A deep groan was now directed against him. But it moved not a muscle of his rigid countenance.
Jocelyn began to fear from the menacing looks of the crowd that some violence might be attempted, and he endeavoured to check it.
"Bear with him, worthy friends," he cried, "he means you well, though he may reprove you somewhat too sharply."
"Beshrew him for an envious railer," cried a miller, "he mars all our pleasures with his peevish humours. He would have us all as discontented with the world as himself—but we know better. He will not let us have our lawful sports as enjoined by the King himself on Sundays, and he now tries to interfere with our recreations on holidays. A pest upon him for a cankerbitten churl!"
"His sullen looks are enough to turn all the cream in the village sour," observed an old dame.
"Why doth he not betake himself to the conventicle and preach there?" old Greenford cried. "Why should we have all these bitter texts of scripture thrown at our heads? Why should we be likened to the drunkards of Ephraim because we drink our Whitsun-ales? I have tasted nothing more than my morning cup as yet."
"Why should our May-pole be termed an idol? Answer me that, good grandsire?" Gillian demanded.
"Nay, let him who called it so answer thee, child, for I cannot," the old farmer rejoined. "I can see naught idolatrous in it."
"Why should our pretty May Queen be despoiled of her ornaments because they please not his fanatical taste?" Dick Taverner demanded. "For my part I can discern no difference between a Puritan and a knave, and I would hang both."
This sally met with a favourable reception from the crowd, and a voice exclaimed—"Ay, hang all knavish Puritans."