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.
