Fly!" "Too late for that," said my comrade, as a party of huntsmen, some mounted, some on foot, broke through the glade at the very spot where we stood.
It was not the bishop's men; but to my horror I recognised in the leading horseman, his worship the Mayor.
At sight of me in my cap and gown, and of my comrade with his bow and the dead fox, and of the horse tethered to the tree--( the bishop's horse had strayed, I know not whither)--the hunters raised a loud cry, and closed upon us.
"Seize the varlets," cried the mayor, "they are caught at last.

By my life, a scholar, too.

If he smart not for this, and something else, call me a dullard." I saw by that he did not recognise me, although he cherished a lively memory of that morning's adventure.
My comrade, somewhat to my surprise, submitted quietly to superior numbers, and I was fain to do the like.

It were better to be punished for poaching, than to be arraigned before the High Court of Star Chamber for publishing seditious libels.
"Bring them away, bring them away," cried the mayor, who was in no amiable mood.

"I warrant they shall learn one lesson well, for once in their lives.