Swag. Take my cloak, I must unbuckle; my pickled oysters work; puff, puff!
Spend. Puff, puff!
Swag. Dost thou retort—in opposition stand?
Spend. Out, you swaggering rogue! zounds, I'll kick him out of the room!
[Beats him away.
Tickle. Out, alas! their naked tools are out.
Spend. Fear not, sweetheart; come along with me.
[Exeunt omnes.
Enter Gertrude sola.
Gert. Thrice-happy days they were, and too soon gone,
When as the heart was coupled with the tongue;
And no deceitful flattery or guile
Hung on the lover's tear-commixed smile.
Could women learn but that imperiousness,
By which men use to stint our happiness,
When they have purchas'd us for to be theirs
By customary sighs and forced tears:
To give us bits of kindness, lest we faint,
But no abundance that we ever want,
And still are begging; which too well they know
Endears affection, and doth make it grow:
Had we these sleights, how happy were we then,
That we might glory over lovesick men!
But arts we know not, nor have any skill
To feign a sour look to a pleasing will;
Enter Joyce.
Nor couch a secret love in show of hate:
But, if we like, must be compassionate.
Yet I will strive to bridle and conceal
The hid affection which my heart doth feel.