Chat. Art here again, thou hoddypeke?[262] what, Doll, bring me out my spit.
Hodge. Chill broach thee with this, by m' father's soul, chill conjure that foul spreet.
Let door stand, Cock, why com'st indeed? keep door, thou whoreson boy.
Chat [to Doll.] Stand to it, thou dastard, for thine ears; ise teach the sluttish toy.
Hodge. Gog's wounds, whore, chill make thee avaunt,
Take heed, Cock, pull in the latch.
Chat. I' faith, sir loose-breech, had ye tarried, ye should have found your match.
Gammer. Now 'ware thy throat, losel,[263] thou'se pay for all.
Hodge. Well said, gammer, by my soul.