Gammer. Tib, stoope & loke downe to the ground to it, and take some paine.
Hodge. Here is a prety matter, to see this gere how it goes; 15
By Gogs soule, I thenk you wold loes your ars, and it were loose!
Your neele lost, it is pitie you shold lack care and endlesse sorow.
Gogs deth! how shall my breches be sewid? Shall I go thus to morow?
Gammer. Ah Hodg, Hodg! if that ich cold find my neele, by the reed,
Chould sow thy breches, ich promise the, with full good double threed, 20
And set a patch on either knee shuld last this monethes twaine.
Now God and good Saint Sithe[671] I praye to send it home againe!
Hodge. Wherto served your hands and eies, but this your neele to kepe?