MRS GOUR. Am I to blame, sir? pray, what letter's this?
[Snatches the letter.]
MR GOUR. There is a dearth of manners in ye, wife,
Rudely to snatch it from me. Give it me.
MRS GOUR. You shall not have it, sir, till I have read it.
MR GOUR. Give me it, then, and I will read it to you.
MRS GOUR. No, no, it shall not need: I am a scholar
Good enough to read a letter, sir.
MR GOUR. God's passion, if she know but the contents,
She'll seek to cross this match! she shall not read it. [Aside.]
Wife, give it me; come, come, give it me.
MRS GOUR. Husband, in very deed, you shall not have it.
MR GOUR. What, will you move me to impatience, then?
MRS GOUR. Tut, tell not me of your impatience;
But since you talk, sir, of impatience,
You shall not have the letter, by this light,
Till I have read it; soul, I'll burn it first!
MR GOUR. Go to, ye move me, wife; give me the letter;
In troth, I shall grow angry, if you do not.