Volume Xi Part 45 (1/2)

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 s.e.x, born to make happy The man that shall possess thee for his bride.

_Enter_ SPENDALL _and_ LONGFIELD.

SPEND. Will you have it for thirteen s.h.i.+llings 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! unb.u.t.ton, 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.