He saw not the lean and sorry nag beneath him; he thought not of those weary marches which he should have to make afoot, when the miserable jade on which he was now sitting astride his saddle bags should be stumbling along stony or miry ways in a train of baggage horses; but he pictured out a future in which he should ride among the princes of the people, and in marches of triumph.
From this dream of his fancy he was suddenly and very effectually awakened by feeling the animal, which he was riding, sink under him with an uneasy motion; and, before he could possibly prevent it, he found the water of a considerable stream, which he was then fording, above his knees, and his saddle bags thoroughly soaked through. The beast had his own notions of enjoyment as well as his dreamy rider; and, as the day was hot, the road was dusty, and his burden sufficiently oppressive, had taken this very seasonable refreshment.
Nature suddenly asserted her power over the precise young Puritan; and, to the scandal of all his late professions, he gave vent to his wrath in certain violent and unseemly phrases which would not have disgraced the most accomplished swearer among the wild Cavaliers of that time. These oaths were but the accompaniments of sundry hard blows with a cudgel, kickings with the heel, and jerks of the rein, by dint of which the nag, unable to rebuke him for his injustice, was compelled to rise and go forward. The accident was in itself sufficiently provoking; and the irritation of Cuthbert was increased by encountering on the bank an old beggar with a wooden leg, who, tossing his staff pike fashion, loudly asked his alms for an old crippled soldier done up in the wars; and, thrusting his tongue in his cheek, eyed his foolish plight with a merry satisfaction, which he could not conceal.
"Out upon thee!" said Cuthbert, "for an old drunken impostor:--such fellows as you tippling bawlers of ballads are the curse of the land;--go scrape your cracked fiddle for sots on the ale bench, and don't trouble honest men on their road."
"The lie in thy throat, thou prick-eared canting Roundhead!" replied the old soldier:--"thou foul-mouthed hypocrite! is it for thou to rate sinners after rattling out oaths like a shameless brawler in a bear garden? I am a cleaner spoken man than thou, blessings on him who taught me, and more honest than to play traitor to my king:--God bless his gracious Majesty! I wish him no better luck than that all the Roundheads, militia, and train-bands, horse and foot, were just such a set of raw awkward spoonies as yourself."