Then quod I, in answer to my Mother, "Cheer up, sweet _Mother_, I will never disgrace him nor thee: so give over thy weeping, lest they should deem the Tears on my Face to be mine instead of thine ... don't melt me, _Mother_, lest they count me but a Boy, and make light of our Country Breeding."
"A Boy, indeed! What art thou more?" quod she, smiling through her Tears; and with one hearty Kiss and her Blessing, went her Ways.
On our Return to my Master's House, he, noting my Hair to be too long for a 'Prentice, (for, indeed, my Mother was rather vain of it,) gave me a Penny, and sent me to Master _Soper_ the Barbitonsor, across the Bridge, to have it clipt. Here found I a Man having his Beard trimmed, and another, waiting for his Turn, playing a Mandoline. Seeing me look forth of the Lattice on the River, boiling and splashing below, and the Boats shooting the Arches and nearly pitching Head foremost down the Fall, he stayed his Hand, and told me how many Lives were lost in those Rapids by the Year. Then I made bold to ask him what was that great Fortress with Towers, on the north Bank.
"Thou art a Stranger in _London_, then," saith he, "for every Cockney knows the _Tower_, whose foundation Stones were cemented, they say, with Mortar tempered with Blood. And truly, Blood enow hath been spilt within it to bring a Judgment on its Walls. _Henry_ the _Sixth_ was murdered in the _Tower_, _George_ of _Clarence_ was drowned in the _Tower_, _Edward_ the _Fifth_ and _Richard_ Duke of _York_, those pretty Innocents, were smothered in the _Tower_, _Anne Boleyn_ and _Katherine Howard_ were beheaded in the _Tower_. And, for all it hath held a King's Parliament, and is our Citadel of Defence, a royal Palace for Assemblies, a Council-house for Treaties, a Treasury of Crown Jewels, the royal Mint of Coinage, the prime Conservator of Records, and the Armoury of warlike Provisions, yet, for the Tears and the Blood that have been shed in it, I could say, Down with it, down with it even unto the Ground! And methinks its evil Story is not yet wound up, but that a dark Cloud hangs over it e'en now. We shall see! we shall see! Many an ignoble Man rises aloft, many a proud Man is brought low. 'Tis time enough at one's Life's end to sing Gloria. Ah! our Bridge Tower, whereof I am Gate-keeper, hath another guess Foundation than _Cæsar's_; for on every one of its four Corner-stones is graven the Name of JESUS; _deep, but out of Sight_."