Hero: Nature never framed a woman's heart of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice - disdain and scorne ride sparkling in her eyes.
Beatrice: I pray you, who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.
Messenger: He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.
Beatrice: O lord, he will hang upon him like a disease. He is sooner caught than the pestilence and the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio. If he have caught the Benedick, 'twill cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured.
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't possible Disdain should die whilst she hath such meet food to feed it as Signor Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to Disdain when you come in her presence.
Benedick: A miracle. Here's our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee, but by this light I take thee for pity.
Beatrice: I would not deny you, but by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.
Benedick: Peace. I will stop your mouth.