For I am sure to lacke therfore a tythe pyg or a goose.
I warrant you, when truth is knowen, and told they have their tale,
The matter where about I come is not worth a halfpeny worth of ale;
Yet must I talke so sage and smothe, as though I were a glosier 15
Els, or the yere come at an end, I shal be sure the loser.
What worke ye, Gammer Gurton? hoow? here is your frend M[ast] Rat.
Gammer. A! good M[ast] Doctor! cha trebled, cha trebled you, chwot wel that!
D. Rat. How do ye, woman? be ye lustie, or be ye not well at ease?
Gammer. By gys, Master, cham not sick, but yet chave a disease.[717] 20
Chad a foule turne now of late, chill tell it you, by gigs!