{ I’d rather not.
(Cara. turns slowly, weeping. Eben. still sits on table and swings his legs.)
Cara.—
What shall I do? (Weeping.)
King.—
By all the Pins—of which I am the king—
If you don’t love my daughter, I will wring
Your neck, and have you taken by the ear
And pounded into jelly. Do you hear?
Yes; pounded! mashed up! Aye, reduced to slosh!