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

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