Claud.
Is this the monument of Leonato?

A Lord. ^note
It is, my lord.

Claud. [Reading ^note out of a scroll]

Done to death by ^note slanderous tongues
  Was the Hero that here lies:
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,
  Gives her fame which never dies.
So the life that died with shame
Lives in death with glorious fame. ^note
  Hang thou there upon the tomb,
  Praising her when I am dumb ^note.
Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.

Song.
Pardon, goddess of the night,
Those that slew thy ^note virgin knight ^note;
For the which, with songs of woe,
Round about her tomb they ^note go.
  Midnight, assist our moan;
  Help us to sigh and groan,
    Heavily, heavily:
  Graves, yawn, and yield your dead,
  Till ^note death be uttered,
    Heavily, heavily ^note.

Claud. ^note
Now, unto thy bones good night!
  Yearly will I do this rite ^note.

D. Pedro.
Good morrow, masters; put your torches out:
  The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle day,
Before the wheels of Phœbus, round about
  Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.
Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well.

Claud.
Good morrow, masters: each his several way ^note.

D. Pedro.
Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;
  And then to Leonato's we will go.

Claud.
And Hymen now with luckier issue speed's ^note
  Than this for whom ^note we render'd up this woe. [Exeunt. ^note

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