Consider, good neighbour, thou art too old for a young martialist to wrangle with.

And in the matter of my Maudie, I can trust thee, for I know no one who would be less willing than thou to break the peace of families." "Trust thy coxcomb no longer with me," said the incensed glover; "but take thyself, and the thing thou call'st a head, out of my reach, lest I borrow back five minutes of my youth and break thy pate!" "You have had a merry Fastern's Even, neighbour," said the bonnet maker, "and I wish you a quiet sleep; we shall meet better friends tomorrow." "Out of my doors tonight!" said the glover.

"I am ashamed so idle a tongue as thine should have power to move me thus." "Idiot--beast--loose tongued coxcomb," he exclaimed, throwing himself into a chair, as the bonnet maker disappeared; "that a fellow made up of lies should not have had the grace to frame one when it might have covered the shame of a friend! And I--what am I, that I should, in my secret mind, wish that such a gross insult to me and my child had been glossed over?
Yet such was my opinion of Henry, that I would have willingly believed the grossest figment the swaggering ass could have invented.

Well, it skills not thinking of it.

Our honest name must be maintained, though everything else should go to ruin." While the glover thus moralised on the unwelcome confirmation of the tale he wished to think untrue, the expelled morrice dancer had leisure, in the composing air of a cool and dark February night, to meditate on the consequences of the glover's unrestrained anger.
"But it is nothing," he bethought himself, "to the wrath of Henry Wynd, who hath killed a man for much less than placing displeasure betwixt him and Catharine, as well as her fiery old father.