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D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things

are true.

Bene. 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?

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 kindly 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?

70

Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. 80 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.

93. liberal, licentious.

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D. John. Fie, fie! they are not to be named,

my lord,

Not to be spoke of;

There is not chastity enough in language
Without offence to utter them.

Thus, 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 placed
About thy 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 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 swoons.
Beat. 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, and Claudio. Bene. How doth the lady?

Beat.

Dead, I think.

Help, uncle!

Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! 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!

Friar. Have comfort, lady.

Leon. Dost thou look up?

Friar. Yea, wherefore should she not?

Leon. Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly

thing

107. conjecture, suspicion.

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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 wouldst not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
Grieved I, I had but one?

Strike at thy life.

Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame?

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 mired with infamy,
I might have said 'No part of it is mine;

This shame derives itself from unknown loins '?
But mine and mine I loved and mine I praised
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 fallen
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 attired in wonder,

I know not what to say.

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!

130

140

Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? Beat. No, truly not; although, until last night, 150

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 loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.

Friar. 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,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; 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 seest 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?

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accused 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 conversed
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 some strange misprision in the
princes.

168. experimental seal, the

seal of experience.

160

170

180

187. misprision, misappre

hension.

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of

honour;

And if their wisdoms be misled in this,

The practice of it lives in John the bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.

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, awaked 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.

Friar.

Pause awhile,

And let my counsel sway you in this case.

Your daughter here the princes left for dead:
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,

And publish it that she is dead indeed;
Maintain a mourning ostentation,

And on your family's old monument

Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites.
That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What shall become of this? what will
this do?

Friar. Marry, this well carried shall on her
behalf

Change slander to remorse; that is some good:
But not for that dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accused,
190. practice, artifice.

191. in frame, in the framing.

190

200

210

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