Reading Help MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
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` Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief. Only to the plain form of `
` marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties `
` afterwards. `
` Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady? `
` Claud. No. `
` Leon. To be married to her. Friar, you come to marry her. `
` Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count? `
` Hero. I do. `
` Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment why you `
` should `
` not be conjoined, I charge you on your souls to utter it. `
` Claud. Know you any, Hero? `
` Hero. None, my lord. `
` Friar. Know you any, Count? `
` Leon. I dare make his answer--none. `
` Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, `
` not `
` knowing what they do! `
` Bene. How now? interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, `
` as, `
` ah, ha, he! `
` Claud. Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave: `
` Will you with free and unconstrained soul `
` Give me this maid your daughter? `
` Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. `
` Claud. And what have I to give you back whose worth `
` May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? `
` Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. `
` Claud. Sweet 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. `
` Leon. What do you mean, my lord? `
` Claud. Not to be married, `
` Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. `
` Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof, `
` Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth `
` And made defeat of her virginity-- `
` Claud. I 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. `
` Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? `
` Claud. Out on the 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 pamp'red animals `
` That rage in savage sensuality. `
` Hero. Is my lord well that he doth speak so wide? `
` Leon. Sweet Prince, why speak not you? `
` 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? `
` 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, my lord? `
` 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 catechising 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. `
` Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato, `
` I am sorry you must hear. Upon my 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. `
` 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 plac'd `
` 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. `
` Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? `
` [Hero swoons.] `
` Beat. Why, how now, cousin? Wherefore sink you down? `
` John. Come let us go. These things, come thus to light, `
` Smother her spirits up. `
` [Exeunt Don Pedro, Don Juan, and Claudio.] `
` 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 wouldst not quickly die, `
` 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? `
` Child 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 mir'd 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 fall'n `
` 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? `
` 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, `
` Who lov'd her so that, speaking of her foulness, `
` Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die. `
` 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 `
` 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 observation, `
` Which with experimental seal doth warrant `
` The tenure 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 `
` A sin of perjury: she not denies it. `
` Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse `
` That which appears in proper nakedness? `
` 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 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 `
` Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, `
` Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death! `
` 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, `
` Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. `
` Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth of her, `
`
` Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief. Only to the plain form of `
` marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties `
` afterwards. `
` Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady? `
` Claud. No. `
` Leon. To be married to her. Friar, you come to marry her. `
` Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count? `
` Hero. I do. `
` Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment why you `
` should `
` not be conjoined, I charge you on your souls to utter it. `
` Claud. Know you any, Hero? `
` Hero. None, my lord. `
` Friar. Know you any, Count? `
` Leon. I dare make his answer--none. `
` Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, `
` not `
` knowing what they do! `
` Bene. How now? interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, `
` as, `
` ah, ha, he! `
` Claud. Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave: `
` Will you with free and unconstrained soul `
` Give me this maid your daughter? `
` Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. `
` Claud. And what have I to give you back whose worth `
` May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? `
` Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. `
` Claud. Sweet 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. `
` Leon. What do you mean, my lord? `
` Claud. Not to be married, `
` Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. `
` Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof, `
` Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth `
` And made defeat of her virginity-- `
` Claud. I 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. `
` Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? `
` Claud. Out on the 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 pamp'red animals `
` That rage in savage sensuality. `
` Hero. Is my lord well that he doth speak so wide? `
` Leon. Sweet Prince, why speak not you? `
` 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? `
` 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, my lord? `
` 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 catechising 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. `
` Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato, `
` I am sorry you must hear. Upon my 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. `
` 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 plac'd `
` 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. `
` Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? `
` [Hero swoons.] `
` Beat. Why, how now, cousin? Wherefore sink you down? `
` John. Come let us go. These things, come thus to light, `
` Smother her spirits up. `
` [Exeunt Don Pedro, Don Juan, and Claudio.] `
` 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 wouldst not quickly die, `
` 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? `
` Child 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 mir'd 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 fall'n `
` 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? `
` 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, `
` Who lov'd her so that, speaking of her foulness, `
` Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die. `
` 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 `
` 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 observation, `
` Which with experimental seal doth warrant `
` The tenure 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 `
` A sin of perjury: she not denies it. `
` Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse `
` That which appears in proper nakedness? `
` 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 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 `
` Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, `
` Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death! `
` 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, `
` Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. `
` Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth of her, `
`