The Essential Works of William Harrison Ainsworth - William Harrison Ainsworth

Скачать книгу

of some smugglers next, one thing I rather queer did,

       And the justices upon the bench I literally bearded; For I swore that I some casks did see, though proved as clear as day, sirs, That I happened at the time to be some fifty miles away, sirs. With my coal-black beard, &c.

      This last assertion, I must own, was somewhat of a blunder,

       And for perjury indicted they compelled me to knock under;

       To my prosperous career this slight error put a stop, sirs,

       And thus crossed, the knight of Malta was at length obliged to hop, sirs. With his coal-black beard, and purple cloak, jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor, Good-by to the knight of Malta.

      The knight sat down amidst the general plaudits of the company.

      The party, meanwhile, had been increased by the arrival of Luke and the sexton. The former, who was in no mood for revelry, refused to comply with his grandsire’s solicitation to enter, and remained sullenly at the door, with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon Turpin, whose movements he commanded through the canvas aperture. The sexton walked up to Dick, who was seated at the post of honor, and, clapping him upon the shoulder, congratulated him upon the comfortable position in which he found him.

      “Ha, ha! Are you there, my old death’s-head on a mop-stick?” said Turpin, with a laugh. “Ain’t we merry mumpers, eh? Keeping it up in style. Sit down, old Noah — make yourself comfortable, Methusalem.”

      “What say you to a drop of as fine Nantz as you ever tasted in your life, old cove?” said Zoroaster.

      “I have no sort of objection to it,” returned Peter, “provided you will all pledge my toast.”

      “That I will, were it old Ruffin himself,” shouted Turpin.

      “Here’s to the three-legged mare,” cried Peter. “To the tree that bears fruit all the year round, and yet has neither bark nor branch. You won’t refuse that toast, Captain Turpin?”

      “Not I,” answered Dick; “I owe the gallows no grudge. If, as Jerry’s song says, I must have a ‘hearty choke and caper sauce’ for my breakfast one of these fine mornings, it shall never be said that I fell to my meal without appetite, or neglected saying grace before it. Gentlemen, here’s Peter Bradley’s toast: ‘The scragging post — the three-legged mare,’ with three times three.”

      Appropriate as this sentiment was, it did not appear to be so inviting to the party as might have been anticipated, and the shouts soon died away.

      Jerry handed the highwayman a pipe, together with a tumbler of the beverage which the knight had prepared, which he pronounced excellent; and while the huge bowl was passed round to the company, a prelude of shawms announced that Peter was ready to break into song.

      Accordingly, after the symphony was ended, accompanied at intervals by a single instrument, Peter began his melody, in a key so high, that the utmost exertions of the shawm-blower failed to approach its altitudes. The burden of his minstrelsy was

       Μῶλύ δέ μιν καλέουσι θεοί, χαλνπὸν δέ τ’ ὀρύσσειν Ἀνδράσι γε θνητοισι θεοι, δέ τε πάντα δύνανται.

       Homerus.

      The mandrake grows ‘neath the gallows-tree,

       And rank and green are its leaves to see;

       Green and rank, as the grass that waves

       Over the unctuous earth of graves;

       And though all around it lie bleak and bare,

       Freely the mandrake flourisheth there.

       Maranatha — Anathema! Dread is the curse of mandragora! Euthanasy!

      At the foot of the gibbet the mandrake springs;

       Just where the creaking carcase swings;

       Some have thought it engendered

       From the fat that drops from the bones of the dead;

       Some have thought it a human thing;

       But this is a vain imagining.

       Maranatha — Anathema! Dread is the curse of mandragora! Euthanasy!

      A charnel leaf doth the mandrake wear,

       A charnel fruit doth the mandrake bear;

       Yet none like the mandrake hath such great power,

       Such virtue resides not in herb or flower;

       Aconite, hemlock, or moonshade, I ween,

       None hath a poison so subtle and keen.

       Maranatha — Anathema! Dread is the curse of mandragora! Euthanasy!

      And whether the mandrake be create

       Flesh with the power incorporate,

       I know not; yet, if from the earth ’tis rent,

       Shrieks and groans from the root are sent;

       Shrieks and groans, and a sweat like gore

       Oozes and drops from the clammy core.

       Maranatha — Anathema! Dread is the curse of mandragora! Euthanasy!

      Whoso gathereth the mandrake shall surely die;

       Blood for blood is his destiny.

       Some who have plucked it have died with groans,

       Like to the mandrake’s expiring moans;

       Some have died raving, and some beside —

       With penitent prayers — but all have died. Jesu! save us by night and day! From the terrible death of mandragora! Euthanasy!

      “A queer chant that,” said Zoroaster, coughing loudly, in token of disapprobation.

      “Not much to my taste,” quoth the knight of Malta. “We like something more sprightly in Canterbury.”

      “Nor to mine,” added Jerry; “don’t think it’s likely to have an encore. ‘Pon my soul, Dick, you must give us something yourself, or we shall never cry Euthanasy at the Triple Tree.”

      “With all my heart,” replied Turpin. “You shall have — but what do I see, my friend Sir Luke? Devil take my tongue, Luke Bradley, I mean. What, ho! Luke — nay, nay, man, no shrinking — stand forward; I’ve a word or two to say to you. We must have a hob-a-nob glass together for old acquaintance sake. Nay, no airs, man; damme you’re not a lord yet, nor a baronet either, though I do hold your title in my pocket; never look glum at me. It won’t pay. I’m one of the Canting Crew now; no man shall sneer at me with impunity, eh,

Скачать книгу