Much Ado About Nothing Page #7

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,

confess'd the vile encounters they have had

a thousand times in secret.

Fie. Fie! They are not

to be named, my lord,

not to be spoke of.

There is not enough chastity in language

but offense to utter them.

Thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy

much misgovernment.

O Hero.

What a Hero hadst thou been,

if half thy outward graces

had been placed about thy thoughts

and counsels of thy heart!

But fare thee well,

most foul,

most fair.

Hath no man's dagger

here a point for me?

Why, how now, cousin?

Wherefore sink you down?

Come, let us go.

These things, come thus to light,

smother her spirits up.

How doth the lady?

Dead, I think.

Help, uncle!

O Hero! Why, Hero?

Signior Benedick.

O Fate! Take not away

thy heavy hand.

Death were the fairest cover for her shame

that may be wish'd for.

How now, cousin Hero?

Have comfort, lady.

Dost thou look up?

Yea, wherefore

should she not?

Wherefore!

Why, doth not every earthly thing

cry shame upon her?

Could she here deny the story that

is printed in her blood?

Do not live, Hero.

Do not ope thine eyes.

Grieved I,

I had but one?

Chid I for that

at frugal nature's frame?

O, one too much by thee!

Why ever wast thou one?

Why ever wast thou

lovely in my eyes?

Sir.

Sir, be patient.

For my own part,

I am attired in wonder

and 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 I have this twelvemonth

been her bedfellow.

Confirm'd. Confirm'd.

Would the two princes lie,

and Claudio lie,

who loved her so,

that, speaking of

her foulness,

wash'd it with tears?

Hence from her!

Let her die!

Lady. What man is he

you are accused of?

They know that do accuse me,

I know none.

If I know more

of any man alive

than that which maiden

modesty doth warrant,

then let all

my sins lack mercy.

My father, prove you

that any man with me conversed

at hours unmeet or if I

yesternight maintain'd

the change of words

with any creature,

refuse me, hate me,

torture me to death!

There is some strange misprision

in the princes.

Two of them have

the very bent of honor.

If their wisdoms

be misled in this,

the practice of it

lives in John the bastard,

whose spirits toil

in frame of villainies.

I know not.

But if they speak but truth,

these hands shall tear thee.

If they wrong her honor,

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 be kept

awhile secretly inside,

and publish it

that she is dead indeed.

What shall

become of this?

When Claudio shall hear

that she has died upon his words,

the idea of her life

shall sweetly creep

into the study

of his imagination.

And every organ

of her lovely life

shall come apparell'd

in more precious habit,

more moving-gentle

and full of life,

into the eye

and prospect of his soul,

than when she lived indeed.

Then shall he mourn.

If ever love had

interest in his liver,

and wish he had

not so accused her,

no, though he thought

his accusation to be true.

Sir, Signior Leonato,

let the friar advise you.

Being that I flow in grief

the smallest

twine may lead me.

Come, lady.

Die to live.

This wedding-day

is but perhaps prolong'd.

Lady Beatrice, have you wept

all this while?

and I will weep

a while longer.

I will not desire that.

You have no reason,

I do it freely.

Surely I do believe

your fair cousin is wronged.

The man might deserve

of me who would right her.

Is there any way to

show such friendship?

A very even way,

but no such friend.

May a man do it?

It is a man's office,

but not yours.

I do love nothing

in the world so well as you.

Is not that strange?

As strange as

the thing I know not.

It were as possible

for me to say

I loved nothing

so much as you.

But believe me not,

and yet I lie not.

I confess nothing,

nor I deny nothing.

I am sorry for my cousin.

By my sword,

Beatrice, thou lovest me.

Do not swear, and eat it.

I will swear by

it that you love me

and I will make him eat it

that says I love not you.

Will you not eat your word?

With no sauce

that can be devised to it.

I protest I love thee.

Why, then,

God forgive me.

What offense,

sweet Beatrice?

You have stayed

me in a happy hour.

I was about

to protest that

I love you.

And do it with all thy heart.

I love you with so much of my heart

that none is left to protest.

Come, bid me do

any thing for thee.

Kill Claudio.

Not for the wide world.

You kill me to deny it.

Farewell.

Tarry.

Sweet Beatrice.

I am gone, though I am here.

There is no love in you.

Nay, I pray you, let me go.

Beatrice...

In faith, I will go.

We'll be friends first.

You dare easier be friends with me

than fight with my enemy.

Is Claudio thine enemy?

Is he not approved

in the height a villain,

that hath slandered, scorned,

dishonored my kinswoman?

O that I were a man!

What, bear her in hand

until they come to take hands,

and then

with public accusation,

uncovered slander,

unmitigated rancor...

O God, that I were a man!

I would eat his heart

in the market-place.

Hear me, Beatrice...

Talk with a man at a window.

O a proper saying.

Nay, but, Beatrice...

Sweet Hero.

She is wronged, she is slandered,

she is undone.

Beatrice.

Princes and counties.

A goodly count. O that I were

a man for his sake!

Or that I had any friend who would be

a man for my sake!

But manhood is melted into curtsies,

valor into compliment,

and men are only turned into tongues,

and trim ones too.

For he is now

as valiant as Hercules

who only tells

a lie and swears it!

I cannot be a man

with wishing,

therefore I will die

a woman with grieving.

By this hand,

I 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?

As sure as I have

thought or a soul.

Enough, I am engaged.

I will challenge him.

I will kiss your hand.

By this hand, Claudio shall render me

a dear account.

As you hear of me,

so think of me.

Go, comfort your cousin.

I must say she is dead.

And so, farewell.

What is your name, friend?

Borachio.

Pray, write down, Borachio.

Yours, sirrah?

My name is Conrade.

Masters,

do you serve God?

Yea, sir, we hope.

Write down, that they

hope they serve God.

And write God first,

for God defend but God should go

before such villains.

Masters,

it is proved already

that you are little better

than false knaves,

and will go near

to be thought so shortly.

How answer you

for yourselves?

Marry, sir,

we say we are none.

A marvelous witty fellow,

I assure you, but I will go about with her.

A word in your ear, sir.

I say to you,

you are false knaves.

Sir, I say to you

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