Act 1: Scene 2

[Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO, meeting]

How now, brother! Where is my cousin, your son?
hath he provided this music?

He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell
you strange news that you yet dreamt not of.

Are they good?

As the event stamps them: but they have a good
cover; they show well outward. The prince and Count
Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in mine
orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of mine:
the prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my
niece your daughter and meant to acknowledge it
this night in a dance: and if he found her
accordant, he meant to take the present time by the
top and instantly break with you of it.

Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?

A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and
question him yourself.

No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear
itself: but I will acquaint my daughter withal,
that she may be the better prepared for an answer,
if peradventure this be true. Go you and tell her of it.
[Enter Attendants]
Cousins, you know what you have to do. O, I cry you
mercy, friend; go you with me, and I will use your
skill. Good cousin, have a care this busy time.

[Exeunt]

Act 2: Scene 2

[Enter DON JOHN and BORACHIO]

It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the
daughter of Leonato.

Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.

Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be
medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to him,
and whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges
evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage?

Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no
dishonesty shall appear in me.

Show me briefly how.

I think I told your lordship a year since, how much
I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting
gentlewoman to Hero.

I remember.

I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night,
appoint her to look out at her lady’s chamber window.

What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?

The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to
the prince your brother; spare not to tell him that
he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned
Claudio–whose estimation do you mightily hold
up–to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero.

What proof shall I make of that?

Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio,
to undo Hero and kill Leonato. Look you for any
other issue?

Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing.

Go, then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and
the Count Claudio alone: tell them that you know
that Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal both to the
prince and Claudio, as,–in love of your brother’s
honour, who hath made this match, and his friend’s
reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the
semblance of a maid,–that you have discovered
thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial:
offer them instances; which shall bear no less
likelihood than to see me at her chamber-window,
hear me call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me
Claudio; and bring them to see this the very night
before the intended wedding,–for in the meantime I
will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be
absent,–and there shall appear such seeming truth
of Hero’s disloyalty that jealousy shall be called
assurance and all the preparation overthrown.

Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put
it in practise. Be cunning in the working this, and
thy fee is a thousand ducats.

Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning
shall not shame me.

I will presently go learn their day of marriage.

[Exeunt]

Act 3: Scene 2

[Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, and LEONATO]

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

I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll
vouchsafe me.

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.

Gallants, I am not as I have been.

So say I. methinks you are sadder.

I hope he be in love.

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.

I have the toothache.

Draw it.

Hang it!

You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.

What! sigh for the toothache?

Where is but a humour or a worm.

Well, every one can master a grief but he that has
it.

Yet say I, he is in love.

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.

If he be not in love with some woman, there is no
believing old signs: a’ brushes his hat o’
mornings; what should that bode?

Hath any man seen him at the barber’s?

No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with him,
and the old ornament of his cheek hath already
stuffed tennis-balls.

Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.

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

That’s as much as to say, the sweet youth’s in love.

The greatest note of it is his melancholy.

And when was he wont to wash his face?

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

Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into
a lute-string and now governed by stops.

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

Nay, but I know who loves him.

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

Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite of
all, dies for him.

She shall be buried with her face upwards.

Yet is this no charm for the toothache. Old
signior, walk aside with me: I have studied eight
or nine wise words to speak to you, which these
hobby-horses must not hear.

[Exeunt BENEDICK and LEONATO]

For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.

‘Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this
played their parts with Beatrice; and then the two
bears will not bite one another when they meet.

[Enter DON JOHN]

My lord and brother, God save you!

Good den, brother.

If your leisure served, I would speak with you.

In private?

If it please you: yet Count Claudio may hear; for
what I would speak of concerns him.

What’s the matter?

[To CLAUDIO] Means your lordship to be married
to-morrow?

You know he does.

I know not that, when he knows what I know.

If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it.

You may think I love you not: let that appear
hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will
manifest. For my brother, I think he holds you
well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect
your ensuing marriage;–surely suit ill spent and
labour ill bestowed.

Why, what’s the matter?

I came hither to tell you; and, circumstances
shortened, for she has been too long a talking of,
the lady is disloyal.

Who, Hero?

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

Disloyal?

The word is too good to paint out her wickedness; I
could say she were worse: think you of a worse
title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till
further warrant: go but with me to-night, you shall
see her chamber-window entered, even the night
before her wedding-day: if you love her then,
to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your honour
to change your mind.

May this be so?

I will not think it.

If you dare not trust that you see, confess not
that you know: if you will follow me, I will show
you enough; and when you have seen more and heard
more, proceed accordingly.

If I see any thing to-night why I should not marry
her to-morrow in the congregation, where I should
wed, there will I shame her.

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

I will disparage her no farther till you are my
witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and
let the issue show itself.

O day untowardly turned!

O mischief strangely thwarting!

O plague right well prevented! so will you say when
you have seen the sequel.

[Exeunt]

Act 4: Scene 2

Is our whole dissembly appeared?

O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton.

Which be the malefactors?

Marry, that am I and my partner.

Nay, that’s certain; we have the exhibition to examine.

But which are the offenders that are to be
examined? let them come before master constable.

Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your
name, friend?

Borachio.

Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, sirrah?

I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.

Write down, master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do
you serve God?

[with Borachio] Yea, sir, we hope.

Write down, that they hope they serve God: and
write God first; for God defend but God should go
before such villains! Masters, it is proved already
that you are little better than false knaves; and it
will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer
you for yourselves?

Marry, sir, we say we are none.

A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you: but I
will go about with him. Come you hither, sirrah; a
word in your ear: sir, I say to you, it is thought
you are false knaves.

Sir, I say to you we are none.

Well, stand aside. ‘Fore God, they are both in a
tale. Have you writ down, that they are none?

Master constable, you go not the way to examine:
you must call forth the watch that are their accusers.

Yea, marry, that’s the eftest way. Let the watch
come forth. Masters, I charge you, in the prince’s
name, accuse these men.

This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince’s
brother, was a villain.

Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat
perjury, to call a prince’s brother villain.

Master constable,–

Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look,
I promise thee.

What heard you him say else?

Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of
Don John for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.

Flat burglary as ever was committed.

Yea, by mass, that it is.

What else, fellow?

And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to
disgrace Hero before the whole assembly. and not marry her.

O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting
redemption for this.

What else?

This is all.

And this is more, masters, than you can deny.
Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away;
Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner
refused, and upon the grief of this suddenly died.
Master constable, let these men be bound, and
brought to Leonato’s: I will go before and show
him their examination.

[Exit]

Come, let them be opinioned.

Let them be in the hands–

Off, coxcomb!

God’s my life, where’s the sexton? let him write
down the prince’s officer coxcomb. Come, bind them.
Thou naughty varlet!

Away! you are an ass, you are an ass.

Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou not
suspect my years? O that he were here to write me
down an ass! But, masters, remember that I am an
ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not
that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of
piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness.
I am a wise fellow, and, which is more, an officer,
and, which is more, a householder, and, which is
more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in
Messina, and one that knows the law, go to; and a
rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath
had losses, and one that hath two gowns and every
thing handsome about him. Bring him away. O that
I had been writ down an ass!

[Exeunt]

Act 5: Scene 2

[Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET, meeting]

Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at
my hands by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.

Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?

In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living
shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou
deservest it.

To have no man come over me! why, shall I always
keep below stairs?

Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound’s mouth; it catches.

And yours as blunt as the fencer’s foils, which hit,
but hurt not.

A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a
woman: and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I give
thee the bucklers.

Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own.

If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the
pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids.

Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.

And therefore will come.
[Exit MARGARET]
[Sings]
The god of love,
That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me,
How pitiful I deserve,–
I mean in singing; but in loving, Leander the good
swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and
a whole bookful of these quondam carpet-mangers,
whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a
blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned
over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I
cannot show it in rhyme; I have tried: I can find
out no rhyme to ‘lady’ but ‘baby,’ an innocent
rhyme; for ‘scorn,’ ‘horn,’ a hard rhyme; for,
‘school,’ ‘fool,’ a babbling rhyme; very ominous
endings: no, I was not born under a rhyming planet,
nor I cannot woo in festival terms.
[Enter BEATRICE]
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?

Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.

O, stay but till then!

‘Then’ is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere
I go, let me go with that I came; which is, with
knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio.

Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.

Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but
foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I
will depart unkissed.

Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense,
so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee
plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; and either
I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe
him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me for
which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

For them all together; which maintained so politic
a state of evil that they will not admit any good
part to intermingle with them. But for which of my
good parts did you first suffer love for me?

Suffer love! a good epithet! I do suffer love
indeed, for I love thee against my will.

In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart!
If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for
yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates.

Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

It appears not in this confession: there’s not one
wise man among twenty that will praise himself.

An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in
the lime of good neighbours. If a man do not erect
in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live
no longer in monument than the bell rings and the
widow weeps.

And how long is that, think you?

Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in
rheum: therefore is it most expedient for the
wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, find no
impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his
own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for
praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is
praiseworthy: and now tell me, how doth your cousin?

Very ill.

And how do you?

Very ill too.

Serve God, love me and mend. There will I leave
you too, for here comes one in haste.

[Enter URSULA]

Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s old
coil at home: it is proved my Lady Hero hath been
falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily
abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is
fed and gone. Will you come presently?

Will you go hear this news, signior?

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be
buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go with
thee to thy uncle’s.

[Exeunt]