_Doctor Rat._ God's sacrament! the villain knave hath dress'd us round about! He is the cause of all this brawl, that dirty shitten lout! When Gammer Gurton here complained, and made a rueful moan, I heard him swear that you had gotten her needle that was gone; And this to try, he further said, he was full loth; howbeit He was content with small ado to bring me where to see it. And where ye sat, he said full certain, if I would follow his reed, Into your house a privy way he would me guide and lead, And where ye had it in your hands, sewing about a clout, And set me in the back-hole, thereby to find you out: And whiles I sought a quietness, creeping upon my knees, I found the weight of your door-bar for my reward and fees. Such is the luck that some men gets, while they begin to mell. In setting at one such as were out, minding to make all well. _Hodge._ Was not well blest, gammer, to 'scape that stour? And chad been there, Then chad been dress'd, belike, as ill, by the mass, as Gaffer Vicar. _Baily._ Marry, sir, here is a sport alone; I looked for such an end. If Diccon had not play'd the knave, this had been soon amend. My gammer here he made a fool, and dress'd her as she was; And goodwife Chat he set to scold, till both parts cried, alas! And Doctor Rat was not behind, whiles Chat his crown did pare. I would the knave had been stark blind, if Hodge had not his share. _Hodge._ Cham meetly well-sped already among's, cham dress'd like a colt! And chad not had the better wit, chad been made a dolt. _Baily._ Sir knave, make haste Diccon were here; fetch him, wherever he be! _Chat._ Fie on the villain, fie, fie! that makes us thus agree! _Gammer._ Fie on him, knave, with all my heart! now fie, and fie again! _Doctor Rat._ Now "fie on him!" may I best say, whom he hath almost slain. _Baily._ Lo, where he cometh at hand, belike he was not far! Diccon, here be two or three thy company cannot spare. _Diccon._ God bless you, and you may be bless'd, so many all at once! _Chat._ Come, knave, it were a good deed to geld thee, by Cock's bones! Seest not thy handiwork? Sir Rat, can ye forbear him? _Diccon._ A vengeance on those hands light, for my hands came not near him. The whoreson priest hath lift the pot in some of these alewives' chairs, That his head would not serve him, belike, to come down the stairs. _Baily._ Nay, soft! thou may'st not play the knave, and have this language too! If thou thy tongue bridle a while, the better may'st thou do. Confess the truth, as I shall ask, and cease a while to fable; And for thy fault I promise thee thy handling shall be reasonable. Hast thou not made a lie or two, to set these two by the ears?