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"
Give
me
the
cup
,
then
,
and
make
speed
,
make
speed
!
"
Other
revellers
were
interested
by
this
time
.
They
cried
out
--
"
The
loving-cup
,
the
loving-cup
!
make
the
sour
knave
drink
the
loving-cup
,
else
will
we
feed
him
to
the
fishes
.
"
So
a
huge
loving-cup
was
brought
;
the
waterman
,
grasping
it
by
one
of
its
handles
,
and
with
the
other
hand
bearing
up
the
end
of
an
imaginary
napkin
,
presented
it
in
due
and
ancient
form
to
Canty
,
who
had
to
grasp
the
opposite
handle
with
one
of
his
hands
and
take
off
the
lid
with
the
other
,
according
to
ancient
custom
This
left
the
Prince
hand-free
for
a
second
,
of
course
.
He
wasted
no
time
,
but
dived
among
the
forest
of
legs
about
him
and
disappeared
.
In
another
moment
he
could
not
have
been
harder
to
find
,
under
that
tossing
sea
of
life
,
if
its
billows
had
been
the
Atlantic
's
and
he
a
lost
sixpence
.
He
very
soon
realised
this
fact
,
and
straightway
busied
himself
about
his
own
affairs
without
further
thought
of
John
Canty
.
He
quickly
realised
another
thing
,
too
.
To
wit
,
that
a
spurious
Prince
of
Wales
was
being
feasted
by
the
city
in
his
stead
.
He
easily
concluded
that
the
pauper
lad
,
Tom
Canty
,
had
deliberately
taken
advantage
of
his
stupendous
opportunity
and
become
a
usurper
.
Therefore
there
was
but
one
course
to
pursue
--
find
his
way
to
the
Guildhall
,
make
himself
known
,
and
denounce
the
impostor
.
He
also
made
up
his
mind
that
Tom
should
be
allowed
a
reasonable
time
for
spiritual
preparation
,
and
then
be
hanged
,
drawn
and
quartered
,
according
to
the
law
and
usage
of
the
day
in
cases
of
high
treason
.
The
royal
barge
,
attended
by
its
gorgeous
fleet
,
took
its
stately
way
down
the
Thames
through
the
wilderness
of
illuminated
boats
.
The
air
was
laden
with
music
;
the
river
banks
were
beruffled
with
joy-flames
;
the
distant
city
lay
in
a
soft
luminous
glow
from
its
countless
invisible
bonfires
;
above
it
rose
many
a
slender
spire
into
the
sky
,
incrusted
with
sparkling
lights
,
wherefore
in
their
remoteness
they
seemed
like
jewelled
lances
thrust
aloft
;
as
the
fleet
swept
along
,
it
was
greeted
from
the
banks
with
a
continuous
hoarse
roar
of
cheers
and
the
ceaseless
flash
and
boom
of
artillery
.
To
Tom
Canty
,
half
buried
in
his
silken
cushions
,
these
sounds
and
this
spectacle
were
a
wonder
unspeakably
sublime
and
astonishing
.
To
his
little
friends
at
his
side
,
the
Princess
Elizabeth
and
the
Lady
Jane
Grey
,
they
were
nothing
.
Arrived
at
the
Dowgate
,
the
fleet
was
towed
up
the
limpid
Walbrook
(
whose
channel
has
now
been
for
two
centuries
buried
out
of
sight
under
acres
of
buildings
)
to
Bucklersbury
,
past
houses
and
under
bridges
populous
with
merry-makers
and
brilliantly
lighted
,
and
at
last
came
to
a
halt
in
a
basin
where
now
is
Barge
Yard
,
in
the
centre
of
the
ancient
city
of
London
.
Tom
disembarked
,
and
he
and
his
gallant
procession
crossed
Cheapside
and
made
a
short
march
through
the
Old
Jewry
and
Basinghall
Street
to
the
Guildhall
.
