Gera. 'Twould be a dismal day indeed to some of us.
Joyce. Sir, I do know you love me; and the time
Will not be dallied with: be what you seem,
Or not the same; I am your wife, your mistress,
Or your servant—indeed, what you will make me.
Let us no longer wrangle with our wits,
Or dally with our fortunes; lead me hence,
And carry me into a wilderness:
I'll fast with you, rather than feast with him.
Staines. What can be welcomer unto these arms?
Not my estate recover'd is more sweet,
Nor strikes more joy in me than does your love.
W. Rash. Will you both kiss then upon the bargain?
Here's two couple on you, God give you joy;
I wish well to you,
And I see 'tis all the good that I can do you:
And so to your shifts I leave you.
Joyce. Nay, brother, you will not leave us thus, I hope.
W. Rash. Why, what would you have me do? you mean to run away together: would you have me run with you, and so lose my inheritance? no, trudge, trudge with your backs to me, and your bellies to them. Away!
Gera. Nay, I prythee, be not thus unseasonable:
Without thee we are nothing.
W. Rash. By my troth, and I think so too. You love one another in the way of matrimony, do you not?
Gera. What else, man?
W. Rash. What else, man? Why, 'tis a question to be asked; for I can assure you, there is another kind of love. But come, follow me; I must be your good angel still: 'tis in this brain how to prevent my father and his brace of beagles; you shall none of you be bid to-night: follow but my direction, if I bring you not, To have and to hold, for better for worse, let me be held an eunuch in wit, and one that was never father to a good jest.