Much Ado About Nothing Page #6

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encountered him with scorn,

write to him that I love him?"

Then she tears the letter

into a thousand pieces...

Then down upon her knees she falls.

Weeps, sobs, beats her heart,

tears her hair, prays, curses,

"Oh, sweet Benedick!"

"God give me patience!"

She does indeed. My daughter says so.

She rails at herself, that she should be so immodest

to write to one that she knows would flout her;

and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her

that my daughter is sometime afeared

she will do a desperate outrage to herself!

It were good that Benedick

knew of it by some other,

if she will not discover it.

To what end? He would make but a sport of it

and torment the poor lady worse.

An he should, it were an alms to hang him.

She's an excellent sweet lady;

and, out of all suspicion,

she is virtuous.

- And she is exceeding wise.

- In every thing but in loving Benedick.

I am sorry for her, as I have just

cause, being her uncle and her guardian.

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.

If she should make tender of her affection,

'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.

- And I take him to be valiant.

Well I am sorry for your niece.

Shall we go seek Benedick,

and tell him of her love?

Never tell him, my lord:

let her wear it out with good counsel.

Nay, that's impossible:

she may wear her heart out first.

Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter:

let it cool the while.

I love Benedick well, and I could wish

he would modestly examine himself,

to see how much he is unworthy

to have so good a lady.

My lord, will you walk? Dinner is ready.

If he do not dote on her upon this,

I will never trust my expectation.

Let the same net be spread for Beatrice.

That must your daughter

and her gentlewoman carry.

Let us send her

to call him in to dinner.

This can be no trick.

The conference was sadly borne.

They have the truth of this from Hero.

They seemed to pity the lady.

It seems her affections have the full bent.

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 show any sign of affection.

I did never think to marry.

I must not seem proud.

Happy are those 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,

that 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

he cannot endure in his age.

Shall these quips and sentences

and 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 would 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 pain.

I took no more pains for those thanks

than you took pains to thank me.

If it had been painful,

I would not have come.

You take pleasure,

then, in the message?

Yea! Just so much as you may take

upon a knife's point,

and choke a sparrow withal.

You have no stomach, Signior:

fare you well.

"Against my will I am sent

to bid you come in to dinner. "

Double meaning in that!

"I took no more pains for those thanks

than you took pains to thank me", well...

That's as much as to say, any pains

that I take for you is as easy as thanks.

If I do not take pity on her,

I am a villain...

If I do not love her...

I am a fool.

I will go...

...get her picture.

Good Margaret, run thee to the parlor.

There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice

Proposing with the prince and Claudio:

Whisper her ear and tell her,

I and your mother walk hereabout,

and our whole discourse

is all of her;

say that thou overheard'st us;

and bid her steal where she can hide her

to listen to our purpose.

This is thy office; bear thee well

in it and leave us alone.

I'll make her come,

I warrant you, presently.

Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,

Our talk must only be of Benedick.

When I do name him, let it be thy part

To praise him more

than ever man did merit:

My talk to thee must be how Benedick

is sick in love with Beatrice.

Of this matter

is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,

that only wounds by hearsay.

Now begin; for look where Beatrice,

like a lapwing,

runs close by the ground,

to hear our conference.

The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish

cut with her golden oars the silver stream,

and greedily devour the treacherous bait:

so angle you and I for Beatrice.

Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

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 that

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 wrestle with affection,

and never to let Beatrice know of it.

Why did you so?

Doth not he deserve as full as fortunate

a bed as ever Beatrice

shall couch upon?

Oh, 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 wise.

she knew his love,

lest she make sport at it.

Why, you speak truth.

I never yet saw man, how wise,

how noble, young, how rarely featured,

but she would spell him backward:

if fair-faced, she would swear the gentleman

should be her sister;

if black, why, Nature, drawing of an antique,

made a foul blot;

if tall, a lance ill-headed;

if low, an agate very vilely cut;

if speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;

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