MUSIC PLAYS
I learn in this letter
that the prince, Don Pedro,
comes here this night.
He is very near by this -
he was not three leagues off
when I left him.
He hath bestowed much honour
on a young officer called Claudio.
Much deserved on his part
and equally remembered by Don Pedro.
He hath an uncle hereabouts
will be very much glad of it.
I have already
delivered him letters,
and there appears much joy
in him,
even so much that joy could
not show itself modest enough
without a badge of bitterness.
Did he break out into tears?
In great measure.
A kind overflow of kindness -
there are no faces truer
than those that are so washed.
How much better is it to weep
at joy than to joy at weeping!
I pray you, is Signior Mountanto
returned from the wars or no?
I know none of that name, lady.
There was none such
in the army of any sort.
What is he that you ask for, niece?
My cousin means Signior Benedick.
Oh! He's returned,
and as pleasant as ever he was.
Mmm-hmm!
I pray you, how many hath he killed
and eaten in these wars?
But how many hath he killed?
For indeed I promised to eat
all of his killing.
Faith, niece,
you tax Signior Benedick too much,
but he'll be meet with you,
I doubt it not.
He hath done good service,
lady, in these wars.
You had musty vittle,
and he hath holp to eat it.
He's a very valiant trencherman,
he hath an excellent stomach.
And a good soldier too, lady.
And a good soldier to a lady,
but what is he to a lord?
A lord to a lord, a man to a man,
stuffed with all honourable virtues.
It is so indeed, he is no less
than a stuffed man,
but for the stuffing.
Well, we're all mortal.
You must not, sir, mistake my niece.
There is a kind of merry war
betwixt Signior Benedick and her,
they never meet but there's a
skirmish of wit between them.
Alas! He gets nothing by that.
Who is his companion now?
He has every month a new sworn
brother. Is't possible?
Very easily possible -
he wears his faith but
as the fashion of his hat,
it ever changes with the next block.
I see, lady, the gentleman's
not in your books.
No, an he were,
I would burn my study.
But, I pray you,
who is his companion?
Is there no young squarer now
that will make a voyage
with him to the devil?
He is most in the company
of the right noble Claudio.
O lord, he will hang upon him
like a disease.
He is sooner caught
than the pestilence,
and the taker runs presently mad.
God help the noble Claudio!
If he have caught the Benedick,
it will cost him a thousand pound
ere he be cured.
I will hold friends with you, lady.
Do, good friend.
You will never run mad, niece.
No, not till a hot January.
DRUMS PLAY
Don Pedro is approached.
Good Signior Leonato,
are you come to meet your trouble?
The fashion of the world is to
avoid cost, and you encounter it.
Never came travel to my house in the
likeness of your grace -
for trouble being gone,
comfort should remain,
but when you depart from me,
sorrow abides and happiness
takes his leave.
You embrace your charge
too willingly.
I think this is your daughter. Her
mother did many times tell me so.
Were you in doubt, sir, that you
asked her? Signior Benedick, no.
Truly, the lady fathers herself.
Be happy, lady, for you
are like an honourable father.
If Signior Leonato be her father,
she would not have his head on
her shoulders for all the county,
as like him as she is.
I wonder that you will still be
talking, Signior Benedick.
Nobody marks you.
What, my dear Lady Disdain!
Are you yet living?
Is it possible disdain should die
while she hath such meet food to
feed it as Signior Benedick?
Courtesy itself must convert
to disdain,
if you come in her presence.
Then is courtesy a turncoat.
But it is certain I am loved of
all ladies, only you excepted,
and I would I could find in my heart
that I had not a hard heart,
for, truly, I love none.
A dear happiness to women.
They would else have been troubled
with a pernicious suitor.
I thank God and my cold blood,
I am of your humour for that.
I'd rather hear my dog bark at a
crow than a man swear he loves me.
God keep your ladyship
still in that mind!
Save some gentleman or other
shall 'scape a predestinate
scratched face.
Scratching could not make it worse,
an 'twere such a face as yours were.
Ooh, well, you are
a rare parrot-teacher.
A bird of my tongue is better
than a beast of yours.
I would my horse had
the speed of your tongue,
and so good a continuer.
But keep your way,
i'God's name, I have done.
You always end with a jade's trick.
I know you of old.
That is the sum of all, Leonato.
Signior Claudio
and Signior Benedick,
my dear friend Leonato
hath invited you all.
I tell him we shall stay
here at the least a month,
and he heartily prays some
occasion may detain us longer.
I dare swear he is no hypocrite,
but prays from his heart.
If you swear, my lord, you shall not
be forsworn. Come, Claudio.
Let me bid you welcome, my lord.
Being reconciled to the prince
your brother, I owe you all duty.
I thank you - I am not of many
words, but I thank you.
Please it your grace lead on?
We will go together.
Benedick. Hm?
Didst thou note the
daughter of Signor Leonato?
I noted her not,
but I looked on her.
Is she not a modest young lady?
Do you ask me this is
an honest man should do,
for my simple true judgment, or...
..would you have me speak
after my custom,
as being a professed tyrant
to their sex?
No, I pray thee speak
in sober judgment.
Why, i'faith, methinks
she's too low for a high praise,
too brown for a fair praise
and too little for a great praise.
Only this commendation
I can afford her,
that were she other than she is,
she were unhandsome, and being no
other as she is, I do not like her.
Thou thinkest I am in sport.
I pray thee tell me
truly how thou likest her.
Would you buy her,
that you inquire after her?
Can the world buy such a jewel?
Yea, and a case to put it into.
But do you speak this
with a sad brow?
Or do you play the flouting Jack?
In mine eye she is the sweetest lady
that ever I looked on.
Well, I can see yet without
spectacles and I see no such matter.
There's her cousin, and she were
not possessed with a fury,
exceeds her as much in beauty
as the first of May doth
the last of December.
But I hope you have no intent
to turn husband, have you?
I would scarce trust myself,
though I had sworn the contrary,
if Hero would be my wife.
Oh. Is't come to this?
Shall I never see a bachelor
of three-score again?
Go to, i'faith. Oh, look, Don Pedro
is returned to seek you.
What secret hath held you here,
that you followed not with Leonato?
I would your grace would
constrain me to tell.
I charge thee on thy allegiance.
Dear Count Claudio, I can be
as secret as a dumb man,
I would have you think so,
but on my allegiance,
mark you this, on my allegiance.
He is in love!
With who? Now that is
your grace's part.
Mark how short his answer is,
with Hero, Leonato's short daughter.
If this were so, so were it uttered.
Like the old tale, my lord.
"It is not so, nor 'twas not so,
"but indeed, God forbid
it should be so."
If my passion change not shortly,
God forbid it should be otherwise.
Amen, if you love her,
for the lady is very well worthy.
Oh.
You speak this to fetch me
in, my lord.
By my troth, I speak my thought.
And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.
And by my two faiths and troths,
my lord, I spoke mine.
That I love her, I feel.
That she is worthy, I know.
That I neither feel how
she should be loved
nor know how she should be worthy,
is the opinion that fire
cannot melt out of me.
I shall die in it at the stake.
Thou wast ever an obstinate
heretic in the despite of beauty.
That a woman conceived me,
I thank her,
that she brought me up, I likewise
give her most humble thanks,
but all women shall pardon me.
Because I will not do them
the wrong to mistrust any,
I shall do myself
the right to trust none.
And the fine is, for which I may go
the finer, I will live a bachelor.
I will see thee, ere I die,
look pale with love.
With anger, with sickness or with
hunger, my lord, not with love.
Well, if ever thou
dost fall from this faith,
thou wilt prove a notable argument.
If I do, let me be vilely painted,
and in such great letters as they
write, "Here is good horse to hire",
let them signify under my sign,
"Here you may see
Benedick the married man".
If this should ever happen,
thou wouldst be horn-mad.
Well, you will temporise
with the hours.
In the meantime, good Signior
Benedick, repair to Leonato.
Commend me to him and tell him
I will not fail him at supper,
for indeed he hath made
great preparation.
I have almost matter enough
in me for such an message,
and so I commit you.
The sixth of December.
Your loving friend, Benedick.
Nay, mock not, mock not.
My liege.
Your highness now may do me good.
My love is thine to teach -
teach it but how,
and thou wilt see how
apt it is to learn
any hard lesson
that may do thee good.
Hath Leonato any son, my lord?
No child but Hero,
she's his only heir.
Dost thou affect her, Claudio?
O, my lord, when you went
onward on this ended action,
I look'd upon her with a
soldier's eye, that liked,
but had a rougher task in hand than
to drive liking to the name of love.
But now I am return'd
and that war-thoughts have left
their places vacant,
in their rooms come thronging soft
and delicate desires,
all prompting me how fair young
Hero is, saying,
I liked her ere I went to wars.
Thou wilt be like a lover presently
entire the hearer with
a book of words.
If thou dost love fair Hero,
cherish it,
and I will break with her and with
her father, and thou shalt have her.
Was't not to this end that thou
began'st to twist so fine a story?
How sweetly you do minister to love,
that know love's grief
by his complexion!
But lest my liking
might too sudden seem,
I would have salved it
with a longer treatise.
What need the bridge much
broader than the flood?
The fairest grant is the necessity.
Look, what will serve is fit -
'tis once, thou lovest,
and I will fit thee with the remedy.
I know we shall have
revelling tonight.
I will assume thy part
in some disguise
and tell fair Hero I am Claudio,
then in her bosom
I'll unclasp my heart
and take her hearing prisoner
with the force and strong encounter
of my amorous tale.
Then after to her father
will I break,
and the conclusion is,
she shall be thine.
In practice let us put it presently.
How now, brother! Where is your son?
Hath he provided this music?
He is very busy about it.
But, brother, I can tell you strange
news that you yet dreamt not of.
Are they good?
As the event stamps them,
but they have a good cover,
they show well outward.
The prince and Count Claudio
were thus much overheard
by a man of yours.
Claudio revealed to the prince
that he loves your daughter.
The prince means to acknowledge it
this night in a dance
and if he finds her accordant,
he means to take
the present time by the top
and instantly break with you of it.
Hath the fellow any wit
that told you this?
A good sharp fellow. I will send
for him and question him yourself.
No, no, we will hold it as
a dream till it appear itself,
but I will acquaint
my daughter withal,
that she be the better
prepared for an answer,
if peradventure this be true.
Brother, you know
what you have to do.
O, I cry you mercy, nephew, go you
with me, and I will use your skill.
Good brother, have a care
this busy time.
What the good-year, my lord!
Why are you thus out of measure sad?
There is no measure in the
occasion that breeds.
Therefore the sadness is
without limit.
You should hear reason.
When I have heard it,
what blessing brings it?
If not a present remedy,
at least a patient sufferance.
I wonder that thou, being,
as thou sayest thou art,
born under Saturn,
goest about to apply a moral
medicine to a mortifying mischief.
I cannot hide what I am.
I must be sad when I have cause
and smile at no man's jests,
eat when I have stomach
and wait for no man's leisure,
sleep when I am drowsy
and tend on no man's business,
laugh...
..when I am merry and
claw no man in his humour.
Yea, but you must not make
the full show of this
till you may do it
without controlment.
You have of late stood out
against your brother
who hath newly taken you
into his grace
where it is impossible
you should take true root
but by the fair weather that
you make yourself.
It is needful you frame
the season for your own harvest.
I had rather be a canker in a hedge
than a rose in his grace.
And it better fits my blood
to be disdained of all
than to fashion a carriage
to rob love from any.
In this, though I cannot be said
to be a flattering honest man,
it must not be denied but I
am a plain-dealing villain.
I am trusted with a muzzle
and enfranchised with a clog!
Therefore I have decreed not
to sing in my cage.
If I had my mouth, I would bite,
if I had my liberty, I would...
..do my liking.
In the meantime let me be that
I am and seek not to alter me.
Can you make no use
of your discontent?
I will make all use of it...
..for I use it only.
What news, Borachio?
I can give you intelligence
of an intended marriage.
Will it serve for any model
to build mischief on?
What's he for a fool that betroths
himself to unquietness?
Marry, 'tis your brother's
right hand.
Who? The most exquisite Claudio?
Even he.
A proper squire!
And who, who? Which way looks he?
Marry, on Hero, the daughter
and heir of Leonato.
A very forward March-chick!
How came you to this?
But an hour ago,
I spied the prince and Claudio,
hand in hand...
..in sad conference
and heard it agreed upon that the
prince should woo Hero himself,
and having obtained her,
give her to the Count Claudio.
Come, come, let us thither - this
may prove food to my displeasure.
That young start-up hath all
the glory of my overthrow
if I can cross him any way,
I bless myself every way.
You are both sure,
and will assist me?
To the death, my lord.
Let us to the great supper.
Their cheer is the greater
that I am subdued.
Would the cook were of my mind!
Shall we go prove what's to be done?
APPLAUSE
PIANO PLAYS
VIOLIN PLAYS
Was not Don John here at supper?
I saw him not.
How tartly that gentleman looks!
I never can see him but I
am heart-burned an hour after.
He is of a very melancholy
disposition.
He were an excellent man
that were made
just in the midway
between him and Benedick -
the one is too like an image
and says nothing,
and the other too like my lady's
eldest son, evermore tattling.
Then half Signior Benedick's
tongue in Count John's mouth,
and half Count John's melancholy
in Signior Benedick's face...
With a good leg
and a good foot, uncle,
and money enough in his purse,
such a man would win
any woman in the world,
if he could get her good-will.
By my troth, niece, thou wilt
never get thee a husband,
if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.
In faith, she's too curst, brother.
Too curst is more than curst.
And being too curst,
God will send you no husband.
For the which blessing
I am at him upon my knees
every morning and evening.
Lord, I could not endure a husband
with a beard on his face,
I'd rather lie in the woollen.
You may light on a husband
that hath no beard.
What should I do with him?
Dress him in my apparel
and make him my waiting-gentlewoman?
He that hath a beard
is more than a youth,
and he that hath no beard
is less than a man,
and he that is more than
a youth is not for me,
and he that is less than a man,
I am not for him.
Well, then, go you into hell?
No.
But to the gate, and there
will the devil meet me,
with horns on his head, and say,
"Get you to heaven, Beatrice,
get you to heaven,
"here's no place for you maids".
So away to Saint Peter,
he shows me where the bachelors sit,
and there live we as merry
as the day is long.
Well, niece, I trust you will
be ruled by your father.
Yes, faith,
it is my cousin's duty
to make curtsy and say,
"Father, as it please you".
But yet for all that, cousin,
oh, let him be a handsome fellow,
or else make another curtsy and say,
"Father, as it please me".
Well, niece, I hope to see you
one day fitted with a husband.
Not till God make men of some
other metal than earth.
Would it not grieve a woman
to be overmastered with
a piece of valiant dust?
To make account of her life
to a clod of wayward marl?
No, uncle, I'll none.
Adam's sons are my brethren,
and, truly, I hold it a sin
to match in my kindred.
Daughter, remember what I told you -
if the prince do solicit you
in that kind, you know your answer.
The fault will be in the music,
cousin,
if you be not wooed in good time.
If the prince be too important,
tell him there is measure in every
thing and so dance out the answer.
For, hear me, Hero,
wooing, wedding, and repenting,
is as a Scotch jig, a measure,
and a cinque pace.
The first suit is hot and hasty,
like a jig,
and full as fantastical.
The wedding, mannerly-modest,
as a measure, full of state
and ancientry.
And then comes repentance
and, with his bad legs,
falls into the cinque pace
faster and faster,
till he sink into his grave.
Cousin,
you apprehend passing shrewdly.
I have a good eye, uncle,
I can see a church by daylight.
Nephew, the revellers are entering.
MUSIC PLAYS
Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!
# Come live with me and be my love
# Come live with me and we will
all the pleasures prove
# That hills and valleys,
dales and fields
# And all the craggy mountains yield
# Come live with me
and be my love... #
Lady, will you walk about
with your friend?
So you walk softly
and look sweetly and say nothing,
I am yours for the walk
and especially when I walk away.
With me in your company?
I may say so, when I please.
And when please you to say so?
When I like your favour.
God defend the lute
should be like the case!
Speak low, if you speak love.
# There will I make thee
a bed of roses
# With a thousand fragrant posies
# A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
# Embroidered with leaves of myrtle
# A belt of straw and ivy buds
# With coral clasps and amber studs
# Amber studs
# Come live with me and be my love
# Come live with me
and we will all the pleasures prove
# That hills and valleys,
dales and fields
# And all the craggy mountains yield
# Come live with me and be my love
# If all the world and
love were young
# And truth in
every shepherd's tongue
# These pretty pleasures
might me move
# To be thy love
# Come be my love
# Come live with me
# And be my love. #
APPLAUSE
Well, I would you did like me.
