“Light down, my lord, into the hall,
And leave your laden wains in stall.
“Leave your white horse to squire and groom,
And come to sup in the daïs-room:
“To sup, but first to wash, for lo!
E'en now the washing-horn[1] they blow.”
“Fullsoon, fair sir, shall my washing be made,
When that the tribute hath been weigh’d.”
The first sack from the wains they pight—
(I trow ’twas corded fair and tight)—
The first sack that they brought to scale,
’Twas found full weight and honest tale:
The second sack that they came to,
The weight therein was just and true;
The third sack from the wains they pight—
“How, now! I trow this sack is light?”
The Intendant saw, and from his stand
Unto the sack he raught his hand—
He raught his hand the cords unto,
That so their knots he might undo.
“From off the sack thy hand refrain;
My sword shall cut the knot in twain!”
The word had scantly passed his teeth,
When flash’d his bright sword from the sheath—
Through the Frank’s neck the falchion went,
Shear by his shoulders as he bent;
It cleft the flesh and bones in twain,
And eke the links o’ one balance-chain:
Into the scale the head plump’d straight,
And there, I trow, was honest weight!
Loud through the town the cry did go:
“Hands on the slayer! Ho! Harò!"
He gallops forth out through the night;
“Ho! torches, torches—on his flight!”
“Light up, light up! as best ye may,
The night is black, and frore the way.
“But ere ye catch me, sore I fear,
The shoes from off your feet you’ll wear—
“The shoes of the gilded blue cordwain;[2]
For your scales—you’ll ne’er need them again.
“Your scales of gold you will need no more,
To weigh the stones of the Breton shore!
To war!”
THE PREVIOUS QUESTION.
THE STORY OF AN INDEPENDENT MEMBER.
I had been for some years established in a tidy little villa residence, situated in the suburban solitudes of Hendon, my amiable consort Flora, and two lovely pledges of our affection, being the soothers and sharers of my repose, when I was stung by the gad-fly of ambition, and precipitated for a time into the unquiet whirlpool of public life. I now look back to that period of my existence as to a feverish dream, not but what, if circumstances had been different, results might have differed also. I came forward, I confess, at the wrong moment. What was wanted to secure success in the House of Commons, during the brief period I had the honour of sitting as representative of the ancient borough of Bribingford-upon-Thames, was not, I have no hesitation in saying, the presence of a Patriot in that assembly.
I was, and am, a Patriot in the true sense of the word. I would scorn to sacrifice the interests of the nation to the low exigencies of party conflict. What mattered it to me whether the Forward-Backwards or the Backward-Forwards faction were in possession of “the sweets of office?” What those “sweets” were, I could never exactly discover. After some little experience of what is called public life, I will venture to assert, with considerable confidence, that as a lucrative calling the trade of politics is about the most beggarly pursuit which any gentleman can take up. It is all very well to have the confidence of your Sovereign, but I would a good deal rather have the confidence of my baker. It really signified not one straw to me whether Lord Merryton “held the reins of office,” or the Earl of Tarboy “guided the helm of the State.” Merryton, of course, had my general adhesion; but it was surprising what bids the Tarboy party would occasionally make for the support of independent members. What to do was often a puzzle to the most patriotic brains; for the conviction was gradually forced upon you, that if the Earl of Tarboy would see you far enough upon any question of liberal policy, as soon as he could do without your help, Viscount Merryton was not disposed to see you much nearer. Of course there were occasions when both of these eminent statesmen gave utterance to sentiments which really took your unwary reason captive; but it always unfortunately happened that time and occasion did not serve for the immediate fulfilment of their promises—just when, to all appearance, they were in the humour to keep them.
But of all these things presently. First, in order of time, I must relate how it was that I—even I—became involved in what is called the vortex of politics. I am inclined to attribute this great event of my life ultimately to an observation I let fall one morning during breakfast, in the little dining-room of Marigold Lodge, to the effect that a small white and lavender check silk dress, which my dear Flora had worn more frequently than I should have desired, was getting rather shabby.
The immediate consequence of this observation was a quiet connubial turn with Flora in the little garden behind Marigold Lodge, during the course of which she was pleased to insist upon the sufficiency of her existing wardrobe; but my excellent little consort argued the question so badly, or rather the facts were so dead against her, that she was forced to confess at last, that unless vigorous measures were taken she would be compelled to make her appearance at the next Botanic Show in the very identical dress in which she had revealed herself to the promenaders upon two previous occasions. What did it matter? It mattered a good deal to me, if not to her; so for my sake she suffered herself to be convinced. The affair was ultimately settled under the lime-