Reading Much Adoe about Nothing — William Shakespeare

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Leon.

I cannot bid you bid my daughter liue,

That were impossible, but I praie you both,

Possesse the people in Messina here,

How innocent she died, and if your loue

Can labour aught in sad inuention,

Hang her an epitaph vpon her toomb,

And sing it to her bones, sing it to night:

To morrow morning come you to my house,

And since you could not be my sonne in law,

Be yet my Nephew: my brother hath a daughter,

Almost the copie of my childe that's dead,

And she alone is heire to both of vs,

Giue her the right you should haue giu'n her cosin,

And so dies my reuenge.

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