_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 l.u.s.tly troll'd.

G.o.d 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 b.u.t.ter, 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 st.i.tch: 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 h.e.l.l.

My Gammer (cham ashamed to say) by G.o.d, 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 ma.s.s, 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 st.i.tches.

_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 sc.r.a.pe, chill scratch, chill sift, chill seek, Chill bow, chill bend, chill sweat, Chill stoop, chill stour, chill cap, chill kneel, Chill creep on hands and feet; Chill be thy bondman, Diccon, ich swear by sun and moon, And channot somewhat to stop this gap, cham utterly undone!

[_Pointing behind to his torn breeches._

_Diccon._ Why, is there any special cause thou takest hereat such sorrow?

_Hodge._ Kirstian Clack, Tom Simpson's maid, by the ma.s.s, comes. .h.i.ther to-morrow, Cham not able to say, between us what may hap; She smiled on me the last Sunday, when ich put off my cap.

_Diccon._ Well, Hodge, this is a matter of weight, and must be kept close, It might else turn to both our costs, as the world now goes.

Shalt swear to be no blab, Hodge?

_Hodge._ Chill, Diccon.

_Diccon._ Then go to, Lay thine hand here; say after me, as thou shalt hear me do.

Hast no book?

_Hodge._ Cha no book, I.

_Diccon._ Then needs must force us both, Upon my breech to lay thine hand, and there to take thine oath.

_Hodge._ I, Hodge, breechless Swear to Diccon, rechless, By the cross that I shall kiss, To keep his counsel close, And always me to dispose To work that his pleasure is.

[_Here he kisseth Diccon's breech._

_Diccon._ Now, Hodge, see thou take heed, And do as I thee bid; For so I judge it meet; This needle again to win, There is no shift therein, But conjure up a spreet.