Staines. Not a syllable. Night nor sleep is not more silent. She's as dumb as Westminster Hall in the long vacation.
W. Rash. Well, and what would you have me do?
Staines. Why, make her speak.
W. Rash. And what then?
Staines. Why, let me alone with her.
W. Rash. Ay, so you said before; give you but opportunity, and let you alone—you'd desire no more. But come, I'll try my cunning for you; see what I can do. How do you, sister? I am sorry to hear you are not well. This gentleman tells me you have lost your tongue; I pray, let's see. If you can but make signs whereabout you lost it, we'll go and look for't. In good faith, sister, you look very pale; in my conscience, 'tis for grief. Will you have any comfortable drinks sent for? This is not the way [Aside]; come, walk, seem earnest in discourse, cast not an eye towards her, and you shall see weakness work itself.
Joyce. My heart is swoll'n so big that it must vent,
Or it will burst. [Aside.] Are you a brother?
W. Rash. Look to yourself, sir;
The brazen head has spoke,[205] and I must leave you.
Joyce. Has shame that power in him, to make him fly,
And dare you be so impudent to stand
Just in the face of my incensed anger?
What are you? why do you stay? who sent for you?
You were in garments yesterday, befitting
A fellow of your fashion: has a crown
Purchased that shining satin of the brokers?
Or is't a cast suit of your goodly master's?
Staines. A cast suit, lady?