LEONATO

I Learn in this letter, that done Peter of Arragon comes this night to Messina. How many gentlemen have you lost in this Actium? A victory is twice it self, when the atchiuer brings homeful numbers: I find here, that done Peter hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio. Marry thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou: Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, I fear thee not. He hath and uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it. Did he break out into tears? A kind overflow of kindness, there are no faces truer then those that are so washed, how much better is it to weep at joy, then to joy at weeping? Faith niece you tax Signior Benedicke too much, but heel be meet with you, I doubt it not. You must not, sir, mistake my niece, there is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedicke and her, they never meet but there's a skirmish of wit between them. How now brother, where is my cousin your son hath he provided this music? Are they good? No, no, we will hold it as a dream till it appear it self: but I will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may be the better prepared for and answer, if peradventure this be true: go you and tell his of it: cousin's, you know what you have to do, Oh I cry you mercy friend, go you with me and I will use your shill: good cousin have a care this busy time. By my troth my Lord, I cannot tell what to think of it but that she loves him with and enraged affection, it is passed the of thought. I would have sworn it had, my lord, especially against Benedicke. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him, for sheel be up twenty times a night, and there will she fit in her smock till she have writ a sheet of paper: my daughter tells us all. So say I, me thinks you are sadder. No come brother, away, I will be herd. No, not so villain, thou beliest thy self, Here stand a pair of honourable men, A third is fled that had a hand in it: I thank you Princes for my daughters death, Record it with your high and worthy deeds, It bravely done, if you bethink you of it. So are the Prince and Claudio who accused her, Upon the error that you herd debated: But Margaret was in some fault for this, Although against her will as it appears, In the true course of all the question. Well daughter, and you gentlewomen all, Withdraw into a chamber by your selves, And when I send for you come hither masked: The Prince and Claudio promised by this hour To visit me, you know your office brother, You must be father to your brother's daughter, And give her to young Claudio. That eye my daughter lent her, 'tis most true. The sighed whereof I think you had from me, From Claudio and the Prince, but whats your will? My heart is with your liking. Good morrow Prince, good morrow Claudio: We here attend you, are you yet determined, To day to marry with my brother's daughter? This same is she, and I do give you her. What is he that you ask for niece? Her mother hath many times told me so. Signior Benedicke, no, for then were you a child. Was not count John here at supper? Then half signior Benedickes tongue in Count Johns mouth, and half Count Johns melancholy in Signior Benedickes face. By my troth niece thou wilt never get thee a hus band, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. So, by being too cursed, God will send you no horns. You may light on a husband that hath no beard. Well niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. Daughter, remember what I told you, if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer. Cousin you apprehend passing shrewdly. The revellers are entering brother, make good room. Count take of me my daughter, and with her my Fortune's: his grace hath made the match, and all grace say A men to it. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of? Oh by no means, she mocks all her wooers out of suit. Oh Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad. Not till monday, my deer son, which is hence a joust sevennight, and a time too brief too, to have all things and swer my mind. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights watchings. No, and swears she never will, thats her tor meant. Oh when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found Benedicke and Beatrice between the sheet. She does indeed, my daughter says so, and the ex tasie hath so much overborn her, that my daughter is some time afeard she will do a desperate outrage to her self, it is very true. Oh my Lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that blood hath the victory, I am sorry for her, as I have joust cause, being her uncle, and her guardian. Were it good think you? If he do fear God, a must necessarily keep peace, if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. Nay thats impossible, she may wear her heart out first. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. What would you with me, honest neighbour? Brief I pray you, for you see it is a busy time with me. What is it my good friends? Neighbours, you are tedious. All thy tediousness on me, ah? I would feign know what you have to say. Indeed neighbour he comes too short of you. I must leave you. Take their examination your self and bring it me, I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you. Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well. Come Friar Francis, be brief, only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular endue ties afterwards. I dare make his answer, None. What do you mean my lord? Dear my lord, if you in your own proof, Have vanquished the resistance of her youth, And made defeat of her virginity. Sweet prince, why speak not you? Are these things spoken, or do I but dream? All this is so, but what of this my Lord? I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. Hath no men dagger here a point for me. Oh Fate! take not away thy heavy hand, Death is the fairest cover for her shame That may be wished for. Dost thou look up? Wherefore? why does 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 open thme eyes: For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, My self 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? Oh 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 beggars issue at my gates, Who smirched thus, and mired with infamy, I might have said, no partly of it is mine, This shame derives it self 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 my self was to my self not mine: Valuing of her, why she, Oh 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. 