Chill kneel on my bare knee;
Chill scrape, chill scratch, chill sift, chill seek,
Chill bow, chill bend, chill sweat,
Chill stoop, chill stour, chill cap, chill kneel,
Chill creep on hands and feet;
Chill be thy bondman, Diccon, ich swear by sun and moon,
And channot somewhat to stop this gap, cham utterly undone.
[Pointing behind to his torn breeches.
Diccon. Why, is there any special cause thou takest hereat such sorrow?
Hodge. Kirstian Clack, Tom Simson's maid, by the mass, comes hither to-morrow.