Aur. Well, sir, since
There is no remedy, your bed's prepar'd;
By that time you are laid, I'll come. Meantime,
I'll pray that gentleman to conduct you. There's
My footman to pluck off your stockings.
Plot. Come, sir.
Tim. Sweet lady, stay not long.
Plot. I'll promise for her.
[Exeunt Timothy, Plotwell, and Footman.
Dor. Faith, I admire your temperance, to let
Your bridegroom go to bed, and you not follow.
Were I in your case, I should ha' gone first,
And warm'd his place.
Aur. Well, wench; but that thou hast
Reveal'd thyself unto me, I'd admire
To hear a saint talk thus. To one that knows not
The mystery of thy strange conversion, thou
Wouldst seem a legend.
Dor. Faith, I've told you all,
Both why I left my schoolmistress, who taught me
To confute curling-irons, and why I put
Myself on this adventure.
Aur. Well, wench, my brother
Has had his plots on me, and I'll contribute
My help to work thy honest ones on him:
Do but perform thy task well, and thou winn'st
him.
Dor. Let me alone; never was man so fitted
With a chaste bride, as I will fit his uncle.