So would not I, for your own sake,
for I have many ill-qualities.
Which is one?
I say my prayers aloud.
I love you the better.
The hearers may cry, Amen.
God match me with a good dancer!
Amen.
Keep him out of my sight when
the dance is done! Answer, clerk.
No more words.
The clerk is answered.
LAUGHTER
I know you well enough,
you are Signior Antonio.
At a word, I am not.
I know you by the waggling
of your head.
To tell you true, I counterfeit him.
You could never do him so ill-well,
unless you were the very man.
You are he, you are he.
At a word, I am not.
Come, come, do you think I do not
know you by your excellent wit?
Can virtue hide itself?
Go to, mum, you are he,
graces will appear,
and there's an end.
Wonderful story! Marvellous.
Will you not tell me
who told you so?
No, you shall pardon me.
Nor will you not tell me
who you are? Not now.
That I was disdainful,
and that I had my good wit out
of the Hundred Merry Tales.
Well, this was
Signior Benedick that said so.
What's he? I'm sure
you know him well enough.
Not I, believe me.
Did he never make you laugh?
I pray you, what is he?
Why, he is the prince's jester -
a very dull fool.
Only his gift is in devising
impossible slanders -
none but libertines delight in him
and the commendation is not
in his wit, but in his villainy,
for he both pleases
men and angers them,
and then they laugh...
..at him and beat him.
I'm sure he's in the fleet -
I would he had boarded me.
When I know the gentleman,
I'll tell him what you say.
Do!
Do.
He'll but break a comparison
or two on me,
which, peradventure not marked
or not laughed at,
strikes him into melancholy,
and then there's a
partridge wing saved,
for the fool will eat
no supper that night.
NEW MUSIC STARTS
ENTHUSIASTIC CRIES
Follow the leaders!
We must follow the leaders.
In every good thing.
Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will
leave them at the next turning.
SHE LAUGHS
But one visor remains.
And that is Claudio.
I know him by his bearing.
HE GROANS
Sure, my brother
is amorous on Hero,
and hath withdrawn her father
to break with him about it.
Are not you Signior Benedick?
You know me well. I am he.
Signior, you are very
near my brother in his love.
He is enamoured on Hero.
I pray you, dissuade him from her.
She is no equal for his birth.
You may do the part
of an honest man in it.
How know you he loves her?
I heard him swear his affections.
So did I, too.
He swore he'd marry her tonight.
LAUGHTER
Come, let us to the banquet.
LAUGHTER
Thus answer I in the name of
Benedick,
but hear these ill news
with the ears of Claudio.
'Tis certain so,
the prince woos for himself.
Friendship is constant
in all other things
save in the office
and affairs of love.
Therefore, all hearts in love
use their own tongues.
Let every eye negotiate for itself
and trust no agent
for beauty is a witch...
..against whose charms faith
melteth into blood.
This is an accident of hourly proof,
which I mistrusted not.
Farewell, therefore, Hero!
Count Claudio?
Yea, the same.
Come, will you go with me?
The prince hath got your Hero.
Oh, I wish him joy of her.
Did you think the prince would
have served you thus?
I pray you, leave me.
Oh, now you strike
like the blind man.
'Twas the boy that stole your meat,
and you'll beat the post.
If it will not be, I'll leave you.
LAUGHTER
Alas, poor hurt fowl!
Now will he creep into sedges.
But that my Lady Beatrice should
know me, and not know me!
The prince's fool! Gah.
It may be I go under that
title because I am merry.
Yea, but so I am apt
to do myself wrong.
I am not so reputed.
It is the base, though bitter,
disposition of Beatrice
that puts the world into
her person and so gives me out.
Well, I'll be revenged as I may.
Now, signior, where's the count?
Did you see him?
Troth, my lord, I found him here as
melancholy as a lodge in a warren.
I told him, and I think I told him
true, that your grace hath got
the good will of Hero.
The Lady Beatrice hath
a quarrel to you.
The gentleman that danced with her
told her she is much wronged by you.
O, she misused me past
the endurance of a block!
An oak but with one green leaf on it
would have answered her,
my very visor began to assume life
and scold with her.
She told me, not thinking
I had been myself,
that I was the prince's jester.
Oh!
That I was duller than a great thaw,
huddling jest upon jest with such
impossible conveyance upon me
that I stood like a man at a mark,
with a whole army shooting at me.
She speaks poniards.
And every word stabs. I...
If her breath were as terrible
as her terminations,
there were no living near her,
she would infect to the North Star.
You... I would not marry her, though
she were endowed with all that Adam
had left him before he transgressed.
We... Come, talk not of her!
I would to God some scholar
would conjure her,
for certainly, while she is here,
a man may live as quiet in hell
as in a sanctuary, and
people sin upon purpose,
because they would go thither.
So, indeed, all disquiet,
horror and perturbation follows her.
Look, here she comes.
LAUGHTER
LAUGHTER
Will your grace command me
any service to the world's end?
LAUGHTER
I will go on the slightest errand
now to the Antipodes
that you can devise to send me on.
I will fetch you a tooth-pick now
from the furthest inch of Asia...
LAUGHTER
..bring you the length
of Prester John's foot,
fetch you a hair off
the great Cham's beard,
do you any embassage to the Pigmies,
rather than hold three words'
conference with this harpy.
You have no employment for me?
None, but to desire
your good company.
O, God, sir!
Here's a dish I love not.
I cannot endure my Lady Tongue.
Come, lady, come. You have lost
the heart of Signior Benedick.
Indeed, my lord.
He lent it me awhile.
And I gave him use for it.
A double heart for his single one.
Marry, once before he won it
of me with false dice,
therefore your grace may well
say I have lost it.
You have put him down, lady,
you have put him down.
So I would not he should do me,
my lord,
lest I should prove
the mother of fools.
I have brought Count Claudio,
whom you sent me to seek.
Why, how now, Count!
Wherefore are you sad?
Not sad, my lord. How then? Sick?
Neither, my lord.
The count is neither sad, nor sick,
nor merry, nor well,
but something of that
jealous complexion.
Claudio, I have wooed in thy name,
and fair Hero is won,
I have broke with her father,
and his good will obtained.
Name the day of marriage,
and God give thee joy!
Count, take of me my daughter,
and with her my fortune.
His grace hath made the match,
and all grace say amen to it.
Speak, Count, 'tis your cue.
Silence is the perfectest
herald of joy.
I were but little happy,
if I could say how much.
Lady...
..as you are mine, I am yours.
I give away myself for you
and dote upon the exchange.
Speak, cousin.
Or, if you cannot,
stop his mouth with a kiss,
and let not him speak neither.
In faith, lady, you
have a merry heart.
Yea, my lord, I thank it, poor fool,
it keeps on the windy side of care.
My cousin tells him in his ear
that he is in her heart.
And so she doth, cousin.
Good Lord, for alliance!
Thus goes every one
to the world but I.
And I am sunburnt, I may sit
in a corner and cry,
"Heigh-ho for a husband!"
Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
I'd rather have one
of your father's getting.
Hath your grace ne'er
a brother like you?
Your father got excellent husbands,
if a maid could come by 'em.
Will you have me, lady?
LAUGHTER
No, my lord, unless I might have
another for working-days.
Your grace is too costly
to wear every day.
But, I beseech your grace,
pardon me.
I was born to speak all mirth
and no matter.
Your silence most offends me,
and to be merry best becomes you,
for, out of question,
you were born in a merry hour.
No, sure, my lord, my mother cried.
But then there was a star danced...
..and under that was I born.
Cousins, God give you joy!
Niece, will you look to
those things I told you of?
I cry you mercy, uncle.
By your grace's pardon.
By thy troth, a pleasant-spirited
lady.
There's little of the melancholy
element in her, my lord.
She is never sad but when
she sleeps, and not ever sad then,
for I have heard my daughter say
that she hath often
dreamed of unhappiness
and waked herself with laughing.
She cannot endure to hear
tell of a husband.
O, by no means. She mocks all
her wooers out of suit.
She were an excellent
wife for Benedick.
O, Lord, my lord,
if they were but a week married,
they would talk themselves mad.
Count Claudio,
when mean you to go to church?
Tomorrow, my lord.
Time goes on crutches till love
have all his rites.
Not till Monday, my dear son,
which is hence a just seven-night,
and a time too brief, too,
to have all things answer my mind.
I warrant thee, Claudio, the time
shall not go dully by us.
