“Thou hast said it already—all save the score of furlongs.”
“Hast room for them, Master Silas?”
“Yea,” quoth Master Silas, “and would make room for fifty, to let the fellow swing at his ease.”
Sir Thomas.
“Hast room, Master Ephraim?”
“’T is done, most worshipful!” said I. The learned knight did not recollect that I could put fifty furlongs in a needle’s eye, give me pen fine enough.
But far be it from me to vaunt of my penmanship, although there be those who do malign it, even in my own township and parish; yet they never have unperched me from my calling, and have had hard work to take an idle wench or two from under me on Saturday nights.
I memorize thus much, not out of any malice or any soreness about me, but that those of my kindred into whose hands it please God these papers do fall hereafter, may bear up stoutly in such straits; and if they be good at the cudgel, that they, looking first at their man, do give it him heartily and unsparingly, keeping within law.
Sir Thomas, having overlooked what we had written, and meditated a while thereupon, said unto Joseph,—
“It appeareth by thy testimony that there was a huge and desperate gang of them afoot. Revengeful dogs! it is difficult to deal with them. The laws forbid precipitancy and violence. A dozen or two may return and harm me; not me, indeed, but my tenants and servants. I would fain act with prudence, and like unto him who looketh abroad. He must tie his shoe tightly who passeth through mire; he must step softly who steppeth over stones; he must walk in the fear of the Lord (which, without a brag, I do at this present feel upon me), who hopeth to reach the end of the straightest road in safety.”