Much Ado About Nothing

(holding a letter) According to this letter, Don Pedro of Aragon and his army are coming to Messina tonight.

He must be very near by now. When I left him, he was less than nine miles from here.

How many noblemen were killed in the battle you just fought?

Not many, and no one important.

A victory in battle is twice as victorious when all the soldiers return home safely. This letter also says that Don Pedro has given honors to a young man from Florence named Claudio.

Claudio deserves to be honored, and Don Pedro has rewarded him accordingly. Claudio has done more than anyone would expect of a man his age. He looks like a lamb but fights like a lion. He has so greatly exceeded all expectations that I can’t even describe all he’s done.

He has an uncle here in Messina who will be glad to hear this news.

I have delivered some letters to his uncle, and he seemed very happy. He got so emotional that he actually looked like he was in pain.

Did he start weeping?

Yes, heavily.

That’s a very natural display of affection. There’s no face more sincere than one washed in tears. And it’s definitely better to cry because you’re happy than laugh because you’re sad!

Please tell me, has Signior Montanto returned from battle?

I don’t know anyone with that name, ma’am. There was no Signior Montanto in our army.

Who are you talking about, niece?

My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.

Oh, yes, Benedick has returned and is as cheerful as ever.

Benedick once put up a public notice in Messina challenging Cupid to an archery match. My uncle’s jester accepted the contest on Cupid’s behalf but used toy arrows at the shooting match. But tell me, how many men did he kill and eat in this battle? I promised him I would eat anyone he killed.

For God’s sake, Beatrice, you’re criticizing Signior Benedick too heavily. But I’m sure he’ll get even with you.

Signior Benedick served well in the war, my lady.

You had rotten food, and he helped you eat it. He’s a very brave eater—he has a strong stomach.

He’s a good soldier too, lady.

He’s a good soldier to a lady? Well then, what is he to a lord?

He’s a lord to a lord and a man to a man. He is positively stuffed with honorable virtues.

Absolutely—he is stuffed, like a dummy. As for what he’s stuffed with—well, nobody’s perfect.

Please don’t take my niece the wrong way, sir. Benedick and Beatrice have been waging a war of wits between themselves. Whenever they meet, there’s a little battle.

And I always win. The last time we fought, he was so dazed by the end that he wasn’t much smarter than his horse. So tell me, who is he hanging around with these days? Every month he has a new best friend.

Is that possible?

It’s entirely possible. He’s incredibly fickle—his affection changes faster than the latest fashions.

I can see you don’t like this gentleman.

No, absolutely not. But please tell me, who’s his best friend? Isn’t there some new swaggering young ruffian who will happily go to hell with Benedick?

He spends most of his time with the good, noble Claudio.

Oh God, Benedick will plague him like a disease! Benedick is an infection that’s easy to catch but hard to get rid of—and he’ll drive you crazy once you’ve been infected. God help Claudio! If he’s caught the Benedick, he’ll lose all his money before he’s cured.

I’m going to make sure I stay on your good side, lady.

Do that, my friend.

You will never fall victim to Benedick’s charms, my niece.

No, not until we see a hot January.

Don Pedro is here.

My dear Signior Leonato, hosting my whole army is such a huge burden, but you accept it—and me—with open arms. Most people choose to avoid trouble, but you run to it.

You are never trouble to this house, your Grace. It’s comforting when trouble departs. But when you leave, you take happiness with you and leave sorrow in its place.

You take up your duties too cheerfully. (turning to HERO) This must be your daughter.

That’s what her mother always tells me.

Did you doubt that she was your daughter, since you had to ask her mother?

(teasing) Of course not, Signior Benedick. You were only a child when my daughter was born, and not yet old enough to seduce my wife.

Ah, he got you back, Benedick! Leonato clearly knows your reputation with women. Seriously, though, the lady resembles Leonato so much that there can be no doubt about who her father is. Congratulations, lady: you resemble a most honorable man.

Well, even if he is her father, I’m sure she wouldn’t want to have the head of the old man on her shoulders!

I’m amazed you’re still talking, Signior Benedick. No one’s listening to you.

Look, it’s my dear Lady Disdain! Aren’t you dead yet?

How could disdain die when you’re here? When you’re around, even Lady Courtesy becomes Lady Disdain.

That makes Lady Courtesy a traitor. All ladies love me, except you. It’s too bad I’m so hard-hearted, because I really don’t love anyone.

Women are lucky, then. You would make a nasty suitor. Thankfully, I feel the same way you do. I have no need for romance. I would rather listen to my dog bark at a crow than hear a man swear that he loves me.

Well, I hope you stay in that frame of mind or some poor man will end up with his face all scratched up.

If he has a face like yours, a good scratching couldn’t make him look any worse.

Listen to you, instructing me like a parrot would.

I’d rather be a squawking bird than an animal like you.

I wish my horse moved as fast as your mouth and was as tireless. That’s it—I’m done.

You always slip out of the argument like this. I know you from before.

And that’s everything, Leonato.—Claudio, Benedick—my dear friend Leonato has invited you all to stay here at Messina. I told him we’ll stay for at least a month, and he says that he hopes we’ll stay longer. I think he’s actually serious, and not just being polite.

I am being serious, my lord. (to DON JOHN) I welcome you here as well. Now that you and your brother have made friends again, I owe you the same allegiance I owe Don Pedro.

Thank you. I’m not a man who talks a lot, but I thank you.

If it pleases you, your highness, will you lead us all inside?

Give me your hand, Leonato. We will go in together.

Benedick, did you notice Signior Leonato’s daughter?

I saw her, but I didn’t notice her.

Isn’t she a well-mannered young lady?

Do you want my true opinion? Or do you want me to criticize her like I do all women?

No, please, speak seriously.

Well, it seems to me that she is too short to be praised highly, too dark to be praised fairly, and too small to be praised greatly. I can only say this about her: if she looked different than she does, she would be ugly, and since she can’t be anything but herself, I don’t like her.

You think I’m kidding. Please tell me seriously what you think of her.

Are you thinking of buying her? Is that why you’re asking?

Would it even be possible to buy a jewel as rare and precious as Hero?

Yes, and you could buy a case to put it in, too. But tell me, are you speaking seriously? Or are you just teasing? If I’m going to sing along with you, I need to know what key you’re singing in.

I think she’s the most wonderful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I’m still young enough to see without glasses, and I don’t see what you’re talking about. If her cousin Beatrice didn’t have such a nasty temper, she’d be so much more beautiful than Hero that it would be like comparing May to December. But, hey, this doesn’t mean you’re looking to get married, does it?

Even if I had sworn never to marry, I wouldn’t trust myself to keep that promise if Hero would marry me.

What’s going on these days? Isn’t there one man left in the world who knows not to take a wife? She’s just going to cheat on him. Will I never see a sixty-year old bachelor again or will all men be swindled into marriage while they’re young? Go ahead, then, if you have to yoke yourself to marriage, like an ox carrying his load, and throw away your free time. Look, Don Pedro has come back for you.

What secrets between you have kept you from following us to Leonato’s?

Your highness will have to force me to tell.

Your loyalty to me requires you to tell me what you’ve been talking about.

Look, Claudio, I can keep secrets like a mute; I want you to know that. But I owe Don Pedro my allegiance—look, I have to tell him—(to DON PEDRO) Claudio is in love. With whom? That’s what you’re supposed to ask me next, your Grace. Look how short the answer is—with Hero, Leonato’s short daughter.

If you say so.

Listen to him deny it, like that man in the old tale “Mr. Fox”: “It isn’t true and wasn’t true and God forbid it should be so.”

Unless my feelings change very soon, I have to admit it’s true.

It’s good if you love Hero, because she’s worthy of your love.

You’re trying to trick me, my lord.

I swear, I’m telling you what I honestly think.

And I swear I spoke honestly to Benedick—I am in love with Hero.

And I swear all up and down I spoke honestly when I said that this was a horrible idea.

I feel that I love her.

I know that she is worthy of that love.

I, on the other hand, don’t feel how she could be loved and don’t know how she could be worthy. Even fire can’t melt that opinion out of me. You could burn me at the stake, and I’d still think this.

You never did believe in the power of beauty.

Or in the power of reason.

I was conceived by a woman, and I thank her very much for all her effort. And then she brought me up, and I thank her for that, too. But all the other women will have to forgive me for not being willing to be made a fool of—cheated on by a wife. I don’t want to insult any particular woman by doubting and mistrusting her, so I’ll just avoid them all. And the conclusion of this is that I’ll live as a bachelor—and, with the money I save, dress better.

I swear, before I die I’m going to see you sick with love.

With anger, with fever, or with hunger, sure, my friend, but never sick with love. If you can prove that I’ll ever be so in love that I can’t be brought to my senses with a good round of beers, you can pluck out my eyes with a love-poet’s pen and hang me on a brothel’s door where the picture of blind Cupid usually goes.

I’ll be sure to remember this fuss you’ve made, in case you ever do fall in love. That’ll be news.

If I ever change my mind, you can use me for target practice. And whoever hits the bull’s eye gets to be a hero.

Well, time will tell. Even the most savage bull is eventually domesticated.

Maybe the bull is, but if I am ever domesticated, you can take that bull’s horns and put them right on my forehead, as my wife is sure to cuckold me soon enough. You might as well hang a big sign with enormous lettering around my neck. But instead of it saying “Horse for hire,” it will say “Take a look at Benedick, the married man.”

If that ever happened, you’d go absolutely mad.

Well, if Cupid hasn’t used up all his arrows in Venice, where the courtesans are famous for making men lovesick, he’ll get you to quiver and shake. Just you wait.

That’s about as likely as an earthquake.

Oh, you’ll soften as time passes. While you’re waiting for that to happen, though, hurry to Leonato’s. Give him my respects, and tell him I’ll definitely be there for dinner, since I know he has gone to great lengths for this meal.

I think I can handle this mission. And so I commit you—

“Into God’s hands. From my house, if I had a house—”

“The sixth of July. Sincerely, your loving friend, Benedick.”

Oh, stop joking around. You know, sometimes you two dress up your conversation with flimsy little bits of wit that don’t hold together too well. Before you make fun of everyone else, look at yourselves in the mirror! And with that, I’m leaving.

My lord, you could really help me out now.

I am at your service. Just tell me what you want me to do, and however hard it is, you’ll see that I’m eager to do it.

Does Leonato have a son, my lord?

Hero is his only child, and his only heir. Do you like her, Claudio?

Oh, my lord, when we left Messina to fight the war, I looked at Hero with the eyes of a soldier. I liked what I saw, but my mind was so occupied with the rough, violent task ahead of me that there was no chance that like would turn intolove. But now that I’m back, the room in my head that I used to fill with war plans has become crowded with soft and delicate feelings. They all lead me to the same thought—how beautiful young Hero is and how I must have liked her even before I left to fight.

You will become a true lover soon, and exhaust your friends with your endless chatter about your feelings. Look, if you really love the beautiful Hero, enjoy it. I will speak to her and her father about the matter, and I’ll convince Leonato to promise Hero to you. Isn’t that the reason you told me all this?

You can see that I’m sick with love, and you’re taking care of me in just the right way! But I didn’t want you to think that I’m hasty in my emotions. I was going to explain my feelings with a longer story.

Why speak longer than you have to? That’s like building a bridge wider than the river it crosses. Whatever gets the job done is best. You love Hero; that’s all I need to know to want to find a remedy. They’re going to have a costume party with dancing tonight. I’ll disguise myself as you and pour out “my” feelings to Hero, taking her prisoner with the force of my love story. Then I’ll talk to her father. And in the end, she’s yours! Let’s get started right away.

Hey, brother. Tell me, where is my nephew, your son? Has he taken care of the music?

He is taking care of it as we speak. But brother, I have some strange news for you.

Is it good news?

Well, it seems like good news. A servant of mine overheard the Prince and Claudio talking as they walked through my orchard. The Prince said that he is in love with Hero, your daughter, and that he is going to tell her so at the dance tonight. If he she wants to marry him, too, he’s going to find you and ask for her hand immediately.

Is this servant of yours a smart man?

He’s very bright. I’ll get him to come here, and you can ask him yourself.

No, no, until it comes true we’ll pretend it was just a dream we had. But my daughter should know about this, so she can be prepared with an answer just in case. Go to her and tell her for me.

Cousins, you all have work to do.—Oh, I beg your pardon. Come with me now, and help me out. —Dear cousin, please be careful during this busy time.

Really, my lord, why are you so excessively sad?

The things that cause my sadness are without limit. Therefore my sadness is without limit.

You should listen to reason. Then you’d stop being so gloomy.

And after I have sat and listened to reason, what’s my prize?

If not an end to your suffering, then at least you’ll have the means to endure it patiently.

I’m amazed that you—being such a moody man yourself—are moralizing about my deadly condition. I can’t hide what I am. I’ll be sad when I have reason to be sad and won’t smile at anybody’s jokes. I’ll eat when I’m hungry and won’t wait until it’s convenient. I’ll sleep when I’m tired and won’t rouse myself for anything. I’ll laugh when I’m happy and won’t flatter and fawn over anyone.

Sure, but don’t do it at full volume until there’s no danger in it. Not long ago you challenged and opposed your brother, and it is only very recently that he has forgiven you. You need to act carefully if you’re going to stay in his good graces. You have to wait for the appropriate time to let loose.

I’d rather be a weed in a hedge than a rose in my brother’s garden. It suits me more to be hated by everyone than to put on a fancy show and trick people into loving me. Though I am not a flattering, righteous man, at least you can say that I am honest about being a villain. My brother trusts me now? Yeah—as much as a master trusts the dog he muzzles or the peasant he “frees” by chaining a big block around the man’s foot. If my mouth were unrestrained, I’d bite. If I were free, I’d do what I pleased. Until that happens, let me be who I am and don’t try to change me.

Can’t you somehow use your dissatisfaction to your own advantage?

I use it all the time, since it’s all that I have. Who’s that?

What’s going on, Borachio?

I just came from a great feast where Leonato is entertaining the Prince, your brother. I can give you information about an intended marriage.

Will this give me an opportunity to make some mischief? Who is this fool who wants all the fuss of marriage?

Your brother’s right-hand man.

Who? That pretty boy, Claudio?

That’s the one.

He’s a very fancy gentleman. And who’s the girl who has caught his eye?

Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato.

A lively young one! How did you learn about this?

I was hired to perfume all the rooms in Leonato’s house. As I was working on one musty room, the Prince and Claudio entered. They were in the middle of a serious conversation. I quickly hid behind a tapestry and heard them agree that the Prince would court Hero tonight at the dance and, once he won her consent to marry, would give her to Claudio.

Come, let’s go to the dance. This just may cheer me up. Claudio, the young upstart, was responsible for keeping me from gaining power over my brother. If there’s any way I can spoil his life, I’ll be overjoyed. You’ll both help me, right?

Until the day we die, my lord.

Let’s go to this great feast. They’ll be even happier now that my mood has lightened. It’s too bad the cook doesn’t think like me; she would have poisoned them all if she did. Should we go check out the scene?

Lead the way, sir.

Wasn’t Don John at dinner tonight?

I didn’t see him.

That man always looks so sour! Just looking at him gives me heartburn.

He has a very gloomy attitude.

It would be excellent if they could make a man halfway between Don John and Benedick. One of them is too much like a painting of a man—he never speaks—and the other is too much like a spoiled little boy, always chattering.

So, the man would talk half as much as Benedick and be half as serious as Don John—

And if he were handsome, agile, and rich, too, he could have any woman in the world—all he’d need was her good will.

Really, niece, you’ll never get a husband if you keep saying such harsh things about people.

Honestly, she is too ill-tempered.

Being “too ill-tempered” is different from being simply “ill-tempered,” right? So I suppose that means I can escape God’s punishment, for in the old proverb, it is said that “God gives an ill-tempered cow short horns” so that she can’t inflict damage on anyone. But it doesn’t say anything about a cow that is too ill-tempered.

So then, for being too argumentative, God won’t send you any horns?

Exactly. I pray every morning and night that the Lord won’t send me a husband. Really, I couldn’t stand a husband with a beard. I’d rather be wrapped in scratchy blankets all night.

Maybe you will find a husband without a beard.

And then what would I do with him? Dress him up in my clothes and pretend he’s my lady servant? If he has a beard, he’s more than a boy; if he doesn’t have a beard, he’s less than a man. If he’s more than a boy, he’s not the one for me, and if he’s less than a man, I’m not the one for him. They say that women who die unmarried are destined to lead the apes to hell, and I suppose that’ll be my fate as well.

So you’ll go to hell?

No, just to the gates of hell, where the devil will meet me, with the horns on his head like a cuckold, and say, “Go up to heaven, Beatrice. Hell is no place for you virgins.” So I’ll fly up to heaven (leaving the apes behind) where I’ll be met by Saint Peter guarding heaven’s gates. He will show me the part of heaven where the bachelors sit, and I’ll have fun there forever.

(to HERO) Well, niece, I trust that you will defer to your father on these important decisions.

Surely, my cousin has a duty to please her father. But if the husband her father chooses isn’t handsome, she should sweetly tell her father that she will please herself—with another one.

Well, niece, I hope that I will see you married one day.

No, I won’t take a husband until they make men out of something other than dirt. What woman wouldn’t be distressed, being lorded over by a handful of dust? Can you imagine being hitched to a lump of clay? No, uncle, I won’t be married. And anyhow, if Adam is the father of all mankind, then his sons are my brothers, and really I believe that incest is a sin.

(to HERO) Daughter, remember what I told you. If the Prince asks for your hand in marriage, you know what to tell him.

But cousin, make sure he woos you properly and appropriately. If he is too insistent, tell him that romance is like a dance: it has its own rhythm and timing. Look, the three stages of romance are like three different dances. The wooing is like a Scottish jig: hot and fast and full of whimsy and illusion. The wedding is a like a dance you would do before the King: proper and decorous. Finally, you get to the part where you regret having gotten married in the first place. It is like the lively cinquepace: it goes faster and faster until you eventually topple over and die.

Niece, you are exceptionally perceptive.

I have a good eye, uncle. I can see what’s in broad daylight.

The partygoers have arrived. Let’s give them room.

My lady, will you have a dance with me?

As long as you move gracefully, look handsome, and say nothing, I’m yours for the dance. And I’ll even linger after I’ve gone.

Will I be with you then?

Perhaps, if I decide to let you.

And when will that be?

When I like the way you look, for God forbid your face be as ugly as your mask!

My mask is like the roof of the poor Philemon’s humble cottage; underneath the mask, I am as magnificent as the glorious god Jove.

Well, then, since Philemon’s roof was thatched with straw, your mask should have a beard.

If you wish to speak of love, speak more softly.

Well, I wish you liked me.

I’m glad I don’t, for your sake. I have many awful qualities.

Tell me one.

I say my prayers out loud.

That makes me love you even more. Everyone who hears you can shout, “Amen.”

God give me a good dance partner!

Amen. That would be me.

And God take him away from me when we’re finished dancing! Go ahead—say “Amen.”

No more talking. I’ve got my answer.

I know who you are; you are Signior Antonio.

No, really, I’m not.

I can tell by the way you waggle your head.

Really, I’m only pretending to be him.

You could only imitate his imperfections so well if you were the man himself. Look, you’ve got his wrinkled hands. You are Antonio, you are he.

In short, I’m not.

Come on, do you think I can’t recognize you by your excellent wit? Can a good thing hide itself? Be quiet, you are Antonio. A man’s virtues will always show themselves, and that’s the end of that.

Won’t you tell me who told you that?

No, you’ll have to excuse me.

And you won’t tell me who you are?

Not now.

Who said that I was disdainful, and that I got all my best lines out of a bad joke book?! Well, it must have been Signior Benedick.

Who’s that?

I’m sure you know him.

No I don’t, believe me.

What, he never made you laugh?

Please tell me, who is this man?

Why, he’s the Prince’s fool, and a very dull fool at that. His only talent is his capacity to come up with unbelievable slanders. Only the most immoral people enjoy his company, and they like him not for his wit but his outrageousness. He manages to both please and anger people; they laugh at him and then beat him up. I’m sure he’s out there dancing. I could have sworn he trampled on me.

When I meet this gentleman, I’ll tell him what you’ve said.

Oh, please do. He’ll say a few nasty things about me, and if nobody listens to him or laughs, he’ll be thrown into a funk. And that will save a partridge wing from being eaten, because he’ll be too miserable for dinner.

Come on, we have to follow the leaders of the dance.

In every good thing they do.

No, if they try to lead us to harm, I will leave the dance floor at the next song.

(to BORACHIO) My brother just wooed Hero and now has taken her father inside to tell him his feelings. The ladies have followed Hero, but one masked man remains.

That’s Claudio. I can tell by the way he carries himself.

(to CLAUDIO) Aren’t you Signior Benedick?

You know me too well. I am Benedick.

Sir, my brother is very fond of you. He is in love with Hero. Please make him change his mind. She doesn’t have the proper rank to marry the Prince. You would be doing a good service.

How do you know he loves her?

I heard him swear he did.

I did too, and he also swore he would marry her tonight.

Come on, let’s get to the banquet.

(taking off his mask) Though I said my name was Benedick, I heard this news with Claudio’s ears. Of course the Prince wants Hero for himself. Friendship is enduring except when love is involved. Therefore, all lovers should speak for themselves. They should look for themselves, without asking someone else to get involved in their affairs. Beauty is a witch whose spells can turn loyalty into passion. This happens a lot, but it didn’t occur to me that it would happen to me. Goodbye then, Hero.

Claudio?

Yes, that’s me.

Will you come with me?

Where?

Right over to that willow tree to see about your business. How do you want to wear your garland of willow leaves? Around your neck, like a moneylender’s gold chain, or under your arm, like a lieutenant’s sash? You have to wear it somehow, because the Prince has gotten your Hero.

