Much Ado About Nothing, Act 2, Scene 1

Was not Count John here at supper?

Wasn't Count John here at supper?

I saw him not.

I didn't see him.

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

How sour that gentleman looks! I can never see him without getting heartburn for an hour afterwards.

He is of a very melancholy disposition.

He has a very gloomy temperament.

He were an excellent man that were made just in the mid-way 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.

A man made exactly halfway between him and Benedick would be an excellent one: the one is too much like a statue, and says nothing; and the other too much like my lady's eldest son, chattering all the time.

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

So half of Signior Benedick's tongue in Count John's mouth, and half of Count John's gloom in Signior Benedick's face—

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

With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and enough money in his purse, a man like that would win any woman in the world — if he could get her consent.

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

Honestly, niece, you'll never get yourself a husband if you're so harsh with your tongue.

In faith, she’s too curst.

Truly, she's too bad-tempered.

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

Too bad-tempered is more than bad-tempered: I'll cut down what God sends me in that line; because the saying goes, 'God sends a vicious cow short horns' — but to a cow that's too vicious he sends none at all.

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

So, by being too bad-tempered, you'll get no horns from God?

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

Exactly, if he sends me no husband; and I'm on my knees to him every morning and evening begging for that blessing. Lord! I couldn't put up with a husband with a beard on his face: I'd rather sleep in rough wool blankets.

You may light on a husband that hath no beard.

You might happen on a husband who has no beard.

What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel and make him my waiting gentlewoman? He that 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 bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell.

What would I do with him? Dress him in my clothes and make him my lady's maid? A man with a beard is more than a boy, and a man with no beard is less than a man; and the one who is more than a boy isn't for me; and the one who is less than a man — I'm not for him. So I'll just take sixpence as a down payment from the bear-keeper, and lead his apes into hell.

Well then, go you into hell?

Well then, will you go into hell?

No; but to the gate; and there will the Devil meet 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 to Saint Peter for the heavens: he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long.

No; only as far as the gate; and there the Devil will meet me, like an old betrayed husband with horns on his head, and say, 'Off to heaven with you, Beatrice, off to heaven; there's no room for you virgins here.' So I hand over my apes and go off to Saint Peter in heaven: he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there we live as merry as the day is long.

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

[To Hero.] Well, niece, I trust you'll let your father guide you.

Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make curtsy, and say, ‘Father, as it please you:’— but yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy, and say, ‘Father, as it please me.’

Yes, indeed; it's my cousin's duty to curtsy and say, 'Father, as you please.' But even so, cousin, make sure he's a good-looking fellow, or else curtsy again and say, 'Father, as I please.'

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

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

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

Not until God makes men out of some material other than earth. Wouldn't it upset a woman to be ruled by a lump of swaggering dust? To give an account of her life to a clod of contrary clay? No, uncle, I'll have none of it. Adam's sons are my brothers, and honestly, I consider it a sin to marry within my own family.

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

Daughter, remember what I told you: if the Prince makes you an offer of that sort, you know your answer.

The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in good time: if the Prince be too important, tell him there is measure in everything, and so dance out the answer. For, hear me, Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinquepace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes Repentance, and with his bad legs, falls into the cinquepace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.

The fault will lie with the music, cousin, if you aren't courted in the right rhythm. If the Prince presses too hard, tell him there's a proper measure in everything, and dance your answer out that way. Because listen to me, Hero: courting, marrying and regretting it are like a Scottish jig, a stately dance and a five-step dance. The first wooing is hot and hurried, like a Scottish jig, and just as wild; the wedding is proper and modest, like the stately dance, full of dignity and old custom; and then comes Regret, and with his weak legs he falls into the five-step, faster and faster, until he sinks into his grave.

Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.

Niece, you grasp things extremely sharply.

I have a good eye, uncle: I can see a church by daylight.

I have good eyesight, uncle: I can see a church in broad daylight.

The revellers are entering, brother: make good room.

The masked dancers are coming in, brother: clear plenty of space.

Lady, will you walk about with your friend?

Lady, will you take a turn around the room with the man who admires you?

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

As long as you walk gently and look pleasant and say nothing, I'm yours for the walk — especially when I walk away.

With me in your company?

With me in your company?

I may say so, when I please.

I may say so, when it suits me.

And when please you to say so?

And when will it suit you to say so?

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

When I like your face; God forbid the lute should look like its case!

My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove.

My mask is Philemon's roof; inside the house is Jove.

Why, then, your visor should be thatch’d.

Why then, your mask ought to be thatched with straw.

Speak low, if you speak love.

Speak quietly, if you're speaking of love.

Well, I would you did like me.

Well, I wish you liked me.

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

I don't wish it, for your own sake; because I have plenty of bad qualities.

Which is one?

Name one.

I say my prayers aloud.

I say my prayers out loud.

I love you the better; the hearers may cry Amen.

I like you all the better for it; the people listening can say Amen.

God match me with a good dancer!

God pair me with a good dancer!

Amen.

Amen.

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

And God keep him out of my sight once the dance is over! Give the response, parish clerk.

No more words: the clerk is answered.

No more talk: the clerk has given his response.

I know you well enough: you are Signior Antonio.

I know perfectly well who you are: you're Signior Antonio.

At a word, I am not.

In a word, I am not.

I know you by the waggling of your head.

I know you by the way you waggle your head.

To tell you true, I counterfeit him.

To tell you the truth, I'm imitating him.

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.

You could never do him so badly-well unless you were the man himself. Here's his dry hand, exactly: you're him, you're him.

At a word, I am not.

In a word, I am not.

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

Come on, come on; do you think I don't know you by your excellent wit? Can good qualities hide themselves? Enough, hush, you're him: fine qualities will show through, and that's that.

Will you not tell me who told you so?

Won't you tell me who told you that?

No, you shall pardon me.

No, you'll have to excuse me.

Nor will you not tell me who you are?

And you won't tell me who you are either?

Not now.

Not now.

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.

That I was scornful, and that I got my clever remarks out of the 'Hundred Merry Tales.' Well, it was Signior Benedick who said that.

What’s he?

Who's he?

I am sure you know him well enough.

I'm sure you know him well enough.

Not I, believe me.

Not I, believe me.

Did he never make you laugh?

Has he never made you laugh?

I pray you, what is he?

Please, what is he like?

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

Why, he is the Prince's jester: a very boring fool; his only talent is inventing outrageous insults. Nobody enjoys him except men with no morals, and what they praise is not his cleverness but his nastiness, because he both entertains men and annoys them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. I'm sure he's somewhere in this crowd: I wish he had come alongside me!

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

When I meet the gentleman, I'll tell him what you say.

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

Do, do. He'll only crack a joke or two at my expense, and if nobody notices them or laughs at them, it throws him into gloom — and then a partridge wing is saved, because the fool will eat no supper that night. [Music within.] We must follow the leading couple.

In every good thing.

In every good thing.

Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning.

No, if they lead into anything bad, I'll leave them at the next turn.

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.

My brother is certainly in love with Hero, and he has taken her father aside to discuss it with him. The ladies have gone off after her, and only one mask is left.

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

And that is Claudio: I recognise him by the way he carries himself.

Are you not Signior Benedick?

Aren't you Signior Benedick?

You know me well; I am he.

You know me well; I am.

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 part of an honest man in it.

Sir, you are very close to my brother in his affection. He is in love with Hero. Please, talk him out of her; she is not a match for his rank. You would be acting as an honourable man if you did.

How know you he loves her?

How do you know he loves her?

I heard him swear his affection.

I heard him swear he loved her.

So did I too; and he swore he would marry her tonight.

So did I; and he swore he would marry her tonight.

Come, let us to the banquet.

Come, let's go to the feast.

Thus answer I in name of Benedick, But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. ’Tis certain so; the Prince wooss for himself. Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues; Let every eye negotiate for itself And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. This is an accident of hourly proof, Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!

So I answer in Benedick's name, but I hear this bad news with Claudio's ears. It's certainly true: the Prince is courting her for himself. Friendship holds firm in everything else except in the business and dealings of love. Therefore let all hearts in love speak with their own tongues; let every eye bargain for itself and trust no go-between, for beauty is a witch whose spells melt loyalty into passion. This is something proved every hour, and I never suspected it. So farewell, Hero!

Count Claudio?

Count Claudio?

Yea, the same.

Yes, the same.

Come, will you go with me?

Come, will you come with me?

Whither?

Where?

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

Only as far as the nearest willow tree, on your own business, Count. What style will you wear your garland in? Around your neck, like a moneylender's gold chain? Or under your arm, like an officer's sash? You must wear it one way or the other, because the Prince has got your Hero.

I wish him joy of her.

I wish him joy of her.

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

Well, that's spoken like an honest cattle dealer: that's how they sell bullocks. But did you think the Prince would have treated you like this?

I pray you, leave me.

Please, leave me alone.

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

Ha! Now you're hitting out like the blind man: it was the boy who stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.

If it will not be, I’ll leave you.

If you won't go, I'll leave you.

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

Poor wounded bird. Now he'll go and hide among the reeds. But that my Lady Beatrice should know who I am and not know who I am! The Prince's fool! Ha! Maybe I'm given that title because I'm cheerful. Yes, but then I'm inclined to do myself an injustice; that's not my reputation. It's the low though sharp nature of Beatrice that makes her speak as if she were the whole world, and so runs me down. Well, I'll get my revenge however I can.

Now, signior, where’s the Count? Did you see him?

Now, sir, where's the Count? Did you see him?

Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren. I told him, and I think I told him true, that your 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, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.

Honestly, my lord, I've played the part of Lady Rumour. I found him here as gloomy as a gamekeeper's hut in a rabbit field. I told him — and I think I told him the truth — that your Grace had won this young lady's affection, and I offered to go with him to a willow tree, either to make him a garland, since he's been abandoned, or to bind him up a birch rod, since he deserves a whipping.

To be whipped! What’s his fault?

A whipping! What has he done wrong?

The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, being overjoy’d with finding a bird’s nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.

The plain offence of a schoolboy who, overjoyed at finding a bird's nest, shows it to his friend, and the friend steals it.

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

Will you turn an act of trust into an offence? The offence belongs to the thief.

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, who, as I take it, have stolen his bird’s nest.

All the same, it wouldn't have been a bad idea to make the rod as well as the garland; because he could have worn the garland himself, and he could have given the rod to you, who, as I understand it, have stolen his bird's nest.

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

I'll only teach the birds to sing, and then give them back to their owner.

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

If their singing matches what you say, then honestly, you're speaking honourably.

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

The Lady Beatrice has a grievance against you. The gentleman who danced with her told her she has been badly wronged by you.

O! she misused me past the endurance of a block: an oak but with one green leaf on it would have answered her: my very visor began to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had been myself, that I was the Prince’s jester, that I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such impossible conveyance upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her; she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had 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 her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would conjure her, for certainly, while she is 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 follow her.

Oh! She abused me beyond what a block of wood could stand. An oak with only one green leaf left on it would have answered her back. My very mask started to come alive and quarrel with her. She told me, not realising it was me, that I was the Prince's jester, that I was more tedious than a long thaw, piling joke on joke at me with such unbelievable speed that I stood there like a man set up as a target with a whole army shooting at him. She speaks daggers, and every word stabs. If her breath were as deadly as her phrases, there would be no living near her; she would poison everything up to the north star. I wouldn't marry her even if she came with everything Adam still owned before he sinned. She would have made Hercules turn the roasting spit, yes, and split his club up for firewood too. Come, don't talk about her; you'll find she's the goddess of discord herself in fine clothes. I wish to God some scholar would exorcise her, because certainly, while she's here, a man can live as peacefully in hell as in a holy place, and people sin deliberately so that they'll be sent there. So indeed, all unrest, terror and disturbance follow her about.

Look! here she comes.

Look! Here she comes.

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 hair off the Great Cham’s beard; do you any embassage to the Pygmies, rather than hold three words’ conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me?

Will your Grace give me any task to do at the end of the world? I'll go on the most trivial errand now to the other side of the globe that you can think up to send me on. I'll fetch you a toothpick from the furthest corner of Asia; bring you the measurement of Prester John's foot; get you a hair from the Great Cham's beard; carry out any mission for you to the Pygmies, rather than exchange three words with this monster. Have you no job for me?

None, but to desire your good company.

None, except to ask for your pleasant company.

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

Oh God, sir, here's a dish I don't like: I can't stand my Lady Tongue.

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

Come, lady, come; you have lost Signior Benedick's heart.

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

Indeed, my lord, he lent it to me for a while, and I paid him interest on it, two hearts for his one. But before that he once won it from me with loaded dice, so your Grace may well say I have lost it.

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

You have beaten him down, lady, you have beaten him down.

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

I wouldn't want him to lay me down, my lord, in case I turned out to be the mother of fools. I've brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me to look for.

