Array The griffin classics - William Shakespeare - Complete Collection

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 a’ love”; that goes without a burden. Do you sing it, and I’ll dance it.

Beat. Ye light a’ love with your heels! then if your husband have stables enough, you’ll see he shall lack no barns.

Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.

Beat. ’Tis almost five a’ clock, cousin, ’tis time you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill. Heigh- ho!

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.

Marg. Well, and 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.]

¶

Enter Leonato and the Constable [Dogberry] and the Headborough [Verges].

Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbor?

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, neighbor Verges.

Leon. Neighbors, 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, and ’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, neighbor Verges. Well, God’s a good man; and 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 neighbor!

Leon. Indeed, neighbor, 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 examin’d 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 Seacole, 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.]

¶

Enter Prince [Don Pedro, Don John the] Bastard, Leonato, Friar [Francis], Claudio, Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice [with Attendants].

Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief—only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties afterwards.

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady.

Claud. No.

Leon. To be married to her. Friar, you come to marry her.

Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count.

Hero. I do.

Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoin’d, I charge you on your souls to utter it.

Claud. Know you any, Hero?

Hero. None, my lord.

Friar. Know you any, Count?

Leon. I dare make his answer, none.

Claud. O, what men dare do! What men may do! What men daily do, not knowing what they do!

Bene. How now! interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, as, ah, ha, he!

Claud.

Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave,

Will you with free and unconstrained soul

Give me this maid, your daughter?

Leon.

As freely, son, as God did give her me.

Claud.

And what have I to give you back whose worth

May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?

D. Pedro.

Nothing, unless you render her again.

Claud.

Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulness.

There, Leonato, take her back again.

Give not this rotten orange to your friend,

She’s but the sign and semblance of her honor.

Behold how like a maid she blushes here!

O, what authority and show of truth

Can cunning sin cover itself withal!