Beatrice's Ol' Tune

Beatrice.

Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.

Benedick.

Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

Beatrice.

I took no more pains for those thanks than you take

pains to thank me: if it had been painful, I would

not have come.

Benedick.

You take pleasure then in the message?

Beatrice.

Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's

point and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach,

signior: fare you well.