle behind was of
old the signal of one preparing for combat, a boxing-match ; which if it went not
forward, the girdle went back again to its place. — ^Johnson : Of this proverbial
speech, I do not know its original or meaning. — Steevens : A corresponding expres-
sion is to this day used in Ireland — ' If he be angry, let him tie up his brogues.'
Neither proverb, I believe, has any other meaning than this : ' If he is in a bad
humour, let him employ himself till he is in a better.' Dr Farmer furnishes me
•with an instance of this expression from Winwood's Memorials, 1, 453 : where Win-
wood gives an account from Paris, in Dec. 1602, to <Mr Secretary Cecyll' of an
afiront which he had received from an Englishman [whom he had rebuked for
laughing at the singing of a Psalm on Sunday at the English Ambassadors, when
the choir began ' in so ill a tune that after a verse or two they had to give over to
sing.' — Ed.]. * I said,' continues Winwood, < that what I spake was not to make him
angry. He replyed, if I were angry I might turn the buckle of my girdle behinde
me.' [The afiront to which this led was that the Englishman, Sigismond Alexander,
after the sermon, < cometh to me with these words, What an Ass are you to bid me
leave my laughing, you are an Asse and a very Asse,' etc.] So likewise Cowley
On the Government of Oliver Cromwell [p. 74, ed. l68o.^W. A. Wright] : 'The
next Month he swears by the Living God, that he will turn them out of doors, and
he does so, in his Princely way of threatning, bidding them. Turn the buckles of
their Girdles behind them.' — Holt White : Large belts were worn with the buckle
before, but for wrestling the buckle was turned behind, to give the adversary a fairer
grasp at the girdle. To turn the buckle behind, therefore, was a challenge. [Knight
and Collier adopt this interpretation of Holt White; Dyce (Gloss,) quotes it,
without comment, and also the following :] — Halliwell : This proverbial phrase
means, you may change your temper or humor, alter it to the opposite side; it
seems to have no connexion with either challenging or wrestling; it not nnfre-
quently occurs in the form : ' you may turn your buckle,' without any mention of
the girdle. * Fortune will turn her back, if twice deny'd. Why, she may turn
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254 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. L
Ben. Shall I fpeake a word in your eare? 156
Clan. God blefTe me from a challenge.
Ben. You are a villaine^I iefl not; I will make it good
how you dare, with what you dare^and when you dare :
do me right, or I will proteft your cowardife : you haue 160
kill'd a fweete Ladie,and her death ihall fall heauie on
you, let me heare from you.
Clou. Well, I will meete you, fo I may haue good
cheare.
Prin. What, a feaft, a feaft ? 165
(p^u. I faith I thanke him, he hath bid me to a calues
head and a Capon, the which if I doe not came moft cu- 167
159. how you\ how yaw F,. l66. a calues head'\ calves hectds F^F^.
165. afeaft;\ Om. Ff, Rowe, +. a calfs-head Mai. et seq.
166. Ifaiih'] r faith Rowe ii. 167. and'\ ahd F3.
him, he] him he Q.
her girdle too on t'other side.' — Dryden's IVild Gallant, p. 61. 'Mr Neveroat, if
Miss will be angry for nothing, take my counsel, and bid her turn the buckle of her
girdle behind her.* — Swift's Polite Cotwersation [Dial, i, ed. 1784, vol. viii, p. 318.
— ^Walker.] — Staunton : The sword was formerly worn much at the back, and, to
bring it within reach, the buckle of the belt or girdle had to be turned behind. —
W. A. Wright : It is more probable that the explanation given by Steevens is the
true one. [There seems to be an abundance of examples of the use of the phrase,
but none of them really affords any unmistakeable clue to its interpretation. — Ed.]
157. blesse me from] Compare Lear, III, iv, 57 : * Bless thee from whirlwinds,
star-blasting, and taking !*
158. You are, etc.] The Cambridge Editors mark this speech as an Aside to
Qaudio, < because it appears from what Don Pedro says, line 165, « What, a feast, a
feast?" and, from the tone of his banter through the rest of the dialogue, that he had
not overheard more than Claudio*s reply about "good cheer.***
160. do me right] Halliwell : This was a common phrase, the meaning of
which is obvious, — 'give me my due,* *do justice to me.' So, Ben Jonson, T^e
New Inn: 'but do him right ; He meant to please you* [Epilogue'], *I do ryght
to one, I gyve hym that he shulde have, je fats la raison.* — Palsgrave.
166. I faith] Capell conjectured : * Ay, faith,* which is certainly plausible. —
Ed.
167. and a Capon] Collier (ed. ii) : The MS has it 'and capers,^ In Peele*s
Edward I, we read of an invitation to ' a calf's head and bacon,'* There seems to
be no particular appropriateness in 'capon,* which may have been misheard for
capers or bacon, Capell, in a note on Cymb, II, i, 25 : ' You are a cock and
capon too ; and you crow, cock, with your comb on,* says that ' our perception of
the conundrum here depends upon a quaint pronunciation of "capon,** a kind of
semi-division of it, — Cap-on,^ He evidently believed that the same 'quaint pro-
nunciation ' was needed here ; he reads ' cap-on * in his text, but has no note on it,
that I can discover. Schmidt (Z^jt.) has adopted Capell* s 'perception of the
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ACT V. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 25$
rioufly^ fay my knife's naughty fliall I not finde a wood- 168
cocke too ?
Ben. Sir, your wit ambles well, it goes eafily. 170
Prin. He tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the o-
ther day: I faid thou hadft a fine wit:true faies (he, a fine
little one : no faid I, a great wit : right faies ihee, a great
grofle one : nay faid I, a good wit : iuft faid flie,it hurts
no body : nay faid I, the gentleman is wife : certain faid 175
iBie, a wife gentleman : nay faid I, he hath the tongues :
that I beleeue faid (hee, for he fwore a thing to me on
munday night, which he forfwore on tuefday morning:
there's a double tongue, there's two tongues : thus did
fliee an howre together tranf-lBiape thy particular ver- 180
168. knife s\ kmffes Q. 173- ^g^"] j^ Rowe, + , Var. '73.
naught,'] naught : F^. naught, faies fhee\ said she Rowe ii, +,
Rowe et seq. Var. Ran. Mai.
170. it goes] goes FJP^. 174. faidfhe] says she Var. '78, '85,
172. /rM^] r(fi/ Rowe ii, + . Ran.
faies] faid Q, Coll. Wh. Sta. 178. munday] Monday F^.
Cam. 179. therms two] theirs ttvo Q.
conundrum,' and with the approval of more than one editor. I beg leave to doubt
the ' conundrum ' in both passages : first, proof is needed that the a in cap and capon
was pronounced the same. I think the former was short, and the latter of the
broadest, almost caw-pon; secondly, 'Capon' as an epithet, betokened (not unnatu-
ndly) abject pusillanimity ; as a slur, it was as much more insulting than coxcomb,
as the imputation of cowardice is graver than the accusation of buffoonery. Having
called Benedick, by imputation, a calf 's-head and a capon, Claudio, true to his igno-
ble character, proceeds to add the synonym of a simpleton, — a woodcock. It is
proof enough of Benedick's loyal love for Beatrice, that he stands imperturbably
calm under this pelting of cheap abuse. — ^£d.
168, 169. woodcocke] WiLLUGHBY (p. 290) : Among us in England this Bird is
infamous for its simplicity or folly ; so Uiat a Woodcock is Proverbially used for a
simple, foolish person. — Douce: A woodcock means one caught in a springe;
alluding to the plot against Benedick. [Very doubtful. — ^Ed.]
170. ambles] Used, of course, contemptuously; it was the pace of a woman's
palfrey.
171. thy wit] The emphasis is on 'thy.' 'Wit' is here used in its modem
signification.
174. just] See II, i, 27.
176. wise gentleman] Johnson : This jest depending on the colloquial use of
words is now obscure : perhaps we should read, — a wise gentle man, or, a man wise
enough to be a coward. Perhaps ' wise gentleman ' was in that age used ironically,
and always stood for siUy fellow, — Mason (p. 55) : The words are used ironically ;
as boys at Eton call a stupid fellow a genius.
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256 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc. L
tues,yet at laft (he concluded with a figh, thou waft the 181
propreft man in Italie.
Claud. For the which (he wept heartily, and faid fliee
car'd not.
Prin. Yea that (he did, but yet for all that, and if ftiee 185
did not hate him deadlie, Ihee would loue him dearely,
the old mans daughter told vs all.
Clau. All, all, and moreouer, God faw him when he
was hid in the garden,
Prin. But when (hall we fet the fauage Bulls homes 190
on the fenfible benedicks head ?
Clau. Yea and text vnder-neath, heere dwells 'Rene-
dicke the married man.
Ben. Fare you well. Boy, you know my minde,I will
leaue you now to your goffep-like humor, you breake 195
lefts as braggards do their blades, which God be thank-
ed hurt not : my Lord, for your manie courtefies I thank
you, I muft difcontinue your companie, your brother
the Baftard is fled from MeJJina : you haue among you,
kill'd a fweet and innocent Ladie : for my Lord Lacke- 200
beard there, he and I (hall meete, and till then peace be
with him.
Prin. He is in eameft.
Clau. In moft profound eameft, and He warrant you,
for the loue of Beatrice. 205
181. yet a/} yer at F^. 195- gojUTep-like] QFf.
182. proprefil ^a^,, Wh. properft 196. braggards\ braggarts Theob.
Q. propereft F^, Rowc et cet 200. Ladie : for'\ QF.F,. Lady y for
183. and faid fhe] and said-— she F^. lady for Rowe. lady. For Pope
Coll. ii. et cet -
185. andif^ an t/Han. Cap. et se(^. 200, 201. Lacke-beard there,"] Locke-
188. God] ff^tfColL MS. -beardy there Q. Lack-beard there;
190. fauage] fahfoge F^F^, Rowc, + Rowe.
(except Johns. ) 202. [Exit Bened. Rowe.
191. on] one Q.
182. proprest] See II, iii, 177.
185, 186. if shee . . . dearely] Rushton (Shakespeare s Euphuism, p. 42)
calls attention to the following in Lyly's Euphues : <In deede (said Euphues) to
know the cause of your alteracion would boote me lyttle, seeing the effect taketh
such force. I haue heard that women either loue entirely or hate deadly, and seeing
that you,* etc. [p. 95, ed. Arber].
188, 189. God . . . garden] Halliwell : A reference to Genesis, iii, 8.
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ACT V. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 257
Prin. And hath challenged thee. 206
Clou. Moft fmcerely.
/y7». What a prettie thing man is, when he goes in his
doublet and hofe,and leaves off his wit.
Enter Conjlable, Conrade^andBorachio. 2IO
Clou. He is then a Giant to an Ape, but then is an Ape
a Do6lor to fuch a man. 212
206. tkie,'] QFf, Rowe i, Cam. Wh. Enter ConfUbles, Conrade... Q. Enter
ii. thee f Rowe u et cet Conftable, Conftable... F^F^. Enter
207. ftncerely] Jinceerfy F^. Dogb. Verg. Conr. and Bor. guarded,
209. Scene IV. Pope, Warb. Johns. Rowe. After line 214, Han. Knt, Coll.
210. Enter Conftable, Conrade...] Dyce, Cam. Ktly.
208. 209. What . . . wit] Capell (p. 134) : This speech is significant of man
' turning youthy here, — ^lover, the sober cloak was the man's dress, to which <wit'
answers; the lover bereft of wit, and the man uncloaked, were both equally
ridiculous. — ^Malone : I belieye that these words refer to what Don Pedro had said
just before — < And hath challenged thee ?' — and the meaning is, ' What a pretty
thing a man is, when he is silly enough to throw off his cloak, and go in his doublet
and hose, to fight for a woman 1' In the Merry IVives, when Sir Hugh is going to
engage with Dr Caius, he walks about in his doublet and hose : * Page, And youth-
ful still in your doublet and hose^ this raw rheumatic day !' ' There is reasons and
causes for it,' says Skr Hugh, alluding to the duel he was going to fight So, in
The Roaring Girl, when Moll Cutpurse, in man's apparel, is going to fight, the
stage-directions are, * Puts off her cloak,' * Draws her sword ' [p. 479, ed. Dyce].
I am aware that there was a species of single combat called ' rapier and doak ' ; but
I suppose that when the small sword came into common use, the cloak was gener-
ally laid aside. — Steevens : Perhaps the whole meaning is : < What an inconsistent
fool is man, when he covers his body with clothes, and at the same time divests him-
self of his understanding.' — Boswbll : These words are probably meant to express
what Rosalind, in As You Like It [III, ii, 366], terms the 'careless desolation' of
a lover. [I accept Si^evens's interpretation as the most evident To suppose, with
Malone, that the omission of the cloak implied an engagement at single combat,
involves the idea that Benedick had appeared only in his doublet and hose. However
necessary it may have been for a man to divest himself of his cloak before engaging
in a duel, it was hardly necessary, in the present case, thus to prepare for the fight
so long beforehand, especially when it was uncertain whether or not he should fight
at all.— Ed.]
210. Enter, etc.] Another proof of a stage copy, wherein the entrances of actors
are set down, some lines before they actually enter, in order that the prompter may
warn them to be in readiness. — Ed.
211, 212. Oiant . . . man] Capell (p. 134) : The repliers comparisons bear a
litde hard upon the ladies ; and upon men too, whom they hold in their chains : the
man a < giant,' in such a case, led about by an ' ape,' and, in wisdom, the ape's
inferior.
ir
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258 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc. i.
Prin. But foft you, let me be,plucke vp my heartland 213
be fad, did he not fay my brother was fled ?
Conji. Come you fir,if iuftice cannot tame you, fhee 215
fhall nere weigh more reafons in her ballance, nay, and
you be a curfing hypocrite once, you muft be lookt to. 217
213. let me be\ Q, Coll. Dyce, Wh. KUy, Huds.)
Sto. Cam. let me fee Ff, Rowe, + . 214. /«//] ^/^ Gould.
let me Mai. in Var. '85, conj. (with- Scene IV. Han.
drawn), Huds. let be Cap. et cet. 216, 217. andyou\ i/yau Fape,HBn.
plucke vp my hearty pluck up^ an you Theob. Warb. ct seq.
my hearty Steev. et seq. (except Sta.
213. let me be] Malone : * Let be ' were without doubt the poet's words. The
same expression occurs again in Ant. and Cleop, IV, iv, 6 : ' Cleop, What's this for?
Ant, Ah, let be, let be ! thou art the armourer of my heart.' — Reed : So, in Hen,
VIII: I, i, 171 : * and they were ratified As he cried, Thus let be.' Again, Wmt,
Tale, V, iii, 76 ; Leontes says , < Let be, let be.' [Capell, who made the change
to let be, says that it is *■ of known import, and frequent usage with Shakespeare.' -
The only instances of its use, according to Bartlett's Concordance, are those above
given ; none of them is parallel to the present passage ; each is a case of the absorp'
tion of 2^ (' Let [it] be ') and refers to a specific object ; Anthony refers to a piece
of armour which Qeopatra had in her hand ; Buckingham refers to a treaty ; and
Leontes to the curtain which Paulina was about to draw. Staunton, not know-
ing that he had been anticipated by Malone (see Text, Notes), * suspected that the
poet wrote, "let me pluck up my heart," ' etc., and he thereupon gives examples
of the use of *■ pluck up,' as applied to the heart, which are not germane to the
phrase ' let me be.' Dyce (ed. ii) observes that ' let me be ' * can hardly be right ;
nor is the alteration, let be, much more satisfactory.' I can see no insurmountable
objection to 'let me be'; it is not a command addressed to Claudio, or to any
one in particular. Don Pedro is communing with himself. Benedick's announce-
ment of Don John's flight has just entered his mind; he is 'orienting' himself
to the new situation and searching for Don John's motive. The reading of the Ff :
'let me see,' expresses the same idea. — Ed.]
213, 214. and be sad] Steevens : That is, rouse thyself, my heart, and be pre-
pared for serious consequences.
216. weigh more] Walker i^Crit, ii, 248) : Would not the natural way of
expressing the thought be, * she shall ne'er more weigh reasons ' ? [Unquestionably.
And therefore it is that Dogberry says * weigh more.' — ^Ed.]
216. reasons] Ritson : A quibble between reasons and raisins, — Dyce {NoUs,
p. 46) : This quibble is found again in Tro, and Cress, II, ii, 33. Indeed, it is as
old as the time of Skelton, who says in his Speke, Parrot: *Grete reysons with
resons be now reprobitante, For reysons ar no resons, but resons currant.* — Works,
ii, 22, ed. Dyce. See also Dekker's Owles Almanacke, 1618, sig. F. 2. [There is
also the well known line of Falstaff: • If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries,'
etc.—/ Hen, IV: II, iv, 264. Staunton thinks that the quibble is repeated in
As You Like It, II, vii, 105 : ' And you will not be answered with reason,' etc, but
this is doubtful.]
217. once] See I, i, 310.
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ACT V. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 259
Prin. How now, two of my brothers men bound t Bo- 2 1 8
rachio one.
Clau. Harken after their offence my Lord. 220
Prin. Officers, what offence haue thefe men done f
Conjl. Marrie fir, they haue committed falfe report,
moreouer they haue fpoken vntruths, fecondarily they
are flanders, fixt and laftly, they haue belyed a Ladie,
thirdly, they haue verified vniuft things, and to conclude 225
they are lying knaues.
Prin. Firft I aske thee what they haue done, thirdlie
I aske thee what's their offence, fixt and laftlie why they
are committed, and to conclude, what you lay to their
charge. 230
Clau. Rightlie reafoned, and in his owne diuifion, and
by my troth there's one meaning well futed.
Prin. Who haue you offended matters, that you are
thus bound to your anfwer ? this learned Conftable is too
cunning to be vnderftood, what's your offence? 235
Bar. Sweete Prince, let me go no farther to mine an-
fwere : do you heare me, and let this Count kill mee : I
haue deceiued euen your verie eies : what your wife-
domes could not difcouer, thefe (hallow fooles haue
brought to light) who in the night ouerheard me con- 240
224, 228. /Jr/J/irMF^. 2^6, farther] QFf, Rowe i, Cap.
22g. you lay] lay you ¥^, Kernel. Mai. Coll. Wh. Sta. Cam. further
233. Who] Q, Cap. Steev. Var. '21, Rowe ii et cet
Dyce, Sta. Cam. Rife, Hads. Wh. ii, 24a ouerheard] heard F^, Rowe i.
whom Ff, Rowe et cet.
220. Harken] Staunton : This appears to be used here in the peculiar sense
which it bears in / Hen. IV: V, iv, 52 : * they did me too much injury That ever
said I hearken' d for your death.' [This remark I do not comprehend. Prince Hal
means to deny that he ever listened for the announcement of his father's death ; here,
Qaudio wishes the Prince to attend and listen magisterially to the men's offence. —
Ed.]
224. slanders] Walker {Crit. ii, 199) adduces many examples from the Folio,
where final er and erer are confounded. Thus here, he conjectures slanderers.
It is likely that he paid no special regard to the speaker, else, let us hope, he would
have held his hand. And yet Hudson was beguiled. He took slanderers into his
text, and thinks < slanders ' was not ' intended as a blunder of Dogberry's, as this
would be rather overloading the speech in that kind.'
232. suted] Johnson : That is, one meaning is put into many different dresses ;
the Prince having asked the same question in four modes of speech.
233. Who] See I, i, 207.
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26o MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. L
feffing to this man, how Don John your brother incenfed 241
me to flander the Ladie HerOy how you were brought
into the Orchard, and faw me court Margaret in Heroes
garments, how you difgracM her when you (hould
marrie her: my villanie they haue vpon record, which 245
I had rather feale with my death, then repeate ouer to
my fhame : the Ladie is dead vpon mine and my mafters
falfe accufation : and briefelie, I defu-e nothing but the
reward of a villaine.
Prin. Runs not this fpeech like yron through your 250
bloud?
Clau. I haue drunke poifon whiles he vtter'd it.
Prin. But did my Brother fet thee on to this ?
Bor. Yea, and paid me richly for the praftife of it.
Prin. He is composed and fram'd of treacherie, 255
And fled he is vpon this villanie.
Clau. Sweet HerOyViovf thy image doth appeare
In the rare femblance that I louM it firft.
Conjl. Come, bring away the plaintiffes,by this time
our Sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter : 260
and mafters, do not forget to fpecifie when time & place
(hall feme, that I am an Afle.
Con. 2. Here, here comes mafter Signior Leonato, and
the Sexton too. 264
244, 245. Aer] Air Q. 254. and paid"] paid Pope, Han.
250, 251. Runs,..bloud^ One line, richly^ rick Ff, Rowe.
Pope. As verse, Theob. et seq. 255. and /ram* d']Om,F^F^, "Rowel
252. drunke] dronke Q. 260. reformed] informedF^^^ Rowe.
wkiles] wkile Rowe, + . 263. Con. 2] Veig. Rowe.
241. incensed] M alone : That is, instigated. Thus, in many other passages.
247, 256. vpon] See II, iii, 202.
250. your] How gracefully and adroitly the Prince evades all responsibility by
the use of this ' your ' instead of our ! — Ed.
252. I haue drunk] See I, ii, 5.
254. Yea] Walker (Crit, i, 4) proposes to make this a separate line, and to
read onU for ' of it ' at the end of Borachio's speech. Possibly he is right, inasmuch
as it would be, otherwise, a line of prose in the midst of verse.
258. that] Abbott (§ 284) : * That ' is here equivalent to in whick. [But it
is simpler, perhaps, to explain the construction as one of the many instances where
in relative sentences the preposition is omitted : that I loved it first in. See line 45
of the next scene.]
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ACT V. sc. I] MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING 26 1
Enter Leonato. 265
Leon. Which is the villaine ? let me fee his eies,
That when I note another man like him,
I may auoide him : which of thefe is he ?
Bor.If you would know your wronger, looke on me.
Leon. Art thou thou the flaue that with thy breath 270
haft kild mine innocent childe /
Bor. Yea,euen I alone.
Leo. No, not fo villaine, thou belieft thy felfe,
Here ftand a paire of honourable men,
A third is fled that had a hand in it : 275
I thanke you Princes for my daughters death,
Record it with your high and worthie deedes,
'Twas brauely done, if you bethinke you of it.
Clou. I know not how to pray your patience,
Yet I muft fpeake,choofe your reuenge your felfe, 280
Impofe me to what penance your inuention
265. Scene V. Pope, + . iAou Q, Cap. et cet
Enter...] Re-enter Leon., and 270,271. Art .„ kild'\ Prose F^,.
Ant, Sexton attending, dap. Art.., breath one line F^, Rowe, + . One
267, 268. Mnemonic lines, Warb. line, Q, Cap. et cet.
269. wou/d'] woul F,. 272. Yea] Om. Han.
270. Art thou thou] Art thou — thou 281. Impofe] Expose Han.
— Knt, Hal. Art thou art thou F,. me to] to me Cap. conj. on me
Art thcu^ art thou F^F^, Rowe, + . Art Cap. conj. Ran. conj.
270. thou thou] No exigencies of metre, were it violated far more greviously
in this line than it is, could force me to forego the astonishment and utmost horror
expressed by this repetition of * thou.' — Ed.
279, etc. Hudson (p. 13) : Even if Claudio's faults and blunders were greater
than they are, still his behaviour at the last were enough to prove a real and sound
basis of manhood in him. The clean taking-down of his vanity and self-love, by
the exposure of the poor cheats which had so easily caught him, brings out the true
staple of his character. When he is made to feel that on himself alone falls the
blame and the guilt which he had been so eager to revenge on others, then his sense
of honour acts in a right noble style, prompting him to avenge sternly on himself
the wrong and the injury he has done to the gentle Hero and her kindred.
281. Impose me to] Capell (p. 134) : Certainly an inaccuracy, but not mended
by the Oxford's copy [i. e. Hanmer's] Expose; nor otherwise reducible to modem
exactness but by reading, ' Impose ^n me ' ; this, though not the greatest of licences,
the editor has not ventured on ; in a belief that < Impose ' might mean — tctsk (Task
me to what penance, etc.) and be so hazarded by the poet for the avoiding of on^^
concurrence with 'upon.' — Malone: That is, 'command me to undergo whatever
penance,' etc. A task or exercise prescribed by way of punishment at the Univer-
sities is yet called an imposition.
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262 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. L
Can lay vpon my finne,yet finn'd I not, 282
But in miftaking.
Prin. By my foule nor I,
And yet to fatisfie this good old man, 285
I would bend vnder anie heauie waight.
That heele enioyne me to.
Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter liue.
That were impoffible, but I praie you both,
Poffeffe the people in Meffina here, 290
How innocent (he died, and if your loue
Can labour aught in fad inuention.
Hang her an epitaph vpon her toomb.
And fmg it to her bones, fing it to night :
To morrow morning come you to my houfe, 295
And fmce you could not be my fonne in law.
Be yet my Nephew : my brother hath a daughter,
Almoft the copie of my childe that's dead.
And (he alone is heire to both of vs, 299
286. anie\ my F,. my daisghier live again Rowe,+, Var.
287. /^.] too, FjF^, Rowe. '73.
288. / cannot.. .Hue] Q. I cannot 288. you Hd^you cause Coll. MS.
bid you daughter liue F,. / cannot bid you make Ktly.
your daughter live F^. You cannot bid 21^2.. aught] ought Rowe, Pope, Han.
my daughter live F^. You cannot bid Cap. Cam. i. Glo. Wh. ii.
288. bid yoa bid] Allen (MS) : Both bid's may surely stand. Shakespeare
may have been thinking of Euhiel, xxxvii, 5, where the dry bones are made to live,
or of our Saviour bringing to life the daughter of Jainis.
290. PoBsesse] Steevens : That is, inform, make acquainted with.
292. inuention] Deighton : Here specially of poetic skill, imagination, as in
Hen. V. Prol. 2.
294. bones] Gould (p. 14): I believe this is 'manes' as a monosyllable.
[May it be permitted to surmise that any one who could believe this, would believe
anything? — ^Ed.]
299. she alone is heire] Anonymous ( Variorum of 1773) : Shakespeare seems
to have forgot what he had made Leonato say in the second Scene of the first Act
to Antonio : * How now, brother ; where is my cousin your son ? hath he provided
the music ?* — H alliwell : Perhaps the present statement is purposely overdrawn.
Qaudio is not to be supposed sufficiently acquainted with the families to render the
deception improbable of being believed by him. He had even asked Don Pedro
whether Leonato had a son. — Franz Horn (i, 264) : Shakespeare has forgotten
nothing ; that son who was to provide the music is probably living and well, but the
daughter of whom we hear is a mere phantom with no real existence, evoked to
deceive Gaudio. It would be well if people who seem to delight in making remarks
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ACT V. sc. i.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 263
Que her the right you ftiould haue giu'n her cofin, 300
And fo dies my reuenge.
Clau. O noble fir 1
Your ouerkindnefle doth wring teares from me,
I do embrace your offer, and difpofe
For henceforth of poore Ci^udio. 305
Leon. To morrow then I will expeft your comming,
To night I take my leaue,this naughtie man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who I beleeue was packt in all this wrong, 309
300. righf^ rite Gould. 305. For] From Cap. MS and Coll.
304. offery and'] Ff, Rowc, Pope, MS (partly expunged) ap. Cam.
Han. Coll. oftr and Q. offer; and 309. pa^^] QFf, Rowe. pad Coll.
Theob. et cet. Sing. Ktly. paci^d Pope et cct.
to Shakespeare's disparagement would first consider whether they understand him,
save, as in this instance, in the most superficial manner.
301. so dies my reuenge] R. G. White (ed. ii) : In the strange conduct of
Leonato and Claudio, by which the end of the play is huddled up, Shakespeare
probably followed some predecessor.
304. and dispose] Deighton : For the construction, compare V, iii, 29 : 'Thanks
to you all, and leave us.*--Allen (MS) : One might punctuate, 'and dispose
For henceforth,* etc. That is, Gaudio was about to make some other profession in
the first person ; but, his emotions prevent him from going on as he had intended,
and he abruptly changes to an Imperative ; equivalent to, oi/ / can say is^ do toith me
henceforth what you please,
305. Claudio] Keightley (p. 168) : It would seem that something had been
lost at the end, the speech tenninates so abruptly. We might supply at your
piecuure,
307. naughtie] See IV, ii, 70.
309. packt] Malone : That is, combined ; an accomplice. Collier unaccount-
ably mistook this past participle of the verb to pack for a noun, and adhered to the
belief in all his editions. In his First Edition he remarks that *pact is properiy
bargain or contract, which is true, and that ' Margaret, one party to the pact, is
spoken of as the contract itself,' which is doubtful. His friend, Barron Field, in
his Notes to the Second Part of King Edward IV, corrected him gently ; his friend,
Dyce, emphatically. * The spelling in the old eds. " packt," ' says DvcE {Remarks,
p. 33), 'might alone have shewn Mr Collier that the word was a participle— ^<TriC</,
even if we suppose that, when he made this rash alteration, he had entirely for-
gotten the following passages of Shakespeare : " The goldsmith there, were he not
packed with her, Could witness it." — Com, Err, V, i, 219 ; "Here's packing, with a
witness, to deceive us all." — Tam, Skr. V, i, 121 : "Go pack with him, and give the
mother gold." — Tit, And, IV, ii, 155 ; Compare Massinger : "Our packing being
laid open." — Great Duke of Florence, III, i, "i. ^.," says Gifford, "our insidious
contrivance, our iniquitous collusion to deceive the duke ; so the word is used by
Shakespeare, and others." — Works, ii, 485. Many examples of the word might be
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264 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. L
Hired to it by your brother. 310
Bar. No by my foule (he was not,
Nor knew not what (he did when (he fpoke to me,
But alwaies hath bin iufl and vertuous,
In anie thing that I do know by her.
Conjl. Moreouer fir, which indeede is not vnder white 315
and black, this plaintifTe here, the ofTendour did call mee
aflfe, I befeech you let it be remembred in his puni(h-
ment,and alfo the watch heard them talke of one Defor-
med, they fay he weares a keyin his eare and a lock hang-
ing by it, and borrowes monie in Gods name, the which 320
he hath vs'd fo long, and neuer paied,that now men grow
313. hin\ Q. been FJP^. 318-323. Mnemonic lines, Warb.
adduced from eailier writers ; Skelton has <' But ther was fals packing, or els I am
begylde." C^ the dtttu of the Erie of Notikumberlande.—Works^ i, 9, ed.
Dyce.*
314. by her] For other instances where 'by' means about^ eonceming^ see
Abbott, § 145.
318. Deformed] Capell (p. 134) : This humour about a Mock' and a 'key,'
of personizing ' Deform' d,' and of making him the extraordinary borrower that
follows after those words, should (in likelihood) be founded upon something par-
ticular that was the public talk at that time; otherwise, the wit is but poor;
and we, to whom the knowledge of this particular has not descended, can scarce
laugh at it
319. key] Warburton asserts that this refers to 'the men's wearing rings in
their ears'; and Rann goes so far as to say that 'the ear-ring was vulgarly called
the key.' But M alone conceives that there is ' no allusion to the fashion of wear-
ing rings in the ears (a fashion which our author himself followed).' 'The pleas-
antry,' he continues, 'seems to consist in Dogberry's supposing that the 'lock,'
which ' Deformed ' wore, must have a ' key ' to it.
319. lock] See III, iii, 163.
320. borrowes . . . Gods name] Steevens : That is, is a common beggar. It
alludes to Proverbs^ xix, 17 : 'He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord.' —
Haluwell : This scriptural phrase was used in the counterfeit passports of the
beggars, as appears from the curious passage here cited from Decker : ' these coun-
terfeit jarkes (or seaies) are graven with the point of a knife, upon a sticks end, . . .
for the most part bearing the ilfavoured shape of a Buffars Nab, or a Prancers Nab
(a dogs head or a horses) and sometimes an unicorns, and such like. . . . Besides,
in the passe-port you shall lightly find these words, viz. For Salomon saith. Who
giveth the poore, lendeth the Lord, etc. And that constables shall helpe them to
lodgings : And that curats shall perswade their parishioners,' etc. — English ViUanies^
1632. — ^W. A. Wright : I doubt the allusion. [There is an entire lack of parallel-
ism. In the Proveri), money is given to the poor and lent to the Lord ; in Dogberry's
case, money is borrowed by Deformed, ^xA given to nobody. — ^Ed.]
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ACT V, sc. L] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 265
hard-harted and will lend nothing for Gods fake : praie 322
you examine him vpon that point.
Leon. I thanke thee for thy care and honed paines.
Conjl. Your worfhip fpeakes like a mod thankefuU 325
and reuerend youth, and I praife God for you.
Leon. There's for thy paines.
Conjl. God faue the foundation.
Leon. Goe, I difcharge thee of thy prifoner, and I
thanke thee. 330
Conjl. I leaue an arrant knaue with your worfhip,
which I befeech your worfhip to correal your felfe, for
the example of others: God keepe your worfhip, I
wifh your worfhip well, God reflore you to health,
I humblie giue you leaue to depart, and if a mer- 335
rie meeting may be wifht, God prohibite it : come
neighbour. 337
326. returend^ reuerent Q. Var. Ran. Mai. Sing. Ktly.
331. arranf^ errant Y^ Rowc, + , 334. youto heall/i] your health ^ow^i,
322. lend . . . Gods sake] Halliwell: These were the usual terms of a
beggar's supplication. In Percivale's Diet. ed. 1599, p. 193, we have < Pordiosiros^
men that aske for God's sake, beggers.'
328. God . . . foundation] Steevens : Such was the customary phrase em-
ployed by those who received alms at the gates of religious houses. Dogberry, how-
ever, in the present instance, might have designed to say : ' God save the founder P
Deighton : So, Middleton, More Dissemblers besides Women^ V, i, 100 : * Marry,
pray for the founder, here he stands.'
329. of] Abbott ($166) places this 'of in the list of examples where 'of means
from : but, it is possible, that there is here a confusion of two ideas : (a) I will
discharge the prisoner, and (^) I will relieve thee of all responsibility. It is also
possible that Leonato intentionally speaks in Dogberry's style, and that there is dry
humour in his remark ; just as Jaques says to the Duke, in the concluding lines ^lAs
You Like It: * You to your former honour I bequeathe.' — Ed.
332. which] I am afraid it is only too clear that Dogberry here uses ' which ' for
whom ; but if I could recall, which I cannot, another instance in Shakespeare of the
modem, vulgar use of which as an introductory connective particle, nothing could
persuade me that it is not so used here, and that Dogberry would thus be made to
advise Leonato to correct himself for the example of others. — Ed.
336, 337. c«me neighbour.] Aubrey (ii, 226) : The humour of . . . the con-
stable, in Midsomernight^ s Dreame, he [Shakesp>ear] happened to take at Grendon
in Bucks — ^I thinke it was Midsomer night that he happened to lye there — ^which is
the roade from London to Stratford, and there was living that constable about 1642,
when I first came to Oxon : Mr Josias Howe is of that parish, and knew him. —
Malone (Var. '21, ii, 491] : It must be acknowledged that there is here a slight
mistake, there being no such character as a constable in A Midsummer Night*s
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266 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc. u.
Lean. Vntill to morrow morning, Lords, farewell. 338
Exeunt.
BroU Farewell my Lords, we looke for you to mor- 340
row.
Prin. We will not faile.
Clau. To night ile moume with Hero :
Lean. Bring you thefe fellowes on, weel talke with
MargaretjYiOVi her acquaintance grew with this lewd 345
fellow. Exeunt.
[Scene //.]
Enter Benedicke atid Margaret.
Ben. Praie thee fweete Miftris Margaret^ deferue
well at my hands, by helping mee to the fpeech of Bea--
trice.
Mar. Will you then write me a Sonnet in praife of 5
my beautie ?
Bene. In fo high a ftile Margaret^ that no man liuing 7
339. Exeunt Rowe. Exeunt Dogb. 346. Exeunt.] Exeunt severally,
and Verg. and Watch. Cap. Exeunt Theob.
Dogb. and Verg. Cam. Scene VI. Pope, + . Scene II.
343. Herb :] F,. Cap. et seq.
Exeunt D. Pedro, and Claudio. Leonato's House. Pope. Leona-
Cap. to*s Garden. Steev. '93, Cam.
344. Leon.] Leon. [To the Watch.] i. Maigaret.] Margaret, meeting.
Cam. Edd. Cap.
344-346. Two lines, ending Marga- 5. write\ writte F^
ret,,. fellow. Pope et seq.
Dream, The person in contemplation probably was Dogberry in Much Ado about
Nothing,
340. we looke] Possibly, we have here a case of absorption ; ' we ['11] look.'
—Ed.
345. lewd] Steevens : Here, and in several other instances, this merely signifies
ignorant. — Collier : * Lewd ' had of old three meanings, lustful, ignorant, and
wicked. The last is the sense in this place, and not ignorant, as Steevens contended.
[Cotgrave has < Forfan : m. A knaue, rogue, rascall, rakehell, varlet, villaine, vaga-
bond, base fellow, filthie slaue, naughtie packe, leud companion.']
I. 'Scene, Leonato's Garden,' thus, the Cambridge Editors, who remark as
follows: It is clear from line 91, where Ursula says, ' Yonder' s old coil at home,'
that the scene is not supposed to take place in Leonato's house, but out of doors.
We have, therefore, in this case, deserted our usual authorities. Pope and Capell.
7. stile] Delius : There is here a pun on style and stiU; and again a play on the
words ' come over it,' which may mean surpass, and cross over it.
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ACT V. sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 267
fhall come ouer it, for in mod comely truth thou defer- 8
ueft it.
Mar. To haue no man come ouer me, why, (hall I al- 10
waies keepe below llaires ?
10, II. nu^ why^ JkaU.^belowl FJF . Theob. Han. Warb. Cap. tmf wky^
nu^ why Jkai,., below Q^fQoW. i, iii (md- shall, „behw Rowe ii et oet
ing nut), nu; why^ Jhall..,below F^ 10. shall f] shall i^ Kinnear.
Rowe i. mef why, shall ... above
10, II. shall . . . staires] Theobald : Any man might come over her, liter-
ally speaking, if she always kept below stairs. By the correction I have ventured to
make, Margaret, as I presume, must mean, What 1 shall I always keep above stairs ?
f . e. Shall I for ever continue a Chambermaid ? — Stkevens : Above and below were
not likely to be confounded either by the transcriber or the compositor. The sense,
for which Theobald contends, may be restored by supposing that our author wrote—
'shall I always keep m^ below stairs?' — Singer (ed. ii) : Perhaps we should read:
'shall I always keep Ihem below stairs?' [In the Transactions of the New Shah-
spere Society^ 1^77-9} P- 47 ii H. C. Hart has gathered several instances of the
phrase below stairs or below the stairs : — * But these are petty engagements, and as
I said below the stairs; marry above here, perpetuity of beauty (do you hear,
ladies?) health,' etc.— Ben Jonson, Mercury Vindicated [p. 251, ed. Gifford].
< Wellbred. Yes, sir, let me pray you for this gentleman, he belongs to my sister,
the bride. Clement. In what place, sir? WeL Of her delight, sir, below the
stairs, and in public ; her poet, sir. — Every Man in his Humour^ V, i. ('This is
a puzzle,' says Mr Hart, 'still it is connected with matrimony'). 'Yet for the
honour of our sex boast not this your easy conquest ; another might perhaps have
stayed longer below stairs, it was but your confidence that surprised her love.' —
Chapman, Wid<nds Tears, Act I. [p. 19, ed. 1878.] It is clear, I think, from
these examples that ' below stairs ' meant as it means to this day, ' in the servants
quarters,' 'in the kitchen,' etc There can be no question about its meaning in
Jonson' s Mercury Vindicated, The pa!bsage quoted by Mr Hart is not the only
place where the words occur in that Masque. On p. 249, Mercury complains that
the alchemists trade their secrets off to the servants for food, ' they shark for a hungry
diet below stairs,' cheating ' poor pages of the larder,' and ' children of the scullery '
with promises of ' a comer of the philosopher's stone,' and ' firkins of aurum pota-
bile* are to be 'delivered at the buttery,' etc. Then, after continuing in this strain
for some time, Mercury says ' but these are all petty engagements, and, as I said,
below the stairs ;' but 'above here,' (that is, as we might say 'in the parlor,') 'I
have to promise the ladies health, riches, honour,' etc. Keeping in mind that
'below stairs' means in the servants quarters, the 'puzzle' in Mr Hart's quotation
from ' Every Man in his Humour ' disappears. ' This gentleman,' to whom Well-
bred refers as his sister's 'delight' 'below the stairs' is Matthew, the lover of
Mistress Bridget, whom Mistress Bridget constantly addresses, after the fashion of
the time, as 'servant.' Hence, Wellbred's playing on this word 'servant' makes
plain his allusion to his sister's delight 'below stairs.' In the present passage
Margaret says, in effect, ' Why, shall I always be a servant and never a mistress ?'
—Ed.]
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268 MUCH A DOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc ii.
Bene.Thy wit is as quicke as the grey-hounds mouth, 12
it catches.
Mar. And yours, as blunt as the Fencers foiles, which
hit, but hurt not. 15
Bene. A moft manly wit Margaret^ it will not hurt a
woman : and fo I pray thee call Beatrice^ I giue thee the
bucklers.
Mar. Giue vs the fwords, wee haue bucklers of our
owne. 20
Bene. If you vfe them Margaret y you muft put in the
pikes with a vice, and they are dangerous weapons for
Maides.
Mar. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I thinke
hath legges. Exit Margarite. 25
13. catches\ ketches ^QiS9^\. seq. (subs.)
17. Beatrice, /] Beatrice; J F^ et 25. Margarite.] QF,. MaigareL FjF^.
17, 18. I . . . bucklers] Johnson: I suppose that 'to give the bucklers' is
* to yield/ or ' to lay by all thoughts of defence/ so cfypeum abjicere. The rest
deserves no comment. Steevens gives six references to well-known old authors of
the use of the phrase, always with the meaning given by Dr Johnson ; Barron
Field (Note on Heywood*s Fair Maid of the Exchange^ p. 98, ed. Sh. Soc.) adds
a seventh, from Ben Jonson*s Case is Altered, II, iv, where 'bear away the buck-
lers' means 'to conquer.' Dyce (Notes^ etc., p. 47) gives one which is all-suf-
ficient, from Cotgrave (sub Gaigni) i * le te U donne gaigni. I grant it, I yield it
thee ; I confesse thy action ; I giue thee the bucklers.'
22. pikes with a vice] Thoms (p. 128) : I am indebted to Mr Albert Way for
the following explanation : The circular bucklers of the sixteenth century, now called
more commonly 'targets,' had frequently a central spike, or 'pike,' usually affixed
by a screw. It was probably found convenient to detach this spike occasionally ;
for instance, in cleaning the buckler, or in case of that piece of defensive armour
being carried about on any occasion when not actually in use. A sharp projecting
spike, four or five inches long would obviously be inconvenient. . . . ' Vice ' is the
French vir, a screw, a word still in common use, the female screw being called
icr&u, Cotgrave gives, ' vis^ the vice or spindle of a presse ;' namely, a strong
wooden screw, such as we see in a cheese-press, and the like. Palsgrave gives
only, *Vyce of a cuppe, vis;* namely, a screw in the bottom or stem, fixing its
various parts or ornaments together. From resemblance to a screw, a winding* or
turret staircase was call a t/iV^, as in the Prompt, Pan;, — ' Vyce, rownde grece or
steyer, coclea,* The term is not uncommon in the Widiffite Version, etc. It may
suffice to cite Chaucer's Dream, v. 131 2, where he relates how, suddenly awaking
in the stillness of the night, — ' I rise and wallet sought pace and pace, Till I a wind-
ing staire found ; And held the vice aye in my bond. And upward sofUy so gan
creepe.'
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ACT V. sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 269
Ben. And therefore will come. The God of loue that 26
fits aboue^and knowes me, and knowes me, how pitti-
fuU I deferue. I meane in fmging, but in louing, Lean-
der the good fwimmer, Troilous the firft imploier of
pandars, and a whole booke full of thefe quondam car- 30
pet-mongers, whofe name yet runne fmoothly in the e-
uen rode of a blanke verfe, why they were neuer fo true-
ly turned ouer and ouer as my poore felfe in loue : mar-
rie I cannot fliew it rime, I haue tried, I can finde out no
rime to Ladie but babie, an innocent rime : for fcome, 35
home, a hard time : for fchoole foole, a babling time :
26. The God] [Sings.] TAe God 31. nanu\ F,. nanus QFjF^, Rowc
Pope et seq. (subs.) et cet.
26-28. The God.„deferue\ In Ital- 33. fl»^w^r] Om. Ff, Rowe.
ics, Rowe,+. In four lines, Cap, et 34. Jhevo it\ F,. Jkew it in QF^F^,
seq. Rowe et seq.
28. deferue,] QF,. deferue; F3. 35. bahie]badieYJP^. bady¥^,^ovft
deferue^ F^, Rowe et seq. (subs.) ii, Pope, Cap. baudy Rowe i.
^«^'«^>] QFa^j. finging ; Y^ innocent] innocents Ff, Rowe,
Rowe et seq. (subs.) Pope. i«»<v«f/'j Theob. Warb. Johns.
but] not Gould. Cap.
29. Troilous] TroilusCl. 36. hard time.,. time] Y^,
30. pandars] panders F^F^.
26-28. The Qod . . . desenie] Ritson : This was the beginning of an old
song by W[illiam]. E[lderton]. a puritanical parody of which, by one W. Birch,
under the title of The Complaint of a Sinner , etc. Imprinted at London, etc. is still
extant The words in this moralised copy are as follows : * The God of love, that
sits above. Doth know us, doth know us. How sinful that we be.* [In Heywood's
Fair Maid of the Exchange, II, iii, p. 34, ed. Sh. Soc., Frank enters, singing:
< Ye gods of Love, that sit above,' which is, probably, a reminiscence of the present
passage (Heywood's play was not published until 1607) ; Collier notes that there
is <a song to this tune in The HandeftUl of pleasemt deliteSj 1584; there we find
(p. 36, ed. Arber) : * The ioy of Virginitie : to^ The Gods of loue' \ the tune and the
song were, therefore, familiar to Shakespeare's audience. — Ed.]
30, 31. carpet-mongers] Dyce {Gloss.) : Equivalent to carpet-knights, effemi-
nate persons, who were dubbed at court by mere favour, — ^not on the field of battle
for their military exploits ; our early writers constantly speak of them with great
contempt
33. ouer ... in loue] 'In' is here equivalent, as in many instances (see
Abbott § 159), to into; or else, in a modem text, there should be, I think, commas
before and after *as my poor self.' — Ed.
35. innocent] Walker {Crit, iii, 33) : 'Innocent' here means sUly.
36. babling] Collier (ed. ii) in his text reads battbling, and explains that
Benedick means 'a rhyme reminding of a fool's bauble, which was usually spelt
'* bable" in the old copies.' In his Third Edition he wisely and silently abandoned
this bauble.
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2/0 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc u.
verie ominous endings, no, I was not borne vnder a ri- 37
ming Plannet, for I cannot wooe in feftiuall tearmes:
Enter Beatrice.
fweete Beatrice would'ft thou come when I caPd 40
thee?
Beat. Yea Signior,and depart when you bid me.
Bene. O flay but till then.
Beat. Then, is fpoken : fare you well now, and yet ere
I goe,let me goe with that I came, which is, with know- 45
ing what hath part betweene you and Claudia.
Bene. Onely foule words, and thereupon I will kiffe
thee.
Beat. Foule words is but foule wind, and foule wind
is but foule breath, and foule breath is noifome, there- 50
fore I will depart vnkift.
Bene. Thou haft frighted the word out of his right
fence, fo forcible is thy wit, but I muft tell thee plainely,
Clatulio vndergoes my challenge, and either I muft (hort- 54
38. far I^ Ff, Rowe, + , Wh. i. nor Cam. came for Rowe ii et cet.
/ Q, Cap. et cet. 49. words is duty words and F^F^,
Scene VII. Pope, + . words are Rowe i. words are but Rowe
39. Enter...] After line 41, Q. ii, + , Var. Ran. Mai.
40. rtf/V] rfl// Rowe, + . 52. A« n^f-*/] i/lf nt^i*/Rowe, + , Var.
42. you didi thou bid Johns. Ran.
45. canul QFf, Rowe i. Hal. Sta.
38. festiual tearmes] Steevens: That is, in splendid phraseology, such as
differs from common language, as holidays from common days. Thus, in / Hen,
IV: I, iii, 46, Hotspur says of <a certain lord ' that he used *many holiday and lady
terms.'
40. wouldst thou] That is, < wouldst thou wish to come ?' or, as GuizoT and
MoNT^GUT translate it : vous voulez done bien venir. — Ed.
45. with that I came] The addition of far^ made by Rowe (and also by
Collier's MS) is not absolutely necessary; the omission of the preposition in
relative sentences is common ; they are supplied almost instinctively, see Claudio's
' In the rare semblance that I loved at first,' in the preceding scene ; or see Abbott,
§ 394, for many other examples. In the First Cam. Ed. there is a note on this
passage, wherein a line from Marston's Fawne (I, 11, p. 24, ed. Halliwell) is
quoted : < With the same stratagem we still are caught ' ; but the note is omitted in
the Second Edition, probably because the two passages are not precisely paral-
lel.— Ed.
54. vndergoes] Steevens: That is, is subject to it. — Haluwell: We may
rather consider the word quaintly used in the more ordinary sense, sustains, Clau-
dio, though in a jesting manner, accepted Benedick's challenge, and fully understood
that the latter was in earnest.
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ACT V, sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 27 1
\y heare from him, or I will fubfcribe him a coward^and 55
I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didft
thou firft fall in loue with me ?
Beat. For them all together, which maintainM fo
politique a ftate of euill, that they will not admit any
good part to intermingle with them : but for which of 60
my good parts did you firft fuffer loue for me ?
Bene. Suffer loue ! a good epithite, I do fuffer loue in-
deede,for I loue thee againft my will.
Beat. In fpight of your heart I think, alas poore heart,
if you fpight it for my fake, I will fpight it for yours, for 65
I will neuer loue that which my friend hates.
Bened. Thou and I are too wife to wooe peacea-
blie.
Bea. It appeares not in this confeflfion,there^s not one
wife man among twentie that will praife himfelfe. 70
Bene. An old, an old inftance Beatrice^ that liuM in
the time of good neighbours, if a man doe not ereft in
this age his owne tombe ere he dies, hee (hall Hue no
longer in monuments, then the Bels ring,& the Widdow
weepes. 75
55. cowardy"] coward; F^, Rowe et 64. thinkyl think; F^, Rowe et seq.
seq. (subs.) (subs.)
58. all together] altogether Han. 69. in this] in that Han.
maintained] maintain Cap. conj. 74. monuments] monument Q, Cap.
Hal. et seq.
61. fir/l] Om. Rowe i. Bels ring] Ff, Knt beU rings
Cap. et seq.
55. subscribe] Referring to the ' protest ' with which Benedick threatens Clau-
diOy line 160 of the preceding scene.
58. maintain'd] Capell (p. 135) : Here is a plain impropriety: <will,' in the
line that follows, accords ill with 'maintained/ a verb present were better; unless
you will solve it this way, — that her falling in love was at a time when his ' bad
parts maintain'd so politick a state of evil, that they will not even now admit any
good part to intermingle with them.' [Halliwell says that it is 'maintain' in
'the ed. i6cx>' which may, I think, be possibly an oversight. It is 'maintaind' in
the facsimile of Ashbee, of Staunton, and of Praetorius ; and the Cam. Ed. records
no variation.]
72. good neighbours] Warburton : That is, when men were not envious, but
every one gave another his due. — ^W. A. Wright : When a man had no need to
praise himself.
74. monuments] Halliwell : It is just possible that there is here an oblique
allusion to the rage for costly monuments which prevailed in Shakespeare's time.
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272 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. ii.
Beat. And how long is that thinke you ? 76
Ben. Queftion,why an hower in clamour and a quar-
ter in rhewme, therfore is it moft expedient for the wife,
if Don worme (his confcience) finde no impediment to
the contrarie, to be the trumpet of his owne vertues, as 80
I am to my felfe fo much for praifmg my felfe,who I my
felfe will beare witneffe is praife worthie, and now tell
me, how doth your cofin ?
Beat. Verieill. 84
77. Que^ion,'} Question ; Rowe i, Stecv. Var. Knt
Qu^j/uTif /* Rowe ii,+ (Om. Han.),Cap. 81,82. who„,worthie\ In parenthe-
Ran. Mai. Steev. Var. Knt Question : — ^s. Cap.
Coll. Dycc. \Vh. Cam. Question!— 8i. my felfe fo"] myself ; so 'Rawe tX
Sta. Ktly. seq. (subs.)
78. rhewme'] thetomeY^, theivmY^, 82. worthity'] worthy; F^, Rowe et
is it] it is F^, Rowe, + , Var. Mai. seq. (subs.)
To this Hall alludes in his Satires, III, 2 : — * Great Osmond knows not how he
shall be known, When once great Osmond shall be dead and gone ; Unless he rear
up some rich monument, Ten furlongs nearer to the firmament'
74, 75. BeU . . . weepes] W. A. Wright : In the Hundred Merry Tales,
already referred to, are two stories ; one, of the woman who had buried her fourth
husband and made great lamentation because on all previous occasions she was sure
of a successor before the corpse of her late husband left the house, and now, said
5he, ' I am sure of no nother husband.' The other is, of the widow who while
kneeling at the requiem mass at her husband's funeral was addressed by a suitor,
who came too late because she was already made sure to another man. [In the
Memoir of Arthur Hugh Clough, by his Wife (London, 1888), a story is told of
Sir Richard Clough, who married Katharine Tudor, a relation and ward of Queen
Elizabeth, to the effect that * he, as well as Morris Wynn of Gwydir accompanied her
[Katharine Tudor] to her first husband's funeral, and that Morris Wynn, when lead-
ing her out of church reque'^ted the favour of her hand in marriage, to which she
answered that she had already promised it as she went in to Sir Richard Clough ;
hut added that should there be any other occasion she would remember him. Accord-
ingly, after the death of Sir Richard, she did marry him.' — ^p. 2. — Ed.]
77. Question,] Warburton : That is. What a question's there, or what a foolish
•question do you ask? — RiTSON (p. 34) : The learned prelate [Warburton], one may
easily suppose, would not have hesitated to call a fine lady fool to her face ; Bene-
dick, it is to be hoped, had rather more politeness. The phrase occurs frequently
in Shakespeare, and means no more than, — ' you ask a question,' or < that is the
•question.'
77. clamour] W. A. Wright : This refers to the sound of the bell.
79. Don worme] Halliwell : The conscience was formerly represented under
the symbol af a worm or serpent. In the entries of payments for expenses incurred
in representing the Coventry Mysteries, is the following for dresses, — * Item, payd to
ij. wormes of conscience, xvj. </.' — W. A. Wright : The reference is to Mark, ix,
48 : ' Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.'
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ACT V, sc. ii.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 273
Bene. And how doe you ? 85
Beat. Verie ill too.
Enter Vrfula.
Bene.S^t\x^ God,loue me, and mend, there will I leaue
you t70,for here comes one in hafte.
Vrf. Madam, you muft come to your Vncle, yoa- 90
ders old coile at home, it is prooued my Ladie He-
ro hath bin falfelie accufde, the Prince and Claudio
mightilie abufde, and Don John is the author of all, who
is fled and gone : will you come prefentlie ?
Beat. Will you go heare this newes Signior ? 95
Bene., I will liue in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be bu-
ried in thy eies : and moreouer, I will goe with thee to
thy Vncles. Exeunt. 98
87. Enter...] After line 89, Q, Theob. 97. tus:"] arms Kinnear.
Warb. etseq. 98. VncUs] QFf, Marshall, uncle
88. fnend,'] mend; F^, Rowe et seq. Rowe, + , Cap, Var. Dyce ii, iii. uncles
(subs.) Mai. '90etcet
96, 97. heart ... ei€s] eyes ,., heart Exeunt] Exit Q.
Theob. Warb. Johns. Barry, Daniel.
91. old coile] Dyce {Notes^ p. 47) : Cotgrave (s.v. Diable) : * Faire le diable de
Vauvert, To keepe an old coyle, horrible bustling, terrible swaggering, to play
monstrous reakes, or raks-iakes.' I know not if it has been observed that the Ital-
ians use (or at least formerly used) ' vecchio ' in the same sense. [Dyce gives some
examples, and adds, < it is rather remarkable that Florio in his Diet, has not given
this meaning of ** vecchio." '] — ^WiSE (p. 106) : Wherever there has been an unus-
ual disturbance or ado, — ^I prefer using plain country words to explain others, — the
lower orders. round Stratford-on-Avon invariably characterise it by the phrase, 'there
has been old work to-day * ; to this day, round Stratford, is this use of * old ' still
kept up by the lower classes. [This intensive use of < old * is not confined to any
locality, nor is it out of date. In Shi^kespeare, the Concordance will supply many
instances of its use. — Ed.]
93. mightilie abusde] Who can forget Lear's, <Fair daylight? I am mightily
abused'?
96. in thy Up] Brae (p. 147) : This impossible abomination is still suffered to
disgrace Shakespeare's text! Unquestionably it is a misprint; read: *die on thy
lip,^ [Brae forgot what Hamlet says to Ophelia before the Dumb-show enters. — Ed. ]
98. Vncles] Marshall : That is to Leonato and Anthony. Benedick would be
very likely to know that the two brothers were together. At any rate that fact was
present in the dramatist's mind, and would account for his writing 'nudes' instead
of uncle. [It is somewhat rash to claim a knowledge under any circumstances of
what was in Shakespeare's mind; most especially when that knowledge can be
derived solely from a printed page which Shakespeare never saw. Ursula had said •
'come to your Uncle.' — Ed.]
18
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2/4 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act y. sc. iii.
\Scene IIL\
Enter Claudia ^ Prince ^and three or four e with Tapers.
Clou. Is this the monument of Leonato ?
Lard. It is my Lord. Epitaph.
Done to death by Jlanderous tongues ^
Was the Hero that here lies : 5
Death in guerdon of her wrongs j
dues her fame which neuer dies :
So the life that dyed withfhamey
Liues in death with glorious fame.
Hang thou there vpon the tombe^ 10
Praifing her when I am dombe.
Clau. Now mufick found & fing your folemn hymne
Song.
Pardon goddejfe of the nighty 14
Scene VIII. Pope, + . Scene III. 4. Done] Claud, [reading out of a
Cap. et seq. Scrowl] Done Cap.
A Church. Pope. A Church. A flanderous] Jiauderom Q.
Stately Monument in the Front. Cap. by] ttnik Cap. (corrected in Er-
I. Enter...] Enter Don Pedro, Qaud., rata).
and Attendants with Tapers. Rowe. En- 10-12. Hzxig,,. kymnel Given to
ter, with Attendants, and Music,... Cap. Claudio, with direction [affixing it]
3. Lord.] Atten. Rowe et seq. Cap. Given to Claudio, Var. Ran.
Epitaph.] Om. Cap. Claudio Mai. Sta. Dyce ii, iii. Cam.
reads. Var. '73. 11. domhe"] dead Q^. dumb F^.
