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[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.

D. Pedro.

Good morrow, masters, put your torches out.

The wolves have preyed, and look, the gentle day,

Before the wheels of Phoebus, 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 rend’red up this woe.

Exeunt.

¶

Enter Leonato, Benedick, [Beatrice,] Margaret, Ursula, old man [Antonio], Friar [Francis], Hero.