BOY. No, thou stand'st like the Bull at St Alban's.
COOMES. Boy, ye lie—the Horns.[237]
BOY. The bull's bitten; see, how he butts!
PHIL. Coomes, Coomes, put up;[238] my friend and thou art friends.
COOMES. I'll hear him say so first.
PHIL. Frank, prythee, do; be friends, and tell him so.
FRAN. Go to, I am.
BOY. Put up, sir; and ye be a man, put up.
COOMES. I am easily persuaded, boy.
PHIL. Ah, ye mad slave!