I hope he enjoys her.

You sound like a cattle dealer: that’s the way they sell bulls. But do you really think the Prince would treat you that way?

Please, leave me alone.

Look at you, thrashing about like a blind man. A boy robbed you, but you’ll beat up the post instead.

If you won’t leave, then I’ll leave.

Oh, the poor bird. Now he’ll hide himself in the bushes. But how strange that Beatrice should seem to know who I was and yet not know at the same time. “The Prince’s fool”! Maybe they call me that because I am cheerful. Yes, but I am insulting myself by thinking this way. I don’t have that kind of reputation! Beatrice’s mean, sarcastic nature makes her believe that the entire world shares her opinions; that’s why she describes me this way. Well, I’ll get my revenge.

Now, sir, where is Claudio? Did you see him?

Yes, my lord, I played the part of a gossip and brought him the news. I found him here, as sad as a rabbit in a burrow. I told him—and I think I was telling the truth—that you had won the lady’s heart. I offered to accompany him to the willow tree, where he could either make a garland—fit to be worn by an abandoned lover—or gather sticks into a bundle, ready for his beating.

Beating? Why, what did he do?

He was like a schoolboy who finds a bird’s nest and happily shows it to his friend, who then steals it from him.

What, is trusting a friend such a crime? The criminal is the one who stole the nest.

It might have been appropriate to make both the rod and the garland. He could have worn the garland himself and beaten you with the rod, since you—as I understand it—have stolen his bird’s nest.

I only want to teach the baby birds to sing; then I will return the nest to its rightful owner.

We’ll wait and see; if the chicks follow your lead—if Hero is ready to love Claudio—then we’ll know you’re telling the truth.

Lady Beatrice is angry with you. The gentleman she danced with told her you insulted her.

Not even a block of wood could handle her abuses! An oak tree barely clinging to life would have revived itself to fight her. Even my mask seemed to come to life in order to argue with her. She told me—not realizing it was me—that I was the Prince’s jester and as dull as mud. She hurled mocking insults at me with such incredible speed that all I could do was stand there, paralyzed. She speaks daggers, and every word stabs. If her breath were as terrible as her words, she would kill every living thing from here to the furthest star. I wouldn’t marry her, even if she were as blessed as paradise. If she were married to the great hero Hercules, she would have humiliated him with chores around the house and ordered him to chop up his famous club for firewood. Please, don’t mention her. She’s as wicked as Ate, just disguised in pretty clothes. I wish to God that some wise man would conjure her away, because as long as she lives on earth, our lives are filled with turmoil. It’s quieter in hell, where people, sinning on purpose, are eager to be sent just to get away from her. So chaos, horror, and sorrow follow her wherever she goes.

Look, here she comes.

Your highness, could you send me on a mission to the ends of the earth? I’ll go to the Antipodes for any little errand you can think of. I’ll fetch you a toothpick from the farthest reaches of Asia, or find out Prester John’s shoe size, or snatch a hair from Kublai Khan’s beard, or deliver any message you wish to relay to the Pygmies—anything rather than exchange three words with this awful, screeching woman. Isn’t there something you want from me?

Nothing but your good company.

Oh, God, sir, here comes a dish I hate. I can’t stand tongue.

(to BEATRICE) Lady, you have lost Signior Benedick’s heart.

It’s true, my lord. He lent it to me once, and I paid him back with interest: a double heart for his single one. Really, he won it from me once before in a dishonest game of dice. So I suppose your grace can truly say that I have lost it.

You’ve humiliated him, lady: you’ve put him down.

And I hope that he won’t put me down or I’m sure to have fools for children.I’ve brought Claudio, who you sent me to find.

Why, what’s wrong, count? Why are you so sad?

I’m not sad, my lord.

What then, sick?

I’m neither, my lord.

The count is neither sad nor sick nor cheerful nor well—he’s just civil, as Seville as an orange, with the same jealous-yellow complexion.

Truly, lady, I think your description is correct, though I swear he has no reason to look like that. Here, Claudio, I’ve wooed Hero for you, and she’s agreed to marry you. I’ve told her father, and he’s given his permission. Tell us when you wish to get married, and may God give you joy.

Claudio, take my daughter, and, with her, take my fortunes. The Prince has made the match, and may God bless it.

Speak, Claudio, that’s your cue.

Complete joy makes one speechless; if I were only a little happy, then I could say exactly how much. Lady, you are mine and I am yours. For you, I give myself away and I’m ecstatic about the exchange.

Say something, cousin. Or, if you can’t say anything, stop his mouth with a kiss and don’t let him speak, either.

Truly, lady, you have a merry heart.

Yes, my lord. I thank my heart—the poor fool—for it keeps away from seriousness. Look, my cousin is whispering to Claudio that she loves him.

Why, you’re absolutely right, cousin.

Thank the lord for alliances! So everyone goes off into the world except me, who stays in because I’m sunburned. I should sit in the corner and sing that song, “Heigh-Ho for a Husband!”

Lady Beatrice, I’ll get you a husband.

I’d rather get a husband from your father. Don’t you have any brothers like you? Your father’s sons would make excellent husbands, if only a girl could catch one for herself.

Will you take me, my lady?

No, my lord, unless I could have another husband for the work week. You are too expensive to wear every day. But please, forgive me, your highness. I was born to speak cleverly, not seriously.

I’d be more offended if you were silent, for being lively and cheerful suits you best. Surely, you must have been born at a happy time.

Actually, my lord, my mother cried when she was giving birth to me. But then a star danced in the sky, and that’s the moment I was born.—Kinsmen, I’m off.

Niece, will you take care of those things I mentioned?

Oh, yes, I’m sorry, uncle.—If you’ll excuse me, your grace.

I swear, she’s a very good-natured lady.

There’s very little about her that’s gloomy, my lord. She’s only sad when she sleeps—and not even then. Hero told me that Beatrice has often had dreams about being unhappy, and managed to wake herself from them by laughing.

She can’t stand to hear about getting a husband.

No, not at all. She mocks all her suitors so severely that they drop the suit.

She would make a good wife for Benedick.

Oh, Lord, if they were married, they’d drive themselves crazy within a week.

Count Claudio, when do you plan to go to church and be married?

Tomorrow, my lord. Time will move as slowly as an old man until our love receives its proper ceremony.

Wait till Monday, my dear son, which is only a week away. Even that is too short a time to plan things the way I would like.

(to CLAUDIO) Oh, don’t look so frustrated at having to wait so long. I promise you, Claudio, the time will go by quickly. While we’re waiting for the wedding, I’m going to take on an impossible task: to make Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice fall in love with each other. I aim to see them matched, and with all of your help, I’m sure we can make it happen.

My lord, I will help you, even if it means I have to stay awake for ten nights straight.

Me too, my lord.

And you, sweet Hero?

I’ll do any decent thing, my lord, to help my cousin get a good husband.

And Benedick is not the worst husband I can think of. This much I can say about him: he is well-born, has proven his bravery in battle, and has established his good character. Hero, I’ll show you how to influence your cousin so she falls in love with Benedick. We men will trick Benedick so that, despite his quick wit and his queasiness about marriage, he will fall in love with her. If we can do this, then we will steal Cupid’s glory. We will be the supreme love gods! Come inside with me, and I will tell you my plan.

It’s arranged. The Count Claudio will marry Leonato’s daughter.

Yes, my lord, but I can spoil it.

Any obstacle or barrier to Claudio’s happiness will be like medicine to me. I hate him so much it makes me sick, and whoever can ruin his happiness will make me happy. How will you wreck this marriage?

I can only do it by lying, my lord, but I can do it so secretly that no one will suspect me.

Quickly, tell me how.

I think it was a year ago that I told you how much Margaret, Hero’s servant woman, likes me.

I remember.

I can arrange it so that at some indecent hour of the night, she looks out Hero’s bedroom window.

How will that kill this marriage?

That part is up to you. Go to the Prince, your brother, and tell him that he has done a terrible thing by matching the renowned Claudio—whom you greatly admire—with such a tainted whore as Hero.

What will be my evidence?

Evidence enough to deceive the Prince, anger Claudio, ruin Hero, and kill Leonato. Is there anything else you wish?

That’s all I want, and I’ll do anything to accomplish it.

Find a time to speak with Don Pedro and Claudio alone. Tell them you know that Hero loves me. Pretend to be very concerned about both the Prince, who has compromised his honor by making the match, and Claudio, whose reputation will be ruined by this woman who’s pretending to be a virgin. Of course, they won’t believe you without proof. Tell them you’ve seen the two of us at Hero’s bedroom window, and then bring them to see for themselves on the night before the wedding. I’ll arrange it so that Hero is away for the night, so what they’ll actually see is Margaret and me at the window, calling each other “Hero” and “Claudio.” It’ll be such blatant evidence of Hero’s disloyalty that Claudio’s jealousy will quickly turn to certainty, and the wedding will be instantly called off.

Make the arrangements, and I’ll do it. Do this carefully, and I will reward you with a thousand gold coins.

If you make the accusation convincingly, then my cunning won’t fail me.

I’ll go now to find out the date of the wedding.

Boy!

Yes Signior?

In my bedroom window there is a book. Go get it and bring it to me here in the orchard.

I’m already here, sir.

I see that you are here, but I’d like you to go there and then come back again.

I’m amazed that a man, after watching romance turn another man into a fool and laughing at that man, can turn right around and become the thing he’s scorned. That’s the kind of man Claudio is. I knew him when he listened to nothing but the military drum and fife; now he would rather hear the sweet and refined music of the tabor and pipe. I knew him when he would’ve walked ten miles to see a well-crafted suit of armor; now he spends ten nights awake in his room designing himself a fancy new jacket. He used to speak plainly and to the point, like an honorable man and soldier; now his speech is elaborate and flowery. His words are like a miraculous banquet, full of strange new dishes. Will I be changed like that, and see the world through a lover’s eyes? I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. I can’t promise that love won’t transform me, but I can promise you this: until I truly fall in love, a woman will never make me act like such a fool. A beautiful woman comes along, but I’m unmoved. A wise woman turns up, but I’m unmoved. A virtuous woman appears, but I’m unmoved. I refuse to fall in love until all three qualities unite in a single woman. She must be rich, certainly, and smart, or I’ll have nothing to do with her. She has to be virtuous, or I’ll never bid on her; beautiful, or I won’t bother to look at her. Mild-mannered, or else she should stay away from me. Noble, or I won’t have her even if she’s an angel. She must be well spoken, an excellent musician, and her hair should be—well, I suppose the color doesn’t matter. Ha! Look, it’s the Prince and Mr. Love. I’ll hide in the arbor.

Well, should we hear some music?

Yes, my lord. Listen to how quiet the evening is, as if it’s purposefully setting the stage for a song.

(speaking so that only CLAUDIOcan hear) Do you see where Benedick is hiding?

(speaking so that only DON PEDROcan hear) Yes, very well, my lord. Once the music has ended, we’ll give him more than he bargained for.

Come on, Balthasar, let’s hear that song again.

