Original
Modern English
Come, Friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties afterwards.
Come, Friar Francis, be quick; just get to the marriage ceremony, and you can explain their duties later.
You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady.
You are here, my lord, to marry this lady.
No.
No.
To be married to her: friar, you come to marry her.
You’re here to marry her: friar, you’re here to marry her.
Lady, you come hither to be married to this count.
Lady, you’re here to marry this count.
I do.
I am.
If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, charge you, on your souls, to utter it.
If either of you knows of any reason why you shouldn’t marry, speak now, or forever hold your peace.
Know you any, Hero?
Do you know anything, Hero?
None, my lord.
No, my lord.
Know you any, count?
Do you know anything, count?
I dare make his answer, none.
I can answer for him—no.
O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do!
Oh, what men dare do! What men can do! What men do every day without realizing what they’re doing!
How now! interjections? Why, then, some be of laughing, as, ah, ha, he!
What’s this? Exclamations? So now we’re all laughing, like, ah, ha, he!
Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave: Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter?
Stand by, friar. Father, with your permission: Will you, with a free and open heart, Give me this girl, your daughter?
As freely, son, as God did give her me.
As freely, son, as God gave her to me.
And what have I to give you back, whose worth May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?
And what do I have to give you in return, To match the value of this precious gift?
Nothing, unless you render her again.
Nothing, unless you give her back.
Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulness. There, Leonato, take her back again: Give not this rotten orange to your friend; She’s but the sign and semblance of her honour. Behold how like a maid she blushes here! O, what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal! Comes not that blood as modest evidence To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, All you that see her, that she were a maid, By these exterior shows? But she is none: She knows the heat of a luxurious bed; Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
Sweet prince, you teach me noble gratitude. There, Leonato, take her back again: Don’t give this rotten orange to your friend; She’s only the appearance of honor. Look how she blushes here like a maid! Oh, what power and appearance of truth Can deceitful sin hide behind! Doesn’t her blood, in its modesty, Prove she’s virtuous? Wouldn’t you swear, All of you who see her, that she’s a maid, Just by looking at her? But she is not: She knows the warmth of a lustful bed; Her blush is guilt, not modesty.
What do you mean, my lord?
What are you saying, my lord?
Not to be married, Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.
I won’t marry her, I won’t tie my soul to a known woman of loose morals.
Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof, Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth, And made defeat of her virginity,--
My lord, if you, by your own experience, Have overcome the resistance of her youth, And defeated her virginity,--
I know what you would say: if I have known her, You will say she did embrace me as a husband, And so extenuate the ’forehand sin: No, Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large; But, as a brother to his sister, show’d Bashful sincerity and comely love.
I know what you’re about to say: if I’ve known her, You’ll say she accepted me as a husband, And excuse the sin I committed earlier: No, Leonato, I never tempted her with words that were too forward; But, like a brother to his sister, I showed Shy sincerity and respectful love.
And seem’d I ever otherwise to you?
Did I ever seem different to you?
Out on thee! Seeming! I will write against it: You seem to me as Dian in her orb, As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown; But you are more intemperate in your blood Than Venus, or those pamper’d animals That rage in savage sensuality.
Shame on you! Seeming! I’ll speak against it: You seem to me as chaste as Diana in her circle, As pure as a flower before it blooms; But you are more uncontrolled in your desires Than Venus, or those pampered creatures Who burn with wild sensuality.
Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?
Is my lord all right, speaking like this?
Sweet prince, why speak not you?
Sweet prince, why aren’t you speaking?
What should I speak? I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale.
What should I say? I’m dishonored, having tried To connect my dear friend with a common whore.
Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?
Are these things actually being said, or am I dreaming?
Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.
Sir, they are being said, and these things are true.
This looks not like a nuptial.
This doesn’t seem like a wedding.
True! O God!
True! Oh my God!
Leonato, stand I here? Is this the prince? is this the prince’s brother? Is this face Hero’s? are our eyes our own?
Leonato, am I standing here? Is this the prince? Is this the prince’s brother? Is this Hero’s face? Are our eyes even our own?
All this is so: but what of this, my lord?
Yes, this is all true. But what of it, my lord?
Let me but move one question to your daughter; And, by that fatherly and kindly power That you have in her, bid her answer truly.
Let me ask one question to your daughter; And, by the fatherly and loving power That you have over her, tell her to answer honestly.
I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
I order you to do so, as you are my daughter.
O, God defend me! how am I beset! What kind of catechising call you this?
Oh God, protect me! How am I surrounded? What kind of interrogation is this?
To make you answer truly to your name.
I just want you to answer truthfully about your name.
Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name With any just reproach?
Isn’t it Hero? Who could stain that name With any true shame?
