BEATRICE.
No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!
LEONATO.
Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?
BEATRICE.
I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace’s pardon.
[Exit.]
DON PEDRO.
By my troth, a pleasant spirited lady.
LEONATO.
There’s little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then, for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and waked herself with laughing.
DON PEDRO.
She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.
LEONATO.
O! by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.
DON PEDRO.
She were an excellent wife for Benedick.
LEONATO.
O Lord! my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad.