*( 
 
 
 
 - 
 

 
 BY THE AUTHOR OP 
 
 " SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS." 
 
 All the world's a stage, 
 And the men and women merely players. 
 They have their exits and their entrances, 
 And one man in his time plays many parts. 
 
 SHAKSPEAB.K 
 
 Triumph, my Britain ! thou hast one to show 
 To whom all scenes of Europe homage own. 
 
 Joasow 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 
 
 1853.
 
 PR 
 
 AKD OF THE OTHER ILLUSTRIOUS SPIRITS OP 
 THE GOLDEN AGE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 THESE VOLUMES, 
 
 WITH TRUE HUMBLENESS, 
 
 AND ENTIRE DEVOTEDNESS TO THE SUB'eCT, 
 ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY 
 THEIR FELLOW-WORSHIPPER 
 
 ATO VERY OBEDIENT SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR,
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 ADDRESSED BY THE AUTHOR, WITH A SUITABLE PROPER RESPECT IN HIM, TO 
 HIS SINGULAR GOOD FRIEND, 
 
 
 
 THE COURTEOUS READER. 
 
 METHINKS an apology is necessary for adventuring on a subject of the ex- 
 treme difficulty essayed in these volumes; but the cause of my entering on so 
 notable ambitious a task, will perhaps hold me excused in some measure ; for 
 this was it : I had noted with exceeding sorrowfulness, and a becoming indigna- 
 tion, divers small biographers, muddle-headed commentators, and insolent cy- 
 clopaedia scribblers, with as scarce a commodity of truth as of wit, garnishing 
 their silly conceits of the noblest heart and brain that ever Jabored for universal 
 humanity, with a prodigal store of all manner of despicable vileness, and wretched 
 impudent folly ; and having had much deep study, and moreover, being pos- 
 sessed of a very boundless love of the subject, I thought I would strive, as far 
 as lay within the compass of my humble ability, to put to shame these pitiful 
 traducers, and set up before the world a statue of this High Priest of Nature, as 
 he ought to be entitled, as like as might be unto the wondrous admirablenes of 
 his natural gifts. 
 
 I doubt hugely there has ever been a writer of so catholic a reputation as this 
 so slandered character ; for, as I firmly believe, it is scarce possible to point out 
 any one part of the huge globe, where some faint whisper of him hath not penetra- 
 ted. On thedesertest rock, in the savagest country, in all extremes of climate, 
 and among the goodliest and gloomiest features of land and sea, somewhat of 
 the countless great heaps of comfort he hath left us, hath had its exquisite sweet 
 influence. In what remote wilderness hath the missionary set up his dwelling, 
 which knoweth not in his lighter hours, the cheerful piety of his matchless 
 preaching 1 Over which inhospitable towering mountain doth the traveller seek 
 a path, lhat hath not heard, to beguile the way of its weariness, the welcome 
 remembrance of his infinite wit ? And over what far distant ocean hath the 
 sea-boy strained his gaze, that never caught from such lofty gallery snatches of 
 the inimitable music of his everlasting tuneful verse ? There are no such places. 
 He hath adventured wide and far ; and his stream of purest English hath flowed 
 from the gentle Avon through every monstrous sea that dasheth its violent, 
 fierce billows against the walls of the globe ; and it is drunk with a like delicate 
 rare freshness as its humble source, on the banks of the gigantic Miss issipi, the 
 mighty Ganges, and on those of their in good time, as glorious rival, the Darling. 
 
 Amongst the living, there existeth no sign of any such greatness. Every 
 succeeding generation it seemeth to increase, whilst such examples as had un
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 disputed supremacy before it made itself manifest, have since wrapped their 
 antique cloaks about them, and been content \vith humbler places. The shades 
 of Sophocles, ./Eschylus, Euripides, Menander, and Aristophanes, are stirred 
 from thoir long deep lethargy by wondrous memorials of the wood-stapler's son 
 of Stratford uttered within the ruin which was once their " Globe," by some ad- 
 venturous tourist from an island that never had name or existence in their mem- 
 ories ; and so their masters inarms yet pupils in learning, the haughty Romans, 
 rise from their desolate theatres marvelling exceedingly to hear there proclaimed 
 in all that appertaineth to excellence in the writing of Tragedy and Comedy the 
 undisputable omnipotence of a Briton. 
 
 Thus, in his national proper apparelling, goeth he so famously abroad, but in 
 a foreign dress he is scarce less reverenced, for the principal nations of Europe 
 have strove to make his excellence as familiar with them as was possible, and 
 have turned his English into as eloquent language of their own as they had at 
 their commandment. By these means, the Spaniard, the Italian, the French- 
 man, and the German, have got him into their friendly acquaintance. But oi 
 these only the Germans can be said either to know him thoroughly, or appre- 
 ciate him with a proper affection. These excellent worthy persons do love him 
 with all their hearts, study him so intently, they will not let the slightest of his 
 manifold graces to escape without the full measure of admiration it meriteth, and 
 do so much make of him the general talk, as though all Germany were but 
 Stratford-upon-Avon, and her sole glory no other than William Shakspeare. I 
 have ventured to style him the High Priest of Nature, and truly not without 
 proper warrant. He is the chief interpreter of her mysteries, and the sovereign 
 pontiff of her universal church, wherever the beautiful is felt or the intellectual 
 understood ; and Nature, who gave unto him his surpassing attributes, rcceiveth 
 back, in a myriad of exhaustless channels, as 1 have insufficiently noted, the di- 
 vine excellence that came of her giving. Since he hath ministered at -her altar 
 there hath been no schism as to her doctrine, nor sign of dispute of her authority ; 
 for he so put her religion into language and action, that wherever there is en- 
 lightened humanity, there must ever remain the most earnest, loving, deep-hearted 
 devotedness. In this capacity it is as utter foolishness to attempt drawing up an 
 inventory of the riches hoarded in the treasuries of the deep, as to seek to parti- 
 cularize, with any thing nigh unto faithfulness, the prodigal amount of good he 
 hath caused to be distributed to mankind. As a benefactor, 'tis vain to look 
 for his peer ; as a philanthrophist, no one hath lived with such profit to his fellows. 
 The legacy which he left in trust to Time, for the universal benefit, hath this 
 peculiar property, that the more of it is disposed of, the more abundantly will it 
 increase ; and so rapidly doth it multiply itself as it getteth to be spread abroad, 
 that it may, without any color of exaggeration, be said, it is a benefaction that 
 must embrace all space and all eternity. 
 
 Whilst endeavoring to exhibit something that approaches to the true charac- 
 ter of the man, I have also sought to portray the principal characteristics of the 
 age on which he conferred such marvellous honor. Perchance some may think 
 that these volumes are worthy only of that sort of credit a mere romance can look 
 for ; but let them be assured, there is more of history in these pages than divers 
 books purporting to be histories can boast of, and whenever they hold not Truth 
 by the hand, they tread as nigh upon her heels as may be. Mayhap too, others 
 may look on divers passages, savoring in no slight prominence of over-boldness 
 in the writer, but in very truth, it is nought else but the daring which love in- 
 spires, and ought, it is respectfully urged, in no case to be considered as coming 
 of any other source. Of the imperfectness of the elaborate picture I have es- 
 sayed, I am as conscious as any person that breathes, but I doubt not amongst
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 all liberal kind hearts, I shall find such charitable constructions put on my de- 
 ficiency, as may induce them to allow that the performance, humble as it may 
 be, hath not been altogether unprofitable. This I have been the more induced 
 to look for, from the generous encouragement afforded to " Shakspeare and his 
 Friends," by such critics and scholarly persons who have taken it, in hand, who 
 both publicly and privately have bestowed on it their commendation with such 
 exceeding bounteousness as I had not dared to expect. That the praise so gen- 
 erally given, applied much more to the subject than its treatment, I cannot help 
 but believe ; but let that be as it may, I will ever seek what means I have 
 at my disposal, to prove how earnestly I strive for the desert in which it 
 ought to have originated.' 
 
 Doubtless, it would be but fitting of me here, to make some apology for pub- 
 lishing these works out of their proper order, as the present should have prece- 
 ded its predecessor ; but methinks I cannot do better than leave the fault to be 
 dealt with by the reader as he shall think fittest hope it may be found a mat- 
 ter of such heinousness as to deprive the offender of some excusing, particularly 
 as each is a distinct work ; complete in itself. If there exist no other objec- 
 tion, I doubt not, despite their irregular starting, they will now run their race 
 together as fairly and as gallantly withal as can be expected -of them. 
 
 There hath been some stir lately made concerning of the orthography of the ever 
 honored name of our " Sweet Swan of Avon." On that point, it is only neces- 
 sary here to say that it was customary Vith divers notable persons of the age of 
 Elizabeth, to write their names in more than one form, just as it. took their fan- 
 tasy, proof of which will be discovered in the letters of the time, wherein Raleigh 
 sometimes signeth himself " Rawley," Lord Burleigh hath some three or four 
 ways of spelling his name, and others do the like sort of thing ; therefore, to 
 find a variation in the autographs of the illustrious Shakspeare is in no manner 
 strange. The orthography here adhered to, hath the recommendation of being 
 that which the great Bard employed in the latter period of his life, when it is 
 supposed he must have settled it to his liking ; is moreover the same that was 
 used by the choicest of his friends, who doubtless, had the best means of know- 
 ing his humor in it, and hath been made familiar to us, in consequence of its 
 adoption by the most learned of his editors, critics, and scholars in this, and in 
 all other countries, who so it is presumed, ought to be the properest guides to 
 follow in such a matter.
 
 STORY 
 
 OF 
 
 CHAPTER f. 
 
 All was this Land ful filled of Faerie, 
 The Elf-Qnene with hire jolie company 
 Daunsed full oft in many a grene raede, 
 This was the old opinion, as 1 rede. 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 The vallies rang with their delicious strains, 
 
 And pleasure reveled on those happy plains. 
 
 CHALICIIILL. 
 
 What if my lordinge doo chaunce for to miss me! 
 The worst that can happen his cudgel will kiss 
 
 me. 
 TRAGICALL COMEDYE OF APIUS AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 OH ! what a beauteous night was that 
 time-lion ored twenty-third of April, in the 
 year of our Lord one thousand five hundred 
 and sixty-four ! The air was clear as any 
 crystal, and the wind just shaking the fra- 
 grance from the young blossoms, as it 
 swept along to make music in the fresh 
 leaves of the tall trees, did create such har- 
 mony and sweetness therein, that nothing 
 could have appeared so delectable, save the 
 star-bestudded sky above, wherein the lady 
 moon was seen to glide with so silvery a 
 brightness tint the sapphire heavens, the 
 flowery earth, and the sparkling water, 
 were appareled in one mantle of the deli- 
 catest light. Peradventure so fair a night 
 hath nnver been seen before or since ; yet, 
 of such bountiful beauty as it vas through- 
 out, there was one spot wherein its ex- 
 quisite rare attractions were heaped to- 
 gether with so prodigal a hand, that the 
 place, for the exceeding pleasantness of 
 its aspect, must have been like unto that 
 
 famous garden of Paradise, that held our 
 first parents in their primitive innoce^cy 
 and happiness. 
 
 It was a low meadow field, marked by 
 sundry declivities and inequalities, where- 
 on a goodly show of all manner of spring 
 flowers were sleeping in the moonlight, 
 even to the very waves of that right famous 
 river the Avon, which was flowing along 
 in all its refreshing loveliness, at its margin. 
 Trees were here and there of divers kinds, 
 garmented in their newest livery of green ; 
 a row of alders, a clump of beeches, a soli- 
 tary oak, a shady coppice, were stretching 
 far and wide in one direction ; and hedges 
 of hawthorn and elder, interspersed with 
 crab, wild plum, and towering elms, would 
 intersect the country in others. Close at 
 hand was the town of Stratford, with the 
 tall spire of the church, and the quaint 
 eaves of the houses distinctly visible. Here 
 stood the mansion of one of its persons of 
 worship. There the more modest dwelling 
 of an industrious yeoman. At one "place 
 was the cottage of the sturdy laborer ; in 
 another the tenement of the honest miller ; 
 whilst, as tho eye stretched ouT" to the dis- 
 tance, othei "bniMings might be faiutly seen 
 which doubtless marked the situation of the 
 neighboring villages. .*- 
 
 But, although signs of habitation were 
 thus plentiful, of man or woman not one 
 was there in sight ; for this especial reason, 
 all manner of nonest folk had laid them 
 down to sleep long since. Little could be 
 seen of live things^ excepting perchance a 
 water-rat swimming upon the Avon, or 
 mayhap, a fold of sheep on the adjoining
 
 10 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 farm ; rr beard, save the tinkle of the 
 sheep-bells, or the bark of the shepherd's 
 dog, occasionally responded to by some dog 
 afar off; or the rushing of the water at the 
 mill-wheel, or the croaking of the frogs 
 among the rushes, or the hooting of an owl 
 as she passed by, intent on a mousing expe- 
 dition to the nearest barn ; and these sounds 
 made as excellent sweet music as ever 
 poet did delight to hear. Certes this was 
 just such a scene, and these the very pro- 
 perest accompaniments for awakening in 
 the heart that profound sympathy with na- 
 ture which the few to whom such feeling 
 is familiar give expression to. in sentiments 
 that partake of the same beauty and immor- 
 tality as the source whence they spring. 
 All at once a new and unfamiliar sound 
 came floating upon the air. It was faint 
 and indistinct, a mere murmur ; y^f, music- 
 ally soft and low. Gradually it grew upon 
 the ear, as a blossom opening to the sun- 
 *hine. A gentle harmony became distin- 
 guishable ; then came tones of such ex- 
 quiske melodiousness, it was ravishing to 
 listen to them. At last voices, seeming 
 in some number, were readily heard, and 
 then, words becoming audible, they were at, 
 last distinctly ^repeated in the following 
 order : 
 
 " We come from the violet's azure cells, 
 We come from the cowslip's golden bells, 
 From the hawthorn's odorous bloom we fly ; 
 
 From the dewy eaves 
 
 Of the primrose leaves, 
 From^he daisy's blushing buds we hie ; 
 And fill the air with sounds and sights 
 
 As though to earth all heaven was streaming, 
 More sweet than lover's stolen delights, 
 
 More bright than aught loved maid is dream- 
 
 ing. 
 
 We come from the snowdrop's pallid head, 
 We come from the heather's lowly bed, 
 From the wild bee's haunt and the wood-lark's 
 
 home ; 
 
 From the grassy couch 
 
 Where the lev'rets crouch, 
 And the coney hides ; we come ! we come !" 
 
 Whilst this roundelay was being sung, 
 there appeared moving in the atmosphere, 
 all manner of bright colors, like unto a 
 
 goodly rainbow in the 
 
 a shower 
 
 of all the delicatest flowers upon the earth, 
 and presently forms could be distinctly 
 traced amongst them ; and as they ap- 
 proached the banks of the river, it was seen 
 that they were crowds of tiny beings, of 
 shape as beautiful as ever the eye looked 
 on ; garmented very daintily in what seem- 
 ed to be blossoms of divers kinds and colors. 
 Their complexions were marvelous fair ; 
 their hair of a bright golden hue, curling 
 
 very prettily, decorated with exceeding 
 small wreaths, or, mayhap, a dainty sweet 
 flower worn as a helmet ; and they floated 
 on the air with infinite ease in every possi- 
 ble position ; some plunging head down- 
 wards ; and others, as it were, reclining 
 backwards, looking to observe who came 
 after them. On they came, as countless as 
 the stars ; and in the centre was one, round 
 whom the rest were thronging with a won- 
 derful show of love and reverence ; and she 
 reclined in a r-ar; carved of pearl that seem- 
 to be as light as a gossamer, was shaped 
 like a shell, and drawn by two bright-wing- 
 ed butterflies. Her face was as lovely as 
 the morning light, and on her brows she 
 wore a coronal of jasmine studded with 
 fresh dew drops. A scarf of rose color ot 
 a singular fine fabric, the material whereot 
 had doubtless been stolen from the silk- 
 worm's web, was tied from the shoulder to 
 the hip, where it was fastened in a bow 
 over a close vest of a sapphire hue, richly 
 ornamented with gold leaves ; and the rest 
 of her appareling was of the like pretty fan- 
 tasy. Scarcely had this exquisite fair crea- 
 ture and her companions alighted on the 
 enameled banks of the river, and the voices 
 had become hushed into an indistinct mur- 
 mur of pleasure at finding themselves at 
 tneir journey's end, when the air was again 
 filled with the same wondrous harmonies 
 and delicate words, that had there been cre- 
 ated so recently ; but the voices now were 
 of a deeper tone. 
 
 Presently there appeared, hovering about, 
 a vast crowd of similar little beings as 
 those that had a moment since alighted on 
 the ground, only these were of a more mas- 
 culine aspect, and garmented in hose and 
 doublet, fitting tight to the body, of divers 
 delicate colors, wearing famous pretty 
 feathers in their caps, mayhap filched from 
 the small birds ; and some had quivers of 
 arrows at their backs. Some wore a smart 
 rapier, of at least the length of a tailor's 
 needle; and many carried spears of a mar- 
 velous fine point and thinness. These 
 were floating on the air in all manner of 
 picturesque attitudes, save one who sat in 
 a fair car of gold, drawn by a pair of gi 
 gantic dragon-flies, attended by a company 
 who appeared to act as a guard of honor. 
 He wore a crown on his head, and a rapier 
 at his side, and a purple robe of fine velvet, 
 richly embroidered with stars, over his vest. 
 Perpetual youth sat smiling on his counte- 
 nance, and his limbs were of so graceful a 
 shape, my poor words have not the cunning 
 to describe it. As this assembly descended 
 to join the other, a chc us of mutual con-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 11 
 
 gratulation arose, whereof the burthen of 
 the sylphs was, " Hail Oberon !" and that 
 of the others, " Hail Titania !" showing 
 that those two were the king and queen of 
 fairie, which seemed to be sung with such 
 wonderful joy and so sweet a spirit, that it 
 was exquisite to hear beyond all conceiv- 
 ing. 
 
 King Oberon having stepped from his 
 car, advanced to that of his queen close by, 
 and with a very excellent cpurtesy, did 
 hand the fair Titania out, perchance to 
 tread a measure on the verdant mead ; 
 whereupon their discourse ran thus : 
 
 " Light of my life, and life of all my joy !" 
 rapturously exclaimed the fairy king. 
 " In whose fair eyes, the fountains of my bliss, 
 My soul drinks sweeter and more delicate 
 
 draughts 
 Than flowers or fruits provide ; say with what 
 
 aim, 
 
 For well 1 know some hidden purpose lies 
 Within the covert of thy fantasy, 
 Have I been summoned with my company 
 From the deep dingle in the emerald wood. 
 Where, 'mid the tangled roots and gnarled 
 
 boughs 
 
 Of reverential oaks and hoary pines, 
 With our rude mirth we rouse the dappled deer 
 Or chase the owlets to their dark retreats." 
 " And what wouldst give to know 1" 
 asked Titania, with a pretty seriousness. 
 
 " What give, sweetheart I" replied he. 
 " How like a very woman art thou grown ! 
 Thou hast some pretty meaning in the act, 
 Some quaint device, mayhap some harmless 
 
 jest, 
 
 Whereby the rosy hollows of thy cheek 
 Shall be arrayed with all thy fairest smiles, 
 To bear glad witness how man's wiser mind 
 Can by a woman's wit be set at nought. 
 And for the secret thou'lt a bargain make, 
 Which having ratified, the secret's told ; 
 And in its nothingness must lie the jest, 
 And in its point thy triumph." 
 
 " Tush, my lord !" 
 
 cried his fair companion, half turning from him. 
 " Art thou so little curious.as this 1 
 Nay, by the trembling beam that leaves the 
 
 skies 
 
 To steal soft kisses from the yielding wave, 
 I'll hie me hence and tell thee not at all." 
 " In pity say not so !" said he. 
 
 " I'll say and do !" 
 
 answered the other with a famous show of re- 
 solution. 
 " Seem'st thou not more inclined to learn the 
 
 drift 
 
 Of why on such a night of all the year, 
 1 bade thee hasten to this favored spot." 
 
 " Then am I curious to such excess," ob~ 
 
 served her lord, 
 
 " As passeth all conceiving. I prithee say 
 What was thy purpose. Tell it straight, 
 
 For my impatience is so powerful 
 As will endure no hindrance." 
 
 " O' my word !" cried Titania, 
 " Thy nature grows impatient of a sudden. 
 Fie on thee, my lord ! Dost mock me so ! 
 With such conceits dost think a woman caught 
 Who for a curious humor hath been famed, 
 And therefore knoweth how it shows itself? 
 Hadst "thou a secret, 1 would never rest 
 A minute, nay, a moment of the hour, 
 Till I became its mistress. I would watch 
 All fittest opportunities-to ply 
 The searchingest questions ever spoke ; 
 And at thy rising and thy lying down. 
 The hunt, the walk, the banquet or the dance ; 
 In brief, in every time and ev'ry place, 
 I'd importune thee with such earnestness, 
 And in a way so lovingly withal, 
 Thou couldst not hold it from me if thou 
 
 wouldst ; 
 
 Or shouhlst thou still attempt to keep it hid, 
 Then would 1 venture close to where it hides, 
 And with sweet force dislodge it from thy lips." 
 " Then' thus such sweet enforcement I em- 
 ploy." 
 
 Thereupon his elfin majesty very gallant- 
 ly did salute ' his lovely queen, the which 
 she received as if in no way inclined to an- 
 'ger, as may be supposed ; and then they, 
 saying manifold loving pleasantries unto 
 each other, walked to were theTe was a 
 banqueting table, set out for them, with all 
 manner of tempting delicates, and sat them- 
 selves down, each in a sort of throne ; for 
 the reader must be made aware, that whilst 
 the king and queen of Fairie were convers- 
 ing as hath been described, there were 
 raised upon the green sward by their attend- 
 ants, a royal canopy of crimson silk and 
 gold, and a goodly display of most delecta- 
 ble cheer ; and hundreds of the little people 
 were running about putting the things in 
 order, whilst groups of beautiful sylphs 
 were receiving notable sweet courtesies 
 from tueir elfin gallants ; some reclining 
 their graceful figures on the delicate grass, 
 and others standing up as if preparing for 
 the dance ; and in another place, there 
 were seen a score or so of musicians, a 
 tuning of their records, theorbos, citterns, 
 harps, sackbuts, and the like choice instru- 
 ments. Presently the queen gave the sign 
 for them.to begin their revels, and then the 
 music struck up a most ravishing minstrel- 
 sy ; the dancers commenced treading a 
 measure with such infinite grace as hath 
 never been visible to mortal eyes, and the 
 rest were disporting of themselves in all 
 parts of the meadow, laughing, jesting, 
 feasting and making merry with such a 
 prodigality of happiness as dull mortality 
 hath no knowledge of. Some were a hunt-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ing of the field-mice into their holes, or 
 driving the leaping frogs into the river, with 
 a famous hallooing and admirable cheerful 
 noise ; others of the merry elves were amu- 
 sing of themselves by jumping over the 
 toadstools that grew thereabouts, and may- 
 hap one, not being so good a leaper as his 
 fellows, would jump clean into one of these 
 dry fungous plants, to the near smothering 
 of himself in its dust, and choking of his 
 companions with laughter. Then some of 
 the sylphs, who were not of the dancers, 
 were engaged in making wreaths of the 
 delicatest blossoms in season, either for 
 those they affected of the other sex, or for 
 their own wear. Others were putting to- 
 gatlier a true-love posie. Here and there 
 might be seen a couple, apart from the rest, 
 by the exquisite earnestness of their coun- 
 tenances, declaring themselves to be em- 
 ployed in such delectable manner as showed 
 there was no lack of affectionateness be- 
 twixt them ; and a company of others had 
 got in the midst of them an" elf of a most 
 jocund spirit, known to divers by the sever- 
 al names of Puck, Robin Goodfellow, and 
 Will-o'-the-Wisp, who, as was evident from 
 their faces, with his droll jests and diverting 
 tricks, kept them in a constant humor of 
 laughing. Here^ould be one mischievous 
 elf running after a sylph with a huge worm, 
 which it was manifest she liked not the 
 looks of; and there another pelting a 
 companion with cowslips, who was making 
 ready to fling at him with a like missile. 
 Everywhere there was the appearance of 
 the very absolutest free-heartedness ; not a 
 grave face was to be seen, not a sigh was 
 to be heard. 
 
 Now there, were seen amongst them such 
 abundance of pleasant pastime, as was quite 
 a marvel "to behold, in the which the tricksy 
 Will-o-the-Wisp, or Puck, or Robin Good- 
 fellow, as he was variously called, did ap- 
 pear to enjoy himself to the very bent of his 
 humor. In the meanwhile Titania and 
 Oberon moved from the banquet, and were 
 soon pleasantly engaged treading of a 
 measure to the delicatest music ever known. 
 \\l of a sudden as they were disporting of 
 themselves, every one of them very merrily, 
 there came one hastening from the other 
 end of the meadow, crying out something, 
 the which as soon as it was heard, banquet, 
 canopy, dancers, musicians, and all the iiiiry 
 world disappeared in the twinkling of an 
 eye, and of that gallant company no vestige 
 now remained. The "blades of the young 
 grass, unharmed by the light footfalls of the 
 tiny dancers, bent to the midnight wind. 
 The frogs came peeping from the rushes. 
 
 and the timid water-rat ventured to put her 
 head out of the covered hole beneath tne 
 river's bank, wherein she had made her 
 home. 
 
 " It be woundy cold o' nights, still dame, 
 for all it be getting so nigh unto the flowery 
 month of May," exclaimed an awkward var- 
 let, looking to be something betwixt man 
 and boy, and dressed in a humble suit of 
 russet, famously worn and soiled, that fitted 
 him not at all, as, carrying of a huge Ian- 
 thorn with an outstretched arm before him, 
 he seemed to be guiding of a short t-tout 
 woman, well wrapped up in a serviceable 
 cloak and muffler, who bent her steps 
 through the field towards the neighboring 
 town. 
 
 " Ay, it be cold enough, out of all doubt," 
 replied his companion, in a quick thick 
 voice, half swallowed in her muffler, as she 
 endeavored to keep as near as possible to 
 his heels. " Yet do I remember me a colder 
 night than this, two years ago this very 
 day." 
 
 " Odd zooks ! was it so indeed ?" asked 
 the other in a tone of monstrous won- 
 dering. 
 
 * " Ay, that was it, Humphrey," replied the 
 woman with impressive earnestness. " That 
 night I had laid me down to rest my weary 
 bones, and nigh unto midnight I had got me 
 into the comfortablest slumber weary body 
 ever had, when there came at the gate so 
 huge a noise, I had like to have been fright- 
 ened out of my sleep and my wits too. I 
 dressed me in a presently, wondering who 
 could be a sending at that time, not expect- 
 ing to hear from Mistress Hathaway, for a 
 month to come, nor from Dame Hart, for a 
 full week ; when looking out from the lattice 
 I spied a horseman, in a cloak that swept 
 down close upon his horse's heels, wlie, in a 
 terrible high voice, bade me come quick, for 
 life a-nd death depended on my speed. 
 Thereupon, as may be suppposed of me, I 
 made all convenient haste in my appareling 
 for thou knowest, Humphrey, I like to 
 keep none waiting." 
 
 " O my life, Gammer Lambswool,'' ex- 
 claimed the other drily, "kept you net 
 me an hour by the clock, ere I got sight of 
 you, I know not what waiting means." 
 
 " Nay, nay, thou couldst not have been 
 at the gate so long as that," replied the old 
 woman ; " for ere thou hadst well knocked 
 twice. I c;.lled to thee from the lattice." 
 
 "So God me save," cried out Humphrey, 
 with wonderful emphasis, ' ; I knocked some 
 scores of times to say nought of the mon- 
 strous bawling I kept up, loud enough to 
 wake the seven sleepers : and I doubt not
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 13 
 
 at all, master will give me a taste of the 
 cudgel for having^fcrried so long." 
 
 " He shall do thfee no such unkind office, 
 be assured," said Gammer Lambawoo), 
 " for I will take care to bear thea blameless 
 in the matter. But to return to what I was 
 a saying," added she, too glad at having a 
 listener, to let him off without the whole story. 
 " On coming to the gate, the stranger was 
 for having me mount upon a pillion behind 
 him. which I liked not at first : but upon 
 his pressing the emergency of the case, 
 and placing a gold piece in my hand, I 
 made no more to do for I like not appear- 
 ing over scrupulous in matters of jeopardy, 
 the more especially when an honest wager 
 is to be gained by it. 1 had scarce got my 
 seat when the stranger said he must needs 
 . blind-fold me, the which I liked less than 
 the other;, but upon his assuring me I 
 should suffer no harm, and placing another 
 gold piece in my hand, I suffered it to be 
 done, for thinks I, mayhap, the occasion re- 
 quireth secresy ; and I oft had a huge sus- 
 picion there was no necessity for me to 
 seem to know more than those who required 
 my aid, would allow ; if so be they paid me 
 well for holding of my curiousness." 
 
 " Here be a villainous thick cloud about 
 to cover up the moon, and be hanged to 
 it !" exclaimed her companion in a tone of 
 vexation, a?, with a face waxing marvelous- 
 ly fearful, he watched the approach of a 
 broad black cloud spreading over the sky. 
 " Make more speed I pray you, good Gam- 
 mer, else we shall be left in the dark before 
 we have got out of this field, which hath 
 the horridest reputation of any place in 
 these parts ; and I like not passing through 
 it at this late hoi^r, I promise you." 
 
 " In honest truth it be not in good re- 
 pute," observed the old woman, quickening' 
 her pace somewhat. u Unnatural strange 
 sights have been seen here, and it be well 
 known that they by whom they have been 
 looked on, have never been themselves 
 since. But to my story. Hardly had he 
 blindfolded me when he spurred his horse to 
 so monstrous a pace, that it seemed more 
 like unto flying than riding ; and, not having 
 been used to such, perchance I should soon 
 have been jolted from my seat, had not I 
 held my companion round the girdle as firm 
 as a vice. Now began T to repent of my 
 too great willingness to venture on this er- 
 land. T was going I knew not where, with 
 I knew not whom, to do I knew not what ; 
 but when I bethought me of the stranger's 
 largess, I took heart, for out of all doubt a 
 piece of gold is a notable fine recommenda- 
 tion in a new acquaintance ! and methinks 
 
 it be ungrateful to think ill of those who 
 have behaved handsomely to you ; so I said 
 i nought, and proceeded on my journey with 
 as much contentation as 1 might." 
 
 " A grace of God, Gammer, make more 
 speed .'" cried her companion earnestly. 
 
 " T be getting on as fast as my old legs 
 ! can carry me," answered she ; , and then 
 1 continued her gossip. " Well, we travelled 
 | on at this terrible pace for I know not how 
 long a time, till the horse came to a dead 
 stop ; and, with an injunction to be silent, 
 my companion quickly alighted, carried me 
 some little distance in his arms,<ld me up 
 some steps, and then leading me yet a little 
 further, suddenly pulled the bandage off my 
 eyes. I found myself in a very stately 
 chamber, having the most costly hangings 
 eye ever beheld, and everything of a like 
 splendor about it. Lights were burning on 
 a table close upon the bed's foot, but I had 
 not time to notice one half of what was 
 there, when my conductor haughtily bade 
 me look to my patient, as he pointed to the 
 bed ; and hearing a most piteous groan, I 
 hastened to do his bidding." 
 
 41 Mercy, good Gammer, make mere speed ! 
 These clouds be close upon the moon, and 
 we not half through this terrible field yet ;" 
 cried Humphrey, evidently more attentive 
 to the look of the sky than the speech of 
 his companion. 
 
 " Marry, : tis so sure enough !" exclaimed 
 the old darne, taking a hasty glance at the 
 moon. " Well, there found I a dainty young 
 creature, assuredly in as doleful a strait as 
 poor lady ever was ; and I came in the very 
 nick of time, to do her such desirable ser- 
 vice as she required of me. I sought to 
 give her what comfort I could, but I was 
 stopped by the voice of him who had brought 
 me. angrily bidding me hold my prate, and 
 speed my office ; and then broke he out into 
 such bitter invectives against the poor lady, 
 as were dreadful to hear, to the which she 
 replied never a word, for indeed she could 
 not, she was in such severe travail. At 
 last, to my great joy, the lady became a 
 mother ; but scarce had I took the babe in 
 my a'rms, when my gentleman, who had 
 been all this time striding across the room, 
 seemingly in a bad humor, hearing the child 
 cry, darted towards me, snatched it rudely 
 away, and hurried out of the room with it. 
 I felt at that moment as if 'twouid be an 
 easy matter to knock me down with a 
 feather. I could have no doubt there was 
 a most cruel mischief a-doing. and my blood 
 run cold within me, at the thought of it." 
 
 " There ! the moon hath gone clean out 
 of sight !" exclaimed Humphrey, as if in
 
 14 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 utter despair. " Alack, what an unchristian 
 place for an honest poor body to be in at this 
 late hour." 
 
 " Well, we must e'en get on as well as 
 we can, and the lanthorn will help us to 
 make sure we go not astray," observed the 
 other consolingly. 
 
 " What to do I knew not," Continued 
 she. " The poor mother looked to be scarce 
 alive, that was pitiful enough to see, let her 
 fault have been what it might ; but taking 
 away the life of an innocent babe that had 
 scarce began to breathe, could not be ought 
 else than a very devilish and unnatural 
 murder." 
 
 " Nay, talk not of murder I pray you, 
 good Gammer !" cried her companion very 
 movingly ; " I cannot see the length of my 
 arm, and I know not what monstrous fear- 
 ful things may be in the darkness, ready to 
 pounce out upon us." 
 
 " Nothing unnatural can hurt you if you 
 be not evil inclined, let them here lie ever 
 so thick," observed the old dame : but this 
 seemed not to add much to the other's small 
 stock of courage, for he continued to walk 
 along, looking suspiciously about him in as 
 perfect a fear as ever was, whilst Gammer 
 Lambswool strove to keep as close at his 
 heels as she could. 
 
 " Ere I could recover myself from the 
 strange fright, what had been that moment 
 done, had put me in, he returned, and with- 
 out the child," added she with much empha- 
 sis. " Whereupon I was so confounded 
 and terrified at the sight of him, that I re- 
 member not what further took place, till I 
 found myself at mine own door with a full 
 purse in my hand ; but less glad at the 
 sight of It than I was to be quit of the vil- 
 lain's company." 
 
 " Mercy, Gammer, what be that !" cried 
 Humphrey, in a monstrous fearful voice, as 
 he lifted up his lantern, evidently a trem- 
 bling from head to foot, and seemed to be 
 gazing at something in the distance. 
 
 " Where, I pray you !'' inquired the oth- 
 er eagerly, as she strove to raise herself on 
 her toes for to peep over his shoulder. 
 
 " It moves !" whispered her companion, 
 drawing his breath hard. 
 
 " Heaven save us from all harm !" mut- 
 tered the old woman, beginning to partake 
 of the other's alarm, though she knew not 
 as yet what it was caused by. 
 
 " By St. Nicholas, it be making towards 
 us !" added he as plainly as his. fright 
 would allow, and the next moment the lan- 
 tern dropped from his trembling hands, anc 
 he fell on his knees, saying of his prayers 
 with his teeth a chattering as if he was taken 
 
 with an ague. GamrneiLambswool, being 
 n the dark for their lipit had been extin- 
 guished by the fall and hearing something 
 approaching, was about to take to her 
 jrayers also, when she was startled by a 
 quick succession of blows, that seemed to 
 "all upon her companion with a force that 
 quickly put all conceit of a ghost out of her 
 lead. 
 
 " Why, thou idling varlet !" exclaimed a 
 voice close beside her. " Wert not strictly 
 old not to tarry a moment, and thou hast 
 )een gone nigh these two hours past a 
 murrain on thee." 
 
 " Oh, master !" bawled Humphrey, most 
 ustily, writhing under the punishment he 
 was receiving. " Hurt* me no more, I pray 
 you. Mercy, good master ! In honest 
 ;rulh I tarried no more than I could help." 
 
 " Indeed, Master Shakspeare, he is not to 
 slame, for I was hindered from coming," 
 ried the old woman. " But tell me, I be- 
 seeeh you, how fareth your sweet wife ?" 
 
 " Badly, as she needs must, when she 
 bath been crying out for you go long,"' an- 
 swered he, as if somewhat out of humor. 
 
 ' Well, dear heart, lead you the way, 1 
 will haste to her without a moment's more 
 delaying," said the Gammer, in a sort of 
 coaxing voice ; upon which Humphrey, 
 picking up his lantern, and quite forgetting 
 his fear in the cudgelling he had lately had, 
 although, in honest truth, he had been 
 scarce hurt at all seeing his master and 
 the midwife moving off as fast as they 
 could kept close to their heels till they 
 reached John Shakspeare's dwelling in 
 Henley Street. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 At first THE INFANT. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Porter. On my Christian conscience, this 
 one christening will beget a thousand ; here 
 will be father, godfather, and all together. 
 Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. 
 
 IBID. 
 
 He ruleth all the roast 
 With bragging and with boast, 
 Borne up on every side 
 With pomp and with pride. 
 
 JOHN SKELTON. 
 
 Now there was an admirable jovial com- 
 pany assembled at the chvclling of Dame 
 Shakspeare, to do honor to the christening 
 of her child, and among them were many 
 of the worthy burgesses of Stratford ; for
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 15 
 
 be it understood, John Shafrspeare was 
 known to be a thriving man, and such are 
 sure to have no lack of acquaintances ; and 
 his excellent partner having coins of a family 
 of some repute in those parts, being no 
 other than the heiress of Arden, was much 
 looked up to ; and, as she appeared unto all, 
 of an honest kind heart and admirable sweet 
 nature, she possessed every one's good 
 word ; of which the consequence was, the 
 house could scarce contain the company 
 the occasion had assembled. Some stood 
 about the porch jesting and making merry ; 
 others were in the garden, especiaiiy of the 
 younger sort, amusing themselves w th 
 pleasant talk one with another. One or 
 two decent motherly dames were in the 
 kitchen bustling to and fro, looking to the 
 dinner, of which a huge fire covered with 
 pots and kettles, and having a famous large 
 joint at the spit, a little ragged urchin kept 
 turning being well minded of all not to It't 
 it burn showed some preparation the 
 whilst a stout wench with famous red 
 cheeks and elbows, evidently in her best 
 finery, along with Humphrey, in his Sunday 
 jerkin, kept hurrying in and out, laden with 
 knives, napery, drinking vessels, trenches, 
 and other needful things at a feasting. 
 
 In the best chamber of the whole house 
 which looked to be newly strewed with 
 fresh rushes, and garnished here and there 
 with such flowers as were in season, some 
 in china bowls, and some in parcel-gilt 
 goblets, there was a large recess, made by 
 that end of the room abutting out into the 
 street, wherein were most of the principal 
 personages of the company. First, for in 
 respect of his calling, I would give him 
 precedency of the others, there sat Sir Na- 
 thaniel the curate, easily to be known by 
 his portly person, his merry eye, his loud 
 laugh, x and his free speech. It was bruited 
 abroad that he loved good living better than 
 became a churchman, and his maple face 
 and famous round belly did confirm sucli 
 
 lantern jaws, his darned hose, and his old 
 fashioned doublet, and moreover assented to 
 what the other said, with a readiness that 
 savored much of servility. Nearer this way 
 sat a substantial looking yeoman, by name 
 Richard Hathaway, clad in honest home- 
 spun, in deep discourse with a neighboring 
 wealthy sheep farmer, concerning the mar- 
 ket price of wool, the state of the crops, and 
 the like matters. A knot of burgesses 
 were standing round two aldermen of the 
 town, who were debating very stoutly upon 
 business connected with the corporation ; 
 and the parish clerk, a little dumpy man, 
 with monstrous thick legs, was leaning half 
 out of the casement, in earnest talk with 
 some one in the street below. 
 
 At the further end of the chamber were 
 all the women congregated, appareled in 
 their very best, and talking as though none 
 had a mind to listen. The rich farmer's 
 wife, sitting very stately in a robe of fine 
 scarlet, with a white hood, n gay purse, and 
 a bunch of keys at her side, hanging from 
 a silken belt of silver tissue ; whilst her 
 waist was b;>und with a sash of grass-green 
 silk richly embroidered, no lack of jewels 
 about her, and on each finger two rings at 
 least, divided the admiration of hor compan- 
 ions with the aldermen's wives in watchet- 
 colored tunics and fringed kinles, with 
 
 where- 
 in the 
 
 golden coifs and other cuetly toys 
 with they had attired themselves. 
 
 midst of them sat Dame Shakspeare, mod- 
 estly and matronly clad, and without doubt, 
 as seemly a woman as any there, looking 
 contented and happy, and giving very earnest 
 thanks to her good friends and guests as 
 they made up to her with some pretty gift 
 or another mayhap, a set of apostle spoons, 
 or a standing cup of silver, or a gilt bowl, 
 for the boy, who. with the chrisorn-cloth 
 about him in token of his recent baptism, 
 lay in the arms of his nurse a rosy faced 
 dame, who stood beside her mistress com- 
 mending of the babe to all coiners above 
 
 tale's wonderfully. In apparel he was slov- i babes that ever lived. And lastly, by the 
 enly, and not over clean in his linen ; but door, giving a hearty welcome to all who 
 being of a ready wit and of a cheerful hu- entered, drossod in an excellent suit of Lin- 
 mor, he went on from day to day feasting coin green, and having as cheerful face as 
 wherever there was any store of victual, a | a man ever wore, stood worthy John Shaks- 
 welcome if not an honored guest. Beside ! peare, the giver of the feast. 
 him was one Stripes the schoolmaster, and j " Come in, neighbors ! I pray you come 
 as folks said, a notable conjuror- who had : in !" exclaimed he, as some were entering. 
 a very lean look with him. and wore such \ " I am heartily gl id to see you, and my good 
 garments as seemed to be clean- past all j dame be as ready to'-give you a welcome I'll 
 recovery of tailoring, they were so thread- j be bound fort. Weil met Thomas Hart ! 
 bare. By what was going on, it appeared j Robort Bruce I commend me to your good 
 as if he was content to be the butt of the j will. Worthy Hammet Sadler I am much 
 other, for he took in good part all the jests j beholden to you for this visit. Ha, Oliver 
 the curate aimed at his shrunk shanks, h'.s ! Dumps !" cried he, as his eyes lighted on a
 
 16 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 melancholy looking little man, in a new 
 leathern jerkin and black karsie hose. 
 " Though most men hugely mislike visits 
 of the constable, I greet you well." 
 
 " God requite you, neigJibor," answered 
 the man, not altering a whit the solemness 
 of his aspect. 
 
 " Alethinks we are all indifferently hon- 
 est," continued his hof.t. " Yet are we well 
 inclined you should exercise your office 
 amongst us with as little hindrance as may 
 be." 
 
 " Marry, 'tis a villainous world !" ex- 
 claimed the constable. " But if any disho- 
 nesty hath been done, point me out the 
 knave,'that I. may take him up before his 
 worship." 
 
 " Nay, by your leave not so," replied the 
 other. " If yoa are for taking up, we are 
 only willing you should take up the dinner : 
 but with such an offender we doubl not being 
 able to play the high bailiff as well as any 
 in the county, and woujd on the instant 
 commit him to safe custody in our own 
 keeping." Thereupon there was a laugh 
 of those around ; for when the host tuketh 
 upon himself to jest, even if his wit be not 
 of the brightest, the guests must lack good 
 manners sadly, if their mirth break not out 
 at it without stinting. 
 
 " See you, John a Combe 1" inquired the 
 buxom wife of one of the aldermen to the 
 other, as they ribw stood somewhat apart 
 from the rest, observing the scene I have 
 endeavored to describe. 
 
 " Ay. yonder is he, Mistress Alderman 
 Malmsey," replied the other, pointing to one 
 who had just entered, and seemed by his 
 apparel to bo somewhat of a gallant, for he 
 was very dn.intily dressed in a new puce- 
 colored doublet, with scarlet hose, buff 
 shoes, and fine rosettes to them : a well 
 starched ruff below his beard, and a hand- 
 some rapier at his girdle. 
 
 " By our Lady, Mistress Alderman Dow- 
 las, he beareth himself bravely," exclaimed 
 the first. 
 
 " I'faith methinks he is as pretty a man 
 as any ot his inches," added the other. 
 
 " And then to note how civilly he behavc'th 
 himself," continued Dame Malmsey. <; H ; J 
 ever speaketh of us women in such delicate, 
 respectful terms as would do a woman's 
 heart good to hear ; and if any so much as 
 insinuate aught to our prejudice, it moveth 
 him so, he will be ready to right the biggest 
 man of them all." 
 
 " And yet I marvel he should still remain 
 a bacheldr," observed Dame Dowlas. " He 
 cannot be less than a good manly age, for as 
 Master Alderman, my husband, hath told me, 
 
 it was twenty-five years come Whitsuntide-, 
 since old John a Combe bought his wadding 
 suit of his father ; and that he is well accom- 
 modated for a wife there can be no question, 
 seeing that he hath ever a fair sum (if money 
 in his purse at a friend's need, and old John 
 a Combe hath the reputation of well filled 
 coffers." 
 
 " Perchance the old man is not willing his 
 son should marry," said her companion. 
 "Or, mayhap, thinks it fit he should wed 
 with none but the chiefest families, for he 
 hath taken infinite pains, and spared not the 
 cost, he should have as 'good schooling as 
 any in the land ; whereof the '.cc is, 
 
 you shall find young John a Combe one of 
 the properest gentlemen to be met with in all 
 Warwickshire." 
 
 " Certes, he seemeth not to affect one more 
 than another," exclaimed Dame Malmsey." 
 " But I would wager my test kirtle, there is 
 neve? a maid for five miles round tStratford, 
 who would not give her ears to have him for 
 ahusband." 
 
 "In all sincerity I say it, I wish he may 
 find a wife worthy of him," said tho other, to 
 which her companion added a like sincere 
 wish. In the meanwhile, the object of their 
 friendly commendations passed across the 
 cliamber, very courteously returning the 
 courtesies of those he met, and few were 
 there that did not hasten to greet him, as 
 soon as they caught sight of him at his en- 
 trance, which showed in what estimation he 
 was. These as quickly as he well could be 
 parted from, and made up to Dame Shak- 
 speare, who witff a face radiant with her 
 choicest smiles, gave him her hand at his 
 approach. 
 
 " I beseech you, pardon me, I have come 
 so late," said he to her, in a very soft, gentle- 
 manlike voice ; " I have been detained against 
 my will, else would I have been here long 
 since." 
 
 " I pray you, trouble not yourself about 
 it," replied she, with an excellent pleasant 
 kindness. . " Believe me, you are* infinitely 
 welcome, Master Combe, honor our poor 
 dwelling when you will." 
 
 " In sooth, I regret exceedingly not having 
 sooner paid my respects to our young master 
 here," added he, looking from the smiling 
 mother to the pretty babe with a delighted 
 countenance. " For mver saw I, in all my 
 days, a (*iild whose exquisite comeliness 
 made earliest acquaintance <S0 desirable." 
 
 " Nay, sweet Sir, it is your goodness that 
 maketh you think so," replied she, though 
 pleased beyond measure with the compli- 
 ment. 
 
 " An' it please your worship, it be very
 
 THE YOUTH O? SHAS?EABE. 
 
 17 
 
 exquisite comeliness, indeed !" exclaimed [ truth, I cannot expect for the boy any such 
 the nurse with some emphasis, as she held j famous fortune, and should be well satisfied, 
 out the child to be seen by him more conve- \ could I be assured he would live to play the 
 niently. " In all honesty I say it, I know part of an honest man, and die in the esti- 
 not the babe so choicely featured. I pray mation of his fellows." 
 you, note how fair a forehead it hath the " If such be your desire, believe me the 
 hair, no silk ever was of such marvelous fine- j assurance is easily come at," remarked John 
 ness here are cheeks that bees would clus- : a Combe, courteously; " for it is manifest 
 ter at taking them to be such delicate rari- from what nurse hath said of him, that he 
 ties as they have had no experience of but possesses his mother's excellent rare virtues, 
 the eyes. I pray your worship, look at these j and with such commendable gifts he cannot 
 eyes ! What pretty twinklers they be ! So , fail to realize all honorable expectations." 
 mild, so soft, so loving, and so roguish withal ! " I am proud of your good opinion, worthy 
 I'faith, eyes of so rare a sort surely no child Master Combe," answered she, with the un- 
 ever had ; and as for this dainty little mouth '. affectedness of a truly modest woman. " It 
 if there shall be found any cherry so tempt- ! shall at least keep me at my powerfulest en- 
 ing to look upon, I am no true woman." j deavors to deserve it better." 
 
 " O my life, he is wonderfully pretty !" 
 cried John a Combe, gazing with an admir- 
 ing eye upon its many attractions. 
 
 " Dost think so, really ?" asked the happy 
 mother. 
 
 notable 
 
 cunning to describe," continued the nurse, 
 jumping her charge up and down abit as 
 nurses do. " And for a curious nature, his 
 exceedeth all comprehension. There shall 
 nothing pass in his presence unnoticed of 
 him ; and if any thing new come within his 
 reach, doubt not he will have hold of it in a 
 presently ; nay, his curiousness is of so ex- 
 treme a sort, that if he but get sight of a 
 thing, he will allow of no peace till he have 
 it in his hand, and thereby gain some know- 
 ledge what stuff it be iade of." 
 
 " Methinks, nurse, there is much sign of 
 after wisdom in being so early a learner," 
 observed John a Combe. 
 
 ' Ay, an it please your worship., that is 
 there I'll warrant you," replied she. " Then 
 as for his temper, he 'is so sweetly disjpsed, 
 none can help loving him. He is none of 
 your cross-grained, restless, ill-behaved little 
 brats that be ever a squalling and bawling 
 from morning till night, disturbing of every 
 one not he by my halidom ! for he is so 
 peaceable, you might live in the house and 
 not know a babe was in it. He goeth to 
 sleep just, when it is proper for him, and 
 
 " As some small token of my regard, I 
 beseech you, accept of me this poor trifle 
 for your sweet son," said he, as he produced 
 a very daintily wrought silver cup and cover. 
 
 Eeshrew my heart, but that is as pretty 
 
 " But then, it hath such strange, wise, f, present for a babe as I have seen this many 
 table ways with it as exceed all my a day," exclaimed the nurse : and then ad- 
 
 ' dressing the infant, as she ler him rise and 
 fall in her arms, cried out, " Hoity toity, my 
 young master ! thou hast a goodly store of 
 friends methinks ! But thou deservest it 
 every bit, thou "dost, thou pretty rogue 1 ' 
 
 And then she fell to tickling of him with one 
 hand upon his chest, whilst she held him by 
 the other, till the babe laughed after so da- 
 licate a fashion as was exquisite to see. 
 
 " I feel too much beholden to you, worthy 
 Master Combe, to say aught of the matter," 
 said the delighted mother. 
 
 " And here, nurse," ha added, taking out 
 of his purse a piece of silver, which* he 
 placed in her .hands, " is some small token 
 you should bestow your best attentions on 
 this my young^-iend hare." 
 
 " That will * your worship, depend on't, 
 and a million of thanks for your worship's 
 largess," exclaimed the other, dropping a 
 curtsey, as she accepted the coin. " Well, 
 commend me to Master Combs, for a true 
 gentleman!" continued she as he had re- 
 tired to another part of the chamber. 
 
 " He is ever so," answered her mistress. 
 " He giveth signs of a most liberal heart, 
 
 wakes himself up only at such times as may ' and is at all times a ready mean for the do- 
 be most convenient for him to be looked to. In ! ing of any good. Perchance one might 
 short. I will be bound fort, his like is not to ' travel many miles, and not meet with so 
 be found in this world ; and if he come not good a neighbor, so true a friend, or so 
 to be a bishop or at least a justice o' the worthy a Christian." 
 
 peace, I shall be hugely mistaken in him." " Now, neighbors ! now friends ! an it 
 " O my word, nurse, you have mighty i please you in to dinner," cried John Shaks- 
 hopes of him," exclaimed Dame Shakspeare, ' peare : on the instant, all were in prepara- 
 gazing fondly, and somewhat proudly, on j tion to obey the welcome summons, and John* 
 trie object of so much eulogy, as it lay dandl- 1 a Combe hurrying back to Dame Shakspeare, 
 ing in the arms of her attendant. " In good gallantly led the way with her, followed by
 
 18 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the rest of the company, till he had placed 
 her in her proper seat. After Sir Nathaniel 
 had said grace, the company set down to a 
 dinner that would have gladdened any but 
 to have beheld ; for there was brought upon 
 the table a famous store of all things in 
 season, with plenty of excellent liquor, both 
 ale and cider, and all set to with good ap- 
 petites and with an evident determination to 
 enjoy the cheer that had been provided for 
 them. Of these, none so distinguished 
 himself as did the curate and the school- 
 master. Stripes sat nearly bolt upright in 
 his chair, as serious as a judge and as rave- 
 nous as a wolf; yet there w;is not so glar- 
 ing an impudency in his proceedings as was 
 in the other, for he was not importunate he 
 waited to be asked eat what was given 
 him was ready again ; and with small 
 pressing, continued at it till long after all 
 else had done. 
 
 The host and hostess seemed ever anx- 
 ious that each person should have what ha 
 liked, and p^ty of it, and kept Maud the 
 girl, and Humphrey, the boy, at their vigil- 
 ance, supplying of what was needed, whilst 
 John a Combe busied himself in pressing 
 those nighest him to make good cheer, and 
 looked as if he cared not what he had him- 
 self, as long as the rest fared well. Of a 
 surety every one appeared to enjoy himself 
 to his heart's content, nor were the women 
 altogether unmindful of the bountiful hospi- 
 tality that had garnished the board ; for they 
 eat and praised, and smiled in such a sort 
 as showed how well they were pleased with 
 their entertainment. 
 
 ^.t last the meal was over, the dishes re- 
 moved, and in their stead the tables were 
 covered with a plentiful variety of cakes, such 
 fruit as could be got, Marc^ane, apples and 
 comfits, stewed prunes anodishes of other 
 preserves, syllabubs for the younger folks 
 muffle of new milk and verjuice, and wine 
 for the elders of two or three several kinds ; 
 besides which, John Shakspeare was brew- 
 ing a goodly bowl of sack with sugar in it, 
 for such as affected such delicate drink, of 
 whom the two aldermen w^re most conspic- 
 uous, swearing there was no such liquor in 
 the world, whilst his excellent sweet wife 
 opposite was preparing a jug of spiced ale, 
 such liquo'r being desired, above all others, 
 by such 'of her guests as were farmers or 
 yeomen ; ever and anon saying something 
 to the nurse, who was standing behind her 
 chair with the babe in her arms ; or ac- 
 knowledging with some few gracious words, 
 the courtesies of John a Combe, who sat 
 nigh her, and by his own readiness took 
 heed that she should have everything she 
 
 needed ready at her hand. The jingling cf 
 glasses, and the like noises, caused by the 
 moving of bottles, and other drinking ves- 
 sels, having in some degree subsided, and 
 all having before them what they most de- 
 sired, it was observed that John a Combe 
 stood up with his glass filled in his hand ; 
 and, with some ado, the rude prating of Sir 
 Nathaniel being stopped, he was heard to 
 speak after this fashion : 
 
 " My worthy good neighbors and friends ! 
 There is a custom now of old standing in 
 this our very dear country, which methinks 
 should be held in good esteem of all true 
 English hearts ; to wit, the drinking of 
 healths, which, I take it, is a great encoura- 
 ger of honest love ; and keepeth true friend- 
 ship in excellent^ remembrance among all 
 men. Now it may be known unto you, that 
 this same estimable custom is in most re- 
 quest amongst those of old acquaintance. 
 Therefore I beseech you' pardon me, if on 
 this occasion I require of you to follow the 
 custom with some alteration. There is 
 no old familiar friend I would now ask your 
 remembrance of; but one whose very name 
 hath been unknown to you till this day. I 
 cannot point out to you what noticeable vir- 
 tues he hath shown, worthy of your com- 
 mendation ; for as yet I have been so little 
 in his company, he hath not had time to 
 show his goodness to me ; but knowing his 
 father's extreme honesty of soul, and his 
 mother's manifold excellencies of nature, 1 
 I am assured he cannot fail to have in him 
 such bountiful gifts, as in good time mus\ 
 bring to him all good men's affections. 
 Neighbors ! I pray you, with full cups joi 
 with me very heartily in drinking health 
 to our young friend, William Shakspeare, a 
 long lite and a prosperous !" 
 
 Afetliinks there should be no need to as- 
 sure the reader that the desire of John a 
 Combe was followed on the instant with the 
 sincere, good will of all present. 
 
 " Well done, John a Combe," shouted 
 Sir Nathaniel ; " O' my life, a truly excel- 
 lent proper speech ; and very scholarly spo- 
 ken. What sayest Ticklebreech ?" cried 
 he familiarly to the schoolmaster, who sat 
 over against him. " Is not the speech a 
 sound speech, ay, and a notable speech, ay, 
 and a speech of marvelous discretion ?" 
 
 " An it please your reverence," replied 
 Strides, looking all the whilst as solemn as 
 if it was a matter of life or death with him ; 
 " touching the speech that hath lately had 
 utterance amongst us, I will make so bold 
 as to say, that a properer speech shall not 
 be found, even should you seek for it in the 
 choicest of Demosthenes his Philippics, or
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 19 
 
 of Cicero his Orations. It is a speech that, 
 hath in it thess several excellences ; excel- 
 lence of matter, excellence of rhetoric, and 
 excellence of 
 
 i; It may be known of all here I am no 
 scholar, like unt^our good friend and neigh- 
 bor Master Combe," observed John Shaks- 
 peare. with his honest cheerful face all of a 
 glow, and to the complete cutting short of 
 the schoolmaster in what threatened to be 
 an exceeding prosy discourse. " Yet had I 
 what I lack the most, I doubt it would do 
 me such good office as sufficiently to assure 
 him of the full great love I bear him in my 
 heart for the friendliness he hath shown to 
 me and mine on this and other occasions. 
 Fain would I dilate concerning of what 
 numberless famous proofs he hath exhibited 
 of the generousness of his humor, but that 
 I know none of you stand in any ignorance 
 of them. From his earliest life he hath been 
 given to all manner of truly estimable vir- 
 tues ; and now his riper manhood, in its 
 thorough honesty and free-heartedness, de- 
 clareth what proper effect hath come of the 
 exceeding virtuousness of his youth. I feel 
 proud that Stratford can boast of such a 
 one ; and I pray you pardon me, when I add, 
 my pride is none the less at finding such a 
 one should hold me in his commendation ; 
 for, as I take it, to be well spoken of is ever 
 to be desired ; but the praise of the praise- 
 worthy is a thing beyond all price. In tes- 
 timony that your opinion accordeth with 
 mine own, I beseech you neighbors, join with 
 me in drinking to the health of our wor- 
 thy townsman, John a' Combe, desiring that 
 he may long continue to live amongst us, 
 in the same pride and honor as he doth at this 
 present." 
 
 " Marry, but this looketh to be the pro- 
 perest speech of the two !" exclaimed Sir 
 Nathaniel, as all prepared themselves, and 
 with evidence of great good will, to do as 
 their host would have them ; " What sayest, 
 Pedagogus ?" 
 
 " Indeed, and as your reverence out of 
 your singular wisdom hath observed/' said 
 the schoolmaster, refraining awhile from the 
 pippin he was a moment since intent upon 
 adding to the great mass of victual that had 
 gone before it. ' ; It be out of all compari- 
 son the properest speech. In short, it shall 
 be found, on the very searchingest exami- 
 nation, of so proper a sort, that its fellow 
 shall not be met with, seek where you will." 
 
 Much more of the same poor stuff he 
 might have added, had not the voice of John 
 a Combe sent him, nothing loath to the 
 munching of his pippin ; for he was of that 
 well-disposedness, he would hold his prate j 
 
 when his betters were talking ; but among 
 poorer folk he would say out his say, were it 
 a mile to the end ; and heed none, should 
 they talk ever so. Master Combe, thereup- 
 on quickly disclaimed any title to praise for 
 whatever he had done ; asserting that it was 
 what every man should do, regardless of all 
 else but the good that came of it. This 
 brought others to speak, especially the al- 
 dermen and burgesses of his particular 
 acquaintance, who in homely fashion gave 
 their evidence of his worthiness. In fact, 
 every one appeared anxious to say in what 
 great estimation he was held of therft, only 
 with one solitary exception. Of the com- 
 pany was one Master Buzzard, a gentleman 
 of those parts, who, for all he was of bet- 
 ter estate than any there, was an ignorant 
 vain person, living in great dissoluteness, 
 with such companions as the priest and the 
 schoolmaster, and other roysterers ; and 
 cared for nothing so much as hawking and 
 spending his time in riotous ill-living among 
 such as were ready to fall into his humor. 
 He was of a middle size with strong body 
 and full look, and affected to mislike any- 
 thing like niceness in apparel. Indeed, his 
 manners were of the rudest, but being an 
 excellent customer of John Shakspeare, he 
 got inv^d to the christening. At hearing 
 the praises that were so bountifully lavish- 
 ished upon John a Combe, his soul was 
 stirred with a very devilish envy ; and 
 though he said nought, save 'twas to mutter 
 some contemptuous expression, unheard of 
 any but those nighest him, it was easy to be 
 seen that he was in wonderful ill-humor. 
 
 At this time a many of the company were 
 amusing themselves at the game of Barley 
 Break, in the warehouse and places where 
 the wool was stored, and other things in 
 which John Shakspeare dealt ; and it did 
 so happen that Master Alderman Dowlas, 
 the draper, was shut up in the middle room 
 with the buxom wife of his neighbor, Mas- 
 ter Alderman Malmsey, the vintner, and he 
 must needs be making love to her, though 
 he had as exquisite fair a wife of his own 
 as any honest man need desire. Now this 
 worthless draper was a man of no par- 
 ticular likelihood to fall in with a pretty 
 woman 's fantasy, having features by no 
 means comely ; a long thin nose, and a 
 mouth about as expressive of any particular 
 affectionateness as a roll of broadcloth. In- 
 deed, there was a sort of sanctimoniousness 
 in the cut of his beard, and the cropping of 
 his hair, and the sober suit of grey in which 
 he was usually appareled, that seemed to 
 give the flattest contradiction to love of any 
 sort, unless it were the love cf godliness
 
 20 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 and a decent life. Whether what he had 
 been drinking put into his head any such 
 villainy, or that he was of a very amorous- 
 ly disposed nature at all times, I know not ; 
 but certain it is, he left the table to play at 
 Barley Break; of an equal surety is it, he 
 was, in the course of the game, shut up in 
 the middle room with the young comely 
 wife of his brother alderman ; and it is be- 
 yond all contradiction that, after flattering 
 "the very infiniteness of her most absolute 
 and inconceivable beauty,"^ as he was 
 pleased to style her somewhat attsactiveness, 
 in a sufficiency that ought to have satisfied 
 the vainest woman that ever lived, he in a 
 monstrous earnestness, swore he loved her 
 better than aught else in the universal world. 
 
 " Fie on you, Jonathan Dowlas !" cried 
 the pretty woman, evidently, from the 
 twinkling of her merry dark eyes, taking 
 the affair as an excellent good jest. " I 
 marvel you should so conduct yourself to 
 your friend's wife, and you a godly man 
 too, that hath been married this seven year ! 
 as I Kve, methinks it is too bad of yoi*," 
 
 " Alack, adorable sweet creature !"' cried 
 the Alderman, twitching his chair as nigh 
 as possible to hers, the which she marked 
 by immediately increasing the defence be- 
 tween them. " 'Tis all on account of the 
 insufficiency of the flesh. The flesh re- 
 belleth against all discretion. It stirreth, 
 as it were, yea, it be exceedingly moved." 
 
 " I would it would move farther off then," 
 exclaimed his fair companion, as she remo- 
 ved herself a short distance, upon rinding 
 him again attempting to get closer to her 
 than she liked. 
 
 " Sweet, Mistress Malmsey," continued 
 the draper, very pathetically, " as the hart 
 panteth for the water broeks, doth my enam- 
 ored soul thirst after thine incomparable 
 sweet perfection." 
 
 " Then you must quench your thirst at 
 other fountains, I promise you," pithily re- 
 plied the vintner's wife. " My husband hath 
 a famous store of wines. I doubt not, if 
 you would give him an order for 'some, a 
 draught or so occasionally would do you, 
 out of all comparison, more benefit than 
 would the draining of my incomparable 
 sweet perfections to the dregs.'' 
 " Nay, that never could be, my honeysweet !" 
 exclaimed the Alderman, trying to take her 
 hand, which she presently snatched away 
 from him. " Sooner shall princes wear 
 buckram, and penniless rogues ruffle it in 
 ready money better than credit, and large 
 costliest cloth of gold. Believe me, as I love 
 profits before any loss, I shall grow into a 
 desperation, succeed I not in my suit." 
 
 " Your suit is like to go unshod, for it ia 
 bootless," answered Mistress Malmsey, 
 with a pretty laugh at her own jest ; then 
 added, more seriously, " Marry to prevent 
 such a mischance as your falling into des- 
 peration, I would acquaint your wife with 
 your desires, and doubt not at all she'd suit 
 you in a presently." 
 
 The Alderman looked as if he relished 
 not this raillery. He spoke never a word 
 for a minute or so. What more he might 
 have said, I know not ; for soon after 
 by the chances of the game, they were re- 
 leased from their imprisonment, and she 
 allowed him no more opportunity of having 
 any such conversation with her that day. 
 In the meanwhile, they at the table were 
 still jovially employed iu making good cheer. 
 John a Combe was intent upon setting off 
 every one to enjoy themselves after such 
 fashion as pleased them most, and seeing 
 that all had proper refreshment when their 
 sports had tired them in any way. John 
 Shakspeare was employed in a like manner, 
 and so was his good dame ; whereof, the 
 consequence was, as has been acknowledg- 
 ed many times since, that there never was 
 known, at any merry-making, such a gene- 
 ral contentation of the guests ; and he who 
 was the general cause of this great content 
 lacked no honor which the occasion seemed 
 to warrant. He was praised as bountifully 
 as it each had taken a cue from the nurse 
 all the women must needs have a kiss of 
 him ; and divers among those nigh unto mar- 
 riageable estate would not be satisfied with- 
 out dandling him a bit in their arms may- 
 hap to show certain of the young men there 
 how apt they were at so notable an exercise. 
 At last, having been caressed and praised 
 of all, with a liberality that exceedeth con- 
 ception, amid much regret of the young 
 folks nurse took him away as in sooth, it 
 was high time he should be asleep in his 
 cradle. 
 
 Master Burrard continued at the table 
 eyeing, with a marvelous sour and gloomy 
 aspect, the attentions that were paid to John 
 a Combe and it fretted him to find that he, 
 for all his greater state was held in no such 
 estimation. Along with him, were Sir Na- 
 thaniel, Stripes, and Oliver Dumps ; ant 1 
 sometimes others would join them for a 
 time., upon getting weary ot their sports, 
 but these four appeared to like nothing so 
 well as continual tippling of such liquors 
 as were before them, seasoned with such 
 talk as persons so disposed, were most like 
 to affect. 
 
 " It may be, or it may not be," observed 
 Sir Nathaniel, after rehearsing to his listen-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ers a scandalous story ; " but here is a child 
 found, and as far as my learning may go, I 
 know of no child having been born without 
 
 the help of a mofher. 
 Conjuror ?" 
 
 What sayest, Sir 
 
 " There can be no doubt of it, please 
 your reverence," replied the schoolmaster. 
 " Though it hath been asserted, by divers 
 
 one who cometh to the resolution of doing 
 his duty though it be unpleasant to him. 
 " And though no later than yesterday I did 
 put in the stocks, for wantonness, one Marian 
 Loosefish, a woman also, as in my conscience 
 I do firmly believe ; yet as it seemeth to me 
 it be like to bring her Majesty's name into 
 contempt among all her loving subjects the 
 
 creditable historians that Venus sprang which be against the law to say that wo- 
 from the foam of the sea, and Minerva from men be given to all manner of villany, and 
 the brain of Jove ; for my own part, I would . to assert at the same time that the Queen's 
 maintain, yet with all due deference, the Highness is a woman, I must maintain 
 
 utter impossibility of any one person com- 
 ing into this world without having to boast 
 of a mother, and perchance, if there should 
 be no doubt on't, of a father also." 
 
 " Thou art a fool old hocus pocus, and no 
 conjuror !" exclaimed the curate, sharply, 
 
 it by virtue of my office, that if all wo- 
 men may be queans, then is the queen no 
 
 " Pooh !" -e: 
 " But I will 
 
 ed Master Buzzard, 
 ave it ' pooh,' " cried the 
 
 constable, raising his voice, and seeming in 
 
 " a very fool, and as ignorant as a heathen. ! some indignation. " It be flat contumacious- 
 Had Adam a mother, or Eve ? Surely thou ness, and very sedition. I will allow of it 
 hast forgotten thy Testament thou Ba- on no account ; and I charge you, on your 
 laam's ass! But thou' never wert half so ; allegiance declare the Queen's Highness no 
 wise an animal as he ; for it be well known \ woman, or any such vileness, else will I 
 of all men, that once upon a time, when he straight with you to the cage." 
 was carrying off Potiphar's wife into Egypt, ' What, wouldst put a gentleman in the 
 he spake unto Moses, saying, ' Paul ! Paul ! cage ?" cried Sir Nathaniel, as if in som 
 thou almost persuadest me to be a Christian.'" surprise. " Hath no respect for persons ?" 
 " Methinks. asses must have been wiser "No, nor for parsons either, should they 
 in those days than they be now," said the conduct themselves unadvisedly," answered 
 constable, gravely. " My father hath had the little man determinedly. " I am put in 
 an ass of his own a long time past, but it authority for the preservation of the peace, 
 never gave any sign of speech." \ and it behooveth me to keep good heed there 
 
 " It hath begun at last, then eccesigqium" 
 cried Sir Nathaniel, laughing famously, in 
 which he was joined by his companions. 
 " But touching this child. It doth appear 
 that Dame Lucy made discovery of a young 
 child that had been abandoned, as it was said ; 
 and as it could not have been Sir Thomas 
 Lucy's, it could riot, with any toleration, be 
 Sir Thomas Lucy's wife's. That child the 
 good dame had me christen, some short time 
 since, by the name of Mabel ; and she hath 
 
 be no idle prating like to lead to a brawl." 
 
 " The man's an ass," said Master Buz- 
 zard, in very evident contempt. 
 
 " Hullo, my masters ! what hath caused 
 this unseemly to do amongst you?" called out 
 John a Combo, as, drawn by the constable's 
 loud voice, afad violent manner, he, with 
 oth^e, was attracted to the table. " I mar- 
 v<'L on such an occasion as this, to see any 
 quarrelling. I pray you, say the matter of 
 difference betwixt you, that. I may do my 
 
 resolved, as she told me, to bring it up as i|st, as speedy as may be, to bring it to an 
 her own : the which she must needs do with Whicable ending." 
 
 the perfect likeness that ever was, for many i " Marry, this is it," replied Oliver, in no 
 do say she hath other right to it than that of way abating the greatness of his indignation, 
 first discoverer.'' 
 
 " By God's body, it be infamous !" cried 
 Master Buzzard, in a rude loud voice that 
 attracted the attention of all within reach of 
 
 whilst Master Buzzard sat with a perfect 
 indifferency, mingled with some scorn of the 
 whole business, rocking himself on his chair, 
 " Master Buzzard hath given me ill words, 
 
 it. " The vileness of these women hath no ; and I will have the law of him ; moreover, 
 rivalry save the craft with which they hide he hath spoken shamefully of the queen's 
 it. They are traitors to honesty, all of them ; grace, for the which he shall have to make 
 and I would as soon believe in the trustwor- ; proper amends ; and, lastly, he hath insinu- 
 thiness of a cut-purse, as I would in the vir- . ated evil opinions of my lady, the wife of his 
 
 tuousness of anv one of them." 
 
 Q 
 
 " An' it please you, Master Buzzard, the 
 ueen's Highness whose unworthy con- 
 
 stnble I am, is a woman, as I have heard," 
 here remarked Oliver Dumps, with the air of 
 
 worship Sir Thomas Lucy, in particular, 
 and of all women in general, saying that 
 they be notoriously dishonest, and ever given 
 to unlawful behavior." 
 
 " What he hath spoken ill ef you, worf y
 
 Master Constable, be sure he said in jest,-" 
 remarked John a Combe. " And I cannot 
 believe you to be so unneighborly as to allow 
 of such a thing moving you." 
 
 " Nay, but he hath called me an ass, Mas- 
 ter Combe, and there be no jest in that as I 
 can see," cried out the offended constable. 
 " He meant it as a jest depend on't," re- 
 plied the other. 
 
 " Ay, 'twas a jest out of all doubt," here 
 observed Sir Nathaniel, just after draining 
 his goblet. " Didst not take it take it for a 
 jest, Ticklebreech ?" added he,, turning to 
 his companion. 
 
 " O' my life yes, an't jkpe your reve- 
 rence," answered the IHoolmaster ; " as 
 excellent good jest as ever I heard." 
 
 " Well, an' it be a jest, indeed," said Oli- 
 ver Dumps, in a quieter tone ; " believe me 
 I was ignorant of it, else would I have said 
 nought of the matter, for I am not so crab- 
 bed as to take offence where none be intend- 
 ed ; but what saith he concerning his ill 
 speech of the queen ? that was no jest, at 
 least he will find it none, I warrant you." 
 
 " You must have misunderstood his mean- 
 ing surely ?" observed John a Combe. " Tis 
 not at all in reason that one known to be so 
 well disposed towards her Majesty as is 
 Master Buzzard, should say so much as one 
 single word to her prejudice." 
 
 " If he said not all women be mere wan- 
 tons, count me the lyingest knave in Chris- j 
 tendom," asserted the constable with some 
 vehemence. 
 
 " Perchance he may have said, it, but that 
 he had any such meaning will I never be- 
 lieve," remarked Master Combe. 
 
 " I will wager my life on it he had avery 
 different meaning," exclaimed the curate. 
 Then called he to his sworn-fellow, " What 
 sayest, Lanthornjaws ?" 
 
 " Please your reverence, I will vouch fa- 
 it, his meaning must needs have been ofHi 
 clean contrary sort," readily answered the 
 schoolmaster. 
 
 " Marry then, since that be the opinion 
 of these honest gentlemen, I will not stir in 
 the matter further," said Oliver. " I would 
 torture no man's speech to do him hurt, not 
 I, even though I might be made alderman to- 
 morrow for't. But touching my lady, Sir 
 Thomas Lucy's wife, I heard of a child she 
 had found and bringeth up as her own, of 
 the wluch if I remember me, Master Buz- 
 zard believeth the good lady to be the mo- 
 ther, without consent first had and obtained 
 of his worship, her husband ; and this I take 
 it, can be no other than scandalum magna- 
 tum a terrible heinous offence as I have 
 heard." 
 
 " I cannot believe Master Buzzard would 
 speak of such a matter, save as the common 
 talk of the vulgar sort, who know no bet- 
 ter," said John a Combe. For mine own 
 part, there is nothing of which I am so well 
 assured as of the wonderful excellence of 
 woman. All that extreme force of rhetoric 
 could speak, or most famous cunning of the 
 pen could describe, in my humble opinion 
 could never give her such sufficient justice 
 as her infinite merits deserve. Whatever 
 there is of goodness whatever there is of 
 kindness, of piti fulness of heart, of noble- 
 ness of disposition, have their chiefest place 
 in her, and she is the origin of that mar- 
 velous sweet power that gives humanity its 
 rarest excellence, and binds all nature in 
 one unending chain that never rusts, that 
 will not clog, and that cannot be sundered 
 the links whereof are those endearing 
 sympathies that join to form the universal 
 bondage of the affections. Such bountiful 
 store of graces does she possess, that al- 
 though poets from earliest time have been 
 endeavoring to make them known to the 
 world, in our own day such attractions as 
 have escaped notice, are found to be out of 
 all number ; and it hath been well asserted, 
 the same is like to continue to latest pos- 
 terity. Methinks there shall be no need of 
 saying aught to show what great share she 
 hath in the production of everything that 
 tendeth to happiness in this world, for you 
 cannot help knowing that all true pleasure 
 is of her giving. Of her excellence I 
 would content myself with asking What 
 virtue is like to a woman's ? What honesty 
 is like to a woman's ? What love, what 
 courage, what truth, what generousness, 
 what self-denial, what patience under afflic- 
 tion, and forgiveness for wrong come at all 
 nigh unto such as a woman showeth ? Be- 
 Jieve me the man who cannot honor so truly 
 divine a creature, is an ignorant poor fellow, 
 whom it would be a compliment to style a 
 fool ; or an ungrateful mean wretch, whom 
 charity preventeth me from calling a villain." 
 " Thou liest, knave !" shouted Master 
 Buzzard, starting to his feet, and drawing 
 his rapier, and looking to be in a monstrous 
 deadly rage. " Thou art thyself but a pal- 
 try villain as ever lived, and a coward to 
 boot, as I will presently prove so come on, 
 or I will make no more account of thy pes- 
 tilent body than I would of a stinking 
 mackerel." 
 
 41 Aid in the Queen's name, you that be 
 good men and true !" exclaimed the consta-- 
 ble, amidst the shrieks of the women and 
 j the outcries of the men, as he bustled up 
 I between the expected combatants .
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 "Put down your weapon, Master Buz- 
 zard, I pray you," cried John Shakspeare, 
 hastening with others to the scene. 
 
 " I will. cut off thy ears as a supper for 
 my dogs !" continued Master Buzzard, seem- 
 ing to increase in his passion. 
 
 " A riot ! a riot ! Surrender; you my pris- 
 oner in the Queen's name !" added Oliver 
 ^umps, advancing close to the offender, as 
 with the intention of seizing him. 
 
 " Out fool, or I will pin thee to the wall," 
 shouted Master Buzzard, making a pass at 
 the constable, the which to a^pid he made 
 a leap of so prodigious a length, it hath 
 been said he never did such a feat before or 
 since. 
 
 " Oh, here will be a foul murder done !" ex- 
 claimed Dame Shakspeare, piteously wring- 
 ing of her hands. 
 
 " Come on fellow, and take thy death !" 
 cried Master Buzzard, going furiously at 
 John a Combe, who had got his weapon out 
 in readiness to defend himself, but ere his 
 opponent reached within thrusting distance, 
 John Shakspeare had fast hold of his arm, 
 and others springing on him at the same 
 moment, he was soon deprived of all means 
 of offence. 
 
 " I marvel a person of your quality should 
 be for a quarrel at such a time as this," ob- 
 served his host. 
 
 " Is't fitting such a pitiful coxcomb of a 
 fellow should preach to me," cried the other 
 very furiously, striving to break from those 
 who held him. 
 
 " Hold him fast, good neighbors," ex- 
 claimed Oliver Dumps, now coming nearer, 
 seeing that his prisoner was disarmed. " Let 
 him go on no account, I pray you. He 
 hath sought to do me deadly injury in the 
 execution of my office, and it cannot but go 
 hard with him at assize." 
 
 " I beseech you, pass it over !" said John 
 a Combe. " It was but some sudden heat 
 of temper in him, and I doubt v not he will 
 regret it in the morning." 
 
 " Away coward ; I spit at thee.!" shouted 
 Master Buzzard, in a fiercer rage than ever, 
 as he was being borne out at the door. " I 
 do long to be at thee. I would make more 
 holes in thy body than shall be found in a 
 sieve." 
 
 " Bring him along, neighbors," cfted the 
 constable. " We'll spoil this killing humor 
 of his, I promise you." 
 
 Master Buzzard was forciMk carried out 
 of the house, yet without any rudeness on 
 the part of his bearers, who because of his 
 quality were loth he should be punished for 
 his brawling ; and after much opposition 
 from Oliver Dumps wanting to be thought 
 
 the Queen's trusty officer, who liked net of 
 an offence being hushed up, it was agreed 
 that no notice should be taken of it, on con- 
 dition of the offender's going peaceably 
 home. In the mean time, the guests re- 
 covering from their alarm, got to dancing a 
 measure, and other diversions, as if nought 
 had happened to disturb their sports, and 
 went not away till late, vowing that of all 
 the merry meetings they had been at, for 
 the pleasure they had had, none had been 
 like to the christening of William Shaks- 
 peare. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 These things begin 
 
 To look like dangers, now, worthy my fates. 
 Fortune, I see thy worst ; let doubtful states, 
 And things uncertain hang upon thy will ; 
 Me surest death shall render certain still. 
 
 BEN JONS.W. 
 I held it ever 
 
 Virtue and cunning were endowments greater 
 Than nobleness and riches ; careless heirs 
 May the two latter darken and expend ; 
 But immortality attends the former, 
 Making a man a god. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Their angry looks, their deadly daunting blows, 
 Might witness well that in their hearts remained 
 As cankered hate, disdain, and furious mood, 
 As ever bred in bear or tiger's breast. 
 
 GASCOYNE. 
 
 " SAUL, what art doing ?" 
 
 " Looking to see that the gesses and bells 
 of this tercel gentle be in the properest trim, 
 master." 
 
 "Ay, well thought of; but, as I have 
 ever marked, thou hast wonderful foresight." 
 
 " Marry, my sight be good enough ; me- 
 thinks I can trace a hawk as well as any." 
 
 " In truth thou hast many commendable 
 qualities, and I would fain give some token 
 of how well esteemed they are of me." 
 
 " Indeed ! but that be kind of you, master ; 
 monstrous kind ! and, as for my qualities, I 
 doubt they be anything out of the common. 
 Peradventure I am as cunning at the rear- 
 ing of hawks as any fellow in Warwick- 
 shire ; at quarterstaff, wrestling, pitch the 
 bar, running at the quintain, and other 
 games, care for none ; and will dance a 
 morrice, play tne hobby-horse in the May 
 games, or take a fling at a Shrove-tide cock, 
 with as much perfectness as you shall see 
 among a thousand." 
 
 His master was silent for a minute or so ; 
 yet his aspect wore a troubled, and by no
 
 24 
 
 TIIE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 met.is pleasing expression, that looked as if 
 he wanted to disburden his mind of some- 1 
 thing. For a while he kept feeding of a 
 hawk he held on his wrist. His companion 
 was a sturdy varlet of some thirty years, 
 with a freckled face, a thick clumsy head, 
 and features expressive of one alike reck- 
 less and impudent. He was clad in a for- 
 ester's frock of Kendal green, confined at 
 the waist with a belt, having a pocket at 
 the side, below which little could be seen, 
 save his crimson hose and thick buff boots ; 
 and he wore a rapier and a dagger. Of 
 these two the one was Master Buzzard, of 
 whom the reader hath already some know- 
 ledge, and the other was his man Saul, his 
 chief favorite and confidant. They were to- 
 gether in the hall, once a fair chamber, in 
 Master Buzzard's house, with a famous tim- 
 ber roof, and a goodly store of old armor 
 hung about, but on account of the great 
 number of hawks and dogs that were kept 
 in it, some being here and some there, a lit- 
 ter of pups in one corner and a cast of fal- 
 cons in another, with lurchers, deer-hounds, 
 and spaniels of every kind, running in and 
 out of every hole and corner, with little re- 
 gard to cleanliness, the place was scarce fit 
 for any human being to be in. All amongst 
 the corslets and plates of mail, were nailed 
 the skins of herons and the tails of foxes, 
 the antlers of a stag and the heads of divers 
 kinds of wild fowl, badgers, pole-cats, and 
 other vermin ; and there seemed to be but 
 little furniture in ordinary use, as chair or 
 table, unencumbered with things necessary 
 for hawking, or hunting, or fishing, or some 
 sport of a like nature. On a corner of a 
 long table, close to where Master Buzzard 
 was standing, there stood a tray with the 
 remains of a pasty, and a flagon beside it, 
 which was some sign that the place, how- 
 ever unsightly it might be, was not badly 
 off for victual. 
 
 " Thou knowest, Saul, how good a master 
 1 have been to thee,* continued Master 
 Buzzard. 
 
 " Ay, by gog's blood, that do I !" exclaim- 
 ed his man, with great earnestness, " and 
 many thanks to your worship. I'faith, there 
 is no denying I am well off for a master, for 
 one more cunning in hunting, and hawking, 
 and all such goodly sports, of a more valor- 
 ous nature, let his weapon be whUt it may ; 
 or of a more truly prodigal disposition, upon 
 any proper occasion, I doubt hugely, I should 
 meet with, sought I ever so. Marry, if your 
 worship is as well off for a servant as am I 
 for a master, then ought we to be envied of 
 all men." 
 
 " By God's I value not my best goshawk 
 
 as I do thy faithful service," replied his ma< 
 ter, still seeming to keep his attention fixed 
 upon his bird. " In truth, Saul, I do look 
 upon thee as my right hand ; and I do in- 
 tend, before any very long time hath passed, 
 to show thee such excellent instance of my 
 good will as must rejoice thee inlinitely to 
 see." 
 
 " 'Fore George ! master, I want none 
 such," said his companion, albeit with a 
 "marvelous lack of sincerity. " Yet would 
 I on no account baulk the generousness of 
 your humor. H am not unmindful how oft 
 your worship hath stood between me and 
 harm, when a parcel of poor linsey wolsey 
 knaves of the town yonder, went about tell- 
 ing of me the horri blest slanders that ever 
 was heard." 
 
 "Ay, it hath been said of many thou 
 wert he who stabbed Daniel Short, of Bars- 
 ton, who was found dead in the meadow," 
 observed the other, regarding of his goshawk 
 with a more intense earnestness. " But I 
 heeded them not. It was sworn before the 
 high bailiff thou didst misuse Joan Spring- 
 field at the town end. and he was for pro- 
 ceeding against thee with as much severity 
 as might be ; but I stayed him in the matter. 
 And there was much ado made of thy 
 shooting at Daniel Buckthorn, of the Mill ; 
 and it would have gone hard with thee had 
 I not stepped in and hushed all up." 
 
 " Never was man so abused !" exclaimed 
 Saul with a very monstrous vehemency. ' 
 have enemies, master, scores of them, 1 
 promise you ; and they be such thorough- 
 going cowards and dastardly poor villains as 
 cannot come with any fair weapon before 
 me, and challenge me with the infamy they 
 would lay to my charge, that I might disprove 
 it on their pestilent bodies, but needs must 
 whisper all manner of the horriblest false 
 stuff that ever was uttered, among such piti- 
 ful fools as they can get to listen to them. 
 'Slife, master ! there be no living for such 
 knaves, and an honest man might as well go 
 hang at once as be pestered with them. For 
 mine own part, I do think the ridding of the 
 world of any a very commendable thing ; 
 and could I meet with one who had been 
 playing his knave's tricks on your worship, 
 or on Any other for whom I am so bound, 
 I would slit his vveason for him whenever 
 the time served, and none should be the 
 wiser." 
 
 A smile oAeculiar meaning appeared on 
 the face of Master Buzzard at this inti 
 mation. 
 
 " Dost know John a Combe ?" inquired 
 the latter with an assumed indifferency. 
 
 " Know John a Combe !" exclaimed Saul
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 in some surprise, and with a more evident 
 contempt. ' ; Is he not the errantest skip- 
 jack in all the country round ? a fine Sun- 
 day gentleman, forsooth ! that looks as if he 
 layeth himself up in lavender o'nights, that 
 he may smell sweet i'the morning ? Why he 
 is as common as the stocks, and as like to be 
 avoided by all true men as is the pillory or 
 the whipping-post. I should as soon expect j 
 Gammer Lambswool to inquire for the gos- 
 sip's bridle, as your worship to ask after John 
 a Combe. 'Sblood ! he taketh upon him, 
 too, to come Master perfection over us, and 
 must needs be seeking to be thought an ex- 
 ample of goodness, and wisdom, and every 
 virtue under the sun, thinking to be as fa- 
 mous as Sir Guy of Warwick. I would 
 forfeit a year's wages found I not more vir- 
 tue in a bunch of nettles than you shall 
 discover in him, search you from now till 
 doomsday." 
 
 Master Buzzard sought not to interrupt 
 his man in his speech, for a very excellent 
 reason, because it was much to his liking, 
 the which the other knew firll well ; for 
 Ke was a cunning knave, that ever stu- 
 died to jump with his master's humor at all 
 times, and was aware of what had passed 
 betwixt him and Master Combe, and more- 
 over, was willing enough to reap advantage 
 of it. 
 
 " Indeed, I take him to be as scurvy a 
 fellow as any that lives," observed Master 
 Buzzard with wonderful bitterness. 
 
 " That is he, out of all doubt," replied his 
 man in much the same sort of spirit. " I 
 hate such popinjays. It be monstrous fine 
 certainly for such a paltry knave as he is to 
 be ever schooling of your worship, as it 
 were" 
 
 " I tell thee, Saul, I will endure his swag- 
 gering airs no longer !" exclaimed Master 
 Buzzard, interrupting his man with great 
 fierceness. " He is ever thrusting him- 
 self in my way a murrain on him ! I 
 cannot -do as my wont for his pestilent med- 
 dling. Wherever he is I must need play 
 mumchance. All run to John a Comba ; all 
 bend to John a Combe ; all listen to John a 
 Combe ! 'Slife ! it maketh me mad to see 
 him so noticed, so praised, so courted, whilst 
 his betters must be thrust aside as worthy 
 of no better heed than a mangy cur." 
 
 " Doth the caitiff ruffle it so bravely ?" 
 inquired the other. " Well, never heard I 
 of such thorough impudency. But what 
 ignorant poor fools must be they who would 
 be led by him ! Marry ! I am so moved 
 with indignation at the slights put on your 
 worship by so paltry a villain, that I know 
 
 not what mischief I should be ready to do 
 him." 
 
 " But that is not the worst of it," con- 
 tinued his master with more vehemence. 
 " He hath put on me intolerable affronts, 
 and as yet all attempts, seek I when I would, 
 to be revenged of him, have been bootless. 
 No later than this very morning, scarce an 
 hour gone, meeting him alone in foe back 
 lane, I drew upon him, thinking I nad him 
 sure ; but the villain carried some amulet or 
 devilish charm ; for though I made my 
 deadliest thrusts with all the skill of which 
 I am master, he remained unhurt, and in a 
 short space my weapon was sent flying out 
 of my hand a full twenty yards ; whereupon, 
 with a Judas smile, the villain bowed to me, 
 and wishing me ' Good day,' took himself off 
 on the instant." 
 
 " O' my life ! 'twas but a coward's trick, 
 master !" cried Saul. " I marvel you did 
 not after him and stick him as he went." 
 
 " By this hand, I would gladly have done 
 it !" exclaimed his master. " But I was so 
 confounded at the flight of my rapier, and 
 at the fellow's assurance, that I knew not 
 what to be at, and ere I had resolved, he 
 had gone clean out of sight. Doubtless he 
 will go bruiting it abroad, as far as he can, 
 how he had 'me at his mercy and spared my 
 life. 'Slife !" continued he with an exceed- 
 ing uneasy and malignant look with him, 
 " methinks I am poorly served when such a 
 fellow as this can do me all manner of of- 
 fence, and go unharmed." 
 
 " Nay, by your leave, master, not so," 
 quickly answered Saul, " when you have 
 had my service in this business, I will be 
 bold to say you shall not count yourself 
 poorly served." 
 
 " I would I could be well rid of him," 
 said Master Buzzard in a lower voice. 
 
 " If it please you, master, let that be my 
 care," observed the other. 
 
 " I hear that he is oft to be met with af- 
 ter dark in the narrow lane at the town 
 end," observed Master Buzzard, his voice 
 gradually sinking to a whisper. 
 
 " A goodly place, and a goodly time too," 
 added the other, with' a sort of half audible 
 laugh, " but mayhap his worship shall choose 
 to go there once too often." Thus went they 
 on, as had men do concert their villanies, 
 half ashamed to look each other in the face, 
 and as their intentions became manifest, 
 dropping their voices to a close whisper, 
 that the evil they would be about might not 
 be heard of any. But in this I can follow 
 them no longer, having gam^in view more 
 worthv of the reader's attention.
 
 26 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 There was a hall to be holden at the town 
 that day, at which the aldermen and others 
 of the corporation had been summoned in 
 such terms as showed it to be a matter of 
 the very hugest importance that called them 
 together.. Whether it related to certain in- 
 telligence of some rebellion broke out against 
 the Queen's Highness, to risings of the pa- 
 pists, ojLjio rumors of invasion from the 
 SpaniarW, seemed not to be clearly ascer- 
 tained ; for among the honest burgesses who 
 had got note of this extraordinary meeting, 
 there were heard as many reasons for it as 
 there were tongues to speak them, whereof 
 the general belief at last rested upon the 
 three above named. That nothing threaten- 
 ed to affect the immediate safety of the town 
 was apparent from the usual air of careless- 
 ness and security that prevailed throughout 
 the principal street. Here might be seen a 
 troop of boys fresh broke out from school, 
 hallooing like mad ; there a knot of a mean- 
 er sort at play, whilst a little one from the 
 school, though hastening home to his pa- 
 rents, kept casting behind him a wistful 
 look, as if he did long to join in their pas- 
 time. One or two big dogs were seen 
 stretched at their length by their master's 
 doors, and now amd then some one or 
 other of a smaller kind would dart out of a 
 doorway, yelping at the heels of the noisy 
 children, till one more courageous than his 
 fellows would up with a- stone, and send him 
 back yelping louder than he came, making 
 the tailor leap from his board, the cordwain- 
 er throw down his lapstone, and the appren- 
 tice leave his work, to see what was the 
 hubbub. Here and there careful mothers 
 were calling out of their casements to has- 
 ten home their boys, or some provident house- 
 wife would be casting a store of victual for 
 the feeding of her stock of fowls, who, with 
 fluttering wings and eager throats, would be 
 seen eagerly Socking towards her. 
 
 In several places, there might be seen 
 some two or three of the neighbors convers- 
 ing soberly and with great show of earnest- 
 ness, more particularly about the doors of 
 the principal burgesses ; and in front of the 
 casements of Master 'Alderman Malmsey, 
 the vintner, where there was a famous 
 group, with a horseman in the midst, look- 
 ing to be so busy of speech as to pay but 
 little heed to the tankards and drinking 
 horns held by some of them. Opposite was 
 the dwelling of Master Alderman Do\vl;is. 
 the draper, with its lower windows showing 
 divers rolls of cloth of sundry colors, whilst 
 at the open clement above sat his buxom 
 fair wile, with Mistress Malmsey at her side, 
 plying oi' her needle with a very commend- 
 
 able industry, and as it seemed using her 
 tongue with a like speed. Coming down 
 the street was a drove of cows, some of 
 which must needs put their heads in the 
 water-tiough before the inn, thinking to 
 have a good drink, but the stable boys would 
 not allow of it, for they drove them off pre- 
 sently, by throwing up their arms, and mak- 
 ing a great shouting. A little curly-haired 
 child scarce big enough to run alone, was 
 standing in the midst of the road mooing at 
 the cattle as bold as you please, and putting 
 out its little hands as if to prevent them 
 going further ; and an elder sister, with a 
 marvellous anxious frightened face, was 
 rushing from a neighboring door-way to 
 hurry him out of danger. All the case- 
 ments, and nearly all the doors, stood invit- 
 ingly open for it was a hot summer's day 
 at the latter end of June, and every where 
 there where signs of a desire to be relieved 
 of the oppressive sultriness of the atmo- 
 sphere, either by seeking of the shady place, 
 or where a draught of cooler air might be 
 gained, or by drinking of tankards of cider 
 and other refreshing liquors, wherever they 
 might be had. 
 
 For all this gossiping and carelessness 
 on every side, it was noted that one or two 
 of the elder aldermen who were going to the 
 hall, wore visages of exceeding gravity, and 
 seemed intent upon avoiding the approaches 
 of such of their townsmen as they met in 
 their way, with looks so suspicious and 
 fearful, that the latter knew not what to 
 make of it. Presently, there came by John 
 Shakspeare and Master Combe, likewise on 
 their way to the hall ; but they looked to be 
 in a more serious humor even than the al- 
 dermen, and would on no account stop for 
 any, which was the more strange, because 
 both were well known to be of a most 
 friendly spirit, and had ever cheerfully an- 
 swered any man's salutation. 
 
 " Whether so fast, my master ?" shouted 
 Sir Nathaniel, as he popped his fat rosy face 
 out at the casement to call them. " Dost 
 pass so exquisite a house of entertainment 
 as this, at the pace thou art going, when the 
 sun seemeth to be intent upon making of us 
 so many St. Bartholomews ? Two rabid 
 dogs could not have behaved less reasonably 
 towards good liquor. Prithee, come and 
 share with us, and doubt not being welcome, 
 even if thou pay for all." 
 
 To this invitation, the two merely shook 
 their heads and continued on their way, to 
 the huge discontent of the curate and the 
 schoolmaster, who, at the sight of them, ex- 
 pected to have had at least an extra tankard 
 or two without hurt to their own puiises.
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 37 
 
 John Shakspeare and his friend then pro- 
 ceeded without further hindrance to the 
 church, and soon afterwards entered the 
 vestry a chamber of no great dimensions, 
 furnished only with a long table, at the head 
 of which was a high-backed chair, and on 
 each side were a couple of benches.. In 
 the chair was the high bailiff, one Timothy 
 Mallet, the wheelwright. Opposite, on a 
 low stool, with a many papers, and two or 
 three huge books before him, sat the dimin- 
 utive form of Jemmy Catchpole, the town 
 lawyer, whf was said to be so learned in the 
 law as to be fitter to be a judge of assize 
 than any living. His sharp grey eyes 
 twinkled with a perpetual restlessness, and 
 his parchment-skin seemed growing of a 
 deeper yellow, as, with a pen in his hand, 
 he watched or made notes of the matter pro- 
 ceeding. On each side were seated such 
 of the aldermen as attended, likewise others 
 of the corporation who were not of the al- 
 dermen ; and Master Alderman Malmsey, 
 with his purple in-grain countenance and 
 very praicheon of a person, who affected the 
 'orator in no small measure, was on his 
 legs, if such round things as he had might 
 
 be so called, denounq(g with a monstrous 
 vehemency a motion, then under discussion, 
 for repairing the parish well. Some listened 
 to him attentively, others were conversing 
 apart ; but it might have been noted, that a 
 
 had appeared so unmindful of what was go- 
 ing on, looked marvelously attentive ; and 
 the others, as if curious to know what one 
 so well esteemed had to say on the matter. 
 w r ere no less careful listeners. 
 
 " I pray you lose not the precious time in 
 such idle stuff as this," exclaimed he. " We 
 want your wisest counsel. We are threat- 
 ened with such calamity as is enough at the 
 mere thought of it, to strike us dead with 
 fear. We cannot thrust it aside. It hath 
 come upon us unprepared. All that can be 
 done is to endeavor to keep the mischief in 
 as narrow a compass as may be possible. 
 Up and be doing then, my masters, without 
 a moment's delaying, for the negligence of 
 one may be the destruction of all." 
 
 At the hearing of this discourse, so differ- 
 ent from what all, excepting the anxious 
 few, expected, the greater number stared in 
 absolute astonishment, and the rest waited 
 as if in the expectation of hearing what was 
 to follow. 
 
 " My friends !" continued the speaker, in 
 a low, thick voice, as if he could scarce 
 speak, " The plague is in Stratford .'" 
 
 " The plague ?" exclaimed many in the 
 same moment of time, leaning forward from 
 their seats, breathless with horror and sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " I would to God there could be a ddubt 
 of it !" replied John Shakspeare. " My 
 
 few wore aspects so anxious as plainly j w r orthy and approved good friend, Master 
 showed their minds were intent on another i Combe, of whose honorableness there can 
 matter. His argument was to the effect, j be none here present who have not had 
 that water was a thing which all honest ; excellent evidence, hath, in one of the mani- 
 men ought to eschew, unless as at the mar- J fold generous offices he is ever intent upon 
 riage at Cana it could be turned into wine, | doing to his poorer neighbors, made this 
 and that wine was a thing most absolute ] doleful discovery ; and with the advice of 
 and necessary to a man's well doing ; there- j divers of the most experienced of my fellow 
 fore, it would be much better to buy a pipe i burgesses, who alone knew of it from me, I 
 of such fine hippocras as he could sell them,'' | have had you here assembled, that you might 
 for the use of the corporation, than to apply learn from him the exact truth, and then 
 any of its funds for the repairing of so un- consider amongst yourselves which will be 
 profitable a thing as a well. At this, up- the fittest way of providing for the common 
 started at once a baker and a butcher, ! safety." 
 
 swearing with equal vehemency, that no- ; At this there was a dead silence ; and 
 thing was so necessary as plenty of bread \ when Master Combe stood up, every eye 
 and meat, and advocating the greater lauda- was strained to scrutinize him, and every 
 bleness of laying in a store of such victual, ' ear stretched forward to hear the most dis- 
 which they could not do better than have of tinctly the promised communication, 
 them, to wasting the corporation funds in " I pray you, my worthy neighbors and 
 the project that had so injudiciously been friends, fear nothing !" exclaimed John a 
 proposed. Others might have followed in a Combe ; " fear will only make you the vie- 
 like strain, but at this instant John Shaks- tim of \vhat you dread ; but courage and 
 peare, who had waited with his stock of pa- good conduct will help you to drive the pes- 
 tience getting to be less and less every mo- tilence from your door. That it doth exist 
 ment, now rose, and with his honest face amongst us, I wouldl could doubt ; and this 
 somewhat pale and of an uneasy expression, is how I came at the knowledge of it. Hear- 
 proceeded to take a share in the debate. It ing that there was a poor family visited with 
 was noticed, that on his rising, the few who a sudden sickness, of which some were like
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 to die had they not help presently, I speeded 
 thither with what medicine I usually carry 
 on such occasions knowing them to be of 
 special benefit in divers disorders. In a low 
 cottage, ruinous, and exceeding dirty, I came 
 upon the sufferers. As God me save, I 
 there saw a sight such as I have not seen in 
 my whole life before ; and trust in Jesu 
 never to see again. I entered at the kitchen, 
 where, in one corner, on a litter of rushes, I 
 beheld one dead, the father of this wretched 
 family, and, by his side, his wife in the last 
 agonies ; the fixed stare of whose yellow 
 eyeballs settling into death, I saw at a 
 glance made all help of medicine out of the 
 case. A babe was crawling on the floor 
 towards her ; but it had a sickly look with 
 it that was ghastly to see. In another cor- 
 ner was a young girl dead also, her fair face 
 getting to be discolored and unsightly ; and 
 in a chair was a boy who, by his dress, I 
 knew was used to labor in the fields, and he 
 complained he felt so deadly bad he could 
 not return to his work. I went into another 
 chamber, where was the old grannam, lying 
 upon a truckle bed, moaning terribly, but 
 saying nought ; and doubled up at her feet 
 was the figure of another ancient dame, who 
 had been her nurse till she dropped where 
 she was, and could not be got to move hand 
 or fcot. I was informed, by a charitable 
 neighbor who came in with me, that this ill- 
 ness had only appeared amongst them since 
 the preceding night, soon after unpacking of 
 a parcel they had received by the carrier 
 from some friends in London. On hearing 
 this I had a sudden misgiving, for I had re- 
 ceived certain intelligence the day previous, 
 that the pestilence had broke out there. My 
 heart was too full to speak ; and when I was 
 further told, that in addition to the inmates 
 of the cottage, sundry of the neighbors who 
 had called in, hearing of their sickness, had 
 been taken with a like disorder, one of whom 
 had given up the ghost not half an hour 
 since, my suspicion took firmer ground. 
 Presently I examined one of the dead. My 
 fears then received terrible confirmation. 
 The plague spot was upon him. Having 
 given such orders as I thought necessary, 
 without .exciting any alarm, I fumigated 
 myself well, and acquainted my good friend, 
 John Shakspeare, with the fearful truth ; 
 and by his advice you have been called here 
 to take instant measures to prevent the 
 spreading of this direful calamity. In what- 
 soever thing I may be of service at this un- 
 happy time, I pray you use me as one friend 
 would use another. Believe me, I will do it 
 lovingly, whatever may be required." 
 Though the speaker concluded what he 
 
 had tr say, for some moments' space none 
 sought to interrupt the awful silence which 
 followed, but sat like so many statues of fear 
 with eyes almost starting from their sockets, 
 mouths partly open, and big drops of perspi- 
 ration standing upon their wrinkled fore- 
 heads. Of the most terrified was the little 
 lawyer upon the stool, who, leaning his el- 
 bows pn the table, and with his pointed chin 
 resting upon his palms, kept his sharp eyes 
 fixed upon John a Combe, looking more 
 frightened as the other proceeded in his nar- 
 ration, till he gave voice to his consternation 
 in an audible groan. Presently, some began 
 to turn their gaze from Master Combe to 
 each other, and finding in every face the hor- 
 ror so visible in their own, they remained 
 stupified and bewildered, till one nigh unto 
 the door rushed out, and with the look of one 
 struck with a sudden frenzy, ran home, shout- 
 ing at the top of his voice, " The plague ! the 
 plague !" and many others of that assembly, 
 put out of all discretion by the greatness of 
 their fear, made from the place with as much 
 speed of foot as they could use, in the hope 
 of securing the safety of themselves and fa- 
 milies. They that were left then proceeded' 
 to take counsel amoihemselves what was 
 fittest to be done ; antnVIaster Combe, being 
 invited by them to assist in their delibera- 
 tions, did give such excellent advice, that it 
 was agreed to by all, with wonderful admira- 
 tion of his wisdom and greatness of heart ; 
 and they sat for several hours making reso- 
 lutions in accordance with what he had pro- 
 posed. 
 
 "I cannot hear of a denial," said Master 
 Combe to John Shakspeare, as they were re- 
 turning together from the hall. " This can 
 be now no proper place for your sweet wife 
 and her young son, or any of her family. 
 Stay they here, it must be at the hazard of 
 their lives, for none can say who shall escape ; 
 whilst if they seek refuge in my poor dwell- 
 ing till the danger hath passed, they need 
 have communication with none, and so shall 
 be in no peril." 
 
 " In honest truth, I like it well, Master 
 Combe, and am much beholden to you for 
 your friendly care," replied his companion. 
 " Yet am I fearful of accepting of your cour- 
 tesy, thinking it may put you to inconveni- 
 ence, and to some danger also." 
 
 " Speak not of it, an' you love me," said 
 the other, with a very sincere earnestness ; 
 " it is at your entire disposal, as long as it 
 may be at your need. As for myself, this is 
 my place. Whilst so many of my neighbors 
 are in such imminent peril, here will I remain 
 to do them whatever office may be expedient 
 for their good."
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 * An' if it please you, worthy sir, I will as- 
 sist you with what humble ability I have," 
 added John Shakspeare ; " I will take order 
 that my dame and her babe proceed forthwith, 
 with their attendants, to the security pro- 
 vided for them ; for which sweet kindness I 
 and mine shall feel bound to you ever after, 
 and will make provision for her having all 
 things necessary ; and then I will hold my- 
 self in readiness to do whatsoever you shall 
 think fittest." 
 
 " I would accept of no help in this matter 
 sooner than your own," answered Master 
 Combe ; " knowing your thorough honesty 
 and well disposedness, as I do ; yet, methinks 
 you shall find sufficient in this strait to watch 
 over the safety of those dearest to- you, and 
 cannot advisedly, when they are looking to 
 you for help, put your life in jeopardy for the 
 Security of others." 
 
 " Nay, by your leave, Master Combe, 
 though I am no scholar, I cannot allow of 
 that," exclaimed John Shakspeare, with some 
 eagerness ; methinks my duty to my neigh- 
 bors calleth me to their assistance when they 
 shall require it of me, quite as loudly as it 
 may yourself." 
 
 " But forget you how many are dependant 
 on your exertions for an honest living, which 
 is not my case," answered his companion. 
 
 " I will see to their safety, and I will look 
 with as much care as I may to my own;" said 
 the other earnestly ; " but, in mine own opi- 
 nion, I should be deserving of the good will 
 of none, were I to slink away when danger 
 was at the heels of my friends, and leave 
 them to stand it as they might, whilst I cared 
 only for the safety of myself and what be- 
 longed to me." 
 
 " Your hand, honest John Shakspeare !" 
 cried Master Combe, shaking his friend's 
 hand very heartily in his own. " Believe me, 
 I love you all the better for having such no- 
 tions. But I must down this lane," conti- 
 nued he, as they stood together at the corner. 
 " I beseech you hasten your sweet wife as 
 much as you can, that she may out of the 
 town with as little delay as need be at such a 
 time, and I will with all convenient speed to 
 my house to prepare for her reception. A fair 
 good night to you, neighbor." 
 
 " God speed you, worthy sir, in all you 
 do !" exclaimed the other, with the same 
 friendly feeling, as Master Combe proceeded 
 on his way. " There wends as good a man 
 as ever broke bread !" continued he, when the 
 object of his praise was out of hearing ; and 
 he stood where he was for some minutes, 
 leaning on his staff", with his honest heart 
 full of admiration, watching the progress of 
 his companion, till turning of the lane hid 
 
 him from his view. It was now just up on 
 twilight, and the lane being bordered by tall 
 trees, closely planted and in their fullest foli- 
 age, a great portion of it was in deep shadow ; 
 but this seemed only to make more fresh and 
 vivid the high bank on the other side which 
 led up into a cornfield, whereof the rich yel- 
 low ears, and the crimson poppies blushing 
 beneath them, as seen in every gap of the 
 hedge, gave promise of abundant harvest ; 
 and the hedge, being of elder in great patches 
 of blossom, looked at a distance like unto 
 pure white linen a drying on the green 
 branches. John a Combe, as he walked 
 along, noticing the quick movements of the 
 bats, whirling here and there in quest of such 
 insects as formed their victual, on a sudden 
 had his eye attracted by a gleam of light on 
 the opposite bank, which at first he took to 
 be a glow-worm, but the next moment distin- 
 guished a large black mass moving in the 
 deep shadow ; the which he had scarce made 
 out to be the figure of a man, when two men, 
 armed and masked, rushed upon him from 
 that very spot. As quick as lightning his 
 rapier was out and he on his defence. A 
 muttered execration was all he heard, as they 
 came upon him both at once, in such a sort 
 as proved they would have his life if they 
 could. John a Combe was on the brink of a 
 dry ditch, and within a few yards of a gate 
 leading to the cornfield, over against which 
 was an opening in the trees that gave a fair 
 light to see all around ; and for this he made, 
 defending himself the whilst so briskly, that 
 neither of his opponents could get him at an 
 advantage. Here having got himself with- 
 out hurt of any kind, he put his back to the 
 gate, and now, seeing that he had before him 
 two stout varlets in masks, who pressed on 
 him as though they would not be baffled in 
 their aims, he presently put forth what cun- 
 ning of fence he had, and so nimble was his 
 steel, and so quick his movements, that he 
 avoided every thrust. This, however, only 
 seemed to make them the more savage and 
 desperate, and they pressed closer upon him. 
 What might have been the end on't, had 
 things gon^n, I cannot take on me to deter- 
 mine ; but me conflict' was stopped much 
 sooner than was expected of any, for one of 
 the two was felled to the earth from an un- 
 seen hand, and the other varlef at the same 
 moment got such a- thrust in his wrist as 
 made him incapable of any mischief. 
 
 " Lie there, caitiff!" exclaimed John Shak- 
 speare, who, loitering at. the top of the kne, 
 had heard the clash of the weapons, and has- 
 tening to the spot had come in time to deal 
 a blow with his staff that rid his fr;end of the 
 fiercest of his assailants. " Lie there for a
 
 30 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 pitiful coward, and a knave to boot. I doubt 
 not hanging be too good for thee, tliou mur- 
 derous villain, to seek the life of one of so 
 excellent a nature. But thou hast not done 
 amiss in hiding of thy face, for I warrant we 
 shall find rascal writ in every line of it. As 
 I live, Master Buzzard !" cried he, in some 
 surprise, as he took off the mask of him he 
 had knocked down. 
 
