she says to Claudio, who has scarcely recovered from his surprise; "'tis your cue." And when he does speak, and very well too, she turns with a similar adjuration to the blushing Hero.
"Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak neither.
D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
Beat. Yea, my lord: I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care."
But she is for the moment too intent on watching the lovers to think of herself, and she continues –
"My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her heart.
Claud. And so she doth, cousin.
Beat. Good Lord! for alliance! Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a corner, and cry, heigho! for a husband.
D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting. Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.
D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady?
Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for working-days. Your grace is too costly to wear every day."
Here, true lady as she is, it crosses her mind that her high spirits may have carried her too far, and may lead the Prince to misunderstand her. With the bright and innocent frankness which obviously gives her a special charm in his eyes, she prays his forgiveness.
"I beseech your grace, pardon me! I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter.
D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour."
With just the slightest inflection of pathos in her voice, Beatrice replies –
"No, sure, my lord, my mother cry'd; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, Heaven give you joy!"
Her uncle now asks her "to look to some things he had told her of." Be sure she was the presiding spirit in his household. How sweetly and prettily does she go upon his bidding! "I cry you mercy, uncle;" then curtseying to the Prince of Arragon, "By your grace's leave!" to excuse herself for leaving thus abruptly. When she has gone, Don Pedro sums up his impression of her in the words, "By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady." In answer to his remark that Beatrice "cannot endure to hear tell of a husband," Leonato answers, "Oh, by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit!" Don Pedro has, however, seen enough of the relations between her and Benedick to conclude that a worse thing might befall them, than that their witty warfare should be turned to wooing. He has obviously a strong regard for both, and he "would fain have it a match." She, he says, "were an excellent wife for Benedick;" and Benedick, a man "of noble strain, of approved valour, and confirmed honesty," as he knows him to be, is "not the unhopefullest husband that he knows." So, to beguile the week that is to elapse before Claudio's marriage, he undertakes "to bring them into a mountain of affection, the one with the other." Hero, acting upon the suggestions Don Pedro will give her, is so to "humour" her cousin, "that she shall fall in love with Benedick;" while he himself, along with Leonato and Claudio, are so to "practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit
