_Beat._ The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in good time: if the prince be too important, tell him there is measure in every thing, and so dance out the 60 answer. For, hear me, Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and, 65 with his bad legs, falls into the cinque pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave. _Leon._ Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. _Beat._ I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight. 70 _Leon._ The revellers are entering, brother: make good room. [_All put on their masks._ _Enter_ DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, BALTHASAR, DON JOHN, BORACHIO, MARGARET, URSULA, _and others, masked_. _D. Pedro._ Lady, will you walk about with your friend? _Hero._ So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and especially when I 75 walk away. _D. Pedro._ With me in your company? _Hero._ I may say so, when I please. _D. Pedro._ And when please you to say so? _Hero._ When I like your favour; for God defend the 80 lute should be like the case! _D. Pedro._ My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove. _Hero._ Why, then, your visor should be thatched. _D. Pedro._ Speak low, if you speak love. 85 [_Drawing her aside._ _Balth._ Well, I would you did like me. _Marg._ So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill qualities. _Balth._ Which is one? _Marg._ I say my prayers aloud. 90 _Balth._ I love you the better: the hearers may cry, Amen. _Marg._ God match me with a good dancer! _Balth._ Amen. _Marg._ And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done! Answer, clerk. 95 _Balth._ No more words: the clerk is answered. _Urs._ I know you well enough; you are Signior Antonio. _Ant._ At a word, I am not. _Urs._ I know you by the waggling of your head. _Ant._ To tell you true, I counterfeit him. 100 _Urs._ You could never do him so ill-well; unless you were the very man. Here’s his dry hand up and down: you are he, you are he. _Ant._ At a word, I am not. _Urs._ Come, come, do you think I do not know you by 105 your excellent wit? can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, you are he: graces will appear, and there’s an end. _Beat._ Will you not tell me who told you so? _Bene._ No, you shall pardon me. _Beat._ Nor will you not tell me who you are? 110 _Bene._ Not now. _Beat._ That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the ‘Hundred Merry Tales’:—well, this was Signior Benedick that said so.