ShaKespeare, Willian
Much ado about nothing
:■
Ct ' £f < t^f**^
EACH NUMBER SOLD SEPARATELY
AT THE RATE OF Ji 0,30.
THE PLAYS
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
IN
37 PARTS.
No. 3.
tfUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
LEIPZIG
B E R X HARD T A U C II N I T Z
1868.
' QQQP
|
I
k
3*j^&wu
MUCH ADO
ABOUT NOTHING
BY
WILLIAM SHAKESPEAKE.
From the Text of the Rev. Alexander Dyce's
Second Edition.
LEIPZIG
BERN HARD TAUCHNITZ
1868.
%
I*
I 9^-9932,
Rd)2
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
DRAMATIS PERSONiE.
Don Pedro, prince of Arragon. Friar Francis.
Don John, his bastard brother. Dogberry, )
Claudio, a young lord of Flor- Verges, } tw0 officers-
ence. ^ Sexton.
Benedick, a young gentleman . j,
of Padua. ^*
Leonato , governor of Messina.
Antonio, his brother. Hero, daughter to Leonato.
Balthazar, attendant on Don Beatrice, niece to Leonato,
Pedro. Margaret, ) gentlewomen at-
Borachio, \ followers of Don Ursula, ( tending on Hero.
Conrade, J John.
Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.
Scene — Messina.
ACT I.
Scene I. Before the house of Leonato.
Enter Leonato , Hero , and Beatrice , with a Messenger.
Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon
conies this night to Messina.
Mess. He is very near by this : he was not three leagues
off when I left him
Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?
Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name.
Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings
home full numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed
much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio.
1
2 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT I.
Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered
by Don Pedro. He hath borne himself beyond the promise
of his age; doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion:
he hath, indeed, better bettered expectation than you must
expect of me to tell you how.
Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much
glad of it.
Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and there ap-
pears much joy in him; even so much, that joy could not show
itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness.
Leon. Did he break out into tears ?
Mess. In great measure.
Leon. A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces
truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it
to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!
Beat. 1 pray you, is Signior Montanto returned from the
wars or no ?
Mess. I know none of that name, lady: there was none
such in the army of any sort.
Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece?
Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.
}fcss. 0, he's returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.
Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and challenged
Cupid at the flight; and my uncle's fool, reading the chal-
lenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-
bolt. — I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these
wars? But how many hath he killed? for, indeed, I promised
to eat all of his killing.
Jjeon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much;
but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not.
Mess. Tie hath done good service, lady, in these wars.
Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat
it: he's a very valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent
stomach.
Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.
Heat. And a good soldier to a lady: — but what is he to
a lord?
BCENEI.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 3
Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man 5 stuffed with all
honourable virtues.
Beat. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man:
but for the stuffing , — well , we are all mortal.
Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a
kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her: they
never meet but there's a skirmish of wit between them.
Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that! In our last con-
flict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole
man governed with one : so that if he have wit enough to keep
himself warm , let him bear it for a difference between himself
and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be
known a reasonable creature. — Who is his companion now?
He hath every month a new sworn brother.
Mess. Is't possible ?
Beat. Very easily possible : he wears his faith but as the
fashion of his hat ; it ever changes with the next block.
Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.
Beat. No; an he were, I would burn my study. But, I
pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer
now that will make a voyage with him to the devil?
Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble
Claudio.
Beat. 0 Lord , he will hang upon him like a disease : he
is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs
presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if he have
caught the Benedick , it will cost him a thousand pound ere
he be cured.
Mess. I will hold friends with you , lady.
Jieat. Do, good friend.
fseon. You will never run mad, niece.
Beat. No, not till a hot January.
Mess. Don Pedro is approached.
Enter Don Pedro , Don John , Claudio , Benedick , and
BlLTHAZlB.
D. Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet
V
4 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT I.
your trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and
you encounter it.
Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of
your grace : for trouble being gone , comfort should remain ;
but when you depart from me , sorrow abides , and happiness
takes his leave.
D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. — I
think this is your daughter.
Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so.
Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?
Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.
D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by
this what you are, being a man. — Truly, the lady fathers
herself. — Be happy, lady; for you are like an honourable
father.
Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not
have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him
as she is.
Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior
Benedick: nobody marks you.
Bene. What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
Beat. Is it possible disdain should die while she hath
such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy
itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.
Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat. — But it is certain 1
am loved of all ladies, only you excepted : and I would 1 could
find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, 1 love
none.
Beat. A dear happiness to women: lliey would else have
been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my
cold blood, I am of your humour for that : 1 had rather hear
my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he love.- me.
Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some
gentleman or other shall scape a predestinate scratched face.
Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such
a face as yours were.
Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot -teacher
SCENE I.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue,
and so good a continuer. But keep your way, o' God's name ;
I have done.
Beat. You always end with a jade's trick: I know ycu
of old.
B. Pedro. This is the sum of all: Leonato, — Signior
Claudio and Signior Benedick, — my dear friend Leonato
hath invited you all. I tell him we shall stay here at the
least a month; and he heartily prays some occasion may de-
tain us longer: I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays
from his heart.
Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn.
— Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the
prince your brother, I owe you all duty.
D. John. I thank you : I am not of many words , but I
thank you.
Leon. Please it your grace lead on?
D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.
[Exeunt all except Benedick and Claudio.
Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior
Claud.
Leonato ?
Bene.
Claud.
Bene.
I noted her not; but I looked on her.
Is she not a modest young lady?
Do you question me, as an honest man should do,1
for my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak ,
after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex? jl
Claud. No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment.
Bene. Why, i'faith, methinks she's too low for a high
praise, too brown for a fair praise . and too little for a great
praise : only this commendation I can afford her, — that were
ene other than she is, she were unhandsome; and being no
other but as she is, 1 do not like her.
Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me
truly how thou likest her.
Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after her?
Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel?
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTUING.
Tact i.
Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this
with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack , to tell us
Cupid is a good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter?
Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go in the song?
Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I
looked on.
Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no such
matter: there's 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. But I hope you have no intent to turn
husband, have you?
Claud. I woidd scarce trust myself, though 1 had sworn
the contrary, if Hero would be my wife.
Bene, ls't come to this, in faith? Hath not the world
one man but he will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I
never see a bachelor of threescore again? Go to, i'faith; an
thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke , wear the print
of it, and sigh away Sundays. Look; Don Pedro is returned
to seek you.
Re-enter Don Pkdho.
D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you fol-
lowed not to Leonato's?
Bene. I would your grace would constrain me to tell.
D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance.
Bene. You hear, Count Claudio: 1 can be secret as a
dumb man, I would have you think so; but on my allegiance,
— mark you this, on my allegiance. — He is in love With
who? — now that is your grace's part. — Mark how short his
answer is; — With Hero, Leonato's short daughter.
Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered.
Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: "it is not so, nor 'twas
not so; but indeed, God forbid it should be so."
Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it
should be otherwise.
I). Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very
well worthy.
\
SCENE I.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. I 7
U
Claud. You speak this to fetch me in , my lord.
D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought.
Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.
Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, 1
spoke mine.
Claud. That I love her, I feel.
D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know.
Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved , nor
know how she should be worthy, is the opinion that fire can-
not melt out of me : I will die in it at the stake.
D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the
despite of beauty.
Claud. And never could maintain his part but in the force
of his will.
Bene. That a woman conceived me , I thank her ; that she
brought me up , I likewise give her most humble thanks : but
that I will have a recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my
bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me.
Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, I will
do myself the right to trust none; and the fine J^. (for the
which I may go the iuier), I will live a bachelor. ^
D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.
Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my
lord; not with love: prove that ever I lose more blood with
love than I will get again with drinking , pick out mine eyes
with a ballad-maker's pen , and hang me up at the door of a
brothel-house for the sign of blind Cupid.
D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith,
thou wilt prove a notable argument.
Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot
at me; and he that bits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder,
and called Adam.
D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try:
"In time the savage bull floth bejurtheyoke."
Bene. The savage bull may; but a <:ver the sensible
Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and .set them in
my forehead: and let me be vilely painted; and in such great
y
A— Tir
8 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [AC* I.
letters as they write, "Here is good horse to hire," let them
signify under my sign, "Here you may see Benedick the
married man."
Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be
horn-mad.
D. Pedro. Nay , if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in
Venice , thou wilt quake for this shortly.
Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then.
D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In
the mean time, good Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's:
commend me to him, and tell him 1 Avill not fail him at sup-
per; for indeed he hath made great preparation.
Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an
embassage; and so I commit you, —
Claud. To the tuition of God: From my house (if I
had it), —
D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend, Benedick.
Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your dis-
course is sometime guarded with fragments, and the guards
arc but slightly basted on neither: ere you flout old ends any
further, examine your conscience: and so I leave you. [Exit
Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me good.
D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord?
D. Pedro. No child but Hero; she's his only heir
Dost thou affect her, ClaudioV
Claud. 0, my lord ,
When you went onward on this ended action ,
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye ,
That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive, liking to the name of love:
But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts
Have lrli their places vacant , in their rooms
Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
SCENE n.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 9
All prompting me how fair young Hero is ,
Saying , I lik'bl her ere I went to wars.
D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently,
And tire the hearer with a book of words.
If thou dost love fair Hero , cherish it ;
And I will break with her and with her father ,
And thou shalt have her. Was't not to this end
That thou begann'st to twist so fine a story?
Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love ,
That know love's grief by his complexion!
But lest my liking might too sudden seem ,
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise.
D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than the
floods
The fairest grant is the necessity.
Look, what will serve is fit: 'tis once, thou lovest;
And I will fit thee with the remedy.
I know we shall have revelling to-night :
I will assume thy part in some disguise ,
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ;
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart ,
And take her hearing prisoner with the force
And strong encounter of my amorous tale :
Then after to her father will I break ;
And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.
In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt.
Scene II. A room in Leonatg's house.
Enter, severally, Leonato and Antonio.
Leon. How now, brother! Where is my cousin, your
son? hath he provided this music?
Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell
you strange news , that you yet dreamt not of.
Leon. Are they good ?
Ant. As the event stamps them: hut they have a good
cover- they show well outward. The prince and Count Claudio,
10 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT I.
walking in a thick-pleached alley in my orchard , were thus
much overheard by a man of mine : the prince discovered to
Claudio that he loved my niece your daughter, and meant to
acknowledge it this night in a dance; and if he found her ac-
cordant, he meant to. take the present time by the top, and
instantly break with you of it.
Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?
Ani. A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and question
hiin yourself.
Leon. No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear
itself: but I will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may
be the better prepared for an answer , if peradventure this be
true. Go you and tell her of it. — [Exit Antonio. — Several
persons cross the stage.] Cousin, you know what you have to
do. — 0, I cry you mercy, friend; go you with me, and I will
use your skill. — Good cousin, have a care this busy time.
{Exit.
Scene III. Another room in Leonato's house.
Enter Don Joun and Conrade.
Con. What the good-year, my lord! why are you thus
out of measure sad ?
D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds
it; therefore the sadness is without limit.
Con. You should hear reason.
D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing
bringeth it?
Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufferance.
]). John. I wonder that thou, being (as thou say est thou
art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply amoral medi-
cine to a mortifying mischief. 1 cannot hide what I am: I
must be sad when I have cause, and smile at no man's jests;
eat when 1 have stomach, and wait for no man's leisure;
sleep when I am drowsy, and tend on no man's business;
laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his humour.
Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show of this
till you may do it without eontrolment You have of late
SCENE m.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ,11
stood out against your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly
into his grace 5 where it is impossible you should take true
root but by the fair weather that you make yourself: it is
needful that you frame the season for your own harvest.
D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose
in his grace ; and it better fits my blood to be disdained of
all than to fashion a carriage to rob love from any: in this,
though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must
not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted
with a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have
decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth, I would
bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking: in the mean
time let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me.
Con. Can you make no use of your discontent?
D. John. 1 make all use of it , for I use it only. — Who
comes here?
Enter Borachio.
What news, Borachio?
Bora. I came yonder from a great supper: the prince
your brother is royally entertained by Leonato; and I can
give you intelligence of an intended marriage.
I). John. Will it serve for any model to build mischief
on? What is he for a foolthat betrp,ths himself to unquiet-
ness?
Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand.
D. John. Who, the most exquisite Claudio?
Bora. Even he.
D.John, A proper squire! And who, and who? which
way looks he?
flora. Marry, on Hero , the daughter and heir of Leonato.
J). John. A very forward March- chick ! How came you
to this?
Jjora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smok-
ing a musty room , comes me the prince and Claudio, hand in
hand, in sad conference: J wlu'pt me behind the arras; and
there heard it agreed upon, that the prince should woo Hero
12 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT n.
for himself, and having obtained her, give her to Count
Claudio.
D. John. Come, come, let us thither: this may prove food
to my displeasure. That young start-up hath all the glory
of my overthrow : if I can cross him any way, I bless myself
every way. You are both sure, and will assist me?
Con. To the death, my lord.
D. John. Let us to the great supper: their cheer is the
greater that I am subdued. Would the cook were of my
mind! — Shall we go prove what's to be done?
Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt.
ACT II.
Scene I. A hall in Leonato's house.
Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others.
Leon. Was not Count John here at supper?
Ant. I saw him not.
Beat. IIow tartly that. gentleman looks! I never can see
him but I am heart-burned an hour after.
Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.
Beat. He were an excellent man that were made just in
the midway between him and Benedick: the one is too like
an image, and says nothing; and the other too like my lady's
eldest son, evermore tattling.
Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue in Count
John's mouth, and half Count John's melancholy in Signior
Benedick's face, —
Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money
enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the
world, — if he could get her good-will.
Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a hus-
band, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.
Ant. Ju faith, she's too curst.
Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God's
sending that way; for it is said, "God sends a curst cow
short horns:" but to a cow too curst he sends none.
SCENE I.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
13
Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.
Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the which
blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and
evening. Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard
on his face: I had rather lie in the woollen.
Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no beard.
Beat. What should I do with him? dress him in my ap-
parel, and make him my waiting-gentlewoman? He that
hath a beard is more than a youth; and he that hath no beard
is less than a man: and he that is more than a youth is not
for me ; and he that is less than a man , I am not for him :
therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-
ward, and lead his apes into hell.
Leon. Well, then, go you into hell?
Beat. No; but to the gate: and there will the devil meet
me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say,
"Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven; here's no
place for you maids:" so deliver I up my apes, and away to
Saint Peter: for the heavens, he shows me where the bache-
lors sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long.
Ant. Well, niece [to Hero], I trust you will be ruled by
your father.
Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make cour-
tesy, and say, "Father, as it please you:" — but yet for all
that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make an-
other courtesy, and say, "Father, as it please me."
Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with
a husband.
Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than
earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered
with a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life
to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's
sons are my brethren ; and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in
my kindred.
Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince
do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer.
Beat. The fault will be in Hie music, cousin, if you be
14 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT IL
not wooed in good time: if the prince be too important, tell
him there is measure in every thing, and so dance out the
answer. For, hear me, Hero: — wooing, wedding, and re-
penting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace:
the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as
fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, full
of state and ancientry ; and then comes repentance, and, with
his bad legs , falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster , till
he sink into his grave.
Leon. Cousin , you apprehend passing shrewdly.
Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a chmch by
. daylight.
Leon. The revellers are entering, brother: make good
room.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar, Don John,
Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others, masked.
, D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your friend?
Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say
nothing, I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk
away.
D. Pedro. With me in your company?
Hero. 1 may say so, when I please.
D. Pedro. And when please you to say so?
Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend the lute
should be like the case!
D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house
is Jove.
Hero. Why, then , your visor should be thatch'd.
J). Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love.
| Takes her aside.
Balth. Well, I would you did like me.
Marg. So would not I, for your own sake; for I have
many ill qualities.
Balth. Which is one ?
Marg. 1 say my prayers aloud.
Balth. I love you the better : the hearers may cry, Amen.
SCENE I.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 15
Marg. God match me with a good dancer!
Balth. Amen.
Marg. And God keep him out of my sight when the
dance is done! — Answer, clerk.
Balth. No more words : the clerk is answered.
Urs. I know you well enough ; you are Signior Antonio.
Ant. At a word , I am not.
Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head.
Ant. To tell you true , I counterfeit him.
Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were
the very man. Here's his dry hand up and down: you are
he, you are he.
Ant. At a word , I am not.
Urs. Come , come , do you think I do not know you by
your excellent wit? can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, you
are he : graces will appear , and there's an end.
Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so ?
Bene. No , you shall pardon me.
Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are ?
Bene. Not now.
Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit
out of the Hundred Merry Tales: — well, this was Signior
Benedick that said so.
Bene. What's he?
Beat. I am sure you know him well enough.
Bene. Not I, believe me.
Beat. Did he never make you laugh?
Bene. I pray you , what is he ?
Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester: a very dull fool;
only his gift is in devising impossible slanders: none but
libertines delight in him; and the commendation is not in
his wit, but in his villany; for lie both pleases men and angers
them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure
he is in the fleet: I would he had boarded me.
Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what
you say.
Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or two on me;
16 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [act n.
which, peradventure , not marked, or not laughed at, strikes
him into melancholy ; and then there's a partridge' wing saved,
for the fool will eat no supper that night. [Music within.] We
must follow the leaders.
Bene. In every good thing.
Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill , I will leave them at the
next turning.
[Dance. Then exeunt all except Don John, Borachio,
and Claudio.
D. John. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath
withdrawn her father to break with him about it. The ladies
follow her, and but one visor remains.
Bora. And that is Claudio : I know him by his bearing.
D. John. Are not you Signior Benedick?
Claud. You know me well ; I am he.
D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his
love: he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from
her, she is no equal for his birth: you may do the part of an
honest man in it.
Claud. How know you he loves her?
D. John. I heard him swear his affection.
Bora. So did I too; and he swore he would marry her to-
night.
D. John. Come , let us to the banquet.
[Exeunt Don John and Borachio.
Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick,
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.
'Tis certain so ; — the prince wooes for himself.
Friendship is constant in all other things
Save in the office and affairs of love :
Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;
Let every eye negotiate for itself,
And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith nieltcth into blood.
This is an accident of hourly proof,
Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!
SCENE I. ]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Re-enter Benedick.
17
Bene. Count Claudio?
Claud. Yea, the same.
Bene. Come, will you go with me?
Claud. Whither?
Bene. Even to the next willow , about your own business,
count. What fashion will you wear the garland of? about
your neck, like an usurer's chain? or under your arm, like a
lieutenant's scarf? You must wear it one way, for the prince
hath got your Hero.
Claud. I wish him joy of her.
Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover: so they
sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would have served
you thus ?
Claud. I pray you, leave me.
Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man : 'twas the
boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.
Claud. If it will not be , I'll leave you. [Exit.
Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into sedges.
— But, that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know
me! The prince's fool! — Ha! it may be I go under that
title because I am merry. — Yea, but so I am apt to do my-
self wrong; I am not so reputed: it is the base, though bitter,
disposition of Beatrice that puts the world into her person,
and so gives me out. Well, I'll be revenged as I may.
Re-enter Don Pedro.
D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count? did you see
liirn?
Bene Troth, my lord, 1 have played the part of Lady
Funic. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a war-
ren: I told him, and I think I told him true, that your grace
hud got the good-will of this young lady, and I offered him
my company to a willow-tree, either to make him a garland,
as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy
to be whipped.
U. Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault?
2
\/
\
18 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT II.
Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, being
overjoyed with finding a bird's-nest, shows it his companion,
and he steals it.
D.Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The
transgression is in the stealer.
Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made,
and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn him-
self, and the rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as I
take it, have stolen his bird's-nest.
D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing , and restore them
to the owner.
Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith,
you say honestly.
D. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the
gentleman that danced with her told her she is much wronged
by you.
Bene. 0 , she misused me past the endurance of a block !
an oak but with one green leaf on it would have answered
her; my very visor began to assume life and scold with her.
She told me, — not thinking I had been myself, — that I was
the prince's jester, and that I was duller than a great thaw;
huddling jest upon jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon
me, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army
shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs:
if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were
no living near her: she would infect to the north star. I would
not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam
had left him before he transgressed: she would have made
Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to
make the fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall find her
the infernal Ate. in good apparel. I would io God some
scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while she is here, a
man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin
upon purpose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all
disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her.
J). Pedro, Look, here she comes.
SCENE I.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
19
Re-enter Claudio , Beatkice , Hero , and Leonato.
Bene. Will your grace command me any service to the
world's end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the
Antipodes that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you
a tooth/picker now from the furthest inch of Asia; bring you
the length of Prester John's foot; fetch you a hair off the great
Cham's beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies; —
rather than hold three words' conference with this harpy. You
have no employment for me?
D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.
Bene. 0 God, sir, here's a dish I love not : I cannot endure
mxLady Tongue. [Exit.
D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of
Signior Benedick.
Beat. Indeed , my lord , he lent it me awhile ; and I gave
him use for it, — a double heart for his single one: marry,
once before he won it of me with false dice , therefore your
grace may well say I have lost it.
D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you have put
him down.
Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I
should prove the mother of fools. — I have brought Count
Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.
D. Pedro. Why, how now, count! wherefore are you sad?
Claud. Not sad , my lord.
D.Pedro. How then? sick?
Claud. Neither, my lord.
Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor
well; but civil, count, — civil as an orange, and something of
that jealous connexion.
J). Pedro. 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 , 1 have wooed in thy name , and fair Hero is won : I
have broke with her father, and, his good- will obtained, name
the day of marriage, and God give thee joy!
Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my
2*
20 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT n.
fortunes : Ids grace hath made the match , and all grace Bay
Amen to it!
Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue.
Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I were but
little happy, if I could say "how much. — Lady, as you are mine,
I am yours : I give away myself for you , and dote upon the
exchange.
Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth
with a kiss, and let not him speak neither.
1). Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
Beat. Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the
wiiuly side of care. — My cousin tells him in his ear that he
is in her heart.
Claud. And so she doth, cousin.
Beat. Good Lord, for alliance! — Thus goes every one to
the world Jmt I, and I am sun-burned; 1 may sit in a corner,
and cry Heigh-ho for a husband!
D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will g£t you one.
Beat. 1 would rather have one of your father's getting.
Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got
excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.
J). Pedro. Will you have me, lady?
Beat. No, my lord, unless 1 might have another for work-
ing-days: your grace is too costly to wear every day. But,
1 beseech your grace, pardon me: 1 was born to speak all
mirth and no matter.
D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry
best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a
merry hour.
Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there
was a star danced, and under that was I born. — Cousins, God
give you joy!
Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?
Beat. 1 cry you mercy, uncle. — By your grace's pardon.
[Exit.
I). Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.
Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her, my
• -
SCENE I.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. / 21
lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not eve^sad--^"^'
then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often
dreamed of unhappiness , and waked herself with laughing.
D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husbard.
Leon. 0, by no means : she mocks all her wooers out of suit.
D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick.
Leon. 0 Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married,
they would talk themselves mad!
D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to
church ?
Claud. To-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches till
love have all his rites.
Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a
just seven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have all things
answer my mind.
D. Pedro. Come , you shake the head at solong a breath-
ing: but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully
by us. I will, in the interim, undertake one ofHercules'
labours; which is, to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady
Beatrice into a mountain of affection the one with the other.
I would fain have it a match ; and I doubt not but to fashion
it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall
give you direction.
Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights'
watchings.
Claud. And I , my lord.
D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero?
Hero. I will do any modest office , my lord , to help my
cousin to a good husband.
D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband
that I know. Thus far can I praise him; he is of a noble
strain, of approved valour, and confirmed honesty. I will
teach you how to humour your cousin , that she shall fall in
love with Benedick ; — and I , with your two helps , will so
practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and his
quejffiv stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can
oothTs, Cupid is no longer an archer: his glory shall be ours,
22 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT IL
for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me , and I will tell
you my drift. [Exeunt
Scene II. Another room in Leonato's house.
Enter Don John and Boracuio.
D. John. It is so; the Count Claudio shall many the
daughter of Leonato.
Bora. Yea , my lord ; but I can cross it.
D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be
medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure lo^him; and
whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges evenly with
mine. How canst thou cross this marriage?
Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dis-
honesty shall appear in me.
D. John. Show me briefly how.
Bora. I think 1 told your lordship, a year since, how
much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting- gentle-
woman to Hero.
D. John. I remember.
Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night,
appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber-window.
D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of this
marriage?
Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you
to the prince your brother; spare not to tell him that he hath
wronged his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio (whose
estimation do you mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale,
such a one as Hero.
D. John. What proof shall I make of that?
Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio,
to undo Hero, and kill Leonato. Look you for any other
issue?
D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour any
tiling.
Bora. Go, then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro
and the Count Claudio alone: tell them that you know that
Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal both to the prince and
SCENE n& Hi.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
23
Claudio, as, — in love of your brother's honour, who hath
made this match, and his friend's reputation, who is thus like
to be cozened with the semblance of a maid, — that you have
discovered thus. They will scarcely believe this without
trial: offer them instances; which shall bear no less likeli-
hood than to see me at her chamber-window; hear me call
Margaret, Hero ; hear Margaret term me Claudio ; and bring
them to see this the very night before the intended wedding,
— for in the mean time I will so fashion the matter that Hero
shall be absent, and there shall appear such seeming truth of *
her disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance, and
all the preparation overthrown.
D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can , I will
put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy
fee is a thousand ducats.
Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning
shall not shame me.
D. John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. Leonato's garden.
Enter Benedick and a Boy.
Bene. Boy, —
Boy. Signior ?
Bene. In my chamber- window lies a book : bring it hither
to me in the orchard.
Boy. I am here already, sir.
Bene. I know that; but 1 would have thee hence, and
here again. [Exit Boy.] — I do much wonder that one man,
seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his
behaviours to love, will, after lie hath laughed at such shallow
follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by
lulling in Jove: and such a man is Claudio. I have known
when there was no music with him but the drum and the fife;
and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe: I have
known when he would have walked ten mile a-foot to see a
good armour; ami now will he lie ten nights awake, carving
- . * *
24 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACTU.
the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain
and to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and
now he is turned orthographer; his words are a very fan-
tastical banquet, — just so many strange dishes. May 1 be so
converted, and see with these eyes? I cannot tell; 1 think
not: 1 will not be sworn but love may transform me to an
oyster; but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an
oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One woman
is fair, — yet I am well; another is wise, — yet I am well;
another virtuous, — yet I am well: but till all graces be in
one woman , one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich
she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll
never cheapen her; fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or
come not near me; noble, or not 1 for an angel; of good dis-
course, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what
colour it please God. — Ha, the prince and Monsieur Love!
1 will hide me in the arbour. [Withdraws into the arbour.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato, followed by
Baltuazar and Musicians.
D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music?
Claud. Yea, my good lord. — How still the evening is,
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony !
D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
Claud. 0, very well, my lord: the music ended,
We'll fit the hid fox with a pennyworth.
J). Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song again
Baltli. 0, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
To slander music any more than once.
D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency
To put a strange face on his own perfection: —
1 pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.
BcUth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
To her lie thinks not worthy; yet he wooes,
Yet will he swear he loves.
J J. Pedro. ^;iy, pray thee, come;
scene m.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 25
Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.
Balih. Note this before my notes , —
There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
D. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks;
Note notes , forsooth , and nothing ! [Music.
Bene, [aside] Now , " Divine air ! " now is his soul ravished !
— Is it not strange that sheeps' guts should hale souls out of
men's bodies? — Well, a horn for my money, when all's done.
Balthazar sings.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea, and one on shore;
To one thing constant never:
Then sigh not so ,
But lei them go ,
And be you blithe and bonny;
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny , nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
rThen sigh not so , Sec.
D. Pedro. By my troth , a good song.
Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.
D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough
for a shift.
Bene, [aside] An he had been a dog that should have
howled thus, they would have hanged him: and I pray God
hifl bad voice bode no mischief! I had as lief have heard the
night-raven, come what plague could have come after it.
Jj. Pedro. Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthazar? I
pray thee, get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night
we would have it at the Lady Hero's chamber-window.
.!■■.,■» ■ i mm
'26 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT n.
Balth. The best I can, my lord.
D. Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar and Mu-
sicians.] — Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me
of to-day, — that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior
Benedick?
Claud. 0, ay: — stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits [aside
to Pedro]. — I did never think that lady would have loved
any man.
Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she
should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all
outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor.
Bene, [aside] ls't possible? Sits the wind in that corner?
Leon. By my troth , my lord , I cannot tell what to think
of it: but that she loves him with an enraged affection, — it
is past the infinite of thought.
D. Pedro. May be she doth but counterfeit.
Claud. Faith, like enough.
Leon. 0 God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit
of passion came so near the life of passion as she discovers it.
J). Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she?
Claud, [aside] Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.
Leon. AVhat effects, my lord! She will sity_ou, — you
heard my daughter tell you how.
Claud. She did, indeed.
D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I
would have thought her spirit had been invincible against all
assaults of affection.
Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially
against Benedick.
Bene, [aside] I should think this a gull, but that the white-
bearded fellow speaks it: knaverj_cannot, sure, hide himself
in such reverence.
Claud, [aside] He hath ta'en the infection: hold it up.
D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Bene-
Lick?
Leon. No; and swears she never will: that's her torment.
Claud. 'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: "Shall
SCENE HI.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 27
I," says she, "that have so oft encountered him with scorn,
write to him that I love him?"
Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write
to him; for she'll be up twenty times a night; and there will
she sit in her smock till she have writ a sheet of paper: — my
daughter tells us all.
Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a
pretty jest your daughter told us of.
Leon. 0, — when she had writ it, and was reading it
over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet? —
Claud. That.
Leon. 0 , she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence ;
railed at herself, that she should be so immodest to write to
one that she knew would flout her: "I measure him," says
she, "by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to
me; yea, though I love him, I should."
Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs,
beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; — "0 sweet
Benedick! God give me patience!"
Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the
ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is
sometime afeard she will do a desperate outrage to herself:
it is very true.
D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some
other, if she will not discover it.
Claud. To what end? He would but make a sport of it,
and torment the poor lady worse.
JJ. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang him.
She's an excellent-sweet lady; and. out of all suspicion, she
is virtuous.
Claud. And she is exceeding wise.
D. Pedro. In every thing but in loving Benedick.
Leon. 0, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so
tender a body, we have ten proofs to one that blood hath the
victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her
uncle and her guardian.
D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me:
28 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. I>CT II.
I would have daf£ed all other respects, and made her half my-
self. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say.
Leon. Were it good, think you?
Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die ; for she says she
will die, if he love her not; and she will die, ere she make
her love known; and she will die, if he woo her, rather than
she will bate one breath of her accustomed crossness.
1). Pedro. She doth well: if she should make tender of
her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the man, as you
know all, hath a contemptible spirit.
Claud. He is a very proper man.
D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward happiness.
Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.
D. Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks that are
like wit.
Leon. And I take him to be valiant.
D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing
of quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he avoids
them with great discretion, or undertakes them with a most
Christian-like fear.
Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep the
peace: if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel
with fear and trembling.
D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fear God,
howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests he will
make. Well , I am sorry for your niece. Shall we go seek
Benedick, and tell him of her love?
Claud. Never tell him , my lord : let her wear it out with
good counsel.
Leon. Nay, that's impossible: she may wear her heart
out first.
D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daugh-
ter: let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I could
wish he would modestly examine himself, to see how much he
is unworthy so good a lady.
Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.
SCENE m.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 29
Claud, [aside] If he do not dote on her upon this , 1 will
never trust my expectation.
D. Pedro, [aside] Let there be the same net spread for her;
and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry.
The sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of another's
dotage, and no such matter: that's the scene that I would see,
which will be merely a dumb-show. Let us send her to call
him in to dinner. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.
Benedick advances from the arbour.
Bene. This can be no trick: the conference was sadly
borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem
to pity the lady: it seems her affections have their full bent.
Love me ! why, it must be requited. I hear how I am cen-
sured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the
love come from her; they say too that she will rather die than
give any sign of affection. — I did never think to marry: — I
must not seem proud: — happy are they., that. hear jtheir de-
tractions, and can put them to mending. They say the lady
is fair, — 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous,
— 'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me, —
by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argu-
ment of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I
may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit
broken on me, because I have railed so long against mar-
riage: but doth not the appetite alter? a man loves the meat
in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips
and sentences, and these paper-bullets of the brain, awe a
man from the career of his humour? no, the world musi K-
peopled. When 1 said I would die a bachelor, 1 did not think
1 should live till I were married. — Here comes Beatrice. By
this day, she's a fair lady : I do spy some marks of love in her.
Enter Beatrice.
Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to
dinner.
Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.
Beat. I took no mOI6 pains fGrthO0€ thanks than you lake
30 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT in.
pains to thank me : if it had been painful , I would not have
come.
Bene. You take pleasure, then, in the message?
Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's
point, and choke a daw withal. — You have no stomach,
signior : fare you well. [Exit.
Bene. Ha! "Against my will I am sent to bid you come
in to dinner," — there's a double meaning in that. "I took
no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank
me," — that's as much as to say, Any pains that I take for
you is as easy as thanks. — If I do not take pity of her, I am
a villain ; if I do not love her , I am a Jew. I will go get her
picture. [Exit.
ACT III.
Scene I. Leonato's garden.
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour;
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice
Proposing with the prince and Claudio :
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our wEole discourse
Is all of her; say that thou overheard'st us;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun ,
Forbid the sun to enter; — like to favourites,
Made proud byjprinces, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it: — there will she hide her,
To listen our propose. This is thy office :
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.
Mary. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. [Exit.
Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,
As we do trace this alley up and down,
Our talk must only be of Benedick.
When I do name him , let it be thy part
To praise him more than ever man did merit;
SCENE I.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 31
My talk to thee must be, how Benedick
Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made.
That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin;
Enter Beatrice , behind.
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.
Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait :
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now
Is couched in the woodbine coverture.
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing
Of the false-sweet bait that we lay for it. —
[They advance to the bower.
No, truly, Ursula, she's too disdainful;
I know her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock.
Urs. But are you sure
That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?
Hero. So says the prince and my new-trothed lord.
Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?
Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it;
But I persuaded them , if they lov'd Benedick ,
To wish him wrestle with affection,
And never to let Beatrice know of it.
Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?
Hero. 0 god of love ! I know he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man:
But Nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice ;
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on; and her wit
32 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT IIr-
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak: she cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection ,
She is so self-endear'd.
Urs. Sure , 1 think so ;
And therefore certainly it were not good
She knew his love , lest she make sport^at it.
Hero. Why, you speak truth. 1 never yet saw man
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely-featur'd ,
But she would spell him backward: if fair-fae'd,
She'd swear the gentleman should be her sister;
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antic,
Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;
If low, an agate very vilely cut;
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;
If silent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out;
And never gives to truth and virtue that
Which simpleness and merit purchascth.
Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
Hero. No, nor to be so odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak ,
She'd mock me into air; 0, she would laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit !
Therefore let Benedick , like cover'd fire ,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:
It were a better death than die with mocks,
Which' is as bad as die with tickling.
Urs. Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.
Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to light against his passion.
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders
To stain my cousin with : one doth not know
How much an ill word may empoison liking.
Urs. 0, do not do your cousin such a wrong 1
She cannot be so much without true judgment
SCENE n.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 33
(Having so swift and excellent a wit
As she is priz'd to have) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.
Hero. He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.
Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam,
Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.
Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.
Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. —
When are you married, madam?
Hero. Why, every day to-morrow. Come , go in :
I'll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. < I
Urs. [aside] She's lim'd, I warrant you: we've caught her,
madam.
Hero, [aside] If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:
Some Cupid kills with arrows , some with traps.
[Exeunt Hero and Ursula.
Beatrice advances.
Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?
Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!
No glory lives behind the back of such.
And , Benedick , love on ; I will requite thee ,
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand :
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
To bind our loves up in a holy band;
For others say, thou dost deserve , and I
Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit.
Scene II. A room in Leonato's house.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato.
1). Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate,
and then go I toward Arragon.
34 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [.ACT in.
Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouch-
safe me.
D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new
gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat, and
forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for
his company; for, from the crown of his head to ihe sole of
his foot, he is all mirth: he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's
bow-string, and the Little hangman dare not shoot at him; he
hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper,
— ■ for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks.
Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.
Leon. So say I : methinks you are sadder.
Claud. I hope he be in love.
D. Pedro. Hang him, truant! there's no true drop of
blood in him, to be truly touched with love : if he be sad , he
wants money.
Bene. I have the toothache.
D. Pedro. Draw it
Bene. Hang it!
Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.
D. Pedro. What! sigh for the toothache?
Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm ?
Bene. Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.
Claud. Yet say I he is in love.
J). Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless
it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as, to be a
Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman to-morrow; or in the shape of
two countries at once, as, a German from tin1 waist downward,
all slops, and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet.
OiiTess he have a ^hcyjto this foolery, as it appears he hath,
lie is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is.
Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no
believing old signs. He brushes his hat o' mornings: what
should that bode?
J). Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's?
Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him ;
Om
SCENE II.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 35
and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-
balls.
Leon. Indeed , he looks younger than he did , by the loss
of a beard.
D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet: can you smell
him out by that?
Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love.
D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy.
Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face ?
D. Pedro, Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear
what they say of him.
Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept
into a lute-string , and new-governed by stops.
D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him. Con-
clude , conclude he is in love.
Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.
D. Pedro. That would I know too : I warrant , one that
knows him not.
Claud. Yes , and his ill conditions ; and , in despite of all,
dies for him.
D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards.
Bene. Yet is this no charm for the toothache. — Old. Sig-
uier, walk aside with me: I have studied eight or nine wise
words to speak to you, which these hobby-horses must not
hear. [Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.
1). Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.
Claud. 'Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this
played their parts with Beatrice; and then the two bears will
not bite one another when they meet.
Enter Don John.
I). John. My lord and brother, God save you!
D. Pedro. Good den , brother.
I). John. If your leisure served, I would speak with you.
J J. Pedro. In private?
D. John. If it please you : yet Count Claudio may hear :
for what I would speak of concerns him.
3*
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT HI.
D. Pedro. What's the matter?
D. John, [to Claudio] Means your lordship to be married
to-morrow ?
D. Pedro. You know he does.
D. John. I know not that , when he knows what I know.
Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it
D. John. You may think I love you not: let that appear
hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will manifest.
For my brother, I think he holds you well; and in dcarness of
heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage, — surely suit
ill spent and labour ill bestowed.
D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter?
D. John. I came hither to tell you; and, circumstances
shortened (for she hath been too long a talking of) , the lady
is disloyal.
Claud. Who, Hero?
D. John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every
man's Hero.
Claud. Disloyal!
D. John. The word is too good to paint out her wicked-
ness; I could say she were worse: think you of a worse title,
and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till further warrant: go
but with me to-night, you shall see her chamber- window en-
tered, even the night before her wedding-day: it you love her
then, to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your honour
to change your mind.
Claud. May this be so ?
D. Pedro. I will not think it.
D. John. If you dare not trust that you see , confess not
that you know : if you will follow me , I will show you enough ;
and when you have seen more, and heard more, proceed ac-
cordingly.
Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should not marry
her to-moiTOw, in the congregation, where I should wed, there
will I shame her.
D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will
join with thee to disgrace her.
•
-
SCENE in.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 37
D. John. I will disparage her no further till you are my
witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue
show itself.
D. Pedro. 0 day untowardly turned!
Claud. 0 mischief strangely thwarting !
D. John. 0 plague right well prevented !
So will you say when you have seen the sequel. [Exeunt.
Scene III. A street.
Enter Dogberry and Verges , with the Watch.
Dog. Are you good men and true?
Very. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer
salvation, body and soul.
Dog. Nay , that were a punishment too good for them , if
they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the
prince's watch.
Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.
Dog. First , who think you the most desartless man to be
constable?
First Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for
they can write and read.
Dog. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath blessed
you with a good name : to be a well-favoured man is the gift
of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.
Sec. Watch. Both which, master constable, —
Dog. You have : I knew it would be your answer. Well,
for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks, and make no
boast of it; and for your writing and reading, let that appear
when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here
to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the .
watch ; therefore bear you the lantern. This is your charge :
— you shall comprehend all vagrom men; you are to bid any
man stand , in the prince's name.
Sec. Watch. How if 'a will not stand?
I Jog. Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; "
and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank
God you are rid of a knave.
•
38 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT m.
Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden , he is none
of the prince's subjects.
Dog. True, and they are to meddle with none but the
prince's subjects. — You shall also make no noise in the
streets; for for the watch to babble and talk is most tolerable
and not to be endured.
Sec. Watch. We will rather sleep than talk: we know
what belongs to a watch.
Dug. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quirt
watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend: only,
have a care that your bills be not stolen. — Wei/ , you are
to call at all the ale-houses , and bid those that arc drunk get
them to bed.
Sec. Watch. How if they will not?
Dog. Why, then, let them alone till they are sober: if
they make you not then the better answer, you may say they
are not the men you took them for.
Sec. Watch. Well, sir.
Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him , by vir-
tue of your office, to be no true man; and, for such kind of
men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more
is for your honesty.
Sec. Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not
lay hands on him?
Dog. Truly, by your office, you may; butJLihink they
that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable way for
you, if you do take a thief, is to let him show himself what he
is, and steal out of your company.
Verg. You have been always called a merciful man,
partner.
Dog. Truly , I would not hang a dog by my will , much
more a man who hath any honesty in him.
Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call
to the nurse and bid her still it.
Sec. Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and will not
hear us?
Dog. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake
SCENE HI.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOrHING. 39
her with crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb
when it baes will never answer a calf when he bleats.
Verg. 'Tis very true.
Dog. This is the end of the charge: — you, constable,
are to present the prince's own person: if you meet the prince
in the night, you may stay him.
Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that I think 'a cannot.
Dog. Five shillings to one on't, with any man that knows
the statues , he may stay him : marry , not without the prince
be willing; for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man;
and it is an offence to stay a man against his will.
Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so.
Dog. Ha, ah-ha! Well, masters, goodnight: an there
be any matter of weight chances, call up me: keep your
fellows' counsels and your own; and good' night. — Come,
neighbour.
First Watch. Well , masters , we hear our charge : let us
go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed.
Dog. One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you,
watch about Signior Leonato's door; for the wedding being
there to-morrow, there is a great cojj. to-night. Adieu: be
vigitant, I beseech you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.
Enter Borackio and Conrade.
Bora. What, Conrade! —
First Watch, [aside] Peace ! stir not.
Bora. Conrade, I say! —
Con. Here, man; I am at thy elbow.
Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there would
:ib follow.
Con. Iwill owe thee an answer for that : and now forward
with thy tale.
Bora, Stand thee close, then, under this pent-house, for it
drizzles rain; and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.
First Watch, [aside] Some treason, masters : yet stand close
liora. Therefore know I have earned of Don John a
thousand ducats.
40 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT HI.
Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so dear?
Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask , if it were possible any
villain should be so rich; for when rich villains have need of
poor ones , poor ones may make what price they will.
Con. I wonder at it.
Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou knowest
that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing
to a man.
Con. Yes, it is apparel.
Bora. I mean , the fashion.
Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.
Bora. Tush! I may as well say the fool's the fool. But
seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is?
First Watch, [aside] I know that Deformed; 'a has been a
vile thief this seven year ; 'a goes up and down like a gentle-
man : I remember his name.
Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody?
Con. No; 'twas the vane on the house.
Bora. Seest thou not, 1 say, what a deformed thief this
fashion is? how giddily he turns about all the hot bloods
between fourteen and fivc-and-thirty? sometime fashioning
them like Pharaoh's soldiers in the reechy painting, sometime
like god Bel's priests in the old church-window, sometime
like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry,
where his codjnece seems as massy as his club?
Con. All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears out
more apparel than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy
with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale
into telling me of the fashion ?
Bora. Not so, neither: but know that 1 have to-night
wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the name
of Hero: she leans me out at her mistress' chamber-window,
bids me a thousand times good night, — 1 tell this tale vilely:
— I should first tell thee how the prince, Claudio, and my
master, planted and placed and possessed by my master Don
John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable encounter.
Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero?
SCENE IV.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 41
Bora. Two of them did , the prince and Claudio ; but the
devil my master knew she was Margaret; and partly by his
oaths' , which first possessed them, partly by the dark night,
which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany, which
did confirm any slander that Don John had made, away went
Claudio enraged; swore he would meet her, as he was ap-
pointed , next morning at the temple , and there , before the
whole congregation , shame her with what he saw o'ernight,
and send her home again without a husband.
First Watch. We charge you, in the prince's name, stand !
Sec. Watch. Call up the right master constable. We have
here recovered the most dangerous piece of lecher}7 that ever
was known in the commonwealth.
First Watch. And one Deformed is one of them: I know
him; 'a wears a lock.
Con. Masters, masters, —
Sec. Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I
warrant you.
Con. Masters , —
First Watch. Never speak: we charge you let us obey
you to go with us.
Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity , being
taken up of these men's bills.
Con. A commodity in question , I warrant you. — Come,
we'll obey you. [Exeunt.
Scene IV. A room in Leonato's house.
Enter Hero , Margaret , and Ursula.
Hero. Good Ursula, wake my ccusin Beatrice, and desire
her to rise.
I will, lady.
Hero. And bid her come hither.
Urs. Well. [Exit.
Mary. Troth , I think your other rabato.were better.
Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.
Marg. By my troth, 's not so good; and I wan-ant your
cousin will say so.
42 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACTIH.
Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another : I'll wear
none but this.
Marg. 1 like the new tire within excellently , if the hair
were a thought browner; and your gown's a most rare fashion,
i'faith. I saw the Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise so.
Hero. 0, that exceeds, they say.
Marg. By my troth, 's but a night-gown in respect of
yours , — cloth-o'-gold , and cuifTPanct laced with silver , set
with pearls down sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts round under-
borne with a bluish tinsel : but for a fine , quaint , graceful,
and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.
Hero. God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is ex-
ceeding heavy.
Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.
Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?
Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not
marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honour-
able without marriage? I think you would have me say,
saving your reverence, "a husband:" an bad thinking do not
wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody: is there any harm in
"the heavier for a husband?" None, I think, an it be the
right husband and the right wife; otherwise 'tis light, and
not heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes.
Enter Beatrice.
Hero. Good morrow, coz.
Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero
Hero. Why, how now! do you speak in the sick tune?
Beat. I am out of all other tune , methinks.
Marg. Clap's into Light o' love; that goes without a bur-
den: do you sing it, and I'll dance it.
Beat. Yea, Light o' love, with your heels! — then, if your
husband have stables enough, you'll see he shall lack no barns.
Marg. 0 illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my
heels.
Beat . 'Tis almost five o'clock , cousin ; 'tis time you were
ready. — By my troth, I am exceeding ill: — heigh-ho!
SCENE IV.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING-.
43
I am, stuffed j cousin; I cannot smell.
A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly catching of
Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?
Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.
Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there's no more
sailing by the star.
Beat. What means the fool, trow?
Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's
desire !
Hero. These gloves the count sent me ; they are an ex-
cellent perfume.
Beat.
Marg.
cold.
Beat. 0, God help me! God help me! how long have you
professed apprehension?
Marg. Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become
me rarely?
Beat. It is not seen enough; you should wear it in your
cap. — By my troth, I am sick.
Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus,
and lay it to your heart: it is the only thing for a qualm.
Hero. There thou prickest her with a thistle.
Beat. Benedictus ! why Benedictus ? you have some moral
in this Benedictus.
Marg. Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning;
1 meant , plain hojy-thfstle. You may think perchance that
I think you are in love : nay , by'r lady , I am not such a fool
to think what I list; nor I list not to think what I can; nor,
indeed, I cannot think, if I would think my heart out of think-
ing , that you are in love , or that you will be in love , or that
you can be in love. Yet Benedick was such another, and
now is he become a man: he swore he would never marry;
and yet now, in despite of his heart, he eats his meat without
grudging: and how you may be converted, I know not; but
mcthinks you look with your eyes as other women do.
Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?
Marg. Not a false gallop.
44 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT m.
Re-enter Ursula.
Urs. Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, Signior
Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the town, are
come to fetch you to church.
Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good
Ursula. [Exeunt.
Scene V. Another room in Leonato's house.
Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges.
Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour?
Dog. Marry , sir , I would have some confidence with you
that decerns you nearly.
LeolT. Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time
with me.
Dog. Marry , this it is , sir , —
Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir.
Leon. What is it, my good friends?
Dog. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter:
an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God help,
I would desire they were; but, in faith, honest as the skin
between his brows.
Verg. Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any man living
that is an old man and no honester than I.
Dog. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour
Verges.
Leon. Neighbours , you are tedious.
Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the
poor duke's officers; but truly, for mine own part, if I were
as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all
of your worship.
Leon. All thy tediousness on me, ha!
Dog. Yea, an 'twere a thousand pound more than 'lis;
for I hear as good exclamation on your worship as of any
man in t lie city; and though I be but a poor man, I am glad
to hear it.
Verg. And so am I.
Leon. I woidd fain know what you have to say.
SCENE V.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 4-5
Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your
worship's presence , have ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves
as any in Messina.
Dog. A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they
say, When the age is in, the wit is out: God help us! it is a
world to see! — Well said, i'faith, neighbour Verges: — well,
God's a good man; an two men ride of a horse, one must ride
behind. — An honest soul, i'faith, sir; by my troth, he is, as
ever broke bread : but God is to be worshipped : all men are
not alike, — alas, good neighbour!
Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.
Dog. Gifts that God gives.
Leon. I must leave you.
Dog. One word, sir: our watch, sir, have indeed com-
prehended two auspicious persons, and we would have them
this morning examined before your worship.
Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring it me:
I am now in great haste , as it may appear unto you.
Dog. It shall be suffigance.
Leon. Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord , they stay for you to give your daughter
to her husband.
Leon. I'll wait upon them: I am ready.
[Exeunt Leonalo and Messenger.
Dog. Go , good partner, go , get you to Francis Seacoal;
bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol : we are now
to examination those men.
Verg. And we must do it wisely.
Dog. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's
that shall drive some of them to a non-come: only get the
learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet
me at the gaol. [Exeunt.
46 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT IV.
ACT IV.
Scene I. The inside of a churcJi.
Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar Francis, Olaudio,
Benedick, Hero, Beatrice, and Attendants.
Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form
of marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties
afterwards.
F. Fran. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?
Claud. No.
Leon. To be married to her: — friar, you come to marry her.
F.Fran. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count?
Hero. 1 do.
F. Fran. If either of you know any inward impediment
why you should not be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls,
to utter it.
Claud. Know you any, Hero?
Hero. None , my lord.
F. Fran. Know you any, count?
Leon. I dare make his answer, — none.
Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! what
men daily do, not knowing what they do!
Bene. How now! interjections? Why, then, some be of
Laughing, as, Ha, ha, he!
Claud. Stand thee by, friar. — Father, by your leave:
Will you with free and unconstrained soul
Give me this maid, your daughter?
L,eon. As freely, son, as God did give her me.
Claud. And what have I to give you back , whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?
D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again.
Claud. Sweet prince , you learn me noble thankfulness. —
There, Leonato, take her back again:
Give not this rotten orange to your friend;
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour. —
Behold how like a maid she blushes here!
0, what authority and show of truth
SCENE I.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 47
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
Comes not that blood as modest evidence
To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear.
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior shows ? But she is none :
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed ;
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
Leon. What do you mean, my lord?
Claud. Not to be married? not to knit my soul
To an approved wanton.
Leon. Dear my lord , if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish'd the resistance of ner youth,
And made defeat of her virginity, —
Claud. I know what you would say : if I have known her,
You'll say she did embrace me as a husband ,
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin:
No, Leonato,
I never tempted her with word too l&Ege;
But, as a brother to his sister, show'd
Bashful sincerity and comely love.
Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?
Claud. Out on thy seeming! I will write against it:
You seem'd to me as Dian in her orb ,
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ;
But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals
That rage in savage sensuality.
Hero. Is my lord well , that he doth speak scksdilk?
Claud. Sweet prince, why speak not you?
J). Pedro. What should I speak V
I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.
Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream?
I). John. Sir, they are spoken, and these liiings are true.
Bene. This looks not like a nuptial.
Hero. True! — 0 God!
Claud. Leonato, stand I here?
48 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT IV.
Is this the prince? is this the prince's brother?
Is this face Hero's? are our eyes our own?
Leon. All this is so: but what of this, my lord?
Claud. Let me but move one question to your daughter;
And , by that fatherly and kindly power
That you have in her , bid her answer truly.
Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
Hero. 0 , God defend me ! how am I beset ! —
What kind of catechising call you this?
Claud. To make you answer truly to your name.
Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach?
Claud. Marry, that can Hero ;
Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
Out at your window betwixt twelve and one?
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.
Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord.
D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. — Leonato,
I'm sony you must hear: upon mine honour,
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count
Did see her , hear her , at that hour last night
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber- window;
Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain .
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret.
D. John. Fie , fie ! they are not to be nam'd , my lord ,
Not to be spoke of;
There is not chastity enough in language ,
Without offence to utter them. — Thus , pretty lady,
I'm sorry for thy much misgovernment.
Claud. 0 Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
About the thoughts and counsels of thy heart!
But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,
Thou pure impiety and impious purity!
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
SCENE I.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 49
And on my eyelids shall conjecture tang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm ,
And never shall it more be gracious.
Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?
[Hero swoons.
Beat. Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?
D. John. Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light,
Smother her spirits up.
[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, and Attendants.
Bene. How doth the lady?
Beat. Dead, I think: — help, uncle: —
Hero! why, Hero! — uncle! — Signior Benedick! — friar!
Leon. 0 Fate , take not away thy heavy hand !
Death is the fairest cover for her shame
That may be wish'd for.
Beat. How now , cousin Hero !
F. Fran. Have comfort, lady.
Leon. Dost thou look up ?
F. Fran. Yea, wherefore should she not?
Leon. Wherefore ! Why, doth not every earthly thing
Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood ? —
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames ,
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches ,
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame?
0 , one too much by thee ! Why had I one ? *
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
Why had I not with charitable hand
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ,
Who smirched thus and mir'd with infamy,
I might have said, "No part of it is mine;
This shame derives itself from unknown loins"?
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on; mine so much
4
l
50 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT IV.
//>*-*
That I myself was to myself not mine ,
Valuing of her; why, she — 0, she is £ali'n
Into a pit of ink , that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again
And salt too little which may season give
To her foul-tainted flesh!
Bene. Sir, sir, be patient.
For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
1 know not what to say.
Beat. 0 , on my soul , my cousin is belied !
Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow Inst night?
Beat. No, truly, not; although, until last night,
1 have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
Leon. Confirm'd, confirm' d! 0, that is stronger made
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie,
Who lov'd her so , that , speaking of her foulness ,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.
F. Fran. Hear me a little;
For I have only silent been so long,
And given way unto this course of fortune ,
J5y noting of the lady: I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness beat away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;
Trust not my reading nor my observation,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; trust not my age ,
My reverend calling, nor divinity,
]i' this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some blighting error.
Leon. Friar, it cannot be.
Thou see'st that all the grace that she hath left
Is that she will not add to her damnation
SCENE I.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 51
A sin of perjury; she not denies it:
Why seek'st thou, then, to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness?
F. Fran. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of?
Hero. They know that do accuse me ; I know none :
If I know more of any man alive
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant ,
Let all my sins lack mercy! — 0 my father,
Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature ,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death!
F. Fran. There is some strange misprision in the princes.
Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour;
And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
The practice of it lies in John the bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.
Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth of her ,
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
The proudest of them shall \jell hear of it.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means ,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends ,
But they shall find , awak'd in such a cause ,
Both strength of limb and policy of mind ,
Ability in means and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.
/'. Fran. Pause awhile,
I lot my counsel sway you in this case.
if our daughter here the princes left for dead:
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
And publish it that she i indeed;
intain a mourning ostentatioiij
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do nil rites
That appertain unto a burial
52 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [act IV.
Leon. What shall become of this? what will this do?
F. Fran. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf
Change slander to remorse ; — that is some good :
But not for that dream I on this strange course ,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd ,
Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd
Of every hearer: for it so falls out,
That what we have we prize not to the worth
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost,
Why , then we rack the value , then we find
The virtue that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio :
When he shall hear she died upon his words ,
Th' idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination;
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul ,
Than when she liv'd indeed; then shall he mourn
(If ever love had interest in Ins Ijvcrl .
And wish he had not so accused her, —
No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so , and doubt not but success
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
The supposition of the lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy:
And if it sort not well, you may conceal her
(As best befits her wounded reputation)
In some reclusive and religious life ,
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.
Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:
And though you know my inwardness and love
SCENE I.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 53
Is v.ery much unto the prince and Claudio ,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As secretly and justly as your soul
Should with your body.
Leon. Being that I flow in grief,
The smallest twine may lead me.
F. Fran. 'Tis well consented: presently away;
For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. —
Come, lady, die to live: this wedding-day
Perhaps is but prolong'd: have patience and endure.
[Exeunt Friar Francis, Hero, and Leonato.
Bene. Lady Beatrice , have you wept all this while?
Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
Bene. I will not desire that.
Beat. You have no reason; I do it freely.
Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.
Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that
would right her!
Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship?
Beat. A very even way , but no such friend.
Bene. May a man do it?
Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours.
Bene. 1 do love nothing in the world so well as you: is
not that strange?
Beat. As strange as the thing I know not. 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. — I am sorry for my cousin.
Bene. By my sword , Beatrice , thou lovest me.
Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it.
Bene. I will swear by it that you love me; and I will
make him eat it that says I love not you.
Beat Will you not eat your word?
Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest
I Love thee
Beat Why, then, God forgive me!
Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice?
.")! MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ ACT IV.
Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about
to protest I loved you.
Bene. And do it with all thy heart.
Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that none is
left to protest.
Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.
v Beat. Kill Claudio.
Bene. Ha! not for the wide world.
Beat. You kill ine to deny it. Farewell.
Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.
Beat. I am gone , though I am here : — there is no love
in you: — nay, I pray you, let me go.
Bene. Beatrice , —
Beat. In faith, I will go.
Bene. We'll be friends first.
Beat. You dare easier be friends with me than fight with
mine enemy.
Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?
Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath
slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? — 0 that 1
were a man! — What, bear her in hand until they conic to
take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered
slander, unmitigated rancour, — 0 God, that I were a man!
I would eat his heart in the market-place.
Bene. Hear me , Beatrice , — ■
Beat. Talk with a man out at a window! — a proper
saying!
J'» ne. Nay, but, Beatrice, —
Beat. Sweet Hero! — she is wronged, she is slandered,
she is undone.
Bene. Beat —
Beat. Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony,
a goodly count, count cpnipct; a sweet gallant, surely! O
that 1 were a man for his sake! or that 1 had any friend
would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into
courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned
into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Her-
SCENE n.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 55
cules that only tells a lie, and swears it. — I cannot be a man
with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.
Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.
Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing
by it.
Bene. Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath
wronged Hero?
Beat. Yea , as sure as I have a thought or a soul.
Bene. Enough, I am engaged; I will challenge him. I
will kiss your hand, and so leave you. By this hand, Claudio
shall render me a dear account. As you hear of me, so think
of me. Go, comfort your cousin : I must say she is dead : and
so, farewell. [Exeunt.
Scene II. A prison.
Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns; and the
Watch, with Conrade and Borachio.
Dog. Is our whole dissembly appeared?
Verg. 0, a stool and a cushion for the sexton.
Sex. Which be the malefactors V
Dog. Marry, that am I and my partner.
Verg. Nay , that's certain ; we have the exhibition to ex-
amine.
Sex. But which are the offenders that arc to be examined?
let them come before master constable
Dog. Yea, marry, let them come before me. — What is
your name , friend ?
Bora. Borachio.
Dog. Pray, write down — Borachio. — Yours, sirrah?
Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.
J)<>g. Write down — master gentleman Conrade. —
Musters, do you serve God?
BnraA Yea, sir, we hope.
J Jog. Write down — that they hope they serve God: —
and write God first; for God defend but God should go before
such villains! — Masters, it is proved already that you are
56 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [act IV.
little better than false knaves ; and it will go near to be thought
so shortly. How answer you for yourselves?
Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none.
Dog. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but 1 will
go about with him. — Come you hither, sirrah: a word in your
car, sir; I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves.
Bora. Sir, I say to you we are none.
Dog. Well, stand aside. — 'Fore God, they are both in a
talfi. Have you writ down — that they are none?
Sex. Master constable , you go not the way to examine :
you must call forth the watch that are their accusers.
Dog. Yea, marry, that's the eft est way. — Let the watch
come forth. — Masters , I charge you , in the prince's name,
accuse these men.
First Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the
prince's brother, was a villain.
Dog. Write down — Prince John a villain. — Why, this
^ is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother villain.
Bora. Master constable , —
Dog. Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look, I
promise thee.
Sex. What heard you him say else ?
Sec. Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand
ducats of Don John for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.
Dog. Flat burglary as ever was committed.
Verg. Yea , Iryjluxjnass , that it is.
Sex. What else, fellow?
First Watch. And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his
words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not
many her.
Dog. 0 villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting
redemption for this.
Sex. What else?
Sec. Watch. This is all.
Sex. And this is more, masters, than you can deny.
Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away; Hero was
in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and
.SCENE II.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 57
upon the grief of this suddenly died. — Master Constable, let
these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's: I will go
before and show him their examination. [Exit.
Dog. Come , let them be opinioned.
Verg. Let them be in the hands —
Con. Off, coxcomb !
Dog. God's my life, where's the sexton? let him write
down — the prince's officer, coxcomb. — Come, bind them.
— Thou naughty varlet!
Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass.
Dog. Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou not sus-
pect my years? — 0 that he were here to write me down an
ass! — but, masters, remember that I am an ass-, though it be
not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass. — No, thou
villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by
good witness. I am a "wise fellow; and, which is more, an
officer; and, which is more, a householder; and, which is
more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any in Messina; and one
that knows the law , go to ; and a rich fellow enough , go to ;
and a fellow that hath had losses; and one that hath two
gowns, and every thing handsome about him. — Bring him
away! — 0 that I had been writ down an ass! [Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I. Before Leonato's house.
Enter Leonato and Antonio.
Ant. If you go on thus , you will kill yourself;
And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief
Against yourself.
Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mi no ear
Jiut such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father that so lov'd his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
N
58 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, [act V.
And bid hiin speak to me of patience;
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine ,
And let it answer every strain for strain ,
As thus for thus , and such a grief for such ,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard,
Bid sorrow wag, cry "hem" when he should groan,
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters , — bring him yet to me ,
And I of him will gather patience.
But there is no such man : for, brother , men
Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion , which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage ,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread ,
Charm ache with air, and agony with words:
No , no ; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow ,
But no man's virtue nor sufficiency
To be so moral when he shall endure
The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.
Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ.
Leon. I pray thee, peace, — I will be flesh and blood
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods,
And made a push at chance and sufferance.
Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself ;
Make those that do offend you suffer too.
Leon. There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will do so.
My soul doth tell me Hero is belied;
And that shall Claudio know; so shall the prince,
And all of them that thus dishonour her.
Ant. Here come the prince and Claudio hastily.
SCENE I.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
59
Enter Don Pedeo and Clauuio.
D. Pedro. Good den , good den.
Claud. Good day to both of you.
Leon. Hear you , my lords , —
D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato.
Leon. Some haste, my lord! — well, fare you well, my
lord: —
Are you so hasty now? — well, all is one.
D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us , good old man.
Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling ,
Some of us would lie low.
Claud. Who wrongs him?
Leon. Who !
Marry, thou dost wrong me ; thou dissembler , thou :
.
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword;
I fear thee not."
Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand,
If it should give your age such cause of fear :
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.
Leon. Tush, tush, man; never1 fleer and jest at me:
I speak not like a dotard nor a fool ,
As , under privilege of age , to brag
What I have done , being young , or what would do ,
Were I not old. Know , Claudio , to thy head ,
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me,
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by,
And , with grey hairs and bruise of many days ,
Do challenge thee to trial of a man.
1 .say thou hast belied mine innocent child;
Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,
And she lies buried with her ancestors, —
0, in a tomb where never scandal slept,
this of hers, frarn'd by thy villany !
"/. My villany!
Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.
D. Pedro. You say not right, old man.
Leon. My lord, my lord,
60 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT V-
I'll prove it on his body, if he dure ,
Despite his nice fence and his active practice ,
His May of youth and bloom of lustihood.
Claud. Away! I will not have to do with you.
Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd my child :
If thou kill'st me , boy, thou shalt kill a man.
Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed:
But that's no matter ; let him kill one first; —
Win me and wear me , — let him answer me. —
Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, follow me:
Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence;
Nay, as I am a gentleman , I will.
Leon. Brother, —
Ant. Content yourself. God knows I lov'd my niece ;
And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains,
That dare as well answer a man indeed
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue ;
Boys , apes , braggarts , Jacks , milksops ! —
Leo?i. Brother Antony, —
Ant. Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea,
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple, —
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mongeriug boys,
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander,
('") anticly, show outward hideousness ,
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words ,
Mow they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;
And this is all.
J. eon. But, brother Antony, —
Ant. Come, 'tis no matter:
Do not you meddle; let me deal in this.
J). Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death:
But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing
But what was true, and very full of proof.
Leon. My lord, my lord, —
1 >■ Pedro. __^J-will not hear you.
Leon. No? —
SCENE I.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Gl
Come , brother , away. — I will be heard.
Ant. And shall ,
Or some of us will smart for't. [Exeunt Leonato and Antonio.
D. Pedro. See , see ; here comes the man we went to seek.
Enter Benedick.
Claud. Now, signior, what news?
Bene. G-ood day, my lord.
D. Pedro. Welcome , signior : you are almost come to
part almost a fray.
Claud. We had like to have had our two noses snapped
off with two old men without teeth.
D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What thinkest thou?
Had we fought, I doubt we should have been too young for
them.
Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came
to seek you both.
Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee ; for we
are high-proof melancholy, and would fain have it beaten
away. Wilt thou use thy wit?
Bene. It is in my scabbard: shall I draw it?
D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy^side?
Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been
beside their wit. — I will bid thee draw, as we do the min-
strels; draw, to pleasure us.
D. Pedro. As I am an honest man , he looks pale. — Art
thou sick , or angry ?
Claud. What , courage , man ! What though care killed
a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.
Bene. Sir, I shall meet your Avit in the career, an you
charge it against me. 1 pray you choose another subject.
Claud. Nay, then , give him another staff: this last was
broke cross.
D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more: I
think he be angry indeed.
Claud.. If he be , he knows how to turn his girdle.
Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear?
02 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT V.
Claud. God bless me from a challenge !
Bene. You are a villain; — I jest not: — I will make it
good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare.
— Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have
killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you.
Let me hear from you.
Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.
D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast?
Claud. I'faith , I thank him ; he hath bid me to a calf s-
head and a capon ; the which if I do not carve most curiously,
say my knife's naught. — Shall 1 not find a woodcock too?
Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.
D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the
other day. I said, thou hadst a fine wit: "True," says she,
"a fine little one." "No," said I, "a great wit:" "Right,"
says she, "a great gross one." "Nay," said I, "a good wit:"
"Just," said she, "it hurts nobody." "Nay," said I, "the
gentleman is wise:" "Certain," said she, "a wise gentle-
man." "Nay," said I, "he hath the tongues:" "That I be-
lieve," said she, " for he swore a thing to me on Monday night,
which he forswore on Tuesday morning; there's a double
tongue; there's two tongues." Thus did she, an hour to-
gether, trans-shape thy particular virtues: yet at last she
concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.
Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said she
cared not.
D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if
she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly: —
the old man's daughter told us all.
Claud. All, all; and, moreover, God saw him when he
was hid in the garden.
D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns
on the sensible Benedick's head?
Claud. Yea, and text underneath, "Here dwells Benedick,
the married man"?
Bene. Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. I will
leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you break jests
SCENE I.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
03
as braggarts do their blades, which, God be thanked, hurt
not. — My lord, for your many courtesies I thank you: I must
discontinue your company: your brother the bastard is fled
from Messina: you have among you killed a sweet and in-
nocent lady. For my Lord Lackbeard there , he and I shall
meet: and till then peace be with him. [Exit.
D. Pedro. He is in earnest.
Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll warrant you,
for the love of Beatrice.
D.Pedro. And hath challenged thee?
Claud. Most sincerely.
D. Pedro. What_a pretty thing man is when he goes in
his doublet and hose , and leaves off his wit !
Claud. He is then a giant to an ape : but then is an ape
a doctor to such a man.
D. Pedro. But, soft you, let me be: pluck up, my heart,
and be sad! Did he not say, my brother was fled?
Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with Conrade
and Borachio.
Dog. Come, you, sir: if justice cannot tame you, she shall
ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance : nay, an you be a
cursing hypocrite once , you must be looked to.
D. Pedro. How now! two of my brother's men bound!
Borachio one!
Claud. Hearken after their offence , my lord.
D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done?
Dog. Marry, sir, they have committed false report; more-
over, they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slan-
ders; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they
have verified unjust things; and, to conclude, they are lying
knaves.
D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly,
' k thee what's their offence; sixth and lastly, why they
are committed; and, to conclude, what you lay to their charge.
Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and,
by my troth, there's one meaning well suited.
Gl MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT V.
D. Pedro. Who have you offended, masters, that you are
thus bound to your answer? this learned constable is too cun-
ning to be understood : what's your offence ?
Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine answer :
do you hear me , and let this count kill me. I have deceived
even your very eyes: what your wisdoms could not discover,
these shallow fools have brought to light; who, in the night,
overheard me confessing to this man, how Don John your
brother incensed me to slander the Lady Hero; how you were
brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Hero's
garments; how you disgraced her, when you should marry
her: my villany they have upon record; which I had rather
seal with my death than repeat over to my shame. The lady
is dead upon mine and my master's false accusation; and,
briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.
D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood ?
Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it.
D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this?
Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it.
]). Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery: —
And fled he is uj>on this villany.
Claud. Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear
In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first.
Dog. Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by this time our
sexton hath reformed Siguier Leonato of the matter: and,
masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall
serve, that I am an ass.
Verg. Here, here comes master Signior Leonato, and the
sexton too.
Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, with the Sexton.
Leon. Which is the villain? let me see his eyes,
That, when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him: which of these is he?
Bora. Jf you would know your wronger, look on me.
Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill'd
Mine innocent child?
SCENE I.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 65
Bora. Yea, even I alone.
Leon. No, not so, villain-, thou beliest thyself:
Here stand a pair of honourable men ,
A third is fled , that had a hand in it. —
I thank you , princes , for my daughter's death :
Record it with your high and worthy deeds;
'Twas bravely done , if you bethink you ofiit.
Claud. I know not how to pray your patience;
Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself;
Impose me to. what penance your indention
Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn'd I not
But in mistaking.
D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I:
And yet , to satisfy this good old man ,
I would bend under any heavy weight
That he'll enjoin me to.
Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live , —
That were impossible : but , I pray you both ,
Possess the people in Messina here
How innocent she died; and if your love
Can labour aught in sad invention ,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb ,
And sing it to her bones, — sing it to-night: —
To-morrow morning come you to my house;
And since you could not be my son-in-law,
Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter,
Almost the copy of my child that's dead ,
And she alone is heir to both of us : J
Give her the right you should have given her cousin / ^*"
And so dies my revenge.
Claud. 0 noble sir,
Your ov<;r-kindne83 doth wring team from me!
1 do embrace your offer; and
For henceforth of poor Claudio.
Leon. To-morrow, then , 1 will expect your coming;
To-night I take my leave. — This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
5
66 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. l^CT v.
Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong,
Hir'd to it by your brother.
Bora. No, by my soul, she was not;
Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me ;
But always hath been just and virtuous
In any thing that I do know by her.
Dog. Moreover, sir (which indeed is not under white and
black) , this plaintiff here , the offender , did call me ass : 1
beseech you, let it be remembered in his punishment. And
also, the watch heard them talk of one Deformed: they say he
wears a key in his ear, and a lock hanging by it; and borrows
money in God's name , — the which he hath used so long and
never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, and will lend
nothing forGod's sake : pray you, examine him upon that point.
Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.
Dog. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and re-
verend youth ; and I praise God for you.
Leon. There's for thy pains.
Dog. God save the foundation !
Leon. Go, I discharge~tEee of thy prisoner, and I thank
thee.
Dog. I leave an arrant knave with your worship ; which I
beseech your worship to correct yourself, for the example of
others. God keep your worship! I wish your worship well;
God restore you to health ! I humbly give you leave to depart ;
and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it! —
Come, neighbour. [Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and Watch.
Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.
Ant. Farewell, my lords: we look for you to-morrow.
D. Pedro. We will not fail.
Claud. To-night I '11 mourn with Hero.
[Exeunt Don Pedro and Claud 'to.
Leon. Bring you these fellows on. We'll talk with Mar-
garet ,
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 67
Scene II. Leonato's garden.
Enter, severally, Benedick and Margaret.
Bene. Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well
at my hands by helping me to. the_ speech of Beatrice.
Marg. Will you, then, write me a sonneTTn praise of my
beauty?
Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall
come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.
Marg. To have no man come over me ! why, shall I always
keep below stairs?
Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth , —
it catches.
Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit,
but hurt not.
Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a
woman : and so , I pray thee , call Beatrice : I give thee the
bucjders.
Marg. Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own.
Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the
pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for
maids.
Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath
legs.
Bene. And therefore will come. [Exit Margaret.
The god of love, [Singing.
That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me,
Hmi) pitiful I deserve, —
1 moan in singing; but in loving, — Lcander the good swim-
mer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book-
full of these quondam carpet-mongers, wjjose names yet run
smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, — why. they were
neveT so truly turnecTover and over as my poor self in love.
Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; 1 have tried: I can find out
no rhyme to "lady" but "baby," — an innocent rhyme; for
"scorn," "horn," — a hard rhyme; for "school," "fool," — a
5*
68 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [act V.
babbling rhyme ; very ominous endings : no , I was not born
under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.
Enter Beatrice.
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?
Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.
Bene. 0 , stay but till then !
Beat. "Then" is spoken; fare you well now: — and yet,
ere I go, let me go with that I came for; which is, with
knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio.
Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.
Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but
foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will de-
part unkissed.
Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense,
so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio
undergoes my challenge ; and either I must shortly hear from
him, or I will subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee
now, tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in
love with me?
Beat. For them all together; which maintained so politic
a state of evil , that they will not admit any good part to in-
termingle with them. But for which of my good parts did
you first suffer love for me?
Bine. Suffer love, — a good epithet ! I do suffer love in-
deed, for I love thee against my will.
Beat. In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart!
If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will
never love that which my friend hates.-
Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
Beat. It appears not in this confession: there's not one
wise man among twenty that will praise himself^
Bene. An old, an oid instance, Beatrice, that lived in the
time of good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age
his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument
than the bell rings and the widow weeps.
Beat. And how long is that, think you?
SCENE HI.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
69
Bene. Question : — why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter
in rheum : therefore is it most expedient for the wise (if Don
Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary) to
be the trumpet of his own virtues, as 1 am to myself. So
much for praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness , is
praiseworthy: and now tell me, how doth your cousin?
Beat. Very ill.
Bene. And how do you?
Beat. Very ill too.
Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave
you too, for here comes one in haste.
Enter Ursula.
Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder's
qld_coil at home: it is proved my Lady Hero hath been
falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused ; and
Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone. Will you
come presently?
Beat. Will you go hear this news , signior?
Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be
buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy
uncle. [Exeunt.
Scene III. The inside of a church.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with music
and tapers.
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato?
Atten. It is , my lord.
Claud, [reads from a scroll ]
" Done to death by slanderous tongues
Was the Hero that here lies :
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,
Gives her fame which never dies.
So the life that died with shame
Lives in death with glorious fame."
1 fang thou there upon the tomb , [Fixing up the scroll.
Praising lujr when I am dumb. —
70 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACTV.
Now , music , sound , and sing your solemn hymn.
Song.
Pardon , goddess of the night ,
Those that slew thy virgin knight ;
For the which, with songs of woe,
Round about her tomb they go.
Midnight, assist our moan;
Help us to sigh and groan,
Heavily , heavily :
Graves, yawn, and yield your dead,
Till death be uttered,
Heavily , heavily.
Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night! —
Yearly will I do this rite.
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put your torches out:
The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle day,
Before the wheels of Phcebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.
Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well.
Claud. Good morrow, masters: each his several way.
J). Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;
And then to Leonato's we will go.
Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speed's
Than this for whom we render'd up this woe! [Exeunt.
Scene IV. A room in Leonato's house.
Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Margaret,
Ursula, Friar Francis, and Hero.
F. Fran. Did I not tell you she was innocent?
Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd her
Upon the error that you heard debated :
But Margaret was in some fault for this ,
Although against her will, as it appears
In the true course of all the question.
Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.
Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.
SCENE IV.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 71
Leon. Well , daughter , and you gentlewomen all ,
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ,
And when I send for you, come hither mask'd:
The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour
To visit me. — You know your office , brother: [Exeunt Ladies.
You must be father to your brother's daughter ,
And give her to young Claudio.
Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.
Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains , 1 think.
F. Fran. To do what, signior?
Dene. To bind me, or undo me; one of them. —
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.
Leon. That eye my daughter lent her: 'tis most true.
Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her.
Leon. The sight whereof I think you had from me ,
From Claudio, and the prince: but what's your will?
Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:
But , for my will , my will is , your good-will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
r the state of honourable marriage : —
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
Leon. My heart is with your liking.
F. Fran. And my help. —
Here come the prince and Claudio.
Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants.
D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.
Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio:
We here attend you. Are you yet determin'd
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?
Claud. I'll hold my mind , were she an Ethiop.
Leon. Call her forth , brother; here's the friar ready.
[ "Exit Antonio.
D.Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what's the matter,
That you have such a February face,
bo full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?
72 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT v,
Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage bull. —
Tush , fear not, man; we'll tip thy horns with gold ,
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee ;
As once Europa did at lusty Jove ,
When he would play the noble beast in love.
Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low;
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow,
And got a calf in that same noble feat
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.
Claud. For this I owe you: here come other reckonings.
Re-enter Antonio , with the Ladies masked.
Which is the lady I must seize upon?
Ant. This same is she , and I do give you her.
Claud. Why, then she's mine. — Sweet, let me see your face
Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand
Before this friar, and swear to marry her.
Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar:
I am your husband , if you like of me.
Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife:
f I nmasking.
And when you lov'd , you were my other husband.
Claud. Another Hero !
Hero. Nothing certainer:
One Hero died denTd; but I do live,
And surely as 1 live, I am a maid.
7). Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead!
Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv'd.
F. Fran. All this amazement can I qualify;
When after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death:
s Meantime let wonder seem familiar,
And to the chapel let us presently.
Bene. Soft and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice?
Beat, [unmasking] I answer to thatname. What is your will?
Bene. Do not you love me?
Beat. Why, no; no more than reason.
SCENE IV.] MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 73
Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio
Have been deceived; for they swore you did.
Beat. Do not you love me?
Bene. Troth , no ; no more than reason.
Beat. Why, then my cousin , Margaret , and Ursula
Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did.
Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me.
Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.
Bene. 'Tis no such matter. — Then you do not love me ?
Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.
Leon. Come , cousin , I'm sure you love the gentleman.
Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't that he loves her;
For here's a paper, written in his hand,
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain ,
Fashion'd to Beatrice.
Hero. And here's another,
Writ in my cousin's hand, stol'n from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick.
Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against our hearts.
— Come, 1 will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for
pity.
Beat. I would not deny you; — but, by this good day, I
yield upon great persuasion ; and partly to save your life , for
I was told you were in a consumption.
Bene. Peace ! I will stop your mouth. [Kissing her.
D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?
Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince ; a college of wit-crackers
cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care
for a satire or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with
brains, he shall wear nothing handsome about him. In brief,
since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any pur-
pose that the world can say against it; and therefore never
flout at me for what I have said against it; f^rnan_is_a_giddy
thing, and this is my conclusion. — For thy part, Claudio, I
did think to have beaten thee ; but in that thou art like to be
my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin.
Clawl. I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Bea-
7 1 MUCU ADO ABOUT NOTHING. [ACT V.
trice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life,
to make thee a double-dealer; which, out of question, thou
wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.
Bene. Come, come, we are friends. — Let's have a dance
ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts and
our wives' heels.
Leon. We'll have dancing afterward.
Bene. First, of my word; therefore play, music! — Prince,
thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff
more reverend than one tipped with horn.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight,
And brought with armed men back to Messina.
Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow: I'll devise thee
brave punishments for him. — Strike up, pipers! [Dance.
[Exeunt.
PH1NTING OFFICE OF THE PTJUUSHER.
Shakespeare's Plays — Tauchnitz Editi
in 37 numbers.
N
o. i. Measure for Measure.
2. The Comedy of Errors.
3. Much Ado about Nothing.
4. Love's Labour's lost.
5. Midsummer-night's Dream.
6 Merchant of Venice.
7. As you like it.
S. Taming of the Shrew.
9. All's well that ends well.
10. Twelfth-night: or, What you
will.
1 1. The Winter's Tale.
1 2. King John.
13. The Life and Death of King
Richard II.
14. First Tart of King Henry IV.
15. Second Part of King Henry IV.
16. King Henry V.
17. First Part of King Henry VI.
18. Second Part of King Henry VI.
No
. 19.
Third Part of King H
5 >
20.
King Richard III.
J »
21.
King Henry VIII.
) 1
22.
Troilus and Cressid:
J J
23.
Titus Andronicus.
J J
24.
Coriolanus.
> >
25-
Romeo and Juliet.
> >
26.
Timon of Athens.
J»
27.
Juiius Caesar.
> >
28.
Macbeth.
? y
29.
Hamlet.
>>
30-
King Lear.
> 1
31
Othello.
> 1
32.
Antony and Cleopa
J »
33-
Cymbeline.
> >
34-
Pericles, Prince of '
J )
35-
The Tempest.
>>
36.
The two Gentleme
rona.
» >
37-
Merry Wives of Wi
Each numbei is sold separately at the rate of jfl O,
Pern ha rd Tauchnit/, Leipzig;
And sold by all booksellers.
PR
2828
A2D8
1868
Shakespeare, William
Much ado about nothing
PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE
CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET
UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY
Live Music Archive
Librivox Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland Museum of Art
Internet Arcade
Console Living Room
Books to Borrow
Open Library
TV News
Understanding 9/11