Woodstock; or, the Cavalier. Вальтер Скотт

days are come at last with a vengeance – we are fairly at bay and fairly hunted down."

      "Can this be, Joceline?" said the poor girl, turning to the keeper with an expression of fright in her countenance, which she had hitherto averted in rural coquetry.

      "As sure, my dearest Phoebe, as" —

      The rest of the asseveration was lost in Phoebe's ear, so closely did the keeper's lips approach it; and if they approached so very near as to touch her cheek, grief, like impatience, hath its privileges, and poor Phoebe had enough of serious alarm to prevent her from demurring upon such a trifle.

      But no trifle was the approach of Joceline's lips to Phoebe's pretty though sunburnt cheek, in the estimation of the Independent, who, a little before the object of Joceline's vigilance, had been more lately in his turn the observer of the keeper's demeanour, so soon as the interview betwixt Phoebe and him had become so interesting. And when he remarked the closeness of Joceline's argument, he raised his voice to a pitch of harshness that would have rivalled that of an ungreased and rusty saw, and which at once made Joceline and Phoebe spring six feet apart, each in contrary directions, and if Cupid was of the party, must have sent him out at the window like it wild duck flying from a culverin. Instantly throwing himself into the attitude of a preacher and a reprover of vice, "How now!" he exclaimed, "shameless and impudent as you are! – What – chambering and wantoning in our very presence! – How – would you play your pranks before the steward of the Commissioners of the High Court of Parliament, as ye would in a booth at the fulsome fair, or amidst the trappings and tracings of a profane dancing-school, where the scoundrel minstrels make their ungodly weapons to squeak, 'Kiss and be kind, the fiddler's blind?' – But here," he said, dealing a perilous thump upon the volume – "Here is the King and high priest of those vices and follies! – Here is he, whom men of folly profanely call nature's miracle! – Here is he, whom princes chose for their cabinet-keeper, and whom maids of honour take for their bed-fellow! – Here is the prime teacher of fine words, foppery and folly – Here!" – (dealing another thump upon the volume – and oh! revered of the Roxburghe, it was the first folio – beloved of the Bannatyne, it was Hemmings and Condel – it was the editio princeps) – "On thee," he continued – "on thee, William Shakspeare, I charge whate'er of such lawless idleness and immodest folly hath defiled the land since thy day!"

      "By the mass, a heavy accusation," said Joceline, the bold recklessness of whose temper could not be long overawed; "Odds pitlikins, is our master's old favourite, Will of Stratford, to answer for every buss that has been snatched since James's time? – a perilous reckoning truly – but I wonder who is sponsible for what lads and lasses did before his day?" "Scoff not," said the soldier, "lest I, being called thereto by the voice within me, do deal with thee as a scorner. Verily, I say, that since the devil fell from Heaven, he never lacked agents on earth; yet nowhere hath he met with a wizard having such infinite power over men's souls as this pestilent fellow Shakspeare. Seeks a wife a foul example for adultery, here she shall find it – Would a man know how to train his fellow to be a murderer, here shall he find tutoring – Would a lady marry a heathen negro, she shall have chronicled example for it – Would any one scorn at his Maker, he shall be furnished with a jest in this book – Would he defy his brother in the flesh, he shall be accommodated with a challenge – Would you be drunk, Shakspeare will cheer you with a cup – Would you plunge in sensual pleasures, he will soothe you to indulgence, as with the lascivious sounds of a lute. This, I say, this book is the well-head and source of all those evils which have overrun the land like a torrent, making men scoffers, doubters, deniers, murderers, makebates, and lovers of the wine-pot, haunting unclean places, and sitting long at the evening-wine. Away with him, away with him, men of England! to Tophet with his wicked book, and to the Vale of Hinnom with his accursed bones! Verily but that our march was hasty when we passed Stratford, in the year 1643, with Sir William Waller; but that our march was hasty" —

      "Because Prince Rupert was after you with his cavaliers," muttered the incorrigible Joceline.

