KATE. Why, captain, though ye be a man of war, you cannot subdue affection. You have no alacrity in your eye, and you speak as if you were in a dream. You are of so melancholy and dull a disposition, that on my conscience you would never get children; nay, nor on my body neither; and what a sin were it in me, and a most pregnant sign of concupiscence, to marry a man that wants the mettle of generation, since that is the blessing ordained for marriage, procreation the only end of it. Besides, if I could love you, I shall be here at home, and you in Cleveland abroad--I among the bold Britons, and you among the hot-shots. SIR J. WOR. No more puffing, captain; Leave batteries with your breath: the short is this. This worthy count this morning makes my son, And with that happy marriage this proceeds. Worldly's my name, worldly must be my deeds. CAPT. POUTS. I will pray for civil wars, to cut thy throat Without danger, merchant. I will turn pirate, But I'll be reveng'd on thee. STRANGE. Do, captain, do: A halter will take up our quarrel then. CAPT. POUTS. 'Swounds! I'll be reveng'd upon ye all! The strange adventure thou art now to make In that small pinnace, is more perilous Than any hazard thou could'st undergo. Remember, a scorn'd soldier told thee so. [_Exit_ CAPTAIN POUTS. STRANGE. Go, walk the captain, good Sir Abraham. ABRA. Good faith, sir, I had rather walk your horse. I will not meddle with him. I would not keep Him company in his drink for a world. SIR J. WOR. But What good do you, Sir Abraham, on my daughter? I could be e'en content, my Lucida Would skip your wit and look upon your wealth, And this one day let Hymen crown ye all. ABRA. O no, she laughs at me and scorns my suit: For she is wilder and more hard withal, Than beast or bird, or tree, or stony wall. KATE. Ha! God-a-mercy, old Hieronimo.[25] ABRA. Yet she might love me for my lovely eyes. C. FRED. Ay, but perhaps your nose she doth despise. ABRA. Yet might she love me for my dimpled chin. PEN. Ay, but she sees your beard is very thin. ABRA. Yet might she love me for my proper body. STRANGE. Ay, but she thinks you are an errant noddy. ABRA. Yet might she love me, 'cause I am an heir. SIR J. WOR. Ay, but perhaps she doth not like your ware. ABRA. Yet might she love me in despite of all. LUC. Ay, but indeed I cannot love at all. SIR J. WOR. Well, Luce, respect Sir Abraham, I charge you. LUC. Father, my vow is pass'd: whilst the earl lives, I ne'er will marry, nor will pine for him. It is not him I love now, but my humour; But since my sister he hath made his choice, This wreath of willow, that begirds my brows, Shall never cease to be my ornament, 'Till he be dead, or I be married to him.