[064] Beat. It appears not in this confession: there’s not one 065 wise man among twenty that will praise himself.
Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in [069] monument than the bell rings and the widow weeps.
070 Beat. And how long is that, think you?
[071] Bene. Question: why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter [072] in rheum: therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary, [074] to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So 075 much for praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy: and now tell me, how doth your cousin?
Beat. Very ill.
Bene. And how do you?
Beat. Very ill too.
080 Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I [081] leave you too, for here comes one in haste.
Enter Ursula.
Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s old coil at home: it is proved my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; 085 and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone. Will you come presently?