# The Chronicle of Clemendy/The Spigot Clerk's First Tale

THE SPIGOT CLERK'S FIRST TALE
ON THE morrow when we had breakfasted, we got out our pipes and began to smoke tobacco as we all of us did use, and soon the parlour was decked out with those blue clouds that savour so sweetly of a morning, and each was filled with a grave contentment with the world, and especially with the Land of the Moon (that is Gwent) as being the most productive in pleasant things of all countries whatsoever. And after some time I thought fit to say "What contentment shall we use this morning that we may pass the time cheerfully and not grow weary and wish the sun a-bed? For my part I am content to sit still and smoke, but I know that in Uske and Abergavenny this employment is not held sufficient." Whereon Dick Leonard said "Let us play at bowls, 'tis a hearty game and a choice diversion, and not laborious like Tennis which sweats a body half away." "The devil loveth the bias, and useth bowls of liquid fire; if you believe me not, read the Itinerario Infernale of the Licentiate Sanctius, who saw the fiends playing with the heads of Kings and Cardinals." Thus Tom Bamfylde spoke contra, and to him assented Master Ambrose, who protested that he cared not a tittle whether the devil used bowls, but was hot enough already ​and determined to sit still. "But," quoth he, "let us rather tell tales in turn, so that three may smoke while one recounts, and 'tis odd if we four Silurians are not able to furnish each other with entertainment till the clock strike dinner-time. Placetne vobis, domini?" "We might do worse," said Master Leonard, "and your entertainment may serve our occasions; but it is but just that as Spigot Clerk will have stories told, Spigot Clerk should make a beginning of telling stories, wherefore hold ye your peace, most gentle Knights, and hearken to the fat products of Ambrosius his brain." "Not so," cried Phil, "but rather we will recount by lot, and leave the judgment to our sweet lady Chance who still deals kindly with us." "Your lady Chance is no Christian, she hath not been sanctified" said the Rubrican, "but is a mere Pagan, and a slut to boot; yet we will use her for this turn, since it is a trivial. But what manner of lot shall we employ?" "Why this" I answered: "Let him whose pipe first goeth out tell the first tale, and have likewise the power to name his successor, and so on, till we have all devised some history. And the deviser shall for his turn sit in the chair by the window, the which was made after the conceit of one of our house that was a great bard, and it is alleged that this seat maketh him who sitteth thereon to be fertile and mightily productive." "How precious a chair is this," quoth Dick Leonard, "and in what esteem would I hold such an one if such were in my possession. Truly I believe there are a few households in Gwent that would find ​a chair of these properties convenient, for it would explain matters that are now a mystery. By the Round Table a very special chair, and worthy of the Manour of Pwllcwrw. But hush! for we must all smoke slow, if we wish not for the prerogative in devising." So all applied them to the task of burning tobacco by slow degrees, but Phil Ambrose in his caution let the fire in his pipe die out altogether, and though he might puff and blow, he blew nothing but ashes from the bowl, and so in spite of all he had to begin our pastime. But first I duly took him by the hand and set him in his stall, with as much ridiculous solemnity and observance as I could master, and said to Tom Bamfylde "Do you, O learned Rubrican, use the words of the herald when an Act in Cervisage is to be discharged." Then the tenor in a plain song, after the manner of distinct reading—With closed lips and gaping ears, I pray you, I charge you, good Lords of Gwent hearken to what is to come, then be joyous and laugh gaily. Seal up the door.