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.
Leon.
What do you mean, my lord?
Claud.
Not to be married,
Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.
Leon.
Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity—
Claud.
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?
Claud.
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 pamp’red animals
That rage in savage sensuality.
Hero.
Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?
Leon.
Sweet Prince, why speak not you?
D. Pedro.
What should I speak?
I stand dishonor’d, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.
Leon.
Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?
D. John.
Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.
Bene.
This looks not like a nuptial.
Hero.
“True”! O God!
Claud.
Leonato, stand I here?
Is this the Prince? is this the Prince’s brother?
Is this face Hero’s? are our eyes our own?
Leon.
All this is so, but what of this, my lord?
Claud.
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.
Leon.
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?
Claud.
To make you answer truly to your name.
Hero.
Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach?
Claud.
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.
D. Pedro.
Why then are you no maiden. Leonato,
I am sorry you must hear. Upon mine honor,
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.
D. John.
Fie, fie, they are not to be named, my lord,
Not to be spoke of;
There is not
