Original
Modern English
Was not Count John here at supper?
Was Count John not here for supper?
I saw him not.
I didn’t see him.
How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am heart-burned an hour after.
That man looks so sour! I can never see him without feeling upset for at least an hour after.
He is of a very melancholy disposition.
He’s in a very gloomy mood.
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, and the other too like my lady’s eldest son, evermore tattling.
He’d be a perfect man if you could take someone like him and make them just halfway between him and Benedick: one is too quiet and says nothing, and the other talks all the time like my lady’s eldest son.
Then half Signior Benedick’s tongue in Count John’s mouth, and half Count John’s melancholy in Signior Benedick’s face,--
Then you’d take half of Benedick’s tongue and put it in Count John’s mouth, and half of Count John’s gloominess and put it on Benedick’s face—
With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world, if a’ could get her good-will.
With a good leg, a good foot, uncle, and enough money in his wallet, that man could win any woman in the world, if he could get her to like him.
By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.
Honestly, niece, you’ll never get a husband if you’re so sharp-tongued.
In faith, she’s too curst.
Truly, she’s too much of a handful.
Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God’s sending that way; for it is said, ’God sends a curst cow short horns;’ but to a cow too curst he sends none.
Too much of a handful is worse than just a handful: I’ll avoid God’s punishment that way; because it’s said, “God sends a cursed cow short horns”; but to a cow that’s too cursed, He doesn’t send any.
So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.
So, if you’re too much of a handful, God won’t give you any horns.
Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing I am at him upon 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 woollen.
Exactly, if He doesn’t send me a husband, I’m thankful for that blessing, and I pray for it every morning and night. Lord, I couldn’t stand a husband with a beard: I’d rather lie in the woolen (blanket).
You may light on a husband that hath no beard.
You might end up with a husband who doesn’t have a beard.
What should 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: therefore, I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell.
What should I do with him? Dress him in my clothes and make him my maid? He who has a beard is older than a boy, and he who has no beard is younger than a man: and he who is older than a boy is not for me, and he who is younger than a man, I’m not for him: so, I will just take sixpence from the bear-keeper and lead his monkeys to hell.
Well, then, go you into hell?
Well, then, are you going to hell?
No, but to the gate; and there will the devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say ’Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven; here’s no place for you maids:’ so deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens; he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long.
No, but to the gate; and there the devil will meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say, ’Go to heaven, Beatrice, go to heaven; there’s no place for you women:’ so I’ll deliver up my monkeys, and head to Saint Peter for the heavens; he’ll show me where the bachelors sit, and there we’ll live as happily as the day is long.
[To HERO] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your father.
[To HERO] Well, niece, I hope you’ll listen to your father.
Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make curtsy and say ’Father, as it please you.’ But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy and say ’Father, as it please me.’
Yes, sure; it’s my cousin’s job to curtsy and say ’Father, as it pleases you.’ But still, cousin, let him be a good-looking guy, or else make another curtsy and say ’Father, as it pleases me.’
Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.
Well, niece, I hope to see you one day with a husband.
Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered with a pierce of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I’ll none: Adam’s sons are my brethren; and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred.
Not until God makes men out of something better than dirt. Wouldn’t it upset a woman to be ruled by a piece of brave dirt? to account for her life to a lump of stubborn earth? No, uncle, I won’t do it: Adam’s sons are my brothers; and honestly, I think it’s a sin to marry within my own family.
Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer.
Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince asks you about this, you know what to say.
The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in good time: if the prince be too important, tell him there is measure in every thing and so dance out the answer. For, hear me, Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.
The problem will be with the music, cousin, if you’re not courted at the right time: if the prince is too forward, tell him there’s a limit to everything and dance out your answer. For, listen, Hero: wooing, marrying, and regretting, is like a Scottish dance, a formal dance, and a slow one: the first suit is quick and eager, like a Scottish dance, and just as ridiculous; the wedding, polite and modest, like a formal dance, full of ceremony and old-fashioned grace; and then comes regret and, with its bad steps, falls into the slow dance faster and faster, until it sinks into its grave.
Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.
Cousin, you’re very sharp.
I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight.
I have a good eye, uncle; I can spot a church in the daylight.
The revellers are entering, brother: make good room.
The revelers are coming in, brother: make some room.
Lady, will you walk about with your friend?
Lady, will you walk with your friend?
So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away.
If you walk gently, look sweetly, and say nothing, I’m yours for the walk; especially when I walk away.
With me in your company?
Are you with me in this group?
I may say so, when I please.
I can say so, whenever I want.
And when please you to say so?
And when will you want to say that?
When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like the case!
When I like your attitude; for God forbid the lute should be like the case!
My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove.
My mask is like Philemon’s roof; inside, there’s Jove.
Why, then, your visor should be thatched.
Then your mask should be thatched.
Speak low, if you speak love.
Speak quietly, if you’re talking about love.
Well, I would you did like me.
Well, I wish you liked me.
So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill-qualities.
I wouldn’t want that, for your own good; I have many bad qualities.
Which is one?
What’s one of them?
I say my prayers aloud.
I say my prayers out loud.
I love you the better: the hearers may cry, Amen.
I love you even more: the people who hear it can say Amen.
God match me with a good dancer!
God, please match me with a good dancer!
Amen.
Amen.
And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done! Answer, clerk.
And may God keep him out of my sight when the dance is over! Answer, clerk.
No more words: the clerk is answered.
No more talking: the question’s been answered.
I know you well enough; you are Signior Antonio.
I know you well enough; you’re Signior Antonio.
At a word, I am not.
In short, I’m not.
I know you by the waggling of your head.
I know you by the way you move your head.
To tell you true, I counterfeit him.
To be honest, I’m pretending to be him.
You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man. Here’s his dry hand up and down: you are he, you are he.
You couldn’t pretend to be him so well unless you were actually him. Look, here’s his dry hand, just like his: you are him, you are him.
At a word, I am not.
In short, I’m not.
Come, come, do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit? can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, you are he: graces will appear, and there’s an end.
Come on, come on, do you think I don’t know you by your sharp wit? Can virtue hide itself? Come on, stop being quiet, you’re him: the truth will come out, and that’s the end of it.
Will you not tell me who told you so?
Won’t you tell me who told you that?
No, you shall pardon me.
No, you’ll have to forgive me.
Nor will you not tell me who you are?
And you won’t tell me who you are?
Not now.
Not right 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.
That I was arrogant, and that I got my good sense from the ’Hundred Merry Tales’—well, this was Signior Benedick who said that.
What’s he?
Who’s that?
I am sure you know him well enough.
I’m sure you know him well enough.
Not I, believe me.
Not me, believe me.
Did he never make you laugh?
Has he never made you laugh?
I pray you, what is he?
Please, who 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 the commendation is not in his wit, but in his villany; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet: I would he had boarded me.
Well, he’s the prince’s fool: a really boring idiot; his only talent is coming up with impossible lies: only rebels like him; and the praise isn’t in his wit, but in his bad behavior; because he both makes people happy and angry, and then they laugh at him and hit him. I’m sure he’s in the navy: I wish he had boarded me.
When I know the gentleman, I’ll tell him what you say.
When I meet the guy, I’ll tell him what you said.
Do, do: he’ll but break a comparison or two on me; which, peradventure not marked or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then there’s a partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night.
Go ahead: he’ll just make a comparison or two about me; which, if no one notices or laughs at, will make him sad; and then there’s a partridge wing saved, because the fool won’t eat dinner that night.
We must follow the leaders.
We must follow the leaders.
In every good thing.
In every good thing.
Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning.
No, if they lead to anything bad, I’ll leave them at the next corner.
Sure my brother is amorous on Hero and hath withdrawn her father to break with him about it. The ladies follow her and but one visor remains.
I’m sure my brother is in love with Hero and has taken her father aside to talk about it. The women follow her and only one disguise remains.
And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.
And that’s Claudio: I recognize him by the way he carries himself.
Are not you Signior Benedick?
Aren’t you Signior Benedick?
You know me well; I am he.
You know me well; I’m him.
Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is enamoured 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.
Sir, you’re very close to my brother in his love: he’s in love with Hero; please, talk him out of it: she’s not good enough for him; you could do the right thing by helping him.
How know you he loves her?
How do you know he loves her?
I heard him swear his affection.
I heard him swear he loved her.
So did I too; and he swore he would marry her to-night.
So did I; and he swore he would marry her tonight.
Come, let us to the banquet.
Come, let’s go to the party.
Thus answer I in the name of Benedick, But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. ’Tis certain so; the prince wooes for himself. Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues; Let every eye negotiate for itself And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. This is an accident of hourly proof, Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!
This is my response in the name of Benedick, But hear this bad news with the ears of Claudio. It’s true; the prince is wooing her for himself. Friendship stays constant in everything else, Except in matters of love: So, when it comes to love, everyone speaks for themselves; Let each eye make its own decisions And trust no messenger; because beauty is a spell That makes our faith dissolve like blood. This is something that happens all the time, And I never suspected it. So, goodbye, Hero!
Count Claudio?
Count Claudio?
Yea, the same.
Yes, that’s me.
