ACT II. Scene I. A hall in Leonato's house.  Enter Leonato, [Antonio] his Brother, Hero his Daughter, and Beatrice his Niece, and a Kinsman; [also Margaret and Ursula].    Leon. Was not Count John here at supper?   Ant. I saw him not.   Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am     heart-burn'd an hour after.   Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.   Beat. He were an excellent man that were made just in the midway     between him and Benedick. The one is too like an image and says     nothing, and the other too like my lady's eldest son, evermore     tattling.   Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue in Count John's mouth,     and half Count John's melancholy in Signior Benedick's face--   Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in     his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world--if 'a     could get her good will.   Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband if     thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.   Ant. In faith, she's too curst.   Beat. Too curst is more than curst. I shall lessen God's sending     that way, for it is said, 'God sends a curst cow short horns,'     but to a cow too curst he sends none.   Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.   Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing I am     at him upon my knees every morning and evening. Lord, I could not     endure a husband with a beard on his face. I had rather lie in     the woollen!   Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no beard.   Beat. What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel and make     him my waiting gentlewoman? He that hath a beard is more than a     youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that     is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a     man, I am not for him. Therefore I will even take sixpence in     earnest of the berrord and lead his apes into hell.   Leon. Well then, go you into hell?   Beat. No; but to the gate, and there will the devil meet me like an     old cuckold with horns on his head, and say 'Get you to heaven,     Beatrice, get you to heaven. Here's no place for you maids.' So     deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter--for the heavens.     He shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry     as the day is long.   Ant. [to Hero] Well, niece, I trust you will be rul'd by your     father.   Beat. Yes faith. It is my cousin's duty to make cursy and say,     'Father, as it please you.' But yet for all that, cousin, let him     be a handsome fellow, or else make another cursy, and say,     'Father, as it please me.'   Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.   Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would     it not grieve a woman to be overmaster'd with a piece of valiant     dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl?     No, uncle, I'll none. Adam's sons are my brethren, and truly I     hold it a sin to match in my kinred.   Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you. If the Prince do solicit     you in that kind, you know your answer.   Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed     in good time. If the Prince be too important, tell him there is     measure in everything, and so dance out the answer. For, hear me,     Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a     measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty like     a Scotch jig--and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly     modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes     Repentance and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace     faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.   Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.   Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight.   Leon. The revellers are ent'ring, brother. Make good room.                                                  [Exit Antonio.]      Enter, [masked,] Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Balthasar.        [With them enter Antonio, also masked. After them enter]        Don John [and Borachio (without masks), who stand aside                  and look on during the dance].    Pedro. Lady, will you walk a bout with your friend?   Hero. So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing,     I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away.   Pedro. With me in your company?   Hero. I may say so when I please.   Pedro. And when please you to say so?   Hero. When I like your favour, for God defend the lute should be     like the case!   Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove.   Hero. Why then, your visor should be thatch'd.   Pedro. Speak low if you speak love.         [Takes her aside.]   Balth. Well, I would you did like me.   Marg. So would not I for your own sake, for I have many ill     qualities.   Balth. Which is one?   Marg. I say my prayers aloud.   Balth. I love you the better. The hearers may cry Amen.   Marg. God match me with a good dancer!   Balth. Amen.   Marg. And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done!     Answer, clerk.   Balth. No more words. The clerk is answered.                                               [Takes her aside.]   Urs. I know you well enough. You are Signior Antonio.   Ant. At a word, I am not.   Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head.   Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him.   Urs. You could never do him so ill-well unless you were the very     man. Here's his dry hand up and down. You are he, you are he!   Ant. At a word, I am not.   Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not know you by your excellent     wit? Can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum you are he. Graces will     appear, and there's an end.              [ They step aside.]   Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so?   Bene. No, you shall pardon me.   Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are?   Bene. Not now.   Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the     'Hundred Merry Tales.' Well, this was Signior Benedick that said     so.   Bene. What's he?   Beat. I am sure you know him well enough.   Bene. Not I, believe me.   Beat. Did he never make you laugh?   Bene. I pray you, what is he?   Beat. Why, he is the Prince's jester, a very dull fool. Only his     gift is in devising impossible slanders. None but libertines     delight in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in     his villany; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then     they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet.     I would he had boarded me.   Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you say.   Beat. Do, do. He'll but break a comparison or two on me; which     peradventure, not marked or not laugh'd at, strikes him into     melancholy; and then there's a partridge wing saved, for the fool     will eat no supper that night.                                                         [Music.]     We must follow the leaders.   Bene. In every good thing.   Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next     turning.         Dance. Exeunt (all but Don John, Borachio, and Claudio].   John. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero and hath withdrawn her     father to break with him about it. The ladies follow her and but     one visor remains.   Bora. And that is Claudio. I know him by his bearing.   John. Are you not Signior Benedick?   Claud. You know me well. I am he.   John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love. He is     enamour'd on Hero. I pray you dissuade him from her; she is no     equal for his birth. You may do the part of an honest man in it.   Claud. How know you he loves her?   John. I heard him swear his affection.   Bora. So did I too, and he swore he would marry her tonight.   John. Come, let us to the banquet.                                           Exeunt. Manet Claudio.   Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick     But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.                                                       [Unmasks.]     'Tis certain so. The Prince wooes for himself.     Friendship is constant in all other things     Save in the office and affairs of love.     Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;     Let every eye negotiate for itself     And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch     Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.     