As Gammer Gurton, with manye a wyde styche, Sat pesynge and patching of Hodge her man’s briche, By chance or misfortune, as shee her geare tost, In Hodge lether bryches her needle shee lost. When Diccon the bedlam had hard by report, That good Gammer Gurton was robde in thys sorte, He quyetlye perswaded with her in that stound, Dame Chat, her deare gossyp, this needle had found. Yet knew shee no more of this matter, alas, {11} Then knoweth Tom our clarke what the Priest saith at masse, Hereof there ensued so fearfull a fraye, Mas. Doctor was sent for, these gossyps to staye; Because he was curate, and esteemed full wyse, Who found that he sought not, by Diccon’s device. When all things were tumbled and cleane out of fashion, Whether it were by fortune, or some other constellation, Suddenlye the neele Hodge found by the prychynge, And drew out of his buttocke, where he found it stickynge, Theyr hartes then at rest with perfect securytie, With a pot of Good ale they stroake up theyr plauditie. The song, _Jolly Good Ale and Old_, four stanzas of which occur in the second act, is a good record of the spirit of those hard-drinking days, now passed away, in which a man who could not, or did not, consume vast quantities of liquor was looked upon as a milksop. It is given as follows in the Comedy:— Back and syde go bare, go bare, Booth foote and hande go colde; But belly, God send thee good ale ynoughe, Whether it bee newe or olde. I can not eate but lytle meate, My stomache is not goode, But, sure, I thinke, that I can drynk With him that wears a hood.[2] Thoughe I go bare, take ye no care, I am nothynge a colde; I stuffe my skyn so full within Of jolly good ale, and olde. Back and syde go bare, go bare, &c., &c. [3]I love no rost, but a nut-brown toste, And a crab layde in the fyre; A lytle bread shall do me stead, Much bread I not desyre. {12} No froste nor snow, no winde, I trow, Can hurte mee if I wolde, I am so wrapt, and throwly lapt, Of joly good ale and olde. Back and syde go bare, go bare, &c., &c. And Tyb, my wife, that as her lyfe Loveth well good ale to seeke, Full ofte drinkes shee, tyll ye may see, The teares run down her cheekes; Then doth she trowle to mee the bowle[4] Even as a _mault worme_ shuld And sayth, sweet hart, I tooke my part Of this joly good ale, and olde. Back and syde go bare, go bare, &c., &c. Now let them drynke, tyll they nod and winke, Even as good fellowes shoulde doe, They shall not misse to have the blisse Good ale doth bringe men to: And all poor soules, that have scoured boules, Or have them lustely trolde, God save the lyves of them and their wyves, Whether they be yonge or olde. Back and syde go bare, go bare, &c., &c. [2] Alluding to the drunkenness of the clergy.