_Diccon._ Then needes must force us both, Upon my breech to lay thine hand, and there to take thine othe. _Hodge._ I, Hodge, breechelesse 71 Sweare to Diccon, rechelesse, By the crosse that I shall kysse, To keep his counsaile close, And alwayes me to dispose 75 To worke that his pleasure is. (_Here he kysseth_ DICCONS _breech_.) _Diccon._ Now, Hodge, see thou take heede, And do as I thee byd; For so I judge it meete; This nedle again to win, 80 There is no shift therin But conjure up a spreete. _Hodge._ What, the great devill, Diccon, I saye? _Diccon._ Yea, in good faith, that is the waye. Fet with some prety charme. 85 _Hodge._ Soft, Diccon, be not to hasty yet, By the masse, for ich begyn to sweat! Cham afrayde of some[682] harme. _Diccon._ Come hether, then, and sturre the nat One inche out of this cyrcle plat, 90 But stande as I thee teache. _Hodge._ And shall ich be here safe from theyr clawes? _Diccon._ The mayster devill with his longe pawes Here to the can not reache. Now will I settle me to this geare. 95 _Hodge._ I saye, Diccon, heare me, heare! Go softely to thys matter! _Diccon._ What devyll, man? art afraide of nought? _Hodge._ Canst not tarrye a lytle thought Tyll ich make a curtesie of water? 100 _Diccon._ Stand still to it; why shuldest thou feare hym? _Hodge._ Gogs sydes, Diccon, me thinke ich heare him! And tarrye, chal mare all! _Diccon._ The matter is no worse than I tolde it. _Hodge._ By the masse, cham able no longer to holde it! 105 To bad! iche must beray the hall! _Diccon._ Stand to it, Hodge! sture not, you horson! What devyll, be thine ars strynges brusten? Thyselfe a while but staye, The devill (I smell hym) will be here anone. 110 _Hodge._ Hold him fast, Diccon, cham gone! cham gone! Chyll not be at that fraye! The ii Acte. The ii Sceane. DICCON. CHAT. _Diccon._ Fy, shytten knave, and out upon thee! Above all other loutes, fye on thee! Is not here a clenly prancke? But thy matter was no better, Nor thy presence here no sweter, 5 To flye I can the thanke.[683] Here is a matter worthy glosynge, Of Gammer Gurton nedle losynge, And a foule peece of warke! A man I thyncke myght make a playe, 10 And nede no worde to this they saye, Being but halfe a clarke.