MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Act 5 Scene 2

(Enter Benedick and Margaret)
l1l	Benedick	 Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well
l2l		at my hands by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.
l3l	Margaret	Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of
l4l		my beauty?
l5l	Benedick	In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living
l6l		shall come over it, for in most comely truth, thou
l7l		deservest it.
l8l	Margaret	To have no man come over me—why, shall I
l9l		always keep below stairs?
l10l	Benedick	Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound’s mouth,
l11l		it catches.
l12l	Margaret	And yours as blunt as the fencer’s foils, which
l13l		hit but hurt not.
l14l	Benedick	A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not hurt a
l15l		woman. And so I pray thee call Beatrice. I give thee
l16l		the bucklers.
l17l	Margaret	Give us the swords. We have bucklers of our
l18l		own.
l19l	Benedick	If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the
l20l		pikes with a vice—and they are dangerous weapons
l21l		for maids.
l22l	Margaret	Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think
l23l		hath legs.
		(Exit)
l24l	Benedick	 And therefore will come.
l25l		(Sings)
		> The god of love
l26l		That sits above,
l27l		And knows me, and knows me,
l28l		How pitiful I deserve—
l29l		I mean in singing# but in loving, Leander the good
l30l		swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a
l31l		whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers
l32l		whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a
l33l		blank verse, why they were never so truly turned over
l34l		and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show
l35l		it in rhyme. I have tried. I can find out no rhyme to
l36l		“lady” but “baby”, an innocent rhyme# for “scorn” “horn”,
l37l		a hard rhyme# for “school” “fool”, a babbling rhyme.
l38l		Very ominous endings. No, I was not born under a
l39l		rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.
		(Enter Beatrice)
l40l		Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?
l41l	Beatrice	Yea, signor, and depart when you bid me.
l42l	Benedick	O, stay but till then.
l43l	Beatrice	“Then” is spoken. Fare you well now. And yet
l44l		ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which is with
l45l		knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio.
l46l	Benedick	Only foul words, and thereupon I will kiss thee.
l47l	Beatrice	Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is
l48l		but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome, therefore
l49l		I will depart unkissed.
l50l	Benedick	Thou hast frighted the word out of his right
l51l		sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly,
l52l		Claudio undergoes my challenge, and either I must
l53l		shortly hear from him or I will subscribe him a coward.
l54l		And I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts
l55l		didst thou first fall in love with me?
l56l	Beatrice	For them all together, which maintain so politic
l57l		a state of evil that they will not admit any good part
l58l		to intermingle with them. But for which of my good
l59l		parts did you first suffer love for me?
l60l	Benedick	Suffer love—a good epithet. I do suffer love
l61l		indeed, for I love thee against my will.
l62l	Beatrice	In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart.
l63l		If you spite it for my sake I will spite it for yours, for I
l64l		will never love that which my friend hates.
l65l	Benedick	Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
l66l	Beatrice	It appears not in this confession. There’s not
l67l		one wise man among twenty that will praise himself.
l68l	Benedick	An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in
l69l		the time of good neighbours. If a man do not erect in
l70l		this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no
l71l		longer in monument than the bell rings and the widow
l72l		weeps.
l73l	Beatrice	And how long is that, think you?
l74l	Benedick	Question—why, an hour in clamour and a
l75l		quarter in rheum. Therefore is it most expedient for the
l76l		wise, if Don Worm—his conscience—find no impediment
l77l		to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own
l78l		virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising myself
l79l		who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And
l80l		now tell me, how doth your cousin?
l81l	Beatrice	Very ill.
l82l	Benedick	And how do you?
l83l	Beatrice	Very ill too.
l84l	Benedick	Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I
l85l		leave you too, for here comes one in haste.
		(Enter Ursula)
l86l	Ursula	 Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s
l87l		old coil at home. It is proved my lady Hero hath been
l88l		falsely accused, the Prince and Claudio mightily abused,
l89l		and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone.
l90l		Will you come presently?
l91l	Beatrice	Will you go hear this news, signor?
l92l	Benedick	I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be
l93l		buried in thy eyes. And moreover, I will go with thee
l94l		to thy uncle’s.
		(Exeunt)