# Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/Much adoe about Nothing/Act 3

Actus Tertius.
Enter Hero and two Gentlemen, Margaret, and Vrsula.
Hero.
Good Margaret runne thee to the parlour, There shalt thou finde my Cosin Beatrice, Proposing with the Prince and Claudio, Whisper her eare, and tell her I and Vrsula, Walke in the Orchard, and our whole discourse Is all of her, say that thou ouer-heardst vs, And bid her steale into the pleached bower, Where hony-suckles ripened by the sunne, Forbid the sunne to enter: like fauourites, Made proud by Princes, that aduance their pride,
Against that power that bred it, there will she hide her,
To listen our purpose, this is thy office,
Beare thee well in it, and leaue vs alone.
Marg.
Ile make her come I warrant you presently.
Hero.
Now Vrsula, when Beatrice doth come, As we do trace this alley vp and downe, Our talke must onely be of Benedicke, When I doe name him, let it be thy part, To praise him more then euer man did merit, My talke to thee must be how Benedicke Is sicke in loue with Beatrice; of this matter, Is little Cupids crafty arrow made, That onely wounds by heare-say: now begin,
Enter Beatrice.
Close by the ground, to heare our conference.
Vrs.
The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden ores the siluer streame, And greedily deuoure the treacherous baite: So angle we for Beatrice, who euen now, Is couched in the wood-bine couerture, Feare you not my part of the Dialogue.
Her.
Then go we neare her that her eare loose nothing, Of the false sweete baite that we lay for it: No truely Vrsula, she is too disdainfull, I know her spirits are as coy and wilde, As Haggerds of the rocke.
Vrsula.
But are you sure, That Benedicke loues Beatrice so intirely?
Her.
So saies the Prince, and my new trothed Lord.
Vrs.
And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam?
Her.
They did intreate me to acquaint her of it, But I perswaded them, if they lou'd Benedicke,
To wish him wrastle with affection, And neuer to let Beatrice know of it.
Vrsula.
Why did you so, doth not the Gentleman Deserue as full as fortunate a bed, As euer Beatrice shall couch vpon?
Hero.
O God of loue! I know he doth deserue, As much as may be yeelded to a man: But Nature neuer fram'd a womans heart, Of prowder stuffe then that of Beatrice: Disdaine and Scorne ride sparkling in her eyes, Mis-prizing what they looke on, and her wit Values it selfe so highly, that to her All matter else seemes weake: she cannot loue, Nor take no shape nor proiect of affection, Shee is so selfe indeared.
Vrsula.
Sure I thinke so, And therefore certainely it were not good She knew his loue, lest she make sport at it.
Hero.
Why you speake truth, I neuer yet saw man, How wise, how noble, yong, how rarely featur'd. But she would spell him backward: if faire fac'd, She would sweare the gentleman should be her sister: If blacke, why Nature drawing of an anticke, Made a foule blot: if tall, a launce ill headed: If low, an agot very vildlie cut: If speaking, why a vane blowne with all windes: If silent, why a blocke moued with none. So turnes she euery man the wrong side out, And neuer giues to Truth and Vertue, that Which simplenesse and merit purchaseth.
Vrsu.
Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
Hero.
No, not to be so odde, and from all fashions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable, But who dare tell her so? if I should speake, She would mocke me into ayre, O she would laugh me Out of my selfe, presse me to death with wit, Therefore let Benedicke like couered fire, Consume away in sighes, waste inwardly: It were a better death, to die with mockes, Which is as bad as die with tickling.
Vrsu.
Yet tell her of it, heare what shee will say.
Hero.
No, rather I will goe to Benedicke, And counsaile him to fight against his passion, And truly Ile deuise some honest slanders, To staine my cosin with, one doth not know, How much an ill word may impoison liking.
Vrsu.
O doe not doe your cosin such a wrong, She cannot be so much without true iudgement, Hauing so swift and excellent a wit As she is prisde to haue, as to refuse So rare a Gentleman as signior Benedicke.
Hero.
He is the onely man of Italy, Alwaies excepted, my deare Claudio.
Vrsu.
I pray you be not angry with me, Madame, Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedicke, For shape, for bearing argument and valour, Goes formost in report through Italy.
Hero.
Indeed he hath an excellent good name.
Vrsu.
His excellence did earne it ere he had it: When are you married Madame?
Hero.
Why euerie day to morrow, come goe in, Ile shew thee some attires, and haue thy counsell, Which is the best to furnish me to morrow.
Vrsu.
Shee's tane I warrant you, We haue caught her Madame?
Hero.
If it proue so, then louing goes by haps, Some Cupid kills with arrowes, some with traps. Exit.
Beat.
What fire is in mine eares? can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorne so much? Contempt, farewell, and maiden pride, adew, No glory liues behinde the backe of such. And Benedicke, loue on, I will requite thee, Taming my wilde heart to thy louing hand: If thou dost loue, my kindnesse shall incite thee To binde our loues vp in a holy band. For others say thou dost deserue, and I Beleeue it better then reportingly. Exit.
Enter Prince, Claudio, Benedicke, and Leonato.
I doe but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I toward Arragon.
Clau.
Ile bring you thither my Lord, if you'l vouchsafe me.
Prin.
Nay, that would be as great a soyle in the new glosse of your marriage, as to shew a childe his new coat and forbid him to weare it, I will onely bee bold with Benedicke for his companie, for from the crowne of his head, to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth, he hath twice or thrice cut Cupids bow-string, and the little hang-man dare not shoot at him, he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinkes, his tongue speakes.
Bene.
Gallants, I am not as I haue bin.
Leo.
So say I, methinkes you are sadder.
Claud.
I hope he be in loue.
Prin.
Hang him truant, there's no true drop of bloud in him to be truly toucht with loue, if he be sad, he wants money.
Bene.
I haue the tooth-ach.
Prin.
Draw it.
Bene.
Hang it.
Claud.
You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.
Prin.
What? sigh for the tooth-ach.
Leon.
Where is but a humour or a worme.
Bene.
Well, euery one cannot master a griefe, but hee that has it.
Clau.
Yet say I, he is in loue.
Prin.
There is no appearance of fancie in him, vnlesse it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises, as to bee a Dutchman to day, a Frenchman to morrow: vnlesse hee haue a fancy to this foolery, as it appeares hee hath, hee is no foole for fancy, as you would haue it to appeare he is.
Clau.
If he be not in loue with some woman, there is no beleeuing old signes, a brushes his hat a mornings, What should that bode?
Prin.
Hath any man seene him at the Barbers?
Clau.
No, but the Barbers man hath beene seen with him, and the olde ornament of his cheeke hath alreadie stuft tennis balls.
Leon.
Indeed he lookes yonger than hee did, by the losse of a beard.
Prin.
Nay a rubs himselfe with Ciuit, can you smell him out by that?
Clau.
That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in loue.
Prin.
The greatest note of it is his melancholy.
Clau.
And when was he wont to wash his face?
Prin.
Yea, or to paint himselfe? for the which I heare what they say of him.
Clau.
Nay, but his iesting spirit, which is now crept into a lute-string, and now gouern'd by stops.
Prin.
Indeed that tels a heauy tale for him: conclude, he is in loue.
Clau.
Nay, but I know who loues him.
Prince.
That would I know too, I warrant one that knowes him not.
Cla.
Yes, and his ill conditions, and in despight of all, dies for him.
Prin.
Shee shall be buried with her face vpwards.
Bene.
Yet is this no charme for the tooth-ake, old signior, walke aside with mee, I haue studied eight or nine wise words to speake to you, which these hobby-horses must not heare.
Prin.
For my life to breake with him about Beatrice.
Clau.
