Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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BENEDICK Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

BEATRICE I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me. If it had been painful I would not have come.

BENEDICK You take pleasure, then, in the message?

BEATRICE Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’s point and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signor? Fare you well. Exit

BENEDICK Ha! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.’ There’s a double meaning in that. ‘I took no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank me.’ That’s as much as to say ‘Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks.’—If I do not take pity of her I am a villain. If I do not love her I am a Jew. I will go get her picture. Exit

3.1 Enter Hero and two gentlewomen, Margaret and Ursula

HERO

Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour.

There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice

Proposing with the Prince and Claudio.

Whisper her ear, and tell her I and Ursula

Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse

Is all of her. Say that thou overheard’st us,

And bid her steal into the pleachèd bower

Where honeysuckles, ripened by the sun,

Forbid the sun to enter—like favourites

Made proud by princes, that advance their pride

Against that power that bred it. There will she hide her

To listen our propose. This is thy office.

Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

MARGARET

I’ll make her come, I warrant you, presently.

Exit

HERO

Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,

As we do trace this alley up and down

Our talk must only be of Benedick.

When I do name him, let it be thy part

To praise him more than ever man did merit.

My talk to thee must be how Benedick

Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter

Is little Cupid’s crafty arrow made,

That only wounds by hearsay.

Enter Beatrice Now begin,

For look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs

Close by the ground to hear our conference.

URSULA

The pleasant’st angling is to see the fish

Cut with her golden oars the silver stream

And greedily devour the treacherous bait.

So angle we for Beatrice, who even now

Is couched in the woodbine coverture.

Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

HERO

Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing

Of the false-sweet bait that we lay for it.—

They approach Beatrice’s hiding-place

No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful.

I know her spirits are as coy and wild

As haggards of the rock.

URSULA

But are you sure

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?

HERO

So says the Prince and my new trothèd lord.

URSULA

And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?

HERO

They did entreat me to acquaint her of it,

But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick,

To wish him wrestle with affection

And never to let Beatrice know of it.

URSULA

Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman

Deserve as full as fortunate a bed

As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?

HERO

O god of love! I know he doth deserve

As much as may be yielded to a man.

But nature never framed a woman’s heart

Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,

Misprising what they look on, and her wit

Values itself so highly that to her

All matter else seems weak. She cannot love,

Nor take no shape nor project of affection,

She is so self-endearèd.

URSULA Sure, I think so.

And therefore certainly it were not good

She knew his love, lest she’ll make sport at it.

HERO

Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,

How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured,

But she would spell him backward. If fair-faced,

She would swear the gentleman should be her sister.

If black, why nature, drawing of an antic,

Made a foul blot. If tall, a lance ill headed;

If low, an agate very vilely cut;

If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;

If silent, why, a block moved with none.

So turns she every man the wrong side out,

And never gives to truth and virtue that

Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.

URSULA

Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.

HERO

No, not to be so odd and from all fashions

As Beatrice is cannot be commendable.

But who dare tell her so? If I should speak

She would mock me into air, O, she would laugh me

Out of myself, press me to death with wit.

Therefore let Benedick, like covered fire,

Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly.

It were a better death than die with mocks,

Which is as bad as die with tickling.

URSULA

Yet tell her of it, hear what she will say.

HERO

No. Rather I will go to Benedick And counsel him to fight against his passion. And truly, I’ll devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with. One doth not know How much an ill word may empoison liking.

URSULA

O, do not do your cousin such a wrong.

She cannot be so much without true judgement,

Having so swift and excellent a wit

As she is prized to have, as to refuse

So rare a gentleman as Signor Benedick.

HERO

He is the only man of Italy,

Always excepted my dear Claudio.

URSULA

I pray you be not angry with me, madam,

Speaking my fancy. Signor Benedick,

For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour

Goes foremost in report through Italy.

HERO

Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.

URSULA

His excellence did earn it ere he had it.

When are you married, madam?

HERO

Why, every day, tomorrow. Come, go in.

I’ll show thee some attires and have thy counsel

Which is the best to furnish me tomorrow.

URSULA (aside)

She’s limed, I warrant you. We have caught her,

madam.

HERO (aside)

If it prove so, then loving goes by haps.

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

Exeunt Hero and Ursula

BEATRICE (coming forward)

What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?

Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much ?

Contempt, farewell; and maiden pride, adieu.

No glory lives behind the back of such.

And, Benedick, love on. I will requite thee,

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand.

If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee

To bind our loves up in a holy band.

For others say thou dost deserve, and I

Believe it better than reportingly.

Exit

3.2 Enter Don Pedro the Prince, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato

DON PEDRO I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I toward Aragon.

CLAUDIO I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll vouchsafe me.

DON PEDRO Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new

gloss of your marriage as to show a child his new coat

and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with

Benedick for his company, for from the crown of his

head to the sole of his foot he is all mirth. He hath

twice or thrice cut Cupid’s bow-string, and the little

hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as

sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper, for what

his heart thinks his tongue speaks.

BENEDICK Gallants, I am not as I have been.

LEONATO So say I. Methinks you are sadder.

CLAUDIO I hope he be in love.

DON PEDRO Hang him, truant! There’s no true drop of blood in him to be truly touched with love. If he be sad, he wants money.

BENEDICK I have the toothache.

DON PEDRO Draw it.

BENEDICK Hang it.

CLAUDIO You must hang it first and draw it afterwards.

DON PEDRO What? Sigh for the toothache?

LEONATO Where is but a humour or a worm.

BENEDICK Well, everyone can master a grief but he that has it.

CLAUDIO Yet say I he is in love.

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

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

DON PEDRO Hath any man seen him at the barber’s?

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

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

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

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

DON PEDRO The greatest note of it is his melancholy.

CLAUDIO And when was he wont to wash his face?

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

CLAUDIO Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is now crept into a lute-string, and now governed by stops.

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

CLAUDIO Nay, but I know who loves him.

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

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

DON PEDRO She shall be buried with her face upwards.

BENEDICK Yet is this no charm for the toothache. Old signor, walk aside with me. I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you which these hobby-horses must not hear. Exeunt Benedick and Leonato

DON PEDRO For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.

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

Enter Don John the bastard

DON JOHN My lord, and brother, God save you.

DON PEDRO Good-e’en, brother.

DON JOHN If your leisure served I would speak with you.

DON PEDRO In private?

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

DON PEDRO What’s the matter?

DON JOHN (to Claudio) Means your lordship to be married tomorrow ?

DON PEDRO You know he does.

DON JOHN I know not that when he knows what I know.

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

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

DON PEDRO Why, what’s the matter?

DON JOHN I came hither to tell you, and, circumstances shortened—for she has been too long a-talking of—the lady is disloyal.

CLAUDIO Who, Hero?

DON JOHN Even she. Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every man’s Hero.

CLAUDIO Disloyal?

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

CLAUDIO May this be so?

DON PEDRO I will not think it.

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

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

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

DON JOHN I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses. Bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.

DON PEDRO O day untowardly turned!

CLAUDIO O mischief strangely thwarting!

DON JOHN O plague right well prevented!—So will you say when you have seen the sequel. Exeunt

3.3 Enter Dogberry and his compartner Verges, with the Watch

DOGBERRY Are you good men and true?

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

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

VERGES Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.

DOGBERRY First, who think you the most desertless man to be constable?

SECOND WATCHMAN Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal, for they can write and read.

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

FIRST WATCHMAN Both which, Master Constable—

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

FIRST WATCHMAN How if a will not stand?

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

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

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

A WATCHMAN We will rather sleep than talk. We know what belongs to a watch.

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

A WATCHMAN How if they will not?

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

A WATCHMAN Well, sir.

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

A WATCHMAN If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him?

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

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

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

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

A WATCHMAN How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us?

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

VERGES ’Tis very true.

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

VERGES Nay, by’r Lady, that I think a cannot.

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

VERGES By’r Lady, I think it be so.

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

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

DOGBERRY One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you watch about Signor Leonato’s door, for the wedding being there tomorrow, there is a great coil tonight. Adieu. Be vigitant, I beseech you.

Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. ⌈The Watch sit⌉

Enter Borachio and Conrad

BORACHIO What, Conrad!

⌈FIRST⌉ WATCHMAN (aside) Peace, stir not.

BORACHIO Conrad, I say.

CONRAD Here, man, I am at thy elbow.

BORACHIO Mass, an my elbow itched, I thought there would a scab follow.

CONRAD I will owe thee an answer for that. And now, forward with thy tale.

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

A WATCHMAN (aside) Some treason, masters. Yet stand close.

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

CONRAD Is it possible that any villainy should be so dear?

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

CONRAD I wonder at it.

BORACHIO That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak is nothing to a man.

CONRAD Yes, it is apparel.

BORACHIO I mean the fashion.

CONRAD Yes, the fashion is the fashion.

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

A WATCHMAN (aside) I know that Deformed. A has been a vile thief this seven year. A goes up and down like a gentleman. I remember his name.

BORACHIO Didst thou not hear somebody?

CONRAD No, ’twas the vane on the house.

BORACHIO Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is, how giddily a turns about all the hot-bloods between fourteen and five-and-thirty, sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh’s soldiers in the reechy painting, sometime like god Bel’s priests in the old church window, sometime like the shaven Hercules in the smirched, worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy as his club?

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

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

CONRAD And thought they Margaret was Hero?

BORACHIO Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio, but the devil my master knew she was Margaret, and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged, swore he would meet her as he was appointed next morning at the temple, and there, before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw o’ernight, and send her home again without a husband.

⌈FIRST⌉ WATCHMAN (coming forward) We charge you in the Prince’s name. Stand.

⌈A WATCHMAN⌉ Call up the right Master Constable. We have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth.

⌈FIRST⌉ WATCHMAN And one Deformed is one of them. I know him—a wears a lock.

CONRAD Masters, masters!

⌈A WATCHMAN⌉ You’ll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you.

⌈CONRAD⌉ Masters—

⌈A WATCHMAN⌉ Never speak. We charge you. Let us obey you to go with us.

BORACHIO (to Conrad) We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of these men’s bills.

CONRAD A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we’ll obey you. Exeunt

3.4 Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula

HERO Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise.

URSULA I will, lady.

HERO And bid her come hither.

URSULA Well. Exit

MARGARET Troth, I think your other rebato were better.

HERO No, pray thee, good Meg, I’ll wear this.

MARGARET By my troth, ’s not so good, and I warrant your cousin will say so.

HERO My cousin’s a fool, and thou art another: I’ll wear none but this.

MARGARET I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browner. And your gown’s a most rare fashion, i‘faith. I saw the Duchess of Milan’s gown that they praise so.

HERO O, that exceeds, they say.

MARGARET By my troth, ’s but a night-gown in respect of yours—cloth o’ gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts round underborne with a bluish tinsel. But for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on’t.

HERO God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy.

MARGARET ’Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.

HERO Fie upon thee, art not ashamed?

MARGARET Of what, lady? Of speaking honourably ? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I think you would have me say ‘saving your reverence, a husband’. An bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I’ll offend nobody. Is there any harm in ‘the heavier for a husband’? None, I think, an it be the right husband and the right wife—otherwise ’tis light and not heavy. Ask my Lady Beatrice else. Here she comes. Enter Beatrice

HERO Good morrow, coz.

BEATRICE Good morrow, sweet Hero.

HERO Why, how now? Do you speak in the sick tune? BEATRICE I am out of all other tune, methinks. MARGARET Clap ’s into ‘Light o’ love’. That goes without a burden. Do you sing it, and I’ll dance it.

BEATRICE Ye light o’ love with your heels. Then if your husband have stables enough, you’ll see he shall lack no barns.

MARGARET O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.

BEATRICE (to Hero) ‘Tis almost five o’clock, cousin. ’Tis time you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill. Heigh-ho!

MARGARET For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

BEATRICE For the letter that begins them all—h.

MARGARET Well, an you be not turned Turk, there’s no more sailing by the star.

BEATRICE What means the fool, trow?

MARGARET Nothing, I. But God send everyone their heart’s desire.

HERO These gloves the Count sent me, they are an excellent perfume.

BEATRICE I am stuffed, cousin. I cannot smell.

MARGARET A maid, and stuffed! There’s goodly catching of cold.

BEATRICE O, God help me, God help me. How long have you professed apprehension?

MARGARET Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely?

BEATRICE It is not seen enough. You should wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am sick.

MARGARET Get you some of this distilled carduus benedictus, and lay it to your heart. It is the only thing for a qualm.

HERO There thou prickest her with a thistle.

BEATRICE Benedictus—why Benedictus? You have some moral in this Benedictus.

MARGARET Moral? No, by my troth, I have no moral meaning. I meant plain holy-thistle. You may think perchance that I think you are in love. Nay, by’r Lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list, nor I list not to think what I can, nor indeed I cannot think, if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love. Yet Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man. He swore he would never marry, and yet now in despite of his heart he eats his meat without grudging. And how you may be converted I know not, but methinks you look with your eyes, as other women do.

BEATRICE What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?

MARGARET Not a false gallop. Enter Ursula

URSULA (to Hero) Madam, withdraw. The Prince, the Count, Signor Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the town are come to fetch you to church.

HERO Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula. Exeunt