Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband.

Leon. I will wait upon them; I am ready.

[Exeunt LEONATO and Messenger.

Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol; we are now to examination these men. Verg. And we must do it wisely.

Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's that [Touching his forehead.] shall drive some of them to a non com: only get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet me at the gaol. [Exeunt.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE 1.

The Inside of a Church.

Enter Don PEDRO, Don JOHN, LEONATO, Friar, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, HERO, and BEATRICE, &c.

Leon. 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 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.

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 :

leave!

Father, by your

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.

D. 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 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:
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
Leon. What do you mean, my lord?
Claud.
Not knit my soul to an approved wanton.
Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof

"

Not to be married

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, show'd

Bashful sincerity, and comely love.

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? Claud. Out on thy 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 pamper'd animals

That rage in savage sensuality.

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak sọ wide"?

Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you?

D. Pedro.

To link

my

What should I speak?

I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about dear friend to a common stale. Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream?

D. 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 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.
D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden.

Leonato,

I am sorry you must hear; Upon mine 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.

D. John.

Fye, fye! 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.

Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been,

If half thy outward graces had been placed
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 eye-lids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.

9 Too free of tongue.

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? [HERO SWOONS.

Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink you down?

D. 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! - Signior Benedick!

friar!

Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand! Death is the fairest cover for her shame,

Friar. Yea; Wherefore should she not?

Leon. 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 would'st 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?
Chid 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?

Disposition of things.

2 Sullied.