so say l. Me thinks you are sadder.
l hope he be in love.
Old Signior, walk aside with me. l have studied 8 or 9 wise words to speak to you . . .
which these hobby-horses must not hear.
For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.
My lord and brother, God save you.
Good e'en, brother.
lf your leisure served, l would speak with you.
- ln private ? - lf it please you.
Yet Count Claudio may hear, for what l would speak of concerns him.
What's the matter ?
You may think l love you not;
let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that l now will manifest.
Means your lordship to be married tomorrow ?
You know he does.
l know not that when he knows what l know.
Hero !
Hero ! Hero !
The lady is disloyal !
lf you love her now, tomorrow wed her.
But it would better fit your honour to change your mind.
Conrade !
What, Conrade ! Conrade, l say !
Here, man, l 'm at thy elbow.
Mass, an my elbow itched, l thought there would a scab follow.
l will owe thee an answer for that.
- And now, forward with thy tale. - Sit close, then.
- Some treason, masters. - l know him.
l have tonight wooed Margaret,
the Lady Hero's gentlewoman,
by the name of Hero.
l should first tell thee how the prince,
Claudio, and my master, planted . . .
by my master, Don John,
saw this amiable encounter.
And thought they Margaret was Hero ?
Aye, and away went Claudio enraged . . .
We charge you in the prince's name. Stand.
Call up the right Master Constable.
We have here recovered . . .
the most dangerous piece of lechery that was ever known in the commonwealth.
- Masters, Masters ! - Never speak!
There, sir.
What would you with me, honest neighbours ?
Marry, sir, our watch tonight, excepting Your Worship's presence,
ha' ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina.
A good old man, sir. He will be talking.
As they say, when the age is in, the wit is out.
Well said, i' faith, neighbour Verges.
Well, God 's a good man.
And two men ride a horse, one must ride behind.
All men are not alike, alas, good neighbour.
lndeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.
Well, gifts that God gives !
Neighbours, you are tedious.
It pleases Your Worship to say so,
but we are the poor duke's officers.
But truly, for mine own part, if l were as tedious as a king,
l could find in my heart to bestow it all on Your Worship.
All thy tediousness on me ?
l would fain know what you have to say !
Our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two auspicious persons,
and we would this morning have them examined before Your Worship.
Take their examination yourself, and bring it me.
l am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you.
Drink some wine ere you go.
We are now to examination these men.
Meet me at the jail.
You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady.
No
To be married to her, you come to marry her.
Lady, you come hither to be married to this count.
l do.
lf either of you have any inward impediment . . .
why you should not be conjoined, l charge you, on your souls, to utter it.
- Know you any, Hero ? - None, my lord.
- Know you any, Count ? - l dare make his answer, none.
Stand thee by, Friar.
Father, by your leave; will you with free and unconstrained soul . . .
give me this maid, your daughter ?
As freely, son, as God did give her me.
And what have l to give you back, whose worth may counterpoise . . .
this rich and precious gift ?
Nothing, unless you render her again.
Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulness.
There, Leonato, take her back again.
Give not this rotten orange to your friend;
she's but the sign and semblance of her honour.
Behold how like a maid she blushes here !
Would you not swear, all you that see her,
that she were a maid, by these exterior shows ?
But she is none;
she knows the heat of a luxurious bed.
- What do you mean, my lord ? - Not to be married,
not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.
No
Dear my lord,
if you, in your own proof,
have vanquished the resistance of her youth,
and made defeat of her virginity-
No, Leonato,
l never tempted her with word too large,
But as a brother to his sister,
showed bashful sincerity and comely love.
And seemed l ever otherwise to you ?
You seemed to me as Dian in her orb.
But you are more intemperate in your blood than Venus . . .
Go away !
Or those pampered animals that rage in savage sensuality.
ls my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?
- Sweet prince, why speak not you ? - What shall l speak ?
l stand dishonoured that have gone about to link my dear friend to a common stale.
No ! No !
What man was he talked with you yesternight . . .
out at your window betwixt twelve and one ?
l talked with no man at that hour, my lord.
Why, then you are no maiden. Leonato, l 'm sorry you must hear.
Upon mine honour, myself, my brother and this grieved count . . .
did see her, hear her, at that hour last night . . .
talk with a ruffian at her chamber window;
who hath indeed , most like a liberal villain,
confessed the vile encounters they have had a thousand times in secret.
