_D. Pedro._ Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new 5 gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth: he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid’s bow-string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at 10 him; he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks. _Bene._ Gallants, I am not as I have been. _Leon._ So say I: methinks you are sadder. _Claud._ I hope he be in love. 15 _D. Pedro._ Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touched with love: if he be sad, he wants money. _Bene._ I have the toothache. _D. Pedro._ Draw it. 20 _Bene._ Hang it! _Claud._ You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. _D. Pedro._ What! sigh for the toothache? _Leon._ Where is but a humour or a worm. _Bene._ Well, every one can master a grief but he that 25 has it. _Claud._ Yet say I, he is in love. _D. Pedro._ There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as, to be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman to-morrow; or in the 30 shape of two countries at once, as, a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is. 35 _Claud._ If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old signs: a’ brushes his hat o’ mornings; what should that bode? _D. Pedro._ Hath any man seen him at the barber’s? _Claud._ No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with 40 him; and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls. _Leon._ Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard. _D. Pedro._ Nay, a’ rubs himself with civet: can you 45 smell him out by that? _Claud._ That’s as much as to say, the sweet youth’s in love. _D. Pedro._ The greatest note of it is his melancholy. _Claud._ And when was he wont to wash his face? _D. Pedro._ Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I 50 hear what they say of him. _Claud._ Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into a lute-string, and now governed by stops. _D. Pedro._ Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: conclude, conclude he is in love. 55 _Claud._ Nay, but I know who loves him. _D. Pedro._ That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not. _Claud._ Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite of all, dies for him. 60 _D. Pedro._ She shall be buried with her face upwards.