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.