The Inside of a Church. |
|
Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and Attendants, with music and tapers. |
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? |
A Lord. It is, my lord. |
Claud. [Reads from a scroll.] | Done to death by slanderous tongues |
| Was the Hero that here lies: |
| Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, |
| Gives her fame which never dies. |
| So the life that died with shame |
| Lives in death with glorious fame. |
|
Hang thou there upon the tomb, |
Praising her when I am dumb. |
Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. |
|
SONG. | Pardon, goddess of the night, |
| Those that slew thy virgin knight; |
| For the which, with songs of woe, |
| Round about her tomb they go. |
| Midnight, assist our moan; |
| Help us to sigh and groan, |
| Heavily, heavily: |
| Graves, yawn and yield your dead, |
| Till death be uttered, |
| Heavily, heavily. |
|
Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night! |
Yearly will I do this rite. |
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters: put your torches out. |
The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle day, |
Before the wheels of Phœbus, round about |
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey. |
Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well. |
Claud. Good morrow, masters: each his several way. |
D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds; |
And then to Leonato's we will go. |
Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speed's, |
Than this for whom we render'd up this woe! [Exeunt. |
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