WIFE. You've done too late, sir. Who shall do the rest now? Confess'd me yielding! was thy way too free? Why, didst thou long to be restrain'd? Pray, speak, sir! VOT. A man cannot cosen you of the sin of weakness, Or borrow it of a woman for one hour, But how he's wonder'd at! when search your lives, We shall ne'er find it from you; we can suffer you To play away your days in idleness, And hide your imperfections with our loves, Or the most part of you would appear strange creatures; And now 'tis but our chance to make an offer, And snatch at folly running: yet to see, How earnest you're against us, as if we'd robb'd you Of the best gift your natural mother left you. WIFE. Tis worth a kiss, i' faith, and thou shalt hav't, Were there not one more left for my lord's supper: And now, sir, I've bethought myself. VOT. That's happy! WIFE. You say we're weak; but the best wits of you all Are glad of our advice, for ought I see And hardly thrive without us. VOT. I'll say so too, To give you encouragement, and advance your virtues. 'Tis not good always to keep down a woman. WIFE. Well, sir, since you've begun to make my lord A doubtful man of me, keep on that course, And ply his faith still with that poor belief, That I'm inclining unto wantonness, Take heed you pass no further now. VOT. Why, dost think I'll be twice mad together in one moon? That were too much for any freeman's son After his father's funeral. WIFE. Well then thus, sir: Upholding still the same, as being embolden'd By some loose glance of mine, you shall attempt, After you've plac'd my lord in some near closet, To thrust yourself into my chamber rudely, As if the game went forward to your thinking, Then leave the rest to me. I'll so reward thee With bitterness of words, but (prythee, pardon me) My lord shall swear me into honesty Enough to serve his mind all his life after; Nay, for a need, I'll draw some rapier forth, That shall come near my hand as 'twere by chance, And set a lively face upon my rage; But fear thou nothing: I too dearly love thee To let harm touch thee. VOT. O, it likes me rarely, I'll choose a precious time for it. [_Exit_ VOTARIUS. WIFE. Go thy ways; I'm glad I had it for thee. _Enter_ LEONELLA. LEO. Madam, my lord entreats your company. WIFE. Pshaw, ye! LEO. Pshaw, ye! My lord entreats your company. WIFE. What now? Are ye so short-heel'd? LEO. I am as my betters are, then.