D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece: Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love? Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it out with good counsel. Leon. Nay, that's impossible; she may wear her heart out first. D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter. Let it cool the while. I love Benedick well: and I could wish he would modestly examine himself to see how much he is unworthy to have so good a lady. Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. Claud. If he dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation. [Aside.] D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her: and that must your daughter and her gentlewoman carry. The sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter; that's the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner. [Aside.] [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.] [Benedick advances from the arbour.] Bene. This can be no trick: The conference was sadly borne.--They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady; it seems her affections have their full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too, that she will rather die than give any sign of affection.--I did never think to marry--I must not seem proud:--Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair; 't is a truth, I can bear them witness: and virtuous--'t is so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me:--By my troth, it is no addition to her wit;--nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her.-- I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage: But doth not the appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age: Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humour? No: The world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.-- Here comes Beatrice: By this day, she's a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her. [Enter Beatrice.] Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you take pains to thank me; if it had been painful I would not have come. Bene. You take pleasure, then, in the message? Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choke a daw withal:--You have no stomach, signior; fare you well. [Exit.]