Hastes now to clasp Sir Walter Woodvil's knees,
And beg a boon for Margaret; his poor ward.
[Kneeling.
Sir W. Not at my feet, Margaret; not at my feet.
Marg. Yes, till her suit is answered.
Sir W. Name it.
Marg. A little boon, and yet so great a grace,
She fears to ask it.
Sir W.Some riddle, Margaret?
Marg. No riddle, but a plain request.