Now mot[269] ich doubt what Gib should mean, that now she doth so doat.[270]
Hodge. Hold hither, ich hold twenty pound, your nee'le is in her throat.
Grope her, ich say, methinks ich feel it; does not prick your hand?
Gammer. Ich can feel nothing.
Hodge. No! ich know that's not within this land
A murrainer cat than Gib is, betwixt the Thames and Tyne,
Sh'ase as much wit in her head almost as ch'ave in mine.
Tib. Faith, sh'ase eaten something, that will not easily down,
Whether she gat it at home, or abroad in the town,
Ich cannot tell.