The Prince and the Pauper (Illustrated Children's Classic). Mark Twain

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The Prince and the Pauper (Illustrated Children's Classic) - Mark Twain


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not to answer. It is not meet that one of my degree should utter the thing.”

      “Then will I utter it. Thou hast the same hair, the same eyes, the same voice and manner, the same form and stature, the same face and countenance that I bear. Fared we forth naked, there is none could say which was you, and which the Prince of Wales. And, now that I am clothed as thou wert clothed, it seemeth I should be able the more nearly to feel as thou didst when the brute soldier— Hark ye, is not this a bruise upon your hand?”

      “Yes; but it is a slight thing, and your worship knoweth that the poor man-at-arms—”

      “Peace! It was a shameful thing and a cruel!” cried the little prince, stamping his bare foot. “If the King— Stir not a step till I come again! It is a command!”

      In a moment he had snatched up and put away an article of national importance that lay upon a table, and was out at the door and flying through the palace grounds in his bannered rags, with a hot face and glowing eyes. As soon as he reached the great gate, he seized the bars, and tried to shake them, shouting—

      “Open! Unbar the gates!”

      The soldier that had maltreated Tom obeyed promptly; and as the Prince burst through the portal, half-smothered with royal wrath, the soldier fetched him a sounding box on the ear that sent him whirling to the roadway, and said—

      “Take that, thou beggar’s spawn, for what thou got’st me from his Highness!”

      The crowd roared with laughter. The Prince picked himself out of the mud, and made fiercely at the sentry, shouting—

      “I am the Prince of Wales, my person is sacred; and thou shalt hang for laying thy hand upon me!”

      The soldier brought his halberd to a present-arms and said mockingly—

      “I salute your gracious Highness.” Then angrily – “Be off, thou crazy rubbish!”

“I salute your gracious Highness!”

      Here the jeering crowd closed round the poor little prince, and hustled him far down the road, hooting him, and shouting—

      “Way for his Royal Highness! Way for the Prince of Wales!”

      Chapter IV.

       The Prince’s Troubles Begin

       Table of Contents

      After hours of persistent pursuit and persecution, the little prince was at last deserted by the rabble and left to himself. As long as he had been able to rage against the mob, and threaten it royally, and royally utter commands that were good stuff to laugh at, he was very entertaining; but when weariness finally forced him to be silent, he was no longer of use to his tormentors, and they sought amusement elsewhere. He looked about him, now, but could not recognise the locality. He was within the city of London – that was all he knew. He moved on, aimlessly, and in a little while the houses thinned, and the passers-by were infrequent. He bathed his bleeding feet in the brook which flowed then where Farringdon Street now is; rested a few moments, then passed on, and presently came upon a great space with only a few scattered houses in it, and a prodigious church. He recognised this church. Scaffoldings were about, everywhere, and swarms of workmen; for it was undergoing elaborate repairs. The Prince took heart at once – he felt that his troubles were at an end, now. He said to himself, “It is the ancient Grey Friars’ Church, which the King my father hath taken from the monks and given for a home for ever for poor and forsaken children, and new-named it Christ’s Church. Right gladly will they serve the son of him who hath done so generously by them – and the more that that son is himself as poor and as forlorn as any that be sheltered here this day, or ever shall be.”

      The boys stopped their play and flocked about the Prince, who said with native dignity—

      “Good lads, say to your master that Edward Prince of Wales desireth speech with him.”

      A great shout went up at this, and one rude fellow said—

      “Marry, art thou his grace’s messenger, beggar?”

      The Prince’s face flushed with anger, and his ready hand flew to his hip, but there was nothing there. There was a storm of laughter, and one boy said—

      “Didst mark that? He fancied he had a sword – belike he is the Prince himself.”

      This sally brought more laughter. Poor Edward drew himself up proudly and said—

      “I am the Prince; and it ill beseemeth you that feed upon the King my father’s bounty to use me so.”

      This was vastly enjoyed, as the laughter testified. The youth who had first spoken, shouted to his comrades—

      “Ho, swine, slaves, pensioners of his grace’s princely father, where be your manners? Down on your marrow bones, all of ye, and do reverence to his kingly port and royal rags!”

      With boisterous mirth they dropped upon their knees in a body and did mock homage to their prey. The Prince spurned the nearest boy with his foot, and said fiercely—

      “Take thou that, till the morrow come and I build thee a gibbet!”

      Ah, but this was not a joke – this was going beyond fun. The laughter ceased on the instant, and fury took its place. A dozen shouted—

      “Hale him forth! To the horse-pond, to the horse-pond! Where be the dogs? Ho, there, Lion! ho, Fangs!”

      Then followed such a thing as England had never seen before – the sacred person of the heir to the throne rudely buffeted by plebeian hands, and set upon and torn by dogs.

“Set upon by dogs”

      The lights began to twinkle, it came on to rain, the wind rose, and a raw and gusty night set in. The houseless prince, the homeless heir to the throne of England, still


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