ACT III. Scene I. Leonato's orchard.  Enter Hero and two Gentlewomen, Margaret and Ursula.    Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour.     There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice     Proposing with the Prince and Claudio.     Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursley     Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse     Is all of her. Say that thou overheard'st us;     And bid her steal into the pleached bower,     Where honeysuckles, ripened by the sun,     Forbid the sun to enter--like favourites,     Made proud by princes, that advance their pride     Against that power that bred it. There will she hide her     To listen our propose. This is thy office.     Bear thee well in it and leave us alone.   Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently.    [Exit.]   Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,     As we do trace this alley up and down,     Our talk must only be of Benedick.     When I do name him, let it be thy part     To praise him more than ever man did merit.     My talk to thee must be how Benedick     Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter     Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,     That only wounds by hearsay.                     [Enter Beatrice.]      Now begin;     For look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs     Close by the ground, to hear our conference.                 [Beatrice hides in the arbour].    Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish     Cut with her golden oars the silver stream     And greedily devour the treacherous bait.     So angle we for Beatrice, who even now     Is couched in the woodbine coverture.     Fear you not my part of the dialogue.   Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing     Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.                                      [They approach the arbour.]     No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful.     I know her spirits are as coy and wild     As haggards of the rock.   Urs. But are you sure     That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?   Hero. So says the Prince, and my new-trothed lord.   Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?   Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it;     But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,     To wish him wrestle with affection     And never to let Beatrice know of it.   Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman     Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed     As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?   Hero. O god of love! I know he doth deserve     As much as may be yielded to a man:     But Nature never fram'd a woman's heart     Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.     Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,     Misprizing what they look on; and her wit     Values itself so highly that to her     All matter else seems weak. She cannot love,     Nor take no shape nor project of affection,     She is so self-endeared.   Urs. Sure I think so;     And therefore certainly it were not good     She knew his love, lest she'll make sport at it.   Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,     How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,     But she would spell him backward. If fair-fac'd,     She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;     If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antic,     Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;     If low, an agate very vilely cut;     If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;     If silent, why, a block moved with none.     So turns she every man the wrong side out     And never gives to truth and virtue that     Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.   Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.   Hero. No, not to be so odd, and from all fashions,     As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable.     But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,     She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me     Out of myself, press me to death with wit!     Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,     Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly.     It were a better death than die with mocks,     Which is as bad as die with tickling.   Urs. Yet tell her of it. Hear what she will say.   Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick     And counsel him to fight against his passion.     And truly, I'll devise some honest slanders     To stain my cousin with. One doth not know     How much an ill word may empoison liking.   Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong!     She cannot be so much without true judgment     (Having so swift and excellent a wit     As she is priz'd to have) as to refuse     So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.   Hero. He is the only man of Italy,     Always excepted my dear Claudio.   Urs. I pray you be not angry with me, madam,     Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,     For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour,     Goes foremost in report through Italy.   Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name.   Urs. His excellence did earn it ere he had it.     When are you married, madam?   Hero. Why, every day to-morrow! Come, go in.     I'll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel     Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.                                                [They walk away.]   Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you! We have caught her, madam.   Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps;     Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.                                        Exeunt [Hero and Ursula].      [Beatrice advances from the arbour.]    Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?     Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?     Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!     No glory lives behind the back of such.     And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,     Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand.     If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee     To bind our loves up in a holy band;     For others say thou dost deserve, and I     Believe it better than reportingly.                    Exit.     Scene II. A room in Leonato's house.  Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato.    Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go     I toward Arragon.   Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe me.   Pedro. 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 bowstring, 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.   Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.   Leon. So say I. Methinks you are sadder.   Claud. I hope he be in love.   Pedro. Hang him, truant! There's no true drop of blood in him to be     truly touch'd with love. If he be sad, he wants money.   Bene. I have the toothache.   Pedro. Draw it.   Bene. Hang it!   Claud. You must hang it first and draw it afterwards.   Pedro. What? sigh for the toothache?   Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm.   Bene. Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.   Claud. Yet say I he is in love.   Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy     that he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman to-day, 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.   Claud. 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?   Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's?   Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him, and the      old ornament of his cheek hath already stuff'd tennis balls.   Leon. Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.   Pedro. Nay, 'a rubs himself with civet. Can you smell him out by     that?   Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love.   Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy.   Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face?   Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which I hear what they say     of him.   Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is new-crept into a     lutestring, and now govern'd by stops.   Pedro. Indeed that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude, conclude,     he is in love.   Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.   Pedro. That would I know too. I warrant, one that knows him not.   Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite of all, dies for     him.   Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards.   Bene. 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.]   Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice!   Claud. '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 John the Bastard.    John. My lord and brother, God save you.   Pedro. Good den, brother.   John. If your leisure serv'd, I would speak with you.   Pedro. In private?   John. If it please you. Yet Count Claudio may hear, for what I     would speak of concerns him.   Pedro. What's the matter?   John. [to Claudio] Means your lordship to be married tomorrow?   Pedro. You know he does.   John. I know not that, when he knows what I know.   Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it.   John. 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!   Pedro. Why, what's the matter?   John. I came hither to tell you, and, circumstances short'ned (for     she has been too long a-talking of), the lady is disloyal.   Claud. Who? Hero?   John. Even she--Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero.   Claud. Disloyal?   John. 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 ent'red, 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.   Claud. May this be so?   Pedro. I will not think it.   John. 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.   Claud. If I see anything to-night why I should not marry her     to-morrow, in the congregation where I should wed, there will I     shame her.   Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with     thee to disgrace her.   John. I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses.     Bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.   Pedro. O day untowardly turned!   Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting!   John. O plague right well prevented!     So will you say when you have seen the Sequel.                                                          Exeunt.     Scene III. A street.  Enter Dogberry and his compartner [Verges], with the Watch.    Dog. Are you good men and true?   Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation,     body and soul.   Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them if they should     have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince's watch.   Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.   Dog. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable?   1. Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write     and read.   Dog. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath bless'd you with a     good name. To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune, but     to write and read comes by nature.   2. Watch. Both which, Master Constable--   Dog. You have. I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your     favour, sir, why, give God thanks and make no boast of it; and     for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no     need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most     senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch. Therefore     bear you the lanthorn. This is your charge: you shall comprehend     all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince's     name.   2. Watch. How if 'a will not stand?   Dog. Why then, take no note of him, but let him go, and presently     call the rest of the watch together and thank God you are rid of     a knave.   Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the     Prince's subjects.   Dog. True, and they are to meddle with none but the Prince's     subjects. You shall also make no noise in the streets; for for     the watch to babble and to talk is most tolerable, and not to be     endured.   2. Watch. We will rather sleep than talk. We know what belongs to     a watch.   Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I     cannot see how sleeping should offend. Only have a care that your     bills be not stol'n. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses     and bid those that are drunk get them to bed.   2. Watch. How if they will not?   Dog. Why then, let them alone till they are sober. If they make you     not then the better answer, You may say they are not the men you     took them for.   2. Watch. Well, sir.   Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your     office, to be no true man; and for such kind of men, the less you     meddle or make with them, why, the more your honesty.   2. Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on     him?   Dog. Truly, by your office you may; but I think they that touch     pitch will be defil'd. The most peaceable way for you, if you do     take a thief, is to let him show himself what he is, and steal     out of your company.   Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner.   Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who     hath any honesty in him.   Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the     nurse and bid her still it.   2. Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us?   Dog. Why then, depart in peace and let the child wake her with     crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes will     never answer a calf when he bleats.   Verg. 'Tis very true.   Dog. This is the end of the charge: you, constable, are to present     the Prince's own person. If you meet the Prince in the night,     you may stay him.   Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that I think 'a cannot.   Dog. Five shillings to one on't with any man that knows the     statutes, he may stay him! Marry, not without the Prince be     willing; for indeed the watch ought to offend no man, and it is     an offence to stay a man against his will.   Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so.   Dog. Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night. An there be any matter     of weight chances, call up me. Keep your fellows' counsels and     your own, and good night. Come, neighbour.   2. Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge. Let us go sit here     upon the church bench till two, and then all to bed.   Dog. One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you watch about     Signior Leonato's door; for the wedding being there tomorrow,     there is a great coil to-night. Adieu. Be vigitant, I beseech     you.                           Exeunt [Dogberry and Verges].                       Enter Borachio and Conrade.    Bora. What, Conrade!   2. Watch. [aside] Peace! stir not!   Bora. Conrade, I say!   Con. Here, man. I am at thy elbow.   Bora. Mass, and my elbow itch'd! I thought there would a scab     follow.   Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and now forward with thy     tale.   Bora. Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles     rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.   2. Watch. [aside] Some treason, masters. Yet stand close.   Bora. Therefore know I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats.   Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so dear?   Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any villany     should be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones,     poor ones may make what price they will.   Con. I wonder at it.   Bora. That shows thou art unconfirm'd. Thou knowest that the     fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man.   Con. Yes, it is apparel.   Bora. I mean the fashion.   Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.   Bora. Tush! I may as well say the fool's the fool. But seest thou     not what a deformed thief this fashion is?   2. Watch. [aside] I know that Deformed. 'A bas been a vile thief     this seven year; 'a goes up and down like a gentleman. I remember     his name.   Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody?   Con. No; 'twas the vane on the house.   Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is?     how giddily 'a turns about all the hot-bloods between fourteen     and five-and-thirty? sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh's     soldiers in the reechy painting, sometime like god Bel's priests     in the old church window, sometime like the shaven Hercules in     the smirch'd worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as     massy as his club?   Con. All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears out more     apparel than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the     fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling     me of the fashion?   Bora. Not so neither. But know that I have to-night wooed Margaret,     the Lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the name of Hero. She leans me     out at her mistress' chamber window, bids me a thousand times     good night--I tell this tale vilely; I should first tell thee how     the Prince, Claudio and my master, planted and placed and     possessed by my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this     amiable encounter.   Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero?   Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my     master knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which     first possess'd them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive     them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any slander     that Don John had made, away went Claudio enrag'd; swore he would     meet her, as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and     there, before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw     o'ernight and send her home again without a husband.   2. Watch. We charge you in the Prince's name stand!   1. Watch. Call up the right Master Constable. We have here     recover'd the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known     in the commonwealth.   2. Watch. And one Deformed is one of them. I know him; 'a wears a     lock.   Con. Masters, masters--   1. Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you.   Con. Masters--   2. Watch. Never speak, we charge you. Let us obey you to go with     us.   Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of     these men's bills.   Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you.                                                          Exeunt.     Scene IV. A Room in Leonato's house.  Enter Hero, and Margaret and Ursula.    Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice and desire her to rise.   Urs. I will, lady.   Hero. And bid her come hither.   Urs. Well.                                             [Exit.]   Marg. Troth, I think your other rebato were better.   Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.   Marg. By my troth, 's not so good, and I warrant your cousin will     say so.   Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another. I'll wear none but     this.   Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a     thought browner; and your gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith.     I saw the Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise so.   Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.   Marg. By my troth, 's but a nightgown in respect of yours--     cloth-o'-gold and cuts, and lac'd with silver, set with pearls     down sleeves, side-sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with     a blush tinsel. But for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent     fashion, yours is worth ten on't.   