The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

grief but he that has it.

Claud. Yet say I he is in love.

Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman tomorrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is.

Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old signs. ‘A brushes his hat o’ mornings. What should that bode?

Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber’s?

Claud. No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with him, and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuff’d tennis balls.

Leon. Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.

Pedro. Nay, ‘a rubs himself with civet. Can you smell him out by that?

Claud. That’s as much as to say, the sweet youth’s in love.

Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy.

Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face?

Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which I hear what they say of him.

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is new-crept into a lutestring, and now govern’d by stops.

Pedro. Indeed that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude, conclude, he is in love.

Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.

Pedro. That would I know too. I warrant, one that knows him not.

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite of all, dies for him.

Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards.

Bene. Yet is this no charm for the toothache. Old signior, walk aside with me. I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobbyhorses must not hear.

[Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.]

Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice!

Claud. ‘Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts with Beatrice, and then the two bears will not bite one another when they meet.

 

Enter John the Bastard.

 

John. My lord and brother, God save you.

Pedro. Good den, brother.

John. If your leisure serv’d, I would speak with you.

Pedro. In private?

John. If it please you. Yet Count Claudio may hear, for what I would speak of concerns him.

Pedro. What’s the matter?

John. [to Claudio] Means your lordship to be married tomorrow?

Pedro. You know he does.

John. I know not that, when he knows what I know.

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it.

John. You may think I love you not. Let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will manifest. For my brother, I think he holds you well and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage—surely suit ill spent and labour ill bestowed!

Pedro. Why, what’s the matter?

John. I came hither to tell you, and, circumstances short’ned (for she has been too long a-talking of), the lady is disloyal.

Claud. Who? Hero?

John. Even she—Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every man’s Hero.

Claud. Disloyal?

John. The word is too good to paint out her wickedness. I could say she were worse; think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till further warrant. Go but with me tonight, you shall see her chamber window ent’red, even the night before her wedding day. If you love her then, tomorrow wed her. But it would better fit your honour to change your mind.

Claud. May this be so?

Pedro. I will not think it.

John. If you dare not trust that you see, confess not that you know. If you will follow me, I will show you enough; and when you have seen more and heard more, proceed accordingly.

Claud. If I see anything tonight why I should not marry her tomorrow, in the congregation where I should wed, there will I shame her.

Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her.

John. I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses.

Bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.

Pedro. O day untowardly turned!

Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting!

John. O plague right well prevented!

So will you say when you have seen the Sequel.

Exeunt.

 

Scene III.

A street.

 

Enter Dogberry and his compartner [Verges], with the Watch.

 

Dog. Are you good men and true?

Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul.

Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince’s watch.

Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.

Dog. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable?

1. Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and read.

Dog. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath bless’d you with a good name. To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune, but to write and read comes by nature.

2. Watch. Both which, Master Constable—

Dog. You have. I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks and make no boast of it; and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch. Therefore bear you the lanthorn. This is your charge: you shall comprehend all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince’s name.

2. Watch. How if ‘a will not stand?

Dog. Why then, take no note of him, but let him go, and presently call the rest of the watch together and thank God you are rid of a knave.

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the Prince’s subjects.

Dog. True, and they are to meddle with none but the Prince’s subjects. You shall also make no noise in the streets; for for the watch to babble and to talk is most tolerable, and not to be endured.

2. Watch. We will rather sleep than talk. We know what belongs to a watch.

Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should offend. Only have a care that your bills be not stol’n. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses and bid those that are drunk get them to bed.

2. Watch. How if they will not?

Dog. Why then, let them alone till they are sober. If they make you not then the better answer, You may say they are not the men you took them for.

2. Watch. Well, sir.

Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man; and for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more your honesty.

2. Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him?

Dog. Truly, by your office you may; but I think they that touch pitch will be defil’d. The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company.

Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner.

Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who hath any honesty in him.

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse and bid her still it.

2. Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us?

Dog. Why then, depart in peace and let the child wake her with crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes will never answer a calf when he bleats.

Verg. ‘Tis very true.

Dog. This is the end of the charge: you, constable, are to present the Prince’s own person. If you meet the Prince in the night, you may stay him.

Verg. Nay, by’r lady, that I think ‘a cannot.

Dog. Five shillings to one on’t with any man that knows the statutes, he may stay him! Marry, not without the Prince be willing; for indeed the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to stay a man against his will.

Verg. By’r lady, I think it be so.

Dog. Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night. An there be any matter of weight chances, call up me. Keep your fellows’ counsels and your own, and good night. Come, neighbour.

2. Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge. Let us go sit here upon the church bench till two, and then all to bed.

Dog. One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you watch about Signior Leonato’s door; for the wedding being there tomorrow, there is a great coil tonight. Adieu. Be vigitant, I beseech you. Exeunt [Dogberry and Verges].

 

Enter Borachio and Conrade.

 

Bora. What, Conrade!

2. Watch. [aside] Peace! stir not!

Bora. Conrade, I say!

Con. Here, man. I am at thy elbow.

Bora. Mass, and my elbow itch’d! I thought there would a scab follow.

Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and now forward with thy tale.

Bora. Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.

2. Watch. [aside] Some treason, masters. Yet stand close.

Bora. Therefore know I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats.

Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so dear?

Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any villany should be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will.

Con. I wonder at it.

Bora. That shows thou art unconfirm’d. Thou knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man.

Con. Yes, it is apparel.

Bora. I mean the fashion.

Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.

Bora. Tush! I may as well say the fool’s the fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is?

2. Watch. [aside] I know that Deformed. ‘A bas been a vile thief this seven year; ‘a goes up and down like a gentleman. I remember his name.

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody?

Con. No; ‘twas the vane on the house.

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is?

how giddily ‘a turns about all the hot-bloods between fourteen and five-and-thirty? sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh’s soldiers in the reechy painting, sometime like god Bel’s priests in the old church window, sometime like the shaven Hercules in the smirch’d worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy as his club?

Con. All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion?

Bora. Not so neither. But know that I have tonight wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero’s gentlewoman, by the name of Hero. She leans me out at her mistress’ chamber window, bids me a thousand times good night—I tell this tale vilely; I should first tell thee how the Prince, Claudio and my master, planted and placed and possessed by my master Don