M. Bar. Peace, peace.
Phil. Where's Hugh, I say?
M. Bar. Be not so hasty, Phillip. 345
Phil. Father, let me alone,
I doe it but to make my selfe some sport.
This formall foole, your man, speakes naught but proverbs,
And speake men what they can to him, hee'l answere
With some rime,[1705] rotten sentence, or olde saying, 350
Such spokes[1706] as the ancient of the parish use,