_D. Rat._ A man were better twenty times be a bandog and barke,
Then here among such a sort be parish priest or clarke,
Where he shall never be at rest one pissing while a day,
But he must trudge about the towne, this way and that way;
Here to a drab, there to a theefe, his shoes to teare and rent, 5
And that which is worst of al, at every knaves commaundement!
I had not sit the space to drinke two pots of ale,
But Gammer Gurtons sory boy was straite way at my taile,
And she was sicke, and I must come, to do I wot not what!
If once her fingers end but ake, trudge! call for Doctor Rat! 10
And when I come not at their call, I only therby loose;
For I am sure to lacke therfore a tythe pyg or a goose.
I warrant you, when truth is knowen, and told they have their
tale,
The matter where about I come is not worth a halfpeny worth of
ale;
Yet must I talke so sage and smothe, as though I were a glosier 15
Els, or the yere come at an end, I shal be sure the loser.
What worke ye, Gammer Gurton? hoow? here is your frend M[ast] Rat.
_Gammer._ A! good M[ast] Doctor! cha trebled, cha trebled you, chwot
wel that!
_D. Rat._ How do ye, woman? be ye lustie, or be ye not well at ease?
_Gammer._ By gys, Master, cham not sick, but yet chave a
disease.[717] 20
Chad a foule turne now of late, chill tell it you, by gigs!
_D. Rat._ Hath your browne cow cast hir calfe, or your sandy sowe her
pigs?
_Gammer._ No, but chad ben as good they had as this, ich wot weel.
_D. Rat._ What is the matter?
_Gammer._ Alas, alas! cha lost my good neele!
My neele, I say, and wot ye what, a drab came by and spied it, 25
And when I asked hir for the same, the filth flatly denied it.
_D. Rat._ What was she that?
_Gammer._ A dame, ich warrant you! She began to scold and brawle--
Alas, alas! Come hether, Hodge! this wr[e]tche can tell you all.