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, 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 mass, comes hither 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.
Hodge. What, the great devil, Diccon, I say?
Diccon. Yea, in good faith, that is the way.
Fet with some pretty charm.
Hodge. Soft, Diccon, be not too hasty yet,
By the mass, for ich begin to sweat!
Cham afraid of some harm.
Diccon. Come hither, then, and stir thee not
One inch out of this circle plat,
But stand as I thee teach.
Hodge. And shall ich be here safe from their claws?
Diccon. The master-devil with his long paws
Here to thee cannot reach—
Now will I settle me to this gear.
Hodge. I say, Diccon, hear me, hear!
Go softly to this matter!
Diccon. What devil, man? art afraid of nought?
Hodge. Canst not tarry a little thought
Till ich make a courtesy of water?
Diccon. Stand still to it; why shouldest thou fear him?
Hodge. Gog's sides, Diccon, me-think ich hear him!
And tarry, chall mar all!
Diccon. The matter is no worse than I told it.
Hodge. By the mass, cham able no longer to hold it!
Too bad! ich must beray the hall!
Diccon. Stand to it, Hodge! stir not, you whoreson!
What devil, be thine arse-strings brusten?
Thyself a while but stay,
The devil (I smell him) will be here anon.
Hodge. Hold him fast, Diccon, cham gone!
Chill not be at that fray!

THE SECOND ACT. THE SECOND SCENE.

Diccon, Chat.

Diccon. Fie, shitten knave, and out upon thee!
Above all other louts, fie on thee!
Is not here a cleanly prank,
But thy matter was no better,
Nor thy presence here no sweeter,
To fly I can thee thank.
Here is a matter worthy glosing,
Of Gammer Gurton's needle losing,
And a foul piece of wark!
A man I think might make a play,
And need no word to this they say
Being but half a clerk.
Soft, let me alone, I will take the charge
This matter further to enlarge
Within a time short.
If ye will mark my toys, and note,
I will give ye leave to cut my throat
If I make not good sport.
Dame Chat, I say, where be ye? within?
Chat. Who have we there maketh such a din?
Diccon. Here is a good fellow, maketh no great danger.
Chat. What, Diccon? Come near, ye be no stranger.
We be fast set at trump, man, hard by the fire;
Thou shalt set on the king, if thou come a little nigher.
Diccon. Nay, nay, there is no tarrying; I must be gone again.
But first for you in counsel I have a word or twain.
Chat. Come hither, Doll! Doll, sit down and play this game,
And as thou sawest me do, see thou do even the same.
There is five trumps besides the queen, the hindmost thou shalt find her.
Take heed of Sim Glover's wife, she hath an eye behind her!
Now, Diccon, say your will.
Diccon. Nay, soft a little yet;
I would not tell it my sister, the matter is so great.
There I will have you swear by Our Dear Lady of Boulogne,
Saint Dunstan, and Saint Dominic, with the three Kings of Cologne,
That ye shall keep it secret.
Chat. Gog's bread! that will I do!
As secret as mine own thought, by God and the devil too!

Diccon. Here is Gammer Gurton, your neighbour, a sad and heavy wight:
Her goodly fair red cock at home was stole this last night.
Chat. Gog's soul! her cock with the yellow legs, that nightly crowed so just?
Diccon. That cock is stolen.
Chat. What, was he fet out of the hen's roost?
Diccon. I cannot tell where the devil he was kept, under key or lock;
But Tib hath tickled in Gammer's ear, that you should steal the cock.
Chat. Have I, strong whore? by bread and salt!—
Diccon. What, soft, I say, be still!
Say not one word for all this gear.
Chat. By the mass, that I will!
I will have the young whore by the head, and the old trot by the throat.
Diccon. Not one word, dame Chat, I say; not one word for my coat!
Chat. Shall such a beggar's brawl as that, thinkest thou, make me a thief?
The pox light on her whore's sides, a pestilence and mischief!
Come out, thou hungry needy bitch! O, that my nails be short!
Diccon. Gog's bread, woman, hold your
peace! this gear will else pass sport!
I would not for an hundred pound this matter should be known,
That I am author of this tale, or have abroad it blown.
Did ye not swear ye would be ruled, before the tale I told?
I said ye must all secret keep, and ye said sure ye would.
Chat. Would you suffer, yourself, Diccon, such a sort to revile you,
With slanderous words to blot your name, and so to defile you?