Hero. God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is exceeding heavy.   Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.   Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?   Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage     honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without     marriage? I think you would have me say, 'saving your reverence,     a husband.' An bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll     offend nobody. Is there any harm in 'the heavier for a husband'?     None, I think, an it be the right husband and the right wife.     Otherwise 'tis light, and not heavy. Ask my Lady Beatrice else.     Here she comes.                                 Enter Beatrice.    Hero. Good morrow, coz.   Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero.   Hero. Why, how now? Do you speak in the sick tune?   Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks.   Marg. Clap's into 'Light o' love.' That goes without a burden. Do     you sing it, and I'll dance it.   Beat. Yea, 'Light o' love' with your heels! then, if your husband     have stables enough, you'll see he shall lack no barnes.   Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.   Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time you were ready.     By my troth, I am exceeding ill. Hey-ho!   Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?   Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.   Marg. Well, an you be not turn'd Turk, there's no more sailing by     the star.   Beat. What means the fool, trow?   Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's desire!   Hero. These gloves the Count sent me, they are an excellent     perfume.   Beat. I am stuff'd, cousin; I cannot smell.   Marg. A maid, and stuff'd! There's goodly catching of cold.   Beat. O, God help me! God help me! How long have you profess'd     apprehension?   Marg. Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely?   Beat. It is not seen enough. You should wear it in your cap. By my     troth, I am sick.   Marg. Get you some of this distill'd carduus benedictus and lay it     to your heart. It is the only thing for a qualm.   Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle.   Beat. Benedictus? why benedictus? You have some moral in this     'benedictus.'   Marg. Moral? No, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant     plain holy thistle. You may think perchance that I think you are     in love. Nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I     list; nor I list not to think what I can; nor indeed I cannot     think, if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in     love, or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love.     Yet Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man. He     swore he would never marry; and yet now in despite of his heart     he eats his meat without grudging; and how you may be converted I     know not, but methinks you look with your eyes as other women do.   Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?   Marg. Not a false gallop.                           Enter Ursula.    Urs. Madam, withdraw. The Prince, the Count, Signior Benedick, Don     John, and all the gallants of the town are come to fetch you to     church.   Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.                                                        [Exeunt.]     Scene V. The hall in Leonato's house.  Enter Leonato and the Constable [Dogberry] and the Headborough [verges].    Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour?   Dog. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you that decerns     you nearly.   Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me.   Dog. Marry, this it is, sir.   Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir.   Leon. What is it, my good friends?   Dog. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter--an old     man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God help, I would     desire they were; but, in faith, honest as the skin between his     brows.   Verg. Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an     old man and no honester than I.   Dog. Comparisons are odorous. Palabras, neighbour Verges.   Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious.   Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor Duke's     officers; but truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a     king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.   Leon. All thy tediousness on me, ah?   Dog. Yea, in 'twere a thousand pound more than 'tis; for I hear as     good exclamation on your worship as of any man in the city; and     though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it.   Verg. And so am I.   Leon. I would fain know what you have to say.   Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship's     presence, ha' ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in     Messina.   Dog. A good old man, sir; he will be talking. As they say, 'When     the age is in, the wit is out.' God help us! it is a world to     see! Well said, i' faith, neighbour Verges. Well, God's a good     man. An two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind. An honest     soul, i' faith, sir, by my troth he is, as ever broke bread; but     God is to be worshipp'd; all men are not alike, alas, good     neighbour!   Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.   Dog. Gifts that God gives.   Leon. I must leave you.   Dog. One word, sir. Our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two     aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined     before your worship.   Leon. Take their examination yourself and bring it me. I am now in     great haste, as it may appear unto you.   Dog. It shall be suffigance.   Leon. Drink some wine ere you go. Fare you well.                         [Enter a Messenger.]    Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her     husband.   Leon. I'll wait upon them. I am ready.                                  [Exeunt Leonato and Messenger.]   Dog. Go, good partner, go get you to Francis Seacoal; bid him bring     his pen and inkhorn to the jail. We are now to examination these     men.   Verg. And we must do it wisely.   Dog. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you. Here's that shall     drive some of them to a non-come. Only get the learned writer to     set down our excommunication, and meet me at the jail.                                                        [Exeunt.]