Joyce. You think it does become you? Faith, it does not.
A blue coat[206] with a badge does better with you.
Go, untruss your master's points, and do not dare
To stop your nose when as his worship stinks:
'T has been your breeding.
Staines. Ud's life! this is excellent: now she talks.
[Aside.
Joyce. Nay, were you a gentleman, and (which is more)
Well-landed, I should hardly love you;
For, for your face, I never saw a worse:
It looks as if 'twere drawn with yellow ochre
Upon black buckram; and that hair
That's on your chin looks not like beard,
But as if't had been smear'd with shoemakers' wax.
Staines. Ud's foot! she'll make me out of love with myself.
[Aside.
Joyce. How dares your baseness once aspire unto
So high a fortune, as to reach at me?
Because you have heard that some have run away
With butlers, horsekeepers, and their father's clerks,
You, forsooth, cocker'd with your own suggestion,
Take heart upon't, and think me (that am meet,
And set up for your master) fit for you.
Staines. I would I could get her now to hold her tongue.
[Aside
Joyce. Or, 'cause sometimes as I have pass'd along,
And have return'd a courtesy for your hat,
You, as the common trick is, straight suppose
'Tis love (sir reverence, which makes the word more beastly).
Staines. Why, this is worse than silence.
[Aside.
Joyce. But we are fools, and in our reputations
We find the smart on't:
Kindness is termed lightness in our sex;
And when we give a favour or a kiss,
We give our good names too.
Staines. Will you be dumb again?