Act 1: Scene 1

Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your
trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid
cost, and you encounter it.

You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this
is your daughter.

You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this
what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers
herself. Be happy, lady; for you are like an
honourable father.

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.

Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.

What secret hath held you here, that you followed
not to Leonato’s?

I charge thee on thy allegiance.

Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy.

By my troth, I speak my thought.

That she is worthy, I know.

Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite
of beauty.

I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.

Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou
wilt prove a notable argument.

Well, as time shall try: ‘In time the savage bull
doth bear the yoke.’

Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in
Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly.

Well, you temporize with the hours. In the
meantime, good Signior Benedick, repair to
Leonato’s: commend me to him and tell him I will
not fail him at supper; for indeed he hath made
great preparation.

The sixth of July: Your loving friend, Benedick.

My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.

No child but Hero; she’s his only heir.
Dost thou affect her, Claudio?

Thou wilt be like a lover presently
And tire 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?

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 to-night:
I will assume thy part in some disguise
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio,
And 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 practise let us put it presently.

Act 2: Scene 1

Lady, will you walk about with your friend?

With me in your company?

And when please you to say so?

My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove.

Speak low, if you speak love.

Now, signior, where’s the count? did you see him?

To be whipped! What’s his fault?

Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The
transgression is in the stealer.

I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to
the owner.

The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the
gentleman that danced with her told her she is much
wronged by you.

Look, here she comes.

None, but to desire your good company.

Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of
Signior Benedick.

You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.

Why, how now, count! wherefore are you sad?

How then? sick?

I’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true;
though, I’ll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is
false. Here, 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!

In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.

Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

Will you have me, lady?

Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best
becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in
a merry hour.

By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.

She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.

She were an excellent wife for Benedict.

County Claudio, when mean you to go to church?

Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing:
but, 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 Signior
Benedick and the Lady Beatrice 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.

And you too, gentle Hero?

And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that
I know. Thus far can I praise him; he is 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, will so practise on Benedick that, in
despite 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. Go in with me,
and I will tell you my drift.

Act 2: Scene 3

Come, shall we hear this music?

See you where Benedick hath hid himself?

Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.

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.

Now, pray thee, come;
Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.

Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks;
Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing.

By my troth, a good song.

Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.

Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee,
get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we
would have it at the Lady Hero’s chamber-window.

Do so: farewell.
[Exit BALTHASAR]
Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of
to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with
Signior Benedick?

May be she doth but counterfeit.

Why, what effects of passion shows she?

How, how, pray you? You amaze me: I would have I
thought her spirit had been invincible against all
assaults of affection.

Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?

It were good that Benedick knew of it by some
other, if she will not discover it.

An he should, it were an alms to hang him. She’s an
excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion,
she is virtuous.

In every thing but in loving Benedick.

I would she had bestowed this dotage on me: I would
have daffed all other respects and made her half
myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear
what a’ will say.

She doth well: if she should make tender of her
love, ’tis very possible he’ll scorn it; for the
man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.

He hath indeed a good outward happiness.

He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.

As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of
quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he
avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes
them with a most Christian-like fear.

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?

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 so good a lady.

Let there be the same net 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, which will be merely a
dumb-show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.

Act 3: Scene 2

I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and
then go I toward Arragon.

Nay, that would be 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: he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid’s
bow-string and the little hangman dare not shoot at
him; he hath a heart as sound as a bell and his
tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinks his
tongue speaks.

Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of blood in
him, to be truly touched with love: if he be sad,
he wants money.

Draw it.

What! sigh for the toothache?

There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be
a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as, to be
a Dutchman today, a Frenchman to-morrow, or in the
shape of two countries at once, as, a German from
the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from
the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy
to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no
fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is.

Hath any man seen him at the barber’s?

Nay, a’ rubs himself with civet: can you smell him
out by that?

The greatest note of it is his melancholy.

Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear
what they say of him.

Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: conclude,
conclude he is in love.

That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not.

She shall be buried with her face upwards.

For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.

Good den, brother.

In private?

What’s the matter?

You know he does.

Why, what’s the matter?

Even she; Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every man’s Hero:

I will not think it.

And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join
with thee to disgrace her.

O day untowardly turned!

Act 4: Scene 1

Nothing, unless you render her again.

What should I speak?
I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.

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 hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,
Confess’d the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret.

Act 5: Scene 1

Good den, good den.

We have some haste, Leonato.

Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.

You say not right, old man.

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.

I will not hear you.

See, see; here comes the man we went to seek.

Welcome, signior: you are almost come to part
almost a fray.

Leonato and his brother. What thinkest thou? Had
we fought, I doubt we should have been too young for them.

Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?

As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou
sick, or angry?

By this light, he changes more and more: I think
he be angry indeed.

What, a feast, a feast?

I’ll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the
other day. I said, thou hadst a fine wit: ‘True,’
said she, ‘a fine little one.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘a
great wit:’ ‘Right,’ says she, ‘a great gross one.’
‘Nay,’ said I, ‘a good wit:’ ‘Just,’ said she, ‘it
hurts nobody.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘the gentleman
is wise:’ ‘Certain,’ said she, ‘a wise gentleman.’
‘Nay,’ said I, ‘he hath the tongues:’ ‘That I
believe,’ said she, ‘for he swore a thing to me on
Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning;
there’s a double tongue; there’s two tongues.’ Thus
did she, an hour together, transshape thy particular
virtues: yet at last she concluded with a sigh, thou
wast the properest man in Italy.

Yea, that she did: but yet, for all that, an if she
did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly:
the old man’s daughter told us all.

But when shall we set the savage bull’s horns on
the sensible Benedick’s head?

He is in earnest.

And hath challenged thee.

What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his
doublet and hose and leaves off his wit!

But, soft you, let me be: pluck up, my heart, and
be sad. Did he not say, my brother was fled?

How now? two of my brother’s men bound! Borachio
one!

Officers, what offence have these men done?

First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I
ask thee what’s their offence; sixth and lastly, why
they are committed; and, to conclude, what you lay
to their charge.

Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus
bound to your answer? this learned constable is
too cunning to be understood: what’s your offence?

Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?

But did my brother set thee on to this?

He is composed and framed of treachery:
And fled he is upon this villany.

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.

We will not fail.

Act 5: Scene 3

Good morrow, masters; put your torches out:
The wolves have prey’d; and look, the gentle day,
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.
Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well.

Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;
And then to Leonato’s we will go.

Act 5: Scene 4

Good morrow to this fair assembly.

Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what’s the matter,
That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?

The former Hero! Hero that is dead!

How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?