{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_36517/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_36517","id":"gutenberg_36517","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36517","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Chapbooks"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Feorag NicBhride, Ron Stephens, David Garcia\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive/American\nLibraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                  AMUSING\n\n             PROSE CHAP-BOOKS\n\n           _Chiefly of Last Century_\n\n                 EDITED BY\n          ROBERT HAYS CUNNINGHAM\n\n       LONDON: HAMILTON, ADAMS, & CO\n        GLASGOW: THOMAS D. MORISON\n                   1889\n\n\n\n\n\n  EDITORIAL NOTE.\n\n\nOf late years there has been a largely increasing interest on the\nsubject of folklore in its various departments. In such respects there\nhas been a very considerable change in the feelings and tastes of the\neducated middle-class population of this country, from what there was\nseveral generations ago. Formerly the educated classes appeared to think\nthat anything relating to the tastes or ideas of the common people was\nof very little interest. And in the course of some two hundred years\nback, leaving out the present time, the number of writers who thought it\nworth their while to deal with such topics were not much more than a\ndozen in number, including such men as Aubrey, Bourne, Brand, Hone,\nStrut, Halliwell, etc. Now, all that is changed, and it has been\ndiscovered that much of extreme interest can be learned from the\nsuperstitions, habits, beliefs, tastes, customs, ideas, amusements, and\ngeneral social life of the uneducated or lower classes of previous\ntimes.\n\nNot the least interesting or least important of the many sources from\nwhich information on these and similar matters, can be obtained, is that\nof the _people's_ earliest popular literature--namely, the chap-book.\nBeginning at little after the commencement of the eighteenth century,\nand continuing for over a hundred years afterwards, right up to the\ngeneral introduction and use of cheap magazines and cheap newspapers,\nthe chap-book was almost the only kind of reading within the reach of\nthe poorer portion of the nation.\n\nWhat adds greatly both to the interest attaching to the chap-book\nliterature and to its importance, is the fact, that these literary\nproductions, if they may be so termed, were almost entirely written by\nthe people themselves; that is, they were written by the people for the\npeople. This fact intensifies the conviction that they give a true and\nunvarnished description of the lower orders and their ways. Then, as\nnow, every district had its proportion of local geniuses, who had a gift\nabove their fellows in the matter of storytelling, or some other such\nway. And in many instances these narratives became chap-books, and were\nprinted and reprinted times without number at the various printing\nestablishments over the country devoted to business of that description.\n\nWith regard to this feature in chap-book literature already referred\nto--namely, that it was composed by the people for the people, and thus\ngives a true portraiture of many features in their social life--still\nmore may be said. It being the case that not a few of those who hawked\nthese cheap volumes over the country were themselves the authors of some\nof them, and in the composition of the chaps, to a considerable extent,\njust reproduced circumstances, incidents, and narratives that they had\nmet with in their wanderings over the country.\n\nTo a very marked degree was this the case in the most prominent of all\nthe Scottish chap-book writers--namely, Dougal Graham. See his works,\ntwo volumes octavo, collected and edited by George MacGregor in 1883. It\nwould appear that at an early period of Graham's peregrinations he\naccompanied Prince Charlie's army in 1745-46 throughout its various\nfortunes, pursuing his trade as a hawker of sundry articles that might\nbe in demand by the prince's retainers. After that event was over,\nGraham continued the calling of hawker and chapman, at the same time\nbecoming the author of a number of chap-books. But after a while he got\na step or two further on; for, finding such an immense demand for his\nextremely amusing, though coarse, volumes, he ultimately set up a\nprinting press of his own, for the purpose of producing his chaps and\nsupplying the chapmen with them, by whom they were spread broadcast over\nthe country. The knowledge of such instances as this lends much\nadditional value to the chap-book, as containing a forcible description\nof the social life and ideas of the masses in former times.\n\nA slight study of this department of literature will show that there\nwas, then as now, much variety in the tastes of the people. And we also\nfind that in this respect the various tastes could be fairly well met\nfrom among the stores of the chap-book publisher. In these days, just as\nat the present time, there had been any amount of enterprise on the part\nof authors and publishers in furnishing readers with whatever their\nfancy might desire. The _Litteratura Vulgi_ may be fairly well divided\ninto the following or similar classifications:--Historical,\nbiographical, religious, romantic, poetical, humorous, fabulous,\nsupernatural, diabolical, legendary, superstitious, criminal,\njest-books, etc.\n\nThe strictly religious appear to be the fewest in number. The\nsupernatural and the superstitious elements appear to have been more in\ndemand, as the supply of such classes seems to have been greater,--in\nthese days the marvellous had evidently very great charms. The romantic\nlikewise had been in great request,--the old romances handed down from\nthe days long before printing was invented continued up till last\ncentury to be of undiminished interest. Also, from the number of\npoetical chaps that have come down to us, it is evident that the demand\nfor them had been great all over the country. The most popular of all,\nhowever, appears to have been the humorous section, which again might be\nsubdivided into a variety of departments, each with numerous\nrepresentatives. The love of fun and frolic was apparently as deeply\nimplanted in the feelings and tastes of previous generations as of the\npresent.\n\nPrinting establishments devoted to the production of chap-books were\npretty well scattered all over the country. In England the principal\nplaces appear to have been London, York, Birmingham, and Newcastle. In\nScotland, the towns of Glasgow, Stirling, Falkirk, and Montrose appear\nto have carried off the palm in that respect. In Ireland there had been\nfew places besides Dublin and Belfast.\n\nThe immense volume of business done in the production of the chap-book,\nand its importance as an article of trade all over the country, has been\na matter of surprise; and the more one investigates into the facts of\nthe case, the more is one impressed with the magnitude of the\ninstitution. It appears to have given employment to many thousands of\nchapmen and printers' employees. As an instance of the profits derivable\nfrom the business as an article of trade, one publisher of chap-books,\nand that not in an especially large way, is known to have retired with\naccumulated profits amounting to L30,000, which in these days would\nrepresent a much larger sum than it does now.\n\nNotwithstanding the immense quantities of chap-books circulated\nbroadcast over the country, comparatively early copies are now extremely\nrare. And the desire on the part of the public for their possession is\nnow so great that about sixty times their original price is readily\ngiven--that is, what originally was sold for one penny, now frequently\nfetches five shillings, and sometimes more.\n\nIn the present collection, which is chiefly of last century, the reader\nwill find considerable variety, containing as it does interesting\nspecimens of several classes or divisions of the popular literature,\nmostly, however, of an amusing and humorous nature; and from the perusal\nof the majority of the chaps herein contained, a good deal of\nentertainment may be derived.\n\nAs a companion volume, it is the Editor's intention to issue shortly a\ncollection of AMUSING POETICAL CHAP-BOOKS.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n   THE COMICAL HISTORY OF THE                              PAGE\n   KING AND THE COBBLER\n\n   Containing the Entertaining and Merry Tricks and Droll Frolics\n   played by the Cobbler, how he got acquainted with the King,\n   became a Great Man and lived at Court ever after,         13\n\n   THE MERRY TALES OF THE\n   WISE MEN OF GOTHAM,                                       23\n\n   THE HISTORY OF\n   THOMAS HICKATHRIFT,                                       35\n\n   THE HISTORY OF\n   JACK THE GIANT-KILLER\n\n   Containing his Birth and Parentage; His Meeting with the\n   King's Son; His Noble Conquests over many Monstrous\n   Giants; and his rescuing a Beautiful Lady, whom he afterwards\n   married,                                                  53\n\n   SIMPLE SIMON'S MISFORTUNES\n   AND HIS\n   WIFE MARGERY'S CRUELTY\n\n   Which began the very next Morning after their Marriage,   69\n\n   THE ADVENTURES OF\n   BAMFYLDE MOORE CAREW,\n\n   Who was for more than forty years King of the Beggars,    78\n\n   THE COMICAL SAYINGS OF\n   PADDY FROM CORK\n\n   With his Coat Buttoned behind, being an Elegant Conference\n   between English Tom and Irish Teague; with Paddy's\n   Catechism, and his Supplication when a Mountain Sailor,   95\n\n   THE HISTORY OF\n   DICK WHITTINGTON\n   AND HIS CAT,                                             117\n\n   THE MAD PRANKS OF\n   TOM TRAM,\n\n   Son in Law to Mother Winter; to which are added his Merry\n   Jests and Pleasant Tales,                                127\n\n   A YORK DIALOGUE BETWEEN\n   NED AND HARRY:\n\n   Or Ned giving Harry an Account of his Courtship and Marriage\n   State,                                                   141\n\n   DANIEL O'ROURKE'S WONDERFUL\n   VOYAGE TO THE MOON.                                      150\n\n   MOTHER BUNCH'S CLOSET\n   NEWLY BROKE OPEN;\n\n   Containing Rare Secrets of Nature and Art, tried and experienced\n   by Learned Philosophers, and recommended to all ingenious\n   young men and maids, teaching them, in a natural way, how\n   to get good wives and husbands. Approved by several that\n   have made trial of them; it being the product of forty-nine\n   years' study. By our loving Friend Poor Tom, for the King,\n   a lover of Mirth but a hater of Treason. In Two Parts,   159\n\n   THE COMICAL HISTORY OF THE\n   COURTIER AND TINKER,                                     178\n\n   THE HISTORY OF THE\n   FOUR KINGS\n\n   Of Canterbury, Colchester, Cornwall, and Cumberland, their\n   Queens and Daughters; being the Merry Tales of Tom\n   Hodge and his School-Fellows,                            187\n\n   THE PENNY\n   BUDGET OF WIT\n   AND PACKAGE OF DROLLERY,                                 200\n\n   THE MERRY CONCEITS OF\n   TOM LONG THE CARRIER,\n\n   Being many Pleasant Passages and Mad Pranks which he observed\n   in his Travels. Full of Honest Mirth and Delight,        219\n\n   THE STORY OF\n   BLUE BEARD\n\n   Or the Effects of Female Curiosity,                      230\n\n   THE LIFE OF\n   MANSIE WAUCH\n\n   Tailor in Dalkeith,                                      236\n\n   THE LIFE AND ASTONISHING ADVENTURES OF\n   Peter Williamson\n\n   Who was carried off when a Child from Aberdeen and sold for a\n   Slave,                                                   254\n\n   THE FAMOUS EXPLOITS OF\n   ROBIN HOOD,\n   LITTLE JOHN, AND HIS MERRY MEN ALL,\n\n   Including an Account of his Birth, Education, and Death, 269\n\n   HISTORY OF\n   DR. FAUSTUS\n\n   Showing his wicked Life and horrid Death, and how he sold himself\n   to the Devil, to have power for twenty-four years to do\n   what he pleased, also many strange things done by him with\n   the assistance of\n\n   MEPHISTOPHELES,\n\n   With an account how the Devil came for him at the end of\n   twenty-four years, and tore him to pieces,               286\n\n   THE WHOLE LIFE AND DEATH OF\n   LONG MEG\n\n   Of Westminster,                                          299\n\n   THE FAMOUS HISTORY OF THE LEARNED\n   FRIAR BACON\n\n   Giving a Particular Account of his Birth, Parentage, with the\n   many Wonderful Things he did in his Lifetime, to the\n   amazement of all the World,                              309\n\n   THE HISTORY OF\n   THE BLIND BEGGAR\n   OF BETHNAL GREEN,\n\n   Containing his Birth and Parentage; how he went to the Wars\n   and Lost his Sight, and turned Beggar at Bethnal Green;\n   how he got Riches, and educated his Daughter; of her being\n   Courted by a rich, young Knight; how the Blind Beggar\n   dropt Gold with the Knight's Uncle; of the Knight and the\n   Beggar's Daughter being Married; and, lastly, how the\n   famous Pedigree of the Beggar was discovered, and other\n   Things worthy of Note,                                    324\n\n   THE PLEASANT HISTORY OF\n   POOR ROBIN\n   THE MERRY SADDLER OF WALDEN\n\n   Showing the Merry Pranks he played during his Apprenticeship,\n   and how he Tricked a Rich Miser, etc. Very diverting for\n   a Winter Evening Fireside,                               337\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                    AMUSING PROSE CHAP-BOOKS.\n\n                     THE COMICAL HISTORY\n\n                          OF THE\n\n                     KING AND THE COBBLER\n\n                        CONTAINING\n\n   The Entertaining and Merry Tricks and Droll Frolics\n                   played by the Cobbler\n            How he got acquainted with the King,\n       became a Great Man and lived at Court ever after.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _How King Henry VIII. used to visit the watches in the city\n             and how he became acquainted with a\n                       merry, jovial cobbler._\n\n\nIt was the custom of King Henry the Eighth to walk late in the night\ninto the city disguised, to observe and take notice how the constables\nand watch performed their duty, not only in guarding the city gates, but\nalso in diligently watching the inner parts of the city, that so they\nmight, in a great measure, prevent those disturbances and casualties\nwhich too often happen in great and populous cities in the night; and\nthis he did oftentimes, without the least discovery who he was,\nreturning home to Whitehall early in the morning.\n\nNow, on his return home through the Strand, he took notice of a certain\ncobbler who was constantly up at work whistling and singing every\nmorning. The king was resolved to see him and be acquainted with him, in\norder to which he immediately knocks the heel off his shoe by hitting it\nagainst a stone, and having so done, he bounced at the cobbler's stall.\n\n\"Who's there?\" cries the cobbler.\n\n\"Here's one,\" cries the king. With that the cobbler opened the stall\ndoor, and the king asked him if he could put the heel on his shoe.\n\n\"Yes, that I can,\" says the cobbler; \"come in, honest fellow, and sit\nthee down by me and I will do it for thee straight,\" the cobbler\nscraping his awls and old shoes to one side to make room for the king to\nsit down.\n\nThe king being hardly able to forbear laughing at the kindness of the\ncobbler, asked him if there was not a house hard by that sold a cup of\nale and the people up.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the cobbler, \"there is an inn over the way, where I believe\nthe folks are up, for the carriers go from thence very early in the\nmorning.\"\n\nWith that the king borrowed an old shoe off the cobbler and went over to\nthe inn, desired the cobbler would bring his shoe to him thither as soon\nas he had put on the heel again. The cobbler promised he would; so\nmaking what haste he could to put on the heel, he carries it over to the\nking, saying, \"Honest blade, here is thy shoe again, and I warrant thee\nit will not come off in such haste again.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" says the king; \"what must you have for your pains?\"\n\n\"A couple of pence,\" replied the cobbler.\n\n\"Well,\" said the king, \"seeing thou art an honest merry fellow, there is\na tester for thee; come, sit down by me, I will drink a full pot with\nthee; come, here's a good health to the king.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said the cobbler, \"I'll pledge thee were it in\nwater.\"\n\nSo the cobbler sat down by the king and was very merry, and drank off\nhis liquor very freely; he likewise sung some of his merry songs and\ncatches, whereat the king laughed heartily and was very jocund and\npleasant with the cobbler, telling him withal that his name was Harry\nTudor, that he belonged to the court, and that if he would come and see\nhim there, he would make him very welcome, because he was a merry\ncompanion, and charged him not to forget his name, and to ask any one\nfor him about the court and they would soon bring him to him; \"For,\"\nsaid the king, \"I am very well known there.\"\n\nNow the cobbler little dreamt that he was the king that spake to him,\nmuch less that the king's name was Harry Tudor. Therefore, with a great\ndeal of confidence, he stands up and puts off his hat, makes two or\nthree scrapes with his foot and gives the king many thanks, also telling\nhim that he was one of the most honest fellows he ever met with in all\nhis lifetime, and although he never had been at court, yet he should not\nbe long before he would make a holiday to come and see him.\n\nWhereupon the king paying for what they had drunk, would have taken his\nleave of the cobbler; but he, not being willing to part with him, took\nhold of his hand and said, \"By my faith you must not go, you shall not\ngo, you shall first go and see my poor habitation. I have there a tub of\ngood brown ale that was never tapped yet, and you must go and taste it,\nfor you are the most honest blade I ever met withal, and I love an\nhonest merry companion with all my heart.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _How the cobbler entertained the king in his cellar, and\n         of the disturbance they had like to have had\n                      by his wife Joan._\n\n\nSo the cobbler took the king with him over the way, where he had his\ncellar adjoining the stall, which was handsomely and neatly furnished\nfor a man of his profession. Into the cellar he took the king. \"There,\"\nsaid he, \"sit down, you are welcome; but I must desire you to speak\nsoftly, for fear of waking my wife Joan, who lies hard by (showing the\nking a close bed made neatly up at one corner of the cellar, much like a\ncloset), for if she should wake she will make our ears ring again.\"\n\nAt which speech of the cobbler the king laughed and told him he would be\nmindful and follow his directions.\n\nWhereupon the cobbler kindled up a fire and fetched out a brown loaf,\nfrom which he cut a lusty toast, which he sat baking at the fire; then\nhe brought out his Cheshire cheese. \"Now,\" says he, \"there is as much\nfellowship in eating as in drinking.\"\n\nWhich made the king admire the honest freedom of the cobbler. So having\neaten a bit the cobbler began. \"A health to all true hearts and merry\ncompanions;\" at which the king smiled, saying, \"Friend, I'll pledge\nthee.\"\n\nIn this manner they ate and drank together till it was almost break of\nday; the cobbler being very free with his liquor, and delighting the\nking with several of his old stories, insomuch that he was highly\npleased with the manner of his entertainment; when, on a sudden, the\ncobbler's wife Joan began to awake. \"I'faith,\" says the cobbler, \"you\nmust begone, my wife Joan begins to grumble, she'll awake presently, and\nI would not for half the shoes in my shop she should find you here.\"\n\nThen taking the king by the hand, he led him up the stairs, saying,\n\"Farewell, honest friend, it shan't be long before I make a holiday to\ncome and see thee at court.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt be kindly welcome,\" replied the king.\n\nSo they parted, the king on his way to Whitehall and the cobbler to his\ncellar, and there putting all things to rights before his wife Joan got\nup, he went to work again, whistling and singing as merry as he used to\nbe, being much satisfied that he happened on so good and jovial a\ncompanion, still pleasing himself in his thoughts how merry he should be\nwhen he came to court.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n     _How the cobbler prepared himself to go to court and how\n                he was set out in the best manner\n                         by his wife Joan._\n\n\nNow as soon as the king came home, he sent out orders about the court,\nthat if any one inquired for him by the name of Harry Tudor, they should\nimmediately bring him before him, whatever he was, without any further\nexamination.\n\nThe cobbler thought every day a month till he had been at court to see\nhis new acquaintance, and was troubled how he should get leave of his\nwife Joan, for he could not get without her knowledge, by reason he did\nresolve to make himself as fine as he could, for his wife always keeped\nthe keys of his holiday clothes; whereupon one evening, as they sat at\nsupper, finding her in a very good humour, he began to lay open his mind\nto her, telling her the whole story of their acquaintance, repeating it\nover and over again, that he was the most honest fellow that ever he met\nwithal. \"Husband,\" quoth she, \"because you have been so ingenious as to\ntell me the whole truth, I will give you leave to make a holiday, for\nthis once you shall go to court, and I will make you as fine as I can.\"\n\nSo it was agreed that he should go to court the next day; whereupon\nJoan rose betime the next morning to brush up her husband's holiday\nclothes and make him as fine as she could. She washed and ironed the\nlace-band, and made his shoes shine that he might see his face in them;\nhaving done this she made her husband rise and pull off his shirt. Then\nshe washed him with warm water from head to foot, putting on him a clean\nshirt; afterwards she dressed him in his holiday clothes, pinning his\nlaced band in prim.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _The cobbler's reception at court with the manner of his\n                     behaviour before the king._\n\n\nThe cobbler being thus set forth, he strutted through the street like a\ncrow in a gutter, thinking himself as fine as the best of them all.\n\nIn this manner he came to the court, staring on this body and on that\nbody as he walked up and down, and not knowing how to ask for Harry\nTudor. At last he espied one as he thought, in the habit of a\nservant-man, to whom he made his address, saying--\n\n\"Dost thou hear, honest fellow, do you know one Harry Tudor who belongs\nto the court?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the man, \"follow me and I will bring you to him.\"\n\nWith that he had him presently up into the guard chamber, telling one of\nthe yeomen of the guard there was one that inquired for Harry Tudor.\n\nThe yeoman replied: \"I know him very well; if you please to go along\nwith me, I'll bring you to him immediately.\"\n\nSo the cobbler followed the yeoman, admiring very much the prodigious\nfinery of the rooms which he carried him through. He thought within\nhimself that the yeoman was mistaken in the person whom he inquired for;\nfor, said he, \"He whom I look for is a plain, merry, honest fellow, his\nname is Harry Tudor; we drank two pots together not long since. I\nsuppose he may belong to some lord or other about the court?\"\n\n\"I tell you, friend,\" replied the yeoman, \"I know him very well, do you\nbut follow me and I shall bring you to him instantly.\"\n\nSo going forward, he came into the room where the king was accompanied\nby several of his nobles, who attended him.\n\nAs soon as the yeoman had put up by the arras, he spoke aloud, \"May it\nplease your majesty, here is one that inquires for Harry Tudor.\"\n\nThe cobbler hearing this, thought he had committed no less than treason,\ntherefore he up with his heels and ran for it; but not being acquainted\nwith the several turnings and rooms through which he came, he was soon\novertaken and brought before the king, whom the cobbler little thought\nto be the person he inquired after, therefore in a trembling condition\nhe fell down on his knees, saying--\n\n\"May it please your grace, may it please your highness, I am a poor\ncobbler, who inquired for one Harry Tudor, who is a very honest fellow;\nI mended the heel of his shoe not long since, and for which he paid me\nnobly and gave me two pots to boot; but I had him afterwards to my\ncellar, where we drank part of a cup of nappy ale and we were very merry\ntil my wife Joan began to grumble, which put an end to our merriment for\nthat time; but I told him I would come to the court and see him as soon\nas conveniently I could.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the king, \"don't be troubled, would you know this honest\nfellow again if you could see him?\"\n\nThe cobbler replied, \"Yes; that I will among a thousand.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the king, \"stand up and be not afraid, but look well about\nyou, peradventure you may find the fellow in this company.\"\n\nWhereupon the cobbler arose and looked wistfully upon the king and the\nrest of the nobles, but it was to little or no purpose; for, though he\nsaw something in the king's face which he thought he had seen before,\nyet he could not be Harry Tudor, the heel of whose shoe he had mended\nand who had been so merry a companion with him at the inn and at his own\ncellar.\n\nHe therefore told the king he did not expect to find Harry Tudor among\nsuch fine folks as he saw there, but that the person he looked for was a\nplain, honest fellow. Adding withal, that he was sure that did Harry\nTudor but know he was come to court, he would make him very welcome,\n\"For,\" says the cobbler, \"when we parted he charged me to come to court\nsoon and see him, which I promised I would, and accordingly I have made\na holiday on purpose to have a glass with him.\"\n\nAt which speech of the cobbler's the king had much ado to forbear\nlaughing out, but keeping his countenance as steady as he could before\nthe cobbler, he spoke to the yeoman of the guard.\n\n\"Here,\" said he, \"take this honest cobbler down into my cellar and let\nhim drink my health, and I will give orders that Harry Tudor shall come\nto him presently.\"\n\nSo away they went, the cobbler being fit to leap out of his skin for\njoy, not only that he had come off so well, but that he should see his\nfriend Harry Tudor.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _The cobbler's entertainment in the king's cellar._\n\n\nThe cobbler had not been long in the king's cellar, before the king came\nto him in the same habit that he had on when the cobbler mended his\nshoe; whereupon the cobbler knew him immediately and ran and kissed him,\nsaying, \"Honest Harry, I have made an holiday on purpose to see you, but\nI had much ado to get leave of my wife Joan, who was loath to lose so\nmuch time from my work; but I was resolved to see you and therefore I\nmade myself as fine as I could; but I'll tell thee, Harry, when I came\nto court I was in a peck of troubles how to find you out; but at last I\nmet with a man who told me he knew you very well and that he would bring\nme to you, but instead of doing so he brought me before the king, which\nalmost frightened me out of my seven senses; but faith, I'm resolved to\nbe merry with you now, since I have met you at last.\"\n\n\"Aye, that we shall,\" replied the king; \"we shall be as merry as\nprinces.\"\n\nNow after the cobbler had drunk about four or five good healths, he\nbegan to be merry and fell a-singing his old songs and catches, which\npleased the king very much and made him laugh heartily.\n\nWhen on a sudden several of the nobles came into the cellar,\nextraordinary rich in apparel, and all stood uncovered before Harry\nTudor, which put the cobbler into great amazement at first, but\npresently recovering himself, he looked more wistfully upon Harry Tudor,\nand soon knowing him to be the king, whom he saw in his presence\nchamber, though in another habit, he immediately fell upon his knees\nsaying--\n\n\"May it please your grace, may it please your highness, I am a poor\nhonest cobbler and mean no harm.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said the king, \"nor shall receive any here, I assure you.\"\n\nHe commanded him therefore to rise and be merry as he was before, and,\nthough he knew him to be the king, yet he should use the same freedom\nwith him as he did before, when he mended the heel of his shoe.\n\nThis kind speech of the king's and three or four glasses of wine made\nthe cobbler be in as good humour as before, telling the king several of\nhis old stories and singing some of his best songs, very much to the\nsatisfaction of the king and all his nobles.\n\n\n\n\n    THE COBBLER'S SONG IN THE KING'S CELLAR.\n\n\n    Come let us drink the other pot,\n      Our sorrows to confound;\n    We'll laugh and sing before the king,\n      So let his health go round.\n    For I am as bold as bold can be,\n      No cobbler e'er was ruder;\n    Then here, good fellow, here's to thee,\n      (Remembering Harry Tudor.)\n\n    When I'm at work within my stall,\n      Upon him I will think;\n    His kindness I to mind will call,\n      Whene'er I eat or drink.\n    His kindness was to me so great,\n      The like was never known,\n    His kindness I shall still repeat,\n      And so shall my wife Joan.\n\n    I'll laugh when I sit in my stall,\n      And merrily will sing;\n    That I with my poor last and awl,\n      Am fellow with the king.\n    But it is more I must confess,\n      Than I at first did know;\n    But Harry Tudor, ne'ertheless,\n      Resolves it shall be so.\n\n    And now farewell unto Whitehall,\n      I homeward must retire;\n    To sing and whistle in my stall,\n      My Joan will me desire.\n    I do but think how she shall laugh,\n      When she hears of this thing,\n    That he that drank her nut-brown ale,\n      Was England's Royal King.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VI.\n\n    _How the cobbler became a courtier._\n\n\nNow the king considering the pleasant humour of the cobbler, how\ninnocently merry he was and free from any design; that he was a person\nthat laboured very hard, and took a great deal of pains for a small\nlivelihood, was pleased, out of his princely grace and favour, to allow\nhim a liberal annuity of forty merks a year, for the better support of\nhis jolly humour and the maintenance of his wife Joan, and that he\nshould be admitted one of his courtiers, and that he might have the\nfreedom of his cellar whenever he pleased.\n\nWhich being so much beyond expectation, did highly exalt the cobbler's\nhumour, much to the satisfaction of the king.\n\nSo after a great many legs and scrapes, he returned home to his wife\nJoan, with the joyful news of his reception at court, which so well\npleased her that she did not think much at the great pains she took in\ndecking him for the journey.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                   THE MERRY TALES\n\n                       OF THE\n\n                  WISE MEN OF GOTHAM.\n\n\n    TALE I.\n\nThere were two men of Gotham, and one of them was going to Nottingham\nmarket to buy sheep, and both met together on Nottingham bridge. \"Well\nmet,\" said one to the other; \"whither are you going?\" said he that came\nfrom Nottingham. \"Marry,\" said he that was going thither, \"I am going to\nthe market to buy sheep.\" \"Buy sheep!\" said the other, \"which way will\nyou bring them home?\" \"Marry,\" said the other, \"I will bring them over\nthis bridge.\" \"By Robin Hood,\" said he that came from Nottingham, \"but\nthou shalt not.\" \"By my maid Margery,\" said the other, \"but I will.\"\n\"You shall not,\" said the one. \"I will,\" said the other. Then they beat\ntheir staves one against the other and then against the ground, as if a\nhundred sheep had been betwixt them. \"Hold there,\" said the one. \"Beware\nof my sheep leaping over the bridge,\" said the other. \"I care not,\" said\nthe one. \"They shall all come this way,\" said the other. \"But they shall\nnot,\" said the one. \"Then,\" said the other, \"if thou makest much ado, I\nwill put my finger in thy mouth.\" \"A groat thou wilt,\" said the other.\nAnd as they were in contention, another wise man that belonged to\nGotham, came from the market with a sack of meal on his horse, and\nseeing his neighbours at strife about sheep and none betwixt them, said\nhe, \"Ah! fools, will you never learn wit? Then help me,\" continued he,\n\"to lay this sack upon my shoulder.\" They did so and he went to the side\nof the bridge and shook out the meal into the river, saying, \"How much\nmeal is there in my sack, neighbour?\" \"Marry,\" said one, \"there is\nnone.\" \"Indeed,\" replied this wise man, \"even so much wit is there in\nyour two heads, to strive for what you have not.\" Now which was the\nwisest of these three I leave thee to judge.\n\n\n    TALE II.\n\nThere was a man of Gotham that rode to the market with two bushels of\nwheat, and, lest his horse should be damaged by carrying too great a\nburden, he was determined to carry the corn himself upon his own neck,\nand still kept riding upon his horse till he arrived at the end of his\njourney. I will leave you to judge which was the wisest, his horse or\nhimself.\n\n\n    TALE III.\n\nOn a time the men of Gotham fain would have pinned in the cuckoo that\nshe might sing all the year, and in the midst of the town they had a\nhedge made round in compass, and got a cuckoo and put her into it, and\nsaid, \"Sing here and thou shalt lack neither meat nor drink all the\nyear.\" The cuckoo, when she found herself encompassed by the hedge, flew\naway. \"A vengeance on her,\" said these wise men, \"we did not make our\nhedge high enough.\"\n\n\n    TALE IV.\n\nThere was a man of Gotham who went to Nottingham market to sell cheese,\nand going down the hill to Nottingham bridge, one of his cheeses fell\nout of his wallet and ran down the hill. \"Prithee,\" said the man, \"can\nyou run to the market alone? I'll now send one after another.\" Then\nlaying his wallet down and taking out the cheeses, he tumbled them down\nthe hill one after another. Some ran into one bush and some into\nanother. He charged them, however, to meet him at the market place. The\nman went to the market to meet the cheeses and staying till the market\nwas almost over, then went and inquired of his neighbours if they saw\nhis cheeses come to the market. \"Why, who should bring them?\" says one.\n\"Marry, themselves,\" said the fellow, \"they knew the way very well. A\nvengeance on them, they ran so fast I was afraid they would run beyond\nthe market; I am sure they are by this time as far as York.\" So he\nimmediately rode to York, but was much disappointed. And to add to it he\nnever found nor heard of one of his cheeses.\n\n\n    TALE V.\n\nA man of Gotham bought, at Nottingham market, a trevet of bar iron, and\ngoing home with it his feet grew weary with the carriage. He set it\ndown and seeing it had three feet said, \"Prithee, thou hast three feet\nand I but two; thou shalt bear me home if thou wilt,\" so he set himself\ndown upon it and said to it, \"Bear me as long as I have done thee, for\nif thou dost not thou shalt stand still for me.\" The man of Gotham saw\nhis trevet would not move. \"Stand still,\" said he, \"in the mayor's name\nand follow me if thou wilt and I can show you the right way.\" When he\nwent home his wife asked where the trevet was. He said it had three legs\nand he had but two and he had taught him the ready way to his house,\ntherefore he might come himself if he would. \"Where did you leave the\ntrevet?\" said the woman. \"At Gotham bridge,\" said he. So she immediately\nran and fetched the trevet herself, otherwise she must have lost it on\naccount of her husband's want of wit.\n\n\n    TALE VI.\n\n\nA certain smith of Gotham had a large wasp's nest in the straw at the\nend of the forge, and there coming one of his neighbours to have his\nhorse shod, and the wasps being exceeding busy the man was stung by one\nof them. The man, being grievously affronted, said, \"Are you worthy to\nkeep a forge or not, to have men stung with these wasps?\" \"O neighbour,\"\nsaid the smith, \"be content, and I will put them from their nest\npresently.\" Immediately he took a coulter and heated it red hot, and\nthrust it into the straw at the end of his forge, and set it on fire and\nburnt it up. Then, said the smith, \"I told thee I'd fire them out of\ntheir nest.\"\n\n\n    TALE VII.\n\nOn Good Friday the men of Gotham consulted together what to do with\ntheir white herrings, sprats, and salt fish, and agreed that all such\nfish should be cast into a pond or pool in the midst of the town, that\nthe number of them might increase the next year. Therefore everyone that\nhad any fish left did cast them immediately into the pond. \"Then,\" said\none, \"I have gotten left so many red herrings.\" \"Well,\" said another,\n\"and I have left so many whitings.\" Another cried out, \"I have as yet\ngotten so many sprats left.\" \"And,\" said the last, \"I have gotten so\nmany salt fishes, let them go together in the great pond, without any\ndistinction, and we may be sure to fare like lords the next year.\" At\nthe beginning of the next Lent, they immediately went about drawing the\npond, imagining they should have the fish, but were much surprised to\nfind nothing but a great eel. \"Ah!\" said they, \"a mischief on this eel,\nfor he hath eaten up our fish.\" \"What must we do with him?\" said one.\n\"Chop him in pieces,\" said another. \"Nay, not so,\" said another; \"but\nlet us drown him.\" \"Be it accordingly so,\" replied they all. So they\nwent immediately to another pond and cast the eel into the water. \"Lay\nthere,\" said these wise men, \"and shift for thyself, since you may not\nexpect help from us.\" So they left the eel to be drowned.\n\n\n    TALE VIII.\n\nOn a time the men of Gotham had forgotten to pay their rents to their\nlandlord; so one said to the other, \"To-morrow must be pay-day, by whom\ncan we send our money?\" So one said, \"I have this day taken a hare and\nshe may carry it, for she is very quick-footed.\" \"Be it so,\" replied the\nrest; \"she shall have a letter and a purse to put our money in, and we\ncan direct her the way.\" When the letter was written and the money put\ninto a purse, they tied them about the hare's neck, saying, \"You must\nfirst go to Loughborough and then to Leicester, and at Newark is our\nlandlord; then commend us to him and there is his due.\" The hare, as\nsoon as she got out of their hands, ran quite a contrary way. Some said,\n\"Thou must first go to Loughborough.\" Others said, \"Let the hare alone,\nfor she can tell a nearer way than the best of us, let her go.\"\n\n\n    TALE IX.\n\nA man of Gotham, that went mowing in the meadow, found a large\ngrasshopper. He instantly threw down his scythe and ran home to his\nneighbour and said that the devil was at work in the field, and was\nhopping among the grass. Then was every man ready with their clubs,\nstaves, halberts, and other weapons to kill the grasshopper. When they\ncame to the place where the grasshopper was, said one to the other, \"Let\nevery man cross himself from the devil, for we will not meddle with\nhim.\" So they returned again and said, \"We are blest this day that we\nwent no farther.\" \"O, ye cowards!\" said he that left the scythe in the\nmeadow, \"help me to fetch my scythe.\" \"No,\" answered they, \"it is good\nto sleep in a whole skin. It is much better for thee to lose thy scythe\nthan to mar us all.\"\n\n\n    TALE X.\n\nOn a certain time there were twelve men of Gotham that went to fish;\nsome waded in the water and some stood on dry land. In going home, one\nsaid to the other, \"We have ventured wonderfully in wading, I pray God\nthat none of us did come from home to be drowned.\" \"Nay, marry,\" said\none to the other, \"let us see that, for there did twelve of us come\nout.\" Then they told themselves and every one told eleven. Said the one\nto the other, \"There is one of us drowned.\" Then they went back to the\nbrook where they'd been fishing, and sought up and down for him that was\ndrowned, making a great lamentation. A courtier coming by asked what it\nwas they sought for and why they were sorrowful. \"Oh,\" said they, \"this\nday we went to fish in the brook; twelve of us came out together and one\nis drowned.\" The courtier said, \"Tell how many there be of you.\" One of\nthem told eleven, but he did not tell himself. \"Well,\" said the\ncourtier, \"what will you give me and I will find the twelfth man?\" \"All\nthe money we have got,\" said they. \"Give me the money,\" said he. He\nbegan with the first and gave him a stroke over the shoulders with his\nwhip, that made him groan, saying, \"Here is one,\" and so he served them\nall, and they groaned at the matter. When he came to the last, he paid\nhim well, saying, \"Here is the twelfth man.\" \"God's blessings on thee,\"\nsaid they, \"for finding our brother.\"\n\n\n    TALE XI.\n\nA man of Gotham, riding along the highway, saw a cheese, so drew his\nsword and pricked it with the point in order to pick it up. Another man\nwho came by alighted, picked it up and rode away with it. The man of\nGotham rides to Nottingham to buy a long sword to pick up the cheese,\nand returning to the place where it did lie, he pulled out his sword,\npricked the ground and said, \"If I had had but this sword I should have\nhad the cheese myself, but now another has come before me and got it.\"\n\n\n    TALE XII.\n\nA man in Gotham that did not love his wife, and she having fair hair he\nsaid divers times he would cut it off, but durst not do it when she was\nawake, so he resolved to do it when she was asleep; therefore, one night\nhe took a pair of shears and put them under his pillow, which his wife\nperceiving, said to her maid, \"Go to bed to my husband to-night, for he\nintends to cut off my hair; let him cut off thy hair and I will give\nthee as good a kirtle as ever thou didst see.\" The maid did so and\nfeigned herself asleep, which the man perceiving, cut off her hair,\nwrapped it about the shears, and laying them under the pillow, fell\nasleep. The maid arose and the wife took the hair and shears and went to\nthe hall and burnt the hair. The man had a fine horse that he loved, and\nthe good wife went into the stable, cut off the hair of the horse's\ntail, wrapped the shears up in it and laid them under the pillow again.\nHer husband, seeing her combing her head in the morning, marvelled\nthereat. The girl, seeing her master in a deep study, said, \"What ails\nthe horse in the stable, he has lost his tail?\" The man ran into the\nstable and found the horse's tail was cut off; then going to the bed, he\nfound the shears wrapped up in his horse's tail. He then went to his\nwife, saying, \"I crave thy mercy, for I intended to cut off thy hair,\nbut I have cut off my own horse's tail.\" \"Yea,\" said she, \"self do self\nhave.\" Many men think to do a bad turn, but it turneth oftimes to\nthemselves.\n\n\n    TALE XIII.\n\nA man of Gotham laid his wife a wager that she could not make him a\ncuckold. \"No,\" said she, \"but I can.\" \"Do not spare me,\" said he, \"but\ndo what you can.\" On a time she had hid all the spigots and faucets, and\ngoing into the buttery, set a barrel of broach, and cried to her spouse,\n\"Pray, bring me a spigot and faucet or else the ale will all run out.\"\nHe sought up and down but could not find one. \"Come here then,\" said\nshe, \"and put thy finger in the tap-hole.\" Then she called a tailor with\nwhom she made a bargain. Soon after she came to her husband and brought\na spigot and a faucet, saying, \"Pull thy finger out of the tap-hole,\ngood cuckold. Beshrew your heart for your trouble,\" said she, \"make no\nsuch bargain with me again.\"\n\n\n    TALE XIV.\n\nA man of Gotham took a young buzzard and invited four or five\ngentlemen's servants to the eating of it; but the wife killed an old\ngoose, and she and two of her gossips ate up the buzzard, and the old\ngoose was laid to the fire for the gentlemen's servants. So when they\ncame the goose was set before them. \"What is this?\" said one of them.\nThe goodman said, \"A curious buzzard.\" \"A buzzard! why it is an old\ngoose, and thou art an knave to mock us,\" and so departed in great\nanger. The fellow was sorry that he had affronted them, and took a bag\nand put the buzzard's feathers in it; but his wife desired him, before\nhe went, to fetch a block of wood, and in the interim she pulled out the\nbuzzard's feathers and put in the goose's. The man, taking the bag, went\nto the gentlemen's servants and said, \"Pray, be not angry with me, you\nshall see I had a buzzard, for here be the feathers.\" Then, he opened\nthe bag and took out the goose's feathers; upon which one of them took a\ncudgel and gave him a dozen of stripes, saying, \"Why, you knave, could\nyou not be content to mock us at home, but you are come here to mock us\nalso.\"\n\n\n    TALE XV.\n\nA man's wife of Gotham was brought to bed of a male child, and the\nfather invited the gossips who were children of eight or ten years of\nage. The eldest child's name was Gilbert, the second's name was\nHumphrey, and the godmother was called Christabel. Their relations\nadmonished them divers times, that they must all say after the parson.\nAnd when they were come to the church, the priest said, \"Be you all\nagreed of the name?\" \"Gilbert, Humphrey, and Christabel,\" said the same.\nThe priest then said, \"Wherefore came you hither?\" They immediately said\nthe same. The priest being amazed could not tell what to say, but\nwhistled and said, \"Whey,\" and so did they. The priest being angry,\nsaid, \"Go home, you fools, go home.\" Then Gilbert, Humphrey, and\nChristabel did the same. The priest then provided godfathers and\ngodmothers himself.\n\n\n    TALE XVI.\n\nA young man of Gotham went a wooing a fair maid: his mother warned him\nbeforehand, saying, \"Whenever you look at her, cast a sheep's eye at\nher, and say, 'How dost thou, my sweet pigmy?'\" The fellow went to a\nbutcher and bought seven or eight sheep eyes. And when this lusty wooer\nwas at dinner, he would look upon the fair wench and cast in her face a\nsheep's eye, saying, \"How dost thou do, my sweet pigmy?\" \"How do I do,\"\nsaid the wench; \"swine's face, what do you mean by casting a sheep's eye\nat me?\" \"O! sweet pigmy, have at thee with another.\" \"I defy thee,\nswine's face,\" said the wench. \"What my sweet old pigmy, be content, for\nif you live to next year you will be a foul sow.\" \"Walk, knave, walk,\"\nsaid she, \"for if you live till next year you will be a fool.\"\n\n\n    TALE XVII.\n\nThere was a man of Gotham who would be married, and when the day of\nmarriage was come they went to the church. The priest said, \"Do you say\nafter me.\" The man said \"Do you say after me.\" The priest said, \"Say not\nafter me such like, but say what I shall tell you; thou dost play the\nfool to mock the holy scriptures concerning matrimony.\" The fellow said,\n\"Thou dost play the fool to mock the holy scriptures concerning\nmatrimony.\" The priest wist not what to say, but answered, \"What shall I\ndo with this fool?\" and the man said, \"What shall I do with this fool?\"\nSo the priest took his leave and would not marry them. The man was\ninstructed by others how to do, and was afterwards married. And thus the\nbreed of the Gothamites has been perpetuated even unto this day.\n\n\n    TALE XVIII.\n\nThere was a Scotsman who dwelt at Gotham, and he took a house a little\ndistance from London and turned it into an inn, and for his sign he\nwould have a boar's head. Accordingly he went to a carver and said, \"Can\nyou make me a bare head?\" \"Yes,\" said the carver. \"Then,\" said he, \"make\nme a bare head, and thou'se hae twenty shillings for thy hire.\" \"I will\ndo it,\" said the carver. On St. Andrew's day before Christmas (called\nYule in Scotland) the Scot came to London for his boar's head. \"I say,\nspeak,\" said the Scotsman, \"hast thou made me a bare head?\" \"Yes,\" said\nthe carver. He went and brought a man's head of wood that was bare, and\nsaid, \"Sir, there is your bare head.\" \"Ay,\" said the Scot, \"the meikle\nde'il! is this a bare head?\" \"Yes,\" said the carver. \"I say,\" said the\nScotsman, \"I will have a bare head like the head that follows a sow with\ngryces. What, fool, know you not a sow that will greet and groan and cry\na-week, a-week.\" \"What,\" said the carver, \"do you mean a pig?\" \"Yes,\"\nsaid the Scotsman, \"let me have her head made of timber, and set on her\na scalp and let her sing, 'Whip whire.'\" The carver said he could not.\n\"You fool,\" said he, \"gar her as she'd sing whip whire.\"\n\n\n    TALE XIX.\n\nIn old times, during these tales, the wives of Gotham were got into an\nale-house, and said they were all profitable to their husbands. \"Which\nway, good gossips?\" said the ale-wife. The first said, \"I will tell you\nall, good gossips, I cannot brew nor bake, therefore I am every day\nalike, and go to the ale-house because I cannot go to church; and in the\nale-house I pray to God to speed my husband, and I am sure my prayers\nwill do him more good than my labour.\" Then said the second, \"I am\nprofitable to my husband in saving of candle in winter, for I cause my\nhusband and all my people to go to bed by daylight and rise by\ndaylight.\" The third said, \"I am profitable in sparing bread, for I\ndrink a gallon of ale, and I care not much for meat.\" The fourth said,\n\"I am loath to spend meat and drink at home, so I go to the tavern at\nNottingham and drink wine and such other things as God sends me there.\"\nThe fifth said, \"A man will ever have more company in another's house\nthan his own, and most commonly in the ale-house.\" The sixth said, \"My\nhusband has flax and wool to spare if I go to other folk's houses to do\ntheir work.\" The seventh said, \"I spare my husband's wood and clothes,\nand sit all day talking at other folks' fires.\" The eighth said, \"Beef,\nmutton, and pork are dear, I therefore take pigs, chickens, conies, and\ncapons, being of a lesser price.\" The ninth said, \"I spare my husband's\nsoap, for instead of washing once a week, I wash but once a quarter.\"\nThen said the ale-wife, \"I keep all my husband's ale from souring; for\nas I was wont to drink it almost up, now I never leave a drop.\"\n\n\n    TALE XX.\n\nOn Ash Wednesday, the minister of Gotham would have a collection from\nhis parishioners, and said unto them. \"My friends, the time is come that\nyou must use prayer, fasting, and alms, but come ye to shrift, I will\ntell you more of my mind, but as for prayer I don't think that two men\nin the parish can say their paternoster. As for fasting, ye fast still,\nfor ye have not a good meal's meat in the year. As for alm-deeds, what\nshould they give that have nothing? In Lent you must refrain from\ndrunkenness and abstain from drink.\" \"No, not so,\" said one fellow, \"for\nit is an old proverb, 'That fish should swim.'\" \"Yes,\" said the priest,\n\"they must swim in the water.\" \"I crave thy mercy,\" quoth the fellow, \"I\nthought it should have swam in fine ale, for I have been told so.\" Soon\nafter the men of Gotham came to shrift, and being seven the priest knew\nnot what penance to give. He said, \"If I enjoin you to pray, you cannot\nsay your paternoster. And it is but folly to make you fast, because you\nnever eat a meal's meat. Labour hard and get a dinner on Sunday, and I\nwill partake of it.\" Another man he enjoined to fare well on Monday, and\nanother on Tuesday, and another on Wednesday, and so on one after\nanother, that one or other should fare well once in the week, that he\nmight have part of their meat, on every day during the week. \"And as for\nyour alm-deeds,\" the priest said, \"ye be but beggars all, except one or\ntwo, therefore bestow your alms on yourselves.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                    THE HISTORY\n\n                         OF\n\n                 THOMAS HICKATHRIFT\n\n\n                   PART THE FIRST.\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _Tom's Birth and Parentage._\n\n\nIn the reign of William the Conqueror, having read in ancient records,\nthere lived in the Isle of Ely, in Cambridgeshire, a man named Thomas\nHickathrift, a poor labourer, yet he was an honest, stout man, and able\nto do as much work in a day as two ordinary men. Having only one son, he\ncalled him after his own name, Thomas. The old man put his son to\nschool, but he would not learn anything.\n\nIt pleased God to call the old man aside, and his mother being tender of\nher son, she maintained him by her own labour as well as she could; but\nall his delight was in the corner; and he ate as much at once as would\nserve five ordinary men.\n\nAt ten years old he was near six feet high, and three in thickness; his\nhand was much like to a shoulder of mutton, and every other part\nproportionable; but his great strength was yet unknown.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _How Thomas Hickathrift's Great Strength Came to be Known._\n\n\nTom's mother, being a poor widow, went to a rich farmer's house to beg a\nbundle of straw to shift herself and her son Thomas. The farmer, being\nan honest charitable man, bid her take what she wanted. She going home\nto her son Thomas, said, \"Pray go to such a place, and fetch me a bundle\nof straw; I have asked leave.\" He swore he would not go. \"Nay, prithee\ngo,\" said the good old mother. He again swore he would not go, unless\nshe would borrow him a cart rope. She being willing to please him, went\nand borrowed one.\n\nThen taking up the cart rope, away he went, and coming to the farmer's\nhouse, the master was in the barn, and two other men threshing.\n\nSaid Tom, \"I am come for a bundle of straw.\" \"Tom,\" said the farmer,\n\"take as much as thou can'st carry.\" So he laid down his cart rope, and\nbegan to make up his bundle.\n\n\"Your rope, Tom,\" said they, \"is too short,\" and jeered him. But he\nfitted the farmer well for his joke; for when he had made up his burden,\nit was supposed to be near a thousand weight. \"But,\" said they, \"what a\nfool thou art; for thou can'st not carry the tithe of it.\" But, however,\nhe took up his burden, and made no more of it than we do of an hundred\npounds weight, to the great astonishment of both master and men.\n\nNow Tom's strength beginning to be known in the town, they would not let\nhim lie basking in the chimney corner, every one hiring him to work,\nseeing he had so much strength, all telling him it was a shame for him\nto lie idle as he did from day to day; so that Tom finding them bait at\nhim as they did, went first to one to work and then to another.\n\nOne day a man came to him, desiring him to bring a tree home. So Tom\nwent with him and four other men.\n\nNow when they came to the wood they set the cart by the tree, and began\nto draw it by pulleys; but Tom seeing them not able to stir it, said,\n\"Stand aside, fools,\" and so set on the one end, and then put it into\nthe cart. \"There,\" said he, \"see what a man can do!\" \"Marry,\" said they,\n\"that is true indeed.\"\n\nHaving done, and coming through the wood, they met the woodman; and Tom\nasked him for a stick to make his mother a fire with.\n\n\"Aye,\" says the woodman, \"take one.\"\n\nSo Tom took up a bigger than that on the cart, and putting it on his\nshoulder, walked home with it faster than the six horses in the cart\ndrew the other.\n\nNow this was the second instance of Tom showing his strength; by which\ntime he began to think that he had more natural strength than twenty\ncommon men, and from that time Tom began to grow very tractable; he\nwould jump, run, and take delight in young company, and would ride to\nfairs and meetings, to see sports and diversions.\n\nOne day going to a wake where the young men were met, some went to\nwrestling, and some to cudgels, some to throwing the hammer, and the\nlike.\n\nTom stood awhile to see the sport, and at last he joined the company in\nthrowing the hammer: at length he took the hammer in his hand, and felt\nthe weight of it, bidding them stand out of the way, for he would try\nhow far he could throw it.\n\n\"Ay,\" says the old smith, \"you will throw it a great way, I warrant\nyou.\"\n\nTom took the hammer, and giving it a swing, threw it into a river four\nor five furlongs distant, and bid them go and fetch it out.\n\nAfter this Tom joined the wrestlers, and though he had no more skill\nthan an ass, yet by main strength he flung all he grasped with; if once\nhe but laid hold they were gone; some he threw over his head, and others\nhe laid gently down.\n\nHe did not attempt to look or strike at their heels, but threw them two\nor three yards from him, and sometimes on their heads, ready to break\ntheir necks. So that at last none durst enter the ring to wrestle with\nhim, for they took him to be some devil among them.\n\nThus was the fame of Tom's great strength spread more and more about the\ncountry.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _How Tom became a Brewer's Servant; how he killed a\n         Giant, and came to be called Mr. Hickathrift._\n\n\nTom's fame being spread, no one durst give him an angry word; for being\nfoolhardy, he cared not what he did, so that those who knew him would\nnot displease him. At last a brewer of Lynn, who wanted a lusty man to\ncarry beer to the Marsh and to Wisbeach, hearing of Tom, came to hire\nhim; but Tom would not hire himself till his friends persuaded him, and\nhis master promised him a new suit of clothes from top to toe, and also\nthat he should be his man; and the master showed him where he should go,\nfor there was a monstrous giant who kept part of the Marsh, and none\ndared to go that way; for if the giant found them he would either kill\nthem or make them his servants.\n\nBut to come to Tom and his master, Tom did more in one day than all the\nrest of his men did in three: so that his master seeing him so tractable\nand careful in his business, made him his head man, and trusted him to\ncarry beer by himself, for he needed none to help him. Thus Tom went\neach day to Wisbeach, a journey of near twenty miles.\n\nTom going this journey so often, and finding the other road the giant\nkept nearer by the half, and Tom having increased his strength by being\nso well kept, and improving his courage by drinking so much strong ale;\none day as he was going to Wisbeach, without saying anything to his\nmaster or any of his fellow servants, he resolved to make the nearest\nroad or lose his life; to win the horse or lose the saddle; to kill or\nbe killed, if he met with this giant.\n\nThus resolved, he goes the nearest way with his cart, flinging open the\ngates in order to go through; but the giant soon spied him, and seeing\nhim a daring fellow, vowed to stop his journey and make a prize of his\nbeer; but Tom cared not a groat for him, and the giant met him like a\nroaring lion, as though he would have swallowed him up.\n\n\"Sirrah,\" said he, \"who gave you authority to come this way? Do you not\nknow that I make all stand in fear of my sight? and you, like an\nimpudent rogue, must come and fling open my gates at pleasure. Are you\nso careless of your life that you do not care what you do? I will make\nyou an example to all rogues under the sun. Dost thou not see how many\nheads hang upon yonder tree that have offended my laws? Thine shall hang\nhigher than any of them all.\"\n\n\"A tod in your teeth,\" said Tom, \"you shall not find me like them.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the giant; \"why, you are but a fool if you come to fight me,\nand bring no weapon to defend thyself.\"\n\nCries Tom, \"I have got a weapon here that shall make you know I am your\nmaster.\"\n\n\"Aye, say you so, sirrah,\" said the giant, and then ran to his cave to\nfetch his club, intending to dash his brains out at a blow.\n\nWhile the giant was gone for his club, Tom turned his cart upside down,\ntaking the axle tree and wheel for his sword and buckler; and excellent\nweapons they were on such an emergency.\n\nThe giant coming out again began to stare at Tom, to see him take the\nwheel in one of his hands and the axle tree in the other.\n\n\"Oh, oh!\" said the giant, \"you are like to do great things with those\ninstruments; I have a twig here that will beat thee, thy axle tree, and\nwheel to the ground.\"\n\nNow that which the giant called a twig was as thick as a mill post; with\nthis the giant made a blow at Tom with such force as made his wheel\ncrack.\n\nTom, not in the least daunted, gave him as brave a blow on the side of\nthe head, which made him reel again.\n\n\"What,\" said Tom, \"have you got drunk with my small beer already?\" The\ngiant recovering, made many hard blows at Tom; but still as they came he\nkept them off with his wheel, so that he received but very little hurt.\n\nIn the meantime Tom plied him so well with blows that sweat and blood\nran together down the giant's face, who, being fat and foggy, was almost\nspent with fighting so long, so begged Tom to let him drink, and then he\nwould fight him again.\n\n\"No,\" said Tom, \"my mother did not teach me such wit. Who is fool then?\"\nWhereupon, finding the giant grew weak, Tom redoubled his blows till he\nbrought him to the ground.\n\nThe giant, finding himself overcome, roared hideously, and begged Tom to\nspare his life and he would perform anything he should desire, even\nyield himself unto him and be his servant.\n\nBut Tom, having no more mercy on him than a dog upon a bear, laid on him\ntill he found him breathless, and then cut off his head, after which he\nwent into his cave, and there found great store of gold and silver,\nwhich made his heart leap for joy.\n\nWhen he had rummaged the cave, and refreshed himself a little, he\nrestored the wheel and axle tree to their places, and loaded his beer on\nhis cart, and went to Wisbeach, where he delivered his beer, and\nreturned home the same night as usual.\n\nUpon his return to his master, he told him what he had done, which,\nthough he was rejoiced to hear, he could not altogether believe, till he\nhad seen if it were true.\n\nNext morning Tom's master went with him to the place, to be convinced of\nthe truth, as did most of the inhabitants of Lynn.\n\nWhen they came to the place they were rejoiced to find the giant quite\ndead; and when Tom showed them the head and what gold and silver there\nwas in the cave, all of them leaped for joy; for the giant had been a\ngreat enemy to that part of the country.\n\nNews was soon spread that Tom Hickathrift had killed the giant, and\nhappy was he that could come to see the giant's cave; and bonfires were\nmade all round the country for Tom's success.\n\nTom, by the general consent of the country, took possession of the\ngiant's cave and riches. He pulled down the cave, and built himself a\nhandsome house on the spot. He gave part of the giant's lands to the\npoor for their common, and the rest he divided and enclosed for an\nestate to maintain him and his mother.\n\nNow Tom's fame was spread more and more through the country, and he was\nno longer called plain Tom, but Mr. Hickathrift, and they feared his\nanger now almost as much as they did that of the giant before.\n\nTom now finding himself very rich, resolved his neighbours should be the\nbetter for it. He enclosed himself a park and kept deer; and just by his\nhouse he built a church, which he dedicated to St. James, because on\nthat saint's day he killed the giant.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _How Tom kept a pack of Hounds, and of his being attacked\n                     by some Highwaymen._\n\n\nTom not being used to such a stock of riches, could hardly tell how to\ndispose of it; but he used means to do it, for he kept a pack of hounds\nand men to hunt them; and who but Tom; he took much delight in sports\nand exercises, and he would go far and near to a merry making.\n\nOne day as Tom was riding he saw a company at football, and dismounted\nto see them play for a wager; but he spoiled all their sport, for\nmeeting the football, he gave it such a kick that they never found it\nmore; whereupon they began to quarrel with Tom, but some of them got\nlittle good by it; for he got a spar, which belonged to an old house\nthat had been blown down, with which he drove all opposition before\nhim, and made a way wherever he came.\n\nAfter this, going home late in the evening, he was met by four\nhighwaymen, well mounted, who had robbed all the passengers that\ntravelled on that road.\n\nWhen they saw Tom, and found that he was alone, they were cock sure of\nhis money, and bid him stand and deliver.\n\n\"What must I deliver?\" cries Tom. \"Your money, sirrah,\" said they.\n\"Aye,\" said Tom, \"but you shall give me better words for it first, and\nbe better armed too.\"\n\n\"Come, come,\" said they, \"we came not here to prate, but for your money,\nand money we must have before we go.\" \"Is it so?\" said Tom; \"then get it\nand take it.\"\n\nWhereupon one of them made at him with a rusty sword, which Tom\nimmediately wrenched out of his hand, and attacked the whole four with\nit, and made them set spurs to their horses; but seeing one had a\nportmanteau behind him, and supposing it contained money, he more\nclosely pursued them, and soon overtook them and cut their journey\nshort, killing two of them and sadly wounding the other two, who,\nbegging hard for their lives, he let them go, but took away all their\nmoney, which was about two hundred pounds, to bear his expenses home.\n\nWhen Tom came home he told them how he had served the poor football\nplayers and the four thieves, which produced much mirth and laughter\namongst all the company.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _Tom, meets with a Tinker and of the Battle they Fought._\n\n\nSome time afterwards, as Tom was walking about his estate to see how his\nworkmen went on, he met upon the skirts of the forest a very sturdy\ntinker, having a good staff on his shoulder and a great dog to carry his\nbudget of tools. So Tom asked the tinker from whence he came and\nwhither he was going, as that was no highway? Now the tinker being a\nvery sturdy fellow, bid him go look, what was that to him? But fools\nmust always be meddling.\n\n\"Hold,\" said Tom, \"before you and I part I will make you know who I am.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" says the tinker, \"it is three years since I had a combat with any\nman; I have challenged many a one, but none dare face me, so I think\nthey are all cowards in this part of the country; but I hear there is a\nman lives hereabouts named Thomas Hickathrift, who has killed a giant,\nhim I'd willingly see to have a bout with him.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said Tom, \"I am the man. What have you to say to me?\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said the tinker, \"I am very glad we are so happily met, that we\nmay have one touch.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" said Tom, \"you are but in jest.\"\n\n\"Marry,\" said the tinker, \"but I am in earnest.\"\n\n\"A match,\" said Tom.\n\n\"It is done,\" said the tinker.\n\n\"But,\" said Tom, \"will you give me leave to get me a twig?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said the tinker, \"I hate him that fights with a man unarmed.\"\n\nSo Tom stepped to a gate and took a rail for a staff. So to it they\nfell. The tinker at Tom, and Tom at the tinker, like two giants. The\ntinker had a leather coat on, so that every blow Tom gave him made it\nroar again, yet the tinker did not give way an inch till Tom gave him\nsuch a bang on the side of the head that felled him to the ground.\n\n\"Now, tinker, where art thou?\" said Tom. But the tinker being a nimble\nfellow, leaped up again, and gave Tom a bang, the which made him reel,\nand following his blows, took Tom on the other side, which made him\nthrow down his weapon and yield the mastery to the brave tinker.\n\nAfter this Tom took the tinker home to his house, where we shall leave\nthem to improve their acquaintance, and get themselves cured of the\nbruises they gave each other. And for a further account of the merry\npranks of Tom and the tinker, the reader is referred to the Second Part,\nwhich is far more entertaining than this.\n\n\n\n\n                  PART THE SECOND.\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n\n    _Tom Hickathrift and the Tinker conquer Ten Thousand Rebels._\n\n\nIn and about the Isle of Ely, many disaffected persons, to the number of\nten thousand or upwards, drew themselves together in a body, pretending\nto contend for their rights and privileges, which they said had been\ngreatly infringed; insomuch that the civil magistrates of the country\nthought themselves in great danger of their lives.\n\nWhereupon the sheriff by night came to the house of Mr. Thomas\nHickathrift, as a secure place of refuge in so eminent a time of danger,\nwhere he laid open to Mr. Hickathrift the unreasonableness of the\ncomplaint of these rebels, and begged his protection and assistance.\n\n\"Sheriff,\" said Tom, \"what service my brother,\" meaning the tinker, \"and\nI can perform shall not be wanting.\"\n\nThis said, in the morning, by break of day, with trusty clubs, they both\nwent out, desiring the sheriff to be their guide in conducting them to\nthe place where the rebels were.\n\nWhen they came there, Tom and the tinker marched boldly up to the head\nof them, and demanded the reason why they disturbed the government? To\nwhich they replied, \"That their will was their law, and by that only we\nwill be governed.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Tom, \"if it be so, these are our weapons, and by them ye\nshall be chastised.\" These words were no sooner out of his mouth, but\nthe tinker and he threw themselves both together into the crowd, where\nwith their clubs they beat down all before them. Nay, remarkable it was,\nthe tinker struck a tall man upon the neck with such force that his head\nflew off and was carried ten yards from him, and struck the chief leader\nwith such violence as levelled him to the ground.\n\nTom, on the other hand, pressing forward, beat down all before him,\nmaking great havoc, till by an unfortunate blow he broke his club; yet\nhe was not in the least dismayed, for he presently seized a lusty,\nstout, raw-boned miller, and so made use of him for a weapon, till at\nlast they cleared the field, that not one of them durst lift up their\nhand against them.\n\nShortly after Tom took some of them and exposed them to public justice;\nthe rest being pardoned at the request of Tom and the tinker.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _Tom Hickathrift and the Tinker are sent for up to Court;\n                 and of their kind Entertainment._\n\n\nThe king being truly informed of the faithful services performed by\nthese his loving subjects, Tom Hickathrift and the tinker, he was\npleased to send for them and the nobility.\n\nNow after the banquet the king said, \"These are my trusty and\nwell-beloved subjects, men of known courage and valour, who conquered\nten thousand persons who were met together to disturb the peace of my\nrealm.\n\n\"According to the characters given of Thomas Hickathrift and Henry\nNonsuch, persons here present, which cannot be matched in the world; all\nwere it possible to have an army of 20,000 such, I durst immediately\nventure to act the part of great Alexander.\n\n\"As a proof of my favour, kneel down and receive the order of\nknighthood, Mr. Hickathrift; and as for Henry Nonsuch I will settle upon\nhim a reward of forty pounds a year during life.\"\n\nSo said, the king withdrew, and Sir Thomas Hickathrift and Henry\nNonsuch, the tinker, returned to their home. But, to the great grief of\nSir Thomas Hickathrift, he found his mother dead and buried.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _Tom, after the Death of his Mother, goes a-wooing; and of\n        a Trick he served a Gallant, who had offended him._\n\n\nTom's mother being dead, and he left alone in a spacious house, he found\nhimself strange; therefore began to consider with himself that it would\nnot be amiss to seek a wife; so, hearing of a rich and young widow in\nCambridge, he goes to her and makes his addresses, and at the first\ncoming she seemed to show him much favour; but between that and his\ncoming again she gave entertainment to an airy, brisk, and young spark\nthat happened to come in while Tom was there a second time.\n\nHe looked very wistfully at Tom, and Tom stared as fiercely at him\nagain; so at last the young spark began to abuse Tom with very\naffronting language, saying he was a lubberly welp and a scoundrel.\n\n\"A scoundrel!\" said Tom. \"Better sayings would become you; and if you do\nnot instantly mend your manners, you will meet with correction.\"\n\nAt which the young man challenged him; so to the yard they went--the\nyoung man with his sword, and Tom with neither stick nor staff.\n\nSaid the spark, \"Have you nothing to defend yourself? Then I shall the\nsooner despatch you.\"\n\nSo he made a pass at Tom, but that he butt by; and then, wheeling round\nunto his back, Tom gave him such a nice kick in the breech as sent the\nspark like a crow up in the air, whence he fell upon the ridge of a\nthatched house, and came down into a fish-pond, where he had certainly\nbeen drowned if it had not been for a poor shepherd, who was walking by\nthat road, and, seeing him floating on the water, dragged him out with\nhis hook, and home he returned like a drowned rat; whilst Tom enjoyed\nthe kind embraces of his lady.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _How Tom served Two Troopers, whom the Spark had\n                    hired to beset him._\n\n\nNow the young gallant vexed himself to think how Tom had conquered him\nbefore his new mistress, so was resolved on speedy revenge, and, knowing\nhe was not able to cope with Tom, he hired two lusty troopers, well\nmounted, to lie in ambush under a thicket, which Tom was to pass on his\nway home, and so accordingly they both attempted to set upon him.\n\n\"How now, rascals!\" said Tom; \"what would you be at? Are you indeed so\nweary of your lives that you so unadvisedly set upon one who is able to\ncrush you like a cucumber?\" The two troopers, laughing at him, said they\nwere not to be daunted at his high words. \"High words!\" said Tom; \"nay,\nnow I will come to action,\" and so ran between them, catching them in\nhis arms, horses and men, as easy as if they had been but two baker's\nbavins.\n\nIn this manner he steered homewards, but, as he passed through a company\nof haymakers, the troopers cried, \"Stop him! stop him! He runs away with\ntwo of the king's troopers.\" But they laughed to see Tom hugging them,\nfrequently upbraiding them for their baseness, saying he'd make mince\nmeat of them for crows and jackdaws.\n\nThis was a dreadful lecture to them, and the poor rogues begged he would\nbe merciful to them, and they would discover the whole plot, and who was\nthe person that employed them, which they accordingly did, and gained\nfavour in the sight of Tom, who pardoned them on promise that they would\nnever be concerned in so villainous an action as that was for the\nfuture.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _Tom, going to be Married, is set upon by Twenty-one\n            Ruffians; and of the Havock he made._\n\n\nIn regard Tom had been hindered hitherto by the troopers, he delayed his\nvisit to his lady and love till the next day, and, coming to her, he\ngave her a full account of what had happened.\n\nShe was much pleased at this relation, and received him with joy and\nsatisfaction, knowing it was safe for a woman to marry with a man who\nwas able to defend her against any assault whatever; and so brave a man\nas Tom was found to be.\n\nThe day of marriage being appointed, and friends and relations invited,\nyet secret malice, which is never satisfied but with revenge, had like\nto have prevented it; for, having near three miles to go to church, the\naforementioned gentleman had provided one-and-twenty ruffians to destroy\nTom, for to put them to consternation.\n\nHowbeit, it so happened in a private place, all bolted out upon Tom, and\nwith a spear gave him a slight wound, which made his sweetheart shriek\nout lamentably. Tom endeavoured to pacify her, saying, \"Stand you still,\nand I will soon show you some pleasant sport.\"\n\nHere he catched hold of a broad-sword from the side of one of the\ncompany, and behaved so gallantly with it that at every stroke he took\noff a joint. He spared their lives, but lopped off their legs and arms,\nthat in less than a quarter of an hour there was not one in the company\nbut had lost a limb. The grass was all stained with a purple gore, and\nthe ground was covered with legs and arms.\n\nHis lover and the rest of the company were all this while standing by\nand admiring his valour, crying out, \"O, what a sight of cripples has he\nmade in a short time!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Tom, \"I verily believe that for every drop of blood I have\nlost I have made the rascals pay me a limb, as a just tribute.\"\n\nThis said, he steps to a farmer's house, and hired a servant, by giving\nhim twenty shillings to carry the several cripples home to their\nrespective habitations in his cart, and then posted to church with his\nlove, when they were heartily merry with their friends after this\nencounter.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VI.\n\n    _Tom provides a Feast for all the poor Widows in the\n         adjacent Towns; and how he served an Old\n              Woman who Stole a Silver Cup._\n\n\nNow Tom, being married, made a plentiful feast, to which he invited all\nthe poor widows in the parish, for the sake of his mother, who had been\nlately buried.\n\nThis feast was carried on with the greatest solemnity, and, being ended,\na silver cup was missing, and being asked about it they all denied it.\n\nAt last, all being searched, the cup was found on an old woman named\nStrumbelow. Then all the rest were in a rage; some were for hanging her,\nothers for chopping the old woman in pieces for ingratitude to such a\ngenerous benefactor.\n\nBut he entreated them all to be quiet, saying they should not murder a\npoor old woman, for he would appoint a punishment for her, which was\nthis:--He bored a hole through her nose, and put a string in it, and\nthen ordered her to be stripped; so commanding the rest of the old women\nto lead her through all the streets and lanes in Cambridge, which\ncomical sight caused a general laughter.\n\nThis being done, she had her clothes again, and so was acquitted.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VII.\n\n    _Sir Thomas and his Lady are sent for up to Court;\n           and of what happened at that Time._\n\n\nNow, tidings of Tom's wedding was soon raised at court, insomuch that\nthey had a royal invitation there, in order that the king might have a\nsight of his newly-married lady. Accordingly, they came, and were\nreceived with much joy and triumph.\n\nWhilst they were in the midst of their mirth news was brought the king\nby the Commons of Kent that a very dreadful giant was landed in one of\nthe islands, and had brought with him a great number of bears, and also\nyoung lions, with a dreadful dragon, upon which he always rode, which\nsaid monster and ravenous beasts had much frighted all the inhabitants\nof the said island. And, moreover, they said, if speedy course was not\ntaken to suppress them in due time, they would destroy the country.\n\nThe king, hearing of this relation, was a little startled; yet he\npersuaded them to return home, and make the best defence they could for\nthe present, assuring them that he would not forget them, and so they\ndeparted.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VIII.\n\n    _Tom is made Governor of East Angles, now called the Isle\n          of Thanet; and of the wonderful Achievements\n                       he there performed._\n\n\nThe king, hearing these dreadful tidings, immediately sat in council to\nconsider what was best to be done for the conquering this giant and wild\nbeasts.\n\nAt length Tom Hickathrift was pitched upon as being a stout and bold\nsubject, for which reason it was judged necessary to make him Governor\nof that island, which place of trust he readily accepted; and\naccordingly he went down with his wife and family to take possession of\nthe same, attended by a hundred and odd knights and gentlemen at least;\nthey taking leave of him, and wishing him all health and prosperity.\n\nMany days he had not been there before it was his fortune to meet this\nmonstrous giant, for thus it was:--Sir Thomas, looking out at his own\nwindow, espied this giant mounted on a dreadful dragon, and on his\nshoulder he bore a club of iron. He had but one eye, which was in the\nmiddle of his forehead, and was as large as a barber's basin, and seemed\nlike flaming fire, the hair of his head hanging down like snakes, and\nhis beard like rusty wire.\n\nLifting up his eye, he saw Sir Thomas, who was viewing him from one of\nthe windows of the castle. The giant then began to knit his brows, and\nto breathe forth some threatening words to the Governor, who, indeed,\nwas a little surprised at the approach of such a monstrous and\nill-favoured brute.\n\nThe monstrous giant, finding that Tom did not make much haste to get\ndown to him, alighted from his dragon, and chained him to an oak tree,\nthen marched to the castle, setting his broad shoulders against the\ncorner of the wall as if he intended to overthrow the whole bulk of the\nbuilding at once. Tom, perceiving it, said, \"Is this the game you would\nbe at? Faith, I shall spoil your sport, for I have a tool to pick your\nteeth with.\"\n\nHe then took the two-handed sword the king gave him, down he went, and,\nflinging open the gate, he there finds the giant, who, by an unfortunate\nslip in his thrusting, was fallen along, and there lay, not able to\ndefend himself.\n\n\"How now!\" said Tom; \"do you come here to take up your lodging? This is\nnot at all to be suffered.\" And with that he ran his long broad sword\nbetween the giant's tawny buttocks, and made the brute give a groan\nalmost as loud as thunder.\n\nThen Sir Thomas, pulling out his sword again, and at six or seven blows\nhe severed his head, which, when cut off, seemed like the root of a\ngreat oak; then, turning to the dragon, which was all this time chained\nto a tree, without any more ado, at a few blows cut off that also.\n\nThis adventure being over, he sent for a waggon and horses, and loaded\nthem with the heads, and then summoned all the constables of the county\nfor a safeguard, and sent them to the court, with a promise to his\nMajesty that in a short time he would clear the island of all the bears,\nlions, etc., etc.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IX.\n\n    _The Tinker, hearing of Tom's Fame, he goes to his Partner;\n          and of his being unfortunately slain by a Lion._\n\n\nTom's victories rang so loud that they reached the ears of his old\nacquaintance the tinker, who, being desirous of honour, resolved to go\ndown and visit him in his government; and coming there he was kindly\nentertained.\n\nAfter a few days' pleasure, Tom told him he must go in search of some\nbears and lions in the island.\n\n\"Then,\" said the tinker, \"I will go with you.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said Tom, \"for I must own I shall be glad of your\ncompany.\" On this they went forward--Tom with his great sword and the\ntinker with his pike staff.\n\nAfter they had travelled four or five hours, it was their fortune to\nmeet all the wild beasts together, being in number fourteen, six of\nwhich were bears, the other eight young lions. When these creatures had\nset their eyes on them they ran furiously, as if they would have\ndevoured them at a mouthful, but Tom and the tinker stood side by side,\nwith their backs against an oak, until the lions and bears came within\ntheir reach. Tom, with his sword, clave all their heads asunder, until\nthey were all destroyed, except one young lion, who, seeing the rest of\nhis fellow-creatures dead, he was making his escape; but the tinker,\nbeing too venturous, ran hastily after him, and gave the lion a blow.\nThe beast turned upon him, and seized him with such violence by the\nthroat as soon ended his life.\n\nTom's joy was now mingled with sorrow, for, though he had cleared the\nisland of those ravenous beasts, yet his grief was intolerable for the\nloss of his friend.\n\nHome he returned to his lady, where, in token of joy for the success\nhe'd had in his dangerous enterprizes, he made a very noble and\nsplendid feast, to which he invited all his friends and acquaintances,\nand then made the following promises:--\n\n    \"My friends, while I have strength to stand,\n      Most manfully I will pursue\n    All dangers, till I clear the land\n      Of lions, bears, and tigers too.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                     THE HISTORY\n\n                         OF\n\n                        JACK\n\n                         THE\n\n                     GIANT-KILLER\n\n                     CONTAINING\n\n               His Birth and Parentage\n    His Meeting with the King's Son; His Noble\n        Conquests over many Monstrous Giants\n    And his rescuing a Beautiful Lady, whom he\n                afterwards married.\n\n\nIn the reign of King Arthur, near the Land's-End of England, in the\ncounty of Cornwall, there lived a wealthy farmer, who had only one son,\ncommonly known by the name of Jack. He was brisk, and of a lively, ready\nwit, so that whatever he could not perform by strength he completed by\nwit and policy. Never was any person heard of that could worst him; nay,\nthe learned he baffled by his cunning and ready inventions.\n\nFor instance, when he was no more than seven years of age, his father\nsent him into the field to look after his oxen. A country vicar, by\nchance one day coming across the field, called Jack, and asked him\nseveral questions; in particular, \"How many commandments were there?\"\nJack told him there were nine. The parson replied, \"There are ten.\"\n\"Nay,\" quoth Jack, \"master parson, you are out of that; it is true there\nwere ten, but you have broken one of them.\" The parson replied, \"Thou\nart an arch wag, Jack.\" \"Well, master parson,\" quoth Jack, \"you have\nasked me one question, and I have answered it; let me ask you another.\nWho made these oxen?\" The parson replied, \"God.\" \"You are out again,\"\nquoth Jack, \"for God made them bulls, but my father and his man Hobson\nmade oxen of them.\" The parson, finding himself fooled, trudged away,\nleaving Jack in a fit of laughter.\n\nIn those days the mount of Cornwall was kept by a huge and monstrous\ngiant of 27 feet high and of 3 yards in compass, of a grim countenance,\nto the terror of all the neighbouring towns. His habitation was a cave\nin the midst of the mount; neither would he suffer any living creature\nto inhabit near him. His feeding was upon other men's cattle; for\nwhensoever he had occasion for food he would wade over to the main land,\nwhere he would furnish himself with whatever he could find; for the\npeople at his approach would forsake their habitations; then he would\ntake their cows and oxen, of which he would make nothing to carry over\non his back half a dozen at a time; and as for sheep and hogs, he would\ntie them round his waist. This he had for many years practised in\nCornwall.\n\nBut one day Jack, coming to the Town Hall, when the Magistrates were\nsitting in consternation about the giant, he asked what reward they\nwould give to any person that would destroy him. They answered, \"He\nshall have all the giant's treasure in recompense.\" Quoth Jack, \"Then I\nmyself will undertake the work.\"\n\nJack furnished himself with a horn, a shovel, and a pick-axe, and over\nto the mount he goes in the beginning of a dark winter evening, where he\nfell to work, and before morning had digged a pit 22 feet deep, and as\nbroad, and covered the same over with long sticks and straw; then\nstrewed a little mould upon it, so that it appeared like the plain\nground.\n\nThis done, Jack places himself on the contrary side of the pit just\nabout the dawning of the day, when, putting his horn to his mouth, he\nthen blew, \"Tan twivie, tan twivie,\" which unexpected noise roused the\ngiant, who came roaring towards Jack, crying out, \"You incorrigible\nvillain, are you come hither to break my rest? You shall dearly pay for\nit; satisfaction I will have, and it shall be this--I will take you\nwholly and broil you for my breakfast,\" which words were no sooner out\nof his mouth but he tumbled headlong into the deep pit, whose heavy fall\nmade the very foundation of the mount to shake.\n\n\"Oh! giant, where are you now? Faith, you are got into Lobb's Pond,\nwhere I shall plague you for your threatening words. What do you think\nnow of broiling me for your breakfast? Will no other diet serve you but\npoor Jack?\" Thus having tantalized the giant for a while, he gave him a\nmost weighty knock on the crown of his head with his pick-axe, so that\nhe immediately tumbled down, gave a most dreadful groan, and died. This\ndone, Jack threw the earth in upon him, and so buried him; then, going\nand searching the cave, he found a great quantity of treasure.\n\nNow, when the Magistrates who employed him heard the work was over, they\nsent for him, declaring that he should henceforth be called Jack the\nGiant-Killer. And in honour thereof, they presented him with a sword,\ntogether with a fine rich embroidered belt, on which these words were\nwrought in letters of gold--\n\n    \"Here's the right valiant Cornish man\n    Who slew the giant Cormillan.\"\n\nThe news of Jack's victory was soon spread; when another huge giant,\nnamed Blunderboar, hearing of it, vowed to be revenged on Jack if ever\nit was his fortune to light upon him. This giant kept an enchanted\ncastle, situated in the midst of a lonesome wood. Now, Jack, about four\nmonths after, walking near the borders of the said wood, on his journey\ntowards Wales, grew weary, and therefore sat himself down by the side of\na pleasant fountain, where a deep sleep suddenly seized on him, at which\ntime the giant coming for water, found him; and by the line on his belt\nknew him to be Jack that killed his brother; and, without any words,\nthrew him upon his shoulder, to carry him to his enchanted castle.\n\nNow, as they passed through a thicket, the ruffling of the boughs awaked\npoor Jack, who, finding himself in the clutches of the giant, was\nstrangely surprised; for, at the entering within the first walls of the\ncastle, he beheld the ground all covered with bones and skulls of dead\nmen, the giant telling Jack that his bones would enlarge the number that\nhe saw. This said, he brought him into a large parlour, where he beheld\nthe bloody quarters of some who were lately slain, and in the next room\nwere many hearts and livers, which the giant, in order to terrify Jack,\ntold him \"that men's hearts and livers were the choicest of his diet,\nfor he commonly ate them with pepper and vinegar, and he did not\nquestion but his heart would make him a dainty bit.\" This said, he locks\nup poor Jack in an upper room, while he went to fetch another giant\nliving in the same wood, that he might partake in the destruction of\npoor Jack.\n\nNow, while he was gone, dreadful shrieks and cries affrighted poor Jack,\nespecially a voice which continually cried--\n\n    \"Do what you can to get away,\n    Or you'll become the giant's prey;\n    He's gone to fetch his brother, who\n    Will kill and likewise torture you.\"\n\nThis dreadful noise so amazed poor Jack he was ready to run distracted.\nSeeing from the window afar off the two giants coming, \"Now,\" quoth Jack\nto himself, \"my death or deliverance is at hand.\"\n\nThere were strong cords in the room by him, of which he takes two, at\nthe end of which he makes a noose, and, while the giant was unlocking\nthe gate, he threw the ropes over each of the heads, and, drawing the\nother end across the beam, he pulled with all his strength until he had\nthrottled them; and then, fastening the rope to the beam, turning\ntowards the window he beheld the two giants to be black in their faces.\nSliding down by the rope, he came close to their heads, where the\nhelpless giants could not defend themselves, and, drawing out his sword,\nslew them both, and delivered himself from their intended cruelty; then,\ntaking out a bunch of keys, he unlocked the rooms, where he found three\nfair ladies, tied by the hair of their heads, almost starved to death,\nwho told Jack that their husbands were slain by the giant, and that they\nwere kept many days without food, in order to force them to feed upon\nthe flesh of their husbands.\n\n\"Sweet ladies,\" quoth Jack, \"I have destroyed this monster, and his\nbrutish brother, by which I have obtained your liberties.\" This said, he\npresented them with the keys of the castle, and so proceeded on his\njourney to Wales.\n\nJack, having but very little money, thought it prudent to make the best\nof his way by travelling as fast as he could, but, losing his road, was\nbenighted, and could not get a place of entertainment until he came to a\nvalley placed between two hills, where stood a large house in a lonesome\nplace. He took courage to knock at the gate, and to his great surprise\nthere came forth a monstrous giant, having two heads; yet he did not\nseem so fiery as the others had been, for he was a Welsh giant, and what\nhe did was by secret malice, for Jack telling his condition he bid him\nwelcome, showing him a room with a bed in it, whereon he might take his\nnight's repose; therefore Jack undressed himself, and, as the giant was\nwalking to another apartment, Jack heard him mutter forth these words to\nhimself--\n\n    \"Though here you lodge with me this night,\n    You shall not see the morning light;\n    My club shall dash your brains out quite.\"\n\n\"Sayest thou so,\" quoth Jack; \"this is like your Welsh tricks; yet I\nhope to be cunning enough for you.\" Then getting out of bed he put a\nbillet in his stead, and hid himself in a corner of the room; and in the\ndead time of the night the Welsh giant came with his great knotty club,\nand struck several heavy blows upon the head where Jack had laid the\nbillet, and then returned to his own chamber, supposing he had broken\nall the bones in his body.\n\nIn the morning Jack gave him hearty thanks for his lodging. The giant\nsaid to him, \"How have you rested? Did you not feel something in the\nnight?\" \"Nothing,\" quoth Jack, \"but a rat which gave me three or four\nslaps with her tail.\" Soon after the giant arose and went to breakfast\nwith a bowl of hasty pudding, containing nearly four gallons, giving\nJack the like quantity, who, being loath to let the giant know he could\nnot eat with him, got a large leathern bag, putting it very artfully\nunder his loose coat, into which he secretly conveyed his pudding,\ntelling the giant he could show him a trick; then, taking a large knife,\nhe ripped open the bag, which the giant supposed to be his belly, when\nout came the hasty pudding, at which the Welsh giant cried, \"Cotsplut,\nhur can do dat trick hurself.\" Then, taking his sharp knife, he ripped\nup his own belly from the bottom to the top; and out dropped his bowels,\nso that he fell down for dead. Thus Jack outwitted the giant, and\nproceeded on his journey.\n\nAbout this time King Arthur's son only desired of his father to furnish\nhim with a certain sum of money, that he might go and seek his fortune\nin Wales, where a beautiful lady lived, whom he heard was possessed with\nseven evil spirits; but the king his father advised him utterly against\nit, yet he would not be persuaded of it; so he granted what he\nrequested, which was one horse loaded with money, and another for\nhimself to ride on; thus he went forth without any attendants.\n\nNow, after several days' travel, he came to a market town in Wales,\nwhere he beheld a large concourse of people gathered together. The\nking's son demanded the reason of it, and was told that they had\narrested a corpse for many large sums of money which the deceased owed\nwhen he died. The king's son replied, \"It is a pity that creditors\nshould be so cruel; go bury the dead, and let his creditors come to my\nlodging, and their debts shall be discharged.\" Accordingly they came in\ngreat numbers, so that he left himself moneyless.\n\nNow, Jack the Giant-Killer being there, and, seeing the generosity of\nthe king's son, he was taken with him, and desired to be his servant. It\nwas agreed upon the next morning, when, riding out at the town-end, the\nking's son, turning to Jack, said, \"I cannot tell how I will subsist in\nmy intended journey.\" \"For that,\" quoth Jack, \"take you no care: let me\nalone; I warrant you we will not want.\"\n\nNow, Jack, having a spell in his pocket, which served at noon for a\nrefreshment, when done, they had not one penny left betwixt them. The\nafternoon they spent in travel and discourse, till the sun began to grow\nlow, at which time the king's son said, \"Jack, since we have no money,\nwhere can we think to lodge this night?\" Jack replied, \"We'll do well\nenough, for I have an uncle living within two miles of this. He is a\nmonstrous giant with three heads; he will fight 500 men in armour, and\nmake them to fly before him.\" \"Alas!\" saith the king's son, \"what shall\nwe do there? He will certainly chop us both up at one mouthful!\" \"It is\nno matter for that,\" quoth Jack; \"I will go before and prepare the way\nfor you. Tarry here.\"\n\nHe waits, and Jack rides full speed; when he came to the castle, he\nknocked with such a force that he made all the neighbouring hills to\nresound. The giant, with a voice like thunder, roared out, \"Who's\nthere?\" He answered, \"None but your own cousin Jack. Dear uncle, heavy\nnews, God wot.\" \"Prithee, what heavy news can come to me? I am a giant\nwith three heads, and besides thou knowest I can fight five hundred\nmen.\" \"O! but,\" quoth Jack, \"here's the king's son coming with 1,000 men\nto kill you.\" \"Oh! Jack, this is heavy news indeed. I have a large vault\nunder ground, where I will hide myself, and thou shalt lock, bolt, and\nbar me in, and keep the keys till the king's son is gone.\"\n\nJack having secured the giant, he returned and fetched his master. They\nwere both heartily merry with the wine and other dainties which were in\nthe house; so that night they rested in very pleasant lodgings, whilst\nthe poor uncle the giant lay trembling in the vault under ground.\n\nEarly in the morning Jack furnished his master with a supply of gold and\nsilver, and set him three miles forward on his journey, concluding he\nwas then pretty well out of the smell of the giant, and then returned to\nlet his uncle out of the hole, who asked Jack what he would give him in\nreward, since his castle was not demolished. \"Why,\" quoth Jack, \"I\ndesire nothing but the old coat and cap, together with the old rusty\nsword and slippers which are at your bed-head.\" \"Jack, thou shalt have\nthem, and pray keep them for my sake, for they are things of excellent\nuse. The coat will keep you invisible; the cap will furnish you with\nknowledge; the sword cuts asunder whatever you strike, and the shoes are\nof extraordinary swiftness: these may be serviceable to you, and\ntherefore pray take them with all my heart.\" Jack takes them, thanking\nhis uncle, and follows his master.\n\nJack, having overtaken his master, soon after arrived at the lady's\nhouse, who, finding the king's son to be a suitor, prepared a banquet\nfor him, and, being ended, she wiped his mouth with her napkin, saying,\n\"You must show this to-morrow, or else lose your head,\" and she put it\nsafely into her bosom.\n\nThe king's son went to bed sorrowful, but Jack's cap of knowledge\ninstructed him how to obtain it. In the middle of the night she called\nupon her familiar spirit to carry her to Lucifer. Jack put on his coat\nof darkness, with his shoes of swiftness, and was there as soon as her;\nby reason of his coat they could not see him. When she entered the place\nshe gave the handkerchief to old Lucifer, who laid it carefully upon a\nshelf, from whence Jack brought it to his master, who showed it to the\nlady the next day.\n\nThe next night she saluted the king's son, telling him he must show her\nto-morrow morning the lips that she kissed last this night, or lose his\nhead. \"Ah,\" replied he, \"if you kiss none but mine I will.\" \"It is\nneither here nor there,\" said she; \"if you do not, death's your\nportion.\" At midnight she went as before, and was angry with Lucifer for\nletting the handkerchief go. \"But now,\" said she, \"I will be too hard\nfor the king's son, for I will kiss thee, and he's to show thy lips.\"\nJack, standing near him with his sword of sharpness, cut off the devil's\nhead, and brought it under his invisible coat to his master, who was in\nbed, and laid it at the end of his bolster. In the morning, when the\nlady came up, he pulled it out by the horns, and showed her the devil's\nlips, which she kissed last.\n\nThus, having answered her twice, the enchantment broke, and the evil\nspirits left her, at which time she appeared a beautiful and virtuous\ncreature. They were married next morning in great pomp and solemnity,\nand returned with a numerous company to the court of King Arthur, where\nthey were received with the greatest joy and loud acclamations Jack,\nfor the many and great exploits he had done for the good of his country,\nwas made one of the Knights of the Round Table.\n\nJack, having resolved not to be idle, humbly requested of the king to\nfit him with a horse and money to travel, \"for,\" said he, \"there are\nmany giants alive in the remotest parts of the kingdom, to the\nunspeakable damage of your Majesty's liege subjects; wherefore, may it\nplease your Majesty to give me encouragement to rid the realm of these\ncruel and devouring monsters of nature, root and branch.\"\n\nNow, when the king had heard these noble propositions, and had duly\nconsidered the mischievous practices of these blood-thirsty giants, he\nimmediately granted what Jack requested; and, being furnished with all\nnecessaries for his progress, he took his leave of King Arthur, taking\nwith him the cap of knowledge, sword of sharpness, shoes of swiftness,\nand likewise the invisible coat, the better to perfect and complete the\ndangerous enterprises that lay before him.\n\nJack travelled over vast hills and mountains, when, at the end of three\ndays, he came to a large and spacious wood, where, on a sudden, he heard\ndreadful shrieks and cries, whereupon, casting his eyes around, he\nbeheld a giant rushing along with a worthy knight and his fair lady,\nwhom he held by the hair of their heads in his hands, wherefore he\nalighted from off his horse, and then, putting on his invisible coat,\nunder which he carried his sword of sharpness, he came up to the giant,\nand, though he made several passes at him, yet he could not reach the\ntrunk of his body, by reason of his height, though it wounded his thighs\nin several places; but at length, giving him a swinging stroke, he cut\noff both his legs just below the knee, so that the trunk of his body\nmade the ground shake with the force of his fall, at which the knight\nand the lady escaped; then had Jack time to talk with him, and, setting\nhis foot upon his neck, said, \"You savage and barbarous wretch, I am\ncome to execute upon you the just reward of your villainy.\" And with\nthat, running him through and through, the monster sent forth a hideous\ngroan, and yielded up his life, while the noble knight and virtuous lady\nwere joyful spectators of his sudden downfall and their own deliverance.\n\nThis being done, the courteous knight and his fair lady returned him\nhearty thanks for their deliverance, but also invited him home, there to\nrefresh himself after the dreadful encounter, as likewise to receive\nample reward, by way of gratitude for his good service. \"No,\" quoth\nJack, \"I cannot be at ease till I find out the den which was this\nmonster's habitation.\" The knight hearing this waxed sorrowful, and\nreplied, \"Noble stranger, it is too much to run a second risk, for this\nmonster lived in a den under yon mountain, with a brother of his, more\nfierce than himself; therefore, if you go thither and perish in the\nattempt, it would be the heartbreaking of both me and my lady. Let me\npersuade you to go with us.\" \"Nay,\" quoth Jack, \"if there were twenty I\nwould shed the last drop of my blood before one of them should escape my\nfury; but when I have finished this task I will come and pay my respects\nto you.\" So, taking directions to their habitation, he mounted his\nhorse, and went in pursuit of the deceased giant's brother.\n\nJack had not rode past a mile before he came in sight of the cave's\nmouth, at the entrance of which he beheld the other giant sitting upon a\nhuge block of timber, with a knotty iron club by his side, waiting for\nhis brother's return with his cruel prey. His goggle eyes appeared like\nterrible flames of fire, his countenance grim and ugly, and his cheeks\nappeared like a couple of large flitches of bacon; the bristles of his\nhead seemed to resemble rods of iron wire; his locks hung down on his\nbroad shoulders like curled snakes.\n\nJack alighted from his horse, and put him into a thicket; then, with his\ncoat of darkness, he came near to behold his figure, and said, \"Oh! are\nyou here? It will not be long before I take you by the beard.\" The giant\ncould not see him by reason of his invisible coat: so Jack, fetching a\nblow at his head with his sword of sharpness, and missing somewhat of\nhis aim, cut off the giant's nose, whose nostrils were wider than a pair\nof jack-boots. The pain was terrible; he put up his hand to feel for his\nnose, and when he could not find it he raved and roared louder than\nthunder; and, though he turned up his large eyes, he could not see from\nwhence the blow came; nevertheless, he took up his iron-headed club, and\nbegan to thrash about him like one stark mad. \"Nay,\" quoth Jack, \"if you\nbe for that sport, then I will despatch you quickly, for fear of an\naccidental blow.\" Then Jack makes no more to do, but runs his sword up\nto the hilt in the giant's body, where he left it sticking for a while,\nand stood himself laughing to see the giant caper and dance with the\nsword in him, crying out he should die with the pain in his body. Thus\ndid the giant continue raving for an hour or more, and at length fell\ndown dead.\n\nThis being done, Jack cut off both the giants' heads, and sent them to\nKing Arthur by a waggoner, whom he hired for the purpose.\n\nJack, having despatched these two monsters, resolved to enter the cave\nin search of the giant's treasure. He passed through many turnings and\nwindings, which led him at length to a room paved with freestone, at the\nupper end of which was a boiling cauldron; on the right hand stood a\nlarge table, where the giants used to dine; then he came to an iron\ngate, where was a window secured with bars of iron, through which he\nlooked, and beheld a vast many captives, who, seeing Jack, said, \"Young\nman, art thou come to be one among us in this miserable den?\" \"Ay,\"\nquoth Jack, \"I hope I shall not tarry long here; but what is the meaning\nof your captivity?\" \"Why,\" said one of them, \"we have been taken by the\ngiants, and here we are kept till they have a feast, then the fattest\namong us is slaughtered for their devouring jaws. It is not long since\nthey took three of us for the purpose.\" \"Say you so,\" quoth Jack; \"well,\nI have given them both such a dinner that it will be long enough ere\nthey need any more. You may believe me, for I have slain them both; and\nas for their monstrous heads, I sent them to the court of King Arthur as\ntrophies of my victory.\" Then, leading them to the aforesaid room, he\nplaced them round the table, and set before them two quarters of beef,\nalso bread and wine, so that they feasted there very plentifully. Supper\nbeing ended, they searched the giant's coffers, where, finding a vast\nstore of gold, Jack divided it equally among them. They all returned him\nhearty thanks for their treasure and miraculous deliverance. That night\nthey went to their rest, and in the morning they arose and departed to\ntheir respective places of abode, and Jack to the knight's house.\n\nJack mounted his horse, and by his direction he came to the knight's\nhouse, where he was received with all demonstrations of joy by the\nknight and his lady, who, in respect to Jack, prepared a feast, which\nlasted for many days, inviting all the gentry in the adjacent parts. He\npresented him with a ring of gold, on which was engraven by curious art\nthe picture of the giant dragging a distressed knight and his fair lady\nby the hair of the head.\n\nNow, there were five aged gentlemen who were fathers to some of those\nmiserable captives whom Jack had set at liberty, who immediately paid\nhim their respects. The smiling bowl was then pledged to the victorious\nconqueror, but during their mirth a dark cloud appeared, which daunted\nthe assembly.\n\nA messenger brought the dismal tidings of the approach of one\nThunderful, a huge giant with two heads, who, having heard of the death\nof his kinsmen, the above-named giants, was come in search of Jack, to\nbe revenged on him for their terrible downfall, and was within a mile of\nthe knight's seat, the people flying before him from their habitations.\nWhen they had related this, Jack said, \"Let him come. I am prepared with\na tool to pick his teeth, and you, gentlemen and ladies, walk forth into\nthe garden, and you shall be the joyful spectators of this monstrous\ngiant's death.\" To which they consented, wishing him good fortune in\nthat great enterprise.\n\nThe situation of the knight's house was in a small island, encompassed\nwith a vast moat, thirty feet deep and twenty feet wide, over which lay\na draw-bridge. Wherefore Jack employed two men to cut it on both sides,\nand then, dressing himself in his coat of darkness, putting on his shoes\nof swiftness, he marched against the giant, with his sword of sharpness\nready drawn. When he came close up, the giant could not see Jack, by\nreason of his invisible coat; nevertheless, he was sensible of\napproaching danger, which made him cry out--\n\n\"Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman; be he living or be\nhe dead, I'll grind his bones to mix my bread.\"\n\n\"Sayest thou so,\" quoth Jack; \"then thou art a monstrous miller. But\nhow? If I serve thee as I did the two giants of late, I should spoil\nyour practice for the future.\"\n\nAt which time the giant spoke with a voice as loud as thunder--\"Art thou\nthat villain which destroyed my kinsmen? Then I will tear thee with my\nteeth, and suck thy blood. I will grind thy bones to powder.\"\n\n\"Catch me first,\" quoth Jack; and he threw off his coat of darkness that\nthe giant might see him, and then ran from him as through fear, the\ngiant, with glaring eyes, following after like a walking castle, making\nthe earth to shake at every step. Jack led him a dance three or four\ntimes round the moat, that the ladies and gentlemen might take a full\nview of this huge monster who followed Jack, but could not overtake him\nby reason of his shoes of swiftness. At length Jack took over the\nbridge, the giant, with full speed, pursuing after him, with his iron\nclub; but, coming to the middle of the draw-bridge, the weight of his\nbody, and the most dreadful steps which he took, it broke down, and he\ntumbled into the water, where he rolled and wallowed like a whale. Jack,\nstanding at the side of the moat, laughed at the giant, and said, \"You\nwould grind my bones to powder? You have water; pray, where is your\nmill?\" The giant foamed to hear him scoffing at that rate, though he\nplunged from place to place in the moat. Jack at length got a cart rope,\nand cast it over the giant's two heads with a slip knot, and, by the\nhelp of horses, he dragged him out again, nearly strangled. Before he\nwould let him loose, he cut off both his heads with his sword of\nsharpness, in the view of all the assembly of knights and ladies, who\ngave a shout when they saw the giant despatched. Then, before he would\neither eat or drink, he sent these heads also to the court of King\nArthur.\n\nAfter some mirth and pastime, Jack, taking leave of the noble knights\nand ladies, set off in search of new adventures. Through many woods and\ngroves he passed, till, coming to the foot of a high mountain late at\nnight, he knocked at the door of a lonesome house, at which a man, with\na head as white as snow, arose and let him in.\n\n\"Father,\" said Jack, \"have you any entertainment for a benighted\ntraveller that has lost his way?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the old man; \"if thou wilt accept of such as my poor cottage\nafford, thou shalt be welcome.\" Jack returned him thanks. They sat\ntogether, and the old man began to discourse as follows--\"Son, I am\nsensible thou art the great conqueror of giants, and it is in thy power\nto free this place; for there is an enchanted castle kept by a monstrous\ngiant, named Galligantus, who, by the help of a conjurer, betrays\nknights and ladies into this strong castle, where, by magic art, they\nare transformed into sundry shapes; but, above all, I lament the\nmisfortune of a duke's daughter, whom they fetched from her father's\ngarden, carrying her through the air in a charion drawn by fiery\ndragons. She was immediately transformed into the shape of a white hind.\nMany knights have endeavoured to break the enchantment for her\ndeliverance, yet none could accomplish it, by reason of two griffins,\nwho are at the entrance of the castle gate, who destroy them as they see\nthem; but you, being furnished with an invisible coat, may pass them\nundiscovered, where, on the gates of the castle, you will find engraven\nin characters the means the enchantment may be broken.\"\n\nJack gave him his hand, with a promise that in the morning he would\nbreak the enchantment and free the lady.\n\nHaving refreshed themselves with a morsel of meat, they laid down to\nrest. In the morning Jack arose, and put on his invisible coat, his cap\nof knowledge, and shoes of swiftness, and so prepared himself for the\ndangerous enterprise.\n\nNow, when he had ascended the mountain he discovered the two fiery\ngriffins. He passed between them, for they could not see him by reason\nof his invisible coat. When he had got beyond them, he found upon the\ngate a golden trumpet, hung in a chain of fine silver, under which were\nengraven--\n\n    \"Whoever shall this trumpet blow\n    Shall soon the giant overthrow,\n    And break the black enchantment straight,\n    So all shall be in happy state.\"\n\nJack had no sooner read this inscription, but he blew the trumpet, at\nwhich the foundation of the castle trembled, and the giant, with the\nconjurer, were tearing their hair, knowing their wicked reign was at an\nend. At which time the giant was stooping to take up his club; Jack, at\none blow with his sword of sharpness, cut off his head. The conjurer\nmounted into the air, and was carried away by a whirlwind. Thus was the\nenchantment broken, and every knight and lady who had been transformed\ninto birds and beasts returned to their proper shapes, and the castle,\nthough it seemed to be of a vast strength and bigness, vanished away\nlike a cloud, whereon universal joy appeared among the released knights\nand ladies. This being done, the head of Galligantus was conveyed to the\ncourt of King Arthur the next day. Having refreshed the knights and\nladies at the old man's habitation, Jack set forward to the court of\nKing Arthur with those knights and ladies whom he delivered.\n\nComing to his Majesty, his fame rung through the court, and; as a reward\nof his services, the duke bestowed his daughter in marriage to Jack. The\nwhole kingdom was filled with joy at the wedding; after which the king\nbestowed upon him a noble house, with a large estate, where he and his\nlady passed their days in great joy and happiness.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n              SIMPLE SIMON'S MISFORTUNES\n\n                       AND HIS\n\n                 WIFE MARGERY'S CRUELTY\n\n                     WHICH BEGAN\n\n    _The very next Morning after their Marriage._\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _An Account of Simon's Wedding, and his Wife's\n        Behaviour the Day after their Marriage._\n\n\nSimon, the subject of our ensuing discourse, was a man very unfortunate\nmany years after marriage, not only by crosses, but by the cruelty of\nMargery his severe wife--his wedding day being the best he saw in seven\nyears after, for then he had all his friends about him. Rough Ralph the\nFiddler and Will the Piper were appointed to make him and his guests\nmerry.\n\nSinging, dancing, and good feasting attended the day, which being ended,\nthis loving couple went to bed, where their friends all left them.\n\nBut the morning was ushered in with a mighty storm, only because Simon\nput on his roast-meat clothes.\n\nThus she began the matter--\"Why, how now, pray, and what is to-day, that\nyou must put on your holiday clothes, with a pye-crust to you? What do\nyou intend to do, say you, tell me quickly.\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Simon, \"but to walk abroad with you, sweet wife, as it\nis common on the day after marriage.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Margery, \"this must not, nor shall not be. It is very\nwell known that I have brought you a very considerable fortune--forty\nshillings in money, and a good milch cow, four fat wethers, with half a\ndozen ewes and lambs; likewise, geese, hens, and turkeys; also a sow and\npigs, with other moveables, worth more than any of your crook-back\ngeneration is able to give you. And do you think you shall lead as lewd\na life now as you did before you married; but if you do, then say my\nname is not Margery. Now I've got you in the bands of matrimony I will\nmake you know what it is to be married; therefore, to work you rascal,\nand take care that what I brought is not consumed; for, if you do not,\nwhat will become of your wife and children?\"\n\nNow, Simon looked liked one that had neither sense nor reason, but stood\namazed, as if there had been a whole army of Billingsgate shrews.\nHowever, recollecting what he had heard about scolds, he muttered to\nhimself, \"Udswagers, I think I have got a woeful one now.\"\n\n\"What is that you say, sirrah?\" said she.\n\n\"Nothing, dear wife, but what you say I allow to be true.\"\n\nAnd so, taking his bag and bottle, he went forward to his daily labour:\nbut, coming towards the lower end of the town, he chanced to meet old\nJobson, a cobbler, a merry blade, who loved a cup of good ale.\n\n\"What! honest Simon,\" said Jobson, \"I am glad to see you, for since our\nlast meeting I hear you are married, and now I wish thee much\nhappiness.\"\n\nNow, old Jobson, being a merry fellow, invited Simon to take a flaggon\nof the best liquor that the next ale-house would afford, and there to\ndrink to Margery's health.\n\nBeing merry in discourse, talking of the tricks and pranks they had\nplayed when bachelors.\n\nJobson, taking up the flaggon in his hand, said, \"Come, here's to thee,\nhonest Simon, and I wish thee better luck than Randal, thy old\nfather-in-law, had with his wife; for she was such a scold that happy\nwere they who lived out of the clamour of her noise. But without doubt\nthy dear wife may be of a milder spirit, and have more of her father's\nmeekness than her mother's fury in her; but come, Simon, here's to thee\nand to thy dearly-beloved Margery.\"\n\nCries Simon, \"If she was present how merry we should be; but, I fear, on\nthe wrong side of the mouth.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Jobson, \"I vow I long to see her; and I verily believe she\nwould be as glad to see me. I dare to say she will prove a very good\nwife.\"\n\n\"Truly, neighbour Jobson, I don't know; but if I have no better ending\nthan beginning, I wish I had ended my life at the plough tail.\"\n\nNo sooner were these words out of his mouth but in comes Margery, with\nher gossips, whom Simon wished to see, forsooth. He wished her much joy,\nbut Margery, in a woeful fury, snatched up Jobson's oaken staff from off\nthe table, and gave poor Simon such a clank upon the noddle which made\nthe blood spin out, saying, \"Is this your work, sirrah?\" Jobson, seeing\nso sudden an alteration, was affrighted, not knowing how to escape.\n\nShe then turned about to the left, saying, \"Thou rogue and rascal, it is\nyou that ruins all the good women's husbands in the town; therefore you\nshall not go unrewarded,\" giving him such strokes over his back and\nshoulders as caused poor Jobson to lay in bed almost a fortnight.\n\nSimple Simon all this while not having any power to run away, but stood\nlike one half frighted out of his wits, and trembling before his bride,\nwith his hat in one hand and the flaggon in the other, begging her that\nshe would be patient, and he would never offend her any more.\n\nBut she gave him a frown, and bid him begone about his business, which\nhe immediately did. So then Margery and her friendly gossips had the\nwhole apartment to themselves, where they sat till they were all as\ndrunk as fish-women.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _She drags him up into the Chimney, and hangs him\n                      a Smoke-drying._\n\n\nAt night, when he returned to his own home, Margery, by the help of a\nnap she had taken, was a little restored to her senses again; but yet,\nnot forgetting the fault he had committed, she invented a new kind of\npunishment; for, having a wide chimney, wherein they used to dry bacon,\nshe, taking him at a disadvantage, tied him hand and foot, bound him in\na basket, and, by the help of a rope, drew him up to the beam in the\nchimney, and left him there to take his lodging the second night after\nhis wedding, with a small, smoky fire under him, so that in the morning\nhe almost reezed like to a red-herring. But in length of time he\nprevailed with his wife to show him so much pity as to let him down\nagain.\n\n    \"In love release me from this horrid smoke,\n    And I will never more my wife provoke;\n    She then did yield to let him down from thence,\n    And said, 'Be careful of the next offence.'\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _Simon loses a Sack of Corn that he was carrying\n               to the Mill to have ground._\n\n\nNot long after she sent him to the mill with a sack of corn, and bade\nhim remember what she said to him, or else he should not go unpunished.\n\n\"Well,\" said Simon, \"I hope I shall never offend thee any more.\"\n\nFor this promise she gave him a mess of milk, and when he had eaten all\nup he took the sack of corn upon his back, and went towards the mill,\nwhich stood about two miles from the house.\n\nWhen Simon was got about half way he began to be weary, which was the\nforerunner of a great misfortune, for a man riding by, leading an empty\nhorse towards the mill, perceived Simon weary of his load, told him he\nmight lay it upon his spare horse, to which Simon willingly consented.\n\nThe man riding on, Simon could not pace with him, so desired him to\nleave it for him at the mill. He promised he would, but never intended\nto perform his promise.\n\nSimon, thus loosing his sack of corn, knew not how to go home, or show\nhis face before his wife, until he got two or three of his neighbours to\ngo with him to beg for his pardon, and to help to make up the difference\nbetween them, which they did after a long parley. So that for this crime\nhe passed unpunished.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _Simon goes to the Market with his Basket of Eggs,\n           breaks them all by the Way, and is set in the Stocks._\n\n\nBut, although he was not punished according to the severe correction he\nhad formerly received, yet he did not escape the continual railings in\nhis ears for several days after, ever and anon she crying out, \"You sot,\nwill you never be wise?\"\n\n\"Yes, sweet Margery, dear Margery, I hope I shall some time.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says she, \"I'll now try you once more. Here, take this basket of\neggs, and go to the market and sell them, but be sure don't break them\nnor spend the money, for if you do, sorrow will be your sops, and you\nmay expect to feel the weight of my hands more than ever you have done\nbefore.\"\n\nAt which harsh words he trembled much, and looked as white as his dear\nMargery's shift, for fear that he should miscarry with his basket of\neggs, for he well knew that his wife would be sure to be as good as her\npromise.\n\nThen Simon, taking his basket of eggs, trudged away to the market, but\nwas no sooner come there than, seeing a vast crowd of people, he was\nresolved to see what was the matter.\n\nWhen he came to the place he found that two butter-women had fallen out,\nand to that degree that they had taken one another by the que of their\nhair, and their fillets all flying about their ears; which Simon seeing\nhe was moved with compassion, and ran to part them, but in vain; poor\nSimon was still unfortunate, and came off with a great loss, for one of\nthe women pushed him down and broke his eggs.\n\nPoor Simon was now almost distracted to see the ground, but whether it\nwas the fear of the anger of his wife, or whether it was courage, thus\nit was, Simon ran in amongst them, and resolved to be revenged on them\nfor the loss of his eggs.\n\nWhilst they were in the fray the constable came, and, supposing them\ndrunk, gave orders that they should all be set in the stocks\ntogether--Simon in the middle, and the women on each side--which was\naccordingly done; but they rang such a peal in Simon's ears that he was\ndeaf for a fortnight after.\n\nBeing released, he ventured home again, dreading the impending storm;\nbut this was his comfort in the midst of all his hard fortune, that,\nthough he might feel the force of her blows, still he would be deaf to\nher noise, being stunned by the women in the stocks.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _Simon's Wife Cudgels him severely\n           for losing his Money._\n\n\nAt length Simon coming home he met with his beloved wife Margery, who,\nseeing his dejected countenance, she began to mistrust something, and\nso, taking hold of his arm, she hauled him in for examination.\n\nWhen Simon saw this he could not forbear weeping, and began to tell her\na dismal story concerning the stocks; but she wanted the money for the\neggs; but Simon, being deaf, could not hear her, which made her fall on\nhim with such fury that he was obliged to run up stairs and jump out of\nthe chamber window, which, when she saw, she followed him down the town,\nwith a hundred boys and girls after them, Simon still crying out to the\npeople, \"You may see what it is to be married.\"\n\nAnd her tone was, \"You rascal; the money for my eggs,\" often giving him\na crack on the crown.\n\nAt length it was his good hap to get away from her.\n\nNight drawing on, and Simon not having one penny to help himself, was\nforced to make the best of a bad bargain, resolved for to lodge that\nnight in a hog-stye amongst the swine.\n\nAnd so the next morning, in the presence of some of his dearest friends,\nhe begged pardon on his knees of his sweet, kind, and loving wife,\nMargery.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VI.\n\n    _Simon loses his Wife's Pail, and at the same time burns\n                   out the Bottom of her Kettle._\n\n\nMargery, being reconciled again on his humble petition, she charged him\nto be careful for the future that he did not offend her as he had done\nbefore, which he promised to observe. \"Then, Simon,\" said she, \"I am\nthis day to go to a gossiping, and shall leave you at home to make a\nfire and hang on the kettle.\"\n\n\"Yes, sweet wife.\"\n\nNow, Margery was no sooner gone but he made a fire and hung on the\nkettle. Then, taking the pail, he goes to the well to fetch some water,\nwhen there came an ox running down, and a butcher and his boy close\nafter him, who called out to Simon to stop the ox, which he endeavoured\nto do, but the ox, giving them the slip, Simon ran in pursuit of him for\nthe space of three or four miles, and, having secured him, the butcher\ngave him many thanks for his kindness.\n\nSo Simon returned back to the well, but his pail was lost, and he made\nsad lamentation for it, inquiring about it, but could not hear nothing\nof it; and as the old proverb says, \"One sorrow never comes alone,\" for\non going in doors the fire was flaming, and the bottom of the kettle was\nquite burnt out.\n\nAt the sight of this he fell to wringing his hands and crying out with a\nlamentable tone; \"None was so unfortunate as poor Simon. What shall I\nsay to my wife when she comes? First, I have lost my pail; and, second,\nI have let the bottom of the kettle be burnt out. Here will be a sad\nreckoning for these misfortunes.\"\n\nJust in the middle of these lamentations in comes Margery, who, having\nheard him, came armed and fitted for the fray.\n\n\"How now, sirrah,\" said she, \"has this been the care you promised of my\nbusiness?\" and with that let fly an earthen pot at his head, which\ncaused the blood to run about his ears.\n\nThis done, she took him by the collar, and cuft him about the kitchen at\na most terrible rate, Simon crying for mercy, but cruel Margery still\nincreased his misery, till the neighbours came, persuading Margery to\nbe satisfied, \"for,\" said they, \"it was but a mischance.\"\n\n\"A rascal,\" said she, \"for I can set him about nothing, but thus he\nserves me.\"\n\nThey still interceded for Simon, until at length she excused him.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VII.\n\n    _Simon's Wife sends him to buy Soap, but, going over a\n          Bridge, he lets his Money fall into the River;\n        and of a Ragman's running away with his Clothes._\n\n\nMargery, calling Simon to her, said, \"Will you never be careful in\nanything I set you about?\"\n\n\"Yes, dear wife, I hope I shall.\"\n\n\"Why, then,\" said she, \"take this money. I have tied it in a clout, that\nyou may not lose it. Therefore, go you to the market, and make all the\nhaste you can, and get me some soap.\"\n\n\"I will, sweet wife,\" quoth he, and with that he went as fast as he\ncould.\n\nNow, on his way he was to pass over a bridge, and, coming to the middle\nof it, a flight of crows flew over his head, which so frightened him\nthat he let fall his money.\n\nThis was the beginning of a new sorrow. He stood awhile, and knew not\nwhat course to take. At length he resolved to pull off his clothes and\njump into the water and search for it. Now, as he was searching for his\nmoney, an old ragman came by, and put his clothes into a bag.\n\nSimon, seeing this, pursued him, but in vain, and was forced to return\nhome naked, which his wife seeing fell in a most horrible sweat, and,\ntaking the dog-whip, she so jerked poor Simon about, making him to dance\nthe canaries for two hours, till he cried out, \"Good wife, forbear!\" but\nshe cried out, \"You rascal! where is my money, and your clothes?\" Thus\nshe continued until she was tired, and he heartily begged her pardon.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                  THE ADVENTURES\n\n                         OF\n\n                BAMFYLDE MOORE CAREW,\n\n           WHO WAS FOR MORE THAN FORTY YEARS\n\n                  KING OF THE BEGGARS.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _Carew's Boyhood. And how he became a Gipsy._\n\n\nMr. Bamfylde Moore Carew was the son of a clergyman near Tiverton, in\nDevonshire, and born in 1693. He was tall and majestic, his limbs strong\nand well-proportioned, his features regular, and his countenance open\nand ingenious, bearing the resemblance of a good-natured mind. At twelve\nyears old he was put to Tiverton school, where he soon got a\nconsiderable knowledge of the Latin and Greek tongues, so as to be\nfitted for the University, that in due time he might be fitted for the\nchurch, for which his father designed him; but here a new exercise\nengaged his attention, namely, that of hunting, in which he soon made a\nprodigious progress. The Tiverton scholars had command of a fine cry of\nhounds, which gave Carew a frequent opportunity of exercising his\nbeloved employment, and getting acquainted with John Martin, Thomas\nColeman, and John Escott, young gentlemen of the best rank and fortune.\nOne day a farmer came to the school and complained of a deer, with a\ncollar round its neck, that he had seen running through his grounds, and\nhad done him much damage, desiring them to hunt it down and kill it.\nThey, wishing for no better sport, on the next day put the old farmer's\nrequest into execution, in doing of which they did much damage to the\nneighbouring grounds, whose owners, together with Colonel Nutcombe, to\nwhom the deer belonged, came and complained to the schoolmaster of the\ninjuries they had suffered by his scholars; they were very severely\nreprimanded and hard threatened for the same. The resentment of the\npresent reproof and the fear of future chastisement made them abscond\nfrom the school; and going into a brick ale-house, about half a mile from\nTiverton, there they accidentally fell in company with some gipsies, who\nwere then feasting and carousing. This company consisted of seventeen,\nwho were met on purpose for festivity and jollity; which, by plenty of\nmeat, fowl, flowing cups of beer, cider, etc., they seemed to enjoy to\ntheir hearts' content. In short, the freedom, mirth, and pleasure that\nappeared among them, invited our youngsters to enlist into their\ncompany; which, on communicating to the gipsies, they would not believe\nthem, as thinking they jested; but on tarrying with them all night and\ncontinuing in the same mind next morning, they at length thought them\nserious and encouraged them; and, after going through the requisite\nceremonials and administering to them the proper oath, they admitted\nthem into their number.\n\nThe reader will, no doubt, wonder to hear of the ceremonials and oaths\namong gipsies and beggars, but that will cease on being informed, that\nthese people are subject to a form of government and laws peculiar to\nthemselves, and pay due obedience to one who is styled their king; to\nwhich honour Carew in a short time arrived, after having by many acts\nproved himself worthy of it. The substance of them is this--Strong love\nand mutual regard for each member in particular, and the whole community\nin general; which, being taught them in their infancy, grows up with\nthem, prevents oppression, frauds, and over-reaching one another, which\nis common among other people, and tends to the very worst of evils.\nThis happiness and temper of mind so wrought on Carew as to occasion the\nstrongest attachment to them for forty years, refusing very large offers\nthat had been made to him to quit their society.\n\nBeing thus initiated into the ancient society of gipsies, who take their\nname from Egypt--a place well known to abound in learning, and the\ninhabitants of which country travel about from place to place to\ncommunicate knowledge to mankind--Carew did not long continue in it\nbefore he was consulted in important matters; particularly Madam\nMusgrove, of Monkton, near Taunton, hearing of his fame, sent for him to\nconsult him in an affair of difficulty. When he was come, she informed\nhim that she suspected a large quantity of money was buried somewhere\nabout her house, and if he would acquaint her with the particular place,\nshe would handsomly reward him. Carew consulted the secrets of his art\non this occasion, and, after a long study, he informed the lady that\nunder a laurel tree in the garden lay the treasure she sought for; but\nthat she must not seek it till such a day and hour. The lady rewarded\nhim with twenty guineas; but, whether Carew mistook his calculations or\nthe lady mistook her lucky hour, we cannot tell, but truth obliges us to\nsay, the lady having dug below the root of the laurel tree she could not\nfind the treasure.\n\nWhen he was further initiated, he was consulted in important matters and\nmet with better success; generally giving satisfaction by his wise and\nsagacious answers. In the meantime his parents sorrowed after him, as\none that was no more, having advertised him in all the public papers and\nsent messengers after him to almost every part of the kingdom; till\nabout a year and a half afterwards, when Carew, hearing of their grief,\nand being struck with tenderness thereat, repaired to his father's\nhouse. He was so disguised they did not know him, but when they did\ntheir joy was beyond expressing, tenderly embracing him, bedewing his\ncheeks with tears and kisses, and all his friends and neighbours showed\nevery demonstration of joy at his return. His parents did everything to\nrender home agreeable to him; but the uncommon pleasure he had enjoyed\nin the community he had left, their simplicity, freedom, sincerity,\nmirth, and frequent change of habitation, and the secret presages of the\nhonour he has since arrived at, sickened and palled all other\ndiversions, and at last prevailed over his filial duty, for one day,\nwithout taking leave of his friends or parents, he went back to them\nagain, where he was heartily welcomed, both to his own and their\nsatisfaction, they being glad to regain one who was likely to become so\nuseful a member of their community.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _Carew's First Adventure in his New Profession._\n\n\nCarew being again initiated among them, at the first general assembly of\nthe gipsies, took the oaths of allegiance to their sovereign, by whom he\nwas soon sent out on a cruise against their enemies. Carew now set his\nwits to work how to succeed: so equipping himself with an old pair of\ntrousers, a piece of a jacket, just enough to cover his nakedness,\nstockings full of holes, and an old cap, he forgot both friends and\nfamily and became nothing more or less than an unfortunate shipwrecked\nseaman. In this, his first excursion, he gained much credit, artfully\nimitating passes and certificates that were necessary for him to travel\nunmolested. After a month's travel he happened to meet with his old\nschool-fellow Coleman, who had once left the gipsies' society, but, for\nthe same reason as himself, returned to them again. Great was their joy\nat meeting, and they agreed to travel some time together; so entering\nExeter, they, in one day, raised a contribution of several pounds.\n\nHaving obtained all he could from this stratagem, he then became a\nplain, honest farmer, whose grounds had been overflowed, and cattle\ndrowned; his dejected countenance and mournful tale, together with a\nwife and seven helpless infants being partakers of his misfortunes,\ngained him both pity and profit.\n\nHaving obtained a considerable booty by these two stratagems, he\nreturned to his companions, where he was received with great applause;\nand, as a mark of their respect, seated him next the king. He soon\nbecame a great man in the profession and confined not himself from doing\ngood to others, when it did not infringe upon the community of which he\nwas a member.\n\nHis next stratagem was to become a madman; so stripping himself quite\nnaked, he threw a blanket over him and then he was, \"Poor mad Tom, whom\nthe foul fiend had led through fire and through flame; through fire and\nwhirlpool, over bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his\npillow, and halters in his pew; set ratsbane for his porridge, and made\nhim proud at heart to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inch\nbridges; to curse his own shadow for a traitor; who eats the\nswimming-frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water-newt;\nthat in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, swallows the\nold rat and ditch dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool:\n\n    And mice and rats, and such like gear,\n    Have been Tom's food for seven long year.\n\n\"O do de, do de, do de! bless thee! from whirlwind, star-blasting, and\ntaking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There I\ncould have him now--and there!--and there!--and here again!--and\nthere!--Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind--Tom's a\ncold!--who gives anything to poor Tom?\"\n\nIn this character, with such like expressions, he entered the houses of\nboth small and great, claiming kindred to them, and committing all kinds\nof frantic actions, such as beating himself, offering to eat coals of\nfire, running against the wall, and tearing to pieces whatever garments\nwere given to him to cover his nakedness; by which means he raised\nconsiderable contributions.\n\nHe never was more happy than when he was engaged in some adventure;\ntherefore he was always very diligent to inquire when any accident\nhappened, especially fire, to which he would immediately repair, and,\ngetting information of the causes, names, trades, and circumstances of\nthe unhappy sufferers, he would assume one of them, and burning some\npart of his clothes, by way of demonstration, run to some place distant,\npass for one of them, gain credit and get much profit. Under this\ncharacter he had once the boldness to address a justice, who was the\nterror and professed enemy to all the gipsies, yet he so well managed\nthe affair, that in a long examination he made him believe he was an\nhonest miller, whose house, mill and substance had been consumed by\nfire, occasioned by the negligence of the apprentice; and accordingly,\ngot a bountiful sum for his relief, the justice not in the least\nsuspecting a defraud.\n\nHe had such wonderful facility in every character he assumed, that he\neven deceived those who thought themselves so well acquainted with him,\nthat it was impossible for him to impose on them.\n\nComing one day to Squire Portman's house at Blandford, in the character\nof a rat-catcher, with a hair cap on his head, a buff girdle about his\nwaste, a little box by his side, and a tame rat in his hand, he goes\nboldly up to the house, where he had been well known before, and meeting\nthe squire, Parson Bryant, and one Mr. Pleydell, of Milbourn, and some\nother gentlemen, he asked them if they had any rats to kill. \"Do you\nunderstand the business well?\" says the squire. \"Yes, an please your\nhonour,\" replied Carew, \"I have been a rat-catcher for many years, and I\nhave been employed in his majesty's yards and ships.\" \"Well,\" says the\nsquire, \"go in and get some vituals, and after dinner we will try your\nabilities.\" He was accordingly called into the parlour, where were a\nlarge company of gentlemen and ladies. \"Well, honest rat-catcher,\" says\nthe squire, \"can you lay any scheme to kill the rats without hurting my\ndogs?\" \"Yes, yes,\" cries Carew, \"I can lay it where even the rats cannot\nclimb to reach it.\" \"What countryman are you?\" \"A Devonshire man, an\nplease your honour.\" \"What is your name?\" Here our hero began to\nperceive that he was discovered, by the smilings and whisperings of\nseveral gentlemen, and he very composedly answered, \"My name is Bamfylde\nMoore Carew.\" This occasioned much mirth, and Mr. Pleydell expressed\nextraordinary pleasure. He had often wished to see him but never had.\n\"Yes, you have,\" replied Carew, \"and given me a suit of clothes. Do you\nnot remember meeting a poor wretch one day at your stable door, with a\nstocking round his head, an old mantle over his shoulders, without\nshirt, stockings, or scarce any shoes, who told you he was a poor\nunfortunate man, cast away upon the coast, with sixteen more of the crew\nwho were all drowned; you, believing the story, generously relieved me\nwith a guinea and a good suit of clothes.\" \"I well remember it,\" said\nMr. Pleydell, \"but, on this discovery, it is impossible to deceive me so\nagain, come in whatever shape you will.\" The company blamed him for thus\nboasting, and secretly prevailed upon Carew to put his art in practice\nto convince him of the fallacy thereof: to which he agreed, and in a few\ndays after appointing the company present to be at Mr. Pleydell's house,\nhe put the following scheme into execution.\n\nHe shaved himself closely, and clothed himself in an old woman's\napparel, with a high-crowned hat, and a large dowdy under his chin;\nthen, taking three children from among his fraternity, he tied two on\nhis back and one under his arm. Thus accoutred, he comes to Mr.\nPleydell's door, and pinching one of the brats, set it a roaring; this\ngave the alarm to the dogs, who came out with open mouths, so that the\nwhole company was soon alarmed. Out came the maid saying, \"Carry away\nthe children, good woman, they disturb the ladies.\" \"God bless their\nladyships,\" said Carew, \"I am the poor unfortunate grandmother of these\nhelpless infants, whose mother and all they had were burnt at the\ndreadful fire at Kirkton, and hope the good ladies, for Heaven's sake,\nwill bestow something on the poor, famishing, starving infants.\" In goes\nthe maid with this affecting story to the ladies, while Carew keeps\npinching the children to make them cry, and the maid soon returned with\nhalf-a-crown and some good broth, which he thankfully received, and went\ninto the court-yard to sit down and sup them, as perceiving the gentlemen\nwere not at home. He had not long been there before they came, when one\nof them accosted him thus--\"Where do you come from, old woman?\" \"From\nKirkton, please your honours,\" said he, \"where the poor unhappy mother\nof these helpless infants was burnt in the flames and all she had\nconsumed.\" \"There has been more money collected for Kirkton than ever\nKirkton was worth,\" said the gentleman. However, they gave the supposed\nold grandmother a shilling, commiserating the hard case of her and her\npoor helpless infants, which he thankfully received, pretending to go\naway; but the gentlemen were hardly got into the house, before their\nears were suddenly saluted with a \"tantivy, tantivy,\" and a \"halloo\" to\nthe dogs; on which they turned about, supposing it to be some other\nsportsmen; but seeing nobody, they imagined it to be Carew, in the\ndisguise of the old Kirkton grandmother; so bidding the servants fetch\nhim back, he was brought into the parlour among them all, and confessed\nhimself to be the famous Mr. Bamfylde Moore Carew, to the astonishmet\nand mirth of them all; who well rewarded him for the diversion he had\nafforded them.\n\nIn like manner he raised a contribution twice in one day of Mr. Jones,\nnear Bristol. In the morning, with a sooty face, leather apron, a\ndejected countenance, and a woollen cap, he was generously relieved as\nan unfortunate blacksmith, whose all had been consumed by fire. In the\nafternoon he exchanged his legs for crutches, and, with a dejected\ncountenance, pale face, and every sign of pain, he became a disabled\ntinner, incapable of maintaining a wife and seven small children, by the\ndamps and hardships he had suffered in the mines; and so well acted his\npart, that the tinner got as well relieved in the afternoon as the\nblacksmith in the morning.\n\nThese successful stratagems gained him high applause and honour in the\ncommunity of gipsies. He soon became the favourite of their king, who\nwas very old and decrepid, and had always some honourable mark of\ndistinction assigned him at their assemblies.\n\nBeing one morning near the seat of his good friend, Sir William\nCourtney, he was resolved to pay him three visits that day. He therefore\nputs on a parcel of rags, and goes to him with a piteous, mean, dismal\ncountenance, and deplorable tale, and got half-a-crown from him, telling\nhim he had met with great misfortunes at sea. At noon he puts on a\nleather apron scorched with fire, and with a dejected countenance goes\nto him again, and was relieved as an unfortunate shoemaker, who had been\nburnt out of his house and all he had. In the afternoon he goes again in\ntrimmed clothes, and desiring admittance to Sir William, with a modest\ngrace and submissive eloquence, he repeats his misfortunes, as the\nsupercargo of a vessel which had been cast away and his whole effects\nlost.\n\nSir William, seeing his genteel appearance and behaviour, treated him\nwith respect and gave him a guinea at his departure. There were several\ngentlemen at dinner with Sir William at that time, none of whom had any\nknowledge of him except the Rev. Mr. Richards, who did not discover him\ntill he was gone; upon which a servant was despatched to desire him to\ncome back, which he did; and when he entered the room they were very\nmerry with him and requested him to give an account how he got his fine\nclothes, and of his stratagems, with the success of them. He asked Sir\nWilliam if he had not given half-a-crown in the morning to a beggar, and\nabout noon relieved a poor unfortunate shoemaker. \"I did,\" said Sir\nWilliam. \"Behold him before you,\" said Carew, \"in this fine embroidered\ncoat, as a broken merchant.\" The company would not believe him; so to\nconvince them, he re-assumed those characters again, to their no small\nmirth and satisfaction.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _Carew made King of the Beggars._\n\n\nOn the death of the king of the gipsies, named Clause Patch, our hero\nwas a candidate to succeed him, and exhibited to the electors a long\nlist of bold and ingenious stratagems which he had executed, and made so\ngraceful and majestic an appearance in his person, that he had a\nconsiderable majority of voices, though there were ten candidates for\nthe same honour; on which he was declared duly elected and hailed by the\nwhole assembly--King of the Gipsies. The public register of their acts\nbeing immediately committed to his care, and homage done him by all the\nassembly, the whole concluded by rejoicings.\n\nThough Mr. Carew was now privileged, by the dignity of his office, from\ngoing on any cruise, and was provided with everything necessary by the\njoint contribution of the community, yet he did not give himself up to\nindolence. Our hero, though a king, was as active in his stratagems as\never, and ready to encounter any difficulty which seemed to promise\nsuccess.\n\nMr. Carew being in the town of South Molton, in Devonshire, and having\nbeen ill-used by an officer there called the bellman, resolved on the\nfollowing stratagem by way of revenge. It was at that time reported that\na gentleman of the town, lately buried, walked nightly in the\nchurchyard; and as the bellman was obliged by his nightly duty to go\nthrough it just at the very hour of one, Mr. Carew repaired thither a\nlittle before the time, and stripping in his shirt, lay down upon the\ngentleman's grave. Soon after, hearing the bellman approach, he raised\nhimself up with a solemn slowness, which the bellman beholding, by the\nglimmerings of the moon through a dark cloud, was terribly frightened,\nso took to his heels and ran away. In his fright he looked behind him,\nand seeing the ghost following him, dropped his bell and ran the faster;\nwhich Carew seized on as a trophy, and forbore any further pursuit. The\nbellman did not stop till he reached home, where he obstinately affirmed\nhe had seen the gentleman's ghost, who had taken away the bell, which\ngreatly alarmed the whole town.\n\nComing to the seat of Squire Rhodes, in Devonshire, and knowing he had\nlately married a Dorsetshire lady, he thought proper to become a\nDorsetshire man of Lyme, the place of the lady's nativity; and meeting\nthe squire and his bride, he gave them to understand that he was lost in\na vessel belonging to Lyme, Captain Courtney, commander. The squire and\nhis lady gave him half-a-crown each, for country sake, and entertained\nhim at their house.\n\nOur hero, exercising his profession at Milbury, where the squire's\nfather lived, and to whom the son was come on a visit, Mr. Carew made\napplication to him, and knocking at the door, on its being opened, saw\nthe young squire sitting alone, whom Mr. Rhodes interrupted by saying he\n\"was twice in one day imposed on by that rogue Carew, of whose gang you\nmay likely be: besides, I do not live here, but am a stranger.\" In the\nmeantime comes the old squire, with a bottle of wine in his hand, giving\nCarew a wink to let him understand he knew him, and then very gravely\ninquired into the circumstances of his misfortunes, and also of the\naffairs and inhabitants of Dartmouth, from whence he pretended to have\nsailed several times, of all which he gave a full and particular\naccount, whereupon the old squire gave him half-a-crown, and the young\none the same; on which Carew and the old man burst into laughter, and\ndiscovered the whole affair, at which Squire Rhodes was a little\nchagrined at being imposed on a third time; but, on recollecting the\nexpertness of the performer, was well satisfied, and they spent the\nremainder of the day in mirth and jollity.\n\nAt Bristol he dressed himself like a poor mechanic, and then going out\ninto the streets, acted the religious madman, talking in a raving manner\nabout Messrs. Whitfield and Wesley, as though he was disordered in his\nmind by their preaching; calling in a furious manner, every step, upon\nthe Virgin Mary, Pontius Pilate, and Mary Magdalene, and acting every\npart of a man religiously mad; sometimes walking with his eyes fixed\nupon the ground, and then on a sudden he would break out in some\npassionate expressions about religion. This behaviour greatly excited\nthe curiosity and compassion of the people; some of them talked to him,\nbut he answered everything they said in a wild and incoherent manner;\nand, as compassion is generally the forerunner of charity, he was\nrelieved by most of them.\n\nNext morning he appeared in a morning gown, still acting the madman, and\naddressed himself to all the posts of the street, as if they were\nsaints, lifting up his hands and eyes to heaven, in a fervent but\ndistracted manner, and making use of so many extravagant gestures, that\nhe astonished the whole city. Going through Castle Street he met the\nRev. Mr. Bone, whom he accosted with his arms thrown around him, and\ninsisted, in a raving manner, he should tell him who was the father of\nthe morning star; which frightened the parson so much, that he took to\nhis heels and ran for it, Carew running after him, till the parson was\nobliged to take shelter in a house.\n\nHaving well recruited his pocket by this stratagem, he left Bristol\nnext day, and travelled towards Bath, acting the madman all the way till\nhe came to Bath: as soon as he came there, he inquired for Dr. Coney's,\nand being directed to his house, found two brother mendicants at the\ndoor. After they had waited some time, the servant brought out each of\nthem a halfpenny, for which his brother mendicants were very thankful.\nBut Carew gave his halfpenny to one of them; then knocking at the door,\nand the maid coming out again, \"Tell your master,\" says he, \"I am not a\nhalfpenny man, but that my name is Bamfylde Moore Carew, king of the\nmendicants;\" which being told, the doctor came out with one of his\ndaughters and gave him sixpence and a mug of drink, for which he\nreturned them thanks.\n\nMr. Carew happening to be in the city of Wells on a Sunday, was told the\nbishop was to preach that morning, on which he slipped on a black\nwaistcoat and morning gown, and ran out to meet the bishop as he was\nwalking in procession, and addressed himself to him as a poor unhappy\nman, whose misfortunes had turned his brains; which the bishop hearing\ngave him half-a-crown.\n\nIt was in Newcastle-upon-Tyne that he became enamoured with the daughter\nof Mr. Glady, an eminent apothecary and surgeon there. This young lady\nhad charms sufficient to captivate the heart of any man susceptible of\nlove; and they made so deep an impression upon him, that they wholly\neffaced every object which before had created any desire in him, and\nnever permitted any other to raise them afterwards; for, wonderful to\ntell, we have, after about thirty years' enjoyment, seen him lament her\noccasional absence, almost with tears, and talk of her with all the\nfondness of one who has been in love with her but three days. Our hero\ntried all love's persuasions with his fair one in an honourable way,\nand, as his person was very engaging and his appearance genteel, he did\nnot find her greatly averse to his proposals. As he was aware that his\nbeing of the community of gipsies might prejudice her against him,\nwithout examination, he passed with her for the mate of a collier's\nvessel, in which he was supported by Captain Lawn, in whose vessel they\nset sail; and the very winds being willing to favour these happy lovers,\nthey had an exceedingly quick passage to Dartmouth, where they landed.\nIn a few days they set out for Bath, where they lawfully solemnized\ntheir nuptials with great gaiety and splendour; and nobody at that time\ncould conjecture who they were, which was the cause of much speculation\nand false surmises.\n\nSome time after this he took his passage at Folkstone, in Kent, for\nBoulogne, in France, where he arrived safe and proceeded to Paris and\nother noted cities of that kingdom. His habit was now tolerably good,\nhis countenance grave, his behaviour sober and decent--pretending to be\na Roman Catholic, who had left England, his native country, out of an\nardent zeal for spending his days in the bosom of the Catholic church.\nThis story readily gained belief: his zeal was universally applauded,\nand handsome contributions made for him. But, at the time he was so\nzealous a Roman Catholic, with a little change of habit, he used to\naddress those English he heard of in any place, as a Protestant and\nshipwrecked seaman; and had the good fortune to meet with an English\nphysician at Paris, to whom he told this deplorable tale, who not only\nrelieved him very handsomely, but recommended him to that noble pattern\nof unexhausted benevolence, Mrs. Horner, who was then on her travels,\nfrom whom he received ten guineas, and from some other company with her\nfive more.\n\nIt was about this time he became acquainted with the Hon. Sir William\nWeem, in the following manner:--Being at Watchett, in Somersetshire,\nnear the seat of that gentleman, he resolved to pay him a visit. Putting\non, therefore, a jacket and a pair of trousers, he made the best of his\nway to Sir William's seat, and luckily met Sir William, Lord\nBolingbroke, and several other gentlemen and clergy, with some\ncommanders of vessels, walking in the park. Carew approached Sir William\nwith a great deal of seeming fearfulness and respect, and with much\nmodesty acquainted him he was a Silverton man, that he was the son of\none of his tenants named Moore--had been to Newfoundland, and in his\npassage homeward, the vessel was run down by a French ship in a fog, and\nonly he and two more were saved; but being put on board an Irish vessel,\nwere carried into Ireland, and from thence landed at Watchett. Sir\nWilliam hearing this, asked him a great many questions concerning the\ninhabitants of Silverton, who were most of them his own tenants, and of\nthe principal gentlemen in the neighbourhood; all whom Carew was well\nacquainted with and therefore gave satisfactory answers. Sir William at\nlast asked him if he knew Bickley, and if he knew the parson thereof.