Hodge. Yes, that ich dare.
Baily. By our lady, here is no harm:
Hodge's head is whole enough, for all dame Chat's charm.
Chat. By Gog's blest,[301] however the thing he cloaks or smolders,
I know the blows he bare away either with head or shoulders.
Camest thou not, knave, within this hour, creeping into my pens,
And there was caught within my house, groping among my hens?
Hodge. A plague both on thy hens and thee! a cart, whore, a cart!
Chould I were hanged as high as a tree, and ich were as false as thou art.
Give my gammer again her washical[302] thou stole away in thy lap.