“Cease thou, Will Shakspeare!  Know thy place.  And do thou, Joseph Carnaby, take up again the thread of thy testimony.”

Joseph Carnaby.

“We were still at some distance from the party, when on a sudden Euseby hung an —–­ " {21a}

Sir Thomas.

“As well write drew back, Master Ephraim and Master Silas!  Be circumspecter in speech, Master Joseph Carnaby!  I did not look for such rude phrases from that starch-warehouse under thy chin.  Continue, man!”

Joseph Carnaby.

“‘Euseby,’ said I in his ear, ‘what ails thee, Euseby?’ ’I wag no farther,’ quoth he.  ‘What a number of names and voices!’”

Sir Thomas.

“Dreadful gang! a number of names and voices!  Had it been any other day in the year but Allhallowmas eve!  To steal a buck upon such a day!  Well!  God may pardon even that.  Go on, go on.  But the laws of our country must have their satisfaction and atonement.  Were it upon any other day in the calendar less holy, the buck were nothing, or next to nothing, saving the law and our conscience and our good report.  Yet we, her Majesty’s justices, must stand in the gap, body and soul, against evil-doers.  Now do thou, in furtherance of this business, give thine aid unto us, Joseph Carnaby!—­remembering that mine eye from this judgment-seat, and her Majesty’s bright and glorious one overlooking the whole realm, and the broader of God above, are upon thee.”

Carnaby did quail a matter at these words about the judgment-seat and the broad eye, aptly and gravely delivered by him moreover who hath to administer truth and righteousness in our ancient and venerable laws, and especially, at the present juncture, in those against park-breaking and deer-stealing.  But finally, nought discomfited, and putting his hand valiantly atwixt hip and midriff, so that his elbow well-nigh touched the taller pen in the ink-pot, he went on.

Joseph Carnaby.

“‘In the shadow of the willows and elm-trees,’ said he, ’and get nearer.’  We were still at some distance, maybe a score of furlongs, from the party—­”

Sir Thomas.

“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.