Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > Much Ado About Nothing > Act III, scene IV



	[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! then, if your
	husband have stables enough, you'll see he shall
	lack no barns.

MARGARET: O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my 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.

	[Exeunt]




	MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING






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