SCENE II
LEONATO'S garden.Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET, meeting.
Bene.
Pray 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! (10)
why, shall I always keep below 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.
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
pandars, 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 turned over and
over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot
show 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 (41)
terms. Enter BEATRICE. Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I
called thee?
Beat.
Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.
Bene.
O, stay but till then!
Beat.
'Then' is spoken; fare you well
now: and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I
came; which is, with knowing what hath
passed between you and Claudio.
Bene.
Only foul words; and thereupon I (51)
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 unkissed.
Bene.
Thou hast frighted the word out of
his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I
must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my
challenge; and either I must shortly hear from
him, or I will subscribe him a coward. And, I
pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad (61)
parts didst thou first fall in love with me?
Beat.
For them all together; which maintained
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?
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 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 this confession:
there's not one wise man among twenty that
will praise himself.
Bene.
An old, an old instance, Beatrice,
that lived in the time of good neighbors. If a
man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere
he dies, he shall live no longer in monument
than the bell rings and the widow weeps.
Beat.
And how long is that, think you?
Bene.
Question: why, an hour in clamor
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 (91)
now tell me, how doth your cousin?
Beat.
Very ill.
Bene.
And how do you?
Beat.
Very ill too.
Bene.
Serve God, love me and mend. There
will I leave you too, for here comes one in
haste. Enter URSULA.
Urs.
Madam, you must come to your uncle.
Yonder's old coil at home: it is proved
my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the
prince and Claudio mightily abused; 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. [Exeunt.
