Part 28

DICCON,[653] _the Bedlem_. HODGE,[654] _Gammer Gurtons servante_. TYB, _Gammer Gurtons mayde_. GAMMER GURTON. COCKE,[655] _Gammer Gurtons boye_. DAME CHATTE. DOCTOR RAT, _the Curate_. MAYSTER BAYLYE. DOLL, _Dame Chattes mayde_. SCAPETHRYFT,[656] _Mayst. Beylies servante_. _Mutes._

God Save the Queene.

P. 205 represents the title-page, but without the border to which I refer on p. 199. Mr. W. J. Lewis points out to me that this woodcut title page had been used previously by William Copland, in 1553, for his editions of Douglas _Æneis_ and _Palice of Honour_.

FOOTNOTES:

[653] The older form of Dick, nickname for Richard.

[654] Nickname for Roger.

[655] Misprinted _Docke_.

[656] Professor Manly gives _scapetbryk_ as the reading of the edition of 1575; but in the copies in the Bodleian Library and in the British Museum the name is printed correctly.

Gammer Gurtons Nedle

The Prologue. A ii

As Gammer Gurton with manye a wyde styche Sat pesynge and patching of Hodg her mans briche, By chance or misfortune, as shee her geare tost, In Hodge lether bryches her needle shee lost. When Diccon the bedlem had hard by report 5 That good Gammer Gurton was robde in thys sorte, He quyetly perswaded with her in that stound[657] Dame Chat, her deare gossyp, this needle had found; Yet knew shee no more of this matter, alas! Then knoeth Tom, our clarke, what the priest saith at masse. 10 Hereof there ensued so fearfull a fraye, Mas[658] Doctor was sent for, these gossyps to staye, Because he was curate, and estemed full wyse; Who found that he sought not, by Diccons device. When all thinges were tombled and cleane out of fassion, 15 Whether it were by fortune, or some other constellacion, Sodenlye the neele Hodge found by the prickynge, And drew it out of his bottocke, where he felt it stickynge. Theyr hartes then at rest with perfect securytie, With a pot of good nale they stroake up theyr plauditie. 20

The fyrst Acte. The fyrst Sceane.

DICCON.

_Diccon._ Many a myle have I walked, divers and sundry waies, And many a good mans house have I bin at in my daies; Many a gossips cup in my tyme have I tasted, And many a broche[659] and spyt have I both turned and basted; Many a peece of bacon have I had out of thir balkes, 5 In ronnyng over the countrey, with long and were walkes; Yet came my foote never within those doore cheekes, To seeke flesh or fysh, garlyke, onyons, or leeke[s], That ever I saw a sorte[660] in such a plyght As here within this house appereth to my syght. 10 There is howlynge and scowlyng, all cast in a dumpe, With whewling and pewling, as though they had lost a trump. A ii b Syghing and sobbing, they weepe and they wayle; I marvell in my mynd what the devill they ayle. The olde trot syts groning, with alas! and alas! 15 And Tib wringes her hands, and takes on in worse case. With poore Cocke, theyr boye, they be dryven in such fyts, I feare mee the folkes be not well in theyr wyts. Aske them what they ayle, or who brought them in this staye, They aunswer not at all, but "alacke!" and "welaway!" 20 Whan I saw it booted not, out at doores I hyed mee, And caught a slyp of bacon, when I saw that none spyed mee, Which I intend not far hence, unles my purpose fayle, Shall serve for a shoinghorne to draw on two pots of ale.

The fyrst Acte. The second Sceane.

HODGE. DICCON.

_Hodge._ See! so cham[661] arayed with dablynge in the durt! She that set me to ditchinge, ich wold she hat the squrt! Was never poore soule that such a life had. Gogs bones! thys vylthy glaye hase drest me to bad! Gods soule! see how this stuffe teares! 5 Iche were better to bee a bearward and set to keepe beares! By the Masse, here is a gasshe, a shamefull hole in deade! And one stytch teare furder, a man may thrust in his heade.

_Diccon._ By my fathers soule, Hodge, if I shoulde now be sworne, I can not chuse but say thy breech is foule betorne, 10 But the next remedye in such a case and hap Is to plaunche on a piece as brode as thy cap.

_Hodge._ Gogs soule, man, tis not yet two dayes fully ended Synce my dame Gurton, chem sure, these breches amended; But cham made suc[h]e a drudge to trudge at euery neede, 15 Chwold rend it though it were stitched with[662] sturdy pacthreede.

_Diccon._ Ho[d]ge, let thy breeches go, and speake and tell mee soone What devill ayleth Gammer Gurton & Tib her mayd to frowne.

_Hodge._ Tush, man, thart deceyved: tys theyr dayly looke; They coure so over the coles, theyre eyes be bleared with smooke. 20

_Diccon._ Nay, by the masse, I perfectly perceived, as I came hether, That eyther Tib and her dame hath ben by the eares together, Or els as great a matter, as thou shalt shortly see.

_Hodge._ Now, iche beseeche our Lord they never better agree!

_Diccon._ By Gogs soule, there they syt as still as stones in the streite, As though they had ben taken with fairies, or els with some il sprite. 26

_Hodge._ Gogs hart! I durst have layd my cap to a crowne Chwould lerne of some prancome as sone as ich came to town.

_Diccon._ Why, Hodge, art thou inspyred? or dedst thou therof here?

_Hodge._ Nay, but ich saw such a wonder as ich saw nat this seven yere. 30 Tome Tannkards cow, be Gogs bones! she set me up her saile, And flynging about his halfe aker[663] fysking with her taile, As though there had ben in her ars a swarme of bees, And chad not cryed "tphrowh, hoore," shead lept out of his lees.

_Diccon._ Why, Hodg, lies the connyng in Tom Tankards cowes taile? 35

_Hodge._ Well, ich chave hard some say such tokens do not fayle. Bot ca[n]st thou not tell,[664] in faith, Diccon, why she frownes, or wher at? Hath no man stolne her ducks or hen[n]es, or gelded Gyb, her cat?

_Diccon._ What devyll can I tell, man? I cold not have one word! They gave no more hede to my talk than thow woldst to a lorde.

_Hodge._ Iche cannot styll but muse, what mervaylous thinge it is. Chyll in and know my selfe what matters are amys. 42

_Diccon._ Then fare well, Hodge, a while, synce thou doest inward hast, For I will into the good wyfe Chats, to feele how the ale doth taste.

The fyrst Acte. The thyrd Sceane.

HODGE. TYB.

_Hodge._ Cham agast; by the masse, ich wot not what to do. Chad nede blesse me well before ich go them to. Perchaunce some felon sprit may haunt our house indeed; And then chwere but a noddy to venter where cha no neede.

_Tyb._ Cham worse then mad, by the masse, to be at this staye! 5 Cham chyd, cham blamd, and beaton, all thoures on the daye; Lamed and honger-storved, prycked up all in jagges, Havyng no patch to hyde my backe, save a few rotten ragges!

_Hodge._ I say, Tyb--if thou be Tyb, as I trow sure thou bee,-- What devyll make a doe is this, betweene our dame and thee? 10

_Tyb._ Gogs breade, Hodg, thou had a good turne thou wart not here [this while]! A iii b It had been better for some of us to have ben hence a myle; My gammer is so out of course and frantyke all at ones, That Cocke, our boy, and I, poore wench, have felt it on our bones.

_Hodge._ What is the matter--say on, Tib--wherat she taketh so on? 15

_Tyb._ She is undone, she sayth, alas! her joye and life is gone! If shee here not of some comfort, she is, fayth![665] but dead; Shal never come within her lyps one inch of meate ne bread.

_Hodge._ Byr Ladie, cham not very glad to see her in this dumpe. Cholde[666] a noble her stole hath fallen, & shee hath broke her rumpe. 20

_Tyb._ Nay, and that were the worst, we wold not greatly care For bursting of her huckle bone, or breaking of her chaire; But greatter, greater, is her grief, as, Hodge, we shall all feele!

_Hodge._ Gogs woundes, Tyb! my gammer has never lost her neele?

_Tyb._ Her neele!

_Hodge._ Her neele! 25

_Tyb._ Her neele! By him that made me, it is true, Hodge, I tell thee.

_Hodge._ Gogs sacrament, I would she had lost tharte out of her bellie! The Devill, or els his dame, they ought[667] her, sure, a shame! How a murryon came this chaunce, say, Tib! unto our dame?

