Diccon. What devil, man, art afraid of nought?
Hodge. Canst not tarry a little thought
Till ich make a courtesy of water?[216]
Diccon. Stand still to it, why shouldest thou fear him?
Hodge. Gog's sides, Diccon, me-think ich hear him,
And tarry, chall mar all.
Diccon. The matter is no worse than I told it.
Hodge. By the mass, cham able no longer to hold it:
So[217] bad, ich must beray the hall.
Diccon. Stand to it, Hodge, stir not, you whoreson.