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ACT II

Sc. III

of passion came so near the life of passion as she dis-
covers it.

D. PEDRO. Why, what effects of passion shews she?
CLAUD. [aside.] Bait this hook well; the fish will bite.
LEON. What effects, my Lord! She will sit you-[to
CLAUDIO.] you heard my daughter tell you how.
CLAUD. She did, indeed.

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

LEON. I would have sworn it had, my Lord; especially against Benedick.

BENE. [aside.] I should think this a gull,' but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.

119

CLAUD. [aside.] He hath ta'en the infection: hold2 it up.
D. PEDRO. Hath she made her affection known to
Benedick?

LEON. No; and swears she never will: that's her torment.
CLAUD. 'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says. Shall

I, says she, that have so oft encounter'd him with scorn,
write to him that I love him?

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

130

LEON. O, when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet? CLAUD. That.

LEON. O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence;

rail'd 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. CLAUD. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses, O sweet Benedick! God give me patience!

140

LEON. She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the

3 tiny pieces (halfpence were of silver).

ecstasy1 hath so much overborne her that my daughter is sometime afeard she will do a desperate outrage to herself: it is very true.

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

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

151

D. PEDRO. An he should, it were an alms-deed to hang him. She's an excellent sweet lady; and (out of all suspicion) she is virtuous.

CLAUD. And she is exceeding wise.

D. PEDRO. In every thing but in loving Benedick.
LEON. 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

D. PEDRO. I would she had bestow'd this dotage on me: I would have daff'd2 all other respects, and made her half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say.

LEON. Were it good, think you?

CLAUD. 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 accustom'd

crossness.

170

D. 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.

CLAUD. He is a very proper man.

D. PEDRO. He hath indeed a good outward happiness.*
CLAUD. 'Fore God, and, in my mind, very wise.

D. PEDRO. He doth indeed shew some sparks that are
like wit.

LEON. And I take him to be valiant.

179

D. PEDRO. AS Hector," I assure you: and in the manag-
ing of quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he
avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes them
with a most Christian-like fear.

LEON. If he do fear God, 'a must necessarily keep the
3 contemptuous. 4 chances to be not ill-favoured.
5 who ran from Achilles.
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1 madness.

2 put aside.

ACT II
Sc. III

ACT II
Sc. III

peace: if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.

D. PEDRO. And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him by some large1 jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love? 190 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.

D. 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 ?2 dinner is ready.
CLAUD. [aside.] If he do not doat on her upon this, I
will never trust my expectation.

3

201

D. PEDRO [aside.] 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 an opinion
of one 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.5 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 rail'd 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.

Enter BEATRICE.

232

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?

239

BEAT. 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.
[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.

ACT III

SCENE I. LEONATO's Orchard.

Enter HERO, with MARGARET and URSULA.

[exit.

HERO. Good Margaret, run thee-run thee to the parlour:

There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice

Proposing with the Prince and Claudio:

1 saws from books; and in this way 'paper-bullets.' 2 the last point in horse and horseman's accomplishment: a swift, short gallop ending in a sudden stop.

ACT III
Sc. I

Whisper her ear, and tell her I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse
Is all of her; say that thou overheard'st us;
And bid her steal into the pleached1 bower,
Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the Sun,
Forbid the Sun to enter: like to favourites

ΙΟ

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 trace2 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. Now begin;

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[Enter BEATRICE, behind.

For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
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 :
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.

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[approaching the bower.

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.

1 close-hedged and close-roofed with interwoven boughs.

2 follow.