ACT V
Sc. II

BENE. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deserv'st it.

MARG. To have no man come over me! why, shall I always keep me below stairs?

BENE. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth; it catches.

MARG. And your's as blunt as the fencer's foils: which hit, but hurt not.

BENE. A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman: and so I pray thee, call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers.1

MARG. Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our

own.

BENE. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons

for maids.

21

MARG. Well; I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.

BENE. And therefore will come.

[Exit MARGARET.

[sings.] The God of love, that sits above,

And knows me, and knows me,

How pitiful I deserve

I mean in singing; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole bookful of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse-why, they were never so truly turn'd over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot shew it in rhyme; I have tried: I can find out no rhyme to lady but baby-an innocent rhyme; for scorn, horn— a hard rhyme; for school, fool-a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings. No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival' terms.

Enter BEATRICE.

Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I call'd thee? BEAT. Yea, Signior, and depart when

you bid me.

2 'pike' the spike of the old

fashioned buckler; with a liberal play on another meaning of the Latin word.

1 I lay down my arms, and yield me.

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T

BENE. O, stay but till then!

BEAT. Then is spoken; fare you well now.

ACT V

And yet,

Sc. II

ere I go, let me go with that I came; which is, with knowing what hath pass'd between you and Claudio. BENE. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee. BEAT. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkiss'd.

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BENE. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense,
so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly,
Claudio undergoes1 my challenge; and either I must
shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe2 him a coward.
And, I pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad
parts didst thou first fall in love with me?
BEAT. For them all together; which maintain so politic
a state of evil, that they will not admit any good part
to intermingle with them. But for which of my good
parts did you first suffer love for me?

60

BENE. Suffer love a good epithet! I do suffer love
indeed, for I love thee against my will.
BEAT. In spite of your heart, I think: alas, poor heart!
If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for your's;
for I will never love that which my friend hates.
BENE. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
BEAT. It appears not in this confession: there's not one
wise man among twenty that will praise himself.
BENE. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that liv'd in
the time of good neighbours.3 If a man do not erect
in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live
no longer in monuments than the bells ring, and the
widow weeps.

71

BEAT. And how long is that, think you?
BENE. Question ! Why, an hour in
Why, an hour in clamour, and a
quarter in rheum: therefore is it most expedient for
the wise, if Don Worm (his conscience) find no
impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his
own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising
myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy.
And now tell me, how doth your cousin?

ACT V

BENE. And how do you?

Sc. II

BEAT. Very ill too.

BENE. Serve God, love me, and mend.

leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

URS. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder's
old coil1 at home: it is prov'd my Lady Hero hath
been falsely accus'd, the Prince and Claudio mightily
abus'd; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled
and gone.
Will you come 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.

SCENE III. The Church.

Enter CLAUDIO, PRINCE, and three or four
with tapers.

CLAUD. Is this the monument of Leonato ?

ATTEN. It is, my Lord.

CLAUD. [reads from a scroll.]

Done to death by slanderous tongues

Was the Hero that here lies:

Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,

Gives her fame which never dies.
So the life that died with shame
Lives in death with glorious fame.-
Hang thou there upon the tomb,
Praising her when I am dumb.

Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.

Pardon, Goddess of the night,

Those that slew thy virgin knight;
For the which, with songs of woe,
Round about her tomb they go.

Midnight, assist our moan;
Help us to sigh and groan,
Heavily, heavily:

Graves, yawn, and yield your dead,

Till Death be uttered,1

Heavily, heavily.

CLAUD. Now, unto thy bones good night!

Yearly will I do this rite.

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D. PEDRO. Good morrow, Masters; put your torches out :
The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle Day,
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about

Dapples the drowsy East with spots of grey.
Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well.
CLAUD. Good morrow, Masters: each his several way.
D. PEDRO. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;
And then to Leonato's we will go.

CLAUD. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds
Than this for whom we render'd up this woe.

31

Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDICK, BEATRICE,
MARGARET, URSULA, FRIAR FRANCIS, and HERO.

· F. FRAN. Did I not tell you she was innocent?
LEON. So are the Prince and Claudio, who accus'd her
Upon the error that you heard debated:
But Margaret was in some fault for this,
Although against her will, as it appears
In the true course of all the question.
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.
LEON. Well, Daughter, and you Gentlewomen all,
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves.
And when I send for you, come hither mask'd :
The Prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour
To visit me. You know your office, Brother:

1 till Death's full measure be expressed.

ΙΟ

[Exeunt Ladies.

ACT V

Sc. III

ACT V
Sc. IV

You must be father to your brother's daughter,
And give her to young Claudio.

ANT. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.
BENE. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.
F. FRAN. To do what, Signior?

BENE. To bind me, or undo me; one of them.
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good Signior,
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.
LEON. That eye my daughter lent her: 'tis most true.
BENE. And I do with an eye of love requite her.
LEON. The sight whereof I think you had from me,
From Claudio, and the Prince: but what's your will?
BENE. Your answer, Sir, is enigmatical:

But, for my will, my will is your good-will
May stand with our's, 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.
F. FRAN.

Here comes the Prince and Claudio.

And my help.

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 ready.

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30

[Exit ANTONIO.

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,

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