« ZurückWeiter »
child that's dead,
Claud. O noble fir!
Bora. No, by my soul, she was not;
Dogb. Moreover, sir,which, indeed, is not under white and black, this plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass; I beseech you, let it be remembred in his punishment; and also the watch heard them talk of one Deformed: they say, he wears a key in his ear, and a lock hanging by it; and borrows money in god's name, the which he hath us'd so long, and never pay'd, that now men grow hardhearted, and will lend nothing for god's fake. Pray you, examine him upon that point.
Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.
Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverend youth; and I praise god for you.
Leon. There's for thy pains.
Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner; and I thank thee.
Dogb. I leave an errant knave with your worship, which I beseech your worship to correct yourself
, for the example of others. God keep your worship; I wish your worship well : god restore you to health; I humbly give you leave to depart; Vol. I.
and if a merry meeting may be wish’d, god prohibit it! Come, neighbour.
Leon. Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk with Margaret, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.
Enter Benedick, and Margaret. Bene. RAY thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve well at
my hands, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice. Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?
Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.
Marg. To have no man come over me? why, shall I always keep above stairs ?
Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth, it catches.
Marg. And yours 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.
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.
Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I think, hath legs.
[Exit Margaret. Bene. And therefore will come. [fings.] The god of love that fits 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 pandars, and a whole book full 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 show it in rhyme; I have try'd; 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, for I cannot woo in festival
Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.
and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, 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 are but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkiss’d.
Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of its right sense, so forcible is thy wit; but I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergeos my challenge; and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a coward: and, I pray
for which of my bad parts
didst thou first fall in love with me? Beat. For them all together, which maintain'd so politick 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?
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 fpite it for my fake, I will spite it for yours, 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 that 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; 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.
Beat. And how long is that, think you?
Bene. Why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum: therefore it is 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 ?
Beat. Very ill.
Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; yonder’s old coil at home; it is proved 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 Aed and gone : will you come presently?
Beat. Will you go hear this news, fignior?
Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be bury'd in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will
with thee to thy uncle. [Exeunt.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants with tapers. Claud. TS this the monument of Leonato ?
Atten. It is, my lord.
Was the Hero that here lies:
Gives ber fame which never dies.
the life that dy'd with same,
Hang thou there upon the tomb,
Claud. Now, musick, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.
Heavily, heavily !
Claud. Now unto thy bones good night!
The wolves have prey'd; and, look, the gentle day,
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray.
Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds; And then to Leonato’s we will go.