When I said I would die a bachelor, I did
not think I should live till I were married, here comes Beatrice: by this day, she’s
a fair lady, I do spy some marks of love in her. Against my will I am sent to bid you come
in to dinner. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 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. You take pleasure then
in the message? Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’s
point, and choke a daw withal: you have no stomach, signior, fare you well.