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will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

Enter Ursula.

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, yonder's old coili at home: it is proved my lady Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves; Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and And when I send for you, come hither mask'd: Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour author of all, who is fled and gone: will you come To visit me :-You know your office, brother; presently?

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior? Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's.

[Exeunt.

You must be father to your brother's daughter,
And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies.
Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.
Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.
Friar. To do what, signior?

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them.

SCENE III.-The inside of a church. Enter Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,
Don Pedro, Claudio, and attendants with music Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.
and tapers.

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Leon. That eye my daughter lent her; 'Tis most

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Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:
But, for my will, my will is, your good will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
In the estate of honourable marriage ;-
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
Leon. My heart is with your liking.
Friar.
And my help.
Here comes the prince, and Claudio.

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio with attendants.
D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.
Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow,
Claudio;

We here attend you; are you yet determin'd
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?
Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.
Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar
[Erit Antonio.

ready.

D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick: Why, what's
the matter,

That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?

Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull:-
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold,
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee;
As once Europa did at lusty Jove,

When he would play the noble beast in love.

Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low;
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's

cow,

And got a calf in that same noble feat,
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.

Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies mask’d. Claud. For this I owe you: here come other reckonings.

Which is the lady I must seize upon?

Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.
Claud. Why, then she's mine: Sweet, let me see

your face.

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand Before this friar, and swear to marry her.

I

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar ;
am your husband, if you like of me.
Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife:
[Unmasking.

And when you loved, you were my other husband.
Claud. Another Hero ?

Hero.

Nothing certainer

One Hero died defil'd; but I do live,
And, surely as I live, I am a maid.

D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my concluLeon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander sión.-For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have liv'd.

Friar. All this amazement can I qualify;
When after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death:"
Mean time, let wonder seem familiar,
And to the chapel let us presently.
Bene. Soft and fair, friar.-Which is Beatrice?
Beat. I answer to that name; [Unmasking.

What is your will?
Bene. Do not you love me?
Beat.
No, no more than reason.
Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince,|
and Claudio,

love

Have been deceived; for they swore you did.
Beat. Do not you
me?
Bene.
No, no more than reason.
Beal. Why then, my cousin, Margaret, and

Ursula,

Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did.
Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for

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Bene. 'Tis no such matter:-Then, you do not
love me?

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.
Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the
gentleman.

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves

her;

For here's a paper, written in his hand,
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,
Fashion'd to Beatrice.

Hero.
And here's another,
Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick.

beaten thee; but in that' thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin.

Claud. I had well hoped, thou would'st have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled 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.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends :-let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our hearts, and our wives' heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, o' my word; therefore, play, music.-Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.

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This play may be justly said to contain two of the most sprightly characters that Shakspeare ever drew. The wit, the humourist, the gentleman, and the soldier, are combined in Benedick. It is to be lamented, indeed, that the first and most splendid of these distinctions, is disgraced by unnecessary profaneness; for the goodness of his heart is hardly sufficient to atone for the license of his tongue. The too sarcastic levity, which flashes out Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against in the conversation of Beatrice, may be excused our hearts!-Come, I will have thee; but, by this on account of the steadiness and friendship so aplight, I take thee for pity. parent in her behaviour, when she urges her lover Beat. I would not deny you ;-but, by this good to risk his life by a challenge to Claudio. In the day, I yield upon great persuasion; and, partly, to conduct of the fable, however, there is an impersave your life, for I was told you were in a consump-fection similar to that which Dr. Johnson has pointed out in The Merry Wives of Windsor:-the Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth.second contrivance is less ingenious than the first :[Kissing her. or, to speak more plainly, the same incident is beD. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married come stale by repetition. I wish some other method man? had been found to entrap Beatrice, than that very Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit- one which before had been successfully practised on crackers cannot flout me out of my humour: dost Benedick.

tion.

thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram; No: Much Ado About Nothing (as I understand if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear from one of Mr. Vertue's MSS.) formerly passed nothing handsome about him: In brief, since I do under the title of Benedick and Beatrix. Heming propose to marry, I will think nothing to any pur- the player received, on the 20th of May, 1613, the pose that the world can say against it; and there- sum of forty pounds, and twenty pounds more as fore never flout at me for what I have said against his majesty's gratuity, for exhibiting six plays at Hampton Court, among which was this comedy. STEEVENS.

(1) Because.

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ACT I.

SCENE I.—Athens. A room in the palace of Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and attendants.

Theseus.

Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour

Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon: but, oh, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,

Long withering out a young man's revenue.
Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in
nights;

Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.

The. Go, Philostrate, Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; Turn melancholy forth to funerals, The pale companion is not for our pomp. [Exit Philostrate. Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, And won thy love, doing thee injuries; But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph,' and with revelling. Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke! The. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee?

Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint Against my child, my daughter Hermia.Stand forth, Demetrius; My noble lord, This man hath my consent to marry her:Stand forth, Lysander;-and, my gracious duke, This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child: Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, '1) Shows.

Other faries attending their king and queen. Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. Scene, Athens, and a wood not far from it.

And interchang'd love-tokens with my child :
Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung,
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love;
And stol'n the impression of her fantasy

With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds,2 conceits,
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats; messengers,
Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth:
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart;
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,
To stubborn harshness :-and, my gracious duke,
Be it so she will not here before your grace
Consent to marry with Demetrius,

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens;
As she is mine, I may dispose of her:
Which shall be either to this gentleman,
Or to her death; according to our law,
Immediately provided in that case.

The. What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, fair maid:
To you your father should be as a god;
One that compos'd your beauties; yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax,
By him imprinted, and within his power
To leave the figure, or disfigure it.
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.
Her. So is Lysander.

The. In himself he is: But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, The other must be held the worthier. Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment

I

look.

Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. know not by what power I am made bold; Nor how it may concern my modesty, In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts: But I beseech your grace that I may know The worst that may befal me in this case, If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

The. Either to die the death, or to abjure For ever the society of men. Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, Know of your youth, examine well your blood, Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,

(2) Baubles.

You can endure the livery of a nun';
For aye' to be in shady cloister mew'd,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood,
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage:
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,.
Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

The. Take time to pause: and, by the next new

moon

(The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
For everlasting bond of fellowship,)
Upon that day either prepare to die,
For disobedience to your father's will;

Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would:

Or on Diana's altar to protest,

For aye austerity and single life.

Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years;
Her. O spite! too old to be engag'd to young!
Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends.
Her. O hell! to choose love by another's eye!
Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it;
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied' night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say,-Behold!
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.
Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd,
It stands as an edict in destiny:

Then let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross;

As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and
sighs,

Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.

Lys. A good persuasion; therefore, hear me,
Hermia.

Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia;-And, Lysander, I have a widow aunt, a dowager
yield

Thy crazed title to my certain right.

Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius;
Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love;
And what is mine my love shall render him;
And she is mine; and all my right of her
I do estate unto Demetrius."

Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he,
As well possess'd; my love is more than his;
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd,
If not with vantage, as Demetrius';

And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
I am below'd of beauteous Hermia:

Why should not I then prosecute my right?
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,

Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

The. I must confess, that I have heard so much,
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
But, being over-full of self-affairs,

My mind did lose it.-But, Demetrius, come;
And come, Egcus; you shall go with me,
I have some private schooling for you both.—
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
To fit your fancies to your father's will;
Or else the law of Athens yield you up
(Which by no means we may extenuate,)
To death, or to a vow of single life.-
Come, my Hippolyta; what cheer, my love?
Demetrius, and Egeus, go along:
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial; and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.
Ege. With duty and desire we follow you.
[Exeunt Thes. Hip. Ege. Dem. and train.
Lys. How now, my love? Why is your cheek
so pale ?

How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

Her. Belike for want of rain; which I could well Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes.

Lys. Ah me! for aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth:
But, either it was different in blood;

Her. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low!

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Of great revenue, and she hath no child:
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;
And she respects me as her only son.
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us: if thou lov'st me then,
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;
And in the wood, a league without the town,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
To do observance to a morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.

Her.

My good Lysander:
I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow;
By his best arrow with the golden head;
By the simplicity of Venus' doves;
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves;
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queer,
When the false Trojan under sail was seen;
By all the vows that ever men have broke,
In number more than ever women spoke ;-
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.
Lys. Keep promise, love: look, here comes
Helena.

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More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
Sickness is catching; O were favour' so!
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I'll give to be to you translated.
O, teach me how you look; and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles
such skill!

Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love.
Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection
move!

Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me.
Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me.

(7) Countenance.

Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. ble comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Hel. None, but your beauty; 'would that fault Thisby.

were mine!

Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you,

Her. Take comfort; he no more shall see my and a merry.-Now, good Peter Quince, call forth

face;

Lysander and myself will fly this place.-
Before the time I did Lysander see,

Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me:

O then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell!
Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass
(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,)
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal.
Her. And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet:
There my Lysander and myself shall meet:
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray thou for us,
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!
Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight.
[Exit Hermia.
Lys. I will, my Hermia.-Helena, adieu:
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!

[Exit Lysander.
Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be!
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
He will not know what all but he do know.
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities,
Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind:
Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste;
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste:
And therefore is love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd."
As waggish boys in game! themselves forswear,
So the boy love is perjur'd every where:
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,"
He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine;
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt.
I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:
Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night,
Pursue her; and for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:
But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
To have his sight thither, and back again.

[Exit.
SCENE II.-The same. A room in a Cottage.
Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quince, and
Starveling.

Quin. Is all our company here?

Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip.

Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his wedding-day at night.

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors; and so grow to a point.

your actors by the scroll: Masters, spread your. selves.

Quin. Answer, as I call you.--Nick Bottom, the weaver.

Bot. Ready: name what part I am for, and proceed.

Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Py

ramus.

Bot. What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant? Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love.

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per
forming of it: If I do it, let the audience look to
their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in
some measure. To the rest:-Yet my chief hu-
mour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely,
or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.
"The raging rocks,

"With shivering shocks,
"Shall break the locks
"Of prison-gates:
"And Phibbus' car
"Shall shine from far,
"And make and mar
"The foolish fates."

This was lofty!-Now name the rest of the play-
ers.-This is Ercles' vein; a tyrant's vein; a
lover
is more condoling.

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
Flu. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You must take Thisby on you.

Flu. What is Thisby? a wandering knight? Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; have a beard coming.

1

Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will.

Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too: I'll speak in a monstrous little voice-Thisne, Thisne,-Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thisby dear! and lady dear!

Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus, and, Flute, you Thisby.

Bot. Well, proceed.

Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor.

Star. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.-Tom Snout, the tinker.

Snout. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father;-Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part:and, I hope, here is a play fitted.

Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

Bot. Let me play the lion too: I will rear, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar, that I will make the duke say, Let him roar again, Let him roar again.

Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek: and that were enough to hang us all.

All. That would hang us every mother's son. Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us: but I will ag

Quin. Marry, our play is-The ost lamenta- gravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you an3 'twere lany nightingale.

1) Sport.

Eyes.

(3) As if.

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