GERA. Who looks on heaven, and not admires the work? Who views a well-cut diamond does not praise The beauty of the stone? if these deserve The name of excellent, I lack a word For thee, which merit'st more-- More than the tongue of man can attribute. GERT. This is pretty poetry: good fiction, this. Sir, I must leave you. GERA. Leave with me first some comfort. GERT. What would you crave? GERA. That which I fear you will not let me have. GERT. You do not know my bounty. Say what 'tis? GERA. No more, fair creature, than a modest kiss. GERT. If I should give you one, would you refrain, On that condition, ne'er to beg again? GERA. I dare not grant to that. GERT. Then't seems you have, Though you get nothing, a delight to crave. One will not hurt my lip, which you may take, Not for your love, but for your absence sake. So farewell, sir. [_Exit_ GERTRUDE. GERA. O, fare thee well, fair regent of my soul! Never let ill sit near thee, unless it come To purge itself. Be, as thou ever seemest, An angel of thy sex, born to make happy The man that shall possess thee for his bride. _Enter_ SPENDALL _and_ LONGFIELD. SPEND. Will you have it for thirteen shillings and sixpence? I'll fall to as low a price as I can, because I'll buy your custom. LONG. How now, man? what, entranced? GERA. Good sir, ha' you done? LONG. Yes, faith, I think as much as you, and 'tis just nothing. Where's the wench? GERA. She's here, sir, here. [_Points to his heart._ LONG. Ud's pity! unbutton, man, thou'lt stifle her else. GERA. Nay, good sir, will you go? LONG. With all my heart; I stay but for you. SPEND. Do you hear, sir? LONG. What say you? SPEND. Will you take it for thirteen? LONG. Not a penny more than I bid. [_Exeunt_ GERALDINE _and_ LONGFIELD. SPEND. Why, then, say you might have had a good bargain. Where's this boy to make up the wares? Here's some ten pieces opened, and all to no purpose. _Enter_ BOY. BOY. O Frank! shut up shop, shut up shop! SPEND. Shut up shop, boy? Why? BOY. My master is come from the court knighted, and bid us; for he says he will have the first year of the reign of his knighthood kept holiday: here he comes. _Enter_ SIR LIONEL RASH. SPEND. God give your worship joy, sir. SIR L. RASH. O Frank! I have the worship now in the right kind; the sword of my knighthood sticks still upon my shoulders, and I feel the blow in my purse; it has cut two leather bags asunder. But all's one, honour must be purchased. I will give over my city coat, and betake myself to the court jacket. As for trade, I will deal in't no longer; I will seat thee in my shop, and it shall be thy care to ask men what they lack: my stock shall be summed up, and I will call thee to an account for it.