Great Britain -- History -- Commonwealth and Protectorate, 1649-1660 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
So murmuring, he glued the huge flagon to his lips, and as the head was
slowly and gradually inclined backwards, in proportion as the right
hand elevated the bottom of the pitcher, Everard had great doubts
whether the drinker and the cup were likely to part until the whole
contents of the latter had been transferred to the person of the
former. Roger Wildrake stinted, however, when, by a moderate
computation, he had swallowed at one draught about a quart and a half.
He then replaced it on the salver, fetched a long breath to refresh his
lungs, bade the boy get him gone with the rest of the liquors, in a
tone which inferred some dread of his constancy, and then, turning to
his friend Everard, he expatiated in praise of moderation, observing,
that the mouthful which he had just taken had been of more service to
him than if he had remained quaffing healths at table for four hours
together.
His friend made no reply, but could not help being privately of opinion
that Wildrake’s temperance had done as much execution on the tankard in
his single draught, as some more moderate topers might have effected if
they had sat sipping for an evening. But the subject was changed by the
entrance of the landlord, who came to announce to his honour Colonel
Everard, that the worshipful Mayor of Woodstock, with the Rev. Master
Holdenough, were come to wait upon him.
CHAPTER THE TENTH.
Here we have one head
Upon two bodies,—your two-headed bullock
Is but an ass to such a prodigy.
These two have but one meaning, thought, and counsel:
And when the single noddle has spoke out,
The four legs scrape assent to it.
OLD PLAY.
In the goodly form of the honest Mayor, there was a bustling mixture of
importance and embarrassment, like the deportment of a man who was
conscious that he had an important part to act, if he could but exactly
discover what that part was. But both were mingled with much pleasure
at seeing Everard, and he frequently repeated his welcomes and
all-hails before he could be brought to attend to what that gentleman
said in reply.
“Good, worthy Colonel, you are indeed a desirable sight to Woodstock at
all times, being, as I may say, almost our townsman, as you have dwelt
so much and so long at the palace. Truly, the matter begins almost to
pass my wit, though I have transacted the affairs of this borough for
many a long day; and you are come to my assistance like, like”—
“_Tanquam Deus ex machina_, as the Ethnic poet hath it,” said Master
Holdenough, “although I do not often quote from such books.—Indeed,
Master Markham Everard,—or worthy Colonel, as I ought rather to say—you
are simply the most welcome man who has come to Woodstock since the
days of old King Harry.”
“I had some business with you, my good friend,” said the Colonel,
addressing the Mayor; “I shall be glad if it should so happen at the
same time, that I may find occasion to pleasure you or your worthy
pastor.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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