When from the Corn thou hiest thy Bum,
And to the Tavern haply come,
AII stiff from chill Octobers Breezes,
Full of Sniffs, and Snots, and Sneezes,
Go not with many a Sigh and Groan
To seek out Colt or fragrant Roan;
For Roan, that seldom us'd to falter,
Hath fairly this time slipt her Halter,
And Colts gone with her, and I as well,
Leaving thee to fry in Hell
With all thy Poses and Buffoonery.
Perchance this Piece of fine Poltroonery
Will teach thee that with mortal Men
'Tis Folly to call any Friend;
For Friendship's but a fragile Farce
'Twixt Man and Man. So kiss my Arse,
Poor Ebenezer, foolish Bard —
And henceforth ne'er relax thy Guard!
Timothy Mitchell, Esq
For some moments after reading Henry's parting insults, Ebenezer was dumb struck.
"Friendship a farce 'twixt man and man!" he cried at last. " 'Twixt thee and me. Henry, let us say, for 'twixt me and thee it was no farce! Ah God, deliver me from such another friend!"
The swarthy fellow in the black suit observed these lamentations with amusement and said, "Bad news is't, Mister Cooke?"
"Bad news indeed!" the Laureate groaned. "Yesterday my whole estate; today my clothes, my horse, and my friend lost in a single stroke! I see naught for't but the pistol." Despite his anguish, he recognized the man as the advocate who had pled for William Smith in court.
"By Blaise's wool comb, 'tis a wicked world," the fellow observed.
"Thou'rt no stranger to its evils, methinks!" the poet said.
"Ah now, take no offense at me, friend: St. Windoline's crook, 'twas yourself that worked your ruin, not I! I merely labored for the interests of my client, as every advocate must. Sowter's my name — Richard Sowter, from down the county. What I mean, sir, your advocate's a most pragmatical wight, that looks for justice no farther than his client's deeds. He tweaks Justinian's beard and declares that jus est id quod cliens fecit. Besides, the law's but one amongst my interests. Will ye take an ale with me?"
"I thank you," Ebenezer sighed, but declined on the grounds that his last night's liquor was still taking its toll on his head. "Forgive my rudeness, sir: I am most distraught and desperate."
"As well ye might be, by St. Agatha's butchered bosoms! 'Tis a wicked world, and rare ye find some good in't."
" 'Tis a wicked province; that I'll grant."
"Why," Sowter went on, " 'twas just last month, or the one before, a young sprat came to see me, young fellow from down-county, he was, came into the smithy where my office is — I run a smithy on the side, ye know — came in and says to me, 'Mr. Sowter,' he says, 'I need a lawyer.' 'St. Huldrick's crab lice!' says I: 'What have ye done to need a lawyer?' 'Mr. Sowter,' he says, 'I am a young fool, that I am,' he says, 'I have lived the spendthrift life, have I, and got myself in debt.' 'Ah well,' says I, 'by Giles's hollow purse, I am no money-lender, son.' 'Nay, sir,' says he, 'the fact of't is, my creditors were pressing hard, and I feared 'twas the pillory for me, so what did I do? I hied me to Morris Boon, the usuring son o' Sodom.' 'Peter's fingers, boy,' says I, 'Ye did not!' 'I did,' says he: 'I went to Morris Boon and I says, Morris, I need money, I says. So Morris lent me on his usual terms: that directly my debts are paid I must surrender me to his beasty pleasures.' 'Thou'rt a Mathurin's fool!' cries I. 'That I am,' says the lad. 'Now I've settled all my debts, and Morris is waiting his pleasure.' 'Son,' I says then, 'pray to St. Gildas, for I cannot aid ye.' 'Ye must,' says he. 'I have faith in ye.' 'It wants more than faith,' says I. 'I have more than faith,' says he. 'I've wagered money on ye.' And so I asked him, how was that? And he replied, 'I wagered old Morris ye'd get me out o' my pickle.' 'St. Dymphna protects ye,' says I. 'What did ye wager?' 'If ye get me fairly out,' says he, 'Morris pays me again what he loaned me before, and 'tis yours for saving me. If not, why then Morris vows he'll ravish the twain of us from stump to stopgap.' 'Wretch!' says I. 'Had ye to fetch me thus into thy unclean bargain?'
"But there was no help for't," Sowter sighed. "On the morrow the lad comes back, with Morris the usurer hard upon his heels. 'Preserve me!' says the boy. 'Preserve thyself,' says Morris, and eyes me up and down. 'I want the payment we agreed upon.' But I'd not been idle since the day before, and so I said, 'Hold on, sir, by Appolonia's eye-teeth! Rein your horse! What sum was't ye lent this idler here?' 'Twelve hundredweight o' sot-weed,' says Morris. 'And for what purpose?' 'To pay his debts,' says Morris. 'And under what conditions?' 'That his debts once clear, he's mine whene'er I fancy him this month.' 'Well, then,' says I to the lad, that was like to beshit himself for fear, 'the case is closed, by Lucy's wick dipper: see to't ye never return him his twelve hundredweight. 'Why is that?' asks the boy, and Morris as well. 'Why, Fridoline's eyeglasses.' says I, 'don't ye see't? If ye do not repay him, your debts aren't clear, and so long as thou'rt encumbered, ye need not go to Morris. The truth is, while thou'rt in debt thou'rt free!'
"St. Wulfgang's gout, sirs, I can tell ye old Morris set up a hollowing at that, for I had swived him fair, and he's a man of his word. He paid the young scamp another twelve hundredweight and sent him off with a curse; but the more he thought of't, the more my trick amused him, till at the end we laughed until we wept. Now then, by Kentigern's salmon, what was I after proving?"
"That naught's in men save perfidy," said Ebenezer. "Yet the lad was not wicked, nor were you in saving him."
"Ha! Little ye know," laughed Sowter. "My actual end was not to save the lad but to fox old Morris, who many a time hath had the better of me. As for the lad, by Wulstan's crozier, he never paid me, but took the tobacco-note himself and doubtless went a-whoring. There is a small good in men." He sighed. "Why, there's a redemptioner this minute in my boat — "
"No more!" cried Ebenezer, clutching his head in his hands. "What use have I for farther tales? The pistol now is all I crave, to end my pain."
"Oh la, St. Roque's hound-bitch!" Sowter scoffed. " 'Tis but the vagrant track o' life, that beds ye now in clover, now in thistles. Make shift to bear't a day at a time, and ten years hence ye'll still be sleeping somewhere, and filling thy bowels with dinner, and rogering some wench from Adrian to St. Yves."
" 'Tis light to advise," said the poet, "but this day itself shall see me starve, for I've naught to buy food with and nowhere to go."
"Cooke's Point is but a few hours' sail downriver. If I came half around the world to find a place, by St. Ethelbert I'd not blow out my brains till I laid eyes on't!"
This suggestion greatly surprised Ebenezer. "My valet awaits me there," he said thoughtfully, "and my — my betrothed as well, I hope. Poor Joan, and loyal Bertrand! What must they think of me!" He gripped Sowter's arm. "D'you think that scoundrel Smith hath turned them out?"
"There, now, by Pieran's millstone!" Sowter said. "Thou'rt angry, and anger's e'er a physic for despair. I know naught o' these folk ye speak of, but I'm sure they'll meet no ill reception at Malden. Bill Smith hath his shortcomings, yet he'd ne'er turn out your guests to starve, much less the Laureate himself. Why, haply your friend Tim Mitchell's there as well, and they're all at a game o' ducks and drakes, or dancing a morris dance!"