Done to death by
slanderous
tongues
Was the Hero that here lies.
Was the Hero that here lies.
Shakespeare
Will you come presently?
Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior?
Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried thy
eyes; and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's.
Exeunt.
Scene III.
A churchyard.
Enter Claudio, Don Pedro, and three or four with tapers,
[followed by Musicians].
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato?
Lord. It is, my lord.
Claud. [reads from a scroll]
Epitaph.
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,
[Hangs up the scroll. ]
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.
Pedro. Good morrow, masters. Put your torches out.
The wolves have prey'd, and look, the gentle day,
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.
Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior?
Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried thy
eyes; and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's.
Exeunt.
Scene III.
A churchyard.
Enter Claudio, Don Pedro, and three or four with tapers,
[followed by Musicians].
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato?
Lord. It is, my lord.
Claud. [reads from a scroll]
Epitaph.
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,
[Hangs up the scroll. ]
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.
Pedro. Good morrow, masters. Put your torches out.
The wolves have prey'd, and look, the gentle day,
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.