_Hodge._ Tush, tush, her nee'le, her nee'le, her nee'le, man! 'tis neither flesh nor fish; A little thing with an hole in the end, as bright as any sil'er, Small, long, sharp at the point, and straight as any pillar. _Diccon._ I know not what a devil thou meanest, thou bring'st me more in doubt. _Hodge._ Knowest not with what Tom-tailor's man sits broaching through a clout? A nee'le, a nee'le, a nee'le! my Gammer's nee'le is gone. _Diccon._ Her nee'le, Hodge! now I smell thee! that was a chance alone! By the mass, thou hast a shameful loss, and it were but for thy breeches. _Hodge._ Gog's soul, man, chould give a crown chad it but three stitches. _Diccon._ How sayest thou, Hodge? what should he have, again thy needle got? _Hodge._ By m'father's soul, and chad it, chould give him a new groat. _Diccon._ Canst thou keep counsel in this case? _Hodge._ Else chwold my tongue were out. _Diccon._ Do than but then by my advice, and I will fetch it without doubt. _Hodge._ Chill run, chill ride, chill dig, chill delve, Chill toil, chill trudge, shalt see; Chill hold, chill draw, chill pull, chill pinch, Chill kneel on my bare knee; Chill scrape, chill scratch, chill sift, chill seek, Chill bow, chill bend, chill sweat, Chill stoop, chill stour, chill cap, chill kneel, Chill creep on hands and feet; Chill be thy bondman, Diccon, ich swear by sun and moon, And channot somewhat to stop this gap, cham utterly undone! [_Pointing behind to his torn breeches._ _Diccon._ Why, is there any special cause thou takest hereat such sorrow? _Hodge._ Kirstian Clack, Tom Simpson's maid, by the mass, comes hither to-morrow, Cham not able to say, between us what may hap; She smiled on me the last Sunday, when ich put off my cap. _Diccon._ Well, Hodge, this is a matter of weight, and must be kept close, It might else turn to both our costs, as the world now goes. Shalt swear to be no blab, Hodge? _Hodge._ Chill, Diccon. _Diccon._ Then go to, Lay thine hand here; say after me, as thou shalt hear me do. Hast no book? _Hodge._ Cha no book, I. _Diccon._ Then needs must force us both, Upon my breech to lay thine hand, and there to take thine oath. _Hodge._ I, Hodge, breechless Swear to Diccon, rechless, By the cross that I shall kiss, To keep his counsel close, And always me to dispose To work that his pleasure is. [_Here he kisseth Diccon's breech._ _Diccon._ Now, Hodge, see thou take heed, And do as I thee bid; For so I judge it meet; This needle again to win, There is no shift therein, But conjure up a spreet. _Hodge._ What, the great devil, Diccon, I say? _Diccon._ Yea, in good faith, that is the way. Fet with some pretty charm.