Much Ado About Nothing

maid, your daughter? Leonato As freely, son, as God did give her me. Claudio

And what have I to give you back, whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?

Don Pedro Nothing, unless you render her again. Claudio

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.

Leonato What do you mean, my lord? Claudio

Not to be married,
Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.

Leonato

Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity⁠—

Claudio

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? Claudio

Out 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.

Hero Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide? Leonato Sweet prince, why speak not you? Don Pedro

What should I speak?
I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.

Leonato Are these things spoken, or do I but dream? Don John Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true. Benedick This looks not like a nuptial. Hero True! O God! Claudio

Leonato, stand I here?
Is this the prince? is this the prince’s brother?
Is this face Hero’s? are our eyes our own?

Leonato All this is so: but what of this, my lord? Claudio

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.

Leonato 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?

Claudio To make you answer truly to your name. Hero

Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach?

Claudio

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. Don 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.

Don John

Fie, 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.

Claudio

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! 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.

Leonato Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me? Hero swoons. Beatrice Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down? Don John

Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light,
Smother her spirits up. Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio.

Benedick How doth the lady? Beatrice Dead, I think. Help, uncle! Hero! why, Hero! Uncle!⁠—Signior Benedick! Friar! Leonato

O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand.
Death is the fairest cover for her shame
That may be wish’d for.

Beatrice How now, cousin Hero! Friar Have comfort, lady. Leonato Dost thou look up? Friar Yea, wherefore should she not? Leonato

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. 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 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 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!

Benedick

Sir, sir, be patient.
For my part, I am so attired in wonder,
I know not what to say.

Beatrice O, on my soul, my cousin is belied! Benedick Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? Beatrice

No, truly not; although, until last night,
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

Leonato

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 loved 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
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