_Hodge._ See! so cham[661] arayed with dablynge in the durt! She that set me to ditchinge, ich wold she hat the squrt! Was never poore soule that such a life had. Gogs bones! thys vylthy glaye hase drest me to bad! Gods soule! see how this stuffe teares! 5 Iche were better to bee a bearward and set to keepe beares! By the Masse, here is a gasshe, a shamefull hole in deade! And one stytch teare furder, a man may thrust in his heade. _Diccon._ By my fathers soule, Hodge, if I shoulde now be sworne, I can not chuse but say thy breech is foule betorne, 10 But the next remedye in such a case and hap Is to plaunche on a piece as brode as thy cap. _Hodge._ Gogs soule, man, tis not yet two dayes fully ended Synce my dame Gurton, chem sure, these breches amended; But cham made suc[h]e a drudge to trudge at euery neede, 15 Chwold rend it though it were stitched with[662] sturdy pacthreede. _Diccon._ Ho[d]ge, let thy breeches go, and speake and tell mee soone What devill ayleth Gammer Gurton & Tib her mayd to frowne. _Hodge._ Tush, man, thart deceyved: tys theyr dayly looke; They coure so over the coles, theyre eyes be bleared with smooke. 20 _Diccon._ Nay, by the masse, I perfectly perceived, as I came hether, That eyther Tib and her dame hath ben by the eares together, Or els as great a matter, as thou shalt shortly see. _Hodge._ Now, iche beseeche our Lord they never better agree! _Diccon._ By Gogs soule, there they syt as still as stones in the streite, As though they had ben taken with fairies, or els with some il sprite. 26 _Hodge._ Gogs hart! I durst have layd my cap to a crowne Chwould lerne of some prancome as sone as ich came to town. _Diccon._ Why, Hodge, art thou inspyred? or dedst thou therof here? _Hodge._ Nay, but ich saw such a wonder as ich saw nat this seven yere. 30 Tome Tannkards cow, be Gogs bones! she set me up her saile, And flynging about his halfe aker[663] fysking with her taile, As though there had ben in her ars a swarme of bees, And chad not cryed "tphrowh, hoore," shead lept out of his lees. _Diccon._ Why, Hodg, lies the connyng in Tom Tankards cowes taile? 35 _Hodge._ Well, ich chave hard some say such tokens do not fayle. Bot ca[n]st thou not tell,[664] in faith, Diccon, why she frownes, or wher at? Hath no man stolne her ducks or hen[n]es, or gelded Gyb, her cat? _Diccon._ What devyll can I tell, man? I cold not have one word! They gave no more hede to my talk than thow woldst to a lorde.