Yes,mine host;I have found the use on't in dangerous times,and I do not,like your modern grandees,turn off my followers the instant they are useless.Ay,sir?said Giles Gosling;then you are from the Low Countries,the land of pike and caliver?I have been high and low,my friend,broad and wide,far and near.But here is to thee in a cup of thy sack;fill thyself another to pledge me,and,if it is less than superlative,e'en drink as you have brewed.Less than superlative?said Giles Gosling,drinking off the cup,and smacking his lips with an air of ineffable relish,--Iknow nothing of superlative,nor is there such a wine at the Three Cranes,in the Vintry,to my knowledge;but if you find better sack than that in the Sheres,or in the Canaries either,Iwould I may never touch either pot or penny more.Why,hold it up betwixt you and the light,you shall see the little motes dance in the golden liquor like dust in the sunbeam.But I would rather draw wine for ten clowns than one traveller.--I trust your honour likes the wine?It is neat and comfortable,mine host;but to know good liquor,you should drink where the vine grows.Trust me,your Spaniard is too wise a man to send you the very soul of the grape.Why,this now,which you account so choice,were counted but as a cup of bastard at the Groyne,or at Port St.Mary's.You should travel,mine host,if you would be deep in the mysteries of the butt and pottle-pot.In troth,Signior Guest,said Giles Gosling,if I were to travel only that I might be discontented with that which I can get at home,methinks I should go but on a fool's errand.
Besides,I warrant you,there is many a fool can turn his nose up at good drink without ever having been out of the smoke of Old England;and so ever gramercy mine own fireside.This is but a mean mind of yours,mine host,said the stranger;I warrant me,all your town's folk do not think so basely.You have gallants among you,I dare undertake,that have made the Virginia voyage,or taken a turn in the Low Countries at least.
Come,cudgel your memory.Have you no friends in foreign parts that you would gladly have tidings of?Troth,sir,not I,answered the host,since ranting Robin of Drysandford was shot at the siege of the Brill.The devil take the caliver that fired the ball,for a blither lad never filled a cup at midnight!But he is dead and gone,and I know not a soldier,or a traveller,who is a soldier's mate,that I would give a peeled codling for.By the Mass,that is strange.What!so many of our brave English hearts are abroad,and you,who seem to be a man of mark,have no friend,no kinsman among them?Nay,if you speak of kinsmen,answered Gosling,I have one wild slip of a kinsman,who left us in the last year of Queen Mary;but he is better lost than found.Do not say so,friend,unless you have heard ill of him lately.
Many a wild colt has turned out a noble steed.--His name,I pray you?Michael Lambourne,answered the landlord of the Black Bear;a son of my sister's--there is little pleasure in recollecting either the name or the connection.Michael Lambourne!said the stranger,as if endeavouring to recollect himself--what,no relation to Michael Lambourne,the gallant cavalier who behaved so bravely at the siege of Venlo that Grave Maurice thanked him at the head of the army?Men said he was an English cavalier,and of no high extraction.It could scarcely be my nephew,said Giles Gosling,for he had not the courage of a hen-partridge for aught but mischief.Oh,many a man finds courage in the wars,replied the stranger.
It may be,said the landlord;but I would have thought our Mike more likely to lose the little he had.The Michael Lambourne whom I knew,continued the traveller,was a likely fellow--went always gay and well attired,and had a hawk's eye after a pretty wench.Our Michael,replied the host,had the look of a dog with a bottle at its tail,and wore a coat,every rag of which was bidding good-day to the rest.Oh,men pick up good apparel in the wars,replied the guest.
Our Mike,answered the landlord,was more like to pick it up in a frippery warehouse,while the broker was looking another way;and,for the hawk's eye you talk of,his was always after my stray spoons.He was tapster's boy here in this blessed house for a quarter of a year;and between misreckonings,miscarriages,mistakes,and misdemeanours,had he dwelt with me for three months longer,I might have pulled down sign,shut up house,and given the devil the key to keep.You would be sorry,after all,continued the traveller,were Ito tell you poor Mike Lambourne was shot at the head of his regiment at the taking of a sconce near Maestricht?Sorry!--it would be the blithest news I ever heard of him,since it would ensure me he was not hanged.But let him pass--I doubt his end will never do such credit to his friends.Were it so,Ishould say--(taking another cup of sack)--Here's God rest him,with all my heart.Tush,man,replied the traveller,never fear but you will have credit by your nephew yet,especially if he be the Michael Lambourne whom I knew,and loved very nearly,or altogether,as well as myself.Can you tell me no mark by which I could judge whether they be the same?Faith,none that I can think of,answered Giles Gosling,unless that our Mike had the gallows branded on his left shoulder for stealing a silver caudle-cup from Dame Snort of Hogsditch.Nay,there you lie like a knave,uncle,said the stranger,slipping aside his ruff;and turning down the sleeve of his doublet from his neck and shoulder;by this good day,my shoulder is as unscarred as thine own.
What,Mike,boy--Mike!exclaimed the host;--and is it thou,in good earnest?Nay,I have judged so for this half-hour;for Iknew no other person would have ta'en half the interest in thee.
