William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing (1598-99)


William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

This is a part of a collection of works by William Shakespeare.

Source

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, ed. with a glossary by W.J. Craig M.A. (London: Oxford University Press, 1916).

See the complete volume in HTML and facs. PDF.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
- Scene I.— The Inside of a Church.
- Scene II.— A Prison.
ACT V.

You will never run mad, niece.

Beat.

No, not till a hot January. 96

Mess.

[Exit.

Claud.

My liege, your highness now may do me good. 300

D. Pedro.

My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,

And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn

Any hard lesson that may do thee good.

Claud.

Hath Leonato any son, my lord? 304

D. Pedro.

No child but Hero; she’s his only heir.

Dost thou affect her, Claudio?

Claud.

O! my lord,

When you went onward on this ended action,

I looked upon her with a soldier’s eye, 308

That lik’d, but had a rougher task in hand

Than to drive liking to the name of love;

But now I am return’d, and that war-thoughts

Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 312

Come thronging soft and delicate desires,

All prompting me how fair young Hero is,

Saying, I lik’d her ere I went to wars.

D. Pedro.

Thou wilt be like a lover presently,

And tire the hearer with a book of words. 317

If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it,

And I will break with her, and with her father,

And thou shalt have her. Was’t not to this end

That thou began’st to twist so fine a story? 321

Claud.

How sweetly do you minister to love,

That know love’s grief by his complexion!

But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 324

I would have salv’d it with a longer treatise.

D. Pedro.

What need the bridge much broader than the flood?

The fairest grant is the necessity.

Look, what will serve is fit: ’tis once, thou lov’st,

And I will fit thee with the remedy. 329

I know we shall have revelling to-night:

I will assume thy part in some disguise,

And tell fair Hero I am Claudio; 332

And in her bosom I’ll unclasp my heart,

And take her hearing prisoner with the force

And strong encounter of my amorous tale:

Then, after to her father will I break; 336

And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.

In practice let us put it presently.

D. John.

A very forward March-chick! How came you to this?

Bora.

Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference: I whipt me behind the arras, and there heard it agreed upon that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her, give her to Count Claudio. 66

D. John.

Come, come; let us thither: this may prove food to my displeasure. That young start-up hath all the glory of my overthrow: if I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way. You are both sure, and will assist me?

Con.

The revellers are entering, brother: make good room. 89

Claud.

Thus answer I in name of Benedick,

But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.

’Tis certain so; the prince woos for himself.

Friendship is constant in all other things 184

Save in the office and affairs of love:

Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;

Let every eye negotiate for itself

And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch 188

Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.

This is an accident of hourly proof,

Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!

If it will not be, I’ll leave you.

[Exit.

Bene.

Alas! poor hurt fowl. Now will he creep into sedges. But, that my lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The prince’s fool! Ha! it may be I go under that title because I am merry. Yea, but so I am apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it is the base though bitter disposition of Beatrice that puts the world into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I’ll be revenged as I may. 219

O! she misused me past the endurance of a block: an oak but with one green leaf on it, would have answered her: my very visor began to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had been myself, that I was the prince’s jester; that I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such impossible conveyance upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her; she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgressed: she would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall find her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would conjure her, for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose because they would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror and perturbation follow her. 271

Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero, and Leonato.

D. Pedro.

Look! here she comes.

Bene.

Will your Grace command me any service to the world’s end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John’s foot; fetch you a hair off the Great Cham’s beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather than hold three words’ conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me? 282

D. Pedro.

None, but to desire your good company.

Bene.

D. John.

What proof shall I make of that?

Bora.

Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato.

Look you for any other issue?

D. John.

Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing. 32

Bora.

Go, then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count Claudio alone: tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as—in love of your brother’s honour, who hath made this match, and his friend’s reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of a maid,—that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial: offer them instances, which shall bear no less likelihood than to see me at her chamber-window, hear me call Margaret Hero; hear Margaret term me Claudio; and bring them to see this the very night before the intended wedding: for in the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be absent; and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero’s disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the preparation overthrown. 51

D. John.

Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats.

Bora.

Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me. 57

D. John.

I will presently go learn their day of marriage.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.— Leonato’s Garden.

Enter Benedick.

Bene.

Boy!

Enter a Boy.

Boy.

Signior?

Bene.

In my chamber-window lies a book; bring it hither to me in the orchard. 4

Boy.

I am here already, sir.

Bene.

I know that; but I would have thee hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love: and such a man is Claudio. I have known, when there was no music with him but the drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe: I have known, when he would have walked ten mile afoot to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and now is he turned orthographer; his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster; but I’ll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that’s certain; wise, or I’ll none; virtuous, or I’ll never cheapen her; fair, or I’ll never look on her; mild, or come not near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it please God. Ha! the prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour.

I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.

Balth.

Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;

Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 53

To her he thinks not worthy; yet he woos;

Yet will he swear he loves.

D. Pedro.

Nay, pray thee, come;

Or if thou wilt hold longer argument, 56

Do it in notes.

Balth.

Note this before my notes;

There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.

D. Pedro.

Why these are very crotchets that he speaks;

Notes, notes, forsooth, and nothing!

[Music.

Bene.

Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it not strange that sheeps’ guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when all’s done. 64

Balthazar sings.

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever;

One foot in sea, and one on shore,

To one thing constant never.  68

Then sigh not so,

But let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe  72

Into Hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo

Of dumps so dull and heavy;

The fraud of men was ever so,  76

Since summer first was leavy.

Then sigh not so,

But let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,  80

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into Hey nonny, nonny.

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.

Bene.

[Advancing from the arbour.] This can be no trick: the conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it seems, her affections have their full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair: ’tis a truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous: ’tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me: by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage; but doth not the appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humour? No; the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this day! she’s a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her. 266

Bene.

Ha! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner,’ there’s a double meaning in that. ‘I took no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank me,’ that’s as much as to say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture.

[Exit.

ACT III.

Scene I.— Leonato’s Garden.

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.

Hero.

Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour;

There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice

Proposing with the prince and Claudio:

Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula 4

Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse

Is all of her; say that thou overheard’st us,

And bid her steal into the pleached bower,

Where honey-suckles, ripen’d by the sun, 8

Forbid the sun to enter; like favourites,

Made proud by princes, that advance their pride

Against that power that bred it. There will she hide her,

To listen our propose. This is thy office; 12

Bear thee well in it and leave us alone.

Marg.

I’ll make her come, I warrant you, presently.

[Exit.

Hero.

Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,

As we do trace this alley up and down, 16

Our talk must only be of Benedick:

When I do name him, let it be thy part

To praise him more than ever man did merit.

My talk to thee must be how Benedick 20

Is sick in love with Beatrice: of this matter

Is little Cupid’s crafty arrow made,

That only wounds by hearsay.

Enter Beatrice, behind.

Now begin;

For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 24

Close by the ground, to hear our conference.

Urs.

The pleasant’st angling is to see the fish

Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,

And greedily devour the treacherous bait: 28

So angle we for Beatrice; who even now

Is couched in the woodbine coverture.

Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

Hero.

Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing 32

Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.

[They advance to the bower.

No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;

I know her spirits are as coy and wild

As haggerds of the rock.

Urs.

But are you sure 36

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?

Hero.

So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord.

Urs.

And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?

Hero.

They did entreat me to acquaint her of it; 40

But I persuaded them, if they lov’d Benedick,

To wish him wrestle with affection,

And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urs.

Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman

Deserve as full as fortunate a bed 45

As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?

Hero.

O god of love! I know he doth deserve

As much as may be yielded to a man; 48

But nature never fram’d a woman’s heart

Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice;

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,

Misprising what they look on, and her wit 52

Values itself so highly, that to her

All matter else seems weak. She cannot love,

Nor take no shape nor project of affection,

She is so self-endear’d.

Urs.

Sure, I think so; 56

And therefore certainly it were not good

She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.

Hero.

Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,

How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur’d,

But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac’d,

She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;

If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antick,

Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed; 64

If low, an agate very vilely cut;

If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;

If silent, why, a block moved with none.

So turns she every man the wrong side out, 68

And never gives to truth and virtue that

Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.

Urs.

Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.

Hero.

No; not to be so odd and from all fashions 72

As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable.

But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,

She would mock me into air: O! she would laugh me

Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 76

Therefore let Benedick, like cover’d fire,

Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:

It were a better death than die with mocks,

Which is as bad as die with tickling. 80

Urs.

Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.

Hero.

No; rather I will go to Benedick,

And counsel him to fight against his passion.

And, truly, I’ll devise some honest slanders 84

To stain my cousin with. One doth not know

How much an ill word may empoison liking.

Urs.

O! do not do your cousin such a wrong.

She cannot be so much without true judgment,—

Having so swift and excellent a wit 89

As she is priz’d to have,—as to refuse

Why, every day, to-morrow. Come, go in:

I’ll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel

Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.

Urs.

She’s lim’d, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam. 104

Hero.

If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

[Exeunt Hero and Ursula.

Beat.

[Advancing.] What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? 107

Stand I condemn’d for pride and scorn so much?

Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!

No glory lives behind the back of such.

And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand: 112

If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee

To bind our loves up in a holy band;

For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.

Claud.

A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we’ll obey you.

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.— A Room in Leonato’s House.

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.

Hero.

Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise.

Urs.

I will, lady.

Hero.

And bid her come hither. 4

Urs.

Well.

[Exit.

Marg.

Marg.

Not a false gallop.

Re-enter Ursula.

Urs.

Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, Signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the town, are come to fetch you to church. 97

Hero.

Leon.

Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess.

My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband. 60

Leon.

Will you with free and unconstrained soul 24

Give me this maid, your daughter?

Leon.

As freely, son, as God did give her me.

Claud.

And what have I to give you back whose worth

May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? 28

D. Pedro.

Nothing, unless you render her again.

Claud.

Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulness.

There, Leonato, take her back again:

Give not this rotten orange to your friend; 32

She’s but the sign and semblance of her honour.

Behold! how like a maid she blushes here.

O! what authority and show of truth

Can cunning sin cover itself withal. 36

Comes not that blood as modest evidence

To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,

All you that see her, that she were a maid,

By these exterior shows? But she is none: 40

She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;

Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.

Leon.

What do you mean, my lord?

Claud.

Not to be married,

Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. 44

Leon.

Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,

Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth,

And made defeat of her virginity,—

Claud.

I know what you would say: if I have known her, 48

You’ll say she did embrace me as a husband,

And so extenuate the ’forehand sin:

No, Leonato,

I never tempted her with word too large; 52

But, as a brother to his sister, show’d

Bashful sincerity and comely love.

Hero.

And seem’d I ever otherwise to you?

Claud.

Out on thee! Seeming! I will write against it: 56

You seem to me as Dian in her orb,

As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown;

But you are more intemperate in your blood

Than Venus, or those pamper’d animals 60

That rage in savage sensuality.

Hero.

Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?

Leon.

Sweet prince, why speak not you?

D. Pedro.

What should I speak?

I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about 64

To link my dear friend to a common stale.

Leon.

Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?

D. John.

Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true. 68

Bene.

This looks not like a nuptial.

Hero.

True! O God!

Claud.

Leonato, stand I here?

Is this the prince? Is this the prince’s brother?

Is this face Hero’s? Are our eyes our own? 72

Leon.

All this is so; but what of this, my lord?

Claud.

Let me but move one question to your daughter;

And by that fatherly and kindly power

That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 76

Leon.

I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.

Hero.

O, God defend me! how am I beset!

What kind of catechizing call you this?

Claud.

To make you answer truly to your name. 80

Hero.

Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name

With any just reproach?

Claud.

Marry, that can Hero:

Hero itself can blot out Hero’s virtue.

What man was he talk’d with you yesternight 84

Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one?

Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.

Hero.

I talk’d with no man at that hour, my lord.

D. Pedra.

Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato, 88

I am sorry you must hear: upon mine honour,

Myself, my brother, and this grieved count,

Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night,

Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window; 92

Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,

Confess’d the vile encounters they have had

A thousand times in secret.

D. John.

Fie, fie! they are not to be nam’d, my lord, 96

Not to be spoke of;

There is not chastity enough in language

Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady,

I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 100

Claud.

O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been,

If half thy outward graces had been plac’d

About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!

But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,

Thou pure impiety, and impious purity! 105

For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love,

And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,

To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, 108

And never shall it more be gracious.

Leon.

Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me?

[Hero swoons.

Beat.

Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?

D. John.

Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light, 112

Smother her spirits up.

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John and Claudio.

Bene.

How doth the lady?

Beat.

Dead, I think! help, uncle!

Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick!

Friar! 116

Leon.

O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand:

Death is the fairest cover for her shame

That may be wish’d for.

Beat.

How now, cousin Hero!

Friar.

Have comfort, lady. 120

Leon.

Dost thou look up?

Friar.

Yea; wherefore should she not?

Leon.

Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing

Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny

The story that is printed in her blood? 124

Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes;

For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,

Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,

Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, 128

Strike at thy life. Griev’d I, I had but one?

Chid I for that at frugal nature’s frame?

O! one too much by thee. Why had I one?

Why ever wast thou lovely in mine eyes? 132

Why had I not with charitable hand

Took up a beggar’s issue at my gates,

Who smirched thus, and mir’d with infamy,

I might have said, ‘No part of it is mine; 136

This shame derives itself from unknown loins?’

But mine, and mine I lov’d, and mine I prais’d,

And mine that I was proud on, mine so much

That I myself was to myself not mine, 140

Valuing of her; why, she—O! she is fallen

Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea

Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,

And salt too little which may season give 144

To her foul-tainted flesh.

Bene.

Sir, sir, be patient.

For my part, I am so attir’d in wonder,

I know not what to say.

Beat.

O! on my soul, my cousin is belied!

Bene.

Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?

Beat.

No, truly, not; although, until last night,

I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

Leon.

Confirm’d, confirm’d! O! that is stronger made, 152

Which was before barr’d up with ribs of iron.

Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie,

Who lov’d her so, that, speaking of her foulness,

Wash’d it with tears? Hence from her! let her die. 156

Friar.

Hear me a little;

For I have only been silent so long,

And given way unto this course of fortune,

By noting of the lady: I have mark’d 160

A thousand blushing apparitions

To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames

In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;

And in her eye there hath appear’d a fire, 164

To burn the errors that these princess hold

Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;

Trust not my reading nor my observations,

Which with experimental seal doth warrant 168

The tenour of my book; trust not my age,

My reverence, calling, nor divinity,

If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here

Under some biting error.

Leon.

Friar, it cannot be. 172

Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left

Is, that she will not add to her damnation

A sin of perjury: she not denies it.

Why seek’st thou then to cover with excuse 176

That which appears in proper nakedness?

Friar.

Lady, what man is he you are accus’d of?

Hero.

They know that do accuse me, I know none;

If I know more of any man alive 180

Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,

Let all my sins lack mercy! O, my father!

Prove you that any man with me convers’d

At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 184

Maintain’d the change of words with any creature,

Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

Friar.

There is some strange misprision in the princes.

Bene.

Two of them have the very bent of honour; 188

And if their wisdoms be misled in this,

The practice of it lives in John the bastard,

Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.

Leon.

I know not. If they speak but truth of her, 192

These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,

The proudest of them shall well hear of it.

Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine.

Nor age so eat up my invention, 196

Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,

Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,

But they shall find, awak’d in such a kind,

Both strength of limb and policy of mind, 200

Ability in means and choice of friends,

To quit me of them throughly.

Friar.

Pause awhile,

And let my counsel sway you in this case.

Your daughter here the princes left for dead;

Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 205

And publish it that she is dead indeed:

Maintain a mourning ostentation;

And on your family’s old monument 208

Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites

That appertain unto a burial.

Leon.

What shall become of this? What will this do?

Friar.

Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf 212

Change slander to remorse; that is some good:

But not for that dream I on this strange course,

But on this travail look for greater birth.

She dying, as it must be so maintain’d, 216

Upon the instant that she was accus’d,

Shall be lamented, pitied and excus’d

Of every hearer; for it so falls out

That what we have we prize not to the worth

Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack’d and lost,

Why, then we rack the value, then we find 222

The virtue that possession would not show us

Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio:

When he shall hear she died upon his words,

The idea of her life shall sweetly creep

Into his study of imagination,

And every lovely organ of her life 228

Shall come apparell’d in more precious habit,

More moving-delicate, and full of life

Into the eye and prospect of his soul,

Than when she liv’d indeed: then shall he mourn,— 232

If ever love had interest in his liver,—

And wish he had not so accused her,

No, though he thought his accusation true.

