_Fol._ Ye, bere me this strawe to a dawys nest. 1110 _Fan._ What, wenyst thou that I were so folysshe and so fonde? _Fol._ In faythe, ellys is there none in all Englonde. _Fan._ Yet for my fansy sake, I say, Let me haue thy dogge, what soeuer I pay. _Fol._ Thou shalte haue my purse, and I wyll haue thyne. _Fan._ By my trouth, there is myne. _Fol._ Nowe, by my trouth, man, take, there is myne;[814] And I beshrowe hym that hath the worse. _Fan._ Torde, I say, what haue I do? Here is nothynge but the bockyll of a sho, 1120 And in my purse was twenty marke. _Fol._ Ha, ha, ha! herke, syrs, harke! For all that my name hyght Foly, By the masse, yet art thou more fole than I. _Fan._ Yet gyue me thy dogge, and I am content; And thou shalte haue my hauke to a botchment. _Fol._ That euer thou thryue, God it forfende! For Goddes cope thou wyll spende. Nowe take thou my dogge, and gyue me thy fowle.[815] _Fan._ Hay, chysshe, come hyder! 1130 _Fol._ Nay, torde, take hym be tyme. _Fan._ What callest thou thy dogge? _Fol._ Tusshe, his name is Gryme. _Fan._ Come, Gryme, come, Gryme! it is my praty dogges. _Fol._ In faythe, there is not a better dogge for hogges, Not from Anwyke vnto Aungey. _Fan._ Ye, but trowest thou that he be not maungey? _Fol._ No, by my trouthe, it is but the scurfe and the scabbe. _Fan._ What, he hathe ben hurte with a stabbe? _Fol._ Nay, in faythe, it was but a strype 1140 That the horson had for etynge of a trype. _Fan._ Where the deuyll gate he all these hurtes? _Fol._ By God, for snatchynge of puddynges and wortes. _Fan._ What, then he is some good poore mannes curre? _Fol._ Ye, but he wyll in at euery mannes dore. _Fan._ Nowe thou hast done me a pleasure grete. _Fol._ In faythe, I wolde thou had a marmosete. _Fan._ Cockes harte, I loue suche iapes. _Fol._ Ye, for all thy mynde is on owles and apes. But I haue thy pultre, and thou hast my catell. 1150 _Fan._ Ye, but thryfte and we haue made a batell. _Fol._ Remembrest thou not the iapes and the toyes— _Fan._ What, that we vsed whan we were boyes? _Fol._ Ye, by the rode, euen the same. _Fan._ Yes, yes, I am yet as full of game As euer I was, and as full of tryfyls, _Nil, nihilum, nihil, anglice_ nyfyls. _Fol._ What canest thou all this Latyn[816] yet, And hath so mased a wandrynge wyt? _Fan._ Tushe, man, I kepe some Latyn in store. 1160 _Fol._ By Cockes harte, I wene thou hast no more. _Fan._ No? yes, in faythe, I can versyfy. _Fol._ Then, I pray thé hartely, Make a verse of my butterfly; It forseth not of the reason, so it kepe ryme. _Fan._ But wylte thou make another on Gryme? _Fol._ Nay, in fayth, fyrst let me here thyne.