John Canty delivered himself of a furious curse and commanded a retreat;

But it was too late. He and his tribe were swallowed up in that swarming hive

Of humanity, and hopelessly separated from each other in an instant. We are

Not considering that the prince was one of his tribe; Canty still kept his grip

upon him. The prince's heart was beating high with hopes of escape now. A

Burly waterman, considerably exalted with liquor, found himself rudely

Shoved by Canty in his efforts to plow through the crowd; he laid his great

hand on Canty's shoulder and said:

'Nay, whither so fast, friend? Dost canker thy soul with sordid business when

all that be leal men and true make holiday?'

'Mine affairs are mine own, they concern thee not,' answered Canty, roughly;

'take away thy hand and let me pass.'

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'Sith that is thy humor, thou'lt not pass till thou'st drunk to the Prince of

Wales, I tell thee that,' said the waterman, barring the way resolutely.

'Give me the cup, then, and make speed, make speed.'

Other revelers 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 his other hand bearing up the end of an imaginary napkin,