but he wouldn't take it; he said: ‘I don't drink as much as you gentry; you gentry swill like bitterns.’ What a magnate! a milksop made of pastry flour!137 He wouldn't drink, so we poured it down his throat; he cried, ‘This is an act of violence!’ Just wait; I'll pour it into him out of my bucket!"
"The knave!" exclaimed Baptist; "I'll just sprinkle him on my own account. My son used to be a clever lad; now he's turned so stupid that they call him Buzzard,138 and he has become such a ninny all because of the Judge. I said to him once, ‘What do you run off to Soplicowo for? If I catch you there, God help you!’ Immediately he slunk off to Zosia again, and stole through the hemp; I caught him, and then took him by the ears and sprinkled him. But he blubbered and blubbered like a peasant's baby: ‘Father, you may kill me, but I must go there!’ and he kept on sobbing. ‘What's the matter with you?’ I asked, and he told me that he was in love with Zosia, and wanted to have a look at her! I felt sorry for the poor lad, and said to the Judge: ‘Judge, give me Zosia for Buzzard.’ ‘She is still too young,’ he answered. ‘Wait about three years, and then she may do as she likes.’ The scoundrel! He lies; he's already arranging another match for her. I have heard of it; just let me screw myself in there at the wedding, and I'll bless their marriage bed with my sprinkler."
"And shall such a scoundrel hold sway," cried the Warden, "and ruin ancient magnates, better men than he? And shall both the memory and the name of the Horeszkos perish! Where is there gratitude in the world? There is none in Dobrzyn. Brothers, do you wish to wage war with the Russian Emperor and yet