\nCarew replied that he knew him very well, and so indeed he might as it\nwas no other than his own father. Sir William then inquired what family\nhe had, and whether he had not a son named Bamfylde, and what became of\nhim. \"Your honour,\" replied he, \"means the beggar and dog-stealer--I\ndon't know what has become of him, but it is a wonder if he is not\nhanged by this time.\" \"No, I hope not,\" replied Sir William, \"I should\nbe glad, for his family's sake, to see him at my house.\" Having\nsatisfactorily answered many other questions, Sir William generously\nrelieved him with a guinea, and Lord Bolingbroke followed his example;\nthe other gentlemen and clergy contributed according to their different\nranks. Sir William then ordered him to go to his house and tell the\nbutler to entertain him, which he accordingly did, and set himself down\nwith great comfort.\n\nHaving heard that young Lord Clifford, his first cousin (who had just\nreturned from his travels abroad), was at his seat at Callington, about\nfour miles from Bridgewater, he resolved to pay him a visit. In his way\nthither resided parson Carson, who, being one whom nature had made up in\na hurry without a heart, Mr. Carew had never been able to obtain\nanything off him, even under the most moving appearance of distress, but\na small cup of drink. Stopping now in his way, he found the parson was\ngone to Lord Clifford's; but, being saluted at the door by a fine black\nspaniel, with almost as much crustiness as he would have been had his\nmaster been at home, he thought himself under no stronger obligation of\nobserving the strict laws of honour, than the parson did of hospitality;\nand therefore soon charmed the crossness of the spaniel and made him\nfollow him to Bridgewater.\n\nHaving secured the spaniel and passed the night merrily at Bridgewater,\nhe set out the next morning for Lord Clifford's, and in his way called\nupon the parson again, who very crustily told him he had lost his dog,\nand supposed some of his gang had stolen him; to which Mr. Carew very\ncalmly replied, \"What was he to his dog, or what was his dog to him? if\nhe would make him drink it was well, for he was very dry.\" At last, with\nthe use of much rhetoric, he got a cup of small drink; then, taking\nleave of him, he went to the Red Lion, in the same parish, where he\nstayed some time. In the meantime, down ran the parson to my Lord\nClifford's, to acquaint him that Mr. Carew was in the parish and to\nadvise him to take care of his dogs; so that Mr. Carew, coming down\nimmediately after, found a servant with one dog in his arms, and another\nwith another, here one stood whistling and another calling, and both my\nlord and his brother were running about to seek after their favourites.\n\nMr. Carew asked my lord what was the meaning of this hurry, and if his\ndogs were cripples, because he saw several carried in the servants'\narms, adding, he hoped his lordship did not imagine he was come to steal\nany of them. Upon which his lordship told him, that parson Carson had\nadvised him to be careful, as he had lost his spaniel but the day\nbefore. \"It may be so,\" replied he, \"the parson knows but little of me,\nor the laws of our community, if he is ignorant that with us ingratitude\nis unknown, and the property of our friends always sacred.\" His\nlordship, hearing this, entertained him very handsomely, and both\nhimself and his brother made him a present.\n\nOn his return home, he reflected how idly he had spent the prime of\nlife; and recovering from a severe illness, he came to a resolution of\nresigning the Egyptian sceptre. The assembly, finding him determined,\nreluctantly acquiesced, and he departed amidst the applause and sighs of\nhis subjects.\n\nOur adventurer, finding the air of the town not rightly to agree with\nhim, and the death of some of his relations rendering his circumstances\nquite easy, he retired to the western parts, to a neat purchase he had\nmade, and there he ended his days, beloved and esteemed by all; leaving\nhis daughter (his wife dying some time before him) a genteel fortune,\nwho was married to a neighbouring young gentleman.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                         THE\n\n                   COMICAL SAYINGS\n\n                         OF\n\n                   PADDY FROM CORK\n\n                      WITH HIS\n\n               COAT BUTTONED BEHIND\n\n   Being an Elegant Conference between English Tom and\n                      Irish Teague;\n              WITH PADDY'S CATECHISM,\n    And his Supplication when a Mountain Sailor.\n\n\n\n\n    PART I.\n\n\n_Tom._ GOOD morrow, sir. This is a very cold day.\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, yesternight was a very cold morning.\n\n_Tom._ Well, brother traveller, of what nation art thou?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I came from my own kingdom.\n\n_Tom._ Why, I know that; but where is thy kingdom?\n\n_Teag._ Allelieu, dear honey, don't you know Cork in Ireland?\n\n_Tom._ You fool, Cork is not a kingdom, but a city.\n\n_Teag._ Then, dear shoy, I'm sure it is in a kingdom.\n\n_Tom._ And what is the reason you have come and left your own dear\ncountry?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, by Shaint Patrick, they have got such comical\nlaws in our country that they will put a man to death in perfect health;\nso, to be free and plain with you, neighbour, I was obliged to come\naway, for I did not choose to stay among such a people that can hang a\npoor man when they please, if he either steals, robs, or kills a man.\n\n_Tom._ Ay, but I take you to be more of an honest man than to steal,\nrob, or kill a man.\n\n_Teag._ Honest, I am perfectly honest. When I was but a child my mother\nwould have trusted me with a house full of mill-stones.\n\n_Tom._ What was the matter? Was you guilty of nothing?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I did harm to nobody, but fancied an old\ngentleman's gun, and afterwards made it my own.\n\n_Tom._ Very well, boy, and did you keep it so?\n\n_Teag._ Keep it? I would have kept it with all my heart while I lived.\nDeath itself could not have parted us; but the old rogue, the gentleman,\nbeing a justice of peace himself, had me tried for the rights of it, and\nhow I came by it, and so took it again.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you clear yourself without punishment?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I told him a parcel of lies, but they would not\nbelieve me, for I said that I got it from my father when it was a little\npistol, and I had kept it till it had grown a gun, and was designed to\nuse it well until it had grown a big cannon, and then sell it to the\nmilitary. They all fell a-laughing at me as I had been a fool, and bade\nme go home to my mother and clean the potatoes.\n\n_Tom._ How long is it since you left your own country?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I do not mind whether it be a fortnight or\nfour months; but I think myself it is a long time. They tell me my\nmother is dead since, but I won't believe it until I get a letter from\nher own hand, for she is a very good scholar, suppose she can neither\nwrite nor read.\n\n_Tom._ Was you ever in England before?\n\n_Teag._ Ay, that I was, and in Scotland too.\n\n_Tom._ And were they kind to you when you were in Scotland?\n\n_Teag._ They were that kind that they kicked me, and the reason was\nbecause I would not pay the whole of the liquor that was drunk in the\ncompany, though the landlord and his two sons got mouthful about of it\nall, and I told them it was a trick upon travellers first to drink his\nliquor, and then to kick him out of doors.\n\n_Tom._ I really think they have used you badly, but could you not beat\nthem.\n\n_Teag._ That's what I did, beat them all to their own contentment; but\nthere was one of them stronger than me who would have killed me if the\nother two had not pulled me away, and I had to run for it till his\npassion was over. Then they made us drink and gree again; we shook\nhands, and made a bargain never to harm other more; but this bargain did\nnot last long, for, as I was kissing his mouth, by Shaint Patrick I bit\nhis nose, which caused him to beat me very sore for my pains.\n\n_Tom._ Well, Paddy, what calling was you when in Scotland?\n\n_Teag._ Why, sir, I was no business at all, but what do you call the\ngreen tree that's like a whin bush, people makes a thing to sweep the\nhouse of it!\n\n_Tom._ O, yes, Paddy, they call it the broom.\n\n_Teag._ Ay, ay, you have it, I was a gentleman's broom, only waited on\nhis horses, and washed the dishes for the cook; and when my master rode\na-hunting I went behind with the dogs.\n\n_Tom._ O, yes, Paddy, it was the groom you mean. But I fancy you was\ncook's mate or kitchen boy.\n\n_Teag._ No, no, it was the broom that I was; and if I had stayed there\ntill now I might have been advanced as high as my master, for the ladies\nloved me so well that they laughed at me.\n\n_Tom._ They might admire you for a fool.\n\n_Teag._ What, sir, do you imagine that I am not a fool? No, no; my\nmaster asked counsel of me in all his matters, and I always give him a\nreason for everything. I told him one morning that he went too soon to\nthe hunting, that the hares were not got out of their beds, and neither\nthe barking of horns nor the blowing of dogs could make them rise, it\nwas such a cold morning that night; so they all ran away that we\ncatched, when we did not see them. Then my master told my words to\nseveral gentlemen that were at dinner, and they admired me for want of\njudgment, for my head was all of a lump, adding they were going\na-fishing along with my master and me in the afternoon; but I told them\nthat it was a very unhappy thing for any man to go a-hunting in the\nmorning and a-fishing in the afternoon. They would try it, but they had\nbetter stayed at home, for it came on a most terrible fine night of\nsouth-west rain, and even down wind; so the fishes got all below the\nwater to keep themselves dry from the shower, and we catched them all,\nbut got none.\n\n_Tom._ How long did you serve that gentleman, Paddy?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was with him six weeks, and he beat me seven\ntimes.\n\n_Tom._ For what did he beat you? Was it for your madness and foolish\ntricks?\n\n_Teag._ Dear shoy, it was not, but for being too inquisitive, and going\nsharply about business. First, he sent me to the post office to inquire\nif there were any letters for him; so when I came there, said I, \"Is\nthere any letters here for my master to-day?\" Then they asked who was my\nmaster. \"Sir,\" said I, \"it is very bad manners in you to ask any\ngentleman's name.\" At this they laughed, mocking me, and said they could\ngive me none if I would not tell my master's name; so I returned to my\nmaster and told him the impudence of the fellow, who would give me no\nletters unless I would tell him your name, master. My master at this\nflew in a passion, and kicked me down stairs, saying, \"Go, you rogue,\nand tell my name directly. How can the gentleman give letters when he\nknows not who is asking for them?\" Then I returned and told my master's\nname; so they told me there was one for him. I looked at it, being very\nsmall, and, asking the price of it, they told me it was sixpence.\n\"Sixpence,\" said I; \"will you take sixpence for that small thing, and\nselling bigger ones for twopence. Faith, I am not such a big fool. You\nthink to cheat me now. This is not a conscionable way of dealing. I'll\nacquaint my master with it first.\" So I came and told my master how they\nwould have sixpence for his letter, and was selling bigger ones for\ntwopence. He took up my head and broke his cane with it, calling me a\nthousand fools, saying the man was more just than to take anything but\nthe right for it; but I was sure there was none of them right, buying\nand selling such dear pennyworths. So I came again for my dear sixpence\nletter; and, as the fellow was shuffling through a parcel of them,\nseeking for it again, to make the best of a dear market, I picked up\ntwo, and home I comes to my master, thinking he would be pleased with\nwhat I had done. \"Now,\" said I, \"master, I think I have put a trick upon\nthem fellows for selling the letter to you.\" \"What have you done.\" \"I\nhave only taken other two letters. Here's one for you, master, to help\nyour dear penny-worth, and I'll send the other to my mother to see\nwhether she be dead or alive, for she's always angry I don't write to\nher.\" I had not the word well spoken till he got up his stick and beat\nme heartily for it, and sent me back to the fellows again with the two.\nI had a very ill will to go, but nobody would buy them of me.\n\n_Tom._ Well, Paddy, I think you was to blame, and your master, too, for\nhe ought to have taught you how to go about these affairs, and not beat\nyou so.\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I had too much wit of my own to be teached by\nhim, or anybody else. He began to instruct me after that how I should\nserve the table, and such nasty things as those. One night I took ben a\nroasted fish in one hand and a piece of bread in the other. The old\ngentleman was so saucy he would not take it, and told me I should bring\nnothing to him without a trencher below it. The same night, as he was\ngoing to bed, he called for his slippers; so I clapt a trencher below\nthe slippers, and ben I goes. No sooner did I enter the room than he\nthrew the trencher at me, which broke both my head and the trencher at\none blow. \"Now,\" said I, \"the evil one is in my master altogether, for\nwhat he commands at one time he countermands at another.\" Next day I\nwent with him to the market to buy a sack of potatoes. I went to the\npotato-monger, and asked what he took for the full of a Scot's cog. He\nweighed them in. He asked no less than fourpence. \"Fourpence!\" said I;\n\"if I were but in Dublin I could get the double of that for nothing, and\nin Cork and Linsale far cheaper. Them is but small things like pease,\"\nsaid I, \"but the potatoes in my country is as big as your head--fine\nmeat, all made up in blessed mouthfuls.\" The potato merchant called me a\nliar, and my master called me a fool; so the one fell a-kicking me and\nthe other a-cuffing me. I was in such bad bread among them that I called\nmyself both a liar and a fool to get off alive.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you carry your potatoes home from the market?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I carried the horse and them both, besides a\nbig loaf, and two bottles of wine; for I put the old horse on my back,\nand drove the potatoes before me; and when I tied the load to the loaf,\nI had nothing to do but to carry the bottle in my hand; but bad luck to\nthe way as I came home, for a nail out of the heel of my foot sprung a\nleak in my brogue, which pricked the very bone, bruised the skin, and\nmade my brogue itself to blood; and I having no hammer by me, but a\nhatchet I left at home, I had to beat down the nail with the bottom of\nthe bottle; and by the book, dear shoy, it broke to pieces, and\nscattered the wine in my mouth.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you recompense your master for the loss of the bottle\nof wine?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I had a mind to cheat him, and myself too, for\nI took the bottle to a blacksmith, and desired him to mend it, that I\nmight go to the butcher and get it full of bloody water; but he told me\nhe could not work in anything but steel and iron. \"Arra,\" said I, \"if I\nwere in my own kingdom, I could get a blacksmith who would make a bottle\nout of a stone, and a stone out of nothing.\"\n\n_Tom._ And how did you trick your master out of it?\n\n_Teag._ Why, the old rogue began to chide me, asking me what way I broke\nit. Then I held up the other as high as my head, and let it fall to the\nground on a stone, which broke it all to pieces likewise. \"Now,\" said I,\n\"master, that's the way,\" and he beat me very heartily until I had to\nshout out mercy and murder all at once.\n\n_Tom._ Why did you not leave him when he used you so badly?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I could never think to leave him while I could\neat; he gave me so many good victuals, and promised to prefer me to be\nhis own bone-picker. But, by Shaint Patrick, I had to run away with my\nlife or all was done, else I had lost my dear shoul and body too by him,\nand then come home much poorer than I went away. The great big bitch\ndog, which was my master's best beloved, put his head into a pitcher to\nlick out some milk, and when it was in he could not get it out; and I,\nto save the pitcher, got the hatchet and cut off the dog's head, and\nthen I had to break the pitcher to get out the head. By this I lost both\nthe dog and the pitcher. My master, hearing of this, swore he would cut\nthe head off me, for the poor dog was made useless, and could not see to\nfollow anybody for want of his eyes. And when I heard of this, I ran\naway with my own head, for, if I had wanted it, I had lost my eyes too,\nthen I would not have seen the road to Port Patrick, through Glen-nap;\nbut, by Shaint Patrick, I came home alive in spite of them.\n\n_Tom._ O, rarely done, Paddy; you behaved like a man! But what is the\nreason that you Irish people swear always by Saint Patrick?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, he was the best shaint in the world, the\nfather of all good people in the kingdom. He has a great kindness for an\nIrishman when he hears him calling on his name.\n\n_Tom._ But, Paddy, is Saint Patrick yet alive?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I don't know whether he be dead or alive, but\nit is a long time since they killed him. The people all turned heathens,\nbut he would not change his profession, and was going to run the country\nwith it, and for taking the gospel away to England, so the barbarous\nTories of Dublin cutted off his head; and he swimmed over to England,\nand carried his head in his teeth.\n\n\n    PART II.\n\n_Tom._ How did you get safe out of Scotland?\n\n_Tom._ By the law, dear honey. When I came to Port Patrick, and saw my\nown kingdom, I knew I was safe at home, but I was clean dead, and almost\ndrowned before I could get riding over the water; for I, with nine\npassengers more, leapt into a little young boat, having but four men\ndwelling in a little house in the one end of it, which was all thacked\nwith deals; and, after they had pulled up her tether-stick, and laid her\nlong halter over her mane, they pulled up a long sheet, like three pair\nof blankets, to the rigging of the house, and the wind blew in that,\nwhich made her gallop up one hill and down another, till I thought she\nwould have run to the world's end.\n\n_Tom._ Well, Paddy, and where did you go when you came to Ireland again?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, and where did I go but to my own dear cousin,\nwho was now become very rich by the death of the old buck, his father,\nwho died but a few weeks before I went over, and the parish had to bury\nhim out of pity; it did not cost him a farthing.\n\n_Tom._ And what entertainment did you get there?\n\n_Teag._ O, my dear shoy, I was kindly used as another gentleman, and\nwould have stayed there long enough, but when a man is poor his friends\nthink little of him. I told him I was going to see my brother Harry.\n\"Harry!\" said he, \"Harry is dead.\" \"Dead!\" said I, \"and who killed him?\"\n\"Why,\" said he, \"Death.\" \"Allelieu, dear honey, and where did he kill\nhim?\" said I. \"In his bed,\" says he. \"Arra, dear honey,\" said I, \"if he\nhad been upon Newry mountains, with his brogues on, and his broad sword\nby his side, all the deaths in Ireland had not have killed him. O that\nimpudent fellow Death. If he had let him alone till he died for want of\nbutter milk and potatoes, I am sure he had lived all the days of his\nlife.\"\n\n_Tom._ In all your travels when abroad, did you never see none of your\ncountrymen to inform you of what happened at home concerning your\nrelations?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I saw none but Tom Jack, one day in the street;\nbut when I came to him, it was not him, but one just like him.\n\n_Tom._ On what account did you go a-travelling?\n\n_Teag._ Why, a recruiting sergeant listed me to be a captain, and after\nall advanced me no higher than a soldier itself, but only he called me\nhis dear countryman recruit, for I did not know what the regiment was\nwhen I saw them. I thought they were all gentlemen's sons and\ncollegioners, when I saw a box like a Bible upon their bellies, until I\nsaw G for King George upon it, and R for God bless him. \"Ho, ho,\" said\nI, \"I shan't be long here.\"\n\n_Tom._ O, then, Paddy, you deserted from them?\n\n_Teag._ That's what I did, and ran to the mountains like a buck, and\never since when I see any soldiers I close my eyes, lest they should\nlook and know me.\n\n_Tom._ And what exploits did you when you was a soldier?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I killed a man.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you do that?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, when he dropt his sword I drew mine, and\nadvanced boldly to him, and then cutted off his foot.\n\n_Tom._ O, then, what a big fool was you, for you ought first to have cut\noff his head.\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, his head was cutted off before I engaged him,\nelse I had not done it.\n\n_Tom._ O, then, Paddy, you acted like a fool; but you are not such a big\nfool as many take you to be. You might pass for a philosopher.\n\n_Teag._ A fulusipher. My father was a fulusipher; besides, he was a man\nunder great authority by law, condemning the just and clearing the\nguilty. Do you know how they call the horse's mother?\n\n_Tom._ Why, they call her a mare.\n\n_Teag._ A mare, ay, very well minded. My father was a mare in Cork.\n\n_Tom._ And what riches was left you by the death of your mother?\n\n_Teag._ A bad luck to her own barren belly, for she lived in great\nplenty, and died in great poverty; devoured up all or she died, but two\nhens and a pockful of potatoes--a poor estate for an Irish gentleman, in\nfaith.\n\n_Tom._ And what did you make of the hens and potatoes? Did you sow them?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I sowed them in my belly, and sold the hens to\na cadger.\n\n_Tom._ What business did your mother follow after?\n\n_Teag._ Greatly in the merchant way.\n\n_Tom._ And what sort of goods did she deal in?\n\n_Teag._ Dear honey, she went through the country and sold small fishes,\nonions, and apples; bought hens and eggs, and then hatched them herself.\nI remember of a long-necked cock she had, of an oversea brood, that\nstood on the midden and picked all the stars out of the north-west, so\nthey were never so thick there since.\n\n_Tom._ Now, Paddy, that's a bull surpasses all; but is there none of\nthat cock's offspring alive now?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I don't think there are; but it is a pity but\nthat they had, for they would fly with people above the sea, which would\nput the use of ships out of fashion, and nobody would be drowned at all.\n\n_Tom._ Very well, Paddy, but in all your travels did you ever get a\nwife?\n\n_Teag._ Ay, that's what I did, and a wicked wife, too; and, my dear\nshoy, I can't tell whether she is gone to Purgatory or the parish of\nPig-trantrum, for she told me she should certainly die the first\nopportunity she could get, as this present evil world was not worth the\nwaiting on, so she would go and see what good things is in the world to\ncome; so when that old rover called the Fever came raging over the whole\nkingdom, she went away and died out of spite, leaving me nothing.\n\n_Tom._ O, but, Paddy, you ought to have gone to a doctor, and got some\npills and physic for her.\n\n_Teag._ By Shaint Patrick, I had as good a pill of my own as any doctor\nin the kingdom could give her.\n\n_Tom._ O, you fool, that is not what I mean. You ought to have brought\nthe doctor to feel her pulse, and let blood off her if he thought it\nneedful.\n\n_Teag._ Yes, that's what I did, for I ran to the doctor whenever she\ndied, and sought something for a dead or dying woman. The old foolish\ndevil was at his dinner, and began to ask me some stupid questions, and\nthen kicked me down stairs.\n\n_Tom._ And in what good order did you bury your wife when she died?\n\n_Teag._ O, my dear shoy, she was buried in all manner of pomp, pride,\nand splendour--a fine coffin, with cords in it; and within the coffin,\nalong with herself, she got a pair of new brogues, a penny candle, a\ngood, hard-headed old hammer, with an Irish sixpenny piece, to pay her\npassage at the gate, and what more could she look for?\n\n_Tom._ I really think you gave her enough along with her, but you ought\nto have cried for her, if it was no more but to be in the fashion.\n\n_Teag._ And why should I cry without sorrow, when we hired two criers to\ncry all the way before her to keep her in the fashion?\n\n_Tom._ And what do they cry before a dead woman?\n\n_Teag._ Why, they cry the common cry, or funeral lament, that is used in\nour Irish country.\n\n_Tom._ And what manner of cry is that, Paddy?\n\n_Teag._ Dear Tom, if you don't know I'll tell you. When any person dies\nthere is a number of criers goes before, saying, \"Luff, fuff, fou,\nallelieu, dear honey, what aileth thee to die! It was not for want of\ngood butter milk and potatoes.\"\n\n\n    PART III.\n\n_Tom._ Well, Paddy, and what did you do when your wife died?\n\n_Teag._ Dear honey, what would I do? Do you think I was such a big fool\nas to die too? I am sure if I had I would not have got fair play, when I\nam not so old yet as my father was when he died.\n\n_Tom._ No, Paddy, it is not that I mean. Was you sorry, or did you weep\nfor her?\n\n_Teag._ Weep for her! By Shaint Patrick, I would not weep, nor yet be\nsorry, suppose my own mother and all the women in Ireland had died seven\nyears before I was born.\n\n_Tom._ What did you do with your children when she died?\n\n_Teag._ Do you imagine I was such a big fool as bury my children alive\nalong with a dead woman? Arra, dear honey, we always commonly give\nnothing along with a dead person but an old shirt, a winding sheet, a\nbig hammer, with a long candle, and an Irish silver threepenny piece.\n\n_Tom._ Dear Paddy, and what do they make of all these things?\n\n_Teag._ Then, Tom, since you are so inquisitive, you must go ask the\npriest.\n\n_Tom._ What did you make of your children, Paddy?\n\n_Teag._ And what should I make of them? Do you imagine that I should\ngive them into the hands of the butchers, as they had been a parcel of\nyoung hogs. By Shaint Patrick, I had more unnaturality in me than to put\nthem in an hospital as others do.\n\n_Tom._ No; I suppose you would leave them with your friends?\n\n_Teag._ Ay, ay, a poor man's friends is sometimes worse than a professed\nenemy. The best friend I ever had in the world was my own pocket while\nmy money lasted; but I left two babes between the priest's door and the\nparish church, because I thought it was a place of mercy, and then set\nout for England in quest of another fortune.\n\n_Tom._ I fancy, Paddy, you came off with what they call a moonshine\nflitting.\n\n_Teag._ You lie like a thief now, for I did not see sun, moon, nor\nstars, all the night then, for I set out for Cork at the dawn of night,\nand I had travelled twenty miles all but twelve before gloaming in the\nmorning.\n\n_Tom._ And where did you go to take shipping?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I came to a country village called Dublin, as\nbig a city as any market town in all England, where I got myself aboard\nof a little young boat with a parcel of fellows and a long leather bag.\nI supposed them to be tinklers, until I asked what they carried in that\nleather sack. They told me it was the English mail they were going over\nwith. \"Then,\" said I, \"is the milns so scant in England that they must\nsend over their corn to Ireland to grind it?\" The comical, cunning\nfellows persuaded me it was so. Then I went down to a little house below\nthe water, hard by the rigg-back of the boat, and laid me down on their\nleather sack, where I slept myself almost to death with hunger. And,\ndear Tom, to tell you plainly, when I waked I did not know where I was,\nbut thought I was dead and buried, for I found nothing all round me but\nwooden walls and timber above.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you come to yourself to know where you was at last?\n\n_Teag._ By the law, dear shoy, I scratched my head in a hundred parts,\nand then set me down to think upon it; so I minded it was my wife that\nwas dead, and not me, and that I was alive in the young boat with the\nfellows that carries over the English meal from the Irish milns.\n\n_Tom._ Oh, then, Paddy, I am sure you was glad when you found yourself\nalive?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was very sure I was alive, but I did not\nthink to live long, so I thought it was better for me to steal and be\nhanged than to live all my days and die directly with hunger at last.\n\n_Tom._ Had you no meat nor money along with you?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I gave all the money to the captain of the\nhouse, or gudeman of the ship, to take me into the sea or over to\nEngland; and when I was like to eat my old brogues for want of victuals,\nI drew my hanger and cut the lock of the leather sack to get a lick of\ntheir meal; but, allelieu, dear shoy, I found neither meal nor seeds,\nbut a parcel of papers and letters--a poor morsel for a hungry man.\n\n_Tom._ Oh, then, Paddy, you laid down your honesty for nothing.\n\n_Teag._ Ay, ay, I was a great thief, but got nothing to steal.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you get victuals at last?\n\n_Teag._ Allelieu, dear honey, the thoughts of meat and drink, death and\nlife, and everything else, was out of mind. I had not a thought but one.\n\n_Tom._ And what was that, Paddy?\n\n_Teag._ To go down among the fishes and become a whale; then I would\nhave lived at ease all my days, having nothing to do but to drink salt\nwater and eat caller oysters.\n\n_Tom._ What was you like to be drowned again?\n\n_Teag._ Ay, ay, drowned, as cleanly drowned as a fish, for the sea blew\nvery loud, and the wind ran so high, that we were all cast safe on\nshore, and not one of us drowned at all.\n\n_Tom._ Where did you go when you came on shore?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was not able to go anywhere. You might cast\na knot on my belly, I was so hollow in the middle, so I went into a\ngentleman's house and told him the bad fortune I had of being drowned\nbetween Ireland and the foot of his garden, where we came all safe\nashore. But all the comfort I got from him was a word of truth.\n\n_Tom._ And what was that, Paddy?\n\n_Teag._ Why, he told me if I had been a good boy at home I needed not to\nhave gone so far to push my fortune with an empty pocket, to which I\nanswered, \"And what magnifies that so long as I am a good workman at no\ntrade at all?\"\n\n_Tom._ I suppose, Paddy, the gentleman would make you dine with him?\n\n_Teag._ I really thought I was when I saw them roasting and skinning so\nmany black chickens, which was nothing but a few dead crows they were\ngoing to eat. \"Ho ho,\" said I, \"them is but dry meat at the best. Of all\nthe fowls that flee commend me to the wing of an ox; but all that came\nto my share was a piece of boiled herring and a roasted potato. That was\nthe first bit of bread I ever ate in England.\"\n\n_Tom._ Well, Paddy, what business did you follow after in England when\nyou was so poor?\n\n_Teag._ What, sir, do you imagine I was poor when I came over on such an\nhonourable occasion as to list, and bring myself to no preferment at\nall? As I was an able-bodied man in the face, I thought to be made a\nbrigadeer, a grandedeer, or a fuzeleer, or even one of them blew-gowns\nthat holds the fierry stick to the bung-hole of the big cannons when\nthey let them off to fright away the French. I was as sure as no man\nalive ere I came from Cork, the least preferment I could get was to be\nriding master to a regiment of marines, or one of the black horse\nitself.\n\n_Tom._ And where in England was it you listed?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was going through a little country village.\nThe streets were very sore by reason of the hardness of my feet and\nlameness of my brogues, so I went but very slowly across the streets.\nFrom port to port is a pretty long way; but I, being weary, thought\nnothing of it. Then the people came all crowding to me as I had been a\nworld's wonder, or the wandering Jew, for the rain blew in my face and\nthe wind wetted all my belly, which caused me to turn the back of my\ncoat before and my buttons behind, which was a good safeguard to my\nbody, and the starvation of my naked body, for I had not a good shirt.\n\n_Tom._ I am sure, then, Paddy, they would take you for a fool?\n\n_Teag._ No, no, sir; they admired me for my wisdom, for I always turned\nmy buttons before when the wind blew behind; but I wondered how the\npeople knew my name and where I came from, for every one told another\nthat was Paddy from Cork. I suppose they knew my face by seeing my name\nin the newspapers.\n\n_Tom._ Well, Paddy, what business did you follow in the village?\n\n_Teag._ To be sure I was not idle, working at nothing at all, till a\ndecruiting sergeant came to town with two or three fellows along with\nhim, one beating on a fiddle, and another playing on a drum, tossing\ntheir airs through the streets, as if they were going to be married. I\nsaw them courting none but young men, so, to bring myself to no\npreferment at all, I listed for a soldier. I was too big for a\ngrandedeer.\n\n_Tom._ What listing money did you get, Paddy?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I got five thirteens and a pair of English\nbrogues. The guinea, and the rest of the gold, was sent to London to the\nKing, my master, to buy me new shirts, a cockade, and common treasing\nfor my hat. They made me swear the malicious oath of devilry against the\nking, the colours, and my captain, telling me if ever I desert and not\nrun away that I should be shot, and then whipt to death through the\nregiment.\n\n_Tom._ No, Paddy; it is first whipt, and then shot, you mean.\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, it is all one thing at last; but it is best to\nbe shot and then whipt--the cleverest way to die I'll warrant you.\n\n_Tom._ How much pay did you get, Paddy?\n\n_Teag._ Do you know the little tall fat sergeant that feed me to be a\nsoldier?\n\n_Tom._ And how should I know them I never saw, you fool?\n\n_Teag._ Dear shoy, you may know him whether you see him or not. His face\nis all bored in holes with the smallpox, his nose is the colour of a\nlobster-toe, and his chin like a well washen potato. He's the biggest\nrogue in our kingdom. You'll know him when you meet him again. The rogue\nheight me sixpence a day, kill or no kill; and when I laid Sunday and\nSaturday both together, and all the days in one day, I can't make a\npenny above fivepence of it.\n\n_Tom._ You should have kept an account, and asked your arrears once a\nmonth.\n\n_Teag._ That's what I did, but he reads a paternoster out of his prayer\nbook, wherein all our names are written; so much for a stop-hold to my\ngun, to bucklers, to a pair of comical harn-hose, with leather buttons\nfrom top to toe; and, worst of all, he would have no less than a penny a\nweek to a doctor. \"Arra,\" said I, \"I never had a sore finger, nor yet a\nsick toe, all the days of my life; then what have I to do with the\ndoctor, or the doctor to do with me.\"\n\n_Tom._ And did he make you pay all these things?\n\n_Teag._ Ay, ay, pay and better pay: he took me before his captain, who\nmade me pay all was in his book. \"Arra, master captain,\" said I, \"you\nare a comical sort of a fellow now; you might as well make me pay for my\ncoffin before I be dead, as to pay for a doctor before I be sick;\" to\nwhich he answered in a passion, \"Sir,\" said he, \"I have seen many a\nbetter man buried without a coffin;\" \"Sir,\" said I, \"then I'll have a\ncoffin, die when I will, if there be as much wood in all the world, or I\nshall not be buried at all.\" Then he called for the sergeant, saying,\n\"You, sir, go and buy that man's coffin, and put it in the store till he\ndie, and stop sixpence a week off his pay for it.\" \"No, no, sir,\" said\nI, \"I'll rather die without a coffin, and seek none when I'm dead, but\nif you are for clipping another sixpence off my pay, keep it all to\nyourself, and I'll swear all your oaths of agreement we had back again,\nand then seek soldiers where you will.\"\n\n_Tom._ O then, Paddy, how did you end the matter?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, by the nights of Shaint Patrick and help of my\nbrogues, I both ended it and mended it, for the next night before that,\nI gave them leg bail for my fidelity, and went about the country a\nfortune-teller, dumb and deaf as I was not.\n\n_Tom._ How old was you, Paddy, when you was a soldier last?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was three dozen all but two, and it is only\ntwo years since, so I want only four years of three dozen yet, and when,\nI live six dozen more, I'll be older than I am, I warrant you.\n\n_Tom._ O but, Paddy, by your account you are three dozen of years old\nalready:\n\n_Teag._ O what for a big fool are you now, Tom, when you count the years\nI lay sick; which time I count no time at all.\n\n\nPADDY'S NEW CATECHISM.\n\n_Tom._ Of all the opinions professed in religion tell me now, Paddy, of\nwhat profession art thou?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, my religion was too weighty a matter to carry\nout of mine own country: I was afraid that you English Presbyterians\nshould pluck it away from me.\n\n_Tom._ What, Paddy, was your religion such a load that you could not\ncarry it along with you?\n\n_Teag._ Yes, that it was, but I carried it always about with me when at\nhome, my sweet cross upon my dear breast, bound to my dear button hole.\n\n_Tom._ And what manner of worship did you perform by that?\n\n_Teag._ Why, I adored the cross, the pope, and the priest, cursed Oliver\nas black as crow, and swears myself a cut throat against all Protestants\nand church of Englandmen.\n\n_Tom._ And what is the matter but you would be a church of Englandmen,\nor a Scotch Presbyterian yourself, Paddy?\n\n_Teag._ Because it is unnatural for an Irishman: but had Shaint Patrick\nbeen a Presbyterian, I had been the same.\n\n_Tom._ And for what reason would you be a Presbyterian then, Paddy?\n\n_Teag._ Because they have liberty to eat flesh in lent, and everything\nthat's fit for the belly.\n\n_Tom._ What, Paddy, are you such a lover of flesh that you would change\nyour profession for it?\n\n_Teag._ O yes, that's what I would. I love flesh of all kinds, sheep's\nbeef, swine's mutton, hare's flesh, and hen's venison; but our religion\nis one of the hungriest in all the world, ah! but it makes my teeth to\nweep, and my stomach to water, when I see the Scotch Presbyterians, and\nEnglish churchmen, in time of lent, feeding upon bulls' and sheep's\nyoung children.\n\n_Tom._ What reward will you get when you are dead, for punishing your\nstomach so while you are alive?\n\n_Teag._ By Shaint Patrick I'll live like a king when I'm dead, for I\nwill neither pay for meat nor drink.\n\n_Tom._ What, Paddy, do you think that you are to come alive again when\nyou are dead?\n\n_Teag._ O yes, we that are true Roman Catholics will live a long time\nafter we are dead; when we die in love with the priests, and the good\npeople of our profession.\n\n_Tom._ And what assurance can your priest give you of that?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, our priest is a great shaint, a good shoul, who\ncan repeat a paternoster and Ave Maria, which will fright the very\nhorned devil himself, and make him run for it, until he be like to fall\nand break his neck.\n\n_Tom._ And what does he give you when you are dying? that makes you come\nalive again?\n\n_Teag._ Why, he writes a letter upon our tongues, sealed with a wafer,\ngives us a sacrament in our mouth, with a pardon, and direction in our\nright hand, who to call for at the ports of Purgatory.\n\n_Tom._ And what money design you to give the priest for your pardon?\n\n_Teag._ Dear shoy, I wish I had first the money he would take for it, I\nwould rather drink it myself, and then give him both my bill and my\nhonest word, payable in the other world.\n\n_Tom._ And how then are you to get a passage to the other world, or who\nis to carry you there?\n\n_Teag._ O, my dear shoy, Tom, you know nothing of the matter: for when I\ndie, they will bury my body, flesh, blood, dirt, and bones, only my skin\nwill be blown up full of wind and spirit, my dear shoul I mean; and then\nI will be blown over to the other world on the wings of the wind; and\nafter that I'll never be killed, hanged, nor drowned, nor yet die in my\nbed, for when any hits me a blow, my new body will play buff upon it\nlike a bladder.\n\n_Tom._ But what way will you go to the new world, or where is it?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, the priest knows where it is, but I do not, but\nthe Pope of Rome keeps the outer-port, Shaint Patrick the inner-port,\nand gives us a direction of the way to Shaint Patrick's palace, which\nstands on the head of the Stalian loch, where I'll have no more to do\nbut chap at the gate.\n\n_Tom._ What is the need for chapping at the gate, is it not always open?\n\n_Teag._ Dear shoy, you know little about it, for there is none can enter\nbut red hot Irishmen, for when I call Allelieu, dear honey, Shaint\nPatrick countenance your own dear countryman if you will, then the gates\nwill be opened directly for me, for he knows and loves an Irishman's\nvoice, as he loves his own heart.\n\n_Tom._ And what entertainment will you get when you are in?\n\n_Teag._ O, my dear, we are all kept there until a general review, which\nis commonly once in the week; and then we are drawn up like as many\nyoung recruits, and all the blackguard scoundrels is picked out of the\nranks, and one half of them is sent away to the Elysian fields, to curry\nthe weeds from among the potatoes, the other half of them to the River\nsticks, to catch fishes for Shaint Patrick's table, and them that is\nowing the priests any money is put in the black hole, and then given to\nthe hands of a great black bitch of a devil, which is keeped for a\nhangman, who whips them up and down the smoky dungeon every morning for\nsix months.\n\n_Tom._ Well, Paddy, are you to do as much justice to a Protestant as a\nPapist?\n\n_Teag._ O, my dear shoy, the most justice we are commanded to do a\nProtestant, is to whip and torment them until they confess themselves in\nthe Romish faith; and then cut their throats that they may die\nbelievers.\n\n_Tom._ What business do you follow after at present?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I am a mountain sailor and my supplication is\nas follows--\n\n\n    PADDY'S HUMBLE PETITION, OR SUPPLICATION.\n\nGood Christian people, behold me a man! who has com'd through a world of\nwonders, a hell full of hardships, dangers by sea, and dangers by land,\nand yet I am alive; you may see my hand crooked like a fowl's foot, and\nthat is no wonder at all considering my sufferings and sorrows. Oh! oh!\noh! good people. I was a man in my time who had plenty of the gold,\nplenty of the silver, plenty of the clothes, plenty of the butter, the\nbeer, beef, and biscuit. And now I have nothing: being taken by the\nTurks and relieved by the Spaniards, lay sixty-six days at the siege of\nGibraltar, and got nothing to eat but sea wreck and raw mussels; put to\nsea for our safety, cast upon the Barbarian coast, among the wicked\nAlgerines, where we were taken and tied with tugs and tadders, horse\nlocks, and cow chains: then cut and castcate yard and testicle quite\naway, put in your hand and feel how every female's made smooth by the\nsheer bone, where nothing is to be seen but what is natural. Then made\nour escape to the desart wild wilderness of Arabia; where we lived among\nthe wild asses, upon wind, sand, and sapless ling. Afterwards put to sea\nin the hull of an old house, where we were tossed above and below the\nclouds, being driven through thickets and groves by fierce, coarse,\ncalm, and contrary winds: at last, was cast upon Salisbury plains, where\nour vessel was dashed to pieces against a cabbage stock. And now my\nhumble petition to you, good Christian people, is for one hundred of\nyour beef, one hundred of your butter, another of your cheese, a cask of\nyour biscuit, a tun of your beer, a keg of your rum, with a pipe of your\nwine, a lump of your gold, a piece of your silver, a few of your\nhalf-pence or farthings, a waught of your butter milk, a pair of your\nold breeches, stockings, or shoes, even a chaw of tobacco for charity's\nsake.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                    THE HISTORY\n\n                         OF\n\n                DICK WHITTINGTON\n\n                        AND\n\n                     HIS CAT.\n\n\nIn the reign of the famous King Edward the Third, there was a little boy\ncalled Dick Whittington, whose father and mother died when he was very\nyoung, so that he remembered nothing at all about them, and was left a\ndirty little fellow running about a country village. As poor Dick was\nnot old enough to work, he was in a sorry plight. He got but little for\nhis dinner, and sometimes nothing at all for his breakfast, for the\npeople who lived in the village were very poor themselves, and could\nspare him little more than the parings of potatoes, and now and then a\nhard crust.\n\nFor all this, Dick Whittington was a very sharp boy, and was always\nlistening to what every one talked about.\n\nOn Sundays he never failed to get near the farmers, as they sat talking\non the tombstones in the churchyard before the parson was come; and once\na week you might be sure to see little Dick leaning against the\nsign-post of the village ale-house, where people stopped to drink as\nthey came from the next market town; and whenever the barber's shopdoor\nwas open Dick listened to all the news he told his customers.\n\nIn this manner Dick heard of the great city called London; how the\npeople who lived there were all fine gentlemen and ladies; that there\nwere singing and music in it all day long; and that the streets were\npaved all over with gold.\n\nOne day a waggoner, with a large waggon and eight horses, all with bells\nat their heads, drove through the village while Dick was lounging near\nhis favourite sign-post. The thought immediately struck him that it must\nbe going to the fine town of London; and taking courage he asked the\nwaggoner to let him walk with him by the side of the waggon. The man,\nhearing from poor Dick that he had no parents, and seeing by his ragged\ncondition that he could not be worse off, told him he might go if he\nwould; so they set off together.\n\nDick got safe to London; and so eager was he to see the fine streets,\npaved all over with gold that he ran as fast as his legs would carry him\nthrough several streets, expecting every moment to come to those that\nwere all paved with gold, for Dick had three times seen a guinea in his\nown village, and observed what a great deal of money it brought in\nchange; so he imagined he had only to take up some little bits of the\npavement to have as much money as he desired.\n\nPoor Dick ran till he was tired, and at last, finding it grow dark, and\nthat whichever way he turned he saw nothing but dirt instead of gold, he\nsat down in a dark corner and cried himself asleep.\n\nLittle Dick remained all night in the streets; and next morning, finding\nhimself very hungry, he got up and walked about, asking those he met to\ngive him a halfpenny to keep him from starving; but nobody stayed to\nanswer him, and only two or three gave him anything, so that the poor\nboy was soon in the most miserable condition. Being almost starved to\ndeath, he laid himself down at the door of one Mr. Fitzwarren, a great\nrich merchant. Here he was soon perceived by the cook-maid, who was an\nill-tempered creature, and happened just then to be very busy dressing\ndinner for her master and mistress; so, seeing poor Dick, she called\nout, \"What business have you there, you lazy rogue? There is nothing\nelse but beggars; if you do not take yourself away, we will see how you\nwill like a sousing of some dish water I have here that is hot enough to\nmake you caper.\"\n\nJust at this time Mr. Fitzwarren himself came home from the city to\ndinner, and, seeing a dirty, ragged boy lying at the door, said to him,\n\"Why do you lie there, my lad? You seem old enough to work. I fear you\nmust be somewhat idle.\" \"No, indeed, sir,\" says Whittington, \"that is\nnot true, for I would work with all my heart, but I know nobody, and I\nbelieve I am very sick for want of food.\"\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" answered Mr. Fitzwarren.\n\nDick now tried to rise, but was obliged to lie down again, being too\nweak to stand, for he had not eaten anything for three days, and was no\nlonger able to run about and beg a halfpenny of people in the streets;\nso the kind merchant ordered that he should be taken into his house, and\nhave a good dinner immediately, and that he should be kept to do what\ndirty work he was able for the cook.\n\nLittle Dick would have lived very happily in this worthy family had it\nnot been for the crabbed cook, who was finding fault and scolding him\nfrom morning till night, and was withal so fond of roasting and basting\nthat, when the spit was out of her hands, she would be at basting poor\nDick's head and shoulders with a broom, or anything else that happened\nto fall in her way, till at last her ill-usage of him was told to Miss\nAlice, Mr. Fitzwarren's daughter, who asked the ill-tempered creature if\nshe was not ashamed to use a little friendless boy so cruelly; and added\nshe would certainly be turned away if she did not treat him with more\nkindness.\n\nBut though the cook was so ill-tempered, Mr. Fitzwarren's footman was\nquite the contrary. He had lived in the family many years, was rather\nelderly, and had once a little boy of his own, who died when about the\nage of Whittington, so he could not but feel compassion for the poor\nboy.\n\nAs the footman was very fond of reading, he used generally in the\nevening to entertain his fellow-servants, when they had done their work,\nwith some amusing book. The pleasure our little hero took in hearing him\nmade him very much desire to learn to read too; so the next time the\ngood-natured footman gave him a halfpenny, he bought a hornbook with it;\nand, with a little of his help, Dick soon learned his letters, and\nafterwards to read.\n\nAbout this time Miss Alice was going out one morning for a walk, and the\nfootman happening to be out of the way, little Dick, who had received\nfrom Mr. Fitzwarren a neat suit of clothes to go to church on Sundays,\nwas ordered to put them on, and walk behind her. As they walked along,\nMiss Alice, seeing a poor woman with one child in her arms and another\nat her back, pulled out her purse, and gave her some money; and, as she\nwas putting it again into her pocket, she dropped it on the ground, and\nwalked on. Luckily Dick, who was behind, saw what she had done, picked\nit up, and immediately presented it to her.\n\nBesides the ill-humour of the cook, which now, however, was somewhat\nmended, Whittington had another hardship to get over. This was, that his\nbed, which was of flock, was placed in a garret, where there were so\nmany holes in the floor and walls that he never went to bed without\nbeing awakened in his sleep by great numbers of rats and mice, which\ngenerally ran over his face, and made such a noise that he sometimes\nthought the walls were tumbling down about him.\n\nOne day a gentleman who paid a visit to Mr. Fitzwarren happened to have\ndirtied his shoes, and begged they might be cleaned. Dick took great\npains to make them shine, and the gentleman gave him a penny. This he\nresolved to lay out in buying a cat, if possible; and the next day,\nseeing a little girl with a cat under her arm, he went up to her, and\nasked if she would let him have it for a penny, to which the girl\nreplied she would with all her heart, for her mother had more cats than\nshe could maintain, adding that the one she had was an excellent mouser.\n\nThis cat Whittington hid in the garret, always taking care to carry her\na part of his dinner; and in a short time he had no further disturbance\nfrom the rats and mice, but slept as sound as a top.\n\nSoon after this the merchant, who had a ship ready to sail, richly\nladen, and thinking it but just that all his servants should have some\nchance for good luck as well as himself, called them into the parlour,\nand asked them what commodity they chose to send.\n\nAll mentioned something they were willing to venture but poor\nWhittington, who, having no money nor goods, could send nothing at all,\nfor which reason he did not come in with the rest; but Miss Alice,\nguessing what was the matter, ordered him to be called, and offered to\nlay down some money for him from her own purse; but this, the merchant\nobserved, would not do, for it must be something of his own.\n\nUpon this, poor Dick said he had nothing but a cat, which he bought for\na penny that was given him.\n\n\"Fetch thy cat, boy,\" says Mr. Fitzwarren, \"and let her go.\"\n\nWhittington brought poor puss, and delivered her to the captain with\ntears in his eyes, for he said, \"He should now again be kept awake all\nnight by the rats and mice.\"\n\nAll the company laughed at the oddity of Whittington's adventure; and\nMiss Alice, who felt the greatest pity for the poor boy, gave him some\nhalf-pence to buy another cat.\n\nThis, and several other marks of kindness shown him by Miss Alice, made\nthe ill-tempered cook so jealous of the favours the poor boy received\nthat she began to use him more cruelly than ever, and constantly made\ngame of him for sending his cat to sea, asking him if he thought it\nwould sell for as much money as would buy a halter.\n\nAt last the unhappy little fellow, being unable to bear this treatment\nany longer, determined to run away from his place. He accordingly packed\nup the few things that belonged to him, and set out very early in the\nmorning on Allhallow Day, which is the first of November. He travelled\nas far as Holloway, and there sat down on a stone, which to this day is\ncalled Whittington's Stone, and began to consider what course he should\ntake.\n\nWhile he was thus thinking what he could do, Bow Bells, of which there\nwere then only six, began to ring, and it seemed to him that their\nsounds addressed him in this manner--\n\n    \"Turn again, Whittington,\n    Lord Mayor of London.\"\n\n\"Lord Mayor of London!\" says he to himself. \"Why, to be sure, I would\nbear anything to be Lord Mayor of London, and ride in a fine coach!\nWell, I will go back, and think nothing of all the cuffing and scolding\nof old Cicely if I am at last to be Lord Mayor of London.\"\n\nSo back went Dick, and got into the house, and set about his business\nbefore Cicely came down stairs.\n\nThe ship, with the cat on board, was long beaten about at sea, and was\nat last driven by contrary winds on a part of the coast of Barbary,\ninhabited by Moors that were unknown to the English.\n\nThe natives in this country came in great numbers, out of curiosity, to\nsee the people on board, who were all of so different a colour from\nthemselves, and treated them with great civility, and, as they became\nbetter acquainted, showed marks of eagerness to purchase the fine things\nwith which the ship was laden.\n\nThe captain, seeing this, sent patterns of the choicest articles he had\nto the king of the country, who was so much pleased with them that he\nsent for the captain and his chief mate to the palace. Here they were\nplaced, as is the custom of the country, on rich carpets flowered with\ngold and silver; and, the king and queen being seated at the upper end\nof the room, dinner was brought in, which consisted of the greatest\nrarities. No sooner, however, were the dishes set before the company\nthan an amazing number of rats and mice rushed in, and helped themselves\nplentifully from every dish, scattering pieces of flesh and gravy all\nabout the room.\n\nThe captain, extremely astonished, asked if these vermin were not very\noffensive.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said they, \"very offensive; and the king would give half his\ntreasure to be free of them, for they not only destroy his dinner, but\nthey disturb him even in his chamber, so that he is obliged to be\nwatched while he sleeps.\"\n\nThe captain, who was ready to jump for joy, remembering poor\nWhittington's hard case, and the cat he had entrusted to his care, told\nhim he had a creature on board his ship that would kill them all.\n\nThe king was still more overjoyed than the captain. \"Bring this creature\nto me,\" says he; \"and if she can really perform what you say I will load\nyour ship with wedges of gold in exchange for her.\"\n\nAway flew the captain, while another dinner was providing, to the ship,\nand, taking puss under his arm, returned to the palace in time to see\nthe table covered with rats and mice, and the second dinner in a fair\nway to meet with the same fate as the first.\n\nThe cat, at sight of them, did not wait for bidding, but sprang from the\ncaptain's arms, and in a few moments laid the greatest part of the rats\nand mice dead at her feet, while the rest, in the greatest fright\nimaginable, scampered away to their holes.\n\nThe king, having seen and considered of the wonderful exploits of Mrs.\nPuss, and being informed she would soon have young ones, which might in\ntime destroy all the rats and mice in the country, bargained with the\ncaptain for his whole ship's cargo, and afterwards agreed to give a\nprodigious quantity of wedges of gold, of still greater value, for the\ncat, with which, after taking leave of their Majesties, and other great\npersonages belonging to the court, he, with all his ship's company, set\nsail, with a fair wind, for England, and, after a happy voyage, arrived\nsafely in the port of London.\n\nOne morning Mr. Fitzwarren had just entered his counting-house, and was\ngoing to seat himself at the desk, when who should arrive but the\ncaptain and mate of the merchant ship, the Unicorn, just arrived from\nthe coast of Barbary, and followed by several men, bringing with them a\nprodigious quantity of wedges of gold that had been paid by the King of\nBarbary in exchange for the merchandise, and also in exchange for Mrs.\nPuss. Mr. Fitzwarren, the instant he heard the news, ordered Whittington\nto be called, and, having desired him to be seated, said, \"Mr.\nWhittington, most heartily do I rejoice in the news these gentlemen have\nbrought you, for the captain has sold your cat to the King of Barbary,\nand brought you in return more riches than I possess in the whole world;\nand may you long enjoy them!\"\n\nMr. Fitzwarren then desired the men to open the immense treasures they\nhad brought, and added that Mr. Whittington had now nothing to do but to\nput it in some place of safety.\n\nPoor Dick could scarce contain himself for joy. He begged his master to\ntake what part of it he pleased, since to his kindness he was indebted\nfor the whole. \"No, no, this wealth is all your own, and justly so,\"\nanswered Mr. Fitzwarren; \"and I have no doubt you will use it\ngenerously.\"\n\nWhittington, however, was too kind-hearted to keep all himself; and\naccordingly made a handsome present to the captain, the mate, and every\none of the ship's company, and afterwards to his excellent friend the\nfootman, and the rest of Mr. Fitzwarren's servants, not even excepting\ncrabbed old Cicely.\n\nAfter this, Mr. Fitzwarren advised him to send for trades people, and\nget himself dressed as became a gentleman, and made him the offer of his\nhouse to live in till he could provide himself with a better.\n\nWhen Mr. Whittington's face was washed, his hair curled, his hat\ncocked, and he was dressed in a fashionable suit of clothes, he appeared\nas handsome and genteel as any young man who visited at Mr.\nFitzwarren's; so that Miss Alice, who had formerly thought of him with\ncompassion, now considered him as fit to be her lover; and the more so,\nno doubt, because Mr. Whittington was constantly thinking what he could\ndo to oblige her, and making her the prettiest presents imaginable.\n\nMr. Fitzwarren, perceiving their affection for each other, proposed to\nunite them in marriage, to which, without difficulty, they each\nconsented; and accordingly a day for the wedding was soon fixed, and\nthey were attended to church by the lord mayor, the court of aldermen,\nthe sheriffs, and a great number of the wealthiest merchants in London;\nand the ceremony was succeeded by a most elegant entertainment and\nsplendid ball.\n\nHistory tells us that the said Mr. Whittington and his lady lived in\ngreat splendour, and were very happy; that they had several children;\nthat he was sheriff of London in the year 1340, and several times\nafterwards lord mayor; that in the last year of his mayoralty he\nentertained King Henry the Fifth on his return from the battle of\nAgincourt. And sometime afterwards, going with an address from the city\non one of his Majesty's victories, he received the honour of knighthood.\n\nSir Richard Whittington constantly fed great numbers of the poor. He\nbuilt a church and college to it, with a yearly allowance to poor\nscholars, and near it erected an hospital.\n\nThe effigy of Sir Richard Whittington was to be seen, with his cat in\nhis arms, carved in stone, over the archway of the late prison of\nNewgate that went across Newgate Street.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                         THE\n\n                     MAD PRANKS\n\n                         OF\n\n                     TOM TRAM,\n\n                    SON IN LAW\n\n                         TO\n\n                  MOTHER WINTER.\n\n                TO WHICH ARE ADDED\n\n                 HIS MERRY JESTS\n\n                        AND\n\n                 PLEASANT TALES.\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _A merry Jest betwixt old Mother Winter and her\n                    Son-in-Law Tom._\n\n\nThere was an old woman named Mother Winter that had but one son-in-law,\nand his name was Tom; and though he was at man's estate, yet would do\nnothing but what he listed, which grieved his old mother to the heart.\nUpon a time being in the market, she heard a proclamation, \"That those\nthat would not work should be whipped.\" At which the old woman leapt,\nand with great joy home she comes meets with her son, and tells him the\nmayor of the town had made a decree, which was, \"That all those that\nwould not work should be whipped.\" \"Has he so,\" says he, \"marry, my\nblessing on his heart; for my part, I'll not break the decree.\" So the\nold woman left her son, and went again to the market; she was no sooner\ngone but her son looks into the stone pots, which she kept small beer\nin; and when he saw that the beer did not work, he takes the pot, strips\noff his doublet, and with a carter's whip he lays on them as hard as he\ncould drive. The people who saw him do it, told his mother what he had\ndone; which made the old woman cry out, \"O! that young knave will be\nhanged.\" So in that tone home she goes. Her son seeing her, came running\nand foaming at the mouth to meet her, and told her, that he had broke\nboth the pots; which made the old woman to say, \"O thou villain! what\nhast thou done?\" \"O mother,\" quoth he, \"you told me it was proclaimed,\n'That all those that would not work must be whipped'; and I have often\nseen our pots work so hard, that they have foamed so much at the mouth,\nthat they befouled all the house where they stood; but these two lazy\nknaves,\" said he, \"told me, that they did never work, nor never meant to\nwork; and therefore,\" quoth he, \"I have whipped them to death, to teach\nthe rest of their fellows to work, or never look me in the face again.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _Another Jest of old Mother Winter and her Son Tom._\n\n\nUpon a time Mother Winter sent her son Tom into the market to buy her a\npenny-worth of soap, and gave him twelvepence, and charged him to bring\nit home safe. Tom told her it should be so; and to that end it should be\nsafe brought home, according to his mother's charge, he goes and buys a\npenny-worth of soap, and hired two men with a hand-barrow to carry the\nsoap, and four men with brown bills to guard it along to her, giving\nthem the elevenpence for their pains, which made his mother in great\nfury go to the mayor of the town, who committed him to prison. Now, the\nprison window joining close to the mayor's chamber window, Tom and some\nother merry prisoners like himself, getting a cup of good liquor in\ntheir heads, began to sing and roar and domineer, insomuch that the\nmayor heard them that night, and charged them they should leave off\ndrinking and singing of loose songs, and sing good psalms. Tom told him\nthat he should hear that he would amend his life if he would pardon his\nfault. The mayor said that for their misdemeanours, they should be that\nnight in prison, and upon amendment, being neighbours, he would release\nthem in the morning. They thanked the mayor, and Tom Tram prevailed so\nfar with a friend of his that he borrowed three shillings; which three\nshillings he spent upon his fellow-prisoners, which made the poor men be\nruled by him, and do what he enjoined them to do; so when the mayor was\ngone to bed, the prison window as before observed, being close to the\nchamber-window, they began to sing psalms so loud that the mayor could\ntake no rest, which made him cause one of his servants forbid them leave\noff singing. Tom Tram said that it was the mayor's good counsel that\nthey should sing psalms, and sing they would, as long as they lived\nthree. Which made the mayor bid the jailer turn them out of prison,\nwithout paying their fees.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _How Tom served his Hostess and a Tobacco Seller--being\n                     another of his Jests._\n\n\nIt happened that Tom was sent on an errand forty miles from his abode,\nover heaths and plains, where having dispatched his business, he chanced\nto be lodged in a room that opened into a yard, where his hostess kept\nmany turkeys, which Tom seeing he thrusts pins into two of their heads\nand in the night they died. The woman in the morning wondered how the\nfowls should come to die. Tom persuaded her that there was a great\nsickness where he dwelt amongst all manner of fowls, and wished his\nhostess to fling them away, which she did. Tom watched where she flung\nthem, and when he took his leave of his hostess, it was at such a time\nwhen she was busy setting bread into the oven, so that he was sure she\ncould not look after him. So he goes and wraps the turkeys in his coat,\nand away he runs; but finding his two turkeys heavy, he sees a man that\nsold tobacco up and down the country at the foot of a hill, when he\nalighted to lead his horse down the hill, at the bottom of which he\nfalls down, and lies crying as if he had broken one of his legs, and\nmakes to the man a most piteous lamentation; that he was six or seven\nmiles from any town, there being no house near; and that he was like to\nperish for want of succour. The man asked where he dwelt. He said with a\nknight, to whom Tom did live as a jester. The man knowing the knight,\nand thinking Tom's leg had really been broken, with much ado lifted him\nupon the horse. When Tom was mounted, he prayed the man to give him his\nmaster's turkeys. Tom made the horse to gallop away, crying out, \"I\nshall be killed! I shall be killed! O my leg! What shall I do! O my\nleg!\" The man seeing him gone, stood in amaze, and knew not what to\nthink; nevertheless, he durst not leave his turkeys behind him, for fear\nof displeasing the knight, but carried them lugging along fretting and\nswearing in his boots, till he came to the next town, where he hired a\nhorse to overtake Tom, but could not, until he came to the knight's\nhouse, where Tom stood to attend his coming, looking out at the window.\nWhen the man alighted, Tom then called to him so loud, that most of the\nhouse heard him. \"O,\" said he, \"now I see thou art an honest man, I had\nthought you had set me, upon your headstrong horse, on purpose to\ndeceive me of my turkeys.\" The man replied, \"A pox take you and your\nturkeys, for I never was played the knave with so in my life; I hope you\nwill pay for the hire of the horse, which I was forced to borrow to\nfollow you withal.\" \"That I will,\" said Tom, \"with all my heart.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _How Tom paid the Man for his Horse Hire._\n\n\nTom asked the man what way he intended to travel. \"Marry,\" said the man,\n\"I must go back with the horse I have hired.\" Quoth Tom, \"What did you\ngive for the hire of him?\" Said the man, \"I gave five shillings.\"\n\"Well,\" said Tom, \"I will set you to the next public-house, and then we\nwill eat one of the turkeys, and I will bring you in good silver the\nfive shillings for the horse hire.\" The place appointed being two miles\noff, Tom appoints three or four of his companions to meet him, who did\nnot fail, for they were there before Tom and his friend, who came riding\nupon the horses--Tom upon the hired horse, and the man upon his own. Tom\nalighted, and called the hostler to set up his horse, and to give him\noats enough, and caused a turkey to be roasted with all possible haste,\nwhich, according as he commanded, was performed. But Tom whispered to\nhis consorts, and wished them to ply the man with drink; while he, in\nthe meantime, went to the host and told him they came to be merry, and\nmoney was short with him and desired he would lend him ten shillings\nupon his horse. The host having so good a pawn, lent it him, knowing it\nwould be spent in his house. So Tom went and gave the man five shillings\nfor the hire of the horse, and spends the other five shillings freely\nupon him. By that time the day was pretty nigh spent, so that the man\ncould get no further that night, but Tom and his companions took their\nleaves and returned home, and the man went his way to bed little\nsuspecting the trick Tom had put upon him. In the morning the man rising\nbetimes, thinking to be gone, could have but one horse unless he paid\nten shillings, for Tom had left word with his host, that paying the\nmoney he should have both horses. The man seeing himself cozened again\nby Tom, paid the ten shillings, and wished all such cheating knaves were\nhanged, away he went fretting and foaming to see himself abused.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _How Tom served a Company of Gentlemen._\n\n\nIt happened that a company of gentlemen being disposed to create mirth,\nrode some miles from home to be merry. One of them would need have Tom\nto wait upon him, and Tom was as willing as he to be in that company,\nbut as they were coming home, one of them cut the reins of Tom's bridle,\nso that when Tom mounted on his horse the reins broke, and the horse ran\naway with him in the midst of a great heath whereon stood a large\ngallows against which the horse stood, and rubbed his neck, so that the\ngentleman hooped and hallooed, and said, \"Farewell, Tom, farewell.\" But\nTom alighted from his horse, and made fast his reins, and with his sword\ncut three or four chips from off the gallows; and at the next tavern Tom\nmet with them, where they jeer'd him not a little; but Tom very\nearnestly entreated them to forbear, yet the more he entreated them, the\nmore they played upon him. But to be even with them, in the morning Tom\ncalls the hostler, and sends him for nutmegs and ginger, and gets a\ngrater, and when he had grated them he also grated the chips off the\ngallows, and mixed with the spice only a little nutmeg and ginger, he\nlaid towards one end of the trencher for himself, and with a gallon of\nale into the gentleman's chamber he goes, begging of them not to mock\nhim any more with the gallows; and he would give them that ale and\nspice; and so, says he, \"Gentlemen, I drink to you all.\" Now, as soon as\nhe had drank, the hostler called him, as he gave him charge before so to\ndo. Down stairs runs Tom as fast as he could. The gentlemen made all\npossible speed to drink up the ale and spice before he came up again,\nand that was what Tom desired. When he came again, seeing all the ale\nand spice gone, he says, \"Gentlemen, will you know why my horse carried\nme to the gallows?\" \"Yes,\" says one of them. \"Well,\" says Tom, \"it was\nto fetch you some spice to your ale, and if you want, I have more for\nyou:\" and with that showed them the chips out of his pocket, and away he\nruns, leaving the gentlemen to look one upon another, studying how they\nshould be revenged on him.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VI.\n\n    _How Tom rode a-Gossiping._\n\n\nTom heard a company of women that would meet at the place a\nhouse-warming, to welcome one of the house. These women had formerly\nabused Tom, and now he thought to be even with them, so he goes to an\napothecary's shop, buys a pound of purging comfits, and puts them in a\ncake with other spices, and dresses himself in women's apparel, and gets\na horse and a pannel, and to the house he comes, knocks at the door, and\nasked the maid, whether there were any women come a house-warming? The\nmaid said, \"Not yet.\" \"I pray,\" says Tom, \"take this cake, and if I come\nnot at the meeting, let them eat it and be merry, for I must go to a\nwoman that is exceedingly unwell,\" and away he goes. The women came, and\nwondered what woman it should be that left the cake. Some of them\nsupposed that it was some rich lady. They stayed a while and the person\nthey expected to be with them not coming, they fell to their meat, and\nat last to the cake. But it was not long in their stomach before it\nbegan to work, so that all began vomiting, and were so sick, that they\ndisordered the house. In which time Tom shifts himself into man's\napparel, and with a staff in his hand came where his gossips were, and\nhearing them groaning all the house over, opened the door and asked them\nwhat was the matter? They answered they were all poisoned. \"Marry,\"\nquoth Tom, \"I hope not; if you please to let me have a horse, I will\nride to Mr. Doctor's and fetch an antidote to deaden the poison.\" \"Take\nmy horse,\" quoth one; \"Take my horse,\" said another; \"Or mine,\" said a\nthird. \"Well, well,\" said Tom, \"I will take one.\" And into the stable he\ngoes and takes three horses, and to the doctor's he rides, and told him\nthat all the people in such a house had eaten something that had\npoisoned them; and prayed him that he would, without delay, carry them\nsome medicines, and that they had sent a horse for him and another for\nhis man. The doctor, greedy of money, hastened thither with his medicine\nbottles as fast as the horses could carry him and his man. But the\ndoctor no sooner came into the house, but he saw there was no need of\nmedicines. In the meantime Tom told not only all he met with, that there\nwere such women met to be merry at such a place; and not only they, but\nall the women of the house were poisoned, but went likewise to their\nhusbands, and told them the like, so that all the people thereabouts\nrepaired thither, which made the women so ashamed that they knew not\nwhich way to look, because all that saw them judged they were drunk; so\nthat instead of comforting them which they expected, they fell a\nreviling them. The women also fell to scolding among themselves, and\nwould have fought, had not their husbands parted them, by carrying them\nhome.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VII.\n\n    _How Tom, served a Company of Gypsies._\n\n\nIt happened on a day, towards night, that there came a company of\ngypsies into a town, and had not very long been there till Tom met them,\nand asked them, \"What they made there?\" They said they came to town to\ntell the people their fortunes, that thereby they might understand\nensuing dangers. \"Aye,\" says Tom, \"and where do you lie to-night?\" They\ntold him they could not tell. \"Nay,\" said Tom, \"if you will be contented\nto lie in straw, I will bring you where you may lie dry and warm.\" They\nthanked him, and told him they would tell him his fortune in the morning\nfor nothing. Tom thanked them, and therefore conveys them into a little\nthatched house which had a ditch round about it, very close to the wall\nthereof. That house Tom helped them to fill with straw, and saw them\ntake their lodging; and then, it being dark, Tom bade them good-night,\nand as soon as he was over the bridge, which was a plank, he drew it\nafter him; and in the dead time of the night Tom gets a long pole, with\na wasp of straw at the end of it, and sets the straw on fire, calling\nout to the rest of the fellows to shift for themselves; who, thinking to\nrun over the bridge, fell into the ditch, crying and calling out for\nhelp, while, by Tom's means, most part of the town stood to see the\njest; and as the gypsies waded through the ditch, they took them and\ncarried them into a house, where there was a good fire, for it was in\nthe midst of winter; where Tom counsels them that they should never make\nhim believe that they could tell him anything, that did not know what\ndanger should befall themselves. \"But,\" says he, \"because you cannot\ntell me my fortune, I will tell you yours. For to-morrow in the forenoon\nyou shall be whipped for deceivers, and in the afternoon be hanged for\nsetting the house on fire.\" The gypsies hearing this so strict sentence,\nmade haste to dry themselves, and next morning stole out of town, and\nnever came any more there.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VIII.\n\n    _How Tom sold his Mother's Trevot, and cozened an\n          Acqua Vitae Man that sold Hot Water._\n\n\nIn a winter night, coming home very late, Tom Tram fell with his arms\nbefore him, and at the last run his nose against a post. \"What,\" quoth\nTom, \"is my nose longer than my arms?\" And afterwards he dropped into a\nwell that was in the yard, and crying out, \"Help, help.\" All is not well\nthat is in the well. The neighbours came and pulled him out, and he\ndropped like a pig that had been roasted on a spit; but he was then in a\ncold condition, so he went to bed, and covered himself, but before\nmorning Tom became unwell; and when some had discovered this, he told\nthem that if he died of that sickness he should be buried by torchlight,\nbecause none should see him go to his grave. Just as he had said, in\ncame a hot water man, of whom he requested to give him a sup, which\nhaving tasted, he feigned himself to be in a hot fever, and rose up in\nhis clothes, ran away with the acqua vitae man's bottle of hot water,\nand took his mother's trevot, and sold it for a long hawking pole, and a\nfalconer's bag, which being tied to his side, and having drank up the\npoor man's hot water, he came reeling home with an owl upon his fist,\nsaying, \"It is gentlemanlike to be betwixt hawk and buzzard;\" and he\ntold the acqua vitae man that he had sent the trevot, with three legs, to\nthe next town to fill you bottles again.