Act V, Scene ii:
Leonato's Garden.

[Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting.]

Bene. :

Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands,

by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.

Marg. :

Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?

Bene. :

In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come

over it; for in most comely truth, thou deservest it.

Marg. :

To have no man come over me? why, shall I always keep below

stairs?

Bene. :

Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth, it catches.

Marg. :

And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt

not.

Bene. :

A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not hurt a woman;

and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I give thee the bucklers.

Marg. :

Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own.

Bene. :

If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a

vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids.

Marg. :

Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I think, hath legs.

[Exit Margaret.]

Bene. :

And therefore will come.

The god of love,[Singing.]

That sits above,

And knows me, and knows me,

How pitiful I deserve,—

I mean, in singing; but in loving.—Leander the good swimmer,

Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of

these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the

even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned

over and over as my poor self in love: Marry, I cannot show it in

rhyme; I have tried; I can find out no rhyme to 'lady' but

'baby,' an innocent rhyme; for 'scorn,' 'horn,' a hard rhyme: for

'school', 'fool,' a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings: No, I

was not born under a rhyming planet, nor cannot woo in festival

terms.

[Enter Beatrice.]

Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called 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

passed between you and Claudio.

Bene. :

Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.

Beat. :

Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul

breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart

unkissed.

Bene. :

Thou hast frighted the word out of his 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 maintained so politic 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 spite of your heart, I think; alas! poor heart! If you

spite it for my sake, I will spite 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 lived 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 monument 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 rheum:

Therefore is it 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 myself: So much for

praising myself, (who, I myself will bear witness, is

praiseworthy,) 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.

[Enter Ursula.]

Urs. :

Madam, you must come to your uncle; yonder's old coil at home:

it is proved, my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused; the prince

and Claudio mightily abused; 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 buried in thy

eyes; and, moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's.

[Exeunt.]