"Simply, Rob, that the time has come when, peradventure, we must part. I am tired of this wicked life. I shall amend; and I come to counsel you to the like virtuous resolution. I will be married, Robert Swale, Man of the Bowl!" "Grammercy! thou wilt be married! thou! I spit upon thee for a fool. What crotchet is this?" "I will be married, as I say, neither more nor less. Now to what wench, ask you? Why to the very fairest and primest flower of this province--the Rose of St. Mary's--the Collector's own daughter. I mark that devil's sneer of unbelief of yours, old buckler man: truer word was never spoke by son of the sea or land, than I speak now." "To the Collector's daughter!" ejaculated the Cripple, in a tone of derision. "Thy carriage is bold in the Port, but no measure of audacity will ever bring thee to that favour. Would'st thou play at thine old game, and sack the town, and take the daintiest in it for ransom? You know no other trick of wooing, Dickon." "By my hand, Rob, I am specially besought by the Collector to make one at a choice merry-making which his daughter has on foot for next Thursday. Ay, and I am going, on his set command, to dance a gailliard with Mistress Blanche. Oh, she shall be the very bird of the sea--the girl of the billow, Rob! She shall be empress of the green wave that nursed me, and the blue sky, and the wide waste. Her throne shall be on the deck of my gay bark: and my merry men shall spring at her beck as deftly as at the boatswain's pipe!" "You shall sooner meet your deservings," said Rob, "on the foal of the acorn, with a hempen string, than find grace with the Collector's child. Thy whole life has been adversary to the good will of the father." "I know it," replied Cocklescraft. "I was born in natural warfare with the customs and all who gather them; the more praise for my exploit! I shall change my ways and forsake evil company. I shall be a man of worship. We shall shut up the Chapel, Rob; expel our devils; pack off our witches to Norway, and establish an honest vocation. Therefore, Rob, go to father Pierre; repent of your misdeeds, and live upon your past gains. You are rich and may afford to entertain henceforth a reputable conscience." "Do not palter with me, sirrah! but tell me what this imports." "Then truly, Rob, I am much disturbed in my fancies. I love the wench, and mean to have her--fairly if I can--but after the fashion of the Coast if I must. She doth not consent as yet--mainly because she hath a toy of delight in that silken Secretary of my Lord--a bookish pale-cheeked, sickly strummer of stringed instruments--one Master Verheyden, I think they call him." "Ha!" exclaimed the Cripple, as a frown gathered on his brow; "what is he? Whence comes he?"