_Hodge._ Diccon? it is a vengeable knave, Gammer, tis a bonable[698] horson, 10 Can do mo things then that, els cham deceyved evill: By the masse, ich saw him of late cal up a great blacke devill! O, the knave cryed "ho, ho!" he roared and he thundred, And yead bene here, cham sure yould murrenly ha wondred. _Gammer._ Was not thou afraide, Hodge to see him in this place? 15 _Hodge._ No, and chad come to me, chould have laid him on the face, Chould have, promised him! _Gammer._ But, Hodge, had he no hornes to pushe? _Hodge._ As long as your two armes. Saw ye never Fryer Rushe[699] Painted on a cloth, with a side long cowes tayle, And crooked cloven feete, and many a hoked nayle? 20 For al the world, if I shuld judg, chould recken him his brother. Loke, even what face Frier Rush had, the devil had such another. _Gammer._ Now Jesus mercy, Hodg! did Diccon in him bring? _Hodge._ Nay Gammer, here me speke, chil tel you a greater thing; The devil (when Diccon had him, ich hard him wondrous weel) 25 Sayd plainly here before us, that Dame Chat had your neele. _G_[_am_]_mer._ Then let us go, and aske her wherfore she minds to kepe it; Seing we know so much, tware a madnes now to slepe it. _Hodge._ Go to her, Gammer; see ye not where she stands in her doores? Byd her geve you the neele, tys none of hers but yours. 30 The iii. Acte. The iii. Sceane. GAMMER. CHAT. HODGE. _Gammer._ Dame Chat, cholde praye the fair, let me have that is mine! Chil not this twenty yeres take one fart that is thyne; Therefore give me mine owne, and let me live besyde the. _Chat._ Why art thou crept from home hether, to mine own doores to chide me? Hence, doting drab, avaunt, or I shall set the further! 5 Intends thou and that knave mee in my house to murther? _Gammer._ Tush, gape not so on[700] me, woman! shalt not yet eate mee! Nor all the frends thou hast in this shall not intreate mee! Mine owne goods I will have, and aske the no[701] beleve,[702] What, woman! pore folks must have right, though the thing you aggreve. 10 _Chat._ Give thee thy right, and hang the up, with al thy baggers broode! What, wilt thou make me a theefe, and say I stole thy good? _Gammer._ Chil say nothing, ich warrant thee, but that ich can prove it well. Thou fet my good even from my doore, cham able this to tel! _Chat._ Dyd I, olde witche, steale oft[703] was thine? how should that thing be knowen? 15 _Gammer._ Ich can no tel; but up thou tokest it as though it had ben thine owne,