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IX.\n\n    _How he Hired himself to the Justice, and what Pranks\n                  he played while with him._\n\n\nThe justice at this time being without a man, and finding Tom to be a\nlively fellow, asked him if he would serve him. \"Yes,\" quoth Tom, \"for I\nam a great many miles from the country.\" As soon as they had agreed for\nwages, Tom was immediately entertained. But he had not lived long there\nbefore the justice and his family were obliged to go to London, leaving\nnobody at home but Tom. Now in the justice's absence, an officer brought\na lusty young woman and a little man with a complaint. So they knocked\nat the door, and Tom let them in; then placing himself in his master's\nchair, he asked the woman what she had to say, who told him that the man\nwhom she had brought before him ill-used her. \"Adzooks,\" quoth Tom, \"is\nit possible that such a little fellow as this could ill-use such a\nstrapping dame as you.\" \"Alas! sir,\" said she, \"although he is little he\nis strong.\" \"Well, little whipper-snapper,\" quoth Tom, \"what do you say\nto this.\" He replied, \"Like your worship it is false what she says. The\ntruth is, I have been at sea, and coming ashore, where I received my\npay, I met with this woman, and agreed with her for a pair of shoes for\nhalf a crown, and when they were put on, I pulled out my purse to pay\nher honestly what I had agreed for; but she seeing that I had a\nconsiderable sum of money, contrary to our bargain, would force me to\ngive her ten shillings, and because I would not, but struck her as she\ndeserved, she has brought me before your worship.\" \"Have you got that\npurse of money?\" quoth Tom. \"Yes, sir,\" said the seaman. \"Give it into\nmy hand,\" said Tom. He receives it, and turning to the woman, said,\n\"Here take it and get about your business.\" She replied, \"I thank your\nworship, you are an honest good man, and have done me justice.\" The\nlittle seaman the meanwhile wrung his hands and bitterly cried out, \"I\nam ruined, for it is every penny I had in the world.\" \"Well,\" quoth Tom,\n\"haste after her, and take it from her again.\" According to Tom's order\nhe runs after her, and when he came after her, he said, \"I must, and\nwill have my purse again.\" Then she fell about his ears and cuffed him.\nNay, this did not satisfy her, but she dragged him back again to Tom,\nwho sat as justice, and told him that the fellow followed her for the\npurse, which he in justice gave her. \"Well,\" said Tom, \"and has he got\nit?\" \"No,\" said she, \"I think not; before he should take it from me, I'd\ntear out both his eyes.\" \"Let me see it again,\" says Tom. She gives it\nto him. \"Is all the money in it?\" quoth he. \"Yes, sir,\" said she, \"every\npenny.\" \"Why then,\" said he, \"here little whipper-snapper, take your\npurse again; and as for you Mrs. Impudence, had you kept your word as\nwell as you did the money, I never had been troubled with this\ncomplaint. Here, Mr. Constable, give her a hundred lashes at the town's\nwhipping post.\" Which was accordingly done, and Tom was applauded for\nhis just proceedings.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER X.\n\n    _How Tom used a Singing Man of a Cathedral Church\n                      in the West._\n\n\nOnce there was a cathedral singing man that had very much angered Tom,\nand had made songs and jests upon him, whereupon Tom got on his back an\nox-hide, with the horns set upon his head, and so lay in a hedge bottom,\nwaiting till the singing man came by, who he was sure must pass that\nway. At last name the singing man. Up started Tom out of the hedge\nbottom in his ox-hide, and followed him, the singing man cried out, \"The\ndevil! the devil!\" \"No,\" quoth Tom, \"I am the ghost of goodman Johnson,\nliving hard by the Church stile, unto whose house ye came and sung\ncatches, and owes me five pounds for ale, therefore appoint me a day\nwhen ye will bring me my money hither, or else I will haunt thee still.\"\nThe singing man promised that day se'enight, and accordingly he did; and\nTom made himself brave clothes with the money, and sweethearts came\nabout him as bees do about a honey pot. But Tom wore a rope in his\npocket, and being asked if he would marry, he would pull it out, and\nlaugh, saying, \"I have broken my shins already, and will be wiser\nhereafter; for I am an old colt, and now may have as much wit as a\nhorse.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XI.\n\n    _Of Tom Tram's wooing Cicily Summers, the neat Wench\n                         of the West._\n\n\nCicily Summers, whose nose was then as fair as the midnight sun, which\nshined as bright as Baconthine, was beloved of young Tom Tram; and a sad\nstory to tell, he grew not worth the bread he ate, through pining away\nfor her love. Tom was loath to speak but still whistled. At last, when\nCicily made no answer, he burst out in thus:--\"O Cicily Summers, if I\nTom Tram, son of Mother Winter, and thou Cicily Summers be joined\ntogether what a quarter shall we keep, as big as three half years;\nbesides Cicily Summers when thou scoldest, then Winter shall presently\ncool thy temper; and when we walk on the street they'll say yonder goes\nSummer and Winter; and our children, we shall call a generation of\nalmanacks. So they went to the parson and were married; but they fell\nout so extremely that they scolded all the summer season; and Tom drank\ngood ale, and told old tales all the winter time, and so they could\nnever but thrive all the year through. Tom lived by good ale, and his\nwife by eating oat-meal; and when Tom went to be drunk in the morning,\nshe put oat-meal in the ale, and made caudle with mustard instead of\neggs, which bit Tom so by the nose, that it would run water; but the\nnext day he would be drunk again.\"\n\n\n\n\n                     TOM TRAM'S\n\n                    MERRY TALES.\n\n    TALE I.\n\n    _Of a Scholar and a Tapster on a Winter Night._\n\n\nThe tapster said, \"Sir, will you go to bed.\" \"No,\" quoth the scholar,\n\"There are thieves abroad, and would not willingly be caught napping.\"\nSo the tapster left him, and being gone, in came a spirit into the\nchamber, with his head under his arm so that he durst not stir, but\ncried out, \"Help! help! fire! thieves! thieves!\" \"Oh,\" quoth he, \"the\ndevil was here and spoke to me with his head under his arm; but now I\nwill go to bed, and if he comes again I will send him to the tapster, to\nhelp him to make false reckonings. It being a cold night,\" quoth he, \"I\nwill first put fire to toe, that is, I will warm my toes by the fire,\nthen I'll go to bed.\" And so he did, and a great reckoning put the\nscholar out of his jest saying, \"That was in earnest made too large a\nreckoning,\" he being but poor Sir John, of Oxford.\n\n\n    TALE II.\n\nDown in the west country a certain conceited fellow had a great nose; so\na country man by him with a sack of corn, jostled him, saying, \"Your\nnose stands in my way,\" whereupon the other fellow with the great nose,\ntook his nose in his hand, and held it to the other side, saying, \"A pox\non thee, go and be hanged.\"\n\n\n    TALE III.\n\nOnce there was a company of gypsies that came to a country fellow on the\nhighway, and would needs tell Tom his fortune. Amongst other things,\nthey bade him assure himself that his worst misfortunes were past, and\nthat he would not be troubled with crosses as he had been. So coming\nhome, and having sold the cow at the market, he looked into his purse\nfor the money, thinking to have told it to his wife; but he found not so\nmuch as one cross in his purse; whereupon he remembered the words of the\ngypsies, and said that the gypsies had said true that he should not be\ntroubled with crosses, and that they had picked his pocket, and left not\na penny in his purse. Whereupon his wife basted and cudgelled him so\nsoundly, that he began to perceive that a man that had a cursed wife\nshould never be without a cross, though he had never a penny in his\npurse; and because it was winter-time, he sat a while by the fireside,\nand after went to bed supperless and penniless.\n\n\n    TALE IV.\n\nA farmer's wife in the west had three pigs, which she loved exceedingly\nwell, and fed them with good butter milk and whey; but they would come\nrunning into the house and dirtied the rooms. Whereupon she resolved to\nsell them at the market, because they were better fed than taught, but\nafterwards they were stolen away from her; whereupon she supposed they\nwere driven up to London to learn manners; \"But,\" said she, \"they were\ntoo old to learn to turn the spit in Bartholemew fair,\" and therefore\nbelieved some butchers had stolen them away.\n\nHer cock had a piece of cloth sewn about him, and was left upon the\nporch, but afterwards stolen; whereupon she said, that her cock was\nturned scholar in a black gown, and so she went to Oxford to a conjurer,\nto know what was become of her pigs and her cock. The scholar smiled,\nand told her the three pigs were blown home, and the cock was made a\nbachelor of arts in one of the colleges. \"I thought so,\" said the woman,\n\"for sure bachelors of arts are very coxcombs.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                          A\n\n                    YORK DIALOGUE\n\n                       BETWEEN\n\n                     NED AND HARRY:\n\n                          OR\n\n    Ned giving Harry an Account of his Courtship\n                 and Marriage State.\n\n\n_Ned._--Honest Harry, I am glad to see you. You're welcome to York.\nYou're a great stranger. When came you to town?\n\n_Harry._--I came to your town last night, Ned, and am glad to see you. I\ninquired after you of my landlord, and he told me you was well, and had\nbeen married two or three years. I wish you much happiness; but how d'ye\nlike matrimony?\n\n_Ned._--In good faith, Harry, scrubbing his shoulders, but so, so;\nhowever, I will not discourage you.\n\n_Harry._--But don't you remember, Ned, that you and I made an agreement\nthat which of us two was married first, should tell one another of the\nway of courtship, and how he liked it and a married state.\n\n_Ned._--'Tis true we did so, Harry, but now I have not time to tell you,\nfor it will take me more than two or three hours to give you a full\naccount of both parts.\n\n_Harry._--What! are you in haste then, Ned? 'Tis a great while since I\nhave seen you, and shan't we have one mug together?\n\n_Ned._--Faith, Harry, I'm loath to deny you; but if I go with you, I\nmust send home to my wife, and let her know where I am.\n\n_Harry._--So you may Ned, and tell her you are with an old friend that\nwould be glad to see her.\n\n_Ned._--Not a word of that, Harry, for if I go with you and stay any\ntime, we shall have her company without sending for her.\n\n_Harry._--Say you so. Come then, let us go to Tom Swan's. Well, Ned, I\nam glad to see thee--ring the bell. Jenny, bring us a pint of your best\nale. Come, Ned, sit down. And how long was it before you got your wife\ninto the mind to marry; for if I speak to any of the female sex, they\nare so very coy, I can't tell what to make of them?\n\n_Ned._--That's very true. They are so, Harry, for when I spoke to my\nwife first, she was so very coy and huffish, and told me she did not\nknow what I meant. She was not for marrying. She lived very well as she\nwas, and if she should marry, she must then be confined to the humours\nof a husband.\n\n_Harry._--Well, but how then, Ned, tell me all.\n\n_Ned._--Faith I have not time now, Harry, for I must go home.\n\n_Harry._--Come, my service t'ye, Ned, I will have you be as good as your\npromise.\n\n_Ned._--Then if I must, I will stay a little longer and tell you. I told\nher I had as good a trade as any of my neighbours. Upon these words she\nwas called away.\n\n_Harry._--How then, Ned?\n\n_Ned._--Faith I went home, but could not get her out of my mind. The\nnext day I went again to see her, and took her by the hand, but she\npulled it away with scorn, saying, \"Pray don't banter me, for I know\nyou men love to banter us silly women.\" Upon my faith, madam, said I, I\nam in good earnest, for a man of my trade must have both journeymen and\nprentices, therefore I cannot well be without a wife, and you are the\nonly person I always thought would make me happy. Then I took her by the\nhand again, and with much ado got a kiss off her. \"Pray be quiet,\" said\nshe, \"Goodness! what do you mean? you are so troublesome!\" and looked\nvery angry, and so left me.\n\n_Harry._--Very well, Ned, go on, this is vastly pleasant.\n\n_Ned._--That very kiss made me think of her, and love her more than ever\nI did, for after that kiss I was always wishing myself in her company,\nand was never at rest. The Sunday after, I saw her in the minster at\nprayers, and thought everything handsome and pretty about her--her face,\nher eyes, her mouth, her breast, her shape. I watched her coming out of\nthe choir, and walked with her in the minster, and asked her if she\nwould please to take a walk into the Groves, but she told me she was\nengaged. Believe me, Harry; I was so daft with that answer that my heart\nwas fit to break with fear that she should love another better than\nmyself. However, I went home with her. She told me she was engaged, and\nI need not trouble myself any further. Madam, said I, the first that\never I saw you, I was struck with the thought that you was the woman\nthat was to make me a happy wife. \"You men,\" said she, \"say so to all\nwomen you meet with.\" \"Truly, madam,\" said I, \"what I say is really\ntrue, from the bottom of my heart, and I hope you will find it so.\" \"You\nmen always promise fair,\" said she, \"before you are married, but when\nthe job is over you seldom or never perform your promise.\" \"Pray, try\nme, madam,\" said I, \"for upon my word, you will find me always as good\nas I have said, by this kiss.\" \"Fye,\" said she, \"I swear I will never\ncome into your company any more, if you will not let me stand quietly by\nyou.\" Then I asked her again the favour to take a walk, for it was a\nfine evening, and would do her a great deal of good. She told me at\nlast, she was to meet two or three of her acquaintances at seven o'clock\nin the Groves, just to take a turn or two and so come home again, so bid\nme good night.\n\n_Harry._--Well, Ned, I hope you went to the Groves to meet her, did you\nnot?\n\n_Ned._--Yes, you may be assured I did, and within a quarter of an hour\nafter I was there, my mistress came, but her friends were not with her,\nas good luck would have it.\n\n_Harry._--Were not you glad of that, Ned, though I dare swear, she knew\nof nobody to meet her at that time.\n\n_Ned._--Yes, faith, I was very glad of it; and when we had taken a turn\nor two, I asked her if she would go to the cheese-cake house, and with\nmuch ado I got her to consent to go.\n\n_Harry._--Well, Ned, what discourse had you there?\n\n_Ned._--Why, faith, we were very merry. I called for some cheese-cakes,\nand a bottle of cider, and at last began to ask her about marrying me.\nShe told me she heard I had a good trade, and did mind it now very well,\nbut how I would mind it, if she should consent to marry me, was her\nfear. I told her she need never fear that, for marrying of her would be\nthe only means to make me mind my business, if possible, more than I\nhave done. I do assure you, Harry, that the servants which we call\nchamber-maids, stand as much upon their honour, as some of them will\ncall it, in courting, as their mistress, nay, and more.\n\n_Harry._--Why, Ned, I have observed that all along you have called her\nmadam whenever you named her, but I hope it is not a custom here at\nYork, to call your chamber-maids madam at every word.\n\n_Ned._--Yes, faith we do, and they themselves call one another so, for\nif there be five or six of them together at the parting with one\nanother, you shall hear them take leave of one another with, \"Madam,\ngood-night to you,\" says one; \"Madam, your servant,\" says another; \"Pray\nmy service to you know who\"----'Tis very true, Harry.\n\n_Harry._--How could you ever expect Ned, that such an one would make you\na good wife that minded nothing but her pride.\n\n_Ned._--Well, Harry, but you are mistaken, for some of them do make very\ngood wives and are very good housewives too.\n\n_Harry._--How long were you a-courting her, before she gave consent to\nmarry you?\n\n_Ned._--Why, about a year or more, and all that while I very little did\nmind myself for minding of her, for I was fain to watch her as a cat\nwatcheth a mouse, for fear of a rival. At last I told her I hoped now\nshe would consent to marry me, if not, to tell me so, for it was a great\nloss to me to lose my time so day after day. Upon these words she told\nme she thought I was in earnest, but she did not much like the house I\nlived in. I told her it was a very pretty house, and I should be glad to\nsee her in it. Upon this she smiled and gave me her consent.\n\n_Harry._--Was you asked in the church, Ned, or had you a license?\n\n_Ned._--I went on purpose to ask her that question, and she told me she\nwas a gentlewoman born, and did not care to be asked in the church, for,\nshe said, there was nobody asked in the church but cook-maids and\nkitchen-maids, so it cost me about twenty shillings for a license. Well,\nmarried we were, and very merry were we that day.\n\n_Harry._--But now, Ned, in the second place, come tell me how you and\nyour wife agree together, for I think it is said your York wives will be\nmasters of their husbands in less than a year's time if possible they\ncan. Well then, Ned, I do suppose it is with you as with most of your\nneighbours, your wife is the master?\n\n_Ned._--Faith, Harry, not much matter (scratching his head), but I doubt\nshe'll come and find us together, and then there will be----\n\n_Harry._--What then, Ned, let her come, I have a mug or two at her\nservice and shall be glad to see her.\n\n_Ned._--So shall not I, Harry.\n\n_Harry._--Why, Ned, how can she be angry with you when she sees you with\nan old acquaintance you have not seen for two or three years?\n\n_Ned._--That's nothing.\n\n_Harry._--What, Ned, do not you agree then really, and has been married\nbut three years. Suppose she should come, what would or could she say to\nyou?\n\n_Ned._--Dear Harry, do not desire me to tell you, for if I would, and if\nyou should happen to tell it again, and it should come to her ears that\nit was I told you, I might as well run my country as stay at home.\n\n_Harry._--Ned, my service to you, upon my honour, as the gentleman says,\nI will never say anything of it to anybody.\n\n_Ned._--Well then, Harry, if I be out at any time, as now with you, when\nI go home, as soon as I get within doors she'll begin with a pretty tone\nshe has learned off her neighbours.\n\n\"Oh! brave sir! You are a fine husband, you mind your business and shop,\nas you promised me before we were married: do you not, you drunken dog?\nyou rogue, you rascal, where have you been these six hours (though it\nwere but three), sirrah, give me account where you have been.\"\n\n_Harry._--Well, Ned, do you give her an account where you were, or what\nanswer do you make her?\n\n_Ned._--All that I say to her is, \"Pray, my dear, be not in such a\npassion, for I was with an old friend that I have not seen two or three\nyears.\" \"A pox on your old friend,\" says she, \"and you too must go and\nfill your belly with good meat and drink, and I and my poor children\nstarve at home, with only a little bread and cheese. A curse on the\nfirst day I saw you.\"\n\n_Harry._--Why, Ned, I hope your circumstances are not so low in the\nworld, but that you can afford your wife pretty well to keep house with.\n\n_Ned._--Why, Harry, there's hardly a day but we have a joint of meat,\neither boiled or roasted, and I am sure she never wants for good bread,\ncheese, eggs, and butter.\n\n_Harry._--Pray, Ned, what does she do towards maintaining your house,\ndoes she endeavour any ways to get a penny? What portion had you with\nher?\n\n_Ned._--Harry, never marry a chamber-maid, for they bring nothing with\nthem but a few old clothes of their mistresses, and for house-keeping,\nfew of them know anything of it; for they can hardly make a pudding or a\npie, neither can they spin, nor knit, nor wash, except it be a few laces\nto make themselves fine withal.\n\n_Harry._--What would she be at?\n\n_Ned_--Why always a-gossiping, there is such a company of them in our\nstreet that there's never a day but some or other of them meet together.\n\n_Harry._--Where do they meet?\n\n_Ned._--Where the best country ale is.\n\n_Harry._--What, do they make a sitting of it when they meet?\n\n_Ned._--A sitting of it; yes, yes, they will sit from three till ten at\nnight, and drink like fishes, and talk against their husbands.\n\n_Harry._--What do you say when she comes home? Do you not ask her where\nshe has been that she stayed so late?\n\n_Ned._--I dare not say one word to her, but am glad she will let me go\nto bed and sleep quietly.\n\n_Harry._--What becomes of your children those days; who looks after them\nall this while?\n\n_Ned._--Nobody but a silly maid she hired who can do nothing; I am fain\nas well as I can, to boil them their milk for their suppers and help to\nget them to bed.\n\n_Harry._--Does not she ask when she comes home how her children do, and\nwho gave them their suppers and got them to bed?\n\n_Ned._--Never, never, Harry, but perhaps the next morning will get them\nup herself, and put them on, poor things, the same linen they had on\nthree days before.\n\n_Harry._--How do you allow your wife? do you allow her so much a week?\nhow gets she the money to spare for gossiping?\n\n_Ned._--Why, she watches me; and if I sell anything in the shop, then\nshe comes to me and tells me, such a child wants this, and such a one\nthat, so I am fain to give her money for quietness' sake.\n\n_Harry._--Why, Ned, she makes a mere fool of you.\n\n_Ned._--'Tis not my case alone, Harry, for most of my neighbours have\nnot much better wives, for the better sort they say, love carding and\ngossiping and cold tea.\n\n_Harry._--Well, Ned, I think you have almost satisfied me, and I promise\nyou for your sake I will never marry any one of that sort called\nchamber-maids.\n\n_Ned._--If ever you marry, Harry, marry one that's bred up in business,\nI mean one that knows how to look after her house? and as you endeavour\nto get a penny in your way she will endeavour to get another in hers,\nsuch a one will make both you and herself happy.\n\n_Harry._--Pray then, Ned, what can your wife or any other man's wife say\nagainst her husband if he takes all the pains, as you say you do, to\nmaintain her and her children handsomely?\n\n_Ned._--I know not but I hear this is their way. If any new married wife\ncome among them; first she must pay for her admittance, then presently\nafter, some of them will begin, \"Neighbour, your good health;\" another,\n\"Neighbour I wish you health and happiness;\" another, \"Pray neighbour,\nwhat kind of a humoured man is your husband?\" another, \"Is he kind to\nyou?\" another, \"Does he allow you as he should do? If he does not,\nneighbour, let us know, and we will tell you how to manage him I warrant\nyou.\"\n\n_Harry._--Well, Ned, I pity thee, with all my heart, and all them that\nhave such wives; but now you must make the best of it, and live as\nquietly as you can.\n\n_Ned._--Harry, I must so. Well, come, let's know what's to pay. I have\nstayed too long, so I am sure of a lecture when I go home.\n\n_Harry._--Come, Ned, I treat you this time because I invited you, it may\nbe you will find your wife in a better humour than you think of.\n\n_Ned._--I wish I may, Harry. I am sure of it that it shall make me stay\nat home and mind my business a great deal better than I have done of\nlate.\n\n_Harry._--How many children have you, Ned?\n\n_Ned._--Two boys, and I believe another coming.\n\n_Harry._--Well, Ned, she cannot complain of the smallness of her family.\n\n_Ned._--Well, Harry, I must take my leave of you, and I thank you for\nme, and if you do not go out of town to-morrow, I hope I shall see you\nagain; there is a great deal more in a married state than I have told\nyou of, that is all charges to the husband, the sickening-day, the\nweek-day, the christening-day, three-week-day, the churching-day; all\nthese days they have their meetings and discourses, which would take\nhalf a day to tell them all; and if the husband be not there to wait\nupon them on those days, some of them will say, \"Neighbour, where is\nyour husband? he should be here to wait on us.\" \"If my husband, should\nserve me so,\" says another, \"when I lie in, odds had.\" A third will say,\n\"Indeed, neighbour, you give your husband too much liberty, more than I\nwould do.\" So, Harry, when I go home she falls a-telling me what such a\none and such a one, and all the company said of me, for my not being\nthere to wait upon them.\n\n_Harry._--Well, Ned, thou has satisfied me very well, and for thy sake\nwill never marry a chamber-maid. Come, ring the bell, we'll see what\nthere's to pay, and should be glad of your company longer, if it stand\nto your conveniency.\n\n_Ned._--Harry, I thank you, but home I must go now.\n\n_Harry._--Jenny, what's to pay? \"One shilling sir.\"--Ned, good-night to\nyou, my service to your spouse; and if I stay to-morrow, I'll come and\nsee you and her.\n\n_Ned._--Harry, good night to you, I thank you for me, and I shall be\nglad to see you to-morrow; but whether my wife will or no I cannot tell,\nfor I doubt I will find her but so-and-so in her humour.\n\n_Harry._--Good-night to you, Ned, thank you for your good company; it\nhas been very pleasant, and I hope you will find all things easy and\nquiet at home.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                  DANIEL O'ROURKE'S\n\n                      WONDERFUL\n\n                  VOYAGE TO THE MOON.\n\n\nPeople may have heard of the renowned adventures of Daniel O'Rourke, but\nhow few are there who know that the cause of all his perils, above and\nbelow, was neither more nor less than his having slept under the walls\nof the Phooka's tower.\n\n\"I am often axed to tell it, sir,\" said he, \"so that this is not the\nfirst time. The master's son, you see, had come from beyond foreign\nparts in France and Spain, as young gentlemen used to go, before\nBuonaparte or any such was heard of; and, sure enough, there was a\ndinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle and simple, high\nand low, rich and poor. The ould gentlemen were the gentlemen after all,\nsaving your honour's presence. They'd swear at a body a little, to be\nsure, and maybe give one a cut of a whip now and then, but we were no\nlosers by it in the end;--and they were so easy and civil, and kept such\nrattling houses, and thousands of welcomes; and there was no grinding\nfor rent, and few agents; and there was hardly a tenant on the estate\nthat did not taste of his landlord's bounty often and often in the\nyear;--but now it's another thing; no matter for that, sir, for I'd\nbetter be telling you my story.\n\n\"Well, we had everything of the best, and plenty of it; and we ate, and\nwe drank, and we danced, and the young master, by the same token, danced\nwith Peggy Barry from Bothereen--a lovely young couple they were, though\nthey are both long enough now. To make a long story short, I got, as a\nbody may say, the same thing as tipsy almost, for I can't remember ever\nat all, no ways, how I left the place; only I did leave it, that's\ncertain. Well, I thought, for all that, in myself, I'd just step to\nMolly Cronohan's, the fairy woman, to speak a word about the bracket\nheifer that was bewitched; and so as I was crossing the stepping stones\nat the ford of Ballyashenogh, and was looking up at the stars, and\nblessing myself--for why? it was Lady-day--I missed my foot, and souse I\nfell into the water. 'Death alive!' thought I, 'I'll be drowned now!'\nHowever, I began swimming, swimming, swimming away for the dear life,\ntill at last I got ashore, somehow or other, but never the one of me can\ntell how, upon a dissolute island.\n\n\"I wandered and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered,\nuntil at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as\nday, or your fair lady's eyes, sir (with your pardon for mentioning\nher), and I looked east and west, and north and south, and every way,\nand nothing did I see but bog, bog, bog. I could never find out how I\ngot into it, and my heart grew cold with fear, for sure and certain I\nwas that it would be my barrin place. So I sat down upon a stone which,\nas good luck would have it, was close by me, and I began to scratch my\nhead and sing the Ullagon, when all of a sudden the moon grew black, and\nI looked up, and saw something for all the world as if it was moving\ndown between me and it, and I could not tell what it was. Down it came\nwith a pounce, and looked at me full in the face. And what was it but an\neagle--as fine a one as ever flew from the kingdom of Kerry. So he\nlooked at me in the face, and says he to me, 'Daniel O'Rourke,' says he,\n'how do you do?' 'Very well, I thank you, sir,' says I; 'I hope you're\nwell,' wondering out of my senses all the time how an eagle came to\nspeak like a Christian. 'What brings you here, Dan?' says he. 'Nothing\nat all, sir,' says I; 'only I wish I was safe home again.' 'Is it out of\nthe island you want to go, Dan?' says he. ''Tis, sir,' says I; so I up\nand told him how I had taken a drop too much, and fell into the water;\nhow I swam to the island; and how I got into the bog and did not know my\nway out of it. 'Dan,' says he, after a minute's thought, 'though it is\nvery improper for you to get drunk on Lady-day, yet, as you are a decent\nsober man, who tends mass well, and never flings stones at me or mine,\nnor cries out after us in the fields--my life for yours,' says he; 'so\nget up on my back, and grip me well for fear you'd fall off, and I'll\nfly you out of the bog.' 'I am afraid,' says I, 'your honour's making\ngame of me; for who ever heard of riding a-horseback on an eagle\nbefore?' ''Pon the honour of a gentleman,' says he, putting his right\nfoot on his breast, 'I am quite in earnest; and so, now, either take my\noffer or starve in the bog; besides, I see that your weight is sinking\nthe stone.'\n\n\"It was true enough as he said, for I found the stone every minute going\nfrom under me. I had no choice; so thinks I to myself, faint heart never\nwon fair lady, and this is fair persuadance. 'I thank your honour,' says\nI, 'for the load of your civility, and I'll take your kind offer.' I\ntherefore mounted upon the back of the eagle, and held him tight enough\nby the throat, and up he flew in the air like a lark. Little I knew the\ntrick he was going to serve me. Up--up--up--God knows how far up he\nflew. 'Why, then,' said I to him, thinking he did not know the right\nroad home, very civilly--because why? I was in his power\nentirely--'sir,' says I, 'please your honour's glory, and with humble\nsubmission to your better judgment, if you'd fly down a bit, you're now\njust over my cabin, and I could be put down there, and many thanks to\nyour worship.'\n\n\"'Arrah, Dan,' said he, 'do you think me a fool? Look down in the next\nfield, and don't you see two men and a gun? By my word it would be no\njoke to be shot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard that I picked\nup off a could stone in a bog.\" 'Bother you,' said I to myself, but I\ndid not speak out, for where was the use? Well, sir, up he kept flying,\nflying, and I asking him every minute to fly down, and all to no use.\n'Where in the world are you going, sir?' says I to him. 'Hold your\ntongue, Dan,' says he; 'mind your own business, and don't be interfering\nwith the business of other people.' 'Faith, this is my business, I\nthink,' says I. 'Be quiet, Dan,' says he; so I said no more.\n\n\"At last, where should we come to but to the moon itself. Now, you can't\nsee it from this; but there is, or there was in my time, a reaping-hook\nsticking out of the side of the moon, this way (drawing the figure on\nthe ground with the end of his stick).\n\n\"'Dan,' said the eagle, 'I'm tired with this long fly; I had no notion\n'twas so far.' 'And, my lord, sir,' said I, 'who in the world axed you\nto fly so far--was it I? Did not I beg, and pray, and beseech you to\nstop half an hour ago?' 'There's no use talking, Dan,' said he; 'I'm\ntired bad enough, so you must get off, and sit down on the moon until I\nrest myself.' 'Is it sit down on the moon?' said I. 'Is it upon that\nlittle round thing, then? Why, then, sure I'd fall off in a minute, and\nbe kilt and split, and smashed all to bits; you are a vile deceiver, so\nyou are.' 'Not at all, Dan,' said he; 'you can catch fast hold of the\nreaping-hook that's sticking out of the side of the moon, and 'twill\nkeep you up.' 'I won't, then,' said I. 'Maybe not,' said he, quite\nquiet. 'If you don't, my man, I shall just give you a shake, and one\nslap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, where every bone of\nyour body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a cabbage-leaf in\nthe morning.' 'Why, then, I'm in a fine way,' said I to myself, 'ever to\nhave come alone with the likes of you;' and so, giving him a hearty\ncurse in Irish, for fear he'd know what I said, I got off his back with\na heavy heart, took hold of the reaping-hook, and sat down upon the\nmoon; and a mighty cold seat it was, I can tell you that.\n\n\"When he had me there fairly landed, he turned about on me, and said,\n'Good morning to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' said he; 'I think I've nicked\nyou fairly now. You robbed my nest last year ('twas true enough for him,\nbut how he found it out is hard to say), and in return you are freely\nwelcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a cockthrow.'\n\n\"'Is that all, and is this the way you leave me, you brute, you?' says\nI. 'You ugly unnatural baste, and is this the way you serve me at last?\nBad luck to yourself, with your hooked nose, and to all your breed, you\nblackguard.' 'Twas all to no manner of use; he spread out his great big\nwings, burst out a-laughing, and flew away like lightning. I bawled\nafter him to stop, but I might have called and bawled for ever without\nhis minding me. Away he went, and I never saw him from that day to this.\nSorrow fly away with him! You may be sure I was in a disconsolate\ncondition, and kept roaring out for the bare grief, when all at once a\ndoor opened right in the middle of the moon, creaking on its hinges as\nif it had not been opened for a month before. I suppose they never\nthought of greasing 'em; and out there walks, who do you think, but the\nman in the moon himself. I knew him by his busk.\n\n\"'Good morrow to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' said he. 'How do you do?' 'Very\nwell, thank your honour,' said I. 'I hope your honour's well.' 'What\nbrought you here, Dan?' said he. So I told him how I was a little\novertaken in liquor at the master's, and how I was cast on a dissolute\nisland, and how I lost my way in the bog, and how the thief of an eagle\npromised to fly me out of it, and how, instead of that, he had fled me\nup to the moon.\n\n\"'Dan,' said the man in the moon, taking a pinch of snuff when I was\ndone, 'you must not stay here.' 'Indeed, sir,' says I, ''tis much\nagainst my will I'm here at all; but how am I to go back?' 'That's your\nbusiness,' said he, 'Dan; mine is to tell you that here you must not\nstay, so be off in less than no time.' 'I'm doing no harm,' says I,\n'only holding on hard by the reaping-hook lest I fall off.' 'That's what\nyou must not do, Dan,' says he. 'Pray, sir,' says I, 'may I ask how many\nyou are in family, that you would not give a poor traveller lodgings?\nI'm sure 'tis not so often you're troubled with strangers coming to see\nyou, for 'tis a long way.' 'I'm by myself, Dan,' says he; 'but you'd\nbetter let go the reaping-hook.' 'Faith, and with your leave,' says I,\n'I'll not let go the grip; and the more you bids me, the more I won't\nlet go, so I will.' 'You had better, Dan,' says he again. 'Why, then, my\nlittle fellow,' says I, taking the whole weight of him with my eye from\nhead to foot, 'there are two words to that bargain; and I'll not budge,\nbut you may if you like.' 'We'll see how that is to be,' says he; and\nback he went, giving the door such a great bang after him (for it was\nplain he was huffed) that I thought the moon and all would fall down\nwith it.\n\n\"Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with him, when back again\nhe comes with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and, without saying a\nword, he gives two bangs to the handle of the reaping-hook that was\nkeeping me up, and whap! it came in two. 'Good morning to you, Dan,'\nsays the spiteful little old blackguard, when he saw me cleanly falling\ndown with a bit of the handle in my hand, 'I thank you for your visit,\nand fair weather after you, Daniel.' I had no time to make any answer to\nhim, for I was tumbling over and over, and rolling and rolling at the\nrate of a fox-hunt. 'God help me,' says I, 'but this is a pretty pickle\nfor a decent man to be seen in at this time of night; I am now sold\nfairly.' The word was not out of my mouth when whiz! what should fly by\nclose to my ear but a flock of wild geese, all the way from my own bog\nof Ballyashenogh, else how should they know me? The ould gander, who was\ntheir general, turning about his head, cried out to me, 'Is that you,\nDan?' 'The same,' said I, not a bit daunted now at what he said, for I\nwas by this time used to all kinds of bedevilment, and, besides, I knew\nhim of ould. 'Good morrow to you,' says he, 'Daniel O'Rourke. How are\nyou in health this morning?' 'Very well, sir,' says I; 'I thank you\nkindly,' drawing my breath, for I was mightily in want of some. 'I hope\nyour honour's the same.' 'I think 'tis falling you are, Daniel,' says\nhe. 'You may say that, sir,' says I. 'And where are you going all the\nway so fast?' said the gander. So I told him how I had taken the drop,\nand how I came on the island, and how I lost my way in the bog, and how\nthe thief of an eagle flew me up to the moon, and how the man in the\nmoon turned me out. 'Dan,' said he, 'I'll save you; put your hand out\nand catch me by the leg, and I'll fly you home.' 'Sweet is your hand in\na pitcher of honey, my jewel,' says I, though all the time I thought in\nmyself that I don't much trust you; but there was no help, so I caught\nthe gander by the leg, and away I and the other geese flew after him as\nfast as hops.\n\n\"We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came right over the wide\nocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking\nup out of the water. 'Ah! my lord,' said I to the goose--for I thought\nit best to keep a civil tongue in my head any way--'fly to land, if you\nplease.' 'It is impossible, you see, Dan,' said he, 'for a while,\nbecause, you see, we are going to Arabia.' 'To Arabia!' said I; 'that's\nsurely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr. Goose, why, then,\nto be sure, I'm a man to be pitied among you.' 'Whist, whist, you fool,'\nsaid he; 'hold your tongue. I tell you Arabia is a very decent sort of\nplace, as like West Carbery as one egg is like another, only there is a\nlittle more sand there.'\n\n\"Just as we were talking a ship hove in sight, scudding so beautiful\nbefore the wind. 'Ah! then, sir,' said I, 'will you drop me on the ship,\nif you please?' 'We are not fair over it,' said he. 'We are,' said I.\n'We are not,' said he; 'if I dropped you now, you would go splash into\nthe sea.' 'I would not,' says I; 'I know better than that, for it is\njust clean under us, so let me drop now at once.'\n\n\"'If you must, you must,' said he. 'There, take your own way;' and he\nopened his claw, and faith he was right,--sure enough, I came down plump\ninto the very bottom of the salt sea! Down to the very bottom I went,\nand I gave myself up then for ever, when a whale walked up to me,\nscratching himself after his night's rest, and looked me full in the\nface, and never the word did he say; but lifting up his tail, he\nsplashed me all over again with the cold salt water, till there wasn't a\ndry stitch upon my whole carcase; and I heard somebody saying--'twas a\nvoice I knew too--'Get up, you drunken brute, out of that,' and with\nthat I woke up, and there was Judy with a tub full of water, which she\nwas splashing all over me; for, rest her soul! though she was a good\nwife, she never could bear to see me in drink, and had a bitter hand of\nher own.\n\n\"'Get up,' said she again; 'and of all places in the parish, would no\nplace sarve your turn to lie down upon but under the ould walls of\nCarrigaphooka? An uneasy resting I am sure you had of it.' And sure\nenough I had; for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with eagles,\nand men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales, driving me through\nbogs, and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the great ocean. If\nI was in drink ten times over, long would it be before I'd lie down in\nthe same spot again, I know that.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                 MOTHER BUNCH'S CLOSET\n\n                   NEWLY BROKE OPEN;\n\n                     CONTAINING\n\n             RARE SECRETS OF NATURE AND ART,\n\n                 TRIED AND EXPERIENCED\n\n                BY LEARNED PHILOSOPHERS,\n\n    And recommended to all ingenious young men and maids,\n     teaching them, in a natural way, how to get good wives\n     and husbands.\n\n    Approved by several that have made trial of them; it being\n      the product of forty-nine years' study.\n\n    _By our loving Friend Poor Tom, for the King, a lover\n                   of Mirth, but a hater of Treason._\n\n                    IN TWO PARTS.\n\n    PART I.\n\n\nReading over many ancient Histories, it was my chance to meet with this\nstory of an old woman who lived in the west, who took delight in\nstudying her fortune. When she found herself full twenty years old, she\nthought her luck worse than some who were married at fifteen or sixteen,\nwhich much troubled her mind; but to prevent all doubts she resolved to\ntry a story she had often heard her mother talk of, and, finding it\ntrue, she resolved to teach other maidens.\n\nOn a time, this old woman having newly buried her husband, was taking a\nwalk in the fields, for the benefit of the air, sometimes thinking of\nthe loss of her husbands, for she had had three, yet had a great desire\nfor the fourth. So it happened, as she was walking alone, she espied a\nyoung maiden by the meadow-side. \"Good morrow, maid,\" said the old\nwoman, \"how do you do? are not you well?\" \"Yes, mother, I am very well,\nbut somewhat troubled in mind.\" \"What is it troubles you so much? If I\ncan, I will willingly relieve you, therefore be not ashamed to tell the\ntruth. Is it anything of great concern?\" \"Indeed, mother, seeing you\nurge me so much, I will tell you the truth. We are three sisters, the\nyoungest was married about a year ago, the middlemost last week, and I\nam the eldest, and no man heeds me.\" \"Well, daughter, if this be all, I\nbelieve I can assist thee, for when I was young I was in the same\ncondition, and with reading some histories, found out the art to know\nhim that should be my husband, which, if you will keep my counsel, I am\nready to teach thee.\" \"I will, truly, and if you will do so much for me,\nI shall think myself much obliged to you; and, if my fortune proves\nright, I will make you amends.\"\n\n\"Why, then, I will tell you, in the first place, you must observe St.\nAgnes' day, which is the 21st of January, and on that day let no man\nspeak to thee, and at night, when thou liest down lay thy right hand\nunder thy head, and say these words, 'Now the God of hope let me dream\nof my love'; then go to sleep as soon as possible, and you shall be sure\nto dream of him who will be your husband, and see him stand before you,\nand may take notice of him and his complexion; and if he offer to salute\nthee honourably, do not deny him, but show him as much favour as thou\ncanst; but if he offers to be uncivil, be sure to send him away. And\nnow, daughter, the counsel I have given you, be sure to tell nobody. So,\nfare you well, till I see you again.\"\n\n\"I give you thanks for your advice; but one thing more I have to say,\nWhat is your name? and where do you live?\" \"I will tell you, daughter;\nmy name is Mother Bunch, and I live at a place called Bonadventure,\nwhere, if you come, I will make you welcome.\"\n\nNow Mother Bunch having departed from the maid, she met another pretty\ngirl. \"Good morrow, Mother Bunch.\" \"Good morrow, pretty maid, whither\nare you going this morning? Methinks you are very fine to-day.\" \"Fine!\nMother Bunch, you do not think so.\" \"Nay, I cannot discommend you; for\nsuch a brisk maid as you should go handsome, or you will never get a\nsweetheart, though you think the time long.\" \"No, no, mother, I am too\nyoung.\" \"How old are you?\" \"I am eighteen.\" \"Eighteen! then I know thou\nthinkest thou hast stayed long enough, and wouldest as willingly have a\nhusband as another.\" \"Aye, Mother Bunch, but good husbands are hard to\nfind, especially for me, who have no skill in choosing, or else it may\nbe I would be glad of a good husband.\" \"Be sure to take my advice: be\nwise in choosing, that is to say, take no one that has got a red head,\nfor be sure he loveth a smock so well that he will scarce let his wife\nhave a good one to her back; nor of yellow hair, as he is inclinable to\nbe jealous; nor a black man, for he is dogged.\" \"Aye, but mother, if I\nmust not have yellow, black, nor red, what colour must I take?\" \"Why,\ndaughter, I tell you, if he is jealous, you will be annoyed by his\nspeeches, for how can a young woman forbear when she is always provoked?\nAnd be sure, if he is jealous of thee thou mayest well be so of him; for\nevil people and thieves think ill of each other. But hold a little, one\nthing more I have to say to you, and that is, to take notice of thy\nsweethearts when they come a-wooing to thee, I mean of their civil\nbehaviour; for if they swear, vow, and make great protestations, then\nhave a care of thyself, for many words breed dissimulation; therefore\nhave a care of such: but if a man come to thee that is sober and civil\nbehaved, there are hopes of his proving a good man.\" \"Now, mother, I\nwill take my leave of you, giving you many thanks for your good advice;\nand so, farewell, till I see you again, and I intend to take this\ncounsel.\"\n\nAnother time Mother Bunch was in a little meadow, not far from her\nhouse, on the 30th of April, before sunrising. A handsome maid, seeing\nher alone, came to her, and said, \"Mother Bunch, good morrow, how do you\ndo? Pray, what makes you abroad so early in the morning? You seem to be\nin a deep study.\" \"Daughter, you say very true; I am studying who shall\nbe my next husband, and if thou wilt but please to stay a little while,\nthou shalt see a pretty art, which thou never saw before, to teach you\nhow to know your sweetheart.\" \"This is a pretty art indeed, and I should\nbe glad to know it.\"\n\n\"Hark! hark! daughter, is not yonder the cuckoo singing?\" \"Yes, yes, and\nI have not heard her sing this year before now.\" \"Then, daughter, sit\ndown by me, but hold, Are you fasting?\" \"Yes.\" \"But has no man kissed\nyou?\" \"No.\" Then sit thee down by me. \"I think the cuckoo is mad, what a\nlife she leads; I think she is a witch; but no matter: put off thy right\nshoe and stocking, and let me look between thy great toe and the next:\nNow, daughter, see, this hair is a long one; look well at it, and tell\nme what colour it is.\" \"I think it is really yellow.\" \"The same colour\nwill thy husband's hair be.\" \"But, Mother Bunch, I do not matter the\ncolour so much as the condition.\" \"I will tell you his condition: he may\nprove surly enough, and perhaps make you do as you did not imagine: you\nmust give him good words, and give him good for evil.\" \"Mother Bunch,\nyou make me smile, you talk so merrily.\" \"Come, daughter, it is no great\nmatter; merry talk does no harm, but drives the time away. But hark!\ndaughter, I have had three husbands myself, and I think to have another;\nand do you think I am so mad to tell him all I do? Then, my daughter, I\nhave another way to tell you who must be your husband; I have proved it\ntrue; and it is the best time of the year to try it, therefore, observe\nwhat I say: Take a St. Thomas' onion, pare it, and lay it on a clean\nhandkerchief under your pillow; and as you lie down, say these words--\n\n    Good St. Thomas, do me right,\n    And bring my love in dreams this night,\n    That I may view him in the face.\n\n\"Then go to sleep as soon as you can, and in your first sleep you shall\ndream of him who is to be your husband. This I have tried, and it has\nproved true. Yet I have another pretty way for a maid to know her\nsweetheart, which is as follows: Take a summer apple of the best fruit,\nstick pins close into the apple, to the head, and as you stick them take\nnotice which of them is the middlemost, and give it what name you fancy;\nput it into thy left hand glove, and lay it under thy pillow on Saturday\nnight; after thou gettest into bed, then clap thy hands together, and\nsay these words--\n\n    If thou be he that must have me\n      To be thy wedded bride,\n    Make no delay, but come away,\n      In dream to my bedside.\n\n\"And in thy sleep thou shalt see him, and be not afraid, for it is a sign\nhe will prove a good husband. And this is a good way for a young man to\nknow his sweetheart, giving the middlemost pin the name he fancies best,\nputting the apple in his right hand glove, and laying it under his\npillow when he is in bed, saying--\n\n    If thou be she that must have me\n      In wedlock for to join,\n    Make no delay, but come away\n      So I may dream of mine.\n\n\"And that night he may see her, and if she come it is a sign she will\nprove a good wife. And now, daughter, the time passes away, and I must\nbe gone, and so bid you farewell.\" \"Mother Bunch, I give you many thanks\nfor your good counsel, and intend to take your advice.\"\n\nUpon a time, Mother Bunch, being at a wedding, where young men and maids\nwere met, who had a mind for some discourse with her, one young man\nsaid, \"Mother Bunch, we know you are a woman that has a judgment in many\nthings, I pray, tell my fortune.\" \"I cannot tell fortunes,\" said she,\n\"but thou blinkest too much with one eye to be true to one woman.\" \"Aye,\nbut, mother,\" says another, \"what think you of me?\" \"Thou mayest come to\nmarry a lady, if thou canst but lay a great wager with her, three to\none; and if she wagers with thee, thou wilt be very likely to win, for\nthou hast mettle in thee; but have a care she win not the odds, if she\ndoes thou art clean gone. So farewell.\"\n\nNow Mother Bunch took her leave; and going home, she met a maid going to\na wedding. \"How do you do, mother?\" \"Thank you, daughter, whither are\nyou going?\" \"To the wedding, I believe; but hark you, mother, will you\nsit down a little, I have something to say to you.\" \"What is it,\ndaughter?\" \"When shall I be married?\" \"Would you fain be married?\" \"Yes,\nmother, if I could get a good husband.\" \"Then, daughter, I will tell you\nthe best I can, if you will take my advice. In the month of January are\nmany dangerous days for thee to take notice of; these are the first,\nsecond, third, fourth, and fifth: there are a great many more; but if\nthou marriest on these days, thy husband will cuckold thee, or thou wilt\nmake him one, or else you will soon be parted by one means or other; but\nfor all there be so many bad days in this month I can tell you of one\nday which is lucky, and many young men and maids have a deal of heart's\nease on that day, or the day after, as I shall let you understand; it is\nthe 21st, called St. Agnes' day. This St. Agnes has a great favour for\nyoung men and maids, and will bring their sweethearts, if they follow my\nrules: Upon this day you must be sure to keep a fast, and neither eat\nnor drink all that day, nor at night; neither let man, woman, nor child\nkiss thee on that day; and thou must be sure, when thou goest to bed, to\nsay--\n\n    Now, St. Agnes, play thy part,\n    And send to me my own sweetheart;\n    And show me such a happy bliss,\n    This night to dream of a sweet kiss.\n\n\"And be sure to fall asleep as soon as you can, and before you awake out\nof your first sleep, you shall see him come before you, and shall\nperceive by his habit what tradesman he is; and be sure thou declare not\nthy dream unto any one in ten days, and by that time thou mayest see thy\ndream come to pass. All this I have proved three times; for I have had\nthree husbands, and they all proved tradesmen. The first was a straw\njoiner, the second a louse-trap maker, and the third a gentle craft, and\nhe came to me with his awl in his hand, and so I waked out of my dream;\nbut I thought the time long till he came again; as all maids do that\ndesire to be married. I know some maids would wait in order to have a\nhusband with the best conditions, and endowed with the best\nqualifications; nay they would have impossibilities: but I am afraid\nthey will make good the old proverb, that says--\n\n    'If you will not when you may,\n    When you would you shall have nay.'\n\n\"Therefore, take my advice, if a young man comes to you of a civil\ncarriage, and you think you can love him, be not scornful to him, but\ngive him a civil encouragement, according to his behaviour.\"\n\nAnd as to young men, my advice is, they be wary in their choice, since\nthere is as much danger in choosing of a wife as a husband: wherefore,\nall young men, take my advice: choose not one with a long nose, a\nscolding brow, and thin lips, for in such there is great danger. He who\nis tied to a scold is tied to sorrow; choose not one who is counted a\nslut, if she be a slut, she is idle also, and these two companions will\nbring thee to poverty; nay, besides this, the old saying is, 'A slut\nwill poison the gout, and if you can't eat with her, you won't sleep\nwith her.'\n\nBut this is the best way of choosing a wife: Take one for love, not for\nriches which fly away, for true love never varies; and where that is,\nthe blessing of God is. If you desire to live a long life, be not\noverfond of riches, but choose a civil handsome maid, who is not given\nto pride: such a maid may make a fine wife. But she that brings a\nhandsome fortune, will be always throwing it in your teeth, which often\noccasions great disturbances; therefore let this suffice for those who\ndesire to get good wives; and take notice of what I have already said,\nand you may fare the better.\n\nAnd as for young maids, this is my advice, if they will not try St.\nAgnes, let them be sure to choose a clever, honest man, who is able to\nsupport them in comfort.\n\n\n\n\n    PART II.\n\n\nOn Michaelmas Day, Mother Bunch, sitting on the bank of a river, joining\nto a neighbouring grove, beheld the late flourishing branches in their\ndecay, whose sapless leaves were falling to the earth, from which she\nbegan seriously to consider her own mortality; and since time had\nhurried on the winter of her age, and covered her aged head with snowy\nlocks, she might expect, ere long, to fall, like the enfeebled leaves.\nTherefore, she resolved, as she had been a kind friend to young men and\nmaids, to give a further testimony of her regard before she left this\nworld. For as her painful study and strict observation had made a large\nimprovement in her stock of knowledge she would not have it buried in\nthe grave with her, but leave it to posterity for the benefit of young\nmen and maids, whereby they might learn to understand their good and bad\nfortunes, and by the directions of this book be thoroughly furnished\nwith many secret rarities never before published to the world.\n\nAccordingly, the next day she wrote letters of invitation to the young\nmen and maids to repair to her house on St. Luke's Day. The maids she\nappointed to meet in the morning, to be first instructed, and that for\ntwo reasons. First, as she herself was a woman, she would teach them\nfirst, lest the bachelors should be too hard for them before they had\nlearned their lessons. Secondly, that young women should be first served\nin this, it being Horn Fair Day, many of the bachelors would be employed\nin the morning, in handing old citizens' young wives to the fair; and in\nthe afternoon they might be at liberty. This was the determination of\nold Mother Bunch.\n\nNow against the time appointed, old Mother Bunch decked up her house,\nneat and fine, and, getting up early in the morning, placed herself in\nthe closet, where her treasure lay.\n\nNow the first that entered the room was one Margery Loveman, a\nmaltster's maid, who, with a low curtsey, said, \"Good morrow, Mother\nBunch, I am come to partake of your bounty; for I hear you have a second\ntime opened your Golden Closet of Curiosities for the benefit of young\nlovers.\" \"Yes, daughter,\" quoth Mother Bunch, \"so I have, and thou shalt\npartake of the same. Here is infallible rules and directions to guide\nyou in all manner of love intrigues; also, how to know what sort of man\nyou shall marry, and whither he will prove loving or not.\"\n\n\"Dear mother, these are things I fain would know; for, believe me, I\nhave many sweethearts, and I willingly choose the best, lest I should\nmarry in haste and repent at leisure. 'Tis true, I have near a hundred\nand fifty pounds to my portion, the great noise of which has brought\nmany sweethearts, for I have no less than five or six at this time; and,\nmother, I would fain know which of them comes for love of me, and which\nof them for money.\" \"Daughter,\" quoth Mother Bunch, \"here is an\nexperiment, if you will but try, it will make a clear discovery of the\nreality of their love. Let a report be spread that thou hast lately been\nrobbed of all that thou hast, both money and apparel. Now, if after\nthis, there is one of them that continues his love as before, you may be\nvery certain that he is faithful; but, be sure that you keep this\ncounsel to yourself, that the secret be not discovered.\" \"I will take\ncare of that, dear mother,\" quoth Margery, \"and I heartily thank you for\nthis kind and seasonable advice.\"\n\n    \"Good morrow, daughter,\" she replied,\n    \"Young men are false, and must be tried.\"\n\nShe was no sooner gone, but in comes Mrs. Susan, a young sempstress from\nSalisbury, with sorrowful lamentation, weeping and wringing her hands.\n\"How now!\" quoth good Mother Bunch; \"what is the matter with you,\ndaughter, that you go on at this rate?\" \"Alas! Mother Bunch,\" quoth\nSusan, \"my--my--my--my--my--my!\" \"What my?\" said Mother Bunch. Quoth\nsobbing Susan, \"My sorrows are more than I am able to bear; for, mother,\ndear Frank the fiddler, my old love, and I are fallen out, and he swears\nhe will not have me.\" \"Come, daughter,\" quoth Mother Bunch, \"be of good\ncomfort, for I will put thee in an effectual way to find whither Frank\nthe fiddler be really angry with thee or not; and if he be, I will teach\nthee infallibly how to obtain his favour again. 'She that is afraid of\nevery grass, must not think to go in a meadow.' Let your angry love but\nalone for a season, and he will soon come to himself again; for I know\nthat love is a puny darling, and wants very frequently to be humoured.\nTherefore, let him alone, in time he will forget his anger, and return\nto thee again, if he has any principle, good nature, or loyal love in\nhim; and if not, you had better be without him than during your whole\nlife to be tied to so sour an apple tree. Remember the old proverb,\n'Set thy stool in the sun; if a knave goes, an honest man may come.' I\nhope thou hast not been playing the wanton wagtail with him, hast thou?\"\n\"No, indeed, dear Mother Bunch; but yet, I must needs confess that he\nfain would have played a lesson on my lute last market day, but I would\nnot let him; and that was the cause of our falling out.\" \"Sayest thou\nso, daughter? Why, then, I will tell thee, that since he found thou\nwithstood his temptations, with so much resolution, take my word for it\nhe will never forget thee.\" \"Well, dear mother,\" quoth young Susan,\n\"your words have been comfortable to me; and when I find the good\neffects, I will return and give you an account of it. And so farewell,\ndear mother, for the present.\"\n\n    \"Right happy, daughter, may you be,\n    In guarding your true purity.\"\n\nThe next that entered the room was Eliza, the miller's maid, who, after\nmaking a very low curtsey, and giving Mother Bunch the time of the day,\ndesiring to know for what reason she sent her that letter? \"Why,\" says\nthe old woman, \"to the end that I might reveal to you some secrets\nrelating to love, which I have never discovered to the world.\" \"But,\ndear Mother Bunch,\" quoth Margery, \"I am a mere stranger to love, for I\nnever in my life knew what it meant.\" \"That may be,\" quoth Mother Bunch;\n\"yet you know not how soon you may receive the arrows of Cupid, then you\nwould be glad of some of my advice, for I know by myself, that the best\nwoman of you all, at one time or other, has a desire to know what it is\nto be married.\" Quoth Margery, \"You talk merrily, Mother Bunch.\" \"Well,\ndaughter,\" quoth Mother Bunch, \"you may term it as you please; but I\nwill appeal to your own conscience whether or no you would be glad, with\nall your heart, of a kind and loving husband.\"\n\n\"Dear Mother,\" quoth Margery, \"you come quite close to the matter; and\nif I may be so free as to speak my own mind, I could willingly have such\na one; for though house-keeping is said to be very chargeable often, yet,\non the other hand, a married state is honourable.\" \"Thou sayest well,\ndaughter,\" quoth Mother Bunch, \"and if thou hast a mind to see the man\nwhom thou shalt marry, then follow strictly my directions, and you shall\nnot fail of your desire. Let me see--this is St. Luke's Day, which I\nhave found by long study to be of greater use to that purpose than that\nof the celebrated St. Agnes, which I formerly recommended you to; and\nthe ingredients now to be used are of a quite different and finer\nquality, and far more excellent for performing the same.\n\n\"Now I would have you take some marigold flowers, a large sprig of sweet\nmarjoram, a sprig of fresh thyme, and a small quantity of wormwood; dry\nthese together before the fire, till you may rub them to a powder; then\nsift the same through a piece of fine lawn. This being done, take a\nsmall quantity of virgin honey, and right white wine vinegar, and simmer\nthem together in a new earthen porringer, over a mild and gentle fire;\nall which being done, anoint your forehead and cheeks, and lips,\nlikewise, with the same, just the moment you are lying down in your bed;\nalways remembering to repeat these words three times--\n\n    St. Luke, St. Luke, be kind to me,\n    And let me now my true love see.\n\n\"This said, hasten to sleep with all speed; then in the soft slumber of\nyour night's repose the very man you are to marry shall appear before\nyou walking to and fro near to your bedside, very plain and visible to\nbe seen: you shall perfectly behold the colour of his hair, his visage,\nstature, and deportment. And if he be one that will prove faithful, he\nwill approach you with a smile, and offer to salute you; which, when he\ndoes, do not seem to be overfond or peevishly froward, but receive the\nsame with a becoming mild and modest smile. Now, if he be one that will,\nafter marriage, forsake his house to wander after strange women, then\nwill he offer to be rude and uncivil with thee, at which time thou shalt\nlift up thy hand to smite him; so doing, it will go well with thee, and\nthy guardian angel will keep thee ever safe. Daughter, these are\nrarities which I never before divulged. Do but put this in execution,\nand I am certain it will answer the desired effect.\" \"I must needs thank\nyou for your love,\" quoth Margery; \"and so farewell, Mother Bunch.\"\n\"Good-bye, daughter,\" she replied.\n\n    \"Let joy and pleasure crown your days,\n    And a kind man your fortune raise.\"\n\nThe next that appeared was Kate, the cloth-worker's daughter; then Doll,\nthe dairymaid; Joan, Bridget, Nancy, and Phillis, in number about forty\ntogether, each of them crying out with a loud voice, \"Dear Mother Bunch,\nremember me.\" \"O remember me,\" quoth another; and so did they all, till\nthey made the poor old woman's ears deaf with the clamorous noise. \"My\ndear daughters,\" quoth Mother Bunch, \"sit you all down and be quiet, for\nthere is never a one amongst you but will partake of my bounty.\nDaughters, I will sit in the midst of you, where I shall read over a\nvery interesting lecture. My real motive is to give you a full account\nof some rare and excellent curiosities, in my Golden Closet, newly broke\nopen; declaring that it is my opinion that those things which are\nprofitable to one maid may not be prejudicial, in any respect, to\nanother, and this I shall begin. First, if any of you here desire to\nknow the name of the man whom you shall marry, let her seek in the\nsummer time for a green peasecod, in which there are nine pease; when\nyou have done this, either write, or cause to be written, on a slip of\npaper, these words--\n\n    Come in, my dear,\n    And never fear.\n\n\"Writing which, you must carefully close within the aforesaid peasecod,\nand lay the same under the threshold of the door, and then observe the\nnext man that comes into the house; for you shall certainly be married\nto one of the same name.\n\n\"Secondly, she that desires to be satisfied whether she shall get the man\ndesired or no, let her take two lemon-peels in the morning, and wear\nthem all the day under her arm-pit, then at night let her not fail to\ntake them and rub the four posts of the bed with the same; which being\ndone, in your first sleep, he will seem to come and present you with a\ncouple of choice lemons, if not, there is no hope.\n\n\"Thirdly, she that is desirous to know what manner of fortune she shall\nmarry, whether a gentleman, a tradesman, or a traveller, the experiment\nis thus: Take a walnut, a hazel nut, and a nutmeg; crack the two nuts,\nand take off the scurf; peel them clear from the kernels, and grate part\nof the nutmeg to them; this being done, bruise the kernels of the nuts,\nand mix them with butter and sugar, making them up into peels, which are\nto be taken just when you are lying down in your bed. Then if your\nfortune be to marry a gentleman, your sleep will be filled with fine\ngolden dreams, variety of sweet music, and many running footmen; if a\ntradesman, great noise and tumults; if a traveller (who is a seaman),\nthen frightful visions of lightning and roaring thunder will disturb\nyour sleep. This has been often tried, and as often approved.\n\n\"Fourthly, St. Agnes' Day I have not wholly blotted out of my book; no,\nbut I have found a more exact way of trial than before: You shall not\nneed to abstain from kisses, nor be forced to keep a fast from a glance\nof your love in the night. If you can rise to be at the parish church\ndoor punctually between the hours of twelve and one in the morning, and\nthen and there put only the fore-finger of your right hand into the\nkey-hole of the said door, repeating the following words, three times\nover--\n\n    O sweet St. Agnes, now draw near\n    With my true love, let him appear.\n\n\"Then he will straight approach to you with a cheerful and smiling\ncountenance. This is a new and infallible way of making the trial.\n\n\"Fifthly, my dear daughters, you all know the thirteenth day of February\nis Valentine's Day, at which time the fowls of the air couple together,\nand not only so, but the young men and maidens are for choosing mates at\nthe same time. Now, that you may speed to your full satisfaction, follow\nthis approved direction: Take five bay leaves, lay one under every\ncorner of your pillow, and the fifth under the middle, then laying\nyourself down to rest, repeat the following words in the four lines,\nseven times over--\n\n    Some guardian angel let me have\n    What I most earnestly do crave,\n    A valentine endowed with love,\n    Which will both kind and constant prove.\n\n\"Then to your great content, you shall either have the valentine of him\nyou desire, or, at least, one much more excellent.\n\n\"Sixthly, the experiment of the midsummer smock, found in a better\nmanner than before, by my painful study in philosophy. And now,\ndaughters,\" quoth she, \"take particular notice, for it is thus: Let\nseven of you together, on a midsummer's eve, exactly at the sun's\nsetting, go silently into some garden, and gather each of you a sprig of\nred sage, then return to some private room, prepared particularly for\nthat purpose, with a stool placed in the middle, each one of you having\na clean smock, turned the wrong side outwards, hanging upon a line\nacross the room, then let every one lay her sprig of red sage on a clean\nplate of rosewater set on a stool; which done, place yourselves in a\nrow, where continue till twelve or one o'clock, saying nothing,\nwhatever you see, for after midnight, each one's sweetheart or husband,\nthat shall be, will take each maid's sprig out of the rosewater, and\nsprinkle his love's smock, and those who are so unfortunate as never to\nbe married, their sprigs shall not be moved; and in consequence hereof\nmany sobs and heavy sighs will be heard. This has been very often tried\nin our own country, and never failed of the desired effect.\n\n    These things I have found out of late,\n    To make young lovers fortunate.\n\n\"And now, my dear daughters, I have but a few more words to say at this\ntime, and they are by way of caution: In the twelve months I find above\none and thirty very unfortunate days; and therefore, as you regard the\nfuture happiness of your lives, take care that you do not enter into\nwedlock upon those days. Now, for your better instruction, I'll tell you\nwhich they be.\n\n    \"In January there are four; the 7th, 16th, 17th, and 18th.\n    February hath two; the 5th and 10th.\n    March hath three; the 9th, 10th, and 21st.\n    April hath two; the 6th and 7th.\n    May hath two; the 4th and 13th.\n    June hath three; the 7th, 9th, and 10th.\n    July hath two; the 9th and 17th.\n    August hath two; the 11th and 15th.\n    September hath three; the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th.\n    October hath three; the 4th, 14th, and 15th.\n    November hath two; the 5th and 24th.\n    December hath three; the 6th, 7th, and 9th.\n            Observe my rules for all these days,\n            And then you will your fortune raise.\"\n\nThis said, old Mother Bunch presented them with a cup of her fine\ncordial water, and so dismissed them; and the young damsels, with\nrapturous hearts, returned her their hearty thanks.\n\nAfter Mother Bunch had done dinner, the young men came, to wit, Tom the\nmiller, Ralph the thatcher, and Robin the ploughman, with a great number\nof other trades and callings, all whom Mother Bunch invited to sit down\nthat she might deliver her wholesome counsels to them.\n\nAnd first she begins with Tom the miller, saying, \"Ah, Tom! thou art a\nsad wild young fellow; there is not a maid that can come to the mill but\nthou will be fooling with them, but take my word for it, if you do not\nleave off in time, you will certainly spoil all your fortune. What woman\ndo you think, having a portion, will have such a one? She may justly\nconclude that you will still run a catterwauling after young wenches,\nand leave her to sigh and weep for want of domestic happiness--you know\nwhat I mean, Tom.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, mother,\" quoth Tom, \"but sure you do not take me for such a\none.\" \"Yes, Tom, I do, and am seldom mistaken. It is you millers that\nfill the country so full of cracked-headed maidens, that when an honest\nhusband comes to marry he finds the hearts already stolen away. But\nfarewell, I'll have no more to say to such a fellow as you.\"\n\nThen turning to Ralph the thatcher, she said, \"I find you are very\ndesirous of a wife, and your ambition is such that she must be rich,\nyoung, and beautiful: cannot you content yourself with honest Joan, to\nwhom you gave promise of marriage? And now I find you have a mind to\nleave her, which if you do, and obtain such a one as you desire, I can\ntell you what will follow. She won't stand picking of straws with you,\nher fair face will find many friends in a corner, and you may chance to\nbe a cuckold, and indeed but justly served in your kind; and, therefore,\nI advise you to return to your old love, for she is a very honest girl,\nand therefore far more fit for you than such a gay butterfly as you have\nlately followed.\"\n\nThen she stretched forth her hand to Robin the ploughman, saying, \"Thou\nart an honest fellow, and good fortune will always attend thee. I mean\nnot bags of gold nor heaps of silver; but thou shalt have a careful and\nindustrious wife, one that will ever be willing and ready to labour, a\ntrue and faithful yoke-mate, and one that will be a cheerful partner in\nthy weal and woe, to comfort and support thee under the greatest and\nmost severe trials. For, as the poet has it--\n\n    That burden may be borne\n      By two with care,\n    Which is perhaps too much\n      For one to bear.\n\n\"Honest Robin, this is thy happy fortune, and as thou art a downright\nhonest fellow, I am glad to find it so.\"\n\n    Thus Mother Bunch went round the room,\n    And told them what would be their doom,\n    If they her daughters did betray,\n    And steal their maiden hearts away,\n    Each would be punished with a bride,\n    By whom he should be hornify'd;\n    But if they were right honest men,\n    Each of them should have fortune then.\n    This said, she did her blessing give,\n    In love and happiness to live;\n    Which when they did the same receive,\n    Of Mother Bunch they took their leave,\n    Declaring she had told them more,\n    Than e'er they understood before.\n\nNow for these poor young creatures that have pined themselves to death,\nand have no cure, the worst of pretenders to physiognomy might prescribe\nthem a remedy, and all those of what constitution soever that have hoped\nhouses of their own, I will show you how you shall see the person that\nis to give you one, collected from Trismegistus and Cornelius Agrippa.\n\nOn midsummer Eve three or four of you must dip your dresses in fair\nwater, then turn them wrong side outwards, and hang them on chairs\nbefore the fire, and lay some salt in another chair, and speak not a\nword. In a short time the likeness of him you are to marry will come and\nturn your dresses, and drink to you; but if there be any of you will\nnever marry, they will hear a bell, but not the rest.\n\n    _Another way, quickly tried._\n\nTake hemp-seed, and go into what place you will by yourself, carry the\nseed in your apron, and with your right hand throw it over your shoulder\nsaying,\n\n    Hemp-seed I sow, hemp-seed I sow,\n    And he that must be my true love,\n    Come after me and mow.\n\nAnd at the ninth time expect to see the figure of him you are to wed, or\nelse hear a bell as before.\n\n    Yet though you hear the sad and dismal bell\n    It is your own fault if you hear the horrid knell.\n                    _Another way._\n\nYou that dare venture into a churchyard, just as it strikes twelve at\nnight, take a naked sword in your hand, and go nine times about the\nchurch, saying,\n\n    Here's the sword, but where's the scabbard?\n\nWhich continue the whole time you go round; and the ninth time the\nperson you are to marry will meet you with a scabbard and so kiss you:\nif not, a bell as before.\n\n    _Another, called the Dutch Cake._\n\nThree, four, or more of you must make a cake of flour and salt (no\nmatter of what flour), and some of each of your own baking; make your\ncake broad, and each of you set the two first letters of your name with\na pin, but leave such a distance that it may be cut; then set it before\nthe fire, but speak not one word. Turn it each of you once; and the\nperson to be your husband will cut out your name; then the next, unto\nthe last.\n\n    _Another way._\n\nThe first change of the new moon on the New Year, the first time you\nsee it, hold your hands across, saying this three times--\n\n    New moon, new moon, I pray thee,\n    Tell me this night who my true love will be.\n\nThen go to sleep without speaking a word, and you will certainly dream\nof the person you shall marry.\n\n    _Another way experienced often._\n\nYoung men and maids may take some rosemary flowers, bay leaves, a little\nthyme, sweet marjoram, and southern-wood; make these into powder, and\nwith barley flour make a cake, but do not bake it. Lay this under your\nhead any Friday night; and if you dream of music, you will wed those you\ndesire in a short time; if of the sea or ships, you will travel first;\nif of a church, you must be contented to die single.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                         THE\n\n                   COMICAL HISTORY\n\n                       OF THE\n\n                COURTIER AND TINKER\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _The Courtier finds the Tinker asleep; he has him carried in\n         that posture to his house; lays him on a Bed in a\n         stately Room with rich Clothes by him; feasts and\n            entertains him with fine Music; makes him\n                  drunk, and then conveys him\n                         back again._\n\n\nA Courtier one day riding along with his retinue espied a Tinker who had\nbeen taking a very early draught to quench the spark in his throat,\nlying fast asleep, and snoring under a sunny bank, having made his\nbudget into his pillow, to rest his drowsy head upon; and the\nCourtier's country house not being far off, he immediately caused his\nservants to take him up very softly, and carry him thither, then to put\nhim in a stately bed in the next chamber, pull off his foul shirt, and\nput on him a clean one, then convey away his old clothes, and lay rich\nones by him. This was punctually observed. The Tinker being thus laid,\nslept soundly till evening; when rousing up between sleeping and waking,\nand being dry, as drunkards usually are, he began to call for some\ndrink, but was greatly frighted to find himself in such a palace,\nfurnished with lights and attendants about him, that bowed to him, and\nharmonious music, accompanied with most charming voices, but none of\nthem to be seen. Whereupon looking for his old clothes and budget, he\nfound a muff and rich attire glistening with gold by him, which made him\nfancy himself metamorphosed from a Tinker to a Prince. He asked many\nquestions, but in vain, yet being willing to rise, the attendants\narrayed him in the richest attire; so then he looked on all sides\nadmiring the sudden change of fortune, and as proud as a peacock when he\nspreads his tail against the glittering beams of the sun. And being\narrayed, they had him into another room, where was a costly banquet\nprepared, and placed him in a chair, under a fine canopy, fringed with\ngold, being attended with wine in gilded cups. At first he strained\ncourtesy, but being entreated to sit down, the banquet being solely at\nhis disposal, he fell to most heartily. Then after supper they plied him\nwith so much wine, as to make him dead drunk, then stripped him, and put\non his old clothes; they carried him as they had brought him, and laid\nhim in the same posture they found him, being all this time asleep; and\nwhen he awoke he took all that had happened before for a vision, telling\nit wherever he came, that he had really and verily dreamed he had been a\nprince, telling them as well as he could all that had happened, but\nplainly he saw now again his fortune would raise him no higher than to\nmend old kettles; yet he made the following song for the fraternity to\nsing at their leisure:--\n\n    All you that jovial Tinkers are,\n        Come listen unto me:\n    I dreamed a dream that was so rare,\n    That none to it I can compare,\n        No Tinker such did see.\n\n    I thought I was a King indeed,\n        Attired gay and fine;\n    In a stately palace I did tread,\n    Was to a princely banquet led,\n        And had good cheer of wine.\n\n    But soon I found me in a ditch,\n        That did no comfort lend;\n    This shows a Tinker, though he itch\n    To be a Prince, or to grow rich,\n        Must still old kettles mend.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _The Courtier's Trick upon the Tinker for complaining that he\n                could get no drink at his house._\n\n\nThe Tinker I have before mentioned, not knowing the house where he had\nbeen so nobly entertained, and which he only took for a vision, and\noften walking that road and crying old brass to mend, had been called in\nto work, and was often asked various questions by the servants, and as\noften told them his imaginary vision; but they giving him no strong\nliquor, he often complained of it in the town, saying, \"Though some had\npraised Sir John's liberality, and how free he was of his liquor, yet\nfor his own part, he could say no such thing, as having ever found him\nso stingy and niggardly, that not so much as one sup of his famed March\nor October beer could he get.\" This being babbled about came to the\nCourtier's ears, who was resolved to punish his sauciness, though in a\ncomical way. So one day as he was passing by, he ordered him to be\ncalled in to do some work; and after he had done it to come to him (as\nhaving laid all his schemes with his servants beforehand). \"Come, old\nfellow,\" said he, \"you look as if you were as dry as Vulcan. What say\nyou if I should order you where you may have your fill of good drink?\nWould not you be glad of it?\" \"Ay, master,\" said he, making a nod and a\nscrape, \"God's blessing on your heart for it, and I thank you too.\"\n\nUpon this he ordered his butler to have him down, and be sure not to\nstint him, and let him have his full swill. They instantly went, and the\nTinker followed them very joyfully. But they had no sooner gotten him\ndown, but shutting to the door close, they ordered him to strip\nimmediately; at the which he much wondered, and began to make excuses on\naccount of the blackness of his hide, which would be very undecent and\nunseemly. But they pretended it was the way of the cellar, when a new\ncomer was to be made free of it, but never after, how oft soever he\ncame. He being willing to comply, that he might have his skin full of\ngood liquor, that might prove both as meat and cloth to him, off went\nhis leathern doublet, breeches, shoes, stockings, and hat; as for shirt\nhe had none, having pawned it to his hostess that morning for three\nnoggins of brandy. Then taking a frisk or two in a merry vein, they\nsurprisingly whipped him up by the heels, and put him into a full butt\nof strong beer, the upper head being taken up for that purpose. So he\ndipped over head and ears like a duck that dives. Yet after he had\nrecovered his legs, it was but just shoulder deep, for when upon winding\nof the horn, whilst he would have been scrambling out, down came Sir\nJohn, demanding what was the matter. They told him \"the Tinker was not\ncontent to drink full horns at the cock, but would needs go in to drink\nall at a draught.\" \"Aye,\" said he, \"this is a thirsty soul indeed; but\nsince he undertakes to drink it, he shall do it, for none of my servants\nshall drink it now, he has washed his dirty hide in it;\" crying to him\nwith an angry voice, \"Sirrah, you rogue, drink it as you proposed, or it\nshall be worse for you,\" and while he stood shivering up to his neck,\nand was endeavouring to lay the blame upon others, the Courtier seemed\nimpatient to be dallied with, drew a broad sword that was two-edged,\nprotesting his head should go off for abusing his good liquor, was there\nno more Tinkers in the world, and with that, making a full blow at him,\nas the Tinker believed. And seeing him in such a passion, he to avoid\nthe coming stroke dropped down over head and ears, staying under as long\nas he could, and peeping up, and seeing the threatening danger, he\ndropped down again for six or seven times. Till fearing to carry the\njest too far, he gave him a short respite, telling him, \"Now he could\nnot report abroad he was so very niggardly of his drink, for he had or\nmight have enough of it.\" Then bidding his servants to take him out, and\nordered him to depart, or drink it up, which he thought fit. And thus he\nwent away laughing. The Tinker, who was at first very angry, but being\ncheered up with a cordial dram, and so made sensible that all this was\nbut a frolic, and that for the future their master would be his good\nfriend if he behaved civilly, he was pacified, and so putting on his\nclothes, he beat the road for a gang of merry fellows of his\nacquaintance, informing them, there was a hogshead of March beer at Sir\nJohn's, which they all might be partakers of if they choosed; they came\njoyfully, and had it brought into the court-yard, in black jacks. After\nthey had drunk it, the Tinker told them the cause of its being given\naway, was because there was a swine that had unexpectedly fallen into\nit; but on further inquiry he told them all the circumstances, which set\nthem a-laughing till their sides were almost cracked. Afterwards they\nhad plenty of victuals sent them, and the Tinker being thus made free of\nthe cellar, was ordered to call at the house, and have victuals and\ndrink as often as he came that way. And so they departed, spreading the\nfame of Sir John in every place they came, as a bountiful benefactor;\nsinging as they went, the following song:--\n\n    Good house-keeping, they say, is fled,\n      Or hawks or hounds, and whores have rid her;\n    But we say she's not fled nor dead,\n      Who have so plentiful beheld her.\n\n    Long may he flourish in this nation,\n      And get it praised as of old,\n    That we by following the French fashion,\n      May not make charity grow cold.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _A Comical Trick he made the Tinker serve an old Farmer,\n           who used to ride sleeping, making him think\n                  that his horse was the Devil._\n\n\nThe Tinker being better pleased with his treatment, often frequented the\nhouse, making the Knight merry with his pleasant songs, etc., so that he\nwas much pleased with his conversation, and often gave him money, and\none day put him upon a frolic, seeing him an apt fellow. He had seen an\nold curmudgeon farmer, sleeping and nodding on his horse, as he came\nfrom market, and giving the Tinker directions what to do, when he should\ncome by, knowing his hour, and delivering him a parcel of crackers and\nother fireworks, he caused him to be dressed in a raw hide with horns,\nwhen the Tinker, according to order, with the help of a servant, having\nstopped the farmer's horse, while the rider was sleeping, pitched four\nstakes, one at each corner of the pannel, and ungirting, he drew the\nhorse from under, when taking off the bridle, he put his own head into\nthe headstal; so then after he placed the fireworks under the pannel, he\nput a fuse lighted to them, and so kept motion as the horse used to do\nwith the nodding farmer, who having the reins about his wrist, by his\nkicking he awaked, and seeing himself on a frightful beast, which he\ntook for Beelzebub, he cried out, when the fire-work taking, blew up him\nand the pannel, and made him to fall quash to the ground, so that the\nTinker made off with the stakes and pannel. The old man no sooner got\nup, but he fell to running, crying out, \"The Devil, the Devil,\" and\nnever durst come that way again but in company, rather choosing to go\nfive miles about.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n_The Tinker complains to the Courtier of a Butcher's Dog\n     that often assaulted him. The Courtier, in the\n           Tinker's habit, fights and kills him;\n         and of his Examination before a Justice._\n\n\nThe Tinker being awarded with a crown for his dexterity, went away; but\none day being in merry talk with our Courtier, he changed his tone\nsadly, and told him that a butcher, on such a road, kept a lion-like\nmastiff dog; that he was not so much afraid to encounter him, as that if\nhe would kill him, the butcher as he told him, would send him to jail,\nand punish him at the next sessions, having one Justice Clodpole on his\nside, who was his landlord, and whose house he served with meat, and\ndoubted not would hearken to anything he said against him although ever\nso false and unjust.\n\nSir John having listened to his complaint, and laughed, bid him be of\ngood cheer, for himself would try the dog adventure. Upon this he\nordered some clothes to be brought, which the Tinker stripping, put on,\nand the Knight put on his, except his shirt, and taking his budget, pike\nstaff, kettle, and hammer, away he went, beating his kettle, and crying,\n\"Work for a Tinker,\" till he came near the butcher's house. The dog soon\nheard the tink, tink, and away he runs open-mouthed to meet the Tinker,\nthey laughing to see how he would fright him; but Sir John having now\nthrown down his budget, was ready to receive him with the pike end of\nthe staff, and after the dog wheeled, he returned and advanced eagerly\nto fly at his throat, but he thrust the pike of his staff into his\nbreast; upon which he ran away howling, and tracing the ground with his\nblood, till he came to his master's, where he died. At this he was so\nmuch enraged, that he carried a constable, and seized the Knight, who\npurposely made no resistance. So taking him before a Justice, he made\nvery great complaints against him.\n\nThe Justice very gravely demanded what the fellow was brought before him\nfor? The butcher said, \"An't please your Worship, fur killing my\nservant.\" \"Aye,\" said the Justice, \"he looks like a bloody-minded\nvillain, therefore write his mittimus, and see he be well-ironed, lest\nhe make his escape.\"\n\n\"I beseech your good Worship not to be so rash and hasty,\" said the\nKnight, \"as to pass sentence upon me so hard. Pray ask this butcher what\nservant of his I killed?\" \"Ay,\" said the Justice, \"let him speak.\" \"Then\nin truth,\" said the Butcher, \"I ought in conscience to speak the truth;\nit was but a dog, but such a dog, as I say I would not have taken the\nbest five guineas in the country for. Do you see me, sir, he had rare\nqualities over other dogs; he would not only fetch home my sheep out of\nthe field when I wanted them, and save me that trouble, but do you see,\nMr. Justice, he would go a sheep-hunting, and drive me home a couple,\nand sometimes half a dozen of wild sheep, which nobody owned or I did\nnot think fit to inquire after, or they after me; so that he made me a\nthriving man: besides he was the safeguard of my house, and I believe\nthat he killed him on purpose that he might rob me.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay,\" said the Justice; \"all this is true, and you speak like an\nhonest man, and he looks indeed like a rogue, and I believe you; but,\nhowever, we can't, indeed hang men for a dog, but I'll send him to jail,\nand there he shall lie and rot in his lousy linen, and drink\nkennel-water, and not one bit of meat, unless now and then a roasted\nturnip, cooled on a burdock leaf.\" \"This is a very hard sentence,\nindeed, Mr. Justice,\" said our counterfeit Tinker. \"No, no,\" replied the\nJustice, \"it is too mild a one for such a villain as you are.\" But\nadded, \"I had like to have forgot a material point in his examination.\nTell me, sirrah, how you came to kill this honest man's dog?\" \"Why,\nsir,\" said he, \"with the pike end of my staff for running at me to bite\nme.\" \"Aye, aye,\" said the Justice, \"that was villainous in you; could\nyou not have turned the other end, and given him a rap upon the pate?\"\n\"Yes,\" replied he, \"if he had come to me with his tail foremost.\"\n\n\"Prithee, show me,\" said the Justice, \"how he came at thee?\"--\"I will\nshow your worship; he came open mouthed, as I do to you now, crying,\nbow, wow, wow.\" And here running against the Justice, overthrew him in\nhis chair to the ground; so that he most loudly cried out, \"Murder!\" and\nbeing got up he ordered his mittimus to be made, reviling him at a\ndesperate rate. But all on a sudden the tables were turned; for no\nsooner being asked, but he told his name. When up starts the Justice,\nand coming unto him with a low reverence, \"Oh! Sir John,\" said he, \"Is\nit you! who could ever have thought it! I am heartily sorry for what I\nhave said.\" Then turning to the butcher, who stood wondering, said,\n\"Sirrah, you rascal, do you keep dogs to assault gentlemen? but I will\nteach you better manners; come bind him over to the sessions directly,\nand if he has no bail, take him to jail. This is a pretty thing indeed,\nthat people cannot pass the road peaceably for such rogues as you\nkeeping dogs.\" But Sir John interposing, all was pacified, and the\nbutcher went home with a flea in his ear.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                         THE\n\n                        HISTORY\n\n                        OF THE\n\n                      FOUR KINGS\n\n                         OF\n\n    Canterbury, Colchester, Cornwall, and Cumberland,\n\n            _Their Queens and Daughters;_\n\n                        BEING\n\n  The Merry Tales of TOM HODGE and his School-Fellows.\n\n\n\n\n    THE PREFACE.\n\n\nNot to detain the reader with many words to little purpose, I shall only\nhere observe that Tom Hodge, with the rest of his old companions,\nbelonging to the school of Cockermouth, were walking on a very pleasant\nmorning in May, and having tired themselves with pranks and intrigues,\ntowards evening they sat themselves down on a green bank, beneath a\nlovely oak, where they agreed amongst themselves that everyone should\ntell a tale, or pay a fine; and because Tom was the eldest scholar, it\nwas concluded and agreed upon that he should begin first.\n\n    Says Tom, \"With all my heart,\n    So I'll begin my part.\"\n\n\n    TALE I.\n\nOnce upon a time, when the opinion was common in England that those\nwhose age and experience enabled them to determine the consequences of\ncertain actions were wizards and witches, there was a queen in this\nrealm, whose name was Elizabeth; and by reason that the famous town of\nLancaster was strangely pestered with witches, the queen sent some\njudges down to arraign and try them in order to bring them to justice.\n\nNow the news of this court being to be kept in Lancaster, spread through\nall the country, so that a husbandman living near forty miles from that\nplace, hearing of this, news, and believing they were come to tell the\nfolks whether they were witches or not, resolved to go to be satisfied\nin himself, for he was possessed with a fear that he was a witch,\nbecause he had a wart grew on his neck, which he imagined to be a dug.\n\nHis wife, who had a friend in a corner, and was therefore glad of his\nabsence, did not only give her consent, but also dressed him in his best\nleathern suit and broad-brimmed hat. So taking leave of his good wife\nJoan, he trudged on day and night until he came to the place where the\ncourt was kept; so rushing on and pressing through the crowd, the crier\nof the court believing him to be some evidence, gave orders that they\nshould let him in, which was soon done, and he was required to speak\nwhat he had to say. \"Why,\" says the countryman, \"d'ye see, I've a dug\nupon my neck, which makes me afraid I am a witch, and volks tell me that\nthese vine gentlemen (pointing to the judges) can tell a body whether\none is a witch or no.\" The crier of the court seeing the simplicity of\nthe man, said, \"No, no, my friend, I can assure thee thou art no witch;\nthou lookest more like a cuckold than a witch or a conjurer.\" \"I thank\nyou, zur; and zo zays these vine gentlemen.\" Then having given three or\nfour scrapes and half a dozen congees, he came back as wise as Waltham's\ncalf. The next day he was met by his wife, who waited for his return at\nthe town's end, to whom she said, \"Well, husband, what do the gentlemen\nsay? are you a witch or no?\" \"A witch, sweet wife, no; they tells a body\none looks more like a cuckold than a witch, or a conjurer.\" \"Why say\nyou so?\" replied she; \"I prithee go back and have them taken up for\nwitches; for except they had been so, they would not have known you were\na cuckold.\"\n\nThis merry tale so pleased them that they set up a hearty laugh, which,\nbeing ended, the second boy began his tale in the following manner.\n\n\n    TALE II.\n\nIn the days of yore, when this land was governed by many kings, among\nthe rest the king of Canterbury had an only daughter, and she was wise,\nfair, and beautiful. Her father sent forth a decree that whoever would\nwatch one night with his daughter, and neither sleep nor slumber, he\nshould have her the next day in marriage; but if he did either, he\nshould lose his head. Many knights and squires attempted it, but lost\ntheir heads.\n\nNow, it happened a young shepherd, grazing his flock near the road, said\nto his master, \"Zur, I zee many gentlemen ride to the court at\nCanterbury, but ne'er see 'em return again.\" \"O, shepherd!\" said his\nmaster, \"I know not how they should; for they attempt to watch with the\nking's daughter, according to the decree, and not performing it, they\nare all beheaded.\" \"Well,\" said the shepherd, \"I'll try my vorton; zo\nnow vor a king's daughter or a headless shepherd.\" And taking his bottle\nand bag, he trudged to court. Now, in his way, he was to cross a river,\nover which lay a plank; down he sits, and pulls off his shoes and\nstockings to wash his feet, lest the smell of his toes might be the\nmeans of keeping her awake. While he was washing his feet a fish came\nsmelling and biting his toes; he caught it and put it into his bag:\nafter which came a second, a third, and a fourth, which he caught and\nput in his bag likewise. This done, and dried his feet, he put on his\nstockings and shoes, and pursued his journey till he came to the palace,\nwhere he knocked loudly with his crook. He was no sooner let in, and\nhaving told his business, but he was conducted to a hall, prepared for\nthat purpose, where the king's daughter sat ready to receive him; and\nthe better to lull his senses, he was placed in a rich easy chair,\nhaving delicious wines for his supper, with many fine dishes of fruit,\netc., of which the shepherd ate and drank plentifully, insomuch that he\nbegan to slumber before midnight. \"O shepherd,\" said the lady, \"I have\ncaught you napping?\" \"Not, zweet ally, I was busy.\" \"At what?\" said she.\n\"Why a feeshing.\" \"Nay, shepherd, there is no fish-pond in the hall,\"\n\"No matter vor that, I have been feeshing.\" Says the lady, \"Where do you\nfish?\" \"O,\" quoth he, \"in my bag.\" \"O me, have you catched e'er a one?\"\n\"Ay, lady,\" said he. \"I'd willingly see it,\" replied she. \"Ay, an't\nplease you, you shall with all my heart.\" This said, he slyly drew one\nof the fishes out of his bag, at the sight of which she was greatly\npleased, and praised it for a pretty fish: and withal said, \"Dear\nshepherd, do you think you could catch one in mine too?\" \"Ay, ay,\ndoubtless I can.\" Then he fell to fishing, and in a short time drew a\nsecond fish out of the bag pretending he drew it from her. The king's\ndaughter was so pleased with it that she kissed it, declaring it was the\nfinest she ever saw. And about half an hour after she said, \"Shepherd,\ndo you think you could get me one more?\" He answered, \"Mayhap I may,\nwhen I have baited my hook.\" \"Then make haste, for I am impatient till I\nhave another.\" Then the shepherd acted as before, and so presented her\nwith another fish, which she also extolled and praised, saying, \"It was\nten times finer than the other;\" and then gave him leave to sleep,\npromising to excuse him to her father.\n\nIn the morning the king came into the hall as usual, followed by the\nheadsman with a hatchet; but the lady cried out, \"You may return with\nyour hatchet, here is no work for you.\" \"How so,\" said the king, \"has\nhe neither slumbered nor slept?\" \"No, royal father, he has not.\" \"How\nhas he employed himself?\" \"In fishing.\" \"Why, there is never a\nfish-pond; where did he catch them?\" \"One in his own bag, and two in\nthis one of mine.\" \"Say you so? Well, friend, dost thou think thou\ncan'st catch one in mine?\" \"An't please you, my liege, I believe I can.\"\nThen directing the king to lie down, he poked him with a packing needle,\nwhich made him cry out exceedingly; at which time he drew the other fish\nout of the bag, and showed it to the king. His majesty said, \"He never\nknew such sort of fishing before; however, take my daughter, according\nto my royal decree.\" And so they were married, and the wedding kept in\ngreat triumph, and the shepherd became a king's son.\n\n\"O that was mighty well,\" said the third boy, \"he had wonderful good\nfortune. This puts me in mind of a story, which I will now tell in my\nturn.\"\n\n\n    TALE III.\n\nIf I may believe my old grandmother, there lived in the county of\nCumberland a nobleman, who had three sons. Two of them were comely and\ntall youths, wise and learned; the third a merry fool, and went often in\na party-coloured coat and steeple crowned hat, at the top of which was a\ntassel In this dress he made a comical figure. At this time the king of\nCanterbury had a fine daughter, adorned with all the gifts of nature,\njoined to an ingenious education, she being very ripe-witted, as\nappeared by her ready answers and the comical questions she put forth.\nThe king, her father, published a decree, that whoever should come to\nthe court, and answer his daughter three questions, without study or\nstumbling, should have her in marriage, and also be heir to the crown at\nhis decease. On publishing this decree, the said gentleman's two sons\nagreed between themselves to go and try how favourable fortune might be\nto them in this undertaking; but all their care was what they should do\nwith their silly brother Jack; for, as they said, if he follows us, he\nwill out with some foolish bolt, and so spoil our business. At length it\nwas agreed on going to the court, to go out of the back door, which led\nto the road over several fields, about a mile from the house. They did\nso, but were no sooner got into the highway, but looking behind, they\nsaw their brother Jack coming capering and dancing after them, saying,\nwith a loud laughter, \"So you are going to get a king's daughter, but I\nwill pursue you.\" They saw there was no way to get rid of him, but by\nwalking fast and leaving him behind, hoping thereby to get entrance\nbefore Jack, and then have the gates shut against him. They had not gone\nhalf a mile before Jack set up a great fit of laughter, at which one of\nhis brothers said, \"What's the fool found out now?\" \"Why, I've found an\negg.\" \"Put it in thy pocket,\" said his brothers. \"Adad, and so I will,\"\nsays Jack. Presently after he was taken with another fit of laughter.\n\"What's the fool found now?\" \"What have I found!\" says Jack, \"why a\ncrooked stick.\" They bid him put that in his pocket also. \"Ay, marry,\nwill I.\" They had not walked much farther before Jack burst into a\ngreater fit of laughter than before. His brothers said, \"What's the fool\nfound now?\" \"Found! why an orange.\" \"Put that in your pocket likewise.\"\n\"I intend it,\" says Jack. Now, by this time they were come near the\npalace gate, at which they no sooner knocked but they were admitted. But\nJack never stood for ceremonies, but ran through the midst of the court,\nand as the wise brothers were making their addresses, Jack was laughing\nat the ladies, unto whom he said, \"What a troop of fair ladies are got\nhere!\" \"O yes, yes,\" said the king's daughter, who was among them, \"we\nare fair ladies, for we carry fire in our bosom.\" \"Do you?\" said Jack;\n\"then roast me an egg.\" \"How will you get it out again?\" \"By a crooked\nstick which I have.\" \"Ay, you will?\" said she. \"I have it in my pocket,\"\nsays Jack. In this Jack answered the three questions proposed. Then he\nwas preferred to that honour which was mentioned in the decree. His two\nwise brothers then went home like two fools, and left foolish Jack to be\nreverenced at court with the king's fair daughter.\n\nSaid the fourth boy, \"This verifies the old proverb, 'Fools have\nfortune'; besides, it has put me in mind of a story that was told me by\nmy aunt.\"\n\n\n    TALE IV.\n\nLong before Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, here reigned, in\nthe easterly part of this land, a king who kept his court at Colchester.\nHe was witty, strong and valiant, by which means he subdued his enemies\nabroad and planted peace among his subjects at home.\n\nNevertheless, in the midst of all his earthly glory, his queen died,\nleaving behind her an only daughter, about fifteen years of age under\nthe care of her royal husband. This lady, from her courtly carriage,\nbeauty, and affability, was the wonder of all that knew her; but, as\ncovetousness is the root of all evil, so it happened here.\n\nThe king hearing of a lady who had likewise an only daughter, for the\nsake of her riches had a mind to marry her, though she was old, ugly,\nhook-nosed, and hump-backed, yet all could not deter him from marrying\nher. The daughter of the said piece of deformity was a yellow dowdy,\nfull of envy and ill-nature; and, in short, was much of the same mould\nas her mother. This signified nothing, for in a few weeks the king,\nattended by the nobility and gentry, brought the said piece of deformity\nto his palace, where the marriage rites were performed. Long they had\nnot been in the court before they set the king against his own beautiful\ndaughter, which was done by false reports and accusations. The young\nprincess, having lost her father's love, grew weary of the court, and on\na certain day meeting with her father in the garden, she desired him,\nwith tears in her eyes, to give her a small subsistence and she would go\nand seek her fortune, to which the king consented, and ordered her\nmother-in-law to make up a small sum according to her discretion. To her\nshe went, who gave her a canvas bag of brown bread, a hard cheese, with\na bottle of beer. Though this was but a very pitiful dowry for a king's\ndaughter, she took it, returned thanks, and so proceeded, passing\nthrough groves, woods, and valleys, till at length she saw an old man\nsitting on a stone at the mouth of a cave, who said, \"Good morning, fair\nmaiden, whither away so fast?\" \"Aged father,\" says she, \"I am going to\nseek my fortune.\" \"What hast thou in thy bag and bottle?\" \"In my bag I\nhave got bread and cheese, and in my bottle good small beer; will you\nplease to partake of either?\" \"Yes,\" said he, \"with all my heart.\" With\nthat the lady pulled out her provision, and bid him eat and welcome. He\ndid, and gave her many thanks, telling her there was a thick thorny\nhedge before her, which will appear to you impassable, but take this\nwand in your hand, strike three times, and say, \"Pray hedge, let me come\nthrough;\" and it will open immediately. Then a little further you will\nfind a well, sit down on the brink of it, and there will come up three\ngolden heads which will speak; and what they require, that do. Then\npromising she would, she took her leave of him. Coming to the hedge, and\nfollowing the old man's direction, the hedge divided and gave her a\npassage. Then coming to the well, she had no sooner sitten down, but a\ngolden head came up with a singing note, \"Wash me, comb me, lay me down\nsoftly.\" \"Yes,\" said the young lady; then putting forth her hand with a\nsilver comb performed the office, placing it upon a primrose bank. Then\ncame up a second, and a third, saying as the former, which she complied\nwith; and then pulling out her provision, ate her dinner. Then said the\nheads one to another, \"What shall we do for this lady, who hath used us\nso very kindly?\" The first said, \"I will cause such addition to her\nbeauty as shall charm the most powerful prince in the world.\" The second\nsaid, \"I will endow her with such perfume, both in body and breath, as\nshall far exceed the sweetest flowers.\" The third said, \"My gift shall\nbe none of the least, for as she is a king's daughter. I'll make her so\nfortunate that she shall become queen to the greatest prince that\nreigns.\" This done, at their request she let them down into the well\nagain, and so proceeded on her journey. She had not travelled long\nbefore she saw a king hunting in the park with his nobles. She would\nhave shunned him, but the king having a sight of her, made towards her,\nand between her beauty and perfumed breath, was so powerfully smitten\nthat he was not able to subdue his passion, but proceeded on his\ncourtship, where, after some compliments and kind embraces, he gained\nher love. And bringing her to his palace, he caused her to be clothed in\nthe most magnificent manner.\n\nThis being ended, and the king finding that she was the king of\nColchester's daughter, ordered some chariots to be got ready that he\nmight pay him a visit. The chariot in which the king and queen rode was\nbeautified with rich ornamental gems of gold. The king, her father, was\nat first astonished that his daughter had been so fortunate as she was\ntill the young king made him sensible of all that happened. Great was\nthe joy at court among the nobility, except the queen and her\nclub-footed daughter, who were ready to burst with malice, and envied\nher happiness; and the greater was their madness because she was now\nabove them all. Great rejoicings, with feasting and dancing, continued\nmany days. Then at length, with the dowry that her father gave her, they\nreturned home.\n\n\"Well,\" said the fifth boy, \"had she not been kind and beautiful, such\ngood fortune had never come to her lot. And pray what became of her\nhump-backed sister-in-law?\" \"Indeed I know not.\" \"Why, then,\" said the\nfifth boy, \"I can tell you something of her.\"\n\n\n    TALE V.\n\nShe, perceiving that her sister was so happy in seeking her fortune,\nwould needs do the same; so disclosing her mind to her mother, all\npreparations were made; not only rich apparel, but sweetmeats, sugar,\nalmonds, etc., in great quantities, and a large bottle of Malaga sack.\nThus furnished she went the same road as her sister, and coming near the\ncave, there sat the old man, who said, \"Young woman, whither, so fast?\"\n\"What is that to you?\" said she. Then said he, \"What have you in your\nbag and bottle?\" She answered, \"Good things, what you shall not be\ntroubled with.\" \"Won't you give me some?\" said he. \"No, not a bit nor a\ndrop, unless it would choke you.\" The old man frowned, saying, \"Evil\nfortune attend thee.\" Going on, she came to the hedge, through which she\nespied a gap, where she thought to pass, but going in the hedge closed,\nand the thorns run into her flesh, so that with great difficulty she got\nout. Being now in a bloody condition, she looks for water to wash\nherself, and looking round she saw a well, and sitting down, one of the\nheads came up to her, saying, \"Wash me, comb me, lay me down softly.\"\nBut she banged it with her bottle, saying, \"Hang you, take this for your\nwashing.\" So the second and third heads came up, and met with no better\nwelcome than the first. Whereupon the heads consulted among themselves\nwhat evils to plague her with for such usage. The first said, \"Let her\nbe struck with leprosy in her face.\" The second said, \"Let an additional\nstink be added to her breath.\" The third bestowed on her a husband,\nthough but a poor country cobbler. This done, she goes on till she came\nto a market town, and it being market day, the people smelt a stink,\nand seeing such a mangy face, all fled but a poor cobbler, who not long\nbefore had mended the shoes of an old hermit, who, having no money, gave\nhim a box of ointment for the cure of the leprosy, and a bottle of\nspirits for a stinking breath. Now the cobbler having a mind to do an\nact of charity, was minded to try an experiment; so going up to her,\nasked her who she was? \"I am,\" said she, \"the king of Colchester's\ndaughter-in-law.\" \"Well,\" said the cobbler, \"if I restore you to your\nnatural complexion, and make a sound cure both in face and breath, will\nyou in reward take me for a husband?\" \"Yes, friend,\" replied she, \"with\nall my heart.\" With this the cobbler applied the remedies, and they\nworked the effect in a few weeks, which being done, they were married.\nAfter some few days spent in town, they set forward for the court at\nColchester. At length coming there, and the queen understanding she had\nmarried nothing but a poor cobbler, fell into distraction, and in wrath\nhanged herself. The death of the queen pleased the king much, who was\nglad he had got rid of her so soon. Having buried her, he gave the\ncobbler one hundred pounds, on condition that he and his lady would quit\nthe court. The cobbler received it, and promised he would. Then setting\nup his trade in a remote part of the kingdom, they lived many years, he\nmending shoes, and she spinning thread.\n\nQuoth the sixth boy, \"I think for a king's daughter she hath spun a very\nfine thread, but now for my story.\"\n\n\n    TALE VI.\n\nA tinker in our town had but one daughter, whose name was Tib, and\nbecause her father would not let her marry a miller's man named Jobson,\nnothing would serve her but she must go and seek her fortune, so over\nhills and mountains, through groves and lonesome woods she passed, till\nat length she met with an old woman, who said unto Tib, \"Where are you\ngoing?\" \"To seek service,\" says Tib. \"Will you live with me?\" replied\nthe old woman; \"my family is small, myself, my cat, and my dog.\" Tib\nanswered, \"With all my heart.\" So home they went to her cottage, which\nstood by the side of a grove on the bank of a pleasant river. She no\nsooner entered in at the door than she beheld the shelves furnished with\nabundance of earthen ware and glasses. She had not lived long with her\nbefore Tib had committed a fault, for which the old woman was resolved\nto break every bone in her skin. For that end she put her into a sack,\nand having tied the mouth of the same, she went to the grove to cut a\nstick; but while she was gone, Tib with a penknife opened the sack and\ngot out; and put the dog and cat into it, filling it up with pans,\npipkins, etc., then dragged it to the door, that the old woman might not\ncome in to miss them, who, on her return, thinking that Tib had rolled\nthither, began to lay on like fury, when the dog howled, the cat mewed,\nand the pipkins cracked; while the old woman cries out, \"Ah! howl if you\nwill and be poxed, for before you come out of this sack I'll thrash your\nbones to chaff.\" Now Tib stood at a distance laughing to see how busy\nshe was in destroying her own furniture, then fled for it, and never\nafter returned.\n\n\"It was well she did,\" replied the seventh boy, \"or else the old woman\nwould certainly have been revenged on Tib at last. But now for my story,\nwhich shall be the last at this meeting.\"\n\n\n    TALE VII.\n\nA young man having found a purse in which was five pounds, he made a\nproclamation that if anyone would lay any just claim to it to come to\nsuch a tavern, and they would have it again. To the tavern he went,\nwhere, in meat and drink, he spent a crown. At last when the young man\nwas ready to go the owner came and demanded the purse, which he was\nready to surrender; but the owner, on knowing a crown was spent, would\nnot receive it, unless he made up the whole sum. The young man told him\nhe could not; so an officer was sent for, but before he came the youth\ntook to his heels, and ran for it with that swiftness, that, an ass\nstanding in his way, he took hold of his tail to swing himself by, and\ntwitched it off. A little farther he overthrew a woman with a child and\ncaused her to fall. At length he was taken and brought before a justice\nby the three sufferers. Having heard their complaints he turned to the\nyoung man, and said, \"Young man, several complaints are here laid\nagainst you, which I shall clear up. First, keep the money you have\nfound, and trade with it till you have improved it so far as to make him\nsatisfaction, and then let him have it. You take the ass, and work him\ntill a new tail grows, then give him to his owner. And you take the\nwoman home, till she is as quite recovered as she was before, and then\nsend her home to her husband. So with these determinations he dismissed\nthem.\"\n\n\n    TALE VIII.\n\nIn the reign of King Arthur, near the Land's End of England, namely the\ncounty of Cornwall, there lived a wealthy farmer, who had one only son,\ncommonly known by the name Jack Hornby. He was brisk and of a ready wit,\nso that whatever he could not perform by strength, he completed by\ningenious wit and policy.\n\nFor instance, when he was no more than seven years of age, his father\nsent him into the field to look after his oxen. The laird, by chance\ncoming across the field, asked Jack many questions, particularly, \"How\nmany commands there were?\" Jack told him there were nine. The laird\nreplied there were ten. \"Nay,\" quoth Jack, \"sir, you are out of that; it\nis true there were ten, but you broke one of them when you coveted my\nfather's bull.\" The landlord replied, \"Thou art an arch wag, Jack.\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" says Jack, \"can you tell me how many sticks goes to build a\ncrow's nest?\" \"Why,\" says the landlord, \"there are as many goes as are\nsufficient for the size of the nest.\" \"Oho, you are out again, sir,\"\nquoth Jack, \"there is none goes, they are all carried.\"\n\nThe landlord finding himself so fooled, trudged away, leaving Jack in a\nfit of laughter.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                     THE PENNY\n\n                   BUDGET OF WIT\n\n                       AND\n\n                PACKAGE OF DROLLERY.\n\n                _Scottish Prudence._\n\n\nA parish clerk in the north of England, not long ago, hired a Scotchman\nfor his servant, who was to go to the cart and plough, and do other\noccasional jobs when wanted. In the course of conversation at hiring,\nthe clerk asked him, if he could submit to the unpleasant business of\ndigging graves; to which he exclaimed, \"I'll warrant ye, maister, I\ncould dig doon the kirk for that matter; but let me see, I hasn't been\nput to that wark yet; aye, our auld bellman at Jedburgh used to say, he\nnever had better pay nor better jobs than howking holes for fowk--faith\nhe was aye merry when folk dee'd.\" It happened soon after entering on\nhis service, that there was a severe storm of snow, which impeded all\nout-door work. One morning he came to his master, and asked him what\nemployment he was to go to that day. The employer hesitated for some\nmoments, and at last told him, he could find nothing for him to do.\nSawney, with great gravity, replied, \"I think, maister, I'll awa up to\nthe kirkyard an' howk some graves; we may as weel hae a wheen ready, for\nthey may come faster in when they ken we are prepared for them.\"\n\n\n    _Scottish Atmosphere._\n\nAn English gentleman on a tour through Scotland, was unfortunately\naccompanied by wet weather most of the time When he set out from Glasgow\nto Greenock, the morning was very fine. However, before he had proceeded\nhalf way, he was overtaken by a heavy shower. \"Boy,\" says he to a little\nfellow herding near the road-side, \"does it always rain in this\ncountry!\" \"Na,\" replied the boy, \"it sometimes snaws.\"\n\n\n    _Liberty of the Press._\n\nA master tailor in Glasgow, lately reading the newspapers to his family,\nand when expressing the title \"Liberty of the Press in France,\" one of\nhis daughters interrupted him by asking what the liberty of the press\nmeant? \"I'll soon answer that question,\" said he: \"You know when your\nmother goes out, and leaves the key in the cupboard door, where the\nbread, butter, and sugar lies, then you have access--That's the liberty\no' the press.\"\n\n\n    _Donald and the Laird._\n\nA Scottish Laird and his man Donald, travelling southward; at the first\nEnglish Inn, the room in where they were to sleep contained a bed for\nthe master and a truckle for the man, which drew forth from beneath the\nlarger couch. Such furniture being new to the Highlanders, they mistook\nthe four-posted pavilion for the two beds, and the Laird mounted the\ntester, while the man occupied the comfortable lodging below. Finding\nhimself wretchedly cold in the night, the Laird called to Donald to know\nhow he was accommodated. \"Ne'er sae weel a' my life,\" quoth the gilly.\n\"Ha, mon,\" exclaimed the Laird, \"if it wasna for the honour of the\nthing, I could find in my heart to come down.\"\n\n\n    _How to read a Sign-Board._\n\nA Highland Drover passing through a certain town, noticed a sign-board\nabove an entry, with the following inscription:--\n\n    Green Teas, Raw Sugars, Marmalades, Jellies,\n          Capped Biscuits, and all sorts of\n                Confectionery Goods\n                sold down this entry,\n                read it as follows:--\n    Green Trees, Raw Sodgers, Mermaids, Jades.\n          Scabbed Bitches, and all sorts of\n                Confusionery Goods,\n                sold down this entry.\n\n\n    _How to Escape Robbery._\n\nA person extremely hard of hearing, travelling between Paisley and\nGreenock on horseback, some time since, had occasion to come off his\nhorse, when the reins slipped from among his fingers: the horse finding\nhimself at liberty immediately ran off. The deaf man quickly followed,\ndetermined to inquire at all he met if they had seen his horse. The\nnight was very dark; however, he had not gone far till he met with two\nmen, whom he accosted with, \"Did you see a horse without a rider?\" when\nhe was immediately collared. He thought it diversion; says he, \"That's\nno a way to use a man in the dark;\" and endeavouring to shake himself\nclear, when instead of slackening their hold they took fresh and firmer\nholds, and no doubt used violent language, of which his deafness\ndeprived him of hearing; seeing all attempts to get clear fruitless, and\ndreading they had nothing in view but an intention to rob him, it\ninstantly occurred to him his having an ear trumpet sticking in the top\nof his boot, which he used in conversation. He immediately pulled it\nup, laid the muzzle of it across the fellow's arm, and exclaimed, \"If\nyou don't let go your grups I'll blaw your brains out in a moment!\" They\njumped over a hedge, and were put of sight in an instant, the deaf man\ncalled after them, \"Set aff, set aff, my lads or I'll be the death o'\nbaith o' you, learn never to meddle wi' a man i' the dark, for ye dinna\nken what deadly weapons he carries.\"\n\n\n    _Daft Will Speirs._\n\nWill, one day, upon his journey to Eglinton Castle to pay his regular\ndaily visit, met his Lordship, who seemed not to notice him. The Earl\nbeing only on a walk of pleasure through his policies, soon came in\ncontact with Will again sitting at the bottom of a tree, picking a huge\nbone. \"Ay, ay;\" says the Earl, \"what this you've got noo, Will.\" \"Ay,\nay,\" says Will, \"anew o' frien's whan folk has ocht: ye gaed by me awee\nsin' an' ne'er loot on ye saw me.\"\n\n\n    _How to find Work._\n\nA slater being employed by a gentleman to repair his house in the\ncountry, took along with him a prentice, when they set to work, and\ncontinued to work for some days. The gentleman having no conception the\njob was to be of such duration, came out one morning, and found the\napprentice at work alone, when he expressed himself as surprised at the\ncontinuation of them working so long, and inquired what had become of\nhis master, to which the boy replied, \"He's awa to Glasgow to look for a\njob, and if he got ane, this ane would be done the morn, and if he didna\nget ane, he didna ken when it would be done.\"\n\n\n    _Will Scott._\n\nA celebrated attendant upon the sheriff, well known for his activity in\nthe execution of his orders, as well as for taking a bit comfortable\nguzzle when finances would afford it, was one Sabbath day snugly seated\nin a pew behind the bailies at church. Will had not been there long till\nhe was soon lulled into a sweet slumber, and found himself seated along\nwith his companions over a good imperial half-mutchkin; and in a short\ntime the reckoning came a-paying when some of the party insisted it was\nalready paid. However, Will happened not to be of that opinion, and true\nto his integrity, bawled out with all his might in the midst of the\nsermon, \"No, no, by my faith it's no pay't, we have had just ae\nhalf-mutchkin, an' twa bottles o' ale, an' there's no a fardin o't\npay't.\"\n\n\n    _Grave-Digger of Sorn._\n\nThe grave-digger of Sorn, Ayrshire, was as selfish and as mean a sinner\nas ever handled mattock or carried mortcloth. He was a very querulous\nand discontented old man, with a voice like the whistle of the wind\nthrough a key-hole. On a bleak Sunday afternoon in the country, an\nacquaintance from a neighbouring parish accosted him one day, and asked\nhow the world was moving with him. \"Oh, very puirly, sir, very puirly\nindeed,\" was the answer, \"the yard has done nothing ava for us this\nsummer,--if you like to believe me I havena buriet a leevin' soul this\nsax weeks.\"\n\n\n    _Scottish Parrot._\n\nA parrot perched upon a pole at a cottage door, beaking itself in the\nsun, was observed by a rapacious hawk, which happened to be passing over\nit, suddenly dived down and seized poor Poll by the back; away the hawk\nflew with his prey. When passing over a garden Poll observed his old\nfriend the gardener, and exclaimed, \"I'm ridin' noo, John Laurie.\" Hawky\nalarmed at hearing a voice so near, darted into a tree for safety, when\nafter recovering a little, commenced to devour poor Poll, when it roared\nout with all its might, \"Will you bite, you rascal.\" The hawk terrified\nout of its wits, flew off with a birr, leaving Poll to proceed homewards\nat pleasure.\n\n\n    _The Restless Haggis._\n\nDaft Will Callander lived with his sister Babie, in Port-Glasgow. Babie\nkept a lodging-house for sailors. One Saturday night Babie was making a\nHaggis for Sunday's dinner, when one of her lodgers put four ounces of\nquick-silver into the haggis unknown to Babie. On Sunday Will was left\nat home to cook the dinner; but when the pot began to boil, the haggis\nwould be out of the pot. Will, faithful to his charge, held the lid on\nthe pot until his patience was exhausted; at last Will ran off to the\nchurch for Babie. She sat in one of the back pews. Will beckoned to her\ntwo or three times; Babie as often nodded and winked to Will to be\nquiet. At last he bawled out, \"Babie, come hame, for I believe the\nde'il's got into the haggis, it'll no bide in the pat; it's out dancing\non the floor, and if I had not locked the door, I think it would have\nbeen at the kirk as soon's mysel.\"\n\n\n    _Expense of a Wife._\n\nAn old bachelor who lived in a very economical style, both as regards\nfood and clothing, and not altogether so very trig as some bachelors\nsometimes appear, was frequently attacked by his acquaintances on the\npropriety of taking a wife. He was very smartly set upon one day, and\ntold how snod a wife would keep him, and many other fine things to\ninduce him to take a wife, and among the rest, what a comfort it would\nbe to him, if it was for naething else but to make his parritch in the\nmorning. Says he, \"I dinna doubt but she wad mak my parritch, but the\nplague is, she wad be fair to sup the hauf o' them.\"\n\n\n    _An Honest M'Gregor._\n\nDonald M'Gregor, a notorious sheep-lifter (alias sheep-stealer), in the\nnorth Highlands, being at last overtaken by the grim tyrant of the human\nrace, was visited by the minister of the parish, whose appearance,\nhowever, was by no means agreeable to Donald. The holy man warmly\nexhorted the dying Highlander to reflect upon the long and black\ncatalogue of his sins, before it was too late, otherwise he would have a\ntremendous account to give at the great day of retribution, when all the\ncrimes he had committed in this world would appear in dreadful array, as\nevidence of his guilt. \"Och! sir,\" cries the dying man, \"an' will a' the\nsheeps an' the cows, an' ilka thing Tonal has helped hersel to, be\nthere?\" \"Undoubtedly,\" replied the parson. \"Then let ilka shentleman tak\nher nain, an' Tonal will be an honest man again.\"\n\n\n    _Negro and the Musquito._\n\nA West Indian who had a remarkably fiery nose, having fallen asleep in\nhis chair, a negro boy who was waiting, observed a musquito hovering\nround his face. Quasi eyed the insect very attentively; at last he saw\nhim alight on his master's nose, and immediately fly off. \"Ah! bless\nyour heart,\" exclaimed the negro, \"me right glad see you burn your\nfoot.\"\n\n\n    _A Brush for the Barber._\n\nA Highlander who sold brooms, went into a barber's shop in Glasgow a few\ndays since to get shaved. The barber bought one of his brooms, and after\nhaving shaved him, asked the price of it. \"Twopence,\" said the\nHighlander. \"No, no,\" said the barber, \"I'll give you a penny, if that\ndoes not satisfy you take your broom again.\" The Highlander took it, and\nasked what he had got to pay? \"A penny,\" said strap. \"I'll gie you a\nbawbee,\" said Duncan, \"an' if that dinna satisfy ye, put on my beard\nagain.\"\n\n\n    _The Kellochsyde Grace._\n\nThe following is preserved traditionally as the grace of the farmer of\nKellochsyde, or Killocsyde, in Clydesdale:--\"O Lord, we'r ay gangan, an\nwe'r ay gettan. We soud ay be coman to thee, but we'r ay forgettan. We\nleive in the gude mailen o' Kellochsyde, suppan thy gude peisie kale,\npuir sinfou sons of evil that we are. Monie mercies we receive gude\ntrowth; and we're little thankfou for them, gude feth Janet, rax by the\nspunes, and a' praise and glory sall be thine. Amen.\"\n\n\n    _New Method of Teaching Music._\n\nA Highland piper having a scholar to teach, disdained to crack his mind\nwith the names of semibreves, minims, crotchets, and quivers--\"Here,\nDonald,\" said he, \"tak your pipies, lad, and gi's a blast--so, very weel\nblaun indeed; but what is sound Donald without sense?--ye may blaw for\never, without makin' a tune o't, if I dinna tell you how thae queer\nthings on the paper maun help you--you see that big fellow wi' a round\nopen face (pointing to a semibreve between the two lines of the bar), he\nmoves slowly, slowly, from that line to this, while you beat ane wi'\nyour fit, and gi'e a blast: if now ye put a leg to him, ye mak' twa o'\nhim and he'll move twice as fast; gif ye black his face, he'll rin four\ntimes faster than the fallow wi' the white face; but if, after blackin'\nhis face, ye'll bend his knee, or tie his legs, he'll trop eight times\nfaster than the white faced chap that I showed you first. Now, whene'er\nyou blaw your pipes, Donald, remember this, the tighter the fallow's\nlegs are tied, the faster they will rin, and the quicker they are sure\nto dance.\"\n\n\n    _Long-Winded Preacher._\n\nA Parson in the country taking his text in St. Matthew, chapter viii.\nverse 14, \"And Peter's wife's mother lay sick of a fever,\" preached for\nthree Sundays together on the same subject. Soon after two fellows going\nacross the churchyard, and hearing the bell toll, one asked the other\nwho it was for. \"Nay I can't tell; perhaps,\" replied he, \"it's for\nPeter's wife's mother, for she has been sick of a fever these three\nweeks.\"\n\n\n    _Distinction of Sons and Daughters._\n\nAbout the year thretty-sax, a company differed \"Whether it was better\nfor a man to ha'e sons or dochters.\" They could not 'gree, but disputed\nit _pro_ and _con_. At last one of them said to Graham of Kinross (wha\nhadna yoked wi' them in the argument), \"Laird, what's your opinion?\"\nQuo' he, \"I had three lads and three lassies; I watna whilk o' them I\nliked best say lang as they sucket their mither; but de'll ha'e my share\no' the callants when they cam to suck their father.\"\n\n\n    _Patrimony and Matrimony._\n\nAt an examination of a school in Edinburgh, a gentleman asked one of the\nscholars by what name they called property that descended from a father?\n\"Patrimony,\" answered the scholar; \"And what do you call it when\ndescended from a mother?\" \"Matrimony,\" was the reply.\n\n\n    _An Officer's Wife._\n\nOne of the town's officers of Ayr was struck severely by accident on the\nhead by his wife. After the fray was adjusted, the wife said to her\nhusband, \"Henry, had I killed you, and I been hanged for it, would you\nmarry Kate M'Lauchlan?\"\n\n\n    _Highlander and Parrot._\n\nAn honest Highlander walking along Holborn, heard a cry, \"Rogue Scot,\nRogue Scot.\" His northern blood fired at the insult, drew his broad\nsword, looking round him on every side to discover the object of\nindignation. At last he found it came from a parrot, perched on a\nbalcony within his reach, but the generous Scot disdaining to stain his\ntrusty blade with such ignoble blood, put up his sword again, with a\nsour smile, saying, \"Gin ye were a man, as ye're a green geese, I would\nsplit your weem.\"\n\n\n    _An Irishman._\n\nAn Irishman one day was walking on the streets of Belfast, found a light\nguinea, and got 18s. for it. Next day he was walking, and sees another,\nand says, \"Allelieu, dear honey, I'll have nothing to do with you, for I\nlost 3s. by your brother yesterday.\"\n\n\n    _Captain Silk._\n\nIn a party of ladies, on it being reported that a Captain Silk had\narrived in town, they exclaimed, with one exception, \"What a name for a\nsoldier!\" \"The fittest name in the world,\" replied a witty female, \"for\nSilk can never be Worsted.\"\n\n\n    _A Clever Son._\n\nA Farmer's son, who had been some time at the university, came home to\nvisit his father and mother; and being one night with the old folks at\nsupper on a couple of fowls, he told them, that by the rules of logic\nand arithmetic, he could prove these two fowls to be three. \"Well, let\nus hear,\" said the old man. \"Why, this,\" said the scholar, \"is one and\nthis,\" continued he, \"is two; two and one, you know, make three.\" \"Since\nyou ha'e made it out sae weel,\" answered the old man, \"your mother shall\nha'e the first fowl, I'll ha'e the second, and the third you may keep to\nyoursel.\"\n\n\n    _Breaking the Commandments._\n\nA Clergyman who wished to know whether the children of the parishioners\nunderstood their Bibles, asked a lad that he one day found reading the\nOld Testament, who was the wickedest man? \"Moses, to be sure,\" said the\nboy. \"Moses!\" exclaimed the parson, \"how can that be?\" \"Why,\" said the\nlad, \"because he broke all the commandments at once.\"\n\n\n    _Not Lost but Drowned._\n\nA Leith merchant being on his usual ride to the south, came to the ford\nof a dark river, at the side of which a boy was diverting himself. The\ntraveller addressed him as follows:--\"Is this water deep?\" \"Ay, gaen\ndeep,\" answered the boy. \"Is there ever any person lost here?\" \"No,\"\nreplied the boy, \"there was never any lost; there has been some drowned,\nbut we aye get them again.\"\n\n\n    _A Just Remark._\n\nA certain son of St. Crispian, who resides in Paisley, lifting up his\nfour cornered hat the other morning in a hurry, found it filled with his\nwife's fal-de-ral-lals; in a fit of wrath he exclaimed \"Gudesake, Janet,\nwhat the de'il gars you stap a' the trash in the house intil a body's\nhat.\" \"Trash, indeed!\" exclaimed the indignant spouse, \"stap it on your\nain head, and the biggest trash in the house'll be in't.\"\n\n\n    _Scotchman and Irishman._\n\nA Scotchman and an Irishman were sleeping at an inn together. The\nweather being rather warm, the Scotchman in his sleep put his leg out of\nthe bed. A traveller, in passing the room door, saw him in this\nsituation, and having a mind for a frolic, gently fixed a spur upon\nSawney's heel; who drawing his leg into the bed, so disturbed his\ncompanion, that he exclaimed, \"Arrah, honey, have a care of your great\ntoe, for you have forgot to cut your nails I belaiv.\" The Scotchman\nbeing sound asleep, and sometimes, perhaps, not a little disturbed by\nother companies, still kept scratching poor Pat, till his patience being\nquite spent, he succeeded in rousing Sawney, who, not a little surprised\nat finding the spur on his heel, loudly exclaimed, \"De'il tak' the daft\nchiel of a hostler, he's ta'en my boots aff last night and left on the\nspur.\"\n\n\n    _Charity._\n\nA person who resides in the ancient town of Kilwinning, was proverbial\nfor his liberality in meat and drink to friends and acquaintances.\nStrangers, too, seldom passed without experiencing a due share of\nkindness. Lately while feasting nearly a dozen of random visitors on\n\"Pat Luck,\" a beggar called at the door soliciting charity, when he very\ngood humouredly called out, \"I canna help you the day, I ha'e plenty o'\nyour kin' here already.\"\n\n\n\n\n    _Shooting the Devil._\n\n\nA Scotch parson preaching upon these words, \"Resist the devil, and he\nwill fly from you,\" began thus:--\"My beloved, you are all here to-day,\nbut wot ye who is among ye, even the meikle horned devil. You cannot see\nhim, but by the eye of faith I see him. But some of you say, what will\nwe do with him now we have him here? How shall we destroy him? We will\nhang him. Alas, my beloved, there are not so many tows in the parish as\nwill hang him, he is as light as a feather. Then some of you will say we\nwill drown him. Humph, my beloved, there is owre muckle cork in his leg,\nhe's as souple as an eel, he will not sink. Others of you will say, we\nwill burn him. Na, na, sirs, you may scald yourselves, but you canna\nburn him, for a' the fire in Hades could never yet singe a hair o' his\ntail. Now, sirs, ye canna find a way among you all to kill him, but I\nwill find it. What way will this be, sirs? We will even shoot him.\nWherewith shall we shoot him? We shall shoot him with the Bible. Now,\nsirs, I shall shoot him presently.\" So, presenting the Bible, as\nsoldiers do their muskets, he cries out, \"Toot! toot! toot! Now he is\nshot. There lies the foul thief as dead as a herring.\"\n\n\n\n\n    _Long Credit._\n\n\nSoon after the battle of Preston, two Highlanders, in roaming through\nthe south of Mid-Lothian, entered the farm house of Swanston, near the\nPentland Hills, where they found no one at home but an old woman. They\nimmediately proceeded to search the house, and soon finding a web of\ncoarse home-spun cloth, made no scruple to unroll and cut off as much as\nthey thought would make a coat to each. The woman was exceedingly\nincensed at their rapacity, roared and cried, and even had the hardihood\nto invoke divine vengeance upon their heads. \"Ye villains!\" she cried,\n\"ye'll ha'e to account for this yet.\" \"And when will we pe account\nfor't?\" asked one of the Highlanders. \"At the last day, ye blackguards!\"\nexclaimed the woman. \"Ta last day,\" replied the Highlander; \"Tat be coot\nlang chredit-we'll e'en pe tak a waistcoat too!\" at the same time\ncutting off a few additional yards of the cloth.\n\n\n\n\n    _Bird's Nest._\n\n\nThe mother of a respectable grocer in a town in the west, called her son\nto her, while on her death bed, and declared to him that his reputed\nfather was not really his father; but that such a one (naming him)\nreally was his father; and that the deed was done one night when\ntravelling from Greenock, when at the Clun-Brae-Head. This story got\nwing, and ran through the town like wildfire, and was a fine source of\namusement for some time. One day a boy vulgarly named the \"Linty,\" went\ninto the said grocer's shop to purchase some article, when he was\nassailed with \"Weel Linty, whar is'tu gaun to big thy nest the year?\"\nThe boy replied, \"I was thinkin' to big it doon about the\nClun-Brae-Head.\"\n\n\n\n\n    _Elder's Hours._\n\n\nA cunning carle invested with the semi-sacred office of \"Ruling Elder,\"\nor practically seemingly identified with that office, in order to\ngratify an inclination, scratched wi' the neb o' a fork the figure 10 on\nthe one side of his outer door, and figure 11 on the other; by which\nplan he was able to say wi' \"a good conscience,\" at a' times, and on a'\noccasions, that he came aye hame atween ten and eleven.\n\n\n\n\n    _The Thistle._\n\n\nA few Scotch and English travellers being met together, an Englishman\ntook it upon him to run down the Thistle, exclaimed against the empty\nboast of its motto, \"Nemo me impune lacessit,\" when a Scotchman present\nobserved, \"The Thistle, sir, is the pride of the Scotish nation, but it\nis nothing in the mouth of an ass.\"\n\n\n\n\n    _Cold Gentleman._\n\n\nIn the west of Scotland, some time ago, there happened to be an auction\nof books. A book-buyer who attended the sale, was summoned by his son to\nsupper, according to the directions of his mother. The boy flurried by\nthe presence of the audience, and in his attempt to be as explicit\nas possible, thus cried out, \"Fayther, yer parritch is ready.\" \"Very well,\nmy dear,\" said the father, and at the door gave him a salute _a\nposteriori_, which was repeated with the following injunction--\"Recollect\nrascal, when you come again, to say _a gentleman_ wants me.\" Next evening\nup comes the boy according to direction. \"Is my Fayther here?\" \"Yes,\"\nsaid the father. \"_A gentleman_ wants ye.\" \"Very well, my man,\" was\nrepeated by the boy's parent; but little time elapsed when the boy\nreturned; \"What now, my man,\" said the old book worm. \"Oh naething,\"\nsaid his son, \"but gin ye dinna rin fast _the gentleman_ will\nbe quite cauld.\"\n\n\n\n\n    _Dougal Graham._\n\n\nDougal Graham, author of the well-known metrical history of the\nrebellion in 1745, being candidate for the place of town bellman in the\nCity of Glasgow, was desired to call \"Gude fresh herrings new come in at\nthe Broomielaw.\" It not being the season for herrings, Dougal added,\n\n\"But, indeed, my friends, it's a blaeflum,\n\n\"For the herrings no catch'd, and the boats no come,\" which procured for\nDougal the situation.\n\nDougal was a kind of Scotch AEsop, he had a large humph on one of his\nshoulders, and like his patrotype had wit. Calling in the street of the\nGallowgate, opposite the Saracen's Head Inn, where several officers of\nthe gallant 42d regiment were dining, at the close of the American war,\nsome of whom knew Dougal before they went abroad, opening the window,\ncalled out, \"What's that you've got on your back, Dougal?\" Knowing what\nthe regiment suffered at Bunker's Hill, Dougal replied, \"It's _Bunker's\nHill_; do you choose to mount?\"\n\n\n\n\n    _A New Way to Wauken Sleepers in Church._\n\n\nMr. Ogilvie, minister of the parish of Lunan in the county of Forfar,\nhad a great deal of eccentricity in his composition. One Sunday an old\nwoman, who kept a public-house in the parish, with whom Mr. Ogilvie was\nwell acquainted, fell asleep in the church during sermon--not an\nuncommon occurrence. Her neighbour kept jogging in order to awake her.\nMr. Ogilvie observing this, cried out, \"Let her alane, I'll wauken her\nmysel', I'll warrant ye.\" \"Phew! Phew! (_whistling_) a bottle o' ale and\na dram, Janet.\" \"Comin', sir,\" was instantly replied. \"There now,\" says\nthe minister, \"I tald ye it wadna be lang afore I waken'd her.\"\n\n\n\n\n    _Sage Instruction._\n\n\nA labouring Highlandman, who lived in the upper parts of Perthshire,\nwhose wife was taken in labour, wished him to retire out of the house.\nJanet says to him--\"Oh! you be gang awa', Duncan, gang awa'!\" The man,\nhowever, kept loitering about the door, seemingly impressed with\nsomething of great importance. At last he cries to his wife, \"You speak\na me, Shanet! you speak a me.\" The wife asks, \"What you say, Duncan?\"\n\"Gie the cummer (the midwife) a dram, Shanet, gie the cummer a dram!\"\n\"What for Duncan?\" \"Gie the cummer a dram, Shanet, an' tell _him to make\nher a laddie_.\"\n\n\n\n\n    _The Purse and the Penny Siller._\n\n\nThree young Highlanders, some years ago, set out from their native\nhills, to seek a livelihood amongst their countrymen in the Lowlands.\nThey had hardly learned any English. One of them could say, \"We three\nHighlandmen;\" the second, \"For the purse and the penny siller;\" and the\nthird had properly learned, \"And our just right too;\" intending thus to\nexplain the motives o' their journey. They trudged along, when, in a\nlonely glen, they saw the body of a man who had been recently murdered.\nThe Highlanders stopped to deplore the fate of the unhappy mortal, when\na gentleman with his servant came up to the spot. \"Who murdered this\npoor man?\" said the gentleman, \"We three Highlandmen,\" answered the\neldest of the brothers (thinking the gentleman inquired who they were).\n\"What could induce you to commit so horrid a crime?\" continued the\ngentleman. \"The Purse and the Penny Siller,\" replied the second of the\ntravellers. \"You shall be hanged, you miscreants!\" \"And our just right\ntoo,\" returned the third. The poor men were thus brought to the gallows\non their own evidence, and presumption of guilt.\n\n\n\n\n    _Lump of Old Wood._\n\n\nAn aged man, named Thomas Wood, sitting on a high three-footed stool in\nthe gallery of the old Church of Falkirk, during divine service happened\nto fall asleep, tumbled on the floor with a great noise. The preacher\nstopped and demanded the reason of the noise. \"Nothing, sir,\" cries a\nwag, \"but a lump of Old Wood fallen down.\"\n\n\n\n\n    _The Great Want._\n\n\nA female pauper lately made a very strong and forcible appeal to the\nelders and heritors of a certain parish, for an advance of 4s. 6d. Some\none of the grave quorum inquired what made her so urgent on this\noccasion, when she had lately got a supply of coals, shoes, etc. To this\nshe replied, \"Why, deed, sirs, it's just to buy a pair o' corsets to my\ndaughter Tibbie, ilk lass that's ocht respectable has them but hersel',\nso ye see she canna do wantin them, an' ye maun e'en let me ha't sirs.\"\n\n\n\n\n    _The Devil Defined._\n\n\nThe Rev. Mr. Shirra, burgher minister in Kirkcaldy, once gave the\nfollowing curious definition of the devil:--\"The devil, my brethren, is\nill ony way ye'll tak him. Tak' the D from his name, he's _evil_; tak'\nthe E from his name, he's _vil_; tak' the V from his name, he's _il_;\"\nthen shrugging up his shoulders, and lengthening his sanctified snout,\nhe said with peculiar emphasis, \"He's naething but an _il_, _vil_,\n_evil_, Devil, ony way ye'll tak' him!\"\n\n\n\n\n    _Mark me Well._\n\n\nA gentleman having missed his way, fortunately met a boy going with a\npot of tar to mark his master's sheep, asked the road to Banff, but was\ndirecting by so many turnings, right and left, that he agreed to take\nthe boy behind him on the horse as he was going near to the same place.\nFinding the boy pert and docile, he gave him some wholesome advice\nrelative to his future conduct, adding occasionally, \"Mark me well, my\nboy.\" \"Yes, sir, I do.\" He repeated the injunction so often, that the\nboy at last cried out, \"Sir, I have no more tar!\"\n\n\n\n\n    _Death of a Watch._\n\n\nAfter the battle of Falkirk, in 1746, a Highlandman was observed\nextracting a gold watch from the fob of an English officer, who had been\nkilled. His comrade viewed him with a greedy eye, which the man taking\nnotice of said to him, \"Tamn you gapin' greedy bitch, gang and shoot a\nshentleman for hersel', an' no envie me o' my pit watch.\"\n\nNext morning finding his watch motionless, and meeting his comrade, says\nto him, \"Och! she no be care muckle about a watch, an' you be like mine,\nwhat will ye gi'e me for her?\" The other replied, \"I be venture a\nkinny.\" \"Weel then,\" said the other, \"Shust tak her, an' welcome, for\nshe be die yester night.\"\n\n\n\n\n    _Our Lawful Sovereign._\n\n\nAn English Officer Dining With Lord Saltoon Some Years After the Battle\nof Culloden, his Lordship was adverting to the strong attachment\nmanifested by the generality of Buchan to the unfortunate house of\nStuart, and particularly remarked the devoted loyalty of his gardener,\nwhom no bribe or entreaty could in the smallest degree influence. \"I'll\nbet 50 guineas,\" said the Englishman, \"that I shall make him drink the\nhealth of King George.\" \"Done!\" replied his Lordship. The honest\ngardener was called in. The officer began by praising his fidelity and\nloyalty to his prince; pressed him to drink some glasses of wine; and\nwhen he thought him a little off his guard from the effects of the\ngenerous liquor, he began thus:--\"Now, my friend, I know you are a good\nChristian and wish well to every human being; you can certainly have no\nobjection to drink the health of King George? Come, my worthy fellow, a\nbumper to the health of his Majesty.\" \"Here's to the health of our\n_lawful_ Sovereign,\" said the gardener. \"Bless you, sir,\" cried the\nofficer, \"That's not King George?\" \"I am very much of your opinion,\"\nreplied the man, making a profound bow and retiring.\n\n\n\n\n    _Down the Rotten Row._\n\n\nA few years ago, when resurrectionists throughout the country were\nbecome very common, a person of respectability was interred in the High\nChurch burying ground of Glasgow. The relatives who were persons of\nproperty, hired a few hungry weavers, who generally at that time were\n_atomies_ ready made, to watch the grave of their deceased relative;\nthese, as they were one night on duty, perceived some persons enter, the\nchurchyard; they kept snug till such time as they could learn the object\nof their visit. It was not long before the intruders opened a grave,\ntook out the corpse, put it into a sack and left it at the grave, and\nwent in search of something else. One of the weavers, a droll fellow,\nsaid to his comrade, \"Take out the corpse, and I'll go into the sack,\nbut do you observe the proceedings.\" In a little time the resurrection\nmen returned, and one of them getting the sack upon his back marched\noff. When they got to the street, the one says to the other, \"Which way\nwill we take?\" When the weaver putting out his hand and gripping the\nfellow who was carrying him, by the hair, bawled out, \"Down the Rotten\nRaw, ye beggar.\" He was soon set down, and the man who carried him went\nmad of the fright.\n\n\n\n\n    _Resurrection Men._\n\n\nSome years ago, a poor boy, whose mother was buried in the churchyard of\nFalkirk, used frequently to sit on her grave, and when destitute of\nother accommodation, would crawl in below one of the gravestones, and\nslept there for the night. On one of these occasions, the boy was roused\nfrom his sleep by the noise of some voices in the churchyard. This was\nnothing more than a couple of resurrection men who had come on purpose\nto begin that great work rather prematurely; and as those who are raised\nbefore their due time cannot be supposed capable of standing on their\nlegs, they had provided themselves with a horse to gi'e them a lift.\nThey were then disputing about how they could secure the beast, while\nthey were raising the corpse. The lad hearing this, and creeping out of\nhis hole, cries, \"I'll haud him,\" expecting some remuneration no doubt.\nThe fellows seeing a resurrection commencing from under a stone, and\nhearing the offer of holding the horse, scampered off and left the\nanimal, with a couple of sacks; and although the horse and sacks were\nadvertised, they were never claimed, but sold for the benefit of the\nboy, which procured him better lodging than beneath a grave stone.\n\n\n\n\n    _March of Intellect._\n\n\nTwo country carters, passing the entrance to the Arcade, Argyle Street,\nGlasgow, observed painted on the wall, \"No dogs to enter here.\" \"No dogs\nto enter here!\" exclaimed one of them, \"I'm sure there's no use for that\nthere.\" \"What way, Jock,\" replied the other. \"'Cause dogs canna read\nsigns,\" said he. \"Ha, ha, Jock, ye're maybe wrang, I'se warran ye gentle\nfolks' dogs 'ill ken't brawly, for there's schools, noo, whar they learn\nthe dumb baith to read and speak.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                         THE\n\n                    MERRY CONCEITS\n\n                         OF\n\n                      TOM LONG\n\n                    THE CARRIER\n\n    Being many Pleasant Passages and Mad Pranks which\n               he observed in his Travels.\n\n    _Full of Honest Mirth and Delight._\n\n\n    Of all the Toms that ever yet was named,\n    Was ever any Tom like Tom Long framed?\n    Tom Tram, who now as many mad pranks shows,\n    Unto Tom Long will prove a mere goose.\n\n    Tom Thumb is dumb, until the pudding creep,\n    In which he was entomb'd, then out doth peep;\n    Tom Fool may go to school, but ne'er be taught,\n    Such rare conceits with which Tom Long is fraught.\n\n    Tom Ass may pass, but only for his ears,\n    No such rich jewels as our Tom Long he wears;\n    Tom Tell-truth is but froth, but truth to tell,\n    From all these Toms, Tom Long doth bear the bell.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _How Tom Long at first set up the trade of being a Carrier,\n                and where he took up his Lodging._\n\n\nTom Long, the subject of this discourse, having spent some few years\nlike a wandering Jew, oft visiting the coasts of Essex and Kent, where\nhe did many notable exploits, sometimes cheating the calves-heads of\ntheir money, by the virtue of hocus pocus, having learned the art of\nlegerdemain. Other times he used, as opportunity served, to rob the\nhen-roost. At last, his cheating tricks were so well known, that the\ncountry kicked him out like a knave as he was, and he was willing to be\ngone as they to be rid of him, soon gave them three slips for a teaster,\nand travelled towards Gotham, where he, well knowing what wit those wise\nmen had in their noddles, took up his abode near the place where the men\nmade a hedge to keep in the cuckoo all the year. Not long after, he set\nup his trade of being a carrier; under pretence of which he with ease\nplayed his pranks, and the wisdom of these men was such, that he cheated\nthem of all, and yet the fools had no mistrust of him. And having set\nhim up, he found great store of small doings, and above all others, the\nmen of Gotham and Dunstable would employ him; who, being more knave than\nfool, ever advised some cheating trick or other to gull those idiots;\nfor let him go out ever so full, he would be sure to come home empty,\ntelling them one mischance or other had befallen him. He took up his\nlodging at the sign of the Whip and Egg-Shell in Thieving Lane, not far\nfrom Charing Cross, where Dunstable men are sure to find him; if not,\nthey may go into Turn-again Lane, and come back again as wise as they\nwent in.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _How Tom Long the Carrier met with a Young Man upon\n             the way, with what happened to them,\n           and how they were entertained by an Hostess._\n\n\nTom Long being newly set up a carrier, as he was travelling he happened\nto take up a young lad, who had straggled from his parents to play the\ntruant, which Tom perceiving, entertained him into his service; but they\nhad not gone far before their stomachs were up, so they resolved at the\nnext place to take a bit, where, as soon as they came, they demanded\nwhat was for to eat. The hostess, being one of Seldom Cleanly's\ndaughters, said there was nothing but eggs, of which, she said, she\nwould make them a froize; and seeing them to come in, in a full breast\nand an empty stomach, she (like a slut as she was) resolved to give them\ntheir bellies full before they went; and so, with some three or four\ngood eggs, she mixed as many bad ones, some addle and rotten, and others\nready for to hatch; and having set them down at a certain wash block,\nwhich served instead of a table, she set before them as good a froize as\nany woman possibly could make of coarse materials, making her sauce\nalike suitable, being nothing else but kitchen stuff melted a\nlittle--oil as good as ever was burned. Tom and the young man fell\npresently to it, with stomachs as greedy as hogs, swallowing down all by\nwholesale, tag-rag and long-tail, without any chewing, although they\nconceited something cracking in their teeth like young bones. Yet\nhunger, which is the best sauce, made every morsel sweet, although it\nhad but an ill going down with it, and worse troubled their patience\nafterwards, for they had no sooner eaten of it, but like squeezy\nstomachs they began to cast backwards and forwards; and being in this\npitiful pickle, they called for their hostess, who, thinking to receive\nher reckoning, was paid in her own coin; for, having some of their\nfroize left, Tom furiously cast it on her face, which stuck as fast as\na plaister to the wall, insomuch that for a while she lost her eyesight;\nwhich being done, Tom departed without paying anything for his dinner.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _How Tom and his Young Man discoursed of their Dinner,\n         and how they resolved to mend the matter at night,\n                but met with as bad Entertainment._\n\n\nTom and his man being now on their way, began to discourse of their\ndinner, and how prettily they served their hostess; but still conceited\nthat they heard these young chickens which they had eaten in their\nfroize cry, \"Peep, peep, peep,\" and having cast up all again, their\nbellies began to cry \"Cupboard,\" whereupon Tom, to comfort his young\nman, told him they would be sure to have a good host at night, and good\nfare to. But \"like to like,\" quoth the devil to the collier, out of the\nfrying-pan into the fire; for their new host proved not only a knave,\nbut a thief, and instead of dainty veal, provided for them part of a\nyoung colt, which, being foaled before its time, ate very tenderly; and\ngoing to supper, the host, like a flattering knave, told them he would\nfeast them bravely; and they, not mistrusting anything, fed most\ncourageously, having for to please their pallets several kinds of dishes\nmade thereof, the host still crying, \"You are welcome, gentlemen,\"--all\nwhich they swallowed down as greedily as the lawyer his fee. And having\nfilled their ungodly guts with this supposed good cheer, they hastened\nto bed, where the fleas fed as fast on their corpse as they had done\nupon this new found veal, insomuch that they looked as if they had the\nsmallpox. In the morning (thinking to have breakfast of the same) they\nmissed their coats and other things, which their host had thievishly\ndeprived them of. So, searching the house about, they found hanging in a\ncorner some pieces of flesh, which they supposed to be part of the veal\nthey had eaten of; but by the ears of the skin which hanged by, they saw\nplainly it was an ass, and that they were once more made fools of;\nwhereupon Tom caused his host to be apprehended, who was committed to\nprison about their goods, where Tom left him and departed.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _Tom relates how a certain counterfeit Merchant cheated\n         divers Gentlemen of very great sums of Money._\n\n\nIn the North of England arrived a pretended merchant, but, indeed, a\nvery cheating knave, who, residing there a while, came to be greatly\nacquainted with divers gentlemen, who, looking on him as one of great\naccount, at last he received several great sums of money which he was to\npay at London, upon the receipt of which he gave every man a bill of\nexchange, receiving of some twenty pounds, some thirty, some forty,\nfifty, some a hundred pounds; and, having pretty well feathered his\nnest, leaving those gentlemen to receive their money where they could\nget it, he departed beyond sea; and when the gentlemen came to receive\ntheir money, they could neither find nor hear of their merchant: whereat\nthey were very much vexed, as well as they might be, to see how they\nwere cheated of their money. But their hopes are that they shall have it\nbrought them again by Tom Long the Carrier.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _Of the great request that Tom Long was in, and how the\n            wise Mayor of Huntingdon seized on Tom's\n                   ragged Colt for a Sturgeon._\n\n\nTom Long having been a carrier for many years, grew in great request,\nand though he was not very well beloved, yet he was sure to have many\ncustomers that he got carriage of, especially the country farmers, who\noften used to send tokens by him to their friends, as gammons of bacon,\ncollars of brawn, pies, and other good things, and now and then small\npieces of silver from Dunstable men: all which Tom ever made use of\nhimself, though they perceived it not; for by reason they sent by Tom\nLong the Carrier, they could never receive any answer about what he\nbrought. Also, all the broken shopkeepers and decayed gentlemen sent\ntheir creditors' debts by Tom Long the Carrier.\n\nBut it happened that, as Tom was going to London, he chanced to be at\nHuntingdon, where, putting his horses to grass, amongst which he had a\nyoung ragged colt,--this colt having straggled down into the river,\ncertain wise men of the town coming by, that had been at Gotham, thought\nit had been a sturgeon, and thereupon acquainted the Right Wisdom-Fool\nthe Mayor of it, who assembled together his wise brethren, made a very\nwise speech to them, and acquainted them therewith, who very unanimously\naccompanied his foolship; and, after a deep consultation, they all\nagreed to seize the poor colt for a sturgeon; but carrying it with great\ntriumph into the town, the inhabitants, who were wiser than the rest,\nexceedingly laughed them to scorn for their great folly. And so Tom,\npromising the Mayor to bring him a piece of sturgeon at his return, he\nhad his colt again.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VI.\n\n    _A Story of the Seven Sleepers, who slept above three\n           hundred years, and not yet awakened._\n\n\nIn a great city there lived several men who for their religion were\nforced to fly for their lives, and not far from the city was an ancient\ncave under a hill, in which these men entered to secure and refresh\nthemselves; but their persecutors, hearing where they were, stopped up\nthe mouth of the cave, intending to famish them therein; and they, not\nknowing what was done, so soon as they had refreshed their bodies with\nvictuals, laid themselves down to sleep, and so continued sleeping very\nsound a long season, until such time as in after ages a shepherd,\nintending to make himself a harbour, set divers masons to work to dig in\nthis cave, who, with the noise, awakened the men who had been asleep so\nlong therein. The cave being opened, they, thinking it to be day, and\nhad slept but one night, sent one of their company privately into the\ncity for food, for in all this time they had eaten nothing, and well\nthey might be hungry; so, coming to the town; he found all things\naltered, the inhabitants being other kind of people, as he supposed,\nthan he left the night before. So going to buy some bread, the people\nrefused to take his money, saying they knew not the coin, at which he\ngreatly marvelled. But inquiring further, he found that since their\nbeing there three generations had been dead and gone, and a fourth in\nbeing; and by computation of time, it appeared they had slept above\nthree hundred years, and lay all this time in their clothes, which were\nno whit decayed, whereat the people all wondered; and Tom Long the\nCarrier, staying all the time they slept to see when they would awake,\nat last brought the news with him.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VII.\n\n    _How Tom Long the Carrier sold his Horse for the Skin,\n         supposing him to be dead; and how a crafty\n      fellow coming by knew what the Horse ailed, and so\n                        bought him._\n\n\nTom Long the Carrier, travelling on the road, chances to put his horse\nin a field that was overgrown with hemlock, which Tom's horse, having\nhad no meat all day, ate so greedily on, that it cast him into so sound\na sleep that Tom thought he had been dead. Being thus sorely crossed, as\nhe supposed, he began to flay his skin off to sell, whereupon a crafty\nfellow coming by that way, well knew what the horse ailed, bought him\nfor the price of the skin, and paid Tom the money. He departed,\nappointing to fetch the horse the very next morning. And when he came on\nthe morrow, the horse was awakened out of his sleep, and got upon his\nlegs again; which, when Tom perceived, he was sorely vexed at his\nfoolish bargain; but his chapman laughed him to scorn for his folly, and\nso departed with his horse.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VIII.\n\n    _How Tom, Long the Carrier converted all his Carriage to\n     his own use, and thereby recruited himself with another\n       Horse, and of a sad mischance that befel his Horse._\n\n\nTom Long the Carrier, seeing himself thus fooled out of his horse,\nresolved not to bear all the loss himself, and so converted all his\ncarriage into money, and returning home, pretended he had been robbed of\nhis horse and all his carriage. Not long after, Tom being willing to set\nup again, purchased with his money a new horse; but ill-gotten goods\nseldom thrive. So Tom, having a horse again, received divers things to\ncarry from divers places, especially from the wise men of Gotham, who\nwere the best customers Tom Long the Carrier had. But being on his way\nnot far from his inn, he chanced to spy a fine plot of grass under a\nhedge in a corn field, under which Tom, to save charges, secretly\nconveyed his mare, tying her to the hedge with a cord, and so left her.\nBut the mare, like an unruly jade, not being willing to be confined in\nso narrow a compass, was minded to see what fare was on the other side\nof the hedge, and foolishly venturing to leap over, very unfortunately\nhanged herself, whose untimely death had then nigh broke the heart of\npoor Tom Long; and his grief was the more by reason she died without any\nvisitation.\n\n    Tom nine ways looks, and needs must vexed be;\n    Now bought wit's best, Tom Long doth plainly see.\n    Tom tells he's robbed, and counteth all his losses,\n    And is in hopes he shall have no more crosses.\n    \"Come, lads, all's gone,\" Tom takes his comfort then;\n    He will be repaid by other men.\n    Now many men do Tom Long dispraise,\n    Saying, \"He has small conscience in his ways,\n    But sure I'll lay no such fault to his charge;\n    I rather think his conscience was too large.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IX.\n\n    _How Tom Long the Carrier was assaulted by a Dog, and\n        how valiantly he defended himself, and killed him._\n\n\nAs Tom Long the Carrier was travelling between Dover and Westchester, he\nfortuned to pass something near a house, where was kept a great mastiff\ndog, who, as soon as he had espied Tom, came running open mouthed at\nhim, and so furiously assaulted him, as if he meant to devour him at a\nbite. But Tom, having in his hand a good pikestaff, most valiantly\ndefended himself like a man, and to withstand the danger, he thrust the\npike-end of his staff into his throat, and so killed him. Whereupon the\nowner thereof, seeing his dog lost, comes earnestly unto Tom, and\nbetween threatening and chiding, asking him why he struck him not with\nthe great end of the staff? \"Marry,\" quoth he, \"because your dog runs\nnot at me with his tail.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER X.\n\n    _Of a merry conceited Jest brought to Town by Tom._\n\n\nA certain king kept a fool to be his jester, whose manner was to set\ndown in a note-book, which he kept for that purpose, all the follies\nthat he saw committed in or about the court, or at least write so many\nas he discovered. So, upon a time, a certain Italian horse-courser\narrived at the court who professed great skill in horsemanship, and it\nbeing declared unto the king, he presently sent him with three thousand\npounds to buy horses in a far country, which this fool hearing of, put\ndown in his note-book among the rest. When the king heard that, he was\nmuch offended, and would needs know of Jack Lackwit why he had set him\ndown in his note. \"Because,\" quoth the fool, \"I think he will come no\nmore to you.\" \"But what if he does come again?\" said the king. \"Why,\nthen,\" said the fool, \"I will take you out and put him in.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XI.\n\n    _Of the Hard Lodging which Tom Long the Carrier found on\n       the Ground, having under him but one Poor Feather._\n\n\nTom Long, by reason of the great loss of his horses, became very poor,\nand so turned foot-post; and being in a wearisome condition, he was\nforced, having not coin to pay for better, to take up his lodging on the\nground, where, tumbling and tossing, he could hardly rest all night; and\nstirring himself betimes in the morning, he espied under him one\nfeather. \"Now,\" quoth Tom, \"I see what was the cause of my trouble that\nI could not sleep all the night. I wonder, seeing I found such hard\nlodging upon one feather, how they do that lie upon thousands.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XII.\n\n    _How Tom Long cozened two Shoemakers out of a\n                   pair of Shoes._\n\n\nTom Long being now a foot-post, with hard travelling had worn his shoes\nso very thin that he was in great danger to lose soles and all;\nwhereupon Tom came to refresh himself, after which he sent for a\nshoemaker to bring him a pair of shoes.\n\nNow Tom, having no coin left, resolved to try his wits; so drawing on\none of the shoes, he said it fitted well; but drawing on the other, he\ncomplained that it pinched his foot and was too low in the instep;\nwhereupon he desired the shoemaker to take that shoe home and let it\nstand in the last for an hour or two, and he would stay so long. As soon\nas he was gone Tom pulled off the other shoe, and sent for another\nshoemaker to bring him a pair of shoes, which he did; so, drawing on one\nof them on the other foot, he said it pinched him likewise, and so\nwished him also to take that shoe home, and let it stand for an hour on\nthe last, and then come again. But the shoemakers saw the last of their\nshoes, for when they came again Tom Long was gone, leaving these verses\nbehind them:--\n\n    \"Whom seek ye, sirs--Tom Long? Oh, fie upon\n    Your tediousness, he's long since gone;\n    He went a good while since, no question store\n    Are glad, who vex'd he did not go before;\n    And some are griev'd he went so soon away,\n    The reason was, he could no longer stay;\n    Nor is it a wonder that he thus is gone,\n    Since all men know he long was drawing on.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XIII.\n\n    _Witty Conceits of Tom Long the Carrier._\n\n\nTom Long the Carrier, upon a time, asked a merry conceited fellow which\nwas the best husband for a young wench to marry. \"Marry,\" quoth the\nfellow, \"an old man, for then he shall be sure to be proud of her.\"\nAnother standing by asked Tom Long the Carrier what trade he thought to\nbe best? \"Marry,\" quoth Tom, \"a cut-purse; for he hath no sooner done\nhis work but he hath his money in his hand.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XIV.\n\n    _The Conclusion of the Merry Conceits of Tom Long\n                       the Carrier._\n\n    Tom Long the Carrier coming to an inn,\n    Asked the maid what meat there was within?\n    \"Cow-heels,\" said she, \"and a fine breast of mutton.\"\n    \"Then,\" said Tom, \"since that I am no glutton,\n    Either or both shall serve--to-night the breast,\n    The heels in the morning, when light meat is best.\"\n    At night he took the breast, and did not pay,\n    And in the morning took his heels and ran away.\n    When the worst is past, all things begin to mend,\n    And here the brave story of Tom Long doth end.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                        THE\n\n                      STORY OF\n\n                     BLUE BEARD\n\n                       OR THE\n\n             EFFECTS OF FEMALE CURIOSITY.\n\n\nThere was, some time ago, a gentleman who was extremely rich. He had\nelegant town and country houses; his dishes and plates were of gold and\nsilver; his rooms were hung with damask; his chairs and sofas were\ncovered with the richest silks, and his carriages were all magnificently\ngilt with gold.\n\nBut, unfortunately, this gentleman had a blue beard, which made him so\nvery frightful and ugly that none of the ladies in the neighbourhood\nwould venture to go into his company.\n\nIt happened that a lady of quality, who lived very near him, had two\ndaughters, who were both extremely beautiful. Blue Beard asked her to\nbestow one of them upon him in marriage, leaving to herself the choice\nwhich of the two it should be.\n\nThey both, however, again and again refused to marry Blue Beard; but, to\nbe as civil as possible, they each pretended that they refused because\nshe would not deprive her sister of the opportunity of marrying so much\nto her advantage. But the truth was they could not bear the thoughts of\nhaving a husband with a blue beard, and, besides, they had heard of his\nhaving already been married to several wives, and nobody could tell what\nhad afterwards become of them.\n\nAs Blue Beard wished very much to gain their favour, he invited the lady\nand her daughters, and some ladies who were on a visit at their house,\nto accompany him to one of his country seats, where they spent a whole\nweek, during which nothing was thought of but parties for hunting and\nfishing, music, dancing, collations, and the most delightful\nentertainments. No one thought of going to bed, and the nights were\npassed in merriment of every kind.\n\nIn short, the time had passed so agreeably that the youngest of the two\nsisters began to think that the beard which had so much terrified her\nwas not so very blue, and that the gentleman to whom it belonged was\nvastly civil and pleasing.\n\nSoon after they returned home she told her mother that she had no longer\nany objection to accept of Blue Beard for her husband, and, accordingly,\nin a short time they were married.\n\nAbout a month after the marriage had taken place, Blue Beard told his\nwife that he should be obliged to leave her for a few weeks, as he had\nsome business to do in the country. He desired her to be sure to procure\nherself every kind of amusement, to invite as many of her friends as she\nliked, and to treat them with all sorts of delicacies that the time\nmight pass agreeably during his absence. \"Here,\" said he, \"are the keys\nof the two large wardrobes. This is the key of the great box that\ncontains the best plate, which we use for company; this belongs to my\nstrong box, where I keep my money; and this to the casket in which are\nall my jewels. Here also is a master key to all the apartments in my\nhouse, but this small key belongs to the closet at the end of the long\ngallery on the ground floor. I give you leave,\" continued he, \"to open\nor do what you like with all the rest excepting this closet: this, my\ndear, you must not enter, nor even put the key into the lock, for all\nthe world. Should you disobey me, expect the most dreadful of\npunishments.\"\n\nShe promised to obey his orders in the most faithful manner; and Blue\nBeard, after tenderly embracing her, stepped into his carriage and drove\naway.\n\nThe friends of the bride did not, on this occasion, wait to be invited,\nso impatient were they to see all the riches and magnificence she had\ngained by marriage; for they had been prevented from paying their\nwedding visit by their aversion to the blue beard of the bridegroom.\n\nNo sooner were they arrived than they impatiently ran from room to room,\nfrom cabinet to cabinet, and then from wardrobe to wardrobe, examining\neach with the utmost curiosity, and declaring that the last was still\nricher and more beautiful than what they had seen the moment before. At\nlength they came to the drawing-rooms, where their admiration and\nastonishment were still increased by the costly splendour of the\nhangings, of the sofas, the chairs, carpets, tables, girandoles, and\nlooking-glasses, the frames of which were silver gilt, most richly\nornamented, and in which they saw themselves from head to foot.\n\nIn short, nothing could exceed the magnificence of what they saw; and\nthe visitors did not cease to extol and envy the good fortune of their\nfriend, who all this time was far from being amused by the fine\ncompliments they paid her, so eagerly did she desire to see what was in\nthe closet her husband had forbidden her to open. So great indeed was\nher curiosity that, without recollecting how uncivil it would be to\nleave her guests, she descended a private staircase that led to it, and\nin such a hurry that she was two or three times in danger of breaking\nher neck.\n\nWhen she reached the door of the closet she stopped for a few moments to\nthink of the charge her husband had given her, and that he would not\nfail to keep his word in punishing her very severely should she disobey\nhim. But she was so very curious to know what was in the inside that she\ndetermined to venture in spite of everything.\n\nShe accordingly, with a trembling hand, put the key into the lock, and\nthe door immediately opened. The window shutters being closed, she at\nfirst saw nothing; but in a short time she perceived that the floor was\ncovered with clotted blood, on which the bodies of several dead women\nwere lying. These were all the wives whom Blue Beard had married and\nmurdered, one after another. She was ready to sink with fear, and the\nkey of the closet door, which she held in her hand, fell on the floor.\nWhen she had somewhat recovered from her fright she took it up, locked\nthe door, and hastened to her own room that she might have a little time\nto get into humour for amusing her visitors; but this she found\nimpossible, so greatly was she terrified by what she had seen.\n\nAs she observed that the key of the closet had got stained with blood in\nfalling on the floor, she wiped it two or three times over to clean it;\nstill, however, the blood remained the same as before. She next washed\nit, but the blood did not stir at all; she then scoured it with\nbrickdust, and afterwards with sand, but notwithstanding all she could\ndo, the blood was still there; for the key was a fairy, who was Blue\nBeard's friend, so that as fast as she got it off on one side it\nappeared again on the other.\n\nEarly in the evening Blue Beard returned home, saying he had not\nproceeded far on his journey before he was met by a messenger who was\ncoming to tell him that his business was happily concluded without his\nbeing present, upon which his wife said everything she could think of to\nmake him believe she was transported with joy at his unexpected return.\n\nThe next morning he asked her for the keys. She gave them to him; but as\nshe could not help showing her fright, Blue Beard easily guessed what\nhad happened. \"How is it,\" said he, \"that the key of the closet upon the\nground floor is not here?\" \"Is it not? then I must have left it on my\ndressing-table,\" said she, and left the room in tears. \"Be sure you give\nit me by-and-bye,\" cried Blue Beard.\n\nAfter going several times backwards and forwards, pretending to look for\nthe key, she was at last obliged to give it to Blue Beard. He looked at\nit attentively, and then said--\"How came the blood upon the key?\" \"I am\nsure I do not know,\" replied the lady, turning at the same time as pale\nas death. \"You do not know,\" said Blue Beard sternly; \"but I know well\nenough. You have been in the closet on the ground floor. Vastly well,\nmadam; since you are so mightily fond of this closet, you shall\ncertainly take your place among the ladies you saw there.\"\n\nHis wife, almost dead with fear, fell upon her knees, asked his pardon a\nthousand times for her disobedience, and entreated him to forgive\nher--looking all the time so very sorrowful and lovely that she would\nhave melted any heart that was not harder than a rock.\n\nBut Blue Beard answered, \"No, no, madam; you shall die this very\nminute!\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the poor trembling creature, \"if I must die, allow me, at\nleast, a little time to say my prayers.\"\n\n\"I give you,\" replied the cruel Blue Beard, \"half a quarter of an hour;\nnot one moment longer.\"\n\nWhen Blue Beard had left her to herself, she called her sister, and\nafter telling her, as well as she could for sobbing, that she had but\nhalf a quarter of an hour to live, \"Prithee,\" said she, \"sister Ann\"\n(this was her sister's name), \"run up to the top of the tower, and see\nif my brothers are yet in sight, for they promised to come and visit me\nto-day; and if you see them, make a sign for them to gallop as fast as\npossible.\"\n\nHer sister instantly did as she was desired, and the terrified lady\nevery minute called out to her, \"Ann! sister Ann! do you see any one\ncoming?\" and her sister answered, \"I see nothing but the sun, which\nmakes a dust, and the grass, which looks green.\"\n\nIn the meanwhile Blue Beard, with a great scimitar in his hand, bawled\nas loud as he could to his wife, \"Come down instantly, or I will fetch\nyou.\"\n\n\"One moment longer, I beseech you,\" replied she; and again called softly\nto her sister--\"Sister Ann, do you see any one coming?\" To which she\nanswered, \"I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the grass,\nwhich looks green.\"\n\nBlue Beard now again bawled out, \"Come down, I say, this very moment, or\nI shall come and fetch you.\"\n\n\"I am coming; indeed I will come in one minute,\" sobbed his unhappy\nwife. Then she once more cried out--\"Ann! sister Ann! do you see any one\ncoming?\" \"I see,\" said her sister, \"a cloud of dust a little to the\nleft.\" \"Do you think it is my brothers?\" continued the wife. \"Alas! no,\ndear sister,\" replied she; \"it is only a flock of sheep.\"\n\n\"Will you come down or not, madam?\" said Blue Beard, in the greatest\nrage imaginable.\n\n\"Only one single moment more,\" answered she. And then she called out for\nthe last time--\"Sister Ann! do you see any one coming?\"\n\n\"I see,\" replied her sister, \"two men on horseback coming to the house,\nbut they are still at a great distance.\"\n\n\"God be praised!\" cried she; it is my brothers; give them a sign to make\nwhat haste they can.\n\nAt the same moment Blue Beard cried out so loud for her to come down\nthat his voice shook the whole house.\n\nThe poor lady with her hair loose, and her eyes swimming in tears,\ninstantly came down, and fell on her knees to Blue Beard, and was going\nto beg him to spare her life; but he interrupted her saying--\"All this\nis of no use at all, for you shall die.\" Then, seizing her with one hand\nby the hair, and raising the scimitar he held in the other, was going\nwith one blow to strike off her head.\n\nThe unfortunate creature turning towards him, desired to have a single\nmoment allowed her to recollect herself.\n\n\"No, no,\" said Blue Beard, \"I will give you no more time, I am\ndetermined--you have had too much already;\" and again raising his arm.\nJust at this instant a loud knocking was heard at the gates, which made\nBlue Beard wait for a moment to see who it was. The gates were opened,\nand two officers, dressed in their regimentals, entered, and, with their\nswords in their hands, ran instantly to Blue Beard, who, seeing they\nwere his wife's brothers, endeavoured to escape from their presence; but\nthey pursued and seized him before he had gone twenty steps, and,\nplunging their swords into his body, he immediately fell down dead at\ntheir feet.\n\nThe poor wife, who was almost as dead as her husband, was unable at\nfirst to rise and embrace her brothers. She soon, however, recovered;\nand as Blue Beard had no heirs, she found herself the lawful possessor\nof his great riches.\n\nShe employed a portion of her vast fortune in giving a marriage dowry to\nher sister Ann, who soon after became the wife of a young gentleman by\nwhom she had long been beloved. Another part she employed in buying\ncaptains' commissions for her two brothers, and the rest she presented\nto a most worthy gentleman, whom she married soon after, and whose kind\ntreatment soon made her forget Blue Beard's cruelty.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                        THE\n\n                      LIFE OF\n\n                   MANSIE WAUCH\n\n                TAILOR IN DALKEITH.\n\n\nI was born during the night of the 15th of October, 1765, in that little\nhouse, standing by itself, not many yards from the eastmost side of the\nFlesh Market Gate, Dalkeith. Long was it spoken about that something\nmysterious would happen on that dreary night, as the cat, after washing\nher face, gaed mewing about with her tail sweeing behind her like a\nramrod; and a corbie, from the Duke's woods, tumbled down Jamie Elder's\nlum when he had set the little still a-going--giving them a terrible\nfright, as they took it for the deevil and then for an exciseman--and\nfell with a great cloud of soot and a loud skraigh into the empty\nkail-pot.\n\nThe first thing that I have any clear memory of was my being carried out\non my auntie's shoulder, with a leather cap tied under my chin, to see\nthe Fair Race. Oh! but it was a grand sight! I have read since then the\nstory of Aladdin's Wonderful Lamp, but this beat it all to sticks. There\nwas a long row of tables, covered with carpets of bonny patterns, heaped\nfrom one end to the other with shoes of every kind and size, some with\npolished soles and some glittering with sparables and cuddyheels, and\nlittle red worsted boots for bairns with blue and white edgings, hinging\nlike strings of flowers up the posts at each end; and then what a\ncollection of luggies! The whole meal in the market sacks on a Thursday\ndid not seem able to fill them, and horn spoons, green and black\nfreckled, with shanks clear as amber, and timber caups, and ivory egg\ncups of every pattern. Have a care of us! all the eggs in Smeaton dairy\nmight have found resting places for their seats in a row. As for the\ngingerbread, I shall not attempt a description. Sixpenny and shilling\ncakes, in paper tied with skinie, and roundabouts, and snaps, brown and\nwhite quality, and parliaments on stands covered with calendered linen\nclean from the fold. To pass it was just impossible; it set my teeth\na-watering, and I skirled like mad until I had a gilded lady thrust into\nmy little nieve--the which, after admiring for a minute, I applied my\nteeth to and of the head I made no bones, so that in less than no time\nshe had vanished, petticoats and all, no trace of her being to the fore\nsave and except long treacly daubs extending east and west from ear to\near, and north and south from cape nep of the nose to the extremity of\nbeardyland.\n\nBut what of all things attracted my attention on that memorable day was\nthe show of cows, sheep, and horses, mooing, baaing, and neighering; and\nthe race--that was the best! Od, what a sight! We were jammed in the\ncrowd of auld wives with their toys and shining ribbons, and canter lads\nwith their blue bonnets, and young wenches carrying home their fairings\nin napkins as muckle as would hold their teeth going for a month. There\nscarcely could be muckle for love when there was so much for the\nstomach, and men with wooden legs and brass virls at the end of them\nplaying on the fiddle, and a bear that roared and danced on its hind\nfeet with a muzzled mouth, and Punch and Polly, and puppie shows, and\nmair than I can tell, when up came the horses to the starting-post. I\nshall never forget the bonny dresses of the riders. One had a napkin\ntied round his head, another had on a black velvet hunting cap and his\ncoat stripped--oh, but he was a brave lad--and sorrow was the folks for\nhim when he fell off in taking ower sharp a turn, by which auld Pullen,\nthe bell-ringer, wha was holding the post, was made to coup the creels.\nAnd the last was all life, as gleg as an eel. Up and down he went, and\nup and down gaed the beast on its hind legs and its fore legs, funking\nlike mad. Yet though he was not aboon thirteen, or fourteen at most, he\ndid not cry out for help more than five or six times, but grippit at the\nmane with one hand and at the back of the saddle with the other, till\ndaft Robie, the hostler at the stables, caught hold of the beast by the\nhead, and off they set. The young birkie had neither hat nor shoon, but\nhe did not spare the stick; round and round they flew like daft. Ye\nwould have thought their een would have loupen out, and loudly all the\ncrowd were hurrahing when young hatless came up foremost, standing in\nthe stirrups, the long stick between his teeth, and his white hair\nfleeing behind him in the wind like streamers on a frosty night.\n\n\n    CALF-LOVE.\n\nJust after I was put to my apprenticeship, having made free choice of\nthe tailoring trade, I had a terrible stound of calf-love. Never shall I\nforget it. I was growing up long and lank as a willow-wand, brawns to my\nlegs there were none, as my trousers of other years too visibly effected\nto show. The long yellow hair hung down, like a flax-wig, the length of\nmy lantern jaws, which looked, notwithstanding my yapness and stiff\nappetite, as if eating and they had broken up acquaintanceship. My blue\njacket seemed in the sleeves to have picket a quarrel with the wrists\nand had retreated to a tait below the elbows. The haunch-buttons, on the\ncontrary, appeared to have taken a strong liking to the shoulders, a\nlittle below which they showed their tarnished brightness. At the middle\nof the back the tails terminated, leaving the well-worn rear of my\ncorduroys like a full moon seen through a dark haze. Oh! but I must have\nbeen a bonny lad.\n\nMy first flame was the minister's lassie, Jess, a buxom and forward\nqueen, two or three years older than myself. I used to sit looking at\nher in the kirk, and felt a droll confusion when our een met. It dirled\nthrough my heart like a dart, and I looked down at my psalm-book\nsheepish and blushing. Fain would I have spoken to her, but it would not\ndo; my courage aye failed me at the pinch, though she whiles gave me a\nsmile when she passed me. She used to go to the well every night with\nher twa stoups to draw water after the manner of the Israelites at\ngloaming, so I thought of watching to give her the two apples which I\nhad carried in my pouch for more than a week for that purpose. How she\nlaughed when I stappit them into her hand and brushed by without\nspeaking. I stood at the bottom of the close listening, and heard her\nlaughing till she was like to split. My heart flap flappit in my breast\nlike a pair of fanners. It was a moment of heavenly hope; but I saw\nJamie Coom, the blacksmith, who I aye jaloused was my rival, coming down\nto the well. I saw her give him one of the apples, and hearing him say\nwith a loud gaffaw, \"Where is the tailor?\" I took to my heels, and never\nstopped till I found myself on the little stool by the fireside, and the\nhamely sound of my mother's wheel bum-bumming in my lug like a gentle\nlullaby.\n\nEvery noise I heard flustered me, but I calmed in time, though I went to\nmy bed without my supper. When I was driving out the gaislings to the\ngrass on the next morn who was it my ill fate to meet but the\nblacksmith. \"Ou, Mansie,\" said Jamie Coom, \"are ye gaun to take me for\nyour best man? I hear you are to be cried in the kirk on Sunday.\"\n\n\"Me!\" answered I, shaking and staring.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he; \"Jess, the minister's maid, told me last night that you\nhad been giving up your name at the manse. Ay, it's ower true, for she\nshowed me the apples ye gied her in a present. This is a bonny story,\nMansie, my man, and you only at your apprenticeship yet.\"\n\nTerror and despair had struck me dumb. I stood as still and as stiff as\na web of buckram. My tongue was tied, and I couldna contradict him.\nJamie faulded his arms and gaed away whistling, turning every now and\nthen his sooty face over his shoulder and mostly sticking his tune, as\nhe could not keep his mouth screwed for laughing. What would I not have\ngiven to have laughed too!\n\nThere was no time to be lost; this was the Saturday. The next rising sun\nwould shine on the Sabbath. Ah, what a case I was in; I could mostly\nhave drowned myself had I not been frighted. What could I do? My love\nhad vanished like lightning; but oh, I was in a terrible gliff! Instead\nof gundy, I sold my thrums to Mrs. Walnut for a penny, with which I\nbought at the counter a sheet of paper and a pen, so that in the\nafternoon I wrote out a letter to the minister telling him what I had\nbeen given to hear, and begging him, for the sake of mercy, not to\nbelieve Jess's word, as I was not able to keep a wife, and as she was a\nleeing gipsy.\n\n\n    PUSHING MY FORTUNE.\n\nThe days of the years of my apprenticeship having glided cannily over on\nthe working board of my respected maister, James Hosey, where I sat\nworking cross-legged like a busy bee in the true spirit of industrious\ncontentment, I found myself at the end of the seven year so well\ninstructed in the tailoring trade, to which I had paid a near-sighted\nattention, that, without more ado, I girt myself round about with a\nproud determination of at once cutting my mother's apron string and\nventuring to go without a hold. Thinks I to myself \"faint heart never\nwon fair lady,\" so, taking my stick in my hand, I set out towards\nEdinburgh as brave as a Hielander in search of a journeyman's place. I\nmay set it down to an especial providence that I found one, on the very\nfirst day, to my heart's content in by at the Grassmarket where I stayed\nfor the space of six calendar months.\n\nHad it not been from a real sense of the duty I owed to my future\nemployers, whomsoever they might be, in making myself a first-rate hand\nin the cutting, shaping, and sewing line, I would not have found courage\nin my breast to have helped me out through such a long and dreary time.\n\nNever let us repine, howsomever, but consider that all is ordered for\nthe best. The sons of the patriarch Jacob found out their brother Joseph\nin a foreign land, and where they least expected it, so it was\nhere--even here where my heart was sickening unto death, from my daily\nand nightly thoughts being as bitter as gall--that I fell in with the\ngreatest blessing of my life, Nanse Cromie!\n\nIn the flat below our workshop lived Mrs. Whitterraick, the wife of Mr.\nWhitterraick, a dealer in hens and hams in the poultry market, who,\ncoming from the Lauder neighbourhood, had hired a bit wench of a lassie\nthat was to follow them come the term. And who think ye should this\nlassie be but Nanse Cromie, afterwards, in the course of a kind\nprovidence, the honoured wife of my bosom, and the mother of bonny\nBenjie.\n\nIn going up and down the stairs--it being a common entry, ye observe--me\nmay be going down with my everyday hat on to my dinner, and she coming\nup carrying a stoup of water or half-a-pound of pouthered butter on a\nplate, with a piece of paper thrown over it--we frequently met half-way,\nand had to stand still to let one another pass. Nothing came of these\nforgetherings, howsomever, for a month or two, she being as shy and\nmodest as she was bonny, with her clean demity short gown and snow-white\nmorning mutch, to say nothing of her cherry mou, and me unco douffie in\nmaking up to strangers. We could not help, nevertheless, to take aye a\nstoun look of each other in passing, and I was a gone man, bewitched out\nof my seven senses, falling from my claes, losing my stomach, and over\nthe lugs in love, three weeks and some odd days before ever a single\nsyllable passed between us.\n\nIf ever a man loved, and loved like mad, it was me, Mansie Wauch, and I\ntake no shame in the confession; but, kenning it all in the course of\nnature, declared it openly and courageously in the face of the wide\nworld. Let them laugh who like; honest folk, I pity them. Such know not\nthe pleasures of virtuous affection. It is not in corrupted, sinful\nhearts that the fire of true love can ever burn clear. Alas, and ohon\norie! They lose the sweetest, completest, dearest, truest pleasure that\nthis world has in store for its children. They know not the bliss to\nmeet that makes the embrace of separation bitter. They never dreamed\nthe dreams that make awakening to the morning light unpleasant. They\nnever felt the raptures that can dirl like darts through a man's soul\nfrom a woman's e'e. They never tasted the honey that dwells on a woman's\nlip, sweeter than yellow marigolds to the bee; or fretted under the\nfever of bliss that glows through the frame on pressing the hand of a\nsuddenly met and fluttering sweetheart. But tuts-tuts--hech-how! my day\nhas long since passed; and this is stuff to drop from the lips of an\nauld fool. Nevertheless, forgive me, friends; I cannot help all-powerful\nnature.\n\nNanse's taste being like my own, we amused one another in abusing great\ncities, and it is curious how soon I learned to be up to trap--I mean in\nan honest way; for when she said she was wearying the very heart out of\nher to be home again to Lauder, which, she said, was her native and the\ntrue land of Goshen, I spoke back to her by way of answer--\"Nancy, my\ndear,\" says I, \"believe me that the real land of Goshen is out at\nDalkeith, and if ye'll take up house wi' me, and enter into a way of\ndoing, I daursay in a while ye'll come to think so too.\"\n\nWhat will you say there? Matters were by-and-bye settled full tosh\nbetween us, and though the means of both parties were small, we were\nyoung and able and willing to help one another. For two three days, I\nmust confess, after Nanse and me found ourselves in the comfortable\nsituation of man and wife I was a dowie and desponding, thinking we were\nto have a numerous small family and where work was to come from; but no\nsooner was my sign nailed up with four iron handfasts by Johnny Hammer,\npainted in black letters on a blue ground, with a picture of a jacket on\none side and a pair of shears on the other, and my shop door opened to\nthe public with a wheen ready-made waistcoats, gallowses, leather caps,\nand Kilmarnock cowls, hung up at the window, than business flowed in\nupon us in a perfect torrent. First one came in for his measure and then\nanother. A wife came in for a pair of red worsted boots for her bairn,\nbut would not take them for they had not blue fringes. A bare-headed\nlassie, hoping to be hansel, threw down twopence and asked tape at three\nyards a halfpenny. The minister sent an old black coat beneath his\nmaid's arm, preened up in a towel, to get docked in the tails down into\na jacket, which I trust I did to his entire satisfaction, making it fit\nto a hair. The duke's butler himself patronized me by sending me a coat\nwhich was all hair powder and pomate to get a new neck put to it.\n\nNo wonder than we attracted customers, for our sign was the prettiest ye\never saw, though the jacket was not just so neatly painted as for some\nsand-blind creatures not to take it for a goose. I daresay there were\nfifty half-naked bairns glowering their een out of their heads at it\nfrom morning till night, and after they all were gone to their beds both\nNanse and me found ourselves so proud of our new situation in life that\nwe slipped out in the dark by ourselves and had a prime look at it with\na lantern.\n\n\n    MANSIE WAUCH'S FIRST AND LAST PLAY.\n\nMony a time and often had I heard of play-acting and of players making\nthemselves kings and queens, and saying a great many wonderful things,\nbut I had never before an opportunity of making myself a witness to the\ntruth of these hearsays. So Maister Glen, being as fu' of nonsense and\nas fain to have his curiosity gratified, we took upon us the stout\nresolution to gang ower thegither, he offering to treat me and I\ndetermined to run the risk of Maister Wiggie, our minister's rebuke, for\nthe transgression, hoping it would make na lasting impression on his\nmind, being for the first and only time. Folks shouldna at a' times be\nower scrupulous.\n\nAfter paying our money at the door, never, while I live and breathe,\nwill I forget what we saw and heard that night. It just looks to me by\na' the world, when I think on't, like a fairy dream. The place was\ncrowded to the e'e, Maister Glen and me having nearly gob our ribs dung\nin before we fand a seat, and them behint were obliged to mount the back\nbenches to get a sight. Right to the fore hand of us was a large green\ncurtain some five or six ells wide, a guid deal the waur of the wear,\nhaving seen service through two or three simmers, and just in the front\nof it were eight or ten penny candles stuck in a board fastened to the\nground to let us see the players' feet like when they came on the stage,\nand even before they came on the stage, for the curtain being scrimpit\nin length we saw legs and feet moving behind the scenes very neatly,\nwhile twa blind fiddlers they had brought with them played the bonniest\nye ever heard. Od, the very music was worth a sixpence of itsel'.\n\nThe place, as I said before, was choke full, just to excess, so that ane\ncould scarcely breathe. Indeed I never saw ony pairt sae crowded, not\neven at a tent preaching when Mr. Roarer was giving his discourses on\nthe building of Solomon's Temple. We were obligated to have the windows\nopened for a mouthful of fresh air, the barn being as close as a baker's\noven, my neighbour and me fanning our red faces with our hats to keep us\ncool; and, though all were half stewed, we had the worst o't, the toddy\nwe had ta'en having fomented the blood of our bodies into a perfect\nfever.\n\nJust at the time that the twa blind fiddlers were playing the \"Downfall\nof Paris\" a hand bell rang, and up goes the green curtain, being hauled\nto the ceiling, as I observed wi' the tail o' my e'e, by a birkie at the\nside that had hand o' a rope. So, on the music stopping and all becoming\nas still as that you might have heard a pin fall, in comes a decent old\ngentleman at his leesure, weel powdered, wi' an auld-fashioned coat and\nwaistcoat wi' flap pockets, brown breeches with buckles at the knees,\nand silk stockings with red gushets on a blue ground. I never saw a man\nin sic distress. He stampit about, and better stampit about, dadding the\nend of his staff on the ground, and imploring all the powers of heaven\nand yearth to help him to find out his runawa' daughter that had\ndecampit wi' some ne'er-do-well loon of a half-pay captain that keppit\nher in his arms frae her bedroom window up twa pair o' stairs. Every\nfather and head of a family maun ha'e felt for a man in his situation\nthus to be rubbit of his dear bairn, and an only daughter, too, as he\ntelt us ower and ower again, as the saut, saut tears ran gushing down\nhis withered face, and he aye blew his nose on his clean calendered\npocket napkin. But, ye ken, the thing was absurd to suppose that we\nshould ken onything about the matter, having never seen either him or\nhis daughter between the een afore, and no kenning them by head mark;\nso, though we sympathized with him, as folks ought to do with a\nfellow-creature in affliction, we thought it best to haud our tongues to\nsee what might cast up better than he expected. So out he gaed stamping\nat the ither side, determined, he said, to find them out though he\nshould follow them to the world's end, Johnny Groat's House, or\nsomething to that effect.\n\nHardly was his back turned, and amaist before ye could cry Jack Robison,\nin comes the birkie and the very young leddy the auld gentleman\ndescribed arm and arm thegither, smoodging and lauching like daft. Dog\non it, it was a shameless piece of business. As true as death, before\nall the crowd of folk he pat his arm round her waist and ca'ed her his\nsweetheart, and love, and dearie, and darling, and everything that is\nsweet. If they had been courting in a close thegither on a Friday night\nthey couldna ha'e said mair to ane anither, or gaen greater lengths. I\nthought sic shame to be an e'e-witness to sic ongoings that I was\nobliged at last to haud up my hat afore my face and look down, though,\nfor a' that, the young lad, to be sic a blackguard as his conduct\nshowed, was weel enough faured and had a guid coat on his back wi'\ndouble gilt buttons and fashionable lapels, to say little o' a very\nweel-made pair of buckskins a little the waur o' the wear, to be sure,\nbut which, if they had been cleaned, would ha'e looked amaist as good as\nnew. How they had come we never could learn, as we neither saw chaise\nnor gig; but, from his having spurs on his boots, it is mair than likely\nthat they had lighted at the back door of the barn frae a horse, she\nriding on a pad behint him, maybe with her hand round his waist.\n\nThe faither lookit to be a rich auld bool, baith from his manner of\nspeaking and the rewards he seemed to offer for the apprehension of his\ndaughter; but, to be sure, when so many of us were present that had an\nequal right to the spulzie it wadna be a great deal a thousand pounds\nwhen divided, still it was worth the looking after. So we just bidit a\nwee.\n\nThings were brought to a bearing, whosoever, sooner than either\nthemsel's, I daursay, or onybody else present seemed to ha'e the least\nglimpse of; for just in the middle of their fine going on the sound of a\ncoming fit was heard, and the lassie, taking guilt to her, cried out,\n\"Hide me, hide me, for the sake of gudeness, for yonder comes my old\nfather!\"\n\nNae sooner said than done. In he stappit her into a closet, and, after\nshutting the door on her, he sat down upon a chair, pretending to be\nasleep in a moment. The auld faither came bouncing in, and seeing the\nfellow as sound as a tap he ran forrit and gaed him sich a shake as if\nhe wad ha'e shooken him a' sundry, which sune made him open his een as\nfast as he had steekit them. After blackguarding the chiel at no\nallowance, cursing him up hill and down dale, and ca'ing him every name\nbut a gentleman, he haddit his staff ower his crown and, gripping him by\nthe cuff o' the neck, askit him what he had made o' his daughter. Never\nsince I was born did I ever see sic brazen-faced impudence! The rascal\nhad the brass to say at ance that he hadna seen word or wittens o' his\ndaughter for a month, though mair than a hundred folk sitting in his\ncompany had seen him dauting her with his arm round her jimpy waist not\nfive minutes before. As a man, as a father, as an elder of our kirk, my\ncorruption was raised, for I aye hated leeing as a puir cowardly sin and\nan inbreak on the ten commandments, and I fand my neebour, Mr. Glen,\nfidgetting on the seat as weel as me, so I thocht that whaever spoke\nfirst wad ha'e the best right to be entitled to the reward; whereupon,\njust as he was in the act of rising up, I took the word out of his\nmouth, saying, \"Dinna believe him, auld gentleman, dinna believe him,\nfriend; he's telling a parcel of lees. Never saw her for a month! It's\nno worth arguing or ca'ing witnesses; just open that press door and\nye'll see whether I'm speaking truth or no.\"\n\nThe auld man stared and lookit dumbfoundered, and the young man, instead\nof rinning forrit wi' his double nieves to strike me, the only thing I\nwas feared for, began a-laughing, as if I had dune him a good turn. But\nnever since I had a being did I ever witness an uproar and noise as\nimmediately took place. The haill house was sae glad that the scoundrel\nhad been exposed that they set up siccan a roar o' lauchter and thumpit\naway at siccan a rate at the boards wi' their feet that, at lang and\nlast, wi' pushing and fidgetting and hadding their sides, down fell the\nplace they ca' the gallery, a' the folk in't being hurled tapsy-turvy\nhead foremost amang the saw-dust on the floor below, their guffawing\nsune being turned to howling, ilka ane crying louder than anither at the\ntap of their voices, \"Murder! murder! haud off me; murder! my ribs are\nin; murder! I'm killed--I'm speechless!\" and ither lamentations to that\neffect; so that a rush to the door took place, in which everything was\noverturned--the door-keeper being wheeled away like wildfire, the furms\nstrampit to pieces, the lights knockit out, and the twa blind fiddlers\ndung head foremost ower the stage, the bass fiddle cracking like thunder\nat every bruise. Siccan tearing, and swearing, and tumbling, and\nsqueeling was never witnessed in the memory of man sin' the building of\nBabel, legs being likely to be broken, sides staved in, een knocked out,\nand lives lost--there being only ae door, and that a sma' ane--so that\nwhen we had been carried off our feet that length my wind was fairly\ngane, and a sick dwam cam' ower me, lights of a' manner of colours, red,\nblue, green, and orange dancing before me that entirely deprived me o\ncommon sense till, on opening my een in the dark, I fand mysel' leaning\nwi' my braid side against the wa' on the opposite side of the close. It\nwas some time before I mindit what had happened, so, dreading scaith, I\nfand first the ae arm and then the ither to see if they were broken,\nsyne my head, and syne baith o' my legs; but a', as weel as I could\ndiscover, was skinhale and scart free--on perceiving which, my joy was\nwithout bounds, having a great notion that I had been killed on the\nspot. So I reached round my hand very thankfully to tak' out my pocket\nnapkin to gi'e my brow a wipe when, lo and behold, the tail of my\nSunday's coat was fairly aff and away, dockit by the haunch buttons.\n\n\n    PHILISTINE IN THE COAL-HOLE.\n\nIt was about the month of March, in the year of grace anno domini\neighteen hunder, that the haill country trummelled, like a man ill of\nthe interminable fiver, under the consternation of Bonapartie and all\nthe French vagabonds emigrating ower and landing in the firth. Keep us\na'! the folk, dydit bodies, pat less confidence than became them in what\nour volunteer regiments were able and willing to do though we had a\nremnant amang us of the true bluid that with loud lauchter lauched the\ncreatures to scorn, and I for ane keepit up my pluck like a true\nHielander. Does ony leeving soul believe that Scotland could be\nconquered, and the like o' us sold, like Egyptian slaves, into\ncaptivity? Fie, fie; I could spit on siccan havers. Are we no descended,\nfaither and son, frae Robert Bruce and Sir William Wallace, having the\nbright bluid of freemen in our veins and the Pentland Hills, as weel as\nour ain dear hames and firesides, to fight for? The fief that wadna gi'e\ncut-and-thrust for his country as lang as he had a breath to draw or a\nleg to stand on should be tied neck and heels, without benefit o'\nclergy, and thrown ower Leith Pier to swim for his life like a mangy\ndog!\n\nIt was sometime in the blasty month of March, the weather being rawish\nand rainy, wi' sharp frosty nights that left all the window soles\nwhitewashed ower with frost-rind in the morning, that as I was going out\nin the dark, afore lying doun in my bed, to gi'e a look into the\nhen-house door and lock the coal cellar, so that I might pit the bit key\nintil my breek pouches, I happened to gi'e a keek in, and, lo and\nbehold, the awfu' apparition of a man wi' a yellow jacket lying sound\nasleep on a great lump o' parrot coal in a corner.\n\nIn the hurry of my terror and surprise at seeing a man with a yellow\njacket and a blue foraging cap in such a situation, I was like to drap\nthe guid twopenny candle and faint clean away; but, coming to mysel' in\na jiffy, I determined, in case it might be a highway rubber, to thraw\nabout the key, and, rinning up for the firelock, shoot him through the\nhead instantly, if found necessary. In turning round the key the lock,\nbeing in want of a feather o' oil, made a noise, and waukened the puir\nwretch, who, jumping to the soles of his feet in despair, cried out in a\nvoice that was like to break my heart, though I couldna make out ae word\nof his paraphernally. It minded me, by a' the world, of a wheen cats\nfuffing and feighting through ither, and whiles something that sounded\nlike \"Sugar, sugar, measure the cord,\" and \"dabble, dabble.\" It was waur\nthan the maist outrageous Gaelic ever spoken in the height o' passion by\na Hieland shearer.\n\n\"Oho!\" thinks I, \"friend, ye cannot be a Christian from your lingo,\nthat's one thing poz; and I would wager tippence you're a Frenchy. Who\nkens keeps us all, but ye may be a Bonaparte himself in disguise, come\nover in a flat-bottomed boat, to spy the nakedness of the land. So ye\nmay just rest content, and keep your quarters good till the morn's\nmorning.\"\n\nIt was a wonderful business, and enough to happen to a man in the course\nof his lifetime to find Mounseer from Paris in his coal neuk, and have\nthe enemy of his country snug under lock and key; so while he kept\nrampaging, fuffing, stamping, and diabbling away I went in and brought\nout Benjie with a blanket row'd round him, and my journeyman, Tommy\nBodkin--who, being an orphan, I made a kind of parlour boarder of, he\nsleeping on a shake-down beyond the kitchen fire--to hold a consultation\nand be witness of the transaction.\n\nI got my musket, and Tommy Bodkin armed himself with the goose, a deadly\nweapon, whoever may get a clour with it, and Benjie took the poker in\none hand and the tongs in the other; and out we all marched briskly to\nmake the Frenchman that was locked up from the light of day in the coal\nhouse surrender. After hearkening at the door for a while, and finding\nall quiet, he gave a knock to rouse him up and see if we could bring\nanything out of him by speering him cross-questions. Tammy and Benjie\ntrembled from top to toe, like aspen leaves, but fient a word could we\nmake common sense of it all. I wonder wha edicates thae foreign\ncreatures? It was in vain to follow him, for he just gab, gabbled away\nlike ane o' the stone masons at the tower of Babel. At first I was\ncompletely bamboozled and amaist dung stupid, though I kent a word of\nFrench which I wantit to pit till him, so I cried through--\"Canna you\nspeak Frencha, Mounseer?\"\n\nHe hadna the politeness to stop and mak' answer, but just gaed on wi'\nhis string of havers, without either rhyme or reason, which we could\nmak' neither tap, tail, nor main o'.\n\nIt was a sair trial to us a', putting us to our wit's end, and hoo to\ncome on was past all visible comprehension, when Tammy Bodkin, gi'eing\nhis elbow a claw, said--\"Od, maister, I wager something that he's broken\nloose frae Pennycuick. We have him like a rotten in a fa'.\" On\nPennycuick being mentioned, we heard the foreign crature in the coal\nhouse groaning out, \"Och\" and \"ohone,\" and \"parbleu,\" and \"Mysie\nRabbie\"--that, I fancy, was his sweetheart at hame, sum bit French queen\nthat wondered he was never like to come frae the wars and marry her. I\nthocht on this, for his voice was mournfu', though I couldna understand\nthe words; and, kenning he was a stranger in a far land, my bowels\nyearned within me with compassion towards him.\n\nI wad ha'e gien half-a-crown at that blessed moment to ha'e been able to\nwash my hands free o' him, but I swithered, and was like the cuddie\nbetween the twa bundles of hay. At lang and last a thocht struck me,\nwhich was to gi'e the deluded, simple cratur a chance of escape,\nreckoning that if he fand his way hame he wad see the shame and folly of\nfeighting against us ony mair, and, marrying Maysie Rabbie, live a\ncontented and peacefu' life under his ain feg and bay tree. So, wishing\nhim a sound sleep, I cried through the door--\"Mounseer, gooda nighta,\"\ndecoying away Benjie and Tammy Bodkin into the house and dispatching\nthem to their beds like lamplighters, bidding them never fash their\nthumbs, but sleep like taps, as I would keep a sharp lookout till\nmorning.\n\nAs soon, hoosomever, as I fand a' things snug I slippit awa to the\ncoal-hole, and, giein' the key a canny turn in the lock, I went to my\nbed beside Nanse.\n\nAt the dawn o' day, by cock-craw, Benjie and Tammy Bodkin, keen o' the\nploy, were up and astir as anxious as if their life depended on it, to\nsee that all was safe and snug and that the prisoner hadna shot the\nlock. They agreed to march sentry over him half-an-hour the piece, time\nabout, the ane stretching himsel' out on a stool beside the kitchen fire\nby way of a bench in the guard-house, while the other gaed to and fro\nlike the ticker of a clock.\n\nThe back window being up a jink, I heard the two confabbing. \"We'll draw\ncuts,\" said Benjie, \"which is to walk sentry first. See, here's twa\nstraes; the langest gets the choice.\" \"I've won,\" cried Tammy, \"so gang\nyou in a while, and if I need ye, or grow frightened, I'll beat\nleatherty patch wi' my knuckles on the back door. But we had better see\nfirst what he is about, for he may be howking a hole through aneath the\nfoundations. Thae fiefs can work like moudiewards.\" \"I'll slip forrit,\"\nsaid Benjie, \"and gi'e a'peep.\" \"Keep to a side,\" cried Tammy Bodkin,\n\"for, dog on it, Moosey'll maybe ha'e a pistol; and, if his birse be up,\nhe would think nae mair o' shooting ye as dead as a mawkin than I would\ndo of taking my breakfast.\"\n\n\"I'll rin past and gi'e a knock at the door wi' the poker to rouse him\nup?\" askit Benjie.\n\n\"Come away then,\" answered Tammie, \"and ye'll hear him gi'e a yowl and\ncommence gabbling like a goose.\"\n\nAs all this was going on I rose and took a vizzy between the chinks of\nthe window shutters, so just as I got my neb to the hole I saw Benjie as\nhe flew past give the door a drive. His consternation, on finding it\nflee half open, may be easier imagined than described; for, expecting\nthe Frenchman to bounce out like a roaring lion, they hurried like mad\ninto the house, couping the creels ower ane anither, Tammie spraining\nhis thumb against the back door, and Benjie's foot going into Tammie's\ncoat pocket, which it carried away with it like a cloth sandal. What\nbecame o' the French vagrant is a matter o' surmise--nae mortal kens.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                    THE LIFE AND\n\n                ASTONISHING ADVENTURES\n\n                         OF\n\n                 PETER WILLIAMSON\n\n                     WHO WAS\n\n        _Carried off when a Child from Aberdeen_\n\n                AND SOLD FOR A SLAVE.\n\n\nI was born in the parish of Aboyne, Aberdeenshire, of respectable\nparents, who sent me very early to live with an aunt at Aberdeen. When,\nunder the years of pupilarity, once playing on the quay with others of\nmy companions--being of a stout robust constitution--I was taken notice\nof by two fellows belonging to a vessel in the harbour employed in the\ntrade called kidnapping--that is, stealing young children from their\nparents, and selling them as slaves in plantations abroad. Being marked\nout by those monsters of impiety as their prey, I was cajoled on board\nthe ship by them, where I was no sooner got than they conducted me\nbetween the decks to some others they had kidnapped in the same manner.\nAt that time I had no sense of the fate that was destined for me, and\nspent the time in childish amusements with my fellow-sufferers in the\nsteerage, being never suffered to go upon deck whilst the vessel lay in\nthe harbour.\n\nIn about a month's time the ship set sail for America. I cannot forget\nthat, when we arrived on the coast we were destined for, a hard gale of\nwind sprung up from the S.E., and, to the captain's great surprise (he\nnot thinking he was near land, although having been eleven weeks on the\npassage), about twelve o'clock at night, the ship struck on a sandbank\noff Cape May, near the Capes of Delaware, and, to the great terror and\naffright of the ship's company, in a short time was almost full of\nwater. The boat was then hoisted out, into which the captain and his\nfellow villains, the crew, got with some difficulty, leaving me and my\ndeluded companions to perish, as they then naturally concluded\ninevitable death to be our fate. Often in my distresses and miseries\nsince, have I wished that such had been the consequence, when in a state\nof innocence! But Providence thought proper to reserve me for future\ntrials of its goodness. Thus abandoned and deserted, without the least\nprospect of relief, but threatened every moment with death, did these\nvillains leave us. The cries, the shrieks and tears of a parcel of\ninfants had no effect on, or caused the least remorse in, the breasts of\nthese merciless wretches. Scarce can I say to which to give the\npreference, whether to such as these who have had the opportunity of\nknowing the Christian religion, or to the savages hereinafter\ndescribed--who profane not the gospel or boast of humanity; and if they\nact in a more brutal and butcherly manner, yet it is to their enemies,\nfor the sake of plunder and the rewards offered them--for their\nprinciples are alike, the love of sordid gain being both their motives.\nThe ship being on a sandbank, which did not give way to let her deeper,\nwe lay in the same deplorable condition until morning, when, though we\nsaw the land of Cape May at about a mile's distance, we knew not what\nwould be our fate.\n\nThe wind at length abated, and the captain, unwilling to lose all her\ncargo, about ten o'clock sent some of his crew in a boat to the ship's\nside to bring us on shore, where we lay in a sort of a camp, made of the\nsails of the vessel, and such other things as we could get. The\nprovisions lasted us until we were taken in by a vessel bound to\nPhiladelphia, lying on this island, as well as I can recollect, near\nthree weeks. Very little of the cargo was saved undamaged, and the\nvessel was entirely lost.\n\nWhen arrived and landed at Philadelphia, the capital of Pennsylvania,\nthe captain had people enough who came to buy us. He sold us at about\nL16 per head. What became of my unhappy companions I never knew. It was\nmy lot to be sold to one of my countrymen, whose name was Hugh Wilson, a\nNorth Briton, who had in his youth undergone the same fate as myself,\nhaving been kidnapped from St. Johnstown, in Scotland.\n\nHappy was my lot in falling into my countryman's power, as he was,\ncontrary to many others of his calling, a humane, worthy, honest man.\nHaving no children of his own, and commiserating my unhappy condition,\nhe took great care of me until I was fit for business, and about the\ntwelfth year of my age, set me about little trifles, in which state I\ncontinued until my fourteenth year, when I was more fit for harder work.\nDuring such my idle state, seeing my fellow-servants often reading and\nwriting, it incited in me an inclination to learn, which I intimated to\nmy master, telling him I should be very willing to serve a year longer\nthan the contract by which I was sold, if he would indulge me in going\nto school; this he readily agreed to, saying that winter would be the\nbest time. It being then summer, I waited with impatience for the other\nseason; but, to make some progress in my design, I got a Primer, and\nlearned as much from my fellow-servants as I could. At school, where I\nwent every winter for five years, I made a tolerable proficiency, and\nhave ever since been improving myself at leisure hours. With this good\nmaster I continued till I was seventeen years old, when he died; and as\na reward for my faithful service, he left me L200 currency, which was\nthen about L150 sterling, his best horse, saddle, and all his wearing\napparel.\n\nBeing now my own master, having money in my pocket, and all other\nnecessaries, I employed myself in jobbing about the country, working for\nany one that would employ me, for near seven years, when, thinking I had\nmoney sufficient to follow some better way of life, I resolved to\nsettle, but thought one step necessary thereto was to be married; for\nwhich purpose I applied to the daughter of a substantial planter, and\nfound my suit was not unacceptable to her or her father, so that matters\nwere soon concluded upon, and we married. My father-in-law, in order to\nestablish us in the world in an easy, if not affluent manner, made me a\ndeed of gift of a tract of land, that lay, unhappily for me, as it has\nsince proved, on the frontiers of the province of Pennsylvania, near the\nforks of Delaware, in Berks County, containing about two hundred acres,\nthirty of which were well cleared and fit for immediate use, whereon was\na good house and barn. The place pleasing me well, I settled on it,\nthough it cost me the major part of my money in buying stock, household\nfurniture, and implements for out-door work. And happy as I was in a\ngood wife, yet did my felicity last me not long, for about the year\n1754, the Indians in the French interest, who had for a long time before\nravaged and destroyed other parts of America unmolested, I may very\nproperly say, began to be very troublesome on the frontiers of our\nprovince, where they generally appeared in small skulking parties, with\nyellings, shoutings, and antic postures, instead of trumpets and drums,\ncommitting great devastations. The Pennsylvanians little imagined at\nfirst that the Indians, guilty of such outrages and violence, were some\nof those who pretended to be in the English interest, which, alas!\nproved to be too true to many of us; for, like the French in Europe,\nwithout regard to faith or treaties, they suddenly break out into\nfurious, rapid outrages and devastations, but soon retire\nprecipitately, having no stores nor provisions but what they meet with\nin their incursions. Some, indeed, carry a bag with biscuit or Indian\ncorn therein, but not unless they have a long march to their destined\nplace of action. And those French who were sent to dispossess us in that\npart of the world, being indefatigable in their duty, and continually\ncontriving and using all manner of ways and means to win the Indians to\ntheir interest, many of whom had been too negligent, and sometimes, I\nmay say, cruelly treated by those who pretend to be their protectors and\nfriends, found it no very difficult matter to get over to their interest\nmany who belonged to those nations in amity with us, especially as the\nrewards they gave them were so great, they paying for every scalp of an\nEnglish person L15 sterling.\n\nShocking to human nature were the barbarities daily committed by the\nsavages, and are not to be parallelled in all the volumes of history!\nScarce did a day pass but some unhappy family or other fell victims to\nsavage cruelty. Terrible indeed it proved to me, as well as to many\nothers. I that was now happy in an easy state of life, blessed with an\naffectionate and tender wife, who was possessed of all amiable\nqualities, to enable me to go through the world with that peace and\nserenity of mind which every Christian wishes to possess, became on a\nsudden one of the most unhappy and deplorable of mankind. Scarce can I\nsustain the shock which for ever recoils on me, at thinking on the last\ntime of seeing that good woman. The fatal 2nd of October, 1754, she that\nday went from home to visit some of her relations. As I stayed up later\nthan usual, expecting her return, none being in the house besides\nmyself, how great was my surprise, terror, and affright, when, about\neleven o'clock at night, I heard the dismal war-cry, or war-whoop of the\nsavages, and to my inexpressible grief, soon found my house was attacked\nby them. I flew to my chamber window, and perceived them to be twelve\nin number. They making several attempts to get in, I asked them what\nthey wanted. They gave me no answer, but continued beating and trying to\nget the door opened. Judge, then, the condition I must be in, knowing\nthe cruelty and merciless disposition of those savages, should I fall\ninto their hands. To escape which dreadful misfortune, having my gun\nloaded in my hand, I threatened them with death if they should not\ndesist. But how vain and fruitless are the efforts of one man against\nthe united force of so many, and of such merciless, undaunted, and\nblood-thirsty monsters as I had here to deal with. One of them that could\nspeak a little English threatened me in return, that if I did not come\nout they would burn me alive in the house, telling me farther, that they\nwere no friends to the English, but if I would come out and surrender\nmyself prisoner, they would not kill me. My terror and distraction at\nhearing this is not to be expressed by words, nor easily imagined by any\nperson, unless in the same condition. Little could I depend on the\npromises of such creatures, and yet if I did not, inevitable death, by\nbeing burnt alive, must be my lot. Distracted as I was, in such\ndeplorable circumstances, I chose to rely on the uncertainty of their\nfallacious promises rather than meet with certain death by rejecting\nthem, and, accordingly, went out of my house with my gun in my hand, not\nknowing what I did, or that I had it. Immediately on my approach, they\nrushed on me like so many tigers, and instantly disarmed me. Having me\nthus in their power, the merciless villains bound me to a tree near the\ndoor; they then went into the house and plundered and destroyed\neverything, carrying off what moveables they could; the rest, together\nwith the house, they set fire to, and consumed before my eyes. The\nbarbarians, not satisfied with this, set fire to my barn, stable, and\nouthouses, wherein were about two hundred bushels of wheat, six cows,\nfour horses, and five sheep, which were entirely consumed to ashes.\nDuring the conflagration, to describe the thoughts, the fears, and\nmisery that I felt, is utterly impossible; after this they untied me,\nand gave me a great load to carry on my back, under which I travelled\nall that night with them, full of the most terrible apprehensions, and\noppressed with the greatest anxiety of mind, lest my unhappy wife should\nlikewise have fallen a prey to those cruel monsters. At daybreak my\ninfernal masters ordered me to lay down my load, when, tying my hands\nagain round a tree with a small cord, they then forced the blood out of\nmy finger-ends. They then kindled a fire near the tree whereto I was\nbound, which filled me with dreadful agonies, concluding I was going to\nbe made a sacrifice to their barbarity.\n\nThe fire being thus made, they for some time danced round me after their\nmanner, with various odd motions and antic gestures, whooping,\nhallooing, and crying in a frightful manner, as it is their custom.\nHaving satisfied themselves in this sort of their mirth, they proceeded\nin a more tragical manner, taking the burning coals and sticks, flaming\nwith fire at the ends, holding them near my face, head, hands, and feet,\nwith a deal of monstrous pleasure and satisfaction, and at the same time\nthreatening to burn me entirely if I made the least noise or motion of\nmy body. Thus tortured, as I was, almost to death, I suffered their\nbrutal pleasure without being allowed to vent my inexpressible anguish\notherwise than by shedding tears; even which, when these inhuman\ntormentors observed, with a shocking pleasure and alacrity, they would\ntake fresh coals and apply near my eyes, telling me my face was wet, and\nthat they would dry it for me. How I suffered these tortures I have here\nfaintly described has been matter of wonder to me many times; but God\nenabled me to wait with more than common patience for a deliverance I\ndaily prayed for.\n\nHaving at length satisfied their brutal pleasure, they sat round the\nfire and roasted their meat, of which they had robbed my dwelling. When\nthey had prepared it, and satisfied their voracious appetites, they\noffered some to me; though it is easily imagined I had but little\nappetite to eat, after the tortures and miseries I had undergone; yet\nwas I forced to seem pleased with what they offered me, lest, by\nrefusing it, they had again resumed their hellish practices. What I\ncould not eat, I contrived to get between the bark and the tree where I\nwas fixed, they having unbound my hands until they imagined I had ate\nall they gave me; but then they again bound me as before, in which\ndeplorable condition was I forced to continue all that day. When the sun\nwas set they put out the fire and covered the ashes with leaves, as is\ntheir usual custom, that the white people might not discover any traces\nor signs of their having been there.\n\nGoing from thence along by the river, for the space of six miles, loaded\nas I was before, we arrived at a spot near the Apalachian mountains,\nwhere they hid their plunder under logs of wood; and oh! shocking to\nrelate, from thence did these hellish monsters proceed to a neighbouring\nhouse, occupied by one Joseph Suider and his unhappy family--consisting\nof his wife, five children, and a young man, his servant. They soon got\nadmittance into the unfortunate man's house, where they immediately,\nwithout the least remorse, and with more than brutal cruelty, scalped\nthe tender parents and the unhappy children. Nor could the tears, the\nshrieks, or cries of these unhappy victims prevent their horrid\nmassacre; for having thus scalped them, and plundered the house of\neverything that was moveable, they set fire to the same, where the poor\ncreatures met their final doom amidst the flames, the hellish miscreants\nstanding at the door, or as near the house as the flames would permit\nthem, rejoicing and echoing back, in their diabolical manner, the\npiercing cries, heart-rending groans, and paternal and affectionate\nsoothings, which issued from this most horrid sacrifice of an innocent\nfamily. Not contented with what they had already done, they still\ncontinued their inordinate villainy, in making a general conflagration\nof the barn and stables, together with all the corn, horses, cows, and\neverything on the place.\n\nThinking the young man belonging to this unhappy family would be of some\nservice to them in carrying part of their plunder, they spared his life,\nand loaded him and myself with what they had here got, and again marched\nto the Blue Hills, where they stowed their goods as before. My\nfellow-sufferer could not long bear the cruel treatment which we were\nboth obliged to suffer, and complaining bitterly to me of being unable\nto proceed any farther, I endeavoured to condole him as much as lay in\nmy power, to bear up under his afflictions, and wait with patience till,\nby the divine assistance, we should be delivered out of their clutches;\nbut in vain, for he still continued his moans and tears, which one of\nthe savages perceiving as we travelled on, instantly came up to us, and\nwith his tomahawk gave him a blow on the head, which felled the unhappy\nyouth to the ground, where they immediately scalped and left him. The\nsuddenness of this murder shocked me to that degree, that I was in a\nmanner like a statue, being quite motionless, expecting my fate would\nsoon be the same; however, recovering my distracted thoughts, I\ndissembled the uneasiness and anguish which I felt as well as I could\nfrom the barbarians; but such was the terror that I was under, that for\nsome time I scarce knew the days of the week, or what I did, so that, at\nthis period, life indeed became a burden to me, and I regretted being\nsaved from my first persecutors, the sailors.\n\nThe horrid fact being completed, they kept on their course near the\nmountains, where they lay skulking four or five days, rejoicing at the\nplunder and store they had got. When provisions became scarce, they\nmade their way towards Susquehana, where still, to add to the many\nbarbarities they had already committed, passing near another house\ninhabited by an unhappy old man, whose name was John Adams, with his\nwife and four small children; and, meeting with no resistance, they\nimmediately scalped the unhappy wife and her four children before the\ngood old man's eyes. Inhuman and horrid as this was, it did not satiate\nthem, for when they had murdered the poor woman, they acted with her in\nsuch a brutal manner as decency, or the remembrance of the crime, will\nnot permit me to mention, and this even before the unhappy husband, who,\nnot being able to avoid the sight, and incapable of affording her the\nleast relief, entreated them to put an end to his miserable being. But\nthey were as deaf and regardless to the tears, prayers, and entreaties\nof this venerable sufferer as they had been to those of the others, and\nproceeded in their hellish purpose of burning and destroying his house,\nbarn, cattle, hay, corn, and everything the poor man a few hours before\nwas master of. Having saved what they thought proper from the flames,\nthey gave the old man, feeble, weak, and in the miserable condition he\nthen was, as well as myself, burdens to carry, and loading themselves\nlikewise with bread and meat, pursued their journey on towards the Great\nSwamp, where, being arrived, they lay for eight or nine days, sometimes\ndiverting themselves in exercising the most atrocious and barbarous\ncruelties on their unhappy victim, the old man. Sometimes they would\nstrip him naked and paint him all over with various sorts of colours,\nwhich they extracted or made from herbs and roots; at other times they\nwould pluck the white hairs from his venerable beard, and tauntingly\ntell him he was a fool for living so long, and that they would show him\nkindness in putting him out of the world; to all which the poor creature\ncould but vent his sighs, his tears, his moans, and entreaties, that, to\nmy affrighted imagination, were enough to penetrate a heart of adamant,\nand soften the most obdurate savage. In vain, alas! were all his tears,\nfor daily did they tire themselves with the various means they tried to\ntorment him--sometimes tying him to a tree and whipping him, at others\nscorching his furrowed cheeks with red-hot coals, and burning his legs\nquite to the knees. But the good old man, instead of repining or\nwickedly arraigning the divine justice, like many others in such cases,\neven in the greatest agonies, incessantly offered up his prayers to the\nAlmighty; with the most fervent thanksgivings for his former mercies,\nand hoping the flames, then surrounding and burning his aged limbs,\nwould soon send him to the blissful mansions of the just, to be a\npartaker of the blessings there. And during such pious ejaculations, his\ninfernal plagues would come round him, mimicking his heart-rending\ngroans and piteous wailings. One night, after he had thus been\ntormented, whilst he and I were sitting together, condoling each other\nat the misfortunes and miseries we daily suffered, twenty scalps and\nthree prisoners were brought in by another party of Indians. They had\nunhappily fallen into their hands in Cannojigge, a small town near the\nriver Susquehana, chiefly inhabited by the Irish. These prisoners gave\nus some shocking accounts of the murders and devastations committed in\ntheir parts. The various and complicated actions of these barbarians\nwould entirely fill a large volume; but what I have already written,\nwith a few other instances which I shall select from the information,\nwill enable the reader to guess at the horrid treatment the English, and\nIndians in their interest, suffered for many years past. I shall\ntherefore only mention, in a brief manner, those that suffered near the\nsame time with myself. This party who now joined us, had it not, I\nfound, in their power to begin their wickedness as soon as those who\nvisited my habitation, the first of their tragedies being on the 25th\nday of October, 1754, when John Lewis, with his wife and three small\nchildren, fell sacrifices to their cruelty, and were miserably scalped\nand murdered, his house, barn, and everything he possessed being burnt\nand destroyed. On the 28th, Jacob Miller, with his wife and six of his\nfamily, together with everything on his plantation, underwent the same\nfate. The 30th--the house, mill, barn, twenty head of cattle, two teams\nof horses, and everything belonging to the unhappy George Folke, met\nwith the like treatment--himself, wife, and all his miserable family,\nconsisting of nine in number, being inhumanly scalped, then cut in\npieces and given to the swine, which devoured them. I shall give another\ninstance of the numberless and unheard of barbarities they related of\nthe savages, and proceed to their own tragical end. In short, one of the\nsubstantial traders belonging to the province, having business that\ncalled him some miles up the country, fell into the hands of these\ndevils, who not only scalped him, but immediately roasted him before he\nwas dead; then, like cannibals for want of other food, ate his whole\nbody, and of his head made what they called an Indian pudding.