Act III, Scene i: Leonardo's Garden.
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| | Hero.
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| | 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. | |
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| | Marg.
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| | I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. | |
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| | Hero.
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| | 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; | |
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[Enter Beatrice, behind.]
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| | For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs | |
| | Close by the ground to hear our conference. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | 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. | |
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| | Hero.
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| | Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing | |
| | Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.— | |
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[They advance to the bower.]
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| | No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful. | |
| | I know her spirits are as coy and wild | |
| | As haggards of the rock. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | But are you sure, | |
| | That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? | |
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| | Hero.
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| | So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | And did they bid you tell her of it, madam? | |
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| | Hero.
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| | 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. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman | |
| | Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, | |
| | As ever Beatrice shall couch upon? | |
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| | Hero.
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| | 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. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | Sure, I think so; | |
| | And therefore, certainly, it were not good | |
| | She knew his love, lest she'll make sport at it. | |
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| | Hero.
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| | 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. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. | |
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| | Hero.
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| | 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. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say. | |
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| | Hero.
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| | 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. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | 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. | |
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| | Hero.
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| | He is the only man of Italy, | |
| | Always excepted my dear Claudio. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | 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. | |
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| | Hero.
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| | Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. | |
| | When are you married, madam? | |
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| | Hero.
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| | 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. | |
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| | Urs.
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| | She's ta'en, I warrant you; we have caught her, madam. | |
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| | Hero.
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| | If it prove so, then loving goes by haps: | |
| | Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. | |
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[Exeunt Hero and Ursula.]
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| | Beat.
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| | 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. | |
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