I durst aventure wel the price of my best cap,
That when the end is knowen, all will turne to a jape. 145
Tolde he not you that besides she stole your cocke that tyde?
Gammer. No, master, no indede; for then he shuld have lyed.
My cocke is, I thanke Christ, safe and wel a fine.
Chat. Yea, but that ragged colt, that whore, that Tyb of thine,
Said plainly thy cocke was stolne, and in my house was eaten. 150
That lying cut[743] is lost that she is not swinged and beaten,
And yet for al my good name, it were a small amendes!
I picke not this geare, hearst thou, out of my fingers endes;