This is an accident of hourly proof,     Which I mistrusted not. Farewell therefore Hero!                    Enter Benedick [unmasked].    Bene. Count Claudio?   Claud. Yea, the same.   Bene. Come, will you go with me?   Claud. Whither?   Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, County. What     fashion will you wear the garland of? about your neck, like an     usurer's chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You     must wear it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero.   Claud. I wish him joy of her.   Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drovier. So they sell     bullocks. But did you think the Prince would have served you     thus?   Claud. I pray you leave me.   Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man! 'Twas the boy that     stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.   Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you.                Exit.   Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into sedges. But,     that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The     Prince's fool! Ha! it may be I go under that title because I am     merry. Yea, but so I am apt to do myself wrong. I am not so     reputed. It is the base (though bitter) disposition of Beatrice     that puts the world into her person and so gives me out. Well,     I'll be revenged as I may.                           Enter Don Pedro.    Pedro. Now, signior, where's the Count? Did you see him?   Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame, I found     him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren. I told him, and I     think I told him true, that your Grace had got the good will of     this young lady, and I off'red him my company to a willow tree,     either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him     up a rod, as being worthy to be whipt.   Pedro. To be whipt? What's his fault?   Bene. The flat transgression of a schoolboy who, being overjoyed     with finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals     it.   Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is     in the stealer.   Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the     garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the     rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n     his bird's nest.   Pedro. I will but teach them to sing and restore them to the owner.   Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith you say     honestly.   Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you. The gentleman that     danc'd with her told her she is much wrong'd by you.   Bene. O, she misus'd me past the endurance of a block! An oak but     with one green leaf on it would have answered her; my very visor     began to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not     thinking I had been myself, that I was the Prince's jester, that     I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such     impossible conveyance upon me that I stood like a man at a mark,     with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every     word stabs. If her breath were as terrible as her terminations,     there were no living near her; she would infect to the North     Star. I would not marry her though she were endowed with all that     Adam had left him before he transgress'd. She would have made     Hercules have turn'd spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make     the fire too. Come, talk not of her. You shall find her the     infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would     conjure her, for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as     quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose,     because they would go thither; so indeed all disquiet, horror,     and perturbation follows her.             Enter Claudio and Beatrice, Leonato, Hero.    Pedro. Look, here she comes.   Bene. Will your Grace command me any service to the world's end? I     will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can     devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the     furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's     foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any     embassage to the Pygmies--rather than hold three words'     conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me?   Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.   Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not! I cannot endure my Lady     Tongue.                                              [Exit.]   Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior     Benedick.   Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile, and I gave him use for     it--a double heart for his single one. Marry, once before he won     it of me with false dice; therefore your Grace may well say I     have lost it.   Pedro. You have put him down, lady; you have put him down.   Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove     the mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent     me to seek.   Pedro. Why, how now, Count? Wherefore are you sad?   Claud. Not sad, my lord.   Pedro. How then? sick?   Claud. Neither, my lord.   Beat. The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but     civil count--civil as an orange, and something of that jealous     complexion.   Pedro. I' faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though I'll     be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I     have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won. I have broke with     her father, and his good will obtained. Name the day of marriage,     and God give thee joy!   Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes. His     Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it!   Beat. Speak, Count, 'tis your cue.   Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy. I were but little     happy if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours.     I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.   Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss     and let not him speak neither.   Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.   Beat. Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy     side of care. My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her     heart.   Claud. And so she doth, cousin.   Beat. Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the world but     I, and I am sunburnt. I may sit in a corner and cry 'Heigh-ho for     a husband!'   Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.   Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting. Hath your     Grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got excellent     husbands, if a maid could come by them.   Pedro. Will you have me, lady?   Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days:     your Grace is too costly to wear every day. But I beseech your     Grace pardon me. I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.   Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes     you, for out o' question you were born in a merry hour.   Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star     danc'd, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!   Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?   Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle, By your Grace's pardon.    Exit.   Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.   Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord. She     is never sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then; for I     have heard my daughter say she hath often dreamt of unhappiness     and wak'd herself with laughing.   Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.   Leon. O, by no means! She mocks all her wooers out of suit.   Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick.   Leon. O Lord, my lord! if they were but a week married, they would     talk themselves mad.   Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to go to church?   Claud. To-morrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches till love have all     his rites.   Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just     sevennight; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer     my mind.   Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing;     but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us.     