DON PEDRO He is composed and framed of treachery:
And fled he is upon this villany.
CLAUDIO Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear
In the rare semblance that I loved it first.
DOGBERRY Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by this time our
sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter:
and, masters, do not forget to specify, when time
and place shall serve, that I am an ass.
VERGES Here, here comes master Signior Leonato, and the
Sexton too.
Re-enter LEONATO and ANTONIO, with the Sexton
LEONATO Which is the villain? let me see his eyes,
That, when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him: which of these is he?
BORACHIO If you would know your wronger, look on me.
LEONATO Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill’d
Mine innocent child?
BORACHIO Yea, even I alone.
LEONATO No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself:
Here stand a pair of honourable men;
A third is fled, that had a hand in it.
I thank you, princes, for my daughter’s death:
Record it with your high and worthy deeds:
‘Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.
CLAUDIO I know not how to pray your patience;
Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself;
Impose me to what penance your invention
Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn’d I not
But in mistaking.
DON PEDRO 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.
LEONATO I cannot bid you bid my daughter live;
That were impossible: but, I pray you both,
Possess the people in Messina here
How innocent she died; and if your love
Can labour ought in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb
And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night:
To-morrow morning come you to my house,
And since you could not be my son-in-law,
Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter,
Almost the copy of my child that’s dead,
And she alone is heir to both of us:
Give her the right you should have given her cousin,
And so dies my revenge.
CLAUDIO O noble sir,
Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me!
I do embrace your offer; and dispose
For henceforth of poor Claudio.
LEONATO To-morrow then I will expect your coming;
To-night I take my leave. This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who I believe was pack’d in all this wrong,
Hired to it by your brother.
BORACHIO No, by my soul, she was not,
Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me,
But always hath been just and virtuous
In any thing that I do know by her.
DOGBERRY Moreover, sir, which indeed is not under white and
black, this plaintiff here, the offender, did call
me ass: I beseech you, let it be remembered in his
punishment. And also, the watch heard them talk of
one Deformed: they say be wears a key in his ear and
a lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God’s
name, the which he hath used so long and never paid
that now men grow hard-hearted and will lend nothing
for God’s sake: pray you, examine him upon that point.
LEONATO I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.
DOGBERRY Your worship speaks like a most thankful and
reverend youth; and I praise God for you.
LEONATO There’s for thy pains.
DOGBERRY God save the foundation!
LEONATO Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.
DOGBERRY I leave an arrant knave with your worship; which I
beseech your worship to correct yourself, for the
example of others. God keep your worship! I wish
your worship well; God restore you to health! I
humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry
meeting may be wished, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour.
Exeunt DOGBERRY and VERGES
LEONATO Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.
ANTONIO Farewell, my lords: we look for you to-morrow.
DON PEDRO We will not fail.
CLAUDIO To-night I’ll mourn with Hero.
LEONATO [To the Watch] Bring you these fellows on. We’ll
talk with Margaret,
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.
Exeunt, severally
Scene 2
LEONATO’S garden.
Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET, meeting
BENEDICK Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at
my hands by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.
MARGARET Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?
BENEDICK In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living
shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou
deservest it.
MARGARET To have no man come over me! why, shall I always
keep below stairs?
BENEDICK Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound’s mouth; it catches.
MARGARET And yours as blunt as the fencer’s foils, which hit,
but hurt not.
BENEDICK A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a
woman: and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I give
thee the bucklers.
MARGARET Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own.
BENEDICK If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the
pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids.
MARGARET Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.
BENEDICK 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?
BEATRICE Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.
BENEDICK O, stay but till then!
BEATRICE ‘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.
BENEDICK Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.
BEATRICE Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but
foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I
will depart unkissed.
BENEDICK 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?
BEATRICE 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?
BENEDICK Suffer love! a good epithet! I do suffer love
indeed, for I love thee against my will.
BEATRICE 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.
BENEDICK Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
BEATRICE It appears not in this confession: there’s not one
wise man among twenty that will praise himself.
BENEDICK 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.
BEATRICE And how long is that, think you?
BENEDICK 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?
BEATRICE Very ill.
BENEDICK And how do you?
BEATRICE Very ill too.
BENEDICK Serve God, love me and mend. There will I leave
you too, for here comes one in haste.
Enter URSULA
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?
BEATRICE Will you go hear this news, signior?
BENEDICK I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be