“Ducks’,” answereth old Jack.
“The ducks be gone a-swimming,” saith she.
I now drew forth my bottle of cordial water, the which the old man took off me with never a thank you, and after smelling thereto, set of the ground at his side.
“What art reading, Jack?” saith Milly.
“What Paul’s got to say again’ th’ law,” quoth he. “’Tis a rare ill thing th’ law, Mistress Milisent. And so be magistrates, and catchpolls (constables) and all the lawyer folk. Rascals, Mistress Milisent,—all rascals, every man Jack of ’em. Do but read Paul, and you shall see so much.”
“Saith the Apostle so?” quoth Milly, and gave me a look which nigh o’erset me.
“He saith ‘the law is not given unto a righteous man,’ so how can they be aught but ill folk that be alway a-poking in it? Tell me that, Mistress. If ‘birds of a feather will flock together,’ then a chap that’s shaking hands every day wi’ th’ law mun be an ill un, and no mistake.”
“Go to, Jack: it signifies not that,” Milly makes answer. “Saint Paul meant that the law of God was given for the sake of ill men, not good men. The laws of England be other matter.”
“Get out wi’ ye!” saith Jack. “Do ye think I wis not what Paul means as well as a woman? It says th’ law, and it means th’ law. And if he’d signified as you say, he’d have said as th’ law wasn’t given again’ a righteous man, not to him. You gi’e o’er comin’ a-rumpagin’ like yon.”
For me, I scarce knew which way to look, to let me from laughing. But Milly goes on, sad as any judge.