SPEND. Gamester! to say truth, I am none; but what is it I will not be in good company? I will fit myself to all humours; I will game with a gamester, drink with a drunkard, be civil with a citizen, fight with a swaggerer, and drab with a whoremaster. _Enter a_ SWAGGERER, _puffing_. RASH. An excellent humour, i' faith. LONG. Zounds! what have we here? SPEND. A land-porpoise, I think. RASH. This is no angry, nor no roaring boy, but a blustering boy: now, Æolus defend us! what puffs are these? SWAG. I do smell a whore. DRAWER. O gentlemen, give him good words; he's one of the roaring boys. SWAG. Rogue! DRAWER. Here, sir. SWAG. Take my cloak, I must unbuckle; my pickled oysters work; puff, puff! SPEND. Puff, puff! SWAG. Dost thou retort--in opposition stand? SPEND. Out, you swaggering rogue! zounds, I'll kick him out of the room! [_Beats him away._ TICKLE. Out, alas! their naked tools are out. SPEND. Fear not, sweetheart; come along with me. [_Exeunt omnes._ _Enter_ GERTRUDE _sola_. GERT. Thrice-happy days they were, and too soon gone, When as the heart was coupled with the tongue; And no deceitful flattery or guile Hung on the lover's tear-commixed smile. Could women learn but that imperiousness, By which men use to stint our happiness, When they have purchas'd us for to be theirs By customary sighs and forced tears: To give us bits of kindness, lest we faint, But no abundance that we ever want, And still are begging; which too well they know Endears affection, and doth make it grow: Had we these sleights, how happy were we then, That we might glory over lovesick men! But arts we know not, nor have any skill To feign a sour look to a pleasing will; _Enter_ JOYCE. Nor couch a secret love in show of hate: But, if we like, must be compassionate. Yet I will strive to bridle and conceal The hid affection which my heart doth feel. JOYCE. Now the boy with the bird-bolt[166] be praised! Nay, faith, sister, forward: 'twas an excellent passion.[167] Come, let's hear, what is he? If he be a proper man, and have a black eye, a smooth chin, and a curled pate, take him, wench; if my father will not consent, run away with him, I'll help to convey you. GERT. You talk strangely, sister. JOYCE. Sister, sister, dissemble not with me, though you do mean to dissemble with your lover. Though you have protested to conceal your affection, by this tongue, you shall not; for I'll discover all, as soon as I know the gentleman. GERT. Discover! what will you discover?