ACT III



SCENE IV	HERO's apartment.


	[Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA]

HERO	Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire
	her to rise.

URSULA	I will, lady.

HERO	And bid her come hither.

URSULA	Well.

	[Exit]

MARGARET	Troth, I think your other rabato were better.

HERO	No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.

MARGARET	By my troth, 's not so good; and I warrant your
	cousin will say so.

HERO	My cousin's a fool, and thou art another: I'll wear
	none but this.

MARGARET	I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair
	were a thought browner; and your gown's a most rare
	fashion, i' faith. I saw the Duchess of Milan's
	gown that they praise so.

HERO	O, that exceeds, they say.

MARGARET	By my troth, 's but a night-gown in respect of
	yours: cloth o' gold, and cuts, and laced with
	silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves,
	and skirts, round underborne with a bluish tinsel:
	but for a fine, quaint, graceful and excellent
	fashion, yours is worth ten on 't.

HERO	God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is
	exceeding heavy.

MARGARET	'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.

HERO	Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?

MARGARET	Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not
	marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord
	honourable without marriage? I think you would have
	me say, 'saving your reverence, a husband:' and bad
	thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend
	nobody: is there any harm in 'the heavier for a
	husband'? None, I think, and it be the right husband
	and the right wife; otherwise 'tis light, and not
	heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes.

	[Enter BEATRICE]

HERO	Good morrow, coz.

BEATRICE	Good morrow, sweet Hero.

HERO	Why how now? do you speak in the sick tune?

BEATRICE	I am out of all other tune, methinks.

MARGARET	Clap's into 'Light o' love;' that goes without a
	burden: do you sing it, and I'll dance it.

BEATRICE	Ye light o' love, with your heels! then, if your
	husband have stables enough, you'll see he shall
	lack no barns.

MARGARET	O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.

BEATRICE	'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; tis time you were
	ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill: heigh-ho!

MARGARET	For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

BEATRICE	For the letter that begins them all, H.

MARGARET	Well, and you be not turned Turk, there's no more
	sailing by the star.

BEATRICE	What means the fool, trow?

MARGARET	Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's desire!

HERO	These gloves the count sent me; they are an
	excellent perfume.

BEATRICE	I am stuffed, cousin; I cannot smell.

MARGARET	A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly catching of cold.

BEATRICE	O, God help me! God help me! how long have you
	professed apprehension?

MARGARET	Even since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely?

BEATRICE	It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your
	cap. By my troth, I am sick.

MARGARET	Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus,
	and lay it to your heart: it is the only thing for a qualm.

HERO	There thou prickest her with a thistle.

BEATRICE	Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in
	this Benedictus.

MARGARET	Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I
	meant, plain holy-thistle. You may think perchance
	that I think you are in love: nay, by'r lady, I am
	not such a fool to think what I list, nor I list
	not to think what I can, nor indeed I cannot think,
	if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you
	are in love or that you will be in love or that you
	can be in love. Yet Benedick was such another, and
	now is he become a man: he swore he would never
	marry, 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.

BEATRICE	What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?

MARGARET	Not a false gallop.

	[Re-enter URSULA]

URSULA	Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, Signior
	Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the
	town, are come to fetch you to church.

HERO	Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT III



SCENE V	Another room in LEONATO'S house.


	[Enter LEONATO, with DOGBERRY and VERGES]

LEONATO	What would you with me, honest neighbour?

DOGBERRY	Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you
	that decerns you nearly.

LEONATO	Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me.

DOGBERRY	Marry, this it is, sir.

VERGES	Yes, in truth it is, sir.

LEONATO	What is it, my good friends?

DOGBERRY	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.

VERGES	Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any man living
	that is an old man and no honester than I.

DOGBERRY	Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges.

LEONATO	Neighbours, you are tedious.

DOGBERRY	It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the
	poor duke's officers; 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 of your worship.

LEONATO	All thy tediousness on me, ah?

DOGBERRY	Yea, an 'twere a thousand pound more than 'tis; for
	I hear as good exclamation on your worship as of any
	man in the city; and though I be but a poor man, I
	am glad to hear it.

VERGES	And so am I.

LEONATO	I would fain know what you have to say.

VERGES	Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your
	worship's presence, ha' ta'en a couple of as arrant
	knaves as any in Messina.

DOGBERRY	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; 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!

LEONATO	Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.

DOGBERRY	Gifts that God gives.

LEONATO	I must leave you.

DOGBERRY	One word, sir: our watch, sir, have indeed
	comprehended two aspicious persons, and we would
	have them this morning examined before your worship.

LEONATO	Take their examination yourself and bring it me: I
	am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you.

DOGBERRY	It shall be suffigance.

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

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to
	her husband.

LEONATO	I'll wait upon them: I am ready.