I will in the interim undertake
one of Hercules' labours,
which is to bring the Lady Beatrice
and Signior Benedick
into a mountain of affection
the one with the other.
I would fain have it a match,
and I doubt not but to fashion it,
if you three will but
minister such assistance
as I shall give you direction.
I am for you, my lord, though it
cost me ten nights' watchings.
And I, my lord. And you too,
gentle Hero?
I will do any modest office,
my lord,
to help my cousin to a good husband.
And Benedick is not...
..the unhopefullest husband
that I know.
Thus far can I praise him,
he's of a noble strain,
of approved valour
and confirmed honesty.
I will teach you how
to humour your cousin,
that she shall fall
in love with Benedick
and I, with your two helps,
shall so practise on Benedick that,
in spite of his quick wit
and his queasy stomach,
he shall fall in love with Beatrice.
If we can do this,
Cupid is no longer an archer.
His glory shall be ours,
for we are the only love-gods.
Come, I will tell you my drift.
It is so, the Count Claudio shall
marry the daughter of Leonato.
Yea, my lord.
But I can cross it.
Any bar, any cross, any impediment
would be medicinable to me.
I am sick in displeasure to him.
How canst thou cross this marriage?
Not honestly, my lord,
but so covertly that no dishonesty
shall appear in me.
Show me briefly how.
I think I told Your Lordship how
much I am in the favour of Margaret,
the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.
I remember.
I can, at any unseasonable
instant of the night,
appoint her to look out of
her lady's chamber window.
What life is in that to be
the death of this marriage?
The poison of that lies
in you to temper. Go...
FOOTSTEPS
Good e'en. Good e'en.
Go you to the prince your brother,
spare not to tell him that he
hath wronged his honour in marrying
the renowned Claudio - whose
estimation do you mightily hold up -
to a contaminated stale,
such a one as Hero.
What proof shall I make of that?
Proof enough to misuse the prince,
to vex Claudio,
to undo Hero and kill Leonato.
Look you for any other issue?
Only to despite them.
I will endeavour any thing.
Then find me a meet hour to draw Don
Pedro and the Count Claudio alone.
Tell them that you know
that Hero loves me,
intend a kind of zeal both
to the prince and Claudio,
as in love of your brother's honour
that hath made this match,
and his friend's reputation,
who is thus like to be cozened
with the semblance of a maid,
that you have discovered thus.
They will scarce believe this
without trial.
Offer them instances,
to see me at her chamber-window,
hear me call Margaret Hero,
and bring them to see this the very
night before the intended wedding.
For in the meantime I
will so fashion the matter
that Hero shall be absent,
and there will appear such
seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty
that jealousy will become assurance
and all the preparation overthrown.
Grow this to what adverse
issue it can.
I will put it in practice.
HE COUGHS
Be cunning in the working this,
and thy fee is a thousand ducats.
Be you constant in the accusation,
and my cunning shall not shame me.
I will presently go learn
their day of marriage.
HE SIGHS
I do much wonder how one man,
seeing how much another man is a
fool
when he dedicates his behaviours
to love,
will, after he hath laughed at such
shallow follies in others,
become the argument of his own
scorn by failing in love.
And such a man is Claudio.
I have known when there was no music
with him but the drum and the fife,
and now had he rather hear
the tabor and the pipe.
I have known when he would
walk ten miles a-foot
to see a good armour,
now will he lie ten nights awake,
carving the fashion of
a new doublet.
He was wont to speak plain
and to the purpose,
like an honest man and a soldier,
and now is he turned orthography.
His words are a very
fantastical banquet,
just so many strange dishes.
May I be so converted
and see with these eyes?
LAUGHTER
Ha! I cannot tell.
I think not.
I'll not be sworn,
love may transform me to an oyster,
but I'll take my oath on it.
Till he have made an oyster of me,
he shall never make me such a fool.
One woman is fair, yet I am well.
Another is wise, yet I am well.
Another is virtuous, yet I am well.
But till all graces be in one woman,
one woman shall not come
in my grace.
Rich she shall be, that's certain.
LAUGHTER
And wise, or I'll none.
Virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her,
fair, or I'll never look on her.
Mild, or come not near me,
of good discourse,
an excellent musician,
and her hair shall be...
..of what colour it please God. Ha!
Oh, here comes the prince
and Monsieur Love!
Erm...
I shall hide behind the arras.
Come, shall we hear this music?
Yea, my good lord.
See you where Benedick hid himself?
O, very well, my lord.
Come, Balthasar, we'll hear
that song again.
O, good my lord, tax not
so bad a voice
to slander music any more than once.
It is the witness
still of excellency
to put a strange face
on his own perfection.
I pray thee,
come and let me woo no more.
Because you talk of wooing,
I will sing.
Since many a wooer doth commence his
suit to her he thinks not worthy,
yet he woos,
yet will he swear he loves.
Now, pray thee, come. Or,
if thou wilt hold longer argument,
do it in notes.
Note this before my notes.
There's not a note of mine
that's worth the noting.
Aah!
Why, these are very
crotchets that he speaks.
PIANO STRIKES UP
Note, notes, forsooth, and no thing.
# Sigh no more, ladies
# Men were deceivers ever
# One foot in sea and one on shore
# To one thing constant never
# Then sigh not so
# But let them go
# And be you blithe and bonny
# Be blithe and bonny
# Converting all your sounds of woe
# Into hey, nonny, nonny
# Sigh no more, ladies
# Sigh no more... #
Now, divine air!
Now is his soul ravished!
# Sing no more ditties
# Of dumps so dull and heavy
# The fraud of men was ever so
# Since summer first was leafy
# Then sigh not so
# But let them go
# And be you blithe and bonny
# Be blithe and bonny
# Converting all your sounds of woe
# Into hey, nonny, nonny
# Sigh no more, ladies
# Sigh no more
# Let them go
# Let them go. #
APPLAUSE
By my troth, a good song.
And an ill singer, my lord.
Ha, no, no, faith. Thou singest well
enough for a shift.
An he had been a dog
that should have howled thus,
they would have hanged him.
Balthasar, I pray thee,
get us some excellent music
for tomorrow night.
The best I can, my lord.
Do so. Farewell.
Leonato, what was it
you told me of today,
that your niece Beatrice was in love
with Signior Benedick?
What..?
CRASHING AND CLATTERING
Ah-oww.
LAUGHTER
How still the night is.
I never did think that lady
would've loved any man.
No, nor I neither,
but most wonderful that
she should so dote on
Signior Benedick,
whom she hath in all outward
behaviours seemed ever to abhor.
Is't possible? Sits the wind
in that corner? Oh...
By my troth, my lord,
I cannot tell what to think of it
but that she loves him
with an enraged affection.
It is past the infinite of thought.
May be she doth but counterfeit.
Faith, like enough.
O, God, counterfeit! There was
never counterfeit of passion
came so near the life of passion
as she discovers it.
Why, what effects of passion
shows she?
What effects, my lord?
W...
LAUGHTER
Ay, what effects?
Well, she will sit, um...
LAUGHTER
Well, you heard my daughter
tell you how.
How, how, pray you?
Well, she would, um...
LAUGHTER
She...
LAUGHTER
You amaze me.
LAUGHTER
I would have I thought her
spirit had been invincible
against all assaults of affection.
I would have sworn it had, my lord,
especially against Benedick.
LAUGHTER
I should think this a gull, but that
the old fellow speaks it.
Hath she made her affection
known to Benedick?
No, and swears she never will.
That's her torment.
It is true, indeed,
so your daughter says.
"Shall I, says she, "that have
so oft encountered him with scorn,
"write to him that I love him?"
This says she now when she is
beginning to write to him,
for she'll be up 20 times a night,
and there will she sit in her smock
till she have writ a sheet of paper.
My daughter tells us all.
Now you talk of a sheet of paper,
I remember a pretty jest
your daughter told us of.
O, that when she had writ it
and was reading it over,
she found Benedick
and Beatrice between the sheets?
BELLS CHIME
LAUGHTER
That.
O, she tore the letter
into a thousand ha'pence
railed at herself,
that she should be so immodest
to write to one that
she knew would flout her.
"I measure him,"
says she, "by my own spirit,
"for I should flout him,
if he writ to me.
"Yea, though I love him, I should."
Then down upon her knees she falls,
weeps, sobs,
beats her heart, tears her hair,
prays, curses,
"O sweet Benedick!
God give me patience!"
She doth indeed.
My daughter says so.
LAUGHTER
And the ecstasy hath so much
overborne her
that my daughter
is sometime afeared
that she will do a desperate outrage
to herself.
'Twere good Benedick heard
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's exceeding wise.
In every thing
but in loving Benedick.
What?! You... Oh!
I am sorry for her,
as I have just cause,
being her uncle and her guardian.
Oh. Oh.
I would she had bestowed
this dotage on me.
I would've 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.
Die?!
LAUGHTER
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.
She doth well.
If she should make
tender of her love,
'tis very possible he'll scorn it
for the man hath, as you know all,
a contemptible spirit.
ELECTRICITY BUZZES
BENEDICK CRIES OUT
LAUGHTER
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.
LAUGHTER
And I take him to be valiant.
As Hector, I assure you.
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 this 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
so good a lady.
BELLS RING
LAUGHTER
APPLAUSE
If he do not dote on her upon this,
I will never trust my expectation.
Let the same net be spread
for her,
and that must your daughter
and her gentlewomen carry.
The sport will be when they hold
one an opinion of another's dotage,
and no such matter.
That's the scene that I would see.
Let us send her to call him
in to dinner.
LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE
This can be no trick.
LAUGHTER
Their conference was sadly borne.
They have the truth
of this from Hero.
The seem to pity the lady.
It seems her affections
have their full bent.
Love me?
Why?!
LAUGHTER
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 she will rather die
than give any sign of affection.
I did never think to marry.
I must not seem proud.
Happy are they that hear their
detractions
and can put them to mending.
HE COUGHS
LAUGHTER
LAUGHTER
They say the lady is fair.
It is a truth, I can bear them
witness.
And virtuous, I cannot reprove it.
And wise, but for loving me.
By my troth, it is
no addition to her wit,
nor no great argument of her folly,
for I will be...
..horribly in love with her.
I may 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 quips and sentences
and these paper bullets of the brain
awe a man from the career
of his humour?
No! The world must be peopled.
LAUGHTER
When I said I would die a bachelor,
I did not think I should live
till I were married.
Ha-ha!
Here comes Beatrice.
Oh, by this light she's a fair lady!
I do spy some marks of love in her.
LAUGHTER
Against my will I am sent
to bid you come in to dinner.
I thank thee for thy pains.
I took no more pains
for those thanks
than you take pains to thank me.
If it had been painful,
I would not have come.
You take pleasure, then,
in the message?
Urgh!
Yea!
Just so much as you may take
upon a knife's point.
You have no stomach, signior,
fare you well.
SHE GROANS
"Against my will I am sent to
bid you come in to dinner."
Hmm.
There's a double meaning in that!
"I took no more pains
for those thanks
"than you took pains to thank me."
That's as much as to say,
"Any pains I take for you
is as easy as thanks."
If I do not pity her,
I am a villain.
If I do not love her...
..I'm a fool.
I will go get her picture.
JOVIAL FOXTROT PLAYS
APPLAUSE
BIRDS CHIRP
Good Margaret, run thee to the
parlour.
There shalt thou find
my cousin Beatrice.
Whisper her ear and tell her
I and Ursula walk in the garden
and our whole discourse
is all of her.
Say that thou overheard'st us,
and bid her steal
into the tower yonder
to listen our purpose.
I'll make her come, I warrant you.
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...
LAUGHTER
..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.
LAUGHTER
Fear you not my part
of the dialogue.
LAUGHTER
Then go we near her,
that her ear lose nothing
of the false sweet bait
that we lay for it.
No, truly, Ursula,
she is too disdainful.
I know her spirits are as coy
and wild as haggards 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 the gentleman 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... Oh! Oh!
..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 good
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. Sure. Sure.
Such carping is not commendable.
But who dare tell her so?
If I should speak,
she would mock me into air.
Oh, she would laugh me out of
myself, press me to death with wit.
Therefore, let Benedick,
like covered fire,
consume away in sighs,
waste inwardly.
It were a better death
than die with mocks,
which is as bad
as die with tickling.
Yet tell her of it.
Hear what she will say.
No!
No!
Rather I will go to Benedick
and counsel him
to fight against his passion.
And, truly, I'll devise some honest
slanders to stain my cousin with.
One doth not know how much
an ill word may empoison liking.
Oh, do not do your cousin
such a wrong.
She cannot be so much
without true judgment,
having so swift and excellent a wit
as she is prized to have,
as to refuse so rare a gentleman
as Signior Benedick.
He is the only man I ever saw
always excepted my dear Claudio.
I pray you, be not angry with me,
madam, speaking my fancy.
Signior Benedick, for shape,
for bearing, argument and valour,
goes foremost in report
throughout the land.
Indeed, he hath
an excellent good name.
His excellence did earn it,
ere he had it.
When are you married, madam?
Why, every day, tomorrow.
Come, go in.
I'll show thee some attires,
and have thy counsel which is
the best to furnish me tomorrow.
URSULA LAUGHS
She's limed, I warrant you.
We've caught her, madam.
If it proves so,
then loving goes by haps.
Some Cupid kills with arrows,
some with traps.
HERO GIGGLES
What fire is in mine ears?
Can this be true?
Stand I condemned for pride
and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewell
and maiden pride, adieu.
No glory lives behind
the back of such.
And, Benedick...
..love on.
I will requite thee.
Taming my wild heart
to thy loving hand.
If thou dost love,
my kindness shall incite thee
to bind our loves up in a holy band.
For others say thou dost deserve,
and I...
..believe it
better than reportingly.
I do but stay until your marriage
be consummate, and then I'll home.
I'll bring you thither, my lord,
if you'll vouchsafe me.
Nay, that were as great a soil
in the new gloss of your marriage
as to show a child his new coat
and forbid him to wear it.
I will only be bold
with Benedick for his company,
for, from the crown of his head
to the sole of his foot,
he is all mirth.
My lord and brother,
God save you. Good day, brother.
If your leisure served,
I would speak with you.
In private? If it please you.
Yet Count Claudio may hear, for what
I would speak of concerns him.
What's the matter? Means Your
Lordship to be married tomorrow?
You know he does. I know not that
when he knows what I know.
If there be any impediment,
I pray you discover it.
You may think I love you not.
Let that appear hereafter,
and aim better at me
by that I now will manifest.
For my brother, I think
he holds you well,
and in dearness of heart hath holp
to effect your ensuing marriage.
Surely suit ill spent
and labour ill bestowed.
Why, what's the matter?
I came hither to tell you.
And circumstances shortened.
The lady is disloyal.
Who, Hero?
Even she. Leonato's Hero,
your Hero, every man's Hero.
Disloyal? The word is too good
to paint out her wickedness.
I could say she were worse.
Think you of a worse title,
and I will fit her to it.
Wonder not till further warrant.
Go but with me tonight, you shall
see her chamber window entered,
even the night before
her wedding day.
If you love her then,
well, tomorrow wed her.
May this be so? I will not think it.
If you dare not trust that you see,
confess not that you know.
If you will follow me,
I will show you enough.
And when you have seen more
and heard more,
proceed accordingly.
If I see anything tonight
why I should not marry her,
tomorrow, in the congregation,
where I should wed,
there will I shame her.
And, as I wooed for thee
to obtain her,
I will join with thee
to disgrace her.
I will disparage her no further
till you are my witnesses.
Bear it coldly but till midnight,
and let the issue show itself.
Oh, day untowardly turned!
Oh, mischief strangely thwarting!
Oh, plague right well prevented.
So will you say when
you have seen the sequel?
BELL TOLLS
MUSIC: In The Bleak Midwinter
# In the bleak midwinter
# Frosty wind made moan
# Earth stood hard as iron
# Water like a stone
# Snow had fallen, snow on snow
# Snow on snow
# In the bleak midwinter
# Long ago
# What can I give him?
# Poor as I am
# If I were a shepherd
# I would bring a lamb
# If I were a wise man
# I would do my part
# Yet what I can I give him
# Give my heart
# Give my heart
# Yet what I can I give him
# And I give... #
BICYCLE BELL RINGS
# My heart. #
Are you good men and true?
Yea, or else it were pity
but they should suffer salvation,
body and soul.
Nay, that were a punishment
too good for them,
if they should have any
allegiance in them,
being chosen for the prince's watch.
Well, give them their charge,
neighbour Dogberry.
First, who think you the most
desertless man to be constable?
Hugh Otecake, sir,
or George Seacole -
for they can write and read.
