HERO’s apartment.
[Enter HERO, MARGARET,
and URSULA]
HERO
Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice,
and desire her to rise.
URSULA I will, lady.
HERO And bid her come hither.
URSULA Well.
[Exit]
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 cousin will say so.
HERO My cousin’s a fool, and thou art another:
I’ll wear none but this.
MARGARET 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 O, that exceeds, they say.
MARGARET By my troth, ‘s but a night-gown in respect
of yours: cloth o’ 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.
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 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, 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 burden: do you sing it, and I’ll dance it.
BEATRICE Ye light o’ love, with your heels!
BEATRICE ‘Tis almost five o’clock, cousin; tis time you
were 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 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
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 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 cap. By my troth, I am sick.
MARGARET Get you some of this distilled Carduus
Benedictus, 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 this Benedictus.
MARGARET 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.
BEATRICE What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?
MARGARET Not a false gallop.
[Re-enter URSULA]
URSULA 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 coz, good Meg, good Ursula.
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