Oh, my good lord, don’t make me insult music again with my awful singing.

You can tell an artist is excellent when he denies his own perfection. Please, sing for us; don’t make me woo you anymore!

Since you put it that way, I’ll sing. You’re like a suitor who courts a woman insincerely, swearing that he loves her even though he really doesn’t find her worthy.

Come on, please sing. If you’d like to continue this discussion, at least do so with music.

Just know this before I begin: I can’t play a single note that’s worthy of note.

Listen to him speaking in quarter notes! Get on with your note-playing now.

(to himself) That music must be divine, because their souls have been captivated. Isn’t it strange that strings made of sheep’s guts are capable of drawing men’s souls out of their bodies? Well, I’d rather listen to a plain old hunting horn than this music, when all is said and done.

(singing)

Don’t cry anymore, ladies, don’t cry anymore

Men have always been deceivers,

One foot on a ship and one on the shore,

Never devoted to anything.

So don’t cry like that, just let them go

And be happy and carefree forever,

Turning all your sad sounds around

When you sing “Hey, nonny nonny” instead.

Don’t sing more sad songs

About being down in the dumps

For men have been committing this kind of fraud

Ever since the first summer trees had leaves.

So don’t cry like that, just let them go

And be happy and carefree forever,

Turning all your sad sounds around

When you sing “Hey, nonny nonny” instead.

That’s a good song.

And a bad singer, my lord.

Ha! No, no, really, your voice is good enough in a pinch.

(to himself) If a dog had howled like that, I would have hung it. I hope his horrible singing doesn’t have any ill effects. I would’ve rather listened to the night raven screech, even if the bird’s noise does give me the plague, as they say it will.

Yes, do you hear me, Balthasar? Please, get some excellent music, because tomorrow we want to serenade Lady Hero at her bedroom window.

I’ll do the best I can, my lord.

Please do. Goodbye.

Come here, Leonato. What was it that you told me today—that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?

Oh yes. (speaking so that only DON PEDRO can hear) Go on, keep walking: our prey is in sight.—I never thought that woman would love any man.

I didn’t, either. But how wonderful that she should be so fond of Signior Benedick, whom she has always appeared to hate.

(to himself) Is it possible? Is that the way the wind is blowing?

Really, my lord, I don’t know what to make of it, but she loves him with such a passion that it’s past all understanding.

Maybe she’s just pretending.

Yes, that’s quite likely.

Oh God! Pretending? No one has ever faked passion as skillfully as this, then.

Why, what symptoms of love does she exhibit?

(speaking so that only LEONATOcan hear) Bait the hook well; this fish is going to bite.

What symptoms, my lord? She will have a seat—you heard my daughter tell you how.

Yes, she did tell us.

Please, please tell me! This is amazing. I would have thought she was invincible against any assault of love.

I would have sworn that, too, my lord, especially against Benedick.

(to himself) I would take this as a joke if the old man weren’t saying it. Mischief surely can’t be hiding in such a respectable man.

(speaking so that only DON PEDROcan hear) We’ve infected him! Keep it up.

Has she told Benedick how she feels?

No, and she swears she never will. That’s what’s driving her crazy.

It’s true, Hero says so. Beatrice asks, “Does it make any sense to write and tell him I love him when I have always treated him with scorn?”

She says this as she begins to write the letter. She’ll be getting up twenty times in a night, sitting there in her slip until she’s written a page. My daughter told me everything.

Now that you speak of paper, I remember a funny story of Hero’s.

Oh, you mean when Beatrice writes a letter and Hero sees that it has “Benedick” and “Beatrice” written all over it?

Yes, that’s the one.

Oh, she tears that letter into a thousand small pieces and berates herself for being so forward as to write a letter to a man she knows would mock her. “I compare him,” she says, “to myself, and I know that I would mock him if he wrote me such a letter. Yes, even though I love him, I would mock him.”

Then she falls down to her knees, weeps, sobs, beats her breast, tears her hair, prays, and curses: “Oh sweet Benedick! God give me patience!”

She did indeed, my daughter says so. She worries that Beatrice is so overwrought that she might do herself harm someday. It’s true.

If she won’t tell Benedick, someone else should.

And what would that accomplish? He’ll just turn it into a joke and torment the poor woman even more.

If he did that, it would be a charitable deed to hang him. She’s an excellent, sweet woman, and there’s no doubt that she is virtuous.

And she is very smart.

Except for the fact that she loves Benedick.

Oh, my lord, when wisdom and passion are in one body, it’s ten to one that the passion will win. I am sorry for her, as I should be, since I am both her uncle and her guardian.

I wish she were in love with me instead. I would have thrown away all other considerations and made her my wife. Please, tell Benedick about her feelings and see what he has to say.

Is that a good idea, do you think?

Hero thinks Beatrice will surely die, for she says she’ll die if he doesn’t love her, and that she’ll die before she tells him, and she’ll die if he woos her and she’s made to hold back even one of her usual insults.

She’s probably right. If she offers him her love, it’s very possible that he’ll scorn it, since, as we all know, he tends to be contemptuous.

He’s a very proper man.

Indeed, he is good-looking and carries himself well.

And I swear to God he’s very smart.

He does indeed show sparks of something like wit.

And I believe him to be brave.

As brave as Hector, surely. And you could say that he is wise in managing fights, for he either avoids them discreetly or enters into them timidly.

If he fears God, he must necessarily keep the peace. If he breaks the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.

And he’ll do that, because he’s a God-fearing man, even though his joking makes it seem otherwise. Well, I’m sorry for your niece. Should we go find Benedick and tell him about Beatrice’s love?

No, don’t ever tell him, my lord. Let her get over it, with the help of good advice.

No, that’s impossible. Her heart will break first.

Well, we’ll hear more about it from your daughter. Let it sit for a while. I am very fond of Benedick, and I just wish he would take a look at himself and realize how unfairly he’s treating this good woman.

My lord, will you come with me? Dinner is ready.

(speaking so that only DON PEDROand LEONATO can hear) If he doesn’t fall in love with her now, I’ll never trust my intuition again.

(speaking so that only LEONATOcan hear) The same trap must be set for her; that’s your daughter’s and servants’ job. The real fun will be when they both believe the other to be in love, without any of it being true. I can’t wait to watch that drama—it’ll be a pantomime, since both of them will be totally speechless! Let’s send Beatrice to call Benedick in to dinner

(coming forward) This can’t be a trick. They spoke with great seriousness, and they have Hero’s testimony. They seem to pity the lady. It seems her love is stretched to the limit. She loves me? Well, that love must be returned! I hear how I’m criticized. They say I’ll be smug if I find out she loves me. They also say she’d rather die than give any sign of her feelings. I never thought I’d marry. I can’t appear to be proud. People who discover their faults and can then change them are lucky indeed. They say the lady is beautiful; it’s true, I’ve seen it myself. And virtuous; that’s true, I can’t disprove that. And smart, except that she loves me. That may not be any proof of her intelligence, but I swear it won’t be evidence of her stupidity—for I’m going to be horribly in love with her! People might tease me here and there, since I attacked marriage for so long. But don’t tastes change? A man can love a dish when he is young that he hates when he turns old. Will quips and clever remarks and scathing written words keep a man from getting what his heart desires? No! The world needs to be populated. When I said that I’d die as a bachelor, I just meant that I didn’t think I’d live until I got married. Here comes Beatrice. By God! She’s a beautiful lady. I think I sense some signs of love in her.

Against my will, I’ve been told to bring you in to dinner.

Lovely Beatrice, I thank you for taking the pains to tell me that.

I didn’t take any more pains bringing this message than you took pains in thanking me. If the job had been painful, I would not have come.

So you took pleasure in bringing me this message?

Yes, as much pleasure as one might take in choking a bird at knifepoint. You don’t want to eat, sir? Goodbye, then.

Ha! “Against my will, I’ve been told to bring you in to dinner.” There’s a double meaning in that. “I didn’t take any more pains bringing this message than you took pains in thanking me.” That’s like saying, “Any thing I do for you is as easy as saying ”thank you." If this doesn’t move me to take pity on her, I’m a horrible person. If I don’t love her, I’m completely hard-hearted. I will go get her picture.

Margaret, run into the sitting room. You’ll find Beatrice there, talking to Claudio and the Prince. Whisper to her that Ursula and I are walking in the orchard and that we’re talking all about her. Tell her you heard us, and that she should sneak into the arbor where the crisscrossing branches overhead keep the honeysuckles out of the sun. (The same honeysuckles that were once ripened in the sun; they’re like courtiers who rise because the king favors them, then plot to overthrow his Majesty.) She can hide there and eavesdrop on our conversation. This is your job. Do it well, and then leave us.

I’ll make her come right away, I promise you.

All right Ursula, as Beatrice arrives, we’ll be walking up and down this alley and speaking about nothing but Benedick. Whenever I mention him, praise him more than any man deserves. It’ll be my job to talk about how Benedick is sick with love for Beatrice. We’ll make our arrows the same way Cupid does: with gossip and rumor.

Let’s start. See, Beatrice has run over like a little bird, keeping close to the ground and trying to overhear us.

(speaking so that only HERO can hear) The best part of fishing is watching the fish cut through the water and greedily take the bait. Now we’re fishing for Beatrice, who’s hiding right now in the honeysuckle arbor. Don’t worry, I’ll do my part.

(speaking so that only URSULAcan hear) Then let’s get closer, so she can hear all the false, sweet bait we’re setting for her.— (approaching the bower) No, truly, Ursula, she’s too scornful. She’s as devious and fierce as the wild hawks on the rocks.

But are you sure that Benedick loves Beatrice that much?

That’s what the Prince and my fiancé say.

And did they ask you to tell Beatrice about this, madam?

They did want me to tell her, but I persuaded them that, if they truly loved Benedick, they would try to get him to battle his emotions and keep Beatrice in the dark.

Why did you do that? Doesn’t Benedick deserve as much luck with a mate as he would have with Beatrice?

By the god of love, I know that he deserves all that a man might possess. But Nature never made a woman’s heart as proud and tough as Beatrice’s. There is scorn and disdain in her eyes, and those sparkling eyes despise everything they look upon. She values her wit more highly than anything else, which looks weak by comparison. She’s so in love with herself, she’s incapable of loving anyone else. She can’t even imagine what “love” is.

Yes, you’re right. It would be bad if she knew about Benedick’s love and teased him about it.

It’s true. Whenever she meets a man—no matter how wise, noble, young, handsome—she rearranges all his good qualities so they end up looking bad. If he has a fair complexion, she’ll say the pretty man should be her sister, not her husband. If he’s dark-skinned, Nature must have spilled some ink while drawing his foolish face. If he’s tall, she’ll say he’s a spear topped by an odd head; if he’s short, she says he looks like a badly carved miniature. If he’s talkative, he’s a weathervane, moving in all directions at once; if he’s silent, he’s a block that can’t be moved at all. And so she turns men inside out and never acknowledges the integrity and merit that a man has.

It’s true, her nitpicking is hardly admirable.

No, it certainly is not admirable to be so perverse and eccentric. But who would dare tell her? If I said something, she’d mock me so mercilessly that I’d probably disintegrate into air. She’d laugh me right out of my body and kill me with her wit. So Benedick should conceal his emotions. Like a fire that gets covered up, Benedick should smother his love and waste away. It would be better to die that way than to die from being mocked, which is as bad as being killed by tickling.

But you should tell her about this, and hear what she has to say.

No, instead I’ll go to Benedick and advise him to fight his emotions. I’ll make up some awful things about my cousin and ruin her reputation. You don’t know how quickly affection can be killed with a single nasty word.

Oh, don’t injure your cousin like that! With the quick, intelligent wit she’s rumored to have, she can’t really be such a bad judge of character that she’d refuse a man as exceptional as Signior Benedick.

He’s the only worthy man in Italy, aside from my dear Claudio.

Don’t be angry with me for speaking my mind, but throughout Italy, Benedick is considered the best man in looks, bearing, intelligence, and bravery.

True, he has an excellent reputation.

And he deserves it, having been excellent before he had a reputation for it. When are you getting married, madam?

Tomorrow, and then every day after that. Come on, let’s go inside. I want to show you some clothing, so you can tell me what I should wear tomorrow.

(speaking so that only HERO can hear) We caught her in our trap, madam, I’m sure of it.

(speaking so that only URSULAcan hear) If so, then you never know where love will come from. Cupid gets some lovers with arrows, but some he lays traps for!

(coming forward) I’m burning up with shame! Can this be true? Do people criticize me this much for being proud and scornful? Then I’ll say goodbye to my contempt and my pride in being unmarried! No good is spoken of such a person as me behind her back. Benedick, keep on loving me and I will return your love, like a wild hawk being tamed by her handler. I’ll be kind to you from now on, and if you really do love me, that kindness will encourage you to seal our love with a wedding band. People say that you deserve my love, and I believe it—not just because they’ve said so.

I’ll stay in Messina until you’re married, and then I’ll go to Aragon.

I’ll go with you, my lord, if you’ll allow me.

No, taking you away from your new marriage would be like showing a child a new coat and then not letting him wear it. I’ll ask only Benedick to come with me, for from the top of his head to the soles of his feet he’s a joker. He’s evaded love once or twice, and since then Cupid doesn’t dare to shoot at him. Benedick’s heart is like a bell, with his tongue as the clapper: everything his heart thinks, his tongue speaks.

Gentleman, I am not the same man I was before.

I agree. I think you seem more serious.

I hope he’s in love.

Come off it, man! There isn’t a single drop of sincerity in him that could be touched with love. If he looks serious, he must need money.

I have a toothache.

Draw it.

Hang it!

You have to hang it first. Then you can draw it.

What, are you moaning on about your toothache?

It could only have been caused by some humor or worm.

Well, everyone knows how to overcome an injury except the one who actually has one.

I repeat, he’s in love.

No, there’s no love in him, unless you mean his love for strange costumes. He’s a Dutchman today, a Frenchman tomorrow, and sometimes wears the clothing of two countries at once: a German from the waist down, with his baggy pants, and a Spaniard from the hips up, with a cloak and no jacket. Unless you’re talking about his love for this kind of foolishness—which, judging from his appearance, he has—he is no fool for love, as you pretend.

If he’s not in love with a woman, then you can’t trust the usual symptoms. He brushes his hat in the mornings. What do you think that means?

Has any man seen him at the barber’s?

No, but the barber’s assistant has been seen with him. The beard that used to decorate Benedick’s cheeks has been shaved off and is now stuffing tennis balls.

Getting rid of the beard definitely makes him look younger.

And he’s rubbed himself with perfume. Can you smell out his secret now?

That’s as good as proof that the sweet young man’s in love.

The biggest clue is his seriousness.

And when has he ever been known to wash his face?

Yes, or to wear cosmetics? I hear what they say about him for doing that.

Indeed, his mocking spirit has now crawled into a lute, and he can be played like an instrument—

Truly, it all adds up to a serious story for Benedick. A conclusion, a conclusion: he is in love.

Oh, and I know who loves him.

I bet I know, too: someone who clearly doesn’t know him at all.

No, she does know him, and she also knows all his bad qualities—and in spite of all this, she still dies for him.

She’ll be buried with her face upwards, then.

This chatter is no cure for my toothache. (to LEONATO) Old sir, please walk with me a bit. I have eight or nine well-considered words to say to you, and I don’t want these fools to hear.

I bet my life he’s gone to speak with Leonato about Beatrice!

It must be. By now, Hero and Margaret have done their part with Beatrice. The two bears won’t bite each other the next time they meet.

My lord and brother, God save you.

Good evening, brother.

If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with you.

In private?

If you wish. But Count Claudio can stay, for what I’m about to say concerns him.

What’s the matter?

(to CLAUDIO) Do you plan on getting married tomorrow?

You know that he does.

I don’t know that, once he knows what I know.

If there’s any reason we shouldn’t get married, I urge you to tell me.

You may think that I don’t love you. I hope that, after I tell you my news, you will think better of me. My brother thinks highly of you, and because of his affection, has helped arrange your marriage—but that was definitely a waste of his time and energy.

Why, what’s the matter?

I came here to tell you—I’ll make this short, since she’s already been talked about for too long—the lady is unfaithful.

Who, Hero?

That’s the one: Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every man’s Hero.

Unfaithful?

The word is too good to represent her wickedness. She is worse than wicked. If you can think of a more awful title, I’ll call her that. But don’t keep wondering without more proof. Come with me tonight, and you’ll see a man enter her bedroom chamber—even tonight, the night before her wedding. If you still love her after that, then marry her tomorrow. But you would be more honorable if you changed your mind.

(to DON PEDRO) Is this possible?

I won’t consider it.

If you won’t risk coming to see her tonight, then don’t claim to know what she’s like. If you follow me, I’ll give you all the proof you need. Once you have seen more and heard more, then you can decide what to do.

If I see anything tonight that convinces me not to marry her, I’ll shame her tomorrow in the very congregation where I would have married her.

And since I wooed her in your name, I’ll join you in disgracing her.

I won’t say anything else about her until you two see things for yourselves. Remain calm until midnight, and then you’ll see what the trouble is.

Oh, this day has turned into a disaster!

Oh, mischief has ruined our plans!

Oh, a plague has been prevented, thank God! That’s what you’ll say once you’ve seen part two.

Are you all good and honest men?

Yes they are, otherwise it would be proper for them to suffer salvation, body and soul.

If they had any allegiance when they were chosen for the Prince’s watch, a punishment like that would be too good for them.

Well, give them their assignment, Sir Dogberry.

First, which man do you think is most desertless to be leader of the watch?

Either Hugh Otecake, sir, or else George Seacole, because both of them can read and write.

Come here, Sir Seacole. God has blessed you with a good name. To be good-looking is a matter of luck, but to read and write is a natural gift.

Both of which, master constable—

You have. I knew that would be your answer. Well, for your good looks, sir, thank God and don’t boast about it. As for your reading and writing, use those skills when you can’t use your looks. You’re thought to be the most senseless and fit man here, so you will carry the lantern and be constable. This is your assignment: you will comprehend any vagrant men you see. You are to order all men to stop, in the Prince’s name.

And what if he won’t stop?

Well then, don’t bother with him and let him go. Then immediately call the rest of the watch together and thank God that you’ve gotten rid of such a criminal.

If he won’t stop when he’s told to, then he isn’t one of the Prince’s subjects.

True, and you aren’t supposed to meddle with anyone but the Prince’s subjects. You will also stay quiet in the streets, for a babbling watch is most tolerable and will not be endured.

We’ll sleep instead of talk. We know what’s appropriate for a watch.

Why, you speak like an experienced and quiet watchman. Sleeping on the watch shouldn’t be a problem; just make sure that your weapons don’t get stolen. Also, you’re supposed to visit all the bars and tell anyone who’s drunk to go home and go to bed.

And what if they won’t go?

Well then, leave them alone until they’re sober. If even then they don’t answer to your satisfaction, you can say that they’re not the men you thought they were.

Very good, sir.

If you meet a thief, you can expect him to be dishonest. The less you have to do with that kind of man, the more honest you will be.

So if we know that a man is a thief, should we try to arrest him?

Your position permits you to, but I think that those who stick their hands in pitch get their hands dirty. If you encounter a thief, I think the most peaceable thing to do is to let him be himself—and steal away.

You have always been known as a merciful man, partner.

Truly, I wouldn’t even hang a dog, much more a man who has any honesty in him.

(to the watchmen) If you hear a child crying in the night, you should call the nurse and tell her to quiet the child.

What if the nurse is asleep and doesn’t hear us?

Well then, leave quietly, and let the child’s crying wake up the nurse. The ewe that doesn’t go to her lamb when it baas will never tend to another animal’s child.

That’s very true.

And that’s the end of your assignment. You, constable, are representing the Prince himself. If you meet the Prince in the night, you can order him to stop.

No, by our Lady, I don’t think he can.

I’ll bet any man who knows the law five shillings to one on it. Truly though, you can’t stop the Prince without the Prince’s consent, for the watch shouldn’t offend anyone, and it’s an offense to keep a man without his consent.

By our Lady, I think that’s true.

Ha, ha, ha! Well, gentlemen, good night. And if anything important happens, find me and let me know. Keep each other’s secrets and your own. Good night. Come, friend.

Well gentlemen, we’ve heard our assignment. Let’s sit here on the church bench until two and then go off to bed.

One more thing, good gentlemen. Watch over Signior Leonato’s house; with the wedding being held there tomorrow, there’s a great to-do there tonight. Adieu. Be vigitant, I beg you.

Conrade!

(whispering) Quiet! Don’t move!

Conrade, I say!

I’m here, man, at your elbow.

Come to think of it, I thought I felt a scab there.

I’ll get you for that. Now get on with your story.

Since it’s drizzling, stand under this overhang with me and, like a true drunk, I’ll tell you everything.

(speaking so that only the other WATCHMEN can hear) There’s some treason occurring, gentlemen. Stay here.

You should know I’ve earned a thousand gold pieces from Don John.

Is it possible that any crime could be so valuable?

You should ask instead if it’s possible that any criminal could be so rich. Because when rich villains need poor villains’ services, those poor ones can name the price.

I can’t believe it.

That only proves how inexperienced you are. You know that the style of a man’s jacket or hat or coat means nothing.

Yes, it’s just clothing.

No, I mean, the fashion of a man’s clothing tells us nothing about the man.

Yes, fashion is fashion.

C’mon, I might as well say the fool’s the fool! But don’t you see what a deformed villain fashion is?

(speaking so that only the other WATCHMEN can hear) I know that man, Deformed. For the past seven years, he’s been a wicked thief. He walks around as if he were a gentleman. I remember that name.

Did you hear someone?

Just the weathervane moving.

