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, ^{2 note}

she hath often dream'd of an 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 marry'd, they would talk themselves mad.

Pedro.

Count 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 seven-night, 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's labours, which is, ^{3 note}to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the one with the other; I would fain have it a match, and I doubt not 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 unhopfullest husband that I know: thus far I can praise him, he is of a noble strain, of approv'd valour, and confirm'd honesty.

I will teach you how to humour your Cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that in despight 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.