Marry, that can Hero; Hero itself can blot out Hero’s virtue. What man was he talk’d with you yesternight Out at your window betwixt twelve and one? Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.
Well, Hero can; Hero herself can erase her own virtue. Who was the man you talked to last night Outside your window between twelve and one? Now, if you’re a virgin, answer this.
I talk’d with no man at that hour, my lord.
I didn’t talk to any man at that hour, my lord.
Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato, I am sorry you must hear: upon mine honour, Myself, my brother and this grieved count Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain, Confess’d the vile encounters they have had A thousand times in secret.
Then you’re not a virgin. Leonato, I’m sorry you have to hear this: on my honor, Myself, my brother, and this heartbroken count Saw her, heard her, at that hour last night Talking with a criminal at her window Who, like a true villain, Confessed the wicked things they’ve done A thousand times in secret.
Fie, fie! they are not to be named, my lord, Not to be spoke of; There is not chastity enough in language Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.
Shame, shame! They shouldn’t even be named, my lord, Not even spoken of; There’s not enough purity in words To say them without offending. So, sweet lady, I’m sorry for your many wrongdoings.
O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been, If half thy outward graces had been placed About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart! But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, Thou pure impiety and impious purity! For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love, And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious.
Oh Hero, what a Hero you could have been, If even half of your outward beauty had been In your thoughts and heart! But goodbye, most wicked, most beautiful! Farewell, You pure impurity and impure purity! For you, I’ll shut all the doors to love, And I’ll hang suspicion on my eyelids, To turn all beauty into harmful thoughts, And it will never be kind again.
Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me?
Doesn’t anyone have a knife here for me?
Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?
Hey, what’s wrong, cousin? Why are you collapsing?
Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light, Smother her spirits up.
Come on, let’s leave. Now that these things are exposed, they crush her spirit.
How doth the lady?
How is the lady?
Dead, I think. Help, uncle! Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar!
Dead, I think. Help, uncle! Hero! Oh, Hero! Uncle! Benedick! Friar!
O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand. Death is the fairest cover for her shame That may be wish’d for.
Oh Fate! Don’t take your heavy hand away. Death is the best way to cover her shame That anyone could wish for.
How now, cousin Hero!
How are you, cousin Hero?
Have comfort, lady.
Take comfort, my lady.
Dost thou look up?
Are you looking up?
Yea, wherefore should she not?
Yes, why shouldn’t she?
Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny The story that is printed in her blood? Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes: For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one? Chid I for that at frugal nature’s frame? O, one too much by thee! Why had I one? Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? Why had I not with charitable hand Took up a beggar’s issue at my gates, Who smirch’d thus and mired with infamy, I might have said ’No part of it is mine; This shame derives itself from unknown loins’? But mine and mine I loved and mine I praised And mine that I was proud on, mine so much That I myself was to myself not mine, Valuing of her,--why, she, O, she is fallen Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again And salt too little which may season give To her foul-tainted flesh!
Why? Doesn’t everything in this world Scream shame at her? Can she deny here The evidence written in her own blood? Don’t stay alive, Hero; don’t open your eyes. For if I thought you wouldn’t die soon, If I thought your spirit was stronger than your shame, I would, after all these insults, Strike you down myself. Was I upset to have only one child? Did I scold nature for being so stingy? Oh, one was too many because of you! Why did I have one? Why did you ever seem lovely to me? Why didn’t I just, with a generous hand, Take in a beggar’s child at my door, Who, if covered in dirt and disgrace, I could have said, ‘None of that is my doing; This shame comes from unknown parents’? But she was mine, I loved her, I praised her, And I was so proud of her, so much That I wasn’t even my own person, All because of how much I valued her—why, she, oh, she’s fallen Into a pit of darkness, and even the wide sea Has too few drops to wash her clean again, And not enough salt to purify Her tainted body!
Sir, sir, be patient. For my part, I am so attired in wonder, I know not what to say.
Sir, sir, calm down. As for me, I am so filled with shock, I don’t know what to say.
O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!
Oh, on my soul, my cousin is being slandered!
Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
Lady, were you sleeping beside her last night?
No, truly not; although, until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
No, truly not; though, until last night, I had been sleeping by her side for a whole year.
Confirm’d, confirm’d! O, that is stronger made Which was before barr’d up with ribs of iron! Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie, Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness, Wash’d it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.
Confirmed, confirmed! Oh, it’s even stronger now, What was already secured like iron! Would both princes lie, and would Claudio lie, Who loved her so much that, speaking of her wrongdoing, They washed their words with tears? Get away from her! Let her die.
Hear me a little; For I have only been silent so long And given way unto this course of fortune. ... By noting of the lady I have mark’d A thousand blushing apparitions To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames In angel whiteness beat away those blushes; And in her eye there hath appear’d a fire, To burn the errors that these princes hold Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool; Trust not my reading nor my observations, Which with experimental seal doth warrant The tenor of my book; trust not my age, My reverence, calling, nor divinity, If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here Under some biting error.
Listen to me for a moment; I’ve only been quiet this long And allowed things to happen as they have. ... From watching the lady, I’ve noticed A thousand blushes appear On her face, a thousand innocent shames That angelic purity drives away; And in her eye, there’s been a spark, To burn away the lies these men hold Against her innocent truth. Call me a fool; Don’t trust my judgment or my observations, Which are backed by proof, Don’t trust my age, My respect, my position, or my wisdom, If this sweet lady is guilty here Of some false accusation.
Friar, it cannot be. Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left Is that she will not add to her damnation A sin of perjury; she not denies it: Why seek’st thou then to cover with excuse That which appears in proper nakedness?
Friar, it can’t be. You see, all the grace she has left Is that she won’t add to her damnation A sin of lying under oath; she doesn’t deny it: So why are you trying to cover up What’s clear and obvious?
Lady, what man is he you are accused of?
Lady, who is the man you are accused of?
They know that do accuse me; I know none: If I know more of any man alive Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, Let all my sins lack mercy! O my father, Prove you that any man with me conversed At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight Maintain’d the change of words with any creature, Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death!
They know who accuses me; I don’t know anyone: If I know more about any man alive Than what a modest woman should know, Let all my sins lack mercy! Oh my father, Prove that any man spoke with me At inappropriate hours, or that last night I spoke to any man at all, Reject me, hate me, torture me to death!
There is some strange misprision in the princes.
There’s some strange misunderstanding with the princes.
Two of them have the very bent of honour; And if their wisdoms be misled in this, The practise of it lives in John the bastard, Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.
Two of them are truly honorable; And if they’ve been misled in this, The blame for it lies with John the bastard, Whose evil nature creates such trouble.
I know not. If they speak but truth of her, These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour, The proudest of them shall well hear of it. Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find, awaked in such a kind, Both strength of limb and policy of mind, Ability in means and choice of friends, To quit me of them throughly.
I don’t know. If they speak the truth about her, These hands will tear her apart; if they’ve wronged her honor, The proudest of them will hear about it. Time hasn’t yet dried my blood, Nor age stolen my creativity, Nor fortune ruined my wealth, Nor my bad life robbed me of friends, But they’ll find that I still have The strength and cleverness to deal with them properly, The resources and allies to get rid of them completely.
Pause awhile, And let my counsel sway you in this case. Your daughter here the princes left for dead: Let her awhile be secretly kept in, And publish it that she is dead indeed; Maintain a mourning ostentation And on your family’s old monument Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites That appertain unto a burial.
Wait a moment, And let my advice guide you in this matter. Your daughter was left for dead by the princes: Keep her hidden for a while, And spread the news that she’s truly dead; Hold a mourning ceremony And put sad epitaphs on your family’s tomb And do all the rites That are proper for a burial.
What shall become of this? what will this do?
What will this lead to? What will it achieve?
Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf Change slander to remorse; that is some good: But not for that dream I on this strange course, But on this travail look for greater birth. She dying, as it must so be maintain’d, Upon the instant that she was accused, Shall be lamented, pitied and excused Of every hearer: for it so falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack’d and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio: When he shall hear she died upon his words, The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination, And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell’d in more precious habit, More moving-delicate and full of life, Into the eye and prospect of his soul, Than when she lived indeed; then shall he mourn, If ever love had interest in his liver, And wish he had not so accused her, No, though he thought his accusation true. Let this be so, and doubt not but success Will fashion the event in better shape Than I can lay it down in likelihood. But if all aim but this be levell’d false, The supposition of the lady’s death Will quench the wonder of her infamy: And if it sort not well, you may conceal her, As best befits her wounded reputation, In some reclusive and religious life, Out of all eyes, tongues, minds and injuries.
Well, this will turn slander into remorse; that’s something good: But I don’t dream of this as the only solution, I believe something bigger will come from this. She, dying as we must make it seem, At the very moment she was accused, Will be mourned, pitied, and forgiven By everyone who hears of it: because it happens that We don’t value what we have until it’s gone, But once it’s lost, we realize its worth, And we see the virtues that we missed before. The same will happen with Claudio: When he hears she died because of his words, Her life will appear in his mind, And all the sweetness of her life Will come back to him, more beautiful than ever, More delicate and full of life, In his heart and soul, Than when she was alive; then he’ll mourn, If he ever truly loved her, And wish he had never accused her, Even though he believed his accusation was true. Let this happen, and I’m sure that success Will make the outcome better Than I can predict right now. But if anything besides this is false, Then the idea of her death Will make people forget her shame: And if that doesn’t work, you can hide her, In the best way possible to protect her reputation, In a secluded and religious life, Away from all eyes, tongues, thoughts, and harm.
Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you: And though you know my inwardness and love Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this As secretly and justly as your soul Should with your body.
Signior Leonato, let the friar give his advice: And though you know how much I care for the prince and Claudio, Still, by my honor, I will deal with this As secretly and fairly as your soul Should be with your body.
Being that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may lead me.
Since I’m overcome with grief, The smallest thing can guide me.
’Tis well consented: presently away; For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. Come, lady, die to live: this wedding-day Perhaps is but prolong’d: have patience and endure.
It’s well agreed: let’s go quickly; For strange wounds require strange cures. Come, lady, die to live: this wedding-day May just be postponed: have patience and endure.
Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?
Lady Beatrice, have you been crying this whole time?
Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
Yes, and I’ll cry a little longer.
I will not desire that.
I won’t ask for that.
You have no reason; I do it freely.
You don’t need to; I’m doing it because I want to.
Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.
I truly believe your cousin has been wronged.
Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!
Oh, how much I would owe a man who could make it right for her!
Is there any way to show such friendship?
Is there any way to show that kind of friendship?
A very even way, but no such friend.
There is a way, but you’re not the right person for it.
May a man do it?
Can a man do it?
It is a man’s office, but not yours.
It’s a man’s job, but not yours.
I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?
I love nothing in the world more than you: is that not strange?
As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.
As strange as something I can’t even think of. It would be just as possible for me to say I loved nothing more than you: but don’t believe me; yet I’m not lying; I admit nothing, nor do I deny anything. I feel bad for my cousin.
By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.
I swear, Beatrice, you love me.
Do not swear, and eat it.
Don’t swear, and then take it back.
I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love not you.
I swear on it that you love me; and I’ll make anyone eat their words who says I don’t love you.
Will you not eat your word?
Won’t you take back your words?
With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee.
Not with any kind of sauce you could come up with. I swear I love you.
Why, then, God forgive me!
Well, then, may God forgive me!
What offence, sweet Beatrice?
What did I do wrong, sweet Beatrice?
You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved you.
You caught me at a good time: I was about to tell you I loved you.
And do it with all thy heart.
And say it with all your heart.
I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.
I love you so much that there’s no heart left to say it.
Come, bid me do any thing for thee.
Come on, ask me to do anything for you.
Kill Claudio.
Kill Claudio.
Ha! not for the wide world.
Ha! Not for the world.
You kill me to deny it. Farewell.
You’re killing me by refusing. Goodbye.
Tarry, sweet Beatrice.
Wait, sweet Beatrice.
I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray you, let me go.
I’m leaving, even though I’m still here. You don’t love me. Please, just let me go.
Beatrice,--
Beatrice,--
In faith, I will go.
Honestly, I will go.
We’ll be friends first.
We’ll be friends first.
You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.
You’d rather be friends with me than fight my enemy.
Is Claudio thine enemy?
Is Claudio your enemy?
Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, --O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.
Isn’t he the worst kind of villain, who has slandered, mocked, and dishonored my cousin? Oh, if I were a man! What, pretend to be kind to her until they shake hands, then publicly accuse him, spread lies, hold nothing back in my hatred... Oh God, if only I were a man! I’d tear out his heart in the marketplace.
Hear me, Beatrice,--
Listen to me, Beatrice,--
Talk with a man out at a window! A proper saying!
Talking to a man through a window! What a ridiculous thing to say!
Nay, but, Beatrice,--
No, but, Beatrice,--
Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.
Sweet Hero! She’s been wronged, slandered, and ruined.
Beat--
Beatrice--
Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant, surely! O that I were a man for his sake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.
Princes and counts! What a royal way to show it, a fine count, Count Comfect; a charming young man, sure! Oh, if only I were a man for his sake! Or if I had a friend who would be a man for my sake! But manhood has turned into politeness, courage into flattery, and men are just mouths now, and well-dressed ones at that: he’s as brave as Hercules who only lies and swears to it. I can’t become a man just by wishing, so I’ll die a woman, grieving.
Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.
Wait, good Beatrice. I swear, I love you.
Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.
Use that for my love in a way that doesn’t involve swearing.
Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?
Do you truly believe that Count Claudio has wronged Hero?
Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.
Yes, as surely as I have a mind or a soul.
Enough, I am engaged; I will challenge him. I will kiss your hand, and so I leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your cousin: I must say she is dead: and so, farewell.
That’s enough, I’m committed; I’ll challenge him. I will kiss your hand, and then I’ll leave. I swear, Claudio will have to answer to me. Think of me as you hear of me. Go comfort your cousin: I must say she’s dead: and so, goodbye.