The rogue Diccon threatens to shew Hodge a spirit; but though Hodge runs away through pure fear before it has time to appear, he does not fail, in the true spirit of credulity, to give a faithful and alarming account of what he did not see to his mistress, concluding with a hit at the Popish Clergy. ‘By the mass, I saw him of late call up a great black devil. Oh, the knave cried, ho, ho, he roared and he thunder’d; And ye had been there, I am sure you’d murrainly ha’ wonder’d. _Gam._ Wast not thou afraid, Hodge, to see him in his place? _Hodge_ (_lies and says_). No, and he had come to me, should have laid him on his face, Should have promised him. _Gam._ But, Hodge, had he no horns to push? _Hodge._ As long as your two arms. Saw ye never Friar Rush, Painted on a cloth, with a fine long cow’s tail, And crooked cloven feet, and many a hooked nail? For all the world (if I should judge) should reckon him his brother: Look even what face Friar Rush had, the devil had such another.’ He then adds (quite apocryphally) while he is in for it, that ‘the devil said plainly that Dame Chat had got the needle,’ which makes all the disturbance. The same play contains the well-known good old song, beginning and ending— ‘Back and side, go bare, go bare, Both foot and hand go cold: But belly, God send thee good ale enough, Whether it be new or old. I cannot eat but little meat, My stomach is not good; But sure I think, that I can drink With him that wears a hood: Though I go bare, take ye no care; I nothing am a-cold: I stuff my skin so full within Of jolly good ale and old. Back and side go bare, &c. I love no roast, but a nut-brown toast, And a crab laid in the fire: A little bread shall do me stead, Much bread I not desire. No frost nor snow, no wind I trow, Can hurt me if I wolde, I am so wrapt and thoroughly lapt In jolly good ale and old. Back and side go bare, &c. And Tib, my wife, that as her life Loveth well good ale to seek; Full oft drinks she, till ye may see The tears run down her cheek: Then doth she troll to me the bowl, Even as a malt-worm sholde: And saith, sweetheart, I took my part Of this jolly good ale and old. Back and side go bare, go bare, Both foot and hand go cold: But belly, God send thee good ale enough, Whether it be new or old.