_Johan._ Cokkis body, this waxe it waxte colde agayn here;-- 610 But what! shall I anone go to bed, And eate nothyng, nother meate nor brede? I have not be wont to have suche fare. _Tyb._ Why! were ye not served there as ye are, Chafyng the waxe, standying by the fyre? 615 _Johan._ Why, what mete gave ye me, I you requyre? _Sir J._ Wast thou not served, I pray the hartely, Both with the brede, the ale, and the pye? _Johan._ No, syr, I had none of that fare. _Tyb._ Why! were ye not served there as ye are, 620 Standyng by the fyre chafyng the waxe? _Johan._ Lo, here be many tryfyls and knakks-- By kokkis soule, they wene I am other dronke or mad. _Tyb._ And had ye no meate, Johan Johan? no had? _Johan._ No, Tyb my wyfe, I had not a whyt. 625 _Tyb._ What, not a morsel? _Johan._ No, not one byt; For honger, I trowe, I shall fall in a sowne. _Sir J._ O, that were pyte, I swere by my crowne. _Tyb._ But is it trewe? _Johan._ Ye, for a surete. _Tyb._ Dost thou ly? _Johan._ No, so mote I the![282] 630 _Tyb._ Hast thou had nothyng? _Johan._ No, not a byt. _Tyb._ Hast thou not dronke? _Johan._ No, not a whyt. _Tyb._ Where wast thou? _Johan._ By the fyre I dyd stande. _Tyb._ What dydyst? _Johan._ I chafed this waxe in my hande, Where-as I knewe of wedded men the payne 635 That they have, and yet dare not complayne; For the smoke put out my eyes two, I burned my face, and rayde my clothes also, Mendyng the payle, whiche is so rotten and olde, That it will not skant together holde; 640 And syth it is so, and syns that ye twayn Wold gyve me no meate for my suffysance, B iv _b_ By ko[k]kis soule I wyll take no lenger payn, Ye shall do all yourself, with a very vengaunce, For me, and take thou there thy payle now, 645 And yf thou canst mend it, let me se how. _Tyb._ A! horson's knave! hast thou brok my payll? Thou shall repent, by kokkis lylly nayll. Rech me my dystaf, or my clyppyng sherys: I shall make the blood ronne about his erys. 650 _Johan._ Nay, stand styll, drab, I say, and come no nere, For by kokkis blood, yf thou come here, Or yf thou onys styr toward this place, I shall throw this shovyll full of colys in thy face. _Tyb._ Ye! horson dryvyll! get the out of my dore. 655 _Johan._ Nay! get thou out of my house, thou prestis hore. _Sir J._ Thou lyest, horson kokold, evyn to thy face. _Johan._ And thou lyest, pyld preest, with an evyll grace. _Tyb._ And thou lyest.