The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

Pedro. As Hector, I assure you; and in the managing of quarrels you may say he is wise, for either he avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christianlike fear.

Leon. 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.

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?

Claud. Never tell him, my lord. Let her wear it out with good counsel.

Leon. Nay, that’s impossible; she may wear her heart out first.

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 how much he is unworthy so good a lady.

Leon. My lord, will you .walk? Dinner is ready.

[They walk away.]

Claud. If he dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation.

Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her, and that 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.

Exeunt [Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato].

[Benedick advances from the arbour.]

Bene. 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 censur’d. 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 alters? 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.

Enter Beatrice.

Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she’s a fair lady! I do spy some marks of love in her.

Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid You come in to dinner.

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me. If it had been painful, I would not have come.

Bene. You take pleasure then in the message?

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knives point, and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior. Fare you well.

Exit.

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.

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM

SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS

PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE

WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE

DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS

PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED

COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY

SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

ACT III. Scene I.

Leonato’s orchard.

Enter Hero and two Gentlewomen, 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 Ursley 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 honeysuckles, ripened by the sun, 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.

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, 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

Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter Is little Cupid’s crafty arrow made,

That only wounds by hearsay.

[Enter Beatrice.]

Now begin;

For look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs Close by the ground, to hear our conference.

[Beatrice hides in the arbour].

Urs. The pleasant’st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream And greedily devour the treacherous bait.

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 Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.

[They approach the arbour.]

No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful.

I know her spirits are as coy and wild As haggards of the rock.

Urs. But are you sure

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; 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

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:

But Nature never fram’d a woman’s heart Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprizing what they look on; and her wit 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-endeared.

Urs. Sure I think so;

And therefore certainly it were not good She knew his love, lest she’ll 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 antic, Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed; 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 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, 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!

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.

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 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

As she is priz’d to have) as to refuse So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.

Hero. He is the only man of Italy,

Always excepted my dear Claudio.

Urs. I pray you be not angry with me, madam, Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,

For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour, Goes foremost in report through Italy.

Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name.

Urs. His excellence did earn it ere he had it.

When are you married, madam?

Hero. Why, every day tomorrow! Come, go in.

I’ll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel Which is the best to furnish me tomorrow.

[They walk away.]

Urs. She’s lim’d, I warrant you! We have caught her, madam.

Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps; Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

Exeunt [Hero and Ursula].

[Beatrice advances from the arbour.]

Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?

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.

If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee To bind our loves up in a holy band;

For others say thou dost deserve, and I Believe it better than reportingly. Exit.

Scene II.

A room in Leonato’s house.

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato.

Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I toward Arragon.

Claud. I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll vouchsafe me.

Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth.

He hath twice or thrice cut Cupid’s bowstring, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as sound as a bell; and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks.

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.

Leon. So say I. Methinks you are sadder.

Claud. I hope he be in love.

Pedro. Hang him, truant! There’s no true drop of blood in him to be truly touch’d with love. If he be sad, he wants money.

Bene. I have the toothache.

Pedro. Draw it.

Bene. Hang it!

Claud. You must hang it first and draw it afterwards.

Pedro. What? sigh for the toothache?

Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm.

Bene. Well, every one can master a