_Bayly._ Yea, but who knoweth that, when he meets you in the darke? I am sure your learning shines not out at your nose! Was it any marvaile though the poore woman arose And start up, being afraide of that was in hir purse? Me thinke you may be glad that you[r] lucke was no worse. 20 _D. Rat._ Is not this evill ynough, I pray you, as you thinke? (_Showing his broken head._) _Bayly._ Yea, but a man in the darke, if[726] chaunces do wincke, As soone he smites his father as any other man, Because for lacke of light discerne him he ne can. Might it not have ben your lucke with a spit to have ben slaine? 25 _D. Rat._ I think I am litle better, my scalpe is cloven to the braine. If there be all the remedy, I know who beares the k[n]ockes. _Bayly._ By my troth, and well worthy besides to kisse the stockes! To come in on the backe side, when ye might go about! I know non such, unles they long to have their braines knockt out. 30 _D. Rat._ Well, wil you be so good, sir, as talke with Dame Chat, And know what she intended? I aske no more but that. _Bayly._ Let her be called, fellow,[727] because of Master Doctor, I warrant in this case she wil be hir owne proctor; She will tel hir owne tale in metter or in prose, 35 And byd you seeke your remedy, and so go wype your nose. The v. Acte. The ii Sceane. M. BAYLY. CHAT. D. RAT. GAMMER. HODGE. DICCON. _Bayly._ Dame Chat, Master Doctor upon you here complained That you and your maides shuld him much misorder, And taketh many an oth, that no word he fained, Laying to your charge, how you thought him to murder; And on his part againe, that same man saith furder 5 He never offended you in word nor intent. To heare you answer hereto, we have now for you sent. _Chat._ That I wold have murdered him? fye on him, wretch, And evil mought he thee[728] for it, our Lord I beseech. I will swere on al the bookes that opens and shuttes, 10 He faineth this tale out of his owne guttes; For this seven weekes with me I am sure he sat not downe. Nay, ye have other minions, in the other end of the towne, Where ye were liker to catch such a blow, Then any where els, as farre as I know! 15 _Bayly._ Belike, then, Master Doctor, yon[729] stripe there ye got not! _D. Rat._ Thinke you I am so mad that where I was bet I wot not? Wil ye beleve this queane, before she hath tryd it? It is not the first dede she hath done, and afterward denide it. _Chat._ What, man, will you say I broke you[r] heade? 20 _D. Rat._ How canst thou prove the contrary?