Original Text
*The inside of a church. Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants enter with music and tapers.* CLAUDIO. Is this the monument of Leonato? A LORD. It is, my lord.
Original Text
CLAUDIO. [*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, Praising her when I am dumb. Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.
Original Text
*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.
Original Text
CLAUDIO. Now, unto thy bones good night! Yearly will I do this rite. DON 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. Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well. CLAUDIO. Good morrow, masters: each his several way.
Original Text
DON PEDRO. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds; And then to Leonato's we will go. CLAUDIO. And Hymen now with luckier issue speed's, Than this for whom we rend'red up this woe! [*Exeunt.*]