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And salt too little which may season give

To her foul tainted flesh!

Bene.

Sir, sir, be patient.

For my part I am so attir’d in wonder,

I know not what to say.

Beat.

O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!

Bene.

Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?

Beat.

No, truly, not, although until last night,

I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

Leon.

Confirm’d, confirm’d! O, that is stronger made

Which was before barr’d up with ribs of iron!

Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie,

Who lov’d her so, that speaking of her foulness,

Wash’d it with tears? Hence from her, let her die.

Friar.

Hear me a little,

For I have only been silent so long,

And given way unto this course of fortune,

By noting of the lady. I have mark’d

A thousand blushing apparitions

To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames

In angel whiteness beat away those blushes,

And in her eye there hath appear’d a fire

To burn the errors that these princes hold

Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool,

Trust not my reading, nor my observations,