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?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame a?
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 fallen
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!

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; although 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 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.

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 villainies.

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.

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.

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 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 a 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,
The 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 b
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.
BENE. 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.

LEON.

The smallest twine may

Being that I flow in grief,
lead me.

• Rack-strain-stretch-exaggerate. Hence rack-rent.

Success. Mr. Hunter explains that the word is here used in the sense of what is to come after.

FRIAR. 'T is 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 Friar, HERO, and LEONATO.

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 wronged.

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

BENE. Is there any way to show 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 not you.

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 God forgive me!

BENE. What offence, sweet Beatrice?

BEAT. You have stayed me in a happy hour; I was about to protest I loved

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 anything for thee.

BEAT. Kill Claudio.

BENE. Ha! not for the wide world.

BEAT. You kill me to deny : Farewell.

BENE. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

BEAT. I am gone, though 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 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, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, O God, 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 wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.
BENE. Beat-

BEAT. Princes, and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly countconfect; 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 turned 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.

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 wronged Hero?

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

BENE. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge him; I will kiss your hand, and so 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.

SCENE II.-A Prison.

Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Sexton, in gowns; and the Watch, with CONRADE and BORACHIO.

DOGB. Is our whole dissembly appeared?

VERG. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton!

SEXTON. Which be the malefactors?

DOGB. Marry, that am I and my partner.

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

SEXTON. But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them come

before master constable.

DOGB. Yea, marry, let them come before me.-What is your name, friend?
BORA. Barachio.

DOGB. Pray, write down, Borachio.-Yours, sirrah ?

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

DOGB. Write down, master gentleman Conrade.-Masters, do you serve God? [CON. BORA. Yea, sir, we hope.

DOGB. Write down that they hope they serve God:-and write God first; for God defend but God should go before such villains!-] Masters, it is proved

• The passage in brackets is omitted in the folio, but is given from the quarto.