Reading Help MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
Can lay upon my sin. Yet sinn'd I not `
` But in mistaking. `
` Pedro. By my soul, nor I! `
` And yet, to satisfy this good old man, `
` I would bend under any heavy weight `
` That he'll enjoin me to. `
` Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live- `
` That were impossible; but I pray you both, `
` Possess the people in Messina here `
` How innocent she died; and if your love `
` Can labour aught in sad invention, `
` Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, `
` And sing it to her bones--sing it to-night. `
` To-morrow morning come you to my house, `
` And since you could not be my son-in-law, `
` Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter, `
` Almost the copy of my child that's dead, `
` And she alone is heir to both of us. `
` Give her the right you should have giv'n her cousin, `
` And so dies my revenge. `
` Claud. O noble sir! `
` Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me. `
` I do embrace your offer; and dispose `
` For henceforth of poor Claudio. `
` Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming; `
` To-night I take my leave. This naughty man `
` Shall fact to face be brought to Margaret, `
` Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong, `
` Hir'd to it by your brother. `
` Bora. No, by my soul, she was not; `
` Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me; `
` But always hath been just and virtuous `
` In anything that I do know by her. `
` Dog. 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 rememb'red 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 paid that now men grow `
` hard-hearted `
` and will lend nothing for God's sake. Pray you examine him `
` upon `
` that point. `
` Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. `
` Dog. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent `
` youth, `
` and I praise God for you. `
` Leon. There's for thy pains. [Gives money.] `
` Dog. God save the foundation! `
` Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. `
` Dog. I leave an arrant 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; and if a merry `
` meeting may be wish'd, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour. `
` Exeunt [Dogberry and Verges]. `
` Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. `
` Ant. Farewell, my lords. We look for you to-morrow. `
` Pedro. We will not fall. `
` Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. `
` [Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio.] `
` Leon. [to the Watch] Bring you these fellows on.--We'll talk `
` with `
` Margaret, `
` How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. `
` Exeunt. `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` Scene II. `
` Leonato's orchard. `
` `
` 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? 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 panders, 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 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 cannot woo in `
` festival `
` terms. `
` `
` Enter Beatrice. `
` `
` Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I call'd 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 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 is 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 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 parts didst thou first fall in love with `
` me? `
` Beat. For them all together, which maintain'd 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 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 monument than the `
` bell `
` rings and the widow weeps. `
` Beat. And how long is that, think you? `
` Bene. Question: why, an hour in clamour 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 `
` 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 accus'd, the `
` Prince `
` and Claudio mightily abus'd, 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 `
` thy `
`
` But in mistaking. `
` Pedro. By my soul, nor I! `
` And yet, to satisfy this good old man, `
` I would bend under any heavy weight `
` That he'll enjoin me to. `
` Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live- `
` That were impossible; but I pray you both, `
` Possess the people in Messina here `
` How innocent she died; and if your love `
` Can labour aught in sad invention, `
` Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, `
` And sing it to her bones--sing it to-night. `
` To-morrow morning come you to my house, `
` And since you could not be my son-in-law, `
` Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter, `
` Almost the copy of my child that's dead, `
` And she alone is heir to both of us. `
` Give her the right you should have giv'n her cousin, `
` And so dies my revenge. `
` Claud. O noble sir! `
` Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me. `
` I do embrace your offer; and dispose `
` For henceforth of poor Claudio. `
` Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming; `
` To-night I take my leave. This naughty man `
` Shall fact to face be brought to Margaret, `
` Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong, `
` Hir'd to it by your brother. `
` Bora. No, by my soul, she was not; `
` Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me; `
` But always hath been just and virtuous `
` In anything that I do know by her. `
` Dog. 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 rememb'red 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 paid that now men grow `
` hard-hearted `
` and will lend nothing for God's sake. Pray you examine him `
` upon `
` that point. `
` Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. `
` Dog. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent `
` youth, `
` and I praise God for you. `
` Leon. There's for thy pains. [Gives money.] `
` Dog. God save the foundation! `
` Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. `
` Dog. I leave an arrant 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; and if a merry `
` meeting may be wish'd, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour. `
` Exeunt [Dogberry and Verges]. `
` Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. `
` Ant. Farewell, my lords. We look for you to-morrow. `
` Pedro. We will not fall. `
` Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. `
` [Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio.] `
` Leon. [to the Watch] Bring you these fellows on.--We'll talk `
` with `
` Margaret, `
` How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. `
` Exeunt. `
` `
` `
` `
` `
` Scene II. `
` Leonato's orchard. `
` `
` 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? 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 panders, 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 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 cannot woo in `
` festival `
` terms. `
` `
` Enter Beatrice. `
` `
` Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I call'd 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 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 is 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 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 parts didst thou first fall in love with `
` me? `
` Beat. For them all together, which maintain'd 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 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 monument than the `
` bell `
` rings and the widow weeps. `
` Beat. And how long is that, think you? `
` Bene. Question: why, an hour in clamour 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 `
` 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 accus'd, the `
` Prince `
` and Claudio mightily abus'd, 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 `
` thy `
`