_Tyb._ My gammer sat her downe on her pes,[668] and bad me reach thy breeches, 30 And by and by (a vengeance in it!) or she had take two stitches To clap a clout upon thine ars, by chaunce asyde she leares, And Gyb, our cat, in the milke pan she spied over head and eares. "Ah, hore! out, thefe!" she cryed aloud, and swapt the breches downe. 34 Up went her staffe, and out leapt Gyb at doors into the towne, And synce that tyme was never wyght cold set their eies upon it. Gogs malison chave (Cocke and I) bid twenty times light on it.

_Hodge._ And is not then my breeches sewid up, to morow that I shuld were?

_Tyb._ No, in faith, Hodge, thy breeches lie for al this never the nere.

_Hodge._ Now a vengeance light on al the sort, that better shold have kept it, 40 The cat, the house, and Tib, our maid, that better shold have swept it! Se where she cometh crawling! Come on, in twenty devils way! Ye have made a fayre daies worke, have you not? pray you, say!

The fyrst Acte. The iiii. Sceane.

GAMMER. HODGE. TYB. COCKE.

_Gammer._ Alas, Hoge, alas! I may well cursse and ban A iv This daie, that ever I saw it, with Gyb and the mylke pan; For these and ill lucke togather, as knoweth Cocke, my boye, Have stacke away my deare neele, and robd me of my joye, My fayre long strayght neele, that was myne onely treasure; 5 The fyrst day of my sorow is, and last end of my pleasure!

_Hodge._ Might ha kept it when ye had it! but fooles will be fooles styll. Lose that is vast in your handes ye neede not but ye will.

_Gammer._ Go hie the, Tib, and run thou, hoore, to thend here of the towne![669] Didst cary out dust in thy lap; seeke wher thou porest it downe, 10 And as thou sawest me roking, in the ashes where I morned, So see in all the heape of dust thou leave no straw unturned.

_Tyb._ That chal, Gammer, swythe and tyte,[670] and sone be here agayne!

_Gammer._ Tib, stoope & loke downe to the ground to it, and take some paine.

_Hodge._ Here is a prety matter, to see this gere how it goes; 15 By Gogs soule, I thenk you wold loes your ars, and it were loose! Your neele lost, it is pitie you shold lack care and endlesse sorow. Gogs deth! how shall my breches be sewid? Shall I go thus to morow?

_Gammer._ Ah Hodg, Hodg! if that ich cold find my neele, by the reed, Chould sow thy breches, ich promise the, with full good double threed, 20 And set a patch on either knee shuld last this monethes twaine. Now God and good Saint Sithe[671] I praye to send it home againe!

_Hodge._ Wherto served your hands and eies, but this your neele to kepe? What devill had you els to do? ye kept, ich wot, no sheepe! Cham fame abrode to dyg and delve, in water, myre, and claye, 25 Sossing and possing in the durte styll from day to daye. A hundred thinges that be abrode, cham set to see them weele, And four of you syt idle at home, and can not keepe a neele!

_Gammer._ My neele! alas! ich lost it, Hodge, what time ich me up hasted To save the milke set up for the, which Gib, our cat, hath wasted. 30

_Hodge._ The Devill he burst both Gib and Tib, with al the rest! Cham alwayes sure of the worst end, who ever have the best! Where ha you ben fidging abrode, since you your neele lost?

_Gammer._ Within the house, and at the dore, sitting by this same post, Wher I was loking a long howre, before these folks came here; 35 But welaway, all was in vayne, my neele is never the nere!

_Hodge._ Set me a candle, let me seeke, and grope where ever it bee. Gogs hart, ye be so folish, ich thinke, you knowe it not when you it see!

_Gammer._ Come hether, Cocke; what, Cocke, I say!

_Cocke._ Howe, Gammer?

_Gammer._ Goe, hye the soone, And grope behynd the old brasse pan, whych thing when thou hast done, 40 Ther shall thou fynd an old shooe, wherein if thou look well, Thou shalt fynd lyeng an inche of a whyte tallow candell. Lyght it, and bryng it tite away.

_Cocke._ That shalbe done anone.

