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.