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! W. SMALL. Foot, I'll first be hang'd: nay, if you go, You shall leave your smock behind you, widow; Keep close your womanish weapon, hold your tongue, Nor speak, cough, sneeze, or stamp; for, if you do, By this good blade I'll cut your throat directly. Peace! stir not, by heaven I'll cut your throat If you but stir; speak not, stand still, go to, I'll teach coy widows a new way to woe. Come, you shall kiss; why so; I'll stab, by heaven, If you but stir; now hear--first kiss again. Why so; stir not. Now come I to the point. My hopes are past, nor can my present state Afford a single halfpenny: my father Hates me deadly; to beg, my birth forbids; To steal, the law, the hangman and the rope With one consent deny: to go o'trust, The city common-council has forbid it, Therefore my state is desperate--stir not-- And I by much will rather choose to hang, Than in a ditch or prison-hole to starve. Resolve, wed me, and take me to your bed, Or by my soul I'll straight cut off your head, Then kill myself; for I had rather die, Than in a street live poor and lousily. You don't--I know, you cannot[430]--love my father? A widow that has known the _quid_ of things, To doat upon an old and crazed man, That stinks at both ends worse than an elder-pipe! Who, when his blood and spirit are at the height, Hath not a member to his palsy body, But is more limber than a King's-head pudding, Took from the pot half-sod; do I not know this? Have you not wealth enough to serve us both? And am not I a pretty handsome fellow To do your drudgery? Come, come, resolve. For, by my blood, if you deny your bed, I'll cut your throat without equivocation. If you be pleas'd, hold up your finger; if not, By heaven I'll gar my whinyard[431] through your womb! Is't a match? TAF. Hear me but speak. W. SMALL. You'll prate too loud. TAF. No. W. SMALL. Nor speak one word against my honest suit? TAF. No, by my worth. W. SMALL. Kiss upon that, and speak. TAF. I dare not wed; men say y'are naught, you'll cheat, And you do keep a whore. W. SMALL. That is a lie; She keeps herself and me; yet I protest, She's not dishonest. TAF. How could she maintain you?