Great Britain -- History -- Commonwealth and Protectorate, 1649-1660 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
“We have nought to do with thy church, as thou call’st it,” said he
who, by a small feather in front of his morion, appeared to be the
corporal of the party;—“we see not why men of gifts should not be heard
within these citadels of superstition, as well as the voice of the men
of crape of old, and the men of cloak now. Wherefore, we will pluck yon
Jack Presbyter out of his wooden sentinel-box, and our own watchman
shall relieve the guard, and mount thereon, and cry aloud and spare
not.”
“Nay, gentlemen,” said the Mayor, “if such be your purpose, we have not
the means to withstand you, being, as you see, peaceful and quiet
men—But let me first speak with this worthy minister, Nehemiah
Holdenough, to persuade him to yield up his place for the time without
farther scandal.”
The peace-making Mayor then interrupted the quavering Holdenough and
the clerk, and prayed both to retire, else there would, he said, be
certainly strife.
“Strife!” replied the Presbyterian divine, with scorn; “no fear of
strife among men that dare not testify against this open profanation of
the Church, and daring display of heresy. Would your neighbours of
Banbury have brooked such an insult?”
“Come, come, Master Holdenough,” said the Mayor, “put us not to mutiny
and cry Clubs. I tell you once more, we are not men of war or blood.”
“Not more than may be drawn by the point of a needle,” said the
preacher, scornfully.—“Ye tailors of Woodstock!—for what is a glover
but a tailor working on kidskin?—I forsake you, in scorn of your faint
hearts and feeble hands, and will seek me elsewhere a flock which will
not fly from their shepherd at the braying of the first wild ass which
cometh from out the great desert.”
So saying, the aggrieved divine departed from his pulpit, and shaking
the dust from his shoes, left the church as hastily as he had entered
it, though with a different reason for his speed. The citizens saw his
retreat with sorrow, and not without a compunctious feeling, as if
conscious that they were not playing the most courageous part in the
world. The Mayor himself and several others left the church, to follow
and appease him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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