835Bene. Boy.

836Boy. Signior.

837Bene. In my chamber window lies a booke, bring it

838hither to me in the orchard.

839Boy. I am heere already sir. Exit.

840Bene. I know that, but I would haue thee hence, and

841heere againe. I doe much wonder, that one man seeing

842how much another man is a foole, when he dedicates his

843behauiours to loue, will after hee hath laught at such

844shallow follies in others, become the argument of his

845owne scorne, by falling in loue, & such a man is Claudio,

846I haue known when there was no musicke with him but

847the drum and the fife, and now had hee rather heare the

848taber and the pipe: I haue knowne when he would haue

849walkt ten mile afoot, to see a good armor, and now will

850he lie ten nights awake caruing the fashion of a new dub-

851let: he was wont to speake plaine, & to the purpose (like

852an honest man & a souldier) and now is he turn'd ortho-

853graphy, his words are a very fantasticall banquet, iust so

854many strange dishes: may I be so conuerted, & see with

855these eyes? I cannot tell, I thinke not: I will not bee

856sworne, but loue may transforme me to an oyster, but Ile

857take my oath on it, till he haue made an oyster of me, he

858shall neuer make me such a foole: one woman is faire, yet

859I am well: another is wise, yet I am well: another vertu-

860ous, yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman,

861one woman shall not come in my grace: rich shee shall

862be, that's certaine: wise, or Ile none: vertuous, or Ile ne-

863uer cheapen her: faire, or Ile neuer looke on her: milde,

864or come not neere me: Noble, or not for an Angell: of

865good discourse: an excellent Musitian, and her haire shal

866be of what colour it please God, hah! the Prince and

867Monsieur Loue, I will hide me in the Arbor.

869Prin. Come, shall we heare this musicke?

870Claud. Yea my good Lord: how still the euening is,

871As husht on purpose to grace harmonie.

872Prin. See you where Benedicke hath hid himselfe?

873Clau. O very well my Lord: the musicke ended,

874Wee'll fit the kid-foxe with a penny worth.

875Prince. Come Balthasar, wee'll heare that song again.

876Balth. O good my Lord, taxe not so bad a voyce,

877To slander musicke any more then once.

878Prin. It is the witnesse still of excellency,

108 Much ado about Nothing.

879To slander Musicke any more then once.

880Prince. It is the witnesse still of excellencie,

881To put a strange face on his owne perfection,

882I pray thee sing, and let me woe no more.

883Balth. Because you talke of wooing, I will sing,

884Since many a wooer doth commence his suit,

885To her he thinkes not worthy, yet he wooes,

886Yet will he sweare he loues.

887Prince. Nay pray thee come,

888Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,

889Doe it in notes.

890Balth. Note this before my notes,

891Theres not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

892Prince. Why these are very crotchets that he speaks,

893Note notes forsooth, and nothing.

894Bene. Now diuine aire, now is his soule rauisht, is it

895not strange that sheepes guts should hale soules out of

896mens bodies? well, a horne for my money when all's

897done.

912Prince. By my troth a good song.

913Balth. And an ill singer, my Lord.

914Prince. Ha, no, no faith, thou singst well enough for a

915shift.

916Ben. And he had been a dog that should haue howld

917thus, they would haue hang'd him, and I pray God his

918bad voyce bode no mischiefe, I had as liefe haue heard

919the night-rauen, come what plague could haue come af-

920ter it.

921Prince. Yea marry, dost thou heare Balthasar? I pray

922thee get vs some excellent musick: for to morrow night

923we would haue it at the Lady Heroes chamber window.

924Balth. The best I can, my Lord. Exit Balthasar.

925Prince. Do so, farewell. Come hither Leonato, what

926was it you told me of to day, that your Niece Beatrice

927was in loue with signior Benedicke?

928Cla. O I, stalke on, stalke on, the foule sits. I did ne-

929uer thinke that Lady would haue loued any man.

930Leon. No, nor I neither, but most wonderful, that she

931should so dote on Signior Benedicke, whom shee hath in

932all outward behauiours seemed euer to abhorre.

933Bene. Is't possible? sits the winde in that corner?

934Leo. By my troth my Lord, I cannot tell what to

935thinke of it, but that she loues him with an inraged affe-

936ction, it is past the infinite of thought.

937Prince. May be she doth but counterfeit.

938Claud. Faith like enough.

939Leon. O God! counterfeit? there was neuer counter-

940feit of passion, came so neere the life of passion as she dis-

941couers it.

942Prince. Why what effects of passion shewes she?

943Claud. Baite the hooke well, this fish will bite.

944Leon. What effects my Lord? shee will sit you, you

945heard my daughter tell you how.

946Clau. She did indeed.

947Prin. How, how I pray you? you amaze me, I would

948haue thought her spirit had beene inuincible against all

949assaults of affection.

950Leo. I would haue sworne it had, my Lord, especially

951against Benedicke.

952Bene. I should thinke this a gull, but that the white-

953bearded fellow speakes it: knauery cannot sure hide

954himselfe in such reuerence.

955Claud. He hath tane th'infection, hold it vp.

956Prince. Hath shee made her affection known to Bene-

957dicke?

958Leonato. No, and sweares she neuer will, that's her

959torment.

960Claud. 'Tis true indeed, so your daughter saies: shall

961I, saies she, that haue so oft encountred him with scorne,

962write to him that I loue him?

963Leo. This saies shee now when shee is beginning to

964write to him, for shee'll be vp twenty times a night, and

965there will she sit in her smocke, till she haue writ a sheet

966of paper: my daughter tells vs all.

967Clau. Now you talke of a sheet of paper, I remember

968a pretty iest your daughter told vs of.

969Leon. O when she had writ it, & was reading it ouer,

970she found Benedicke and Beatrice betweene the sheete.

