| ACT IISCENE III | LEONATO'S orchard. | |
| | Enter BENEDICK | |
| BENEDICK | Boy! | |
| | Enter Boy | |
| Boy | Signior? | |
| BENEDICK | In my chamber-window lies a book: bring it hither | |
| | to me in the orchard. | 5 |
| Boy | I am here already, sir. | |
| BENEDICK | 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 | |
| | behaviors to love, will, after he hath laughed at | 10 |
| | such shallow follies in others, become the argument | |
| | of his own scorn by failing 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 tabour and the pipe: I have known | 15 |
| | when he would have walked ten mile a-foot 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 orthography; his | 20 |
| | 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 | 25 |
| | 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, | 30 |
| | 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 | 35 |
| | Monsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour. | |
| | Withdraws | |
| | Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO | |
| DON PEDRO | Come, shall we hear this music? | |
| CLAUDIO | Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is, | |
| | As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony! | |
| DON PEDRO | See you where Benedick hath hid himself? | 40 |
| CLAUDIO | O, very well, my lord: the music ended, | |
| | We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth. | |
| | Enter BALTHASAR with Music | |
| DON PEDRO | Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that song again. | |
| BALTHASAR | O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice | |
| | To slander music any more than once. | 45 |
| DON PEDRO | It is the witness still of excellency | |
| | To put a strange face on his own perfection. | |
| | I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. | |
| BALTHASAR | Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; | |
| | Since many a wooer doth commence his suit | 50 |
| | To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes, | |
| | Yet will he swear he loves. | |
| DON PEDRO | Now, pray thee, come; | |
| | Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, | |
| | Do it in notes. | 55 |
| BALTHASAR | Note this before my notes; | |
| | There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. | |
| DON PEDRO | Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks; | |
| | Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing. | |
| | Air | |
| BENEDICK | Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it | 60 |
| | not strange that sheeps' guts should hale souls out | |
| | of men's bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when | |
| | all's done. | |
| | The Song | |
| BALTHASAR | Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, | |
| | Men were deceivers ever, | 65 |
| | One foot in sea and one on shore, | |
| | To one thing constant never: | |
| | Then sigh not so, but let them go, | |
| | And be you blithe and bonny, | |
| | Converting all your sounds of woe | 70 |
| | Into Hey nonny, nonny. | |
| | Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, | |
| | Of dumps so dull and heavy; | |
| | The fraud of men was ever so, | |
| | Since summer first was leafy: | 75 |
| | Then sigh not so, &c. | |
| DON PEDRO | By my troth, a good song. | |
| BALTHASAR | And an ill singer, my lord. | |
| DON PEDRO | Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift. | |
| BENEDICK | An he had been a dog that should have howled thus, | 80 |
| | they would have hanged him: and I pray God his bad | |
| | voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the | |
| | night-raven, come what plague could have come after | |
| | it. | |
| DON PEDRO | Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee, | 85 |
| | get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we | |
| | would have it at the Lady Hero's chamber-window. | |
| BALTHASAR | The best I can, my lord. | |
| DON PEDRO | Do so: farewell. | |
| | Exit BALTHASAR | |
| | Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of | 90 |
| | to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with | |
| | Signior Benedick? | |
| CLAUDIO | O, ay: stalk on. stalk on; the fowl sits. I did | |
| | never think that lady would have loved any man. | |
| LEONATO | No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she | 95 |
| | should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in | |
| | all outward behaviors seemed ever to abhor. | |
| BENEDICK | Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner? | |
| LEONATO | By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think | |
| | of it but that she loves him with an enraged | 100 |
| | affection: it is past the infinite of thought. | |
| DON PEDRO | May be she doth but counterfeit. | |
| CLAUDIO | Faith, like enough. | |
| LEONATO | O God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of | |
| | passion came so near the life of passion as she | 105 |
| | discovers it. | |
| DON PEDRO | Why, what effects of passion shows she? | |
| CLAUDIO | Bait the hook well; this fish will bite. | |
| LEONATO | What effects, my lord? She will sit you, you heard | |
| | my daughter tell you how. | 110 |
| CLAUDIO | She did, indeed. | |
| DON PEDRO | How, how, pray you? You amaze me: I would have I | |
| | thought her spirit had been invincible against all | |
| | assaults of affection. | |
| LEONATO | I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially | 115 |
| | against Benedick. | |
| BENEDICK | I should think this a gull, but that the | |
| | white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, | |
| | sure, hide himself in such reverence. | |
| CLAUDIO | He hath ta'en the infection: hold it up. | 120 |
| DON PEDRO | Hath she made her affection known to Benedick? | |
| LEONATO | No; and swears she never will: that's her torment. | |
| CLAUDIO | 'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: 'Shall | |
| | I,' says she, 'that have so oft encountered him | |
| | with scorn, write to him that I love him?' | 125 |
| LEONATO | This says she now when she is beginning to write to | |
| | him; for she'll be up twenty times a night, and | |
| | there will she sit in her smock till she have writ a | |
| | sheet of paper: my daughter tells us all. | |
| CLAUDIO | Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a | 130 |
| | pretty jest your daughter told us of. | |
| LEONATO | O, when she had writ it and was reading it over, she | |
| | found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet? | |
| CLAUDIO | That. | |
| LEONATO | O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; | 135 |
| | railed at herself, that she should be so immodest | |
| | to write to one that she knew would flout her; 'I | |
| | measure him,' says she, 'by my own spirit; for I | |
| | should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I | |
| | love him, I should.' | 140 |
| CLAUDIO | Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, | |
| | beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; 'O | |
| | sweet Benedick! God give me patience!' | |
| LEONATO | She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the | |
| | ecstasy hath so much overborne her that my daughter | 145 |
| | is sometime afeared she will do a desperate outrage | |
| | to herself: it is very true. | |
| DON PEDRO | It were good that Benedick knew of it by some | |
| | other, if she will not discover it. | |
| CLAUDIO | To what end? He would make but a sport of it and | 150 |
| | torment the poor lady worse. | |
| DON PEDRO | An he should, it were an alms to hang him. She's an | |
| | excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion, | |
| | she is virtuous. | |
| CLAUDIO | And she is exceeding wise. | 155 |
| DON PEDRO | In every thing but in loving Benedick. | |
| LEONATO | O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender | |
| | a body, we have ten proofs to one that blood hath | |
| | the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just | |
| | cause, being her uncle and her guardian. | 160 |
| DON PEDRO | I would she had bestowed this dotage on me: I would | |
| | have daffed all other respects and made her half | |
| | myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear | |
| | what a' will say. | |
| LEONATO | Were it good, think you? | 165 |
| CLAUDIO | Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she | |
| | will die, if he love her not, and she will die, ere | |
| | she make her love known, and she will die, if he woo | |
| | her, rather than she will bate one breath of her | |
| | accustomed crossness. | 170 |
| DON PEDRO | She doth well: if she should make tender of her | |
| | love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the | |
| | man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. | |
| CLAUDIO | He is a very proper man. | |
| DON PEDRO | He hath indeed a good outward happiness. | 175 |
| CLAUDIO | Before God! and, in my mind, very wise. | |
| DON PEDRO | He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit. | |
| CLAUDIO | And I take him to be valiant. | |
| DON PEDRO | As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of | |
| | quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he | 180 |
| | avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes | |
| | them with a most Christian-like fear. | |
| LEONATO | If he do fear God, a' must necessarily keep peace: | |
| | if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a | |
| | quarrel with fear and trembling. | 185 |
| DON PEDRO | And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, | |
| | howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests | |
| | he will make. Well I am sorry for your niece. Shall | |
| | we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love? | |
| CLAUDIO | Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with | 190 |
| | good counsel. | |
| LEONATO | Nay, that's impossible: she may wear her heart out first. | |
| DON PEDRO | Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter: | |
| | let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I | |
| | could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see | 195 |
| | how much he is unworthy so good a lady. | |
| LEONATO | My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. | |
| CLAUDIO | If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never | |
| | trust my expectation. | |
| DON PEDRO | Let there be the same net spread for her; and that | 200 |
| | must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry. The | |
| | sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of | |
| | another's dotage, and no such matter: that's the | |
| | scene that I would see, which will be merely a | |
| | dumb-show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner. | 205 |
| | Exeunt DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO | |
| BENEDICK | Coming forward | |
| | 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 | 210 |
| | 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 | 215 |
| | 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 | 220 |
| | 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 | 225 |
| | 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 | 230 |
| | her. | |
| | Enter BEATRICE | |
| BEATRICE | Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. | |
| BENEDICK | Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. | |
| BEATRICE | I took no more pains for those thanks than you take | |
| | pains to thank me: if it had been painful, I would | 235 |
| | not have come. | |
| BENEDICK | You take pleasure then in the message? | |
| BEATRICE | Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's | |
| | point and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, | |
| | signior: fare you well. | 240 |
| | Exit | |
| BENEDICK | 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 | 245 |
| | 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 | |
