Scene I. A hall in LEONATO'S house.
[Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, HERO, BEATRICE, and Others.]
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 an hour after.
He is of a very melancholy disposition.
He were an excellent man that were made just in the mid-way 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.
Then half Signior Benedick's tongue in Count John's mouth, and half
Count John's melancholy in Signior 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 ifa' could get her good
By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be
so shrewd of thy tongue.
In faith, she's too curst.
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.
So, by being too curst, God will send you no 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.
You may light on a husband that hath no 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.
Well then, go you into 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.
[To Hero.] Well, niece, 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:' - but 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. Would it not
grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece 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 kinred.
Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince do solicit you
in that kind, you know your answer.
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
everything, 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.
Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.
I have a good eye, uncle: I can see a church by daylight.
The revellers are entering, brother: make good room.
[Enter, DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, BALTHASAR, DON JOHN,
BORACHIO, MARGARET, URSULA, and Others, masked.]
Lady, will you walk about 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.
With me in your company?
I may say so, when I please.
And when please you to say so?
When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like
My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove.
Why, then, your visor should be thatch'd.
Speak low, if you speak love.
[Takes her aside.]
Well, I would you did like me.
So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill qualities.
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!
And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done! Answer,
No more words: the clerk is answered.
I know you well enough: you are Signior Antonio.
At a word, I am not.
I know you by the waggling of your head.
To tell you true, I counterfeit 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.
At a word, I am 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.
Will you not tell me who told you so?
No, you shall pardon me.
Nor will you not tell me who you are?
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.
I am 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 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!
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 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.
[Music within.] We must follow the leaders.
In every good thing.
Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning.
[Dance. Then exeunt all but DON JOHN, BORACHIO, and CLAUDIO.]
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
And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.
Are you not Signior Benedick?
You know me well; I am he.
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.
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.
[Exeunt DON JOHN and BORACHIO.]
Thus answer I in 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:
herefore 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!
Yea, the same.
Come, will you go with me?
Even to the next willow, about your own business, count. What fashion
will you wear the garland of? About your neck, like a 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.
I wish him joy of her.
Why, that's spoken like an honest drovier: so they sell bullocks.
But did you think the prince would have served you thus?
I pray you, leave me.
Ho! now you strike like the blind man: 'twas the boy that stole
your meat, and you'll 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! 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.
[Re-enter Don Pedro.]
Now, signior, 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.
To be whipped! What's his fault?
The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, being overjoy'd with
finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.
Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in
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 bird's nest.
I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner.
If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly.
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: 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 had 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 follow her.
[Re-enter CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, and LEONATO.]
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 toothpicker 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 Pygmies,
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's 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 a single one: marry, once before he won it of me with
false dice, therefore your Grace may well say I have lost it.
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, count! 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, 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!
Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his
Grace hath made the match, and 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 away myself for
you and dote upon the exchange.
Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let
not him speak neither.
In faith, lady, you have a merry 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.
And so she doth, 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!
Lady Beatrice, I will get 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.
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, and 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 there was a star danced,
and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!
Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?
I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace's pardon.
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
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
Count 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, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night; and a
time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind.
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
My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten 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
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: his glory shall be ours, for we
are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift.
Scene 2. Another room in LEONATO'S house.
[Enter DON JOHN and BORACHIO.]
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 cross this marriage?
Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall appear
Show me briefly how.
I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the
favour of Margaret, the waiting-gentlewoman to Hero.
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 honour 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?
Only to despite them, I will endeavour anything.
Go then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count Claudio
alone: tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend a kind of
zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as - in love of your brother's
honour, who hath made this match, and his friend's reputation, who is
thus like to be cozened with the semblance of a maid, - that you have
discovered thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial: offer
them instances, which shall bear no less likelihood than to see me at
her chamber-window, hear me call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me
Claudio; and bring them to see this the very night before the intended
wedding: for in the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero
shall be absent; and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's
disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the
Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in practice.
Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats.
Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me.
I will presently go learn their day of marriage.
Scene 3. - LEONATO'S Garden.
[Enter a Boy.]
In my chamber-window lies a book; bring it hither to me in the
I am here already, sir.
I know that; but I would have thee hence, and here again.
I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool
when he dedicates his behaviours 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; and now had
he rather hear the tabor and the pipe: I have known when he would have
walked ten mile afoot to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten
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; and
now is he turned orthography; his words are 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
colour it please God. Ha! the prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me
in the arbour.
[Enter DON PEDRO, LEONATO, and CLAUDIO, followed by BALTHAZAR and
Come, shall we hear this music?
Yea, my good lord.
How still the evening is,
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony!
See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
O! very well, my lord: the music ended,
We'll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth.
Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song again.
O! good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
To slander music any more than once.
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.
Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
To her he thinks not worthy; yet he wooes;
Yet will he swear he loves.
Nay, pray thee come;
Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.
Note this before my notes;
There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
Why these are very crotchets that he speaks;
Notes, notes, forsooth, and nothing!
Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it not strange that
sheep's gutsshould hale souls out of men's bodies? Well, a horn for
my money, when all's done.
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 mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
Then sigh not so,
But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.
By my troth, a good song.
And an ill singer, my lord.
Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.
[Aside.] An he had been a dog that should have howled thus, they would
have hanged him; and I pray God his bad voice bode no mischief. I had
as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come
Yea, marry; dost thou hear, Balthazar? I pray thee, get us some
excellent music, for to-morrow night we would have it at the Lady
The best I can, my lord.
Do so: farewell.
[Exeunt BALTHAZAR and Musicians.]
Come hither, Leonato: what was it you told me of to-day, that your
niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?
O! ay: -
[Aside to DON PEDRO] Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. 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 behaviours seemed ever
[Aside.] 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.
May be she doth but counterfeit.
Faith, like enough.
O God! counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came so near
the life of passion as she discovers it.
Why, what effects of passion shows she?
[Aside.] Bait the hook well: this fish will bite.
What effects, my lord? She will sit you; [To Claudio.] You heard
my daughter tell you how.
She did, indeed.
How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her spirit
had been invincible against all assaults of affection.
I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick.
[Aside] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded
fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence.
[Aside.] He hath ta'en the infection: hold it up.
Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?
No; and swears she never will: that's her torment.
Tis true, indeed;so your daughter says: 'Shall I,' says she, 'that
have so oft encountered him with scorn, write to him that I love him?'
This says she now when she is beginning to write to him; for she'll
be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her smock till
she have writ a sheet of paper: my daughter tells us all.
Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your
daughter told us of.
O! when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found
Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?
O! she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; 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!'
She doth indeed; my daughter says so; and the ecstasy hath so much
overborne her, that my daughter is sometimes afeard she will do a
desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.
It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will
not discover it.
To what end? he would make but a sport of it and torment the poor
An he should, it were an alms to hang him. She's an excellent sweet
lady, and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous.
And she is exceeding wise.
In everything but in loving Benedick.
O! my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we have
ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as
I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.
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 a' 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
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
He is a very proper man.
He hath indeed a good outward happiness.
Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.
He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.
And I take him to be valiant.
As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of quarrels you may say
he is wise; for either he avoids them with great discretion, or
undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear.
If he do fear God, a' must necessarily keep peace: if he break the
peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.
And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not
in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your
niece. Shall we go seek Benedick and tell him of her love?
Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with good counsel.
Nay, that's impossible: she may wear her heart out first.
Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter: let it cool the
while. 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.
[Aside.] If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my
[Aside.] Let there be the same net spread for her; and that must your
daughter and her gentle-woman carry. The sport will be, when they hold
one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter: that's the
scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb-show. Let us send
her to call him in to dinner.
[Exeunt DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO.]
[Advancing from the arbour.] This can be no trick: the conference was
sadly borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity
the lady: it seems her affections have their full bent. 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
humour? 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
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, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choke
a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior: fare you well.
Ha! '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 easy as thanks. If I do not take
pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I
will go get her picture.