M. Mumbl. Yea?
M. Merry. And the worst drudge in the house shall go better
Than your mistress doth now.
M. Mumbl. Then I trudge with your letter.
R. Roister. Now may I repose me: Custance is mine own.
Let us sing and play homeward, that it may be known.
M. Merry. But are you sure that your letter is well enough?
R. Roister. I wrote it myself.
M. Merry. Then sing we to dinner. [Here they sing, and go out singing.