Begins so slowly, and from such slight source,
But let the stream get deeper, and philosophy—
Ay, and religion too—shall strive in vain
Old Play.
The Templars had been regaled by our friend Richie Moniplies in a private chamber3 at Beaujeu's, where he might be considered as good company; for he had exchanged his serving-man's cloak and jerkin for a grave yet handsome suit of clothes, in the fashion of the times, but such as might have befitted an older man than himself. He had positively5 declined presenting himself at the ordinary, a point to which his companions were very desirous to have brought him, for it will be easily believed that such wags as Lowestoffe and his companion were not indisposed to a little merriment at the expense of the raw and pedantic6 Scotsman; besides the chance of easing him of a few pieces, of which he appeared to have acquired considerable command. But not even a succession of measures of sparkling sack, in which the little brilliant atoms circulated like motes7 in the sun's rays, had the least effect on Richie's sense of decorum. He retained the gravity of a judge, even while he drank like a fish, partly from his own natural inclination8 to good liquor, partly in the way of good fellowship towards his guests. When the wine began to make some innovation on their heads, Master Lowestoffe, tired, perhaps, of the humours of Richie, who began to become yet more stoically contradictory10 and dogmatical than even in the earlier part of the entertainment, proposed to his friend to break up their debauch11 and join the gamesters.
The drawer was called accordingly, and Richie discharged the reckoning of the party, with a generous remuneration to the attendants, which was received with cap and knee, and many assurances of—“Kindly12 welcome, gentlemen.”
“I grieve we should part so soon, gentlemen,” said Richie to his companions,—“and I would you had cracked another quart ere you went, or stayed to take some slight matter of supper, and a glass of Rhenish. I thank you, however, for having graced my poor collation13 thus far; and I commend you to fortune, in your own courses, for the ordinary neither was, is, nor shall be, an element of mine.”
“Fare thee well, then,” said Lowestoffe, “most sapient14 and sententious Master Moniplies. May you soon have another mortgage to redeem15, and may I be there to witness it; and may you play the good fellow, as heartily16 as you have done this day.”
“Nay17, gentlemen, it is merely of your grace to say so—but, if you would but hear me speak a few words of admonition respecting this wicked ordinary—”
“Reserve the lesson, most honourable18 Richie,” said Lowestoffe, “until I have lost all my money,” showing, at the same time, a purse indifferently well provided, “and then the lecture is likely to have some weight.”
“And keep my share of it, Richie,” said the other Templar, showing an almost empty purse, in his turn, “till this be full again, and then I will promise to hear you with some patience.”
“Ay, ay, gallants,” said Richie, “the full and the empty gang a' ae gate, and that is a grey one—but the time will come.”
“Nay, it is come already,” said Lowestoffe; “they have set out the hazard table. Since you will peremptorily20 not go with us, why, farewell, Richie.”
“And farewell, gentlemen,” said Richie, and left the house, into which they had returned.
Moniplies was not many steps from the door, when a person, whom, lost in his reflections on gaming, ordinaries, and the manners of the age, he had not observed, and who had been as negligent21 on his part, ran full against him; and, when Richie desired to know whether he meant “ony incivility,” replied by a curse on Scotland, and all that belonged to it. A less round reflection on his country would, at any time, have provoked Richie, but more especially when he had a double quart of Canary and better in his pate22. He was about to give a very rough answer, and to second his word by action, when a closer view of his antagonist23 changed his purpose.
“You are the vera lad in the warld,” said Richie, “whom I most wished to meet.”
“And you,” answered the stranger, “or any of your beggarly countrymen, are the last sight I should ever wish to see. You Scots are ever fair and false, and an honest man cannot thrive within eyeshot of you.”
“As to our poverty, friend,” replied Richie, “that is as Heaven pleases; but touching24 our falset, I'll prove to you that a Scotsman bears as leal and true a heart to his friend as ever beat in English doublet.”
“I care not whether he does or not,” said the gallant19. “Let me go—why keep you hold of my cloak? Let me go, or I will thrust you into the kennel25.”
“I believe I could forgie ye, for you did me a good turn once, in plucking me out of it,” said the Scot.
