Much Ado About Nothing Page #2

that she brought me up, I likewise give her

most humble thanks.

But that I will have a recheat

winded in my forehead,

or hang my bugle

from an invisible baldrick,

all women shall pardon me.

Because I will not do them the wrong

to mistrust any,

I will do myself

the right to trust none.

And the fine is, for the which

I may go the finer,

I shall see thee, ere I die,

look pale with love.

With anger,

with sickness,

or with hunger,

my lord, not with love.

Well, as time shall try.

"In time the savage

bull doth bear the yoke."

The savage bull may,

but if ever the sensible

Benedick bear it,

pluck off the bull's horns

and plant them in my forehead

and let me

be vilely painted,

and in such great letters

as they write,

"Here is good horse to hire,"

let them

signify under my sign,

"Here may you see Benedick

the married man."

Nay, if Cupid have not spent

all his quiver in Venice,

thou wilt quake

for this shortly.

I look for

an earthquake too, then.

Hath Leonato any son,

my lord?

No child but Hero,

she's his only heir.

Dost thou affect her,

Claudio?

O, my lord, when you went onward

on this ended action,

I look'd upon her

with a soldier's eye,

that liked,

but had a rougher

task in hand

than to drive liking

to the name of love.

and that war-thoughts

have left their places vacant,

in their rooms come thronging soft

and delicate desires,

all prompting

me how fair young Hero is,

saying, "I liked her

ere I went to wars."

Thou wilt be

like a lover presently

and tire the hearer

with a book of words.

If thou dost love

fair Hero, cherish it,

and I will break with her and with her father,

and thou shalt have her.

I know we shall have

reveling to-night. Hmm.

I will assume

thy part in some disguise

and tell fair

Hero I am Claudio,

and in her bosom

I'll unclasp my heart

and take her hearing

prisoner with the force

and strong encounter

of my amorous tale.

Then after to her

father will I break,

and the conclusion

is she shall be thine.

What the good-year,

my lord.

Why are you thus

out of measure sad?

There is no measure

in the occasion that breeds,

therefore the sadness

is without limit.

You should hear reason.

And when I have heard it,

what blessing brings it?

If not a present remedy,

at least a patient sufferance.

I cannot hide what I am.

I must be sad when I have cause

and smile at no man's jests,

eat when I have stomach

and wait for no man's leisure,

sleep when I am drowsy

and tend on no man's business,

laugh when I am merry

and claw no man in his humor.

Yea, but you must not make

the full show of

this till you may do it

without controlment.

You have of late stood out

against your brother,

and he hath ta'en you newly

into his grace,

where it is impossible

you should take true root

but by the fair weather

that you make yourself.

I had rather be a canker

in a hedge

than a rose in his grace,

and it better fits

my blood to be disdained

of all than

to fashion a carriage

to rob love from any.

In this, though I cannot be said

to be a flattering honest man,

it must not be denied but I am

a plain-dealing villain.

I am trusted with a muzzle

and enfranchised with a clog.

If I had my mouth,

I would bite.

Can you make no use

of your discontent?

I make all use of it,

for I use it only.

What news, Borachio?

I came yonder

from a great supper.

The prince your brother,

is royally entertained

by Leonato,

and I can give you intelligence

of an intended marriage.

Will it serve for any model

to build mischief on?

What is he for a fool that betroths himself

to unquietness?

Marry, it is your

brother's right hand.

Who?

The most exquisite Claudio?

Even he.

A proper squire.

And who, and who?

Which way looks he?

Marry, on Hero, the daughter

and heir of Leonato.

A very forward

March-chick.

I heard it agreed upon that the prince should

woo Hero for himself,

and having obtained her,

give her to Count Claudio.

Come, come,

let us thither.

This may prove food

to my displeasure.

That young start-up hath

all the glory of my overthrow.

If I can cross him in any way,

I bless myself every way.

You are both sure,

and will assist me?

To the death, my lord.

Was not Count John

here at supper?

I saw him not.

How tartly

that gentleman looks.

I never can see him but I am heart-burned

for an hour after.

He is of a very

melancholy disposition.

He were an excellent man that were made

just in the midway

between him and Benedick.

The one is too like an image

and says nothing,

the other too like my lady's eldest son,

evermore tattling.

My troth, niece, thou wilt never

get thee a husband,

if thou be so

shrewd of thy tongue.

O, for the which blessing I am on my knees

every morning and evening.

Lord, I could not endure a husband

with a beard on his face.

I had rather

lie in the woolen.

You may light upon a husband

that hath no beard.

What would I do with him?

Dress him in my apparel

and make him

my waiting gentlewoman?

He that hath a beard

is more than a youth,

and he that hath no beard

is less than a man,

and he that is more than

a youth is not for me,

and he that is less than a man,

I am not for him.

I trust you will be ruled

by your father.

Yes. Faith, it is my cousin's duty

to make curtsy and say,

"Father, as it please you."

And yet for all that, cousin,

let him be a handsome fellow,

or else make another curtsy

and say,

"Father, as it please me."

Well, niece, I hope to see you one day

fitted with a husband.

Not till God make men of some other

metal than earth.

Lady, will you walk

about with your friend?

Well, I would

you did like me.

So would not I, for your own sake,

for I have many ill-qualities.

Hmm. Which is one?

I say my prayers aloud.

I love you the better,

the hearers may cry, "Amen."

God, match me

with a good dancer.

Will you not

tell me who told you so?

No, you shall pardon me.

Nor will you

tell me who you are?

Not now.

That I was disdainful,

and that I had

my good wit

out of

the Hundred Merry Tales..

Well, this was

Signior Benedick that said so.

What's he?

I'm sure you know

him well enough.

Not I, believe me.

Did he never make you laugh?

I pray you, what is he?

Why, he is

the prince's jester.

A very dull fool,

only his gift is in devising

impossible slanders.

None but libertines

delight in him,

and his commendation

is not in his wit,

but in his villainy,

for he both pleases

men and angers them,

and then they laugh

at him and beat him.

I'm sure he's in the fleet.

I would he had boarded me.

When I know the gentleman,

I'll tell him what you say.

Do, do.

He'll but break a comparison or two on me,

which, peradventure not marked

and not laughed at,

sends him into melancholy,

and then there's

a partridge wing saved,

for the fool will eat no supper

that night.

We must

follow the leaders.

In every good thing.

Nay, if they lead to any ill,

I will leave them at the next turning.

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