Читать книгу W. H. Ainsworth Collection: 20+ Historical Novels, Gothic Romances & Adventure Classics - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 21

Of every rascal of every kind,

The most notorious to my mind,

Was the Cavalier Captain, gay Jemmy Hind!7 Which nobody can deny.

But the pleasantest coxcomb among them all

For lute, coranto, and madrigal,

Was the galliard Frenchman, Claude Du-Val!8 Which nobody can deny.

And Tobygloak never a coach could rob,

Could lighten a pocket, or empty a fob,

With a neater hand than Old Mob, Old Mob!9 Which nobody can deny.

Nor did housebreaker ever deal harder knocks

On the stubborn lid of a good strong box,

Than that prince of good fellows, Tom Cox, Tom Cox!10 Which nobody can deny.

A blither fellow on broad highway,

Did never with oath bid traveller stay,

Than devil-may-care Will Holloway!11 Which nobody can deny.

And in roguery naught could exceed the tricks

Of Gettings and Grey, and the five or six

Who trod in the steps of bold Neddy Wicks!12 Which nobody can deny.

Nor could any so handily break a lock

As Sheppard, who stood on the Newgate dock,

And nicknamed the jailers around him “his flock!”13 Which nobody can deny.

Nor did highwaymen ever before possess

For ease, for security, danger, distress,

Such a mare as Dick Turpin’s Black Bess! Black Bess!

Which nobody can deny.

“A capital song, by the powers!” cried Titus, as Jack’s ditty came to a close. “But your English robbers are nothing at all, compared with our Tories14 and Rapparees — nothing at all. They were the raal gentlemen — they were the boys to cut a throat aisily.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Jack, in disgust, “the gentlemen I speak of never maltreated any one, except in self-defence.”

“Maybe not,” replied Titus; “I’ll not dispute the point — but these Rapparees were true brothers of the blade, and gentlemen every inch. I’ll just sing you a song I made about them myself. But meanwhile don’t let’s forget the bottle — talking’s dry work. My service to you, doctor!” added he, winking at the somnolent Small. And tossing off his glass, Titus delivered himself with much joviality of the following ballad; the words of which he adapted to the tune of the Groves of the Pool: