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D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music?
Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,
035 As hush’d on purpose to grace harmony!
D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
Claud. O, very well, my lord: the music ended,
038 We’ll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.
Enter Balthasar with Music.
D. Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.
040 Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
041 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.
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.
045 Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes,
Yet will he swear he loves.
Nay, pray thee, come;
Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.
050 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;
053 Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing. [Air.
Bene. Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it 055 not strange that sheeps’ guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when all’s done.
The Song.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea and one on shore,
060 To one thing constant never:
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.
070 D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song.
Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.
072 D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.
074 Bene. An he had been a dog that should have howled 075 thus, they would have hanged him: and I pray God his 076 bad voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it.
D. Pedro. Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I 079 pray thee, get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night 080 we would have it at the Lady Hero’s chamber-window.
Balth. The best I can, my lord.
082 D. Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exit Balthasar.] Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior 085 Benedick?
Claud. O, ay: stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. 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 090 outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor.
Bene. Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner?
Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to 093 think of it, but that she loves him with an enraged affection; 094 it is past the infinite of thought.
095 D. Pedro. May be she doth but counterfeit.
Claud. Faith, like enough.
Leon. O God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came so near the life of passion as she discovers it.
D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she?
100 Claud. Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.
Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you, you 102 heard my daughter tell you how.
Claud. She did, indeed.
D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I 105 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. I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded 110 fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.
Claud. He hath ta’en the infection: hold it up.
D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?
115 Leon. No; and swears she never will: that’s her torment.
Claud. ’Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: ‘Shall I,’ says she, ‘that have so oft encountered him with scorn, 120 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 124 paper: my daughter tells us all.
125 Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember 126 a pretty jest your daughter told us of.
127 Leon. O, when she had writ it, and was reading it 128 over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?
Claud. That.
130 Leon. O, 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,’ 133 says she, ‘by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I love him, I should.’
135 Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, 136 sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; ‘O 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 140 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.
144 Claud. To what end? He would make but a sport of 145 it, and torment the poor lady worse.
146 D. 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.
150 D. Pedro. In every thing but in loving Benedick.
Leon. O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.
155 D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on 156 me: I would have daffed all other respects, and made her half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what 158 a’ will say.
Leon. Were it good, think you?
160 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.
D. Pedro. She doth well: if she should make tender of 165 her love, ’tis very possible he’ll scorn it; for the man, as 166 you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.
Claud. He is a very proper man.
D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward happiness.
169 Claud. Before God! and in my mind, very wise.
170 D. Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.
172 Claud. And I take him to be valiant.
D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing 174 of quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he avoids 175 them with great discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear.
177 Leon. If he do fear God, a’ must necessarily keep peace: if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.
180 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 183 seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?
184 Claud. Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out 185 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 daughter: let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and 190 I could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see 191 how much he is unworthy so good a lady.
Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.
Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation.
195 D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her; 196 and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry. 197 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 200 her to call him in to dinner. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.
201 Bene. [Coming forward] 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 204 have their full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited. 205 I hear how I am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to 210 mending. They say the lady is fair,—’tis a truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous,—’tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me,—by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I 214 will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some 215 odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage: but doth not the appetite 217 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 220 of his humour? No, the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this day! she’s a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.
Enter Beatrice.
224 Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to 225 dinner.
Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.
Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me: if it had been painful, I would not have come.
230 Bene. You take pleasure, then, in the message?
Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a 232 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 235 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 238 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 240 her picture. [Exit.
ACT III.
000 Scene I. Leonato’s garden.
MAAN III. 1 Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
001 Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour;
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice
Proposing with the prince and Claudio:
004 Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
005 Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse
Is all of her; say that thou overheard’st us;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honeysuckles, ripen’d by the sun,
009 Forbid the sun to enter; like favourites,
010 Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it: there will she hide her,
012 To listen our propose. This is thy office;
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.
014 Marg. I’ll make her come, I warrant you, presently. [Exit.
015 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:
020 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.
023 Enter Beatrice, behind.
Now begin;
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
025 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:
029 So angle we for Beatrice; who even now
030 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
033 Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. [Approaching the bower.
034 No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;
035 I know her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggerds of the rock.
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?
040 Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it;
But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick,
042 To wish him wrestle with affection,
And never to let Beatrice know of it.
Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman
045 Deserve as full as fortunate a bed
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?
Hero. O god of love! I know he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man:
But Nature never framed a woman’s heart
050 Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice;
051 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak: she cannot love,
055 Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endeared.
Sure, I think so;
And therefore certainly it were not good
058 She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.
Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,
060 How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured,
But she would spell him backward: if fair-faced,
062 She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;
063 If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antique,
Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;
065 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
070 Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.
Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
072 Hero. No, not to be so odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
075 She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit!
Therefore let Benedick, like cover’d fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:
079 It were a better death than die with mocks,
080 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 fight against his passion.
And, truly, I’ll devise some honest slanders
085 To stain my cousin with: one doth not know
How much an ill word may empoison liking.
Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong!
She cannot be so much without true judgement,—
089 Having so swift and excellent a wit
090 As she is prized to have,—as to refuse
091 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,
095 Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,
096 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.
100 When are you married, madam?
101 Hero. Why, every day, to-morrow. Come, go in:
I’ll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel
103 Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.
104 Urs. She’s limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam.
105 Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:
106 Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. [Exeunt Hero and Ursula.
Beat. [Coming forward] 107 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!
110 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;
115 For others say thou dost deserve, and I
Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit.
000 Scene II. A room in Leonato’s house.
MAAN III. 2 Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato.
D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, 002 and then go I toward Arragon.
Claud. I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll vouchsafe me.
005 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 the sole of his foot, he is all mirth: he hath twice or thrice cut 010 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.
015 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.
020 D. Pedro. Draw it.
021 Bene. Hang it!
Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.
D. Pedro. What! sigh for the toothache?
024 Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm.
025 Bene. Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.
Claud. Yet say I, he is in love.
D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as, to 030 be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman to-morrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as, a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from the hip upward, 033 no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have 035 it appear he is.
Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there is 037 no believing old signs: a’ brushes his hat o’ mornings; what should that bode?
D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber’s?
040 Claud. No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with him; 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.
045 D. Pedro. Nay, a’ 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.
048 D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy.
Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face?
050 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 053 into a lute-string, and now governed by stops.
054 D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: conclude, 055 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 060 all, dies for him.
061 D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards.
Bene. Yet is this no charm for the toothache. Old signior, walk aside with me: I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby-horses must not 065 hear. [Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.
D. 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.
070 D. John. My lord and brother, God save you!
D. Pedro. Good den, brother.
D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak with you.
D. Pedro. In private?
D. John. If it please you: yet Count Claudio may 075 hear; for what I would speak of concerns him.
076 D. Pedro. What’s the matter?
D. John. [To Claudio] Means your lordship to be married to-morrow?
D. Pedro. You know he does.
080 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 085 manifest. For my brother, I think he holds you well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage,—surely suit ill spent and labour ill bestowed.
D. Pedro. Why, what’s the matter?
D. John. I came hither to tell you; and, circumstances 090 shortened, for she has 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.
095 Claud. Disloyal?
D. John. The word is too good to paint out her wickedness; I could say she were worse: think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till further warrant: 099 go but with me to-night, you shall see her chamber-window 100 entered, even the night before her wedding-day: if 101 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.
105 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 accordingly.
Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should not 110 marry her to-morrow, 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.
D. John. I will disparage her no farther till you are my 115 witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.
D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned!
Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting!
119 D. John. O plague right well prevented! so will you 120 say when you have seen the sequel. [Exeunt.
000 Scene III. A street.
MAAN III. 3 Enter Dogberry and Verges with the Watch.
Dog. Are you good men and true?
Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul.
Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, 005 if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince’s watch.
Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.
008 Dog. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable?
010 First Watch. Hugh Otecake, sir, or George Seacole; for they can write and read.
Dog. Come hither, neighbour Seacole. 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.
015 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 019 when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought 020 here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable 021 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.
024 Sec. Watch. How if a’ will not stand?
025 Dog. 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.
Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince’s subjects.
030 Dog. True, and they are to meddle with none but the prince’s subjects. You shall also make no noise in the 032 streets; for for the watch to babble and to talk is most tolerable and not to be endured.
034 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk: we know what 035 belongs to a watch.
Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend: only, have a care that your bills be not stolen. Well, you 039 are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are 040 drunk get them to bed.
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.
045 Watch. Well, sir.
Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man; and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty.
050 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him?
Dog. Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is to let him show himself 055 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.
060 Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse and bid her still it.
Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us?
Dog. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake 065 her with crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb 066 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 070 prince in the night, you may stay him.
071 Verg. Nay, by’r lady, that I think a’ cannot.
Dog. Five shillings to one on’t, with any man that 073 knows the statues, he may stay him: marry, not without the prince be willing; for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no 075 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, good night: an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me: keep your 079 fellows’ counsels and your own; and good night. Come, 080 neighbour.
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, 085 watch about Signior Leonato’s door; for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil to-night. Adieu: be 087 vigitant, I beseech you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.
088 Enter Borachio and Conrade.
Bora. What, Conrade!
089 Watch. [Aside] Peace! stir not.
090 Bora. Conrade, I say!
Con. Here, man; I am at thy elbow.
Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there would a scab follow.
Con. I will owe thee an answer for that: and now forward 095 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.
Watch. [Aside] Some treason, masters: yet stand close.
100 Bora. Therefore know I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats.
Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so dear?
Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were possible any 104 villany should be so rich; for when rich villains have need 105 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.
110 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?
115 Watch. [Aside] I know that Deformed; a’ has been a 116 vile thief this seven year; a’ goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his name.
Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody?
119 Con. No; ’twas the vane on the house.
120 Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how giddily a’ turns about all the hot bloods 122 between fourteen and five-and-thirty? sometimes fashioning 123 them like Pharaoh’s soldiers in the reeky painting, 124 sometime like god Bel’s priests in the old church-window, sometime 125 like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy as his club?
127 Con. All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man. But art not thou thyself 129 giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of 130 thy tale into telling me of the fashion?
Bora. Not so, neither: but know that I 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,—I tell this 135 tale vilely:—I should first tell thee how the prince, Claudio and my master, planted and placed and possessed by my 137 master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable encounter.
139 Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero?
140 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, 145 away went Claudio enraged; swore he would meet her, as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, 147 before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw o’er night, and send her home again without a husband.
149 First Watch. We charge you, in the prince’s name, 150 stand!
Sec. Watch. Call up the right master constable. We have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery 153 that ever was known in the commonwealth.
First Watch. And one Deformed is one of them: I 155 know him; a’ wears a lock.
Con. Masters, masters,—
Sec. Watch. You’ll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you.
159 Con. Masters,—?
160 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, 165 we’ll obey you. [Exeunt.
000 Scene IV. Hero’s apartment.
MAAN III. 4 Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise.
Urs. I will, lady.
Hero. And bid her come hither.
005 Urs. Well. [Exit.
006 Marg. Troth, I think your other rabato were better.
Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I’ll wear this.
008 Marg. By my troth’s not so good; and I warrant your cousin will say so.
010 Hero. My cousin’s a fool, and thou art another: I’ll wear none but this.
Marg. I 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 015 they praise so.
Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.
017 Marg. By my troth’s but a night-gown in respect of 018 yours,—cloth o’ gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set 019 with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts, round 020 underborne 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 exceeding heavy.
Marg. ’Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.
025 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 honourable without marriage? I think you would have me 029 say, ‘saving your reverence, a husband:’ an bad thinking do 030 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.
034 Hero. Good morrow, coz.
035 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.
038 Marg. Clap’s into ‘Light o’ love;’ that goes without a burden: do you sing it, and I’ll dance it.
040 Beat. Ye light o’ love, with your heels! then, if your 041 husband have stables enough, you’ll see he shall lack no barns.
Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.
045 Beat. ’Tis almost five o’clock, cousin; ’tis time you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill: heigh-ho!
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 050 more sailing by the star.
Beat. What means the fool, trow?