English literature -- England -- Lancashire; Legends -- England -- Lancashire
On the morrow he watched the sun creep lazily up the sky, and more
lazily down again. The old dial seemed equally dilatory and unwilling
to move. He had sorted out his best and most ardent love sonnet, and
strummed as many jangling tunes as would have served a company of
morris-dancers and pipers for a May festival. Twilight came on apace.
The moon was fast mounting to her zenith. No chance of its being dark;
so much the better--it would enable the lovers to distinguish each
other the more easily.
Hodge had long been ready, and the steeds duly caparisoned. At length,
reckoning that his arrival would take place about the time the lady
had retired to her chamber, he set forth, accompanied by his trusty
esquire. The road lay for some distance over a long high tract of
moorland, while beautifully did the bright stars appear to shoot up
from the black, bleak, level horizon. The moon seemed to smile
suspiciously upon them, and even Hodge grew eloquent beneath her
glance.
"It's brave riding to-night, master; one might see to pick up a tester
if 'twere but i' the way. Well, I does like moonlight, ever since
Margery came a-living at the parson's."
"Peace, sirrah!" Anthony was conning inwardly, and humming the soft
ditty by which he proposed to excite his mistress' ear. "I think thou
art mine evil destiny, doomed everlastingly to be my plague and
annoyance."
"Body o' me, but you're grown woundily humoursome of a sudden,"
muttered the other at the lower end of his voice. "I waur but saying
as how Margery"----
Hodge here received another interruption. A stray ass, turned out to
browse on the common, seemingly actuated thereto by sympathy or
proximity of either man or beast, burst into one of those hysterical,
though exquisite cadences, which defy all imitation, and at the same
time produce an extraordinary and irresistible effect on the animal
economy.
"That is all along of thy prating," said the meditative lover, when
the "_strain_" was concluded. "It bodes no good; and I'd as lief see a
magpie, and hear a screech-owl, as one of those silly beasts. The
salutation of an ass by night is ever held a sound of ill-omen; and
lo! there be two of ye, reckoning thine own ugly voice."
"Then may two bode good, if one bode ill, as the maids say of the
magpies," replied the indefatigable attendant.
"I'll cudgel thine infirmity out o' thee. Hold thy tongue! Hadst thou
not been left me by my father, a precious bequest, I had sent thee a
packing, long ere thou hadst worn a badge in my service."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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