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Claudio, have you come here, my lord, to marry this lady Hero?
Leonato, take her back again. Give not this rotten orange to your friend. She’s but the sign and semblance of her honor.
I talked with no man at that hour, my lord.
What man was he talked with you yesternight Out at your window betwixt twelve and one?
Upon mine honor, Myself, my brother, and this grievèd count Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night
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,
Could she here deny The story that is printed in her blood?— Do not live, Hero, do not ope thine eyes, For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
Dead, I think.—Help, uncle!— Hero, why, Hero! Uncle! Signor Benedick! Friar!
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