Beatrice:
I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you.
Benedick:
What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
Beatrice:
Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.
Benedick:
Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.
Beatrice:
A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
Benedick:
God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face.
Beatrice:
Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were.
Benedick:
Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beatrice:
A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
Benedick:
I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i' God's name; I have done.
Beatrice:
You always end with a jade's trick: I know you of old.
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 08:40
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