Why, how now, Count! wherefore are you sad?

Well, what's this, Count! Why are you so serious?

Not sad, my lord.

I'm not serious, my lord.

How then? Sick?

What then? Ill?

Neither, my lord.

Neither, my lord.

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

The Count is neither serious, nor ill, nor cheerful, nor well; but he's a civil Count, as civil as a Seville orange, and with something of that jealous yellow colouring.

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

Honestly, lady, I think your description is accurate; though I'd swear that if that's how he is, his idea is mistaken. Here, Claudio, I have courted her in your name, and lovely Hero is won. I have spoken with her father and got his consent. Name the wedding day, and God give you joy!

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

Count, take my daughter from me, and my estate with her. His Grace has made the match, and may all grace say Amen to it!

Speak, Count, ’tis your cue.

Speak, Count, this is your moment.

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.

Silence is the most perfect messenger of joy. I would be only slightly happy if I could say how happy I am. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours. I give myself away for you and I am delighted with the exchange.

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

Speak, cousin; or, if you can't, stop his mouth with a kiss, and don't let him speak either.

In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.

Honestly, lady, you have a cheerful heart.

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

Yes, my lord; and I thank it, the poor thing, it keeps on the sheltered side of sorrow. My cousin is telling him in his ear that he is in her heart.

And so she doth, cousin.

And so she is, cousin.

Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes everyone to the world but I, and I am sunburnt. I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!

Good Lord, now we're related! So everybody gets married except me, and I'm left weather-beaten. I may as well sit in a corner and sigh for a husband!

Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

Lady Beatrice, I'll find you one.

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.

I'd rather have one your father had fathered. Has your Grace no brother like you? Your father produced excellent husbands, if only a girl could get hold of them.

Will you have me, lady?

Will you have me, my lady?

No, my lord, unless I might have another for 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.

No, my lord, unless I could have another one for weekdays: your Grace is too expensive to wear every day. But please, your Grace, forgive me; I was born to speak nothing but jokes and no substance.

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

Your silence is what offends me most, and being cheerful suits you best; because without a doubt, you were born in a cheerful hour.

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

No, certainly not, my lord, my mother was crying; but at that moment a star was dancing, and I was born under it. Cousins, God give you joy!

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

Niece, will you see to those things I told you about?

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

I beg your pardon, uncle. With your Grace's permission.

By my troth, a pleasant spirited lady.

I swear, she is a lady of a delightful spirit.

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

There is very little of the gloomy in her make-up, my lord: she is never serious except when she is asleep; and not even always then, because I have heard my daughter say that she has often dreamed of something miserable and woken herself up laughing.

She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.

She cannot bear to hear a husband mentioned.

O! by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.

Oh, not at all: she mocks all her suitors until they give up courting her.

She were an excellent wife for Benedick.

She would make an excellent wife for Benedick.

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

Oh Lord, my lord, if they were married even a week, they would talk each other into madness.

Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church?

Count Claudio, when do you intend to go to church?

Tomorrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.

Tomorrow, my lord. Time walks on crutches until love has all its ceremonies.

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

Not until Monday, my dear son, which is exactly a week from now; and even that is too short a time to have everything arranged the way I want it.

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 Hercules’ labours, which is, to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the one with the other. I would fain have it a match; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction.

Come now, you shake your head at such a long wait; but I promise you, Claudio, the time will not pass dully for us. In the meantime I will take on one of Hercules' labours, which is to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of love for one another. I would very much like to make it a match; and I have no doubt I can shape it, if you three will just supply the help I give you instructions for.

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

My lord, I am with you, even if it costs me ten nights without sleep.

And I, my lord.

And I am too, my lord.

And you too, gentle Hero?

And you as well, gentle Hero?

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

I will do any decent task, my lord, to get my cousin a good husband.

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 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 in with me, and I will tell you my drift.

And Benedick is not the least promising husband I know of. This much I can praise him for: he comes of noble stock, his courage has been proved, and his integrity is established. I will teach you how to work on your cousin's mood so that she falls in love with Benedick; and I, with the two of you helping, will work on Benedick so that, in spite of his sharp wit and his squeamish appetite, he falls in love with Beatrice. If we can manage this, Cupid is an archer no longer: his glory will be ours, for we will be the only gods of love. Come inside with me, and I will tell you my plan.