Come hither, neighbour Seacole.
God hath blessed you
with a good name.
To be a well-favoured man
is the gift of fortune
but to write and read
comes by nature.
Both which, master constable...
You have!
I knew it would be your answer.
Well, for your favour, sir,
why, give God thanks,
and make no boast of it.
And for your writing and reading,
let that appear when there's
no need of such vanity.
You are thought here to be
the most fit and senseless man
for the constable of the watch.
Therefore, bear you the lantern.
This is your charge.
You shall comprehend
all fragrant men.
You are to bid any man stand
in the prince's name.
How if he will not stand?
Why, then, take no note of him,
and let him go.
And presently call the rest
of the watch together and thank God
you're rid of a knave.
If he will not stand
when he is bidden,
he's none of the prince's subjects.
True, and they are to meddle
with none but the prince's subjects.
You shall also make no noise
in the streets for,
for the watch to babble
and to talk is most tolerable -
not to be endured.
We will rather sleep than talk.
We know what belongs to a watch.
ALL: Aye.
Why, I cannot see how sleeping
should offend.
Only, have a care that your bills
be not stolen.
Well, you are to call
at all the ale-houses,
and bid those that are drunk
get them to bed.
How if they will not? Why, then,
let them alone till they're sober.
If they make you not then
the better answer,
you may say they're not the men
you took them for.
Well, sir.
If you meet a thief, you may suspect
him, by virtue of your office,
to be no true man
and, for such kind of men,
the less you meddle
or make with them,
why, the more is for your honesty.
If we know him to be a thief,
shall we not lay hands on him?
Truly, by your office, you may,
but I think those that touch
pitch will be defiled.
No, no, no, no, no, no,
no, no, no.
The most peaceable way for you,
if you do take a thief,
is to let him show himself for what
he is and steal out of your company.
You have always been called
a merciful man, partner.
Truly, I would not hang
a dog by my will,
much more a man that
hath any honesty in him.
If you should hear a child
cry in the night,
you must call to the nurse
and bid her still it.
How if the nurse be asleep
and will not hear us?
Why, then, depart in peace,
and let the child wake her
with crying.
This is the end of the charge.
Constable...
..if you meet the prince in the
night, you may comprehend him.
Nay, by our lady,
I think you cannot.
Five shillings to one on't, with
any man that knows the statutes,
he may comprehend him.
Marry, not without the prince
being willing.
For, indeed, the watch ought
to offend no man,
and it is an offence to comprehend
a man against his will.
By our lady, I think it be so.
Well, masters, goodnight.
And there be any matter
of weight chances, call up me.
Keep your fellows' counsels
and your own and good night.
Come, neighbour.
Masters, we hear our charge.
One word more, honest neighbours.
I pray you watch about
Signior Leonato's door.
For the wedding
being there tomorrow,
there is a great coil tonight.
Adieu. I beseech you.
Be vigitant!
BICYCLE BELL RINGS
APPLAUSE
Well, masters. Let us shelter here
till two and then all to bed.
What, Conrade! Peace! Stir not.
Conrade, I say!
Here, man. I am at thy elbow.
Forward with thy tale.
Stand thee close, then,
under this penthouse
and I will, like a true drunkard,
utter all to thee.
Some treason, masters.
Yet stand close.
Therefore know I have earned
of Don John 1,000 ducats.
Is it possible that
any villainy should be so dear?
Thou shouldst rather ask if it were
possible any villainy
should be so rich. For when rich
villains have need of poor ones,
poor ones may make
what price they will.
I wonder at it.
That shows thou art unconfirmed.
Thou knowest that the fashion
of a hat or a coat
is nothing to a man.
Yes, it is apparel.
But seest thou not what a deformed
thief this fashion is?
I know this Deformed. He's been
a vile thief this last four year.
Didst thou not hear something?
No. It was the vane on the house.
Now then. That I have tonight
wooed Margaret,
the Lady Hero's gentlewoman,
by the name of Hero.
She leans me out at her mistress's
chamber window,
bids me 1,000 times goodnight.
I tell this tale vilely.
I should first tell thee how
the Prince, Claudio and my master
planted and placed
and possessed by my master Don John,
saw afar off in the orchard
this amiable encounter.
And thought they Margaret was Hero?
Two of them did, the Prince and
Claudio, but the devil, my master,
knew she was Margaret.
And partly by his oaths,
which first possessed them,
and partly by the dark night,
which did deceive them,
but chiefly by my villainy,
which did confirm
any slander Don John had made.
Away went Claudio enraged,
swore he would meet her
as appointed, next morning
at the church,
and there, before the whole
congregation, shame her
with what he saw o'er night and send
her home again without a husband.
We charge you,
in the Prince's name, stand!
Call up the right master constable.
We have here discovered the most
dangerous piece of treachery
that ever was known
in the Commonwealth.
Masters, masters.
Never speak, we charge you.
Order you to go with us.
We're likely to prove
a goodly commodity,
taken up with these men's bills.
A commodity in question,
I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you.
Bring them along.
Good Ursula. Wake my cousin
Beatrice, and desire her to rise.
I will, lady.
And bid her come hither. Well.
Troth, I think
your other were better.
No, pray thee, good Meg,
I'll wear this.
By my troth's not so good, and
I warrant your cousin will say so.
My cousin's a fool, and thou art
another. I'll wear none but this.
I like the new tire excellently,
if the hair were
a thought browner.
And your gown's a most rare fashion,
i' faith.
I saw the Duchess's gown
that they praise so.
Oh, that exceeds, they say.
By my troth's but a night-gown
in respect of yours.
Cloth of gold, and cuts,
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.
God, give me joy to wear it!
For my heart is exceeding heavy.
'Twill be heavier soon
by the weight of a man.
Fie upon thee!
Art not ashamed?
Of what, lady?
Of speaking honourably?
Is not marriage honourable
in a beggar?
Is not your lord honourable
without marriage?
Hm. I think you'd 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.
Good morrow, coz.
Good morrow, sweet Hero.
Why how now? Do you speak
in the sick tune?
I'm out of all other tune, methinks.
'Tis almost seven o'clock, cousin.
'Tis time you were ready.
By my troth,
I am exceeding ill. Heigh-ho!
For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?
For the letter that begins
them all, H-uh.
Well, and you be not turned Turk,
there's no more sailing by the star.
What means the fool, trow?
Nothing I but God send
everyone their heart's desire!
These gloves the count gave me,
they are an excellent perfume.
I'm stuffed, cousin.
I cannot smell.
A maid, and stuffed!
There's goodly catching a cold.
Oh, God help me! God help me!
How long have you professed
so swift a wit?
Ever since you left it.
By my troth, I am sick.
Get you some of this distilled
Carduus Benedictus.
SHE SPLUTTERS
It's the only thing for a qualm.
Benedictus! Why Benedictus?
You have some moral
in this Benedictus?
Moral! No, by my troth,
I have no moral meaning.
You may think perchance
that I think you're in love.
Nay, by our lady, I'm not such
a fool as to think you are in love,
or you will be in love,
or 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.
Are you maybe 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, the Prince, the Count,
Signior Benedick, Don John,
and all the gallants of the town,
are come to fetch you to church.
Help to dress me, good coz,
good Meg, good Ursula.
My lord, they stay for you to
give your daughter to her husband.
I'll wait upon them. What would
you with me, honest neighbours?
Marry, sir, I would have
some confidence with you
that decerns you nearly.
Brief, I pray you. For you see
it is a busy time with me.
Marry, this it is, sir.
In truth it is, sir.
What is it, my good friend?
Goodman Verges, sir,
he 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,
neighbour Verges.
Neighbours, you are tedious.
It pleases your worship to say so
but we are the poor Prince'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 on your worship.
All thy tediousness on me, ay?
Yea.
Yea. An 'twere £1,000
more than 'tis.
For I hear as good exclamation
on your worship
as of any man, and though I be but
a poor man, I am glad to hear it.
And so am I. I would fain know
what you have to say.
Well... Marry, sir. Our watch last
night, excepting your worship's
presence, have ta'en a couple of as
arrant knaves as any in the county.
Ha! 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 is a good man.
And 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.
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 auspicious persons,
and we would have them this morning
examinated before your worship.
My lord. I am ready.
Take their examination yourself
and bring it to me,
for I am now in great haste,
as it may appear unto you.
It shall be sufficious.
Drink some wine ere you go.
Fare you well.
Go, good neighbour, go.
