MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Act 2 Scene 3

(Enter Benedick)
l1l	Benedick	 Boy!
		(Enter Boy)
l2l	Boy	 Signor?
l3l	Benedick	In my chamber window lies a book. Bring it
l4l		hither to me in the orchard.
l5l	Boy	I am here already, sir.
l6l	Benedick	I know that, but I would have thee hence and
l7l		here again.
		(Exit Boy)
l8l		I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much
l9l		another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours
l10l		to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow
l11l		follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn
l12l		by falling in love. And such a man is Claudio. I have
l13l		known when there was no music with him but the
l14l		drum and the fife, and now had he rather hear the
l15l		tabor and the pipe. I have known when he would have
l16l		walked ten mile afoot to see a good armour, and now
l17l		will he lie ten nights awake carving the fashion of a
l18l		new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the
l19l		purpose, like an honest man and a soldier, and now is
l20l		he turned orthography. His words are a very fantastical
l21l		banquet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so
l22l		converted, and see with these eyes? I cannot tell. I
l23l		think not. I will not be sworn but love may transform
l24l		me to an oyster, but I’ll take my oath on it, till he
l25l		have made an oyster of me he shall never make me
l26l		such a fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well. Another
l27l		is wise, yet I am well. Another virtuous, yet I am well.
l28l		But till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall
l29l		not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that’s certain.
l30l		Wise, or I’ll none. Virtuous, or I’ll never cheapen her.
l31l		Fair, or I’ll never look on her. Mild, or come not near
l32l		me. Noble, or not I for an angel. Of good discourse, an
l33l		excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour
l34l		it please God. Ha! The Prince and Monsieur Love. I
l35l		will hide me in the arbour.
		(He hides.)
l36l		Enter Don Pedro the Prince, Leonato, and Claudio
	Don Pedro	 Come, shall we hear this music?
l37l	Claudio	 Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,
l38l		As hushed on purpose to grace harmony.
l39l	Don Pedro	(aside)
		 See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
l40l	Claudio	(aside)
		 O, very well, my lord. The music ended,
l41l		We’ll fit the hid-fox with a pennyworth.
		(Enter Balthasar with music)
l42l	Don Pedro	 Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.
l43l	Balthasar	O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
l44l		To slander music any more than once.
l45l	Don Pedro	It is the witness still of excellency
l46l		To put a strange face on his own perfection.
l47l		I pray thee sing, and let me woo no more.
l48l	Balthasar	Because you talk of wooing I will sing,
l49l		Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
l50l		To her he thinks not worthy, yet he woos,
l51l		Yet will he swear he loves.
	Don Pedro	Nay pray thee, come#
l52l		Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,
l53l		Do it in notes.
	Balthasar	Note this before my notes:
l54l		There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.
l55l	Don Pedro	Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks—
l56l		Note notes, forsooth, and nothing!
		(The accompaniment begins)
l57l	Benedick	 Now, divine air! Now is his soul ravished. Is it
l58l		not strange that sheep’s guts should hale souls out of
l59l		men’s bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when all’s
l60l		done.
l61l	Balthasar	(sings)
		> Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
l62l		Men were deceivers ever,
l63l		One foot in sea, and one on shore,
l64l		To one thing constant never.
l65l		Then sigh not so, but let them go,
l66l		And be you blithe and bonny,
l67l		Converting all your sounds of woe
l68l		Into hey nonny, nonny.
l69l		Sing no more ditties, sing no more
l70l		Of dumps so dull and heavy.
l71l		The fraud of men was ever so
l72l		Since summer first was leafy.
l73l		Then sigh not so, but let them go,
l74l		And be you blithe and bonny,
l75l		Converting all your sounds of woe
l76l		Into hey nonny, nonny.
l77l	Don Pedro	 By my troth, a good song.
l78l	Balthasar	And an ill singer, my lord.
l79l	Don Pedro	Ha, no, no, faith. Thou singest well enough
l80l		for a shift.
l81l	Benedick	(aside)
		 An he had been a dog that should have
l82l		howled thus, they would have hanged him# and I pray
l83l		God his bad voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have
l84l		heard the night-raven, come what plague could have
l85l		come after it.
l86l	Don Pedro	Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray
l87l		thee get us some excellent music, for tomorrow night
l88l		we would have it at the Lady Hero’s chamber window.
l89l	Balthasar	The best I can, my lord.