Come, will you go with me?
Come, will you go with me?
Whither?
Where to?
Even to the next willow, about your own business, county. What fashion will you wear the garland of? about your neck, like an usurer’s chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant’s scarf? You must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero.
To the next willow tree, to deal with your business, my friend. How will you wear your garland? Around your neck, like a moneylender’s chain? Or under your arm, like a soldier’s scarf? You’ll have to wear it one way, because the prince has taken your Hero.
I wish him joy of her.
I wish him happiness with her.
Why, that’s spoken like an honest drovier: so they sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would have served you thus?
Well, that sounds like an honest response: just like they sell cattle. But did you really think the prince would treat you this way?
I pray you, leave me.
Please, leave me alone.
Ho! now you strike like the blind man: ’twas the boy that stole your meat, and you’ll beat the post.
Ha! Now you act like the blind man: it was the boy who took your food, and now you’ll beat the messenger.
If it will not be, I’ll leave you.
If it’s not going to work, 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! Ha? 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’ll be revenged as I may.
Poor bird, it’s hurt! Now it’s going to hide in the reeds. But for Lady Beatrice to recognize me, and then not recognize me! The prince’s fool! Ha? Maybe I go by that name because I’m always in a good mood. Yeah, but that’s just me messing things up; people don’t think of me that way: it’s Beatrice’s rude, though bitter, nature that makes the world fit her and then makes me look bad. Well, I’ll get back at her as best I can.
Now, signior, where’s the count? did you see him?
So, where’s the count? Did you see him?
Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame. I found him here 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; and I offered him my company to a willow-tree, either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.
Honestly, my lord, I’ve played the role of gossip. I found him here, as sad as a rabbit hole: I told him, and I think I told him right, that your grace had won this young lady’s favor; and I offered to go with him to a willow tree, either to make him a crown, since he’s been dumped, or to give him a stick, since he deserves to be punished.
To be whipped! What’s his fault?
To be punished? What did he do wrong?
The flat transgression of a schoolboy, who, being overjoyed with finding a birds’ nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.
The simple mistake of a schoolboy, who, finding a bird’s nest, shows it to his friend, and then his friend steals it.
Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in the stealer.
Are you calling trust a crime? The crime is in the thief.
Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his birds’ nest.
Still, it wouldn’t have been a bad idea to make the stick, and the crown too; because he could have worn the crown, and you could’ve gotten the stick, seeing as you, as I understand it, have taken his bird’s nest.
I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner.
I’ll just teach them to sing, and return them to their owner.
If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly.
If their singing matches your words, then by my faith, you’re telling the truth.
The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the gentleman that danced with her told her she is much wronged by you.
Lady Beatrice is angry with you: the gentleman who danced with her told her she’s been wronged by you.
O, she misused me past the endurance of a block! an oak but with one green leaf on it would have answered her; my very visor began to assume life and scold with her. 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 upon me 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 were no living near her; she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam bad left him before he transgressed: she would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall find her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror and perturbation follows her.
Oh, she insulted me beyond what even a blockhead could endure! An oak tree with just one leaf would’ve stood up to her; my very mask started to act like it had a life of its own and argue with her. She told me, not realizing I was me, that I was the prince’s clown, that I was slower than a thaw; throwing joke after joke at me so fast I felt like I was a target, with an army shooting at me. She speaks knives, and every word stabs: if her breath were as deadly as her words, no one could be near her; she’d infect the whole world, even the north star. I wouldn’t marry her, even if she had every good thing Adam left before his fall: she could’ve made Hercules turn the spit, and even chopped his club to make the fire too. Come on, stop talking about her: you’ll find her to be the goddess of revenge dressed nicely. I wish some scholar would cast a spell on her; because while she’s here, a man could live in hell as peacefully as in a church; and people sin on purpose just to get close to her; so, truly, all chaos, fear, and confusion follow her.
Look, here she comes.
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 now from the furthest inch of Asia, bring you the length of Prester John’s foot, fetch 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?
Will your grace give me any task, no matter how far I’ll go on the smallest mission, even to the farthest side of the world; I’ll bring you a toothpick from the end of Asia, bring you the length of Prester John’s foot, get a hair from the great Cham’s beard, deliver a message to the Pygmies, before I’d have a three-word conversation with this harpy. You don’t have anything for me?
None, but to desire your good company.
Nothing, except that I want your good company.
O God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannot endure my Lady Tongue.
Oh God, sir, here’s something I don’t like: I can’t stand my Lady Tongue.
Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.
Come, lady, come; you’ve stolen 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.
