Gert. Why, sister! pray, sister——
Joyce. One that loves you with all her heart, yet is ashamed to confess it.
Gert. Good sister, hold your tongue: I will go down to him.
Joyce. Do not jest with me; for, by this hand, I'll either get him up, or go down myself, and read the whole history of your love to him.
Gert. If you forbear to call, I will go down.
Joyce. Let me see your back, then; and hear you, do not use him scurvily: you were best unset all your tyrannical looks, and bid him lovingly welcome, or, as I live, I'll stretch out my voice again. Ud's foot, I must take some pains, I see, or we shall never have this gear cotten;[170] but, to say truth, the fault is in my melancholy monsieur; for if he had but half so much spirit as he has flesh, he might have boarded her by this. But see, yonder she marches; now a passion on his side of half an hour long: his hat is off already, as if he were begging one poor pennyworth of kindness.
Enter Gertrude below.
Gera. Shall I presume, fair mistress, on your hand to lay my unworthy lip?
Joyce. Fie upon him! I am ashamed to hear him; you shall have a country fellow at a maypole go better to his work. He had need to be constant, for he is able to spoil as many maids as he shall fall in love withal.