Popery, and
utterly refused to wear it. I mind [remember] there was a burying at
that time at Saint _Giles'_ Church in _London_, without [outside]
_Cripplegate_, where were six clerks that ware the white surplice: and
Master _Crowley_, the Vicar, stood in the church door to withstand their
entering, saying that no such superstitious rags of _Rome_ should come
into his church. There should have been a bitter tumult there, had not
the clerks had the wit to give way and tarry withoutside the door. And
about the same time, a _Scots_ minister did preach in _London_ right
vehemently against the order taken for the apparel of ministers. Why,
at Saint _Mildred's_ in _Bread_ Street, where a minister that had
conformed was brought of the worshipful of that parish for the communion
service, he was so withstood by the minister of the church and his
adherents, that the Deputy of the Ward and other were fain to stand
beside him in the chancel to defend him during the service, or the
parson and his side should have plucked him down with violence. And at
long last," saith _Father_, laughing, "the _Scots_ minister that had so
inveighed against them was brought to conform; but no sooner did he show
himself in the pulpit of Saint _Margaret Pattens_ in a surplice, than
divers wives rose up and pulled him forth of the pulpit, tearing his
surplice and scratting his face right willingly."

"Eh, good lack!" cries _Mynheer_. "Your women, they keep silence in the
churches after such a manner?"

"There was not much silence that morrow, I warrant," quoth _Hal_,
laughing right merrily.

"Eh, my gentlemen, I pray you of pardon," saith Cousin _Bess_, looking
up earnestly from her flannel, "but had I been in yon church I'd have
done the like thing. I'd none have scrat his face, but I'd have rent a
good tear in that surplice."

"Thou didst not so, _Bess_, the last _Sunday_ morrow," quoth _Father_,
laughing as he turned to look at her.

"Nay, 'tis all done and settled by now," saith she. "I should but get
took up for brawling. But I warrant you, that flying white thing
sticketh sore in my throat, and ever did. An' I had my way, no parson
should minister but in his common coat."

"But that were unseemly and undecent, _Bess_," quoth Aunt _Joyce_.

"Nay, Mistress _Joyce_, but methinks 'tis a deal decenter," answers she.
"Wherefore, if a man can speak to me of earthly things in a black gown,
must he needs don a white when he cometh to spe