Stepping carelessly forward, I lounge on the green,
Taking excellent care that by all I am seen;
Some remarks on time's flight to the squires I address,
But I say not a word of the flight of Black Bess.
I mention the hour—it was just about four—
Play a rubber at bowls—think the danger is o'er;
When athwart my next game, like a checkmate at chess,
Comes the horsemen in search of the rider of Bess.
What matter details? Off with triumph I came;
He swears to the hour, and the squires swear the same;
I had robbed him at four!—while at four they profess
I was quietly bowling—all thanks to Black Bess!
Then one halloo, boys, one loud cheering halloo!
To the swiftest of coursers, the gallant, the true!
For the sportsman unborn shall the memory bless
Of the horse of the highwayman, bonny Black Bess!
Loud acclamations rewarded Dick's performance. Awakened from his doze, Zoroaster beat time to the melody, the only thing, Jerry said, he was capable of beating in his present shattered condition. After some little persuasion, the Magus was prevailed upon to enliven the company with a strain, which he trolled forth after a maudlin manner:
THE DOUBLE CROSS
Though all of us have heard of crost fights,
And certain gains, by certain lost fights,
I rather fancies that it's news,
How in a mill, both men should lose;
For vere the odds are thus made even,
It plays the dickens with the steven;[96]
Besides, against all rule they're sinning,
Vere neither has no chance of vinning.
Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Two milling coves, each vide avake,
Vere backed to fight for heavy stake:
But in the mean time, so it vos,
Both kids agreed to play a cross;
Bold came each buffer[97] to the scratch,
To make it look a tightish match;
They peeled[98] in style, and bets vere making,
'Tvos six to four, but few vere taking.
Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Quite cautiously the mill began,
For neither knew the other's plan;
Each cull[99] completely in the dark,
Of vot might be his neighbor's mark;
Resolved his fibbing[100] not to mind,
Nor yet to pay him back in kind;
So on each other kept they tout,[101]
And sparred a bit, and dodged about,
Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Vith mawleys[102] raised, Tom bent his back,
As if to plant a heavy thwack:
Vile Jem, with neat left-handed stopper,
Straight threatened Tommy with a topper;
'Tis all my eye! no claret flows,
No facers sound—no smashing blows—
Five minutes pass, yet not a hit,
How can it end, pals?—vait a bit.
Ri, tol, lol, &c.