3. Epitaph] Capell's arrangement, whereby Claudio reads this Epitaph < from a
scrowl,' has been followed by all editors. It is probably, in all respects, correct,
except in giving lines 10 and 1 1 : * Hang thou there,' etc. to Claudio while he is
affixing the scroll. There seems to be no ' most excellent reason ' why these lines
should not be also a part of the Epitaph ; they will then be an abiding prcx)f to Leo-
nato and to the world that Qaudio had himself fulfilled his promise. Why should
Claudio in his own person speak two lines of rhyme, when immediately afterward he
speaks in prose? I cannot but think that these lines are a part of the Epitaph. — Ed.
4. Done to death] Steevens : To * do to death ' is merely an old translation of
the French phrase — Faire mourir,
6. guerdon] That is, reward, remuneration.
8. with shame] W. A. Wright : Shame was the cause, not the accompaniment
of Hero's death. For * with' equivalent to by^ see II, i, 58.
13. Song.] Cafell (p. 135) : The Song's different measures denote intention
of difference in the music it was to go to : perform' d in a church, it's first part was
(probably) design' d a sort of church-chanting ; the rest, a full air of the utmost
solemnity, which it has in it's very words ; a solemnity destroy' d in the Oxford copy
{Hanmer's], by turning all it's dactyls to trochees through means of such ridiculous
botchings as are frequent in that edition.
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ACT V. sc. iii.} MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 275
Tkofe ihatjlew thy virgin knight^ 1 5
For the which with fangs of woe ^
Round about her tombe they goe :
Midnightafjiflourinonejhelpevstofighandgrone.
Heauily yheauily.
Graues yawne and yeelde your dead^ 20
TiU death be vttered^
15. thy virgin] the virgin Rowe, 18. vs to] us thou to Han.
Pope. 20. yawne] oh^ yawn Han.
knight] bHghtOoW. MS. 21. Till] £/if/(/Han.
17. they goe] we go Coll. MS. death] songs of death Steev. conj.
18. Midnight ... grone] Two lines vttered] interred Herr. con-
FjF^ Rowe et seq. quered Gould.
affift] thou assist Han.
15. virgin knight] Johnson : Helena, in All^s IVeli uses ' knight ' in the same
signification : ' Dian no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised,
without rescue/ etc. I, iii, 119. Steevens erroneously supposed that there is here
a reference to those knights who had as yet achieved no adventure, and were there-
fore called 'virgin knights.' * Hero,' he said, < had as yet achieved no matrimonial
one.' Dr Johnson's quotation from All^s Well together with the following from The
Tkoo Noble Kinsmen^ quoted by M ALONE: 'O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant
queen, . . . who to thy female knights Allow' st no more blood,' etc. V, i, 126. — ^is
dl sufficient. DvcE calls attention to the ihyming of night and knight in Merry
Wives, II, i, 14, 15.
21. Till . . . vttered] Boswell: That is, 'till death be spoken of.' — Knight:
To 'utter' is here to put out, — to expel. Death is expelled heavenly, — ^by the
power of heaven. The passage has evidently reference to the sublime verse of
Corinthians. — CoLUER : The meaning is obscure ; the verb ' uttered' is perhaps to
be taken as meaning /««/ forth, puf out, or fmt away, and then the sense may be :
until death be destroyed. — Halliwell : The slayers of the virgin knight are per-
forming a solemn requiem on the body of Hero, and they invoke Midnight and the
shades of the dead to assist, until her death be uttered, that is proclaimed, published,
or commemorated, sorrowfully, sorrowfully. 'To utter, to put foorth, to publish,
or set abroade.'— Baret, 1580.— R. G. White (ed. i) : That is, death is to be
expelled, outer-ed, by the power of Heaven. [Second Edition] : An obscure allusion
to the resurrection. — Walker ( Crit, iii, 34) : With regard to the words, ' Graves,
yawn,' etc., I know not why we should consider them as anything more than an
invocation, — after the usual manner of funeral dirges in that age, in which mourners
of some description or other are summoned to the funeral, — a call, I say, upon the
surrounding dead to come forth from their graves, as auditors or sharers in the
solemn lamentation. Uttered, expressed, commemorated in song. Compare the
dirge in Beaumont and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, IV, iv, 'Come,
you whose loves are dead,' etc. [p. 208, ed. Dyce] ; the ' Threnos ' which concludes
Shakespeare's verses at the end of \^The Phoenix and the Turtle"] ; also, I think,
that in the play of Fuimus Troes, III, vii, Dodsley, vii, p. 424 ; and the summoning
together of the birds in Skelton's Philip Sparrow [p. 63, ed. Dyce]. The expla-
nation of ' uttered,' as signifying ousted, is one of the many unfortunate exhibitions
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276 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. iii.
Heauenly jkeauetdy. 22
(this right.
Z^.Now vnto thy bones good night, yeerely will I do 24
22. Heauenly, heauenly.] Ff, Rowe, 24. Lo.] Le. F^F^. Claud. Rowe et
Pope, Knt, Wh. i, Sta. Heauily, seq.
heauily. Q, Theob. et cet Two lines, Rowe ii ct seq.
23. right'\ rite Pope, et seq.
of halMeaming to which our poet has given occasion. — Rev. John Hunter : That
is, let these words be attered in a heavenly spirit antil death, that is, so long as I
live. Claudio presently says, * Yearly will I do this rite.* Schmidt (Z/x.) That
is, the cry 'Graves, yawn,' etc. shall be raised till death. — W. A. Wright: Mid-
night and the grave are appealed to not to join in any song commemorating Death
but to assist Claudio in giving expression to his remorse and sorrow, which in exag-
gerated language he indicates would continue till there should be no more death.
Although, therefore, Sidney Walker speaks rather contemptuously of those who
take < uttered ' as signifying * ousted,' it appears to me to give a better meaning to
the passage than his own explanation, which misses the point [I confess that
Walker's paraphrase : 'Till death is expressed, commemorated in song* conveys no
meaning to me here. The song is short, it could have taken hardly more than a
minute or two to sing it, and if the dead are to arise from their graves, come forth
to hear it, and then go back again when it is over, the question may well be raised
whether or not it were quite worth the trouble. There is, moreover, no point in any
commemoration by Claudio of death in the abstract ; it was his very present moan for
the dead Hero to which he summoned midnighi for help to sigh and groan. He was
not present to bewail death in general, but to express a grief for Hero which was to
outlast mortality. Of Walker's long note there is but one sentence that is really ger-
mane to the meaning of ' uttered ;' all the rest is devoted to proving that which no
one misunderstands, namely, that the presence of Midnight and the Dead is invoked.
And it is in this general sunmions to be present, that the point lies of his references,
which could be doubtless multiplied. Joshua Sylvester was extremely fond of this
cheerful species of composition, and an examination of his Poems might prove fruitful.
In view, therefore, of what seems to me to be the meaning of the whole stanza, I
cannot but agree with those critics who believe that * Till death be uttered * means :
till death be overcome, vanquished to the utterance. — Ed.]
22. Heauenly, heauenly] Dyce {Remarks, P- 35) • A. speech of Hamlet, II,
ii, 290, stands thus in the Folio : < and indeed it goes so heauenly with my disposi-
tion,* etc. Now, in [the present passage] * Heauenly ' is as certainly a misprint
for 'Heavily' as it is in [Hamlet]. [It is hardly worth while to perpetuate the
earnest plea in favour of * Heavenly,' urged by R. G. White in his First Edition,
because it was withdrawn in his Second.] Walker (Crit, iii, 33) 'Heavenly* is
a most absurd error, generated (ut saepe) by the corruption of an uncommon word
to a common one. So in Peele, King Edward /., Dyce, 2nd ed., vol. i, p. 173, —
* Sweet lady, abate not thy looks so heavenly to the earth,' — ^we should read heavily;
and also abase for abate. [Among modem editors. Knight and Staunton are the
only ones who adhere to the Folio, — mistakenly, I think. — Ed.]
24. Lo.Now, etc.] It is hardly worth while to call attention to the obvious error
of giving this speech, which so clearly belongs to Claudio, to one of the Lords in
waiting.
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ACT V. sc. iii.J MUCH ADOE ABOVT NOTHING
277
Prin. Good morrow maflers, put your Torches out, 25
The wolues haue preied,and looke,the gentle day
Before the wheeles of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowfie Eaft with fpots of grey :
Thanks to you all, and leaue vs,fare you well.
Clau. Good morrow mafters, each his feuerall way. 30
Prin. Come let vs hence, and put on other weedes.
And then to Leonatoes we will goe.
Clau. And Hymen now with luckier iflue fpeeds, 33
26. preied^ QF,^ preyed'?^, preyed
F^ Rowe et seq.
31. weedes\weedeQx^,Vi%, ap. Cam.
Marshall.
33. fpeeds\ Q, Pope, Var. '21, Knt,
Coll. Wh. i, Sta. /peed Ff, Rowe.
speed's Thirlby, Theob. Han. Warb.
Johns. Var. Ran. Mai. Steev. Dyce,
Cam. Wh. ii. speed! C^.
26-28. gentle day . . . grey] Compare Rom, ^ Jul, II, iii, i : 'The grey-eyed
mom smiles on the frowning night. Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of
light ; And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth dajr's path and Titan's
fiery wheels.'
28. grey] Dyce ( Gloss, ) defines this colour as ' blue, azure ' ; when applied to the
sky, or to the eyes. In the passage now before us, however, the question of colour is
really a matter of indifference : a blue sky may be dappled with spots of grey, or a
grey sky may be dappled with spots of blue. That < grey,' when not applied to the
eyes or sky, does not mean blue, we are perfectly sure when Leonato, in V, I, 73,
refers to his • grey hairs.' — Ed.
30. his seuerall way] Collier (ed. ii) : This is the only line that here does not
rhyme. We feel confident that the emendation in the MS, viz. : ' each his way can
tell,' was what the poet wrote, and what the old actor of Claudio repeated. It pre-
serves the meaning, the measure, and the jingle, making a six-line stanza conclude
with its couplet. [Collier adopted the emendation in his text It would have been
more correct to say that the preceding line was the only one that does not rhyme ; in
the present line, ' each his several way * rhymes with * day ' and ' grey ' ; I do not
think it was so intended, but it so happens. It was hardly appropriate to put into
rhyme either the Prince's * fare you well ' or Qaudio's * good morrow.' — Ed.]
33. speeds] Thirlby : Claudio could not know, without being a prophet, that
this new proposed match could have any luckier event than that designed with Hero.
Certainly, therefore, this should be a wish in Claudio ; and, to this end, the poet
might have wrote speed* Sy i. e. speed us; and so it becomes a prayer to heaven. —
Malone : The contraction proposed is so extremely harsh, that I cannot believe it
was intended by the author. — Capell (p. 135) : Men are often prophets in hope ;
and instead of addressing < Hymen ' to speed him (prosper him) in the match that
was coming, Claudio' s warmth of youth might suggest to him, — that there was a
Hymen (a match) speeding towards him, of ' luckier issue than this (this late Hymen)
for whom we render up this woe.' — Dyce (ed. ii) : Unless we change 'weeds' to
weed and * speeds ' to speed, there seems to be no other course than to follow the
advice of Thirlby. In reference to Malone' s objection to the contraction, compare
* Therefore ids seemeth it a needful course,' etc. — Lov^s Lab. L, II, i. 25. [Capell
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278 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act y. sc. iv.
Then this for whom we rendred vp this woe. Exeunt. 34
{Scene IK]
Enter LeonatOyBene. Marg. Vrfula^ old many Frier yHero.
Frier. Did I not tell you (he was innocent ?
1^0. So are the Prince and Clandio who accus'd her,
Vpon the errour that you heard debated :
But Margaret was in fome fault for this, 5
Although againft her will as it appeares,
In the true courfe of all the queftion.
Old. Well, I am glad that all things fort fo well.
Bene. And fo am I, being elfe by faith enforcM
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 10
Leo. Well daughter, and you gentlewomen all,
Withdraw into a chamber by your felues.
And when I fend for you, come hither masked :
The Prince and Claudio promisM by this howre
To vifit me, you know your office Brother, 15
54. Th^n this] Than hers Marshall Han. wiil^,.,appears^ Theob. Waib.
conj. Johns. zc;t/f,...<z^arr Cap. et cet
for whom] for which Han. 8. etc. Old.] Ant Rowe.
Scene IX. Pope,+. Scene IV. fort] forts <^,
Cap. et seq li. you] Q. yong'?^ young T^^,
Leonato*s House. Pope. Rowe et seq.
1. Marg.] Om. Steev. Var. Knt, Coll. 13. tnasied] masked Q.
Sta. 15. «»^, you] me; you F^, Rowe et
old man,] Antonio, Rowe. seq. (subs.)
6. will. . . appeares,] QFf, Rowe, Pope,
\A right, I think, in supposing that * Hymen' may mean a marriage or match, and right
also, in his paraphrase, except that *■ Than this ' means, and, in fact, really is ' llian
in this,* where the in is absorbed in the final n of *Than * ; * Than' this.* * A mar-
riage,' he says in effect, < is now speeding toward me luckier in its issue than it was
in this for (here his thoughts turn to Hero herself, and he says) whom we,* etc.
—Ed.]
I. Marg.] Dyce : Some of the modem editors (more unforgiving than Leonato)
exclude Margaret from the present assembly, though the old copies mark both her
entrance here and at her re-entrance afterwards with the other ladies. (In what is
said of her at the commencement of the scene there is nothing which would lead us
to suppose that the poet intended her to be absent. )
4. Vpon] See II, iii, 202.
8. things sort so well] As far as the ear is concerned, it is indifferent whether or
not these words are printed : < thing sorts so well.* It is probably due to the ear that
the Qto prints sorts. For ' sort,' see IV, i, 249.
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ACT V, sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 279
You muft be father to your brothers daughter, 16
And giue her to young Claudia, Exeunt Ladies.
Old. Which I will doe Avith confirm'd countenance.
Bene. Frier, I muft intreat your paines,! thinke.
Frier. To doe what Signior ? 20
Bene. To binde me, or vndoe me, one of them:
Signior Leonato ytruth. it is good Signior,
Your neece regards me Avith an eye of fauour.
Leo. That eye my daughter lent her, 'tis moft true.
Bene. And I doe with an eye of loue requite her. 25
Leo. The fight whereof I thinke you had from me,
From Claudioy and the Prince jhut what's your will ?
Bened. Your anfwer fir is Enigmaticall,
But for my will, my will is, your good will
May ftand with ours, this day to be conioyn'd, 30
In the ftate of honourable marriage.
In which (good Frier) I (hall defire your helpe.
I^on. My heart is with your liking.
Frier. And my helpe.
* Heere comes the Prince and Claudio.* 35
Enter Prince and Claudio^ with attendants.
Prin. Good morrow to this faire aflembly.
Leo. Good morrow Prince ^ good morrow Claudio :
We heere attend you, are you yet determined.
To day to marry with my brothers daughter ? 40
Claud. He hold my minde were (he an Ethiope.
Leo. Call her forth brother, heres the Frier ready.
FHn. Good morrow Benedike^ why what's the matter? 43
17. Exeunt...] After line 18, Cap. helpe. Heere comes the Prince and
After line 15, Dyce. After line 13, Cam. Claudio, Q, Cap. et seq.
24. Leo.] Q. Old. Ff. Ant. Rowe, 36. Scene X. Pope, + .
Pope. with attendants] and two or three
31. In /he"] Pth Ff, Rowe, + , other. Q.
Walker. P the Cap. Dyce ii, iii. 39. you^ are you\ you; are you F^
Jtate'\ estate Var. '73, '78, '85, Rowe et seq. (subs.)
Mai. Var. Knt, Sta. 42. [Exit Antonio. Theob.
32. (good Frier)^ good Y^^, 43. Prin.] P. Q.
34. my helpe.'] Ff, Rowe, + . my Benedike] Bened. Q.
18. confirm 'd] That is, unmoved.
34. This line was omitted, evidently by accident, in the Folio.
43-45. why . . . clowdinesse] Lady Martin (p. 324) : Although well pleased
that he is no longer required to call his old friend to account. Benedick takes care to
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280 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. iv.
That you haue fuch a Februarie face,
So full of froft, of ftorme,and clowdineffe. 45
Claud. I thinke he thinkes vpon the fauage bull :
Tulh, feare not man, wee'U tip thy homes with gold,
And all Europa (hall reioyce at thee.
As once Europa did at lufty loue^
When he would play the noble beaft in loue. 50
Ben. Bull loue fir, had an amiable low.
And fome fuch ftrange bull leapt your fathers Cow,
A got a Calfe in that fame noble feat,
Much Hke to you, for you haue iuft his bleat.
Enter brother ^Hero^ Beatrice^ Margaret ^ Vrfula. 5 5
Cla. For this I owe you: here comes other recknings.
47. thy Aifmes] the horns Rowe ii. 55. Enter brother...] Enter... Rowe,
48. all Europa] fo all Europe F^¥^, Pope. Enter Antonio... mask' d. Theob.
Rowe, + , Var. '73. Re-enter Antonio... Cap. (after line 55).
53. A gof] F,. And got QF,F^, S^- (t^mes] QFf, Cap. Cam. Rife, Wh.
Rowe et seq. ii. come Rowe et cet.
54. Scene XI. Pope, + .
show, by his coldness and reserve; that he considers their behaviour to have been
unjustifiable, even had the story been true which Don John had beguiled them into
believing. When the Prince rallies him about his ' February face,' he makes no
rejoinder. But when Claudio, with infinite bad taste, at a moment when his mind
should have been full of the gravest thoughts, attacks him in the same spirit. Bene-
dick turns upon him with caustic severity. The entrance of Hero, with her ladies,
masked, arrests what might have grown into hot words.
46. bull] See I, i, 253.
48. aU Europa] Steevsns : I have no doubt that our author wrote : ' And all
our Europe^* etc. — Dyce : Steevens was perhaps not aware of the earlier alteration,
' And so all Europe.' [Dyce was perhaps not aware that the reading < And so all
Europe ' had appeared in the text of an edition bearing, on its title page, the names
Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. — Ed.]
53. same] Staunton notes that this is some in the First Folio. It is not so
recorded in the Cambridge Edition ; it is ' same ' in Booth's Reprint; in Staun-
ton's own Photolithograph, and in my copy of the First Folio ; but it is some in
Vemor and Hood's Reprint ^ 1807; it is not marked as a typographical error in
Upcott's MS list, now before me, of the misprints in this last edition ; it is there-
fore possible that it might have been some in the original copy which Upcott collated,
as well as in the copy from which Staunton quoted. — Ed.
56. recknings] See above, in line 10. Claudio' s conduct when he cast Hero off
before the altar is hardly less repulsive than his present flippancy. I cannot believe
that this is pure Shakespeare. The very phrase ' seize upon,' although not as em-
phatic as in modem use, and signifies merely to take in possession, by no means
befits the occasion, — a criticism which would not be expressed, if I thought that
Shakespeare had written the phrase. — Ed.
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ACT V. sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 281
Which is the Lady I muft feize vpon ? 57
Leo. This fame is (he, and I doe giue you her.
Cla. Why then (he's mine, fweet let me fee your face.
Leon. No that you (hal not, till you take her hand, 60
Before this Frier, and fweare to marry her.
Clcai. Giue me your hand before this holy Frier,
I am your husband if you like of me.
Hero. And when I liuM I was your other wife.
And when you louM, you were my other husband. 65
Clau. Another Hero f
Hero. Nothing certainer.
One Hero died, but I doe liue, 68
S8. Leo.] QFf, Rowe, Pope, Han. before,,,Friar;'&oyrt^(xX,
Coll. Wh. i. Anto. Theob. et cet 64. [unmasking. Rowe.
60. Leon.] Ant. Hal. 68. died'^ Ff, Rowe, Pbpe. died be-
62. hand before. ..Frier,"] hand; be- lied CoU. ii (MS), dud reml'd Coll.
fore...Frary Pope, + , Cam. Rife, hand iii. died defilde Q, Theob. et cet
58. Leo.] Theobald (Nichols, Illust. ii, 304) ; It is evident that this must be
spoken by Antonio ; see lines 15-^7. — Collier : Though Antonio was formally to give
away the lady at the altar, as her pretended father, Leonato may very properly inter-
pose this observation ; it is the more probably his from what follows, and there is no
sufficient reason for altering the arrangement of the Qto and Folios. — R. G. White
(ed. i) : Since Leonato had already, in the first Scene of this Act, offered and prom-
ised the hand of his pretended niece to Claudio, there can be surely nothing improper
in his giving it to him. [In his Second Edition, White gives the speech to Antonio.]
— Dyce (ed. ii, replying to Collier) : But the line must be characterised as some-
thing more than an 'observation'; nor does the ceremony at the altar y^rm any
portion of the play.
03. if you like of me] For other examples of ' like ' followed by < of,' see
Abbott, § 177.
&4, etc. Lady Martin (p. 325) : Hero accepts Claudio with a ready forgiveness,
which, I feel very sure, Beatrice's self-respect, under similar circumstances, would
not have permitted her to grant Such treatment as Claudio' s would have chilled all
love within her. She would never have trusted as her husband the man who had
allowed himself to be so easily deceived, and who had openly shamed her before the
world. Hero, altogether a feebler nature, neither looks so far into the future, nor
feels so intensely what has happened in the past
67. certainer] For examples of other comparative inflections in -er when the
positive ends in -ing, -ed, -idy -ain, -st, and -ect, see Abbott, § 7.
68. died,] Coluer (ed. ii) : There can be < nothing certainer' than that the
word defiPdy in the Qto [see Text Notes] must be wrong. To make Hero say that
she had died defiled, is to make her admit her own guilt ; she maintains that she had
died guiltless ; and the word found in the MS [belied] has occurred several times in
this comedy, and is precisely that which Hero would have used, and which might
easily have been misheard and misprinted. It seems as dear that belied is the true
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282 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. iv.
And furely as I liue, I am a maid.
Prin. The former HerOy Hero that is dead. 70
Leon. Shee died my Lord, but whiles her flander liu*d.
Frier. All this amazement can I qualifie,
When after that the holy rites are ended.
He tell you largely of faire Heroes death :
Meane time let wonder feeme familiar, 75
And to the chappell let vs prefently.
Ben. Soft and faire Frier, which is Beatrice'^ 77
70. Hero, ... <//«</.] Hero! .,, dead! 74. you] thee F^F^, Rowe, Pope,
Pope et scq. Theob. Warb. Johns.
word, as that defiVd is the very word, of all others, Hero would not have employed.
The printer of the Folio, seeing that defiVd mast be wrong, and, not knowing what
was right, cast it out. — Dyce (Strictures^ P- 53) ^ The truth <A the matter, I have
no doubt, is this : the printer of the Folio (a most careless printer) omitted the word
defiled by a mere oversight ; it was omitted in the Second Folio also; and [Collier's
MS], aware that a word was wanting, and not possessing the Qto, inserted ' belied '
from conjecture. According to Mr Collier, * to make Hero say that she had died
defiPd^ is to make her admit her own guilt,' — a most forced objection to the reading
of the Qto ; for Hero knows that not only Claudio whom she is addressing, but the
whole party present, are now perfectly convinced of her innocence. — Halliwell :
The term defiled is evidently placed intentionally in opposition with maid in the next
line. Nothing, she observes, is more certain than that I am another Hero ; for one
Hero died, and died defiled; but I live, and, surely, as I live, I am a maid. The
verb defile was formerly expressly applied to the violation of chastity. < VioU^ cor-
rupted, defiled, deflowred.* — Cotgrave. [R. G. White has a note to the same eflfect,
which Dyce quotes with approval.] — Dycb (ed. ii) : The word belied \^ objection-
able because it makes the gentle Hero indirectly reproach the repentant Claudio, —
Collier (ed. iii) : The MS has belied which is much preferable to 'defil'd,' but
still on some accounts objectionable ; our word is reviVd^ which, we think, must be
welcomed by everybody. Hero had been unjustly rezdPd at the time of her supposed
death, and so she here asserts. [I am by no means certain that the omission of
defird'is a defect in the Folio ; albeit Walker says that lines of eight syllables are
un-Shakespearian. The few words in the next line are an adequate reference to
the past And as for the metre, — ^let the line be supposed to be broken by emotion
into two short lines of four syllables each ; the eye, and, possibly, Walker, will be
satisfied, while the ear has never been disturbed. — Ed.]
72. qualifie] That is, moderate, soften, abate.
73. after that] For other examples of * that ' as a conjunctional affix, see ABBOTT,
§287.
75. familiar] That is, of every day occurrence.
77. which is Beatrice ?] Lady Martin (p. 325) : Beatrice, to tease Benedick,
has been holding back among the other ladies, when he expects that she would be
ready to go with him to the altar ; and when at last, fairly puzzled, he asks ' Which
is Beatrice ?' and she unmasks, with the words, ' What is your will ?' he inquires,
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ACT V. SC. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 283
Beau I anfwer to that name, what is your will ? 78
Bene, Doe not you loue me ?
BeaU Why no, no more then reafon. 80
Bene. Why then your Vncle,and the Prince, & Clou-
dioy haue beene deceiued, they fwore you did.
BeaL Doe not you loue mee ?
Bene, Troth no, no more then reafon.
Beat. Why then my Cofin Margaret and Vrfula 85
Are much deceiu'd,for they did fweare you did.
Bene. They fwore you were almoft ficke for me.
BecU. They fwore you were wel-nye dead for me.
Bene. ^Tis no matter, then you doe not loue me?
Beat. No truly, but in friendly recompence. 90
Lean. Come Cofin, I am fure you loue the gentlemS.
78. Beat] Beat [unmasking] Cap. 84- Troth no,'\ Troth^ no; Han. No
et seq. Steev. Var. '03, '13.
80. Why nOy'\ Why, F,F^ Rowe i. 85. Cofin] cousin, Rowe.
No Steev. Var. '03, '13. 86. Are much] Have been Theob.
82. hauc.did] One line of verse, Warb. Johns.
Q, Rowe ii, Han. Cap. et seq. 87, 88. fwore you] /wore that you Q,
hitue beene deceiued] Have greatly Cap. et. seq.
been deceiv'd Wagner conj. 89. ' Tis] It is Coll. MS.
they fwore] for they did fwear no matter] no fuch matter Q,
Han. /ir /Ap>^«cw^ Cap. Coll. ii (MS), Cap. et seq.
Dyce, Wh. i, Ktly, Huds. they all me?] me, Q.
swore Coll. iii. 91. Leon.] Hero. Cap. Ran.
with an air (^ surprise, ' Do you not love me ?' What follows gives us once more the
bright, joyous, brilliant Beatrice of the early scenes.
78, etc. Capell (p. 136) : What passes between these wits was never read by the
editor [f. e, Capell himself] without exciting ideas of the famous ode between Horace
and Lydia [the immortal Ninth of the Third Book. — Ed.] ; Beatrice rises there upon
him, as the other does upon Her spark.
82. they swore] R. G. White (ed. i) : There can hardly be a doubt that Han-
mer's insertion ^Afor was proper, especially as < deceived,' which is contracted in the
corresponding line below, is not contracted in this, thereby rendering one syllable
necessary to the ihythm. — Dyce: Even with the addition oi for, I do not believe
that we have the line as it came from Shakespeare's pen ; the probability is, that he
wrote (what Hanmer printed) : ' Have been deceiv'd ; for they did swear you did ;'
which corresponds with what presently follows, < Are much deceiv'd ; for they did
swear you did.'
89. no matter] See I, i, 186. The Qto gives the true text, both in sense and
rh3rthm.
90. friendly recompence] Dkighton : Such a return as one friend might make
to another.
91. Cosin] Halliwkll: * Cousin' was frequently applied to several kinds of
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284 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. iv.
Clau. And He be fwome vpon^t, that he loues her, 92
For heres a paper written in his hand,
A halting fonnet of his owne pure braine,
Falhioned to Beatrice. 95
Hero. And heeres another.
Writ in my cofins hand, ftolne from her pocket.
Containing her affeftion vnto Benedicke.
Bene. A miracle, here's our owne hands againft our
hearts : come I will haue thee, but by this light I take 100
thee for pittie.
Beat. I would not denie you, but by this good day, I
yeeld vpon great perfwafion, & partly to faue your life,
for I was told, you were in a confumption.
Leon. Peace I will flop your mouth. 105
95. Fa/hi0ned'\ Fashion' d Rowc ct 104. I'wastold'\ as I told F^F^. as
seq. / was told Rowe, + .
99. our otvfU] our Rowe i. 105. Leon.] Bene. Theob. et seq.
102. Iwould'\ IftnU Mason, Ran. (except Coll. i).
not] yet Thtoh, nowKBiLOm, [Kissing her. Theob. et seq.
Gould. (except Coll. i).
relationship. Thas Leonato, in I, ii, 2, expressly calls his nephew 'cousin.'
[Capell, on account of this word, 'cousin/ gives the speech to Hero. — Ed.]
102. I . . . you] Theobald: Is not this strange mock-reasoning in Beatrice?
She would not deny him, but that she yields upon great persuasion. By changing
the negative [into yef] I make no doubt but I have retrieved the Poet's humour. —
Heath (p. 1 10) : This expression is the exact counterpart to that of Benedick just
preceding, ' Come, I will have thee ' ; which establishes the truth of the original text
— M. Mason (p. 55) : Theobald's objection to the passage is just, though his
amendment is not ; — ^there is no reasoning in it as it stands ; it appears to me that
we should read, ' I taill not deny you,' etc. ; which agrees with Benedick's manner
of accepting her, 'I vnll have you.' — Halliwell : Beatrice tells Benedick she
does not refuse him, but nevertheless takes him only ' upon great persuasion.' The
will is there ; the speech is merely the bashfulness of words. [Heath and Halliwell
adequately explain the meaning. — Ed.]
104. consumption] Bucknill (p. 117) : This is the only place where Shake-
speare uses this word apparently in its modem sense. Timon's use of it, 'Con-
sumptions sow in hollow bones of men,' is less appropriate, and Lear's ' Consump-
tion catch thee!' is less definite. Beatrice, it appears, thought 'consumption'
curable. FalstafT, however, speaks of a consumption of the purse as an incurable,
though lingering, disease.
105. Leon.] Theobald : The ingenious Dr Thirlby agreed with me, that this
ought to be given to Benedick, who, upon saying it, kisses Beatrice ; and this being
done before the whole company, how natural is the reply which the Prince makes
upon it ? — ' How dost thou, Benedick, the married man ?' Besides, this mode of
speech, preparatory to a salute, is familiar to our Poet in common with other stage-
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ACT V. sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 285
Prin. How doft thou Benedicke the married man ? 106
Bene. He tell thee what Prince : a CoUedge of Avitte-
crackers cannot flout mee out of my humour, doft thou
think I care for a S^tyre or an Epigram ? no, if a man will
be beaten with braines, a (hall weare nothing handfome i lO
about him : in briefe, fmce I do purpofe to marry, I will
thinke nothing to any purpofe that the world can fay a-
gainft it, and therefore neuer flout at me, for I haue faid
againft it :for man is a giddy thing, and this is my con-
clufion : for thy part Claudio^ I did thinke to haue beaten 115
thee, but in that thou art like to be my kinfman,liue vn-
bruis'd, and loue my coufm.
Cla. I had well hop'd y wouldft haue denied Beatrice ^^
I might haue cudgel'd thee out of thy fingle life, to make 1 19
107, 108. rvitte-crackers] witty-crack- he shall Rowe et cet
ers FjF^, Rowe i. Toitt-crackers Rowe ill. purpofe\ propose Rowe ii, Var.
ii. Pope, wit-crackers Theob. '03, '13, *2I, Dycc i.
idS. humour, doJT^ humour; doft ii^. jfor l\ for what I QF^^Koyr^
F^, Rowe. et seq.
no. aJhaU\ QFf, Coll. Cam. Ktly.
writers. Sec Beatrice's speech to Hero, II, i, 296. Compare Tro, &* Cress., Ill,
ii, 141, where Cressida says 'stop my mouth,' and afterward 'pardon me; 'Twas
not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss.' Again, in Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful
Lady, III, ii, [p. 66, ed. Dyce,] where the Widow says, ' But I shall blush to say
more ' and the Elder Loveless tells the Younger Lx>veless, ' Stop her mouth,' where-
upon the Younger Loveless kisses her. Again, in Webster's Dutchess of Malfi,
III, ii [p. 231, ed. Dyce] the Dutchess says to Antonio, 'I'll stop your mouth,'
and Antonio replies, 'Nay, that's but one ; Venus had two soft doves To draw her
chariot; I must have another.' Coluer, in his First Edition, retained 'Leon.'
and urged that there was no warrant in any old stage-direction to make Benedick
kiss Beatrice. In his Second Edition he yields to his MS and changes ' Leon.' to
'Bene.' Dyce (Remarks, p. 35) disputes the comment in Collier's First Edition
and asks, ' why should Leonato wish to put Beatrice suddenly to silence ? She has
said nothing which concerns him;^ and then quotes from Tro, &* Cress., and from
The Scornful Lady the same passages quoted by Theobald.
1 10. wear nothing handsome] Deigkton : That is, he will do well not to
put on a handsome dress, lest it should be spoilt. [If a man is to live in fear of an
epigram he will not dare to put on even a handsome suit of clothes, — ^how much
more, to marry a beautiful woman. — Et).]
111, 112. purpose] See 'almost,' V, i, 127.
113. for I haue] The Qto supplies the omission.
114. giddy] That is, inconstant, fickle.
114. this] That is, what precedes.
116. in that] For other examples where 'in that' is equivalent to ^^r^M^, see
Abbott, § 284.
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286 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v. sc. iv.
thee a double dealer, which out of queftio thou wilt be, 120
if my Coufin do not looke exceeding narrowly to thee.
Bene. Come, come, we are friends, let's haue a dance
ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts,
and our wiues heeles.
Leon. Wee'U haue dancing afterward. 125
Bene. Firft,of my word, therfore play mufidc/VrW^,
thou art fad, get thee a wife, get thee a wife, there is no
ftaff more reuerend then one tipt with horn. Enter. Mef. 128
120. thtm wUf^ thou will Y ^. 126. of my word^ ^ my word;
121. do not'] no not F^. Rowe ii, + , Cap. Var. Ran. Mai. Steev.
125. afterward] afterwards Ff, Var. Knt, Sta. Ktly.
Rowe, + , Var. Ran. Steev. Var. Knt, /&y] play^ Theob.
Sta. Ktly. 128. reuerend] reuerent Q.
120. double dealer] Staunton : To appreciate the equivoque, it must be under-
stood that double dealer was a term jocosely applied to any one notoriously unfaithful
in love or wedlock.
X20. thou wilt be] It needed but this last innuendo, drawn from the promptings
of his own nature, to complete the unpleasant character of Claudio. — ^Ed.
121. do not] Two of my three copies of F^ here read clearly * no not ;' the third
copy has an imperfect d in place of the n in ' no,' but I cannot be sure that the
suspicious looking d is not the work of some officious reader, although I can find no
traces whatever of his pen elsewhere. It would not be at all worth noting, were it
not proper constantly to keep in mind the frequent variations in copies of the same
edition, — a fact which restricts all collation to that of particular Folios. — ^£d.
126. of my yvord] See III, v, 23.
127. 128. there is . . . horn] Walker (Crit, iii, 35) : One would almost sus-
pect that < there is ' was a corruption, and that Shakespeare intended a gnomic line,
— 'No staff more rev* rend than one tipt with horn.'
128. tipt with horn] Steevens, M alone, and Reed all believed that the ref-
erence here is to the ancient trial by wager of battel^ where the staves of the com-
batants are 'tipt with home' or ' homed at each ende.' But Douce (i, 176) very
properly criticised this reference on the score that such staves * seem to have but
small claim to be intitled reverend. On the contrary,' he continues, ' as the com-
batants were of the meaner class of people, who were not allowed to make use of
edged weapons, the higher ranks usually deciding the business by hired champions,
it cannot well be maintained that much, if any, reverence belongs to such a staff.
It is possible, therefore, that Shakespeare, whose allusions to archery are frequent,
might refer to the bow-staffj which was usually tipped with a piece of hom at each
end. ... It is equally possible that the walking-sticks or staves used by elderly
people might be intended, which were often headed or tipped with a cross piece of
homt or sometimes amber. They seemed to have been imitated from the crutched
sticks, or potences, as they were called, used by the friars, and by them borrowed
from the celebrated tau of Saint Anthony. Thus, in the Canterbury Tales, the
Sompnour describes one of his friars as having a ** scrippe and tipped staff," and he
adds that " His felaw had a staf tipped with hora." In these instances, the epi-
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ACT V. sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 287
Mejfen. My Lord, your brother lohn is tane in flight,
And brought with armed men back to Meffina. 130
Bene. Thinke not on him till to morrow, ile deuife
thee braue punifhments for him: ftrike vp Vvp^vs, Dance.
FINIS. 133
132. thee] the F^, Rowe i. 132. [Exeunt Omnes. Rowe.
JlriAe] Came strike Ktly.
thet "reverend'' is much more appropriate than in the others.' — Knight : Surely
the reverend staff is the old man's walking-stick. — Halliwell : The double mean-
ing is obvious, — the Prince, when he marries, as Benedick jocularly Implies, will be
tipped with horn, and no staff is more reverend than one so fashioned. The tipped
staff was one of the usual accompaniments of old age. Thus in the Overbury Char-
acters^ 1626, old men are said to * take a pride in halting and going stiffely, and
^ therefore their staves are carved and tipped.' The phrase 'tipped with horn' was
applied to any staff headed or tipped with a cross or projecting piece of horn. * I
typpe a thyng with home, je encome ; they beare lytell roddes typped with home
byfore the judges.' — Palsgrave, 1530. ... In a black-letter ballad on the Cries of
London, the chimney-sweeper is described with a < trusse of poles tipped all with
homs.' — Dyce (Gloss, s. v. staff) : Douce [in suggesting a reference to walking-
sticks] was the first who made an approach towards the trae interpretation of the
passage. — ^W. A. Wright: Becket's *rude pastoral staff of pearwood, with its
' crook of black hom,' was one of the relics shown to pilgrims at Canterbury (Stan-
ley, Historical Memorials of Canterbury, 4th ed., p. 225). — Rushton {Sh. as an
Archer, p. 57) : I think Shakespeare here uses a bowyer's phrase. When the homs
are fitted to the ends of the bow-stave they are said to be tipped. I once thought
that Shakespeare in this passage may refer to Cupid's bow stave. [Halliwell' s
quotations prove that merely a hom tip is no sufficient designation of a staff. Our
choice must be, therefore, determined by the amount of reverence with which a
hom-tipped staff may be regarded, and, unquestionably, it seems to me, only a staff
which accompanies old age can be, in general, regarded with reverence. It seems
somewhat premature to recommend such a staff to a young man in the prime of life ;
but Benedick's thoughts fly forward, in his present blissful mood, through many,
many years of happy married life, which he is sure to have. — Ed.]
132. Dance] This is the only play of Shakespeare thus ending with a * Dance,'
and I cannot but regret that the rule is here broken. Although the atmosphere
now is all gaiety and happiness, we cannot forget how heavily chaiged it was, only
a few hours before, with tragedy ; moreover, when we recall the style of Elizabethan
galliards, we can hardly contemplate with delight the picture of Benedick's lofty
capers or of Beatrice's inevitably red face. In Bandello's Novel from which Shake-
speare is supposed to have obtained the present plot, unusual festivities mark the
dose. May not these have supplied the motive of this Dance? — Ed.
133. Finis.] Steevens : In the conduct of the fable, there is an imperfection similar
to that which Dr Johnson has pointed out in The Merry Wives : — ^the second contriv-
ance is less ingenious than the first ; — or,, to speak more plainly, the same incident
is become stale by repetition. I wish some other method had been found to entrap
Beatrice than the very one which before had been successfully practised on Bene-
dick. [Contrary to his custom, Dr Johnson here, at the dose of the play, gives us
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288 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc. It.
[133. Finis.]
no didactic remarks on its general scope. I cannot but think that Steevens endeav-
oured to supply the omission in a style thoroughly Johnsonian, and chuckled to
himself over his success. The very first words : ' In the conduct of the fable/ are
Johnsonese to the letter. — Ed.] — Schlegel (ii, 166) : Some one, without any
great share of penetration, objected to the making twice use of the same artifice in
entrapping them ; — the drollery, however, lies in the very symmetry of the decep-
tion. — Anon. (Blackwood , April, 1833, p. 544) : A foolish wish [of Steevens.]
The success of the same contrivance with both parties is infinitely amusing, and as
natural as can be ; their characters are in much similar, their real sentiments towards
each other equally so, and their afiected scorn of wedlock ; and nothing could have
satisfied the schemers short of seeing the one after the other fall into the same trap.
The second contrivance is not less ingenious than the first; and as for the same
incident becoming stale by repetition, Mr Steevens might as well have said that a
kiss becomes stale by repetition. — Simpson (ii, 393) : The identity of effect [in
Faire Em] produced first upon Mounteney, and then upon Valingford, by the
feigned blindness and deafness of Em, in Scene vii, which raises in each, independ-
ently of the other, the same suspicions, and the same determination, has its exact
counterpart in Muck Ado^ where Benedick and Beatrice are imposed on by the same
device. ... It is interesting to observe how the repetition of similar situations was
one of Shakespeare's principles of art, to be used, not always, but in proper place
and time. The same remark applies tp the two enamoured men overhearing each
others soliloquies, in Scene iv, and thereby finding each other out, — an incident
similar to that in Lov^s Lab. Lost^ IV, iii. (The same thing occurs in Rickard
the Tkird.)
Mrs Jameson (i, 141) : On the whole, we dismiss Benedick and Beatrice to their
matrimonial bonds, rather with a sense of amusement, than a feeling of congratula-
tion or sympathy ; rather with an acknowledgement that they are well matched, and
worthy of each other, than with any well-founded expectation of their domestic tran-
quillity. If, as Benedick asserts, they are both < too wise to woo peaceably,' it may
be added, that both are too wise, too witty, and too wilful, to live peaceably together.
We have some misgivings about Beatrice, — some apprehensions, that poor Benedick
will not escape the * predestinate scratched face,' which he had foretold to him who
should win and wear this quick-witted and pleasant-spirited lady ; yet when we
recollect that to the wit and imperious temper of Beatrice is united a magnanimity
of spirit which would naturally place her far above all selfishness, and all paltry
struggles for power, — when we perceive in the midst of her sarcastic levity and volu-
bility of tongue, so much of generous affection, and such a high sense of female
virtue and honour, we are inclined to hope for the best. We think it possible that
though the gentleman may now and then swear, and the lady scold, the native good-
humour of the one, the really fine understanding of the other, and the value they so
evidently attach to each other's esteem, will ensure them a tolerable portion of
domestic felicity, — and in this hope, we leave them. — Anon. {Blackivood^ April,
1833, p. 545) : There is not the slightest doubt that Beatrice will make one of the
best wives in the world. Never will she sit with her arms folded, and her feet on
the fender, half asleep before the fire, nodding her head like a mawsey^ and ever and
anon threatening to break out into a snore. Never will Beatrice sit broad awake,
her elbow resting on a table misnamed of ' work,' her vacant eyes fixed, heaven
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ACT V, sc. iv.] MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING 289
[How dost thou Benedicke the married man ?]
knows not why, on yours, and her mouth that once you thought small, opening into
a yawn, first with a compressed whine, like that of a puppy-dog shut up accidentally
in a closet, and afraid fairly to bark, lest on being let out he be whipped to death,
and finally into a dismal and interminable sound, like 'The wolf's long howl from
Oonalaska's shore.' Never will Beatrice, after moping for days or weeks in the
hum-drums or the sulks, fall out of them into < outrageous spirits,' which usually
follow in that order, just as the whooping-cough crows from the fag-end of the
measles. From all such domestic diseases, from the soundness of her constitution,
we prophesy, — ^nay, promise Benedick immunity all his life long. She has had her
swing, — she has sown all her wild words, — and has none left even for a curtain-lec-
ture. Nay, — ^her voice will often be ' gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman,'
as on flaky feet she comes steathily behind her husband reading in his easy-chair,
(for he goes no more to the wars,) and lays on his shoulder her hand of light, or,
as she drops a kiss on his cheek, insinuates into his ear a wicked whisper. Then
what a mother ! She will whip the little Spartans nowhere but upstairs in the Attic
nursery, — and on no account or excuse whatever will permit a singlp squall. Bene-
dick shall not know that there is such a thing in the house as a child, yet there are
half-a-do2en, and the two last were twins. For nature in wedlock goes by contraries.
Your sly, your silent, inexpressive She, as sure as a gun, turns into a termagant ;
and Ranting Moll, the madcap, grows < still and patient as the blooding dove ere yet
her golden couplets are disclosed.' So will -it be with Beatrice. . . . So, Beatrice,
(good-by. Benedick,) heaven bless thee, — farewell. — ^Thomas Campbell (p. xlvi) :
Mrs Jameson concludes with hoping that Beatrice will live happy with Benedick ;
but I have no such hope ; and my final anticipation in reading the play is the cer-
tainty that Beatrice will provoke her Benedick to give her much and just conjugal
castigation. She is an odious woman. I once knew such a pair ; the lady was a
perfect Beatrice ; she railed hypocritically at wedlock before marriage, and wiUi bitter
sincerity after it She and her Benedick now live apart, but with entire reciprocity
of sentiments, each devoutly wishing that the other may soon pass into a better
world. — ^Fletcher (p. 279) : Shakespeare knew both mankind and womankind too
well, not to know how much more precious, to a man of lively intelligence, is the
tenderness of a woman who possesses vivacious intellect besides, than that of a
woman all tenderness. To such a pair, the < wooing peaceably,' in the sense in
which Benedick really uses the word, — that is, sentimentally, in the languishing
sense, — ^would have been mer^ wearisome insipidity. And for them to live together,
in the like sense, 'peaceably' after marriage would assuredly be more wearisome
still. Possessing each that warm, sound, and generous heart which we have seen
them so freely exhibit and exchange, this same sportive encounter of their wits which
must ever continue between them, is precisely the thing that will keep them in good
humour with each other.— C. Cowden-Clarkb (p. 316) : The union of two such
beings as Beatrice and Benedick, although an amiably fraudulent one, in which there
exists no more than a mutual esteem, offers an infinitely happier prospect to the
woman, than the cold-blooded, hard conduct of Claudio can ever promise to her
whom he so cruelly punished. — ^Weiss (p. 299) [< Taming my wild heart to thy
loving hand'] : So the keen swooping falcon settles at last composedly upon his
wrist ; love draws a hood over the bright, fearless eye, and claps the jesses upon her
spirits. But at the very moment of capture, her strong wings fillip him : ' I yield
19
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290 MUCH ADOE ABOUT NOTHING [act v, sc vt.
[How dost thou Benedicke the married man?]
upon great persuasion ; and, partly, to save your life, for I was told you were in a
consumption.' That tone has in it the promise of lively times for Benedick. He
will never be able to train the delight of liberty out of this falcon, who will slip her
jesses still, and circle overhead, but not forget to return. He told her once that, as
long as she had no mind to love, ' some gentleman or other shall scape a predistinate
scratched face.' But, though love has pared her talons, Benedick will not find
matrimony to be dull. — Lady Martin (p. 325) : To my thinking, Hero's prospect
of lasting happiness with the credulous and vacillating Qaudio is somewhat doubtful.
I have no misgivings about the future happiness of Benedick and Beatrice, even
although they leam how they have been misled into thinking that each was dying for
the other, and up to the moment of going to the altar keep up their witty struggles
to turn the tables on each other. ... In this last encounter, Beatrice, as usual, has
the best of it, but Benedick is too happy to care for such defeat He knows that he
has won her heart, and that it is a heart of gold. He can therefore well afford to
smile at the epigrams of < a college of wit-crackers,' and the quotation against him-
self of his former smart sayings about lovers and married men. His home, I doubt
not, will be a happy one, — all the happier because Beatrice and he have each a
strong individuality, with fine spirits and busy brains, which will keep life from
stagnating. They will always be finding out something new and interesting in each
other's character. As for Beatrice, at least, one feels sure that Benedick will have a
great deal to discover and to admire in her as he grows to know her better. She
will prove the fitness of her name as Beatrice (the giver of happiness), and he will
be glad to confess himself blest indeed (Benedictus), in having won her.
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APPENDIX
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APPENDIX
THE TEXT
Although the Text has been discussed in the Preface to the present play, it may
interest students to have before them the remarks of sundry editors which here
follow : —
Capkll (p. 119): The quarto's iaithfulness to its copy [that is, the author's
manuscript] appears in [the insertion of the names, Innogen, Cowley, Kemp, and
John Wilson] ; and the copy's carefulness, generally, is visible in the fewness of its
corrections ; the greatest, and greatest number of which, are matters related [to the
names just given]. What the player editors say in their preface, of the mind and
hand of this Poet's going together, and of his making no blots, if we can give it
credit of any play, it must be of this ; its fluency is prodigious ; and the hasty cur-
rent of it has (possibly) betray' d its writer at times into expressions we may con-
demn, such as 'sort' in I, i, 12.
CoLUSR : The Quarto is a well-printed work for the time, and the type is
unusually good. . . . The te^i of the 4to is to be preferred in neariy all instances
of variation.
R. G. White (ed. i, p. 224) : The text of the Folio is printed with comparatively
few and trifling errors, most of which are easy of correction, either by conjecture or
by the aid of the quarto, which is also remarkably well printed for a dramatic publi-
cation of the period. Each copy contains a few words and brief sentences omitted
from the other. It is plain from the repetition of certain somewhat striking errors
of the press, that the folio was printed from a copy of the quarto edition ; and this
fact has caused most editors to adhere to the text of the latter, as < the more ancient
'authority.' As to its being the earlier printed edition, this fact has, evidently^ no
weight in deciding between the authority of an edition which is authenticated and
that of one which is not ; and not only is this truth applicable in the present instance,
but we know that the copy of the quarto from which the authenticated folio was
printed had been used in Shakespeare's theatre as the prompter's book, and there
subjected to several alterations and corrections; and thus its essential difierenoes
from the quarto have a special and peculiar demand upon our deference. The
important errors (to a reader) of the quarto which the folio leaves uncorrected are
,of such a nature that they might remain without inconvenience upon a prompter's
book. ... As to preference between the readings of the two editions, that is mere
matter of opinion ; and fortunately the cases in which such preference may be exer-
cised, — not by any means admitting that it should be, — are of comparatively little
moment. . . . The readings of the folio, in all important variations, seem to me
much preferable to those of the quarto . . . because the folio was printed,— and
carefully printed for the day, even as to punctuation, contracted syllables, and capi-
tal letters, — from a copy which had evidently had the benefit of at least a partial
393
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294 APPENDIX
oorrection, and because it has the authority of Heminge and Condell, Shakespeaze*s
fdlow-actors.
Dyck : Properly speaking, there is only one old text of this play, — that of the
quarto ; from which, beyond all doubt, that of the folio was printed (with a few
i»nissions, and a few slight changes, mostly for the worse).
Haluwell-Phillipps {Outlines, p. 261) : That [this play] was reprinted from
[the quarto] in the folio of 1623, clearly appears from the occurrence of peculiar-
ities in each that could not possibly have appeared accidentally in both places;
but the folio has a singular reading, not found in the quarto, in which Jack Wilson
is mentioned, which leads to the supposition that the text of the former was taken
from a play-house copy of the edition of 1600, an exemplar of it, with a few manu-
script directions and notes, having probably taken the place of the author's holo-
graph drama. It seems impossible, on any other grounds, to account for all the
curious differences, as well as for the important coincidences, which are to be traced
between the two copies.
P. A. Daniel {Introd, to Praetorius's Foes, p. v) : It may be stated briefly and
with confidence that in 1623 the only authority Messrs Heminge and Condel! had
for their Folio edition was a copy of the quarto containing a few MS alterations
and corrections made probably years before, and not spedaUy for this purpose. By
lar the greater number of the variations of the Fo. must, however, be attributed to
carelessness on the part of the printer, not to MS alterations made by the corrector
of the Qo. ; indeed the fewness and small importance of those which can be attrib-
uted to deliberate alteration and correction fori>id the notion that any independent
MS of the Play could have been consulted for the purpose, or that any sustained
effort was made to supply the deficiencies of the Qo. and correct its errors.
DATE OF COMPOSITION
The Dates assigned by Editors and Commentators are here set forth, in briet
The subject has been discussed in the Preface to the present volume : —
Malone believes that this play ' was written eariy in the year 1600 ;' because of
its entry in the StaHoner^ Registers, and because it is not mentioned by Meres.
Chalmer's date : the autumn of 1599, with a possible extension into 1600, has
been adopted, but not always on Chalmers's grounds, by the following : —
Drake, Collier, Dyce, R. G. White, Bodenstedt, Rolfe, Stokes, Dbigh-
TON, and Corson.
Knight and Halliwell content themselves with the date of the Qto. Ward
also (i, 402) finds ' no evidence to cause its composition to be much ante-dated to its
'publication' in 1600.
CoLUER (ed. i, Introd, p. 184) remarks that as it is not included in Meres' s list
in 1598, nor any quotation from it to be found in England* s Parnassus in 1600, ' it
* might be that it was written subsequent to the appearance of one work and prior to
' the publication of the other.'
Staunton places the date * not earlier than 1598.'
Brae and Fleay, believing this play to be the lost Loue labours wonne of Meres,
set the date at 1597-8.
Delius between 1598 and 1600.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT 29S
W. A. Wright says that it 'was probably written in 1599 or 1600, not long
'before the Qto was published.'
A. Schmidt, in his edition and revision of Tieck's translation, nowhere expresses
a decided opinion as to the exact date, but finds a difficulty in harmonising the treat-
ment of the characters with that of other plays which are attributed to the latter half
of 1599. 'We do not find,' he says {Jntrod, p. 131), 'reproduced to the full, in
' Benedick and Beatrice that graceful wit, nor in Don Pedro and Claudio that delicacy
' in dealing with ethical questions which characterises so conspicuously the plays of
' that period, such as Henry IV, Julius Casar^ The Merchant of Venice^ Twelfth
' Nighty etc. Everywhere else, Shakespeare has refined and ennobled his borrowed
' material ; in the present play we have the solitary instance where it is questionable
' if he have not fallen into the opposite.'
In Professor Ingram's Table, wherein the several Plays are set down according to
their Number of Light and Weak Endings, Much Ado about Nothing, with one Light
and one Weak Ending, is found between Henry V, and As You Like It,
In Dr FiniNlVALL's Order of Shaksper^s Plays, Much Ado about Nothing is
placed in 'The Life-Plea Group' of the 'Second Period,' in the sub-division of
'The 3 Sunny- or Sweet-Time Comedies Much Ado ( 1 599-1 600) : As You Like It
' (1600) : Tutelfth Night (1601).'
In Dr Dowdbn's Order, the three plays just named form, in ' Later Comedy,' a
group of 'Musical Sadness.'
SOURCE OF THE PLOT
Gerard Langbaine in his Account of the English Dramatick Poets (Oxford,
1691, p. 460) says : ' The contrivance of Borachio in behalf of John the Bastard to
' make Claudio jealous of Hero, by the assistance of her Waiting- Woman Margaret,
' is borrowed from Ariostds Orlando Furioso : see Book the fifth in the Story of
' Lurcanio, and Geneuza [sic] : the like Story is in Spencer's Fairy Queen, Book 2.
'Canto 4.'
Ariosto's Orlando was translated in 1591 by SiR John Harington, who, in his
remarks at the end of the Fifth Book, says that the story of Genevra ' hath beene
' written in English verse some few yeares past (learnedly and with good grace)
'though in verse of another kind, by M. George Turberuil.* This version by Tur-
bervil is not extant.
Fully to understand Ariosto's story it is necessary to know that Rinaldo, having been
sent by Charlemagne to obtain aid from the King of England, is driven by a storm to
Berwick on the coast of Scotland. Then, in quest of adventure, he plunges into the
Caledonian forest where he finds some monks who tell him that he can find no nobler
adventure than to fight for Ginevra, the daughter of the Scottish King, who had been
accused of a lawless passion, and would be put to death unless within a month a
champion be found to defend her innocence, in which all the people believed. The
next morning, Rinaldo mounted Bayard, and in hot haste set forth, with a guide, for
Saint Andrew's town where Ginevra' s month of waiting for a champion had but a
day or two more to run. On his way, in taking a short cut through the forest, he
heard a piteous cry and beheld a damsell in the clutch of two murderers, who at the
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296 APPENDIX
sight of Rinaldo fled. Time was too predous to pennit Rinaldo to wait to hear the
poor maid's story, so, making his guide take her up behind him» he bade the dam-
sell tell her story as they rode along. This story and the vindication of Ginevra by
Rinaldo make up the Fifth Book, which opens with a denunciati<Ni by Ariosto of all
men who would ill-treat a woman, conduding with the vigorous words : —
' No man, nor made of flesh and blood I deeme him.
But sure some hound of hell I do esteeme him.'
The damsel then begins her story : — *
THE FIFT BOOKE OF ORLANIX) FVRIOSO
7
For entring first into my tender spring.
Of youthfull yeares, unto the court I came.
And served there the daughter of our King,
And kept a place of honour with good fame.
Till love (alas that love such care should bring)
Envide my state, and sought to do me shame.
Love made the Duke of Alban seem to me.
The fairest wight that erst mine eye did see.
8
And (for I thought he lov'd me all above)
I bent myself to hold and love him best,
But now I find that hard it is to prove.
By sight or speech what bides in secret brest,
While I (poore I) did thus beleeve and love,
He gets my body, bed and all the rest
Nor thinking this might breed my mistres wrong
Ev'n in her chamber this I practised long.
9
Where all the things of greatest value lay.
And where Geneura sleepes herself sometime.
There at a window we did finde a way.
In secret sort to cover this our crime :
Here when my love and I were bent to play,
I taught him by a scale of cord to clime,
And at the window I my selfe would stand.
And let the ladder downe into his hand.
*I here give the text of the third edition of Harington's Translation printed in
1634; it contains Harington's latest revision.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT^ORLANDO FVRIOSO 297
10
So oft we meete together at this sport.
As £ure Geneuras absence gives us leave.
Who us'd to other chambers to resort
In summer time, and this for heat to leave :
And this we carried in so secret sort.
As none there was our doings did perceave.
For why, this window standeth out of sight.
Where none do come by day nor yet by night
II
Twizt us this use continued many dayes,
Yea many months we us*d this privie txaine
Love set my heart on fire so many wayes,
That still my liking lasted to my paine.
I might have found by certaine strange delayes,
That he but little lov'd and much did fisine,
For all his sleights were not so closely covered,
But that they might full easly be discovered.
12
At last my Duke did seeme enfiamed sore,
On iaire Geneura : neither can I tdl,
If now this love began or was before,
That I to court did come with her to dwell.
But looke if I were subject to his love,
And looke if he my love requited well.
He askt my aid herein no whit ashamed.
To tell me how of her he was enflamed.
13
Not all of love, but partly of ambition.
He beares in hand his minde is onely bent.
Because of her great state and hie condition,
To have her for his wife is his intent :
He nothing doubteth of the Kings permission.
Had he obtained Geneuras free assent.
Ne was it hard for him to take in hand.
That was the second person in the land.
14
He sware to me, if I would be so kind
His hie attempt to further and assist,
That at his hands I should great favour finde.
And of the King procure me what me list :
How he would ever keepe it in his mind,
And in his former love to me persist,
And notwithstandiftg wife and all the rest,
I should be sure that he would love me best
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298 APPENDIX
«5
I straight consented to his fond request.
As readie his commandment to obay.
And thinking still my time emploied best.
When I had pleased his fancy any way :
And when I found a time then was I prest.
To talke of him, and good of him to say.
I used all my art, my wit, and paine,
Geneuras love and liking to obtaine.
16
God knoweth how glad I was to worke his will.
How diligent I followed his direction,
I spared no time, no travell nor no skill,'
To this my Duke to kindle her affection :
But alwayes this attempt succeeded ill.
Love had her heart already in subjection,
A comely Knight did fair Geneura please.
Come to this countrie from beyond the seas.
17
From Italy for service (as I hear)
Vnto this court he and his brother came.
In tourneys and in tilts he had no peere,
All Brittaine soone was filled with his fame.
Our King did love him well and hold htm deere.
And did by princely gifts confinne the same.
Faire castels, townes, and lordships him he gave,
And made him great, such power great princes have.
18
Our Soveraigne much, his daughter likt him more.
And Ariadant this worthy Knight is named.
So brave in deeds of annes himselfe he bore,
No LAdie of his love need be ashamed :
The hill of Sicil bumeth not so sore,
Nor is the mount Vestevio so inflamed.
As Ariodantes heart was set on fire,
Geneuras beautie kindling his desire.
19
His certaine love by signes most certaine found.
Cause that my sute unwillingly was hard,
She well perceived his love sincere and sound,
Endining to his sute with great regard.
In vaine I seeke my Dukes love to expound,
The more I seeke to make the more I mard.
For while with words I seek to praise and grace him
No lesse with workes she striveth to deface him.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT^ORLANDO FVRIOSO 299
20
Thus being of repulst (so ill sped I,)
To my too much beloved Duke I went.
And told him how her heart was fixt alreadie,
How on the stranger all her mind was bent
And praid him now sith there was no remedie
That to surcease his sute he would consent.
For Ariodant so lov'd the princely maid.
That by no meanes his flames could be alaid.
When Polynesso (so the Duke we call)
This tale unpleasant oftentime had hard.
And of himselfe had found his hopes were small,
When with my words her deeds he had compared,
Greev'd with repulse, and vexed therewithall.
To see this stranger thus to be prefar'd.
The love that late his heart so sore had burned,
Was cooled all, and into hatred turned.
22
Intending by some vile and subtill traine.
To part Geneura from her faithfull lover.
And plant so great mislike betweene them twaine.
Yet with so cunning shew the same to cover.
That her good name he will so foule distaine.
Alive nor dead she never shall recover.
But lest he might in this attempt be thwarted
To none at all his secret he imparted.
23
Now thus resolv'd (Dalinda faire) quoth he,
(I so am cald) you know though trees be topt.
And shrowded low, yet sprout yong shoots we see,
And issue from that head so lately lopt :
So in my love it fareth now with me.
Though by repulse cut short and shrewdly cropt.
The pared tops such buds of love do render.
That still I prove new passions there engender.
24
Ne do I deeme so deare the great delight
As I dlsdaine I should be so reject,
And lest this gpriefe should overcome me quight.
Because I faile to bring it to effect.
To please my fond conceit this very night,
I pray thee deare to do as I direct :
When faire Geneura to her bed is gone.
Take thou the clothes she ware and put them on.
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300 APPENDIX
25
As she is wont her golden haire to diesse,
In stately sort to wind it on her wire.
So 70a her pojrson [person] lively to ezpresse,
May dresse your owne and weare her head attire.
Her gorgets and her jewels rich no lesse,
You may put on t* accomplish my desire.
And when unto the window I ascend,
I will my comming there you do attend.
26
Thus I may passe my fancies foolish fit.
And thus (quoth he) my selfe I would deceive.
And that I had no reason nor no wit.
His shamefuU drift (though open) to perceive :
Did weare my mistresse robes that serv'd me fit.
And stood at window, there him to redve.
And of the fraud I was no whit aware,
Till that fell out that caused all' my care.
27
Of late twizt him and Ariodant had past.
About Geneura faire these words or such,
(For why there was good friendship in times past
Betweene them two, till love their hearts did tuch)
The Duke such kind of speeches out did cast,
He said to Ariodant^ he marvel* d much.
That seeing he did alwaies well regard him.
He should againe so thanklessly reward him.
28
I know you see (for needs it must be seene)
The good consent and matrimoniall love.
That long betweene Geneut^ and me hath beene,
For whom I meane ere long the King to move.
Why should you fondly thrust your selfe betweene ?
Why should you rove your reach so farre above ?
For if my case were yours I would foibeare,
* Or if I knew that you so loved were.
29
And I much more (the other straight replies)
Do marvell you sir Duke are so unkind.
That know our love, and see it with your eyes,
(Except that wilfulnesse have made you blind)
That no man can more sured knots devise.
Then her to me, and me to her do bind.
Into this sute so rashly are intruded,
Still finding from all hope you are excluded.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT-^ORLANDO FVRIOSO 301
30
Why beare you not to me the like respect.
As my good will requireth at your hand ?
Since that our love is growne to this effect^
We meane to knit our selves in weddings band :
Which to fulfill ere long I do expect.
For know I am (though not in rents or land)
Yet in my Princes grace no whit inferiour.
And in his daughters, greatly your superiour.
31
Well (said the Duke) errors are hardly moved,
That love doth breed in unadvised brest.
Each thinkes himselfe to be the best beloved.
And yet but one of us is loved best.
Wherefore to have the matter plainly proved.
Which should proceed in love ; and which should rest.
Let us agree that victor he remaine.
That of her liking sheweth signes most plaine.
32
I will be bound to jrou by solemne oth,
Your secrets all and counsell to conceale.
So you likewise will plight to me your troth.
The thing I shew you never to reveale.
To trie the matter thus they greed both.
And from this doome hereafter not repeale :
But on the Bible first they were deposed.
That this their speech should never be disclosed.
ZZ
And first the stranger doth his state reveale.
And tell the truth in hope to end the strife.
How she had promist him in wo and weale.
To live with him, and love him all her life :
And how with writing with her hand and scale,
She had confirmed she would be his wife.
Except she were fort>idden by her father.
For then to live unmarride she had rather.
34
And furthermore he nothing doubts (he said)
Of his good service so plaine proofe to show.
As that the King shall nothing be afraid.
On such a Knight his daughter to bestow :
And how in this he needeth little aid.
As finding still his favour greater grow.
He doubts not he will grant his liking after
That he shall know it pleaseth so his daughter.
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302 APPENDIX
35
And thus you see so sound stands mine estate,
That I my selfe in thought can wish no more.
Who seekes her now is sure to come too late.
For that he seekes is granted me before ;
Now onely rests in marriage holy state.
To knit the knot that must dure evermore.
And for her praise, I need not to declare it.
As knowing none with whom I may compare it
36
Thus Ariodant a tale most true declared.
And what reward he hoped for his paine.
But my false Duke that had him fouly snared,
And found by my great folly such a traine,
Doth swear all this might no way be compared
With his, no though himselfe did judge remaine.
For I (quoth he) can shew signes so ezpresse.
As you yourself inferiour shall confesse.
37
Alas (quoth he) I see you do not know
How cunningly these women can dissemble.
They least do love where they make greatest show.
And not to be the thing they most resemble.
But other favours I receive I trow,
Whenas we two do secretly assemble
As I will tell you (though I should conceale it)
Because you promise never to reveale it
38
The truth is this, that I full oft have scene
Her ivory corpes, and bene with her all night,
And naked laine her naked armes betweene,
And full enjoyde the fhiites of loves delight :
Now judge who hath in greatest favour beene,
To which of us she doth pertaine in right.
And then give place, and yeeld to me mine owne,
Sith by just proofes I now have made it known.
39
lust proofes ? (quoth AriodatU) nay shamefuU lies.
Nor will I credit give to any word :
Is this the finest tale ]rou can devise ?
What, hop'd yon that with this I could be dord? [dared]
No, no, but sith a slander foule doth rise
By thee to her, maintaine it with thy sword,
I call thee lying traitor to thy face.
And meane to prove it in this present place.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT^ORLANDO FVRIOSO 303
40
Tosh (quoth the Duke) it were a foolish part.
For you to fight with me that am your friend,
Sith plaine to shew without deceit or art,
As much as I have said I do intend. •
These works did gpripe poore AriodatUes hart,
Downe all his limbes a shivering doth descend,
And still he stood with eyes cast downe on ground.
Like one would fisdl into a deadly sound, [swoon]
41
With wofiill mind, with pale and chearlesse face.
With trembling voice that came from bitter thought
He said he much desired to see this place.
Where such strange feats and miracles were wrought
Hath faire Geneura granted you this grace,
That I (quoth he) so oft in vaine have sought?
Now sure except I see it in my view,
I never will beleeve it can be trew.
42
The Duke did say he would with all his hart
Both shew him where and how the thing was done.
And straight from him to me he doth depart,
Whom to his purpose wholly he had wonne :
With both of us he pla]rth so well his part,
That both of us thereby were quite undone.
First he tels him that he would have him placed
Among some houses falne and quite defaced.
43
Some ruin'd houses stood oppos'd direct
Against the window where he doth ascend.
But Ariodant discreetly doth suspect
That this false Duke some mischiefe did intend,
And thought that all did tend to this effect,
By trechery to bring him to his end.
That sure he had devised this pretence.
With mind to kill him ere he parted thence.
Thus though to see this sight he thought it long.
Yet tooke he care all mischiefe to prevent.
And if perhap they offer force or wrong.
By force the same for to resist he ment
He had a brother valiant and strong,
Lurcanio cal'd, and straight for him he sent.
Not doubting but alone with his assistance
Against twice twentie men to make resistance.
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304 APPENDIX
45
He bids his brother take his sword in hand.
And go into a place that he would gaide,
And in a comer closely there to sUmd
* Aloofe from tother threescore paces wide,
The cause be would not let him understand.
But prayes him there in secret sort to bide,
Vntill such time he hapt to heare him call,
Else (if he lov'd him) not to stirre at all,
46
His brother would not his request denie,
And so went Ariodant into his place.
And undiscover'd closely there did lie.
Till having looked there a little space,
The craftie Duke to come he might descrie.
That meant the chast Centura to deface.
Who having made to me his wonted signes,
I let him down the ladder made of lines.
47
The gown I ware was white, and richly set
With aglets, pearle, and lace of gold well garnished.
My stately tresses covered with a net
Of beaten gold most pure and brighdy varnished.
Not thus content, the vaile aloft I set.
Which onely Princes weare ; thus stately hamished.
And under Cupids banner bent to fight
All unawares I stood in all their sight.
48
For why Lurcanio either taking care,
Lest Ariodant should in some danger go,
Or that he sought (as all desirous are)
The counsels of his dearest friend to know,
Qose out of sight by secret steps and ware.
Hard at his heeles his brother followed so.
Till he was nearer come by fiftie paces
And there againe himselfe he newly places.
49
But I that thought no ill, securely came
Vnto the open window as I said.
For once or twice before I did the same.
And had no hurt, which made me lesse afraid 1
I cannot boast (except I boast of shame)
When in her robes I had my selfe arraid,
Me thought before I was not much unlike her,
But certaine now I seemed very like her.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT^ORLANDO FVRIOSO 305
SO
But Ariodant that stood so farre aloofe,
Was more deceived by distance of the place,
And straight beleev'd against his owne behoofe,
Seeing her clothes that he had seene her face.
Now let those judge that partly know by proofe,
The wofuU plight of Ariodantes case,
When Polynesso came my faithlesse frend,
In both their sights the ladder to ascend.
SI
I that his comming willingly did wait.
And he once come thought nothing went amisse,
Embraced him kindly at the first receit,
His lips, his cheeks, and all his face did kisse,
And he the more to colour his deceit.
Did use me kinder then he had ere this.
This sight much care to Ariodante brought.
Thinking Geneura with the Duke was nought
52
llie griefe and sorrow sinketh so profound
Into his heart, he straight resolves to die.
He puts the pummell of his sword on ground.
And meanes himsdfe upon the point to lie :
Which when Lurcanio saw and plainly found.
That all this while was closely standing by,
And Polynessos comming did disceme.
Though who it was he never yet could leame.
Lurcanio withheld Ariodante from suicide ; but the wound was cureless, and the
next day the heart-broken lover quietly withdrew from the court, and went no one
knew whither. On the eighth day after his disappearance, word was brought to
Genevra by a peasant that he had drowned hunself, and had charged the peasant
to take to Genevra the message:
< Had he been blind, he had full happie beene.
His death should shew that he too much had seene.'
Of course, Genevra' s despair was abysmal. Even ' By Lords and Ladies many
'teares were spilled.' Lurcanio, brooding over his brother's cruel end, at last
before the King and Court openly accused Genevra of causing his brother's death by
her immodesty, and declared that he
' had seene Geneura stand.
And at a window as they had devised,
Let downe a ladder to her lovers hand.
But in such sort he had himselfe disguised,
That who it was he could not understand.
And for due proofe of this his accusation.
He bids the combat straight by proclamation.'
20
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306 APPENDIX
The King was sore grieyed, but there was no help for it. Geneyra most die, socfa
was the Scottish law, unless within a month a champion could be found who could
prove her innocence by slaying her accuser.
70
The King that meanes to make a certaine triall,
If faire Geneura guilty be or no,
(For still she stiffly stood in the deniall,
Of this that wrought her undeserved wo)
Examines all her maids, but they reply all,
That of the matter nothing they did know.
VHiich made me seek for to prevent the danger.
The Duke and I might have about the stranger.
71
And thus for him more then my self afraid,
(So faithfiill love to this false Duke I bare)
I gave him notice of these things, and said.
That he had need for both of us beware.
He prais'd my constant love, and farther praid.
That I would credit him, and take no care,
He points two men (but both to me unknownel
To bring me to a castle of his owne.
* * *
73
* This wicked Duke ungratefull and perjured,
Beginneth now of me to have mistrust.
His guilty conscience could not be assured,
How to conceale his wicked acts unjust.
Except my death (though causelesse) be procured.
So hard his heart, so lawlesse was his lust
He said he would me to his castle send.
But that same castle should have beene mine end.
74
* He wild my guides when ihty were past that hill,
And to the thicket a little way descended.
That there (to quite my love) they should me kill.
Which as you saw, they to have done intended.
Had not your happy comming stopt their will.
That (God and you be thankt) I was defended.
This tale Dalinda to Renaldo told.
And all the while their journey on they hold.'
The rest of the story, how Rinaldo arrived at Saint Andrews in time to stop a
fierce combat between Lurcanio and an unknown knight, how he denounced Poly-
nesso as the guilty contriver of the plot against Genevra and Ariodante, and slew
Polynesso, and how the unknown knight proved to be Ariodante, who had hon-
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT-^-FAERIE QUEENE 307
estly intended to drown himself but had changed his mind as soon as he was in the
water, (a delightful touch of nature !) and swam ashore, — of how Genevra became
Ariodante's bride, and of how Dalinda lost no time in entering a nunnery, — all this
does not concern us here, but must remain locked up in Ariosto's beguiling pages,
as far as these present pages are concerned. No item of it all had any influence in
the remotest degree on Much Ado about Nothing.
Nor had The Fairie Queene ; nevertheless the portion to which Langbainb and
subsequent critics refer is here given :* —
THE FAERIE QUEENE
BOOK II. CANTO IIII.
Guyon delivers a 'handsome stripling* who is being frightfully ill treated by a
mad man, named Furor ^ and by the mad man's mother, a wicked hag, named
Occasion,
Thus whenas Guyon Furor had captiu'd.
Turning about he saw that wretched Squire,
Whom that mad man of life nigh late depriu'd.
Lying on ground, all soild with bloud and mire :
Whom whenas he perceiued to respire.
He gan to comfort, and his wounds to dresse.
Being at last recured, he gan inquire.
What hard mishap him brought to such distresse.
And made that caitiues thral, the thral of wretchednesse.
With hart then throbbing, and with watry eyes,
Faire Sir (quoth he) what man can shun the hap,
That hidden lyes unwares him to surpryse
Misfortune waites aduantage to entrap
The man most warie in her whelming lap.
So me weake wretch, of many weakest one,
Vnweeting, and vn'ware of such mishap.
She brought to mischiefe through occasion.
Where this same wicked villein did me light vpon.
It was a faithless Squire, that was the sourse
Of all my sorrow, and of these sad teares,
With whom from tender dug of commune nourse,
Attonce I was vpbrought, and eft when yeares
More rype vs reason lent to chose our Peares,
Our selues in league of vowed loue we knit ;
In which we long time without gealous feares,
Or faultie thoughts continewed, as was fit ;
And for my part I vow, dissembled not a whit
* The text is that of the ed. of 1596, — ^reprinted by Grosart.
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308 APPENDIX
It was my fortune commune to that age,
To loue a L4idie faire of great d^ree,
The which was borne of noble parentage
And set in highest seat of dignitee,
Yet seemd no lesse to loue, then loued to bee ;
Long I her seruM, and found her faithfull stUl,
Ne euer thing could cause vs disagree ;
Loue that two harts makes one ; makes eke one will :
Each stroue to please, and others pleasure to fulfill.
My friend, hight Philemon^ I did partake.
Of all my loue and all my priuitie ;
Who greatly ioyous seemed for my sake.
And gratious to that Ladie, as to mee,
Ne euer wight, that mote so welcome bee.
As he to her, withouten blot or blame,
Ne euer thing, that she could thinke or see.
But vnto him she would impart the same ;
O wretched man, that would abuse so gentle Dame.
At last such grace I found, and meanes I wrought.
That I that Ladie to my spouse had wonne ;
Accord of friends, consent of parents sought.
Affiance made, my happinesse begonne,
There wanted nought but few rites to be donne,
Which mariage make ; that day too farre did seeme :
Most ioyous man, on whom the shining Sunne,
Did shew his face, my selfe I did esteeme,
And that my falser friend did no lesse ioyous deeme.
But ere that wished day his beame disclosd.
He either enuying my toward good.
Or of himselfe to treason ill disposd
One day vnto me came in friendly mood.
And told for secret how he vnderstood
That Ladie whom I had to me aflynd,
Had both distaind her honorable blood,
And eke the faith, which she to me did bynd ;
And therfore wisht me stay, till I more truth should fynd
The gnawing anguish, and sharpe gelosy,
Which his sad speach infixed in my brest,
Ranckled so sore, and festred inwardly.
That my engreeued mind could find no rest.
Till that the truth thereof I did outwrest,
And him besought by that same sacred band
Betwixt vs both, to counsell me the best.
He then with solemne oath and plighted hand
Assured, ere long the truth to let me vnderstand.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT— FAERIE QUEENE 309
Ere long with like againe he boorded mee,
Saying, he now had boulted all the floure,
And that it was a groome of base degree,
Which of my loue was partner Paramoure :
Who vsed in a darksome inner bowre
Her oft to meet : which better to approue,
He promised to bring me at that howre,
When I should see, that would me nearer moue,
And driue me to withdraw my blind abused loue.
This gracelesse man for furtherance of his guile,
Did court the handmayd of my Lady deare,
Who glad t' embosome his affection vile,
Did all she might, more pleasing to appeare.
One day to worke her to his vnW more neare,
He woo'd her thus : Pryene (so she hight)
What great despight doth fortune to thee beare.
Thus lowly to abase thy beautie bright.
That it should not deface all others lesser light ?
But if she had her least helpe to thee lent,
T'adome thy forme according thy desart.
Their blazing pride thou wouldest soone haue blent.
And staynd their prayses with thy least good part ;
Ne should faire Claribell with all her art.
Though she thy Lady be, approch thee neare ;
For proofe thereof, this euening, as thou art,
Aray thy selfe in her most gorgeous geare,
That I may more delight in thy embracement deare.
The Maide proud through prayse, and mad through lone
Him hearkned to, and soone her selfe arayd,
The whiles to me the treachour did remoue
His crafde engin, and as he had sayd.
Me leading, in a secret comer layd,
The sad spectatour of my Tragedie ;
Where left, he went, and his owne false part playd.
Disguised like that groome of base degree,
Whom he had feignd th' abuser of my loue to bee.
Eftsoones he came vnto th' appointed place,
And with him brought Prieney rich arayd.
In Claribellaes clothes. Her proper face
I not descemed in that darkesome shade.
But weend it was my loue, with whom he playd.
Ah God, what horrour and tormenting griefe
My hart, my hands, mine eyes, and all assayd ?
Me liefer were ten thousand deathes priefe
Then wound of gealous worme, and shame of such repriefe
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3IO APPENDIX
I home returning, fraught with fowle despight.
And chawing vengeance all the way I went
Soone as my loathed loue appeard in sight,
With wrathfuU hand I slew her innocent ;
That after soone I dearely did lament :
For when the cause of that outrageous deede
Demaunded, I made plaine and euident,
Her faultie Handmayd, which that bale did breede,
Confest, how Philemon her wrought to chaunge her weede.
VHiich when I heard, with horrible affright
And hellish fury all enragd, I sought
Vpon my selfe that vengeable despight
To punish ; yet it better first I thought,
To wreake my wrath on him, that first it wrought
To PhiUmon^ false fa3rtour Philemon
I cast to pay, that I so dearely bought ;
Of deadly drugs I gaue him drinke anon.
And washt away his guilt with guiltie potion.
Thus heaping crime on crime, and griefe on griefe.
To losse of loue adioyning losse of frend,
I meant to purge both with a third mischiefe.
And in my woes beginner it to end :
That was Pryene; she did first offend,
She last should smart : with which cruell intent,
When I at her my murdrous blade did bend.
She fled away with ghastly dreriment.
And I pursewing my fell purpose, after went
Feare gaue her wings, and rage enforst my flight ;
Through woods and plaines so long I did her chace.
Till this mad man, whom your victorious might
Hath now fast bound, me met in middle space,
As I her, so he me pursewd apace.
And shortly ouertooke : I breathing yre,
Soxe chauffed at my stay in such a cace,
And with my heat kindled his cruell fyre ;
Which kindled once, his mother did more rage inspyre.
Betwixt them both, they haue me doen to dye.
Through wounds, & strokes, & stubbome handeling.
That death were better, then such agony.
As griefe and furie vnto me did bring ;
Of which in me yet stickes the mortall sting,
That during life will neuer be appeasd.
When thus he ended had his sorrowing.
Said Guyony Squire, sore haue ye beene diseasd ;
But all your hurts may soone through teperance be easd.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT—BANDELLO 311
To Capbll belongs the credit of being the first to call attention (vol. i, p. 65) to
Bandello as a possible source of the Plot of this play. He gives the title of a
Story in Belle-Forest, and adds: <it is taken from one of Bandello' s, which you
'may see in his first tome, at p. 150, of the London edition in quarto, a copy from
' that of Lucca in 1554. This French novel comes the nearest to the fable of Much
* Ado about Nothings of anything that has yet been discovered, and is (perhaps)
< the foundation of it.' Capell erred, I think, in supposing that it was to the French
Version rather than to the Italian original that Shakespeare was indebted. But that
the reader may judge for himself, as much, both of Bandello and of Belle-Forest,
will be here given as can be supposed by any possibility to have been the material
used by Shakespeare.
BANDELLO
T%e Novels of Mattbo Bandello Bishop of Agen now first done into English
Prose and Verse by John Payne^ London, 1890, (For The VtUon Society) voL i,
p. 302.* Tne Twentieth Story. Signor Scipione Attellano telleth how Signer
Ttmbreo di Cardona^ being with King Pedro of Arragon in Messina, became en-
amoured of Penicia Lionata and of the various and unlooked-for chances which \
befell, before he took her to wife. In the course of the year one thousand two hun-
dred fourscore and three f of our salvation, the Sicilians, themseeming they might
no longer brook the domination of the French, one day, at the hour of vespers, with
unheard-of cruelty massacred all who were in the island, for so it was treacherously
concerted throughout all Sicily ; nor did they slay men and women only of French
extraction, but every Sicilian woman, who might be conceived to be with child by any
Frenchman, they butchered that same day ; nay, there-afterward, if any were proved
to have been gotten with child by a Frenchman, she was put to death without mercy,
whence arose the infamous renown of the Sicilian Vespers. King Pedro of Arragon,
having advice of this, came straightway thither with his power and seized the sov-
ranty of the island, for that Pope Nicholas the Third urged him thereto, telling him
that the island belonged unto him, as husband of Costanza, daughter of King Man-
fred. The said King Pedro held his court many days in Palermo on right royal and
magnificent wise and made high festival for the acquisition of the island. Presently,
hearing that King Charles the Second, son of King Charles the First, who held the
kingdom of Naples, came by sea with a great armament to expel him from Sicily, he
went out against him with such ships and galleys as he had and joined battle with
him, whereupon sore was the mellay and cruel the slaughter. In the end King
Pedro defeated King Charles his fleet and took himself prisoner ; after which, the
better to prosecute the war, he removed with his whole court to Messina, as to that
dty which is next overagainst Italy and whence one may speedily pass into Calabria.
There, what while he held a right royal court and all was joy and gladness for the
gotten victory, joustings being made and b^ls holden daily, one of ^his knights, a
baron of high repute, by name Don Timbreo di ^dona, whom King t^edro supremely
loved, for that he was doughty of his person and had still borne himself valiantly in
* Here reprinted by the kind permission of the Translator, to whom we are all
under lasting obligations for his masterly Translations, notably The Book of the
Thousand Nights and One Night, and of The Decameron of Boccaccio, etc. — ^Ed.
t March 30, 1282 is the generally accepted date of the Sicilian Vespers. — Note by
Translator,
,rf^n
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312 APPENDIX
the pAst wars, fell passionately in love with a young lady hight Fenida, the daughter
. ^* of Messer llionato de' Lionati, a gentlenian of Messina, lovesome, debonair, and
V^ f fair over every other of the country, and little by little became so inflamed for her
' — ^that he knew not nor wished to live without her sweet sight Now the baron afore-
said, having from his childhood still served King Pedro by land and by sea, had been
mighty richly guerdoned of him, for that, besides gifts without number, which he
had gotten, the King had then late bestowed on him the county of G>lisano, tipgether
with other lands, so that his revenues, over and above the entertainment which be
had of the crown, were more than twelve thousand ducats. Don Timbreo, then,
fell to passing daily before the young lady's house, accounting himself happy what
day he saw her, and Fenida, who, though but a girl, was quick-witted and well-
advised, speedily perceived the cause of the gentleman's continual passings to and
fro. It was notorious that Don Timbreo was one of the King's favourites and that
there were few of such avail as he at court ; wherefore he was honoured of all.
Accordingly, Fenida, sedng him, over and above that which she had heard tdl of
him, apparelled on very lordly wise and with a worshipful following, and noting, to
boot, that he was a very handsome young man and seemed mighty well bred, began
in her turn to look gradously upon him and to do him honourable reverence. The
gentleman waxed daily more enkindled and the more he looked upon her, the more
he fdt his flame increase and this new fire being grown to such a height in his heart
that he fdt himself all consumed with love of the fair damsel, he determined to have
her by every possible means. But all was in vain, for that unto all the letters and
messages he sent her, she never answered otherwhat than that she meant to keep her
maidenhood inviolate for him who should be given her to husband ; wherefore the
poor lover abode sore disconsolate, more by token that he had never been able to
prevail with her to receive or letters or gifts. Algates, being resolved to have her
• and sedng her constancy to be such that, an he would possess her, needs must he
take her to wife, he concluded, after long debatement of the matter in himsdf, to
demand her of her father to wife. And albeit himseemed he greatly abased himsdf
in seeking such an alliance, yet, knowing her to be of ancient and very noble blood,
he determined, such was the love he bore the girl, to use no more delay about the
matter.
Having come to this decision, he sought out a gentleman of Messina, with whom
he was very familiar, and to him opened his mind, possessing him of that which he
would have him do with Messer Lionato. The Messinese accordingly betook him-
self to the latter and did his errand to him even as it had been committed unto him
by his friend. Messer Lionato, hearing such good news and knowing Don Timbreo* s
rank and consideration, tarried not to take counsel with kinsfolk or friends, but by a
most gradous- reply discovered how agreeable it was to him that the gentleman should
ddgn to ally himsdf with him, and going home acquainted his wife and Fenida with
the promise he had made of the latter* s hand. The thing was extremdy pleasing
to Fenida, who thanked God with a devout heart that He had vouchsafed her so
glorious an issue to her chaste love, and showed her gladness by her countenance.
But fortune, which ceaseth never to cross folk's weal, found an extraordinary means
of hindering nuptials so desired of both parties ; and hear how.
4 It was published abroad in Messina how Don Timbreo di Cardona was in a few
days to espouse Fenida dei Lionati, which news was generally pleasing to all the Messi-
nese, for that Messer Lionato was a gentleman who made himself loved of all, as one
who sought to do hurt to none and succoured all as most he might, so that all showed
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT—BANDELLO 313
great satisfaction at such an alliance. Now there was in Messina another cavalier,
young and nobly bom, by name Signor Girondo Olerio Valentiano, who had ap-
proved himself exceeding doughty of his person in the late wars and was moreover
one of the most magnificent and liberal gentlemen of the Court He, hearing this
news, abode beyond measure chagrined, for that he had a little before fallen enam-
oured of Fenicia's charms and so sore was he stricken of love's shafts that he
thought for certain to die, except he had her to wife. Accordingly, he had resolved
to ask her in marriage of her father, and hearing the promise made to Don Timbreo,
thought to swoon for dolour ; then, finding no remedy for that his pain, he fell into
such a frenzy that, overmastered with amourous passion and having no regard unto
any manner of reason, he suffered himself to be carried away into doing a thing
blameworthy in any one and much more so in a knight and a gendeman such as he
was. He had in all their warlike enterprises been well-nigh always Don Timbreo's
comrade and there was a brotherly friendship between them, but of this love, what-
ever might have been the cause thereof, they had still forborne to discover themselves
to each othor.
Signor Girondo, then, bethought himself to sow such discord between Don Tim-
breo and his mistress that the match should be broken off, in which case, demanding
her of her father to wife, he hoped to have her ; nor did he tarry to give effect to this
mad conceit and having found a man apt unto the service of his blind and unbridled
appetite, he diligently acquainted him with his mind. This man, whom Signor
Girondo had taken unto himself for confidant and minister of his wickedness, was a
young courtier, a man of little account, to whom evil was more pleasing than good
and who, being fully instructed of that which he was to do, went next morning to
visit Don Timbreo, who had not yet left the house, but went walking all alone for
his pleasure in a garden of his hostelry. The young man entered the garden and
Don Timbreo, seeing him make for himself, received him courteously ; then, after
the wonted salutations, the new-comer bespoke Don Timbreo, saying, ' My lord, I
come at this hour to speak with thee of matters of the utmost importance, which
concern thine honour and well-being, and for that I may chance to say somewhat
which will peradventure offend thee, I prithee pardon it to me.; nay, let my friendly
devotion excuse me in thine eyes and believe that I have bestirred myself to a good
end. Algates, this I know, that this which I shall presendy tell thee will, an thou
be still that noble genUeman which thou hast ever been, be of very great service to
thee; and to come to the fact, I must tell thee I heard yesterday that thou hast
agreed with Messer Lionato de' Lionati to espouse Fenicia his daughter to wife.
Look now, my lord, what thou dost and have regard unto thine honour. This I say
to thee for that a gentleman, a -friend of mine, goeth well-nigh twice or thrice a
week to lie with her and hath enjo3rment of her love ; nay, this very evening he is
to go thither, as of wont, and I shall accompany him, as I used to do on such occa-
sions. Now, an thou wilt pledge me thy word and swear to me not to molest me
nor my friend, I will cause thee to see the place and all ; and that thou mayst know
[the whole], my friend hath enjoyed her these many months past The regard I
have for thee and the many pleasures which thou of thy favour hast done me induce
me to discover this to thee ; so now thou wilt do that which shall seem to thee most
to thy profit It sufficeth me to have done thee that office in the matter which per-
taineth unto my duty towards thee.'
At these words Signor Timbreo was all confounded and was like to take leave of
his senses ; then, after he had abidden awhile, revolving a thousand things in him-
•l.[:L
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314 APPENDIX
self, the bitter and (to his seeming) jast despite which possessed him availing more
with him than the fervent and loyal love he bore the fair Fenida, he with a sigh
answered the young man on this wise, saying, * My friend, I cannot nor should but
abide eternally obliged to thee, seeing how lovingly thou concemest thyself for me
and for mine honour, and I will one day give thee to know effectually how much I
am beholden to thee. Algates, for this present I render thee, as most I know and
may, the heartiest thanks in my power, and since thou freely profferest thyself to
cause me to see that which I should never have imagined for myself, I beseech thee,
by that loving-kindness which hath moved thee to advertise me of this matter, that
thou stint not to bear thy friend company, and I pledge thee my faith, as a true
knight, that I will offer neither thee nor him any manner of hurt or hindrance and
will still keep the matter secret, so he may enjoy this his love in peace, for that I
should from the first have been better advised and should, with well -opened eyes,
have made diligent and curious enquiry of the whole.' Whereupon quoth the young
man to him, ' Do you, then, my lord, betake yourself this night at the third hour to
the neighborhood of Messer Lionato's house and ambush yourself in the ruins over-
against the garden.'
Now there abutted upon these ruins a face of Messer Lionato's house, wherein
there was an old saloon, whose windows stood open day and night, and there Fenicia
was bytimes used to show herself, for that from that quarter the beauty of the garden
was better to be enjoyed ; but Messer Lionato and his family abode in the other part
of the palace, which was ancient and very great and might have sufficed for a prince's
court, not to say a gentleman's household. This settled, the deceitful youth took his
leave and returned to his patron, to whom he reported that which he had appointed
with Don Timbreo; whereat the perfidious Girondo was mightily rejoiced, him-
\ V seeming his device succeeded to his wish. Accordingly, the hour come, he clad one
^ * . I of his serving-men on worshipful wise and perfumed him with the sweetest essences,
having lessoned him beforehand of that which he was to do ; and the disguised ser-
vant set out in company with the youth, who had bespoken Don Timbreo, followed
by another, with a step-ladder on his shoulder. Now, what was Don Timbreo' s
state of mind and what and how many were the thoughts which passed through his
mind all that day, who might avail to recount at full ? I for my part know that I
should weary myself in vain ; suffice it to say that the over-credulous and ill-fortuned
gentleman, blinded with the veil of jealousy, ate litde or nothing that day and whoso
looked him in the face accounted him more dead than alive. Half an hour before
the appointed time he went to hide himself in that ruined place, on such wise
that he might very well see whoso passed there, himseeming yet impossible that
Fenicia should have yielded herself unto another. However, he said to himself
that girls are fickle, light, unstable, humoursome, and greedy of new things, and
on this wise, now condemning and now excusing her, he abode intent upon every
movement.
The night was not very dark but exceeding still, and presendy he heard the noise
of coining feet and eke some broken word or two. By and by he saw the three pass
and recognized the youth who had that morning advertised him, but could not recall
the faces of the other twain. As they passed before him, he heard the perfumed one,
him who played the iQver, say to him who bore the ladder, ' Look thou set the ladder
featly to the window, so it make no noise, for, when we were last here, my lady
Fenicia told me that thou lettest it fall over-heavily. Do all adroitly and quietly.'
Don Timbreo plainly heard these words, which were to his heart as so many sharp
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT—BANDELLO 315
spears, and albeit he was alone and had none other arms than his sword, whilst those
who passed had two partisans and most like were armoured to boot, nevertheless such
and so poignant was the jealousy which gnawed at his heart and so sore the despite
which enflamed him that he was like to issue forth of his ambush and falling fiercely
on the three conspirators, to slaughter him whom he judged to be Fenicia's or else,
abiding dead himself, at one stroke to end the anguish and misery he su£fered for
excess of dolour. However, remembering him of his plighted faith, and esteeming
it overgreat baseness and wickedness to assail those who had the assurance of his
word, he awaited the issue of the matter, all full of choler and despite and gnawing
his heart for rage and fury.
The three, then, coming under Messer Lionato's windows, on the side aforesaid, set
the ladder very softly against the balcony, and he who played the lover climbed up by
it and entered the house, as if he had intelligence within. The which when the dis-
consolate Don Timbreo saw, firmly believing that he who climbed up went to lie
with Fenicia, he was overcome with the cruellest anguish and felt himself all '
aswoon. However, just despite (as he deemed it) availed so much in him that,
doing away all jealousy, it not only altogether quenched the sincere and ardent love
which he bore Fenicia, but converted it into cruel hatred ; wherefore, caring not to
await his rival's coming forth, he departed the place where he was ambushed and
returned to his lodging. The youth saw him depart and recognising him, deemed
that of him which was in effect the case ; whereupon not long after he made a cer-
tain signal and the servant who had gone up coming down, they all repaired in com-
pany to the house of Signor Girondo, to whom they related all that had passed ;
whereat he was marvellously rejoiced, and himseemed he was already possessed of
the fair Fenicia.
On the morrow Don Timbreo, who had slept very little that night, arose betimes
in the morning, and sending for the townsman, by whom he had demanded Fenicia
in marriage of her father, acquainted him with that which he would have him do.
The Messinese, fully informed of his mind and will, betook himself, at his instance,
towards dinner-time, to the house of Messer Lionato, whom he found walking in
the saloon, against dinner should be ready, and there likewise was the innocent
Fenicia, who wrought certain broideries of hers in silk, in company of her mother
and of two sisters of hers, younger than herself. The citizen was graciously
received by Messer Lionato, to whom said he, ' Messer Lionato, I have a message
to deliver to you, to your lady, and to Fenicia on the part of Don Timbreo.' * You
are welcome,' replied he ; ' what is to do ? Wife and thou, Fenicia, come and hear
with me that which Don Timbreo giveth us to understand.' Quoth the messenger,
'It is commonly said that an ambassador, in delivering that wherewithal he is
charged, should not incur any penalty. I come to you, sent by another, and it
grieveth me infinitely to bring you news which may afflict you. Don Timbreo di
Cardona sendeth unto you, Messer Lionato, and unto your lady, bidding you pro-
vide yourselves with another son-in-law, inasmuch as he purposeth not to have you
to parents-in-law, not indeed for any default of yourselves, whom he holdeth and
believeth to be loyal and worthy, but for that he hath with his own eyes seen a thing
in Fenicia which he could never have believed, and therefore he leaveth it unto you
to provide for your occasions. To thee, Fenicia, he saith that the love he bore thee
merited not the requital which thou hast made him therefor, and biddeth thee provide
thyself with another husband, even as thou hast provided thyself with another lover,
or, better, take him to whom thou hast given thy virginity, for that he purposeth not
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316 APPENDIX
to have any manner of dealing with thee, since thou hast before marriage made him
a burgess of Cometo.'*
Fenicia, hearing this bitter and shameful message, abode as she were dead, and on
like wise did Messer Lionato and his lady. Nevertheless, taking heart and breath,
which had well-nigh failed him for amazement, Messer Lionato thus replied to the
messenger saying, * Brother, I still misdoubted, from the first moment when thou
bespokest me of this marriage, that Don Timbreo would not abide constant to his
demand, well knowing myself, as I did and do, to be but a poor gendeman and
none of his peer. Algates, meseemeth that, an he repented him of taking my
y daughter to wife, it should have sufl&ced him to say that he would none of her and
not (as he doth) cast upon her so shameful an impeachment as that of harlotry.
1 True it is that all things are possible, but I know how she hath been reared and
' what her usances are. God the Just Judge will one day, I trust, make known the
truth.* With this reply the gendeman took his leave and Messer Lionato abode
persuaded that Don Timbreo had repented him of the proposed alliance, himseeming
it were overmuch condescension and derogation on his part Now Messer Lionato* s
family was one of the oldest in Messina and both noble and of high repute ; but his
wealth was only that of a private gentleman, albeit it was matter of record that his
forefathers had anciently owned many lands and castles, with a most ample jurisdic-
tion ; but, through the various revolutions of the island and the civil wars which had
bedded, they had (as is seen in many other families) been dispossessed of their
- seignories ; wherefore, the good old man, having never seen aught in his daughter
other than most honourable, concluded that Don Timbreo had taken their poverty
and present ill-fortune in disdain.
On the other hand, Fenida, hearing herself thus wrongfully impeached, was sore
disordered for excess of dolour and heart-sickness, and abandoning herself to despair,
like a tender and delicate maid as she was and imused to the blows of perverse for-
tune, had tendered death dearer than life ; wherefore, overtaken with grievous and
poignant anguish, she let herself fall as one dead, and of a sudden losing her natural
colour, resembled a marble statue rather than a live woman. She was taken up and
laid upon a bed, where with hot cloths and other remedies her strayed spirits were
presendy recalled to her, and the doctors being sent for, the report spread throughout
Messina that Messer Lionato* s daughter, Fenicia, was fallen so sick that she abode
in peril of her life. At this news there came many ladies, kinswomen, and friends,
to visit the disconsolate damsel and learning the cause of her sickness, studied, as
best they knew, to console her ; wherefore, as it wont to betide among a multitude
of women, they said various things concerning so piteous a case, and all of one
accord severely blamed Don Timbreo. They were for the most part about the bed
of the sick girl, who presendy, having plainly apprehended that which was said,
collected all her strength, and seeing that well-nigh all wept for pity of her, besought
them with a feeble voice to forbear ; then [silence being made] she spoke thus on
languid wise, saying, ' My honoured mother and sisters, I pray you dry these tears,
*The names of several towns, such as Cometo (in the Roman Maremma), Cor-
nazzano and Comigliano (in the Milanese), of which the word como (signifying a
horn, the traditional emblem of cuckoldry) forms part, are used by Bandello and
other Italian writers with a play on the word. — Note, (substantially,) by the Trans-
lator. See Belle Forest
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT^BANDELLO 317
for that they avail you not, while to me they are an occasion of fresh dolour, and
profit nothing for the case betided. Thus hath it pleased our Lord God, and it
behoveth us have patience. The bitterest of the dolour which I suffer and which
goeth little by little wearing away the thread of life in me, is not that I am repudi-
ated, albeit that is a source of infinite grief to me, but the manner of this repudia-
tion it is that cutteth me even to the quick and afflicteth my heart beyond remedy.
Don Timbreo might have said that I pleased him not to wife and all had been well ;
but, through the fashion of his rejection of me, I know that I incur everlasting
reproach in the eyes of all the Messinese and shall still pass for guilty of that which
not only I never did, but which assuredly I never yet thought to do ; nay, I shall
still be pointed at with the finger of scorn for a strumpet. I have ever confessed and
do anew confess myself no match for such a knight and lord as Don Timbreo ; for
that my parents' little means sought not to marry me in such high place. But, in
the matter of nobility and antiquity of blood, the Lionati are known as the most
ancient and noble of all this island, we being descended from a most noble Roman
house which flourished before our Lord Jesus Christ took flesh, as is testified by very
ancient writings. Now, even as for lack of wealth I confess myself unworthy of so '.
great a gentleman, so on like wise I say that I am most unworthily repudiated, seeing J
it is a very manifest thing that I have never thought to give any man that of myself /
which right willeth should be reserved unto my husband. God (whose holy naipe
be still praised and revered) knoweth that I say sooth ; and who knoweth but the
Divine Majesty would save me by this means ? For that, belike, being so nobly
married, I had been swollen up with pride and waxed arrogant, contemning this one
and that, and had peradventure been less mindful of God's goodness towards me.
Now may He do with me that which most pleaseth Him and vouchsafe me that this
my tribulation may enure to the welfare of my soul. Moreover, with all my heart
I do most devoutly beseech Him to open Don Timbreo his eyes, not that he may take
me again to bride, — for I feel myself dying little by little, — but that he, to whom my
faith hath been of litde price, may, together with all the world, know that I never
committed that mad and shameful default, whereof, against all reason, I am im-
peached ; so that, if I die in this infamy, I inay ere long abide justified. Let him
enjoy another lady unto whom God hath destined him and live long with her in
peace ; for me, in a few hours six feet of earth will suffice me. Let my father and
my mother and all our friends and kinsfolk have at least this scantling of comfort in
this so great affliction that I am altogether innocent of the infamy which is laid to my
charge and take to witness my faith, which I here plight them, as behoveth an obe-
dient daughter; for that weightier pledge or testimony I cannot presently give.
Suffice it me to be before Christ's just tribunal acknowledged innocent of such
wickedness; and so unto Him who gave it me I commit my soul, the which,
desirous of quitting this earthly prison, taketh flight towards Him.'
This said, such was the greatness of the anguish which beset her heart and so
sorely did it straiten it that, offering to say I know not what more, she began to lose
power of speech and to falter out broken words, which were understood of none,
and all at once there spread an ice-cold sweat over her every limb, on such wise that,
crossing her hands upon her breast, she let herself go for dead. The physicians,
who were yet there, unable to find any remedy for so grievous a case, gave her up for
lost, saying that the fierceness of the pain had burst her heart in sunder, and so they
went their ways ; nor had Fenicia long abidden, all cold and pulseless, in the arms
of those her friends and kinswomen than she was of all accounted dead, and one of
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3l8 APPENDIX
the physicians, being called back and finding no pulse in her, declared her to have
given up the ghost What cruel lamentations were made over her, what tears were
shed and what piteous sighs heaved, I leave it to you, compassionate ladies, to con-
ceive. The wretched tearful father and the dishevelled and woebegone mother would
have made stones weep, whilst the other ladies and all who were there kept up a
piteous lamentation. From five to six hours were now past and the burial was
appointed for the ensuing day ; wherefore the mother, more dead than alive, alter
the multitude of women had departed, kept with her a kinswoman of hers, the
brother's wife of Messer Lionato, and the twain, letting set water on the fire, shut
themselves up in a chamber, without other person ; then, stripping Fenida naked,
they fell to washing her with warm water.
Fenicia's strayed spirits had now been near seven hours abroad, whenas, what
while the cold limbs were in bathing, they returned to their accustomed office and
the damsel, giving manifest signs of life, began to open her eyes. Her mother and
kinswoman were like to cry out; however, plucking up courage, they laid their
hands on her heart and felt it make some movement ; wherefore they were certified
that the damsel was alive and accordingly, without making any stir, they plied her
on such wise with hot cloths and other remedies that she returned well-nigh altogether
to herself, and, opening wide her eyes, said with a heavy sigh, ' Alack, where am I ?'
Quoth her mother, ' Seest thou not that thou art here with me and with thine aunt?
There had so sore a swoon overcome thee we deemed thee dead, but (praised be
God) thou art e'en alive.' Whereupon, 'Alas,' replied Fenida, 'how much better
were it that I were dead and quit of such sore afflictions!' 'Daughter mine,'
r^oined her mother and aunt, ' it behoveth thee to live, since God so willeth it, and
all shall yet be set right.' Then the mother, concealing the joy she felt, opened the
chamber-door a little and let call Messer Lionato, who came incontinent When
he saw his daughter restored to herself, it booteth not to ask if he were glad, and
many things having been debated between them, he willed, in the first place, that
none should know aught of the fact, purposing to send Fenida forth of Messina to
the country-house of his brother, whose wife was there present. Then, the damsel
being recruited with delicate viands and wines of price and restored to her former
beauty and strength, he sent for his brother and fully instructed him of that which
he purposed to do. Accordingly, in pursuance of the ordinance concerted between
them, Messer Girolamo (for so was Messer Lionato' s brother named) carried Fenida
that same night to his own house [in Messina] and there kept her very secretly in
his wife's company. Then, having made the necessary provision at his country-
house, he one morning betimes despatched his wife thither with Fenida (who was
now sixteen years old), a sister of hers of from thirteen to fourteen, and a daughter
of his own ; this he did to the intent that, Fenida growing and changing looks, as
one doth with age, they might in two or three years' time marry her under another
name.
The day after [the falling ill of Fenida], it being reported throughout all Messina
that Fenida was dead, Messer Lionato let order her obsequies according to her rank
and caused make a coffin, wherein, unperceived of any, her mother, willing not that
any should meddle therewith, laid I know not what ; then, shutting the lid, she
nailed it and luted it with pitch, on such wise that all held it for certain that the
damsel's body was therewithin. At eventide Messer Lionato and his wife and kins-
folk, clad all in black, escorted the coffin to the church, making such a show of
extreme grief as if they had in very deed followed their daughter's body to the
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT^BANDELLO 319
tomb; the which moved eveiy one to pity, for that, the occasion of Fenicia's sup- W- •> '
posed death having gotten wind, all the Messinese held it for certain that Don Tim- I ' ^'y
breo had forged the stoiy aforesaid for his own ends. The coffin was accordingly ; V
interred, with general mourning of the whole city, and thereover was set a monu-
ment of stone, emblazoned with the ensigns of the Lionati, whereon Messer Lionato
let grave this epitaph : —
Fenida hight I. As ill-fortune bade,
I was affianced to a cruel knight.
Who, soon repenting him of nuptial plight.
Unto my charge a foul transgression laid. ,
I, as an innocent and tender maid, \
Seeing myself impeach' d with such unright,
Chose rather die than live in all men's sight
Shown for a strumpet. Sword or dagger's blade
There needed none, alacl^ to me to die ;
Sharp grief was deadlier than steel, forsooth,
Whenas I heard me slandered causelessly.
With my last breath I pray'd God of his ruth
To show the world their error by and by.
Since my vow'd bridegroom reck'd not of my truth.
The tearful obsequies made, and it being freely spoken everywhere of the cause
of Fenicia's death and various things discoursed thereupon, and all showing com-
passion of so piteous a case, as of a thing which had been feigned, Don Timbreo v." -'
began to suffer exceeding great chagrin, together with a certain oppression of the ^s>^ ' • ^ ^^
heart, for that he knew not what to believe. Himseemed indeed he should not be [
blamed, having himself seen a man go up by the ladder to enter the house ; but, ; '
presently, better considering that which he had seen, (more by token that his ' '
despite was now in great part cooled and reason began to open his eyes,) he be-
thought himself that he who had entered the house might belike have climbed up
thither, either for some other woman or to steal. Moreover, he called to mind that
Messer Lionato' s house was very great and that none abode whereas the man had
gone up ; nay, that Fenicia, sleeping with her sister in a chamber within that of her
fiither and mother, might not have availed to come to that side, it behoving her pass
through her father's chamber ; and so, assailed and tormented by confficting thoughts,
he could find no repose.
On like wise, Signor Girondo, hearing the manner of Fenicia's death and know- , ' ^■
ing himself to have been her murderer, felt his heart like to burst for excess '.
of dolour, as well because he was i>assionately enamoured of her as also for that he I
had been the true cause of so great a scandal, and was like twice or thrice for despair
to have plunged a poniard into his own breast. Unable either to eat or to drink, he
abode as he were an idiot, nay, rather, a man possessed, and could take neither rest
nor repose. Ultimately, it being the seventh day after Fenicia's funeral and him-
seeming he might live no longer, an he discovered not to Don Timbreo the wicked-
ness he had done, he betook himself to the palace, at the hour when all went home
to dine, and encountering the knight on his way to his hostelry, said to him, * Signof
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320 APPENDIX
Timbreo^ let it not irk you to come with me hard by on an occasion of mine.' Tim-
breo, who had loved him as a comrade, went with him, discoursing of various matters,
and a few steps brought them to the church where Fenicia's monument stood. There
come, Girondo bade his serving-men await him without, and besought Don Timbreo
to lay the like commandment on his ; the which he straightway did. The two gende-
v^ ^ men, then, alone entered the church, where they found no one, and Girondo carried
Timbreo to the chapel where was the pretended tomb. There he fell on his knees
before the tomb and unsheathing a poniard which he had by his side, gave it naked
into the hand of Don Timbreo, who waited, all full of wonderment, to know what
this might mean, more by token that he had not yet observed whose tomb it was
before which his friend knelt. Then, in a voice broken with sobs and tears, Girondo
thus bespoke him, saying, < Magnanimous and noble knight, having, as I judge,
done thee infinite wrong, I am not come hither to crave thee of pardon, for that my
fault is such as meriteth it not Wherefore, an ever thou look to do aught worthy
of thy valour, an thou think to act knighdy, an thou desire to do a deed to God
acceptable and grateful to the world, plant that steel which thou hast in hand in this
wicked and traitorous breast and make of my vicious and abominable blood a befitting
sacrifice unto these most sacred ashes of {he innocent and ill-starred Fenicia, who was
late entombed in this sepulchre ; for that of her unmerited and untimely death, I of
my malice was the sole cause. Nay, if thou, more compassionate of me than I of
myself, deny me this, I will with mine own hands wreak that uttermost vengeance
on myself which shall be possible unto me. But, an thou be that true and loyal
knight thou hast been till now, who would never brook the least shadow of a
stain, thou wilt forthright take due vengeance both for thyself and for the ill-fated
Fenicia.'
Don Timbreo, seeing himself before the resting-place of the fair Fenida's body
and hearing that which Girondo said to him, was well-nigh beside himself and could
nowise conceive what this might be. However, moved by I know not what, he fell
to weeping bitterly and besought Girondo to rise to his feet and more plainly to dis-
cover the matter. Therewith he cast the poniard far from him and after did and
said to such purpose that Girondo arose, weeping the while, and thus replied to him,
saying, *Know, then, my lord, that Fenicia was most .ardendy beloved of me and
on such wise that, should I live an hundred lives, I might nevermore hope to find
comfort or consolation, since my love was to the hapless maid the occasion of a most
bitter death ; for that, seeing I might never have of her a kind look nor a least token
conformable unto my desires, and hearing she was promised to thee for wife, I, being
blinded by my unbridled appetite, conceived that, so but I found a means of pre-
venting her from becoming thy wife, I might after, demanding her in marriage of
her father, have espoused her. Wherefore, unable to devise another remedy for my
most fervent love, without farther consideration I hatched the blackest treason was ever
plotted and caused thee by practice see one go up by night into her house, who was
none other than one of my servants ; moreover, he who came to speak with thee and
who gave thee to understand that Fenicia had bestowed her love upon another was
lessoned and set on by me to the errand which he did thee. Accordingly, Fenicja
was on the ensuing day repudiated by thee and through that repudiation the ill-
fortuned maid died and is here buried. Wherefore, I having been the butcher, the
hangman, and the barbarous assassin who hath so cruelly wronged both thee and
her, I beseech thee with clasped hands,' and here he fell on his knees anew, * that
thou wilt e'en take due vengeance for the wickedness committed of me ; for that,
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT—BANDELLO 32I
when I think of the dire calamity whereof I have been the cause, I hold life in
horror.*
Don Timbreo, hearing these things, wept passing bitterly^r and knowing that the
error, once committed, was irreparable, and that Fenicia, being dead, might no more
return to life, determined not to seek to avenge himself upon Girondo, but, by par-
doning him his every default, to procure Fenicia' s fair fame to be vindicated and that
honour restored to her, whereof she had without cause been so shamefully bereaved.
Accordingly, he bade Girondo rise to his feet and after many heavy sighs, mingled
with most bitter tears, bespoke him on this wise, saying, * How far better were it for
me, brother mine, that I had never been bom or that, an I must needs come into the
world, I had been bom deaf, so I might never have heard a thing so hurtful and so
grievous to me, and by reason whereof I shall never again live happy, considering
that I, of my over-credulity, have slain her, whose love and the singular and sur-
passing virtues and qualities wherewith the King of Heaven had endowed her
merited of me anothergates guerdon than so shameful a defamement and so untimely
a death I But, since God hath so permitted it, against whose will there stirreth not
a leaf upon a tree, and since things past may eather be blamed than amended, I
purpose not to take of thee any manner of vengeance, for that to lose friend upon
friend were to add dolour unto dolour ; nor withal would Fenida's blessed soul
return to her most chaste body, which hath accomplished its course. Of one thing
I will e'en rebuke thee, so thou mayst never more fall into a like error, and that is
that thou discoveredst not to me thy love, knowing that I was enamoured of her and
knew nothing of thy passion ; for that, ere I caused demand her of her father, I
would in this amorous emprise have yielded place unto thee and overcoming myself,
as magnanimous and generous spirits use to do, would have preferred our friendship
before my appetite ; nay, maybe thou, hearing my reasonings, wouldst have desisted
from this thine undertaking, and so this scandal had not ensued. However, the
thing is done and there is no means of procuring it to be undone ; but in one thing
I would fain have thee complease me and do that which I shall bid thee.' Quoth
Girondo, < Command me, my lord, for that I will do all without exception.' ' I wish
then,' rejoined Don Timbreo, ' that, Fenicia having been of us twain wrongfully
impeached for a wanton, we, in so far as we may, restore her her fair fame and
render her due honour, first in the eyes of her disconsolate parents, and after of all the
Messinese ; for, that which I let say to her having gotten wind, the whole city might
lightly believe that she was a harlot. Else meseemeth I should without cease have
her angry shade before mine eyes, still crying sore to God for vengeance against me.'
To this, still weeping, Girondo straightway answered, ' To thee, sir, it pertaineth
to command and to me to obey. I was before bounden unto thee by friendship and
now, through the wrong which I have done thee and which thou, like an over-pitiful
and loyal knight, so generously pardonest unto me, base and perfidious wretch that
I am, I am forever become thy servant and thy slave.' These words said, both,
weeping bitterly, fell on their knees before the sepulchre and with clasped hands
humbly besought pardon of Fenicia and of God, the one of the wickedness com-
mitted and the other of his own credulousness ; then, their eyes dried, Timbreo
would have Girondo go with him to Messer Lionato's house. Accordingly, they
repaired thither and found Messer Lionato, who had dined in company with sundry
of his kinsfolk, in act to rise from the table. When he heard that the two gentlemen
would fain speak with him, he came to meet them, all full of wondemaent, and bade
them welcome ; whilst they, seeing him and his wife dad in black, fell a-weeping for
21
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322 APPENDIX
the crael remembrance of Fenicia's death and could scarce speak. Then^ two stools
being brought and all having seated themselves, Don Timbreo, with many sighs and
sobs, recounted, in the presence of as many as were there, the woefuU story of the
cause of Fenicia's (as he believed) most cruel and untimely death and cast himself,
he and Signor Girondo, on the ground, craving her father and mother pardon of the
wickedness conunitted. Messer Lionato, weeping for joy and tenderness, lovingly
embraced them both and pardoned them their every wrong, thanking God that his
daughter was acknowledged innocent.
Then Don Timbreo, after much talk, turning to Messer Lionato, said to him, < Sir
and father, since ill-fortune hath willed that I should not become your son-in-law, as
was my supreme desire, I pray you, nay, as most I may, I require you that you will
still avail yourself of me and mine, as if the intended alliance had indeed ensued
between us, for that I will still have you in such reverence and obedience as a loving
and obedient son should have for his father. And if you will deign to command me,
you shall find my deeds comformable to my words, for that certes I know nothing in
the world, how difficult soever it may be, but I would do it for you.' For this the
good old man lovingly thanked him and finally said to him, < Since you have so
freely made me such courteous proffers and since adverse fortune hath deemed me
unworthy of your alliance, I will make bold to crave you of one thing, the which
will be eath for you to do ; to wit, I pray you, by that loyalty which reigneth in you
and by what love soever you bore the unfortunate Fenicia, that, whenas you have a
mind to marry, you will vouchsafe to give me to know thereof and that, if I proffer
you a lady who shall please you, you will take her to wife.' Don Timbreo, him-
seeming the disconsolate old man asked a little thing in requital of such a loss as
that which he had suffered, proffered him his hand and kissing him on the mouth,
replied to him thus, ' Sir father, since you ask so slight a thing of me, I being
bounden to you for a far greater and wishing to show you how much I desire to do
you a pleasure, not only will I take no wife without your knowledge, but her alone
will I marry whom jrou shall counsel me and give me ; and this I promise you upon
my faith, in the presence of all these noble gentlemen.' Signor Girondo on like
wise bespoke Messer Lionato with fair and goodly words, avouching himself still
most apt unto his pleasures ; which done, the two gentlemen went to dinner. The
thing was presently bruited abroad in Messina, so that it was manifest unto all that
Fenida had been unjustly impeached, and on like wise she herself was that same
day advised by her fiither, through an especial messenger, of that which had betided ;
whereat she was mightily rejoiced and returned thanks to God for her recovered
honour.
Fenicia had now abidden about a year's space in the country, where all went so
well that none knew her to be alive, and meantime Don Timbreo held strait inter-
course with Messer Lionato, who, having advised his daughter of that which he
thought to do, applied himself to the ordinance of the things which pertained unto
his purpose. Now in this space of time the damsel was waxen fair beyond belief
and, having accomplished her seventeenth year, was grown on such wise that whoso
saw her had never known her for Fenida, espedally as they held the latter to be
dead. Her sister, Belfiore by name, who abode with her, and was some fifteen
years old, appeared in very truth a most fair flower^ and showed little less beauty
than her elder sister ; which Messer Lionato, who went often to visit them, seeing,
he determined to tarry no longer of carrying his design into effect. Wherefore, being
one day in company with the two gentlemen, he said, smiling, to Don Timbreo, ' It
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT-^BANDELLO 323
is time, my lord, that I should acquit you of the obligation which you, of your
favour, have undertaken towards me. Methinketh I have found you a veiy fiiir and
charming young lady to wife, with whom, when you have seen her, you wiU, to my
thinking, be content. And if belike she be not taken of you with so much love as
that wherewith you were to espouse Fenicia, of this I can e'en certify you that you
will have in her no less beauty, no less nobility, and no less gentilesse. With most
engaging manners and other womanly charms, she is, Godamercy, abundantly pro-
vided and adorned ; but you shall see her and it shall after be in your discretion to
do that which shall seem to you most to your advantage. On Sunday morning I will
come to your lodging, with a chosen company of kinsfolk and friends, and do you
and Signor Girondo be in readiness, for that it behoveth us to go some three miles
without Messina to a village where we shall hear mass, after which you shall see the
damsel of whom I have bespoken you and we will dine in company.'
Timbreo accepted the invitation and the ordinance appointed and on Sunday made
ready betimes to take horse with Signor Girondo. Presently Messer Lionato arrived
with a troop of gendemen, having let make honourable provision at his country-
house of everything necessary, and Don Timbreo, being advised of his coming,
mounted to horse with Signor Girondo and their servants. Then, good day given
and taken, they all in company rode forth of Messina mid devising, as it happeneth
on such occasions, of various things, they came presently, without perceiving it, to
the house, where they were honourably received. They heard mass at a neighbour-
ing church ; which ended, they all betook themselves into a saloon, magnificently
arrayed with Alexandrian arras and carpets. All being assembled, there came many
gentlewoman out of a chamber and amongst them Belfiore and Fenicia, which latter
showed as she were the very moon, whenas she most shineth in the serene heavens
among the stars. The two knights and the other gendemen received them with a
respectful greeting, as every gentleman should still do with ladies; then Messer
Lionato, taking Don Timbreo by the hand and carrying him to Fenicia, who had
still, since her bringing into the country, been called Lucilla, ' Here, Sir Knight,'
said he, ' is Signora Ludlla, whom I have chosen to give you to wife, an it so please
you. If you will be ruled by me, you will make her your spouse ; nevertheless, yon
are at liberty to take her or leave her.'
Don Timbreo, seeing the damsel, who was in truth most fair, was at first sight
marvellously pleased with her and being already determined to content Messer
Lionato, bethought himself a little and answered, < Sir father, not only do I accept
this damsel, whom you now present to me, and who seemeth to me a right noble
young lady, nay, but I would on like wise have accepted any other who had been
profiered me of you. And so you may see how desirous I am to content you, and
may know that the promise I made you is no vain one, this damsel and none
other do I take to my lawful spouse, so but her will be conformable unto mine.'
Whereupon the damsel made answer and said, ' Sir Knight, I am ready to do all
that which shall be bidden me of Messer Lionato.' < And I, fair damsel,' rejoined
Messer Lionato, ' exhort you to take Don Timbreo to husband ;' wherefore, to make
no further delay with the matter, sign was made to an ecclesiastic, who was there
present, that he should pronounce the accustomed words, according to the use of
Holy Church ; the which he discreetly doing, Don Timbreo by word of mouth then
and there espoused his Fenida, thinking to espouse one Lucilla. Now, whenas he
first saw the damsel come forth of the chamber, he felt at heart a certain I know not
what, himseeming he discovered in her countenance features of his Fenicia, and
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324 APPENDIX
could not take his fill of looking upon her : nay, all the love which he had borne
Fenicia he felt turn to this new damsel.
The espousals made, water was forthright given to the hands and the company sat
down to table, at the head whereof was set the bride, with Don Timbreo on her
right hand ; overagainst whom sat Belfiore and next after her Signor Girondo, and
and so in turn a gentleman and a lady side by side. Then came the viands, delicate
and in the goodliest ordinance, and all the banquet was sumptuous and £fiir and
softly served ; * nor lacked there of discourse and witty sallies and a thousand othet
diversions. Ultimately, fruits being set on such as the season afforded, Fenicia' s
aunt, who had abidden with her the greater part of the year in the country and who
was seated at table beside Don Timbreo, seeing the dinner draw to an end, said
merrily to the latter, as if she had heard nothing of the things occurred, ' Sir bride-
groom, had you never a wife ?' At this question, he felt his eyes fill with tears,
which fell before he could reply ; however, overcoming natural emotion, he replied
to her on this wise, saying, < Mistress aunt, your most affable enquiry bringeth me
back to mind a thing which I have ever at heart and through which methinketh I
shall early end my days ; for that, albeit I am most content with Signora Lucilla
here, nevertheless, for another lady, whom I loved and whom, dead as she is, I love
more than myself, I feel a worm- of dolour at my heart, which still goeth fretting me
little by little and tormenteth me sore without cease, more by token that I, against
all right, was the sole occasion of her most cruel death.' Signor Girondo would fain
have replied to these words, but was hindered with a thousand sobs and with the
abundance of the tears which fell in streams from his eyes ; however, at last, with
half-broken speech, ' Nay, sir,' said he, * it was I ; I, disloyal traitor that I was, was
e'en the butcher and minister of the death of that most hapless damsel, who was
worthy, for her rare qualities, to live longer than she did, and thou wast nowise to
blame therefor, seeing all the fault was mine.'
At this discourse the bride's eyes also began to fill with tearful rain, for the cruel
remembrance of the past heartbreak which she had so bitterly suffered ; what whUe
her aunt followed on and said to her new-made nephew, ' Prithee, Sir Knight, of
your courtesy, now there is nought else whereof to discourse, tell me how this cir-
cumstance befell, wherefit you and this other gentleman yet weep so piteously.'
< Alack, madam aunt,' replied he, < you would have me renew the cruellest and most
despairful dolour was ever suffered of me, the thought whereof alone unmanneth
and consumeth me ; but, to pleasure you, I will tell you all, to my eternal afiliction
and little honour ; for that I was over-credulous.' Accordingly, he began and not
without burning tears and to the exceeding pity and wonderment of the listeners,
recounted all the piteous story from beginning to end ; whereupon quoth the matron,
*' Sir Knight, you tell me a strange and cruel case, whereof perchance the like never
befell in this world. But tell me, so God aid you : if, before this damsel here had
been given you to wife, you might have availed to recall your beloved to life, what
would you have done to have her alive again?' Don Timbreo, still weeping,
answered, ' I swear to God, mistress mine, that I am right well pleased with this my
bride and I hope daily for yet better content from her ; but, might I before have availed
to buy back the dead, I would have given the half of my years to have her again, over
and above the treasure I would have expended to that end ; for that in truth I loved
* The old Italians seem to have attached as much importance as do the modem
English to this matter of quiet and silent service. Note by the Translator.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT-^BANDELLO 325
her as much as woman can be loved of man, and were I to live thousands and thou-
sands of years, dead as she is, I should still love her and for love of her should still
have as many as are here of her kinsfolk in reverence.' Whereupon, Fenicia's
rejoiced fieUher, unable longer to conceal the gladness which possessed him, turned
to his son-in-law, weeping for excess of contentment and tenderness of heart, and
said to him, 'Marry, sir son and son-in-law, for so must I call you, you do ill
approve with your acts that which you say with your mouth, inasmuch as, having
e^xiused your much-loved Fenida and abidden all the morning beside her, you have
not yet recognised her. Whither is this your so fervent love gone ? Hath she so
changed favour, are her fiashions so altered that, having her by your side, you
know her not?* ; \i .}.
These words suddenly opened the eyes of the enamoured knight and he cast himself ^
on his Fenida* s neck, kissing her a thousand times and viewing her with fixed eyes, {
fulfilled with joy without end. And still the while he wept softly, without availing i
to utter a word, inwardly calling himself blind ; and it being presently recounted of
Messer Lionato how the case had betided, they all abode full of extreme wonder-
ment and to boot exceeding rejoiced. Signor Girondo, then, rising from table, cast
himself, weeping sore, at Fenida* s feet and humbly besought her of pardon. She
recdved him kindly and with affectionate speech remitted unto him the wrongs he
had done her ; then, turning to her husband, who still accused himself of the de&ult
committed, she prayed him with sweetest words nevermore to bespeak her of the
matter, for that, he not having erred, it nowise behoved him crave pardon of her ;
and so, kissing and weeping for joy, they drank each other's hot tears, all full of
extreme contentment
Then, what while all abode in the utmost gladness and it was preparing to dance
and make merry, Girondo, accosting Messer Lionato, who was so full of joyance that
himseemed he touched the sky with his fingers, besought him to vouchsafe him a
very great favour, which would [he said] be to him a cause of marvellous content-
ment. Messer Lionato bade him ask what he would, for that, were it a thing unto
which he might avail, he would very gladly and willingly do it 'Then,* said I
Girondo, * I ask you, Signor Lionato, to father-in-law and father, Signom Fenida j ; '
and Signor Timbreo to sister and brother-in-law and Signora Belfiore here to my | •«
lawful and loving consort.* The good father, seeing new joyance heaped on him
and well-nigh beside himself for such an unhoped happiness, knew not if he
dreamed or if that were indeed true which he heard and saw ; but, himseeming he
slept not, he thanked God with all his heart, who guerdoned him so magnificendy,
past his desert, and turning to Signor Girondo, courteously avouched himself content
with that which pleased him. Then, calling Belfiore to him, < Thou seest, daughter,*
quoth he, ' how the thing goeth. This knightly gentleman seeketh thee to wife ; an
thou wilt have him to husband, it will greatly content me and thou hast every reason
to do it ; so tell us freely thy mind thereof.* The fair maid, all trembling, in a low
voice shamefastly replied to her father that she was ready to do whatsoever he
wished ; and so, to make no delay about the matter, Signor Girondo, with the con-
sent of all their kinsfolk, gave the fair Belfiore the ring with due ceremony of accus-
tomed words ; whereat infinite was the contentment of Messer Lionato and all his
family. Moreover, for that Don Timbreo had espoused his dear Fenida under the
name of Lucilla, he then and there espoused her anew under her true name ; and so
all the day was spent in dancing and delight
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326 APPENDIX
To the rest of the story, which extends over six or seven pages more, delightful
and satisfactory as it all is, space cannot be accorded here. Signor Sdpione Atellano
dwells with keen delight on every lovely feature of Fenicia, her mouth, her eyes, her
hair, her neck, her breast, her arms, her hands, — < her every sign and movement was
full of infinite grace and it seemed she needs must ravish the hearts of all beholders
by main force. Wherefore who named her Fenicia nowise departed from the truth,
for that she was indeed 2i phoenix who far excelled all other damsels in beauty.' (If
Bandello accepted this name from some older story, he failed to appreciate, I think,
its full significance when applied to one who arose, with renewed beauty, as it were
from the tomb. If he devised it himself, he 'builded better than he knew.' ) A mes-
senger was sent to the King to tell him the happy story, so that when the joyous com-
pany returned from the country house to Messina to celebrate the nuptials, they were
met in the way by all the gentleman and gentlewomen of the city, the barons of the
realm and an innumerable company of knights and gentlemen led by the King's
son ; at the entrance to the city the King himself with the Queen met them and rode
to the xoyal palace, the King between Messer Lionato and Don Timbreo, the Queen
between Fenicia and Belfiore. * There they dined sumptuously and after dinner, Don
Timbreo, by commandment of the King, recounted, in the presence of all the company,
the whole history of his loves ; which done, they fell to dancing and the King kept
open court all that week.' Honours were bestowed by the King on Lionato, and to
Fenicia and Belfiore he gave dowers almost as lavish as though they were his own
daughters.
After having given Bandello' s Novel at such length, space and patience exclaim
against giving in full Belle-Forest's version of it. I shall here translate only such
extracts as seem to me to have any bearing on either Di< schoene Phoenicia of Jacob
Ayrer, or Much Ado about Nothing.
BELLE-FOREST
The story of Timbr^e de Cardone is to be found in Le Troisiesme Tonu des His-
toires Tragiques^ extraittes des oeuures Italiennes de Bandel^ Cantenant dix-huU His-
toires^ traduites 6r* enrichies outre Vinuention de l^Auteur: Par Francois de Belle-
'Forest Comingeois, Paris, 1582, page 475 (misnumbered 450). It thus begins : —
The chronicles not only of France and Spain but also of Naples and Sicily are
adequately full of accounts of that memorable and cruel butchery of the French
which took place in Sicily A. D. 1283.*
The author of the conspiracy, a man named Jean Prochite, was thereto instigated
by Peter, King of Arragon, who wished to take possession of the island. The mas-
sacre received the name, Sicilian Vespers, because it was on Easter eve when the French
were at the vesper service that this abominable treachery and brutal cruelty was car-
ried out. . . . The King of Arragon, having halted in this city, Messina, there held
his court with much gaiety in honour of his victory, giving many feasts to the gentle-
men who had followed him, and they in turn devised a thousand trials of skill in
arms, not only to give pleasure to the King but also to exercise themselves in an
occupation so noble and becoming to high-bom gentlemen. In this grand troupe of
Seigneurs and followers of the King there was one who was held in high esteem for
his valour, and for his proofs of gallantry in all the wars against the French and else-
* See note, in Bandello.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT-BELLE-FOREST 327
where, and was greatly beloved and favoured by the King ; this gentleman was called
Timbr^e de Cardone ; it is with him that this story chiefly deals because of the love
he bore to a young girl of Messina, whose father, named Lionato de Lionati, belonged
to an ancient Sicilian house. This damsel, Fenicie, was fair among the fairest, lovely
and courteous, and in gende grace and sweet deportment excelled all who in those
days were in the royal dty of Messina. Well, this Timbr^e was very rich, and had,
in addition to his royal fee, an income of more than twelve thousand ducats ; but in
spite of his wealth and the royal favour. Love ceased not to attack him, and having
gotten the advantage, made him his slave by means of the perfect beauty of Fenicie,
who was still very young, and, although hardly more than fourteen or fifteen years
old, was ever refined, demure, quick- witted, and for her modesty greatly commended.
No sooner had the poison of love entered Timbr^e's veins through his eyes by looking
on Fenicia, just as formerly Dido received it by kissing Cupid who had assumed the
face and form of the litde Trojan Ascanius, than Timbr^e ceased not from passing
and re-passing before Lionato* s house merely to catch a glimpse of her he adored, so
unbounded is the passion of love that the eye once struck by the arrow of Cupid,
transmits the wound and the conceit to the heart . . . Fenicie seeing this gentleman
thus walking to and fro before her house, and casting sheeps* eyes at her with signs
which urged her to listen to his prayer, suspected very soon the cause, and noting
that he was richly clad, besides being handsome, young and gallant and gracious,
she turned a favourable eye on him, and when he saluted her, she returned it with
respectful politeness. . . . The Count de Colisan determined to try every means to
gain the young girl and to bend her to his wishes, for at this time he thought not of
marriage, inasmuch as she was no even match with him. He managed it so well that
he induced an old woman of the household of Lionato to carry a letter to Fenicie
which would prepare the way to the attainment of his designs. This is the letter
which the crone gave to her young mistress, when neither her mother nor any mem-
ber of the family was present [The letter is couched in terms of high-flown com-
pliment and admiration, and ends with the entreaty to ' be allowed to say at nearer
' hand and to her alone that which he would neither dare nor wish to say by any
'messenger, but to her, his sole hope, alone.' Fenicie as she read, blushed at the
compliments, but at once told the old woman to say to the Count de Colisan that she
was gready offended at his wish to speak to her in secret ] * You will tell him that
' I obey two chief masters (see Ayrer, ) : duty and honour, the first, forbids such practices
< without the consent of my parents, and the second would not suffer them until my
< eyes are veiled to the maidenly shame of all young girls like myself. As for loving
< him, I see nothing strange in that ; nor has the Count any cause to hate me by
< seeking to deprive me of that reputation which I hope in God will make me proud
' both before him and before all the world.' Having been thus foiled in his first
attempt, the Count de Colisan proceeded to pour out his soul in a * Chanson,' (which
fills five pages of the text), and entrusted it to the old woman. Fenicie read this
song, and although she acknowledged that it was the best written thing (la chose la
mieux faite) that she had seen for a long time (see Ayrer) she still remained firm,
and would say nought to any man whom her father did not think fit to nuirry her.
After this second repulse, Timbr^e retired to his chamber, and there, with profuse
tears and profound sighs, resolves to win Fenicie as his wife — (It may be curious to
note, that in his searching self-analysis, Timbr^e discovers a noteworthy physiological
difference in sighs : < These breezes,' he says, < which arise from my stomach, and
* indicate the depth of my woe, are not sighs ; a sigh brings relief; but these exhala-
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328 APPENDIX
* tions from my entrails only increase the flame which ponsumes me/ Clearly^ here
we have one of the passages with which Belle-Forest, as he says in his title, has
' enriched ' the story of Bandello. ) Accordingly Timbr^e sends by a friend a fonnal
demand for the hand of Fenide in marriage. Messer Lionato accedes with alacrity,
and then hastens to tell his wife of the honour proffered to them by the Count of
Codisan (thus, in the original, — but the old gentleman, in his trembling joy, may not
haye got the name quite right). Fenide, too, acquiesced, with gratitude to Heaven
for this reward of chastity. But fortune was preparing a cross for them in the person
of Gironde Olerie Valerian, a valiant gentleman, and one of the most liberal and
magnificent of all the courtiers. This nobleman was deeply in love with Fenide,
and accordingly resolved to break off by stratagem the proposed match, and then
when Fenide was discarded to marry her himself. To carry out his design Gironde
had recourse to a courtier, of perfect manners, but at heart disloyal, false, treacher-
ous, and ready for any evil deed as long as profit in purse might accrue. This per-
fidious man (name not given) in an interview with Timbr^e, defames Fenide and
offers proof, if Timbr^e will conceal himself, at deven o'dock that evening in some
old ruins opposite Lionato' s garden ; the spot indicated was opposite to a quarter of
the house never used by the family. At the appointed hour Gironde, his accomplice,
and one of his servants, most richly dressed and perfumed, repair thither with a
ladder. While awaiting them in his hiding-place, Timbr6e has time to indulge in
three pages of moralising on the fickleness of woman, — another of Belle- Forest's
' enrichments ;' otherwise, Bandello is here followed dosely in the main line of the
story, even to the play on the word * Cometo,' which Belle-Forest translates, * Corn-
wall,' ( CamaUailU), In describing Timbr^e's state as he leaves the hiding place, the
French translator represents him as * marmonnant la patenostre du singe auec bourdon-
nement' (Cotgrave translates /a/^iMr/>v du sin^e, ' a diddering, or chattering with the
teeth ;' this picture of our hero may be true, but it cannot be called attractive). Where
Bandello says that Timbreo * slept very little for the rest of the night,' Belle-Forest
enriched the remark with the addition, < as though he had a flea in his ear.' Ban-
dello is dosely followed in representing, on the part of the many friends who gath-
ered about Fenide, a firm, unanimous belief in her innocence. (The thrifty Ayrer
is alone in his message from Tymborus that Phaenida could keep all the presents he
had sent her.) Belle-Forest's Epitaph is a free translation of Buidello, but still it is
an Epitaph of the same number of lines. In this portion of the story, until it comes
to the re-union of Timbreo and Fenida, any discrepancies between Bandello and
his translator are unimportant ; they have no influence whatever on Shakespeare's
comedy. Fenida' s sister is called ' Belfiore ' in Bandello ; the name in Belle- Forest
is translated < Bdlefleur,' wherein he is foUowod by Ayrer, who gives it ' Bdleflura.'
Bdle- Forest cannot refrain from improving his original ; when Fenida' s aunt, at the
dosing banquet, asks her < merry question ' whether Timbreo had ever before been
married, — ^in Bandello the responsive tears are shed by Timbreo alone ; this is not
enough for Bdle-Forest, according to whom the company join in and the weeping
becomes general, but, he is carefiil to add, the bridegroom wept the most In answer
to the Aunt's question as to what he would do to see his former bride again, Timbr^e
replies that like a second Orpheus he would descend to hell, — a simile not in Ban-
ddlo, but which so pleased Ayrer that he adopted it. Belle-Forest omits Bandello' s
description of Fenida' s beauty, and the royal procession which escorts to the palace
the happy grooms, their brides and Lionato' s family, and all mention of the king's
bounty, etc. Thrice he refers to Fenida and her sister as < mirrors of modesty,'
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT--AYRER 329
which may have, possibly, suggested Ayrei's title : The Mirror of Wbmanfy Virtue^
or his song of The Maiden* s Mirror,
DIE SCHOENE PHAENICIA
We may safely concede that in one respect there is a strong likeness between
Jacob Ayrer and Wiluam Shakespeare, namely : all that we really know of
their lives may be told in a few lines. It is supposed that Ayrer came as a poor lad
to N&rmbexg ; toiled as an ironmonger ; went to Bamberg, rose to be Court-proctor ;
left Bamberg on account of Protestantism ; returned to Nttrmbeig where in 1593 he
became a citizen, again became Court-proctor and Imperial Notary, and died in
March 1605. Toward the close of his life, by way of relaxation from official cares,
he composed thirty Tragedies and Comedies, and thirty-six Shrovetide plays or Farces,
all of which were published after his death in a Folio, (a volume more scarce than
the First Folio of Shakespeare,) wherein the Pre/ace states that he had written forty
more pieces, — such as they were. Only seventy pieces, however, have come down
to us.* Many of them show a marked English influence not alone in the theatrical
arrangements but in the introduction of a Clown. Moreover, in the Preface^ it is
expressly stated that they were composed after the English fashion, and to many of
the songs are given the names of English tunes. CoHN concludes that there is
'nothing improbable in the supposition that all Ayrer' s pieces were composed between
•the years 1593 and 1605.* f
Of Ayrer's plays Die Schoene Phoenicia has been brought into dose connection
with Much Ado abo$it Nothing, Extracts from this play, admirably translated into
English verse by Professor Thomas Solly, will be found in Cohn's excellent
volume.^ For the sake of greater freedom the following passages are given in
prose,— only those passages, moreover, wherein I can detect any relationship whatso-
ever between Ayrer' s play and Shakespeare's. The translation is made from my copy
of the Folio.
lU tide is :—
A Mirror of Womanly Virtue and Honour, The Comedy of thb faer phasnicia
and COUNT tymborus of gouson from Arragon, how they fared in their hcnour*
able love until they were united in marriage.
Dramatis Persona^^ — given at the end of the comedy.
Peter, King of Arragon,
Tymborus, Count of Golison^ his War- Counsellor,
Reinhart )
Dieterich r" ^ Counsellors.
LiONATo OF ToNETE, an old nobleman, [Incorrectly given : Lionito'\
Veracundia, his wife,
Phaenicia, his daughter,
Belleflura, sister to Phaenicia.
Venus, the Goddess of Love,
♦GODEKE, Grundriss sur Geschichte der deutschen Dichtung, 2te Aflge, 1886,
SSI.
t Shakespeare in Germany^ 1865, p. Ixiv.
\ Shakespeare in Germany ^ p. 76.
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330 APPENDIX
Cupid, her son with his bow and arrows,
Phyllis, attendant on Phaenida.
LiONiTUS, an old nobleman of Messina. [Incorrectly : Leonatus'\
Gerando, a Knight y named Olerius Valerian.
Anna Maria, a ladys-maid,
Jahn, a clown.
Malchus, a braggart, or trickster.
Gs&WALT, a tricky nobleman.
[Enter Venus, attired like a goddess, in aflowir^ robe with bare neck and arms, and
angrily says .*] I must here proclaim my chagrin, because Tymborius, the Count of
Golison, of the royal Court of Arragon, makes a jest of me and my son ; he bears him-
self like a man, and is strong and firm ; he was the bravest in the last war, when
Prochyte began that great massacre in Sicily which is called * the Sicilian Vespers.'
But because there are so many people here present who might hear me and thwart my
plans, I'll keep silent. [She bethinks herself and then goes on to say that her heart
is ready to burst with rage because in times past she has conquered so many redoubt-
able warriors and turned them by love for women into fops and weaklings, but this
Count is her bitter foe and treats her abominably.] Cupid has shot many a bolt at
him but they have all flown wide, so that Vulcan is angry with Cupid and will foxge
no more arrows for him, and he is horribly angry with me too ; wherefore I must
devise a way whereby I can beguile this knight into falling in love. The King has
proclaimed a tournament, here in Messina ; and I will do my utmost that the knight
shall there fall in love with Phaenicia, a young girl sixteen years old, and the fairest
creature on earth, and the warrior's heart shall swim about in the boundless sea of
love ; so that all will confess my power.
[Enter Cupid with eyes blindfold, as he is pictured, and with an arrow set in his
bow."]
Cupid. Frau Mother, be no longer vexed. My father, angry Vulcan, has forged
some arrows for me, wherewith, he says, I cannot £ul, but will surely hit whatever
I aim at
Venus is delighted and says that they must now subdue Tymboms ; and if Cupid is
successful, she will, inasmuch as he has not had a stitch of clothing on since he was
bom, buy him a beautiful suit of clothes such as the gods wear. [Exeunt.
Enter Jahn, with an arrow dishonourably lodged, and, holding his hands over the
spot, alternately bewails his pain and proclaims his love for Anna Maria. His out-
cries bring his master, Gerando, who promises that he will urge his suit with Anna
Maria, and that he himself will even woo the girl for him. [Exeunt,
Enter King Peter of Arragon, his two Counsellors and Tymborus ; to them the King
recalls that he has proclaimed a tournament in honour of his late victory over the
French wherein < Prochyte had lent his aid, and started that massacre in Sicily, which
* has been long known in history as the Sicilian Vespers.^ Hereupon < all the ladies
* ascend the battlements and gaze down from them.' * In the tournament which fol-
lows, Tymborus vanquishes all opponents ; among them, Gerando, who when all
have departed, tells, in a soliloquy, of his bitter hatred for Tymborus, and, inasmuch
as it is impossible to do Lim any harm in a fair fight, he will bring him to shame and
ignominy through false practices, and so be revenged on him. [Exit in anger.
* CoHN (Shakespeare in Germany, p. 83) calls attention to this stage-direction as
an indication that the stage was set after the English fashion, with a balcony.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT^AYRER 331
Enter Venus and Cupid. Venus orders Cupid to conceal himself and during the
festivities which follow to shoot Tymborus at the right minute so that he will burn
with love for Phaenicia. The Court enters. During the dance, Cupid's arrow is
shot, and with such instant effect that Tymborus turns to the audience and says that
he will die if he does not obtain the love of the fair Phaenicia. After the Court is
gone Venus praises Cupid for his good aim, and expresses her determination to make
Tymborus woo Phaenicia dishonourably. (There is no trace of this in Bandello. It
is found in Belle-Forest ) But make him finally fail, and win her only to lawful wed-
lock. Cupid reminds his mother of his suit of clothes. {Exeunt^
Enter Gerando, solus^ and while he is sajring how he will spread the net for
Tymborus, Anna Maria enters ; to her he discloses the ardent love which she has
inspired, but when she learns that her lover is his servant, Jahn, she becomes indig-
nant, and refuses to hear any more of the suit Gerando then plots with her to
summon Jahn to her house, and, when the lad is directly under her window, to cool
his ardour with a pail of water. Anna Maria agrees and exit. Jahn enters ; to him
his master explains that Anna Maria is deeply in love with him, and requests him to
come to her house on the next evening at eight o'clock. The Clown jojrfully prom-
ises to be punctual.
Enter Tymborus, solus^ and contrasts his former proud estate with his present sub-
jection to Phaenicia, and asserts that he will die unless he possess her love. He
remembers that though noble by birth she is poor, and he knows that she is virtuous ;
his friends will laugh at him ; he might have chosen a princess but would not ; he
will write her a letter and beg her not to let him die for love but to grant his prayer
and he will give her what she will ; no, he will walk before her house in hope of
seeing her or of speaking to her ; should this fail he will serenade her this evening
and sing a little song rehearsing his longings, and he will continue to do this, until he
receives a favourable answer. [Exit,
Enter Jahn, on his way to keep his appmntment with Anna Maria, and as he
approaches the house smacks his lips over his anticipated joys. Gerando answers
him from the window in a feigned voice, and at an opportune moment pours a pail
of water on his head. Jahn departs in a rage, shaking off the water and forswearing
all attempts at future wooing.
Enter Tymborus with his musicians to serenade Phaenicia, and sings a song
beginning : —
O Venus, goddess fair and mild
How hast thou now enslaved me, ay enslaved me !
The arrows of thy blindfold child
Have utterly out-braved me, ay, out-braved me !
Whereby deep woe has filled my heart.
List to my love's sad moaning, ay moaning !
For shouldst thou now not take my part
My days will end in groaning, ay groaning 1
Five more stanzas of similar doggerel follow. (No one has ever ventured to
assert that Shakespeare imitated Ayrer in his love-songs. ) But there is no response
from the window, and Tymborus and his band depart.
The curiosity, however, of Lionato, the old nobleman, and of Veracundia, his
wife, Phaenicia' s parents, is excited, and when the young girl is questioned by her
mother, she replies that she supposes the serenader to be Tymborus who had danced
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332 APPENDIX
with her and pressed her hand, at the ball. Her mother warns her to be very dr-
cumspect in her behaviour toward such a rich and powerful nobleman, and, should
he make any proposal to her, to refer him to her parents. Phaenicia promises to keep
the Fourth Co mmandm ent, and shortly after when leaving the house with her maid to
purchase some groceries, she meets Tymborus who offers her money and gifts in pro-
fusion in return for her love, but she modestly refers hun to her parents and leaves hiwi-
The Second Act opens with some foolery by the Clown, Jahn, who displays a bag
of money which he has just inherited from his mother but of which he is robbed by
Malchus, who, dressed up in a sheet, pretends to be the ghost of the old Mother just
from Purgatory. Jahn has his suspicions that something is wrong when the Ghost says
that her name is Anima when in reality it was Ursula ; he is nevertheless robbed.
In the next scene Phaenicia returns indignandy to Philis a letter from Tymborus
which the maid had brought and bids her tell the Count that she will receive no more
letters ; that from her youth up, she has known two good masters [Belle-Forest] : the
fear of God, and Modesty, and that if his intentions are honourable he must speak
to her father. This answer is carried to Tymborus, who bribes Philis to take to
Phaenicia one more song in which he has poured out all his heart After the maid's
departure Tymborus comes to the sensible Conclusion that he had better woo Phaenicia
honourably, every other avenue of approach was hopeless ; so he calls to his aid old
Lionitus who gladly consents to lay before Lionato, Phaenicia* s father, the Count's
proposal for her hand. And the Act ends with an interview between parent and
chUd, in which it is settled that Phaenicia shall accept the suit of Tymborus. The
^i^gy ^y ^e way, was sung to Phaenicia by Philis, and the former declared that she
had never listened to one more sweet (see Belle-Forest).
The Third Act begins with the recovery of his money by Jahn ; he catches Mal-
chus and beats it out of him. Gerando appears richly clad and bewails his sad loss
of Phaenicia with whom, it appears, he was deeply in love, and of whom Tymborus
has now robbed him. He sends Jahn to fetch Gerwalt, ' The nobleman,' asks Jahn,
' who is so full of evil practices ?' When Gerwalt appears Gerando discloses to him
how wretched he is over losing Fhaenida. Gerwalt promises that he will prevent
her marriage to Tymborus ; that he will go to the Count, and traduce Phaenida ;
tell him that people say scandalous things of her conduct with young men in her
garden ; that he shall be made to lie in wait there, at night, by moonlight ; that
Gerando must be there, with his servant dressed up as a woman, with whom he,
Gerwalt, would converse in a friendly manner as though he were Phaenicia, that he
would walk up and down with the servant, and at last conceal themselves so that
the Count cannot see them, then the Count will believe in her downfall, and refuse-
to be married to her. [Exeunt,
Enter Tymborus, saying : ' To day is the very happiest of days, because it is per-
mitted me to call Phaenida mine. Vanished are all pain and sorrow ; all my vexa-
tion is over, all my desire is to her ; for I have chosen the better part, in that I have
preferred her virtue and modesty to worldly goods. Now I am joyous and happy.
God guard us both and let us long live together ! [ The Count walks to and fro
waving his hands. To him enters Gerwalt,^
Gerwalt. Pardon, gradous Sir, what ails your grace that you are so melancholy ?
Tymborus, Nay, marry, I am walking here, lost in loving, sweet thoughts. Until
now, I had as much pain as a sick man, but, thank God I the pains are all vanished
and I am as jocund as a man in sound health. I have put away every thing gloomy
because I have now gained Phaenida, the fairest of maidens.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT—AYRER
333
Gerwalt. Gracious Sir, be on your guard that you are not deceived in her. I
would not begrudge your grace, but jrou do not rightly know Phaenicia.
Tymborus, No defamation of my bride I if you wish to remain my friend.
Gerwalt, Gracious Sir, I do not defame her. But merely say that your grace
should look to it, and you will not ascribe to her as much virtue as you are inclined
to impute to her.
jymborus. Is not this defamation ? You do not leave me until you say what you
know of her. Or else we '11 have it out together on the spot.
Gerwalt, Gracious Sir, I say nothing. But this very night you may see what takes
place in her garden by moonlight.
Tymborus, How shall I get there, forsooth ? The gate is bolted.
Gerwalt, There is a good ladder there'; creep into the hazel-bushes, and stay there
without moving or panting, and then you can both see and hear what I will compass
with her. And after, put what trust in her you may.
Tymborus, I cannot believe it of the maiden. But what the eye sees the heart
cannot deny. Hence ; night is coming on. I'll soon be in the garden.
\^Exit lymborm,
Gerwalt, Now for Jahn, and to deceive the Count [Exit,
Here follows a very short scene between -Veracundia and her daughter, Phaenicia,
which gives new proofs of the tatter's piety, morality, and respect for her parents.
[Exeunt,
A ladder is seen leaning against the entrance. Tymborus descends as though he
had climbed over the wall.
Tymborus, Here am I in the garden, ready for the adventure, whereby Gerwalt
promised to reveal to me the truth. [Hiding himself in a comer,'] The moon will
now show me everything that goes on. [Gerwalt descends^ followed by Jahn in
female apparel, Gerwalt takes Jahn by the handy Jahn pranks ity like a woman,]
Gerwalt, Ah, Phaenicia, dearest sweetheart mine, at last we are alone and can
complete our wooing.
Jahn, Hushl lest my father hear.
[ They walk up and down and sit down together,
Tymborus, Soho I and is it really true ! I must say I never would have believed
it had I not heard it and partly seen it. The devil take thee, thou wanton, shame-
less piece I I thought thou wert the modestest creature upon earth, and thou art
the most abandoned light o' love. To the gallows with thee I I will to Lionato and
break off the marriage. [Exit in a rage,
Gerwalt [to Jahn], Come, let us go home.
Jahn, What have we done here ? Nothing. I've not seen & soul.
Gerwalt, You'll soon find out what's been done. [They ascend the ladder,
A short family scene here follows in Phaenicia' s home. The wedding preparations
are discussed, together with the bride's trousseau^ no special dresses are mentioned.
It is evidently very early in the morning; when Lionito, Tymborus' s messenger,
knocks at the door, Veracundia asks, 'Who knocks so early?' When Lionito
enters he begs pardon in adyance for what he is about to say and then proceeds : — ^The
Count has sent me hither to decline the marriage which, in his name, I lately
arranged with you, and further states that your daughter is devoid of honour ; it
therefore does not befit his rank to lead such a wench to the altar. His presents to
her, she may keep.
Phaenicia [advancing]. Assuredly, God for ever reigns ! Who has told the Count
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334 APPENDIX
that I haye acted unchastely ; it does me gross wrong. No luxury haye I practised
and never in my life have I done what you have now imputed to me. God be my
witness 1 To maintain my innocence I'll submit to the ordeal of hot iron. O God,
could I exchange Thy worship for impure love ? and allow foul desires to seduce me ?
Be such things far from me for ever I To Thee, Lord God ! I commend myself. I
die of agony I [She sinks down, the others sustain her,
Lionatus, Must my daughter die before her innocence is proved ? I will prove it,
when she is gone. For well I know that she is wrongly treated.
Lumito, Herr Father, be not vexed with me. For my part, I cannot say who has
stirred up the Count. But perhaps we may be able to find out. [Exit,
Veracundia, Philis, there is precious aqua vitae in my small coffer, — and fetch other
restoratives. [ To Phoenicia] Darling daughter, be appeased. Give me some sign
to let me know you live.
Lionatus, What can she give ? She is dead. God have mercy on her 1 Her limbs
are all relaxed. [Philis returns with water and restoratives^ which are applied,
Veracundia, Her strength is coming back, a little. She has just fetched a
breath.
LioncUus. Bear her away at once. Should her strength return, we must see what
her case demands. [ They walk her up and down. At last she speaks,
Phaenicia, Oh, God, alas, what has happened to me! What lovely visions
I have had. I am sure I must have been in heaven. My strength is gone, take
me away. [Exeunt the women with Phaenicia,
Lionatus, We will put on mourning garments, so that people may still for awhile
believe that Phaenida is dead. We will bear a coffin to church, and bury it instead
of her. Perhaps, the Count might then repent of his treatment of her, and might
learn from some better account that she had never acted unchastely, and then again
receive her to himself. Well I know that some wrong has been done her. God will
not let the truth be suppressed. Perhaps the Count will change his mind, and long
anew for his bride. [Exit,
The Fourth Act opens with a procession of servants, in mourning, bearing a coffin
covered with a pall ; they set down the coffin, whereon is written, < To the Memory
Of the Noble, Innocent, Virtuous Phaenicia, daughter of the Lonetas ;' then all
retire. Jahn enters, reads the inscription, and then hurries away to tell his master.
Tymborus enters dad in mourning and speaks sorrowfully : — O woe I O woe, wretched
man that I am ! O woe, O woe, what have I done, thus to bdieve Gerwalt He
robbed me of my senses, and fooled me like a fool. And I have just as much mur-
dered Phaenida as if I had stabbed her heart O woe, it cannot stay unavenged.
Would that the vengeance might fall speedily, and take my life ! Must I be guilty
of thy deaths thou who wast as chaste and pure as an angel ! How can I expiate this
evil deed ! Despair is mine I [He walks to and fro.
Enter Gerando, also in moumtng^ followed by Jahn weeping,
Gerando [mournfully,] Woe, for the sorrowful story ! Would I had never been
bom ! I have done a heavy wrong, which smites me the heaviest Could I but
meet the Count and secure from him the punishment I deserve. I am guilty and will
suffer every thing.
Tymborous [approaching Gerando], Gerando, what may it mean that you are thus
mourning?
Gerando. Gradous Sir, I will show yon the cause of my sorrow, if yon will enter
the diurch with me.
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT—AYRER 335
As they are entering the church Gerando sends Jahn to fetch Gerwalt. They
approach the coffin.
jymborus, O Fhaenicia, thou supreme crown of all ! Mirror of maidens, com-
pact of all virtue ! How shamefully didst thou here die in thy bloom. Behold me,
ye matrons and maidens, bowed down with sorrow. My misery moves me to take
my own life for the sake of my dearly loved darling.
[Gerando restrains him, draws his sivord, throws himself on one knee be/ore him,
Gerando, Ah, gracious Sir, I alone am guilty of this deed, which Gerwalt insti-
gated. Take the sword I offer and in my bosom drive it home ; else I myself will
do it. Let all men here behold me, the man who has been the ruin of such fair
young years, the crown and ornament of every virtue. My life too is lost, through
Gerwalt' s guile who tempted me with falsehood.
Tymborus [raising Gerando.] This is all so strange to me. Tell me, I pray, what
it all means.
Gerando [humbly, "[, Gracious Sir, I will tell all truly. Fhaenicia was so dear to
me that I desired to marry her, and when your grace had won her, I almost died for
grief ; driven by my great love I sought to hinder your marriage but knew no means.
Then Gerwalt devised a way to do it, and I followed it But how the game began
and how he carried it out, your grace knows much better than I. Yet I implore you
to pardon me or to punish me as I deserve. I will endure everything with patience.
Tymborus, O woe ! O sorrow ! for this great disgrace 1 My prophetic soul mis-
trusted Gerwalt. Your words have shown me how I have killed my dearest. And
yet I cannot be your foe. But will take it for what amends you can make, if you
will beg forgiveness, first, of this dead maiden, and then of her two parents whose
misery is great. But as for Gerwalt, — I swear an oath that if ever I meet that varlet
he shall receive a reward which he will remember all his life long.
Gerando, Let us go to the maiden lying there in her grave, and I will implore her
forgiveness. [ They draw near the coffin and Gerando, prostrating himself,'] Ah,
Fhaenicia, image of loveliness, by all thy virtues mild, by the love I bore thee but
which brought this shame upon thee, I entreat that thou wilt forgive my fault. A
wicked wrong have I done to thee, of whom nought else was known but virtue and
honour. Thou wert a fountain of all honesty and a mirror for all maidens. By my
honour and faith all this I say, and otherwise could I not speak of thee.
Tymborus [prostrating himself]. It is my fault, too, that I put trust in that wicked
villain, who deceived me concerning thee, and that I broke off my marriage. Fardon
the fault, I pray, that I should have allowed suspicion there to lodge, where I should
have known there was only innocence. [I^key arise and clasp hands,] Ah, could
I but awaken her from death, life, glory, wealth, and every thing the world holds
dear, I would put into the hazard.
Jahn returns and reports that Gerwalt is fled. Tymborus swears vengeance on
him.
Jahn, Indeed, upon my word, he was a rogue. He dressed me up in women's
clothes and made me walk round the garden with him, and called me Fhaenicia and
pretended he was in love with me.
Tymborus, Had I known who you two were I would have made it sweet for yon.
Jahn, That would have made me split with laughter. I never could have run in
those clothes. [The only stroke of real humour in the play.] [Exeunt,
The Scene changes to Lionatus's house, where Lionatus is telling Veracundia the
reports of the penitence of Tymborus, who now enters.
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336 APPENDIX
Tymborus, It grieves me, father-in-law, to see your sorrow. It could not grieve
me more were it my own.
Lianatm, Woe to those who are to blame for the loss of my dear child ! But since
God has taken her out of this wretched life, to Himself, He can restore her, if it be
the Divine will.
Tyniborus [kneeling]. Oh heavens, I am much guilty therefor. Would God, I
could bring her back.
Gerando \aUo kneeling], I am the chiefest cause of all this misery, but in God*s
name, I beg for pardon, which if you will not grant me, thrust me through with my
rapier. I have well deserved it.
Tymborus, Ah Heavens, I am the chiefest cause ; I broke off the marriage. The
great sin I conunitted cannot be forgiven me. 'Twas I who thereby killed her. Ah,
if it be possible, take me, father-in-law, again into your favour. Full well I know
that I was wrong, and spoke evilly of your innocent daughter, and that I believed
too hastily. I resign myself to you, do with me as you please.
Lionaius, 'Tis true, my gracious Lord, you did believe too hastily and robbed of
life my pious daughter, whom I had brought up in virtue, and on me, too, you have
brought wretchedness.
Tymborus, 'Tis I who bear the greatest pain and wretchedness. First, because I
believed too quickly, and next because I have thereby lost her. Wretched man that
I am ! No one but God can help me and lighten my sorrow. Pray, father, be gra-
cious to me ; let me be your son, and as long as I live I will in all things obey you.
Lionatus, Consider yourself as forgiven, my gracious Lord, and so far comply with
me that when you contemplate marriage, you will marry according to my counsel.
God grant that no harm come of it ; I will give you only good counsel.
Tymborus, This offer is far too much. I should not have dared to expect it I
accept it, therefore, in good faith, and be assured that I will do nothing hereafter
without your knowledge. Age always gives good counsel.
Gerando, To me, also, grant forgiveness; I acted very foolishly. As I have
begged pardon of Fhaenicia, so now I beg some love from you.
Lionaius, Unhappily, what is done is done. It is a deep grief that you followed
the counsels of a fool, and so heedlessly injured me and all my family. You, too,
shall have nothing from me to atone for, — ^but do not again refer to the way in which
you killed my daughter ; let not my woe break out afresh. Come, enter and sup
with me. [Exeunt.
The Fifth Act opens with a soliloquy from Jahn, who concludes that he will not
serve Gerando any longer. He has not forgotten the pail of water from Anna Maria's
window, nor the share in Phaenida's death which his master obliged him to take ;
he therefore gives notice to Gerando that he must provide himself with another ser-
vant Tymborus and Gerando meet and renew the expressions of their remorse.
Tymborus says that he never will marry but mourn Fhaenicia to the end of his days.
They decide to pay a visit to Lionatus, who in the next scene unfolds to his wife his
plan to call Fhaenicia Ludlia, and under that name to present her to Tymborus ; his
second daughter, Belleflura, he will give to Gerando. Tymborus and Gerando enter,
both still in deep grief. Lionatus bids them disregard the irremediable past, etc. etc.,
and Bnally tells Tymborus that he has a bride for him, the counterpart of Fhaenicia,
but she is not here, she is in his castle outside the dty, and her name is Ludlia ;
< thither,' Lionatus ends with saying, * we will invite ourselves as guests, and I hope
all will go well.'
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT-STARTER 337
The .scene evidently changes to Lionatus's castle, where Phaenida is holding a
short conversation with her sister, Belleflura, and moralising on the superior advan-
tage resulting from being modest and from obeying one's parents. The two depart,
and Lionatus enters leading Tymborus by the hand, followed by Gerando, Veracun-
dia and maid. All seat themselves, after mutual salutations, and Veracundia and
the maid hand round refreshments. Lionatus refers to the young bride he has
chosen for Tymborus, and tells Gerando that he has one also for him. While they
are drinking, Fhaenicia and Belleflura enter, beautifully and modestly attired ; they
give their hands first to the strangers and then to their parents ; and serve round the
refreshments. Tymborus looks at Fhaenicia ; then takes Gerando aside and tells
him that he believes Fhaenicia' s soul animates Lucilia's body, which seems Fhaeni-
cia' s very own. Lionatus asks Ludlia if she could accept the Count; her only
demur is that she is not lus equal in rank, but Tymborus gallantly replies that the
wife takes rank from her husband, and that he will marry none but her. Lionatus
gives the couple his blessing and Tymborus and Gerando say ' Amen 1' Fhae-
nicia asks the Count if he had never been married before. This re-awakens all
Tymborus' s remorse and he bewails his lost Fhaenicia for whose sake he would, like
Orpheus, descend to hell. [Belle- Forest.] Lionatus interferes and says the jest has
now been carried long enough and that Ludlia is Fhaenicia, whom they bewailed as
dead but God had restored her to life to be Tymborus' s bride. * Ah, Fhaenicia,' cried
Tymborus, ' art thou still alive ! Then art thou dearer to me than ever !' Both unite in
praising God for his goodness. Lionatus leads Belleflura to Gerando, and gives her
to him as a bride ; Gerando' s abysmal despair is turned into exuberant joy. Praise
to God is given by all for this abounding bliss ; Veracundia announces that she was
never so happy before in all her life ; Lionatus bids them prepare the house for the
nuptials, to which his majesty shall be invited, and promises sports and dandng and
menymaking for eight whole days. He calls for a song in condusion, which is then
given in eleven stanzas, whereof one, I think, will be adequately soul-satisfying. It
is called <The Maiden's Mirror': —
Ihr zarten Jungfraun hOrt mir zu List, tender maidens, now give ear.
Von aller Jungfrau Spiegel About all maidens' mirror,
Vnd merckt was ich euch singen thn And what I sing, be sure you hear.
Von der zucht wahren Spiegel Of modesty's true mirror :
Gottes forcht wist God's fear, ywis,
Der anfang ist The first thing is,
Vnd weg zu der Weissheite And leads to Wisdom's ways,
Wer den Weg geht Who that way go
Gar wol besteht, ja wol besteht Stand firm, I know, yes, firm, I know,
Vnd liebt auch Gott allzeite. And love God all their days.
STARTER
COHN (Shakespeare in Germany^ p. Ixxv) gives the following title of a Dutdi
play, published within two years after Shakespeare's death :— « /. /. Starters \ Bly-
*eyndich'Truyrspel^ \ van \ Timbre de Cardone \ ende \ Fenicie van Messine^ \ Met
« een Vermaecklijck Sotte-Clucht van een \ Advocaet ende een Boer oft plat Friesch. \
* Tot Leevwarden, \ Voor Jan Jansen Starter^ Boecki'ercooper by de Brol, \ in d' En-
22
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338 APPENDIX
*gelsche Bybel. Anno^ 1618.' * The Aigument, ** Inhoat des Spds," appears to be/
says Cbhn, * a condensed narratiTe of Banddlo's novel. There [are in it] no traces
* either of Muck Ado about Nothings or of The Beautiful Phoenicia; there is every
* indication of [Starter's] having taken his subject directly from Bandello's tale or an
< early imitation of it. It is tme, he also introduces comic personages who speak in
' the Frisian dialect, but they have nothing in common with the humourous episodes,
'either in Shakespeare or Ayrer.'
Edmund W. Gosse {^Athencmm^ 10 Nov., 1877,) says that the title-page of this
rare play by Starter, whereof only three copies are known, has an engraving of
Gironde and Timbre at Fenicie's tomb. This engraving Halliwell-Phillipps
considered sufficiently curious, to reproduce it in his Memoranda on the present play,
p. 58. Gosse gives us a synopsis of the plot : — ^The scene is laid in Messina. Don
Timbre de Cardone, a prince of Arragon, enters red with conquest of the French.
He soliloquizes and then leaves the stage to his faithful subject, Gironde, who makes
love to Fenicie, the incomparable daughter of I/eonato, a gentleman of Messina. All
this has been in Latin letter and rhymed verse of twelve syUables, the usual Dutch
heroic measure ; but the First Act closes with a farcical interlude between Doctor
Roemer Warner and a Frisian boor, Siouck Sipkes, in black letter, and in alternate
prose and doggerel. The body of the tragi-comedy is in pure Dutch, but all this
farcical portion is in Frisian. . . . The Second Act opens with Timbre's marching
up and down in front of the window where Fenide sits spinning. He has fallen
violently in love with her, but he does not know how to gain access to her. In the
next Scene we are inside the house, where Fenede and the old woman Faustina sil
talking over their needle- work, and Fenicie sends the crone away to a neighbour's
house to borrow some special embroideries. Timbre and his servant Alberigo catch
the old woman as she enters the street, and bribe her to help them. This is a most
dever and brilliant Scene, conceived in the best manner of Heywood, realistic and
yet delicate. The end is that Faustina brings a letter from Timbre to Fenide [This
proves, I think, that Starter's source was Belle-Forest. — Ed.], whose maidenly sus-
ceptibility is so shocked that she tears it up and sends back the fragments to the
writer. Timbre rages, but by degrees, through the father Leonato, the shy Fenide
is induced to admit the courtesies of Timbre, and, finally, to be betrothed to him.
Starter has succeeded in creating a most virginal and innocent giri-character in
Fenide, her modesty being dwelt on with real dramatic skill. At last Gironde, the
old lover, returns, to find himself forgotten, and he vows revenge. He instructs
a parasite of his, Balacco, to play the part of Don John in Shakespeare's play, and
poisons the mind of Timbre in a scene exactly resembling, almost to the point of
translation. Act III, sc. ii, of Much Ado about Nothing, The result is that Timbre
comes to Leonato* s house at night and sees Balacco, as he imagines, with Fenide.
A fragment of his soliloquy will give an idea of the form of the piece :—
•0 misery, O rage, what see I with mine eyes?
The stars are falling fast out of the blotted skies I
Diana hides her face, and can no longer view
The inhuman villainy these twain before me do.
Ha ! knaves, but ye shall die, and in this very place
Receive the due reward of villainy apace !
Alas ! what do I say, and has my tongue not sworn
Balacco should not bleed for wrongs that I have borne?
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT^DUKE HEINRICH JULIUS 339
And shall I slay myself for a fair woman's sake,
Who honour, virtue, yea ! and chastity can break ?'
Timbre will not see Fenicie again ; he sends his friend Rodrigo to announce his
intention to I^eonato. Fenicie, overhearing it, rushes in, and, learning of what she
is accused, swoons as though she were dead. In a series of tableaux, like those in
Webster's White Devil^ we see the friends gathering round, the death of Fenicie
acknowledged, the agony of the parents left alone with her, and finally her awaken-
ing out of her trance. They determine to keep her in secret, and to perform in
public an ostentatious funeral. An empty cofiin is consequently buried in the
Church with much parade, and a monument raised to Fenide. The funeral scene
is exceedingly Elizabethan, and the mourners sing a dirge which is not wholly
unworthy of Ben Jonson. It begins thus : —
< Should any ask who here lies buried, say
'Tis a fair maid, the wonder of her day ;
She was the phoenix of this land of ours,
This picture shows her in her living hours ;
A Count of fame and might
Took sometime his delight
In wooing her to be his lady may.
But ah I one bitter night
Fell Envy in despite
Withered this bud of love, that pined away.
For by a false lie was this Count deceived,' etc.
Timbre's love and regret increase with time, and remorse springs up in the breast
of Gironde. At last, taking Timbre into the church, he confesses his guilt before the
supposed tomb of Fenicie. Timbre bewails his misfortune and acknowledges the
purity of Fenicie to Leonato, who produces her alive, to his infinite surprise and
satisfaction ; they are married with somewhat less of perplexity on the bridegroom's
part than in Much Ado about Nothings and the curtain falls.
VINCENTIUS LADISZLAUS
Now that the travels throughout Germany of troupes <^ English players, during
the end of the sixteenth century and the beginning of the seventeenth have become
so well-known, the temptation to a German scholar is undeniably great to discern
in the very earliest of his nation's dramas, those plays, which, if not the genuine
originals which Shakespeare afterward remodelled, were the rude materials from
which the English poet drew his plots or his characters. Hence it is that the plays of
Jacob Ayrer have been so diligently studied ; and, as has been said above, there are
not wanting students, both German and English, who believe that Shakespeare was
directly indebted to his Nuremberg contemporary. With Ayrer' s name we are familiar
in connection with other plays of Shakespeare besides the present But with Duke
Heinrich Julius, of Braunschweig, we meet for the first, and only, time, in con-
nection with the present play of Much Ado about Nothing, This Duke, bom in
the same year with Shakespeare, was one of the eariiest German noblemen who
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340 APPENDIX
maintained a company of professional players, possibly English, and the only noble-
man, as far as I know, who wrote plays for the stage, — splays, too, whereof the plots
were not drawn solely from the Bible. Whether from modesty, or because he con-
sidered the writing of plays as beneath his dignity, his comedies were printed as the
composition of Hiralj>eha, or else variants of this mysterious word, which modem
ingenuity has deciphered as standing for /Tenricus yiilius ^runsvicensis Ac Zunae-
burgensis Z^x ^pisoopus /Talberstadensis. His plays are on a higher level than
Ayrer's, which are constantly disfigured by disgusting coarseness. But with only
one of his plays are we here concerned, namely Vincentius Ladiszlatts^ wherein
Herman Grimm discerns (Fiin/zeAn Essays, 1875, p. 142, first published in 1856),
in the character of the hero, certain traits or certain accidents which Shakespeare
afterwards adopted or modified in Benedick. With the question of priority we need
not deal. We cannot tell when either of the two plays was written. We know
only that Vincentius Ladiszlaus was printed in 1599, and Much Ado about Nothing
in 1600.
It would demand too much space to give here a synopsis of the whole play, Scene
by Scene, or even Act by Act ; all that can be presented is a very brief digest, which I
have made from Dr Holland's admirably edited edition, Stuttgart, 1855, p. 507 : —
The comedy opens with a speech by the servant of Vincentius Ladiszlaus, who has
been sent by his master to engage lodgings for him in the town, and has been
strictly ordered to post on the door a bill setting forth the name and quality of his
lord, namely, ' Vincentius Ladiszlaus, Satrap of Mantua, Challenger on foot or on
' horseback, aforetime the legitimate, posthumous son of the noble and honourable,
' also mighty and valiant, B^rbarossa Bellicosus of Mantua, Knight of Malta, with a
'train of his servants and horses.' The servant expresses his conviction that his
master is a fool and a braggart, — a conviction we are evidently intended to share
when his master appears in a coat trinuned with fur and an enormous hat with
feathers. Vincentius affects a most lofty mien, demands unheard of dishes and
wines from the host, tries to lead a priest into a theological discussion, and talks
villainous dog-latin. When he visits the Duke, by invitation, he entertains his
host, the Duchess and her ladies with marvellous stories of his prowess ; and here,
by the way, we find where Raspe, or BOrger, or both, found some of the material
which centuries afterward delighted the world as the Adventures of Baron Mun-
chausen, Vincentius related that he was once pursuing an enemy through the gate
of a beleagured city when the portcullis fell on his horse and cut the animal in two
just behind the saddle, but the steed still continued his career, and the rider never
discovered the mishap until the horse, in endeavouring to turn, fell over ; again,
that Vincentius once noticed a blind old boar led through the forest by holding in
his mouth the tail of a young boar which acted as his guide ; the skilful hunter at
one shot severed the tail close to the guide's body, and then seizing the end led his
blind victim to the slaughter house; again, he told of a wolf into whose mouth
he thrust his arm so far that he reached the beast's tail, and seizing it, with a vigor-
ous pull, turned the creature completely inside out; furthermore, he told of an
acquaintance who ate a pomegranate, seeds and all, whereupon the seeds sprouted
and grew from the man's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth ; and many more marvels
besides. He imposed, however, upon none of his company, and in essaying his
boasted accomplishments, music, dancing, and fencing, he came to ignominious grief.
Finally, to get rid of him, the Duke persuaded him that one of the young maids of
honour, whom Vincentius had ogled, was really in love with him, and a young boy
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT-DUKE HEINRICH JULIUS 341
diessed in women's clothes being used as a decoy, Vincentius sprang into a bed under
which there was a large tub of water, whereinto he plunged, and was then, as the
play ends, driven from court and town amid the jeers of courtiers and populace.
Such is the material out of which Dr Herman Grimm supposes Shakespeare to
have modelled Benedick. His remarks are as follows : —
{^Funfzehn Essays^ p. 170) : Benedick and Beatrice are not to be found in the
Novel. But Ayrer has them ! The point of the secondary plot in Shakespeare's
play consists in making Benedick believe that Beatrice is in love with him, while
she is tricked into thinking the same of him. Now recall Jahn's first adventure ;
he is in love with Anna Maria, and when his master deceives him into the belief
that she returns his affection, it is all up with him. True, there is but a very remote
similarity in the circumstances of the two couples, but we must bear in mind that
neither of them in the two comedies originally belongs to the story, but that in each
they are brought in as an outside appendage. Now, how could two authors, in
making use of the same novel, hit upon an addition so similar ? It may be that
this similarity can be discerned only by those detennined to find and emphasize it.
How then is it that the situations on the stage in both plays so often coincide ? Did
Ayrer imitate Shakespeare, and coarsen his channing material, did he travesty his
characters so ruthlessly, and so alter all their talk, or did he make use of some play
that had appeared upon the English stage before Shakespeare, and of which the
poet also availed himself? We do not know the date of either play, and the ques-
tion would remain unanswered, did not the Duke Heinrich Julius's Vincentius
Ladisslaus here make his appearance, and help us to solve the riddle.
Before I enter upon this, however, I must speak once more of the actors in
Italian comedy. Among them is found the lover doomed to be always rejected.
Upon this poor fellow is heaped every conceivable characteristic which could justify
the obdurate Fair One, not only in rejecting him, but in playing him any possible ill
turn, and when this part was combined with that of the old miles gloriosusy the
cowardly braggart of the Flautinian farce, the result was the Capitano^ a personi-
fication of all that seems to Italians most reprehensible in man, — a national scape-
goat, so to speak, for the weaknesses of the male sex.
The Capitano appears upon the stage quite in the style, and with the bombastic
speech of his antique predecessor. His servant listens to him with admiration ; at
times, however, indulging in innocent irony, which his master magnanimously con-
dones. The Capitano confronts every one in the most insolent feshion, and ruth-
lessly picks a quarrel ; but the moment that his opponent shows signs of taking things
seriously, he begins to draw in his horns, and can dextrously avoid an encounter
which would place him in the unpleasant predicament of being forced to display his
boasted might I call to mind one excellent scene in which his opponent tries to
compel him to fight by heaping him with insults, each of which the Capitano con-
trives so to twist and turn, that the grossest abuse is made to seem flattery ; he pre-
serves his dignity, and proudly leaves his sword in the scabbard. Should he be
forced to draw it, he is of course defeated, and this he ascribes to all sorts of acci-
dents, for which he threatens to take a terrible revenge. Beaten, ridiculed, and
tricked out of his sweetheart, he yet manages to leave the battlefield, maintaining
his air of dignity to the last, either magnanimously forgiving every one for what has
been done, after the fashion of a lion forgiving a mouse, or threatening that at some
future day, when there is need of his strong right arm, he will refuse all aid, and
calmly contemplate the universal ruin.
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342 APPENDIX
Quarrels between Italy and Spain endowed the Capitano with all the evil qaalities
of the Spaniard ; he became acclimatized in France ; he made his appearance in
England, and Shakespeare modelled after him his incomparable Falstaff as his
national counterpart Parolles, in AWs Well that Ends Well is the genuine Italian
Capitano ; Sir Toby Belch, and Sir Andrew Aguecheek are his near of kin. Finally,
Armado, in Lcv^s Labour Lost is the Spanish Capitano^ especially when he appears
at last in Hector's armour, and thunders forth to his opponent By the North Pole
I challenge thee ! Ridicule of the Spaniards had been popular in England since
Queen Mary's time when the Spanish Catholic Philip came to England. Even
during her reign Spaniards were put upon the stage to be laughed at (Prescott
PhUipIL)
In the year 1577 Henry III. of France hired some comedians from Venice. The
troop was called Gli comici gelosi. They appeared first in Blois, and in 1588 acted
in Paris, in the Hotel de Bourbon, and stayed there until the year 1600, in spite of
the prohibition of the Parliament, which espoused the cause of native players. In
accordance with universal custom, their plays were mere bare plots, in which every
actor retained the part allotted to him, and improvised all that he said. The part of
the Capitano was sustained by Francisco Andriani. He appeared under the name
of // Capitano Spavento dell* valP inferno. His wife was quite famous, under the
name of Isabella, After the dissolution of the troop, Andriani withdrew to Pistoja,
and there edited the Bravoure del Cap. Spavento^ a book which contains only dialogues
between the Capitano and his servant Trapparola ; it is a mass of the maddest bom-
bast that has ever been put together. I have examined the third edition (161 5,
Venice). In 161 7 a second part appeared, rather feebler, to be sure, but still afford-
ing material for wonder that after the absolutely monstrous nonsense of the first part
the author should have had sufficient fancy left to bring to market a fresh crop.
The book is divided into rciggionamenti, * On your way,' the Capitano says, in
the first of these, to his servant, * to fulfil my orders, remember to keep your eyes
* and ears wide open for it may be you will meet some hero, or demigod, who is on
* fire, consuming with a frantic desire to know something about me. Tell him that I
' am the Capitano Spavento of the Infernal valley, called the Demoniac, Prince of
* the chivalric order of Trismegistus, which signifies great and powerful adventurer,
' mighty destroyer, strong annihilator, subduer, and conqueror of the universe, son of
* the earthquake and the hurricane, father of Death, and sworn comrade of the Devil
•in Hell.'
He boasts himself the owner of hundred-league boots ; he once swung a lion by
the tail, and with him killed a knight, who held a lady in durance ; he had married
the daughter of the Grand Turk ; had had for his light o' loves all the celebrated
beauties of all lands and times ; he sprang with a leap from his mother's womb,
proclaiming in tones of thunder, to sono il Capitano Spavento, so that the women
present fled in tenx>r ; he bought the daughter of a sorceress from her mother [etc
etc.].
(P. 176) : The Duke Heinrich Julius's Vincentius Ladiszlaus is merely a copy
of the Capitano, [After quoting the placard, bearing his name and titles which
Vincentius orders his servant to post upon his door, Grimm continues:] Now
compare this with Beatrice's words in the first Scene of Much Ado about Nothing,
where she calls Benedick ' Signor Montanto,' and says that he once < set up his
' bills ' in Messina, and that she had promised to eat all he killed, and we shall see
that she therein characterises Benedick as a genuine Capitano, We now see what
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT-^DUKE HEINRICH JULIUS 343
Shakespeake meant by the bills which Benedick set up. Ayier's comedy has shown
us the significance of Cupid's bolt Thus we find the same jests in the same places
in the two plays.
[In reference to the last Scene of Vincentius^ Grimm continues, p. 180] : Here
we find as the kernel of the plot, a trick played upon a man with an overweening
estimate of himself, who is made to believe that a girl is in love with him. But here
we have it as an interlude only. Some play must therefore have existed, based upon
Bandello's novel, with an interlude, in which the Capitano appeared. In this play
the names were taken from Bandello. Ayrer used it, and altered the part of the
Capitano which he gave to the Fool ; Duke Heinrich Julius, on the other hand, took
out the Capitano' s part, and from it framed as well as he could an original comedy.
But Shakespeare used all this material as mere shapeless clay, from which he modelled
the magnificent figures of his comedy. It is a joy to come to him at last, — to him,
whose work stands so far above stereotyped, mechanical, theatric jobbery, and yet
is so admirably adapted to the stage. How delicately he has evolved the attractive
Benedick from the clumsy Capitano, — how perfectly consistent with the bearing of a
gentleman is his rhodomonUde,— how exactly do Beatrice's sallies hit him and yet
how little do they cleave to him. Merry and rollicking as he may be in behaviour
and conversation, he is never ridiculous, so perfectly is the laughter on his side, and
although mated with Beatrice by a trick, the heart alone has the last word. Shake-
*speare was a poet, the worthy Duke Heinrich Julius was an excellent and capable
ruler, but the dramatic work that he has bequeathed to us is feeble and worthless,
although it must be confessed that his dramas take first rank compared with so many
others of this century that are infinitely worse.
We really gain nothing by reading and rummaging among the material of which
Shakespeare made use for his plays. It makes the poet no whit better or worse, or
more comprehensible. The most it can do is to throw light upon certain obscure
passages, and, moreover, the greater number of these are only partially obscure.
The spiritual essence of Shakespeare's work will be revealed only to him who
receives it pure and unmixed, and will be hidden from him who does not so receive
it, however bulky may be the historical material at his command. One thing we may
gain from it — apypreciation. We begin to perceive with increasing distinctness that
Shakespeare modelled the material at hand with intention, and knew as perfectly
how to put asunder as to bind together the single portions of his plays. Look at
the first scene of the [present play] ; how artistically does an apparently careless
conversation introduce us to the whole ; how perfectly are the characters of Beatrice
and Benedick, and their relation to each other revealed in a few words. How
exquisitely is the contrast drawn between this relation,. and that between Hero and
Qaudio ; how charmingly has Shakespeare transported to a loftier sphere the suc-
cessfiil trick played upon a tipsy fool, and, without divesting it of its comic element,
converted it into a delicate plot. How fine it is that the scene wherein Claudio's
false suspicion is apparently confirmed is not enacted upon the stage, but only related
there. And lastly how touching is the final explanation of every thing.
It is verily true that the comprehension of a poet depends upon the depth of feel-
ing brought to his apprehension, and through comparative study this comprehension
so grows and increases in the mind of the student, that he is ever prompted to fresh
and more thorough research.
[Criticism of Grimm, I leave to his countryman, as follows] : —
TiTTMANN {SchauspteU a. d, i6ten Jahrhundert^ 2te Th. s. 147) : The attempt
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344 APPENDIX
to trace any connection between Jahn's love for Anna Maria and Benedick's charm-
ing relationship with Beatrice is downright tasteless. But when this connection is
extended to single phrases and turns of the dialogue, such * criticism ' verges on the
ridiculous. When Ayrer, for instance, makes Venus say, < Vulcan is angry and
hot-tempered, and will not forge any more arrows for Cupid,' and, later on, Cupid
says : * My father, the angry Vulcan, has forged me some arrows,' and with these
expressions is compared Benedick's remark that 'Cupid is a good hare- finder and
Vulcan a rare carpenter * there must be found, forsooth, a confirmation of this won-
derful connection. That Vulcan forges Cupid's arrows is not an uncommon refer-
ence elsewhere in Gennan poetry. In an ' Association-song ' by Joachim Brechtel
(Nflmberg, 1594) we find : * Ah, Cupid, thou hast warmed my heart. With thy
'father's golden dart. Which he has made o' the sharpest' Moreover, the dis-
covery is not new ; in the Notes to his Translation, Ludwig Tieck refers to these
supposititious identities, but considers it merely possible that < Bandello's novel may
< have been adapted to the English stage even before the time of Shakespeare, and
'that therein a similar joke or expression may have appeared.' Nay, more ; when
Beatrice says that Benedick ' set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid
'at the flight ; and my uncle's fool subscribed for Cupid and challenged him at the
' bird-bolt,' — this reference must be allied, forsooth, to that arrow which had struck
Jahn [not in the heart, but in a locality considerably removed] I
More important parallels it is quite possible to detect ; for instance, Lionato's de-
cision to give out that his daughter is dead, in the hope (herein departing from
Bandello) that her bridegroom might return ; which finds its parallel in Shakespeare
from the mouth of the Friar. On the other hand, the discrepancies between Ban-
dello's novel and A3rrer's comedy are so numerous that separate details common to
both add no weight. Shakespeare moulded his material with all the freedom of
poetical creation ; Ayrer honestly and faithfully appropriated it, as he found it
CHAEREAS AND CALLIRRHOE
KoNRAD Weichbbrger Contributes to a Jahrbuchy issued by the admirable
Deutsche Shakespeare Gesellschaft (vol. xxxiv, p. 339, 1898), an article on The Orig-
inal Sources of Much Ado about Nothing, wherein he suggests that the source, pos-
sibly the direct source, of Bandello's noVel is the late-Grecian romance by Chariton
of Chaereas and CalHrrhoe, Of course, there is no suggestion that Shakespeare had
any knowledge of this old romance, all that is claimed is that in certain points the
resemblance between Chariton and Bandello is too striking to have been accidental.
In briefest words, the story of Chaereas and Callirrhoe is as follows : — ^The scene
is laid in Syracuse, in Sicily, where the marriage, after befitting obstructions, is cele-
brated between a miracle of maidenly beauty, Callirrhoe, and a miracle of manly
prowess, Chaereas. The discomfited lovers of the bride hereupon plot to ruin the
happiness of the wedded pair. To this end, Chaereas is induced, by stories of his
wife's infidelity, to lie in wait, one evening, before his own door. In the dusk, he
sees a man (one of the conspirators) elegantly attired, pass and repass, and by fur-
tive glances at the house, evidently responding to an appointment. At last, a maid
cautiously opens the door, and the lover enters. Transported with fury, Chaereas
rushes in after him to slay him on the spot. But the villain had slipped behind the
door, and as Chaereas storms in, the villain glides softly out Callirrhoe alarmed
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SOURCE OF THE PLOT^TIRANTE EL BLANCO 345
by the noise, comes, without a light, to meet her husband, who, in the dark, mis-
takes her for the lover, and in his blind rage gives her so powerful a kick that she
falls dead on the spot. Under torture, the maid divulges the plot, and Chaereas is
acquitted of the murder. With much pomp, Callirrhoe is buried, but awakens from
her trance just as pirates break into the vault to steal the rich jewels with which her
corpse had been adorned ; these they carry off together with Callirrhoe herself. The
robbery is discovered the next day when Chaereas, overwhelmed with remorse, visits
the tomb ; he is prevented from suicide by his friend, Polycharmos.
Hereupon, the adventures of husband and wife, by land and by sea, fill seven
books, until at last the pair are united and return to Syracuse, where a bride also is
conveniently found for Polycharmos.*
Of this story, but one MS is known ; it is in a monastery at Florence and was first
printed in 1750 at Amsterdam, by D'OrviUe.t Weichberger doubts that Ariosto
had ever read this MS, because Ariosto could not read Greek, which was not the case
with Bandello, who, in his wanderings, before he settled down in Agen, may well
have examined it, ' at least the first and last books.' He also traces a connection be-
tween Chaereas and CaUirrkoey and Tirante el Blanco^ and, most filmy of all, with the
Ninth story in the Introduction to Giraldi Cinthio's Hecatomithi, where the only con-
nection which I can trace is in the rich clothes which the fictitious lover purchases
from the Jews ; in brief, a waiting maid is there in love with her master, and persuad-
ing him to watch her mistress' s actions, introduces a villain into the house in sight of the
concealed husband whose actions, after the adroit escape of the villain, are so violent
in flourishing a drawn sword that the innocent wife flies in terror, — ^but it all ends
happily, virtue is vindicated and vice is condemned to prison for life. One is almost
inclined to doubt that Herr Weichberger could have read the story. Still, adepts in
Comparative Literature can trace a filament of connection as attenuated as the virtue
of a drug in a Homoeopathic potentisation.
The searching analysis of the variations between Chariton and Bandello which
Herr Weichberger has given, is hardly germane to the purposes of the present
volume, albeit by no means devoid of interest
To the list of stories wherein the bridegroom is deceived by a false personation,
TiTTMANN t ftdds El PatraHuelo^ in the Collection of Novels by Juan Timoneda,
Alcala, 1576. This I have not seen.
TIRANTE EL BLANCO
DUNLOP, in his History of Fiction^ 18 14, gives a sketch of the early Spanish novel,
Tirante el Blanco^ written by Johan Martorell, ' probably, about the year 1400 ;' the
last edition in Spanish was published at Valladolid in 1511 ; it was translated into
Italian by Manfredi in 1538 ; it has never appeared in English, and the only copy
in my possession is a French translation by the Comte de Caylus, published
in London, undated, but about 1737. This novel should have some interest for
English readers, because of its long account of that eccentric character, William,
Earl of Warwick.
In the course of his sketch, Dunlop (p. 169, ed. 1845) narrates that, * the good
*See also Dunlop, History of Ficiion^ 1814 ; 3rd. ed., 1845, P* 33*
t Dunlop, op, cit, p. 426.
X Schauspiele am dem sechtehnten Jahrhundert^ 1868, 2te Th. p. 146.
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346 APPENDIX
< understanding which subsisted between Titan and the princess is at length inter-
* rupted by the plots of the Vedova Reposada, another attendant, who, having fallen
' in love with Tiran, contrives to make him jealous of her mistress, by a stratagem
' resembling that which deceives Claudio in Much Ado about Nothings and also the
• lover of Geneura in the fifth canto of the Orlando Purioso.*
This remark of Dunlop is probably the foundation of all subsequent allusions by
Skottowe, and others, both £nglish and German, to the connection between Tirante
el Blanco and the plot of the present play. If the unvarnished fact that a lover is
deceived by a fictitious impersonation is to be the connecting link, then the story of
Tiiante certainly becomes part of the chain. But beyond this fact, there is in every
detail of Tirante^s experience a wide divergence from Claudio' s.
I will give very briefly the oudines of the Spanish story, and then dose this sub-
ject of the Source of the Plot,
Tirante el Blanco (whose name is derived from his father's lordship of Tirranie
(qy. Turraine?) and his mother's name Blanche, a daughter of the Duke of Britany)
is madly in love with Cremesina, the daughter of the Emperor of Constantinc^le,
who returns his love with equal ardour. The Princess's govemness, the Widow
Reposada, is secretly in love with Tirante and determines by stratagem to divert to
herself his attachment to the Princess. To this end, she asserts to Tirante that she
can give him ocular proof of the Princess's low debauchery. Tirante is accordingly
stationed at a very high window where by means of two mirrors he can observe the
royal garden down below him, whereof the gardener was a repulsive negro. In
anticipation of this hour, the Widow Reposada had caused a skilfull artist to model
out of black leather a life-like mask of this hideous negro. Tirante, being ensconced,
and his mirrors at the right angles, the Widow induces Cremesina and her attendants
to walk in the garden, and when they were within range of Tirante' s mirrrors she
persuades one of the Princess's attendants (who, by the way, bears the pretty name,
Plazirdemavida) to put on, by way of frolic, the mask of the n'egro and his gabardine,
and to emerge from the shrubbery and make love to Cremesina, who, entering into
the joke, with unfeigned glee, merrily returned the exaggerated devotion of the dis-
guised Plazirdemavida.
The sight was enough for Tirante, and small blame to him, considering the distance
and the black leather. Of course his despair and grief were profound, and from
time to time he emitted pierdng cries. Although it has no bearing on our present
object, I think we ought to drop a tear over the reaction of the joke on the poor
negro. On his way home, Tirante saw the faithful gardener peacefully mending the
roof of his hut ; whereupon the heart-broken knight as a relief to his over-wrought
feelings dragged the blackamoor into his hut and there cut off his head. The next
day Tirante departed on an expedition against the Turks without taking leave of his
Princess. Just as his ship was weighing anchor, Plazirdemavida, who had been sent
by the Princess to learn the cause of his coldness, revealed the trick. It was too
late to return, a storm was rising and Tirante was forced to depart. In a year or two
he returned with innumerable kings, potentates, and warriors as prisoners, incal-
culable wealth, and his marriage to the Princess was about to be celebrated with
indescribable pomp when he was seized with a mortal illness and expired before his
bride could reach him. The news of his death proved fatal to the Emperor, who
immediately succumbed, and the Princess, his bride, died within a few hours ; at the
moment of her death there was a sudden brilliant illumination in her chamber, ' it
< was,' says the chronicler, * the angels who carried her soul and Tirante' s to para-
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ENGLISH CRITICTSMS-^GILDON 347
«
' dise.' They were all three buried on three successive days ; and eyerybody cried so
much, that, as the chronicler says, ' no one wanted to cry again for a whole year.*
Tirante el Blanco deserves a place in our memory as one of the three romances
which were saved by the priest out of Don Quixote's library, — ' in its way,' said the
priest, ' it is the best book in he world.'
ENGLISH CRITICISMS
Langrainb (p. 108), in his list of plays by D' Avenant, thus speaks of The Law
against Lovers : — A Tragi-Comedy made up of two Plays written by Mr Shakespear,
viz. Measure for Measure^ and Much Ado about Nothing, Tho' not only the char-
acters, but the language of the whole Play almost, he borrowed from Shctkespear ;
yet where the language is rough or obsolete, our Author [D' Avenant] has taken care
to polish it.
In Heywood's Faire Mayde of the Exchange^ 1607, there are many < echoes,'
(as the Editor, Barron Field, of the old Shakespeare Society happily terms them)
of Muck Ado about Nothing, which prove its eariy popularity.
Charles Gildon {^Row^s Edition, 1709, vol. vii. Remarks, etc. p. J04) : This
play we must call a Comedy, tho' some of the incidents and discourses are more in
a tragic strain ; and that of the accusation of Hero is too shocking for either Tragedy
or Comedy ; nor cou'd it have come off in nature, if we regard the country, without
the death of more than Hero. The imposition on the Prince and Claudio seems very
lame, and Qaudio's conduct to the woman he lov'd, highly contrary to the very
nature of love, to expose her in so barbarous a manner and with so little concern
and struggle, and on such weak grounds without a farther examination into the
matter ; yet the passions this produces in the old father make a wonderful amends
for the fault. Besides which there is such a pleasing variety of characters in the
play, and those perfectly maintain' d, as w^lF as distinguish' d, that you lose the
absurdities of the conduct in the excellence of the manners, sentiments, diction, and
topics. Benedick and Beatrice are two sprightly, witty, talkative characters, and tho'
of the same nature, yet perfectly distinguish' d, and you have no need to read the
names to know who speaks. As they differ from each other, tho' so near a kin, so
do they from that of Lucio in Meas, for Meas,, who is likewise a very talkative
person ; but there is a gross abusiveness, calumny, lying, and lewdness in Lucio,
which Benedick is free from. One is a rake's mirth and tattle ; the other is that of
a gentleman, and a man of spirit and wit. The stratagem of the Prince on Bene-
dick and Beatrice is manag'd with that nicety and address that we are very well
pleas' d with the success, and think it very reasonable and just. ... To quote all the
comic excellences of this play would be to transcribe three parts of it For all that
passes betwixt Benedick and Beatrice is admirable. . . . The aversion that the poet gives
[them] for each other in their discourse heightens the jest of making them in love
with one another. Nay, the variety and natural distinction of the vulgar humours
of this play are remarkable. The scenes are something obscure, for you can scarce
tell where the place is in the first two Acts, tho' the scenes in them seem pretty
entire, and unbroken. But those are things that we ought not to look much for in
Shakespeare. But whilst he is out in the dramatic imitation of the fable, he always
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348 APPENDIX
draws men and women so perfectly, that when we read, we can scarce persuade our-
selves but that the discourse is real and no fiction.
[These remarks are interesting in view of their date. I know of no earlier com-
mentary on this play, and it is pleasant to note its recognition of Shakespeare's
supremacy in delineating character. The observation that the characters bear their
stamp of individuality so marked that we do not need to read the names before the
speeches, here, as we see, anticipates Pope, to whom it is generally credited. — Ed.]
WiLXJAM Hazutt (p. 303) : Perhaps that middle point of comedy was never
more nicely hit in which the ludicrous blends with the tender, and our follies, turn-
ing round against themselves in support of our affections, retain nothing but their
humanity.
Dogberry and Verges in this play are inimitable specimens of quaint blundering
and misprisions of meaning ; and are a standing record of that formal gravity of
pretension and total want of common understanding, which Shakespeare no doubt
copied from real life, and which in the course of two hundred years appear to have
ascended from the lowest to the highest offices in the state.
Mrs Inchbald {British Theatre) : Those persons, for whom the hearts of the
audience are most engaged, have scarce one event to aid their personal interest ;
every occurrence which befalls them depends solely on the pitiful act of private listen-
ing. If Benedick and Beatrice had possessed perfect good manners, or just notions
of honour and delicacy, so as to have refused to become eaves-droppers, the action
of the play must have stood still, or some better method have been contrived, — a
worse hardly could, — ^to have imposed on their mutual credulity. But this willing-
ness to overhear conversations, the reader will find to be the reigning fashion with
the dramatis persona of this play; for there are nearly as many unwarrantable
listeners, as there are characters in it But, in whatever failings the ill-bred custom
of Messina may have involved Benedick and Beatrice, they are both highly enter-
taining and most respectable personages. They are so witty, so jocund, so free from
care, and yet so sensible of care in others, that the best possible reward is conferred
on their merit, — marriage with each other. . . . Shakespeare has given such an odious
character of the bastard, John, in this play, and of the bastard, Edmund, in King
Leary that, had these dramas been written in the time of Charles the Second, the
author must have been suspected of disaffection to half the court.
Augustine Skottowb (i, 354) : Shakespeare has been deservedly praised for his
skill in overcoming the difficulties that still interposed between the union of Benedick
and Beatrice. Delay was impossible; the story of Benedick's love being a fable,
great care was necessary to prevent Beatrice from discovering the deception practised
on her ; a discovery which would have altogether defeated the design of bringing her
and Benedick together, for Beatrice never could have condescended to own a passion
she had been tricked into. Shakespeare, therefore, combines in her mind, a desire
of revenge on Qaudio with her new feelings for Benedick. In the most natural way
possible, she engages her lover to call Claudio to account for the injury done her
cousin ; and she is thus at once compelled to drop her capricious humour, and treat
Benedick with the confidence and candour his services merited. Benedick and
Beatrice are the pure and beautiful productions of Shakespeare's imagination. He
first conceived and gave a faint sketch of their characters in Love's Labour's Lost,
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ENGLISH CRITICISMS^MRS JAMESON 349
In Much Ado about Nothings they are expanded into finished portraits, and launched
into a new scene of action of which he himself was the entire inventor. It is not
often that Shakespeare appears as the constructor of his dramatic incidents. The<^
plot on the two marriage-haters is ingeniously conceived and executed; and the
characters of the parties being as similar as is consistent with the difference of sex,'
the practice of the same mode of deception on each of them is highly natural and
humourous.
Mrs Jameson (2nd ed., i, 128) : Shakespeare has exhibted in Beatrice a spir-
ited and faithful portrait of the fine lady of his own time. The deportment, lan-
guage, manners, and allusions are those of a particular class in a particular age ;
but the individual and dramatic character which forms the groundwork is strongly
discriminated, and being taken from general nature, belongs to every age. In
Beatrice, high intellect and high animal spirits meet, and excite each other like fire
and air. In her wit, (which is brilliant without being imaginative,) there is a touch
of insolence, not unfrequent in women when the wit predominates over reflection
and imagination. In her temper, too, there is a slight infusion of the termagant ;
and her satirical humour plays with such an unrespective levity over all subjects alike,
that it required a profound knowledge of women to bring such a character within the
pale of our sympathy. But Beatrice, though wilful, is not wayward ; she is volatile,
not unfeeling. She has not only an exuberance of wit and gayety, but of heart, and
soul, and energy of spirit ; and is no more like the fine ladies of modem comedy, —
whose wit consists in a temporary allusion, or a play upon words, and whose petu-
lance is displayed in a toss of the head, a flirt of the fan, or a flourish of the pocket-
handkerchief, — than one of our modem dandies is like Sir Philip Sidney.
In Beatrice, Shakespeare has contrived that the poetry of the character shall not
only soften, but heighten its comic effect. We are not only inclined to forgive
Beatrice all her scornful airs, all her biting jests, all her assumption of superiority ;
but they amuse and delight us the more, when we find her, with all the headlong
simplicity of a child, falling at once into the snare laid for her affections ; when we
see kevy who thought a man of God's making not good enough for her, who disdained
to be overmastered by < a piece of valiant dust,' stooping like the rest of her sex,
vailing her proud spirit, and taming her wild heart to the loving hand of him whom
she had scorned, flouted, and misused *■ past the endurance of a block.' And we are
yet more completely won by her generous enthusiastic attachment to her cousin.
When the father of Hero believes the tale of her guilt ; when Qaudio, her lover,
without remorse or a lingering doubt, consigns her to shame ; when the Friar remains
silent, and the generous Benedick himself knows not what to say, Beatrice, confident
in her affections, and guided only by the impulses of her own feminine heart, sees
through the inconsistency, the impossibility, of the charge, and exclaims, without a
moment's hesitation, <0, on my soul, my cousin is belied!' . . .
Infinite skill, as well as humour, is shown in making this pair of airy beings the
exact counterpart of each other ; but of the two portraits that of Benedick is by far
the most pleasing, because the independence and gay indifference of temper, the
laughing defiance of love and marriage, the satirical freedom of expression common
to both, are more becoming to the masculine than to the feminine character. Any^
woman might love such a cavalier as Benedick, and be proud of his affection; hisr
valour, his wit, and his gaiety sit so gracefully upon him ! and his light scoffs against
the power of love are but just sufficient to render more piquant the conquest of this
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350 APPENDIX
'heretic in despite of beauty.' But a man might well be pardoned who should
shrink from encountering such a spirit as that of Beatrice, unless, indeed, he had
* served an apprenticeship to the taming-school.' The wit of Beatrice is less good-
humoured than that of Benedick ; or, from the difference of sex, appears so. It is
observable that the power is throughout on her side, and the sympathy and interest
on his : which, by reversing the usual order of things, seems to excite us against the
grain^ if I may use such an expression. In all their encounters she constantly gets
the better of him, and the gentleman's wits go off halting, if he is not himself fairly
hors de combat, Beatrice, woman-like, generally has the first word, and will have the
last. . . .
It is remarkable' that, notwithstanding the point and vivacity of the dialogue, few
of the speeches of Beatrice are capable of a general application, or engrave them-
selves distinctly on the memory ; they contain more mirth than matter ; and though
wit be the predominant feature in the dramatic portrait, Beatrice more charms and
dazzles us by what she is than by what she says^ It is not merely her sparkling
repartees and saucy jests, it is the soul of wit, and the spirit of gayety informing the
whole character, — ^looking out from her brilliant eyes, and laughing on the full lips
that pout with scorn,— ^which we have before us, moving and full of life.
Thomas Campbell (p. xlv) : I fully agree with the admirers of this play in their
opinion as to the most of its striking merits. The scene of the young and guiltless hero-
ine struck speechless by the accusation of her lover, and swooning at the foot of the
nuptial altar, is deeply touching. There is eloquence in her speechlessness, and we
may apply the words. Ipsa siUntia terrenty amidst the silence of those who had not
the ready courage to defend her, whilst her father's harsh and hasty belief of her
guilt crowns the pathos of her desolation. At this crisis, the exclamation of» Beatrice,
the sole believer in her innocence, ' O, on my soul, my cousin is belied,' is a reliev-
ing and glad voice in the wilderness, which almost reconciles me to Beatrice's other-
wise disagreeable character. I agree also that Shakespeare has, all the while, afforded
the means of softening our dismayed compassion for Hero, by our previous knowledge
of her innocence, and we are sure that she shall be exculpated. Yet who, but
Shakespeare, could dry our tears of interest for Hero, by so laughable an agent as
the immortal Dogberry ? I beg pardon for having allowed that Falstaff makes us
forget all the other comic creations of our PoeL How could I have overlooked you,
my Launce, and my Launce's dog, and my Dogberry? To say that Falstaff makes
us forget Dogberry is, as Dogberry himself would say, ' most tolerable and not to be
' endured.' And yet Shakespeare, after pouncing this ridiculous prey, springs up,
forthwith, to high dramatic effect in making Claudio, who had mistakenly accused
Hero, so repentant as to consentingly marry another woman, her supposed cousin,
under a veil, which, when it is lifted, displays his own vindicated bride.
At the same time, if Shakespeare were looking over my shoulder, I could not
disguise some objections to this comedy, which involuntarily strikes me as debarring
it from ranking among our Poet's most enchanting dramas. I am on the whole, I
trust, a liberal on the score of dramatic probability. Our fancy and its faith are no
niggards in believing whatsoever they may be delighted withal ; but, if I may use a
vulgar saying, <a willing horse should not be ridden too hard.' Our fanciful faith
is misused, when it is spurred and impelled to believe that Don John, without one
particle of love for Hero, but out of mere personal spite to Claudio, should contrive
the infernal treachery which made the latter assuredly jealous. Moreover, during
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ENGLISH CRITICISMS-'H, COLERIDGE 35 1
one-half of the play, we have a disagreeable female character in that of Beatrice.
Her portrait, I may be told, is deeply drawn, and minutely finished. It is ; and so
is that of Benedick, who is entirely her counterpart, except that he is less disagree-
able. But the best-drawn portraits by the finest masters may be admirable in execu-
tion, though unpleasant to contemplate, and Beatrice's portrait is in this category.
She is a tartar, by Shakespeare* s own showing, and, if a natural woman, is not a
pleasing representative of the sex. In befriending Hero, she almost reconciles us to
her, but not entirely ; for a good heart, that shows itself only on extraordinary occa-
sions, is no sufficient atonement for a bad temper, which Beatrice evidently shows.
The marriage of the marriage-hating Benedick and the furious anti-nuptial Beatrice
is brought about by a trick. Then: friends contrive to deceive them into a belief that
they love each other, and partly by vanity, — ^partly by mutual affection, which has
been disguised under the bickerings of their wit, — they have their hands joined, and
the consolations of religion are administered, by the priest who marries them, to the
unhappy sufferers. [For the conclusion of Campbell's remarks, wherein he calls
Beatrice an 'odious woman,' see V, iv, 133, p. 289. — ^Ed.]
Anon. {Edinburgh Review^ July, 184D, p. 483) : It is interesting to trace how that
great rule of the poet, which Coleridge has set down as characteristic of him,^his
general avoidance of surprises, — ^is [in Much Ado about Nothing], as elsewhere,
made subservient to the immediate purpose. In the Merchant of Venice, which has
a higher aim, we are left to be swayed in uncertainty by the currents of the action ; —
here, where the framework is slighter, and the prevailing tone of thought more airy
and sportive, we are always admitted behind the curtain, throughout the whole series
of deceits or mistakes which constitute the story of the play. Before every lie is
uttered we know that it is a lie, and we cannot doubt but it will be detected. In the
story of the treachery practised towards Hero, the incidents are in their external
aspect deeply tragic, and the characters treat them as such ; but we, who are in the
secret, know that the whole rests within that sphere where comedy finds its nurture.
We have helped to dress the puppets, and we help to pull the strings. We have
listened to the conversation of Don John with Borachio ; we know that Hero is inno-
cent ; we know, when she leaves the chapel, that her death is to be but a pretence ; at
the wedding we have looked behind the veil which covers the face of Antonio's sup-
posed daughter. Here, the catastrophe comes to us after gradual preparation. No
sudden convulsion attends it, and no softening close is necessary like that which car-
ried us from Shylock's judgement-hall to the lady's villa. Here also we have been
throughout in that mood of interest slightly excited for the incidents, .which enabled
us to watch with delight some of the most felicitous of all representations of char-
acter, in a type which Shakespeare, again and again fondly returning to it, here
developed in its utmost possible perfection.
Hartley Coleridge (ii, 135) : This play is one of Shakespeare's few essays at
what may be called genteel comedy, and proves that neither genius, wit, humour, nor
gentility will serve to produce excellence in that kind. It wants that truth of ideal
nature which was Shakespeare's forte, and does not present enough of the truth of
real life and manners to compensate for the deficiency. The more impassioned
scenes are scarcely in place. Tragi-comedy is one thing, comi-tragedy is another.
Where pathos is predominant, it often may derive an increase of power from lighter
scenes ; but where the ground-work is comic, it is vain to work in flowers of sombre
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352 APPENDIX
hue. The tale, too, is improbable, without being romantic. Still it is Shakespeare,—
delightful in each part, but unsatisfactory in the effect of the whole.
P. S. I never censure Shakespeare without finding reason to eat my words.
Charles Bathurst (p. 60) : This comedy is in the second style, chiefly flow-
ing ; with some breaks, and even weak endings ; alternate rhymes ; one instance of
the long verse.
As to the general character of the play, as I have no concern with prose scenes, I
must not dwell upon the incomparable comedy, and the sprighdy dialogues, amidst
which the very high character of Beatrice breaks out ; one of the most interesting of
his female characters, and connected with two others, probably of near the same
period : Portia and Rosalind. This part is a fine specimen of the knowledge of
Shakespeare; how much that is serious and steady, especially in young women,
lurks under a character which, in ordinary circumstances, seems to be remarkable
only for a quick and almost sharp cleverness in conversation ; the strength of char-
acter, when wanted, being rendered only the more useful, the feeling showing itself
only the more hearty, for that very quickness. Her simple honesty is also remark-
able. When asked whether she had slept with her cousin, she answers at once, and
even adds to the question, though she must know the consequence that will be drawn
from it. The manner in which Hero takes the accusation against her is beautiful,
suited to a very young and simple girl, though of high education. In different parts,
Shakespeare has shown his usual great talent in distinguishing between one character
and another, in respect of the manner in which women conduct themselves under
such circumstances. Compare Desdemona, Hermione, Imogen, with this part, and
observe that they differ, not for the sake of variety, but as they ought to difier, from
what we know of their different natures and situations.
Henry Giles (p. 189) : There is a character which we laugh with. To such order
of character the wit belongs ; and Beatrice is a leader of the class. Others have wit.
Beatrice is the wit Viola has wit ; but it is only as the sparkling sword with which a
maiden plays, — a maiden who would faint at the sight of blood, and in whose hand it
cannot wound. Rosalind also has wit ; it dazzles in her words ; but it is only the dew
that bathes the flowers which it brightens. The Katherine of Lav^s Labour's Lost
resembles Beatrice ; but it is only as the phosphoric gleam which dances along the
wave resembles the lightning which cuts the cloud. Beatrice is the wit in the com-
pleteness of character. She Is resistless in the sphere of the ridiculous ; and there
is nothing whiph she cannot place within that sphere. Once engaged in the play of
her faculty, like every acknowledged wit, she gives it unbridled liberty. She is
untroubled as to whither it may run ; it may overturn the solemn pomposity of one,
it may scatter mire on the dainty vanity of another ; it is all the same to her. Her
intellect is severed from sentiment ; her fancy has little union with sympathy ; she
has a fierce consciousness of power, and she has no sense of fear. In conversation
with Benedick, she loses the ease, the coldness, the indifference which belong to the
perfect wit ; rivalry with him excites her pride ; and the quiet of contempt is heated
into the passion of antagonism. But Benedick is no match for Beatrice. No blame
to him. No man is a match for a witty woman. No man has her quickness, her
pungency, her correct fluency of utterance, or her glistening weapons of imagery.
A man, therefore, is never more a fool than when he enters into a wit-duel with a
brilliant woman. The wit of Beatrice is bitter, but it is seldom without fun. ... A
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ENGLISH CRITICISMS^FURNIVALL 353
most formidable woman, Beatrice ; a most courageous man, Benedick. Poor fellow !
he had an awful dread of her at one time. ' Will your grace/ he says to Don Pedro,
* command me any service to the world's end/ etc. And after all, he married her !
(P. 1S4). Dogberry is, I am persuaded, of an ample size, — ^no small man
speaks with his sedate gravity. There is a steadiness of bearing in him which
you never observe in men of deficient length, breadth, or rotundity. Men so
deficient may be irritable, vain, and passionate, but they have no solidly poised im-
portance. They are well-nigh imponderable. No man of the lean and dwarfish
species can assume the tranquil self-consequence of a Dogberry. How could a
thinly-covered soul speak with the unction of a soul so comfortably clad as Dog-
berry's evidently is ? or how could a shivering, uneasy mortal have that calm interior
glow, that warm sense, too, of outward security, which so firmly speak in Dogberry's
content and confidence ?
F. J. FURNIVALL ( The Leopold Shakspere^ Introd, 1877, p. Iv) : This central
comedy of Shakspere's middle happiest time (the Merchant^ Shrew^ Merry Wives
went before, As You Like It, Tweifih Night, AlVs WeU followed after) is full of
interest, as, on the one side, gathering into itself and developing so much of his work
lying near it, and, on the othier side, stretching one hand to his earliest genuine work,
another to his latest complete one. First. Of the links with the other plays near it,
we may note Benedick's and Beatrice's loving one another <no more than reason,'
with Slender* s so loving Anne Page, ' I will do as it shall become one that would do
' reason.' Second. Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, miscalling names, with Slender* s
'decrease' and 'dissolutely,' etc., in The Merry Wvves. Third. As to The Shrew,
isn't Much Ado in a certain sense a double taming of the shrew, only here each
tames himself and herself by the answer of his and her richer, nobler nature, to an
overheard appeal to its better feelings, an unseen showing of where its poor, narrow,
shrewishness was leading it? Dogberry's conceit, and Verges' s belief in him, are
like Bottom's in the Midsummer Nights Dream, and his companions' belief in him;
while The Merchant's scene between Launcelot Gobbo and his father and Bassanio
is developed in that of Dogberry and Verges with Leonato in Much Ado. Leonato's
lament over Hero here, 'grieved I, I had but one,' etc., must be compared with
Capulet's complaint about Juliet. Benedick's dress in Much Ado, HI, ii, is to be
compared with the young English baron's in The Merchant. Friar Francis's advice
that Hero shall be supposed dead for awhile, is like Friar Laurence's advising that
Juliet should counterfeit death for forty-two hours. Leonato's refusing to be com-
forted by any who hadn't suffered equal loss with him is to be compared, on the one
hand, with Constance's ' He talks to me that never had a son,' in King John, and,
on the other, with Macduff's ' He has no children' in Macbeth. Hero's caving in
under the unjust accusation brought against her is like Ophelia's silence in her inter-
views with Hamlet, and to be compared with Desdemona's ill-starred speeches that
brought about her death, and the pathetic appeal of Imogen that she was true, and
the noble indignation of Hermione against her accusers. Such comparisons as these
bring out with irresistible force the growth of Shakspere in spirit and temper as well
as words.
Of the reach backward and forward of this play, remember that Benedick and
Beatrice are but the development of Berowne and Rosalind in Shakspere's first
genuine play, Lov/s Labour's Lost, while Hero is the prototype of Hermione in
Winter's Tale, Shakspere's last complete drama. Hermione, — 'queen, matron,
23
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* mother,' who, like Hero, unjustly suspected and accused, is declared innocent, and
yet for sixteen years suffers seclusion as one dead, with that noble magnanimity and
fortitude that distinguish her, and then without a word of reproach to her base and
cruel husband, throws herself, — ^but late a statue of stone, now warm and living, — ^into
his arms. Look at the ' solemn and profound ' pathos of that situation, and contrast
it with the Hero and Claudio one here, and see how Shakspere has g^rown from man-
hood to fuller age, just as when you set the at-onement of i^geon and his family in T^
Comedy of Errors beside the reunion of Pericles, his daughter, and wife, in Pericles^
you'll see the difference between youth and age, between the First and Fourth
Periods of Shakspere' s work and &rt. The many likenesses between Benedick and
Beatrice and Berowne and Rosalind in Levis Labour's Lost are caught at once. We
need only dwell on the moral of the earlier play, as Rosalind preaches it at Berowne,
the utter worthlessness of wit, the mocking spirit, and the need that the gibing spirit
should be choked, thrown away, and remember that the moral is repeated here, in
Beatrice's wise and generous words (she, woman-like, instinctively goes to the heart
of the matter) : — < Stand I' condemn' d for pride and scorn so much,' etc
A. C. Swinburne (p. 152) : Even in the much more nearly spotless work which we
have next to glance at, some readers have perhaps not unreasonably found a similar
objection to the final good fortune of such a pitiful fellow as Count Claudio. It
will be observed that in each case the sacrifice is made to comedy. The actual
or hypothetical necessity of pairing off all the couples after such a fashion as
to secure a nominally happy and undeniably matrimonial ending is the theatrical
idol whose tyranny exacts this holocaust of higher and better feelings than the mere
liquorish desire to leave the board of fancy with a palatable morsel of cheap sugar on
the tongue.
If it is proverbially impossible to determine by selection the greatest work of
Shakespeare, it is easy enough to decide on the date and name of his most perfect
comic masterpiece. For absolute power of composition, for faultless balance and
blameless rectitude of design, there is unquestionably no creation of his hand that
will bear comparison with Much Ado about Nothing, The ultimate marriage of Hero
and Claudio, on which I have already remarked as in itself a doubtfully desirable
consummation, makes no flaw in the dramatic perfection of a piece which could not
otherwise have been wound up at all. This was its one inevitable conclusion, if the
action were not to come to a tragic end ; and a tragic end would here have been as
painfully and g^rossly out of place as is any but a tragic end to the action of Measure
for Measure. As for Beatrice, she is as perfect a lady, though of a far different age
and breeding, as C^lim^ne or Millamant ; and a decidedly more perfect woman than
could properly or permissibly have trod the stage of Congreve or Moli^re. She
would have disarranged all the dramatic proprieties and harmonies of the one great
school of pure comedy. The good fierce outbreak of her high true heart in two swift
words, — < kill Claudio,' — ^would have fluttered the dove-cotes of fashionable drama
to some purpose. But Alceste would have taken her to his own.
Lady Martin (p. 290) : Of Beatrice I cannot write with the same full heart, or
with the same glow of sympathy, with which I wrote of Rosalind. Her character
is not to me so engaging. We might hope to meet in life something to remind us of
Beatrice ; but in our dreams of fair women Rosalind stands out alone.
Neither are the circumstances under which Beatrice comes before us of a kind to
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draw us so closely to her. Unlike Rosalind, her life has been and is, while we see
her, one of pure sunshine. Sorrow and wrong have not softened her nature, nor
taken off the keen edge of her wit. When we are introduced to her, she is the
great lady, bright, brilliant, beautiful, enforcing admiration as she moves * in maiden
' meditation fancy free,' among the fine ladies and accomplished gallants of her circle.
Up to this time there has been no call upon the deeper and finer qualities of her
nature. The sacred fountain of tears has never been stirred within her. To pain
of heart she has been a stranger. She has not learned tenderness or toleration under
the discipline of suffering or disappointment, of unsatisfied yearning or failure. Her
life has been
'A summer mood,
* To which all pleasant things have come unsought,'
and across which the shadows of care or sorrow have never passed. She has a quick
eye to see what is weak or ludicrous in man or woman. The impulse to speak out
the smart and poignant things, that rise readily and swiftly to her lips, is irresistible.
She does not mean to inflict pain, though others besides Benedick must at times have
felt that • every word stabs.' She simply rejoices in the keen sword-play of her wit,
as she would in any other exercise of her intellect, or sport of her fancy. In very
gaiety of heart she flashes around her the playful lightning of sarcasm and repartee,
thinking of them only as something to make the time pass brightly by. ' I was bom,'
she says of herself, < to speak all mirth and no matter.' . . .
Wooers she has had, of course, not a few ; but she has * mocked them all out of
' suit.' Very dear to her is the independence of her maidenhood, — for the moment
has not come when to surrender that independence into a lover's hand is more
delightful than to maintain it. But though in the early scenes of the play she makes
a mock of wooers and of marriage, with obvious zest and with a brilliancy of fancy
and pungency of sarcasm that might well appal any ordinary wooer, it is my con-
viction that, although her heart has not yet been touched, she has at any rate begun
to see in 'Signor Benedick of Padua' qualities which have caught her fancy. She
has noted him dosely, and his image recurs unbidden to her mind with a frequency
which suggests that he is at least more to her than any other man. The train is laid,
and only requires a spark to kindle it into flame. How this is done, and with what
exquisite skill, will be more and more felt the more dosely the structure of the play
and the distinctive qualities of the actors in it are studied.
Indeed, I think this play should rank, in point of dramatic construction and devel-
opment of character, with the best of Shakespeare's works. It has the further dis-
tinction, that whatever is most valuable in the plot is due solely to his own invention.
. . . How happy was the introduction of such men as Dogberry,— dear, delightful
Dogberry ! — and his band, < the shallow fools who brought to light ' the flimsy villainy
by which Don Pedro and Qaudio had allowed themselves to be egregiously befooled !
How true to the irony of life was the accident, due also to Shakespeare's invention,
that Leonato was so much bored by their tedious prate, and so busy with the thought
of his daughter's approaching marriage, that he did not listen to them, and thus did
not hear what would have prevented the all but tragic scene in which that marriage is
broken off! And how much happier than all is the way in which the wrong done to
Hero is the means of bringing into view the fine and generous elements of Beatrice's
nature, of showing Benedick how much more there was in her than he had imagined,
and at the same time proving to her, what she was previously prepared to ' believe
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* better than reportingly/ that he was of a truly < noble strain,' and that she might
safely trust her happiness in his hands ! Viewed in this light the play seems to me
to be a masterpiece of construction, developed with consummate skill, and held
together by the unflagging interest which we feel in Beatrice and Benedick, and in
the progress of the amusing plot by which they arrive at a knowledge of their own
hearts.
I was called upon very early in my career to impersonate Beatrice ; but I must
frankly admit that, while, as I have said, I could not but admire her, she had not
taken hold of my heart as my other heroines had done. Indeed, there is nothing of
the heroine about her, nothing of romance or poetic suggestion in the circumstances
of her life, — nothing, in short, to captivate the imagination of a very young girl,
such as I then was. It caused me great disquietude, when Mr Charles Kemble,
who was playing a series of farewell performances at Covent Garden, where I had
made my J^dut on the stage but a few months before, singled me out to play Beatrice
to his Benedick on the night when he bade adieu to his profession. That I who had
hitherto acted only the young tragic heroines was to be thus transported out of my
natural sphere into the strange world of high comedy, was a surprise indeed. To
consent seemed to me nothing short of presumption. I uiged upon Mr Kemble how
utterly unqualified I was for such a venture. His answer was, * I have watched you
' in the second act of Julia in TAe Hunchbacky and I know that you will by-and-by
'be able to act Shakespeare's comedy. I do not mean now, because more years,
' greater practice, greater confidence in yourself, must come before you will have suf-
' fident ease. But do not be afraid. I am too much your friend to ask you to do
' anything that would be likely to prove a fiulure.' This he followed up by offering
to teach me the 'business' of the scene. What could I do? He had, from my
earliest rehearsals, been uniformly kind, helpful, and encouraging, — ^how could I say
him < Nay ' ? My friends, too, who of course acted for me, as I was under age, con-
sidered that I must consent I was amazed at some of the odd things I had to say, —
not at all from knowing their meaning, but simply because I did not even surmise it
My dear home instructor, of whom I have often spoken in these letters, said, ' My
* child, have no fear, you will do this very well. Only give way to natural joyous-
' ness. Let yourself go free ; you cannot be vulgar, if you tried ever so hard.'
And so the performance came, and went off more easily than I had imagined, as
so many events of our lives do pass away without any of the terrible consequences
which we have tormented ourselves by anticipating. The night was one not readily
to be forgotten. The excitement of having to act a character so different from any I
had hitherto attempted, and the anxiety natural to the effort, filled my mind entirely.
I had no idea of the scene which was to follow the close of the comedy, so that it
came upon me quite unexpectedly.
The < farewell ' of a great actor to his admiring friends in the arena of his triumphs
was something my imagination had never pictured, and all at once it was brought
most impressively before me, touching a deep sad minor chord in my young life. It
moved me deeply. As I write, the exciting scene comes vividly before me, — the
crowded stage, the pressing forward of all who had been Mr Kemble' s comrades
and contemporaries, — the good wishes, the farewells given, the tearful voices, the
wet eyes, the curtain raised again and again. Ah, how can any one support such a
trial ! I determined in that moment that, when my time came to leave the stage, I
would not leave it in this way. My heart could never have borne such a strain. I
need not say that this resolve has remained unchanged. I could not have expected
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ENGLISH CRITICISMS— LADY MARTIN 357
such a demonstrative farewell ; but, whatever it might have been, I think it is well
the knowledge that we are doing anything for the last time is kept from us. I see
now those who had acted in the play asking for a memento of the night,— ornaments,
gloves, handkerchiefs, feathers one by one taken from the hat, then the hat itself, —
all, in short, that could be detached from the dress. I, whose claim was as nothing
compared with that of others, stood aside, greatly moved and sorrowful, weeping on
my mother's shoulder, when, as the exciting scene was at last drawing to a close, Mr
Kemble saw me, and exclaimed, * What ! My Lady baby * Beatrice all in tears !
' What shall I do to comfort her ? What can I give her in remembrance of her first
' Benedick V I sobbed out, * Give me the book from which you studied Benedick.'
He answered, ' You shall have it, my dear, and many others !' He kept his word,
and I have still two small volumes in which are collected some of the plays in which
he acted, and also some in which his daughter, Fanny Kemble, who was then mar-
ried and living in America, had acted. These came, with a charming letter, on the
title-page addressed to his 'dear little friend.' f
He also told my mother to bring me to him, if at any time she thought his advice
might be valuable ; and on several occasions afterwards he took the trouble of read-
ing over new parts with me, and giving me his advice and help. One thing which
he impressed upon me I never forgot. It was, on no account to give prominence to
the merely physical aspect of any painful emotion. Let the expression be genuine,
earnest, but not ugly. He pointed out to me how easy it was to simulate distor-
tions, — ^for example, to writhe from the supposed effect of poison, to gasp, to roll the
eyes, etc. These were melodramatic effects. But if pain or death had to be repre-
sented, or any sudden or violent shock, let them be shown in their mental rather
than In their physical signs. The picture presented might be as sombre as the dark-
est Rembrandt, but it must be noble in its outlines ; truthful, picturesque, but never
repulsive, mean, or commonplace. It must suggest the heroic, the divine, in human
nature, and not the mere everyday struggles or tortures of this life, whether in joy
or sorrow, despair or hopeless grief. Under every circumstance the ideal, the noble,
the beautiful should be given side by side with the real. . . .
(P. 297). Mr Kemble was before everything pre-eminently a gentleman ; and this
told, as it always must tell, when he enacted ideal characters. There was a natund
grace and dignity in his bearing, a courtesy and unstudied deference of manner in
approaching and addressing women, whether in private society or on the stage, which
I have scarcely seen equalled. Perhaps it was not quite so rare in his day as it is
* I must explain that • baby ' was the pet name by which Mr Kemble always called
me. I cannot tell why, unless it were because of the contrast he found between his
own wide knowledge of the world and of art, and my innocent ignorance and youth.
Delicate health had kept me in a quiet home, which I left only at intervals for a
quieter life by the seaside, so that I knew, perhaps, far less of the world and its ways
than even most girls of my age.
t The»letter was in these terms : —
« II Park Place, St James's.
<My dear uttle Friend,^To you alone do these parts, which wer« once
'Fanny Kemble' s, of right belong; for from you alone can we now expect the
* most efficient representation of them. Pray oblige me by giving them a place in
' your study ; and believe me ever your true friend and servant, •
<C. Kemble.'
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now. What a lover he mast have made ! What a Romeo ! What an Orlando I
I got glimpses of what the^ must have been in the readings which Mr Kemble gave
after he left the stage, and which I attended diligently, with heart and brain awake
to profit by what I heard. How fine was his Mercutio ! What brilliancy, what ease,
what spontaneous flow of fancy in the Queen Mab speech ! The very start of it was
suggestive, — *0, then, I see Queen Mab' (with a slight emphasis on ' Mab') *hath
' been with you !' How exquisite the play of it all, image rising up after image, one
crowding upon another, each new one more fanciful than the last ! < Thou talk'st of
' nothing,' says Romeo ; but oh, what nothings ! As picture after picture was
brought before you by Mr Kemble' s skill, with the just emphasis thrown on every
word, yet all spoken * trippiqgly on the tongue,' what objects that one might see or
touch could be more real ? I was disappointed in his reading of Juliet, Desdemona,
etc. His heroines were spiritless, tearful, — creatures too merely tender, without dis-
tinction or individuality, all except Lady Macbeth, into whom I could not help
thinking some of the spirit of his great sister, Mrs Siddons, was transfused. But,
in truth, I cannot think it possible for any man's nature to simulate a woman's, or
vice versA. Therefore it is that I have never cared very much to listen to ' readings '
of entire plays by any single person. I have sometimes given parts of them myself;
but very rarely, and only, like Beatrice, 'upon great persuasion.'
Pardon this digression. It was so much my way to live with the characters I
represented, that, when I sit down to write, my mind naturally wanders off into
things which happened to me in connection with the representation of them. It was
some little while before I again performed Beatrice, and then I had for my Benedick,
Mr James Wallack. He was by that time past the meridian of his life ; but he
threw a spirit and grace into the part, which, added to his fine figure and gallant
bearing, made him, next to Mr Charles Kemble, although far beneath him, the best
Benedick whom I have ever seen. Oh, for something of the fervency, the fire, the
undying youthfulness of spirit, the fine courtesy of bearing, now so rare, which made
the acting with actors of this type so delightful !
By this time, I had made a greater study of the play ; moved more freely in my
art, and was therefore more able to throw myself into the character of Beatrice than
in the days of my novitiate. The oftener I played the character, the more it grew
upon me. The view I had taken of it seemed also to find favour with my audiences.
I well remember the pleasure I felt, when some chance critic of my Beatrice wrote
that she was ' a creature, overflowing with joyoosness, — ^raillery itself being in her
< nothing more than an excess of animal spirits, tempered by passing through a soul
'of goodness.' That she had a soul, brave and generous as well as good, it was
always my aim to show. All this was easy work to me on the stage. To do it with
my pen is a far harder task ; but I must try.
It may be mere fancy, yet I cannot help thinking that Shakespeare found peculiar
pleasure in the delineation of Beatrice, and more especially in devising the encoun-
ters between her and Benedick. You remember what old Fuller says of the wit-
combats between Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, in which he likens Jonion to a
Spanish galleon, 'built high, solid, but slow;' and Shakespeare to an English
man-of-war, Messer in bulk, but lighter in sailing, tacking about and taking
* advantage of all winds by the quickness of his wit and invention.' It is just
this quickness of wit and invention which is the special characteristic of both
Benedick and Beatrice. In their skirmishes, each vies with each in trying to out-
flank the other by jest and repartee ; and, as is fitting, the victory is generally with
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ENGLISH CRITICISMS-^LADY MARTIN 359
the lady, whose adroitness in ' tacking about, and taking advantage of all winds,'
gives her the advantage even against an adversary as formidable as Benedick.
That Beatrice is beautiful, Shakespeare is at pains to indicate. If what Words-
worth says was ever true of any one, assuredly it was true of her, that
' Vital feelings of delight
Had reared her form to stately height'
Accordingly, we picture her as tall, and with the lithe elastic grace of motion
which should come of a fine figure and high health. We are made to see very early
that she is the sunshine of her unde Leonato's house. He delights in her quaint,
daring way of looking at things ; he is proud of her, too, for with all her sportive
and somewhat domineering ways, she is every inch the noble lady, bearing herself
in a manner worthy of her high blood and courtly breeding. He knows how good
and sound she is in heart no less than in head,— one of those strong natures which
can be counted on to rise up in answer to a call upon their courage and fertility of
resource in any time of difficulty or trouble. Her shrewd sharp sayings have only
a pleasant piquancy for him. Indeed, however much weak colourless natures might
stand in awe of eyes so quick to detect a flaw, and a wit so prompt to cover it with
ridicule, there must have been a charm for him and for all manly natures in the voy
peril of coming under the fire of her raillery. A young, beautiful, graceful woman,
flashing out brilliant sayings, charged with no real malice, but with just enough of a
sting in them to pique the self-esteem of those at whom they are aimed, must always,
I fiincy, have a peculiar fascination for men of spirit. And so we see, at the very
outset, it was with Beatrice. Not only her uncle, but Don Pedro and the Count
Claudio also, have the highest admiration of her. That she was either a vixen or a
shrew was the last idea that could have entered their minds. < By my troth, a pleas-
' ant-spirited lady !' says Don Pedro ; and the words express what was obviously the
general impression of all who knew her best
How long Benedick and Beatrice have known each other before the play begins is
not indicated. I think we may fairly infer that their acquaintance is of some stand-
ing. It certainly did not begin when Don Pedro, in passing through Messina, . . .
picked Benedick up, and attached him to his suite. They were obviously intimate
before this. At all events there had been time for an antagonism to spring up
between them, which was natural, where both were witty, and both accustomed to
lord it somewhat, as witty people are apt to do, over their respective circles. Bene-
dick could hardly have failed to draw the fire of Beatrice by his avowed and con-
temptuous indifference to her sex, if by nothing else. To be evermore proclaiming,
as we may be sure he did, just as much before he went to the wars as he did alter
his return, that he rated- all women cheaply, was an offence which Beatrice, ready
enough although she might be herself to make epigrams on the failings of her sex,
was certain to resent Was it to be borne, that he should set himself up as ' a pro-
'fessed tyrant to her whole sex,' and boast his freedom from the vassalage to * love,
' the lord of all ?' And this, too, when he had the effrontery to tell herself, < It is
'certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted.'
It is true that Beatrice, when she is pressed upon the point, has much the same
pronounced notions about the male sex, and the bondage of marriage. But she does
not, like Benedick, go about proclaiming them to all comers ; neither does she
denounce the whole male sex for the faults or vices of the few. Besides, there has
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360 APPENDIX
deaiiy been about Benedick, in these early days, an air of confident self-assertion, a
tendency to talk people down, which has irritated Beatrice. The name, 'Signor
' Montanto,' borrowed from the language of the fencing school, by which she asks
after him in the first sentence she utters, and the announcement that she had * prom-
' ised to eat all of his killing,' seem to point to the first of these faults. And may
we not take, as an indication of the other, her first remark to himself * I wonder you
' will still be talking, Signor Benedick ; nobody marks you ;' and also the sarcasm
in her description of him to her uncle, as 'too like my lady's eldest son, evermore
•Uttling'?
What piques Beatrice, also, is the undeniable &ct that this contemptuous Benedick
is a handsome, gallant young soldier, a general favourite, who makes his points with
trenchant effect in the give and take of their wit-combats, and, in short, has more
of the qualities to win the heart of a woman of spirit than any of the gallants who
have come about her. She, on the other hand, has the attraction for him of being
as clever as she is handsome, the person of all his circle who puts him most upon his
mettle, and who pays him the compliment of replying upon his sharp sayings with
repartees, the brilliancy of which he cannot but acknowledge, even while he smarts
under them. We can tell he is far from insensible to her beauty by what he says of
her to Claudio when contrasting her with Hero. ' There is her cousin, an she were
' not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth
'the last of December.' No wonder, therefore, that, as we see, they have often
come into conflict, creating no small amusement to their friends, and to none more
than to Leonato. When Beatrice, in the opening scene of the play, says so many
biting things about Benedick, Leonato, anxious that the Messenger shall not carry
away a false notion of their opinion of him, says, < You must not, sir, mistake my
' niece ; there is a kind of merry war between Signor Benedick and her ; they never
< meet but there's a skirmish of wit between them.' Life, perhaps, has not been so
amusing to Leonato since Signor Benedick went away. It is conceivable that Bea-
trice herself may have missed him, if for nothing else than for the gibes and sarcasm
which had called her own exuberance of wit into play.
I believe we shall not do Beatrice justice unless we form some idea, such as I have
suggested, of the relations that have subsisted between her and Benedick before the
play opens. It would be impossible otherwise to understand why he should be
uppermost in her thoughts, when she hears of the successful issue of Don Pedro's
expedition, so that her first question to the Messenger who brings the tidings is
whether Benedick has come back with the rest. . . .
(P* 327). I have told you of my first performance of Beatrice. Before I conclude,
let me say a word as to my last It was at Stratford-upon-Avon, on the opening, on
the 23d of April, 1879 (Shakespeare's birthday), of The Shakespeare Memorial
Theatre. I had watched with much interest the completion of this most appropriate
tribute to the memory of our supreme poet. The local enthusiasm, which would not
rest until it had placed upon the banks of his native stream a building in which his
best plays might be from time to time presented, commanded my warm sympathy.
It is a beautiful building ; and when, standing beside it, I looked upon the church
wherein all that was mortal of the poet is laid, and, on the other hand, my eyes
rested on the site of New Place, where he died, a feeling more earnest, more rever-
ential, came over me than I have experienced even in Westminster Abbey, in Santa
Croce, or in any other resting-place of the mighty dead. It was a deep delight to
me to be the first to interpret on that spot one of my great master's brightest crea-
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ENGLISH CRITICISMS— LANG 361
tions. Everything conspired to make the occasion happy. From every side of
Shakespeare's county, from London, from remote provinces, came people to witness
that performance. The characters were well supported, and the £act that we were
acting in Shakespeare's birthplace, and to inaugurate his Memorial Theatre, seemed
to inspire us all. I found my own delight doubled by the sensitive S3rmpathy of my
audience. Every turn of playful humour, every flash of wit, every burst of strong
feeling told; and it is a great pleasure to me to think that on that spot and
on that occasion I made my last essay to present a living portraiture of the Lady
Beatrice.
The success of this performance was aided by the very judicious care which had
been bestowed upon all the accessories of the scene. The stage, being of moderate
size, admitted of no elaborate display. But the scenes were appFopiiate and well
painted, the dresses were well chosen, and the general effect was harmonious, —
satisfying the eye, without distracting the spectator's mind from the dialogue and the
play of character. It was thus possible for the actors to engage the dose attention
of the audience, and keep it. This consideration seems to me now to be too fre-
quently overlooked.
The moment the bounds of what is sufficient for scenic illustration are overleaped,
a serious wrong is, in my opinion, done to the actor, and, as a necessary consequence,
to the spectator also. With all good plays this must, in some measure, be the case ;
but where Shakespeare is concerned, it is so in a far greater degree. How can actor
or actress hope to gain that hold upon the attention of an audience by which it shall
be led to watch, step by step, from the first scene to the last, the developement of a
complex yet harmonious character, or the links of a finely adjusted plot, if the eye
and ear are being overfed with gorgeous scenery, with dresses extravagant in cost,
and not unfrequently quaint even to grotesqueness in style, or by the bustle and din
of crowds of people, whose movements unsettle the mind and disturb that mood of
continuous observation of dialogue and expression, without which the poet's purpose
can neither be developed by the performer nor appreciated by his audience ?
For myself, I can truly say I would rather the mise-en'Schu should fall short of
being sufficient, than that it should be overloaded. However great the strain, —
and I have too often felt it, — of so engaging the minds of my audience, as to make
them forget the poverty of the scenic illustration, I would rather at all times have
encountered it, than have had to contend against the influences which withdraw the
spectator's mind from the essentials of a great drama to dwell upon its mere adjuncts.
When Juliet is on the balcony, it is on her the eye should be riveted. It should not
be wandering away to the moonlight, or to the pomegranate trees of Capulet's garden,
however skilfully counterfeited by the scene-painter's and machinist's skill. The
actress who is worthy to interpret that scene requires the undivided attention of her
audience. I cite this merely as one of a host of illustrations that have occurred to
my mind in seeing the lavish waste of merely material accessories upon the stage in
recent years.
Andrew Lang {Harper's Magazine, September, 1891, p. 492) : Beatrice's wit,
let it be frankly avowed, is uncommonly Elizabethan. It would have been called
< chaff' if our rude forefathers had known the word in that sense. She utters
'large jests,' ponderable persiflage. If she did not steal it from the Hundred
Merry Tales, as was said, she had been a scholar in that school of coquettes. We
cannot be angry with the French for failing to see the point or edge of this
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362 APPENDIX
lady's wit It has occasionally no more point or edge than a bludgeon. For
example : —
'BenetUck. God keep your ladyship still in that mind I so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a
predestinate scratched £»ce.
Beatrice. Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as youxs.'
This kind of merry combat would be thought blunt by a groom and a scallion.
There is no possibility of avoiding this distressing truth. Beatrice, while she has
not yet acknowledged her love to herself, nor been stirred by the wrong done to
Hero, is not a mistress of polished and glittering repartee ; but it were absurd,
indeed idiotic, to call her * odious.' Other times, other manners. Wit is a very
volatile affair. Look, for example, at Mr Paley's collection of rudenesses and inep-
titudes called The Wit of the Greeks, It is humor that lives, — the humor of Falstaff,
of Benedick when he is not engaged in a wit-combat . . .
Though Hero forgave Claudio, we may be happily certain that Beatrice never did.
Our friends' wrongs are infinitely more difficult to pardon than our own, and Beatrice
was not a lady of general and feeble good-nature. It is difficult not to regret that
Benedick let Claudio off so easily, with contempt and a challenge, but so the fortune
of the play must needs determine it Claudio throughout behaves like the most
hateful young cub. He is, perhaps, more absolutely intolerable when he fleers and
jests at the anger of Leonato than even when he denounces Hero, making her a
sacrifice to the vanity of his jealousy. It is his self-love, not his love, that suffers
from the alleged conduct of Hero. ...
Perhaps nobody will carry heresy so far as to say that this piece is better to read
than to see on the stage ; on the other hand, it lives for the stage, and on the stage.
It is a master-work for the theatre, glittering with points and changes, merry or
hushed with laughter and surprises. It is said that Benedick was Garrick's favorite
Shakespearian part ; it requires such humor, dignity, and gallantry as will try the
greatest actor's powers to the highest. A Benedick who makes faces and < clowns '
the part, for example, where he listens to the whispered discourse on Beatrice's love,
leaves a distinct and horrible stain on the memory. And she who acts Beatrice,
again, like her who acts Rosalind, must above all things be a lady, and act like a
lady. . . .
The wit combats must be judged historically. The two-handed sword of Signior
Montanto was just going out in the duel ; the delicate sword was just coming in.
Even court wit was clumsy in Shakespeare's time, and trammelled by euphuistic
flourishes, as fencing was encumbered by a ponderous weapon, and perplexing secret
bottesy and needless, laborious manoeuvres. The wit of Beatrice is of her own time ;
her gallant and loyal nature is of all times. The drama in which she lives is ' a
* mellow glory of the British stage,' rather than, like the Midsummer Nighf s Dream
or As You Like It, the poetic charm for solitary hours in the life contemplative.
Played first, probably, in 1599 or 1600, the comedy is of Shakespeare's happiest age
and kindliest humor. Nobody is melancholy here ; not one of the poet's favorite
melancholies holds the stage ; for we cannot number the morose and envious Don
John with Jaques or with Hamlet. He is not a deeply studied character, like lago,
and is a villain only because a villain is needed by the play. In fact, Claudio is the
real villain as well as the jeune premier of the piece. It is pretty plain that Shake-
speare loved not the gay rufflers of his age, though, after all, in opposition to the
sullen and suspicious vanity, the heartless raillery, of Claudio, he has given us the
immortal Mercutio as a representative of the gallants of his time.
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DIVISION OF ACTS-SPEDDING 363
DIVISION OF ACTS
Jambs Spedding {Gentleman* s Magazine^ June, 1850; New Shakspere Society^
Transactions, 1877-9, p. ii) : Every one who has studied the art of composition in
any department, knows how much depends upon the skilful distribution of those
stages or halting-places which, whether indicated by books, cantos, chapters, or
paragraphs, do in effect mark the completion of one period and the commencement
of another, and warn the reader at what point he should pause to recover an entire
impression of what has gone before and to prepare his expectation for what is coming.
It is this which enables him to see the parts in their due subordination to the whole,
and to watch the developement of the piece from the point of view at which the
writer intended him to stand. Now, in an acted play, the intervals between the Acts
form such decided interruptions to the progress of the story, and divide it into periods
so very strongly marked, that a writer who has any feeling for his art will of course
use them for the purpose of regulating the developement of his plot and guiding the
imagination of the spectator ; and if he does so use them, it is manifest that these
intervals cannot be shifted from one place to another without materially altering the
effect of the piece.
That Shakespeare was too much of an artist to neglect this source of artistic effect,
will hardly be disputed now-a-days. Easy as he seems to have been as to the fate
of his works after he had cast them on the waters, it is certain that while he had
them in hand he treated them as works of art, and was by no means indifferent to
their merits in that kind. Far from being satisfied with elaborating his great scenes
and striking situations, he was curiously careful and skilful in the arts of preparation
and transition, and everything which conduces to the harmonious developement of the
whole piece. If any one doubts this, let him only mark the passages which are
usually omitted in. the acting, and ask himself why those passages were introduced.
He will always find that there was some good reason for it. And if the proper dis-
tribution of the pauses between the Acts forms no unimportant part of the design of
a play, it is no unimportant part of an editor's duty to recover, if he can, the dis-
tribution originally designed by the writer.
It will be thought, perhaps, — indeed it will be everybody's yfrr/ thought, — that
the editors of the Folio have in this respect left their successors nothing to do. Them-
selves Shakespeare's fellow-players, familiar with all the practices and traditions of
the theatre, and in possession of the original copies, they have set forth all the
divisions of Act and Scene in the most conspicuous manner ; and what more, it will
be asked, can any editor want ? My answer is, that we want to know whether these
are the divisions designed by Shakespeare in his ideal theatre, — for though he wrote
his plays for the stage, we are not to suppose that he confined his imagination within
the material limits of the Globe on the Bankside, — or only those which were adopted
in the actual representation. Audiences are not critics ; and it is with a view to their
entertainment, together with the capacities and convenience of the actors, that stage-
managers have to make their arrangements. We see that in our own times, not
only old plays when revived undergo many alterations, but a new play written for
the modem stage is seldom brought out altogether in the shape its author designed
it, — nor often, probably, without changes which do not appear to him to be for the
better. We may easily suppose, therefore, that Shakespeare's plays, even when first
produced, had to sacrifice something of their ideal perfection to necessities of the
stage, tastes of the million, or considerations of business. But this is not all. How
far the old Folio gives them as they were when first produced, is a question which
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364 APPENDIX
I suppose nobody can answer. Many of them had been acted many times to many
different audiences. Now in these days we find that when a play is once well
known, and its reputation established, people commonly go to see the famous scenes,
and care little in what order they are presented, or how much is left out of what
must have been necessary at first to explain them to the understanding, or to prepare
the imagination for them. They treat the play as we treat a familiar book ; where
we turn at once to our tavourite passages, omitting the explanatory and introductory
parts, the effect of which we already know. I see no reason for suspecting that it
was otherwise in the time of Shakespeare ; and if it was not, a popular play would
soon come to be presented in the shape in which it was found to be easiest for the
actors or most attractive to the audience, without much consideration for the integrity
of the poet's idea. In this manner the original divisions of the Acts may easily have
been forgotten before 1623 ; and those which we find in the first Folio may represent
nothing more than the current practice of the theatre or the judgement of the editors ;
for neither of which it has been usual to hold Shakespeare responsible. The critics
of the 1 8th century used to account for every passage which they thought unworthy
of him as an interpolation by the players ; and in this latter half of the 19th, we
have gone much further in the same direction ; handing over entire Acts and half
plays to other dramatists of the time, with a boldness which makes the suggestion
of a misplaced inter- Act seem a very small matter, and the authority of the editors
of the Folio an objection hardly worth considering.
But if the evidence of the Folio on this point is not to be regarded as conclusive,
we must fall back upon the marginal directions, which, supposing them to be Shake-
speare's own (as they probably are, for the original manuscript must have contained
such directions, the action being unintelligible without them, and who else could
have supplied them?), contain all the information with regard to the stage arrange-
ments which he has himself left us. These marginal directions, as we find them in
the earliest copies, are generally clear and careful, — ^better, I think, in most cases,
than those which later editors have substituted for them, — but, unfortiinately, they
tell us nothing at all as to the point now in question. That every play was to be in
five Acts appears to have been taken as a matter of course, but there is no indication
of them in the earliest copies. Among Shakespeare's plays that were printed during
his life, there is not one, I believe, in which the Acts are divided. Even among
those printed in 1623, — in which the divisions were introduced, and the first page
always begins with actus primus^ sagna pritna^ — there are still four in which they
are not marked at all, and a fifth in which they are not carried beyond the second
Scene of the second Act. And as it seems very unlikely that either printers or
transcribers would omit such divisions if they appeared on the face of the manu-
script, I conclude that it was not Shakespeare's habit to mark the end of each Act
as he went on, but to leave the distribution for final settlement when arrangements
were making for the performance, and when, having the whole composition before
him, he could better see what there was to divide. In that case, the end of each Act
would be entered in the prompter's copy, the original MS remaining as it was, and so
finding its way by legitimate or illegitimate channels to the printer. By the dialogue
and marginal directions together, as exhibited in the printed copy, we can follow the
developement of the action and determine for ourselves where the periods and rest-
ing-places should naturally come in ; and when these are palpably incompatible with
the division of the Acts in the Folio, we may reasonably conclude that it represents,
not the original design, but the last edition of the prompter's copy. . . .
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DIVISION OF ACTS— SPED DING 365
(P. 20). In Much Ado about Nothings as it stands in the Folio and in modem
editions, I find two faults, which I do not think Shakespeare was likely to commit
At the end of the first Scene of the first Act, the Prince and Claudio leave the
stage (which represents the open space before Leonato's house,) the Prince having
that moment conceived and disclosed his project of making love to Hero in Claudio' s
name. Then the scene shifts to a room in Leonato's house, where the first thing we
hear is that, in a thick pleached alley in Antonio's orchard, the Prince has been
overheard telling Claudio that he loved Hero and meant to acknowledge it that night
in a dance, etc. All this is told to us, while the Prince's last words are still ringing
in our ears ; and it is told, not by the person who overheard the conversation, but by
Antonio, to whom he has reported it. We are called on, therefore, to imagine that,
while the scene was merely shifting, the Prince and Claudio have had time for a
second conversation in Antonio's orchard, and that one of Antonio's men, overhear-
ing it, has had time to tell him of it Now this is one of the things which it is
impossible to imagine. I do not mean merely that the thing is physically impossible,
for art is not tied to physical impossibilities. I mean that the impossibility is pre-
sented so strongly to the imagination that it cannot be overlooked or forgotten. The
imagination refuses to be so imposed upon.
The other fault is of an opposite kind, and not so glaring, because it does not
involve zxiy positive shock to the sense of probability. Nevertheless, it completely
counteracts and neutralises an effect which Shakespeare has evidently taken pains to
produce, and which, if rightly considered, is of no small consequence. The fourth
Scene of the third Act represents the morning of the wedding. The ceremony is to
take place the first thing. The Prince, the Count, and all the gallants of the town
are already waiting to fetch Hero to church ; she must make haste to go with them.
'Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.' Leonato, intercepted by
Dogberry on his way to join them, is in too great a hurry to listen to him. They
stay for him to give away his daughter ; ' he will wait upon them ; he is ready ;' and
so exit abruptly with the messenger who has been sent to hasten him ; leaving Dog-
berry and Verges to take the examination themselves. The idea that the ceremony
is to take place immediately is carefully impressed, and there was good reason it
should. In a story involving so many improbabilities it was necessary to hurry it on
to the issue before the spectator has had time to consider them. The deception prac-
tised on Claudio and the Prince took place between twelve and one at night ; the
discovery of it by the Watch followed immediately after. If the wedding do not
come on the first thing in the morning, before Claudio has had time to reflect, or Dog-
berry to explain, or rumour to get abroad, it cannot be but the secret will transpire
and the catastrophe be prevented. Yet precisely at this juncture it is, when Dog-
berry is about to take the examinations, and the wedding party are on their way to
church, that the pause between the Acts takes place, — that indefinite interval during
which the only thing almost which one can not imagine is that nothing has happened
and no time passed. When the curtain rises again, the least we expect to hear is that
some considerable event has occurred jnnce it fell. Yet we find everything exactly
where it was. The party have but just arrived at the church, and are still in a hurry.
< Come, Friar Francis, be brief ; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall
' recount their particular duties afterwards.' The action has not advanced a step.
To me, I confess, this is a disappointment. Why all that hurry if there was leisure
for the drop-scene to fall ? or, if there was any object in representing that hurry, why
should the drop-scene fall to interrupt it ?
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366 APPENDIX
I do not believe that either of these points can be defended ; but both may be
removed, easily and completely, and without altering a word of the text. Let us
only take the Qto, in which the Acts are not divided (but of which the edition of
1623 is in other respects a mere reprint), and consider into what divisions the action
most naturally falls.
First, then, read on to the end of the first Scene, < In practice let us put it pres-
'ently.* Now shut the book. Let <the curtain fall upon the fancied stage;* con-
sider what is past, and wonder what is coming. We have been introduced to all the
principal persons ; the wars are over ; the time is of peace, leisure, and festivity.
The characters of Benedick and Beatrice, and their relation to each other, — a rela-
tion of attractive opposition, — are clearly defined ; both are fancy-free as yet ; but
both boast of their freedom with a careless confidence that marks them as victims of
Nemesis. Claudio has conceived a passion for Hero ; but it is only an infection of
the eye and fancy ; and the foolish device, which in his bashfulness he catches at,
serves the double purpose of reminding us that his passion is not grounded in any
reol knowledge of the woman, and of pointing him out as the fit victim of some
foolish mistake.
Begin the next scene as a new Act Claudio and the Prince, we find, have been
walking about, since we last saw them, in orchards and galleries, still talking upon the
one subject which Claudio can talk upon with interest. Read on without stopping till
you come to the end of the scene between Don John and Borachio, which stands in
the modem editions as the second Scene of the second Act, ' I will presently go
' learn the day of their marriage.' Then suppose the curtain to fall again, and pro-
ceed as before. We have now seen a threefold plot laid, the development of which
will afford plenty of business for the following Act. Benedick and Beatrice are each
to be tricked into an affection for the other, and though Claudio' s nuuriage, after
some foretaste of mistakings, is for the present arranged, a design is on fqot for
crossing it.
The third Act will open with Benedick in the garden. Read on again till you
have seen the three plots played out. Benedick caught, Beatrice caught, Claudio
caught, and finally Don John caught ; for the curtain must not fall until Borachio
and Conrad have been taken into custody. At this point a pause is forced upon us,
for it is now the dead of night, and we must wait for the morning before anything
more can be done.
The fourth Act opens in Hero's dressing-room ; all is bustle and preparation for
the marriage. The ceremony is to take place immediately. Dogberry arrives to
report the discovery which had been made in the night, and anybody but Dogberry, —
even Verges, if he had been allowed to speak, — would have got it reported, and so
have intercepted the impending catastrophe. But we are made to feel that the wed-
ding-party cannot possibly wait till he has discharged himself of his message, and
that the catastrophe, which can only be prevented by a word to the purpose from
him, is inevitable. Accordingly, while he is gathering his wits to < bring some of
' them to a non com,' and sending for < the learned man with his ink-horn to set
'down their excommunication,' the marriage-scene is acted and over; Hero is
accused, renounced, disgraced, and given out for dead; Benedick and Beatrice
are betrayed, by help of the passion and confusion, into an understanding of each
others' feelings, and Don John disappears. Finally, the learned man with his ink-
horn, coming to the relief of Dogberry, sees in a moment what the matter is, and
hastens to Leonato's house with the intelligence. Thus every thing is ripe for
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LOUE LABOURS WONNE 367
explanation, and we may pause once more in easy expectation of the issue. The
business of the next Act, which opens at the right place, is only to unravel the con-
fusion, to restore the empire of gaiety, and conclude the marriages.
According to this scheme, it seems to me not only that the specific defects which
I have noticed are effectually removed, but that the general action of the piece de-
velopes itself more naturally and gracefully. And I have the less hesitation in pro-
posing a new division between the first and second and between the third and fourth
Acts because the motive of the existing division is easily explained. Between the
first and second, the stage had to be prepared for the great supper and mask in
Leonato's house; between the third and fourth, for the marriage ceremony in the
church. My suggestion will hardly find favour, I fear, with the scene-shifters. But
it is with the imaginary theatre only that I have to deal, in which the * interior of a
* church ' requires no more preparation than a ' room in a house.'
LOUE LABOURS WONNE.
A. E. Brae {Collier^ Coleridge^ and Shakespeare^ 1S60, p. 131) : It is admitted
on all hands that some play, now known by another name, must, in 1598, have borne
the title Lovis Labour* s fVon, when alluded to by Meres in his mention of the plays
then known as Shakespeare's. . . . The question is, to which of the comedies now
extant, but not included in Meres' s list cou^d that title have been applied, either in
lieu of, or in addition to, the name it may now bear ?
All's IVellthat Ends IVellvf^ singled out about a century since by Dr Fanner,
and since then almost universally adopted as the probable representative of Meres' s
title. But in 1844 that opinion met an able dissentient in the Rev. Joseph Hunter,
who espoused the cause of 7%e Tempest^ and endeavoured to prove that it alone
ought to be recognised as the true original. But while most persons will concur in
the justness of the objectioiis urged by Mr Hunter against the probability of AlPs
IVellthat Ends Well being the representative of the extinct title, few will be con-
vinced by his reasoning that 77te Tempest has any better daim to it. . . .
But if neither AlPs Well that Ends Welly nor The Tempest^ can be considered
with any likelihood to be the original of Meres' s title, is there any other of Shake-
speare's known Comedies to which it seems more applicable ?
Certainly there is,^-one in favour of which so many probabilities, external and
internal, concur, that it seems the strangest thing possible that it should have been
so long and so unaccountably overlooked, and that it should be reserved to the latter
half of the nineteenth century .to suggest Much Ado about Nothing as the true repre-
sentative of Lov^s Labour's Won,
First, as to date of production : —
Much Ado about Nothing is usually stated to have been written in 1599, and the
reason assigned for that year is, that while on the one hand there is extant a copy of
the play printed in 1600, on the other hand it is not mentioned by Meres in 1598 ;
and within these narrow limits, of a year on either side, the middle is fixed upon as
the date of the play.
But it must be observed that while one limit is fixed and certain, namely, the
printed copy of 1600, the other is based upon a pure assumption of the very question
at issue ; and that question being yet to try, the limit dependent upon it of coune
ceases to exist
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368 APPENDIX
Whence it follows, that while there is direct proof that Muck Ado about Nothing
was certainly in existence within two years after Meres' s publication, there is nothing
whatever to bar it in the other direction ; so that its existence may be assumed at
any indefinite time previous to the date of the printed copy. There is even pre-
sumptive evidence, on the title-page of that copy [in the announcement that it 'hath
' beene sundrie times publikely acted'], that the play had been previously some con-
siderable time before the public.
Now when it is recollected that almost all the plays of Shakespeare were many
years on the stage before their publication in a printed form, it is surely not too much
to assume that ' sundrie times publikely acted ' implies a previous existence of at
least two or three years. There are more early printed copies of Hamlet extant than
any other of Shakespeare's plays ; the earliest is dated in 1603, and bears on its
title-page nearly the same words, — ' as it hath been diverse times acted ' ; and yet
Hamlet is supposed to have been in existence ten or a dozen years before the date of
this, the earliest copy known. Even supposing, therefore, that the 1600 copy of
Aluch Ado about Nothing is the first that was printed of that play, to believe that it
was produced by Shakespeare only the same, or the previous year, is to ignore the
analogy of almost all his other plays.
Another external probability arises from the fact, reported by Malone, on the
authority of [the Lord Treasurer Stanhope's Accounts*], that Much Ado about
Nothing formerly passed under the tide of * Benedick and Beatrix.' Every reader
of the play must feel that these two are ^he principal characters, and that Hero and
Claudio, like Bianca and Lucentio in The Taming of the Shrew, are of only subor-
dinate interest But Much Ado about Nothing is a title that can have reference only
to the accusation of Hero, and therefore there is a strong probability,— direcdy con-
firmed by the above quotation from Malone, — ^that the present tide of the play was
not always adhered to.
So much for the external possibilities.
Of the internal, the first and most prominent is the similarity of the two principal
characters in Much Ado about Nothing, to Biron and Rosaline in Lov^s Labour* i
Lost, So striking is the resemblance of design and treatment in both pairs, that
without any view to the present question, they have long been spoken of 2iS first
sketch keA finished portrait. But by the present hypothesis, which assumes that
these two plays were designed for companion pictures, under titles differing only
in denouement, the judgement is at once relieved from the necessity of regarding
them as repetitions, or of supposing that the inexhaustible Shakespeare would recur
to his old materials for re-working in another form.
But there is also apparent design in the contrasts, as well as in the similitudes pre-
sented by these two plays. In one the prevailing feature is rhyme, in the other
prose ; in one the phraseology is obscure and euphuistic, in the other remarkably
plain and colloquial. Even the same sentiments are repeated in both in such a beau-
tiliil variation of expression and application, that the contrast cannot have been other
than intentional. One example of this is as follows : — ' — slaughter so profound. That
'in this spleen ridiculous appears. To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.' —
Lov^s Labour's Lost, V, ii. ' — there appears much joy in him, even so much that
joy could not show itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness.' — Much Ado
about Notking, I, i.
* See Preface to the present volume. — Ed.
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LOUE LABOURS WONNE 369
The following are for the purpose of showing that the two plays were probably
written about the same time, when the same ideas were afloat in the author's
mind : —
* Welcome, pure wit I thou partest a fair fray.* — Lov^s Lab, V, ii.
' Welcome, Signior ; you are almost come to part almost a fray/ — Much Ado, V, i.
* I remember the style ' —
* Else your memory is bad going o*er it crewhile.* — Lw^s Lab, IV, i.
* Write a sonnet.' —
* In so high a style that no man living shall come over it' — Much Ado, V, ii.
* Costard. There an 't shall please you ; a foolish mild man ; an honest man, look
* you, and soon dash'd ! He is a marvellous good neighbour.' — Lcv^s Lab, V, ii.
< Dogberry, A good old man, sir ; he will be talking ;— 4n honest soul, i' faith, sir ;
*all men are not alike ; alas, good neighbour.' — Much Ado, III, v.
The next feature of internal probability depends upon the interpretation of Lov^s
Labour in the title. In both the plays first mentioned as supposed originals of
Meres' s title,— namely, AWs WeU that Ends Well and The Tempest,— the inter-
pretation given to Lovers Labour is the same, viz., labour of love. That is, it is
referred to some acts or conduct on the part of the persons of the Drama, In the
first, it is the pursuit by Helena of her revolted husband, until at length she wins
him, — not by gaining his love, but by overreaching him in stratagem. And in The
Tempest, the love labour is interpreted by Mr Hunter to be the literal labour of
log-piling imposed upon Ferdinand by Prospero.
But it seems to have escaped notice on all hands that the mythological sense of
Lov^s Labour would be much more consonant with the age in which Shakespeare
wrote, than the sentimental sense. That is, that Lov^s Labours in the dramatic
writing of that time, would be much more likely to be understood as the gests or
exploits of the deity Love, in the same sense as the fabled Labours of Hercules,
That such is really the intention of the title in the case of Lov^s Labour's Lost,
must become apparent to any one who will attentively read the play with that pre-
vious notion. He will then perceive abundant evidence, all through, that it is the
mythical exploits of the blind god that are alluded to : — in overcoming the appar-
endy insurmountable difficulties opposed to him ; in setting at nought the vows of
the king and his courtiers ; and in bringing to the feet of the princess and her ladies
the very men who had forsworn all women. After scattering human resolves to the
winds, and reducing to subjection the hearts that had presumed to set him at defiance.
Love at length succumbs to a still more absolute deity than himself. Death steps in
to frustrate his designs, at the very instant of fruition, and so his labour becomes
Labour Lost,
The mythological allusions are unmistakeable. Biron exclaims, when the King
enters love-stricken, * Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thumfd him with thy bird-
* bolt under the left pap,* In another place. Love is ' a Hercules still climbing trees
'in the Hesperides* a direct reference to the mythologrical labours of Hercules!
And when the whole ' mess of fools ' 3rield themselves, rescue or no rescue, the
King personifies Love and invokes him as his patron, — ' Saint Cupid, then t and
'soldiers to the field P
Now, according to the interpretation the title of this play has hitherto received at
24
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370 APPENDIX
the hands of Shakespeare's editors, the mythological sense is ignored. The loTe'i
labour which, according to them, is lost, is not Lov^s labour, but that of the King
and his fellows, < in their endeauours^ as Mr Knight explains, ' to ingraHaU them-
^selves with their mistresses,* But sureljr such an explanation excludes the most
prominent labour of all, the conquest of the men themselves ! They, so far from
being partakers in the labour, are unwilling victims, — each ashamed to acknowledge
his defeat to his fellows. This was the triumph, this was the exploit, — and, being
attributable to Love alone, it is of itself almost sufficient to establish the true mean-
ing of the title. . . .
In mythological language, a labour was an achievement of great and supernatural
difficulty, to be undertaken only by the Gods and Heroes ; from the analogy, then,
of the assumed meaning of that word in Levis Labour's Lostj something of the
same character must naturally be looked for in whatever play may have borne the
companion title of Levis Labour's Won; and it is now to be shown that in no
other available play is there so much of that character as in Much Ado about
Nothing,
In it, the same difficulty is encountered in bringing together sworn enemies to
Love, who profess to set him at defiance ; the same forced subjection of unwilling
victims who are confidently boasting of their freedom.
So completely is this recognised as a labour^ that Don Pedro, the match maker,
who must meddle with everybody's love affairs, and fancy them his own doing,
exclaims : — ' I will 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.' Here, then, in Love's Labours Won (/), is the same literal reference to
the Labours of Hercules as that before noted in Levis Labour's Lost I
But it is in the numerous allusions to the deity Love, and to his exploits, that the
most conclusive similitude exists ; — ' Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in
'Venice thou wilt quake for this shortly.' Beatrice, in the very opening, says of
Benedick: — 'He set up his bills here in Messina, and challenged Cupid at the
' flight ; and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and chal-
'lenged him at the bird-bolt' Cnpid' s bird-bolt / see the parallel phrase quoted
above. Then, again, where Don Pedro is pluming himself upon his clever stratagem
to lime Benedick, he exclaims :— ' If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer ;
' his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods.'
But, as if in contrast to this foolish assumption. Hero, who plays off" the same
trick upon Beatrice, takes no part of the credit to herself: — she is one of the ini-
tiated ; she has herself felt the power of the bird-bolt and knows well who sent
it : — 'Of this matter is little Cupid's crafty arrow made that only wounds by hear-
'say.' And again: — 'Some Cupid kills with arrows; some with traps.'
One more of these allusions need only be added, and that principally for the sake
of explaining an expression which has been much misunderstood. In the opening
Scene o/ the third Act, Don Pedro says of Benedick : — ' He hath twice or thrice cut
'Cupid's bow-string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him.' Here 'hang-
man,' notwithstanding the infinite deal of nonsense that has been written about it
by Farmer, Douce, and others, who cannot for their lives separate hangman from
the gallows at Tyburn, plainly means slaughterer ! a very appropriate epithet for
Cupid.
There is no metonymy more common with the old writers than hangman for execu-
tioner in any form; the headsman was often so called. From hangman, in this
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D URA TION OF A CTION 37 1
genend sense, to slaaghterer, the transition is easy, and there is a remarkable exam-
ple in Sylvester's Du Bartas^ where the term hangman is applied to A beast of
PRBY t — ' The huge thick forests have nor bush nor brake But hides som Hangman
our loath' d lives to take.'— 7%/ Furies^ v. 136. . . .
Thus the epithet ' little hangman ' designating, as it does when properly explained.
Love as the slaughterer of hearts, directly corroborates the general hypothesis, that
•Love's Labour,' in the titles of these two plays, has mythological reference to the
exploits of the god.
The arguments, then, in favour of Mtuh Ado about Nothing being the true repre-
sentative of Meres' s title may be recapitulated as follows : —
1. There is extant a printed copy of that play which proves its existence within
two years, at most, of Meres' s publication ; whereas no printed copy of either
of the other proposed plays is within a quarter of a century.
2. So far from there being anything to disprove its existence at the time of, or
before Meres' s publication, inference and analogy are directly favourable to
that presumption.
3. There is no other play which in similitude and contrast forms so apt a compan-
ion to Levis Labour's Lost; while in its happy denouement it exactly fulfils
the idea of Love's Labour's Won.
4. If 'Love's Labour,' of the title be supposed to mean the achievement of the
god of love, there is no other available play which in every respect is so
favourable to that interpretation.
DURATION OF ACTION
The computation of the time taken up in the action of the present play need give
but little trouble. The limit of one week is given, at the outset, with unusual precis-
ion, and is exceeded by only one day over that term. In the opening scene Don
Pedro tells Leonato, perhaps in jest, that he intends to claim hospitality for a
whole month ; we might, hence, expect the action to last during that period ; but
Leonato, in the evening of that very day, appoints, for Claudio's marriage, ' Monday
' which is hence a just seven-night ;' and, after the marriage, there is small necessity
gready to protract the action. The interim, of seven days we may dispose of as we
please.
Shakespeare here had little need to use ' two clocks,' and yet he does use them,
more than once ; on the dial of one clock the hands go swiftly round and the marriage
mom comes on apace ; on the dial of the other they lag until days become weeks, —
as where Benedick, soliloquising on the effects of love, says of Claudio (who has
been in love only twenty-four hours), ' I have known when he would have walked
' ten mile a-foot 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 nvio is he turned orthography.'
Again, in the conspiracy against Benedick, which immediately follows the soliloquy
just quoted, Leonato reports Hero as saying that ' Beatrice will be up twenty times a
* night ' — there has been only one night, or at the utmost two nights, since the open-
ing of the play. Leonato further says that his ' daughter is sometinus afeard that
* Beatrice will do a desperate outrage to herself.'
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372 APPENDIX
Again, in Benedick's soliloquy, after the conspirators have retired, his change of
heart is only a few minutes old, and yet he imparts to this change the semblance of
half a life-time : — ' doth not the appetite alter ? a man loves the meat in his youth
< that he cannot endure in his ageJ*
All these are trifles light as air, and yet, as we listen to the play, their sum so blurs
our judgement that we placidly watch the eflects of weeks take place in as many min-
utes, and thoughts of incongruity are lulled. This is Shakespeare's spell, and it is nec-
essary that he should weave it lightly round the conversion of Benedick and Beatrice.
This conversion, to be thorough, should be gradual, and, because no chance is to be
given for possible detection of the cheat, it must be fully effected and complete only
at the moment when Hero is wronged before the altar. As far as Claudio is con-
cerned, his marriage might take place, dramatically, within twenty-four hours after
Leonato had given his consent ; there needs but one night before it, wherein Don
John could perpetrate his villainy; no protracted time was here required; after
Leonato had postponed the marriage for ' a just seven-night ' we subside into con-
tent But all is different in dealing with two such temperaments as Benedick and
Beatrice ; to change these radically in twenty-four hours might be almost too unnat-
ural ; hence, Shakespeare artfully throws out, in reference to these two, these fleeting
impressions of the flight of time ; and, as though to soften still more the sharp out-
lines of too sudden a change, he adroitly adds hints at a previous love afiEair between
them, whereof the fair essence still survived beneath the outward show of merry
warfare.
P. A. Daniel {^New Sh. Soc, Trans, 1877-9, P* I44) ^us summarises his <time-
* analysis ' of the present play : —
In the endeavour to make the action of the Play agree as far as possible with
Leonato' s determination in II, i, that Claudio' s marriage shall take place on < Mon-
* day . . . which is hence a just seven-night,' I have supposed the following days to
be represented on the stage :
Day I. Monday. Act I and Act II, i.
«* 2. Tuesday. Act II, ii.
•* 3. Wednesday. Act II, iii.
Thursday. \
Friday. I Blank.
Saturday. J
" 4. Sunday. Act III, i-iii.
" 5. Monday. Act III, iv, v ; IV, i, ii ; V, i, ii, and part of iii.
** 6. Tuesday. Act V, iii (in part) and iv.
The first Tuesday even in this scheme might very well be left a blank, and II, ii,
be included in the opening Monday.
I believe, however, that just as the Prince forgets his determination to stay < at the
* least a month ' at Messina, so the 'just seven-night' to the wedding was also either
forgotten or intentionally set aside, and that only four consecutive days are actually
included in the action of the drama.
Day I. Act I. ; II, i and ii.
" 2. Act II, iii ; III, i-iii.
" 3. Act III, iv, V ; IV. ; V, i, ii, and iii (in part).
** 4. Act V, iii (in part) and iv.
There is also a computation of the time by Henry A. Clapp, in The Atlantic
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GERMAN CRITICISMS— ULRICl-^GERVINUS 373
Monthly^ March, 1885, p. 397, which hardly differs from the foregoing by Daniel.
The only period of doubtful distribution lies in Act II., Scenes ii and iii.
GERMAN CRITICISMS
Hermann Ulrici {Shakespeare s Dramatic Art, 1839, vol. ii, p. loi. Trans,
by L. Dora Schmitz. Bohn's ed.) : Most delightful is the contradiction between
appearance and reality, between subjective conception and objective reality, as we
have it exhibited in the Clown of the piece, the dutiful constable Dogberry, who
considers his position so very important and maintains it so zealously, but who is
always uttering contradictory maxims and precepts ; who is so presumptuous and yet
so modest ; who looks at things with so correct an eye and yet pronounces such
foolish judgements ; talks so much and yet says so little, in fact, perpetually contra-
dicts himself, giving orders for what he advises to be left undone, entreating to be
registered an ass, and yet is the very one to discover the nothing which is the cause
of the mueh ado. He is the chief representative of that view of life upon which the
whole is based, inasmuch as its comic power is exhibited most strongly and most
directly in him. For this contrast, which, in accordance with its nature, usually
appears divided between its two poles, is, so to say, individualised in him, that is,
united in the one individual and fully reflected in his inconsistent and ever contra-
dictory doings and resolves, thoughts, and sayings. Dogberry personifies, if we may
say so, the spirit and meaning of the whole, and, therefore, plays essentially the
same part as the Fool in Twelfth Night, Touchstone in As You Like It, Launce in
The Two Gentlemen of Verona, and the majority of the clowns in Shakespeare's
comedies.
G. G. Gervinus {Shakespeare, 1849, 3te Aufl. iter Bd. s. 531) : Mrs Jameson
has but little hope for the domestic felicity of the pair, whose wooing has been so
stormy ; Campbell goes so far as to call Beatrice an odious woman. We will not
take occasion here to enlarge upon the significance of these expressions, we will
merely make two general remarks which seem in place with regard to the actual
excellence of Shakespeare's humourous characters: we must not be misled by the
versatility and quickness of their wit, or by their intellectual equipment to draw
any conclusion as to their moral and general human value in the eyes of the Poet
himself. We have too often had occasion to mention this to think it necessary to
dwell upon it here. As for the characters in his comedies, we must remember, once
for all, that we are introduced to a social circle in which Shakespeare never illustrated
profound natures or violent passions. This is not the soil for grand and lofty virtues
or for depths of crime ; they are to be found in the plays which we have designated
as dramas rather than comedies, in The Merchant of Venice, in Cymbeline, in Meets-
urefor Measure. Here, in Much Ado, only minor faults and minor virtues disfigure
or distinguish the characters, and the greatest distinction achieved by the most promi-
nent among them must always be understood as comparative. Here are no tragic
struggles with intense passions, no encounters with the dark powers that rule the
destiny of mankind, no deeds of unusual self-sacrifice and force of will ; — they would
injure the character of the comedy, which is developed from the weaknesses of
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374 APPENDIX
human nature along the smooth pathways of social intercourse, among men of the
commoner sort. If, thus considered, we find Beatrice and Benedick not to be com-
pared with Katharine and Petnichio, and moreover lacking in the ideal grace of
Rosalind and Orlando, we are right. Yet, taken in Shakespeare's sense, we must
not under-rate these blunt, practical natures, nor must we, taking them in his sense
over-estimate them. If we would discover the Poet's own actual estimate of Bea-
trice, and of women of her stamp, a close examination will show us that it was
probably different at different periods of his life. We have elsewhere called atten-
tion to the fact that there is a striking number of disagreeable women in the Hays
of the first period ; the Poet's own experience seems to have impressed him with an
unfavourable view of the feminine character. Another type of woman prevails in
the second period. There is doubtless a certain family resemblance in Silvia in The
7\vo GentUmen of Verona^ in Rosaline and her companions, in Portia and Nerissa, Ro-
salind, and Beatrice. All show in different degrees a vein of wit, which makes them
mistressei^ of the art of conversation, and which, however true they may be at heart,
sometimes makes the tongue speak falsely ; they nearly all possess a preponderating
culture of the understanding, and are gifted to such a degree with intellectual and
mental force that at times it seems to transcend the bounds of feminine capacity.
They all have more or less of something unfemininely forward in their composition,
something domineering and arrogant, and consequently the men associated with
them either play a subordinate part, or are obliged to take pains to keep pace with
the ladies of their choice. Shakespeare must have learned to know in London, in
the higher circles to which he was there introduced, ladies who transfonned into
enthusiastic admiration his previous estimate of women. In Portia he has given us
a feminine ideal that borders on periection ; she yields to no man in force of will
and self-control, in wit, and scope of intellect In his later plays Shakespeare
rather dropped this style of woman. A closer intimacy with feminine nature led
him to take more pleasure in its emotional side, and he then painted with but few
strokes those sensitive creatures whose sphere is that of instinct, so peculiarly woman's
own, who avoid license of speech as well as license of action, and who in the purity
of their emotions wield a far g^reater power than belonged to Shakespeare's earlier
and wittier darlings. In that earlier period Shakespeare never would have declared
with such emphasis as he did in Lear that a low voice is an excellent thing in
woman. He did indeed then create modestly retiring women, the gentle figures
of a Bianca, a Hero, a Julia, but he kept them in the background. His Juliet
stands on middle ground, between the two classes of which we speak. Afterwards
Viola, Desdemona, Perdita, Ophelia, Cordelia, Miranda advance to the front, and
Imogen, loveliest of all, who in her sphere contests the palm with Portia in hers.
Thus Shakespeare advanced, clarifying his knowledge of the sex, atid his feminine
creations gain in spiritual beauty and moral worth in proportion as they lose in super-
ficial brilliancy and keenness of intellect. Which class of women Shakespeare pre-
ferred is learned from the fact that the earlier type appears only in his comedies,
while the latter class is brought forward in his tragedies, wherein we find revealed
the most profound emotions of either sex.
F. Kreyssig ( VorUmngen ueber Shakespeare^ 1862, Jter Bd. s. 21 7) : The
repulsive traits in Claudio's character have been frequently indicated. Arrogant,
faint-hearted, liable to hasty change of mood, and in anger capable of heartless
cmelty, he repeatedly brings into question his qualification to be the hero of the
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GERMAN CRITICISMS^KREYSSIG 375
Play, the fortunate lover. His reply to Benedick, when he first tells of his love for
Hero is ominous : ' If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be other-
'wise.' How poorly this spoiled favourite of fortune is endowed with energy, en-
durance, and strength of character is evident all too soon. I refer to the interlude
of the masked ball, which is introduced to prepare us in some measure for the
catastrophe. Don Pedro has but just discussed Claudio's suit with Claudio, in whose
breast there has been no suspicion of treachery on the part of Don Pedro, and yet a
clumsy slander by a villain suffices to fill his proudly-swelling little heart with vacillat-
ing doubt, to change gratitude and confiding devotion to his generous patron into des-
perate distrust. And look what depth of worldly wisdom the first shadow of disap-
pointment extorts from this petted darling of fortune [H, i, 168-175,]. Such is
the result of this profound wisdom. Without an attempt to see for himself, without
an effort to recover what seems lost, his love and his friend are instantly given up.
And the equally clumsy slanderers find him equally fickle. Verily the commonest
regard for a blameless lady, — ^let alone the love of a happy bridegroom for so dainty
a presentment of the charm and freshness of maidenhood as the Poet gives us in
Hero, — should have prompted him to receive with the greatest caution any accusation
on the part of the sullen malcontent, who has but just become reconciled with the
prince A silly farce enacted in the darkness of night by a low villain and a
waiting, maid, is su£Eicient proof in the blinded eyes of this hot-head to condemn
the first lady in Messina, a model of propriety, and his own betrothed, . . .
And the way in which he shows his regained composure, and his subsequent repent-
ance is scarcely more to his credit. What in the world are we to think of a man,
who after such terrible experiences, feels the need of amusement, and incites a friend
to jest to drive away his high-proof melancholy ? What sort of a sense of honour is
that which permits a man in the very height of his grief for the death, — ^not to say
murder, — of his falsely-slandered bride, to declare himself ready for another marriage
to be arranged by the outraged father?
All these, to speak mildly, unattractive features, — certainly not qualified to com-
mand esteem, — are part of Claudio' s character ; indeed the Poet was obliged thus to
endow him if the plot in its developement was to be probable, or even conceivable.
All the more admirable is the art with which Shakespeare has contrived, without in
the least falsifying or weakening the effect of these disagreeable traits in detail, es-
sentially to modify the painful impression of the whole play. It is precisely the
complete personality of the fickle Count with its affluence of vitality, which neces-
sarily creates an extenuating perspective for his conduct as a whole. The worst
aberrations become tolerable as soon as the observer can detect, in their source, the
soil favourable for their developement. Here it is youth, endowed with unusual vi-
tality, but totally inexperienced, and spoiled by fortune, that pleads for forbearance,
and where could a better advocate for transgression be found ? Claudio is first pre-
sented to us as a young hero, ' doing the feats of a lion in the figure of a Iamb.'
The rays of princely favour, and of the future favour of women, each in itself strong
enough to melt much harder stuff, are the fiercest tests for the ductile metal of his
yet unformed character. If flaws appear, — ^very ugly flaws, — ^the better, honester
metal beneath cannot but be perceived. Above all, this youth with his lack of ex-
perience of good, is equally a stranger in the school of vice. Claudio is vain, arro-
gant, inconsiderate, and fickle, but he is never vulgar; the canker of debauchery has
not eaten away his bloom. How admirable is his reception of Benedick's banter
when he is brooding over the suspected treachery of his princely friend. Not a
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376 APPENDIX
word of Temonstrance does his provoking comnule extort from him. I cannot under-
stand how conmientators, otherwise sensible enough, can attach to the bitter, preg-
nant words : ' I wish him joy of her ' the same significance in all seriousness lent
them by Benedick in jest : ' So they sell bullocks.' One must certainly be long past
all experience of the grande passion not to perceive the intense bitterness that manly
pride, and love betrayed, can express in such a congratulation. That the extrava-
gance of youthful arrogance and of a passionate temperament has unhinged for a
time an essentially noble nature is shown in Claudio's behaviour toward die angry
old Leonato. . . . This delicate sense of honour, with the conscious vitality of youth,
has given a certain license to the Count's errors and follies before the tribunal of
poetic justice, which has not been without result, if we attach any weight to the
public verdict of three centuries.
E. W. SlEVERS ( William Shakespearey 1866, iter Bd. s. 304) : Four or five years
have elapsed since Shakespeare wrote his Midsumnur Night* s Dream, and, in
addition to his greatest comedy of this period. The Merchant of Venice, he had
completed his first two tragedies, Romeo and Juliet, and Hamlet; we find him now
again at odds with human nature, and this time it is our temperament which he makes
his target, the vital foundation of our being, upon which the inner world of the spirit
rests. The ancient complaint that man, to whatever heights he may attain, must still
be vulnerable, — ^the complaint to which the two most intellectual races of the world,
the Greek, and the Indo-Gennanic, have given such marvellously accordant expression
in Achilles and Siegfried, we now hear from Shakespeare in Much Ado about Noth-
i^gj wherein he attacks human temperament. In it he recognizes the Achilles-heel
of mankind, that which, by whatever name it may be called, makes all vulnerable,
dragging down to the sphere of chance, and to finite wariare those who by rights,
should soar to divine heights, and partake of divine delights. No human being, —
he says in effect, — exists, who cannot be thrown off of his balance if assailed through
his temperament, as there has never been a philosopher, 'That could endure the
' toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods And made a push at
'chance and sufferance. ' This is the point of view from which Shakespeare com-
posed his comedy. Much Ado about Nothing. . . .
Thus it is with Benedick and immediately afterward with Beatrice. Both fall into
the trap set for them, or to quote Hero, [sic] ' devour greedily the treacherous bait.'
But where lies the reason for this rapid and total rout of these two persons, who are,
to all appearance, so steadfast and invulnerable? Shakespeare tells us plainly
enough : it lies in every human being's temperament, that no self-poise, no stead-
fastness, can save from vulnerability in some one spot. If his temperament be
normal, and not degenerate, man must always be susceptible to the joy of being beloved,
Beatrice and Benedick make shipwreck upon this characteristic of human personality ;
it is the comer-stone of Don Pedro's treacherous scheme which causes them to belie
their former selves, a scheme devised with extreme subtlety and knowledge of man-
kind. It is most interesting to note the lever which Don Pedro employs to put in
motion this characteristic. We here meet with a profound psychological conception,
one which can be traced in subtle windings throughout the play, making it a remark-
able contrast to the Midsummer Nighfs Dream, in which Shakespeare influences his
characters through the eye; in Much Ado about Nothing he does it through the ear.
When we speak of possessing a man's ear it is equivalent to saying that we have
him, himself, that we control him, and modem psychology recognizes the profound
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mental significance of the ear. It is this significance that Shakespeare illustrates
here for the first time in Benedick and Beatrice.
Let us study Don Pedro's tactics more closely still. How does he contrive to
influence the antagonistic personalities of the twain, and, although their attitude
hitherto has been almost hostile, to make lovers of them ? He contrives it by forcing
them to overhear. By this one stroke of Art, at the very outset, he robs them of all
their peculiar advantages. Their wit, their readiness of tongue, all their mental dex-
terity, and volubility, in short every offensive and defensive weapon of which they
have hitherto made use to ward off the danger of any deep impression, is useless to
them ; they are condemned to complete, absolute passivity^ forced, contrary to all their
use and wont, to play the part of silent listeners. . . .
As the result of our study, the view of mankind which Shakespeare illustrates in
this play may be summed up thus : Man, in spite of all his boast of freedom and
independence, is but the impotent creature of his temperament, — this is the force
that controls his personality, and its developement ; in accord with this view, while
on one hand there must be no more talk of freedom of will, and self-mastery, on the
other there needs only a certain temperament to force us to succumb to evil. . . .
Of course Dogberry is somewhat vain ; in fact he is tenderly in love with himself*
and hitherto no one has ventured to disturb his self-complacency. But on a sudden
he hears a rascal call him an ass, and in an instant he is as if metamorphosed, his
calm self-satisfaction is overthrown, and he, who until now has been entirely peace-
able, invokes the majesty of the law to bear witness that he is an ass ; — now what is
it that makes him so sensitive to this insult, if it be not his unassailable conviction
of the inviolability of human individuality which he represents so solemnly, and
whence he derives pathos, in the fullest sense of the word ?
Roderick Benedix (Die Shakespearomanie, 1873, s. 319) : Here is no stuff
for a comedy. A girl slandered and ill-treated to an unutterable extent is not an
object to awaken merriment. And it is degrading that she should finally, without
hesitation, marry her slanderer.
Consider the persons concerned. Here is Claudio, a vain coxcomb, with no will
of his own. What can poor Hero expect from a marriage with such a wretch ?
Here is the prince, pervading the entire play, gossipping interminably, and never
arousing in us the faintest sympathy. He neither attempts nor achieves anything.
Here is the governor, of whom the same may be said. To swell the crowd of bores
he has a brother, Antonio, so old that he ' waggles his head ' and has * dry hands.'
Here is the rascally slanderer, a rascal only because the poet chooses him to be one ;
he himself has no reason for it. Here are his two accomplices, rascals also, but who,
when they are caught and questioned, confess everything with amiable frankness.
And there are several waiting maids running about through the play. All these per-
sons are poetically worthless, for they are uninteresting, nay, well-nigh tiresome.
We cannot characterize them, unless their having no character at all will serve our
turn. They are all insipid.
Essentially different are the two leading characters; they alone. Benedick and
Beatrice, make it possible to sit through the play ; they alone excite interest and
give pleasure. Beatrice is Hero's cousin, a rather strong, audacious, girlish creature,
who delights in inveighing against matrimony. Thus she pleases us intellectually,
and she appeals to our hearts because she is the only person who takes her cousin's
part, and enters the lists in her defence. Therefore she ranks far above all the other
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378 APPENDIX
personages of the plajr ; she is an admirable creation. Benedick is her companion
part. He too abuses love and matrimony, but is, nevertheless, a fine, honest fellow.
. . . Undeniably the perpetual pyrotechnic display of sneering and jeering wit that
goes on between these two is somewhat spun out ; puns, quibbles, plays upon words
are very richly profuse, nevertheless some of the conceits are good, and the whole is
fresh and vivid. This play upon words, be it noted, is characteristic of all the per-
sonages in the play, and at times becomes insufferable. The piece could never be
put upon our stage unabbreviated. There is a third group in the play formed by
the foolish Watch, whose stupidity unmasks the slander. Those belonging to this
group are caricatures, and, like all caricatures, are really amusing. But there is
rather too much of them, for they appear in four scenes. The Poet has, perhaps,
provided too much for even the tough nerves of the English public. As regards the
structure of the play, the combination of incidents does not lead to any fitting result.
The principal event is, if not tragic, at least grave, and agitating. It should have a
natural result. There should have been serious atonement for the malicious and
wanton insult offered to Hero by Don Pedro and Claudio. But the play must be a
comedy, and consequently there is universal reconciliation in the twinkling of an eye.
It is inexcusable that a deep-laid dramatic plot should come to nothing ; that a dra-
matic cause should produce no dramatic effect. The scandalous interruption of the
marriage in the fourth Act results only in its postponement to the fifth Act
Heinrich Bulthaupt {Dramaturgie der Classiker^ 1884, 2te Afl. 2ter Bd. s.
359) : Among those of Shakes]>eare's comedies, which are enacted solely upon
earthly soil. Much Ado about Nothing would have been one of the finest, the richest,
the most charged with colour, had the plot of the play centred only round the two
persons from whom it took its original title. Benedick and Beatrice, Unfortunately,
the gloomy shadow of the grave events that form the secondary action of the play
falls upon these two incomparable figures and well-nigh obliterates them. Shake-
speare has never more thoroughly dimmed the fresh, sunny impression of a comedy,
than in this specimen of his persistent method of blending, in a romantic whole, two
plots, one cheerful, and one sad. A worse selection from his fund of old Italian
tales he has hardly ever made. If Ariosto*s story of Ariodante and Ginevra pro-
duces a painful impression, enacted as it is in a fanciful world, swarming with mon-
ster fish, winged steeds, c^^s, fairies, and sorcerers, how much more distressing is
the effect of the slander, and its positively flippant, poetic treatment, in the drama,
where we see before us the people of whom Ariosto only tells, and with every fanciful
accessory lacking.
If we can conceive that Claudio should give credence to the slander against his
love, — if we can think possible the conversation between Borachio and the guileless
Maigaret, which, wisely enough, is not carried on upon the stage, it is inconceivable,
and altogether too base for belief that the ardent lover should defame his betrothed
in public, at the very altar, thereby producing a most harrowing scene. Had he really
loved Hero he would have chaiged her with her infidelity alone or perhaps in pres-
ence of her father only, and would have shown himself overwhelmed with grief, not
thirsting for revenge. Instead of which his vile conduct is such as no girl, not even
one as gentle as Hero, could forgive. And how she forgives 1 She herself and her
old father, but just now fire and flame, come to the front, and drag again into pub-
licity what, were it even possible, should not be discussed save in the quiet seclusion
of home. Silly Qaudio, after a little talk, is persuaded to marry Leonato's niece, and
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GERMAN CRITICISMSSULTHAUPT 379
in his new bride discovers the rejected Hero. It all begins flippantly ; it all ends
flippantly. If we were only not required to sympathize with this Claudio, and with
this Hero, who was so charming and attractive in the first part of the play ! Here
we have the vulnerable Achilles-heel of the piece ; its other half is pure grace and
delicacy. Benedick and Beatrice ensure it an immortality, to which the admirable
Watch contributes its share. Never has Shakespeare's art achieved a greater triumph
in repartee than in the skirmish of words between the two converted misogamists.
And not only Benedick and Beatrice, the others also, the governor, the elegant and
easy-going prince, the gloomy bastard, are all portrayed with the clearest distinct-
ness. We take the keenest satisfaction in the charming dialogue, which is never
halting, in the fine tone of earnestness which the character of each of the glib-
tongued lovers assumes after the scene in the church, the result of which, as revealed
afterward in Beatrice and Benedick, goes far to reconcile us to that scene. But alas !
this feeling is false.
Of course, so much has been done in the way of explanation and extenuation of
the evident neglect and carelessness of Shakespeare's treatment of this part of the
play, that our judgement may well be warped, even to the mistrusting of our first
distinct and true impression. But no Critic has ventured to defend the outrage
before the altar. And although it may be maintained that the whole play leaves us
in a merry mood, and that we, ' Philistines,' laugh with the lovers and their friends at
such an Ado about Nothings — I, for my part, declare that the enumeration of Claudio' s
heroic deeds always arouses my deep disgust, and that I should have left the theatre,
but for the presence of Benedick, Beatrice, and the Watch, whom I always regard
distinctly apart from the Count. What Shakespeare does for Claudio barely sufiices
to allow Claudio to impose himself for an hour or two upon respectable society ; no one
could endure the empty braggart any longer, and had he dared to appear in sesthetic
circles in a sixth act he would have been sent to Coventry. Without his military laurels,
the prince's favour, and the recommendation of good looks, and an amiable disposi-
tion, he would be absolutely insufferable. He is not without noble traits, else how
could he appear as a gentleman? When, in an interview with Hero's father, he
thoughtlessly lays his hand upon his sword-hilt, and the old man in his excitement
suspects him of meditating a personal attack, he repels the suspicion with dignity.
Possibly he is not a bad man, certainly his hot-headed outbursts, his rashness in both
love and hate do not indicate the worn-out worldling with his knowledge of man-
kind, and of womankind in particular. His youthful impetuosity, the spoiling he
has had at the hands of fortune, may suffice, perhaps, to explain the frivolous credu-
lity with which he accepts Don John's calumnies, but not the malicious revenge
which he takes upon his betrothed, and, indirectly, upon her father, who is the Gov-
ernor of Messina, and his host This makes Claudio aesthetically impossible ; only a
deeply tragic turn to the drama could rehabilitate him. Instead of which, Shakespeare
makes him cap the climax of his insolence by the heartless way in which he jeers at
Benedick and his challenge, thus revealing the utter degradation of his chanurter. It
is not worth the test of psychological criticism. Its moral impossibility is patent
The pity is that such a man as this Claudio should drag down with him into sesthetic
ruin Hero, Leonato, Antonio, and even Benedick and Beatrice-. A man who thinks
he can expiate a piece of villainy, — his villainy^ — by hiring some musicians to sing '
an elegy, who complacently shifts a crime from himself to ' slanderous tongues ' :
< Done to death by slanderous tongues Was the Hero that here lies,' who, in place
of his dead bride, — ^the bride whom he has killed, — takes up with her cousin, and yet.
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38o APPENDIX
in the end, declares to the fonner his previous love for her, — ^such a man must be
classed among aesthetic and psychological abortions, and so must the injured girl,
who, in spite of her bitter experience of him, accepts such a husband, and the
father, who is weak enough to consent to the device of a ' cousin,' and afterwards to
his daughter's marriage. And could a Beatrice, a Benedick be friends with such a
man ? It has been maintained that what shocks us in Claudio's conduct is softened,
excused by the tone of frank gayety, of easy living that pervades the entire play, and
I should be the last to deny that Shakespeare, with this intangible something in tone,
has done all that is possible. The whole play, as Kreyssig expresses it, fairly reeks
with roast meat and pastry. But if the love of pleasure, the easy morality of the
Prince of Arragon and his train, as well as of the dwellers in Messina, both low and
lofty, really illustrates and palliates in some degree the relation of these persons to
the plot, it is none the more excusable. I cannot estimate highly any means by
which our judgement is muddled, not clarified. Besides it all does not avail much,
for Shakespeare allows no lack of antidotes. Beatrice herself brands Claudio's con-
duct as unmitigated rancour. She wishes that she were a man that she * might eat
* his heart in the market-place.' Thus Shakespeare himself points out to us the view
which he unfortunately relinquishes so soon, but which ought to be token of the
young Count and his fellows.
A still more powerful antidote for the joy, which we would so fain allow to conquer
all distressing scruples, is to be found in the slanderers themselves. I should like to
see the man who could take any satisfaction in a creature like I>on John. It is the
dismal veracity with which this character is drawn that makes it so impressive. A
thoroughly ill-natured, bitter, revengeful scoundrel, whose {passions are too sordid for
any heroic crime, — a gloomy, isolated egotist His schemes are concocted in the
darkest secrecy. He is afraid to carry them out, and escapes responsibility for them
by flight The mere sight of him is gall and wormwood. Even the merry Beatrice
cannot look at him without suffering from heart-bum for an hour. One single para-
doxical stroke of the pen would have overdrawn him, and have made him ridiculous.
But Shakespeare, with his easy command of such a means, scorns it here. He draws
upon his vast knowledge of human nature to create this figure; he employs all
his art in modelling it, that it may intensify the gravity of the situation ; and to this
scoundrel, stamped by nature as such, this fellow who deceives no one, to this Don
John who is at variance with the Prince, Claudio surrenders the honour and welfare
of Leonato and his daughter ! Without hesitotion he credits the calumny, and with
what inconceivable clumsiness is the slander devised ! The vulgar Borachio Hero's
favoured lover ! Verily our indignation against Claudio grows with every circumstance
that shows the absurdity of his suspicion. The pure delicate Hero, just before her
marriage, prefers Borachio to Claudio ! as is made to appear by a notorious back-biter !
and a simpleton falls into the trap thus set 1 Although, even before the scene in the
church, Claudio, vacillating and effeminate, does not capture our hearts, he may per-
haps please as a poetic creation, upon whom we are not yet called upon to pass
moral judgement ; upon whom, indeed, the poet himself has as yet passed no judge-
ment Thus it is with the other characters of the play, who are implicated in the
catastrophe. Before this tragic turn spoils them, they are drawn with the greatest
poetic truth and delicacy. The young travelled idler of a prince is a classic model
of an elegant trifler, polished, amiable, but lacking in mind and character, a genuine
universally popular heir to the throne, quite ready to be af&ble and ' hail-fellow-
* well-met ' with all, and who, when he comes into his inheritance, will waver for a
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GERMAN CRITICISMS— BULTHAUPT 38 1
while between kindly condescension and great dignity, until he developes into the full-
blown despot. The budding loveliness of Hero gains an added charm from the
merry readiness which she shows to join in the plot to entrap Benedick and Beatrice.
Margaret and Ursula are the sauciest and most winning of waiting maids. All are
gay, happy people. Even old Leonato, in spite of his high rank, does not think it
beneath him to share in their merry schemes. He loves a joke, and the mildness of
his sway reveals itself in his cordial treatment of his neighbours, the Watch. Under
his rule one can easily understand the lax performance of duty on the part of the
Watch, how the evil-doer who will not * stand ' is to be Met go,' because ' they that
' touch pitch will be defiled.' He who could invest with office a Dogberry, and a
Verges, who could listen so composedly to their arrant nonsense, and have nothing
to say in reply save : ' Neighbours, you are tedious,' must indeed be a kindly soul.
All these pleasant, innocent people, who are sometimes angered, but ever ready to
wink at the faults of others, would have been an admirable foil for Don John
and his dark designs, — were it not for the catastrophe ! One hesitates to remon-
strate with such a poet as Shakespeare, but we may be permitted to ask if it would
not have been possible to make Claudio*s love so noble and profound, that his miser-
able revenge would have been impossible ? He might have credited the slander,
might have even repudiated Hero, could we but have been made to feel the pain
it cost him. Then Hero's love might well have endured. The truth might have
come to light, either by mere accident, which would have been perfectly admissible
in a comedy, or through the agency of the stupid Watch, to whom Shakespeare's
magnanimity has dealt the best cards for the purpose. The silly device of Leonato's
' niece ' would, of course, have been omitted. The circle of good fellowship, concord,
and love would have been again complete. The clouds, veiling the clear Italian
skies would disperse ; jest and merriment would once more reign in the sunlit gar-
dens. And the characters of the two principal personages, who carry on their war-
fare with such witty weapons, such gay arrogance, until the treaty of peace ends it
so brilliantly, would scarce have suffered under such or similar modifications. They
are amusing from first to last. The course that their skirmishing takes is the most
natural in the world. In Beatrice's quarrelsome wit, in Benedick's exaggerated
repudiation of the idea that he could ever bend his neck beneath the matrimonial
yoke we plainly see the interest each takes in the other. Beneath the thorns slumbers
the rose of love. What the poet lost in Catharine and Petruchio, because of coarse-
ness of material, and still coarser workmanship, is brought forward here with the
noblest effect. We have the frank, maidenly girl, with her scorn of all sentimentality,
we have the frank, manly man hiding his merits beneath a blunt exterior ; they must
quarrel, but they are made for each other. The cunning of the matchmaker suc-
ceeds instantly. It needed but to strike the spark to produce a clear flame. Beatrice
learns to sigh, and Benedick to trim his beard, and to study the fashion of his dress.
The sterling quality of each nature is always evident. When Claudio's revenge
bewilders the others, they alone find the right words in which to stigmatize the slan-
derers. Then first the genuine moral essence of their natures is revealed ; it is the
salt that preserves them from the insipidity resulting from the honeyed life led by the
others. Hitherto they have merely amused us and made us laugh ; now we take
them to our hearts. In this part of the play the truest genius is shown in that the
two characters are never false to their natures. When Beatrice bursts out indignantly
at the Count's contemptible conduct, when Benedick, grave and manly, challenges
Claudio, shaming him and his fellows, it needs but a word from the poet to reveal to
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382 APPENDIX
us that behind the clouds the sun of their gay dispositions is always shining. But
could not the pure gold in the heart of each have been brought to light without the
odious scene in the church ? This must always remain a question with us. For
Benedick and Beatrice would surely gain by Claudio's being made more possible
as a friend. But this is all that mars the perfection of the incomparable pair.
W. OechelhAuser {Einfahrungm in Shakespearis Buknen-Dramen^ 1885,
2ter Bdy s. 335) : The changes which Shakespeare has made in the material of
Bandello's novel have rendered the attempted performance of an impossible task
absolutely repulsive. I perfectly agree with A. Schmidt, when he points to Much
Ado about Nothing as the only one of Shakespeare's plays in which 'he has not
' elevated and ennobled the material he has chosen to use ; it is even a question
'whether in this instance the contrary be not the case.'
Twice only do we recognise the ennobling of the material furnished by the novel,
due to the usual delicate tact of the Poet. The first is with regard to the social rank of
Claudio. In the novel it is far superior to that of I^onato, Timbreo must condescend
to Leonato's family ; in Shakespeare the contrary is the case, so that Claudio' s rejec-
tion of the wealthy heiress is more to the advantage of his sense of honour. The
other case is where the grievous tension of the scene in the church is greatly miti-
gated by the pretHous capture of Borachio, which assures the audience that Hero's
innocence must soon be established, that the struggle cannot have a tragic ending.
But these two improvements, unfortunately, go side by side with other, more im-
portant, changes for the worse ; as, for example, the transformation of the lofty-minded
Timbreo of the novel into the rather insignificant, superficial, uncertain Claudio,
whose determination to shame Hero publicly, in the very church, framed before he
has the confirmation of her infidelity, is unworthy, to say the least ; in the novel the
rejection is made through a third person. On the other hand, the stage effect gains
indirectly, since the interrupted marriage scene forms the most effective theatric
climax to the tragic part of the play, an effect which closer adherence to the plan of
the novel would make impossible. Shakespeare has also been most unfortunate in the
substitution of his improvised villain, Don John, for the jealous suitor of the novel.
Jealousy is psychologically a thoroughly legitimate motive for slandering Hero that
Claudio may be frightened into rejecting the alliance. Don John's unadulterated
malice lacks all motive, and his personality brings into far more irreconcilable con-
trast the colouring of the crisis with the humourous tendency of the play, than
appears in the novel. The psychological portrayal of the plain-dealing villain is
quite as unsatisfactory, and so is Borachio' s sudden and unaccountable fit of reinorse,
leading him to a voluntary and thorough confession of his guilt. But perhaps the
most unfortunate departure aesthetically from the scheme of the novel is found in
Claudio' s consent to another marriage upon the very day after Hero's public dis-
grace, when her innocence is made plain. In the novel an entire year elapses, while
in the play, without even a decent pause, Leonato throws his niece, and double
heiress, into the arms of the faithless bridegroom. It really would seem as if our
•poet in several of his dramas and comedies, notably in Measure for Measure^ Two
Gentlemen of Verona^ and AWs Well that Ends Welly had lost, for the time being,
that ethical sensitiveness which is so peculiarly his own. The unsatisfactory final
scene in Much Ado about Nothing is the inevitable consequence of the faulty method
of construction which attempts, not only to reconcile what is irreconcilable, but to
weld it together.
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GERMAN CRITICISMS^WETZ 383
Thii criticisin makes it impossible for me to agree with the favourable judgement
of some critics. The entire play is a slight piece of work, reminding us in some
respects, of the equally slight Merry Wives of Windsor^ which was, according to
tradition, composed by the Poet in fourteen days. In both plays the preponderance
of prose over blank verse is characteristic In the Merry Wives nine-tenths, and in
Much Ado three-fourths of the Play are written in prose.
W. Wbtz (Shakespeare vom Standpunkte der vergUichenden Literatur^ 1S90,
Iter Bd, s. 156) : No greater mistake can be made than to judge Shakespeare's
lovers by our modern standard. Their love, as well as their jealousy, is infinitely
more ardent and glowing than that which we see now-a-days, whether in life or in
literature. Therefore, it ought not to surprise us that the expression of their feel-
ings is much more vigorous and intense, or that the Poet should make free use of
this expression without attaching to it, as our public is often tempted to do, the
reproach of harshness and brutality. Moreover, as concerns Claudio, we cannot
beliete that any one save Bulthaupt has utterly condemned him. The. majority
of readers and spectators may blame his conduct, but they judge him much more
leniently. The pain that quivers in Claudio* s every word in the church, as well as
the intensity of his remorse afterwards, shown in his readiness to undergo any
penance that may be imposed upon him to atone for his misconduct, prove that he
was no low scoundrel, but a man of noble mind whose temperament, vehement and
prone to suspicion, leads him astray. Moreover, from their own words we can per-
fectly understand how Don Pedro and Claudio are driven to slander Hero publicly,
thereby insulting her father also. They believe that Leonato was aware of his daugh-
ter's vile character, and had meant to take advantage of their ignorant confidence.
They credit him with betrayal of friendship. Claudio says to the father : * Give not
* this rotten orange to your friend ' ; and the Prince feels himself dishonoured in his
part of advocate : — ' I stand dishonoured that have gone about To link my dear
'friend to a common stale.' If the two friends thought themselves thus falsely
betrayed, was the revenge that they took in publicly branding a low woman and her
accomplices, morally wrong or merely unbecoming ? It seems certainly surprising
that, while Hero, even if guilty, is to be treated with distinguished courtesy, so harsh
a sentence should be passed upon two men who, if they erred, did so from a noble
motive,^-Hin outraged sense of honour. As for the jesting at Benedick, for which
Claudio is so blamed, at such a time, we must remember that characters as impulsive,
as those of Shakespeare, need but the smallest occasion, in the midst of the gravest
circumstances, to be converted to extreme gayety. In 2 Hen. IV: II, ii and iv,
Prince Hal feels profound grief at hearing of his father's illness, and yet cannot
help jesting with Poins over Falstaff's letter, and on that very evening, disguised as
a Drawer, he looks on at the gluttonous, wanton Sir John, passing the last hours
before joining the army, in the company of Doll Tearsheet and Mrs Quickly.
And after all, Claudio is not so merry as his detractors would have it appear.
Neither he nor Don Pedro is easy in mind when he sees the consequences of his
conduct, and the sufferings of the two old men. Yet, since they believe themselves
to have acted rightly, they do not yield to their uneasiness, but try to laugh it off.
Their jests do not come from their hearts, as is hinted in the words with which Clau-
dio greets Benedick : ' We have been up and down to seek thee ; for we are high-
'proof melancholy and would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou not use thy
•wit?'. . .
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384 APPENDIX
(P. 160). Equal readiness has been shown in giving an unfavourable character to
Don Pedro ; and with just as little reason, as far as the Poet is concemedi as in the
case of Claudio. Bulthaupt says : * The young travelled idler [why travelled idler ?
* Spanish princes had often visited Sicily for serious purposes — Don Pedro himself
'came hither first upon some military business.] is a classic model of the elegant
' trifler, polished, amiable, but lacking in mind and character, a genuine universally
< popular heir to the throne, quite ready to be afiable and hail-fellow-well-met with
< all ; and when he comes into his inheritance he will waver for a while between
< kindly condescension and great dignity, until he developes into the full-blown
< despot' Now there is no reason to suppose that Shakespeare intended Don Pedro
to be anything more than an amiable, good, young fellow. It is improper to draw
any conclusions as to his future political career, since the Poet wishes us to see in
him, as in the Duke of Illyria in Twelfth Nighty in spite of his lofty rank, only the
private gentleman upon a perfect equality with his friends.
To complete the adverse criticism, — the two old men, Leonato and Antonio, are
accused, because of their indignant impetuosity, of most unseemly behaviour. Of
much that Gervinus has to say of their intemperance, we g^ve but one sample : Leo-
nato, ' when misfortune assails him is utterly helpless, and unhinged. He wishes
< Hero were dead, he wishes to stab her, to tear her to pieces, and this without mak-
< ing any investigation, without even, like Father P'rands, observing. He rejects all
* consolation, and all exhortation to be patient.' It does seem verily a great deal,^
to require of a father such cold-blooded self-control at such a moment. We should
like to see a father capable of calmly investigating, not to mention observing, like
an unconcerned priest, the signs of guilt or innocence in his daughter's face, just
when he was agonized with grief and shame, and beside himself with the affront to
his pride, and to the honour of his family ; the testimony of two honourable gentle-
men, one of them the bridegroom who accused his betrothed with tears, having left
no doubt as to the girl's criminality. And we need not remind our readers how
violent and passionate Shakespeare's fathers* are, when they are angry with their
daughters. According to Gervinus, to bear his trials should have been easy for
Leonato ; according to Leonato, Gervinus is one of those who < speak patience to
* those that wring under the load of sorrow.'
We have expatiated upon all this, because it seems to us that the frequent miscon-
ceptions of the Poet are due to the fact that the critics hasten \.o pass judgement upon
Shakespeare's characters, when they should first make it their aim to understand
them. Instead of being sure beforehand of the Poet's point of view, and making it
a criterion, each critic has used his own view as such. The consequence is that
there is often the greatest diversity of opinion as to the same point, although we
surely ought to expect that with a Poet whose work is so distinguished for unity, it
should be possible to agree as to facts, in regard to what he himself meant. Our
greatest mistake seems to have been that we suspect some deep moral significance in
every subordinate character, and have thus considered ourselves justified in inflicting
either moral praise or censure. And it must be also confessed that our German
critics have not been sufficiently careful to steer clear of this rock, and that Gervinus
in espedal has not shown sufficient caution and circumspection in the solution of
problems thus presenting themselves.
H. A. Tainb (ii, 215) : A mechanical imagination produces Shakespeare's heavy,
* See Old Capulet, Lear, Cymbeline.
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FRENCH CRITICISM^TAINE 385
stupid characters ; a quick, venturesome, dazzling, unquiet imagination produces his
men of wit. Of wit there are many kinds. One, thoroughly French, which is
merely reason itself, a foe to paradox, railing against vulgarity, a sort of incisive
common sense, with nothing else to do but to render truth amusing and manifest, the
most effective of weapons among a people intelligent and absurdly vain. Such is the
wit of Voltaire and of the salons. The other, that of improvisators and artists, is a
mere inventive sprightliness, paradoxical, unbridled, exuberant, a kind of self-enter-
tainment, a phantasmagoria of images, of witticisms, of bizarre ideas, which dazzle
and intoxicate like the movements and the illumination of a ball. Such is the wit
of Mercutio, of the Clowns, of Beatrice, of Rosalind, and of Benedick. They
laugh, not from a sense of the ridiculous, but from the desire to laugh. Seek else-
where for the assaults which aggressive reason makes on human folly. Here is folly
in full bloom. Our folk think of amusement, — nothing more. They are good-hu-
moured, they let their wit caracole over the possible and the impossible. They play
upon words, they torture the sense, they draw from them absurd and laughable
inferences, they toss them back and forth like shuttlecocks, without stopping, emu-
lating each other in singularity and in invention. They dress out all their ideas in
strange or sparkling metaphors. The taste of the time tended to masquerades ; their
conversation is a masquerade of ideas. Nothing is said by them with simplicity ;
they seek only to heap up subtleties, far-fetched and hard to invent and understand ;
their every expression is sharp, unexpected, extraordinary ; they strain their thought
and change it to caricature. ' Alas, poor Romeo 1' says Mercutio, ' he is already
* dead ; stabbed with a white wench's black eye ; shot through the ear with a love-
<song ; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft.' Bene-
dick relates a conversation he had just had with his mistress : < O, she misused me
* past the endurance of a block 1' etc These gay and perennial extravagances show
the bearing of the speakers. They do not remain quietly seated in their chain like
the Marquis in The Misanthrope; they pirouette, they bound, they bepaint their
faces, they boldly enact the pantomime of their ideas ; their coruscations of wit end
in songs. Young fellows, soldiers, and artisU, — ^they touch off their verbal fireworks
■and gamble up and down. ' There was a star danced, and under that I was bom.'
This expression of Beatrice befits this kind of wit, poetic, scintillatiug, unreasoning,
charming, more akin to music than to literature, a dream which one dreams alood
4md awake, like that of Mercutio' s when he describes Queen Mab.
ACTORS
F^Nas Gbktlsman (ii, 318) : General sufihige has for many years anthcnrised
the warmest encomiums upon this great man [Garrick] in Benedick ; it has been set
down by many leading critics as his best comic character, but this opinion we cannot
implicitly admit, notwithstanding we are willing to allow the pre-eminence of his
significant features, the distinct volubility of his expression, and his stage manoeuv-
Tes ; in the scenes of repartee with Beatrice, his distinct vivacity gives uncommon
satisfaction.
(P. 321). Mrs Pritchard was so excellent [as Beatrice], and struck out such
imison merit with Mr Garrick, that her uncharacteristic corpulence was always
overlooked. Mrs Woffington we have heard receive considerable applause, which
25
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386 APPENDIX
she well deserved. Much Ado about Nothing^ supported by capable performers,
will always fJease in representation, and does not cast any damp upon the great
fame of its inmiortal author ; at the same time, we do not consider it as making any
addition thereto. It is undoubtedly an agreeable, spirited composition for the stage,
but can never be of any great importance in the study.
Gkorgb Fletcher (p. 282) : The stage may be fairly held responsible for much
of the prevailing misconception [of the character of Beatrice]. The modem theat-
rical Beatrice has commonly exhibited herself either as a hoyden, or a vixen, or that
still more repulsive personage, a qnnpound of the two. But the Beatrice of Shake-
speare is the high-bred, high-spirited, and generous-hearted lady of the later chiv-
alric time. How, then, shall she be most adequately embodied on the stage ?
Such, let us here observe, is the thorough individuality of all Shakespeare's
heroines, — ^notwithstanding all the essential womanhood which forms the basis of
character in each, — that were it possible to have, for each new character, a particular
performer with special individual qualifications for that part above all others, — ^such
multiplicity of actresses, no doubt, would most completely realise a perfect ideal of fem-
inine Shakespearian personation. But seeing that histrionic resources, such as here im-
agined, are hardly conceivable in even the most prosperous state that any stage can
ever attain, — and are peculiarly in contrast with the poverty of the British theatre at
present [1847], — we are left to choose between having the character of Beatrice,
amongst others, assumed by a comic actress in the conmionplace acceptation, or by
an artist capable of embodying the still higher ideals of Shakespearian womanhood.
Now, in the appreciation of character, any more than in mathematics, the lesser
cannot comprehend the greater. While, therefore, it is quite impossible for the
merely comic actress to reach the conception, and much more the expression, of any
one of Shakespeare's peculiarly ideal women, — it is hardly more practicable for her
to rise to the nobility of spirit, as well as refinement of manner, which should not
only appear in the generously impassioned passages of a character like Beatrice, but
should lend grace and delicacy to her most exuberant efiiisions of humourous or sar-
castic merriment On the contrary it is possible for the artist capable of embodying
the more ideal conception, to descend (for it is descending even in Shakespeare) to
the personation of a real-life character, though still of the noblest order. The
actress really capable of a Rosalind, can conceive of a Beatrice, and can express
her truly as well as adequately. . . . Respecting the personation of Beatrice during
the latter nights of the London season of 1846, we must point out the fine illustra-
tion which it afibrded of the general position we have stated above, — that the high
ideal artist can successfully adapt herself to a character like this, although the
commonplace performer can never rise to its elevation. As for details in this
instance, we prefer citing a passage or two from critical notices of a later date,
which, though provincial, are highly intelligent ; and while they corroborate our
own general testimony, serve to place in a striking light the importance of histrionic
aid like this, in restoring the lull and true intelligence, enjoyment, and appreciation
of Shakespeare. Only a familiarity with the living embodiment of the elegant and
heroic as well as pleasant-spirited Beatrice can thoroughly banish from the public
mind that medley of associations which has so long possessed it, — made up, as we
have said, from the vixen on the one hand, and the hoyden on the other, which,
though in varying proportions, the modem stage has constantly set before it The
Manchester Courier of May 9th, 1846, speaking of Miss Helen FAuaT's persona-
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ACTORSr-HALLIWELL 387
tion of Beatrice, says :— * It was a perfonnance of rare beauty, though differing
< entirely both in conception and developement from any Beatrice we have seen for
* some years back. It is less buoyant, less boisterous, if the terms may be applied
< to the exuberance of feeling which is generally thrown into the part by modem
' actresses ; it has not the hearty laugh of Mrs Jordan, that made the listener doubt
* if such a woman could be ever unhappy ; nor the biting sarcasm and fire-eating of
« others we could name, who stand high in the list of the approved. Yet to those
< who have read Shakespeare and made him a study, it must have been delightful to
< perceive how beautifully she made Beatrice accord with the almost universal senti-
<ment of woman's character as portrayed by the great writer. In all her mirth,
< there was still refinement and rare delicacy,' etc. But if this lady's Beatrice has not
the laugh of Mrs Jordan, it wants not the more refined though exuberant joyousness
of Shakespeare's heroine. On this head, the testimony of The Liverpool JourruU^
dated but a week earlier, is remarkable. After opening his notice by saying : < It
* was with much misgiving we heard the play announced : we doubted Miss Faucit's
< versatility, and from what we had seen were apprehensive that she was deficient in
' that elastic and buoyant spirit which the character demands,' — the writer continues : —
* We were, however, never more agreeably disappointed. Miss Faucit's Beatrice
' is a creature overflowing with joyousness, — ^raillery itself being in her nothing more
* than an excess of animal spirits, tempered by passing through a soul of goodness.'
As, again, yet more recently. The Newcastle Omranty of April 30th, 1847, speaking
of this lady's performance, tells us: 'The playfulness and sarcastic humour of
' Beatrice were given with lady-like grace and girlish buoyancy.' It is, indeed, one
of the things most marvellous to any fresh student of this actress's personations, to
discover that the very being, who at one moment had seemed bom to breathe the
deepest soul of mournful or heroic tragedy, could at the next become a seemingly
exhaustless fountain of spontaneous and delicious cheerfulness, — that not only do we
find a plaintive Imogen thus magically transmuted into a buoyant Rosalind in all the
dewy-fragrant sunshine of her spirit, — but even the most awfully thrilling Lady Mac-
beth herself, into the most genuinely laughing Beatrice. Yet all this only argues, —
but argues incontrovertibly, — the existence in the artist herself, — rare in any time, and
precious in the present,— of that whole rich essence of poetic womanhood of which
Shakespeare had such perfect and peculiar intuition.
Halliwell (p. 90) : The following short contemporary note on Macrbady's
personification of Benedick, although his exact interpretation of the character is
liable to objection, may be worth adding as the opinion of his conversion by a great
actor :-r-< His great peculiarity consists in the ludicrous manner in which he seizes on
< the distress of Benedick on finding the theory of a whole life knocked down by one
< slight blow. His chief scene is the soliloquy after he has heard Don Pedro and
< his companions narrate the story of Beatrice's love. The blank amazement depicted
' in his countenance and expressive of a thorough change in his internal condition, is
* surpassingly droll. The man is evidently in a state of puzzle, and a series of the
< quaintest attitudes of reflection evince his perplexity. Then, when he throws him-
< self into love-making in real earnest, when he follows about the angered Beatrice,
' distressfully endeavouring to make himself heard, his manner is completely that
< of the unbeliever turned fanatic, who thinks he cannot go too far in his state of
' faith. He has resolved to be in love '* most horribly," and he sets about it heart
' and soul.'
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388 APPENDIX
Manchester Courier (April iith, 1866) : Pleasant, too, is it to note the artistic
care bestowed even upon those triHes which go to sum up the whole concep-
tion, but would be unheeded by a less consummate mistress of art [than Miss
Faucit]. But far more gratifying is it to listen to the beautifully modulated voice,
and observe even critically each studied gesture, and see the felicitous manner in
which both combine to express each varying thought. Whether in the satirical vein,
in which the defiant damsel ' talks poniards' and * turns all men the wrong side out,'
in the half repentant manner in which she resolves to requite the love of Benedick
in the scene of unmerited wrong and the sympathetic grief which follows, or in the
half-appealing, half-commanding mandate to her lover to ' kill Claudio,' or in the
girlish waywardness and mirth of the last scene, where Beatrice hides from Benedick
secure in the confident knowledge that he will pursue and seek out his promised
bride, Miss Faucit was equally successful ; and throughout there was exhibited a
degree of culture and refinement of manner such as one might naturally look for in
a lady so circumstanced, but which, nevertheless, adds an indefinable grace and
charm to this delightful creation.
Manchester Guardian (April Ilth, 1866) : In the opening scene Miss Fauot made
a beautiful display of that delicate irony which runs throughout the part; that
display, however, was only the prelude to still more vivacious acting. The lines
which draw comparison between the marriage tie and a dance were rendered in
that sarcastic manner, and with that graceful action which would come so naturally
from a highly bred woman who scorned all advances from a courtier. In the scene
where she and Benedick are masked and he talks to her unconscious of her identity,
she turned the tables on him in an intensely humourous manner and fairly won the
applause which greeted the rapid delivery of those telling retorts which produce so
much discomfiture to Benedick and which provoked so much laughter from the audi-
ence. In the garden scene, Miss Faucit presented a pained appearance, when the
dialogue turned upon her merciless treatment of his protestations ; but coming for-
ward on the disappearance of Hero and Ursula, her whole conduct changed, and
thenceforth she assumed an encouraging manner towards the equally altered Bene-
dick. When Beatrice was left in the Chapel with Benedick, Miss Faucit rose to
the greatest height of her acting ; her alternations of grief for Hero, of indignation at
the treatment which her cousin had received, her eagerness to have Claudio killed,
and her wish that she were a man to execute the immediate vengeance she desired,
were rendered with great force, but did not exceed the display of a true womanly
spirit.
Manchester Examiner and Times (Nov. 2d, 1869) : We defy the most aged votary
of the glories of the past to persuade us into the belief that there has ever been a
better Beatrice than Miss Helen Faucit's, — save and except Mrs Pritchaed's,
whose glories being purely historical, are neither here nor there. And as Miss
Faucit is in our opinion the first of modem Beatrice's, so, on the other hand, Bea-
trice is, to our mind, by far the most congenial part in Miss Faucit' s present reper-
tory. It has been often said, and said with much plausibility, that as Shakespeare
could never have been, in real life, intimately conversant with the character typified
in Beatrice, — the high-spirited girl who is at the same time a lady of fashion and
refinement, — so there must remain in this character as drawn by him, many little
defects and unevennesses which are likely to be exaggerated rather than softened
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ACTORS-SIR EDWARD R. RUSSELL 389
on the stAge. It is in such a case that a really great actress helps the poet's own
creation ; thus she, as it were, rounds off its angles and fills up its voids and makes
the character more fully what Shakespeare intended it, than what it was when it
left the Poet's hands. If it were not so, who would care to exchange his own con-
ception of the character for any actual embodiment of it ? A second-rate Beatrice
is a misfortune which must be borne with a Christian spirit, but a Beatrice such as
Miss Helen Faucit's is an enjoyment which Shakespeare himself might envy us.
High spirits which run away with the tongue but not with the manners, this is the
key-note struck by Miss Faucit. From the moment that she steps on the stage, we
see that she, like all high-spirited women, has constituted herself the critic of every-
thing that goes on around her. Nothing escapes her eye, though her back be
turned ; and nothing her ear, though it is impossible to listen to evexything at once.
She is amused with Benedick before he is on the stage, and unable to control her
sense of fun from the moment he appears ; the music sets her dancing ; the senti-
ment between her cousin and Claudio makes her half inclined to cry ; she is moved
and stirred by everything around her, and nothing controls her but the grace which
is her second nature.
Sir Edward R. Russell {Liverpool Daily Post, 16 Dec., 1870): Miss Helen
Faucit* s greatest part has always been supposed to be Rosalind, but it must go hard
with the heroine of As You Like It to excel the jocund Beatrice of Much Ado abottt
Nothing as played by this great actress on Thursday night. ... As Beatrice, Miss
Faucit distances all competitors ... the perfect harmony, the varied yet continuous
grace, and the vivid elocution, are all Miss Faucit* s own, and incommunicable.
The dialogue was never more exquisitely delivered. Beatrice is on the stage from
the very first, and hardly is she seen before she is heard at her quips upon the
absent ' Signor Montanto.' With what a grace all the sly hits were delivered, and
how th^ grace bounded into buo3rancy when ' Lady Disdain ' got her opportunity,
and Benedick himself was in her presence to sustain the rapier thrusts of her keen
wit. Miss Faucit is the very Beatrice of Shakespeare ; too full of mischief and
gaiety to spare her butt a single arrow, but too bewitching and too truly a lady ever
to seem too bold or too reckless an archer. The fun is at its height in the scene of
the masked ball, and here the Beatrice of the night, whom the profane Benedick
might well in his whimsical agony call * harpy,* agonized her poor victim to the last
degree. The vigour, the sprightliness, the mercilessness of Miss FAuaT*s onslaught
gave the scene splendid effect, and led up well to the humourously-devised garden
episodes in which Benedick and his merry destiny are linked for life by the pranks
of their friends. But first there was to come the exquisite little scene when Claudio
and Hero plight their troth ; and Beatrice, in an ecstasy which belies her pretence
of a chill heart, luxuriates in their happiness, and exchanges lively sallies about
marriage with the dazzled Don Pedro. In this brief but delicious passage. Miss
Faucit wound herself round all hearts, as a Shakespearian heroine must if she is
to justify her parentage and fulfil the happy end of her creation.
The garden scene, in which Beatrice hears of Benedick's supposed passion for
her, is greatly inferior in elaborate effect to that in which Benedick listens to corre-
sponding intelligence about Beatrice. Shakespeare rarely repeats his effects, and
having given Benedick a great deal to say about his new-found love, Beatrice, he
gives Beatrice very little to say about her newly-discovered lover. Benedick ; but
Miss Faucit showed delicate judgement in her blank reception of the suddenly
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390 APPENDIX
revealed idea, as well as skilful variety of attitudes in listening to her friends' con-
fidences respecting herself. The greatest scene, however, is that in which Beatrice
accepts Benedick's proposals, and swears him to challenge Claudio. Looked at in
Shakespeare, the dialogue seems short, but, with an effect in every line, it assumes
great proportions, and lives in the memory as unapproachable in fulness of comedy,
in vividness of fire, and in actual dramatic importance. Miss Faucit's treatment
of particular lines was perfectly marvellous. A pause was a point, full of exquisite
humour, in the line, ' It is a man's office but not yours.' Take again, as an
example, the passage, ' It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as
' you ; but believe me not ; and yet I lie not ; I confess nothing ; nor I deny nothing.'
Some earnest Shakespearians think they can appreciate their author better at home
than on the stage. We should like all such to hear Miss Faucit deliver this single
speech, which, by her art, becomes a series of little speeches, each like a pr«tty
bon-bon, with a dramatic surprise ready to leap out with the detonation. Any
candid student of Shakespeare in the library would admit that in this, as in a hun-
dred passages, he had never thoroughly appreciated its dramatic value before he
heard Miss Faucit render it. But there was more to be done than mere brilliant
reading of Shakespeare's text There was a great tragic effect to be suddenly made
in the midst of comedy. < Come, bid me do anything for thee,' says Benedick in
his light-hearted ardour. < Kill Claudio^* cries Beatrice in a wonderful voice, ear-
nest and thrilling, startling to the depths every one within hearing, and yet not a
whit more fierce than the voice of Beatrice so moved might be, nor in any way, in
spite of its tremendous bitterness and force, inconsistent with her character. This
was the finest triumph of the night It is as distinctly original as any conception
that ever was embodied by art . . . There is a single exit speech of five lines in the
play, which by the mpst natural division and elaboration yields, in the hands of
such an actress as Miss Faucit, almost as many fine effects as a brilliant operatic
finale. It was wrought up to perfection. So delighted were the audiences with
this scene that the theatre resounded with long-continued applause, and the play
could not go on till Miss Faucit had reappeared to accept the enthusiastic homage
which was due to her art and the lovely natural sprightliness with which it was
combined.
Frkderick Wedmore {The Academy ^ 21 Oct, 1882) : Mr Irving has never
done anything more complete than his Benedick. He plays it with the keenest
sense of ebjoyment and appreciation, and with that authority of interpretation which
comes most readily when a man possesses the agreeable consciousness that the
authority will be recognized and accepted. The element of satire in the part, —
the conception of a robust humanity boasting its own strength, and swayed, even
while it boasts, by the lightest of feminine charms, — ^is much in his own humour.
The chivalry of the character suits him, and so does the graciousness of the charac-
ter, and so does its quiet and self-analytical wit He is excellent in speech, and as
excellent in by-play. If Beatrice 'speaks poniards,' this newest Benedick can
look them. In a word, Mr Irving was made for Benedick, or Benedick for Mr
Irving. It is seldom that a success is so unmistakeable, though, in this case, we
cannot consider it to be surprising. When the public has grown familiar with Mr
Irving' s Benedick, it is not likely that, during the present generation, any other
Benedick will go dowiL . . . Nearly all that Miss Ellen Terry can do quite per-
fectly she can do in Beatrice. . . . Beatrice's seriousness is permitted to be half a jest
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A CTORS^SA TURD A Y REVIEW 391
The sorrows she deals with are the sorrows of comedy, and she is beset by no per-
plexities which may not be easily removed. Hero's character she requires to have
vindicated, and a vindication is promptly forthcoming. At other times due leisure
is allowed her to form a whimsical attachment, and to say defiant things brilliantly,
and with the utmost good-nature. So it is that Mr Irving and Miss Terry succeed
in their parts entirely. Not one point of importance is lost by either of them, and
in both the transitions of mood are rapid and strongly marked. It is this that helps
give vivacity to Comedy, — the action of comedy is often mental action, taking the
place of a drama's developement of intrigue. A criticism of detail on their perform-
ance would seem to us superfluous. Having tried to carefully indicate that, except
within certain limits, the characters are not exacting, there is nothing too tremen-
dous in our praise when we say that in the interpretation of these characters it would
be difficult to put our hand on a weak spot
The Saturday Review (21 October, 1882) : In the acting of these two parts
[Benedick and Beatrice] he who would break a lance with Mr Mowbray Morris
over a certain passage in his Essays in Theatrical Criticism might find a weapon of
some service : ' Reduced to the material compass of the theatre, the most ethereal
'visions, the most delicate graces of his [Shakespeare's] fancy, cannot but lose
' something of their radiancy, cannot but acquire a certain touch of grossness, of
' human substance and human infirmity.' Now this, as it seems to us, is precisely what
does not happen as regards the present performance of Beatrice and Benedick at the
Lyceum. The play b, as we all know, charged with wit and beauty for the reader
who has a spark of wit or of poetical imagining in his composition ; and such a
reader, all thoughtless of the stage, for which the play was orig^inally designed, may
get out of it what seems to him full satisfaction. But can he, even if he be an actor
by disposition if not by training, get out of it quite all that players with fine percep-
tions, and with fine and full experience of the stage to back them, put into it? Is it
likely, for instance, that as he reads that strange and charming scene of courtship in
the Cathedral scene, there will rise to his mind's eye the delicate action with which
Benedick's hand approaches and touches Beatrice's as it hangs idle by her side, or
the charming picture of awakening and chivalrous love g^ven to illustrate the follow-
ing lines, * I do love nothing in the world so well as you ; is not that strange ?' Is
it possible that he should picture to himself just how this thing should be done by
the two {layers concerned in it, so as to preserve at once its deep meaning and its
fine point of comedy ? Or again, is it likely that it should strike him how much
meaning can be g^ven to the whole scene and its whole bearing by so seemingly
trivial an incident as Beatrice's kissing the Friar's hand after he has expressed his
belief in Hero's complete innocence? The person who could study Shakespeare in
his own room, and see all such touches as these given to the scene in his mind's eye,
and given with a perfection beyond the reach of any mortal actor, would no doubt be
enviable. But, on the other hand, such touches as these are, one naturally imagines,
just the touches which cannot be devised by any but one who is at once an expe-
rienced player and a loving student of Shakespeare, — one who will know when to
put them in so as to help, and not to hinder and overlay, the poet's meaning, which
is the first thing to be grasped before the particular means of conveying it from the
stage to the public are considered. Here, it may be said that we are begging the
question in assuming that the poet's meaning should be conveyed to the public from
die stage. It is simple enough to reply to this, that 'your stage play' diould, like
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392 APPENDIX
* your bonnet/ be put ' to its right use ;' it was written for the stage, and therefore
let it be seen on the stage. In too many cases, perhaps, the upholder of * the closet
theory * might rejoin that if the stage only marred the finest dramatic work that the
world has produced the stage had better leave it alone. In this particular case, how-
ever, as in various others which might be cited, such a rejoinder would have nothing
on which to rest The case is, it may be said, exceptional ; and no doubt it is. It
b not every day that one can hope to get an ideal Beatrice and Benedick, an excel-
lent company, and a thorough appreciation of how scenic illustration may be brought
to bear upon a beautiful work without in the least interfering with or overloading its
intrinsic beauty. But, with all this, such a case is not so exceptional as to be the
exception which proves the rule. The fact remains indisputable that Shakespeare's
plays were written for the stage ; there is a strong presumption that Shakespeare
knew what he was about ; and it is hardly to be supposed that the great bulk of
the audience who show their appreciation of Shakespeare in the theatre would be
likely to get as much enjoyment or education from reading him at home. This no
doubt sounds, and is, platitudinous ; but there are certain platitudes which it is worth
while occasionally to repeat. As for the artistic value of stage representations to any
one who is a student, either as an amateur or as a professional, of stage art, one need
only refer to the well-known case of the great singer and actress who always wanted
to see a new part which she undertook done, and done no matter how badly or how
well, by some one else before she herself formed her conception of. its meaning and
her ideas as to its fitting execution.
All this, however, has taken us far enough away from the detailed consideration
of the particular performance by the striking merits of which the divergence was sug-
gested. The scenic arrangement and the dressing of the play are arranged not only
with magnificence, which in itself is not much, but also with the art which tempers
magnificence to the right sense of proportion ; and, what is more -important, this
same sense of artistic proportion is present, as though instilled by a master hand,
throughout the representation, in every way, of the play. The loves of Hero and
Claudio, with their terrible calamity and their subsequent reconciliation, resume their
proper place in the foreground. Don Pedro takes his right position as the gay, care-
less prince, whose courtly whim is the instrument upon which the episode of Beatrice
and Benedick, — an episode which, as episodes sometimes do, gives to the play its chief
charm, — depends ; while Don John, a character heretofore almost entirely neglected
in the stage versions of the play, on his side takes his proper place as one of Shake-
speare's truest and least obvious villains. His motives are complex, and do not loudly
assert themselves. He is plausible and he is sinister. . . . Miss Ellen Terry's
Beatrice is, in the earlier scenes, the incarnation of light-hearted mirth, which is never
heartless, and of gay coquetry, which never loses the charm of spontaneity. In the
Cathedral scene she arrives at a pitch of emotion which is both tender and deep,
and in the delivery of the speech beginning, ' Is he not ^proved in the height a
' villain ?' she attained a force that was perhaps not expected by some of her hearers.
In the concluding scenes of the play, we have the same early touch of coquetry,
relieved by the true love sprung from half-assumed aversion. Mr Irving's Bene-
dick is, as has been hinted above, a singularly harmonious combination of the mixed
qualities which go to make up the part. He is, before all things, well-bred and chiv-
alrous ; he is gay, with a fund of poetry beneath the gaiety ; he is on the surface a
man who, like Gratiano, talks an infinite deal of nothing ; but his character is really
foil of a determination which asserts itself finely in the Cathedral scene, and in the
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ACTORS^L. CLARKE DAVIS 393
challenge of Qaadio. His scenes of pure Comedy are given with infinite grace,
and, in the scenes just referred to, the expression of his acting is by force of contrast
doubly telling, even as the truth and tenderness of his love scenes gain by their
opposition to the light nature which he wears as a glove.
L. Clarke Davis (Philadelphia Inquirer, 19 March, 1884) : In the church
scene, Mr Irving made one of the happiest displays of his art When Beatrice told
him she loved him, his change from the mocking, railing Benedick to the jubilant,
conquering lover, his quick, fervent seizing and clasping her in his arms, his ringing
answer, * Come, bid me do anything for thee ;' and then his refusal to < kill Claudio,'
were all most admirably done. Something of him as a subtle interpreter of doubtful
situations was shown in the early part of this fine scene, by his suspicion of Don
John, felt by him alone, and expressed only by a quick, covert look, but a look so
full of intelligence as to proclaim him a sharer of the secret with his audience.
Another scene of notable excellence, — most notable of all for the gentle bearing and
courtly dignity displayed, — was that in which he challenges Claudio. From the
opening to the dose of it, he showed a consummate art, through which there shone
the strong light of a noble intellectuality. In the speech beginning, < Fare you
' well, boy,' there was a wondrous courtesy and gentleness of voice and manner,
from which all levity had gone out. It was the other side of the character of Bene-
dick, the manly, graver, sweeter side, most excellently portrayed. . . .
As Beatrice, Miss Terry was dazzling in the fascination of her manner, enchanting
in her tenderness, full of an admirable vivacity, never once playing the shrew, and
though her words were sharp as steel, they seemed always sheathed in velvet and to
convey the idea that she loved Benedick ; she softened the wordy blow she struck
him and turned it to nought by the tender light of her eyes, or by a manner deli-
cionsly arch and winsome, which in itself was ever half-caressing. Her eyes, full
of all changing expressions, as the heart of Beatrice was full of varying emotions,
never rose higher than Benedick's, her tone was ever sweet and low in all her ban-
terings, even in the mask scene, where she pursues Benedick with all the lashes of
her keen wit. Only he who is blind could fail to perceive the half-veiled presence
of her love. The entire impersonation was perfect in its grasp of the character, in
its faultless execution, in its sweet and tender grace, and in its noble dignity, for
though she was jocund in her flow of spirits, she was never hoydenish. She might
be the Lady of Disdain, but she was a superb lady always. There were parts of
this exquisite presentation which should stand for ever as stage traditions, always to be
admired, though never to be revived by any of less genius than Miss Terry. Such,
for instance, was her reply to Don Pedro's remark that she must have been bom in
a merry hour. ' No, sure,' she said, ' my lord, my mother cried ; Imt then there was
' a star danced, and under that I was bom,* Miss Terry's delivery of this line was
so generous of meaning as to be made to express all that Beatrice was ; there was a
tip-toe elevation of gladness in her look, a jubilant ring in her voice, and happiness
itself in the soft ripple of laughter, accompanied by a gesture so exultant, beautiful,
and lightsome as to command, for itself alone, unbounded admiration and spontaneous
applause. Again, throughout the church scene, and especially when she and Bene-
dick are left alone, and she defends Hero, denounces Qaudio, or when later she
confesses her love for Benedick and throws herself into his arms with love's rash
abandon, or urges him to right Hero's wrongs, — nothing could be finer than her act-
ing. Her moods were changeable as April weather. She paced the stage one
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APPENDIX
moment in her nge against Claudio, in another, clung in love to Benedick, and in
all most notable was the noble breadth and freedom of her gestures, expressive of a
great, free nature. There was a magnificent and startling display of her art in her
sudden, eager, almost savage turning upon Benedick, when he tells her he will do
anything for her. The instant before she was all womanly tenderness, but her swift
demand, in answer to his promise, ' kill Claudio,' fell upon the stilled house like a
blow in the face, so full of concentrated energy was it
The Saturday Review (i8 June, 1887) : The whole of Miss Temly's by-play,
from the moment at which Claudio denounces her cousin before the altar, until Hero
is borne insensible from the scene, was of the finest order of mute acting ; and its
one culminating touch where, on the Friar's avowing his belief in Hero's innocence,
Beatrice flings herself as by a sudden impulse on her knees before him to kiss his
hand, was one of those sudden and commanding appeals to the emotions which
sometimes throw the coldest of spectators off his guard.
The Saturday Review (10 January, 1891) : How full of thought and apprecia-
tion all Mr Irving' s productions are, we see by comparing them with what is done
at other houses. Where else should we have seen such a charming litde episode as
that of Beatrice catching sight of the pretty child in the masked dance scene, kissing
him, and catching him up playfully in her arms ? It is done unobtrusively, — casually,
on the impulse of the moment, as it appears, — and yet it is a touch that enables us
better to understand the womanliness of the girl's disposition.
COSTUME
I KNOW of no Illustrations of Shakespeare's Plays earlier than those in Rowb's
Edition of 1709. For the sake of the Costume and Stage-setting, the Frontispiece to
Much Ado about Nothing in that edition is here reproduced, on the opposite page.
W. OXBERRY {As the Play
Don Pedro
Leonato
Don John
Claudio
Benedick
Antonio
Balthazar
Dogberry
borachio
Conrade
Verges . .
Friar
Sexton . .
Oatcake, Seacoal, etc.
Beatrice
Hero . • • . .
Attendant
Bride's maids . .
is performed at the Theatres Royally 1823) :—
Scarlet doublet, white vest, and pantaloons.
Black velvet dress, embroidered with gold.
Buff and scariet dress, " "
Scarlet and white *< ** "
<« «< <i «< <<
Black velvet " " "
Blue and scarlet " " "
Drab serge **
Buff and scariet "
Blue and white '*
Brown and drab serge dress.
Grey Friar's gown.
Black serge dress.
" ** " Great coats and belts.
Spangled dress with embroidered flowers.
First dress, — Pink satin trimmed lace. Second
dress, — White satin, white lace veil.
Blue dress, black points.
White dresses.
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RFPRODUCKD, FOR THE SAKE OF THE COSTUME,
FROM ROWF'S EDITION. 17(>9.
( To Aut' />. ,7(;7.)
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COSTUME—KNIGHT 395
Knight : The comedy of Much Ado abcui Nothing commiaLCits with the return of
certain Italian and Spanish noblemen to Sicily after the wars. Now the last war in
which the Italians under Spanish dominion were concerned previous to the produc-
tion of this comedy was terminated by the peace at Cambray, called < La Pais des
' Dames/ because it had been signed (August 3rd, 1529) by Margaret of Austria in
the name of the emperor Charles V., and the Duchesse d' Angoulime in that of her
son Francis I. This peace secured to Charles the crown of Naples and Sicily ; and
he made triumphal entries into Palermo and Messina in the autumn of 1535. The
costume of this period is [the same as that of The Tkvo GentUnun of Verona^ for
which we have the following authorities : — ]
Cesare Vecellio, the brother of Titian, in his curious work, HabiH AnHche e
Modemi di tutto il mundo^ completed in 1589, presents us with the general costume
of the noblemen and gentlemen of Italy at the period we have mentioned, which has
been made familiar to us by the well-known portraits of the contemporary monarchs,
Francis I. and our own Henry VIII. He tells us they wore a sort of diadem sur-
mounted by a turban-like cap of gold tissue, or embroidered silk, a plaited shirt low
in the neck with a small band or ruff, a coat or cassock of the German fashion, short
in the waist and reaching to the knee, having sleeves down to the elbow, and from
thence showing the arm covered only by the shirt with wristbands or ruffles. The
cassock was ornamented with stripes or borders of cloth, silk or velvet of different
colours, or of gold lace or embroidery, according to the wealth or taste of the wearer.
With this dress they sometimes wore doublets and stomachers, or placcards, as they
were called, of different colours, their shoes being of velvet, like those of the Ger-
mans, that is, very broad at the toes. Over these cassocks again were occasionally
worn cloaks or mantles of silk, velvet, or cloth of gold, with ample turn-over collars
of fur or velvet, having large arm-holes through which the full puffed sleeves of the
cassock passed, and sometimes loose hanging sleeves of their own, which could be
worn either over the others or thrown behind at pleasure.
Nicholas Hoghenberg, in his curious series of prints exhibiting the triumphal pro-
cession and other ceremonies attending the entry of Charles V. into Bologna, 1530,
affords us some fine specimens of the costume at this period, worn by the German
and Italian nobles in the train of the Emperor. Some are in the cassocks described
by Vecellio, others in doublets with slashed hose, confined both above and below the
knee by garters of silk or gold. The turban head-dress is worn by the principal
herald ; but the nobles generally have caps or bonnets of cloth or velvet placed on
the side of the head, sometimes over a caul of gold, and ornamented with feathers,
in some instances profusely. These are most probably the Milan caps or bonnets of
which we hear so much in wardrobe accounts and other records of the time. They
were sometimes slashed and puffed round the edges, and adorned with * points ' or
' agletts,' f. e. tags or aiguillettes. The feathers in them, also, were occasionally
ornamented with drops or spangles of gold, jewelled up to the quills.
Milan was likewise celebrated for its silk hose. In the inventory of the wardrobe
of Henry VIII., Harleian MSS, Nos. 1419 and 1420, mention is made of a 'pair
* of hose of purple silk and Venice gold, woven like unto a caul, lined with blue
* silver sarcenet, edged with a passemain of purple silk and gold, wrought at Milan,
'and one pair of hose of white silk and gold knits.' By 'hose' at this period is
invariably meant breeches or upper stocks, the stockings^ or nether stocks^ beginning
now to form a separate portion of the male attire.
The ladies, we learn from Vecellio, wore the same sort of turbaned head-dress as
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396 APPENDIX
the men, resplendent with various colours, and embroidered with gold and silk in
the foim of rose-leaves, and other devices. Their neck-chains and girdles were of
gold, and of great value. To the latter were attached fans of feathers with richly
ornamented gold handles. Instead of a veil, they wore a sort of collar or necker-
chief (Bavaro) of lawn or cambric, pinched or plaited. The skirts of their gowns
were usually of damask, either crimson or purple, with a border lace or trimming
round the bottom, a quarter of a yard in depth. The sleeves were of velvet or
other stuff, laige and slashed, so as to show the lining or under garment, terminat-
ing with a small band or ruffle like that round the edge of the collar. The body
of the dress was of gold stuff or embroidery. Some of the dresses were made with
trains, which were either held up by the hand when walking, or attached to the
girdle. The head-dress of gold brocade, given in one of the plates of Vecellio, is
not unlike the beretta of the Doge of Venice ; and caps very similar in form and
material are still worn in the neighbourhood of Linz in Upper Austria. The Milan
bonnet was also worn by ladies as well as men at this period. Hall, the chronicler,
speaks of some who wore ' Myllain bonnets of crymosyne sattin drawn through (i, e,
* slashed and puffed) with doth of gold.'
