Con. Yes, it is apparel. Bora. I mean the fashion. Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. Bora. Tush! I may as well say the fool's the fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is? Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a vile thief this seven years; he goes up and down like a gentleman. I remember his name. Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody? Con. No; 'twas the vane on the house. Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how giddily he turns about all the hotbloods between fourteen and five and thirty! sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in the reechy painting; sometimes like god Bel's priests in the old church window; sometimes like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his cod-piece seems as massy as his club? Con. All this I see; and 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? Bora. Not so neither; but know that I have to-night 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. Con. And thought thy Margaret was Hero? Bora. 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 villany, 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 overnight, and send her home again without a husband. Watch 1. We charge you in the prince's name, stand. Watch 2. Call up the right master-constable. We have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth. Watch 1. And one Deformed is one of them. I know him, he wears a lock. Con. Masters, masters. Watch 2. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. Con. Masters, never speak: we charge you, let us obey you to go with us. Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of these men's bills. Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Enter HERO and MARGARET and URSULA. Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice and desire her to rise. Urs. I will, lady. Hero. And bid her come hither. Urs. Well. Marg. Troth, I think your other rebato were better. Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. Marg. By my troth, it'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. Marg. 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. Oh, that exceeds, they say. Marg. By my troth it's but a night-gown in respect of yours. Cloth of 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! Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man. Hero. Fie upon thee! art not asham'd? Marg. 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: and bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody. Is there any harm in the heavier for a husband? None, I think, and 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, coze. Beat. Good-morrow, sweet Hero. Hero. Why, how now? do you speak in the sick tune? Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. Marg. Clap us into Light o' love; that goes without a burden; do you sing it, and I'll dance it. Beat. Ye Light o' love with your heels?-then if your husband have stables enough, you'll look he shall lack no barns. Marg. Oh, illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels. Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time you were ready. By my troth I am exceeding ill, hey-ho! Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. Marg. Well, and you be not turned Turk, there's no more sailing by the star. Beat. What means the fool, trow? Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's desire! Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an excellent perfume. Beat. I am stuffed, cousin; I cannot smell. Marg. A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly catching of cold. Beat. O God, help me! God help me! how long have you profess'd apprehension? Marg. Ever since you left it; doth not my wit become me rarely? Beat. It is not seen enough; you should wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am sick. Marg. Get you some of this distill'd Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm. Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in this Benedictus. Marg. 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. Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? Enter URSULA. Urs. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, Signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the town are come to fetch you to church. Hero. Help to dress me, good coze, good Meg, good Ursula. |