R. Royster. By the armes of Caleys[518] it is none of myne.
M. Mery. Fie you are fowle to blame this is your owne hand. E iii b
C. Custance. Might not a woman be proude of such an husbande?
M. Mery. Ah that ye would in a letter shew such despite. 75
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 have sent you such a mocke.
R. Royster. Ye may so take it, but I ment it not so by cocke. 80
M. Mery. Who can blame this woman to fume and frette and rage?