Act III, Scene i:
Leonardo's Garden.

[Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.]

Hero. :

Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour;

There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice

Proposing with the Prince and Claudio:

Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula

Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse

Is all of her; say, that thou overheard'st us;

And bid her steal into the pleached bower,

Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun,

Forbid the sun to enter;—like favourites,

Made proud by princes, that advance their pride

Against that power that bred it:—there will she hide her

To listen our propose: This is thy office,

Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

Marg. :

I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently.

[Exit.]

Hero. :

Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,

As we do trace this alley up and down,

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;

[Enter Beatrice, behind.]

For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs

Close by the ground to hear our conference.

Urs. :

The pleasantest angling is to see the fish

Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,

And greedily devour the treacherous bait:

So angle we for Beatrice; who even now

Is couched in the woodbine coverture:

Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

Hero. :

Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing

Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.—

[They advance to the bower.]

No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful.

I know her spirits are as coy and wild

As haggards of the rock.

Urs. :

But are you sure,

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?

Hero. :

So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord.

Urs. :

And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?

Hero. :

They did entreat me to acquaint her of it:

But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,

To wish him wrestle with affection,

And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urs. :

Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman

Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed,

As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?

Hero. :

O God of love! I know he doth deserve

As much as may be yielded to a man:

But Nature never fram'd a woman's heart

Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,

Misprizing what they look on; and her wit

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.

Urs. :

Sure, I think so;

And therefore, certainly, it were not good

She knew his love, lest she'll make sport at it.

Hero. :

Why, you speak truth: I never yet saw man,

How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,

But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac'd,

She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;

If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antic,

Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed;

If low, an agate very vilely cut;

If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;

If silent, why, a block moved with none.

So turns she every man the wrong side out;

And never gives to truth and virtue that

Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.

Urs. :

Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.

Hero. :

No, not; to be so odd, and from all fashions,

As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:

But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,

She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me

Out of myself, press me to death with wit.

Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,

Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:

It were a better death than die with mocks;

Which is as bad as die with tickling.

Urs. :

Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say.

Hero. :

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.

Urs. :

O, 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 priz'd to have) as to refuse

So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick.

Hero. :

He is the only man of Italy,

Always excepted my dear Claudio.

Urs. :

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 through Italy.

Hero. :

Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.

Urs. :

His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.

When are you married, madam?

Hero. :

Why, every day;—to-morrow: Come, go in;

I'll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel,

Which is the best to furnish me to morrow.

Urs. :

She's ta'en, I warrant you; we have caught her, madam.

Hero. :

If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

[Exeunt Hero and Ursula.]

[Beatrice advances.]

Beat. :

What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?

Stand I condemn'd 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.

[Exit.]