Rookwood

CHAPTER II

TOM KING

PEACE, base calumniators,” exclaimed Tom King, aroused from his toothpick reverie by these aspersions of the best part of creation. “Peace, I say. None shall dare abuse that dear devoted sex in the hearing of their champion, without pricking a lance with him in their behalf. What do you, either of you, who abuse woman in that wholesale style, know of her? Nothing—less than nothing; and yet you venture, upon your paltry experience, to lift up your voices and decry the sex. Now I do know her; and upon my own experience avouch, that, as a sex, woman, compared with man, is as an angel to a devil. We 'tis that make her otherwise; we, selfish, exacting, neglectful men; we teach her indifference, and then blame her apt scholarship. We spoil our own hand, and then blame the cards. No abuse of women in my hearing. Give me a glass of grog, Dick. —The sex!—three times three!'—and here's a song for you into the bargain.” Saying which, in a mellow plaintive tone, Tom gave the following:

PLEDGE OF THE HIGHWAYMAN

Come, fill up a bumper to Eve's fairest daughters,

Who have lavished their smiles on the brave and the free;

Toast the sweethearts of DUDLEY, HIND, WILMOT, and WATERS, ¹

Whate'er the attraction, whate'er their degree.

Pledge! pledge in a bumper, each kind-hearted maiden,

Whose bright eyes were dimmed at the highwayman's fall;

Who stood by the gallows with sorrow o'erladen,

Bemoaning the fate of the gallant DU-VAL!

Here's to each lovely lass chance of war bringeth near one,

Whom, with manner impassioned, we tenderly stop;

And to whom, like the lover addressing his dear one,

In terms of intreaty the question we pop.

How oft, in such case, rosy lips have proved sweeter

Than the rosiest book, bright eyes saved a bright ring

While that one other kiss has brought off a repeater,

And a bead as a favour—the favourite string.

With our hearts ready rifled, each pocket we rifle,

With the pure flame of chivalry stirring our breasts;

Life's risk for our mistress's praise is a trifle;

And each purse as a trophy our attests.

Then toss off your glasses to all girls of spirit,

Ne'er with names, or with number, your memories vex;

Our toast, boys, embraces each woman of merit,

And, for fear of omission, we'll drink the WHOLE SEX.

"Well," replied Dick, replenishing King's rummer, while he laughed heartily at his ditty, "I shan't refuse your toast, though my heart don't respond to your sentiments. Ah, Tom! the sex you praise so much will, I fear, prove your undoing. Do as you please, but curse me if I ever pin my life to a petticoat. I'd as soon think of neglecting the four cautions."

"The four cautions," said King; "what are they?"

"Did you never hear them?" replied Dick. "Attend, then, and be edified."

THE FOUR CAUTIONS

Pay attention to these cautions four,

And through life you will need little more,

Should you dole out your days to threescore

Beware of a pistol before!

Before! before!

Beware of a pistol before!

And when backwards his ears are inclined,

And his tail with his ham is combined,

Caution two you will bear in your mind:

Beware of a prancer behind!

Behind! behind!

Beware of a prancer behind!

Thirdly, when in the park you may ride,

On your best bit of blood, sir, astride,

Chatting gay to your old friend's young bride:

Beware of a coach at the side!

At the side! at the side!

Beware of a coach at the side!

Lastly, whether in purple or grey,

Canter, ranter, grave, solemn, or gay,

Whate'er he may do or may say,

Beware of a priest every way!

Every way! every way!

Beware of a priest every way!

"Well," said Tom King, "all you can sing or say don't alter my good opinion of the women. Not a secret have I from the girl of my heart. She could have sold me over and over again if she had chosen, but my sweet Sue is not the wench to do that."

"It is not too late," said Dick. "Your Delilah may yet hand you over to the Philistines."

"Then I shall die in a good cause," said King: "but

The Tyburn tree

Has no terrors for me,

Let better men swing—I'm at liberty.

I shall never come to the scragging-post, unless you turn topsman, Dick Turpin. My nativity has been cast, and the stars have declared I am to die by the hand of my best friend—and that's you—eh, Dick?"

"It sounds like it," replied Turpin; "but I advise you not to become too intimate with Jack Ketch. He may prove your best friend after all."

"Why, faith, that's true," replied King, laughing; "and if I must ride backwards up Holborn Hill, I'll do the thing in style, and honest Jack Ketch shall never want his dues. A man should always die game. We none of us know how soon our turn may come; but come when it will, I shall never flinch from it.

As the highwayman's life is the fullest of zest,

So the highwayman's death is the briefest and best;

He dies not as other men die, by degrees!

But AT ONCE! without wincing, and quite at his ease!

as the song you are so fond of says. When I die it will not be of consumption. And if the surgeon's knife must come near me, it will be after death. There's some comfort in that reflection, at all events."

"True," replied Turpin, "and, with a little alteration, my song would suit you capitally:

There is not a king, should you search the world round,

So blithe as the king's king, TOM KING, to be found:

Dear woman's his empire, each girl is his own,

And he'd have a long reign if he'd let em alone!

Ha, ha!"

"Ha, ha!" laughed Tom. "And now, Dick, to change the subject. You are off, I understand, to Yorkshire to-night. 'Pon my soul, you are a wonderful fellow—an alibi personified!—here and everywhere at the same time—no wonder you are called the flying highwayman. To-day in town—to-morrow at York—the day after at Chester. The devil only knows where you will pitch your quarters a week hence. There are rumours of you in all counties at the same moment. This man swears you robbed him at Hounslow; that on Salisbury Plain; while another avers you monopolise Cheshire and Yorkshire, and that it isn't safe even to hunt without pops in your pocket. I heard some devilish good stories of you at D'Osyndar's t'other day; the fellow who told them to me little thought I was a brother blade."

"You flatter me," said Dick, smiling complacently, "but it's no merit of mine. Black Bess alone enables me to do it, and hers be the credit. Talking of being everywhere at the same time, you shall hear what she once did for me in Cheshire. Meantime, a glass to the best mare in England. You won't refuse that toast, Tom. Ah! if your mistress is only as true to you as my nag to me, you might set at nought the tightest hempen cravat that was ever twisted, and defy your best friend to hurt you. Black Bess! and God bless her! And now for the song." Saying which, with much emotion, Turpin chanted the following rhymes: