University of Virginia Library

The fyrst Sceane.

Diccon. Hodge.
Diccon
Well done be Gogs malt, well songe and well sayde,
Come on mother Chat as thou art true mayde,
One fresh pot of ale lets see to make an ende
Agaynst this colde wether, my naked armes to defende,
This gere it warms the soule, now wind blow on the worst,
And let vs drink and swill, till that our bellies burste
Now were he a wyse man, by cunnynge colde defyne
Which way my Iourney lyeth or where Dyccon will dyne
But one good turne I haue, be it by nyght or daye
South, East, North or west, I am neuer out of my waye.

Hodge
Chym goodly rewarded, cham I not, do you thyncke?
Chad a goodly dynner for all my sweate and swyncke,
Neyther butter cheese, mylke onyons fleshe nor fyshe
Saue thys poor pece of barly bread, tis a pleasant costly dishe.

Diccon
Haile fellow Hodge & will to fare, wt thy meat, if yu haue any?
But by thy words as I thē smelled, thy daintrels be not manye.

Hodge
Daintrels diccō (gogs soule mā (saue this pece of dry horsbred,
Cha byt no byt this lyue longe daie, no crome come in my hed
My gutts they yawle crawle and all my belly rumbleth
The puddynges can not lye still, ech one ouer other tumbleth
By gogs harte cham so vexte, and in my belly pende
Chould one peece were at the spittlehouse another at ye castels ende.

Diccon
Why hodge, was there none at home thy dinner for to set:

Hodge
Godgs bread Diccon ich came to late, was nothing ther to get
Gib (a fowle feind might on her light (lickt ye milke pan so clene
See Diccon, twas not so well washt this .vii. yere as ich wene
A pestilence lyght on all ill lucke, chad thought yet for all thys
Of a morsell of bacon behynde the dore at worst shuld not misse,
But when ich sought a slyp to cut, as ich was wont to do
Gogs soule Diccon, gyb our Cat had eate the bacon to.
Which bacon Diccon stole, as is declared before.

Diccon
Ill luck quod he, mary swere it hodg, this day ye trueth to tel
Thou rose not on thy right syde, or els blest thee not wel,
Thy mylk slopt vp, thy bacō filtched, that was to bad luck hodg.

Hodge
Nay, nay, ther was a fowler fault, my gāmer game yt dogde
Seest not how chā rent & torn, my heels, my knees & my breech
Chad thought as ich sat by the fire, help here & there a stitch,
But there ich was powpte indeede.

Diccon
Why Hodge?

Hodge
Bootes not man to tell,
Cham so drest amonst a sorte of fooles, chad better be in hell,
My gammer (cham ashamed to say) by god serued me not weele

Diccon
How so Hodge?

Hodge
Hase she not gone trowest now and lost her neele.

Diccon
Her Eele Hodge, who fysht of late? that was a dainty dysh.

Hodge
Tush tush, her neele, her neele, her neele man, tys neyther flesh nor fysh.
A lytle thing with an hole in the end, as bright as any syller,
Small, longe, sharpe at the poynt, & straight as any pyller.

Diccon
I know not what a deuil yu mēest, yu bringst me more in doubt

Hodge
Knowest not wt what tom tailers mā, sits broching throughe a clout
A neele, neele, a neele, my gammers neele is gone.

Diccon
Her neele Hodge, now I smel thee, yt was a chaunce alone,
By ye masse yu hadst a shamefull losse, & it wer but for thy breches

Hodge
Gogs soule man chould giue a crown chad it but iii. stitches.

Diccon
How sayest yu Hodg, what shuld he haue, again thy nedle got

Hodge
Bem vathers soule, and chad it chould giue him a new grot.

Diccon
Canst thou keepe counsaile in this case.

Hodge
Els chwold my thonge were out.

Diccon
Do than but then by my aduise, & I will fetch it wtout doubt,

Hodge
Chyll runne, chyll ryde, chyll dygge, chyl delue, chill toyle, chill trudge shalt see:
Chill hold chil drawe, chil pull, chill pynche chill kneele on my bare knee.
Chill scrape, chill scratche, chill syfte, chyll seeke, chill bowe, chill bende, chill sweate,
Chil stoop, chil stur, chil cap chil knele, chil crepe on hāds & feete,
Chil be thy bondman Diccon, ich sweare by sunne and moone
And channot sum what to stop this gap, cham vtterly vndone

Pointing behind to his torne kreeches.
Diccon
Why, is ther any special cause, thou takest hereat such sorow

Hodge
Kirstian Clack Tom simsons maid, bi the masse coms hether to morow
Cham not able to say, betweene vs what may hap,
She smyled on me the last sonday when ich put of my cap,

Diccon
Well Hodge this is a matter of weight, & must be kept close,
It might els turne to both our costes as the world now gose,
Shalt sware to be no blab Hodge.

Hodge
Chyll Diccon.

Diccon
Then go to,
Lay thine hand here, say after me as thou shalt here me do
Haste no booke?

Hodge
Cha no booke I.

Diccon
Then needes must force vs both,
Upon my breech to lay thine hand, and there to take thine othe.

Hodge
I Hodge breechelesse,
Sweare to Diccon rechelesse
By the crosse that I shall kysse,
To kepe his counsaile close
And alwayes me to dispose
To worke that his pleasure is.

Here he kyssech Diccons breeche.
Diccon.
Now Hodge see thou take heede
And do as I thee byd
For so I iudge it meete,
This nedle againe to win
There is no shift therin
But coniure vp a spreete.

Hodge
What the great deuill Diccon I saye?

Diccon
Yea in good faith, that is the waye,
Fet with some pretycharme.

Hodge
Softe Diccon be not to hasty yet,
By the masse for ich begyn to sweat
Cham afrayde of syme harme.

Diccon
Come hether then and sturre the nat
One inche out of this Cyrcle plat
But stande as I thee teache.

Hodge
And shall ich be here safe from theyr clawes:

Diccon
The mayster deuill with his longe pawes
Here to thee can not reache:
Now will I settle me to this geare.

Hodge
I saye Diccon, heare me, heare:
Go softely to thys matter.

Diccon
What deuyll man, art afraide of nought

Hodge
Canst not tarrye a lytle thought
Tyll ich make a curtesie of water.

Diccon
Stand still to it, why shuldest thou feare hym?

Hodge
Gogs sydes Diccon, me thinke ich heare him
And tarrye chal mare all.

Diccon
The matter is no worse then I tolde it,

Hodge
By the masse cham able no longer to holde it,
To bad iche must beraye the hall.

Diccon
Stand to it Hodge, sture not you horson,
What Deuyll, be thine ars strynges brusten?
Thy selfe a while but staye,
The deuill I smell hym wyll be here anone.

Hodge
Hold him fast Diccon, cham gone, cham gone
Chyll not be at that fraye.