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, Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? [Hero foons. Beat. Why, how now, coufin? wherefore fink you down? John, Come, let us go; these things come thus to light, Smother her fpirits up. Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claud. SCENE Bene. How doth the lady? Beat. Dead, I think; help, uncle. II. Hero! why, Hero! uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar ! Leon. O fate! take not away thy heavy hand; Death is the faireft cover for her shame, That may be wish'd for. Beat. How now, coufin Hero? Friar. Have comfort, Lady. Leon. Doft thou look up? · Friar. Yea, wherefore fhould fhe not? Leon. Wherefore? why, doth not every earthly thing Cry fhame upon her? could fhe here deny The ftory that is printed in her blood? Thought I thy fpirits were ftronger than thy shames, ? Why ever waft thou lovely in my eyes ? Hath drops too few to wash her clean again; Bene. Sir, Sir, be patient; For my part, I am fo attir'd in wonder, Beat. O, on my foul, my coufin is bely'd. Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is ftronger made, For I have only been filent fo long, And given way unto this courfe of fortune, A thousand blufhing apparitions To start into her face; a thousand innocent fhames Leon. Friar, it cannot be. Thou feeft that all the grace that she hath left, Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? Hero. They know that do accufe me; I know none: If I know more of any man alive, Than that which maiden modefty doth warrant, Prove you that any man with me convers'd Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, 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, Whofe fpirits toil in frame of villanies. Leon. I know not: if they speak but truth of her, Thefe hands fhall tear her; if they wrong her honour, The proudeft of them fhall well hear of it. Time hath not yet so dry'd this blood of mine, Nor fortune made fuch havock of my means, And let my counfel fway you in this cafe. And publish it that he is dead indeed: Maintain a mourning oftentation, And on your family's old monument Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites That appertain unto a burial. Leon. What fhall become of this? what will this do? Friar. Marry, this, well carry'd, fhall on her behalf VOL. II. E Change flander to remorse; that is fome good : That what we have we prize not to the worth, • And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit; Into the eye and profpect of his foul, Than when the liv'd indeed.' Then shall he mourn, If ever love had interest in his liver, And wish he had not so accused her ; No, though he thought his accufation true. Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. 0; Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Friar advise you. And though, you know, my inwardness and love Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio: Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this As fecretly and jufly as your foul Should with your body. Leon. Being that I flow in grief, The fmalleft twine may lead me. Friar. "Tis well confented, presently away; For to ftrange fores, ftrangely they ftrain the cure. Come, Lady, die to live; this wedding-day Perhaps is but prolong'd: have patience, and en- SCENE III. Manent Benedick and Beatrice. Bene. I will not defire that. Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. g'd. Bene. Surely I do believe your fair coufin is wrong'o Beat. Ah, how much might the man deferve of me, that would right her! Bene. Is there any way to fhew fuch friendship? Bene. May a man do it ? Beat. It is a man's office, but not your's. Bene. I do love nothing in the world fo well as you; is not that ftrange? Beat. As ftrange as the thing I know not. It were as poffible for me to fay, I loved nothing fo well as you; but believe me not, and yet I lye not; I confefs nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am forry for my coufin. Bene. By my fword, Beatrice, thou lov'ft me. Bene. I will fwear by it, that you love me; will make him eat it that fays I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word? and I Bene. With no fauce that can be devis'd to it; I proteft I love thee. Beat. Why then, God forgive me. Bene. What offence, fweet Beatrice? Beat. You have ftay'd me in a happy hour about to proteft I lov'd you. Bene. And do it with all thy heart. Beat. I love you with fo much of my heart, that none is left to protest. Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. Beat. Kill Claudio. Bene. Ha! not for the wide world. |