The oration concluded, biscuits and confectionery were, according to old observance, handed to such of the tenantry as chose to partake of them. The serving of the grace-cup, which ought to have formed part of the duties of Zachariah, had he been capable of office, fell to the share of the sexton. The bowl was kissed, first by Ranulph, with lips that trembled with emotion, and afterward by his surrounding friends; but no drop was tasted--a circumstance which did not escape Peter's observation. Proceeding to the tenantry, the first in order happened to be Farmer Toft. Peter presented the cup, and as Toft was about to drain a deep draught of the wine, Peter whispered in his ear, "Take my advice for once, Friend Toft, and don't let a bubble of the liquid pass your lips. For every drop of the wine you drain, Sir Piers will have one sin the less, and you a load the heavier on your conscience. Didst never hear of sin-swallowing? For what else was this custom adopted? Seest thou not the cup's brim hath not yet been moistened? Well, as you will--ha, ha!" And the sexton passed onwards. His work being nearly completed, he looked around for Jack Palmer, whom he had remarked during the oration, but could nowhere discover him. Peter was about to place the flagon, now almost drained of its contents, upon its former resting-place, when Small took it from his hands. "_In poculi fundo residuum non relinque_, admonisheth Pythagoras," said he, returning the empty cup to the sexton. "My task here is ended," muttered Peter, "but not elsewhere. Foul weather or fine, thunder or rain, I must to the church." Bequeathing his final instructions to certain of the household who were to form part of the procession, in case it set out, he opened the hall door, and, the pelting shower dashing heavily in his face, took his way up the avenue, screaming, as he strode along, the following congenial rhymes: EPHIALTES I ride alone--I ride by night Through the moonless air on a courser white! Over the dreaming earth I fly, Here and there--at my fantasy! My frame is withered, my visage old, My locks are frore, and my bones ice cold. The wolf will howl as I pass his lair, The ban-dog moan, and the screech-owl stare. For breath, at my coming, the sleeper strains, And the freezing current forsakes his veins! Vainly for pity the wretch may sue-- Merciless Mara no prayers subdue! _To his couch I flit-- On his breast I sit! Astride! astride! astride! And one charm alone --A hollow stone!--[23] Can scare me from his side!_