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

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Dogberry: Thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this.

Claudio: Lady, as you are mine, I am yours.

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.