Mom.  What, wil you have my friend and I perish? doe you thirst our blouds?

Eug.  O yare in a mighty danger, noe doubt on’t.

Mom.  If you have our blouds, beware our ghosts, I can tell ye; come, will ye write?

Eug.  I will not write yfaith.

Mom.  Yfaith dame, then I must be your secretary, I see; heres the letter, come, doe you dictate, and ile write.

Eug.  If you write no otherwise then I dictate, it will scarce prove a kinde answer, I beleeve.

Mom.  But you will be advis’de, I trust.  Secretaries are of counsell with their Countesses; thus it begins:  Suffer him to love, that suffers not loving.  What answere you to that?

Eug.  He loves extreamely that suffers not in love.

Mom.  He answers you for that presently, his love is without passion, and therefore free from alteration, for Pati you know is in alterationem labi; he loves you in his soule, he tels you, wherein there is no passion.  Saie dame what answer you?

Eug.  Nay if I answere anie thing—­

Mom.  Why? very well, ile answer for you.

Eug.  You answere? shall I set my hand to your answere?

Mom.  I, by my faith shall ye.

Eug.  By my faith, but you shall answere as I wood have you then.

Mom.  Alwaies put in with advice of your secretary, Neece, come, what answere you?

Eug.  Since you needes will have my Answere, Ile answere briefely to the first, and last part of his letter.

Mom.  Doe so, Neece; and leave the midst for himselfe a gods name:  what is your answeare?

Eug. I cannot but suffer you to love, if you doe love.

Mom.  Why very good, there it is,—­and will requite your love; say you so? [He writes, and she dictates.

Eug.  Beshrowe my lipps then, my Lord.

Mom.  Beshrowe my fingers but you shall; what, you may promise to requite his love, and yet not promise him marriage, I hope; well,—­ and will requite your love.

Eug.  Nay good my Lord, hold your hand, for ile be sworne, ile not set my hand too’t.

Mom.  Well hold off your hand, good Madam, till it shood come on, Ile be ready for it anon, I warrent ye.  Now forth,—­my love is without passion, and therefore free from alteration:  what answere you to that Madam?

Eug.  Even this, my Lord:  your love, being mentall, needs no bodily Requitall.

Mom.  I am content with that, and here it is;—­but in hart.

Eug.  What but in hart?

Mom.  Hold off your hand yet I say;—­I doe embrace, and repay it.

Eug.  You may write, uncle, but if you get my hand to it—­