Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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You might have thought for a moment that the gray friar trembled and his shrunken cheek
looked deadly pale; but he recovered himself presently: nor could you see his pallor for the
cowl which covered his face.
A little boy was playing on Athelstane's knee; Rowena smiling and patting the Saxon
Thane fondly on his broad bullhead, filled him a huge cup of spiced wine from a golden
jug. He drained a quart of the liquor, and, turning round, addressed the friar:—
"And so, gray frere, thou sawest good King Richard fall at Chalus by the bolt of that felon
bowman?"
"We did, an it please you. The brothers of our house attended the good King in his last
moments: in truth, he made a Christian ending!"
"And didst thou see the archer flayed alive? It must have been rare sport," roared
Athelstane, laughing hugely at the joke. "How the fellow must have howled!"
"My love!" said Rowena, interposing tenderly, and putting a pretty white finger on his lip.
"I would have liked to see it too," cried the boy.
"That's my own little Cedric, and so thou shalt. And, friar, didst see my poor kinsman Sir
Wilfrid of Ivanhoe? They say he fought well at Chalus!"
"My sweet lord," again interposed Rowena, "mention him not."
"Why? Because thou and he were so tender in days of yore—when you could not bear my
plain face, being all in love with his pale one?"
"Those times are past now, dear Athelstane," said his affectionate wife, looking up to the
ceiling.
"Marry, thou never couldst forgive him the Jewess, Rowena."
"The odious hussy! don't mention the name of the unbelieving creature," exclaimed the
lady.
"Well, well, poor Wil was a good lad—a thought melancholy and milksop though. Why, a
pint of sack fuddled his poor brains."