CLAUDIO

Benedicke, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato? Is she not a modest young lady? If this were so, so were it uttered. That I love her, I feel. And never could maintain his partly, but in the force of his will. To the tuition of God: from my house if I had it. Hath Leonato any son, my lord? How sweetly you do minister to love, That know loves grief by his complexion! But lest my liking might too sudden seem, I would have salude it with a longer treatise. You know me well, I am he. And so she does cousin. To morrow my lord, Time goes on crutches, till Love have all his rites. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your daughter told of us. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses, Oh sweet Be Dick, God give me patience. I hope he be in love. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. Yet say I, he is in love. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no be leeuing old signs, a brushes his hat a morning's, what should that bode? No, but the barbers man hath been seen with him, and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis balls. Who Hero? Disloyal? Oh what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do! Yea and text underneath, here dwells Benedick the married man. Sweet Hero, now thy image does appear In the rare semblance that I loved it first. I know not how to pray your patience, Yet I must speak, choose your revenge your self, Impose me to what penance your invention Can lay upon my sin, yet sinned I not, But in mistaking. For this I owe you: here comes other reckonings. Which is the Lady I must seize upon? And isle besworne vpon't, that he loves her, For heres a paper written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashioned to Beatrice. I had well hopte thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgeled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer, which out of question thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. No, I pray thee speak in sober judgement. Thou thinkest I am in sport, I pray thee tell me truly how thou likest her. Can the world buy such a jewel? In mine eye, she is the sweetest Lady that ever I looked on. I would scarce trust my self, though I had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be otherwise. You speak this to fetch me in, my Lord. And in faith, my Lord, I spoke mine. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn mad. My liege, your Highness now may do me good. Oh my lord, When you went onward on this ended Actium, I looked upon her with a soldiers eye, That liked, but had a rougher task in hand, Than to driven liking to the name of love: But now I am returned, and that warre-thoughts, Have left their places vacant: in their rooms, Come thronging soft and delicate desires, All prompting me how fair young Hero is, Saying I liked her ere I went to wars. How know you he loves her? Yea, the same. Whither? I wish him joy of her. I pray you leave me. If it will not be, isle leave you. Not sad my Lord. Neither, my Lord. Silence is the perfectest Herault of joy, I were but little happy if I could say, how much? Lady, as you are mine, I am yours, I give away my self for you, and dote upon the exchange. 'Tis true indeed, so your daughter says: shall I, says she, that have so oft encountered him with scorn, write to him that I love him? That. To what end: he would make but a sport of it, and torment the poor Lady worse. And she is exceeding wise. Hero thinks surely she will die, for she says she will die, if he love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known, and she will die if he woo her rather than she will bore one breath of her accustomed crosnes e. He is a very proper man. Before God, and in my mind, very wise. And I take him to be valiant. Never tell him, my Lord, let her wear it out with good counsel. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation If I see any thing to night, why I should not mar ry her to morrow in the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her. No. Know you any, Hero? Stand thee by Friar, father by your leave, Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid your daughter? And what have I to give you back whose Worth May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? 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 honour: Behold how Like a maid she blushes here! Oh what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover it self withal! Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, To witness simple Virtue? would you not swear All you that see her, that she were a maid, By these exterior shows? But she is none: She knows the heat of a luxurious bed: Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. Not to be married, Not to knit my soul to and approved wanton. I know what you would say: if I have known her, You will say, she did embrace me as a husband, And so extenuate the forehand sin: No Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large, But as a brother to his sister, showed Bashful sincerity, and comely love. Out on thee seeming, I will write against it, You seem to me as Dian in her Orb, As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown: But you are more intemperate in your blood, Than Venus, or those pampered animals, That rage in savage sensuality. Good day to both of you. Who wrongs him? Marry beshrew my hand, If it should give your age such cause of fear, Infaith my hand meant nothing to my sword. My villainy? A way, I will not have to do with you. In most profound earnest, and isle warrant you, for the love of Beatrice. Most sincerely. He is then a Giant to and Ape, but then is and Ape a Doctor to such a man. Harken after their offence my Lord. Oh noble sir! Your over kindness does wring tears from me, I do embrace your offer and dispose, For henceforth of poor Claudio. Is this the monument of Leonato? Now music found & sing your solemn hymn. Good morrow Master's, each his several way. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds, Then this for whom we rendered up this woe. Thus answer I in name of Benedicke, But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio: 'Tis certain so, the Prince wooes for himself, Friendship is constant in all other things, Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues. Let every eye negotiate for it self, And trust no Agent: for Beauty is a witch, Against whose charms, faith melts into blood: This is and accident of hourly proof, Which I mistrusted not: farewell therefore Hero. And I my Lord. Yea my good lord: how still the evening is, As hushed on purpose to grace harmony! Oh very well my lord: the music ended, Weel fit the kid-foxe with a penny worth. Faith Like enough. Bait the hook well, this fish will bite. She did indeed. He hath taken the infection, hold it up. I'll bring you thither my lord, if yowl vouchsafe me. Thats as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love. And when was he wont to wash his face? Nay but his jesting spirit, which is now crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. Nay but I know who loves him. Yes, and his ill conditions, and in despite of all, die for him. 'Tis even so, Hero and Margaret have by this play ed their parts with Beatrice, and then the two bears will not bite one another when they meet. If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it. May this be so? Oh mischief strangely thwarting! Leonato, stand I here? Is this the prince? is this the princes brother? Is this face Heroes? are our eyes our own? Let me but move one question to your daughter, And by that fatherly and kindly power, That you have in her, bid her answer truly. To make you answer truly to your name. Marry that can Hero, Hero itself can blot out Heroes virtue. What man was he talked with you yesternight, Out at your window betwixt twelve and one? Now if you are a maid, answer to this. Oh Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been, If half thy outward graces had been placed, About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart? But fare thee well, most foul, most fair, farewell Thou pure impiety, and impious purity, For thee isle lock up all the gates of Love. And on my eyelids shall Conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious. Now signior, what news? We had liked to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth. We have been up and down to seek thee, for we are high proof melancholy, and would feign have it beaten away, wilt thou use thy wit? Never any did so, though very many have been be side their wit, I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels, w to pleasure us. What, courage man: what though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care. Nay then give him another staff, this last was broke cross. God bless me from a challenge. Well I will meet you, so I may have good cheer. I faith I thank him he hath bid me to a calves head & a capon, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my kniffe's nought, shall I not find a woodcock too? For the which she wept heartily and said she Can read not. All all, and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division, and by my troth theres one meaning well suited. I have drunk poison while he uttered it. To night isle mourn with Hero. I'll hold my mind were she and Ethiop. I think he thinks upon the savage bull: Tush fear not man weel tip thy horns with gold, And all Europa shall rejoice at thee, As once Europa did at lusty love, When he would play the noble beast in love. Why then she's mine, sweet, let me see your face. Give me your hand before this holy Friar, I am your husband if you Like of me. Another Hero. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. Oh I, stalk on, stalk on, the foul sits. I did never think that lady would have loved any man. Done to death by slauderous tongues, Was the Hero that here lies: Death in guerdon of her wrongs, Gives her fame which never die: So the life that died with shame, Lives in death with glorious fame. Hang thou there upon the tomb, Praising his when I am dead.