ACT IV CLAUD. Stand thee by, Friar. [to LEONATO.] Father,

Sc. I

by your leave:

Will you with free and unconstrained soul

Give me this maid, your daughter?

LEON. As freely, Son, as God did give her me.

CLAUD. And what have I to give you back, whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?

D. PEDRO. Nothing, unless you render her again.
CLAUD. 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!

not swear,

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
All
you that see her, that she were a maid
By these exterior shows? But she is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious1 bed;
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
LEON. What do you mean, my Lord?
CLAUD. Not to be married, not to knit my
To an approved wanton.

soul

Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,

And made defeat of her virginity

CLAUD. I know what you would say: if I have known

4 hypocrisy.

But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals

That rage in savage sensuality.

HERO. Is my Lord well that he doth speak so wide?
LEON. Sweet Prince, why speak not you?

D. PEDRO.

What should I speak?

I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link
my dear friend to a common stale.

LEON. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream?
D. JOHN. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are

true.

BENE. [aside.] This looks not like a nuptial.
HERO.

CLAUD. Leonato, stand I here?

True!-O God!.

Is this the Prince? is this the Prince's brother?

Is this face Hero's? are our eyes our own?

70

LEON. All this is so: but what of this, my Lord?
CLAUD. Let me but move one question to your daughter;

And by that fatherly and kindly1 power

That you have in her, bid her answer truly. LEON. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. HERO. O God, defend me! how am I beset!

What kind of catechising call you this?

CLAUD. To make you answer truly to your name.
HERO. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach?

CLAUD.

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.

HERO. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my Lord.
D. PEDRO. 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.

II : G

1 natural.

2 blabbing.

49

80

90

ACT IV D. JOHN. Fie, fie! they are not to be nam'd, my Lord,
Sc. I
Not to be spoke of;

There is not chastity enough in language
Without offence to utter them. Pretty Lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.
CLAUD. O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
About the 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 conjecture1 hang
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.

LEON. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?

BEAT. [to HERO.] Why, how now, Cousin! wherefore sink

you down?

D. JOHN. Come, let us go. These things, come thus to

light,

Smother her spirits up.

[Exeunt DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, CLAUDIO,

BENE. How doth the lady?

BEAT.

and Attendants.

Dead, I think :-help, Uncle :

Hero! why, Hero!-Signior Benedick!-Friar!
LEON. O Fate, take not away thy heavy hand!

Death is the fairest cover for her shame

That may be wish'd for.

BEAT.

How now, Cousin Hero!

F. FRAN. Have comfort, Lady.

LEON. Dost thou look up?

F. FRAN.

Yea, wherefore should she not?

LEON. 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 would'st not quickly die,

Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,

Myself would on the rearward of3 reproaches

Griev'd II had but one?

Strike at thy life.

3 after.

Chid I for that at frugal Nature's frame?1

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 smirched thus, and mir'd with infamy,
I might have said No part of it is mine;
This shame derives itself from unknown loins?
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
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 fall'n
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!

BENE.

Sir, Sir, be patient. For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,

I know not what to say.

BEAT. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied.

BENE. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
BEAT. No, truly, not; although, until last night,

I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
LEON. 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 lov'd her so: that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.
F. FRAN. 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,

1 framing.

130

140

151

160

ACT IV

Sc. I

ACT IV

Sc. I

Which with experimental seal1 doth warrant
The tenour of my book;2 trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,

If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here

Under some biting error.

LEON.

Friar, it cannot be:

Thou see'st 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?

F. FRAN. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of?
HERO. 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 convers'd

At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight

Maintain❜d the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death!

180

F. FRAN. There is some strange misprision in the Princes.
BENE. Two of them have the very bent of honour;

And if their wisdoms be misled in this,

The practice of it lies in John the Bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies.

LEON. 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, awak'd 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.

200