Much Ado About Nothing Page #9

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and yet now, in despite of his heart,

he eats his meat without grudging:

and how you may be converted I know not,

but methinks you look with your eyes as other women do.

- What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?

- Not a false gallop.

Madam, I am to fetch you the prince,

the count, Don John, Signior Benedick...

and all the gallants

of the town to come!

Help to dress me, good Meg.

Friar Francis, be brief;

only to the plain form of marriage,

and you shall recount their

particular duties afterwards.

- What would you with me, honest neighbor?

- Marry, sir!

I would have some confidence with

your worship that decerns you nearly.

With some haste, pray you;

for you see it is a busy time with me.

- Marry, this it is, sir.

- Yes, in truth it is, sir.

What is it, my good friends?

Goodman Verges, sir,

speaks a little off the matter:

an old man, sir, and his wits are not so

blunt as, God help, I would desire they were;

but, in faith, honest

as the skin between his brows.

Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any man living

that is an old man and no honester than I.

Comparisons are odorous:

palabras, neighbour Verges.

Neighbors, you are tedious.

Well, if it pleases

your worship to say so,

but truly for mine own part,

if I were as tedious as a king,

I could find it in my heart to bestow it

all on your worship.

All thy tediousness on me?

I would fain know what you have to say.

Merry, sir, our watch to-night,

excepting your worship's presence,

ha' ta'en a couple of as arrant

knaves as any in Messina.

A good old man, sir;

he will be talking:

as they say, when the age is in,

the wit is out:
God help us! it is a world to see.

Well said, i' faith, neighbour Verges:

well, God's a good man, sir;

an two men ride of a horse,

one must ride behind.

An honest soul, i' faith, sir;

by my troth he is, as ever broke bread;

but God is to be worshipped; all men

are not alike; alas, good neighbour!

Indeed, neighbour,

he comes too short of you.

- Gifts that God gives.

- I must leave you.

One word, sir:
our watch, sir, have indeed

comprehended two aspicious persons,

and we would have them this morning

examined before your worship.

Take their examination yourself and bring it me:

I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you.

It shall be suffigance.

- My Lord.

- Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.

They stay for you to give

your daughter to her husband.

I'll wait upon them: I am ready.

Go, good neighbour, go, get you to the jail;

we are now to examination those men.

And we must do it wisely.

We will spare for no wit,

I warrant you.

You come hither, my lord,

to marry this lady.

No.

To be married to her, Friar.

You come to marry her.

Lady, you come hither

to be married to this count.

I do.

If either of you know any inward impediment

why you should not be conjoined,

I charge you, on your souls,

to utter it.

- Know you any, Hero?

- None, my lord.

- Know you any, Count?

- I dare make his answer. None.

O, what men dare do!

What men may do! what men daily do,

not knowing what they do!

- How now! interjections?

- Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave:

Will you with free

and unconstrained soul

- give me this maid, your daughter?

- As freely, son,

- as God did give her me.

- And what have I to give you back

whose worth may counterpoise

this rich and precious gift?

Nothing, unless you render her again.

Sweet Prince, you learn me

noble thankfulness.

There, Leonato. Take her back again!

Give not this rotten orange

to your friend.

She's but the sign and semblance

of her honor.

Behold how like a maid

she blushes here!

O, what authority and show of truth

can cunning sin cover itself withal!

Comes not that blood as modest evidence

to witness simple virtue?

Would you not swear,

all you that see her,

that she were a maid by these

exterior shows? But she is none!

She knows the heat of a luxurious bed!

Her blush is guiltiness,

not modesty.

- What do you mean, my lord?

- Not to be married!

Not to knit my soul

to an approved wanton.

Dear my lord, if you in your own proof

have vanquished the resistance

of her youth,

- and made defeat of her virginity...

- I know what you would say.

If I have known her, you will say

she did embrace me as a husband,

and so extenuate the 'forehand sin:

no, Leonato.

I never tempted her

with word too large...

...but as a brother to his sister,

showed bashful sincerity

and comely love.

And seemed I ever otherwise to you?

Out on thee! Seeming!

I will write against it:

You seem to me as Dian in her orb,

as chaste as is

the bud ere it be blown;

but you are more intemperate

in your blood than Venus...

...or those pampered animals

that rage in savage sensuality.

Is my lord well,

that he doth speak so wide?

- Why speak not you?

- What should I speak?

I stand dishonored that I have gone

about to link my dear friend

to a common stale.

- Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?

- Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.

- This looks not like a nuptial.

- True! O God!

Leonato, stand I here?

Is this the prince?

Is this the prince's brother?

Is this face Hero's?

Are our eyes our own?

- All this is so: but what of this, my lord?

- Let me but move one question to your daughter;

and, by that fatherly and kindly power

that you have in her, bid her answer truly.

I charge thee do so,

as thou art my child.

O, God defend me! how am I beset!

- What kind of catechising call you this?

- To make you answer truly to your name.

Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name

with any just reproach?

Marry, that can Hero;

Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.

What man was he talked

with you yesternight

in private betwixt twelve and one?

Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.

I talked with no man at that hour,

my lord.

Why, then you are no maiden.

Leonato, I am sorry you must hear.

Upon mine honor, myself, my brother

and this grieved count did see her,

hear her at that hour last night,

talk with a ruffian in the open air,

who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,

confessed 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 chastity enough in language

without offence 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!

Farewell, thou pure impiety

and impious purity!

For thee I'll lock up

all the gates of love,

and on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,

to turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,

and never shall it more be gracious.

Hath no man's dagger here

a point for me?

Why, how now, Hero!

wherefore sink you down?

Come, let us go. These things,

come thus to light, smother her spirits up.

- How doth the lady?

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