Chapter XXIV: Prologue (1)

As Gammer Gurton, with many a wide stitch,
Sat piecing and patching of Hodge her man's breech,
By chance or misfortune, as she her gear toss'd,
In Hodge leather breeches her needle she lost.
When Diccon the Bedlam had heard by report,
That good Gammer Gurton was robbed in this sort,
He quietly persuaded with her in that stound,
Dame Chat, her dear gossip, this needle had found.
Yet knew she no more of this matter (alas),
Than knoweth Tom our clerk what the priest saith at mass.
Hereof there ensued so fearful a fray,
Mas. Doctor was sent for, these gossips to stay;
Because he was curate and esteemed full wise,
Who found that he sought not, by Diccon's device.
When all things were tumbled and clean out of fashion,
Whether it were by fortune, or some other constellation,
Suddenly the needle Hodge found by the pricking,
And drew it out of his buttock, where he found it sticking.
Their hearts then at rest with perfect security,
With a pot of good nale they struck up their plaudity.

GAMMER GURTON'S NEEDLE.

THE FIRST ACT.

THE FIRST SCENE.

DICCON. Many a mile have I walked divers and sundry ways,
And many a good man's house have I been at in my days,
Many a gossip's cup in my time have I tasted,
And many a broach and spit have I both turned and basted,
Many a piece of bacon have I had out of their balks,[186]
In running over the country with long and weary walks.
Yet came my foot never within those door cheeks,
To seek flesh or fish, garlick, onions, or leeks,
That ever I saw a sort in such a plight,[187]
As here within this house appeareth to my sight,
There is howling and scowling, all cast in a dump,
With whewling and puling, as though they had lost a trump.
Sighing and sobbing, they weep and they wail.
I marvel in my mind what the devil they ail.
The old trot sits groaning with alas and alas,[188]
And Tib wrings her hands and takes on in worse case.
With poor Cock their boy, they be driven in such fits,
I fear me the folks be not well in their wits.
Ask them what they ail, or who brought them in this stay?
They answer not at all, but alack and wellaway.
When I saw it booted not, out at doors I hied me,
And caught a slip of bacon, when I saw none spied me,
Which I intend not far hence, unless my purpose fail,
Shall serve me for a shoeing horn to draw on two pots of ale.[189]

THE FIRST ACT.

THE SECOND SCENE.

HODGE, DICCON.

HODGE. See, so cham arrayed[190] with dabbling in the dirt!
She that set me to ditching, ich would she had the squirt.
Was never poor soul that such a life had?
Gog's bones, this vilthy glay has dress'd me too bad.
Gog's soul, see how this stuff tears!
Ich were better to be a bearward, and set to keep bears.
By the mass, here is a gash, a shameful hole indeed,
And one stitch tear further, a man may thrust in his head.

DICCON. By my father's soul, Hodge, if I should now be sworn,
I cannot choose but say thy breech is foul betorn.
But the next remedy in such a case and hap
Is to planch[191] on a piece as broad as thy cap.

HODGE. Gog's soul, man, 'tis not yet two days fully ended,
Since my dame Gurton (cham sure) these breeches amended.
But cham made such a drudge to trudge at every need,
Chwold rend it, though it were stiched with sturdy packthread.

DICCON. Hodge, let thy breeches go, and speak and tell me soon,
What devil aileth Gammer Gurton, and Tib her maid to frown.

HODGE. Tush, man, th' art deceived, 'tis their daily look:
They cow'r[192] so over the coals, their eyes be blear'd with smoke.

DICCON. Nay, by the mass, I perfectly perceived as I came hither,
That either Tib and her dame hath been by the ears together,
Or else as great a matter, as thou shalt shortly see.

HODGE. Now ich beseech our Lord they never better agree.

DICCON. By Gog's soul, there they sit as still as stones in the street;
As though they had been taken with fairies, or else with some
ill-spreet.

HODGE. Gog's heart, I durst have laid my cap to a crown,
Ch'would learn of some prancome, as soon as ich came to town.

DICCON. Why, Hodge, art thou inspired? or didst thou thereof hear?

HODGE. Nay, but ich saw such a wonder, as ich saw nat this seven year.
Tom Tankard's cow (by Gog's bones) she set me up her sail,
And flinging about his halse aker,[193] fisking with her tail,
As though there had been in her arse a swarm of bees;
And chad not cried tphrowh, whore, shea'd leapt out of his lees.

DICCON. Why, Hodge, lies the cunning in Tom Tankard's cow's tail?

HODGE. Well, ich chave heard some say such tokens do not fail.
But ca'st thou not tell, in faith, Diccon, why she frowns, or whereat?
Hath no man stolen her ducks or hens, or gelded Gib her cat?[194]

DICCON. What devil can I tell, man, I could not have one word,
They gave no more heed to my talk than thou wouldst to a lord.

HODGE. Ich cannot skill but muse, what marvellous thing it is:
Chill in and know myself what matters are amiss.

DICCON. Then farewell, Hodge, a while, since thou dost inward haste,
For I will into the good wife Chat's, to feel how the ale doth taste.

THE FIRST ACT.

THE THIRD SCENE.

HODGE, TIB.

HODGE. Cham aghast, by the mass, ich wot not what to do.
Chad need bless me well, before ich go them to.
Perchance some felon sprit may haunt our house indeed.
And then chwere but a noddy to venture, where cha' no need.

TIB. Cham worse than mad, by the mass, to be at this stay,
Cham chid, cham blam'd, and beaten all th' hours on the day.
Lamed and hunger-starved, pricked up all in jags,
Having no patch to hide my back, save a few rotten rags.

HODGE. I say, Tib, if thou be Tib, as I trow sure thou be,
What devil make-a-do is this between our dame and thee?

TIB. Gog's bread, Hodge, thou had a good turn, thou wert not here
this while.
It had been better for some of us to have been hence a mile.
My gammer is so out of course, and frantic all at once,
That Cock our boy and I, poor wench, have felt it on our bones.

HODGE. What is the matter, say on, Tib, whereat she taketh so on?

TIB. She is undone; she saith (alas) her joy and life is gone.
If she hear not of some comfort, she saith she is but dead,
Shall never come within her lips one inch of meat ne bread.

HODGE. By'r lady, cham not very glad to see her in this dump;
Chold a noble her stool hath fallen, and she hath broke her rump.

TIB. Nay, and that were the worst, we would not greatly care,
For bursting[195] of her huckle-bone or breaking of her chair,
But greater, greater is her grief, as, Hodge, we shall all feel.

HODGE. Gog's wounds, Tib, my gammer has never lost her nee'le?

TIB. Her nee'le!

HODGE. Her nee'le?

TIB. Her nee'le; by him that made me, it is true, Hodge, I tell thee.

HODGE. Gog's sacrament! I would she had lost th' heart out of her
belly.
The devil or else his dame, they ought her sure a shame,
How a murrion came this chance, (say, Tib) unto our dame?

TIB. My gammer sat her down on her pes,[196] and bad me reach thy
breeches,
And by and by, a vengeance in it, ere she had take two stitches,
To clout a clout upon thine arse, by chance aside she leers,
And Gib our cat in the milk-pan she spied over head and ears.
Ah whore, out these, she cried aloud, and swept the breeches down,
Up went her staff, and out leapt Gib at doors into the town.
And since that time was, never wight could set their eyes upon it.
Gog's malison chave Cock and I bid twenty times light on it.[197]

HODGE. And is not then my breeches sewed up, to-morrow that I should
wear?

TIB. No, in faith, Hodge, thy breeches lie, for all this never the
near.

HODGE. Now a vengeance light on all the sort, that better should have
kept it;
The cat, the house, and Tib our maid, that better should have swept it.
See where she cometh crawling! come on, in twenty devils' way;
Ye have made a fair day's work, have you not, pray you say?

THE FIRST ACT.

THE FOURTH SCENE.

GAMMER, HODGE, TIB, COCK.

GAMMER. Alas, alas, I may well curse and ban
This day, that ever I saw it, with Gib and the milk-pan.
For these and ill luck together, as knoweth Cock my boy,
Have stack[198] away my dear nee'le, and robbed me of my joy.
My fair long straight nee'le, that was mine only treasure,
The first day of my sorrow is, and last end of my pleasure.

HODGE (_aside_). Might ha' kept it, when ye had it;
but fools will be fools still:
Lose that is vast in your hands? ye need not, but ye will.

GAMMER. Go hie thee, Tib, and run, thou whore,
to the end here of the town.
Didst carry out dust in thy lap? seek where thou pourest it down;
And as thou sawest me raking in the ashes where I mourned,
So see in all the heap of dust thou leave no straw unturned.

TIB. That chall, Gammer, swyth and tite,[199] and soon be
here again.

GAMMER. Tib, stoop and look down to the ground to it,
and take some pain.

HODGE. Here is a pretty matter, to see this gear how it goes:
By Gog's soul, I think you would lose your arse, and it were loose.
Your nee'le lost? it is pity you should lack care and endless sorrow.
Gog's death, how shall my breeches be sewed? Shall I go thus to-morrow?

GAMMER. Ah, Hodge, Hodge, if that ich could find my nee'le, by the
reed,
Ch'ould sew thy breeches, ich promise thee, with full good double
thread,
And set a patch on either knee should last this moneths twain,
Now God and good Saint Sithe,[200] I pray to send it home[201] again.

HODGE. Whereto served your hands and eyes, but this your nee'le to
keep?
What devil had you else to do? ye keep, ich wot, no sheep.
Cham fain abroad to dig and delve, in water, mire, and clay,
Sossing and possing in the dirt still from day to day.
A hundred things that be abroad cham set to see them well:
And four of you sit idle at home, and cannot keep a nee'le!

GAMMER. My nee'le, alas, ich lost it, Hodge, what time ich me up
hasted,
To save milk set up for thee, which Gib our cat hath wasted.

HODGE. The devil he burst both Gib and Tib, with all the rest;
Cham always sure of the worst end, whoever have the best.
Where ha' you been fidging abroad, since you your nee'le lost?

GAMMER. Within the house, and at the door, sitting by this same post;
Where I was looking a long hour, before these folks came here;
But, wellaway! all was in vain, my nee'le is never the near.

HODGE. Set me a candle, let me seek, and grope wherever it be.
Gog's heart, ye be foolish (ich think), you know it not, when you it
see.

GAMMER. Come hither, Cock: what, Cock, I say.

COCK. How, Gammer?

GAMMER. Go, hie thee soon, and grope behind the old brass pan,
Which thing when thou hast done,
There shalt thou find an old shoe, wherein, if thou look well,
Thou shalt find lying an inch of white tallow candle;
Light it, and bring it tite away.

COCK. That shall be done anon.

GAMMER. Nay, tarry, Hodge, till thou hast light, and then we'll seek
each one.

HODGE. Come away, ye whoreson boy, are ye asleep? ye must have a crier.

COCK. Ich cannot get the candle light: here is almost no fire.

HODGE. Chill hold thee a penny, chill make thee come, if that ich may
catch thine ears.
Art deaf, thou whoreson boy? Cock, I say; why, canst not hear?

GAMMER. Beat him not, Hodge, but help the boy, and come you two
together.

THE FIRST ACT.

THE FIFTH SCENE.

GAMMER, TIB, COCK, HODGE.

GAMMER. How now, Tib! quick, let's hear what news thou hast brought
hither?

TIB. Chave tost and tumbled yonder heap over and over again,
And winnowed it through my fingers, as men would winnow grain;
Not so much as a hen's turd, but in pieces I tare it.
Or whatsoever clod or clay I found, I did not spare it.
Looking within and eke without, to find your nee'le (alas)
But all in vain and without help your nee'le is where it was.

GAMMER. Alas, my nee'le, we shall never meet! adieu, adieu, for aye.

TIB. Not so, Gammer, we might it find, if we knew where it lay.

