Much Ado About Nothing, [3.5.66-75].Margaret. “Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely?” Beatrice. “It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am sick.” Margaret. “Get you some distill’d Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart. It is the only thing for a qualm.” Hero. “There thou prick’st her with a thistle.” Beatrice. “Benedictus! Why Benedictus? You have some moral in this Benedictus.” Margaret. “Moral? No, by my troth, I have no moral meaning, I meant plain holy-thistle.”
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Carduus.
PLANTS 