Diccon. No, Goodwife Chat, I would be loth such drabs should blot my name;
But yet ye must so order all that Diccon bear no blame.
Chat. Go to, then, what is your reed? say on your mind, ye shall me rule herein.
Diccon. Godamercy to dame Chat! In faith thou must the gear begin.
It is twenty pound to a goose-turd, my gammer will not tarry,
But hitherward she comes as fast as her legs can her carry,
To brawl with you about her cock; for well I heard Tib say
The cock was roasted in your house to breakfast yesterday;
And when ye had the carcase eaten, the feathers ye outflung,
And Doll, your maid, the legs she hid a foot-deep in the dung.
Chat. O gracious God! my heart it bursts!
Diccon. Well, rule yourself a space;
And Gammer Gurton when she cometh anon into this place,
Then to the quean, let's see, tell her your mind, and spare not.
So shall Diccon blameless be; and then, go to, I care not!
Chat. Then, whore, beware her throat! I can abide no longer.
In faith, old witch, it shall be seen which of us two be stronger!
And, Diccon, but at your request, I would not stay one hour.
Diccon. Well, keep it till she be here, and then out let it pour!
In the meanwhile get you in, and make no words of this.
More of this matter within this hour to hear you shall not miss,
Because I knew you are my friend, hide it I could not, doubtless.
Ye know your harm, see ye be wise about your own business!
So fare ye well.
Chat. Nay, soft, Diccon, and drink! What, Doll, I say!
Bring here a cup of the best ale; let's see, come quickly away!

THE SECOND ACT. THE THIRD SCENE.

Hodge, Diccon.

Diccon. Ye see, masters, that one end tapp'd of this my short device!
Now must we broach th'other too, before the smoke arise;
And by the time they have a while run,
I trust ye need not crave it.
But look, what lieth in both their hearts, ye are like, sure, to have it.
Hodge. Yea, Gog's soul, art alive yet? What, Diccon, dare ich come?
Diccon. A man is well hied to trust to thee; I will say nothing but mum;
But and ye come any nearer, I pray you see all be sweet!
Hodge. Tush, man, is Gammer's nee'le found? that chould gladly weet.
Diccon. She may thank thee it is not found, for if you had kept thy standing,
The devil he would have fet it out, ev'n, Hodge, at thy commanding.
Hodge. Gog's heart! and could he tell nothing where the nee'le might be found?
Diccon. Ye foolish dolt, ye were to seek, ere we had got our ground;
Therefore his tale so doubtful was that I could not perceive it.
Hodge. Then ich see well something was said, chope one day yet to have it.
But Diccon, Diccon, did not the devil cry "ho, ho, ho"?
Diccon. If thou hadst tarried where thou stood'st, thou wouldst have said so!
Hodge. Durst swear of a book, cheard him roar, straight after ich was gone.
But tell me, Diccon, what said the knave? let me hear it anon.
Diccon. The whoreson talked to me, I know not well of what.
One while his tongue it ran and paltered of a cat,
Another while he stammered still upon a rat;
Last of all, there was nothing but every word, Chat, Chat;
But this I well perceived before I would him rid,
Between Chat, and the rat, and the cat, the needle is hid.
Now whether Gib, our cat, hath eat it in her maw,
Or Doctor Rat, our curate, have found it in the straw,
Or this dame Chat, your neighbour, hath stolen it, God he knoweth!
But by the morrow at this time, we shall learn how the matter goeth.
Hodge. Canst not learn to-night, man? seest not what is here?

[Pointing behind to his torn breeches.

