[Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges.]
Leon.
What would you with me, honest neighbour?
Dogb.
Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you that decerns
you nearly.
Leon.
Brief, I pray you; for, you see, 't is a busy time with me.
Dogb.
Marry, this it is, sir.
Verg.
Yes, in truth it is, sir.
Leon.
What is it, my good friends?
Dogb.
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.
Dogb.
Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges.
Leon.
Neighbours, you are tedious.
Dogb.
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! ah?
Dogb.
Yea, an't were a thousand times more than 't is; for I hear as
good exclamation on your worship, as of any man in the city; and
though I be but a poor man I am glad to hear it.
Verg.
And so am I.
Leon.
I would fain know what you have to say.
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.
Dogb.
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.
Dogb.
Gifts, that God gives.
Leon.
I must leave you.
Dogb.
One word, sir: our watch, sir, have, indeed, comprehended two
aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined
before your worship.
Leon.
Take their examination yourself, and bring it to me; I am now in
great haste, as it may appear unto you.
Dogb.
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 Leonato and Messenger.]
Dogb.
Go, good partner, go get you to Francis Seacoal; bid him bring
his pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we are now to examination these
men.
Verg.
And we must do it wisely.
Dogb.
We will spare for no wit, I warrant you here's that [touching his
forhead] 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.]
ACT IV.
Scene I.--The inside of a Church.
[Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio, Benedick,
Hero, and Beatrice, &c.]
Leon.
Come, Friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of
marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties
afterwards.
Friar.
You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?
Claud.
No.
Leon.
To be married to her: friar, you come to marry her.
Friar.
Lady, you come hither to be married to this count?
Hero.
I do.
Friar.
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.
Friar.
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?
Leon.
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:
O, what authority and show of truth
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 her 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 large;
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 the seeming! I will write against it,
You seem 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 so wide?
Leon.
Sweet prince, why speak not you?
D. Pedro.
What should I speak?
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?
D. John.
Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.
Bene.
This looks not like a nuptial.
Hero.
True? O God!
Claud.
Leonato, stand I here?
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.
O, 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 am sorry you must hear: Upon my 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 am sorry for thy much misgovernment.
Claud.
O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been placed
About thy 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,
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,
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 Juan, and Claudio.]
Bene.
How doth the lady?
Beat.
Dead, I think;--help, uncle;--
Hero! why, Hero!--Uncle!--Signior Benedick!--friar!
Leon.
O 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?
Friar.
Have comfort, lady.
Leon.
Dost thou look up?
Friar.
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?
Child I for that at frugal nature's frame?
O, 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 mired 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,
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, she--O, she is fallen
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,
I know not what to say.
Beat.
O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!
Bene.
Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
Beat.
No, truly not; although until last night,
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow
Leon.
Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, 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.
Friar.
Hear me a little;
For I have only been silent so long,
And given way unto this course of fortune,
By 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 observations,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.
Leon.
Friar, it cannot be:
Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left
Is, that she will not add to her damnation
A sin of perjury; she not denies it:
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness?
Friar.
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!--O 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.
Friar.
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 lives 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 well 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 kind,
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.
Friar.
Pause awhile,
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead;
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
And publish it that she is dead indeed:
Maintain a mourning ostentation;
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.
Leon.
What shall become of this? What will this do?
Friar.
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,
The 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 his liver,)
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
Is very 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.
Friar.
'T is 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, 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.
I 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?
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 anything for thee.
Beat.
Kill Claudio.
Bene.
Ha! not for the wide world.
Beat.
You kill me 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 'a not approved in the height a villain, that hath
slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman?--O that I were a
man!--What! bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and
then with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated
rancour,--O 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.
Bene.
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-confect: a sweet gallant, surely! O that I were a man
for his sake! or that I 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 Hercules 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 is I have a thought, or a soul.
Bene.
Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge him; I will kiss your
hand, and so I 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, Sexton, in gowns; and the Watch,
with Conrade and Borachio.]
Dogb.
Is our whole dissembly appeared?
Verg.
O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton!
Sexton.
Which be the malefactors?
