Chapter IX · Osborne is out of his Time

I was out of my Time; and was examined by the Master and Wardens of our Company whether I had duly and faithfully served my Apprenticeship: and being found sufficient and allowed, was presented to the Chamberlain of London to be made free; was sworn, and paid Two-and-sixpence.

I remember one of the Wardens eyed me rather curiously when I went up; and said, "So thou art young Osborne?" "Yea," quod the other, "the Knight of the Flying Leap!" an old Joke I thought every one had forgotten. Howbeit they shook Hands with me, and said they wished every Master as good a 'Prentice.

Thereafter I went to see Tomkins, whom I had lost Sight of a long Time. His Wife was spreading a clean Diaper over the Table, his little Girl playing with a Kitten on the Hearth, and a straggling Sunbeam through the Lattice was lighting up his pale, placid Face as he sate at his Loom. I have thought since, that ministering Spirits might have been passing to and fro on that Beam, unperceivable to my mortal Sense.

"Ha!" quod he, "this is a pleasant Sight. What! the blue Gown is thrown off at last! But how? no Scallops? no Slashes? no Taffeta-lined Cloke, nor Shirt edged with Silver? Thou keepest within the Statute, at all Events. Why, Miles goes as fine as a Popinjay! Howbeit, I like your dark brown better than his Eggs and Spinach; 'tis good Taste, Lad, not to dress above one's Degree. All the World can see which is the Gentleman's Son, which the Burreller's."

"Thou art e'en too hard on poor Miles," quod I. "He is working very hard just now in hope of marrying."

"All the better," saith Tomkins; "many a second-rate Fellow is made better by a first-rate Wife. What? is he thinking of Tryphosa?"

"Oh no," quod I, laughing, "he thinks her quite too old."

"Look you there now!" quod he, much amused, "too old, forsooth! To hear how Boys talk! Marry, you must sup with us, and tell me about Everything; that is, if you can condescend to eat aught but Manchet-bread in these grand Days. Step down to Fishmongersrow, dear Dinah, and fetch us a Crab."

"That's a long Step, Tomkins," observed his Wife, "would not Something I could get nearer do as well?"

"No," quod he gently, "I want a Crab, and I want it from thence; so oblige me, good Dinah."

"That I will," replied she, cheerfully, tying on her Hood, and departing the next Minute with her Child in her Arms.

"I remember," quod Tomkins, laughing, "how you and Miles played away at the Crab on our Wedding-day. And if you spurn such homely Dainties now, you'll be Home in Time for your real Supper after all. 'Tis but Three o' the Clock."

"To hear you Talk," said I, "one would think we lived just now in Lubberland, where the Rivers run Gravy and Apple-sauce, and the roast Pigs run about, saying, Come eat me."

"Why, is not Master Hewet Sheriff?" quod Tomkins, "and doth he not ride a gray Horse and wear a velvet Coat and a Jewel in his Cap? Sure, you must be steeped in Wassail and Feasting."

"Ah," quod I, "there's little real Mirth in it. Seldom do we see a Smile now on Master Hewet's Face ... Mistress Anne is in the Country; Mistress Fraunces does the Honours with all Grace, many People come and go, new Servants wait, many fine Dishes are cooked and eaten; but the Times are so bad, there is little Hilarity with it all."

"Aye?" quod he, lowering his Voice, "is't e'en so?" Then changing his Manner altogether, he rose, sate by the Fire, and pointed me to a Seat over-against him.

"Ned," saith he, "what is to be looked for, when the very Heavens above, though without articulate Voice or Sound, proclaim coming Judgment? Two Suns shining at once i' the Firmament! The Bow of Mercy, not indeed withdrawn, but reversed; the Bow turned downward and the two Ends standing upward! Didst see it?"

I said, I did; it had puzzled the Wise and affrighted the Weak.

"Well might it do either or both," quod he. "Well! ... we shall see what comes of it. These Foreshadows are sometimes sent in Mercy, that thoughtful People may prepare. 'Fearful Sights and great Signs shall there be from Heaven.' 'And when these Things begin to come to pass, lift up your Heads, for your Redemption draweth nigh.' 'And he that endureth unto the End, the same shall be saved.' 'Settle it therefore in your Hearts not to meditate beforehand what ye shall answer; for I will give you a Mouth and Wisdom that all your Adversaries shall not be able to gainsay nor resist.' 'In your patience possess ye your Souls.'"

"Tomkins!" cried I, filled with sudden Admiration, "thou couldst not always have thus quoted and applied the Bible!"

