Leonato.

Come, friar Francis, be brief, only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties, afterwards.

Friar.

You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?

Claud.

No.

Leon.

To be marry'd to her, friar; you come to marry her.

Friar.

Lady, you come hither to be married to this count.

Hero.

I do.

Friar.

If either of you know any inward impediment, why you should not be conjoin'd, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it.

Claud.

Know you any, Hero?

Hero.

None, my lord.

Friar.

Know you any, count?

Leon.

I dare make his answer, none.

Claud.

O what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do!

Bene.
How now! Interjections!

Claud.
Stand thee by, friar: father, by your leave,
Will you with free and unconstrained soul,
Give me this maid your daughter?

Leon.
As freely, son, as God did give her me.

Claud.
And what have I to give you back, whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?

Pedro.
Nothing, unless you render her again.

Claud.
Sweet prince, you teach me noble thankfulness:
There, Leonato, take her back again;
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour:
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here!
O, what authority and shew of truth,
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.

Leon.
What do you mean, my lord?

Claud.
Not to be marry'd;
Not knit my soul to an approved wanton.

Leon.
Dear my lord, if you
Have made defeat of her virginity—

Claud.
No, Leonato,
I never tempted her with word too large,
But as a brother to his sister, shew'd
Bashful sincerity, and comely love.

Hero.
And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?

Claud.
Out 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?

Leon.
Sweet prince, why speak not you?

Pedro.
What should I speak?

I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common state.

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 Heav'n!

Claud.
Leonato, stand 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 so; 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 so, as thou art my child.

Hero.
O Heav'n defend me, how am I beset!
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 herself can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you, yesternight,
Under your window, betwixt twelve and one?
Now, if you can, answer to this.

Hero.
I talk'd with no man, at that hour, my lord.

Pedro.
Leonato,
I am sorry you must hear; upon mine honour,
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count,
Did see her, hear her, at that hour, last night,
Talk with a ruffian, at her chamber-window,
Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had,
A thousand times, in secret.

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 sorry for thy much misgovernment.

Claud.
O Hero! what an angel hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
About the thoughts and counsels of thy heart?
But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair!
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.

Leon.
Hath no man's dagger here, a point for me? [Hero faints.

Bene.
Look to the lady.

Beat.
Why how now, cousin; wherefore sink you down?

John.
Come, let us go; these things, come thus to light,
Smother her spirits up. [Exeunt D. Pedro, D. John, and Claud.

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 shame,
That may be wish'd for.

Beat.
How now, cousin Hero?

Friar.
Have comfort, lady.

Leon.
Dost thou look up?

Friar.
Yea, wherefore should she not?

Leon.
Wherefore? why doth not every earthly thing
Cry shame upon her? could she here deny
The story, that is printed in her blood?* ^note
Griev'd I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame?
I've one too much, by thee.† ^note

Oh! she is fall'n
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea
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 soul, my cousin is belied.

Bene.
Lady, were you her bedfellow, 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 stronger made,
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron.
Would the prince lye? and Claudio, would he lye?
Who lov'd her so, 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 silent been so long,
And given way unto this course of fortune,
By noting of the lady. I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions,
To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames,
In angel whiteness, 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,
Trust not my reading, nor my observation,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here,
Under some biting error.

Leon.
Friar, it cannot be:* ^note
Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left,
Is, that she will not add to her damnation,

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,
Let all my sins 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,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

Friar.
There is some strange misprision in the princes.

Bene.
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,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.

Leon.
I know not: if they speak but truth of her,
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
The proudest of them shall well hear of it.

Friar.
Pause, a while,
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter, lady Hero, left for dead;
Let her a while be secretly kept in,
And publish it that she is dead, indeed.

Leon.
What shall become of this? What will this do?

Friar.
Marry, this well carry'd shall, on her behalf,
Change slander to remorse;
But not for that dream I on this strange course,
But on this travel look for greater birth:
And she thus dying,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd,
Of ev'ry hearer; so will it fare with Claudio.* ^note

Bene.
Good Leonato, let the friar advise you:
And though you know my inwardness and love
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this,
As secretly and justly, as your soul
Should with your body.

Leon.
Being that I flow in grief,
The smallest twine may lead me.

Friar.
'Tis well consented, presently away.
  A grievous wound requires a desperate cure.
Come, lady, die to live; this wedding-day,
  Perhaps is but prolong'd; have patience, and endure. [Exeunt. 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 desire that.

Beat.

You have no reason, I do it freely.

Bene.

Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wrong'd.

Beat.

Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her!

Bene.

Is there any way to shew such friendship?

Beat.

A very even way, but no such friend.

Bene.

May a man do it?

Beat.

It is a man's office, but not yours.

Bene.

I do love nothing in the world so well as you; is not that strange?

Beat.

As strange as the thing I know not; it were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.

Bene.

By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.

Beat.

