Pedro.
Good morrow to this fair assembly.

Leon.
Good morrow, Prince; good morrow, Claudio,
We here attend you; are you yet determin'd
To day to marry with my brother's daughter?

Claud.
I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.

Leon.
Call her forth, brother, here's the Friar ready. [Exit Antonio.

Pedro.
Good morrow, Benedick; why, what's the matter,
That you have such a February-face,
So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?

Claud.
I think, he thinks upon the savage bull:
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold,
And so all Europe shall rejoice at thee;
As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
When he would play the noble beast in love.

Bene.
Bull Jove, Sir, had an amiable low,
And some such strange bull leapt your father's cow;
And got a calf, in that same noble feat,
Much like to you; for you have just his bleat.

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