Marg. To have no man come over me? Why, shall I always keep below stairs? Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth--it catches. Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit but hurt not. Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret: it will not hurt a woman. And so I pray thee call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers. Marg. Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own. Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice, and they are dangerous weapons for maids. Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs. Bene. And therefore will come. [Exit Margaret.] [Sings] The god of love, That sits above And knows me, and knows me, How pitiful I deserve-- I mean in singing; but in loving Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse--why, they were never so truly turn'd over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme. I have tried. I can find out no rhyme to 'lady' but 'baby' --an innocent rhyme; for 'scorn,' 'horn'--a hard rhyme; for 'school', 'fool'--a babbling rhyme: very ominous endings! No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor cannot woo in festival terms. [Enter Beatrice.] Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I call'd thee? Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. Bene. O, stay but till then! Beat. 'Then' is spoken. Fare you well now. And yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what hath pass'd between you and Claudio. Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee. Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome. Therefore I will depart unkiss'd. Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; and either I must shortly hear from him or I will subscribe him a coward. And I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me? Beat. For them all together, which maintain'd so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me? Bene. Suffer love!--a good epithet. I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will. Beat. In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours, for I will never love that which my friend hates. Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. Beat. It appears not in this confession. There's not one wise man among twenty, that will praise himself.