_Beat._ Do not you love me? _Bene._ Troth, no; no more than reason. _Beat._ Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula Are much deceived; for they did swear you did. _Bene._ They swore that you were almost sick for me. 80 _Beat._ They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. _Bene._ ’Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me? _Beat._ No, truly, but in friendly recompense. _Leon._ Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. _Claud._ And I’ll be sworn upon’t that he loves her; 85 For here’s a paper, written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion’d to Beatrice. _Hero._ And here’s another, Writ in my cousin’s hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick. 90 _Bene._ A miracle! here’s our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity. _Beat._ I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life, 95 for I was told you were in a consumption. _Bene._ Peace! I will stop your mouth. [_Kissing her._ _D. Pedro._ How dost thou, Benedick, the married man? _Bene._ I’ll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care 100 for a satire or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, a’ shall wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man 105 is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin. _Claud._ I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, 110 to make thee a double-dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. _Bene._ Come, come, we are friends: let’s have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives’ heels. 115 _Leon._ We’ll have dancing afterward. _Bene._ First, of my word; therefore play, music. Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn. _Enter a_ Messenger. _Mess._ My lord, your brother John is ta’en in flight, 120 And brought with armed men back to Messina. _Bene._ Think not on him till to-morrow: I’ll devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers. [_Dance._ [_Exeunt._ ~~~~~ Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, V. 4. SCENE IV.] SCENE IX. Pope. ...Margaret] om. Reed (1793). 7: _sort_] _sorts_ Q. 10: _you_] Q F1. _yong_ F2. _young_ F3 F4.