Tyb. Loke how the kokold chafyth the wax that is hard, 505

And for his lyfe, daryth not loke hetherward.

Syr J. What doth my gossyp?

Johan. I chafe the wax—

[Aside.] And I chafe it so hard that my fyngers krakks;

And eke the smoke puttyth out my eyes two:

I burne my face, and ray my clothys also, B iii 510

And yet I dare not say one word,

And they syt laughyng yender at the bord.

Tyb. Now, by my trouth, it is a prety jape,