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,