Love's Labour's Lost (version 2) - Free Audiobook

000 ACT II.

Scene I. A hall in Leonato’s house.

MAAN II. 1 Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others.

Leon. Was not Count John here at supper?

Ant. I saw him not.

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am heart-burned an hour after.

005 Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.

Beat. He were an excellent man that were made just in the midway between him and Benedick: the one is too like an image and says nothing, and the other too like my lady’s eldest son, evermore tattling.

010 Leon. Then half Signior Benedick’s tongue in Count John’s mouth, and half Count John’s melancholy in Signior Benedick’s face,—

Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any 015 woman in the world, if a’ could get her good-will.

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.

Ant. In faith, she’s too curst.

Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God’s 020 sending that way; for it is said, ‘God sends a curst cow short horns;’ but to a cow too curst he sends none.

Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.

Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and 025 evening. Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard 026 on his face: I had rather lie in the woollen.

027 Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no beard.

Beat. What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel, and make him my waiting-gentlewoman? He that 030 hath a beard is more than a youth; and he that hath no beard is less than a man: and he that is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a man, I am not for him: therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the 034 bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell.

035 Leon. Well, then, go you into hell?

Beat. No, but to the gate; and there will the devil meet 037 me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say ‘Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven; here’s no place for you maids:’ so deliver I up my apes, and away 040 to Saint Peter for the heavens; he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long.

Ant. [To Hero] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your father.

044 Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make courtesy, and say, ‘Father, as it please you.’ But yet for all 045 that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make 047 another courtesy, and say, ‘Father, as it please me.’

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.

050 Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered 052 with a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life 053 to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I’ll none: Adam’s 054 sons are my brethren; and, truly, I hold it a sin to match 055 in my kindred.

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer.

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be 059 not wooed in good time: if the prince be too important, tell 060 him there is measure in every thing, and so dance out the 061 answer. For, hear me, Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting, 062 is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, 065 full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque pace faster and 067 faster, till he sink into his grave.

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.

Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by 070 daylight.

Leon. The revellers are entering, brother: make good 072 room. [All put on their masks.

073 Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others, masked.

D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your friend?

Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say 075 nothing, I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away.

D. Pedro. With me in your company?

Hero. I may say so, when I please.

D. Pedro. And when please you to say so?

080 Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like the case!

082 D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house 083 is Jove.

084 Hero. Why, then, your visor should be thatched.

085 D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. [Drawing her aside.

086 Balth. Well, I would you did like me.

087 Marg. So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill qualities.

Balth. Which is one?

090 Marg. I say my prayers aloud.

091 Balth. I love you the better: the hearers may cry, Amen.

Marg. God match me with a good dancer!

Balth. Amen.

Marg. And God keep him out of my sight when the 095 dance is done! Answer, clerk.

096 Balth. No more words: the clerk is answered.

Urs. I know you well enough; you are Signior Antonio.

Ant. At a word, I am not.

Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head.

100 Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him.

101 Urs. You could never do him so ill-well; unless you were the very man. Here’s his dry hand up and down: you are he, you are he.

Ant. At a word, I am not.

105 Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not know you by 106 your excellent wit? can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, 107 you are he: graces will appear, and there’s an end.

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so?

Bene. No, you shall pardon me.

110 Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are?

Bene. Not now.

Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the ‘Hundred Merry Tales’:—well, this was Signior Benedick that said so.

115 Bene. What’s he?

116 Beat. I am sure you know him well enough.

Bene. Not I, believe me.

Beat. Did he never make you laugh?

Bene. I pray you, what is he?

120 Beat. Why, he is the prince’s jester: a very dull fool; 121 only his gift is in devising impossible slanders: none but libertines delight in him; and the commendation is not in 123 his wit, but in his villany; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. I 125 am sure he is in the fleet: I would he had boarded me.

Bene. When I know the gentleman, I’ll tell him what you say.

Beat. Do, do: he’ll but break a comparison or two on me; which, peradventure not marked or not laughed at, 130 strikes him into melancholy; and then there’s a partridge 131 wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night. [Music.] We must follow the leaders.

Bene. In every good thing.

Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at 135 the next turning. [Dance. Then exeunt all except Don John, Borachio, and Claudio.

136 D. John. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawn her father to break with him about it. The ladies follow her, and but one visor remains.

Bora. And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.

140 D. John. Are not you Signior Benedick?

Claud. You know me well; I am he.

D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from her: she is no equal for his birth: you may do the 145 part of an honest man in it.

146 Claud. How know you he loves her?

D. John. I heard him swear his affection.

Bora. So did I too; and he swore he would marry her to-night.

150 D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. [Exeunt Don John and Borachio.

Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick,

152 But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.

’Tis certain so; the prince wooes for himself.

Friendship is constant in all other things

155 Save in the office and affairs of love:

156 Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;

Let every eye negotiate for itself,

158 And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch,

Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.

160 This is an accident of hourly proof,

161 Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!

Re-enter Benedick.

Bene. Count Claudio?

Claud. Yea, the same.

Bene. Come, will you go with me?

165 Claud. Whither?

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, 167 county. What fashion will you wear the garland of? about 168 your neck, like an usurer’s chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant’s scarf? You must wear it one way, for the 170 prince hath got your Hero.

Claud. I wish him joy of her.

172 Bene. Why, that’s spoken like an honest drovier: so they sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would have served you thus?

175 Claud. I pray you, leave me.

176 Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man: ’twas the boy that stole your meat, and you’ll beat the post.

Claud. If it will not be, I’ll leave you. [Exit.

179 Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into 180 sedges. But, that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and 181 not know me! The prince’s fool! Ha? It may be I go 182 under that title because I am merry. Yea, but so I am 183 apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it is the base, 184 though bitter, disposition of Beatrice that puts the world 185 into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I’ll be revenged as I may.

Re-enter Don Pedro.

187 D. Pedro. Now, signior, where’s the count? did you see him?

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady 190 Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a 191 warren: I told him, and I think I told him true, that your 192 grace had got the good will of this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow-tree, either to make him a garland, 194 as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being 195 worthy to be whipped.

D. Pedro. To be whipped! What’s his fault?

Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, 198 being overjoyed with finding a birds’ nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.

200 D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in the stealer.

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the rod he might have bestowed on you, 205 who, as I take it, have stolen his birds’ nest.

D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner.

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly.

210 D. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the gentleman that danced with her told her she is much wronged by you.

Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a 214 block! an oak but with one green leaf on it would have 215 answered her; my very visor began to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had been 217 myself, that I was the prince’s jester, that I was duller 218 than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon me, that I stood like a man at 220 a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible 222 as her terminations, there were no living near her; 223 she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had 225 left him before he transgressed: she would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall find 228 her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while she is 230 here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation 233 follows her.

D. Pedro. Look, here she comes.

Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero, and Leonato.

235 Bene. Will your grace command me any service to the world’s end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John’s foot; fetch you a 240 hair off the great Cham’s beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies; rather than hold three words’ conference 242 with this harpy. You have no employment for me?

D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.

Bene. O God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannot 245 endure my Lady Tongue. [Exit.

D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I 249 gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: 250 marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your Grace may well say I have lost it.

D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I 255 should prove the mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.

D. Pedro. Why, how now, count! wherefore are you sad?

Claud. Not sad, my lord.

260 D. Pedro. How then? sick?

Claud. Neither, my lord.

Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, 263 nor well; but civil count, civil as an orange, and something 264 of that jealous complexion.

265 D. Pedro. I’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; 266 though, I’ll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero 268 is won: I have broke with her father, and his good will obtained: name the day of marriage, and God give thee 270 joy!

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it.

Beat. Speak, count, ’tis your cue.

275 Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you, and dote upon the exchange.

Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth 280 with a kiss, and let not him speak neither.

D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.

Beat. Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care. My cousin tells him in his ear 284 that he is in her heart.

285 Claud. And so she doth, cousin.

Beat. Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one 287 to the world but I, and I am sun-burnt; I may sit in a 288 corner, and cry heigh-ho for a husband!

D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

290 Beat. I would rather have one of your father’s getting. Hath your Grace ne’er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.

D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady?

Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for 295 working-days: your Grace is too costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your Grace, pardon me: I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.

D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be 299 merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were 300 born in a merry hour.

Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then 302 there was a star danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told 305 you of?

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace’s pardon. [Exit.

308 D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.

Leon. There’s little of the melancholy element in her, 310 my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not 311 ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath 312 often dreamed of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.

315 Leon. O, by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.

D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick.

Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad.

320 D. Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to go to church?

Claud. To-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a 325 just seven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have all 326 things answer my mind.

D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing: but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will, in the interim, undertake one of 330 Hercules’ labours; which is, to bring Signior Benedick and 331 the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the one with the other. I would fain have it a match; and I doubt 333 not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction.

335 Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights’ watchings.

Claud. And I, my lord.

D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero?

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help 340 my cousin to a good husband.

D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know. Thus far can I praise him; he is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she shall 345 fall in love with Benedick; and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer: his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go 350 in with me, and I will tell you my drift. [Exeunt.