_Gammer._ Nay, tary, Hodge, till thou hast light, and then weele seke ech one. 45

_Hodge._ Cum away, ye horson boy, are ye aslepe? ye must have a crier!

_Cocke._ Ich cannot get the candel light: here is almost no fier.

_Hodge._ Chil hold[672] the a peny chil make the come, if that ich may catch thine eares! Art deffe, thou horson boy? Cocke, I say; why canst not heares?

_Gammer._ Beate hym not, Hodge, bul help the boy, and come you two together.

The i Acte. The v Sceane.

GAMMER. TYB. COCKE. HODGE.

_Gammer._ How now, Tib? quycke, lets here what newes thou hast brought hether!

_Tyb._ Chave tost and tumbled yender heap our and over againe, And winowed it through my fingers, as men wold winow grain; Not so much as a hens turd but in pieces I tare it, Or what so ever clod or clay I found, I did not spare it, 5 Lokyng within and eke without, to fynd your neele, alas! But all in vaine and without help! your neele is where it was.

_Gammer._ Alas my neele! we shall never meete! adue, adue, for aye!

_Tyb._ Not so, Gammer, we myght it fynd, if we knew where it laye.

_Cocke._ Gogs crosse, Gammer, if ye will laugh, looke in but at the doore, 10 And see how Hodg lieth tombling and tossing amids the floure, Rakyng there some fyre to fynd amonge the asshes dead, Where there is not one sparke so byg as a pyns head; At last in a darke corner two sparkes he thought he sees, Which were indede nought els but Gyb our cats two eyes. 15 "Puffe!" quod Hodg, thinking therby to have fyre without doubt; With that Gyb shut her two eyes, and so the fyre was out; And by and by them opened, even as they were before; With that the sparkes appered, even as they had done of yore; And even as Hodge blew the fire (as he did thinke), 20 Gib, as she felt the blast, strayghtway began to wyncke; Tyll Hodge fell of swering, as came best to his turne, The fier was sure bewicht, and therfore wold not burne. At last Gyb up the stayers, among the old postes and pinnes, And Hodge he hied him after, till broke were both his shinnes; 25 Cursyng and swering othes were never of his makyng, That Gyb wold fyre the house if that shee were not taken.

_Gammer._ See, here is all the thought that the foolysh urchyn taketh! And Tyb, me thinke, at his elbowe almost as mery maketh. This is all the wyt ye have, when others make their mone. 30 Cum downe, Hodge, where art thou? and let the cat alone!

_Hodge._ Gogs harte, help and come up! Gyb in her tayle hath fyre, And is like to burne all, if shee get a lytle hier! Cum downe, quoth you? nay, then you might count me a patch.[673] The house commeth downe on your heads, if it take ons the thatch. 35

_Gammer._ It is the cats eyes, foole, that shyneth in the darke.

_Hodge._ Hath the cat, do you thinke, in every eye a sparke?

_Gammer._ No, but they shyne as lyke fyre as ever man see.

_Hodge._ By the masse, and she burne all, yoush beare the blame for mee!

_Gammer._ Cum downe and helpe to seeke here our neele, that it were found. 40 Downe, Tyb, on the knees, I say! Downe, Cocke, to the ground! To God I make avowe, and so to good Saint Anne, A candell shall they have a pece, get it where I can, If I may my neele find in one place or in other.

_Hodge._ Now a vengeaunce on Gyb light, on Gyb and Gybs mother, 45 And all the generacyon of cats both far and nere! Loke on this ground, horson, thinks thou the neele is here?

_Cocke._ By my trouth, Gammer, me thought your neele here I saw, But when my fyngers toucht it, I felt it was a straw.

_Tyb._ See, Hodge, whats t[h]ys? may it not be within it? 50

_Hodge._ Breake it, foole, with thy hand, and see and thou canst fynde it.

_Tyb._ Nay, breake it you, Hodge, accordyng to your word.

_Hodge._ Gogs sydes! fye! it styncks; it is a cats tourd! It were well done to make thee eate it, by the masse!

_Gammer._ This matter amendeth not; my neele is still where it wasse. 55 Our candle is at an ende, let us all in quight, And come another tyme, when we have more lyght.

The Second Acte.

_First a Song._[674]

Backe and syde go bare, go bare, Booth foote and hande go colde; But bellye, God send thee good ale ynoughe, Whether it be newe or olde.

I can not eate but lytle meate, My stomacke is not good; But sure I thinke that I can drinke With him that weares a hood. Thoughe I go bare, take ye no care, I am nothinge a colde; I stuffe my skyn so full within Of joly good ale and olde. Backe and syde go bare, go bare, etc.

I love no rost but a nut browne toste And a crab layde in the fyre.[675] A lytle bread shall do me stead: Much breade I not desyre. No froste nor snow, no winde, I trowe, Can hurte mee if I wolde; I am so wrapt, and throwly lapt Of joly good ale and olde. Backe and syde go bare, etc.

And Tyb my wyfe, that as her lyfe Loveth well good ale to seeke, Full ofte drynkes shee tyll ye may see The teares run downe her cheeke; Then dooth she trowle to mee the bowle Even as a mault worme shuld; And sayth, sweete hart, I tooke my part Of this joly good ale and olde. Backe and syde go bare, etc.

Now let them drynke till they nod and winke, Even as good felowes shoulde doe; They shall not miss to have the bliss Good ale doth bringe men to; And all poore soules that have scowred boules, Or have them lustly trolde, God save the lyves of them and theyr wyves, Whether they be yonge or olde. Backe and syde go bare, etc.

[The Second Acte.] The Fyrst Sceane.

DICCON. HODGE.

_Diccon._ Well done, by Gogs malt! well songe and well sayde! Come on, mother Chat, as thou art true mayde, One fresh pot of ale lets see, to make an ende Agaynst this colde wether my naked armes to defende! This gere it warms the soule! Now, wind, blow on the worst! 5 And let us drink and swill till that our bellies burste! Now were he a wise man by cunnynge could defyne Which way my journey lyeth, or where Dyccon 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! 10

_Hodge._ Chym goodly rewarded, cham I not, do you thyncke? Chad a goodly dynner for all my sweate and swyncke! Neyther butter, cheese, mylke, onyons, fleshe, nor fyshe, Save this poor pece of barly bread: tis a pleasant costly dishe!

_Diccon._ Haile, fellow Hodge, and well[676] to fare with thy meat, if thou have any: 15 But by thy words, as I them smelled, thy daintrels be not manye.

_Hodge._ Daintrels, Diccon? Gogs soule, man, save this piece of dry horsbread, Cha byt no byt this lyvelonge daie, no crome come in my head: My gutts they yawle-crawle, and all my belly rumbleth; The puddynges[677] cannot lye still, each one over other tumbleth. 20 By Gogs harte, cham so vexte, and in my belly pende, Chould one peece were at the spittlehouse, another at the castelle ende!

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

_Hodge._ Gogs[678] bread, Diccon, ich came to late, was nothing there to get! Gib (a fowle feind might on her light!) lickt the milke pan so clene, 25 See, Diccon, twas not so well washt this seven yere, as ich wene! A pestilence light on all ill lucke! chad thought, yet for all thys 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 soule, Diccon! Gyb, our cat, had eate the bacon to! 30

(_Which bacon Diccon stole, as is declared before._)

_Diccon._ Ill luck, quod he! mary, swere it, Hodge! this day, the trueth to tel, Thou rose not on thy ryght syde, or else blest thee not wel. Thy milk 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;[679] Seest not how cham rent and torn, my heels, my knees, and my breech? 35 Chad thought, as ich sat by the fire, help here and there a stitch: But there ich was powpt[680] indeede.

_Diccon._ Why, Hodge?

_Hodge._ Bootes not, man, to tell. Cham so drest amongst a sorte of fooles, chad better be in hell. My gammer (cham ashamed to say), by God, served me not weele.

_Diccon._ How so, Hodge?

_Hodge._ Has she not gone, trowest now, and lost her neele?

_Diccon._ Her eele, Hodge? Who fysht of late? That was a dainty dysh! 41

_Hodge._ Tush, tush, her neele, her neele, her neele, man! tis 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 meenst, thou bringst me more in doubt. 45

_Hodge._ Knowst not with what Tom Tailers 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 hast a shamefull losse, and it wer but for thy breches.