Flip. Which way?
Brass. Honourably——he has ordered me to demand her of thee in marriage.
Flip. Of me?
Brass. Why, when a man of quality has a mind to a city-fortune, would'st have him apply to her father and mother?
Flip. No.
Brass. No, so I think: men of our end of the town are better bred than to use ceremony. With a long perriwig we strike the lady, with a you-know-what we soften the maid; and when the parson has done his job, we open the affair to the family. Will you slip this letter into her prayer-book, my little queen? It's a very passionate one——It's seal'd with a heart and a dagger; you may see by that what he intends to do with himself.
Flip. Are there any verses in it? If not, I won't touch it.
Brass. Not one word in prose, it's dated in rhyme.
[She takes it.
Flip. Well, but have you brought nothing else?