Therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his conscience)
find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet
of his own virtues, as I am to myself.
Shakespeare
In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart! If you
spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours, for I will never
love that which my friend hates.
Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
Beat. It appears not in this confession. There's not one wise man
among twenty, that will praise himself.
Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that liv'd in the time of
good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb
ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell
rings and the widow weeps.
Beat. And how long is that, think you?
Bene. Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum.
Therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his conscience)
find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet
of his own virtues, as I am to myself.
So much for praising
myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And now
tell me, how doth your cousin?
Beat. Very ill.
Bene. And how do you?
Beat. Very ill too.
Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for
here comes one in haste.
Enter Ursula.
Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder's old coil at home.
