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

Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulnefs.

There, Leonato, take her back again;

Give not this rotten orange to your friend;
She's but the fign and femblance of her honour :-
Behold, how like a maid fhe blushes here:
O, what authority and fhew of truth
Can cunning fin cover itself withal !

Comes not that blood, as modeft evidence,
To witness fimple virtue? Would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior fhews? But fhe is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed :[4]
Her blush is guiltinefs, not modefty.

Leon. What do you mean, my lord?

Claud. Not to be marry'd; not knit my foul To an approved wanton.

Leon. Dear my lord,

If you in your own approof

Have vanquish'd the refiftance of her youth,

And made defeat of her virginity,

-

Clau. I know what you would fay; if I have known her, You'll fay, fhe did embrace me as a husband, And fo extenuate the forehand fin:

No, Leonato,

I never tempted her with word too large;
But, as a brother to his fifter, fhew'd

Bashful fincerity and comely love.

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

Claud. Out on thy feeming! I will write against it : You feem'd to me as Dian in her orb;

As chafte as is the bud ere it be blown ;[5]
But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or thofe pamper'd animals

That rage in favage fenfuality.

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide ?
Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you ?
Pedro. What fhould I fpeak?

[4] That is, lafcivious. Luxury, is the confeffor's term for unlawful pleasures of the fex. JOHNS.

[5]chafte as is the bud'-1. Before the air has tafted its sweetness. ib.

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

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, ftand 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 fo: But what of this, my lord? Claud. Let me but move one queftion to your daughter; And, by that fatherly and kindly power

That you have in her, bid her anfwer truly.

Leon. I charge thee do fo, as thou art my child. Hero. O God defend me! how I am befet!What kind of catechizing call you this?

Claud. To make you anfwer truly to your name. Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name With any juft reproach?

Claud. Marry, that can Hero ;

Hero herself can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yefternight
Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one?
Now, if you are a maid, anfwer to this.

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord.
Pedro. Why, then you are no maiden.-Leonato,
I am forry you muft hear: Upon mine honour,
Myfelf, my brother, and this grieved count,
Did fee her, hear her, at that hour last night,
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ;
Who hath, indeed, moft like a liberal villain,
Confefs'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in fecret.

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 forry for thy much mifgovernment.

Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadft thou been

If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
About the thoughts and counfels of thy heart!
But, fare thee well, moft foul, most fair! farewel,
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,

And on my eye-lids fhall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm;
And never fhall it more be gracious.

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? Beat. Why, how now, coufin, wherefore fink you down? [HERO fwoons. John. Come, let us go: these things, come thus to light, Smother her spirits up.

[Exeunt Don PEDRO, Don JOHN, and CLAUDIO. Bene. How doth the lady?

Beat. Dead, I think ;-Help, uncle ;

Hero! why, Hero !-uncle !—fignior Benedick !—friar ! Leon. O fate! take not away thy heavy hand! Death is the fairest cover for her fhame

That may be wish'd for.

Beat. How now, coufin Hero?
Friar. Have comfort, lady.

Leon. Doft thou look up?

Friar. Yea: Wherefore fhould the not?

Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly thing Cry shame upon her? Could fhe here deny The ftory that is printed in her blood [6]Do not live, Hero: do not ope thine eyes: For did I think thou wouldft not quickly die, Thought I, thy spirits were stronger than thy fhames, Myfelf 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? O, one too much by thee! Why had I one ? Why ever waft thou lovely in my eyes? Why had I not, with charitable hand, Took up a beggar's iffue at my gates; Who fmeared thus and mir'd with infamy, I might have faid, No part of it is mine; This fhame 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 fo much, That I myself was to myself not mine, Valuing of her; why, fhe-O, fhe is fallen Into a pit of ink! that the wide fea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again; And falt too little, which may season give

To her foul tainted flefh!

[6] That is, the ftory which her blushes discover to be true. JOHNS..

Bene. Sir, fir, be patient:

For my part, I am fo attir'd in wonder
I know not what to say.

Beat. O, on my foul, my coufin is bely'd!
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 ftronger 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 filent fo long,

And given way unto this course of fortune,
By noting of the lady: I have mark'd

A thoufand blufhing apparitions

To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whitenefs 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;
Truft not my reading, nor my obfervations,
Which with experimental seal do warrant
The tenor of my book; truft not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,

If this fweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under fome biting error.

Leon. Friar, it cannot be :

Thou seeft, that all the grace, that she hath left,
Is, that he will not add to her damnation

A fin of perjury; fhe not denies it :

Why feek'ft thou then to cover with excufe
That, which appears in proper nakedness ?

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of ?[7]

[7] The friar had juft before boafted his great skill in fishing out the truth. And, indeed, he appears by this queftion to be no fool. He was by, all the while, at the accufation, and heard no names mentioned. Why then should he ask her what man fhe was accused of? But in this lay the fubtilty of his examination. For, had Hero been guilty, it was very probable that in that hurry and confufion of fpirits, into which the terrible infult of her lover had thrown her, fhe would never have observed that the man's name was not mentioned; and fo, on this queftion, have betrayed herself by naming the perfon fhe was confcious of an affair with. The friar obferved this, and fo concluded, that, were the guilty, she would probably fall into the trap he laid for her. I only take notice of this to fhew how admirably well Shakespeare knew how to fuftain his characters. WARB.

Hero. They know, that do accufe me; I know none : If I know more of any man alive,

Than that which maiden modefty doth warrant,
Let all my fins lack mercy!-O my father!
Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight

F

Maintain❜d the change of words with any creature,Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

Friar. There is some strange misprifion in the princes. Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour; And if their wifdoms be mifled in this,

The practice of it lives in John the baftard,
Whofe fpirits toil in frame of villanies.

Leon. I know not: if they speak but truth of her,
Thefe hands fhall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
The proudeft of them fhall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet fo dry'd this blood of mine,
Nor age fo eat up my invention,

Nor fortune made fuch havoc of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me fo much of friends,
But they fhall find, awak'd in fuch a kind,
Both ftrength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them thoroughly.

Friar. Paufe awhile,

And let my counsel sway you in this cafe.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead;
Let her awhile be fecretly kept in,

And publish it, that he is dead, indeed :
Maintain a mourning oftentation;
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites

That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What fhall become of this? What will this do?
Friar. Marry, this, well carry'd, fhall on her behalf
Change flander to remorfe; that is fome good:
But not for that, dream I on this ftrange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be fo maintain❜d,
Upon the inftant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd,
Of every hearer: For it fo falls out,

That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and loft,