"I hope he may get a fall some day," said Ramsay, bluffly.
James looked at him with a significant smile, "And so he will, Jock," he said, "such a fall as may break his neck, perhaps; but we must give him time. It's always better to let such lads weary themselves out, keeping a watchful eye upon them, Jock, lest they play us a scurvy trick. Soul o' my body, man, but he made a fine speech, though; well delivered, with just enunciation, and every sentence well put together. Not so bad for the matter either, if it had not been against his king and his duty. He's a sharp-witted callant, if he was not somewhat traitorously disposed, like the whole of those Ruthvens, every mother's son of them."
"I would soon stop their treason, if I were your majesty," said John Ramsay; "however, you walk by wisdom and I by indignation, so your majesty will of course walk best."
"No doubt of it," answered James; and then, mingling a coarse familiarity with an affectation of dignity, which only rendered the one grotesque and the other ridiculous, he proceeded to say, "And now, Jock Ramshackle, as you have rendered us many and signal services, we are determined to confer upon you a high honour and dignity, by giving you a clout upon the shoulder"--or as the king pronounced it, shoother--"so go your ways; tell Tammy Elliot to bring us a sword; but bid him carry it discreetly on the cushion, with the hilt towards our hand, and to take care that it does not pop out of itself. They are but kittle weapons."
We must leave the learned reader, who may be so inclined, to retranslate the king's speeches into the fine vernacular in which he usually spoke; for we have only attempted, though somewhat more than half a Scot ourself, to put in a word or two of the original dialect, here and there, for vigour's sake; and, to say truth, we fear if we had either the capability or the desire of rendering each speech of his majesty word for word, most of our readers would be puzzled as to the meaning, and many of them not a little shocked at expressions, which we have omitted--for reasons which shall be fully assigned at some future period in a dissertation which we intend to write upon the oaths and blasphemies of Our late Sovereign Lord, King James, Sixth of that name of Scotland and First of England, of happy memory.
Young John Ramsay hurried away with a proud and joyous step to seek the instrument which was to bestow upon him the honours of chivalry; and, in the meantime, the king spoke more rapidly, and in a lower tone, to Herries than was his wont, every now and then pausing and saying, "Ha, man." To which Herries invariably replied, "Yes, sire, I understand your majesty. It was the wisest course;" and to this general approbation of the king's views he added, just as Ramsay was returning with Sir Thomas Elliot and the sword of state, "But you'll need cold iron before you've done."
Ramsay instantly started and turned round, with a glance of keen inquiry at the king's face, upon which James burst into a fit of laughter, exclaiming, "Look at the young slothound, how it pricks up its ears! I'll answer for it, put him on a trail of blood, and he'd follow it till he pulled his man down."
The youth coloured, for there was something in the comparison he did not altogether like; but, kneeling at the king's feet, he received the honour of knighthood--with the sheathed sword, however, which he did not altogether like either. The king then dismissed him, with the directions that he might have given a child, to "go and play himself;" and for his own part, he remained shut up with Herries for nearly an hour. At the end of that time, James and his counsellor came forth together, and walked towards the queen's apartments, the monarch concluding their conversation by saying, "Bide a wee; you'll see. We'll frame such a cunning device that the birdie shall walk into the trap, and if ever he gets out again, it will be the fault of the fowler's friends, and not his who set the snare. But mind, man, not a word or a look, as you'd have our favour. We shall ourselves be all kindness and courtesy; and you must make our looks your glass, that you may not scare the quarry from the net."
"Don't be too civil, sire," said Herries, bluntly, stumping after the king with his club foot. "He must feel that your majesty can't love him: and I've known many a man put on his cloak when he saw the sun shine too fair in the morning, because he knew it would rain before noon."
"Hout, tout! Would ye school me, man? Faith, you are too bold," said the king; and he walked on with an air of pique.