 " And here have we no bigger a villain to 
 help him than his man Saul !" exclaimed 
 John a Combe, as he tore off the visor of the 
 other. Master Buzzard came to himself pre- 
 sently, for he was but little hurt, and finding 
 he had been completely baffled, he said never 
 a word. As soon as he regained his footing, 
 with a look of devilish malignity he took him- 
 self off, leaving his man to follow as he best 
 might. Neither received hindrance from 
 Master Combe or his trusty friend, who were 
 in truth monstrous glad to be rid of the com- 
 pany of such thorough paced villains. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 And what's a life 1 A weary pilgrimage, 
 Whose glory in one day doth till the stage 
 With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age. 
 And what's a life '? The flourishing array 
 Of the proud summer meadow, which, to-day, 
 Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay. 
 
 QUARLES. 
 
 How now ! Ah me ! 
 God and all saints be good to us ! 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 Death may usurp on nature many hours, 
 And yet the fire of life kindle again 
 The overpressed spirits. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 THE house of John a Combe, so hand- 
 somely offered by him for the reception of 
 Dame Shakspeare and her infant son, lay 
 about a mile from Stratford, the nighest way 
 across the fields ; and had been built some 
 twenty years in a famous cmaint pretty style, 
 with projecting gables, curiously formed and 
 carved ; a latticed porch, whweon all man- 
 ner of delicate flowers were climbing very 
 daintily, and it was enclosed with its garden 
 in a high wall that had iron gates, in an arch- 
 way in front, from, which a broad path led on 
 each side of a well-kept lawn right up to the 
 house. 
 
 Dame Shakspeare had a famous fire of 
 good logs burning in her chamber, the light 
 whereof shewed the goodly hangings of the 
 bed, and rich arras brought from beyond seas 
 that were about the wainscot, with all the 
 
 store of needful furniture in high presses 
 cupboards, chairs, tables, and the like, ex- 
 quisitely carved in choice woods that stood 
 around her on every side. The good dame, 
 clad in a simple long garment of linen that 
 wrapt her all around, sat at some short dis- 
 tance from the fire-dogs, knitting of a pair 
 of hose, whilst over against her sat nurse 
 Cicely, witli the babe in her lap, the front of 
 his white frock hid under a dowlas cloth, 
 that was carefully tucked under his chin, 
 feeding him with a pap-spoon. Nurse talked 
 on without ceasing, gossipping to the mother 
 and prattling to the babe, all in a breath ; 
 but Dame Shakspeare scarce spoke a word. 
 Indeed, her thoughts were in a strange mis- 
 giving humor, fearing for the present, and 
 doubting of the future, till her eye would 
 light on her sweet son ; and then noticing of 
 his exceeding happiness at what he was 
 about, her aspect would catch a sudden 
 brightness, and mayhap she would say some- 
 thing is if there was nought to trouble her. 
 
 " Of those who are dead some say there 
 is no knowing for the number," continued 
 nurse. " They die out of all calculation ; 
 not here and there one, as in honest fashion 
 they should, but everywhere scores. Hum- 
 phrey heard at the gate, of Oliver Dumps, 
 that they went so fast, it was supposed there 
 would soon be none left to tend the sick. 
 Ods lifelings, what an appetite thou hast !" 
 added she, as she kept feeding of the child. 
 " Beshrew my heart, but thou wouldst eat up 
 house and home kept thou this fashion at all 
 times. Well, it's all one. They that are 
 dead cannot help themselves ; and for the 
 living they must trust in God's mercy. How 
 now, chuck ? What, more ! Well, heaven 
 send tlice good store of victuals ! By my 
 troth, methinks Master Combe shall deserve 
 well of us all our days. As for myself, I 
 wish I could know the service I might do his 
 worship, I would not spare my old bones, I 
 promise you. He hath been a mean for the 
 preserving of our lives, that be a sure thing; 
 for it standeth to reason, had we remained m 
 the town, we should have been no better than 
 loathsome corpses long since." 
 
 Dame Shakspeare replied not ; but her na- 
 ture was too forcibly impressed with the 
 load of Obligation she lay under, not to as- 
 sent to all her attendant would express on 
 that point. 
 
 " And thou hast especial reason to be 
 thankful to him, my young master," con- 
 tinued the old woman to her charge ; " by'r 
 lady, thou hadst best make haste to be a 
 man, and shew his worship how grateful of 
 heart thou art for his- goodness. And then 
 to put us all in so delectable a place aa
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 SI 
 
 this,'' added she, looking round the chamber 
 in evident admiration. " O' my life, 'tis a 
 house fit for a prince, and it hath in it every 
 thing that heart could desire. This is his 
 worship's own bed-chamber, as I have heard. 
 Happy the woman who shall have the own- 
 
 their foliage, made a famous rustling as the 
 wind came sweeping among their branches. 
 Every thing looked indistinct and shadowy 
 within the range of sight, and beyond, all 
 seemed as though closely wrapl up in a 
 'shroud. Certes, to one of Dame Shakspeare's 
 
 it, say I ! I protest when I hear how ! disposition, the prospect around must have 
 he hath borne himself throughout the j appeared wonderful melancholy, and it gave 
 dreadful raging of this doleful pestilence, I j a chill to her heart that filled her with mon- 
 am clean lost in wonder and astonishment ; strous disquietude. All was in perfect silence 
 
 at his infinite goodness." 
 
 and solitude, save down below, where Hum- 
 
 " Surely, nurse, it must be somewhat be- phrey, armed with a rusty harquebus, was 
 yond the time they usually come ?" here ex- j marching to and fro within the gate, of 
 claimed Dame Shakspeare ; " I hope nought \ which station he was exceeding proud, as 
 amiss hath happened to either, and yet I was manifest ; for, immediately he caught 
 kfear. Alack, it would go hard with me sight of his mistress at the casement, he 
 were I to lose my husband ; and Master j held his piece firm to his side, made himself 
 Combe hath showed himself so true a friend look as tall as he might, and with a terrible 
 I could not but grieve at his loss. I pray | valorous countenance, as he supposed, con- 
 
 God, very heartily, both are safe." 
 
 " Amen !" said the nurse very devoutly. 
 " But keep up a good heart. I pray you, 
 
 tinned to walk backwards and forwards at 
 his post. 
 
 " Hast seen any thing, Humphrey ?" in- 
 
 mistress. I would wager my life on't no ^ quired Dame Shakspeare. 
 harm shall happen to them. They must " Yes, mistress, an'it please you," replied 
 needs be much too useful to be spared when j he, stopping ,short in his walk, and holding 
 such pitiful work is going forward. But ' of hiniself as upright as any dart. " I have 
 concerning of the time of their usual com- seen old Grammer LambswooFs two sandy 
 ing, I cannot think it hath yet arrived, colored pigs making for home with all the 
 though mayhap it shall be found to be no speed of foot they were master of." 
 
 great way off. Peradventure, rest you pati- 
 ent awhile, you shall hear Humphrey give 
 us note of their approach before long. Ha ! 
 my young rogue !" continued she, address- 
 ing the babe, and fondling him very, prettily, 
 upon finding he would take iKMiiore of her 
 food. " I warrant me now thou hast had a 
 famous meal ! Art not ashamed to devour 
 such monstrous quantities, when victual is 
 so scarce to be had '? O' my conscience, hj| 
 laughed in my very face ! By your pati- 
 
 " Psha ! hast seen any thing of thy mas- 
 ter ?" added the good dame. 
 
 " No, mistress," answered he. 
 
 " Haskseen ought of Master Combe ?" 
 
 " No, mistress." 
 
 Hearing no further questioning; Hum- 
 phrey continued his marching ; and his mis- 
 tress, in no way satisfied with iiis intelligence, 
 remained at the casement silent and ab- 
 stracted. She could hear nurse Cicely 
 walking up and down the chamber, evidently 
 
 ence, mistress, this son of yours is no other j by her speech and occasional humming striv- 
 
 than a very horrible young reprobate, for he 
 seemeth to care for nought when he hath all 
 that he standeth in need of." 
 
 ing to get the boy into a sleep. 
 
 " Well, never saw I the like !" exclaimed 
 Cicely, in tones of such monstrous astonish- 
 
 " Bless his dear heart !" cried the much ment as drew the mother's attention in an 
 delighted mother, rousing up from her me- instant. " instead of getting into a good 
 lancholy at sight of her babe's enjoyment, j sound sleep as I was assured *thou hadst 
 " It glads me more than I can speak to see fallen into, I know not how long since, kere 
 him looking so hearty, and in so rare a art thou as wide awake as am 1, and listen- 
 humor. But I must to the casement, I am ing to my poor singing with a look as if thy 
 impatient of this seeming long delay ;" and ; very heart was in it." Certes, it was as the 
 so saying she suddenly rose from her seat, nurse had said. The babe lay in her arms, 
 and made for the window, a broad casement seeming in such strange wonder and de- 
 which looked out over the porch, for the lights as surely no babe ever showed before, 
 chamber was above the ground-floor, and Even Dame Sliakspeare marveled somewhat 
 opening it she leaned out to watch for her i to note the amazed smiling aspect of her 
 husband. The night had set in, though it ! young son. 
 
 was scarce eight of the clock ; but being the j " By my fay !" continued the old woman, 
 latter end of October that was no marvel. " if this babe come not to be some great mas- 
 Dark clouds were floating heavily in the ter of music, I am hugely mistaken in him. 
 sky, and the trees, though half denuded of ' I remember me now, this is the first time I
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 have chanced to sing in his hearing. Marry, 
 
 "Oh, good God!" shrieked the diseased 
 man in his phrenzy. " Oh, the Infinite 
 Great One ! Thi? '.s the day of doom ! Hide 
 hide, ye wicked ! the ministers of judg- 
 ment compass ye ill about. There is no 
 'scape from the co, Burning fire. It scorch 
 my flesh it burneth my bones to asl 
 
 an' if his worship be so taken with my music, 
 I warrant me he shall have a rare plenty of 
 it, for I have as famous a store of ballads as 
 any woman in Warwickshire." 
 
 " I doubt not they will be well liked of 
 him, judging of the manner he hath taken the 
 first he hath heard," observed his mother. 
 
 At this moment there was heard such 
 horrible unnatural screaming and strange 
 uproar, that made Dame Shakspeare, more 
 full of misgiving than ever, rushed back to the 
 cagement with as much speed as she could 
 use. The first object that met her eye was 
 no other than Humphrey, half lying on the 
 ground, supporting himself with one arm, 
 and one leg doubled under him, and with 
 the other hand holding in his trembling 
 grasp the harquebus he made so brave a 
 show with a few minutes since. He was 
 shaking in every limb; his hat had fallen 
 off, leaving his face the more visible, which 
 bore an aspect of the completes! fright ever 
 seen. His eyes were starting forward, his 
 cheeks pale, and his mouth half open, one 
 jaw knocking against the other as hard as 
 they could. Turning her gaze in the direc- 
 tion in which the boy was staring, as if in- 
 capable of moving away his eyes, though 
 for a single instant, she saw a sight the hor- 
 ribleness of which made her scream out- 
 right. It was a spectral figure at the gate, 
 with long bare arms and legs, alj^livid and 
 gastly, and a face that seemed more terrible 
 to look on than death itself. The pesti- 
 lence in its worst stage was apparent in 
 every feature ; and the glaring eye, blue 
 skin, gaunt jaw, and ragged beard, were 
 more distinguishable for tho sheet in which| |(iands; but when the frightful object got 
 
 Y 
 Ah !" and again the same horrible yell pierc 
 
 the air as he writhed under his pains. 
 
 " Humphrey, I say, drive him away, I 
 prithee !" cried the frightened mother more 
 earnestly than at firs*. " Alack ! if he 
 should break in now we are clean lost !" 
 
 " Ye ye yes, mistress," muttered Hum- 
 phrey, but he sought not to move either his 
 eyes from the man, or his limbs from, the* 
 ground. However, it did so fall out, that 
 the terrible cause of all their fear, after 
 pending of his strength in vainly essaying 
 o" shake down the gates, screaming and 
 jailing after the fashion that hath been told, 
 n the height of his frenzy fell from the 
 ilace he had climbed to down to the hard 
 ground within the walls, where, after twist- 
 ng himself about for some few seconds in 
 he horriblest contortions, and shrieking as if 
 n the last agonies, he finally lay stiff, silent, 
 and manifestly dead. 
 
 " Humphrey ! Humphrey ! get you in 
 doors this instant," exclaimed his mistress 
 n a manner as though she scarce knew 
 what she said. Then wringing of her hands 
 ixceeding pitifully, exclaimed in a low voice, 
 ' Woe is me ! the plague will be upon us, 
 and no remedy." 
 
 Dame Shakspeare had called to Humphrey 
 many times, and though he answered her at 
 :irst, he paid but small attention to her com- 
 
 the head and part of the body were wrapped. 
 He shook the iron bars of the gate as if he 
 would have them down, and tried to climb 
 them, all the whilst giving out such piercing 
 . shrieks as made the blood run cold to hear. 
 
 " Jesu prcservelhe child !" exclaimed the 
 terrified mpther. 
 
 " Flames and the rack !" shouted a hollow 
 sejliilchral voice, as he shook the iron bars 
 again and again. " Hell rages in my every 
 vein ! Fires eat into my heart ! O mercy !" 
 Then arose another scream more wild and 
 piercing than any that had preceded it, and 
 the poor wretch flung his head about, and 
 twisted his limbs, as if in the horriblest torture. 
 
 * Drive him away, good Humphrey !" 
 cried Dame Shakspeare, the sense of her 
 child's danger overcoming all other feelings 
 in her. 
 
 " Ye ye ye yes, mistress !" answerec 
 Humphrey as plainly as his fright wouk 
 allow him, but moved he never an inch. 
 
 within the walls, he did nought but keep re- 
 garding of his motions with an uneasy stare, 
 as if his wits had clean gone ; and now his 
 mistr6ss again called to him, he moved not, 
 nor spoke a word, nor gave any sign, save 
 the loud chattering of his teeth, that he was 
 one of the living. Presently there was heard 
 the sound as of sundry persons, running, and 
 ere any very long time there appeared at the 
 gate divers of the town watch, and others, 
 with torches and lanterns, armed with long 
 staves and other weapons. 
 
 " Get you in, dame, I pray you, and shut 
 to the casement," cried Master Combe from 
 among them. 
 
 " In with you, in God's name, or you are 
 lost !" almost at the same moment of time 
 shouted John Shakspeare ; and h's wife, 
 with a hurried ejaculation of her great com- 
 fort at hearing of their voices, did as she 
 was bid, and sunk into a chair more dead 
 than alive.
 
 THE YOUTH OF SilAKSPEARE. 
 
 33 
 
 " I would rather hare given a thousand 
 pounds than he should have escaped," said 
 Master Combe. " I pray God no harm come 
 of it to your sweet wife and children." 
 
 " I cannot help but fear, the peril is so 
 great," replied John Shakspeare in a some- 
 what desponding tone. 
 
 " Lord ha' mercy upon us !" muttered a 
 voice not far off of them. 
 
 "As I live, 'tis my knave Humphrey!" 
 exclaimed his master, looking through the 
 bars of the gate. '.*Why how now ! what 
 art doing there ? Get thee in by the back 
 way on the instant, and stir not while we 
 are gone." 
 
 " La, what, be that yon, master, indeed ?" 
 cried out Humphrey with a sort of foolish 
 joy, as he recognized the voice. 
 
 " Get thee in, I tell thee !" replied the 
 other sharply, and Humphrey not caring to 
 take another look at the dead man, walked 
 himself oft", and soon disappeared behind the 
 house ; whereupon his master with a key he 
 had, opened the gate, and by the directions 
 of Master Combe, the corpse was presently 
 placed upon a hand-barrow and carried 
 away by the watchmen ; then a fire of dry 
 sticks was made on the spot where it had 
 fallen, in which certain aromatics were 
 flung, which made a cloud of smoke that 
 filled the air all round about for a great 
 space. After it had burned some time, 
 John Shakspeare called to his wife that she 
 might ope the casement, and she waited no 
 second calling. Then passed they nigh 
 upon an hour in very comfortable discourse 
 one with another, as if it was a customary 
 thing of them, she leaning out of the cham- 
 ber, and her husband and worthy Master 
 Combe standing upon the lavrn beneath, 
 closely wrapped up in long cloaks, and car- 
 rying lighted torches in their hands. 
 
 " I cannot express to you how glad I am 
 lo hear of the abating of the pestilence," 
 Said Dame Shakspeare. " Tis the pleasant- 
 est news I have heard this many a day. 
 But think you it may be relied on ?" 
 
 " I have taken the very surest means of 
 proving its perfect credibleness," answered 
 Master Combe. 
 
 " Not so many have died of it to-day by 
 twenty as died yesterday," added her hus- 
 band ; " and yesterday we buried ten less 
 than the day before." 
 
 " I am infinitely thankful !" exclaimed she 
 in a famous cheerfulness. " I heartily pray 
 it may continue so."' 
 
 " So do we all, sweet dame," answered 
 Master Combe. "And I have good assu- 
 rance, now we are blessed with the prayers 
 of one so worthy, we cannot help but speed 
 
 in our endeavors. But the night wears on 
 apace. I pray you pardon me for hurrying 
 away your husband. O' my life I would not 
 do it, only we have that to look to this night, 
 which cannot be done without him." 
 
 " Ay, Dame, we must be going," added her 
 husband. <: So a good sweet rest to thee, 
 and kiss my boy lovingly for me I prithee." 
 
 " That will I dear heart, without fail," 
 answered she. " And a fair good night to 
 you both, and may God above preserve you 
 in all perils." 
 
 " Good night, sweet dame, and infinite 
 thanks for your kind wishes," said Master 
 Combe ; and then he and his associated left 
 the house, locking the gates after them ; 
 and proceeded straight to the town. 
 
 Now was there a wonderful difference in 
 this town of Stratford to what it had been 
 only a few months since, when I sought the 
 picturing of it ; for in place of all the pleasant 
 riot of children and general gossiping of 
 neighbors, all was dumb as a churchyard ; 
 save at intervals, \he wail of the sorrowful 
 or the shriek of the dying disturbed the 
 awful stillness. Scarce a living creature 
 was to be seen excepting the watchman 
 keeping guard, to whom divers of the un- 
 happy burgesses would talk to out of their 
 windows, inquiring who of their friends were 
 yet spared, or one or two having been close 
 prisoner* in their own houses, would creep 
 stealthily along the street to breathe the 
 fresher air, looking about them suspiciously 
 and in great dread, and ready to fly at any 
 unusual sound ; and instead of the sun 
 throwing its warm beams upon the house- 
 tops and other open places, there was a sul- 
 len darkness everywhere about, except just 
 where one carried a torch or a lantern with 
 him, which made a faint red light therea- 
 bouts, or when the moon burst out of the 
 deep black clouds, and disclosed to view the 
 deserted streets grown over with patches of 
 rank grass ; the melancholy houses, many 
 nntenauted because of the pestilence having 
 spared none there, divers with a red cross 
 upon their doors in evidence that the plague 
 had there found a victim, and the rest with 
 doors and windows carefully barred and 
 lights streaming through the closed shutters 
 a glad sign that there at least none had 
 yet fallen. 
 
 John Shakspeare and Master Combe, 
 closely wrapped in their cloaks, entered the 
 principal street just as the moon made a 
 clear path for herself in the sky, and threw 
 such a light as made them distinguish objects 
 for the time almost as well as in broad day. 
 The first person they met was no othei
 
 34 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEA11E. 
 
 than Oliver Dumps, armed with a bill, and 
 wearing a face so wp-begone as was pitiful 
 to look on. 
 
 " Well Oliver, what news ?" inquired 
 Master Combe. 
 
 "News!" exclaimed the constable in his 
 dolefullest manner. "Prithee what news 
 canst expect to hear at such a miserable 
 time ? As I am a Christian man, and a sin- 
 ful, I am nigh worn out with melancholly. 
 What a world is this ! Alack, what will be- 
 come of us ? I see no end to the evil where- 
 of this town is so full. We are all villainy 
 very villainy, as I am a Christian man." 
 
 " Why what hath happened, good Oli- 
 ver?" asked John Shakspeare. 
 
 "Wickedness hath happened," replied 
 Oliver Dumps; "the very shamefullest 
 wickedness ever I came a nigh. Well may 
 we be visited by plagues. Our natures are 
 vile. We run after iniquity as a curtail 
 dog runs i' the wheel." Then, being further 
 pressed by Master Combe to come to the 
 point, he added, " First, there is Sir Nathan- 
 iel, who will not be moved to do any good 
 office for the sick ; and Master Buzzard, 
 who, setteth his dogs at me, should I venture 
 to ask of him to assist his poor neighbors. 
 Then Stripes is ever getting of money from 
 a parcel of ignorant wretched folk to con- 
 ^ jure the pestilence away from their houses ; 
 added to which, no longer ago than scarce 
 the half of an hour, I came upon Simon 
 Lumpfish and Jonathan Swiggle, two of the 
 town watch, in the kitchen of an empty 
 dwelling, making use of a barrel of strong 
 beer without any color of warrant, by each 
 laying of his length on the floor, and put- 
 ting of his mouth to the bung-hole." 
 
 " They shall be looked to," observed Mas- 
 ter Combe ; " but come you , with us, good 
 Oliver, perchance we may need your assis- 
 tance." Then turning to one of the watch, 
 who was stationed at a door-way, he in- 
 quired how things went in his ward. 
 
 " One hath died within this hour over at 
 Peter Gimblet's,an'it please your worship," 
 answered the man respectfully ; " and there 
 are two sick here at Dame Holloway's. 
 They do say that Morris Greenfinch be like 
 to recover ; and in some houses hereabouts, 
 where the plague hath been, they have 
 taken it so kindly that it hath scarce been 
 felt." 
 
 After bidding of him keep strict watch, 
 they continued their walk; and presently 
 heard a voice of one calling across the way 
 to his neighbor opposite. 
 
 " How goeth all with you ?" 
 
 " We are all well, thanks be to God ! 
 neighbor Malmsey. And how fareth your 
 
 bed-fellow ?" replied one from a casement 
 over against him. 
 
 " Bravely, neighbor Dowlas, I thank you," 
 said his brother alderman ; " they do say 
 there is some show of the pestilence abating ; 
 I would it were true, else shall we be all 
 ruined for a surety. 1 have not so much as 
 sold a pint of wine for the last week past." 
 
 " Nor I a yard of cloth, for a month," 
 added the other. " I pray God, the survi- 
 vors may have the decency to go into 
 mourning for their tot relations." 
 
 " And so your good dame is well, neigh- 
 bor ?" asked Alderman Malmsey. 
 
 " As well as heart could wish," replied 
 Alderman Dowlas. 
 
 " Commend me to her, I pray you," said 
 the o|her ; and then with a " good night," 
 each closed his casement. Upon proceed- 
 ing a little further on, the party were stop- 
 ped by the melodious sweet sound of several 
 voices, intent upon the singing of some holy 
 hymn. Perchance it might have proceeded 
 from some pious family ; for in the quiet 
 night, the ear could plainly enough distin- 
 guish the full deep bass of the father, join- 
 ing with the clear sweet trebles of his wife 
 and children. And exceeding touching it 
 was at such a time to hear such proper 
 singing ; indeed, so moved were the three 
 listeners, that they sought not to leave the 
 spot till it was ended. 
 
 " That be David Hurdle's voice, I will 
 be bound for it," exclaimed the Constable. 
 " Indeed, it be well known he hath, during 
 the raging of the pestilence, spent best part 
 of the day in praying with his family, and 
 in the singing of godly hymns. He is a 
 poor man some call him a Puritan, but I 
 do believe him to be as honest good Chris- 
 tian man as any one in this town, be they 
 rich or poor, gentle or simple. But what 
 villainous rude uproar is this, my masters ! 
 that treadeth so close on the heels of such 
 exquisite music ?" 
 
 r faith, Oliver Dumps had good cause to 
 ry out as he did ; for all at once they were 
 startled by a number of most unmannerly 
 voices, shouting in very boisterous fashion 
 such profane words as these : 
 
 " If we boast not a fire, 
 That is just our desire 
 
 What then ? We must needs burn the bellows ; 
 And if here there's a man 
 Thai hath nought in his can 
 What then? He's the prince of good fellows." 
 
 "Odds, my life !" exclaimed a voice that 
 was heard, amid the din of laughing and 
 shouting-, and other lewd behavior. " Odds,
 
 THE YO 
 
 3UTII 
 
 OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 my life, tnat is as exquisite a catch as ever 
 I heard. Methinks, : tw the very movinest, 
 mirthfullest a . What sayest Tickle- 
 breech ?" 
 
 " Exactly, so, an' it please your rever- 
 ence," replied the voice of the schoolmaster, 
 in a tone somewhat husky. 
 
 " By'r lady, master parson," said another, 
 " methinks 'tis of that, superlative exquisite- 
 ness 'twould tickle (a hiccup) the ribs of 
 a tombstone." 
 
 Master Combe, and his companions, 
 peeped through the crevices of the shutters, 
 and beheld Sir Nathaniel seated at the head 
 of a table covered with drinking vessels, 
 with Stripes opposite him, and nigh upon a 
 score of low idle disorderly vagabonds sit- 
 ting round making merry, but with mon- 
 strous little assurance of sobriety in their 
 looks. 
 
 " Lord ! Lord ! an' these fellows be not 
 heathens. I marvel what they shall rightly 
 be called," said the scandalized constable. 
 
 " It grieves me to see Sir Nathaniel so 
 readily accommodate himself to such dis- 
 creditableness," observed John Shakspeare. 
 
 '"Slight!" exclaimed Master Combe, 
 whose nature was vexed to behold such a 
 scene with such actors in it ; " he is a very 
 hog that will swill any wash that is given 
 him, let it be where it may." 
 
 The ringing of a large hand-bell now at- 
 tracted their attention elsewhere ; and look- 
 ing along the street, they observed a cart 
 slowly proceeding towards them, accompa- 
 nied by two or three stout fellows, some 
 carrying torches, and others armed with 
 bills. It stopped at a house where was a 
 red cross on the door, at which having 
 knocked, and the door opening, two stepped 
 in, and presently returned, bearing of a 
 heavy burden betwixt them, with the which 
 they ascended a short ladder, and, without 
 any word spoke, cast into the cart. Then 
 ringing of the bell again they continued 
 their way, till some door opening noiseless- 
 ly, they stopped, entered, and with the same 
 dreadful silence carried out, what on nearer 
 approach, proved to be a corpse, which was 
 added to the rest they had, in the manner 
 that hath been described. 
 
 "Hast taken many this round?" asked 
 Master Combe, of one of the watchmen 
 walking in front of the horse. 
 
 "No, your worship, God be thanked," 
 replied the man. 
 
 " Hast many more to take ?" asked John 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " I expect not master," said the other. 
 Indeed, from all I have witnessed and can 
 
 get knowledge of, it seemeth to me the pes- 
 tilence be abating wonderfully." 
 
 " God send it may come to a speedy end- 
 ing." excaimed Oliver Dumps, with some 
 earnestness ; it maketh me clean out of- 
 heart when I think of what ravage it hath 
 made." , 
 
 The three now walked at the horse's 
 head, conversing concerning of who, had 
 died, and who were sick, and the like mat- 
 ters, stopping when the cart stopped, and 
 going on when it proceeded ; but always 
 keeping before the horse, because of the 
 wind blowing from that direction. At one 
 house the men remained lorfger than was 
 usual, and the door being open, there was 
 heard a great cry of lamentation as of a 
 woman in terrible affliction. 
 
 " Ah, poor dame, she hath infinite cause 
 for such deep grieving," said the*constable. 
 
 " Go, get you hence !" cried one very ur- 
 gently from within the house. ",As God 
 shall judge me, he shall not be touched." 
 
 " What meaneth this ?" inquired John 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " I say it shall not be," continued the 
 same voice. " I will die ere I will let him 
 be borne away from me. Hast hearts? 
 Hast feelings ? Dost know of what stuff a 
 mother's love be made ? Away villains." 
 
 " 'Tis a most pitiful story," observed Mas- 
 ter Combe. Wondrous pitiful ! in sooth, 
 she hath been sorely tried. But I must in, 
 else in her desperation she will allow of no- 
 thing ; and mayhap they may be violent 
 with her." 
 
 " What wouldst do ?" inquired John 
 Shakspeare, catching his friend by the arm, 
 as he was making for the door. " Surely, 
 if there is one dead here, you will only be 
 endangering of yourself by venturing in, 
 and no good come of it to any." 
 
 " I pray you think not of it," cried Oliver 
 Dumps, seeming in famous consternation. 
 !i There hath more died in that house than 
 in any two in the town." 
 
 " Fear nothing ; I will be back anon," 
 said Master Combe, as he broke away and 
 entered at the open door. 
 
 " Alack, think not of following him, I 
 pray you, John Shakspeare !" called out the 
 constable, in increased alarm, as he beheld 
 the one quickly treading upon the heels of 
 the other. " Well, never saw I such wan- 
 ton seeking^ of death. They be lost men. 
 'Twill be dangerous to be in their company 
 after this; so I'll e'en have none on't." 
 And away started he in the direction of his 
 home. In the mean while the other two 
 reached an inner chamber, where was a 
 sight to see that would have melted any
 
 f* 
 m 
 
 26 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ntone. On a low bed there sat a matronly 
 woman, of decent appearance, with an as- 
 pect pale and exceeding careworn, and her 
 eyes full of such thorough anguish as is 
 utterly impossible to be described ; and she 
 held, folded in her arms, the body of a youth 
 seeming to be dead of the pestilence. 
 
 " The last !" exclaimed she, in most mov- 
 ing tones, as she fixed her tearful gaze on 
 the discolored object in her lap. " Husband 
 children all gone, despite my tender 
 nursing, and constant hope this one might 
 be spared, and now that each followed the 
 other, and here am I woe is me ! widow- 
 ed, childless, and heart-broken. Alack, 'tis 
 a cruel world !" And thereupon she sobbed 
 in such a sort dfc could not be seen of any 
 with dry^yes. 
 
 " But they shall never take thee frcfm me, 
 my dear boy," continued she in a like piti- 
 ful manner. " Heretofore I have borne all 
 and flinched none ; but thou hast been my 
 last stay, whereon all the love 1 bore thy 
 good father and thy brave brothers, was 
 heaped together ; and losing thee, I lose my 
 very heart and soul ; so, quick or dead, I 
 will cling to thee whilst I have life. Away ! 
 insatiate wretches !" she cried, turning her 
 mournful aspect upon the two men; " Hast 
 not had enough of me ? Dost not see how 
 poor a case 1 am in for the lack of what 1 
 have l>een used to ? Begone !" And then 
 she hugged the lifeless youth in her arms as 
 if she would part with him on no account. 
 Neither Master Combe or John Shakspeare 
 felt as they were complete masters of them- 
 selves ; but they knew it could not be proper 
 that the dead should stay with the living. 
 
 " Believe me, we sympathize in your great 
 afflictions with all our hearts, good dame," 
 at last observed the former to her, with that 
 sweet courteousness which was so natural 
 to him. " But I pray you, have some pity 
 on yourself, and be resigned to that which 
 cannot be helped." 
 
 " Ah, Master Combe !" cried she, now 
 first observing him, " I would I could say 
 I am glad to see you ;, for, in truth you 
 have been an excellent good friend to me 
 and mine iii our greatest need ; but as it 
 Beemeth to me my heart's strings be so upon 
 the stretch, 'twould be but a mockery to say 
 BO, Oh, the misery !" and then she bowed her 
 head and wept exceedingly. At this Master 
 Combe endeavored all he could to give her 
 comfort ; and as his speech was wonderfully 
 to the purpose, though at first she was deaf 
 to all argument of the sort, by degrees he 
 won her to some show of reason. 
 
 " But he shall not be touched !" she ex- 
 claimed, mournfully, yet determinedly. 
 
 " Who so proper TO carry him out of the 
 world as she who brought him in it ? I will 
 have no rude hand laid on his delicate 
 limbs. I will to the grave with him myself. 
 Alack ! poor boy, how my heart aches to 
 look at thee !" Then carefully wiping off 
 the tears she had let fall upon his face, she 
 proceeded to wrap him in a sheet, ever and 
 anon giving of such deep sobs as showed in 
 what extremity she was in. This Master 
 Combe sought not to interrupt ; and John 
 Shakspeare's honest nature was so moved 
 at the scene, he had no mind to utter a 
 word. Even the men, used as they must 
 have been to sights of wretchedness, re- 
 garded not what was going on in total in- 
 differency, as was manifest in their aspects. 
 But the movingest sight of all was to see 
 that hapless mother, when she had disposed 
 of her dead son as decently as she could, 
 bearing the heavy burthen in her arms with 
 a slow step, looking pale as any ghost, and 
 in such terrible despair as can never be con- 
 ceived. The men, as they led the way with 
 a lantern, were forced more than once, to 
 draw the cuffs of their jerkins over their 
 eyelids ; and Master Combe and John Shak- 
 speare followed her, full of pity for her sor- 
 rowful condition. She bore up bravejy till 
 she came to the door, when the sight of the 
 dead-cart, made visible by the red glare of 
 the torches, came upon her with such a sud- 
 denness, that she swooned away, and would 
 have fallen on the ground, had not Master 
 Combe ran quickly and caught her in his 
 arms. Then, by his direction, her dead son 
 was placed with the other corpses, and she 
 carried back to the room she had left ; and 
 after seeing she had proper attendance, he 
 and John Shakspeare proceeded with the 
 watchman and others that had the care of 
 the cart, calling nowhere else as they went 
 in so doleful a humor that they spoke- never 
 a word all the way. They came to a field 
 outside of the town, where was a great hole 
 dug, and a la*ge mound of fresh earth at the 
 side of it. At this time, some of the men 
 took in their hands mattocks which were 
 stuck in the soil, others backed the cart so 
 that the end of it should come as nigh as 
 possible to the pit, and the rest held torches 
 that the others might see the better. Scarce 
 any spoke save Master Combe, who, in a 
 low tone, gave such orders as were needed. 
 Presently the cart was tilted, and in the 
 next moment the bodies of those dead of the 
 pestilence swept into the rude grave pre- 
 pared for them. 
 
 " By God's body, I heard a groan !" cried 
 John Shakspeare, with a famous vehemence. 
 In an instant there was so dead a silence
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 you might have heard a pin drop. What had 
 been said was true enough, for ere another 
 minute had elapsed, alt there distinctly 
 heard a sound of groaning come from the 
 pit. Each of the men looked at his neigh- 
 bor in silent, terror, and speedily as they 
 might brought their torches to throw as 
 much light as they could into the pit's 
 mouth. 
 
 " Alack ! I fear we have buried the living 
 with the dead !'' exclaimed Master Combe, 
 evidently in a monstrous perplexity. Every 
 eye was strained to note if any sign of life 
 was visible amongst the mass below. What 
 a sight was there presented to the horror- 
 struck gazers ! Arms and legs and upturned 
 faces that had burst from their frail cover- 
 ings, all discolored and ghastly, looking more 
 hideous than can be conceived. 
 
 " As I live, something moveth in this cor- 
 ner !" cried John Shakspeare. 
 
 "Alight here, ho !" shouted Master Combe 
 in a voice that brought every torch to the spot 
 ere the words had scarce been uttered ; and 
 all were breathless with expectation. To the 
 extreme consternation of every one there, 
 Master Combe suddenly seized a torch out of 
 the hands of one of the watch who was nigh- 
 est to him, and leaped in amongst those foul 
 bodies, close upon the spot pointed out by 
 John Shakspeare. 
 
 " Help all, if ye be Christian men ! " cried 
 Master Combe, as if he was exceeding mov- 
 ed, whilst those above were gazing down up- 
 on him, bewildered with very fear. " Help, 
 I pray you 1 for here is the widow's son alive 
 yet ; and if care be used without loss of time, 
 perchance we shall have such good fortune 
 as to restore him to her to be her comfort all 
 her days." 
 
 Methinks there needs no telling of what 
 alacrity was used to get the youth out of the 
 pit with all speed, every one forgetting of his 
 danger in the excitement of the case. Suf- 
 fice it to say, he was rescued from his ex- 
 pected grave before he had any conscious- 
 ness of being there, and that such treatment 
 was used as soon turned to his profit ; for he 
 recovered, and grew to be hale soon. Of the 
 infinite joy of the late bereaved mother, when 
 that her dead son was restored alive to her 
 loving arms, shall I not attempt to describe, 
 for to my thinking, it is beyond the extremes! 
 cunning of the pen. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
 When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 
 
 GREECE. 
 
 O flatterer false, thou traitor born, 
 What mischief more might thou devise 
 Than thy dear friend to have in scorn, 
 And him to wound in sundry wise ? 
 Which still a friend pretends to be, 
 And art not so by proof I see. 
 
 Fie, fie upon such treachery ! 
 WM. Hux.vis. (Paradise of Dainlie Devices.) 
 Who will not judge him worthy to be robbed, 
 That sets his doors wide open to a thief, 
 And shows the felon where his treasure lies 1" 
 BEN JONSON. (Every Man in his Humor.) 
 
 TIME passed, and with fy passed away all 
 sign of the dreadful scourge that had fallen 
 so heavily on the good town of Stratford. So 
 out of mind was it, that the honest burgesses 
 scarce ever talked of the subject, save per- 
 adventure some long winter's eve, when tales 
 were going round the chimney corner, some 
 one or another would vary the common gos- 
 siping of ghosts and witches, fairies and such 
 like, with a story of the fearful plague, the 
 which never failed to make the hearers, ere 
 they entered their beds, down on their mar- 
 row-bones, and very heartily thank God they 
 had escaped such imminent, terrible danger 
 Everything was going on just in the old plea- 
 sant way. 
 
 John Shakspeare had been made an alder- 
 man of, and was now advanced to the dignity 
 of high bailiff, being also in a fair way of bu- 
 siness, and in excellent repute, for his tho- 
 rough honesty, among his fellow-burgesses ; 
 nor was it forgotten of them the good part 
 he played with Master Combe in the time 
 of the pestilence. Of these, neither had suf- 
 fered by the manifold dangers in which they 
 had oft ventured ; nor had Dame Shakspeare, 
 or her family either, notwithstanding of the 
 frights he had been put to. As for her sweet 
 son William, he grew to be as handsome and 
 well behaved a child as ever lived in the 
 world, and the admiration of all who could 
 get sight of him. Concerning of his intelli- 
 gence above all other children that ever liv- 
 ed, nurse Cicely gave such marvelous ac- 
 counts, that he must needs have been a pro- 
 digy ere he was in short coats. Be this as it 
 may, there can be no manner of doubt he 
 gave, at an exceeding early age, many signs 
 of excellence, and of aptitude for such learn- 
 ing as the inquisitive young mind is ever 
 most intent upon. 
 
 Once when John Sliakspeare, with Huia-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 phrey and others who assisted him in his bu- 1 cate, sweet enjoyment as is unknown to mor 
 siness, were laboring hard in weighing and tals, till the morning star appeareth in the 
 sorting and packing certain tods of wool, the skies, when away hie they to their hiding- 
 good dame was in her chamber seated, ply- i places, every one as swiftly as if he had wings 
 ing of her needle famously, and on the floor, : to carry him." The boy listened with his 
 just at her feet, was her young son, having j fair eyes upturned, gazing in his mother's 
 
 by him certain toys such as children com- 
 monly find some pretty pastime in. Some- 
 times he would seem monstrous busy divert- 
 ing of himself with these trifles, prattling to 
 himself all the whilst ; anon he would leave 
 off, and lifting up his face, would ask some 
 question of his mother, the which if she an- 
 swered not, be sure he would importune her 
 with infinite earnestness till she did. Close at 
 hand there was a spinning-wheel ; on the 
 wainscot were two or three samplers, con- 
 taining divers fiae texts of Scripture, with 
 flowers worked round the border, doubtless 
 of the good dame's own working. On a 
 square table of oak was a basket with threads 
 and tapes and the like in it ; l>eside it was 
 some cloth of a frolic green, of which she ap- 
 peared to be making a new frock for the boy, 
 with such pretty fantasy of her's in the fashi- 
 oning of it, as she thought would become him 
 most. The casement, which looked out into 
 the garden, being unclosed, there was upon 
 the ledge a large ewer filled with sprigs of 
 lavender, that made the chamber smell very 
 daintily. Nurse Cicely was assisting of 
 Maud in a further room, the door of which 
 being open, the two could be seen at their 
 employment, getting up the linen of the fa- 
 mily for nurse had grown greatly in her 
 mistress' confidence, because of her constant 
 affectionateness and care of the child, and of 
 her trustworthiness and wonderful skill in all 
 household matters. 
 
 " Mother, I pray you tell me something 
 concerning of the fairies of whom Nurse 
 Cicely discourseth to me so oft !" exclaimed 
 the boy. 
 
 " Prithee, wait till nurse hath leisure," re- 
 plied his mother. " She knoweth more of 
 them than do I." 
 
 " An' you love me, tell me are they so 
 mindful of good little children as she hath 
 said ?" added he more ungently. 
 
 " In deed, I have heard so," answered the 
 dame. 
 
 " I marvel where they shall find lodging, 
 be they of such small stature ?" observed 
 the child. 
 
 "It is said they do commonly sojourn in 
 the cups of the sweetest flowers," said she ; 
 " hiding themselves all the day therein, in the 
 deepest retreats of woods and lonely places : 
 and in the night time come they out in some 
 green field, or other verdant space, and dance 
 merrily of a summer's eve, with such deli- 
 
 face in a famous seriousness and wonder, 
 then seemed he to ponder awliile on what 
 had been told him. 
 
 " And how many little children be possess- 
 ed of such goodness as may make them be 
 well regarded of these same fairies ?" asked 
 he at last. 
 
 " They must give way to no naughty be- 
 havior," answered his mother. " They must 
 not be uncivil, nor froward, nor capable of 
 any kind of disobedience or obstinacy, nor say 
 any thing that is not true, nor be impatient, 
 or greedy, or quarrelsome, nor have any un- 
 cleanly or untidy ways, nor do any one thing 
 they are told not." 
 
 " I warrant you I will do none of these," 
 exclaimed the boy. 
 
 " But above all they must be sure learn 
 their letters betimes," continued the other ; 
 " that they may be able to know the proper 
 knowledge writ in books, which if they know 
 not when they grow up, neither fairy nor any 
 other shall esteem them to be of any good- 
 ness whatsoever." 
 
 " I warrant you I will learn my letters as 
 speedily as I can," replied the child eagerly. 
 " Nay, I beseech you mother, teach them to 
 me now, for I am exceeding desirous to be 
 thought of some goodness." The mother 
 smiled, well pleased to notice such impati- 
 ence in him, and bade him leave his toys and 
 fetch her a horn-book that was on a shelf with 
 a few books of "another kind, the which he 
 did veiy readily ; and then as he stood lean- 
 ing on her lap, seriously intent upon observ- 
 ing of the characters there put down, she told 
 him of what names they were called, and 
 bade him mark them well, that he might be 
 sure not to mistake one for another. This 
 very willingly he promised to do, and for 
 sometime, the whilst she continued her work, 
 yet with a frequent and loving eye on his 
 proceedings he would pore over those letters, 
 saying to himself what their names were, or 
 if he stood in any doubt, straightway questi- 
 oning of his mother upon the matter. 
 
 " B ut what good are these same letters of, 
 mother ?" inquired he all at once. 
 
 " This much, replied Dame Shakspeare 
 " knowing of them thoroughly one by one, 
 you shall soon come to be able to put them 
 together for the forming of words ; and when 
 you are sufficiently apt at that, you shall 
 
 all such words as are in any sentence
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 39 
 
 which you shall find to be made up of such ; 
 and when the reading of these sentences be 
 familiar to you, doubt not your ability to mas- 
 ter whatsoever proper book falleth into your 
 hand for all books are composed of such 
 sentences." 
 
 " Is it so, indeed !" observed the boy in a 
 nretty sort of innocent surprise. " And do 
 any of these goodly books discourse of the 
 fairies you spoke of awhile since ?" 
 
 " All, that do they, and famously I warrant 
 you," answered his mother. 
 
 " Oh ! how glad of heart shall I be when 
 I can muster such books !" exclaimed the 
 child very earnestly ; " for I do long to learn 
 more of these fairies. Dost know, mother, 
 that after nurse hath sung me songs of them, 
 or told me marvelous pretty tales of them, as 
 is her wont till I have fallen asleep, it hath 
 seemed to me as if crowds of such tiny folk 
 out of all number, shining so brightly in their 
 gay apparel of the finest colors, as though I 
 was with them in the fair sunshine, have 
 come thronging to me, offering me this dain- 
 ty nice thing and the other dainty nice thing, 
 and singing to me sweeter songs than nurse 
 Cicely sings, and dancing and making sport 
 with such infinite joy as would make any 
 glad to be of their company ; and whilst they 
 continue, they show me such wonderful great 
 kindness, and afford me such extreme pfea- 
 sure, it grieveth me when I wake to find they 
 are all gone. So that I am exceeding de- 
 sirous, as I have said, to make myself as 
 good as I can, and to learn my letters as 
 speedily as I may, that I may be admitted to 
 play with them, and be loved of them as much 
 as they will let me." 
 
 The good dame marvelled somewhat to 
 hear this, and to note with what pleased ex- 
 citement it was said, for sooth to say, it was 
 a right pleasant picture, as ever limner drew, 
 to see those intelligent eyes so full of deep 
 expressiveness, and the fair forehead sur- 
 rounded with its clustering, shining curls, 
 and the delicate, rosy cheek and smiling 
 mouth, that could of themselves have dis- 
 coursed most exquisite meaning, even though 
 that most melodious voice had failed in its 
 proper office. 
 
 " Marry, but you have pleasant dreams, 
 methinks !" exclaimed she at last. 
 
 " Ay, that have I,'' replied the boy : " yet 
 I like not waking, and all this sweet pleasant- 
 ness go away, I know not w T here. But I must 
 to my lesson of the letters," added he, as he 
 took to his horn-book again ; " else shall the 
 fairies take me to be of no manner of good- 
 ness, and straightway have none of me. 
 
 " Yes, an' it please you, mistress is within. 
 I pray you enter," nurse Cicely was here 
 
 heard to say in the next chamber " I doubt 
 not she will ,be exceedingly glad of your 
 company ; so walk in, I beseech you. Here 
 is Mistress Alderman Dowlas, an' it please 
 you, mistress !" exclaimed she, entering the 
 chamber, closely followed by the draper's 
 wife, looking very cheerful, and dressed in 
 a scarlet cloak and a hat, with a basket in 
 her hand and her purse at her girdle, as 
 though she were going to marketing. 
 
 " Ha, gossip, how farest ?" inquired the 
 visitor, making up to her host, with a merry 
 tripping pace. 
 
 " Bravely, neighbor, I thank you heartily," 
 replied she, and then they two, kissed each 
 other affectionately, and nurse Cicely got a 
 chair, and having wiped the seat with her 
 apron, sat it down close to her mistress. 
 
 "And how's the dear boy f Come hither, 
 you pretty rogue, I would have a kiss of 
 you.!" exclaimed the alderman's wife, as 
 she sat herself at her ease, and gave the bas- 
 ket for nurse to place on the table. 
 
 " An' it please you, I am learning of my 
 letters," said the child, shrinking closer to 
 his mother's side. 
 
 " Nay^ by my troth, this is somewhat un- 
 civil of you," cried the dame, though she 
 laughed merrily all the time. " But I doubt 
 you will use a woman so when you get to be 
 a man." 
 
 " He will have none of his father in him 
 an' he do," observed nurse, " for he had the 
 wit to win one of the very comeliest women 
 all the country round." 
 
 " La, nurse, how idly you talk !" exclaim- 
 ed Dame Shakspeare, then bending her head 
 to her young son to hide a slight blush that 
 appeared on her fair cheeks, she said to him 
 " Go you to neighbor Dowlas like a good 
 boy I pray you." 
 
 " Ha, come hither straight, and mayhap I 
 shall find you some keepsake ere we part," 
 added her neighbor. The child moved 
 slowly towards her, with his eyes steadfastly 
 regarding of his horn-book, till she raised 
 him on her knee and caressed him ; and yet 
 he was as intent on the letters as ever. 
 
 " And what has got here, I prithee, that 
 thou art so earnest about ?" asked Mistress 
 Dowlas, as she examined what he had in his 
 hand. " A horn-book, as I five ! and dost 
 really know thy letters at so early an age ?" 
 
 " By'r lady, of all children ever I met, he 
 exceedeth them in aptness at any sort of 
 learning," cried nurse Cicely, putting of lu's 
 frock straight because of its appearing some- 
 what rumpled ; " as I live, I never heard of 
 his fellow : wilt believe it, mistress ? if by 
 chance I sing him a ballad the which he is 
 ever a calling of me to do, he will have it
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 and again ; and, perchance, ere the 
 day is over, he will be playing with his toys 
 and singing of thatveiy ballad all the whilst !" 
 
 " Oh, the dear boy !" exclaimed the dra- 
 per's pretty wife, as she cuddled him closer 
 in her arms, the mother looking on with a 
 famous satisfaction in her features ; " and 
 canst tell me those pretty letters ?" inquired 
 she of him. 
 
 " Nay, I doubt I can tell you them all," 
 replied the child ingeniously ; " but methinks 
 I know a good many of them." Then point- 
 ing with his finger on the several characters 
 as he named them, he continued " first here 
 is A, that ever standeth astraddle ; next him 
 is B, who is all head and body and no legs ; 
 then cometh C, bulged out behind like a 
 very hunchback ; after him D, who doeth 
 the clean contrary, for his bigness is all be- 
 fore ; next," here he hesitated for some few 
 seconds, the others present regarding him 
 with exceeding attentiveness and pleasure 
 " next here is alack, I have forgotten of 
 what name this one is called : mother, I pray 
 you tell me again !" It was told him pre- 
 sently. Then went he on as before, with 
 great seriousness naming of the letters with 
 some few mistakes, in most of which he 
 quickly corrected himself, and coming to a 
 halt when he was in any doubt of the matter 
 which ended in his asking help of his mo- 
 ther none interrupting him till he came to 
 the last of them. 
 
 " There is a scholar for yon !" cried nurse 
 Cicely in an ecstacy of admiration ; " saw 
 any such wonderful cleverness? O, my 
 Christian conscience, I am amazed at be- 
 holding of such a marvel ! Well, an' he 
 come not to be some famous learned clerk I 
 shall be hifgely disappointed." 
 
 " Dear heart, how I love thee !" exclaimed 
 Mistress Dowlas, kissing him with an earn- 
 est show of affection ; " rturse, prithee give 
 me the basket ; I have got him there a deli- 
 cate piece of march-pane, which I doubt not 
 will give him infinite content ; and here in 
 my purse I have got a bran new silver groat 
 fresh from the mint, which he shall have of 
 sne as a keepsake." 
 
 " Marry, what a prodigal goodness !" 
 cried nurse, as she did what was required of 
 her without loss of time ; but he meriteth it 
 well, he doth, I will be bound for him, and 
 every good thing in this world that might 
 grace his having." 
 
 "What say you to neighbor Dowlas for 
 her great kindness ?" inquired the much de- 
 iighted mother, as her young son took in his 
 hands her visitor's gifts. 
 
 " I thank you right heartily, neighbor 
 Dowlas," replied he, lifting up his fair eyes 
 
 with such modesty and gratefulness express- 
 ed in them, as charmed her heart to see. 
 
 " I'faith, should I be inclined to become 
 covetous, methinks here I should find ample 
 excuse for it," observed the draper's wife, 
 patting of the child's rosy cheeks as she put 
 him down from her lap ; then rising, added, 
 " But now I must hie me home as speedilj 
 as I may for the getting of dinner ready, for 
 I have tarried so long a space since my com- 
 ing out, that perchance my good master shall 
 give me up altogether." 
 
 The draper's wife having gossiped all 
 she had to say concerning of her neighbors 
 and their doings, kissed the boy and his 
 mother very lovingly, and took her leave. 
 
 Now the reader hath already had some 
 acquaintance with those worthies, Master 
 Alderman Dowlas and Master Alderman 
 Malmsey, but methinks 'tis high time he 
 should know more of them for the better 
 understanding of this story. Both had been 
 married some time to two as proper women 
 as ever were seen. The former of the two 
 was a rigid, serious, methodical fellow to all 
 outward appearance ; somewhat tall and 
 slender, with hard solemn features, as hath 
 been described ; and the other was one of a 
 right jolly face and portly person, with a 
 merry dark eye, ever a winking at some 
 pretty woman or another, and a short black 
 beard, with hair of a like color. Eacli was 
 turned of forty, and therefore ought to have- 
 been of discreet behavior ; and as for their 
 wives, if ever men had inducement to honest 
 conduct, they had in possessing of such 
 women ; for they were ever of an admirable 
 pleasant humor, of notable excellence in 
 what women ought to be, and in all res- 
 pects such good wives, that it was not pos- 
 sible to say ought to their discredit. Each 
 was a little short of thirty, and having had 
 no children, had not yet parted with their 
 youthfulness, and the innocent happy care- 
 lessness which is so oft its companion. They 
 were friends from girls, and loved each other 
 as though they were sisters. 
 
 " Neighbor Dowlas !" cried a well-known 
 voice, as the draper's wife was crossing to 
 her house ; and looking up, she saw her 
 gossip Mistress Alderman Mamlsey leaning 
 out of her casement. " I pray you come in a 
 while, I have a matter of some moment for 
 your private car." 
 
 " I'll come to you this very instant," an- 
 swered the other, and straightway passed 
 into the vintner's dwelling. Scarce had she 
 got within the threshhold, when the jolly 
 vintner bustled up to her with a marvelous 
 obsequious courtesy welcoming her to the 
 house, pressing her to taste of his best wine,
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 41 
 
 And leering in her face the whilst, whisper- ' 
 ing all sorts of sugared compliments in her 
 ear. 
 
 "Nay, prithee let me go !" exclaimed she, 
 striving to free her hand, which he held in 
 his as they stood at the bottom of the stair. 
 " You riurt my fingers, you vile wretch, with 
 your intolerable squeezing/' 
 
 " Oh, delectable Mistress Dowlas !" cried 
 he, kissing of her hand in seeming rapture ; 
 " the stars are but pitiful rushlights to those 
 exquisite bright eyes, and that delicate fair 
 cheek out-rivaleth the peach's richest 
 bloom." 
 
 " Away with you, and your poor flatter- 
 ing stuff !" said the draper's pretty wife, still 
 striving to break away from him ; " I'm 
 not to be cozened so easily, I promise you." 
 
 " I beseech you, dearest life, allow me one 
 sweet salute !" whispered he, in most en- 
 treating tones, as he brought his face as 
 close as he could to her's." 
 
 " There's one prithee, make the most 
 on't !" exclaimed she, as the took him a box 
 on the ear that made the place ring ; and 
 then ran laughing up stairs. 
 
 Neighbor Malmsey wore a more serious 
 face than was her wont. At least so thought 
 neighbor Dowlas, as she entered her cham- 
 ber ; and after the customary courtesies 
 were over, and the two were seated close 
 together, neighbor Malmsey looked more 
 serious still. 
 
 " I have a matter to speak of, that mak- 
 eth me exceedingly dull at heart," com- 
 menced Mistress Malmsey. 
 
 " Doubtless, 'tis concerning the improper 
 behavior of her wretch of a husband," 
 thought Mistress Dowlas ; then added aloud v 
 "Believe me, I am infinitely concerned also." 
 
 " I hope you will not think the worse of 
 me for telling you," continued the vintner's 
 wife ; " but 1 assure you, rather than allow 
 of your being unhappy by knowing it, I have 
 for many years past endured much of un- 
 
 Eleasantness at his hands, and said nought 
 ut rebuke him for his wantoness. 
 
 " Alack, we cannot all have good hus- 
 bands !" exclaimed her gossip, in a conso- 
 lotary sort of manner. 
 
 " Now, my Jonathan " 
 
 " But he only groweth the bolder for my 
 forbearance," continued neighbor Malmsey, 
 interrupting the other. Indeed, he getteth 
 to be quite abominal, and must have a 
 speedy check put to his misdeeds, or his 
 wickedness will soon make such a head, 
 there will no putting of him down." 
 
 " O' my lite, I cannot count him so bad 
 as that," observed neighbor Dowlas, as if, 
 with a view of affording the ill-used wife 
 
 some comfort. " Perchance, it \ only a 
 little wildness that good counsel will make 
 him ashamed of speedily. Now, my Jona- 
 than " 
 
 " I am glad you think no worse of him," 
 quickly answered the vintner's wife ; " but 
 methinks, it looketh to be a very shameful 
 impudency in him to go on so, and have so 
 good a wife." 
 
 "Ay, 'tis monstrous that, of a surety !" 
 cried her gossip. 
 
 " But I have done with him," added 
 neigbor Malmsey, with some earnestness ; 
 " he hath lost my good opinion long since. 
 I will foreswear his company, an' he mend 
 not soon." 
 
 " Prithee, take not to such extreme mea- 
 sures !" said the other, concernedly. " Find- 
 ing no profit in it, I doubt not he will alter 
 his way, and I will take good heed he shall 
 do you no matter of dishonesty." 
 
 " Marry, I can answer for that," observ- 
 ed her companion ; " but I do .assure you I 
 have talked to him many times c*f the 
 heinousness of the offence, and ftever at 
 any time have given him the slightest pro- 
 vocation for such notorious misbehaving to 
 you." 
 
 " Of that I feel well assured," answered 
 neighbor Dowlas ; and if at last he do not 
 love you as fondly as ever man loved his 
 wife, I shall be hugely mistaken." 
 
 ' Eh ? What ? Love me ?" exclaimed her 
 companion, looking in a famous wonder. 
 ' ; But I marvel you should make jest of it. 
 I would not in such a case I promise you ; 
 but it glads me infinitely to say there is no 
 tear of such a thing. My Timothy giveth 
 me no sort of uneasiness." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried her neighbor, seeming 
 in a greater amazement than the other had 
 been. 
 
 " I would your husband would take a pat- 
 tern of him." 
 
 " I would nought of the kind, neighbor 
 Malmsey," quickly ejaculated the draper's 
 wife, with a very absolute earnestness. " I 
 like not my husband to be ever a running af- 
 ter another man's wife, seeking of unlawful 
 favors of her, as for years past Master 
 Malmsey hath done to me, I promise you." 
 
 " My Timothy run after you, neighbor 
 Dowlas !" screamed out the vintner's wife, 
 bounding from her seat in as absolute as- 
 tonishment as ever was seen. 
 
 " By my troth, yes," answered her com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Oh the horrid villain !" exclaimed the 
 other. 
 
 " He is ever pestering of me with hia 
 foolish flatteries and protestations of kve,
 
 42 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 id the like poor stuff," added the draper's 
 ife. "I have no rest from him when I 
 have such ill-hap as to be in his company. 
 Nay, as I came in here he would needs 
 have a kiss of me at the stair-{pot,'but I up 
 with my hand and gave him so rude a sa- 
 lute on the ear, I donbt not I have taken all 
 conceit of such favors out of his head." 
 
 " Oh, the abominable caitiff!" cried 
 neighbor Malmsey. 
 
 " I liked not telling you of it, thinking it 
 might vex you," continued the other, " so 
 I bore it as good luunoredly as I could, and 
 should not have spoke of it now had you 
 not begun the subject upon my entering of 
 the room." 
 
 " 'Twas of Master Dowlas's shameful 
 behavior to me I was. speaking," said the 
 vintner's wife. " He hath followed me up 
 and down for years in this way, spite of all 
 I could say or do." 
 
 " What, my Jonathan !" now cried the 
 other, starting'from her chair in a greater to 
 do than her companion had been. " The 
 absolute %retch ! But I will be even with 
 him, I warrant you. Please you, neighbor 
 Malmsey, to leave -the revenging of the 
 wrong done us by these pitiful hypocrites ; 
 it shall be done after such a sort as shall 
 punish them handsomely for their intended 
 villainy, and in remembrance of it, keep them 
 from all such baseness for the future." 
 
 " That will I, and willingly, gossip," an- 
 swered her companion with the tears in her 
 eyes. " But he hath oft pressed me to give 
 him a private meeting, prithee, say what I 
 had best do." 
 
 " I have a merry cousin of mine, who 
 will help us in this purpose of ours," replied 
 neighbor Dowlas. " So you must e'en in- 
 vite him to sup with you alone at Widow 
 Pippins.' I will do the same with my wor- 
 shipful gallant, and if you learn your part of 
 me, we will have as exquisite sport as ever 
 misused woman had of a vile husband." 
 
 " Rely on me," said neighboi Malmsey. 
 " But, as 1 live, I hear the voice of your 
 precious partner talking to mine on the 
 stair-foot !" exclaimed she. 
 
 " Doubtless they will both make for here, 
 so do you as I have said, and leave the rest 
 to my managing," added the other. She 
 had scarce said the words, and they had re- 
 seated themselves, when, as they appeared 
 intent upon some deep discourse, there 
 entered Master Alderman Dowlas, with his 
 usual great soberness of manner, having his 
 brother alderman behind him in a jesting 
 humor, as he seemed, as if quite forgetful of 
 the box of the ear he had just had. 
 
 " P.erdie ! here is one about to send the 
 
 town crier after you, fair Mistress Dowlas ! M 
 exclaimed he, making up to her as gallantly 
 as ever. 
 
 " Indeed, I have marveled hugely on ac- 
 count of your long stay abroad, knowing 
 not how you had disposed of yourself," said 
 the draper. " But I am wonderfully con- 
 tent to find you in such admirable company. 
 And how doth my fair life ?" whispered he, 
 glancing at his friend's wife most enamor- 
 ed ly, as he followed her to a distant part of 
 the chamber, and vowing and entreating and 
 flattering of her, as though it were done for 
 a very wager. Nor was Master Malmsey 
 in any way behind him in such ill-doing, as 
 may be supposed, for he sat down with his 
 back to the other, before Mistress Dowlas, 
 exercising of his tongue with the movingest 
 expression he could think of, and gazing at 
 her comeliness as though it were the rarest 
 feast for the eye that the whole world con- 
 tained. Neither thought of glancing to- 
 wards where was his wife. Indeed, each 
 was too intent on what he was about to heed 
 what the other was a doing, not imagining 
 such a thing as his friend attempting- of the 
 same thing as he was himself straining 
 might and main to accomplish. Howsoever, 
 in the space of a few moments this private 
 talk was broke up, manifestly to the excee- 
 ding contentation of these worthless hus- 
 bands. 
 
 " What an absolute fool is neighbor Malm- 
 sey, that he looketh not closer after his 
 wife !" thought Master Alderman Dowlas, 
 as he descended the stair looking solemn aa 
 an owl. 
 
 " What a very ass is neighbor Dowlas, 
 that he cannot see that I am making love to 
 his wife before his face ?" thought the vint- 
 ner, with an inward chuckle of satisfaction 
 at his own cleverness and better fortune. 
 
 All that day the draper appeared in a 
 most exquisite satisfaction with himself. 
 The seriousnesss of his aspect was oft dis- 
 turbed with a happy smile, and as the noon 
 wore out, he kept ever asking of the hour. 
 
 " Dame," said he at last, after he had 
 spent a wonderful time in washing and 
 decking himself out in his best apparel, till 
 he looked as spruce and stiff as a roll of 
 buckram ; " there is a certain godly man 
 over at Ilillsborough, that I have promised 
 neighbor Hurdle to go and hear preach this 
 night ; if, peradventure, I should tarry long, 
 prithee, get thee to bed betimes. I am loath 
 thy rest should be shortened by waiting up 
 for me." 
 
 " Marry ! I should like to go myself to 
 hear the good man," observed his wife, 
 somewhat mischievously by the way, " for
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 43 
 
 methinks his preaching cannot fielp being ' the widow Pippins. There was she leaning 
 as good for rne as for you/' j on her elbows over the railing, as, if watch- 
 
 " But the distance is far too great for thy | ing for him, her brown face crinkling upon 
 
 walking, dame, else shouldst thou without 
 fail," replied he very readily. 
 
 " Nay, but I walked to Barston last 
 Shrovetide, which is a good mile longer," 
 ea-id she. " I doubt not such a jour- 
 ney will do me an especial good service, 
 to say nought of the godliness of it." 
 
 " Indeed, I would take tliee with all my 
 heart," added her husband, " but since the 
 last rains some parts of the road are utterly 
 impassible for huge deep ponds that go right 
 across." 
 
 " Then will we borrow John a Combe's 
 grey horse, and I will ride behind you on a pil- 
 lion," answered his wife, as if desirous to 
 bring him to a nonplus. 
 
 " O' my life ! I cannot wait to go a bor- 
 rowing now, so I must e'en wish thee good 
 bye, and take thee another time," replied 
 Master Dowlas ; and then, as if fearful she 
 would more strongly desire to go, as quick 
 as he might he took himself 'straight out of 
 
 the house. Scarce 
 street when he was 
 
 had he entered the 
 hailed by his jolly 
 
 her red arms, like a rasher of bacon on the 
 burning coals. Perchance she might be 
 laughing, but Jonathan Dowlas was not 
 nigh enough to see very distinctly. Get 
 thee in quick, T prithee, and I will be with 
 thee straight." 
 
 The alderman obeyed her bidding with a 
 stately alacrity, and he had scarcely got 
 fairly housed when he was met by mine 
 hostess, whose still bright eyes, albeit though 
 she was a woman, somewhat advanced in 
 years, twinkled with a most merry mali- 
 ciousness. 
 
 " Follow me," whispered she, evidently 
 striving to suppress a laugh, and then giving 
 him a sly nudge and a wink, added, " Oh, 
 thou villain !" led the way to a chamber, 
 of the which she had scarce closed the door, 
 when she burst out into a long loud laugh, 
 the draper looking on as though he knew 
 not what to make of it. " By my fay, now 
 who would ha ve thought of this !" exclaim- 
 ed she, holding of her sides, and looking 
 at him with exceeding, yet with a mon- 
 strous ludicrous intentness. " Where didst 
 get the powder to make so exquisite fair a 
 woman so infinitely in love with thee as is 
 Mistress Malmsey?" The alderman re- 
 laxed somewhat in the seriousness of his 
 aspect at hearing this intelligence. " She 
 dotes on the very ground thou dost walk 
 on !" continued she, and the alderman smiled 
 outright. " But who would have suspect- 
 ed this of one so serious as thou art ? O 
 my womanhood ! what a very rogue thou 
 art !" saying which she fetched Master 
 Dowlas so sore a thump on the back, that it 
 went some way towards the knocking of 
 him off his legs. 
 
 " Poor Master Malmsey !" cried she, as 
 plainly as she could in the midst of her 
 laughing, " Alack ! he hath no suspicion of 
 his wife's huge fondness for thee, I'll be 
 bound for't. Knowing of thy notable grav- 
 ity, he cannot have the slightest color of 
 jealousy. But, I charge thee, use her with 
 a proper handsomeness. She is none of 
 your light madams she hath a most gentle 
 spirit, and is the very delicatest, sweetest 
 o x , creature I ever came nisrh." Then fixing 
 
 that hung in famous clusters even up to the on him a look in which seriousness and 
 thatch. The other part looked to be the sta- i mirth seemed striving for the mastery, she 
 bles, pigsties, and the like sort of places, 'cried, "Go .to, for a sly fox!" and hitting 
 Jonathan made for the entrance holding up i of him just such another thump as she gave 
 his head as high as he might. him a moment since, with a fresh burst 
 
 ; Ha, ha! Master Alderman, ar't there !" of laughter she left him to himself, 
 exclaimed a voice from the gallery, and Jonathan found that he was in a long 
 looking up, the draper's eye caught sight of narrow chamber, strewed with rushes, wilh 
 
 neighbor opposite, standing at his door in 
 his Sunday jerkin and new gallygaskins, 
 as finely trussed as ever he was when a 
 good score years younger. To his qufttion 
 where was he going so fine, the draper an- 
 swered as he had told his wife, then Master 
 Malrnsey declared to the other that as his 
 good dame had gone a visiting to her aunt's, 
 he intended making a night on't with a few 
 choice spirits at his cousin Birch's. Thus 
 each were deceived, and each laughed in his 
 sleeve at the other's credulity. 
 
 Jonathan Dowlas proceeded on his way, 
 hugging himself in his own conceit at the 
 pass he had brought matters to with the 
 buxom Mistress Malmsey, till he came to 
 the outskirts of the town, where was a small 
 inn known as "The Rose," kept by the 
 widow Pippins, in famous repute for her 
 careless free humor, and fondness for jests 
 of all sorts. The building, or buildings, for 
 there seemed more than one, were connected 
 by a wooden gallery that run across right 
 in front of the yard, on one side of which lay 
 the more respectable portion of the tenement, 
 with its boarded front covered with grapes,
 
 44 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 a door at each end, and one at the side, at 
 which he had entered having in the mid- 
 dle a small' table set out for supper, with a 
 larger one at the further end of the chamber, 
 completely covered with a cloth that fell 
 down to the ground on all sides of it, and it 
 was fairly hung round with arras, some- 
 what the worse for its antiquity, for it 
 gaped in some places sadly. He had hard- 
 ly noticed these things when the door at 
 the bottom of the room opened, and there 
 entered Mistress Malmsey, clad in her very 
 gayest attire, and looking, as the alderman 
 thought, more blooming than ever he had 
 seen her. He with an exceeding forma) 
 sort of gallantry, hastened to get a chair 
 for her, expressing of his extreme rapture 
 at her goodness in giving him this appoint- 
 ment, and then sat himself down as close 
 to her as he could, taking her hand very 
 lovingly in his, and commencing his fa- 
 mous fine compliments, protestation?, and 
 entreaties, with an earnestness that he im- 
 agined was sure of prevailing with any 
 woman. The vintner's wife answered with 
 some coyness, that convinced him what the 
 widow Pippins had said was true enough, 
 and he straightway redoubled his exertions, 
 fully assured that his success with her was 
 beyond all doubting. 
 
 " Divinest creature !" exclaimed the 
 enamored draper, looking at his companion 
 as lack-a-daisical as a hooked gudgeon. 
 " fairest, sweetest, super-finest she alive ! 
 I do assure thee ray affections be of the best 
 nap, and will wear in all weathers, and I 
 will give tbee such liberal measure of my 
 love as shall make thes infinitely loath to 
 have dealings elsewhere." 
 
 " Alack, men are such deceivers!" cried 
 Mistress Malmsey. " They soon depart 
 from what they promise." 
 
 " Count me not as such, I pr'ythee," re- 
 plied the alderman, " I am warranted fast. 
 I do assure thee, I am none of such poor 
 fabrics I am of the finest quality, even to 
 the fag end. Oh, exquisitest Mistress 
 Malmsey, an' you do not take pity on me 
 straight, I must needs lie on the shelf like 
 a considerable remnant, of which the fash- 
 ion hath gone out of date." 
 
 " Hush ! as I live, there is my husband's 
 voice !" here exclaimed the vintner's wife, 
 to the great alarm of her lover, and both 
 staited up together, seeming in a wonderful 
 surprise#nd affright. 
 
 " What ho ! house here !" shouted Mas- 
 ter Alderman Malmsey, from the stair 
 foot. 
 
 " Hide thee, good master Dowlas, or I 
 am lost," exclaimed the vintners wife, and 
 
 before Jonathan could look about him, she 
 had vanished out of the bottom door ; but 
 he was not allowed time to think what he 
 should do in such a dilemma, for he heard 
 the footsteps of his neighbor close upon the 
 door, so, as speedily as he could, he crept 
 under the table at the further end of the 
 room, imagining that the other was merely 
 paying of a passing visit, as he was pro- 
 ceeding to his cousin Birch's, and would 
 tarry but a short time. Here he lay snug- 
 ly ensconced, not daring to peep' out for 
 fear he should be seen. Presently, in 
 came the jolly vintner, humming of a tune, 
 and bandying jests with the widow Pippins, 
 who led the way with a light it getting to 
 be nigh upon dark and, by her loud laugh- 
 ing, was in as fine a humor at beholding 
 him in her house, as she had before been at 
 seeing his neighbor. 
 
 " Odds pittkins, what a jest !" cried the 
 merry widow, putting the light upon the 
 supper table. "Happy man ! added she, 
 looking on him as seriously as she could, 
 and then giving him a sly poke on the ribs, 
 exclaimed, as plain as her loud laughing 
 would allow, " but what a monstrous poor 
 fool is her husband !" At which saying of 
 hers, Master Malmsey joined in the laugh 
 right earnestly. 
 
 " T^ere is never such an ass in Strat- 
 ford," said he, when his mirth would allow 
 him words. He is so weak of conceit in 
 the matter that he will allow of my making 
 love to his wife before his eyes. J3ut mum, 
 widow mum's the word," said he, myste- 
 riously, " I should not like of his knowing 
 what kindqess I am doing him. Mayhap 
 he would take it somewhat uncivil of me. 
 So be close, widow, I prithee. 
 
 " As a fox," replied the other knowingly. 
 
 " Dost not think, a man who taketh no 
 better heed f his wife, ought to be so serv- 
 ed T' inquired the vintner. 
 
 " O' my troth, yes !" answered the widow, 
 breaking out into a fresh peal of laughter ; 
 " And trust me, I would think it good sport 
 to help make a fool of him." 
 
 " I thank thee exceedingly," said Master 
 Malmsey. 
 
 " Nay, thou hast small cause of thanks, 
 believe me, Master Alderman," replied his 
 merry companion, with the tears running 
 down her cheeks from sheer mirth ; " I do 
 it out of good will out of good will, I do 
 assure thee." Then nudging him o' the 
 elbow, having an exceeding sly look with 
 her, she added " Art thou not a rogue, 
 now, an espepial rogue a very cozening 
 rogue, to make the flower of all Stratford 
 to be so taken with thee 2"
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 45 
 
 * It cometh entirely of her fool of a hus- 
 band," answered the vintner, chuckling 
 mightily. " He would allow of our being 
 together at all times, and was ever thrust- 
 ing of her, as it were, into my arms. How 
 could I help myself. I am but a man, and 
 she so exquisite sweet a creature ! So, 
 whilst he was humming and hawing to my 
 pood dame, I had her up in a corner, ma- 
 King of love to her by the hour together." 
 
 "Fie <>n thee, Master Alderman!" said 
 she, shaking her head as if with a famous 
 seriousness. " Thou art a dangerous man 
 for any jtoor woman to be with, so I will 
 e'en be quit of thy company. I'faith thou 
 art a sad rogue." Then fetching him a 
 poke i' the ribs that made him gasp for 
 breath, she hurried out of the room laugh- 
 ing more heartily than ever. 
 
 All this made Jonathan Dowlas prick up 
 his ears, and he marvelled hugely who could 
 be the frail wife his neighbor was enamored 
 of as he had had no suspicion of such a thing ; 
 whereof the knowledge of it he had now 
 gained, made him think of his designs on 
 Mistress Malmsey a proper punishment for 
 his brother alderman's unpardonable con- 
 duct towards his friend, whoever he might 
 be. Full of all sorts of speculations on the 
 matter, he remained in his hiding place 
 without moving, for he could hear the vint- 
 ner humming of a tune, and walking to and 
 fro, and was cautious his hiding place might 
 not be discovered. Presently the door 
 opened and some one entered, whom Master 
 Malmsey addressed in such a manner as 
 made Jonathan feel assured it was the very 
 woman- the other declared he so loved. She 
 answered in so small a voice she could not 
 be well heard in the draper's hiding place ; 
 and, in a minute after, the two seated them- 
 selves at the farther end of the room, where, 
 although he had heard each word his neigh- 
 bor spoke, because of the greater loudness of 
 his speech, of his companion distinguished 
 he never a word, it seemed to be uttered in 
 such a whisper. The extreme movingness 
 of the vintner's speech at last filled his 
 neighbor with so absolute a curiousness to 
 know who it was the other was so intent 
 upon loving, that he began with wonderful 
 cautiousness, to lift up a part of the table 
 cover, so that he might take a peep without 
 being seen. 
 
 The first thing he got sight of was neigh- 
 bor Malmsey, kneeling on one knee with his 
 hand to his heart, with nothing but the most 
 desperate and uncontrollable affection in his 
 looks, and such an absolute irresistibleness 
 in his speech, that it was as if no woman 
 must stand against it. Before him was 
 
 seated a female very prettily attired, whose 
 face being somewhat in the shade, and a 
 little turned from him, Master Dowlas could 
 not at all make out. The candle wanted 
 snuffing abominably, or perchance he would 
 have seen better. 
 
 " Prithee turn not away those lustrous 
 eyes," exclaimed the vintner in a rare im- 
 passioned manner ; " the poor knave thy 
 husband heedeth not their brightness ; and 
 that most delicious lip, that rivaleth my 
 choicest wines in the tempting richness of 
 its hue, why should such a sorry feliow as 
 he is have its flavor to himself, who mani- 
 festly careth not for it. All my heart 
 longeth but for a taste. My dear sweet, 
 prithee allow it but this once. I will be 
 bound to thee ever after. I will hold thee 
 in more regard -than my chiefest customer. 
 Come, we dally with opportunity. I will 
 be bold and steal it an' thou wilt not give 
 after so much asking." Just at this mo- 
 ment the speaker made an effort as if to 
 salute his companion, and she moving at 
 the same time brought her full face to the 
 light, and Jonathan Dowlas beheld his own 
 wi'fe. A clap of thunder would not have 
 startled him more than such a discovery ; 
 indeed so monstrous was" lie moved at it 
 that he clean forgot where he was, and 
 rising quickly hit himself so sore a crack o' 
 the crown against the table, that he could 
 do nought for some minutes after but rub 
 his pate and vow vengeance against his 
 false wife and wicked treacherous neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 " By'r lady now, I must go up," cried Mis- 
 tress Malmsey from below, so loud that all 
 heard her. 
 
 " O' my troth, here is your wife coming, 
 and if she catch us I shall be undone !" ex- 
 claimed Mistress Dowlas, immediately after 
 which the unhappy draper heard the shuffling 
 of feet, and he was left in darkness. 
 
 " Now if his wife come here, I will have 
 excellent revenge," thought he. Presently 
 he. heard a door open, and some one cry out 
 in a whisper " Master Alderman," where- 
 upon he stealthily left his hiding place. 
 
 " Hist!" cried he, fumbling his way on tip- 
 toe across the room. 
 
 " Hist !" replied some one else, evidently 
 making towards him with as little noise as 
 possible. 
 
 " Prithee where art, my honey sweet ?" 
 inquired the former ; " since thy departure 
 here hath been that most wretched villain, thy 
 husband, seeking to do me the most mon- 
 strous wickedness with my wife ; but if I pay 
 him not handsomely there is no smoothnesa 
 in velvet. Come Hither quick, my dear life
 
 40 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 for I am impatient to have thee in my most 
 fond embrace !" 
 
 "Ha, indeed!" cried Master Malmsey, 
 who had hid himself behind the arras when 
 his fair companion had ran off with the light, 
 and hearing a voice cry " Master Alderman," 
 crept out, thinking she had returned to him. 
 " Take that and be hanged to thee !" where- 
 upon he made a blow ; but, being in the dark, 
 he hit nothing. 
 
 " Villain, art there !" exclaimed Master 
 Dowlas in as towering a rage as his neighbor; 
 " let me but get at thee, I'll maul thee I war- 
 rant ;" and both proceeded to strike th? empty 
 air in a most terrible passion ever seen ever 
 and anon giving the panels such famous 
 thumps, that it made their knuckles smart 
 again. 
 
 " Dost call this going to hear a godly man 
 at Hillsborough, thou traitorous caitiff?" sar- 
 castically asked the vintner, hitting on all 
 sides of him, and jumping here and now 
 there, in his desire to punish his false neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 " Ay, marry, as much as it be going to 
 Cousin Birch's, 5 ' retorted the other, coming 
 on more cautiously and with less noise, yet 
 no less intent on vengeance. In consequence 
 of the one being so wonderful quick in his 
 movements, and the other so quiet, he could 
 not be heard moving, there was no harm done 
 for a good space, save by hurting themselves 
 stumbling over chairs and the like, which was 
 sure to make he who was hurt in a greater 
 rage than ever, and to be more intent upon 
 having his vengeance of the other. It would 
 have been a goodly sight to have seen this 
 precious pair of husbands, if they could have 
 been seen in the darkness, each so earnest 
 upon punishing of the other for the same 
 thing he was himself guilty of, and giving 
 vent to no lack of ill names and execrations, 
 which he who uttered quite as richly merited 
 as he to whom they were addressed. At last 
 the vintner got within an open door at the 
 top of the room, where the draper pounced 
 upon him like a cat, and as they were tuss- 
 ling away with all their might it was closed 
 behind them and fastened without their know- 
 ledge. Neither had the slightest idea he was 
 now in a different chamber, for in truth nei- 
 ther had time to give the matter a thought, 
 each having enough to do to defend himself 
 from the other's hearty cuffs, sometimes roll- 
 ing together on the floor, and anon hustling 
 each other on their legs, yet with no great 
 damage to either. After some minutes spent 
 this way both left oft', being completely out 
 of breath with their great exertions. Some- 
 what to their astonishment they heard Loud 
 bursts of laughter from the adjoining cham- 
 
 ber, and noticing the light streaming from 
 under the door, both impelled by the same 
 curiousness, crept softly towards it. Jona- 
 than Dowlas stooped to take a peep at the 
 keyhole ; Timothy Malmsey put his eye to a 
 crack in the panel, each was aware of the 
 other's vicinity, but not a word was said by 
 either. They looked and beheld a supper- 
 table well laid, at which two handsome gal- 
 lants, clad in delicate suits, with rapier and 
 dagger, were regaling themselves and mak- 
 ing merry, evidently to their heart's content- 
 ment ; whilst the Widow Pippins stood by as 
 if waiting upon them, and giving them a nar- 
 ration, which she seemed as though she could 
 scarce tell for laughing. 
 
 "Indeed, -an' it please your worships, it 
 be the very excellentest trick ever I heard 
 of," said she, holding of her sides. " Here 
 carne these poor fools of husbands, each des- 
 perately enamoured of his friend's wife, 
 which these merry women allowed of only 
 that they might the better punish them as 
 they deserved. I' faith, what wittols must 
 they have been to have fancied themselves 
 likely to prevail with such. They ought to 
 have known that when a pretty woman is so 
 inclined she looketh to something above her. 
 There is no temptation in it else. Little 
 guess Master Dowlas and Master Malmsey, 
 that 'tis to your worships they care for, and 
 none other." 
 
 " Here's a horrid villainy come to light !' 
 muttered the draper. 
 
 " Oh, what a vile quean have I for a 
 wife !" exclaimed the enraged vintner in the 
 same low voice. 
 
 " Little guess they how often you two 
 have had secret meetings here with their 
 buxom wives," added the widow ; " or what 
 exquisite, sweet pleasure you have found in 
 their delectable company." 
 
 " O' my word, neighbor, methinks we have 
 been foully wronged !" cried Jonathan in a 
 monstrous dismal tone. 
 
 " 'Slight, there be no doubt on't !" an- 
 swered Timothy, manifestly in a still worse 
 to do. " Alack ! my head aches horribly." 
 
 " By my troth, I do feel a sort of shooting 
 pain there myself," added the other, rubbing 
 his forehead with his palm very dolefully. 
 
 " I pray your worships, make haste," con- 
 tinued the laughing widow. " There is 
 Mistress Malmsey below stairs, and Mistress 
 Dowlas in the next chamber, wonderfully im- 
 patient to have with them their several lov- 
 ers. Never saw I women so dote on men as 
 they dote on your worships. Alack for their 
 simple husbands !" 
 
 " We've been infamously abused, neigh- 
 bor !" exclaimed the draper, whilst the others
 
 THE YOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 47 
 
 In the next chamber were laughing very 
 merrily. " As I live, we are two miserably 
 wretched husbands.". And thereupon, may- 
 hap out of sympathy for his brother in mis- 
 fortune, he threw his arms around his neck, 
 and moaned very pitifully. 
 
 " God's precious ! I shall go mad !" cried 
 the vintner, lifting up one leg and then the 
 other, like a goose treading on hot bricks. 
 " But shall we not burst in on these dainty 
 gallants, neighbor, and spoil their sport ?" 
 
 " Nay, nay, see you not they have weap- 
 ons," whispered his more cautious compa- 
 nion. " Peradventure they would give us 
 our deaths were we to venture upon them 
 unarmed. Let us seek to get out "of this 
 place as speedily as we may, and find assist- 
 ance ; doubtless we shall be in time to dis- 
 turb them at their villanies, and so rid our- 
 selves of our cozening false wives, and be re- 
 venged on their, paramours." 
 
 " Ha ! prithee set about it on the instant," 
 said the other ; " then Master Dowlas began 
 feeling of his way along the wainscot with 
 his brother alderman close at his heels do- 
 ing the like thing, till they came to a door, 
 which was soon opened by the former, and 
 to the great joy of both, proved to lead out 
 into the gallery. From here they were not 
 long before they found themselves in the 
 parlor of the house, where was a famous 
 company assembled of their friends and 
 neighbors, among whom were John Shak- 
 speare, the high bailiff, and Oliver Dumps, 
 the constable. These were quickly informed 
 of the grievous wrong doing, in such moving 
 terms, that the whole party, arming them- 
 selves with what weapons they could conve- 
 niently lay a hold on,, proceeded under the 
 command of their chief magistrate to seize 
 upon the offenders. 
 
 "What a villainous world is this !" ex- 
 claimed Oliver, putting on his most melan- 
 choly visage. " Marry, an' aldermen's wives 
 must needs take to such evil courses, how 
 shall a constable's wife escape ?" 
 
 They soon burst into the chamber, where 
 they found the two gallants up in a corner 
 with their backs towards them, with the Wi- 
 dow Pippins standing in a manner as though 
 she would not have her guests rudely med- 
 dled with. 
 
 " Hollo, my masters !" exclaimed she. 
 " Are ye mad that ye enter thus unman- 
 nerly before two gentlemen qf worship ?" 
 
 " Mind her not, neighbors she is nothing 
 better than a very villainous go-between !'' 
 exclaimed Master Alderman Malmsey in his 
 deadly rage flourishing of a spit he had got 
 in his hand, as if he would do one or other 
 of them some dreadful injury. 
 
 " These be the same two fine fellows that 
 must needs be meddling with our wives : 
 I will take my oath on't !" cried Master Al- 
 derman Dowlas, in a horrible bad passion, 
 pointing towards them with the kitchen po- 
 ker. 
 
 "Down with them !" shouted one. 
 
 " Let us dispatch them straight !" bawled 
 a second. 
 
 " By goles, we will be their deaths the 
 monstrous villains that cannot let honest 
 men's wives alone," cried a third ; and all 
 seemed moving forward with mischief in their 
 looks. 
 
 " Respect the law, neighbors, respect the 
 law !" exclaimed the constable, striving all, 
 he could to repress the desire for instant 
 vengeance so manifest in his companions. 
 
 " Ay, we must have no violence, my mas- 
 ters," added John Shakspeare. " If these 
 persons have done aught amiss, I will take 
 care they shall answer for it, but I cannot al- 
 low of their being hurt." 
 
 " Oh, what 'monstrous behavior is this in 
 an honest woman's house !" cried the Wi- 
 dow Pippins. 
 
 '' Stand aside, mistress, I prithee," ex- 
 claimed Oliver Dumps, pushing by the wi- 
 dow, and seizing hold of one of the gallants 
 by the shoulder, added, in a louder voice, 
 " surrender you in the Queen's name." 
 
 " Now, neighbor Dowlas," said John 
 Shakspeare, " look you in the face of this 
 one, and say if you can swear him to be the 
 villain that playeth the wanton with your 
 wife ; and you, neighbor Malmsey, do the 
 same with the; other." 
 
 " I warrant you," replied both, moving 
 with alacrity, and with the terriblest re- 
 vengeful aspects ever seen, to do what their 
 high bailiff' had required. Each caught hold 
 of one of the dainty young gentlemen with 
 great rudeness, and poked his beard close in 
 his face, and each at the same moment 
 started back as though he had been shot, 
 amid the loud laughter of every one in the 
 room. These gallants proved l.o be no 
 other than their own wives ; and all been 
 let into the secret by them for the more 
 more complete punishing of their faithless 
 husbands. 
 
 " Go to, for a sly fox !" cried the Widow 
 Pippins, giving Master Dowlas just such 
 another famous slap of the back as she had 
 saluted him with on his first entrance to the 
 chamber. " I'faith, thou art a sad rogue," 
 added she, fetching Master Malmsey so ab- 
 solute a poke i' the ribs that it put the other 
 poke, bad as he had thought it, clean out of 
 his remembrance. The jests that were 
 broke upon these poor aldermen by their
 
 48 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPE'ARE. 
 
 neighbors wefe out of all calculation, and 
 they were so ashamed they could say never 
 a word for themselves. And indeed they 
 made a famous pretty figure their best ap- 
 parel being all covered with dust and broken 
 rushes from rolling on the floor, and their 
 hands and faces, hair and beards, instead of 
 being in such delicate trim as when they 
 first entered " The Rose," were in as dirty a 
 pickle as was any chimney-sweep's. How- 
 ever, they ever after turned out to be the best 
 of husbands, and would as lief have taken a 
 inad bull by the horns as sought to make love 
 to another man's wife. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 And then the whining SCHOOL-BOY 
 With satchel and shining morning face, 
 Creeping, like snail, unwillingly to school. 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Some there are, 
 
 Which by sophistic tricks, aspire that name 
 Which I would gladly lose, of necromancer ; 
 As some that used to juggle upon cards, 
 Seeming to conjure, when indeed they cheat ; 
 Others that raise up their confederate spirits 
 'Bout windmills, and endanger their own necks 
 For making of a squib ; and some there are 
 Will keep a curtal to show juggling tricks, 
 And give out 'tis a spirit ; besides these, 
 Such a whole ream of almanack-makers, figure- 
 . fiingers, 
 
 Fellows, indeed, that only live by stealth, 
 Since they do merely lie about stolen goods, 
 They'd make men think the devil were fast and 
 
 loose, 
 With speaking fustian Latin. 
 
 WEBSTER. 
 
 " BRING hither thy hat. William, I prithee, 
 'tis nigh upon school time," said Dame 
 Shakspeare to her young son, as they were 
 together in her chamber. 
 
 " Ay, that is it," replied he, doing what he 
 was desired with a very cheerful spirit. 
 " 'Sooth, though I lack knowing what man- 
 ner of pleasure is found in school, methinks 
 it must needs be none so little, nurse Cicely 
 speaketh of it so bravely." The mother 
 carefully smoothed the hat, and placed it on 
 her child's head, smiling the whilst either at 
 what had just fallen from him, or mayhap at 
 his exceeding comeliness, now she had, after 
 infinite painstaking, attired him with such a 
 show of neatness and cleanliness as made 
 him appear worthy of any mother's love, 
 were she the proudest in the land. 
 
 " Nay, school hath its pains also," replied 
 she ; " but such are unknown of any, save 
 
 unworthy boys, who care more for play than 
 for book, and will learn nothing that is set 
 them." 
 
 " Well, an' they behave so ill, it be plain 
 they deserve no better," observed the boy. ' 
 " Yet it seemeth to me from what I have 
 learned of nurse Cicely in ballads and sto- 
 ries, and from such sweet stories as you have 
 ofttimes repeated to me concerning of brave 
 knights and fair ladies, that if other pleasures 
 of a still sweeter sort are to be found in 
 books, whereof you can know only by going 
 to school and conning your lesson with all 
 proper diligence, school cannot help being as 
 pleasant a place for good boys^as any goodly 
 place that can be named." 
 
 "Doubtless," answered the mother, evi- 
 dently pleased at noting in her son such sen- 
 sibleness at so early an age. Then she bu- 
 sied herself in putting each part of his dress 
 as it should be, smoothing this, and pulling 
 down that, and turning him round with a 
 thorough, yet most affectionate scrutiny, that 
 no fault should escape her. At last, she 
 appeared satisfied with her labors, and hang- 
 ing round his neck a satchel, that looked as 
 if it contained no great weight of books, she 
 quickly put on her own hat and cloak, and, 
 laying hold of him by one hand, carrying of 
 a basket in the other, with many cheerful, 
 pleasant words to his unceasing interrogato- 
 ries, she led him out at the door. 
 
 The good dame and her young son pro- 
 ceeded together through a part of the town, 
 with such passing commendation and salu- 
 tations from such of the neighbors as were 
 standing at their doors or approaching them 
 as they went, till they came to the lane 
 where John a Combe was set on by Master 
 Buzzard and his man Saul, as hath been re- 
 lated, when, in the middle of some speech of 
 his, the boy let go his mother's hand, and so 
 forgetful of school, of goodly books, and of 
 sweet verses which had formed the staple 
 of his talking all along as though such 
 things had never been, he on a sudden, dart- 
 ed off as fast as he could after a butterfly 
 that came flying past him. Dame Shak- 
 speare called many times, but it appeared as 
 if he heard not her voice, for with his hat in 
 his hand he run, now on one side of the lane, 
 now on the other, and now dodging hither 
 and thither wheresoever the dainty insect 
 spread its delicate wings, as if there could 
 not be in this whole world any one thing of 
 such huge importance to him as the catching 
 of that butterfly. At last, his mother was 
 obliged to hasten after him, finding he heed- 
 ed not her calling, called she ever so, and 
 succeeded in overtaking her little truant, 
 just as he stood, with his hat thrown on the
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 grass in a vain essay to catch what he had 
 been in such earnest chase of with hands 
 and eyes uplifted, watching with some vex- 
 edness in his aspect, the swift retreat of the 
 enticing insect over the hedge. 
 
 Some scolding followed this as the good 
 dame wiped her son's hot face, and dusted 
 and smoothed his hat, and set it on his head 
 agp.in ; but he made such famous excuses 
 concerning of the marvelous beautifulness 
 of this same butterfly beyond all butterflies 
 he had ever seen, that the loving mother 
 contented herself in the end with kissing 
 him, and bidding him never again run from 
 her side. The great delight he had found 
 in what he had previously talked so largely 
 of now left him altogether, and he could say 
 nought, save of what rare pleasure would 
 have been his had it been his good hap to 
 have captured that choice fly, with sundry 
 pertinent questions concerning of whence 
 came such brave toys, how lived they, and 
 whether they could not be kept at home, and 
 fed on marchpane, and such other delicates 
 as he could give them, to all which she 
 answered as she best could. On a sudden 
 he started a new subject, for spying of many 
 wild liowers on the bank he must needs stop 
 to gather some. In vain his mother re- 
 minded him of what great promise he had 
 made of diligence in learning, and alacrity 
 in going to school, he implored so movingly, 
 she could not help allowing him what he re- 
 quired 01 Her ; and this led to his stopping 
 at other dowers he saw, to do the like tiling, 
 making such pretty exclamations of admira- 
 tion at tiie sight of them, that the good dame 
 could riot find it in her heart to speak of 
 his tarrying as he did, with any harshness. 
 Presently, a bird flitting through the hedge, 
 would make him pause in a strange wonder 
 to look after it ; and all his talk of flowers 
 in a moment changed to as importunate a 
 questioning upon tlie birds. Indeed, school 
 now seemed to. have no more charm for him 
 than hatii the brightest landscape for a blind 
 man ; and he 'kept so tarrying lor- this thing 
 and for the other, as showed lie was in no 
 little reluctance to be taken away from such 
 fair sights. 
 
 Certes, it is a long lane that hath no turn- 
 ing, and the boy, with his mother, got at last 
 to tiieir journey's end, which proved to be a 
 low mean building at the outskirts of the 
 town, whereof part of the casement having 
 been broken, the missing panes had been 
 pasted fbver with leaves of copy-books. It 
 was a wooden building, crumbling with age 
 in many places, with a ragged thatch, of 
 so dark a color it could not help being of 
 some standing, underneath winch were 
 
 sundry nests, with the birds flying in and 
 out ; and upon it, up to the roof-top, was a 
 famous company of sparrows, flitting about 
 and making so great a chirruping as was 
 wonderful to hear. The door being open, 
 there was heard a low murmuring as of the 
 humming of a whole hive of bees, which 
 increased in loudness as they came nearer, 
 till it was interrupted by a loud rough voice, 
 calling out " Silence !" when it sunk a little. 
 At this moment they entered at the door. 
 They came first into a chamber with a brick 
 flooring, where they saw a number of small 
 boys ; some seated upon old forms, clipped 
 at the corners, and carved with .letters of 
 every sort, as might be seen by the empty 
 ones ; and others, in groups, standing before 
 one or two bigger boys, each of whom held 
 a book as if hearing others their lessons ; 
 but as soon as the strangers were observed, 
 there was seen on the instant, an infinite 
 lack of both learning and teaching amongst 
 all. One whispered to another others 
 pointed and some stood up to have a better 
 view ; and ah 1 stretched their necks, and 
 strained theis eyes, in a very absolute mar- 
 vel, as to the intent of the dame and her son 
 in coming there at that time. 
 
 The two were curiously and steadfastly 
 gazed on by every boy there, as they ad- 
 vanced up two steps that led to a part of 
 the same chamber, having a boarded floor, 
 where were some long desks, at which 
 bigger boys had been writing of copies, with 
 one oi a greater height at the top, where 
 sat on a tall stool no less a personage than 
 Stripes the shoolmaster, of whom tlio reader 
 hath already some knowledge. He sat up 
 stiff as a post ; his gaunt visage* as thin and 
 sharp as though his ordinary diet was of 
 flint stones, or other such matter that afford- 
 eth wonderful poor nourishment ; his hair 
 and beard standing in great need of the bar- 
 ber's art ; an old gaberdine on, which for its 
 rags the cursedest old Jew 7 that ever clipped 
 coin would have been ashamed to have been 
 seen in ; his falling bands rumpled and 
 soiled ; his bases open at the knees, and his 
 hose in slovenly folds falling down his shrunk 
 shanks to his heels, where a pair of huge 
 pantofles, of the oldest out of all doubt, liid 
 in some measure the numberless holes that 
 had there begun to show themselves. He 
 held a cane upright in one hand, and in the 
 other a book, having before him a boy, who 
 by the earnest scratching of his head, and the 
 iutentness of his gaze at the broken ceiling, 
 had doubtless come to a halt in his lesson ; 
 and his dull stupid face wore an aspect of 
 severe seriousness, which boded no good to 
 the young student. But for all this as he
 
 60 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 caught sight of Dame Shakspcare with her 
 son advancing towards him, the cane was 
 put out of sight in the twinkling of an eye, 
 and a sort of something that was meant to 
 be a smile became visible in his cadaver- 
 ous countenance, as he gave the unprepared 
 scholar back his book, and bade him to his 
 place. 
 
 Marvelous to look on was the suavity with 
 which the pedagogue heard Dame Shaks- 
 peare say she had brought her son William 
 to have his schooling, hoping he would prove 
 an apt scholar; thereupon famously did he 
 launch out into all manner of fine scholar- 
 like phrases,' whereof it was in no way easy 
 for any to find where lay the sense, and then 
 proceeded he to catechise the child in a 
 monstrous pedantical humor, and to examine 
 him as to the extent of his acquirements in 
 the rudiments of profane learning ; and al- 
 though the boy showed some shyness, which 
 was exceeding natural at his age, before so 
 forbidding a person, yet, by dint of his 
 mother's praises, he w,as got to evince a 
 tolerable acquaintance with the spelling of 
 simple words. All this time the curious- 
 ness of the entire school exceedeth concep- 
 tion. No sign of studiousness was visible 
 in any ; instead of which the eyes and ears 
 of the whole assembly were bent upon get- 
 ting the completes! knowledge of what was 
 going on ; and whilst some of the highest 
 part of the school kneeled on their seats, or 
 leaned over their school-fellows, sundry of 
 the bottom part stood on their forms. #nd a 
 few crept up the steps, with countenances 
 <U1 agog to learn as much as they could of 
 this" strange matter. 
 
 " And 1 have brought you here a fine 
 capon for your own eating, worthy Mr. 
 Stripes," said Dame Shakspeare to the 
 schoolmaster, whose mouth seemed to water 
 at the very name of such delicate food, as 
 she took from her basket a fowl carefully 
 wrapped about in a clean white cloth ; " the 
 which I hope will prove to your liking, and 
 I do trust you will favor me in what my 
 heart most covets, so much as to give what 
 attentiveness you can to my boy's schooling, 
 that he may do you credit in his after 
 years." 
 
 " I am a very heathen an' I do not," 
 replied he, taking the gift with a famous 
 willingness. 
 
 " Then I will now leave him to your 
 charge," observed the dame, and, kissing of 
 her young son, with a loving admonition to 
 be a good boy and speed in his learning, she 
 departed out the door. Stripes, first placing 
 of his new scholar amongst others of his 
 age in the lower room, which movement of 
 
 his caused a famous show of studiftusnesa 
 amongst all the boys he came nigh, and 
 setting him a lesson, returned to his desk ; 
 and then, undoing the cloth, examined the 
 capon both with his eyes and his nose, 
 with such extreme satisfaction, it looked as 
 though he cared not to wait for the cooking. 
 At last, putting it in the cloth again, he 
 marched with it out at a door close upon his 
 desk, feasting his eyes upon it as he went. 
 Scarce had the door well closed upon him, 
 when there arose such a hubbub in the 
 school, of talking and shouting one to 
 another of all the boys concerning of the 
 new comer ; those who had some know- 
 ledge of his parentage telling others who 
 had none, and some of the bigger boys 
 leaving their places to have a closer view of 
 him, or ask him questions, as seemed to 
 astonish William Skakspeare exceedingly ; 
 but he was not allowed to be in a long 
 marvel, for the door opened presently, and 
 then there was an instant scuttling to places, 
 and an infinite affection of attentiveness 
 everywhere. 'Speedily as this was done it 
 escaped not the eye of the master, who 
 seized on his cane in a twinkling as soon 
 as he had entered, with an eye of severfe 
 menace, and thundered out his commands for 
 sundry of the offenders to come up to him 
 without delay ; for although he was so ob- 
 sequious in his spirit before Sir Nathaniel 
 and others he was fearful of offending, no 
 greater a tyrant ever lived than was he to his 
 scholars. 
 
 " So, Jemmy Sheepshanks !" cried he, as 
 the first offender approached him with some 
 backwardness ; " prithee, what need hadst 
 out of thy proper seat without any color of 
 warrant, thou horribly abominable young 
 caitiff?" 
 
 ' An' it please you, master, I only " 
 
 " Silence !" shouted the pedagogue in a 
 voice that appeared to irtake the little cul- 
 prit shake in his shoes. 
 
 " Art not ashamed to have accommodated 
 thy worthlessness.with the graces of my 
 instruction for so long a time as thou hast, 
 and never so much as brought me a single 
 egg, much less a fine capon, such as worthy 
 Dame Shalfspeare, on her first coming, hath 
 appurtenanced me with and thy mother 
 having such a prodigal store of poultry ? 
 By Jove, his searching thunders ! thou art 
 as barren of good fruit as a whipping-post. 
 Prithee, hold me thy digital extro. 
 
 " In good fay, master, I only went* " 
 
 " Thy hand, Jemmy Sheepshanks !" bawl- 
 ed Stripes, in a manner which brought forth 
 a right dolorous wailing, and the tremulous 
 projection of a palm of considerable dirtiness
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 51 
 
 a few inches before the offender's stomach. 
 * Elevate it somewhat !" continued he, eye- 
 ing the shaking lingers as a vulture would 
 the prey he was about to sweep down upon. 
 " Somewhat more !" added he in a louder 
 voice ; and whack wont the descending cane 
 across the dirty little hand. " Ya !" scream- 
 ed the boy, and thereupon he doubled him- 
 self up as if lie had an inward pain of*great 
 fierceness, and then he shook his hand and 
 rubbed it against his jerkin, and held it in 
 the other, as though he had a hot cinder in 
 it, and made such a yelling al^ the whilst 
 as was pitiful to hear. 
 
 " And now thy sinister manus ; for me- 
 tbinks it be very monstrous injustice one 
 should 'scape, and the other not," observed 
 the schoolmaster, getting his weapon in 
 readiness. 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, good Master Stripes^' 
 roared the urchin in a deprecating tone; 
 but he was not let off so easily, for the left 
 hand presently fared as badly as the right, 
 and then, with a parting crack o' the crown 
 for jerking his hand away, so that the peda- 
 gogue missed it more tiian once, Jemmy 
 Sheepshanks in a terrible uproar was sent 
 back to his seat. The rest of those who had 
 been called up looked on as though they 
 would have given all they were worth to 
 have been a - good hundred miles from the 
 spot. The other boys were studying of 
 their separate tasks with a seeming dili- 
 gence that could never have been exceeded, 
 and their new schoolfellow was thinking in 
 his mind, from this first example he had had 
 of school, it was no such brave place after 
 all. Each of the offenders went through 
 the same discipline, save the last, and was 
 as well reminded as the lirst had been of 
 certain remissness on his part in not having 
 brought some nice thing or other for their 
 worthy master. 
 
 " Ha, Mat Turnspit ! thou art most, su- 
 perlatively offensive !" exclaimed the peda- 
 gogue, looking at the remaining one with 
 the same savage aspect as had been the 
 forerunner of the other's punishments. " I 
 have cast up the sum of thy offences, the 
 product whereof " 
 
 " An' it please you, master, father killed 
 a hog last night," cried out the boy sharply, 
 yet not without some trepidation. 
 
 " Marry, what then ? The particulars 
 the conclusion, I prithee !" cried his master 1 . 
 
 " A4>' it please you," answered little Mat, 
 " mother told me to say, an' your worship's 
 stomach stood in any way affected towards 
 pig's chitliags, she would send you as 
 famous a dish of them as should delight the 
 cockles of your heart mightily." 
 
 i; Thy mother, I would wager to be as 
 honest a woman as any of her inches," ob- 
 served Stripes, his aspect of a sudden chang- 
 ing to an absolute graciousness. " And 
 touching pig'a chitlings, I would have thee 
 communicate to her auditories, I consider 
 them a savoury diet as any thing that can 
 be eaten, and will accept of a dish with 
 abundance of thanks. As for thyself, Mat 
 Turnspit, I doubt not thou hadst excellent 
 cause for being out of thy seat. Get thee 
 back again straight, and be sure thy re- 
 membrance plays not the truant with the 
 pig's chitlings." 
 
 After this, the first class were called up 
 to their reading lesson, and putting up their 
 copies, each holding of a book, presently 
 stood in a half circle before their teacher, 
 who, seated on his high stool, with his cane 
 in his hand, and the lesson before him, 
 never failed to apply the former to the palms 
 of such as were amiss in their reading 
 constantly commenting on the exceeding 
 properness of beHlmor shown by Dame 
 Shakspeare and Dame Turnspit, in the mat- 
 ter of the fat capon and the pig's chitling's. 
 All this while there was a famous thinking 
 going on in the young mind of the new 
 scholar, whose faith in the pleasantness of 
 schools diminished with every blow he heard 
 given, till at last he came to the conclusion, 
 that it was the very horriblest bad place he 
 had ever entered : nevertheless he applied 
 himself to his lesson as earnestly as he 
 might, with no greater interruption than 
 what came from some little neighbor sliding 
 up to him with a civil speech, intent upon 
 being on the best terms with a schoolfellow 
 so well recommended to their master. 
 
 As Stripes was very furious lecturing of 
 a boy, about to undergo the customary dis- 
 cipline, the door behind him opened, and 
 there appeared at it a strange looking object 
 in the likeness of an overgrown boy. To 
 all appearance, the schoolmaster looked as 
 lean a dog as ever licked an empty trencher, 
 but he was of a very corpulency in com- 
 parison with the walking bunch of bones 
 known throughout the town as Skinney Dick- 
 on, the schoolmaster's boy, that now entered 
 the school-room. His face had the project- 
 ing jaws of a ravenous crocodile, with the 
 complexion of a kite's foot, and Ms rusty 
 hair straggled over his skull like a mop 
 worn to the very stump this was support- 
 ed on a long thin neck bare of all clothing 
 to the shoulder blade, where a leather jerkin, 
 made for a boy half his size, was buttoned 
 tight with a small skewer (for lack of but- 
 tons, which had all been worn off), whereof 
 the sleeves came only to his elbows, show-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ing his naked arms, like the picked drum- 
 sticks of some huge Fowl, with the claw left 
 on. A pair of greasy gaskins, that seemed 
 as though they had been made for a grass- 
 hopper, encased the lower part of his body 
 to his knees, below which two bare legs, as 
 barren of calf as an andiron, descended till 
 they were partly lost sight of in two old 
 shoes, whereof the wide gaping of the upper 
 leathers told plainly of the whereabouts of 
 the owner's ten toes. 
 
 "How now, Dickon !*' rexclaimed his 
 master, as soon as he became aware of the 
 other's vicinity. 
 
 " An' it pul-pul-pul-pul, please your wor- 
 ship, the kick-kick-kick-kick cat's run off 
 with the kick-kick-kick-kick capon." 
 Scarce had the words got loose from the 
 chopping teeth of his stuttering boy, ere 
 Stripes jumped from his stool with a ludi- 
 crous astounded look, and brushing by his 
 intelligencer with such furiousness HS to 
 l<ty him his length on the floor, sought the 
 thief, swearing all sorts of horrible oatiis 
 and direful imprecations; after running 
 frantically to and fro, the enraged school- 
 master spied puss on a shelf in an outhouse, 
 tearing up the flesh of the fowl after a 
 fashion as evinced her appreciation of its 
 goodness. She was an old, large, black 
 animal, whose projecting ribs manifested 
 the like relationship with famine as appear- 
 ed in the master and boy ; and made despe- 
 rate by extreme hunger, she raised her back, 
 glared with her green eyes, and commenced 
 so brisk a spitting an<J swearing, as the 
 schoolmaster, in a terrible tearing passion, 
 began cutting at her with his cane though 
 at a respectful distance as proved she 
 would not be got to part with her prize with- 
 out a tustle ; and mayhap he would have 
 been but badly off had she flown at him, the 
 which she appeared monstrously inclined to 
 do, but at this moment she spied Dickon 
 hastening to the rescue with the stump of a 
 broom, which caused her to make a move- 
 ment as though she would carry off her 
 booty however, before she had got a firm 
 hold of the fowl with her old teeth, Dickon 
 gave her so sore a blow with his weapon as 
 sent her flying off the shelf into an open 
 water-butt that stood a yard or so off where- 
 upon she was glad enough to save her nine 
 lives the best way she could, as if capons 
 had never been. 
 
 This occurred not without some, stir in 
 the school ; but scarce had Stripes returned 
 to his desk after placing of his heart's trea- 
 sure in a place of safety, when his anatomy 
 of a boy again made his appearance at the 
 open door, at sight of whom he opened his 
 
 lanthorn jaws, quite aghast with surprise, 
 thinking that the villainous cat had again 
 made away with his dainty; but Dickon 
 came only to announce the arrival of one 
 Mother Flytrap on an errand of conjuring, 
 which speedily allayed his master's alarm. 
 Dismissing the class to their seats with a 
 perilous threat kept they not as quiet as 
 mice till his return, the pedagogue stalked, 
 with an air of marvellous solemnity little 
 in accordance with his slovenly gaunt figure 
 into an inner chamber, meanly furnished 
 with an old table and a chair or two, yet, 
 having, in the shape of a globe in the win- 
 dow, a snake in a bottle over the chimney, 
 and a curious hieroglyphic book spread out 
 upon the table : various signs that it was 
 in especial use for learned purposes. A 
 little woman, whose shrivelled skin savored 
 o^some antiquity, stood in a corner of the 
 chamber, in a grey cloak and peaked hat, 
 leaning with both hands upon a stick she 
 held before her. 
 
