Gera. Prythee, away: by the deepest oath that can be sworn, thou shalt not read it; by our friendship I conjure thee! prythee, let go.
W. Rash. Now, in the name of Cupid, what want'st thou? a pigeon, a dove, a mate, a turtle? Dost thou love fowl, ha?
O no; she's fairer thrice than is the queen,
Who beauteous Venus called is by name.
Prythee, let me know what she is thou lovest, that I may shun her if I should chance to meet her.
Long. Why, I'll tell you, sir, what she is, if you do not know.
W. Rash. No, not I, I protest.
Long. Why, 'tis your sister.
W. Rash. How! my sister?
Long. Yes, your eldest sister.
W. Rash. Now God bless the man: he had better choose a wench that has been bred and born in an alley: her tongue is a perpetual motion; thought is not so swift as it is; and, for pride, the woman that had her ruff poked by the devil is but a puritan to her.[158] Thou couldst never have fastened thy affection on a worse subject; she'll flout