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“ What, hey! what is the matter, gentlemen ? Hey-do-pray-for the love of heavendo in charity let us know what is all this about ?" cried curiosity in a thousand voices.
“ Woe! woe! woe! to this generation of vipers,” groaned the puritan barrister.
“ Woe! woe! to this unchristian city.”
Many of the people were terrified at these awful denunciations, and all were bewildered, not being able to comprehend so heterogeneous a conflict of pious ejaculation, huzzaing, trumpeting, and singing. Hundreds of apprentices, and masters too, slipped on their breeches and slippers, and with unbuttoned doublets, or loose cloaks, yea in their night caps, sallied forth, and joined the throng.
“ For the love of mercy-do inform us-what is the matter ?” still cried the spectators from the windows.
“We have got old Barrister Prynne, the puritan, dead drunk, in the landlord's chair, fresh from the Devil tavern. and are taking him before the lord mayor,” returned the cavaliers.
“ H-a-a-H00–0–0,” cried the people. “O! the old hypocrite, take him to Bridewell-set hiin in the stocks-shame-shame, you drunken
old reformer. Take him to the pump. Hoon
0! have you seen the duke, my boys,
The pride of the mother,
The king and his brother;
Chorus-And as gamesome as the Turk.
50! O! sin-sin !-sorrow! sorrow ! shame! shame !"
Here the butchers rattled a noisy peal with the marrow-bones and cleavers, and the bacchanalians again shouted « Saint Prynne for ever! buzza !"
0! have you seen old Noll, my boys,
He was a fellow of pluck,
And we are all in luck,
once more to Whitehall.
“ God save king Charles ! the millenium and the saints--huzza--huzza !”
The king he loves a bottle, my boys,
He will fill a bumping glass,
To every buxom lass ;
Thus, regardless of consequences, did these mad-pates carry the enraged old puritan as far as Ludgate, and return to the Temple-gate, and after giving three cheers, and dismissing the butchers, they landed the Christian hero in the bar of the tavern, safe and sound; when unbinding him, the first act of his liberty, was the seizing of mine host by the collar, threatening him with the penalty of eternal fire and brimstone, for being the recruiting serjeant of that Beelzebub, whose standard he was about again to erect. Then turning to the surrounding cavaliers, he called them beasts, whoremongers, drunkards, swine, scorners, apostates, vile slaves, children of perdition and the like; and with many extravagant denunciations against the house, the
host, and the guests, he was about to depart, when Tom D'Urfey, taking him by the arm, cried—“ Peace, my noble limb
noble limb of the law hic - don't leave us in ill-will, my old upright councellor. Suppose you and I take a glass of punch together, for old acquaintance sake, my brother poet. Killegrew, damme, why have you not heard what a poet we have been chairing? Prynne the poet-hic-Prynne the preacherhic-Prynne the puritan, Prynne
Out, thou beast ! thou vessel of wrath, thou charnel-house of carnal filthiness."
“ Nay, my old senator, don't defile your learned tongue by becalling a sober gentleman such unchristian names. Have we not done the thing genteely? I ask you that. Speak like a
Here's poets, playwrights, and players, musicians, and painters, honour-honouring all marching to your triumph."
“ All, all children of perdition ; all servants of the great beast; loving darkness rather than light. Out, ye generation of vipers ! acorns of that royal oak of unrighteousness, destined to fatten the hogs of the stinking stye of the devil and all his angels."
.“ Trumpeters! give the old saint another flourish,” said Killegrew, “ give him another flourish!” when Mister Hold-me-fast, stepping, or rather staggering, forward, thrust the trumpeters back, exclaiming, “hic-halt ! hold, you ungodly brawlers! What! shall we minister to these unrighteous tavern-goers, wine-bibbers, and-hic-drunkards? Shall we enlist ourselves in the cause of these scorners, and blow our trumpets to the dis—dis-disparagement of that faithful servant of the Lord's?” (pointing to Prynne.) “ Never ; never;-hic-never!”
“ Come, Sir,” said old Caleb Johnson, “ do you go to your quarters, mister trumpeter, and remember that you 'listed into the service. Do you dare to insult my guests?" reddening with anger at the impertinence of Hold-me-fast, who had been drinking himself so drunk at his expence.
" Hic-I listed !-never, never ; it was the outward man; the carnal man, that was betrayed by this Jew.. Get thee behind me, Sathan.' I am sorry-hic-sorry for thy lost state. Thou art not re-rege-regenerate, thou tapster!”
Here Caleb's patience was put to the test.