_Osborne is out of his Time_
I was out of my Time; and was examined by the Master and Wardens of our
Company whether I had duly and faithfully served my Apprenticeship: and
being found sufficient and allowed, was presented to the Chamberlain of
_London_ to be made free; was sworn, and paid Two-and-sixpence.
I remember one of the Wardens eyed me rather curiously when I went up;
and said, "So thou art young _Osborne_?" "Yea," quod the other, "the
Knight of the Flying Leap!" an old Joke I thought every one had
forgotten. Howbeit they shook Hands with me, and said they wished every
Master as good a 'Prentice.
Thereafter I went to see _Tomkins_, whom I had lost Sight of a long
Time. His Wife was spreading a clean Diaper over the Table, his little
Girl playing with a Kitten on the Hearth, and a straggling Sunbeam
through the Lattice was lighting up his pale, placid Face as he sate at
his Loom. I have thought since, that ministering Spirits might have been
passing to and fro on that Beam, unperceivable to my mortal Sense.
"Ha!" quod he, "this is a pleasant Sight. What! the blue Gown is thrown
off at last! But how? no Scallops? no Slashes? no Taffeta-lined Cloke,
nor Shirt edged with Silver? Thou keepest within the Statute, at all
Events. Why, _Miles_ goes as fine as a Popinjay! Howbeit, I like your
dark brown better than his Eggs and Spinach; 'tis good Taste, Lad, not
to dress above one's Degree. All the World can see which is the
Gentleman's Son, which the Burreller's."
"Thou art e'en too hard on poor _Miles_," quod I. "He is working very
hard just now in hope of marrying."
"All the better," saith _Tomkins_; "many a second-rate Fellow is made
better by a first-rate Wife. What? is he thinking of _Tryphosa_?"
"Oh no," quod I, laughing, "he thinks her quite too old."
"Look you there now!" quod he, much amused, "too old, forsooth! To hear
how Boys talk! Marry, you must sup with us, and tell me about
Everything; that is, if you can condescend to eat aught but
Manchet-bread in these grand Days. Step down to _Fishmongersrow_, dear
_Dinah_, and fetch us a Crab."
"That's a long Step, _Tomkins_," observed his Wife, "would not Something
I could get nearer do as well?"
"No," quod he gently, "I want a Crab, and I want it from thence; so
oblige me, good _Dinah_."
"That I will," replied she, cheerfully, tying on her Hood, and departing
the next Minute with her Child in her Arms.
"I remember," quod _Tomkins_, laughing, "how you and _Miles_ played away
at the Crab on our Wedding-day. And if you spurn such homely Dainties
now, you'll be Home in Time for your real Supper after all. 'Tis but
Three o' the Clock."
"To hear you Talk," said I, "one would think we lived just now in
_Lubberland_, where the Rivers run Gravy and Apple-sauce, and the roast
Pigs run about, saying, Come eat me."
"Why, is not Master _Hewet_ Sheriff?" quod _Tomkins_, "and doth he not
ride a gray Horse and wear a velvet Coat and a Jewel in his Cap? Sure,
you must be steeped in Wassail and Feasting."
"Ah," quod I, "there's little real Mirth in it. Seldom do we see a Smile
now on Master _Hewet's_ Face ... Mistress _Anne_ is in the Country;
Mistress _Fraunces_ does the Honours with all Grace, many People come
and go, new Servants wait, many fine Dishes are cooked and eaten; but
the Times are so bad, there is little Hilarity with it all."
"Aye?" quod he, lowering his Voice, "is't e'en so?" Then changing his
Manner altogether, he rose, sate by the Fire, and pointed me to a Seat
over-against him.
"_Ned_," saith he, "what is to be looked for, when the very Heavens
above, though without articulate Voice or Sound, proclaim coming
Judgment? Two Suns shining at once i' the Firmament! The Bow of Mercy,
not indeed withdrawn, but _reversed_; the Bow turned downward and the
two Ends standing upward! Didst see it?"
I said, I did; it had puzzled the Wise and affrighted the Weak.
"Well might it do either or both," quod he. "Well! ... we shall see what
comes of it. These Foreshadows are sometimes sent in Mercy, that
thoughtful People may prepare. 'Fearful Sights and great Signs shall
there be from Heaven.' 'And when these Things begin to come to pass,
lift up your Heads, for your Redemption draweth nigh.' 'And he that
endureth unto the End, the same shall be saved.' 'Settle it therefore in
your Hearts not to meditate beforehand what ye shall answer; for _I_
will give you a Mouth and Wisdom that all your Adversaries shall not be
able to gainsay nor resist.' 'In your patience possess ye your Souls.'"
"_Tomkins!_" cried I, filled with sudden Admiration, "thou couldst not
always have thus quoted and applied the Bible!"
"Lad," quod he, "Times are altered. I don't suppose there was ever a
quiet, fair-spoken Man nearer the Edge of the Pit of Destruction than I
was, a few Years back. Just as I was trifling on the Brink, _a Child's_
Voice called me back. _Ned!_ 'twas thine. I had known, for Months and
Years, what 'twas to lie down with a Heart ill at Peace with GOD. He
that is very glad to get into a good and safe Covert, will not waste his
Time in dallying with too curious Subtleties. Since I have gone the Way
I should, Years have seemed like Days! I have tasted the _Life of Life_:
yet never was more ready to lay it down at my Master's Feet! 'Tis all I
have to give him!"
"I hope," said I, after a Pause, "there will be no Need."
"But what have we to expect?" quod he. "Here's the Mass and all its
Mummery revived on every Hand, Mass Priests set in the Place of godly
Preachers, and good Men deprived and cast into Prison. _Philip_ of
_Spain_ and Cardinal _Pole_ will presently sweep all before them, and
make a clear House on 't! Do you remember—but, peradventure 'twas
before thy Time—Master _Chester_ coming to Master _Hewet_, and putting
it to him what he should do with a 'Prentice Lad of his, one _Lawrence
Saunders_, whom he had overheard hard wrestling in Prayer, and found
wholly given to spiritual Contemplation and the reading of godly Books?
Master _Hewet_ advised his cancelling his Indentures and sending him to
_Cambridge_, which he did; and the good Youth did no small Credit to his
kind and enlightened Master. But, last _October_, _Ned_, he preached a
Sermon in _All-hallows'_ Church, the pure Doctrine whereof brought him
into Trouble; for _Bonner_ and the Chancellor called him a frenzy Fool
and committed him to Prison, where he hath lain, in great hardness, ever
since; nor will come forth, I fear me, except to be burned. Then there's
good Bishop _Hooper_—"
"Ah," said I, "when he was committed to the _Fleet_ last _September_, he
had nothing for his Bed but a little Pad of Straw and a rotten Covering,
with a Tick and a few Feathers therein, in a foul and unwholesome
Chamber. And this we had from his Man _John Downton_, Brother to our
Maid _Damaris_; whereon Master _Hewet_ sent him Money and a good Bed."
"Then there's young _Hunter_ the 'Prentice," continued _Tomkins_, "was
brought up for refusing to receive the Mass Communion this Easter. His
Master contrived to send him down to his Father's at _Brentwood_, where
he presently fell again into Trouble for reading of the Bible that lay
on the Clerk's Desk, and was set in the Stocks twenty-four Hours. And
then they sent him up to _Bonner_, who set him in the Stocks at his own
Gate for two Days and two Nights, with only a Crust of Bread and a Cup
of Water; the Lad's young Brother all the while sitting by him. Then he
was cast into the Convict Prison, as heavily ironed as one of his tender
Years could bear, and hath lain there ever since, with a Halfpenny a Day
for his Keep. Could you or I shew such Constancy, think you?"
"You might, but I could not," said I.
"_You_ might, but _I_ might not," sighed he—"not the Thing that will
follow."
And, suddenly thrusting his Hand into the very midst of the Fire, which
was burning fiercely, he as suddenly plucked it out; turning on me a
Look I shall never forget! It expressed the Anguish of a Man weighed in
the Balance and found wanting. We sate for a few Seconds in perfect and
most painful Silence; his Hand, in great Blisters, resting on his Knee.
Suddenly I started up and laid my Hand on his Shoulder.
"_Tomkins_," cried I, "what are you thinking of?"
"I was thinking," returned he with filling Eyes, "how unworthy I was of
the SAVIOUR that died for me."
"But your Hand! did not you feel the Smart?"
"My _Hand_?" cried he, starting and looking down upon it. "_No, not just
then!_ I'd forgotten it."
"See! see!" cried I, "what may be the Victory of the Spirit over the
Flesh! What has been, may be again. As our Day, our Strength shall be."
The large Tears came into his Eyes. "_Ned_," quod he, "I will never
doubt it again."
"And now," said I, "let me dress your Hand, for I know Something of
Burns." So I went out and got white Cotton Wool, and wrapped a great Pad
of it about his Hand, and tied it up neatly; and, just at that Time, his
Wife came in with the Crab.
"Why, what's the Matter?" cried she, changing Colour.
"Nothing at all, my Love," returned her Husband cheerfully, "save that
I've burnt my Hand."
"Ah," said she, "you wist the Handle of the Kettle was loose.... I won't
pity you at all! _Is_ it a very bad Hurt, though?"
"Nothing to speak of," quod he.
"Forsooth, and you couldn't smile so, an' 'twere—only thou hast made
such a great Bundle of it. Shall I tie it up neater for thee, Husband?"
"No, sweet Heart, it does well enough. So now for the Crab.... And so
young Mistress _Anne_ is in the Country?"
"At the Hall," quod I, "with her Uncle."
"Ah," sayth he quietly, "the Squire hath two fair Sons ... I think she
will settle down there one of these Days."