Stand thee by, Friar.—Father, by your leave,
Will you with free and unconstrainèd soul
Give me this maid, your daughter?
Hold on, Friar. (to LEONATO) Father, are you giving me your daughter freely?
As freely, son, as God did give her me.
As freely, son, as God gave her to me.
And what have I to give you back whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?
And what should I give you that would be equal in value to this rare and precious gift?
Nothing, unless you render her again.
Nothing, sir, except grandchildren.
Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulness.—
There, Leonato, take her back again.
Give not this rotten orange to your friend.
She’s but the sign and semblance of her honor.
Behold how like a maid she blushes here!
Oh, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
Comes not that blood as modest evidence
To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a maid
By these exterior shows? But she is none.
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed.
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
Good Prince, you have taught me how to accept things nobly. There, Leonato, take your daughter back. Don’t insult a friend by giving him a beautiful orange that rots inside. She only appears honorable from the outside. Look, how she blushes like a virgin! Oh, sin can disguise itself so artfully! Doesn’t that rising blush