No froste nor snow, no winde, I trow,
can hurte mee if I wolde,

I am so wrapt, and throwly lapt
of joly good ale and olde.

Back and side go bare, &c.

And Tyb my wyfe, that as her lyfe
loveth well good ale to seeke,
Full ofte drinkes shee, tyll ye may see
the teares run down her cheekes;

23 Then dooth she trowle to mee the bowle,
even as a mault worme shuld;
And sayth, sweet hart, I tooke my part
of this joly good ale and olde.

Back and side go bare, &c.

Now let them drynke, tyll they nod and winke, even as good felowes shoulde doe,

They shall not mysse to have the blisse

good ale doth bringe men to:

23 Then dooth she trowle to mee the bowle,] "Trowle, or trole the "bowl, was a common phrase in drinking for passing the vessel "about, as appears by the following beginning of an old Catch : "Trole, trole the bowl to me,

"And I will trole the same again to thee." And in this other, in Hilton's Collection:

"Tom Bouls, Tom Bouls,

"Seest thou not how merrily this good ale trowles?"
Sir John Hawkins's History of Musick, vol. III. 22.

Again :

Sirra Shakebagge, canst thou remember
Since we trould the boule at Sittingburn.

Arden of Feversham, 1592.
Giv't us weele pledge, nor shall a man that lives
In charity refuse it, I will not be so old
As not be grac't to honour Cupid, giv't us full,
When we were young, we could ha trold it off.
Drunke down a Dutchman.

Marston's Parasitaster or Fawne, A. 5.
Now the cups trole about to wet the gossips whistles,
It pours down I faith they never think of payment.

"A Chast Mayd in Cheap-side, p. 34.

And all poor soules that have scored boules,
or have them lustely trolde,

God save the lyves of them and their wyves,
whether they be yonge or olde.

Back and side go bare, &c.

THE FYRST SCEANE.

DICCON." HODGE.

Diccon. Well done, by Gog's malt, well songe and well sayde:

Come on, mother Chat,as thou art 24 a true mayde. One fresh pot of ale let's see, to make an ende

Agaynst this colde wether, my naked armes 25 to de

fende:

This gere it warms the soule, now wind blow on thy worst,

And let us drink and swill till that our bellies burste, Now were he a wyse man, by cunnynge colde defyne Which way my journey lyeth, or where Diccon will dyne:

But one good turne I have, be it by nyght or daye, South, east, north or west, I am never out of my waye. Hodge. Chym goodly rewarded, cham I not, do you thyncke?

26 Chad a goodly dynner for all my sweate and swyncke;

24 Add.

25 naked armes] See Dekker's Description of an Abraham-man, p. 4.

26 sweate and swyncke;] To swynke is to work or labour; as in Spenser's Fairy Queen, B. 2. Cant. 7. St. 8.

"For which men swink and sweat incessantly."

Again in Comus, by Milton, 1. 293:

“And the swinkt hedger at his supper sat ;"

Neyther butter, cheese, mylk, onyons, fleshe nor fyshe, Save thys pece of barly bread, tis a pleasant costly dishe.

Diccon. Haile, fellow Hodge, and 27 well to fare with thy meat, if you have any:

But by thy words, as I them smelled, thy daintrels be not manie.

Hodge. Daintrels, Diccon! Gogs soule man, save of dry horsbred,

this pece

Chat byt no byt this lyve-longe daie, no crome come in my hed:

My gutts they yawle, crawle, and all my belly rumbleth, The puddyinges cannot lye still, ech one over 'other tumbleth.

By Gog's harte cham so vexte, and in my belly pende, Chould one peece were at the spittlehouse, another at the castel's ende.

Diccon. Why Hodge, was there none at home thy dinner for to set?

Hodge. Gogs 28 bread, Diccon, ich came to late, was nothing ther to get:

Gib (a fowle feind might on her light) lickt the milke pan so clene;

See Diccon, 'twas not so well washt this seven yere, as ich wene.

Also, in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Prol. l. 184:
"What shulde he studie, make himselven wood,

Upon a book in cloistre alway to pore,

"Or swinken with his hondes, and laboure,

"As Austin bit? how shal the world be served?
"Let Austin have his swink to him reserved."

And, in Pierce Plowman's Vision :

"Hermets an heape with hoked staves,

"Wenten to Walsingham, and her wenches after "Great loubees and long, that loth were to swinke, "Clothed hem in copes, to be knowen from other." 27 will.

28 Godgs.

A pestilence lyght on all ill lucke, chad thought yet for all this

Of a morsell of bacon behynde the dore, at worst shuld not misse:

But when ich sought a slyp to cut, as ich was wont to do,

Gogs souls, Diccon, Gyb our cat had eate the bacon to! Which bacon Diccon stole, as is declared before. Diccon. Ill luck, quod he? mary swere it, Hodg, this day the trueth tel,

Thou rose not on thy right syde, or els blest thee not wel.

Thy mylk slopt up! thy bacon filtched! that was to bad luck, Hodg.

Hodge. Nay, nay, ther was a fowler fault, my Gammer ga me the dodge:

Seest not how cham rent and torn, my heels, my knees, and my breech?

Chad thought as ich sat by the fire, help here and there a stitch;

But there ich was powpte indeed.
Diccon. Why, Hodge?

Hodge. Bootes not, man, to tell,

Cham so drest amongst a sorte of fooles, chad better be in hell,

My Gammar (cham ashamed to say) by God, served me not weele.

Diccon. How so, Hodge?

Hodge. Hase she not gone, trowest now thou, and lost her neele?

Diccon. Her eele, Hodge! who fysht of late? that was a dainty dysh.

Hodge. Tush, tush, her neele, her neele, her neele, man, tys neither flesh nor fysh,

A lytle thing with an hole in the end, as bright as any syller,

Small, longe, sharpe at the poynt, and straight as any pyller.

Diccon. I know not what a devil thou menest, thou bringst me more in doubt.

Hodge. Knowest not with what Tom tailer's man sits broching throughe a clout?

A neele, a neele, a neele, my Gammer's neele is gone. Diccon. Her neele! Hodge, now I smel thee, that was a chaunce alone:

By the masse thou hadst a shameful losse, and it were but for thy breches.

Hodge. Gog's soule, man, chould give a crown, chad it but three stitches.

Diccon. How sayest thou, Hodg? what shuld he have again thy nedle got?

Hodge. Be'm vather's soul, and chad it, chould give him a new grot.

Diccon. Canst thou keepe counsaille in this case? Hodge. Els chwold my tonge were out.

Diccon. Do thou 29 but then by my advise, and I wil fetch it without doubt.

Hodge. Chyll runne, chyll ryde, chyll dygge, chyll delve,

chyll toyle, chyll trudge, shalt see;

Chyll hold, chyll drawe, chyll pull, chyl pynche, chyll kneele on my bare knee;

Chyll scrape, chyll scratche, chyll syfte, chyll seeke, chyll bowe, chyll bende, chyll sweate,

Chyll stoop, chyll stur, chyll cap, chyl knele,

chyll crepe on hands and feete;

Chyll be thy bondman, Diccon, ich sweare by sunne

and moone,

And channot sumwhat to stop this gap, cham utterly

undone.

[Pointing behind to his torne breeches, Diccon. Why, is ther any special cause thou takest hereat such sorow?

Hodge. Kirstian Clack, Tom Simson's maid, by the masse coms hether to morrow;

29 Than.