COCK. Gog's cross, Gammer, if ye will laugh, look in but at the door,
And see how Hodge lieth trembling and tossing amids the flour.
Raking there some fire to find among the ashes dead,
Where there is not one spark so big as a pin's head:
At last in a dark corner two sparks he thought he sees,
Which were indeed nought else but Gib our cat's two eyes.
Puff, quod Hodge, thinking thereby to have fire without doubt;
With that Gib shut her two eyes, and so the fire was out;
And by and by them opened, even as they were before,
With that the sparks appeared even as they had done of yore;
And even as Hodge blew the fire (as he did think),
Gib, as she felt the blast, straightway began to wink;
Till Hodge fell of swearing, as came best to his turn,
The fire was sure bewitch'd, and therefore would not burn:
At last Gib up the stairs, among the old posts and pins,
And Hodge he hied him after, till broke were both his shins:
Cursing and swearing oaths were never of his making,
That Gib would fire the house, if that she were not taken.

GAMMER. See, here is all the thought that the foolish urchin taketh!
And Tib, me-think, at his elbow almost as merry maketh.
This is all the wit ye have, when others make their moan:
Come down, Hodge, where art thou? and let the cat alone.

HODGE. Gog's heart, help and come up: Gib in her tail hath fire,
And is like to burn all, if she get a little higher.
Come down (quoth you?) nay, then you might count me a patch,[202]
The house cometh down on your heads, if it take once the thatch.

GAMMER. It is the cat's eyes, fool, that shineth in the dark.

HODGE. Hath the cat, do you think, in every eye a spark?

GAMMER. No, but they shine as like fire as ever man see.

HODGE. By the mass, and she burn all, you sh' bear the blame for me.

GAMMER. Come down and help to seek here our nee'le, that it were found;
Down, Tib, on _thy_ knees, I say, down, Cock, to the ground.
To God I make a vow, and so to good Saint Anne,[203]
A candle shall they have a-piece, get it where I 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 t'is; 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[186] The summer beam or dorman. Poles laid over a stable or other
building.--Ray's "Collection of English Words," p. 167.

[187] A _sort_ is a company. So in Jonson's "Every man out of his
Humour," act ii., sc. 3: "I speak it not gloriously, nor out of
affectation, but there's he and the count Frugale, signior Illustre,
signior Luculento, and _a sort_ of them," &c. Also, in Nash's "Pierce
Pennilesse," 1592, p. 6, "I know a great _sort_ of good fellows that
would venture," &c. Again, in the "Vocacyon of Johan Bale," 1533; "In
parell of pyrates, robbers, and murthirors, and a great _sort_ more."
And in Skelton's Works, edit. 1736, p. 136--

"Another _sorte_ of sluttes
Some brought walnutes."

See also Dr Johnson and Mr Steevens's Notes on Shakspeare, Vol. III.
p. 69.

[188] An old _trot_ or _trat_, Dr Grey says, signifies a decrepid old
woman or an old drab. In which sense it is used in Gawin Douglas'
Virgil, B. iv. p. 96, 97--

"Out on the _old trat_ agit wyffe or dame."

And p. 122, 39:

"Thus saith _Dido_, and the tother with that,
Hyit or furth with slow pase like _ane trot_."

And Shakspeare: "Why give her gold enough, and marry him to a puppet,
aglet baby, or an _old trot_ with ne'er a tooth in her head" (_Taming
of the Shrew_, act i., sc. 5; Critical Notes on Shakspeare, Vol. I. p.
118.) It is also used by Churchyard--

"Away young Frie that gives leawd counsel, nowe,
Awaie _old trotts_, that sets young flesh to sale," &c.

--_Challenge_, 1583, p. 250.

And by Gascoigne:

"Goe: that gunne pouder consume the old _trotte!_"

--_Supposes_, act iii., sc. 5. [Hazlitt's edit. i. 230.]

Again, in Nash's "Lenten Stuff," 1599: "A cage or pigeon house,
roomsome enough to comprehend her, and the toothless _trot_ her nurse,
who was her only chat mate and chamber maid," &c.

See also Mr Steevens's Notes on Shakspeare, Vol. II. p. 93.

THE SECOND ACT.

_First a_ SONG.[204]

_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.[205]
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,
Both foot and hand go cold:
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old._

_I love no roast but a nut-brown toast,[206]
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;
Than doth she trowl to me the bowl[207]
Even as a malt-worm should;
And saith, sweet heart, I have take 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 FIRST SCENE.

DICCON, HODGE.

DICCON. Well done, by Gog's malt, well sung and well said:
Come on, mother Chat, as thou art a[208] true maid,
One fresh pot of ale let's see, to make an end,
Against this cold weather my naked arms[209] 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.[210]
Neither butter, cheese, milk, onions, flesh, nor fish,
Save this piece of barley-bread: 'tis a pleasant costly dish!

DICCON. Hail, fellow Hodge, and well[211] 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,
Chat 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, chain so vexed, and in my belly penn'd,
Chould one piece were at the spital-house, another at the castle's 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 not well.

DICCON. How so, Hodge?

HODGE. Has she not gone, trowest now thou, 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 thou[212] 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 Simson'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.[213]
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[214] with some pretty charm.

HODGE. Soft, Diccon, be not too hasty yet,
By the mass, for ich begin to sweat,
Cham afraid of some[215] 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?[216]

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:
So[217] 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, 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 con[218] thee thank.[219]
Here is a matter worthy glosing[220]
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 no 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,[221] 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[222] 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 hind-most 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 my sister, the matter is so great,
There, I will have you swear by Our Dear Lady of Boulogne,[223]
Saint Dunstan and Saint Dominic, with the three Kings of Cologne,[224]
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.[225]

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
crowded[226] 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[227]--

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[228] 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, good wife 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,[229] say on your mind, ye shall
me rule herein.

DICCON. God-a-mercy, 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 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 in, 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 know 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 t'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.[230]

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?[231]

DICCON. If thou hadst tarried where thou stood'st, thou wouldst hove
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[232] 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 hath 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. Allas, Diccon, then chave no shift; but lest ich tarry too long,
[Will] hie me to Sim Glover's shop, there to seek for 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.[233]

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[234] Spurrier's nee'le[235] 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 ich lost:
Who was it, leve son?[236] 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, ere 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, your[237] needle yet ye lose:
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 hadst kiss'd me I wot where: (she meant I know behind)
And home she went as brag as it had been a body-louse,[238]
And I after her, 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 the callet[239] 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,[240] that chill my nee'le
lack?

DICCON. Slip not your gear,[241] 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 aporn 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. 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.[242]
Dame Chat on the other side, if she be far behind,
I am right far deceived, she is given to it of kind.[243]
He that may tarry by it a while, 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 the end of this gear.
In the meantime, fellows, pipe up your fiddles: I say, take them,[244]
And let your friends hear such mirth as ye can make them.

FOOTNOTES:

[189] So in Nash's "Pierce Pennilesse," p. 23, "we have generall rules
and injunctions as good as printed precepts, or statutes set downe by
acte of parliament, that goe from drunkard to drunkard as still to
keepe your first man, not to leave anie flockes in the bottom of the
cup, to knock the glasse on your thumbe when you have done, to have
some _shooring horne_ to pull on your wine, as a rasher of the coles,
or a redde herring." Again in Nash's "Lenten Stuff," 1599, "which
being double roasted, and dried as it is, not only sucks up all the
rheumatick inundations, but is a _shoeing horn_ for a pint of wine
overplus."

[190] [Soiled.]

[191] A _planch_ is a plank of wood. To _planch_ therefore is a verb
formed from it. See "Measure for Measure," Vol. II., edit. 1778, p.
106.--_S._

The above note but ill explains its meaning; the word will be better
illustrated by the following description of the fortification of Ypres
by Holinshed: "It was fensed with a mighty rampire and a thicke hedge,
trimlie _planshed_, and woond with thornes," &c.--_Chron._ 2. 759.
_Ed._ 1807.--_O. G._

[192] This is the reading of the first edition, which in all the
subsequent ones is very improperly altered to _cover_. _To cower_, is
to bend, stoop, hang, or lean over. See Beaumont and Fletcher's
"Monsieur Thomas," act. iv., sc. 6, and Nash's "Pierce Pennilesse,"
1592, p. 8.

Again--

"He much rejoyst, and _cour'd_ it tenderly,
As chicken newly hatcht, from dreaded destiny."--

Spenser's _Fairy Queen_, B. ii., c. 8. sc. 9.

So in Shakspeare's "King Henry VI." Part II. vol. vi., p. 362, edit.
1778--

"The splitting rocks _cowr'd_ in the sinking sand."--_S._

Again--

"As thus he spake, each bird and beast behold
Approaching two and two, these _cow'ring_ low
With blandishment, each bird stoop'd on his wing."

--_Paradise Lost_, B. viii., l. 349.

[193] I believe we should read _halse anchor_, or _anker_, as it was
anciently spelt; a naval phrase. The _halse_ or _halser_ was a
particular kind of cable. Shakspeare, in his "Antony and Cleopatra,
has an image similar to this--

"The brize upon her, like a _cow_ in June,
_Hoists sail and flies_."--_S._

[194] Gib was the name by which all male or ram cats were
distinguished. See Warton's Note on the "First Part of Henry IV.," act
i., sc. 2.

[195] _i.e._, Breaking. See Note on "King Henry IV.," Part II., edit.
1778, vol. v., p. 537.--_S._

From the following passage, in a letter from Mr Sterne, dated August
11, 1767, it appears that the word was then still used in the same
sense among the common people in the north of England. "My postilion
has set me a-ground for a week, by one of my pistols bursting in his
hand, which he, taking for granted to be quite shot off, he instantly
fell upon his knees, and said, 'Our Father which art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name,' at which, like a good Christian, he stopped,
not remembering any more of it; the affair was not so bad as he at
first thought, for it has only _bursten_ two of his fingers, he says."

[196] [Haunch. See Halliwell's "Dict. _v._ Pesate."]

[197] _i.e._, God's curse. Glossary to Peter Langtoft.

[198] Mr Dodsley, in the former edition, reads _tacke_.

[199] Swiftly and directly--

Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde
And _swith_ he drew his brand;
And Estmere he and Alder yonge,
Right stiffe in stour can stand.

--Percy's _Reliques of Ancient Poetry_,
[Ed. 1765] vol. i., p. 75.

Hence _swythe_ to Doctor Rat hie thee, that thou were gone.

--Act iii., sc. 3.

Thou shalt find lying an inch of white tallow candle.
Light it, and bring it _tite_ away.

--Act i., sc. 4.

[200] Perhaps a corruption of Saint Swithin.--S.

[201] Mr Dodsley reads, _back again_.

[202] "This term," says Mr Malone, "came into use from the name of a
celebrated fool. This I learn from Wilson's 'Art of Rhetorique,' 1553:
'A word making, called of the Grecians Onomatopiea, is when we make
words of our own mind, such as be derived from the nature of things,'
as to call one _patche_, or cowlson, whom we see to do a thing
foolishly; because these two in their time were notable fools.

"Probably the dress which the celebrated _patch_ wore was in allusion
to his name, patched or parti-coloured. Hence the stage-fool has ever
since been exhibited in a motley coat. In Rowley's 'When you see me,
you know me,' Cardinal Wolsey's fool _Patch_ is introduced. Perhaps he
was the original _patch_ of whom Wilson speaks."--Note on "Merchant of
Venice," act ii., sc. 5.

In Chaloner's translation of the "Praise of Folly," by Erasmus, 1549,
is the following passage: "And by the fayeth ye owe to the immortal
godds, may any thing to an indifferent considerer be deemed more
happie and blisful than is this kinde of men whome commonly ye call
fooles, poltes, ideotes, and _paches_?"

Again, "I have subtraied these my selie _paches_, who not onelye
themselves are ever mery, playing, singing, and laughyng, but also
whatever they doo, are provokers of others lykewyse to pleasure,
sporte, and laughter, as who sayeth ordeyned herefore by the Godds of
theyr benevolence to recreate the sadnesse of mens lyves."

