Hodge. Bet me? Gogs blessed body, chold first, ich trow, have burst the!
Ich thinke and chad my hands loose, callet, chould have crust the!
Chat. Thou shitten knave, I trow thou knowest the ful weight of my fist;
I am fowly deceved onles thy head and my doore bar kyste.
Hodge. Hold thy chat, whore, thou criest so loude, can no man els be hard. 100
Chat. Well, knave, and I had the alone, I wold surely rap thy costard!
Bayly. Sir, answer me to this: is thy head whole or broken?
Hodge.[740] Yea, Master Bayly, blest be every good token,
Is my head whole! Ich warrant you, tis neither scurvy nor scald!
What, you foule beast, does think tis either pild or bald? 105