Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and Attendants, with musick and tapers. Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? Atten. It is, my lord. Claud. Reads from a scroll.] Done to death by slanderous tongues Gives her fame which never dies: So the life, that died with shame, Hang thou there upon the tomb, [affixing it. Now, musick, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 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; 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 counte nance. Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. Friar. 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, 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 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 ready. [Exit ANTONIO. D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick: Why, what's That the matter, So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness? you have such a February face, 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 masked. 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. Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar; I am your husband, if you like of me. Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife: [Unmasking. And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice? Bene. Do not you love me? No, no more than reason. Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Have been deceived; for they swore you did. No, no more than reason. Beat. 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 me. Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. Bene. 'Tis no such matter:- Then you do not love me? Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure your 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. D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married man? Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of witcrackers cannot flout me out of my humour: Dost thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do propose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin. SCENE I. ACT I. Athens. A Room in the Palace of Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS. Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in Four nights will quickly dream away the time; Go, Philostrate, The. 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 I beg the ancient privilege of Athens; Or to her death; according to our law, Immediately provided in that case. And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes, The. What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, fair Upon this spotted and inconstant man. maid: The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. The. Either to die the death, or to abjure Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 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, Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would: Thy crazed title to my certain right. 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; I must employ you in some business [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 ought that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: Her. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low ! Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross', Then let us teach our trial patience, As due to love, as thoughts and dreams, and sighs, And, Lysander, I have a widow aunt, a dowager 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; Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, And, which is more than all these boasts can be, Of great revenue, and she hath no child; Her. My good Lysander ꞌ 1 I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow; By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves; Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away? Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair! Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 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. O then, what graces in my love do dwell, Her. And in the wood, where often you and I [Exit Lys. 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; 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. Quin. Marry, our play is The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby. Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll: Masters, spread yourselves. 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 performing 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 humour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. |