Syrus. Th’ old woman spun the woof; one servant-girl,
A tatter’d dirty dowdy, weaving by her.
Clit. Clinia, if this be true, as sure it is,
Who is more fortunate than you? D’ye mark
The ragged dirty girl that he describ’d?
A sign the mistress leads a blameless life,
When she maintains no flaunting go-between:
For ’tis a rule with those gallants, who wish
To win the mistress, first to bribe the maid.
Clin. Go on, I beg you, Syrus; and take heed