Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare [e book reader free TXT] 📗

noting of the lady I have mark’d
A thousand blushing apparitions
To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear 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 observations,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error. Leonato

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 accused 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 conversed
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. Benedick

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 villainies.

Leonato

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 dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awaked in such a kind,
Both strength of limb and policy of mind,
Ability in means and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.

Friar

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.

Leonato What shall become of this? what will this do? Friar

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 maintain’d,
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 lack’d 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,
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination,
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparell’d 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 accused 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 levell’d 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.

Benedick

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.

Leonato

Being that I flow in grief,
The smallest twine may lead me.

Friar

’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 prolong’d: have patience and endure. Exeunt all but Benedick and Beatrice.

Benedick Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? Beatrice Yea, and I will weep a while longer. Benedick I will not desire that. Beatrice You have no reason; I do it freely. Benedick Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged. Beatrice Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her! Benedick Is there anyway to show such friendship? Beatrice A very even way, but no such friend. Benedick May a man do it? Beatrice It is a man’s office, but not yours. Benedick I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange? Beatrice 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. Benedick By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. Beatrice Do not swear, and eat it. Benedick I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love not you. Beatrice Will you not eat your word? Benedick With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee. Beatrice Why, then, God forgive me! Benedick What offence, sweet Beatrice? Beatrice You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved you. Benedick And do it with all thy heart. Beatrice I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest. Benedick Come, bid me do anything for thee. Beatrice Kill Claudio. Benedick Ha! not for the wide world. Beatrice You kill me to deny it. Farewell. Benedick Tarry, sweet Beatrice. Beatrice I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray you, let me go. Benedick Beatrice⁠— Beatrice In faith, I will go. Benedick We’ll be friends first. Beatrice You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy. Benedick Is