Beat. Dead, I think:-help, uncle :— Hero! why, Hero!-uncle!-Signior Benedick!—friar! Leon. Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing 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 Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, 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 F. Fran. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, Let all my sins 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! F. Fran. There is some strange misprision in the princes. 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, 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 fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find, awak'd 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. F. Fran. Pause awhile, 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; That appertain unto a burial. Leon. What shall become of this? what will this do? F. Fran. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf Change slander to remorse ;-that is some good: But on this travail look for greater birth. She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, That what we have we prize not to the worth The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination; And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, Than when she liv'd indeed; then shall he mourn In some reclusive and religious life, Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you : As secretly and justly as your soul Should with your body. Leon. Being that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may lead me. F. Fran. 'Tis well consented: presently away; For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.— Come, lady, die to live: this wedding-day Perhaps is but prolong'd: have patience and endure. [Exeunt Friar Francis, Hero, and Leonato. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. Bene. I will not desire that. Beat. You have no reason; I do it freely. Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her! Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship? Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. Bene. May a man do it? Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange? Beat. 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. Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. Bene. I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word? Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee. Beat. Why, then, God forgive me! Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice? Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved you. Bene. And do it with all thy heart. Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that none is left to protest. Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. Beat. Kill Claudio. Bene. Ha! not for the wide world. Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell. Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. Beat. I am gone, though I am here:-there is no love in you:-nay, I pray you, let me go. Bene. Beatrice, Beat. In faith, I will go. Bene. We'll be friends first. Beat. You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy. |