[203] In all cases of distress, and whenever the assistance of a
superior power was necessary, it was usual with the Roman Catholics to
promise their tutelary saints to light up candles at their altars, to
induce them to be propitious to such applications as were made to
them. The reader will see a very ridiculous story of this kind in the
first volume of Lord Oxford's "Collection of Voyages," p. 771, quoted
in Dr Grey's "Notes on Shakspeare," vol. i. p. 7. Erasmus has a story
to the same purpose in his "Naufragium."

[204] [Respecting this song, see Bell's "Songs from the Dramatists,"
p. 34.]

[205] Alluding to the drunkenness of the Friars.

[206] So in act iii., sc. 4--

"A cup of ale had in his hand, and _a crab_ lay in the fire."

Again--

"Now _a crab_ in the fire were worth a good groat,
That I might quaff with my Captain Tom tospot."

--Fulwell's _Like will to Like_, c. 2.

Again--

"And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,
In very likeness of a _roasted crab_."

--_Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii., sc. 1.

Upon this last passage, Mr Steevens has given the following examples
of the use of this word--

"Yet we will have in store _a crab_ in the fire,
With nut-brown ale."--_Henry V._, Anon.

"And sit down in my chaire by my faire Alison,
And turn a _crabbe_ in the fire as merry as Pope Joan."

--Edwards's _Damon and Pithias_.

"Sitting in a corner turning _crabs_,
Or coughing o'er a warmed pot of ale."

--_Description of Christmas in Summer's last Will
and Testament_, by Nash, 1600.

[207] _Trowl_, or _trole the bowl_, was a common phrase in drinking
for passing the vessel about, as appears by the following beginning of
an old catch--

"_Trole, trole_ the bowl to me,
And I will _trole_ the same again to thee."

And in this other, in Hilton's Collection--

"Tom Bouls, Tom Bouls,
Seest thou not how merrily this good ale _trowles_?

--Sir John Hawkins's _History of Music_, Vol. III., 22.

Again--

"Sirra Shakebagge, canst thou remember
Since we _trould the boule_ at Sittingburn."

--_Arden of Feversham_, 1592.

"Giv't us weele pledge, nor shall a man that lives
In charity refuse it, I will not be so old
As not be grac't to honour Cupid, giv't us full.
When we were young, we could ha _trold_ it off.
Drunke down a Dutchman."

--Marston's _Parasitaster or The Fawne_, act. v.

"Now the cups _trole_ about to wet the gossips whistles,
It pours down, I faith, they never think of payment."

--_A Chast Mayd in Cheap-side_, p. 34.

[208] Add.

[209] See Dekker's Description of an Abraham-man, _supra_.

[210] _To swink_ is to work or labour; as in Spenser's "Fairy Queen,"
B. II., cant. vii., st. 8.

"For which men sweat and _swink_ incessantly."

Again in "Comus," l. 293--

"And the _swinkt_ hedger at his supper sat."

Also in Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales," Prol., l. 184--

"What schulde he studie, make himselven wood,
Uppon a book in cloystre alway to powre,
Or _swinke_ with his hands, and laboure,
As Austin byt? how schal the world be served?
Let Austyn have his _swynk_ to him reserved."

And in "Pierce Plowman's Vision"--

"Hermets an heape with hoked staves,
Wenten to Walsingham, and her wenches after.
Great loubees and long, that loth were to _swinke_,
Clothed hem in copes, to be knowen from other."

[211] Will.

[212] Old copy, _than_.

[213] In the 14th of Queen Elizabeth, 1572, an Act of Parliament
passed, by which very heavy penalties were inflicted on all rogues,
vagabonds, and sturdy beggars. Among others, who are therein described
and directed to be deemed such, are idle persons going about feigning
themselves to have knowledge in phisnomie, palmestrie, or other abused
sciences, whereby they bear the people in hand that they can tell
their destinies, deaths, and fortunes, _and such other like
fantastical imaginations_. This statute seems to be alluded to here
by Diccon, and will serve to confirm the later date of the play; and
at the same time prove the forgery of that assigned to it by Chetwood.

