"Down," replied he; pointing downwards with his finger, as if pushing at
something.
"Down, down to hell, and say I sent you there."
"Thanky, sir, I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."
"Our tongue is rough, coz--and my condition is not smooth." We shot the
bridge, and went rapidly down with the tide, when he again commenced:--
"Thus with imagin'd wing our soft scene flies,
In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought."
Then his attention was drawn by a collier's boat, pulled by two men as
black as chimney-sweeps, with three women in the stern-sheets. They
made for the centre of the river, to get into the strength of the tide,
and were soon abreast and close to the wherry, pulling with us down the
stream.
"There's a dandy young man," said one of the women, with an old straw
bonnet and very dirty ribbons, laughing, and pointing to my man.
"Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not;
At Ephesus I am but two hours old,
As strange unto your town as to your talk."
"Well, he be a reg'lar rum cove, I've a notion," said another of the
women, when she witnessed the theatrical airs of the speaker, who
immediately recommenced--
"The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd on the water--the poop was beaten gold,
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tunes of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description."
"Come, I'll be blowed but we've had enough of that, so just shut your
pan," said one of the women, angrily.
"Her gentlewomen, like the Naiades,
So many mermaids tend her."
"Mind what you're arter, or your mouth will tend to your mischief, young
fellow."
"From the barge
A strange, invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs."
"Jem, just run him alongside, and break his head with your oar."
"I thinks as how I will, if he don't mend his manners."
"I saw her once
Hop forty paces through the public streets."
"You lie, you liver-faced rascal. I never walked the streets in my
life. I'm a lawful married woman. Jem, do you call yourself a man, and
stand this here?"
"Well, now, Sal, but he's a nice young man. Now an't he?" observed one
of the other women.
"Away,
Away, you trifler. Love! I know thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world
To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips;
We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns."
"I've a notion you will, too, my hearty," interrupted one of the
colliers. "That 'ere long tongue of yours will bring you into disgrace.
Bill, give her a jerk towards the wherry, and we'll duck him."
"My friend," said the actor, addressing me:--
"Let not his unwholesome corpse come between the wind
And my nobility.
"Let us exeunt, OP."
Although I could not understand his phrases, I knew very well what he
meant, and pulling smartly, I shoved towards the shore, and ahead.
Perceiving this, the men in the boat, at the intimation of the women,
who stood up waving their bonnets, gave chase to us, and my companion
appeared not a little alarmed. However, by great exertion on my part,
we gained considerably, and they abandoned the pursuit.
"Now, by two-headed Janus," said my companion, as he looked back upon
the colliers--
"Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time,
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh like parrots at a bagpiper,
And others of such a vinegar aspect
That they'll not show their teeth by way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
"And now," continued he, addressing me, "what's your name, sir? Of what
condition are you--and of what place, I pray?"
Amused with what had passed, I replied, "That my name was Jacob--that I
was a waterman, and born on the river."
"I find thee apt; but tell me, art thou perfect that our ship hath
touched upon the deserts of Bohemia?"
"Do you land at Westminster, sir?"
"No: at Blackfriars--there attend my coming.
"Base is the slave who pays; nevertheless, what is your fare, my lad?
"What money's in my purse? Seven groats and twopence.
"By Jove, I am not covetous of gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost.
"But--
"I can get no remedy for this consumption of the purse.
"Here my lad--is that enough?"
"Yes, sir, I thank you."
"Remember poor Jack, sir," said the usual attendant at the landing
place, catching his arm as he careened the wherry on getting out.
"If he fall in, good-night--or sink or swim.
"Jack, there is a penny for you. Jacob, farewell--we meet again;" and
away he went, taking three of the stone steps at each spring. This
gentleman's name was, as I afterwards found out, Tinfoil, an actor of
second-rate merit on the London boards. The Haymarket Theatre was where
he principally performed, and, as we became better acquainted, he
offered to procure me orders to see the play when I should wish to go
there.