C. Custance. Howe by this letter of loue? is it not fine?
R. Royster. By the armes of Caleys it is none of myne.
M. Mery. Fie you are fowle to blame this is your owne hand.
C. Custance. Might not a woman be proude of such an husbande?
M. Mery. Ah that ye would in a letter shew such despite.
R. Royster. Oh I would I had hym here, the which did it endite.
M. Mery. Why ye made it your selfe ye tolde me by this light.
R. Royster. Yea I ment I wrote it myne owne selfe yesternight.
C. Custance. Ywis sir, I would not haue sent you such a mocke.
R. Royster. Ye may so take it, but I ment it not so by cocke.