971Clau. That.

972Leon. O she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence,

973raild at her self, that she should be so immodest to write,

974to one that shee knew would flout her: I measure him,

975saies she, by my owne spirit, for I should flout him if hee

976writ to mee, yea though I loue him, I should.

977Clau. Then downe vpon her knees she falls, weepes,

978sobs, beates her heart, teares her hayre, praies, curses, O

979sweet Benedicke, God giue me patience.

980Leon. She doth indeed, my daughter saies so, and the

981extasie hath so much ouerborne her, that my daughter is

982somtime afeard she will doe a desperate out-rage to her

983selfe, it is very true.

984Princ. It were good that Benedicke knew of it by some

985other, if she will not discouer it.

986Clau. To what end? he would but make a sport of it,

987and torment the poore Lady worse.

988Prin. And he should, it were an almes to hang him,

989shee's an excellent sweet Lady, and (out of all suspition,)

990she is vertuous.

991Claudio. And she is exceeding wise.

992Prince. In euery thing, but in louing Benedicke.

993Leon. O my Lord, wisedome and bloud combating in

994so tender a body, we haue ten proofes to one, that bloud

995hath the victory, I am sorry for her, as I haue iust cause,

996being her Vncle, and her Guardian.

997Prince. I would shee had bestowed this dotage on

998mee, I would haue daft all other respects, and made her

999halfe my selfe: I pray you tell Benedicke of it, and heare

1000what he will say.

1001Leon. Were it good thinke you?

1002Clau. Hero thinkes surely she wil die, for she saies she

1003will die, if hee loue her not, and shee will die ere shee

1004make her loue knowne, and she will die if hee wooe her,

1005rather than shee will bate one breath of her accustomed

1006crossenesse.

1007Prin. She doth well, if she should make tender of her

Much ado about Nothing. 109

1008loue, 'tis very possible hee'l scorne it, for the man (as you

1009know all) hath a contemptible spirit.

1010Clau. He is a very proper man.

1011Prin. He hath indeed a good outward happines.

1012Clau. 'Fore God, and in my minde very wise.

1013Prin. He doth indeed shew some sparkes that are like

1014wit.

1015Leon. And I take him to be valiant.

1016Prin. As Hector, I assure you, and in the managing of

1017quarrels you may see hee is wise, for either hee auoydes

1018them with great discretion, or vndertakes them with a

1019Christian-like feare.

1020Leon. If hee doe feare God, a must necessarilie keepe

1021peace, if hee breake the peace, hee ought to enter into a

1022quarrell with feare and trembling.

1023Prin. And so will he doe, for the man doth fear God,

1024howsoeuer it seemes not in him, by some large ieasts hee

1025will make: well, I am sorry for your niece, shall we goe

1026see Benedicke, and tell him of her loue.

1027Claud. Neuer tell him, my Lord, let her weare it out

1028with good counsell.

1029Leon. Nay that's impossible, she may weare her heart

1030out first.

1031Prin. Well, we will heare further of it by your daugh-

1032ter, let it coole the while, I loue Benedicke well, and I

1033could wish he would modestly examine himselfe, to see

1034how much he is vnworthy to haue so good a Lady.

1035Leon. My Lord, will you walke? dinner is ready.

1036Clau. If he do not doat on her vpon this, I wil neuer

1037trust my expectation.

1038Prin. Let there be the same Net spread for her, and

1039that must your daughter and her gentlewoman carry:

1040the sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of ano-

1041thers dotage, and no such matter, that's the Scene that I

1042would see, which will be meerely a dumbe shew: let vs

1043send her to call him into dinner. Exeunt.

1044Bene. This can be no tricke, the conference was sadly

1045borne, they haue the truth of this from Hero, they seeme

1046to pittie the Lady: it seemes her affections haue the full

1047bent: loue me? why it must be requited: I heare how I

1048am censur'd, they say I will beare my selfe proudly, if I

1049perceiue the loue come from her: they say too, that she

1050will rather die than giue any signe of affection: I did ne-

1051uer thinke to marry, I must not seeme proud, happy are

1052they that heare their detractions, and can put them to

1053mending: they say the Lady is faire, 'tis a truth, I can

1054beare them witnesse: and vertuous, tis so, I cannot re-

1055prooue it, and wise, but for louing me, by my troth it is

1056no addition to her witte, nor no great argument of her

1057folly; for I wil be horribly in loue with her, I may chance

1058haue some odde quirkes and remnants of witte broken

1059on mee, because I haue rail'd so long against marriage:

1060but doth not the appetite alter? a man loues the meat in

1061his youth, that he cannot indure in his age. Shall quips

1062and sentences, and these paper bullets of the braine awe

1063a man from the careere of his humour? No, the world

1064must be peopled. When I said I would die a batcheler, I

1065did not think I should liue till I were maried, here comes

1066Beatrice: by this day, shee's a faire Lady, I doe spie some

1067markes of loue in her.

1069Beat. Against my wil I am sent to bid you come in to

1070dinner.

1071Bene. Faire Beatrice, I thanke you for your paines.

1072Beat. I tooke no more paines for those thankes, then

1073you take paines to thanke me, if it had been painefull, I

1074would not haue come.

1075Bene. You take pleasure then in the message.

1076Beat. Yea iust so much as you may take vpon a kniues

1077point, and choake a daw withall: you haue no stomacke

1078signior, fare you well. Exit.

1079Bene. Ha, against my will I am sent to bid you come

1080into dinner: there's a double meaning in that: I tooke

1081no more paines for those thankes then you tooke paines

1082to thanke me, that's as much as to say, any paines that I

1083take for you is as easie as thankes: if I do not take pitty

1084of her I am a villaine, if I doe not loue her I am a Iew, I

1085will goe get her picture. Exit.