 " An' it please your worship," began she, 
 parting the exceeding closeness of her nose 
 and chin, and hobbling two steps forward 
 as Stripes entered, "be it known to you, of 
 all the days in the year, last Wednesday 
 was a week, wanting of a spoon for a gossip 
 of mine as worthy a good soul as ever 
 broke bread, for all it hath been'said of her 
 she taketh to her aquae vitae bottle more than 
 is becoming an honest woman : but Lord ! 
 Lord ? who shall escape the bruit of slander- 
 ous tongues in this cantankerous age ; as 
 I was a saying, over a sea-coal fire, at Dame 
 Marigold's who was making as famous a 
 bowl of spiced ale,, with a roasted crab, as 
 ever passed mortal lips. Indeed, of all 
 women 1 know, an' it please your worship, 
 she. excelleth in the brewing of such deli- 
 cate liquor ; and last sheep-shearing I did 
 hear little Jack Maggot, of Maggot Mill 
 he that got his head broke at a bout at single 
 stick with Job Styles, the hedger of our 
 town say lie knew none of these parts that 
 had such cunning in these preparations. 
 Mercy o' my heart ! I have known the 
 time when Job Styles was better off than 
 he is, by a good ten crowns a year. But 
 we are all mortal." 
 
 " Hast lost a spoon ?" enquired the school- 
 master, when his companion stopped to take 
 breath. 
 
 * ' Ay, marry," replied Mother Flytrap, 
 " as goodly a silver Evangelist as you shah 1 
 find come of any god-father; and the only 
 one of the four left. O' my word, it vexeth 
 me to find the world groweth every day 
 more dishonest ; and no more heed is taken 
 of so goodly a gift as an Evangelist spoon.
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 than of a dish of beans. Well flesh is 
 grass : so it's what we must all come to 
 more's the pity more's the pity." 
 
 " When lost thou this spoon ?" asked 
 Stripes. 
 
 " Marry, an' it please your worship, I 
 know not," replied his companion ; " but 
 last Wednesday was a week, as I have said, 
 when it was getting nigh upon noon, I had 
 made me a porridge fit for the Sophy, with 
 good store of leeks in it, for my dinner, 
 when who should enter at my door but 
 Gammer Bavins, whose son went to the 
 wars and died beyond seas ; whereupon de- 
 siring of her to rest herself, as in all civil- 
 ness I was bound, seeing that her mother's 
 cousin's great uncle and my grannum 
 were cousins - german, I asked of her 
 to have some of my famous porridge, to 
 the which she cheerfully gave her consent- 
 ings ; and thinking 'tvvoul'd be but respect- 
 ful of me to allow of her having a silver 
 spoon instead of a lattern one, the whilst 
 she was telling of me an. excellent famous 
 story of what brave eating was in porridge 
 such as she was wont to make for her gafter 
 when he came home from the woods for 
 your worship must know he had been a 
 woodman, and of some repute in the craft 
 and how monstrously he took to it when 
 she could chop in a handsome piece of bacon 
 fat, with a pinch of mustard though for 
 mine own part methinks good hog's lard in 
 some quantity, with a sprinkling of bay salt, 
 giveth much the delicater flavor " 
 
 " So the spoon was missing ?" here put 
 in the schoolmaster. 
 
 "La you! what a wonderful conjuror is 
 your worship !"" exclaimed Mother Flytrap, 
 lifting up her hands and eyes in amazement ; 
 " ay, was it : and though I have since search- 
 ed high and low in every crack and cranny 
 hole and corner from housetop to floor, if I 
 have caught as much as a glimpse of it 
 there is no hotness in ginger. Peradven- 
 ture " 
 
 " Thou hast come to learn of thy missing 
 spoon ?" said Stripes, knowing full well 
 should he let her run on, there would be no 
 stopping of her tongue. 
 
 " Odds codlings, yes, an' it please yon." 
 replied she : ' ; well ! never saw I your like 
 at finding out things : as I live I said not a 
 word of the sort. Mayhap your worship 
 knoweth whom I suspect of stealing it ; and 
 by my troth I doubt not it* shall be found 
 without some grounds, for she hath the re- 
 putation of a horrible pilferer." 
 
 " Thy suspicions rest upon a woman !" 
 answered Stripes with a very proper solem- 
 nity. 
 
 " A grace of God ! your worship must 
 needs have dealings with the old one!" cried 
 his companion in a famous astonishment ; 
 " Marian Loosefish be as nigh lo a woman 
 as ever she will be, for she hath had two 
 children and never a husband, and hath 
 been thrice put into the stocks for misbe- 
 comingness. But we are all mortal. More's 
 the pity more's the pity !" 
 
 " And thou wouldst have me ascertain by 
 virtue of my art, with what correctness thou 
 dost suspect this woman ?" added the school- 
 master. 
 
 " Ay, dear heart, out of all doubt, and I 
 have brought your worship as exquisite nice 
 a black-pudding as ever was made," an- 
 swered the other, producing from under her 
 cloak a large sausage of this sort, which 
 her companion eased her of with marvellous 
 alacrity ; " and will, besides, give your wor- 
 ship a tester for your pains, provided you 
 can put the stealing of it upon her with such 
 certainty she shall never be able to deny it, 
 and so I get back my spoon again." 
 
 " Prithee stay where thou art, and keep 
 strict silence," said the schoolmaster, with 
 a very earnest seriousness, as he took a 
 long black wand out of a corner, and put on 
 his head a strange looking conical cap of a 
 blood-red color, which made his visage look 
 all the more lean and ghastly ; then gazed 
 he with terrible severity on his book, turning 
 over the leaves for some minutes, Mother 
 Flytrap looking on with a fearful curious- 
 ness, as dumb as a stone. 
 
 " Mercury in the sixth house," muttered 
 the conjurer as if to himself. 
 
 " I warrant you that is my house ; for 
 mine is just the sixth in the row as you enter 
 the town," observed she. 
 
 " Silence, woman !" shouted Stripes, au- 
 thoritatively, then presently added in an un- 
 der tone " Jupiter and Venus in conjunc- 
 tion, whereof the affinities in equilibrio being 
 geometrical to their qualities, giveth sign of 
 some heavy metal, of an express white color, 
 and in shape of some narrowness, with a 
 concavity at the determination. Ha ! what 
 meaneth this ! Diana under a cloud " 
 
 " That's her an' it please you !" said 
 Mother Flytrap, eagerly ; " she hath been 
 ' under a cloud' at sundry several times, 
 which will be well known of many, for she 
 is as absolute a " 
 
 ' : Peace, I tell thee !" bawled the conju- 
 ror ; " wouldst turpify my astrologicals ? 
 Prithee ifold thy prate :" after which he 
 continued without other interruption a deal 
 more of similar heathenish words. " My 
 art telleth me these three tilings," observed 
 he to her at last, as grave as any judg ; ;
 
 64 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " to wit thy spoon hath been stolen, an' 
 thou hast not mislaid it in'some secret place ; 
 provided a thief hath got it, there shall be 
 no doubt it hath been stolen ; and should it 
 be found upon Marian Loosefish, beyond all 
 contradicting she may be suspected of the 
 theft." 
 
 " Wonderful !" cried the old woman, in a 
 huge amazement ; u of all conjuring never 
 heard I of anything like unto this ! I would 
 have sworn it was her before your worship 
 had told me a letter of her name ; for I have 
 all along suspected her and no other. I 
 protest I am in so great an admiration of 
 your worship's marvellous deep knowledge 
 I scarce know what to be at. Odds cod- 
 lings, what wonders the world hath !" 
 
 " At thy peril, speak another word till I 
 tell thee !" exclaimed the reputed conjuror, 
 in a formidable solemn voice, as if desirous 
 of still more impressing his customer with 
 his thorough knowledge of the occult sci- 
 ence : " I charge thee make no manner of 
 noise, else ill will befall thee. I would know 
 more of this matter, and will have my fami- 
 liar to acquaint me with the particularities." 
 At this the old dame, dumb with extreme 
 fright and curiousness, backed herself into 
 a corner of the chamber, as Stripes, waving 
 of his wand mysteriously, and repeating 
 some unintelligible jargon, stalked round 
 and round the table. All at once they heard 
 a horrible strange sort of sound, like unto 
 the deep grunting of an over-fed hog, which 
 the conjjiror, in ignorance of its cause, fan- 
 cied to be something unnatural coming to 
 punish him for his vaiti-glorious boast of in- 
 timacy with a familiar, and straightway 
 stopped his conjurations ; and Mother Fly- 
 trap, too frightened to speak, hearing the 
 sounds, and observing the half-starved black 
 cat at this moment push her way through 
 the unclosed door, her back raised and her 
 eyes glaring as she caught sight of her mas- 
 ter with the uplifted wand, supposing he was 
 about to punish her for her dishonesty, had 
 no doubt she was a demon invoked by the 
 schoolmaster, and thereupon striking out w ith 
 her stick convulsively before her, she com- 
 menced crouching down into the corner, 
 every time uttering of a scream so piercing 
 it seemed as though she were about giving 
 up the ghost. 
 
 Her outcry soon brought Skinny Dickon 
 into the chamber, who, spying of the two in 
 such a terrible monstrous fear, looked from 
 one to the other with his jaws gaping like a 
 hungry pike, till hearing of the strange un- 
 earthly sound, and seeing his master had 
 been at his conjurations, a horrible suspicion 
 seemed to corne across him of a sudden ; 
 
 and he dropped on his knees, as though he 
 had been shot. Presently, some of the 
 scholars came creeping towards the door, the 
 back ones peeping over the forward ones 
 shoulders, with/aspects alarmed and anxious ; 
 and the old woman's screams continuing, 
 sundry of the neighbors rushed in at another 
 door by which she had herself entered, mar- 
 velling prodigiously to hear such a distur- 
 bance ; and marvelling the more, to note 
 what they beheld at their entrance. 
 
 "In God's name, neighbor, what meaneth 
 this strange scene ?" enquired a sober 
 honest-looking artisan, in his leathern apron 
 and cap, gazing from one to an other of the 
 group in famous astonishment. 
 
 " Ya !" screamed Mother Flytrap, again 
 crouching down in the corner, and poking 
 out her stick, with her eyes fixed upon the 
 object of her exceeding terror, as though it 
 held a spell over her. 
 
 " Mum-mum-mum-mum-Master's been 
 rer-rer-rer-rer-raising the devil 1" stuttered 
 out Dickon, as plain ashe could, for the 
 fright he was in. 
 
 "YaJ" repeated the old woman, with the 
 same look and gesture. 
 
 " He's there ?" muttered the trembling 
 schoolmaster, pointing to a closet whence 
 the sounds seemed to proceed; whereupon 
 there was an instant backward movement 
 of his neighbors, save only the artizan ; and 
 the old woman screamed more lustily than 
 ever, for she believed the cat was meant, as 
 having her gaze fixed upon the animal, she 
 had not seen where the frightened pedago- 
 gue had pointed. 
 
 "With the Lord's help, mayhap I will 
 unkennel him, if there he be," observed the 
 artisan, making a forward movement. 
 
 " Nay, 'o my life, David Hurdle, thou 
 must be mad, sure !" exclaimed one ; and 
 others cried out against his seeking of such 
 danger, and many were for holding him, to' 
 prevent his destruction, as they thought. 
 
 " Fear nought," said the artisan, break- 
 ing from his alarmed neighbors ; 
 in the Lord's hands. He will n 
 his people into the power of the spoiler." 
 Then walking boldly up to the closet, the 
 door of which he fearlessly opened, he ad- 
 ded, in a firm voice, " I charge thee, if thou 
 art an unclean spirit, depart from the dwell- 
 ing of this man." 
 
 The interior was too dark for any there 
 to see into, therefore was nothing visible ; 
 but the terror-struck people noticed the in- 
 stantaneous stoppage of that smothered 
 grunting which sounded so unearthly ; and 
 could plainly enough distinguish a rustling 
 
 we are 
 
 He will not deliver
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 66 
 
 as of some one moving, which again caused 
 an instant rush to the door. 
 
 " I charge thee begone !" cried David 
 Hurdle, undauntedly. 
 
 " What dost charge me ?" grumbled a 
 deep thick voice from the closet. " Prithee, 
 keep it on the score, and give us 'tother pot. 
 Kh, Ticklebreech ?" 
 
 " As I live 'tis Sir Nathaniel !" cried se- 
 veral voices at once, to the wonderful relief 
 of the rest ; and sure enough, Sir Nathaniel 
 it was, who, after so absolute a carouse the 
 previous night with his customary boon 
 companions, his senses had xompletely left 
 him, had returned home with the school- 
 master, without whose knowledge he had 
 thrust himself into the closet, where he had 
 been snoring the whole morning, coiled up 
 like a monstrous caterpiller; whereby he 
 had put so sudden a stop on his friend's 
 conjurations, and had nigh driven Mother 
 Flytrap out of her five wits. 
 
 CHAPTE& VII. 
 
 The mery lark, mesengere of the day 
 Saluteth in her song the morowe gray ; 
 And tine Phebus ryseth up, so bright 
 That all the orient laugheth at the sight : 
 And with his stremis dryeth in the greves, 
 The silver dropis hanging in the leves. 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 For I am servant of the lawe, 
 Covetouse is myne owne felowe. 
 
 OLD MORALITY. 
 Out on you theefles, bouth two ! 
 Eieh man maye see. you be soe, 
 
 Alby your araaye 
 
 Muffled in mantles none such I know, 
 I shall make you lovvte full lowe, 
 Or I departe you free. 
 
 ANTICHRIST. 
 
 MASTER BUZZARD sat at a table eating 
 of a pasty made of game birds, and ever and 
 anon flinging a bone to one of "the many 
 dogs looking wistfully up at him. He was 
 taking of his morning repast in the same 
 hall of his, which hath before been des- 
 cribed, at interims enjoying frequent and 
 plentiful draughts at. a tankard that stood 
 close at his trencher ; and then again, 
 swearing lustily at such of the dogs who, in 
 their impatience to have of the delicate 
 victual, mayhap would leap to his lap, or re- 
 mind him of their nearness by giving him a 
 smart blow of the leg with one of their fore- 
 paws. At a respectful distance, with his 
 hat on his knees, and his stick beside it, sat 
 the shrunk-up figure and parchment physi- 
 
 ognomy of Jemmy Catchpole, the town 
 lawyer, seneschal, balifF, attorney, and stew- 
 ard, as he was indifferently styled. 
 
 " All precepts have been" served, an' it 
 please you," observed Jemmy Catchpole ; 
 " we have him in fee simple with fine and 
 recovery, but the defendant pleadeth extreme 
 poverty, and prayeth in aid that the suit may 
 be stopped from and after the determination 
 of the last action, else shall he be forced to 
 such shifts as shall put your honor's hand 
 and seal to his ruin, and cut the entail from 
 all remainders in perpetuity in witness 
 whereof he hath but now demised, granted, 
 and to farm-let his desire to me that I might 
 be a feodary in this act for such an interval- 
 lum as your honor may please to allow." 
 
 " An I wait another hour I'll be hanged !" 
 rudely exclaimed Master Buzzard, thumping . 
 the table with his fist with such force as to 
 startle some of the hawks. " If he hath not 
 the means of paying his bond, strip him of 
 what he hath. 'What ! ' Shall I lend my 
 money to a paltry burgess, and he do me ill 
 offices, and then, when cometh time for 
 payment, shall such a fellow think to get oft' 
 by whining a dolorous plaint concerning of 
 his poverty ? 'Slife ! when I let him, cut 
 me into collops for my hounds." 
 
 " As your honor wills it," replied the 
 lawyer ; " then will I, without let or hin- 
 drance, plea or demurrer, make an extent 
 upon his house and lands, immediately pro- 
 vided in that case he doth not give instant 
 quittance for his obligation." 
 
 " Make him as barren as a rotten branch," 
 cried the other, with,a frowning indignant 
 look that spoke as bitterly as his words. 
 " At one swoop bear off his whole posses- 
 sions. By God's body, an' thou leavest him 
 as much as would keep his beggarly soul 
 Ibr a day, I will have nought to do with thee 
 ever after." 
 
 " I am mortgaged to your honor's will," 
 observed his companion very humbly, as he 
 took his hat and stick in his hand, and rose 
 from his seat. Not long after he had taken 
 himself out of the hall, there entered Saul, 
 booted and spurred, and soiled with dust, as 
 though he had just come off a journey. 
 
 " Ha, Saul, art there !" cried his master, 
 his sullen features brightening upabit at the 
 sight of his man ; " I expected thee not so 
 soon. But how fareth my noble kinsman ?" 
 
 " As comfortless as a hound covered with 
 bots," replied Saul, putting on a grin at his 
 conceit. " Down Towler ! Away Bess ! 
 Back Ponto !" cried he, as sundry of the 
 dogs came leaping up to him, in sign of his 
 having staid from them some time. His 
 honorable lordship walketh about like a die-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 turbed spirit ; his face has lost the humor 
 of smiling,- and carryeth the affectation of 
 melancholy with as much intentness as a 
 lean raven. He crosseth his arms, and 
 paceth his chamber, and sigheth heavily, 
 and seemeth to have parted with all enjoy- 
 ment in this world ; were he papist now, I 
 doubt not he would turn monk presently." 
 
 " 'Tis well," observed Master Buzzard, 
 taking to his meal as if with a fresh appe- 
 tite, at hearing such intelligence ; " I am 
 infinitely glad matters go on there so bravely. 
 Here, assay some of this pasty. Perchance, 
 thou art a hungered alter thy ride." Saul 
 waited not for a second bidding, but with the 
 familiarity of a long-tolerated villain, drew 
 to the table, and helped himself without 
 stint. 
 
 " What dost think, Saul ?" inquired his 
 master, putting down his knife, and looking 
 with a peculiar knowingness at his man, 
 after they had been silently discussing the 
 pasty for some few minutes. 
 
 " I'faith, I know not, master," replied the 
 other, raising his eyes from his trencher. 
 . "I have got that lewd rascal and poor 
 knave in my toil at last," said Master Buz- 
 zard. 
 
 " What, John Shakspeare ?" asked his 
 companion, as though in a sort of pleased 
 surprise. 
 
 " TMo other,*' answered his master, evi- 
 dently with a like devilish satisfaction. 
 " He shall presently be turned upon this 
 world as bare as a callow owlet. I have 
 taken care he shall be stripped of all his sub- 
 stance, even to his Sunday jerkin, and sent 
 adrift as complete a beggar as ever lived." 
 
 " O' my life, excellent !" exclaimed his 
 man, chafing of his hands as if in great 
 glee ; " body o' me, I have not heard such 
 pleasant news this many a day. He will 
 never fine me forty shillings again for brea- 
 ' king a man's head, I'll warrant, or coop me 
 a whole day in the cage, on suspicion of 
 being over civil to a comely woman, as his 
 high baliffship hath done. Well an' I make 
 not good sport of this,..count my liver as 
 while as a boiled chicken. But here's a 
 goodly stock of patience to him, that he may 
 bear this pitiful change of fortune as he 
 best may !" And so saying, he lifted the 
 I tankard to his mouth, and took a hearty 
 draught of it. 
 
 " He hath no. John a Combe now to help 
 him at his need," added Master Buzzard. 
 " Methinks too I have carved out such work 
 for that wight as will keep him like a rat to 
 his hole : for I have at last taken such ven- 
 geance as will hurt him more than ever our 
 
 rapiers could, had we succeeded as I at first 
 wished." 
 
 " Truly, he showed himself a very devil 
 at his weapon," observed the other ; " and 
 handled me so in the lane a murrain on 
 him ! I shall bear on my body the marks of 
 his handwriting to my life's end : therefore, 
 am I all the more glad you have given him 
 his deserts." 
 
 " Now truss me with all speed," said his 
 master, at the finishing of his repast. " for 
 I am bound to Sir Thomas Lucy's, and must 
 needs appear becomingly before his wor- 
 ship." . 
 
 " Ay, marry," replied Saul, trussing his 
 master's points. Shortly after which Master 
 Buzzard mounted his horse, which had been 
 got ready for him at the gate, and rode off 
 in the direction of Fulbroke Park. 
 
 It was a fresh morning at the latter end 
 of April, and great rains had fallen for some 
 time, the young foliage was marked with 
 such transparent green as was truly deli- 
 cate'to see the hedges being fairly clothed 
 all in 'their new liveries, save here and there 
 a backward hawthorn, or a stump of an old 
 oak the last frosts had taken a stout hold of, 
 showed its unsightly bare branches. On the 
 banks there was no lack of verdure, sprink- 
 led in famous plentifulness with groups of 
 primroses, cuckoo flowers, snap-jacks, dai- 
 sies, cowslips, violets, and other sweet har- 
 bingers of the summer season. The small 
 birds were making a brave chirruping in 
 and out of the hedges sparrows, linnets, 
 finches, and tits, out of all number anon, 
 the traveler would disturb a blackbird or 
 thrush feeding, who would fly off with some 
 noise close over the adjoining field of rye, 
 high-soaring, was seen the lark, pouring 
 from her throat such a gush of thrilling 
 music as nought else in nature hath compa- 
 rison with ; at openings in the hedge might 
 be observed glimpses of the adjoining coun- 
 try, which looked very. prettily here, a pas- 
 ture with numberless sheep on it all cleanly 
 cropped from the late shearing, among which 
 the young lambs were beheld making excel- 
 lent sport with each other, or running with 
 an innocent plaintive " ba" to the mother 
 ewe, whose deeper voice ever and anon came 
 in with a pleasant harmony -there, a field 
 partly ploughed by a team of oxen, followed 
 by a choice company of rooks, who came to 
 mak prey of the worms that were turned up 
 in the furrows and not a stone's throw from ( 
 them was a man scattering of seed 'in the 
 newly raised soil whilst close at hand were 
 sundry old people busily engaged at weeding 
 a coming crop. Other fields, of various dif- 
 ferent tints, stretched themselves out far and
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 67 
 
 wide, till nought could be seen but Ihe hedge 
 rows ; and the far off hills and woods, the 
 greenness whereof seemed to vanish in the 
 distance to a deep dark blue. 
 
 Nothing of all this brave sight was noticed 
 by Master Buzzard, who rode onhisjiorse 
 with a tercel on his wrist, and abrach-hound 
 at his horse's heels, careless of all things in 
 nature save only his own selfish schemings 
 and villanous plottings against the happiness 
 of others. He was one for whom the beau- 
 ties around him had no attractions at any 
 time, unless, peradventure, it afforded him 
 good sport in hawking or in such other pas- 
 times as he took delight ; in fact, from a rio- 
 tous, headstrong youth, lie had grown to be a 
 man void of all principle, seeking his own 
 pleasures, heedless of whatsoever might be 
 in their way ; and never hesitating to stoop 
 to any villainy that promised employment to 
 his bad passions, and advantage to himself. 
 Such a one nature might look in the face, 
 smiling in all her most exquisite comeliness, 
 and he would take of her no more heed than 
 would he the squalid lineaments of a beggar's 
 callet. Indeed, the numberless moving graces 
 of our inestimable kind mother, can only be 
 sufficiently appreciated by those whose eye- 
 sight is free from sensual and selfish films, 
 and whose deep hearted love helpeth their 
 vision more admirably than can any glasses, 
 however magnifying they may be. 
 
 Master Buzzard proceeded on his journey 
 at a briskish amble, seemingly by the con- 
 traction of his brows, and- unpleasing gravity 
 of his aspect, to be meditating somewhat ; but 
 of what he was thinking I care not to tell ; for 
 it is a standing truth, a bad man's thoughts 
 will do good to none. Sometimes he would 
 start from his reflections to whistle to his 
 hound, should the dog seem inclined to wan- 
 der away upon the fresh trail of coneys or 
 hares ; and then swear a lot oj' terrible oaths 
 when she returned to his side ; or he would 
 walk his horse, to talk and trifle with his 
 hawk ; and then, tired of that, away he would 
 bound again, through the deep lanes, and over 
 the fields, to Charlcote, with his dog some 
 little way behind, carrying of her nose close 
 to the ground, or running on before with a 
 sharp quick bark, constantly stopping and 
 twirling of her head around to look back at 
 her master ; and ' away again, as though it 
 was fine sport to her to be so early a roving. 
 Thus they went till they came to a white 
 gate, at the which Master Buzzard was 
 forced to dismount to open it, and then rode 
 on again through a pasture marked by sweep- 
 ing undulations, dotted here and there with 
 magnificent oaks and beeches, through which 
 tl% sunshine came in glances, in a manner 
 
 as if desirous of having the best aspects ot 
 this sylvan scene. 
 
 Here the palfrey ambled his prettiest paces, 
 for the close herbage was as velvet to his 
 hoofs, and he stretched out his neck, and 
 shook his mane, and pawed the ground as he 
 went, in a marvellous fine fashion : but all at 
 once he stopped of a sudden, for right across 
 his path, a little in advance of him, there 
 rushed a numerous troop of deer, and Master 
 Buzzard had a great to 'do in shouting and 
 whistling to call back his brach-hound, who 
 at the first glance of them was for giving 
 chase at the top of her speed. It was a 
 famous sight to see them bounding across 
 the wide valley, and then up the next accliv- 
 ity, where they stopped, perchance to note 
 if they were pursued the young fawns 
 using their slender legs with exceeding swift- 
 ness ; and amongst the rest might be seen a 
 delicate white doe, made all the more mani- 
 fest by the sleek backs of her dappled com- 
 pany. Farther on more of these were .met 
 with, and, if at any distance, the bucks would 
 not stir ; but with antlers erect, they would 
 get together and examine the strangers with 
 a marvellous bold front anon a partridge 
 would rise before the horse with a startling 
 whirr ; and other signs of a like nature met 
 them as they went, which proved plain 
 enough that they were* in some goodly park 
 or another. Peradventure, whilst Master 
 Buzzard is making his way to Charlcote, 
 the courteous reader will be right glad to be 
 rid of his villanous company. 
 
 At this time Sir Thomas Lucy and his 
 dame were taking a morning's walk in their 
 garden and orchards mayhap to see how 
 looked the trees for fruit, and the ground for 
 vegetables and flowers. These two were 
 both of some age, that is to say, neither were 
 short of fifty. The knight was somewhat 
 older, of a middle size as regards length, yet 
 his limbs were slim, and waist no great mat- 
 ter. His countenance was of the simple 
 sort, yet merry withal, for he affected a jest 
 at times, and never failed to laugh at it the 
 heartiest of any ; but~~his constant affecta- 
 tion was of boasting what wild pranks he had 
 done in his youth 4br all he was now a jus- 
 tice of peace ; nevertheless when any offence 
 was put upon him, he would take upon him- 
 self to be in as monstrous a rage as the 
 greatest man in the shire. He wore a high- 
 crowned hat a little on one side, and moved 
 his head with a jaunty air, humming of a 
 song he had learned when at college ; and a 
 short nuT surrounded his peaked grey beard. 
 He wore a plum-colored doublet, with such 
 boad stuffed breeches to his hose as had been 
 lately in fashion, and carried his rapier aa
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 daintily as any young gallant. As for his 
 dame, she^kept at his side with a dignity, as 
 she imagined, becoming of her station ; for 
 as she fancied a justice of peace to be nigh 
 upon the most wofshipful of all offices, and 
 her husband, Sir Thomas, to be the most 
 famous justice that ever lived, anything in 
 her behavior that* might savor of levity she 
 would have nought to do with always ex- 
 cepting she would laugh a little at her hus- 
 band's jests, as she believed in all obedience 
 she was bound, though she never failed to 
 cry out " lie fie" as she did it, when they 
 smacked of any naughtiness. In short, she 
 was a simple honest-hearted creature as any 
 that lived, ever ready to make up with kind- 
 ness what she wanted in sense. She was 
 dressed in an excellent stiff brocade, with a 
 long stomacher and a notable ruff, plaited 
 and set out in the best fashion, and wore high- 
 heeled shoes, which gave her walk a gravity 
 she could not have otherwise attained ; and 
 had her own hair partly concealed under a 
 French hood. 
 
 It may be remembered that it was this very 
 lady of whom Master Buzzard spoke so un- 
 civilly at William Shakspeare's christen- 
 ing, touching a young child she had found 
 in her walks abandoned of its parents, and 
 had resolved to bring up tenderly ; but in 
 truth, all he said wa* a most lewd libel, as I 
 doubt not will readily be believed of him, for 
 she was too simple a woman to do anything 
 unlawful, and the child was a true foundling, 
 to whom she had shown from the first a very 
 womanly charity and affection. Her greatest 
 faults were her unreasonable partialities, 
 which blinded her completely. She could 
 see no wrong in ought that was done by her 
 husband, Sir Thomas, who was not altoge- 
 ther blameless, or her only son, a boy of at 
 least fifteen years, and a very tyrant to the 
 gentle Mabel, now grown to be a child of 
 exquisite graces of disposition, and his junior 
 by some five or six years. 
 
 It hath already been said that the knight 
 and his dame were taking of a morning's 
 walk together ; but some way behind these 
 was seen a fair girl, whose clustering light 
 ringlets were caught up by every breeze that 
 blew, setting off as admirable a mild, sweet 
 countenance as the most innocent age of 
 childhood ever exhibited. Behind her was a 
 lubberly boy, dressed very daintily in doublet 
 arid hose like a young gentleman ; and he 
 was amusing himself by picking up small 
 stones and flinging them at her, many of 
 which hit her sore thumps ; yet the only 
 sign she showed of her dislike of such unci- 
 vil treatment, was to beg he would not hurt 
 her so much. These two were the poor 
 
 foundling and the son of her benefactress- 
 and this was a sample of the sort of treat- 
 merit she had of him whenever he could get 
 her away from the observation of those likely 
 to check his rudeness ; for he knew of old 
 she would never complain of him, let his 
 usage of her be ever so bad, and therefore 
 he might continue it, as he thought, with per- 
 fect impunity. 
 
 " Pray you, sweet Master Thomas, hit me 
 not so hard !'' exclaimed the pretty Mabel, 
 in such winning accents as one might have 
 thought would have subdued a savage, as 
 she strove unavailingly to save herself from 
 the hard missiles with which she was pelted 
 by putting up her little hands, and shrinking 
 fearfully every time a stone was thrown. 
 
 " Tut, how can I hurt thee, thou little 
 fool ?" replied young Lucy, desisting not a 
 moment from his unmannerly behavior. 
 
 " Indeed, you do exceedingly, else would 
 I say nought of the matter," added she. 
 
 " Then thou shouldst have the wit to avoid 
 my aim," said the boy with a rude laugh. 
 " But thou- makest brave sport, Mabel. O' 
 my life, I should like to have thee fixed to a 
 stake as cocks are at a shrovetide, I warrant 
 I'd give thee famous knocks." 
 
 " I would do you no such unkindness, 
 believe me," answered his'^air companion. 
 " Nor would I wish to hurt any that live." 
 
 " The more fool thou," exclaimed her tor- 
 mentor. 
 
 " I marvel you should use me so uncivil- 
 ly," continued the poor girl, smarting with 
 the pain from a fresh blow, " I am sure I 
 have done nought that should give you any 
 displeasure, and do all you require me at a 
 moment's bidding, even though it may have 
 in it a<great distastefulness." 
 
 "Marry, what infinite goodness ! " cried 
 the boy in a jeering manner. " Why, of 
 what use art, if not to afford roe some sport 
 for the lack of better? Dost know the dif- ' 
 ference betwixt a good-for-nothing, beggarly 
 brat and a young gentleman of worship ? - 
 and what so fit, I prithee, as that the one 
 should be the pastime of the other ?" 
 
 " I would rather it should be in some 
 other fashion, an' it please you." observed 
 Mabel very humbly. " I will roll the ball 
 that you should strike it, and then to my ut- 
 most speed to bring it back to you again I 
 will be your horse, your spaniel, your deer ; 
 nay, aught in this world you most approve 
 of, and do all that in me lies to pleasure you, 
 so that you give me no more cruel blows 
 with those uncivil stones." 
 
 " 'Tis my humor, I tell thee," sharply re- 
 plied the petty tyrant. " And why should I 
 be balked in my humor by so mean a per-
 
 THE YOUTH OF. SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 69 
 
 ion ? Thou art ever a crying out about 
 thy hurts, forsooth ; and 1 doubt not at all 
 thou art no more hurt than am T." 
 
 " Nay, and indeed, sweet Master Tho- 
 mas " 
 
 " Hold thy prate !" exclaimed he, picking 
 up another missile, somewhat larger in size 
 than what he had previously thrown, which 
 he caught held of because he would not 
 wait to seek any smaller. " See, I have got 
 me a stone of some bigness, and if thou art 
 not nimble, 'tis like thy crown will stand 
 some chance of being cracked." The poor 
 child cowed down as she saw him fling ; but 
 the blow struck hard, for a slight scream es- 
 caped her involuntarily, as siie hastily put up 
 her hands to her head. 
 
 " Hang thee, why didst tbou not take heed 
 as I told thee !" cried the unfeeling boy, 
 searching about as if for another stone ; but 
 it so happened that the cry of Mabel was 
 heard by his parents, who turned back to see 
 what caused it. The poor foundling was 
 standing in exactly the same position as when 
 she was struck. 
 
 " Ha ! what aileth thee, Mabel ?" shouted 
 Sir Thomas, as he approached her. " Hast 
 been stung by a bee ? Well, 'tis but a small 
 matter. But never knew I a woman yet that 
 could not cry out lustily at trifles ; neverthe- 
 less, received she any great damage that 
 need not be told, she had the wit to hold her 
 tongue. I warrant you." 
 
 " Fie, fie !" exclaimed the dame, as usual, 
 joining in the knight's laugh ; and then re- 
 suming her customary dignity swept forward 
 to see if there was anything amiss. 
 
 " Thou shouldst not cry out, child, upon 
 slight causes," added she, as she came close 
 to the poor foundling. " Bees have stings, and 
 as is exceeding natural they will use them 
 when provoked to it, and perchance thou 
 shalt be forced to bear the smart ; but 
 come thou with me, I have in my closet the 
 
 eovereignest remedy . Alack, what a 
 
 sight is this !" cried the old lady in some 
 amazement and alarm, as, in taking the 
 child's arm, she noticed blood trickling 
 through her fingers, and over her waving 
 ringlets down to her back. 
 
 " O' my life, dame, methinks she hath 
 sufficient cause for her crying," observed 
 the knight. "But how came this about? 
 Dost know aught of the matter, sn Tom ?" 
 inquired he, as the boy came up to the spot. 
 
 " 'Troth, father, I was flinging at a bird, 
 and mayhap struck her by chance," said his 
 eon, as he noticed the mischief he had done. 
 
 "Plague on't, why 'dost not take more 
 1 V exclaimed his father. 
 
 " I am not much hurt, I thank you.' 1 said 
 
 Mabel, but so faintly as proved she was nigh 
 upon swooning ; and, indeed, the blow had 
 been so sharp it had stunned her for a time. 
 " And Master Thomas meant not it should 
 strike me." 
 
 " Thou shouldst not have got in his way, 
 child !" observed Dame Lucy, very gravely. 
 " But come with me this' wound must be 
 looked to straight." And so suying, she led 
 the fair child along to the house, making 
 sage remarks all the way of the properness 
 of little girls keeping away from places 
 where any stones were being thrown. 
 
 " J marvel thou shouldst be so awkward, 
 son Tom," said the. knight, as he followed 
 slowly behind the other two. " Now, when 
 I was of thy age, none could match me at 
 flinging at a mark. Many's the cock-spar- 
 row I have knocked off his perch ; nay, I 
 have been so quick of eye as more than 
 once, taking aim at a running leveret with 
 a stone of less than an ounce weight, I 
 have hit him between the ears, and tumbled 
 him over as though he had been shot." 
 
 Thus this unmannerly boy escaped the 
 punishment he deserved for his heartless 
 mischief, and thus the four returned to the 
 house, the dame intent upon dressing the 
 child's wound, for she was famous in the 
 knowledge of simples, and in small surgery, 
 as all good huswives should be ; and the 
 knight rehearsing to his son what marvel- 
 lous feats he had done in his boyhood \vith 
 the flinging of stones. Close upon the en- 
 trance they were met by a serving man, an- 
 nouncing the arrival of Master Buzzard, 
 come to see his worship on business. 
 
 ' How fare you, Master Buzzard how 
 fare you," cried Sir Thomas, welcoming his 
 visitor in the old hall, where he transacted 
 justice business. " I must have your com- 
 pany to dinner, Master Buzzard, when my 
 dame shall do you all proper courtesies." 
 Then, unheeding aught he had to* say on 
 the matter, the old knight gave instant or- 
 ders that the horse of his guest should be 
 well tended, and preparations made for as, 
 famous a dinner as the cook could provide. 
 " Ha ! hast got a falcon ?" continued he. " I 
 doubt not 'tis a brave bird by the look of it, 
 Master Buzzard. Indeed, in my time, I have 
 been as cunning in falconry as the best man 
 living. I remember me I had a hawk of my 
 own training that was the admiration of all 
 the country, and lords and bishops and great 
 courtiers came to beg that bird of me, but I 
 would part with her on no account ; she 
 went at her quarry as no bird ever did and 
 all of my own training/ And how fareth 
 your noble kinsman ?" 
 
 " Bravely, I thank you, Sir Thomas," re-
 
 60 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 plied Master Buzzard courteously ; and then 
 holding out the bird, added, " this hawk is 
 accounted one of ten thousand, as I doubt 
 not you shall find her on trial, so I pray you 
 accept of her, Sir Thomas, for I have had 
 her trained so that she should be worthy of 
 belonging to so excellent fine a judge." 
 
 " Count me your debtor, Master Buzzard," 
 said the knight, taking the gift very readily. 
 " I shall be proud to do you any good ser- 
 vice, believe me. By the mass, tis a brave 
 bird ! And so your noble kinsman is well," 
 continued he, as they sat together under a 
 raised dais at the top of the hall. " I wonder 
 if he hath forgot his ol<i acquaintance, Tho- 
 mas Lucy valiant Thomas Lucy, as he was 
 wont to call me, because once I got my head 
 broke by a tinker for kissing of his wife. I re- 
 member me now, his good lordship laughed 
 when the fellow offered to solder it for me for 
 a groat, and put his irons in the fire for the 
 purpose. That was a good jest i' faith." 
 
 "My lord often speaketh kindly of you, 
 Sir Thomas,' ' replied his guest, though he 
 had never heard his kinsman mention the 
 knight's name. 
 
 " O' my heart, doth he now ?" exclaimed 
 Sir Thomas delightedly. " Well, we have 
 been sad boys together that's a sure thing 
 such coney-catchers such roysterers such 
 lads of metal were not to be found in all Ox- 
 ford. We kept the college in a roar, that did 
 we, with our tricks ; and if any of the citi- 
 zens so much as said us nay, we "would out 
 with our toasting-irons and show them how 
 famously we could pass the montant, the 
 punto, the reverse, and other signs of our 
 cunning in fence, till they were glad enough 
 to take to their heels with whole skins. We 
 had not our match at the duello, I promise 
 you, and my lord was as choice a man at his 
 weapon as might be met with in those days. 
 As for me, he would say I deserved to be 
 fencer to the Czar of Muscovy, I was so 
 quick at it, and that my nimbleness of motion 
 made me as difficult to be hit as a flea with a 
 'cannon ball ; odds my life, that was wittily 
 * said." 
 
 ' In truth, a notable jest," said his guest, 
 joining in the justice's laugh. 
 
 " And so he wears well, doth he, Master 
 Buzzard ?" inquired the knight. " I'm glad 
 on't heartily glad on't for he was a true, 
 jovial spirit as ever I have met with, and I 
 have known some mad fellows in my time, I 
 warrant you. 'Troth, you would marvel fa- 
 mously to hear of what terrible, wild doings 
 I have been a party to in my younger d;iys 
 a March hare was not so mad as was I 
 some called me Hector-of Greece, because 
 of my valor others the King of the Swing- 
 
 bucklers, I was so ready to be a leader to the 
 rest in any mischief. I was the terror of all 
 the drawers round about, I would beat them 
 so readily ; and the constables of the watch 
 have oft been heard to say they would as lief 
 meddle with a savage bear as lay a hand on 
 me when I was in any of my wild humors. 
 That is a fair hound of yours," continued 
 he, all at once noticing the dog his guest had 
 brought with him. " There are few so apt 
 as am I in a proper knowledge of dogs. I 
 can tell a good one on the instant. Indeed, 
 I have been accounted as exquisite a judge 
 in the breeding and breaking of them as could 
 be found in the county ; and I have had in 
 my time such dogs as could not be seen 
 elsewhere. A fallow greyhound had I of a 
 most choice breed that beat all she run 
 against. O' my life, I have won such wages 
 on that dog's head as are clean incredible. 
 But your's is a fair hound, Master Buzzard, 
 take my word for't." 
 
 "'Tis at your service, Sir Thomas I 
 brought her here for no other intent," replied 
 the other. 
 
 " Nay, I cannot rob you of so fair a hound, 
 Master Buzzard," said the justice, patting 
 and commending the dog as she crouched at 
 her master's feet. 
 
 " You will do me wrong in denying me 
 such a favor, Sir Thomas so I pray you take 
 her," answered his gflest. 
 
 " Nay, ! should be loth to do any man 
 wrong !" exclaimed the knight with great 
 earnestness. " Methinks a justice of peace 
 should be no wrong-doer so I will e'en ac- 
 cept of your hound, and thank you very 
 heartily. Is there aught in which my poor 
 ability may do you a service, Master Buz- 
 zard ?" 
 
 " There is a matter I have come upon, to 
 the which I should like to have your wor- 
 ship's countenance," began his companion 
 with a famous hypocritical serious face. 
 
 " Count upon it, Master Buzzard !" cried 
 the justice. " Believe me, I would strain 
 a point for you with great willingness, that 
 would I, as I will show at any time there is 
 good warrant for it." 
 
 " I am much bound to you, Sir Thomas," 
 replied the other ; " then this is it. There is 
 one John Shakspeare " 
 
 " What, he of Stratford ?" inquired the 
 knight qu|pkly. " A man of fair, round face, 
 who married Arden's daughter. I have heard 
 him well spoken of by divers of the burgesses 
 as passing honest, and, at your instigation, 
 Master Buzzard, I will countenance him 
 against any man." 
 
 " You have been hugely deceived in him, 
 Sir Thomas," observed lus guest
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 61 
 
 " Marry, would ne seek to deceive a justice 
 of peace !" exclaimed the other. " What 
 monstrous villainy !" 
 
 " I have heard him speak most abominable 
 slander of your worship," continued Master 
 Buzzard. 
 
 " Oh, the horrid caitiff!" cried the offend- 
 ed justice. " Nay, but 'tis actionable, Mas- 
 ter .Buzzard ; and I will have him cast in 
 swinging damages. O' my life, never heard 
 I so infamous a thing ! I will straightway 
 issue my warrant for his appreHpsion. I 
 will teach him to slander Sir Thomas Lucy, 
 knight o' the shire and justice o' the peace, I 
 warrant you ! 'Tis not fit such villains 
 should live ; and methinks 'twould be ex- 
 ceeding proper in the law could so heinous 
 an offence be brought in hanging." 
 
 " As I live, I am of your worship's opini- 
 on !" said his guest. " But he is a very pes- 
 tilent knave, this John Shakspeare, and one 
 of no manner of honesty whatever, as I can 
 presently prove ; for sometime since, at his 
 urgent pressing, believing him to be such 
 creditable person as your worship thought, I 
 lent him a hundred crowns <yi his bond, the 
 which he hath not paid to this day, putting 
 me off with all sorts of paltry excuses con- 
 cern! ng of what losses he had had ; but 
 knowing, by certain intelligence, he was 
 merely striving Ho get^ff payment, I have 
 instructed Master Ofehpole to proceed 
 against him and seize what he hath for the 
 payment of my just debt." 
 
 " I warrant you," observed the knight, 
 " never heard I of such thorough dishonesty. 
 What, borrow a hundred crowns at his need, 
 and at a proper time be not able to pay it 
 back ! O' my life, 'tis clean villainy !" 
 
 " Perchance I should not have been so 
 rigorous with him, had I not heard him give 
 your worship such ill words," added Master 
 Buzzard ; " for I care not so much for losing 
 of such a sum ; but I could not allow of one 
 who slandered so noble a gentleman going 
 unpunished." 
 
 " By'r lady, Master Buzzard, I am greatly 
 beholden to you !" exclaimed the justice ; 
 " but I will trounce him famously ay, that 
 will I ! and keep his unruly tongue from all 
 such lewd behavior forever after." 
 
 " Nay, if it please you, Sir Thomas, I 
 would he shoukl not be attacked in this 
 matter," said Master Buzzard. The burg- 
 esses might take it ill of me, he being one 
 of the corporation, and of some influence 
 amongst them, were I to seem to press him 
 too hard." So I should take it kindly if you 
 would make no stir in it ; but keep you your 
 eye upon him, and if he should be found 
 transgressing, as it is very like he will, 
 
 then, if it so please you, I shall be well con- 
 tent you punish him as your wisdom may 
 think fittest." 
 
 It is only necessary to add to what hath 
 just been set down, that Master Buzzard 
 stayed dinner with Sir Thomas Lucy, and 
 was well entertained of him and his lady, 
 ever laughing at the knight's jests and mar- 
 velling at his incredible narrations, but 
 never failing to say something now and 
 then which should strengthen the other's 
 misliking of John Shakspeare, which failed 
 not of its purpose ; for the justice was so 
 weak of conceit as to be easily enraged 
 against any who seemed "not to think of 
 him so famously as was evident he thought 
 of himself. | 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 It is decreed : and we must yield to fate, 
 Whose angry justice, though it threatens ruin, 
 Contempt and poverty, is ail but trial 
 Of a weak woman's constancy in suffering. 
 
 FORD. 
 
 In felawship well could she laugh and carpe ; 
 She was a worthy woman all hire live, 
 Housbondes at the chirche dore had she-had five. 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 I exact not from you 
 A fortitude insensible of calamity, 
 To which the saints themselves have bowed 
 
 and shown 
 They are made of flesh and blood ; all that 1 
 
 challenge 
 Is manly patience. 
 
 MASSIJTCER. 
 Hold out now, 
 And then thou art victorious. 
 
 FOHD. 
 
 Two persons were standing in an empty 
 chamber bare to the very boards. A pain- 
 ful seriousness was on the features of each : 
 but there was no doubting each strove to con- 
 ceal from the other the exact state of their 
 feelings. They spoke low ; -their voices 
 having that subdued sound which betokeneth 
 great excitement of mind, with great efforts 
 to keep it from other's knowledge. One, a 
 man seeming to be of the middle age, and 
 in the prime of manhood, leaned his elbow on 
 the window sill, with his forehead resting on 
 his palm ; the other, a woman of an admira- 
 ble matronly appearance, had her arm 
 around his waist, and her fair cheek resting 
 upon his ^boulder. These were John Shak- 
 speare and his wife. They spoke only at 
 intervals, in the manner described ; and, as
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 uaual in all troubles, the woman appeared 
 to be playing the part of the comforter. 
 
 " Take it not to heart, John, I pray you," 
 said she, as she seemed to press him closer 
 to her side. " We shall do bravely anon. 
 We must put up with these buffets as we 
 best may ; and, for my ow^i part, I can con- 
 tent myself wondrous well, be my condition 
 ever so humble." 
 
 " I doubt it not, dame," replied her hus- 
 band ; " but canst content thyself with bare 
 lying, naked walls, and an empty larder ?" 
 
 " Ay, dear heart !" answered she very 
 readily ; " for a longer space than they are 
 like to visit us. AVe may be considered as 
 poor as any that live ; but whilst I have for 
 my yoke-fellow a good husband, a tender 
 father, and one so industriously disposed 
 withal, as you have oft shown yourself to be, 
 I know of no poverty that could trouble me 
 a jot." 
 
 " But the children, dame," observed John 
 Shakspeare in a huskish sort of voice. 
 "Alack ! Alack ! what shall become of 
 them ?" 
 
 " O they will do well enough, I warrant 
 you !" replied his wife with a cheerfulness 
 she was far from feeling. " They can en- 
 dure some slight discomfort, or they are none 
 of mine, more especially when they take 
 heed of their loving father's brave exertions 
 to keep up his heart and make head against 
 this sudden adversity." 
 
 " I am bewildered what to set my hand 
 to," said he, rising from his position with 
 a countenance somewhat irresolute ; but 
 when I look upon my stripped dwelling, 
 and remember how delicately thou hast been 
 brought up " 
 
 " Tut, tut, dear heart !" exclaimed his 
 good dame, taking one of his hands in hers, 
 and gazing affectionately in his face ; " I 
 should scorn myself could I not bear the ills 
 that might visit my helpmate. Think not 
 of me, 1 pray you, for there liveth not in the 
 world one so hardy as am I in all such mat- 
 ters." John Shakspeare shook his head 
 mournfully as he looked in her pale face, 
 as though he had his doubts she was as 
 strong as she said. 
 
 " I will essay all that a man can," said 
 he at last, " in the express hope this change 
 of fortune will do thee no hurt, for thou 
 hast been an excellent good wife to me, 
 dame ; and 'twould go to my heart were 
 any evil to happen to thee." At this com- 
 mendation she said never a word ; but all 
 the woman was in her eyes presently, and 
 she suddenly threw her arms around his 
 neck, and laid her face on his bosom. 
 
 " Woe's me, what poor foolishness is 
 
 this ?" cried 'she, rising from him a minute 
 after, with an endeavor to look more cheer- 
 ful ; " but I am wonderful pleased you will 
 try to be doing something, and I care not 
 what it be, so that it keep sad thoughts from 
 your head ; nay, I am assured of it, you 
 shall live prosperously the rest of your days, 
 put you forth all your strength now to bear 
 these troubles." 
 
 " That will I without fail, sweet heart," 
 cried he. After a brief space he left the 
 chambeftl| 
 
 Dame Shakspeare when alone, felt the 
 whole weight of her misfortune, for she 
 had given such great keaps of comfort to 
 her husband, she had not a bit of ever such 
 smallness remaining for herself. She lean- 
 ed out of the empty casement, but of the 
 spring flowers blooming in the garden saw 
 she nothing ; she beheld only her hapless 
 partner and her poor innocent children 
 lacking those comforts they had been used 
 to, and she powerless as to helping them in 
 their need. The wife and the mother was 
 so moved at the picture she could not avoid 
 drawing, as to feel a sort of choking, and 
 such heavinesirof heart, that at last she 
 dropped her face upon her hands and there 
 smothered her sobs. All at once she caught 
 the sound of a very sweet singing, and 
 listening with what attention she could, 
 heard the followingjBirds. 
 
 A COMFORTABLE CAROL. 
 
 " Cheer thee, my heart ! Thy life shall have a 
 
 crowning 
 
 This poor appareling cannot beguile ; 
 Phoebus himself hath worn as dark a frowning, 
 And lo ! all heaven is radiant with his smile ! 
 Bravely thy spirit bear, 
 Far from each coward fear ; 
 What though some trouble come, is all joy ban- 
 ished ? 
 
 Prithee a lesson read, 
 In ev'ry shivering weed, 
 That knows in winter's rage springs have not 
 
 vanished. 
 
 Pleasure is born of thee, comfort is near thee, 
 Glory thy boon shall be Cheer thee, O cheer 
 thee ! 
 
 Cheer thee, my heart ! Heed not the present 
 
 sorrow 
 
 Let future gladness flash in every thought ; 
 Never a night so black but hath its morrow, 
 Whose splendor laughs all gloominess to nought. 
 Though thou shouldst feel the. wound, 
 'Tis but to plough the ground 
 Looks not the soil as barren in the furrow ? 
 Yet o'er the sightless clods, 
 Countless great plenty nods, 
 When the rich harvest clothes the wide field 
 through !
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 63 
 
 Pleasure is born of thee, comfort is near thee, 
 Glory thy boon shall be Cheer thee, O cheer 
 thee !" 
 
 It was nurse Cicely singing to the chil- 
 dren in an upper chamber, as was her wont. 
 It had been noted, that however much giv- 
 en to singing was she, she never sang any 
 such songs as were familiar to her hearers ; 
 but she would say when spoke to on the 
 matter she had learned them in her youth, 
 and knew not by whom they were wrft. It 
 was the marvel of many that they looked 
 to be of a higher language than ordinary 
 ballads, whereof the tunes were the delica- 
 test sort ever heard. Dame Shakspeare 
 felt exceeding comforted at hearing the 
 foregoing verses, and rising from her lean- 
 ing place, hastily brushed away a tear from 
 her eyelids, as though it was some base 
 rebel that would needs be in arms against 
 her authority. As she did this she was 
 suddenly aware of a great talking of voices 
 in what had been the warehouse, and her 
 chamber door being presently thrown open, 
 she beheld the whole place thronged witli 
 her neighbors, mostly women and children, 
 carrying spare tables and chairs, and other 
 such conveniences as they thought she 
 stood most in need of. 
 
 " This way, neighbors, this way !" ex- 
 claimed the merry Widow Pippins, who 
 seemed to be the leader of the party. 
 
 " Ha ! dame, how dost do ?" inquired she, 
 as she put an old arm chair by the side of 
 her. So the villains have not left thee so 
 much as a rush for thy floor ? But mind it 
 not, gossip, for they have given thee all the 
 better cause for caring not a rush for the 
 whole pack of them." Thereupon she had 
 a hearty laugh, and then bustled herself 
 about giving directions where to put things, 
 which all did with great alacrity, that pres- 
 ently there seemed some sort of comfort in 
 the chamber, albeit though no two chairs 
 were alike. Mistress Malmsey and Mis- 
 tress Dowlas were each ^tthe side of Dame 
 Shakspeare, for she was^^Hk overpowered 
 by the kindness of her rSJPbors than ever 
 she had been at the great reverse she had 
 just experienced ; and they two having got 
 her seated, were pressing of her to take 
 some wine the vintner's wife had brought 
 with her, and were bestowing on her all 
 sorts of friendly consolation. 
 
 " Now get you gone, all of you, and let 
 us see which hath the best pair of heels," 
 said the widow, in her cheerfulest humor to 
 the others. u Mayhap if you search thor- 
 oughly, you shall still find some odd thing 
 or another serviceable to our good neighbor ; 
 and methinks 'twould be infamous of any 
 
 who have wherewithal to spare, to keep it 
 from one who is in such need." 
 
 " Ay, that would it," said David Hurdle, 
 who had run from his work on the news of 
 John Shakspeare's misfortune, with a heavy 
 oak table nigh as much as he could carry. 
 
 " Methinks I Jjave a knife or two, and 
 mayhap a spare trencher," observed Mother 
 Flytrap. " But alack ! what a monstrous 
 shame was it to have been so hard upon so 
 sweet a woman. Odds codlings ! I could 
 find it in my heart to do them a mischie. 
 for't." 
 
 " Use thy legs briskly, and thy tongue 
 shall last the longer," exclaimed the Widow 
 Pippins merrily. 
 
 "That will 1,1 warrant you!" replied 
 the old woman, hobbling along with her 
 stick at a rate she had not attempted for 
 many a day. 
 
 " As I live the world groweth more vil- 
 lainous every hour !" cried Oliver Dumps, 
 putting on one of his dolefullest faces. 
 " What abominable uncivilness and horrible 
 tyranny is this what shameful usage and 
 intolerable cruelty !" 
 
 "Fine words butter no parsnips, Master 
 Constable," said the widow. Ci Hast brought 
 any useful thing for our good neighbor ?" 
 
 " Nay, I clean forgot," answered Oliver. 
 
 " Speed thee, then, and give handsomely," 
 exclaimed she. " What dost come here for, 
 with thy melancholy visage like that of a 
 frog in a long drought ? Get thee gone for 
 a good dozen of trenchers, else if ever I draw 
 thee a drop of my liquor again call me a 
 horse. And, prithee," added the merry wo- 
 man, as he was moving himself off, " strive 
 if thou canst not rind out a good store of 
 wholesome victual to put in them ; and 
 count on for brimming measure from me the 
 rest of thy life." 
 
 "How now sweetheart," cried she, when 
 there were no others left with Dame Shak- 
 speare save only herself, Mistress Malmsey, 
 and Mistress Dowlas, " be not so downcast. 
 By my patience, there is nought in this you 
 should so much care for. Look at me, who 
 have buried five husbands seem I in any 
 way woe-begone ? O' my life, no ! Per- 
 chance I should seem none the less satisfied 
 had I buried a hundred, for there would still 
 be plenty as good above ground, or I am 
 hugely mistaken. Troth, care and I have 
 never been bedfellows, that's a sure thing." 
 
 " An' it please you, dame, I will fake the 
 boy William to our house till things are 
 more settled than they now are," observed 
 the draper's wife. 
 
 " And I will move my Timothy to be a
 
 64 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 mean for setting your good man on his legs 
 again," said the other, as affectionately. 
 
 " I heartily thank you," was all Dame 
 Shakspeare could say in reply. 
 
 "Prithee look a little more cheerful," 
 cried the widow. " Smile a bit now 
 'twould do you wonderful rood, I warrant ; 
 and a famous burst of laughing would be 
 worth any money to you." 
 
 Their attention was, at this moment, at- 
 tracted by some loud talking in the adjoin- 
 ing chamber or warehouse, which proved to 
 be Master Buzzard's man, Saul, conducting 
 of himself with intolerable insolency towards 
 John Shakspearc, evidently with a view of 
 provoking him to some breach of the peace. 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed he carelessly beat- 
 ing of his boot with an ashen stick he had 
 with him, as he stared about the naked 
 chamber with exceeding impudence, " me- 
 thinks thy wits must needs take to wool- 
 gathering, to help thee to a new stock, else 
 must thy customers lack serving, for here is 
 as goodly a show of nothing as ever I 
 saw." 
 
 " Get thee gone, fellow !" observed John 
 Shakspeare, with that indifference an honest 
 man ever feels at the insults of a low vil- 
 lain. 
 
 " Fellow !" cried Saul sharply, " who dost 
 call fellow, I prithee ? I have a few pounds, 
 at least, stored up, with a something in my 
 purse to spend; but thou art not worth a 
 pinch of salt with all thou hast, is more thah 
 I can see any color of warrant for thinking. 
 Marry, I marvel to hear beggars give their 
 betters ill words." 
 
 " Wilt get thee gone ?" cried the other 
 in a louder key ; " w.hat dost want here ? 
 Say thy business, and be off." 
 
 " Business, quotha !" exclaimed the man, 
 with a sneering laugh, " O' my life, this be 
 a rare place for business. What hast got to 
 sell, John Shakspeare spider's webs ? 
 I'faith, 'tis like thou wilt drive a brave trade 
 anon, provided thou canst keep up a fair de- 
 mand for such merchandise." 
 
 " O' my word, if thou dost not take thyself 
 quietly out of my dwelling in a presently, I 
 will turn thee out," said John Shakspeare, 
 determinedly. 
 
 " Ha, indeed," replied the fellow, twirling 
 his stick about, and eyeing his companion 
 superciliously from head to foot, " an' I be 
 not' hugely mistaken, 'twould take a some- 
 what better man than thou art, to do any 
 such thing." 
 
 " Away, fellow ! thou art contemptible," 
 exclaimed the other, making great efforts to 
 withhold his anger ; " an' I were but half 
 as vile a wretch as thou, I would take me 
 
 a rope and hang myself without another 
 word." 
 
 " How durest thou call names, thou piti- 
 ful, beggarly wretch !" cried Saul, approach- 
 ing his companion with a savage menacing 
 look. " Dost think to play the high bailiff 
 again? 'Slife ! hear I any more of thy 
 bouncing speech, I'l| crack thy crown for 
 thee." 
 
 " Wouldst !" exclaimed John Shakspeare, 
 seizing the fellow so suddenly by the collar 
 of his jerkin, that he had no time for putting 
 of his threat in execution. " Wouldst, 
 caitiff!" continued he, shaking him in his 
 strong grasp till he appeared to have shook 
 all his breath away. Then drawing him 
 close to his breast, he thrust his insulter 
 from him with such force, that he sent him 
 reeling to the other end of the chamber, 
 saying, " Get thee gone for a villain !" 
 
 As soon as the man got his footing he 
 was for flying at the other in a horrible 
 deadly rage, to do him some mischief, when 
 he was stopped by the Widow Pippins 
 Mistress Malmsey, and Mistress Dowlas, 
 rushing in before him from out of the ad- 
 joining chamber. 
 
 " Away, thou scurvy rogue !" exclaimed 
 the widow. 
 
 " Get thee hence, thou pitiful rascal, or I 
 will clout thy head off !" cried the vintner's 
 wife, with no less earnestness. 
 
 " By my troth, an' thou stayest here 
 another minute, I'll be as good as hanging 
 to thee, thou intolerable villain !" addea 
 Mistress Dowlas, in as great a rage as 
 either. 
 
 " Go to, thou art a drab !" said Saul, im- 
 pudently, as he tried to push by them. 
 
 " Am I a drab, fellow ?" exclaimed Mis- 
 tress Malmsey, hitting of him a box on the 
 ear with all the strength of her arm. 
 
 " Dost call me drab, villain !" cried the 
 draper's wife, giving him so sore a one on 
 the other side of his head that it nearly 
 turned him round^L 
 
 " I'll drab thjj^Bsaid the widow, lifting 
 up her foot the^Bxt moment, and giving 
 him a kick behind of such force it sent him 
 some paces ; and the three women followed 
 him up with such vigor, jhat after .standing 
 a moment, quite bewildered with the quick- 
 ness and fierceness of their blows, the fel- 
 low was fain to take to his heels ; but not 
 before the widow had given him a parting 
 benediction witli her loot, in the use of 
 which she showed a. marvellous cleverness, 
 that gave him a good start to begin with. 
 
 " As I live that was well done of us !" 
 exclaimed the merry widow, as soon as 
 Saul had disappeared, Und laughing with
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 her usual free-heartedness ; " never knew 
 I so goodly a foot-ball, or ever played so 
 famous a game. Indeed, 'twas exquisite 
 sport. I would not have missed my share 
 in it for another husband. O' my life, an' 
 he findeth himself comfortable sitting for j 
 the next month, he must be rarely fashioned. 
 He must needs forswear chairs, and rest as 
 gingerly on a stool as would a cow upon ! 
 broken bottles. I'faith, 'twas rare sport !" 
 
 The other two appeared to be nearly as j 
 well amused, as they returned to Dame 
 Shakspeare, who had come as far as the j 
 door in some alarm, when her neighbors 
 burst into the warehouse ; but there were j 
 two others, who had observed Saul's inso- ! 
 lence from the kitchen, and these were 
 Maud and Humphrey, and were quite as j 
 much moved at it as any there. The former : 
 had been crying ever since the seizure, and ; 
 the other had been endeavoring, with a vast 
 show of awkward aflectionateness, to give 
 her s;;me comfort. 
 
 "Humphrey!" cried she, suddenly jump- 
 ing up from the ground where she had been 
 sitting, at hearing of her master so insulted, 
 and gazing on her companion with a very 
 monstrous earnestness ; ' An' thou dost not 
 go and cudgel that knave within an inch 
 of his life, I'll forswear thy company. Ay," 
 added she with a most moving emphasis ; 
 " though I die a maid for't !" 
 
 " By goles, thou shall never do so horrid j 
 a thing!" exclaimed Humphrey, hastily! 
 catching hold of a cudgel fchat had often ! 
 done good service on himself, and darting 
 out at the back door as Saul made his exit j 
 at the front. Now Humphrey was not [ 
 much given to valor : indeed, to speak the j 
 exact truth, he could be terrible fearful [ 
 upon occasions ; but what will not love do ? I 
 All at once Humphrey felt himself a hero ; 
 and to save his Maud from so unnatural a ' 
 catastrophe as she had threatened, he would 
 that moiiiMit have dared any danger, had \ 
 it been ever so great. As he proceeded \ 
 quickly along, tie threw out his arms, jerked \ 
 up his head, expanded his chest, and flour- ! 
 ished his cudgel, with the air of a con- j 
 queror. No one knew Humphrey. I doubt! 
 hugely Humphrey knew himself, he was so j 
 changed. 
 
 Saul left John Shakspeare's house in a ' 
 terrible bad humor, as may be supposed, i 
 His head seemed to spin like a parish top, j 
 
 and as for but methinks th x 8 courteous 
 
 reader needeth no retrospective allusions. 
 Suffice it to say he was in a tearing pas- 
 sion, and went his way monstrous chap- 
 fallen, muttering all sorts of imprecations, 
 with his eyes on the ground as though in- 
 
 tent on studying every pebble he trod on. 
 All at once some one ran against him with 
 such force as nearly to send him off his 
 legs. 
 
 " A murrain on thee ! dost want thy fool's 
 head broke ?" shouted Saul. 
 
 " Ay, marry, and why not, if thou canst 
 do it!" replied 'Humphrey in a big voice 
 that almost frightened himself. " Go and 
 bite thy thumb at a stone wall, and be 
 hanged to thee ! My head be as good a 
 fool's head as thine, I warrant; and I care 
 not who knows it. I tell thee I take thee 
 to be a scurvy villain ; so have it in thy 
 teeth thou coal-carrying knave! 1 ' 
 
 " Bravely said, Humphrey !" cried a 
 neighbor, astonished at such a display in 
 one so litrte noted for valor. 
 
 " Well done, my heart of oak !" ex- 
 claimed another, patting him on the back 
 with the same commending spirit. 
 
 " Why, thou pitiful worsted knave !" 
 bawled out Master Buzzard's man, recover- 
 ing from his surprise at being so abused of 
 so mean a person. " 'Slife ! an' do I not 
 beat thee to shavings, I am a Jew." 
 
 " A ring, my masters a ring !" bawled 
 out another ; and very speedily there was a 
 circle of some twenty men and boys, form- 
 ed round the two combatants. Never were 
 two persons so badly matched. Saul was 
 the best cudgel-player in the whole country; 
 but all Humphrey's knowledge of it came 
 of the blows he had had of his master, and 
 not without deserving it; yet was Humphrey 
 the favorite of the spectators beyond ques- 
 tion, all of whom held the other in huge 
 dislike, for very efficient causes, and Hum- 
 phrey was so encouraged and commended 
 of them, that although his feelings were 
 somewhat of a dubious sort, for all the show 
 he made, it kept up his valor famously. 
 Presently the two began playing of their 
 weapons very prettily ; but Humphrey was 
 in so monstrous an eagerness to pay his 
 antagonist, he did nothing but strike away 
 as hard as he could, in a manner that quite 
 confused the practised cudgel-player. Saul 
 was in a horrible passion, which in con- 
 junction with other things, mayhap might 
 have made his skill avail him so little ; but 
 when he found his head broke, and heard 
 the shouts of triumph of those around him, 
 he became like a mad beast, and struck out 
 wherever he could at mere random. Certes 
 Humphrey got no lack of thumps ; but his 
 head looked to be to the hardness of a bullet, 
 and gave no sign of being touched, while 
 Saul could scarce see out of his eyes for 
 the blood running from his broken head. 
 
 As it was now a mere trial of endurance,
 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 it was easy to see who would get the best 
 of it, for Saul might have cudgelled a post 
 with as much sign of success as he had 
 with his present antagonist ; and nothing 
 could exceed the gratification of all present 
 at the heartiness with which John Shaks- 
 peare's man gave ft to the other. In short, 
 Saul got such a drubbing as he had never 
 had since he was born ; and at last, when 
 his strength was nearly exhausted, a sharp 
 blow sent him to the ground like a stone. 
 Then rose a shout of triumph such as 
 . Stratford had rarely'heard, and Humphrey 
 mounted on the shoulders of two butcher's 
 apprentices, and followe.d by half the town 
 hurraiiig him as he went they were in 
 such delight he had behaved himself so 
 valorously, and punished as he deserved so 
 notorious a knave was carried like a hero 
 to his master's dwelling. 
 
 " Maud !" cried the victor, as he entered 
 the back door, with his heart swelling with 
 exultation. 
 
 " Well, Humphrey," said she. 
 
 " I have given that varlet his deserts." 
 
 '"Hast?" added she, approaching him 
 closely, and looking earnestly into his face. 
 
 " By goles, I do think I have gone as 
 nigh killing the knave as was possible." 
 
 " Hast ?" repeated she with a smile break- 
 ing over her chubby cheeks. " Then here's 
 at thee !" Thereupon she suddenly seized 
 Humphrey by his two ears with her huge 
 fists, and gave him as hearty a buss as ever 
 man received of woman since the world 
 . commenced. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Mosca. There's nought impossible. 
 
 Votpone. Yes, to be learned, Mosca. 
 
 Mosca. O no ; rich 
 
 Implies it. Hood an aa^with reverend purple, 
 So you can hide his two ambitious cars, 
 And he shall pass for a cathedrel doctor. 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 Of an old English gentleman who had an old 
 
 estate, 
 And kept up his old mansion at a bountiful 
 
 rate, 
 With an old porter to relieve the poor at his 
 
 gate, 
 Like the Queen's old courtier, and a courtier 
 
 of the Queen's. OLD BALLAD. 
 
 IT cannot be supposed William Shaks- 
 peare was well off in his schooling under so 
 ill a master as Stripes, who, though he did 
 not treat him uncivilly, in token of such 
 
 welcome gifts as his mother ofttimes 
 brought, Was of too ignorant pedantic a 
 nature to have that heed which a young 
 scholar of any promise requireth : neverthe- 
 less William took to his book very kindly, 
 to the wonderful admiration of Dame Shaks- 
 peare and her gossips, and in especial of 
 Nurse Cicely, which never failed to bring 
 forth notable prophecies of his future great- 
 ness from her, whereof more than one per- 
 son entertained them as exceeding credible. 
 There was no wake, or lamb-ale, or other 
 festival in the neighborhood the boy was not 
 invited to with his mother, at which he was 
 continually called upon to repeat such 
 verses he had learned of his mother, or sing 
 such ballads as his nurse had made him 
 familiar with; and the goodly manner he 
 would perform what was required, so won 
 upon the hearts of the spectators, that 
 praises out of all number, and other things 
 more substantial in great plenty, were the 
 sure consequences. As soon as he had 
 learned to read, wonderful was the diligence 
 with which he perused all manner of books 
 albeit he quickly exhausted the poor stock 
 that could be had for his reading, for these 
 merely consisted of a few volumes, chiefly 
 poems of Dame Shakspearc's, and one or 
 two here and there of some neighbor. Cer- 
 tes, no great matter of knowledge was to 
 be gained of such books; but they served 
 to excite the young mind, and keep it in a 
 restless yearning for more delectable food ; 
 and therefore \frere not entirely unprofitable. 
 It is not to be imagined that a child so 
 disposed took no delight in the proper pas- 
 times of his age ; for the entire contrary is 
 nighest to the truth. Among all his school- 
 fellows, who entered into any sport with 
 such absolute zest as Will Shakspeare? 
 He was the wildest of any. His free spirit 
 made such play among them as soon gained 
 for him the liking of the whole school. He 
 grew up at last t be the chief leader in 
 their games the captain of their exploits, 
 and the very heart and principal of all their 
 revel*. If Will was not of their company, 
 doubtless were they as much at a loss as a 
 hive of bees without their queen ; but when 
 they were heard as merry as crickets by a 
 winter's hearth, calling lustily to each other, 
 crowding here and running there, sending 
 the football bounding along the grass, or 
 leaping over each other's backs as though 
 they had wings, of a surety he was to be 
 found amongst the very foremost. But it 
 should be borne in mind that there were 
 times, and many times too, when the day 
 was in its freshest glory, and every one of 
 his companions were enjoying themselves
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 67 
 
 to his heart's content, he would be in some 
 out of the way corner, half sitting half re- 
 clining on the floor, leaning deeply studious 
 over some old volume he had provided him- 
 soU' with ; and the merry shoutings close at 
 hand, or the pressing entreaties of those he 
 most liked, had never power to draw him 
 thence till he had gone through it every 
 page. 
 
 More than once too, when they were out 
 together a maying, or nutting in the woods, 
 he would stray from the rest, perchance led 
 away by the sweet singing of the birds, or 
 the delicate beauty of the blossoms ; and in 
 some shady place would sit him down to 
 rest, conning of a book the whilst, he had 
 carried under his jerkin, till somehow or 
 another he would fall asleep, and O the 
 exquisite pleasant dreams he had at that 
 time ! At the end he would suddenly start 
 up, rubbing of his eyes and looking in every 
 place for the great multitude of the fairy 
 folk, who a moment since in their delicate 
 finery seemed to be dancing so bravely be- 
 fore him, and singing to him such admirable 
 choice ditties, and doing him all manner of 
 delectable courtesies ; but finding no sign 
 of such searched he ever so, he would be in 
 huge disappointment, till the shouting of 
 his fellows woke him from la's strange be- 
 wilderment ; and he would then make what 
 haste he could to join his company. 
 
 Of his disposition, it is not too much to 
 say it savored of as much sweetness as 
 ever lay in so little a compass- There was 
 no aptness to sudden quarrel with him no 
 giving of ill words no heating of lesser 
 boys than himself no tendency to mere 
 rude mischief ; neither selfishness, nor 
 covetousness, nor any unmannerly quality 
 whatsoever, such as are frequently in other 
 boys ; but he would give freely of what he 
 had, and assist those in their tasks who were 
 backward, and very cheerfully do any civil 
 thing for another that was in his compass, 
 and could not bear to see any cruelty, or 
 unkind treatment of any sort let it be among i 
 big or little. From this it will readily be j 
 conceived, that for his master he had but 
 small affection, even though Stripes used 
 him with more civilness than was his wont 
 to others. This seeming partiality, how- 
 ever, lasted only as long as Dame Shaks- 
 peare's gifts ; for when the family grew to 
 be too poorly off to send him any, the 
 schoolmaster showed his savage humor to 
 him as much as to the rest. 
 
 At the complete poverty of his father by 
 Master Buzzard's ruthless proceedings, it 
 was thought William would be taken alto- 
 gether from school to assist his parents in 
 
 ' stu-h things as he could, for he was now 
 I grown to be of some bigness, and John 
 Shakspeare had not withal to keep either 
 Maud or Humphrey who straightway 
 made themselves of the pale of matrimony 
 and was striving as he best might to do 
 a little trade as a glover, whereof his means,- 
 with his neighbors assistance, was only 
 enough to accomplish ; but it was resolved 
 by the two alderman's wives, who were the 
 prime movers of all things in his behalf, 
 that it would be best, as he was getting so 
 forward, William should keep school hours, 
 and assist his father at other times ; and in 
 consequence, he continued to receive such 
 instructions as Stripes could give in read- 
 ing and writing, the science of simple arith- 
 metic, and the study of the Latin grammar, 
 for some time longer, wherein he got to be 
 the very head of the school, despite of hav- 
 ing so unworthy a teacher, and of the 
 monstrous negligence and wanton insolency 
 with which he was treated. 
 
 Now this fellow of a schoolmaster was in 
 the habit of using his boy Dickon, worse 
 than any turnspit dog might be treated by a 
 brutal scullion. What his wages were has 
 never been known ; and indeed, save in the 
 way of blows, he had never had anything of 
 the sort. He got such little victual, that it 
 was supposed of some he would long since 
 have taken to eating of himself, only he 
 knew not where to find a mouthful. Truly 
 flesh and blood could not stand such usage ; 
 indeed it appeared as though they had long 
 had nought to do with the business, leaving 
 skin and bone to manage everything between 
 them. Dickon was reduced to such a strait, 
 that if he caught sight of a cur looking for 
 bones, he would take to his heels presently, 
 with the full conviction the animal would 
 make a grab at him an' he got in his way. 
 In him, however, such leanness was but the 
 natural result of poor living ; but his master, 
 though he eat and drank greedily whatever 
 he could lay his hand on, looked not a jot 
 more full of flesh than ordinary. Indeed, 
 he starved both his boy and his cat, eating 
 from them their share of victual, yet seemed 
 to carry nigh upon as hungry a look wtih him 
 as either. His tyrannical humor he often 
 enough showed upon his scholars, but this 
 was nothing to be compared with the sav- 
 ageness with which he was ever falling 
 upon poor Dickon for any trifling faults ; 
 and it was his custom, when he fancied 
 there was anything amiss in the poor boy'a 
 behavior, to drag him into the school-room, 
 to be horsed by some of the biggest of his 
 scholars ; and then he would lay on him 
 with a great rod with such fierceness as was 

 
 68 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 horrible to see, caring not a jot for his cries, 
 or the entreaties of the whole school he 
 should be let go. 
 
 These exhibitions of his master's cruelty 
 were intolerable to William Siiakspeare, 
 and many of his schoolfellows ; so one day, 
 after such a sight, "he got several of them 
 together he Had confidence in, and they be- 
 ing moved with wrath and indignation, re- 
 solved among themselves they would allow 
 of it no longer, no matter what might follow ; 
 and the first class, which were.tlie chiefest 
 for strength, entered into a bond of mutual 
 protection. Others of the greatest spirit 
 were drawn into the confederacy, and in a 
 little time the whole school was in a ferment 
 upon the matter. The very smallest of thn 
 lot was seen to double up his little fist, with 
 :i look of vengeance that spoke volumes of 
 meaning. All things, however, were left to 
 the management of Will Shakspcare, and 
 every one vowed to stand by Inrn, though 
 they were whacked to ribbons. The secret 
 was well kept. Stripes had not the slight- 
 est knowledge of any such feeling against 
 him, and the next day rushed into the school- 
 room, hauling in Dickon by the ear, who 
 was making of a pitiful lamentation, and 
 cuffing him mercilessly by the way. 
 
 " Will Siiakspeare !" shouted the school- 
 master ; " horse me this villain straight." 
 The boy moved not an inch. 
 
 "Will Siiakspeare, I % say!" thundered j 
 Stripes, with increased rage; "horse me | 
 this caitiff, I tell thee." Still his scholar 
 kept the same unmovedness, and every one 
 appeared studying of their tasks with more 
 than ordinary diligence, nevertheless their 
 little hearts were a beating famously. 
 
 " Why, thou villain, what dost mean by 
 this ?" exclaimed the pedagogue, furiously, 
 letting go his hold of Dickon, and catching 
 up his cane. "I'll make thee hear, I war- 
 rant." In the twinkling of an eye every 
 boy was out of his form. 
 
 ' Now, Tom Green !" cried one. 
 
 " Now, Jack Hemings !" shouted another. 
 
 ' : At him, Dick Burbage!" exclaimed a 
 third. 
 
 " On him, Harry Condell !" bawled a 
 fourth ; and in an instant, there was a rush 
 upon the astonished schoolmaster from all 
 parts of the school. 
 
 " Ha ! dost rebel ?" screamed he, making 
 furious efforts to cut them with his cane, 
 with his cadaverous visage livid with pas- 
 sion. " 'Slight, I'll make thee rue it!" 
 
 But for all his terrible efforts he was 
 speedily overpowered. The boys came upon 
 him with all the spirit of ants disturbed in 
 their nest ; some clung to a leg, others to 
 
 an arm. They jumped upon his neck, and 
 hung upon his jerkin in such numbers, tliat 
 he could do nought in the world, but threat- 
 en them with the horriblest imprecations. 
 At this stage of the proceedings, Dickon, 
 who had regarded this sudden movement 
 out of his wits with sheer amazement, was 
 called to hold his back to take his master 
 on ; and though at first he showed some 
 sign of unwillingness, he was soon forced 
 by the conspirators to do as they bade him. 
 
 " I'll have thee hanged, villains !" bawled 
 the pedagogue, as he was being hoisted by 
 the strongest of his scholars upon the back 
 of the poor boy he had used so inhumanly, 
 malgre all his strugglingsand fumings. "I'll 
 lash the skin off thy pestilent bones. I'll 
 scourge every one of thee to death. Let 
 me go, thou vile wretches !" 
 
 'Hold on, Dickon!" cried some. 
 
 " Keep him fast, my masters !" exclaimed 
 others, and shouts of encouragement arose 
 from all. Dickon did hold fast, doubtless in 
 some slight pleasure, for all his seeming un- 
 willingness, and he had no lack of helpers 
 in his office ; so that Stripes was very 
 speedily prepared for that punishment he 
 had with so little discretion inflicted upon 
 others. As soon as he began to be aware 
 of what was intended for him, he was like 
 one in a phrenzy. Mad with fear, rage, and 
 indignation, he redoubled his threats and his 
 struggles, but all to small profit : for, whilst 
 he was held down as firm as in a vice by 
 some, others, one after another, laid into him 
 with all their might, till he roared for mercy. 
 These, then, taking the places of his holders, 
 divers in their turn assisted in the tyrant's 
 punishment, till not one of the whole school 
 but had repaid him with interest the unde- 
 served blows he had received at his hands. 
 To describe the joy with which all this was 
 done by the scholars, their uproarious shouts 
 and cheers, or the horrible bad humor of 
 their master, is clean out of the question. I 
 doubt not it will be imagined of many. The 
 end was, at a signal he was dropped on the 
 floor, so completely tamed of his tyrannical 
 humors, he would npt have struck at a 
 mouse, where he was left to put himself 
 to rights as he might, and then the whole 
 school took their leaves of him very orderly. 
 
 The next day they came to the school as 
 usual, but all in a body ; the bigger boys 
 first, and the little ones coming after, and 
 every one went to his place, and took to his 
 studies, as if nothing had happened out of 
 the ordinary. Doubtless, they had come to 
 the resoluon to have at him again, showed 
 he any more of his insufferable cruelties ; 
 but there was small need of any such tiling,
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 69 
 
 for there never was so altered a man seen 
 as was Stripes, the schoolmaster. He heard 
 them their lessons with a sort of suavity 
 that was marvellous beyond all things 
 praising of every one as though he had got 
 for his scholars such prodigies of genius as 
 could not be met with elsewhere and 
 taking no more thought of canes and rods, 
 than if such things had never been in his 
 experience. As for Dickon, he showed his 
 master a fair puir of heels directly he had 
 him off his back, and was shortly after taken 
 into the service of an honest yeoman, father 
 to one of the scholars. 
 ' It so happened, once on a time, as Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare and his chief companions 
 were strolling together, they came upon the 
 town crier giving note to the inhabitants, 
 that my Lord of Leicester's players being 
 in the town, would perform a play at a cer- 
 tain hour, to which the citizens were in- 
 vited at a small charge. This put some of 
 them in a monstrous desire to behold so 
 goodly an entertainment particularly Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare, who had beheld nought of 
 the kind in all his life ; but others, his eld- 
 ers, had seen plays more than once, and they 
 gave him such moving accounts of what ex- 
 quisite pleasant pastime was to be found in 
 them, that he did nothing but wish he could 
 get to a sight of such. Unluckily, he had 
 no money of any kind, and his father's ne- 
 cessities were so great he knew none could 
 be spared him. What to do he knew not ; 
 for though he could get standing room fora 
 penny, no sign of a penny could he see 
 anywhere. He knew that divers of his 
 schoolfellows were intent upon going, and 
 he would have been glad enough to have 
 joined them, but he saw no hope of the kind, 
 by reason of wanting the necessary price of 
 admission. It however did so turn out, that ; 
 the father of one of the boys was an espe- 
 cial acquaintance of the head of the players, 
 by which means Richard Burbage not only 
 got to see the play for nothing, but moved 
 his father to allow of his schoolfellow, Will . 
 Shakspeare, having the like permission ; j 
 which,' to the latter's % extreme comfort was 
 granted. 
 
 The players gave their entertainment in 
 the inn yard of the Widow Pippins, on a 
 raised platform in front of the gallery. They 
 were not troubled with scenery, and made 
 no particular display of a wardrobe, but the 
 merry interlude, called " Gammer Gurton's 
 Needle," a huge favorite at that time, which 
 was then and there played by them, required 
 little such accompaniment. The spectators, 
 at least the greater number, stood in the j 
 yard ; but those who chose to pay. more, j 
 
 were accommodated with seats at the gal- 
 lery and casements. William Shakspeare, 
 by going early with his fellows, got a front 
 place, and waited, in a marvellous eagerness, 
 to see the interlude. Presently there was a 
 movement made by his neighbors, which 
 caused him to turn round like the rest, and 
 he saw it was occasioned by the entrance 
 into the gallery of Sir Thomas Lucy, his 
 lady, and his son, who took the best places ; 
 elsewhere was seen Mistress Malmsey and 
 Mistress Dowlas, in their choicest rinery, 
 pointing out their acquaintances to each 
 other ; and either up or down, half the good 
 folks of Stratford might have been recog- 
 nized, intent upon nothing so much as see- 
 ing the play. 
 
 At last the curtain was moved, and a be- 
 ginning was made of the play by the ap- 
 pearance of Hodge and Deacon. The piti- 
 ful manner in which the one complains to 
 the other of the bad state of his lower gar- 
 ment, and the right doleful way of his com- 
 panion's condolences on the matter, were 
 received by the audience with loud roars of 
 laughter. Then, when Deacon acquaints 
 Hodge of Gammer Gurton and her maid 
 Tib having been by the ears together, mak- 
 ing of the House a perfect Bedlam, and the 
 other protests he was monstrous afraid some- 
 thing serious would happen, having taken 
 note of the awful manner in which Tom 
 Tankard's cow frisked her tail, there was no 
 less mirthfulness. Upon Hodge proceeding 
 homeward and meeting with Tib, and hear- 
 ing that all this turmoil had been occasioned 
 by the Gammer losing of her needle ; when, 
 upon spying of Gib, the cat, up to the ears 
 in her milk-bowl, she let fall the breeches 
 she was clouting with all diligence, (he 
 humor of the dialogue seemed equally well 
 relished. But when it came to Gammer 
 Gurton's terrible to do because of her loss, 
 her monstrous anxioasness to recover it, 
 her suspicions of th'e honesty of her neigh- 
 bors, her intrigues and quarrels with them, 
 and the interference of no less a person than 
 the parson of the parish, Dr. Rat, to make 
 peace again, there was a choice roaring I 
 warrant you ; and this was only exceeded 
 when Hodge, upon sitting of himself down, 
 discovered the lost needle, to his great smart, 
 in consequence of its having been left stick- 
 ing in his rent garment. 
 
 I doubt much whether the finest play 
 ever writ, was so well relished of an audi- 
 ence as was this rude coarse interlude, by 
 the simple burgesses of Stratford. Even Sir 
 Thomas Lucy laughed as though he would 
 never have done. As for William Shaks- 
 peare, it made such impression on him, nev ir
 
 70 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 having setn anything of the sort, that the 
 next day, and very often after, lie' was to be 
 seen, with his companions, JJurbage, Green, 
 Condell, and Hemings, making players of 
 themselves in an out-of-the-way corner of 
 the town, essaying to play that very inter- 
 lude, by one taking one character and the 
 rest others ; and it was said by some who 
 saw them at it, that the seeing these boys 
 aping the players out of their own heads as 
 they did, was nigh upon as rare a sight as 
 seeing the players themselves. All these 
 five were ever at it ; and the playing of Gam- 
 mer Gurton's Needle took the place of all 
 other sports whatsoever. Suffice it to say, 
 that the Earl of Leicester's company got 
 such reception, they repeated their visits fre- 
 quently ; and young Burbage's father having 
 shown some talent as a player, they took him 
 to be of their company. 
 
 On one occasion, William Shakspeare 
 was sent with some gloves to a certain Sir 
 Marmaduke de Largest, living at Wilne- 
 cott, at an excellent old mansion there, who 
 delighted in keeping up the country sports 
 and festivities, and was noted for miles round, 
 what extreme pleasure he took in anything 
 that smacked of antiquity. His hospitality 
 was unbounded, and his table was ever loaded 
 with the choicest of good victual, to which 
 all might seat themselves according to their 
 quality ; and what was left was given to the 
 poor by the porter at the gate. No one ever 
 came there hungry that did not leave with 
 as much as he liked to eat and drink, under 
 his belt ; and, if it was needed, a something 
 in his purse to- carry him along. In his 
 cooking he was more careful there should 
 be a good plenty of wholesome viands, than 
 that any show of extreme niceness should 
 be visible in the dishes ; and as for what he 
 gave to drink, it was chiefly honest ale, of 
 his own brewing, of such fine flavor and 
 strength as was not to be matched, go where 
 you would. 
 
 Having passed through an avenue of lofty 
 trees, which led up to the house, admiring, 
 as he approached it, its fair appearance and 
 antique character, on making known his er- 
 yand he was ushered by a jolly-looking but- 
 ler into a spacious stone-floored chamber, 
 lighted with transome windows, the walls of 
 which were garnished with a prodigal as- 
 sortment of corslets and helmets arranged 
 in rows, wjjJi coats of mail, military jerkins 
 or shirts of leather, halberts, bucklers, pikes, 
 bills, crossbows, and all manner of the like 
 weapons and defences. An oak table that 
 went the whole length of the chamber, was 
 covered with smoking viands, brimming 
 black jacks, and full trenchers. The upper 
 
 and lower messes being divided by a huge 
 saltcellar, all around was a busy company 
 of friends and retainers, doing honor to the 
 feast: and at the head of the table in a fa- 
 mous tall chair, sat a ruddy, stout, pleasant- 
 faced gentleman, with hair and beard white 
 and plentiful ; a full ruff such as might have 
 been in fashion some score of years since, 
 and a serviceable doublet, with trunks and 
 hose of a sober color. The hilt of his ra- 
 pier came up to his breast, but he held it as 
 carefully as if it had been an old friend, and 
 I doubt not would sooner have gone without 
 his napkin at his meals, than without so ap- 
 proved a companion. He kept discoursing 
 cheerfully with those nighest him, ever and 
 anon glancing his eyes round to sec that the 
 carver did his duty, and that all were well 
 served. This was Sir Marmaduke de Lar- 
 gesse. 
 
 William Shakspeare had not entered the 
 hall many minutes ere he was spied by the 
 old knight, who in a kind voice bade him 
 come near and state his business. 
 
 " Gloves, eh !" exclaimed he pleasantly, 
 upon hearing of his errand. " Hie then to 
 a seat at the table get thee a good meal 
 and a fair draught after that if thou art in 
 the humor come to me and I will attend thy 
 business with all proper diligence." 
 
 There was such sweetness in the beha- 
 vior of this old gentleman, that it was im- 
 possible for the boy hesitating to do what he 
 was desired, even had he cared not to be of 
 the feast, so he went with due deference 
 below the salt, where place was cheerfully 
 made for him, and every one of his neigh- 
 bors commenced pressing of him to this and 
 the other tempting dish with such cordiality, 
 as soon put him quite at home with them. 
 A trencher full of excellent fare, he quickly 
 found smoking at his hand so enticingly, 
 that he was fain to set to with exceeding 
 good will, and it was a truly pleasant part of 
 the entertainment to note the anxiousness of 
 his neighbors, that he should have what he 
 liked best, and as much of it as he could 
 fancy. In all honesty he made a famous 
 meal, and after drinking sparingly of the 
 ale, he was ready to attend to his errand. 
 Presently a most thankful grace was said 
 by the chaplain, and in a few minutes thr 
 tables were cleared, and all had gone their 
 several ways, save only some guests who 
 kept their places, and continued conversing 
 with their bountiful kind entertainer. Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare did not move, for he was 
 waiting for some sign from the knight of his 
 being at leisure. 
 
 " Prithee let me hear that ballad of Wil- 
 liam the Conqueror, thou* wert speaking of,
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 71 
 
 Master Peregrine," said Sir Marmaduke to 
 a curious sort of pantaloon-looking person, 
 wearing a huge pair of spectacles, mounted 
 on his peaked nose. 
 
 " O' my Life, I doubt hugely I can say but 
 a verse or two," replied Master Peregrine, 
 in a thin small voice. I heard it when I was 
 a boy, and never since, nor have I met it iu 
 print . anywhere, though I have searched 
 wherever there was likelihood of its being 
 to be found. Indeed I would give something 
 to know it thoroughly, for I doubt not 'tis 
 exceeding ancient, and one of the very rarest 
 ballads that ever were made." 
 
 " Let us hear what of it is in your re- 
 membrance, I pray you," exclaimed the 
 chaplain, who was one with a venerable 
 worthy aspect, and was then employed in 
 brewing a cup of sack for the old knight 
 and his guests, in the which he was esteemed 
 famous. 
 
 " Well, said, Sir Johan," said a young 
 gallant, a near kinsman to Sir Marmaduke. 
 " I love an old ballad as well as any." 
 
 " Thou lovest a pretty woman better of 
 the two, Sir Valentine, I'll warrant," cried a 
 companion merrily. 
 
 " That doth he Sir Reginald, I'll be sworn, 
 or he is none of ng^* blood," replied the old 
 knight in the same humor. 
 
 " Well, I care not ' to deny the impeach- 
 ment," answered his kinsman with a smile. 
 " Doubtless I can con either upon occasion, 
 and get them by heart too if they be wor- 
 thy." 
 
 " Marry, and very properly." cried Sir 
 Marmaduke, and then with a famous arch 
 look added, " I doubt though you would like 
 to have your pretty woman as old as your 
 ballad, eh, nephew ?" 
 
 " No, by St. Jeronimo !" exclaimed Sir 
 Valentine with such emphasis, it raised a 
 
 laugh all round. 
 " Well, give me 
 
 an old ballad for my 
 
 money," cried Master Peregrine with a mar- 
 vellous complacency. " Methinks there' is 
 nothing like the delicate pleasure it afford- 
 eth, if so be you stick it on the wall with 
 some of its fellows, and go to the perusal of 
 it when you have a mind." 
 
 " There the ballad hath it hollow," obser- 
 
 " It is of some length," said he ; " and if I 
 remember 'me right, is writ in three separate 
 fyttes or divisions." 
 
 Then each of the company listened with 
 courteous attention, Master Peregrine com- 
 menced repeating of the verses he had 
 spoken of. 
 
 <: I regret my memory faileth me in the 
 rest of the verses, for I doubt not they would 
 be found well worthy of a hearing," said the 
 antiquary, suddenly coming to a halt. 
 
 " Think awhile mayhap they shall return 
 to your remembrance," said the chaplain. 
 
 " Ay, do, Master Peregrine ; for I should 
 be loajh to lose any part of so goodly a bal- 
 lad," added the old knight, who, with the rest, 
 appeared to fake infinite interest in it. 
 
 " Nay, as I live, I know not a verse more," 
 replied the other, seemingly in some vexa- 
 tion when he found his thinking was to no 
 profit. " Indeed, I should be heartily glad 
 could I meet with the other parts, for they 
 are of a very singular curiousness." 
 
 " I'faith, I should be well pleased myself 
 to hear the rest on't," remarked Sir Marma- 
 duke, and his guests spoke much to the same 
 purpose. 
 
 " An' it please your worship, methinks I 
 can give you every line of it," said young 
 William Shakspeare, who had fidgetted 
 about sometime without daring to speak. 
 
 " Ha, Gloves ! art there ?" exclaimed the 
 old knight, merrily ; " in very truth I knew 
 not of thy presence. Come hither, I prithee." . 
 
 " Dost indeed know ought of it, young 
 sir ?" inquired Master Peregrine, looking at 
 the boy earnestly through his spectacles, as 
 he approached him. 
 
 " Every word, an' it please you," replied 
 William. 
 
 " Let us hear of it then, and quickly," 
 cried Sir Marmaduke, putting his hand 
 kindly on the boy's headi William Shaks- 
 peare saw all eyes were fixed upon him ; 
 yet there was a friendliness in every aspect 
 which gave him nought to fear. Standing 
 where he was, with a graceful carriage of 
 himself, and a wonderful pleasant delivery, 
 he presently went on with the verses. 
 
 " Bravely spoken !" exclaimed the old 
 knight, who had observed and listened to the 
 
 ved Sir Johan giW'ely, yet with a twinkle in boy manifestly with a more ^han ordinary 
 his eye that savored of some humor. " Being : satisfaction in his benevolent aspect. " Never 
 of the church, perchance I am not the fittest heard I aught more properly delivered." 
 to speak on so light a matter, but in all my " Nor I, by'r Lady," said Master Pere- 
 philosophy. I know not of ever a pretty grine, in a similar excellent humor. " Wliere 
 woman who allowed herself to be stuck on didst learn this exquisite ballad, young sir ?" 
 the wall with her fellows, were it even for a : " An' it please you, my mother taught it 
 single moment." This sally also occasioned me," replied William Shakspeare. 
 great laughing, after which Master Pere- " Hast any more such in thy memory I" 
 grine was pressed for his ballad. i inquired the other.
 
 72 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " A score at least, an' it please yon," an- 
 swered the boy ; " most moving ones of the 
 doings of valiant knights ; and sundry of a 
 delicater sort, ccncerning of the love of fair 
 ladies ; besides which I have store of fairy 
 roundelays, that I learned of Nurse Cicely, 
 which smack most sweetly of the dainty 
 blossoms." 
 
 " O' my life, thou art a treasure !" ex- 
 claimed Master Peregrine, in a most pleased 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Stick him against the wall, I prithee !" 
 cried Sir Reginald merrily. 
 
 " Marry, methinks he is a wall of himself, 
 or at least as good as one that is ever so well 
 covered with ballads," remarke'd Sir Valen- 
 tine ; " you could not have fallen into more 
 choice company, Master Antiquarian." 
 
 " So thou art John Shakspeare's son, of 
 Stratford," said Sir Marmaduke kindly to 
 him, after he had made the boy say some- 
 thing of who he was ; " we must be of better 
 acquaintance. 'Come tftbu here as often as 
 it pleaseth thee ; and if thou art for books, 
 I have some thou wouldst be glad to be rea- 
 ding of, I make no manner of doubt. I tell 
 you what, my masters," added he, turning to 
 his guests, " I have a pleasant device in my 
 head, which perchance may be exceedingly 
 proh'table to us all ; and it is no other than 
 to take this good boy with us to Kenilworth, 
 to see the queen's highness, and he shall en- 
 ^tertain us on the road with some of those 
 * rare ballads he hath spoken of." 
 
 This, suggestion was heartily received by 
 the company, and after being well commen- 
 ded, and received bountiful tokens of good 
 will from all, William Shakspeare returned 
 home, bearing a message to his father to the 
 effect just alluded to. 
 
 CHAPTER X. - 
 
 See, she comes : 
 
 How sweet her innocence appears ; more like 
 
 To Heaven itself, than any sacrifice 
 
 That can be offered to it. 
 
 MASSINGER. 
 
 I'll go mint thirbadgerby owl-light : ' 
 'Tis a deed of darkness. 
 
 WEBSTER. 
 
 THE next morning early there was a won- 
 derful stir amongst the neighbors at noting 
 a brave cavalcade enter Henry Street, and 
 stop at John Shakspeare's door, and pre- 
 sently there came out the boy William, 
 whom his mother had carefully dressed in 
 his best apparel, grieving in her heart she 
 
 had no better to give him, and by his father 
 was set upon an ambling palfrey, that ap- 
 peared to have been brought for him. All 
 of his acquaintance were grouped about, 
 marvelling famously to see Will Shakspeare 
 riding away in the midst of persons qupor- 
 ship with as great an air with him *K he 
 wer.e a lord's son. They could scarce believe 
 their eyes ; but what sweet pleasure and 
 pardonable pride were felt by the parents, 
 who, after their respectful salutations to the 
 good knight and his company, at their door 
 watched their young son as long as ever 
 they could hold him in sight, sitting his pal- 
 frey so gallantly, he was the admiration of 
 all who saw him. I'faith ! It was a thing to 
 talk of for the rest of their days, and the good 
 dame was never known to tire of it. 
 
 Away they went ; Sir Marmaduke, his 
 two kjinsmen, Master Peregrine, Sir Johan 
 the chaplain, and young William, and some 
 half dozen of the knight's serving men, all 
 on horses ; and their passing along the town 
 made the citizens come running out, and . 
 the dames were seen lifting up their bak-s 
 that they might get a sight of good Sir Mar- 
 maduke. Nothing was like the respect 
 shown him wherever he^ passed, and for all 
 he had cordial greeting, and some kind word 
 or another. Indeed, he was held in especial 
 esteem wherever his name was known, and 
 few there were in the whole country who 
 knew it not, for the old knight was a gentle- 
 man of ancestry and blood, of exceeding an- 
 cient name, and 'of large possessions, whereof 
 the greater part had been possessed by his 
 family many generations. The De Larges- 
 ses had also held high offices ; had been 
 famous soldiers, prelates, judges, and the 
 like honorable persons, and had ever been 
 known for a fair name and an open hand. 
 The present possessor appeared to have in- 
 herited all the good qualities of his ances- 
 tors ; and though he was called by no higher 
 title than good Sir Marmaduke, I doubt 
 hugely any prouder title could have become 
 him better. He had never been known to be 
 in a passion ; and though ever inclined for 
 a jest, his mirth had no offence in it at any 
 time. There sat he as stout of limb as of 
 heart, on a noble grey hrse, sleek-coated 
 and well limbed, ever and anon patting his 
 graceful neck with some commendable 
 speech, which the poor brute beast took as 
 proudly as though he knew the value oi 
 such behavior from so respected a quarter. 
 
 On each side of him rode his kinsmen in 
 all the bravery of the times. They had 
 gone to the wars in their youth, and though 
 still scarce upon manhood, Sir Valentine 
 being but twentv, and his cousin Sir Regi 

 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 73 
 
 nald five years his senior, had shown such 
 valor against the enemy that they had re- 
 ceived knighthood. The first was full of 
 fine chivalrous notions, as became his sol- 
 diership ; and would have dared all manner 
 of great dangers to have gained the kind 
 opinions of fair ladies, as became his man- 
 hood. Of the inestimable sweet pleasures 
 of love could he think by the hour together ; 
 and when htook to his gittern, doubtless it 
 was to breathe forth some soft lay learned of 
 him in France of the gallants there. Yet of 
 a most honorable heart was he, as became a 
 true lover ; and his rapier was ready to leap 
 out of its scabbard at the bruit of any wrong 
 done to any woman. He was of a clear 
 transparent skin, whereon the delicate mous- 
 tache had already come to some conspi- 
 cuousness, and the sharp outline of each 
 fair feature had such fineness as was exqui- 
 site to behold. Eyes had he in color like 
 unto a bright sky in harvest time, and his 
 hair was of a rich soft brown, that grew in 
 waving folds over all his head and neck. 
 
 Sir Reginald was more manly-looking ; 
 darker in complexion, hair, and beard ; less 
 delicate in his notions ; more free in his 
 speech ; and was as ready for loving any 
 pretty woman, yet did so with an indiscrimi- 
 nateness which the other never affected. 
 Both were strict friends, as they had proved 
 in many a time of need in the hour of battle, 
 and both were alike honorably disposed, and 
 of unblemished reputations. These two 
 young gentlemen rode their palfreys like 
 gallants, putting them to their prettiest paces 
 one against the other, and ever and anon 
 turning round their handsome cheerful faces, 
 with one hand holding the back of the saddle, 
 and the other reigning up their gamesome 
 steeds to see how their sport was relished by 
 their kinsman, who it may well be believed 
 took it very pleasantly, for he was ever an 
 encourager of any innocent pastime that 
 served to make more happy the passing 
 hour. 
 
 Behind them, a little way, rode Sir Johan, 
 the chaplain, who would sometimes jog on 
 alongside of his good patron, discoursing 
 very soberly concerning how bountiful Pro- 
 vidence had been to the surrounding country, 
 seasoning his speech with such learning as 
 did not savor of pedantry. For all this he 
 was not indifferent to a jest on any proper 
 occasion. Right well could lie laugh at one 
 himself, and with as much aptness furnish 
 one for his company. Indeed, he was one of 
 those rare divines who take upon them to 
 think that whatsoever good thing may be 
 met with, is provided for our especial enjoy- 
 ment, and that to mislike them argueth utter 
 
 ignorance, a wonderful lack of discretion, 
 and a most unwarrantable and absolute in- 
 gratitude. Therefore Sir Johan was never 
 seen with a long face -and a miserable 
 preaching. His orthodoxy was evidently of 
 a most comfortable sort. It agreed with him 
 exceedingly, and sat on his round cheeks 
 after a fashion that must have been wonder- 
 fully enticing to all wretched fosterers of 
 schism &nd heresy. Yet was he no Sir 
 Nathaniel, but his very opposite. It is true 
 he would eat and drink heartily at all rea- 
 sonable hours ; but then he never forgot to 
 give as hearty thanks, and always conduc- 
 ted himself on such occasions with a credi- 
 table decency the other was far from show- 
 ing. ^Nothing was like the vigor of his piety 
 after he had enpyed himself to his heart's 
 content ; and the eloquence, the learning, 
 and the zealousness with which he would 
 then dilate upon the marvellous goodness of 
 Providence, carried conviction to all hearers. 
 His scholarship wotrid have become a bishop, 
 though he was nothing but a poor master of 
 arts ; nevertheless, he was content with his 
 station, and like a wise man enjoyed to the 
 full whatever honest pleasures it brought 
 within his reach. 
 
 By his side usually rode Master Peregrine, 
 in an antique suit that might have belonged 
 to his grandfather ; in his figure an admi- 
 rable contrast to the full proportions of the 
 worthy chaplain ; and he talked to the latter, 
 or to the boy riding between them, when he 
 could not get the other as a listener, as if he 
 could never tire at it, of old books and bal- 
 lads, their histories, contents, character, 
 form and complexion. Indeed, he seemed 
 familiar with everything that had been prin- 
 ted since the invention of the art. The very 
 talk of a rare book would put him into a 
 rapture, and a ballad that was not to be met 
 | with he would think more precious than 
 ' gold. Then he would speak in such choice 
 terms of Chaucer, and Gower, and Wyatt, 
 j and Surrey, and a many others, as though 
 none could be of so great account ; but 
 | when he got to the speaking of ballads, 
 nought could exceed the delectable manner 
 in which he dilated upon them, in especial 
 of such as were of a by-gone age. 
 
 William Shakspeare, as he rode between 
 these two last, learned more of books than 
 he had known all his days before. Nothing 
 could be so pleasant to him as such dis- 
 course. He listened with such earnestness 
 as was the admiration of his companions, 
 and asked questions so to the purpose, that 
 they were never indisposed to answer him. 
 More and more delighted was he to hear 
 1 such famous books might be met with aa
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 those notable classic authors, both Greeks 
 and latins, Sir Johan spoke so learnedly on, 
 and those exquisite sweet poets and roman- 
 cers Master Peregrine mentioned so lovingly ; 
 and he was quite in an ecstacy when they 
 promised to make him better acquainted with 
 their worth at such times as he chose to 
 visit them at Sir Marmaduke's mansion. So 
 rode he along in his neat suit of frolic 
 green, as much at his ease as any of the 
 company, till he was called upon to furnish 
 their entertainment, as had been designed ; 
 and then unfolded his store of ballads, and 
 Master Peregrine assisted him with such 
 
 Earticulars of their history as had come to 
 is knowledge, that all allowed so proper a 
 companion tor a journey they could never 
 have met with. 
 
 On they proceeded in this'orderly manner 
 till they came to the town of Long Iching- 
 ton, some seven miles distant, where my 
 Lord of Leicester had erected a tent of such 
 capaciousness and grandeur, never was 
 seen the like ; and here it was intended to 
 give her Majesty a truly magnificent ban- 
 quet, previous to her departure to his Lord- 
 ship's famous Castle of Kenilworth she 
 was coming to honor with a visit. Now it 
 should be known to all, the Earl of Leices- 
 ter was in especial favor of the Queen, his 
 mistress. No man more so; and as her 
 Majesty in one of her progresses at that 
 time, had given him assurance she would do 
 him such honor as to make his castle her 
 residence for some little while, he had busied 
 himself with prodigious expenses to make 
 becoming preparations. This visit of the 
 Queen engrossed the public talk, and as a 
 knowledge of the splendor of its accompani- 
 ments got abroad, the inhabitants of the ad- 
 jacent neighborhood became the more im- 
 patient to behold them. ' As for my Lord of 
 Leicester, he was diversely reported 1 ; some 
 asserting there was not his like for a prodi- 
 gal disposition ; and others, though they 
 cautiously mentioned the matter, spoke of 
 him as one who held no discipline over his 
 passions, save before those who could punish 
 him for his misdoings ; and that he scrupled 
 not to use his great power to the furthering 
 of any great wickedness he had a mind to. 
 Be tin's as it may, our young traveller and 
 his worshipful company, after seeing all at 
 this town they could get a sight of, departed 
 towards the evening, with lier Majesty and 
 an immense concourse of her royal subjects, 
 to the Castle of Kenilworth. There, at her 
 first entrance, was beheld a floating island 
 on a pool, made bright with a many torches, 
 whereon sat the lady of the lake with two 
 nymphs, who, in very choice verse, gave her 
 
 Highness a famous account of the history 
 of that building and its owners. Close by 
 was a Triton riding on a mermaid, at least 
 some eighteen feet in length, and also Arion 
 on a dolphin. The Queen passed over a 
 stately bridge, in the base court, on each 
 side of which, upon tall columns, were placed 
 a store of all manner of delectable gifts, sup- 
 posed to come from the Gods, such as a 
 cage of wild-fowl from S\ : ndry 
 
 sorts of fruits from Pomona, gat heaps of 
 corn from Ceres, vessels of choice wine from 
 Bacchus, divers kinds of sea-fish from Nep- 
 tune, warlike appointments from Mars, and 
 instruments of music from Phoebus : which 
 rare conceit was much relished of all, and 
 shouts rent the air as her Highness took 
 note of them. 
 
 All this afforded wonderful entertainment 
 to William Shakspeare ; but his marvel be- 
 came the greater, when he beheld the infi- 
 nite variety of such things which met him 
 at every turn. He could never tire of ad- 
 miring the rare beauty of that stately castle 
 carved out of the hard quarry, the magnifi- 
 cence of such of the chambers as his com- 
 panions got him access to ; and the ravish- 
 ing beauty of the garden, with its bowers, 
 'alleys, obelisks, spheres, white bears, with 
 the ragged staff, the armorial bearings of the 
 lordly owner, exquisite flowers, and deli 
 cious fruits, that met him go which way he 
 would. Again was he in a great pleasure 
 at sight of a cage of some twenty feet, the 
 outside garnished with all manner of shining 
 stones, the inside decked with fresh holly 
 trees, and furnished with cavernous places, 
 where a multitudinous collection of foreign 
 birds ol' all parts had been collected ; and, 
 also, at beholding the grand fountain in 
 fashion of a column made of two athelets, 
 back to back, supporting a huge bowl, which 
 by means of certain pipes, did distil con- 
 tinual streams of water running, where a 
 plenty of lively fishes were disporting of 
 themselves, along side of which were Nep- 
 tune, with his trident and sea-horses ; 
 Thetis, in her chariot and dolphins ; Triton, 
 in company with his fishes ; Proteus, herd- 
 ing of his sea bulls ; and other of the like 
 famous emblems, set in eight different com- 
 partments, with admirable sculpture ot 
 waves, shells, and huge monsters of the 
 deep, with the ragged staff in fair white 
 marble at top, and gates of massy silver for 
 entrance. 
 
 But the sports that were then and there 
 enacted for the Queen's pastime, none 
 could have so relished as did he, especially 
 the chase with the savage man, 'clad in ivy, 
 and his company of satyrs ; the bear-bait-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 75 
 
 ings and the fire- works, the Italian tumblers 
 the festival of the brideale, and the games 
 of running at the quintain and morrice danc- 
 ing. Beside which, to his great diversion, 
 he witnessed the Coventry men playing the 
 old play of Hock Tuesday, representing in 
 a sort of tilting match, and in dumb show, 
 the defeat of the Danes by the English, in 
 the time of King Etheldred, the which so 
 pleased her' Majesty, that she bestowed on 
 the players two bucks, to make good cheer 
 with, and five marks in money, to garnish 
 the feast ; and after supper, the same even- 
 ing, he was taken into the castle, to see a 
 play of a higher sort played by men better 
 'approved in their art, that was then writ, 
 and played for her Majesty's particular delec- 
 tation ; and though it lasted two long hours, 
 he was so enamored of the manner in which 
 it was set forth, he would have been glad 
 enough to 'have stayed all night, had they 
 not come to an ending. 
 All this, and wonderful deal more of 
 splendor, pageantry, and pastime, was con- 
 tinued in infinite variety for nineteen days, 
 with such prodigal feasting and rejoicing as 
 none had previously been acquainted with ; 
 and the entire of it good Sir Marmaduke 
 took care his young companion should see, 
 during which he had him as well lodged, 
 and as carefully provided, as if he had been 
 his own son, he was so well pleased with 
 him ; and either he, IVtaster Peregrine or 
 Sir Johan. explained the character and pur- 
 port of such things as he knew not of, so 
 that he reaped both pleasure and profit 
 wherever he went. Every thing was to 
 him so new and strange, that he was kept 
 in a continual state of pleasurable excite- 
 ment he had never known all his life before 
 even the choice excellence of Gammer 
 Gurton's Needle was eclipsed by the singu- 
 lar fine recreation he was then enjoying. 
 
