Enter Timothy fantastically dressed, and a Footman.
Plot. Here he comes!
Tim. Sirrah, wait me in the hall,
And let your feet stink there: your air's not fit
To be endured by ladies.
Plot. What! quarrel with your footman, sir?
Tim. Hang him, he casts a scent
That drowns my perfumes, and is strong enough
To cure the mother of palsy. Do I act
A knight well?
Plot. This imperiousness becomes you,
Like a knight newly dubb'd, sir.
Tim. What says the lady?
Plot. Speak lower. I have prepar'd her; show yourself
A courtier: now she's yours!
Tim. If that be all,
I'll court her as if some courtier had begot me
I' th' gallery at a masque.
Plot. Madam, this gentleman
Desires to kiss your hands.