A Satyre, and his hoste, in mid of winters rage,
At night, did hye them to the fire, the could for to asswage.
The man with could that quak'd, upon his handes did blowe:
Which thinge the Satyre marked well; and crav'd the cause to knowe.
Who answere made, herewith my fingers I doe heate:
At lengthe when supper time was come, and bothe sat downe to eate;
He likewise blewe his brothe, he tooke out of the potte:
Being likewise asked why: (quoth hee) bicause it is to whotte.
To which the Satyre spake, and blow'st thou whotte, and coulde?
Hereafter, with such double mouthes, I will no frendship houlde.
Which warneth all, to shonne a double tonged mate:
And let them neither suppe, nor dine, nor come within thy gate.