As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?
HERO.
O god of love! I know he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man;
But nature never fram’d a woman’s heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice;
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on, and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak. She cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endear’d.
URSULA.
Sure I think so; And therefore certainly it were not good
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.
HERO.
Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur’d,
But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac’d,
She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antick,
Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;
If low, an agate very vilely cut;
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;
If silent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out,
And never gives to truth and virtue that
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.
URSULA.
Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
HERO.
No; not to be so odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable.
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
She would mock me into air: O! she would laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like cover’d fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:
It were a better death than die with mocks,
Which is as bad as die with tickling.
URSULA.
Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.
HERO.
No; rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his passion.
And, truly, I’ll devise some honest slanders
To stain my cousin with. One doth not know
How much an ill word may empoison liking.
URSULA.
O! do not do your cousin such a wrong.
She cannot be so much without true judgment,—
Having so swift and excellent a wit
As she is priz’d to have,—as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.
HERO.
He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.
URSULA.
I pray you, be not angry with me, madam,
Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, argument and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.
HERO.
Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.
URSULA.
His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.
When are you married, madam?
HERO.
Why, every day, tomorrow. Come, go in:
I’ll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel
Which is the best to furnish me tomorrow.
URSULA.
She’s lim’d, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam.
HERO.
If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
[Exeunt HERO and URSULA.]
BEATRICE.
[Advancing.] What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?
Stand I condemn’d for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!
No glory lives behind the back of such.
And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand:
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
To bind our loves up in a holy band;
For others say thou dost deserve, and I
Believe it better than reportingly.
[Exit.]
Scene 2. A Room in LEONATO’S House.
[Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, and LEONATO.]
DON PEDRO. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I toward Arragon.
CLAUDIO.
I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll vouchsafe me.
DON PEDRO. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid’s bowstring, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks.
BENEDICK.
Gallants, I am not as I have been.
LEONATO.
So say I: methinks you are sadder.
CLAUDIO.
I hope he be in love.
DON PEDRO. Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touched with love. If he be sad, he wants money.
BENEDICK.
I have the toothache.
DON PEDRO.
Draw it.
BENEDICK.
Hang it.
CLAUDIO.
You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.
DON PEDRO.
What! sigh for the toothache?
LEONATO.
Where is but a humour or a worm?
BENEDICK.
Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.
CLAUDIO.
Yet say I, he is in love.
DON PEDRO. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman tomorrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from the hip