[Re-enter CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, and LEONATO.]
Look! here she comes.
Will your Grace command me any service to the world's end? I will go
on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to
send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch
of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's foot; fetch you a hair
off the Great Cham's beard; do you any embassage to the Pygmies,
rather than hold three words' conference with this harpy. You have no
employment for me?
None, but to desire your good company.
O God, sir, here's a dish I love not: I cannot endure my Lady Tongue.
Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.
Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it, a
double heart for a single one: marry, once before he won it of me with
false dice, therefore your Grace may well say I have lost it.
You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.
So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the mother
of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.
Why, how now, count! wherefore are you sad?
Not sad, my lord.
How then? Sick?
Neither, my lord.
The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but civil
count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion.
I' faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I'll be sworn,
if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy
name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her father, and, his good
will obtained; name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy!
Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his
Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it!
Speak, Count, 'tis your cue.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I
could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for
you and dote upon the exchange.
Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let
not him speak neither.
In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care.
My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her heart.
And so she doth, cousin.
Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I
am sunburnt. I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!
Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
I would rather have one of your father's getting. Hath your Grace ne'er
a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could
come by them.
Will you have me, lady?
No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days: your Grace
is too costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your Grace, pardon me;
I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.
Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for out
of question, you were born in a merry hour.
No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced,
and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!
Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?
I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace's pardon.
By my troth, a pleasant spirited lady.
There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never
sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then, for I have heard my
daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and waked herself
She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.