We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl.

"The lark is but a bumpkin fowl,
He sleeps in his nest till morn;
But my blessing upon the jolly owl,
That all night blows his horn.
Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech,
And match me this catch till you swagger and screech,
And drink till you wink, my merry men each;
For, though hours be late and weather be foul,
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl."

"There is savour in this, my hearts," said Michael, when the mercer had
finished his song, "and some goodness seems left among you yet; but what
a bead-roll you have read me of old comrades, and to every man's name
tacked some ill-omened motto! And so Swashing Will of Wallingford hath
bid us good-night?"

"He died the death of a fat buck," said one of the party, "being shot
with a crossbow bolt, by old Thatcham, the Duke's stout park-keeper at
Donnington Castle."

"Ay, ay, he always loved venison well," replied Michael, "and a cup
of claret to boot--and so here's one to his memory. Do me right, my
masters."

When the memory of this departed worthy had been duly honoured,
Lambourne proceeded to inquire after Prance of Padworth.

"Pranced off--made immortal ten years since," said the mercer; "marry,