_Hodge._ See! so cham[661] arayed with dablynge in the durt!
She that set me to ditchinge, ich wold she hat the squrt!
Was never poore soule that such a life had.
Gogs bones! thys vylthy glaye hase drest me to bad!
Gods soule! see how this stuffe teares! 5
Iche were better to bee a bearward and set to keepe beares!
By the Masse, here is a gasshe, a shamefull hole in deade!
And one stytch teare furder, a man may thrust in his heade.
_Diccon._ By my fathers soule, Hodge, if I shoulde now be sworne,
I can not chuse but say thy breech is foule betorne, 10
But the next remedye in such a case and hap
Is to plaunche on a piece as brode as thy cap.
_Hodge._ Gogs soule, man, tis not yet two dayes fully ended
Synce my dame Gurton, chem sure, these breches amended;
But cham made suc[h]e a drudge to trudge at euery neede, 15
Chwold rend it though it were stitched with[662] sturdy
pacthreede.
_Diccon._ Ho[d]ge, let thy breeches go, and speake and tell mee soone
What devill ayleth Gammer Gurton & Tib her mayd to frowne.
_Hodge._ Tush, man, thart deceyved: tys theyr dayly looke;
They coure so over the coles, theyre eyes be bleared with
smooke. 20
_Diccon._ Nay, by the masse, I perfectly perceived, as I came hether,
That eyther Tib and her dame hath ben by the eares together,
Or els as great a matter, as thou shalt shortly see.
_Hodge._ Now, iche beseeche our Lord they never better agree!
_Diccon._ By Gogs soule, there they syt as still as stones in the
streite,
As though they had ben taken with fairies, or els with some il
sprite. 26
_Hodge._ Gogs hart! I durst have layd my cap to a crowne
Chwould lerne of some prancome as sone as ich came to town.
_Diccon._ Why, Hodge, art thou inspyred? or dedst thou therof here?
_Hodge._ Nay, but ich saw such a wonder as ich saw nat this seven
yere. 30
Tome Tannkards cow, be Gogs bones! she set me up her saile,
And flynging about his halfe aker[663] fysking with her taile,
As though there had ben in her ars a swarme of bees,
And chad not cryed "tphrowh, hoore," shead lept out of his lees.
_Diccon._ Why, Hodg, lies the connyng in Tom Tankards cowes taile? 35
_Hodge._ Well, ich chave hard some say such tokens do not fayle.
Bot ca[n]st thou not tell,[664] in faith, Diccon, why she frownes,
or wher at?
Hath no man stolne her ducks or hen[n]es, or gelded Gyb, her cat?
_Diccon._ What devyll can I tell, man? I cold not have one word!
They gave no more hede to my talk than thow woldst to a lorde.
_Hodge._ Iche cannot styll but muse, what mervaylous thinge it is.
Chyll in and know my selfe what matters are amys. 42
_Diccon._ Then fare well, Hodge, a while, synce thou doest inward
hast,
For I will into the good wyfe Chats, to feele how the ale doth
taste.
The fyrst Acte. The thyrd Sceane.