poor Yorkshire tyke, and would no more cheat the stars, than I'd cheat my
own vather, as the saying is--a must be a good hand at trapping, that
catches the stars a napping--but as your honour's worship observed, my
name is Tim Crabshaw, of the East Raiding, groom and squair to Sir
Launcelot Greaves, baron knaight, and arrant-knaight, who ran mad for a
wench, as your worship's conjuration well knoweth. The person below is
Captain Crowe; and we coom by Margery Cook's recommendation, to seek
after my master, who is gone away, or made away, the Lord he knows how
and where."

Here he was interrupted by the conjurer, who exhorted him to sit down and
compose himself till he should cast a figure; then he scrawled the paper,
and waving his wand, repeated abundance of gibberish concerning the
number, the names, the houses, and revolutions of the planets, with their
conjunctions, oppositions, signs, circles; cycles, trines, and trigons.
When he perceived that this artifice had its proper effect in disturbing
the brain of Crabshaw, he proceeded to tell him from the stars, that his
name was Crabshaw, or Crabscaw; that he was born in the East Riding of
Yorkshire, of poor, yet honest parents, and had some skill in horses; and
that he served a gentleman whose name began with the letter G--, which
gentleman had run mad for love, and left his family; but whether he would
return alive or dead, the stars had not yet determined.

Poor Timothy was thunderstruck to find the conjurer acquainted with all
these circumstances, and begged to know if he might be so bauld as to ax
a question or two about his own fortune. The astrologer pointing to the
little coffin, our squire understood the hint, and deposited another
shilling. The sage had recourse to his book, erected another scheme,
performed once more his airy evolutions with the wand, and having recited
another mystical preamble, expounded the book of fate in these words:
"You shall neither die by war nor water, by hunger or by thirst, nor be
brought to the grave by old age or distemper; but, let me see--ay, the
stars will have it so--you shall be--exalted--hah!--ay, that is--hanged
for horse-stealing."--"O good my lord conjurer!" roared the squire, "I'd
as lief give forty shillings as be hanged."--"Peace, sirrah!" cried the
other; "would you contradict or reverse the immutable decrees of fate?
Hanging is your destiny, and hanged you shall be--and comfort yourself
with the reflection, that