020 Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.
Bene. And therefore will come. [Exit Margaret.
[Sings]
[023] The god of love,
That sits above,
025 And knows me, and knows me,
How pitiful I deserve,—
I mean in singing; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole [029] bookful of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names 030 yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, why, [031] they were never so truly turned over and over as my poor [032] self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; I have [033] tried: I can find out no rhyme to ‘lady’ but ‘baby,’ an [034] innocent rhyme; for ‘scorn,’ ‘horn,’ a hard rhyme; for 035 ‘school,’ ‘fool,’ a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings: [036] no, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot [037] woo in festival terms.
Enter Beatrice.
[038] Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?