 | Much adoe about Nothing |  |
Actus Tertius.
Enter Hero and two Gentlemen, Margaret, and Vrsula.Hero.
Good Margaret runne thee to the parlour,
There shalt thou finde my Cosin Beatrice,
Proposing with the Prince and Claudio,
Whisper her care, and tell her I and Vrsula,
Walke in the Orchard, and our whole discourse
Is all of her, say that thou ouer-heardst vs,
And bid her steale into the pleached bower,
Where hony-suckles ripened by the sunne,
Forbid the sunne to enter: like fauourites,
Made proud by Princes, that aduance their pride,
Against that power that bred it, there will she hide her,
To listen our purpose, this is thy office;
Beare thee well in it, and leaue vs alone.
Marg.
Ile make her come I warrant you presently.
Hero.
Now Vrsula, when Beatrice doth come,
As we do trace this alley vp and downe,
Our talke must onely be of Benedicke,
When I doe name him, let it be thy part,
To praise him more then euer man did merit,
My talke to thee must be how Benedicke
Is sicke in loue with Beatrice: of this matter,
Is little Cupids crafty arrow made,
That onely wounds by heare-say: now begin,
Enter Beatrice.
For looke where Beatrice like a Lapwing runs
Close by the ground, to heare our conference.
Vrs.
The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden ores the siluer streame,
And greedily deuoure the treacherous baite:
So angle we for Beatrice, who euen now,
Is couched in the wood-bine couerture,
Feare you not my part of the Dialogue.
Her.
Then go we neare her that her eare loose nothing,
Of the false sweete baite that we lay for it:
No truely Vrsula, she is too disdainfull,
I know her spirits are as coy and wilde,
As Haggerds of the rocke.
Ursula.
But are you sure,
That Benedicke loues Beatrice so intirely?
Her.
So saies the Prince, and my new trothed Lord.
Vrs.
And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam?
Her.
They did intreate me to acquaint her of it,
But I perswaded them, if they lou'd Benedicke,
And neuer to let Beatrice know of it.
Vrsula.
Why did you so, doth not the Gentleman
Deserues as full as fortunate a bed,
As euer Beatrice shall couch vpon?
Hero.
O God of loue! I know he doth deserue,
As much as may be yeelded to a man:
But Nature neuer fram'd a womans heart,
Of prowder stuffe then that of Beatrice:
Disdaine and Scorne ride sparkling in her eyes,
Mis-prizing what they looke on, and her wit
Values it selfe so highly, that to her
All matter else seemes weake: she cannot loue,
Nor take no shape nor proiect of affection,
Shee is so selfe indeared.
Vrsula.
Sure I thinke so,
And therefore certainely it were not good
She knew his loue, lest she make sport at it.
Hero.
Why you speake truth, I neuer yet saw man,
How wise, how noble, yong, how rarely featur'd.
But she would spell him backward: if faire fac'd,
She would sweare the gentleman should be her sister:
If blacke, why Nature drawing of an anticke,
Made a foule blot: if tall, a launce ill headed:
If low, an agot very vildlie cut:
If speaking, why a vane blowne with all windes:
If silent, why a blocke moued with none.
So turnes she euery man the wrong side out,
And neuer giues to Truth and Vertue, that
Which simplenesse and merit purchaseth.
Vrsu.
Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
Hero.
No, not to be so odde, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable,
But who dare tell her so? if I should speake,
She would mocke me into ayre, O she would laugh me
Out of my selfe, presse me to death with wit,
Therefore let Benedicke like couered fire,
Consume away in sighes, waste inwardly:
It were a better death, to die with mockes
Which is as bad as die with tickling.
Ursu.
Yet tell her of it, heare what shee will say.
Hero.
No, rather I will goe to Benedicke,
And counsaile him to fight against his passion,
And truly Ile deuise some honest slanders,
To staine my cosin with, one doth not know,
How much an ill word may unpoison liking.
Ursu.
O doe not doe your cosin such a wrong,
She cannot be so much without true iudgement,
Hauing so swift and excellent a wit
As she is prisde to haue, as to refuse
So rare a Gentleman as signior Benedicke.
Hero.
He is the onely man of Italy,
Alwaies excepted, my deare Claudio.
Vrsu.
I pray you be not angry with me, Madame,
Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedicke,
For shape, for bearing argument and valour,
Goes formost in report through Italy.
Hero.
Indeed he hath an excellent good name.
Ursu.
His excellence did earne it ere he had it:
When are you married Madame?
Hero.
Why euerie day to morrow, come goe in,
Ile shew the some attires, and haue thy counsell,
Which is the best to furnish me to morrow.
Vrsu.
Shee's tane I warrant you,
We haue caught her Madame?
Hero.
If it proue so, then louing goes by haps,
Some Cupid kills with arrowes, some with traps.
Exit.
Beat.
What fire is in mine eares? can this be true?
Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorne so much?
Contempt, farewell, and maiden pride, adew,
No glory liues behinde the backe of such.
And Benedicke, loue on, I will requite thee,
Taming my wilde heart to thy louing hand:
If thou dost loue, my kindenesse shall incite thee
To binde our loues vp in a holy band.
For others say thou dost deserue, and I
Beleeue it better then reportingly.
Exit.
Enter Prince, Claudio, Benedicke, and Leonato.
Prince.
I doe but stay till your marriage be consummate,
and then go I toward Arragon.
Clau.
Ile bring you thither my Lord, if you'l vouchsafe
me.
Prin.
Nay, that would be as great a soyle in the new
glosse of your marriage, as to shew a childe his new coat
and forbid him to weare it, I will onely bee bold with
Benedicke for his companie, for from the crowne of his
head, to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth, he hath twice
or thrice cut Cupids bow-string, and the little hang-man
dare not shoot at him, he hath a heart as sound as a bell,
and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinkes,
his tongue speakes.
Bene.
Gallants, I am not as I haue bin.
Leo.
So say I, methinkes you are sadder.
Claud.
I hope he be in loue.
Prin.
Hang him truant, there's no true drop of bloud
in him to be truly toucht with loue, if he be sad, he wants
money.
Bene.
I haue the tooth-ach.
Prin.
Draw it.
Bene.
Hang it.
Claud.
You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.
Prin.
What? sigh for the tooth-ach.
Leon.
Where is but a humour or a worme.
Bene.
Well, euery one cannot master a griefe, but hee
that has it.
Clau.
Yet say I, he is in loue.
Prin.
There is no appearance of fancie in him, vnlesse
it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises, as to bee a
Dutchman to day, a Frenchman to morrow: vnlesse hee
haue a fancy to this foolery, as it appeares hee hath, hee
is no foole for fancy, as you would haue it to appeare
he is.
Clau.
If he be not in loue vvith some vvoman, there
is no beleeuing old signes, a brushes his hat a mornings,
What should that bode?
Prin.
Hath any man seene him at the Barbers?
Clau.
No, but the Barbers man hath beene seen with
him, and the olde ornament of his cheeke hath alreadie
stuft tennis balls.
Leon.
Indeed he lookes yonger than hee did, by the
losse of a beard.
Prin.
Nay a rubs himselfe vvith Ciuit, can you smell
him out by that?
Clau.
That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in
loue.
Prin.
The greatest note of it is his melancholy.
Clau.
And vvhen vvas he vvont to vvash his face?
Prin.
Yea, or to paint himselfe? for the which I heare
vvhat they say of him.
Clau.
Nay, but his iefting spirit, vvhich is now crept
into a lute-string, and now gouern'd by stops.
Indeed that tels a heauy tale for him: conclude,
he is in loue.
Clau.
Nay, but I know who loues him.
Prince.
That would I know too, I warrant one that
knowes him not.
Cla.
Yes, and his ill conditions, and in despight of all,
dies for him.
Prin.
Shee shall be buried with her face vpwards.
Bene.
Yet is this no charme for the tooth-ake, old signior,
walke aside with mee, I haue studied eight or nine
wise words to speake to you, which these hobby-horses
must not heare.
Prin.
For my life to breake with him about Beatrice.
Clau.
'Tis euen so, Hero and Margaret haue by this
played their parts with Beatrice, and then the two Beares
will not bite one another when they meete.
Enter Iohn the Bastard.
Bast.
My Lord and brother, God saue you.
Prin.
Good den brother.
Bast.
If your leisure seru'd, I would speake with you.
Prince.
In priuate?
Bast.
If it please you, yet Count Claudio may heare,
for what I would speake of, concernes him.
Prin.
What's the matter?
Basta.
Meanes your Lordship to be married to morrow?
Prin.
You know he does.
Bast.
I know not that when he knowes what I know.
Clau.
If there be any impediment, I pray you discouer
it.
Bast.
You may thinke I loue you not, let that appeare
hereafter, and ayme better at me by that I now will manifest,
for my brother (I thinke, he holds you well, and in
dearenesse of heart) hath holpe to effect your ensuing
marriage: surely sute ill spent, and labour ill bestowed.
Prin.
Why, what's the matter?
Bastard.
I came hither to tell you, and circumstances
shortned, (for she hath beene too long a talking of) the
Lady is disloyall.
Clau.
Who Hero?
Bast.
Euen shee, Leonatoes Hero, your Hero, euery
mans Hero.
Clau.
Disloyall?
Bast.
The word is too good to paint out her wickednesse,
I could say she were worse, thinke you of a worse
title, and I will fit her to it: wonder not till further warrant:
goe but with mee to night, you shal see her chamber
window entred, euen the night before her wedding
day, if you loue her, then to morrow wed her: But it
would better fit your honour to change your minde.
Claud.
May this be so?
Princ.
I will not thinke it.
Bast.
If you dare not trust that you see, confesse not
that you know: if you will follow mee, I will shew you
enough, and when you haue seene more, & heard more,
proceed accordingly.
Clau.
If I see any thing to night, why I should not
marry her to morrow in the congregation, where I shold
wedde, there will I shame her.
Prin.
And as I wooed for thee to obtaine her, I will
ioyne with thee to disgrace her.
Bast.
I will disparage her no farther, till you are my
witnesses, beare it coldly but till night, and let the issue
shew it selfe.
Prin.
O day vntowardly turned!
Claud.
O mischiefe strangelie thwarting!
Bastard.
O plague right well preuented! so will you
say, when you haue seene the sequele.
Exit.
Enter Dogbery and his compartner with the watch.
Dog.
Are you good men and true?
Verg.
Yea, or else it were pitty but they should suffer
saluation body and soule.
Dogb.
Nay, that were a punishment too good for
them, if they should haue any allegiance in them, being
chosen for the Princes watch.
Verges.
Well, giue them their charge, neighbour
Dogbery.
Dog.
First, who thinke you the most desartlesse man
to be Constable?
Watch 1.
Hugh Ote-cake sir, or George Sea-coale, for
they can write and reade.
Dogb.
Come hither neighbour Sea-coale, God hath
blest you with a good name: to be a wel-fauoured man,
is the gift of Fortune, but to write and reade, comes by
Nature.
Watch 2.
Both which Master Constable
Dogb.
You haue: I knew it would be your answere:
well, for your fauour sir, why giue God thankes, & make
no boast of it, and for your writing and reading, let that
appeare when there is no need of such vanity, you are
thought heere to be the most senslesse and fit man for the
Constable of the watch: therefore beare you the lanthorne:
this is your charge: You shall comprehend all
vagrom men, you are to bid any man stand in the Princes
name.
Watch 2.
How if a will not stand?
Dogb.
Why then take no note of him, but let him go,
and presently call the rest of the Watch together, and
thanke God you are ridde of a knaue.
Uerges.
If he will not stand when he is bidden, hee is
none of the Princes subiects.
Dogb.
True, and they are to meddle with none but
the Princes subiects: you shall also make no noise in the
streetes: for, for the Watch to babble and talke, is most
tollerable, and not to be indured.
Watch.
We will rather sleepe than talke, wee know
what belongs to a Watch.
Dog.
Why you speake like an ancient and most quiet
watchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should offend:
only haue a care that your bills be not stolne: well, you
are to call at all the Alehouses, and bid them that are
drunke get them to bed.
Watch.
How if they will not?
Dogb.
Why then let them alone till they are sober, if
they make you not then the better answere, you may say,
they are not the men you tooke them for.
Watch.
Well sir.
Dogb.
If you meet a theefe, you may suspect him, by
vertue of your office, to be no true man: and for such
kinde of men, the lesse you meddle or make with them,
why the more is for your honesty.
Watch.
If wee know him to be a thiefe, shall wee not
lay hands on him.
Dogb.
Truly by your office you may, but I think they
that touch pitch will be defil'd: the most peaceable way
for you, if you doe take a theefe, is, to let him shew himselfe
what he is, and steale out of your company.
Ver.
You haue bin alwaies cal'd a merciful mā partner.
Dog.
Truely I would not hang a dog by my will, much
more a man who hath anie honestie in him.
If you heare a child crie in the night you must
call to the nurse, and bid her still it.
Watch.
How if the nurse be asleepe and will not
heare vs?
Dog.
Why then depart in peace, and let the childe
wake her with crying, for the ewe that will not heare
her Lambe when it baes, will neuer answere a calfe when
he bleates.
Verges.
'Tis verie true.
Dog.
This is the end of the charge; you constable
are to present the Princes owne person, if you meete the
Prince in the night, you may staie him.
Verges.
Nay birladie that I thinke a cannot.
Dog.
Fiue shillings to one on't with anie man that
knowes the Statues, he may staie him, marrie not without
the prince be willing, for indeed the watch ought to
offend no man, and it is an offence to stay a man against
his will.
Uerges.
Birladie I thinke it be so.
Dog.
Ha, ah ha, well masters good night, and there be
anie matter of weight chances, call vp me, keepe your
fellowes counsailes, and your owne, and good night,
come neighbour.
Watch.
Well masters, we heare our charge, let vs go
sit here vpon the Church bench till two, and then all to
bed.
Dog.
One word more, honest neighbors. I pray you
watch about signior Leonatoes doore, for the wedding being
there to morrow, there is a great coyle to night,
adiew, be vigitant I beseech you.
Exeunt.
Enter Borachio and Conrade.
Bor.
What, Conrade?
Watch.
Peace, stir not.
Bor.
Conrade I say.
Con.
Here man, I am at thy elbow.
Bor.
Mas and my elbow itcht, I thought there would
a scabbe follow.
Con.
I will owe thee an answere for that, and now
forward with thy tale.
Bor.
Stand thee close then vnder this penthouse, for it
drissels raine, and I will, like a true drunkard, vtter all to
thee.
Watch.
Some treason masters, yet stand close.
Bor.
Therefore know, I haue earned of Don Iohn a
thousand Ducates.
Con.
Is it possible that anie villanie should be so deare?
Bor.
Thou should'st rather aske if it were possible anie
villanie should be so rich? for when rich villains haue
neede of poore ones, poore ones may make what price
they will.
Con.
I wonder at it.
Bor.
That shewes thou art vnconfirm'd, thou knowest
that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloake, is nothing
to a man.
Con.
Yes, it is apparell.
Bor.
I meane the fashion.
Con.
Yes the fashion is the fashion.
Bor.
Tush, I may as well say the foole's the foole, but
seest thou not what a deformed theefe this fashion is?
Watch.
I know that deformed, a has bin a vile theefe,
this vii. yeares, a goes vp and downe like a gentle man:
I remember his name.
Bor.
Did'st thou not heare some bodie?
Con.
No, 'twas the vaine on the house.
Bor.
Seest thou not (I say) what a deformed thiefe
this fashion is, how giddily a turnes about all the Hotblouds,
betweene foureteene & fuie & thirtie, sometimes
fashioning them like Pharaoes souldiours in the rechie
painting, sometime like god, Bels priests in the old
Church window, sometime like the shauen Hercules in
the smircht worm eaten tapestrie, where his cod-peece
seemes as massie as his club.
Con.
All this I see, and see that the fashion weares out
more apparrell thon the man; but art not thou thy selfe
giddie with the fashion too that thou hast shifted out of
thy tale into telling me of the fashion?
Bor.
