Coo. I, before God, are they.

Fra. And wherefore came not you to call me, then?

Coo. Because I was loth to change my game.

Fra. What game? 150

Coo. You were at one sort of bowles, as I was at another.

Phi. Sirra, he meanes the buttery bowles of beere.

Coo. By God, sir, we tickled it.

Fra. Why, what a swearing keepes this drunken asse!—

Canst thou not say but sweare at every word? 155

Phi. Peace, do not marre his humour, prethie, Franke.