Much Ado About Nothing (Folio 1, 1623)
Not Peer Reviewed
¶
Actus Quintus.
¶
Enter Leonato and his brother.
2085Nor let no comfort delight mine eare,
¶Bring me a father that so lou'd his childe,
¶Whose ioy of her is ouer-whelmed like mine,
¶And bid him speake of patience,
2090Measure his woe the length and bredth of mine,
¶In euery lineament, branch, shape, and forme:
¶Patch griefe with prouerbs, make misfortune drunke,
¶With candle-wasters: bring him yet to me,
¶And I of him will gather patience:
¶But there is no such man, for brother, men
¶Would giue preceptiall medicine to rage,
2105Charme ache with ayre, and agony with words,
¶No, no, 'tis all mens office, to speake patience
¶But no mans vertue nor sufficiencie
¶My griefs cry lowder then aduertisement.
¶Broth. Therein do men from children nothing differ.
¶For there was neuer yet Philosopher,
2115That could endure the tooth-ake patiently,
¶How euer they haue writ the stile of gods,
¶My soule doth tell me, Hero is belied,
¶And all of them that thus dishonour her.
¶
Enter Prince and Claudio.
¶Prin. Good den, good den.
¶Clau. Good day to both of you.
¶Leon. Heare you my Lords?
¶Prin. Nay, do not quarrell with vs, good old man.
¶Some of vs would lie low.
2135Claud. Who wrongs him?
¶Nay, neuer lay thy hand vpon thy sword,
¶I feare thee not.
¶Infaith my hand meant nothing to my sword.
¶I speake not like a dotard, nor a foole,
¶As vnder priuiledge of age to bragge,
2145What I haue done being yong, or what would doe,
¶Were I not old, know Claudio to thy head,
¶That I am forc'd to lay my reuerence by,
¶And with grey haires and bruise of many daies,
2150Doe challenge thee to triall of a man,
¶Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,
2155Saue this of hers, fram'd by thy villanie.
¶Claud. My villany?
¶Leon. My Lord, my Lord,
2160Ile proue it on his body if he dare,
¶His Maie of youth, and bloome of lustihood.
¶Claud. Away, I will not haue to do with you.
¶But that's no matter, let him kill one first:
¶Win me and weare me, let him answere me,
¶Come follow me boy, come sir boy, come follow me
2170Sir boy, ile whip you from your foyning fence,
¶Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.
¶Leon. Brother.
2175That dare as well answer a man indeede,
¶As I d are take a serpent by the tongue.
¶Boyes, apes, braggarts, Iackes, milke-sops.
¶Leon. Brother Anthony.
¶Brot. Hold you content, what man? I know them, yea
¶Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boyes,
¶That lye, and cog, and flout, depraue, and slander,
¶And speake of halfe a dozen dang'rous words,
2185How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst.
¶And this is all.
¶Leon. But brother Anthonie.
¶Ant. Come, 'tis no matter,
¶Do not you meddle, let me deale in this.
2190Pri. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience
¶My heart is sorry for your daughters death:
¶But on my honour she was charg'd with nothing
¶But what was true, and very full of proofe.
¶Leon. My Lord, my Lord.
2195Prin. I will not heare you.
¶
Enter Benedicke.
¶Leo. No come brother, away, I will be heard.
¶
Exeunt ambo.
¶Ben. Good day my Lord.
¶almost a fray.
¶off with two old men without teeth.
¶wee fought, I doubt we should haue beene too yong for
¶them.
¶to seeke you both.
¶we are high proofe melancholly, and would faine haue it
¶beaten away, wilt thou vse thy wit?
¶beside their wit, I will bid thee drawe, as we do the min-
¶sicke, or angrie?
¶Clau. What, courage man: what though care kil'd a
¶cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.
¶iect.
¶Prin. By this light, he changes more and more, I thinke
2230he be angrie indeede.
¶Clau. If he be, he knowes how to turne his girdle.
2235how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare:
¶you, let me heare from you.
2240cheare.
¶Clau. I faith I thanke him, he hath bid me to a calues
¶head and a Capon, the which if I doe not carue most cu-
2245cocke too?
¶Prin. Ile tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the o-
2255there's a double tongue, there's two tongues: thus did
¶proprest man in Italie.
2260car'd not.
¶did not hate him deadlie, shee would loue him dearely,
¶the old mans daughter told vs all.
