Gammer. Who is that? What, Diccon? cham lost, man! fye, fye!
Diccon. Mary, fy on them that be worthy! but what shuld be your troble?
Gammer. Alas! the more ich thinke on it, my sorow it waxeth doble.
My goodly tossing[689] sporyars[690] neele chave lost ich wot not where. 10
Diccon. Your neele? whan?
Gammer. My neele, alas! ich myght full ill it spare,
As God him selfe he knoweth, nere one besyde chave.
Diccon. If this be all, good Gammer, I warrant you all is save.
Gammer. Why, know you any tydings which way my neele is gone?
Diccon. Yea, that I do doubtlesse, as ye shall here anone. 15