By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady

Beatrice:

Good Lord for alliance! Thus goes everyone to the world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a corner and cry 'heigh-ho!' for a husband. Don Pedro:
Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beatrice:
I would rather have one of your father's getting. Hath your grace not a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. Don Pedro:
Will you have me, lady? Beatrice:
[pauses]
No, my lord, unless I might have another for working-days. Your Grace is too costly to wear everyday. But I beseech your Grace to pardon me; for I was born to speak all mirth and no matter. 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... [Beatrice exits] Don Pedro:
By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady