Thou hast been few hours in this Castle,and hast been for the whole space so drunk,Lambourne,that thou art deaf,dumb,and blind.But we should hear less of your bragging were you to pass a night with us at full moon;for then the ghost is busiest,and more especially when a rattling wind sets in from the north-west,with some sprinkling of rain,and now and then a growl of thunder.Body o'me,what crackings and clashings,what groanings and what howlings,will there be at such times in Mervyn's Bower,right as it were over our heads,till the matter of two quarts of distilled waters has not been enough to keep my lads and me in some heart!Pshaw,man!replied Lambourne,on whom his last draught,joined to repeated visitations of the pitcher upon former occasions,began to make some innovation,thou speakest thou knowest not what about spirits.No one knows justly what to say about them;and,in short,least said may in that matter be soonest amended.Some men believe in one thing,some in another --it is all matter of fancy.I have known them of all sorts,my dear Lawrence Lock-the-door,and sensible men too.There's a great lord--we'll pass his name,Lawrence--he believes in the stars and the moon,the planets and their courses,and so forth,and that they twinkle exclusively for his benefit,when in sober,or rather in drunken truth,Lawrence,they are only shining to keep honest fellows like me out of the kennel.Well,sir,let his humour pass;he is great enough to indulge it.Then,look ye,there is another--a very learned man,I promise you,and can vent Greek and Hebrew as fast as I can Thieves'Latin he has an humour of sympathies and antipathies--of changing lead into gold,and the like;why,via,let that pass too,and let him pay those in transmigrated coin who are fools enough to let it be current with them.Then here comest thou thyself,another great man,though neither learned nor noble,yet full six feet high,and thou,like a purblind mole,must needs believe in ghosts and goblins,and such like.Now,there is,besides,a great man--that is,a great little man,or a little great man,my dear Lawrence--and his name begins with V,and what believes he?Why,nothing,honest Lawrence--nothing in earth,heaven,or hell;and for my part,if I believe there is a devil,it is only because Ithink there must be some one to catch our aforesaid friend by the back 'when soul and body sever,'as the ballad says;for your antecedent will have a consequent--RARO ANTECEDENTEM,as Doctor Bircham was wont to say.But this is Greek to you now,honest Lawrence,and in sooth learning is dry work.Hand me the pitcher once more.In faith,if you drink more,Michael,said the warder,you will be in sorry case either to play Arion or to wait on your master on such a solemn night;and I expect each moment to hear the great bell toll for the muster at Mortimer's Tower,to receive the Queen.While Staples remonstrated,Lambourne drank;and then setting down the pitcher,which was nearly emptied,with a deep sigh,he said,in an undertone,which soon rose to a high one as his speech proceeded,Never mind,Lawrence;if I be drunk,I know that shall make Varney uphold me sober.But,as I said,never mind;I can carry my drink discreetly.Moreover,I am to go on the water as Orion,and shall take cold unless I take something comfortable beforehand.Not play Orion?Let us see the best roarer that ever strained his lungs for twelve pence out-mouth me!What if they see me a little disguised?Wherefore should any man be sober to-night?answer me that.It is matter of loyalty to be merry;and I tell thee there are those in the Castle who,if they are not merry when drunk,have little chance to be merry when sober--I name no names,Lawrence.But your pottle of sack is a fine shoeing-horn to pull on a loyal humour,and a merry one.Huzza for Queen Elizabeth!--for the noble Leicester!--for the worshipful Master Varney!--and for Michael Lambourne,that can turn them all round his finger!So saying,he walked downstairs,and across the inner court.
The warder looked after him,shook his head,and while he drew close and locked a wicket,which,crossing the staircase,rendered it impossible for any one to ascend higher than the story immediately beneath Mervyn's Bower,as Tressilian's chamber was named,he thus soliloquized with himself--It's a good thing to be a favourite.I well-nigh lost mine office,because one frosty morning Master Varney thought I smelled of aqua vitae;and this fellow can appear before him drunk as a wineskin,and yet meet no rebuke.But then he is a pestilent clever fellow withal,and no one can understand above one half of what he says.