Actually, my lord, he lent it to me for a while; and I gave him double the heart for his single one: you know, once before he won it from me with trickery, so your grace can definitely say I’ve lost it.
You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.
You’ve put him down, lady, you’ve really 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.
I wouldn’t want him to do that to me, my lord, in case I turn out to be the mother of fools. I’ve brought Count Claudio, just like you asked me to.
Why, how now, count! wherefore are you sad?
Well, how’s it going, Count? Why the long face?
Not sad, my lord.
Not sad, my lord.
How then? sick?
Then what’s the matter? Sick?
Neither, my lord.
No, 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.
The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor happy, nor well; just a polite count, as polite as an orange, and a bit jealous too.
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, and 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!
I swear, lady, I think you’re right; but I’ll swear again, if he really is like that, his ideas are wrong. Here, Claudio, I’ve done the wooing for you, and fair Hero is won: I’ve spoken to her father, and got his approval: just name the day of the wedding, and God bless you!
Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his grace hath made the match, and an grace say Amen to it.
Count, take my daughter, and with her take my fortune: His grace made the match, and may grace say Amen to it.
Speak, count, ’tis your cue.
Speak, count, it’s your turn.
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 away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.
Silence is the perfect herald of joy: I would be very little happy if I could even explain how much. Lady, since you are mine, I am yours: I give myself away to you and cherish the exchange.
Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let not him speak neither.
Speak, cousin; or, if you can’t, shut him up with a kiss, and don’t let him talk either.
In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
Truly, lady, you have a cheerful heart.
Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care. My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her heart.
Yes, my lord; I’m thankful for it, poor fool, it keeps me on the light side of worry. My cousin whispers in his ear that she loves him.
And so she doth, cousin.
And she does, cousin.
Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!
Good heavens, for a marriage! Everyone else in the world is getting married but me, and I’m left out; I may as well sit in a corner and sigh for a husband!
Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
Lady Beatrice, I’ll find you one.
I would 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.
I’d rather have one of your father’s making. Doesn’t your grace have a brother like you? Your father made excellent husbands, if a girl could get them.
Will you have me, lady?
Would you take 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.
No, my lord, unless I could have another for everyday use: your grace is too expensive to wear all the time. But, please, forgive me, I was born to be all jokes and no sense.
Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
Your silence bothers me the most, and being cheerful suits you best; you were obviously born in a happy moment.
No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!
No, my lord, my mother cried when I was born; but then a star danced, and that’s when I came into the world. Cousins, may God bless you!
Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?
Niece, will you take care of those things I mentioned?
I cry you mercy, uncle. By your grace’s pardon.
I’m sorry, uncle. By your grace’s leave.
By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.
Truly, she’s a lively-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.
There’s not much sadness in her, my lord: she’s never upset except when she’s asleep, and not even then; I’ve heard my daughter say she often dreams of bad things, but wakes herself up laughing.
She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.
She can’t stand hearing about getting married.
O, by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.
Oh, not at all: she mocks all her suitors and rejects them.
She were an excellent wife for Benedict.
She’d be a great wife for Benedick.
O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad.
Oh Lord, my lord, if they were married for just a week, they’d drive each other crazy talking all the time.
County Claudio, when mean you to go to church?
Count Claudio, when do you plan to get married?
To-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.
Tomorrow, my lord: time seems slow until love has gone through all the rituals.
Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have all things answer my mind.
Not until Monday, my dear son, which is exactly a week from now; and it’s too short a time to get everything done the way I want.
Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing: but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will in the interim undertake one of Hercules’ labours; 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 but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction.
Come now, you shake your head at such a long wait: but I promise you, Claudio, the time won’t drag. In the meantime, I’ll take on one of Hercules’ tasks; which is to make Signior Benedick and Lady Beatrice fall deeply in love with each other. I really want it to work, and I’m sure I can pull it off, if you three just help me the way I’ll instruct you.
My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights’ watchings.
My lord, I’m with you, even if it costs me ten nights without sleep.
And I, my lord.
And I, my lord.
And you too, gentle Hero?
And you too, gentle Hero?
I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good husband.
I’ll do whatever I can, my lord, to help my cousin find a good husband.
And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know. Thus far can I praise him; he is of a noble strain, of approved valour and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I, with your two helps, will so practise 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: hi s glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift.
And Benedick isn’t the worst choice for a husband that I know. I can praise him this far; he’s noble, brave, and honest. I’ll show you how to guide your cousin so she’ll fall for Benedick; and with your help, we’ll make Benedick fall for Beatrice, even though he’s clever and easily upset. If we can do this, Cupid will no longer be needed: his glory will be ours, because we’ll be the true love-gods. Come with me, and I’ll tell you my plan.