Act V, 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