Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high proof melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away: Wilt thou use thy wit? Bene. It is in my scabbard: Shall I draw it? D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit.--I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us. D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale:--Art thou sick, or angry? Claud. What! courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care. Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you charge it against me. I pray you:--choose another subject. Claud. Nay then, give him another staff; this last was broke cross. D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more: I think he be angry indeed. Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? Claud. God bless me from a challenge! Bene. You are a villain;--I jest not--I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare:--Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you: Let me hear from you. Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer. D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast? Claud. I' faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calf's head and a capon, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my knife's naught.--Shall I not find a woodcock too? Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily. D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the other day: I said, thou hadst a fine wit; 'True,' says she, 'a fine little one:' 'No,' said I, 'a great wit;' 'Right,' says she, 'a great gross one:' 'Nay,' said I, 'a good wit;' 'Just,' said she, 'it hurts nobody:' 'Nay,' said I, 'the gentleman is wise;' 'Certain,' said she, 'a wise gentleman:' 'Nay,' said I, 'he hath the tongues;' 'That I believe,' said she, 'for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning; there's a double tongue; there's two tongues.' Thus did she, an hour together, transshape thy particular virtues; yet, at last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy. Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said, she cared not. D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly: the old man's daughter told us all. Claud. All, all; and moreover, 'God saw him when he was hid in the garden.' D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head? Claud. Yea, and text underneath, 'Here dwells Benedick the married man?'