+Dor.+ Why, like a lady; for I do mean To have you knighted. +Ware.+ I shall rise to honour. +Dor.+ D'you think I'll have your factor move before me, Like a device stirr'd by a wire, or like Some grave clock wound up to a regular pace? +Ware.+ No, you shall have your usher, dame, to stalk Before you, like a buskin'd prologue,[259] in A stately, high, majestic motion, bare. +Dor.+ I do expect it: yes, sir, and my coach, Six horses and postillion; four are fit For them that have a charge of children: you And I shall never have any. +Ware.+ If we have, All Middlesex is father. +Dor.+ Then I'll have My footman to run by me when I visit, Or take the air sometimes in Hyde Park. +Ware.+ You, Besides being chaste, are good at races too: You can be a jockey for a need? +Dor.+ Y' are pleasant, sir. +Ware.+ Why, hark you, hark you, mistress; you told me You lov'd retirement, loved not visits, and bargain'd I should not carry you abroad. +Dor.+ You! no. Is't fit I should be seen at court with you? Such an odd sight as you would make the ladies Have melancholy thoughts. +Ware.+ You bound me, too, I should not go to sea: you lov'd me so, You could not be without me. +Dor.+ Not if you stay'd Above a year; for should I, in a long voyage, Prove fruitful, I should want a father to The infant. +Ware.+ Most politicly kind, And, like a whore, perfect i' th' mystery! It is beyond my sufferance. +Dor.+ Pray, sir, vex [not]: I'll in and see your jewels, and make choice Of some for every day; and some to wear At masques. [_Exit._ +Ware.+ 'Tis very good. Two days Of this I shall grow mad; or, to redeem Myself, commit some outrage. O--O--O! SCENE III. _Enter +Plotwell+ and +Roseclap+._ +Plot.+ Sir, I am sorry such a light offence Should make such deep impressions in you: but that Which more afflicts me than the loss of my Great hopes, is that y' are likely to be abused, sir; Strangely abused, sir, by one Bannswright. I hear You are to marry---- +Ware.+ Did you hear so? +Plot.+ Madam Aurelia's woman. +Ware.+ What of her, sir? +Plot.+ Why, sir, I thought it duty to inform you, That you would better match a ruin'd bawd; One ten times cured by sweating and the tub,[260] Or pain'd now with her fiftieth ache, whom not The pow'r of usquebaugh, or heat of fevers Quickens enough to wish; one of such looks, The judges of assize, without more proof, Suspect, arraign, and burn for witchcraft. +Ware.+ Why, pray? +Plot.+ For she being pass'd all motions, impotence will be a kind of chastity, and you Might have her to yourself: but here is one Knows this to be---- +Ware.+ An arrant whore?