‘Gog’s crosse, Gammer’ (says Cocke the boy), ‘if ye will laugh, look in but at the door, And see how Hodge lieth tumbling and tossing amidst the floor, Raking there, some fire to find among the ashes dead’ [That is, to light a candle to look for the lost needle], ‘Where there is not a spark so big as a pin’s head: At last in a dark corner two sparks he thought he sees, Which were indeed nought else but Gib our cat’s two eyes. Puff, quoth Hodge; thinking thereby to have fire without doubt; With that Gib shut her two eyes, and so the fire was out; And by and by them open’d, even as they were before, With that the sparks appeared, even as they had done of yore: And even as Hodge blew the fire, as he did think, Gib, as he felt the blast, strait way began to wink; Till Hodge fell of swearing, as came best to his turn; The fire was sure bewitch’d, and therefore would not burn. At last Gib up the stairs, among old posts and pins, And Hodge he hied him after, till broke were both his shins; Cursing and swearing oaths, were never of his making, That Gib would fire the house, if that she were not taken.’ Diccon the strolling beggar (or Bedlam, as he is called) steals a piece of bacon from behind Gammer Gurton’s door, and in answer to Hodge’s complaint of being dreadfully pinched for hunger, asks— ‘Why Hodge, was there none at home thy dinner for to set? _Hodge._ Gog’s bread, Diccon, I came too late, was nothing there to get: Gib (a foul fiend might on her light) lick’d the milk-pan so clean: See Diccon, ’twas not so well wash’d this seven year, I ween. A pestilence light on all ill luck, I had thought yet for all this, Of a morsel of bacon behind the door, at worst I should not miss: But when I sought a slip to cut, as I was wont to do, Gog’s souls, Diccon, Gib our cat had eat the bacon too.’ Hodge’s difficulty in making Diccon understand what the needle is which his dame has lost, shows his superior acquaintance with the conveniences and modes of abridging labour in more civilised life, of which the other had no idea. ‘_Hodge._ Has she not gone, trowest now thou, and lost her neele?’ [So it is called here.] ‘_Dic._ (_says staring_). Her eel, Hodge! Who fished of late? That was a dainty dish.’ _Hodge._ Tush, tush, her neele, her neele, her neele, man, ’tis neither flesh nor fish: A little thing with a hole in the end, as bright as any siller [silver], Small, long, sharp at the point, and strait as any pillar. _Dic._ I know not what a devil thou meanest, thou bring’st me more in doubt. _Hodge._ (_answers with disdain_). Know’st not with what Tom tailor’s man sits broching through a clout? A neele, a neele, my Gammer’s neele is gone.’