Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
[072] Hero. No, not to be so odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
[075] She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit!
Therefore let Benedick, like cover’d fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:
[079] It were a better death than die with mocks,
[080] Which is as bad as die with tickling.