		(Exit)
l90l	Don Pedro	 Do so. Farewell. Come hither, Leonato. What
l91l		was it you told me of today, that your niece Beatrice
l92l		was in love with Signor Benedick?
l93l	Claudio	(aside)
		 O, ay, stalk on, stalk on. The fowl sits.—
l94l		I did never think that lady would have loved any man.
l95l	Leonato	No, nor I neither. But most wonderful that she
l96l		should so dote on Signor Benedick, whom she hath in
l97l		all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor.
l98l	Benedick	(aside)
		 Is ’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner?
l99l	Leonato	By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to
l100l		think of it. But that she loves him with an enraged
l101l		affection, it is past the infinite of thought.
l102l	Don Pedro	Maybe she doth but counterfeit.
l103l	Claudio	Faith, like enough.
l104l	Leonato	O God! Counterfeit? There was never counterfeit
l105l		of passion came so near the life of passion as she
l106l		discovers it.
l107l	Don Pedro	Why, what effects of passion shows she?
l108l	Claudio	(aside)
		 Bait the hook well. This fish will bite.
l109l	Leonato	What effects, my lord? She will sit you—you
l110l		heard my daughter tell you how.
l111l	Claudio	She did indeed.
l112l	Don Pedro	How, how, I pray you? You amaze me. I
l113l		would have thought her spirit had been invincible
l114l		against all assaults of affection.
l115l	Leonato	I would have sworn it had, my lord, especially
l116l		against Benedick.
l117l	Benedick	(aside)
		 I should think this a gull, but that the
l118l		white-bearded fellow speaks it. Knavery cannot, sure,
l119l		hide himself in such reverence.
l120l	Claudio	(aside)
		 He hath ta’en th’ infection. Hold it up.
l121l	Don Pedro	Hath she made her affection known to
l122l		Benedick?
l123l	Leonato	No, and swears she never will. That’s her
l124l		torment.
l125l	Claudio	’Tis true, indeed, so your daughter says. “Shall
l126l		I,” says she, “that have so oft encountered him with
l127l		scorn, write to him that I love him?”
l128l	Leonato	This says she now when she is beginning to
l129l		write to him, for she’ll be up twenty times a night, and
l130l		there will she sit in her smock till she have writ a sheet
l131l		of paper. My daughter tells us all.
l132l	Claudio	Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a
l133l		pretty jest your daughter told us of.
l134l	Leonato	O, when she had writ it and was reading it over,
l135l		she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet.
l136l	Claudio	That.
l137l	Leonato	O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence,
l138l		railed at herself that she should be so immodest to
l139l		write to one that she knew would flout her. “I measure
l140l		him,” says she, “by my own spirit, for I should flout
l141l		him if he writ to me, yea, though I love him I should.”
l142l	Claudio	Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps,
l143l		sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses, “O
l144l		sweet Benedick, God give me patience.”
l145l	Leonato	She doth indeed, my daughter says so, and the
l146l		ecstasy hath so much overborne her that my daughter
l147l		is sometime afeard she will do a desperate outrage to
l148l		herself. It is very true.
l149l	Don Pedro	It were good that Benedick knew of it by some
l150l		other, if she will not discover it.
l151l	Claudio	To what end? He would make but a sport of it
l152l		and torment the poor lady worse.
l153l	Don Pedro	An he should, it were an alms to hang him.
l154l		She’s an excellent sweet lady, and, out of all suspicion,
l155l		she is virtuous.
l156l	Claudio	And she is exceeding wise.
l157l	Don Pedro	In everything but in loving Benedick.
l158l	Leonato	O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so
l159l		tender a body, we have ten proofs to one that blood
l160l		hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just
l161l		cause, being her uncle and her guardian.
l162l	Don Pedro	I would she had bestowed this dotage on me.
l163l		I would have doffed all other respects and made her
l164l		half myself. I pray you tell Benedick of it, and hear
l165l		what a will say.
l166l	Leonato	Were it good, think you?
l167l	Claudio	Hero thinks surely she will die, for she says she
l168l		will die if he love her not, and she will die ere she
l169l		make her love known, and she will die if he woo her,
l170l		rather than she will bate one breath of her accustomed
l171l		crossness.
l172l	Don Pedro	She doth well. If she should make tender of
l173l		her love ’tis very possible he’ll scorn it, for the man,
l174l		as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.
l175l	Claudio	He is a very proper man.
l176l	Don Pedro	He hath indeed a good outward happiness.
l177l	Claudio	Before God# and in my mind, very wise.
l178l	Don Pedro	He doth indeed show some sparks that are
l179l		like wit.
l180l	Claudio	And I take him to be valiant.
l181l	Don Pedro	As Hector, I assure you# and in the managing
l182l		of quarrels you may say he is wise, for either he avoids
l183l		them with great discretion or undertakes them with a
l184l		most Christianlike fear.
l185l	Leonato	If he do fear God, a must necessarily keep peace.
l186l		If he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel
l187l		with fear and trembling.
l188l	Don Pedro	And so will he do, for the man doth fear God,
l189l		howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests he
l190l		will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece. Shall we
l191l		go seek Benedick and tell him of her love?
l192l	Claudio	Never tell him, my lord. Let her wear it out with
l193l		good counsel.
l194l	Leonato	Nay, that’s impossible. She may wear her heart
l195l		out first.
l196l	Don Pedro	Well, we will hear further of it by your
l197l		daughter. Let it cool the while. I love Benedick well,
l198l		and I could wish he would modestly examine himself
l199l		to see how much he is unworthy so good a lady.
l200l	Leonato	My lord, will you walk? Dinner is ready.
l201l	Claudio	(aside)
		 If he do not dote on her upon this, I will
l202l		never trust my expectation.
l203l	Don Pedro	(aside)
		 Let there be the same net spread for
l204l		her, and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen
l205l		carry. The sport will be when they hold one an opinion
l206l		of another’s dotage, and no such matter. That’s the
l207l		scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb
l208l		show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.
		(Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato)
l209l	Benedick	(coming forward)
		 This can be no trick. The
l210l		conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of
l211l		this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady. It seems
l212l		her affections have their full bent. Love me! Why, it
l213l		must be requited. I hear how I am censured. They say
l214l		I will bear myself proudly if I perceive the love come
l215l		from her. They say too that she will rather die than
l216l		give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry.
l217l		I must not seem proud. Happy are they that hear their
l218l		detractions and can put them to mending. They say
l219l		the lady is fair. ’Tis a truth, I can bear them witness.
l220l		And virtuous—’tis so, I cannot reprove it. And wise,
l221l		but for loving me. By my troth, it is no addition to her
l222l		wit—nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be
l223l		horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd
l224l		quirks and remnants of wit broken on me because I
l225l		have railed so long against marriage# but doth not the
l226l		appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth that
l227l		he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences
l228l		and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from
l229l		the career of his humour? No. The world must be
l230l		peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not
l231l		think I should live till I were married. Here comes
l232l		Beatrice.
		(Enter Beatrice)
l233l		By this day, she’s a fair lady. I do spy some marks of
l234l		love in her.
l235l	Beatrice	Against my will I am sent to bid you come in
l236l		to dinner.
l237l	Benedick	 Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.
l238l	Beatrice	 I took no more pains for those thanks than you
l239l		take pains to thank me. If it had been painful I would
l240l		not have come.
l241l	Benedick	You take pleasure, then, in the message?
l242l	Beatrice	Yea, just so much as you may take upon a
l243l		knife’s point and choke a daw withal. You have no
l244l		stomach, signor? Fare you well.
		(Exit)
l245l	Benedick	 Ha! “Against my will I am sent to bid you come
l246l		in to dinner.” There’s a double meaning in that. “I took
l247l		no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to
l248l		thank me.” That’s as much as to say “Any pains that I
l249l		take for you is as easy as thanks.”—If I do not take
l250l		pity of her I am a villain. If I do not love her I am a
l251l		Jew. I will go get her picture.
		(Exit)