Prue. Then, by that I should come into your worship's chamber, and come to bed to your worship.—Now am I as red as my petticoat again, I warrant.
Mons. No, thou art no redder than a brick unburnt, Prue.
Prue. But if I should do such a trick in my sleep, your worship would not censure a poor harmless maid, I hope?—for I am apt to walk in my sleep.
Mons. Well, then, Prue, because thou shalt not shame thyself, poor wench, I'll be sure to lock my door every night fast.
Prue. [Aside.] So! so! this way I find will not do:—I must come roundly and downright to the business, like other women, or—
Enter Gerrard.
Mons. O, the dancing-master!
Prue. Dear sir, I have something to say to you in your ear, which I am ashamed to speak aloud.
Mons. Another time, another time, Prue. But now go call your mistress to her dancing-master. Go, go.
Prue. Nay, pray hear me, sir, first.