Bayly. Dame Chat, was there none with you (confesse, i-faith) about that season?
What, woman? let it be what it wil, tis neither felony nor treason.
Chat. Yea, by my faith, master Bayly, there was a knave not farre
Who caught one good philup on the brow with a dore barre, 35
And well was he worthy, as it semed to mee;
But what is that to this man, since this was not hee?
Bayly. Who was it then? Lets here!
D. Rat. Alas sir, aske you that?
Is it not made plain inough by the owne mouth of Dame Chat?
The time agreeth, my head is broken, her tong can not lye, 40