good gold as ever chinked under a miser’s thumb and fore-finger. Ay, count them, lad,” said he, as Foster received the gold with a grim smile, “and add to them the goodly remembrance he gave last night to Janet.”
“How’s this! how’s this!” said Anthony Foster, hastily; “gave he gold to Janet?”
“Ay, man, wherefore not?—does not her service to his fair lady require guerdon?”
“She shall have none on’t,” said Foster; “she shall return it. I know his dotage on one face is as brief as it is deep. His affections are as fickle as the moon.”
“Why, Foster, thou art mad—thou dost not hope for such good fortune, as that my lord should cast an eye on Janet?—Who, in the fiend’s name, would listen to the thrush when the nightingale is singing?”
“Thrush or nightingale, all is one to the fowler; and, Master Varney, you can sound the quailpipe most daintily to wile wantons into his nets. I desire no such devil’s preferment for Janet as you have brought many a poor maiden to—Dost thou laugh?—I will keep one limb of my family, at least, from Satan’s clutches, that thou mayst rely on—She shall restore the gold.”
“Ay, or give it to thy keeping, Tony, which will serve as well,” answered Varney; “but I have that to say which is more serious.—Our lord is returning to court in an evil humour for us.”
“How meanest thou?” said Foster. “Is he tired already of his pretty toy—his plaything yonder?
