as the song you are so fond of says. When I die it will not be of consumption. And if the surgeon’s knife must come near me, it will be after death. There’s some comfort in that reflection, at all events.”
“True,” replied Turpin, “and, with a little alteration, my song would suit you capitally:
There is not a king, should you search the world round,
So blithe as the king’s king, TOM KING, to be found:
Dear woman’s his empire, each girl is his own,
And he’d have a long reign if he’d let em alone!
Ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Tom. “And now, Dick, to change the subject. You are off, I understand, to Yorkshire to-night. ‘Pon my soul, you are a wonderful fellow—an alibi personified!—here and everywhere at the same time—no wonder you are called the flying highwayman. To-day in town—to-morrow at York—the day after at Chester. The devil only knows where you will pitch your quarters a week hence. There are rumours of you in all counties at the same moment. This man swears you robbed him at Hounslow; that on Salisbury Plain; while another avers you monopolise Cheshire and Yorkshire, and that it isn’t safe even to hunt without pops in your pocket. I heard some devilish good stories of you at D’Osyndar’s t’other day; the fellow who told them to me little thought I was a brother blade.”
“You flatter me,” said Dick, smiling complacently, “but it’s no merit of mine. Black Bess alone enables me to do it, and hers be the credit. Talking of being everywhere at the same time, you shall hear what she once did for me in Cheshire. Meantime, a glass to the best mare in England. You won’t refuse that toast, Tom. Ah! if your mistress is only as true to you as my nag to me, you might set at nought the tightest hempen cravat that was ever twisted, and defy your best friend to hurt you. Black Bess! and God bless her! And now for the song.” Saying which, with much emotion, Turpin chanted the following rhymes: