Once it happened in Cheshire, near Dunham, I popped
On a horseman alone, whom I speedily stopped;
That I lightened his pockets you’ll readily guess —
Quick work makes Dick Turpin when mounted on Bess.
Now it seems the man knew me; “Dick Turpin,” said he,
“You shall swing for this job, as you live, d’ye see;"
I laughed at his threats and his vows of redress;
I was sure of an alibi then with Black Bess.
The road was a hollow, a sunken ravine,95 Overshadowed completely by wood like a screen; I clambered the bank, and I needs must confess, That one touch of the spur grazed the side of Black Bess.
Brake, brook, meadow, and plough’d field, Bess fleetly bestrode,
As the crow wings her flight we selected our road;
We arrived at Hough Green in five minutes, or less —
My neck it was saved by the speed of Black Bess.
Stepping carelessly forward, I lounge on the green,
Taking excellent care that by all I am seen;
Some remarks on time’s flight to the squires I address,
But I say not a word of the flight of Black Bess.
I mention the hour — it was just about four —
Play a rubber at bowls — think the danger is o’er;
When athwart my next game, like a checkmate at chess,
Comes the horsemen in search of the rider of Bess.
What matter details? Off with triumph I came;
He swears to the hour, and the squires swear the same;
I had robbed him at four! — while at four they profess I was quietly bowling — all thanks to Black Bess!
Then one halloo, boys, one loud cheering halloo!
To the swiftest of coursers, the gallant, the true!
For the sportsman unborn shall the memory bless
Of the horse of the highwayman, bonny Black Bess!
Loud acclamations rewarded Dick’s performance. Awakened from his doze, Zoroaster beat time to the melody, the only thing, Jerry said, he was capable of beating in his present shattered condition. After some little persuasion, the Magus was prevailed upon to enliven the company with a strain, which he trolled forth after a maudlin manner:
THE DOUBLE CROSS
Though all of us have heard of crost fights, And certain gains, by certain lost fights, I rather fancies that it’s news, How in a mill, both men should lose; For vere the odds are thus made even, It plays the dickens with the steven;96 Besides, against all rule they’re sinning, Vere neither has no chance of vinning. Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Two milling coves, each vide avake, Vere backed to fight for heavy stake: But in the mean time, so it vos, Both kids agreed to play a cross; Bold came each buffer97 to the scratch, To make it look a tightish match; They peeled98 in style, and bets vere making, ‘Tvos six to four, but few vere taking. Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Quite cautiously the mill began,
For neither knew the other’s plan;
Each cull99 completely in the dark, Of vot might be his neighbor’s mark; Resolved his fibbing100 not to mind, Nor yet to pay him back in kind; So on each other kept they tout,101 And sparred a bit, and dodged about, Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Vith mawleys102 raised, Tom bent his back, As if to plant a heavy thwack: Vile Jem, with neat left-handed stopper, Straight threatened Tommy with a topper; ’Tis all my eye! no claret flows, No facers sound — no smashing blows — Five minutes pass, yet not a hit, How can it end, pals? — vait a bit. Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Each cove vas teazed with double duty, To please his backers, yet play booty;103 Ven, luckily for Jem, a teller Vos planted right upon his smeller; Down dropped he, stunned; ven time vas called, Seconds in vain the seconds bawled; The mill is o’er, the crosser crost, The loser’s von, the vinner’s lost! Ri, tol, lol, &c.
The party assumed once more a lively air, and the glass was circulated so freely, that at last a final charge drained the ample bowl of its contents.
“The best of friends must part,” said Dick; “and I would willingly order another whiff of punch, but I think we have all had enough to satisfy us, as you milling coves have it, Zory! Your one eye has got a drop in it already, old fellow; and, to speak the truth, I must be getting into the saddle without more delay, for I have a long ride before me. And now, friend Jerry, before I start, suppose you tip us one of your merry staves; we haven’t heard your pipe to-day, and never a cross cove of us all can throw off so prime a chant as yourself. A song! a song!”
“Ay, a song!” reiterated King and the Magus.
“You do me too much honor, gemmen,” said Jerry, modestly, taking a pinch of snuff; “I am sure I shall be most happy. My chants are all of a sort. You must make all due allowances — hem!” And, clearing his throat, he forthwith warbled
THE MODERN GREEK
(Not translated from the Romaic.)
Come, gemmen, name, and make your game,
See, round the ball is spinning.
Black, red, or blue, the colors view,
Une, deux, cinque, ’tis beginning, Then make your game, The color name, While round the ball is spinning.
This sleight of hand my flat shall land While covered by my bonnet,104 I plant my ball, and boldly call, Come make your game upon it! Thus rat-a-tat! I land my flat! ’Tis black — not red — is winning.
At gay roulette was never met A lance like mine for bleeding! I’m ne’er at fault, at nothing halt, All other legs preceding. To all awake, I never shake A mag105 unless I nip it.
Blind-hookey sees how well I squeeze The well-packed cards in shuffling. Ecarté, whist, I never missed, A nick the broads106 while ruffling. Mogul or loo, The same I do, I am down to trumps as trippet!
French hazard ta’en, I nick the main, Was ne’er so prime a caster. No crabs for