FRAN. Philip, content. Coomes, come hither, sirrah: When our fathers part, call us upon the green. Philip, come, a rubbers[215], and so leave. PHIL. Come on. [_Exeunt_ PHILIP _and_ FRANCIS.] COOMES. 'Sbloud, I do not like the humour of these springals; they'll spend all their fathers' good at gaming. But let them trowl the bowls upon the green. I'll trowl the bowls in the buttery by the leave of God and Master Barnes: and his men be good fellows, so it is; if they be not, let them go snick up[216]. [_Exit. Enter_ NICHOLAS _with the tables_. MR BAR. So, set them down. Mistress Goursey, how do you like this game? MRS GOUR. Well, sir. MR BAR. Can ye play at it? MRS GOUR. A little, sir. MR BAR. Faith, so can my wife. MR GOUR. Why, then, Master Barnes, and if you please, Our wives shall try the quarrel 'twixt us two, And we'll look on. MR BAR. I am content. What, women[217], will you play? MRS GOUR. I care not greatly. MRS BAR. Nor I, but that I think she'll play me false. MR GOUR. I'll see she shall not. MRS BAR. Nay, sir, she will be sure you shall not see; You, of all men, shall not mark her hand; She hath such close conveyance in her play. MR GOUR. Is she so cunning grown? Come, come, let's see. MRS GOUR. Yea, Mistress Barnes, will ye not house your jests, But let them roam abroad so carelessly? Faith, if your jealous tongue utter another, I'll cross ye with a jest, and ye were my mother.-- Come, shall we play? [_Aside_.] MRS BAR. Ay, what shall we play a game? MRS GOUR. A pound a game. MR GOUR. How, wife? MRS GOUR. Faith, husband, not a farthing less. MR GOUR. It is too much; a shilling were good game. MRS GOUR. No, we'll be ill-huswives once; You have been oft ill husbands: let's alone. MR BAR. Wife, will you play so much? MRS BAR. I would be loth to be so frank a gamester As Mistress Goursey is; and yet for once I'll play a pound a game as well as she. MR BAR. Go to, you'll have your will [_Offer to go from them_. MRS BAR. Come, there's my stake. MRS GOUR. And there's mine. MRS BAR. Throw for the dice. Ill luck! then they are yours. MR BAR. Master Goursey, who says that gaming's bad, When such good angels[218] walk 'twixt every cast? MR GOUR. This is not noble sport, but royal play. MR BAR. It must be so, where royals[218] walk so fast. MRS BAR. Play right, I pray. MRS GOUR. Why, so I do. MRS BAR. Where stands your man? MRS GOUR. In his right place. MRS BAR. Good faith, I think ye play me foul an ace. MR BAR. No, wife, she plays ye true. MRS BAR. Peace, husband, peace; I'll not be judg'd by you. MRS GOUR. Husband, Master Barnes, pray, both go walk! We cannot play if standers-by do talk. MR GOUR. Well, to your game; we will not trouble ye. [_Go from them_. MRS GOUR. Where stands your man now? MRS BAR. Doth he not stand right? MRS GOUR. It stands between the points.