Oh, my cousin !
Come. Let us go.
These things, come thus to light, smother her spirits up.
Cousin, cousin whyfor sink you down ?
Hath no man's dagger here a point for me ?
Do not live, Hero,
do not ope thine eyes,
Grieved l, l had but one ?
Why had l one ?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ?
She, O, she is fallen into a pit of ink.
Sir, sir, be patient.
For my part, l am so attired in wonder l know not what to say.
O, on my soul, my cousin is belied !
Lady, were you her bedfellow last night ?
No, truly not; although until last night . . .
l have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
Confirmed, confirmed.
Would the two princes lie and Claudio lie ?
Hence from her, let her die.
Hear me a little;
Lady, what man is he you are accused of ?
They know that do accuse me. l know none.
There is some strange misprision in the princes.
Two of them have the very bent of honour;
And if their wisdoms be misled in this, the practice of it lives in John the Bastard.
lf they wrong her honour,
the proudest of them shall well hear of it.
Pause awhile, and let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead,
let her a while be secretly kept in,
and publish it that she is dead indeed.
What shall become of this ?
She dying, as it must be so maintained,
upon the instant that she was accused,
shall be lamented, pitied,
and excused of every hearer.
So will it fare with Claudio.
When he shall hear she died upon his words,
the idea of her life shall sweetly creep . . .
into his study of imagination,
and every lovely organ of her life . . .
shall come apparelled in more precious habit,
than when she lived indeed.
Then shall he mourn, and wish he had not so accused her.
Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you.
Being that l flow in grief,
the smallest twine may lead me.
'Tis well consented. Presently away;
Come, lady,
die to live.
This wedding day perhaps is but prolonged.
Have patience, and endure.
Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ?
Yea.
- And l will weep a while longer. - l will not desire that.
You have no reason, l do it freely.
Surely l do believe your fair cousin is wronged.
How much might the man deserve of me that would right her !
ls there any way to show such friendship ?
A very even way, but no such friend.
- May a man do it ? - lt is a man's office, but not yours.
l do love nothing in the world so well as you.
ls not that strange ?
As strange as the thing l know not.
lt were as possible for me to say l love nothing so well as you,
but believe me not, and yet l lie not.
l confess nothing, nor l deny nothing.
- l am sorry for my cousin. - By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.
Do not swear and eat it.
l will swear by it that you love me, and I will make him eat it that says l love not you.
Why, then, God forgive me.
What offence, sweet Beatrice ?
You have stayed me in a happy hour. l was about to protest l loved you.
And do it with all thy heart.
l love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.
Come, bid me do anything for thee.
Kill Claudio.
Ah ! Not for the wide world.
You kill me to deny it.
- Fare ye well. - Tarry, sweet Beatrice.
l am gone though l am here. There is no love in you.
- Nay, l pray you, let me go. - Beatrice.
- ln faith, l will go. - We'll be friends first.
You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.
ls Claudio thine enemy ?
ls a' not approved in the height a villain,
that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman ?
O that l were a man !
What, I'll bear her in hand until they come to take hands,
and then with public accusation, uncovered slander,
unmitigated rancour -
O God, that l were a man !
l would eat his heart in the market place !
Hear me, Beatrice.
Talk with a man out at a window !
- A proper saying ! - Nay, but Beatrice -
Sweet Hero,
she is wronged,
she is slandered, she is undone.
Beatrice !
He is now as valiant as Hercules . . .
that only tells a lie and swears it.
l cannot be a man with wishing,
therefore, l will die a woman with grieving.
By this hand, l love thee.
Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.
Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero ?
Yea, as sure as l have a thought . . .
or a soul.
Enough, l am engaged,
l will challenge him.
Go.
Comfort your cousin. l must say she is dead.
And so, farewell.
ls our whole dissembly appeared ?
Which be the malefactors ?
Marry, that am l and my partner.
But which are the offenders that are to be examined ?
- What is your name, friend ? - Borachio.
Write down Borachio.
- Yours, sirrah ? - l am a gentleman, sir,
and my name is Conrade.
Write down Master Gentleman Conrade.
Masters, it is proved already that you are . . .
little better than false knaves.
How answer you for yourselves ?
Marry, sir, we say we are none.
- You ? - Sir, l say to you we are none.
Have you writ down that they are none ?
Master Constable, you know not the way to examine.
You must call forth the watch that are their accusers.
Let the Watch come forth. Masters,
l charge you in the prince's name accuse these men.
This man said, sir,
that Don John, the prince's brother, was a villain.
- Write down Prince John a villain. - Master Constable.
Pray thee, fellow, peace.
l do not like thy look, l promise thee.
What heard you him say else ?
Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John . . .
for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.
- Flat burglary, as ever was committed. - Yeah, by mass, that it is. Hmm ?
- What else ? - And that Count Claudio did mean . . .
upon his words to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her.
Thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this.
- What else ? - This is all.
Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away.
Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner refused,
and upon the grief of this suddenly died.
Master Constable,
let these men be bound and brought to Leonato's.
Come, let them be opinioned.
Let them be, in the hands.
Off, coxcomb !
God 's my life, where's the sexton ?
Let him write down the prince's officer coxcomb.
Come, bind them. Thou naughty varlet !
Away, you are an ass,
you are an ass.
Dost thou not suspect my place ?
Does thou not suspect my years ?
Oh, that he were here to write me down an ass !
But, masters, remember l am an ass;
though it be not written down, yet forget not that l am an ass.
lf you go on thus, you will kill yourself.
Bring me a father that so loved his child,
whose joy of her is overwhelmed like mine,
and bid him speak of patience.
But there is no such man,
for, brother, men can counsel and speak comfort . . .
to that grief which they themselves not feel,
but tasting it, their counsel turns to passion.
- But-- - l pray thee, peace.
l will be flesh and blood; for there was never yet philosopher . . .
that could endure the toothache patiently.
Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself.
Make those that do offend you suffer, too.
There thou speak'st reason, nay, l will do so.
My soul doth tell me Hero is belied,
and that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince,
and all of them that thus dishonour her.
Here comes the prince and Claudio hastily.
- Good e'en, good e'en. - Good day to both of you.
- Hear you, my lords ? - We have some haste.
Some haste, my lord ! Well, fare you well, my lord.
Are you so hasty now ? Well, all is one.
Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.
lf he could right himself with quarreling, some of us would lie low.
- Who wrongs him ? - Marry, thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou.
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, l fear thee not.
Marry, beshrew my hand if it should give your age such cause of fear.
ln faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.
Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at me.
l speak not like a dotard nor a fool,
l say thou hast belied mine innocent child.
- You say not right, old man. - My lord, my lord,
l 'll prove it on his body, if he dare.
Away, l will not have to do with you.
Canst thou so daff me ? Thou hast killed my child.
lf thou kill 'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.
He shall kill two of us, and men indeed.
But that's no matter, let him kill one first.
l 'll whip you from your foining fence. Nay, as l am a gentleman, l will.
- Brother. - Content yourself.
God knows, l loved my niece, and she is dead,
slandered to death by villains...
scambling, outfacing, fashion-monging boys,
that lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander.
- Brother Antony - Come, 'tis no matter,
do not you meddle, let me deal in this.
Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death, but on my honour . . .
she was charged with nothing but what was true and very full of proof.
- My lord, my lord. - l will not hear you.
No ? Come brother, away. l will be heard.
And shall, or some of us will smart for it.
See, see, here comes the man we went to seek.
- Now signior, what news ? - Good day, my lord.
Welcome, signior. You are almost come to part almost a fray.
We had liked to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth.
Shall l speak a word in your ear ?
You are a villain. l jest not.
l will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare.
Do me right, or l will protest your cowardice.
You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you.
Fare you well, boy,
you know my mind.
My lord,
for your many courtesies l thank you.
l must discontinue your company.
Your brother the bastard is fled from Messina.
You have among you killed a sweet and innocent lady.
For my Lord Lackbeard there, he and l shall meet,
and till then, peace be with him.
- He is in earnest. - ln most profound earnest.
- And hath challenged thee. - Most sincerely.
Officers, what offence have these men done ?
Marry, sir, they have committed false report;
moreover, they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanderers;
sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady;
thirdly, they have verified unjust things,
and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.
Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer ?
This learned constable is too cunning to be understood.
l have deceived even your very eyes.
What your wisdoms could not discover,
these shallow fools have brought to light,
who in the night overheard me. . .
confessing to this man how Don John your brother . . .
incensed me to slander the Lady Hero,
how you saw me court Margaret.
How you disgraced Hero. . .
when you should marry her.
