“Such, Mr. Geoffrey Barbican, is a tolerably exact translation of this long and very curious Patent of Pontage for London Bridge; but a perfect rendering of it into English is a matter attended with more than usual difficulty; since it is composed of so many barbarous Anglo-Norman nouns, with Latin terminations attached to them; of quaint legal phrases, of which Fortescue and Rastall must be the interpreters; and of numerous articles of which both the names and the nature are to us almost utterly unintelligible. However, Sir, I here give it you to the best of my poor skill; and in doing so, let me add to it the apologetical words of your namesake and fellow citizen, the amiable old Chaucer;--‘Now pray I to them all that hearken this treatise, or rede, that if there be any thing that liketh them, that thereof they thank Him, of whom proceedeth all wit and goodness. And if there be any thing that displease them, I pray them also that they arrette it to the default of mine unknonnyng, and not to my will, that would fain have said better if I had knowing.’” “Doubtless, Mr. Postern,” answered I, “my civilities are at the least due to you, for the labour you bestow upon me; but yet I must be so plain as to tell you, that your Pontage Patent reminded me mightily of a Table of Tolls at a Turnpike-Gate, whereon we read ‘For every horse, mare, gelding, or mule, laden or unladen, not drawing, two pence,’ So again, and again, I say, let me have stories, man! I want stories! ‘for,’ as Oliver Goldsmith said of old to the Ghost of _Dame Quickly_, ‘if you have nothing but tedious remarks to communicate, seek some other hearer, I am determined to hearken only to stories.’” “Be of a sweet temper, however you may be disappointed, Mr. Geoffrey,” replied the old Gentleman; “if I possessed the wit either of honest Oliver, or the Ghost of Mistress Quickly, you should, indeed, be entertained; but, seeing that we lack humour, we must make it up in the real, though somewhat dull, formula of past days. This time, I have, however, a romantic scene for you _in petto_, and even now we have arrived at a point of the history of London Bridge, which, when skilfully managed, with a little fiction, has drawn tears from many an eye, and awakened an interest in many a heart: I mean the capture and death of the brave and unfortunate Sir William Wallace. ‘Joy, joy in London now! He goes, the rebel Wallace goes to death; At length the traitor meets a traitor’s doom. Joy, joy in London now!’