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?

John. Come, let us go; thefe things, come thus to light,

Smother her spirits up.

[Exeunt D. Pedro, D. John and Claud.

SCENE II.

Bene. How doth the lady?

Beat. Dead, I think; help, uncle.

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

That may be wifh'd for.

Beat. How now, coufin Hero?

Friar. Have comfort, Lady.

Leon. Doft thou look up?

Friar. Yea, wherefore fhould fhe not?

Leon. Wherefore? why, doth not every earthly thing

Cry fhame upon her? could fhe 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 fpirits were ftronger than thy fhames,
Myfelf would on the rereward of reproachés
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one?
Chid 1 for That at frugal nature's frame?

5 The story that is printed in ber blood?] That is, the Story which her blushes difcover to be true.

6 Griev'd I, I had but

one ?

I've

I've 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 fmeered 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 myfelf not mine,

Valuing of her; why, fhe, -- O, fhe is fall'n
Into a pit of ink, that the wide fea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again;

that he fent me a girl and not a boy? But this is not what he chid nature for; if he himself may be believed, it was because fhe had given him but one: and in that he owns he did foolishly, for he now finds he had one too much. He called her frugal, therefore, in giving him but one child (for to call her so because fhe chofe to fend a girl, rather than a boy, would be ridiculous). So that we must certainly read,

Chid I for this at frugal nature's 'FRAINE, i. e. refraine, or keeping back her further favours, Stopping her hand, as we say, when She had given him one. But the Oxford Editor has, in his ufual way, improved this amendment, by fubftituting band for 'fraine.

WARBURTON. Though frame be not the word which appears to a reader of the prefent time most proper to exhibit the poet's fentiment, yet it may as well be ufed to fhew that he had one child, and no more, as that he had a girl,not a boy; and

4

And falt too little, which may feafon give
To her foul tainted flesh!

Bene. Sir, Sir, be patient;

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

Beat. O, on my foul, my coufin is bely'd.
Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
Beat. No, truly, not; altho' 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 fo, that, fpeaking of her foulnefs,
Wafh'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 courfe of fortune,
By noting of the lady. I have mark'd

A thoufand blufhing apparitions

To start into her face; a thousand innocent fhames. In angel whitenefs bear away thofe blufhes; And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, To burn the errors that thefe Princes hold Again her maiden truth. Call me a fool, Truft not my reading, nor my obfervations, Which with experimental feal do warrant The tenour of my book; truft not my age, My reverence, calling, nor divinity, If this fweet lady lie not guiltlefs here Under fome biting error.

Leon. Friar, it cannot be;

Thou feeft, 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'it thou then to cover with excufe
That, which appears in proper nakedness?

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of *? 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
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

Friar. There is fome ftrange mifprifion in the Princes. Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour, And if their wifdoms be mif-led in this,

The Practice of it lives in John the bastard,
Whofe fprits 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 havock of my means,

8

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of?] The friar had just before boafted his great fkillin fifhing out the truth. And indeed, he appears, by this question, to be no fool. He was by, all the while at the accufa. tion, and heard no names mentioned. Why then should he afk her what man he was accufed 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 obferved that the man's name was not mentioned; and fo, on this question, have

VOL. III.

betrayed herself by naming the perfon fhe was confcious of an affair with. The friar obferved this, and fo concluded, that were fhe guilty fhe 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. WARBURTON.

9 bent of honour,] Bent is ufed by our author for the utmost degree of any paffion or mental quality. In this play before, Benedick fays of Beatrice, ber affection has its full bent. The expreflion is derived from archery; the bow has its bent when it is drawn as far as it can be.

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 a while,

And let my counfel fway 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 be-

half

Change flander to remorfe; that is fome good:
But not for that dream I on this ftrange courfe,
But on this travail look for greater birth:
She dying, as it must be fo maintain'd,
Upon the inftant that he was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd,
Of every hearer: for it fo falis our,
That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and loft,
Why, then we rock the value; then we find
The virtue that poffeffion would not fhew us
Whilft it was ours; fo will it fare with Claudio:

In former copies,
Your Daughter here the Prin-
cefs (left for dead ;] Bat
how comes Hero to ftart up a
Princ fs here? We have no in-
timation of her Father being a
Prince; and this is the first and
only Time that She is compli-
mented with this Dignity. The
Remotion of a fingle Letter, and
of the Parentbefs, will bring her

to her own Rank, and the Place to its true Meaning.

Your Daughter here the Princes lift for dead;

i. e. Don Pedre, Prince of Arragon; and his Ballard Brother who is likewife called a Prince. THEOBALD. oftentation,] Show; ap

2

pearance.

When