\n\nFrom these few instances of savage cruelty, the deplorable, situation of\nthe defenceless inhabitants, and what they hourly suffered in that part\nof the globe, must strike the utmost terror to a human soul, and cause\nin every breast the utmost detestation, not only against the authors of\nsuch tragic scenes, but against those who, through perfidy, inattention,\nor pusillanimous and erroneous principles, suffered these savages at\nfirst, unrepelled, or even unmolested, to commit such outrages and\nincredible depredations and murders; for no torments, no barbarities\nthat can be exercised on the human sacrifices they get into their power,\nare left untried or omitted.\n\nThe three prisoners that were brought with these additional forces,\nconstantly repining at their lot, and almost dead with their excessive\nhard treatment, contrived at last to make their escape; but being far\nfrom their own settlements, and not knowing the country, were soon after\nmet by some others of the tribes or nations at war with us, and brought\nback to their diabolical masters, who greatly rejoiced at having them\nagain in their infernal power. The poor creatures, almost famished for\nwant of sustenance, having had none during the time of their elopement,\nwere no sooner in the clutches of the barbarians, than two of them were\ntied to a tree, and a great fire made round them, where they remained\ntill they were terribly scorched and burnt, when one of the villains,\nwith his scalping knife, ripped open their bellies, took out their\nentrails, and burnt them before their eyes, whilst the others were\ncutting, piercing, and tearing the flesh from their breasts, hands,\narms, and legs, with red-hot irons, till they were dead. The third\nunhappy victim was reserved a few hours longer, to be, if possible,\nsacrificed in a more cruel manner. His arms were tied close to his body,\nand a hole being dug deep enough for him to stand upright, he was put\ntherein, and earth rammed and beat in all round his body, up to the\nneck, so that his head only appeared above the ground; they then scalped\nhim, and there let him remain for three or four hours in the greatest\nagonies; after which they made a small fire near his head, causing him\nto suffer the most excruciating torments imaginable, whilst the poor\ncreature could only cry for mercy in killing him immediately, for his\nbrains were boiling in his head. Inexorable to all his plaints, they\ncontinued the fire, whilst, shocking to behold, his eyes gushed out of\ntheir sockets; and such agonizing torments did the unhappy creature\nsuffer for near two hours, till he was quite dead! They then cut off his\nhead and buried it with the other bodies, my task being to dig the\ngraves, which, feeble and terrified as I was, the dread of suffering the\nsame fate enabled me to do. I shall not here take up the reader's time\nin vainly attempting to describe what I felt on such an occasion, but\ncontinue my narrative, as more equal to my abilities.\n\nA great snow now falling, the barbarians were a little fearful lest the\nwhite people should, by their traces, find out their skulking retreats,\nwhich obliged them to make the best of their way to their winter\nquarters, about two hundred miles farther from any plantation or\ninhabitants, where, after a long and tedious journey, being almost\nstarved, I arrived with this infernal crew. The place where we were to\nrest, in their tongue, is called Alamingo. There were found a number of\nwigwams full of their women and children. Dancing, shooting, and\nshouting were their general amusements; and in all their festivals and\ndances they relate what successes they have had, and what damages they\nhave sustained in their expeditions, in which I became part of their\ntheme. The severity of the cold increasing, they stripped me of my\nclothes, for their own use, and gave me such as they usually wore\nthemselves, being a piece of blanket, a pair of mogganes, or shoes, with\na yard of coarse cloth to put round me instead of breeches. To describe\ntheir dress and manner of living may not be altogether unacceptable to\nsome of my readers; but, as the size of this book will not permit me to\nbe so particular as I might otherwise be, I shall just observe that they\nin general wear a white blanket, which in war-time they paint with\nvarious figures, but particularly the leaves of trees, in order to\ndeceive their enemies when in the woods. Their mogganes are made of\ndeer-skins, and the best sort have them bound round the edges with\nlittle beads and ribbands. On their legs they wear pieces of blue cloth\nfor stockings, some like our soldiers' splatter-dashes. They reach\nhigher than their knees, but not lower than their ancles. They esteem\nthem easy to run in. Breeches they never wear, but instead thereof, two\npieces of linen, one before and another behind. The better sort have\nshirts of the finest linen they can get, and to these some wear ruffles;\nbut these they never put on till they have painted them of various\ncolours, which they get from the pecone root and bark of trees, and\nnever pull them off to wash, but wear them till they fall to pieces.\nThey are very proud, and take great delight in wearing trinkets, such as\nsilver plates round their wrists and necks, with several strings of\nwampum, which is made of cotton, interwoven with pebbles, cockleshells,\netc., down to their breasts, and from their ears and noses they have\nrings or beads, which hang dangling an inch or two. The men have no\nbeards, to prevent which they use certain instruments and tricks as soon\nas it begins to grow. The hair of their heads is managed differently;\nsome pluck out and destroy all, except a lock hanging from the crown of\nthe head, which they interweave with wampum and feathers of various\ncolours. The women wear it very long, twisted down their backs with\nbeads, feathers, and wampum, and on their heads most of them wear little\ncoronets of brass or copper; round their middle they wear a blanket\ninstead of a petticoat. The females are very chaste and constant to\ntheir husbands; and if any young maiden should happen to have a child\nbefore marriage, she is never esteemed afterwards. As for their food,\nthey get it chiefly by hunting and shooting, and boil or roast all the\nmeat they eat. Their standing dish consists of Indian corn soaked, then\nbruised and boiled. Their bread is likewise made of wild oats, or\nsunflower seeds. Their gun, tomahawk, scalping-knife, powder, and shot,\nthey carry with them in time of war. They in war decline open\nengagements--bush-fighting or skulking is their discipline. They are\nbrave when engaged, having great fortitude in enduring tortures, and are\nthe most implacably vindictive people upon the earth; for they revenge\nthe death of any relation, or any affront, whenever occasion presents,\nlet the distance of time be ever so remote. After long enduring the\ngreatest of hardships with these Indians, I at last escaped out of their\nhands, and went to Quebec, where I was put on board a French packet\nbound for England; and after a passage of six weeks, we at last, to our\ngreat joy, arrived at Plymouth on the 6th of November, 1756.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                        THE\n\n                   FAMOUS EXPLOITS\n\n                         OF\n\n                     ROBIN HOOD\n\n            LITTLE JOHN AND HIS MERRY MEN ALL.\n\n              INCLUDING AN ACCOUNT OF HIS\n\n              BIRTH, EDUCATION, AND DEATH.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _The Birth and Parentage of Robin Hood._\n\n\nKind gentlemen, listen a while to my story, and I will tell you the bold\nexploits of the famous Robin Hood and his comrade, Little John.\n\nAll England was filled with the renown of Robin Hood, and the great and\nthe valiant stood in fear of him. He never harmed the poor, for he\npitied their fate, and only spoiled the wealthy and proud, or nobles and\nslothful bishops, who lived in state on the fruit of the husbandman's\ntoil. Robin was born in the merry town of Locksley, in Nottinghamshire.\nHis father was a stout forester, and kept the deer of King Richard the\nFirst; his mother was niece to the celebrated Sir Guy of Warwick, and\nwas sister to Squire Gamewell, of Great Gamewell Hall.\n\nOne day (when Robin was about fourteen years old) his mother thus spoke\nto her spouse--\"Dear husband, to-morrow is Christmas Day, therefore let\nRobin and I take a ride to Gamewell Hall this morning to see my brother\nand taste his good ale and pudding. The squire was overjoyed to see his\nsister, and young Robin learned the use of the bow, and became the best\nmarksman in the place.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _Robin's Progress to Nottingham. Being an Account of his\n                Adventures with the Fifteen Foresters._\n\n\nRobin Hood was now about fifteen years old; in person tall and stout,\nand of a good countenance; in courage and strength few equalled him. One\nday he determined to take a journey to Nottingham, hearing that the king\nhad appointed a shooting match in that town, to be disputed by the best\narchers. When he came thither he happened to fall into company with\nfifteen stout foresters, who sat drinking and laughing together. \"What\nnews, what news?\" said bold Robin Hood, \"that you drink and talk so\nmerrily.\" The foresters who despised him on account of his youth,\nanswered roughly, \"We are come to win the king's prize, which we are\nresolved to carry off, in spite of all opposition, and will not be\nquestioned by boys.\" \"I have as good a bow as the best,\" said Robin\nHood, \"and will contest the prize with you.\" \"We hold thee and thy bow\nin scorn,\" said they; \"shall a stripling like thee bear a bow before the\nking's archers, that is not able to draw the string?\" \"I'll lay a bet of\ntwenty crowns,\" said Robin, \"that I win the king's prize, and hit the\nmark at a hundred yards distance.\"\n\n    \"Doubt not I'll make the wager good,\n    Or ne'er believe bold Robin Hood.\"\n\nThe mark was a running hart, let loose for the purpose; and when the\nother bowmen had tried their skill, Robin took his bow, and his\nwell-made arrows, and taking good aim, fairly hit the mark, at a hundred\nyards distance, the multitude shouted, and hailed the young victor with\njoy. \"The prize is mine,\" said Robin Hood, \"I claim it; the wager, too,\nis mine, give it me.\" \"The prize is none of thine,\" said the fifteen\nforesters, \"and the wager shall be none of thine. Take up thy bow,\ninsolent boy, and begone, or we will break thy bones.\" Robin Hood, full\nof rage, cried out, \"You said I was no archer, but you have found me\none, and you now deny me my reward.\"\n\nHe then took up his bow and departed, but having learnt which way the\nforesters must take at their return home, he repaired to the place where\nhe had left his merry men, and, consulting together, they resolved to\nlie in ambush in the road. After a while they saw the foresters\napproaching, shouting and singing, because they had brought off the\nking's prize; but when Robin Hood and his men presented themselves in\nbattle array, their mirth was quickly changed into terror and amazement.\nAt first they made a show of resistance, but finding the number of their\nadversaries to be more than treble their own, they threw down their arms\nand begged for mercy. \"You said I was no archer,\" cried Robin Hood; \"now\nsay so again, and let him that chooses it fly for his life, and see if\nmy arrows can overtake him.\" \"We beg for mercy,\" cried the foresters;\n\"lo! here is the prize that you won, and the wager of twenty crowns.\"\n\"Well,\" said Robin, \"as you submit quietly, I will grant you your lives,\nbut you shall not escape without some reward for your deeds.\" He and his\nmen then stripped them of their clothes, leaving them no covering but\ntheir trousers, and having cut off their hair and their ears, daubed\ntheir faces with a mixture of yellow and red; afterwards they bound\ntheir hands, and tied a large pair of antlers on each of their heads,\nand in this most ridiculous state drove them back into the town,\ntelling them if they offered to return they should not escape with their\nlives. As soon as they entered the streets the whole place was in an\nuproar, and, what with the barking of a hundred dogs, the squalling of\nwomen, and hooting of boys and men, there was such a hubbub as never\nbefore had been known in the town of Nottingham.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n     _Robin Hood and Little John. Being an Account of their\n            First Meeting, and how their Acquaintance\n        and Friendship began, with their Merry Reception in\n                         Sherwood Bower._\n\n\nWhen bold Robin Hood was about twenty years old he happened to meet with\na jolly stranger, whom he afterwards called Little John. This man,\nthough called little, was a lusty young blade; his limbs were large, and\nhis person seven feet high. Wherever he went people quaked at his name,\nand he made all his enemies to fly before him. 'Twas thus their\nacquaintance began:--\n\nRobin and his men had built, in Sherwood Forest, a strong and secret\nbower, so artfully contrived and hidden among the woods, that none but\nthemselves could ever find them out, and to which they retreated in\ncases of need. Here Robin once continued fourteen days with his merry\nbowmen, and then he said to them--\"Tarry a while in this grove, my brave\nmen; we have had no sport for these many long days, therefore, I will\nwander abroad a short way to seek some amusement. But do you be\nattentive, and hear whenever I blow an alarm with my loud bugle horn,\nfor by this means I will let you know if I want your assistance.\"\n\nAfter he had strayed some time near a brook, he espied a tall and lusty\nstranger coming towards him. They happened to meet on a long, narrow\nwooden bridge, and neither of them would give way to let the other pass.\nRobin Hood at length, being enraged, drew an arrow from his quiver, and\nthreatened to shoot at the stranger's breast. \"You dare not,\" said the\nother, \"for if you offer to touch the string, I'll beat out your teeth\nand tumble you into the brook. You see I have nothing but a staff in my\nhand, and none but a coward would offer to fight with weapons so\ndifferent.\" \"The name of a coward,\" said Robin, \"I scorn; I will\ntherefore lay aside my bow and arrows and take a stout staff to prove\nthy manhood.\" The stranger accepted the challenge, and the sport was\nquickly begun. At first Robin gave the man such a stroke that it made\nhis sides ring. The other said, \"I must pay you for this, friend, and\ngive you as good as you send, for as long as I am able to handle a staff\nI scorn to die in your debt.\" He then gave Robin so hearty a knock on\nthe crown, that the blood ran trickling down to his ears. Robin now\nengaged more fiercely, and laid on his blows so thick and fast, that he\nmade his adversary's coat smoke as if it had been on fire; but the\nstranger waxing most furious and strong, at length gave Robin such a\nterrible side-blow, that it quite beat him down and tumbled him into the\nbrook. Then, in laughter, he called out to his fallen foe, \"Prithee,\nwhere art thou now, my good fellow!\" \"Why, faith,\" said Robin, \"I swim\nwith the tide, as every man should do.\" He now swam along to the bank,\nand pulled himself out by a thorn, and then said to the conqueror, \"Thou\nart a brave soul, I will contend no longer with thee.\"\n\nHe then took up his horn and blew such a blast with it as made the hills\necho all around. Presently they saw coming hastily down the hillside a\nband of brave archers, clothed in a livery of green. They quickly came\nup to Robin Hood, and Will Stuckley (their leader) cried out, \"Pray,\nwhat is the matter, good master? why, you seem wet to the skin!\" \"No\nmatter for that,\" said Robin, \"the man that stands by has, in fighting,\ntumbled me into the brook.\" \"If that be the case,\" said his men, \"he\nshall not escape without a good ducking in the same stream.\" \"Not so,\nmy brave men,\" said Robin Hood, \"he is a stout, hearty fellow, that\nfought me fairly. My friend,\" said he to the stranger, \"pray be not\nafraid, for no harm shall befall thee; all these are my bowmen, that\ncome at my call, and if thou wilt live with me, and be one of them, thou\nshalt quickly put on such a dress as theirs; we will teach thee the use\nof the bow to shoot the fat deer, for we live gloriously, without any\nrestraint, and fear not the laws.\" \"Then here is my hand,\" replied the\nstranger, \"I'll serve thee with a willing mind, for I perceive you are\nall brave, hearty fellows. My name is John Little, I am a man of some\nskill, and at all times will play my part well.\"\n\n\"His name shall be altered,\" said Will Stuckley, \"I like not the sound\nof John Little, his name shall be called Little John.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _Robin Hood and the Butchers, with his Comical Behaviour\n                 to the Sheriff of Nottingham._\n\n\nOne day as Robin Hood was taking his walk through the forest, he\nhappened to behold a jolly butcher, sitting between his hampers, on a\nstout young mare, going to sell his meat at market. \"Good morrow, honest\nfellow,\" said Robin; \"prithee, what food hast thou in thy hampers, and\nfrom whence comest thou? for I seem to have a liking to thy company.\"\nThe butcher replied, \"No matter from whence I come, master, nor where I\ndwell; you may see that I am a butcher, and am going to Nottingham to\nsell my meat.\" \"Wilt thou sell thy meat to me?\" said Robin; \"tell me the\nprice of it altogether; also, what thou wilt have for the mare that\ncarries thee, and all thy other accoutrements; we will not differ about\nthe cost, for I would fain be a butcher for once.\" \"The price of my meat\nand the price of my mare,\" said the butcher, \"shall be twenty good\nmarks; and I think they are nothing too dear.\" Robin agreed, and set\nout to Nottingham to begin his butcher's trade; and when he came\nthither, took up his inn next door to the sheriff's house. When other\nbutchers began to open their shops he opened his; but was at a loss how\nto sell his meat, being so young a butcher; however he was determined\nnot to be undersold, and he found customers plenty. When the other\nbutchers could not sell a joint Robin's trade went on briskly, and no\nbutcher could match him; for he sold more meat for one penny than others\ncould do for five. He sold his meat so fast that the butchers of\nNottingham were at a stand to know who this bold fellow was. \"Surely,\"\nsaid they, \"he is some prodigal that has sold his father's land; and is\nthus sporting away his money.\" They then, stepped up to him to make\nacquaintance. \"Come, brother,\" said they, \"we are all of one trade, let\nus go and dine together; the sheriff has provided a treat for the\nbutchers to-day; and you must go with us.\" \"Agreed,\" said bold Robin,\n\"may that butcher be hanged that can deny the request of his brethren.\"\n\nAfter dinner the sheriff said to Robin, \"Hast thou any cattle or horned\nbeasts to sell, my good fellow? if thou hast I would fain buy them of\nthee.\" \"Yes, that I have, Master Sheriff,\" said Robin; \"I have eight or\nten score of horned beasts that I long to have sold, and they are fat\nand fair.\" The sheriff then saddled his dappled grey horse and set out\nwith Robin Hood to behold his horned cattle, taking with him plenty of\ngold to complete his bargain. When they came to Sherwood Forest the\nsheriff began to be apprehensive of some danger, and trembled for fear,\nsaying, \"Heaven defend us from a wonderful bold man that is called Robin\nHood, who plays a thousand wicked pranks in this country, and empties\nthe pockets of every rich man he meets.\" They had not gone much farther\nbefore they beheld an hundred head of fat deer that came tripping along\nthe road; and then Robin cried out, \"Look here, Master Sheriff, behold\nmy herd of horned beasts; how like you their colour and their make?\nthey seem fat and fair to the eye.\" \"What dost thou mean, fellow?\" said\nthe sheriff; \"I wish I was safe out of this forest, for I like not thy\ncompany.\" \"Then will you not buy?\" said Robin Hood; \"however, since you\ncame hither to buy my cattle, you must pay whether you take them or\nnot.\" He then put his horn to his mouth and blew a loud blast with it.\nQuickly Little John and his company appeared, and said, \"Pray, what is\nyour pleasure, good master?\" Said Robin, \"I have brought the sheriff of\nNottingham to eat with you to-day, and I hope you will make him right\nwelcome.\" \"He is welcome, kind master,\" said John; \"but I hope he will\nhonestly pay for cooking.\" Robin now bade the sheriff dismount, and,\ntaking his mantle from his back, quickly told out his gold; then he took\nhim to his bower and feasted him well; afterwards he set him again on\nhis dapple grey horse and brought him back through the wood. \"Commend me\nto your wife at home, my kind sir,\" said Robin; so he turned and went\nlaughing away.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _Robin Hood and Allen Adale, with his Generous Behaviour\n                    to Two Distressed Lovers._\n\n\nAs bold Robin Hood one day was standing in the forest just under the\ngreen oaken tree, he espied a gallant young man, clothed in scarlet and\nwhite, as gay as a lark, who came tripping along the road singing a\nroundelay. He seemed in great haste and quickly was out of sight. Next\nmorning as Robin Hood stood in the same place he beheld the same young\nman coming over the plain, but his carriage was totally changed; he now\npassed slowly along and his head hung drooping upon his breast. Little\nJohn stepped towards him, to know who he was, but when the young man saw\nhim coming he bent his bow and said, \"Stand off, thou bold forester;\nwhat wouldest thou have with me?\" \"You must come before our master,\" he\nreplied, \"who is standing under the green oaken tree; come without delay\nand no harm shall befall thee.\" And when he was come before Robin Hood,\nRobin said to him, \"Hast thou any money to spare for my merry men and\nme? Come, answer without fear.\" \"Indeed I have no money to spare,\" said\nthe young man; \"I have but five shillings and a little gold ring, and\nthis ring I have kept for these seven long years to present to my bride\non my wedding day. Yesterday I should have married the maid that I love,\nbut she was chosen to be an old knight's wife, and taken from me by\nforce; therefore my heart is nearly broken?\"\n\nRobin Hood now set out, with fifty stout archers in his train, nor did\nthey stop till they came near to the church where Allen should have been\nmarried. He then concealed his men while he went boldly into the church.\n\"What dost thou here, bold man?\" said the bishop. \"I am a merry harper,\"\nsaid Robin, \"as good as any in the north.\" \"O, welcome then,\" said the\nbishop, \"for that music is my delight.\" Presently there came in a\nwealthy old knight leading a young damsel by the hand, of a fair though\nsorrowful countenance, dressed in her glittering attire. \"This is not a\nfit match,\" said bold Robin Hood, \"the bridegroom is much too old and\nuncomely; but since I am here, and the bride is prepared, she shall now\nchoose her own mate.\"\n\nRobin then applied the horn to his mouth, and blew twice and thrice with\nit, at the sound of which his fifty stout bowmen came leaping over the\nchurchyard, and the first man was Allen Adale, who gave bold Robin his\nbow. \"This is thy true lover,\" said Robin; \"come, take her, and be\nmarried before we depart.\" \"That never shall be,\" said the bishop; \"thy\nspeech is too bold, and the law of our country requires that they be\nthree times asked in the church.\" Robin Hood then pulled off the\nbishop's rich apparel, and put it upon Little John, and made him appear\nlike a priest. \"By my faith,\" said Robin, laughing, \"that clothing\nbecomes thee well; thou now lookest like a man and a bishop; therefore\nbegin thy office.\" When Little John went to the desk the people began to\nlaugh and seemed to enjoy the joke; he asked them full seven times over\nto make the banns sure, lest three times should not be enough. \"Who\ngives this fair maid to Allen Adale for a wife?\" said Little John. \"I\ngive her to him with all my heart,\" said Robin Hood, \"and he that dare\nto oppose, or take her away from her spouse, shall buy her dearly.\"\n\nThus ended this merry wedding, and the new married pair returned with\nRobin Hood to Sherwood bower.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VI.\n\n    _Robin Hood and his Kinsman. Showing how he met and\n         fought with a Stranger, who afterwards proved to\n                       be his Cousin Scarlet._\n\n\nAs Robin walked about the forest one day he met with a comely young man,\ndressed in a doublet of silk, with scarlet hose, travelling boldly along\nwith a stout bow in his hand. A herd of fat deer happened to be feeding\nnot far distant, which, when the stranger saw, he bent his bow, and shot\nthe best of them through the heart. \"Well shot, well shot,\" said Robin\nHood, \"thy aim was good and sure; I like a bold archer well; and if thou\nwilt be one of my comrades, and live in my bower, I will treat thee with\nnoble entertainment, and pay thee well besides.\" \"Go, talk with thy\ngrandame,\" said the stranger, \"and make no such wild offers to me, or\nelse I shall use thee somewhat rudely.\" \"Thou hadst better be quiet,\"\nsaid Robin, \"for if thou shouldest offer to make an assault, thou wilt\ndearly repent of the deed; my arm is not weak, and thou mayest see that\nI carry a bow; besides, though I am now alone, should I blow an alarm\nwith my loud bugle-horn, I should quickly have at my command a hundred\nbrave men.\" \"I defy all thy power,\" said the other, \"and if thou\nofferest to touch thy horn, my good broad-sword shall cut it in two, and\nstrike thee to the dust.\" Bold Robin Hood then bent his stout bow, and\nstood ready to shoot at his foe. The stranger also took his strong bow\nand as readily stood on his guard. \"Prithee, let us hold our hands,\"\nsaid Robin Hood, \"for if we attempt to shoot, one of us must infallibly\ndie; let us now lay aside our bows and try each other's skill with\nbucklers and good broadswords.\" These rivals in skill then fought\nstoutly and boldly, and many a hard blow resounded upon their bucklers.\nThey aimed their strong blows above and below, from the head to the\nfeet, but neither of them could make the other give way. Robin Hood at\nlength gave the stranger such a mighty stroke that it made the fire fly\nfrom his eyes, and almost deprived him of his senses. \"I hope to give\nthee a blow,\" said the stranger, \"that shall shame all the rest, and put\nan end to the fray.\" Then presently, taking good aim with his sword, he\nstruck Robin upon the head with such force, that the blood soon appeared\nand ran trickling down his cheeks. \"By my faith,\" said Robin Hood, \"I\nmust now beg for quarter; prithee, my brave fellow, tell me who thou\nart, and what is thy name, for I love and respect a brave man.\" The\nstranger answered, \"I was born and bred in the town of Maxfield, and my\nname is Gamewell; I am forced to fly from home and to hide myself for\nhaving killed my father's steward, who had falsely accused me; and I\ncame to this forest to seek a bold uncle of mine, who goes by the name\nof bold Robin Hood.\" \"Art thou then a cousin of bold Robin Hood's?\"\nanswered he; \"had I known it before, our fight would have been sooner\ndone.\" \"On my life,\" said the stranger, \"I am his first kin, and son to\nhis mother's second brother, who now lives at court with the king, and\nfor gallant deeds he performed in Palestine he is soon to be made a\nnoble peer.\" When Robin heard this he embraced him with great joy, and\nsoon let him know that he himself was his uncle Robin Hood. They then\nset out for the green shady bower, and met Little John by the way.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VII.\n\n    _Robin Hood and Bishop of Hereford. Robin Hood in\n    Distress changes Clothes with an old Woman to Escape from\n        the Bishop, whom he afterwards takes Prisoner, and\n                     obliges him to sing Mass._\n\n\nRobin Hood and all his men were now outlawed, because they had broken\nthe forest laws (which were very severe), and had killed the king's fat\ndeer.\n\nAs Robin walked out one fine summer's day, when the fields were pleasant\nand green, and the birds sang sweetly in the bushes, he was tempted to\nwander beyond the skirts of the forest, far away from his bower; and as\nhe was thinking of going back he was espied by the proud bishop of\nHereford, who was passing along with a great company. \"Oh, what shall I\nnow do?\" said Robin to himself. \"If the bishop should take me I shall be\nhanged without mercy.\" Then Robin turned nimbly about and ran with full\nspeed to the house of an old woman whom he knew. \"Good woman,\" said\nRobin, \"I pray you let me in, for yonder is the bishop and all his men,\nand if I am taken, I must die.\" \"Why, who art thou,\" said the old woman,\n\"that comest hither in such a fright?\" \"I am Robin Hood,\" he replied;\n\"canst thou not recollect me?\" \"I think I now do,\" said the old woman,\n\"and if thou art even Robin Hood, I will provide for thy safety and hide\nthee from the proud bishop and his company.\" \"Then give me thy gown and\nthy female attire,\" said Robin, \"and put thee on my livery of green:\ngive me also thy distaff and spindle, and take my arrows and bow.\"\n\nWhen Robin Hood was thus arrayed he went forth without fear, and\nreturned to his men in the wood. When Little John saw him thus dressed,\ncoming over the forest, he cried, \"Behold, who is yonder, that seems\napproaching this way; the old woman looks like a witch, and I will send\nan arrow to meet her.\" \"Hold thy hand, hold thy hand,\" said Robin Hood,\n\"I am thy master in disguise, and this habit I was forced to put on to\nescape from a strong enemy who had me in chase.\"\n\nNow, in the meantime, the bishop went to the old woman's house, and with\na loud, furious voice, cried, \"Bring that traitor, Robin Hood, that I\nmay take him along with me and make him pay the forfeit of all his bad\ndeeds.\" The old woman then came out dressed like Robin, and the bishop\nplaced her upon a grey steed, while he rode along laughing for joy that\nhe had seized upon bold Robin Hood. But as they were riding through the\nforest in which their road lay, the bishop espied a hundred tall men,\nstout and brave, coming out of the wood, with their arrows in their\nhands. \"Oh, who are all these bowmen?\" said the bishop, \"and who is that\nman that leads them towards us so boldly?\" \"In good faith,\" said the old\nwoman, \"I think it is bold Robin Hood.\" \"Then who art thou,\" said the\nbishop, trembling with fear. \"I am only a poor old woman, proud bishop,\"\nsaid she: \"hast thou any occasion for me now?\" Robin Hood coming up,\ntook the bishop by the hand, and placing him upon the stump of a tree\nmade him tune his voice and sing a full mass to all the company;\nafterwards they brought him through the wood, and having set him upon\nhis horse with his face towards the tail, they charged him for ever\nafter to pray for Robin Hood, and putting the tail in his hand, bid him\nbegone.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VIII.\n\n    _Robin Hood and the Three Yeomen. Robin delivers Three\n       Yeomen from Nottingham Gallows, who were going\n            to be Hanged for Killing the King's Deer._\n\n\nAs Robin Hood wandered about the fields one day he met a fair lady who\ncame weeping along the road in great distress. \"Oh, why do you weep so\npitifully,\" said Robin, \"and what is the cause of your great distress?\"\n\"I weep,\" she replied, \"for the sorrowful fate of three brothers, the\nbravest and dearest of men, who are all condemned to die.\" \"What church\nhave they robbed?\" said Robin, \"or what parish priest have they killed?\nor have they in treason been caught against the rightful king?\" \"Woe is\nme!\" said the lady, \"for my brothers must die, and only for killing the\nking's fallow deer.\" \"They shall not die,\" said bold Robin Hood;\n\"therefore go your way quickly home, and I will hasten to Nottingham for\nthe sake of your three hapless brothers.\"\n\nRobin Hood then set out to Nottingham, and in his way met with a poor\nbeggar man, who came walking slowly and mournfully along the highway.\n\"What news, my old man?\" said Robin, \"what news dost thou bring from the\ntown?\" \"Oh! there is weeping and wailing in Nottingham town,\" cried the\nold beggar man, \"for the sake of three yeomen who are condemned to die,\nfor they are greatly beloved.\"\n\nThe beggar had a tattered old coat upon his back which was neither\ngreen, yellow, nor red, but some of every colour; and Robin Hood thought\nit would be no disgrace, for once, to be in the beggar's dress. \"Come,\npull off thy coat, my old beggar,\" said he, \"and thou shalt put on mine,\nand thirty shillings beside I will give thee to buy bread and beer.\"\nWhen Robin was thus arrayed, away he went to the town, and when he came\nthither he soon found the sheriff and his men, and likewise the three\nsorrowful yeomen who were going to die. \"One favour I humbly beg,\" said\nbold Robin Hood to the sheriff, \"that I may be the hangman when the\nthree yeomen are to die.\" \"'Tis granted with free goodwill,\" said the\nsheriff; \"therefore go and prepare thyself for thine office, for they\nhave but few hours to live.\"\n\nRobin then returned to his brave band of archers, whom he brought and\nplaced in ambush near the field where the gallows was fixed; afterwards\ngoing again to the sheriff, the three yeomen were led to the appointed\nspot. \"Now, begin thine office, my jolly hangman,\" said the sheriff,\n\"for these yeomen no longer must live; and thou shalt have all their\ngood clothing, and all their money besides.\"\n\nThen Robin mounted the gallows, with his horn in his hand, and he made\nit sound loud and shrill, when quickly came marching over the field a\nhundred and more of his faithful bowmen, all clothed in green. \"Whose\nmen are all these,\" said the sheriff, \"that come marching so boldly this\nway?\" \"Oh, these are all Robin Hood's men,\" said he, \"and they are come\nto fetch me, and likewise to take the three yeomen, who are going to\ndie.\" \"Oh, take them, pray take them, without more ado,\" said the\nsheriff; \"for there is not a man in all Nottingham that can do the like\nof thee.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IX.\n\n    _Robin Hood and the Tinker of Banbury._\n\n\nIn summer time when the leaves were green and birds sang merrily upon\nevery tree, Robin Hood set out to Nottingham in disguise, and as he went\nalong the road he overtook a jolly tinker. Robin greeted him kindly, and\nafter some discourse, said, \"Tell me whence thou comest, my jolly\nfellow, and in what town thou wast bred, for I hear there is sad news in\nNottingham, and when thou knowest it thou may not choose to go thither.\"\n\"I come from Banbury,\" said the other, \"where I was born and bred, and\nam a tinker by trade; now tell me the news thou hast heard.\" \"My news is\nonly this,\" said Robin, \"two tinkers were yesterday set in the stocks\nfor drinking ale and strong beer.\" \"If that be all,\" said the tinker, \"I\nvalue not your news a farthing; for in drinking good ale and beer I am\nsure never to be outdone, and resolve to have my share; and if I may\njudge by your looks, you often take a good part.\" \"Now,\" said Robin\nHood, \"tell me what news has come to thy ears, for, as thou travellest\nfrom town to town, thou canst never be in want of good stories.\" \"All\nthe news that I lately have heard,\" said the tinker, \"relates to a bold\noutlaw who is called Robin Hood; the king has given out warrants to\napprehend him, and I have one in my pocket to take him, whenever I can\nfind him; and if thou canst tell me where he is, and assist me to seize\nhim, it will make us rich men, for a hundred pounds, or more, will be\nour reward.\" \"Let me see the warrant,\" said Robin, \"that I may know if\nit be good, and I will do the best that I can to assist thee in taking\nhim this very night.\" \"My warrant I shall not let thee see,\" said the\ntinker, \"for I dare not trust it out of my hand.\"\n\nAs soon as they came to Nottingham they went to a good inn, and calling\nfor strong ale and wine, the tinker drank so much that he forgot what he\nhad to do, so that at night Robin made haste away, taking the tinker's\nwarrant, and left him in the lurch to pay all the reckoning. When the\ntinker awoke in the morning and found that his comrade was gone, he\ncalled for the host and said, \"I had a warrant from the king that might\nhave done me good, for it was to take a bold outlaw called Robin Hood;\nbut now my warrant is stolen away from me, and I have not money enough\nto pay the score, for the man that came with me last night is fled away;\ntherefore tell me what I have got to pay, and I will leave my tools with\nthee in pledge till I return.\"\n\nThe tinker then went his way, and soon learnt in the town that the only\nway to find out bold Robin Hood was to seek him in the parks, killing\nthe king's deer. Away then he went, and made no delay till he found\nRobin Hood chasing the deer through the woods. \"What bold knave is\nthat,\" said Robin, \"that comes so freely to hinder my sport.\" \"No knave\nam I,\" cried the tinker, \"and that you soon will know to your cost;\nwhich of us have done wrong my crab-tree shall decide.\" The tinker and\nRobin then fought manfully, and the fray lasted three hours, or more,\nbut at length the tinker thrashed Robin's bones so sore, that he made\nhim cry out for peace. \"One favour I have to beg,\" said Robin Hood, \"and\nI pray thee to grant it me.\" \"The only favour I will grant,\" said the\ntinker, \"is to hang thee on a tree.\" But while the tinker turned round,\nRobin blew his horn, at the sound of which Little John and Will Scarlet\nquickly appeared, and said, \"What is the matter, dear master, that you\nlook so forlorn?\" \"Here is a tinker standing by,\" said Robin, \"that has\nthrashed my bones sore.\" When they heard this they were going to seize\nhim by the throat, but Robin said, \"Let our quarrel now cease, that\nhenceforth we may be friends with the tinker, and he with us; and if he\nwill consent to be one of us, I will yearly give him fifty pounds, as\nlong as he lives, which he may spend in the way which he likes best.\" So\nat last the tinker consented, and went along with them to their bower.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER X.\n\n    _Robin Hood's Death._\n\n\nAnd now I must bring my stories to a close, and the unhappy death of\nvaliant Robin Hood.\n\nRobin fell ill, and because he required to be treated with skill, he\nwent to Kirkley Abbey, where they sent for a monk to bleed him, and this\nmonk being eager to get the reward that King Henry had set upon Robin\nHood's head, most treacherously bled him to death.\n\nThus he that never feared a sword or a bow, or any man that lived, was\nbasely killed, in letting of blood, and died without a friend to close\nhis eyes. As soon as his men heard of his death they were filled with\ngrief and dismay, and fled away in haste. Some of them crossed the seas\nand went to Flanders, some to France, and some to Spain and Rome.\n\n    Robin, Earl of Huntingdon,\n    Lies underneath this marble stone;\n    No archer ever was so good--\n    His name it was bold ROBIN HOOD.\n    Full thirty years, and something more,\n    These northern parts he vexed sore.\n    Such outlaws as he, in any reign,\n    May England never see again.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                      HISTORY OF\n\n                     DR. FAUSTUS\n\n                       SHOWING\n\n    His wicked Life and horrid Death, and how he sold himself\n       to the Devil, to have power for twenty-four years to do\n       what he pleased, also many strange things done by him\n       with the assistance of\n\n                     MEPHISTOPHELES.\n\n    With an account how the Devil came for him at the end of\n       twenty-four years, and tore him to pieces.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _Dr. Faustus' birth and education, with an account of his\n                      falling from the Scriptures._\n\n\nDr. John Faustus was born in Germany. His father was a poor labouring\nman, not able to bring up his son John; but he had a brother in the same\ncountry, who was a very rich man, but had never a child, and took a\ngreat fancy to his cousin, and he resolved to make a scholar of him; and\nin order thereunto, put him to the Latin school, where he took his\nlearning extraordinary well. Afterwards he put him to the University to\nstudy divinity; but Faustus could in no ways fancy that employment;\nwherefore he betook himself to the studying of that which his\ninclination is most for, viz., necromancy and conjuration, and in a\nlittle time few or none could outstrip him in the art. He also studied\ndivinity, of which he was made Doctor; but within a short time fell into\nsuch deep fancies and cogitations that he resolved to throw the\nScriptures from him, and betake himself wholly to the studying of\nnecromancy and conjuration, charms and soothsaying, witchcraft, and the\nlike.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _How Dr. Faustus conjured up the Devil, making him appear\n                         at his own house._\n\n\nFaustus, whose mind was to study conjuration, the which he followed\nnight and day, he took the wings of an eagle, and endeavoured to fly\nover the world, to see and know all the secrets of heaven and earth; so\nthat in a short time he attained power to command the Devil to appear\nbefore him when he pleased. One day as Dr. Faustus was walking in a wood\nnear to Wurtemberg, in Germany, he having a friend with him who was\ndesirous to know of the doctor's art, he desired him to let him see if\nhe could then and there bring Mephistopheles before him; all which the\ndoctor immediately did, and the devil upon the first call made such a\nnoise in the wood as if heaven and earth would have come together; then\nthe devil made such a roaring as if the wood had been full of wild\nbeasts. The doctor made a circle for the devil, the which circle the\ndevil ran round, making a noise as if ten thousand waggons had been\nrunning upon paved stones. After this it thundered and lightened, as if\nthe whole world had been on fire. Faustus and his friend, amazed at this\nnoise, and the devil's long tarrying, thought to leave his circle;\nwhereupon he made him such music, the like was never heard in the world.\nThis so ravished Faustus that he began again to conjure Mephistopheles\nin the name of the prince of the devils to appear in his own likeness;\nwhereupon in an instant hung over his head a mighty dragon. Faustus\ncalls again after his former manner, after which there was a cry in the\nwood as if hell had opened, and all the tormented souls had been there.\nFaustus, in the meanwhile, asked the devil many questions, and commanded\nhim to show many diabolical tricks.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _How Mephistopheles came to Dr. Faustus' house, and what\n                   happened between them._\n\n\nFaustus commanded the spirit to meet him at his house by ten of the\nclock the next day. At the hour appointed he came into his chamber\nasking Faustus what he would have. Faustus told him it was his will and\npleasure to conjure him to be obedient to him in all points of those\narticles, viz.:--\n\nFirst, That the spirit should serve him in all things he asked, from\nthat time till his death.\n\nSecondly, Whatsoever he would have, he should bring him.\n\nThirdly, Whatsoever he desired to know, he should tell him.\n\nThe spirit answered him and said he had no such power of himself, until\nhe had acquainted his prince that ruled over him. \"For,\" said he, \"we\nhave rulers over us that send us out, and command us home when they\nplease; and we can act no further than our power is, which we receive\nfrom Lucifer, who, you know, for his pride, was thrust out of heaven.\nBut,\" saith the spirit, \"I am not to tell you any more except you make\nyourself over to us.\"\n\nWhereupon Faustus said, \"I will have my request? but yet I will not be\ndamned with you.\" Then said the spirit, \"You must not, nor shall not\nhave your desire, and yet thou art mine, and all the world cannot save\nthee out of my hands.\" Then said Faustus, \"Get thee hence, and I conjure\nthee that thou come to me at night.\" The spirit then vanished. Faustus\nthen began to consider how he might obtain his desire, and not give his\nsoul to the devil.\n\nAnd while Faustus was in these his devilish cogitations night drew on,\nand this hellish spirit appeared to Faustus, acquainting him that now he\nhad got orders from his prince to be obedient to him, and to do for him\nwhatsoever he desired, provided he would promise to be his, and withal\nto acquaint him first what he would have of him? Faustus replied that\nhis desire was to become a spirit, and that Mephistopheles should be\nalways, at his command; that whatsoever he called for him, he shall\nappear invisible to all men, and that he should appear in what shape he\npleased, to which the spirit answered that all his desires should be\ngranted if he would sign those articles he should wish or ask for.\nWhereupon Dr. Faustus withdrew and stabbed his wrist, receiving the\nblood in a small saucer, which cooled so fast, as if it forewarned him\nof the hellish act he was going to commit; nevertheless he put it over\nembers to warm it, and wrote as follows:--\n\n     \"I, John Faustus, approved doctor of divinity, with my own hand do\n     acknowledge and testify myself to become a servant to Lucifer,\n     Prince of Septentrional and Oriental, and to him I freely and\n     voluntarily give both soul; in consideration for the space of\n     twenty-four years, if I be served in all things which I shall\n     require, or which is reasonable by him to be allowed; at the\n     expiration of which time from the date ensuing, I give to him all\n     power to do with me at his pleasure; to rule to retch and carry me\n     where he pleases body and soul. Hereupon I defy God and Christ, and\n     the hosts of angels and good spirits, all living creatures that\n     bear his shape, or on whom his image is imprinted; and to the\n     better strengthening the validity of this covenant and firm\n     agreement between us, I have writ it with my blood, and subscribe\n     my name to it, calling all the powers and infernal potentates to\n     witness it is my true intent and meaning.\"       JOHN FAUSTUS.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _What happened to Faustus after the signing of the articles._\n\n\nWhen Faustus had made an end of his writing he called Mephistopheles to\nhim, and delivered him the bond; whereupon the spirit told, him if he\ndid not repent of what he had done, he should enjoy all the pleasure\nhis thoughts could form, and that he would immediately divert him. He\ncaused a kennel of hounds to run down a hart in the hall, and vanished;\nthen a bull danced before Faustus, also there was a lion and a bear,\nwhich fell to fighting before Faustus, and the lion destroyed the bear;\nafter that came a dragon and destroyed the lion. And this, with\nabundance of more pastime, did the spirit present to the doctor's view,\nconcluding with all manner of music, with some hundreds of spirits,\nwhich came and danced before Faustus. After the music was over, and\nFaustus began to look about him, he saw ten sacks full of silver, which\nhe went to dispose of, but could not, for none could handle it but\nhimself, it was so hot. This pastime so pleased Faustus, that he gave\nMephistopheles the will that he had made, and kept a copy of it in his\nown hands. The spirit and Faustus being agreed, they dwelt together, and\nthe devil was in their house-keeping, for there was never anything given\naway to poor, which before Faustus made this contract was frequently\ndone, but the case is now altered.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _How Faustus served the Duke of Bavaria._\n\n\nFaustus having sold his soul to the devil, it was reported among his\nneighbours, so that none would keep him company but his spirit playing\nmerry tricks for to please him. Not far from Faustus' house lived the\nDuke of Bavaria, the Duke of Saxony, and the Bishop of Salisburgh, whose\nhouses and cellars Mephistopheles used to visit, and to bring the best\nof everything they had. One day the Duke of Bavaria invited most of the\ngentry of the country to dinner, for whose entertainment there was\nabundance of provision got ready. The gentry being come, and ready to\nsit down to dinner, in an instant Mephistopheles came and took all away\nwith him, leaving them full of admiration. If any time Faustus had a\nmind for wild fowl, the spirit would call whole flocks in at a window;\nalso the spirit did teach Faustus to do the like so that no lock nor key\ncould keep them out. The devil also taught Faustus to fly in the air,\nand to act many things that are incredible and too large for this small\nbook to contain.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VI.\n\n    _How Dr. Faustus dreamed of Hell in his Sleep and what he\n    saw there._\n\n\nAfter Faustus had a long conference with his spirit concerning the fall\nof Lucifer, and the state and condition of all the fallen angels, he, in\na vision or dream, saw hell and all the devils and souls that were\ntormented there; he saw hell divided into several cells, or deep holes;\nand for every cell, or deep ward, there was a devil appointed to punish\nthose that were under his custody. Having seen this sight, he much\nmarvelled at it; and at that time Mephistopheles being with him, he\nasked him what sort of people they were that lay in the first dark pit;\nthen Mephistopheles told him they were those who pretended themselves to\nbe physicians, and who had poisoned many thousands to try practice; \"and\nnow,\" saith the spirit, \"they have just the same administered to them\nwhich they gave to others, though not with the same effect, for they\nwill never die here,\" saith he. Over their heads was a shelf laden with\ngallipots full of poison. Having passed them he came to a long entry\nexceeding dark where there was a mighty crowd. He asked him what those\nwere? and the spirit told him they were pick-pockets, who loved to be in\na crowd, when they were in the other world, and to content them they put\nthem in a crowd there. Amongst them were some padders on the highway,\nand those of that function. Walking farther he saw many thousands of\nvintners, and some millions of tailors, in so much that they could not\nfeel where to get stowage for them; a great number of pastry cooks with\npeels on their heads. Walking farther, the spirit opening a great cellar\ndoor, from which arose a terrible noise, he asked what they were. The\nspirit told him they were witches, and those who had been pretended\nsaints in the other world; but how they did squabble, fight, and tear\none another! Not far from them lay the whoremongers and adulterers, who\nmade such a hideous noise that he was very much startled. Walking down a\nfew steps he espied an incredible number almost hid with smoke. He asked\nwhat they were? The spirit told him they were millers and bakers; but\ngood lack, what a noise was there among them! The millers crying to the\nbakers, and the bakers crying to the millers for help, but all was in\nvain, for there was none to help them. Passing on still farther, he saw\nthousands of shopkeepers, some of whom he knew, who were tormented for\ndefrauding and cheating their customers. Having taken this prospect of\nhell, the spirit Mephistopheles took him in his arms, and carried him\nhome to his own house, when he awaking, he was amazed at what he saw in\nhis dream. So being come to himself, he asked the spirit in what place\nhell was, and who made it? Mephistopheles answered, \"Knowest thou, that\nbefore the fall of Lucifer, there was no hell, but upon his fall was\nhell ordained. As for the substance of hell, we devils do not know. It\nis the wrath of God that makes hell so furious, and what we procured by\nour fall; but where hell is, or how it is governed, and whatsoever thou\ndesirest to know, when thou comest there thou shalt be satisfied as far\nas we know ourselves.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VII.\n\n    _Containing some Tricks of Dr. Faustus._\n\n\nDr. Faustus having attained the desire of his spirit, had now full power\nto act or do anything whatever he pleased. Upon a time the Emperor had a\ndesire to see him, and likewise some of the doctor's tricks; whereupon\nhe was requested by the Emperor to do somewhat to make him merry; but\nthe doctor in the meanwhile looking around him he at last espied a great\nlord looking out at a window, and the doctor calling his spirit to help\nhim, he in an instant fastened a large pair of horns upon the lord's\nhead, that he could not get his head in till Faustus took off the horns\nagain, which were soon taken off invisibly. The lord whom Faustus served\nso was extremely vexed, and resolved to be revenged on the doctor, and\nto that end lay a mile out of town for Faustus' passing by, he being\nthat day to depart for the country. Faustus coming by a wood side,\nbeheld that lord mounted upon a mighty warlike horse, who ran full drift\nagainst Faustus, who, by the assistance of his spirit, took him and all,\nand carried before the Emperor's palace, and grafted a pair of horns on\nhis head as big as an ox's, which he could never be rid of, but wore\nthem to his dying day.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VIII.\n\n    _How Faustus ate a load of Hay._\n\n\nFaustus upon a time having many doctors and masters of arts with him,\nwent to walk in the fields, where they met with a load of hay. \"How now,\ngood fellow,\" saith Faustus, \"what shall I give thee to fill my belly\nwith hay?\" The clown thought he had been a madman to talk of eating hay,\ntold him he should fill his belly for one penny, to which the doctor\nagreed, and then fell to eating, and quickly devouring half of the load;\nat which the doctor's companions laughed, to see how simply the poor\ncountry fellow looked, and to hear how heartily he prayed the doctor to\nforbear. So Faustus pitying the poor man, went away, and before the man\ngot near his house all the hay was in the cart that the doctor had\neaten, which made the country fellow very much admire.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IX.\n\n    _How he struck a parcel of Students, who were fighting\n     together, blind; and how he served a parcel of Clowns\n           who were singing and ranting at an inn._\n\n\nThirteen students meeting with seven more near Dr. Faustus' house, fell\nto, extremely, first in words and at last to blows. The thirteen being\ntoo hard for the seven, and Dr. Faustus looking out at his window and\nseeing the fray, and how much they were overmatched, conjured them all\nblind, so that the one could not see the other, and in this manner they\nfought one another, which made all that saw them laugh. At length the\npeople parted them, and led them to their chambers, they instantly\nreceived their sight. The doctor coming into an inn with some friends,\nwas disturbed by the hallowing and bawling of a parcel of drunken\nclowns, whereupon, when their mouths were wide open, he so conjured\nthem, that by no means they could shut them again: and after they had\nstared one upon another, without being able to speak, thinking they were\nbewitched, they dropped away in a confused fear, one by one, and never\ncould be got to the house afterwards.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER X.\n\n    _How Faustus helped a Young Man to a Fair Lady._\n\n\nThere was a gallant young gentleman who was in love with a fair lady,\nliving at Wurtemberg, near the doctor's house. This gentleman had long\nsought this lady in marriage, but could not attain his desire, and\nhaving placed his affections so much upon her, he was ready to pine\naway, and had certainly died with grief, had he not made his address to\nthe doctor, to whom he opened the whole matter. Now no sooner had the\ngentleman told his cause to the doctor, but he told him that he need not\nbe afraid, for his desire should be fulfilled, and that he should have\nher whom he so much desired, and that this gentlewoman should have none\nbut him, which was accordingly done, for the doctor so changed her mind\nthat she could think of nothing else but him whom before she hated; and\nFaustus' desire was this: He gave him an enchanted ring which he ordered\nhim to put into the lady's hand, or to slip it on her finger, which he\ndid; and no sooner had she got the ring than her heart burned with love\nto him. She, instead of frowns, could do nothing but smile upon him,\nand not be at rest till she asked him if he thought he could love her,\nand make her his wife? He gladly answered with all his heart. So they\nwere married the next day, and all by the help of Dr. Faustus.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XI.\n\n    _How Faustus made Seven Women dance naked in the Market-place._\n\n\nFaustus walking in the market-place, saw seven women sitting all in a\nrow, selling eggs, butter, etc. Of every one he bought something and\ndeparted. No sooner was he gone but all the eggs and butter were gone\nout of their baskets, and they knew not how. At last they were told that\nDr. Faustus had conjured their goods away. They thereupon ran speedily\nto the doctor's house, and so demanded satisfaction for the ware. He\nresolving to make himself and the town's people merry by his conjuring\nart, made them return to their baskets naked as ever they were born; and\nhaving danced a while in the market-place every one's goods were\nconjured into their baskets again, and they set at liberty.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XII.\n\n    _How Faustus served a Country Fellow who was driving Swine._\n\n\nDr. Faustus, as he was going to Wurtemberg, overtook a country fellow\ndriving a hundred swine, who were very headstrong, some running one way\nand some another; so that the driver could not tell how to get them\ndrove along. The doctor taking notice of it, so by his conjuring art he\nmade every one of them dance upon their two hind legs, with a fiddle in\none of their fore feet, and with the other fore foot they played upon\nthe fiddle, and so they danced and fiddled all the way until they came\ninto Wurtemberg market, the driver of them dancing all the way before\nthem, which made the people wonder. After the doctor had satisfied\nhimself with the spirit he conjured all of the fiddles away, and the\ndriver then offered them for sale, and quickly sold them all, and took\nthe money; but before he was gone out of the house Faustus had conjured\nall the hogs out of the market-place, and sent them all home to the\ndriver's house. The man who bought them, seeing all the swine gone,\nstopped the man who sold them and would have his money, which he was\nforced to pay, and so returned home sorrowful, and not knowing what to\ndo; but, to his great surprise, found all the swine in their sties.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XIII.\n\n    _How Faustus begun to bethink himself of the near approach of his End._\n\n\nFaustus having spun out his twenty-four years, within a month or two,\nbegan to consider what he should do to cheat the devil, but could not\nfind any way to prevent his miserable end, which was now near, whereupon\nhe thus cries out to himself, \"Oh! miserable wretch that I am, I have\ngiven myself to the devil for a few years' pleasure, and now I must pay\nfull dear. I have had my desires; my filthy lusts I have satisfied, and\nI must be tormented for ever and ever.\"\n\nA neighbour of his, a very good old man, hearing of his way of living,\nin compassion to his soul came to him, and with tears in his eyes\nbesought him to have more regard to his most precious soul, laying\nbefore him the promise of God's grace and mercy, freely offered to\nrepenting sinners, and spake so feelingly that Faustus shed tears, and\npromised to him that he would try to repent. This good man was no sooner\ngone away than Mephistopheles found him pensive and on his bed. Now\nMephistopheles mustering what had happened, began to reproach him with\nbreach of covenant to his lord Lucifer, and thereupon almost twisted his\nneck behind him, which made him cry out very lamentable; in the meantime\nthreatening to tear him to pieces unless he renewed his obligation,\nwhich for fear, with much sorrow he did, in a manner the same as the\nformer, which he confirmed by the latter.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XIV.\n\n    _How Dr. Faustus was warned of the Spirit to prepare for his End._\n\n\nFaustus' full time being come, the spirit appeared to him, and showed\nhim his writing, and told him that the next night the devil would fetch\nhim away, which made the doctor's heart to ache. But to divert himself,\nhe sent for some doctors and master bachelors of arts, and other\nstudents to take dinner with him, for whom he provided great store of\nvarieties, with music and the like. But all would not keep up his\nspirits, for the hour drew near; whereupon his countenance changing, the\ndoctors and masters of arts inquired of him the reasons of his\nmelancholiness? to which Faustus answered, \"My friends, you have known\nme these many years, and how I have practised all manner of wickedness.\nI have been a great conjurer, which devilish art I obtained of the\ndevil; and also to obtain power to do whatever I pleased I sold myself\nto the devil for twenty-four years' time, which full time being out this\nnight, makes me full of horror. I have called you, my friends, to see\nthis my dreadful end; and I pray let my miserable death be a warning to\nyou all how you study the devilish art of conjuring; for if once you\nbegin it, a thousand to one but it will lead you to the devil, whither I\nam this night to go, whether I will or not.\" They hearing of this sad\nstory blamed him for concealing it so long, telling him if he had made\nthem acquainted before that they thought it might have been prevented.\nHe told them he had a desire several times to have disclosed this\nintrigue; but the devil told him that if he did he would presently fetch\nhim away. He also told them he had a desire to join with the godly, and\nto leave off that wicked course; but immediately the devil used to come\nand torment him, etc. \"But now,\" saith Faustus, \"it is but in vain for\nme to talk of what I did intend, for I have sold myself to the devil;\nbody and soul is his.\" No sooner had he spoken these words, but\nsuddenly it fell a thundering and lightning, the like was never heard;\nwhereupon Faustus went into the great hall, the doctors and masters\nstaying in the next room intending to hear his end. About twelve o'clock\nthe house shook so terribly that they thought it would have been down\nupon them, and suddenly the house windows were broken to pieces, so that\nthey trembled and wished themselves elsewhere, whereupon a great clap of\nthunder, with a whirlwind the doors flew open, and a mighty rushing of\nwind entered with the hissing of serpents, shrieks and cries, upon which\nhe lamentably cried out \"Murder,\" and there was such roaring in the hall\nas if all the devils in hell had been there. When daylight appeared they\ntook the boldness to enter into the room, and found his brains beaten\nout against the wall and the floor sprinkled with blood; but missing his\nbody, they went in search of it, and found it on the dunghill mangled\nand mashed to pieces. So ended this miserable wretch's life, forsaking\nGod and all goodness, and given up to his implacable enemy, which we\nhope may stand not only as a fearful, but lasting monument and warning\nto others.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                      THE WHOLE\n\n                    LIFE AND DEATH\n\n                         OF\n\n                      LONG MEG\n\n                         OF\n\n                     WESTMINSTER.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _Where Meg was Born, her coming up to London, and\n           her Usage to the Honest Carrier._\n\n\nIn the reign of Henry VIII. was born in Lancashire a maid called Long\nMeg. At eighteen years old she came to London to get her a\nservice--Father Willis, the carrier, being the waggoner--and her\nneighbour brought her up with some other lasses. After a tedious\njourney, being in sight of the desired city, she demanded why they\nlooked sad. \"We have no money,\" said one, \"to pay our fare.\" So Meg\nreplies, \"If that be all, I shall answer your demands,\" and this put\nthem in some comfort. But as soon as they came to St. John's Street,\nWillis demanded their money. \"Say what you will have,\" quoth she. \"Ten\nshillings a piece,\" said he. \"But we have not so much about us,\" said\nshe. \"Nay, then, I will have it out of your bones.\" \"Marry, content,\"\nreplied Meg, and, taking a staff in her hand, so belaboured him and his\nman that he desired her for God's sake to hold her hand. \"Not I,\" said\nshe, \"unless you bestow an angel on us for good luck, and swear e'er we\ndepart to get us good addresses.\"\n\nThe carrier, having felt the strength of her arm, thought it best to\ngive her the money and promised not to go till he had got them good\nplaces.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _Of her being placed in Westminster, and what she did at\n                           her Place._\n\n\nThe carrier, having set up his horses, went with the lasses to the Eagle\nin Westminster, and told the landlady he had brought her three fine\nLancashire lasses; and seeing she often asked him to get her a maid, she\nmight now take her choice. \"Marry,\" said she, \"I want one at present,\nand here are three gentlemen who shall give their opinions.\" As soon as\nMeg came in they blessed themselves, crying,\n\n     \"Domine, Domine, viee Originem.\"\n\nSo her mistress demanded what was her name. \"Margaret, forsooth,\" said\nshe briskly. \"And what work can you do?\" She answered she had not been\nbred unto her needle, but to hard labour, as washing, brewing, and\nbaking, and could make a house clean. \"Thou art,\" quoth the hostess, \"a\nlusty wench, and I like thee well, for I have often persons that will\nnot pay.\" \"Mistress,\" said she, \"if any such come let me know, and I'll\nmake them pay I'll engage.\" \"Nay, this is true,\" said the carrier, \"for\nmy carcase felt it;\" and then he told them how she served him. On this\nSir John de Castile, in a bravado, would needs make an experiment of her\nvast strength; and asked her \"if she durst exchange a box o' the ear\nwith him.\" \"Yes,\" quoth she, \"if my mistress will give me leave.\" This\ngranted, she stood to receive Sir John's blow, who gave her a box with\nall his might, but it stirred her not at all; but Meg gave him such a\nmemorandum on his ear that Sir John fell down at her feet. \"By my\nfaith,\" said another, \"she strikes a blow like an ox, for she hath\nknocked down an ass.\" So Meg was taken into service.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _The method Meg took to make one of the Vicars pay his Score._\n\n\nMeg so bestirred herself that she pleased her mistress, and for her\ntallness was called Long Meg of Westminster.\n\nOne of the lubbers of the Abbey had a mind to try her strength, so,\ncoming with six of his associates one frosty morning, calls for a pot of\nale, which, being drank, he asked what he owed. To which Meg answers,\n\"Five shillings and threepence.\"\n\n\"O thou foul scullion, I owe thee but three shillings and one penny, and\nno more will I pay thee.\" And, turning to his landlady, complained how\nMeg had charged him too much. \"The foul ill take me,\" quoth Meg, \"if I\nmisreckon him one penny, and therefore, vicar, before thou goest out of\nthese doors I shall make thee pay every penny;\" and then she immediately\nlent him such a box on the ears as made him reel again. The vicar then\nsteps up to her, and together both of them went by the ears. The vicar's\nhead was broke, and Meg's clothes torn off her back. So the vicar laid\nhold of her hair, but, he being shaved, she could not have that\nadvantage; so, laying hold of his ears and keeping his pate to the post,\nasked him how much he owed her. \"As much as you please,\" said he. \"So\nyou knave,\" quoth she, \"I must knock out of your bald pate my\nreckoning.\" And with that she began to beat a plain song between the\npost and his pate. But when he felt such pain he roared out he would pay\nthe whole. But she would not let him go until he laid it down, which he\ndid, being jeered by his friends.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _Of her fighting and conquering Sir James of Castile,\n                       a Spanish Knight._\n\n\nAll this time Sir James continued his suit to Meg's mistress, but to no\npurpose. So, coming in one day and seeing her melancholy, asked what\nailed her, for if anyone has wronged you I will requite you. \"Marry,\"\nquoth she, \"a base knave in a white satin doublet has abused me, and if\nyou revenge my quarrel I shall think you love me.\" \"Where is he?\" quoth\nSir James. \"Marry,\" said she, \"he said he would be in St. George's\nFields.\" \"Well,\" quoth he, \"do you and the doctor go along with me, and\nyou shall see how I'll pummel the knave.\"\n\nUnto this they agreed, and sent Meg into St. George's Fields beforehand.\n\"Yonder,\" said she, \"walks the fellow by the windmill.\" \"Follow me,\nhostess,\" said Sir James; \"I will go to him.\" But Meg passed as if she\nwould have gone by. \"Nay, stay,\" said Sir James; \"you and I part not so.\nI am this gentlewoman's champion, and fairly for her sake will have you\nby the ears.\" With that Meg drew her sword, and to it they went.\n\nAt the first blow she hit him on the head, and often endangered him. At\nlast she struck his weapon out of his hands, and, stepping up to him,\nswore all the world should not save him. \"O save me, sir,\" said he; \"I\nam a knight, and it is but a woman's matter; do not spill my blood.\"\n\"Wert thou twenty knights,\" said Meg, \"and was the king here himself, I\nwould not spare thy life unless you grant me one thing.\" \"Let it be what\nit will, you shall be obeyed.\" \"Marry,\" said she, \"that this night you\nwait on my plate at this woman's house and confess me to be your\nmaster.\"\n\nThis being yielded to and a supper provided, Thomas Usher and others\nwere invited to make up the feast, and unto whom Sir James told what had\nhappened. \"Pho!\" said Usher jeeringly, \"it is no such great dishonour\nfor to be foiled by an English gentleman since Caesar the Great was\nhimself driven back by their extraordinary courage.\" At this juncture\nMeg came in, having got on her man's attire. \"Then,\" said Sir James,\n\"this is that valiant gentleman whose courage I shall ever esteem.\"\nHereupon, she pulling off her hat, her hair fell about her ears, and she\nsaid \"I am no other than Long Meg of Westminster, and so you are\nheartily welcome.\"\n\nAt this they all fell a-laughing. Nevertheless, at supper time,\naccording to agreement, Sir James was a proper page; and she, having\nleave of her mistress, sat in state like her majesty. Thus Sir James was\ndisgraced for his love, and Meg was counted a proper woman.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _Her Usage to the Bailiff of Westminster, who came into\n            her Mistress's and arrested her Friend._\n\n\nA bailiff, having for the purpose took forty shillings, arrested a\ngentleman in Meg's mistress's house, and desired the company to keep\npeace. She, coming in, asked what was the matter. \"O,\" said he, \"I'm\narrested.\" \"Arrested! and in our house? Why this unkind act to arrest\none in our house; but, however, take an angel and let him go.\" \"No,\"\nsaid the bailiff, \"I cannot, for the creditor is at the door.\" \"Bid him\ncome in,\" said she, \"and I'll make up the matter.\" So the creditor came\nin; but, being found obstinate, she rapped him on the head with a quart\npot and bid him go out of doors like a knave. \"He can but go to prison,\"\nquoth she, \"where he shall not stay long if all the friends I have can\nfetch him out.\"\n\nThe creditor went away with a good knock, and the bailiff was going with\nhis prisoner. \"Nay,\" said she, \"I'll bring a fresh pot to drink with\nhim.\" She came into the parlour with a rope, and, knitting her brows,\n\"Sir Knave,\" said she, \"I'll learn thee to arrest a man in our house.\nI'll make thee a spectacle for all catchpoles;\" and, tossing the rope\nround his middle, said to the gentleman, \"Sir, away, shift for yourself;\nI'll pay the bailiff his fees before he and I part.\" Then she dragged\nthe bailiff unto the back side of the house, making him go up to his\nchin in a pond, and then paid him his fees with a cudgel, after which he\nwent away with the amends in his hands, for she was so well beloved that\nno person would meddle with her.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VI.\n\n    _Of her meeting with a Nobleman, and her Usage to\n                    him and to the Watch._\n\n\nNow it happened she once put on a suit of man's apparel. The same night\nit fell out that a young nobleman, being disposed for mirth, would go\nabroad to see the fashions, and, coming down the Strand, espies her;\nand, seeing such a tall fellow, asked him whither he was going. \"Marry,\"\nsaid she, \"to St. Nicholas's to buy a calve's head.\" \"How much money\nhast thou?\" \"In faith,\" said she, \"little enough; will you lend me any?\"\n\"Aye,\" said he; and, putting his thumb into her mouth, said, \"There's a\ntester.\" She gave him a good box on the ear, and said, \"There's a groat;\nnow I owe you twopence.\" Whereupon the nobleman drew, and his man too;\nand she was as active as they, so together they go. But she drove them\nbefore her into a little chandler's shop, insomuch that the constable\ncame in to part the fray, and, having asked what they were, the nobleman\ntold his name, at which they all pulled off their caps. \"And what is\nyour name?\" said the constable. \"Mine,\" said she, \"is Cuthbert Curry\nKnave.\" Upon this the constable commanded some to lay hold on her and\ncarry her to the compter. She out with her sword and set upon the watch,\nand behaved very resolutely; but the constable calling for clubs, Meg\nwas forced to cry out, \"Masters, hold your hands, I am your friend; hurt\nnot Long Meg of Westminster.\" So they all stayed their hands, and the\nnobleman took them all to the tavern; and thus ended the fray.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VII.\n\n    _Meg goes a shroving, fights the Thieves of St. James's\n        Corner, and makes them restore Father Willis,\n                the Carrier, his hundred marks._\n\n\nNot only the cities of London and Westminster, but Lancashire also, rung\nof Meg's fame, so they desired old Willis, the carrier, to call upon\nher, which he did, taking with him the other lasses. Meg was joyful to\nsee them, and it being Shrove Tuesday, Meg went with them to\nKnightsbridge, and spent most of the day with repeating tales of their\nfriends in Lancashire; and so tarried the carrier, who again and again\ninquired how all did there, and made the time seem shorter than it was.\nThe night growing on, the carrier and the two other lasses were\nimportunate to be gone, but Meg was loath to set out, and so stayed\nbehind to discharge the reckoning, and promised to overtake them.\n\nIt was their misfortune at St. James's Corner to meet with two thieves\nwho were waiting there for them, and took a hundred marks from Willis,\nthe carrier, and from the two wenches their gowns and purses. Meg came\nup immediately after, and then the thieves, seeing her also in a female\nhabit, thought to take her purse also; but she behaved herself so well\nthat they began to give ground. Then said Meg, \"Our gowns and purses\nagainst your hundred marks; win all and wear all.\" \"Content,\" quoth\nthey. \"Now, lasses, pray for me,\" said Meg. With that she buckled with\nthese two knaves, beat one and so hurt the other that they entreated her\nto spare their lives. \"I will,\" said she, \"upon conditions.\" \"Upon any\ncondition,\" said they. \"Then,\" said she, \"it shall be thus--\n\n    1. That you never hurt a woman nor any company she is in.\n    2. That you never hurt lame or impotent men.\n    3. That you never hurt any children or innocents.\n    4. That you rob no carrier of his money.\n    5. That you rob no manner of poor or distressed.\n\n\"Are you content with these conditions?\" \"We are,\" said they. \"I have no\nbook about me,\" said she, \"but will you swear on my smock tail?\" which\nthey accordingly did, and then she returned the wenches their gowns and\npurses, and old Father Willis, the carrier, a hundred marks.\n\nThe men desiring to know who it was had so lustily beswinged them,\nsaid--\"To alleviate our sorrow, pray tell us your name.\" She smiling\nreplied--\"If anyone asks you who banged your bones, say Long Meg of\nWestminster once met with you.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VIII.\n\n    _Meg's Fellow Servant pressed; her Usage of the Constable;\n        and of her taking Press Money to go to Boulogne._\n\n\nIn those days were wars between England and France, and a hot press\nabout London. The constables of Westminster pressed Meg's fellow\nservant, and she told them if they took him her mistress was undone.\n\nAll this could not persuade the constable, but Harry must go, on which\nshe lent the constable a knock. Notice being given to the captain, he\nasked who struck him. \"Marry,\" quoth Meg, \"I did, and if I did not love\nsoldiers I'd serve you so too.\" So, taking a cavalier from a man's hand,\nshe performed the exercise with such dexterity that they wondered,\nwhereupon she said--\"Press no man, but give me press money and I will go\nmyself.\" At this they all laughed, and the captain gave her an angel,\nwhereupon she went with him to Boulogne.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IX.\n\n    _Of her Beating the Frenchman off the Walls of Boulogne, for\n        which gallant behaviour she is rewarded by the King\n                 with Eightpence per Day for Life._\n\n\nKing Henry, passing the seas, took Boulogne. Hereupon the Dauphin with a\ngreat number of men surprised and retook it. Meg, being a laundress in\nthe town, raised the best of the women; and, with a halberd in her hand,\ncame to the walls, on which some of the French had entered, and threw\nscalding water and stones at them that she often obliged them to quit\nthe town before the soldiers were up in arms. And at the sally she came\nout the foremost with her halberd in her hand to pursue the chase.\n\nThe report of this deed being come to the ears of the king, he allowed\nher for life eightpence a day.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER X.\n\n    _Of her fighting and beating a Frenchman before Boulogne._\n\n\nDuring this she observed one who in a bravado tossed his pike. She,\nseeing his pride, desired a drum to signify that a young soldier would\nhave a push at pike with him. It was agreed on, and the place appointed\nlife against life.\n\nOn the day the Frenchman came, and Meg met him, and without any salute\nfell to blows; and, after a long combat, she overcame him, and cut off\nhis head. Then, pulling off her hat, her hair fell about her ears.\n\nBy this the Frenchman knew it was a woman, and the English giving a\nshout, she, by a drummer, sent the Dauphin his soldier's head, and said,\n\"An English woman sent it.\"\n\nThe Dauphin much commended her, sending her a hundred crowns for her\nvalour.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XI.\n\n    _Of her coming to England and being Married._\n\n\nThe wars in France being over, Meg came to Westminster and married a\nsoldier, who, hearing of her exploits, took her into a room, and, making\nher strip to her petticoat, took one staff and gave her another, saying,\n\"As he had heard of her manhood, he was determined to try her.\" But Meg\nheld down her head, whereupon he gave her three or four blows, and she\nin submission fell down upon her knees desiring him to pardon her.\n\"For,\" said she, \"whatever I do to others, it behoves me to be obedient\nto you; and it shall never be said, if I cudgel a knave that injures me,\nLong Meg is her husband's master; and therefore use me as you please.\"\nSo they grew friends, and never quarrelled after.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XII.\n\n    _Long Meg's Usage to an angry Miller._\n\n\nMeg going one day with her neighbours to make merry, a miller near\nEpping looking out, the boy they had with them, about fourteen years\nold, said--\"Put out, miller, put out.\" \"What must I put out?\" said he.\n\"A thief's head and ears,\" said the other.\n\nAt this the miller came down and well licked him, which Meg endeavoured\nto prevent, whereupon he beat her. But she wrung the stick from him, and\nthen cudgelled him severely; and having done, sent the boy to the mill\nfor an empty sack, and put the miller in all but his head; and then,\nfastening him to a rope, she hauled him up half way, and there left him\nhanging. The poor miller cried out for help, and if his wife had not\ncome he had surely been killed, and the mill, for want of corn, set on\nfire.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XIII.\n\n    _Of her keeping House at Islington, and her Laws._\n\n\nAfter marriage she kept a house at Islington. The constable coming one\nnight, he would needs search Meg's house, whereupon she came down in her\nshift with a cudgel, and said--\"Mr. Constable, take care you go not\nbeyond your commission, for if you do I'll so cudgel you as you never\nwas since Islington has been.\" The constable, seeing her frown, told her\nhe would take her word, and so departed.\n\nMeg, because in her house there should be a good decorum, hung up a\ntable containing these principles:--\n\nFirst. If a gentleman or yeoman had a charge about him, and told her of\nit, she would repay him if he lost it; but if he did not reveal it, and\nsaid he was robbed, he should have ten bastinadoes, and afterwards be\nturned out of doors.\n\nSecondly. Whoever called for meat and had no money to pay should have a\nbox on the ear and a cross on the back that he might be marked and\ntrusted no more.\n\nThirdly. If any good fellow came in and said he wanted money, he should\nhave his belly full of meat and two pots of drink.\n\nFourthly. If any raffler came in and made a quarrel, and would not pay\nhis reckoning, to turn into the fields and take a bout or two with Meg,\nthe maids of the house should dry beat him, and so thrust him out of\ndoors.\n\nThese and many such principles she established in her house, which kept\nit still and quiet.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                        THE\n\n                   FAMOUS HISTORY\n\n                   OF THE LEARNED\n\n                 FRIAR BACON GIVING\n\n      A Particular Account of his Birth, Parentage,\n    with the many Wonderful Things he did in his Lifetime,\n    to the amazement of all the World.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n     _Friar Bacon's Birth and Parentage, and by what means he came\n     to be so great a Scholar. How the King sent for him from\n     Oxford, and in what wonderful manner he pleased the King's Five\n     Senses; also the Comical Pranks he played with a Courtier sent\n     to fetch him._\n\n\nThe famous Friar Bacon, whose name has spread through the world, was\nborn in Lancashire; his father's name was Ralph Bacon, and his name\nRoger. From his infancy he was observed to have a profound, pregnant\nwit; as he grew up, a great reader of books and desirous of learning,\nwhich to admiration he took so fast that his schoolmaster could teach\nhim no further, and being about to send him home, with commendations, to\nhis father, he, fearing the worst, humbly besought him to prevail, if\npossible, with his father that he might be sent to the University, where\nhe had a desire to go and learn the liberal sciences.\n\nHis schoolmaster denied him not his request, but went home with him,\nand, taking the old man aside, told him he had learned his son as far as\nhe was able, that he took it in extremely well, and was willing to\nimprove it at the University, and that he was verily persuaded, by the\npromptness he perceived in him, if he would be at a little charge with\nhim there, he would be so great a proficient as would advance him to an\neminent station.\n\nThe old man heard this with some indignation, but concealed his anger\ntill the schoolmaster was gone, and then, taking his son to task, said,\n\"How now, sirrah! have not I been at cost enough already, but are you\nitching to put me to more? Methinks I have given you such learning as to\nenable you, in time, to be a constable or churchwarden of the parish,\nand far outdo those in the office that can neither read nor write; let\nthat suffice. As for the rest of your business for the future, it is to\nlearn horse language and whistle well, that you may be dexterous at\ndriving the plough and cart and managing the sheep and oxen; for,\nsirrah,\" continued he, \"have I anybody else to leave my farm to but you,\nand yet you take upon you, forsooth, to be a scholard, and consequently\na gentleman; for they all profess themselves so, though never so\nbeggarly, living lazily, and eating up the fat of other men's labours,\nmarry gaup! Goodman Twoshoes, your great-grandfather, your grandfather,\nand I, have thought it no scorn to dig and delve; and pray what better\nare you than us? Here, sirrah, take this whip and go with me to plough,\nor I'll so lace your fine scholarship that you had better this had never\nbeen mentioned to me.\"\n\nYoung Bacon was much displeased and highly grieved, but durst not reply,\nknowing his father to be a very hasty, choleric old man; however, this\nsort of living so little agreed with his sprightly genius that in a\nshort time he gave him the slip, and going to a monastery, making his\ndesires known to the superior, he kindly entertained him, and made him a\nbrother of the Augustin Friars. There he profited so much that in a few\nyears he was sent to Oxford to study at their charge, where he soon grew\nsuch a proficient that his fame soon spread, not only in the University,\nbut also over all England, and came to the ears of King Edward the\nThird, who then reigned; and he, taking a progress with his queen and\nnobles, was desirous to see him, and have an experiment of his art; so\nthat, being at a nobleman's house within four miles of the city of\nOxford, he sent a gentleman of his bedchamber to desire him to come to\nhim. The knight delayed not the message, and, finding him at his study,\ndid his errand. The friar told him he would be with his majesty, and bid\nhim make haste or he should be there before him. At this he smiled,\nbeing well mounted, saying scholars and travellers might lie by\nauthority. \"Well,\" said Friar Bacon, \"to convince you, I will not only\nbe there before you, ride as fast as you can, but I will there show you\nthe cook-maid you lay with last, though she is now busy dressing the\ndinner at Sir William Belton's, a hundred miles distance from this\nplace.\" \"Well,\" said the gentleman of the bedchamber, \"I doubt not but\none will be as true as the other;\" so, mounting, rode laughing away, and\nthinking to be at the king's quarters in a short space, he spurred his\nhorse valiantly; but suddenly a mist arose, that he knew not which way\nto go, and, missing the way, he turned down a bye-lane and rode over\nhedge and ditch, backwards and forwards, till the charm was dissolved.\n\nWhen the friar came into the king's presence he did him obeisance, and\nwas kindly welcomed by him. Then said the king, \"Worthy Bacon, having\nheard much of your fame, the cause of my sending for you was to be a\nspectator of some fine curiosities in your art.\" The friar excused at\nfirst; but the king pressing it, promised on his royal word no harm\nshould come to him, he bid all keep silence, and, waving his magic wand,\nthere presently to their great amazement, ensued the most melodious\nmusic they had ever heard, which continued very ravishing for nearly\nhalf an hour. Then, waving his wand, another kind of music was heard,\nand presently dancers in antic shapes at a masquerade entered the room,\nand having danced incomparably well, they vanished. Waving his wand the\nthird time, louder music was heard, and whilst that played, a table was\nplaced by an invisible hand, richly spread with all the dainties that\ncould be thought of. Then he desired the king and queen to draw their\nseats near, and partake of the repast he had prepared for their\nhighnesses: which, after they had done, all vanished. He waved the\nfourth time, and thereupon the place was perfumed with all the sweets of\nArabia, or that the whole world could produce. Then waving the fifth\ntime, there came in Russians, Persians, and Polanders, dressed in the\nfinest soft fur, silks, and downs of rare fowls, that are to be found in\nthe universe, which he bid them feel, and then the strangers, having\ndanced after their own country fashion, vanished.\n\nIn this sort Friar Bacon pleased their five senses, to their admiration\nand high satisfaction; so that the king offered him money, but he\nrefused it, saying he could not take it. However, the king pressed on\nhim a jewel of great value, commanding him to wear it as a mark of his\nfavour. Whilst this was doing, the gentleman of the bedchamber came in,\npuffing and blowing, all bemired and dirty, and his face and hands\nscratched with the bushes and briars. The king, at this sight, demanded\nwhy he stayed so long, and how he came in that condition? \"Oh, plague,\"\nsaid he, \"take Friar Bacon and all his devils! they have led me a fine\ndance, to the endangering of my neck. But is the dog here? I'll be\nrevenged on him!\" Then he laid his hand on his sword, but Bacon, waving\nhis wand, charmed it in his scabbard, so he could not draw it out,\nsaying, \"I fear not your anger; 'tis best for you to be quiet, lest a\nworse thing befall you.\" Then he told the king how he gave him the lie,\nwhen he told him he would be there before him.\n\nWhilst he was thus speaking, in came the cook-maid, brought by a spirit,\nat the window, with a spit and a roasted shoulder of mutton on it, being\nthus surprised as she was taking it from the fire; and wishfully staring\nabout her, and espying the gentleman, she cried, \"O my sweet knight, are\nyou here? Pray, sir, remember you promised to provide linen and other\nnecessaries for me. Our secret sins have grown, and I've two months to\nreckon,\" and hereupon she ran towards him to embrace him; but he turning\naside, she was carried out at another window to her master's house\nagain.\n\nThis was the cause of both amazement and laughter, though the gentleman\nwas much ashamed and confounded to be thus exposed, still muttering\nrevenge; but Friar Bacon told him his best way was to put up all, since\nhe had verified all his promises, and bid him have a care how he gave a\nscholar the lie again.\n\nThe king and queen, well pleased with the entertainment, highly\ncommending his art, and promising him their favour and protection, took\ntheir leave of the friar, returning to London, and he to his study at\nBrazen Nose College.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _How Friar Bacon put a Comical Trick upon his man Miles,\n       who, pretending Abstinence on a Fast Day, concealed\n             Victuals in his Pocket to eat in a Corner._\n\n\nFriar Bacon kept a man to wait on him who, though but a simple fellow,\nyet a merry droll and full of waggeries. His name was Miles, and though\nhis master and those of the order often fasted on set days, Miles loved\nhis guts too well to pinch them, and though outwardly he seemed to fast\nfor compliance, he always kept a private reserve to eat in a corner,\nwhich Bacon knew by art, and resolved to put a trick upon him. It so\nhappened on Good Friday, in Lent, a strict fast was held, and Miles\nseemed very devout; for when his master bid him, however, take a bit of\nbread and a sip of wine early in the morning to keep him from fainting,\nhe refused it, saying he was a great sinner, and therefore ought to do\nmore than this for his mortification, and to gain absolution, making a\ngreat many pretences of sanctity, and how well he was inclined to keep\nthe holy fast. \"'Tis well,\" said the friar, \"if I catch you not\ntripping.\" Hereupon Miles went to his cell, pretending to pray, but\nindeed to eat a fine pudding he had concealed: which he had no sooner\nput into his mouth at one end, but it stuck there; he could neither eat\nit nor get it out. The use of his hands failed, and he was taken with a\nshivering all over, so that, thinking he should have died presently, he\ncried piteously out for help; whereupon Friar Bacon, calling the\nscholars together, went in to see what was the matter, and perceiving\nhim in that plight said, smiling, \"Now I see what a penitent servant I\nhave, who was so conscientious he would not touch a bit of bread, but\nwould willingly have devoured two pounds of pudding to have broke his\nfast.\" He piteously entreated him to dissolve the charm and deliver him,\nand he would never do so again. \"Nay,\" said the friar, \"you shall do\npenance for this;\" so, taking hold of the end of the pudding, he led\nhim out to the scholars, saying, \"See, here's a queasy-stomached fellow,\nthat would not touch a bit of bread to-day!\" When they saw him in this\nplight, they all fell heartily a-laughing; but Friar Bacon, not so\ncontented, led him to the college gate, and by enchantment fixing the\nend of the pudding to the bar, he was made so fast to it as if it had\nbeen by a cable rope, and on his back were placed these lines:--\n\n    \"This is Friar Bacon's man, who vow'd to fast,\n    But, dissembling, thus it took at last;\n    The pudding more religion had than he;\n    Though he would eat it, it will not down, you see.\n    Then of hypocrisy pray all beware,\n    Lest like disgrace be each dissembler's share.\"\n\nMiles all the while was jeered and sported with by all the scholars and\ntown's people, but, after four hour's penance, his master dissolved the\ncharm, and released him, and he ever after kept the fasts, not so much\nout of religion as for fear that a worse trick should be put upon him.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _How Friar Bacon saved a Gentleman who had sold\n       himself to the Devil for Money, and put a Trick\n              upon the Old Deceiver of Mankind._\n\n\nWhen Friar Bacon flourished at Oxford, a young gentleman, by his\nprodigality, having run out his estate and involved himself in debt,\ngrew exceeding pensive and melancholy, purposing to make himself away,\nin order to put an end to his miseries and the scorns that were put\ndaily upon him by his former companions, being also utterly cast off by\nhis friends; so, walking by a wood side, full of sorrow, he met, as he\nthought, an old man in good clothing, who saluted him and demanded the\ncause of his melancholy, and why he walked so solitary. At first he\nrefused to tell him, as thinking he could do him no good; but the other\nurging it, promised to assist him if he wanted anything. He said, \"I am\nin want. I want fine clothes, as I used to have; I want money to buy\nfood, pay debts, redeem my mortgaged land, and many things more. Can you\nhelp me to enough to do it?\" \"I can,\" said the old man, \"on one\ncondition.\" \"What's that?\" said the gentleman. \"If it be anything\ntolerable I shall not refuse it, for I cannot be well worse or in\ngreater hardship than I am now.\" \"Why,\" said the other, \"the matter is\nnot so much; you shall only oblige yourself when I have furnished you\nwith money to do all you have named and you have paid every one you owe\na farthing to, to become obedient to me, and be disposed of at my\npleasure.\" Now the young man, taking him for a usurer, and very rich,\nsupposed this obligation was only a fetch to marry his daughter or some\nkinswoman of his, which he could be well contented to do, not doubting\nto have a good portion, and therefore scrupled not to do as he desired.\nUpon this he bid him meet him the next morning, about the same time,\nwhen he would have the writing ready; and on signing he should have the\nmoney. So they parted, and the gentleman delayed not coming, without\nasking advice, and was as punctually met; but when he saw the writing in\nblood he was startled a little, but the old man told him it was only a\nwhim of his own to have it so written to distinguish it from other\nmen's, and put his debtors more in mind to repay the money he lent them.\nUpon this speech, and the gentleman's seeing store of gold and silver\nbrought by three or four of whom he supposed to be servants, he believed\nit. \"But how,\" said he, \"shall I write with the same?\" \"Oh,\" said he,\n\"let me see. I'll prick your right vein,\" which he did, whilst the\ngentleman found an unusual trembling and an inward remorse in his mind.\nHowever, taking the bloody pen in his hand, he desperately subscribed\nand sealed the writing. Then, telling the money into a cloak bag, he\nlaid it on his horse, and they, with much ceremony, took leave of each\nother. The gentleman laughed in his sleeve to think how he would find\nhim out, seeing he had not asked, nor himself told him, where he lived.\n\nSoon after he summoned all his creditors, paid them to a farthing,\nredeemed his land, went gallant, and recovered his esteem in the world;\nbut one evening as he was looking over his writings in his closet, he\nheard somebody rap at the door, when, opening it, he saw the party he\nhad borrowed the money of, with the writing in his hand, who told him he\nwas now come to demand him, and he must now go along with him; for to\nhis knowledge he had paid his debts, and done whatever was agreed to.\nThe gentleman, wondering how he should know this so soon, denied it.\n\"Nay,\" replied he, fiercely, \"deny it not, for I'll not be cheated of my\nbargain,\" and thereupon changed into a horrible shape, struck him almost\ndead with fear, for now he perceived it was the devil. Then he told him\nif he did not meet on the morrow, in the same place he had lent him the\nmoney, he would come the next day and tear him to pieces. \"And,\" says\nhe, \"if I prove not what I say, you shall be quiet\"; and so vanished out\nof the window in a flash of flame, with horrible bellowings. The\ngentleman, seeing himself in this case, began to weep bitterly, and\nwished he had been contented in his sad condition, rather than have\ntaken such a desperate way to enrich himself, and was almost at his\nwits' end.\n\nFriar Bacon, knowing by his art what had passed, came to comfort him,\nand having heard the whole story, bid him not despair, but pray and\nrepent of his sins, and he would contrive to show the devil a trick that\nshould release him from his obligation. This greatly comforted the\ngentleman, and he promised to do whatever the friar should order him.\n\"Then,\" says he, \"meet at the time appointed, and I will be near. Offer\nto put the decision of the controversy to the next that comes by, and\nthat shall be myself, and I will find a way infallibly to give it on\nyour side.\" Accordingly he met, and the devil consented to put it to\narbitration. Then Friar Bacon appearing, \"Lo,\" said the gentleman,\n\"here's a proper judge. This learned friar shall determine it, and if it\ngoes against me, you have free liberty to do with me as you please.\"\n\"Content,\" said the devil. Then each of them told their story, and the\nwriting was produced, with all the acquittances he had taken; for the\ndevil, contrary to his knowledge, had stolen them and the other writings\nbelonging to his estate out of his closet. The friar, weighing well the\nmatter, asked the gentleman whether he had paid the devil any of the\nmoney he borrowed of him. \"No,\" replied he, \"not one farthing.\" \"Why\nthen,\" said he, \"Mr. Devil, his debts are not discharged; you are his\nprincipal creditor, and, according to this writing, can lay no claim to\nhim till every one of his debts are discharged.\" \"How! how!\" replied the\ndevil, \"am I outwitted then? O friar, thou art a crafty knave!\" and\nthereupon vanished in a flame, raising a mighty tempest of thunder,\nlightning, and rain; so that they were wet through before they could get\nshelter. Then Bacon charged him he should never pay the devil a farthing\nof his debt, whatever shape he came in, or artifice he used to wheedle\nhim out of it, and then he could have no power over him. The gentleman\non this, living a temperate frugal life, grew very rich, and leaving no\nchildren at his death, bequeathed his estate to Brazen Nose College,\nbecause Friar Bacon, a member of it, had delivered him from so great a\ndanger of body and soul.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _How Friar Bacon framed a Brazen Head which, by\n        Enchantment, was to Speak; by that means\n    all England had been walled with Brass, if the Folly\n     of his man Miles, who was set to watch the Head,\n        had not disappointed it, not timely calling\n          his Master to answer it, for which he\n               was struck Dumb many Days._\n\n\nFriar Bacon, being now a profound proficient in the art of magic and\nmany other sciences, contrived, with one Friar Bungey, who was his\npupil, to do something memorable for the good of his country, and many\nthings they cast in their minds. At last they remembered that England\nhad often been harassed and invaded by the Romans, Saxons, Danes,\nNormans, and other nations at sundry times, to the great effusion of\nblood, and often alteration of the constitution of governments; and if\nanything might be contrived to prevent the like for the future, they\nshould thereby raise a lasting monument to their names.\n\nBacon, upon this, concluded to frame a head of brass, and if, by their\nart, they could cause it to speak, and answer their demands, they\nrequired that all the sea-girt shores of England and Wales should be\nwalled with brass, and brazen towers be raised on the frontiers of\nScotland, to hinder the incursions and rovings of the hardy Scots.\n\nThey laboured to do this by art, but could not; so they conjured up a\nspirit, to inquire of the infernal council whether it might be done or\nnot. The spirit, however, was unwilling to answer, till Friar Bacon\nthreatened with his charms to bind him in chains in the Red Sea or to a\nburning rock, and make him the sport of wrecking whirlwinds.\n\nTerrified by this means, he said of himself he could give no answer, but\nmust inquire of his lord, Lucifer. They granted him two days for an\nanswer. Accordingly he returned this:--\"If they for two months would\ncarefully watch the head, it should in that time speak, but the certain\ntime should not be known to them, and then, if they did hear it, they\nshould be answered.\"\n\nAt this they much rejoiced, and watched by turns very carefully for six\nweeks, and no voice was uttered. At length, tired out, and broken for\nwant of their natural rest, they concluded some other might watch as\nwell as they, till they refreshed themselves in repose, and call them\nwhen the head began to speak, which would be time enough; and because\nthis was a secret they did not care for having it known till they saw\nwhat they should make of it. Bacon thereupon proposed his man Miles, and\nBungey approved of it; so they called Miles, told him the nature of the\nbrazen head and what was intended, by giving him a strict charge on his\nlife, to awake them as soon as ever he heard it speak.\n\n\"For that, master,\" said he, \"let me alone. I warrant you I'll do your\nbusiness effectually, never fear it.\" So he got him a long sword by his\nside, and a tabor and pipe to play, and keep him awake if any drowsiness\nor the like should overtake him.\n\nThe charge being given, and he thus accoutred, the two friars went to\nrest in the next apartment. Miles then began to pipe and sing songs of\nhis sweethearts and frolics:--\n\n    \"Bessy, that is so frolic and gay,\n    Like a cat she loves with her tail to play;\n    Though sometimes she'll pant and frown,\n    All's well when her anger goes down.\n\n    \"She'll never say nay, but sport and play;\n    O, Bessy to me is the queen of the May;\n    For Margery she is peevish and proud;\n    Come, fiddlers, then, and scrape the crowd.\"\n\nWhilst his merriment passed, after a hoarse noise, like thunder almost\nspent, the head spoke distinctly, \"TIME IS.\" \"Oh ho!\" says Miles, \"is\nthis all the news you can tell me? Well, copper nose, has my master\ntaken all this pains about you, and you can speak no wiser? Dost thou\nthink I am such a fool to break his sweet slum for this? No, speak\nwiser, or he shall sleep on. Time is, quotha! Why, I know time is, and\nthat thou shalt hear, goodman kettle jaws.\n\n    \"Time is for some to gain,\n      Time is for some to lose;\n    Time is for some to hand,\n      But then they cannot choose.\n\n    Time is to go a score,\n      Time is when one should pay:\n    Time is to reckon, too,\n      But few care for that day.\n\n    Time is to graft the born\n      Upon another's head;\n    Time is to make maids' hearts swell,\n      Oh, then 'tis time they're wed.\n\n\"Hear'st thou this, goodman copper nose? We scholars know when time is,\nwithout thy babbling. We know when time is to drink good sack, eat well,\nkiss our hostesses, and run on the score. But when time is to pay them\nis indeed but seldom.\"\n\nWhile thus he merrily discoursed, about half an hour after the same\nnoise began as before, and the head said, \"TIME WAS.\" \"Well,\" said\nMiles, \"this blockish head is the foolishest thing my wise master ever\ntroubled himself about. How would he have laughed, had he been here, to\nhear it prat so simply! Therefore, thou brazen-faced ass, speak wiser,\nor I shall never trouble my head to awake him. Time was, quotha! thou\nass thou! I know that, and so thou shalt hear, for I find my master has\nwatched and tutored thee to a fine purpose.\n\n    \"Time was when thou, a kettle,\n      Was wont to hold good matter;\n    But Friar Bacon did thee spoil\n      When he thy sides did batter.\n\n    Time was when conscience dwelt\n      With men of each vocation;\n    Time was when lawyers did not thrive\n      So well by men's vexations.\n\n    Time was when charity\n      Was not denied a being;\n    Time was when office kept no knaves;\n      That time was worth the seeing.\n\n\"Ay, ay, and time was for many other things. But what of that, goodman\nbrazen face? I see my master has placed me here on a very foolish\naccount. I think I'd as good go to sleep, too, as to stay watching here\nto no purpose.\" Whilst he thus scoffed and taunted, the head spoke a\nthird time, and said, \"TIME IS PAST!\" and so, with a horrid noise, fell\ndown and broke to pieces. Whereupon ensued lamentable shrieks and cries,\nflashes of fire, and a rattling as of thunder, which awaking the two\nfriars, they came running in, in great disorder found Miles rolling on\nthe floor, in a stinking pickle, almost dead with fear, and the head\nlying shattered about the room in a thousand pieces. Then, having\nbrought him to his senses again, they demanded how this came. \"Nay, the\ndevil knows better than I,\" said Miles, \"I believe he was in this plaguy\nhead: for when it fell, it gave a bounce like a cannon.\" \"Wretch that\nthou art!\" said Bacon, \"trifle not with my impatience. Didst thou hear\nit speak, varlet! answer me that.\"\n\n\"Why, truly,\" said Miles, \"it did speak, but very simply, considering\nyou have been so long a-tutoring it. I protest I could have taught a\njackdaw to have spoke better in two days. It said, 'TIME IS.'\" \"Oh,\nvillain!\" says Bacon, \"had'st thou called me then, all England had been\nwalled with brass, to my immortal fame.\" \"Then,\" continued Miles, \"about\nhalf an hour after, it said, 'TIME WAS.'\" \"O, wretch! how my anger burns\nagainst thee. Had you but called me then, it might have done what I\ndesired.\" \"Then,\" said he, \"it said, 'TIME'S PAST'; and so fell down\nwith the horrid noise that waked you and made me, I am sure, befoul my\nbreeches; and since here's so much to do about time, I think it's time\nfor me to retire and clean myself.\" \"Well, villain,\" says Bacon, \"thou\nhas lost all our cost and pains by thy foolish negligence.\" \"Why,\" said\nMiles, \"I thought it would not have stopped when it once began, but\nwould have gone on and told me some pleasant story, or have commanded me\nto have called you, and I should have done it; but I see the devil is a\ncunning sophister, and all hell would not allow him tinkers and brass\nenough to do the work, and therefore has put this trick upon us to get\noft from his promise.\" \"How, slave,\" said the friar, \"art thou at\nbuffoonery, now thou hast done me this great injury? Sirrah! because you\nthink the head spake not enough to induce you to call us, you shall\nspeak less in two months' space,\" and with that, by enchantment, he\nstruck him dumb to the end of that time, and would have done worse had\nnot Bungey had compassion on the fellow's simplicity and persuaded him\nfrom it.\n\nAnd thus ends the history of that famous Friar Bacon, who had done a\ndeed which would have made his fame ring through all ages yet to come,\nhad it not been for the simplicity of his man Miles.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                    THE HISTORY\n\n                         OF\n\n                  THE BLIND BEGGAR\n\n                  OF BETHNAL GREEN,\n\n                     CONTAINING\n\n     His Birth and Parentage; how he went to the Wars and\n         Lost his Sight, and turned Beggar at Bethnal Green;\n         how he got Riches, and educated his Daughter; of her\n         being Courted by a rich, young Knight; how the Blind\n         Beggar dropt Gold with the Knight's Uncle; of the\n         Knight and the Beggar's Daughter being Married;\n         and, lastly, how the famous Pedigree of the Beggar was\n         discovered, with other Things worthy of Note.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _How Monford went to the Wars of France, where he lost his\n        Sight; how he was accompanied with his Wife, who\n       preserved his Life, and of his Return to England, etc._\n\n\nIn former days, when the rose of England eclipsed the lilies of France,\nand true English valour made that nation stoop, among other brave\ngallants that went over to try their fortune, Monford was one, a person\nwell descended, who, being naturally inclined to war and greedy of fame,\nneither the entreaty of friends nor the marriage he had contracted with\na kind, beautiful woman, could alter his purpose; but taking his wife\nMargaret with him, he, with many hundreds more, crossed the seas, and\nwith the help of a prosperous wind, arriving at Calais, marched to the\nroyal standard, accompanied with his loving wife, who, in manlike\nattire, became his inseparable companion, and was the cause of saving\nhis life; for many skirmishes happened between the English and French,\nwherein young Monford behaved himself with wondrous courage; and in one,\nfollowing too hot the pursuit, was, with divers others, entrapped into\nambush, late in the evening; and though he manfully disputed it, making\ngreat slaughter of the enemy, yet in spite of resistance he was beaten\nfrom his horse by a forcible stroke, and left in the field for dead\namong the dying men; where he had undoubtedly perished through loss of\nblood, and the anguish of his wounds, had not his tender-hearted love,\nupon hearing what had happened and his not returning, hasted to the\nfield, where, among the slain, she by moonlight discovered him, stripped\nand struggling for life, and by the help of a servant brought him to a\nshepherd's cottage, where she carefully dressed his wounds and\nadministered such cordials as brought him to himself, to her unspeakable\njoy; though this joy was something abated when she found he had lost his\nsight, but true love working in her heart, the alteration or\ndisfigurement of his countenance did not alter her affection; but\ncomforting him in the best manner she could, though his natural courage\nwould not admit of any dejection, she procured him a homely suit of\napparel, and brought him (unfit for service) back to England, of whose\nentertainment and settlement at Bethnal Green, in the county of\nMiddlesex, and course of life, you shall hear in the following chapter.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _How Monford arrived in England and of the Cold\n       Entertainment he found among his relations.\n    How he settled in Bethnal Green, where he continued to beg\n                         for his Living._\n\n\nMonford, having escaped a dreadful storm at sea, landed with his wife on\nthe coast of Essex, where he had some considerable relations, to whom,\nin his necessity, they applied themselves for succour; but they, who,\nafter the death of his parents, had wasted much of his patrimony, or\nfearing he might be chargeable to them, would not know him, and those\nthat were convinced he was the same Monford that went over to France\ngave him but cold entertainment; insomuch that, scorning to rely upon\ntheir charity, he told his wife that he intended, early in the morning,\nto haste towards London, and that he would rather trust to Providence\nthan the ingratitude of those who, in his prosperous days, had caressed\nhim. His wife declared she would labour at her spinning-wheel or do what\nshe was capable for a living. In two days travelling they spent what\nlittle money they had saved, so necessity obliged them to ask charity of\nthe people as he passed through the country towns and villages; who,\nunderstanding that he came by his misfortune in fighting for the honour\nof his country, gave liberally to him; and considering that the loss of\nhis sight had rendered him incapable of business, he resolved to embrace\nwhat providence had cast in his way, which was to live upon charity.\nWhereupon, arriving at Bethnal Green, near London, he hired a small\ncottage for his wife and himself, and daily appearing publicly to crave\nalms, was from thence called \"The Beggar of Bethnal Green,\" and in a\nshort time found it a thriving trade, insomuch that his bed of straw was\nchanged into down, and his earthen platters and other utensils into a\nbetter sort of decent furniture.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _How Monford happened to meet with Snap, an old,\n        experienced Beggar, who gave him an Insight\n       into the Mystery of the Canting Tribe; and how he\n                 invited him to the Rendezvous._\n\n\nMonford resolving in this kind of way to spend the remainder of his\ndays, being very well contented with his trade, having played it with\ngreat success in the place where he lived, one day he was encountered by\nan old proficient in the art of begging, who, seeing him very diligent,\ndid greatly covet his acquaintance, and to know what gang he did belong\nto. He therefore accosts him in their canting method, which is a sort of\nspeech or rather a gibberish peculiar to themselves. Monford, being\nignorant, could make him no direct answer, which the other, whose name\nwas Snap, perceiving, and thereby knowing him to be a young beginner,\ninvited him to their feasts or rendezvous in Whitechapel, whither he\nhaving promised to come, and they between them tripped off four black\npots of rum, they parted that time.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _How Monford went to the Beggars' Feast, and of his\n      Entertainment, and also the Presents they made._\n\n\nMonford, upon his coming home, declared to his wife what a merry\ncompanion he met with, and what discourse he had, and likewise what he\nhad promised, entreating her to get things in readiness, that she might\nconduct him thither, where appeared, instead of a ragged regiment of\nlame, blind, and dumb, there was a rout of jovial dancers, as gay as the\nspring, and as merry as the maids; which made them imagine they were\nmistaken in the place or was imposed upon, and therefore turned to go\naway, had not Snap started from his chair, where he sat as supervisor,\nin all his gallantry, and taking him by the hand, let him know who it\nwas introduced him into the assembly, where he was received as brother\nof their society, every member saluting him with a compliment, and, that\nhe might not want a guide for the future, Snap, in the name of the\nsociety, presented him with a dog and a bell trained to the business. So\nhis wife and he, being splendidly entertained, were dismissed, upon his\npromise that he would not be absent at their yearly meeting.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _What Success he had in the Begging Trade. How his\n        Wife was brought to Bed of a Daughter, and\n           Christened by the Name of Elizabeth._\n\n\nThe blind beggar soon became master of his trade, and, by the help of\nhis dog, trudged often to London, and having the perfect tone, had the\nluck to return with his pockets well lined with chink. His way of\nbegging became so pleasing to him that he would often sing as follows--\n\n    A beggar lives a merry life,\n      And has both wealth and ease;\n    His days are free from care and strife,\n      He does whate'er he please.\n\n    While others labour, sweat, and toil,\n      His tongue does get him pelf;\n    He travels with his dog and bell,\n      And brings home store of wealth.\n\nHe being by this time in a warm condition, to add further to his joy,\nhis loving wife fell in labour, and was delivered of a daughter, whose\nbirth made him think he was the happiest man alive, and hundred times he\nkissed her and dandled her in his arms, whom he christened by the name\nof Elizabeth, and as she increased in years, so her beauty and modesty\ncaused her to be called \"Pretty Betty.\" Some began to dote upon her\nadmirable perfections, and the better to qualify her gave her such\nlearning as was suitable to her degree, which she improved; so that her\nbeauty and wit, her skill in singing, dancing, and playing on\ninstruments of music, procured her the envy of the young maidens\nthereabouts, who supposed themselves much superior in birth and fortune,\nwould often reflect upon her birth, and call her a beggar's brat. She\nbore all their ill language without returning it, and endeavoured to win\nthem to her by gentle persuasions; but not prevailing, and her patience\nspent, she said, \"I never injured any of you, but have strove to do you\nall the good offices which I was capable of doing; why, then, do you\nenvy and abuse me? What if my parents are in a mean station, yet they\npay for my education of dancing and singing which they bestow upon me,\nand though, perhaps, I am not so well descended as some of you, though\nyou may be mistaken, yet Heaven might have made your case the same had\nit thought fit.\" Yet, finding that they did not cease to rail at her,\nand being by this time about fifteen years of age, she prevailed with\nher parents to grant her leave to seek her fortune.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VI.\n\n    _How handsome Betty took Leave of her Parents, and\n             the Entertainment she met with._\n\n\nNow the time of Betty's departure being come, her parents furnished her\nwith clothes and other necessaries, whereupon she fell upon her knees\nand craved their blessing, which being given, with many prayers for her\nprosperity, they took a sad farewell.\n\nPretty Betty, having now left her father's house, or rather smoke-loft,\nwent pensive along the road towards Stradford, relying only on\nProvidence to direct her. Having walked all night, at sunrise she came\nto Rumford, in Essex and being ready to faint, betook herself to an inn,\nand called for something to refresh her. The mistress of the house,\ntaking notice of her garb, beautiful face, and modest behaviour, though\ndejected, began to ask her from whence she came, and whither she was\nbound. Betty replied, \"I am going to seek my fortune. I am very well\neducated by my indulgent parents, who live near London; but I am now\nobliged, contrary to my former expectation, to get my livelihood in some\nhonest way of working.\" The good woman, being more and more taken with\nher carriage, demanded if she would be content to stay with her till\nshe could better provide to her advantage, and that she would use her\nas a daughter rather than a servant. Betty thankfully accepted the\noffer, and in the performance of whatever she undertook discharged\nherself so well that she gained the love and applause of all that\nobserved her, insomuch that her name for beauty and ingenuity began to\nspread, and abundance of young men resorted to the house, which created\na great trade, on purpose to see her, who generally took a liking to\nher; for nature had made her so lovely and charming that she could not\nbut be admired, insomuch that many of them, as they found opportunity,\nbegan to buzz love stories in her ears, to which she gave but little\nheed, till four suitors of greater worth beat off these little\nassailants, and laid close siege, as in the following chapter will\nappear.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VII.\n\n    _How Pretty Betty, living at an Inn at Rumford, was\n               Courted by Persons of Fortune._\n\n\nIt being whispered about that pretty Betty must needs be some great\nperson's daughter, it highly increased her reputation. At last the\ninn-keeper's son, a very rich London merchant, courted her. But she\nmodestly declined his offers, as also the offers of all other suitors,\nby representing to them the inequality of her fortune to theirs; but\nthis served only to increase their passions. And being every day\nimportuned, she at last resolved to discover who her parents were,\njudging that way to be the most sure means to try the sincerity of their\nlove and affection which they pretended to have for her.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VIII.\n\n    _How Pretty Betty being Woo'd by her Master's Son, a\n         Merchant, a Gentleman, and a Knight; how,\n   upon her declaring her Parentage, was slighted by all but\n             the Knight; and of their Agreement._\n\n\nOur beautiful virgin, being hardly pressed for love and enjoyment,\nfound herself obliged to take a course that might rid her of her lovers,\nor allot one of them to her share; wherefore she told them she was not\nreally at her own disposal, her parents being alive; therefore, if they\nloved her as they said, and seeing but one could enjoy her, she was\ncontented her father should choose one for her, of whose choice she\nwould approve.\n\nThis set them almost at daggers drawing, who should get thither first,\nbut whither to go they knew not, therefore desired to be informed, every\none's heart being filled with joy, not doubting to carry the prize; when\nthus she began:--\"My parents, worthy sirs, live on Bethnal Green. My\nfather is left with a dog and a bell, living upon the charity of good\npeople, and my mother a poor woman that spins for bread. Thus I have\ndeclared to you my parents, and though I might have the richest person\nin the world for a husband, yet I would not marry him without their\nconsent, which I think myself bound in duty to obtain.\"\n\nMost of her suitors seemed thunderstruck at this plain declaration,\nevery one, except the knight, despising her now as much as they seemed\nto love her before, each of them swearing they would not undervalue\nthemselves to marry a beggar's child. But the knight was more inflamed\nthan ever, and having a large estate, did not regard interest or a\nportion so much as he did the pleasing of his fancy with a beautiful,\nmodest, young, and virtuous maid, all of which centred in Pretty Betty.\nTherefore, after he had paused a while took the blushing virgin by the\nhand, and said, \"You see, fair creature, how they that pretended to love\nyou did it only in expectation of your being descended from wealthy\nparents, and that they might get a large portion. Though they have left\nyou, if you will accept of me for a husband, who truly love you on\naccount of your virtue and beauty, I will make you my wife and settle on\nyou a jointure.\" To this she replied, \"Alas, sir, I dare not hope for\nso much happiness, or, if I durst, yet would not dispose of myself\nwithout my parents' consent; though I must confess,\" says she, blushing,\n\"I ever did esteem you above all the gentlemen who did make love and\noffer themselves to me.\" This modesty kindled his passion more, and\ntherefore, after many vows of constancy, it was agreed that he should\nprovide horses and servants, and conduct her the next morning to Bethnal\nGreen, to ask and obtain her father's consent; yet this affair was not\nso secretly managed but spies being abroad soon discovered it, who not\nonly discovered to the knight's uncle, who was guardian and trustee for\nhim, and had the sole care of his estate, but to most of the young men\nin Rumford who were her admirers, as the following chapter will inform\nyou.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IX.\n\n    _How Pretty Betty rid behind the Knight to her Father's\n         House, and what happened on the Road; also\n       what happened between the Knight's Uncle and Betty's\n                             Father._\n\n\nPretty Betty, having met the knight according to appointment, did not\nscruple to ride behind him; but they had scarce got out of town when his\nuncle came to the inn, but not finding either of them there, was\nconfirmed that what had been told him was true, and therefore he\nfollowed them to prevent the match, being accompanied with several of\nBetty's lovers, who suspected the knight had taken her away by force.\nTheir hurry and confusion was great, and the townsmen going a nearer\nway, overtook and fell foul upon the knight and his servants, without\ngiving him leave to speak for himself or suffering his mistress to\nexcuse him, so that a sharp conflict ensued, till at length divers\npersons that were travelling the road came and parted them, whereby they\ncame to a right understanding, which made those that had misused him beg\nhis pardon, which he granted, and, dismissing them, kept on his way\ntill, coming to the old man's door, they alighted; which made him, upon\nhearing the noise of horses trampling, being a thing very unusual, start\nfrom the fire, and put his head out of the window, and not understanding\nthe meaning of it, ere the knight's uncle came puffing and blowing at a\nstrange rate crying, \"Why, how now nephew? what's this I hear of you?\nAre you mad to disgrace your family by marrying a beggar's brat? For\nshame, for shame! consider better than to make yourself a laughing stock\nto the world by such an unseemly match.\" Then, turning about to Pretty\nBetty, said, \"Pray how came this about, you baggage you? But, however, I\nsay, nephew, leave her and come along with me and I will provide a rich\nwife for you suitable to your condition.\"\n\nTo this the young knight would have replied, but the blind beggar\nMonford, not being able to bear his taunts and reproaches any longer,\nsaid, \"I cannot see you at all, but sir, whatever you are I hear you too\nmuch, and more than becomes a civil gentleman; nor do I count my girl so\nmean to suffer her to be railed on at my door; therefore, pray sir, hold\nyour prating, or I shall fell you with my staff. I have seen the day\nwhen a taller fellow than you durst not put me in a passion. If your\nkinsman does not think my child a fit match for him, let him let her\nalone and welcome. I am satisfied she hath her share of beauty and good\nbreeding, and those are enough to recommend her. But know, sir, that I,\nher father, am willing and ready to lay down as many guineas for my\nchild as you are to drop for your nephew, and therefore care not how\nsoon you begin.\" The knight's uncle was something surprised at this\nspeech of the blind beggar's; but, however, he accepted of the\nchallenge, and sent to London for a bag of gold. As soon as it was\nbrought, Monford pulled out two large cat skins stuffed with gold from\nunder a bundle of rags, whereby it appeared his trade had been\nadvantageous. Both parties being ready, they rained a golden shower so\nplentifully that the gentleman's stock failed him, and the beggar, not\nhearing it chink, fell into laughter and said, \"How, sir, is your money\ndone so soon? I thought at first you had more words than money. Pray,\nfor your credit's sake, try your friends, for I have three or four cat\nskins with golden puddings in their bellies yet.\" \"Indeed,\" said the\ngentleman, \"I am content to own you have outdone me, and think you have\nthe philosopher's stone, or keep a familiar to bring it to you from the\ngolden mountain. But seeing the world goes so well with you, I shall no\nfurther go about to persuade my nephew from being your son-in-law, but\nbeg pardon for what I have done.\" \"Oh, do you so,\" said the beggar,\n\"then may things be better, perhaps, than you expect.\" Then, turning to\nthe knight, \"Gather up,\" said he, \"the loose coin I have scattered, and\nhere's a cat skin filled which will make up the sum of three thousand\npounds, beside a hundred more to buy her a wedding gown. Take this as\nher present portion, and, as you behave yourself, expect more hereafter.\nI give her to you, and with her a blessing. Go to church and be married,\nin God's name, and I wish you both success and prosperity.\" When he had\nthus spoken, the knight and bride fell upon their knees, and gave him a\nthousand thanks and departed, whilst those that had been suitors,\nhearing what had happened, were ready to hang themselves for madness.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER X.\n\n    _How Pretty Betty was Married to the Knight, and her\n                   true Pedigree discovered._\n\n\nThings being come to pass, great preparations were made for the wedding.\nThe bride and bridegroom were dressed in rich apparel, and as soon as\nthe ceremony was ended they went to the place appointed for keeping\ntheir wedding dinner. Hither resorted abundance of persons of\ndistinction, who had been invited, yet none of them surpassed the bride\nin modesty and beauty. At length her father and mother came in, dressed\nin silks and embroidered velvets. The company was pleased with the\nentertainment, which was very costly, and when the music, dancing, and\nmasquerading was ended, the old man Monford sung a song, wherein he\ndiscovered his pedigree and his valour in the wars of France, which also\nfilled the company full of admiration.\n\n\n    OLD MONFORD'S SONG.\n\n    You gallants all, that here are come\n      To make this day more happy prove;\n    Know, though I'm blind, I am not dumb,\n      But wish you happiness and love.\n\n    The bride, although her birth seems mean,\n      Is born of a noble race;\n    Her predecessors great have been,\n      If you her pedigree do trace.\n\n    Know she is Monford's daughter fair,\n      Who lost his sight in the wars of France,\n    Who ever since, in begging here,\n      Did take this happy, thriving chance.\n\n    Consider, bridegroom, then her birth,\n      Which some think mean and low,\n    As much of honour can bring forth\n      As you have power to show.\n\nThe name of Monford, which had been held so famous for virtue and valour\nin those days, did not a little cause wonder in the hearers, who,\ndesiring him to explain himself, and give the company a particular\naccount of all his adventures from his youth till the present time, and\nimmediately a profound silence ensued, the noble company sitting in\nfull expectation of being diverted with the surprising achievements and\nglorious exploits of old Monford, especially his son-in-law, who was\nmore desirous than all the rest to hear this seemingly so much pleasing\nrelation, and his beautiful bride was no less anxious to hear more of\nher pedigree; for till now she had been kept in the dark with regard to\nher high birth. Monford, hearing all were silent, begun to relate first,\nhis marriage; second, his going over to France, accompanied by his\nbeloved spouse, his adventures there; and, lastly, how he lost his sight\nin an engagement, with his return to England, and the success he had by\nbegging; all which caused a general joy, since those who had formerly\nknown him by that name supposed him to be dead; and the bridegroom was\npronounced now more happy than ever, whose lovely bride in both birth\nand fortune equalled his in all degrees, and her father, for the credit\nof his daughter, promised to leave off his begging trade and live upon\nwhat he had got. This day was concluded to the joy and satisfaction of\nall parties.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                         THE\n\n                   PLEASANT HISTORY\n\n                         OF\n\n                     POOR ROBIN\n\n                         THE\n\n                 MERRY SADDLER OF WALDEN\n\n                       SHOWING\n\n   The Merry Pranks he played during his Apprenticeship,\n             and how he Tricked a rich Miser, etc.\n         Very diverting for a Winter Evening Fireside.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER I.\n\n    _The birth of Poor Robin, how he was bound Apprentice\n   to a Saddler, and what a trick he served his Master._\n\n\nPoor Robin was born in Saffron-Walden, in the county of Essex, of\nhonest, plain parents, who brought him up not as our nice dames do\nnow-a-days, by directing him how much he should eat, but, as the fashion\nwas then, full fed with gross meat, so that in a few years he grew a\nsturdy lad; and considering his growth and manners, a man might well say\nbetter fed than taught. His father being willing he should be able to\nlive in the world another day, bound him an apprentice to a Saddler, one\nwho fitted poor Robin's humour to a hair; for the master loving drink,\nhe thought it should go hard if the man likewise did not also wet his\nlips with it. It fortuned one time his master had brewed a barrel of\nbeer stronger than ordinary, to the drinking of which poor Robin one\nnight invites five or six of his comrades, who, before the next morning,\ndrank it all up. Poor Robin to excuse himself, draws the spiggot out,\nand throws a pailful of small beer and two or three pails full of water\nunder the tap, and by a wile gets a great sow into the cellar; so the\nnext morning when his master arose all was quiet, and the sow was blamed\nfor what the boar pig had done.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER II.\n\n    _How Poor Robin served his Master for sitting up late at Nights._\n\n\nPoor Robin's master had gotten a custom that the man did not at all\nlike, which was, that after he had tippled all day, sometimes till ten\nor eleven o'clock at night, he would then come home and fall asleep in a\nchair, during which time his man must not go to bed, but wait until his\nmaster awakened. Poor Robin to break him of this evil custom, one night\nwhen his master came home soundly fuddled, and falling asleep in his\nchair as usual; so he made a great fire, and then drew his master's legs\nso near thereto, that his toes touched some of the coals; which being\ndone, he sits him down in the other corner to observe the sequel. He had\nnot sat long till his master's shoes began to fry, whereupon he suddenly\nawakes, and jumps about as if he had been mad. The man all the while\ncounterfeits himself asleep, and seemed not to awake for a good space.\nAt last, seeming much to pity his master's misfortune, they went to bed.\nBut never after that would his master sit up to sleep in his chair.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER III.\n\n    _How Poor Robin served a rich Miser._\n\n\nIn the same town lived a rich miser who had wealth enough to have been\ntreasurer of the town, and wisdom answerable to a beadle of a parish.\nThis man, fuller of faith than good works, would neither feast the poor\nnor relieve their wants, nor hold brotherly unity with any. Poor Robin\nbeing resolved to put a trick upon him, it being then Christmas, made it\nfit for his purpose; and so counterfeiting himself to be the gentleman's\nman, about ten or eleven o'clock at night, just when people were in bed,\nhe calls at sundry men's doors, inviting them the next day to his\nmaster's (naming the gentleman's name) to dinner. Whereupon the next day\nappeared the number of two and twenty in their roast-meat apparel; but,\ncontrary to their expectations, finding small preparations towards a\ndinner, they began to wonder wherefore he had invited them; the\ngentleman as much wondered wherefore they came. At last the truth was\ncleared on both sides, some laughed, and some frowned; and so they all\ndeparted home.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IV.\n\n    _How Robin Married and set up for Himself._\n\n\nPoor Robin having served out his apprenticeship would needs set up for\nhimself, and thereupon hires a house and shop; yet thinking it\ninconvenient for him to live alone, and that two heads were better than\none, he resolved to do as many others did, marry in haste though he\nshould repent at leisure. But his fortune was better than his deserts,\nfor though she was but a homely woman, with whom he joined in matrimony,\nyet she was provident to live in the world, and for his own part he\nstood not much on beauty, but had rather have a fat purse than a fair\nwife, seeing there was great profit in the one, and less danger of being\nmade a cuckold by the other. Never did a couple more lovingly agree\ntogether than did this pair at first, insomuch that duck and lamb were\nthe ordinary terms he bestowed upon her; whereupon a wit of the town\nhearing this loving language betwixt them, made this epigram to be read\nby any that can understand it.\n\n    Poor Robin thinks his wife excels most dames,\n    And calls her duck and lamb, with such kind names,\n    A duck's a bird, a lamb's a beast we know,\n    Poor Robin's wife's a foul beast then I trow.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER V.\n\n    _How Poor Robin served one of his Companions a\n                    Slovenous Trick._\n\n\nPoor Robin having set up for himself (as you have heard), he would\noftentimes travel abroad in the country to get acquaintance amongst the\ngentry. It happened one time, being belated homeward, and his brain\nintoxicated with the juice of Bacchus, that he took up his quarters in a\ncountry ale-house, where notwithstanding he had gotten a lusty jug\nbefore, yet fell he to drinking of beer and cider, as if his belly was\nbottomless; at last growing sleepy he went to bed, where it was his\nchance to be lodged in the same chamber where one of his acquaintances\nwas already in bed, who as he lay down sooner than poor Robin, so the\nnext morning was he no sooner got up providing a pot and toast ready\nagainst poor Robin arose, but a foul mischance befel poor Robin in the\nmeantime, for the wine, beer, and cider not agreeing in his belly, he\nvery mannerly, sir-reverence vomited on the bed. Whereupon not knowing\nwhat to do, and being loth to be discredited, a crotchet came into his\ncrown, which he presently put in execution. He takes the dirty sheets\nfrom off his own bed, and lays them on his friend's, and then takes his\nand lays them on his own bed, so spreading the coverlet as if nothing\nwas amiss, he makes himself ready and downstairs he goes. No sooner was\nhe below but his friend arrests him at Mr. Fox's suit, and by all means\nwould make him pay his groat for being drunk. Poor Robin excused himself\nas well as he could, and would be judged by the landlord whether he was\nfuddled or no; whilst they were wrangling about paying the groat, the\nmaid went up into the chamber to make the beds; but finding one of them\nin a pitiful pickle, she came chafing down, calling the man beastly\nfellow and nasty knave, with other Billingsgate language, such as came\nfirst to her tongue's end. The man thought her mad, thus to scold for\nnothing, till at last she told him plainly he had vomited the bed.\n\"Nay,\" quoth poor Robin, \"I will be judged by my landlord which of us\nwas most fuddled last night.\" \"Truly,\" said the host, \"I can judge no\notherwise but that he was, or he would not have played such a nasty\ntrick.\" Whereupon it was judged by all the company that the man should\npay his groat, and poor Robin got free.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VI.\n\n    _Of a sad Disaster that befel Poor Robin._\n\n\nIt happened on a time, during the late unhappy wars, that all the Essex\nTrainband were assembled at Walden, to resist the king's forces, who, in\na bravado, had made their excursions as far as Huntingdon. Amongst other\nmilitary weapons of destruction, they brought a drake, which they\nplanted under poor Robin's chamber-window, to be shot off at nine\no'clock at night, for a warning for all people to repair home. Poor\nRobin and his wife were at that time newly gone to bed; now it is to be\nunderstood, the chamber where they lay went out half over the room\nbelow, a rail of about four feet high being set up by the side to keep\nthem from falling, close by the rail was poor Robin's bed. But whilst\nthey were going to sleep, the drake was shot off, which poor Sarah, his\nwife, hearing, with the fright gave a sudden start, and threw poor Robin\nquite over the rail into the room below. Poor Robin was much bruised in\nbody and half dead. At length he got up, but his courage was so cooled\nwith the greatness of his fall that he had more need of a doctor than a\nsleep.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VII.\n\n    _How Poor Sarah was cheated of her Mutton Pie._\n\n\nPoor Sarah on a time made a very great pie, into which she had put a\nwhole loin of mutton besides other things, so that it was valued worth\nfive or six shillings at least. This pie she sent to the common oven to\nbake, which, being perceived by three or four merry blades, they\nresolved, if they could possibly, to cheat her of the pie, which at last\nthey brought to pass on this manner. At such time as the baker used to\ndraw, two of them went and held poor Sarah in a tale, whilst the other\nsent one of her neighbour's boys to the baker's with a pail, a napkin,\nand money to pay for the baking. The baker mistrusting no knavery,\ndelivered the boy the pie, which was presently carried to the next\nale-house, whether inviting some more of their companions unto them, with\nmuch mirth and laughter; and because the jest should be publicly known\nthey set the crier to work, who published the same in every corner of\nthe town.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER VIII.\n\n    _How Poor Robin ate Dog-stones instead of Lamb-stones._\n\n\nAs Poor Robin was more addicted to flesh than fish, so of all sorts of\nflesh he loved a dish of lamb-stones best. A merry disposed companion\nknowing his appetite, resolved to put a trick upon him. A gentleman of\nthe town who kept a pack of hounds, having gelt his dogs, he gets the\nstones, and with a few sweet breads presents them to poor Robin as a\ndainty dish. Poor Robin very thankful for so great kindness would not\nstay, but presently had them dressed, making all the haste he could, for\nfear any should come in to be partakers with him in his dinner. But\nhaving eaten them, and understood the truth, he fell a-spewing as if his\ngall would come up with it. Poor Sarah, in like manner, disgorged her\nstomach, so that who should have seen them, would have concluded them\ndrunk with eating.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER IX.\n\n    _A witty Jest that Poor Robin gave a Sergeant._\n\n\nThe Blue Regiment of Train-Soldiers being on a time at Walden, one of\nthe sergeants, to show his bravery, had gotten a great blue scarf about\nhis middle, being as much or more than the ensign had in his colours.\nPoor Robin thinking him too fine to fight, would venture to put a jeer\nupon him, and calling him, asked if he wanted any work? \"Why,\" said the\nsergeant, \"what makes you ask?\" \"Pray your pardon,\" quoth poor Robin, \"I\nwas mistaken in you, I took you for a shoemaker, because you had gotten\nyour blue apron before you.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER X.\n\n    _How Poor Robin won Five Shillings by kissing his Hostess._\n\n\nPoor Robin, with some other of his mates, being drinking in an\nale-house, where was an exceeding tall hostess, one of them offered to\nlay five shillings (because Poor Robin was low) that he should not kiss\nher as he stood on the ground. Poor Robin accepted the challenge, and\ncovered the money. But when he went to kiss her, his mouth would not\nreach higher than her apron string. Whereupon dropping a shilling on the\nground he made her stoop to lift it, then he clasped his arms round her\nneck, gave her a kiss, and so won the wager.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XI.\n\n    _Poor Robin's sayings of Ambitious Men._\n\n\nPoor Robin, being in company with some gentlemen who were talking of the\nambition of some men now-a-days, that would venture the loss of their\nsouls for the possession of a kingdom: \"Yea,\" quoth poor Robin, \"but the\nsuccess of many of them is far different from King Saul's, for he\nseeking asses found a kingdom, and they seeking a kingdom find\nthemselves to be asses.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XII.\n\n    _Poor Robin's Journey to London._\n\n\nPoor Robin having never been in London in his life, and being very\ndesirous to see the city whose fame rang so loud in every man's mouth,\nhe resolved to make a jonrney thither, and spend some time in viewing\nthe rarities of the same; but because he was unacquainted with the city\ncustoms, he got a companion of his to go along with him. No sooner were\nthey past Aldgate, but poor Robin seeing such a number of signs, he\nwhispered with his friend, \"Certainly,\" quoth he, \"they must needs be\nall drunkards that live in this place. I never saw so many ale-houses\ntogether in my life.\" And thereupon beckoning to his companion, enters\none of the shops and calls for a jug of beer; but they making him\nacquainted with his error, how they sold no drink, but if he wanted\nanything else they could furnish him with it. He presently without any\nstudying asks them to show him a pair of hedging gloves, whereupon\nchanging their opinion, instead of a fool they took him for a jeering\ncompanion; and to fit him for his gloves had him to the pump and soundly\nbedrenched him from head to foot. And having occasion to go through\nBirching Lane, and being asked by the salesmen, \"Countrymen, what lack\nyou?\" \"Marry,\" quoth he, \"that which I fear you cannot furnish me\nwithal,\" and being importuned of them to know what it was: \"Why,\" quoth\nhe, \"that which you have none of I want, honesty.\" Night approaching,\npoor Robin and his walking mate repaired to their inn, where, after they\nhad supped and drunk five or six jugs of beer with the host of the\nhouse, and some of his men (for inn-keeper's servants drink most of\ntheir beer at other men's cost), his friend loving no tobacco, and poor\nRobin desiring the heathenish weed to pass away the time, they agreed\namong themselves that every one of the company should either tell a tale\nor sing a song. Poor Robin, who first mentioned the same, beginning in\nthis manner.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XIII.\n\n    _A Tale of a Pair of Cards._\n\n\nNot many ages since a parson of a country village was accused to a\ncommittee that he was a great gamester at cards, being so addicted\nthereunto that he would ofttimes play on Sundays. The committee thus\ninformed, sent for the parson to answer this accusation; who receiving\nthe warrant made no excuse nor delay, but with all haste made his\nappearance before them; with him also came the informer to justify his\naccusation. Being thus met together, the committee began to reprove the\nparson for being addicted to such a vice, as to be noted for a common\nplayer at cards. \"Indeed,\" said the parson, \"I am so far from it, that I\nknow not what a pair of cards meaneth.\" \"Sir,\" quoth the informer, \"if\nyou please to search his pockets, I believe you will find a pair there\nat present, for he seldom goeth without such tackling.\" Whereupon the\ncommittee commanding his pocket to be searched, they found a pair of\ncards there indeed, but the parson denied them to be cards, saying,\n\"They may be cards to you, but to me they are an almanack.\" And being\ndemanded how he could make it appear, he answered thus: \"First,\" quoth\nhe, \"here is as many suits of cards as there be quarters in a year, and\nas many court cards as there be months in a year, and as many cards as\nthere be weeks in a year, and as many spots as there be days in a year.\nThen when I look upon the king it puts me in mind of the allegiance that\nI owe to my sovereign lord the king; looking upon the queen puts me in\nmind of the allegiance that I owe to the queen; the ten puts me in mind\nof the Ten Commandments; the nine, of the nine muses; the eight, of the\neight altitudes; the seven, of the seven liberal sciences; the six, of\nsix days we ought to labour in; the five, of the five senses; the four,\nof the four evangelists; the three, of the Trinity; the two, of the two\nsacraments; and the ace, that we ought to worship but one God.\" Quoth\nthe committee, \"If this be all the use you make of them we can find no\nfault with you. But Mr. Parson, of all the cards you have nominated, you\nhave forgot the knave; pray, what use make you of him?\" \"O sir,\" said he\n(pointing to his accuser), \"that is your worship's informer.\"\n\n\"Poor Robin having ended his tale,\" says his friend, \"I suppose that was\nthe same parson that used to read his litany every day of the week\nexcepting Sunday, and I being constant hearer of him, learnt it as\nperfectly as my pater noster.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XIV.\n\n    _Poor Robin's Litany._\n\n    From being turned out of doors,\n    From town-rats, and ale-house scores,\n    From lowsie queans and pocky bores,\n        _Libera nos._\n\n    From tailors' bills and drapers' books,\n    From sluttish maids and nasty cooks,\n    From froward wives and crabbed looks,\n        _Libera nos._\n\n    From breaking pipes and broken glasses,\n    From drinking healths and drunken asses,\n    From lying lubbers and lisping lasses,\n        _Libera nos._\n\n    From paying of lawyers' fees,\n    From mouldy bread and musty cheese,\n    From trotting jades and scorning shes,\n        _Libera nos._\n\n    From fetters, chains, bolts, and gyves,\n    From pointless needles and broken knives,\n    From thievish servants and drunken wives,\n        _Libera nos._\n\n    From tailors' bodkins and butchers' pricks,\n    From tenpenny nails and headless spikes,\n    And from attorneys' knavish tricks,\n        _Libera nos._\n\n    From being taken in disguise,\n    From believing of a poet's lies,\n    And from the devil and the excise,\n        _Libera nos._\n\n    From brown bread and small beer,\n    From being taken stealing deer,\n    From all that hath been named here,\n        _Quesemus te._\n\nThe litany being ended the tapster comes for his reckoning, but poor\nRobin made answer that he should do as the rest had done, either tell a\ntale or sing a song. Says he, \"Sing I cannot, but I will tell you how\nthey marry in Scotland, as a Scotch priest told me that lay here, and\ngot me to engage for him to my master for twenty shillings, and he\nrunning away, I was forced to pay his score for him.\"\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XV.\n\n    _A Scotch Marriage._\n\n\nWe don't use to wad in Scotland as you wad in England. Jockey comes to\nthe kirk and takes Sir Donkyn by the rocket, and says, \"Good morn, Sir\nDonkyn.\" \"What's the matter, Jockey, what's the matter?\" \"A wadding, a\nwadding,\" says he, \"don't you see the hoppers and the skippers, and all\nthe lads of the gang?\" \"I'se don't, I'se come to you belyve.\" Then Sir\nDonkyn gangs to the kirk, \"I spee and I spee, wha a deil do you spee;\nJockey of the high lane, and Jenny of the long cliff; if any know why\nthese twa may not be wadded together, let them now speak or hold their\ntongue in the deil's name. Jockey wilt thou ha'e Jenny to thy wadded\nwife? I say, Jockey, say after me, Jockey wilt thou ha'e Jenny to thy\nwadded wife, forsaking all loons, lubberloons, swing-bellied calves,\nblack lips, and blue noses? Ay, forsooth. If these twa be not as well\nwadded as e'er I wadded twa these seven years, the deil and St. Andrew\npart them.\"\n\nThe wedding being ended, all the company went to bed, where we will\nleave them till the next morning, to relate poor Robin's perambulation\nabout the city.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XVI.\n\n    _Poor Robin's perambulation about the City._\n\n\nNo sooner did Apollo begin to appear in the eastern horizon, but poor\nRobin, shaking off melancholy sleep, roused his companion to prepare\nhimself for their intended perambulation; and having armed themselves\nwith a pot of nappy ale, they took their first walk to see the Royal\nExchange, a most magnificent structure, built by Sir Thomas Gresham.\nFrom thence they went to take a view of Leadenhall, but the exceeding\nbravery of the Exchange had so dimmed the beauty of the place, that it\nwas nothing pleasing to poor Robin's eye. He made no tarrying there, but\nwent presently down to the Tower, where having seen the lions, and from\nthe wharf taken a superficial view of the bridge, as also the ships upon\nthe river Thames, he became weary of beholding so many surprising\nobjects. He had, however, far more content in seeing the ships, so\nadmirably pleasing to his fancy it was to see how these little pretty\nthings hopped about. But lest he should take a surfeit with such\nravishing delights, his friend persuaded him to go to see the ancient\ncathedral of St. Paul's, being at present made a horse-guard by the\nsoldiers, which poor Robin beholding, \"What a blessed reformation,\"\nquoth he, \"have we here! For in our country we can scarce persuade men\nto go to church, but here come men and horses too.\" Having satisfied\nhimself with the sight of St. Paul's, they would in the next place go\nto visit Westminster, the rather because it was at term time, where,\nbeholding so great a number of lawyers in their gowns, he cried out,\n\"Oh, let us begone from this place, for if two or three make such a\nquarrel in our town, certainly there is no abiding here for men in their\nwit.\" A country gentleman overhearing him, \"I remember,\" quoth he, \"once\nI heard a story of a man that went down to hell, wherein he beheld men\nof all professions, ages, and conditions, saving only lawyers, which\nmade him the more to wonder, because he imagined them all there, and\nasking the devil the reason, he made this reply, 'We have them here\nthough you see them not, but we are forced to keep them in a room by\nthemselves lest they should set all the devils in hell at variance.'\"\nPoor Robin laughed very heartily at this tale, and having now satisfied\nhis inn, and having discharged all reckonings, his friend and he\nreturned home.\n\n\n\n\n    CHAPTER XVII.\n\n    _Many odd Whimsies and Conceits of Poor Robin._\n\n\nPoor Robin daily frequenting the tavern and ale-house had learned of his\ncompanions many drunken whimsies and other odd conceits, as the five\nproperties that belong to an host, that he must have the head of a stag,\nthe bag of a nag, the belly of a hog, skip up and down like a frog, and\nfawn like a dog. As also the four ingredients whereof a woman's tongue\nis made, viz.: The sound of a great bell, the wagging of a dog's tail,\nthe shaking of an aspen leaf tempered with running water.\n\nWhen poor Robin had gotten a cup in his crown, as it oftentimes\nhappened, he would then be playing the poet, and nothing but rhymes\ncould then come out of his mouth; for as one writes:\n\n    Poet and pot doth differ but one letter,\n    And that makes poets love the pot the better.\n\nAmongst other of his conceits, this following comparison was much used\nby him:--\n\n    Like a purse that hath no chink in't,\n    Or a cellar and no drink in't,\n    Like a jewel never worn,\n    Or a child untimely born,\n    Like a song without a foot,\n    Or a bond and no hand to't,\n    Such doth she seem unto mine eyes,\n    That lives a virgin till she dies.\n\n    The money doth entice the purse,\n    The drink in the cellar quencheth thirst,\n    The jewel decks, if worn it is,\n    The child soon dies, abortive is;\n    The end o' the song doth sweetest sound,\n    The hand doth make the party bound.\n    So she that marries e'er death takes her,\n    Answers that for which Nature makes her.\n\n\"Women,\" said he, \"are all extremes, either too willing, or too wilful;\ntoo forward or too froward; too courteous or too coy; too friendly or\ntoo fiendly.\" This made Arminius, a ruler in Carthage, refuse to marry,\nsaying, \"If I marry a wife, she will be wilful; if wealthy, then wanton;\nif poor, then peevish; if beautiful, then proud; if deformed, then\nloathsome; and the least of these is able to plague a thousand men.\"\n\n\n    THE END.\n\n    PRINTED BY ROBERT MACLEHOSK, GLASGOW.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\nPunctuation has been normalized.\nHyphenation has been made consistent.\nBonaparte is spelled three ways, two are in dialect, left as is.\nPage 18, changed \"yoeman\" to \"yeoman\" (The yeoman replied:)\nPage 19, changed \"tiil\" to \"til\" (merry til my wife)\nPage 149, changed \"the mall\" to \"them all\" (tell them all;)\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Amusing prose chap-books","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":114968}