W. Rash. But one kiss—no more.
Gert. Why, then, no more.
W. Rash. Marry, this liberty I'll give you:
If you intend to make any speech of repentance
Over him, I am content, so it be short.
Gert. What you command is law, and I obey.
Joyce. Peace, give ear to the passion.
[Aside.]
Gert. Before I touch thy body, I implore
Thy discontented ghost to be appeas'd.
Send not unto me, till I come myself;
Then shalt thou know how much I honour'd thee,
O, see the colour of his coral lip
Which, in despite of death, lives full and fresh,
As when he was the beauty of his sex!
'Twere sin worthy the worst of plagues to leave thee;
Not all the strength and policy of man
Shall snatch me from thy bosom.
Long. Look, look; I think she'll ravish him!
[Aside.
W. Rash. Why, how now, sister?
Gert. Shall we have both one grave; here I am chain'd;
Thunder nor earthquakes shall e'er shake me off.
W. Rash. No? I'll try that. [Aside.] Come, dead man, awake! up with your bag and baggage, and let's have no more fooling.