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 Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. 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, 8 Too free of tongue. And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang, 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, That may be wish'd for. Beat. How now, cousin Hero? Dost thou look up? Friar. Have comfort, lady. Leon. 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?- 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, 9 Attractive. Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one? Hath drops too few to wash her clean again; 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! Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, 1 Disposition of things. 2 Sullied. For I have only been silent so long, And given way unto this course of fortune, Leon. 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 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 ålive, Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 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 misprision3 in the princes. 3 Misconception. 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 havock of my means, To quit me of them throughly. Friar. Pause a while, And let my counsel sway you in this case. Your daughter here the princes left for dead; And publish it, that she is dead indeed: Leon. What shall become of this? What will this do? |