Bub. I would they would else.
Staines. Why, they will, I'll assure you, sir; and the more vilely you speak of yourself, the more will they strive to collaud you.
Enter Gertrude and Joyce.
Bub. Let me alone to dispraise myself: I'll make myself the errantest coxcomb within a whole country.
Sir Lionel. Here come the gipsies, the sun-burnt girls,
Whose beauties will not utter them alone;
They must have bags, although my credit crack for't.
Bub. Is this the eldest, sir?
Sir Lionel. Yes, marry is she, sir.
Bub. I'll kiss the youngest first, because she likes me best.[192]
Scat. Marry, sir, and whilst you are there, I'll be here. [Kisses the elder.] O delicious touch! I think in conscience her lips are lined quite through with orange-tawny velvet.