As I was saying, fashion is a deformed villain. It makes hot-blooded young men spin around feverishly, forever changing their appearances, dictating that sometimes they dress like Pharoah’s soldiers in that grimy painting and sometimes like the priests of the god Baal, as seen in old church windows. And sometimes fashion dresses them like the great Hercules in that dirty, worm-eaten tapestry—the one where his codpiece seems almost as big as his club.

I get all this. And I also understand how fashion changes so quickly that a man’s clothing never gets a chance to wear itself out. But you’re all wound up about fashion, too. Otherwise, why would you stray from your story to blabber on about it?

No, I’m not wound up. But I will tell you that I seduced Margaret, the Lady Hero’s waiting woman, tonight. I called her “Hero” the whole time. She leaned out of her mistress’ bedroom window and told me good night a thousand times—but I am telling this story poorly. I should backtrack and begin with how my master, Don John, arranged for the Prince, Claudio, and himself to witness this friendly encounter from the orchard.

And they thought Margaret was Hero?

The Prince and Claudio did, but the devil, my master, knew that it was Margaret. They believed the charade partially because of my master’s testimony—which first caused them to doubt Hero—and partially because of how dark and deceiving the night was, but mostly because of my villainous actions, which confirmed Don John’s slander. Claudio went away enraged, swearing that he’d meet Hero at the temple as planned and there, before the entire congregation, shame her with what he’d discovered and send her home without a husband.

We charge you, in the Prince’s name, to stop!

Call up the Master Constable Dogberry. We have recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that was ever known in the commonwealth.

And one of them is the criminal Deformed. I know him; he wears a lock of hair.

Gentlemen, gentlemen—

(to BORACHIO) I bet you’ll be forced to bring Deformed forward.

Gentlemen, don’t speak. We obey you to go with us.

We’re probably a very valuable catch for these guys.

Well, our value is debatable, I bet. Let’s go, we’ll obey you.

Good Ursula, go wake my cousin and ask her to get up.

I will, lady.

And request that she come here.

Very well.

Really, I think your other ruff is better.

No, please good Meg, I’ll wear this one.

Honestly, it’s not as good as the other one, and I’m sure your cousin will agree with me.

My cousin’s a fool, and you are too. I’ll wear this one and none other.

I like your new wig and headdress, though I’d like it more if the hair were a shade browner. And your gown is really stylish. You know, I saw the Duchess of Milan’s gown, the one that everyone praises so highly.

Oh, they say that dress surpasses all others.

Compared to your dress, it’s no better than a nightgown. The cloth is interwoven with gold thread, and slashes in the material show the fabric beneath. It is trimmed with silver lace and embroidered with pearls. It has one set of fitted sleeves and another ornamental pair that hangs open from the shoulders. The skirts are trimmed with a blue, metallic fabric. But for a fine, elegant, graceful, and excellent dress, yours is worth ten of those.

I hope I enjoy wearing it, for my heart is very heavy.

It will be made even heavier soon—by the weight of a man.

Watch your tongue! Have you no shame?

Shame of what, lady? Sex and marriage are honorable things—even for a beggar, right? And isn’t your husband an honorable man? You’re so prudish you’d probably like me to say, “I beg your pardon, your husband”—as if husband were a dirty word! So long as suspicious minds aren’t misinterpreting my honest words, I’ll offend no one. What’s wrong with admitting your husband’s going to lie on you? Nothing, as long as it’s the right husband with the right wife. That’s right and proper—anything else is frivolous and immoral. Ask Beatrice. Here she comes.

Good morning, cousin.

Good morning, sweet Hero.

Why do you sound so odd? Are you ill? You sound out of tune.

I must be ill—I don’t think I can speak in any other tune.

If it’s a tune we want, let’s sing “Light on Love!” It’s a light song and doesn’t require a man to sing the baritone. You sing, and I’ll dance.

You’re “light on love” sure enough—your frivolous dancing proves you have light heels! When you’re married one of these days, if your husband is rolling in dough, you’ll let him roll in the hay whenever he wants.

Never! I reject that life; I kick it away with my heels.

(to HERO) It’s almost five o’clock, cousin. You should be ready by now. Oh, I really don’t feel well. Heigh-ho!

Are you sighing for a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

I have an ache; I’m sighing for the letter that begins all those words.

Well, if you haven’t renounced your old faith yet, we can’t trust anything anymore.

What does the fool mean by that, I wonder?

I don’t mean anything—but God sends everyone their heart’s desire.

The Count sent me an excellent pair of perfumed gloves.

Sorry, I’m all stuffed. I can’t smell a thing.

Oh, just a young lady and already stuffed! That’s a nice way to catch a cold.

Oh, God help me! Since when have you claimed to be such a great wit?

Ever since you lost yours. Doesn’t my wit suit me well?

It doesn’t get seen enough; you should wear it in your cap, the way fools wear coxcombs. God, I’m really sick.

You should get some distilled carduus benedictus and put it on your chest. It’s the only way to cure a sudden faintness.

With that you’ve managed to prick her with a thistle.

Benedictus! Why do you suggest I use benedictus? Is there some double meaning in that word, “benedictus”?

Double meaning! No, honestly, there’s no other meaning. I just meant that you should use some holy thistle. Maybe you think that I think you’re in love. No, by Our Lady, I’m not such a fool to think what I please, and I don’t please to think what I can, and in fact I cannot think, even if I could think my heart right past thinking, that you are in love or that you will be in love or even that you can be in love. But Benedick was once an enemy of love as well, and now he’s become a real man. He swore that he’d never get married, but now, despite his earlier protestations, he loves ungrudgingly. How we’re going to convert you I’ll never know. And yet I think you look with your eyes just like every other woman does.

Why are you talking at such a crazy clip?

It’s not a false gallop, anyway.

Madam, we have to go: the Prince, the Count, Signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gentlemen of the town have come to bring you to church.

Good cousin, good Meg, good Ursula, come help me get dressed.

What do you want from me, my good man?

Please, sir, I would like to discuss some news that decerns you greatly.

Be brief, please, because, as you can see, this is a busy time for me.

Indeed, sir, it is.

Yes, it truly is.

What’s the news, my good friends?

Sorry, sir, Goodman Verges tends to ramble. He’s an old man, sir, and his wits are not as blunt as I wish they were. But truly, he’s as honest as the skin between his brows.

Yes, I thank God that I am as honest as all the other old men who are not honester than me.

Making comparisons is odorous, Verges. Get on with your story.

Friends, you are becoming tedious.

Thank you for saying that, your Worship, but we’re just the poor duke’s officers. But truly, if I were as tedious as a king, I would give everything to you, your Worship.

Oh, so you’d give me all your tediousness?

Yes, even if I had a thousand more pounds than that, for I hear that you are exclaimed throughout the city, and though I am only a poor man, it makes me glad to hear it.

Me, too.

Gentlemen, please, I’d like to hear your news.

Sir, our watch tonight—expectfully, sir—has captured a couple of the worst criminals in Messina.

(to LEONATO) Verges is a good old man, sir, but he’s always babbling. Like they say, “When age comes, wit goes.” God help us, what a world! (to VERGES) You did well, Verges, honestly. (to LEONATO) Well, God’s a fair man. If two men are riding on one horse, one must naturally ride behind. Verges is as honest a man as any, but, God bless him, not all men are created equal. Am I right, my friend?

Truly, my friend, he isn’t nearly as impressive as you are.

God gives those gifts—I had nothing to do with it.

Now I must return to the wedding.

One more thing, sir. Our watch, sir, as you know, has comprehended two auspicious persons. We’d like for you to examine them this morning.

Examine them yourselves, then bring me your findings. Now I’m in a great hurry, as I’m sure you can see.

That will be suffigance.

Have some wine before you go. Goodbye.

My lord, they’re waiting for you to give your daughter away to Claudio.

I’m coming.

Go to Francis Seacole, the constable of the watch. Tell him to bring his pen and his inkwell to the jail. We will now go to examination these men.

We must do this wisely.

We won’t hold back any of our wisdom. We’ll drive them to a noncome. Go get the educated writer to record our excommunication, and I’ll meet you at the jail.

All right, Friar Francis, let’s keep this short. Do a simple ceremony, and list all the particular duties of marriage later.

(to CLAUDIO) Have you come here, my lord, to marry this lady?

No.

No, he comes to be married to her. Friar, you are the one who has come to marry her.

Lady, do you come here to be married to this count?

I do.

If either of you knows any secret reason why you two should not be joined in marriage, I order you on your souls to say so.

Do you know any, Hero?

None, my lord.

Do you know any, count?

I’m sure I can answer for him—he doesn’t know any, either.

Oh, the things men dare to do! The things men are allowed to do! The things men do daily, not knowing what they’re doing!

What, are we playing with interjections? Well then, add some interjections that indicate laughter, like “ah,” “ha,” and “he!”

Hold on, Friar. (to LEONATO) Father, are you giving me your daughter freely?

As freely, son, as God gave her to me.

And what should I give you that would be equal in value to this rare and precious gift?

Nothing, sir, except grandchildren.

Good Prince, you have taught me how to accept things nobly. There, Leonato, take your daughter back. Don’t insult a friend by giving him a beautiful orange that rots inside. She only appears honorable from the outside. Look, how she blushes like a virgin! Oh, sin can disguise itself so artfully! Doesn’t that rising blush suggest that she is virtuous and innocent? All of you who are looking at her, wouldn’t you swear that she’s a virgin, judging by these outward shows? But she is no virgin. She has been in a man’s bed. She blushes from guilt, not modesty.

What do you mean, my lord?

I won’t be married. I won’t join my soul to such a proven slut.

My dear lord, if it was you who conquered her and took her virginity—

I know what you’re about to say. If I had slept with her, you’d say that we did so as husband and wife, merely anticipating our eventual marriage. No, Leonato. I never seduced her, or tempted her with indecent words. I treated her like a brother would treat a sister, with modest sincerity and appropriate affection.

And have I ever seemed less than modest or appropriate to you?

Curse you for your false appearances! To me, you seemed like Diana in her orbit—as virginal as the flower bud before it blooms. But you’re actually as hot-blooded as Venus, or a pampered animal allowed to run wild.

Are you sick, my lord? Is that why you’re talking so wildly?

Good Prince, say something!

What should I say? I’ve been dishonored: I arranged for a friend of mine to marry a common whore.

Are you really saying these things, or am I dreaming?

They’re really being spoken, sir, and they’re true.

This doesn’t look like a wedding.

It’s true! Oh God!

Leonato, am I standing here? Is this the Prince? Is this the Prince’s brother? Is this face Hero’s? Are these our eyes?

Yes, that’s all true—but what do you mean by it, my lord?

Let me just ask her one question, and by your authority as her father, order her to answer truthfully.

As my child, I order you to do so.

Oh, God help me! How I’m being attacked! What kind of game is this?

We just want you to answer to your real name.

Isn’t my name Hero? Who can stain that name with a just accusation?

Indeed, Hero herself can! You’ve stained your virtue with your own actions. What man were you talking to at your window last night, between the hours of midnight and one? If you’re a virgin, you’ll answer this question.

I wasn’t talking to any man at that time, my lord.

