_Bene._ O, she misused me past the endurance of a block! an oak but with one green leaf on it would have answered her; my very visor began to assume life and 215 scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had been myself, that I was the prince’s jester, that I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks 220 poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her; she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgressed: she would have made 225 Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall find her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; 230 and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follows her. _D. Pedro._ Look, here she comes. _Enter_ CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, _and_ LEONATO. _Bene._ Will your grace command me any service to the 235 world’s end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John’s foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham’s beard; do you any embassage to 240 the Pigmies; rather than hold three words’ conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me? _D. Pedro._ None, but to desire your good company. _Bene._ O God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannot endure my Lady Tongue. [_Exit._ 245 _D. Pedro._ Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick. _Beat._ Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore 250 your Grace may well say I have lost it. _D. Pedro._ You have put him down, lady, you have put him down. _Beat._ So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have brought Count 255 Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. _D. Pedro._ Why, how now, count! wherefore are you sad? _Claud._ Not sad, my lord. _D. Pedro._ How then? sick? 260 _Claud._ Neither, my lord. _Beat._ The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but civil count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion.