Chapter Thirteen.
The “fun grows fast and furious”—The Pedagogue does not scan correctly, and his feet become very unequal—An allegorical compliment almost worked up into a literal quarrel—At length the mighty are laid low, and the Dominie hurts his nose.
I heard Tom’s treble, and a creaking noise, which I recognised to proceed from the Dominie, who had joined the chorus; and I went aft, if possible to prevent further excess; but I found that the grog had mounted into the Dominie’s head, and all my hints were disregarded. Tom was despatched for the other bottle, and the Dominie’s pannikin was replenished, old Tom roaring out—
“Come, sling the flowing bowl;
Fond hopes arise,
The girls we prize
Shall bless each jovial soul;
The can, boys, bring,
We’ll dance and sing,
While foaming billows roll.
“Now for the chorus again—
“Come, sling the flowing bowl, etcetera.
“Jacob, why don’t you join?” The chorus was given by the whole of us. The Dominie’s voice was even louder, though not quite so musical, as old Tom’s.
“Evoé!” cried the Dominie; “evoé! cantemus.
“Amo, amas—I loved a lass,
For she was tall and slender;
Amas, amat—she laid me flat,
Though of the feminine gender.
“Truly do I not forget the songs of my youth, and of my hilarious days: yet doth the potent spirit work upon me like the god in the Cumean sybil; and I shall soon prophecy that which shall come to pass.”