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Claud. For the which she wept heartily and said she car’d not.

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did, but yet for all that, and if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly. The old man’s daughter told us all.

Claud. All, all, and, moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden.

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull’s horns on the sensible Benedick’s head?

Claud. Yea, and text underneath, “Here dwells Benedick the married man”?

Bene. Fare you well, boy, you know my mind. I will leave you now to your gossip-like humor. You break jests as braggards do their blades, which, God be thank’d, hurt not. My lord, for your many courtesies I thank you. I must discontinue your company. Your brother the bastard is fled from Messina. You have among you kill’d a sweet and innocent lady. For my Lord Lack-beard there, he and I shall meet, and till then peace be with him.

[Exit.]

D. Pedro. He is in earnest.

Claud. In most profound earnest, and I’ll warrant you, for the love of Beatrice.