wanton with a velvet brow, With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes; Ay, and by heav’n, one that will do the deed, Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard; And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!  To pray for her!  Go to; it is a plague That Cupid will impose for my neglect Of his almighty dreadful little might.  Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan:  Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.

The character of Biron drawn by Rosaline and that which Biron gives of Boyet are equally happy.  The observations on the use and abuse of study, and on the power of beauty to quicken the understanding as well as the senses, are excellent.  The scene which has the greatest dramatic effect is that in which Biron, the king, Longaville, and Dumain, successively detect each other and are detected in their breach of their vow and in their profession of attachment to their several mistresses, in which they suppose themselves to be overheard by no one.  The reconciliation between these lovers and their sweethearts is also very good, and the penance which Rosaline imposes on Biron, before he can expect to gain her consent to marry him, full of propriety and beauty.

Rosaline.  Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, Before I saw you:  and the world’s large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; Full of comparisons, and wounding flouts; Which you on all estates will execute, That lie within the mercy of your wit.  To weed this wormwood from your faithful brain; And therewithal to win me, if you please, (Without the which I am not to be won) You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day Visit the speechless sick, and still converse With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, T’ enforce the pained impotent to smile.

Biron.  To move wild laughter in the throat of death?  It cannot be:  it is impossible:  Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Rosaline.  Why, that’s the way to choke a gibing spirit, Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools; A jest’s prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it; never in the tongue Of him that makes it:  then, if sickly ears, Deaf’d with the clamours of their own dear groans, Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, And I will have you, and that fault withal; But, if they will not, throw away that spirit, And I shall find you empty of that fault, Right joyful of your reformation.

Biron.  A twelvemonth?  Well, befall what will befall, I’ll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

The famous cuckoo-song closes the play; but we shall add no more criticisms:  ’the words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo’.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING