"Oliver? Aye, so 'tis with a curse on't! The moon's no friend o' mine. Gimme a black night, darkmans wi' a popper i' my famble and t'other in my cly and I'm your cull, ecod!" Here the door of the cottage swung open and two men entered, the one a tall, wild, gipsy-looking fellow, the other a shortish man in spurred boots and long riding-coat from the side-pockets of which protruded the brass-heeled butts of a pair of pistols.
"What, Benno, my lad—what Benno," he cried, scowling round the dismal room beneath the cock of his weatherbeaten hat, "blind me, but here's a plaguy dog-hole for a genty-cove o' the high-toby!"
"O, the high pad is a delicate trade
And a delicate trade o' fame
We bite the cully of his cole
And carry away his game
Oho, and carry away——"
"Quit, Jerry, quit!" growled the man Benno. "Hold that dasher o' yourn won't 'ee——"
"No, Benno my cove, if I do ha' a mind for t' sing, I'll sing and burn all, says I!"
"I keep my prancer and two pepps
A tattle in my cly.
When bowsing——"
"Keep your chaffer still, won't 'ee!" snarled the other. "'Swounds, a pal can't hear hisself! Ha, Bet!" he roared, "old Bet—what grannam, oho—lights, more lights here!"
"Lights—aye," nodded Jerry, "lights inside's well enough but lights outside's the devil! Look at Oliver, look at th' moon, well—curse th' moon says I and—O ecod! What's yon i' the corner? A ladder as I'm a roaring boy—a ladder! Well, here's to see what's above. A doxy, aha, a dimber-dell, oho—"
"When my dimber-dell I courted
She had youth and beauty too——"
As he sang he whipped a pistol from his pocket and lurched towards the ladder; and Sergeant Zebedee, watching through one of the many crevices, smiled happily and drew his bayonet. Jerry had one foot on the ladder when his companion caught his shoulder and swung him roughly away.