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 seekest thou then to cover with excuse, That which appears in proper nakedness? 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 bade 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 thoroughly. I pray thee cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless, As water in a syue: give not me counsel, Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. Bring me a father that so loved his child, Whose joy of her is ouer-whelmd Like mine, And bid him speak of patience, Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, And let it answer every strain for strain, As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, In every lineament, branch, shape, and form: If such a one will smile and stroke his beard, And sorrow, wag, cry hem, when he should groan, Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk, With candle-wasters: bring him yet to me, And I of him will gather patience: But there is no such man, for brother, men Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief, Which they themselves not feel, but tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion, which before, Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ach with air, and agony with words, No, no, 'tis all men's office, to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow But no men virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral, when he shall endure The Like himself: therefore give me no counsel, My griefs cry louder then advertisement I pray thee peace, I will be flesh and blood, For there was never yet Philosopher, That could endure the toothache patiently, How ever they have writ the style of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance. There thou speakest reason, nay I will do so, My soul does tell me, Hero is belied, And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince, And all of them that thus dishonour her. Hear you my Lords? Some haste my lord! well, fare you well my lord, Are you so hasty now? well, all is one. Tush, tush man, never fleer and jest at me, I speak not Like a dotard, nor a fool, As under privilege of age to brag, What I have done being young or what would do, Were I not old, know Claudio to thy head, Thou hast so wronged mine innocent child and me, That I am forced to lay my reverence by, And with gray hairs and bruise of many days, Do challenge thee to trial of a man, I say thou hast belied mine innocent child. Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, And she lies buried with her ancestors: Oh in a tomb where never scandal slept, Save this of hers, framed by thy villainy. Thine Claudio, thine I say. My Lord, my Lord, I'll prove it on his body if he dare, Despite his nice fence, and his active practice, His May of youth, and bloom of lustihood. Canst thou so daff me? thou hast killed my child, If thou killest me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. Brother. Brother Anthony. But brother Anthony. My Lord, my Lord. Which is the villain? let me see his eyes, That when I note another man Like him, I may avoid him: which of these is he? Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast killed Mine innocent child? I cannot bid you bid my daughter live, That were impossible, but I pray you both, Possess the people in Messina here, How innocent she died, and if your love Can labour aught in sad invention, Hang her and epitaph upon her tomb, And sing it to her bones, sing it to night: To morrow morning come you to my house, And since you could not be my son in law, Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter, Almost the copy of my child thats dead, And she alone is heir to both of us, Give her the right you should have given her cousin, And so die my revenge. To morrow then I will expect your coming, To night I take my leave, this naughty man Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, Who I believe was packed in all this wrong, Hired to it by your brother. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. Bring you these fellows on, weel talk with Mar garet, how her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. You will never run mad niece. Never came trouble to my house, in the likeness of your grace; for trouble being gone, comfort should remain: but when you depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. If you swear my lord, you shall not be forsworn, let me bid you welcome, my lord, being reconciled to the Prince your brother: I owe you all duty. Please it your grace lead on? Theres little of the melancholy element in her my lord, she is never sad, but when she sleeps, & not ever sad then: for I have herd my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked her self with laughing. Oh God counterfeit? there was never counterfeit of passion, came so near the life of passion as she discovers it. What effects my Lord? she will fit you, you herd my daughter tell you how. Oh she tore the letter into a thousand halfpennies, railed at her self, that she should be so immodest to write, to one that she knew would flout her, I measure him, says she, by my own spirit, for I should flout him, if he writ to me, yea though I love him I should. Where is but a humour or a worm. Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the lose of a beard. I'll wait upon them, I am ready. Confirmed, confirmed, Oh that is stronger made, Which was before barred up with ribs of iron, Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie, Who loved her so, that speaking of her foulness, Washed it with tears! hence from her, let her die. What shall become of this? what will this do? Being that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may lead me. Theres for thy pains. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. Until to morrow morning, Lords, farewell. No that you shall not till you take her hand, Before this Friar, and swear to marry his. She died my Lord, but while her slander lived. Come cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. Peace I will stop your mouth. Weel have dancing afterwards. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this? To be married to her: Friar, you come to marry her. Call her forth brother, heres the Friar ready. Well then go you into hell. As freely son as God did give her me. No nor I neither, but most wondered, that she should so dote on signior Benedicke, whom she hath in all outward be rs seemed ever to abhor.