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Song

       [Balth.]

      Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,

      Men were deceivers ever,

      One foot in sea, and one on shore,

      To one thing constant never.

      Then sigh not so, but let them go,

      And be you blithe and bonny,

      Converting all your sounds of woe

      Into hey nonny nonny.

      Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,

      Of dumps so dull and heavy;

      The fraud of men was ever so,

      Since summer first was leavy.

      Then sigh not so, etc.

      D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song.

      Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.

      D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith, thou sing’st well enough for a shift.

      Bene. And he had been a dog that should have howl’d thus, they would have hang’d him, and I pray God his bad voice bode no mischief. I had as live have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it.

      D. Pedro. Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we would have it at the Lady Hero’s chamber-window.

      Balth. The best I can, my lord.

       Exit Balthasar.

      D. Pedro. Do so, farewell. Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?

      Claud. [Aside.] O ay, stalk on, stalk on, the fowl sits.—I did never think that lady would have lov’d any man.

      Leon. No, nor I neither, but most wonderful that she should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviors seem’d ever to abhor.

      Bene. Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner?

      Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it but that she loves him with an enrag’d affection; it is past the infinite of thought.

      D. Pedro. May be she doth but counterfeit.

      Claud. Faith, like enough.

      Leon. O God! counterfeit? There was never counterfeit of passion came so near the life of passion as she discovers it.

      D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she?

      Claud. [Aside.] Bait the hook well, this fish will bite.

      Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you—you heard my daughter tell you how.

      Claud. She did indeed.

      D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me, I would have thought her spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.

      Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord, especially against Benedick.

      Bene. I should think this a gull, but that the white- bearded fellow speaks it. Knavery cannot sure hide himself in such reverence.

      Claud. [Aside.] He hath ta’en th’ infection. Hold it up.

      D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?

      Leon. No, and swears she never will. That’s her torment.

      Claud. ’Tis true indeed, so your daughter says. “Shall I,” says she, “that have so oft encount’red him with scorn, write to him that I love him?”

      Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him, for she’ll be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her smock till she have writ a sheet of paper. My daughter tells us all.

      Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your daughter told [us of].

      Leon. O, when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found ‘Benedick’ and ‘Beatrice’ between the sheet?

      Claud. That.

      Leon. O, she tore the letter into a thousand half- pence; rail’d at herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she knew would flout her. “I measure him,” says she, “by my own spirit, for I should flout him, if he writ to me, yea, though I love him, I should.”

      Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses: “O sweet Benedick! God give me patience!”

      Leon. She doth indeed, my daughter says so; and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her that my daughter is sometime afeard she will do a desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.

      D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will not discover it.

      Claud. To what end? he would make but a sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse.

      D. Pedro. And he should, it were an alms to hang him. She’s an excellent sweet lady, and (out of all suspicion) she is virtuous.

      Claud. And she is exceeding wise.

      D. Pedro. In every thing but in loving Benedick.

      Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.

      D. Pedro. I would she had bestow’d this dotage on me, I would have daff’d all other respects, and made her half myself. I pray you tell Benedick of it, and hear what ’a will say.

      Leon. Were it good, think you?

      Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die, for she says she will die if he love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known, and she will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath of her accustom’d crossness.

      D. Pedro. She doth well. If she should make tender of her love, ’tis very possible he’ll scorn it, for the man (as you know all) hath a contemptible spirit.

      Claud. He is a very proper man.

      D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward happiness.

      Claud. Before God, and in my mind, very wise.

      D. Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.

      Claud. And I take him to be valiant.

      D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you, and in the managing of quarrels you may say he is wise, for either he avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear.

      Leon. If he do fear God, ’a must necessarily keep peace; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.

      D. Pedro. And so will he do, for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?

      Claud. Never tell him, my lord. Let her wear it out with good counsel.

      Leon. Nay, that’s impossible, she may wear her heart out first.

      D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter, let it cool the while. I love Benedick well, and I could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good a lady.

      Leon. My lord, will you walk? Dinner is ready.

      Claud.

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