“Nay,” answered John, “I came off thus much better, that I never yet saw the inside of Newgate.”
“Tush! that was for a ballad I writ,” said he. “But thou canst not say I fared the worse, saving that.”
“I cannot,” answered John, “and thereat I marvel no little.”
“O wise and sagacious Jack! didst ever pluck a nettle?”
“I have done such a thing,” replied he.
“Then thou wist that the gentler ’tis handled, the more it stingeth. Now for my moral: take Queen Mary as the nettle, and thou seest my way of dealing.”
“Your pardon, friend Underhill!” said Mr Rose, “but I can in no wise allow that either of you were saved by your way of dealing. Let Him have all the glory unto whom it belongeth.”
“Amen!” responded Mr Underhill. “Jack, may we sing the Te Deum in thine house to-night, an’t like thy squeamishness?”
“With a very good will, Ned,” answered John. When supper was over, Mr Underhill (who, for all his weariness, seemed in no haste to be at home) drew up his chair to the fire, in the midst of the group, and said—
“Now, Tremayne,—your first sermon!”