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.
I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
O, God defend me! how am I beset!
What kind of catechising call you this?
To make you answer truly to your name.
Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach?
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.
I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord.
I am sorry you must hear: upon mine honour,
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
Fie, fie! they are not to be named, my lord,
Not to be spoke of;
But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,
Thou pure impiety and impious purity!
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.
Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?
Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?
Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light,
Smother her spirits up.
Exeunt DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, and CLAUDIO
How doth the lady?
Dead, I think. Help, uncle!
O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand.
Death is the fairest cover for her shame
How now, cousin Hero!
Have comfort, lady.
Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing
Cry shame upon her?
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
Sir, sir, be patient.
For my part, I am so attired in wonder,
I know not what to say.
O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!
Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
No, truly not; although, until last night,
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie,
Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.