Edward W. Godwin ( TA^ Architect^ 24 April, 1875) : The scenes in this com-
edy, though numbering seventeen, may with care be reduced to four arranged in six
Acts. The arrangement I propose would be as follows : —
Act I. The garden, including — I. The garden, orchard, arbour, and por-
tion of the house or palace of Leonato ; 2. The street outside
the garden ; 3. At the back, the exterior of the church.
Act II. A hall in Leonato' s house.
Act III. The garden (in two scenes).
{Act IV. The inside of a church.
ActlVA. The prison.
Act V. The garden (eliminating the third scene).
[For a ground-plan of the garden scene so as to include, besides the allejrs and the
arbours, the street for the Watch and the penthouse for Conrade and Borachio, I
must refer the student to the diagram, given, with due explanations, in the No. of
The Architect^ just cited.— Ed.]
To understand the architecture of Messina, it may be as well to turn for a moment
to the somewhat singular architectural history of Sicily. . . . Now Messina is on the
northern coast, and its mediaeval architecture is, therefore, more Romanesque and
less Greek in its spirit than what it would have been on the other two coasts. Mes-
sina, we must not forget, is a cathedral-town as well as a sea-port ; its mother church
is built upon the basilican type, and, at the time of which I am writing, was not far
from being a fairly accurate Romanesque edition of its southern neighbour. The
buildings were constructed of white stone, whether they dated from an eariy or late
time, but they looked much whiter than they really were from the powerful contrast
afforded by the dark woods which formed the background to the city on one side,
and the deep colour of the Mediterranean, which relieved it, on the other.
Leonato' s house may, then, be Romanesque, or Gothic, or Renaissance. The
last style is that which seems to me to be the most probable.
The inside of the church need not trouble us ; there are so many careful and meas-
ured drawings published of the churches in Sicily, that the true portrait is almost as
easy to be attained on the stage as the caricature we have hitherto seen.
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COSTUME^OECHELHAUSER 397
The prison scene may very well be the means of illustrating the early Romanesque
architecture in its fortified aspect ; and about this, too, there is not a shadow of
difficulty. . . .
Hero wears gloves * of excellent perfume/ which were, no doubt, made of chevril
or soft kid, excellently stitched, and embroidered with gold or silver thread ; in fact,
a rather important sort of gift. But rich gifts,— soft kid, pearls, gold, and the rest,
—wax poor indeed when actors and actresses, absorbed in the finery of their situa-
tion, sink to the level of little more than lay figures for the exhibition of fashions.
In ordinary every-day life» the people who represent on the stage the fine dame, the
noble duke, or the foreign potentate, are so little accustomed to art, or to anything
like good style in living, that it is with difficulty they can appear unconscious of
their stage surroundings. Every movement of their bodies says plainly * this is a
< very telling sort of dress, and no doubt it must arrest attention ; but I never wore
* anything like it before.' Even in modern comedies we see the weak actress domi-
nated by the sheer material force of millinery, and in the revival of old plays, when
(airly genuine costume and scenery approaching reality are produced, the mass of
actors and actresses look simply imbecile. We give them the benefit of the doubt,
and assume that they are inside the clothes, but they certainly do not wear them.
The'human form becomes at last a mere peg, with four moveable peglets fixed in it,
and costume is thus too frequently brought into ridicule by the ignorant, and made
the scapegoat for the incapable player. Scenery and costume we want to see prog-
ress until both shall be so natural as to be unobtrusive ; but still more do we desire
to see some signs of progress in those who stand between us and the past, as the
living illustrators of the manners oi that past, and the interpreters of its mighty
dramatist.
W. Oechblhauser {Ein/Hkrungen in Shakespeare s BUhnen-Dramen^ 1885,
2ter Band, s. 354) : The stage-setting of the play is very simple. Its first
half is acted in the same place. In Acts III, IV, and V there should be a
change of scene, and in Act III it consists merely in the hanging up of a veiling
curtain.
The garden, Act I, to Act III, i, must be very magnificent, plentifully provided
with aibours, shrubbery, vases, statues, etc The depth of the stage must be fenced
ofi" in the background by a richly wrought grating, through the door in which the
Prince makes his first entrance. Through the grating we see the harbour, and the
straits of Messina, with the mountains of Calabria in the distance. On one side is
the governor's palace with a jutting portico or veranda, through which the inmates
of the palace enter or leave the garden. This scene is admirably adapted for the
masquerade in Act II, much better than a ballroom. It is an Italian night, illumi-
nated a giomo. The masks saunter about in the lantern-hung shrubbery ; from the
adjacent veranda are heard the strains of music while the full moon is mirrored in
the distant straits.*
The scene with the Watch is given best in the courtyard of the palace ; on one
* Holtei [ VUl Ldrm urn NUhts, fUr die deutsche BUhne beariseitet, Halle a. S.
1878] compresses into one the first two Acts, and so cuts out the scenery for a
masquerade, but to me, as to the poet, such a festival seems so fitting a field for the
merriment, which depends partly upon mistakes as to the identity of the masks, that
I should r^[ret its omission.
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398 APPENDIX
side should be the entrance to their quarters, flanked by a wall, behind which the
Watch could easily overhear the drunken Borachio.
The two marriage scenes, IV, i, and V, iii, are best enacted in an apartment of
state in Leonato's palace, rather than in a chapel. The hall may be divided by
pillars and hangings, and the back portion must be gorgeously arranged for the
marriage, the altar being prominent. The curtains dividing it from the front of the
stage must be closed until the arrival of the bridal train. Thus an additional hall
may be omitted.
The audience chamber, IV, i, and the room in th6 palace, V, i, require only a
shallow stage and simple furniture. The latter scene may be replaced by a corridor
or gallery, which needs no furniture.
The scenes in which the stage is full of people are easily arranged. There must
be a constant passing and repassing during the masquerade, Act II, which greatly
simplifies matters. Special attention must be given to the rehearsal of the marriage
scene f IV, i. In my stage direction I arrange that after Claudio's emphatic. No, a
painful pause ensues, during which the guests exchange looks of surprise and dis-
may ; Leonato then tries by a quibble to smooth matters. When the accusation and
rejection are clearly understood, all present show by look and gesture amazement,
dismay, commiseration, and continue to do so, until after Hero has fainted, when
they leave in groups, whispering together. The same care must be bestowed upon
the final scene, the repetition of that of the marriage, save that now looks and
gestures of joyful instead of painful surprise, must arouse the sympathy of the
audience, who must be made to take the liveliest interest in the union of the two
scomers of matrimony. Benedick and Beatrice. The play must end in jest and mer-
riment shared by the most insignificant assistant
Costumes, decorations, the fashion of the garden, etc., had best be after the older
style of the Italian renaissance which, as far as the architecture is concerned, may be
mingled with Moorish-Gothic elements, for which the arbours and kiosks in the
garden are specially adapted. Don Pedro and his followers must appear in Spanish
costume. According to Bandello's novel, the events here depicted took place towards
the close of the thirteenth century, but the poet has so neglected all historic reference
that the play may be easily referred to a later date.
IDENTIFICATION OF CHARACTERS
Joseph Hunter (New TUustratums, etc., 1845, i, 227) contends that the char-
acter of a young nobleman of Shakespeare's day is partially reflected in the character
of Benedick, and that this young nobleman is William Lord Herbert, who, on the
death of his father in i6cx>-i, became the third Earl of Pembroke. The verification
of this contention is to be found, as Hunter believes, in the Letters and Memorials
of the Family of Sidney y published in 1746. The Beatrice of history is a niece of
the Lord Admiral, Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham ; strenuous exertions were
made to bring about a match between this young lady and William Herbert. By the
fact that the scheme failed. Hunter is in no wise daunted. See III, iv, 52.
Hunter's view is adopted by Henry Brown (Sonnets of Shakespeare Sohed^ etc.»
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TRANSLATIONS OF * SIGH NO MORE. LADIES: ETC. 399
p. 23) ; and also by Robert Cartwright {Shakspere and Jomon^ p. 26), who, in
addition, ' suspects ' that Don Pedro is Sir Walter Raleigh, Claudio, the Earl of
Southampton, and < Don John might be Lord Thomas Howard, Vicount Bindon,
'with whom Sir Walter had a violent quarrel about this period.'
G. Sarrazin {Jahrbuch d, deutschen Shakespeare- Geselhchaft. 1S99, vol. xzxv,
p. 130) argues at length that Claudio is the Earl of Southampton ; Hero is Elizabeth
Vernon ; Don Pedro is the Earl of Essex ; and Don John is Ambrose Willoughby.
TRANSLATIONS OF
* Sigh no more^ Ladies^ sigh no more^ etc — II, iii, 65.
J. J. ESCHENBURG (Strassburg, 1778) :—
Seufzt, M&dchen, seufzt doch nicht so sehr,
Dass Mftnner treulos handeln,
Halb auf dem Land\ halb auf dem Meer,
Stets Sinn und Neigung wandeln.
Hdrt auf zu flehn, und lasst sie gehn,
Lasst eure Lust nichts st5ren ;
Seyd keck und froh, lasst, Ach und O !
In Heysa 1 sich verkehren.
Singt keine Lieder, singt nicht mehr,
Um euer Leid zu klagen ;
Nie waren M&nner ehrlicher,
Seit Bflume Blatter tragen.
H5rt auf, etc.
Heinrich Voss (Leipzig, 1818) : —
Seufzt nicht mehr, MiLgdlein, seufzt nicht mehr,
Der Mfinner Treu h< nimmer ;
Ein Fuss im Land', ein Fuss im Meer;
Das Liebchen wechselt immer.
Drum seufzt nicht so ;
Vergniigt und froh
Lasst ziehn die Heuchelei da !
Verkehret all eur Ach und Oh
In Heida und Juchheida !
Singt nicht mehr Liedlein, singt nicht mdir
Voll dumpfer Schmerzermattung ;
Der Mftnner Wort war immer leer,
Seit Frilhlingslaub gab Schattung.
Drum, etc.
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400 APPENDIX
J. G. Regis (contributed by Julius Elias to Studien tur LUteraturgeschichte,
Hamburg, 1893, p. 270) :—
Weint, gute Frflulein, weint nicht mehr.
Die M&nner sind nur Diebe.
Ein Bein am Ufer, eins im Meer,
Verschmflh'n sie treue Liebe.
Drum kein Gest5hn,
Und lasst sie gehn :
Seyd froh und guter Dinge,
Kehrt alle Liebesklag' und Wehn
In Heissa he ! und SprUnge.
Singt nicht mehr Lieder, singt nicht mehr
Von Gram so dumpf und traurig.
Der Mltnner Arglist sQndigt schwer,
Seitdem der Sommer schaurig.
Drum, etc.
I.UDWIG TiECK (Berlin, 1830) :—
Klagt, M&dchen, klagt nicht Ach und Weh,
Kein Mann bewahrt die Treue.
Am Ufer halb, halb schon zur See
Reizt, lockt sie nur das Neue.
Weint keine Thr&n' und lasst sie gehn,
Seyd Iroh und guter Dinge,
Dass statt der Klag* und dem Gest5hn
Juchheisasa erklinge.
Singt nicht Balladen triib und bleich,
In Trauermelodieen :
Der Mflnner Trug war immer gleich
Seitdem die Schwalben ziehen.
Weint keine Thrfln' u. s. w.
Dr a. Schmidt (Tieck's Translation revised, and edited for The German Shake-
speare Society f 1869) : —
Klagt, schOne Kinder, klagt nicht mehr.
So falsch sind MSLnner immer,
Ein Fuss an Land, ein Fuss im Meer,
Und halten Treue nimmer.
Drum keine Thrftn', und lasst sie gehn,
Seid froh und guter Dinge,
Auf dass statt Seufzen und Gestfihn
Juchheisasa erklinge.
Genng der Lieder, o genug
Der Trauermelodieen ;
Die M&nner kannten nichts als Trng^
Seitdem die Schwalben fiehen.
Drum* ata.
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TRANSLATIONS OF * SIGH NO MORE. LADIES; ETC. 40I
Karl Simrock (Hildbuigbausen, 1868) :— -
Was seufzt ihr, M&dchen ? seufzt nicht mehr :
Die Mftnner alle triigen ;
Ein Fuss am Strand, ein Fuss im Meer,
Nichts kann sie lang veignflgen.
Drum lasst sie gehn,
Und wenns geschehn
Blickt Wohlgemuth und heiter»
Und singet froh
Statt Ach und Oh
Juchhei, das ist gescheidter»
Jttchheisa und so weiter.
Was singt ihr Lieder trdb und bleich,
Was dumpfe Liebesklagen ?
Der M&nner Trag war immer gleich
Seit B&ume BUtter tragen.
Drum, etc.
L. VON KOBSLL {Deutsche Revue^ June, 1892, p. 338) :—
Mftdchen, schreit nicht Ach und Weh,
Treulos ist der Mann ;
Halb zu land und halb znr See,
Zieht ihn neues an.
Der Gram £ihr hin,
Lasst gehen ihn ;
Dass statt der Klag*, Juheisa,
Nur Freud' erftill' den Sinn,
Ja Freud und Lust, Juheisa.
VerstuDunen lasst den Trauerleicfa*
Der Euch die Lust veigflllt,
Der Trug des Mannes bleibt sich gleich,
So lang* sich dreht die Welt.
Der Gram, u. s. w.
M. Lb Tourneur (Paris, 1781) :—
Belles, cessez : ah I ne soupirez plus :
Dans tons les tems, Thomme nflquit volage ;
Un pied sur mer, T autre sur le rivage ;
Jamais un coeur n'eut ses Toeux assidus.
Sans nul regret, sans pousser un soupir,
Laissez partir ces Amans infidiles.
Quittez, quittez ces plaintes ^temelles,
Oubliez-les et chantez le plaisir.
* < Leich,' an old word for sw^.
26
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402 APPENDIX
Consolez-Tous de tos vaines douleurs,
Jeunes Beautis, que P Amour a tiahies,
Le premier jour qui vit roses fleuries,
Vit les Amans Tolages et trompeurs.
M. GUIZOT (Fkris, 1821. Septi^me Edition, 1868) :—
Ne soupirez plus, mesdames, ne soupirez p\uSy
Les hommes furent toujonrs des trompeurs,
Un pied dans la mer, P autre sur le rivage,
Jamais constants ii une seule chose.
Ne soupirez done plus ;
Laissez-les aller ;
Soyez heureuses et belles ;
Convertissez tous tos chants de tristesse
En eh nonny I eh nonny 1
Ne chanfez plus de complaintes, ne chantez plus .
Ces peines si ennuyeuses et si pesantes ;
La perfidie des hommes fut toujours la mtme
Depnis que ViXk eut des feuilles pour la premiere fois ;
Ne soupirez, etc.
FRAN901S Victor Hugo (Paris, 1868) : —
Assez de soupirs, belles, assez de soupirs 1
Les hommes furent trompeurs toujours ;
Un pied k la mer, un pied sur la rive,
Jamais fidiles \ la m6me chose !
Done ne soupirez plus,
Et laissez-les aller.
Soyez pimpantes et gales.
Finissez tous vos airs lugubres
En tra la la I
Ne cfaantex plus, non, ne chantez plus
D'iligies si tristes, si p^nibles.
La fraude des hommes fut toujours la mtme.
Depuis la feuille du premier it£.
Done. etc.
Jaime Clark (Madrid, 1873) :—
No gimas, niila, el triste labio dem :
El hombre, siempre infiel.
Un pi6 tuvo en la mar y el otro en tierra,
Que no hay firmeza en 61.
No Uores, pues, mas deja que se vaya,
Y alegra el conizon,
Trocando el llanto y el dolor j mal haya 1
En alegre cancion.
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'THE UNIVERSAL PASSION^ 403
En miseres endecfaas m&s no llores
Tu pena y sencillez :
Frimero faltar&n en Mayo floras
Que en el hombre doblez.
No lloresy etc.
C. Pasquaugo fVenezia, 1872) :—
Non sospirate pitk, donne mie care,
Chd gli uomini fur sempre ingannatori ;
Hanno un pl^ sulla riva ed un sul mare ;
Nd son costanti mai nei loro amori.
Non sospirate pid ; Tenuta d I'ora
Di lasciarli che vadano in malora.
Statevi dunque, or via,
In festa e in allegria :
Ogni canto di duol mutato ▼»
In trallerirera, tralleririu
No, non cantate pi& le ariette meste
Che alPudirle d fan piangere in core,
Dacchi di fronde Maggio si riveste
L'uom, vido, fii sempre ingannatore.
Non sospirate piil ; etc.
•THE UNIVERSAL PASSION'
In 1736, a G>medy was acted at the Theatre-Royal in Dniry Lane < with great
'applause' (so says the advertisement) called The Universal Passion, It was pub-
lished anonymously, but Genest (iii, 493) gives the name of the author in his
remark that ' this Comedy consists of Shakespeare's Mueh Ado about Nothing and
* Moliire's Princess of Elis, badly jumbled together by James Miller.'
In the Dedication, the author claims, as its principal merit, < the strict regard he has
' had to decency and good manners,' — a claim which might be with difficulty allowed
after reading the exclamation of Joculo when he kisses Delia (the character who corre-
sponds to Margaret) in the following passage : — ' [You have] lips as red as a rose, —
< but lets try if they are as sweet too [Kisses her] Hah, delicious slut ! no primrose
'comes up to 'em.' Shakespeare's names are all changed ; Benedick becomes Pro-
them, Claudio BeUario, Don John Byron, Dogberry Porco, Hero Lucilia, Beatrice
Liberia, etc. Don John, who is the uncle of Hero, attempts to have his brother.
Hero's father, assassinated. The royal victim is rescued by Claudio, lo whom Hero,
out of gratitude, gives her hand. All that is not Shakespeare's and Moli^re's is
wearisome and utterly vapid.
The curious reader is referred to Genest where he will find an abstract of every
Act. The incurious reader will be quite satisfied, I am confident, with the following
quotation, not given by Genest, from which as a fair specimen he may estimate the
rest, and wish to read no more. It is the version of Beatrice's speech, after she is
*' limed ' by Hero and Ursula, ' What fire is in mine ears,' etc : —
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404
APPENDIX
* Liberia [i. e. Beatrice^. 'Slife ! what a Fire is in mine Ears ! Can this possibly
* be tme ? Is Lord Protheus really so desperately in Love with me ? He certainly
'is, I recollect a thousand Circumstances now that convince me of it. Pshal how
* blind was I not to see it before 1 And do I stand condemned so much for Pride and
'Ill-nature then? If so. Contempt farewel, I*ve tortured the poor Creature long
'enough in Conscience. — There's one thing I am glad of; they all allow him to have
' a great deal of Merit. — ^Why truly, now I consider the thing, I'm o'the same Mind;
' I have been a litde too cruel ; he must have been in a world of Anguish, poor
' Wretch r
Dr Mary Augusta Scott's Fourth Paper on Elizabethan Translatums from the
Italian has just appeared as these last pages are going through the press. It con-
tains (p. 338) a suggestion which should find a place in the present volume. In
speaking of The Courtyer of Count Baldessar CastUio, 1561, Dr Scott says : — ^As
the Courtyer was far and away the most popular Elizabethan translation from the
Italian, it is more than likely that Shakespeare was familiar with it. Among other
suggestions which might be made to strengthen this supposition, it may be pointed
out that the Countess Emilia Pia [one of the high personages whose discussions form
the subject of the book — Ed.] is the type oi witty, sprighdy lady that Boccaccio first
made known in Pampinea, and who is, in English, our fascinating Beatrice.
PLAN OF THE WORK, Etc.
In this Edition the attempt is made to give, in the shape of Textual Notes, on
the same page with the Text, all the Various Readings of Much Ado about Nothings
from the Second Folio, down to the latest critical Edition of the play ; then, as Com-
mentary, follow the Notes which the Editor has thought worthy of insertion, not
only for the purpose of elucidating the text, but at times as illustrations of the
History of Shakespearian criticism. In the Appendix will be found discussions
of subjects, which on the score of length could not be conveniently included in the
Commentary.
LIST OF EDITIONS COLLATED IN THE TEXTUAL NOTES
Much Ado about Nothing (Staunton's Photo-litho-
graph from the Earl of Ellesmere's copy, 1864)
Much Ado about Nothing (Ashbee's Facsimile, \ [Q] 1600
1865).
Much Ado about Nothing (Praetorius's Facsimile, ^
1886).
The Second Folio [F,] 1632
The Third Folio [Fj] 1664
The Fourth Folio [FJ 1685
N. RoWE (First Edition) [Rowe i] . . . . 1709
N. Rowe (Second Edition) [Rowe ii] . . . . 1714
A. Pope (First Edition) [Pope i] . . . . 1723
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PLAN OF THE WORK
405
A. PoPB (Second Edition) [Pope ii]
L. Theobald (First Edition) [Theob. i]
L. Theobald (Second Edition) [Theob. ii]
Sir T. Hanmer [Han.]
W. Warburton [Warb.]
Dr Johnson [Johns.]
E. Capell [Cap-]
Johnson and Steevens [Var. '73I
Johnson and Steevens [Var. '78]
Johnson and Steevens [Var. '85]
J. Rann [Ran.]
E. Malone [Mai.]
Geo. Steevens [Steev.]
Reed's Steevens [Var. '03]
Reed's Steevens [Var. '13]
BoswELL's Malone [Var. '21]
C. Knight [Knt]
J. P. Collier (First Edition) [Coll. i]
J. O. Halliwell (Folio Edition) [Hal.]
S. W. Singer (Second Edition) [Sing, ii]
A. Dyce (First Edition) [Dyce i]
H. Staunton [Sta,]
J. P. COLUER (Second Edition) [Coll. ii]
R. G. White (First Edition) [Wh. i]
Cambridge Edition (W. G. Clark and W. A.
Wright) [Cam.]
T. Keightley [I^tly]
A. Dyce (Second Edition) [Dyce ii]
A. Dyce (Third Edition) [Dyce iii]
J. P. Collier (Third Edition) [Coll. iii]
H. N. Hudson [Huds.]
W. J. RoLFE [Rife.]
R. G. White (Second Edition) [Wh. ii]
K. Deighton [Dtn.]
Cambridge (Second Edition, W. A. Wright) . . [Cam.]
(?)
1728
1733
1740
1744
1747
1765
(?) 1765
1793
1778
178s
1787
1790
1793
1803
1813
1821
1840
184a
1856
1856
1857
1857
1858
1858
1863
1864
1866
1875
1877
1880
1880
1883
1888
1891
W. Harness 1830
Globe Editon (Clark and Wright) . . . . [Glo.] . . • . 1864
N. Delius [Del.] . . . . 1869
Rev. John Hunter (Longman's Series) 1872
W. Wagner i88i
F. A. Marshall {Henry Irving Edition) 1890
W. A. Wright (Clarendon Press Series) . . . . [Cla.] . . . . 1894
The last seven editions I have not collated beyond referring to them in disputed
passages. The text of Shakespeare is become, within the last twenty-five years, so
settied that to collate, word for word, editions which have appeared within these
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4o6 APPENDIX
years, would be a work of supererogation. The case is different where an editor
in a second or a third edition revises his text and notes ; it is then interesting to mark
the effect of maturer judgement
The Text is that of the First Folio of 1623. Every word, I might say almost
every letter, has been collated with the original.
In the Textual Notes the symbol Ff indicates the agreement of the Second^
Thirds and Fourth Folios,
I have not called attention to every little misprint in the Folio. The Textual
Notes will show, if need be, that they are misprints by the agreement of all the
Editors in their corrections.
Nor is notice taken of the first Editor who adopted the modem spelling, or sub-
stituted commas for parentheses, or changed ? to 1.
The sign + indicates the agreement of RowE, Pope, Theobald, Hanmer, War-
burton, and Johnson.
When Warburton precedes Hanmer in the Textual Notes^ it indicates that
a suggestion of Warburton has been followed by Hanmer.
The words et cet, after any reading indicate that it is the reading of all other
collated editions.
The words et seq, indicate the agreement of all subsequent collated editions.
The abbreviation (subs. ) indicates that the reading is substantially given, and that
immaterial variations in spelling, punctuation, or stage-directions are disregarded.
When Var, precedes Sieev, or Mai, it includes the Variorums of 1773, I778» and
17S5 ; when it follows Sleev, or Mai, it includes the Variorums of 1803, 1813, and
1821.
An Emendation or Correction given in the Commentary is not repeated in the
Textual Notes, unless it has been adopted by an Editor in his Text ; nor is conj.
added in the Textual Notes to the name of the proposer of the conjecture unless the
conjecture happens to be that of an Editor, in which case its omission would lead to
the inference that such was the reading of hi& text.
Coll. (MS) refers to Collier's copy of the Second Folio bearing in its margin
manuscript annotations.
In citations from plays, other than Much Ado about Nothing, the Acts, Scenes, and
Lines of The Globe Edition are followed, unless otherwise noted.
LIST OF BOOKS.
To economise space in the foregoing pages, as a general rule merely the name of
an author has been given, followed, in parenthesis, by the number of volume and
page-
In the following List, arranged alphabetically, enough of the full titles is set forth
to serve the purposes of either identification or reference.
Be it understood that this List contains only those books wherefrom quotations
have been taken at first hand. It does not include those which have been consulted
or used in verifying references ; were these included the List would be many times
longer.
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LIST OF BOOKS
407
E. A. Abbott : Shakespearian Grammar London, 1870
George Allen : MS Annotated copy of Much Ado about
Nothing Philadelphia, 1867
Anonymous : Shakespeare's Garden of Girls . . . . . London, 1885
Ariosto: Orlando Fvrioso, in English Heroical Verse, By
Sir John HaHngton London, 1634
W. R. Arrowsmith : Shakespeare s Editors and Commentators London, 1865
John Aubrey : Brief Livesy etc. 1669 (ed. A. Clark) . . Oxford, 1898
Jacob Ayrer : Opus Theatricum^ etc Niinnberg, 1618
S. Bailey : Received Text of Shakespeare London, 1862
Matteo Bandello, translated by John Payne (Villon
Society) London, 1890
C. Bathurst : Differences of Shakespeare's Versiftcatian, etc, London, 1857
Batman vppon Bartholomew De Proprietatibus Rerum . . London, 1582
T. S. Baynes : Shakespeare Studies London, 1896
S. Beisly : Shaksperis Garden London, 1864
F. DE Belle- Forest : Histoires Tragiques^ etc, . . . . Paris, 1582
R. Benedix : Die Shakespearomanie Stuttgart, 1873
F. S. Boas : Shakspere and his Predecessors London, 1896
F. BODENSTEDT : Shakespear^s Dramatische Werke . . . . Leipzig, 1867
A. E. Brae : Collier^ Coleridge^ and Shakespeare . . . . London, i860
H. Brown : Sonnets of Shakespeare Solved London, 1870
J. C. BUCKNILL : The Medical Knowledge of Shakespeare . . London, i860
J. Bulloch : Studies of the Text of Shakespeare . . London, 1878
H. BULTHAUPT: Dramaturgic der Classiker (2te Aufl.) . . Oldenburg, 1884
Burton : The Anatomy of Melancholy (sixt edition) . . . . Oxford, 1 65 1
T. Campbell : Dramatic Works of Shakespeare . . London, 1838
Lord Campbell: Shakespeare s Legal Acquirements (Reprint.) New York, 1859
E. Capell : Notesy etc London, 1779
R. Cartwright : New Readings in Shakspere London, 1866
COMPTE DE Caylus : Histoire du vaillant Chevalier Tiran le
Blanc , . . . i ' ' Londres, n. d.
G. Chalmers : Supplemental Apology for the Believers in the
Shakespeare Papers^ etc London, 1799
W. Chappell : Popular Music of the Olden Time . . • . . London, n. d.
F. J. Child : English and Scottish Ballads Boston, 1882
H. Clark : Introduction to Heraldry London, 1845
J. Clark : Mucho Ruido para Nada Madrid, 1873
C. C. Clarke : Shakespeare Characters London, 1863
A. Cohn : Shakespeare in Germany London, 1865
llKBiTlx?! QoLYXVDGAi Essays and MargimUia .. London, 1 85 1
S. T. Coleridge : Notes and Lectures London, 1849
J. P. COLUER : Memoirs of Actors (Shakespeare Society) . . London, 1846
*« Notes and Emendations^ etc London, 1853
J. C. COLUNS : Essays and Studies London, 1895
H Corson : Introduction to Study of Shakespeare . . . . Boston, 1889
T. CORYAT : Crudities^ etc, 1611 London, 1776
G. L. Craik : English of Shakespeare London, 1857
J. Croft : Annotations on Shakespeare York, 1810
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408 APPENDIX
P. A. Daniel : Notes and Enundations London, 1870
*' Introduction to Praetorius's Facsimile . . . . London, 18S6
Sir W. D'avenant : The Works of London, 1673
N. Deuus r Shaksper^s Werke, erkldrt Elberfeld, 1869
F. Douce : Illustrations of Shakespeare, etc, London, 1807
E. DOWDEN : Shakspercy His Mind and Art London, 1875
N. Drake: Shakespeare and his Times^ etc London, 181 7
J. DUNLOP : History of Fiction (Third Edition) . . . . London, 1845
A. Dyce : Remarks on Collier's and Knight^ s Editions . . London, 1844
*« Few Notes, etc London, 1853
" Strictures on Collier's New Edition London, 1859
T. F. T. Dyer : Folk-lore of Shakespeare (Reprint) . . . . New York, 1884
J. Earle : Philology of the English Tongue Oxford, 1879
J. Eastwood and W. A. Wright : The Bible Word-Book . . London, 1866
T. Edwards : Canons of Criticism London, 1765
H. N. Ellacombe : Plant Lore and Garden Craft of Shake-
speare London, 1878
A. J. Ellis : Early English Pronunciation (£. E. T. Soc.) . . London, 1869
H. Elwin : Shakespeare Restored Norwich, 1853
J. J. Eschenburg : Viet Ldrmens um Nichts Strassburg, 1778
R. Farmer : On the Learning of Shakespeare London, 1767
B. Field : Heywood's Edward IV. (Shakespeare Society) . . London, 1843
** Heywood^s Fayre Mayde of the Exchange (Shake-
q)eare Society) . , London, 1846
F. J. Fleay ! Introduction to Shakespearian Study . . . . London, 1877
«* Actor Lists, 1 578-1 642 (Privately Printed) . . London, 1881
" Life and Work of Shakespeare London, 1886
«« History of the Stage, 1559-1642 London, 1890
" Biographical Chronicle of the English Drama . . London, 1891
G Fletcher : Studies of Shakespeare London, 1847
W. Franz : Shakespeare- GrammaHk Halle a. S., 1898
F. J. Furnivall: Introduction to The Leopold Shakspere . . London, 1877
P. Genest : The English Stage, 1660-1830 Bath, 1832
F. Gentleman : DramcUick Censor London, 1770
J. Gerarde : ne Herball, etc. London, 1633
G. G. Gervinus : Shakespeare (3te Aufl.) Leipzig, 1862
C. GiLDON : Remarks, etc. (vol. vii, Rowe's ed.) . . . . London, 1710
H. Giles : Human Life in Shakespeare Boston, 1868
K. Godekb : Grundriss mr Geschichte d. deutschen Literatur Dresden, 1884
G. Gould : Corrigenda, etc, London, 1884
A. Gray : Lessons in Botany New York, 1868
Z. Grey : Critical, Historical, and Explanatory Notes . . London, 1754
Mrs Griffiths : Morality of Shakespeare^ s Dramas, etc, . . London, 1775
H. Grimm : FBnfzehn Essays (Neue Folge) BerUn, 1875
S. GUAZZO : The Ciuile Conuersation, etc. (trans, by G. pettie,
and Barth. Young) London, 1586
M. GUIZOT: GEuvres Complies de Shakespeare Paris, 1868
J. W. Hales : Notes and Essays on Shakespeare . . . . London, 1884
H. Hallam : Literature of Europe London, 1839
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LIST OF BOOKS
409
W. Harness : Shakespeare s Dramatic Works London, 1830
J. E. Harting: Ornithology of Shakespeare London, 187 1
W. Hazutt : Characters of Shakespeare's Plays . . . . London, 181 7
F. F. Heard : Shakespeare as a Lawyer. Boston, 1883
B. Heath : Revisal of Shakespeare s Text London, 1765
J. G. Herr : Notes on the Text of Shakespeare Philadelphia, 1879
T. Heywood : Rape of Lvcrece London, 1638
P. Holland : Plini^s Natural History . . London, 1635
F. Horn : Shakespeare s Schauspiele erldutert Leipzig, 1823
Francois- Victor Hugo : (Euvres Completes de Shakespeare . . Paris, 1868
T^e Hundred Merry Tales (Reprint) London, 1866
Joseph Hunter : New Illustrations of the Life^ Studies^ and
Writings of Shakespeare London, 1845
Mrs Inchbald : British Theatre London, 1822
C. M. Ingleby : The Still Lion London, 1874
" Shakespeare Hermeneutics London, 1875
« Shakespeare^ The Man and the Book . . London, 1877
F. Jacox : Shakespeare Diversions (Second Series) . . . . London, 1877
Mrs Jameson : Characterisics of Women^ etc London, 1833
Duke Heinrich Julius : Schauspiele (ed. Dr W. N. Hol-
land) Stuttgart, 1855
T. Keightlby : The Shakespeare Expositor London, 1867
W. Kenrick : Review of Johnson* s Shakespeare . . . . London, 1765
B. G. KiNNEAR : Cruces Shakespearian^ London, 1883
C. F. Koch : Historische Grammatikder Englischen Sprache . . Weimar, 1863
F. Kreyssig : Vorlesungen ueber Shakespeare Beriin, 1862
C. Lamb : Works London, 1870
G. Langbaine : Account of English DranuUick Poets . . . . Oxford, 169 1
Miss Grace Latham: The Petty Constable (Shakespeare
Jahibuch, vol. xxxii) Weimar, 1896
Lazarillo de Tormes : La Vida de^ y sus fortunes y aduersidades^
1554 (ed. H. B. Clarke) Oxford, 1897
Mrs Lennox : Shakespear Illustrated London, 1753
W. W. Lloyd : Critical Essays (Singer's Second Edition) . . London, 1856
B,.lSTt^'. A NieweHerball London, 1578
M. Le Tourneur : Shakespeare traduit de P Anglais . . . . Paris, 1781
G. MacDonald : Orts, London, 1882 (Reprinted as The Im-
agination^) Boston, 1883
D. H. Madden : Diary of Master WHliam Silence . . London, 1897
£. Maetzner : Englische Grammatik (Trans. Dr C. J. Grecb) . .
G. P. Marsh : Lectures on the English Language New York, i860
Lady Martin ; On Some of ShcUkespeare s Female Charcuters . . Edinburgh, 1891
J. M. Mason : Comments on the last Edition [Var. 1778] of
Shakespeare s Plays London, 1785
J. Miller : The Universal Passion London, 1737
E. MoNTtGUT : (Euvres Computes de Shakespeare . . . . Paris, 1867
Fynes Moryson : An Itinerary ^ etc, London, 1617
Sir John Maundeville : Voiage and Travayle (ed. J. Ash-
ton) London, 1887
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4XO APPENDIX
R. Nares : Glossary (ed. Halliwell and Wright) . . London, 1867
£. W. Naylor : Shakespeare and Music London, 1896
J. Nichols : Literary Illustrations , etc. London, 1817
W. OechelhAusbr ; EinfUhrungen in Shakespeare^ s Dramen
(2te AuB.) Minden, 1885
J. G. Orger : Critical Nates on Shakespeare s Comedies . . London, n. d.
C Pasquaugo : Gran Chiasso per Nulla . . ... . . Venezia, 1872
F. Peck : New Memoirs of Milton London, 1740
T. Percy : Reliques 0/ Ancient English Poetry London, 1765
Sir Philip Peering-: Hard Knots in Shakespeare (ed. ii) London, 1886
J. O. Haluwsll-Phillipps : Outlines of the Life of Shake-
speare London, 1885
J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps : Memoranda Brighton, 1879
R. C. A. Prior : Popular Names of British Plants, etc. . . London, 1863
J. P. QuiNCY : MS Corrections from a Copy of the Fourth Folio . . Boston, 1854
M. Rapp : Viel Lermen um Nichts Stuttgart, 1843
E. F. RiMBAULT : Who was Jack Wilson ? London, 1846
J. RiTSON : Cursory Criticism London, 1792
« Remarks, Critical and Illustrative London, 1783
W. L. RUSHTON : Shakespeare a Lawyer London, 1858
" Shakespeare s Euphuism London, 1871
" Shakespeare an Archer Liverpool, 1897
J. RUSKIN : Modem Painters New York, n. d.
W. B. Rye : England as seen by Foreigners, etc. . . . . London, 1865
A. W. ScHLEGEL: Lectures (trans. J. Black) London, 18 15
ScHLEGEL UND TiECK : Shakspeof^s dramatische Werke . . Berlin, 1833
A. Schmidt : Viel Ldrmen um Nichts, uebersetzt von L. Tieck.
Bearheitet und erldutert Berlin, 1869
E. H. Seymour : Remarks, Critical, Conjectural, and Explan-
atory, etc. London, 1805
£. W. SiEVERS : William Shakespeare Gotha, 1866
R. Simpson : The School of Shakespeare London, 1878
K. SiMROCK : Viel Ldrmen um Nichts Hildburghausen, 1868
S. W. Singer : Shakespeare Vindicated, etc. London, 1853
A. Skottowe: Life of Shakespeare, etc. London, 1824
A. Smith : The Female Rebellion, 1681 ? (Privately Printed) . . Glasgow, 1872
D. J. Snider : System of Shakespeare s Dramas . . St. Louis, 1877
H. P. Stokes : Chronological Order of Shakespeare s Plays . . London, 1878
J. Strutt I Sports and Pastimes London, 1841
A. C. Swinburne : A Study of Shakespeare London, 1880
Count Sz£csen ; Acht Essays aus d. Vhgarischen uebersetzt . . Wien, 1879
H. A. Taine : Mstoire de la Littirature Anglaise (trans. H.
Van Laun) Paris, 1866
L. Theobald : Shakespeare Restored, etc. London, 1726
W. J. Thoms : nree Notelets on Shakespeare London, 1865
L. Tieck : Deutsches Theater Berlin, 1817
J. Tittmann: Schauspiele a. d. sechuhnten Jahrhundert . . Leipzig, 1 868
'E. TovsEiA. I Historie of Foure Footed Beasts London, 1608
T. Tyrwhitt : Observations and Conjectures, etc. . . . . London, 1766
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LIST OF BOOKS
411
H. Ulrici : Shakespeare s DramaHc Art Leipzig, 1839
J. Upton : Critical Observations on Shakespeare . . . . London, 1746
H. Voss : Viel Ldmten urn Nichts Leipzig, 1818
W. Wagner : Works of Shakespeare Hamburg, 1881
W. S. Walker : Shakespeare s Versification London, 1854
** Critical Examination of the Text of ShUte-
speare London, 1859
A. W, Ward : History of English Dramatic Literature . . London, 1785
T. Warton : History of English Poetry London, 1775
A. Way : Promptorium Panmlorum London, 1865
K. Weichberger : Urquelle von Much Ado about Nothing
(Shakespeare Jahrbuch) Weimar, 1898
J. Weiss : Wit^ Humor ^ and Shakespeare Boston, 1876
W. Wbtz : Shakespeare vom Standpunkte der vergleichenden
Literatur Worms, 1890
P. Wh ALLEY : Enquiry into the Learning of Shakespeare . , London, 1748
R. G. White : Shakespeare's Scholar New York, 1854
Thomas White : FennelPs Shakespearian Repository . . London, 1853
W. Whiter: Specimen of a Commentary on Shakespeare . . London, 1794
A. WiLBRANDT : Viel Ldrmen um Nichts Leipzig, 1867
F. WiLLUGHBY : Ornithology London, 1678
Sir R. Winwood : Memorials of Affairs of State in the Reigns
of Elizabeth and James I , London, 1725
J. R. Wise : Shakespeare : His Birthplace, etc London, 1861
C. Wordsworth : Shakespeare* s Knowledge of the Bible, etc. . . London, 1864
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INDEX
Absorptioii 37, 137, 207, 266
Abased 273
KoddioA^incidetU 76
Adam 35
AAvedi'm adjective 58
Advertisement 243
Adnse^persuade 218
Affection 99
Affinnative question 194, 220
Agate vilely cut 139
Aim better at me 157
Alexandrine • • 199, 246
Alliance 91
Alms, an 124
Ambles 255
And who, and who 55
Angel, a pun 107
Anon, in Bkukwood^s Maga, . . . 238
Anothers, one an opinion of ... 128
Antic 139
Antiquely 248
Antonio, his place in the Play ... 45
K^one 190
Aorist, used for perfect 54
Apes, leading in hell 61
Appear, apparently reflexive ... 47
Apprehend 67, 184
Approved 98, 226
Argument a>jM^Vr/ 34, 105
Armour, a good 106
Arras 56
As =» Of regards which 214
As = namely 100
A-talking 158
At a word 71
Ate in good apparel 84
Attired 206
Attraction, a case of 21
Attraction of subjunctive 194
Aunchentry 67
PAOB
Authority ^umirrtfm^ 194
Ayrer 329
Badge 9
Baldrick 33
Ballad-maker's pen 34
Balthasar, whence the name * . . . I
Bandello 311
Bam, a quibble 182
Base though bitter 79
Bate 125
Bathurst, on the Play 352
Baucis and Philemon 69
Bear in hand 226
Beatrice, OTAziffir^ ^ I
'* pronunciation of ... , 2
Behaviours 105
Behind the back of such 145
Bell, sound as a 148
Belle-Forest 326
Bel's priests 170
Benedick, meaning of I
Benedix, on the Play 377
Bent 129,211
Berrord 61
Beshrew 244
Betrothal 195
Better death 141
Betwixt and between 14
Bid 3rou bid 262
Bills 164
Bills, commercial paper 174
Bills, set up his 10
BlacV^swarthy 139
Blazon 89
Bless me from 254
Block 15
Blood » warmth of constitution,
76, 196, 203
Book, in connection with love . . 4i» 44
413
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414
INDEX
Books, not in year i6
^^tw^xo^ meaning of 1,168
Bottle, like a cat 34
Boy stole your meat 77
Brae, on Loves labours Won . . • 367
Braggarts 247
Break a comparison 73
Break with— </ijaur 4i>44
Break with 74
Breed, intransitive 50
Brother, sworn 15
Brown, Identification of Characters . 398
Bruise 245
Bucklers, give thee the 268
Bull doth bear the yoke 36
Bullets, paper . 130
Bulthaupt, on the Play 378
Burbolt II
Burden of a song 181
Buried (ace upward 154
Burton's reference to present Flay . 3
But, transitumally . 53
But=>0if^ 62
'Ry^about 264
By, instrumental and causal . . . 208
Campbell, on the Play 350
Candle-wasters 241
Can insteeul of cannot 194
Canker— ^ortf CiliftiMi 53
Capers 66
Capon 254
Cap widi suspicion 27
Cardnus Benedictus 185
Career I3<>» ^S^
Carpet-mongers— ra>]^/-^^<^ . . 269
Caxn^t= deportment 53
Carried : 214
Cat in a bottle 34
Censure 189
Certainer 281
Chain, a usurer's 77
Cham's beard 87
Chareas and Callirrhoe 344
Charge l8
Charge, a tilting term 252
Charge to the Watch 161
Charles the First's copy ..... 6
Charm for toothache 156
Cheapen 107
Choke a daw 131
Cinque-pace 65
Circumstances shortened 158
Civil as an orange 89
Clapp, Time analysis 372
C\zM=fiatter 51
Coil = turmoil 167,273
Coleridge, Hartley, on the Play . . 351
Come over, a quibble 266
Commendable, accent 140
Commit, ending an epistle .... 38
Conmiodity 174
Comparison, in a derogatory sense . 74
Complexion — colour of the face . . 42
Composition, Date of 294
Conctii^ conception 90
CorA^emc^^ conference 187
Confirmed 279
Confusion of prefixes 70
ConyccXxa^^ suspicion 200
Constables 275
Consumption, a disease 284
CoDX/cmpdhl^'^ contemptuous ... 125
Continuer 21
Convert, intransitively ...... 20
Conveyance, impossible ..... 82
Conveyance— <//j:/m/|^ 82
Cosen 100
Cosmetics for the face 153
Costume 394
Counsel — r^fftVw 127
Count Comfect 226
County 226
Cousin 46,48,283
Cross, a tilting term 252
Cross, double meaning 57
Cue 90
Curst 59
Curst cows have short horns .... 60
Curtsie and cursie 63
Cuts, in sleeves 177
Cutting capers in dancing .... 66
Daff .
Daft
Dance
245
125
287
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INDEX
415
VAGB
Daniel, Time analysis 372
Date of ComporitioD 294
Dativus Commcdi 132
Davis, OH Irving and Miss Terry . 393
Dear, a disyUable 194
Dear happiness 20
Death be uttered 275
Decern 188
Defiled, or belied, or reviled . . . 281
Deformed 169
Deprave <»z^^ 248
Difference, to bear it for a .... 14
Dinner hour 130
Disdain, Lady 20
'DisXoyt^'^ unfaithful in love ... 158
Distribution of speeches 197
Division of Acts 363
Dogberry, meaning of 2
Do me right 254
Done to death 275
Don Pedro, whence the name ... I
Do, omitted before not 242
Don Worm 272
Dotage 125
Double dealer 286
Double negative 72, 130
Down sleeves 178
jytesSf fashions in 150
Drum and fife 105
Dry hand 71
Dumb John 68
Dumps 117
Duration of Action 371
Eats his meat without grudging . . 186
Ecstasy 124
-ed final, omitted 147
Edinburgh Review, on the Flay . . 351
Eftest 232
Eight or nine syllabled line, not
Shakespearian 250
Elbow, itching 167
Ellipsis of there 99, X49
«^ 99,165
Epitaph 274
Epitaphs on hearses 2x3
Erskine's anecdote 164
Ethical dative 56, X2i, 172
9hOM
Europa 280
£ven»^axy 220
Every day tomorrow 143
"Exaxom^tsi examination 191 •
Exceeds 177
Excepted, after a noun ... 20, 143
Exorcisms 85
Face upwards, buried 154
Fairy Queen 307
Faith IS
False gallop 187
Familiar 282
Fancy .150
Fashion-monging 247
Fashions in dress 150
Fathers her self 19
Favourites 134
Festival terms 270
Fetch in ''to cheat 31
Ymt " conclusion • • • 33
Fire in mine ears 144
Five wits 14
Fleer 244
Fleet 73
Fletcher, on the Play 353
Flight, an arrow ..**.... XI
Flowtingjack 25
Foining 246
Fool 91
For a Fool, what is he ..... . 55
YoT'omforthesake of ....... 182
Foul tainted 205
Foundation 265
Fourteen and five and thirty . . . 170
Fox, old tale of Mr 29
Frame 204,2x2
Francis Seacole X91
Friars, Shakespear^s reference to
them 202
Friend— /w^ 68
Yxom^ different from X40
YvlW'' completely 19
Fumivall, on the Flay 353
GalUard 65
Gallop, false 187
Gentleman, on Actors 385
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4i6
INDEX
PAGB
George 0r Fiands Seaoole .... 162
Gervinns, on the Play 373
Giddy 285
Gildon» on the Play 347
Giles, on the Play 352
Girdle, turn his 253
GkA djdtnA^ God forbid 69
God give thee joy 90
God*s a good man 190
Godwin, on Costume and Stage-set-
^^g 396
Good den 157
Good time, in 64
Good yeere 50
Gosse, on Starter's Truyrspel . . . 338
Go to the world 92
Grey, the colour 277
Grudging 186
Guarded ^/nmOTA/ 39
Guerdon 274
Gull 122
l^^ache 182
Haggards 136
Ha, ha, he 193
Hair dye, and hair dyeing .... 108
Hair to stuff tennis balls 152
Hair, trimming in caps 176
Hale, a verb 116
Half pence 123
Halliwell, on Macreadys dieting . . 397
Hangman — executioner . . . 148, 370
Happiness, outward 126
Happy hour, in 221
Hare-finder 26
Hazlitt, on the Play 348
Headborough 187
Head, say it to thy 245
Hearken 259
Hearten 96
Heavenly, misprint for Heavily . . 276
Heavens, for the 62
Heels, scorn with the 182
Heinrich Julius, Duke 339
lAvcXyaX^ veHed allusion 183
Hercules, the shaven 170
Heretic 31
Hey, pronunciation 182
VAOK
Hideousness 248
Hi^^ great 24
High-proof. 251
His, misprinted this 80
Hobbyhorse 156
Hold it up 122
Honest as the skin between the
brows 188
Honest slanders 142
Honeysuckle 133
Horn mad 37
Horn, tiptwith 286
Hose — breeches or upper stocks , . 395
How =* hottfever 138
Humour 98
Hundred Merry Tales 72
Hunter, Identification of Characters. 398
= 0'^ 27
identification of Characters .... 398
11 well 71
mpoxtBui'^ importunate ..... 64
impose me to a6i
impossible conveyance 83
ncenaed'- instigated 260
Mrs Inchbald, on the Play .... 348
infinite of thought , , 121
in happy hour 321
n^into 269
nnocent»ff7^ 269
innogen 7
nserted lines 134
nstance loi
ntakd== pretend 100
n that = because 285
nye!Q^oii = mental activity . • 312,292
nvTBrdness^ intimacy 218
tching of the elbow 167
i-Pate 78
ack, a term of reproach ... 35, 247
ackWUson 109
ade's trick 21
Mrs Jameson, on the Play .... 349
ests, large 127
ig, Scotch 66
ohn the Bastard, his character . . 48
ust'^exactly 60,96,255
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INDEX
417
PACK
Keq> below stain 267
Kid-fox 110
KillQaudio 222
Kind 9
YimSiy natural pcwer 198
Knight, OH Costume J95
Knight, virgin 275
Kreyssig, on the Play 374
Lacked and lost 215
Lady Tongue S8
Lang, on the Play 361
Langbaine 347
Lanthom 162
Lap 273
Lapwing 135
lATgt'^ broody free 127,195
Lazarillo de Tonnes 77
Leading apes in hell 61
Ijttan" teach 193
Left (Collier's emendation) .... 84
Let me be 258
hewd '^tviched 266
hihenH ^ free 0/ ton£^ .... 199
Light o' love, music l8i
Light, puns thereon 180
Like of me 281
Liking . . . love 41
Limed 144
Lineament, promtnciation .... 238
Listen, with an accusative .... 134
Iav^ and \\t confounded 211
Liver, seat of the passions .... 217
Lock, a wears a 173
Lodge in a warren 80
Lord Burghley's letter 160
Love's labours won 367
Loving hand 145
Lute 153
Luxury 194
Man indeed 246
Marry her tomorrow 159
Lady Martin, on the Play 354
Mass, by the 167, 233
Matter «7» 94
May^^aff 158
May of youth 245
27
PAGE
Meaning of the Title ...... 6
Measure » moderation^ also a dance^
9,64
Meddle or make 165
Meet with yoo 12
Melancholy element 95
yicny = joyful 63
Methinks 24
Metric prose 52
Misgovemment 199
Misprising 138
Misprision » mu/«>(^ 211
Misuse ... 81, 100
ViodiA^ ground-plan 55
Moe^iif^more 117
Monging 247
Montanto 10
Moral 185,242
Moral Medicine 5'
Mortif3ring, used causatively .... 51
Mountain of affection 97
Moving delicate 216
Much, used adverbially 9
Naughty 263
Nay and No 25
'iiezx => familiar 74
Need»»^^</r 42
Negative, double 72
Neither, colloquial use 39
News, plural 46
Night-gown 177
Night-raven I18
Nine-syllabled lines, not Shake-
spearian 250
Noble, a coin 107
Nominative absolute 204
Not, omitted 220
Note, notes forsooth and nothing . 113
Nnptiall 197
Obey 174
Odd quirks 130
Oechelh&user, on the Play .... 382
*• on Stage-setting . . . 397
Oi^from 90*265
Old ends 39
Omission of a line by Tieck . . . 149
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INDEX
Omission ol as 28
" AT after j^ 123
" definite article .... 41
*• that 41
" the preposition .... 270
" the relative 54
'' to before the infinitive
24. i37» ao9
Oncf^enoi^A 43> 25S
One an opinion of anothers ... 128
On = ^ 205
Orange, civil as an 89
Orchard ^ 47
Orlando Furioso 296
Orthography 106
Ostentation 214
Oat, intensive use of 158
Outward happiness 126
Packt 263
Palabras 189
Paper bullets 130
Pftrlour, lengthening in scansion . . 132
Partridge wing 74
Past used for complete present . . 46
Pennyworth, fit him with a . . . . iii
Penthouse 167
Perfume 184
Pigmies 87
Plan of the Work 404
Pleached 47i > 33
Please, in the subjunctive 23
Plural antecedent with singular verb. 209
Policy of mind 2x3
VwsKSseA^ informed .... 172,262
Practise 98, 2Zi
Prays, curses 124
Predestinate . 20
Prefixes of characters, confusion of . 70
Tresentlyimmediate/jf, iS, 163, 218, 273
Press to death 140
Presterjohn 86
"Prised ^estimated . 143
FTOJect = idea 138
'Prolonged '^^ostponed 219
Proof I95»25i
Proper 55> 126, 226, 230
Pro^smg= conversing 132
VAGB
Prove 57
Purchase 140
Purity, with i slurred 200
Purpose or propose 134
Q« 90
Quaint 170
Qualifie 282
Quarto, additions in the . . , 193, 231
Queasie 98
Question 175, 272
Quirks 130
Rack 215
Rapp, names of Dramatis Persome . 3
Reasons -= rauiW 258
Rebato 175
Recheat 32
Rechie 170
Remorse «/t/^ 214
Repetition of words 216
K^^rowe'^ disprove 129
Reverence, saving your 179
Rhyme, inadmissible in prose ... 212
Right, as an adverb 173
Rite 96
Run, possible reflexive use .... 132
Russell, Leuiy Martinis Beatrice . 389
Sad '^ grave 56, 129
Salved .• 42
Same or some 280
Sanctuary 85
Sarrazin, Identification of Characters, 399
Saturday Review, on the Play . . 391
Saturn, bom under 50
Scab 167
Scambling 247
Scorn with my heels . ^ 182
Scotch jig 66
Miss Scott, developement of Bea-
trice . . . 404
Seacole, George or Francis .... 162
Season 205
Set up his bills * . 10
Seven, an indefinite number ... 169
Shall and will 214
^ad^ simple futurity 99
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419
PAGB
Shaven Hercules 170
Shifted out 117
Shrewd 59
Sievers, on the Play 376
Since a-a^ 99
Sigh away Sundays 28
Simple » xfW^^ . . . .• 24
Singular verb following several nom-
inatives 85
Singular verb with a plural antece-
dent 209, 244
Skottowe, on the Play 348
Sleeves, side Aif^/ down 178
Slops =a/r<w«j^j 152
Smoking a musty room 56
Smother up 201
Sorrow, wagge 238
Sort 7f 218, 278
Sound as a bell 148
Spedding, on Division of Ads . . . 363
Speeches, distribution of 197
Speeds 277
Spell him backward 138
Spirit, monosyllabic 203
Squarrer 17
Stairs, keep below 267
Stale 100, 197
Stalking-horse 120
Stand thee 167
Star danced 94
Starter's Version 337
Start-up 57
State and aunchentry 67
Statutes of the streets 165
Still « o/zwiyj 19
Stops^^^ilr 153
Strain 238
Strange face 112
Study of imagination 216
Stuffing and stuft 13
Style, a quibble 266
Subjunctive in subordinate clause . 118
Subscribe 271
Success, a colourless word .... 217
Sufferance 50
Sufficiency 242
S\3Mt = courtship 66
Sun-burned 92
Sure 57
Swinburne, on the Play ..... 354
Sworn brother 15
Tabor and pipe 105
TdXf' declaration 232
Tax Ill
Tedious 189
lem^X'^mixing of poisons , ... 99
Temporize a-Z^m/^m^ 38
Tennis ball, hair to stuff 1 52
Terminations 83
That 123
That, conjunctional affix 282
ThaX'^ in which 260
That. 5^^ in that ........ 285
Thee aif^/ you I12
Th'one with th* other 97
Tickling, lengthened in scansion . . 141
Tieck, his omission of a line ... 149
Time, to take 47
Time, in good 64
Tinsel 179
Tipt with horn 286
Tirante.el Blanco 345
Tolerable and not to be endured . . 163
To = motion against 81
To, omitted before infinitive, 24, 1 37, 209
Toothache, charm for ^S^
Toothache caused by a worm . . . 149
Tooth-picker 86
Top, to take time by the 47
Town clerk 230
Trace 135
Transposition of words,
54,81,104,112,148,207
" of adverbs ... 73, 210
<< for emphasis . . 166, 217
Treatise 42
Trim 228
Troth's 176
Trow 184
Tuition of God, ending an epistle . 38
Turn the girdle 253
Turn Turk 184
Tyrant, an unusual use 24
Ulrici, on the Play 373
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420
INDEX
PACK
Unconfinned i68
Underborne 178
y^nAitT^^ subject 270
Universal Passion, The 403
Up and down » ^jror/^ 71
Up, intensive 201
Upon this SB in consequence of this
127, 233, 260
Ursula, pronunciation of 132
Vst^interest 88
Use, obscurity of construction ... 75
Usurer's chain 77
Uttered, death be 275
Vane or vain 169
Variation of copies of same edition . 70
Variety of fashions xo6
Verbal nouns 103
Verges, meaning of 2
Vex 100
Vice— j^«» 268
Victual, in the singular 13
Villainy 168
Vincentius Ladiszlans 339
Virgin Knight 275
Wagge 238
Wake your patience 249
VftXk^vfithdraw 127
Warm, to keep himself 14
Wash his face 153
Watchings 98
Watchmen, their duties 163
Wedmore, on Actors 390
Wetz, on the Play 383
Which, irregular use of 205
PACK
Which — w^MPf 265
Whisper her ear 133
Who, neglected in/lection ... 29, 259
Who. .S^^ and who 55
Who will, slurred in pronuncia-
tion 9
Wide 197
Wm<»f</shaU 2x4
WaX^resohfed 17,18
Will-iW^M^ 99
Will, the element of heresy .... 31
Willow 76
Wilson, Jack X09
Windy side of care 91
Win me and wear me 246
Wise gentleman 255
Wit, in modem sense .... 14, 255
Wxi= understanding 47> 257
W\i=^wisdom 126
With-Ay 63»i4'>25i
WxihoMi^unless 166
Wits, the five 14
Woodbine 133
Woodcock sjtOT//f/0fi 255
Woollen, in the 60
Word, at a 71
World, go to the 92
World to see 190
Wonn, the cause of toothache . . . 149
\iQKi\^^ should 122
Wring, intransitive 242
^itQ/agtA^* slandered 81
Yea and yes 25
You excepted 20
Yours were, a case of attreution . . 21
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