Taf. It shall not need.
I hope I have not brought her up so ill,
But that she knows how to contain your secrets,
As well as I her mistress: therefore on.
W. Small. It is not fit, forsooth, that I should on,
Before she leave the room.
Adr. 'Tis not indeed,
Therefore I'll wait in the with-drawing room,
Until you call. [Exit.
Taf. Now, sir, what's your will?
W. Small. Dear widow, pity the state of a young,
Poor, yet proper gentleman: by Venus' pap,
Upon my knees I'd creep unto your lap
For one small drop of favour: and though this face
Is not the finest face, yet t'as been prais'd
By ladies of good judgment in faces.
Taf. Are these your secrets?
W. Small. You shall have secrets
More pleasing: nay hear, sweet widow;
Some wantons do delight to see men creep,
And on their knees to woo them.
Taf. I am none of those;
Stand up, I more desire a man should stand,
Than cringe and creep, that means to win my love:
I say, stand up, and let me go, ye had best.
W. Small. For ever let me creep upon the ground,
Unless you hear my suit.
Taf. How now, sir sauce?
Would you be cap'ring in your father's saddle?
Away, you cashier'd younger brother, be gone!
Do not I know the fashions of you all?
When a poor woman has laid open all
Her thoughts to you, then you grow proud and coy;
But when wise maids dissemble, and keep close,
Then you poor snakes come creeping on your bellies,
And with all oiled looks prostrate yourselves
Before our beauties' sun where, once but warm,
Like hateful snakes you strike us with your stings,
And then forsake us. I know your tricks—be gone!