Love. I will hide me in the arbor.
[Withdraws.]
Enter Prince [Don Pedro], Leonato, Claudio. Music [within].
D. Pedro.
Come, shall we hear this music?
Claud.
Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,
As hush’d on purpose to grace harmony!
D. Pedro.
See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
Claud.
O, very well, my lord. The music ended,
We’ll fit the [hid]-fox with a pennyworth.
Enter Balthasar with Music.
D. Pedro.
Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.
Balth.
O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
To slander music any more than once.
D. Pedro.
It is the witness still of excellency
To put a strange face on his own perfection.
I pray thee sing, and let me woo no more.
Balth.
Because you talk of wooing, I will sing,
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
To her he thinks not worthy, yet he woos,
Yet will he swear he loves.
D. Pedro.
Nay, pray thee come,
Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.
Balth.
Note this before my notes:
There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.
D. Pedro.
Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks—
Note notes, forsooth, and nothing.
[Air.]
Bene. Now, divine air! now is his soul ravish’d! Is it not strange that sheep’s guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies? Well, a horn for my money when all’s done.
The 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.