"Lad," quod he, "Times are altered. I don't suppose there was ever a quiet, fair-spoken Man nearer the Edge of the Pit of Destruction than I was, a few Years back. Just as I was trifling on the Brink, a Child's Voice called me back. Ned! 'twas thine. I had known, for Months and Years, what 'twas to lie down with a Heart ill at Peace with God. He that is very glad to get into a good and safe Covert, will not waste his Time in dallying with too curious Subtleties. Since I have gone the Way I should, Years have seemed like Days! I have tasted the Life of Life: yet never was more ready to lay it down at my Master's Feet! 'Tis all I have to give him!"

"I hope," said I, after a Pause, "there will be no Need."

"But what have we to expect?" quod he. "Here's the Mass and all its Mummery revived on every Hand, Mass Priests set in the Place of godly Preachers, and good Men deprived and cast into Prison. Philip of Spain and Cardinal Pole will presently sweep all before them, and make a clear House on 't! Do you remember—but, peradventure 'twas before thy Time—Master Chester coming to Master Hewet, and putting it to him what he should do with a 'Prentice Lad of his, one Lawrence Saunders, whom he had overheard hard wrestling in Prayer, and found wholly given to spiritual Contemplation and the reading of godly Books? Master Hewet advised his cancelling his Indentures and sending him to Cambridge, which he did; and the good Youth did no small Credit to his kind and enlightened Master. But, last October, Ned, he preached a Sermon in All-hallows' Church, the pure Doctrine whereof brought him into Trouble; for Bonner and the Chancellor called him a frenzy Fool and committed him to Prison, where he hath lain, in great hardness, ever since; nor will come forth, I fear me, except to be burned. Then there's good Bishop Hooper—"

"Ah," said I, "when he was committed to the Fleet last September, he had nothing for his Bed but a little Pad of Straw and a rotten Covering, with a Tick and a few Feathers therein, in a foul and unwholesome Chamber. And this we had from his Man John Downton, Brother to our Maid Damaris; whereon Master Hewet sent him Money and a good Bed."

"Then there's young Hunter the 'Prentice," continued Tomkins, "was brought up for refusing to receive the Mass Communion this Easter. His Master contrived to send him down to his Father's at Brentwood, where he presently fell again into Trouble for reading of the Bible that lay on the Clerk's Desk, and was set in the Stocks twenty-four Hours. And then they sent him up to Bonner, who set him in the Stocks at his own Gate for two Days and two Nights, with only a Crust of Bread and a Cup of Water; the Lad's young Brother all the while sitting by him. Then he was cast into the Convict Prison, as heavily ironed as one of his tender Years could bear, and hath lain there ever since, with a Halfpenny a Day for his Keep. Could you or I shew such Constancy, think you?"

"You might, but I could not," said I.

"You might, but I might not," sighed he—"not the Thing that will follow."

And, suddenly thrusting his Hand into the very midst of the Fire, which was burning fiercely, he as suddenly plucked it out; turning on me a Look I shall never forget! It expressed the Anguish of a Man weighed in the Balance and found wanting. We sate for a few Seconds in perfect and most painful Silence; his Hand, in great Blisters, resting on his Knee. Suddenly I started up and laid my Hand on his Shoulder.

"Tomkins," cried I, "what are you thinking of?"

"I was thinking," returned he with filling Eyes, "how unworthy I was of the Saviour that died for me."

"But your Hand! did not you feel the Smart?"

"My Hand?" cried he, starting and looking down upon it. "No, not just then! I'd forgotten it."

"See! see!" cried I, "what may be the Victory of the Spirit over the Flesh! What has been, may be again. As our Day, our Strength shall be."

The large Tears came into his Eyes. "Ned," quod he, "I will never doubt it again."

"And now," said I, "let me dress your Hand, for I know Something of Burns." So I went out and got white Cotton Wool, and wrapped a great Pad of it about his Hand, and tied it up neatly; and, just at that Time, his Wife came in with the Crab.

"Why, what's the Matter?" cried she, changing Colour.

"Nothing at all, my Love," returned her Husband cheerfully, "save that I've burnt my Hand."

"Ah," said she, "you wist the Handle of the Kettle was loose.... I won't pity you at all! Is it a very bad Hurt, though?"

"Nothing to speak of," quod he.

"Forsooth, and you couldn't smile so, an' 'twere—only thou hast made such a great Bundle of it. Shall I tie it up neater for thee, Husband?"

"No, sweet Heart, it does well enough. So now for the Crab.... And so young Mistress Anne is in the Country?"

"At the Hall," quod I, "with her Uncle."

"Ah," sayth he quietly, "the Squire hath two fair Sons ... I think she will settle down there one of these Days."