The constable dropped his straw and raised himself with difficulty to his full height, one hand firmly resting on the cask.
“Silence, fool of a posse” he commanded, when he had poised himself; “look ye, I have other eggs on the spit. To thy knee, sirrah; to thy knee, knave!”
Buzzard with difficulty and with many groans unsuspectingly obeyed the command. Swallow lifted the cask which not long since he had been riding and which had not as yet been tapped upon the shoulder of his kneeling companion. There was another groan.
“’Tis too heavy, good Master Constable,” cried Buzzard, in sore distress.
“Thou clodhopper’” yelled Swallow, unsympathetically. “An thou cannot master a cask of wine, thou wilt never master the King’s law. To the kitchen with thee; and keep thy eyes shut, thou knave of a posse.” The constable made a dive for his pike and lantern, and enforced his authority by punctuating his remarks with jabs of the pike from behind at his powerless friend, who could scarce keep his legs under the weight of the cask.
As Buzzard tottered through the kitchen-door and made his exit, the constable, finding his orders faithfully obeyed, steadied himself with the pike to secure a good start; and then, with long staggering strides, he himself made his way after the posse, singing loudly to his heart’s content:
“Good store of good claret supplies everything
And the man that is drunk is as great as a king.”
CHAPTER IX
Three chickens!