1    Boy!

2    Signior?

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

5    I am here already, sir.

6    I know that; but I would have thee hence, and here again.
Exit Boy
7    I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much
8    another man is a fool when he dedicates his
9    behaviors to love, will, after he hath laughed at
10   such shallow follies in others, become the argument
11   of his own scorn by failing in love: and such a man
12   is Claudio. I have known when there was no music
13   with him but the drum and the fife; and now had he
14   rather hear the tabour and the pipe: I have known
15   when he would have walked ten mile a-foot to see a
16   good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake,
17   carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to
18   speak plain and to the purpose, like an honest man
19   and a soldier; and now is he turned orthography; his
20   words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many
21   strange dishes. May I be so converted and see with
22   these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not
23   be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster; but
24   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
26   is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am
27   well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all
28   graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in
29   my grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise,
30   or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her;
31   fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not
32   near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good
33   discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall
34   be of what colour it please God. Ha! the prince and
35   Monsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour.

36   Come, shall we hear this music?

37   Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,
38   As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony!

39   See you where Benedick hath hid himself?

40   O, very well, my lord: the music ended,
41   We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.

42   Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that song again.

43   O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
44   To slander music any more than once.

45   It is the witness still of excellency
46   To put a strange face on his own perfection.
47   I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.

48   Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;
49   Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
50   To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes,
51   Yet will he swear he loves.

52   Now, pray thee, come;
53   Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
54   Do it in notes.

55   Note this before my notes;
56   There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

57   Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks;
58   Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing.

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

63   Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
64   Men were deceivers ever,
65   One foot in sea and one on shore,
66   To one thing constant never:
67   Then sigh not so, but let them go,
68   And be you blithe and bonny,
69   Converting all your sounds of woe
70   Into Hey nonny, nonny.
71   Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,
72   Of dumps so dull and heavy;
73   The fraud of men was ever so,
74   Since summer first was leafy:
75   Then sigh not so, &c.

76   By my troth, a good song.

77   And an ill singer, my lord.

78   Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.

79   An he had been a dog that should have howled thus,
80   they would have hanged him: and I pray God his bad
81   voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the
82   night-raven, come what plague could have come after
83   it.

84   Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee,
85   get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we
86   would have it at the Lady Hero's chamber-window.

87   The best I can, my lord.

88   Do so: farewell.
Exit BALTHASAR
89   Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of
90   to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with
91   Signior Benedick?

92   O, ay: stalk on. stalk on; the fowl sits. I did
93   never think that lady would have loved any man.

94   No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she
95   should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in
96   all outward behaviors seemed ever to abhor.

97   Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner?

98   By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think
99   of it but that she loves him with an enraged
100  affection: it is past the infinite of thought.

101  May be she doth but counterfeit.

102  Faith, like enough.

103  O God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of
104  passion came so near the life of passion as she
105  discovers it.

106  Why, what effects of passion shows she?

107  Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.

108  What effects, my lord? She will sit you, you heard
109  my daughter tell you how.

110  She did, indeed.

111  How, how, pray you? You amaze me: I would have I
112  thought her spirit had been invincible against all
113  assaults of affection.

114  I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially
115  against Benedick.

116  I should think this a gull, but that the
117  white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot,
118  sure, hide himself in such reverence.

119  He hath ta'en the infection: hold it up.

120  Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?

121  No; and swears she never will: that's her torment.

122  'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: 'Shall
123  I,' says she, 'that have so oft encountered him
124  with scorn, write to him that I love him?'

125  This says she now when she is beginning to write to
126  him; for she'll be up twenty times a night, and
127  there will she sit in her smock till she have writ a
128  sheet of paper: my daughter tells us all.

129  Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a
130  pretty jest your daughter told us of.

131  O, when she had writ it and was reading it over, she
132  found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?

133  That.

134  O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence;
135  railed at herself, that she should be so immodest
136  to write to one that she knew would flout her; 'I
137  measure him,' says she, 'by my own spirit; for I
138  should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I
139  love him, I should.'

140  Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs,
141  beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; 'O
142  sweet Benedick! God give me patience!'

143  She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the
144  ecstasy hath so much overborne her that my daughter
145  is sometime afeared she will do a desperate outrage
146  to herself: it is very true.

147  It were good that Benedick knew of it by some
148  other, if she will not discover it.

149  To what end? He would make but a sport of it and
150  torment the poor lady worse.

151  An he should, it were an alms to hang him. She's an
152  excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion,
153  she is virtuous.

154  And she is exceeding wise.

155  In every thing but in loving Benedick.

156  O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender
157  a body, we have ten proofs to one that blood hath
158  the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just
159  cause, being her uncle and her guardian.

160  I would she had bestowed this dotage on me: I would
161  have daffed all other respects and made her half
162  myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear
163  what a' will say.

164  Were it good, think you?

165  Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she
166  will die, if he love her not, and she will die, ere
167  she make her love known, and she will die, if he woo
168  her, rather than she will bate one breath of her
169  accustomed crossness.

170  She doth well: if she should make tender of her
171  love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the
172  man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.

173  He is a very proper man.

174  He hath indeed a good outward happiness.

175  Before God! and, in my mind, very wise.

176  He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.

177  And I take him to be valiant.

178  As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of
179  quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he
180  avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes
181  them with a most Christian-like fear.

182  If he do fear God, a' must necessarily keep peace:
183  if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a
184  quarrel with fear and trembling.

185  And so will he do; for the man doth fear God,
186  howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests
187  he will make. Well I am sorry for your niece. Shall
188  we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?

189  Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with
190  good counsel.

191  Nay, that's impossible: she may wear her heart out first.

192  Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter:
193  let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I
194  could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see
195  how much he is unworthy so good a lady.

196  My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.

197  If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never
198  trust my expectation.

199  Let there be the same net spread for her; and that
200  must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry. The
201  sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of
202  another's dotage, and no such matter: that's the
203  scene that I would see, which will be merely a
204  dumb-show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.

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

232  Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.

233  Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

234  I took no more pains for those thanks than you take
235  pains to thank me: if it had been painful, I would
236  not have come.

237  You take pleasure then in the message?

238  Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's
239  point and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach,
240  signior: fare you well.

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