1599 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
Page: 16

Star. I would not marry her though she were endowed with all
that
Adam had left him before he transgress'd. She would have made
Hercules have turn'd spit, yea, and have cleft his club to
make
the fire too. Come, talk not of her. You shall find her the
infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar
would
conjure her, for certainly, while she is here, a man may live
as
quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose,
because they would go thither; so indeed all disquiet,
horror,
and perturbation follows her.

Enter Claudio and Beatrice, Leonato, Hero.

Pedro. Look, here she comes.
Bene. Will your Grace command me any service to the world's
end? I
will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you
can
devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from
the
furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's
foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any
embassage to the Pygmies--rather than hold three words'
conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me?
Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.
Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not! I cannot endure my
Lady
Tongue. [Exit.]
Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior
Benedick.
Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile, and I gave him use
for
it--a double heart for his single one. Marry, once before he
won
it of me with false dice; therefore your Grace may well say I
have lost it.
Pedro. You have put him down, lady; you have put him down.
Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should
prove
the mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you
sent
me to seek.
Pedro. Why, how now, Count? Wherefore are you sad?
Claud. Not sad, my lord.
Pedro. How then? sick?
Claud. Neither, my lord.
Beat. The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well;
but
civil count--civil as an orange, and something of that
jealous
complexion.