Tib. Talk. Which will slide down the lane[67] without any bones. [Cantet.[68]
Old brown-bread crusts must have much good mumbling;
But good ale down your throat hath good easy tumbling.
R. Roister (aside). The jolliest wench that ere I heard! Little mouse,
May I not rejoice that she shall dwell in my house?
Tib. Talk. So, sirrah,[69] now this gear beginneth for to frame.
M. Mumbl. Thanks to God, though your work stand still, your
tongue is not lame.
Tib. Talk. And though your teeth be gone, both so sharp and so fine,
Yet your tongue can renne on pattens as well as mine.
M. Mumbl. Ye were not for nought named Tib Talkapace.