Act II, Scene iii:
Leonato's Garden.

[Enter Benedick and a Boy.]

Bene. :

Boy!

Boy. :

Signior.

Bene. :

In my chamber-window lies a book; bring it hither to me in

the orchard.

Boy. :

I am here already, sir.

Bene. :

I know that;—but I would have thee hence, and here again.

[Exit Boy.] —I do much wonder that 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 falling 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 have walked ten mile

afoot to see a good armour: and 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 orthographer; his words are a very fantastical banquet,

just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with

these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn but

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 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; 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; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an

excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it

please God. Ha, the prince and monsieur Love! I will hide me in

the arbour.

[Withdraws.]

[Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio.]

D. Pedro.

Come, shall we hear this music?

Claud. :

Yea, my good lord:—How still the evening is,

As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony!

D. Pedro.

See you where Benedick hath hid himself?

Claud. :

O, very well, my lord: the music ended,

We'll fit the kid fox with a pennyworth.

[Enter Balthazar, with music.]

D. Pedro.

Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song again.

Balth. :

O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice

To slander music any more than once.

D. Pedro.

It is the witness still of excellency,

To put a strange face on his own perfection:—

I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.

Balth. :

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.

D. Pedro.

Nay, pray thee, come:

Or if thou wilt hold longer argument

Do it in notes.

Balth. :

Note this before my notes,

There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

D. Pedro.

Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks;

Note, notes, forsooth, and noting!

[Music.]

Bene. :

Now, 'Divine air!' now is his soul ravished!—Is it not

strange that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies?

—Well, a horn for my money, when all's done.

[Balthazar sings.]

I. :

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more;

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;

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into, Hey nonny, nonny.

II. :

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo,

Of dumps so dull and heavy;

The fraud of men was ever so,

Since summer first was leavy.

Then sigh not so, &c.

D. Pedro.

By my troth, a good song.

Balth. :

And an ill singer, my lord.

D. Pedro.

Ha? no; no, faith; thou sing'st well enough for a shift.

Bene. :

[Aside.] An he had been a dog that should have howled thus

they would have hanged him: and I pray God, his bad voice bode no

mischief! I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what

plague could have come after it.

D. Pedro.

Yea, marry;[to Claudio.]—Dost thou hear, Balthazar? I pray

thee, get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we would

have it at the lady Hero's chamber-window.

Balth. :

The best I can, my lord.

D. Pedro.

Do so: farewell.[Exeunt Balthazar.]Come hither, Leonato: What

was it you told me of to-day? that your niece Beatrice was in

love with signior Benedick?

Claud. :

O, ay:-Stalk on, stalk on: the fowl sits.[Aside to Pedro]I did

never think that lady would have loved any man.

Leon. :

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.

Bene. :

Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner?[Aside.]

Leon. :

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.

D. Pedro.

May be, she doth but counterfeit.

Claud. :

'Faith, like enough.

Leon. :

O God! counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion

came so near the life of passion, as she discovers it.

D. Pedro.

Why, what effects of passion shows she?

Claud. :

Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.[Aside.]

Leon. :

What effects, my lord! She will sit you,—You heard my

daughter tell you how.

Claud. :

She did, indeed.

D. Pedro.

How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her

spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.

Leon. :

I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against

Benedick.

Bene. :

[Aside.] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded

fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such

reverence.

Claud. :

He hath ta'en the infection; Hold it up.[Aside.]

D. Pedro.

Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?

Leon. :

No; and swears she never will: that's her torment.

Claud. :

'T 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?'

Leon. :

This says she now when she is beginning to write to him: for

she'll be up twenty times a night: and there will she sit in her

smock, till she have writ a sheet of paper:—my daughter tells us

all.

Claud. :

Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest

your daughter told us of.

Leon. :

O!—When she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found

Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?

Claud. :

That.

Leon. :

O! she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; 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.'

Claud. :

Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her

heart, tears her hair, prays, curses: 'O sweet Benedick! God

give me patience!'

Leon. :

She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the ecstasy hath so

much overborne her, that my daughter is sometime afeard she will

do a desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.

D. Pedro.

It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she

will not discover it.

Claud. :

To what end? He would make but a sport of it, and torment the

poor lady worse.

D. Pedro.

An he should, it were an alms to hang him: She's an

excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous.

Claud. :

And she is exceeding wise.

D. Pedro.

In everything, but in loving Benedick.

Leon. :

O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body,

we have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am

sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her

guardian.

D. Pedro.

I would she had bestowed this dotage on me; I would have

daff'd all other respects, and made her half myself: I pray you

tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say.

Leon. :

Were it good, think you?

Claud. :

Hero thinks surely she will die; 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.

D. Pedro.

She doth well: if she should make tender of her love 't is

very possible he'll scorn it: for the man, as you know all, hath

a contemptible spirit.

Claud. :

He is a very proper man.

D. Pedro.

He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness.

Claud. :

'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.

D. Pedro.

He doth, indeed, show some sparks that are like wit.

Leon. :

And I take him to be valiant.

D. Pedro.

As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of quarrels you

may see he is wise; for either he avoids them with great

discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christianlike fear.

Leon. :

If he do fear God he must necessarily keep peace; if he

break the peace he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and

trembling.

D. Pedro.

And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it

seems not in him, by some large jests he will make. Well, I am

sorry for your niece: Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him of

her love?

Claud. :

Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it out with good counsel.

Leon. :

Nay, that's impossible; she may wear her heart out first.

D. Pedro.

Well, we will hear further of it 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 to have

so good a lady.

Leon. :

My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.

Claud. :

If he dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation.

[Aside.]

D. Pedro.

Let there be the same net spread for her: and that must your

daughter and her gentlewoman 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, which will be merely a dumb

show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.[Aside.]

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.]

[Benedick advances from the arbour.]

Bene. :

This can be no trick: The conference was sadly borne.—They

have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady;

it seems her affections have their full bent. Love me! why, 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, that 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. They

say the lady is fair; 't is a truth, I can bear them witness: and

virtuous—'t is so, 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 chance 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 that 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. When I said I would die

a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.—

Here comes Beatrice: By this day, she's a fair lady: I do spy

some marks of love in her.

[Enter Beatrice.]

Beat. :

Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.

Bene. :

Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

Beat. :

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.

Bene. :

You take pleasure, then, in the message?

Beat. :

Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and

choke a daw withal:—You have no stomach, signior; fare you well.

[Exit.]

Bene. :

Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner'—

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 that I take for you is as easy as thanks:—

If I do not take pity of her I am a villain; if I do not love

her I am a Jew: I will go get her picture.

[Exit.]