Mons. I cannot guess; ha! ha! ha! What should it be? prithee let's know the rest.
Prue. Would you have me so impudent?
Mons. Impudent! ha! ha! ha! Nay, prithee tell me; for I can't guess, da—
Prue. Nay, 'tis always so, for want of the men's guessing the poor women are forced to be impudent:—but I am still ashamed.
Mons. I will know it; speak.
Prue. Why then, methought last night you came up into my chamber in your shirt when I was in bed; and that you might easily do, for I have ne'er a lock to my door.—Now I warrant I am as red as my petticoat.
Mons. No, thou'rt as yellow as e'er thou wert.
Prue. Yellow, sir!
Mons. Ay, ay: but let's hear the dream out.
Prue. Why, can't you guess the rest now?