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 epitaphs*, and do all rites*
That appertain* unto a burial.
What shall become of this? What will this do?
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 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 lacked 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,
Th’ idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination*.
And every lovely organ* of her life
Shall come apparelled* 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 accusèd 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 levelled 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.
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.
’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 prolonged: have patience and endure.
All exit except BENEDICK and BEATRICE.
Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?
Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
I will not desire that.
You have no reason: I do it freely.
Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.
Ah, 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 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.
By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.
Do not swear 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, God forgive me!
What offence, 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 that none is left to protest.
Come, bid me do anything for thee.
Kill Claudio.
Ha! 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, 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.
Hear me, Beatrice –
Talk with a man out at a window! A proper saying*!
Nay, but Beatrice –
Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone*.
Beat –
Princes 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 curtsies, 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.
Tarry,* good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.
Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.
Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?
Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.
Enough: 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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