'Down with the Prelatists!' 'Smite the Erastian butchers!' 'Smite the Philistine horsemen!' 'Down with them!' A stone or two had already whistled past our ears, and we had been forced in self-defence to draw our swords, when the tall minister whom we had already observed shoved his way through the crowd, and by dint of his lofty stature and commanding voice prevailed upon them to be silent.
'How say ye,' he asked, turning upon us, 'fight ye for Baal or for the Lord?
He who is not with us is against us.' 'Which is the side of Baal, most reverend sir, and which of the Lord ?' asked Sir Gervas Jerome.

'Methinks if you were to speak plain English instead of Hebrew we might come to an understanding sooner.' 'This is no time for light words,' the minister cried, with a flush of anger upon his face.

'If ye would keep your skins whole, tell me, are ye for the bloody usurper James Stuart, or are ye for his most Protestant Majesty King Monmouth ?' 'What! He hath come to the title already!' exclaimed Saxon.

'Know then that we are four unworthy vessels upon our way to offer our services to the Protestant cause.' 'He lies, good Master Pettigrue, he lies most foully,' shouted a burly fellow from the edge of the crowd.

'Who ever saw a good Protestant in such a Punchinello dress as yonder?
Is not Amalekite written upon his raiment?
Is he not attired as becometh the bridegroom of the harlot of Rome?
Why then should we not smite him ?' 'I thank you, my worthy friend,' said Sir Gervas, whose attire had moved this champion's wrath.