 It did sometimes happen that although he 
 strove all he could to keep with his com- 
 pany, they would get separated in the throng, 
 and then he would have a great to do to find 
 them again ; and once after the old knight 
 had promised he would take him to see her 
 Majesty, of whom he had not as yet got a 
 sight, because of the crowd of nobles that 
 were ever aroirtid her, a sudden press of 
 persons going in a contrary direction set 
 them so far asunder, that in a few minute* 
 the boy found himself in a place where there 
 were many turnings, of which it was im- 
 possible to say which might be the one his 
 friends had taken. Believing he was not 
 like to gain the required knowledge by ask- 
 ing, where such a multitude of strange per- 
 80A3 were assembled, he chose a path with 
 
 the determination of seeking all ways till he 
 found the right one. He wandered up and 
 down the green allies, greatly admiring the 
 deliciously various trees, bedecked with;* 
 apples, pears, and ripe cherries, the beds ot 
 blushing strawberries, and the plots of fra- 
 grant herbs and flowers, which cast beauty 
 and sweetness wherever he walked, yet of 
 his friends saw he not the slightest sign ; 
 indeed, he had gone so far he at last met 
 with no person of any kind. Getting' to be 
 somewhat bewildered" at searching so long 
 with such small profit, upon turning round 
 a corner he came Suddenly upon a lady and 
 gentleman, with a grand company at some 
 distance behind. The gentleman was most 
 gorgeously apparelled. Nothing could be so 
 costly as the rich satin embroidered with 
 gold and jewels that formed his cloak, save 
 the delicate fabric of his doublet, wherein 
 the same glorious magnificence was appa- 
 rent. A massy gold chain of a curious 
 fashion, hung over his breast gems of 
 price glittered on the handle of his dagger 
 his sword seemed wrought with the like 
 preciousness his hose were of the delicat- 
 est pink silk, woven with silver threads all 
 over the upper part of the leg where they 
 joined the trunks, which were of crimson 
 and orange color prettily slashed and richly 
 embroidered like the sleeves of the doublet. 
 The rest of his appointments c'orresponded 
 with what hath been already described, and 
 being of a fine make and somewhat hand- 
 some countenance, they became him infi- 
 nitely. He appeared to be playing the gal- 
 lant to his fair companion, for there was an 
 air of exceeding deep homage and admira- 
 tion in the looks with which he regarded 
 her. 
 
 The lady ' was attired in a full robe of 
 white satin ornamented w r ith rosettes in 
 great number, in the midst of which was 
 a pearl in every one, trimmed with the 
 richest lace. A ruff of lace still more costly 
 lay in folds upon her neck, surmounted by 
 wings of stiffened lawn, set all round with 
 pearls. Her hair was combed from the 
 forehead, and pearls of a very large size set 
 in it, with other pearls equally precious ; 
 but pearls appeared to be a favorite orna- 
 ment, for besides what have been mentioned, 
 they were in her ears, they were round her 
 neck, and upon her bosom, a long string 
 of them hung down to her stomacher, ana 
 they were worked into the material of her 
 dress wherever there was place for them.* 
 She was "of a fair complexion, well featured, 
 though she could not be called in her youth, 
 of an agreeable aspect, and of an excellent 
 stately deportment, and appeared to be lis*
 
 76 
 
 THE YOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 tening with singular satisfaction to what 
 fell from the gallant at her side. 
 
 " What ho, my young master, what seek- 
 thou ?" exclaimed she, upon noticing of 
 William Shakspeure standing looking at the 
 two, as if so dazzled with the brave show 
 they made, he knew not at first whether to 
 turn back or go on ; but believing them to 
 be persons of worship, had taken off his hat, 
 and stood respectfully to let them pass. 
 
 " An' it please you I have lost my way," 
 cried he. " 1 have been forced to part from 
 my friends, by reason of the great crowd, 
 and should I not overtake them soon, per- 
 chance I may miss seeing the Queen, the 
 which famous sight they were proceeding to 
 when I was forced away from them." 
 
 " Hast never seen the Queen ?" inquired 
 the lady seemingly charmed with the in- 
 genuousness of the boy's manner. 
 
 " No, indeed, I have not, by reason of the 
 throng about her," answered he. "But I 
 should be right glad to see her, for never 
 yet have I seen a Queen of any kind, and I 
 have heard say our Queen Elizabeth is a 
 most gracious lady." At hearing this the 
 lady looked at her companion, and he at her 
 with a peculiar smile, doubtless of some 
 pleasant manner. 
 
 "And suppose I show thee Queen Eliza- 
 beth, my little master, what wouldst say to 
 her ?" asked she. 
 
 " Nay, I would say naught of mine own 
 accord," said the other, " as methinks it 
 might savor of a too great boldness in me ; 
 but asked she of me any question, I would 
 with all proper courtesy answer as 1 best 
 could, and doubt not I would thank you 
 heartily for affording me so brave a sight." 
 
 " By my troth, well saidli' exclaimed the 
 lady, as if in an excellent satisfaction. 
 " What say you, my Lord of Leicester, shall 
 we show this youngster, that speaks so pret- 
 tily, what he has such huge desire to see ?" 
 added she, turning with an arch look to her 
 gallant. 
 
 " O' my life, to my thinking he deserveth 
 no U-ss," replied the nobleman. 
 
 " An' it please you," said William Shak- 
 speare respectfully, " it seemeth to me you 
 must needs be the Queen herself \'' 
 
 "H;j, young sir! and why dost fancy 
 that ?" exclaimed Queen Elizabeth, for as 
 the reader may readily believe it was no 
 other. 
 
 "Because you have BO brave an appear- 
 ance with you," answered he, " and look so 
 gracious withal. Indeed, an' .you are not 
 her in truth, I should be well pleased and 
 you were, for never saw I so excellent sweet 
 a lady." 
 
 " Indeed ! But thou playest the courtier 
 betimes, my pretty master !" cried her ma- 
 icsty in an admirable good humor. 
 
 " And the varlet doth it so gracefully !" 
 added my Lord of Leicester, who seemed to" 
 be as much taken with him as was his royal 
 mistress. 
 
 " Here is a remembrance for thee," said 
 the queen, giving him a gold piece out of 
 her purse; " I do applaud thy wit in having 
 made so notable a discovery; and doubt not, 
 if thou goest on as well as thou bast com- 
 menced, thou and fortune will shake hands 
 
 Then calling to some of those her officers- 
 who were behind her, her majesty ga ve the 
 boy to thorn with strict charge to seek out 
 his friends, and deliver him to them safely ; 
 but it so happened he had not proceeded far 
 in such custody, when he met them ; and 
 all were in some marvel to hear what 
 strange adventure he had fallen into. 
 
 It was getting towards eve of the same 
 day, when two persons stood close under the 
 terrace that lay along the castl. One was 
 closely muffled, up, and endeavoring all he 
 could to hide his face and person from ob- 
 servation, and he kept continually turning 
 of his eyes in every direction to note if any 
 were watching, whilst he spoke in a low 
 voiceyto his companion. The other was also 
 cloaked, but seemedmore intent upon heark- 
 ening to the discourse of his associate than 
 to any other matter. 
 
 " Art sure of her person V asked the first 
 in a low whisper. 
 
 " 1 marked her well, my lord," answered 
 the other in the same subdued voice ; " O' 
 my life, never saw I so exquisite fair a crea- 
 ture 1" 
 
 " Indeed she is of ravishing perfections 
 a very angel in the bud !" exclaimed his 
 companion in a fervent ecstacy. " Fresh in 
 youth and perfect in beauty ! in brief, I have 
 never seen her peer in all my experience. 
 Do as I would have thee, thy fortune's 
 made." 
 
 " Count upon her as your own, my good 
 lord." 
 
 " But be cautious, on your life." 
 
 " Be assured, in subtlety I will beat the 
 cunningest fox that ever robbed hen-roost." 
 t " Away ! I cannot stay another minute, 
 or mv absence will be marked." Where- 
 upon both glided different ways in the sha- 
 dow, and were no more visible. 
 
 Among the company the fame of these 
 princely pleasures had" attracted to Kenil- 
 worth, were Sir Thomas Lucy and his good 
 dame, who had brought with them, as an at 
 tendant to the latter, oo other than theii
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 77 
 
 pretty foundling, the gentle Mabel, now 
 grown to be that indefinable delicate exam- 
 ple of feminine graces thatlieth betwixt girl- 
 hood and womanhood. Under the careful 
 instruction of her patroness, she had been 
 well schooled in all such learning as was 
 proper for a young person of such humble 
 fortunes ; but of her own natural well-dis- 
 posedness she acquired such wisdom as 
 would have have fitted her had she come of 
 the noblest families. Of her parents none 
 knew a syllable ; and Dame Lucy fancying 
 none but mean persons could behave so 
 meanly as to desert their child, had brought 
 her up in such fashion as showed she consid- 
 ered her origin to be of the humblest, intend- 
 ing her for a servant, and ever attempting 
 to impress on her mind a humility corre- 
 sponding with one meant for so pitiful a con- 
 dition. However, having resolved she should 
 S3 to Kenilworth in their company the good 
 ame had taken care her attire should be of 
 a batter sort than what she usually wore, 
 never failing the whilst she gave them for 
 her wearing, to accompany them with a no- 
 table fine homily upon the wickedness of 
 poor girls seeking to put on them such ap- 
 parelling as was above their station. 
 
 Mabel was that evening standing between 
 her elderly companions beholding the fire- 
 works. There was a huge crowd a little 
 wa^ before her. A strange gallant very 
 courteously directed the attention of the 
 knight and his lady to what was worthiest 
 of notice, and in a very friendly manner gave 
 them intelligence of what was going to be 
 done, at what cost it had been made, and by 
 whose skilfulness it was constructed ; to the 
 which, Sir Thomas Lucy in especial, gave 
 famous attention, entering cheerfully into 
 the discourse, and striving to appear as fa- 
 miliar with the matter as his instructor. 
 
 "I warrant you!" exclaimed he ; " me- 
 thinks I ought to know something of such 
 things. Ay, marry, I have been as familiar 
 with them as am I with my hand." 
 
 " As I live, I took you to be some learned 
 gentleman when I had first sight of you," 
 cried the stranger, with an appearance of 
 monstrous respect ; " you have it in your 
 face, sir; indeed your look savoreth SQ much 
 of sagacity that none can mistake it. Doubt- 
 less you are some great Doctor ?" 
 
 " O' my word, but a simple knight o' the 
 shire, good sir^' replied the other in a fa- 
 mous satisfaction. 
 
 " And a justice of peace, Sir Thomas," 
 added Dame Lucy, anxious her husband's 
 greatness should not be imperfectly known. 
 
 ** I would have sworn it !" exclaimed their 
 impanion. 
 
 " By'r Lady now, is it so visible ?" cried 
 the other, as much astonished as gratified. 
 
 " But, as I was about saying, when I was 
 at college I was wonderfully given to the 
 study of chemicals and alchemy ; ay, to such 
 extreme that I make no manner of doubt I 
 should have got at the philosopher's stone 
 had I kept at my experiments long enough." 
 
 " Of that I am assured," observed the 
 stranger. 
 
 " But my chief pleasure was in the mak- 
 ing of strange fires that would burn of all 
 colors," continued the knight. " These I 
 learned of a famous clerk, who was study- 
 ing chemicals, and was considered more apt 
 at it than any of his time." 
 
 " A very Friar Bacon, doubtless, Sir 
 Thomas," said his companion. 
 
 " Marry, yes, that was he," replied the 
 justice. 
 
 " Now, I was ever a letting off my fires, 
 to the terror of all simple people, who could 
 not fancy they were of this world, and mar- 
 vellous proper sport had I on such occasions ; 
 for, as I live, I was such a fellow at tricks I 
 had not my match, go where I would." 
 
 " I would I had known you then ; I was 
 just such another," exclaimed the stranger, 
 very merrily. 
 
 " Ay, it would have done your heart good 
 to have seen the tricks I h:ive played," con- 
 tinued Sir Thomas, laughing with exceed- 
 ing heartiness. " I have been as wild a colt 
 as ever broke his tether, f promise, you." 
 
 "No, indeed, have you ?" cried the other, 
 joining in his companion's mirth to some 
 excess. 
 
 " By cock and pye, 'yes ; and among the 
 bona robas too," added he, in a voice and 
 manner meant to be still more facetious, as 
 he gave his companion a sly nudge at the 
 elbow. 
 
 " Odds my life, Sir Thomas !" exclaimed 
 the stranger, apparently increasing the 
 greatness of his humor, " you were a fit 
 companion for the Sophy." 
 
 " I was as familiar with them all as though 
 we had been cousins," added the knight, af- 
 ter the same fashion. " Indeed I was so 
 partial to these pretty ones, that if any my 
 fellows said, ' Yonder is a kirtle,' oft' would 
 I start on the instant, though I had a mile to 
 run." 
 
 " Fie, fie, Sir Thomas !" exclaimed Dame 
 Lucy, good humoredly ; then turning to the 
 stranger with a monstrous innocent sort ot 
 countenance, added, " Think not so ill ol 
 him, good sir, I pray you, for I have known 
 him this thirty year and more, and he hath 
 never done ought of the kind, I'll warrant." 
 
 " I doubt it not, believe me," replied the
 
 78, 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 other, with more sincerity than he chose | 
 should be known. " But if it please you to 
 come a little more to this side," said he, 
 with exceeding courteousness, " You shall 
 behold what is far beyond what you have 
 already seen." 
 
 " We will, and thank you," answered Sir 
 Thomas, eagerly, and he with Dame Lucy, 
 presently moved in that direction. 
 
 In the meanwhile, another courteous gen- 
 tleman was paying similar attentions to the 
 fair Mabel, who received them in a thank- 
 ful spirit, as she ever did any appearance of 
 kindness from another. He told her the 
 wonders of the castle the great power and 
 princely magnificence of the possessor 
 what famous noble lords and fair ladies were 
 of the company, and the unparalleled pre- 
 ciousness of the jeweled silks and velvets 
 that were of their wearing; and he took 
 care to season all with some delicate flat- 
 tery or another, well suited to win the ear 
 of one of her youth and inexperience. 
 
 " Indeed these nobles have a fine time of 
 it, methinks," said her companion. " They 
 have everything that heart can wish for, at 
 their command ; and any fair creature who 
 is so fortunate as to win the love of such, 
 cannot help knowing that extreme happi- 
 ness few have any notion of. Dost not 
 think women so fortunate are greatly to be 
 envied, sweetesfr?" 
 
 " Doubtless, honorable sir. if they be 
 worthy," replied Mabel. 
 
 " Crowds of servants come at their com- 
 mand, 1 ' continued the stranger, more earn- 
 estly. " Whatever they can fancy, let it be 
 of ever such cost, is brought to them ere 
 they can well say they want it the exquis- 
 itest sweet music fills the air around them 
 day and night all manner of ravishing per- 
 fumes of flowers and herbs and odoriferous 
 gums, enrich the atmosphere they breathe ; 
 and he whose princely nature they have so 
 bound in their chains as'to hold him prison 
 er to their admirable lustrous eyes, is ever 
 at their will, glorifying them with his praise, 
 deifying them with his devotion, and mak- 
 ing every hour of their lives redolent with 
 the unutterable ecstacies of 'his sovereign 
 and most absolute affections. Dost not 
 think such women infinitely fortunate ?" 
 
 " I know not how they could help being 
 so, were they well disposed," answered the 
 foundling. 
 
 " Just so, sweetest one," observed the 
 gallant. " Now, supposing such thing as 
 this should happen ; some such noble per- 
 son as I have described the equal of the 
 proudest the master of the wealthiest, get- 
 ting sight of your most absolute graces " 
 
 "What, I ?" exclaimed Mabel, in a fa- * 
 mous astonishment. 
 
 " And straightway falling enamored of 
 the bright perfections of your spotless na- 
 ture," continued he; "his princely heart 
 thrilling with thedivinest sensations, should 
 be in a feverish impatience to cast his great- 
 ness at your feet, and all out of love for 
 such inestimable choice beauty of mind and 
 feature, should be ready to fall out with life, 
 if by chance you deny him the happiness he 
 would find in your inestimable company." 
 
 " Surely, you are jesting, good sir," ob- 
 served his fair companion. '' I know not of 
 such things as you speak of. Indeed, I am 
 so humble a person, none such as you have 
 said, would ever trouble themselves about 
 me for a single moment ; nevertheless I 
 thank you kindly for your good opinion of 
 me, and should be right glad to possess any 
 merit that would make me deserve it better 
 than I do." 
 
 That cannot be, o' my life, excellent 
 creature ?" replied the gallant, with a seem- 
 ing fervor. " 'Tis your too great modesty 
 that preventeth you from seeing your own 
 notable divine excellencies." 
 
 " Indeed you think too well of me I have 
 no sign of any such thing," said Mabel ; 
 her truly unassuming nature shrinking from 
 the flattery ; then looking round, for the 
 first time dbserved that Sir Thomas rfnd 
 Dame Lucy were nowhere near her. 
 " Alack ! where can they have gone !" ex- 
 claimed she, in some to do. " They will be 
 exceeding angry I took not better heed to 
 keep close to them wherever they went, as 
 they told me.'" 
 
 " Speak you of yqur friends, sweetest ?" 
 inquired the other, in an indifferent manner. 
 " I saw them myself not a moment since, 
 moving round this way. If you will allow 
 of my protection, I will take care you join 
 them so soon you shall not be missed at all." 
 
 " I sho.uld be loth to put you to such trou- 
 ble on my account, I thank you heartily," 
 answered his fair companion, " I will seek 
 them myself the way you have kindly told 
 me." Thereupon, she moved in that di- 
 rection, the gallant keeping at her side, but 
 not a sign of the knight or- his good dame 
 could they see. 
 
 " Woe is me, I have lost all sight of them !" 
 cried Mabel, now in no little trouble of mind. 
 " How heedless I must have been to have 
 let them go away without my knowing it." 
 
 " Surely there they are yonder !" exclaim- 
 ed the stranger, pointing to two figures dim- 
 ly discerned at the top of one of the green 
 alleys, walking slowly away. 
 
 " Indeed they have some likeness to them,"
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the replied, yet seeming to hesitate about 
 their identity. 
 
 " They cannot be any other, I would swear 
 it," said the gallant, with monstrous earnest- 
 ness ; " see you not the knight's very doub- 
 let ? nay, an' you do not make some speed, 
 they will turn the corner, and mayhap you 
 may lose sight of them altogether." There- 
 upon, Mabel, without another word, tripped 
 lightly along the path her companion still 
 keeping close to her side anil when they 
 got to the top they beheld the two persons 
 they had seen turning round a corner into 
 an alley beyond ; at the sight of which the 
 poor foundling started off again in great 
 anxiety to overtake them, but with no better 
 success ; for however fast she ran, as she 
 got to the end of one path, the figures were 
 seen turning round at the end of another, 
 and so it continued for such a time she would 
 - have given up the pursuit in despair, had 
 not the gallant kept encouraging her to pro- 
 ceed. At last, when she was nigh exhaust- 
 ed with her exertions, and in extreme dis- 
 comfort, because now she saw no appear- 
 ance whatever of those she took to be the 
 knight and his lady, on a sudden she heard 
 a loud whistle behind her, that appeared to 
 come from her companion the which it did 
 beyond all contradiction, for he had that mo- 
 ment put a whistle to his mouth and ere 
 she could think what was the meaning of 
 such strange behavior, two or three stout 
 fellows rushed from a grove of trees close at 
 hand, and despite of a sharp scream she 
 gave, threw a large cloak over Tier, in the 
 
 of Sir Valentine's party, led by Sir Marma- 
 duke, who had plucked out his trusty ra- 
 pier, the moment he heard the clashing of 
 blades, his imposing appearance struck a 
 panic amongst them. The two fellows 
 dropped their burthen, without caring to 
 make his acquaintance, and, with the rest, 
 made oft* in different directions. 
 
 It was difficult to say which was most af- 
 fected with the unusual loveliness of the 
 gentle Mabel, Sir Valentine or Sir Reginald, 
 as they disengaged her from her unwelcome 
 covering, whilst the others assured her of 
 her perfect safety. They AVere dumb with 
 excess of admiration. Nothing they had 
 seen or imagined came in any way like the 
 exquisite innocency and faultless loveliness 
 of her features. She seemed to them to be 
 some fair spirit of a better world, such as 
 ancient poets have described haunting clear 
 streams and mossy caves, and the deep hol- 
 lows of the emerald woods, by such names aa 
 sylphs, dryades, and the like. Woman she 
 could scarce be styled, she looked so yaung, 
 and yet each was loath she should be called 
 any other name, believing nothing was so 
 worthy of love and reverence. As for the 
 poor foundling, she was in some confusion 
 to be so gazed upon by strangers ; she had 
 not yet recovered from the surprise and fear 
 she had been put to by the treachery of her 
 late companion, and gazed about her, the 
 prettiest picture of amazement that had ever 
 been witnessed. Even the antiquarian stared 
 through his spectacles at her so earnestly as 
 he had at the ancientest ballad that had 
 
 which she was muffled up in a minute, and j fallen into his hands ; and William Shak- 
 borne helplessly along. speare, boy as he was, appeared as though 
 
 " Never was hawk lured so cleverly," there was a power in her admirable beauty 
 said the gallant, in evident gratification at | he felt all through his nature, yet witli a 
 the complete success of his villainous ! confused sense of its particular meaning, 
 
 scheme. 
 
 that would take no definite interpretation. 
 
 " She is now hooded, and must to her It is here only necessary to add that the 
 mews with what speed we can. Slight !" j young and graceful creature found every 
 here sharply exclaimed he, seemingly in a j possible attention and respect from those in 
 
 very absolute vexation ; " what pestilent in- 
 terruption is this ? But they are but two, 
 so haste, for your lives, we can give them 
 work enough, prove they for meddling." 
 
 whose company she had so fortunately fallen. 
 A search was quickly commenced for the 
 knight and his lady, and after some trouble, 
 taken of the young knights as the sweetest 
 
 It so happened that Sir Valentine and his pleasure they had ever enjoyed, she was re- 
 friend were together in an adjoining walk, stored to them, but not without such thanks 
 when they heard the whistle, and the scream ; from her, as, for the gentle, sweet gracious- 
 
 following close upon it ; their rapiers were 
 out in an instant, and they were just in time 
 to see a female muffled up and borne away. 
 This brought them to the spot presently. 
 Two of the villains carried Mabel, and were 
 making off, whilst their companions were 
 engaged with the young knights, who were 
 using their weapons briskly with each an 
 opponent ; but suddenly coming to the rest 
 
 ness with which they were accompanied, 
 never left their memories from that time for- 
 ward. As for William Shakspeare, he re- 
 turned to his loving parents, surprising them 
 greatly with the goodly store of gifts he 
 would needs pour into his mother's lap, 
 which had been bestowed upon him by his 
 friends ; but putting them in a still greater 
 wonder at his marvellous relations of what
 
 80 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 strange adventures he had had, and famous 
 sights he had beheld, since lie had been 
 away. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 His browny locks did hang in crooked curls, 
 
 And every light occasion of the wind 
 
 Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. 
 
 His qualities were beauteous as his form, 
 
 For maiden-tongued he was and therefore free. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 For him was lever ban af his beddes hed 
 A twenty bokes, clothed in black or red, 
 Of Aristotle, and his philosophic, 
 Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie. 
 
 CHAUCEH. 
 Oh, ye gods, 
 
 Give me a worthy patience ! Have I stood 
 Naked, alone, the shock of many fortunes ! 
 Have I seen mischiefs numberless and mighty 
 Grow like a sea upon me ? Have I taken 
 Danger as stern as death into my bosom, 
 And laughed upon it, made it but a mirth, 
 And flung it by. * * * Do I 
 Bear all this bravely, and must sink at last 
 Under a woman's falsehood ! 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 " NAY, I cannot abide these new-fangled 
 novelties,'' observed Master Peregrine, who 
 with the others of the squire's company, 
 with William Shakspcare in the midst, ap- 
 peared to be examining of certain shelves of 
 books that were in an antique oak chamber 
 in Sir Marmaduke's mansion. " They be 
 but for the delighting of dainty ears, and 
 such whose fantasies are only to be tickled 
 with fine filed phrases. 1 like not the boy 
 should have such poor reading." 
 
 " I assure you the Mirrour for Magis- 
 trates is in excellent repute of all men," 
 said Sir Reginald. " It is a very admirable 
 fine poem, or series of legends, relating the 
 falls of the unfortunate princes of this land, 
 first originating with my Lord Sackville, 
 and now carried on by divers authors of re- 
 putation." 
 
 " Nay, I have here one that he will more 
 approve of," cried Sir Valentine, as he held 
 a volume in his hand that looked quite new. 
 " It is called the Paradyse of Daynty De- 
 vises, aptly furnished with sundry pithie and 
 learned inventions, devised and written for 
 the most part by Master Edwards, sometime 
 
 " I doubt not," said the chaplain, whe had 
 also a book in his hand. " But methinks I 
 have something here far more fitting, of the 
 ingenious Master Tubcrville, being no other 
 than the heroical epistles of the learned poet 
 Publius Ovidius Naso, with Aulus Sabinus' 
 answers to certaine of the same, a very fa- 
 mous and proper classic." 
 
 "What have we here?" cried the old 
 knight,- examining a volume he had just 
 taken off the shelft " A hundrcth Good 
 Pointes of Husbandrie, as I live, and very 
 profitable reading doubtless." 
 
 " Pish, what wants he with books of such 
 a sort ?" inquired Master Peregrine impati- 
 ently, as he regarded with particular satis- 
 faction a huge folio from the same place. 
 " This is such as he will like most. O' my 
 word, it is a treasure beyond all price. This 
 great rarity is entitled, A book of the noble* 
 Hystoryes of Kynge Arthur, and of certeyn 
 of his Knyghtes," and is from Caxton's own 
 press, and bears the date anno 1485. O 
 what a jewel ! O what a pearl of price ! 
 In good fay, I can scarce take my eyes oft 
 such an inestimable rare volume. 
 
 William Shakspeare turned his intelligent 
 eyes from one to another, as each rccum- 
 mended his particular book, almost puzzled 
 which of .these goodly volumes he should 
 choose first, but in a wonderful impatience to 
 be at one of them. 
 
 "Methinks, after all, 'twill be best to let 
 him make his own choice," observed Sir 
 Marmaduke. " What say you, young sir," 
 said he to him. " Which of all these books 
 think you the properest for your reading ?*' 
 
 " An' it please your worship," replied 
 William, with much simplicity, " I must 
 needs read them all before I can say which 
 is best, with any justice.". 
 
 " E'en do so, then, if it likes you." ex- 
 claimed the old knight, laughing heartily 
 with the rest. " There are they you are 
 welcome to their perusal come when you 
 will. But there is one volume I would have 
 you take great note of, and that is called 
 The Gentleman's Academic, or the Booke 
 of St. Albans, writ by one Juliana Barnes, 
 containing the choicest accounts of hawk- 
 ng, hunting, armorie, I have met with any- 
 where." 
 
 " Truly, 'tis a most ravishing work !" said 
 Master Peregrine. " A notable rare speci- 
 men of the types of Wynkyn de Worde. 
 Jut if you be for grave reading, choose you 
 
 of her Majesties chappel ; the rest by sun- The Seven Wise Masters. If you are for 
 dry learned gentlemen of honour and wor- mirth, pitch upon The Hundred Merry Tales 
 shippe. It is full of delectable poems, I pro- if for the reading of other light tales, 
 mise you, that are read and hugely admired nought will so well serve your turn as The 
 by all persons of quality." ! Palace of Pleasure. Take you to romances
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 you may find exquisite diversion in Amadis 
 of Gaul, Palmerin of England, Huon of Bor- 
 deaux, Sir Bevis of Southampton, Sir Guy 
 of Warwick, The Seven Champions, Valen- 
 tyne and Orson, The Squire of Low De- 
 gree, Tiie Knight of Courtpsie, and the La- 
 dy Fagiu'l. The Castle of Ladies, and a hun- 
 dred others of equal great merit : but if you 
 are for ballads, my young master, exquisite 
 choice ballads and songs of old time, look 
 you out for the Blind Beggar of Bethnal 
 Green, Queen Dido, Fortune my Foe, Pep- 
 per is Black, Adam Bell, Clymof theClough, 
 and William of Cloudesly, Robin Hood and 
 the Pindar of Wakerield, and others out of 
 all number of every kind, subject, and qua- 
 lity, which are here ready for your reading." 
 
 " All such are well enough in their way," 
 observed Sir Johan. " But if he take to 
 reading of the classics, all other reading 
 whatsoever advanceth him not a whit in his | 
 education. What can he learn of ancient j 
 history, save out of Herodotus, Thucydes, j 
 Zenophon, Titus Livius, Tacitus, and Cac- \ 
 ear ; where in Philosophy can he have such i 
 guides as Aristotle, Socrates, Epicurus, Eu- ! 
 clid, that famous master of figures ; Pliny, j 
 that curious observer of nature, that profound 
 expounder of surgicals. In poetry what is 
 like unto the works of Homer, Pindar, Ana- 
 creon. Virgil, Horace, or Ovid ? And in 
 eloquence, what can couie in any way near 
 unto Demosthenes, or Cicero ? Truly then 
 the classics should be-before all other books, 
 for the study of any young person, and so it 
 will be found in all colleges and schools 
 throughout Christendom." 
 
 These advocates for modern and ancient 
 learning, might have waxed warm in their 
 dispute, had they been allowed, and the two 
 young knights also took part in it in praise of 
 chivalrous tales, Italian sonnets, and Frencli 
 lays and romances; but Sir Marmaduke 
 good humoredly put an end to the argument 
 by telling them the dinner bell was a ring- 
 ing, which caused them to forget their books 
 awhile, and look to their appetites. 
 
 Thus it will be seen that William Shaks- 
 peare was bountifully provided for in ail 
 manner of learning, and it may well be be- 
 lieved he was not long in availing himself 
 of the treasures so liberally placed at his 
 disposal. All spare time he could get was 
 passed in the old knight's library, where he 
 kept like a bird in a granary, feeding on the 
 plenteous store in a most grateful spirit, and 
 with no desire to move from such excellent 
 neighborhood. But he was rarely left alone 
 for any great period, for Sir Marmaduke and 
 his friends were too well pleased with his 
 quickness of apprehension and untiring in- 
 
 dustry, not to do all in their power to assist 
 the studies of so promising a scholar ; there- 
 fore he was sure to have with either the old 
 knight himself, who would readily go over \ 
 with him any creditable book of legends, or 
 ancient customs and sports ; or his chaplain, 
 who took huge pains he should not be in- 
 different to the treasures of classic lore, 
 never forgetting by the by to put in on an 
 occasion, some most moving discourse on the 
 goodness of Providence, and explain the chief 
 points of all moral doctrine.. Then came 
 Master Perregrine ready to cuddle him with 
 delight, should he find him- intent upon some 
 worm eaten black letter folio, or a bundle of 
 old ballads, and he would not rest till he had 
 made his pupil familiar with whatsoever 
 concerning of them ha thought worthy of 
 knowing and at another time he would be 
 visited by the two young knights with whom 
 he was in particular esteem, and they were 
 ever striving to possess him with the notion 
 that the gallantest accomplishments were 
 the most worthy of study, especially of the 
 Italian tongue, and that nought was like 
 unto the sweetness of Petrarch, the pleas- 
 antry of Boccacio, or the grandeur of Dante, 
 Tasso and Ariosto. 
 
 From this it is evident on the face of, that 
 none could have a fairer schooling than our 
 young scholar. Indeed, he now gained 
 more knowledge in a day than he could have 
 had of thai, pedantic, poor ignoramus, his 
 schoolmaster, all his life ; and it was the 
 marvel of all to notice how famously he got 
 on in his learning. There appeared to be 
 nothing he could not give a reason for, or 
 description of, for he took infinite trouble by 
 asking questions of all sorts of people, as 
 well as by conning of every book in Sir 
 Marmaduke's library, to remain ignorant of 
 as little as possible. Hour after hour hath 
 he passed at a time over some pithy book, 
 till his head would ache with the intentness 
 with which he would give his mind to the 
 matter of it then away lie went like a 
 wild buck of the forest, broke loose from 
 confinement, over the greea fields and 
 through the nutty woods, hither and thither 
 everywhere, "'drinking within his nostrils, 
 choked with the closeness of musty volumes, 
 the sweet pure air freshened with the cool 
 breeze and at his aching eyes, tired of the 
 sameness of so nv.ich paper and print, taking 
 in with as greedy a draught the pleasant 
 greenness of the teeming soil, and the deli- 
 cate soft blue of the expanding heavens. 
 
 Some how or another it happened, that he 
 often found himself thinking of the beauti- 
 ful fair creature he had seen rescued by his 
 friends, from the hands of villains, when he
 
 82 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAREWARE. 
 
 was enjoying the princely pleasures of Ken- 
 ilworth. In his solitary musings, whereof 
 alter any deep study, he had of late taken 
 to. her radiant features would suddenly glide 
 into his youthful mind, like as a sudden 
 burst of sunshine pierceth the leafy branches 
 of a young tree ; and all his thoughts took 
 a character of such brightness on the in- 
 stant, aa showed there was some power of 
 brilliancy in her image that made resplend- 
 ent its whole neighborhood. This to him 
 was both ne\v_and strange. The forms of 
 beauty of which he had had experience, and 
 they were by no means few, had given him 
 delight but here was something presented 
 to him of a totally different character of a 
 most singular admirable loveliness ; and the 
 pleasure he derived from its observation he 
 felt to l>e of a far more exquisite sort than 
 he had. known heretofore. The varied dies 
 of the delicatest flowers peeping from their 
 vernal coverts the tall moiiarchs of the 
 forests, bending their haughty heads to the 
 rude wind -the soft mingling of field and 
 wood, hill, stream and valley, bathed in their 
 mellow tints, that made up the ravishing fair 
 landscape the glorious show of unsurpass- 
 ed magnificence, visible at the sun's rising 
 and going down, which clothed the skies, 
 like ao oriental conqueror, in a garment of 
 purple and gold, anil the more graceful 
 splendor of the quiet night, when earth's 
 unrivalled roof seems as though carved all 
 about with the likeness of a goodly almond 
 tree, as 'tis seen at eve, with its verdure, 
 deepening into a dark blue, spread over in 
 every part with myriads of silvery blossoms 
 he could enjoy with such huge zest as 
 hearts attuned to sympathy with the beauti- 
 ful can alone have knowledge of; but in the 
 o utward lineaments of this novel sign of the 
 presence of nature's unrivalled handiwork, 
 there appeared such moving graces, that 
 plainly showed the masterpiece confessed; 
 and he had some glimpses, in the delicious 
 raptures' which an increasing familiarity 
 with his mental perception of the beautiful 
 promised him, of that marvellous deep 
 meaning which Heth most manifestly in the 
 choicest and perfectest shapeMn which our 
 bountiful mother hath given it a dwelling. 
 Let none feel incredulous of what is here 
 put down. Though still in years apparent, 
 but of an unripe boyhood, the child had in 
 him the greatness of the man in embryo. 
 Take you the bud, examine it narrowly, you 
 shall find in it a miniature-tree, perfect in all 
 its parts ; or the bean as its sides have 
 opened to show some promise of what it 
 will be and behold all the characters of 
 the plant minutely visible to your close in- 
 
 spection ! Nature never varyeth from her 
 first original type. In all things that pro- 
 mise a profitable increase, the power is fold- 
 ed up in the germ, where, despite of disad- 
 vantages, it will gradually unfold itself, till 
 the character she hath put forth upon it is 
 perfectly developed to all men's eyes. Could 
 we look into the immaturity of any of those 
 great ones, whose mental fruits have been 
 the nourishing diet of every age that hath 
 passed since they flourished, be sure that 
 we should find at such early period, the very 
 appearances and manifestions of their after 
 perfection, as are here imperfectly described 
 concerning of William Shakspe'are. As for 
 beauty, it is the very sunshine of the soul, 
 without which shall the seed of greatness 
 lie dormant as in a perpetual frost ; but di- 
 rectly it beginneth to make itself felt, out 
 come stem, root, and leaflet, with such 
 goodly vigor, that in a presently the brave 
 plant putteth out its branches so lovingly, - 
 nought can resist its progress ; and lo ! in a 
 little while, what numberless rare blossoms 
 appear, manifesting in themselves the quali- 
 ty by which they were created. 
 
 But our young scholar was not the only 
 one on whom the attractions of the gentle 
 Mabel had made a powerful impression. Sir 
 Valentine, and his friend, oft spoke of her to 
 each other with exceeding admiration, to 
 which if in his company, the boy would 
 listen with a flushed cheek and a throbbing 
 heart, seeming to be poring over his book 
 but this he had as clean lost sight of for the 
 nonce as if it and he were a hundred miles 
 apart. 
 
 " She is, indeed, a delectable creature !" 
 exclaimed Sir Valentine, as they three were 
 together in the library. " She seemed a 
 being just stepped out of some French ro- 
 mance, one of the virtues perchance, or 
 better, some incomparable damsel, possessed 
 of them all in her own fair person, who was 
 about falling into the hands of a powerful 
 ogre, or other monstrous villain that is a foe 
 to chastity, when we two knights going 
 about to redress wrong and defend oppressed 
 innocence, each for the honor of chivalry 
 and his liege lady, stepped up to her rescue, 
 and by the help of our valor, quickly deliv- 
 ered her from her enemies." 
 
 " A most moving picture," cried Sir Regi- 
 nald, laughingly ; " I would give something 
 to see it done in tapestry." 
 
 " O" my word, 'twould be a fine subject," 
 said his friend, with some earnestness; "I 
 doubt not, too, of especial -profit to the gazer ; 
 and I would have it worked in this sort. 
 There should be yourself, and I, your ap- 
 proved friend and companion in arms, giving
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 83 
 
 two of the villains furious 'battle; and in a 
 little way off our brave kinsman another 
 famous pillar of knighthood shall be putting 
 to flight the other two rascals away from 
 their expected victim, who shall be lying 
 prostrate under a tree, where she hath been 
 left, in a very moving tribulation. A little 
 way from this we will have a second pic- 
 ture, with the villains making oft in the dis- 
 tance the lady now in a pretty fright and 
 bewilderment, looking about her with Mas- 
 ter Chaplain, Master Antiquarian, and our 
 young scholar, as country persons natural 
 of those parts, gazing at her with exceeding 
 curiousness, whilst her three valiant cham- 
 pions shall stand, leaning on their weapons, 
 as though they were amazed at beholding 
 such heavenly grace in so pagan a place." 
 
 " Never heard I so brave a limner !" ex- 
 claimed the other, in the like pleasant humor ; 
 " Why thou wouldst beat the cunningest mas- 
 ter of the art out of the field. O' my life, in 
 thy hand the painted cloth would be more 
 moving than history ; and we should speed- 
 ily have all lovers of true valor, instead of 
 seeking the enemy's encampment, studying 
 lessons of knighthood from thy arras." 
 
 " Well I should be right glad to know 
 what hath become of her," said Sir Valen- 
 tine. I like not parting so quickly with so 
 rare an acquaintance, I promise you. Nev- 
 ertheless methinks 'tis marvellous such a 
 strange person as that Sir Thomas Lucy 
 should have so exquisite a daughter. Had 
 he been in any way civil I would have be- 
 stowed some pains to please him, shrivelled 
 pippin as he looks to be ; but he spoke so 
 sharply to the gentle creature, and looked 
 at us with so crabbed an expression, that I 
 was in haste to be quit his company ; therefore 
 I have been in perfect ignorance up to this 
 date where she is to be found." 
 
 " I have at least discovered the old fel- 
 low's residence," said Sir Reginald. 
 
 "Ha, indeed !" cried Sir Valentine, in a 
 famous exultation. " Perdie, that is excel- 
 lent news. Where doth the pagan place so 
 fair a jewel ? Tell me, I prithee, for I would 
 impawn my heart to get but another sight 
 of her." 
 
 " Marry, but I think 'tis impawned al- 
 ready, good ' cousin," observed his friend 
 with an arch smile. " Thou seemest so 
 monstrous eager on the matter ; but not to 
 baulk thy exceeding curiousness, for my 
 humor jumps with it, believe me, know 
 that this peerless damsel hath her bower at 
 Charlcote, where the knight of despite, her 
 father, holdeth his court." 
 
 " To horse, for Charlcote ho!" exclaimed 
 his young companion, rising from his seat ' 
 
 in a merry manner, as if impatient to be 
 gone. 
 
 ' : But let me advise thee of sufficient cau- 
 tion," said his kinsman with an admirable 
 mock gravity ; great dangers beset thy path. 
 Ogres, giants, basilisks, and dragons await 
 thee on every side. Horror will cross thy 
 steps ; despair dog thy heels ; revenge com. 
 eth on thy right hand, and cruelty on thy 
 left. By my valor, sir knight, methinks 
 thou hadst best refrain from so perilous an 
 adventure." 
 
 " Amor vincit omnia !" replied the other 
 after the same pleasant fashion; and thus 
 jesting and bantering, the two friends a few 
 minutes after, left our young scholar who 
 had drunk in every word of their discourse 
 to pursue his studies in solitude. Little 
 more of the book before .him attempted he 
 acquaintance with for some time before and 
 long after their leaving him. He thought, 
 and the more he thought the more thought- 
 ful he grew ; but his thoughts were as gos- 
 samer webs hovering over a field, that catch 
 nought but other webs of a like sort ; they 
 appeared moreover to have no purport ; they 
 went in no direct path ; but proceeded over 
 and across, around and about, always re- 
 turning to the starting point, and what 
 should that be biit the same fair creature he 
 had seen at Kenilworth, that the gay knights 
 had talked of in such delicate terms. 
 
 In the meanwhile, at all proper intervals, 
 he assisted his father as far as in him lay ; at 
 other times running of errands with an alacri- 
 ty and cheerfulness none could help admiring. 
 John Shakspeare strove all that honest man 
 could to keep his family in comfort. He 
 would seek to do a little in his old trade of 
 wool, and also something as a glover ; but 
 though thrift and diligence were twin com- 
 panions with him at all times, the expenses 
 of a family would often run him down at 
 heel. Perchance, however desirous he 
 might be to pay as he went, and no man 
 more so, it might happen when the baker 
 called there was no money. Mortaging a 
 small property brought him by his wife car- 
 ried him on a little ; but this could not last 
 forever, do wlfat he would, and it became no 
 uncommon thing when he was ready for 
 his dinner, to have no dinner ready for him. 
 His neighbors were ever ready to lend him 
 a helping hand ; but having experienced 
 their friendly feeling in some measure, he 
 liked not letting them know he required il 
 again, fearing to exhaust their goodness. 
 All that our young scholar gained by friend- 
 ly gifts was presented to his parents as 
 speedily as he could : and be sure he felt 
 more exquisite gratification in so bestowing
 
 
 ' 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 it, than he experienced in any other thing 
 whatsoever; but it sometimes happened 
 when he was at Sir Marmaduke's, or 
 other bountiful friends, before a goodly 
 meal, the thought that his loving parents 
 had at that time nothing of the sort to put 
 before them, would so move him he could 
 not touch a morsel of anything, however 
 tempting it might be. And as lor his good 
 mother and father, they cared more their 
 son should keep a decent appearance, so 
 that he might do no discredit to his compa- 
 ny, than they heeded their own comforts. 
 
 Methinks there cannot be in nature so 
 truly pitiful, and yet a sight so noble withal, 
 as an honest man struggling with adversity. 
 Note how he labors to be ir up his heart 
 against the crushing weight of his stern 
 necessities. See his nature a proud na- 
 ture, perchance, for there is no pride like 
 that of honesty reduced to the mean re- 
 sorts of poverty's most absolute rule. Be- 
 hold the fallacious smile and abortive cheer- 
 fulness under which he would strive to hide 
 the iron entering his soul ! Want winds 
 her serpent folds around him, and eats into 
 his vitals ; Ruin hovers over him on vul- 
 ture's wings to seize him for her prey; 
 Disgrace points at him ; Shame follows on 
 his steps ; and Fear seeks to disturb the 
 pleasant shelter of his dreams ; but the hon- 
 est man holds up his head like a flag upon 
 a wreck, and when that rude villain Death 
 would take the wall of him, doffs his beaver 
 with a natural dignity mere gallantry can 
 have no example of. 
 
 Such it was with John Shakspeare. He 
 did his best, but his best failed. He put 
 forth all his stength, but all his strength 
 was insufficient. The brand of poverty ap- 
 peared to have marked him for her own ; 
 but worse than that to him, he saw his 
 wife pining, and his children wanting 
 nourishment. In such a state of things it 
 might have been thought that he would 
 have made application to some of the per- 
 sons of worship in his neighborhood, whose 
 xharacters were a guarantee it would not 
 . ave been made in vain ; but worthy per- 
 sons when they fall to those poor shifts as 
 render such an act necessary, are found 
 monstrous loath to trouble the rich and pow- 
 erful with their necessities. Sir Marma- 
 duke doubtless would have very readily 
 done him such service ; but he had no in- 
 timation his assistance was required ; Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare always making such an 
 appearance, by means already spoken of, 
 which prevented him from entertaining any 
 suspicions his father was in any other but 
 comfortable circumstances ; and the poor 
 
 glover, however meanly off he might be, 
 could never bring himself to hazard his son's 
 prospects with so great a friend, by impor- 
 tuning of the latter with his own hapless 
 condition. 
 
 At last, after a protracted struggle with 
 himself on the matter, and things getting to 
 wear a more serious aspect, he made up his 
 mind he would venture to move his old 
 friend John a Combe. Strange rumors had 
 been afloat" for some time concerning of this 
 good gentleman. On a sudden he had been 
 missed from Stratford, and after some years 
 stay, had again returned but oh, how 
 altered a man ! Those who saw him scarce 
 knew him, and those whom he saw he seem- 
 ed determined he would not know. It was 
 said there were such marked lines in hi3 
 pallid countenance, as though a thousand 
 cares had ploughed their furrows in the 
 flesh, and that when he walked abroad, 
 which was something rare in him, he 
 would mingle with none, greet none, be 
 known of none but move .slowly along, 
 with his body bent, and his eyes fixed sul- 
 lenly on the ground, sometimes moving of 
 his lips though what fell from them none 
 could say. It was also reported that he had 
 become an usurer lending of his money at 
 exorbitant charges, and being exceeding 
 strict in.forcing the payment. Not a wore 
 of this would John Shakspeare believe. 
 What, that noble heart become a selfish sol- 
 itary, he had known of so social a spirit or 
 that generous nature debase itself with ava- 
 rice, he had seen risking the horriblcst death 
 out of pure philanthropy ! It was clean 
 impossible. They must most grossly belie 
 him who reported of him any such mean- 
 ness. So thought the poor glover of his old 
 acquaintance, and with these thoughts he 
 one morning took his staff in his hand and pro- 
 ceeded to his dwelling. 
 
 At his first entrance at the gate, John 
 Shakspeare saw there was at least a nota- 
 ble change in the house once so familiar to 
 him. Everything around and about it look- 
 ed strange and desolate, and as opposite to 
 the state in which it used to be kept, as any 
 two things could chance to be. The fair 
 garden that once was the pride of the place 
 for its order and trimness, appeared now a 
 mere heap of weeds, straggling bushes, and 
 withered plants. The goodly trees that 
 were wont to be so well trailed against the 
 wall, had broke from their bindings, and lay 
 with their straggling branches almost leaf- 
 less, with the unchecked ravages of vermin 
 and neglect. The dwelling seemed no less 
 wretched. A broken casement, and a porch 
 dirty and crumbling with decay, spoke how
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 little outward appearances were now cared 
 for by the possessor. John Shakspeare 
 shook his head at noting of these things. 
 It then occurred to him that some fearful 
 change must have taken place in John a 
 Combe, else John a Combe's dwelling could 
 never have come to so pitiful a condition. 
 
 The door was cautiously opened by a 
 sour looking slovenly old dame, instead of a 
 neat pretty handmaid, and active young ser- 
 ving man, that had used to have been so 
 ready to show a visitor all proper courtesy, 
 and after sharply interrogating him on his 
 business, she led him through the hall 
 where everything spoke a similar story of 
 indifferency to all comfort and cleanliness, 
 as did the ruined garden and delapidated 
 porch into a small back chamber choking 
 with dust. Here before a heap of many pa- 
 pers and parchments, sat his worthy and 
 esteemed friend Master Combe. John 
 Shakspeare looked with greater intentness 
 ere he would believe his own eyes. He 
 saw before him a man he knew to be in the 
 pride of manhood, with all the externals of 
 decrepit! age. The grey hair, the blanched 
 cheek, and the sunken eye, could not be 
 mistaken ; but besides these unwelcome 
 signs, there was in his aspect a mingled ex- 
 pression of agony and distrust, that was 
 more moving than all. John Shakspeare's 
 honest heart sunk within him, as he beheld 
 this painful spectacle which exhibited the 
 more wretchedness, by the mean habiliments 
 in which it appeared, for he who had used 
 to dress in so becoming a fashion, he was 
 admired of all, was now attired in coarse 
 clothes and uncleanly linen, unworthy of a 
 person even of the lowest quality. 
 
 Master Combe stared at hrs old friend 
 without the slightest sign of cordiality, or 
 even of recognition ; and seemed as though 
 he would have him say his errand without 
 delay ; whereupon his visitor though more 
 distressed at such a moment at the condi- 
 tion of one he had known to be so good a 
 man, than his own, presently gave an un- 
 varnished tale of his losses and sufferings, 
 and the stern necessity which had compelled 
 him to ask a loan to afford him some pre- 
 sent help. Master Comba sat the tale out 
 with a stone-like indifference. 
 
 " What security hast got ?" said he at 
 last, rather sharply. 
 
 " None,'' replied his visitor, much pained 
 at hearing of so unexpected a question. 
 
 " What, come to me seeking of money 
 without security !" exclaimed Master Combe, 
 as if in a monstrous surprise.'' Dost not 
 know I am an usurer, and dost not know 
 usurers lend not, save on sure grounds and 
 
 profitable terms ? I must have ten in the 
 hundred, and I must have something to hold 
 upon of such value as will ensure the safe- 
 ty of the loan." 
 
 " Alack, I have it not," answered John 
 Shakspeare, marvelling the generous nature 
 of his old companion should have taken so 
 ill a turn. <: I expected not you were so 
 changed, else I would not have troubled 
 you." 
 
 " Changed !" cried the other with a bitter 
 emphasis. " Marry, yes, and a goodly 
 change it must needs be. What, wouldst 
 suppose I would remain all my days the 
 generous confiding fool I have once been ? 
 Have I not given without stint have I not 
 endured without flinching for the good of 
 my fellows, and none ends else ? Lived I 
 not in the strong belief of the excellence of 
 humanity, and sought all means to show I 
 was mysef a parcel of the whole ? What 
 good thing have I left undone that was in 
 my power. Whe . : have I failed in the 
 exercise of an impar : :.i benevolence '? When 
 gave I not every on;: his Uie, c kept my- 
 self back when one unjust ;..v 4 Squired a 
 defender ?" 
 
 "Never, as I gladly t* .;\"y; : sclaimed 
 his companion. 
 
 " And what hath been Tiy \ fit ?" in- 
 quired Master Combe, still 'lore i.'tterly, as 
 he rose from his seat in a ' in?'"- sing ex- 
 citement ; " hopes blighted, neaitn ruined, 
 and happiness destroyed ! Look on me 
 see you one particle of what I was ! Yet 
 is the change without, in no comparison 
 with that which is within. My whole na- 
 ture is blasted, riven and torn up by the 
 roots. Not a green leaf shall you find on 
 it, search where you will. Not a sign of 
 any goodness whatsoever. An earthquake 
 hath trampled on me a pestilence hath 
 eaten up all the pure essence of my being 
 what is human of me is stifled, poisoned, 
 crushed, and cast out of all likeness with 
 humanity. I am a moving desolation a 
 living desert a well that the scorching air 
 hath left dry as a stone." 
 
 John Shakspeare looked on and listened, 
 quite forgetful of his own wretchedness. 
 
 " See you- that spider in the crack ?" in- 
 quired Master Combe, suddenly taking the 
 other by the arm. 
 
 '' Ay, I see it plain," replied he, looking 
 narrowly to the spot pointed out. 
 
 " He is spinning his w r eb in . the ruin 
 around him," continued his companion, aa 
 if in some sort of exultation. " He means 
 to make prey of all he can. John Shaka- 
 peare, I am intent upon a like thing," added 
 he, sinking his voice to a mere whisper.
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " Take heed of yourself, else you will find 
 yourself in my snare. To the door with 
 what speed you have." 
 
 John Shakspeare, so moved lie scarce knew 
 what he was about, took up his cap ; but, 
 finding it feel unusually heavy, looked in it 
 with some narrowness, and there, to his 
 great surprise, saw a purse of money. 
 
 " How came this here ?" exclaimed he, 
 taking ,it in his hand. " As I live, there 
 was nought of the kind in my cap a moment 
 since, when I laid it down." 
 
 " How should I know, i'faith ?" cried 
 Master Combe, sharply. 
 
 " It must needs belong to you, worthy sir, 
 for it cannot be mine," said his companion, 
 seeking to give him the purse. 
 
 " Marry, what new folly is this !" exclaim- 
 ed the other, putting it away. " Dost think 
 I would give thee such ? Doth usurers 
 pan with their money after such fashion ? 
 Fanciest I would allow of thy spreading the 
 rare intelligence amongst thy acquaintance, 
 that John a Combe is as monstrous a fool as 
 ever he was, and liketh nought so well as 
 helping some one in his need ? Go get thee 
 gone, John Shakspeare," added he, pushing 
 his companion to the door, " thou art honest, 
 and must needs be a fool thou hast no lack 
 of virtue, therefore cannot escape being 
 taken for a knave ;" and in the next moment 
 the door was closed upon him. 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 
 Over my altars hath he hung his lance, 
 
 His battered shield, his uncontrolled crest, 
 And for my sake hath learned to sport and dance, 
 
 To coy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Take heed, sweet nymph, try not thy shaft, 
 
 Each little touch will pierce a heart ; 
 Alas ! thou know'st not Cupid's craft, 
 
 Revenge is joy, the end is smart. 
 
 DAVISON. 
 
 But what on earth can long abide in state 1 
 Or who can him assure of happy day ? 
 Sith morning fair may bring foul evening late, 
 And least mishap the most blessed alter may ? 
 For thousand perils lie in close await, 
 About us daily to work our decay, 
 That none except a god, or God him guide, 
 May them avoid or remedy provide. 
 
 SPENSER. 
 
 " I THINK it exceeding improper of thee, 
 Mabel !" exclaimed Dame Lucy, with a 
 countenance of more than ordinary gravity, 
 wbilst she walked in the grounds appertain- 
 
 ing to her husband's mansion at Charlcote, 
 in all her pride of farthingale and headtire. 
 
 " What else could I do, I pray you, dear 
 mistress?" said the fair creature in a de- 
 precating tone, following of her closely. 
 " These good gentlemen would needs speak 
 with me, nd surely there was no offence in 
 their speech." 
 
 " O, monstrous offence ! beyond all doubt- 
 ing," replied the dame. . " Thou canst have 
 no conception, child, what offence may be 
 in speech without it being visible. There 
 are meaning in words that are horrible to 
 think of, albeit they appear of ever such in- 
 nocency." 
 
 " I took it but as a mere greeting," added 
 her companion, in some surprise at what 
 had fallen from the other.* " They were 
 infinitely kind in their inquiries ; and so 
 courteous withal, it is hard to believe any- 
 thing uncivil of them. 
 
 "Trust not to such kindness," said her 
 mistress somewhat oracularly, " 'tis a jxjor 
 stale to catch woodcocks. I marvel what 
 such fine fellows should want of so poor a 
 person ! No good, by my fay ! Doubtless, 
 would they seek to fill thee with foolish fan- 
 tasiQs improper for thy humble station, and 
 so turn it to their advantages. But nie- 
 thinks I have given them a right proper re- 
 ception. I showed them such dignity of 
 behavior* as proved how little I thought of 
 them and their fine words. They will not 
 come here again, I'll warrant." 
 
 " Dost not think, dear mistress, 'twas 
 marvellous good of them to rescue me from 
 the hands of those rude persons who were 
 for taking me away, I know not where, 
 whilst we were at Kenihvorth ?" 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, I know "not," replied the 
 dame, " I cannot speak of that of which I 
 have no certain knowledge. Perchance, if 
 the truth should be come at, more mischief 
 would be found in those who stayed thee, 
 than in those who were for carrying thee 
 off. I liked not their looks. They have a 
 horrible suspicious appearance with them." 
 
 " I saw it not, believe me," said her young 
 companion. " Indeed they did appear to 
 me the noblest, kindest, hoiiorablest young 
 gentlemen, it hath ever been my good hap 
 to meet." 
 
 " Tilly vally, stuff o'nonsense, child !" 
 exclaimed Dame Lucy, with some sharp- 
 ness. " Marry, how shouldst know aught 
 concerning of honorable young gentlemen ; 
 and what dost want with such ? Prithee 
 hold thy silly 'prate. Thou wilt have enough 
 to do to get thy bread with an honest name, 
 without troubling thyself with any such im- 
 proper matters. Honorable young gentle-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 87 
 
 men, forsooth ! The world mnst be clean 
 topsyturvy when persons of thy quality take 
 to such notions." 
 
 The poor foundling was silenced, and the 
 two continued their walk without ever a 
 word more ; yet though her tongue was at 
 rest, her thoughts were right busy. Obedi- 
 ent as she was, and yielding as was her 
 nature, nothing of what her companion had 
 said, had convinced her, the handsome gal- 
 lants who had so bravely rescued her from 
 she knew not what peril, and that, after so 
 long a time hearing where she lived, had 
 gone on purpose to inquire how she had 
 fared after her great alarm had treated her 
 with such extreme courteousness, were any- 
 thing but truly noble gentlemen, who meant 
 her well. Doubtless it was something new 
 to her to be treated with delicate respect by 
 persons of quality, as they appeared ; for 
 she was only regarded as a servant, and only 
 associated with such, save at those times 
 she was attending of her mistress ; therefore 
 the impression they made upon her might 
 hstve been the more powerful than could 
 htive been produced under ordinary circum- 
 B,nces. Women in general, and especially 
 of the younger sort, who have been used to 
 kj meanly thought of, are wonderfully grate- 
 ful for any slight courtesy from a superior, 
 and are ready to give all their hearts for 
 ach attentions, should tljpy believe them to 
 be sincere ; and Mabel, whose gentle nature 
 was overflowing with gratitude at any kind- 
 ness, took, at the most liberal appreciation, 
 she attentions of the two young knights. 
 
 Certes Mabel continued to think very 
 kindly of Sir Valentine and his friend, and 
 was famously glad she had met with them 
 agaifc ; for ever since she had first formed 
 their acquaintance, she had wished she 
 might see them once more, and now she had 
 a second time beheld them, she hoped it 
 might chance they would again meet. She 
 thought not one whit more of one than of 
 the other ; she felt she should desire to be 
 well esteemed of both. In accordance with 
 such feelings, whenever she could get away 
 from the old dame for a walk by herself, 
 she would direct her steps towards the spot 
 where she had last met her brave deliverers. 
 Mayhap it was chance which led her that 
 way ; but as it occurred every time she was 
 Tor a stroll in the park, methinks it was of 
 that order of chances which savor marvel- 
 lously of design. But it so happened these 
 walks of hers ended as they commenced. 
 She met not those whose company she de- 
 sired, and she began to think such great 
 pleasure could never be hers again. 
 
 Some months after the interview to which 
 
 allusion hath just been made, she was re- 
 turning homewards from her ordinary ram- 
 ble, somewhat out of heart at her many 
 disappointments, when, to her wonderful 
 great exultation, she suddenly espied Sir 
 Valentine wending his way towards her 
 through the trees. The young knight made 
 his greeting with all the courtesy of a true 
 soldier, gazing with most admiring glances 
 on the fair creature before him, who, to his 
 thinking, had grown to be infinitely more 
 beautiful even than when he had last had 
 sight of her ; but the truth was, she was 
 now all smiles, gladness, and animation 
 happiness was beaming in her sunny 
 glances, and pleasure basked in the soft 
 hollows of her radiant cheek. Such sweet 
 simplicity, such genuine truth, so artless 
 and unworldly a nature Sir Valentine had 
 had no knowledge of ; and he, whose truly 
 chivalrous disposition was so ready to take 
 on trust the admirable qualities of woman, 
 coijld not fail to appreciate such excellences 
 as he had now held in his personal ac- 
 quaintance. He looked as though he could 
 never tire of such exquisite company. His 
 handsome smiling features spoke what ab- 
 solute satisfaction he was then and there 
 enjoying ; and the longer he stayed in her 
 bewitching presence, the less inclined ap- 
 peared he to take himself away from it. 
 
 As for Mabel, nought in this world co'uld 
 equal the exceeding pleasantness ,she ex- 
 perienced in listening to her companion's 
 soft mellow voice and polished delivery, de- 
 scribing to her such of the princely pleasures 
 of Kehilworth she had not beheld. She en- < 
 tirely forgot she was a poor despised found- 
 ling, and in her fantasy accompanied her 
 eloquent companion through all the glorious 
 pageantries, noble banquets, and courtly 
 recreations, that were enjoyed by th'e noble 
 company at the castle, as though they had 
 been her customary and most familiar pas- 
 times, from the beginning of her earliest 
 remembrances. I question she would have 
 been as properly entertained with the reality 
 of what she heard, as was she with their 
 mere narration ; but when the narrator di- 
 gressed from his subject in any manner, to 
 express, with winning civilness, his great 
 comfort at having been so fortunate as to 
 have made her acquaintance which he 
 thought more of than could be a thousand 
 Kenilworths a thrill of exquisite rapture 
 seemed to pass through her whole nature, 
 and she would return her thanks for such 
 estimation with a heartiness that showed 
 clearly whence it proceeded. This continu- 
 ed as they remained strolling carelessly along 
 under those shady trees, without taking the
 
 88 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 slightest heed of time, till the thickening 
 shadows gave them warning how long they 
 had dallied with the hours. Then some sign 
 of separation became manifest. 
 
 " Let me beg one favor at your hands, 
 ere I depart from your sweet presence," 
 said Sir Valentine, as he was still lingering 
 by her sido near the park gate. 
 
 " In truth, good sir, I would grant you 
 anything in my poor power," answered his 
 fair companion. 
 
 " It is but to know your name," added he. 
 
 " O' my word now, good sir, have you not 
 known it all this time ?" inquired she, as if 
 in some little surprise. " Surely I am no 
 other than Mabel, of whom all persons, me- 
 thinks, have some knowledge." 
 
 "Mabel!" repeated the young knight, 
 somewhat to himself as it were, yet all the 
 time gazing on the ingenuous countenance 
 of his fair partner, as though he was conning 
 it for some pleasant task, then added, with 
 a deep expression in the words, " I will not 
 forget it." 
 
 " But I pray you, give me knowledge of 
 your name!" exclaimed Mabel, with a most 
 pressing earnestness, " an' you think it not 
 over bold in me to aslc such a thing of you ; 
 for in very truth, I should be exceeding glad 
 to know it." 
 
 " I am called Valentine de Largesse," re- 
 plied he, charmed with the exquisite fashion 
 in which the question had been put to him. 
 
 " How good a creature !" said the gentle 
 girl to herself, as she was returning home 
 after he had left her. " Valentine de Lar- 
 gesse ? 'Tis a name that meaneth all 
 honorableness and true valor, I will be 
 bound for't." 
 
 How strange of Dame Lucy to think there 
 could bo evil intent in any such ! 
 
 This was not the only meeting they had 
 under those shady trees. Sir Valentine was 
 too well pleased with his last interview not 
 to desire to repeat his visit, and in conse- 
 quence of his friend Sir Reginald being ab- 
 sent in a distant part of the country, he had 
 such leisure as enabled him, when all other 
 circumstances concurred, to realise his own 
 wishes as often as he would. His behavior 
 began imperceptibly to take upon it the cha- 
 racter of that tender gallantry, with which 
 it was customary among the more chivalrous 
 sort of gentlemen, to address their sovereign 
 lady. His homage knew no bounds his 
 respect was equally without limits, and his 
 admiration, though the powerfulest of the 
 three, was of that choice sort which is 
 shown more in delicate actions than in a 
 fair commodity of terms. These attentions 
 gave the gentle Mabel a pride in herself she 
 
 had never experienced before, whicn in- 
 creased as she grew more familiar with 
 them. As it made progress did her simpli- 
 city diminish ; and she presently took such 
 things, albeit they had once been so new to 
 her, as if they were what she looked for, 
 and was properly entitled to receive. 
 
 Yet did this pride sit upon her as grace- 
 fully as it might upon the noblest lady in 
 the land. When at her humble duties, she 
 was no more to all appearance than a poor 
 foundling ; but after tiring of herself with 
 such genuine taste as to make her poor ap- 
 parel look more becomingly on her, than re- 
 gal garments would on many others, she 
 stood by the side of Sir Valentine receiving 
 his devotions, with so courtly an air as made 
 her seem quite another creature. Her step 
 was firm, her brow erect, her carriage state- 
 ly, and her look spoke of such proud happi- 
 ness as a noble maiden might experience in 
 attracting to herself the exclusive attentions 
 of some princely gallant. At such times it 
 was evident she had lost all knowledge of 
 her humble fortunes. Indeed her behavior 
 was of such a sort her companion not only 
 had not the slightest suspicion she was of 
 so low a station- but he more and more 
 marvelled such unmannerly strange per.<oiiri 
 as Sir Thomas and Dame Lucy appeared to 
 him could have so noble a daughter. Ma- 
 bel never gave th% matter a thought, else, 
 had she suspected any such thing, her inge- 
 nuous nature would^ have led her to unde- 
 ceive him on the instant. She was gratified 
 with his company out of all doubt, but she 
 saw nothing beyond the present moment ; 
 and although these meetings were clandes- 
 tine, and, as she had good reason for believ- 
 ing, against the consent of the old kHight 
 and his lady, as there appeared no oflence 
 in what she did, she could not see she had 
 done any. 
 
 It was her good fortune during all this 
 time to escape suspicion at home for her 
 well-disposedness was so familiar to them 
 that her conduct was never inquired into, 
 and as her great trouble and annoyance, 
 young Lucy, was at college, she was in the 
 enjoyment of more happiness than she had 
 known her whole life long. Pity such feli- 
 city should be of such short endurance. But 
 so is it ever. Nothing is certain save un- 
 certainty, which showeth its troublesome-* 
 ness just at those times we are least pre- 
 pared to put up with it. Often and often is 
 it we see in the sweet spring-time of the 
 year, a goodly tree almost hid beneath its 
 innumerable fair blossoms, giving such prodi- 
 gal promise of fruit as maketh the owner's 
 heart leap with joy a frost cometh in th
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 night, the blossoms are nipped, shrivelled, 
 and cast off, and the tree remaineth with 
 nothing but barren brandies for all that sea- 
 son. Methinks the knowledge of this should 
 keep the sanguine from too steadfast an ex- 
 pectation ; but what availeth all knowledge 
 against disposition ? a score of Times shall 
 such meet with the terri blest disappoint- 
 ments, and the next day shall tind them hop- 
 ing, trusting, and anticipating, with greater 
 earnestness than ever. This, however, 
 could not be said of Mabel, for she antici- 
 pated nothing ; and, as hath been said, 
 looked only upon the present moment. She 
 was scarce of an age to trouble herself 
 much about the future, and the extreme hu- 
 mility of her fortunes kept her from any- 
 thing that savored of ambition. This inno- 
 cency of her heart was her best buckler in 
 this apparent lack of foresight. Proud she 
 was it cannot be denied, but hers was the 
 pure essence of pride, and not the dross. 
 
 As she was returning from her usual 
 stroll, though without meeting with her 
 usual gratification, she came upon a sight 
 which fixed her attention so profoundly she 
 could not stir from the place. It was in the 
 pleasant twilight of the first month of au- 
 tumn when the heated air fanned by the 
 seasonable breeze was growing to a pleasant 
 coolness, and the rustling groves were don- 
 ning their embroidered livery. Over head 
 was all of a clear grey save in the west a 
 rich copper hue was visible at the verge, 
 gradually fading till it took the color of the 
 surrounding sky. The herbage was crisp 
 and short, and the flowers had got to be of 
 some rareness. Low upon the mossy lap 
 of the venerablest oak in the whole grove, 
 lay a youth in the most absolute perfection 
 of youthful symmetry. Surely he might 
 without any great stretch of fancy, have 
 been taken for that lovely boy who playeth 
 such vagaries with our humanity, as poets 
 feign ; and she, who crept to him on tiptoe 
 with such a marvelling, pleased, and cautious 
 look upon her exquisite fair features, would 
 have made an admirable representative of 
 that divine creature the spiritual Psyche of 
 the same ideal world. He slept one arm 
 supporting his head from which the hat 
 had fallen, the other holding an open book. 
 And who could this be but the youthful 
 Shakspeare wearied out with the long deep 
 studiousness he now, more than ever in- 
 dulged in. She however had no knowledge 
 of who it was, but could not help gazing 
 with a pleasant w r onder upon the pale 
 thoughtful brow, and delicately beautiful 
 countenance of the young sleeper. 
 
 All at once the expression of her features 
 
 changed exceedingly. She now looked al) 
 fear and terrible anxiety. The cause of 
 this was she beheld a hornet hovering over 
 his face, seeming- every moment as if it 
 would alight on the half closed lips, whose 
 luscious richness of color doubtless tempted 
 it thereto. Mabel was in an agony of dread 
 that the touch of the insect would cause the 
 young student to start, and so he would get 
 stung : and she dared not seek to wake him 
 from a like fear. So there stood she, bend- 
 ing with extreme anxiousness, and anon 
 shrinking back with horrible affright. This 
 continued for some moments, with increasing 
 alarm on her part, when with such a lively 
 sense of joy as had visited her but seldom, 
 she beheld the hornet take its departure 
 without doing of any misduef. She lingered 
 a moment longer, half iijpncd to wake the 
 sleeper, and tell him of ms danger, but as 
 she could not bring upon herself to break 
 such sweet slumbers as he appeared to en- 
 joy, she presently turned awa/ and contin- 
 ued her walk. 
 
 She knew not all this while that she was 
 narrowly watched by two persons, who, 
 creeping from tree to tree with such cau- 
 tiousness as might prevent their approach be- 
 ing noticed, followed her closely as she went. 
 
 " 'Tis her !" whispered one, drawing 
 close to the other. 
 
 " Let her get to the next clump of trees, 
 and then upon," answered the other, in the 
 same low voice. They then separated 
 again, and crept along as before till they 
 had passed the sleeper some paces, and 
 were rapidly but cautiously advancing upon 
 the object of their so much regard, when 
 Mabel turning round to take a last glance 
 at the sleeping student, to her monstrous 
 surprise and alarm, found two strange men 
 close upon her foot-steps. 
 
 " I pray you come with us, sweet dam- 
 sel," said one of them, whom she immedi- 
 ately recognized as her treacherous gallant 
 at Kenihvorth. " We will do you no sort 
 of harm should you come quietly for we 
 are of your friends, anxious to lead you to 
 such great good fortune as falleth to the lot 
 of few. But if you show any unwilling- 
 ness," added he, seizing her firmly by the 
 wrist, seeing she evinced an evident reluc- 
 tance to be of his company " Or make any 
 outcry, we shall be forced to use such means 
 to compel you, as you would find of the 
 roughest." 
 
 "Unhand me, sirrah!" cried Mabel, in- 
 dignantly, striving to free her from his hold. 
 " I have seen enough of you to wish for no 
 farther acquaintance, and will go with you 
 on no account."
 
 90 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 " Then we must e'en take to making you, 
 sweetest," replied he, catching' her up in his 
 arms, as though he would carry her away, 
 which set her to screaming and struggling 
 with all her might. At this moment, awaken- 
 ed by the scream, the youthful Shakspeare 
 started from his sleep, and to his extreme 
 consternation beheld the fair object of his 
 most pleasant dream borne away from him, 
 struggling in the arms of some rude villain. 
 
 "Hold, caitiff', on thy life!" shouted he, 
 starting after them, with such speed of foot 
 as soon brought them within his reach, but 
 just as he had bravely seized the ravisher 
 by the collar of his doublet, he was felled to 
 the earth by a blow from a heavy riding 
 whip the other villain had with him. The 
 two then made \Ut haste they could with 
 their burthen, dttQPe her cries and resist- 
 ance, till they camo to their horses under 
 some adjoining trees. The gallant got on 
 one holding Mabel before him, then when 
 his companion was mounted, both rode 
 across the country, at a pace which speedily 
 took them out of sight of that neighborhood. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 O fortune, now my wounds redress, 
 
 And help me from my smart, 
 It cometh well of gentleness, 
 To ease a mourning hearte. 
 
 OLD SONG. 
 
 Away with these self-loving lads, 
 Whom with cupid's arrow never glads ! 
 Away poor souls that sigh and weep 
 In love of those that lie asleep ! * 
 For Cupid is a merry god, 
 And forceth none to kiss the rod. 
 
 LORD BROOKE. 
 
 These strange and sudden injuries have fallen 
 
 So thick upon me, that I lose all sense 
 
 Of what they are. Methinks I am not wronged ; 
 
 Nor is it aught, if from the censuring world 
 
 I can but hide it. Reputation ! 
 
 Thou art a wo r d, no more. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 ON recovering consciousness, the youth- 
 ful Shakspeare found himself lying stretched 
 on the grass, with a confused sense of pain 
 and sickness, which prevented him from 
 forming any distinct idea of where he was. 
 He could just discern divers black masses of 
 sundry shapes, moving around and about 
 him, whilst above, myriads of stars were 
 twinkling upon the surface of the surround- 
 ing sky ; a thick white haze floated over the 
 grassy earth as far as he could see ; and 
 not a sound, save the rustling of the leaves, 
 
 which at first came upon his ear with a 
 most unnatural strangeness could be heard. 
 His earliest perception was that the ground 
 was wet with the dews, and he almost im- 
 mediately afterwards discovered that his 
 clothes were saturated with the same mois- 
 ture. This made him make an immediate 
 attempt to rise, whereupon he felt that his 
 limbs were stiff and aching. Sitting, sup- 
 porting himself by one arm, he strove to as- 
 certain where he was; but everything upon 
 which he turned his eyes floated in such 
 shadowy outline he could distinguish no- 
 thing ; and so fearful a pain was in his 
 head, he was forced to lean it upon his hand 
 as he rested his elbow on his lap. He then 
 found his brows covered with a clammy 
 moisture, which stuck to his palm with a 
 peculiar unpleasantness, and an overpower- 
 ing sense of sickness prevented him from 
 attempting to regain his feet. In this posi- 
 tion, and with these sensations, he remained 
 for some time. 
 
 Nature appeared in the rising dews be- 
 neath the starry canopy, like to some mighty 
 empress lying in her shroud under a jeweled 
 pall ; but this awful magnificence was now 
 lost upon him, who at any other time would 
 have seen and felt it more thoroughly than 
 could any other. In his present state she 
 might have put on herself her proudest 
 apparelling, and he would have paid no more 
 heed to it than if he had had no foreknow- 
 ledge of her visible existence ; and for the 
 time being, in his comprehension not only 
 all this glorious garnishing in which he had 
 oft taken such exquisite delight, was utterly 
 done away with, but that absolute and un- 
 rivaled Beauty, whose infinite attractions so 
 set off, had bound his spirit to her will, 
 seemed to have suffered a perfect dissolu- 
 tion into the elements ^from which she 
 sprung ; and had at once become a darkness 
 a chaos and a nothing. This, however, 
 as must be manifest to all, was a mere fan- 
 tasy. The chaos lay in the mind, and not 
 in Nature; who, however funereally she 
 may clwose to array herself, hath a per- 
 petual life, that cannot be made the property 
 either of Time or Death. All the singular 
 fine faculties and curious conceptions of the 
 young student, in the state of half-con- 
 sciousness in which he now existed, were 
 as if they had never- been ; a'nd in intelli- 
 gence alack that there should be so hu- 
 miliating a truth, a sudden visitation of 
 physical pain had reduced the promising 
 scholar below the level of the most unlettered 
 hind. 
 
 At last he managed to raise himself upon 
 his feet, and leaned against the trunk of a
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 91 
 
 tree close by which he had fallen. He 
 looked around, and it appeared as though 
 everything wore an unfamiliar and unfriend- 
 ly countenance ; helpless and faint with 
 pain, he turned his appalling gaze to those 
 fair ministers on high, who at such num- 
 berless occasions, had looked down so invit- 
 ingly on his meditations ; but they seemed 
 at this present to regard him with a cold in- 
 difference which struck a chill to his heart. 
 He felt weaker and weaker every moment ; 
 the mists appeared to be thickening around 
 him so that he could scarce breathe ; the 
 tree passed away ,from his touch ; the 
 ground slipped from under his feet; and 
 with a look of anguish that was a most deep 
 reproach unto Nature for having so aban- 
 doned him in his extremity, he again fell out 
 of all sign of existence. 
 
 At this moment, lights were seen in the 
 distance, and a confused shouting of men 
 and barking of dogs was plainly audible. 
 Amid this the name of Mabel might be dis- 
 tinguished, called out by several different 
 voices, and other cries, which proved that 
 the party were in search of the poor found- 
 ling. 
 
 "Mabel!" shouted Sir Thomas Lucy, 
 some yards off, as loud as he could for the 
 wrapper his careful dame 'had put around 
 his throat to protect him from the damp mist. 
 t; Murrain on the wench, what hath become 
 of her I wonder." 
 
 " Hoy !" bawled out a stout old game- 
 keeper for the space of nigh half a minute, 
 carrying of a lantern, which great cry of his 
 brought on such a fit of coughing there 
 seemed to be no end of it. 
 
 " Prithee when we return, good Sampson, 
 ask some of my julep of me," said Dame 
 Lucy, who prided herself hugely on her skill 
 in medicaments, and was ever as anxious to 
 lay hold of a patient as was any 'pothecary in 
 the land ; " 'tis famous for the cure of all 
 manner of coughe, asthmatics, quinsies, cold, 
 hoarseness, and other diseases of the like 
 sort, so if thou wilt take it steadily it can- 
 not help to be a sovereign remedy for thy 
 asthma." 
 
 " Ay, mistress, an' it please you," replied 
 Sampson, although he knew full well the 
 virtues of that same julep, having had it put 
 upon him for a good score years, let him 
 have whatever complaint he might. 
 
 " A rig for' such villainous stuff!" ex- 
 claimed Sir Thomas; "I'll cure thy asth- 
 matics, I'll warrant ! When I was at 
 college, I was as famous 1 for my studies in 
 medicine as was any physician of them all. 
 Indeed I got me the name of little Escula- 
 pius, I had acquired such great cunning in 
 
 it. There was no such cures evei neard of 
 as I have made. But it led me so into the 
 playing of tricks, that I was obliged to give 
 it up or I should have been expelled for my 
 many mischiefs. Oh, the love powders I 
 have made that distressed damsels came to 
 me for ! Oh, the wonderful charmed phil- 
 tres, and magical elixirs, I have given them 
 for bringing back their stray lovers. By 
 cock and pye, I tickled them so with my 
 stuff, that if a man of any kind, whatever he 
 might lack in handsomeness, did but show 
 himself in the High Street, women of all 
 ages, sorts, and conditions, rushed from 
 every house with a monstrous uncontrollable 
 eagerness, intent upon the having him 
 whether he would or no." 
 
 " By'r lady, I never heard this, before, Sir 
 Thomas !" cried his dame, in some surprise, 
 yet in the fullest conviction here was an- 
 other wonderful proof of her husband's ex- 
 traordinary rare wisdom. " Believe me, 
 had I known of it, I would have asked your 
 advice numberless times when I have not." 
 
 " Mabel !" shouted the knight again, and 
 again Sampson set up a prolonged cry, and 
 half choked himself in the midst of it, and 
 two dogs they had with them recommenced 
 barking, as if they thought their voices 
 stood as good a chance of being recognized 
 by their kind friend, the poor foundling, as 
 any. 
 
 " Plague on't !" -exclaimed Sir Thomas ; 
 " T am nigh hoarse with bawling ; and de- 
 spite of our mufflers and other covering, I 
 doubt not we shall have terrible colds from 
 wandering about here when the dew is so 
 thick." 
 
 " Ay,TVTaster Justice," observed the game- 
 keeper, scarce ceasing one minute to give 
 evidence this coming out agreed not with 
 his asthma. 
 
 " I marvel she should serve us this way," 
 added the knight, after another call from 
 him, another broken-winded cry from his 
 man, and another famous howl from the two 
 dogs, with as little success as had attended 
 them all along ; " I hope no harm hath come 
 to her." 
 
 " By my troth a thought strikes me !" 
 cried Dame Lucy, suddenly coming to a 
 full stop in her walk, to the exceeding as- 
 tonishment of the justice and his man. 
 
 " Marry, I hope 'twill strike thee hard 
 enough to tell us what 'tis about, dame," 
 said her husband merrily. 
 
 " Doubtless that pestilent fine fellow hath 
 ! run away with her," added she, as if horror- 
 1 struck at the idea. 
 
 " Ey, who ? What fine fellow ?" ex- 
 claimed the knight, rapidly ; " run away
 
 THE YOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 with a servant of a justice o' the peace ! 
 'Slight ! 'tis as heinous a matter as sheep- 
 sfcealing ! But who's the villain ? 'Fore 
 George ; if he be a low person, he shall 
 swing for't ; and if he be one of any sort of 
 quality, I'll make a Star-Cbamber matter 
 on't. I will be no rearer of coneys for other 
 men's catching, I promise you." And there- 
 upon he thumped the ground with the end 
 of his stick a most determined blow. 
 
 Nay, good heart, be not in so deadly a 
 passion," cried the good dame, earnestly. 
 
 " Passion !" bawled the justice, in a 
 louder voice, and seemingly in an increased 
 rage. " Wounds ! but methinks here is 
 fine occasion for it. It is but fitting I should 
 be in a passion in a horrible, tearing pas- 
 sion, at such a villainous affront as this. 
 O' my life, I should be monstrous glad now 
 to do some deadly mischief." And at this 
 he pulled his rapier a little out of the sheath, 
 and then sent it back with a whang that 
 sounded fearfully to his alarmed wife, and 
 astonished game-keeper. 
 
 " I/pray you, take not on so murderously, 
 Sir Thomas," cried the good dame. 
 
 " Valor o' me ! tell me this caitiff on the 
 instant !" exclaimed the knight, in a voice 
 that appeared to admit of no dallying. 
 
 " He was one f those who made them- 
 selves so busy with Mabel whilst we were 
 at Ke nil worth," replied the old lady, trem- 
 blingly ; " but he cannot be a fit object for 
 the receiving of your just indignation." 
 
 " Ha ! Is it so ?" cried Sir Thomas, in 
 no way abating the terribleness of his anger. 
 " O' my word, I did suspect them of no good. 
 'Twas a trick I'll wager my life on't a 
 cozening trick to get them into my good- 
 will ; but I go not so easily into a trap, I 
 promise you. I saw the bait, and did ima- 
 gine the mischief on the instant. How 
 dost feel so certain one of them hath carried 
 off our Mabel ?" asked he, and at this 
 the good dame up and told, how one day 
 she was walking with Mabel in the park, 
 and they were accosted by these same fine 
 fellows with a marvellous show of delicate 
 behavior ; but she, giving them instant proof 
 she was not to be deceived by their crafti- 
 ness, they departed from her presence with 
 more speed than they had come in it. Then 
 the knight became more brave in his speech 
 than ever, and was talking very largely how 
 he would have driven them both out of his 
 grounds at the very point of his rapier, had 
 he been in her company at that time, when 
 his attention was suddenly diverted from the 
 subject in hand, by a strange barking of the 
 a litt'e in advance of them. Sampson 
 
 made haste to the spot, with his lantern to 
 see what it meant. 
 
 " Perchance the dogs have found her," 
 observed l)ame Lucy ; and it may be she 
 hath been taken wilfc a fit, or sudden swoon- 
 ing, and so could get no further." 
 
 " Murder !" cried Sampson as loud as he 
 could, upon catching a glance, by aid of the 
 light he carried, of what appeared to be a 
 dead body. 
 
 " Oh, the poor wench !" exclaimed the good 
 dame in very doleful accents. 
 
 " What dost say, knave ?" inquired the 
 knight, in somewhat of a trepidation. 
 
 " Here's a horrid mangle !" bawled the 
 serving-man, gazing with real terror on the 
 blood-stained face of the youthful Shak- 
 speare. 
 
 " Thou shalt not go, Sir Thomas !" cried 
 his dame in a nervous apprehension, cling- 
 ing tightly to his arm. " Perchance the 
 murderers may not be far away. Keep 
 down thy valor, dear heart, 1 prithee ! Nay, 
 sweet life, thou shalt go on no account ! 
 Thy brave spirit will lead thee to some hurt 
 
 thou hast no occasion to be so exceeding 
 valiant. Remember, chuck ! thou art get- 
 ting to be old, and no fit match, for I know 
 not how many monstrous horrible cut-throat 
 villains who may be lurking about." 
 
 " Shall a justice o' the peace stand play- 
 ing of mum-chance, when murder stalks 
 abroad ?" exclaimed Sir Thomas, who, be- 
 lieving that the supposed villains must by 
 this have got them to some place of safety, 
 had drawn his rapier, and was advancing 
 with a marvellous show of resolution as fast 
 as Dame Lucy would allow him. " Must 
 Sir Thomas Lucy, knight of the shire, and 
 late sheriff of the county, hide his valor, 
 when deadly mischief is doing on his own 
 land] Dame ! dame ! I will not be hinder- 
 ed ; I feel as full of fight Ss a drawn badger 
 my valor must spend itself. Where are 
 the monstrous pitiful caitiffs that have done 
 this mischief ? 'Fore George ! I will slay 
 them every man !" 
 
 " Hodge ! Anthony ! David !" cried his 
 dame urgently to divers of the serving-men 
 and keepers who were at a little distance 
 behind. " Help me hold thy master. Here 
 is a foul murder done upon poor Mabel, and 
 he is so moved; he must needs be attacking 
 of all the murderers at once." The men 
 came up in wonderful tribulation at hearing 
 of the fate of the gentle foundling ; and with 
 pressing entreaties to their master he would 
 not wilfully seek his own death. They 
 sought to hold him fast ; but the more he 
 was held, the more boldly he threatened. At 
 last they all 'arrived at the spot where Samp-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 son ar.d the dogs were examining with ex- 
 treme curiousness the body of our young 
 scholar. 
 
 " Ha ! how is this ?" exclaimed the knight 
 in exceeding astonishment, as soon as he be- 
 held the young Shakspeare, by the aid of the 
 lanterns. " This is no Mabel ; this is some 
 boy or another." 
 
 " I warrant you, master, observed one of 
 the men gladly, " our Mabel hath darker 
 hair." 
 
 " And she wore not jerkins of any kind," 
 said another. 
 
 " Nor trunks, that ever I saw," added a 
 .third. 
 
 " 'Tis not our Mabel, out of all doubt !" 
 cried Dame Lucy, 'gazing upon the motion- ' 
 less body with mingled feelings of awe and 
 curiousness. " I never gave her to wear any j 
 such clothes as these ; and such as she had ' 
 of me for her apparelling were honest gowns ; 
 of a sober color, with petticoats of a proper j 
 stuff, blue hose, and shoes of a fair strength, ' 
 with a round hat, for every day ; and then 
 for Sundays " 
 
 " Gog's wouns ! he lives, master !" htir- 
 riedly exclaimed Sampson, who had lilted j 
 up the head of the supposed corpse, and feel- 1 
 ing him move, could not forbear crying out . 
 the which completely put a stop to the 
 dame's account of her handmaid's wardrobe. ; 
 
 " Mass ! he breathes, sure enough," ob- ; 
 served Hodge ; " and that, as I have been 
 tokl, be an excellent sign of Jife." 
 
 " Nay, as I live, he openeth his eyes !" 
 cried Anthony. 
 
 " And no\y he be a moving of his fingers !" 
 added David with a like marvelling ; and then 
 all watched with a famous interest the symp- 
 toms of returning consciousness in the 
 wounded youth. The justice was some- j 
 what puzzled what to do in so strange a 
 case. Here was a murdered person coming 
 to life, and no sign of Mabel was to be seen 
 any where. He thought it was exceeding 
 suspicious ; and then believing he had given 
 sufficient evidence of his valiant spirit, he 
 sheathed his rapier, took his stick from one 
 of the men who had picked it up on coming 
 along, and leaning on it, kept considering 
 how he should behave. In the meanwhile', 
 William Shakspeare, with all the lanterns 
 bearing upon his face, was looking upon 
 those around him, greatly bewildered, yet 
 beginning to have some confused ideas of 
 where he was, and what brought him there. 
 Nevertheless, the faces, as far as he could 
 disting'iish, were unfamiliar to him. He 
 4 It weak, and ever and anon gave a strong 
 shudder, as though his blood was chilled by 
 to long lying in the dew and the night air. 
 
 " Methinks he hath on him something of 
 an ague," observed Dame Lucy. "Could we 
 get him home with us, now, some of my ju- 
 lep would do him famous good service, 1 
 warrant you." 
 
 " Humph !" cried Sir Thomas, gazing up- 
 on the stranger with a terrible penetrating 
 look, upon hearing of this hint of the good 
 dame, backed by assurances of its efficacy 
 from each of the serving-men. 
 
 " An' it please you, sweet lady," said the 
 youthful Shakspeare, faintly addressing 
 Dame Lucy, emboldened to it by the evi- 
 dence he had just heard of her considerate- 
 ness for him, " I beseech you tell me am I not 
 still in the park of his good worship, Sir 
 Thomas Lucy ?" 
 
 " That are you, beyond all question," re- 
 plied she very courteously, for she was well 
 pleased with the civilnes.s with which the 
 question had been put to her. 
 
 " Ay, you be just upon the very middle of 
 Fairmead Grove, my young master," added 
 one of the men. 
 
 " i thought I could not help being at the 
 same place," observed the youth. 
 
 " But how didst come to that place, and 
 what dost do at that place at so late an 
 hour ?" asked the justice, in a style that sa- 
 vored wondrously of a disposition in him to 
 doubt the honesty of the person he question- 
 ed. Thereupon William Shakspeare, with- 
 out acquainting any with the reason of his 
 visit to the park, told the knight how he had 
 been a witness to the carrying off of M'-ibel 
 by two villains, and how when striving to 
 stop one, he was felled to the earth by the 
 other. 
 
 " So !" exclaimed Sir Thomas, looking 
 with more severity than ever, " Thou hast 
 got a fine story ; but I doubt 'twill do thee 
 any good at assize." Just as the knight 
 had uttered this, the youth gave a sudden 
 ^turt upon noting for the first time his hands 
 were covered with blood, which discovery, 
 and the manner of his behavior at that mo- 
 ment, was well observed by the justice. 
 " Ha !" cried he, " How didst get thyself so 
 dabbled ? Dost tell that cozening tale to me 
 when thy hands and face bear evidence thou 
 hast murdered our Mabel !" 
 
 " Murdered her !" exclaimed William, in 
 extreme astonishment. " Believe me I would 
 much rather have died in her rescue." 
 
 " 1 believe thee fellow !" cried the justice, 
 with extreme emphasis. " O' my life, 1 do 
 believe thee to be a most notorious horrible 
 villain ! But how didst get thyself in so sus- 
 picious a way ? answer me that. The truth, 
 fellow, the truth." 
 
 " As for what I see on my hand," ob-
 
 94 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 served the youth, " I am as much surprised 
 at it as yourself can be : but on reflection, 
 methinks 'tis easy to be accounted for." 
 
 " Is't, indeed ?" replied the knight. " Mar- 
 ry, I doubt it hugely." 
 
 " Doubtless the blow I received hath made 
 a wound," continued the other. " And hold- 
 ing my aching head awhile, hath brought rny 
 hand to the state you see." 
 
 " Heart o' me ! here be a wound, indeed, 
 master, cried Sampson, closely examining 
 the head of the suspected person by the aid of 
 his lantern. 
 
 " By'r lady, and so there is !" added 
 Dame Lucy. " I would he were where I 
 could apply to it some of my famous julep ; 
 'tis the sovereignest thing on earth for a 
 green wound." 
 
 With the friendly assistance of the serv- 
 ing men, with whom there was not a doubt 
 remaining of his perfect innocency, William 
 Shakspeare stood upon his feet, and presently 
 missed the book he had been studying be- 
 fore he fell asleep under the tree. The 
 justice, somewhat perplexed in his notions, 
 stood regarding him with a most scrutiniz- 
 ing look. 
 
 " What dost want looking about so ?" in- 
 quired he. 
 
 " A book, an' it please your worship," 
 answered the other. " A book of sweet po- 
 ems I was intent 'upon studying, before I 
 beheld her you carlled Mabel being carried 
 away, screaming in the arms of a villain." 
 
 " I did kick my foot against something 
 not a moment since," said Dame Lucy ; 
 " Perchance that may be it." Hearing this, 
 the serving men and keepers looked careful- 
 ly about with their lanterns. 
 
 " Thou saidst nought about her screaming 
 just now," observed the justice sternly, upon 
 whom this addition came with a very mar- 
 vellous suspiciousness. " But tell us who 
 thou are they name, fellow they name ?" 
 
 " My name is William Shakspeare," an- 
 swered the youth. 
 
 " What, John Shakspeare's son, of Strat- 
 ford ?" asked Sir Thomas quickly. 
 
 " The same, an' it please your worship." 
 
 " Then 'tis clear 'tis manifest 'tis most 
 absolute and undeniable, fellow !" exclaimed 
 the justice, with a severity greater than all 
 he had yet shown. " Mass, I thought I could 
 not suspect thee without warrantable assur- 
 ance. Thy name proves it. If thou hast 
 not committed this foul murder, I will be 
 sworn an ass all the rest of my days. Thou 
 hast a most discreditable name, fellow. I 
 know not a name of such ill repute that can 
 be found anywhere. 'Tis a bad name ; and 
 being a bad name must needs be an ill name ; 
 
 ani being an ill name cannot help being a 
 name that a man shall chance to go to the 
 hangman with." 
 
 "Here's the book, sure enough," cried one 
 of the serving-men. 
 
 " Book rne no books," said the knight 
 sharply, whose remembrance of what had 
 been told him by Master Buzzard, made him 
 careless of this new proof of the youth's in- 
 nocence. " Take him away ! I will look 
 into this matter with more strictness. God's 
 precious, so notorious a name no man ever 
 had ! But let me examine the same book of 
 which he hath spoken so confidently." Hav- 
 ing got it in his hand, the justice had a lan- 
 tern held to him and scrutinized it very nar- 
 rowly. 
 
 " Ha 1 O' my life I thought as much !" A 
 added he, looking from the book to the 
 posed murderer. " Thou hast stolen it. Here 
 is in it the name of Sir Marmaduke de Lar- 
 gesse." 
 
 " He lent it me, as he hath done many 
 other," replied William Shakspeare. 
 
 V He lend thee, fellow !" cried the knight 
 I disdainfully. " A person of his quality lend 
 books to so horrible low a person as the son 
 of John Shakspeare. How dost dare put so 
 i impudent an assertion on a justice o' the 
 I peace ! Mass, 'tis manifest thou art a most 
 ; thorough villain by thy name 'tis as clear 
 thou hast stolen this book, and doubtless 
 many others by thy professions and there 
 is ho doubt thou hast done a foul murder by 
 thy being in ifie neighborhood at the time 
 the wench was missing, and found here un- 
 der such suspicious circumstances." Bring 
 him along, Sampson. Thou "art my close 
 prisoner. I charge thee escape on thy peril." 
 Our young student, to his exceeding as- 
 tonishment, found himself taken into custo- 
 dy ; but to be accused of destroying that ex- 
 quisite fair creature who had so long been 
 the exclusive subject of his sweetest medita- 
 tions, appeared to him so unnatural a thing, 
 he could scarce believe it possible it could be 
 thought of for a single moment. Confused 
 as he was by the effects of the blow, and 
 still more bewildered by the behavior of Sir 
 Thomas Lucy, his apprehensions for the 
 safety of the gentle Mabel completely thrust 
 aside everything like fear for himself, and all 
 the way to the house he did nothing but 
 think of' the possible dangers she might be 
 exposed to in the hands of those desperate 
 villains he had beheld carrying of her off. 
 When ho arrived at the mansion, he was led 
 up stairs into a room .where there \yas no 
 possibility of escaping ; and Dame Lucy 
 presently came and washed his wound, ap- 
 plied to it some of her famous julep, and put
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 on it a clean bandage, for although, as a wife 
 she would not for a moment doubt of the 
 correctaess of her husband's opinion, she 
 could not allow such an opinion, bad as it 
 was, to ink rfere with the wounded youth's 
 receiving tiie advantage of her skill in re- 
 medies. 
 
 It was a small chamber, with a standing 
 bed in it, whereon was a fair coverlet of the 
 dame's needle work. A little table, with 
 materials for washing, stood close at hand, 
 which had evidently been in use ; and be- 
 side them were sundry towels, pieces of 
 cloth for bandage, bottles, scissors, and the 
 like necessary sort of things for the dress- 
 ing of a wound. The dame sat, with a fa- 
 mous serious aspect, in an arm chair, at the 
 side of the table, fastening the bandage on 
 the head of her patient, who knelt down at 
 her feet. Close by the suspected murderer, 
 holding a candle, stood a comely little dam- 
 sel, whose bright eyes had gradually lost 
 that fearfulness with which she at first re- 
 garded the wicked wretch she had been told 
 he was. 
 
 Watching these, at a little distance, stood 
 two simple looking fellows the one with 
 a long sheepish face, surrounded with strag- 
 gling lanky locks, which was Hodge ; and 
 the other, with a head as round as an apple, 
 of which the countenance was marked out 
 of all contradiction, for it would have rivalled 
 any old buckler in the number of dents it 
 had ; and he w T as David. Each was leaning 
 on a formidable looking harquebus, and be- 
 side which they were armed with sword and 
 dagger. 
 
 " Dost feel any more comfort now ?" in- 
 quired the good dame, as her patient stood 
 up before her, immediately the dressing of 
 his wound was finished. 
 
 " Wonderful, I thank you very heartily," 
 exclaimed the youth, leaning of himself 
 against a chair for he felt exceeding weak. 
 
 " I'm glad on't," added his physician, 
 carefully pouring into a cup some of her 
 famous julep ; then giving the bottle to the 
 black-eyed Kate, with an injunction to be 
 mindful and put it down safely, she offered the 
 cup- and its contents to her patient. " Drink 
 this, I prithee," said she, " and be assured 
 'twill do thee as much efficacy taken as an 
 inward medicine, as thou hast already found 
 when used as a lotion for a wound." Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare again thanked her with a 
 like sincerity, and cheerfully swallowed the 
 draught to the last drop. His behavior had 
 already pleased her, and the alacrity with 
 which he drank what she had given him, 
 delighted her still more. She rose from her 
 Beat, ordering the handmaid to clear the 
 
 table, and get a bowl of milk and a manchet 
 for the youth's supper ; and then telling the 
 two men Sir Thomas desired they left not the 
 room on any account, nor once took their 
 eyes off of their prisoner, she seemed as if 
 about to take her departure. Yet still she 
 lingered. 
 
 " I marvel thou dost not confess thy wick- 
 edness," said she, at last, to her young patient, 
 manifestly more in sorrow than in anger. 
 " Prithee say what thou hast done with the 
 body ; for methinks the least thou canst do 
 is to let her have Christian burial." 
 
 " Whose body, dear lady ?" inquired he. 
 
 " Why, poor Mabel, whom thou hast 
 so foully murdered, Answered the dame. 
 " Alack ! 'tis a grievous thing one so young 
 and so well behaved too should do so 
 horrible a thing." Kate stood still a mo- 
 ment,.and regarded the suspected murderer 
 with a \vonderful searching glance. 
 
 " I beseech you, think of me not so vilely !" 
 exclaimed the youthful Shakspeare, with 
 great earnestness. " By all things most 
 sacred, I do assure you, I got this blow in 
 endeavoring to stay the villains who carried 
 her off." Kate returned to her work with a 
 look of infinite satisfaction. 
 
 '' Didst not hear what Sir Thomas said ?" 
 inquired the old lady, very gravely ; " and 
 dost really imagine that one of thy years 
 can know better of a thing than a justice 
 o' the peace, and a km'ght o' the shire, who 
 owneth lands in five counties ?" There- 
 upon the good dame shook her head with a 
 wonderful solemnity, and walked, in her 
 stateliest manner, out, of the chamber. 
 
 " Prithee, Kate, bring us a jug of small 
 ale!" exclaimed the man with the indented 
 lace, as he threw himself into a chair, 
 directly his mistress had closed the door. 
 ' I'm horrible thirsty after all this fruitless 
 searching for poor Mabel." 
 
 " Body o' me, so am I, David !" said he 
 with the sheepish* countenance, following 
 ;he other's example. *" 1 feel as though I 
 :iad lived on pickled herrings for a whole 
 uonth of fast days, I be so uncommon dry. 
 Jome Kate, bring us a tankard." 
 
 " Wait till thy betters be served, Hodge," 
 replied the girl, quickly. David looked hard 
 at Hodge, and Hodge looked hard at David ; 
 and then both looked very hard at their 
 prisoner. 
 
 " I pray you, good sir, to seat yourself," 
 said Kate to the latter, who still stood lean- 
 ing against the back of a. chair, looking 
 faint and pale ; and thereupon she moved 
 lie chair round for him, convenient for his 
 sitting. " Methinks you must want rest 
 xceedingly."
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEAEE. 
 
 
 " I thank you," replied he, taking her prof- 
 fered kindness very courteously ; I am in- 
 deed somewhat weary." 
 
 " O' my life I am monstrous Sorry," ob- 
 served she, regarding him with an evident 
 sympathy ; " but I will make what speed I 
 can with your supper, so that you shall to 
 bed quickly and get you a good slpep, for 
 which I doubt not you shall be much the 
 better." 
 
 " I have no stomach for anything, I thank 
 you all the same," said the patient faintly. 
 
 " Nay, but you go not to bed supperless, 
 I promise you," exclaimed Kate, with one 
 of her pleasantest smiles ; " such light 
 victual must needs "be what would do you 
 most good; and I will take care it shall 
 be greatly to your liking." As soon as 
 she had left the room, Hodge again looked 
 at David and David looked at Hodge, and 
 both looked at their prisoner harder than 
 before. After wlu'ch the former laid his 
 piece carefully on his lap, and the other 
 did the same immediately ; then he of the 
 well-marked countenance, stooped forward, 
 poking out his chin and his lips towards 
 his companion, making a sort of half- 
 stifled whistling, and the owner of the 
 sheep-face lost no time in following his ex- 
 ample. 
 
 " I beseech you tell me," said William 
 Siiakspeare, " if there exists any evidence 
 other than what I have stated for suppos- 
 ing the gentle Mabel hath come to any 
 hurt ?" At hearing of this question the 
 two men lookc-d at each other a little 
 harder, and whistled a little louder than 
 they had previously done. 
 
 " I would gladly hear any intelligence of 
 her safety," added he, upon rinding he got 
 no answer ; but these words merely pro- 
 duced an accompaniment to the whistling 
 in the shape of the drumming of three 
 ringers of each of his guard upon the table 
 before them. Observing they did not choose 
 to speak, he desisted of his questions till the 
 entrance of the pretty handmaid with his 
 supper, of whom he inquired in a like man- 
 ner, telling her also he could get no answer 
 of any kind from the persons she had left 
 with him. 
 
 " Why so churlish, I prithee !" exclaimed 
 Kate as she placed close to the wounded 
 youth a bowl of hot milk spiced with nutmeg 
 and cinnamon, and a fair white loaf, knife 
 and spoon, on a tray covered with a cloth 
 that seemed to rival the milk in whiteness. 
 ' Methinks 'twill do you no great harm to 
 open your mouths a bit, the which you are 
 ready enough to do over a full trencher." 
 
 u The justice hath commanded that we 
 
 have no communications with the prisoner," 
 observed David with extreme seriousr. 
 
 " And moreover hath <i we 
 
 speak to him at our peril," added Hodge. 
 
 " A fig's end for the justice !" cried tiieir 
 pretty companion, to the infinite a.~tonish- 
 meht of the serving men ; " art so weak of 
 conceit as to suspect this good youth of so 
 improbable a" thing as the killing of our 
 Mabel ? Why thou hast no more brains 
 than a blighted apple." Then turning to 
 the supposed murderer with an increased 
 kindness of manner, assured him that no- 
 thing was known concerning of the missing 
 person but what he had himself told, and 
 pressed him urgently to partake of what she 
 brought, so that he could not refuse ; and 
 when she had again taken herself out of the 
 room David and Hodge looked at each other 
 and then at their prisoner so terrible hard, 
 their eyes must have ached for some minutes 
 after. Willi<yn Shaksj,eare took no notice 
 of them, although they were watching of him 
 narrowly. All at once the two men snatched 
 up their harquebnsses as ;f they woultl have 
 them in readiness for immediate use, and 
 put all the valor they possessed into their 
 looks. They had ob.-;c:ved he had taken a 
 knife into his hand, as they thought with no 
 other purpose than to stab them and then 
 make his escape ; but he merely used il for 
 the cutting of a slice oiF the loaf to sop in 
 his milk. This did nor ussure them. They 
 kept their gaze on his every motion with 
 extreme seriousness, s :i\ e when he happen- 
 ed by chance to ra i-s from the sup- 
 per he was* languidly tasting, when on a 
 sudden they, would be diligently examining 
 one or the other of their le<;S they were 
 swinging to and fro on the chair, with as 
 complete a carelessness as if they were 
 thinking of nothing. 
 
 Presently Kate returned again, bearing a 
 brimming tunkard. which she put down be- 
 tween the two serving ii:en. 
 
 " I doubt hugely thou dost deserve any- 
 thing of the sort," said she to them ; " thou 
 showest such uncivil behavior towards thia 
 good youth. I would wager my life on't 
 he knoweth no more of the murder than a 
 child unborn." 
 
 " But his worship declareth he doth know 
 of it, Kate," observed David with more than 
 ordinary solemnness. 
 
 " And moreover hath determined 'twas 
 done by this person and no other," added 
 Hodge after the like fashion. 
 
 " 1 care not for iilty worships," replied she 
 flashing her dark eyes very prettily ; " or 
 for what they say. or for what they do, when 
 they show such marvellous injustice. Is't
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 97 
 
 reasonable is : t natural is't credible, one 
 of his years, with a countenance too as in- 
 nocent as is a lambkin should take to such 
 villainous courses ? Why, what shallow- 
 witted poor creatures must they be who 
 would entertain such intolerable notions." 
 
 The rough- featured serving-man, as she 
 turned her back to approach the prisoner, 
 shook his head with a very wonderful so- 
 lemnity ; and then, not knowing what better 
 to be at, put his mouth to the tankard, and 
 whilst he drank, kept his watchful eyes 
 squinting ovor the rim in the direction of 
 the supposed murderer. After a time had 
 elapsed, which his companion thought was 
 considerable longer than it ought to have 
 been, he handed his sheep-faced companion 
 the tankard, wiping of his mouth with the 
 cuff of his jerkin at the same moment, and 
 looking such volumes of hidden meaning as 
 it is utterly impossible to express, to which 
 the other responded by giving a hasty glance 
 at the roof and then a prodigious long one 
 Into the tankard, to which his jaws appeared 
 to be fixed with such firmness there was no 
 getting of them apart. 
 
 " Now a fair good night to you ;i ex- 
 claimed the smiling little creature finding, 
 with all her kind persuading, she could not 
 |et him to eat more of tis supper. " You 
 fan go to bed as soon as yon have a mind ; 
 yid I hope you will enjoy an excellent sweet 
 rest. Good night." repeated she, and gave 
 with it so soft a glance as if she intended to 
 have subdued all the manhood in his na- 
 ture. 
 
 " Good night !" replied William Shak- 
 speare earnestly ; and a million of thanks 
 for your great kindness." 
 
 Directly Kate had departed, David threw 
 himself back in the chair in the fullest con- 
 viction, from what he had observed, that she 
 entertained a design for the prisoner's es- 
 cape ; and doubtless the same conclusions 
 were come at by Hodge, for he put on his 
 countenance much the same sort of expres- 
 sion, and, seeing the supposed murderer 
 rising from his seat, both his guards grasped 
 their arms firmly on the instant, and started 
 to their feet, manifestly suspecting he was 
 about to rush upon them. This movement 
 of his, however, was merely made for the 
 purpose of throwing himself on the bed, 
 which he soon did with the clothes on, for 
 with a delicacy suitable to his years, he 
 liked not undressing of himself before 
 strangers. In truth, he was thoroughly ex- 
 hausted by pain, anxiety, and weariness, 
 and in a few minutes was in as deep a sleep 
 as ever he had enjoyed in his whole life. 
 
 The two serving men had returned to their 
 7 
 
 i seats. Both gazed upon the young student, 
 and then at each other, as if they had huge 
 doubts he had any intention of sleeping. In 
 ! a short time all was as silent you might have 
 heard a pin drop, which silence seemed ex- 
 ceeding irksome to the guard. Each looked 
 to see his weapons were in good order each 
 snuffed the candle and each buried his 
 nose in the tankard ; but the prisoner re- 
 mained motionless, and the silence grew all 
 the greater. It was evident from a number 
 of fidgetty ways they were continually exhi- 
 biting, that they could not longer remain 
 without some talking. 
 
 " Methinks Sampson's niece grometh hor- 
 ribly bold, -Hodge ;" observed David at last 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " Ay, that does she," answered Hodge in 
 a whisper. " I never heard of such extreme 
 impudency in any wench." 
 
 " Heart o' me !" said the other ; " I did 
 myself hear her cry out, ' a fig for the jus- 
 tice !' which seemeth to me to smack abom- 
 inably of a wilful rebelling against these in 
 authority." 
 
 " Ay, David," added his companion ; " and 
 as I remember, she had the infamousness to 
 assert she cared not for fifty worships." 
 
 " My hair stood on an end at hearing it," 
 said David. " But I doubt not 'twill bring 
 down on her some awful judgment.' 1 . 
 
 " It cannot help doing so." replied Hodge. 
 
 "Nevertheless, we must not say aught 
 against her of what we have heard," ob- 
 served he of the marks. " For she has some 
 lusty fellows of her acquaintance, who, per- 
 chance, might not take it civil of us." 
 
 " Ah, that she hath !" quoth the sheepish 
 looking one with a famous seriousness. 
 " One of whom broke my head at the last 
 May games, because. I laughed when she 
 slipped down, and showed somewhat more 
 of her ancle than is customary." 
 
 " At least, we will take good heed she 
 shall not assist the prisoner to escape ;" ob- 
 served David. 
 
