clip its wings betimes.

Jetter. It is a great bore. Whenever it comes into their worships' heads to
break into my house, and I am sitting there at my work, humming a French
psalm, thinking nothing about it, neither good nor bad--singing it just
because it is in my throat;--forthwith I'm a heretic, and am clapped into
prison. Or if I am passing through the country, and stand near a crowd
listening to a new preacher, one of those who have come from Germany;
instantly I'm called a rebel, and am in danger of losing my head! Have you
ever heard one of these preachers?

Soest. Brave fellows! Not long ago, I heard one of them preach in a field,
before thousands and thousands of people. A different sort of dish he gave
us from that of our humdrum preachers, who, from the pulpit, choke their
hearers with scraps of Latin. He spoke from his heart; told us how we had
till now been led by the nose, how we had been kept in darkness, and how
we might procure more light;--ay, and he proved it all out of the Bible.

Jetter. There may be something in it. I always said as much, and have
often pondered over the matter. It has long been running in my head.

Buyck. All the people run after them.

Soest. No wonder, since they hear both what is good and what is new.

Jetter. And what is it all about? Surely they might let every one preach
after his own fashion.

Buyck. Come, sirs! While you are talking, you; forget the wine and the
Prince of Orange.