"Here is midsummer madness! My whole estate amounteth not to seventy shillings." "Condall or Tyndal," returned Sir Daniel, grinning, "I will run my peril of that loss.

Write me down twenty, and when I have recovered all I may, I will be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest." "Alas! my good lord, it may not be; I have no skill to write," said Condall.
"Well-a-day!" returned the knight.

"Here, then, is no remedy.

Yet I would fain have spared you, Tyndal, had my conscience suffered.

Selden, take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me him tenderly by the neck, where I may see him at my riding.