Luis. What else could’st thou have askt,
In all the category of my means,
Which I, methinks, had grudged thee! No, Alvaro,
The treacherous sea must not again be trusted
With the dear promise of my only son.
Alv. Nay, for that very reason, I entreat you
To let me go, sir. Let it not be thought
The blood that I inherited of you
Quail’d at a common danger.
Luis. I admire