KENILWORTH - Penn State University

Sir Walter Scottforlorn and ghastly aspects of his companions of the watchthat he exclaimed, “Pity of my heart, my masters, how likeowls you look! Methinks, when the sun rises, I shall see youflutter off with your eyes dazzled, to stick yourselves into thenext ivy-tod or ruined steeple.”“Hold thy peace, thou gibing fool,” said Blount; “hold thypeace.Is this a time for jeering, when the manhood of England isperchance dying within a wall’s breadth of thee?”“There thou liest,” replied the gallant.“How, lie!” exclaimed Blount, starting up, “lie! and to me?”“Why, so thou didst, thou peevish fool,” answered the youth;“thou didst lie on that bench even now, didst thou not? Butart thou not a hasty coxcomb to pick up a wry word so wrathfully?Nevertheless, loving and, honouring my lord as truly asthou, or any one, I do say that, should Heaven take him fromus, all England’s manhood dies not with him.”“Ay,” replied Blount, “a good portion will survive with thee,doubtless.”“And a good portion with thyself, Blount, and with stoutMarkham here, and Tracy, and all of us. But I am he will bestemploy the talent Heaven has given to us all.”“As how, I prithee?” said Blount; “tell us your mystery ofmultiplying.”“Why, sirs,” answered the youth, “ye are like goodly land,which bears no crop because it is not quickened by manure;but I have that rising spirit in me which will make my poorfaculties labour to keep pace with it. My ambition will keepmy brain at work, I warrant thee.”“I pray to God it does not drive thee mad,” said Blount;“for my part, if we lose our noble lord, I bid adieu to thecourt and to the camp both. I have five hundred foul acres inNorfolk, and thither will I, and change the court pantouflefor the country hobnail.”“O base transmutation!” exclaimed his antagonist; “thouhast already got the true rustic slouch—thy shoulders stoop,as if thine hands were at the stilts of the plough; and thouhast a kind of earthy smell about thee, instead of being perfumedwith essence, as a gallant and courtier should. On mysoul, thou hast stolen out to roll thyself on a hay mow! Thyonly excuse will be to swear by thy hilts that the farmer had afair daughter.”169