Not to be spoken of; Without offence, to utter them: thus, pretty Lady, Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadft thou been, 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 Bene. How doth the lady? Beat. Dead, I think; help, uncle. II. Hero! why, Hero! uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar! Lean. O fate! take not away thy heavy hand; Death is the faireft cover for her shame, 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? Why ever waft thou lovely in my eyes? Hath drops too few to wash her clean again; Bene. Sir, Sir, be patient; For my part, I am fo attir'd in wonder, Beat. O, on my foul, my coufin is bely'd. Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! O, that is ftronger made, For I have only been filent fo long, And given way unto this courfe of fortune, A thoufand blufhing apparitions To ftart into her face; a thousand innocent fhames ( Leon. Friar, it cannot be. Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left, Why feek'ft 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 accufe me; I know none : If I know more of any man alive, Than that which maiden modefty doth warrant, Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, . 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, Leon. I know not: if they speak but truth of her, Thefe hands fhall tear her; if they wrong her honour, The proudeft of them fhall well hear of it. Time hath not yet fo dry'd this blood of mine, Nor age And let my counsel fway you in this cafe. Let her a while be fecretly kept in, And publish it that he 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 shall become of this? what will this do? Friar. Marry, this, well carry'd, fhall on her behalf VOL. II. E Change flander to remorfe; that is fome good : That what we have we prize-not to the worth, Into his ftudy of imagination, And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit; Into the eye and profpect of his foul, Than when the liv'd indeed.' Then fhall he mourn, If ever love had intereft in his liver, And wish he had not fo accused her; No, though he thought his accufation true. Let this be fo, and doubt not but fuccefs Will fashion the event in better shape Than I can lay it down in likelihood. But if all aim but this be levell'd false, The fuppofition of the lady's death Will quench the wonder of her infamy. And, if it fort not well, you may conceal her, As beft befits her wounded reputation, In fome reclufive and religious life, Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Friar advife you. And though, you know, my inwardness and love Leon. Being that I flow in grief, 'The fmalleft twine may lead me. Friar. "Tis well confented, presently 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 en- SCENE III. Manent Benedick and Beatrice. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. Bene. I will not defire that. Beat. You have no reafon, I do it freely. Bene. Surely I do believe your fair coufin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her! Bene. Is there any way to fhew fuch friendship? Bene. May a man do it? Beat. It is a man's office, but not your's. Bene. I do love nothing in the world fo well as you; is not that ftrange? Beat. As ftrange as the thing I know not. It were as poffible for me to fay, I loved nothing fo well as you; but believe me not, and yet I lye not; I confefs nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am forry for my coufin. Bene. By my fword, Beatrice, thou lov'ft me. Bene. I will fwear by it, that you love me; will make him eat it that fays I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word? and I Bene. With no fauce that can be devis'd to it; I proteft I love thee. Beat. Why then, God forgive me. Bene. What offence, fweet Beatrice ? Beat. You have stay'd me in a happy hour; I was about to proteft I lov'd you. Bene. And do it with all thy heart. · Beat. I love you with fo much of my heart, that none is left to protest. Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. Beat. Kill Claudio. Bene. Ha! not for the wide world. |