ACT IV SCENE I | A church. | |
| Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, 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 FRANCIS | You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady. |
CLAUDIO | No. | |
LEONATO | To be married to her: friar, you come to marry her. | |
FRIAR FRANCIS | Lady, you come hither to be married to this count. | |
HERO | I do. | 10 | |
FRIAR FRANCIS | If either of you know any inward impediment why you |
| should not be conjoined, charge you, on your souls, | |
| to utter it. | |
CLAUDIO | Know you any, Hero? | |
HERO | None, my lord. | |
FRIAR FRANCIS | 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! | 21 |
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? | |
DON PEDRO | Nothing, unless you render her again. | |
CLAUDIO | Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulness. | |
| There, Leonato, take her back again: | 30 | |
| 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. | 40 |
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? | 50 | |
CLAUDIO | Out on thee! 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 so wide? | |
LEONATO | Sweet prince, why speak not you? | |
DON 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? | 60 | |
DON 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. | 70 | |
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. | 79 | |
HERO | I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. | |
DON 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. | |
DON JOHN | Fie, fie! they are not to be named, my lord, | |
| Not to be spoke of; | 90 | |
| 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 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, | 99 | |
| 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? | |
DON JOHN | Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light, | |
| Smother her spirits up. | |
| Exeunt DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, 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. | 111 | |
| Death is the fairest cover for her shame | |
| That may be wish'd for. |
BEATRICE | How now, cousin Hero! | |
FRIAR FRANCIS | Have comfort, lady. | |
LEONATO | Dost thou look up? | |
FRIAR FRANCIS | 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: | 120 | |
| 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. Grieved 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 smirch'd thus and mired with infamy, | 130 | |
| I might have said 'No part of it is mine; | |
| This shame derives itself from unknown loins'? |
| But mine and mine I loved and mine I praised | |
| 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! | |
BENEDICK | Sir, sir, be patient. | |
| For my part, I am so attired in wonder, | 140 |
| 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 loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness, | |
| Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die. | 150 |
FRIAR FRANCIS | 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; | 160 |
| Trust not my reading nor my observations, | |
| Which with experimental seal doth warrant | |
| The tenor 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 | 170 | |
| That which appears in proper nakedness? | |
FRIAR FRANCIS | Lady, what man is he you are accused 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 conversed | |
| At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight | |
| Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, |
| Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death! | 180 | |
FRIAR FRANCIS | 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 practise 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, | 190 | |
| Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, | |
| Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, | |
| But they shall find, awaked 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 FRANCIS | 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; | 200 | |
| 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 FRANCIS | 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 so be maintain'd, | 210 | |
| Upon the instant that she was accused, | |
| Shall be lamented, pitied and excused | |
| 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, | |
| The idea of her life shall sweetly creep | 220 | |
| 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 lived 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 | 230 | |
| 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: | 240 | |
| 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 FRANCIS | 'Tis well consented: presently away; |
| For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. | |
| Come, lady, die to live: this wedding-day | 249 | |
| 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? | 260 | |
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. | 271 | |
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. | 281 | |
BENEDICK | Come, bid me do any thing for thee. | |
BEATRICE | Kill Claudio. |
BENEDICK | Ha! not for the wide world. | |
BEATRICE | You kill me to deny it. Farewell. | |
BENEDICK | Tarry, sweet Beatrice. [Holding her.] | |
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. | 290 | |
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 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. | |
BENEDICK | Hear me, Beatrice,-- | 301 | |
BEATRICE | Talk with a man out at a window! A proper saying! | |
BENEDICK | Nay, but, Beatrice,-- |
BEATRICE | Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, 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 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 | 315 |
| 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 wronged Hero? | |
BEATRICE | Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul. |
BENEDICK | Enough, I am engaged; 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 | |