Gammer. Yea, Master Baily, there is a thing you know not on, mayhap:
This drab she keeps away my good (the devil he might her snare):
Ich pray you, that ich might have a right action on her.
Chat. Have I thy good, old filth, or any such old sow's?
I am as true, I would thou knew, as [the] skin between thy brows.[303]
Gammer. Many a truer hath been hanged, though you escape the danger.
Chat. Thou shalt answer (by God's pity) for this thy foul slander.
Baily. Why, what can you charge her withal? to say so ye do not well.
Gammer. Marry, a vengeance to her heart, the whore has stol'n my nee'le.
Chat. Thy needle, old witch! how so? it were alms thy soul to knock;