Beat. Speak, Count, 'tis your cue. Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let not him speak neither. D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. Beat. Yea, my lord, I thank it; poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care:--My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her heart. Claud. And so she doth, cousin. Beat. Good Lord, for alliance!--Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sunburned; I may sit in a corner, and cry, heigh-ho for a husband! D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting: Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady? Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for working-days; your grace is too costly to wear every day: But, I beseech your grace pardon me. I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter. D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.--Cousins, God give you joy! Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of? Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle.--By your grace's pardon. [Exit Beatrice.] D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad, but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing. D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband. Leon. O, by no means; she mocks all her wooers out of suit. D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married they would talk themselves mad. D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church? Claud. To-morrow, my lord: Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites. Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind. D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing;I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us; I will, in the interim, undertake one of Hercules' labours; which is, to bring signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I would fain have it a match; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction. Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights' watchings. Claud. And I, my lord. D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good husband.