The Splendid Spur | Page 7

state of
our city in those distracted times, which I have neither wit nor time for.
But here, to-day, along with many doctors and scholars, were walking
courtiers, troopers, mountebanks, cut-purses, astrologers, rogues and
gamesters; together with many of the first ladies and gentlemen of
England, as the Prince Maurice, the lords Andover, Digby and
Colepepper, my lady Thynne, Mistress Fanshawe, Mr. Secretary
Nicholas, the famous Dr. Harvey, arm-in-arm with my lord Falkland
(whose boots were splash'd with mud, he having ridden over from his
house at Great Tew), and many such, all mix'd in this incredible tag-rag.
Mistress Fanshawe, as I remember, was playing on a lute, which she
carried always slung about her shoulders: and close beside her, a fellow
impudently puffing his specific against the morbus campestris, which
already had begun to invade us.
"Who'll buy?" he was bawling. "'Tis from the receipt of a famous
Italian, and never yet failed man, woman, nor child, unless the heart
were clean drown'd in the disease: the lest part of it good muscadine,
and has virtue against the plague, smallpox, or surfeits!"
I was standing before this jackanapes, when I heard a stir in the crowd
behind me, and another calling, "Who'll buy? Who'll buy?"
Turning, I saw a young man, very gaily dressed, moving quickly about
at the far end of the Pig Market, and behind him an old lackey, bent
double with the weight of two great baskets that he carried. The baskets
were piled with books, clothes, and gewgaws of all kinds; and 'twas the
young gentleman that hawked his wares himself. "What d'ye lack?" he
kept shouting, and would stop to unfold his merchandise, holding up
now a book, and now a silk doublet, and running over their merits like
any huckster--but with the merriest conceit in the world.
And yet 'twas not this that sent my heart flying into my mouth at the

sight of him. For by his curls and womanish face, no less than the
amber cloak with the black bars, I knew him at once for the same I had
seen yesterday among the dicers.
As I stood there, drawn this way and that by many reflections, he
worked his way through the press, selling here and there a trifle from
his baskets, and at length came to a halt in front of me.
"Ha!" he cried, pulling off his plumed hat, and bowing low, "a scholar,
I perceive. Let me serve you, sir. Here is the 'History of Saint George,'"
and he picked out a thin brown quarto and held it up; "written by
Master Peter Heylin; a ripe book they tell me (though, to be sure, I
never read beyond the title), and the price a poor two shillings."
[Illustration: "A scholar, I perceive. Let me serve you sir?"--Page 30.]
Now, all this while I was considering what to do. So, as I put my hand
in my pocket, and drew out the shillings, I said very slowly, looking
him in the eyes (but softly, so that the lackey might not hear)----
"So thus you feed your expenses at the dice: and my shilling, no doubt,
is for Luke Settle, as well as the rest."
For the moment, under my look, he went white to the lips; then clapped
his hand to his sword, withdrew it, and answered me, red as a
turkey-cock----
"Shalt be a parson, yet, Master Scholar: but art in a damn'd hurry, it
seems."
Now, I had ever a quick temper, and as he turned on his heel, was like
to have replied and raised a brawl. My own meddling tongue had
brought the rebuff upon me: but yet my heart was hot as he walked
away.
I was standing there and looking after him, turning over in my hand the
"Life of Saint George," when my fingers were aware of a slip of paper
between the pages. Pulling it out, I saw 'twas scribbled over with

writing and figures, as follows:--
"Mr. Anthony Killigrew, his acct for Oct. 25th, MDCXLII.--For
herrings, 2d.; for coffie, 4d.; for scowring my coat, 6d.; at bowls, 5s.
10d.; for bleading me, 1s. 0d.; for ye King's speech, 3d.; for spic'd wine
(with Marjory), 2s. 4d.; for seeing ye Rhinoceros, 4d.; at ye
Ranter-go-round, 6 3/4d.; for a pair of silver buttons, 2s. 6d.; for
apples, 2 1/2d.; for ale, 6d.; at ye dice, L17 5s.; for spic'd wine (again),
4s. 6d."
And so on.
As I glanced my eye down this paper, my anger oozed away, and a
great feeling of pity came over me, not only at the name of Anthony
--the name I had heard spoken in the bowling-green last night--but also
to see that monstrous item of L17 odd spent on the dice. 'Twas such a
boy,