Staines. What does this mean, trow?
Joyce. Yet is your humour spent?
Gert. Come, let me go: "birds that want the use of reason and of speech can couple together in one day; and yet you, that have both, cannot conclude in twenty."[197] Now, sister, I am even with you, my venom is spit. As much happiness may you enjoy with your lover as I with mine. And droop not, wench, nor never be ashamed of him; the man will serve the turn, though he be wrapped in a blue coat, I'll warrant him; come.
Joyce. You are merrily disposed, sister.
[Exeunt wenches.
Staines. I needs
Must prosper: fortune and love work for me.
Be moderate, my joys; for, as you grow
To your full height, so Bubble's waxeth low.
[Exit.
Enter Spendall, Sweatman, and Tickleman.
Tickle. Will my sweet Spendall be gone, then?
Spend. I must, upon promise; but I'll be here at supper: therefore, Mistress Sweatman, provide us some good cheer.
Sweat. The best the market will yield.
Spend. Here's twenty shillings; I protest I have left myself but a crown for my spending-money: for indeed I intend to be frugal, and turn good husband.