W. RASH. Farewell, Master Scattergood. Come, lover, you're too busy here. I must tutor ye: cast not your eye at the table on each other; my father will spy you without spectacles; he is a shrewd observer. Do you hear me? GERA. Very well, sir. W. RASH. Come, then, go we together; let the wenches alone. Do you see yonder fellow? GERA. Yes; prythee, what is he? W. RASH. I'll give you him within: he must Not now be thought on; but you shall know him. [_Exeunt_ WILL RASH _and_ GERALDINE. GERT. I have observ'd my sister, and her eye Is much inquisitive after yond' fellow; She has examin'd him from head to foot: I'll stay and see the issue. [_Withdraws a little._] JOYCE. To wrastle 'gainst the stream of our affection, Is to strike air, or buffet with the wind That plays upon us. I have striv'd to cast This fellow from my thoughts, but still he grows More comely in my sight: yet [is] a slave, Unto one worse-condition'd than a slave. They are all gone; here's none but he and I: Now I will speak to him--and yet I will not. O, I [do] wrong myself; I will suppress That insurrection love hath train'd in me, And leave him as he is. Once my bold spirit Had vow'd to utter all my thoughts to him, On whom I settled my affection, And why retires it now? STAINES. Fight, love, on both sides; for on me thou strik'st Strokes that have beat my heart into a flame. She hath sent amorous glances from her eye, Which I have back return'd as faithfully. I would make to her, but these servile robes Curb that suggestion, till some fitter time Shall bring me more persuadingly unto her. [_Aside._ JOYCE. I wonder why he stays; I fear he notes me, For I have publicly betray'd myself By too much gazing on him. I will leave him. [_Aside._ GERT. But you shall not: I'll make you speak to him Before you go. Do you hear, sir? JOYCE. What mean you, sister? GERT. To fit you in your kind, sister. Do you remember How you once tyrannis'd o'er me? JOYCE. Nay, prythee, leave this jesting; I am out of the vein.[194] GERT. Ay, but I am in. Go and speak to your lover. JOYCE. I'll first be buried quick. GERT. How! ashamed? 'Sfoot, I trow, "if I had set my affection on a collier, I'd ne'er fall back, unless it were in the right kind: if I did, let me be tied to a stake, and burnt to death with charcoal."[195] JOYCE. Nay, then, we shall have't. GERT. Yes, marry shall you, sister: will you speak to him? JOYCE. No. GERT. Do you hear, sir? here's a gentlewoman would speak with you. JOYCE. Why, sister! I pray, sister---- GERT. One that loves you with all her heart, yet is ashamed to confess it. STAINES. Did you call, ladies? JOYCE. No, sir; here's no one called. GERT. Yes, sir, 'twas I; I called to speak with you.