Bub. What say you now to me, lady? Can you find
E'er a good inch about me?
Joyce. Yes, that I can, sir.
Bub. Find it and take it, sweet lady. There I think I bobbed her, Gervase.
[Aside.]
Joyce. Well, sir, disparage not yourself so:
For, if you were the man you'd make yourself,
Yet out of your behaviour and discourse
I could find cause enough to love you.
Bub. Ah! now she comes to me. [Aside.] My behaviour! alas, alas! 'tis clownical; and my discourse is very bald—bald; you shall not hear me break a good jest in a twelvemonth.
Joyce. No, sir? why, now you break a good jest.
Bub. No, I want the bon jour and the Tu quoques which yonder gentleman has. There's a bob for him too. [Aside.] There's a gentleman, an you talk of a gentleman!
Joyce. Who, he? he's a coxcomb, indeed.
Bub. We are sworn brothers, in good faith, lady.