No More Learning

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.
Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the other day. I
said thou hadst a fine wit: 'True,' said she, 'a fine little
one. ' 'No,' said I, 'a great wit. ' 'Right,' says she, 'a great
gross one. ' 'Nay,' said I, 'a good wit. ' 'Just,' said she, 'it
hurts nobody. ' 'Nay,' said I, 'the gentleman is wise. ' 'Certain,'
said she, a wise gentleman. ' 'Nay,' said I, 'he hath the
tongues. ' 'That I believe' said she, 'for he swore a thing to me
on Monday night which he forswore on Tuesday morning. There's a
double tongue; there's two tongues. ' Thus did she an hour
together transshape thy particular virtues.
Yet at last she
concluded with a sigh, thou wast the proper'st man in Italy.
Claud. For the which she wept heartily and said she cared not.
Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not
hate him deadly, she would love him dearly. The old man's
daughter told us all.
Claud. All, all! and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the
garden.
Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the
sensible Benedick's head?
Claud. Yea, and text underneath, 'Here dwells Benedick, the married
man'?
Bene. Fare you well, boy; you know my mind. I will leave you now to
your gossiplike humour.