2265was hid in the garden.
¶Clau. Yea and text vnder-neath, heere dwells Bene-
¶dicke the married man.
2270Ben. Fare you well, Boy, you know my minde, I will
¶iests as braggards do their blades, which God be thank-
¶ed hurt not: my Lord, for your manie courtesies I thank
¶kill'd a sweet and innocent Ladie: for my Lord Lacke-
¶beard there, he and I shall meete, and till then peace be
¶with him.
¶for the loue of Beatrice.
¶Prin. And hath challeng'd thee.
¶Prin. What a prettie thing man is, when he goes in his
2285doublet and hose, and leaues off his wit.
¶
Enter Constable, Conrade, and Borachio.
¶Clau. He is then a Giant to an Ape, but then is an Ape
¶a Doctor to such a man.
¶Prin. How now, two of my brothers men bound? Bo-
2295rachio one.
¶Clau. Harken after their offence my Lord.
¶thirdly, they haue verified vniust things, and to conclude
¶they are lying knaues.
2305are committed, and to conclude, what you lay to their
¶charge.
¶by my troth there's one meaning vvell suted.
¶cunning to be vnderstood, vvhat's your offence?
¶Bor. Sweete Prince, let me go no farther to mine an-
¶swere: do you heare me, and let this Count kill mee: I
¶haue deceiued euen your verie eies: vvhat your wise-
¶brought to light, vvho in the night ouerheard me con-
¶me to slander the Ladie Hero, how you were brought
¶into the Orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Heroes
¶marrie her: my villanie they haue vpon record, vvhich
¶I had rather seale vvith my death, then repeate ouer to
2325reward of a villaine.
¶bloud?
¶Prin. He is compos'd and fram'd of treacherie,
¶And fled he is vpon this villanie.
¶Clau. Sweet Hero, now thy image doth appeare
2335Const. Come, bring away the plaintiffes, by this time
¶our Sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter:
2340the Sexton too.
¶
Enter Leonato.
¶That when I note another man like him,
¶I may auoide him: vvhich of these is he?
2345Bor. If you vvould know your wronger, looke on me.
¶hast kild mine innocent childe?
¶Bor. Yea, euen I alone.
2350Here stand a paire of honourable men,
¶A third is fled that had a hand in it:
¶I thanke you Princes for my daughters death,
¶Record it with your high and worthie deedes,
¶'Twas brauely done, if you bethinke you of it.
2355Clau. I know not how to pray your patience,
¶Impose me to what penance your inuention
¶But in mistaking.
¶I vvould bend vnder anie heauie vvaight,
¶That heele enioyne me to.
¶Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter liue,
¶How innocent she died, and if your loue
¶Can labour aught in sad inuention,
¶Hang her an epitaph vpon her toomb,
¶To morrow morning come you to my house,
¶Be yet my Nephew: my brother hath a daughter,
¶Almost the copie of my childe that's dead,
2375And she alone is heire to both of vs,
¶And so dies my reuenge.
¶For henceforth of poore Claudio.
¶Leon. To morrow then I will expect your comming,
¶To night I take my leaue, this naughtie man
¶Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
2385Who I beleeue was packt in all this wrong,
¶Hired to it by your brother.
¶But alwaies hath bin iust and vertuous,
2390In anie thing that I do know by her.
¶and black, this plaintiffe here, the offendour did call mee
¶ment, and also the vvatch heard them talke of one Defor-
2395med, they say he weares a key in his eare and a lock hang-
¶ing by it, and borrowes monie in Gods name, the which
¶he hath vs'd so long, and neuer paied, that now men grow
¶hard-harted and will lend nothing for Gods sake: praie
¶you examine him vpon that point.
¶and reuerend youth, and I praise God for you.
¶Leon. There's for thy paines.
¶thanke thee.
¶the example of others: God keepe your vvorship, I
¶I humblie giue you leaue to depart, and if a mer-
¶rie meeting may be wisht, God prohibite it: come
¶neighbour.
¶Leon. Vntill to morrow morning, Lords, farewell.
2415
Exeunt.
¶Brot. Farewell my Lords, vve looke for you to mor-
¶row.
¶Prin. We will not faile.
¶Clau. To night ile mourne with Hero.
¶Margaret, how her acquaintance grew vvith this lewd
¶fellow.
Exeunt.
