Bene.

Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.

Marg.

Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?

Bene.

In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.

(27) ^noteMarg.

To have no Man come over me? why, shall I always keep above stairs?

Bene.

Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth, it catches.

Marg.

And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not.

Bene.

A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not hurt a woman; and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice; I give thee the bucklers.

Marg.

Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own.

Bene.

If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice, and they are dangerous weapons for maids.

Marg.

Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I think, hath legs.

Bene.

And therefore will come. [Sings.] The God of love, that sits above, and knows me, and knows me, how pitiful I deserve,—I mean, in singing; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pandars, and a whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse; why, they were never so truly turn'd over and over, as my poor self in love; marry, I cannot shew it in rhime; I have try'd; I can find out no rhime to lady but baby, an innocent's rhime; for scorn, horn, a hard rhime; for school, fool, a babling rhime; very ominous endings; no, I was not born under a rhiming planet, for I cannot woo in festival terms.

Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I call thee?

Beat.

Yea, Signior, and depart when you bid me.

Bene.

O, stay but 'till then.

Beat.

Then, is spoken; fare you well now; and yet ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what hath past between you and Claudio.

Bene.

Only foul words, and thereupon I will kiss thee.

Beat.

Foul words are but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkist.

Bene.

Thou hast frighted the word out of its right sense, so forcible is thy wit, but, I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a coward; and, I pray thee, now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

Beat.

For them all together, which maintain'd so politick a state of evil, that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them: but for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?

Bene.

Suffer love! a good epithet; I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.

Beat.

In spight of your heart, I think; alas! poor heart, if you spight it for my sake, I will spight it for yours; for I will never love that, which my friend hates.

Bene.

Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

Beat.

It appears not in this confession; there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself.

Bene.

An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that liv'd in the time of good neighbours; if a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monuments, than the bells ring, and the widow weeps.

Beat.

And how long is that, think you?

Bene.

Question?—why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rhewm; therefore it is most expedient for the wise, if Don worm (his conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to my self; so much for praising

my self, who, I my self will bear witness, is praise-worthy; and now tell me; how doth your Cousin?

Beat.

Very ill.

Bene.

And how do you?

Beat.

Very ill too.

Bene.

Serve God, love me, and mend; there will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

Ursu.

Madam, you must come to your uncle; yonder's old coil at home; it is proved, my lady Hero hath been falsely accus'd; the Prince and Claudio mightily abus'd; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone: will you come presently?

Beat.

Will you go hear this news, Signior?

Bene.

I will live in thy eyes, die in thy lap, and be bury'd in thy heart; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle.