can,
If I may my nee'le find in one place or in other.

Hodge. Now a vengeance on Gib light, on Gib and Gib's mother,
And all the generation of cats both far and near!
Look on the ground, whoreson, thinks thou the nee'le is here?

Cock. By my troth, Gammer, me-thought your nee'le here I saw,
But when my fingers touch'd it, I felt it was a straw.

Tib. See, Hodge, what's this? may it not be within it?

Hodge. Break it, fool, with thy hand, and see and thou canst find it.

Tib. Nay, break it you, Hodge, according to your word.

Hodge. Gog's sides! fie! it stinks! it is a cat's turd!
It were well done to make thee eat it, by the mass!

Gammer. This matter amendeth not; my nee'le is still where it was.
Our candle is at an end, let us all in quite,
And come another time, when we have more light.

THE SECOND ACT.

First a Song.

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 am nothing a-cold;
I stuff my skin so full within
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, 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 would;
I am so wrapt, and thoroughly lapt
Of 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 trowl to me the bowl
Even as a malt-worm should:
And saith, sweet heart, I took my part
Of this jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, &c.

Now let them drink till they nod and wink,
Even as good fellows should do;
They shall not miss to have the bliss
Good ale doth bring men to;
And all poor souls that have scoured bowls,
Or have them lustly troll'd.
God save the lives of them and their wives,
Whether they be young or old.
Back and side go bare, &c.

THE SECOND ACT. THE FIRST SCENE.

Diccon, Hodge.

Diccon. Well done, by Gog's malt! well sung and well said!
Come on, mother Chat, as thou art true maid,
One fresh pot of ale let's see, to make an end
Against this cold weather my naked arms to defend!
This gear it warms the soul! now, wind, blow on thy worst!
And let us drink and swill till that our bellies burst!
Now were he a wise man by cunning could define
Which way my journey lieth, or where Diccon will dine!
But one good turn I have: be it by night or day,
South, east, north or west, I am never out of my way!

Hodge. Chim goodly rewarded, cham I not, do you think?
Chad a goodly dinner for all my sweat and swink!
Neither butter, cheese, milk, onions, flesh, nor fish,
Save this poor piece of barley-bread: 'tis a pleasant costly dish!

Diccon. Hail, fellow Hodge, and well to fare with thy meat, if you have any:
But by thy words, as I them smelled, thy daintrels be not many.

Hodge. Daintrels, Diccon? Gog's soul, man, save this piece of dry horsebread,
Cha bit no bit this livelong day, no crumb come in my head:
My guts they yawl-crawl, and all my belly rumbleth,
The puddings cannot lie still, each one over other tumbleth.
By Gog's heart, cham so vexed, and in my belly penn'd,
Chould one piece were at the spital-house, another at the castle end!

Diccon. Why, Hodge, was there none at home thy dinner for to set?

Hodge. Gog's bread, Diccon, ich came too late, was nothing there to get!
Gib (a foul fiend might on her light!) licked the milk-pan so clean,
See, Diccon, 'twas not so well washed this seven year, as ich ween!
A pestilence light on all ill-luck! chad thought, yet for all this
Of a morsel of bacon behind the door at worst should not miss:
But when ich sought a slip to cut, as ich was wont to do,
Gog's souls, Diccon! Gib, our cat, had eat the bacon too!

[Which bacon Diccon stole, as is declared before.

Diccon. Ill-luck, quod he! marry, swear it, Hodge! this day, the truth tell,
Thou rose not on thy right side, or else blessed thee not well.
Thy milk slopped up! thy bacon filched! that was too bad luck, Hodge!

Hodge. Nay, nay, there was a fouler fault, my Gammer ga' me the dodge;
Seest not how cham rent and torn, my heels, my knees, and my breech?
Chad thought, as ich sat by the fire, help here and there a stitch:
But there ich was pouped indeed.

Diccon. Why, Hodge?

Hodge. Boots not, man, to tell.
Cham so drest amongst a sort of fools, chad better be in hell.
My Gammer (cham ashamed to say) by God, served me no well.

Diccon. How so, Hodge?

Hodge. Has she not gone, trowest now,
and lost her nee'le?

Diccon. Her eel, Hodge? who fished of late? that was a dainty dish!

Hodge. Tush, tush, her nee'le, her nee'le, her nee'le, man! 'tis neither flesh nor fish;
A little thing with an hole in the end, as bright as any sil'er,
Small, long, sharp at the point, and straight as any pillar.

Diccon. I know not what a devil thou meanest, thou bring'st me more in doubt.

Hodge. Knowest not with what Tom-tailor's man sits broaching through a clout?
A nee'le, a nee'le, a nee'le! my Gammer's nee'le is gone.

Diccon. Her nee'le, Hodge! now I smell thee! that was a chance alone!
By the mass, thou hast a shameful loss, and it were but for thy breeches.

Hodge. Gog's soul, man, chould give a crown chad it but three stitches.

Diccon. How sayest thou, Hodge? what should he have, again thy needle got?

Hodge. By m'father's soul, and chad it, chould give him a new groat.

Diccon. Canst thou keep counsel in this case?

Hodge. Else chwold my tongue were out.

Diccon. Do than but then by my advice, and I will fetch it without doubt.

Hodge. Chill run, chill ride, chill dig, chill delve,
Chill toil, chill trudge, shalt see;
Chill hold, chill draw, chill pull, chill pinch,
Chill kneel on my bare knee;
Chill scrape, chill scratch,