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Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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203<br />

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Voracio," said his arch entertainer, when he put<br />

this question to her, "than are dreamt of in your philosophy:" and, sooth to say, the archer<br />

was by this time in such a state, that he did not find anything wonderful more.<br />

"Are you happy, dear youth?" said the lady, as, after his collation, he sank back in his chair.<br />

"Oh, miss, ain't I?" was his interrogative and yet affirmative reply.<br />

"Should you like such a supper every night, Wolfgang?" continued the pale one.<br />

"Why, no," said he; "no, not exactly; not EVERY night: SOME nights I should like<br />

oysters."<br />

"Dear youth," said she, "be but mine, and you may have them all the year round!" The<br />

unhappy boy was too far gone to suspect anything, otherwise this extraordinary speech<br />

would have told him that he was in suspicious company. A person who can offer oysters all<br />

the year round can live to no good purpose.<br />

"Shall I sing you a song, dear archer?" said the lady.<br />

"Sweet love!" said he, now much excited, "strike up, and I will join the chorus."<br />

She took down her mandolin, and commenced a ditty. 'Twas a sweet and wild one. It told<br />

how a lady of high lineage cast her eyes on a peasant page; it told how nought could her<br />

love assuage, her suitor's wealth and her father's rage: it told how the youth did his foes<br />

engage; and at length they went off in the Gretna stage, the high-born dame and the peasant<br />

page. Wolfgang beat time, waggled his head, sung wofully out of tune as the song<br />

proceeded; and if he had not been too intoxicated with love and other excitement, he would<br />

have remarked how the pictures on the wall, as the lady sung, began to waggle their heads<br />

too, and nod and grin to the music. The song ended. "I am the lady of high lineage: Archer,<br />

will you be the peasant page?"<br />

"I'll follow you to the devil!" said Wolfgang.<br />

"Come," replied the lady, glaring wildly on him, "come to the chapel; we'll be married this<br />

minute!"<br />

She held out her hand—Wolfgang took it. It was cold, damp,—deadly cold; and on they<br />

went to the chapel.

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