The Essential Works of William Harrison Ainsworth - William Harrison Ainsworth

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such a dashing prig,

      All my togs were so niblike and splash,

      And thus was I bowled out at last,

      Much laughter and applause rewarded Jerry’s attempt to please; and though the meaning of his chant, even with the aid of the numerous notes appended to it, may not be quite obvious to our readers, we can assure them that it was perfectly intelligible to the Canting Crew. Jerry was now entitled to a call; and happening, at the moment, to meet the fine dark eyes of a sentimental gipsy, one of that better class of mendicants who wandered about the country with a guitar at his back, his election fell upon him. The youth, without prelude, struck up a

      GIPSY SERENADE

      Merry maid, merry maid, wilt thou wander with me?

       We will roam through the forest, the meadow, and lea;

       We will haunt the sunny bowers, and when day begins to flee,

       Our couch shall be the ferny brake, our canopy the tree.

       Merry maid, merry maid, come and wander with me! No life like the gipsy’s, so joyous and free!

      Merry maid, merry maid, though a roving life be ours,

       We will laugh away the laughing and quickly fleeting hours;

       Our hearts are free, as is the free and open sky above,

       And we know what tamer souls know not, how lovers ought to love.

       Merry maid, merry maid, come and wander with me! No life like the gipsy’s so joyous and free!

      Zoroaster now removed the pipe from his upright lips to intimate his intention of proposing a toast.

      “The city of Canterbury, pals,” said he; “and may it never want a knight of Malta.”

      The toast was pledged with much laughter, and in many bumpers.

      The knight, upon whom all eyes were turned, rose, “with stately bearing and majestic motion,” to return thanks.

      “I return you an infinitude of thanks, brother pals,” said he, glancing round the assemblage; and bowing to the president, “and to you, most upright Zory, for the honor you have done me in associating my name with that city. Believe me, I sincerely appreciate the compliment, and echo the sentiment from the bottom of my soul. I trust it never will want a knight of Malta. In return for your consideration, but a poor one you will say, you shall have a ditty, which I composed upon the occasion of my pilgrimage to that city, and which I have thought proper to name after myself.”

      THE KNIGHT OF MALTA

      Come list to me, and you shall have, without a hem or haw, sirs,

       A Canterbury pilgrimage, much better than old Chaucer’s.

       ’Tis of a hoax I once played off upon that city clever,

       The memory of which, I hope, will stick to it for ever.

       With my coal-black beard, and purple cloak, jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor, Hey-ho! for the knight of Malta!

      To execute my purpose, in the first place, you must know, sirs,

       My locks I let hang down my neck — my beard and whiskers grow, sirs;

       A purple cloak I next clapped on, a sword lagged to my side, sirs,

       And mounted on a charger black, I to the town did ride, sirs.

       With my coal-black beard, &c.

      Two pages were there by my side, upon two little ponies,

       Decked out in scarlet uniform, as spruce as macaronies;

       Caparisoned my charger was, as grandly as his master,

       And o’er my long and curly locks, I wore a broad-brimmed castor.

       With my coal-black beard, &c.

      The people all flocked forth, amazed to see a man so hairy,

       Oh I such a sight had ne’er before been seen in Canterbury!

       My flowing robe, my flowing beard, my horse with flowing mane, sirs!

       They stared — the days of chivalry, they thought, were come again, sirs!

       With my coal-black beard, &c.

      I told them a long rigmarole romance, that did not halt a

       Jot, that they beheld in me a real knight of Malta!

       Tom à Becket had I sworn I was, that saint and martyr hallowed,

       I doubt not just as readily the bait they would have swallowed.

       With my coal-black beard, &c.

      I rode about, and speechified, and everybody gullied,

       The tavern-keepers diddled, and the magistracy bullied;

       Like puppets were the townsfolk led in that show they call a raree;

       The Gotham sages were a joke to those of Canterbury.

       With my coal-black beard, &c.

      The theatre I next engaged, where I addressed the crowd, sirs,

       And on retrenchment and reform I spouted long and loud, sirs;

       On tithes and on taxation I enlarged with skill and zeal, sirs,

       Who so able as a Malta knight, the malt tax to repeal, sirs.

       With my coal-black beard, &c.

      As a candidate I then stepped forth to represent their city,

       And my non-election to that place was certainly a pity;

       For surely I the fittest was, and very proper,

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