John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

"I'faith!" declared Dick Merriweather. "I have fair lost sight o' you in this Hampton Court Hedge of a conceit! Speak literally, an't please you, if only for a sentence, and lay open plainly what is signified by all this talk of death and midwives and the rest of the allegory."

"I shall," smiled Ebenezer, "but I would Joan Toast were present to hear't, inasmuch as 'twas she who played all innocently the midwife's part. Do fetch her, McEvoy, that all the world may know I bear no ill will towards either of you. Albeit you acted from malice, yet, as the proverb hath it, Many a thing groweth in the garden, that was not planted there; or even A man's fortune may be made by his enviers. Certain it is, your mischief bore fruit beyond my grandest dreams! You said of me once that I comprehend naught of life, and perchance 'tis true; but you must allow farther that Fools rush in where wise men fear to tread, and that A castle may be taken by storm, that ne'er would fall to siege. The fact is, I've wondrous news to tell. Will you summon her?"

Ever since Ebenezer's appearance in the winehouse McEvoy had sat quietly, even sullen. Now he got up from his place, growled "Summon her yourself, damn ye!" and left the tavern in a great sulk.

"What ails him?" asked Ebenezer. "The man meant me an injury — doth it chagrin him that it misfired into fortune? 'Twas a civil request; did I know Joan's whereabouts I'd fetch her myself."

"So I doubt not would he," Ben Oliver said.

"What is't you say?"

"Did you not hear it said before," asked Tom Trent, "that nor hide nor hair of your Joan have we seen these three days past?"

"I took it for a twit," said Ebenezer. "She's gone in sooth?"

"Aye," affirmed Dick, "the tart is vanished from sight, and not McEvoy nor any soul else knows aught of't. The last anyone saw of her was the day after the wager. She was in a fearful fret — "

"I'faith," put in Ben, "there was no speaking to the woman!"

"We took it for a pout," Dick went on, "forasmuch as you'd — That is to say — "

"She'd scorned four guineas from a good man," Ben declared in a last effort at contempt, "and got in exchange a penceless preachment from — "

"From Ebenezer Cooke, my friends," Ebenezer finished, unable to hold back the news any longer, "who this very day hath been named by Lord Baltimore to be Poet and Laureate of the entire Province of Maryland! And you've not seen the wench since, you say?"

But none heard the question: they looked at each other and at Ebenezer.

"Egad!"

" 'Sblood!"

"Is't true? Thou'rt Laureate of Maryland?"

"Aye," said Ebenezer, who actually had said only that he'd been named Laureate, but deemed it too late, among other things, to clarify the misunderstanding. "I sail a few days hence for America, to manage the estate where I was born, and by command of Lord Baltimore to do the office of Laureate for the colony."

"Have you commission and all?" Tom Trent marveled.

Ebenezer did not hesitate. "The Laureate's commission is in the writing," he explained, "but already I'm commissioned to turn him a poem." He pretended to search his pockets and came up with the document in his coat, which he passed around the table to great effect.

"By Heav'n 'tis true!" Tom said reverently. "Laureate of Maryland! It staggers me!" said Dick. "I will confess," said Ben, "I'd ne'er have guessed it possible. But out on't! Here's a pot to you, Master Laureate! Hi there, barman, a pint all around! Come, Tom! Ho, Dick! Let's have a health, now! I hope I may call it," he went on, putting his arm about Ebenezer's shoulders, "for 'tis many a night Eben's taken my twitting in good grace, that would have rankled a meaner spirit. 'Twould be as fair an honor to propose this health t'you, friend, as 'twill be for me to pay for't. Prithee grant me that, and 'twere proof of a grace commensurate to thy talent."

"Your praise flatters me the more," Ebenezer said, "for that I know you — how well! — to be no flatterer. Toast away, and a long life to you!"

The waiter had by this time brought the pints, and the four men raised their glasses.

"Hi there, sots and poetasters!" Ben shouted to the house at large, springing up on the table. "Put by your gossip and drink as worthy a health as e'er was drunk under these rafters!"

"Nay, Ben!" Ebenezer protested, tugging Ben's coat.

"Hear!" cried several patrons, for Ben was a favorite among them.

"Drag off yon skinny fop and raise your glasses!" someone cried.

"Scramble up here," Ben ordered, and Ebenezer was lifted willy-nilly to the table top.

"To the long life, good health, and unfailing talent of Ebenezer Cooke," Ben proposed, and everyone in the room raised his glass, "who while we lesser fry spent our energies braying and strutting, sat aloof and husbanded his own, and crowed him not a crow nor, knowing himself an eagle, cared a bean what barnyard fowl thought of him; and who, therefore, while the rest of us cocks must scratch our dunghills in feeble envy, hath spread his wings and taken flight, for who can tell what eyrie! I give thee Ebenezer Cooke, lads, twitted and teased by all — none more than myself — who this day was made Poet and Laureate of the Province of Maryland!"

A general murmur went round the room, followed by a clamor of polite congratulation that went like wine to Ebenezer's head, for it was the first such experience in his life.

"I thank you," he said thickly to the room. "I can say no more!"

"Hear! Hear!"

"A poem, sir!" someone called.

"Aye, a poem!"

Ebenezer got hold of himself and stayed the clamor with a gesture. "Nay," he said, "the muse is no minstrel, that sings for a pot in the taverns; besides, I've not a line upon me. This is the place for a toast, not for poetry, and 'twill greatly please me do you join my toast to my magnanimous patron Baltimore — "

A few glasses went up, but not many, for anti-Papist feeling was running high in London.

"To the Maryland Muse — " Ebenezer added, perceiving the small response, and got a few more hands for his trouble.

"To Poetry, fairest of the arts" — many additional glasses were raised — "and to every poet and good-fellow in this tavern, which for gay and gifted patrons hath not its like in the hemisphere!"

"Hear!" the crowd saluted, and downed the toast to a man.

It was near midnight when Ebenezer returned at last to his rooms. He called in vain for Bertrand and tipsily commenced undressing, still very full of his success. But whether because of the silence of his room after Locket's, or the unhappy sight of his bed lying still unmade as he'd left it in the morning, the linens all rumpled and soiled from his four days' despair, or some more subtle agency, his gaiety seemed to leave him with his clothes; when at length he had stripped himself of shoes, drawers, shirt, and periwig, and stood shaved, shorn, and mother-naked in the center of his room, his mind was dull, his eyes listless, his stance uncertain. The great success of his first plunge still thrilled him to contemplate, but no longer was it entirely a pleasurable excitement. His stomach felt weak. All that Charles had told him of the history of Maryland came like a bad dream to his memory, and turning out the lamp he hurried to the window for fresh air.

Despite the hour, London bristled in the darkness beneath and all around him, from which came at intervals here a drunkard's shout, there a cabman's curse, the laughter of a streetwalker, the whinny of a horse. A damp spring breeze moved off the Thames and breathed on him: out there on the river, anchors were being weighed and catted, sails unfurled from yards and sheeted home, bearings taken, soundings called, and dark ships run down the tide, out the black Channel, and thence to the boundless ocean, cresting and tossing under the moon. Great restless creatures stirred and glided in the depths; pale gray sea birds wheeled and shrieked down the night wind, or wildly planed against the scud. Could one suppose that somewhere far out under the stars there really lay a Maryland, against whose long sand coasts the black sea foamed? That at that very instant, peradventure, some naked Indian prowled the reedy dunes or stalked his quarry down whispering aisles of the forest?