MORE ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Scene.—The garden of Benedick’s house at Padua. Benedick is sitting on a garden seat, sunning himself indolently. Beatrice is beside him, keeping up her reputation for conversational brilliancy by a series of sprightly witticisms.
Beatrice.
Very likely I do talk twice as much as I should. But then, if I talk too much you certainly listen far too little, so we are quits. Do you hear?
Benedick.
[Opening his eyes slowly.] Eh?
Beatrice.
I believe you were asleep! But there—’tis a great compliment to my wit. Like Orpheus, I can put even the savage beasts to sleep with it. [Benedick’s eyes close again, and he appears to sink into a profound doze.] But if the beasts go to sleep there’s no use in being witty. I suppose Orpheus never thought of that. Come, wake up, good Signior Beast. [Prods him coquettishly with her finger.] Have you forgotten that the Duke is coming?
Benedick.
[Drowsily.] When will he be here?