“Beshrew my fingers, then, if they did so,” replied the stranger. “I would your whole country lay there, along with you; and Heaven's curse blight27 the hand that helped to raise them!—Why do you stop my way?” he added, fiercely.
“Because it is a bad one, Master Jenkin,” said Richie. “Nay, never start about it, man—you see you are known. Alack-a-day! that an honest man's son should live to start at hearing himself called by his own name!” Jenkin struck his brow violently with his clenched28 fist.
“Come, come,” said Richie, “this passion availeth nothing. Tell me what gate go you?”
“To the devil!” answered Jin Vin.
“That is a black gate, if you speak according to the letter,” answered Richie; “but if metaphorically29, there are worse places in this great city than the Devil Tavern30; and I care not if I go thither31 with you, and bestow32 a pottle of burnt sack on you—it will correct the crudities of my stomach, and form a gentle preparative for the leg of a cold pullet.”
“I pray you, in good fashion, to let me go,” said Jenkin. “You may mean me kindly, and I wish you to have no wrong at my hand; but I am in the humour to be dangerous to myself, or any one.”
“I will abide33 the risk,” said the Scot, “if you will but come with me; and here is a place convenient, a howff nearer than the Devil, whilk is but an ill-omened drouthy name for a tavern. This other of the Saint Andrew is a quiet place, where I have ta'en my whetter now and then, when I lodged35 in the neighbourhood of the Temple with Lord Glenvarloch.—What the deil's the matter wi' the man, garr'd him gie sic a spang as that, and almaist brought himself and me on the causeway?”
“Do not name that false Scot's name to me,” said Jin Vin, “if you would not have me go mad!—I was happy before I saw him—he has been the cause of all the ill that has befallen me—he has made a knave36 and a madman of me!”
“If you are a knave,” said Richie, “you have met an officer—if you are daft, you have met a keeper; but a gentle officer and a kind keeper. Look you, my gude friend, there has been twenty things said about this same lord, in which there is no more truth than in the leasings of Mahound. The warst they can say of him is, that he is not always so amenable37 to good advice as I would pray him, you, and every young man to be. Come wi' me—just come ye wi' me; and, if a little spell of siller and a great deal of excellent counsel can relieve your occasions, all I can say is, you have had the luck to meet one capable of giving you both, and maist willing to bestow them.”
The pertinacity38 of the Scot prevailed over the sullenness39 of Vincent, who was indeed in a state of agitation41 and incapacity to think for himself, which led him to yield the more readily to the suggestions of another. He suffered himself to be dragged into the small tavern which Richie recommended, and where they soon found themselves seated in a snug42 niche43, with a reeking44 pottle of burnt sack, and a paper of sugar betwixt them. Pipes and tobacco were also provided, but were only used by Richie, who had adopted the custom of late, as adding considerably45 to the gravity and importance of his manner, and affording, as it were, a bland46 and pleasant accompaniment to the words of wisdom which flowed from his tongue. After they had filled their glasses and drank them in silence, Richie repeated the question, whither his guest was going when they met so fortunately.
“I told you,” said Jenkin, “I was going to destruction—I mean to the gaming-house. I am resolved to hazard these two or three pieces, to get as much as will pay for a passage with Captain Sharker, whose ship lies at Gravesend, bound for America—and so Eastward48, ho!—I met one devil in the way already, who would have tempted49 me from my purpose, but I spurned50 him from me—you may be another for what I know.—What degree of damnation do you propose for me,” he added wildly, “and what is the price of it?”
“I would have you to know,” answered Richie, “that I deal in no such commodities, whether as buyer or seller. But if you will tell me honestly the cause of your distress51, I will do what is in my power to help you out of it,—not being, however, prodigal52 of promises, until I know the case; as a learned physician only gives advice when he has observed the diagnostics.”
“No one has any thing to do with my affairs,” said the poor lad; and folding his arms on the table, he laid his head upon them, with the sullen40 dejection of the overburdened lama, when it throws itself down to die in desperation.
Richard Moniplies, like most folk who have a good opinion of themselves, was fond of the task of consolation53, which at once displayed his superiority, (for the consoler is necessarily, for the time at least, superior to the afflicted54 person,) and indulged his love of talking. He inflicted55 on the poor penitenta harangue56 of pitiless length, stuffed full of the usual topics of the mutability of human affairs—the eminent57 advantages of patience under affliction—the folly58 of grieving for what hath no remedy—the necessity of taking more care for the future, and some gentle rebukes59 on account of the past, which acid he threw in to assist in subduing60 the patient's obstinacy61, as Hannibal used vinegar in cutting his way through rocks. It was not in human nature to endure this flood of commonplace eloquence62 in silence; and Jin Vin, whether desirous of stopping the flow of words—crammed thus into his ear, “against the stomach of his sense,” or whether confiding63 in Richie's protestations of friendship, which the wretched, says Fielding, are ever so ready to believe, or whether merely to give his sorrows vent64 in words, raised his head, and turning his red and swollen65 eyes to Richie—
“Cocksbones, man, only hold thy tongue, and thou shall know all about it,—and then all I ask of thee is to shake hands and part.—This Margaret Ramsay,—you have seen her, man?”
“Once,” said Richie, “once, at Master George Heriot's in Lombard Street—I was in the room when they dined.”
“Ay, you helped to shift their trenchers, I remember,” said Jin Vin. “Well, that same pretty girl—and I will uphold her the prettiest betwixt Paul's and the Bar—she is to be wedded66 to your Lord Glenvarloch, with a pestilence67 on him!”
“That is impossible,” said Richie; “it is raving68 nonsense, man—they make April gouks of you cockneys every month in the year—The Lord Glenvarloch marry the daughter of a Lonnon mechanic! I would as soon believe the great Prester John would marry the daughter of a Jew packman.”
“Hark ye, brother,” said Jin Vin, “I will allow no one to speak disregardfully of the city, for all I am in trouble.”
“I crave69 your pardon, man—I meant no offence,” said Richie; “but as to the marriage, it is a thing simply impossible.”
“It is a thing that will take place, though, for the Duke and the Prince, and all of them, have a finger in it; and especially the old fool of a king, that makes her out to be some great woman in her own country, as all the Scots pretend to be, you know.”
“Master Vincent, but that you are under affliction,” said the consoler, offended on his part, “I would hear no national reflections.”
The afflicted youth apologised in his turns, but asserted, “it was true that the king said Peg70-a-Ramsay was some far-off sort of noblewoman; and that he had taken a great interest in the match, and had run about like an old gander, cackling about Peggie ever since he had seen her in hose and doublet—and no wonder,” added poor Vin, with a deep sigh.
“This may be all true,” said Richie, “though it sounds strange in my ears; but, man, you should not speak evil of dignities—-Curse not the king, Jenkin; not even in thy bed-chamber—stone walls have ears—no one has a right to know better than I.”
“I do not curse the foolish old man,” said Jenkin; “but I would have them carry things a peg lower.—If they were to see on a plain field thirty thousand such pikes as I have seen in the artillery71 gardens, it would not be their long-haired courtiers would help them, I trow.” [Footnote: Clarendon remarks, that the importance of the military exercise of the citizens was severely72 felt by the cavaliers during the civil war, notwithstanding the ridicule73 that had been showered upon it by the dramatic poets of the day. Nothing less than habitual74 practice could, at the battle of Newbury and elsewhere, have enabled the Londoners to keep their ranks as pikemen, in spite of the repeated charge of the fiery75 Prince Rupert and his gallant cavaliers.]
“Hout tout76, man,” said Richie, “mind where the Stewarts come frae, and never think they would want spears or claymores either; but leaving sic matters, whilk are perilous77 to speak on, I say once more, what is your concern in all this matter?”
“What is it?” said Jenkin; “why, have I not fixed78 on Peg-a-Ramsay to be my true love, from the day I came to her old father's shop? and have I not carried her pattens and her chopines for three years, and borne her prayer-book to church, and brushed the cushion for her to kneel down upon, and did she ever say me nay?”
“I see no cause she had,” said Richie, “if the like of such small services were all that ye proffered79. Ah, man! there are few—very few, either of fools or of wise men, ken26 how to guide a woman.”
“Why, did I not serve her at the risk of my freedom, and very nigh at the risk of my neck? Did she not—no, it was not her neither, but that accursed beldam whom she caused to work upon me—persuade me like a fool to turn myself into a waterman to help my lord, and a plague to him, down to Scotland? and instead of going peaceably down to the ship at Gravesend, did not he rant80 and bully81, and show his pistols, and make me land him at Greenwich, where he played some swaggering pranks82, that helped both him and me into the Tower?”
“Aha!” said Richie, throwing more than his usual wisdom into his looks, “so you were the green-jacketed waterman that rowed Lord Glenvarloch down the river?”
“The more fool I, that did not souse him in the Thames,” said Jenkin; “and I was the lad who would not confess one word of who and what I was, though they threatened to make me hug the Duke of Exeter's daughter."[Footnote: A particular species of rack, used at the Tower of London, was so called.]
“Wha is she, man?” said Richie; “she must be an ill-fashioned piece, if you're so much afraid of her, and she come of such high kin4.”
“I mean the rack—the rack, man,” said Jenkin. “Where were you bred that never heard of the Duke of Exeter's daughter? But all the dukes and duchesses in England could have got nothing out of me—so the truth came out some other way, and I was set free.—Home I ran, thinking myself one of the cleverest and happiest fellows in the ward9. And she—she—she wanted to pay me with money for all my true service! and she spoke83 so sweetly and so coldly at the same time, I wished myself in the deepest dungeon84 of the Tower—I wish they had racked me to death before I heard this Scottishman was to chouse me out of my sweetheart!”
“But are ye sure ye have lost her?” said Richie; “it sounds strange in my ears that my Lord Glenvarloch should marry the daughter of a dealer,—though there are uncouth85 marriages made in London, I'll allow that.”
“Why, I tell you this lord was no sooner clear of the Tower, than he and Master George Heriot comes to make proposals for her, with the king's assent86, and what not; and fine fair-day prospects87 of Court favour for this lord, for he hath not an acre of land.”
“Well, and what said the auld88 watch-maker?” said Richie; “was he not, as might weel beseem him, ready to loop out of his skin-case for very joy?”
“He multiplied six figures progressively, and reported the product—then gave his consent.”
“And what did you do?”
“I rushed into the streets,” said the poor lad, “with a burning heart and a blood-shot eye—and where did I first find myself, but with that beldam, Mother Suddlechop—and what did she propose to me, but to take the road?”
“Take the road, man? in what sense?” said Richie.
“Even as a clerk to Saint Nicholas—as a highwayman, like Poins and Peto, and the good fellows in the play—and who think you was to be my captain?—for she had the whole out ere I could speak to her—I fancy she took silence for consent, and thought me damned too unutterably to have one thought left that savoured of redemption—who was to be my captain, but the knave that you saw me cudgel at the ordinary when you waited on Lord Glenvarloch, a cowardly, sharking, thievish bully about town here, whom they call Colepepper.”
“Colepepper—umph—I know somewhat of that smaik,” said Richie; “ken ye by ony chance where he may be heard of, Master Jenkin?—ye wad do me a sincere service to tell me.”
“Why, he lives something obscurely,” answered the apprentice89, “on account of suspicion of some villainy—I believe that horrid90 murder in Whitefriars, or some such matter. But I might have heard all about him from Dame91 Suddlechop, for she spoke of my meeting him at Enfield Chase, with some other good fellows, to do a robbery on one that goes northward92 with a store of treasure.”
“And you did not agree to this fine project?” said Moniplies.
“I cursed her for a hag, and came away about my business,” answered Jenkin.
“Ay, and what said she to that, man? That would startle her,” said Richie.
“Not a whit47. She laughed, and said she was in jest,” answered Jenkin; “but I know the she-devil's jest from her earnest too well to be taken in that way. But she knows I would never betray her.'
“Betray her! No,” replied Richie; “but are ye in any shape bound to this birkie Peppercull, or Colepepper, or whatever they call him, that ye suld let him do a robbery on the honest gentleman that is travelling to the north, and may be a kindly Scot, for what we know?”
“Ay—going home with a load of English money,” said Jenkin. “But be he who he will, they may rob the whole world an they list, for I am robbed and ruined.”
