The story of this comedy is supposed, by Pope, to have been taken from the fifth book of Ariosto's Orlando
Furioso.²

Steevens says, there is as remote an
original to be traced in Spenser's
"Fairy Queen."³

"Much ado about Nothing" has more charms in its dialogue, than in its
fable, or events. The first plot appears a trivial one, because all the incidents
of
note, which arise from it, are connected with persons of so little consequence in
the
piece, that their vicissitudes of fortune excite not that hope, fear, nor curiosity
in the audience, which more important characters would inspire.

Claudio and Hero⁴ are said to be in love, but they say so little about it themselves,
that no strong sympathy is created, either by their joys, or their sorrows, their
expectations or disappointments;—though, such is the reverence for justice
implanted in humankind, that every spectator feels a degree of delight in the final
vindication of her innocence, and the confusion of her guilty accusers.

Those persons, for whom the hearts of the audience b 2[Page 4]are most engaged, have, on the
contrary, scarce one event to aid their personal interest: every occurrence, which
befalls them, depends solely on the pitiful act of private listening. If Benedick
or
Beatrice⁵ had possessed perfectly good manners, or just notions of honour
and delicacy, so as to have refused to have become eves-droppers, the action of the
play must have stood still, or some better method have been contrived—a worse
hardly could—to have imposed on their mutual credulity.

But this willingness to overhear conversations, the reader will find to be the
reigning fashion with the dramatis personæ of this play; for there are nearly as many
unwarrantable listeners, as there are characters in it.

But, in whatever failings the ill-bred custom of Messina may have involved the said
Benedick and Beatrice, they are both highly entertaining, and most respectable
personages. They are so witty, so jocund, so free from care, and yet so sensible of
care in others, that the best possible reward is conferred on their
merit—marriage with each other.

What Dr. Johnson has said in respect to
authors writing characters for provincial, or foreign pronunciation, may be applied
to those, who produce such parts as Dogberry,⁶ that please merely
by misapplication of words—"This mode of forming ridiculous characters, can
confer praise only on him who originally discovered it, for it requires not much
either of wit, or judgment. Its success must be derived almost wholly from the
player; but its power in a skilful mouth, even he who despises it, is unable to
resist."⁷

[Page 5]

Shakspeare has given such an
odious character of the bastard, John,⁸ in this play, and of the bastard, Edmund, in King Lear, that, had those dramas
been written in the time of Charles
the Second, the author must have been suspected of disaffection to half the
court.⁹