Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ.

Leon. I pray thee, peace; I will be flesh and blood; For there was never yet philosopher That could endure the tooth-ach patiently; However they have writ the style of gods. And made a push at chance and sufferance.

Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; Make those that do offend you suffer too.

Leon. There thou speak'st reason; nay, I will do so: My soul doth tell me Hero is belied; And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince, And all of them, that thus dishonour her.

[Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.]

Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily.

D. Pedro. Good den, good den.

Claud. Good day to both of you.

Leon. Hear you, my lords,—

D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato.

Leon. Some haste, my lord!—well, fare you well, my lord: Are you so hasty now?—well, all is one.

D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.

Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling, Some of us would lie low.

Claud. Who wrongs him?

Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou:— Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, I fear thee not.

Claud. Mary, beshrew my hand If it should give your age such cause of fear: In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.

Leon. Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at me: I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool; As, under privilege of age, to brag What I have done being young, or what would do, Were I not old: Know, Claudio, to thy head, Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me, That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by; And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days, Do challenge thee to trial of a man. I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child; Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, And she lies buried with her ancestors: O! in a tomb where never scandal slept, Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villany.

Claud. My villany!

Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine I say.

D. Pedro. You say not right, old man.

Leon. My lord, my lord, I'll prove it on his body, if he dare; Despite his nice fence and his active practice, His May of youth and bloom of lustihood.

Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you.

Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd my child; If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed; But that's no matter; let him kill one first;— Win me and wear me,—let him answer me,— Come, follow me, boy; come sir boy, come follow me: Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence; Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.

Leon. Brother,—

Ant. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my niece; And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains; That dare as well answer a man indeed, As I dare take a serpent by the tongue: Boys, apes, braggarts, jacks, milksops!—

Leon. Brother Antony,—

Ant. Hold your content: What, man! I know them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple: Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys, That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander, Go anticly, show outward hideousness, And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst, And this is all.

Leon. But, brother Antony ,—

Ant. Come, 't is no matter; Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience. My heart is sorry for your daughter's death; But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing But what was true, and very full of proof.

Leon. My lord, my lord,—

D. Pedro. I will not hear you.

Leon. No? Come, brother, away:—I will be heard;—

Ant. And shall, Or some of us will smart for it.

[Exeunt Leonato and Antonio.]

[Enter Benedick.]

D. Pedro. See, see; here comes the man we went to seek.

Claud. Now, signior! what news?

Bene. Good day, my lord.

D. Pedro. Welcome, signior: You are almost come to part almost a fray.

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth.

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother: What think'st thou? Had we fought, I doubt we should have been too young for them.

Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour: I came to seek you both.

Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high proof melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away: Wilt thou use thy wit?

Bene. It is in my scabbard: Shall I draw it?

D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?

Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit.—I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us.

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale:—Art thou sick, or angry?

Claud. What! courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you charge it against me. I pray you:—choose another subject.

Claud. Nay then, give him another staff; this last was broke cross.

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more: I think he be angry indeed.

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear?

Claud. God bless me from a challenge!

Bene. You are a villain;—I jest not—I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare:—Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you: Let me hear from you.

Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.

D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast?

Claud. I' faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calf's head and a capon, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my knife's naught.—Shall I not find a woodcock too?

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.

D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the other day: I said, thou hadst a fine wit; 'True,' says she, 'a fine little one:' 'No,' said I, 'a great wit;' 'Right,' says she, 'a great gross one:' 'Nay,' said I, 'a good wit;' 'Just,' said she, 'it hurts nobody:' 'Nay,' said I, 'the gentleman is wise;' 'Certain,' said she, 'a wise gentleman:' 'Nay,' said I, 'he hath the tongues;' 'That I believe,' said she, 'for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning; there's a double tongue; there's two tongues.' Thus did she, an hour together, transshape thy particular virtues; yet, at last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.

Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said, she cared not.

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly: the old man's daughter told us all.

Claud. All, all; and moreover, 'God saw him when he was hid in the garden.'

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head?

Claud. Yea, and text underneath, 'Here dwells Benedick the married man?'

Bene. Fare you well, boy! you know my mind; I will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not.—My lord, for your many courtesies I thank you: I must discontinue your company: your brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina: you have, among you killed a sweet and innocent lady: For my Lord Lack-beard there, he and I shall meet; and till then peace be with him.

[Exit Benedick.]

D. Pedro. He is in earnest.

Claud. In most profound earnest; and I'll warrant you for the love of Beatrice.

D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee?

Claud. Most sincerely.

D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit!

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape: but then is an ape a doctor to such a man.

D. Pedro. But, soft you, let me be; pluck up, my heart, and be sad! Did he not say my brother was fled?

[Enter Dogberry, and Verges, and the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio.]

Dogb. Come, you, sir; if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance: nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be looked to.

D. Pedro. How now? two of my brother's men bound! Borachio one!

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord!

D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done?

Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified unjust things; and to conclude, they are lying knaves.

D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and to conclude, what you lay to their charge?

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and by my troth there's one meaning well suited.

D. Pedro. Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer? this learned constable is too cunning to be understood: What's your offence?

Bora. Sweet Prince, let me go no farther to mine answer; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. I have deceived even your very eyes: what your wisdoms could not discover these shallow fools have brought to light; who, in the night overheard me confessing to this man, how Don John your brother insensed me to slander the Lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments; how you disgraced her, when you should marry her: my villany they have upon record; which I had rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my shame: the lady is dead upon mine and my master's false accusation: and briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?

Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he uttered it.

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this?

Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it.

D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery:— And fled he is upon this villany.

Claud. Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first.

Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs; By this time our sexton hath reformed signior Leonato of the matter: And, masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass.

Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato, and the sexton too.

[Re-enter Leonato and Antonio with the Sexton.]

Leon. Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes; That when I note another man like him I may avoid him: Which of these is he?

Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me.

Leon. Art thou—thou—the slave that with thy breath hast kill'd Mine innocent child?

Bora. Yea, even I alone.

Leon. No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself; Here stand a pair of honourable men, A third is fled, that had a hand in it: I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death; Record it with your high and worthy deeds; 'T was bravely done, if you bethink you of it.

Claud. I know not how to pray your patience, Yet I must speak: Choose your revenge yourself; Impose me to what penance your invention Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn'd I not, But in mistaking.

D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I; And yet, to satisfy this good old man, I would bend under any heavy weight That he'll enjoin me to.

Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live, That were impossible; but I pray you both, Possess the people in Messina here How innocent she died: and, if your love Can labour aught in sad invention, Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, And sing it to her bones; sing it to-night:— To-morrow morning come you to my house; And since you could not be my son-in-law, Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter, Almost the copy of my child that's dead, And she alone is heir to both of us; Give her the right you should have given her cousin, And so dies my revenge.

Claud. O noble sir, Your over kindness doth wring tears from me! I do embrace your offer; and dispose For henceforth of poor Claudio.

Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming; To-night I take my leave.—This naughty man Shall fact to face be brought to Margaret, Who, I believe, was pack'd in all this wrong, Hir'd to it by your brother.

Bora. No, by my soul, she was not; Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me; But always hath been just and virtuous, In anything that I do know by her.

Dogb. Moreover, sir, (which indeed is not under white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass: I beseech you, let it be remembered in his punishment: And also the watch heard them talk of one Deformed: they say, he wears a key in his ear, and a lock hanging by it; and borrows money in God's name, the which he hath used so long and never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God's sake: Pray you, examine him upon that point.

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.

Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent youth; and I praise God for you.

Leon. There's for thy pains.

Dogb. God save the foundation!

Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.

Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship; which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep your worship; I wish your worship well; God restore you to health: I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it.—Come, neighbour.

[Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and Watch.]

Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.

Ant. Farewell, my lords; we look for you to-morrow.

D. Pedro. We will not fall.

Claud. To night I'll mourn with Hero.

[Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio.]

Leon. Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk with Margaret, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.

[Exeunt.]



Scene II.—Leonato's Garden.

[Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting.]

Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.

Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for in most comely truth, thou deservest it.

Marg. To have no man come over me? why, shall I always keep below stairs?

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth, it catches.

Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not.

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not hurt a woman; and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I give thee the bucklers.

Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own.

Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids.

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I think, hath legs.

[Exit Margaret.]

Bene. And therefore will come.

The god of love, [Singing.] That sits above, And knows me, and knows me, How pitiful I deserve,—

I mean, in singing; but in loving.—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; for 'scorn,' 'horn,' a hard rhyme: for 'school', 'fool,' a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings: No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor cannot woo in festival terms.

[Enter Beatrice.]

Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?

Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.

Bene. O, stay but till then!

Beat. Then, is spoken: fare you well now:—and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio.

Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.

Bene. 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. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

Beat. For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?

Bene. 'Suffer love;' a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.

Beat. 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.

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

Beat. It appears not in this confession; there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself.

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good neighbours: if a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bells ring, and the widow weeps.

Beat. And how long is that, think you?

Bene. Question?—Why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum: Therefore is it most expedient for the wise, (if don Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself: So much for praising myself, (who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy,) and now tell me, How doth your cousin?

Beat. Very ill.

Bene. And how do you?

Beat. Very ill too.

Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend: there will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

[Enter Ursula.]

Urs. 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?

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior?

Bene. 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.

[Exeunt.]



Scene III.—The Inside of a Church.

[Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with music and tapers.]

Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato?

Atten. It is, my lord.

Claud. [reads from a scroll]

'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.

Hang thou there upon the tomb, Praising her when I am dumb.'

Now, music sound, and sing your solemn hymn.

[Song.]

'Pardon, Goddess of the night, Those that slew thy virgin knight; For the which, with songs of woe, Round about her tomb they go. Midnight, assist our moan; Help us to sigh and groan, Heavily, heavily: Graves, yawn, and yield your dead, Till death be uttered, Heavenly, heavenly.'

Claud. Now unto thy bones good night! Yearly will I do this rite.

D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put your torches out: The wolves have prey'd: and look, the gentle day, Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey: Thanks to you all, and leave us; fare you well.

Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several way.

D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds; And then to Leonato's we will go.

Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue speeds Than this, for whom we rend'red up this woe!

[Exeunt.]



Scene IV.—A Room in Leonato's House

[Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Ursula, Friar, and Hero.]

Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent?

Leon. So are the Prince and Claudio, who accus'd her, Upon the error that you heard debated: But Margaret was in some fault for this; Although against her will, as it appears In the true course of all the question.

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.

Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves; And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd: The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour To visit me:—You know your office, brother: You must be father to your brother's daughter, And give her to young Claudio.

[Exeunt Ladies.]

Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.

Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.

Friar. To do what, signior?

Bene. 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.

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her: 'T is most true.

Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her.

Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from me, >From Claudio, and the prince. But what's your will?

Bene. 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 estate of honourable marriage; In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.

Leon. My heart is with your liking.

Friar. And my help. (Here comes the Prince and Claudio.)

[Enter Don Pedro and Claudio with Attendants. ]

D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.

Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio; We here attend you. Are you yet determin'd To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?

Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.

Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready.

[Exit Antonio.]

D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick: Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?

Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage bull:— Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold, And all Europa shall rejoice at thee; As once Europa did at lusty Jove, When he would play the noble beast in love.

Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low; And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow, And got a calf in that same noble feat, Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.

[Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked.]

Claud. For this I owe you: Here comes other reckonings. Which is the lady I must seize upon?

Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.

Claud. Why, then she's mine: Sweet, let me see your face.

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand Before this friar, and swear to marry her.

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar; I am your husband, if you like of me.

Hero. And when I liv'd I was your other wife: [Unmasking.] And when you lov'd, you were my other husband.

Claud. Another Hero?

Hero. Nothing certainer; One Hero died (defil'd;) but I do live, And surely as I live, I am a maid.

D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead!

Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv'd.

Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; When, after that the holy rites are ended, I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death: Meantime, let wonder seem familiar, And to the chapel let us presently.

Bene. Soft and fair, friar.—Which is Beatrice?

Beat. I answer to that name; [Unmasking] what is your will?

Bene. Do not you love me?

Beat. Why no, no more than reason.

Bene. Why then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio, Have been deceived; for they swore you did.

Beat. Do not you love me?

Bene. Troth no, no more than reason.

Beat. Why then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did.

Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me.

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.

Bene. 'T is no such matter:—Then you do not love me?

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.

Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her; For here's a paper, written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice.

Hero. And here's another, Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. A miracle; here's our own hands against our hearts!—Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. I would not deny you;—but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and partly, to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.

Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth.

[Kissing her.]

D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married man?

Beat. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour: Dost thou think I care for a satire, or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, he 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; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said 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 unbruis'd, and love my cousin.

Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends:—let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives' heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, o' my word; therefore, play music.— Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.

[Enter a Messenger.]

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I'll devise thee brave punishments for him.—Strike up, pipers.

[Dance.]

[Exeunt.]

THE END