005 D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth: he hath twice or thrice cut [010] Cupid’s bow-string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him; he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks.
Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.
Leon. So say I: methinks you are sadder.
[015] Claud. I hope he be in love.
D. 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.
Bene. I have the toothache.
020 D. Pedro. Draw it.
[021] Bene. Hang it!
Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.
D. Pedro. What! sigh for the toothache?