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To burn the errors that these Princes hold
Leon. Friar, it cannot be ;
Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus’d of?
Hero. They know, that do accuse me; I know none: If I know more of any man alive, Than that which maiden modefly doth warrant, Let all my fins lack mercy. O my father, Prove you that
any man with me convers’d
Friar. 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, Whofe fpirits 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 dry'd this blood of mine, Nor age
eat up my invention,
bad life reft me fo much of friends,
Friar. Pause a while,
Leon. What shall become of this ? what will this do?
Friar. Marry, this, well carry'd, 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 travel look for greater birth ; She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, Upon the instant that she was accus'd, Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus’d, Of every hearer : for it so falls out, That what we have we prize not to the worth, (18)
(17) Your Daughter here the Princess (left for dead) But how comes Poro to fart up a Princess here? We have no intimation of her father being a Prince; and this is the first and only time that she is complimen'el with this dignity. The remotion of a single jetter, and of the Perenthisis, will bring her to her own rank, and the place to iis true meaning.
Your Daurkter here the Princes left for dead; i, e.
Din Pedro, Prince of Arragon; and his Bastard Brother who is likewise call'd a Prince. So in the other Paftages of this Play;
To buin t'e cricr that these Princes bold
There is some ftrange Mi prision in tbvfa Princes.
I thank you, Princes, for my Darghter's Death.
W'biles ove enjoy it ; but being lack'd and loft,
Whilf it was ours : ] Whether this be an imitation, or nei, I won't contend; but if not, it seems to me a very fin: paraphrase on this paffage of Horace; Lib. III. Ode 24.
Virtutem incolumem odimus,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and loft,
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you :
very much unto the Prince and Claudio,
Leon. Being that I flow in grief,
lead me. Friar. 'Tis well consented, presently away ;
For to ftrange fores, ftrangely they strain the cure. Come, lady, die to live; this wedding day, Perhaps, is but prolong’d: have patience and endure,
Manent Benedick and Beatrice. 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 wrong'd.
Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her!
Bene. Is there any way to fhew such friendship?
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 lov'd nothing so well as you ; but believe me not; and yet I lye not ; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.
Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lov'ít me.
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 devis'd to it; I proteit, I love thee.
Beat. Why then, God forgive me.
Beat. You have stay'd me in a happy hour; I wasabout to protest, I lov'd 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. I am gone, tho' I am here; there is no love in you; nay, I pray you, let me go. 4
with mine enemy:
Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?
Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath lander'd, scorn'd, dishonour'd my kinswoman ! O that I were a man! what bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then with publick accusation, uncover'd sander, unmitigated rancour-O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.
Bene. Hear me, Beatrice.
Beat. Talk with a man out at a window? proper saying!
Bene. Nay, but Beatrice.
Beat. Sweet Hero! she is wrong’d, he is Nander'd, the is undone.
Beat. Princes and Counts! surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count-comfect, a sweet gallant, surely! O that I were a man for his fake! Or that I had any friend would be a man for my fake! but manhood is melted into curtefies, valour into compliment, and men are only turn'd into tongue, and trim ones too ; he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and fwears 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.
Bere. Think you in your soul, the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero?
Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a foul.
Bene. Enough, I am engag'd, I will challenge him, I will kiss your hand, and fo 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 mult say, ihe is dead, and so farewel.