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 tooth-picker now from the farthest 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 ambassage to the pigmies, 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 indure this Lady Tongue.

Pedro.

Come, Lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.

Beat.

Indeed, my Lord, he lent it me a while, and I gave him use for it, a double heart for a 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 my self for you, and doat upon the exchange.

Beat.

Speak, Cousin, or (if you cannot) stop his mouth with a kiss, and let him not 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 sun-burn'd; 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 of question, you were born in a merry hour.

Beat.

No, sure, my Lord, my mother cry'd; but then there was a star danc'd, and under that I was born. Cousins, God give you joy.

Leon.

Neice, will you look to those things I told you of?

Beat.

I cry you mercy, Uncle: by your Grace's pardon.