"Well, niece," says the uncle Leonato by and by, "I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband."
"Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered 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 kindred." And later when they press her she replies:—
"He that hath a beard is more than a youth; and he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a man I am not for him."
Don Pedro, the Prince of Arragon, sportively offers himself.
"Will you have me, lady?"
"No, my lord, unless I might have another for working-days; your grace is too costly to wear every day."
But, fearing that she has been guilty of an impertinence, she gently though still pertly excuses herself:—
"But I beseech your grace, pardon me; I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter."
"Out of question you were born in a merry hour!"
"No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but, then, there was a star danced, and under that was I born."