Val. That’s the letter I writ to her friend.
Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and [there] II. 1.
150 an end.
Val. I would it were no worse.
Speed. I’ll warrant you, ’tis as well:
For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;
155 Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind discover,
Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you, sir? ’tis dinner-time.
Val. I have dined.