Chapter: Actus Quartus. Scene 1.

Enter Prince, Bastard, Leonato, Frier, Claudio, Benedicke, Hero,
and
Beatrice.

  Leonato. Come Frier Francis, be briefe, onely to the
plaine forme of marriage, and you shal recount their particular
duties afterwards

   Fran. You come hither, my Lord, to marry this Lady

   Clau. No

   Leo. To be married to her: Frier, you come to marrie
her

   Frier. Lady, you come hither to be married to this
Count

   Hero. I doe

   Frier. If either of you know any inward impediment
why you should not be conioyned, I charge you on your
soules to vtter it

   Claud. Know you anie, Hero?
  Hero. None my Lord

   Frier. Know you anie, Count?
  Leon. I dare make his answer, None

   Clau. O what men dare do! what men may do! what
men daily do!
  Bene. How now! interiections? why then, some be
of laughing, as ha, ha, he

   Clau. Stand thee by Frier, father, by your leaue,
Will you with free and vnconstrained soule
Giue me this maid your daughter?
  Leon. As freely sonne as God did giue her me

   Cla. And what haue I to giue you back, whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?
  Prin. Nothing, vnlesse you render her againe

   Clau. Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulnes:
There Leonato, take her backe againe,
Giue not this rotten Orenge to your friend,
Shee's but the signe and semblance of her honour:
Behold how like a maid she blushes heere!
O what authoritie and shew of truth
Can cunning sinne couer it selfe withall!
Comes not that bloud, as modest euidence,
To witnesse simple Vertue? would you not sweare
All you that see her, that she were a maide,
By these exterior shewes? But she is none:
She knowes the heat of a luxurious bed:
Her blush is guiltinesse, not modestie

   Leonato. What doe you meane, my Lord?
  Clau. Not to be married,
Not to knit my soule to an approued wanton

   Leon. Deere my Lord, if you in your owne proofe,
Haue vanquisht the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginitie

   Clau. I know what you would say: if I haue knowne
(her,
You will say, she did imbrace me as a husband,
And so extenuate the forehand sinne: No Leonato,
I neuer tempted her with word too large,
But as a brother to his sister, shewed
Bashfull sinceritie and comely loue

   Hero. And seem'd I euer otherwise to you?
  Clau. Out on thee seeming, I will write against it,
You seeme to me as Diane in her Orbe,
As chaste as is the budde ere it be blowne:
But you are more intemperate in your blood,
Than Venus, or those pampred animalls,
That rage in sauage sensualitie

   Hero. Is my Lord well, that he doth speake so wide?
  Leon. Sweete Prince, why speake not you?
  Prin. What should I speake?
I stand dishonour'd that haue gone about,
To linke my deare friend to a common stale

   Leon. Are these things spoken, or doe I but dreame?
  Bast. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true

   Bene. This lookes not like a nuptiall

   Hero. True, O God!
  Clau. Leonato, stand I here?
Is this the Prince? is this the Princes brother?
Is this face Heroes? are our eies our owne?
  Leon. All this is so, but what of this my Lord?
  Clau. Let me but moue one question to your daughter,
And by that fatherly and kindly power,
That you haue in her, bid her answer truly

   Leo. I charge thee doe, as thou art my childe

   Hero. O God defend me how am I beset,
What kinde of catechizing call you this?
  Clau. To make you answer truly to your name

   Hero. Is it not Hero? who can blot that name
With any iust reproach?
  Claud. Marry that can Hero,
Hero it selfe can blot out Heroes vertue.
What man was he, talkt with you yesternight,
Out at your window betwixt twelue and one?
Now if you are a maid, answer to this

   Hero. I talkt with no man at that howre my Lord

   Prince. Why then you are no maiden. Leonato,
I am sorry you must heare: vpon mine honor,
My selfe, my brother, and this grieued Count
Did see her, heare her, at that howre last night,
Talke with a ruffian at her chamber window,
Who hath indeed most like a liberall villaine,
Confest the vile encounters they haue had
A thousand times in secret

   Iohn. Fie, fie, they are not to be named my Lord,
Not to be spoken of,
There is not chastitie enough in language,
Without offence to vtter them: thus pretty Lady
I am sorry for thy much misgouernment

   Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou beene
If halfe thy outward graces had beene placed
About thy thoughts and counsailes of thy heart?
But fare thee well, most foule, most faire, farewell
Thou pure impiety, and impious puritie,
For thee Ile locke vp all the gates of Loue,
And on my eie-lids shall Coniecture hang,
To turne all beauty into thoughts of harme,
And neuer shall it more be gracious

   Leon. Hath no mans dagger here a point for me?
  Beat. Why how now cosin, wherfore sink you down?
  Bast. Come, let vs go: these things come thus to light,
Smother her spirits vp

   Bene. How doth the Lady?
  Beat. Dead I thinke, helpe vncle,
Hero, why Hero, Vncle, Signor Benedicke, Frier

   Leonato. O Fate! take not away thy heauy hand,
Death is the fairest couer for her shame
That may be wisht for

   Beatr. How now cosin Hero?
  Fri. Haue comfort Ladie

   Leon. Dost thou looke vp?
  Frier. Yea, wherefore should she not?
  Leon. Wherfore? Why doth not euery earthly thing
Cry shame vpon her? Could she heere denie
The storie that is printed in her blood?
Do not liue Hero, do not ope thine eyes:
For did I thinke thou wouldst not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger then thy shames,
My selfe would on the reward of reproaches
Strike at thy life. Grieu'd I, I had but one?
Chid I, for that at frugal Natures frame?
O one too much by thee: why had I one?
Why euer was't thou louelie in my eies?
Why had I not with charitable hand
Tooke vp a beggars issue at my gates,
Who smeered thus, and mir'd with infamie,
I might haue said, no part of it is mine:
This shame deriues it selfe from vnknowne loines,
But mine, and mine I lou'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on mine so much,
That I my selfe, was to my selfe not mine:
Valewing of her, why she, O she is falne
Into a pit of Inke, that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her cleane againe,
And salt too little, which may season giue
To her foule tainted flesh

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

   Bea. O on my soule my cosin is belied

   Ben. Ladie, were you her bedfellow last night?
  Bea. No, truly: not although vntill last night,
I haue this tweluemonth bin her bedfellow

   Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd, O that is stronger made
Which was before barr'd vp with ribs of iron.
Would the Princes lie, and Claudio lie,
Who lou'd her so, that speaking of her foulnesse,
Wash'd it with teares? Hence from her, let her die

   Fri. Heare me a little, for I haue onely bene silent so
long, and giuen way vnto this course of fortune, by noting
of the Ladie, I haue markt.
A thousand blushing apparitions,
To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames,
In Angel whitenesse beare away those blushes,
And in her eie there hath appear'd a fire
To burne the errors that these Princes hold
Against her maiden truth. Call me a foole,
Trust not my reading, nor my obseruations,
Which with experimental seale doth warrant
The tenure of my booke: trust not my age,
My reuerence, calling, nor diuinitie,
If this sweet Ladie lye not guiltlesse heere,
Vnder some biting error

   Leo. Friar, it cannot be:
Thou seest that all the Grace that she hath left,
Is, that she wil not adde to her damnation,
A sinne of periury, she not denies it:
Why seek'st thou then to couer with excuse,
That which appeares in proper nakednesse?
  Fri. Ladie, 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 aliue
Then that which maiden modestie doth warrant,
Let all my sinnes lacke mercy. O my Father,
Proue you that any man with me conuerst,
At houres vnmeete, or that I yesternight
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death

   Fri. There is some strange misprision in the Princes

   Ben. Two of them haue the verie bent of honor,
And if their wisedomes be misled in this:
The practise of it liues in Iohn the bastard,
Whose spirits toile in frame of villanies

   Leo. I know not: if they speake but truth of her,
These hands shall teare her: If they wrong her honour,
The proudest of them shall wel heare of it.
Time hath not yet so dried this bloud of mine,
Nor age so eate vp my inuention,
Nor Fortune made such hauocke of my meanes,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall finde, awak'd in such a kinde,
Both strength of limbe, and policie of minde,
Ability in meanes, and choise of friends,
To quit me of them throughly

   Fri. Pause awhile:
And let my counsell sway you in this case,
Your daughter heere the Princesse (left for dead)
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
And publish it, that she is dead indeed:
Maintaine a mourning ostentation,
And on your Families old monument,
Hang mournfull Epitaphes, and do all rites,
That appertaine vnto a buriall

   Leon. What shall become of this? What wil this do?
  Fri. Marry this wel carried, shall on her behalfe,
Change slander to remorse, that is some good,
But not for that dreame I on this strange course,
But on this trauaile looke for greater birth:
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Vpon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shal be lamented, pittied, and excus'd
Of euery hearer: for it so fals out,
That what we haue, we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enioy it; but being lack'd and lost,
Why then we racke the value, then we finde
The vertue that possession would not shew vs
Whiles it was ours, so will it fare with Claudio:
When he shal heare she dyed vpon his words,
Th' Idea of her life shal sweetly creepe
Into his study of imagination.
And euery louely Organ of her life,
Shall come apparel'd in more precious habite:
More mouing delicate, and ful of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soule
Then when she liu'd indeed: then shal he mourne,
If euer Loue had interest in his Liuer,
And wish he had not so accused her:
No, though he thought his accusation true:
Let this be so, and doubt not but successe
Wil fashion the euent in better shape,
Then I can lay it downe in likelihood.
But if all ayme but this be leuelld false,
The supposition of the Ladies death,
Will quench the wonder of her infamie.
And if it sort not well, you may conceale her
As best befits her wounded reputation,
In some reclusiue and religious life,
Out of all eyes, tongues, mindes and iniuries

   Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Frier aduise you,
And though you know my inwardnesse and loue
Is very much vnto the Prince and Claudio.
Yet, by mine honor, I will deale in this,
As secretly and iustlie, as your soule
Should with your bodie

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

   Frier. 'Tis well consented, presently away,
For to strange sores, strangely they straine the cure,
Come Lady, die to liue, this wedding day
Perhaps is but prolong'd, haue patience & endure.
Enter.

  Bene. Lady Beatrice, haue you wept all this while?
  Beat. Yea, and I will weepe a while longer

   Bene. I will not desire that

   Beat. You haue no reason, I doe it freely

   Bene. Surelie I do beleeue your fair cosin is wrong'd

   Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserue of mee
that would right her!
  Bene. Is there any way to shew such friendship?
  Beat. A verie euen way, but no such friend

   Bene. May a man doe it?
  Beat. It is a mans office, but not yours

   Bene. I doe loue nothing in the world so well as you,
is not that strange?
  Beat. As strange as the thing I know not, it were as
possible for me to say, I loued nothing so well as you, but
beleeue me not, and yet I lie not, I confesse nothing, nor
I deny nothing, I am sorry for my cousin

   Bene. By my sword Beatrice thou lou'st me

   Beat. Doe not sweare by it and eat it

   Bene. I will sweare by it that you loue mee, and I will
make him eat it that sayes I loue not you

   Beat. Will you not eat your word?
  Bene. With no sawce that can be deuised to it, I protest
I loue thee

   Beat. Why then God forgiue me

   Bene. What offence sweet Beatrice?
  Beat. You haue stayed me in a happy howre, I was about
to protest I loued you

   Bene. And doe it with all thy heart

   Beat. I loue you with so much of my heart, that none
is left to protest

   Bened. Come, bid me doe any thing for thee

   Beat. Kill Claudio

   Bene. Ha, not for the wide world

   Beat. You kill me to denie, farewell

   Bene. Tarrie sweet Beatrice

   Beat. I am gone, though I am heere, there is no loue
in you, nay I pray you let me goe

   Bene. Beatrice

   Beat. Infaith I will goe

   Bene. Wee'll be friends first

   Beat. You dare easier be friends with mee, than fight
with mine enemy

   Bene. Is Claudio thine enemie?
  Beat. Is a not approued in the height a villaine, that
hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O
that I were a man! what, beare her in hand vntill they
come to take hands, and then with publike accusation
vncouered slander, vnmittigated rancour? O God that I
were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place

