Читать книгу The Complete Works of Shakespeare онлайн

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Marg. Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely?

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

Marg. Get you some of this distill’d carduus benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm.

Hero. There thou prick’st her with a thistle.

Beat. Benedictus! why benedictus? You have some moral in this benedictus.

Marg. Moral? no, by my troth I have no moral meaning, I meant plain holy-thistle. You may think perchance 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 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 your eyes as other women do.