	[Exeunt LEONATO and Messenger]

DOGBERRY	Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacole;
	bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we
	are now to examination these men.

VERGES	And we must do it wisely.

DOGBERRY	We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's
	that shall drive some of them to a non-come: only
	get the learned writer to set down our
	excommunication and meet me at the gaol.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING


ACT IV



SCENE I	A church.


	[Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, LEONATO, FRIAR FRANCIS,
	CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, HERO, BEATRICE, and Attendants]

LEONATO	Come, Friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain
	form of marriage, and you shall recount their
	particular duties afterwards.

FRIAR FRANCIS	You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady.

CLAUDIO	No.

LEONATO	To be married to her: friar, you come to marry her.

FRIAR FRANCIS	Lady, you come hither to be married to this count.

HERO	I do.

FRIAR FRANCIS	If either of you know any inward impediment why you
	should not be conjoined, charge you, on your souls,
	to utter it.

CLAUDIO	Know you any, Hero?

HERO	None, my lord.

FRIAR FRANCIS	Know you any, count?

LEONATO	I dare make his answer, none.

CLAUDIO	O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily
	do, not knowing what they do!

BENEDICK	How now! interjections? Why, then, some be of
	laughing, as, ah, ha, he!

CLAUDIO	Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave:
	Will you with free and unconstrained soul
	Give me this maid, your daughter?

LEONATO	As freely, son, as God did give her me.

CLAUDIO	And what have I to give you back, whose worth
	May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?

DON PEDRO	Nothing, unless you render her again.

CLAUDIO	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 honour.
	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.

LEONATO	What do you mean, my lord?

CLAUDIO	Not to be married,
	Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.

LEONATO	Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
	Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
	And made defeat of her virginity,--

CLAUDIO	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, show'd
	Bashful sincerity and comely love.

HERO	And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?

CLAUDIO	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 pamper'd animals
	That rage in savage sensuality.

HERO	Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?

LEONATO	Sweet prince, why speak not you?

DON PEDRO	What should I speak?
	I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
	To link my dear friend to a common stale.

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

DON JOHN	Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.

BENEDICK	This looks not like a nuptial.

HERO	True! O God!

CLAUDIO	Leonato, stand I here?
	Is this the prince? is this the prince's brother?
	Is this face Hero's? are our eyes our own?

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

CLAUDIO	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.

LEONATO	I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.

HERO	O, God defend me! how am I beset!
	What kind of catechising call you this?

CLAUDIO	To make you answer truly to your name.

HERO	Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
	With any just reproach?

CLAUDIO	Marry, that can Hero;
	Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
	What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
	Out at your window betwixt twelve and one?
	Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.

HERO	I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord.

DON PEDRO	Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato,
	I am sorry you must hear: upon mine honour,
	Myself, my brother and this grieved count
	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.

DON JOHN	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.

CLAUDIO	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.

LEONATO	Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?

	[HERO swoons]

BEATRICE	Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?

DON JOHN	Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light,
	Smother her spirits up.

	[Exeunt DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, and CLAUDIO]

BENEDICK	How doth the lady?

BEATRICE	                  Dead, I think. Help, uncle!
	Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar!

LEONATO	O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand.
	Death is the fairest cover for her shame
	That may be wish'd for.

BEATRICE	How now, cousin Hero!

FRIAR FRANCIS	Have comfort, lady.

LEONATO	Dost thou look up?

FRIAR FRANCIS	Yea, wherefore should she not?

LEONATO	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:
	For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
	Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,
	Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
	Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one?
	Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame?
	O, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
	Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
	Why had I not with charitable hand
	Took up a beggar's issue at my gates,
	Who smirch'd thus and mired with infamy,
	I might have said 'No part of it is mine;
	This shame derives itself from unknown loins'?
	But mine and mine I loved and mine I praised
	And mine that I was proud on, mine so much
	That I myself was to myself not mine,
	Valuing of her,--why, she, O, she is fallen
	Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea
	Hath drops too few to wash her clean again
	And salt too little which may season give
	To her foul-tainted flesh!

BENEDICK	Sir, sir, be patient.
	For my part, I am so attired in wonder,
	I know not what to say.

BEATRICE	O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!

BENEDICK	Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?

BEATRICE	No, truly not; although, until last night,
	I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

LEONATO	Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made
	Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
	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.

FRIAR FRANCIS	Hear me a little; for I have only been
	Silent so long and given way unto
	This course of fortune [           ]
	By noting of the lady I have mark'd
	A thousand blushing apparitions
	To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames
	In angel whiteness beat away those blushes;
	And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
	To burn the errors that these princes hold
	Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;
	Trust not my reading nor my observations,
	Which with experimental seal doth warrant
	The tenor of my book; trust not my age,
	My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
	If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
	Under some biting error.

LEONATO	Friar, it cannot be.
	Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left
	Is that she will not add to her damnation
	A sin of perjury; she not denies it:
	Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
	That which appears in proper nakedness?

FRIAR FRANCIS	Lady, what man is he you are accused of?

HERO	They know that do accuse me; I know none:
	If I know more of any man alive
	Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
	Let all my sins lack mercy! O my father,
	Prove you that any man with me conversed
	At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
	Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
	Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death!

FRIAR FRANCIS	There is some strange misprision in the princes.

BENEDICK	Two of them have the very bent of honour;
	And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
	The practise of it lives in John the bastard,
	Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.

LEONATO	I know not. If they speak but truth of her,
	These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
	The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
	Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
	Nor age so eat up my invention,
	Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
	Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
	But they shall find, awaked in such a kind,
	Both strength of limb and policy of mind,
	Ability in means and choice of friends,
	To quit me of them throughly.

FRIAR FRANCIS	Pause awhile,
	And let my counsel sway you in this case.
	Your daughter here the princes left for dead:
	Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
	And publish it that she is dead indeed;
	Maintain a mourning ostentation
	And on your family's old monument
	Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites
	That appertain unto a burial.

LEONATO	What shall become of this? what will this do?

FRIAR FRANCIS	Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf
	Change slander to remorse; that is some good:
	But not for that dream I on this strange course,
	But on this travail look for greater birth.
	She dying, as it must so be maintain'd,
	Upon the instant that she was accused,
	Shall be lamented, pitied and excused
	Of every hearer: for it so falls out
	That what we have we prize not to the worth
	Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost,
	Why, then we rack the value, then we find
	The virtue that possession would not show us
	Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio:
	When he shall hear she died upon his words,
	The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
	Into his study of imagination,
	And every lovely organ of her life
	Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
	More moving-delicate 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 true.
	Let this be so, and doubt not but success
	Will fashion the event in better shape
	Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
	But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
	The supposition of the lady's death
	Will quench the wonder of her infamy:
	And if it sort not well, you may conceal her,
	As best befits her wounded reputation,
	In some reclusive and religious life,
	Out of all eyes, tongues, minds and injuries.

BENEDICK	Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:
	And though you know my inwardness and love
	Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
	Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
	As secretly and justly as your soul
	Should with your body.

LEONATO	Being that I flow in grief,
	The smallest twine may lead me.

FRIAR FRANCIS	'Tis well consented: presently away;
	For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.
	Come, lady, die to live: this wedding-day
	Perhaps is but prolong'd: have patience and endure.

	[Exeunt all but BENEDICK and BEATRICE]

BENEDICK	Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?

BEATRICE	Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

BENEDICK	I will not desire that.

BEATRICE	You have no reason; I do it freely.

BENEDICK	Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.

BEATRICE	Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!

BENEDICK	Is there any way to show such friendship?

BEATRICE	A very even way, but no such friend.

BENEDICK	May a man do it?

BEATRICE	It is a man's office, but not yours.

BENEDICK	I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is
	not that strange?

BEATRICE	As strange as the thing I know not. It were as
	possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as
	you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I
	confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.

BENEDICK	By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.

BEATRICE	Do not swear, and eat it.

BENEDICK	I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make
	him eat it that says I love not you.

BEATRICE	Will you not eat your word?

BENEDICK	With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest
	I love thee.

BEATRICE	Why, then, God forgive me!

BENEDICK	What offence, sweet Beatrice?

BEATRICE	You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to
	protest I loved you.

BENEDICK	And do it with all thy heart.

BEATRICE	I love you with so much of my heart that none is
	left to protest.

BENEDICK	Come, bid me do any thing for thee.

BEATRICE	Kill Claudio.

BENEDICK	Ha! not for the wide world.

BEATRICE	You kill me to deny it. Farewell.

BENEDICK	Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

BEATRICE	I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in
	you: nay, I pray you, let me go.

BENEDICK	Beatrice,--

BEATRICE	In faith, I will go.

BENEDICK	We'll be friends first.

BEATRICE	You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.

BENEDICK	Is Claudio thine enemy?

BEATRICE	Is he not approved in the height a villain, that
	hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured 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 rancour,
	--O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart
	in the market-place.

BENEDICK	Hear me, Beatrice,--

BEATRICE	Talk with a man out at a window! A proper saying!

BENEDICK	Nay, but, Beatrice,--

BEATRICE	Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.

BENEDICK	Beat--

BEATRICE	Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony,
	a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant,
	surely! O that I were a man for his sake! or that I
	had any friend would be a man for my sake! But
	manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into
	compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and
	trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules
	that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a
	man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

BENEDICK	Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.

BEATRICE	Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.

BENEDICK	Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?

BEATRICE	Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.

BENEDICK	Enough, I am engaged; I will challenge him. I will
	kiss your hand, and so I leave you. 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.

	[Exeunt]

