[101] Urs. You could never do him so ill-well; unless you were the very man. Here’s his dry hand up and down: you are he, you are he.
Ant. At a word, I am not.
105 Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not know you by [106] your excellent wit? can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, [107] you are he: graces will appear, and there’s an end.
Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so?
Bene. No, you shall pardon me.
[110] Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are?
Bene. Not now.
Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the ‘Hundred Merry Tales’:—well, this was Signior Benedick that said so.
115 Bene. What’s he?
[116] Beat. I am sure you know him well enough.