SCENE IV
HERO'S apartment.Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA.
Hero.
Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice,
and desire her to rise.
Urs.
I will, lady.
Hero.
And bid her come hither.
Urs.
Well. [Exit.
Marg.
Troth, I think your other rabato
were better.
Hero.
No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.
Marg.
By my troth, 's not so good; and I (10)
warrant your cousin will say so.
Hero.
My cousin's a fool, and thou art another:
I'll wear none but this.
Marg.
I like the new tire within excellently,
if the hair were a thought browner; and your
gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the
Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise so.
Hero.
O, that exceeds, they say.
Marg.
By my troth, 's but a night-gown in
respect of yours: cloth o' gold, and cuts, and
laced with silver, set with pearls, down sleeves,
side sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with
a bluish tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful
and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.
Hero.
God give me joy to wear it! for my
heart is exceedingly heavy.
Marg.
'Twill be heavier soon by the weight
of a man.
Hero.
Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?
Marg.
Of what, lady? of speaking honorably?
Is not marriage honorable in a beggar?
Is not your lord honorable without marriage?
I think you would have me say, 'saving your
reverence, a husband:' and bad thinking do
not wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody: is
there any harm in 'the heavier for a husband'?
None, I think, an it be the right husband
and the right wife: otherwise 'tis light,
and not heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else;
here she comes. Enter BEATRICE.
Hero.
Good morrow, coz. (40)
Beat.
Good morrow, sweet Hero.
Hero.
Why, how now? do you speak in the
sick tune?
Beat.
I am out of all other tune, methinks.
Marg.
Clap's into 'Light o' love;' that
goes without a burden: do you sing it, and I'll
dance it.
Beat.
Ye light o' love, with your heels!
then, if your husband have stables enough,
you'll see he shall lack no barns.
Marg.
O illegitimate construction! I scorn (51)
that with my heels.
Beat.
'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis
time you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding
ill: heigh-ho!
Marg.
For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?
Beat.
For the letter that begins them all, H.
Marg.
Well, and you be not turned Turk,
there's no more sailing by the star.
Beat.
What means the fool, trow?
Marg.
Nothing I; but God send every one (61)
their heart's desire!
Hero.
These gloves the count sent me;
they are an excellent perfume.
Beat.
I am stuffed, cousin; I cannot smell.
Marg.
A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly
catching of cold.
Beat.
O, God help me! God help me! how
long have you professed apprehension?
Marg.
Ever since you left it. Doth not my (70)
wit become me rarely?
Beat.
It is not seen enough, you should
wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am sick.
Marg.
Get you some of this distilled Carduus
Benedictus, and lay it to your heart: it
is the only thing for a qualm.
Hero.
There thou prickest her with a thistle.
Beat.
Benedictus! why Benedictus? you
have some moral in this Benedictus.
Marg.
Moral! no, by my troth, I have no
moral meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle.
You may think perchance that I think you are
in love: nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to
think what I list, nor I list not to think what I
can, nor indeed I cannot think, if I would
think my heart out of thinking, that you are in
love or that you will be in love or that you can
be in love. Yet Benedick was such another,
and now is he become a man: he swore he
would never marry, and yet now, in despite of
his heart, he eats his meat without grudging:
and how you may be converted I know not, but
methinks you look with your eyes as other
women do.
Beat.
What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?
Marg.
Not a false gallop. Re-enter URSULA.
Urs.
Madam, withdraw: the prince, the
count, Signior Benedick, Don John, and all the
gallants of the town, are come to fetch you to
church.
Hero.
Help to dress me, good coz, good
Meg, good Ursula.[Exeunt.
