Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. 'T is certain so;--the prince woos for himself. Friendship is constant in all other things, Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues; Let every eye negociate for itself, And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch, Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. This is an accident of hourly proof Which I mistrusted not: Farewell, therefore, Hero! [Re-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, count. 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 drover; so they sell bullocks. But did you think the Prince would have served you thus? Claud. I pray you, leave me. Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man; 't was 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!--Ha, 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 revenged as I may. [Re-enter Don Pedro.] D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count; Did you see him? Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren; I told him, and I think I told him true, that your grace had got the will of this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow-tree, either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him a rod, as being worthy to be whipped. D. Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault? Bene. The flat transgression of a schoolboy; who, being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest shows it his companion, and he steals it. D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? the transgression is in the stealer. Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself; and the rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his bird's nest. D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner. Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly. D. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you; the gentleman that danced with her told her she is much wrong'd by you.