Hodge. Hold thy chat, whore; thou criest so loud, can no man else be heard?
Chat. Well, knave, and I had thee alone, I would surely rap thy costard.[299]
Baily. Sir, answer me to this, Is thy head whole or broken?
Chat. Yea, Master Baily, blest be every good token.
Hodge. Is my head whole? ich warrant you, 'tis neither scurvy nor scald:
What, you foul beast, does think 'tis either pild or bald?[300]
Nay, ich thank God, chill not for all that thou may'st spend,
That chad one scab on my narse as broad as thy finger's end.
Baily. Come nearer here.