Gammer. Alas, the more ich think on it, my sorrow it waxeth double.
My goodly tossing[234] Spurrier's nee'le[235] chave lost, ich wot not where.
Diccon. Your nee'le! when?
Gammer. My nee'le: alas! ich might full ill it spare,
As God himself he knoweth, ne'er one beside chave.
Diccon. If this be all, good Gammer, I warrant you all is safe.
Gammer. Why, know you any tidings which way my nee'le is gone?
Diccon. Yea, that I do, doubtless, as ye shall hear anon,
'A see a thing this matter toucheth within these twenty hours,
Even at this gate before my face, by a neighbour of yours;