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Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been If half thy outward graces had been plac'd About the thoughts and counsels of thy heart! But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewel, “ Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!" For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
110 And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious.
Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? Beat. Why, how now, cousin, wherefore sink you down ?
[Hero swoons. John. Come, let us go : these things, come thus to
light, Smother her spirits up.
[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don JOHN, and CLAUDIQ. Bene, How doth the lady?
Beat. Dead, I think;—Help, uncle ;Hero! why, Hero !-uncle !—Signior Benedick ! friar!
Beat. How now, cousin Hero ?