No More Learning

Good den, Good den.
Claud. Good day to both of you.
Leon. Hear you, my lords!
Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato.
Leon. Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord.
Are you so hasty now? Well, all is one.
Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.
Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling,
Some of us would lie low.
Claud. Who wrongs him?
Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou!
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword;
I fear thee not.
Claud. Mary, beshrew my hand
If it should give your age such cause of fear.
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.
Leon. Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me
I speak not like a dotard nor a fool,
As under privilege of age to brag
What I have done being young, or what would do,
Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by
And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to trial of a man.
I say thou hast belied mine innocent child;
Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,
And she lied buried with her ancestors-
O, in a tomb where never scandal slept,
Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villany!
Claud. My villany?
Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine I say.
Pedro. You say not right, old man
Leon. My lord, my lord,
I'll prove it on his body if he dare,
Despite his nice fence and his active practice,
His May of youth and bloom of lustihood.
Claud. Away! I will not have to do with you.
Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd my child.
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.
And. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed
But that's no matter; let him kill one first.
Win me and wear me! Let him answer me.
Come, follow me, boy,. Come, sir boy, come follow me.
Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence!
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.
Leon. Brother--
Ant. Content yourself. God knows I lov'd my niece,
And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains,
That dare as well answer a man indeed
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue.
Boys, apes, braggarts, jacks, milksops!
Leon. Brother Anthony--
Ant. Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea,
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple,
Scambling, outfacing, fashion-monging boys,
That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander,
Go anticly, show outward hideousness,
And speak off half a dozen dang'rous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;
And this is all.
Leon. But, brother Anthony--
Ant. Come, 'tis no matter.
Do not you meddle; let me deal in this.
Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death;
But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing
But what was true, and very full of proof.
Leon. My lord, my lord--
Pedro. I will not hear you.
Leon. No? Come, brother, away! --I will be heard.
Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart for it.
Exeunt ambo.

Enter Benedick.

Pedro. See, see! Here comes the man we went to seek.
Claud. Now, signior, what news?
Bene. Good day, my lord.
Pedro. Welcome, signior. You are almost come to part almost a fray.
Claud. We had lik'd to have had our two noses snapp'd off with two
old men without teeth.
Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What think'st thou? Had we fought,
I doubt we should have been too young for them.
Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek
you both.
Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high-proof
melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy
wit?
Bene. It is in my scabbard. Shall I draw it?
Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?
Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their
wit. I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrel--draw to
pleasure us.
Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou sick or
angry?
Claud. What, courage, man! What though care kill'd a cat, thou hast
mettle enough in thee to kill care.
Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career an you charge it
against me. I pray you choose another subject.
Claud. Nay then, give him another staff; this last was broke cross.
Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more. I think he be angry
indeed.
Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.
Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear?
Claud. God bless me from a challenge!
Bene. [aside to Claudio] You are a villain. I jest not; I will make
it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare. Do
me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have kill'd a
sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear
from you.
Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.
Pedro. What, a feast, a feast?
Claud. I' faith, I thank him, he hath bid me to a calve's head and
a capon, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my
knife's naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too?
Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.
Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the other day. I
said thou hadst a fine wit: 'True,' said she, 'a fine little
one. ' 'No,' said I, 'a great wit. ' 'Right,' says she, 'a great
gross one. ' 'Nay,' said I, 'a good wit. ' 'Just,' said she, 'it
hurts nobody. ' 'Nay,' said I, 'the gentleman is wise. ' 'Certain,'
said she, a wise gentleman. ' 'Nay,' said I, 'he hath the
tongues. ' 'That I believe' said she, 'for he swore a thing to me
on Monday night which he forswore on Tuesday morning. There's a
double tongue; there's two tongues. ' Thus did she an hour
together transshape thy particular virtues. Yet at last she
concluded with a sigh, thou wast the proper'st man in Italy.
Claud. For the which she wept heartily and said she cared not.
Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not
hate him deadly, she would love him dearly. The old man's
daughter told us all.
Claud. All, all! and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the
garden.
Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the
sensible Benedick's head?
Claud. Yea, and text underneath, 'Here dwells Benedick, the married
man'?
Bene. Fare you well, boy; you know my mind. I will leave you now to
your gossiplike humour. You break jests as braggards do their
blades, which God be thanked hurt not. My lord, for your many
courtesies I thank you. I must discontinue your company. Your
brother the bastard is fled from Messina. You have among you
kill'd a sweet and innocent lady. For my Lord Lackbeard there, he
and I shall meet; and till then peace be with him.
[Exit. ]
Pedro. He is in earnest.
Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll warrant you, for the
love of Beatrice.
Pedro. And hath challeng'd thee.
Claud. Most sincerely.
Pedro. What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and
hose and leaves off his wit!

Enter Constables [Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch, leading]
Conrade and Borachio.

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape; but then is an ape a doctor to
such a man.
Pedro. But, soft you, let me be! Pluck up, my heart, and be sad!
Did he not say my brother was fled?
Dog. Come you, sir. If justice cannot tame you, she shall ne'er
weigh more reasons in her balance.
Nay, an you be a cursing
hypocrite once, you must be look'd to.
Pedro. How now? two of my brother's men bound? Borachio one.
Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord.
Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done?
Dog. Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they
have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and
lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified
unjust things; and to conclude, they are lying knaves.
Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee
what's their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed;
and to conclude, what you lay to their charge.
Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and by my troth
there's one meaning well suited.
Pedro. Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to
your answer? This learned constable is too cunning to be
understood. What's your offence?
Bora. Sweet Prince, let me go no farther to mine answer. Do you
hear me, and let this Count kill me. I have deceived even your
very eyes. What your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow
fools have brought to light, who in the night overheard me
confessing to this man, how Don John your brother incensed me to
slander the Lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard and
saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments; how you disgrac'd her
when you should marry her. My villany they have upon record,
which I had rather seal with my death than repeat over to my
shame. The lady is dead upon mine and my master's false
accusation; and briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a
villain.
Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?
Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it.
Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this?
Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it.
Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery,
And fled he is upon this villany.
Claud. Sweet Hero, now thy image doth appear
In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first.
Dog. Come, bring away the plaintiffs. By this time our sexton hath
reformed Signior Leonato of the matter. And, masters, do not
forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an
ass.
Verg. Here, here comes Master Signior Leonato, and the sexton too.

Enter Leonato, his brother [Antonio], and the Sexton.

Leon. Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes,
That, when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him. Which of these is he?
Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me.
Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill'd
Mine innocent child?
Bora. Yea, even I alone.
Leon. No, not so, villain! thou beliest thyself.
Here stand a pair of honourable men--
A third is fled--that had a hand in it.
I thank you princes for my daughter's death.
Record it with your high and worthy deeds.
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.
Claud. I know not how to pray your patience;
Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself;
Impose me to what penance your invention
Can lay upon my sin. Yet sinn'd I not
But in mistaking.
Pedro. By my soul, nor I!
And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
I would bend under any heavy weight
That he'll enjoin me to.
Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live-
That were impossible; but I pray you both,
Possess the people in Messina here
How innocent she died; and if your love
Can labour aught in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,
And sing it to her bones--sing it to-night.
To-morrow morning come you to my house,
And since you could not be my son-in-law,
Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter,
Almost the copy of my child that's dead,
And she alone is heir to both of us.
Give her the right you should have giv'n her cousin,
And so dies my revenge.
Claud. O noble sir!
Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me.
I do embrace your offer; and dispose
For henceforth of poor Claudio.
Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming;
To-night I take my leave. This naughty man
Shall fact to face be brought to Margaret,
Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong,
Hir'd to it by your brother.
Bora. No, by my soul, she was not;
Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me;
But always hath been just and virtuous
In anything that I do know by her.
Dog. Moreover, sir, which indeed is not under white and black, this
plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass. I beseech you let
it be rememb'red in his punishment. And also the watch heard them
talk of one Deformed. They say he wears a key in his ear, and a
lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God's name, the which he
hath us'd so long and never paid that now men grow hard-hearted
and will lend nothing for God's sake. Pray you examine him upon
that point.
Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.
Dog. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent youth,
and I praise God for you.
Leon. There's for thy pains. [Gives money. ]
Dog. God save the foundation!
Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.
Dog. I leave an arrant knave with your worship, which I beseech
your worship to correct yourself, for the example of others.
God keep your worship! I wish your worship well. God restore you
to health! I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry
meeting may be wish'd, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour.
Exeunt [Dogberry and Verges].
Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.
Ant. Farewell, my lords. We look for you to-morrow.
Pedro. We will not fall.
Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero.
[Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio. ]
Leon. [to the Watch] Bring you these fellows on. --We'll talk with
Margaret,
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.
Exeunt.




Scene II.
Leonato's orchard.

Enter Benedick and Margaret [meeting].

Bene. Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands
by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.
Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?
Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come
over it; for in most comely truth thou deservest it.
Marg. To have no man come over me? Why, shall I always keep below
stairs?
Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth--it catches.
Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit but hurt
not.
Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret: it will not hurt a woman.
And so I pray thee call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers.
Marg. Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own.
Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a
vice, and they are dangerous weapons for maids.
Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.
Bene. And therefore will come.
Exit Margaret.
[Sings] The god of love,
That sits above
And knows me, and knows me,
How pitiful I deserve--

I mean in singing; but in loving Leander the good swimmer,
Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of
these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the
even road of a blank verse--why, they were never so truly turn'd
over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in
rhyme. I have tried. I can find out no rhyme to 'lady' but 'baby'
--an innocent rhyme; for 'scorn,' 'horn'--a hard rhyme; for
'school', 'fool'--a babbling rhyme: very ominous endings! No, I
was not born under a rhyming planet, nor cannot woo in festival
terms.

Enter Beatrice.

Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I call'd thee?
Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.
Bene. O, stay but till then!
Beat. 'Then' is spoken. Fare you well now. And yet, ere I go, let
me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what hath
pass'd between you and Claudio.
Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.
Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul
breath, and foul breath is noisome. Therefore I will depart
unkiss'd.
Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so
forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio
undergoes my challenge; and either I must shortly hear from him
or I will subscribe him a coward. And I pray thee now tell me,
for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?
Beat. For them all together, which maintain'd so politic a state of
evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with
them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love
for me?
Bene. Suffer love! --a good epithet. I do suffer love indeed, for I
love thee against my will.
Beat. In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart! If you
spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours, for I will never
love that which my friend hates.
Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
Beat. It appears not in this confession. There's not one wise man
among twenty, that will praise himself.
Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that liv'd in the time of
good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb
ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell
rings and the widow weeps.
Beat. And how long is that, think you?
Bene. Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum.
Therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his
conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet
of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising
myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And now
tell me, how doth your cousin?