Original subtitles

I learn in this letter that Don Pedro

of Arragon comes this day to Messina.

He is very near by this, not three leagues off.

Have any gentlemen been lost in this action?

But few of any sort, and none of name.

A victory is twice itself

when the achiever brings home full numbers.

I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honor

upon a young Florentine called Claudio.

Much deserved on his part

and equally remembered by Don Pedro,

he hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age,

doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.

Rarh!

I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?

I know none of that name, lady.

My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.

O, he's returned

and as pleasant as ever he was.

I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars?

But how many hath he killed?

For indeed I promised to eat all of his killing.

Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much,

but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not.

He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.

You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it.

He is a very valiant trencherman,

he hath an excellent stomach.

And a good soldier too, lady.

And a good soldier to a lady.

But what is he to a lord?

A lord to a lord, a man to a man,

stuffed with all honorable virtue.

It is so, indeed,

he is no less than a stuffed man.

You must not, sir, mistake my niece.

There is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her.

They never meet but there's a skirmish of wit between them.

Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.

Is't possible?

Very easily possible.

He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat,

it ever changes with the next block.

I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

No, and he were, I would burn my study.

But, I pray you, who is his companion?

Is there no young squarer now that will

make a voyage with him to the devil?

He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.

O, lord, he will hang upon him like a disease.

He is sooner caught than the pestilence,

and the taker runs presently mad.

O, God help the noble Claudio!

If he have caught the Benedick,

it will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured.

Good Signior Leonato,

you are come to welcome your trouble.

The fashion of the world is to avoid cost,

and you encounter it.

Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your grace.

For trouble being gone, comfort should remain.

But when you depart from me sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.

Hmm, you embrace your charge too willingly.

I think this is your daughter.

Her mother hath many times told me so.

Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?

Signior Benedick, no, for then were you a child.

Truly, truly, the lady fathers herself.

Be happy, lady, for you are like an honorable father.

If Signior Leonato be her father,

she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina

as like him as she is.

I wonder that you would still be talking, Signior Benedick.

Nobody marks you.

What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?

Is it possible disdain should die

while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?

Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.

Then is courtesy a turncoat.

But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted,

and I would I could find it in my heart that I had not a hard heart,

for, truly, I love none.

Dear happiness to women, else would they

have been troubled with a pernicious suitor.

I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humor for that.

I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.

God keep your ladyship still in that mind

so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face.

Scratching could not make it worse,

an 'twere such a face as yours were.

Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.

Um, a bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.

I would my horse had the speed of your tongue,

and so good a continuer.

But keep in your way, God's name, I have done.

You always end with a jade's trick.

I know you of old.

Signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all.

I tell him we shall stay here at the least the month,

and he heartily prays some occasion may detain us longer.

Lady.

Let me bid you welcome, my lord.

Being reconciled with the prince your brother,

I owe you all duty.

I am not of many words, but I thank you.

Please it your grace lead on?

Your hand, Leonato. We will go together.

Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?

I noted her not, but I looked on her.

Is she not a modest young lady?

Do you question me, as an honest man should do,

for my simple true judgment,

or would you have me speak after my custom,

as being a professed tyrant to their sex?

No, I pray thee speak in sober judgment.

Why, i' faith, methinks she is too low for a high praise,

too brown for a fair praise, too little for a great praise.

Only this commendation I can afford her,

that were she other than she is,

she were unhandsome,

and being no other than as she is, I do not like her.

Thou thinkest I am in sport. I pray thee tell me truly how thou likest her.

Would you buy her, that you inquire after her?

Can the world buy such a jewel?

Yea, and a case to put it into.

But speak you this with a sad brow?

In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on.

I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter.

There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury,

exceeds her as much in beauty

as the first of May doth the last of December.

But I hope you have no intent to turn husband, have you?

I would scarce trust myself,

though I had sworn the contrary,

if Hero would be my wife.

Is it come to this?

Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score again?

Go to i' faith, an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke,

wear the print of it and sigh away Sundays.

What secret hath held you here, that you followed not Leonato?

I would your grace would constrain me to tell.

I charge thee on thy allegiance.

O, on my allegiance? Mark you this.

On my allegiance he is in love.

With who? Now that is your grace's part.

Mark you how short his answer is.

With Hero, Leonato's short daughter.

Amen, if you love her, for the lady is very well worthy.

You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.

By my troth, I speak my thought.

And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.

And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine.

That I love her I feel.

And that she is worthy, I know.

That I neither feel how she should be loved

nor know how she should be worthy

is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me.

I will die in it at the stake.

Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty.

That a woman conceived me, I give her thanks,

that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks.

But that I will have a recheat winded in my forehead,

or hang my bugle from an invisible baldrick,

all women shall pardon me.

Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any,

I will do myself the right to trust none.

And the fine is, for the which I may go the finer,

I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.

With anger, with sickness,

or with hunger, my lord, not with love.

Well, as time shall try.

"In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke."

The savage bull may,

but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it,

pluck off the bull's horns and plant them in my forehead

and let me be vilely painted,

and in such great letters as they write,

"Here is good horse to hire,"

let them signify under my sign,

"Here may you see Benedick the married man."

Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice,

thou wilt quake for this shortly.

I look for an earthquake too, then.

Hath Leonato any son, my lord?

No child but Hero, she's his only heir.

Dost thou affect her, Claudio?

O, my lord, when you went onward on this ended action,

I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye,

that liked,

but had a rougher task in hand

than to drive liking to the name of love.

And that war-thoughts have left their places vacant,

in their rooms come thronging soft and delicate desires,

all prompting me how fair young Hero is,

saying, "I liked her ere I went to wars."

Thou wilt be like a lover presently

and tire the hearer with a book of words.

If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it,

and I will break with her and with her father, and thou shalt have her.

I know we shall have reveling to-night. Hmm.

I will assume thy part in some disguise

and tell fair Hero I am Claudio,

and in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart

and take her hearing prisoner with the force

and strong encounter of my amorous tale.

Then after to her father will I break,

and the conclusion is she shall be thine.

What the good-year, my lord.

Why are you thus out of measure sad?

There is no measure in the occasion that breeds,

therefore the sadness is without limit.

You should hear reason.

And when I have heard it, what blessing brings it?

If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance.

I cannot hide what I am.

I must be sad when I have cause and smile at no man's jests,

eat when I have stomach and wait for no man's leisure,

sleep when I am drowsy and tend on no man's business,

laugh when I am merry and claw no man in his humor.

Yea, but you must not make the full show of

this till you may do it without controlment.

You have of late stood out against your brother,

and he hath ta'en you newly into his grace,

where it is impossible you should take true root

but by the fair weather that you make yourself.

I had rather be a canker in a hedge

than a rose in his grace,

and it better fits my blood to be disdained

of all than to fashion a carriage

to rob love from any.

In this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man,

it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain.

I am trusted with a muzzle and enfranchised with a clog.

If I had my mouth,

I would bite.

Can you make no use of your discontent?

I make all use of it, for I use it only.

What news, Borachio?

I came yonder from a great supper.

The prince your brother,

is royally entertained by Leonato,

and I can give you intelligence of an intended marriage.

Will it serve for any model to build mischief on?

What is he for a fool that betroths himself to unquietness?

Marry, it is your brother's right hand.

Who?

The most exquisite Claudio?

Even he.

A proper squire.

And who, and who? Which way looks he?

Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato.

A very forward March-chick.

I heard it agreed upon that the prince should woo Hero for himself,

and having obtained her, give her to Count Claudio.

Come, come, let us thither.

This may prove food to my displeasure.

That young start-up hath all the glory of my overthrow.

If I can cross him in any way, I bless myself every way.

You are both sure, and will assist me?

To the death, my lord.

Was not Count John here at supper?

I saw him not.

How tartly that gentleman looks.

I never can see him but I am heart-burned for an hour after.

He is of a very melancholy disposition.

He were an excellent man that were made just in the midway

between him and Benedick.

The one is too like an image and says nothing,

the other too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling.

My troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband,

if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.

O, for the which blessing I am on 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 woolen.

You may light upon a husband that hath no beard.

What would 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.

I trust you will be ruled by your father.

Yes. Faith, it is my cousin's duty to make curtsy and say,

"Father, as it please you."

And yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow,

or else make another curtsy

and say, "Father, as it please me."

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

Not till God make men of some other metal than earth.

Lady, will you walk about with your friend?

Well, I would you did like me.

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

Hmm. Which is one?

I say my prayers aloud.

I love you the better, the hearers may cry, "Amen."

God, match me with a good dancer.

Will you not tell me who told you so?

No, you shall pardon me.

Nor will you tell me who you are?

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.

What's he?

I'm sure you know him well enough.

Not I, believe me.

Did he never make you laugh?

I pray you, what is he?

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 his 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'm sure he's in the fleet.

I would he had boarded me.

When I know 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

and not laughed at, sends him into melancholy,

and then there's a partridge wing saved,

for the fool will eat no supper that night.

We must follow the leaders.

In every good thing.

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

Are not you Signior Benedick?

You know me well, I am he.

Signior, you are very near my brother in his love.

He is enamored 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.

How know you he loves her?

I heard him swear his affection.

So did I too, and he swore he would marry her to-night.

