Bene. Ho! now you ftrike like the blind man; 'twas the boy that ftole your meat, and you'll beat the Poft. Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit. Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into fedges. But, that my Lady Beatrice fhould know me, and not know me! the Prince's fool! ha? it may be, I go under that Title, because I am merry; yea, but so I am apt to do myself wrong: I am not fo reputed. It is the bafe (tho' bitter) difpofition of Beatrice, that puts the World into her person, and fo gives me out; well, I'll be reveng'd as I may. Pedro. N SCENE IV. Enter Don Pedro. O W, Signior, where's the Count? did you fee him? Bene, Troth, my lord, I have play'd the part of lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren, I told him (and I think, told him true) that your Grace had got the Will of this young lady, and I offer'd him my company to a willowtree, either to make him a garland, as being forfaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipt. Pedro. To be whipt! what's his fault? Bene. The flat tranfgreffion of a School-boy; who, being overjoy'd with finding a bird's neft, fhews it his companion, and he fteals it. Pedro. Wilt thou make a truft, a tranfgreffion? the tranfgreffion is in the ftealer. Bene. Yet it had not been amifs, the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the rod he might have beftow'd on you, who (as I take it) have ftol'n his bird's neft. Pedro. Pedro. I will but teach them to fing, and restore them to the owner. Bene. If their finging answer your faying, by my faith, you say honestly. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you; the gentleman, that danc'd with her, told her fhe is much wrong'd by you. Bene. O, fhe misus'd me past the indurance of a block; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would have anfwer'd her; my very vifor began to affume life, and fcold with her; fhe told me, not thinking I had been myself, that I was the Prince's jefter, and that I was duller than a great thaw; hudling jeft upon jet, with fuch impaffable conveyance upon me, that I ftood like a man at a mark, with a whole army fhooting at me; fhe fpeaks Ponyards, and every word ftabs; if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her, fhe would infect to the North-Star; I would not marry her, though the were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he tranfgrefs'd; fhe would have made Hercules have turn'd Spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her, you shall find her the infernal Até in good apparel. I would to God, fome fcholar would conjure her; for, certainly, while fhe is here a man may live as quiet in hell as in a fanctuary, and people fin upon purpose, because they would go thither; fo, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her. SCENE V. Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Leonato and Hero. Pedro. LOOK, here the comes. Bene. Will your Grace command me any fervice to the world's end? I will go on the flightest errand errand now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to fend me on; I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the fartheft inch of Afia; bring you the length of Prefter John's foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any embassage to the pigmies, rather than hold three words conference with this harpy; you have no employment for me? Pedro. None, but to defire your good company. Bene. O God, Sir, here's a dish I love not. I can. not indure this Lady Tongue. Pedro. Come, Lady, come; you have loft the heart of Signior Benedick. I Beat. Indeed, my Lord, he lent it me a while, and gave him ufe for it, a double heart for a fingle one; marry, once before he won it of me with falfe dice, therefore your Grace may well fay, I have loft it. Pedro. You have put him down, Lady, you have put him down. Beat. So I would not he should do me, my Lord, left I should prove the mother of fools: I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me to feek... Pedro. Why, how now, Count, wherefore are you fad? Claud. Not fad, my Lord. Pedro How then? fick? Claud. Neither, my Lord. Beat. The Count is neither fad, nor fick, nor merry, nor well; but civil, Count, civil as an orange, and fomething of that jealous complexion. Pedro. I'faith, Lady, I think your blazon to be true; though I'll be fworn, if he be fo, his conceit is falfe. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her father, and his good will obtained; name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy. Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his Grace hath made the match, and all grace say, Amen, to it. Beat. Beat. Speak, Count, 'tis your cue. Claud. Silence is the perfecteft herald of joy; I were but little happy, if I could fay how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you, and doat upon the exchange. Beat. Speak, Coufin, or (if you cannot) ftop his mouth with a kifs, and let him not speak neither. Pedro. In faith, Lady, you have a merry heart. Beat. Yea, my Lord, I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy fide of care; my coufin tells him in his ear, that he is in her heart. Claud. And fo fhe doth, coufin. Beat. Good Lord, for alliance! thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am fun-burn'd; I may fit in a corner, and cry heigh ho! for a husband. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beat. I would rather have one of your Father's getting hath your Grace ne'er a brother like you? your Father got excellent Hufbands, if a maid could come by them. Pedro. Will you have me, Lady? Beat. No, my Lord, unless I might have another for working days; your Grace is too coftly to wear every day but I befeech your Grace, pardon me, I was born to speak all mirth and no matter. Pedro. Your filence moft offends me, and to be merry beft becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. Beat. No, fure, my Lord, my mother cry'd; but then there was a ftar danc'd, and under that I was born. Coufins, God give you joy. Leon. Neice, will you look to thofe things I told you of? Beat. I cry you mercy, Uncle: by your Grace's pardon. [Exit Beatrice. SCENE SCENE VI. Pedro. Boy. There's little of the melancholy ele- Leon. ment in her, my Lord; fhe is never fad but when fhe fleeps, and not ever fad then; for I have heard my daughter fay, the hath often dream'd of unhappinefs, and wak'd herself with laughing. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a hufband. Leon. O, by no means, fhe mocks all her wooers out of fuit. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. Leon. O Lord, my Lord, if they were but a week marry'd, they would talk themselves mad. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church? Claud. To-morrow, my Lord; time goes on crutches, 'till love have all his rites. Leon. Not 'till Monday, my dear fon, which is hence a juft seven-night, and a time too brief too, to have all things anfwer my mind. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at fo long a breathing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will in the Interim undertake one of Hercules's labours, which is, to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the one with the other; I would fain have it a match, and I doubt not to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I fhall give you direction. Leon. My Lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights watchings. Claud. And I, my Lord. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? Hero. I will do any modeft office, my Lord, to help my Coufin to a good hufband. Pedro. |