[Exit.
Zar. Crab, here's that shall make vinegar of thy carcase.
[Exit.
Enter Crab and Cole, two friars, with a rout of stinkards following them.
Crab. Ah! brother, 'tis best so. Now we have drawn them to a head, we'll begin here i' the market-place. Tut, so long as we be commanded by the mother-queen, we'll say her son is a bastard, an' he were ten Philips.
Cole. Take you one market-form, I'll take another.
Crab. No, God's-so',[66] we must both keep one form.
Cole. Ay, in oration, but not in station. Mount, mount.
1st Stink. Well, my masters, you know him not so well as I, on my word. Friar Crab is a sour fellow.