Much Ado About Nothing (Folio 1, 1623)
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¶
Enter Benedicke alone.
835Bene. Boy.
¶Boy. Signior.
¶Bene. In my chamber window lies a booke, bring it
¶hither to me in the orchard.
840Bene. I know that, but I would haue thee hence, and
¶heere againe. I doe much wonder, that one man seeing
¶how much another man is a foole, when he dedicates his
¶behauiours to loue, will after hee hath laught at such
¶shallow follies in others, become the argument of his
¶I haue known when there was no musicke with him but
¶the drum and the fife, and now had hee rather heare the
¶taber and the pipe: I haue knowne when he would haue
¶walkt ten mile afoot, to see a good armor, and now will
850he lie ten nights awake caruing the fashion of a new dub-
855these eyes? I cannot tell, I thinke not: I will not bee
¶take my oath on it, till he haue made an oyster of me, he
¶I am well: another is wise, yet I am well: another vertu-
860ous, yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman,
¶be, that's certaine: wise, or Ile none: vertuous, or Ile ne-
¶uer cheapen her: faire, or Ile neuer looke on her: milde,
¶or come not neere me: Noble, or not for an Angell: of
¶be of what colour it please God, hah! the Prince and
¶Monsieur Loue, I will hide me in the Arbor.
¶
Enter Prince, Leonato, Claudio, and Iacke Wilson.
¶Wee'll fit the kid-foxe with a penny worth.
¶To put a strange face on his owne perfection,
¶I pray thee sing, and let me woe no more.
¶Since many a wooer doth commence his suit,
885To her he thinkes not worthy, yet he wooes,
¶Yet will he sweare he loues.
¶Prince. Nay pray thee come,
¶Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,
¶Doe it in notes.
890Balth. Note this before my notes,
¶Theres not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
¶Note notes forsooth, and nothing.
¶mens bodies? well, a horne for my money when all's
¶done.
¶
The Song.
¶Sigh no more Ladies, sigh no more,
915shift.
¶thus, they would haue hang'd him, and I pray God his
¶bad voyce bode no mischiefe, I had as liefe haue heard
¶the night-rauen, come what plague could haue come af-
920ter it.
¶we would haue it at the Lady Heroes chamber window.
¶was it you told me of to day, that your Niece Beatrice
¶was in loue with signior Benedicke?
¶uer thinke that Lady would haue loued any man.
¶all outward behauiours seemed euer to abhorre.
¶Leo. By my troth my Lord, I cannot tell what to
935thinke of it, but that she loues him with an inraged affe-
¶ction, it is past the infinite of thought.
¶Claud. Faith like enough.
¶Leon. O God! counterfeit? there was neuer counter-
¶couers it.
945heard my daughter tell you how.
¶Clau. She did indeed.
¶Prin. How, how I pray you? you amaze me, I would
¶against Benedicke.
955Claud. He hath tane th'infection, hold it vp.
¶dicke?
¶torment.
¶write to him that I loue him?
¶write to him, for shee'll be vp twenty times a night, and
¶of paper: my daughter tells vs all.
¶a pretty iest your daughter told vs of.
¶Clau. That.
¶writ to mee, yea though I loue him, I should.
¶sweet Benedicke, God giue me patience.
¶selfe, it is very true.
¶and torment the poore Lady worse.
990she is vertuous.
¶Prince. In euery thing, but in louing Benedicke.
¶so tender a body, we haue ten proofes to one, that bloud
¶being her Vncle, and her Guardian.
¶mee, I would haue daft all other respects, and made her
¶halfe my selfe: I pray you tell Benedicke of it, and heare
1000what he will say.
¶Leon. Were it good thinke you?
¶make her loue knowne, and she will die if hee wooe her,
¶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.
