Janet, however, had no occasion for anxiety. Her father, his old
attendant, Lord Leicester's domestic, and the astrologer, entered
the garden in tumult and in extreme perplexity, endeavouring to quiet
Lambourne, whose brain had now become completely fired with liquor, and
who was one of those unfortunate persons who, being once stirred with
the vinous stimulus, do not fall asleep like other drunkards, but
remain partially influenced by it for many hours, until at length, by
successive draughts, they are elevated into a state of uncontrollable
frenzy. Like many men in this state also, Lambourne neither lost the
power of motion, speech, or expression; but, on the contrary, spoke with
unwonted emphasis and readiness, and told all that at another time he
would have been most desirous to keep secret.
"What!" ejaculated Michael, at the full extent of his voice, "am I to
have no welcome, no carouse, when I have brought fortune to your old,
ruinous dog-house in the shape of a devil's ally, that can change
slate-shivers into Spanish dollars?--Here, you, Tony Fire-the-Fagot,
Papist, Puritan, hypocrite, miser, profligate, devil, compounded of all
men's sins, bow down and reverence him who has brought into thy house
the very mammon thou worshippest."
"For God's sake," said Foster, "speak low--come into the house--thou
shalt have wine, or whatever thou wilt."
"No, old puckfoist, I will have it here," thundered the inebriated
ruffian--"here, AL FRESCO, as the Italian hath it. No, no, I will not
drink with that poisoning devil within doors, to be choked with the
fumes of arsenic and quick-silver; I learned from villain Varney to
beware of that."
"Fetch him wine, in the name of all the fiends!" said the alchemist.
"Aha! and thou wouldst spice it for me, old Truepenny, wouldst thou not?
Ay, I should have copperas, and hellebore, and vitriol, and aqua fortis,
and twenty devilish materials bubbling in my brain-pan like a charm to
raise the devil in a witch's cauldron. Hand me the flask thyself, old
Tony Fire-the-Fagot--and let it be cool--I will have no wine mulled at
the pile of the old burnt bishops. Or stay, let Leicester be king if
he will--good--and Varney, villain Varney, grand vizier--why,
excellent!--and what shall I be, then?--why, emperor--Emperor Lambourne!
I will see this choice piece of beauty that they have walled up here
for their private pleasures; I will have her this very night to serve my
wine-cup and put on my nightcap. What should a fellow do with two
wives, were he twenty times an Earl? Answer me that, Tony boy, you old
reprobate, hypocritical dog, whom God struck out of the book of life,
but tormented with the constant wish to be restored to it--you old
bishop-burning, blasphemous fanatic, answer me that."