Much Ado About Nothing Page #5

that I take for you

is as good as thanks.

If I do not take pity

of her, I am a villain.

If I do not love her,

I am a fool.

I will go get her picture.

No, truly, Ursula,

she is too disdainful.

I know her spirits

are as coy and wild

as haggerds of the rock.

But are you sure 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

restle with affection,

and never to let

Beatrice know of it.

Why did you so?

Doth not the gentleman deserve

as full a fortunate a bed

as ever 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, nor take no shape

nor project of affection,

she is so self-endeared.

Sure, I think so.

And therefore certainly it were not good

she knew his love,

lest she make sport at it.

No, rather

I will go to Benedick

and counsel him to fight against

his passion.

Truly, I'll devise some honest slanders

to stain my cousin with.

One doth not know how much an ill word may

empoison liking.

O, 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,

as to refuse so rare a gentleman

as Signior Benedick.

He is the only man of Italy.

Mmm.

Always excepted

my dear Claudio.

Come, go in. I'll show

thee some attires,

and have thy counsel which is the best

to furnish me to-morrow.

What fire is in my ears?

Can this be true?

Stand I condemn'd

for pride and scorn so much?

Contempt, farowell.

And maiden pride, adieu.

No glory lives

behind the back of such.

And, Benedick,

love on.

I will requite thee,

taming my wild heart

to thy loving hand.

If thou dost love,

my kindness shall incite thee

to bind our loves

up in a holy band.

For others say

thou dost deserve,

and I believe it

better than reportingly.

I do but stay till your marriage

be consummate,

and then go I toward Arragon.

I'll bring you thither, my lord,

if you'll vouchsafe me.

Nay, that would be

as great a soil

in the new gloss

of your marriage

as to show a child his new coat and forbid him

to wear it.

I will only be bold with Benedick

for his company,

for, from the crown

of his head

to the sole of his foot,

he is all mirth.

He hath twice or thrice

cut Cupid's bow-string

and the little hangman

dare not shoot at him.

Gallants,

I am not as I have been.

So say I,

methinks you are sadder.

I hope he be

in love.

Hang him truant!

There's no true

drop of blood in him,

to be truly

touched with love.

If he be sad,

he wants money.

I have the toothache.

What?

Sigh for the toothache?

Well, every one can master a grief

but he that has it.

If he be not in love

with some woman,

there is no

believing old signs.

Hath any man

seen him at the barber's?

No, but the barber's man

hath been seen with him,

and the old

ornament of his cheek

hath already

stuffed tennis-balls.

Nay, a'rubs himself

with civet.

Can you not smell

him out by that?

And when was he wont

to wash his face?

Indeed, that tells

a heavy tale for him.

Conclude,

conclude he is in love.

Old signior,

walk aside with me.

I have studied eight or nine wise words

that I would speak to you,

which these hobby-horses

must not hear.

For my life, to break with

him about Beatrice.

'Tis even so.

Hero and Margaret have

by this played their parts with Beatrice,

and then the two

bears will not

bite one another

when they meet.

My lord and brother,

God save you.

Good den, brother.

If your leisure served,

I would speak with you.

In private?

If it please you.

Yet Count Claudio may hear,

for what I would speak of concerns him.

What's the matter?

Means your lordship

to be married to-morrow?

You know he does.

I know not that

when he knows what I know.

If there be any impediment,

I pray you, discover it.

You may think

I love you not.

Let that appear hereafter,

and aim better at me by that

I now will manifest.

Why, what's the matter?

The lady is disloyal.

Who, Hero?

Even she,

Leonato's Hero, your Hero,

every man's Hero...

Disloyal?

The word is too good

to paint out her wickedness.

Think you of a worse title,

and I will fit her to it.

Wonder not till

further warrant.

Go but with me to-night, you shall see her

chamber-window entered,

even the night

before her wedding-day.

If you love her then

to-morrow wed her.

But it would better fit your honor

to change your mind.

May this be so?

I will not think it.

If you will follow me,

I will show you enough,

and when you have seen more

and heard more,

proceed accordingly.

Are you good men and true?

Yea, or else it were pity

but they should suffer salvation,

body and soul.

Give them their charge,

neighbor Dogberry.

First, who think you the most desertless

man to be constable?

Hugh Otecake,

sir, or George Seacole,

for they can write and read.

Come hither,

neighbor Seacole.

You are thought

here to be the most

senseless and fit man for the constable

of the watch,

therefore bear

you the lantern.

This is your charge.

You shall comprehend

all vagrom men.

You are to bid any man stand,

in the prince's name.

How if he will not stand?

Why, then, take no note of him,

but let him go,

and presently call

the rest of the watch together

and thank God

you are rid of a knave.

If he will not

stand when he is bidden,

he is none

of the prince's subjects.

True, and they are to meddle with none

but the prince's subjects.

Well, you are to call

at all the ale-houses,

and bid those that are drunk

get them to bed.

How if they will not?

Why, then, let them alone

till they are sober.

If they make you not

then the better answer,

you may say they are not

the men you took them for.

Well, sir...

If you meet a thief,

you may suspect him,

by virtue of your office,

to be no true man,

and, for such kind of men,

the less you meddle

or make with them,

why the more

is for your honesty.

If we know him

to be a thief,

shall we not lay

hands on him?

You may,

but I think

they that touch pitch

will be defiled.

The most peaceable way

for you,

if you do take a thief,

is to let him show himself

what he is and steal

out of your company.

You have been always called

a merciful man, partner.

Truly, I would not

hang a dog by my will,

much more a man

who hath any honesty in him.

If you hear a child

cry in the night,

you must call to the nurse

and bid her to still it.

How if the nurse be asleep

and will not hear us?

Why, then, depart in peace,

and let the child wake her with crying.

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