Ura. Leave us a while. My Lord Ismenus, [Exit[Wom.]
I pray for the love of Heaven and God,
That you would tell me one thing, which I know
You can do weell.
Isme. Where's her fain Grace?
Ura. You know me well inough, but that you mock, I am she my sen.
Isme. God bless him that shall be thy husband, if thou wear'st [breeches] thus soon, thou'lt be as impudent as thy Mother.
Ura. But will you tell me this one thing?
Ism. What is't? if it be no great matter whether I do or no, perhaps I will.
Ura. Yes faith, 'tis matter.
Ism. And what is't?
Ura. I pray you let me know whaire the Prince my Brother is.
Ism. I'faith you shan be hang'd first, is your Mother so foolish to think your good Grace can sift it out of me?