Hodge. Take there! no, master, chould not do't for a house full of gold.
Chat. Thou, or the devil in thy coat; swear this I dare be bold.
Doctor Rat. Swear me no swearing, quean; the devil he give thee sorrow:
All is not worth a gnat, thou canst swear till to-morrow.
Where is the harm he hath? show it, by God's bread,
Ye beat him with a witness, but the stripes light on my head.
Hodge. Beat me! Gog's blessed body, chould first, ich trow, have burst thee:
Ich think, and chad my hands loose, callet, chould have crust[298] thee.
Chat. Thou shitten knave, I trow, thou knowest the full weight of my fist.
I am foully deceived, unless thy head and my door-bar kissed.