When I think of my old wealth, well-nigh I weep.
Thus breedeth many beggars bold.'"
By the time the last line was reached the whole room took it up, and the walls shook with the song:—
"'And there wakeneth in the world dismay and woe
For as good is death anon as so far to toil.'"
At the close of the song, Rugge looked about him, and singled out from a dark corner, where he had been quietly looking on, a shy lad in the garb of a minstrel, who, hugging his rebec under his arm, shambled awkwardly up to his leader.
"Hither, my brave boy," cried Rugge, presenting him to Annys; "this is Jack Nicol, a better friend to the Cause than those who swing a broad axe or train an arrow against those who live only by labor of tongue. This youth never opens his lips but he risks a broken pate, and indeed he is very like to find himself clapped into gaol for his bold songs which do stir the people up to ask for their freedom."
"Good!" cried Annys, clapping the boy upon his back; "we shall know each other better before long, for I shall have need of thee."
"I am ready," replied the boy, yet rubbing his head somewhat ruefully on the spot where the sheriff's stick had been all too familiar with it.