KENILWORTH - Penn State University

Sir Walter Scottneither lost the power of motion, speech, or expression; but,on the contrary, spoke with unwonted emphasis and readiness,and told all that at another time he would have beenmost desirous to keep secret.“What!” ejaculated Michael, at the full extent of his voice,“am I to have no welcome, no carouse, when I have broughtfortune to your old, ruinous dog-house in the shape of a devil’sally, that can change slate-shivers into Spanish dollars?—Here,you, Tony Fire-the-Fagot, Papist, Puritan, hypocrite, miser,profligate, devil, compounded of all men’s sins, bow downand reverence him who has brought into thy house the verymammon thou worshippest.”“For God’s sake,” said Foster, “speak low—come into thehouse—thou shalt have wine, or whatever thou wilt.”“No, old puckfoist, I will have it here,” thundered the inebriatedruffian— “here, al fresco, as the Italian hath it. No,no, I will not drink with that poisoning devil within doors,to be choked with the fumes of arsenic and quick-silver; Ilearned from villain Varney to beware of that.”“Fetch him wine, in the name of all the fiends!” said thealchemist.“Aha! and thou wouldst spice it for me, old Truepenny,wouldst thou not? Ay, I should have copperas, and hellebore,and vitriol, and aqua fortis, and twenty devilish materialsbubbling in my brain-pan like a charm to raise the devil in awitch’s cauldron. Hand me the flask thyself, old Tony Firethe-Fagot—andlet it be cool—I will have no wine mulled atthe pile of the old burnt bishops. Or stay, let Leicester beking if he will—good—and Varney, villain Varney, grand vizier—why,excellent!—and what shall I be, then?—why, emperor—EmperorLambourne! I will see this choice piece ofbeauty that they have walled up here for their private pleasures;I will have her this very night to serve my wine-cup andput on my nightcap. What should a fellow do with two wives,were he twenty times an Earl? Answer me that, Tony boy,you old reprobate, hypocritical dog, whom God struck outof the book of life, but tormented with the constant wish tobe restored to it—you old bishop-burning, blasphemous fanatic,answer me that.”“I will stick my knife to the haft in him,” said Foster, in alow tone, which trembled with passion.“For the love of Heaven, no violence!” said the astrologer.249