D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bowstring, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him: he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks. Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. Leon. So say I; methinks you are sadder. Claud. I hope he be in love. D. Pedro. Hang him, truant; there's no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love: if he be sad, he wants money. Bene. I have the tooth-ach. D. Pedro. Draw it. Bene. Hang it! Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. D. Pedro. What? sigh for the tooth-ach? Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm! Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he that has it. Claud. Yet, say I, he is in love. D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman to-day; a Frenchman to-morrow; [or in the shape of two countries at once, as, a German from the waist downward, all slops; and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet:] Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is. Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old signs: he brushes his hat o' mornings: What should that bode? D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him; and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuff'd tennis-balls. Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard. D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet: Can you smell him out by that? Claud. That's as much as to say, The sweet youth's in love. D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face? D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of him. Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit;, which is now crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: Conclude he is in love. Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. D. Pedro. That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not. Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite of all, dies for him. D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards. Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach.--Old signior, walk aside with me; I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby-horses must not hear. [Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.] D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice! Claud. 'T is even so: Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts with Beatrice; and then the two bears will not bite one another when they meet. [Enter Don John.]