CLOWN. You have of these pedlars, that have more in'em than
you'd think, sister.
--WINTER'S TALE, ACT IV., SCENE 3.
In his anxiety to obey the Earl's repeated charges of secrecy, as well
as from his own unsocial and miserly habits, Anthony Foster was more
desirous, by his mode of housekeeping, to escape observation than to
resist intrusive curiosity. Thus, instead of a numerous household, to
secure his charge, and defend his house, he studied as much as possible
to elude notice by diminishing his attendants; so that, unless when
there were followers of the Earl, or of Varney, in the mansion, one
old male domestic, and two aged crones, who assisted in keeping the
Countess's apartments in order, were the only servants of the family.
It was one of these old women who opened the door when Wayland knocked,
and answered his petition, to be admitted to exhibit his wares to the
ladies of the family, with a volley of vituperation, couched in what is
there called the JOWRING dialect. The pedlar found the means of
checking this vociferation by slipping a silver groat into her hand, and
intimating the present of some stuff for a coif, if the lady would buy
of his wares.
"God ield thee, for mine is aw in littocks. Slocket with thy pack into
gharn, mon--her walks in gharn." Into the garden she ushered the pedlar
accordingly, and pointing to an old, ruinous garden house, said, "Yonder
be's her, mon--yonder be's her. Zhe will buy changes an zhe loikes
stuffs."
"She has left me to come off as I may," thought Wayland, as he heard the
hag shut the garden-door behind him. "But they shall not beat me,
and they dare not murder me, for so little trespass, and by this fair
twilight. Hang it, I will on--a brave general never thought of his
retreat till he was defeated. I see two females in the old garden-house
yonder--but how to address them? Stay--Will Shakespeare, be my friend in
need. I will give them a taste of Autolycus." He then sung, with a good
voice, and becoming audacity, the popular playhouse ditty,-"Lawn as white as driven snow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow,
Gloves as sweet as damask roses,
Masks for faces and for noses."
"What hath fortune sent us here for an unwonted sight, Janet?" said the
lady.
"One of those merchants of vanity, called pedlars," answered Janet,
demurely, "who utters his light wares in lighter measures. I marvel old
Dorcas let him pass."
"It is a lucky chance, girl," said the Countess; "we lead a heavy life
here, and this may while off a weary hour."