Wild. Faith, Mistress Pleasant, he hath spoken nothing but reason, and I'll do my best to make it good: come, faith, teach my aunt what to do, and let me strike the bargain upon your lips.
Plea. No, sir, not to be half a queen; if we should yield now, your wit would domineer for ever: and still in all disputes (though never so much reason on our side) this shall be urged as an argument of your master-wit to confute us. I am of your aunt's mind, sir, and, if I can hinder it, it shall be no match.
Wild. Why, then know it is not in your powers to prevent it.
Wid. Why? we are not married yet.
Care. No, 'tis true.
Wid. By this good light, then, I'll be dumb for ever hereafter, lest I light upon the words of marriage by chance.
Plea. 'Tis hard, when our own acts cannot be in our own power, gentlemen.
Wild. The plot is only known to four: the minister, and two that stood for fathers, and a simple country maid that waited upon you last night, which plays your chambermaid's part.
Plea. And what will all these do?
Wild. Why, the two friends will swear they gave you, the parson will swear he married you, and the wench will swear she put us to bed.