Town. Mistrust me not: You shall walk out before his face at that very door, though he bring in a hundred spies, and not one of them shall perceive you.
Plot. Don't trifle. Are you mad? [knocking at the door.] Nay, now 'tis too late.
Town. Arm thyself with flounces, and fortify thyself with whalebone; [enter beneath the cupulo of this petticoat].
Plot. The best security in the world! an old fellow has seldom any thing to do beneath that circumferance.
Town. No more but under it immediately.
[Plotwell goes under it.
Thus Venus, when approaching foes assail,
Shields her Æneas with a silken veil.
Enter Fossile.
Town. O my dear you come opportunely. How do you like my fancy in this new petticoat? there is something in it so odd!
Fos. You have another in your chest much odder. I want to see that.
Town. How jaunty the flounces!