Dogb.
Marry, that am I and my partner.
Verg.
Nay, that's certain; we have the exhibition to examine.
Sexton.
But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them
come before master constable.
Dogb.
Yea, marry, let them come before me.--What is your name,
friend?
Bor.
Borachio.
Dogb.
Pray write down, Borachio.--Yours, sirrah?
Con.
I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.
Dogb.
Write down, master gentleman Conrade.--Masters, do you serve
God?
[Con Bora.
Yea, sir, we hope.
Dogb.
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 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.
Dogb.
A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about
with him.--Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear, sir; I
say to you, it is thought you are false knaves.
Bora.
Sir, I say to you, we are none.
Dogb.
Well, stand aside.--Fore God, they are both in a tale:
Have you writ down, that they are none?
Sexton.
Master constable, you go not the way to examine; you must call
forth the watch that are their accusers.
Dogb.
Yea, marry, that's the eftest way:--Let the watch come forth:--
Masters, I charge you, in the Prince's name, accuse these men.
1. Watch.
This man said, sir, that don John the prince's brother, was a
villain.
Dogb.
Write down, prince John a villain:--Why, this is flat perjury,
to call a prince's brother villain.
Bora.
Master Constable,--
Dogb.
Pray thee, fellow, peace; I do not like thy look, I promise
thee.
Sexton.
What heard you him say else?
2. Watch.
Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of don John,
for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.
Dogb.
Flat burglary, as ever was committed.
Verg.
Yea, by the mass, that it is.
Sexton.
What else, fellow?
1. Watch.
And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace
Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her.
Dogb.
O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption
for this.
Sexton.
What else?
2. Watch
This is all.
Sexton.
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 upon the grief of this
suddenly died.--Master constable, let these men be bound, and
brought to Leonato; I will go before, and show him their
examination.
[Exit.]
Dogb.
Come, let them be opinioned.
Verg.
Let them be in the hands--
Con.
Off, coxcomb!
Dogb.
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.
Dogb.
Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my
years?--O 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 everything handsome about him:--
Bring him away. O, 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 't is 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 mine ear,
But 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,
And bid him 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;
And, '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 ach with air, and agony with words:
No, no; 't is 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 tooth-ach 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.
[Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.]
Ant.
Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily.
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.
Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou:--
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword,
I fear thee not.
Claud.
Mary, 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, never 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.
I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child;
Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,
And she lies buried with her ancestors:
O! in a tomb where never scandal slept,
Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villany.
Claud.
My villany!
Leon.
Thine, Claudio; thine I say.
D. Pedro.
You say not right, old man.
Leon.
My lord, my lord,
I'll prove it on his body, if he dare;
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, come 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!--
Leon.
Brother Antony,--
Ant.
Hold your content: What, man! I know them, yea,
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple:
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys,
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander,
Go anticly, show outward hideousness,
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst,
And this is all.
Leon.
But, brother Antony ,--
Ant.
Come, 't is no matter;
Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.
D. 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,--
D. Pedro.
I will not hear you.
Leon.
No?
Come, brother, away:--I will be heard;--
Ant.
And shall,
Or some of us will smart for it.
[Exeunt Leonato and Antonio.]
[Enter Benedick.]
D. Pedro.
See, see; here comes the man we went to seek.
Claud.
Now, signior! what news?
Bene.
Good 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 think'st 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 minstrels; 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 wit in the career, an you charge it
against me. I 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?
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 I not find a woodcock too?
Bene.
Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.
D. Pedro.
I'll tell thee how Beatrice prais'd 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 gentleman:' 'Nay,' said I, 'he hath the
tongues;' 'That I believe,' 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
together, transshape 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 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 innocent lady: For my Lord Lack-beard there,
he and I shall meet; and till then peace be with him.
[Exit Benedick.]
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, and Verges, and the Watch, with Conrade
and Borachio.]
Dogb.
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?
Dogb.
Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they
have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; 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, I ask 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.
D. Pedro.
Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to
your answer? this learned constable is too cunning to be
understood: What's your offence?
Bora.
Sweet Prince, let me go no farther 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 insensed 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 uttered it.
D. Pedro.
But did my brother set thee on to this?
Bora.
Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it.
D. Pedro.
He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery:--
And fled he is upon this villany.
Claud.
Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear
In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first.
Dogb.
Come, bring away the plaintiffs; By this time our sexton hath
reformed signior 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.
If you would know your wronger, look on me.
Leon.
Art thou--thou--the slave that with thy breath hast kill'd
Mine innocent child?
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;
'T was bravely done, if you bethink you of it.
Claud.
I know not how to pray your patience,
Yet I must speak: Choose your revenge yourself;
Impose me to what penance your invention
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;
Give her the right you should have given her cousin,
And so dies my revenge.
Claud.
O noble sir,
Your over kindness doth wring tears from me!
I do embrace your offer; and dispose
For henceforth of poor Claudio.
Leon.
To-morrow then I will expect your coming;
To-night I take my leave.--This naughty man
Shall fact to face be brought to Margaret,
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 anything that I do know by her.
Dogb.
Moreover, sir, (which indeed is not under white and black,) this
plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass: I 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 for God's sake: Pray you, examine him upon
that point.
Leon.
I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.
Dogb.
Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent youth;
and I praise God for you.
Leon.
There's for thy pains.
Dogb.
God save the foundation!
Leon.
Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.
Dogb.
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 fall.
Claud.
To night I'll mourn with Hero.
[Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio.]
Leon.
Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk with Margaret,
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.
[Exeunt.]
Scene II.--Leonato's Garden.
[Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting.]
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 sonnet in 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 bucklers.
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.
[Exit Margaret.]
Bene.
And therefore will come.
The god of love, [Singing.]
That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me,
How pitiful I deserve,--
I mean, in singing; but in loving.--Leander the good swimmer,
Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of
these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the
even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned
over and over as my poor self in love: Marry, I cannot show it in
rhyme; I 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 babbling rhyme; very ominous endings: No, I
was not born under a rhyming planet, nor 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.
O, 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 depart
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 intermingle with
them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love
for me?
Bene.
'Suffer love;' a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, 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 old 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 bells
ring, and the widow weeps.
Beat.
And how long is that, think you?
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 I 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 old 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's.
[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.
Hang thou there upon the tomb,
Praising her when I am dumb.'
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,
Heavenly, heavenly.'
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 Phoebus, 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.
D. 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 speeds
Than this, for whom we rend'red up this woe!
[Exeunt.]
Scene IV.--A Room in Leonato's House
[Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Ursula, Friar,
and Hero.]
Friar.
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.
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:
You must be father to your brother's daughter,
And give her to young Claudio.
[Exeunt Ladies.]
Ant.
Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.
Bene.
Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.
Friar.
To do what, signior?
Bene.
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: 'T is 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
In the estate of honourable marriage;
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
Leon.
My heart is with your liking.
Friar.
And my help.
(Here comes 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 Ethiope.
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,
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?
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.
[Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked.]
Claud.
For this I owe you: Here comes other reckonings.
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:
[Unmasking.]
And when you lov'd, you were my other husband.
Claud.
Another Hero?
Hero.
Nothing certainer;
One Hero died (defil'd;) but I do live,
And surely as I live, I am a maid.
D. Pedro.
The former Hero! Hero that is dead!
Leon.
She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv'd.
Friar.
All this amazement can I qualify;
When, after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death:
Meantime, let wonder seem familiar,
And to the chapel let us presently.
Bene.
Soft and fair, friar.--Which is Beatrice?
Beat.
I answer to that name; [Unmasking] what is your will?
Bene.
Do not you love me?
Beat.
Why no, no more than reason.
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.
'T is no such matter:--Then you do not love me?
Beat.
No, truly, but in friendly recompense.
Leon.
Come, cousin, I am 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, stolen from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick.
Bene.
A miracle; here's our own hands against our hearts!--Come,
I 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?
Beat.
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 purpose that the world can say
against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said
against it; for man 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 unbruis'd,
and love my cousin.
Claud.
I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, 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 afterwards.
Bene.
First, o' 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.]
THE END