GERT. Sir, your music is so good, that I must say I like it: but the bringer so ill-welcome, that I could be content to lose it. If you played for money, there 'tis; if for love, here's none; if for goodwill, I thank you, and, when you will, you may be gone. GERA. Leave me not entranc'd; sing not my death; Thy voice is able to make satyrs tame, And call rough winds to her obedience. GERT. Sir, sir, our ears itch not for flattery. Here you besiege my window, and[186] I dare not Put forth myself to take the gentle air, But you are in the fields, and volley out Your woes, your plaints, your loves, your injuries. GERA. Since you have heard, and know them, give redress; True beauty never yet was merciless. GERT. Sir, rest thus satisfied; my mind was never woman, never altered; nor shall it now begin: so fare you well. [_Exit_ GERTRUDE. W. RASH. 'Sfoot, she plays the terrible tyrannising Tamberlane over him. This it is to turn Turk; from a most absolute, complete gentleman to a most absurd, ridiculous, and fond lover. [_Aside._] LONG. O, when a woman knows the power and authority of her eye!---- [_Aside._] JOYCE. Fie upon her! she's good for nothing then, no more than a jade that knows his own strength. The window is clasped; now, brother, pursue your project, and deliver your friend from the tyranny of my domineering sister. [_Aside._] W. RASH. Do you hear, you drunkard in love? Come into us, and be ruled. You would little think that the wench that talked so scurvily out of the window there is more enamoured on thee than thou on her. Nay, look you now: see if he turn not away, slighting our good counsel. I am no Christian if she do not sigh, whine, and grow sick for thee. Look you, sir: I will bring you in good witness against her. JOYCE. Sir, you are My brother's friend, and I'll be plain with you. You do not take the course to win my sister, But indirectly go about the bush; you come And fiddle here, and keep a coil in verse; Hold off your hat, and beg to kiss her hand; Which makes her proud. But, to be short; in two lines, thus it is-- Who most doth love, must seem most to neglect it; For those that show most love, are least respected. LONG. A good observation, by my faith. W. RASH. Well, this instruction comes too late now. Stand you close, and let me prosecute my invention.--[187] Sister, O sister! wake, arise, sister. _Enter_ GERTRUDE _above_. GERT. How now, brother; why call you with such terror?