Do not swear by it, and eat it.

Bene.

I will swear by it, that you love me; and I will make him eat it, that says I love you not.

Beat.

Will you not eat your word?

Bene.

With no sauce that can be devised to it; I protest I love thee.

Beat.

Why then Heav'n forgive me.

Bene.

What offence, sweet Beatrice?

Beat.

You have staid me in a happy hour; I was about to protest I lov'd you.

Bene.

And do it, with all thy heart.

Beat.

I love you with so 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.

Beat.

You kill me to deny; farewel.

Bene.

Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

Beat.

I am gone, tho' I am here; there is no love in you; nay, I pray you, let me go.

Bene.

Beatrice!

Beat.

In faith, I will go.

Bene.

We'll be friends, first.

Beat.

You dare easier be friends with me, than fight with mine enemy.

Bene.

Is Claudio thine enemy?

Beat.

Is he not approved in the height a villain? that hath slander'd, scorn'd, dishonour'd my kinswoman! O that I were a man! what, bear her in hand, until they come to take hands, and then with public accusation, uncover'd slander, unmitigated rancour.— O Heaven, that I were a man. I would eat his heart in the market place.

Bene.

Hear me, Beatrice.

Beat.

Talk with a man out at a window?—a proper saying!

Bene.

Nay, but Beatrice.

Beat.

Sweet Hero! she is wrong'd, she is slander'd, she is undone.

Bene.

But—

Beat.

Princes and counts! surely a princely testimony,

a goodly count-comfect, a sweet gallant, surely! O that I were a man, for his sake! or that I had any friend would be a man, for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turn'd into tongue, and trim ones, too; he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lye, and swears it; I cannot be a man, with wishing, therefore I will die a woman, with grieving.

Bene.

Tarry, good Beatrice; by this hand, I love thee.

Beat.

Use it for my love, some other way than swearing by it.

Bene.

Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero?

Beat.

Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.

Bene.

Enough; I am engag'd, I will challenge him. I will kiss your hand, and so leave you; by this hand, Claudio shall render me dear account; as you hear of me, so think of me; go, comfort your cousin; I must say she's dead; and so, farewel.* ^note

To. Cl.

Is our whole dissembly appear'd?

Dogb.

O, a stool and cushion for the sexton!

Sext.

Which be the malefactors?

Verg.

Marry, that am I and my partner.

Dogb.

Nay, that's certain, we have the exhibition to examine.

Sext.

But which are the offenders, that are to be examin'd? Let them come before master Town Clerk.

To. Cl.

Yea, marry, let them come before me; what is your name, friend?

Bora.

Borachio.

To. Cl.

Pray write down Borachio. Your's, sirrah?

Conr.

I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.

To. Cl.

Write down, master gentleman Conrade; masters, do you serve Heav'n?

Both.

Yea, sir, we hope.

To. Cl.

Write down, that they hope they serve Heaven: and write Heaven first: for Heaven defend, but Heav'n should go before such villains—Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves, and it will go near to be thought so, shortly; how answer you for yourselves?

Conr.

Marry, sir, we say we are none.

To. Cl.

A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you, but I will go about with him. Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear, sir; I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves.

Bora.

Sir, I say to you, we are none.

To. Cl.

Well, stand aside; 'fore Heaven they are both in a tale: have you writ down that they are none?

Sext.

Master town clerk, you go not the way to examine; you must call the watch, that are their accusers.

To. Cl.

Yea, marry, that's the easiest way; let the watch come forth; masters, I charge you in the prince's name, accuse these men.

1 Watch.

This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother, was a villain.

To. Cl.

Write down, Prince John, a villain; why this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother, villain.

Bora.

Master town-clerk.

To. Cl.

Pray thee, fellow, peace; I do not like thy look, I promise thee.

Sexton.

What heard you him say, else?

2 Watch.

Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John, for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.

To. Cl.

Flat burglary, as ever was committed.

Dogb.

Yes, by th' mass, that it is.

Sexton.

What else, fellow?

1 Watch.

And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her.

To. Cl.

O villain! thou wilt be condemn'd into everlasting redemption for this.

Sexton.

What else?

2 Watch.

This is all.

Sexton.

And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stol'n away: Hero was in this manner accus'd, and in this very manner refus'd; and upon the grief of this, suddenly died. Master constable, let these men be bound and brought to Leonato; I will go before, and shew him their examination.* ^note

Dogb.

Come, let them be opinion'd. Come, bind them, thou naughty varlet!

Conr.

Away, you are an ass, you are an ass.

Dogb.

Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O that he were here to write me down an ass! but masters, remember that I am an ass, though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass; no, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be prov'd upon thee, by good witness; I am a wise fellow, and which is more, an officer; and which is more, an housholder; and which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any in Messina, and one that knows the law; go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses, and one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him; bring him away. O that I had been writ down an ass!

Previous section

Next section