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 eye-lids 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 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?
Do not live, Hero, do not ope thine eyes:
For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,

Thought I thy fpirits were ftronger than thy shames,
Myself would on the rereward of reproaches
Strike at thy life. Griev'd II had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's 'fraine?
I've one too much by thee. Why had I one?

?

Why ever waft thou lovely in my eyes ?
Why had I not, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's iffue at my gates
Who fmeered thus, and mir'd with infamy,
I might have faid, no part of it is mine;
This fhame derives itfelf from unknown loins.
But mine, as mine I lov'd, as mine I prais'd,
As mine that I was proud on, mine so much,
That I myself was to myfelf not mine,
Valuing of her; why, fhe,-O, the 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 season give
To her foul tainted flesh!

Bene. Sir, Sir, be patient;

For my part, I am fo 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 ftronger made,
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron.
Would the two princes lye? and Claudio lye,
Who lov'd her fo, that, fpeaking of her foulnefs,
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 courfe of fortune,
By noting of the lady. I have mark'd

A thousand blufhing apparitions

To start into her face; a thousand innocent fhames
In angel-whitenefs bear away those blushes ;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors that thefe princes hold
Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool,
Truft not my reading, nor my obfervations,
Which with experimental feal do warrant
The tenor of my book; truft not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this fweet lady lie not guiltles here
Under fome biting error.

Leon. Friar, it cannot be.

Thou feeft that all the grace that she hath left,
Is, that she will not add to her damnation
A fin of perjury; fhe not denies it:
Why feek'ft thou then to cover with excufe
That which appears in proper nakedness ?

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,
Let all my
fins lack mercy ! O my father,

Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yefternight

Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
Refufe 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,

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 age fo eat up my invention,

Nor fortune made fuch havock of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me fo much of friends,
But they fhall find awak'd, in fuch a kind,
Both ftrength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them thoroughly.
Friar. Paufe a while,

And let my counfel fway you in this cafe.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead;
Let her a while be fecretly kept in,

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 :
But not for that dream I on this strange course,
But on this travel look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd
Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd,
Of every hearer; for it fo falls out,

That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and loft,
Why, then we rack the value; then we find
The virtue that poffeffion would not fhew us
Whilft it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio.
• When he shall hear the dy'd upon his words,
• Th’idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his ftudy of imagination,

• And every lovely organ of her life

Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit;
More moving, delicate, and full of life,

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.
Let this be fo, and doubt not but fuccefs
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
The fuppofition of the lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy.
And, if it fort not well, you may conceal her,
As beft befits her wounded reputation,
In fome reclufive and religious life,

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-
dure.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Manent Benedick and Beatrice.
Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ?
Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

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?
Beat. A very even way, but no fuch friend.

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.
Beat. Do not fwear by it, and eat it.

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.