Much Ado About Nothing Page #10

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- Dead, I think. Uncle, help!

Hero! Hero! Uncle!

Signior Benedick!

Friar!

O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand.

Death is the fairest cover for her shame

that may be wish'd for.

- Have comfort, lady.

- Dost thou look up?

Yea, wherefore should she not?

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 open thine eyes!

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.

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,

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,

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!

Sir, sir, be patient.

For my part, I am so attired in wonder,

I know not what to say.

- On my life, my cousin is belied!

- Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?

No, truly not.

Although until last night I have

this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

Confirmed! Confirmed!

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!

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; trust not my reading,

my observation, my reverence,

calling, nor divinity,

if this sweet lady lie not guiltless here

Under some biting error.

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!

Lady, what man is he

you are accused of?

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!

- There is some strange misprision in the princes.

- 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.

- 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,

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.

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.

Maintain a mourning ostentation,

and on your family's old monument

hang mournful epitaph

and do all rites that appertain

unto a burial.

What shall become of this?

What will this do?

She dying, as it must be so maintained,

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

into his study of imagination,

and every lovely organ of her life shall

come appareled in more precious habit

more moving-delicate and full of life,

than when she lived indeed.

Then shall he mourn, and wish

he had not so accused her.

Signior Leonato,

let the friar advise you.

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.

Being that I flow in grief,

the smallest twine may lead me.

Come, lady.

Die to live.

This wedding day perhaps

is but prolonged.

Have patience and endure.

Lady Beatrice.

Have you wept all this while?

Yea.

- And I will weep awhile longer.

- I will not desire that.

You have no reason. I do it freely.

Surely.

I do believe your

fair cousin is wronged.

How much might the man deserve of me

that would right her!

Is there any way

to show such friendship?

A very even way but no such friend.

- May a man do it?

- It is a man's office... but not yours.

I do love nothing in the world

so well as you.

Is not that strange?

As strange as the thing I know not.

It were as possible for me to say

I love 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.

By my sword, Beatrice,

thou lovest me.

- Do not swear by it, and eat it.

- I will swear by it that you love me,

and I will make him eat it

that says I love not you.

- Will you not eat your word?

- With no sauce that can be devised to it.

I protest...

I love thee!

Why then, oh may God forgive me.

What offense, sweet Beatrice?

You have stayed me in a happy hour.

- I was about to protest I loved you.

- And do it with all thy heart.

I love you with so much of my heart

there is none left to protest.

Come, bid me do anything for thee.

Kill Claudio.

Not for the wide world.

You kill me to deny it. Farewell.

- Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

- I am gone, though I am here:

There is no love in you.

Nay, I pray you, let me go.

- Beatrice...

- In faith, I will go.

We'll be friends first.

You dare easier be friends with me

than fight with mine enemy?

- Is Claudio thine enemy?

- Is he not approved

in the height a villain

that hath slandered, scorned,

dishonored my kinswoman?

Oh, that I were a man!

What, bear her in hand

until they come to take hands,

and then with public accusation,

uncovered slander,

unmitigated rancor...

Oh, God, that I were a man!

I would eat his heart

in the market place!

Hear me, Beatrice.

Talk with a man in the open air.

- A proper saying!

- Nay, but, Beatrice...

Sweet Hero!

She is wronged, she is slandered.

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