borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady; it seems, her affections have their full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they say, I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too, that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry: I must not seem proud: Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They say, the lady is fair; it is a truth, I can bear them witnefs: and virtuous; it is so, I cannot reprove it: and wise, but for loving me: By my troth, it is no addition to her wit; nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage: But doth not the appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure in his age: Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of his humour? No: The world must be peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married. ―Here comes Beatrice: By this day, she is a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her. Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you 1 take pains to thank me; if it had been painful, I would not have come. Bene. You take pleasure then in the message? take Beat. Yea, just so much as you may upon a knife's point, and choak a daw withal:-You have no stomach, [Exit. signior; fare you well. Bene. Ha! Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner—there is a double meaning in that. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you took pains to thank me that is as much as to say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks:—If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew: I will go get her picture. [Exit. ACT III SCENE I CONTINUES IN THE ORCHARD. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour; Against that power that bred it:-there will she hide her Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. [Exit. As we do trace this alley up and down, To praise him more than ever man did merit: 1 Is sick in love with Beatrice: Of this matter Enter Beatrice, behind. For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. [they advance to the bower. No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful; I know, her spirits are as coy and wild Urs. But are you sure, That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord. And never to let Beatrice know of it. Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman |