SIR J. WOR. Take hands: kiss him. Her portion is four thousand. Good morrow, my son Count: you stay long for your bride; But this is the day that sells her, and she Must come forth like my daughter and your wife. I pray, salute this gentleman as your brother; This morn shall make him so, and though, his habit But speak him citizen, I know his worth To be gentle in all parts. Captain! CAPT. POUTS. Sir. SIR J. WOR. Captain, I could have been contented well, You should have married Kate. KATE. So could not Kate. [_Aside._] SIR J. WOR. You have an honourable title. A soldier is a very honourable title: A captain is a commander of soldiers; But look you, captain; captains have no money; Therefore the Worldlys must not match with captains. CAPT. POUTS. So, sir, so. SIR J. WOR. There are brave wars. CAPT. POUTS. Where? SIR J. WOR. Find them out, brave captain. Win honour and get money; by that time I'll get a daughter for my noble captain. CAPT. POUTS. Good, sir, good. SIR J. WOR. Honour is honour, but it is no money. This is the tumbler, then, must catch the coney. [_Aspiciens_ STRANGE. CAPT. POUTS. Thou art an old[24] fellow. Are you a merchant, sir? STRANGE. I shame not to say yes. Are you a soldier, sir? ABRA. A soldier, sir? O God! Ay, he is a captain. STRANGE. He may be so, and yet no soldier, sir; For as many are soldiers, that are no captains, So many are captains, that are no soldiers. CAPT. POUTS. Right, sir: and as many are citizens that are no cuckolds---- STRANGE. So many are cuckolds that are no citizens. What ail you, sir, with your robustious looks? CAPT. POUTS. I would be glad to see for my money: I have paid for my standing. STRANGE. You are the nobler captain, sir; For I know many that usurp that name, Whose standings pay for them. CAPT. POUTS. You are a peddler. STRANGE. You are a pot-gun. CAPT. POUTS. Merchant, I would thou hadst an iron tail, Like me. C. FRED. Fie, captain! You are to blame. PEN. Nay, God's will! You are to blame indeed, if my lord say so. CAPT. POUTS. My lord's an ass, and you are another. ABRA. Sweet Mistress Luce, let you and I withdraw: This is his humour. Send for the constable! CAPT. POUTS. Sirrah, I'll beat you with a pudding on the 'Change. STRANGE. Thou dar'st as well kiss the wide-mouthed cannon At his discharging, as perform as much As thou dar'st speak; for, soldier, you shall know, Some can use swords, that wear 'em not for show.