[214] Fetched.

[215] Old copy, _syme_.

[216] "Ut mulieres solent ad mingendum."--_S._

[217] To.

[218] Can.

[219] I con him no thanks for it, occurs in Shakspeare's "All's Well
that Ends Well," and Mr Steevens says it means, "I shall not thank him
in studied language." I meet with the same expression in Nash's
"Pierce Pennilesse," &c.--

"I believe he _will con thee little thanks for it_."

Again, in "Wily Beguiled," 1606--

"I _con_ master Churms _thanks_ for this."

Again, in "Anything for a Quiet Life": "He would not trust you with
it, I _con_ him thanks for it."

_Cun or con thanks_, says the "Glossary to the Lancashire Dialect," is
to _give thanks_; and in that sense only the words appear to be used
to this day in the North of England. In Erasmus's "Praise of Folly,"
by Chaloner, 1549, sig. E 2: "But in the meane while ye ought to
_conne me thanke_," &c., and sig. I 4: "Who natheless _conned him as
greate thanke_," &c. Again, in Nash's "Pierce Pennilesse," p. 28: "It
is well doone 'to practise thy wit, but (I believe) our Lord will _cun
thee little_ thanke for it.'"

[220] _i.e._, Glossing or commenting upon. So, in "Pierce Plowman":

"_Glosed_ the Gospel as hem good liked,
For covetous of copes construe it as thei wold."

[221] Trump was a game played with cards, as will appear by the
following passage of Dekker's "Bellman of London," 1608, sig. F: "To
speak of all the slights used by _Card-players_ in al sorts of Games
would but weary you that are to read, and bee but a thanklesse and
unpleasing labour for me to set them downe. Omitting therefore the
deceipts practised (even in the fairest & most civill companies) at
Primero, Saunt, Maw, _Tromp_, and such like games, I will," &c. [See
Nares, _v. Trump_.]

[222] _i.e._, In secrecy. See note to the "Merry Wives of Windsor,"
edit. 1778, vol. i., p. 228.--_S._

[223] Our dear Lady of Boulogne is no other than the image of the
Virgin Mary at Boulogne, which was formerly held in so much reverence,
that it was one of those to which Pilgrimages used to be made. In
Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales," Prol. 1. 465, describing the "Wife of
Bath," he says--

"And thries hadde sche ben at Jerusalem.
Sche hadde passed many a straunge streem.
At Rome sche hadde ben, and at _Boloyne_.
In Galice at seynt Jame, and at Coloyne."

The Virgin Mary was the patroness of the town of Boulogne in a very
singular manner, it being holden immediately of her: "For when King
Lewis II., after the decease of Charles of Burgundy, had taken in
Boulogne, anno 1477, as new Lord of the town (thus John de Serres
relateth it), he did homage without sword or spurs bareheaded, and on
his knee, before the Virgin Mary, offering unto her image an heart of
massie gold, weighing 2000 crowns. He added also this, that he and his
successors, kings after him, should hold the county of Boulogne of the
said Virgin, and do homage unto her image in the great church of the
higher town dedicated to her name, paying at every change of a vassal
an heart of pure gold of the same weight."--Heylin's "Survey of
France," 1656, p. 193.

[224] The three kings of Cologne are supposed to have been the wise
men who travelled unto our Saviour by the direction of the star. To
these kings several writers have given the names of Gaspar, Melchior,
and Balthazar; but Sir Thomas Browne, in his "Vulgar Errors," has a
whole chapter concerning them, in which he doubts all the principal
facts in the account of them. See B. vii., c. 8. The celebrated Thomas
Coryat, when at Cologne, took some pains to collect many circumstances
relative to these kings, with which he hath filled several pages of
his book; and to which those who are desirous of further information
on the subject must be referred.

[225] Two.

[226] A crowd is a small fiddle. Hence the name of _Crowdero_, in
Hudibras. _Crowded_ means--made a musical noise.--_S._

[227] This oath occurs again, act v., sc. 2--

"Yet shall ye find no other wight save she, _by bread and salt_."