BEATRICE. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in good time: if the Prince be too important, tell him there is measure in everything, and so dance out the answer. For, hear me, Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinquepace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes Repentance, and with his bad legs, falls into the cinquepace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave. LEONATO. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. BEATRICE. I have a good eye, uncle: I can see a church by daylight. LEONATO. The revellers are entering, brother: make good room. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula and Others, masked. DON PEDRO. Lady, will you walk about with your friend? HERO. So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away. DON PEDRO. With me in your company? HERO. I may say so, when I please. DON PEDRO. And when please you to say so? HERO. When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like the case! DON PEDRO. My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove. HERO. Why, then, your visor should be thatch’d. DON PEDRO. Speak low, if you speak love. [Takes her aside.] BALTHASAR. Well, I would you did like me. MARGARET. So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill qualities. BALTHASAR. Which is one? MARGARET. I say my prayers aloud. BALTHASAR. I love you the better; the hearers may cry Amen. MARGARET. God match me with a good dancer! BALTHASAR. Amen. MARGARET. And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done! Answer, clerk. BALTHASAR. No more words: the clerk is answered. URSULA. I know you well enough: you are Signior Antonio. ANTONIO. At a word, I am not. URSULA. I know you by the waggling of your head. ANTONIO. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. URSULA. You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man. Here’s his dry hand up and down: you are he, you are he. ANTONIO. At a word, I am not. URSULA. Come, come; do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, you are he: graces will appear, and there’s an end. BEATRICE. Will you not tell me who told you so? BENEDICK. No, you shall pardon me. BEATRICE. Nor will you not tell me who you are? BENEDICK. Not now. BEATRICE. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the ‘Hundred Merry Tales.’ Well, this was Signior Benedick that said so. BENEDICK. What’s he? BEATRICE. I am sure you know him well enough. BENEDICK. Not I, believe me. BEATRICE. Did he never make you laugh? BENEDICK. I pray you, what is he?