Diccon. 'Tis not possible to make it sooner appear.
Hodge. Alas, Diccon, then chave no shift; but—lest ich tarry too long—
Hie me to Sim Glover's shop, there to seek for a thong,
Therewith this breech to thatch and tie as ich may.
Diccon. To-morrow, Hodge, if we chance to meet, shall see what I will say.

THE SECOND ACT. THE FOURTH SCENE.

Diccon, Gammer.

Diccon. Now this gear must forward go, for here my Gammer cometh.
Be still a while, and say nothing; make here a little romth.
Gammer. Good lord! shall never be my luck my nee'le again to spy?
Alas, the while! 'tis past my help, where 'tis still it must lie!
Diccon. Now, Jesus! Gammer Gurton, what driveth you to this sadness?
I fear me, by my conscience, you will sure fall to madness.
Gammer. Who is that? What, Diccon? cham lost, man! fie, fie!
Diccon. Marry, fie on them that be worthy! but what should be your trouble?
Gammer. Alas! the more ich think on it, my sorrow it waxeth double.
My goodly tossing spurrier's nee'le chave lost ich wot not where.
Diccon. Your nee'le? when?
Gammer. My nee'le, alas! ich might full ill it spare,
As God himself he knoweth, ne'er one beside chave.
Diccon. If this be all, good Gammer, I warrant you all is safe.
Gammer. Why, know you any tidings which way my nee'le is gone?
Diccon. Yea, that I do, doubtless, as ye shall hear anon,
'A see a thing this matter toucheth within these twenty hours,
Even at this gate, before my face, by a neighbour of yours.
She stooped me down, and up she took up a needle or a pin.
I durst be sworn it was even yours, by all my mother's kin.
Gammer. It was my nee'le, Diccon, ich wot; for here, even by this post,
Ich sat, what time as ich up start, and so my nee'le it lost:
Who was it, leve son? speak, ich pray thee, and quickly tell me that!
Diccon. A subtle quean as any in this town, your neighbour here, dame Chat.
Gammer. Dame Chat, Diccon! Let me be gone, chill thither in post haste.
Diccon. Take my counsel yet or ye go, for fear ye walk in waste,
It is a murrain crafty drab, and froward to be pleased;
And ye take not the better way, our needle yet ye lose [it]:
For when she took it up, even here before your doors,
"What, soft, dame Chat" (quoth I), "that same is none of yours."
"Avaunt" (quoth she), "sir knave! what pratest thou of that I find?
I would thou hast kiss'd me I wot where"; she meant, I know, behind;
And home she went as brag as it had been a body-louse,
And I after, as bold as it had been the goodman of the house.
But there and ye had heard her, how she began to scold!
The tongue it went on patins, by him that Judas sold!
Each other word I was a knave, and you a whore of whores.
Because I spake in your behalf, and said the nee'le was yours.
Gammer. Gog's bread! and thinks that
that callet thus to keep my nee'le me fro?

Diccon. Let her alone, and she minds none other but even to dress you so.
Gammer. By the mass, chill rather spend the coat that is on my back!
Thinks the false quean by such a sleight, that chill my nee'le lack?
Diccon. Slip not your gear, I counsel you, but of this take good heed:
Let not be known I told you of it, how well soever ye speed.
Gammer. Chill in, Diccon, and clean apern to take and set before me;
And ich may my nee'le once see, chill, sure, remember thee!

THE SECOND ACT. THE FIFTH SCENE.

Diccon.

Diccon. Here will the sport begin; if these two once may meet,
Their cheer, durst lay money, will prove scarcely sweet.
My gammer, sure, intends to be upon her bones
With staves, or with clubs, or else with cobble stones.
Dame Chat, on the other side, if she be far behind
I am right far deceived; she is given to it of kind.
He that may tarry by it awhile, and that but short,
I warrant him, trust to it, he shall see all the sport.
Into the town will I, my friends to visit there,
And hither straight again to see th'end of this gear.
In the meantime, fellows, pipe up; your fiddles, I say, take them,
And let your friends hear such mirth as ye can make them.