Brot. Farewell my Lords, we looke for you to morrow
Prin. We will not faile
Clau. To night ile mourne with Hero
Leon. Bring you these fellowes on, weel talke with Margaret, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.
Exeunt.
Enter Benedicke and Margaret.
Ben. Praie thee sweete Mistris Margaret, deserue well at my hands, by helping mee to the speech of Beatrice
Mar. Will you then write me a Sonnet in praise of my beautie? Bene. In so high a stile Margaret, that no man liuing shall come ouer it, for in most comely truth thou deseruest it
Mar. To haue no man come ouer me, why, shall I alwaies
keepe below staires?
Bene. Thy wit is as quicke as the grey-hounds mouth,
it catches
Mar. And yours, as blunt as the Fencers foiles, which
hit, but hurt not