W. Ainsworth - Rookwood

This suggestion of Turpin was so entirely consonant to the wishes of the assemblage, that it met with universal approbation; and upon a sign from Zoroaster, some of his followers departed in search of supplies for the carousal. Zoroaster leaped from the table, and his example was followed by Turpin, and more leisurely by the patrico.

It was rather early in the day for a drinking bout. But the canting crew were not remarkably particular. The chairs were removed, and the jingling of glasses announced the arrival of the preliminaries of the matutine symposion . Poles, canvas, and cords, were next brought; and in almost as short space of time as one scene is substituted for another in a theatrical representation, a tent was erected. Benches, stools, and chairs, appeared with equal celerity, and the interior soon presented

an appearance like that of a booth at a fair. A keg of brandy was broached, and the health of the new brother quaffed in brimmers.

Our highwayman returned thanks. Zoroaster was in the chair, the knight of Malta acting as croupier. A second toast was proposed—the tawny queen. This was drunk with a like enthusiasm, and with a like allowance of the potent spirit; but as bumpers of brandy are not to be repeated with impunity, it became evident to the president of the board that he must not repeat his toasts quite so expeditiously. To create a temporary diversion, therefore, he called for a song.

The dulcet notes of the fiddle now broke through the clamour; and, in answer to the call, Jerry Juniper volunteered the following:

JERRY JUNIPER'S CHANT

In a box 13of the stone jug 14I was born,

Of a hempen widow 15the kid forlorn,

Fake away.

And my father, as I've heard say,

Fake away,

Was a merchant of capers 16gay,

Who cut his last fling with great applause,

17Nix my doll pals, fake away.

Who cut his last fling with great applause, 18

To the tune of a "hearty choke with caper sauce."

Fake away.

The knucks in quod 19did my schoolmen play,

Fake away,

And put me up to the time of day;

Until at last there was none so knowing,

Nix my doll pals, fake away.

Until at last there was none so knowing,

No such sneaksman 20or buzgloak 21going.

Fake away.

Fogles 22and fawnies 23soon went their way,

Fake away,

To the spout 24with the sneezers 25in grand array.

No dummy hunter 26had forks 27so fly;

Nix my doll pals, fake away.

No dummy hunter had forks so fly,

No knuckler 28so deftly could fake a cly, 29

Fake away.

No slour'd hoxter 30my snipes 31could stay,

Fake away.

None knap a reader 32like me in the lay.

Soon then I mounted in swell-street high.

Nix my doll pals, fake away.

Soon then I mounted in swell-street high,

And sported my flashiest toggery, 33

Fake away.

Firmly resolved I would make my hay,

Fake away,

While Mercury's star shed a single ray;

And ne'er was there seen such a dashing prig, 34

Nix my doll pals, fake away.

And ne'er was there seen such a dashing prig,

With my strummel faked in the newest twig. 35

Fake away.

With my fawnies famms, 36and my onions gay, 37

Fake away;

My thimble of ridge, 38and my driz kemesa; 39

All my togs were so niblike 40and splash,

Nix my doll pals, fake away.

All my togs were so niblike and splash,

Readily the queer screens I then could smash; 41

Fake away.

But my nuttiest blowen, 42one fine day,

Fake away,

To the beaks 43did her fancy man betray,

And thus was I bowled out at last. 44

Nix my doll pals, fake away.

And thus was I bowled out at last,

And into the jug for a lag was cast; 45

Fake away.

But I slipped my darbies 46one morn in May,

Fake away,

And gave to the dubsman 47a holiday.

And here I am, pals, merry and free,

A regular rollocking romany. 48

Nix my doll pals, fake away.

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

GIPSY SERENADE 49

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

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

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

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

Merry maid, merry maid, come and wander with me!

No life like the gipsy's, so joyous and free!

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

We will laugh away the laughing and quickly fleeting hours;

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

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

Merry maid, merry maid, come and wander with me!

No life like the gipsy's, so joyous and free!

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

An universal knocking of knuckles by the knucklers 50was followed by profound silence. The sage spoke:

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

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

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

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

THE KNIGHT OF MALTA

A Canterbury Tale

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

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

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

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

With my coal-black beard, and purple cloak,

jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor,

Hey-ho! for the knight of Malta!

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

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

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

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

With my coal-black beard, etc.

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

Decked out in scarlet uniform, as spruce as maccaronis;

Caparisoned my charger was, as grandly as his master,

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

With my coal-black beard, etc.

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

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

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

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

With my coal-black beard, etc.

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

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

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

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

With my coal-black beard, etc.

I rode about, and speechified, and everybody gullied,

The tavern-keepers diddled, and the magistracy bullied:

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

The Gotham sages were a joke to those of Canterbury.

With my coal-black beard, etc.

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

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

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

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

With my coal-black beard, etc.

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

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

For surely I the fittest was, and very proper, very,

To represent the wisdom and the wit of Canterbury.

With my coal-black beard, etc.

At the trial of some smugglers next, one thing I rather queer did,

And the justices upon the bench I literally bearded;

For I swore that I some casks did see, though proved as clear as day, sirs,

That I happened at the time to be some fifty miles away, sirs.

With my coal-black beard, etc.

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

And for perjury indicted they compelled me to knock under;

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

And thus crossed , the knight of Malta was at length obliged to hop, sirs.

With his coal-black beard, and purple cloak,

jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor,

Good-bye to the knight of Malta.

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

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

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

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

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

"That I will, were it Old Ruffin himself," shouted Turpin.

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

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

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