Much Ado About Nothing Page #13

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Bring you these fellows on.

We'll talk with Margaret,

How her acquaintance grew

with this lewd fellow.

The God of love...

That...

sits above...

I pray thee,

sweet Mistress Margaret!

Deserve well at my hands by helping me

to the speech of Beatrice.

Will you then write me a sonnet

in praise of my beauty?

In so high a style, Margaret,

that no man living shall come over it.

For, in most comely truth,

thou deservest it.

To have no man come over me!

Why, shall I always keep below stairs?

Thy wit is as quick as the

greyhound's mouth; it catches.

And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils,

which hit, but hurt not.

A most manly wit, Margaret;

it will not hurt a woman:

so, I pray thee, call Beatrice.

I give thee the bucklers.

Give us the swords;

we have bucklers of our own.

Well, I will call Beatrice to you,

who I think hath legs.

And therefore will come.

The God of love,

that sits above...

Leander the good swimmer,

Troilus the first employer of panders,

and a whole book full of these

quondam carpet-mongers

whose names yet run smoothly

in the even road of a blank verse,

why they were never

so truly turned over and over

as my poor self in love.

Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme.

I have tried!

I can find out no rhyme to "lady"...

but "baby".

An innocent rhyme.

To "scorn"...

"Horn"? A hard rhyme.

Very ominous endings.

No, I was not born

under a rhyming planet,

nor I cannot woo in festival terms.

Sweet Beatrice.

Wouldst thou come when I called?

Yea, signior,

and depart when you bid me.

Oh, stay but till then.

"Then" is spoken.

Fare you well.

And yet, ere I go, let me go

with that I came;

which is, with knowing what hath

passed between you and Claudio.

Only foul words,

and thereupon I will kiss thee.

Foul words is but foul wind,

and foul wind is but foul breath,

and foul breath is noisome;

therefore I will depart unkissed.

Thou hast frighted the word out of his

right sense, so forcible is thy wit.

But I must tell thee plainly,

Claudio undergoes my challenge,

and either I must shortly

hear from him

or I will subscribe him a coward.

But I pray thee now, tell me,

for which of my bad parts

did thou first fall in love with me?

For them all together,

which maintains

so politic a state of evil

that they will not admit any good part

to intermingle with them.

But I pray you,

for which of my good parts

did you first suffer love for me?

Suffer love! A good epithet!

I do suffer love indeed,

for I love thee against my will.

In spite of your heart, I think.

Alas, poor heart.

If you spite it for my sake,

I will spite it for yours.

For I will never love

that which my friend hates.

Thou and I are too wise

to woo peaceably.

And now tell me,

how doth your cousin?

Very ill.

And how do you?

Very ill, too.

Serve God,

love me...

...and mend.

Madam, you must come to your uncle.

Yonder's old coil at home:

It is proved my lady Hero

hath been falsely accused...

...the prince and Claudio

mightily abused,

and Don John is the author of all,

who is fled and gone.

Will you come presently?

Will you come hear this news, signior?

I will live in thy heart...

die in thy lap...

and be buried in thy eyes...

and moreover, I will go with thee

to thy uncle's.

"Done to death by slanderous tongues

was the Hero that here lies:

Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,

gives her fame which never dies.

So the life that died with shame

lives in death with glorious fame.

Lie thou there upon the tomb,

praising her when I am dumb."

Now, unto thy bones good night!

Yearly will I do this rite.

Good morrow, Claudio.

You and I must go.

Leonato waits upon us both.

Good morrow to this

fair assembly.

Good morrow, prince;

good morrow, Claudio.

We here attend you.

Are you yet determined

- today to marry with Innogen's niece?

- I am.

Go, Innogen, and call her forth.

Friar!

- I must entreat your pains, I think.

- To do what, signior?

To bind me.

Or undo me; one of them.

Signior Leonato, truth it is,

good signior,

Your niece regards me

with an eye of favour.

That eye my daughter lent her:

'tis most true.

And I do with an

eye of love requite it.

The sight whereof I think

you had from me,

from Claudio and the prince:

but what's your will?

Your answer, sir, is...

...enigmatical. But, for my will,

my will is your good will

may stand with ours,

this day to be conjoin'd...

in the state of honourable marriage.

In which, good friar,

I shall desire your help.

- My heart is with your liking.

- And my help.

Which is the lady I must seize upon?

This same is she,

and I do give you her.

Why, then she's mine.

- Sweet, let me see your face.

- No. That you shall not

till you take her hand before this friar

and swear to marry her.

Give me your hand

before this holy friar.

I am your husband,

if you like of me.

And when I lived,

I was your other wife.

And when you loved,

you were my other husband.

- Another Hero?

- Nothing certainer.

One Hero died defiled,

but I do live.

And surely as I live...

- I am a maid.

- The former Hero!

Hero that is dead!

She died, my lord,

but whiles her slander lived.

All this amazement can I qualify.

Meantime let wonder seem familiar.

Soft and fair, lady!

Which is Beatrice?

I answer to that name.

What is your will?

- Do not you love me?

- No.

No more than reason.

Why, then your uncle and the prince

and Claudio have been deceived;

they swore you did.

- Do not you love me?

- Troth, no.

No...

No more than reason.

Why, then my cousin Margaret

and Ursula are much deceived;

- they swore you did.

- They swore you were sick for me.

They swore you were

well-nigh dead for me.

'Tis no such matter.

Then you do not love me?

Truly, no, but in

friendly recompense.

Come, cousin. I am sure

you love the gentleman!

I'll be sworn upon it that he loves her,

for here's a paper written in his hand,

a halting sonnet of his own pure brain,

fashioned to Beatrice.

And here's another, writ in my cousin's

hand, stolen from her pocket,

containing her affection unto Benedick.

A miracle!

Here's our own hands

against our hearts.

Come, I will have thee.

But by this light,

I take thee for pity.

I would not deny you,

but by this good day,

I yield under great persuasion,

and partly to save your life,

for I was told you were

in a consumption.

Peace!

I will stop your mouth.

How dost thou, Benedick,

the married man?

I'll tell thee what, Prince,

a college of wit-crackers

cannot flout me out of my humor.

Dost thou think I care

for a satire or an epigram?

No.

If a man will be beaten with brains,

a' shall wear nothing handsome about him.

In brief, since I do

purpose to marry,

I will think nothing to any purpose

that the world can say against it.

For man is a giddy thing...

and this is my conclusion.

For thy part, Claudio...

I did think to have beaten thee.

But in that thou art

like to be my kinsman,

live unbruised,

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