Don Pedro.
I know, I know. But seriously, my dear Benedick, what is wrong?
Benedick.
[Snappishly.] Beatrice, of course. You don’t suppose I’m wrong, do you?
Don Pedro.
Come, that’s better. A spark of the old Benedick. Let me call your wife to you, and we’ll have one of your old encounters of wit.
Benedick.
[Seriously alarmed.] For Heaven’s sake, no. Ah, my dear Lord, if you only knew how weary I am of wit, especially Beatrice’s wit.
Don Pedro.
You surprise me. I remember I thought her a most amusing young lady.