Tyb. Nay, and that were the worst, we wold not greatly care
For bursting of her huckle bone, or breaking of her chaire;
But greatter, greater, is her grief, as, Hodge, we shall all feele!
Hodge. Gogs woundes, Tyb! my gammer has never lost her neele?
Tyb. Her neele!
Hodge. Her neele! 25
Tyb. Her neele!
By him that made me, it is true, Hodge, I tell thee.
Hodge. Gogs sacrament, I would she had lost tharte out of her bellie!
The Devill, or els his dame, they ought[667] her, sure, a shame!