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Enter Benedick.

Bene. Count Claudio?

Claud. Yea, the same.

Bene. Come, will you go with me?

Claud. Whither?

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, County. What fashion will you wear the garland of? about your neck, like an usurer’s chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant’s scarf? You must wear it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero.

Claud. I wish him joy of her.

Bene. Why, that’s spoken like an honest drovier; so they sell bullocks. But did you think the Prince would have serv’d you thus?

Claud. I pray you leave me.

Bene. Ho, now you strike like the blind man. ’Twas the boy that stole your meat, and you’ll beat the post.

Claud. If it will not be, I’ll leave you.

Exit.

Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl, now will he creep into sedges. But that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The Prince’s fool! hah, it may be I go under that title because I am merry. Yea, but so I am apt to do myself wrong. I am not so reputed. It is the base (though bitter) disposition of Beatrice that puts the world into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I’ll be reveng’d as I may.