With slanderous words to blot your name, and so to defile you?
Diccon. No, good wife Chat, I would be loth such drabs should blot my name;
But yet ye must so order all, that Diccon bear no blame.
Chat. Go to, then, what is your reed,[229] say on your mind, ye shall me rule herein.
Diccon. God-a-mercy, dame Chat, in faith thou must the gear begin:
It is twenty pound to a goose-turd my Gammer will not tarry.
But hitherward she comes as fast as her legs can carry,
To brawl with you about her cock, for well I heard Tib say,
The cock was roasted in your house to breakfast yesterday:
And when ye had the carcase eaten, the feathers ye outflung,