Leonato. Her mother hath many times told me so.
Benedick. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?
Leonato. Signior Benedick, no; for then you were a child;
or (as in the later passage)—
Beatrice. I may sit in a corner and cry heigh ho for a husband.
Don Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
Beatrice. I would rather have one of your father's getting. Hath your Grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.
Don Pedro. Will you have me, lady?
Beatrice. No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days: your Grace is too costly to wear every day—
is plain to all; but it is given to few to see with what admirable, close, constructive art this dialogue is written for the theatre. Of poetry, of understanding passionately put, there is comparatively little. The one great poetical scene is that at the opening of the fifth act. The worst lines of this scene have become proverbial; the best are