Well then, you are no virgin. Leonato, I’m sorry you have to hear this. I swear on my honor that we saw and heard Hero talking to a brute at her window last night. And that man confessed at length how he has secretly come to her bedroom thousands of times.

No, my lord, don’t name her sinful acts or speak of them! There’s no way to describe them without offending everyone here. Pretty lady, I’m much ashamed of your shocking behavior.

Oh Hero, you could have equaled the mythical Hero if only half your outward beauty matched your inner thoughts and desires! Goodbye, beautiful sinner. Goodbye to your pure wickedness and your wicked purity. Because of you, I’ll keep myself away from love. I’ll hang suspicion on my eyelids, so that all the beautiful things I see are transformed into dangers and are never able to trick me again.

Does anyone have a dagger for me?

What’s wrong, cousin? Why have you collapsed?

Come, let’s go. These revelations have overwhelmed her.

How is she?

She’s dead, I think.—Help, uncle!—Hero, why Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar!

Oh Fate, don’t spare Hero from being punished! Death is the best way to cover over her shame.

How are you, Hero?

(to HERO) Take comfort, lady.

(to HERO) Are you looking up?

Yes, why shouldn’t she?

Why not! Isn’t every living thing condemning her? Can she deny the accusations that are proven by her guilty blush? Die, Hero, don’t open your eyes. If I didn’t think you were about to die soon—if I thought your spirit could bear this shame—I would risk punishment and kill you myself. Am I sorry that I only had one child? Do I blame Nature for being so thrifty? Oh, one child is one too many! Why did I ever have one? Why did you once seem lovely to me? Why didn’t I just adopt a beggar’s child left at my doorstep, whose shame and dishonor I could have denied, not being its true father? But you were mine, and I loved and praised you for being mine, and was proud of you for being mine—I loved you so much that I hardly cared about myself. Oh, but now you have fallen into a pit of ink, and there’s not enough water in the whole wide sea to wash you clean again, and not enough salt to cover your stink.

Sir, sir, calm down. I’m so amazed by this, I don’t know what to say.

Oh, on my soul, my cousin has been slandered falsely!

Lady, did you sleep in her room last night?

No, I didn’t, but I did every night for the past year.

Then it’s confirmed! That’s even more proof, and the case against her was airtight already. Would the two princes and Claudio lie? Claudio, who loved her so much that talking about her wickedness made him weep?

Listen to me a moment. I’ve only remained silent this whole time because I’ve been watching Hero. I’ve seen her begin to blush a thousand times, only to watch those blushes disappear a thousand times and an innocent paleness take over her face. And in her eyes I see a fire that would seem to burn away the lies the princes have told about her chastity. Call me a fool, don’t trust my observations—the truth of which is backed up by all my years of experience—don’t trust my age, my reputation, my position, and my holiness. You can doubt all these things if this sweet lady turns out to be guilty.

But she must be, Friar. You see that any morals she has left are preventing her from denying the charges: she doesn’t want to add perjury to her list of sins.

Lady, who do they accuse you of having taken as your lover?

You should ask them. I don’t know who they’re talking about. If I’ve been with a man in any improper way, let all my sins be punished! Oh, father, if you yourself can prove that I talked with a man at an indecent hour, or indeed that I spoke to any creature last night, you can disown me, hate me, and torture me to death!

The princes are under some strange misunderstanding.

Two of them are completely honorable, and if they have been tricked in this, we must blame John the Bastard, who lives to create conflict.

I don’t know. If they have spoken the truth about Hero, I will tear her apart with my bare hands. But if they have accused her falsely, even the greatest of them will have to deal with me. Age hasn’t dried up my body or eroded my intelligence so much, and luck hasn’t robbed me of so much of my fortune, and my bad ways haven’t deprived me of so many friends, that they won’t find me ready to seek revenge both physically and mentally, with money and friends at my disposal.

Hold on a moment, and listen to my advice. The princes left your daughter here for dead. Hide her for a while in your house, and tell everyone that she has, in fact, died. Make a bug show of mourning for her, hang sad epitaphs up at your family’s tomb, and perform all the appropriate burial ceremonies.

Why should we do this? What will this do?

Listen, if we do this correctly, the men who slandered Hero will feel remorse for her instead. That will be a good thing. But I have an even greater goal in mind. We’ll maintain that she died the instant she was accused, and everyone who hears this will grieve for her, pity her, and excuse her actions. That’s how it goes: we don’t value the things we have until we lose them, when we suddenly rack up their value and see all the virtues we were blind to when they were alive and with us. That’s how Claudio will respond. When he hears that she died from his words, his imagination will be sweetly overtaken by thoughts of her. In death, every aspect of her life will be got up more beautifully, and in his mind she will seem more moving, more delicate, and more lively even than when she was alive. Then, if he ever truly felt love, he’ll mourn and wish he hadn’t accused her—even though he believed his accusation to be true. Follow my plan, and trust that the actual events will play out even better than I am describing. And even if they don’t, at least Hero’s supposed death will stop the rumors of her infidelity. And if it doesn’t go well, then you can keep her hidden in a nunnery, the best place for someone with her kind of dirtied reputation—away from the public’s eyes, tongues, mind, and insults.

Signior Leonato, listen to the friar’s plan. And even though you know I’m very close to the Prince and Claudio, I swear I’ll keep your counsel and deal with this secretly and justly.

Because I’m drowning in my grief, I’ll grab onto the smallest piece of string dangled in front of me.

This is a good agreement. Now, let’s go. A strange disease requires a strange cure. Come, lady; you must die in order to live. Hopefully, your wedding day is only postponed. Have patience and endure.

Lady Beatrice, have you been crying this entire time?

Yes, and I’ll keep crying a while longer.

I don’t wish that on you.

You don’t have to; I do it of my own free will.

I really believe your cousin was falsely accused.

Oh, the man who avenged her could ask anything of me!

Is there any way I could show such friendship to you?

A very clear way, but there is no friend who will undertake it.

Can a man do it?

It’s a job meant for a man, but not you.

There is nothing in the world that I love as much as you. Isn’t that strange?

It’s as strange as this other thing which I don’t understand. I could just as easily say that there is nothing in the world that I love as much as you. But don’t believe me—though I’m not lying. I confess nothing, and I deny nothing. I feel awful for my cousin.

By my sword, Beatrice, you love me.

Don’t swear like that and then go back and eat it later.

I’ll swear by my sword that you love me, too, and I’ll make any man who says that I don’t love you eat it.

But you won’t eat your words?

Not with any sauce they could provide for them. I swear, I love you.

Well then, God forgive me!

Why, what have you done, sweet Beatrice?

You got to me first. I was about to swear that I loved you.

Then do so, with all your heart.

I love you with so much of my heart that none of it is left to protest with.

Come, ask me to do anything for you.

Kill Claudio.

Ha! I wouldn’t do that for the whole wide world.

Then, rejecting my request, you kill me, instead. Goodbye.

Wait, sweet Beatrice.

My body waits here, but the rest of me is gone. You don’t really love me. I beg you to let me go.

Beatrice—

I swear, I’m going.

Not until we part as friends.

How dare you try to be my friend when you refuse to fight my enemy.

Is Claudio your enemy?

Hasn’t he proven himself to be a great villain—slandering, scorning, and dishonoring my cousin? Oh, I wish I were a man! He pretended that everything was fine until the moment they were exchanging vows, and then—with public accusation, blatant slander, pure hatred—Oh God, if only I were a man! I would rip his heart out in public and eat it.

Listen to me, Beatrice—

Talking with a man outside her bedroom window! A likely story!

No, but Beatrice—

Sweet Hero, she’s been wronged, she’s been slandered, she’s been ruined.

Beat—

Princes and counts! Oh, of course, it was all so proper and ceremonious—they gave a truly princely testimony. He’s a proper count, that Count Sugarplum, a sweet gentleman, for sure! Oh, if only I were a man! Or had a friend who would be a man for me! But there are no real men left. Their manliness has melted into pretty curtsies and fancy manners, and their bravery is spent on making clever compliments. All this conversing has turned men into tongues—and fancy ones, at that. The man who tells a lie and swears by it is now considered as brave as Hercules. I can’t make myself a man by wishing I were, so as a woman I’ll die, from grieving.

Wait, good Beatrice. I swear by this hand that I love you.

Don’t just swear by it; put your hand to some use that will prove you love me.

Do you honestly think, in your soul, that Claudio has wrongly accused Hero?

Yes, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.

That’s enough for me, then. I’ll challenge him. I’ll kiss your hand, and with that I leave you. I swear that Claudio will pay dearly for this. Keep me in your thoughts and go comfort your cousin. I’ll go tell them that she’s dead. Goodbye.

Is our whole dissembly here?

Oh, we need a stool and a cushion for the sexton.

Which ones are the malefactors?

Sir, that would be me and my partner.

Yes, yes, we’ve been exhibitioned to examine this case.

No, you’ve misunderstood me—where are the criminals whom I’m supposed to examine? Have them come in front of the master constable.

Yes, indeed, bring them before me.

What’s your name, friend?

Borachio.

Please, write down “Borachio.”—And yours?

I’m a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.

Write down “Master Gentleman Conrade.”—Gentlemen, are you good Christians, and do you serve God?

Yes, sir, we hope so.

Write down that they hope they serve God. Oh, and write “God” first—for God forbid we put these criminals before God!—Gentlemen, it’s already been proven that you aren’t much better than lying criminals, and soon we’ll know almost for certain. How do you both plead?

Honestly, sir, we say that we are not criminals.

He’s a marvelously witty fellow, no doubt, but I’ll outmaneuver him.—Come over here; I’ll whisper a word in your ear. Sir, I tell you we believe you’re both lying criminals.

Sir, I tell you that we are not.

Well, okay.—I swear to God, both their stories match. Have you written that down, that they aren’t criminals?

Master Constable, you’re going about this all wrong. First, you have to speak to the watchmen who accused them.

Yes, good idea; that’s the eftest way. Bring the watchmen forward. Gentlemen, I order you in the Prince’s name to accuse these men.

This man said, sir, that Don John, the Prince’s brother, was a villain.

Write down that Prince John is a villain. Why, that’s flat-out perjury—to call a prince’s brother a villain.

Master Constable—

Be quiet, you. I swear, I don’t like the look of you.

(to the watchmen) What else did you hear him say?

That Don John had given him a thousand pieces of gold for wrongfully accusing the Lady Hero.

That’s burglary, that is.

Yes, by God, that it is.

What else did you hear?

I heard that Count Claudio meant to disgrace Hero in front of the whole wedding party and refuse to marry her.

(to BORACHIO) Oh, you villain! You’ll be condemned to everlasting redemption for this!

What else?

That’s all.

(to CONRADE and BORACHIO) You can’t deny this, gentlemen. This morning, Prince John secretly snuck out of Messina. Hero was accused exactly as the watchman described, and died on the spot from the grief. Master Constable, tie up these men and bring them to Leonato’s. I’ll get there first and tell him what we found out.

Come on, let’s get them opinioned.

Let them be in the hands—

Get off me, you fool!

Honest to God, where’s the sexton? He should write down that the Prince’s officer was called a fool. Come on, tie them up. (to CONRADE) You’re a nasty little stinker!

Get away from me, you ass! You ass!

How can you call me that? Don’t you suspect my office? Don’t you suspect my age? Oh, if only the sexton were here to write down that I’m an ass! Gentlemen, remember that I am an ass; even though it’s not written down, don’t forget that I’m an ass. Oh, you’re a rotten bastard, you are. I’m a wise man and, what’s more, I’m an officer of the law and, what’s more, I’m a householder and, what’s more, I’m as handsome a hunk of meat as any in Messina. And I know the law, damn you, and I’m rich enough, damn you, and I used to have more, but I still have two robes and lots of lovely things.—Take him away!—Oh, if only the sexton had recorded that I’m an ass!

If you keep on the way you’ve been going, you’ll kill yourself. There’s no point in adding to your grief.

Stop advising me; your words pass through my ears like water through a sieve. Don’t counsel me. Only someone who’s been wronged as I have can comfort me. Find a father who loved his child as overwhelmingly as I loved Hero and askhim to be patient. Compare the length and width of that man’s sadness against my own; match up all the complaints and strong emotions that run through our bodies. If a man who has suffered as I have gave me advice the way you do—smiling and stroking his beard, telling me to toss away my sorrow, giving speeches when he should be wailing with me, trying to heal my grief with little proverbs, spinning my head around with philosophy—then I would take his advice and be patient. But that man doesn’t exist. You can try to comfort a man who feels a pain that you have never felt, but once you feel it too, your sober advice will also turn into passion. You can’t treat madness with rules or bind up insanity with little silken threads or cure heartache with hot air or lighten agony with pat phrases. Every man thinks it’s his duty to advise those who are overwrought with sorrow to be patient. But no man is so moral or so strong that they can endure the same advice when they themselves are grieving. So don’t advise me. My sorrow is crying too loudly to hear what you have to say.

Well then you’re no better than a child.

Please, leave me alone. I intend to be flesh and blood, not airy philosophy, for there has never yet been a philosopher who could endure a toothache patiently, even though they all write as if they had risen above human suffering and misfortune.

But don’t take all that pain on yourself. Make sure the ones who have wronged you suffer too.

Now you’re talking. I definitely will. In my soul, I believe Hero has been falsely accused. And I’ll make sure that Claudio, the Prince, and anyone else who helped dishonor her know about it.

The Prince and Claudio are hurrying this way.

Good evening, good evening.

Good day to both of you.

Listen, my lords—

We’re in a bit of a hurry, Leonato.

A bit of a hurry, my lord! Well then, good bye, my lord. You’re in a hurry, are you? Well then, don’t bother.

Come on, don’t quarrel with us, good old man.

If it’s fighting he is after, some of us here should run and hide.

Who has wronged him?

Indeed, you have wronged me, you liar. Don’t bother trying to intimidate me by putting your hand on your sword. I’m not scared of you.

Curse my hand if it ever threatened an old man like you. Really, I had no intention of going for my sword.

Damn you, don’t mock and sneer at me. I’m not a doddering old fool who brags about the things he did when he was young, and what he would do now if he weren’t so old. Claudio, I’m telling you right to your face that you have wronged me and my innocent child. I am forced to lay aside my old man’s respectability, and with my gray hairs and my aching body I challenge you to a duel. You have ruined my innocent child. Your slander has broken her heart, and now she lies buried with her ancestors in a tomb—ancestors who had never been tainted by scandal until you caused one with your wickedness.

My wickedness?

Yours, Claudio, yours, I say.

You’ve got it wrong, old man.

My lord, if he dares to accept my challenge, I’ll beat him and prove he’s guilty. I’ll beat him despite his fancy fencing techniques and all the practicing he does, despite his youth and manliness.

Not a chance! I’ll have nothing to do with you.

You think you can get rid of me that easily? You killed my child. Take on someone your own size: if you kill me, boy, you’ll have killed a man.

He’ll have to kill both of us, and indeed we’re both men. But let him start off easy by killing one of us. Come on—kill me and brag about it! Let me at him. Come on, come after me, little boy. Come on and get me. Little man, I’ll be right in your face with my sword. I will, as surely as I am a gentleman.

Brother—

Quiet. God knows I loved my niece, and now she’s dead—slandered to death by cowards who would just as likely fight a real man as I would grab a poisonous snake by the tongue. Boys, fools, braggers, scoundrels, babies!

Brother Anthony—

Hold your peace. I know their kind, I know them exactly. They’re petulant, disrespectful, fashion-crazy boys who lie and cheat and mock, defame and slander. They walk around in outlandish outfits, pretending to be brave and wild and saying a few inflammatory things about how they’ll hurt their enemies—and that’s all they do.

But brother Anthony—

Don’t, it’s no big deal. Don’t bother with it. Let me deal with this.

Gentlemen, we won’t stay here and anger you further. I’m sorry about your daughter’s death, but I swear our accusations were true, and backed up with proof.

My lord, my lord—

I don’t want to hear any more about it.

No? Come on, brother! I’m determined to be heard by someone.

And you will be, or some people here will suffer for it.

Look, here comes just the man we were looking for.

What’s up, mister?

(to DON PEDRO) Hello, my lord.

Welcome, sir. You just missed a fight that was barely avoided.

We were about to have our noses snapped off by two old men with no teeth.

Leonato and his brother. What do you think? I think if we had fought, we would have proven too young and strong for them after all.

There’s no bravery in an unfair fight. I’ve been look- ing for you two.

We’ve been looking for you, too. We’re really depressed. Will you tell us some jokes to beat our sadness away?

My wit’s in my scabbard. Should I unsheath it?

You wear your wit next to you?

No one carries their wit next to them, though some people are beside their wit. Come on, draw your wit, just as musicians draw their bows across the instruments: draw for our pleasure.

Look: Benedick is so pale—are you sick, or angry?

(to BENEDICK) Buck up, man! Care may have killed the cat, but you are strong enough to kill care. Lighten up.

Sir, don’t even try to beat me in a battle of wits. I’ll meet all your attacks, even if you come charging at me with a lance at full gallop. Choose another tack.

(to DON PEDRO) That was poor, Benedick! Give him another lance—that last one got broken in half.

Lord, he seems to be getting paler by the minute. I think he really is angry.

If he is, that’s his problem.

Can I have a word with you privately?

God forbid he wants to challenge me!

(speaking so that only CLAUDIOcan hear) You are a villain. I’m not kidding. I challenge you however you like—with whatever weapons you choose, and whenever you want. Meet this challenge, or I’ll say that you’re a coward. You’ve killed an innocent woman, and you’re going to pay dearly for her death. What do you say?

I’ll be there, and I’ll enjoy myself.

What, are we having a feast?

Yes, we are. He has invited me to have a calf’s head and a capon. He says if I don’t carve them up and serve them elegantly, he’ll declare I have no skills with a knife. Should I go get us a woodcock, too?

Sir, you have a very slow, rambling wit.

Benedick, Beatrice praised your wit the other day. I said you had a fine wit. “True,” she said, “a fine little one.” “No,” I said, “a huge wit.” “Right,” she said, “a hugely awful one.” “No,” I said, “he has a good wit.” “Exactly,” she said, “it’s good and mild; it doesn’t hurt anyone.” “No,” I said, “Benedick is wise.” “He is certainly,” she said, “a wise gentleman.”“No,” I said, “he can speak many languages:” “I can believe that,” she said, “because he swore one thing to me on Monday night and took it back on Tuesday morning. He spoke two languages then.” She turned all your virtues into vices just about an hour ago. But in the end she sighed and admitted you were the handsomest man in Italy.

She cried a lot at that, and said she didn’t care.

That she did. And yet for all that, if she didn’t hate him to death, she’d love him to death. Leonato’s daughter had told us everything.

Absolutely everything. And, moreover, God saw Benedick when he was hid in the garden.

But when exactly will we see Benedick married?

Yes, with the sign underneath him that says: “Here lives Benedick the married man”?

Goodbye, boy. You know what I intend. I’ll leave you now to chatter and gossip like an old woman. The wit you flaunt is like a blunt sword—it can’t hurt anyone, thank God.—My lord, I thank you for your many kindnesses. I’m leaving your court now. Your brother Don John the Bastard has run away from Messina. The three of you have killed a sweet, innocent woman. Lord Babyface over there will meet me in a duel, and good luck to him then.

He’s serious.

Very serious, and I’m sure it’s because of Beatrice.

And he challenged you to a duel?

He did, very sincerely.

What a strange sight—a man who has put on all his fancy clothes but forgotten his brain at home!

A guy like that is bigger than an ape, but the ape could be his doctor, it’s so much smarter.

But wait a minute. Let me gather my wits and get serious here. Didn’t he say my brother has run away?

Come on, you. If they let you off, then we’ll have to assume that Lady Justice has lost all her power. Since you are a lying hypocrite, we must look after you.

What’s this? Two of my brother’s men, all tied up! And Borachio is one of them!

Find out what they’re being held for.

Officers, what crime have these men committed?

Well sir, they’ve lied; moreover, they have said things that were not true; secondarily, they are slanderers; sixth and lastly, they have falsely accused a lady; thirdly, they have confirmed things that did not in fact happen; and, in conclusion, they are lying scoundrels.

First, I ask you what they’ve done; thirdly, I ask you what offense they’re charged with; sixth and lastly, I ask you why they’ve been committed here; and, in conclusion, I ask what they’re accused of.

Nicely done, and organized in just the way he’ll understand. My God, he manages to say the same thing six different ways.

(to BORACHIO and CONRADE) What have you done, gentlemen? This educated constable is too brilliant for me to understand. What is your crime?

Prince, I won’t wait for my trial: listen to my story, and let the count kill me now. I tricked your own eyes. These stupid fools have uncovered what you in all your wisdom could not. They heard me confess to Conrade how Don John, your brother, prompted me to slander Hero—how you came to the orchard and saw me making sexual advances toward Margaret, who was disguised as Hero; how you disgraced Hero when you should have married her. They’ve recorded my crimes, and I would rather die than have to retell this shameful story. The lady has died because of the false accusations of me and my master. I desire nothing now but a criminal’s punishment.

(to CLAUDIO) Doesn’t this make your blood run cold?

His words are like poison to me.

(to BORACHIO) But did my brother prompt you to do all this?

Yes, and paid me well for doing it.

He is made of treachery, and has run away to avoid his crimes.

Sweet Hero; when I imagine you now, you seem as beautiful as you did when I first loved you.

Come, take away the plaintiffs. By now the sexton will have reformed Signior Leonato of the matter. (to CLAUDIO and DON PEDRO) And, gentlemen, please do not forget to specify, whenever it is convenient, that I am an ass.

Here comes Master Signior Leonato with the sexton.

Which one of them did it? Let me see what he looks like, so when I see another man who resembles him, I’ll know to avoid him. Which one is it?

If you want to see your deceiver, then look at me.