Much Ado About Nothing (Folio 1, 1623)
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Much ado about Nothing.
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¶know all) hath a contemptible spirit.
1010Clau. He is a very proper man.
¶Prin. He hath indeed a good outward happines.
¶wit.
1015Leon. And I take him to be valiant.
¶them with great discretion, or vndertakes them with a
¶Christian-like feare.
¶peace, if hee breake the peace, hee ought to enter into a
¶quarrell with feare and trembling.
¶see Benedicke, and tell him of her loue.
¶Claud. Neuer tell him, my Lord, let her weare it out
¶with good counsell.
1030out first.
¶Prin. Well, we will heare further of it by your daugh-
¶ter, let it coole the while, I loue Benedicke well, and I
¶how much he is vnworthy to haue so good a Lady.
1035Leon. My Lord, will you walke? dinner is ready.
¶Clau. If he do not doat on her vpon this, I wil neuer
¶trust my expectation.
¶that must your daughter and her gentlewoman carry:
1040the sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of ano-
¶thers dotage, and no such matter, that's the Scene that I
¶send her to call him into dinner.
Exeunt.
1045borne, they haue the truth of this from Hero, they seeme
¶to pittie the Lady: it seemes her affections haue the full
¶bent: loue me? why it must be requited: I heare how I
1050will rather die than giue any signe of affection: I did ne-
¶they that heare their detractions, and can put them to
¶mending: they say the Lady is faire, 'tis a truth, I can
1055prooue it, and wise, but for louing me, by my troth it is
¶no addition to her witte, nor no great argument of her
¶folly; for I wil be horribly in loue with her, I may chance
¶haue some odde quirkes and remnants of witte broken
1060but doth not the appetite alter? a man loues the meat in
¶his youth, that he cannot indure in his age. Shall quips
¶a man from the careere of his humour? No, the world
1065did not think I should liue till I were maried, here comes
¶markes of loue in her.
¶
Enter Beatrice.
1070dinner.
¶Bene. Faire Beatrice, I thanke you for your paines.
¶you take paines to thanke me, if it had been painefull, I
¶would not haue come.
¶point, and choake a daw withall: you haue no stomacke
¶signior, fare you well.
Exit.
1080into dinner: there's a double meaning in that: I tooke
¶no more paines for those thankes then you tooke paines
¶to thanke me, that's as much as to say, any paines that I
¶take for you is as easie as thankes: if I do not take pitty
¶of her I am a villaine, if I doe not loue her I am a Iew, I
1085will goe get her picture.
Exit.
¶
Actus Tertius.
¶
Enter Hero and two Gentlemen, Margaret, and Vrsula.
¶Hero. Good Margaret runne thee to the parlour,
1090Proposing with the Prince and Claudio,
¶And bid her steale into the pleached bower,
¶Forbid the sunne to enter: like fauourites,
¶Made proud by Princes, that aduance their pride,
1100Beare thee well in it, and leaue vs alone.
¶As we do trace this alley vp and downe,
¶Our talke must onely be of Benedicke,
1105When I doe name him, let it be thy part,
¶To praise him more then euer man did merit,
¶My talke to thee must be how Benedicke
¶Is sicke in loue with Beatrice: of this matter,
¶Is little Cupids crafty arrow made,
1110That onely wounds by heare-say: now begin,
¶
Enter Beatrice.
¶For looke where Beatrice like a Lapwing runs
¶Close by the ground, to heare our conference.
¶And greedily deuoure the treacherous baite:
¶So angle we for Beatrice, who euen now,
¶Is couched in the wood-bine couerture,
¶Feare you not my part of the Dialogue.
¶I know her spirits are as coy and wilde,
¶As Haggerds of the rocke.
¶That Benedicke loues Beatrice so intirely?
¶Vrs. And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam?
¶Her. They did intreate me to acquaint her of it,
1130But I perswaded them, if they lou'd Benedicke,
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