PHIL. Why, where the devil hadst thou that word?
COOMES. O, sir, you have the most eloquent ale in all the[235] world; our blunt soil affords none such.
FRAN. Philip, leave talking with this drunken fool. Say, sirrah, where's my father?
COOMES. "Marry, I thank ye for my very good cheer,—O Lord, it is not so much worth.—You see I am bold with ye.—Indeed, you are not so bold as welcome; I pray ye, come oft'ner.—Truly, I shall trouble ye." All these ceremonies are despatch'd between them, and they are gone.
FRAN. Are they so?
COOMES. Ay, before God, are they.
FRAN. And wherefore came not you to call me then?
COOMES. Because I was loth to change my game.
FRAN. What game?
COOMES. You were at one sort of bowls as I was at another.