Part 41 (1/2)
”With all my heart,” replied Turpin. ”You shall have--but what do I see, my friend Sir Luke? Devil take my tongue, Luke Bradley, I mean. What, ho! Luke--nay, nay, man, no shrinking--stand forward; I've a word or two to say to you. We must have a hob-a-n.o.b gla.s.s together for old acquaintance sake. Nay, no airs, man; damme you're not a lord yet, nor a baronet either, though I do hold your t.i.tle in my pocket; never look glum at me. It won't pay. I'm one of the Canting Crew now; no man shall sneer at me with impunity, eh, Zory? Ha, ha! here's a gla.s.s of Nantz; we'll have a bottle of black strap when you are master of your own. Make ready there, you gut-sc.r.a.pers, you shawm-shavers; I'll put your lungs in play for you presently. In the meantime--charge, pals, charge--a toast, a toast! Health and prosperity to Sir Luke Rookwood! I see you are surprised--this, gemmen, is Sir Luke Rookwood, somewhile Luke Bradley, heir to the house of that name, not ten miles distant from this. Say, shall we not drink a b.u.mper to his health?”
Astonishment prevailed amongst the crew. Luke himself had been taken by surprise. When Turpin discovered him at the door of the tent, and summoned him to appear, he reluctantly complied with the request; but when, in a half-bantering vein, d.i.c.k began to rally him upon his pretensions, he would most gladly have retreated, had it been in his power. It was then too late. He felt he must stand the ordeal. Every eye was fixed upon him with a look of inquiry.
Zoroaster took his everlasting pipe from his mouth.
”This ain't true, sure_ly_?” asked the perplexed Magus.
”He has said it,” replied Luke; ”I may not deny it.”
This was sufficient. There was a wild hubbub of delight amongst the crew, for Luke was a favorite with all.
”Sir Luke Rookwood!” cried Jerry Juniper, who liked a t.i.tle as much as Tommy Moore is said to dote upon a lord. ”Upon my soul I sincerely congratulate you; devilish fortunate fellow. Always cursed unlucky myself. I could never find out my own father, unless it were one Monsieur des Capriolles, a French dancing-master, and _he_ never left anything behind him that I could hear of, except a broken kit and a hempen widow. Sir Luke Rookwood, we shall do ourselves the pleasure of drinking your health and prosperity.”
Fresh b.u.mpers and immense cheering.
Silence being in a measure restored, Zoroaster claimed Turpin's promise of a song.
”True, true,” replied d.i.c.k; ”I have not forgotten it. Stand to your bows, my hearties.”
THE GAME OF HIGH TOBY
Now Oliver[78] puts his black nightcap on, And every star its glim[79] is hiding, And forth to the heath is the scampsman[80] gone, His matchless cherry-black[81] prancer riding; Merrily over the common he flies, Fast and free as the rush of rocket, His c.r.a.pe-covered vizard drawn over his eyes, His tol[82] by his side, and his pops[83] in his pocket.
CHORUS
_Then who can name So merry a game, As the game of all games--high toby?_[84]
The traveller hears him, away! away!
Over the wide wide heath he scurries; He heeds not the thunderbolt summons to stay, But ever the faster and faster he hurries.
But what daisy-cutter can match that black t.i.t?
He is caught--he must ”stand and deliver;”
Then out with the dummy[85], and off with the bit,[86]
Oh! the game of high toby for ever!
CHORUS
_Then who can name So merry a game, As the game of all games--high toby?_
Believe me, there is not a game, my brave boys, To compare with the game of high toby; No rapture can equal the tobyman's joys, To blue devils, blue plumbs[87] give the go-by; And what if, at length, boys, he come to the c.r.a.p![88]
Even rack punch has _some_ bitter in it, For the mare-with-three-legs[89], boys, I care not a rap, 'Twill be over in less than a minute.
GRAND CHORUS
_Then hip, hurrah!
Fling care away!
Hurrah for the game of high toby!_