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Claud. Out on thy 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?*

Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you? D. Pedro. What should I speak? I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale. Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream?

D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.

Bene. This looks not like a nuptial.
Hero. True, O God!

Claud. Leonato, stand I here?

Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother?
Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own?
Leon. All this is so; but what of this, mylord?
Claud. 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.
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
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

D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden.


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 liberalt 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


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! fare-

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
[HERO Swoons.
Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore
sink you down?

for me?

D. John. Come, let us go: these things, come thus to light,

Smother her spirits up.

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?
Friar. Have comfort, lady.

Leon. Dost thou look up?

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?-
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
For did I think thou would'st not quickly

Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,

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 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.

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied! Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? [night, Beat. No, truly, not; although, until last I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is strong

er made,

Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron! Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie? Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foul


ness, Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her; let her Friar. 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 start
Into her face; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear 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, nor my observations,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.

Leon. Friar, it cannot be:

Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, Is, that she will not add to her damnation [Exeunt Don PEDRO, Don JOHN, and A 'sin of perjury; she not denies it:


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Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse That which appears in proper nakedness? + Sullied.

*Disposition of things.


Hero. They know, that do accuse me; I know


Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd | 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.
Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise
And though, you know, my inwardness and
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.

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 convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight [ture,
Maintain'd the change of words with any crea-
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.
Friar. There is some strange misprison* in
the princes.

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of ho


And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
The practice of it lives in John the bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.

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 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.

Friar. Pause a while,

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 epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What shall become of this? What will this do?

Friar. 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 be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd,
Of every hearer: For it so falls out,

That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whilest 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 Clau-

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 apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,

Than when she liv'd 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
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:

⚫ Misconception. While. + Over-rate.



Leon. Being that I now in grief, The smallest twine may lead me.

Friar. "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, HERO, and LEONATO. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this


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 wrong'd.

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 staid 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.

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?

Beat. 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,-Ó

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God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart | way to examine; you must call forth the watch in the market-place. that are their accusers.

Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way:

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice ;Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ?-a Let the watch come forth :-Masters, I charge proper saying! you, in the prince's name, accuse these men. 1 Watch. This man said, Sir, that Don John,

Bene. Nay but, Beatrice;

Beut. Sweet Hero!-she is wronged, she is the prince's brother, was a villain. slandered, she is undone.

Bene. Beat

Beat. Princes, and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count-confect ;t 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 man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice: By this hand, I love thee.

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.

Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio hath wronged Hero?

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul.

Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge him; I will kiss your hand, and so 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.

SCENE II-A Prison.

Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and SEXTON, in gowns; and the WATCH, with CONRADE and BORACHIO.

Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appeared? Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton! Sexton. Which be the malefactors? Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner. Verg. Nay, that's certain; we have the exhibition to examine.

Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them come before master constable.

Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me.What is your name, friend? Bora. Borachio. Dogb. Pray write down-Borachio.-Yours,


Con. I am a gentleman, Sir, and my name is Conrade.

Dogb. Write down-master gentleman Conrade.-Masters, do you serve God?

Con. Bora. Yea, Sir, we hope.

Dogb. Write down-that they hope they serve God:-and write God first; for God defend but God should go before such villains!Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves?

Con. Marry, Sir, we say we are none. Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about with him.-Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear, Sir; I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves.

Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. Dogb. Well, stand aside.-'Fore God, they are both in a tale: Have you writ down-that

they are none? Sexton. Master constable, you go not the Noblemen. +A nobleman made out of sugar. * Ceremony.

Dogb. Write down-prince John a villain :Why this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother-villain.

Bora. Master constable,

Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace; I do not like thy look, I promise thee.

Sexton. What heard you him say else?

2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrongfully.

Dogh. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is.

Sexton. What else, fellow?

1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her.

Dogb. O villian! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this. Sexton. What else?

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Con. Away! you are an ass, you are an ass. Dogh. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years?-O that he were here to write me down-an ass!-but, masters, remember, that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass:-No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina; and one, that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him-Bring him away. Ö, that I had been writ down-an ass. [Exeunt.


SCENE. I.-Before LEONATO's House.

Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO. Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief Against yourself.

Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a sieve: give not me counsel; Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child, Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, And bid him speak of patience;

* Bond.

Measure his woe the length and breadth of | Save this of her's fram'd by thy villany.


And let it answer every strain for strain;
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;
Cry-sorrow, wag! and hem, when he should
Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune
With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.


But there is no such man: For, brother, men
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ach with air, and agony with words;
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow;
But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency,
To be so moral, when he shall endure
The like himself: therefore give me no counsel
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.*
Ant. Therein do men from children nothing


Leon. I pray thee, peace: I will be flesh and For there was never yet philosopher, [blood; That could endure the tooth ach patiently; However they have writ the style of gods, And made a pish at chance and sufferance. Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; Make those, that do offend you, suffer too. Leon. There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will do so:

My soul doth tell me, Hero is belied, [prince, And that shall Claudio know, so shall the And all of them, that thus dishonour her.

Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO.

Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily.

D. Pedro. Good den, good den.
Claud. Good day to both of you.
Leon. Hear you, my lords,-

D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. Leon. Some haste, my lord!-well, fare you well, my lord :

Are you so hasty now?-well, all is one. D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.

Ant. If he could right himself with quarreling, Some of us would lie low.

Claud. Who wrongs him?
Leon. Marry,

Thou, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler,


Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, I fear thee not.


Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand,
If it should give your age such cause of fear:
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.
Leon. Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool; [at me:
As, under privilege of age, to brag
What I have done being young, or what would
Were I not old: Know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by; [me,
And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to trial of a man.

I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child;
Thy slander hath gone through and through her
And she lies buried with her ancestors: [heart,
O! in a tomb where never scandal slept,
* Admonition.

Claud. My villany!

Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine I say.
D. Pedro. You say not right, old man.
Leon. My lord, my lord,

I'll prove it on his body, if he dare?
Despite his nice fence, and his active practice,
His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood.
Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you.
Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast
kill'd my child;

If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.
Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed:
But that's no matter; let him kill one first ;-
Win me and wear me,- let him answer me,-
Come, follow me, boy; come, boy, follow me:
Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence;
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.
Leon. Brother,-

Ant. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my niece;

And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains;
That dare as well answer a man, indeed,
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue:
Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!—
Leon. Brother Antony,-

Ant. Hold you content; What, man! I know them, yea,

And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple:

Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander,

Go antickly, and show outward hideousness,
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies if they
And this is all.

Leon. But, brother Antony,-
Ant. Come, 'tis no matter;
Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.
D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake
your patience.

My heart is sorry for your daughter's death;, But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing

But what was true, and very full of proof.
Leon. My lord, my lord,-

D. Pedro. I will not hear you.
Leon. No?

Brother, away:-I will be heard ;-
Ant. And shall,

Or some of us will smart for it.


D. Pedro. See, see; here comes the man we went to seek.

Claud. Now, signior! what news!
Bene. Good day, my lord.

D. Pedro. Welcome, signior: You are almost come to part almost a fray.

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth.

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother: What think'st thou? Had we fought, I doubt, we should have been too young for them.

Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek you both.

Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away: Wilt thou use thy wit?

Bene. It is in my scabbard; Shall I draw it?
D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?

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Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit.-I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to plea

sure us.

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale:-Art thou sick, or angry?

Claud. What! courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you charge it against me:-I pray you, choose another subject.

Claud. Nay, then give him another staff; this last was broke cross.

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more; I think, he be angry indeed. Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.*

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear?
Claud. God bless me from a challenge!

Bene. You are a villian;-I jest not:-I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare:-Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you: Let me hear from you.

Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.

D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast? Claud. I'faith, I thank him; he hath bidt me to a calf's-head and a capon; the which if I do not carve most curiously, say, my knife's naught.-Shall I not find a woodcock too? Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.

D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day: I said, thou hadst a fine wit; True, says she, a fine little one: No, said I, a great wit; Right, says she, a great gross one: Nay, said I, a good wit; Just, said she, it hurts nobody: Nay, said I, the gentleman is wise; Certain, said she, a wise gentleman: Nay, said I, he hath the tongues; That I believe, said she, for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which he foreswore on Tuesday morning; there's a double tongue; there's two tongues. Thus did she, an hour together, transshape thy particular virtues; yet, at last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.

Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said, she cared not.

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly: the old man's daughter told us all.

Claud. All, all; and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden:

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head? Claud. Yea, and text underneath, Here dwells Benedick the married man?

Bene. Fare you well, boy; you know my mind; I will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not.— My lord, for your many courtesies I thank you: I must discontinue your company: your brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina: you have, among you, killed a sweet and innocent lady: For my lord Lack-beard, there, he and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him. [Exit BENEDICK.

D. Pedro. He is in earnest." Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll warrant you, for the love of Beatrice.

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D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee?
Claud. Most sincerely.

D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit!


Claud. He is then a giant to an ape: but then is an ape a doctor to such a man.

D. Pedro. But, soft you, let be; pluck up, my heart, and be sad! Did he not say my brother was fled?

Dogb. Come, you, Sir; if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance: nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be looked to.

D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men bound! Borachio, one!

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord! D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done?

Dogb. Marry, Sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified unjust things: and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.

D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, ask thee what's their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and, to conclude, what you lay to their charge.

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited.

D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer? this learned constable is too cunning to be understood: What's your offence?

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine answer; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. I have deceived even your very eyes: what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have brought to light; who, in the night, over-heard me confessing to this man, how Don John your brother incensed+ me to slander the lady Hero: how you were brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Hero's garment; how you disgraced her, when you should marry her: my villany they have upon record; which I had rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my shame: the lady is dead upon mine and my master's false accusation; and, briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain." D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?

Claud. I have drunk poison, whiles he utter'd it.

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this?

Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it.

D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of And fled he is upon his villany. [treachery:Claud. Sweet Hero! now thy image doth ap

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