Claud. Stand thee by, friar. -Father, 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.

25

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 thank-
fulness.

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!

O, what authority and show of truth

Can cunning sin cover itself withal!

Comes not that blood as modest evidence

All

you

To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,
that see 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 guiltiness, not modesty.
Leon. What do you mean, my lord?
Claud.

30

35

40

Not to be married,

Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.

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

Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity,-

45

Claud. I know what you would say. If I have known her,

You will say she did embrace me as a husband,
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin.

No, Leonato,

I never tempted her with word too large;
But, as a brother to his sister, show'd

Bashful sincerity and comely love.

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

50

Claud. Out on thee! Seeming! I will write

against it:

You seem to me as Dian in her orb,

As chaste 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 savage sensuality.

55

60

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

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 kindly power

That you have in her, bid her answer truly.

74

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; 80

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.

85

90

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

lord,

Not to be spoke of;

There is not chastity enough in language,

98

Without offence, to utter them. Thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.

100

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.

105

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.

110

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio.

Bene. How doth the lady?

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?

115

Leon.

Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing

Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny

120

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,
Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one?
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;

125

130

This shame derives itself from unknown loins'? 138
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.

For my part, I am so attired in wonder,

140

Sir, sir, be patient.

I know not what to say.

145

Beat. 0, on my soul, my cousin is belied!