I heare them speake of Custance, which doth my heart good,

To heare hir name spoken doth euen comfort my blood.

M. Mumbl. Sit downe to your worke Tibet like a good girle.

Tib. Talk. Nourse medle you with your spyndle and your whirle,

No haste but good, Madge Mumblecrust, for whip and whurre

The olde prouerbe doth say, neuer made good furre.

M. Mumbl. Well, ye wyll sitte downe to your worke anon, I trust.

Tib. Talk. Soft fire maketh sweete malte, good Madge Mumblecrust.

M. Mumbl. And sweete malte maketh ioly good ale for the nones.

Tib. Talk. Whiche will slide downe the lane without any bones. Cantet.