Give not this rotten orange to your friend; She's but the sign and semblance of her honour :- Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, Not to be married, Not knit my soul to an approved wanton. Leonato. Dear my lord, if you in your own proof Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, And made defeat of her virginity, Claudio. I know what you would say? if I have known her, You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband, And so extenuate the 'forehand sin: No, Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large;" Bashful sincerity, and comely love. Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? Claudio. Cut on thy 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. Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide ?8 What should I speak? I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale. Leonato. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream? Don John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true. Benedick. This looks not like a nuptial. Hero. Claudio. Leonato, stand I here? True? O God! Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother? Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own? Leonato. All this is so; But what of this, my lord? Claudio. 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. Leonato. 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? Claudio. To make you answer truly to your name. Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name With any just reproach? Claudio. Marry, that can Hero; Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. What man was he talk'd with you yesternight Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. Don John. Fye, fye! they are Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoke of; Without offence to utter them: Thus, pretty lady, Claudio. O Hero! what a hero hadst thou been, 9 Too free of tongue. If half thy outward graces had been placed Leonato. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? [HERO SWOONS. Beatrice. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink you down? Don John. Come, let us go; these things, come thus to light, Smother her spirits up. [Exeunt DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, and CLAUDIO. Benedick. How doth the lady? Beatrice. Dead, I think;-help, uncle ; Hero! why, Hero!-Uncle!-Signior Benedick! friar! Leonato. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand! Death is the fairest cover for her shame, That may be wish'd for. Beatrice. How now, cousin Hero? Dost thou look up! Friar. Have comfort, lady. Friar. Yea; wherefore should she not? Leonato. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly thing Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny 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, 1 Disposition of things. Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder, I know not what to say. Beatrice. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied! Benedick. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? Beatrice. No, truly, not: although, until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Leonato. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made, Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron! For I have only been silent so long, 2 Sullied. My reverence, calling, nor divinity, If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here Under some biting error. Leonato. Friar, it cannot be: Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, Is, that she will not add unto her guilt A sin of perjury; she not denies it: Why seek'st 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 modesty doth warrant, Friar. There is some strange misprision3 in the princes. Benedick. Two of them have the very bent of honour; And if their wisdoms be misled in this, The practice of it lives in John the bastard, Leonato. I know not; If they speak but truth of her; Nor fortune made such havock of my means, Friar. Pause a while, And let my counsel sway you in this case. 3 Misconception. |