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.

Marg.

To have no man come over me! why, shall I always keep below ^note stairs? ^note

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 ^note]
    The god of love,
    That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me,
  How pitiful I deserve,— ^note

I mean in singing; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole

bookful of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names ^note yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned over and over ^note as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in ^note rhyme; I have tried: I can find out no rhyme to ‘lady’ but ‘baby ^note,’ an innocent ^note rhyme; for ‘scorn,’ ‘horn,’ a hard rhyme; for ‘school,’ ‘fool,’ a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings: no, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor ^note I cannot woo in festival terms.

Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called ^note 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 ^note; which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio.

Bene.

Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.

Beat.

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

Bene.

Thou hast frighted the word out of his ^note 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 ^note; which maintained ^note so politic 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 ^note suffer love for me?

Bene.

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

Beat.

In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite 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 ^note confession: there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself.

Bene.

An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived 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 monument ^note than the bell rings ^note and the widow weeps.

Beat.

And how long is that, think you?

Bene.

Question: ^note why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum ^note: therefore is it ^note 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 myself. So ^note much for praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy: 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.

Urs.

Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder's old coil at home: it is proved my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; 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 heart, die in thy lap ^note, and be buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle's ^note.