DON PEDRO.
Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of blood in him to be truly touched with love. If he be sad, he wants money.
BENEDICK.
I have the tooth-ache.
DON PEDRO.
Draw it.
BENEDICK.
Hang it.
CLAUDIO.
You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.
DON PEDRO.
What! sigh for the tooth-ache?
LEONATO.
Where is but a humour or a worm?
BENEDICK.
Well, everyone can master a grief but he that has it.
CLAUDIO.
Yet say I, he is in love.
DON PEDRO.
There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman today, a Frenchman tomorrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is.