“Hark how the old fox is praising himself all along on the sly,” said Cary.
“Mr. William, Mr. William, peace;—silentium, my graceless pupil. Urge the foaming steed, and strike terror into the rapid stag, but meddle not with matters too high for thee.”
“He has given you the dor now, sir,” said Lady Bath; “let the old man say his say.”
“I bring, therefore, as my small contribution to this day’s feast; first a Latin epigram, as thus—”
“Latin? Let us hear it forthwith,” cried my lady.
And the old pedant mouthed out—
“Torriguiam Tamaris ne spernat; Leighius addet
Mox terras terris, inclyte Drake, tuis.”
“Neat, i’ faith, la!” Whereon all the rest, as in duty bound, approved also.
“This for the erudite: for vulgar ears the vernacular is more consonant, sympathetic, instructive; as thus:—
“Famed Argo ship, that noble chip, by doughty Jason’s steering,
Brought back to Greece the golden fleece, from Colchis home careering;
But now her fame is put to shame, while new Devonian Argo,
Round earth doth run in wake of sun, and brings wealthier cargo.”
“Runs with a right fa-lal-la,” observed Cary; “and would go nobly to a fiddle and a big drum.”
“Ye Spaniards, quake! our doughty Drake a royal swan is tested,
On wing and oar, from shore to shore, the raging main whbreasted:—
But never needs to chant his deeds, like swan that lies a-dying,
So far his name, by trump of fame, around the sphere is flying.”
“Hillo ho! schoolmaster!” shouted a voice from behind; “move on, and make way for Father Neptune!” Whereon a whole storm of raillery fell upon the hapless pedagogue.
“We waited for the parson’s alligator, but we wain’t for yourn.”
“Allegory! my children, allegory!” shrieked the man of letters.
“What do ye call he an alligator for? He is but a poor little starved evat!”
“Out of the road, old Custis! March on, Don Palmado!”
These allusions to the usual instrument of torture in West-country schools made the old gentleman wince; especially when they were followed home by—
“Who stole Admiral Grenville’s brooms, because birch rods were dear?”
But proudly he shook his bald head, as a bull shakes off the flies, and returned to the charge once more.
“Great Alexander, famed commander, wept and made a pother, At conquering only half the world, but Drake had conquer’d t’other; And Hercules to brink of seas!—”
“Oh—!”
And clapping both hands to the back of his neck, the schoolmaster began dancing frantically about, while his boys broke out tittering, “O! the ochidore! look to the blue ochidore! Who’ve put ochidore to maister’s poll!”
It was too true: neatly inserted, as he stooped forward, between his neck and his collar, was a large live shore-crab, holding on tight with both hands.
“Gentles! good Christians! save me! I am mare-rode! Incubo, vel ab incubo, opprimor! Satanas has me by the poll! Help! he tears my jugular; he wrings my neck, as he does to Dr. Faustus in the play. Confiteor!—I confess! Satan, I defy thee! Good people, I confess! [Greek text]! The truth will out. Mr. Francis Leigh wrote the epigram!” And diving through the crowd, the pedagogue vanished howling, while Father Neptune, crowned with sea-weeds, a trident in one hand, and a live dog-fish in the other, swaggered up the street surrounded by a tall bodyguard of mariners, and followed by a great banner, on which was depicted a globe, with Drake’s ship sailing thereon upside down, and overwritten—
“See every man the Pelican,
Which round the world did go,
While her stern-post was uppermost,
And topmasts down below.
And by the way she lost a day,
Out of her log was stole:
But Neptune kind, with favoring wind,
Hath brought her safe and whole.”
“Now, lads!” cried Neptune; “hand me my parable that’s writ for me, and here goeth!”
And at the top of his bull-voice, he began roaring—
“I am King Neptune bold,
The ruler of the seas
I don’t understand much singing upon land,
But I hope what I say will please.
“Here be five Bideford men,
Which have sail’d the world around,
And I watch’d them well, as they all can tell,
And brought them home safe and sound.
“For it is the men of Devon.
To see them I take delight,
Both to tack and to hull, and to heave and to pull,
And to prove themselves in fight.
“Where be those Spaniards proud,
That make their valiant boasts;
And think for to keep the poor Indians for their sheep,
And to farm my golden coasts?
“‘Twas the devil and the Pope gave them
My kingdom for their own:
But my nephew Francis Drake, he caused them to quake,
And he pick’d them to the bone.
“For the sea my realm it is,
As good Queen Bess’s is the land;
So freely come again, all merry Devon men,
And there’s old Neptune’s hand.”
“Holla, boys! holla! Blow up, Triton, and bring forward the freedom of the seas.”
Triton, roaring through a conch, brought forward a cockle-shell full of salt-water, and delivered it solemnly to Amyas, who, of course, put a noble into it, and returned it after Grenville had done the same.
“Holla, Dick Admiral!” cried neptune, who was pretty far gone in liquor; “we knew thou hadst a right English heart in thee, for all thou standest there as taut as a Don who has swallowed his rapier.”
“Grammercy, stop thy bellowing, fellow, and on; for thou smellest vilely of fish.”
“Everything smells sweet in its right place. I’m going home.”
“I thought thou wert there all along, being already half-seas over,” said Cary.
“Ay, right Upsee-Dutch; and that’s more than thou ever wilt be, thou ‘long-shore stay-at-home. Why wast making sheep’s eyes at Mistress Salterne here, while my pretty little chuck of Burrough there was