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

Nix my doll pals, fake away. [41]

Who cut his last fling with great applause,[42]
To the tune of a "hearty choke with caper sauce."
Fake away.
The knucks in quod[43] did 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[44] or buzgloak[45] going.
Fake away.
Fogles[46] and fawnies[47] soon went their way,
Fake away ,
To the spout[48] with the sneezers[49] in grand array.
No dummy hunter[50] had forks[51] so fly;
Nix my doll pals, fake away .

No dummy hunter had forks so fly,
No knuckler[52] so deftly could fake a cly,[53]
Fake away.
No slour'd hoxter[54] my snipes[55] could stay,
Fake away.
None knap a reader[56] like 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[57],
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,[58]
Nix my doll pals, fake away.

And ne'er was there seen such a dashing prig,
With my strummel faked in the newest twig.[59]
Fake away.
With my fawnied famms,[60] and my onions gay,[61]
Fake away;
My thimble of ridge[62], and my driz kemesa[63];
All my togs were so niblike[64] and splash,
Nix my doll pals, fake away.

All my togs were so niblike and splash,
Readily the queer screens I then could smash;[65]
Fake away.
But my nuttiest blowen,[66] one fine day,
Fake away,
To the beaks[67] did her fancy man betray,
And thus was I bowled out at last[68]
Nix my doll pals, fake away.

And thus was I bowled out at last,
And into the jug for a lag was cast;[69]
Fake away.
But I slipped my darbies[70] one morn in May,
Fake away,
And gave to the dubsman[71] a holiday.
And here I am, pals, merry and free,
A regular rollicking romany.[72]
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

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.

A universal knocking of knuckles by the knucklers[73] was 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 honor 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 [74]

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 lagged to my side, sirs,
And mounted on a charger black, I to the town did ride, sirs.