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 marry'd 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! not knowing what they do!

Bene.

How now! Interjections? why, then some be of laughing, as ha, ha, he!

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 learn me noble thankfulness:
There, Leonato, take her back again;
Give not this rotten orange to your friend.
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 it self withal!
Comes not that blood, as modest evidence,
To witness simple virtue? would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior shews? but she is none:
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 in your own approof
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity—

Claud.
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;
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! ^{1 note}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 Stale.

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 God!

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 God 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 her self can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
Out at your window betwixt twelve and one?

Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.

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

Pedro.
Why, then you are no maiden. Leonato,
I am sorry, you must hear; upon mine Honour,
My self, 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, ^{2 note}like an illiberal 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 a Hero 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! farewel
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!
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?

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.

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