Act III, Scene 4

HERO’s apartment.

[Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA]

• Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire 1490
  her to rise.

• Ursula. I will, lady.

• Hero. And bid her come hither.

• Ursula. Well.

[Exit]

• Margaret. Troth, I think your other rabato were better.

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

• Margaret. By my troth, '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 1500
  none but this.

• Margaret. 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. 1505

• Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.

• Margaret. By my troth, 's but a night-gown in respect of
  yours: cloth o' gold, and cuts, and laced with
  silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves,
  and skirts, round underborne with a bluish tinsel: 1510
  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.

• Margaret. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man. 1515

• Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?

• Margaret. 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:' and bad 1520
  thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend
  nobody: is there any harm in 'the heavier for a
  husband'? None, I think, and it be the right husband
  and the right wife; otherwise 'tis light, and not
  heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes. 1525

[Enter BEATRICE]

• Hero. Good morrow, coz.

• Beatrice. Good morrow, sweet Hero.

• Hero. Why how now? do you speak in the sick tune?

• Beatrice. I am out of all other tune, methinks. 1530

• Margaret. Clap's into 'Light o' love;' that goes without a
  burden: do you sing it, and I'll dance it.

• Beatrice. Ye light o' love, with your heels! then, if your
  husband have stables enough, you'll see he shall
  lack no barns. 1535

• Margaret. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.

• Beatrice. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; tis time you were
  ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill: heigh-ho!

• Margaret. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

• Beatrice. For the letter that begins them all, H. 1540

• Margaret. Well, and you be not turned Turk, there's no more
  sailing by the star.

• Beatrice. What means the fool, trow?

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

• Hero. These gloves the count sent me; they are an 1545
  excellent perfume.

• Beatrice. I am stuffed, cousin; I cannot smell.

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

• Beatrice. O, God help me! God help me! how long have you
  professed apprehension? 1550

• Margaret. Even since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely?

• Beatrice. It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your
  cap. By my troth, I am sick.

• Margaret. Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus,
  and lay it to your heart: it is the only thing for a qualm. 1555

• Hero. There thou prickest her with a thistle.

• Beatrice. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in
  this Benedictus.

• Margaret. Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I
  meant, plain holy-thistle. You may think perchance 1560
  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 1565
  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 1570
  your eyes as other women do.

• Beatrice. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?

• Margaret. Not a false gallop.

[Re-enter URSULA]

• Ursula. Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, Signior 1575
  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]