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
Bene. A most manly wit Margaret, it will not hurt a woman: and so I pray thee call Beatrice, I giue thee the bucklers
Mar. Giue vs the swords, wee haue bucklers of our owne
Bene. If you vse them Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice, and they are dangerous weapons for Maides
Mar. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I thinke hath legges.
Exit Margarite.
Ben. And therefore will come. The God of loue that sits aboue, and knowes me, and knowes me, how pittifull I deserue. I meane in singing, but in louing, Leander the good swimmer, Troilous the first imploier of pandars, and a whole booke full of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose name yet runne smoothly in the euen rode of a blanke verse, why they were neuer so truely turned ouer and ouer as my poore selfe in loue: marrie I cannot shew it rime, I haue tried, I can finde out no rime to Ladie but babie, an innocent rime: for scorne, horne, a hard rime: for schoole foole, a babling rime: verie ominous endings, no, I was not borne vnder a riming Plannet, for I cannot wooe in festiuall tearmes: Enter Beatrice.
sweete Beatrice would'st thou come when I cal'd thee? Beat. Yea Signior, and depart when you bid me