What, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full can
Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying!--
Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight
To watch men's vices, since I have myself
Of virtue nought to boast of--I'm a striker,
Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell, all.
--PANDEMONIUM.
Tressilian, in strange agitation of mind, had hardly stepped down the
first two or three steps of the winding staircase, when, greatly to his
surprise and displeasure, he met Michael Lambourne, wearing an impudent
familiarity of visage, for which Tressilian felt much disposed to throw
him down-stairs; until he remembered the prejudice which Amy, the only
object of his solicitude, was likely to receive from his engaging in any
act of violence at that time and in that place.
He therefore contented himself with looking sternly upon Lambourne, as
upon one whom he deemed unworthy of notice, and attempted to pass him in
his way downstairs, without any symptom of recognition. But Lambourne,
who, amidst the profusion of that day's hospitality, had not failed
to take a deep though not an overpowering cup of sack, was not in the
humour of humbling himself before any man's looks. He stopped Tressilian
upon the staircase without the least bashfulness or embarrassment, and
addressed him as if he had been on kind and intimate terms:--“What, no
grudge between us, I hope, upon old scores, Master Tressilian?--nay,
I am one who remembers former kindness rather than latter feud. I'll
convince you that I meant honestly and kindly, ay, and comfortably by
you.”
“I desire none of your intimacy,” said Tressilian--“keep company with
your mates.”
“Now, see how hasty he is!” said Lambourne; “and how these gentles, that
are made questionless out of the porcelain clay of the earth, look down
upon poor Michael Lambourne! You would take Master Tressilian now for
the most maid-like, modest, simpering squire of dames that ever made
love when candles were long i' the stuff--snuff; call you it? Why, you
would play the saint on us, Master Tressilian, and forget that even now
thou hast a commodity in thy very bedchamber, to the shame of my lord's
castle, ha! ha! ha! Have I touched you, Master Tressilian?”
“I know not what you mean,” said Tressilian, inferring, however, too
surely, that this licentious ruffian must have been sensible of Amy's
presence in his apartment; “but if,” he continued, “thou art
varlet of the chambers, and lackest a fee, there is one to leave mine
unmolested.”
Lambourne looked at the piece of gold, and put it in his pocket saying,
“Now, I know not but you might have done more with me by a kind word
than by this chiming rogue. But after all he pays well that pays with
gold; and Mike Lambourne was never a makebate, or a spoil-sport, or the
like. E'en live, and let others live, that is my motto-only, I would not
let some folks cock their beaver at me neither, as if they were made
of silver ore, and I of Dutch pewter. So if I keep your secret, Master
Tressilian, you may look sweet on me at least; and were I to want a
little backing or countenance, being caught, as you see the best of us
may be, in a sort of peccadillo--why, you owe it me--and so e'en make
your chamber serve you and that same bird in bower beside--it's all one
to Mike Lambourne.”
“Make way, sir,” said Tressilian, unable to bridle his indignation, “you
have had your fee.”
“Um!” said Lambourne, giving place, however, while he sulkily muttered
between his teeth, repeating Tressilian's words, “Make way--and you
have had your fee; but it matters not, I will spoil no sport, as I said
before. I am no dog in the manger--mind that.”
He spoke louder and louder, as Tressilian, by whom he felt himself
overawed, got farther and farther out of hearing.
“I am no dog in the manger; but I will not carry coals neither--mind
that, Master Tressilian; and I will have a peep at this wench whom
you have quartered so commodiously in your old haunted room--afraid of
ghosts, belike, and not too willing to sleep alone. If I had done this
now in a strange lord's castle, the word had been, The porter's lodge
for the knave! and, have him flogged--trundle him downstairs like a
turnip! Ay, but your virtuous gentlemen take strange privileges over
us, who are downright servants of our senses. Well--I have my Master
Tressilian's head under my belt by this lucky discovery, that is one
thing certain; and I will try to get a sight of this Lindabrides of his,
that is another.”