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Bene. How now! interjections? why then, fome be of laughing, as, ha, ha, he!

Claud. Stand thee by, friar: father, by your leave;

Will you

with free and unconstrained foul

Give me this maid your daughter ?

Leon. As freely, fon, as god did give her me.

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

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 fign and femblance of her honour:
Behold, how like a maid fhe blushes here!
O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning fin cover itself withal!
Comes not that blood, as modeft evidence,
To witness fimple virtue? would you not swear,
All
you that fee 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 guiltinefs, not modefty.

Leon. What do you mean, my lord?
Claud. Not to be marry'd;

Not knit my foul to an approv'd wanton.

Leon. Dear my lord, if you in your own approof

Have vanquifh'd the refiftance of her youth,

And made defeat of her virginity

Claud. I know what you would fay: if I have known her,

You'll fay, she did embrace me as a husband,

And fo extenuate the forehand fin.

No, Leonato,

I never tempted her with word too large;
But, as a brother to his fifter, fhow'd
Bashful fincerity, and comely love.

Hero. And feem'd I ever otherwise to you?'

Claud

Claud. Out on thy feeming! I will write against it: You feem'd to me as Dian in her orb;

As chafte 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 favage fenfuality.

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak fo wide?
Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you?
Pedro. What should I speak?

I ftand 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?

John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.
Bene. This looks not like a nuptial.

Hero. True! o god!

Claud. Leonato, ftand I here?

Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother?

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

Leon. All this is fo; but what of this, my lord?

Claud. 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. Leon. I charge thee do fo, as thou art my Hero. O god defend me! how am I befet! What kind of catechizing call you this?

child.

Leon. To make you answer truly to your name. Hero. Is it not Hero? who can blot that name With any juft reproach?

Claud. Marry, that can Hero;

Hero herself 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.

lord.

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my Pedro. Why, then you are no maiden. Leonato, I am forry you must hear; upon mine honour,

My

Myself, my brother, and this grieved count,

Did fee her, hear her, at that hour last night,
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window;
Who hath, indéed, like an illiberal villain,
Confefs'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in fecret.

John. Fie! they are

Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoken of;
There is not chastity enough in language,

Without offence, to utter them: thus, pretty lady,
I am forry for thy much mifgovernment.

Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadft thou been,

If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
About the thoughts and counfels of thy heart!
But, fare thee well, moft foul, moft fair! farewel,
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eyelids fhall conjecture 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? [Hero fwoons. Beat. Why, how now, coufin, wherefore fink you down? John. Come, let us go; these things, come thus to light, Smother her spirits up. [Exe. D. Pedro, D. John, and Claud.

SCENE IL

Bene. How doth the lady?

Beat. Dead, I think; help, uncle.

Hero! why, Hero! uncle! fignior Benedick! friar !

Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand!

Death is the faireft cover for her fhame,

That may be wifh'd for.

Beat. How now, coufin Hero?

Friar. Have comfort, lady.

Leon. Doft thou look up?

Friar.

Friar. Yea; wherefore should she not?

Leon. Wherefore? why, doth not every earthly thing
Cry shame upon her? could the 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 fpirits were stronger that thy fhames,
Myself would on the rereward of reproaches
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's hand?
I've one too much by thee. Why had I one?
Why ever waft thou lovely in my eyes?"
Why had not I, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's iffue at my gates?
Who fmeared thus, and mir'd with infamy,
I might have faid, no part of it is mine,
This fhame 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 fo much,
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, the, o, fhe is fall'n
Into a pit of ink! that the wide fea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,
And falt too little which may feafon give
To her foul tainted flesh.

Bene. Sir, fir, be patient;

For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
I know not what to say.

Beat. O, on my foul, my coufin is bely'd!

Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow laft 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 prince lie? and Claudio would he lie,
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness,

Wash'd

Wash'd it with tears? hence from her, let her die.

Friar. Hear me a little;

For I have only been filent fo 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 whitenefs bear away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire
To burn the errours that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool,
Trust not my reading, nor my observation,
Which with experimental feal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; truft not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,

If this fweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under fome biting errour.

Leon. It cannot be;

Thou feeft, that all the grace, that she hath left,
Is, that fhe will not add to her damnation

A fin of perjury; fhe not denies it:

Why feek'st thou then to cover with excuse

That which appears in proper nakedness ?

Friar. 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 modefty doth warrant,
Let all my fins 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.

Friar. There is fome ftrange mifprifion in the princes.
Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour;
And if their wifdoms be mifled in this,

"The practice of it lives in John the bastard,

VOL. I.

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