Get thee to Georg Seacole,
bid him bring his pen
and inkhorn to the gaol.
We are now to exterminate these men.
And we must do it wisely.
We will spare for no wit,
I warrant thee.
Only get the learned writer
to meet me at the gaol
and set down our excommunication.
ORGAN MUSIC
THEY SING
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 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.
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 vanquish'd
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,
show'd
Bashful sincerity
and comely love.
And seem'd 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 pamper'd
animals
That rage in savage
sensuality.
Is my lord well, that he
doth speak so wide?
Sweet Prince, why speak not
you?
What should I speak?
I am dishonour'd,
that 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 talk'd
with you yesternight
Out at your window
betwixt 12 and one?
Now, if you are a maid,
answer to this.
I talk'd with no
man at that hour, my lord.
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 did indeed,
most like a liberal villain,
confess'd 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?
How now, cousin!
Wherefore sink you down?
Come, let us go.
These things, come thus to light,
smother her spirits up.
How doth the lady?
Dead, I think. Help, Uncle!
Hero! Why, Hero! Uncle!
Signior Benedick! Friar! O Fate!
Take not away thy heavy hand.
Death is the fairest cover for her
shame that may be wish'd for.
How now, cousin Hero!
Have comfort, lady.
Dost thou look up?
Here wherefore should
she not? 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!
Sir, sir, be patient.
For my part, I am so attired
in wonder, I know not what to say.
O, on my soul,
my cousin is belied!
Lady, were you her
bedfellow last night?
No, truly not. Although,
until last night,
I have this twelvemonth
been her bedfellow.
Confirm'd, confirm'd!
O, that is stronger made that 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.
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.
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?
Lady, what man is he you are
accused of?
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!
There is some strange
misprision in the princes.
Two of them have the
very bent of honour.
And if their wisdoms be
misled in this, the practice of it
lives in Prince Don John, whose
spirits toil in frame of villanies.
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.
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.
What will become of this?
What will this do?
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 find
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.
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.
Being that I flow in grief,
the smallest twine may lead me.
'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.
SHE WEEPS
Lady Beatrice, have you wept
all this while?
Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
I will not desire that.
You have no reason,
I do it freely.
Surely I do believe
your fair cousin is wronged.
Ah, how much might the man
deserve of me that would right her!
Is there any way to show
such friendship?
A very even way, but no such friend.
May a man do it?
It is a man's office, but not yours.
I do love nothing
in the world so well as you.
Is not that strange?
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.
By my sword,
Beatrice, thou lovest me!
Do not swear by it, and eat it. I
will swear by it that you love me
and I will make him eat it
that says I love not you.
Will you not eat your word?
With no sauce
that can be devised to it.
I protest I love thee.
Why, then, God forgive me!
What offence, sweet Beatrice?
You have stayed me in a happy hour.
I was about to protest I loved you.
And do it with all thy heart.
I love you...
..with so much of my heart
that none is left to protest.
Come, bid me do any thing
for thee.
Kill Claudio.
LAUGHTER
Not for the wide world.
You kill me to deny it.
Farewell. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.
I am gone, though I am
here. There is no love in you.
Nay, I pray you, let me go.
Beatrice... In faith, I will go.
We'll be friends first.
You dare easier be friends
with me than fight with mine enemy!
Is Claudio thine enemy?
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...
God, that I were a man!
I would eat his heart
in the market-place.
Hear me, Beatrice... Talk with a man
out at a window!
A proper saying! Nay, but,
Beatrice... Sweet Hero.
She is wronged, she is slandered,
she is undone.
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 curtsies, 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.
Tarry, good Beatrice.
By this hand, I love thee.
Use it for my love some
other way than swearing by it.
Think you in your soul
that Claudio hath wronged Hero?
Yea.
As sure as I have a thought or a
soul.
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.
Is our whole dissembly appeared?
O, a stool and a cushion
for the sexton.
Which be the malefactors?
Marry, that am I and my partner.
Nay, that's certain,
we have the exhibition to examine.
But which are the offenders
that are to be examined?
Let them come before
master constable.
Yea, marry,
let them come before me.
What is your name, friend?
Borachio.
Pray, write down Borachio.
Yours, sirrah?
I am a gentleman, sir,
and my name is Conrade.
Write down master gentleman Conrade.
Masters, do you serve God?
Yea, sir. We hope.
Write down that they hope
they serve God.
And write God first, for God defend
but God should go before
such villains.
Masters, it is proved already that
you are little better than
false knaves, and it will go near to
be thought so shortly.
How answer you for yourselves?
Marry, sir, we say we are none.
A marvellous witty fellow,
I assure you.
But I will go about with him.
Come you hither, sirrah,
a word in your ear.
Sir, I say to you, it is thought
you are false knaves.
Sir, I say to you we are none.
Well, stand aside.
'Fore God, they are both in a tale.
Have you writ down,
that they are none?
Master constable,
you go not the way to examine.
You must call forth the watch
that are their accusers.
Yea, marry, that's the deftest way.
Let the watch come forth.
Masters, I charge thee, in the
Prince's name, accuse these men.
This man, sir, did say
that Don John,
the Prince's brother, was a villain.
Write down Prince John a villain.
Why, this is flat perjury,
to call a prince's brother villain.
Master constable...
Pray thee, fellow, peace.
I do not like thy look,
I promise thee.
What heard you him say else?
Marry, that he had received a
thousand ducats of Don John
for accusing the Lady Hero
wrongfully.
Flat burglary as ever
was committed.
By the mass, that it is.
What else, fellow?
And that Count Claudio did mean,
upon his words, to disgrace
Hero before the whole assembly
and not marry her.
O villain!
Thou wilt be condemned into
everlasting redemption for this.
What else?
This is all.
And this is more, masters,
than you can deny.
Prince John is this morning
secretly stolen away,
Hero was in this manner accused,
in this very manner refused,
and upon the grief of this
suddenly died.
Master constable, let these men be
bound, and brought to Leonato's.
I will go before and show him
their examination.
LAUGHTER
LAUGHTER
APPLAUSE
Argh!
APPLAUSE
Come, let them be opinionated.
Let them be in the hands...
Off coxcomb!
God's my life, where's the sexton?
Let him write down Prince's
officer coxcomb.
Thou naughty varlet. Away!
You are an ass, you are an ass.
LAUGHTER
Dost thou...
..not suspect my place?
Dost thou not suspect my years?
O that he were here to write me
down an ass!
But, masters,
remember that I am an ass,
though it not be written down,
yet forget not that I am an ass.
No, thou villain,
thou art full of piety,
that shall be proved upon
thee by good witness.
I am a wise fellow...
LAUGHTER
..and, which is more, an officer.
HE BLOWS WHISTLE
And, which is more, a householder.
And, which is more, as pretty
a piece of flesh as any is in
this county,
and one that knows the law,
go to, and a rich fellow enough,
go to,
and a fellow that hath...
..hath...
..had...
losses.
And one that hath two gowns
and every thing handsome about him.
Take him away.
O that I had been writ down an ass!
APPLAUSE
I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
which falls into mine ears
as profitless as water in a sieve.
If you go on thus,
you will kill yourself.
And 'tis not wisdom thus to
second grief against yourself.
Give not me counsel, nor let no
comforter delight mine ear
but such a one whose wrongs
do suit with mine.
Bring me a father that
so loved his child,
whose joy of her is
overwhelm'd like mine.
If such a one will smile and stroke
his beard,
patch grief with proverbs,
bring him yet to me,
and I of him will gather patience.
But there is no such man.
For, brother, men can counsel
and speak comfort to that grief
which they themselves not feel,
but, tasting it,
their counsel turns to passion,
which before would give preceptial
medicine to rage,
charm ache with air
and agony with words. Brother...
No, no! 'Tis all men's office to
speak patience to those that
wring under the load of sorrow,
but no man's virtue nor
sufficiency to be so moral when
he shall endure the like himself.
Therefore give me no counsel.
My griefs cry louder
than advertisement.
Therein do
men from children nothing differ.
I pray thee, peace.
I will be flesh and blood
for there was never yet philosopher
that could endure
toothache patiently.
Yet bend not all
the harm upon yourself,
make those that do offend
you suffer too.
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.
Here comes the Prince and Claudio.
Good e'en, good e'en.
Good e'en to both of you.
Hear you, my lords...
We have some haste, Leonato.
Some haste, my lord!
Well, fare you well, my lord.
Are you so hasty now?
Well, all is one.
Nay, do not quarrel with us,
good old man.