      "I say," continued the zealous trooper, raising his voice and extending his arm – "but that our march was by command hasty, and that we turned not aside in our riding, closing our ranks each one upon the other as becomes men of war, I had torn on that day the bones of that preceptor of vice and debauchery from the grave, and given them to the next dunghill. I would have made his memory a scoff and a hissing!"

      "That is the bitterest thing he has said yet," observed the keeper. "Poor Will would have liked the hissing worse than all the rest." "Will the gentleman say any more?" enquired Phoebe in a whisper. "Lack-a-day, he talks brave words, if one knew but what they meant. But it is a mercy our good knight did not see him ruffle the book at that rate – Mercy on us, there would certainly have been bloodshed. – But oh, the father – see how he is twisting his face about! – Is he ill of the colic, think'st thou, Joceline? Or, may I offer him a glass of strong waters?"

      "Hark thee hither, wench!" said the keeper, "he is but loading his blunderbuss for another volley; and while he turns up his eyes, and twists about his face, and clenches his fist, and shuffles and tramples with his feet in that fashion, he is bound to take no notice of any thing. I would be sworn to cut his purse, if he had one, from his side, without his feeling it."

      "La! Joceline," said Phoebe, "and if he abides here in this turn of times, I dare say the gentleman will be easily served."

      "Care not thou about that," said Joliffe; "but tell me softly and hastily, what is in the pantry?"

      "Small housekeeping enough," said Phoebe; "a cold capon and some comfits, and the great standing venison pasty, with plenty of spice – a manchet or two besides, and that is all."

      "Well, it will serve for a pinch – wrap thy cloak round thy comely body – get a basket and a brace of trenchers and towels, they are heinously impoverished down yonder – carry down the capon and the manchets – the pasty must abide with this same soldier and me, and the pie-crust will serve us for bread."

      "Rarely," said Phoebe; "I made the paste myself – it is as thick as the walls of Fair Rosamond's Tower."

      "Which two pairs of jaws would be long in gnawing through, work hard as they might," said the keeper. "But what liquor is there?"

      "Only a bottle of Alicant, and one of sack, with the stone jug of strong waters," answered Phoebe.

      "Put the wine-flasks into thy basket," said Joceline, "the knight must not lack his evening draught – and down with thee to the hut like a lapwing. There is enough for supper, and to-morrow is a new day. – Ha! by heaven I thought yonder man's eye watched us – No – he only rolled it round him in a brown study – Deep enough doubtless, as they all are. – But d – n him, he must be bottomless if I cannot sound him before the night's out. – Hie thee away, Phoebe."

      But Phoebe was a rural coquette, and, aware that Joceline's situation gave him no advantage of avenging the challenge in a fitting way, she whispered in his ear, "Do you think our knight's friend, Shakspeare, really found out all these naughty devices the gentleman spoke of?"

      Off she darted while she spoke, while Joliffe menaced future vengeance with his finger, as he muttered, "Go thy way, Phoebe Mayflower, the lightest-footed and lightest-hearted wench that ever tripped the sod in Woodstock-park! – After her, Bevis, and bring her safe to our master at the hut."

      The large greyhound arose like a human servitor who had received an order, and followed Phoebe through the hall, first licking her hand to make her sensible of his presence, and then putting himself to a slow trot, so as best to accommodate himself to the light pace of her whom he convoyed, whom Joceline had not extolled for her activity without due reason. While Phoebe and her guardian thread the forest glades, we return to the Lodge.

      The Independent now seemed to start as if from a reverie. "Is the young woman gone?" said he.

      "Ay, marry is she," said the keeper; "and if your worship hath farther commands, you must rest contented with male attendance."

      "Commands – umph – I think the damsel might have tarried for another exhortation," said the soldier – "truly, I profess my mind was much inclined toward her for her edification."

      "Oh, sir," replied Joliffe, "she will be at church