Much Ado About Nothing Page #4

and I,

with your two helps,

will so practice on Benedick that,

in despite of his quick wit

and his queasy stomach,

he shall fall in love

with Beatrice.

If we can do this,

Cupid is no longer an archer.

His glory shall be ours,

for we are the only love-gods.

It is so.

The Count Claudio shall marry

the daughter of Leonato.

Yea, my lord,

but I can cross it.

Any bar, any cross, any impediment

will be medicinable to me.

I am sick

in displeasure to him,

and whatsoever comes athwart

his affection

ranges evenly with mine.

How canst thou

thwart this marriage?

I think I told your lordship

a year since,

how much I am in

favor of Margaret,

the waiting

gentlewoman to Hero.

I remember.

I can, at any unseasonable

instant of the night,

appoint her to look out

at her lady's chamber window.

What life is in that, to be the death

of this marriage?

The poison of that

lies in you to temper.

Go you to the prince

your brother,

spare not to tell him that he hath

wronged his honor

in marrying

the renowned Claudio,

whose estimation

do you mightily hold up,

to a contaminated stale

such a one as Hero.

What proof shall

I make of that?

Proof enough

to misuse the prince,

to vex Claudio, to undo Hero

and kill Leonato.

Look you

for any other issue?

I do much wonder that one man,

seeing how much

another man is a fool

when he dedicates

his behaviors to love,

will, after he hath laughed

at such shallow follies in others,

become the argument

of his own scorn by falling in love.

And such a man is Claudio.

I have known

when there was no music

with him

but the drum and the fife,

now he had rather hear the tabor

and the pipe.

I have known when

he would have walked

10 mile a-foot

to see a good armor,

and now will he lie

10 nights awake,

carving the fashion

of a new doublet.

He was wont to speak plain

and to the purpose,

like an honest

man and a soldier.

Now is he turned orthography,

his words a very fantastical banquet,

just so many strange dishes.

May I be so converted

and see with these eyes?

I cannot tell, I think not.

I will not be sworn, but love may

transform me to an oyster.

But I'll take my oath on it,

till he have 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.

Noble,

or not I for an angel.

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

in the arbor.

Come,

shall we hear this music?

Yea, my good lord.

Come hither, Leonato.

What was it you

told me of to-day,

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't possible?

Sits the wind in that corner?

By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell

what to think of it

but that she loves him

with an enraged affection.

It is past

the infinite of thought.

You amaze me.

I would have

thought her spirit was

invincible against all

assaults of affection.

I would have

sworn it had, my lord,

especially against Benedick.

Hath she made her affection known

to Benedick?

No, and swears she never will,

that is her torment.

'Tis true, indeed,

so your daughter says, "Shall I"

she says,

"that so oft encountered him

with scorn, write to him

that I love him?"

O, she railed 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."

Then down upon

her knees she falls,

weeps, sobs,

beats her heart,

tears her hair,

prays, curses,

"O, sweet, Benedick!

God give me patience!"

I would she had bestowed

this dotage on me.

I would have daffed all other respects

and made her half myself.

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,

rather than she will bate one breath

of her accustomed crossness.

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.

He is a very proper man.

He hath indeed

a good outward happiness.

Before God!

And, in my mind, very wise.

He doth indeed show some sparks

that are like wit.

Well, I'm sorry

for your niece.

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.

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,

'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 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 quips and sentences and these 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, signior,

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.

"I took no more

pains for those thanks

"than you took

pains to thank me."

That's as much as

to say, any pains

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