Pillage and Extortion!'"

"I cannot drink that toast, my lord. 'Twill choke me."

"'Sdeath! villain, but thou _shalt_, or thou shalt never taste wine
more. Down with it, man! And now your signature to this paper?"

"My signature!" Sir Francis cried, reeling from the effect of the wine
he had swallowed. "Nay, my good lord; I can sign nothing that I have not
read. What is it?"

"A blank sheet," Lord Roos rejoined. "I will fill it up afterwards."

"Then, my lord, I refuse--that is, I decline--that is, I had rather
not, if your lordship pleases."

"But my lordship pleases otherwise. Give him pen and ink, and set him
near the table."

This was done; and Sir Francis regarded the paper with swimming eyes.

"Now, your name,--written near the bottom of the sheet," Lord Roos
cried.

"'Tis done under com--compulsion; and I pro--protest against it."

"Sign, I say," the young nobleman exclaimed, rapping the table
peremptorily.

On this, Sir Francis wrote his name in the place indicated.

"Enough!" Lord Roos cried, snatching up the paper. "This is all I want.
Now set him on the table, that his partner may have him in full view
when he arrives. 'Twill give him a foretaste of what he may himself
expect."

"What mean you, ruff--ruffians? 'Tis an indignity to which I shall not
submit," cried Sir Francis, who was now, however, too far gone to offer
any resistance.

A leathern girdle was found, with which he was fastened to the chair, so
as to prevent him slipping from it; and in this state he was hoisted
upon the table, and set with his face to the door; looking the very
picture of inebriety, with his head drooping on one side, his arms
dangling uselessly down, and his thin legs stretched idly out. After
making some incoherent objections to this treatment, he became
altogether silent, and seemed to fall asleep. His elevation was received
with shouts of laughter from the whole company.

The incident had not taken place many minutes, and a round had scarcely
been drunk by the guests, when a loud and peremptory summons was heard
at the door. The noise roused even the poor drunkard in the chair, who,
lifting up his head, stared about him with vacant eyes.

"Let the door be opened," the same authoritative voice exclaimed, which
had before ordered its closure.

The mandate was obeyed; and, amidst profound silence, which suddenly
succeeded the clashing of glasses, and expressions of hilarity, Sir
Giles Mompesson entered, wi