Rookwood by William Harrison Ainsworth (great books of all time .txt) 📕

shall degenerate into the footpad, and lose our Night Errantry . Even the French borrow from us--they have only one highwayman of eminence, and he learnt and practised his art in England."

"And who was he, may I ask?" said Coates.

"Claude Du-Val," replied Jack; "and though a Frenchman, he was a deuced fine fellow in his day--quite a tip-top macaroni--he could skip and twirl like a figurant, warble like an opera-singer, and play the flageolet better than any man of his day--he always carried a lute in his pocket, along with his snappers. And then his dress--it was quite beautiful to see how smartly he was rigg'd out, all velvet and lace; and even with his vizard on his face, the ladies used to cry out to see him. Then he took a purse with the air and grace of a receiver-general. All the women adored him--and that, bless their pretty faces! was the best proof of his gentility. I wish he'd not been a Mounseer. The women never mistake. They can always discover the true gentlemen, and they were all, of every degree, from the countess to the kitchen-maid, over head and ears in love with him."

"But he was taken, I suppose?" asked Coates.

"Ay," responded Jack, "the women were his undoing, as they've been many a brave fellow's before, and will be again." Touched by which reflection, Jack became for once in his life sentimental, and sighed. "Poor Du-Val! he was seized at the Hole-in-the-Wall in Chandos-street by the bailiff of Westminster, when dead drunk, his liquor having been drugged by his dells--and was shortly afterwards hanged at Tyburn."

"It was thousand pities," said Mr. Coates, with a sneer, "that so fine a gentleman should come to so ignominious an end!"

"Quite the contrary," returned Jack. "As his biographer, Doctor Pope, properly remarks, 'Who is there worthy of the name of man, that would not prefer such a death before a mean, solitary, inglorious life?' By-the-by, Titus, as we're upon the subject, if you like I'll sing you a song about highwaymen."

"I should like it of all things," replied Titus, who entertained a very favorable opinion of Jack's vocal powers, and was by no means an indifferent performer; "only let it be in a minor key."

Jack required no further encouragement, but disregarding the hints and looks of Coates, sang with much unction the following ballad to a good old tune, then very popular--the merit of which "nobody can deny."

A CHAPTER OF HIGHWAYMEN

Of every rascal of every kind,
The most notorious to my mind,
Was the Cavalier Captain, gay JEMMY HIND![7]
Which nobody can deny.

But the pleasantest coxcomb among them all
For lute, coranto, and madrigal,
Was the galliard Frenchman, CLAUDE DU-VAL![8]
Which nobody can deny.

And Tobygloak never a coach could rob,
Could lighten a pocket, or empty a fob,
With a neater hand than OLD MOB, OLD MOB![9]
Which nobody can deny.

Nor did housebreaker ever deal harder knocks
On the stubborn lid of a good strong box,
Than that prince of good fellows, TOM COX, TOM COX![10]
Which nobody can deny.

A blither fellow on broad highway,
Did never with oath bid traveller stay,
Than devil-may-care WILL HOLLOWAY![11]
Which nobody can deny.

And in roguery naught could exceed the tricks
Of GETTINGS and GREY, and the five or six
Who trod in the steps of bold NEDDY WICKS![12]
Which nobody can deny.

Nor could any so handily break a lock
As SHEPPARD, who stood on the Newgate dock,
And nicknamed the jailers around him " his flock !"[13]
Which nobody can deny.

Nor did highwaymen ever before possess
For ease, for security, danger, distress,
Such a mare as DICK TURPIN'S Black Bess! Black Bess!
Which nobody can deny.

"A capital song, by the powers!" cried Titus, as Jack's ditty came to a close. "But your English robbers are nothing at all, compared with our Tories[14] and Rapparees--nothing at all. They were the raal gentlemen--they were the boys to cut a throat aisily ."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Jack, in disgust, "the gentlemen I speak of never maltreated any one, except in self-defence."

"Maybe not," replied Titus; "I'll not dispute the point--but these Rapparees were true brothers of the blade, and gentlemen every inch. I'll just sing you a song I made about them myself. But meanwhile don't let's forget the bottle--talking's dry work. My service to you, doctor!" added he, winking at the somnolent Small. And tossing off his glass, Titus delivered himself with much joviality of the following ballad; the words of which he adapted to the tune of the Groves of the Pool :

THE RAPPAREES

Let the Englishman boast of his Turpins and Sheppards, as cocks of
the walk,
His Mulsacks, and Cheneys, and Swiftnecks[15]--it's all botheration
and talk;
Compared with the robbers of Ireland, they don't come within half a
mile,
There never were yet any rascals like those of my own native isle!

First and foremost comes REDMOND O'HANLON, allowed the first thief
of the world,[16]
That o'er the broad province of Ulster the Rapparee banner unfurled;
Och! he was an elegant fellow, as ever you saw in your life,
At fingering the blunderbuss trigger, or handling the throat-cutting
knife.

And then such a dare-devil squadron as that which composed REDMOND'S
tail !
Meel, Mactigh, Jack Reilly, Shan Bernagh, Phil Galloge, and Arthur
O'Neal;
Shure never were any boys like 'em for rows, agitations , and
sprees,
Not a rap did they leave in the country, and hence they were
called Rap parees.[17]

Next comes POWER, the great Tory[18] of Munster, a gentleman born
every inch,
And strong JACK MACPHERSON of Leinster, a horse-shoe who broke at a
pinch;
The last was a fellow so lively , not death e'en his courage could
damp,
For as he was led to the gallows, he played his own "march to the
camp."[19]

PADDY FLEMING, DICK BALF, and MULHONI, I think are the next on my list,
All adepts in the beautiful science of giving a pocket a twist;
JEMMY CARRICK must follow his leaders, ould PURNEY who put in a huff,
By dancing a hornpipe at Tyburn, and bothering the hangman for snuff.

There's PAUL LIDDY, the curly-pate Tory, whose noddle was stuck on a
spike,
And BILLY DELANEY, the " Songster ,"[20] we never shall meet with
his like;
For his neck by a witch was anointed, and warranted safe by her charm,
No hemp that was ever yet twisted his wonderful throttle could harm.

And lastly, there's CAHIR NA CAPPUL, the handiest rogue of them all,
Who only need whisper a word, and your horse will trot out of his
stall;
Your tit is not safe in your stable, though you or your groom should
be near,
And devil a bit in the paddock, if CAHIR gets hould of his ear.

Then success to the Tories of Ireland, the generous, the gallant,