_Chat._ A thievisher knave is not on-live, more filching, nor more false; Many a truer man than he has hanged up by the halse; And thou, his dame--of all his theft thou art the sole receiver; For Hodge to catch, and thou to keep, I never knew none better! _Gammer._ Sir reverence of your masterdom, and you were out a-door, Chould be so bold, for all her brags, to call her arrant whore; And ich knew Hodge as bad as t'ou, ich wish me endless sorrow And chould not take the pains to hang him up before to-morrow! _Chat._ What have I stolen from thee or thine, thou ill-favor'd old trot? _Gammer._ A great deal more, by God's blest, than chever by thee got! That thou knowest well, I need not say it. _Baily._ Stop there, I say, And tell me here, I pray you, this matter by the way, How chance Hodge is not here? him would I fain have had. _Gammer._ Alas, sir, he'll be here anon; a' be handled too bad. _Chat._ Master Baily, sir, ye be not such a fool, well I know. But ye perceive by this lingering there is a pad in the straw. [_Thinking that Hodge his head was broke,_ _and that Gammer would not let him come before them._ _Gammer._ Chill show you his face, ich warrant thee; lo, now where he is! _Baily._ Come on, fellow, it is told me thou art a shrew, i-wis: Thy neighbour's hens thou takest, and plays the two-legged fox; Their chickens and their capons too, and now and then their cocks. _Hodge._ Ich defy them all that dare it say, cham as true as the best! _Baily._ Wert not thou take within this hour in dame Chat's hens'-nest? _Hodge._ Take there? no, master; chould not do't for a house full of gold! _Chat._ Thou, or the devil in thy coat--swear this I dare be bold. _Doctor Rat._ Swear me no swearing, quean, the devil he give thee sorrow! All is not worth a gnat, thou canst swear till to-morrow! Where is the harm he hath? show it, by God's bread! Ye beat him with a witness, but the stripes light on my head! _Hodge._ Beat me! Gog's blessed body, chould first, ich trow, have burst thee! Ich think, and chad my hands loose, callet, chould have crust thee! _Chat._ Thou shitten knave, I trow thou knowest the full weight of my fist; I am foully deceived unless thy head and my door-bar kissed. _Hodge._ Hold thy chat, whore; thou criest so loud, can no man else be heard? _Chat._ Well, knave, and I had thee alone, I would surely rap thy costard! _Baily._ Sir, answer me to this: Is thy head whole or broken? _Hodge._ Yea, Master Baily, blest be every good token, Is my head whole! Ich warrant you, 'tis neither scurvy nor scald! What, you foul beast, does think 'tis either pild or bald? Nay, ich thank God, chill not for all that thou may'st spend That chad one scab on my narse as broad as thy finger's end.