“And that we may be so,” said Smith, “I propose that we do sit up all this night—I hate lying rough, and detest a pallet-bed. So have at another flask, and the newest lampoon to help it out—
‘Now a plague of their votes
Upon Papists and Plots,
And be d—d Doctor Oates.
Tol de rol.’”
“Nay, but our Puritanic host,” said Ganlesse.
“I have him in my pocket, man—his eyes, ears, nose, and tongue,” answered his boon companion, “are all in my possession.”
“In that case, when you give him back his eyes and nose, I pray you keep his ears and tongue,” answered Ganlesse. “Seeing and smelling are organs sufficient for such a knave—to hear and tell are things he should have no manner of pretensions to.”
“I grant you it were well done,” answered Smith; “but it were a robbing of the hangman and the pillory; and I am an honest fellow, who would give Dun[*] and the devil his due. So,
‘All joy to great Cæsar,
Long life, love, and pleasure;
May the King live for ever,
‘Tis no matter for us, boys.’”
[*] Dun was the hangman of the day at Tyburn. He was successor of
Gregory Brunden, who was by many believed to be the same who
dropped the axe upon Charles I., though others were suspected of
being the actual regicide.
While this Bacchanalian scene proceeded, Julian had wrapt himself closely in his cloak, and stretched himself on the couch which they had shown him. He looked towards the table he had left—the tapers seemed to become hazy and dim as he gazed—he heard the sound of voices, but they ceased to convey any impression to his understanding; and in a few minutes, he was faster asleep than he had ever been in the whole course of his life.