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.

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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