Not so neither, but know that I haue to night
wooed Margaret the Lady Heroes gentle-woman, by the
name of Hero, she leanes me out at her mistris chamber-vvindow,
bids me a thousand times good night: I tell
this tale vildly. I should first tell thee how the Prince
Claudio and my Master planted, and placed, and possessed
by my Master Don Iohn, saw a far off in the Orchard this
amiable incounter.
Con.
And thought thy Margaret was Hero?
Bor.
Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio, but the
diuell my Master knew she was Margaret and partly by
his oathes, which first possest them, partly by the darke
night which did deceiue them, but chiefely, by my villanie,
which did confirme any slander that Don Iohn had
made, away vvent Claudio enraged, swore hee vvould
meete her as he was apointed next morning at the Temple,
and there, before the whole congregation shame her
with vvhat he saw o're night, and send her home againe
vvithout a husband.
Watch. 1.
We charge you in the Princes name stand.
Watch. 2.
Call vp the right master Constable, vve haue
here recouered the most dangerous peece of lechery, that
euer vvas knowne in the Common-wealth.
Watch. 1.
And one Deformed is one of them, I know
him, a vveares a locke.
Conr.
Masters, masters.
Watch. 2.
Youle be made bring deformed forth I warrant
you,
Conr.
Masters, neuer speake, vve charge you, let vs obey
you to goe vvith vs.
Bor.
We are like to proue a goodly commoditie, being
taken vp of these mens bils.
Conr.
A commoditie in question I warrant you come
vveele obey you.
Exeunt.
Enter Hero, and Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero.
Good Vrsula wake my cosin Beatrice, and desire
her to rise..
Ursu.
I will Lady.
Her.
And bid her come hither.
Vrs.
Well.
Mar.
Troth I thinke your other rebato were better.
Bero.
No pray thee good Meg, Ile vveare this.
Marg.
By my troth's not so good, and I vvarrant your
cosin vvill say so.
Bero.
My cosin's a foole, and thou art another, ile
vveare none but this.
Mar.
I like the new tire vvithin excellently, if the
haire vvere a thought browner: and your gown's a most
rare fashion yfaith, I saw the Dutchesse of Millaines
gowne that they praise so.
Bero.
O that exceedes they say.
Mar.
By my troth's but a night-gowne in respect of
yours, cloth a gold and cuts, and lac'd withsiluer, set with
pearles, downe sleeues, side sleeues, and skirts, round vnderborn
with a blewish tinsel, but for a fine queint gracefull
and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.
God giue mee ioy to weare it, for my heart is
exceeding heauy.
Marga.
'Twill be heauier soone, by the waight of a
man.
Hero.
Fie vpon thee, art not asham'd?
Marg.
Of what Lady? of speaking honourably? is
not marriage honourable in a beggar? is not your Lord
honourable without marriage? I thinke you would haue
me say, sauing your reuerence a husband: and bad thinking
doe not wrest true speaking, Ile offend no body, is
there any harme in the heauier for a husband? none I
thinke, and it be the right husband, and the right wife,
otherwise 'tis light and not heauy, aske my Lady Beatrice
else, here she comes.
Enter Beatrice.
Hero.
Good morrow Cozen.
Beat.
Good morrow sweet Hero.
Hero.
Why how now? do you speake in the sick tune?
Beat.
I am out of all other tune, me thinkes.
Mar.
Claps into Light a loue, (that goes without a
burden,) do you sing it and Ile dance it.
Beat.
Ye Light aloue with your heeles, then if your
husband haue stables enough, you'll looke he shall lacke
no barnes.
Mar.
O illegitimate construction! I scorne that with
my heeles.
Beat.
'Tis almost fiue a clocke cosin, 'tis time you
were ready, by my troth I am exceeding ill, hey ho.
Mar.
For a hauke, a horse, or a husband?
Beat.
For the letter that begins them all, H.
Mar.
Well, and you be not turn'd Turke, there's no
more sayling by the starre.
Beat.
What meanes the foole trow?
Mar.
Nothing I, but God send euery one their harts
desire.
Hero.
These gloues the Count sent mee, they are an
excellent perfume.
Beat.
I am stuft cosin, I cannot smell.
Mar.
A maid and stuft! there's goodly catching of
colde.
Beat.