I will in the interim undertake one of Hercules' labours, which     is, to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a     mountain of affection th' one with th' other. I would fain have     it a match, and I doubt not but to fashion it if you three will     but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction.   Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights'     watchings.   Claud. And I, my lord.   Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero?   Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a     good husband.   Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know.     Thus far can I praise him: he is of a noble strain, of approved     valour, and confirm'd honesty. I will teach you how to humour     your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I,     [to Leonato and Claudio] with your two helps, will so practise on     Benedick that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy     stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this,     Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we are     the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift.                                                          Exeunt.     Scene II. A hall in Leonato's house.  Enter [Don] John and Borachio.    John. It is so. The Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of     Leonato.   Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.   John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be med'cinable to me.     I am sick in displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes athwart his     affection ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this     marriage?   Bora. Not honestly, my lord, but so covertly that no dishonesty     shall appear in me.   John. Show me briefly how.   Bora. I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in     the favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.   John. I remember.   Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her     to look out at her lady's chamber window.   John. What life is in that to be the death of this marriage?   Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the     Prince your brother; spare not to tell him that he hath wronged     his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do     you mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such a one as     Hero.   John. What proof shall I make of that?   Bora. Proof enough to misuse the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo     Hero, and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue?   John. Only to despite them I will endeavour anything.   Bora. Go then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count     Claudio alone; tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend     a kind of zeal both to the Prince and Claudio, as--in love of     your brother's honour, who hath made this match, and his friend's     reputation, who is thus like to be cozen'd with the semblance of     a maid--that you have discover'd thus. They will scarcely believe     this without trial. Offer them instances; which shall bear no     less likelihood than to see me at her chamber window, hear me     call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me Claudio; and bring them     to see this the very night before the intended wedding (for in     the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be     absent) and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's     disloyalty that jealousy shall be call'd assurance and all the     preparation overthrown.   John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in     practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a     thousand ducats.   Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not     shame me.   John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage.                                                          Exeunt.     Scene III. Leonato's orchard.  Enter Benedick alone.    Bene. Boy!                      [Enter Boy.]    Boy. Signior?   Bene. In my chamber window lies a book. Bring it hither to me in     the orchard.   Boy. I am here already, sir.   Bene. I know that, but I would have thee hence and here again.     (Exit Boy.) I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much     another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love,     will, after he hath laugh'd at such shallow follies in others,     become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love; and such     a man is Claudio. I have known when there was no music with him     but the drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor     and the pipe. I have known when he would have walk'd ten mile     afoot to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake     carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain     and to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and now is     he turn'd orthography; his words are a very fantastical banquet--     just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted and see with     these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not. I will not be sworn but     love may transform me to an oyster; but I'll take my oath on it,     till he have made an oyster of me he shall never make me such a     fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am     well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in     one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall     be, that's certain; wise, or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never     cheapen her; fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not     near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an     excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it     please God. Ha, the Prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in     the arbour.                                         [Hides.]                Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, Claudio.                       Music [within].    Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music?   Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,     As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony!   Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself?   Claud. O, very well, my lord. The music ended,     We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.                     Enter Balthasar with Music.    Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that song again.   Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice     To slander music any more than once.   Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency     To put a strange face on his own perfection.     I pray thee sing, and let me woo no more.   Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing,     Since many a wooer doth commence his suit     To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes,     Yet will he swear he loves.   Pedro. Nay, pray thee come;     Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,     Do it in notes.   Balth. Note this before my notes:     There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.   Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks!     Note notes, forsooth, and nothing!                  [Music.]   Bene. [aside] Now divine air! Now is his soul ravish'd! Is it not     strange that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies?     Well, a horn for my money, when all's done.                                               [Balthasar sings.]                       The Song.          Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more!           Men were deceivers ever,         One foot in sea, and one on shore;           To one thing constant never.             Then sigh not so,             But let them go,           And be you blithe and bonny,         Converting all your sounds of woe           Into Hey nonny, nonny.          Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,           Of dumps so dull and heavy!         The fraud of men was ever so,           Since summer first was leavy.             Then sigh not so, &c.    Pedro. By my troth, a good song.   Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.   Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith! Thou sing'st well enough for a shift.   Bene. [aside] An he had been a dog that should have howl'd thus,     they would have hang'd him; and I pray God his bad voice bode no     mischief. I had as live have heard the night raven, come what     plague could have come after it.   