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,