Act IV, Scene I

DOCTOR RAT.
A man were better twenty times be a bandog and bark,
Than here among such a sort be parish priest or clerk,
Where he shall never be at rest one pissing while a day,
But he must trudge about the town, this way and that way;
Here to a drab, there to a thief, his shoes to tear and rent,
And that which is worst of all, at every knave's commandment!
I had not sit the space to drink two pots of ale,
But Gammer Gurton's sorry boy was straightway at my tail,
And she was sick, and I must come, to do I wot not what!
If once her finger's-end but ache--trudge, call for Doctor Rat!
And when I come not at their call, I only thereby lose;
For I am sure to lack therefore a tithe-pig or a goose.
I warrant you, when truth is known, and told they have their tale,
The matter whereabout I come is not worth a halfpennyworth of ale;
Yet must I talk so sage and smooth, as though I were a gloser
Else ere the year come at an end, I shall be sure the loser.
What work ye, Gammer Gurton? How? here is your friend Mast Rat.

GAMMER.
Ah! good Mast Doctor! 'cha troubled, 'cha troubled you,
'chwot well that.

DOCTOR RAT.
How do ye, woman? be ye lusty, or be ye not well at ease?

GAMMER.
By Gis, Master, cham not sick, but yet chave a disease.
Chad a foul turn now of late, chill tell it you, by gigs!

DOCTOR RAT.
Hath your brown cow cast her calf, or your sandy sow her
pigs?

GAMMER.
No, but chad been as good they had as this, ich wot well.

DOCTOR RAT.
What is the matter?

GAMMER.
Alas, alas! 'cha lost my good nee'le!
My nee'le, I say, and wot ye what, a drab came by and spied it,
And when I asked her for the same, the filth flatly denied it.

DOCTOR RAT.
What was she that?

GAMMER.
A dame, ich warrant you! She began to scold and brawl--
Alas, alas! come hither, Hodge! this wretch can tell you all.