| ACT III SCENE I | LEONATO'S garden. | |
| | Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA | |
| HERO | Good Margaret, run thee to the parlor; | |
| | There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice | |
| | Proposing with the prince and Claudio: | |
| | Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursula | 5 |
| | Walk in the orchard and our whole discourse | |
| | Is all of her; say that thou overheard'st us; | |
| | And bid her steal into the pleached bower, | |
| | Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun, | |
| | Forbid the sun to enter, like favourites, | 10 |
| | Made proud by princes, that advance their pride | |
| | Against that power that bred it: there will she hide her, | |
| | To listen our purpose. This is thy office; | |
| | Bear thee well in it and leave us alone. | |
| MARGARET | I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. | 15 |
| | 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: | 20 |
| | 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, behind | |
| | Now begin; | 25 |
| | 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: | 30 |
| | 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. | 35 |
| | Approaching the bower | |
| | No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful; | |
| | I know her spirits are as coy and wild | |
| | As haggerds of the rock. | |
| URSULA | But are you sure | |
| | That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? | 40 |
| HERO | So says the prince and my new-trothed 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, | 45 |
| | 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 | 50 |
| | 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 | 55 |
| | 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-endeared. | |
| URSULA | Sure, I think so; | 60 |
| | And therefore certainly it were not good | |
| | She knew his love, lest she 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, | 65 |
| | She would swear the gentleman should be her sister; | |
| | If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antique, | |
| | 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; | 70 |
| | 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. | 75 |
| 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. | 80 |
| | Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd 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. | 85 |
| 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. | 90 |
| URSULA | O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. | |
| | She cannot be so much without true judgment-- | |
| | Having so swift and excellent a wit | |
| | As she is prized to have--as to refuse | |
| | So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick. | 95 |
| 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: Signior Benedick, | |
| | For shape, for bearing, argument and valour, | 100 |
| | 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, to-morrow. Come, go in: | 105 |
| | I'll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel | |
| | Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. | |
| URSULA | She's limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam. | |
| HERO | If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: | |
| | Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. | 110 |
| | Exeunt HERO and URSULA | |
| BEATRICE | Coming forward | |
| | What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? | |
| | Stand I condemn'd 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, | 115 |
| | 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. | 120 |
| | Exit | |