Ho! now you strike like the blind man; 't was the boy that
stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.

Claud.
If it will not be, I'll leave you.

[Exit.]

Bene.
Alas! poor hurt fowl! Now will he creep into sedges. But
that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The
prince's fool!--Ha, it may be I go under that title because I am
merry.--Yea; but so; I am apt to do myself wrong: I am not so
reputed: it is the base though bitter disposition of Beatrice,
that puts the world into her person, and so gives me out. Well,
I'll be revenged as I may.

[Re-enter Don Pedro.]

D. Pedro.
Now, signior, where's the count; Did you see him?

Bene.
Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame. I found
him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren; I told him, and I
think I told him true, that your grace had got the will of
this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow-tree,
either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him
a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.