Let this be so, and doubt not but success 236

Will fashion the event in better shape

Than I can lay it down in likelihood.

But if all aim but this be levell’d false,

The supposition of the lady’s death 240

Will quench the wonder of her infamy:

And if it sort not well, you may conceal her,—

As best befits her wounded reputation,—

In some reclusive and religious life, 244

Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.

Bene.

Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:

And though you know my inwardness and love

Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 248

Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this

As secretly and justly as your soul

Should with your body.

Leon.

Being that I flow in grief,

The smallest twine may lead me. 252

Friar.

’Tis well consented: presently away;

For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.

Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day

Perhaps is but prolong’d: have patience and endure. 256

As strange as the thing I know not.

Scene II.— A Prison.

Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns; and the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio.

Dogb.

Is our whole dissembly appeared?

Verg.

O! a stool and a cushion for the sexton.

Sexton.

Which be the malefactors? 4

Dogb.

Marry, that am I and my partner.

Verg.

Nay, that’s certain: we have the exhibition to examine.

Sexton.

But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them come before Master constable.

Dogb.

Yea, marry, let them come before me.

What is your name, friend? 12

Bora.

Sexton.

And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away: Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and, upon the grief of this, suddenly died. Master constable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato’s: I will go before and show him their examination.

Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O that he were here to write me down an ass! but, masters, remember that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one that hath two gowns, and everything handsome about him. Bring him away. O that I had been writ down an ass! 93

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

Scene I.— Before Leonato’s House.

Enter Leonato and Antonio.

Ant.

If you go on thus, you will kill yourself;

And ’tis not wisdom thus to second grief

Against yourself.

Leon.

I pray thee, cease thy counsel,

Which falls into mine ears as profitless 4

As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;

Nor let no comforter delight mine ear

But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine:

Bring me a father that so lov’d his child, 8

Whose joy of her is overwhelm’d like mine,

And bid him speak of patience;

Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,

And let it answer every strain for strain, 12

As thus for thus and such a grief for such,

In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:

If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;

Bid sorrow wag, cry ‘hem’ when he should groan, 16

Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk

With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,

And I of him will gather patience.

But there is no such man; for, brother, men 20

Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief

Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,

Their counsel turns to passion, which before

Would give preceptial medicine to rage, 24

Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,

Charm ache with air and agony with words.

No, no; ’tis all men’s office to speak patience

To those that wring under the load of sorrow, 28

But no man’s virtue nor sufficiency

To be so moral when he shall endure

The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:

My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 32

Ant.

Therein do men from children nothing differ.

Leon.

I pray thee, peace! I will be flesh and blood;

For there was never yet philosopher

That could endure the toothache patiently, 36

However they have writ the style of gods

And made a push at chance and sufferance.

Ant.

Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;

Make those that do offend you suffer too. 40

Leon.

There thou speak’st reason: nay, I will do so.

My soul doth tell me Hero is belied;

And that shall Claudio know; so shall the prince,

And all of them that thus dishonour her. 44

Ant.

Here come the prince and Claudio hastily.

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.

D. Pedro.

Good den, good den.

Claud.

Good day to both of you.

Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou.

Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword;

I fear thee not.

Claud.

Marry, beshrew my hand,

If it should give your age such cause of fear. 56

In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.

Leon.

Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me:

I speak not like a dotard nor a fool,

As, under privilege of age, to brag 60

What I have done being young, or what would do,

Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head,

Thou hast so wrong’d mine innocent child and me

That I am forc’d to lay my reverence by, 64

And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days,

Do challenge thee to trial of a man.

I say thou hast belied mine innocent child:

Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, 68

And she lies buried with her ancestors;

O! in a tomb where never scandal slept,

Save this of hers, fram’d by thy villany!

Claud.

My villany?

Leon.

Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. 72

D. Pedro.

You say not right, old man.

Leon.

My lord, my lord,

I’ll prove it on his body, if he dare,

Despite his nice fence and his active practice,

His May of youth and bloom of lustihood. 76

Claud.

Away! I will not have to do with you.

Leon.

Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill’d my child;

If thou kill’st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.

Ant.

He shall kill two of us, and men indeed:

But that’s no matter; let him kill one first: 81

Win me and wear me; let him answer me.

Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, come, follow me.

Sir boy, I’ll whip you from your foining fence;

Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 85

Leon.

Brother,—

Ant.

Content yourself. God knows I lov’d my niece;

And she is dead, slander’d to death by villains,

That dare as well answer a man indeed 89

As I dare take a serpent by the tongue.

Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!

Leon.

Brother Antony,—

Ant.

Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea, 92

And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple,

Scrambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys,

That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander,

Go antickly, show outward hideousness, 96

And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,

How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;

And this is all!

Leon.

But, brother Antony,—

Ant.

Come, ’tis no matter: 100

Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.

D. Pedro.

Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.

My heart is sorry for your daughter’s death;

But, on my honour, she was charg’d with nothing 104

But what was true and very full of proof.

Leon.

My lord, my lord—

D. Pedro.

I will not hear you.

Leon.

No?

And fled he is upon this villany.

Claud.

Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear

In the rare semblance that I lov’d it first. 264

Dogb.

Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by this time our sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter. And masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass. 269

Verg.

Here, here comes Master Signior Leonato, and the sexton too.

Re-enter Leonato, Antonio, and the Sexton.

Leon.

Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes, 272

That, when I note another man like him,

I may avoid him. Which of these is he?

Bora.

If you would know your wronger, look on me.

Leon.

Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill’d 276

Mine innocent child?

Bora.

Yea, even I alone.

Leon.

No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself:

Here stand a pair of honourable men;

A third is fled, that had a hand in it. 280

I thank you, princes, for my daughter’s death

Record it with your high and worthy deeds.

’Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.

Claud.

I know not how to pray your patience; 284

Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself;

Impose me to what penance your invention

Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn’d I not

But in mistaking.

D. Pedro.

By my soul, nor I: 288

And yet, to satisfy this good old man,

I would bend under any heavy weight

That he’ll enjoin me to.

Leon.

I cannot bid you bid my daughter live; 292

That were impossible: but, I pray you both,

Possess the people in Messina here

How innocent she died; and if your love

Can labour aught in sad invention, 296

Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,

And sing it to her bones: sing it to-night.

To-morrow morning come you to my house,

And since you could not be my son-in-law, 300

Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter,

Almost the copy of my child that’s dead,

And she alone is heir to both of us:

Give her the right you should have given her cousin, 304

And so dies my revenge.

Claud.

O noble sir,

Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me!

I do embrace your offer; and dispose

For henceforth of poor Claudio. 308

Leon.

To-morrow then I will expect your coming;

To-night I take my leave. This naughty man

Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,

Who, I believe, was pack’d in all this wrong, 312

Hir’d to it by your brother.

Bora.

No, by my soul she was not;

Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me;

But always hath been just and virtuous

Leon.

Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.

Ant.

Farewell, my lords: we look for you to-morrow.

D. Pedro.

We will not fail.

Claud.

To-night I’ll mourn with Hero.

[Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio.

Leon.

[To the Watch.] Bring you these fellows on. We’ll talk with Margaret, 347

How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.

And therefore will come.

[Exit Margaret.

The god of love,

That sits above,

And knows me, and knows me, 28

How pitiful I deserve,—

Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. 100

Enter Ursula.

Urs.

Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s old coil at home: it is proved, my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone. Will you come presently? 106

Beat.

Will you go hear this news, signior?

Bene.

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.— The Inside of a Church.

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with music and tapers.

Claud.

Is this the monument of Leonato?

A Lord.

It is, my lord.

Claud.

[Reads from a scroll.]

Done to death by slanderous tongues

Was the Hero that here lies: 4

Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,

Gives her fame which never dies.

So the life that died with shame

Lives in doath with glorious fame. 8

Hang thou there upon the tomb,

Praising her when I am dumb.

Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.

SONG.

Pardon, goddess of the night,  12

Those that slew thy virgin knight;

For the which, with songs of woe,

Round about her tomb they go.

Midnight, assist our moan;  16

Help us to sigh and groan,

Heavily, heavily:

Graves, yawn and yield your dead,

Till death be uttered,  20

Heavily, heavily.

Claud.

Now, unto thy bones good night!

Yearly will I do this rite.

D. Pedro.

Good morrow, masters: put your torches out. 24

The wolves have prey’d; and look, the gentle day,

Before the wheels of Phœbus, round about

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.

Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well

Claud.

Good morrow, masters: each his several way. 29

D. Pedro.

Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;

And then to Leonato’s we will go.

Claud.

And Hymen now with luckier issue speed’s, 32

Than this for whom we render’d up this woe!

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.— A Room in Leonato’s House.

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Margaret, Ursula, Friar Francis, and Hero.

Friar.

Did I not tell you she was innocent?

Leon.

So are the prince and Claudio, who accus’d her

Upon the error that you heard debated:

But Margaret was in some fault for this, 4

Although against her will, as it appears

In the true course of all the question.

Ant.

Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.

Bene.

And so am I, being else by faith enforc’d

To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 9

Leon.

Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,

Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves,

And when I send for you, come hither mask’d:

The prince and Claudio promis’d by this hour

To visit me.

[Exeunt ladies.

You know your office, brother;

You must be father to your brother’s daughter,

Bene.

Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:

But, for my will, my will is your good will 28

Call her forth, brother: here’s the friar ready.

[Exit Antonio.

D. Pedro.

Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what’s the matter, 40

That you have such a February face,

So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?

Claud.

I think he thinks upon the savage bull.

Tush! fear not, man, we’ll tip thy horns with gold,

And all Europa shall rejoice at thee, 45

As once Europa did at lusty Jove,

When he would play the noble beast in love.

Bene.

Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low: 48

And some such strange bull leap’d your father’s cow,

And got a calf in that same noble feat,

Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.

Claud.

For this I owe you: here come other reckonings. 52

Re-enter Antonio, with the ladies masked.

Which is the lady I must seize upon?

Ant.

This same is she, and I do give you her.

Claud.

Why, then she’s mine. Sweet, let me see your face.

Leon.

No, that you shall not, till you take her hand 56

Before this friar, and swear to marry her.

Claud.

Give me your hand: before this holy friar,

I am your husband, if you like of me.

Hero.

And when I liv’d, I was your other wife:

[Unmasking.

And when you lov’d, you were my other husband. 61

Claud.

Another Hero!

Hero.

Nothing certainer:

One Hero died defil’d, but I do live,

And surely as I live, I am a maid. 64

D. Pedro.

The former Hero! Hero that is dead!

Leon.

She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv’d.

Friar.

All this amazement can I qualify:

When after that the holy rites are ended, 68

I’ll tell you largely of fair Hero’s death:

Meantime, let wonder seem familiar,

Beat.

Do not you love me?

Bene.

Troth, no; no more than reason.

Beat.

Why, then, my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula,

Are much deceiv’d; for they did swear you did.

Bene.

They swore that you were almost sick for me. 80

Beat.

They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.

Bene.

’Tis no such matter. Then, you do not love me?

Beat.

No, truly, but in friendly recompense.

Leon.

Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. 84

Claud.

And I’ll be sworn upon ’t that he loves her;

For here’s a paper written in his hand,

A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,

Fashion’d to Beatrice.

Hero.

And here’s another, 88

Writ in my cousin’s hand, stolen from her pocket,

Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene.

A miracle! here’s our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity. 93

Beat.

I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption. 97

Bene.

Peace! I will stop your mouth.

First, of my word; therefore play, music! Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn. 127

Enter a Messenger.

Mes.

My lord, your brother John is ta’en in flight,

And brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene.

Think not on him till to-morrow: I’ll devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers!

[Dance. Exeunt.

Don Pedro,	Prince of Arragon.
Don John,	his bastard Brother.
Claudio,	a young Lord of Florence.
Benedick,	a young Lord of Padua.
Leonato,	Governor of Messina.
Antonio,	his Brother.
Balthazar,	Servant to Don Pedro.
Borachio, }	followers of Don John.
Conrade, }	followers of Don John.
Dogberry,	a Constable.
Verges,	a Headborough.
Friar Francis.
A Sexton.
A Boy.
Hero,	Daughter to Leonato.
Beatrice,	Niece to Leonato.
Margaret, }	Waiting-gentlewomen attending on Hero.
Ursula, }	Waiting-gentlewomen attending on Hero.
Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.