   Bene. Heare me Beatrice

   Beat. Talke with a man out at a window, a proper
saying

   Bene. Nay but Beatrice

   Beat. Sweet Hero, she is wrong'd, shee is slandered,
she is vndone

   Bene. Beat?
  Beat. Princes and Counties! surelie a Princely testimonie,
a goodly Count, Comfect, a sweet Gallant surelie,
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 cursies, valour into complement, and men are
onelie turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now
as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and sweares it:
I cannot be a man with wishing, therfore I will die a woman
with grieuing

   Bene. Tarry good Beatrice, by this hand I loue thee

   Beat. Vse it for my loue some other way then swearing
by it

   Bened. Thinke you in your soule the Count Claudio
hath wrong'd Hero?
  Beat. Yea, as sure as I haue a thought, or a soule

   Bene. Enough, I am engagde, I will challenge him, I
will kisse your hand, and so leaue you: by this hand Claudio
shall render me a deere account: as you heare of me,
so thinke of me: goe comfort your coosin, I must say she
is dead, and so farewell.

 In Gaultree Forest in Yorkshire, the rebels have gathered in anticipation of a showdown with the king's forces. The Archbishop of York gives orders for the other rebel leaders to send out some scouts to find out how many troops the king's army has amassed. Hastings says they've already done so. York tells the other leaders that he received a letter from Northumberland, which says something like this: "Sorry, but I won't be partaking in the rumble with the king. I'm going to chill out in Scotland for a while. Best Wishes, Northumberland." A messenger arrives with word that about 30,000 troops are approaching from the west and they're barely a mile away. Mowbray says that's exactly the number of troops they estimated the king would have. Just then, Westmoreland rides up on his horse. Westmoreland, whose feeling pretty snarky, says the Archbishop of York has done a swell job maintaining such a civil and peaceful diocese. Then he takes off his smart-aleck hat and accuses the Archbishop of abusing his power as a religious leader by organizing a rebellion against the King. Westmoreland wants to know what gives. York says that he's turned to rebellion because the kingdom is "diseased" and must be cured with a little bloodletting in order to be saved from total ruin. The king has ignored their grievances so they have no other choice but to fight. Then Mowbray and Westmoreland bicker about some events that occurred in Richard II so we need a little background info. In Richard II Henry of Bolingbroke accused Mowbray's father, the Duke of Norfolk, of treason and of conspiring to murder the late Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester. Henry and Norfolk challenged each other to a duel but before they could duke it out, King Richard II called the whole thing to a halt and banished both men. Then Richard stole a bunch of land from their families. Norfolk died in exile but Henry of Bolingbroke came back to England, deposed King Richard, and now sits on the throne as King Henry IV. Mowbray is feeling bitter about it. Mowbray chimes in that everyone has been injured by King Henry IV but Westmoreland points out that Mowbray shouldn't have any beef with the king, since Henry's the one who restored all of his family's land after King Richard II annexed it. Mowbray retorts that his father's death was all Henry's fault. King Richard, he says, only banished his father because Henry made such a big fuss and, if Richard hadn't stopped the duel, his father would have pummeled Henry into the earth. But now Henry has ruined the entire kingdom. Westmoreland replies that Mowbray doesn't know what he's talking about. Everybody knows that Henry was the toughest nobleman around and would have mopped the floor with Norfolk if the fight had been allowed to continue. Besides, even if Norfolk had won the duel with Henry, the commoners would have killed him for it because Henry was the crowd favorite and more beloved than everyone else, including Richard II. Westmoreland then says he's come to tell the rebels that Prince John will listen to their grievances and will try to settle the dispute so that everybody's happy. Mowbray says the prince is just doing this for political gain, not because he gives a rat's behind about the rebels. Hastings asks if Prince John has the king's permission to negotiate with the rebels and Westmoreland replies that, yes, Prince John speaks for the king. The Archbishop of York whips out a laundry list containing the rebels' grievances and hands it over to Westmoreland, who promises to deliver it to Prince John. Mowbray says he's got a bad feeling about all of this but Hastings assures him that all will be well. York and Hastings agree that Mowbray's got nothing to worry about. King Henry's got enough to worry about and doesn't want any more trouble with the rebels. Besides, he can't possibly punish everybody he's got beef with, can he? Westmoreland returns from delivering the rebels' list of complaints to Prince John. He says there's good news. Prince John wants to meet with the rebels halfway between the two enemy camps.

