_Gammer._ Who is that? What, Diccon? cham lost, man! fye, fye! _Diccon._ Mary, fy on them that be worthy! but what shuld be your troble? _Gammer._ Alas! the more ich thinke on it, my sorow it waxeth doble. My goodly tossing[689] sporyars[690] neele chave lost ich wot not where. 10 _Diccon._ Your neele? whan? _Gammer._ My neele, alas! ich myght full ill it spare, As God him selfe he knoweth, nere one besyde chave. _Diccon._ If this be all, good Gammer, I warrant you all is save. _Gammer._ Why, know you any tydings which way my neele is gone? _Diccon._ Yea, that I do doubtlesse, as ye shall here anone. 15 A see a thing this matter toucheth, within these twenty howres, Even at this gate, before my face, by a neyghbour of yours. She stooped me downe, and up she toke a nedle or a pyn. I durst be sworne it was even yours, by all my mothers kyn. _Gammer._ It was my neele, Diccon, ich wot; for here, even by this poste, 20 Ich sat, what time as ich up starte, and so my neele it loste. Who was it, leive[691] son? speke, ich pray the, and quickly tell me that! _Diccon._ A suttle queane as any in thys towne, your neyghboure here, Dame Chat. _Gammer._ Dame Chat, Diccon? Let me be gone, chil thyther in post haste. _Diccon._ Take my councell yet or ye go, for feare ye walke in wast. 25 It is a murrion crafty drab, and froward to be pleased; And ye take not the better way, our nedle yet ye lose[692] it: For when she tooke it up, even here before your doores, "What, soft, Dame Chat" (quoth I), "that same is none of yours." "Avant," quoth she, "syr knave! what pratest thou of that I fynd? 30 I wold thou hast kist me I wot whear;" she ment, I know, behind; And home she went as brag as it had ben a bodelouce, And I after, as bold as it had ben the goodman of the house. But there and ye had hard her, how she began to scolde! The tonge it went on patins, by hym that Judas solde! 35 Ech other worde I was a knave, and you a hore of hores, Because I spake in your behalfe, and sayde the neele was yours. _Gammer._ Gogs bread, and thinks that that callet thus to kepe my neele me fro? _Diccon._ Let her alone, and she minds non other but even to dresse you so. _Gammer._ By the masse, chil rather spend the cote that is on my backe! 40 Thinks the false quean by such a slygh[t] that chill my neele lacke?