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Mess. I have already deliver’d him letters, and there appears much joy in him, even so much that joy could not show itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness.

Leon. Did he break out into tears?

Mess. In great measure.

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those that are so wash’d. How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!

Beat. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto return’d from the wars or no?

Mess. I know none of that name, lady. There was none such in the army of any sort.

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece?

Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.

Mess. O, he’s return’d, and as pleasant as ever he was.

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and challeng’d Cupid at the flight, and my uncle’s fool, reading the challenge, subscrib’d for Cupid, and challeng’d him at the burbolt. I pray you, how many hath he kill’d and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he kill’d? for indeed I promis’d to eat all of his killing.

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much, but he’ll be meet with you, I doubt it not.