_D. Rat._ I wold my head were half so hole; I wold seeke no redresse! _Bayly._ God blesse you, Gammer Gurton! _Gammer._ God dylde you,[732] master mine! _Bayly._ Thou hast a knave within thy house--Hodge, a servant of thine; They tel me that busy knave is such a filching one, That hen, pig, goose or capon, thy neighbour can have none. 65 _Gammer._ By God, cham much ameved,[733] to heare any such reporte! Hodge was not wont, ich trow, to have[734] him in that sort. _Chat._ A theevisher knave is not on live, more filching, nor more false; Many a truer man then he hase hanged up by the halse;[735] And thou, his dame,--of al his theft thou art the sole receaver;[736] 70 For Hodge to catch, and thou to kepe, I never knew none better! _Gammer._ Sir reverence[737] of your masterdome, and you were out adoore, Chold be so bolde, for al hir brags, to cal her arrant whoore; And ich knew Hodge as bad as tow,[738] ich wish me endlesse sorow And chould not take the pains to hang him up before to morow! 75 _Chat._ What have I stolne from the or thine, thou ilfavored olde trot? _Gammer._ A great deale more, by Gods blest, then chever by the got! That thou knowest wel, I neade not say it. _Bayly._ Stoppe there, I say, And tel me here, I pray you, this matter by the way, How chaunce Hodge is not here? him wold I faine have had. 80 _Gammer._ Alas, sir, heel be here anon; ha be handled to bad. _Chat._ Master Bayly, sir, ye be not such a foole, wel I know, But ye perceive by this lingring there is a pad[739] in the straw. (_Thinking that Hodg his head was broke, and that Gammer wold not let him come before them._) _Gammer._ Chil shew you his face, ich warrant the; lo now where he is! _Bayly._ Come on, fellow, it is tolde me thou art a shrew, iwysse: 85 Thy neighbours hens thou takest, and playes the two legged foxe; Their chickens and their capons to, and now and then their cocks. _Hodge._ Ich defy them al that dare it say, cham as true as the best! _Bayly._ Wart not thou take within this houre in Dame Chats hens nest? _Hodge._ Take there? no, master; chold not dot for a house ful of gold! 90 _Chat._ Thou or the devil in thy cote--sweare this I dare be bold. _D. Rat._ Sweare me no swearing, quean, the devill he geve the sorow! Al is not worth a gnat thou canst sweare till to morow: E Where is the harme he hath? shew it, by Gods bread! Ye beat him with a witnes, but the stripes light on my head! 95 _Hodge._ Bet me? Gogs blessed body, chold first, ich trow, have burst the! Ich thinke and chad my hands loose, callet, chould have crust the!