Fan. By the harte of God, well done!
Fol. Ye, so redely and so sone!
Here cometh in Crafty Conueyaunce.
Cr. Con. What, Fansy! Let me se who is the tother.
Fan. By God, syr, Foly, myne owne sworne brother.
Cr. Con. Cockys bonys, it is a farle freke:
Can he play well at the hoddypeke?
Fan. Tell by thy trouth what sport can thou make.
Fol. A, holde thy peas; I haue the tothe ake.
Cr. Con. The tothe ake! lo, a torde ye haue.