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Leon. I dare make this answer, None.' Claud. O what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do! not knowing what they do!

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, whose worth

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May counterpoife 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 blufhes here!
O, what authority and fhew of truth
Can cunning fin cover itself withal!

Comes not that blood, as modeft evidence,
To witnefs fimple virtue? would you not fwear,
All
you that fee her, that fhe were a maid,
By thefe exterior fhews? But fhe is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;
Her blush is guiltinefs, not modesty

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

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Not knit my foul to an approved wanton.

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

Have vanquish'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 fhe 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, fhew'd

Bafhful fincerity, and comely love.

Hero. And feem d I ever otherwife to you?

Glaud. Out on thy feeming! I will rate against it;

You

You feem to me as Dian in her orb,

As chaite 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 so wide?
Leon. Sweet Prince, why speak not you?
Pedro. What fhould I fpeak?

I ftand difhonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common ftale,

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 yourdaughter, And, by that fatherly and kindly power

That you have in her, bid her anfwer truly.

Leon. I charge thee do fo, as thou art my child. Hero. O God defend me, how am I befet!

What kind of catechifing call you this?

Claud. To make you anfwer truly to your name.
Hero. Is it not Hero! who can blot that name

With any juft reproach?

Claud. Marry, that can Hero;

Hero herfelf can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yefternight
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.
Pedro. Why, then you are no maiden. Leonato,
I am forry, you must hear; upon mine honour,
Myfelf, 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 indeed, like an illiberal villain,
Confefs'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in fecret.

John. Fie, fie, they are not to be nam'd, my Lord,

Not

Not to be spoken of;

There is not chastity enough in language,

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

Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been place'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 fhall 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 fpirits up.

Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claud.

SCENE II.

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 fhame,

That may be wish'd for.

Beat. How now, coufin Hero?

Friar. Have comfort, Lady.

Leon. Doft thou look up?

Friar. Yea, wherefore should she 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 fronger than thy fhames,
Myfelf 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 'fraine?
I've one too much by thee. Why had I one?

Why

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,
1 might have faid, no part of it is mine;
This fhame derives itself from unknown loins.
But mine, as mine I lov'd, as mine I prais'd,'
As mine that I was proud on, mine fo much,
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, fhe,-O, she 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, 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 cousin is bely'd.

Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? Beat. No, truly, not; although until last night I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

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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 foulness, Wafh'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 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 these 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 guiltless here
Under fome biting error.

Leon.

Leon. Friar, it cannot be..

Thou feest that all the grace that she hath left,
Is, that he 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 misled in this,

The practice of it lives in John the baftard,
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 proudest 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 such a kind,
Both ftrength of limb and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them thoroughly.
Friar. Faufe a while,

And let my counsel fway you in this cafe.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead;

Let her a while be fecretly kept in,

And publifh it that fhe 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.

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