Much Ado About Nothing Page #4

But I'll take my oath on it,

till he hath made an oyster 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, 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.

Of good discourse. An excellent musician.

And her hair...

...shall be...

...of what color it please God.

The prince and Monsieur Love.

I will hide me.

See you where Benedick hath hid himself?

Very well, my lord.

Come, Balthasar.

We'll hear that song again.

Now, divine air.

Now is his soul ravished!

Is it not strange that sheeps' guts

should hale souls out of men's bodies?

"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

"Into Hey nonny, nonny

"Sing no more ditties

"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

"Into Hey nonny, nonny"

- By my troth, a good song.

- And an ill singer, my lord.

No, no, faith, thou singest well enough.

An' he had been a dog that should have

howled thus, they'd have hanged him.

Come hither, Leonato.

What was it you told me of today?

That your niece Beatrice was

in love with Signior Benedick?

I did never think that lady

would have loved any man.

No, nor I neither.

But most wonderful that

she should so dote on Signior Benedick...

...whom she hath in all outward behaviors

seemed ever to abhor.

Is it possible?

Maybe she doth but counterfeit?

Faith, like enough.

O, God!

Counterfeit?

There was never counterfeit of passion

came so near the life of passion...

...as she discovers it.

Why?

What effects of passion shows she?

Bait the hook well. This fish will bite.

What effects, my lord?

- You heard my daughter tell you how.

- She did, indeed.

How, I pray you?

You amaze me!

I should think this a trick,

but that the gray-bearded fellow speaks it.

Hath she made her affection

known to Benedick?

No, and swears she never will.

That's her torment.

She'll be up 20 times a night...

...and there she'll sit in her smock

till she have writ a sheet of paper.

Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps...

...sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, curses:

"O sweet Benedick!

"God give me patience!"

She doth indeed, my daughter says so.

My daughter is sometime afeared...

...that she will do a desperate outrage to herself.

It is very true.

- It were good that Benedick knew of it.

- To what end?

He would make but a sport of it

and torment the poor lady worse.

I'm sorry for her.

I pray you, tell Benedick of it,

and hear what he will say.

Were it good, think you?

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.

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.

I love Benedick well...

...and I could wish he would

modestly examine himself...

...to see how much he is unworthy...

...so good a lady.

My lord, will you walk? Dinner is ready.

If he do not dote on her upon this,

I will never trust my expectation.

Let the same net be spread for her, and that

must your daughter and her gentlewoman carry.

Let us send Beatrice to call him in to dinner.

This can be no trick.

The conference was sadly borne.

They have the truth of this from Hero.

Love me?

Why...

...it must be requited.

I hear how I am censured.

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.

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 alter?

A man loves the meat in his youth

that he cannot endure in his age.

Shall these quips and sentences

and paper bullets of the brain...

...awe a man from the career of his humor?

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.

Against my will I am sent to bid you

come in to dinner.

Fair Beatrice.

I thank you for your pains.

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.

You take pleasure, then, in the message?

Yea.

Just so much as you may take

upon a knife's point.

You have no stomach, signior? Fare you well.

"Against my will, I am sent...

"...to bid you come in to dinner."

There's a double meaning in that.

But are you sure that Benedick

loves Beatrice so entirely?

So says the prince and my new-trothed lord.

And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?

They did entreat me to acquaint her of it.

But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick...

...to wish him wrestle with affection

and never let Beatrice know.

Why did you so?

Doth he not deserve as full as fortunate

a bed as Beatrice shall couch upon?

O God of love! I know he doth deserve

as much as may be yielded to a man.

But nature never framed a woman's heart

of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes...

...misprising what they look on,

and her wit values itself so highly...

...that to her all matter else seems weak.

She cannot love.

Sure, I think so.

- Yet tell her of it. Hear what she will say.

- No.

Rather I will go to Benedick

and counsel him to fight against his passion.

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 prized to have...

...to refuse such a gentleman

as Signior Benedick.

He is the only man of Italy.

Always excepted my dear Claudio.

- When are you married, madam?

- Why, every day.

Tomorrow!

She's limed, I warrant you.

We have caught her, madam.

If it prove so, then loving goes by haps.

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

What fire is in mine ears?

Can this be true?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes