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erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument, than the bell rings, and the widow weeps.
Beat. And how long is that, think you?
Bene. Question?-Why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum: Therefore it is most expedient for the wise (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary), to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself: So much for praising myself (who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy), and now tell me, How doth your cousin?
Beat. Very ill.
Bene. And how do you?
Beat. Very ill, too.
Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend: there will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.
Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; yonder's old coil at home; it is proved my lady Hero has been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone: will you come presently?
Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior? Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's.
The inside of a church.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and attendants, with musick and tapers.
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato?
Claud. [Reads from a scroll.]
Done to death by slanderous tongues
Gives her fame which never dies:
Lives in death with glorious fame.
Hang thou there upon the tomb, [affixing it.
Now, musick, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.
Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night!
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put your torches out:
The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle day,
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray: Thanks to you all, and leave us; fare you well. Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several way.
D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds:
And then to Leonato's we will go.
Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue speeds,
Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe!
A room in Leonato's house.
Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Ursula, Friar, and Hero.
Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent? Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd her,
Upon the error that you heard debated:
Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.
Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,
Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them.-
Leon. That eye my daughter lent her; 'Tis most
Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from
From Claudio, and the prince; But what's your will?
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
And my help.
Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with attendants. D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio ;
We here attend you; are you yet determin'd
That you have such a February face,
Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull:-
When he would play the noble beast in love.
Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies mask'd.
Claud. For this I owe you: here come other reckonings.
Which is the lady I must seize upon?
Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. Claud. Why, then she's mine: Sweet, let me see your face.
Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand
Before this friar, and swear to marry her.
Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar; I am your husband, if you like of me.
Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife :
And when you loved, you were my other husband. Claud. Another Hero?
Nothing certainer :
D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander lived.
Friar. All this amazement can I qualify;
Bene. Soft and fair, friar.—Which is Beatrice ? Beat. I answer to that name;
What is your will?
Bene. Do not you love me?
No, no more than reason. Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio,
Have been deceived; for they swore you did.
Beat. Do not you love me?
No, no more than reason. Beat. Why then, my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula,
Are much deceived; for they did swear you did. Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for
Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.
Bene, 'Tis no such matter:-Then, you do not
Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.
Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her;
For here's a paper, written in his hand,