O God helpe me, God help me, how long haue
you profest apprehension?
Mar.
Euer since you left it, doth not my wit become
me rarely?
Beat.
It is not seene enough, you should weare it in
your cap, by my troth I am sicke.
Mar.
Get you some of this distill'd carduus benedictus
and lay it to your heart, it is the onely thing for a qualm.
Hero.
There thou prickst her with a thissell.
Beat.
Benedictus, why benedictus? you haue some morall
in this benedictus.
Mar.
Morall? no by my troth, I haue no morall meaning,
I meant plaine holy thissell, you may thinke perchance
that I thinke you are in loue, nay birlady I am not
such a foole to thinke what I list, nor I list not to thinke
what I can, nor indeed I cannot thinke, if I would thinke
my hart out of thinking, that you are in loue, or that you
will be in loue, or that you can be in loue: yet Benedicke
was such another, and now is he become a man, he swore
hee would neuer marry, and yet now in despight of his
heart he eates his meat without grudging, and how you
may be conuerted I know not, but me thinkes you looke
with your eies as other women doe.
Beat.
What pace is this that thy tongue keepes.
Mar.
Not a false gallop.
Enter Vrsula.
Vrsula.
Madam, withdraw, the Prince, the Count, signior
Benedicke, Don Iohn, and all the gallants of the
towne are come to fetch you to Church.
Hero.
Helpe to dresse mee good coze, good Meg,
good Vrsula.
Enter Leonato, and the Constable, and the Headborough.
Leonato.
What would you with mee, honest neighbour?
Const. Dog.
Mary sir I would haue some confidence
with you, that decernes you nearely.
Leon.
Briefe I pray you, for you see it is a busie time
with me.
Const. Dog.
Mary this it is sir.
Headb.
Yes in truth it is sir.
Leon.
What is it my good friends?
Con. Dog.
Goodman Verges sir speakes a little of the
matter, an old man sir, and his wits are not so blunt, as
God helpe I would desire they were, but infaith honest
as the skin betweene his browes.
Head.
Yes I thank God, I am as honest as any man liuing,
that is an old man, and no honester then I.
Con. Dog.
Comparisons are odorous, palabras, neighbour
Verges.
Leon.
Neighbours, you are tedious.
Con. Dog.
It pleases your worship to say so, but we are
the poore Dukes officers, but truely for mine owne part,
if I were as tedious as a King I could finde in my heart to
bestow it all of your worship.
Leon.
All thy tediousnesse on me, ah?
Const. Dog.
Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more
than 'tis, for I heare as good exclamation on your Worship
as of any man in the Citie, and though I bee but a
poore man, I am glad to heare it.
Head.
And so am I.
Leon.
I would faine know what you haue to say.
Head.
Marry sir our watch to night, excepting your
worships presence, haue tane a couple of as arrant
knaues as any in Messina.
Con. Dog.
A good old man sir, hee will be talking as
they say, when the age is in the wit is out, God helpe vs,
it is a world to see: well said yfaith neighbour Verges,
well, God's a good man, and two men ride of a horse,
one must ride behinde, an honest soule yfaith sir, by my
troth he is, as euer broke bread, but God is to bee worshipt,
all men are not alike, alas good neighbour.
Leon.
Indeed neighbour he comes too short of you.
Con. Dog.
Gifts that God giues.
Leon.
I must leaue you.
Con. Dog.
One word sir, our watch sir haue indeede
comprehended two aspitious persons, & we would haue
them this morning examined before your worship.
Leon.
Take their examination your selfe, and bring it
me, I am now in great haste, as may appeare vnto you.
Const.
It shall be suffigance.
Leon.
Drinke some wine ere you goe: fare you well.
Exit.
Messenger.
My Lord, they stay for you to giue your
daughter to her husband.
Leon.
Ile wait vpon them, I am ready.
Dogb.
Goe good partner, goe get you to Francis Seacoale,
bid him bring his pen and inkehorne to the Gaole:
we are now to examine those men.
Verges.
And we must doe it wisely.
Dogb.
Wee will spare for no witte I warrant you:
get the learned writer to set downe our excommunication,
and meet me at the Iaile.
Exeunt.
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