Arch. To herself, I warrant her; as you should have been.
Aim. By all my hopes, she comes! and smiling comes.
Enter Dorinda, gaily.
Dor. Come, my dear lord, I fly with impatience to your arms.—The minutes of my absence was a tedious year.—Where's this priest?
Enter Foigard.
Arch. Oons! a brave girl!
Dor. I suppose, my lord, this gentleman is privy to our affairs?
Arch. Yes, yes, madam, I'm to be your father.
Dor. Come, priest, do your office.
Arch. Make haste, make haste! couple them any way. [Takes Aimwell's Hand.] Come, madam, I'm to give you——