Gert. O, let me see him with his face of death!
Why do you stay me from my Geraldine?
W. Rash. Because, unworthy as thou art, thou shalt not see
The man now dead, whom living thou didst scorn.
The worst part that he had deserv'd thy best;
But yet contemn'd, deluded, mock'd, despis'd by you,
Unfit for aught but for the general work
Which you were made for, man's creation.
Gert. Burst not my heart, before I see my love,
Brother, upon my knees, I beg your leave,
That I may see the wound of Geraldine:
I will embalm his body with my tears,
And carry him unto his sepulchre.
From whence I'll never rise, but be interr'd
In the same dust he shall be buried in.
Long. I do protest she draws sad tears from me.
I prythee, let her see her Geraldine.
[Aside.
Gert. Brother, if e'er you lov'd me as a sister,
Deprive me not the sight of Geraldine.
W. Rash. Well, I am contented you shall touch his lips,
But neither see his face nor yet his wound.
Gert. Not see his face?
W. Rash. Nay, I have sworn it to the contrary:
Nay, hark you, farther yet.
Gert. What now?