William Shakespeare Much Ado About Nothing Act Iv

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• William Shakespeare: Much Ado about Nothing, Act IV

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Act IVScene IA churchEnter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar Francis, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, Beatrice, and AttendantsLeonatoCome, Friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties afterwards.Friar FrancisYou come hither, my lord, to marry this lady.ClaudioNo.LeonatoTo be married to her: friar, you come to marry her.Friar FrancisLady, you come hither to be married to this count.HeroI do.Friar FrancisIf either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, charge you, on your souls, to utter it.ClaudioKnow you any, Hero?HeroNone, my lord.Friar FrancisKnow you any, count?LeonatoI dare make his answer, none.ClaudioO, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do!BenedickHow now! interjections? Why, then, some be of laughing, as, ah, ha, he!ClaudioStand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave: Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter?LeonatoAs freely, son, as God did give her me.ClaudioAnd what have I to give you back, whose worth May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?Don PedroNothing, unless you render her again.ClaudioSweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulness. There, Leonato, take her back again: Give not this rotten orange to your friend; She’s but the sign and semblance of her honour. Behold how like a maid she blushes here! O, what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal! Comes not that blood as modest evidence To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, All you that see her, that she were a maid, By these exterior shows? But she is none: She knows the heat of a luxurious bed; Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.LeonatoWhat do you mean, my lord?ClaudioNot to be married, Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.LeonatoDear my lord, if you, in your own proof, Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth, And made defeat of her virginity,—ClaudioI know what you would say: if I have known her, You will say she did embrace me as a husband, And so extenuate the ‘forehand sin: No, Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large; But, as a brother to his sister, show’d Bashful sincerity and comely love.HeroAnd seem’d I ever otherwise to you?ClaudioOut on thee! 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.HeroIs my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?LeonatoSweet prince, why speak not you?Don PedroWhat should I speak? I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale.LeonatoAre these things spoken, or do I but dream?Don JohnSir, they are spoken, and these things are true.BenedickThis looks not like a nuptial.HeroTrue! O God!ClaudioLeonato, stand I here? Is this the prince? is this the prince’s brother? Is this face Hero’s? are our eyes our own?LeonatoAll this is so: but what of this, my lord?ClaudioLet me but move one question to your daughter; And, by that fatherly and kindly power That you have in her, bid her answer truly.LeonatoI charge thee do so, as thou art my child.HeroO, God defend me! how am I beset! What kind of catechising call you this?ClaudioTo make you answer truly to your name.HeroIs it not Hero? Who can blot that name With any just reproach?ClaudioMarry, 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.HeroI talk’d with no man at that hour, my lord.Don PedroWhy, then are you 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 villain, Confess’d the vile encounters they have had A thousand times in secret.Don JohnFie, fie! they are not to be named, 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.ClaudioO 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 eyelids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious.LeonatoHath no man’s dagger here a point for me?Hero swoonsBeatriceWhy, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?Don JohnCome, let us go. These things, come thus to light, Smother her spirits up.Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and ClaudioBenedickHow doth the lady?BeatriceDead, I think. Help, uncle! Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar!LeonatoO Fate! take not away thy heavy hand. Death is the fairest cover for her shame That may be wish’d for.BeatriceHow now, cousin Hero!Friar FrancisHave comfort, lady.LeonatoDost thou look up?Friar FrancisYea, wherefore should she not?LeonatoWherefore! 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 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? 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 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, 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!BenedickSir, sir, be patient. For my part, I am so attired in wonder, I know not what to say.BeatriceO, on my soul, my cousin is belied!BenedickLady, were you her bedfellow last night?BeatriceNo, truly not; although, until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.LeonatoConfirm’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, Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness, Wash’d it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.Friar FrancisHear 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 nor my observations, Which with experimental seal doth warrant The tenor of my book; trust not my age, My reverence, calling, nor divinity, If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here Under some biting error.LeonatoFriar, 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 That which appears in proper nakedness?Friar FrancisLady, what man is he you are accused of?HeroThey 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!Friar FrancisThere is some strange misprision in the princes.BenedickTwo 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.LeonatoI 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, 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.Friar FrancisPause 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 epitaphs and do all rites That appertain unto a burial.LeonatoWhat shall become of this? what will this do?Friar FrancisMarry, 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 so be maintain’d, 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 apparell’d in more precious habit, More moving-delicate and full of life, Into the eye and prospect of his soul, Than when she lived 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: 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.BenedickSignior 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.LeonatoBeing that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may lead me.Friar Francis’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 all but Benedick and BeatriceBenedickLady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?BeatriceYea, and I will weep a while longer.BenedickI will not desire that.BeatriceYou have no reason; I do it freely.BenedickSurely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.BeatriceAh, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!BenedickIs there any way to show such friendship?BeatriceA very even way, but no such friend.BenedickMay a man do it?BeatriceIt is a man’s office, but not yours.BenedickI do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?BeatriceAs 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.BenedickBy my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.BeatriceDo not swear, and eat it.BenedickI will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love not you.BeatriceWill you not eat your word?BenedickWith no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee.BeatriceWhy, then, God forgive me!BenedickWhat offence, sweet Beatrice?BeatriceYou have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved you.BenedickAnd do it with all thy heart.BeatriceI love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.BenedickCome, bid me do any thing for thee.BeatriceKill Claudio.BenedickHa! not for the wide world.BeatriceYou kill me to deny it. Farewell.BenedickTarry, sweet Beatrice.BeatriceI am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray you, let me go.BenedickBeatrice,—BeatriceIn faith, I will go.BenedickWe’ll be friends first.BeatriceYou dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.BenedickIs Claudio thine enemy?BeatriceIs 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, —O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.BenedickHear me, Beatrice,—BeatriceTalk with a man out at a window! A proper saying!BenedickNay, but, Beatrice,—BeatriceSweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.BenedickBeat—BeatricePrinces and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; 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.BenedickTarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.BeatriceUse it for my love some other way than swearing by it.BenedickThink you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?BeatriceYea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.BenedickEnough, I am engaged; I will challenge him. I will kiss your hand, and so I 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

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William Shakespeare: Much Ado about Nothing, Act V, Scene IV

• William Shakespeare: Much Ado about Nothing, Act V, Scene IV

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