Sir, sir, surely you will not throw your pearl upon that muckheap.

Better crush it beneath your heel at once.

Look, and say you cannot do it," and he pointed to the pathetic figure of Cicely, who stood by them with clasped hands, panting breast, and a face of agony.
The old knight glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, and saw something that moved him to pity, for at bottom his heart was honest, and though he treated her so roughly, as was the fashion of the times, he loved his daughter more than all the world.
"Who are you, that would teach me my duty to my bone and blood ?" he grumbled.

Then he thought a while, and added, "Hear me, now, Christopher Harflete.

To-morrow at the dawn I ride to London with Jeffrey Stokes on a somewhat risky business." "What business, sir ?" "If you would know--that of a quarrel with yonder Spanish rogue of an Abbot, who claims the best part of my lands, and has poisoned the ear of that upstart, the Vicar-General Cromwell.