See you where Benedick hath hid himself?

Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.

Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
Either not assail'd or victor being charged

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams

Who is that calls so coldly?

And thou must stand by
too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear,
To make an earthquake! sure, it was the roar
Of a whole herd of lions.

Decline to your confounding contraries,
And let confusion live!

Will you walk in to see their gossiping?

He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under
the presentation of that he shoots his wit.