Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar онлайн

419 страница из 895

The beer was brought in, which was relished still more.

“Now, Nat,” said a young fellow. “Here’s a pot o’ beer for ’ee if yell sing another song. How will ye have it, hob or nob?”

“Hob” is beer placed on the hob to warm; “nob,” beer on the table.

“None of your warm beer for me,” cried Nat. “Dont ’ee know what my uncle used to say? When my back wont warm my bed, sed he, and when my belly wont warm my beer, sed he, it’s time I were gone, ’cos I aint no yoose to the world, and the world aint no yoose to me.”

“That’s a good saying, I don’t doubt, but pitch us a stave, old man.”

“The landlord’s got more staves than any on us here. Ask him.”

“Ah, let’s hear Brickett,” cried several.

“I aint a goin’ to make any fuss about the matter,” said the landlord; “I’ll do my best.”

“Brayvo, brayvo!”

“So here goes while my head’s hot—

Come where the heather bell,

Child of the Highland dell,

Breathes its coy fragrance o’er moorland and lea;

Gaily the fountain sheen

Leaps from the mountain green,

Come to our Highland home, blithesome and free.