Richie filled his friend's cup up to the brim, and insisted that he should drink what he called “clean caup out.” “This love,” he said, “is but a bairnly matter for a brisk young fellow like yourself, Master Jenkin. And if ye must needs have a whimsy93, though I think it would be safer to venture on a staid womanly body, why, here be as bonny lasses in London as this Peg-a-Ramsay. You need not sigh sae deeply, for it is very true—there is as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. Now wherefore should you, who are as brisk and trig a young fellow of your inches as the sun needs to shine on—wherefore need you sit moping this way, and not try some bold way to better your fortune?”
“I tell you, Master Moniplies,” said Jenkin, “I am as poor as any Scot among you—I have broke my indenture94, and I think of running my country.”
“A-well-a-day!” said Richie; “but that maunna be, man—I ken weel, by sad experience, that poortith takes away pith, and the man sits full still that has a rent in his breeks. [Footnote: This elegant speech was made by the Earl of Douglas, called Tineman after being wounded and made prisoner at the battle of Shrewsbury, where
“His well labouring sword
But courage, man; you have served me heretofore, and I will serve you now. If you will but bring me to speech of this same captain, it will be the best day's work you ever did.”
“I guess where you are, Master Richard—you would save your countryman's long purse,” said Jenkin. “I cannot see how that should advantage me, but I reck not if I should bear a hand. I hate that braggart97, that bloody-minded, cowardly bully. If you can get me mounted I care not if I show you where the dame told me I should meet him—but you must stand to the risk, for though he is a coward himself, I know he will have more than one stout98 fellow with him.”
“We will have no such thing,” said Jenkin, “if I am to go with you. I am not the lad to betray any one to the harmanbeck. You must do it by manhood if I am to go with you. I am sworn to cutter's law, and will sell no man's blood.”
“Aweel,” said Richie, “a wilful100 man must have his way; ye must think that I was born and bred where cracked crowns were plentier than whole ones. Besides, I have two noble friends here, Master Lowestoffe of the Temple, and his cousin Master Ringwood, that will blithely101 be of so gallant a party.”
“Lowestoffe and Ringwood!” said Jenkin; “they are both brave gallants—they will be sure company. Know you where they are to be found?”
“Ay, marry do I,” replied Richie. “They are fast at the cards and dice102, till the sma' hours, I warrant them.”
“They are gentlemen of trust and honour,” said Jenkin, “and, if they advise it, I will try the adventure. Go, try if you can bring them hither, since you have so much to say with, them. We must not be seen abroad together.—I know not how it is, Master Moniplies,” continued he, as his countenance103 brightened up, and while, in his turn, he filled the cups, “but I feel my heart something lighter104 since I have thought of this matter.”
“Thus it is to have counsellors, Master Jenkin,” said Richie; “and truly I hope to hear you say that your heart is as light as a lavrock's, and that before you are many days aulder. Never smile and shake your head, but mind what I tell you—and bide34 here in the meanwhile, till I go to seek these gallants. I warrant you, cart-ropes would not hold them back from such a ploy105 as I shall propose to them.”
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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contradictory
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debauch
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| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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collation
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| n.便餐；整理 | |
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sapient
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| adj.有见识的，有智慧的 | |
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redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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heartily
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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peremptorily
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negligent
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| adj.疏忽的；玩忽的；粗心大意的 | |
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pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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touching
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kennel
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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metaphorically
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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thither
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bestow
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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knave
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amenable
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| adj.经得起检验的；顺从的；对负有义务的 | |
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pertinacity
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| n.执拗，顽固 | |
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sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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41
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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42
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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43
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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spurned
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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rebukes
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的第三人称单数 ) | |
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subduing
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| 征服( subdue的现在分词 )； 克制； 制服； 色变暗 | |
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61
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rant
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| v.咆哮；怒吼；n.大话；粗野的话 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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83
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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86
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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88
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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90
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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92
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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93
whimsy
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| n.古怪，异想天开 | |
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indenture
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| n.契约；合同 | |
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95
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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braggart
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| n.吹牛者；adj.吹牛的，自夸的 | |
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99
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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100
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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101
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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102
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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103
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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104
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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ploy
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| n.花招，手段 | |
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