'Tis euen so, Hero and Margaret haue by this played their parts with Beatrice, and then the two Beares will not bite one another when they meete.
Enter Iohn the Bastard.
My Lord and brother, God saue you.
Prin.
Good den brother.
Bast.
If your leisure seru'd, I would speake with you.
Prince.
In priuate?
Bast.
If it please you, yet Count Claudio may heare, for what I would speake of, concernes him.
Prin.
What's the matter?
Basta.
Meanes your Lordship to be married to morrow?
Prin.
You know he does.
Bast.
I know not that when he knowes what I know.
Clau.
If there be any impediment, I pray you discouer it.
Bast.
You may thinke I loue you not, let that appeare hereafter, and ayme better at me by that I now will manifest, for my brother (I thinke, he holds you well, and in dearenesse of heart) hath holpe to effect your ensuing marriage: surely sute ill spent, and labour ill bestowed.
Prin.
Why, what's the matter?
Bastard.
I came hither to tell you, and circumstances shortned, (for she hath beene too long a talking of) the Lady is disloyall.
Clau.
Who Hero?
Bast.
Euen shee, Leonatoes Hero, your Hero, euery mans Hero.
Clau.
Disloyall?
Bast.
The word is too good to paint out her wickednesse, I could say she were worse, thinke you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it: wonder not till further warrant: goe but with mee to night, you shal see her chamber window entred, euen the night before her wedding day, if you loue her, then to morrow wed her: But it would better fit your honour to change your minde.
Claud.
May this be so?
Princ.
I will not thinke it.
Bast.
If you dare not trust that you see, confesse not that you know: if you will follow mee, I will shew you enough, and when you haue seene more, & heard more, proceed accordingly.
Clau.
If I see any thing to night, why I should not marry her to morrow in the congregation, where I shold wedde, there will I shame her.
Prin.
And as I wooed for thee to obtaine her, I will ioyne with thee to disgrace her.
Bast.
I will disparage her no farther, till you are my witnesses, beare it coldly but till night, and let the issue shew it selfe.
Prin.
O day vntowardly turned!
Claud.
O mischiefe strangelie thwarting!
Bastard.
O plague right well preuented! so will you say, when you haue seene the sequele. Exit.
Enter Dogbery and his compartner with the watch.
Are you good men and true?
Verg.
Yea, or else it were pitty but they should suffer saluation body and soule.
Dogb.
Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should haue any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Princes watch.
Verges.
Well, giue them their charge, neighbour Dogbery.
Dog.
First, who thinke you the most desartlesse man to be Constable.
Watch.1.
Hugh Ote-cake sir, or George Sea-coale, for they can write and reade.
Dogb.
Come hither neighbour Sea-coale, God hath blest you with a good name: to be a wel-fauoured man, is the gift of Fortune, but to write and reade, comes by Nature.
Watch 2.
Both which Master Constable
Dogb.
You haue: I knew it would be your answere: well, for your fauour sir, why giue God thankes, & make no boast of it, and for your writing and reading, let that appeare when there is no need of such vanity, you are thought heere to be the most senslesse and fit man for the Constable of the watch: therefore beare you the lanthorne: this is your charge: You shall comprehend all vagrom men, you are to bid any man stand in the Princes name.
Watch 2.
How if a will not stand?
Dogb.
Why then take no note of him, but let him go, and presently call the rest of the Watch together, and thanke God you are ridde of a knaue.
Verges.
If he will not stand when he is bidden, hee is none of the Princes subiects.
Dogb.
True, and they are to meddle with none but the Princes subiects: you shall also make no noise in the streetes: for, for the Watch to babble and talke, is most tollerable, and not to be indured.
Watch.
We will rather sleepe than talke, wee know what belongs to a Watch.
Dog.
Why you speake like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should offend: only haue a care that your bills be not stolne: well, you are to call at all the Alehouses, and bid them that are drunke get them to bed.
Watch.
How if they will not?
