D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.
Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord, not with love. Prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker’s pen, and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of blind Cupid.
D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument.
Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me, and he that hits me, let him be clapp’d on the shoulder, and call’d Adam.
D. Pedro.
Well, as time shall try:
“In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.”
Bene. The savage bull may, but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull’s horns, and set them in my forehead, and let me be vildly painted, and in such great letters as they write “Here is good horse to hire,” let them signify under my sign, “Here you may see Benedick the married man.”
Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad.
D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly.
Bene. I look for an earthquake too then.
D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the mean time, good Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato’s, commend me to him, and tell him I will not fail him at supper, for indeed he hath made great preparation.
Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage, and so I commit you—
Claud. To the tuition of God. From my house—if I had it—
D. Pedro. The sixt of July. Your loving friend, Benedick.
Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly basted on neither. Ere you flout old ends any further, examine your conscience, and so I leave you.
Exit.
Claud.
My liege, your Highness now may do me good.
D. Pedro.
My love is thine to teach; teach it but how,
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
Claud.
Hath Leonato any son, my lord?
D. Pedro.
No child but Hero, she’s his only heir.
Dost thou affect her, Claudio?
Claud.
O my lord,
When you went onward on this ended action,
I look’d upon her with a soldier’s eye,
That lik’d, but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive liking to the name of love.
But now I am return’d, and that war-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 lik’d her ere I went to wars.
D. Pedro.
Thou wilt be like a lover presently,
And tire the hearer with a book of words.
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it,
And I will break with her, and with her father,
And thou shalt have her. Was’t not to this end
That thou began’st to twist so fine a story?
Claud.
How sweetly you do minister to love,
That know love’s grief by his complexion!
But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
I would have salv’d it with a longer treatise.
D. Pedro.
What need the bridge much broader than the flood?
The fairest grant is the necessity.
Look what will serve is fit: ’tis once, thou lovest,
And I will fit thee with the remedy.
I know we shall have revelling to-night;
I will assume thy part in some disguise,
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio,
And in her bosom I’ll unclasp my heart,
And take her hearing prisoner with the force
And strong encounter of my amorous tale;
Then after to her father will I break,
And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.
In practice let us put it presently.
Exeunt.
¶
[Scene II]
Enter Leonato and an old man [Antonio], brother to Leonato, [meeting].
Leon. How now, brother, where is my cousin, your son? Hath he provided this music?
Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamt not of.
Leon. Are they good?
Ant. As the [event] stamps them, but they have a good cover; they show well outward. The Prince and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleach’d alley in mine orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of mine. The Prince discover’d to Claudio that he lov’d my niece your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance; and if he found her accordant, he meant to take the present time by the top, and instantly break with you of it.
Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?
Ant. A good sharp fellow. I will send for him, and question him yourself.
Leon. No, no, we will hold it as a dream till it appear itself; but I will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may be the better prepar’d for an answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you and tell her of it. [Several persons cross the stage.] Cousins, you know what you have to do. O, I cry you mercy, friend, go you with me, and I will use your skill. Good cousin, have a care this busy time.
Exeunt.
¶
[Scene III]
Enter [Don] John the Bastard and Conrade, his companion.
Con. What the good-year, my lord, why are you thus out of measure sad?
D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds, therefore the sadness is without limit.
Con. You should hear reason.
D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing brings it?
Con.