Much Ado about Nothing by William Shakespeare
Act 3 - Scene 4
HERO’s apartment.
Hero : Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire
[p]her to rise.
Ursula : I will, lady.
Hero : And bid her come hither.
Ursula : Well.
Margaret : Troth, I think your other rabato were better.
Hero : No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.
Margaret : By my troth, 's not so good; and I warrant your
[p]cousin will say
so.
Hero : My cousin's a fool, and thou art another: I'll wear
[p]none but this.
Margaret : I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair
[p]were a thought
browner; and your gown's a most rare
[p]fashion, i' faith. I saw the
Duchess of Milan's
[p]gown that they praise so.
Hero : O, that exceeds, they say.
Margaret : By my troth, 's but a night-gown in respect of
[p]yours: cloth o'
gold, and cuts, and laced with
[p]silver, set with pearls, down
sleeves, side sleeves,
[p]and skirts, round underborne with a bluish
tinsel:
[p]but for a fine, quaint, graceful and excellent
[p]fashion,
yours is worth ten on 't.
Hero : God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is
[p]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
[p]marriage honourable
in a beggar? Is not your lord
[p]honourable without marriage? I think
you would have
[p]me say, 'saving your reverence, a husband:' and
bad
[p]thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend
[p]nobody: is
there any harm in 'the heavier for a
[p]husband'? None, I think, and
it be the right husband
[p]and the right wife; otherwise 'tis light,
and not
[p]heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes.
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
[p]burden: do you
sing it, and I'll dance it.
Beatrice : Ye light o' love, with your heels! then, if your
[p]husband have
stables enough, you'll see he shall
[p]lack no barns.
Margaret : O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.
Beatrice : 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; tis time you were
[p]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, and you be not turned Turk, there's no more
[p]sailing by the
star.
Beatrice : What means the fool, trow?
Margaret : Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's desire!
Hero : These gloves the count sent me; they are an
[p]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
[p]professed
apprehension?
Margaret : Even since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely?
Beatrice : It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your
[p]cap. By my troth,
I am sick.
Margaret : Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus,
[p]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
[p]this
Benedictus.
Margaret : Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I
[p]meant, plain
holy-thistle. You may think perchance
[p]that I think you are in love:
nay, by'r lady, I am
[p]not such a fool to think what I list, nor I
list
[p]not to think what I can, nor indeed I cannot think,
[p]if I
would think my heart out of thinking, that you
[p]are in love or that
you will be in love or that you
[p]can be in love. Yet Benedick was
such another, and
[p]now is he become a man: he swore he would
never
[p]marry, and yet now, in despite of his heart, he eats
[p]his
meat without grudging: and how you may be
[p]converted I know not, but
methinks you look with
[p]your eyes as other women do.
Beatrice : What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?
Margaret : Not a false gallop.
Ursula : Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, Signior
[p]Benedick, Don John,
and all the gallants of the
[p]town, are come to fetch you to church.
Hero : Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.
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Next: Act 3 - Scene 5
