Adol. They are as like as two Peas.  Take which you please, it’s all one to me.

Ber. Bowl away.

Adol. Hey-day, you whirl your Bowl as if your Arm was a Sling.

Ber. You have bit your Lip, and whirled your Bowl long enough:  Come bowl away.  A strong Bowl indeed, but I am best.

Adol. If it had not been for that mischievous Bit of a Brick-bat there, that lay in my Way, I had beat you off.

Ber. Stand fair.

Adol. I won’t cheat:  I intend to beat you, by Art, and not to cheat ye, since we contend for the Prize of Honour:  Rub, rub.

Ber. A great Cast in Troth.

Adol. Nay, don’t laugh before you’ve won.  We are equal yet.

Ber. This is who shall:  He that first hits the Jack is up.  I have beat you, sing.

Adol. Stay, you should have said how many you’d make up, for my Hand is not come in yet.

Ber. Judgment, Gentlemen.

Arbitr. 3.

Adol. Very well.

Ber. Well, what do you say now?  Are you beat or no?

Adol. You have had better Luck than I, but yet I won’t vail to you, as to Strength and Art; I’ll stand to what the Company says.

Arb. The German has beat, and the Victory is the more glorious, that he has beat so good a Gamester.

Ber. Now Cock, crow.

Adol. I am hoarse.

Ber. That’s no new Thing to Cocks; but if you can’t crow like an old Cock, crow like a Cockeril.

Adol. Let Germany flourish thrice.

Ber. You ought to have said so thrice.  I am a-dry; let us drink somewhere, I’ll make an end of the Song there.

Adol. I won’t stand upon that, if the Company likes it.

Arb. That will be the best, the Cock will crow clearer when his Throat is gargled.

* * * * *

3.  The Play of striking a Ball through an Iron Ring.

GASPAR, ERASMUS.

Gas._ Come, let’s begin, Marcolphus shall come in, in the Losers
Place.

Er. But what shall we play for?

Gas. He that is beat shall make and repeat extempore a Distich, in Praise of him that beat him.

Er. With all my Heart.

Gas. Shall we toss up who shall go first?

Er. Do you go first if you will, I had rather go last.

Gas. You have the better of me, because you know the Ground.

Er. You’re upon your own Ground.

Gas. Indeed I am better acquainted with the Ground, than I am with my Books; but that’s but a small Commendation.

Er. You that are so good a Gamester ought to give me Odds.

Gas. Nay, you should rather give me Odds; but there’s no great Honour in getting a Victory, when Odds is taken:  He only can properly be said to get the Game, that gets it by his own Art; we are as well match’d as can be.