 " I warrant you," said Hodge. Again 
 there was so dead a silence it seemed to 
 make their flesh creep ; and they looked on 
 the sleeping youth in such a -manner as 
 proved they would have liked any other 
 company. They turned over in their minds 
 the possibility of his suddenly "rising and 
 making some desperate effort at their des- 
 truction, with the expectation of saving his 
 own life by it ; and the more they thought of 
 it, the more convinced they were it would 
 be done ere they could be aware. This state 
 of apprehension at last became insupportable, 
 and both made a movement at the same 
 moment to turn their attention to another
 
 98 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 matter. David raised the tankard to his 
 mouth to drown his fears in a full draught ; 
 and Hodge snatched up the snuffers, despe- 
 rately intent on lessening the wick of the 
 candle, which he had been screwing up his 
 courage to do for the last half hour. Alack, 
 the trepidation he was in, caused him to snuff 
 it out ; and then they were in total darkness.' 
 To be in company with an unfettered mur- 
 derer was bad enough of all conscience, but 
 to be left in the dark with him was more than 
 mortal courage would allow of. David 
 trembled so he cculd not hold the tankard, so 
 down it went, and the noise it made so fright- 
 ened hiq^and his associate, that they drop- 
 ped theirharquebusses, and making for the 
 door, rushed down stairs at the top of their 
 speed, crying out, " murder !" as loud as 
 they could bawl. 
 
 About five minutes afterwards a most 
 formidable armament composed of every 
 male in the house armed to the teeth, some 
 .|!ialf dressed, and here and there a nightcap 
 to show they had been disturbed from their 
 sleep, crept cautiously up the stairs. They 
 gained the landing the justice having plac- 
 ed himself in the centre of his household, in 
 a night-gown and slippers, a velvet cap on 
 his head, a drawn sword in one hand, 
 and a pistol in the other. Before him were 
 Sampscn the gamekeeper and two of his 
 sons all stout fellows, in foresters frocks, 
 carrying loaded pieces then came Anthony, 
 David and Hodge, with drawn rapiers the 
 knight next, and after him the grooms and 
 scullions with lights in one hand and some 
 goodly weapon in the other. Besides which, 
 from open doors were seen divers of the 
 women in their night dress, taking a peep 
 at what was going on, with a scarce repres- 
 sible inclination for a good scream. When 
 the men got near the door, npon David and 
 Hodge reminding them that the murderer 
 had with him two loaded harquebusses, no one 
 seemed inclined to go in before his fellows. 
 
 " How know you not he may be this very 
 moment behind the door," said David in a 
 terrible frightened way. that carried convic- 
 tion to most of his hearers. " Nay, I do 
 believe I hear him now levelling of his 
 piece !" This occasioned a sudden backing 
 of the armed party, and a famous scream 
 from the women. The knight said nothing 
 for an indisputable reason he had no- 
 thing to say but he felt that Ke had known 
 the murderer had been so terrible a fellow, 
 he would have been hanged ere he would 
 have meddled with him. The dispute among 
 the leaders still raged high. Every one 
 seemed desirous of giving his neighbor the 
 honor of going first ; but not one of all that 
 
 body but modestly declined having to do with 
 any such greatness. At last the argument 
 was put a stop to by the sudden appearance 
 of Kate with a lighted candle in her hand. 
 
 " What dost want, Kate ?" 
 
 " What dost want, Uncle ?" was said at 
 the same moment by the stout Sampson and 
 his pretty niece. 
 
 " The murderer is seeking to escape us ;" 
 replied Anthony. 
 
 " Prithee get thee hence, or thou wilt be 
 shot," exclaimed one of her cousins. 
 
 " I marvel there should be such foolish- 
 ness !" observed Kate ; and the next mo- 
 ment, to the infinite horror and astonishment 
 of the whole party, walked deliberately into 
 the formidable chamber. 
 
 " I prithee come here, uncle Sampson, if 
 thou hast not lost thy wits as completely as 
 the rest," added she from the interior. 
 " Thou shall see a sight as little akin to 
 violence as can be seen anywhere." Samp- 
 son creeped cautiously his sons followed 
 their father with the like heed the serving 
 men trod in the steps of the gamekeepers, 
 Sir Thomas Lucy and the rest of his de- 
 pendants, half curiousness and fear, pushed 
 forward in the like direction, and the women 
 with what they had hastily put on, came to 
 take a peep where they could. To the great 
 marvelling of all, there lay the supposed 
 murderer as fast asleep as ever he could be ; 
 and there lay the broken tankard ; and there 
 lay the fallen harquebusses. Now who was 
 so valorous as the justice ; he seemed as 
 though he would have cut his cowardly 
 serving-men into ribbons for having woke 
 up the whole household with so fabulous a 
 tale as they had told of the sudden and out- 
 rageous attack upon them of their prisoner ; 
 however, he contented himself with ordering 
 them to stay where they were and keep 
 better watch ; and then he, with the rest, 
 presently retraced their steps to their several 
 
 In the morning William Shakespeare 
 woke up, marvellously refreshed by his 
 night's rest, and the first objects that met 
 his sight were his guards sound asleep, 
 snoring loud enough to wake anybody. 
 Inconceivable was the consternation of 
 David and Hodge, upon opening their eyes, 
 to find so dreadful a j>erson close upon them, 
 but taking of them no more heed than if they 
 had been a couple of drowned puppies left in 
 a dry pond. Each cautiously sought to gain 
 possession of his fire-arms, which stood at a 
 little distance from them upon neighboring 
 chairs, and to their great joy this they suc- 
 ceeded in doing. Our young student, in his 
 turn, was in a considerable astonishment,
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSEEARE. 
 
 99 
 
 when, upon turning round, with his face 
 dripping with water, to get to the towel, he 
 encountered the fixed fearful gaze of his 
 guards, whom a moment since he had beheld 
 in so perfect a state of somnolency. He 
 could not avoid standing looking at them for 
 a few moments, there was so strange an 
 expression in their countenances ; and they 
 gazed as though he had such power in his 
 eyes they could not turn their own aside. 
 However, directly he -went to the towel, and 
 was rubbing himself with it, the two stared 
 at each other more intently than they had 
 ever done. 
 
 He had just got himself in his cleanest 
 trim, and feeling wonderfully comfortable, 
 when his pretty little friend the gamekeep- 
 er's niece, made her appearance with his 
 breakfast, in a kinder mood than ever; and 
 he was sufficiently improved to do justice to 
 her catering, even had it not been garnished 
 with such winning entre;tties and smiling 
 looks as accompanied it. He had scarce 
 made a finish of his meal when Dame Lucy 
 entered, bottle in hand, and finding him so 
 much better, she again washed his wound 
 with her infallible julep, and then made him 
 swallow a cup of the same, with a very visi- 
 ble satisfaction, especially when he grate- 
 fully ascribed his better health to her vvon- 
 derfuF medicine. The old dame could not 
 forbear sighing at the thought of losing so 
 goodly a patient, and in her own mind 
 thought it monstrous pitiful one so tractable 
 in the taking of medicine, should bo turned 
 over to so disreputable a physician as the 
 nangman. 
 
 About an hour after this, closely escorted 
 by his guards, the prisoner entered the 
 justice's room. Sir Thomas sat in a high- 
 backed cushioned chair, with a screen at his 
 back to keep off the wind, and a table be- 
 fore him to hold such papers, books, and 
 utensils of writing as he needed. Jemmy 
 Catchpole sat at the end of the table mend- 
 ing of a pen, for he was sure to be sent for 
 on all knotty cases, to advise with the jus- 
 
 blubberly fellows of clowns, carrying staves 
 in token of their being constables, stood in 
 a half circle at a yard or so from the table. 
 Justice leaned back in his chair, looking 
 awfully solemn at Jemmy Catchpole, the 
 lawyer leaned forward on his stool, gazing 
 with equal solemnity at his worship ; and 
 the constables, gamekeepers, and serving- 
 men, stared from the ground to the ceiling, 
 and from the ceiling to the ground, with a 
 solemnness more awful than either. This 
 was the moment of the prisoner's appearance. 
 
 " Call William Shakespeare !" exclaimed 
 Sir Thomas, as soon as he noticed that there 
 was no occasion to do anything of the sort. 
 
 " Call William Shakespeare," repeated 
 the lawyer to one of the constables. 
 
 " WilPm Shuk spur !" hoarsely bawled 
 out a short, thick, bandy-legged man, with 
 a face that would have out-blushed a poppy. 
 
 The youth was just before him, and an- 
 swered readily to his name. 
 
 " William Shakespeare !" said the justice, 
 in his gravest voice ; " you are brought 
 before me, her Majesty's justice o' the 
 peace, on a charge that is to say, you are 
 here before me accused of yes, accused of 
 and charged with charged with divers 
 horrible offences that is to say, criminally 
 charged with, or I might say, accused of, all 
 manner of misdemeanors, and with perpe- 
 trating and committing divers horrible of- 
 fences against the peace of our sovereign 
 ' lady Queen Elizabeth ; whereof the first 
 against you is no less a crime than to be 
 accused of, or otherwise charged with, the 
 horrible offence of stealing against the^ 
 peace of our sovereign lady Queen Eliza- 
 beth, as aforesaid." 
 
 Having made so imposing a display of 
 his judicial oratory, his worship cried out 
 " Call Anthony Gosling !" Jemmy Catchpole 
 repeated the command to the hoarse man 
 with the bandy legs. 
 
 We. 
 
 " Ant'ny Gos lin !" bawled the consta- 
 
 " Here !" replied a voice from the bull- 
 
 tice, and see that the law was properly i headed serving man, and the thin legs made 
 
 administered. There were several persons 
 farmers and yeomen they looked to be 
 setting on a longr settle at the farther end of 
 
 two steps out of the half circle towards the 
 table. 
 " Swear him !" exclaimed the justice, and 
 
 the chamber, perchance on some business the lawyer, laying hold of a little book, 
 with his worship, gnawing their sticks, fidd- 1 mumbled a few sentences in a quick low 
 ling their hats, and staring about them, as ! tone, at the conclusion of which Anthony 
 men do who are kept waiting in a strange made a bob with his head towards the book, 
 place, when they would rather be elsewhere, and then held up his head again very stiff, 
 Sampson, the stout gamekeeper, and his two ' and looked very desperate. Just as this 
 stout sons, with Anthony, a bull-headed, | was done, an interruption appeared in the 
 pig's-eyed serving-man, having remarkable j person of the pretty gamekeeper's niece 
 thin legs, very much after the fashion of a who presented a letter to the justice, the 
 pair of nut-crackers, and two or three stupid : sight of which set him making of another
 
 100 
 
 TIIE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 famous speech, accusing the prisoner of 
 stealing sundry books belonging to Sir 
 Marmacluke de Largesse ; and then putting 
 forth the letter as one just received from Sir 
 Mannaduke in answer to a communication 
 sent that morning by himself, concerning of 
 the charges against William Shakspeare, 
 he bade Jemmy Catchpole read it, as it 
 doubtless contained decisive evidence of the 
 prisoner's guilt. Jemmy Catchpole read it 
 very carefully, and the farther he read the 
 more astonished was the justice, for it not 
 only contained a clear acknowledgment 
 that the book had been lent by the writer to 
 the prisoner, but spoke in the highest terms 
 of eulogy of this identical William Shak- 
 speare as a youth of admirable character, 
 whom he had long known and respected, 
 and begging Sir Thomas Lucy, as a partic- 
 ular favor, to treat that person honorably, to 
 let him retain the book which he had false- 
 ly been accused of stealing, and allow him 
 to return to his house immediately, on a 
 horse lie had sent by tine of his serving-men. 
 Sir Thomas would not believe his ears, 
 and could scarce believe his eyes, even 
 when he had himself closely examined the 
 hand-writing and the seal ; but he could not 
 so easily be brought to part with his prison- 
 er. There was the charge of murder yet 
 to be entered into ; and he was proceeding 
 in his usual rambling manner to state the 
 accusation, when one of the yeomen on the 
 settle started up on a sudden, and stated he 
 Ud seen, when returning from work the 
 Bight before, the said Mabel carried in the 
 ^irms of a strange gallant, accompanied by a 
 companion, and both were riding at so great 
 a pace, they were quickly lost sight of. No 
 sooner did his worship hear this statement, 
 than sharply ordering Jemmy Catchpole to 
 return the book to the prisoner and dismiss 
 him, he stalked indignantly out of the cham- 
 ber, and could not be brought to do any 
 more justice business all that day. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Ah, my swete swetyng ! 
 My lytyl prety swetyng, 
 
 My swetyng wyl i love wherever I go ; 
 She is so proper and pure, 
 Full stedfast, stabill and demure, 
 There is none such ye may be sure, 
 
 As my swete swetyng. 
 
 OLD SONG. 
 
 MABEL awoke in a feverish uneasy state 
 the morning after her abduction, and found 
 
 herself in a strange bed, having to it hang- 
 ings of the costliest description. By de- 
 grees, the adventures of the preceding night 
 came upon her memory. She could dis- 
 tinctly remember .the treacherous gallant 
 of her former acquaintance, and the forbid- 
 ding features of his servile companion ; and 
 then she had some faint remembrance of a 
 courteous lady, who had assured her of her 
 safety, and after a wondrous show of kind- 
 ness and protection, had made her take such 
 refreshment as she needed, and then con- 
 ducted her, as she said, to her own chamber, 
 that she might sleep with a full sense of se- 
 curity.' Sometime passed whilst the poor 
 foundling endeavored to collect her scattered 
 thoughts, to find out the reason she had been 
 forcibly taken from her home. 
 
 After wandering from one topic to another 
 with no other result than to get more be- 
 wildered than she was at first, she resolved 
 to dress herself forthwith, believing it to be 
 far beyond her usual hour for so doing ; but 
 when she sought her clothes, not a vestige 
 was to be seen in any part of the chamber. 
 This seemed stranger than all. She re- 
 membered the kind lady helping her to un- 
 dress with manifold assurances of her per- 
 fect safety ; and she recollected also placing 
 of her things upon a chair that stood within 
 a few paces of the bed ; but there was the 
 chair with its tapestry cushion uncovered 
 by so much as a single thread. As she was 
 marvelling at so unaccountable a disappear- 
 ance, the door of her chamber opened, and 
 there entered a lady of considerable attrac- 
 tions, both in form and figure, yet a close 
 observer might have detected, despite the 
 artful bloom on her cheek, that she had pas- 
 sed her youth. Her head was dressed in 
 the latest Venetian tire ; an open collar of 
 the newest fashion disclosed the whiteness 
 of her neck, and a dress of orange tawney 
 silk, fairly trimmed with the whitest lace, set 
 off the proportions of her figure to the com- 
 pletest advantage. She was followed by a 
 female, who seemed by her dress to be a 
 servant, carrying on her arm what appeared 
 to be sundry articles of wearing apparel. 
 
 Doubtless the first of these two was the kind 
 lady of whom Mabel had been thinking, for 
 she came sm}ling to the bedside, kissed the 
 fair foundling with an amazing affectionate- 
 ness, asked a thousand questions in a breath 
 how she had fared, how she had slept, whether 
 she would rise, and what she would choose 
 to break her fast with ; and then scarce al- 
 lowing the other opportunity to give a single 
 answer, she informed her she had brought 
 her servant to tire her in such apparelling 
 as she had considered fittest for her wear,
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 101 
 
 as the things her young friend wore were 
 of far too mean a sort for a person she loved 
 so dearly. Mabel was not suffered to make 
 any objection. The rich beauty of her new 
 attire was temptingly displayed before her 
 admiring eyes, and jewels jjmbe fairest wa- 
 ter lay dazzlingly beside Wr She thought 
 them a rare sight indeed ; but 'twas all in 
 v*ain she declared them to be much too 
 fine for her wearing, the kind lady would 
 hear nothing of the sort, stopped her mouth 
 with all sorts of endearing expressions, and 
 fairly pulled her from the bed, entreating 
 she would allow her sweet lovely person to 
 be attired without a word more. 
 
 As she was being dressed, she could not 
 help observing the exquisite work in the ar- 
 ras that surrounded the chamber, upon 
 which was depicted,- in the most glowing 
 colors the loves of Venus and Adonis. No- 
 thing could be so beautiful she thought, 
 save the carved corners of the bedstead, each 
 of which represented a naked Cupid, fig- 
 ured to the life, grasping the stem of a palm 
 tree with one arm, holding back the silken 
 curtains with the other, and looking under 
 them with an expression that seemed to say 
 there was in the bed something beyond con- 
 ception admirable. At e^ch corner of the 
 chamber were fair statues of marble, the 
 very loveliest and lovingest objects that had 
 ever been produced by the sculptor's art, 
 and there was scarce any one thing about 
 her that did not bear on it such forms of 
 beauty as are most enticing to the young 
 and imaginative mind. Certes, for all such 
 cunning was displayed in these figures, 
 whereon whatever art could do in fashioning 
 what was most graceful had been essayed, 
 a piece of nature's more perfect handiwork 
 there present outstripped them all. 
 
 " O' my life, sweetest creature ! how ex- 
 ceeding beautiful thou art !" exclaimed the 
 lady, gazing on Mabel, as if in absolute 
 wonder. 
 
 " Dost think so, indeed !" replied the half- 
 dressed beauty, blushing somewhat, to the 
 great heightening of her most moving 
 graces. 
 
 "Think so ? O, thou dear rogue!" said 
 the lady in an arch way ; " wouldst have 
 me believe thou knowest nothing of the mat- 
 ter ! Hast never looked on those unrivalled 
 features ? Hast never beheld those exquis- 
 ite limbs? Fie! fie! Thou canst help 
 knowing it better than any, and thinking of 
 it too." 
 
 " Believe me, I have thought of it but lit- 
 tle," answered the pretty foundling. 
 
 " Nay I will believe nothing of the sort," 
 responded the other : "there was never. a 
 
 woman yet that knew not her own attrac- 
 tiveness, and it is said some do occasionally 
 see* and think more of it than other folks ; 
 but that there should exist in this world a 
 creature of the most ravishing loveliness 
 ever beheld, who knoweth, and thinketh but 
 little of her own rare perfections, is clean 
 out of all credibility." 
 
 " I assure you, it is as I have said," ob- 
 served Mabel. 
 
 " Heaven forgive thee !" exclaimed the 
 lady, shaking her head, and laughing very 
 prettily ; " never met 1 so undeniable a story 
 teller, and yet coming from so fair a source, 
 no truth could appear half so winningly. 
 Prithee, take my word then, since thou hast 
 such lack of proper acquaintance with the 
 subject ; and be assured, one more semely 
 featured, and gracefully limbed withal, is 
 not to be met with, search the whole king- 
 dom through." Then turning to the tire- 
 woman, whose large eyes and full round 
 face, expressed somewhat of wantonness, 
 she added, " What dost think of it, Abigail ?" 
 
 " An' it please you, my Lady Comfit, me- 
 thinks there needs no questioning," replied 
 the tirewoman, then on the floor fitting on an 
 embroidered shoe, seemingly of the smallest 
 size, as Mabel sat on a chair with the lady 
 leaning over her. " Touching the face, if 
 ever any man gazed on features so moving, 
 beauty hath gone out of my knowledge ; and 
 as for the person who hath ever looked on 
 so neat a foct, so delicate an ankle or so 
 exquisite a leg as there are here ?" Mabel 
 blushing deeper than ever, because of there 
 being at that moment a greater display of hei 
 symmetry of limb than she thought becom- 
 ing, drew away her foot hastily, and rose 
 from her seat. 
 
 " Oh, the pretty rogue, how rosily she 
 blushes !" exclaimed Lady Comfit, laugh- 
 ingly drawing the abashed maiden towards 
 a large mirror. " Now, if thou wilt not be- 
 lieve other evidence, deny thyself if thou 
 canst.' 1 And thereupon her companion 
 pointed to the reflection. Mabel saw before 
 her a form and figure such as hath been de- 
 scribed, arrayed with all the choiceness 
 which skill in dress could give to them, for- 
 she wore a velvet suit of a plum color, worn 
 low, and delicately powdered with gold and 
 pearl, her fair neck embraced with a neck- 
 lace of blushing rubies, and jewels of greater 
 rarity in her hair, ears, and stomacher. Tne 
 poor" foundling could hardly believe she was 
 the admirable creature she saw in all that 
 bravery, and Lady Comfit and Abigail look- 
 ed at each other, as if they mightily enjoyed 
 her astonishment 
 
 " Methinks I have never appeared so
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 comely in all my life before," observed the 
 simple girl. 
 
 " Thou art right I doubt not," replied- the 
 lady, with a smile ; " but thou shalt no 
 longer hide so bright a light. Come along, 
 I prithee, my sweet creature. Such rare 
 attractions should be rarely appreciated, or 
 
 the other secretes deadly intoxicating juices, 
 which give an unnatural stimulus to those 
 who take it for their enjoyment, fevers the 
 blood, poisons the nature, and kills the soul. 
 Lady, Comfit ..allowed the simple girl to 
 
 admire as 
 terruption, t 
 
 wronjr would be done thee. Thou of the severa 
 
 o 
 
 shalt have choice worshipping. This way, 
 dear sweet rogue, and I will tell thee more 
 anon." So saying, with her arm round the 
 waist of the gentle Mabel, Lady Comfit en- 
 tered an adjoining chamber. 
 
 If the humble foundling had been dazzled 
 by the costly furnishing of the bed-chamber, 
 how much more reason had she to be simi- 
 larly influenced, when she beheld the great 
 splendor of the chamber she had just enter- 
 ed. The arras was more gorgeous, and on 
 it was depicted, in the very richest color- 
 ing, the loves of Jupiter, and others of the 
 heathen deities. In one place was Danae, 
 yielding her enamored nature to the golden 
 shower a type of that species of affection- 
 ateness still met with in woman, that can 
 be easily procured by the like means. 
 There, Leda caressing of the stately swan, 
 whose graceful movements and fair apparel- 
 ing, had so won upon her admiration sym- 
 Jolical of that sort of loving amongst the 
 lex, which hath no better origin than mere 
 outward appearances ; and elsewhere, Eu- 
 ropa, borne over the yielding waves by the 
 bull, whose lustiness of limb had provoked 
 her to such hardihood as lost her- to her 
 company a right true picture of that sort 
 of feeling in women occasionally met with, 
 miscalled love, which doth so conspicuously 
 savor of the mere animal. Besides these, 
 were subjects out of all number of a like 
 description, so movingly delineated, that it 
 was scarce possible for any that gazed on 
 them, not to find their dispositions softened 
 into a similar tendency. 
 
 But every object in both chambers seemed 
 studiously fashioned so as to breathe of love 
 not that love which is the pure offspring 
 of the affections, and can only live in the 
 rare atmosphere of intellectual beauty ; but 
 that, more gorgeous blossom often mistaken 
 for tde modest flower of the same name, 
 that springs from rank rich soils, and thrives 
 bt_vt in the stifling air of luxurious indul- 
 gence. Both apparently are warmed by the 
 same sun, so are the rose and the poppy 
 and oft appear of the same glowing com- 
 plexion, as shall be found in the flower and 
 the weed just named ; but the one hath in 
 it so sweet an essence, that ever so small a 
 particle delighteth the senses by its exqui- 
 siteness, and can do harm to none whilst 
 
 as she would, without in- 
 >stly and subduing beauty 
 ornaments of the chamber, 
 
 and then led her to a table prodigally gar- 
 nished with all manner of spicy viands and 
 stimulating wines. Meats and pasties, di- 
 vided the space with glass bottles tilled with 
 the products of the choicest vineyards, rich 
 silver cups and platters, china dishes, and 
 embroidered napery. Mabel who had all 
 her life eat her simple meal of cold meat 
 and bread, off a wooden trencher, accompa- 
 nied with a draught of small ale from a 
 horn cup, looked in. some amazement at 
 such store of tempting delicacies displayed 
 in vessels of such extreme value as here 
 presented themselves for her accommoda- 
 tion. Lady Comfit pressed her to name her 
 choice, and she seemed so sore puzzled that 
 the lady kindly recommended such dishes 
 as she herself most approved of, portions of 
 which the poor foundling thankfully ac- 
 cepted, and found of a'marvellous delectable 
 flavor. 
 
 " And now what wine dost prefer, sweet- 
 est ?" inquired the lady lovingly. 
 
 " An' it please you I would rather a cup 
 of small ale," replied Mabel, at which the 
 lady and her tirewoman laughed very plea- 
 santly. 
 
 " Small ale, dear heart !" exclaimed Lady 
 Comfit. " Such drink is never for ladies 
 'tis fit only for serving men, and such low 
 persons." 
 
 " Then perchance, a draught of spring 
 water might be had readily '?" asked her 
 companion, at which the other two laughed 
 more pleasantly than before. 
 
 " Water !" cried the lady at last. " Ffaith 
 I should be much to blame were I to let thee 
 swallow such unwholesome stuff. Here is 
 wine for thee, and plenty the choicest 
 withal that ever came of the grape." 
 
 " But I am monstrous thirsty," observed 
 Mabel, " and wine is of too great a strength 
 for one so unused to it as am I, to quench 
 their thirst with." 
 
 " Tush, my sweet creature," replied Lady 
 Comfit ; " this wine is not so strong as small 
 ale, be assured of it. Is it, Abagail ?" asked 
 she of her attendant. 
 
 " 'Tis made expressly for ladies' drink- 
 ing, an' it please you, my ladv," answered 
 Abigail, very readily. "A child might 
 drink a bottle of it with as much innocence 
 as though it was mere water."
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 103 
 
 " Without doubt/' added his mistress, ta- 
 Ki^g one of tin bottles and pouring part of 
 its rich contents into a silver goblet. " I 
 will myself show thee how harmless a beve- 
 rage it is." So saying she raised the brim- 
 ming vessel to her lips and swallowed it at 
 a draught. Assured by this that there could 
 be no harm in it, the unsuspicious Mabel al- 
 jowed herself to take a moderate draught, 
 seeing which her companions looked at each 
 other with a peculiar smile, and presently, as 
 she found the spicy nature of what she had 
 eat so plentifully, made her mouth hot and 
 dry., aftar the same pressing entreaties and 
 earnest assurances, she repeated it. At last 
 finding the simple girl could not be persuaded 
 to eat or drink a mouthful more, the attend- 
 ant cleared away the things, and Mabel was 
 left alone with the lady. 
 
 Directly they were alone the latter drew 
 her chair close to that of her companion, 
 and with an irresistible air of sincerity and 
 friendliness, took one of the poor foundling's 
 hands in her own. 
 
 "What a happy woman thou art!" ex- 
 claimed Lady Comfit, with wonderful em- 
 phasis, and observing Mabel looked as 
 though she could not comprehend what 
 should make her so very happy, added with 
 increasing earnestness, " What a proud wo- 
 man thou art !" This exclamation appeared 
 to be less understood than the preceding. 
 " At least thou shouldst be," added the lady, 
 in a marked manner. " I doubt not there arc 
 thousands of women would give all they are 
 worth in the world to have thy good fortune." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Mabel, in a famous as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " Ay, that would they, my sweet crea- 
 ture,'' cried her companion, pressing her 
 hand very affectionately. " But who of 
 them all hath thy desert? Art thou not 
 formed to be loved as no woman was ever 
 loved before ?" At hearing this the poor 
 foundling appeared to marvel too greatly to 
 say anything. 
 
 " O' my word, thou art like to become the 
 envy of all women," continued Lady Com- 
 fit. ''Methinks 'twould be a most pitiful 
 shame to allow of such perfections as thou 
 hast, to be shut up in an obscure place 
 where they can be seen of none who would 
 hold them in proper appreciation, whilst the 
 powerfulest noble in the land is sighing of 
 his heart away with a sweet hoping so fair 
 a creature might be esteemed of him, cher- 
 ished by him, and caressed by him in such 
 fashion as she is most worthy of. But I 
 will wager my life on't thou hast too noble 
 a spirit to be of such poor commodity ; and 
 art of too kindly a disposedness to let a 
 
 princely gentleman, anxious to gratify thy 
 every wish, linger out his days in hopeless 
 misery, for lack of that happiness thou alone 
 art capable of bestowing." 
 
 " I ?" exclaimed Mabel, incredulously. 
 " Believe me, I know of no such person ; 
 have seen no such person. Surely there is 
 some huge mistake in this." 
 
 " Never did truer thing occur," replied the 
 lady. " It matters not that thou shouldst 
 never have beheld him be assured he hath 
 seen thee, and, as it could not help being, at 
 the first sight of so much ravishing beauty, 
 his noble heart was . taken close prisoner, 
 and he hath ever since been in a passionate 
 phrenzy of impatience for the gaining of thy 
 dear love." 
 
 " Methinks 'tis a strange way of showing 
 such, to tear me from my friends," observed 
 the poor foundling. 
 
 " 'Tis the way .of these great ones, sweet- 
 est," answered her companion. "But 'tis 
 done out of no disrespect, be assured ; for 
 he hath ordered thou shall be treated with as 
 much honor as though thou wert a crowned 
 queen." 
 
 " 'Tis exceeding strange !" said Mabel, 
 marvelling the more, the more she heard. 
 
 " Thou wilt see him anon," added the 
 other. " And doubt not he will love thee 
 with so deep a fondness, he will leave thee 
 no cause for one moment's disquietude. 
 Thou wilt be made happy straight and 
 such happiness shalt thou enjoy as thou 
 hast never had experience of. All that di- 
 vinest love and- boundless magnificence can 
 effect, shall crown thy wishes never end- 
 ing pleasures shall entice thy inclinations 
 the whole day long the splendid pageant- 
 ries of state the homage bestowed on ab- 
 solute power the observances and ceremo- 
 nials of highest rank shall be for thy par- 
 ticular honor on all occasions ; and wherever 
 thou art inclined to turn thy steps, thou shalt 
 meet with some new delight of infinite ex- 
 quisiteness provided for no other end than to 
 assist in making perpetual thy inconceivable 
 felicity." 
 
 " Indeed I know not what to say on such 
 a matter," observed her young companion, 
 somewhat bewildered at so magnificent a 
 perspective. " I am so very humble a per- 
 son, I cannot think myself fit to be raised to 
 so proud a station ; and in all sincerity I 
 say it, I would rather back to my friends, to. 
 give place to some one more worthy." 
 
 " I will neve* allow of thy doing so fool- 
 ish a thing," exclaimed Lady Cornfit, ill 
 some seeming astonishment. " Thou must 
 needs be the worst possible judge of the 
 matter that exists; and I am thy friend,
 
 104 
 
 THE YOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 sweetest, and therefore the very properest 
 to advise thee in such a case." And there- 
 upon the lady squeezed the foundling's hand, 
 and gazed on h,er more affectionately than 
 ever. 
 
 " I should foel extremely bounded to you, 
 would you counsel me what to do," said the 
 simple girl. " In very truth, my humble- 
 ness seemetli to me utterly inconsistent with 
 such grandeur as you have spoken of. 
 
 " Nay, r tis thy modesty maketh thee think 
 so," replied the other. " None can be so fit 
 as thou art. Didst not note how famously 
 thou didst become these costly vestments ? 
 Just so admirably wilt thou become the love 
 of that princely gentleman who commanded 
 them for 'thy wearing. Trouble thyself 
 nothing concerning of thine own thoughts. 
 Thou art too young, sweetheart, to see these 
 things in the properest light. Let it suffice, 
 that the proud noble whofloveth thee with 
 such infiniteness, in his heart alloweth of 
 none being so exalted ; and to convince thee 
 how great-is his respect, hath required me, 
 Lady Arabella Comh't, an earl's daughter, 
 to be thy companion and friend, and show 
 thee such prodigal kindness as I would show 
 to no other living." 
 
 The poor foundling could scarce express 
 her estimation of being treated with such 
 handsomeness as to have an earl's daugh- 
 ter for her companion, and the latter having 
 at last managed to allay her doubts and ex- 
 cite iior curiousness, bade her amuse herself 
 as she chose for a short time ; and then ca- 
 ressing her with extreme aftectionateness, 
 left the chamber. Mabel felt in a strange 
 state of excitement. Not a thought of ex- 
 treme unsuspiciousness which exists only 
 in perfect innocency and genuine truthful- 
 ness a nature which, like a clear mirror 
 in the fair sunshine, is made to throw o'er 
 what it looks on, the light shining upon 
 itself. 
 
 In the meanwhile the/ Lady Arabella pro- 
 ceeded to a distant chamber, with an expres- 
 sion on her countenance very unlike what 
 she had put on before the gentle Mabel, and 
 as soon as she had opened the door, she 
 gave way to a most unequivocal satirical 
 sort of laugh. There was no one present 
 but a gallant of a middle age, dressed in the 
 foppery of the times, who had the look of 
 confirmed dissoluteness which a long course 
 of prodigal living usually bestows, and he 
 was idling the time away by picking of his 
 teeth, with the remnants of *his recent meal 
 before him. The room was nothing like so 
 choicely furnished as those the lady had left, 
 yet it had sufficient comfort in it to content 
 any ordinary person. 
 
 " Ha ! how flyeth the game, Moll ?" ex- 
 claimed the gallant, on noticing the en- 
 trance of his visitor. " Doth she take the 
 lure bravely ? Cometh she fairly into the 
 decoy ? But I see by thy laughing she hath 
 been, so prettily mewed, that she careth not 
 to ruffle her feathers against the golden 
 wires of her cage." 
 
 " O, my life, thou hast hit it," replied the 
 lady, as she threw herself into a chair. 
 " The pretty fool is in such conceit of her 
 splendid prison, she seemeth well content to 
 stay in it all her days." I 
 
 " She hath more wit than I have seen in 
 her, if she can get it to last beyond a month 
 or so," observed her companion ; " then she 
 may fly where she lists. But hast taken 
 care to fill her sufficiently with my lord ?" 
 inquired he. 
 
 " To the very throat," answered the other. 
 " Indeed, I have so crammed her with him, 
 that it must needs take some hours ere she 
 can require another meal." 
 
 " Nay, keep up her stomach, I prithee, 
 Moll," cried the gallant, laughingly. " When 
 my lord comes she may carve for herself. 
 I shall start off on the instant, to acquaint 
 him with the joyful intelligence, and ride 
 like a post all the way ; and I hope he will 
 bountifully remember my monstrous pains 
 to provide him with so dainty a leman ; for 
 in sober truth,- my long ill luck at the 
 cards, a murrain on them ! hath left me as 
 near bare of coin as a pig's tail is of feath- 
 ers." So saying, with a laugh half stifled 
 with a yawn, he rose from his seat, stretch- 
 ing his arms out to the near bursting of his 
 doublet. 
 
 " As I live, I do look for some famous re- 
 ward myself, or I would not be so intent 
 upon the matter !" observed the lady ; " and 
 yet I marvel he should get so desperately 
 enamored of a raw chit, that hath scarce 
 sense enough to know that she walks upon . 
 two legs." 
 
 " Methirtks he had better have taken to 
 thee, Moll, eh ?" inquired he, somewhat in a 
 sarcastic manner, " Mass ! there is exceed- 
 ing little of the raw chit about thee, I'll war- 
 rant ; and as for knowing, I would wager a 
 dozen marks thou couldst spare a goodly 
 share of thy knowledge, and yet be all the 
 better for't." 
 
 " For which I have to thank thee, thou 
 thrice accursed villain !" fiercely exclaimed ' 
 his companion, starting into a sudden rage 
 at the taunt. "I was well enough ere I 
 listened to thy beguiling." 
 
 " Doubtless," coolly replied the other ; 
 " well enough for one that is no better. And 
 as for beguiling, thou took it so readily, it
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 105 
 
 was clear 'twas an exceeding familiar ac- 
 quaintance with thee." 
 
 " Thou lyest, thou paltry cozening knave !" 
 cried the lady, looking monstrous black at 
 him. " There could not be one more virtu- 
 ous in this world ere I had srich ill hap as 
 to meet with thee." 
 
 " Marry, but I have huge doubts of that, 
 Moll," said the gallant, quietly putting on 
 his hat ; " virtuousness such as thine must 
 needs have been wonderfully cheap to the 
 haver, for, as I well remember, I did but 
 give thee a few pretty trinkets, a few pretty 
 words, and a few pretty caresses, and thy 
 virtue went to pieces, like a rotten apple un- 
 der a cart-wheel." 
 
 " Why thou infamous pitiful wretch, how 
 dost dare say such things of me !" exclaim- 
 ed the Lady Arabella, looking as terribly in- 
 dignant, and as horribly enraged, as a bad 
 woman could, who is taunted with her infa- 
 my. " Thou hast had the villainy 19 plot 
 my undoing" thou hast sought me, flattered, 
 fondled, and betrayed me to ruin day after 
 day thou hast sworn thy hcnorableness and 
 thy undying affection into my deluded ears, 
 and I believing poor fond fool ! thy pro- 
 digal oaths and protestations, left a worthy 
 gentleman who loved me as his life left 
 home, friends, all things that were most 
 worthy of my caring for. to cling to such 
 baseness as I have here before me !" 
 
 " Well said. Moll, o' my life well said !" 
 he observed, as if applauding her to the 
 echo. " I read the same notable speech, 
 word for word, in a book of jests I had 
 t'other day of one of my lord's players. I 
 should not have credited thy memory was so 
 
 " Get thee gone, thou -pestilent jackal, to 
 the lion thy master," cried his companion, 
 with no little bitterness ; " thy riotous ill-liv- 
 ing hath brought thee to such a pass, that 
 thou art a disgrace to thy family, and a 
 shame to thy friends, and can only continue 
 thy discreditable existence by coney-catch- 
 ing for some more prodigal villain than 
 thyself." At hearing this the other took to 
 whistling, yet he did it with so ill a grace, 
 'twas evident he was in no humor for mu- 
 sic. " Out on thee, thou cozening rascal !" 
 continued she, with increasing emphasis ; 
 " away, thou contemptible cheat ! What 
 new trick hast learned to take gulls by ? 
 Art not in a brave humor for stealing ? 
 Wouldstcuta purse -wouldst cog wouldst 
 foist wouldst forswear thyself a thousand 
 times ? Go get thee a rope for thine own 
 hanging, and thou wilt ave the constables 
 the trouble of carrying thee to the gallows !" 
 
 w Hold thy cursed prate, thou foul-mouth- 
 
 ed ronyon !" said the gallant, in that deep 
 sort of voice which usually heralds a mon- 
 strous passion. 
 
 " Thou art a scurvy knave that wbuld 
 willingly, do such dirty work as other men 
 would scorn," replied the lady with infinite 
 disgust. 
 
 " Away, thou callet !" exclaimed tho 
 other contemptuously. " Thou wouldst 
 needs pass* for a lady, forsooth, and hast a 
 monstrous hankering after gentility. Fine 
 o' my life ! Moll Crupper a lady ! Alack, 
 for good manners ! The saddler's daughter 
 transformed into Lady Arabella Comfit. 
 Here's goodly coney-catching ! A fine 
 morning t you, an' it please you, my lady ! 
 I commend myself very heartily to your 
 ladyship's excellent consideration. Believe 
 me I . am infinitely bound to you for your 
 ladyship's exquisite sweet condescension, 
 and very dumbly take my leave of your 
 ladyship's most absolute and very admirable 
 noble nature." 
 
 So saying her companion, with a profu- 
 sion of mock respect, was making his way 
 towards the door, when Moll Crupper, who 
 liked so little to be minded of her bad dis- 
 posedness, evidently liked less to be told of 
 her low origin, for she darted from her 
 chair with a violent execration, and sprung 
 upon her accuser with the fury of a tigress, 
 pulling him by the hair with one hand, 
 whilst she curried his 'face famously with 
 the other. But this was borne with any- 
 thing save patience by the gallant. No lack 
 of coarse abuse mingled with the common- 
 est oaths accompanied her endeavors to do 
 him hurt, till after twisting her wrists till 
 she desisted of her attack, and cried out with 
 the pain, he pushed her away from him with 
 such force, that she fell on the floor as if 
 every sign of life had fled. This put the 
 gallant in some sort of fear, for he had many 
 reasons for at that moment no great harm 
 should happen to her, so he ran and lifted 
 her up with an extraordinary show of affec- 
 tion. But the pretended lady was far from 
 being dead. She knew what was going 
 forward, and was disposed to take advan- 
 tage of it, for she was well aware she could 
 not exist without the assistance of her com- 
 panion. She remained motionless as a 
 stone, till her associate in villainy had ex- 
 hausted every epithet of affection upon her 
 and every species of execration upon him- 
 self. And then she gradually opened her 
 eyes, gradually employed her limbs, and gra- 
 dually found the use of her tongue, as she 
 had been in the habit of doing during a long 
 series of similar conflicts. 
 
 " What a wretch have I been to use thee
 
 106 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 so uncivilly, my sweet life," said he, with 
 all a lover's fondness, as she rose from the 
 floor, half reclining in his arms, drawing 
 her hands over her face with a "look that be- 
 spoke a perfect unconsciousness of what 
 had been going forward. " 1 know not 
 what devilish spirit possesseth me. " 'Slight, 
 I could go and beat out my brains against a 
 post, I feel sucli hatred of myself; for never 
 truer woman lived than thou art, my dear 
 Moll, and so exquisite a creature to love, I 
 shall never meet anywhere." 
 
 " Nay, nay, I have been to blame, sweet 
 heart,'' replied the fictitious Lady Arabella 
 very kindly. " I had no need to have an- 
 gered thee, for thou hast ever be$n a mon- 
 strous deal more good to me than I have de- 
 served." 
 
 " Say not so, my wanton," exclaimed her 
 companion with increased affectionateness. 
 " Thy deserts are'beyond all reckoning, and 
 I hold thee in such absolute love as cannot 
 cease unless my life be extinguished." 
 
 " Dear heart, how I love thee for saying 
 that," cried she, in a perfect ecstacy. 
 " Thou art a noble, bountiful, brave gentle- 
 man as ever breathed, and I care not a rush 
 for the finest fellow that wears a head, for 
 te can be nought in comparison with thy 
 inestimable sweet goodness." 
 
 What followed may be readily imagined. 
 Each of these two worthies, who a moment 
 since joined so soundly in mutual abuse, and 
 were desperate to do some mischief, now 
 held up each other's qualities, as beyond all 
 parallel, and would have gone through all 
 manner of dangers to have saved the other 
 from hurt. But these sort of scenes had 
 been common with them for a long time 
 past. They caressed, abused, and drubbed 
 one another with infinite heartiness and 
 the next moment caressed, abused, and 
 drubbed, and with more heartiness than 
 ever. But it so happened on this occasion, 
 having gone through the regular series, they 
 left oil' at the iirst stage of the next, in con- 
 sequence of the gallant being forced to take 
 his departure without further delay. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 And then THE LOVER, 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
 Made to his mistress's eyebrow. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 He coude songes make and wel endite, 
 Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and 
 
 write. 
 
 So hole he loved that by nightertale 
 He slep no more than doth the nightingale. 
 Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable, 
 And carf before his fader at the table. 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 If I had wytt for to endyte 
 Off my lady both fayre and free, 
 Of her goodnesse then wolde I write 
 Shall no man know her name for me. 
 
 OLD SONG. 
 
 SIR MAI?MADUKE DE LAKGESSE, his wor- 
 thy chaplain, and his old acquaintance the 
 Antiquary, were sitting round a table in the 
 library seemingly wonderfully intent upon 
 something. The good old knight sat back 
 in his seat with one hand upon the handle of 
 his rapier, and the other resting upon the 
 arm of his high-backed chair, his benevolent 
 cheerful countenance impressed with a sort 
 of curious pleasure, and his white beard and 
 hair looking more silvery than ever they 
 had. At a little distance from him sat Sir 
 Johan, getting to be almost as lustily limbed 
 as his patron, his plump sleek features prov- 
 ing he had as much reason to be as prodi- 
 gally grateful to Providence as he had been 
 at any time; and also "exhibiting in. his 
 countenance a pleasant mingling of curious- 
 ness and satisfaction. Both of these gazed 
 upon Master Peregrine, who, with as much 
 of the pantaloon in his appearance as ever, 
 sat forward leaning of his elbows on a large 
 book open upon the table, his hands holding 
 a paper, and his eyes peering through his 
 spectacles with a marvellous gratification, 
 sometimes at his companions, and anon at 
 what he held in his hands. 
 
 " Never read I anything so sweetly fash- 
 ioned 1" exclaimed he. " I remember with 
 what singular exquisite satisfaction I first 
 read the most choice ballads of Fair Marga- 
 ret and Sweet William, Lord Thomas and 
 Fair Eleanor, and Little Musgrave and Lady 
 Barnard, but the pleasure was nought in 
 comparison with what I felt on perusing 
 this most rare writing." 
 
 " Marry, give me Cherry Chace, or the 
 Battle of Otterborne!" cried Sir Marma- 
 duke. " I never hear a verse of either but 
 it stirreth me like a very trumpet." 
 
 " I deny nothing of their excellence," ob- 
 served the chaplain ; " but who could for a
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 107 
 
 moment compare them with the inestimable 
 sublimity of Pindar, the luscious sweetness 
 of Anacreon, or the moving melodiousness 
 of MUSJESUS ? I do assure you, that among 
 the Greeks to say nought of the Romans 
 there is such brave store of odes, songs, 
 and elegies of the very choicest sort, as doth 
 exceed all possible comprehension." 
 
 '' Tut, tut!" replied the antiquary, impa- 
 tiently ; " vvouldst make me believe there 
 hath ever been anything writ, or thought of, 
 more gallant than Havelok the Dane, more 
 pastoral than Harpalus, or more touching 
 than Lady Greensleeves ?" 
 
 " Beyond the possibility of doubting, wor- 
 thy sir," answered Sir Johan ; " there 
 shall easily be found in Homer things more 
 martial, in Theocritus things more natural, 
 and in Sappho things more tender." 
 
 4i Passion o ! my heart ! what Hfeh become 
 of thy wits, I wonder !" exclaimed Master 
 Peregrine, in a manner between astonish- 
 ment and indignation ; " I marvel that thou 
 shouldst essay to prove thyself such an addle 
 brain. 
 
 " Nay, if any brains be addled, Master 
 Peregrine, it must needs be your own," re- 
 plied the chaplain ; for 'tis out of all sense 
 ind reason to slight the infinite choicer beau- 
 ies of classic song for a parcel of silly old 
 littles." 
 
 " Silly old ditties !" echoed the enraged 
 antiquary, looking over his spectacles, as 
 though he had a mind to do Sir Johan some 
 grievous harm. '^Is ' Lustely, lustely let 
 us saile forthe !' a silly old ditty ? Is ' Kytt 
 hathe 4ost hur key,' a silly old ditty ? Is 
 ' Jolly good Ale !' a silly old ditty ? Is Guy 
 of Colbronde, or Sir Tristrem, or John Dory, 
 or a thousand others of the like unmatchable 
 perfectness. silly old ditties ? thou shallow- 
 \vitted, ignorant, poor goose, thou !" 
 
 " I cry you mercy, my masters," exclaim- 
 ed Sir Marmaduke, good-humorediy, as he 
 had oft done on many similar occasions. 
 " When you get to talk of these matters, 
 you are like unto two lusty bulls, who can- 
 not enter the same pasture without going 
 to loggerheads. Surely, in advocating the 
 excellency of a thing, there is no argument 
 in squabbling." 
 
 " Silly old ditties !" repeated Master Per- 
 egrine, with considerable emphasis. 
 
 " For mine own part," continued the 
 knight. " though I will in no way seek to 
 lessen the estimableness of the ancient wri- 
 ters, either Greek or Latin, some how or other 
 these same old ballads afford me that rare 
 pleasure I have never found in songs of a 
 more classic sort." 
 "Perchance, I am somewhat to blame, in < 
 
 having expressed myself so slightingly of 
 such things," observed Sir Johan, whose or- 
 thodoxy nevei led him to oppose his patron's 
 opinion; "I meant no offence, believe me. 
 Indeed, I do opine some 'of these excellent 
 fine ballads, so liked of my 'esteemed friend 
 here, are of a wonderful delicate concep- 
 tion ; but Providence, who is ever so ex- 
 ceeding bountiful, hath wisely ordained us 
 different tastes, that one liking one thing, and 
 another liking something different, no one 
 thing should exist without being held in 
 some estimation." 
 
 " Silly old ditties !" Master Peregrine 
 icould have said again, but his better nature 
 prevailed, and he swallowed the muttered 
 words ; yet, with an air of triumph, as if he 
 thought himself on a par with one of his 
 beloved heroes of the Round table. 
 
 " And now for that sweet song you have 
 promised us," exclaimed Sir Marmaduke; 
 you have spoken of it so fairly I am aH im- 
 patient to be hearing it." 
 
 " O' my word and so am I," replied his 
 chaplain, eagerly ; " and as Master Peregrine 
 hath such famous judgment in these matters, 
 I doubt not he hath a rare treat in store for 
 us." At this compliment to his judgment, 
 all trace of displeasure vanished from the fea- 
 tures of the antiquary ; and he said some civil 
 speech, in modest denial of having more judg- 
 ment than so learned a person as Sir Johan, 
 took off his spectacles, wiped them carefully, 
 replaced them, hemmed some twice or thrice, 
 brought the paper somewhat closer to his 
 nose, and with an appropriate serious man- 
 ner read what is here set down : 
 
 THE POET'S SONG OF HIS SECRET 
 LOVE. 
 
 " Upon the dainty grass I lay me down 
 When tired of labor on mine eyelids rest, 
 
 And then such glad solace I make my own ; 
 As none can know, for none can be so 
 blessed. 
 
 For then my sweeting comes so gallantlie, 
 
 I cannot but conceive she loveth me. 
 
 I prythee tell me not of such bright fires 
 As burn by day or night in yon fair skies ; 
 
 For when I bring her to my chaste desires 
 Sun, moon, and stars are shining in her eyes. 
 
 For then my sweeting, so well-favoredlie, 
 
 With Heaven-like gaze declares she loveth me ! 
 
 The tender blossoms blush upon their bowers, 
 The luscious fruit hangs trembling by the 
 leaf: 
 
 But her rose-tinted cheek out : glows all flowera, 
 Her cherry lips of fruits I prize the chief. 
 
 For then my sweeting so delightsomelie, 
 
 Doth take her oath upon't, she loveth me !
 
 108 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ATack, what pity 'tis, such moving sight 
 
 Should cheat my heart within an idle dream ! 
 
 'Tis fantasy that brings such loving light 
 The fruit I never taste but only seem : 
 
 Oh, would my sweeting in all honestie, 
 
 Vouchsafe to give some sign she loveth me ! 
 
 I take no pleasure now in pleasant sports, 
 I find no profit in books old or new ; 
 
 I hie me where my life's fair queen resorts, 
 For she's my pastime and my study too : 
 
 And of my sweeting, say 1 urgentlie 
 
 What would I give to know she loveth me ! 
 
 Yet though my heart with her so long hath 
 
 ' been, 
 
 I know not she takes heed of my behoof, 
 I gaze on her, yet'care not to be seen 
 I long to speak, and yet I keep aloof. 
 And whilst my sweeting fills my thoughts 
 
 Perdie ! 
 How oft I think perchance she loveth me. 
 
 Wher'er I turn methinks I see her face, 
 If any lovely thing can there be found ; 
 
 The air I breathe is haunted with her grace, 
 And with her looks the flowers peep from the 
 ground. 
 
 I pray my sweeting, very earnestlie, 
 
 She may incline to say she loveth ine. 
 
 But when from all fair things I travel far, 
 Enwrapped within the shroud of darkest 
 night ; 
 
 She rises through the shadows like a star, 
 And with her beauty maketh the place bright. 
 
 And of my sweeting breathe I tenderlie, 
 
 Fortune be kind, and prove she loveth me !" 
 
 " Indeed, 'tis a sweet ballad and a simple !" 
 exclaimed Sir Marmadnke, who had listened 
 with a famous attentiveness. 
 
 " And of a most chaste and delicate fancy," 
 added his chaplain, who seemed not a whit 
 less pleased. " O' my word, it is long since 
 I have heard verses writ with so natural a 
 grace, or of so truly dainty a conceit. It 
 remindeth me of those exquisite simple, ten- 
 der poems, that are to be found here and 
 there scattered amongst productions of the 
 minor Greek poets." 
 
 " Dost not know by whom it is written, 
 Master Peregrine," inquired the old knight, 
 seemingly to prevent the scornful reply the 
 antiquary was about making to Sir Johan's 
 allusion to the superiority of the classic 
 writers. 
 
 " No, nor can I guess," answered Master 
 Peregrine ; " I have never seen nor heard of 
 it before, and I am in some doubt as to its 
 exact age. yet I could venture to make a 
 guess from certain marks it hath, that it 
 cannot be later than the time of Henry the 
 Eighth." 
 
 " 'Tis like enough," observed Sir Marma 
 duke. " Perchance, it may be one of thoso 
 same ballads our young scholar hath learned 
 of his mother, and hath copied for your ex- 
 press delectation, left it in the book, and so 
 forgot it." 
 
 "Nay, that can scarce be," replied the 
 antiquary; for he hath oft times told me he 
 knew of no more than such as he had already 
 given." 
 
 Just at this moment, the conversation was 
 stopped by a knocking at the door, and the 
 entrance of the very person they were speak- 
 ing of, who received a hearty welcome from 
 all, but particularly from the good old knight. 
 William Shakspeare glanced around as if in 
 search of some one, but evidently by his 
 looks, he saw not the one he wanted. 
 
 " Wha^Jw-st had a bout at cudgel play ?" 
 exclaimed nBi r Marmaduke, merrily, as he 
 noticed the bandage that still remained upon 
 William Shakspeare's wounded head. There- 
 upon, he presently told how he had got it, 
 which seemed to set them marvelling great- 
 ly, and the old knight was much moved at 
 hearing that the fair creature he had helped 
 to save from villains at Kenilworth was now 
 completely in their power. He kept asking 
 of questions about which way they went, 
 and what sort of persons were they, inter- 
 mingled with expressions of grief for the 
 fate of the pretty damsel, and of hostility 
 against her betrayers. He got, however, 
 but indifferent answers, for in truth the youth 
 knew a very little more than himself. Mas- 
 ter Peregrine, whose appreciation of ballads 
 was much higher than that of wome*, man- 
 ifested no inconsiderable impatience at this 
 turn in the conversation. 
 
 "Will Shakspeare!" cried he, at last; 
 "Prithee come here; I'want thee awhile." 
 The young student left Sir Marmaduke, and 
 approached close to the antiquary. " Thou 
 wilt do me a service, if thou wilt tell me 
 where gottest thou this ballad." William 
 Shakspeare glanced his eye at the paper, 
 and on the instant, a very perceptible blush 
 mantled his fair features. " Where didst 
 have it from ?" 
 
 " I wrote it, an' it please you, worthy sir," 
 answered the young student, somewhat fal- 
 teringly. 
 
 " Ay, 'tis in thy hand, I see ; but whence 
 came it '?" inquired the other, more urgently. 
 . " By'r lady, I do suspect the young rogue 
 hath made it of his own invention," exclaim- 
 ed the old knight. 
 
 " So think I," added the chaplain. 
 
 " Ey ; dost mean to say these delicate 
 verses are out of thine own head ?" cried 
 the antiquary, in exceeding astonishment.
 
 1HE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 09 
 
 * fndeed, they are truly of my poor indit- 
 t*g/' replied the young poet, modestly. 
 Scarce were the words well out of his mouth 
 when Master Peregrine, in an ecstacy of 
 admiration, threw his arms round his neck, 
 and hugged him as though he were a prodi- 
 gal son returned to his old father after a long 
 absence. 
 
 li Why thou delectable sweet rogue !" ex- 
 claimed he, " where didst get such admira- 
 ble choice ideas ?" 
 
 " Methinks 'tis plain enough whence they 
 proceeded," observed Sir Johan, with mar- 
 vellous satisfaction. " I have taken huge 
 pains, for some length of time our young 
 friend should have a proper acquaintance 
 with the treasures of classic song, both Greek 
 and 'tis an easy matter to see how much my 
 scholar hath profited by my instruction : for, 
 as I said when I first heard th'6se verses, 
 they do remind me powerfully of some spe- 
 cimens of the- minor Greek poets." 
 
 " Remind thee of a fig's end !" exclaimed 
 Master Peregrine, contemptuously. Cannot 
 any ono see % \vitii Jialf an eye save those 
 ignorant poor coxcombs who are blind as 
 bats that this is a true ballad of the choice 
 dd school ; and it is not well known what 
 "pctreme pains-taking I have had with this 
 |ny scholar from the first, that he should be 
 well-grounded in 'ballad lore ; and lo ! here 
 is my reward which in rery^truth, exceed- 
 eth my most sanguine expectations." 
 
 " Nay, I will be bound by his answer," 
 said the chaplain, not at all disposed to give 
 up the honor of having produced so credi- 1 
 table a scholar. "Prithee declare, my ex- 
 cellent young friend, whether I have not, at 
 all convenient tirrlfes, bespoke thy commen- 
 dation of all that was most admirable 'in 
 classic song ?" 
 
 ' ; That have you, honored sir, and I thank 
 you very heartily," replied the youthful 
 Shakspeare. Sir Johan looked satisfied. 
 
 " And tell me this, my king of nightin- 
 gales," cried Master Peregrine, too confident 
 of his own right to allow of being deprived 
 of them. " Have I not taken opportunity by 
 the hand with thee, to make thee familiar 
 with the rarest ballads that ever were writ ?" 
 
 " Indeed you have, worthy sir, and I shall 
 feel beholden to you all my life long," an- 
 swered the young poet. Sir Guy never 
 looked so triumphant as did our antiquary. 
 
 " I will maintain, those verses are of the 
 true lyric fashion," observed Sir Johan, " and 
 therefore they cannot help being the result 
 of an acquaintance with their classic pro- 
 totype." 
 
 " Classic pudding !" exclaimed Master 
 Peregrine, getting to be somewhat in a rage. 
 
 " If any will prove to me these verses are 
 Greek verses, or Latin verses either, then 
 will I allow they came of such teaching ; 
 but since it is plain to common sense, that 
 what I here hold is a ballad, and, moreover, 
 an English ballad of the true, simple, grace- 
 ful, chaste style of English ballad writing, 
 metljinks it shall want no conjuror to say it 
 had its origin in that inimitable famous 
 school, and oweth not one jot to Greek or 
 Latin, or any such pitiful, poor, weak, dull, 
 shallow, unprofitable rubbish." 
 
 Rubbish!" cried the chaplain, astonished 
 and indignant in no small measure ; and he 
 would doubtless have expressed himself with 
 some force to that effect, had not Sir Mar- 
 maduke at that moment stopped him, by 
 asking William Shakspeare if he had 
 written anything of the sort before. To 
 which he replied it was his first attempt ; 
 and to further questions answered, he had 
 been reading of some choice love songs, and 
 ah 1 at once he had a great desire to essay 
 something of a like kind. Thereupon he 
 got paper, and with a pen wrote those lines, 
 which, not thinking much of, he had left in 
 the book, intending to try jind do something 
 better at another time. This made all 
 marvel greatly. 
 
 Certes, it was far out of ordinary things to 
 find one, still a boy as it might be said, 
 wooing of the Muses in such proper style. 
 Yet, though none saw it, there had been 
 gradual preparation of this for some time. 
 The youthful poet had held communion with 
 the philosophy of nature for years past, 
 through that spirit of intelligence which 
 breathes o'er all which belongeth to the 
 beautiful and the good. He had laid down 
 to dream of it; he had woke up to worship 
 it. . Wherever he went he be"held its pre- 
 sence. In all seasons he h%d felt its influ- 
 ence. The voices of the murmuring river 
 called to him in his solitude the shadows 
 of the deep dark woods fell upon his thoughts 
 the opening glade, the far-off hills, and 
 the fair skies, in all their glorious pageantry, 
 haunted his hours of rest the silent night 
 rung with the echoes of a thousand songs 
 tuned by the rarest band of forest choristers, 
 and even in the dullest winter, when the 
 trees bear naught but icicles, and the hard 
 ground is smothered with frost and snow, 
 where'er he walked the choicest flowers 
 bloomed in their most fragrant robes the 
 sun smiled lovingly before his eyes ; and 
 verdure, sweetness, and beauty, made for 
 him, all around, a garden of the very ex- 
 quisitest delight. 
 
 But of late he had felt a something more 
 than this ; all the lovingest things of nature
 
 110 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 he had made of his familiar aeqitaintance, 
 and had found in thorn such wisdom as 
 nature never hath bestowed elsewhere ; but 
 to comprehend this wisdom in its fullest 
 meaning required the assistance of an in- 
 terpreter. This interpreter was Love. This 
 Love though, let it be known, as yet he was 
 content with knowing at a distance. He 
 had seen of him but little, just enough to 
 know him by, and liked not appearing too 
 bold a visitor, but rather a respectful ac- 
 quaintance or humble poor friend, that would 
 be glad of some help, but dare not, out of 
 reverence, attempt any such familiarity as 
 the acquainting him with his wants. Never- 
 theless he had managed in this slight com- 
 panionship to acquire at his hands some 
 small portion of that power which argueth 
 a knowledge of all natural wisdom and 
 that was poetry. It had made its appear- 
 ance like a fresh pure spring trickling in 
 the delicatest, clearest drops down a fair 
 hill covered with verdure and studded with 
 all manner of sweet blossoms ; and now 
 having it at its source, all that is to be done 
 is to trace the progress of the stream, till it 
 rushed a mighty river into the great ocean 
 of immortality. 
 
 Finding that Sir Valentine had gone to 
 join a hunting party some miles off, the 
 young poet bont his steps homewards in 
 great trouble of mind, because he knew not 
 what to do regarding the poor foundling. 
 As he was crossing the field, so lost in his 
 musings as to be perfectly regardless of all 
 other things, on a sudden a pair of hands 
 from some one behind caught him round the 
 head and blindfolded him, and a loud laugh 
 burst from several voices, after that fashion 
 used by boys when they have succeeded in 
 playing off any famous drollery. 
 
 " Now Will !* cried one, " use thy wits, 
 I prithee, and tell us who hath hold of thee ?" 
 
 ' Nay, let me hear the voice," replied 
 William Shakspeare, taking their pleas- 
 antry in very good part, though he felt not 
 in the humor to join in it as heartily as he 
 was wont. 
 
 " Odds codlings, that thou shall, I'll war- 
 rant," answered a trembling old woman's 
 voice close behind him ; " for as I was a 
 saying no later than the week before last 
 Martlemas, over a brave fire in the chimney 
 corner of Neighbor Bavins >." 
 
 " Why, Mother Flytrap !" exclaimed the 
 youthful Shakspeare, who had listened in 
 exceeding astonishment, " how didst get so 
 close to me and I not know it ?" At this 
 the laugh was louder than before. 
 
 " Here is a vile world !" cried some one 
 in the dismalest tones ever heard ; " here is 
 
 a monstrous villainy ! How da rest thou to 
 do such intolerable wickedness as to play 
 the infamous game of hot-cockles in so holy 
 a place as the church-yard ?" 
 
 "I, Oliver Dumps !" exclaimed the blinded 
 youth in huge consternation : " believe me, 
 I have not played at hot-cockles this many a 
 day/' Whereupon the young rogues ap- 
 peared as though they would have rolled 
 themselves in the grass they enjoyed them- 
 selves to such excess. 
 
 " An' it pul-pul-pul-pul please you," stut- 
 tered another familiar voice, "mum-mum- 
 mum-mum master says, he wer-wer-wer-wer 
 wants you to send him word wer-wer-wer- 
 wer what sixpenny gloves are a pair !" 
 
 " Why, sixpence, to be sure, Dickon," 
 replied the other. " But I have a monstrous 
 suspicion thou hast been sent on a fool's 
 errand." Upon this all laughed so long and 
 loudly, it looked as if there would bS no end 
 to their mirth. 
 
 " O' my life, now here is Tom Greene at 
 his tricks again !" said William Shaks- 
 peare all at once, for the ether .had betrayed 
 himself by vainly attempting to stifle his 
 laughter, and at this the hands were taken 
 off his eyes amidst the uproarious shouting 
 of the whole party, and turning round, fa 
 beheld his old schoolfellows, Greene, Bui 
 bage, Condell, and Hemings, staggering 
 about with all sorts of strange motions, an\ 
 filling the air with peal after peal of laughing. 
 
 " f was thinking of another matter, Tom," 
 said the youthful Shakspeare, *' else should 
 I have foufld thee out much sooner, for all 
 thou art so famous a mimic." 
 
 "Was ever so rare a Jest played!" ex- 
 claimed one with a mmdsome cheerful 
 countenance. " No hungry luce ever took 
 a hooked gudgeon more unsuspiciously than 
 did Will Tom's well-managed baits. Mother 
 Flytrap, Oliver Dumps, and stuttering Die-, 
 kon, he would have sworn were behind him 
 with as little remorse as a pig eats chesnuts ; 
 yet I will forswear pippins and marchpane 
 if any other spoke save Tom Greene." 
 
 " I'faith ! the cheat was well managed, 
 Dick, I will allow," answered young Will ; 
 " but Tom is so Proteus a varlet, 'tis an 
 easy matter for him to play the old woman, 
 or perchance make such a wittol of himself 
 as Dickon, or even take off the melancholv 
 constable till such time as the melancholy 
 constable may choose to take off him." 
 
 " What, wouldst have mo in the stocks, 
 thou rogue !" exclaimed Torn very merrily. 
 " Marry ! I like not such hose to my legs. 
 But come, let us play a play, Will ; wo 
 have not had that pleasant pastime of ours 
 for weeks oast "
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 w A play, Will a play, I prithee !" cried 
 Dick Burbage. " We have been looking for 
 thee far and near, for I have got me a right 
 mirthful interlude which my father hath left 
 behind him, and if thou wilt take a part, we 
 will do it in brave style, I warrant." 
 
 " Nay, let us have Gammer Gurton 
 again !" said a stout sturdy little fellow, 
 rather urgently. 
 
 " Thou art ever for play ing Gammer Gur- 
 ton, Condell," observed a tall, sharp-looking 
 boy. ' Let us have that goodly play of the 
 Four P's. Will Shakspeare can do the 
 Poticary, Dick Burbage the Pedlar, Tom 
 Greene the Pardoner, and I the Palmer." 
 
 " And prithee, what shall I do in it, Hem- 
 ings ?'* asked Condell. 
 
 " As I live, thou shalt have enough to do !" 
 replied his companion ; " for thou shalt play 
 the part of all the spectators." At hearing 
 this there was another good laugh amongst 
 them. 
 
 " A; present I have neither time nor hu- 
 mor for playing," answered William Shaks- 
 peare ; " nor can I tarry a moment longer, 
 for pressing matters hurry me away." This 
 answer was evidently but little relished by 
 any of the party, and they tried no lack of 
 entreaties and persuasion to get him to join 
 in their sports. Nevertheless they could not 
 prevail in any way and finding such to be 
 the case, they parted with him at the top of 
 Henley-street, and straightway made for a 
 field called Salisbury-piece to have a play by 
 themselves. 
 
 John Shakspeare had been enquiring of 
 the neighbors the whole morning long ; but 
 getting no intelligence of his son, he had 
 returned with a little misgiving 10 his anxi- 
 ous wife. With her he found tLe Widow 
 Pippins, in as merry a mood as ever, and 
 Mistress Malmsey and Mistress Dowlas 
 looking with such kindness and comeliness 
 as if they never intended to lessen the 
 pleasantness of their features or behavior ; 
 and they had stepped in, hearing that Wil- 
 liam was not to be found, to offer their ad- 
 vice and sympathy, and hopes for the best, 
 to their somewhat desponding neighbor. 
 The widow had just described an exquisite 
 jest she had played upon a drunken falconer, 
 by abstracting the game from his bag, and 
 putting therein a litter of kittens she had 
 
 though they spoke very forcible their con- 
 victions, he was in this place or in that, 
 beyond all . contradiction, they marvelled 
 exceedingly where he could have got to. 
 
 " It is so little like him to play the tru- 
 ant with us," observed Dame Shakspeare, 
 striving to appear more satisfied with the 
 matter than she was. " Indeed, he givetli 
 me but small cause of blame, save that he 
 will sometimes be poring over a book when 
 he should be taking of his proper rest." 
 
 " Well, it doth puzzle me famously to 
 know what some folks see in books," said 
 the merry widow. " For mine own part, I 
 care not for the best that ever was writ, 
 unles.s it be a book of jests or riddles, and 
 then I must have some one to read them, for 
 reading never took to me, and therefore 'tis 
 natural I never took to reading. By my 
 troth, now I do remember a fine jest as ever 
 was played upon Sir Nathaniel, with a cer- 
 tain book of riddles that was left at my house 
 by a strolling minstrel." 
 
 The widow Pippins had scarce com- 
 menced her narrative, when the door opened, 
 and he whom they had been in such travail 
 about, made his appearance. All manner of 
 exclamations saluted his entrance ; some 
 began to scold, and some to question, but he 
 took no heed of them till he had received his 
 mother's caresses, and then very readily 
 made them acquainted with all that had 
 happened to him. Here was famous matter 
 for marvelling, and none of the gossips al- 
 lowed it to lie idle on their hands. The 
 aldermen's wives, who knew every body and 
 everything, entered into a famous history 
 of Mabel. As for the forcible abduction, 
 some considered it done by the parents to 
 recover their child secretly, others suspected 
 it was a scheme of Tom Lucy, assisted by 
 some of his college companions as wild as 
 himself, with no honest intention, but the 
 widow stuck out it was nothing more than 
 a jest of Sir Thomas' to afford himself a new 
 subject for boasting of his marvellous clever- 
 ness in the playing of tricks. 
 
 Having exhausted all they -had to say 
 upon the subject, the gossips took their de- 
 parture, and John Shakspoare was left to the 
 society of his wife and children. Of him it 
 may be necessary here to say, he had gone 
 on struggling, but the same reverses met all 
 
 drowned the day before, and the aldermen's his exertions. He could scarce get a living 
 wives were laughing heartily to induce their ) even in the humblest manner, and he was 
 
 sad hearted gossip to follow their goodly 
 example. At this moment returned John 
 Shakspeare from his fruitless errand, who 
 
 often" red need to the saddest shifts that pov- 
 erty can endure, but he went on with the 
 same resolution, making no complaint to any. 
 
 was assailed by a whole succession of ques- ! and striving to appear as contented as the 
 tions from all the women, to which his an- j rest. As for John a Combe, he proceeded 
 awers appeared in no way satisfactory, for ' much in the same way unsocial, uncharita-
 
 112 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ble, careless of his own comforts, and heed- 
 less of that of others never opening his 
 mouth to any person, save in the way of bu- 
 siness, unless to breathe such bitterness of 
 heKl as showed the fearful change that had 
 come over his once noble and generous na- 
 ture. But what had worked this fearful 
 change none knew. The effects were ter- 
 ribly conspicuous. Every one beheld them 
 and grieved at them ; and put up with his 
 uncivilness out of respect for the honorable- 
 ness of his behavior at an earlier time. Yet 
 of the cause the most knowing of the gossips 
 of the town knew nothing whatever. . They 
 marvelled more and more every day, till its 
 commonness took off the edge of their won- 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The subject of all verse 
 Sydney's sister, Pembroke's mother. 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 Give place , ye lovers, here before 
 
 That spent your boasts and brags in vain ; 
 
 My lady's beauty passeth more 
 
 The best of you*, I dare well faine, 
 
 Than doth the sun the candle light, 
 
 Or brightest day the darkest night, 
 
 LORD SURREY. 
 
 Art thou my son, that miracle of wit, 
 
 Who once, within these three months, wert es- 
 teemed 
 
 A wonder of thine age throughout Bononia ? 
 
 How did the university applaud 
 
 Thy government, behavior, learning, speech, 
 
 Sweetness,-and all that could make up a man !" 
 
 FORD. 
 
 Both flowers and weeds spring when the sun is 
 warm, 
 
 And great men do great good or else great harm. 
 
 WEBSTER. 
 
 IN an ante-room adjoining of the Queen's 
 presence-chamber, in her highness's palace 
 of Nonsuch, there was a famous company 
 of lords and ladies in different groups. Here 
 would be a famous party of gallants paying 
 of their court to the fairest of the throng, 
 whereof the greater number were exceeding 
 fair, and she was.no other than Lady Rich, 
 usually styled " The beautiful Lady Rich," 
 and well she deserved so admirable a title, 
 for nought could exceed the sweet exquisite- 
 ness with which the lily and the rose united 
 their choicest graces to deck her delicate 
 cheek ; or the soft subduing light that shone 
 so delightsomely within the fountains of her 
 radiant looks. All her features were of the 
 
 same unrivalled perfectness, and over them 
 the spirit of beauty breathed so wooingly, 
 that such as gazed upon the temple were ir- 
 resistibly drawn there to pay their devotions. 
 Foremost in the circle of her admirers was 
 one who, by the choiceness of his dress, the 
 neatness of his speech, and the studied court- 
 liness of his manner, was manifestly horn 
 only to shine in the atmosphere of a court. 
 Every thing about him spoke the desire to 
 please, and the ready smile that accompa- 
 nied the delicate flattery, appeared to prove 
 how aptly he could receive pleasure of ano- 
 ther. This was Sir Christopher Hatton, the 
 very mirror of courtesy and text-book of com- 
 pliment, and the most finished courtier of his 
 day. His apparel was not more dainty than 
 his phrases, and his behavior was of a kind 
 fittest to accord with both. He moved as 
 though he thought himself under the eyes 
 of the graces, having every gesture so prop- 
 erly prod*oed, it went not a hair's breadth 
 from the most graceful position that could 
 be accomplished under the circumstances. 
 His features were so fashioned as to make 
 all fair weather in his calendar. The sun 
 shone every day in the week. There was 
 no winter, no clouds, no eclipses. He would 
 as soon have hanged himself as frowned. 
 He would sooner have thrown himself into 
 the Thames river than allowed an uncivil 
 word to escape* him. What was his age^k 
 would be difficult to guess with any exact- 
 ness, for as he had been heard to say he con- 
 sidered age to be an exceeding vulgar fellow 
 with whom he would hold no acriaintance, 
 it is possible he disguised himself as much 
 as he could to prevent his being known by 
 so rude a person. 
 
 But Sir Christopher was not without pos- 
 sessing something of other talent beside the 
 courtly accomplishments of fencing, danc- 
 ing, and compliment, nevertheless his whole 
 ambition was to apply such gift as part of 
 the necessary appliances of a courtier, and 
 he never made use of it, save only to help 
 him at a pinch to exhibit his continual de- 
 sire to please. About him were divers gal- 
 lants and young gentlemen of the palace, 
 who looked up to him as their model, and 
 framed their speech, their apparel, and their 
 behavior as nigh as might be to their great 
 original. His last phrase by their means 
 travelled quickly to all persons choice in 
 their speech ; and it was by the same as- 
 sistance the last new step of his came into 
 use amongst such as wished to be consi- 
 dered the very fashionablest dancers of the 
 time. 
 
 In the recess of a window that looked out 
 upon the grounds were another group, the
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSFEARE. 
 
 113 
 
 cynosure of which appeared to be a lady of a 
 most delectable presence, whose ample deli- 
 cate forehead and intelligent gaze, gS^e to- 
 ken of as rare a mind as ever was worthy 
 of the choicest and beautifulest framing. 
 She w.i - a notable instance of woman's per- 
 fectness whose moving graces created the 
 exquisitest thoughts in the minds of those 
 gifted ones who came within their influence ; 
 but the poetry of her own nature was full as 
 exquisite as any that she called into being. 
 Her voice breathed its very atmosphere 
 and her eyes were such bright casements, 
 within which it hath ever loved to find its 
 home. It is no marvel then she should be 
 so much the admiration of all irue lovers of 
 excellence that her good opinion should be 
 so much coveted of such as sought after 
 praise that is the most valuable, or that her 
 smiles made wherever she went a midsQm- 
 mer garden of the mind's unfading flowers. 
 Methinks 'tis scarce necessary to 'add that 
 her perfect modesty kept worthy companion- 
 ship with her noble mind, for it may be ta- 
 ken as an indisputable truth that high intelli- 
 gence doth ever signify the presence of mo- 
 ral feelings equally exalted. Be sure that 
 where the mind displays itself in its most 
 sterling character, there is no alloy of any 
 baseness. It is clean impossible it can be 
 otherwise, for however it may sometimes 
 seem, nature alloweth of no such unnatural 
 alliances. Signs of great intellect may ap- 
 pear where want of goodness is equally ma- 
 nifest, but the former of these signs on close 
 scrutiny, turn out to be not so admirable as 
 they look in fact, instead of being the ster- 
 ling gold in its native purity, they are only 
 such ores as require so much cleansing to 
 put them into use, as will hardly repay the 
 labor. It may perchance have been found, 
 that this preciousness hath had a bad look 
 with it, but it only followeth of the rubs it 
 may get of such base things as it may come 
 in contact with. It is still as sterling as 
 ever, despite appearances ; and fair usage 
 will keep it in that brightness it ought al- 
 ways to wear. 
 
 Leaning affectionately over the countess's 
 chair, was a young gallant of a like noble 
 brow, and of an aspect somewhat similar in 
 its intelligent expression. There was some- 
 thing more of gravity, and there was some- 
 thing less of sweetness in the countenance,yet 
 there were the same highmindedness beam- 
 ing out of the sparkling eyes, and a similar 
 thoughtful eloquence smiling around the 
 corners of the delicate mouth. It was easy 
 to be seen by this likeness and by the tender 
 familiarity with which one behaved to the 
 other, that they stood in some relationship. 
 8 
 
 They were brother and sister. Such a bro- 
 ther and sister as the world sees not in many 
 ages, perchance, may never see again, for 
 they were not more alike in the admirable- 
 j ness of their outward lineaments, than they 
 were in all manner of moral and mental 
 : qualities. 
 
 Where shall we meet with another Count- 
 ess of Pembroke, the ready patroness of 
 ; merit, yet outshining all merit with her own 
 ever ready to pay her homage to virtue, 
 ! yet in herself possessing such virtue as ex- 
 ceeded all other examples ? And where 
 shall we look for another Sir Philip Sydney 
 the soul of honor, the spirit of chivalry, 
 j the courtliest among the courtly, and the 
 bravest among the brave though scarcely 
 | in the full dawning of his manhood, his wis- 
 dom went beyond that of the most experi- 
 enced counsellors, and though formed by the 
 choicest gifts of nature to rill the proudest 
 seats in the chiefest places of greatness, his 
 ambition never went beyond the performing 
 of valiant and generous deeds, writing wor- 
 thily on honorable subjects, living with a 
 proper respect, and dying with a becoming 
 nobleness. In him knighthood possessed its 
 last and rarest ornament, and manhood one 
 of its most admirable examples. Genius ac- 
 knowledged him as her son, and honor 
 claimed him as her champion ; and every 
 virtue that could grace humanity, where all 
 in him that was human was of so gracious 
 a nature, might justly have'put forth a boast, 
 that in him they showed to the world how 
 well they could adorn a man. 
 
 It may readily be imagined that this truly 
 gallant gentleman was the love, the model, 
 and the admiration of all the gallant hearts 
 of his age. Indeed, by such as possessed 
 the genuine chivalrous spirit, he was re- 
 garded as a sort of deity. They considered 
 no station so great as to be of his acquaint- 
 ance, and no honor so estimable as to have 
 his praise. It therefore followeth very na- 
 turally that Sir Reginald and Sir Valentine 
 should have eagerly sought his friendship, 
 the which their valor and honorable conduct 
 had gained for them ; and this known, it is 
 in no way surprising the former of these 
 young knights should now be standing at 
 his elbow, joining in the conversation with 
 Master Arthur Gorges, a young gallant of 
 great worthiness, my Lord Buckhurst, a 
 nobleman favorably known to the muses, and 
 divers other knights and nobles, whose love 
 of song went hand in hand with their admira- 
 tion of true valor. 
 
 Besides these there were a great crowd of 
 nobles, knights, and ladies, gallants, courti- 
 ers, officers of the queen's household, com-
 
 114 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 manders by sea and land, learned judges, 
 grave prelates, and others of her highness's 
 loving subjects of different ranks and condi- 
 tions, intent upon paying of their court to 
 their sovereign, as soon as she concluded 
 her audience with certain ambassadors with 
 whom she was now closetod. There was a 
 great variety in the colors of the different 
 rich stuffs, but with the exception of some 
 few in their robes, every gallant wore the 
 same fashioned doublet, trunks, hose, and 
 shoe-roses, and every lady the same long- 
 stomached dress with a stiff poking-out far- 
 thingale. Some were whiling the time by 
 admiring the figures on the cloth of tissue. 
 The commanders were conversing of the 
 famous good fortune of Sir Francis Drake, 
 in his last voyage. The ministers were spe- 
 culating on the probability of the queen's 
 marriage with the Duke of Anjou. The 
 courtiers amused themselves with tales con- 
 cerning of the differences between my Lord 
 of Leicester and the Earl of Sussex. The 
 gallants were putting off their last learned 
 graces .of behavior on such of the fair dames 
 they could get to heed them. The ladies 
 were conversing either of the newest Ve- 
 netian fashion, "or the latest jest of Master 
 Tarleton, her highjiess's jester. And the 
 judges and prelates were lamenting together 
 the intolerable evils of witchcraft and pa- 
 pistry ; but the circle around the Countess of 
 Pembroke and Sir Philip Sydney were be- 
 wilin <? tne nour * n a manner more profitable 
 to themJ^freB than did any of the others, as 
 I will here endeavor to show, 
 
 " Touching the capabilities of our nature," 
 observed that illustrious scholar, " I am in- 
 clined to believe there is no greatness it 
 may. not aim at. But there can be no true 
 greatness independent of the affections, for 
 these are the springs that do refresh the 
 ground, and make it bear the noblest and 
 choicest plants at all proper seasons." 
 
 " I cannot help thinking the same thing, ' 
 added his sister. " Perchance there have 
 been philosophers to whom all such feeling 
 as love appeared utterly unknown ; they 
 might have scoffed at it m themselves and 
 ridiculed it in others ; but such examples 
 should be looked upon as the result of unnatu- 
 ral circumstances like unto flowers that lose 
 their color by growing in the dark or fruits 
 that part with their flavor by being planted 
 in an improper climate. That is sure to be 
 the truest wisdom that cometh of the most 
 benevolent mind, for it embraces the whole 
 world with some everlasting truth which 
 hath universal happiness for its object ; 
 whilst the philosophy of such as have no 
 such feeling in their hearts can be born only 
 
 of books ; they are mere scholars that have 
 no betor object in view than raising thern- 
 selves^lbove their fellows, instead of striv- 
 ing to raise themselves up to them. Such a 
 philosopher attains celebrity only by feedingr 
 on those who went before him : his cm 
 is of a like kind with that <>[' the serpent of 
 Moses, which swallowed up all the rest." 
 
 " Just so," said Sir Philip Sydney ; " for 
 if we notice how love works upon the mind, 
 we shall readily come at the philosophy of 
 the affections. Taking the two examples 
 of this feeling in ordinary acceptance, to wit, 
 the lover and the philanthropist, we imme- 
 diately see how generous love hath made 
 them in their notions, the one is ready to 
 undertake any danger in the conviction of 
 his mistress's superiority to all her sex ; the 
 other would make any sacrifice to benefit 
 those who required his assistance, in the 
 express belief of the worthiness of the whole 
 human race. The valor of love is equal to 
 its generosity ; and methinks these twins of 
 comeliness will be found together in every 
 example of a true knight and complete 
 gentleman. Nothing can be so valiant as 
 love, which makes so undeniable the Latin 
 adage which declareth that love conquereth 
 all things, for love hath achieved the 
 brightest deeds that are the glory of chivalry. 
 But as love granteth whatever is most ad- 
 mirable to the object of its regard, it seeketh 
 by all honorable means to make itself of a 
 like perfectness ; and is thus by degrees led 
 to the attainment of the noblest offices, and 
 to the possession of the most honorable ac- 
 compli shments that can be acquired." 
 
 " So I have thought, though, as must 
 needs be not in so excellent a fashion !" ob- 
 served Sir Reginald. 
 
 " But surely there is a vast distinction 
 between what is called gallantry and genu- 
 ine affection ?" exclaimed Lord Buckhurst. 
 " There are hundreds of fine popinjays to be 
 met with, protesting a monstrous affection- 
 ateness for every woman they meet, and I 
 never saw in them any of the virtues of 
 which you spoke." 
 
 " So there are hundreds that affect great 
 religiousness," observed Sir Philip Sydney, 
 " which is done not out of any true reve- 
 rence, but merely because it is the fashion. 
 But genuine gallantry is of an exceeding 
 different nature. It is of a kin with that 
 ancient worship that honored all deities 
 alike. Nevertheless, even in these instances 
 there will be found a niche in the temple of 
 the heart dedicated to the service of some 
 unknown god; and througnout the whole 
 nature there exists a continual anxiousness 
 to have that place worthily supplied. ID
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 115 
 
 good time such desire is accomplished ; and > 
 be assured, the idol there placed hath more 
 worship than all the rest together." 
 
 " The true worship of love is goodness." ! 
 added the Count \-.- ; ?' and it is a sign by ! 
 which genuine affection may always be dis- j 
 tinguished from m^re profession. True j 
 love is purity, honesty, truth, honor, cour- 
 tesy, and bravery confessed in action. Where 
 there'is any meanness, where there is any sel- 
 fishness, \vherethere is ought of falsehood, im- 
 modesty, uncivilness, cowardice, or villainy, 
 love never abideth. Doubtless some may as- 
 sert this sweetener of life hath been found with 
 some such base accompaniments as I have 
 just named ; but out of all doubt the latter is 
 entirely different, and should be avoided for 
 its unwholesomeness. It is like unto such 
 honey as divers sorts of wild bees have been 
 known to make from poisonous flowers." 
 
 " But how rarely shall we find this IQVC 
 in all its perfectness and purity !" exclaimed 
 Lord Buckhurst. 
 
 " Xay. my good lord, it is none so rare !" 
 replied Sir Reginald, with some earnestness. 
 " Wherever woman hath a fair field for the 
 development of her infinite perfections, such 
 love will follow, as naturally as light springs 
 from the sun ; and to a knowledge of these 
 absolute graces originated that proud sense 
 of honor, and true nobleness of feeling in 
 man, which hath done such famous achieve- 
 ments throughout Christendom, under the 
 estimable name of chivalry." 
 
 " True, Sir Reginald," observed Sir 
 Philip Sydney, with a glance of approbation 
 at his young friend. " There are two states 
 of society, in all outward appearance as far 
 asunder as are the poles where true love 
 is ever to be met with. The one is the 
 courtly empire of knights and ladies, which 
 produceth the gallantest deeds and the 
 honorablest behavior the other is the sim- 
 ^ple republic of shepherds and sheperd- 
 esses, where innocence is crowned with a 
 garland of the freshest flowers of the field, 
 and honesty jogs merrily along, enjoying the 
 pleasant minstrelsy of the pipe and tabour." 
 
 " Which think you, is the happiest state ?" 
 inquired Master Arthur Gorges. 
 
 " That in which the' wants are the fewest, 
 and the desires of easiest attainment." re- 
 plied the other. " It is doubtful to which 
 we ought to give the preference. Happiness 
 may exist indifferently in either state ; 
 but according to what we know of Arca- 
 dian manners, these same swains and 
 . nymphs must have enjoyed the .most blame- 
 less sweet life ever heard of. I cannot ima- 
 gine any more moving picture than a choice 
 company of such, tending of the*r woolly 
 
 flocks in the fresh pastures or in the cool 
 eventide dancing away the joyous hours, 
 with their sweet music ; whilst in some 
 green arbor nigh at hand, the enamored 
 Colin whispers a love tale to his blushing 
 Daphne, and the seniors of the village sit 
 under the shadow of the friendly trees, 
 quaffing the rich juices of their vineyards, and 
 tell ing of marvellous stories and merry jests." 
 
 " Ha ! cousin Philip, art there again !" 
 exclaimed the Earl of Leicester in a plea- 
 sant manner, as he entered the circle, cloth- 
 ed with such gorgeousness as far exceeded 
 all the tiring around. " Why thy moving ' 
 descriptions of Arcadian life will presently 
 make all persons of worship in a frenzy to 
 attain the like happiness. My Lord Burgh- 
 ley sweareth he hath serious thoughts of 
 retiring from court, and keeping sheep at 
 Theobalds. Sir Christopher Hatton hath 
 been heard, for hours together, practising on 
 a small pipe, in hopes of getting the queen's 
 ladies to dance to his piping in the true 
 rural style ; and as for myself, I have been 
 looking for weeks past for a crook and a 
 shepherdess, that I may in the very proper- 
 est manner sit me down in some enamelled 
 plain, and there happily live out the re- 
 mainder of my days, dividing of my cares 
 betwixt my lambs and my love." 
 
 " Methinks, my lord, you would soon pine 
 for the pleasant pageantries you had left 
 behind," observed the countess, with a 
 smile. 
 
 " The gentle shepherd would be ever a 
 sighing to be once again the most accom- 
 plished knight in the tourney," added Sir 
 Philip Sydney with a like pleasantness. "He 
 would be right glad to change his seat on 
 the enamelled plain for the saddle of his 
 good steed his crook for a spear his flock 
 for a company of valiant knights and his 
 faithful shepherdess for as many fair ladies 
 as he could get to witness his admirable 
 matchless prowess." 
 
 " Nay, prithee try me ere I am condemn- 
 ed," answered the earl, laughingly. " I 
 doubt hugely I should be so easily tired. 
 For is there not a famous variety of amuse- 
 ments ? Could I not delight myself by carv- 
 ing of my true love's name wherever I could, 
 till there should be found more Chloes on a 
 tree than acorns ? and then would I not sing 
 such songs against the rival swains of her 
 unmatchable rare beauties, that they should 
 be dumb ever after ; and play on rny pipe 
 till the feathered choristers of the grove 
 would hold themselves silent to learn of my 
 wondrous skill." 
 
 " Perchance it may be so, my good lord," 
 said the countess in the same good humor ;
 
 116 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " but take it not as a want of courtesy in 
 me, if I doubt the possibility of so great a 
 marvel." 
 
 " Now, without flattery, never met I so 
 perfect a disbeliever," exclaimed Leicester, 
 gallantly. " I would the fates had so or- 
 dered it as to have made the Countess of 
 Pembroke an Arcadian shepherdess, and I 
 her scarce worthy, yet too happy swain. 
 Methinks so enviable a lot exceedeth all 
 honor of chivalry ; and whether in the valley 
 or the grove, at the dance, or tending of my 
 flock, believe me the enjoyment of such 
 rare happiness would put out of mind, as 
 things only to be despised, such poor plea- 
 sures and distinctions as I have now in my 
 possession." 
 
 " I am bound to you, my lord, for enter- 
 taining of such thoughts," replied his ac- 
 complished companion, courteously ; " yet am 
 I still of opinion, the noble place you now 
 occupy would content you, more than the 
 most perfect state of shepherd life that is to 
 be found. For as it is, you have in your 
 power infinite opportunities of doing good, 
 by affording your counsel and assistance to 
 all such worthy objects a's may require it; 
 whilst by your prominence in the'pnblic eye, 
 you can, by acting as becomes your dignity, 
 be an example of honor that ever honorable 
 nature would be glad to copy." 
 
 " Such I will strive to be with all my 
 heart," exclaimed the Earl, with a seeming 
 great sincerity. " Indeed the most pleasur- 
 able part of the high station in which for- 
 tune, rather than my poor ability, hath plac- 
 ed me, I find to consist in the benefits I am 
 enabled to confer on deserving persons. 
 Nothing delighteth me more than to honor 
 merit as it deserves ; and I would gladly go 
 out of my way any distance to meet with 
 some worthy creature whom I could make 
 happy." 
 
 Every one was famously pleased at hear- 
 ing of so proper a speech from the' Queen s s 
 favorite ; but such was his usual manner, 
 and such his customary words. 
 
 " Finding you, my good lord, in this 
 happy mood," observed Sir Philip Sydney, 
 " I would crave your countenance in behalf 
 of a worthy friend of mine, who would be 
 right proud of possessing it." 
 
 " Say who he is, and be assured of his 
 merits receiving proper attention at my 
 hands," said Leicester. 
 
 " His name is Edmund Spenser," replied 
 the other; " and I look upon him to be as 
 true a poet as ever wote verse." 
 
 "Prithee bring him to me whenever it 
 suits you," said the Earl, in his most win- 
 ning manner. " I am all impatient to be 
 
 acquainted with one who hath acquired sucl 
 high honor as to be so lauded of Sir Philip 
 Sydney." 
 
 " Believe me, my brother hath said no 
 more than the worthiness of Master Spen- 
 ser gives him title to," added the Countess. 
 " As far as I am capable of judging, he is 
 one whom future ages will delight to rever- 
 ence." 
 
 " I'faith, this Master Spenser hath great 
 good fortune, methinks, to have his merits 
 so approved by two such absolute judges," 
 cried Leicester. " O' me life, I shall not be 
 content till he number me among his friends. 
 But though I am exceeding loth to leave 
 such delectable society, I must fain hie me 
 hence." 
 
 He had scarce uttered these words when 
 he felt a nudge at his elbow, and, looking 
 round, his eyes evidently met a familiar 
 face, for, with a cheerful countenance, he 
 called out, " Ha ! Tarleton, what news ?" 
 The person he had so addressed, had a merry 
 eye and a ruddy countenance ; and in figure 
 stood rather under the middle size the 
 which was neatly garmented in a suit of 
 Lincoln green. This was no other than 
 Tarleton the player, who was in such es- 
 teem of the Queen for his many witty jests, 
 that it was thought of some he had as much 
 influence with her as any man living. Be- 
 ing so great a favorite, he was allowed to do 
 much as he pleased ; and if his wit smacked 
 of some sharpness, few were so unwise as 
 outwardly to take offence at it. Then he 
 had with him so odd a way of saying his 
 drolleries, that he forced many to laugh who 
 liked not being trifled with. 
 
 " News, quotha !" replied the jester, after 
 his comicalest manrier ; " ay, great news, I 
 warrant. An honest intelligencer of my ac- 
 quaintance told me, my Lord of Leicester 
 was about going on an embassy to Prester 
 John, with a suit of motley for his wear, 
 and a case of toothpicks to hide in his 
 beard." 
 
 " Marry, that is news indeed," answered 
 Leicester, somewhat seriously ; " and per- 
 adventure it came of the same honest intelli- 
 gencer who assured me that one Tarleton, 
 a player, stood in greaf likelihood of being 
 committed to Bridewell for allowing of his 
 wit to run foul of his discretion." 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, that is no news !" ex- 
 claimed the undaunted jester, " I have heard 
 it this ten year ; and the last time it was 
 said in my hearing, there was added to it 
 that my Lord of Leicester migU have taken 
 offence at the 'merry player, only the gener- 
 ousness of his nature put him above such 
 1 ungraciousness.
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 117 
 
 w I tell thee what, Master Tarleton," said 
 the Earl, taking the other's humor very pleas- 
 antly, " there seemeth to be what learned 
 mediciners call sympathy, in the effects of 
 thy wit for the weapon that makes the 
 wound can as readily perform the cure." 
 
 " O' my life, yes, an' it please you, my 
 lord," replied the jester, making of a mock 
 doleful face exceeding ludicrous. " But my 
 curing hath in it more of the cook than the 
 chirurgeon for it seemeth to be ever a get- 
 
 accomplished gallant of them all. The 
 compliments of others were insipid, in com- 
 parison with such as he offered, and the 
 lovely object of them appeared to appreciate 
 the distinction, for he received her most win- 
 ning smiles. 
 
 " Many take me to be of some wealth," 
 observed he to her, in that resistless sweet 
 passion he was so famed for; " but when I 
 make comparisons, I cannot help thinking 
 myself in a very monstrous poverty. It is 
 
 ting me into a famous pickle." Thereupon | long since I have beheld the poorness of my 
 there was a manifest sign of laughing in ! state, and envied some their greater fortune ; 
 
 every face that stood within ear-shot. 
 
 " Peradventure that accounteth for the 
 attic saltness of thy josts," observed Sir 
 Philip Sydney. 
 
 " Ay, and if he selleth his wit he must 
 needs be a salt-cellar," added Lord Buck- 
 hurst. 
 
 Troth, then, let those who are below the 
 
 salt look 
 Tarleton. 
 
 to their manners," said Master 
 " But touching this conceit of 
 
 the salt, if it is so, I shall be forced to keep 
 me a respectful distance, else will every 
 lewd fellow be talcing a pinch of me with 
 which to savor his porridge." 
 
 " Then will he have more wit in his por- 
 ridge than ever he had in his head," said 
 Leicester, good humoredly. " Take such 
 pinches as lovingly as thou canst, Master 
 Jester, for methinks 'tis this very saltness 
 which keepeth thy wit so long good." 
 
 " I promise you," replied Master Tarle- 
 ton. " But peradventure too much of that 
 savor is like to get me the reputation of a 
 dry wit." 
 
 " Nay, before thou canst ba properly dried, 
 thou must stand a good hanging," re- 
 joined the Earl, with a laugh in which all 
 joined. 
 
 " O' my life, I would as soon be put to the 
 rack at once," said the Jester, " and, in truth, 
 I protest against being used so piggishly." 
 
 " Truly, thou art hard to please !" rejoined 
 the Earl, and then graciously taking his 
 farewell of the Countess and her party, he 
 sauntered along on his way to the Queen's 
 
 yet I can say, in all honesty, were I Rich 
 now, I should be rich indeed." 
 
 " Truly, I know not who should thank 
 you most for that pretty speech of yours, my 
 lord oi*myself," replied the beautiful crea- 
 ture, with one of her exquisitest looks. 
 
 " I protest 'tis a very delicate choice con- 
 ceit," said Sir Christopher Hatton, with his 
 customary elegance of manner, as he raised 
 a gold pouncet box to his nose ; " infinitely 
 worthy of my Lord of Leicester, his extreme 
 sufficiency of wit ; and absolutely corre- 
 sponding with my Lady Rich, her rare pro- 
 digalness of merit." Whilst the young gal- 
 lants around were endeavoring to impress 
 this fine sentence on their memories, Tarle- 
 ton the jester approached, and spying of Sir 
 Christopher Hatton, he suddenly turned 
 round and advanced backwards towards him, 
 with every sign of a most serious courtesy, 
 making a profusion of becks to a half blind 
 old courtier in the distance, whereof the con- 
 sequence was he presently stumbled against 
 Sir Christopher, and trod on his toes. Now if 
 anything would ruffle a man's temper, me- 
 thinks it should be when he is essaying to 
 make himself excessively agreeable to the 
 loveliest woman of her age, one should drive 
 against him awkwardly, and tread with some 
 heaviness on his feet. All expected Sir 
 Christopher would have been famously ruf- 
 fled ; but the accomplished courtier smiled 
 upon the Queen's jester, as Tarleton turned 
 round with a grave indifferent face, on the 
 instant he had done what there is but small 
 
 chamber. The courtiers thronged to pay doubt he intended and witli a most winning 
 their respects, and commanders, prelates, graciousness apologised for having been in 
 judges, and other dignitaries, seemed all j his way. 
 alike anxious to gain his attention. Some " Nay, I hope I have not hurt you, sweet 
 
 were petitioners for his influence, others 
 came to thank him for some favor con- 
 ferred, and to all he was alike courteous ; 
 listening patiently and answering gracious- 
 ly ; and as he wont, took with him the good 
 
 Sir Christopher !" exclaimed the merry play- 
 er ; "I was but of paying a proper courtesy 
 to my Lord Bumble, and could not guess 
 your worship was so nigh." 
 
 " I return you a bountiful load of thank- 
 
 wishes of those he left behind. Spying the fulness for the Wonderful friendliness of 
 beautiful Lady Rich, encircled by her usual j your inquiries, worthy Master Tarleton," re- 
 throng of admirers, he quickly made his way j plied the text-book of compliment; I will 
 to her side, and soon proved himself the most ' entomb such preciousness in my heart. Let
 
 THE YOUTH OF SI AKSPEARE. 
 
 your excess of goodness be gratified in the 
 conviction that I am in no way hurt." 
 
 " O' my life, I did think I trod on your 
 toes somewhat heavily," said the jester, with 
 extreme seriousness. 
 
 " Toes, worthy Master Tarleton," added 
 the mirror of courtesy with one of his bland- 
 est smiles, " belong only to vulgar persons. 
 A gentleman hath no such pedal appurte- 
 nances. It may be said of such a one that 
 he hath a handsome foot," continued he, 
 looking at, and moving one of his feet into 
 the gracefullest positions ; " but to say he 
 hath feet, is no sort of phrase for the politer 
 sort ; and toes are altogether banished from 
 courtly language." 
 
 " Nay, if you are for depriving me of my 
 toes, I must e'en take to my heets," an- 
 swered the other, and thereupon made off 
 from the circle 'with all speed. 
 
 In the meantime the Earl of Leicester 
 had whispered a quick succession of the 
 delicatest flatteries into the ear of the smil- 
 ing beauty he was addressing, which she 
 Beemed to receive, more as a homage long 
 usage bad accustomed her to, than from any 
 particular excess of vanity in her nature. 
 Thence he went to other lovely dames, 
 where it was evident he was no less wel- 
 come ; and finally departed to the Queen's 
 chamber, beyond all contradiction the most 
 admired, the most courted, and the most 
 honored of all the gallant company assem- 
 bled in that goodly chamber. 
 
 It was evening of the same day, when in 
 a thick grove, at a bow-shot from the palace, 
 a gallant, in a large horseman's cloak and a 
 broad slouched hat, which completely con- 
 cealed him from observation, was seen walk- 
 ing from tree to tree, backwards and for- 
 wards ; sometimes whistling, sometimes 
 humming a tune, but continually looking in 
 one particular direction, as if he was in ex- 
 pectation of some person coming that way. 
 Anon, he would grow impatient, and utter 
 something that smacked of an oath; then 
 he would wrap his cloak closer round him, 
 lean against a tree, and amuse himself 
 awhile by digging of his heels into the soil. 
 In those pursuits he had been engaged for 
 some length of time, when he became aware 
 of the approach of some person, disguised 
 after a like fashion as himself. It was evi- 
 dent, these were the same two persons that 
 had stood together under the shadow upon 
 the terrace of Kenilworth Castle. They 
 exhibited a similar caution, and they behaved 
 with a like mystery. 
 
 " What news '?" inquired the new comer, 
 in a low voice ; " hast secured the prize ? 
 
 Hast not let her slip through thy fingers a 
 second time ?" 
 
 " Never was prize so secure, my lord," 
 answered the other. 
 
 " Good ! Exceeding good !" exclaimed 
 the noble, as if with a wonderful excess of 
 gratification. 
 
 " The former plot failed not from any lack 
 of cunning in the planning," added his com- 
 panion ; " I was baulked of my success, just 
 when I had made secure of it a murrain 
 on the pitiful fools who were so meddle- 
 some ! But, in this instance, fortune hath 
 teen more kind ; and, though not without 
 exceeding painstaking, I have been free from 
 all possibility of any such pestilent inter- 
 ference." 
 
 " Then make sure, fortune shall be 
 thy friend from this time forward," replied 
 the one addressed as my lord. " But art 
 sure none know into whose hands she hath 
 fallen !" 
 
 " They could not have the slightest guess 
 of it, I have managed matters so well," an- 
 swered the other. "None saw her taken, 
 none know where she is gone ; and I have 
 given her in charge to one, who is too per>- 
 feet in her lesson, to allow of her prisoner's 
 having knowledge of at whose suit she hath 
 been arrested." 
 
 " I approve thy discretion infinitely," ob- 
 served the nobleman ; " I would not be known 
 in the business, on any account, either to her 
 or any other. But how doth she look, and 
 how takes she her sudden removal from her 
 friends ?" 
 
 '"Tis beyond all art of mine to express 
 her looks, my lord," replied his associate ; 
 " nought but your own eyes can do her ex- 
 quisite perfections justice. Beautiful as she 
 was, she hath made such progress in come- 
 liness, that her present appearance putteth 
 clean out of memory the graces she was 
 then possessed of." 
 
 " O' my life, then she must be of a most 
 rare creature," exclaimed the other delight- 
 edly. 
 
 " Truly, she is, my lord, and were I in 
 any way richer than I am, I would wager a 
 dozen marks you will readily acknowledge 
 on beholding here, there lives not her peer 
 in this world." 
 
 "Well, here is something for thy dili- 
 gence," said his companion, giving him a 
 well filled purse, which he took very readily. 
 " But 'tis only a token of what shaH follow, 
 find I the original to come up to thy lim- 
 ning." 
 
 " Would I were as sure of all other 
 things," exclaimed the other. " But I pray 
 you take good speed in your coming, for she
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 119 
 
 hath been made so curious about yon, that ! 
 if you come not straight, I know not what 
 her impatience may lead her to." 
 
 " Be .sure the first moment I can without 
 suspicion absent myself from court, I will 
 fly like a hawk," replied the noble. "But 
 in the meanwhile let her lack nothing by 
 way of amusement to make her content with 
 ACT condition. The players may be had to 
 entertain her, or any other pastime she is 
 likely to take pleasure in. Spare neither 
 expense nor trouble. Have ever ready such 
 variety of enjoyments that she can get tired 
 of none ; and so possess no time to reflect 
 on any other matter, save the bountifulness 
 of the provider." 
 
 " Jt shall be done, my lord, without de- 
 lay." 
 
 " Ana mark me," continued his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Ay, my lord," answered the other. 
 
 " Let Mistress Crupper take proper heed 
 that this sweet angel of mine firmly be- 
 lieveth herself to be amongst persons of 
 worship. Let her manners be in accor- 
 dance with her assumed station, at the 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 I have been readie at you hand 
 
 To grant whatever you might crave, 
 I have both waged life and land 
 
 Your love and good will for to have. 
 I bought thee kerchers to thy head 
 
 That were wrought fine and gallantly, 
 I kept thee booth at boord and bed, 
 
 Which cost my purse well favoredly. 
 I bought thee peticotes of the best, 
 
 The cloth as fine as might be ; 
 I gave thee jewels for thy chest, 
 
 And all this cost I spent on thee. 
 
 - BALLAD OF LADY GREENSLEEVES. 
 
 v Thou art a shameless villain ! 
 
 A thing out of the overcharge of nature ; 
 Sent like a thick cloud to disperse a plague 
 Upon weak catching woman ! Such a tyrant 
 That for his lust would sell away his subjects, 
 Ay, all his heaven hereafter. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER 
 
 MABEL was left in as bad hands as it 
 could be possible for her to fall into. It is 
 a question whether so vile a pair could else- 
 where have been met with a matter of 
 
 same time that in every point she behaveth j huge, congratulation to all virtuous minds. 
 
 with the most delicate respect to her fair 
 prisoner." 
 
 " I have already so ordered it," replied his 
 associate ; ' : and Moll knoweth her own in- 
 terests too well to mar them by any misbe- 
 having. I do assure you, my lord, she play- 
 eth her part in the choicest fashion never 
 a lady in the land could do it better." 
 
 " Provided that be the case, she shall 
 have a suitable reward," said the nobleman. 
 " But I nrast be gone. Haste back, and 
 keep her in continual impatience of my com- 
 ing. But above ah 1 things be cautious my 
 name be not dropped on any consideration, 
 nor ought done which might in any manner 
 point to me as holding the slightest share in 
 such proceedings. 
 
 " Rely on it, my lord," answered his com- 
 panion, and so saying both departed their 
 several ways, the one chuckling at the 
 weight of the purse, which had rewarded 
 his infamous proceedings, and the other 
 congratulating himself on the apparent suc- 
 cess of his villainous a;ent. 
 
 These two were thoroughly heartless, be- 
 cause thoroughly selfish lost to all sense 
 of shame from being deaf to every murmur 
 of conscience careless of report, knowing 
 they had no character to lose, and wishing 
 only to live, out of extreme disinclination to 
 die. They had been in companionship with 
 each other for years, believing such villainy 
 as they possessed would only be tolerated by 
 those who were most familiar with it ; but 
 their bad passions were ever breaking forth, 
 and it appeared as if they were allowed to 
 live, the better to remind each other of the 
 monstrous baseness of their behavior. 
 
 All that such wretches could do, aided by 
 the most consummate hypocrisy, and with 
 every help unbounded wealth could procure, 
 was essayed to render the pure mind of the 
 poor foundling accessible to the villainy that 
 had been devised against her. Turn where 
 she w'ould her eyes met images of voluptu- 
 ousness and at all times her ears were 
 invaded with meanings of opposition to all 
 honorable notions ; but the extreme craft of 
 this, overthrew itself. The mind of the gen- 
 tle Mabel was so essentially pure, that al- 
 though it would admit readily every image 
 of beauty, such characters came there com-, 
 pletely divested of ought of an objectionable 
 shape, and her nature was so perfectly in- 
 nocent, that indelicacy of any sort was to 
 her a foreign language, which she heard but 
 could not understand. Whereof the conse-
 
 120 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 quence was she remained despite of all this 
 great expenditure of subtlety, as chaste in 
 heart as the day she fast entered those pol- 
 luted walls. 
 
 If anything could lead a woman from her 
 own integrity, the incense which was con- 
 tinually being offered to her vanity, in artful 
 praises of her person, and in the constantly 
 varying costliness of its decorations, might 
 have sufficed ; but the vanity of the poor 
 foundling seemed so remotely seated, that 
 this precious artillery never touched it. 
 She took the flattery as said out of good- 
 ness ; and wore the apparel as sent out of 
 kindness. 
 
 Many days had passed and Mabel still 
 remained unconscious of her danger, and 
 in less anxiousness concerning of the old 
 knight and the good dame, than she was at 
 lirst, because her assumed friend, the fictiti- 
 ous Lady Comfit, had assured her she had 
 informed them of her safety and comfort. 
 Her only desire was that the youthful sleep- 
 er, who had got himself so roughly used for 
 her sake, might not have been much hurt, 
 and that she sjiould be allowed some early 
 opportunity of thanking him for his extreme 
 readiness to help her in her need. She was 
 rarely left alone, and scarce a moment was 
 allowed her for reflection : and the conver- 
 sation of her crafty companion kept her in 
 a constant state of marvel, admiration, and 
 curiousness concerning of the princely gen- 
 tleman who had, as she thought, taken such 
 strange means to show his love for her. 
 Oue day, as it were by accident, she had 
 been left by herself, and naturally fell to 
 musing on the mystery of those transactions 
 in which shs had been made so prominent a 
 feature. She sat clothed in all the splendor 
 of Venice and Milan and it might be truly 
 said her beauty more became her tiring than 
 her tiring improved her beauty her arm 
 rested on the side of the richly carved chair, 
 with the full sleeve falling back disclosing 
 its perfect whiteness and symmetry, clasped 
 by a bracelet of purest gold and jewels, and 
 her fair face was supported by her hand, of 
 which the delicate fingers were half lost in 
 the meshes of her glossy hair. Her radiant 
 eyes were fixed upon the fresh rushes at 
 her feet, but their long silken lashes gave 
 so soft an expression to the deep sweet 
 ; thoughtf ulness of her exquisite countenance, 
 ' that it is doubtful their full gaze could have 
 appeared more admirable. 
 
 Thus she thought over the recent events, 
 bewildered with their strangeness, and per- 
 plexed as to their purport, till she was sud- 
 denly startled from her reverie. 
 
 " Heavens ! how exquisitely beautiful !" 
 
 exclaimed a deep-toned voice; and, looking up 
 to her exceeding astonishment, she observ- 
 ed a tall person, enveloped in a huge cloak, 
 and his head covered with a broad beaver 
 hat, consequently she could see of him noth- 
 ing but his face, which seemed nobly fea- 
 tured, and the eyes lustrous with a very 
 passionate adoration. She had scarce had 
 a moment for thinking who this stranger 
 could be, and what he wanted, when the 
 cloak and hat fell at his feet, and she beheld 
 a stately figure, clad in such magnificence 
 as she had had no imagination of. The de- 
 licatest white silk, daintily embroidered with 
 gold, formed his hose ; and his doublet was of 
 a light pink, fancifully ornamented with the 
 choicest pearls, having the sleeves quaintly 
 trimmed and slashed with amber satin, like 
 unto the round full part of his trunks. His 
 ribbon garters and shoe roses were of a cor- 
 responding costliness ; and as some sign of 
 his nobility, he wore the order of the garter 
 round his leg, and a St. George gold chain, 
 of the costliest character, pendant frou his 
 neck. 
 
