Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. Hero. Is it not Hero? who can blot that name With any juft reproach? Claud. Marry, that can Hero: Hero herself can blot out Hero's virtue. Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my Lord. 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, Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadit thou been, 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! C 5 Leons 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, Coufin Hero? Leon. Doft thou look up? Friar. Yea, wherefore thould 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? Valuing of her; why, fhe, O, fhe is fall'n Into a pit of ink, that the wide fea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again; Bene, Sir, Sir, be patient; For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder, I know not what to say. Beat. O, on my foul, my coufin is bely'd. I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Leona 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 foulness, 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, A thousand blushing apparitions To start into her face; a thousand innocent fhames Leon. Friar, it cannot be; Thou feeft, that all the grace, that she hath left, A fin of perjury; fhe not denies it: Why feek'st thou then to cover with excufe 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, Prove you that any man with me convers'd Friar. There is fome ftrange mifprifion in the Princes Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour, And if their wifdoms be mif-led in this, The practice of it lives in John the bastard, Whofe 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 proudest of them fhall well hear of it. Time hath not yet fo dry'd this blood of mine, Nor fortune made fuch havock of my means, And let my counsel sway you in this cafe. And publish 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 Change flander to remorfe; that is fome good: But not for that dream I on this ftrange course, But on this travel look for greater birth: She dying, as it must be fo maintain'd, Upon the inftant that fhe was accus'd, Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd, Of every hearer: for it fo falls out, (14) Your daughter bere the Princefs (left for dead)] But how Comes Hero to ftart up a Princess here? We have no Intimation of her Father being a Prince; and this is the first and only Time that She is complimented with this Dignity. The Remotion of a fingle Letter, and of the Parenthefis, will bring her to her own Rank,, and the Place to its true Meaning. Your Daughter here the Princes left for dead; i. e. Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon; and his Bastard Brother whe is likewife called a Prince.. That That what we have we prize not to the worth, And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparel'd in more precious habit; Into the eye and profpect of his foul, Than when the liv'd indeed. Then fhall he mourn, And wish, he had not so accused her; No, though he thought his accufation true: In fome reclufive and religious life, Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Friar advise you: Should with your body. Leon. Being that I flow in grief, The fmalleft twine may lead me. Friar. 'Tis well confented, prefently 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 endure. [Exeunt. Manent |