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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, whofe worth 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 blushes here!
O, what authority and fhew of truth
Can cunning fin cover itself withal!
Comes not that blood, as modest evidence,
To witnefs fimple virtue? would you not swear,
All you that fee her, that she were a maid,
By thefe exterior fhews ? but she is none;
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;
Her blush is guiltinefs, not modefty.
Leon. What do you mean, my Lord?
Claud. Not to be marry'd,

Nct knit my foul to an approved Wanton.

Leon. Dear my Lord, if you in your own approof (16)

Have vanquish'd the refiftance of her youth,

And made defeat of her virginity

[her,

Claud. I know what you would say: if I have known

(16) Dear my Lord, if you in your own Proof,] I am furpriz'd, the poetical editors did not obferve the lameness of this verfe. It evidently wants a fyllable in the laft foot, which I have reftor'd by a word, which, I prefume, the firft editors might hefitate at; tho' it is a very proper one, and a word elsewhere ufed by our author. Anth. and Cleop.

Sifter, prove fuch a wife

As my thoughts make thee, and my farthest bond
Shall pafs on thy Approof.

Befides, in the paffage under examination, this word comes in almost neceffarily, as Claudio had faid in the line immediately preceding; Not knit my foul to an approved wanten.

C 4

You'll

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
Bashful fincerity, and comely love.

Hero. And feem'd I ever otherwife to you!

Claud. Out on thy Seeming! I will write againft it; You feem to me as Dian in her orb,

As chafte 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 fpeak not you?
Pedro. What should I fpeak?

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? 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 your daughter,

And by that fatherly and kindly power

That you have in her, bid her answer truly.

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

What kind of catechizing 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;

Hero herfelf 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.

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, moft like a liberal villain, Confefs'd the vile encounters they have had A thoufand times in fecret.

John. Fie, fie, they are not to be nam'd, my Lord, 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, most fair! farewell,
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!-
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eyelids 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? Beat. Why, how now, Coufin, wherefore fink you down? John. Come, let us go; these things come thus to light, · Smother her spirits up.

[Exe. D. Pedro, D. John and Claud.

Bene. How doth the lady?

Beat. Dead, I think; help, uncle.

Hero! why Hero! uncle! Signior Benedick! friar!

Lean. O fate! take not away thy heavy hand;

Death is the fairest cover for her fhame,

That may be wifh'd for.

Beat. How now, coufin Hero?

Friar. Have comfort, Lady.

Leon. Doft thou look up?

Friar. Yea, wherefore fhould the not?

Leon. Wherefore? why, doth not every earthly thing Cry fhame upon her? could the 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 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 frame ?
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 fmeared thus, and mir'd with infamy,
I might have faid, no part of it is mine;
This fhame derives itself from unknown loins
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on, mine fo much,
That I myself was to myself not mine;
Valuing of her; why, the,-O, fhe 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 flefh!

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 bed fellow last night?
Beat. No, truly, not; altho' 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 lie? and Claudio lie?
Who lov'd her fo, that, speaking 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

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To burn the errors that these Princes hold
Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool,
Truft not my reading, nor my observations,
Which with experimental feal doth warrant
The tenor of my book; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this fweet lady lie not guiltlefs 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 feeks thou then to cover with excuse

That, which appears in proper nakedness ?

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? Hero. They know, that do accuse 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 yesternight
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 bastard,

Whofe fpirits toil in frame of villanies.

Leon. I know not: if they speak but truth of her,
These hands fhall tear her, if they wrong her honour,
The proudeft of them shall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet fo 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 throughly.

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