Joyce. I wonder why he stays; I fear he notes me,
For I have publicly betray'd myself
By too much gazing on him. I will leave him.
[Aside.
Gert. But you shall not: I'll make you speak to him
Before you go. Do you hear, sir?
Joyce. What mean you, sister?
Gert. To fit you in your kind, sister. Do you remember
How you once tyrannis'd o'er me?
Joyce. Nay, prythee, leave this jesting; I am out of the vein.[194]
Gert. Ay, but I am in. Go and speak to your lover.
Joyce. I'll first be buried quick.
Gert. How! ashamed? 'Sfoot, I trow, "if I had set my affection on a collier, I'd ne'er fall back, unless it were in the right kind: if I did, let me be tied to a stake, and burnt to death with charcoal."[195]
Joyce. Nay, then, we shall have't.