Flam. How now? what 's that?
Matron. A letter.
Flam. To my sister? I 'll see 't deliver'd.
Brach. What 's that you read, Flamineo?
Flam. Look.
Brach. Ha! 'To the most unfortunate, his best respected Vittoria'.
Who was the messenger?
Flam. I know not.
Brach. No! who sent it?
Flam. Ud's foot! you speak as if a man
Should know what fowl is coffin'd in a bak'd meat
Afore you cut it up.
Brach. I 'll open 't, were 't her heart. What 's here subscrib'd!
Florence! this juggling is gross and palpable.
I have found out the conveyance. Read it, read it.