Hoise her, souse her, bounce her, trounce her, pull her throat-hole.
Chat. Com'st behind me, thou withered witch? and I get once on foot,
Thou'se pay for all, thou old tar-leather, I'll teach thee what longs to 't.
Take thee this to make up thy mouth, till time thou come by more.
Hodge. Up, gammer, stand on your feet, where is the old whore?
Faith, would chad her by the face, chould crack her callet crown.
Gammer. Ah, Hodge, Hodge, where was thy help, when th' vixen had me down!
Hodge. By the mass, Gammer, but for my staff, Chat had gone nigh to spill you.
Ich think the harlot had not cared, and chad not come, to kill you.
But shall we lose our nee'le thus?