Pedro. Yea, marry. Dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee get us     some excellent music; for to-morrow night we would have it at the     Lady Hero's chamber window.   Balth. The best I can, my lord.   Pedro. Do so. Farewell.                                 Exit Balthasar [with Musicians].     Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day? that     your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?   Claud. O, ay!-[Aside to Pedro] Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits.     --I did never think that lady would have loved any man.   Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote     on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours     seem'd ever to abhor.   Bene. [aside] Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner?   Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it, but     that she loves him with an enraged affection. It is past the     infinite of thought.   Pedro. May be she doth but counterfeit.   Claud. Faith, like enough.   Leon. O God, counterfeit? There was never counterfeit of passion     came so near the life of passion as she discovers it.   Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she?   Claud. [aside] Bait the hook well! This fish will bite.   Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you--you heard my     daughter tell you how.   Claud. She did indeed.   Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me. I would have thought her     spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.   Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord--especially against     Benedick.   Bene. [aside] I should think this a gull but that the white-bearded     fellow speaks it. Knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such     reverence.   Claud. [aside] He hath ta'en th' infection. Hold it up.   Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?   Leon. No, and swears she never will. That's her torment.   Claud. 'Tis true indeed. So your daughter says. 'Shall I,' says     she, 'that have so oft encount'red him with scorn, write to him     that I love him?'"   Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him; for     she'll be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her     smock till she have writ a sheet of paper. My daughter tells us     all.   Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest     your daughter told us of.   Leon. O, when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found     'Benedick' and 'Beatrice' between the sheet?   Claud. That.   Leon. O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence, rail'd at     herself that she should be so immodest to write to one that she     knew would flout her. 'I measure him,' says she, 'by my own     spirit; for I should flout him if he writ to me. Yea, though I     love him, I should.'   Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her     heart, tears her hair, prays, curses--'O sweet Benedick! God give     me patience!'   Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so. And the ecstasy hath so     much overborne her that my daughter is sometime afeard she will     do a desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.   Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she     will not discover it.   Claud. To what end? He would make but a sport of it and torment the     poor lady worse.   Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang him! She's an     excellent sweet lady, and (out of all suspicion) she is virtuous.   Claud. And she is exceeding wise.   Pedro. In everything but in loving Benedick.   Leon. O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body,     we have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry     for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.   Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me. I would have     daff'd all other respects and made her half myself. I pray you     tell Benedick of it and hear what 'a will say.   Leon. Were it good, think you?   Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she will die     if he love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known,     and she will die, if he woo her, rather than she will bate one     breath of her accustomed crossness.   Pedro. She doth well. If she should make tender of her love, 'tis     very possible he'll scorn it; for the man (as you know all) hath     a contemptible spirit.   Claud. He is a very proper man.   Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward happiness.   Claud. Before God! and in my mind, very wise.   Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.   Claud. And I take him to be valiant.   Pedro. As Hector, I assure you; and in the managing of quarrels you     may say he is wise, for either he avoids them with great     discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christianlike fear.   Leon. If he do fear God, 'a must necessarily keep peace. If he     break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and     trembling.   Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it     seems not in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am     sorry for your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick and tell him of     her love?   Claud. Never tell him, my lord. Let her wear it out with good     counsel.   Leon. Nay, that's impossible; she may wear her heart out first.   Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter. Let it     cool the while. I love Benedick well, and I could wish he would     modestly examine himself to see how much he is unworthy so good a     lady.   Leon. My lord, will you .walk? Dinner is ready.                                                [They walk away.]   Claud. If he dote on her upon this, I will never trust my     expectation.   Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her, and that must your     daughter and her gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when they     hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter.     That's the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb     show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.                        Exeunt [Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato].                  [Benedick advances from the arbour.]    Bene. This can be no trick. The conference was sadly borne; they     have the truth of this from Hero; they seem to pity the lady.     It seems her affections have their full bent. Love me? Why, it     must be requited. I hear how I am censur'd. They say I will bear     myself proudly if I perceive the love come from her. They say too     that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did     never think to marry. I must not seem proud. Happy are they that     hear their detractions and can put them to mending. They say the     lady is fair--'tis a truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous     --'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me--by     my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of     her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance     have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me because I     have railed so long against marriage. But doth not the appetite     alters? A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure     in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of     the brain awe a man from the career of his humour? No, the world     must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not     think I should live till I were married.                   Enter Beatrice.      Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she's a fair lady! I do spy     some marks of love in her.   Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid You come in to dinner.   Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.   Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to     thank me. If it had been painful, I would not have come.   Bene. You take pleasure then in the message?   Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knives point, and     choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior. Fare you well. Exit.   Bene. Ha! 'Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.'     There's a double meaning in that. 'I took no more pains for those     thanks than you took pains to thank me.' That's as much as to     say, 'Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks.' If I     do not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I     am a Jew. I will go get her picture.                   Exit.