Beatrice: O, God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.
Benedick: Hear me, Beatrice…
Beatrice: Talk with a man at a window. O, a proper saying.
Benedick: Nay, but, Beatrice. . .
Beatrice: Sweet Hero. She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.
Benedick: Beatrice.
Beatrice: Princes and counties. A goodly count. O, that I were a man for his sake! Or that I had any friend who would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into curtsies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongues, and trim ones too. For he is now as valiant as Hercules who only tells a lie and swears it! I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.