O. SMALL. You are well met: know ye me, good sir? Belike you think I have no eyes, no ears, No nose to smell, and wind out all your tricks, Y' have stole Sir Sommerfield's heir: nay, we can find Your wildest parts, your turnings and returns, Your traces, squats, the mussers, forms, and holes[352] You young men use, if once our sagest wits Be set a-hunting. Are you now crept forth? Have you hid your head within a suburb-hole All this while, and are you now crept forth? W. SMALL. 'Tis a stark lie. O. SMALL. How? W. SMALL. Who told you so did lie; 'Foot! a gentleman cannot leave the city, And keep the suburbs to take a little physic, But straight some slave will say he hides his head. I hide my head within a suburb-hole! I could have holes at court to hide my head, Were I but so dispos'd. O. SMALL. Thou varlet knave, Th' hast stolen away Sir John Sommerfield's heir; But never look for countenance from me, Carry her whither thou wilt. W. SMALL. Father, father, Heart! will you undo your posterity? Will you, sir, undo your posterity? I can but kill my brother, then hang myself, And where is then your house? Make me not despair, 'Foot, now I have got a wench, worth by the year Two thousand pound and upwards, to cross my hopes! Would e'er a clown in Christendom do't but you? T. SMALL. Good father, let him leave this thundering, And give him grace. W. SMALL. Why, la, my brother knows Reason, and what an honest man should do. O. SMALL. Well, where's your wife? W. SMALL. She's coming here behind. O. SMALL. I'll give her somewhat, though I love not thee. W. SMALL. My father, right: I knew you could not hold Out long with a woman; but give something Worthy your gift and her acceptance, father. This chain were excellent, by this good light, She shall give you as good, if once her lands _Enter_ FRANCES _and_ BEARD. Come to my fingering. O. SMALL. Peace, knave! what, 's she your wife? W. SMALL. That shall be, sir. O. SMALL. And what's he? W. SMALL. My man. 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.