Beatrice: Against my will, I am sent to bid you come into dinner.
Benedick: Fair Beatrice, 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. You have no stomach, signor? Fare you well.
Benedick: Ha! “Against my will I am sent to bid you come into dinner.” There’s a double meaning in that.

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Beatrice: I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight.

Don Pedro: Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.
Beatrice: Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost it.
Don Pedro: You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.

Beatrice: The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but civil count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion.

Don Pedro: Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
Beatrice: No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.

Leonato: O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad.