For so I judge it meet,
This needle again to win,
There is no shift therein,
But conjure up a spreet.
Hodge. What the great devil, Diccon, I say?
Diccon. Yea, in good faith, that is the way,
Fet[214] with some pretty charm.
Hodge. Soft, Diccon, be not too hasty yet,
By the mass, for ich begin to sweat,
Cham afraid of some[215] harm.