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?