Joseph Carnaby.
“Said unto me, ‘What a number of names and voices! And there be but three living men in all! And look again! Christ deliver us! all the shadows save one go leftward; that one lieth right upon the river. It seemeth a big, squat monster, shaking a little, as one ready to spring upon its prey!’”
Sir Thomas.
“A dead man in his last agonies, no doubt! Your deer-stealer doth boggle at nothing. He hath alway the knife in doublet and the devil at elbow.
“I wot not of any keeper killed or missing. To lose one’s deer and keeper too were overmuch.
“Do, in God’s merciful name, hand unto me a glass of sack, Master Silas! I wax faintish at the big, squat man. He hath harmed not only me, but mine. Furthermore, the examination is grown so long.”
Then was the wine delivered by Sir Silas into the hand of his worship, who drank it off in a beaker of about half a pint,—but little to his satisfaction, for he said shortly afterward,—
“Hast thou poured no water into the sack, good Master Silas? It seemeth weaker and washier than ordinary, and affordeth small comfort unto the breast and stomach.”
“Not I, truly, sir,” replied Master Silas “and the bottle is a fresh and sound one. The cork reported on drawing, as the best diver doth on sousing from Warwick bridge into Avon. A rare cork! as bright as the glass bottle, and as smooth as the lips of any cow.”
Sir Thomas.
“My mouth is out of taste this morning; or the same wine, mayhap, hath a different force and flavor in the dining-room and among friends. But to business—what more?”
“Euseby Treen, what may it be?” said I.
“I know,” quoth he, “but dare not breathe it.”
Sir Thomas.
“I thought I had taken a glass of wine, verily. Attention to my duty as a magistrate is paramount. I mind nothing else when that lies before me.
“Carnaby! I credit thy honesty, but doubt thy manhood. Why not breathe it, with a vengeance?”
Joseph Carnaby.
“It was Euseby who dared not.”
Sir Thomas.
“Stand still! Say nothing yet; mind my orders. Fair and softly! compose thyself.”
They all stood silent for some time, and looked very composed, awaiting the commands of the knight. His mind was clearly in such a state of devotion that peradventure he might not have descended for a while longer to his mundane duties, had not Master Silas told him that, under the shadow of his wing, their courage had returned and they were quite composed again.
“You may proceed,” said the knight.
Joseph Carnaby.
“Master Treen did take off his cap and wipe his forehead. I, for the sake of comforting him in this his heaviness, placed my hand upon his crown; and truly I might have taken it for a tuft of bents, the hair on end, the skin immovable as God’s earth!”
Sir Thomas, hearing these words, lifted up his hands above his own head, and in the loudest voice he had yet uttered did he cry,—
“Wonderful are thy ways in Israel, O Lord!”
So saying, the pious knight did strike his knee with the palm of his right hand; and then gave he a sign, bowing his head and closing his eyes, by which Master Carnaby did think he signified his pleasure that he should go on deposing. And he went on thus:—
Joseph Carnaby.
“At this moment one of the accomplices cried, ‘Willy! Willy! prithee stop! enough in all conscience! First thou divertedst us from our undertaking with thy strange vagaries, thy Italian girls’ nursery sigh, thy Pucks and pinchings, and thy Windsor whimsies. No kitten upon a bed of marum ever played such antics. It was summer and winter, night and day with us within the hour; and in such religion did we think and feel it, we would have broken the man’s jaw who gainsaid it. We have slept with thee under the oaks in the ancient forest of Arden, and we have wakened from our sleep in the tempest far at sea. [29a] Now art thou for frightening us again out of all the senses thou hadst given us, with witches and women more murderous than they.’
“Then followed a deeper voice: ‘Stouter men and more resolute are few; but thou, my lad, hast words too weighty for flesh and bones to bear up against. And who knows but these creatures may pop amongst us at last, as the wolf did, sure enough, upon him, the noisy rogue, who so long had been crying wolf! and wolf!’”
Sir Thomas.
“Well spoken, for two thieves; albeit I miss the meaning of the most part. Did they prevail with the scapegrace and stop him?”
Joseph Carnaby.
“The last who had spoken did slap him on the shoulder, saying, ‘Jump into the punt, lad, and across.’ Thereupon did Will Shakspeare jump into said punt, and begin to sing a song about a mermaid.”
William Shakspeare.
“Sir! is this credible? I will be sworn I never saw one; and verily do believe that scarcely one in a hundred years doth venture so far up the Avon.”
Sir Thomas.
“There is something in this. Thou mayest have sung about one, nevertheless. Young poets take great liberties with all female kind; not that mermaids are such very unlawful game for them, and there be songs even about worse and staler fish. Mind ye that! Thou hast written songs, and hast sung them, and lewd enough they be, God wot!”
William Shakspeare.
“Pardon me, your worship! they were not mine then. Peradventure the song about the mermaid may have been that ancient one which every boy in most parishes has been singing for many years, and, perhaps, his father before him; and somebody was singing it then, mayhap, to keep up his courage in the night.”
Sir Thomas.
“I never heard it.”
William Shakspeare.
“Nobody would dare to sing in the presence of your worship, unless commanded,—not even the mermaid herself.”
Sir Thomas.
“Canst thou sing it?”
William Shakspeare.
“Verily, I can sing nothing.”
Sir Thomas.
“Canst thou repeat it from memory?”
William Shakspeare.
“It is so long since I have thought about it, that I may fail in the attempt.”
Sir Thomas.
“Try, however.”
William Shakspeare.
“‘The mermaid sat upon the rocks
All day long,
Admiring her beauty and combing her locks,
And singing a mermaid song.’”
Sir Thomas.
“What was it? what was it? I thought as much. There thou standest, like a woodpecker, chattering and chattering, breaking the bark with thy beak, and leaving the grub where it was. This is enough to put a saint out of patience.”
William Shakspeare.
“The wishes of your worship possess a mysterious influence,—I now remember all.
“‘And hear the mermaid’s song you may,