_Bene._ Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it not strange that sheeps’ guts should hale souls out of men’s 55 bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when all’s done. The Song. _Balth._ Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never: 60 Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny. Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, 65 Of dumps so dull and heavy; The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leavy: Then sigh not so, &c. _D. Pedro._ By my troth, a good song. 70 _Balth._ And an ill singer, my lord. _D. Pedro._ Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift. _Bene._ An he had been a dog that should have howled thus, they would have hanged him: and I pray God his 75 bad voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it. _D. Pedro._ Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee, get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we would have it at the Lady Hero’s chamber-window. 80 _Balth._ The best I can, my lord. _D. Pedro._ Do so: farewell. [_Exit Balthasar_.] Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick? 85 _Claud._ O, ay: stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. I did never think that lady would have loved any man. _Leon._ No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. 90 _Bene._ Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner? _Leon._ By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it, but that she loves him with an enraged affection; it is past the infinite of thought. _D. Pedro._ May be she doth but counterfeit. 95 _Claud._ Faith, like enough. _Leon._ O God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came so near the life of passion as she discovers it. _D. Pedro._ Why, what effects of passion shows she? _Claud._ Bait the hook well; this fish will bite. 100 _Leon._ What effects, my lord? She will sit you, you heard my daughter tell you how. _Claud._ She did, indeed. _D. Pedro._ How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her spirit had been invincible against 105 all assaults of affection. _Leon._ I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick. _Bene._ I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide himself 110 in such reverence. _Claud._ He hath ta’en the infection: hold it up. _D. Pedro._ Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?