Come, let us to the banquet.

'Tis certain so, the prince woos for himself.

Friendship is constant in all other things

save in the offices and affairs of love,

for beauty is a witch against whose charms faith melteth into blood.

Count Claudio?

Yea, the same.

Come, go with me. The prince hath got your Hero.

I wish him joy of her.

Did you think the prince would have used you thus?

I pray you, leave me.

Ho! Now you strike like the blind man.

'Twas the boy that stole your meat, and you will beat the post.

If it will not be, 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?

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 will be revenged as I may.

Now, signior, where's the count? Did you see him?

Troth, my lord, I found him 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 here.

The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you.

The gentleman that danced with her

told her she is much wronged by you.

O, she misused me past the endurance of a block!

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

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 would be 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.

Come, talk not of her.

I would to God some scholar would conjure her.

For certainly, while she is here, all disquiet, horror,

and perturbation follows her.

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 tooth-picker

from the furthest inch of Asia,

bring you a hair off the great Cham's beard,

do you any embassage to the Pigmies

rather than hold three words' conference with this harpy.

You have no employment for me?

None, but to desire your good company.

O God, sir, here is a dish I love not.

I cannot endure my Lady Tongue.

Come, lady, come.

You have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.

Indeed, my lord,

he lent it me awhile, and I gave him use for it,

a double heart for his single one.

Marry, once before he won it of me with false dice,

therefore your grace may well say I have lost it.

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

Why, how now, Claudio! Wherefore are you sad?

Not sad, my lord. How then? Sick?

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.

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. 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!

Count, take of me my daughter and with her my fortune.

His grace hath made the match that all grace say "Amen" to it.

Speak, Count, 'tis your cue.

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 myself for you and dote upon the exchange.

Speak, cousin, or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss

and let him not speak neither.

In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.

Yea, my lord. I thank it, poor fool,

it keeps me on the windy side of care.

My cousin tells him in his ear he is in her heart.

And so she doth, cousin.

Oh, good Lord, for alliance!

Thus goes every one into the world but I, and I am sunburnt.

I will sit in a corner and cry, "Heigh-ho for a husband!"

Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

I'd 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.

Will you have me, 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.

Your silence most offends me, to be merry best becomes you,

for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.

No, sure, my lord, my mother cried,

but then a star danced, and under that was I born.

Cousins, God give you joy!

By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.

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.

She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.

O, by no means.

She mocks all her wooers out of suit.

She were an excellent wife for Benedick.

O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married,

they would talk themselves mad.

County Claudio, when mean you to go to church?

To-morrow, my lord.

Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.

Not till Monday, dear son,

which is hence a just seven-night,

and a time too brief, too,

to have all things answer my mind.

I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us.

I will in the interim undertake one of Hercules' labors,

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 minister assistance.

My lord, I am for you, though it cost me 10 nights' watchings.

And I, my lord.

And you too, gentle Hero?

I will do any modest office, my lord,

to help my cousin to a good husband.

Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know.

Thus far can I praise him, he is of a noble strain,

of approved valor and confirmed honesty.

I will teach you how to humor your cousin,

that she shall fall in love with Benedick,

and I,

with your two helps, will so practice 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.

It is so.

The Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato.

Yea, my lord, but I can cross it.

Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me.

I am sick in displeasure to him,

and whatsoever comes athwart his affection

ranges evenly with mine.

How canst thou thwart this marriage?

I think I told your lordship a year since,

how much I am in favor of Margaret,

the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.

I remember.

I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night,

appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber window.

What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?

The poison of that lies in you to temper.

Go you to the prince your brother,

spare not to tell him that he hath wronged his honor

in marrying the renowned Claudio,

whose estimation do you mightily hold up,

to a contaminated stale

such a one as Hero.

What proof shall I make of that?

Proof enough to misuse the prince,

to vex Claudio, to undo Hero and kill Leonato.

Look you for any other issue?

I do much wonder that one man,

seeing how much another man is a fool

when he dedicates his behaviors to love,

will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others,

become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love.

And such a man is Claudio.

I have known when there was no music

with him but the drum and the fife,

now he had rather hear the tabor and the pipe.

I have known when he would have walked

10 mile a-foot to see a good armor,

and now will he lie 10 nights awake,

carving the fashion of a new doublet.

He was wont to speak plain and to the purpose,

like an honest man and a soldier.

Now is he turned orthography, his words a very fantastical banquet,

just so many strange dishes.

May I be so converted and see with these eyes?

I cannot tell, I think not.

I will not be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster.

But I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me,

he shall never make me such a fool.

One woman is fair, yet I am well.

Another is wise, yet I am well.

Another virtuous, yet I am well.

But till all graces be in one woman,

one woman shall not come in my grace.

Rich she shall be, that's certain.

Wise, or I'll none.

Virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her.

Fair, or I'll never look on her. Mild, or come not near me.

Noble, or not I for an angel.

Of good discourse, an excellent musician,

and her hair shall be of what color it please God.

The prince and Monsieur Love.

I will hide me in the arbor.

Come, shall we hear this music?

Yea, my good lord.

Come hither, Leonato.

What was it you told me of to-day,

that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?

I did never think that lady would have loved any man.

No, nor I neither,

but most wonderful that she should so dote on Signior Benedick,

whom she hath in all outward behaviors seemed ever to abhor.

Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner?

By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it

but that she loves him with an enraged affection.

It is past the infinite of thought.

You amaze me.

I would have thought her spirit was

invincible against all assaults of affection.

I would have sworn it had, my lord,

especially against Benedick.

Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?

No, and swears she never will, that is her torment.

'Tis true, indeed, so your daughter says, "Shall I,"

she says, "that so oft encountered him

with scorn, write to him that I love him?"

O, she railed 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."

Then down upon her knees she falls,

weeps, sobs, beats her heart,

tears her hair, prays, curses,

"O, sweet, Benedick! God give me patience!"

I would she had bestowed this dotage on me.

I would have daffed all other respects and made her half myself.

I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say.

Were it good, think you?

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 accustomed crossness.

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.

He is a very proper man.

He hath indeed a good outward happiness.

Before God! And, in my mind, very wise.

He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.

Well, I'm sorry for your niece.

I love Benedick well, and I could wish

he would modestly examine himself,

to see how much he is unworthy so good a lady.

My lord, will you walk?

Dinner is ready.

This can be no trick. The conference was sadly borne.

They have the truth of this from Hero.

Love me?

Why, it must be requited.

I hear how I am censured.

They say I will bear myself proudly,

if I perceive the love come from her.

They say too that she will rather die

than give any sign of affection.

I did never think to marry.

I must not seem proud.

Happy are they that hear their detractions and can put them to mending.

They say the lady is fair,

'tis a truth, I can bear them witness.

And virtuous, 'tis so, I cannot reprove it.

And wise, but for loving me.

By my troth, it is no addition to her wit,

nor no great argument of her folly,

for I will be horribly in love with her!

I may chance have some odd quirks

and remnants of wit broken on me,

because I have railed so long against marriage.

But doth not the appetite alter?

A man loves the meat in his youth

that he cannot endure in his age.

Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain

awe a man from the career of his humor?

No, the world must be peopled.

When I said I would die a bachelor,

I did not think I should live till I were married.

Here comes Beatrice.

By this day. She's a fair lady.

I do spy some marks of love in her.

Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.

Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

I took no more pains for those thanks

than you take pains to thank me.

If it had been painful, I would not have come.

You take pleasure then in the message?

Yea, signior,

just so much as you may take upon a knife's point.

You have no stomach, signior. Fare you well.

"Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner."

There's a double meaning in that.

"I took no more pains for those thanks"

"than you took pains to thank me."

That's as much as to say, any pains

that I take for you is as good as thanks.

If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain.

If I do not love her, I am a fool.

I will go get her picture.

No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful.

I know her spirits are as coy and wild

as haggerds of the rock.

But are you sure Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?

So says the prince and my new-trothed lord.

And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?

They did entreat me to acquaint her of it, but I persuaded them,

if they loved Benedick,

to wish him restle with affection,

and never to let Beatrice know of it.

Why did you so?

Doth not the gentleman deserve as full a fortunate a bed

as ever Beatrice shall couch upon?

O, god of love! I know he doth deserve

as much as may be yielded to a man.

But nature never framed a woman's heart

of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,

misprising what they look on,

and her wit values itself so highly

that to her all matter else seems weak.

She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project of affection,

she is so self-endeared.

Sure, I think so.

And therefore certainly it were not good she knew his love,

lest she make sport at it.

No, rather I will go to Benedick

and counsel him to fight against his passion.

Truly, I'll devise some honest slanders to stain my cousin with.

One doth not know how much an ill word may empoison liking.

O, do not do your cousin such a wrong.

She cannot be so much without true judgment.

Having so swift and excellent a wit,

as she is prized to have,

as to refuse so rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.

He is the only man of Italy. Mmm.

Always excepted my dear Claudio.

Come, go in. I'll show thee some attires,

and have thy counsel which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.

What fire is in my ears?

Can this be true?

Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?

Contempt, farewell.

And maiden pride, adieu.

No glory lives behind the back of such.

And, Benedick,

love on.

I will requite thee,

taming my wild heart to thy loving hand.

If thou dost love,

my kindness shall incite thee

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