Euph. I will not question but you are in earnest; at least if any doubt remain, these will resolve it. [Gives him Letters.
Alon. What are these, Madam?
Euph. Letters, Sir, intercepted from the Father of my design’d Husband out of Flanders to mine.
Alon. What use can I make of them?
Euph. Only this: Put your self into an Equipage very ridiculous, and pretend you are my foolish Lover arriv’d from Flanders, call your self Haunce van Ezel, and give my Father these, as for the rest I’ll trust your Wit.
Alon. What shall I say or do now? [Aside.
Euph. [Come, come], no study, Sir; this must be done,
And quickly too, or you will lose me.
Alon. Two great Evils! if I had but the Grace to chuse the least now, that is, lose her. [Aside.
Euph. I’ll give you but to night to consider it.