Rookwood

Whoso gathereth the mandrake shall surely die;

Blood for blood is his destiny.

Some who have plucked it have died with groans,

Like to the mandrake's expiring moans;

Some have died raving, and some beside—

With penitent prayers—but all have died.

      Jesu! save us by night and day!

      From the terrible death of mandragora!

      Euthanasy!

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

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

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

'With all my heart,' replied Turpin. 'You shall have—but what do I see, my friend Sir Luke? Devil take my tongue, Luke Bradley, I mean. What, ho! Luke—nay, nay, man, no shrinking—stand forward; I've a word or two to say to you. We must have a hob-a-nob glass together, for old acquaintance, sake. Nay, no airs, man; dammee you're not a lord yet, nor a baronet either, though I do hold your title in my pocket; never look glum at me. It won't pay. I'm one of the canting crew now; no man shall sneer at me with impunity, eh, Zory? Ha, ha! Here's a glass of Nantz; we'll have a bottle of black strap when you are master of your own. Make ready there, you gut-scrapers, 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, gem'men, 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 bumper 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, Dick 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 enquiry.

Zoroaster took his everlasting pipe from his mouth.

'This ain't true, surely?' 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 favourite with all.

'Sir Luke Rookwood!' cried Jerry Juniper, who liked a title 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 bumpers, and immense cheering.

Silence being in a measure restored, Zoroaster claimed Turpin's promise of a song.

'True, true,' replied Dick; 'I have not forgotten it. Stand to your bows, my hearties.'

THE GAME OF HIGH TOBY

Now Oliver⁵⁴ puts his black nightcap on,

    And every star its glim⁵⁵ is hiding,

And forth to the heath is the scampsman⁵⁶ gone,

    His matchless cherry-black⁵⁷ prancer riding;

Merrily over the common he flies,

      Fast and free as the rush of rocket,

His crape-covered vizard drawn over his eyes,

      His tol⁵⁸ by his side, and his pops⁵⁹ in his pocket.

CHORUS

Then who can name

So merry a game,

As the game of all games—high toby? ⁶⁰

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 tit?

    He is caught—he must 'stand and deliver';

Then out with the dummy,⁶¹ and off with the bit,⁶²

      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 plumbs⁶³ give the go-by;

And what if, at length, boys, he come to the crap!⁶⁴

      Even rack punch had some bitter in it,

For the mare-with-three-legs,⁶⁵boys,

    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!

'And now, pals,' said Dick, who began to feel the influence of these morning cups, 'I vote that we adjourn. Believe me I shall always bear in mind that I am a brother of your band. Sir Luke and I must have a little chat together ere I take my leave. Adieu!'

And taking Luke by the arm, he walked out of the tent. Peter Bradley rose, and followed them.

At the door they found the dwarfish Grasshopper, with Black Bess. Rewarding the urchin for his trouble, and slipping the bridle of his mare over his hand, Turpin continued his walk over the green. For a few minutes he