Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song.
Now Owen Wood had one fair child,
Unlike her mother, meek and mild;
Her love the draper strove to gain,
But she repaid him with disdain.
With his foodle doo!
"Peace!" cried Jack.
But Blueskin was not to be silenced. He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader.
In vain he fondly urged his suit,
And, all in vain, the question put;
She answered,—"Mr. William Kneebone,
Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone."
With your foodle doo!
"Thames Darrell has my heart alone,
A noble youth, e'en you must own;
And, if from him my love could stir,
Jack Sheppard I should much prefer!"
With his foodle doo!
"Do you refuse my toast?" cried Jack, impatiently.
"I do," replied Kneebone.
"Drink this, then," roared Blueskin. And pouring the contents of a small powder-flask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture.
At this juncture, the door was opened by Rachel.