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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 you are 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 47 villain, Confess'd the vile encounters they have had A thousand times in secret.

D. John.

Fie, fie! 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.

:

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!

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Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand!

Death is the fairest cover for her shame,

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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,

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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 49 thus, and mired with infamy,
I might have said, No part of it is mine,
This shame 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 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!

Bene.

Sir, sir, be patient:

For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,

I know not what to say.

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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 !
Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie ?

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