Act III, Scene iv:
A Room in Leonato's house.

[Enter Hero, and Margaret, and Ursula.]

Hero. :

Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise.

Urs. :

I will, lady.

Hero. :

And bid her come hither.

Urs. :

Well.

[Exit Ursula.]

Marg. :

Troth, I think your other rebato were better.

Hero. :

No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.

Marg. :

By my troth, it's not so good; and I warrant your cousin will

say so.

Hero. :

My cousin's a fool, and thou art another; I'll wear none but

this.

Marg. :

I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a

thought browner: and your gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith.

I saw the Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise so.

Hero. :

O, that exceeds, they say.

Marg. :

By my troth, it's but a night-gown in respect of yours:

Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set with pearls

down sleeves, side-sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with

a blueish tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent

fashion, yours is worth ten on't.

Hero. :

God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy!

Marg. :

'T will be heavier soon, by the weight of a man.

Hero. :

Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?

Marg. :

Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage

honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without

marriage? I think, you would have me say,—saving your

reverence,—'a husband:' an bad thinking do not wrest true

speaking, I'll offend nobody: Is there any harm in, 'the

heavier for a husband'? None, I think, an it be the right

husband, and the right wife; otherwise 't is light, and not

heavy: Ask my Lady Beatrice else, here she comes.

[Enter Beatrice.]

Hero. :

Good morrow, coz.

Beat. :

Good morrow, sweet Hero.

Hero. :

Why, how now? do you speak in the sick tune?

Beat. :

I am out of all other tune, methinks.

Marg. :

Clap's into—'Light o' love;' that goes without a burden; do

you sing it, and I'll dance it.

Beat. :

Yea, 'Light o' love,' with your heels!—then, if your husband

have stables enough, you'll see he shall lack no barns.

Marg. :

O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.

Beat. :

'T is almost five o'clock, cousin; 't is time you were ready.

By my troth, I am exceeding ill: hey-ho!

Marg. :

For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

Beat. :

For the letter that begins them all, H.

Marg. :

Well, an you be not turned Turk, there's no more sailing by

the star.

Beat. :

What means the fool, trow?

Marg. :

Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's desire!

Hero. :

These gloves the count sent me, they are an excellent

perfume.

Beat. :

I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell.

Marg. :

A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly catching of cold.

Beat. :

O, God help me! God help me! how long have you profess'd

apprehension?

Marg. :

Ever since you left it: doth not my wit become me rarely?

Beat. :

It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap.—By my

troth, I am sick.

Marg. :

Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus and lay it

to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm.

Hero. :

There thou prick'st her with a thistle.

Beat. :

Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in this

Benedictus.

Marg. :

Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain

holy-thistle. You may think, perchance, that I think you are

in love: nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I

list; nor I list not to think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot

think, if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in

love, or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love:

yet Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man: he

swore he would never marry; and yet now, in despite of his heart,

he eats his meat without grudging: and how you may be converted,

I know not, but methinks you look with your eyes as other women do.

Beat. :

What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?

Marg. :

Not a false gallop.

[Re-enter Ursula.]

Urs. :

Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, signior Benedick, Don

John, and all the gallants of the town, are come to fetch you to

church.

Hero. :

Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.

[Exeunt.]