Dogb.
Why then let them alone till they are sober, if they make you not then the better answere, you may say, they are not the men you tooke them for.
Watch.
Well sir.
Dogb.
If you meet a theefe, you may suspect him, by vertue of your office, to be no true man: and for such kinde of men, the lesse you meddle or make with them, why the more is for your honesty.
Watch.
If wee know him to be a thiefe, shall wee not lay hands on him.
Dogb.
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 doe take a theefe, is, to let him shew himselfe what he is, and steale out of your company.
Ver.
You haue bin alwaies cal'd a merciful man partner.
Dog.
Truely I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who hath anie honestie in him.
Verges.
If you heare a child crie in the night you must call to the nurse, and bid her still it.
Watch.
How if the nurse be asleepe and will not heare vs?
Dog.
Why then depart in peace, and let the childe wake her with crying, for the ewe that will not heare her Lambe when it baes, will neuer answere a calfe when he bleates.
Verges.
'Tis verie true.
Dog.
This is the end of the charge: you constable are to present the Princes owne person, if you meete the Prince in the night, you may staie him.
Verges.
Nay birladie that I thinke a cannot.
Dog.
Fiue shillings to one on't with anie man that knowes the Statutes, he may staie him, marrie 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.
Verges.
Birladie I thinke it be so.
Dog.
Ha, ah ha, well masters good night, and there be anie matter of weight chances, call vp me, keepe your fellowes counsailes, and your owne, and good night, come neighbour.
Watch.
Well masters, we heare our charge, let vs go sit here vpon the Church bench till two, and then all to bed.
Dog.
One word more, honest neighbors. I pray you watch about signior Leonatoes doore, for the wedding being there to morrow, there is a great coyle to night, adiew, be vigitant I beseech you. Exeunt.
Enter Borachio and Conrade.
What, Conrade?
Watch.
Peace, stir not.
Bor.
Conrade I say.
Con.
Here man, I am at thy elbow.
Bor.
Mas and my elbow itcht, I thought there would a scabbe follow.
Con.
I will owe thee an answere for that, and now forward with thy tale.
Bor.
Stand thee close then vnder this penthouse, for it drissels raine, and I will, like a true drunkard, vtter all to thee.
Watch.
Some treason masters, yet stand close.
Bor.
Therefore know, I haue earned of Don Iohn a thousand Ducates.
Con.
Is it possible that anie villanie should be so deare?
Bor.
Thou should'st rather aske if it were possible anie villanie should be so rich? for when rich villains haue neede of poore ones, poore ones may make what price they will.
Con.
I wonder at it.
Bor.
That shewes thou art vnconfirm'd, thou knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloake, is nothing to a man.
Con.
Yes, it is apparell.
Bor.
I meane the fashion.
Con.
Yes the fashion is the fashion.
Bor.
Tush, I may as well say the foole's the foole, but seest thou not what a deformed theefe this fashion is?
Watch.
I know that deformed, a has bin a vile theefe, this vii. yeares, a goes vp and downe like a gentle man: I remember his name.
Bor.
Did'st thou not heare some bodie?
Con.
No, 'twas the vaine on the house.
Bor.
Seest thou not (I say) what a deformed thiefe this fashion is, how giddily a turnes about all the Hot-blouds, betweene, foureteene & fiue & thirtie, sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoes souldiours in the rechie painting, sometime like god Bels priests in the old Church window, sometime like the shauen Hercules in the smircht worm-eaten tapestrie, where his cod-peece seemes as massie as his club.
Con.
All this I see, and see that the fashion weares out more apparrell then the man; but art not thou thy selfe giddie with the fashion too that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion?
Bor.
Not so neither, but know that I haue to night wooed Margaret the Lady Heroes gentle-woman, by the name of Hero, she leanes me out at her mistris chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good night: I tell this tale vildly. I should first tell thee how the Prince Claudio and my Master planted, and placed, and possessed by my Master Don Iohn, saw a far off in the Orchard this amiable incounter.
Con.
And thought thy Margaret was Hero?
Bor.
Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio, but the diuell my Master knew she was Margaret and partly by his oathes, which first possest them, partly by the darke night which did deceiue them, but chiefely, by my villanie, which did confirme any slander that Don Iohn had made, away went Claudio enraged, swore hee would meete her as he was apointed next morning at the Temple, and there, before the whole congregation shame her with what he saw o're night, and send her home againe without a husband.
Watch.1.
We charge you in the Princes name stand.
Watch.2.
Call vp the right master Constable, we haue here recouered the most dangerous peece of lechery, that euer was knowne in the Common-wealth.
Watch.1.
And one Deformed is one of them, I know him, a weares a locke.
Conr.
Masters, masters.
Watch.2.
Youle be made bring deformed forth I warrant you,
Conr.
Masters, neuer speake, we charge you, let vs obey you to goe with vs.
Bor.
We are like to proue a goodly commoditie, being taken vp of these mens bils.
Conr.
A commoditie in question I warrant you, come weele obey you. Exeunt.
Enter Hero, and Margaret, and Vrsula.
Good Vrsula wake my cosin Beatrice, and desire her to rise.
Vrsu.
I will Lady.
Her.
And bid her come hither.
Vrs.
Well.
Mar.
Troth I thinke your other rebato were better.
Bero.
No pray thee good Meg, Ile weare this.
Marg.
By my troth's not so good, and I warrant your cosin will say so.
Bero.
My cosin's a foole, and thou art another, ile weare none but this.
Mar.
I like the new tire within excellently, if the haire were a thought browner: and your gown's a most rare fashion yfaith, I saw the Dutchesse of Millaines gowne that they praise so.
Bero.
O that exceedes they say.
Mar.
By my troth's but a night-gowne in respect of yours, cloth a gold and cuts, and lac'd with siluer, set with pearles, downe sleeues, side sleeues, and skirts, round vnderborn with a blewish tinsel, but for a fine queint gracefull and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.
Hero.
God giue mee ioy to weare it, for my heart is exceeding heauy.
Marga.
'Twill be heauier soone, by the waight of a man.
Hero.
Fie vpon thee, art not asham'd?
Marg.
Of what Lady? of speaking honourably? is not marriage honourable in a beggar? is not your Lord honourable without marriage? I thinke you would haue me say, sauing your reuerence a husband: and bad thinking doe not wrest true speaking, Ile offend no body, is there any harme in the heauier for a husband? none I thinke, and it be the right husband, and the right wife, otherwise 'tis light and not heauy, aske my Lady Beatrice else, here she comes.
Enter Beatrice.
Hero.
Good morrow Coze.
Beat.
Good morrow sweet Hero.
Hero.
Why how now? do you speake in the sick tune?
Beat.
I am out of all other tune, me thinkes.
Mar.
Claps into Light a loue, (that goes without a burden,) do you sing it and Ile dance it.
Beat.
Ye Light aloue with your heeles, then if your husband haue stables enough, you'll looke he shall lacke no barnes.
Mar.
O illegitimate construction! I scorne that with my heeles.
Beat.
'Tis almost fiue a clocke cosin, 'tis time you were ready, by my troth I am exceeding ill, hey ho.
Mar.
For a hauke, a horse, or a husband?
Beat.
For the letter that begins them all, H.
Mar.
Well, and you be not turn'd Turke, there's no more sayling by the starre.
Beat.
What meanes the foole trow?
Mar.
Nothing I, but God send euery one their harts desire.
Hero.
These gloues the Count sent mee, they are an excellent perfume.
Beat.
I am stuft cosin, I cannot smell.
Mar.
A maid and stuft! there's goodly catching of colde.
Beat.
O God helpe me, God help me, how long haue you profest apprehension?
Mar.
Euer since you left it, doth not my wit become me rarely?
Beat.
It is not seene enough, you should weare it in your cap, by my troth I am sicke.
Mar.
Get you some of this distill'd carduus benedictus and lay it to your heart, it is the onely thing for a qualm.
Hero.
There thou prick'st her with a thissell.
Beat.
Benedictus, why benedictus? you haue some morall in this benedictus.
Mar.
Morall? no by my troth, I haue no morall meaning, I meant plaine holy thissell, you may thinke perchance that I thinke you are in loue, nay birlady I am not such a foole to thinke what I list, nor I list not to thinke what I can, nor indeed, I cannot thinke, if I would thinke my hart out of thinking, that you are in loue, or that you will be in loue, or that you can be in loue: yet Benedicke was such another, and now is he become a man, he swore hee would neuer marry, and yet now in despight of his heart he eates his meat without grudging, and how you may be conuerted I know not, but me thinkes you looke with your eies as other women doe.
Beat.
What pace is this that thy tongue keepes.
Mar.
Not a false gallop.
Enter Vrsula.
Madam, withdraw, the Prince, the Count, signior Benedicke, Don Iohn, and all the gallants of the towne are come to fetch you to Church.
Hero.
Helpe me to dresse mee good coze, good Meg, good Vrsula.
Enter Leonato, and the Constable, and the Headborough.
What would you with mee, honest neighbour?
Const.Dog.
Mary sir I would haue some confidence with you, that decernes you nearely.
Leon.
Briefe I pray you, for you see it is a busie time with me.
Const.Dog.
Mary this it is sir.
Headb.
Yes in truth it is sir.
Leon.
What is it my good friends?
Con.Do.
Goodman Verges sir speakes a little of the matter, an old man sir, and his wits are not so blunt, as God helpe I would desire they were, but infaith honest as the skin betweene his browes.
Head.
Yes I thank God, I am as honest as any man liuing, that is an old man, and no honester then I.
Con.Dog.
Comparisons are odorous, palabras, neighbour Verges.
Leon.
Neighbours, you are tedious.
Con.Dog.
It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poore Dukes officers, but truely for mine owne part, if I were as tedious as a King I could finde in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.
Leon.
All thy tediousnesse on me, ah?
Const.Dog.
Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more than 'tis, for I heare as good exclamation on your Worship as of any man in the Citie, and though I bee but a poore man, I am glad to heare it.
Head.
And so am I.
Leon.
I would faine know what you haue to say.
Head.
Marry sir our watch to night, excepting your worships presence, haue tane a couple of as arrant knaues as any in Messina.
Con.Dog.
A good old man sir, hee will be talking as they say, when the age is in, the wit is out, God helpe vs, it is a world to see: well said yfaith neighbour Verges, well, God's a good man, and two men ride of a horse, one must ride behinde, an honest soule yfaith sir, by my troth he is, as euer broke bread, but God is to bee worshipt, all men are not alike, alas good neighbour.
Leon.
Indeed neighbour he comes too short of you.
Con.Do.
Gifts that God giues.
Leon.
I must leaue you.
Con.Dog.
One word sir, our watch sir haue indeede comprehended two aspitious persons, & we would haue them this morning examined before your worship.
Leon.
Take their examination your selfe, and bring it me, I am now in great haste, as may appeare vnto you.
Const.
It shall be suffigance.
Leon.
Drinke some wine ere you goe: fare you well. Exit.
Messenger. My Lord, they stay for you to giue your daughter to her husband.
Leon.
Ile wait vpon them, I am ready.
Dogb.
Goe good partner, goe get you to Francis Sea-coale, bid him bring his pen and inkehorne to the Gaole: we are now to examine those men.
Verges.
And we must doe it wisely.
Dogb.
Wee will spare for no witte I warrant you:
heere's that shall driue some to a non-come, only get the learned writer to set downe our excommunication, and meet me at the Iaile. Exeunt.
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