834 Enter Benedicke alone. 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 mu
sicke 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 fa
shion of a new dub
- 851let: he was wont to
speake plaine, & to the purpo
se (like
852an hone
st man & a
souldier) and now is he turn'd ortho
- 853graphy, his words are a very fanta
sticall banquet, iu
st so
854many
strange di
shes: may I be
so conuerted, &
see with
855the
se eyes? I cannot tell, I thinke not: I will not bee
856sworne, but loue may transforme me to an oy
ster, but Ile
857take my oath on it, till he haue made an oy
ster of me, he
858shall neuer make me
such a foole: one woman is faire, yet
859I am well: another is wi
se, 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: wi
se, 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 di
scour
se: an excellent Mu
sitian, and her haire
shal
866be of what colour it plea
se God, hah! the Prince and
867Mon
sieur Loue, I will hide me in the Arbor.
868 Enter Prince, Leonato, Claudio, and Iacke Wilson. 869Prin. Come,
shall we heare this mu
sicke?
870Claud. Yea my good Lord: how
still the euening is,
871As hu
sht on purpo
se to grace harmonie.
872Prin. See you where
Benedicke hath hid him
selfe?
873Clau. O very well my Lord: the mu
sicke 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 mu
sicke any more then once.
878Prin. It is the witne
sse
still of excellency,
To
108 Much ado about Nothing.
879To
slander Mu
sicke any more then once.
880Prince. It is the witne
sse
still of excellencie,
881To put a
strange face on his owne perfe
ction,
882I pray thee
sing, and let me woe no more.
883Balth. Becau
se 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,
890Balth. Note this before my notes,
891Theres not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
892Prince. Why the
se are very crotchets that he
speaks,
893Note notes for
sooth, and nothing.
894Bene. Now diuine aire, now is his
soule raui
sht, is it
895not
strange that
sheepes guts
should hale
soules out of
896mens bodies? well, a horne for my money when all's
899 Sigh no more Ladies, sigh no more,
900Men were deceiuers euer,
901One foote in Sea, and one on shore,
902To one thing constant neuer,
903Then sigh not so, but let them goe,
904And be you blithe and bonnie,
905Conuerting all your sounds of woe,
907Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,
908Of dumps so dull and heauy,
909The fraud of men were euer so,
910Since summer first was leauy,
912Prince. By my troth a good
song.
913Balth. And an ill
singer, my Lord.
914Prince. Ha, no, no faith, thou
sing
st well enough for a
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 mi
schiefe, I had as liefe haue heard
919the night-rauen, come what plague could haue come af
- 921Prince. Yea marry, do
st thou heare
Balthasar? I pray
922thee get vs
some excellent mu
sick: for to morrow night
923we would haue it at the Lady
Heroes chamber window.
924Balth. The be
st 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 mo
st wonderful, that
she
931should
so dote on Signior
Benedicke, whom
shee hath in
932all outward behauiours
seemed euer to abhorre.
933Bene. Is't po
ssible?
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 a
ffe
- 936ction, it is pa
st the in
finite of thought.
937Prince. May be
she doth but counterfeit.
938Claud. Faith like enough.
939Leon. O God! counterfeit? there was neuer counter
- 940feit of pa
ssion, came
so neere the life of pa
ssion as
she di
s- 942Prince. Why what e
ffe
cts of pa
ssion
shewes
she?
943Claud. Baite the hooke well, this
fish will bite.
944Leon. What e
ffe
cts my Lord?
shee will
sit you, you
945heard my daughter tell you how.
947Prin. How, how I pray you? you amaze me, I would
948haue thought her
spirit had beene inuincible again
st all
949a
ssaults of a
ffe
ction.
950Leo. I would haue
sworne it had, my Lord, e
specially
952Bene. I
should thinke this a gull, but that the white
- 953bearded fellow
speakes it: knauery cannot
sure hide
954him
selfe in
such reuerence.
955Claud. He hath tane th'infe
ction, hold it vp.
956Prince. Hath
shee made her a
ffe
ction known to
Bene- 958Leonato. No, and
sweares
she neuer will, that's her
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 ie
st your daughter told vs of.
969Leon. O when
she had writ it, & was reading it ouer,
970she found
Benedicke and
Beatrice betweene the
sheete.
972Leon. O
she tore the letter into a thou
sand halfpence,
973raild at her
self, that
she
should be
so immode
st to write,
974to one that
shee knew would
flout her: I mea
sure 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, cur
ses, O
979sweet
Benedicke, God giue me patience.
980Leon. She doth indeed, my daughter
saies
so, and the
981exta
sie hath
so much ouerborne her, that my daughter is
982somtime afeard
she will doe a de
sperate 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 di
scouer it.
986Clau. To what end? he would but make a
sport of it,
987and torment the poore Lady wor
se.
988Prin. And he
should, it were an almes to hang him,
989shee's an excellent
sweet Lady, and (out of all
su
spition,)
991Claudio. And
she is exceeding wi
se.
992Prince. In euery thing, but in louing
Benedicke.
993Leon. O my Lord, wi
sedome and bloud combating in
994so tender a body, we haue ten proofes to one, that bloud
995hath the vi
ctory, I am
sorry for her, as I haue iu
st cau
se,
996being her Vncle, and her Guardian.
997Prince. I would
shee had be
stowed this dotage on
998mee, I would haue daft all other re
spe
cts, and made her
999halfe my
selfe: I pray you tell
Benedicke of it, and heare
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 accu
stomed
1007Prin. She doth well, if
she
should make tender of her
loue,
Much ado about Nothing. 109
1008loue, 'tis very po
ssible 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 wi
se.
1013Prin. He doth indeed
shew
some
sparkes that are like
1015Leon. And I take him to be valiant.
1016Prin. As
Hector, I a
ssure you, and in the managing of
1017quarrels you may
see hee is wi
se, for either hee auoydes
1018them with great di
scretion, or vndertakes them with a
1019Chri
stian-like feare.
1020Leon. If hee doe feare God, a mu
st nece
ssarilie 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,
1024how
soeuer it
seemes not in him, by
some large iea
sts 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
1029Leon. Nay that's impo
ssible,
she may weare her heart
1031Prin. Well, we will heare further of it by your daugh
- 1032ter, let it coole the while, I loue
Benedicke well, and I
1033could wi
sh he would mode
stly examine him
selfe, 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
1037tru
st my expe
ctation.
1038Prin. Let there be the
same Net
spread for her, and
1039that mu
st 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 a
ffe
ctions haue the full
1047bent: loue me? why it mu
st be requited: I heare how I
1048am cen
sur'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 a
ffe
ction: I did ne
- 1051uer thinke to marry, I mu
st not
seeme proud, happy are
1052they that heare their detra
ctions, and can put them to
1053mending: they
say the Lady is faire, 'tis a truth, I can
1054beare them witne
sse: and vertuous, tis
so, I cannot re
- 1055prooue it, and wi
se, 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, becau
se I haue rail'd
so long again
st 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 the
se paper bullets of the braine awe
1063a man from the careere of his humour? No, the world
1064mu
st 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. Again
st my wil I am
sent to bid you come in to
1071Bene. Faire
Beatrice, I thanke you for your paines.
1072Beat. I tooke no more paines for tho
se thankes, then
1073you take paines to thanke me, if it had been painefull, I
1075Bene. You take plea
sure then in the me
ssage.
1076Beat. Yea iu
st 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, again
st my will I am
sent to bid you come
1080into dinner: there's a double meaning in that: I tooke
1081no more paines for tho
se thankes then you tooke paines
1082to thanke me, that's as much as to
say, any paines that I
1083take for you is as ea
sie 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 pi
cture.
Exit.