A church.
[Enter Don Pedro, [John the] Bastard, Leonato, Friar [Francis],
Claudio, Benedick, Hero, Beatrice, [and Attendants.] 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?
CLAUDIO No.
LEONATO To be married 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
conjoined, I charge you on your souls to utter it.
CLAUDIO Know you any, Hero?
HERO None, my lord.
FRIAR Know you any, Count?
LEONATO I dare make his answer--none.
CLAUDIO O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not
knowing what they do!
BENEDICK How now? interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, as, ah,
ha, he!
CLAUDIO Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave:
Will you with free and unconstrained soul
Give me this maid your daughter?
LEONATO As freely, son, as God did give her me.
CLAUDIO And what have I to give you back whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?
PEDRO Nothing, unless you render her again.
CLAUDIO 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 show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself 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 shows? But she is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
LEONATO What do you mean, my lord?
CLAUDIO Not to be married,
Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.
LEONATO Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth
And made defeat of her virginity--
CLAUDIO I know what you would say. If I have known her,
You will 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, show'd
Bashful sincerity and comely love.
HERO And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?
CLAUDIO Out on the 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 pamp'red animals
That rage in savage sensuality.
HERO Is my lord well that he doth speak so wide?
LEONATO 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.
LEONATO Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?
JOHN Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.
BENEDICK This looks not like a nuptial.
HERO 'True!' O God!
CLAUDIO Leonato, stand I here?
Is this the Prince, Is this the Prince's brother?
Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own?
LEONATO All this is so; but what of this, my lord?
CLAUDIO 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.
LEONATO I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
HERO O, God defend me! How am I beset!
What kind of catechising call you this?
CLAUDIO To make you answer truly to your name.
HERO Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach?
CLAUDIO Marry, that can Hero!
Hero itself 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 are you no maiden. Leonato,
I am sorry you must hear. Upon my 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 spoke of;
There is not chastity, enough in language
Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.
CLAUDIO O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!
But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! Farewell,
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.
LEONATO Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?
[Hero swoons.] BEATRICE Why, how now, cousin? Wherefore sink you down?
JOHN Come let us go. These things, come thus to light,
Smother her spirits up.
[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don Juan, and Claudio.] BENEDICK How doth the lady?
BEATRICE Dead, I think. Help, uncle!
Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar!
LEONATO O Fate, take not away thy heavy hand!
Death is the fairest cover for her shame
That may be wish'd for.
BEATRICE How now, cousin Hero?
FRIAR Have comfort, lady.
LEONATO Dost thou look up?
FRIAR Yea, wherefore should she not?
LEONATO Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly thing
Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood?
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes;
For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,
Myself would on the rearward of reproaches
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one?
Child I for that at frugal nature's frame?
O, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
Why had I not with charitable hand
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates,
Who smirched thus and mir'd with infamy,
I might have said, 'No part of it is mine;
This shame derives itself from unknown loins'?
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on--mine so much
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her--why, she, O, she is fall'n
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,
And salt too little which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh!
BENEDICK Sir, sir, be patient.
For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
I know not what to say.
BEATRICE O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!
BENEDICK Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
BEATRICE No, truly, not; although, until last night,
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
LEONATO Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie,
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 been silent 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 beat 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,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenure of my book; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.
LEONATO Friar, it cannot be.
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.
BENEDICK 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.
LEONATO 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.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find awak'd in such a kind
Both strength of limb and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.
FRIAR Pause awhile
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead,
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
And publish it that she is dead indeed;
Maintain a mourning ostentation,
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.
LEONATO What shall become of this? What will this do?
FRIAR Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf
Change slander to remorse. That is some good.
But not for that dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd
Of every hearer; for it so falls out
That what we have we prize not to the worth
Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost,
Why, then we rack the value, then we find
The virtue that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio.
When he shall hear she died upon his words,
Th' idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination,
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving, delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul
Than when she liv'd indeed. Then shall he mourn
(If ever love had interest in his liver)
And wish he had not so accused her--
No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so, and doubt not but success
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 supposition of the lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy.
And if it sort not well, you may conceal her,
As best befits her wounded reputation,
In some reclusive and religious life,
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.
BENEDICK Signior 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.
LEONATO Being that I flow in grief,
The smallest twine may lead me.
FRIAR 'Tis well consented. Presently away;
For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.
Come, lady, die to live. This wedding day
Perhaps is but prolong'd. Have patience and endure.
[Exeunt all but Benedick and Beatrice.] BENEDICK Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?
BEATRICE Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
BENEDICK I will not desire that.
BEATRICE You have no reason. I do it freely.
BENEDICK Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.
BEATRICE Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!
BENEDICK Is there any way to show such friendship?
BEATRICE A very even way, but no such friend.
BENEDICK May a man do it?
BEATRICE It is a man's office, but not yours.
BENEDICK I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that
strange?
BEATRICE 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.
BENEDICK By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.
BEATRICE Do not swear, and eat it.
BENEDICK I will swear by it that you love me, and I will make him eat it
that says I love not you.
BEATRICE Will you not eat your word?
BENEDICK With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee.
BEATRICE Why then, God forgive me!
BENEDICK What offence, sweet Beatrice?
BEATRICE You have stayed me in a happy hour. I was about to protest I
loved you.
BENEDICK And do it with all thy heart.
BEATRICE I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.
BENEDICK Come, bid me do anything for thee.
BEATRICE Kill Claudio.
BENEDICK Ha! not for the wide world!
BEATRICE You kill me to deny it. Farewell.
BENEDICK Tarry, sweet Beatrice.
BEATRICE I am gone, though I am here. There is no love in you. Nay, I
pray you let me go.
BENEDICK Beatrice--
BEATRICE In faith, I will go.
BENEDICK We'll be friends first.
BEATRICE You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.
BENEDICK Is Claudio thine enemy?
BEATRICE Is 'a not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered,
scorned, dishonoured 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 God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the
market place.
BENEDICK Hear me, Beatrice!
BEATRICE Talk with a man out at a window!-a proper saying!
BENEDICK Nay but Beatrice--
BEATRICE Sweet Hero! she is wrong'd, she is sland'red, she is undone.
BENEDICK Beat--
BEATRICE Princes and Counties! Surely a princely testimony, a goodly
count, 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 cursies, 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 lie,and swears it. I
cannot be a man with wishing; therefore I will die a woman with
grieving.
BENEDICK Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.
BEATRICE Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.
BENEDICK Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero?
BEATRICE Yea, as sure is I have a thought or a soul.
BENEDICK Enough, I am engag'd, I will challenge him. I will kiss your
hand, and so I leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a
dear account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go comfort your
cousin. I must say she is dead-and so farewell.
[Exeunt.]