The lady is dead . . .
upon mine and my master's false accusation.
Sweet Hero.
Come, bring away the plaintiffs.
By this time our sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter.
And masters, do not forget to specify,
when time and place shall serve, that l am an ass.
Here, here . . .
comes Master Signior Leonato, and the sexton, too.
Which is the villain ? Let me see his eyes.
lf you would know your wronger, look on me.
Art thou the slave that with thy tongue hast killed mine innocent child ?
Yea, even l alone.
No, not so, villain, thou beliest thyself.
Here stand a pair of honourable men.
A third is fled that had a hand in it.
l thank you, princes, for my daughter's death.
Record it with your high and worthy deeds.
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.
l know not how to pray your patience,
yet l must speak.
Choose your revenge yourself,
impose me to what penance your invention can lay upon my sin.
Yet sinned l not but in mistaking.
By my soul, nor l.
l cannot bid you bid my daughter live; that were impossible:
but l pray you both. . .
possess the people in Messina here how innocent she died,
and if your love can labour aught in sad invention,
hang her an epitaph upon her tomb . . .
and sing it to her bones,
sing it tonight.
Tomorrow morning come you to my house,
and since you could not be my son-in-law,
be yet my nephew.
My brother hath a daughter,
almost the copy of my child that's dead,
and she alone is heir to both of us.
Give her the right you should have giv'n her cousin,
and so dies my revenge.
O noble sir !
Your overkindness doth wring tears from me.
l do embrace your offer;
and dispose for henceforth of poor Claudio.
Tomorrow then l will expect your coming.
Tonight l take my leave.
This naughty man shall face-to-face be brought to Margaret,
who l believe was packed in all this wrong.
No, by my soul, she was not,
nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me,
but always hath been just and virtuous in anything that l do know by her.
Moreover, sir, which indeed is not under white and black,
this plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass.
l beseech you, let it be remembered in his punishment.
l thank thee for thy care and honest pains.
Your Worship speaks like a most thankful and reverend youth,
and l praise God for you.
There's for thy pains.
God save the foundation.
Go.
l discharge thee of thy prisoner, and l thank thee.
l leave with Your Worship an arrant knave, which l beseech Your Worship . . .
to correct yourself, for the example of others.
God restore you to health.
l humbly give you leave to depart,
and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it.
Come, neighbour.
Until tomorrow morning, lords, farewell.
Farewell, my lords. We look for you tomorrow.
We will not fail.
Tonight l 'll mourn with Hero.
''Done to death by slanderous tongues . . .
was the Hero that here lies.
Death in guerdon of her wrongs . . .
gives her fame which never dies.
So the life. . .
that died with shame . . .
lives in death . . .
with glorious fame.''
Pardon,
Goddess of the night,
those that slew thy virgin knight,
for the which with songs of woe . . .
round about her tomb . . .
they go.
Midnight,
assist our moan,
help us . . .
to sigh and groan,
heavily, heavily.
The god of love,
That sits abo--
above,
and knows me
How pitiful l deserve--
l mean in singing; but in loving,
Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders,
and a whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers,
whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse,
why, they were never so truly turned over and over . . .
as my poor self in love.
Marry, l cannot show it in rhyme. l have tried.
l can find out no rhyme to "lady" but . . .
''baby,'' an innocent rhyme;
for ''scorn,'' ''horn,'' a hard rhyme;
For ''school,'' ''fool ,'' a babbling rhyme.
Very ominous endings.
No, l was not born under a rhyming planet,
nor l cannot woo in festival terms.
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when l called thee ?
Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.
O, stay but till then.
''Then'' is spoken. Fare you well now.
And yet ere l go,
let me go with that l came for,
which is with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio.
Only foul words, and thereupon l will kiss thee.
Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath,
and foul breath is noisome, therefore l will depart unkissed.
Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit.
But l must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge,
and either l must shortly hear from him . . .
or l will subscribe him a coward.
And l pray thee now tell me,
for which of my bad parts . . .
didst thou first fall in love with me ?
For them all together,
which maintain so politic a state of evil . . .
that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them.
But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me ?
Suffer love ! A good epithet. l do suffer love indeed for l love thee against my will.
ln spite of your heart, l think. Alas, poor heart.
lf you spite it for my sake, l will spite it for yours,
for l will never love that which my friend hates.
Thou and l are too wise to woo peaceably.
And now tell me, how doth your cousin ?
Very ill.
And how do you ?
Very ill too.
Serve God,
love me,
and mend.
- Madam, - Here comes one in haste.
you must come to your uncle. Yonder's old coil at home.
lt is proved my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused,
the prince and Claudio mightily abused,
and Don John is the author of all,
who is fled and gone.
Will you come presently ?
- Will you go hear this news, signior ? - l will live in thy heart,
die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.
And moreover, l will go with thee to thy uncle's.
- Did l not tell you she was innocent ? - So are the prince and Claudio . . .
who accused her upon the error that you heard debated.
But Margaret was in some fault for this.
Well, l am glad that all things sort so well.
Now, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, withdraw,
and when l send for you, come hither masked.
The prince and Claudio promised by this hour to visit me.
You know your office, brother,
you must be father to your brother's daughter, and give her to young Claudio.
Which l will do with confirmed countenance.
Friar, l must entreat your pains, l think.
- To do what, signior ? - To bind me or undo me, one of them.
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior.
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.
The sight whereof l think you had from me, from Claudio and the prince.
- But what's your will ? - Your answer, sir, is enigmatical.
But for my will, my will is your goodwill . . .
may stand with ours, this day to be . . .
conjoined in the . . .
state of honourable marriage,
in which, good Friar, l shall desire your help.
- My heart is with your liking. - And my help.
Here comes the prince and Claudio.
Good morrow to this fair assembly.
Good morrow, Prince. Good morrow, Claudio.
We here attend you.
Are you yet determined today to marry with my brother's daughter ?
Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready.
Which is the lady l must seize upon ?
This same is she, and l do give you her.
Sweet, let me see your face.
No, that you shall not till you take her hand . . .
before this friar and swear to marry her.
Give me your hand before this holy friar.
l am your husband . . .
if you like of me.
Hero that is dead.
She died, my lord, but whiles her slander lived.
And when l lived,
l was your other wife;
and when you loved, you were my other husband.
One Hero died defiled, but l do live,
and surely as l live,
l am a maid.
All this amazement can l qualify;
when after that the holy rites are ended,
l 'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death.
Soft and fair, Friar.
Which is Beatrice ?
l answer to that name,
- what is your will ? - Do not you love me ?
Why no,
no more than reason.
Why then, your uncle and the prince and Claudio have been deceived. They swore you did.
- Do not you love me ? - Troth, no, no more than reason.
Why then, my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula . . .
are much deceived, for they did swear you did.
They swore that you were almost sick for me.
They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.
'Tis no such matter. Then . . .
you do not love me ?
No, truly, but in friendly recompense.
Come, cousin, l am sure you love the gentleman.
l 'll be sworn upon't that he loves her,
for here's a paper written in his hand,
a halting sonnet of his own pure brain, fashioned to Beatrice.
And here's another,
No.
writ in my cousin's hand, stol'n from her pocket,
containing her affection unto Benedick.
A miracle !
Here's our own hands against our hearts.
Come. l will have thee,
but by this light, l take thee for pity.
l would not deny you, but by this good day,
l yield upon great persuasion,
and partly to save your life, for l was told you were in a consumption.
Peace, l will stop your mouth.
How dost thou, Benedick the married man ?
l 'll tell thee what, Prince:
a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor.
Dost thou think l care for a satire or an epigram ?
No, since l do purpose to marry,
l will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it,
and therefore never flout at me for what l have said against it.
For man . . .
is a giddy thing,
and this is my conclusion.
For thy part, Claudio, l did think to have beaten thee,
but in that thou art like to be my kinsman,
live unbruised, and love my cousin.
Come, come, we are friends,
let's have a dance ere we are married,
that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives' heels.
We'll have dancing afterward.
First, of my word. Therefore play, music.
Prince, thou art sad,
get thee a wife ! Get thee a wife !
My lord, your brother, John, is ta'en in flight,
and brought with armed men back to Messina.
Think not on him till tomorrow,
l 'll devise thee brave punishments for him.
Strike up, pipers.
Sigh no more Ladies, sigh no more
Men were deceivers ever
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
lnto hey, nonny-nonny
Sing no more ditties Sing no more
Of dumps so dull and heavy
The fraud of men was ever so
Since summer first was leafy
Then sigh not so But let them go
And be you blithe and bonny
Converting all
Your sounds of woe
lnto hey, nonny-nonny