If he could right himself
with quarrelling, some of us
would lie low.
Who wrongs him?
Marry, thou dost wrong me,
thou dissembler, thou.
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent
child and me
that I am forced 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, framed by thy villany!
My villany? Thine, Claudio,
thine, I say.
You say not right, old man.
My lord, I'll prove it on his body,
if he dare.
Away!
I will not have to do with you.
Canst thou so daff me?
I say thou hast kill'd my child.
If thou kill'st me, boy,
thou shalt kill a man.
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.
Brother... Content yourself.
God knows I loved 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!
I know them, yea, and what
they weigh, even to the utmost
scruple. Scrambling, 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.
Gentlemen both,
we will not wake your patience.
My heart is sorry
for your daughter's death.
But, on my honour, she was charged
with nothing but what was true
and very full of proof.
My lord, my lord...
I will not hear you!
No?
Come, brother, away.
I will be heard.
And shall,
or some of us will smart for it.
Here comes the man we went to seek.
Now, signior, what news?
Good e'en, my lord.
Welcome, signior,
you are almost come to
part almost a fray.
In a false quarrel
there is no true valour.
I came to seek you both.
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? He looks
pale. Art thou sick, or angry?
Sir, I will meet your wit in the
career and you charge it against me.
I pray you choose another subject.
By this light,
he changes more and more.
I think he be angry indeed.
Shall I speak a word in your ear?
God bless me from a challenge.
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.
Well, I will meet you,
so I may have good cheer.
Fare you well, boy,
you know my mind.
My good lord, for your many
courtesies I thank you.
I must discontinue your company.
Your brother is fled.
You have among you killed a sweet
and innocent lady.
For my Lord Lackbeard there,
he and I shall meet.
Until then, peace be with him.
He is in earnest.
In most profound earnest
and, I'll warrant you,
for the love of Beatrice.
And hath challenged thee.
Most sincerely.
Come you, sir.
If justice cannot tame you,
she shall ne'er weigh more
reasons in her balance.
Nay, and you be a cursing hypocrite
once, you must be looked to.
Officers, what offence
have these men done?
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.
Sweet Prince... Prince!
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, incensed 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 accusations,
and, briefly, I desire nothing
but the reward of a villain.
Runs not this speech
like iron through your blood?
I have drunk poison whiles
he utter'd it.
But did my brother set
thee on to this?
Yea, and paid me
richly for the practice of it.
He is composed
and framed of treachery.
And fled he is upon this villany.
Sweet Hero!
Now thy image doth appear
in the rare semblance that
I loved it first.
Come, bring away the plaintiffs.
By this time our sexton hath
reformed
Signior Leonato of this matter.
And, masters, do not
forget to specify,
when time and place shall serve,
that I am an ass.
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?
If you would know your
wronger, look on me.
Art thou the slave that with
thy breath hast kill'd mine
innocent child?
Yea, even I alone.
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.
Twas bravely done,
if you bethink you of it.
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.
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.
I cannot bid you bid my
daughter live, that were impossible.
But if your love can labour
ought in sad invention, hang her
an epitaph upon her tomb and sing it
to her bones, sing it tonight.
Tomorrow 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.
Give her the right you should
have given her cousin,
and so dies my revenge.
O noble sir,
your over-kindness doth
wring tears from me.
I do embrace your offer.
And dispose
for henceforth of poor Claudio.
Tomorrow then
I will expect your coming.
We will not fail.
Tonight I'll mourn with Hero.
We'll talk with Margaret, who I
believe was pack'd in all this wrong
along with this lewd fellow.
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 any thing that
I do know by her.
Moreover, sir, which indeed
is not under white and black,
this plaintiff here,
the offender, did call me an ass.
I beseech you, let it be
remembered in his punishment.
I thank thee for thy care
and honest pains.
Your worship speaks like a most
thankful and reverend youth,
and I praise God for you.
Here's for thy pains.
God save the foundation!
Go, I discharge thee of thy
prisoners, and I thank thee.
Bring you these fellows on.
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 ever a merry meeting may be
wished, God prohibit it!
Come, neighbour.
APPLAUSE
PLAINTIVE SINGING
CHORAL SINGING
Sweet Mistress Margaret, I pray thee
deserve well at my hand
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, must I always
keep below stairs?
Thy wit is as quick as the
greyhound's mouth, it catches.
I pray thee, call Beatrice.
I will, sir.
HE CLEARS THROAT
# O god of love... #
LAUGHTER
# O god of love that sits
above, and knows me... #
OFF KEY: # ..How pitiful
I deserve... #
I mean in singing, but in loving,
Leander the good swimmer, and
Troilus the first employer
of panders, 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 no rhyme for school
but fool, an innocent rhyme.
For scorn, horn, a hard rhyme.
For lady...
..baby.
A babbling rhyme. No, I was
not born under a rhyming planet,
nor I cannot woo in festival terms.
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come
when I called thee?
Yea, signior,
and depart when you bid me.
O, stay but till then!
"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.
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.
HE LAUGHS
I pray thee now, tell me,
for which of my bad parts didst
thou first fall in love with me?
For them all together,
which maintained so politic a state
of evil 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?
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.
You and I are too wise
to woo peaceably.
Now tell me, how doth
your cousin? Very ill.
And how do you?
Very ill too.
Serve God, love me and mend.
There will I leave you too,
for here comes one in haste.
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 go hear this news, signior?
I will live in thy heart,
die in thy lap,
and lie buried in thy eyes.
And moreover I will go with thee
to thy uncle's.
Did I not tell you she was innocent?
So are the Prince and Claudio,
who accused 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.
Well, I am glad that all
things sort so well.
And so am I,
being else by faith enforced to call
young Claudio to a reckoning for it.
The Prince and Claudio
promised 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.
Which I will do with
confirm'd countenance.
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 her.
The sight whereof I think you had
from me, the Prince and Claudio.
But what's your will? Your
answer, sir, is enigmatical.
But, to 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.
Here comes the Prince and Claudio.
Good morrow to this fair assembly.
Good morrow, Prince. Good morrow,
Claudio. We here attend you.
Are you yet determined today to
marry with my brother's daughter?
Aye, my good lord.
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.
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.
Soft and fair, friar.
Which is Beatrice?
LAUGHTER
I answer to that name.
What is your will?
Do not you love me?
Why, no.
No more than reason.
Why, then your uncle
and the Prince
and Claudio were deceived,
they swore you did.
Do not you love me?
Troth, no, no more than reason.
Why, then my cousin Margaret
and Ursula are much deceived,
for they did swear you did.
They swore you were
almost sick for me.
They swore that you were
well-nigh dead for me.
Tis no such matter.
Then you do not love me?
No, truly, but in friendly
recompense.
Come, cousin,
I am sure you love the gentleman.
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.
Hee-hee-hee!
And here's another
writ in my cousin's hand,
stolen from her pocket, containing
her affection unto Benedick.
Hee-hee-hee!
HE CHUCKLES
Ah...
SHE RETCHES
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 upon great persuasion,
and partly to save your life,
for I was told you
were in a consumption.
Peace! I will stop your mouth.
LAUGHTER
APPLAUSE
How dost thou,
Benedick, the married man?
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 shall 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 unbruised and love my cousin.
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
exceedingly narrowly to thee.
Come, come, we are friends.
Let's have a dance ere we are
married, that we
may lighten our hearts
and our wives' heels.
We'll have dancing afterward.
First, of my word.
Prince...
..thou art sad.
Get thee a wife, get thee a wife.
My lord, your brother John
is ta'en in flight,
and brought with armed men
back to the county.
Think not on him till tomorrow.
I'll devise thee
brave punishments for him.
Strike up.
MUSIC PLAYS
# Come live with me
# And be my love
# Come live with me and
we will all the pleasures prove
# That hills and valleys
Dales and fields
# And all the craggy mountains yield
# Come live with me and be my love
# But the world and love were young
and truth in every shepherd's tongue
# These pretty pleasures
might me move
# To be thy love, come be my love
# Come live with me
and be my love. #
CHEERING AND APPLAUSE
MUSIC PLAYS
CHEERING
# Come live with me and be my love
# Come live with me and we
will all the pleasures prove
# That hills and valleys
Dales and fields
# And all the craggy mountains yield
# Come live with me and be my love
# But the world and love were young
and truth in every shepherd's tongue
# These pretty pleasures
might me move
# To be thy love, come be my love
# Come live with me
and be my love. #
CHEERING
