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Ant. [To Hero.] Well, niece, I trust you will be rul’d by your father.

Beat. Yes, faith, it is my cousin’s duty to make cur’sy and say, “Father, as it please you.” But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another cur’sy and say, “Father, as it please me.”

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.

Beat. Not till God make men of some other mettle than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmaster’d with a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I’ll none. Adam’s sons are my brethren, and truly I hold it a sin to match in my kinred.

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you. If the Prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer.

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not woo’d in good time. If the Prince be too important, tell him there is measure in every thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me, Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinquepace; the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinquepace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.