[Exeunt.
Mom. And now what saies mine owne deare Neece yfaith?
Eug. What shood she say to the backside of a paper?
Mom. Come, come, I know you have byn a' the belly side.
Eug. Now was there ever Lord so prodigall Of his owne honour'd bloud, and dignity?
Mom. Away with these same horse-faire allegations; will you answer the letter?
Eug. Gods my life, you goe like a cunning spokesman, answer uncle; what, doe you thinke me desperate of a husband?
Mom. Not so, Neece; but carelesse of your poore Vncle.
Eug. I will not write, that's certaine.
Mom. What, wil you have my friend and I perish? doe you thirst our blouds?