W. Small. That shall be, sir.
O. Small. And what's he?
O. Small. A ruffian knave he is.
W. Small. A ruffian, sir!
By heaven! as tall a man[353] as e'er drew sword,
Not being counted of the damned crew.
He was her father's butler, his name is Beard;
Off with your mask, now shall you find me true,
And that I am a son unto a knight:
This is my father. [To Frances.
O. Small. I am indeed, fair maid;
My style is knight: come, let me kiss your lips.
W. Small. That kiss shall cost your chain.
[Aside.
O. Small. It smacks, i' faith:
I must commend your choice.
Fran. Sir, I have given
A larger venture than true modesty
Will well allow, or your more graver wit Commend.