 It might be imagined that before such ex- 
 cessive splendor the poor foundling would 
 have been somewhat abashed, and that her 
 gentle nature would have sunk before the 
 ardor of his gaze ; but this was far from the 
 case. The look, the manner, the appear- 
 ance of the stranger, convinced her that he 
 was no other than her princely lover, of 
 whom she had heard so much ; and the only 
 sign she gave of his presence was rising 
 from her seat the moment his nobility stood 
 confessed. No royal queen could ever have 
 received the homage of her courtiers with a 
 truer majesty, than did the gentle Mabel 
 stand before the enamored glances of this 
 magnificent noble. 
 
 " Nay, I beseech thee, do not stir !" mur- 
 mured he in a most passionate gallant man- 
 ner, as he took her hand, and pressed it 
 tenderly in his own. " I regret having dis- 
 turbed such a miracle of loveliness, and yet 
 I could not, had I strove ever so, have re- 
 frained from expressing in some measure 
 the intenseness of my admiral ion. Much as 
 I had heard of thy marvellous beauty, and 
 deeply as I had been impressed with the 
 glimpse I had of it in the garden of Kenil- 
 worth, I was totally unprepared for such 
 ravishing perfections as I beheld when, on- 
 noticed, I softly entered this chamber. He 
 who held the apple when the three god- 
 desses disclosed their rival graces to his ad- 
 miring eye, could have seen, in all their 
 moving loveliness, nought half so worthy of 
 pre-eminence as then met my wondering 
 and most enamored gaze."
 
 THE YOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 121 
 
 a My lord, for such I believe you are styl- 
 ed," replied Mabel, with a simple courtesy 
 that became her better than all art of com- 
 pliment ; " you are pleased to say this, as 
 you have been pleased to show me other 
 signs of a like civilness in you ; and for 
 these, believe me, I am as truly grateful as 
 *ever heart was." 
 
 " O' my life, it delighteth me infinitely to 
 hear thee express thyself so well disposed 
 towards me," answered her companion rap- 
 turously kissing of her fair hand. " But 
 what I have done is nought to what the 
 greatness of my love shall lead me to. But 
 prithee tell me the happy subject of fliy deep 
 study." 
 
 " Indeed it was no other than yourself, my 
 lord," answered the poor foundling very 
 readily. 
 
 " How proud am I of having so rare a 
 student !" exclaimed the other, looking fondly 
 in her face, and pressing her hands witli a 
 similar affectionateness. " How dost like 
 the volume ? wilt get it by heart ?" 
 
 " In my then thinking, I was seeking the 
 cause for my having- been put by you in this 
 place," answered Mabel. 
 
 " The cause, my sweet life !" cried the 
 gallant, as if in some extreme astonishment; 
 " why, what else cause can there be than 
 thy most exquisite self? Look on those 
 lustrous eyes, observe that delicate cheek, 
 regard that eloquent and delicious mouth, or 
 take the perfectness of those matchless fea- 
 tures and peerless shape combined, and note 
 if they contain not such prodigal cause of 
 love as might warrant any such behavior in 
 a lover, as that I have been forced to take 
 advantage of." 
 
 " Methinks, my lord, love might be better 
 shown," observed the gentle foundling. 
 
 " In some cases, doubtless," replied her 
 companion ; " but not where the lover is so 
 circumstanced as am I. I have essayed in 
 all manner of things thou shouldst meet 
 such respect as true love delighteth to show. 
 Thy tiring is of the noblest, thy lodging the 
 most sumptuous that could be had, and thy 
 fare the delicatest that wealth and skill could 
 unite in producing. Thou hast been waited 
 on as became the guest of a prince ; and so 
 gallantly entertained as might be shown to 
 an enthroned queen !" 
 
 " Truly I have, and I thank you right 
 heartily, my lord yet " 
 
 " Dost lack anything ? Hast any desire ? 
 Hast -aught proper been forgotten ?" con- 
 tinued the noble, with increasing earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 " Indeed no, I have store of things of 
 every sort, but " 
 
 " Dost not like the dwelling ? thou shall 
 be removed to a palace," added her com- 
 panion without allowing her to finish her 
 sentence. " Dost not approve of thy tiring, 
 all Italy shall be searched for costiler stuffs ? 
 Hast fault to find with thy attendants, thou 
 shalt have such honorable persons as thou 
 cannot help approving of? Or is anything 
 amiss with thy fare, the skilfullest cooks, 
 and the daintiest cates shall be fetched from 
 all parts of Christendom, to give thee better 
 entertainment ?" 
 
 " Truly there is no need," she replied ; 
 " methinks I should be wondrous discontent 
 seemed I not satisfied with the bountiful 
 great splendor with which I am surrounded ; 
 still there is one thing I would have you do, 
 which surely you cannot avoid doing, if you 
 have for me the exceeding love you have 
 just expressed." 
 
 " Name it," said her companion, in an 
 impassioned manner. " If it taketh up my 
 whole fortune which is considered to be in 
 some excess or requireth all my influence 
 which is said to be second to none in the 
 kingdom whatever thou dost require shall 
 be done on the instant." 
 
 " Return me to my friends," answered 
 Mabel. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the gallant, evidently 
 having expected from her something very 
 different, " wouldst have me, ere I have 
 scarce had an hour's acquaintance with so 
 inestimable a treasure, to send it away where 
 perchance I may never see it again ?" 
 
 " I doubt not you could see me at all pro- 
 per times, with worthy Sir Thomas Lucy's 
 permission," said the poor foundling. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear life, there is no 
 possibility of such a thing, else should I 
 have preferred doing so," observed her com- 
 panion, with a famous earnestness. " There 
 is such absolute reason for what has been 
 done, as would convince any, were I allow- 
 ed to say it ; but at the present I must needs 
 be dumb on the matter. Give me but fair 
 trial, and if, after some time, thou shouldst 
 desire again to see thy friends, thou shalt 
 go, and willingly." 
 
 " I thank you for that assurance, my lord," 
 replied Mabel, somewhat comforted. " In 
 very truth I am most anxious to return home, 
 with as little tarrying as possible, and you 
 will make me more bound to you, by help- 
 ing me in my wish, than could you by de- 
 taining me, though you furnished my stay 
 with the honorablest entertainment in your 
 power." 
 
 " I beseech thee, my fair queen, move me 
 not to it at this present," continued her 
 noble gallant, very passionately. " Thou
 
 122 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 knowest net what great travail hath been 
 mine for thy sweet sake, since I iirst had 
 glimpse of thy enchanting graces. Allow 
 me some solace after my so long trouble ; 
 balieve me night or day hath been one con- 
 tinual darkness with me, in which my hopes 
 would appear like stars, in bright assurance 
 the sunrise of my happiness was nigh at 
 hand; and yet it came not, till my heart 
 was nigh upon being weary with so much 
 longing. Nought but the remembrance of 
 those dazzling beauties, as they came upon 
 me, like a sudden flash of heaven to a poor 
 heathen, kept me in countenance with my- 
 self; for that remembrance brought \vith it 
 such good warrant of gentle treatment, of 
 excellent kind sympathy, and of generous 
 sweet affection, as a nature well disposed to 
 reward the infinite sufferings of unbounded 
 love, is ever possessed of. Let it not be I 
 have rested on a broken reed." 
 
 " I should be loath to deal harshly with 
 you, my lord," replied the simple foundling ; 
 " nor am I in any way so given towards 
 any one. Yet I see not I could give you 
 any relief stayed I here ever so." 
 
 " Be assured, sweetest, nothing is so 
 easy," observed her companion, gazing on 
 tier as enamoredly as though he had put his 
 whole heart and soul into a glance. " Let 
 those entrancing eyes discourse with mine 
 the true language they were made to ex- 
 press, till volumes of loving meaning beam 
 in every look ; twine those delicate arms 
 around me as I would use mine own, till 
 heart throb fondly against heart in natural 
 unison, and every nerve throughout our en- 
 amored natures thrill with the same soft 
 ecstacy and bring me hither those delici- 
 ous lips that make the ruby pale, and look 
 more tempting than the ripest ruddiest cher- 
 ry, to refresh my thirsty soul with the pre- 
 cious rapturous, exquisite sweet balm with 
 which they are bedewed." 
 
 " Indeed, my lord, I " 
 
 " Behold me here thy poor petitioner," 
 continued the enamored nobleman, kneeling 
 on one knee at the feet of the gentle Mabel, 
 with such a look and with such a manner 
 few women could have resisted. " Note to 
 how mean a strait my greatness is reduced 
 see the equal of princes, the very humblest 
 of slaves. D^ar, excellent fair creature! My 
 whole being is bound up in the gaining of 
 thy choice affections. Show me some sign 
 a smile, a word, .a look my case is not en- 
 tirely desperate and I will till the air thou 
 makest holy with thy presence, with my un- 
 ceasing love and very earnest thankful- 
 ness." 
 
 Thus proceeded this accomplished gallant 
 
 with the innocent gentle Mabel now ap- 
 pealing to her sympathies, now endeavor- 
 ing to awaken her pride a moment after 
 striving with equal earnestness to excite her 
 vanity, and anon straining every nerve to 
 move her ambition ; and thus he continued 
 with the most passionate assiduity for several 
 days, breathing into her ear the most delicata 
 flattery, and exhausting every source of en- 
 tertainment likely to dazzle or captivate an 
 inexperienced tender woman. Save witk 
 her sympathies he scarce made any advance, 
 which made him marvel infinitely, for he was 
 the most irresistable lover that ever sought a 
 fair lady's affections, and had achieved more 
 triumphs over the sex than had any half 
 dozen of his acquaintance. There was not 
 a turn of their hearts with which he seemed 
 not familar, and he appeared to know the 
 cunningest baits to draw up their desires. 
 But this exceeding knowledge was derived 
 from the court circles, or those who took 
 after them in manner, where such gifts as he 
 possessed could scarce fail of having a most 
 absolute influence. The mere fine ladies, 
 or those eager to be thought so, readily gave 
 way to his many fascinations, but the poor 
 foundling was of a very different sort. There 
 was in her nature a marvellous combination 
 of simplicity and pride the one kept her 
 ignorant of the treachery of her companion 
 the other received his delusive attentions 
 as though they were her just right and title. 
 Something of this she had shown when in 
 company with Sir Valentine, when the 
 modesty of her apparel seemed out of place 
 with the air of graceful dignity and easy 
 self-possession with which she shared in the 
 court-like converse of the young knight ; 
 but now, clothed in all the delicate splendor 
 of the times, she listened to the dangerous 
 homage of her princely gallant, with a man- 
 ner so noble as must have convinced any 
 spectator she took them rrore as proper res- 
 pect than as a matter for gratification. 
 
 Her noble lover's ecstacies availed him 
 nothing the fondness of his behavior and 
 discourse made as little impression but his 
 unceasing efforts to afford her by the most 
 lavish expenditure, signs of the unbounded 
 estimation in which she was held by him, 
 were accepted with gratitude ; and the seem- 
 ing terribleness of his sufferii gs when her 
 behavior put him into a despairing moodj 
 were regarded with a natural sympathy. 
 Here she was in some danger, for there is 
 no such nigh relations to love as gratitude 
 and pity. 
 
 In the meanwhile William Shakspeare 
 having at last met with Sir Valentine, in- 
 stant proceedings were taken to endeavor to
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEA&E. 
 
 193 
 
 I uce out the place to which the gentle Mabe 
 had been carried. Nothing could exceed the 
 mainer in which the young knight was 
 moved at the relation of his lair mistress's 
 abduptiou. All the chivalry of his nature 
 was up in arms in a moment, and he was for 
 chasing the villains to the uttermost corner; 
 of the earth. With the feelings with which 
 he had regarded her many moving graces, 
 so that she had become to him the sovereign 
 of his heart's wishes, he felt bound by every 
 principle of knighthood to peril life and limb 
 in her service, and mounting his palfrey he 
 rode in every direction to find some traces ol 
 her flight. He was at last so fortunate as to 
 meet with the man elsewhere spoken of, who 
 had seen her borne past him, and had watched 
 her direction, whilst he could keep her in 
 sight ; and with this intelligence he sat off as 
 soon as he could from his kinsman's house, 
 accompanied only by his favorite companion, 
 the youthful ishakspeare, riding of a grey 
 gelding, who was quite as eager as himself 
 to go on such an errand. 
 
 The feelings of these two were as different 
 as their different natures could make them. 
 The young knight in the frosh bloom of his 
 manhood, saw beauty only as it was expected 
 a soldier should see it as something worthy 
 of being honored by the honorablest achieve- 
 ments. The young student in the first soft 
 glow of youth, saw beauty only as in such 
 cases it might be seen of a student as some- 
 thing to worship at a humble distance with 
 the purest and noblest thoughts. The one 
 believing it to be his duty, would have boldly 
 proclaimed the name of Mabel as first in his 
 e.-Uviii wherever he went, the other feeling 
 it to be his natule, would have thought it sa- 
 crilege to have mentioned her name in idle 
 company, although his estimation o! her was 
 not a whit less than was that of his compa- 
 nion. 
 
 They proceeded on in the course directed, 
 at all reasonable opportunities Sir Valentine 
 entertaining of his young associate with a 
 very gallant discourse concerning the doings 
 of certain famous knights 4n love with no- 
 table fair ladies, and ever and anon, season- 
 ing it with divers pretty passages out of Pe- 
 trarcha, his sonnets of love, to which the 
 youthful post would seriously incline his ear, 
 get explaineJ to him whatever he knew not 
 tlie meaning of, and observe, question, and 
 reply upon all he heard, with such spright- 
 liness of wit and ingenuity of learning, as 
 both astonished and delighted his fellow 
 traveller. 
 
 They passed all manner of pleasant man- 
 sions, with excellent parks of deer, and beheld 
 the country round showing a thousand signs 
 
 of the decay of summer, yet still possessing 
 so much of greenness as gave it a semely 
 aspect. Occasionally, they would meet with 
 a brave company going a hawking, each with 
 a favorite bird on the wrist, and riding on an 
 ambling palfrey, accompanied by attendants 
 carrying of other hawks together, perched in 
 a circle, all hooded in their fairest gesses and 
 Milan bells, ready to be cast off at a moment's 
 notice. Anon, they would hear the loud 
 " Soho !" of some eager huntsman, and they 
 would rein in their steeds awhile to see the 
 goodly sight of the hounds in full chase, and 
 the gallant assemblage of men and horses 
 speeding after them over hedge and ditch, 
 hill and hollow, with some a tumbling in this 
 place, others leaping in that, here a steed gal- 
 lopping without his rider, and there a rider 
 running to catch his steed : and a little way 
 further, they would come upon divers honest 
 anglers, pursuing of their delicate sport by 
 the sedgy margin of the brook, to the manifest 
 catching of sundry luce, greyling, perch, 
 jream, and dace, then uselessly flapping of 
 their tails in the angler's basket. 
 
 The partridges hid their heads among the 
 stubble the snipe lurked unseen in the 
 water-courses the wild-ducks floated in 
 locks over the broad ponds and marshy lakes, 
 and the great heron lay in her haunt, amid 
 he thick reeds of the same waters. On a 
 )ranch of a withered old tree upon the banks, 
 he gaudy kingfisher was making a choice 
 repast, and in his hole deep in the sandy soil 
 jeneath, the greedy otter was busying him- 
 self with a like occupation. Great companies 
 of small birds seemed pursuing of each other 
 over the open fields, and far over head the 
 noisy rooks gathered their black bands to 
 ravage the distant country. As the travelers 
 skirted a wood, they observed the nimble 
 conies running into their holes, or a stray 
 leveret rushing hither and thither, without 
 knowing where, scared by the sound of the 
 horses feet. Presently, a young pigeon was 
 noticed plying of her wings with the desperate 
 eagerness of despair, as she left the wood for 
 the open country ; but a murderous hawk fol- 
 lowed in her track, and as she sank panting 
 with agony behind a tree, he swept down 
 upon her sw r ifter than the wind, and in the 
 same minute fixed his sharp talons in her 
 heart. 
 
 Having from many of the laboring coun- 
 try-people continued, as they proceeded, to 
 gain such intelligence as still led them on, 
 they had gone a famous distance, but full of 
 ardor to accomplish their adventure, they 
 pushed forward, regardless of all else, save 
 the rescue of the gentle Mabel. It so hap 
 pened, that at last, to their constant inqui-
 
 124 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ries, nothing profitable was gained. No on 
 had seen any such persons as were des 
 cribed to them. Finding this to be the case 
 they retraced their steps towards the place 
 where they obtained the latest information 
 with the idea, that if any house lay 'conve 
 nient, it was probable there she had been 
 carried. They now rode slowly, and took 
 close scrutiny of the neighborhood. After 
 so doing for some time, they spied a fair 
 house down in a hollow, almost hid up with 
 trees, and completely surrounded with a high 
 wall. Within less than a quarter of a mile 
 of it was a small village, of some half-dozen 
 houses, most distinguishable of which was 
 the open smithy, the little inn, and a shop 
 for the sale of all manner of things needed 
 in such a place. It was thought advisable 
 to make for this village at once, as being the 
 likeliest spot to gain the necessary intelli- 
 gence, and where they could get refresh- 
 ments for themselves and beasts, whilst they 
 made their inquiries. 
 
 As they rode into the yard, William Shaks- 
 peare caught a glimpse of a man, in whose 
 unpleasing features he immediately recog- 
 nized the villain who had struck him when 
 he seized his companion. The fellow saw 
 not who had observed him, for he was busy- 
 playing at bowls under a shed with divers 
 other persons. The youthful poet resolved 
 on saying nothing of this discovery till a 
 more fitting opportunity presented itself, 
 therefore quietly followed the example of the 
 young knight, in dismounting, giving his 
 palfrey in charge to the landlord, and enter- 
 ing the inn. Upon sitting himself in a 
 chamber to which he and Sir Valentine were 
 shown, he observed a decent sort of a man, 
 of a middle age, seated on a settle, with a 
 book in his hand, and a jug of ale on the 
 table before him. As William Shakspeare 
 took himself to make a hearty meal of what 
 was set before him, he gave another glance 
 at the person with the book, and another 
 after that, and he still thought, as he had ima- 
 gined when he first came into the room, that 
 the countenance was familiar to him. Sir 
 Valentine, finding a stranger with them, was 
 pondering with himself whether he should 
 abstain from seeming curious, which might 
 perchance defeat his object, or attempt cau- 
 tiously to make the necessary inquiries of this 
 very person. However, it so fell out, that 
 the stranger raised his eyes from the book, 
 on which he seemed as intent as though he 
 were the most scholarly person that had ever 
 lived, and thereupon encountered the some- 
 what earnest gaze of the youthful Shaks- 
 peare. 
 " Why, surely !" exclaimed the stranger, 
 
 in a pleased surprise " yes, it must be. O 
 my life, 'tis either Will Shakspeare or hia 
 ghost." 
 
 " 'Tis myself, worthy Master Burbage, 
 replied the young poet, proceeding quickly 
 to take the proffered hand of the father of 
 his friend and school-fellow. 
 
 " Glad to see thee, by'r lady !" said the 
 other, giving his young acquaintance a 
 hearty shake of the hand. 
 
 " And how do thy excellent parents and 
 how is Dick, my son and how are all my 
 honest friends at Stratford ?" The youthful 
 Shakspeare quickly gave him the intelli- 
 gence he required ; Sir Valentine remaining 
 silent, yet glad they were known to each 
 other. 
 
 " But what hath brought you here, worthy 
 Master Burbage ?" inquired the young poet 
 at last. 
 
 " Ey, what, indeed !" replied the player, 
 somewhat dolefully. " 'Sprecious ! I would 
 [ had never come nigh the place. Methinks 
 [ cannot help getting myself into a famous 
 trouble on account of it, which may spoil 
 my fortune ever after." 
 
 " Alack, that is woeful news !" observed 
 William Shakspeare. ' But, I pray you, 
 ell me how that is so like to be ?" 
 
 ' Why, this is it," answered Master Bur- 
 >age : "I have been sent down with my 
 company to play stage plays and interludes 
 of the entertainment of some ladies living in 
 
 house hard by." 
 
 " I pray you, tell me if the fellow in green, 
 now playing at bowls, belongeth to that 
 louse ?" inquired the young poet, very 
 ;arnestly. 
 
 " Out of all doubt, he doth," replied the 
 >layer. " He is the serving-man of my 
 ' ady Arabella Comfit." 
 
 " The house hath an ancient look with it, 
 and lieth hid among trees somewhat to the 
 eft of this ?" observed his youthful friend ; 
 and at hearing this, Sir Valentine listened 
 
 ith a very singular curiousness. 
 
 " Ay, that is the place," said Master Bur- 
 age, a little impatiently. " Now, we have 
 >een ordered to get ourselves perfect in a 
 new play by the next day after to-morrow at 
 noon, to play before this noble lady and her 
 riends, at her own house ; and as we are 
 all intent upon studying our parts, a certain 
 xy of our company who playeth principal 
 voman, hath the ill hap to be taken with a 
 esperate illness ; and we know not what 
 o do on account of it, for we cannot play 
 without him ; and it is impossible for him to 
 issist us in any manner, he is in BO bad a 
 tate." 
 
 William Shakspeare mused on their in-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 126 
 
 telligence for some minutes, then asked 
 sundry questions concerning the part the 
 sick boy was to have played, which Master 
 Burbage showed him by the book he had in 
 his hand ; and afterwards, both to the sur- 
 prise of Sir Valentine and the other, offered, 
 on condition Master Burbage should pass 
 off himself and his companion as of his com- 
 pany, he would himself diligently essay the 
 playing of the part the sick boy ought to 
 have played. Drowning men catch at straws ; 
 and just so eagerly did Master Burbage avail 
 himself of this offer promised what was re- 
 quired, and, moreover, offered to give the 
 volunteer such instructions in the playing 
 of the part as might be necessary for him to 
 know. Upon the first opportunity, William 
 Shakspeare told Sir Valentine his reasons 
 for having done as he had ; with the which 
 the latter was so greatly satisfied, that he 
 became a player on the sudden, with as 
 much willingness as he would have entered 
 a battle field. 
 
 CHAPTER XVin. 
 
 Come, I'll be out of this ague, 
 For to live thus is not indeed to live ; 
 It is a mockery and abuse of life ; 
 I will not henceforth save myself by halves ; 
 Loose all or nothing. 
 
 WEBSTER. 
 
 Paul. Thou shall not go in liberty to thy grave, 
 
 For one night a sultana is my slave. 
 Mustapha. A terrible little tyranness. 
 
 MASSIXGER. 
 
 But though this mayden tendre were of age. 
 Yet in the brest of hire virginitee 
 There was enclosed sad and ripe corage. 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 MASTER BURBAGE was delighted at a re- 
 hearsal at finding not only how well his 
 young friend became his petticoats, but how 
 truly and gracefully he enacted the different 
 scenes in which he was to play. Certes 
 William Shakspeare was not a player for 
 the first time, as witness his early playing 
 of Gammer Gurton's Needle, and divers oth 
 er interludes with his schoolfellows Green, 
 Burbage, Hemings, Condell ; but he felt 
 there was a monstrous difference betwixt 
 doing of such things in the manner of school- 
 boys, for their own amusement only, and at- 
 tempting it in the fashion of real players for 
 the entertainment of a gallant company. 
 But by the aid of Master Burbage he got 
 over much of the difficulty. 
 
 The play appeared cunningly writ with 
 
 no other end than to lead to the undoing of 
 the gentle Mabel. At least so thought Sir 
 Valentine and his youthful friend ; and it 
 was agreed between them the young knight 
 should play one of the minor characters in 
 the wbieh there was little to say or do, but 
 excellent opportunity of Sir Valentine's no- 
 ting who were of the company, and if such 
 persons as they expected should be among 
 them, it afforded a mean for her recognizing 
 him, and so knowing friends were near. 
 This was done in case she should not know 
 again the features of William Shakspeare, 
 as he thought it possible she might not. 
 There was another incident in the plot, but 
 this the young player kept to himself. 
 
 The time arrived, and the players were 
 ready. Master Burbage was encouraging 
 his youthful companion with great store of 
 praise, who, dressed in feminine apparel, 
 was to personate a young country girl. In 
 the first scene a noble lover appears, ac- 
 quainting his confidant how he had seen 
 such perfection in womanhood, as he must 
 sigh his heart away for, was he not allowed 
 her sweet society to ease his pain, where- 
 upon in pity of his lord's dolorous moan, the 
 other is made to offer to carry her off on the 
 instant, to the which, seeing no other way 
 of having her, the passionate lover gives 
 his reluctant consent. Then followed an 
 attempt to carry off the damsel, with her 
 rescue by the interference of her friends. 
 Here the young player came upon the stage, 
 which was one end of a large chamber, the 
 players coming in by a door at each side. 
 At the other end he observed four persons 
 sitting, but to his amazement they were all 
 masked, as persons of quality often were. 
 The first near him was a lady of a most 
 graceful figure, dressed in as great magnifi- 
 cence as he had seen Queen Elizabeth at 
 Kenilworth. The next was a gallant, in 
 apparel equally gorgeous, who occasionally 
 turned from the lady to speak to another 
 gallant less nobly clad, sitting on the other 
 side of him, and beyond him was another 
 lady very richly garmented, but in no com- 
 parison with the first. 
 
 Whether the lady so bountifully attired 
 was the fair creature of whom they were in 
 search he had no means of knowing, for she 
 gave no sign of recognition at his appear- 
 ance. When Sir Valentine came on the 
 stage she started somewhat, and asked some 
 questions of her companion, and appeared 
 to take greater interest in the play. Then 
 was enacted her being carried off from her 
 home, to the house of a kinswoman to the 
 noble gallant's confidant. Here the coun- 
 try maid was seen clothed in the richest
 
 126 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 stuffs and jewels, and paid all manner of 
 honorable attention. At the sight of Sir 
 Valentine, again the youthful lady gazed on 
 him with more earnestness than she did be- 
 fore, and her interest in the play evidently 
 gresv deeper and deeper. After ftiis the 
 princely lover entered, and with the fondest 
 rhetoric impiered the love of the seeming 
 Mabel, till he so moved her, as it appeared, 
 she was content to promise him all manner 
 of happiness, to his infinite contentation. 
 -To end all, there was to be a soliloquy to be 
 spoken by the heroine, in which she was to 
 applaud herself to the echo for her gener- 
 ousness in behalf of a gentleman who had 
 shown towards her such extreme honor, and 
 vow to be his true love, and his alone ever 
 after, till death should put asunder their 
 mutual loving hearts. 
 
 This the players considered the difficult- 
 est passage of the whole, to be done with 
 proper effect. As yet their new companion 
 had conducted himself beyond their expec- 
 tations ; but this long soliloquy was a diffi- 
 cult part for the ablest ; and fears were en- 
 tertained he might lose himself in it, and so 
 break down. To prevent this as much as 
 possible, Master Burbage stationed himself 
 at one of the open doors, so as not to be in 
 fight of the audience, to prompt him in case 
 he was at a loss. There was the fictitious 
 Mabel, in all the splendor of her supposed 
 greatness, and there stood the anxious 
 prompter with book in hand, hoping with all 
 his might the play would end as well as it 
 had proceeded. The prompter gave the 
 cue, but to his extreme astonishment the 
 young player spoke words clean different. 
 The prompter in an agony of dread that all 
 would be marred, gave out the cue again 
 somewhat louder, but still the young player 
 proceeded with a speech as opposite to that 
 he ought to have said as two different things 
 could be. Horror-struck, the poor player 
 cast down his book, and began pulling of 
 his hair, kicking the ground, and muttering 
 imprecations against the author of his ruin, 
 as he imagined the youthful Shakspeare to 
 be, that all the players came marvelling to 
 see what had produced such strange effects. 
 
 But if Master Burbage was so moved, 
 not less so was the lady nighest to the stage. 
 Her three companions were engaged in 
 earnest converse, without paying the slight- 
 est attention to whnt was passing elsewhere. 
 The intentness of the three to the subject 
 of their converse, did not escape the notice 
 of the young player ; and though he sus- 
 pected the fair deity of his dreams was the 
 lady who paid such unceasing attention to 
 the play, he essayed to^have some certain 
 
 knowledge of it by a device of his own. 
 Therefore instead of speaking the proper 
 soliloquy, he spoke the following passage, 
 which he had written to say in its place, if 
 circumstances served : 
 
 " Now with my heart let me hold conference. 
 This lord, he speaks me fair, he clothes me fine, 
 He entertains me honorably and well ; 
 But how know I his purport in all this ? 
 Is it in honesty, is it in respect i 
 Doth it mean well or ill, or good or bad ? 
 His words are cups that brim all o'er with love, 
 But is there sign of wedding in this cheer ? 
 Perchance the love he proffers comes to me 
 In some polluted vessel, that hath been 
 Lipped by dishonored'maids in wantonness, 
 Or drained by thoughtless women in their 
 
 shame ? 
 
 These gaudy trappings, are they meant to be 
 The tire of marriage sent by honest love, 
 Or the more tawdry livery of guilt ? 
 And all this splendor, all this bounteous state, 
 This worship, travail, reverence, and respect 
 'Tis prodigal, 'tis admirable, 'tis rare, 
 Most choice, most noble, delicate, and sweet 
 But doth it cover any meaner thing ? 
 A thing so base, so vile, so infamous, 
 It doth require to be thus thickly gilt 
 To make the metal take a sterling shape ? 
 I'll think of this." 
 
 The lady appeared somewhat agitated 
 during the delivery of these passages, and 
 leaned forward in her chair, drinking in 
 every word, evidently with the most intense 
 interest. The young player noticing these 
 signs, and observing too that her companions 
 were still paying no heed to him, proceeded 
 with these words : 
 
 " Alack, I cannot doubt 
 Tnese words mean villainy, these garments 
 
 shame, 
 
 This entertainment mischiefs of the worst. 
 Methinks the very air I breathe, feels thick 
 With craft and malice, treachery and crime ! 
 And I am here alone far from all help 
 Close watched, well guarded, providently kept. 
 But hush ! there needs great caution. Not a 
 
 word, 
 
 A sound, a gesture, dare I give to show 
 I look suspiciously upon these schemes. 
 And yet there might be present even here . 
 Friends \ho would strain their hearts for my 
 
 escape, 
 
 Showed I some sign I would assay their aid. 
 At least I'll let them see I wear a face 
 That needs no mask for I can truly swear 
 As yet it holds no intercourse with shame." 
 
 In an instant the mask was taken off the 
 lady so deeply interested in the play, and, 
 as the youthful Shakspeare had for some 
 minutes anticipated, he beheld the guileless, 
 beautiful countenance of the gentle Mabel,
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 127 
 
 flashed with excitement, and gazed upon 
 him with so imploring anxious a look, it w;i> 
 plain she had felt every word he had uttered. 
 The face was again masked, quite unob- 
 served by her companions. The young 
 player made a sign of recognition, and con- 
 cluded with these lines : 
 
 " These friends I'll trust, I know they may be 
 
 found 
 
 Out by the gate that ends the garden wall. 
 There will I seek them with what speed I may ; 
 Having assurance, by their means to 'scape 
 The living hell that holds me round about ; 
 And back return to innocence and peace, 
 An honored dwelling, and a spotless name." 
 
 " Come, sweetest, the play is ended," 
 whispered her noble gallant. Mabel me- 
 chanically rose, and accompanied her to 
 his own chamber. Her feelings were in 
 such a state of tumult she dared not speak. 
 She repeated to herself the lines 
 
 " 1 know they may be found 
 Out by the gate that ends the garden wall," 
 
 as if she would impress them so firmly on 
 her memory, there could be no chance of her 
 forgetting them : she also remembered the 
 hint that had been given her to be cautious, 
 but she had been so little accustomed to dis- 
 guise, that here she somewhat feared for 
 herself. The revulsion of feeling had been 
 so deep, so strong, and so sudden from a sense 
 of security and gratitude to a sense of dis- 
 gust and abhorrence, that it left her for 
 some minutes so greatly bewildered, she 
 scarce knew what she was about. Present- 
 ly, her lover and herself unmasked. The 
 signs of a disturbed nature so visible in her, 
 he seemed to expect as a natural conse- 
 quence of his craftily-devised play, and he 
 had not the slightest doubt it had produced 
 all the effect he had desired. It was time 
 now, he thought, to follow up his advantage 
 before the simple girl could have opportunity 
 for reflection, and he made himself ready, 
 with the desperate earnestness of a deter- 
 mined profligate, to conclude the plot against 
 her, as it had been settled by his companions 
 in iniquity, during the delivery of the con- 
 cluding soliloquy. He came close to her, 
 and wound his arm fondly round her waist, 
 as she was endeavoring to put her disorder- 
 ed thoughts into something resembling pur- 
 pose, bringing his face as near to hers as he 
 might, and gazing into her eyes with the most 
 fond and passionate glances. 
 
 " My sweet life," murmured he, in such 
 soft and thrilling tones as he fancied would 
 be most effective, " We dally with opportu- 
 nity. The happiness I have so long coveted 
 and so thoroughly strove to deserve, should 
 
 now, methinks, be my just reward. Love 
 beckons us to mutual bliss. Hither with me 
 i awhile, upon those balmy lips to breathe new 
 i life, and taste such joy as the enamored soul 
 | alone can know. Prithee, come this way, 
 I my heart ! my queen ! my treasure !" 
 j The gentle Mabel allowed herself to be borne 
 I unresistingly towards the nexfc chamber 
 seemingly as if stupefied by the fascinating 
 gaze of her licentious companion, who hung 
 over her exquisite countenance as he drew 
 her along, like a gloating serpent but the 
 noble pride of her nature at last made itself 
 manifest, for as she came near the door, on a 
 sudden she burst from his hold, and retreat- 
 ing back a pace or two, fixed on him a look 
 of such utter scorn as would have crushed a 
 meaner wretch to the earth. 
 
 " Thou shameless villain !" exciaimed 
 she, her voice half choked with the fulness 
 of her emotions. " Thou pitiful traitor to 
 all true love and honesty ! Dost call this 
 nobleness ? Dost style this honor ? How 
 darest thou attempt to pass off such base- 
 ness for the behavior of a princely person ?" 
 " Why, how now ?" cried the gallant in 
 real astonishment. " What meaneth this 
 unworthy language and these terrible indig- 
 nant looks ?" 
 
 " What mean they ?" replied the poor 
 foundling, her lustrous eyes flashing with 
 scorn, and her whole countenance, as he 
 had justly observed, looking terribly indig- 
 nant. " They mean that thou hast been 
 hugely mistaken in me, as hitherto have I 
 been in thee. I am not of such worthless 
 stuff as thou hast supposed. I did believe 
 thee all thou didst assume, and therefore, 
 felt no fear. Thou didst seem honorable. 
 I thought thee so." 
 
 " Prithee, let us have no more of this," 
 observed the gallant, impatiently. " I mar- 
 vel thou shouldst get into so famous a pas- 
 sion about nothing, after having enjoyed at 
 my expense such bounteous entertainment." 
 " I needed it not I asked it not," answer- 
 ed Mabel. " It was forced on me under color 
 | of honorable intents ; but now I know the 
 baseness of its ends, I will not be a partaker 
 of it another minute of my life." 
 
 " Not so fast, my pretty tyrantess !" ex- 
 claimed her companion. " I cannot part 
 with thee so soon, or lessen the splendor 
 of which thou hast so liberally partaken. 
 Nor can I believe thou wouldst play so ill 
 a part as this thoa art about. Come, come, 
 sweetest ! this humor becomes thee not at 
 all." 
 
 " Away I am not to be beguiled !" cried 
 the fair foundling, eluding his approaches. 
 " Nay, 'tis too hard a thing I cannot think
 
 128 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 of it," replied the other, standing before the 
 ioor she sought to make her exit out of. " I 
 must not see my full great pains and cost 
 all come to nought 'tis out of justice and 
 against all right. Marry, wouldst take thy 
 pleasure and not pay the price !" 
 
 " I tell thee once again, I took it, thinking 
 it was honorably given," said Mabel. " Thou 
 didst not mention price, thou talked of honor ! 
 Didst think that I would barter away my own 
 respect to lie in costly lodging and be clothed 
 in delicate attire ? Take back thy pitiful 
 bribes," continued she, as she tore from her 
 person her jewels, her chains of gold, and 
 sparkling rings, and dashed them at his feet. 
 " I loathe all I have had of thee I loathe 
 still more the villain who could put them to 
 so base a purpose." 
 
 "Ha, dost, indeed!" exclaimed her gal- 
 lant, his face now assuming some anger. 
 " O' my life, I will not be so easily thrust 
 aside. I have done what ough't to satisfy 
 any reasonable woman. Indeed, I have had 
 more cost and pains taken with thee than 
 with any half dozen others I have fancied ; 
 but if fair words will not do with thee, foul 
 deeds shall. Thou art so completely in my 
 power that resistance is useless. 'Tis vain 
 struggling. Thou must needs submit." 
 
 " Oh, I beseech thee, have some pity !" 
 cried the poor foundling, falling on^her knees 
 at his feet with a look so moving, the sa- 
 vagest beast must have been tamed at the 
 sight of it. " Surely, thou meanest not 
 such evil as thou speakest ; I cannot think 
 so ill of thee. Thou art, indeed, that princely 
 'person I once thought, and knowest and feel- 
 est in thy inmost heart, it is no part of no- 
 bleness to wrong a poor maid. Let me go 
 in honor from thy house, Til pray for thee 
 all my days. I'll hold thee ever alter a true 
 good "friend a bountiful sweet lord, the very 
 noblest gentleman that breathes. My lord 
 my worthy lord my honorable, good lord 
 as (jod shall pity thee, so pity my poor state." 
 
 She might have implored a stone. The 
 licentious noble, with his looks burning with 
 his dishonest passions, drew her in his arms 
 towards the adjoining chamber, though she 
 clung to his limbs with desperate grasp, and 
 continued withstrainingeyeballsand hoarse- 
 thick voice, to pray his mercy. As he held 
 her before him, her hands, clutching him 
 wildly as she was borne along, at one time 
 fell upon the jewelled pommel of his dagger. 
 In a moment the blade was out of its sheath 
 in the next she had twisted herself free of 
 his grasp, and stood at some distance from 
 him, \vith one hand striving to stay the throb- 
 bing of her heart, and the other, holding out 
 the weapon threateningly before her. The 
 
 beauty of her countenance was now abso- 
 lutely sublime. There was in it a lofty 
 grandeur of expression that can scarce be 
 conceived. Her eyes seemed fountains of 
 living lightning, and her beautiful lips ap- 
 peared to curl with an unutterable sense of 
 outraged majesty no language can give the 
 remotest idea of. 
 
 " Touch me at thy peril !" exclaimed she, 
 as audible as her perturbed state would al- 
 low. Her companion seemed so completely 
 taken by astonishment, that for a moment he 
 stared at her as if uncertain what to be about. 
 At last he made a movement as if he would 
 approach her, and on the instant, her left 
 arm was pointed towards him as stiffly as 
 though it had been iron, whilst her right 
 clutched the dagger a little behind her. 
 She elevated herself to her full height, and 
 threw her head somewhat back, with a look 
 and a manner that showed a stern determi- 
 nation. 
 
 " I warn thee !" muttered the poor found- 
 ling, in a terrible earnestness ; " if thou 
 dost but come within arm's length of me to 
 follow up thy villainous intentions, as Jesu 
 shall save my soul, I'll cleave thy heart in 
 twain !" 
 
 The profligate drew back. He dared not 
 battle with the fierce storm lie had raised ; 
 so, saying he would send to her those who 
 would soon have her out of her tragedy hu- 
 mor, he turned on his heel to seek the as- 
 sistance of his vile associates. Mabel, in 
 the same attitude, and with the same look, 
 followed him step by step to the door. When 
 she heard his departing foot, she looked to 
 the fastenings, there were none inside the 
 chamber she dropped her dagger and clasp- 
 ed her hands in despair. On a sudden, a 
 thought struck her. She ran to the case- 
 ment and threw it open. It looked into the 
 garden, above which it shxxl some ten feet. 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation she leaped 
 out, and muling herself safe when she came 
 to the ground, tiew down the garde:i like an 
 escaped bird. Keeping the wall in view, she 
 came, out of breath, to a door at its extremi- 
 ty. It was partly open. She dashed through 
 it, staggered forward, and fell, with a wild 
 hysterical laugh, into the ready arms of Sir 
 Valentine.
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 129 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Forth goeth all the court, both most and lest, 
 To fetch the floures fresh, and branch and blome, 
 And namely hauthorn brought both page and 
 
 grome 
 
 And then rejoysen in their great delite : 
 Eke ech at other throw the floures bright, 
 The primrose, the violete, and the gold, 
 With fresh garlants party blew and white. 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 There's not a budding boy or girl, this dny 
 But is got up, and gone to bring in May. 
 A deaie of youth, ere this, is come 
 Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 
 
 HERRICK. 
 
 In this our spacious isle I think there is not one, 
 But he hath heard some talk of him and eke of 
 
 Little John, 
 Of TUCK the merry friar, which many a sermon 
 
 made [trade, 
 
 In praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws, and their 
 And of his mistress dear, his loved Marian. 
 
 DRAYTON. 
 
 Shall the hobby horse be forgot then ? 
 The hopeful hobby horse, shall he lie foundered? 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 THE feeling with which the youthful poet 
 regarded the fair object of his recent adven- 
 ture, if it should be called love, was very dif- 
 ferent from the passion which goeth under 
 that name. In fact, it was more a senti- 
 ment than a passion rather the offspring of 
 the intellect than of the affections. It was 
 the first rosy hues of light which ushereth 
 in the sunshine of the soul, producing the 
 fairest glimpses of heaven, before the atmos- 
 phere hath heat enough to warm the blood. 
 Love it was beyond all doubt, but it was that 
 peculiar species which is found only to visit 
 the very young and very imaginative. It is 
 true it hatii a natural source, but it is equal- 
 ly undeniable, it dwolleth in the fairy regions 
 of the ideal. Where there is early sign of 
 great intellect, there will also be found a 
 lite early sign of deep feeling. The one is 
 supported by the other, fostered, encouraged, 
 and fed by it. Beauty is indeed the air it 
 breathes, but imagination is the soil from 
 which it draws its nourishment. The boy 
 genius is ever the boy lover, and having 
 found some gentle being worthy to be en- 
 shrined in the sanctuary of his hopes, he 
 proceeds not only to invest her image with 
 all loveable .attributes, but with such loveable 
 behavior as seemeth most proper for the en- 
 tertainment of his fantasy. 
 
 He finds a spirit rising over his thoughts, 
 
 which gives them a sort of softened halo, 
 
 that at some favorable opportunity taketh the 
 
 shape of song or sonnet delicately fashioned 
 
 9 
 
 a sensible adoration an inspiration be 
 ginning and ending in a spiritual heaven of 
 its own. Ideas take to themselves wings, 
 and fly east and west, and north and south, 
 ! bringing back the riches, rarities, and per- 
 j fections of the whole globe with which to 
 I deck this favored deity. He ransacks the 
 deepest hollows of the sea ^ie snatches 
 glory from the shining stars he makes the 
 enamelled earth show all her bravest tapestry 
 that he may choose the daintiest piece of all 
 and far above, beneath, arounjj, and about, 
 where splendor shines, or modest beauty 
 hides, he bears away their gifts, as offerings 
 worthiest of so pure a shrine. 
 
 Truly, as hath just been said, this is the 
 
 ! love of the cool morning of life, that differ- 
 
 eth as much in its nature from the blushing 
 
 sunrise of youth, as from the noon-tide 
 
 heats of manhood ; and like unto that early 
 
 season of the day, it soon glides into a 
 
 . warmer atmosphere. Love, such as this, 
 
 will always be found to have no purpose, 
 
 save the deification of its object, which it 
 
 loves to,, worship, rather than worships to 
 
 love. This way it goeth on, like the silk- 
 
 i worm in its cocoon, only known by the 
 
 pleasing mantle it weaves around itself; and 
 
 ; having at last spent all its energies, it comes 
 
 I forth, some brief space after its labors, as 
 
 i different in character and appearance as any 
 
 i two things can be. 
 
 This love, though, let it be remembered, 
 made William Shakspeare a poet, some sign 
 of which, albeit, it must be thought of all 
 judges, one of no particular greatness, may 
 be seen in the simple ballad found by the 
 antiquary in the book of songs, which did 
 ; so much delight the good old knight and his 
 companions ; but it should aLso be borne in 
 mind, such are ever first efforts. The ma- 
 terials of poetry may lie in prodigal heaps 
 i within the brain, but the fashioning them 
 i into the properest shape comes but after 
 j many trials. The soliloquy the young poet 
 spoke in the place of the one intended to end 
 the play, deserveth praise only for the readi- 
 ness with which it was written, and aptness 
 for the occasion which wrought it into ex- 
 i istence. It cannot bo expected the finish of 
 an experienced writer, or the sufficiency of 
 i a mature genius should be found in such 
 I things. They should be taken merely for 
 | what they appear. Nevertheless, if it be 
 i thought the poet was but in his pot-hooks, 1 
 doubt not in good time to show such craft of 
 j penmanship in him, as shall be all men's ad- 
 I miration unto the end of time. 
 
 Still was he as diligent a student as ever ; 
 and never could scholar have more careful 
 teachers than William Shakspeare had in
 
 130 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Master Peregrine, the antiquary, and Sir 
 Johan, the chaplain. Ever since the affair 
 of the ballad, each of these two watched till 
 they could find the young student alone, and 
 then they would strive as never thay strove 
 before he should profit by their instructions, 
 in full belief all the whilst, that from his 
 teaching alone, the youth had gained all the 
 knowledge he possessed. By their means 
 he obtained such an acquaintance with what 
 was worthiest of note in ancient English 
 literature, and Greek and Latin classic lore, 
 as it was scarce possible he could have ob- 
 tained by any other means. But about this 
 time he began more to observe than he had 
 hitherto done. He mado comparisons he 
 judged he looked into the meanings of 
 things he commenced studying the appli- 
 cation of words, and he analyzed and weigh- 
 ed, and sifted what he read, and what he 
 saw, till he could point out where lay the 
 good and where the bad how they might 
 be distinguished, and what was the differ- 
 ence between any two particular matters 
 that looked to be alike. This study was not 
 confined to books : he pursued it wherever 
 he went, and found no lack of subjects in 
 the common phenomena of nature. Jven a 
 drop of rain was some object for speculation 
 the shooting of a star, the fructification of 
 a plant, and the falling of a leaf seemed as 
 worthy of inquiry. A storm never rolled 
 over him but the lightning flashed some new 
 meaning into his mind and he never wit- 
 nessed the rising of the sun, but with it 
 came some fresh light into his thoughts. As 
 he saw the emmets crowding to and fro 
 among the grass, he would say, " Wherefore 
 is this ?" and whilst he watched the builders 
 of the grove making their delicate dwellings 
 in the forked branches of the tree, he would 
 exclaim, (i How is this done ?" High or low 
 he sent his curious mind seeking intelli- 
 gence. Nothing escaped him, and to his 
 eager questionings, all things in nature gave 
 him ready answers. 
 
 The gentle Mabel he saw not again all 
 this time. He frequented her favorite haunts, 
 but she was nowhere visible. Day after day 
 found him stealing among the trees where 
 he had so oft watched her graceful progress, 
 but his anxious gaze was never blessed with 
 the slightest sign of her presence. He 
 changed the time. He took the early morn- 
 ing by the hand and roamed the park before 
 the hind had left his bed of rushes ; but 
 though nature rose wooingly to meet his 
 glance, lie looked upon her graces only as a 
 sort of faint cold picturing of those he de- 
 sired to meet in all their living freshness in 
 a much fairer original. He made himself 
 
 familiar with the moon, and still did nature 
 court him with her lovingest looks, and still 
 did she receive -such attentions as proved 
 she was merely regarded as the ambassador 
 of the fair sovereign of his thoughts. And 
 he lingered out the hours with twilight, till 
 she was lost in the embraces of the shadowy 
 eve, but with no other result than had ac- 
 companied his earlier seeking. Thus passed 
 the winter, till the frost was gone, the hearth- 
 side tales forgotten, the Christmas sports but 
 faintly remembered, and everything around 
 was full of green promise and blooming ex- 
 pectation. 
 
 The chief companions of his own age 
 had long been the four" schoolfellows before 
 described of whom Tom Greene was such a 
 compound of oddness and drollery as was 
 not to be met with elsewhere. None like 
 him could play the Hobby-horse in Friar 
 Tuck, or the Fool in the May Games, or tiie 
 Lord of Misrule in a Twelfth Night revel, or 
 the Vice of a Moral Play. At plough Mon- 
 day none was so much in request, and not 
 less so was he at Candlemas eve, or Shrove- 
 tide, or Hocktide, or at Witsun-ales, at a 
 sheep-shearing, or a harvest home. Dick 
 Burbage was more for the playing of inge- 
 nious tricks, which he carried off with such 
 a careless happy impudence, that its pleas- 
 antry often took away all offence. Hemings 
 had none of this humor, though he could 
 enjoy it in others ; yet when he joined his 
 companions, he choose to play a courtly part, 
 if such could be had. As for Condell he 
 was ready enough to do whatever the others 
 did. He would play with them at shuffle 
 board, or shove-groat, in a mumming, or an 
 interlude, as eagerly as he would join them 
 in running at the quintain, or assist them in 
 the threshing of a shrove-tide hen. In fact 
 he seemed to care not what it was, so he 
 was one of the party, but if he might be 
 allowed a preference he would gladly stand 
 out for the playing of Gammer Gurton's 
 Needle. 
 
 During the time his thoughts were so busy 
 feeding of his fantasy for the fair maid of 
 Charlcote, William Shakspeare had joined 
 his companions but seldom. In very truth 
 he somewhat shrunk from their boisterous 
 mirth, for he liked best to be alone ; but 
 seeing nought of Mabel, his mind for want 
 of that necessary . nourishment, relaxed 
 something in the earnestness of its worship 
 At such an age and with such a nature this 
 ideal idolatry requireth at least the frequent 
 presence of the object, before it can take 
 upon itself that warmer devotion which alon 
 is lasting and natural ; and without sight ol 
 the idol, the mere imaginative existence of
 
 THE YOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 131 
 
 this boyish love soon becomes manifest. 
 Gradually the thoughts relax in their search- 
 ing after admirable things with which to 
 tire their gentle deity. They go not so far 
 they stay not so long they bring home 
 less and less every day ; and thus it goeth 
 on, the circuit of their visits lessening by 
 degrees, and their labor becoming corres- 
 pondingly unprofitable, till at last they cease 
 altogether going on any such errands. Now 
 it may be considered, the idolatry is at an 
 end, though some faint vestige of it may 
 linger about the mind ; but it is a bygone 
 superstition belonging to an ideal world, that 
 will only be remembered by some beautiful 
 presence in nature with which it was wont 
 to be accompanied, as some will still believe 
 they see the dryad in the tree and the nymph 
 in the fountain. This was the time for en- 
 tertaining that deeper worship to which al- 
 lusion has just been made, and the young 
 poet was not long without, meeting with a 
 suitable deity willing to excite and to re- 
 ceive it. 
 
 Hemings' friends lived at Shottery. a vil- 
 lage at a little distance from Stratford, to 
 which William Shakspeare and others of 
 his companions occasionally resorted, and 
 one pleasant afternoon as the young poet 
 was returning from a visit he had been pay" 
 ing to his schoolfellow, he was aroused from 
 his customary meditations when alone, by a 
 sweet voice singing these words : 
 
 THE SPINSTER'S SONG. 
 
 " Damon came a praising me, 
 
 Vowing that he loved me too 
 None like I so fair could be, 
 
 None like him ould be so true. 
 I meant to chide, but spoke no sound 
 And still my wheel went round and round. 
 
 " Damon, somewhat bolder grown, 
 In his hand mine fondly placed, 
 Pressed it gently in his own, 
 
 Then his arm twined round my waist. 
 Somehow I smiled instead of frowned, 
 And still my wheel went round and round. 
 
 " Damon brought his face nigh mine, 
 
 Though he knows I kisses hate ; 
 I would baulk his base desisrn 
 
 But, the wretch, he did it straight ! 
 And then again ! and still I found 
 That still my wheel went round and round." 
 
 During the singing of these verses, the 
 young poet was engaged in observing the 
 singer. At a little distance from the road, 
 running between Shottery and Stratford, was 
 a neat cottage, trailed all over with a goodly 
 pear tree, then in full blossom, with a grass 
 
 plat before it. It was not one of the com- 
 mon sort of cottages, for it possessed an ap- 
 pearance of comfort and respectability which 
 showed it belonged to some person at least 
 of the rank of a yeoman. There was in 
 one place a famous brood of poultry, and in 
 another a good fat sow, with a litter of pigs, 
 wandering about at their will. A fair gar- 
 den and orchard stood beyond the house, 
 and in a neat paddock at the side were a cow 
 and a favorite pony. At the open door, 
 through which might be seen notable signs 
 of the solid comfort that prevailed within, 
 some two or three very young children were 
 taking of their supper of porridge in wooden 
 bowls, occasionally throwing a spoonful to 
 the fowls, to the monstrous gratification of 
 both parties ; whilst farther off a boy, of some 
 eight or ten years was amusing himself with 
 a tame rabbit. The singer, however, was 
 none of these. At a spinning wheel, placed 
 close to the house at a few yards from the 
 door, there sat a blooming girl, attired with 
 that sort of daintiness with which such fair 
 creatures do love to set off their comeliness. 
 She was the singer. There was a laughing 
 careless air with her as she sung the words, 
 that, in the eyes of the spectator, much 
 heightened the provocation of her pointing 
 lips, and large, soft, languishing eyes, her 
 rich dark complexion, and the budding full- 
 ness of her figure. 
 
 William Shakspeare had crept unseen be- 
 hind a large walnut tree that stood in front 
 of the cottage, where he stood like one spell- 
 bound, drinking in at his eyes such intoxi- 
 cating draughts of beauty, that they put him 
 into a steep forgetfulness of all other mat- 
 ters in a presently; and here doubtless he 
 would have stood, I know not how long, had 
 not the singer made some sign she was aware 
 of his vicinity perchance she knew it all 
 the time however, spying of a handsome 
 youth gazing on her in a manner she could 
 not misinterpret, she rose from her seat in a 
 seeming great surprise, and as she did so 
 the young poet, in voluntary homage to the 
 power he had so well inclined to honor, un- 
 covered his head. There they stood, notic- 
 ing of nothing but each other, and neither 
 saying a word. All at once the little chil- 
 dren dropped their bowls, and with infantile 
 exclamations of delight ran as fast as they 
 could to a tall, honest-looking, manly sort of 
 a man, who with a keg slung across his 
 shoulders, and in a wo'rking dress, seemed as 
 if he had just come from his labor in the 
 fields. The young poet turned and beheld 
 this person close behind him, with the chil- 
 dren clinging to his legs with every appear- 
 ance of exquisite sweet pleasure.
 
 132 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " Hallo, young sir ! what dost want ?" ] himself in the chimney corner, where thero 
 inquired he, eyeing the youthful Shaks- ! were seats on each side. William Shaks- 
 
 peare with some curiousness. 
 
 " Truly, I want nothing," replied the latter, 
 a little taken by surprise, as it were ; " I 
 was but attracted here by some sweet sing- 
 ing, and did not imagine I was doing of any 
 wrong by listening." 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed the elder, perfectly 
 conscious that this was the truth ; for he, 
 having been behind the youth from the first, 
 had witnessed the whole affair. " What's 
 thy name?" added he. 
 
 " William Shakspeare," was the answer. 
 
 " Thought so, give's thee hand," said the 
 other frankly, and in the next moment the 
 young poet found his palm grasped by his 
 new acquaintance with a friendliness that 
 quite astonished him. " Thy father and I 
 are old friends from boys. Ask of him if he 
 know not Jolm Hathaway. Many a time 
 hath he been in my house, and as oft have I 
 
 peare did as he was bid, nothing loath, and 
 presently the two fell into conversing about 
 ordinary matters, and from these to other 
 topics of more interest. The young visitor 
 appeared desirous of making a favorable 
 impression upon his host, for he endeavored 
 to make all his talk turn upon what the 
 other was most familiar with, and spoke so 
 learnedly upon the state of the crops, the 
 best system of tillage, the prospects of the 
 lambing season, and the breed of live stock, 
 that he not only won the honest yeoman's 
 heart, but he astonished him monstrously 
 into the bargain. All the whilst he failed 
 not to give an occasional admiring glance at 
 the movements of his new friend's buxom 
 daughter, who for her part seemed to give 
 back his looks with some interest. 
 
 "How dost like our Anne's singing? 1 ' 
 inquired John Hathaway, when his daughter 
 
 been in his ; and famous sport have we had had left the chamber to put the children to 
 
 together, I'll warrant. But some how I have their beds. 
 
 seen nought of him of late. As for thyself, " Very exceedingly I do assure you," 
 
 I have heard very creditable report of thee,' 
 and therefore say, with all heartiness, I am 
 glad to see thee here so thou must needs 
 come in and take a bit of supper with us." 
 William Shakspeare was in no mood for 
 
 replied the youth, with a notable sincerity. 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed the father, as 
 though he were a thinking of something he 
 cared not to give speech to. " Indeed she 
 nath a sweet throat." Nothing more was 
 
 refusing of such a request ; he accepted the said on that head at that moment ; and they 
 invitation as freely as it was" given, and both | again talked of country matters, till his host 
 entered the cottage together. There the j cound not any longer contain his great won- 
 rack filled with bacon the logs blazing i dering at his guest's marvellous insight into 
 comfortably in the deep chimney, with the such things, and inquired how he acquired 
 
 gun hanging above, and the store of platters, 
 bowls, trenchers, and other household things 
 that surrounded him on every side, were 
 most convincing proof to the visitor that the 
 owner lived in no sort of want. 
 
 " Here, Anne, take these things, and draw 
 us a jug of ale," cried John Hathaway, put- 
 ting down on the table what he had carried 
 on his shoulder, as the singer hastened to- 
 w.irds him, and would have a kiss with the 
 resV a proceeding by the way, which his 
 guest regarded with something of envy. 
 " Then put these young ones to their beds, 
 and afterwards cut us a delicate rasher, with 
 such other things as thou hast for eating ; 
 for here is the son of an honest friend of 
 mine who meaneth to sup with us." 
 
 " You shall have a most dainty supper 
 anon, father," replied his daughter, busying 
 herself without dela^ to do as she was re- 
 quired. In the meanwhile the youthful 
 Shakspeare was making friends with the 
 children, and by the kind affectionateness of 
 
 it ; whereupon the other truly answered he 
 got it questioning of those whose business 
 it was. In good time the yeoman's bloom- 
 ing daughter returned, ajid busied herself 
 with preparations for supper, taking care 
 whenever she could to have her share in 
 the discourse which she did with a pretty 
 sprightliness exceedingly agreeable to her 
 young admirer. Seeing her attempting to 
 move the great table nearer to the fire, he 
 must needs jump up, and ,vith a graceful 
 officiousness, geek to do it himself, the 
 which she appeared to object to in some 
 manner, and there was a little arguing ot 
 the matter betwixt them the father looking 
 on with a glimmering smile, as if he could 
 see in it something exceeding pleasant. 
 The end was, that the two young people 
 carried the table together, manifestly to 
 their extreme satisfaction. 
 
 This John Hathaway was one of the most 
 industrious yeomen in the country, and had 
 been sometime a widower. He was of a 
 
 his manner quickly von their little hearts. I famous pleasant temper, but was far from 
 " Come, draw up *liy chair, friend Will, i making a boisterous show of it. He delight- 
 and take a drink," said his host, seating j ed greatly to assist in the honest pleasures ot
 
 THE YOUTH OF .SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 133 
 
 any other, yet few could guess from his 
 manner on such occasions, that he took the 
 interest in it he did. Imbed he was some- 
 what of a sly humor, and liked none to know 
 when he was most pleased. His honest, 
 well-embrowned countenance, set off with 
 hair and beard, getting to be grey, never 
 ventured on such occasions beyond a lurking 
 smile, and even then he seemed to take care 
 the parties who had excited it, should not 
 see. Doubtless -he was in a rare humor 
 with his new acquaintance, but though he 
 lacked nothing in hospitality, he appeared to 
 hear him and regard him with so staid an 
 aspect, it was difficult for the latter to know 
 whether he was satisfied with him or other- 
 wise. Still the youth continued seeking to 
 entertain his host with his converse/having 
 sufficient reward in the approving glances of 
 the other's sprightly daughter, who was well 
 enough acquainted with such things to take 
 a singular pleasure in observing the skill 
 with which heryonng admirer spoke of them. 
 In dae time the rashers were done, and 
 with a store of other wholesome victual, 
 were put on a fair white cloth, that covered 
 the table, and William Shak*peare was 
 pressed with blunt courtesy by the father, 
 and a more winning persuasiveness by the 
 daughter, lo partake of the fare set before 
 
 iis daughter relished it there could be no 
 questioning, for her smiles were full as evi- 
 dent as her praises. 
 
 " Now friend Will, thee must be a going," 
 ixclaimed John Hathaway at last, in his 
 usual plain countryman sort of manner. 
 ' 'Tis my custom to go to bed with the lamb, 
 and rise with the lark an excellent good 
 custom I'll warrant so I'll e'en bid thee a 
 fair good night nevertheless I will add to it 
 I shall be happy to see thee at all times 
 and if I be not at home, perchance Anne will 
 be as happy to see thee as myself." He 
 aid this with a look of humor that shone 
 through all the staidness of his aspect, and 
 shaking his visitor heartily by the hand, he 
 opened the door for his exit. His daughter 
 denied not a word of what her father had 
 said. Indeed, her glances, as she bade the 
 youth good night, as plainly said " Come 
 again," as ever was expressed by a pair of 
 bright eyes since the world began. 
 
 William Shakspeare returned home with 
 his feelings in a sort of delicious pleasure, 
 perfectly new to him. Be sure he would 
 have hastened to the cottage next day, only 
 
 him. 
 good 
 
 This he essayed to do with a notable 
 will. After this the blooming Anne 
 
 brewed a goodly posset, and whilst they 
 were enjoying it, her father called on her to 
 sing him a song, the which she seemed a 
 little, a very little to hesitate upon, with a 
 sort of pretty coyness time out of mind cus- 
 tomary under similar circumstances, but 
 after the handsome youth had pressed her 
 with an excellent show of rhetoric, she sung 
 a dainty ditty, then popular, concerning of 
 " The little pretty Nightingale," and at least 
 one of the listeners thought it most exqui- 
 site sweet singing. Then John Hathaway 
 would needs have a song of his guest, to 
 the which his daughter added her entreaties 
 so prettily, the youthful Shakspeare found it 
 impossible to resist, whereupon he com- 
 menced the singing of a favorite love-song 
 of the time, beginning " If I had wytt for to 
 endyte.*' The words were of a pleasant 
 conceit which gained considerably in ad- 
 mirableness by the manner of his singing, 
 and the tune, by means of his rich, clear 
 voice, came upon the air a very river of 
 melody. Whether the yeomen liked the 
 song could only be told by the pleasure 
 lurking in the corners of his mouth, and 
 shining quaintly in his half-closed eye-lids, 
 which might ba interpreted he saw more in 
 
 he 
 
 was forced to be at Sir Marmaduke's 
 to promise. The old knight took 
 
 rding 
 idglii 
 
 huge delight in having all festivals and holi- 
 days kept with due ceremony at his mansion. 
 He would not have omitted the slightest 
 things savored of the old times. Knowing 
 this, the antiquary called his young scholar 
 to his counsels, for the express purpose of 
 getting up the festival of the M-ay in such a 
 manner as should outdo all former things of 
 the like sort, and the youth had been com- 
 missioned to press into his service whoever 
 he thought could afford him proper assist- 
 ance. -These he had to make familiar with 
 their duties. But if he did not visit the fair 
 singer that day, be sure he did the day fol- 
 lowing, invested with extraordinary powers 
 by his friend Master Peregrine, with which 
 he acquainted his new acquaintance John 
 Hathaway, and to his exceeding satisfac- 
 tion found they were favorably entertained 
 of him : the purport of which will be seen anon. 
 Scarce had the last day of April closed, 
 when, by the sweet moonlight, William 
 Shakspeare, with a famous company of both 
 sexes friends, tenants, servants, and others, 
 started to a neighboring wood, where they 
 searched about for all manner of flowers then 
 in season, which they gathered into nosq- 
 gays and garlands ; and broke down blos- 
 soming boughs of trees, chiefly of birch, 
 green sycamore, and hawthorn, to carry home 
 with them to deck the doors and porches 
 withal, and make a goodly Maypole. Fa- 
 
 it than the singer imagined however, that I mous sport had they all the while, laughing
 
 134 
 
 THE YOUTH -OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 tnd shouting, frolicking in the 'grass, and 
 wandering about dispersedly, making the 
 whole country ring with their mirth. About 
 sunrise they again joined company men, 
 women, and children each laden with the 
 spoil of the Spring. A tall elm had been 
 cut down, and a straight and taper pole fitted 
 to the end of it, and painted in spiral lines of 
 yellow and black. It was then prodigally 
 adorned with garlands of fresh flowers and 
 new ribbon of the gayest colors. Some 
 forty yoke of oxen belonging to Sir Marma- 
 duke, with each a sweet posey at the tip of 
 his horns had then to draw it home, acconfr 
 panied on its slow march with the whole of 
 the company, bearing their green boughs, 
 savory herbs, and odorous blossoms. sing- 
 ing, .leaping, and dancing, as if nothing could 
 exceed their pleasure. 
 
 The Maypole having been drawn to an 
 open place in the park, convenient to the 
 house, was raised up on high with a great 
 shouting and glee ; and it was a right dainty 
 sight to note the streamers dancing merrily 
 in the breeze, and the various colors of the 
 delicate blossoms. Having done this, the 
 principals of the festival had other prepara- 
 tions to make, which they set abouj,with a 
 proper earnestness. All the armor in the 
 old hall was presently hid under boughs and 
 flowers, and the like decorations were pro- 
 digally bestowed in every direction about the 
 "house. On the floor the long tables were 
 spread with cakes and other choice cates 
 for whoever chose to come. The whole 
 neighborhood looked like a fairy bower, and 
 crowds of persons in strange garments came 
 thronging in and out, looking as joyful as 
 ever they had been in their days. 
 
 After this, wholesome viands, and ale of 
 the best might be had in different bowers 
 made of branches of trees in the park ; and 
 at dinner there was a most prodigal banquet 
 of everything for to eat and to drink that 
 could be procured. Here was a gammon of 
 bacon-pie, there a lamb dressed whole in 
 one place a venison pasty, in another a great 
 lish, a shield of brawn with mustard, a chine 
 of beef rpasted, baked chewets, a kid with a 
 pudding in the belly, and all manner of 
 poultry, made but a small stock of the won- 
 derful load of victual under which the table 
 groaned. Even the lower messes had most 
 handsome entertainment, and every place 
 bore sign of most sumptuous feasting. The 
 great variety of dresses then worn, and the 
 happy joyous faces there visible, made the 
 whole scene as pleasant a one as could be 
 imagined ; but the goodliest feature of it all 
 was old Sir Marmaduke in his customary 
 place at the top of the table, regarding every 
 
 one with the same graciousness, and only 
 looking around him to see that all present 
 were as happy as he thought they ought to 
 be. Of the jests that flew about, or of the 
 tricks- that were played, I can make scarce 
 any mention. The strangeness, however, of 
 some groups, methinks should not escape 
 notice ; for in one place St. George and 
 the dragon, forgetful of their deadly enmity, 
 were shaking hands introductory to drinking 
 eacli other's health ; in another, Robin Hood 
 and little John, as regardless of their mutual 
 love, were seeking which could lay fastest 
 hold of a tankard each had got a hand upon ; 
 here the fool was cunningly emptying of 
 Friar Tuck's full trencher into his own 
 empty one, whilst the other was turning a 
 moment on one side in amorous gossip with 
 his acquaintance, maid Marian ; and then 
 the hobby-horse was knocking together 
 the heads of Will Stukely and Much, the 
 miller's son, who were leaning over each 
 other, laughingly regarding the proceedings 
 of their friend in motley. 
 
 After this, by the great exertions of young 
 Shakspeare, this goodly company returned 
 to the park in the following order : first, 
 went one playing on the bagpipes, and 
 another on the tabor, making as much noise 
 as they could ; then followed the Morris- 
 dancers, with their faces blackened, their 
 coats of white spangled fustian, with scarfs, 
 ribbons, and laces Hying from every part, 
 holding rich handkerchiefs in their hands, 
 and wearing purses at their girdles, garters 
 to their knees, with some thirty or forty lit- 
 tle bells attached to them, and feathers at 
 their hats, with other bells at their wrists 
 and elbows. They danced as they went, 
 and flaunted their handkerchiefs very brave- 
 ly. Then came six comely damsels, dressed 
 in blue kirtles, and wearing garlan'ds of 
 primroses. After them, as many foresters 
 in tunics, hoods, and hose, all of grass green, 
 and each of them with a bugle at his side, 
 a sheaf of arrows at his girdle, and a bent 
 bow in his hand. 
 
 After them walked William Shakspeare, 
 equipped as Robin Hood, in a bright grass 
 green tunic, fringed with gold ; his hood 
 and hose part-colored blue and white ; his . 
 handsome head was crowned with a garland 
 of rose-buds ; he bore a bow in his hand, a 
 sheaf of arrows in his girdle, and a bugle- 
 horn suspended from a baldrick of light blue 
 tarantinb, embroidered with silver, worn from 
 hisjshonlder. A handsome sword and dag- 
 ger formed also part of his equipments. On 
 one side of him walked Hemings, as JLittle 
 John ; on the other Condell, as Will Stuke- 
 ly ; and divers others of the merry outlaw's
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 135 
 
 .companions followed, two by two, all in their 
 suits of green, and each with a sheaf of ar- 
 rows at his girdle, and a bent bow in his 
 hand. Then came two fair damsels, in or- 
 ange colored kirtles, with white' court-pies 
 or vests, preceding Anne Hathaway, as Maid 
 Marian, attired in a watchet-colored tunic 
 reaching to the ground, with a white linen 
 rochet, with loose sleeves fringed with silver, 
 and neatly plaited, worn over it, her girdle 
 of silver baudeken fastened with a double 
 row on the left side ; her long silken hair, 
 divided in many ringlets, flowed down upon 
 her fair shoulders ; the top of her head or- 
 namented with a net-work caul of gold with 
 a garland of silver, decked with fresh blue 
 violets above : truly as tempting a Maid 
 Marian as ever seduced outlaw to the'merry 
 green wood. After her came a company of 
 her maidens: some in sky-colored rochets 
 girt with crimson girdles, with garlands of 
 blue and white violets ; and others with 
 green court-pies, with garlands of violets 
 and cowslips. 
 
 Then came Sir Marmaduke's fat butler, 
 as Friar Tuck, carrying a huge quarter staff 
 on his shoulder; and with him Oliver Dumps, 
 the constable, as Much, the miller's son, 
 bearing a long pole with an inflated bladder 
 attached to one end of it. Who should j 
 come next but Tom Green, as the hobby- 
 horse, frisking up and down, gallopping, 
 curvetting, ambling and trotting after so 
 moving a style, it naturally forced a horse- 
 laugh from a great portion of the spectators. 
 It should be remembered, that this ancient 
 feature in a May-day festival, was a horse 
 of pasteboard, having false legs for the rider 
 outside, whilst the real legs stood on the 
 ground, concealed from the spectators by the 
 saddle-cloth which enveloped the hobby-horse 
 all around ; and great art was required to 
 make a proper exhibition of horsemanship, 
 by the person appearing to be its rider. 
 Then came our old acquaintance Humphrey, 
 in the form of a dragon, hissing, yelling 
 .nd shaking his wings in a most horrid 
 manner ; and after him Dick Burbage, as 
 St. George, in full armor, ever and anon, 
 giving his enemy a poke behind, with his 
 jvooden spear, that made him roar again. 
 Following these were a motley assemblage 
 of villagers and guests, and Sir Marmaduke, 
 with his chaplain, in the midst. 
 
 When they came to that open part of the 
 park before described, the sports recom- 
 menced with the spirit they had not known 
 all the day before. . The foresters shot at 
 the target, and Robin and his Maid Marian 
 were of course the chiefest of all for skill. 
 Some danced round the Maypole ; but the 
 
 dragon, who had drank more of the knight's 
 good ale than became any dragon of gentil- 
 ity, must needs be after kissing divers of the 
 maidens married man though he was, and 
 this got him some whacks from Much, the 
 miller's son, besides a decent cudgelling 
 from Will Stukely and Little John. Master 
 Robin, Sir Marmaduke's fat butler, made a 
 most jolly Friar Tuck ; for with an irresist- 
 able droll humor in his roguish eyes, he 
 would walk among the people propping of 
 his heavy quarter-staff upon their toes, 
 whereupon if any cried out, he would very 
 gravely preach them a famous sermon on 
 patience under pain and affliction ; and bid- 
 ding them count their beads and say their 
 paternosters, he would go his way. 
 
 Many persons had come to see these 
 sports from the neighboring villages, and 
 these formed a crowd nearly all round the 
 place. Sir Marmaduke and his guests had 
 placed themselves on a piece of rising 
 ground in front of the house, some lying 
 of their lengths on the grass, some leaning 
 against trees, some sitting, and some stand- 
 ing. Sir Johan kept by the side of his pa- 
 tron with a pleasant gravity, making a most 
 admirable choice thanksgiving for the boun- 
 ties all had received that day. Sir Reginald, 
 who had only returned to the mansion the 
 same morning, was with his friend Sir Val- 
 entine, gallantly attending upon a bevy of 
 fair ladies who had come to witness the 
 sports ; and Master Peregrine was bustling 
 about in a sort of fidgetty delight, explaining 
 to every listener he could lay hold of, the 
 history and antiquity of every part of the 
 festival. It so happened that whilst St. 
 George was stalking round the place, armed 
 with spear and buckler, striving to look as 
 heroic as ever could have done that renown- 
 ed champion, he spied the dragon playing at 
 bo-peep among the Morris-dancers, and 
 almost at the same instant the dragon spied 
 him. At which the latter commenced ad- 
 vancing into the middle of the open space 
 betwixt the Maypole and the guests, shaking 
 of his wings, yelling, and hissing enough to 
 frighten all the champions in Christendom. 
 
 St. George, however, was after him witli 
 long strides, till they met in a very choice 
 place for fighting, when he addressed him in 
 these words : 
 
 " Hullo, thou pitiful villain, art them for turning- 
 tail ? 
 
 Stay here, I prithee, a moment, and I will 
 make thee wail !" 
 
 Whereupon the dragon answered in a 
 monstrous fustian voice 
 " Out on thee, Jack Pudding ! or if thou need* 
 must stay,
 
 136 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Til swallow thee bones and all and leave the 
 
 rest for another day." 
 
 Then exclaimed the champion very val- 
 iantly, as became him , 
 " Peace, knave ! have done with thy humming 
 
 and -hawing." 
 
 And thereupon the monster replied, in an 
 equally tearing humor 
 " Gogs zounds, if thou comest anigh me I'll 
 
 give thee a famous clawing !" 
 
 After a little more such brave language, 
 in which each got famously abused by the 
 other, they seemed intent upon a desperate 
 combat of life and death. The dragon made 
 more noise than ever he had ; and came up- 
 on his 'adversary with his claws extended, 
 and his mouth wide open, as though he 
 meant to make of him but a mere mouthful : 
 but St. George seemed quite up to his tricks, 
 for he presently clenched his spear and 
 braced his buckler, and gave the monster so 
 sore a poke, he yelled till the place echoed 
 with him. Then cried he out very lustily 
 " Wounds ! thou caitiff vile ! thou hast broken a 
 
 joint of my tail 
 
 I die ! I'm dead ! Oh for a drop of small ale !" 
 At this moment up comes Much, the mil- 
 ler's son with his pole and bladder, exclaim- 
 ing to the deceased monster : 
 " What ho, Sir Dragon ! hast indeed ceased thy 
 
 snubbing ? 
 Mayhap thou wouldst be the better for a decent 
 
 drubbing." 
 
 Upon which he began to lay upon the mon- 
 ster with his bladder with such force the 
 other started to life roaring like a town bull, 
 crying out, as he rubbed himself, very piti- 
 fully 
 
 " Go, hang for a knave, and thy thumping cease, 
 Canst not let a poor dragon die in peace ?" 
 
 But as the miller's son evidently had no 
 bowels for the monster, the dragon would 
 not stay any longer to be drubbed, and rose 
 to take himself off with what speed he 
 might ; but just at this moment up came the 
 hobby T lrorsc, capering away in the most del- 
 ica.tc 4 fashion, and he thus addressed the 
 other : 
 
 " List, lordlings list ! I am here in my best graces 
 With my ambles, my trots, and my Canterbury 
 
 paces. 
 Is not my tail fresh frizzled, and my mane new 
 
 shorn, 
 And my bells and my plumes are they not 
 
 bravely worn ? 
 
 Stand up Sir Dragon, and swear me sans remorse 
 There never was seen so rare a hobby horse." 
 
 Upon saying which he neighed like a young 
 f iliy, and cantered and careered round the 
 
 monster, so that he could not move in any . 
 way. Others of the characters came up, 
 and they all had some droll thing or another 
 to say ; and it ended with the whole party 
 joining hands for a dance round a Maypole, 
 which seeing, Master Peregrine, who had 
 for the last hour fidgetted about as if he 
 knew not what to do with himself, suddenly 
 started from his place at the top of his 
 speed, and in the next minute had got the 
 dragon by one hand and the hobby-horse by 
 the other, dancing round the Maypole, to the 
 infinite delight of the spectators, with as 
 prodigal signs of glee as though he were the 
 merriest of the lot. 
 
 The youthful Shakspeare played the part 
 of king of the festival, and in princely sort 
 he did it too : for it was remarked of many, 
 so choice a Robin Hood and Maid Marian 
 they had never seen. Doubtless he had 
 famous opportunities for increasing his ac- 
 quaintance with the blooming daughter of 
 John Hathaway, and there is every reason 
 for supposing he turned them to good ac- 
 count. In due time the sports ended, and 
 he walked home with her and her father- 
 who with his family had purposely enjoyed 
 a holiday, induced to it by the representa- 
 tions of his new acquaintance if not per- 
 fectly in love, as nigh to it as was possible 
 for him to be. 
 
 It was late in the evening of the same day 
 when Sir Reginald, for the first time, found 
 himself alone with his friend Sir Valentine, 
 he having managed to draw the latter to walk 
 with him in the park, convenient to the 
 house. The * sounds of revelry had ceased, 
 and both actors and spectators had retired to 
 their homes. The two young knights 
 strolled together silently in the shadow of 
 the trees, Sir Valentine thinking it would 
 be a favorable opportunity for him to ac- 
 quaint his friend with what had taken place 
 betwixt him and the sovereign of his heart's" 
 affections, and ask his advice and assistance 
 to carry on his suit to her to an honorable 
 conclusion. 
 
 "Dost remember that exquisite sweet 
 creature we rescued from villains at Kenil- 
 worth ?" inquired Sir Reginald. 
 
 " Indeed do I, marvellously well," replied 
 Sir Valentine, somewhat wondering his 
 friend should begin to speak of the very sub- 
 ject of his own thoughts. 
 
 " I tell thee, Sir Valentine," continued the 
 other, with exceeding earnestness, " all the 
 whilst I was at court, even amongst the 
 choicest damsels of the chiefest families of 
 the kingdom, I could think of none other but 
 her ; for each did but remind me of her in- 
 finite superiority in all loveable delectable
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 137 
 
 mjje. 19 His young companion walked on, 
 listening with a pale cheek and a throbbing 
 heart. " The first thing I did on approach- 
 this neighborhood," continued . the other, 
 " was to hie me to Charlcote, in the hope of 
 delighting mine eyes with a glimpse of her 
 fair beauty once again. I was so fortunate 
 as to meet with her. She appeared lovelier 
 than ever, and a sort of sadness was mani- 
 fest in her dainty fair countenance, ' that 
 made its attractiveness infinitely more touch- 
 ing. She seemed glad to see me. I assure 
 thee I lingered in her delightsome society, 
 utterly incapable of tearing myself away. 
 Never met I a maiden of such moving 
 graces, or of such delicate behavior. In 
 brief, I love her as absolutely as ever fond 
 heart can." Sir Valentine felt as though he 
 could scarce breathe. 
 
 he had done, though at that moment his own 
 heart was more forcibly wrung by the fierce 
 trial he was undergoing, and left him to 
 school his nature into the doing of what he 
 had undertaken. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Come, my Celia, let us prove, 
 Whilst we can the joys of love ! 
 Time will not be ours forever : 
 He at length our good will sever. 
 Spend not then his gifts in vain 
 Suns that set may rise again ; 
 But if once we lose this light, 
 'Tis with us perpetual night. 
 
 BEN JONSOJC. 
 
 I have sought thee here to tell thee of I Wish to breathe m^Tast; 'upon thy lips 
 this ' added Sir Reginald, "knowing thou Those equal twms of comeliness, I seal 
 art the truest friend that ever knight had. The testament of honorable vows. 
 And I would make such trial of thy friend- | Whoever be that man that shall unkiss 
 
 ship as I would of none other living. My 
 entire happiness is in the keeping of this 
 most divine creature ; and I would give 
 worlds could I sigh at her feet, or bask in 
 her smiles as often as I desire. But I have 
 plighted my word to my honorable good 
 friend, that notable brave gentleman, Sir 
 Philip Sydney, to accompany him in a cer- 
 tain expedition he is preparing for, and 
 therefore it must needs be I can have but 
 small occasion for carrying on my suit. Be- 
 ing in this strait, and knowing of thy ex- 
 treme trust-worthiness, and exceeding love 
 for me, I would obtain at thy hands such 
 true service, as for thee to seek out my 
 
 The sacred print next, may he prove more thrifty 
 In this world's just applause, not more desertful. 
 
 FORD. 
 
 THE behavior of the youthful Shakspeare 
 to the yeoman's blooming daughter, might, 
 perchance, be to the marvel of some who 
 have it in their remembrance the infinite 
 delicacy and retiringness of his conduct to- 
 wards the beautiful foundling at Charlcote, 
 but these things are to be considered to 
 wit, that he had in a manner outlived that 
 age of boyish shyness which so manifestly 
 appeared in him, and with it that mere iden.1 
 adoration with which it was accompanied. 
 
 soul's idol on all warrantable occasions, and i His love for Mabel was but a sentiment, 
 with such affectionate rhetoric as thou canst born in the mind and dying there, yet her- 
 alding the coming of another love, partaking 
 more of passion than of sentiment, engross- 
 ing both the heart and the mind in all their 
 entireness, and showing such a vigorous ex- 
 istence as plainly proved how firm a hold it 
 had on the powerfullest energies of life. 
 
 master for so loving a purpose, urge her on 
 my behalf. Give her no cause to mark my 
 
 absence. 
 
 tunities. 
 
 tion to her, and thy manner of such a sort 
 
 as should convince her of its earnestness." 
 
 Press her with passionate impor- 
 Let thy talk be ever of my devo- 
 
 Sir Valentine essayed to speak, but the Anne Hathaway was altogether different 
 words died unuttered in his throat. i from the foundling. Her rich rosy com- 
 
 " Can I have such important service ren- 1 plexion her careless free glance, and her 
 dered me ?" inquired Sir Reginald. " But | eloquent soft smiles expressed quite another 
 I am assured I cannot appeal to so true a j character. Her manners were equally op- 
 friend unprofitably. I know enough of that posite being of that heedless enticing sort, 
 honorable worthy nature to convince me no- w r hich draweth all eyes admiringly, and soon 
 thing will be left undone that these circum- suns them into a social delightsome warmth, 
 stances require." ; But this was nothing more than the outward 
 
 Sir Valentine managed at last to utter his display of a natural fond temperament, 
 Consent to do what was required of him ; and where the heart was overflowing with gen- 
 then fearful he should betray his own feel- j erous sweet feelings, and was anxious for 
 ings if he stopped where he was, he made j an object on whom to display its exceeding 
 an excuse for hurrying away, wrung his bountifulness. Such a one, clothed with 
 friend's hand more affectionately than ever such resistless fascinations, was sure to
 
 138 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 produce an extraordinary impression on the 
 ardent nature of the young poet. Her ap- 
 proving glance her seductive smile or 
 her slightest touch, filled him with a sense 
 of joyousness no language could express. 
 
 These were unequivocal signs of love in 
 its riper stage. At this period of youth the 
 imprisoned affections burst from their womh, 
 and start into life with impulses that will 
 allow of no controlling. Everything wear- 
 eth a new aspect. A rosier light shines 
 through the atmosphere. A warmer breath 
 is felt upon the breeze. A multitude of new 
 feelings seem struggling in the breast to 
 have free development, and in fact the whole 
 humanity appeareth to take on itself a char- 
 acter perfectly distinct from that which it 
 had previously worn. Nature now whis- 
 pereth in the ear a secret unthought of 
 hitherto ; and all the man riseth at the intel* 
 ligence, filled with a mysterious influence 
 a sense of happiness and power and a 
 knowledge of that sweet philosophy whose 
 right use maketh a very Eden of delight to 
 the Adams and Eves of every passing gen- 
 eration. 
 
 Anne Hathaway received the advances 
 of her youthful lover so welcomingly, that 
 he lacked nothing of inducement to proceed. 
 Indeed, hers was not a disposition to with- 
 stand the passionate ardor of so prepossess- 
 ing a wooer, and from the first hour of their 
 meeting, she had regarded him with most 
 favorable sentiments. It was sometime af- 
 ter the May-day festival that the blooming 
 Anne, as was customary with her, sat ply- 
 ing of her wheel in her old place, whilst her 
 youthful lover, as was usual with him, had 
 drawn a seat close to hers, having his arm 
 resting on the back of her chair. Some ex- 
 quisite speeches and passionate admiring 
 looks from him, were followed by a suffi- 
 ciency of sprightly answers and bright pro- 
 voking glances from her. Thus had their 
 mutual passion advanced and no further, 
 but it was soon to show more endearing signs. 
 
 " Canst affect verses, Anne ?" inquired 
 the, young poet. 
 
 " Ay, a sweet love song, of all things," 
 replied the village beauty, in her ordinary 
 free-hearted way. 
 
 " Wouldst approve of them any the more 
 if thou wert their subject ?" asked he. 
 
 "Should I not?" answered she, archly. 
 " Marry, 1 must needs think them the finest 
 sweetest verses ever writ." 
 
 " I have essayed the writing of some," 
 continued her youthful lover in a more ten- 
 der manner. " But I am rather out of heart 
 I have not produced a poem more worthy of 
 thy exceeding merit." 
 
 " Hast, indeed, written something of me ?." 
 exclaimed the yeoman's buxom daughter, 
 glancing at him a look of infinite curiosity 
 and pleasure. " O' my word, now, I should 
 be right glad to see it. ' 
 
 " If thou wilt promise to pardon my too 
 great boldness, I will here read these, my 
 poor verses," said the young poet. His 
 companion was too eager to know what 
 could he have written about her, to care 
 much what she promised: so, whilst she 
 sent her wheel round very diligently, her 
 youthful lover drew a paper from beneath 
 his doublet, and soon, with an exquisite im- 
 passioned manner, and soft mellow voice 
 somewhat tremulous here and there he 
 commenced reading what is here set down. 
 
 LOVE'S ARGOSIE. 
 
 " Awhile ago I passed an idle life 
 
 Like as a leaf that's borne upon the breeze ; 
 
 Thoughtless of love as lambkin of the knife, 
 Or the young bird of hawk, among the trees. 
 
 I knew not, thought not, cared not for the mor- 
 row, 
 
 And took unblessed my daily joy or sorrow. 
 
 I saw the bounteous hand of Nature fling 
 Her princely largess over each green place ; 
 
 I saw theblushes of the tender Spring 
 
 Hiding within the summer's warm embrace 
 
 I saw the burthened Autumn fast expiring, 
 
 And Winter, in the year's grave, make a cheer- 
 ful firing. 
 
 " Yet all the time was I as blind as mole 
 
 Who digs his habitation in the dark, 
 Though light there was, it fell not on my soul, 
 A fire burned bravely that showed me no 
 
 spark ; > 
 Whilst all owned Nature's spells, I saw no 
 
 charming, 
 
 And still kept cold whilst others were a wann- 
 ing. 
 
 " When suddenly my eyes threw ope their doors. 
 
 And sunny looks flashed in their fond desires ; 
 
 The chambers of my heart found glowing floors 
 
 For there each hearth blazed with continual 
 
 iires : 
 
 I saw the magic, felt the bliss 'twas bringing, . 
 And knew the source whence these delights 
 were springing. 
 
 " For then it was indifference met its death, 
 And my new life new climates seemed to 
 
 seek ; 
 
 The sweet south flung its odors from thy breath, 
 And the warm East came blushing o'er thy 
 
 cheek. 
 
 Thy sin fles were endless Summer's rosy dances. 
 And the soft zone shone ip thy torrid glances, 
 
 " And as thy wondrous beauty I beheld,
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 139 
 
 A thousand unknown raptures on me came ; 
 The flood of life by some strange power im- 
 pelled, 
 Rushed through its channels, turned to liquid 
 
 flame ; 
 And then with me there seemed such blooming 
 
 weather, 
 
 As though all seasons showered their flowers 
 together. 
 
 " And as I basked in thy subduing guze, 
 
 And caught the thrilling spirit of thy smile ; 
 
 I marvelled I had lived so many days 
 So blind, so cold, so ignorant the while ; 
 
 ' Certes,' quoth I, ' I've been in far off places, 
 
 Else had I sooner known such moving graces. 
 
 " Ay in strange latitudes and unknown waves, 
 Having no compass, aid of chart denie'd, 
 
 There rose before me mountains, plains, and 
 
 caves, 
 And a new world my curious vision spied : 
 
 And then it was that fair country, thy beauty, 
 
 Brought me to anchor a most welcome duty. 
 
 " To turn discovery to best account, 
 
 I studied every feature of the land ; 
 I scanned where'er the highest fruit could 
 
 mount, 
 
 I touched the tender produce of thy hand ; 
 And every where such heaps of sweets were 
 
 growing, 
 
 No place 011 earth could be so worth the know- 
 ing. 
 
 " Then having this bright world so newly found, 
 And learned its fitness for an honest home, 
 
 Must I be now on a fresh voyage bound, 
 Again in unknown latitudes to roam ? 
 
 Oh might I name it, hold it, own it, rather, 
 
 And from its spoil a matchless fortune gather ! 
 
 '' Dear heart ! sweet life ! most admirable fair 
 
 saint ! 
 
 To thee my soul its fond devotion brings, 
 Like a poor pilgrim weary, worn, and faint 
 
 To taste the comfort which thy beauty brings : 
 Hear how thy praise all excellence excelleth ! 
 Hear how my prayer within my worship dwel- 
 leth ! 
 
 " Believe me the fond charm thou dost possess, 
 Is not a gift meant to be idly used, 
 
 But a kind solace that should come to bless 
 That heart whose blessings thou hast not re- 
 fused. 
 
 I see it in a promise and a token 
 
 Of flowery bands that never can be broken. 
 
 " And now like those bold mariners of ships, 
 That from all ports do take their merchan- 
 dize 
 My bark would I unlaid upon thy lips, 
 
 Which awhile since I freight^Pt thine eyes, 
 Yet e'er from such kind port my sails are fad- 
 ing, 
 Doubt not I bear away a richer lading. 
 
 " Bring here the ivory of thy fair arms, 
 
 And lustrous jewels which thine eyelids 
 
 hold, 
 
 Bring here the crowning of thy store of charms, 
 
 The silky treasures which thy brows enfold ; 
 
 Bring here the luscious fruits thy soft cheek 
 
 beareth, 
 
 And those rare pearls and rubies thy mouth 
 weareth ! 
 
 " But that which doth them all in rareness 
 
 beat 
 The choicest traffic brought from loving 
 
 isles 
 Bring me the dainty balm and odorous sweet, 
 
 That fills thy tempting treasury of smiles : 
 That whilst I'm filled with beauty's precious 
 
 blisses, 
 Thou makest me an argosie of kisses !" 
 
 It was scarce possible to have met with a 
 prettier sight than the yeoman's blooming 
 daughter listening with her eyes sparkling 
 unutterable pleasure, as the young poet read 
 to her her tuneful praises. The wheel went 
 round, but she spoke not a word. Indeed 
 she would not hazard so much as a syllable, 
 fearful she might by it lose some part of 
 those, to her, exquisite verses. At the con- 
 clusion, wherein his voice sunk to a tremu- 
 lous soft murmur, he lifted his gaze from 
 the paper to the flushed countenance of his 
 fair companion, and received a glance 
 he could, not fail to understand. Upon a 
 sudden, his arm fell from -the back of her 
 chair, and encircled her girdle, and and 
 and the wheel stopped for a full minute. 
 
 "Humph!" exclaimed a familiar voice, 
 close at hand, and starting from their affec- 
 tionate embrace, they beheld John Hatha- 
 way witli that peculiar expression peeping 
 from the corners of his eyes and mouth, 
 which marked the more than ordinary plea- 
 sure he took in anything. In a moment 
 the blushing Anne was diligently looking 
 on the ground for something she had never 
 lost ; and her youthful lover, in quite as 
 rosy a confusion, was gallantly assisting her 
 to find it. To the father's sly question the 
 daughter answered a little from the purpose ; 
 and as for the young poet he all at once re- 
 membered some pressing duty that called 
 him thence, took a hurried leave of his 
 friend the yeoman, who was evidently 
 laughing in his sleeve the whilst, and with 
 a quick fond glance, repaid with interest, to
 
 140 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 his fair mSKss whose sprightliness had 
 somehow forsalcen her he wended his way 
 back to Stratford. 
 
 In very truth, he was in far too happy a 
 state to have stayed where he was, and a 
 third person by. His feelings were in a 
 complete tumult ; his thoughts in a deliciou 
 confusion. He felt as if he could have 
 taken the whole world in his arms, he was 
 on such friendly terms with every one. He 
 experienced the delightful consciousness of 
 being loved to him a new and rare enjoy- 
 ment and his was a disposition fitted to re- 
 ceive it with a sense of such extreme plea- 
 sure as humanity hath seldom known. 
 What were his thoughts when he could get 
 to any reasonable thinking or his feelings, 
 when he returned to his ordinary sensations, 
 I cannot take upon me to say ; but all point- 
 ed to one subject, and rose from one subject ; 
 and whether he regarded Himself or the 
 world around him, it came to the same matter. 
 To him everything was Anne Hathaway ; 
 but especially all wisdom, goodness, beauty, 
 and delight, took from her their existence, 
 and gave to her their qualities. She was, in 
 brief, the sun round which the rest of crea- 
 tion must needs take its course. In this 
 excitement of mind and heart he proceeded 
 on his path, only brought to a more sober 
 state as he neared home. It so happened, 
 at the outskirts of the town, his attention 
 was forcibly attracted by the riotous shout- 
 ing of a crowd round the horse pond. 
 
 " Prithee tell me, what meaneth this huge 
 disturbance ?" inquired he of one of the 
 knot of old women, who beating the end of 
 her stick furiously on the ground, knocked 
 together her pointed nose, and chin, as she 
 poked her head towards one, and then to- 
 wards another, with all the thorough earn- 
 estness of a confirmed gossip. 
 
 "Meaneth it?" replied Mother Flytrap, 
 in her cracked treble, as she rested her two 
 ffands upon her stick, and thrust her ancient 
 visage close to the face of the querist. " By 
 my fackings, it meaneth the very horriblest, 
 infamousness that ever was seen in this 
 mortal world. But it's what we must all 
 come to." 
 
 " Ay, marry flesh is grass !" said an- 
 other old beldame. 
 
 "But I have my doubts I have my doubts, 
 gossip," mumbled out another of the tribe ; 
 " it hath been credibly said strange lights 
 and unchristian noises have appeared in her 
 cottage ; and I did myself see, standing at 
 her door, the very broom some do say she 
 flies through the air upon." 
 
 " Odds codlings, hast though, indeed !" in- 
 
 quired Mother Flytrap, with something like 
 horror muffled up in the hues of her parch- 
 ment skin. "Well, if she be a witch, she 
 must either drown or swim that's one com- 
 fort." 
 
 " Who's a witch ?" asked William Shak- 
 speare, who had turned from one to the 
 other of his companions, in a vain hope of 
 getting the intelligence he required. 
 
 " God's precious ! who but Nurse Cicely, 
 that hath bewitched Farmer Clodpole's 
 cows," replied one of- the women; and 
 scarce were the words out of her mouth, 
 when the young poet, with an infinite small 
 show of gallantry, pushed his way through 
 them, and rushed with all his force into the 
 crowd. The outcries he heard seemed to 
 him the yells of savage beasts eager for 
 blood. Shouts of " In with her!" "Drown 
 the old witch !" and all sorts of oaths and 
 ribald expressions came to his ears, with the 
 half-choked screaming of their victim. He 
 thrust himself forward, pushing the crowd 
 to the right and to the left, till he stood upon 
 the brink of the pond ; and just beheld his 
 faithful old nurse emerging from the water, 
 gasping for breath, while some dozen or so 
 of rude ploughboys, butchers, and the like 
 characters, kept encouraging one another in 
 helping to drown the poor creature. With- 
 out a word said, William Shakspeare sprung 
 upon the busiest of the lot, and tumbled him 
 into the pond, evidently to the exceeding 
 pleasure of the majority of the spectators. 
 Perchance, his companions would have re- 
 sented this, but directly young Shakspeare 
 made his appearance, a throng of his old 
 associates hurried from all parts of the 
 crowd, and made a simultaneous rush upon 
 the tormentors of the poor nurse, by which 
 help, divers of them were presently sent 
 floundering alongside of their fellow, the 
 which the lookers on seemed to enjoy above 
 all things. 
 
 Whilst Humphrey, now growing to be 
 monstrous valiant, Green, Burbage, Hem- 
 ings, and Condell were, with others of a like 
 spirit, putting to flight such of the lewd 
 villains as seemed inclined to stand out upon 
 the matter, William Shakspeare carefully 
 drew Nurse Cicely out of the pond, untied 
 tier bonds, and bore her, all dripping as she 
 was, to her own cottage, where, with the 
 assistance of some humane neighbors, he at 
 ast succeeded in rescuing her from the 
 death with which she had been threatened. 
 The gratitude of the poor creature was be- 
 yond all conceiving ; and at last the object 
 of it felt obliged to take himself out of hear-
 
 tliE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 141 
 
 ing of her earnest prodigal thankfulness and | them no more merey than a hungry wolf ?" 
 
 " I never heard of such tilings," replied 
 
 praise. 
 
 Among the observers of the scene just de- 
 scribed, regarding the chief personage in it 
 with more intentness than any there, was a 
 somewhat crabbed-looking man, meanly clad, 
 who, from beside a tree a little above the 
 pond, had witnessed the whole transaction. 
 When the woman was rescued, he followed 
 her deliverer at some distance, accosting 
 none, and replying to such as were hardy 
 enough to speak to him, in so rough unman- 
 nerly a manner few sought acquaintance 
 with him. Whilst William Shakspeara was 
 in the cottage, this person loitered at a little 
 way from it, occasionally leaning on his 
 staff, with his eyes fixed on the ground then 
 glancing at the cottage-door, and strolling 
 leisurely about without losing sight of it. 
 
 As the young poet was hastening from his 
 old nurse's dwelling, in a famous pleasure 
 with the result of his exertions, he heard 
 some one close at his heels. Presently, a 
 hand was laid upon his shoulder, and turn- 
 ing round, he beheld John a Combe, the 
 usurer. He had long been familiar with his 
 person, having met with him before fre- 
 quently, and had imbibed a respect for his 
 character from the favorable opinions of him 
 expressed by his parents. Such portion of 
 his history as was known he had been made 
 acquainted with from many sources, but the 
 mystery which had enveloped him since his 
 extraordinary change, he never had acquired 
 anv more knowledge of than the rest of his 
 townsfolk. 
 
 " Dost shrink from me, boy ?" inquired 
 John a Combe, in a sharp thick voice, as he 
 noticed a sudden start of surprise in the 
 youth when he recognized the usurer. " Art 
 ashamed of being seen with Old Ten in the 
 Hundred ? Wouldst desire no acquain- 
 tance with one whose heart clingeth to his 
 gold, and shutteth his soul against all sym- 
 pathy with humanity ?" 
 
 " I think not of you in that way, Master 
 Combe, believe me," replied his young com- 
 panion, with his usual gentle courtesy. 
 
 " Then thou art a fool, Will Shakspeare !" 
 gruffly exclaimed the other ; heed thou the 
 general voice. Ask of whomsoever thou 
 wilt concerning of John a Combe, the usurer. 
 Will they not tell thee he is a very heartless 
 tyrant, who liveth upon the widow's sighs 
 and the orphan's tears, who grinds the 
 poor man's bones, and drinks the prodigal's 
 
 blood ? Do they not swear in 
 movinjjest execrations he 
 
 the 
 
 very 
 
 is a persecuting 
 relentless enemy to all his race, who careth 
 only to set baits for their carcases, and 
 when he hath got them in his toils, showeth 
 
 William Shakspeare. " Indeed, I have known - 
 divers speak of you as having shown such 
 honorable good qualities as entitled you to 
 the love of all honest men." 
 
 " Then were they greater fools than thou 
 art," sharply exclaimed *ohn. a Combe, " I 
 tell thee I am such a one. I find my hap- 
 piness in the misery of others. I live when 
 my fellows die. My hart is but a pedestal 
 that carry eth a golden image, at which I 
 force all the children of want to bow them- 
 selves down, arid then trample on their necks 
 to make me sport." 
 
 " In very truth, I can believe nothing of it, i 
 worthy sir," observed his young companion. 
 " Methinks too, what you have said is so op- 
 posite to what I have heard from the credi- 
 blest testimony you have done, that it is too 
 unnatural to be" true. Was it not Master 
 Combe, who spent his substance freely to 
 better the condition of his poorer neighbors ? 
 Was it not Master Combe, who held his life 
 as at a pin's fee, to guard his fellow creatures 
 from the destroying pestilence ?" 
 
 " Ay, I was once of that monstrous folly," 
 said the usurer with great bitterness; "I 
 carried wine in a sieve only to be spilled 
 upon barren ground. What have I learned 
 by this prodigal expenditure and silly pains- 
 taking ? The notable discovery that men 
 are knaves and women wantons that friend- 
 ship is a farce and love a cheat that ho- 
 nesty is a fool and honor a bubble and that 
 the whole world hath but one particular in- 
 fluence on which its existence holds and 
 that is utter villainy." 
 
 " As far as I have seen, everything of 
 which you have spoken hath an entire dif- 
 ference," said the other. " That there may 
 be bad men amongst the good I cannot take 
 upon me to deny ; but that this should con- 
 demn all mankind for vilcness, seemeth ex- 
 ceeding unjust. According to what I have 
 learned, man in favorable circumstances will 
 generally be found possessed of the best 
 qualities of manhood ; and such is the natural 
 excellence of his nature that even under most 
 unfit occasions the proper graces of humanity 
 will flourish in him as bravely as though they 
 had the most tender culture." 
 
 " Tut !" cried John s. Combe, impatiently : 
 " 'tis the opinion of such as have gained their 
 knowledge in closets. They take for granted 
 what is told them, and their poor pride will 
 not allow of their crediting anything that is 
 
 to the prejudice of their own natures. 
 
 " And as for woman." continued the young 
 poet more earnestly, " 'tis hard to say one 
 word against a creature so excellently gifted.
 
 142 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARfc. 
 
 Methinks she would make praise a beggar, 
 by her worthiness taking all he hath !" 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" exclaimed the usurer in a sort 
 of scornful laugh. " Why, boy, thy nature 
 is in a rare humor to be cozened. Didst ever 
 hear of any particular villainy out-vilino 1 all 
 things, that did not come of a woman? Who 
 was it that first heldTClknvship with a serpent 
 for man's undoing, on which occasion she 
 showed how near her disposition was to the 
 crawling crafty venom of her chosen asso- 
 ciate. But she soon outdid the reptile in his 
 own vocation ; and now her craft would 
 laugh the fox to scorn, and her guile cheat 
 the serpent to his face." 
 
 " I should be loath to think so ill of her, 
 having had most convincing proofs of her 
 different character,' ' said the youthful Shaks- 
 peare, with a very pleasurable remembrance 
 of one at least of that sex. " For mine own 
 part I conceive there is no telling all her 
 goodness ; but I do remember some senten- 
 ces in which it doth appear to me her true 
 nature is most admirably painted, and they 
 are these : ' of her excellence I would con- 
 tent myself with asking what virtue is like 
 to a woman's ? What honesty is like to a 
 woman's ? What love what courage 
 what truth what generousness what self- 
 denial what patience under affliction, and 
 forgiveness for every wrong, come at all 
 nigh unto such as a woman showeth ? 
 Believe me, the man who cannot honor so 
 truly divine a creature, is an ignorant poor 
 fellow, whom it would be a compliment to 
 style a fool, or an ungrateful mean wretch, 
 whom charity preventeth me from calling 
 a villain !' Said you not these words, Master 
 Combe, for I have been told they were of your 
 Own speaking 1j} 
 
 " Doubtless !" exclaimed John a Combe 
 with a sarcastic emphasis. " I was, when I 
 uttered such words, as thou art now moved 
 by a strong belief in the existence of quali- 
 ties with which my wishes were more fami- 
 liar than my vision. Appearances looked 
 fair, and I took for granted all things were 
 what they seemed. But of most choice maj- 
 ters woman seemed infinitely the rarest. 
 There is nought I would not have said, there 
 is nought I would not have done, to prove how 
 far above ordinary merit I thought her ex- 
 ceeding excellence. I was a fool a poor, 
 ignorant, weak fool, who will readily take 
 brass well gilt for the sterling metal. I had 
 to learn my lesson, and in good time it was 
 thoroughly taught me. Experience rubbed 
 off the external show of worth that had chea- 
 ted mine eyes into admiration and my heart 
 into respect ; and the base stuff in all its 
 baseness stood manifestly confessed before 
 
 me. Woman !" added he with increasing 
 bitterness, " go search the stagnant ditch that 
 fills the air with petilential poison where 
 toads and snakes fester among rotting weeds, 
 and make a reeking mass of slime and filth 
 around them, I tell thee, boy, nothing of all 
 thatvileness approacheth to the baseness of 
 her disposition. Woman ! She is an outrage 
 upon nature, and a libel upon humanity. A 
 fair temptation that endeth in most foul dis- 
 appointment. The very apples on the shores 
 of the dead sea, that are all blooming with- 
 out and all rottenness within a thing that 
 hath never been truly described save under 
 those shapes believed in a past religion, whose 
 features were human, and whose person 
 bestial. Woman ! She is the mother of in- 
 famy, ready to play the wanton \vith all the 
 vices, and fill the world with a fruitful pro- 
 geny of crimes. She is the cozener of hon- 
 esty the mockery of goodness a substan- 
 tial deceit a living lie !" 
 
 " I pray you pardon me," said his young 
 companion ; " these are most intolerable ac- 
 cusations, and no warrant for them as I can 
 see." 
 
 " Warrant !" cried the usurer, now with 
 his whole frame trembling with excitement ; 
 " I have had such warrant such damnable 
 warrant, as leaveth me not the shadow of a 
 doubt on the matter. J. have heard I have 
 seen I have felt !" continued he grasping 
 the shoulder of the youth convulsively, then 
 seeming to make a mighty effort to conquer 
 his emotions,- which for a moment appeared 
 almost to choke him, he added in a calmer 
 voice " But it matters not. Perchance thou 
 wilt have the wit to discover nil that I would 
 have said. I am in no mind to let the gossips 
 of the town meddle with my secrets. 1 like 
 not they should say ' poor John a Combe !' 
 for I care not to have their pity. Say not to 
 any thou hast spoke tome on such. a subject, 
 and when thou hast a mind to pap.s an hour 
 with Ten in the Hundred come to my dwel- 
 ling ; I should be glad to see thee, which I 
 would say of no other person. Thou art the 
 son of an honest man, and I have seen signs 
 in thee that prove thou art worthy of thy 
 father." Saying these words, John a Combe 
 hastily took his departure down a turning in 
 the street, leaving William Shakspeare mar- 
 velling hugely at what had passed between 
 them.
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 143 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Follow a shadow, n still flies you, 
 Seek to fly, it will pursue ; 
 
 Lo court a mistress, she denies you, 
 Let her alone she will court you. 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 " And now I dare say," said Sir Robert, 
 
 that Sir Launcelot, though there thou liest, 
 
 thou wert never matched of none earthly 
 
 their assistance to insure it to his glad posses- 
 sion. 
 
 The young knight was of a far different 
 sort. Lven with so powerful a competitor 
 as love, lie would give himself entirely to 
 friendship. He knew that the assistance he 
 had promised to render his friend would cost 
 him his own happiness, but he could not for 
 a moment tolerate the idea of building his 
 enjoyment with the materials of his friend's, 
 
 knight's hands. And thou wert the curliest felicity. He believed that if Sir Reginald 
 
 knight that ever bcare shield. And thou wert k new w h a t were his feelings towards the 
 
 the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrod 
 
 horse. And thou wert the truest lover of a 
 
 sinful man that ever loved woman. And thou 
 
 wert the kindest man that ever stroke with 
 
 sword. And thou wert the goodliest person 
 
 that ever came among proese of knights. r And 
 
 thou wert the meekest and the gentlest that 
 
 ever eat in hall among ladies." 
 
 A book of the noble Tiistoryes of Kings Ar- 
 thur, and of certcyn of his knightcs. 
 
 SIR VALENTINE found be had undertaken 
 
 object of their mutual affection, he would on 
 the instant resign his pretensions, that his 
 friend's hopes might not be disappointed ; 
 and therefore the young knight was the 
 more resolute in fulfilling the wishes of hia 
 faithful companion, and as an important step 
 towards the consummation, kept the secret of 
 his own love locked up closely in his breast. 
 He heard Sir Reginald again express his 
 desires, and again did he declare his readi- 
 1 ness to assist in their realization. He saw 
 
 a most hard duty. The more he essayed to I his friend depart to join Sir Philip Sydney, 
 struggle with his own inclinations, the more j and experienced an exquisite satisfaction in 
 strongly they rose against such usage. He j knowing that the other had left him without 
 tried to preach himself into a cheerful acqui- i the slightest suspicion of his own true feel- 
 escence with the obligation imposed upon 
 him, from every ^text of honor, friendship, 
 and chivalry, with which he was acquainted, 
 but he found'nature rather an unwilling con- 
 vert, as she is at all time when her faith 
 already resteth upon the religion of love. 
 Nevertheless, he determined to do Sir Regi- 
 nald the promised service, however difficult 
 
 ings. 
 
 Time passed on, and Sir Valentine strove 
 to perform his task. He had seen but little 
 of Mabel for a long time past, for she scarce 
 ever ventured alone any distance from the 
 house, fearing she might be again carried 
 off as she had been before ; and this accoun- 
 ted for her not having been seen for so long 
 
 of accomplishment it might be. In very ! a period by the youthful Shakspcare. At 
 truth he was one of those rare instances of j last the young knight contrived to speak with 
 friendship that act up to the character they | her, and his entreaties for her private corn- 
 profess, in numberless cases there are per- pany, to acquaint her with a matter of some 
 
 sons calling themselves friends, who are 
 friends only to themselves. " They are ready 
 enough to take the name, but shrink from a 
 proper performance of the character. Friend- 
 ship in its honorablest state is a continual 
 self-sacrifice on the altar of social feeling, 
 combined with a devotion which ever incli- 
 neth to exalt the object of its regard above 
 all humanity. A true friend alloweth him- 
 
 importance it was necessary sTie should know, 
 she named a spot in the park where she would 
 meet him that evening after dusk. And 
 there she attended true to her appointment. 
 Sir Valentine as he gazed upon her admir- 
 able beauty, felt that he had much to per- 
 form, but he tried all he could to stifle his 
 feelings, and think of no other thing save 
 
 the advancement of his friend's wishes. 
 
 self as it were to be the shadow of another's I Alack ! he was setting about a most peri- 
 merit, attending on all his wants, hopes, and j lous task. To play the suitor of an exqui- 
 pleasurcs, and ever keeping of himself in the ; site fair creature as proxy for another, 
 back ground when he is like to interfere with ; methinks for one of his youth and disposition 
 his happiness. And yet there have been ! was great temptation ; but having already 
 such despicable mean spirits who would hide I loved her with all the ardor of a first fond 
 their conteinptibleness under so fair a cloak. ; affection, now to woo her merely as the 
 They profess friendship but they act selfish- j representative of his friend, looks to be a 
 ness. Nay, to such a pitch do they debase thing out of the course of nature, 
 themselves, that they would behold unfeel- | " Methinks this friend of yours must need 
 ingly him they call their friend pining away ! have taken entire possession of your 
 his heart for some long expected happiness, ' thoughts," observed Mabel, with a smile, up- 
 and basely rob him of it when it required but : on finding that at every interview the young
 
 144 
 
 niE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 knight could say nought but praise of Sir 
 Reginald. " I cannot get you tortalk of any 
 other thing." 
 
 " Indeed, so gallant a gentleman and so 
 perfect a knight doth not exist," replied Sir 
 Valentine. " I have seen him, lady, in the 
 thickest of the field, bearing himself so 
 bravely as was the marvel of both foes and 
 friends." 
 
 " And were you in that battle ?" inquired 
 she, with a singular curiousness ; " I pray 
 you tell me how it was fought. I sho.uld 
 like much to hear what share you had in it. 
 I doubt not you behaved very gallantly." 
 
 " I kept in the press as nigh to Sir Regi- 
 nald as I could," continued the young knight ; 
 ' : for I knew that much honor was only to 
 be reaped where he led* the way. Truly he 
 is a knight of most approved valor." 
 
 " I cannot doubt it, since you have so said," 
 replied Mabel, impatiently. "But I beseech 
 you leave all speech of him, and lake to tel- 
 ling me of your own knightly achieve- 
 ments." 
 
 " By this light, lady, I am nought in com- 
 parison with Sir Reginald," said his friend, 
 earnestly : " never met I a gentleman so 
 worthy of the love of woman. Indeed I 
 Jmow he is kindly esteemed of many noble 
 dames ; yet in his estimation all such have 
 been but indifferently thought of, since hi 
 knowledge of your so much brighter perfec- 
 tions," 
 
 " Surely, he doth great wrong to those 
 noble dames by thinking at all of me," ob- 
 served the fair foundling. 
 
 " He doth consider you so pre-eminent in 
 excellence, language cannot express his ad- 
 miration," added Sir Valentine. 
 
 " I feel bou\id to him for his good opinion,' 
 said Mabel. " Yet I should have been glat 
 had he shown more discretion than in be- 
 stowing it so prodigally." 
 
 " The love of so noble a knight ought to 
 be regarded as a most costly jewel," contin- 
 ued the young knight. " I cannot think so 
 proud a gift is to be met with." 
 
 " Perchance not," replied his- companion 
 coldly. " Yet I cannot say it hath any par- 
 ticular attractions in my eyes." 
 
 Here was a new difficulty to be overcome 
 The lovely object of his friend's attachmen 
 cared not to be loved by him. This he hat 
 not calculated upon. Sir Reginald's happi 
 ness appeared farther from nis possession 
 than Sir Valentine could have imagined 
 Nevertheless, the latter was not to be dauntec 
 by such an appearance. 
 
 Mabel had by this time met Sir Valentin 
 many times, almost with as much confi 
 
 ence as she had known at their first inter- 
 views, for she had neither seen nor heard of 
 icr noble gallant and the villains his asso- 
 iates, since her escape. The young knight, 
 at his earliest convenience, had rode to the 
 louse for the express purpose of punishing 
 he traitqr for his intended villainy, when he 
 bund the place shut up close and deserted, 
 nd none could tell him where its late in- 
 nates had gone; from which it was argued 
 hey had left that part of the coiintry out of 
 ear J:heir offences had been discovered. 
 S T eyertheless, it was not till recently the poor 
 bundling could hazard herself by walking in 
 he park, as she had used; though, to make 
 icr venturing as secure as possible, Sir'Val- 
 ntine, from a neighboring eminence, 
 watched, on a fleet steed, her coming and 
 returning. In truth, the chiefest pleasure 
 she had was meeting this gallant gentleman ; 
 ind she could think of no evil when she 
 bund him leading of his palfrey by the bn 
 die, walking at her side in some retired part 
 of the grounds ; or having tied the animal to 
 a branch, standing by her under the shelter 
 of a neighboring tree, entertaining of her 
 with his choice discourse. Still did she 
 listen with manifest disreli.-'h to whatever 
 the young knight reported of his friend, and 
 the more admired the honorableness of the 
 speaker, without caring a whit'for the object 
 of his eulogy. She had noticed that of late 
 such tender gallantries as he had been ac- 
 customed to exhibit, he had altogether with- 
 drawn, and this she regarded with especial 
 uneasiness. He was always repeating his 
 friend's opinion of her, and ceased to say one 
 word of his own thoughts on that subject ; 
 and this behavior in him pleased .her not at 
 all. She often considered the matter very 
 intently, and upon coming to the conclusion 
 she had become indifferent to him, it put her 
 into a great discomfort. It hath already been 
 said she had some pride in her pride in its 
 gracefullest shape and at such instigation 
 it was like to be called into action ; but if it 
 did show itself, it came so garmented in hu- 
 mility, that none would have known it for 
 what it was, save those nobler naturts with 
 whom such appearances are familiar. 
 
 " I am much grieved at noticing of this 
 change in you," said Mabel to her compan- 
 ion, on one occasion. " If you think of me 
 unworthily, methinks il would more become 
 your gallant disposition to tell me in what I 
 am amiss, or go seek the company of some 
 more proper person. Should I have lost 
 your esteem I cannot be fit for your soci- 
 ety." 
 
 " O' my life, I do esteem you above all 
 creatures !" exclaimed the young knight,
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 145 
 
 fervently, and then, as if recollecting of him- 
 self, added, " for one that is so highly es- 
 teemed of my noble friend, cannot but be 
 worthy of my highest estimation." 
 
 ' Truly, I would rather you rated me at 
 vour own judgment, than followed the ap- 
 preciation of any other," observed the beau- 
 tiful foundling, in something like a tone of 
 disappointment. 
 
 " Then, be assured, I rate you at a value 
 immeasurably beyond all other estimation !" 
 earnestly exclaimed Sir Valentine. 
 
 " Indeed !" murmured the delighted Ma- 
 bel. 
 
 (i I mean I would so esteem you, were I 
 the worthy Sir Reginald," added the young 
 knight, quickly. ' 
 
 " Ah, me ! 'it is ever Sir Reginald with 
 you !" cried his fair companion, in evident 
 dejectedness. " Against Sir Reginald's 
 worthiness I could not say one word, because 
 jou have affirmed it; but I do declare to, 
 you, for the hundredth time, I heed it no 
 more than if I never heard of it !" 
 
 " But surely you will not allow his honor- 
 able regard of you to come to an unprofitable 
 ending ?" said Sir Valentine, in a famous 
 moving manner. " 0' my life, he deserveth 
 not his fortunes should be of such desperate 
 issue. I beseech you, think better of his 
 princely qualities. I pray you, have proper 
 consideration of his noble character." 
 
 " 'Tis impossible that I can regard him as 
 he is desirous I should," observed the other. 
 
 " And why not ?" inquired the young 
 knight. ' ; Allow me at least the privilege 
 of asking your reason for leaving to intoler- 
 able wretchedness, one who would devote 
 his heart to your service ?" 
 
 " Tell him," said Mabel sinking of her 
 voice almost to a whisper " tell him I re- 
 gard another so entirely, no one else can 
 have footing in my thoughts." 
 
 " Alack ! what ill news for him !" ex- 
 claimed Sir Valentine. " But think me not 
 over bold at asking of you, is he so worthy 
 is he so noble is he so valiant a knight, 
 and so true a gentleman, as my poor friend ?" 
 
 " Ay, that is he, I am. assured !" cried the 
 poor foundling, with an earnestness that 
 came from the heart. 
 
 " Truly, I thought not such another ex- 
 isted," replied the young knight. " Indeed, 
 I would willingly go any distance to meet 
 with so estimable a person." 
 
 " Methinks you need not go far to find 
 him," murmured Mabel, as she bent her 
 looks so upon the ground her long eye-lashes 
 ippeared perfectly closed. Sir Valentine 
 was silent for some few minutes. He could 
 act mistake the meaning of her words. At 
 10 
 
 [ first the gratification they gave him was be- 
 yond conception exquisite ; but then fol- 
 lowed the reflection, how poorly he would be 
 playing the part he had undertaken, did he 
 attempt in any way to take advantage of the 
 confession she had just made. 
 
 " In all honesty. I must say, this person 
 you so honor hath not a tithe of the merit of 
 Sir Reginald," said the young knight, in a 
 voice that faltered somewhat. " Neither in 
 the suitable accomplishments of a knight, 
 nor in the honorable gifts of a man, can he 
 for a moment be compared with my gallant 
 friend. I beseech you, let not one so little 
 worthy of your regard, receive of you the 
 estimation which should only belong to one 
 so truly deserving of it as the noble Sir Re- 
 ginald." 
 
 " I see ! I gee !" exclaimed the poor 
 foundling, exceedingly moved by this speech 
 of her companion. " You cannot disguise 
 it from me, strive you ever so. I have fallen 
 from your esteem. I have lost your respect. 
 Fare you well, sweet sir. This must be our 
 last meeting. I hold your noble qualities 
 too deeply in my reverence to allow of their 
 standing hazard of debasement by their as- 
 sociation with any unworthiness." 
 
 In vain the young knight gave her all 
 manner of assurances she was the highest 
 in his esteem in vain he sought the help of 
 entreaties and persuasions she would stay 
 and hear the reason of his so behaving, she 
 seemed bent on leaving him that moment, 
 with a full determination never to see him 
 more. At last, however, she yielded so far 
 as to promise to meet him the next evening 
 at the same place, for the last time, and then 
 returned home in a greater sadness than she 
 had ever known.. From that hour to the 
 hour appointed for this final interview, Sir 
 Valentine passed in considering what course - 
 he should adopt under these trying circum- 
 stances. On one side was the happiness of 
 his absent friend entrusted to his custody 
 on the other, the affections of a most beauti- 
 ful sweet creature he had obtained by seek- 
 ing of her society. Honor demanded of him 
 he should not do his friend disadvantage, 
 and love entreated he would not abandon 
 his mistress now that he had completely won 
 her heart. The more he thought the less 
 easy seemed his duty, for he saw that in 
 each case if he attended to the claim of one, 
 it would destroy every hope of the other. 
 
 Mabel was true to her appointment. Sir 
 Valentine rode up to her, and as usual tied 
 his horse to a branch. The customary * 
 greetings passed, and the young knight ob- 
 served that his fair companion looked wond 
 rous pale and agitated.
 
 146 
 
 THE iOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " What hath so moved you ?" inquired he 
 courteously. 
 
 " Hitherto I have thought myself safe 
 from further molestation from the villains 
 into whose power I once fell," replied Mabel 
 " But I have just discovered that they are 
 again pursuing of their treacherous inten- 
 tions." 
 
 " I pray you tell me where I may fine 
 them," said Sir Valentine, with a most ear- 
 nest eagerness. " I promise you they shal 
 molest you no longer." 
 
 " I thank you with all my heart !" ex- 
 claimed the poor foundling fervently ; " yet 
 your interference can be of no avail at thi 
 time. The very traitor who bore me forci- 
 bly from this park, and from whose base 
 grasp you previously rescued me in the gar- 
 dens of Kenilworth, is now being entertained 
 by Sir Thomas Lucy." 
 
 " Surely Sir Thomas when he is told ol 
 his baseness, will drive him from his house !" 
 observed the young knight. 
 
 " He will hear of nothing against him 
 nor will Dame Lucy," answered Mabel. 
 " They say I am mistaken, though I could 
 swear to him among a thousand. They 
 will have it he is a person of worship, whom 
 they have known many years ; yet I am con- 
 vinced he is as paltry a wretch as ever dis- 
 graced this world." 
 
 " By this light, dear Mabel, I will go and 
 make him confess his villainy !" cried Sir 
 Valentine, moving, as if he would to the house 
 on the instant. 
 
 " I beseech you, do not, sweet sir," im- 
 plored his fair companion, as she caught 
 hold of him by the arm. " Ever since my 
 escape I have lived a most unhappy life, 
 though never made I any complaint, for 
 both the justice and the darne will have it I 
 must have been greatly to blame, else none 
 Wpuld have laid a hand on me ; and say what 
 ^vould, I could not persuade them of my 
 innocency. Of all persons living, they look 
 on you with greatest suspicion, though I am 
 certain you have given them not a shadow 
 of cause, and your appearance at this or any 
 time would do me more mischief than you 
 can imagine." 
 
 " But it cannot be that you are to be left 
 to this uncivil treatment," exclaimed the 
 other urgently. " I will not allow of a 
 thing so monstrous. Never heard I such 
 unjust, unnatural usage. It must not be 
 suffered." 
 
 " Indeed it must for there is no honest 
 way of escaping from it as I can see," an- 
 swered the poor foundling. " There is some 
 scheme afoot, I feel assured, else why is the 
 caitiff there and that evil is intended me 
 
 by it, I have had more than sufficient proof* 
 or I should not have known him to be the 
 villain he is ; but as yet I know not in what 
 shape it will come. I am in terrible appre- 
 hension of the worst, yet I see not how I can 
 avoid it if it visit me." 
 
 " There is one way,", said Sir Valentine, 
 whose feelings had been put into such ex- 
 treme excitement, he could think of nothing 
 but the safety of the fair creature who seem- 
 ed now so completely thrown on him for 
 eotection. "There is but one way, deaivst 
 abel," repeated he, in a fonder tone than 
 he had allowed himself to use a long while. 
 " If you have that regard for me you have 
 expressed, and will not be moved to favor 
 my friend's suit, I beseech you honor me to 
 that extent as would lead you to trust your 
 happiness to my keeping ; and I promise you 
 by the word of a true knight, I will carry 
 you from the evils with which you are threat- 
 ened, to the sure refuge of my kinsman's 
 house, where without delay I will give my- 
 self that firm title to be your protector which 
 can only be gained from the honorable bonds 
 of marriage." 
 
 " Marriage ?" repeated Mabel, with a 
 more unhappy aspect than she had yet 
 shown. " Surely, you have been all this 
 time in a strange ignorance : and I too 
 methinks I have been in a dream. That 
 word hath fully wakened me. I see now, 
 for the first time, how I have been dressing 
 up my heart in shadows. Oh, how great 
 hath been my folly ! I have sought what I 
 thought an innocent pleasure from sources 
 as far above my reach as are the stars. 
 Alas, what extreme thoughtlessness ! what 
 marvellous self-delusion !" 
 
 " What meaneth this ?" inquired the young 
 knight, full of wonder at this sudden change 
 in her. 
 
 " Know you not, honorable sir, I am only 
 a poor foundling ?" asked Mabel earnestly. 
 ' Have you not heard I am a poor friendless 
 creature, picked up by chance, and fostered 
 by charity ?" 
 
 " In very truth, I have not," replied Sir 
 Valentine, surprised at hearing such intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 " Then such I am," said the poor found- 
 ing. " Nay, I am so poorly off, that even 
 he very name I bear is a stranger's gift. 
 VIother or father have I never known ; and 
 such is my mean estate that I cannot claim 
 dndred with any of ever so humble a sort. 
 Oh, would you had known of this before. I 
 am much to blame for noc telling you of it 
 sooner ; but in all honesty, sweet sir, it never 
 ntered my thoughts." 
 
 " That I have remained ignorant of what
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 147 
 
 yon have just told me, is mine own fault 
 only," replied her companion. " But I can- 
 not" think of drawing back from my engage- 
 ments at such a discovery. Rich or poor, 
 noble or simple, you are the same admirable 
 fair creature I have so long loved, and that 
 ha',h honored me with her regard, therefore 
 if you will trust yourself to my care, doubt 
 not of obtaining at least the respect my poor 
 name can bestow upon you." 
 
 " It cannot be !" exclaimed the other de- 
 terminedly. " I could never do you so nota- 
 ble a wrong as to thrust my meanness into 
 your honorable family. I could not bear you 
 to be ashamed of me, and such it must needs 
 come to when any put questions to you of 
 your wife's lineage. Oh, I now see more 
 and more how ill I have acted in seeding of 
 your society. I enjoyed the present moment, 
 totally regardless of the bar between us, that 
 divided our fortunes an impassable distance. 
 
 I beseech you to forgive me, honorable sir. 
 As quickly as you can, forget that one of 
 such humble fortunes as your unhappy Ma- 
 bel ever existed. I would not I should give 
 you a moment's uneasiness. As for myself, 
 whatever maybe my wretched fate, or how- 
 ever deo'raded my condition, I shall have a 
 happiness in my thoughts which will ever 
 rank me with the most worthy, for I can re- 
 member I have attained to such proud eleva- 
 tion as to be the love of the noblest, truest, 
 and most perfect gentleman fond heart ever 
 loved." 
 
 " Dearest ! sweetest life !" cried Sir Val- 
 entine, passionately clasping her in his em- 
 braces. Mabel for a few moments allowed 
 herself to receive his endearments, then sud- 
 denly tore herself from his arms, look ing more 
 pale and sad than before. 
 
 ' ; This must not be," exclaimed she, with a 
 desperate effort, as she motioned him back. 
 
 II If you will not break my heart, I pray you, 
 I beseech you, honorable sir, grant me one 
 request." 
 
 " Willingly," replied the young knight, for 
 tears were on her eyelids, and she looked on 
 him so movingly, he could have refused her 
 nothing. 
 
 " Never approach me again," said the hap- 
 less Mabel, in a voice almost stifled by her 
 feelings. " Nay," exclaimed she, with more 
 firmness, as she noticejd he appeared about 
 to speak, " if you hold me in any respect ' 
 if I am not the abject thing in your eyes, I 
 am with the rest of the world, seek not to 
 hinder me in my resolution. I must see 
 you no more. I cannot will not allow of 
 another meeting. On reflection, your own 
 honorable nature will assure you that this is 
 as much for my welfare as your own. May 
 
 the sweetest happiness that should crown 
 such nobleness as yours wait upon all your 
 doings. Again, and for the last time, honor- 
 able sir ! fare you well !" 
 
 " Mabel ! dear, sweet Mabel ! 1 beseech 
 you leave me not thus ! I will not live with- 
 out you ! I cannot love another !" 
 
 " Truly, this is playing a friend's part, Sir 
 Valentine !" cried Sir Reginald, rudely 
 grasping the young knight by the arm, as 
 he seemed about to follow the retreating 
 Mabel. " Why, thou pitiful traitor ! thou 
 shame to knighthood thou dishonor to 
 friendship ! What demon hath tempted 
 thee to such villainous doings ? By my 
 troth, now, had I not seen this with mine 
 own eyes, I would never have believed it." 
 
 Sir Valentine was a little confounded at 
 the unexpected appearance of his friend ; 
 and knowing the circumstances in which 
 he had been found, he was sensible they 
 gave color to Sir Reginald's accusation he 
 might find it difficult to remove. " Indeed, 
 I am but little to blame, Sir Reginald," re- 
 plied he ; " and I doubt not you will ac- 
 knowledge it readily, when you have heard 
 all I have to say to you." 
 
 " Doubtless," observed the other, in a man- 
 ner somewhat sarcastic ; " I go on a distant 
 journey, placing such confidence in thy 
 seeming honorableness as to entrust thee 
 with the furthering of my suit to my mis- 
 tress during my absence ; and I return to 
 find thee basely seeking to rob me of my 
 happiness, by proffering her thine own af- 
 fections ! Truly, thou art but little to 
 blame !" 
 
 " I do assure you, Sir Reginald " 
 
 " Fie, sir !" exclaimed his companion, 
 roughly. " Thou hast a rapier methinks 
 thou shouldst know the use of it. Leave tliy 
 tongue, and take to a fitter weapon." And 
 so saying, he drew his own from its scab- 
 bard. 
 
 "By all that's honorable in knighthood 
 
 t; What !" exclaimed the other, fiercely 
 interrupting him ; " wouldst play the cow- 
 ard as well as the villain ! wouldst do me 
 such foul wrong as thou hast been about, 
 and then shrink from the punishment thou 
 hast so justly deserved ? O' my conscience, 
 I thought not so mean a wretch was not to be 
 found. Draw, caitiff, without a word more, 
 or I will beat thee like a dog." 
 
 " As Heaven is rny witness, I entertain 
 this quarrel most reluctantly," said Sir Va- 
 lentine, drawing out his rapier. ' : I cannot 
 see that I have wronged you in any way ; 
 and I am convinced you would be the first 
 to say os, knew you all that hath happened."
 
 148 
 
 TIIE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " To thy defence, sirrah' !" repKed Sir Re- 
 ginald, angrily. " I am not to be cozened 
 out of a proper vengeance." And. at this 
 he began very furiously to thrust at his 
 companion, whq^ sought only to defend him- 
 self, which he did with such skill, that his 
 opponent got more enraged every moment, 
 and gave him all manner of ill words ; but 
 still Sir Valentine kept on his defence, and 
 would not so much as make a single pass 
 
 the more, the more it was fed by her sunny 
 glances, and in these, he basked as often as 
 he could find opportunity ; but, at tlus peri- 
 od, his visits to the cottage were mostly late 
 at night, when her father and the children 
 were asleep in their beds. This arose from 
 a cause which must here be described. He 
 was now growing towards man's estate, and 
 it often occurred to him, when he was in his 
 own little chamber, fitted by himself with 
 
 at his friend. This continued till Sir Re- 1 his own two or three books on a shelf a 
 ginald, pressing on with desperate haste, ! chair for sitting a little table for writing on 
 fell on his opponent's rapier with his whole ; and a truckle bed for his lying, that he 
 force. I ought to be doing of something lor himself, 
 
 " Alack, what have I done !" exclaimed and to save his poor parents the burthen of 
 the young knight, as he beheld his faithful : his provision. Such reflections would come 
 companion in arms drop bleeding to the ' upon him, when he had been wearing away 
 ground. " Oh, I have slain the noblest the deep midnight with anxious study ; and 
 knight that ever wielded spear, and the so one morning, having come to a resolution, 
 truest friend that ever was sincere to man. he dressed himself with all neatness, and 
 O' my life, I meant to do you no hurt, and I bent his steps towards Jemmy Catchpole's, 
 can say with the same honesty, I have done whom he had heard was in want of some' 
 you no offence. Finding he got no answer, one, to copy papers and parchment and such 
 he knelt beside his wounded friend, and took things. He saw the little lawyer, after 
 his hand, and entreated him very movingly j waiting a monstrous time in a low narrow 
 he would not die at enmity with him, if he ' chamber, whereof it was difficult to say 
 was as dangerously hurt as he seemed. ; ! whether the boards or the ceiling were in 
 Still he received no reply, which put him ; the dirtiest state, who, hearing of his errand, 
 almost in a frenzy by assuring him he had made him write as he dictated, at which he 
 killed him. Finding, however, that Sir Re- looked very intently, and though it was as 
 ginald breathed, he very carefully took him fair a spechnen of penmanship as might be 
 in his arms, and placed him so that he might seen any where, he found wonderful fault? 
 recline against the broad stem of a neigh- with it. However, the end of it was, Jem- 
 boring tree, and then leaping on his steed, my Catchpole offered to employ the youth, 
 he started off at the top of his speed to get : and for his services, give him a knowledge 
 
 ' of the law for the first year or so; and after 
 that, should he have made any reasonable 
 progress in his studies, he would pay him a 
 handsome wage. This offer was gladly ac- 
 cepted, for although he could gain no pre- 
 sent profit by it, his sanguine nature saw in 
 it a most bountiful prospect. 
 
 the necessary assistance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 How that foolish man, 
 That reads the story of a woman's face, 
 And dies believing it, is lost for ever: 
 How all the good you have is but a shadow, 
 1' the morning with you, and at night behind 
 
 you, 
 
 Past and forgotten. How your vows are frosts 
 Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone : 
 How you are, being taken all together, 
 A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos, 
 That love cannot distinguish. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 I washed an Ethiope, who, for recompense, 
 Sully'd my name. And must I then be forced 
 To walk, to live, thus black ! Must ! must ! 
 
 Fie! 
 
 He that can bear with " must," he cannot die. 
 
 MARSTON. 
 
 THE love of the youthful Shakspeare for 
 the yeoman's blooming daughter flourished 
 
 Behold him now, in that den of a place 
 just alluded to, surrounded by musty parch- 
 ments and mouldering papers, with scarce 
 ever any other company than the rats and 
 the spiders, sitting on a tottering stool at a 
 worm-eaten desk, writing from the early 
 morning till late into the evening, save at 
 such times as he was allowed to get his 
 meals, or to go of errands for his employer. 
 It was about this time that he began to take 
 especial note of the humors of men, wher- 
 ever he could get sight of them ; marking in 
 his mind that distinctiveness in the individu- 
 al, which made him differ from his fellows ; 
 and observing, with quite as much minute- 
 ness, the manner in which the professions 
 of his acquaintances were in accordance <r 
 in opposition to their ways of living. By 
 this peculiar curiousness of his, he took
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 149 
 
 characters as a limner taketh portraits, 
 having each feature so set down from the 
 original, that he could carry such about 
 with him wherever he went. This he had 
 certain facilities of doing in his new occu- 
 pation, as, finding him exceeding apt, the 
 lawyer soon employed him as his assistant 
 wherever he went, which brought him into 
 every sort of company ; for Jemmy Catch- 
 pole had every body's business on his hands, 
 or, at least, he made many think so, and he 
 bustled about from place to place, as if the 
 world must needs stand still unless he gave 
 it his help. 
 
 Such occasions, and the observations he 
 drew from them, afforded the youthful Shaks- 
 peare some little amusement in the 'dulness 
 of his present life. What books the lawyer 
 had, related only to his own particular voca- 
 tion. Th o papers and parchments were the dry- 
 est stuff that ever was read or written : even 
 the very atmosphere of the chamber seemed 
 to breathe of law ; and as for Jemmy Catch- 
 pole, his talk was a mere patchwork of law 
 phrases, that required considerable familiar- 
 ity with legal instruments to make the slight- 
 est sense of. In fact, the little lawyer had 
 so used himself to such a style in his wri- 
 tings and readings, that it was impossible 
 for him to talk, think, or write, in any other. 
 The tediousness of this was- sometimes al- 
 most insupportable to the young poet, and he 
 only made it tolerable by the occasional 
 writing of some sweet ballad of his fair mis- 
 tress, when he should be engrossing a sheet 
 of parchment for his busy master. 
 
 But then, after all this weary labor, how 
 famously did he enjoy his midnight meetings 
 with the sprightly Anne Hathaway. There 
 would they stand together, under the friend- 
 ly shadow of the walnut-tree before the cot- 
 tage, in such loving fashion as I never can 
 sufficiently describe, till the stars disappeared, 
 and the sun's crimson pennon began to peep 
 above the eastern hills. Nothing in imagi- 
 nation can come at all nigh to the passion- 
 ate earnestness of his manner at these times. 
 It came to the ear of the enraptured maiden, 
 in a resistless torrent of eloquence that swept 
 down all denyings. There appeared a 
 breathing fire in his words that made the air 
 all around to glow with a delicious warmth ; 
 and his looks beamed with such exceeding 
 brilliance, that to the enamored damsel they 
 made his beautiful clear countenance like 
 unto the picture of some saint, clothed with a 
 continual halo. It was not possible for the 
 most scrupulous discreet creature to have 
 resisted so earnest a wooer, therefore it can- 
 not be considered in any way strange, that 
 the fond nature of the blooming Anne should 
 
 
 have acknowledged his complete influence. 
 It so happened, that after passing the hours 
 in such delicate pleasure as such a lover 
 was .likely to produce, on his taking leave of 
 her, he sung the following words to a plea- 
 sant tune that had long been a favorite of 
 his. The song was thus styled in a copy ho 
 gave to her soon after : 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE'S GOOD HIGHT TO HIS 
 SOUL'S MISTRESS. 
 
 " Good night, sweet life ! yet, dearest, say, 
 
 How can that night be good to me, 
 That drives me from my bliss away, 
 
 Whilst taking off mine eyes from thee ? 
 Good night ! the hours so swiftly are fleeting, 
 
 We find no time to mark their flight ; 
 And having known such joy in meeting, 
 
 'Tis hard to say Good night ! good night ! 
 Good night, sweet life ! ere daylight beams, 
 ' And sleep gives birth to hopes divine, 
 May I be present in thy dreams, 
 
 And blessed as thou shall be in mine. 
 Good night ! yet still I fondly linger 
 
 I go, but do not leave thy sight : 
 Though morning shows her rosy finger, 
 
 I murmur still Good night ! good night !" 
 
 This was the song, simple though it may 
 be ; but his impassioned manner of singing 
 it, which clothed every word with unuttera- 
 ble passion, I cannot give. 
 
 " I tell thee what it is, friend Will," ex- 
 claimed a familiar voice from an open case- 
 ment above them, so much to the astonish- 
 ment of the lovers that they started from the 
 affectionately closeness of their position on 
 a sudden ; " if thou wilt not come a wooing 
 at decent hours, or dost again wake me out 
 of my sleep with the singing of love-songs, 
 I'll have none of thy company. And I tell 
 thee what it is, Mistress Anny, if thou al- 
 lowest of such loud kissing, thou wilt alarm 
 the whole country within a mile of thee !" 
 
 "Heart o' me, father how you talk !" 
 cried the blushing criminal. John Hatha- 
 way closed the casement and returned to 
 his bed, chuckling like one who had just 
 succeeded in playing off some exquisite 
 pleasant jest. 
 
 About this period the youthful Shakspeare 
 was ever meeting John a Combe. Although 
 he could scarce be got to speak to any other 
 person in the town, save on business, John 
 a Combe never failed to accost the young- 
 poet whenever they met. It was evident 
 each took pleasure in the other's society ; 
 for although Master Combe was marvellous 
 bitter in his speech upon all occasions, he 
 was ever betraying to the close observance 
 of his companion, a kindness of nature which
 
 150 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the latter could well appreciate. He sus- 
 pected that beneath this covering of gall and 
 wormwood the sweet honey of humanity lay 
 in exhaustless heaps ; and knowing of his 
 history, and his former greatness of soul, he 
 was exceedingly curious to learn the secret 
 cause that had made him apparently so 
 changed a man. Once, when he met him, 
 the usurer made him promise t* call at his 
 house immediately lie had done his labors of 
 the day, as he wished to see him on a mat- 
 ter of deep importance. William Shaks- 
 peare promised, and that evening, instead of 
 going to his mistress, he was found seated in 
 John a Combe's chamber, where one candle 
 gave just sufficient light to make the 
 cheerlessness of the place most conspicuous. 
 The usurer sat before him, with that restless 
 look and manner with which a man who has 
 determined to do a thing which he likes not, 
 prepares to set about it. 
 
 " I'v* heard thou art playing the lover 
 is't true ?" inquired he, in his usual sharp 
 voice. 
 
 " Most undeniable," replied the young po- 
 et with a smile. 
 
 " O' my life, I did not think thou hadst 
 such marvellous lack of brains," observed 
 the other. " Wouldst cater for thine own 
 misery ? Wouldst build thy towering Ba- 
 bel to the skies, to end in tbe utter confu- 
 sion of thy thoughts ? Have more discre- 
 tion." 
 
 " Indeed I find in it so sweet a happiness, 
 J would not abandon it at any price," said 
 his companion, with all the fervor of a true 
 lover. 
 
 " Is not the poison sweetened to attract 
 the fly !" exclaimed the usurer more ear- 
 nestly. " I tell thee thou shouldst avoid 
 the temptation as thou wouldst a pestilence. 
 It will destroy thee, body and soul. It will 
 madden thy brain and wither thy heart, 
 make thy blood a consuming fire, and thy 
 life an intolerable wretchedness !" 
 
 " Truly I have no such fear," replied the 
 youthful Shakspeare. 
 
 " When does youth fear when there is a 
 fair prospect before it !" cried John a Combe. 
 " What a desperate folly it is. Point out the 
 gaping precipice within its path, it will go 
 madly forward. Of a surety nature might 
 well wear a robe of motley, for she presi- 
 deth over a goodly company of fools. I tell 
 thee, boy, there is no 'such danger as that 
 thou seemest so enamored of ; and if nothing 
 else will turn thee from thy destruction, I 
 will unfold to thee the story of mine own 
 fearful experience of this blight upon hu- 
 manity." 
 
 William Shakspeare listened in silence, 
 
 for, as hath been said, he had a strange r,u- 
 riousness to know what his companion had 
 promised. 
 
 ' I require of thee, first of all, that thou 
 declarest to none one word of the secret I 
 am about to entrust to thee." The young 
 aoet readily made his assurance he would 
 not repeat a syllable; and presently the 
 usurer continued his narration in these 
 words : 
 
 " Perchance thou has heard of one John 
 a Combe, whose goodness of heart Was the 
 :heme of all of .his acquaintance. I was 
 :hat John a Combe. I had such store of 
 love in my breast that I scattered it far and 
 wide, and yet it seemed to grow the greater 
 the more it was so squandered. No matter 
 what evil I might see, I regarded it only as 
 the weeds in a corn field, surrounded by 
 such bountiful provision of good that it was 
 scarce worthy the observation of any person 
 of a thankful nature. My youth was cher- 
 ished with such pleasing feelings. My man- 
 hood flourished upon the same teeming soil. 
 I sought to sow benefits broadcast wherever 
 there was place and opportunity ; and found, 
 or fancied I found, the crop amply repay me 
 for the labor. I made friends wherever I 
 met faces. All men seemed to me rny 
 brothers ; and every woman,! looked upon 
 as a domestic deity deserving honorable 
 worship. At last I met one who regarded 
 me as an enemy. I strove to win him to 
 better feelings, and failed. He essayed to 
 destroy me in honest battle I disarmed him 
 and went my way unhurt. He then tried to 
 rob me of my life by treachery ; but here he 
 was both baffled and punished, whilst I re- 
 mained as uninjured as at first. He was a 
 demon a fiend of hell, let loose on the 
 earth. 
 
 " I had met with many women seeming 
 in every way worthy of my love, and show- 
 ing such signs as proved I should have no 
 great difficulty in the winning of their af- 
 fections : but my soul was somewhat curi- 
 ous in the pursuit of female excellence. It 
 must needs have a phccnix. It would not 
 be satisfied with what appeared good it 
 strove to procure possession of the best. I 
 sought for such an object, for a long time 
 unavailingly. At last in a neighboring 
 town I met with one who seemed all I re- 
 quired. She was of a poor family, the 
 daughter of a man supporting himself and 
 her by the profits of a humble trade. She 
 was fair young of gentle manners, and 
 ; of a winning modest innocency. What 
 I more could be wanted ? On further ao- 
 1 quaintance her merits rose in greater con- 
 ' spicuousness, and the perfect simplicity of
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 151 
 
 her dispositi ~jn won on me more and more 
 every clay. Was not this a phoenix ? a 
 phcEiiix that rose from the jlames her bril- 
 liant beauty raised in my heart. I grew 
 enamored : and she with an admirable deli- 
 cacy retired from my advances. I perse- 
 vered, and saw in her some faint signs 1 
 was making way in her estesm. Still there 
 ,vas such sweet air of. purest chastity in her 
 every action, it kept me a worshipper at so 
 respectful a distance, I could not believe my 
 success to be in any certainty. 
 
 ",What Jid I do "upon this. I determined 
 to take every opportunity of studying her 
 nature, with the hope of so moulding it to 
 my ideas of womanly excellence, I should 
 by possessing her, secure myself a, life of 
 such exceeding happiness the most blessed 
 couid have but little notion of. To say I 
 loved her, methinks is scarce to say enough, 
 yet of the mere outward show of passion I 
 afforded the world so little, none could have* 
 believed I had been so desperately enamored. 
 It was that nice sense of delicacy in her, 
 and modest shrinking from familiar praise, 
 that took me captive. To win her love 1 
 strove with all the earnestness of manhood 
 flushed with its proudest energies. But how 
 to win it was the question. I would not 
 purchase it by gifcs, for that suited not my 
 humor. I would only have it come as the 
 price of her appreciation of my merit, for 
 then I thought 1 could the better count on 
 its sincerity and duration. With this fine 
 fantasy of mine, I would not let her know 1 
 was in such good estate as I really was. I 
 affected some humbleness of fortune, think- 
 ing by gaining her in such guise I should 
 be sure that no alloy of selfishness could 
 mingle with the pure sterling of her love. 
 
 " 1 took up my abode in her lather's house 
 to have the fullest means of completing my 
 honest purpose. She seemed to grow under 
 my hand like a flower of my own planting. 
 She began to regard me with a softer ten- 
 derness. 1 doubled my assiduity, and she 
 gradually wanned into a graceful fondness; 
 yet in all that she did or said there was so 
 exquisite an artlessness, I was more charm- 
 ed than had she been a thousand times more 
 affectionate without such simple coloring. 
 I loved more and more. At last the crown- 
 ing of all my toil I gained from her the 
 much longed-for confession the treasure 
 of her regard was mine and mine alone. I 
 did not betray myself even then, delighted 
 as I was beyond all measure ; but I resolv- 
 ed the next day to leave the house, return 
 in my true character as speedily as I might, 
 and, before all her acquaintance, wed her 
 with such honorable ceremony as worth like 
 
 hers deserved. I thought my bliss complete, 
 and iny gratitude to the author of it knew 
 no bounds. 
 
 " I slept in a chamber directly under hers, 
 and often as I lay in my bed have I enjoyed 
 more exquisite sweet pleasure in hearing 
 her gentle footsteps pass my door, and up 
 the stairs to her sweet rest to which, in 
 consequence, as she told me, of her house- 
 hold labors, she was the last to retire of any 
 in the house. That night thinking of my 
 great happiness to come, I kept awake long- 
 er than had been customary with me ; and 
 all at once I marvelled I had not yet heard 
 her light footfalls, for it was far beyond her 
 usual time of coming up stairs. Another 
 hour passed by and yet no sign of her com- 
 ing. I began to get somewhat alarmed, as 
 lovers will upon anything out of the ordi- 
 nary in their mistress's behavior. At last 
 when I had nigh worked myself into a fever 
 with imagining of all sorts of dangers that 
 might have happened to her, to my infinite 
 joy I heard her softly approach my door. 
 Almost at the instant 1 heard other footsteps 
 ascending with her. In the next moment 
 I distinguished a slight whispering in a 
 strange voice. Then two persons together 
 proceeded past my door together they as- 
 cended the stairs together they entered her 
 chamber the door was locked I could then 
 distinctly hear above me, mingled with her 
 light footfall and gentle voice, the full deep 
 tones and heavy step of a man. 
 
 " At this discovery I started up as though 
 I had been bit by an adder the bed shook 
 under the fierce trembling of my limbs my 
 heart beat in my breast as a madman rushes 
 against his prison bars my veins seemed 
 filled with the flame, and my brain scorch- 
 ing with fire ; and a hot blighting wind ap- 
 peared so to fill the place around me, I 
 breathed as though every breath would be 
 my last. But this was but the beginning of 
 my tortures. Had I possessed the power of 
 moving I would have done a deed of just 
 vengeance, which should have remained a 
 monument of terror unto the end of time ; 
 but I was there like one chained, having no 
 other senses but those of hearing and feel- 
 ing. Talk of the sufferings of the damned, 
 what were they to the agonies I endured. 
 Lash me with scorpions plunge me into 
 everlasting fires goad me with serpents 
 stings strain every nerve and artery with 
 pullies, racks and wheels 'tis but a mere 
 ordinary aching in comparison. At last 
 nature could hold out no longer, and all sen- 
 sation left me. 
 
 " When I recovered consciousness, the 
 sun was streaming in at my casement ; but
 
 152 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 it waa no sun for me. I was no more the 
 man I had been twelve hours before, than is 
 a withered bud a blooming flower. A per- 
 petual darkness took possession of mine 
 eyes my veins held a running poison the 
 sweet feelings of humanity had turned to a 
 sourness that corroded their vessels all my 
 hopes were consumed to ashes, and scat- 
 tered to the four winds ; and all my belief 
 in the existence of the worthiness of hu- 
 manity burst like a bubble in the air, leav- 
 ing no sign to tell that such a thing had 
 ever appeared. Wherever I looked I spied i 
 the darkness of a sepulchre wherever I ; 
 moved I smelt the filth of a charnel. Villainy ! 
 was branded on every face. Craft made its i 
 dwelling in every habitation. I saw the i 
 world intent on my destruction. I declared 
 war against the whole human race. 
 
 " I took counsel with myself, and deter- 
 mined before I left that hateful place to dis- 
 cover one thing. I had dressed myself in 
 readiness to set about the fulfilment of my 
 resolution, when who should make her ap- 
 pearance but the object of my late care and 
 regard my phconix! my best among the 
 excellent ! Towards me she came, looking 
 as simple, innocent, pure, and artless as she 
 had looked from the beginning. I managed 
 by a desperate effort to keep me a calmed 
 countenance, though there raged so fierce 
 a tempest within me as beggareth all de- 
 scription. 
 
 " She sat herself down as usual, and with 
 her accustomed gentle kindness commenced 
 asking concerning of my health. I calmly 
 drew a chair next to hers, quietly seated 
 myself as near to her as I could quickly 
 seized one of her wrists in each hand, and 
 with my face close to her own, looked into 
 her eyes as though I would read there the 
 deepest secret of her soul. She shrunk from 
 my scrutiny with every sign of consciou 
 guilt. I then poured out on her the pent-up 
 flood of contempt, indignation, and abhor- 
 rence; and she trembled in pallid shame. 
 I saw she was humbled to the dust with 
 fear, and rung from her reluctant lips the 
 whole history of her infamy. It was a com- 
 mon case. An excess of vanity disguised 
 by matchless craft, made her seek to be- 
 come above her natural station. She sought 
 to be the envy of her companions, by wearing 
 of such ornament as they could not obtain. 
 These she cared not to obtain honestly, 
 t/^agh she employed an exhaustless stock 
 of artifice to make it appear they were so 
 acquired. The tempter was at hand, ready 
 to take advantage of her evil-disposedness. 
 A few trinkets and other pretty baubles, 
 with a fair commodity of oatais and flatteries, 
 
 completed the bargain. The price paid, she 
 sold herself, body and soul. Still I stopped 
 not here. I insisted on the name of her com 
 panion in iniquity. After a while she gave 
 it. It was mine enemy. 
 
 " He had seen where I had stored up all 
 my hopes he had noticed my infinite pains- 
 taking to make my happiness complete he 
 had watched eagerly delightedly watch- 
 ed the progress of the enamored game I was 
 playing, till I had staked every thought and 
 feeling on the issue ; and then he came with 
 his damnable base villainy, and so cheated 
 me, I not only lost what I had* staked, but 
 lost myself as well. At the mention of his 
 name I flung her from me like a toad : and 
 as the fear-struck wretch lay prostrate be- 
 fore me, I heaped on her guilty soul the 
 abundant measure of my honest execrations. 
 She hid her face in her hands, and writhed 
 like a bruised worm; but I left her not till 
 I had exhausted every term of infamy and 
 scorn I had at my will. Doubtless, though 
 the next hour she went about wearing of 
 the same simple, artless, innocent counte- 
 nance as first attracted me ; and as token 
 of her worthiness, exhibited to her envious 
 companions the letters and verses of my 
 writing, wherein I bestowed on her that 
 estimable rare clothing with which true 
 love delighteth to attire its deity : and, I 
 make no manner of question, hath since 
 palmed herself off on others, as she strove 
 to do With me, as the purest, kindest and 
 best among the l most admirable of her 
 sex. 
 
 " As for the villain that did me this in- 
 tolerable wrong, I sought him in all places, 
 but he managed to elude the strictness of 
 my search. If there remain for me one 
 glimpse of happiness in this world, it can 
 only come when I shall toss his body to the 
 ravens, and leave his bones a crumbling 
 monument of matchless perfidy, to whiten 
 in. the blast. Bowed down, as I am, with 
 the weight of those memories which crush 
 my humanity to the dust, my arm seems 
 nerved, and all my limbs clothed with a 
 giant's power, whenever I see in my mind's 
 eye the arrival of my day of vengeance. I 
 know it will come. Nature hath been out- 
 raged beyond all previous example. The 
 punishment shall be in proportion to the 
 offence. The breath of life is kept within 
 my miserable frame only by an unconquer- 
 able desire to execute this natural decree ; 
 and till that longed-for time shall come, the 
 scorn, the detestation, the hatred, the con- 
 tempt, the disgust, the loathing and abhor- 
 rence that bubbles from my heart, will fall, 
 for want of being discnarged upon its piopei
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 153 
 
 object, upon those who have the ill hap to 
 come within my influence. 
 
 " Boy !" exclaimed John a Combe, in a 
 voice scarce audible from the greatness of 
 his emotions, " when I think of what I might 
 have become, and behold what I am, my 
 heart feels as if it would shiver in my breast. 
 There are many who may still remember me 
 in my better days, but I doubt they knew 
 the happiness I had then in myself and my 
 doings. From philanthropy to usury is a 
 huge step ; yet I took it at a bound. May- 
 hap I am mad I ha'fe had cause enough 
 for it but I can assert of a certainty, I am 
 most miserable." 
 
 William Shakspeare had listened to the 
 preceding narration with exceeding interest; 
 but the last few words were spoken with 
 such a touching earnestness, he was more 
 deeply moved than ever he had been in his 
 life before. He saw this was no case for 
 common consolations he therefore attempt- 
 ed nothing of the sort. 
 
 " Never breathe to me a word of woman's 
 honorableness," continued the usurer, with 
 increased earnestness. " This creature that 
 I had worshipped with so pure a spirit, 
 whose worthiness I exalted above all virtue, 
 and whose excellence I so honored, it out- 
 topped every example of goodness, not only 
 did me this inhuman wrong out of her own 
 infinite baseness ; but as soon as I had rid 
 myself of her infamous society, she took to 
 slandering me with the coarse, vile coloring 
 of the blackest malice thinking, by so do- 
 ing, my testimony of her shame would not 
 be believed. I alone had knowledge of her 
 evil doing the- fear which guilt produces 
 continually haunted her and she strove to 
 save her reputation by destroying mine. 
 She gave out I had sought to use her dis- 
 honestly, so she would have none of me ; 
 and accused me of such horrible behaving 
 as none but the degraded, debased thing she 
 had made herself, could have conceived. 
 Here, then, \^p.s I by my abundant love of 
 virtue, and prodigal generousness, in seek- 
 ing to make others happy, stripped hopeless 
 and then daubed with the pitch of infamy ! 
 I have said nought of this matter hitherto, 
 believing I might escape the outstretched 
 finger, and the reviling eye, of the unjust 
 world, by a strict secrecy. My pride would 
 not allow of my offering one word in my 
 own defence, convinced that men's minds 
 have such an inclination for villainy, they 
 will readily entertain it, let it come in any 
 shape. No where will there be found any 
 sympathy/ for abused confidence, for the 
 man that is deceived is looked upon as a 
 poor weak fool, that should have had more 
 
 wit than to have suffered such cozening. 
 
 (; I felt convinced that every one aiound 
 me were striving to get to a knowledge of 
 my secret, that they might enjoy the plea- 
 sure of thinking ill of me ; so I was before- 
 hand with them abused all, and kept all 
 from the slightest approach to that famili- 
 arity which they desired should lead to con- 
 tempt. But what a life is this I am living! 
 and when I behold thy fresh young nature 
 pursuing the same course which mine hath 
 gone, have I not reason to fear it will come 
 to a like dreadful ending ? Boy ! look at 
 me, and pause in thy career. 1 have been 
 as thou art now a worshipper of fair ap- 
 pearances. I loved the goodly garnishing 
 of the bright world, and would have rushed 
 against a thousand levelled spears in de- 
 fence of its integrity. Thou seest me here 
 decrepid in my prime, inwardly affected 
 with a moral leprosy, that eateth my heart 
 to the core outwardly, one entire sore, that 
 causeth me to shrink from the world as from 
 a scorching fire. I am at strife with my 
 fellows I am at war with myself the day 
 bringeth no peace for me the night no re- 
 pose. Merciful God !" exclaimed the un- 
 happy usurer, in his deep frenzy, clasping 
 his hands together, with a wild look of agony 
 and supplication. "Is there no peace for 
 the guiltless ? Is there nought but perpet- 
 ual torture for the doer of good ? Tear not 
 my heart-strings with so rude a grasp ! I 
 have wronged none. I have loved all. I 
 have worshipped fervently each excellent 
 evidence of thy perfect handiwork. Let not 
 mine enemy prevail against me. He hath 
 done me mosc intolerable injury. Pity for 
 my undeserved sufferings ! Justice against 
 the villainy that produced them ! Mercy ! 
 help ! vengeance !" 
 
 Shouting these last words in the most 
 piercing tones, John a Combe tottered for- 
 \vard a few steps, and before his young com- 
 panion could reach the place where he was, 
 fell exhausted iipon the floor. 
 
 CHAPTER XXHI. 
 
 Is this your manly service ? , 
 A devil scorns to do it. 
 
 MASSINGER. 
 
 Now whether it were providence, or luck, 
 Whether the keeper's or the stealer"s buck, 
 There we had venison. 
 
 BISHOP CORBET. 
 
 " SEE that this plot of thine have a more 
 profitable issue than thy preceding ones."
 
 154 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " It cannot fail, my lord, it is so cunning- 
 ly devised." 
 
 " So thou saidst of the others, yet I reaped 
 no advantage of them." 
 
 " That was owing to no fault of mine, 
 / believe me, but to circumstances which, as 
 it was clean impossible they could be fore- 
 seen of the piercingest wit, it is plain they 
 could not have been prevented." 
 
 Thus spoke two of whom the reader hath 
 already some acquaintance to wit, the li- 
 centious noble and his villainous assistant ; 
 and they were sitting together in a small, 
 mean chamber of an obscure inn in the 
 neighborhood of Charlcote the former, as 
 usual, so closely wrapped up, as if he feared 
 being recognized; and the other in finer fea- 
 ther than he had ever been in before, as 
 though he was intent in playing some ex- 
 ceeding gallant part. 
 
 " I marvel, my lord, you should waste so 
 much labor on so poor an object," observed 
 the meaner villain. " Methinks you might 
 f have won a nobler prize at half the pains. 
 Indeed, I have been credibly informed this 
 Mabel is nothing better than a very mean 
 person, a mere foundling mayhap, the 
 chance offspring of vulgar parents that 
 hath now become a sort of humble servant 
 to the 'good dame by whom she was disco- 
 vered." 
 
 "Dost tell me this story, fellow!" exclaim- 
 ed his companion, rising from his seat with 
 most haughty indignant glances. " Why, 
 where hath tiown thy wits, that thou couldst 
 credit so shallow a tale ? Foundling ! o' 
 my lit'e, I would gladly give a thousand 
 crowns to pick up such a foundling but 
 once or twice in my life. Vulgar parent- 
 age ! By this hand, I have seen her wear 
 so regal an air with her, as Elizabeth, in her 
 proudest mood, never came up to. Ser- 
 vant ! Hast noted her look and move, and 
 speak with that unrivalled dignity she pos- 
 sesseth, and talk so idly ? 'Slife, thy brains 
 are addled." 
 
 The gallant looked all humbleness. He 
 knew it would bt 1 somewhat unprofitable to 
 him to differ in opinion with his employer 
 on such a matter ; so he made no more ado 
 than to express his entire disbelief of the 
 story he had been told, and avow he had ne- 
 ver entertained it from the first. 
 
 " I must say this plot seemeth to me a 
 famous good one for the purpose," observed 
 the other, as he was making for the door. 
 " But, mark me, if that knave of thine lay 
 but his sacrilegious linger on her, I'll cut 
 him to shreds I" 
 
 ' Be assured, my lord, everything shall 
 be doi;e according to your noble wishes," 
 
 replied his associate. Soon afterwards both 
 mounted their horses at the door, the noble 
 then started off in one direction, and the 
 other, accompanied by the same ill-looking 
 fellow, that had dealt William Shakspeare 
 so fierce a blow in the park, at Charlcote, 
 took a different road. These two rode to- 
 wards Sir Thomas Lucy's house in deep and 
 earnest converse all the way ; the former 
 ever anon breaking off his discourse by 
 muttering the words " fellow," and " so my 
 brains are addled!" in a manner which 
 showed he had taken huge offence at those 
 expressions. In another hour they were 
 seated with the justice in his favorite cham- 
 ber, making famous cheer of his good ale ; 
 the gallant appearing to be a marvellous 
 great person ; and his fellow dressed in a 
 falconer's suit of green, played the part of 
 the honest, humble serving man, that his 
 master, out of regard for his exceeding me- 
 rit, sought to make happy. He spoke sel- 
 dom, and then only to praise his good mas- 
 ter, or say some respectful speech to his 
 worship the justice. However, his compa- 
 nions left him but little opportunity for much 
 talking, had he been so inclined ; for what 
 with his master's marvellous accounts of his 
 influence at court, and the many noble per- 
 sons he was held in such esteem of, they 
 could refuse him nothing, and Sir Thomas's 
 still more incredible accounts at his familiar 
 acquaintance with these notable person- 
 ages, in their youth, and the famous tricks 
 he apd they had played together, there was 
 but little room for a third party to bring in 
 a word. 
 
 We must, however, leave these worthies 
 for the present, and accompany the courte- 
 ous reader to another chamber, wherein the 
 gentle Mabel w r as receiving a grave and 
 somewhat severe lecture from Dame Lucy. 
 The poor foundling looked pale and sad. 
 She was striving to resign herself to the 
 humility of her fortunes, but there was 
 something in her nature thaft would not be 
 content. 
 
 " I beseech you, sweet mistress, let me 
 hear no more of the marriage," said she at 
 last, in a manner pitiful enough to have 
 moved any person. " This man I know to 
 be one of those who assisted to carry me off, 
 and the other his master was the mainspring 
 of the whole villainy." 
 
 " Did any ever iiear of such presump- 
 tion !" exclaimed the old dame, in a famous 
 astonishment. " Doth not Sir Thomas de- 
 clare that the gentleman hath been his good 
 friend nigh upon this twenty year, and tha 
 the other, his falconer, he believes to be at 
 honest a man as ever broke bread. Dost
 
 THE YOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 155 
 
 pretend to Know more than the jnstice ? I 
 marvel at thy horrible impudency !" 
 
 " I cannot be mistaken, for they have 
 given me but too good cause to hold them 
 firmly in my remembrance," added the poor 
 foundling. 
 
 " Here's ingratitude !" cried her ancient 
 companion, seeming to be getting a little 
 out of temper ! " Here's obstinacy ! Here's 
 disobedience, and undutifulness to thy pro- 
 per advisers. Art not ashamed to be setting 
 thyself in opposition to thy betters, who have 
 clothed thee, and fed thee, and given thee 
 lodging, and made of thee a Christian ? 
 By my troth, I would not have believed such 
 huge baseness was in the whole world." 
 
 " But I have no desire for marriage, an' it 
 please you. good mistress," said Mabel ; 
 " merhinks I am well enough as I am." 
 
 " How dost pretend to know anything of 
 the sort," answered Dame Lucy, sharply. 
 " Is not the justice the better judge ! Hath 
 he not said thou art ill off, and dost dare, in 
 tha face of it, to say thou art well enough ? 
 But I see it plain. Thou art hankering af- j 
 ter those line fellows who met thee at Kenil- 
 worth ; and would sooner be the leman of a 
 gay gallant than the wife of an honest man. 
 But I will put a stop to thy villainy straight. 
 Tlie justice hath declared thou art to marry, 
 and to marry thou must speedily make up 
 thy inincl. I will see that thou art properly 
 wedded with all convenient speed ; and*as 
 earnest of my intentions, I will sand thee 
 the honest man who is to be thy husband. 
 Prithee, take heed thou entertain him well." 
 
 Mabel saw her mistress leava tho cham- 
 ber, and sank into a seat with a mind nigh 
 paralyzed with apprehension. She had sus- 
 pected, for some time, some plot was hatch- 
 ing by which she was to suffer, and she now 
 saw its villainous shape and purpose. She 
 perceived it Was planned with such extreme 
 subtlety, that it afforded scarce any chance 
 of escape. Her thoughts were sinking into 
 a very desperate hopelessness, when the ! 
 door opened, and there entered the chamber, j 
 with a half-respectful, half-familiar look, j 
 and in an awkward, clownish manner, the , 
 man that awhile since was making cheer 
 with his master, and the justice. Mabel 
 knew him at a glance, and, in a moment, | 
 sprung to her feet, eyeing him with a look 
 of scorn and detestation that appeared to 
 discompose him somewhat. There was 
 scarce a bolder villain in existence, yet it 
 was evident he felt not quite at his ease be- 
 fore the flashing glances of the poor found- 
 ling. He seated himself on a chair, holding 
 his hat before him with his knees close toge- 
 ther j and presently shifted his position, and 
 
 then again changed it. Neither had spoke 
 by word of mouth ; but the looks of Mabel 
 seemed to have the searchingest language 
 that ever was said or written, and the villain 
 read it, understood it, and felt it. At last, 
 he commenced speaking : " His worship 
 hath had such goodness as to " 
 
 " Wretch !" exclaimed Mabel, interrupt- 
 ing him in a deep low voice, in which utter 
 contempt seemed to breathe its most humi- 
 liating spirit ; and then advancing towards 
 him two or three steps in all the haughty 
 dignity of virtue, continued with an elo- 
 quence of look and gesture which exceed- 
 eth all powers of description, to address him 
 thus : " The spawn of the toad hath a 
 name, the slough of the adder may be called 
 something ; but what art thou, monster of 
 baseness, for whom language hath no fit ti- 
 tle. Art a man ? Manhood spits at thee ! 
 Art a beast ? The most bestial thing that 
 crawls, knoweth nothing of the vile office 
 thou hast undertaken. Avaunt, thou out- 
 rage_upon nature ! Away, thou shame on 
 humanity ! Go, hide thee, if hiding thou 
 canst find ; for if thou couldst crawl within 
 the deepest bowels of the earth, the earth 
 would sicken at thy touch, and cast thee up 
 the sea would raise her gorge at thee 
 the mountains heave at thy approach and 
 all the elements of matter shrink from thy 
 neighborhood, as from an abomination too 
 gross to be endured!" 
 
 The man winced under this address, as if 
 every word of it had been a goad that touch- 
 ed him to the quick. His dark scowling 
 eyes glanced restlessly about, he changed 
 color several times, and looked in that pe- 
 culiar expression of indecision that betoken- 
 eth a state of mind in which a person know- 
 eth not what to do with himself, though he 
 would be glad to be anywhere but where he 
 Was. 
 
 ' ; What desperate demon put thee on this 
 mischief," continued Mabel in the same force 
 of language and manner. " Canst seek such 
 detestable employment and live ? Hast no 
 sense of shame ? No fear of punishment ? 
 No dread of an hereafter ? Look at what 
 thou art about to do. Hold it before thy 
 gaze unshrinkingly, if thou canst. Doth 
 not thy soul shrink in disgust at entering 
 upon such loathsomeness ? Man ! If thou 
 hast not parted with every tittle of the de- 
 cent pride of nature, spurn the outrageous 
 infamy thou wouldst thrust thyself into. 
 Get thee to thy employer, and tell him thou 
 dost abhor such inhuman villainy, or thou 
 wilt be hunted through the world like some 
 foul fruit of monstrous practices, all nature 
 riseth to destroy from very shame."
 
 156 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The villain evidently trembled, and the 
 big drops starting on his wrinkled forehead, 
 showed how deeply he was moved. 
 
 " Rememberest thou, thou hadst once a 
 mother ?" added the foundling in a deeper 
 and more subduing tone : " think of her, 
 friendless as I am. How wouldst thou re- 
 gard the man who suffered himself to be- 
 come the tool of a villainous base traitor, to 
 secure his doing her such foul wrong as 
 honesty stands aghast to contemplate ? 
 Wouldst not be ready to tear his heart from 
 his breast, and trample it in the nighest 
 dunghill, to rot with its kindred filth ? Canst 
 behold this vileness in another and not see 
 it in thyself? Thou art the tool for com- 
 passing this mischief, and I the guiltless ob- 
 ject at which 'tis aimed. If I have done 
 thee any wrong I will do all possible repara- 
 tion. If I have given thee any offence, I 
 will endure any corresponding punishment. 
 I charge thee say in what I have injured thee, 
 that thou shouldst pursue me with so unna- 
 tural a hatred !" 
 
 " Nay, sweet mistress, I have never re- 
 ceived ill at your hands," replied the man 
 with a faltering voice, and a manner tho- 
 roughly ashamed. " And if I in any way 
 assist in doing of you an injury, may I be 
 hanged on the highest gibbet that can be 
 found." So saying, he hurried out of the 
 chamber so completely chap-fallen as no 
 villain had ever been before. He immedi- 
 ately sought his master, and found him alone. 
 
 " Ask of me to stab, to poison, or to rob, 
 and 1 care not to refuse," exclaimed he. 
 " But if I am caught within looking or talk- 
 ing distance of that wends.again, I will eat 
 myself by handfuls. 'Slight ! her words 
 and glances have so scourged me, I would 
 sooner have took the whipping-post the long- 
 est day o' the year, than have endured a 
 tithe of such punishment." 
 
 " Why, thou ape, thou beast, thou fool, 
 thou pestilent 'knave and coward! what dost 
 mean by this ?" cried his master in as great 
 rage as astonishment. " Wouldst spoil the 
 goodliest plot that ever was devised ; and 
 mar the making of our fortunes when we 
 are sure of success ?" 
 
 " Truly, I care not if I do," said the man 
 doggedly. " But I will be no mean for the 
 doing of her any mischief. I will assist 
 thee in any decent villainy, but if ever I 
 meddle with her again, I'll forswear living." 
 
 It was in vain that the other tried by 
 premises and then by threats *to turn his 
 companion's resolution ; and the result was, 
 Mabel was left at peace till some more wil- 
 ling agent could be found. 
 
 In tho meanwhile the passion of the youth- 
 
 ful Shakspeare for the yeoman's blooming 
 daughter continued to develope itself with 
 increased fervor, despite of the usurer's 
 warning ; and John Hathaway with his own 
 notions of the matter, at last on one of his 
 usual evening visits, bluntly asked him how 
 he should like his fair mistress for a wife ; 
 whereupon, as might be expected, the young 
 lover answered nought in this world would 
 make him so happy. Then the father grave- 
 ly inquired into his means of supporting a 
 wife, at which his contpanion looked the 
 gravest of the two, and acknowledged that 
 all he had was the wage he received from 
 Master Catchpole, which scarce sufficed to 
 keep him in shoe leather ; and that the yeo- 
 man looked monstrous concerned, and be- 
 gan to preach a notable fine homily on the 
 necessity of marrying with sufficient provi- 
 sion, to all of which the young poet had not 
 a word of reply ; but sat in a very desperate 
 unhappiness, fully convinced every hope of 
 gaining his dear mistress was at an end. 
 
 " I tell thee what it is, friend Will," said 
 John Hathaway, after regarding his compan- 
 ion's doleful visage till he found he could no 
 longer disguise the sly pleasure he was him- 
 self enjoying all the time, " Keep thy heart 
 above thy girdle* I prithee. I and thy hon- 
 est father settled the matter yester-eve, over 
 a full tankard. Thou shalt be married at 
 Lemmas, and shalt lack nothing for thy par- 
 ticular comfort I can procure thee. A fair 
 good night to thee, son Will." Before the 
 delighted lover could recover from his ex- 
 ceeding astonishment at this welcome'intol- 
 ligence, his intended father-in-law, mayhap 
 the most pleased of the two, had made his 
 way to his bed-chamber. 
 
 Every hour of the intervening time went 
 joyfully with the youthful Shakspeare. 
 Even the musty parchmehts and dull law 
 writings took a pleasant countenance at this 
 period, and he labored so diligently and so 
 much to the satisfaction of his master, with 
 whom he had become in famous esteem for 
 his cleverness at his duties, that he hearing 
 of his coming marriage, promised him a 
 week's holidays previous to his wedding-day, 
 that he might the better employ himself in 
 the necessary preparations, and a week after 
 his nuptials, that lie might have sufficient 
 space to enjoy himself to his heart's content. 
 
 But the little lawyer was a marvellous 
 shrewd person. He suspected did he not 
 get rid of his clerk at such a time, he would 
 be marring of everything he put his hand 
 to by thinking of other matters. 
 
 The week previous to the wedding had 
 arrived, and the young lover was in such a 
 state of happy expectation as lovers at such
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 157 
 
 a time only can. know. His cheerful, free 
 humor had made him an especial favorite of 
 the young men of his own age, who could 
 claim with him any sort of acquaintance, 
 and now more than ever his heart was open 
 to every appearance of sociality. His ap- 
 proaching marriage became known over the 
 town, and this led many to ask him to par- 
 take with him a friendly draught, that they 
 might wish him all manner of happiness, the 
 which he could not without an unbecoming 
 discourtesy refuse, consequently, when he 
 was not in company with his dear mistress, 
 of whom by reason of her being in almost 
 constant occupation preparing for this great 
 festival of her life, he saw only for a brief 
 space each day, he was engaged in social 
 revelling with his friends. Perchance some 
 of these, being of an idle turn, and of some- 
 what unbridled inclinations, were not the 
 very properest companions he should have 
 chosen, but he knew of nought to their par- 
 ticular disadvantages, and their exceeding 
 friendliness towards him, in his present hu- 
 mor, made him readily embrace any frolic 
 they wished him to sham in. They pro- 
 posed that to make the wedding feast the 
 more perfect, they should go together over 
 night and kill a deer, and as this was re- 
 garded by persons of his condition at that 
 period as a mere customary youthful frolic, 
 he readily promised to be of the party. 
 
 It chanced to happen, that afternoon, as 
 they were standing together at the inn door, 
 who should come by but Oliver Dumps, the 
 constable, having as his prisoners no less 
 important personages than Sir Nathaniel, 
 the curate, and Stripes, the scholmaster. 
 The cause of which was, that these two had 
 become such inveterate offenders in the way 
 of drunkenness, and Oliver was so desirous 
 of showing himself the Queen's proper offi- 
 cer, that he had at last come to the deter- 
 mination of putting them both in the stocks ; 
 and to the stocks, which lay convenient to 
 the inn, in the market-place, the constable 
 was bringing them, making the dolefulest 
 lamentation, by the way, of the horrid wick- 
 edness of the world that had forced him to 
 so exercise his authority. It was amusing 
 enough of all conscience to the throng of 
 children and idlers that so novel an incident 
 had brought together, to note the manner in 
 which the two offenders bore themselves as 
 they were carried along. The schoolmaster 
 hung his head as if he felt aMittle ashamed 
 of his situation, but the curate assumed an 
 air of dignity so monstrously ridiculous, none 
 could look on it in any seriousness. Pre- 
 sently the board was opened, their legs 
 placed in the holes, and having had it fas- 
 
 tened down on them with a strong padlock, 
 they were left to their own reflections. 
 
 Sir Nathaniel, seated on a low stool, with 
 his fat legs stuck fast in the board, seemed 
 not at all comfortable ; and Stripes, hanging 
 of his head, with his thin shanks dangling 
 through the holes, looked amazing sheepish. 
 The curate glanced feelingly at the school- 
 master, and the schoolmaster turned a simi- 
 lar look of suffering at the curate. 
 
 " Hard lying, ey, Ticklebreech ?" ex- 
 claimed Sir Nathaniel, in a low voice. 
 
 " Monstrous !" replied Stripes, in as sad a 
 tone as ever was heard. , It was evident the 
 curate was not well pleased with his seat, 
 for he turned on one side and then on the 
 other, and then supported himself with his 
 hands behind, with a visage as woeful as 
 drunken man ever wore. 
 
 " I would these pestilent stocks had been 
 a thousand miles away, and be harlged to 
 'em !" cried the uncomfortable Sir Nathani- 
 el, with an earnestness that bespoke his sin- 
 cerity. 
 
 " 1'faifh so would I, an' it please your 
 reverence !" answered the pedagogue, with 
 more than ordinary fervor. As the minutes 
 passed, neither appeared to grow a whit 
 more satisfied with his situation. ^The crim- 
 son face of the one every moment took a 
 deeper hue, and the lanthorn jaws of the 
 other assumed an increasing elongation. 
 
 " Too .much drinkin's a villainous bad 
 thing, Pedagogue !" said the curate, with a 
 notable emphasis that showed how convinc- 
 ed he was of the truth of his assertion. 
 
 " Horrible !" replied Stripes, evidently in a 
 like assurance. 
 
 " I marvel a man should be so huge an 
 ass as to bs ever addling his brains with 
 abominable filthy liquor/' continued his 
 companion. " For mine own part, I would 
 such vile stuff was put clean out o' the land. 
 I hate it. But 'tis-all the fault of those base, 
 thorough-going rogues of tapsters, who se- 
 duce one's innocence ; and then, when the 
 draughts have become in any number, 
 straightway take to asking for payment. 
 What infafhous villainy !" 
 
 " Marvellous, o' my word !" exclaimed the 
 other. 
 
 " Well, an' they catch me drinking any 
 more of their abominable potations, I'll turn 
 hermit," observed Sir Nathaniel, in a greater 
 earnestness. " 'Sprecious ! there is no ho- 
 nesty in swallowing anything of the sort. 
 Ale is against all Christian doctrine, arid 
 wine is scarce fit for a Jew. Not a drop 
 of such deceitful base wash shall pollute my 
 throat. Wilt taste any more on't, Tickle- 
 breech ?"
 
 168 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " Never ! an' it please your reverence," 
 cried the schoolmaster monstrous determin- 
 edly. The whole of this little scene of re- 
 formation had been heard and witnessed by 
 the youthful Shakspeare and his companions, 
 to their exceeding amusement ; and soon af- 
 ter, one of the former came before the topers, 
 carrying of an ale-can frothing over at the 
 top. 
 
 " Thinking thou cannot hejp being terri- 
 athirst sitting there so uncomfortably, I have 
 brought thee a draught of right good iiquor," 
 said he, very carefully laying down the can 
 within a short distance of them, and then re- 
 turning to 'his companions. 
 
 " I thank thee, boy I thank thee ; my 
 tongue cleaveth to my month, I am so dry," 
 replied the curate, eagerly stretching out his 
 arm towards the vessel ; but it was beyond 
 his reach : thereupon he earnestly moved Jiis 
 companion to bring it him ; and Stripes, ma- 
 nifestly no less eagerly, stretched out his 
 whole length of limb, but could only get with- 
 in an inch of it. 
 
 " Now, Pedagogus !" cried his companion 
 pushing the other with all his might over 
 the stocks, " prithee, send thy hand a little 
 farther. Stretch away, Ticklebreech ! Thou 
 hast it within"a hair's breadth ; now, give it 
 a fair grasp and 'tis ours." But it was all 
 * labor in vain ; Stripes stretched, and Sir 
 Nathaniel pushed with equal desire; but all 
 . their united exertions only succeeded in 
 bringing the schoolmaster's lingers to touch 
 the tantalizing ale-can ; and, at last, Stripes 
 roared out he could cndure.no more squeez- 
 ing, for his body wa's pressed against the 
 edge of the board with a force that threat- 
 ened to cut him in two. Whilst both were 
 lamenting the hardness of their fortune, up 
 came another of the young men, and pushed 
 the can a little nearer and went his way. 
 The schoolmaster in a moment had it in his 
 careful hold, but the other greedily snatched 
 it out of -his hand, claiming the first draught 
 as due to his superiority, and quickly raised 
 it to his lips. He had not swallowed more 
 than a mouthful or two when he dashed 
 down the can, spluttered out what%e was 
 swallowing, and made one of the most dis- 
 satisfied countenances ever seen, to the ex- 
 ceeding astonishment of his companion and 
 the infinite delight of the spectators. The 
 can, instead of " right good liquor," con- 
 tained nothing better than a mess of soap- 
 suds, fetched by the merry knave who of- 
 fered it, from a tub in which the maids of 
 the inn were washing the household linen. 
 
 Whilst the enraged curate was making of 
 all manner of strange, forbidding grimaces, 
 and abusing those who had put so unpalata- 
 
 ble a jest on him in most outrageous chol- 
 eric terms, there rode up to him a very se- 
 date old gentleman, with others in his com- 
 pany, who regarded Sir Nathaniel and his 
 companion with a singular severe scrutiny. 
 In consequence of continued complaints made 
 by divers of the worthy burgesses of Strut- 
 ford, concerning of the unsemely behavior 
 of their parson and. schoolmaster, the bishop 
 of that diocese had determined to lock into 
 their conduct, and had arrived in the town, 
 with his retinue, where, after inquiring for 
 the curate, he had been directed to the stocks. 
 The result of this visit was both Sir Na- 
 thaniel and Stripes were a very short time 
 after dismissed from their offices, and driven 
 out of the place they had so long disgraced 
 by their presence. . 
 
 The moon was shining clearly in the starry 
 sky, when William Shakspea're, armed with 
 John Hathaway's gun, and accompanied 
 by three or four "of ' his associates, to 
 help to carry the game, crept cautiously 
 through the shrubberies that skirted the 
 park, where he kn^v deer in plenty were 
 to be found. Hitherto all his shooting had 
 been directed a gainst small birds and coneys, 
 but now he looked for nobler spoil. Having 
 made a long circuit to avoid being noticed, 
 he came to a grove of thick trees his com- 
 panions keeping a little behind him where, 
 after he had advanced stealthily along for 
 about a hundred yards, he beheld a goodly 
 company of fallow deer, some lying, some 
 standing, and most of them cropping the 
 herbage at the edge of the grove, where the 
 open pasture sweeps up to the trees. Tak- 
 ing the wind in his face, the young dcer- 
 stealer crept from tree to tree, pausing 
 behind each to mark if the game was dis- 
 turbed, then proceeding noiselessly in the 
 same direction. He never remembered hav- 
 ing felt such excitement he could scarce 
 breathe, he was so moved. He had singled 
 out the tallest buck of the herd, that stood 
 I like a sentinel, a little nigher to him than 
 the rest, seeming to sniff the air, and stamp- 
 ing with his foot as if he suspected some 
 danger, and knew not whence it was com- 
 ing. William Shakspeare crouched behind 
 the trunk of a neighboring tree, as still as a 
 I stone, afraid that the very beating of his 
 I heart would betray him. His companions 
 laid themselves down in the grass as soon 
 as they caught sight of the deer. He peeped 
 from behind his hfding place, and beheld the 
 buck quietly cropping the herbage with his 
 back towards him. lie then looked at his 
 gun, and 'saw everything was as it should 
 be. His great anxiety now was to reach an 
 old decayed stump the ruin of what had
 
 THE YOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 159 
 
 once been the finest of the whole grove 
 which lay between him and his game. He 
 issued from his hiding place as if his life 
 depended on the quietness of his footsteps, 
 and to his wondrous satisfaction succeeded 
 
 quaintance, Kate, the gamekeeper's pretty 
 neice, whom he had met many times since 
 he first had sight of her when she waited on 
 him at Sir Thomas Lucy's. She was fa- 
 mously surprised I doubt not, at beholding 
 
 in gaining tho desired place without being j him there, and more so when she learned 
 discovered. Yet it was manifest the buck what occasion brought him ; but she had the 
 was in some way alarmed, for the young j wit not so much as to recognize him before 
 
 her uncle and cousins. As fofthe culprit, 
 
 deer stealer had scarce concealed himself 
 when he turned sharply round, looking now 
 in this direction and now in that, and stamp- 
 ing with more violence than before. The 
 stump was completely open from the direc- 
 tion in which the youthful Shakspeare ap- 
 proached it ; and inside were seats all round, 
 for it was so large it would accommodate 
 many ; just under the bench a hole had been 
 gnawed Or broken away, and to this he cau- 
 tiously raised his head as he lay his full 
 length on the ground ; then lifted he the 
 barrel of his gun, and as the deer was glan- 
 
 as he believed his punishment would be but 
 trifling, the offence was generally considered 
 so slighfche took the matter very pleasantly, 
 and so amused his captors by his merry 
 jests and his excellent famous singing, that 
 they ordered jug after jug of ale. and sung 
 their songs am made their jests, and swore 
 he was the drollest knave they ever came 
 anigh. Each of these men drank without 
 stint, and Kate seemed to take care they 
 should have as much as they could fancy ; 
 but -their prisoner sipped sparingly, and 
 
 cing suspiciously in the direction of his ; the result was, in two or three hours after 
 concealment, he took a fair aim at his open j his capture, Sampson arid his two sons were 
 breast and fired. The whole herd disap- i snoring in their chairs, and their prisoner 
 
 peared in a moment. 
 
 "Bravo, Will!" cried one of his compan- 
 ions, hasti ly running up to the spot, " thou 
 has killed the delicatest bit of venison I have 
 seen this many a day." 
 
 was conveyed out of the chamber by his 
 kind confederate. 
 
 I doubt though she would have shown 
 him any such good service had she known 
 he was to be married that very day, for she 
 
 Sure enough, the buck lay at a little dis- gave him no lack of signs she was more than 
 tance from where he stood awhile since, j ordinary fond of .him. What passed between 
 shot through the heart ; overjoyed at their them the few minutes she detained him in 
 success, they bound his four legs together, | the kitchen, hath never been correctly ascer- 
 intending to carry him away on a long thick j tained, therefore I cannot describe it to the 
 staff they had brought with them. i courteous reader ; but at the last moment 
 
 "Run! Will, run! Here be the keep- j of it she helped him to put the slain deer, 
 ers !" all at once shouted another of them ; ! there lying, to hang by his gun, over his 
 and on the instant, as if they had wings to shoulder ; then she opened the door for him 
 
 their legs, every one ran in different direc- 
 tions. The young Shakspeare caught up 
 his gun to follow their example, without loss 
 of time, but he found himself in the grasp of 
 two stout fellows, with whom he soon saw 
 it was useless struggling. These were the 
 two sons of Sampson, the gamekeeper, who j 
 with their father, had been watching from j 
 behind the trees the whole scene ; and not ' 
 caring to pursue the others, they pounced 
 upon the unlucky deer-stealer in' the very 
 act of committing his offence. .Sampson 
 
 . . P ,r . . 
 
 and then he made the best of his way 
 homewards. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Your master is to be married to-day ? 
 Else all this rosemary is lost. 
 
 MlDDI.ETON. 
 
 Come strew apace. Lord ! shall I never live 
 To \valke to church on flowers ? O 5 tis fine 
 
 carried the slam deer and the gun, and his j TO see a bride trip it to church so lightly, 
 sons bore their prisoner to 'the lodge at ! As if her new choppines would scorn to brush 
 Daisy Hill. They abused him somewhat at i A silly flower. 
 
 first, but he managed to gain on their good BARRY. 
 
 will as they proceeded ; and when they arri- 
 ved at the place where they intended confin- 
 
 ing him till they could take him before the 
 justice at a proper hour in the morning, the 
 father ordered a tankard of ale to refresh 
 himself withal. 
 
 Who should bring it in but his fair ac- 
 
 " O' MY Christian conscience, the mon- 
 strousness of this world passeth belief!" 
 exclaimed Oliver Dumps, in his miseraoiest 
 manner, as he flung himself into a seat in 
 the chimney corner of the widow Pippin's 
 comfortable kitchen a place he seemed
 
 160 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 more partial to than any other in all Strat- 
 ford. 
 
 " Why, what's i' the wind now, master 
 constable ?" inquired the laughing widow, 
 as she brought her visitor his customary 
 tankard, dressed more gaily than she had 
 been seen for many years. 
 
 The melancholy Dumps looked up to her 
 jolly features fcid sighed hqavily ; took a 
 draught of the tankard and sighed again. 
 'Tis a villainous world, that's the truth on't,'' 
 said he shaking his head very woefully. 
 
 " Villainous fiddlestick !" replied his 
 merry companion. " By my fackings, the 
 world be a right pleasant wor^ and is as 
 full of delectable jests as world can be." 
 
 " Only think of young Will Shakspeare 
 taking to deer stealing," observed the con- 
 stable, gravely. 
 
 "Who ? Will Shakspeare!" cried the 
 widow, with a look of exceeding astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Taken by the keepers in the very act," 
 replied Oliver Dumps. " Conveyed by them 
 to the lodge at Daisy Hill, for the night. 
 Made his escape in a most unaccountable 
 manner, carrying oft* tke deer he had slain, 
 and the gun he had done it with. Sir 
 Thomas Liicy had issued a warrant for his 
 apprehension, I have it to execute on him 
 without delay ; and hearing he is at John 
 Hathaway's cottage, about to be married, 
 am going there to carry him before his 
 worship " 
 
 " Tilly vally ! thou art jesting, master 
 constable," exclaimed the other. " Will 
 Shakspeare is not like to do.ajiything of the 
 sort, I will be bound for it." 
 
 The queen's proper officer looked into his 
 pouch, took out a folded piece cf paper, and 
 gave into her hands. 
 
 " That's the warrant," said he. 
 
 " An honest neighbor, that is now in my 
 parlor, shall read it to me, seeing I cannot 
 read a word of it myself," answered the 
 widow Pippins ; " and as I am going to 
 John Hathaway's as soon as I have got on 
 my hat and muffler, if thou wilt wait a brief 
 while, we will walk together." The con- 
 stable promised to wait any reasonable time, 
 for in truth he was well pleased to have her 
 company, he. as many shrewdly imagined, 
 having long been seeking to be her sixth 
 husband ; and thereupon the widow went to 
 get the warrant explained to her. 
 
 A short time before this took place, a pro- 
 cession moved from the yeoman's cottage, 
 in the direction of the church which, me- 
 thinks, deserveth here to be set down. First 
 rode an old churl, blowing of such a peal on 
 his bagpipes as if he was determined to 
 
 expend his wind as quickry as he could, his 
 long pipes and his cap decked with rosemary 
 then followed a merry company of lusty 
 lads and bold bachelors of the neighborhood, 
 two and two, in their holiday jerkins, every 
 one clean trussed, with a blue buckram 
 bride lace upon a branch of rosemary, upon 
 his left arm, on horses of all sorts and col- 
 ors ; William Shakspeare, the bridegroom, 
 riding at their head in a new suit of frolic 
 green, gaily decked with ribbons, with a 
 branch of rosemary at his cap, and a true 
 love posey at his breast ; and on each side 
 rode a bridesman, in tawney worsted jackets, 
 straw hats OH their heads with a steeple 
 crown, and harvest gloves on their bands, 
 similarly appointed with ribbons, rosemary, 
 and posies. All the way he went, the bride- 
 groom pulled off his cap courteously to the 
 spectators, who, seeing so gallant a youth, 
 could not help loudly greeting him with their 
 good wishes. 
 
 Then came a company of morris-dancers 
 on foot, jingling it very prettily, with a most 
 moving accompaniment of pipe and tabor. 
 After them, six fair maidens in fair white 
 court-pies and orange tawney kirtles, gar- 
 landed with wreaths of wheat, finely gilded, 
 on their heads, and casting of flowers, by 
 handfuls, out of small wicker baskets, gaily 
 decked for the occasion. Then came the 
 two bridemaids, most daintily tired, carrying 
 before them each a large spice cake, foj- 
 lowed .by the bride's brother, a fair boy, 
 carrying himself very bravely, choicely ap- 
 parelled, bearing the parcel-gilt bride-cup, 
 full of sweet ippocras, with a goodly branch 
 of rosemary gilded and hung about with 
 ribbons of all colors streaming in the wind ; 
 next came Anne Hathaway, the blushing 
 blooming bride her apparelling of appro- 
 priate whiteness, rarely garnished with rib- 
 bons and flowers, her hair curiously combed 
 and plaited, and crowned with a garland of 
 white roses answering very gracefully the 
 hearty salutations of her neighbors. On 
 each side of her walked a fair boy, with 
 bride laces and rosemary tied about his 
 silken sleeves. After these, several musi- 
 cians, with flutes, sackbuts, and other deli- 
 cate instruments, made excellent music. 
 Then rode the father of the bride, between 
 the father and mother of the bridegroom, in 
 their holiday garments, with no lack of 
 proper garnishing ; and, lastly, came the 
 friends invited to the bride-ale, also wearing 
 of their best suits, decorated with bride laces 
 and rosemary. 
 
 In this order they reached the church at 
 a slow pace, where the priest soon did his 
 office for them; the bride-cup was then
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEA11E. 
 
 161 
 
 emptied by the company to the health and 
 happiness of the new-married folks ; and 
 they returned in much the same fashion as 
 they went, save that the bride rode on a pil- 
 lion behind the bridegroom. John Hatha- 
 way's dwelling would scarce hold the guests; 
 but they managed to accommodate them- 
 selves pretty well, for every room was thrown 
 open, rilled with a most bountiful provision 
 of things for convenience and honest cheer, 
 beside which there lay the orchard, the pad- 
 dock, and the garden, for any that chose out 
 of door pastime. The revels that followed 
 exceed description all sorts of games were 
 going on in every direction here a blind 
 harper singing of ballads to a well-pleased 
 audience, of all ages there sundry young 
 people, sitting in a circle with one in the 
 mid.it, playing at hunt the slipper another 
 set at barley break a third at a danca the 
 old. tho young, the middle-aged, maidens 
 and bachelors, husbands, wives, widows, 
 and widowers, striving all they could to enjoy 
 tho pleasant humor of the hour. 
 
 Among the company were many of the 
 courteous reader's old acquaintances ; for 
 in the principal chamber were Master Al- 
 derman Malmsey, and his neighbor Master 
 Ald-jrinan Dowlas, like marvellous proper 
 husbands as they were, attending on their 
 still comely good-humored wives there was 
 tho widow Pippins, with a famms laughing 
 countenance, that seemed to savor of a jest 
 there was honest John Shikspeare and 
 his matronly sweet wife, looking such satis- 
 faction as 'tis impossible to describe there 
 was the manly yeoman, going about with 
 his sly pleasantry, more manifest than ever, 
 as he looked to see all were enjoying them- 
 ^elves to their heart's content there was 
 th'. 1 blooming bride, and there the gallant 
 bridegroom, in exquisite content with them- 
 selves and the whole world ; and with these 
 were also a many others, whose names I 
 have forgotten. Still one more requireth 
 my notice, and he was no other than Oliver 
 Dumps, who sat in a corner, looking mon- 
 strous miserable, though each of the prettiest 
 women was ever coming up to him with all 
 manner of delicacies, pressing him to partake 
 of them, and smiling on him as she smiled 
 on no one else in the room. But the more 
 good cheer he made the more miserable he 
 looked, fn'facfhewas not at all at hi 
 ease. He wished to prove himself the 
 queen's proper officer, without favor of any 
 person, and yet he liked not interrupting the 
 mirth of so bountiful a company. 
 
 It appeared as if there was some conspi- 
 racy among the women doubtless set on 
 by the merry widow, who seemed very busy 
 11 
 
 amongst them, whispering, laughing, and 
 pointing to the constable for they would 
 not allow him to remain by himself a mo- 
 ment, and kept insisting so winningly on his 
 drinking the delicious draughts they brought, 
 that h#found he could do nothing, save, with 
 a pitiful sighing, the performing of their 
 requests. At last, with a sudden great effort, 
 he broke from a circle of them and gravely 
 walked up to the bridegroom. To the mar- 
 vel of the greater number of the guests, he 
 claimed William Shakspeare as his prisoner, 
 and commanded him to accompany him on 
 the instant to his worship the justice. 
 
 " Eh ! what dost say ?" exclaimed John 
 Hathaway, advancing hurriedly, with divers 
 others, there present, to know the meaning 
 of such strange behavior. 
 
 " Deer stealing !" hiccuped the constable, 
 evidently with his senses somewhat confused 
 by the many draughts of strong wine he had 
 been forced to swallow, yet holding himself 
 up with what he considered to be the true 
 dignity of the queen's proper officer. 
 
 " Nay, it cannot be, worthy Master 
 Dumps,'' said Mistress Malmsey, coaxingly, 
 on one side ot him. 
 
 ' ; "Pis a mistake, depend on't, sweet sir,'' 
 added Mistress Dowlas, in ah equally insin- 
 uating manner. 
 
 "Don't believe any tiling of the sort, 
 good Oliver," said one of the buxom bride- 
 maids, pulling him affectionately by the arm. 
 
 " 'Tis impossible so sensible a person as 
 you are can give ear to so incredible a story," 
 said another, taking a like pretty liberty with 
 his other elbow. Oliver Dumps heard all 
 these seducing expression .?. and glanced from 
 one to the other of the bewitching aspects 
 of the speakers, with a monstrous struggling 
 in his breast, and then with a becoming' 
 gravity, as he thought, took a paper from his 
 pouch. 
 
 " Here's the warrant," answered he. John 
 Hathaway received the paper from him, un- 
 folded it, and commenced, in an exceeding 
 droll manner, reading a ballad there printed, 
 which was famous popular at the time, be- 
 ginning 
 
 " Alas, my love ! you do me wrong, 
 
 To cast me off discourteously ; 
 And I have loved you so long, 
 Delighting in your company. 
 
 Greerfsleeves was all my joy. 
 Greensleeves was my delight, 
 Greensleeves was ray hart of gold, 
 And who but Lady Greensleeves T' 
 
 Oliver Dumps looked quite confounded, 
 for he- saw the jest that the merry widow 
 had played upon him. The laughing and
 
 162 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 joking of those around him he took as pleas- 
 antly as lie could, which in sooth was rather 
 of a miserable sort for he liked not confess- 
 ing how he had been tricked ; and the end 
 of it was, the queen's proper officer allowdl 
 himself to join in the festivity of tfte day 
 as regardless of warrants and justices, as 
 though he intended to play the constable no 
 more. However, the a ffiiir of the deer steal- 
 ing went not off so quietly. Sir Thomas 
 Lucy when he heard of it was in a terrible 
 rage, and when he found the offender was 
 not brought before him, he, waxed more 
 wroth than before. Other warrants were 
 issued, and other constables employed, and 
 the next morning the young deer-stealer 
 was dragged into the justice-room, followed 
 by such of his friends who had gained know- 
 ledge of his capture. The news, however, 
 soon spread, and occasioned a notable com- 
 motion. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the astonishment of 
 Jemmy Catchpole when he beheld his clerk 
 brought before him in custody on such a 
 charge ; but being a shrewd man he did not 
 so much as recognize him. The justice 
 entered into the charge with much the same 
 formalities as had been exhibited by him and 
 his attendants on a previous occasion 
 abusing the prisoner with great bitterness, 
 and allowing of none to say a word in his 
 defence. The evidence of the keepers proved 
 the offence beyond all contradiction, and 
 when Sir Thomas demanded of the offender 
 to give up the names of all those who were 
 participating with him in the offence, and 
 the latter would not tell the name of so 
 much as one person, the justice broke out in 
 such a passion, there never was the like. 
 This the prisoner endured with a composure 
 which exasperated the other the more, as it 
 seemed so like holding him in contempt, and 
 setting his authority at nought. He threat- 
 ened him with the pillory, the whipping-post, 
 and even the gibbet, but still William Shaks- 
 peare was not to be got to betray his com- 
 panions. He smiled at the threats, and, 
 with a fearless aspect, confessed he alone 
 had committed the offence, and that he was 
 ready to receive the punishment. 
 
 The constables, keepers, and serving-men, 
 looked awe-struck at what they considered 
 to be the prisoner's horrible impudency, in 
 so behaving before so great a man as his 
 worship ; and the poor justice seemed scarce 
 in his right senses, he spoke so fast, and in 
 so tearing a passion at last, swearing it 
 was a pity he could not hang so abominable 
 a villain, he got from the little lawyer the 
 fullest punishment, provided by the statute 
 of Elizabeth for such offences, which was 
 
 the infliction of a fine, treble the value of 
 the venison, an imprisonment for three 
 months in the county gaol, and security for 
 good behavior, for seven years ; to the which 
 he presently sentenced the offender. The 
 youthful Shakspeare cared only for the im- 
 prisoning part of his sentence, as he felt it 
 hard to be separated from his wife, and he 
 scarce married to her ; but he could not 
 allow himself to say anything in mitigation 
 of punishment, although his lather anV. 
 father-in-law did so for him ; and the latter 
 offered to pay the fine, and the two aldermen, 
 his father's old friends, came forward as his 
 security : nevertheless, his worship, so far 
 from according with what was required, 
 abused the parties heartily for saying ought 
 of the matter, and bade them out of his door 
 straight, or they should all to prison to- 
 sether. 
 
 There were few presons who heard of the 
 sentence, but were famously indignant a 
 mere youthful frolick should meet with such 
 heavy punishment, and many of the prison- 
 er's companions swore he should never to 
 prison if they could prevent it. Never had 
 there been such a ferment in Stratford be- 
 fore. All abused Sir Thomas Lucy for his 
 unwarrantable behavior, and unreasonable 
 severity, and both men and women took it as 
 monstrous so young a couple should be thrust 
 asunder for so trifling a cause. For all this, 
 the youthful Shakspeare, gyved like a felon, 
 and guarded by two constables, was sent off 
 to Warwick jail. No one seemed in any 
 way surprised when intelligence was bruit- 
 ed abroad that they had scarce got a rnile 
 from Charlcote, when the constables were 
 set upon and soundly cudgelled, and the 
 prisoner carried off in triumph, by sundry* 
 unknown persons with blackened faces. 
 Certes, such was the case. The young 
 husband had been rescued by divers of his 
 companions, relieved of his fetters, and 
 brought back to his distressed wife. 
 
 It is not to be expected that a young man 
 of any spirit would sit down and tamely 
 suffer the insults that had been heaped upon 
 him by this shallow-pated justice. William 
 Shakspeare had committed the offence it is 
 true. He never denied it, and was ready to 
 endure any fitting punishment; but the 
 abuse and the gyves were the gratuitous 
 insolence of power, desirous of insulting the 
 weak ; and, smarting under a sense of 
 wrong, the young poet penned a bitter ballad 
 against the old knight, and a mad-cap com- 
 panion fixed it on the justice's park gates. 
 Sir Thomas was one of the first that spied 
 it ; and the excessive rage it put him into, 
 was as ludicrous a thing as can be con-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SI1AKSPEARE. 
 
 16S 
 
 ceived. He grew pale and rod in a breath 
 stormed till he was hoarse, and called 
 about him his little anriy of constables, 
 game-keepers, and serving-men, questioned 
 them as to who had dared to commit so un- 
 paralleled an indignity, and abused the hor- 
 ror-struck varlets all round because none 
 could give him the slightest information on 
 the subject. This ballad which among other 
 offensive things, bore a burthen to it with a, 
 play upon his name, by no means the deli- 
 catest piece of jesting in the world, coming 
 so quickly after the drubbing of his officers, 
 to one of so tender a skin in such matters, 
 seemed like enough to throw him into a 
 fever. 
 
 fiis dignity, however, was fated to get 
 ptill harder rubs. He issued warrant after 
 warrant for the apprehension of the escaped 
 deer-stealer, in a perfect phrenzy of passion 
 to hear he was still at large ; and sent con- 
 stables with them in all directions, with strict 
 orders to carry him to prison dead or alive ; 
 but flung himself into such desperate rages 
 when he heard the fruitlessness of their 
 travail, that the poor constables cared -not to 
 go near hiiri. Oliver Dumps had received 
 a. significant hint from the merry widow, 
 that if ever he laid a hand on Will Shaks- 
 peare she would have none of him for a sixth 
 husband, therefore, it cannot be in any way 
 strange he never could find the escaped 
 prisoner searched he ever so. As for the 
 otlur constables, one had incautiously made 
 know his errand, and boasted at the black- 
 smith's that he would find Will Shakspeare 
 before the day was over ; and about an hour 
 afterwards the unhappy officer found himself 
 dragged through the horse-pond, with an 
 intimation when allowed to get away half 
 drowned, that if caught again under similar 
 circumstances, hy would not escape without 
 hanging. This, together with the intempe- 
 rate behavior of the justice, operated with 
 wonderful effect upon the whole body, and 
 they unanimously adopted the opinion the 
 offender had left the country. 
 
 Some time after these occurrences his 
 worship gained intelligence that young 
 Shakspeare had been all the while residing 
 at the cottage of his father-in-law, and more- 
 over that he was the very infamous base 
 caitiff' who had penned the bitter ballad that 
 had been stuck upon his gates. This was 
 adding fuel to the flame. The justice was 
 in such a monstrous fire of indignation that 
 he hardly knew what to set about. The un- 
 lucky constables were ordered to attend him 
 instantly, and upon these he poured out the 
 violent rage that was brimming over in him. 
 They declared their conviction the escaped 
 
 prisoner had gone from those parts altogether 
 nay, one confidently asserted a brother of 
 his had seen. him in London selling oysters, 
 aad another was as ready to swear he had 
 been met with by a cousin of his on a. pie- 
 bald horse, within a mile or so of Oxford. 
 His worship was puzzled, and the more puz- 
 zled his worship appeared, the more confi- 
 dent did the constables become in their as- 
 sertions. At last he ordered them to accom- 
 pany him, and then started off in the midst 
 of them, on the road to the yeoman's cottage. 
 
 William Shakspeare was busily engaged 
 with a party of farm laborers in putting up 
 a hay-rick in 'his father-in-law's paddock, 
 when one of the children came running in 
 all haste to say his worship was approaching 
 the house with a great company of men in 
 an instant he was covered up in the hay as 
 snugly as possible, and his companions, care- 
 lessly singing, continued their work lifting 
 up the new hay to the top of the rick and 
 there spreading it smooth and even. Pres- 
 ently the expected party made their appear- 
 ance. Sir Thomas, in a terrible anxiety to 
 find the culprit, and the constables quite as 
 anxious he should be found. 
 
 " Dost know anything of one William 
 Shakspeare, fellow ?" inquired the knight 
 authoritatively of a freckled-face knave lame 
 of a leg. The latter gazed with open mouth 
 for a. few moments at his interrogator, and 
 then turning round to his next neighbor, 
 very gravely repeated the question his fel- 
 low looked up very hard, and then looked 
 down very hard, and then addressed another 
 of his companions with the same question 
 and thus it went round the whole six of them 
 with exactly the same result. His worship 
 was horribly inclined to break out into a 
 deadly passion. 
 
 " Wounds, I ha' got un !" exclaimed he of 
 the freckled face, slapping his knee very 
 sharply with his palm. " His worship no 
 doubt,"wants the blind piper that lives down 
 yonder below the mill." 
 
 " I'll wan-ant, so he Aojt added another, 
 with a like gravity. 
 
 " I tell thee no"! I tell thee no !" bawled 
 out the justice, as the haymakers were 
 shouting their information into his ears, as 
 if each was striving to be heard above the 
 other ; " I want no such person. I seek 
 one William Shakspeare, a convicted dear- 
 stealer, who married John Hathaway's 
 daughter." 
 
 At this the lame one cast an exceeding 
 long face, rubbed his knuckles against his 
 eyes, and turned away very pitifully ; and 
 the others did just the same. 
 
 " What hath become of him, I say ?" cried
 
 164 
 
 TILE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 the knight, more imperatively, not exactly 
 knowing what to make of these demonstra- 
 tions. 
 
 '|An' it please your worship," cried freck- 
 led face, blubbering as if his heart \vas :i 
 breaking, " no man can help it. I would he 
 had lived longer, perchance he might have 
 been all the older for it." 
 
 " Is he dead indeed, now fellow ?" in- 
 quired the old knight, looking somewhat 
 confounded at this unexpected news. 
 
 " An' it please you, I heard he made so 
 fine an end, it was better than a sermon at 
 "fast days," observed another, as woeful as 
 his companion. 
 
 " Who's that laughing ?" exclaimed Sir 
 Thomas, very sharply ; " there's some one 
 behind the rick. Bring him here ! Body 
 o' me, I'll teach the unmannerly knave bet- 
 ter behavior." The constables hurried bo- 
 hind the rick, but not the slightest sign of 
 any one was there. This put his worship 
 into a rage. He had certainly heard some- 
 body, and folt a monstrous inclination to 
 punish a. person guilty of treating him with 
 so little respect. One of- the men thought 
 it was an owl, another took it to be a bat, 
 and a third assured his worship it was only 
 the old sow, who, on an occasion, could 
 grunt in a way marvellous like one laugh- 
 ing. The justice did not appear to bo per- 
 fectly satisfied with these explanations ; but, 
 after questioning the men some short time 
 longer, and getting from them no greater 
 intelligence, he found himself forced to turn 
 away no wiser than he came. Threatening 
 them all with tho terriblest ^punishments, if 
 he discovered they had told him falsely, the 
 old knight retraced his steps, resolving to 
 see his intelligencer again, and examine him 
 strictly on tho correctness of his information, 
 of the which he now entertained some doubts. 
 
 " Take heed of the dog, an' it please your 
 worship," cried one of the' hay-makers, 
 doubtless with most benevolent intentions ; 
 but unfortunately, he gave ^ic caution a mo- 
 ment too late, fofcas the justice was picking 
 his way carefully along, a dog rushed out 
 of a kennel close upon him, and gave him 
 so smart a bite in the leg, that he roared 
 again. The youthful Shakspeare peeped 
 from his hiding place at hearing this noise, 
 and had the satisfaction of seeing the old 
 knight hopping along the yard at the top of 
 his speed, furiously pursued by a flock of 
 noisy geese and turkeys, who seemed quite 
 as much inclined for a bite of his legs as the 
 dog had been. His little army did not make 
 their retreat in a much more orderly manner, 
 for the house-dog flew at them as they pass- 
 ed his kennel, and the turkeys and geese 
 
 pursued them when they crossed the yard. 
 His worship was more hurt by the shouts of 
 laughter which followed his undignified exit, 
 than he had been by the bite he had received, 
 but oh, more unpalatable than all ! as he 
 was returning home in a most horrible hu- 
 mor, what should he hear, but a parcel of 
 little children singing: the offensive ballad 
 writ upon him, as loud as they could bawl 
 it. His wrath was too great for utterance. 
 He felt he could have hanged every little 
 rogue of them all ; but resolved to go to 
 town, and complain to the privy council how 
 infamously he had been used. 
 
 After well abusing the constables, and ev- 
 ery one else that came within his reach, he 
 sought the unhappy Mabel, and poured out 
 the remainder of his rage upon her ; swear- 
 ing she should marry his friend's servant 
 and no other, and bidding her prepare her- 
 self for doing scr within a month at least, as 
 h? was determined it should then take place. 
 Tho poor foundling too well knew the char- 
 acter of her companion to attempt to parley 
 with him on the subject. It was manifest 
 her villainous persecutors would not let her 
 rest whilst there remained the slightest 
 chaneo of their getting her into their power ; 
 and having the positive and unsuspicious 
 knight, and his most obedient lady to assist 
 them, they fully persuaded themselves their 
 success was certain. The only bar seemed 
 to lie in the disinclination of her affianced 
 husband tp be an agent in the business ; but 
 at last, the bribes he was offered appeared 
 to stiflo his conscience, and he promised to 
 carry on the matter to its conclusion. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Not. a word spake he more than was nede, 
 And that was said in forme and reverence, 
 And' short and quike, and full of high sentence. 
 Souning in moral virtue was his speche, 
 And gladly would he learn, and gladly teche. 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 Kath. What our destinies 
 
 Have ruled out in their books we must not search, 
 
 But kneel to. 
 
 War. Then to fear when hope is fruitk'&s, 
 
 Were to be desperately miserable ; 
 
 Which powrty our greatness does not dream of, 
 
 And, much more, scorns to stoop to ; some few 
 
 minutes 
 Remain yet, let's be thrifty in our hopes. 
 
 FORD, 
 
 TIME passed on, and in due time the young 
 husband was made a father. This occur*
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 165 
 
 Fence gave his feelings a new impulse. A 
 youth of nineteen, possessed of such deep 
 sympathies, and so ready to indulge them on 
 all natural objects as was the youthful 
 Shakspeare, on such an occasion must needs 
 experience a most choice and exquisite grati- 
 fication. He felt he had got a stronger 
 claim on his exertions than had he hitherto, 
 and labored with higher aims than he had 
 before known. Jemmy Catchpole, much as 
 he inclined to do so, knowing 1 of his worth, 
 did not dare employ him ; and when he was 
 not assisting his father-in-law in farming, 
 his chief occupation was teaching the sons 
 of the neighboring farmers and yeomen such 
 matters of schooling as it was customary for 
 them to legrn ; and this he did so tenderly, 
 and in so scholarlike a manner, thtit by the 
 parents he soon got to ba approved of before 
 all teachers. During this time he failed 
 not to continue his own studies in such fash- 
 ion as he had been used to ; and it was ac* 
 knowledged, of every person of his acquaint- 
 ance, that, for learning, they had never met 
 with his peer. 
 
 Yet, all this while, he was far from being 
 happy. The ardor of his passion for the 
 yeoman's blooming daughter had blinded 
 him to many faults he could not avoid per- 
 ceiving in her on closer acquaintance. She 
 had been spoiled by indulgence all her life. 
 Her father had allowed her to do much as 
 she pleased, which had put into her the notion 
 that what slio did must always be right, and 
 she would not have it gainsayed of any. 
 
 The youthful Shakspeare discovered too 
 late, his wife's deficiencies in the necessary 
 qualities of mind. Indeed she was perfect- 
 ly uneducated, and her ignorance made her 
 unconscious of the mischief she -was doing 
 by her ungracious conduct. She was not 
 naturally of an unamiable disposition ; in- 
 deed, at times she was too prodigal in the 
 display of her kinder feelings, but vanity 
 had filled her with most preposterous preju- 
 dices ; and if her husband opposed her, how- 
 ever slightly, in any matter, however reason- 
 able on his part, she would regard it as 
 using her exceeding ill, and get out of tem- 
 per speedily, and say uncivil words, and 
 show all manner of .discourteous behavior. 
 This made her youthful helpmate see into 
 her character more, and more, and the more 
 he saw the less he liked, and tke less he 
 liked the less he respected. The charm of 
 her beauty gradually vanished away ; and 
 
 as she had not 
 
 .ulually 
 tfnn i 
 
 in her conversation to 
 
 attract him, she had no sort of hold over him 
 
 to blame for his too great precipitancy, al- 
 lowing her no just cause of complaint and 
 striving whatever he could to bring her, by 
 fair persuasions, to a more admirable way 
 of behaving. 
 
 Every day he beheld stronger proofs of a 
 vain disposition acting upon a weak mind. 
 Fits of sullenness followed close upon the 
 heels of outbreaks of temper she neglected 
 the proper duties of a wife and a mother, to 
 enjoy any pastime that was within her reach 
 and by the lack of ordinary comfort to be 
 had at home, she frequently drove her hus- 
 band to seek his pleasure where he could. 
 It was a grief that touched him where he 
 could have little or no defence ; for when he 
 attempted to remonstrate, in order that he 
 might fail in nothing to induce her to act 
 more commendably, it was sure to end in 
 such a scene of obstinacy, wounded self- 
 love, and unamiable behaving, as plainly 
 showed him there was marvellous slight 
 hopes she would mend. 
 
 Again he became a father. On the first oc- 
 casion his child was a girl, that he had had 
 christened by the name of Susanna, and now 
 his wife brought him twins, a boy and a girl, 
 that were severally named Hamnet and Ju- 
 dith. For a time this made him regardless 
 of the mother's deficiencies, and increased 
 his kindnesses to her : besides which he en- 
 tertained many anxious thoughts of the future. 
 His own means were in no way adequate to 
 his wants, and although John Hathaway 
 took heed of these, so that he should fee 
 them but lightly, he would rather, by many 
 degrees, have satisfied them of his own labor. 
 His old companions, Greene, Burbage, Con- 
 dell, and Hemings, had one by one gone to 
 join the players ; and such reports of their 
 well-doing had reached him, as made him 
 marvellous desirous of following their ex- 
 ample. 
 
 Unfortunately, his wife merely regarded 
 this late increase in her family as a vast ac- 
 cession to her elaims to have her will in 
 everything that was most preposterous ; and 
 more than ever was inclined to behave her- 
 self as she pleased, and resent in every pos- 
 sible way, any attempt to thwart her incli- 
 nations. Consequently she daily made 
 greater demands on her husband's patience, 
 which sometimes forced from him well- 
 meant arguments, the which she took very 
 bitterly : and he finding her to grow so much 
 the worse, so much the more he strove by 
 kindness to make her better, at last made 
 her to know he would leave her, did she not 
 
 beyond that of being the mother of his child, seek to lead him a pleasanter life. But thia 
 Still he treated her as affectionately as ever was far from making her alter her ungra- 
 he had done, considering himself the most ciousness towards him, for she appeared to
 
 166 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 take it as if she would as soon he went as 
 staid. Still the young husband was reluc- 
 tant to give her up. He would have been 
 glad to have had any friend's advice, for he 
 saw nought before him but an increasing 
 wretchedness, remained he where he was ; 
 and to quit her and the children, although 
 he was well aware her father would properly 
 provide for them, he could not reconcile his 
 conscience to ; but he had no friend at this 
 time tit to advise with him in such a strait. 
 His friends at Sir Marmaduke's he had not 
 scon sometime, for as he grew to manhood 
 he felt he could not associate with persons 
 so far above him as he had done whilst a 
 boy, and went there less and less, tiH he re- 
 frained from such visits altogether ; and he 
 liked not going to John a Combe, remember- 
 ing how urgently he had warned him 
 against pursuing the very course of which 
 he was now feeling the evil consequences. 
 
 After many long and comfortless reflec- 
 tions, he resolved on making a last effort. 
 One fine May morning, a few months after 
 the christening of the twins, he presented 
 himself be fore her. They were alone. She 
 was tiring of herself in all her choicest bra- 
 veries, to attend some festival in the neigh- 
 borhood. A sort of sprightly indifference 
 was in her manner as she saw her husband 
 approach ; as ho noticed this, and heard one 
 of the children crying unheeded, in the next 
 chamber, he had no great hope of success 
 in his present undertaking nevertheless he 
 felt it to be his duty to proceed in it. He 
 walked up and down the chamber with an 
 aching heart, she humming of a tune the 
 while, and decking herself in her finery as 
 if in a perfect carelessness of everything 
 save her own pleasure. 
 
 " Anne, I pray you look to the child, it 
 cryeth most pitifully!" exclaimed he at last. 
 
 " Joan is there," replied she, carelessly. 
 
 " It seemeth that it requireth its mother, 
 and will not be satisfied with Joan," ob- 
 served her husband. 
 
 " Then it must be satisfied with her, for I 
 cannot be ever with the children," answered 
 his wife, with some pettishness. 
 
 " Methinks the gratifying the natural 
 desires of a young babe should be held be- 
 fore all other things with its mother," said 
 Wiiliarn Shakspearc. " She hath a sacred 
 obligation imposed on her which she ought 
 in no way to neglect for the furthering of 
 her own immediate convenience." 
 
 " Tut ! what should men know of such 
 matters !" cried his companion. " Truly, a 
 fine life of it a poor woman would lead who 
 followed such old saws. I will do no such 
 
 folly, depend on't. I marvel you should in- 
 terfere in things so out of your province ; 
 but 'tis done merely to prevent my taking 
 my proper pleasure nevertheless it seemeth 
 to me good I enjoy it." 
 
 " I cannot have the slightest wish to debar 
 you of your proper pleasures," replied her 
 husband ; " in very truth I would strive my 
 utmost you should enjoy as much happiness 
 as Woman can." 
 
 " You don't!" exclaimed the other, sharp- 
 ly ; "jxm are in a constant mood of finding 
 fault with me you will never do as I wish : 
 and when I am for the pleasuring myself 
 with my neighbors, you fail not to raise all 
 manner of foolish improper objections." 
 
 " I canno.t call any such propw pleasures, 
 when your neighbors are looked to and your 
 children neglected," observed he. 
 
 " Marry, I care not what you call them," 
 she answered ; " I will do as I list, take it 
 as you may." 
 
 "Anne, I implore you to pause in this 
 most unsemely behaving," said her com- 
 panion, very urgently ; " it doth cause me 
 infinite unhappiness to see you so forget 
 yourself. The ordinary duties of a fond 
 good wife and mother are thrust aside and 
 lost sight of, through utter carelessness. 
 None could furnish my house so pleasantly 
 as yourself, if it chose you to do so ; but you 
 seek to make it as wretched as you can by 
 all manner of unbecomingness, unkindness, 
 and neglect. I pray you change such a 
 course for one more desirable to me and 
 more creditable to yourself ; and you shall 
 find I do not lack gratitude." 
 
 "Gratitude!" echoed the spoiled woman, 
 with considerable bitterness. " O' my \vord 
 I have had enough of your gratitude. I 
 have left divers rich suitors to take up with 
 you, who had not so much as would buy me 
 a day's meal. I have brought you every 
 comfort you have in the way of lodging, 
 clothing, and victual ; and moreover three 
 as fine children as an honest father could 
 desire ; and yet I am treated as though I 
 had done nothing of all this. 'Tis a fine 
 thing, truly, to treat one so ill who hath been 
 so bountiful to you ; but I will put up with 
 no such treatment, I promise you. I will 
 act as it seemeth best to my humor ; and in 
 no case will I be driven from my innocent 
 pastime at the will of an ungrateful worth- 
 less husband." 
 
 " I have already told yf^i I strive not to 
 check you in anything innocent at a proper 
 time," replied her husoand ; " but I cannot 
 see you ruin your own happiness and mine 
 by a wilful obstinacy in doing wrong." < 

 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 167 
 
 * You're a base inhuman wretch !" ex- 
 claimed the yeoman's daughter. * 
 
 " I have sought all occasions and all ar- 
 guments to persuade you to act more be- 
 comingly," continued he, " and only brought 
 on myself bitter taunts and ungenerous re- 
 flections." 
 
 " I wish I had never seen your face, you 
 ungrateful vile caitiff !" added his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " There now remaineth but one thing for 
 me to do,' : said William Shakspeare, betray- 
 ing by his voice the struggle in his nature ; 
 " as 'tis impossible we can live happily to- 
 gether, we must part !'' 
 
 " Oh, you may go !" replied she, with a x 
 careless toss of her head ; " and I care not 
 how soon and I shall not fret for your com- 
 ing baek, I promise you." 
 
 " I beseech you, as my last request, show 
 such love to the dear children as their ten- 
 der years entitle them to," said the youthful 
 father, so moved he could scarce speak. 
 
 {; I pray you despatch yourself, since you 
 are for going," answered the thoughtless 
 wife more bitterly than before ; " and forget 
 not o take with you all that you brought !" 
 Her husband cast one look of reproach on 
 the once object of his so grea,t love turned 
 away almost choking with his overpower- 
 ing sensations, and in the next moment had 
 left the cottage, the scene of a thousand 
 exquisite pleasures never to enter it again. 
 He first bent his steps toward Henley Streel, 
 to take leave of his parents, and then left the 
 town without speech of any other, for with 
 his present feelings he cared not to be idly 
 talked to and questioned. When he had 
 gone some little distance he stopped to take 
 a last kk of his native place. There lay 
 the steeple of the old church, towering above 
 the surrounding houses and trees the fair 
 land-mark he had hailed returning from so 
 many ple.isant rambles ; there lay his fa- 
 ther's deviling, hallowed in his recollection 
 by a whole history of early studies, struggles, 
 and .pleasures ; there lay the winding Avon, 
 in whose sweet waters he had so often laved 
 his limbs, or gathered from its banks con- 
 tinual store of blooming treasure ; and there 
 lay a hundred other spots equally well de- 
 serving of his remembrance, as the ,ecene of 
 some childish sport or youthful adventure. 
 
 He gazed in another direction, and if the 
 yeoman's pretty cottage was not made out 
 in the landscape, he had it in his eyes as 
 clearly as when he first beheld it, attracted 
 thereto by the cheerful singing of the bloom- 
 ing girl at her spinning-wheel. Then fol- 
 lowed scene after scene of exquisite enjoy- 
 ment. The evening meetings, where she 
 
 waited for him at the next style their deli- 
 cious salutations there their gentle stroll 
 together back to the old walnut tree, and all 
 the goodly entertainment he had under its 
 friendly shadows, till, after some dozen re- 
 luctant farewells, he forced himself away. 
 And last of all came sullen looks and pro- 
 voking words, and a crowd of attendant 
 miseries, created by the unfeeling thought- 
 less carelessness of that weak vain woman. 
 And now he saw himself a wanderer to go 
 wheresoever he would, driven from his home 
 by the very means that had brought such 
 home to him, and deprived of happiness by 
 having had the possession of what he had 
 so long believed could alone secure it him 
 forever. These remembrances took such 
 painful hold of his heart, that the anguish 
 he endured at that moment was beyond 
 everything he had hitherto suffered. 
 
 " Thou shalt see better days anon, dear 
 heart !" exclaimed a familiar voice, and 
 turning round, he beheld Nurse Cicely. 
 - Pleasure cometh after suffering as natu- 
 rally as the green buds after the early rains. 
 All things have their season. Thy time is 
 now for sorrow ; but bear up nobly, and be 
 assured greatness shall come of it beyond 
 thy brightest hopes. A fair journey to thee 
 my sweeting !" So saying, the old woman 
 hobbled away, leaving the youthful Shaks- 
 peare in an especial marvel at her strange 
 words. She had often addressed him in a 
 like manner previously, but he had paid little 
 attention to what she had said, now, how- 
 ever, he pondered on it as he went along, 
 and not without some particular satisfaction. 
 He had not proceeded a quarter of a mile 
 when he met John a Combe. He. would 
 have avoided him if he could, for he liked 
 not his company at that moment ; but the 
 usurer came suddenly upon, him from a lane 
 which led into the road, along which Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare was passing. 
 
 " So !" cried John a Combe, in his usual 
 bitter manner. ," thou wouldst not be led by 
 my advice, and* art now smarting for't. 
 Serves thee right. But every fool doth the 
 same. Tell them where lies the mischief, 
 they run into it on the instant, suffer first 
 and repent after. ^Prithee, what dost intend 
 doing ?" 
 
 <; I am for making the best of my way to- 
 London, where I expect meeting with cer- 
 tain friends of mine," replied his young com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Ay, boy, thou'lt meet fools enough there, 
 I'll warrant," answered the usurer, sharply. 
 " But 'tis a long journey, and requireth some 
 expense on the way. How art off for 
 means ?"
 
 68 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " In truth not, over well but I must e'en 
 do as I best may," said the other. 
 
 " Give me thy purse !" exclaimed John 
 ~!omhe, and without more ado, he snatchec 
 t from his girdle, and then turned his back 
 to him to see what was in it. " As I live 
 no more than a groat and a shilling !" con 
 tinned he, in seeming monstrous astonish- 
 ment. ' : Why, ere thou has got a goo( 
 dozen mile thou will be forced to eat thysel 
 for lack of victual. Here, let me put thy 
 parse in thy girdle again." And then the 
 usurer carefully replaced- it. " Thou ant 
 thy wits have parted company, that's a sure 
 thins." 
 
 " I would ask one favor of you, good Mas- 
 ter Combe; before I leave you." 
 
 ' Nay, I will lend thee no money !" quick- 
 ly replied his companion. " It be not a 
 likely thing a usurer should trust one who 
 starteth on a long journey, with only a knob- 
 bed stick by way of weapon, with a bundle 
 of linen at the end on't carried over his 
 shoulder by way of luggage, and a shrove- 
 groat shilling, and a cracked groat in his 
 purse, for store of money for spending." 
 
 " I do not require of you such a thing," 
 replied William Shakspeare. "All I would 
 of you is that if my dear parents need what 
 you have to spare, you will do your good 
 offices to them, and as soon as fortune fa- 
 voreth me somewhat, I will return whatever 
 you are so generous as to furnish." 
 
 li Truly a fine story !" remarked John a 
 Combe. " Though art sure to come to great 
 wealth with so prodigious a beginning ! It 
 would bo monstrous like a ^surer, methinks, 
 to lend on such poor security." 
 
 '' An' you will no,t I cannot help it," said 
 the other dejectedly. 
 
 " Nay, I said not I refused !" exclaimed 
 the usurer. " So there is no great occasion 
 thou shouldst look so woe-begone. Indeed, 
 I care not to acquaint thee, for thy comfort, 
 seeing though art not likely to come back 
 and tell my neighbors of my infinite foolish- 
 ness, I have been thy honest father's friend 
 this many a year, and he not know it." His 
 young companion seized his hand gratefully, 
 and looked more thanks tjran he could have 
 .spoken had he twenty tongue?. He knew 
 that some secret person had for a consider- 
 able period of years been sending sums of 
 mon^.y when his parents were in their great- 
 est need, and now it came out it was Mas- 
 ter Combe and no other. 
 
 " I cannot get out of my old folly, try how 
 f will," continued he, more moved by the 
 other's simple manifestation of his feelings 
 than he chose to show. " Of the baseness 
 jf the world, methinks I have had proof 
 
 enough. O' my life ! there cannot oe found 
 more convincing evidence than an honest 
 worthy man suffering poverty in mean 
 clothing and poor victual, while baseness in 
 a fine doublet, taketh sauce with his capon, 
 and hath money to spare." 
 
 " Doubtless the world containeth some un- 
 worthy persons," observed William Shaks- 
 peare. " It is scarce reasonable to expect 
 it can be otherwise, when such countless 
 multitudes are to be met with in each part 
 of the globe. We shall find weeds in every 
 field ; but surely the field deserveth to be 
 called a good field for all that. But why 
 should we dwell on such things 1 There 
 are flowers, peeping out from our very foot- 
 steps go where we will, and yet we will not 
 see them, but care only to spy what is un- 
 sightly and unprofitable. In honest truth, 
 worthy sir, methinks we do Nature a huge 
 wrong by such behavior of ours. 'Tis man- 
 ifest injustice to be so blind to merit, and to 
 see only that which is not likely to call for 
 our admiration." 
 
 " Nay, boy, 'tis the world that is blind to 
 merit, not I," answered the usurer. " I be- 
 hold thy honest parents struggling all they 
 can to live with a fair credit though terribly 
 pinched i' the ribs, and the world shutteth 
 its Argus eyes and passeth by. I behold 
 their worthy son showing signs of an hon- 
 orable disposition, and talents deserving of as 
 high estimation, yet the world doth appre- 
 ciate him at so low a price, it will allow of 
 his starting a long journey to London on a 
 chance errand to fortune, with no greater 
 provision than a shilling and a groat. All 
 this while the world giveth to villains place 
 and eeremony, and maketh a shallow-witted 
 coxcomb with broad acres pass for a knight 
 o' the shire, and justice o' the peace." 
 
 " But how know we this state of things 
 will always continue 1" said his young com- 
 janion ; " it may be, for such changes have 
 lappened before, that when Master Justice 
 is feeding of the worms, my dear parents 
 shall be enjoying of as much comfort as their 
 learts can desire ; and I, whom he hath so 
 often strove to play his poor spite upon, may 
 eave to my children a better name out of 
 such poor talents as I have, than could he, 
 out of all his broad acres and fine house, 
 serving-men and constables, his warship and 
 mightship, and every other sign of great- 
 ness whereof he is used to make such fa- 
 mous boasting, into the bargain." 
 
 " See I this, I will believe it," said John a 
 
 Combe ; " yet, with the knowledge I have of 
 
 he world's baseness, I expect no such wel- 
 
 ome changes. Justice is painted blind, 
 
 and blind she is beyond question."
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 169 
 
 v I have other thoughts of that," replied 
 William Shakspeare. " I bslievfi tliat it 
 very rarely happens, when merit showeth 
 itself in any conspicuousness, it is not kind- 
 ly taken by the hand to be exalted above all 
 meaner natures." 
 
 " Ay, boy, on the pillory or the gibbet," 
 drily added the usurer ; ' but thou art past 
 arguing. Just as I was at thy age art thou. 
 I would allow none to convince me of any 
 such thing as injustice in nature. Marry, I 
 had such convincing at last, as left me with- 
 out a doubt to stand upon. I would have 
 thee grow wiser than thou art, but in mercy 
 ilfc-oiild not wish thee any such resistless 
 arguments as crushed my favorable opinions 
 out of me. Get thee gone Will Shakspeare, 
 and speed on thy errand as well as thou 
 canst. If so be thou art not doing well, 
 write to me without fail ; but at any rate let 
 me know how thou art proceeding." 
 
 " One thing more, worthy Master Combe," 
 said his young companion urgently ; " since 
 
 rou have been so good as to talk of writing, 
 would you would do me such kind service 
 as to see my children as oft as may be con- 
 venient to you, and let me know how they 
 get on in all things." 
 
 " And their mother ?" added the usurer, 
 with somewhat of sarcasm. 
 
 " If you know any thing concerning of 
 her worthy to be told, acquaint me with it 
 by all means ; but if of another nature, I 
 care not to hear of it." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the usurer, sharply ; 
 " let it be even so. And now fare thee well, 
 , Will Shakspeare. I wish thee every man- 
 ner of good, though I am in huge doubt any- 
 thing of the sort is to be found." 
 
 " Truly, I cannot help seeing it in your- 
 self, worthy Master Combe, despite your un- 
 gracious seeming," replied his young friend, 
 parting with him in sincere regret. After 
 going a few paces, he turned round to take 
 another glance at his old acquaintance, and 
 to his sin-prise, beheld him standing still, 
 looking after him with an aspect of deeper 
 feeling than ever he had observed in him be- 
 fore ; but immediately he was noticed, he 
 took on himself the same severe expression 
 of countenance he was wont to wear, and 
 then turning quickly away, paced onwards 
 towards the town. 
 
 As William Shakspeare was thinking 
 over the strangeness of his companion, his 
 eyes suddenly lighted on his purse, winch 
 seemed to be much increased in size since he 
 last had sig"ht of it. he took it into his hand, 
 and looking to its contents, to his prodigious 
 marvelling, discovered as goodly a store of 
 coin as he could need the whole length of his 
 
 journey. Here was a fresh instance of the 
 unhappy usurers secret manner of doing 
 kindness where it was most needed, and the 
 discovery of it had such effect on the sensi- 
 tive nature of him he had so providently 
 thought of, that it refreshed him with many 
 sweet feelings, and sent him on his long 
 journey with a more cheerful spirit than ho 
 had known a long time. He appeared now 
 to have at his will the means of procuring 
 what he most wished. For with suc a 
 sanguine disposition as lie possessed, he be- 
 lieved that were he once in London, he 
 should speedily get such employment as ho 
 desired, and then he had in him that convic- 
 tion he would raise himself greatly, often 
 attending upon the youthful and -imagina- 
 tive. 
 
 Filled with these considerations, and with 
 manifold fine plans and excellent fair pros- 
 pects, he trudged manfully along. 
 
 The day was well-favored a day to look 
 on as ever appeared in that merry month ; 
 the hedges being all over covered with deli- 
 cate May, and the banks as prodigally gift- 
 ed with the dainty gifts of the season, which 
 made the air so exquisite, nothing could ex- 
 ceed it in delectable sweetness ; added to 
 which, such crowds of small birds were 
 tuning of their little pipes upon every tree 
 and bush, as made most ravishing music all 
 along the road. I doubt much the delight- 
 some aspect of Nature was as pleasantly 
 regarded as it deserved to be by the youthful 
 wanderer ; for although he had but a few 
 minutes since determined in his mind he 
 would think no more of his unhapjnncss^the 
 sight of the odorous flow r ery hedges brought 
 to his memory that gay morning he went a- 
 maying with his then so deeply loved Anne 
 Hathaway, and the unutterable gladness he 
 enjoyed because of her sharing with him the 
 excellent brave pastimes of that memorable 
 day. 
 
 Whilst he was so deeply engaged with 
 such thinking, he did not notice he had a 
 companion, evidently striving to keep up 
 with him, whom he had just passed. This 
 person appeared to be, by his dress, a young 
 boy of some gentle family ; for he was clad 
 very neatly in a suit of fine broadcloth, ot" a 
 gay orange-tawney color, with good kersev 
 hose, shoes with roses, a well appointed hat 
 and feather on his head, and a light stick or 
 staff in his hand. In person he was of an 
 exceeding elegant shape, indeed such deli- 
 cate symmetry ef limbs is rarely to be met 
 with ; and in features he was of a fair hand- 
 someness, yet of a complexion so wan and 
 sickly, it looked as though he was fitter to 
 be in his bed than to be a traveller for ever
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 BO short a distance. He looked fatigued, 
 and it was manifest he could ill keep up with 
 the manly strides of the youthful Shaks- 
 peare. 
 
 " I pray you, sweet sir, walk not so fast, 
 for I should be wondrous glad of your hon- 
 est company." 
 
 The other turned round somewhat sur- 
 prised, not knowing any one was so nigh 
 him, and was moved with extreme pity at 
 the slight glance he took of the pallid suf- 
 fering countenance of 4he young stranger. 
 He lessened his pace on the instant. 
 
 " Go you far on this road, my young mas- 
 ter ?" inquired he courteously. 
 
 " Truly, I know not," replied his com- 
 panion, in a manner somewhat hesitating; 
 " but the farther I get from the place I have 
 left, the more pleased I shall be." 
 
 " Yet you soetn in no way fit to go on a 
 journey," observed William Shakspeare, in 
 some marvel at what he had just heard. " I 
 doubt you are strong enough for much walk- 
 ing." ' 
 
 " I have been in a great sickness a long 
 time, sweet sir," replied the other; "but as 
 I recovered, I found such villainy approach- 
 ing me, that I thought it better to trust to 
 the chance of perishing on a strange road 
 than remaining where I was." At hearing 
 this his companion marvelled the more. 
 
 "Keep a good heart, I pray you !" ex- 
 claimed the youthful Shakspeare, ready at 
 a moment to sympathize with any unhappy 
 person. " If it please you to let me bear 
 you company, I will take such heed of you, 
 you shall come to no hurt. But to what 
 place are you bound ?" 
 
 " To any, where I can live in proper hon- 
 esty," replied the young stranger. " I will 
 willingly essay my strength in such humble 
 manner of living as I can get, with no higher 
 end than the keeping me a worthy name." 
 
 William Shakspeare said nothing, but he 
 thought in his mind his fellow-traveller had 
 but a poor chance of a living, relied he only 
 on his strength, and resolved at least, that, 
 as he wanted a friend, a friend he should 
 have. With the true delicacy of a noble 
 mind, he refrained from asking him any 
 questions which might seem to come of over 
 curiousness, but began to talk cheerfully to 
 him, telling him to hope for better times, and 
 entertaining him with such pleasant dis- 
 course as he had at his commandment. And 
 so these two proceeded together. The one 
 in the full strength of early manhood, and, 
 though bereft of his happiness, full of health 
 and hope the other, apparently in the fresh 
 dawning of youth, and in as little comfort of 
 body as of mind. 
 
 Methinks this chapter in no case ought to 
 be brought to a conclusion, without requir- 
 ing of the courteous reader especial notice 
 of a matter therein treated-; which, it is to 
 be hoped, will be to his singular profit. In 
 the development of this my story, there hath 
 boon made manifest how that kind of love, 
 which is merely ideal, endeth in a complete 
 nothingness, as far as its object is concerned, 
 it being only a fair herald of a more natural 
 passion ; but in the later pages it is shown, 
 that the affection which cometh but of the 
 delight taken by the senses in personal come- 
 liness, must meet with a still more unsatis- 
 factory conclusion. It is true that Natujp 
 hath planted in the human heart a capacity 
 for enjoying the beautiful, and a desire to 
 obtain its possession ; and the affections of 
 the individual, like unto clear waters, do most 
 perfectly bear in them the resemblance of 
 whatsoever shape appeareth to them in most 
 perfectness ; but it should ever be borne in 
 mind, that there are beauties of far sweeter 
 and lasting value, than such as are wont to 
 lie on the surface of things, and that these 
 constitute the sole proper source of their 
 admirableness. The flowers, the stars, and 
 every form of matter, animate or inanimate, 
 impressed with the configuration most pleas- 
 ing to the sight, possess qualities which make 
 them the love of the poet and the true pliilo- 
 sophic sort of persons, exceedingly more so 
 than their mere appearance. They exhibit 
 signs of intelligence, by which they are 
 known to be part of the universal good ; and 
 for the worth they show are worthily appre- 
 ciated. 
 
 Such should it be with things that more 
 intimately appertain to humanity. The 
 agreeable face and graceful person are the 
 unprofitablest of objects, unless they jcarry 
 with them the fairer signs of mind and feel- 
 ing. They may be regarded as such fruit 
 as come of plants imperfectly cultivated, 
 that look tempting to the eye, but are in- 
 tolerable to the taste ; and save the pretty 
 sort of way in which they do garnish their 
 boughs, are of no goodness whatsoever. In 
 this same goodness which is nought else 
 but another name for intelligence lieth the 
 real source and conclusion of all honest love. 
 This is it that sows the seed this is it that 
 obtains infinite crops of exquisite sweet fruit. 
 Where there is no moral excellence, there 
 can never be any moral advantage. The 
 youthful Shakspeare, therefore, in showing, 
 as he did, a total indifference to aught else 
 save the personal charms of the blooming 
 daughter of Jphn Hathaway, brought on 
 himself the positive evil which proceedeth 
 from insufficiency of good. But thus are
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE 
 
 171 
 
 th marvellous lessons of Nature taught, 
 and how oft are they placed before us in 
 this very fashion ! The youth of both sexes, 
 full of the delicious sympathies so newly 
 grown within their breasts, regard in the 
 other, symmetry of limb and loveliness of 
 feature, as vouchers for whatsoever is pro- 
 perest and most desirable, and, at times, do 
 get their several senses so intoxicated by 
 allowing of their imaginations to be excited 
 by the strong draughts proceeding from rosy 
 smiling lips and lustrous enticing eyes, that 
 they clean forget there is aught else in the 
 world worthy of their having. The capacity 
 for enjoyment satiated, quick on the heels 
 of it fotloweth the ordinary ending of such 
 foolishness. 
 
 At the age of eighteen years, it is incon- 
 sistent with experience to expect the human 
 heart to be philosophical. Before that age, 
 William Shakspeare found his whole nature 
 thrilled with a passion for a female eight 
 years his senior, and consequently, in the 
 possession of every charm of mature woman- 
 hood. He revelled in the delusive gratifica- 
 tion of aft attachment placed on no surer 
 foundation than personal beauty, and fixing 
 his happiness there, on due time found it 
 levelled to the dust. The result hath ren- 
 dered him a homeless adventurer, banished 
 from his domestic hearth to seek, amongst 
 strangers,' that comfort he had lost every 
 hope of where he believed it to be most 
 secure. \ow must he wofk out the penalty 
 of his offence, and, by his example, teach a 
 great moral lesson unto all humanity, which, 
 perchance, shall not be altogether lost sight 
 of at this time, or at any other. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 . 
 
 Example I fynde of Alesaundr Nexam as he 
 wryte^h, how there was sumtyme a knyght 
 came from ferr cuntries woude seek aventures. 
 So it fortuned to a forrest wher he herd a grete 
 noyce of a beste crying. 
 
 HARLEIAX MSS. No. 2-247. 
 The misery of us that are bom great. 
 We are f. >rced to woo, because none dare woo us ; 
 And as a tyrant doubles with his words, 
 And fearfully equivocates, so we 
 Are forced td express our violent passions 
 In riddles and in dreams, and leave the path 
 Of simple virtue, which was never made 
 To seem the thiug it is not. 
 
 WEBSTER. 
 
 " I FE AR me I cannot proceed further," 
 said the younger of the two travellers, lean- 
 
 ing against a tree, with head drooping, and 
 every sign in him of thorough exhaustion 
 and faintness. 
 
 " I beseech you good Bertram, lean on me !" 
 exclaimed William Shakspeare, urgently. 
 " Let us get out of this wood as speedily as 
 we may, for the sun hath set some .time, and 
 we are liked to get benighted in this strange 
 place, stay we where we are much longer." 
 
 " I doubt my strength will hold sufficient, 
 yet I will strive my utmost," replied his 
 young companion, in a very feeble voice. 
 Thereupon he leaned his head upon the 
 other's shoulder, whilst the latter held him 
 round the waist with his left arm, and thus 
 they proceeded, at a slow pace, following a 
 path which led through a thick wood on each 
 side of them. The trees, principally hazel, 
 were in their freshest leaves, save some that 
 were only a budding, and those of the wild 
 plum and cherry were clothed in all their 
 delicate bloom. The roots of the larger trees 
 were wrapt in a soft covering of dainty green 
 moss, through which the lance-shaped leaves 
 of the lily of the valley made their appear- 
 ance in countless numbers seemingly as 
 far as the eye could see mingled with a 
 very prodigal display, not only of all manner 
 of seasonable flowers of diners colors, hut 
 with numberless plants and herbs, some 
 savory and others noxious, that thrust them- 
 selves out at every corner. Nothing was 
 visible around but trees and underwood such 
 as hath been described, save here and there, 
 when they came to an open place where the 
 wood had been thinned ; and then ,they be- 
 held some once goodly tree recently felled, 
 stripped of its branches, barked, and lying 
 on the ground a shapeless, naked trunk ; and 
 in other places were small logs for burning, 
 piled up in heaps, with great store of hurdles, 
 bavins, faggots, and other things belonging 
 to the woodman's craft. 
 
 It was evident the men had left work 
 the whole place was so still not a sound 
 heard the young travellers when thej ceased 
 talking, but the monotonous note of the 
 cuckoo. The path was not in any way a 
 pleasant one, for it was in a hard, rough 
 soil, with deep ruts on each side, formed by 
 the passage of heavy carts when the ground 
 was in a softer state, and led now up and 
 now down crossed occasionally by other 
 paths of a like appearance, with some nar- 
 rower and less worn, which appeared to be 
 only for foot passengers, with room for but 
 one~atatime. Yet along this unpleasant 
 way the two pursued their journey in the 
 manner already mentioned ; the more youth- 
 ful one manifestly sinking at every step, 
 despite of the other's tender charge of him, 
 -
 
 172 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 and encouraging speech to help him along. 
 
 Truly, it was a sight well worthy to be 
 looked on, these gentle persons travelling in 
 o friendly a way, the handsome manly face 
 of William Shakspeare beaming with a 
 sweet benevolence, as with all the tender 
 sympathy, of his nature, he gazed upon the 
 upturned pallid countenance of his more 
 youthful associate; but although the latter 
 strove, as forcibly as he could, to get along, 
 it was easy to see, by the languid style in 
 which he drew one leg after the other, and 
 the quick paling of his lips, that he could 
 continue even this sort of progress but a very 
 little longer. 
 
 "Cheer tliee, sweet sir!" exclaimed the 
 elder of the two, in the kindest accents, 
 " thou wilt be better anon. Put thy foot 
 forward gallantly, we shall be out of this 
 wood straight, and get us to a village where 
 we can have fair lodging for the night." 
 
 " Alack ! I feel sinking rapidly," replied 
 the other, evidently in extreme faintness. 
 " Bear me ijp strongly, I pray you the 
 ground seemeth to be falling." 
 
 " Prithee heed it not at all 'tis mere fan- 
 tasy," said William Shakspeare, holding him 
 as affectionately as a brother. " Courage, 
 my young master, our journey will be at an 
 end speedily so we shall have brave resting, 
 continue we to proceed. Woe is me, he 
 hath swooned !" The speaker stopped in 
 great anxiety and pitifulness, for he had 
 noted the arm of his companion drop list- 
 lessly off his shoulder, and the head fall so 
 droopingjy, the youth must have gone to the 
 ground had it not been for the care of his 
 tender guardian. The first thought of the 
 latter was to carry his now helpless fellow- 
 traveller as no time was to be lost in get- 
 ting out of the wood before nightfall and 
 the next minute the young poet was pro- 
 ceeding, gallantly bearing the other in his 
 arms, with all proper gentleness, till at last 
 he was obliged to put him down to rest 
 himself,. 
 
 His anxiety of mind may be imagined 
 when he beheld by the dim twilight, the 
 countenance of his young companion set, as 
 it were, in the pale complexion of death, 
 with his limbs motionless, and his eyes 
 closed. So sad a sight smote him to the 
 very heart. What to do he knew not. The 
 shadows of the night were gathering fast 
 around him, and no habitation near, or sign 
 of help at hand. To stay in the wood all 
 night without succor were to make certain 
 for his associate what already looked more 
 than possible his decease ; and yet to get 
 out of it he knew no means, for although he 
 had gone a great way, still in which ever 
 ' 
 
 way he looked, nought met his eye but im- 
 penetrable dark masses of trees and shrubs. 
 As he made the seeming lifeless Bertram 
 recline aganst his breast supporting him 
 with one arm to beguile the other of its 
 weariness whilst gazing on the pallid as- 
 pect, he was so moved by pity that lie scarce 
 knew what to be a doing. All at once, as 
 he was making the saddest reflections at the 
 poor prospect he had of saving him, he heard 
 the faint barking of a dog, to which he gave 
 on the instant, so huge a -welcome as he had 
 rarely given even to what had seemed to him 
 the pleasantest of human voices. It afford- 
 ed a most sweet assurance of present help, 
 for, as it appeared to him, it was a sign of 
 some dwelling nigh at hand, or of some per- 
 son or persons in the wood, of whom he 
 might have the assistance he required. 
 
 Presently he shouted as loud as he could 
 to attract the attention of such people as 
 were within hail, thinking it could not fail 
 of drawing them to the spot where he was. 
 He listened with extreme anxiousness, and 
 a moment after again heard the barking. 
 The sound seemed to come from qpme place 
 considerably in advance of him, so taking up 
 his burthen more tenderly than ever, he 
 proceeded along the path, till he came to 
 where another path crossed it. and here he 
 shouted again, and listened with a like in- 
 tense anxiety. It was true he heard the cry 
 of the dog repeated, but he heard no answer- 
 ing shout which was what he most desired ; 
 and this gave him some uneasiness. He 
 turned the way, where he thought the animal 
 and those he belonged to might be found, 
 until somewhat weary of what he carried, 
 he placed him on his feet as before ; and 
 then made the wood reaound, he set up so 
 main a cry. To his exceeding disappoint- 
 ment nought replied to him but the hound, 
 apd in not much louder tones than at first, 
 At this, the idea struck him, that he might 
 bring help to his fellow-traveller a famous 
 deal more quickly than could he bring him 
 where it might be found, so placing ot Ber- 
 tram upon a mossy bank about a foot or so 
 above the path, with his back reclining 
 against the broad trunk of a tree, behind 
 which he flung his bundle and stick, he 
 first of all made the piercingest halloo he 
 could, and when he heard the same reply as 
 hitherto, he started off at the top of his speed 
 toward the place whence the cry of the dog 
 came. By stopping at intervals and repeat- 
 ing his shouting, and marking the direction 
 of the beast's bark, he soon found to his 
 marvellous content it gradually became 
 louder to his ear, till it was so distinct tha 
 animal could not be many yards from him,
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 173 
 
 and yet. lie had heard no human voice, 
 Dor seen the slightest sign of habitation. 
 
 He had turned down all sorts of paths 
 narrow and broad .-sometimes forced to 
 thrust his way through the crossing branches, 
 the trees grew so close, and at others to pick 
 his way with more care than speed, the path 
 was so crooked and uneven ; at last he came 
 out of this thick wood into an open space 
 and thought he perceived before him some- 
 thing resembling a thick volume of smoke. 
 He approached it closely, and discovered 
 that it proceeded from a monstrous black 
 mass which he speedily recognized as one 
 of those heaps of dry underwood that are 
 usually kept burning slowly a day or two 
 that they may be turned into charcoal. The 
 yelping of the dog was now incessant and 
 so close, there was no occasion for more 
 shouting. Directly William Shakspeare 
 passed the pile of charcoal he beheld both 
 the animal and his master standing in the 
 door-way of a mud cabin, in which a blaz- 
 ing tire of logs threw so great a light, the 
 dingy forms of the charcoal-burner and his 
 little four-footed companion as black as him- 
 self might be seen distinctly. The former 
 appeared to be an old man of a very crab- 
 bed visage, short of stature, thick-limbed, 
 and hump-backed. How he was attired it 
 was not easy to say, for his garments seem- 
 ed of a color with his skin as though he 
 had been charred all over but there he 
 stood idly at the door of his habitation, and 
 doubtless there he had been standing the 
 whilst he had heard the shouting of the 
 young traveller; and yet he had never at- 
 tempted to give him any answer, or move 
 from the spot to show that help was at hand. 
 
 " Why dost maka such a bawling, and be 
 hanged to thee !" exclaimed the hunch-back 
 surlily, as soon as he caught sight of the 
 youth, the cur the whilst yelping with all 
 his might. 
 
 " I pray you, come with me on the in- 
 stant !" said William Shakspeare, with ex- 
 treme earnestness. " I have a friend hard 
 by like to be dying for the lack of assistance." 
 
 " 'Sdeath ! thou dost not take me to DO 
 so huge a fool surely," replied the charcoal- 
 burner, moving never a whit from his place. 
 " Body o' me, 'twould be a fine thing was I 
 to take to running about the wood, at this 
 late hour, at any body's asking. Get thee 
 gone straight, or may be tHk dog will give 
 thee a sharp bite o' the legs, or I a smart 
 crack o' the crown." At another time such 
 a threat would have cost him dear ; but the 
 other was too wise not to know that vio- 
 lence would go no way towards the assist- 
 ing of his fellow-traveller. 
 
 " I- beseech you come to my poor friend's 
 help, and I will pay you handsomely !" ex- 
 claimed he, with more urgency, " and here 
 is some earnest your kind labor shall not go 
 unrewarded." So saying, he took from his 
 purse a couple of silver groats, which he 
 placed in the old fellow's hand. The sight 
 of the purse and the touch of the money, as 
 had been anticipated, had an instantaneous 
 effect. 
 
 " Prithee tell me, good sir, where your 
 friend may be found, and I will give him 
 what help I can without fail," answered the 
 hunch-back, putting his foot forward very 
 readily ; and then cried out angrily to his 
 yelping cur, to whom he gave a slight kick, 
 " a murrain on thee stay thy rude noise ; 
 how darest thou bark at so worthy a per- 
 son !" Whereof the consequence was, that 
 in a very few minutes the whole three were 
 trudging amicably together in search of the 
 helpless Bertram. Young Shakspeare soon 
 became somewhat bewildered as to the path 
 he should follow, he having in his speed 
 taken no great note of the right one ; so he 
 went up one^.nd down another, without ex- 
 actly knowing he was going his proper way 
 or not. Nevertheless, after proceeding a 
 considerable distance with no profit, he be- 
 gan to have a suspicion he had come in u 
 wrong direction, and hinted as much to the 
 charcoal-burner, which brought them to a 
 full stop, and a consultation as to what was 
 best to be done. 
 
 " Didst heed nothing anigh the place you 
 left your friend ?" inquired the hunch-back. 
 " Nothing notable in the tree, or in tne place 
 close upon it, by which you might distin- 
 guish it again ?" 
 
 " As I remember there was something." 
 replied the other ; " I perceived a number 
 of different small animals I know not of 
 what sort, for I could not distinguish them 
 hanging from the tree's branches." 
 
 " Body o' me !" exclaimed the charcoal- 
 burner, in a sort of famous surprise, " that 
 be the Tyburn oak, as we call it in these 
 parts, for 'tis used by the keepers as a gib- 
 bet, upon which they do execution upon all 
 manner of weasles, pole-cats, foxes, owls, 
 shrikes, and other wild destructive things 
 that are caught in traps, set in different parts 
 of these woods; and ,it lies down in Dead 
 Man's Hollow, at least a full mile from this. 
 Had you turned to the left instead of to the 
 right, when starting from my cot, we had 
 reached it long since." 
 
 For this, mistake there was no remedy but 
 to retrace their steps, which they did with 
 as much speed as they could, William 
 Shakspeare somewhat uneasy at having left
 
 174 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 hia young companion for so long a tijne, and 
 his guide in an eager humor to be touching 
 some more of the other's money. In due 
 iime they arrived at the tree, the same tree 
 out of all contradiction from which the lat- 
 ter had started in pursuit of assistance for 
 his friend ; for there lay behind it the bun- 
 ble and the stick he had thrown there, but 
 of Bertram there was no sign. This put 
 him in a fearful perplexity. He thought, 
 perchance, on returning to consciousness, 
 and linding himself, as he might think, 
 abandoned, the youth had strayed away in 
 hopes of discovering a path that led out of 
 the wood; and this idea put him in huge 
 discomfort ; for, as it appeared to him, the 
 young stranger was almost sure to be lost 
 in the numberless different paths that led 
 here and there in all directions. He pres- 
 ently fell to acquainting the hunch-back 
 with his thoughts. 
 
 " I doubt that, master," replied the char- 
 coal-burner ; " an' he were in such a strait 
 as you have said, methinks it must needs be 
 he could have been in no case for further 
 journeying. I am more apt to think he hath 
 been moved by other persons." 
 
 " How can that be ?" inquired the other. 
 " t saw no one in the wood but ourselves." 
 
 " That might be, master," said the hunch- 
 back ; " but at this late hour, when the 
 place seemetii to be deserted of every one. 
 the Lord Urban, whose property it is, as 
 well as great part of the surrounding coun- 
 try, wandereth alone in it for hours toge- 
 ther, and 'tis like enough my lord hath fal- 
 len on your friend in his Vambles, and see- 
 ing how much he wanted immediate suc- 
 cor, as you have said, hath borne him to his 
 own fair mansion, scarce half a mile from 
 this place." 
 
 " It may be," observed the young traveller, 
 considering the probability of what had just 
 been advanced ; " but who is this Lord Ur- 
 ban, for I should bo glad to know if my 
 friend is in safe hands '?" 
 
 " Be assured he cannot be better off," an_- 
 swered the hunch-back, " and if you will 
 with me, and share the shelter and the cheer 
 of my cot, I will tell you whatever you may 
 require concerning of him, and in the morn- 
 ing direct you the nighest way to his man- 
 sion.". 
 
 Believing that nothing more desirable 
 could be done, William Shakspeare assented 
 cheerfully to the charcoal-burner's proposal, 
 on condition that they should previously 
 search about where they were, to see if the 
 lost youth had lingered in the neighborhood. 
 Finding nothing of him, they then bent their 
 steps towards the mud cot, and in a few 
 
 minutes entered it together. The new 
 comer found it the most primitive habitation 
 he had ever been in, in all his days, there 
 being no windows to it, the ground consti- 
 tuting the floor, in the centre of which was 
 a large fire burning, which the hunch-back 
 quickly replenished with fresh lo^-s. The 
 smoke had no other way of exit but through 
 the open door, and therefore gave a most 
 dingy coat to the whole interior. On the 
 fire was a sort of kettle swung. A foot or 
 two from it was a table and chair, at the 
 other side a kind of bed, made of branches 
 of green broom, with a log of wood by way 
 of pillow, and in the corner a rude cup- 
 board; beside which there were in other f 
 parts of this chamber divers woodman's 
 tools, and spades, gins, and other instru- 
 ments. Against one part of the wall wa< a 
 hare hanging, and nearly opposite a leather 
 jerkin. 
 
 The charcoal-burner wiped the chair for 
 his visitor, who in honest truth was glad to 
 find such resting, did the same office for the 
 table, and presently placed on it, with tren- 
 chers, knives, latten spoons, and other neces- 
 saries, a smoking dish of stewed coneys, 
 that smelt so savory, the young traveller did 
 not require, much pressing to induce him to 
 have at them ; and his companion, making 
 himself a stool out of a tall log, eat and 
 drank with such extreme heartiness, it could 
 not fail being a provocation of itself ; but 
 the edge of the other's appetite was sharp 
 enough without such setting, in consequence 
 of a long and tiresome journey, and he made 
 as good a meal as he had done any day of 
 his life before. The old fellow then gossip- 
 ped about his lorJ sundry marvellous stories, 
 till the other gave a hint he would bo glad 
 of getting some sleep. 
 
 " If you can bring yourself to accept of 
 such poor lying as I have, 'tis at your com- 
 mandment," replied the charcoal-burner, 
 pointing to the bod of broom-branches at the 
 other side of the fire. 
 
 " Truly, I think it as pleasant a coiich, 
 for one as weary as am I, as a king's bed," 
 answered the other ; " but how mean you to 
 take your sleep ? I like not depriving you 
 of your customary comfort." 
 
 " Heed me not, master. I can sleep on a 
 chair as fast as I can anywhere," said the 
 old fellow. Whereupon, his young compan- 
 ion presently \fent, and threw himself upon 
 the charcoal-burner's bed, and the other sat 
 himself in the chair, and in a few minutes 
 it appeared as if both were in as sound" 
 sleeping as they could well have. But as 
 regards the hunch-back, his slumber was 
 but feigned. He found he could get no rest
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 175 
 
 for thinking of the young stranger's purse,, he had last seen the charcoal-burner, reposing 
 with a greedy longing to make it his own, J himself for his last night's rest, bare of a 
 
 tenant ; nor did he appear to be anywhere 
 in the cabin. At this discovery, the dream- 
 
 and yet he could not resolve himself into at- 
 tempting to deprive him of it. He was 
 striving in his mind, to find some way by 
 which he might do so in perfect^ security. 
 If ro took it privily as he slept, he might dis- 
 
 cover the loss on waking, and could not fail taken to be the noise of swords clashing to- 
 
 of suspecting the robber, and would straight- 
 way demand its restitution, or might speed 
 to the Lord Urban's where he was bound as 
 he said, and acquaint some of them there 
 with his having been so plundered, by which 
 speedy punishment was likely to follow. 
 This suited the charcoal-burner not at all. 
 Still, he was intent upon having the money 
 for the demon of covetousness had a fast 
 hold on him but hours passed withput his 
 coining to any determination. At last, an 
 idea was started in him, that appeared to 
 give him the purse, and provide against all 
 dreaded consequences ; yet, such was the 
 character of this idea, that as soon as it was 
 well conceived of him, he gazed stealthily 
 round the chamber, to note if any were nigh 
 
 er marvelled somewhat. As he listened 
 more attentively, his quick sense of hearing 
 could plainly distinguish, that what he hac 
 
 gether, was the sharpening -of some weapon 
 with a stone. Whereupon, he fell into a 
 greater wondej than before. It seemed 
 strange the hunch-back should want to be 
 sharpening of anything at that hour. On 
 a sudden he called to mind the covetous 
 looks of the old fellow whenever he glanced 
 at his purse, and then he had some suspi- 
 cions the other meant him no good. 
 
 In a moment he reached down the old 
 jerliin that was hanging on the wall, and 
 with it covered the log of wood that had 
 served for a stool, which he laid in the exact 
 place in which he had been recently lying, 
 keeping himself back in the deep shadow, 
 for the purpose of watching to note whether 
 his suspicions were well or ill-grounded. 
 
 enough to get note of it. Assured that none ! Presently, he beheld the charcoal-burner 
 were within the cabin save the stranger, | with a very devilish visage, as it appeared 
 and that, as his breathing declared, he was I by the light of the fire cast upon it, enter 
 in a deep sleep, the hunch-back quietly rose the hovel, and stealthily approach his bed, 
 
 from his seat, and cautiously picking some- 
 tiling from a corner, stole with the noiseless 
 step of a cat, out of the place. 
 
 The youthful Shakspeare had got himself 
 into a famous dream. He fancied he was 
 in a fierce battle, in company with his once 
 notable kind friends the two young knights, 
 wherein, after much brave- lighting on his 
 part, he had been overthrown, and lay so sore 
 
 with a woodman's bill in his hand, the 'edge 
 of which he was feeling with his thumb, 
 mayhap to note if it was sharp enough for 
 his purpose. In the mind of the youthful 
 Shakspeare, there now could no't be a doubt 
 of the old fellow's murderous intentions. 
 Indeed the eager, cautious, fiend-like look he 
 had as he crept along with his weapon, was 
 sufficient evidence) of the deadliness of his 
 
 wounded he could not move. He heard the j object. The supposed sleeper lay still as 
 battle raging around him the clashing of death close against the wall, and that portion 
 the swords, the blows of the curtle-axes, the of the chamber being fartherest from the 
 cries of the combatants, and the groans of I fire, it was so dark no object could be seen, 
 the wounded, and these so nigh, it- seemed ! and about the bed of broom, there was only 
 plain he should be crushed to death in the I so much light as to see forms without clear- 
 melee, still he had no power of moving, ' ly distinguishing them. 
 
 strove h ever so ; and this horrible dread so 
 
 The hunch-back approached the bed 
 
 increased, that upon a sudden rush of the closely. He stopped as he got nigh to the 
 battle towards him so tumultuously it was i top o! it. At this, William Shakspeare was 
 manifest his doom was sealed, divers fell so ! in some apprehension the other would spy 
 heavily upon him, he started at the shock ! the cheat, and was preparing himself for a 
 and awoke. He could still hear the clash- i desperate conflict, if such should be the case. 
 ing of the swords though his eyes were wide j However, presently, he beheld his treach- 
 open ; but gradually he became conscious, eroiis host lift his weapon above his head, 
 as he looked about him, he had been -in a ! and the next moment it came down with such 
 dream, and he remembered where he was monstrous force, it cut through the jerkin, 
 lying. The fire in the centre of the hovel i and stuck firm in the log beneatfc. Then 
 was now burning low, so as to throw an in- j the pretended sleeper sprung from his con- 
 distinct lurid light about the place the i ceahnent, but not in time tosecure the vil- 
 dreamer looked for his host ; but there was | lain, who. the instant he heard the rustling 
 the table, with the supper things still un- 1 of his intended victim as he rose from hia 
 deared away, and there the chair, in which ! hiding, saw clearly enough he had been
 
 176 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 foiled in his murderous purpose, and with 
 a muttered execration rushed from the hovel 
 at the top of his speed, pursued by his dog, 
 who had been a curious spectator of the 
 whole scene. The other did not think it ad- 
 visable to follow them into the intricacies 
 of the wood at such a time, so he first pul- 
 led out the bill from the log, the which took 
 all his strength to do, it was buried so deep 
 in the wood, meaning to use it in his own 
 defence should there be occasion ; then 
 made the fire burn bravely, resolving to wait 
 where he was till daylight. 
 
 Finding himself in no way molesfed after 
 some time, he went to the door and looked 
 out. The heap of charcoal was still smok- 
 ing. All around lay the spreading trees, 
 and above, the cold grey sky, such as it ap- 
 peareth in the early morning. The stillness 
 was most profound ; but this lasted only a 
 brief while. Presently, the wind came 
 sweeping among the leaves, sighing heavily 
 as if in a great weariness, and making a 
 notable trembling of all ,the tender green 
 things it passed over, as if they liked not the 
 approach of such a visitor. It died away, 
 and all was still again. Again it rushed 
 onward in its broad path with the like con- 
 sequences, and anon, the whole wood was 
 hushed into a deep sleep : and so it continued. 
 After an hour or so of these changes, ob- 
 served by the young poet with such pleasure 
 as none but.minds like his, so perfectly at- 
 tuned to the sweet harmonies of nature, can 
 be familiar with, on a sudden, he heard a slight 
 chirping ; then another in a different direc- 
 tion, and answering to tfcat a third, and ere 
 another minute had passed, there was so 
 goodly a chorus of chirpings, whistling, 
 warbling, and all manner of such choice 
 singing, from the whole neighborhood, as was 
 quite ravishing to hear. Then numberless 
 small birds, of different hues, were seen 
 busily whetting of their beaks against the 
 tiny twigs, or hopping in and out amid the 
 branches, or descending to the ground, feed- 
 ing on such palatable tilings as they could 
 find ; and in noting of their different songs, 
 their pretty ways, and their soft glossy plu- 
 nage, the youthful Shakspeare forgot all 
 thoughts of preparing himself against threat- 
 ened murder. Indeed, he could not enter- 
 tain any idea of violence amongst such 
 pleasant happiness as now surrounded him. 
 After enjoying of this fair scene for some 
 time, and^impressed with the conviction the 
 charcoal-burner had no mind to return, fear- 
 ing to be punished for his villainy, the young 
 traveller once more took to his bundle and 
 stick, and ventured out of the hovel, in the 
 expectation of meeting some one or another 
 
 coming to his work, who would be his guide 
 to the Lord Urban's mansion, in case he 
 should not be able to find it by following the 
 direction given by the murderous hunch-back 
 the preceding night. He proceeded on his 
 patli, bent upon ascertaining as well as he 
 could how his young friend had fared, and 
 then continuing his journey as speedily as 
 he might. He met nothing, save the proper 
 denizens of the wood, coneys, hares, and 
 sundry different sorts of birds, who speedily 
 took themselves elsewhere at his approach, 
 till he turned the corner of the path ; and 
 then he stopped suddenly, for he beheld a 
 scene, the like of which he had never wit- 
 nessed before. Opposite him, leaning against 
 a tree, stood t a tall man, apparently of some 
 fifty years or so, negligently clothed in 
 handsome apparelling. His countenance 
 was the most woe-begone he had ever 
 pale, haggard, and care-worn, with misery 
 written in every line ; notwithstanding which 
 there was something so truly noble in his 
 features, that the grief they expressed seem- 
 ed as though exalted beyond the reach of 
 ordinary sympathy. His ami resting against 
 the tree afforded a support for his head, in 
 which position he had placed himself, with 
 his eyes fixed upon the ground, and ever 
 and anon, giving of such groans and deep 
 sighs as were exceeding pitiful to hear. 
 Presently he moved, clasped his hands forci- 
 bly together, and lifted up his eyes to the 
 sky with a look so heart-rending, he who 
 alone saw it could never forget it. Sorrow 
 in any, appealeth to the heart of the specta- 
 tor ; but when the majesty o'f manhood put- 
 teth on its sad livery, there is no such 
 moving sight in the whole world. 
 
 The stranger then took to walking two or 
 three paces, to and fro, in the path with his 
 eyes fixed on the ground, and his aspect 
 bearing the signs of a consuming grief. 
 Again he stopped and the expression of his 
 countenance changed greatly-'-it bore a ter- 
 rible suspiciousness ; and then anger, scorn, 
 and hatred followed each other rapidly. 
 
 "Infamous wretch!" exclaimed he, in a 
 voice so hollow and broken, it did not appear 
 to belong to a living creature ; " her punish- 
 ment hath been as intolerable as her crime ! 
 'Tis fit ; tis fit such guilt should be so vis- 
 ited. A most jv.st judgment a proper 
 vengeance." At this he walked about as 
 before, and soon returned to the more quiet 
 sadness he had at first exhibited ; and then 
 he groaned, and smote his breast with his 
 clenched fist, and shook his head most woe- 
 fully, and muttered something which could 
 not be heard. The youthful Shakspeare, 
 with a natural delicacy, liking not to be seen
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 177 
 
 taking note of the stranger's action?, was 
 Miming away, when he was discovered. 
 
 " Ah, fellow, what dost here T' angrily 
 cried the distracted gentleman, rushing upon 
 him with the speed of a young deer ; and 
 then placing himself in his path, appeared 
 to examine him with a severe scrutiny. A 
 glance seemed to suffice, for the expression 
 of liis features changed instantly ; and he 
 spoke in a gentler voice, " Heed not any- 
 thing you may have heard," said he, putting 
 his Hand on the youth's shoulder. " I am 
 subject to strange fits and I rave about I 
 kmm- not what. I pray, yon, think 'not 
 hardly of me, if you have listened to aught 
 t6 my disadvantage." And then he took the 
 other t'rukrly by the ha.nd as if he was an 
 especial friend, and gazed in his face in such 
 a manner as might one who would show in 
 his looks his affectionate regard of a com- 
 panion he talked with. 
 
 " Bo assured I heard" nothing I could place 
 to your discredit," replied the young poet, 
 much moved at the other's strange way of 
 addressing him. " And what I did hear, I 
 came on accidentally, and listened to from 
 sympathy rather than cariousness." 
 
 " Ah ! doubtless !" said the earl, hurriedly. 
 " But iiow carne you in this place so early 1 
 it is not usual to be travelling at such an 
 hour." 
 
 William Shakspeare then spoke of his 
 last night's adventures ; to which the other 
 listened with singular curiout-ness ac- 
 knowledging himself to be the Lord Urban, 
 and that it was he who had removed the 
 helpless Bertram, finding him in the case he 
 was asking many questions about him, and 
 at last inviting h?s new acquaintaee to see 
 him at the house where he lay. To this 
 the other gladly assenting, these- two pro- 
 ceeded there together. The mansion was 
 the largest and fairest to look at William 
 Shakspeare had seen, save only Kenilworth 
 Castle, and it lay in the centre of a noble 
 park. As they approached it they came 
 upon several parties of men perchance 
 going to their labor of the day all of whom 
 did the earl a notable reverence, that he ac- 
 knowledged with a suitable graciousness ; 
 soon after which the'young traveller follow- 
 ed his noble guide, by a private entrance, 
 into the interior of that stately dwelling. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 I was wery of wandering, and went me to rest, 
 Under a brode banke, by a bourne side, 
 And as I lay and lened, and loked on the water, 
 I slombered into a sleeping, it swyzed so inery. 
 THE VISION OF PIERCE PLOWMAN. 
 
 Clown. What hast here? ballads ? 
 
 J/opsa. Pray now sing some ! I love a ballad 
 
 in print, o' life, 
 For then we are sure they are true. 
 
 Auto. Will you buy any tape, 
 Or lace for youf cape, 
 My dainty duck my dear-a ? 
 
 SlIAKSPEARE. 
 
 Borach. Tush ! I may as well say the fool's 
 the fool. But see'st thou not what a deformed 
 thief this fashion is ? 
 
 Watch. I know that Deformed : he has been 
 a vile thief this seven year: he goesyp and down 
 like a gentleman. 1 remember his name. 
 
 IBID. 
 
 WHEN William Shakspeare left his fel- 
 low traveller, it was with unfeigned regret to 
 part with one for whom, as it seemed, he 
 had conceived so great a liking ; but it was 
 also with a singular satisfaction on his part 
 that the youth had fallen into such good 
 
 i hands. B'ertram had resolved to stay where 
 he was, partly from having .been much pres- 
 
 ! sed to do so by the Lord Urban, who had 
 used him exceeding civilly ; and in some 
 
 ; measure, because he felt quite unable to at- 
 tempt any further travel, he was in so help- 
 less weak a state. Having received, from 
 
 I divers of the earl's serving men. the neces- 
 sary directions for pursuing his way, and 
 
 ! having not only refreshed himself famously, 
 but been liberally provided with a prodigal 
 
 I store of choice eating and drinking for his 
 
 ! comfort on the road, the young traveller trudg- 
 ed manfully on pursuing of his journey. 
 
 It chanced, after he had^valked till he 
 was getting to be tired, he came to a brook 
 side which murmured very pleasantly, and 
 sitting himself down on the grass, under an 
 alder tree, he presently fell to making a 
 meal of the victual he had ; the which 
 pleased him infinitely, for the meat was of 
 the best, and though he had no sauce save 
 his own hunger, that latter gave so sweet a 
 relish no other was wanting ; and then he 
 drew a flask of wine from under his doublet, 
 and took a fair draught of it, which also 
 gave him wonderful content. Wow, whether 
 it was he had had but little sleep many 
 nights, or whether it was the strength of 
 the wine got into his head, or the murmur- 
 ing of the brook made him drowsy, I know 
 not ; but after yawning several times most
 
 178 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 unequivocally, and stretching his arms out, 
 and showing other signs of oppressive 
 weariness, presently he lay his strength on 
 the grass, with the bundle under his head, 
 and the stick in his hand, and in a few 
 minutes was in the enjoyment of as sweet a 
 slumber as he had known a long time. 
 
 But mayhap it ivas the pleasant dream 
 which then visited nim that gave his sleep 
 such absolute pleasantness; for, truly, it 
 was as delectable a dream as sleep ever pro- 
 duced through it was made up of all man- 
 ner of strange pageants and unheard of 
 famous marvels. Sometimes it took the 
 shape of a goodly theatre filled with a noble 
 company, and he a player whose very pre- 
 sence made the whole place to resound with 
 plaudits anon he had writ a play to be 
 played before the Queen's Majesty and the 
 great lords and ladies of her court ; and he 
 received most bountiful commendation from 
 such glorious audience : and then he would 
 be writing of poems that should be so liked 
 of all persons of worship, there should 
 scarce be anything in such esteem. And 
 so the dream went on in divers other scenes 
 of a like sort, as if there could be no end to 
 the greatness they promised him; and, in 
 the end, there danced before his eyes the 
 same pretty company of fair dancers, sing- 
 ers, and revellers, as had used to haunt his 
 slumbers in his younger days ; and one 
 more delicately apparelled than the rest, and 
 of surpassing beauty, beckoned him onward 
 as she flitted gracefully before him, singing 
 of some words of exquisite hopeful meaning. 
 
 At this he woke suddenly, and the bright 
 visions changed into a fair landscape the 
 sweet music was turned to the faint hum- 
 ming of the water ; and the press of tiny 
 shapes, in their rare bravery, changed to 
 innumerable small insects that were skim- 
 ming the surface of the brook. The sleeper 
 started from his position, and after refresh- 
 ing himself by laving of his face in the 
 water, as he lay down on the bank, he 
 shouldered his little burthen, and continued 
 his journey in a gayer humor than he had 
 been in since its commencement. He now 
 more than ever took to the laying of plans 
 and drawing out of schemes for his ad- 
 vancement ; and the tirst and most notable 
 of these was to make the best of his way to 
 London, to find out the elder Burbage, who 
 was the chief of a company of players there, 
 a nd offer himself to be of his company ; the 
 which he doubted not would be allowed, 
 Burbage having already knowledge of his 
 fitness for to be a player, having witnessed 
 his first essay when he so readily undertook 
 to fill the post of the sick boy. 
 
 On entering a town on market day, and 
 having passed long lines of pens for sheep 
 and pigs, and droves of cattle rude carts 
 laden with sacks of grain, piles of cheese 
 heaped up in the open place, along side of 
 baskets of eggs, poultry, and butter, with 
 here a show perchance of a wild Indian 
 there a famous doctor on a platform, oftering 
 to cure all diseases in another spot the 
 notablest conjuror and astrologer in the 
 whole world, surrounded by gaping crowds 
 of farmers, yeomen, and rustical sort of 
 people and elsewhere a harper singing of 
 old ballads in a circle of well pleased liM,-n- 
 ers of both sexes, he was stopped by a throng 
 of persons of all ages and conditions, who 
 seemed to be laughing very merrily at the 
 rivalry of two travelling chapmen, seeking 
 by dint of volubleness of tongue and low 
 i humor to get off their wares. The one was 
 an amazing red-nosed old fellow, with one 
 eye, but there was in' it so droll a twinkle, 
 and it seemed so active withal, it was evi- 
 dent it grieved not for the loss of its partner. 
 He had got with him a handful of ballads 
 and broad sheets, and a bundle at his back, 
 which he was striving all his craft of tongue 
 to dispose of. The other was a pedlar a 
 rare rogue, of a most facetious vein, who 
 whilst in serious commendation of his wares 
 failed not to utter a sly jest at his rival. 
 He had his pack opened before him, dis- 
 playing all manner of ribbons and trinkets, 
 which he 'showed as openly as he could, 
 and praised as though nothing half so good 
 could be had anywhere. 
 
 " Out with your pennies, my masters !" 
 cried the ballad-monger. " Here is a choice 
 time for spending. Delicate ballads ! Rare 
 ballads, new and old ! Here is one of an 
 amorous turnspit who got so madly in love 
 with his master's daughter, he forgot his 
 proper duty to that extreme, he basted him- 
 self instead of the meat. .It was sworn be- 
 fore the mayor he never came to his right 
 senses till the cook run a knife into him to 
 see if he was done. No history so true. 
 Here is another of a merry apprentice, who 
 kissed all the women, beat all the watch, 
 and hanged all the cats within five miles of 
 him, and how he afterwards became the 
 powerfulest merchant in the world. All 
 writ down in an especial edifying manner for 
 the instruction of young persons. Here is 
 the dialogue of the Oxford scholar, and the 
 tanner of Woodstock, concerning of woman, 
 whether she bo fish, flesh, or fowl. Full of 
 most delectable fine argument and deep 
 learning. Buy, my masters, buy! Xerer 
 had I such prodigal penny-worths. Most 
 true ballads only happened t'other day WM
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 179 
 
 a month. I sell no copper brooches for 
 gold. Here are no gla.-s beads to pass for 
 line stones. I seek not to cozen you with 
 pewter for silver. These are ballads, my 
 masters none so good have been writ this 
 hundred year choice for singing choice 
 for reading, and choice for sticking against 
 the cupboard door." 
 
 " Here is Paris thread of the best," said 
 the pedlar. " Here are ribbons for holiday 
 wear, that when given to a comely damsel, 
 force her to be so desperate after the giver, 
 he shall marry her in a week. ' Here are 
 garters so exquisitely fashioned, they make 
 a neat ankle of so ravishing a shape, not an 
 eye shall gaze on it without being lost 'in 
 love 'for the owner. Here are pins and 
 needles warranted to prick none, save those 
 they run into. Here are leather purses that 
 have been charmed by a conjuror, so that 
 they have the virtue to double whatever 
 money they shall hold. Here is famous 
 goldsmith's work in wedding-rings -of metal 
 that cannot be matched for sterlingness, and 
 are moreover known to keep all wives true 
 to their husbands, and to hold them so obe- 
 dient withal, they shall take a cudgelling or 
 a kissing with a like good will. Here are 
 locks for hair brooches and ear-rings, gar- 1 
 nished with stones beyond all price neck- 
 laces and chains from beyond the seas, and 
 all so marvellous cheap they should be a 
 bargain at thrice what I will sell them for. 
 All true lovers come to me, I will insure 
 you your desires at a small cost. All gener- 
 ous good husbands now is your time to win 
 your wives to honest affectionateness. I am 
 no dealer in monstrous dull lies that would 
 make a dead man stir in his grave the hear 
 of such roguery. Here is no poor foolish 
 stuff put into measure to cheat simple per- 
 sons into a laugh. I have my eyes about 
 me, and believe others riot to be so blind as 
 some that take but a half look at things do 
 fancy. Judge for yourselves. Note how 
 excellent are my wares. Whatever you 
 lack you shall have of such fineness and at 
 so cheap a rate as you can ne^r have 
 again. Girdles, belts, points, laces, gloves, 
 kerchiefs, spoons, knives, spurs, scissors, 
 thimbles, and all other things whatsoever, 
 made so well and fast, they shall last till 
 you die, and after that serve you as long as 
 you may have use for them." 
 
 In this strain the two continued, to the 
 huge entertainment of the assembled rustics, 
 who greedily bought of each, and laughed 
 loudly at their sly allusions to the other's 
 efforts to cheat them. The young traveller 
 passed on as soon as he could somewhat 
 amused at the droll roguery of those merry 
 
 knaves, till he came to another crowd about 
 the town-crier, who had just made the whole 
 neighborhood resound with the clamor of 
 his bell, causing persons to throng around 
 him from all parts. William Shakspeare 
 could only get near enough to hear a word 
 or so that was bawled louder than the rest, 
 so he asked of a staid simple-looking man 
 at his eBow, what it meant. 
 
 " It meaneth that the Queen of Scots 
 hath escaped," replied he, " and hue and 
 I cry hath been made for her from town to 
 town, and from tithing to tithing. And, 
 moreover, that London hath been set on fire, 
 and that the papists are rising in all parts, 
 I bidding of every man to get himself in ar- 
 mor, in readiness to do battle in defence of 
 | the Queen Elizabeth, and to search for and 
 j seize on the false Queen of Scots wherever 
 she may be found." 
 
 This intelligence surprised the young tra- 
 veller exceedingly, and amongst the market 
 people it caused a singular commotion, for 
 presently they all broke up into little knots 
 discoursing of no other matter some alarm- 
 ed some valiant some threatening, and 
 every one talking or seeking to talk of the 
 escaped queen, the fire, and the papists. 
 William Shakspeare was proceeding on his 
 way as speedily as he could, marvelling at 
 what he had heard, when of a sudden he 
 found himself seized firmly, and turning 
 round beheld the person he just spoke to, 
 with his face flushed as though in some ex- 
 traordinary excitement, and his whole frame 
 in such a tremble as if he was taken with a 
 sudden ague. 
 
 " I charge you to surrender yourself 
 peaceably," exclaimed he to his astonished 
 prisoner. 
 
 " For what cause I pray you ?" inquired 
 the latter. 
 
 " I arrest you as a false traitor and hor- 
 rible malefactor against the queen's high- 
 ness, our sovereign lady, whose poor con- 
 stable I am," replied the other, seeming in 
 terrible fear lest he should escape. " Ask 
 of me no questions, but come straight before 
 his worship the mayor at your deadly 
 peril." 
 
 " I assure you I have done no offence 
 there must be some mistake in this," said 
 his companion. 
 
 " An' you seek to breed a bate by any 
 show of false words, I will call on true men 
 to bear you along forcibly," added the con- 
 stable. Believing both resistance and argu- 
 ments would be useless, the prisoner allowed 
 himself to be led by the person who had de- 
 tained him, followed by a throng of the curi- 
 ous, of whom many, especially the women,
 
 180 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 grieved to see so handsome a- youth in such 
 custody. In a few minutes he found him- 
 self at the end of a long chamber, with a 
 portly looking fellow, manifestly a miller by 
 the flour with which his garments were 
 covered, that could be seen under his may- 
 or's gown sitting at tha top of a table, in 
 close and earnest conversation withj| butch- 
 er on one side of him, and a vintner on the 
 other, and then dictating to a bull-headed 
 sturdy knave in the common dress of a 
 smith. 
 
 " Silence in the court !" cried the miller, 
 the moment the constable opened his mouth 
 to make his accusation, and the mayor spoke 
 so commandingly, the other contented him- 
 self with keeping fast hold of his prisoner ; 
 and seeming in a wonderful famousness 
 and solicitude. It appeared that these wor- 
 thies were the chief officers of the corpora- 
 tion, and they were about sending of a letter 
 to the queen's council concerning of the 
 important intelligence of which the reader is 
 acquainted, saying what they have done, 
 and asking what farther they should do. 
 Everything was first debated betwixt the 
 miller, the butcher, and the vintner, who ap- 
 peared to be as thoroughly ignorant of proper 
 forms of speech in which to express them- 
 selves, as any three persons could ; and yet 
 they spoke as confidently as if they con- 
 sidered themselves amongst the sages of the 
 land. 
 
 " Now, Alderman Hobnail, read what hath 
 been writ, and our memories shall hold it 
 the better," said the mayor, whereupon the 
 scribe took the paper in his hand, and slowly, 
 as if he could make out his own writing 
 with some difiiculty, he read what fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " An' it plea'se you, right honorables, we 
 have had a certain hue and cry arrive here, 
 charging of us to make diligent searchings 
 in all manner of our lanes^ and alleys, high- 
 ways and byeways, for the Queen of Scots, 
 who is fled ; likewise of her majesty's city 
 of London, by the enemies set on fire ; 
 whereby in great haste we have got ready 
 our men and armor, with such artillery as 
 we have, on pain of death, as by the pre- 
 cept we were commanded ; and have charged 
 divers of our constables to seek out and 
 apprehend the said Queen of Scots, if so be 
 she is lurking in our township ; but as yet 
 we have gained no intelligence she hath 
 ventured herself into these parts " 
 
 " Please your worships, the Queen of 
 Scots is here in my safe custody !" exclaimed 
 the constable, who found it utterly impos- 
 sible to withhold any longer the intelligence 
 of the important capture he imagined he had 
 
 made. At hearing this, the mayor and 
 alderman started from their seats in such 
 amazement as they had never shown before ; 
 but their surprise was far exceeded by that 
 of the prisoner, who at last could not help 
 laughing outright. " Please your worship 
 the fact be manifest. This person came up 
 to me, whilst the crier was giving out the 
 intelligence of the Queen of Scots' escape, 
 and not hearing what Master Giles said, he 
 having a pestilent hoarseness, asked of me 
 what he was saying ; and on the instant I 
 told him her I should say he she I mean 
 took himself, or rather herself, off with 
 the design of escape, as hastily as might be. 
 Whereupon I felt assured he she I should 
 say was no other than this escaped queen ; 
 for, RS I remember, the Queen of Scots is 
 said to be fair, so is this person and in no 
 way deformed, which tallies with this person 
 to a hair and of a well favored counten- 
 ance, the which this person hath also ; and 
 in huge trouble and anxiousness lest he 
 she should escape, I made him her I mean, 
 my prisoner, and have herewith brought him 
 her I, should say into your worship's 
 presence, to be further done with as your 
 worships shall think fittest." 
 
 The whole assembly seemed in so mon- 
 strous a marvel, they appeared as if they 
 could do nothing but stare at the supposed 
 queen. > 
 
 " Surely this person looketh but little like 
 a woman," observed the mayor at last ; at 
 which the vintner very pithily remarked, 
 there were divers of that sex who looked 
 not what they passed for ; and the butcher 
 added, with a like shrewdness, it was well 
 known of many women, that on an occasion 
 they could enact the man so much to the 
 life, their husbands could not do it half so 
 well. Hearing these fine arguments, the 
 miller looked somewhat puzzled, and again 
 the constable put in sundry other reasons of 
 his for coming to the conclusion he had 
 all which, with his singular confusion of 
 he's and she's which marked his discourse, 
 appeared to afford infinite diversion to the 
 suspected Queen of Scots. Presently, being 
 called upon to give an account of himself, 
 the latter strove to convince the worthies of 
 the corporation of the ridiculous blunder of 
 the constable, by printing to his mustache, 
 saying as gravely as he could, he never 
 knew that formed any part of the escaped 
 queen's countenance ; and then uncovered 
 his head to show how different his hair was 
 to a woman's ; but this only led to a con- 
 sultation of the mayor with his chief advi- 
 sers, and hearing something about empanel- 
 ling a jury of matrons, the young traveller
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 181 
 
 immediately iore open his doublet, ana put 
 beyond a doubt to the horrible disappoint- 
 ment of the constable that he was neither 
 her highnessof Scotland, nor woman of any 
 kind. After which, he made such choice 
 jests of the affair, that he .set the whole cor- 
 poration laughing right luartily, and was 
 dismissed from custody, amid the merry 
 congratulations of every one present, save 
 only Master Constable, against whom, his 
 doings of that day, furnished his acquain- 
 tance with a continual jest. 
 
 William Shakspeare got out of the town 
 without further molestation ; and, on the 
 road, coming up to a heavily laden waggon, 
 drawn by six horses, he made a bargain with 
 the waggoner to take him to Oxford. On 
 getting into the vehicle, he nearly placed 
 himself in the lap of an old lady there seated, 
 in consequence of his not seeing clearly, 
 the interior was so dark ; bfit he excused 
 himself so gracefully, thai, he soon got to be 
 on exceeding friendly terms with her. As 
 soon as his eyes became more used to the 
 darkness, he began to make out the figures 
 of his fellow-travellers. First there was the 
 old lady, a notable motherly sort of dame, 
 going to London to visit her daughter. She 
 was marvellous social, talking of her affairs 
 as if each one present \vas her intimate dear 
 friend and gossip of long standing, although 
 she had seen none before she^joined th-am in 
 the waggon. 
 
 xt to her was a sickly looking boy, 
 going with his mother, who seemed to hold 
 him very tenderly, to get advice of the nota- 
 blest chururgionsof London for his ailments. 
 These spoke but little, and only in a few 
 whispers oiu to another. Beside these were 
 two young Oxford scholars, keeping up a 
 continual arguing on all manner of subjects, 
 as if they could not live a minute without 
 showing of their skill in logic, yet neither 
 could convert the other to his opinion, for 
 each debated the more strongly, the more 
 closely he was combatted. There was but one 
 more of the party, and he was a stout glover 
 from Woodstock, who had been staying with 
 some friends in Wales. He was a great 
 devourer of news, and was no less desirous 
 of playing the intelligencer himself, than he 
 was to listen to the news of another. The 
 young traveller was soon seized on by the 
 old dame going to London, and the stout 
 glover of VVoodstock, as a listener for one, 
 and an intelligencer for the other. 
 
 " By my troth, I shall be right glad to get 
 to my journey's end," said the former ; " as 
 I told my maid Lettice the very morning I 
 started ; and she said she had a monstrous i 
 longing to be of my company, so that she i 
 
 might see London streets paved with gold, 
 and to get but a glimpse of the queen's 
 glorious majesty of whom she had heard 
 such marvels ; but my husband, who loveth 
 a jest dearly, said that she was in no condi- 
 tion to have her longing gratified, and must 
 first be married a decent time ere she should 
 speak of such things. Indeed, my husband 
 hath an exceeding merry humor ; but he 
 meaneth no harm by it to man, woman, or 
 child, I promise you. I was but a girl when 
 he took me to wife. I remember the day as 
 well as though it were but yesterday ; and 
 in honest truth it will be just forty years 
 come Candlemas. Ah ! I little thought then 
 I should ever be taking a long journey to 
 see a daughter of mine own settled in Barbi- 
 can, whose husband is so highly related he 
 hath a brother, whose wife is first cousin to 
 my lord Mayor ! Ay, I thought no more of 
 it than could art unborn babe. But none 
 can foresee what great things shall come to 
 pass." 
 
 " Know you any news, good sir ? in- 
 quired the glover, who had been waiting im- 
 patiently to put that questton for some 
 minutes. The young traveller acquainted him 
 with what lie had heard in the town lie 
 lately left, not forgetting the droll blunder 
 of the constable in taking him to be the es- 
 caped Queen of Scots, to which his com- 
 panion listened with prodigious interest, as 
 no news could, in his conceit, be so credible 
 as that which is giveuby the party who had 
 been an actor in it. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the Woodstock man, 
 " there have been continual bruits of the 
 Queen of Scots escaping, ever since she hath 
 been a close prisoner. Perchance it is like 
 enough to happen. I did myself hear of a 
 horrible conspiracy she had entered into to 
 let in the Spaniards and destroy all the pro- 
 testants in the kingdom. Truly she is a 
 most pestilent base woman. Yet know I for 
 certain, that my Lord of Shrewsbury's deal- 
 ings with her have not been honest. Indeed, 
 I could tell of a certain christening of which 
 I have had the minutest particulars secret 
 though it was. But of such scandals about 
 her there is so famous a plenty, that if but 
 one half be true, it maketh the other half 
 credible." 
 
 " My husband, as I remember told me she 
 was a horrible papist," said the old dame ; 
 " and I heard worthy master curate declare, 
 after service, the very Sunday before I left, 
 she must needs be a most wicked wretch, 
 else would she forswear all toleration of such 
 villainy : and as fair a preacher is he as 
 you shall find in any pulpit ; and taketh hia 
 dinner with us some twice at least in the
 
 182 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 week, and always commendcth my skill in 
 cookery ; and, as lie hath himself told me, 
 esteemeth my husband as the goodliest 
 Christian-man he hath ever known ; and 
 myself as the notables! perfect housewife in 
 the whole parish." 
 
 " Heard you any fresh matters in Scot- 
 land ?" asked the glover. " Are the French 
 busy there in any new intrigues, think you ?" 
 " Really, I know not ; for I have spoke 
 with none capable of rightly informing me 
 of such things," replied the youthful Shaks- 
 peare. 
 
 " Is it true, the unhappy news of the 
 murder committed on the poor Prince of 
 Orange ?" inquired the other with huge ear- 
 nestness. " And is there any intelligence 
 to be relied on concerning of the embassy of 
 Sir Philip Sydney to condole with the French 
 king on the death of his dear brother, the 
 Duke of Anjou ?" A 'number of other 
 questions of news folio wed these in quick 
 succession, whereby it appeared that this 
 greedy intelligencer, was seeking to get note 
 of everything going forward in every part 
 of the world ; but his companion gave him 
 such scanty answers, he was fain at last to 
 give up all hope of turning him to any more 
 profit and the old dame having told the 
 ages of her children and grand-children, 
 with the fullest particulars of their several 
 histories, also rested her tongue so that he 
 was left to attend to the dialogue of the 
 Oxford students, who had hitherto heeded 
 nothing but their own arguing. 
 
 " Nay, that cannot be, for Aristotle de- 
 clareth the very reverse," said one, with 
 prodigious earnestness. 
 
 " But what sayeth Socrates on that head ?" 
 replied the other somewhat triumphantly. 
 4i Ay, and Epicurus and others of the an- 
 cients. I doubt you can do away with such 
 evidence. Mcthinks you must needs ac- 
 knowledge yourself to be well beaten in this 
 argument, for truly you are now at your 
 last shifts." 
 
 " Nay, be not in such conceit of the mat- 
 ter," rejoined the first, in any manner 
 rather than like one who suffereth defeat. 
 " I never was so well off in my logic since 
 the question was started. Now I will main- 
 tain, even at the stake, these my proposi- 
 tions, which I doubt not to make good with 
 all proper weapons of rhetoric, and refer- 
 ences of highest authority. First, the body 
 hath a soul." 
 
 " Granted," said his companion. 
 
 " All souls are, therefore they exist." 
 
 " I let that pass." 
 
 " To exist, arguefh to live, and to live 
 requireth the proper sustenance of life." 
 
 " That hath to be proved," grave.y re- 
 marked his opponent. 
 
 "Proved!" exclaimed the other, as if in a 
 monstrous astonishment. " Is there anything 
 that can live without victual ? Have not all 
 animals, whether of bird or beast, fish or in- 
 sect, a natural commodity of mouth and sto- 
 mach, whereby they are used to eat what 
 pleaseth them ?" 
 
 " There be sundry sorts of creatures who, 
 it is credibly known, live without any man- 
 ner of victual whatsoever," said his compa- 
 nion. " I pass over what is so notorious as 
 the barnacle that is the fruit of a tree, there- 
 fore can require no feeding, yet is an animal 
 with no deficiency of stomach or mouth ; 
 and the chamelion who is a beast, yet useth 
 himself to no victual. I will say nought of 
 the toad, that may live a hundred years shut up 
 in the crevice of a rock. I will scarce so much 
 as mention the salamander, the phoenix, the 
 cockatrice, and other familiar animals, which 
 divers famous philosophers maintain do sup- 
 port themselves after a like fashion. But I 
 will at once to the stronghold of my argu- 
 ment, which is, that ghosts have never been 
 known to eat and drink even of the delicatest 
 things that came in their way." 
 
 " By our lady I have great doubt of that," 
 exclaimed the other ; " hast forgot the ghost 
 of the drunken tapster, that used to haunt 
 the very cellar in which his corpse was dis- 
 covered ; and what should a ghost want in 
 such a place, think you, but to refresh hhn- 
 self with a draught of good wine of which 
 he had used to be so fond ? Dost not re- 
 member how the spirit of a certain ancient 
 housekeeper was known to walk the pantry 
 of her master's house, and for what reason- 
 able purpose could that be. save to feast on 
 the store of delicacies she knew was there 
 to be found ? But there is a fresher and 
 more convincing instance that happened at 
 our college only last vacation to Master Pip- 
 kin, the proctor. Now he and a certain lame 
 doctor of divinity were sworn brothers. Dr. 
 Polyglott was of an exceeding gravity, and 
 as learned a scholar as Oxford could pro- 
 duce. It was said that he was at his books 
 all day and all night, and that he liked no- 
 thing so well ; but, in truth, he had a mon- 
 strous liking for roast pig with codling sauce, 
 and this the proctor knew. So he asked the 
 doctor to come and sup with him at- an hour 
 named, and he should have most choice 
 feasting on this his favorite dish ; and he 
 having gladly assented, Master Pipkin got 
 things in readiness. At the appointed time, 
 the learned scholar hopped across the proc- 
 tor's chamber towards the table much in the 
 ordinary way, and feasted as he had cever
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 183 
 
 feasted before ; but he looked graver even 
 ban he was wont to look, and spoke never a 
 word the whole time he was engaged in de- 
 vouring this delicate food. Nevertheless, 
 this did not excite in his host any strange 
 surmises, knowing his old friend to be given 
 to fits of such deep thinking, he would not 
 speak for hours, no matter what he might be 
 about. But the strange greatness of his appet- 
 ite did create a very singular marvelling in the 
 proctor, for the learned scholar continued to 
 fill his trencher, and to empty it with such 
 frequency, that in the end the roast pig was 
 picked to the bones, and the codling-sauce 
 eat up to the last mouthful. As soon as this 
 became manifest, Dr. Polyglott hopped out 
 of the ehamber as gravely as he had hopped 
 into it. The next morning little Pipkin 
 called on his. old friend, to inquire whether 
 he had slep&vell after so heavy a supper, 
 when, to his extreme horror, he learned that 
 the poor doctor bad been dead since noon the 
 preceding day. Now it followeth from this, 
 that the worthy doctor of divinity evinced 
 his wonderful fine wisdom, in taking the op- 
 portunity to banquet on his favorite dish to 
 the last morsel as he did, knowing that such 
 delicacies as roast-pig with codling sauce, 
 the most fortunate of ghosts cannot hope to 
 fall in with but rarely." 
 
 The youthful Shakspeare was somewhat 
 amused at what he had heard, and presently 
 he joined in the argument with as serious 
 an earnestness as either, much to the marvel 
 of the Oxford scholars, who thought it most 
 wondrous, a plain countryman as he appear- 
 ed, should talk so well and wisely. It was 
 manifest he soon had the best of the argu- 
 ment. Indeed, he brought forth such con- 
 vincing reasons, clothed in such brave lan- 
 guage, that his opponents quickly got more 
 into the humor of listening to his discourse 
 than of offering any speech of their own. 
 Grave as he appeared, he was but entertain- 
 ing of himself with their credulity. 
 
 " But concerning of ghosts, there is a 
 thing that puzzleth me out of all telling," 
 said he, in conclusion. " It cannot be for a 
 moment supposed any person would be so 
 heathenish ignorant, or so deplorable foolish 
 as to think such things are not to be met 
 with yet there is a matter connected with 
 them that methinks goeth a great way to- 
 wards such thinking, an' it be not properly 
 explained by those having most knowledge 
 of the subject. This I will here proceed to 
 lay open to you, as I should be infinitely 
 glad to be instructed by your opinion. Now, 
 as far as the wisest philosophers have writ- 
 ten, a ghost is immaterial, of no sort of sub- 
 stance, being but the mere shadow, as it 
 
 were, of the body from which it hath been 
 separated ; and that none,- save only man, 
 who hath a soul, can come into the state 
 that is commonly called being a ghost." 
 
 " Truly sir, there can be no disputing any- 
 thing so clearly put," observed one of the 
 scholars. 
 
 " Now mark you this, my masters," conti- 
 nued the young traveller, with a more pro- ' 
 found gravity ; " there never yet was an in- 
 stance of a ghost who appeared without pro- 
 per apparelling none so abominably ill-be- 
 haved as to show himself deprived of clothing 
 of every kind." 
 
 " Nay, so horrible improper a thing can- 
 not be conceived of them," said the other. 
 
 " Indeed, I thought as much," added Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare. " Now there is a ghost 
 of a person of worship seen, just as he used 
 to be when he lived. How came he with a 
 doublet ? Garments have no souls as I have 
 ever heard ; and therefore neither hose nor 
 trunks, nor cloaks, nor'hats, nor apparel of 
 any kind can be ghosts. And how can they 
 be worn of a ghost being of substance as 
 they must needs be, not being of the imma- 
 terial nature of a spirit ? If the latter, as 
 hath been credibly affirmed, can slide through 
 the crack of a door with ease, there is no 
 clothing of ever so fine a fabric but what 
 cannot help staying behind at such a time ; 
 and so leave the poor ghost without a thread 
 to cover him. And when a ghost standeth 
 before any person, his garments being hea- 
 vy, and he so exceeding light, they must 
 needs fall to his heels for lack of proper sup-' 
 port, to the horrible scandal of all decent 
 spectators." 
 
 The Oxford scholars looked as perfectly 
 puzzled as it was possible for any men to be ; 
 and evidently knew not what to say on so 
 perplexing a matter, for they had wit enough 
 to see there could be but two conclusions to 
 such an argument, which were a sort of 
 Scilla and Charybdis to the theory of ghosts 
 for if they would affirm ghosts went with- 
 out clothing seeing that none could be had 
 of any material that would stay on a sha- 
 dow for a single moment they would put 
 themselves against the best authorities that 
 had writ or spoken on the subject, all of 
 whom vouched for their being properly clad 
 in ordinary tiring ; and if they ventured to 
 maintain garments might be of the same 
 nature with ghosts, they by it expressed 
 their conviction, that every article of apparel 
 was possessed of a soul, which they knew 
 to be a proposition so contrary to common 
 sense, no sober person would allow of such 
 a thing for a single instant. Doubtless, the 
 young traveller felt famous satisfaction at
 
 184 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 having brought these rare logicians to so 
 complete 9, nonplus ; for truly they seemed 
 to have been struck with a sudden dumb- 
 ness. At last one acknowledged that what 
 had just been advanced, involved an argu- 
 ment the which had never been started be- 
 fore, and Le was n6t then prepared to give 
 it answer, as it required a monstrous deal of 
 profound thinking, it was of so abstruse a 
 nature ; and the other followed with some- 
 thing to the same purpose ; and presently 
 they managed to turn the disputation into 
 another channel. > 
 
 In this way the whole party proceeded on 
 their journey ; the only variation being some 
 of them would occasionally get out of the 
 waggon and walk by the side of the wag- 
 goner, amongst whom the youthful Shak- 
 spearc might be found more frequently than 
 any other, inquiring of him the names of the 
 places they passed through, and of the fair 
 mansions of persons of worship that fey 
 within sight, for it was a most welcome re- 
 lief to the former after having been tho- 
 roughly tired of the humors of his compa- 
 nions, to delight himself with observing the 
 beauties of the surrounding country, and the 
 appearance of the different classes of per- 
 sons he met on the road. Every face bore 
 to him signs of a certain character, no two 
 of whcm seemed to be alike ; and from these 
 he could, in his own mind, read the history, 
 habits, and thoughts of all he gazed on. 
 Mayhap, a great portion of this was mere 
 speculation nevertheless, it served to be- 
 guile the time .with a very fair entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 " And what place come we to next, Mas- 
 ter Giles 2" inquired he of the waggoner. 
 
 " Oxford, an' it please ye," replied the 
 man. 
 
 " Do we make any stay there ?" asked 
 the other. 
 
 " Ees, maister, we bide a whole night at 
 comely Mistress D'Avenant's, at the Crown 
 Inn," answered the waggoner, seemingly 
 endeavoring to attend to his horses and his 
 companion at the same time. " John 
 D'Avenaut hath just taken her to wife. 
 Ccom, Bess ! put the best leg forrard do 
 now, I prithee and I'se warrant ye she's as 
 semely a host as ever drew spigot. Ma- 
 ther-away !'' 
 
 " Doubtless, an hour or so with a pretty 
 woman maketh your journey to be all the 
 pleaeanter," observed the young traveller. 
 
 " Doant it thoa !" exclaimed the man, 
 with a grin that displayed a pair of jaws of 
 extraordinary capaciousness. " Gogs wouns, 
 maister ! When it be my good hap to get 
 me alongside the shafts o' so goodly sweet a 
 
 creature as Mistress D'Avenant, I feels my 
 heart for to pull stronger nor the best beast 
 o' the whole team. Gee-whut ! get thee 
 along, I tell thee ! and I takes it as daintily 
 as a fore-horse going down hill. Body o' 
 me ! -when she bringeth me a pint o' tickle- 
 brain, and letteth her sloe-black eyes to rest 
 upon me, whilst I be a fumbling o : the mo- 
 ney out o' my leathern purse, J feels so diz- 
 zy, and so strange, and so full o' rnonstrous 
 sweet pleasantness fro' top to toe, I've no 
 more heed o' the waggon than the waggon 
 has o' me." 
 
 " Methinks, by this, you must be in love 
 with the good dame," said his companion 
 jestingly. " But surely you will not think 
 of doing mine host of the Crown so ill a turn, 
 as to be loving of his wife when you stop at 
 his house 2" 
 
 " Wouldn't I, thoa 2" cried Wles, w th an 
 inexpressible, sly wink of his somewhat 
 roguish eyes, as he lifted his cap with his 
 left hand and scratched his head, con try- 
 man fashion. "As far as I can gu< ^>, I 
 doant Lake a waggoner to be any more free 
 of temptation than any other man, but it any 
 manner of man whatsoever can come within 
 the glance of Mistress D'Avenant's sloe- 
 black peepers, and not think within himself 
 how blessed would be his condition were he 
 John D'Avenant, and John D'Avenant he 
 he must needs be such a mortal u? be ek'un 
 different from the ordinary sons of Adam." 
 This, and other conversation to the 
 same purpose, excited some faint curiosity 
 in the young traveller to behold her whose 
 charms had made so forcible an impression 
 on the susceptible heart of Master Giles ; 
 and this curiousness of his in due time was 
 indulged. At their entrance into Oxford, 
 which was at dusk of the evening, the two 
 scholars left the waggon, and it proceeded 
 leisurely along till it stopped in the yard 
 of the Crown Inn. It was too dark to dis- 
 tinguish objects very clearly, but as far as 
 could be judged of it, the inn was a capaci- 
 ous building well accommodated for its pur- 
 poses. Lights were streaming from many 
 casements, and the burthen of a popular 
 ballad came in full chorus from one of them. 
 A door being open, figures could be seen 
 moving about in the red glare of the kitchen- 
 fire ; and on a cry being raised of " the wag- 
 gon ! the waggon ! Here be Master Giles 
 come, mistress !" two or three persons came 
 rushing out. 
 
 " John ! prithee make all speed to help 
 the travellers out !" cried a female, who was 
 approaching with a lighted candle, which 
 she shaded with her hand. 
 
 " Ay, sweetheart ! I'll be with thee on the
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 186 
 
 instant," replied a young man coming after 
 her, and then calling into the house, ex- 
 claimed Como Ralph ! Come Robin ! 
 Wilt be%ll night a bringing of those steps ?" 
 
 " Welcome to Oxford, good friends !" 
 cried the iirst speaker, very pleasantly, as 
 she app3ared at the end of the waggon. 
 
 " Ha ! Master Giles, ho\v dost do ?" said 
 the other cordially greeting the driver as an 
 old acquaintance. 
 
 " Bravely, Master D'Avenant, bravely !" 
 replied he. " And your fair mistress. Body j 
 o' me, an' she doant look more bloomingly 
 than ever !" 
 
 " Marry. Master Waggoner ! when am I 
 to come to my full bloom, think you ?" said 
 the first speaker with a pretty laugh, as she 
 left him to pay attention to her new guests, i 
 William Shakspeare was assisting his fellow 
 travellers to alight, but he could not help j 
 turning round to take note of tin's Mistress 
 D'Avenant ; and in honest truth he saw be- j 
 fore him as delicious a facp as any man need 
 desire to see, with lustrous dark eyes, rich 
 complexion, and a most bewitching mouth 
 glowing as it were, under the light thrown 
 upon them by the candle, and ornamented 
 with a becoming head-tire. 
 
 " Take him down gently, I pray you. good 
 sir, for he is exceeding weak," said the ten- 
 der mother, as the young traveller wa* help- 
 ing her sick son out of the waggon. 
 
 " Truly, he shall be as tenderly handled 
 as if his own kind mother were a helping 
 him," replied he ; this gentle speech of his 
 brought on him the notice of the pretty 
 hostess, who looked with a pleased surprise 
 at beholding of so handsome manly a youth. 
 In due ti.ne all had alighted. The Wood- 
 stock man had already departed. The 
 mother and child, with the old dame, led the 
 way the Jitter as us.ild, making' herself 
 wondrous gracious with the host ; and the 
 youthful Shakspeare walking last, by the 
 side of his comely hostess, with whom he 
 appeared already to be affording some pleas- 
 ing entertainment, for she manifestly took 
 his converse with infinite satisfaction. The 
 waggoner stood behind, gazing after the 
 last two as he scratched his head, with a 
 look as though he had much rather Mistress 
 D'Avenant had stayed where she was, or 
 that her companion had come to any inn at 
 Oxford save the Crown. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 The trustiest, lovingest and gentlest boy 
 That ever master kept. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 The love of boys unto their lords is strange ; 
 I have read of wonders of it. Yet this boy, 
 For my sake (if a man may judge by looks 
 And speech) would outdo story. I may see 
 A day to pay him for his loyalty. 
 
 IBID. 
 Ah ! dere God ! what mai this be 
 
 That alle thing weres and wasteth awai ; 
 Frendschip is but a vantye 
 Unnethe hit dures all a day. 
 
 M S. 
 
 Alas! 
 
 There are no more such masters ; I may wander 
 From east to Occident, cry out for service, 
 Try many, all good, serve truly, never 
 Find such another master. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 "WHAT dost think of my lord's new 
 page ?" inquired the grave old butler of the 
 equally grave old housekeeper of the Lord 
 Urban, as they sat together in a small 
 chamber adjoining the buttery of the earl's 
 mansion, taking of their morning repast. 
 
 " Truly a most well favored youth and a 
 gentle," replied the old dame. " I be hugely 
 mistaken in him, good Adam, an' he be not 
 of a most kindly disposition. Never saw I 
 youth so courteous, and yet so humble 
 withal. He is ever ready to do all manner 
 of friendly offices to whoever he coineth 
 anigh ; and yet of such humility as he seemeth, 
 there is a look and behavior with him that 
 is manifestly much above the service he 
 hath put himself upon." 
 
 " Ay, Joyce, that hath struck me more 
 than once," observed Adam. " But there is 
 another thing which I have observed in this 
 Bertram, in which he differs greatly from 
 youths of his own age, as far as I have seen 
 and this is, his constant refraining from 
 all kinds of pastime. Despite of his appa- 
 rent cheerfulnaes I cannot help thinking he 
 hath some secret sorrow which he alloweth 
 to prey on his gentle nature. I have not 
 lived these years without acquiring some 
 cunning in observing of faces ; and 1 do de- 
 tect in his such signs as assure me he is in 
 no way happy." 
 
 " Perchance that shall make him the bet- 
 ter company for my lord," said Joyce. " In- 
 deed, they are so like in their humors, 
 methinks they cannot help taking to each 
 other with a mutual good will. It is evi- 
 dent the page loveth his lord, he speaketh of 
 him so fondly, and attendeth on him with se
 
 186 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 affectionate a reverence ; and as it appear- 
 eth to me, the earl is wonderfully partial to 
 his young attendant, for he is never easy 
 save when he is present." 
 
 " Truly I think so," added the old butler. 
 
 " I marvel he hath not come," observed 
 the housekeeper. 
 
 " He tasteth nothing himself till his mas- 
 ter hath sufficed himself," replied Adam ; 
 " and 'tis as pretty a sight as can well be 
 seen, to note how, with what store of sweet 
 persuasions, the page getteth his lord to par- 
 take of the dainties he setteth before him, 
 till he hath made a fair meal. But here 
 cometh his light footstep along the passage." 
 
 The next minute the youth who had been 
 William Shakspeare's fellow traveller en- 
 tered the chamber, clad like a page in the 
 livery of the Lord Urban, with a sword and 
 dagger, much improved in his looks, though 
 still of a more delicate appearance than is 
 common with one of his age. Courteously 
 he saluted the two ancient domestics, in a 
 manner as gentle as if they were his good 
 parents rather than his fellow servants, and 
 took his place beside them, accepting what 
 they helped him to with abundance of thank- 
 fulness, and only regretting he should put 
 them to such trouble. And this behavior- 
 of his so took the hearts of old Adam and 
 his companion, that they appeared as if they 
 could not do half enough to show how won- 
 drously it pleased them. 
 
 " And how fareth our noble master, sweet 
 sir ?" inquired the housekeeper. 
 
 " He mends apace, good dame," replied 
 the youth. " Indeed, I am now in hopes he 
 may be got out altogether of his unhappy 
 frenzies and terrible sad fits of melancholy. 
 Alack ! 'tis a most grievous thing so noble 
 a gentleman should be in so sad a case as 
 he is!" 
 
 " All ! that is it," exclaimed Adam sor- 
 rowfully. " But dost know what great cause 
 he hath had for such deep sadness ?" 
 
 " Nay. not a word of it," answered Ber- 
 tram ; " nor am I in any way desirous to 
 learn, unless my lord think ifc fit I should. I 
 only know he is a most unhappy gentleman, 
 and methinks that should be enough know- 
 ledge for me to strain my exertions to the 
 utmost, to lead him into more pleasino- feel- 
 
 ?! 
 
 ings." 
 
 "I do famously approve of such discre- 
 tion," said the old dame ; and then, as was 
 customary of her, recommenced pressing 
 him to make a better meal. " Truly, never 
 met I a.ny person with such strange lack of 
 appetite," she added, on finding her endea- 
 vors of no avail. " O' my word, you must 
 not hope to attain any stoutness of flesh, go 
 
 you on with so poor a stomach. But may- 
 hap there are other things you might more 
 relish. There is a fair portion of a roast kid 
 now, cooked but yesterday, that worfd make 
 most delicate eating for your breakfast, that 
 I will get for you, please, you to say you 
 could fancy it or I will have for you a ten- 
 der pullet broiled on the instant, an' you tell 
 me you have a mind for so nice a dainty.' 1 
 
 " Indeed I thank you very heartily, I am 
 well content with the excellent bountiful 
 meal I have made," replied the page. There- 
 upon the old butler entreated him to make a 
 more prodigal use of the ale on the table, or 
 allow of his fetching him a cup of choice 
 malmsey or canary : but the youth cour- 
 teously thanked him, yet could not be in- 
 duced to taste a drop more beyond what he 
 had drank. Immediately after this, one of 
 the grooms of the chamber came to tell Ber- 
 tram his lord wanted him ; upon which he 
 made what haste he could towards that part 
 of the building where the earl had chose to 
 lodge himself. Whilst the youth is making 
 his way through the long passages and 
 broad staircases of this goodly mansion, the 
 reader shall at once be transported to the 
 Lord Urban's chamber. 
 
 It was a gloomy apartment of some di 
 mensions, lighted only by a, window of stain- 
 ed glass. On one side of it was a large 
 botik-case, well stored with volumes of dif- 
 ferent sizes the chimney-piece was carved 
 all round with armorial bearings, in almost 
 numberless different compartments the 
 chairs and couches were covered with the 
 same dark tapestry as the panels, and the 
 table in the centre bore a coverlet of some 
 black stuff, ornamented with a deep border 
 of the same color. At the end of the cham- 
 ber opposite the book-case, on each side of 
 the window, were two large portraits, in 
 carved oak frames, one a handsome young 
 knight, in full armor, doubtless meant for 
 the earl in his younger days : and the other 
 was completely hid under a black cloth. 
 There were two doors to this chamber, one of 
 which was the entrance, and the other led 
 into an ante-chamber where the page slept, 
 and to the earl's bed-chamber which was 
 beyond it. There was no sign of living 
 thing near, save a fine grey-hound that was 
 listlessly stretching himself by sliding his 
 fore paws close together along the glossy 
 flooring till they \\ ere thrust out their full 
 length, and then he would make a faint sort 
 of whining as he looked about and found 
 iiimself alone. 
 
 Presently a noise like the turning of a 
 key was heard, which made the dog some- 
 what more attentive, but instead of looking
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 187 
 
 towards either of the doors, his eyes were i well, and doubtless I was too deeply engaged 
 fixed in a different direction, and the next in mine own thoughts to take any heed of 
 moment a concealed door was seen to open, j thy knocking. But didst hear me say any 
 and thereat with exceeding cautiousness, | thing discreditable ? Ought to my disadvan- 
 
 the Lord Urban made his appearance, clad j tage ? Spoke I at all of ?" The earl 
 
 in a suit of black velvet, and looking as if j seemed as though the word choked him, for 
 moved with so monstrous a sadness no heart | he could not speak it, and wrung the hand of 
 could live under it. After closing the door j his young attendant, which he had affection- 
 as cautiously as he had opened it, the earl i ately seized when his humor changed from 
 
 flung himself into a couch, and with an as- 
 pect of a most woful sort, he fixed his eyes 
 on the black curtain that covered the pic- 
 ture. All this while it was evident his 
 
 its sudden furiousness, and turned away. 
 
 " Alas, my lord, such I have heard too 
 often to pay them any manner of heed," an- 
 swered Bertram sorrowfully. "They are 
 
 mind was in great trouble. His lips would ! but the natural offspring of your phrenzy 
 
 move and curl into strange expressions, far 
 from pleasing ; his eyes seemed to strain as 
 if after some object that was fading from 
 their sight, and then he would start back. 
 His breast heaved, and his face grew cloud- 
 ed. He would frown till the wrinkles on 
 his forehead appeared to be so pressed and 
 squeezed together they must needs crack 
 and draw in his lips so long and strongly, his 
 mouth disappeared under the beard of the 
 lower part of it. The greyhound looked as 
 though he had again composed himself to 
 sleep ; yet would he open his eyes and fix 
 them on his master with a curious interest, 
 at every start or sudden exclamation the earl 
 made. 
 
 " 'Twas a rightful deed !" muttered the 
 Lord Urban, in deep thick tones that spoke 
 
 a far profounder meaning than the mere { ings of your distempered fancy can weigh 
 wards conveyed. '^ 'Twas a just vengeance ! j only as a feather in the balance." 
 The greatly guilty should be greatly pun- j " True, boy, true," cried the earl, a faint 
 ished!" Presently a strong shuddering i smile making itself visible on his noble fea- 
 passed over him, and his aspect changed j tures, as he more tenderly pressed the hand 
 from 
 chc _ 
 
 exclaimed the earl, in broken accents that ! so horrible base a wretch as I do sometimes 
 were scarce audible; " a deed by which I ! think myself. I do assure thee I have been 
 have forfeited all reputation here, and hope ! in wonderful reputation of the noblest per- 
 hereafter. An unknightly deed a coward- j sons, for all truly famous and noble qualities. 
 ly deed a most horrible base murder ! i Indeed, I have been from my youth ready to 
 Ha !" screamed the unhappy man, when, on ' cast aside every one thing most valued, 
 raising his eyes, he met those of his page, i rather than the slightest blemish should rest 
 upon whom he hastily rushed, and seized by | upon my honor. Surely then it cannot be 
 the throat as though he were about to stran- I should in a moment thrift away from me 
 gle him. " Dost come prying and listening, the fame I had labored so long and well to 
 fellow ! Nay nay " he added, as sudden- | acquire, and do so cruel a deed all men that 
 ly letting go the youth as he had laid hold of j knewit would cry shame." 
 him. "I mean thee no hurt, boy! O' my "It is too improbable to be considered a 
 life, I will not harm thee. But why dids't ! moment, my lord," replied his young corn- 
 enter without knocking ?" ! panion. 
 
 " I knocked many times, my lord, but you i " And yet thou knowest not the provo- 
 answered me not," replied Bertram, with ! cation that may lead to such things," added 
 more sympathy in his looks than fear. " And j his lord, with a more touching earnestness. 
 you having sent for me pressingly, I made i " It seemeth to me the very honorablest sort 
 
 that none, who know you, and love you, 
 would take, save as evidence of your exceed- 
 ing unhappiness." 
 
 " And dost not believe I have committed 
 such wrongful act as I have declared ?" in- 
 quired the Lord Urban, again taking his 
 page kindly by the hand, and looking into 
 his face Avith a countenance of sadness 
 mingled with affection. 
 
 " How could I credit' so intolerable a 
 thing ?" exclaimed the youth. " Methinks 
 the generous treatment I have received at 
 your hands would suffice to plant your no- 
 bleness firmly in my opinion, but what I 
 have seen of your other actions is of the 
 like honorable character ; and surely these 
 common acts are the properest evidence to 
 judge ytm by against which the idle say- 
 
 om a severe sternness to a painful melan- j he held in his own. " Such things must 
 loly. " 1 T\vas a most infamous deed !" i need be of my mind's disorder. I cannot be 
 
 bold to enter without further delaying." 
 
 " Right, boy, right !" said his lord hurried- 
 ly. -" I did send for thee I remember me 
 
 of man may be maddened by wrong into the 
 showing of such notorious ill behavior. 
 Thou art too young to judge of this. Thai
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 canst npt yet enter into the feelings of a 
 man who having attained the highest emi- 
 nence of nobleness, in extreme confidence 
 he shall so live and die, on a sudden findeth 
 himself reduced to the lowest base abject- 
 ness, by one who was the last of all in his 
 expectation to do him any evil." 
 
 " Truly, I never heard of so hapless a 
 case," observed the page. 
 
 " Doubtless 'tis somewhat rare," saiu the 
 earl. " But, prithee, get me a book and 
 read. I would be amused out of this hu- 
 mor. Fetch the same goodly romance thou 
 wert engaged upon yesterday." The page 
 cheerfully did as he was required, believing, 
 by so doing, he should beguile the earl of 
 his unhappiness ; and presently sitting him- 
 self in a chair with a huge volume in his 
 lap, commenced reading of the marvellous 
 adventures of certain famous knights. He 
 soon got to be too much interested in the 
 narrative to' attend to his hearer, whom he 
 fully believed to be as completely taken with 
 the book as himsAf, but such was far from 
 being the case, for though the earl at first 
 appeared attending to what was being read 
 to him, in a few minutes it was evident from 
 the changed expression of his countenance, 
 his mind was engrossed by a very different 
 matter. A hollow groan at last forced the 
 page to desist awhile from his reading. 
 
 The noble features of the earl tiow ap- 
 peared black and distorted, as though under 
 the influence of a great agony his eyes 
 with a sad fixedness staring at vacancy, 
 and his hands clenching fast the arms of the 
 chair on which he sat his head leaning 
 forward, one leg under the seat and the 
 other projecting stiffly before him in brief, 
 the whole attitude as strained as a mere ef- 
 figy of stone. 
 
 " Murder !" muttered he in the most thril- 
 ling tones Bertram had ever heard. " Oh, 
 infamous ! Oh, most base deed ! Oh, in- 
 tolerable foul blot upon mine honor ! Nought 
 can erase the stain. Reputation ! thou art 
 lost to me forever ! But who slandereth 
 me ? Who dare ?ay ought to my discredit V 
 inquired he in a louder voice, and with a 
 fieice frowning look. " Am I not Urban de 
 la Pole 1 Urban the reproachless 1 'Tvvas 
 a just deed ! Who dares proclaim it to be 
 a murder ?" 
 
 " My lord ! my lord ! I pray you out of 
 this phrenzy !" exclaimed the page urgent- 
 ly, as he pushed his lord slightly on the 
 shoulder to arouse him from his strange 
 fancies. At this the lattor started of a sud- 
 den, and grasped his young companion's 
 arm with both his hands, staring upon liim 
 with a somewhat bewildered gaze. 
 
 " Ha ! what dost say, boy ?" hastily in- 
 quired he, just above his breath, as it were. 
 
 " I beseech you, my lord, not to allow of 
 these violent terrible fits to jift so much the 
 better of you," replied Bertram, in a most 
 earnest voice, and with a look of deepest 
 sympathy. " Believe me, there is no ono 
 person anywhere nigh unto you, would 
 breathe one word bjit to your well-Hoscm-d 
 praise. It grieveth me to the heart to see 
 so noble a gentleman so movi'd. 1 marvel 
 such gloomy shadows, the mere cheats of a 
 disordered mind, should have such power 
 over your excellent sweet nature." 
 
 " I do believe thou lovest me, boy," said 
 the earl, taking the other's hand in his 
 wonted kind manner. 
 
 " Ay, that do I, right heartily, my lord !" 
 exclaimed the youth, with a most convincing 
 sincerity. " I love you for your truly noble 
 character such as I have heard from divers 
 of your honest faithful servants for the 
 greatness of your heart and honorablencss 
 of your conduct as shown in a long career 
 of truly glorious deeds for your bountiful 
 generousness of disposition to every dis- 
 tressed poor person of whose wants you can 
 gain intelligence ; and J love you ior your 
 noble behavior to myself the very creature 
 of your prodigal kindness whom you have 
 saved from the horriblest evils humanity 
 can endure. You found me with nought 
 else to recommend me to your notice but the 
 desperateness of my state. You took 
 charge of me, attended me as a dear friend 
 rather thsfn a master ; gave back to me the 
 health which long suffering had deprived me 
 of ; and the home that villainy had forced 
 me from ; and yet, with the full confidence 
 of a perfect honorable nature, up to this 
 hour you have afforded me all the succor I 
 needed, without asking me one word of the 
 cause that brought me into such necessity. 
 I might ,not be the thing I seemed per- 
 chance, one quite unworthy of your smallest 
 esteem ; but out of your own abundant good- 
 ness, you found me such qualities as I most 
 needed, and took me into your service, with- 
 out trial, question, or doubt. Truly, my 
 lord, methinks you have given me great cause 
 to love you.' 
 
 " I bless the hour I met thee in the wood," 
 said the Lord de la Pole, with affectionate 
 earnestness. " I have received more com- 
 fort of thy untiring heed of me than have I 
 known, I scarce can say the day when, it 
 seemeth so long since. I will prove anon 
 how much I do esteem thy loving ser- 
 vice." 
 
 "I care to have but one proof, an' it 
 please you, my lord," said Bertram, " and
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 189 
 
 that if what I have been laboring for to gain 
 all this time." 
 
 " Ay, indeed ? Prithee say what it is ?' 
 asked the earl. 
 
 " It is but to have you return to the gal- 
 lant activity and proper cheerfulness shown 
 by yon in times past," replied his young 
 companion. At hearing this the Lord Ur- 
 ban shook his head mournfully. 
 
 " Ah, boy, 'that can never be !" said he, 
 with a deep sad emphasis that went direct to 
 the hearer's heart. 
 
 " Try, my lord, I beseech you." added the 
 other imploringly. " Hie you to court, and 
 tloubt not the example of your nobleness 
 would be of especial advantage to every gal- 
 lant spirit that shall there be found. Take 
 voar proper place among the powerfullest 
 lords of the realm, and be ever ready to af- 
 ford them that counsel which your expe- 
 rience teacheth you or be as you have so 
 often been before, the valiant leader of the 
 chivalry of England, bearing your resistless 
 banner into the very heart of the battle." 
 
 " Ay, talk of these things, boy talk of 
 them as long as thou wilt !" exclaimed the 
 earl, as a gleam of proud triumph seemed 
 sfeiftng in his eyes. " I was not always as 
 I am. There hath been many a hard fought 
 field wherein my spear and curtle-axe have 
 done notable service. Thqse were glorious 
 days, those were gallant scenes. The 
 neighing of the war steed, as he rusheth to 
 the conflict at the piercing cry of the trump- 
 et, soundeth in my ears even now, and the 
 waving penons and the glittering lances, 
 and tha restless rush of knights and men- 
 at-arms, again return to mine eyes. I feel 
 stirred in every vein. Methinks I could seek 
 the enemy with all the valor of my early 
 manhood, and raise the same resounding 
 war cry that hath made the fiercest of the 
 battle to rage around me wherever I passed." 
 
 " Ay', that could you, my lord, I would 
 wager my life on it !" cried the page, de- 
 lighted,beyond measure to notice such a hu- 
 mor in the earl. " England hath still ene- 
 mies to subdue and there yet remain for 
 her gallant defenders many hard fought 
 fields to be won. Would you remain in 
 inglorious ease when the foes of your 
 country are striving for her overthrow, and 
 give yourself up to a vain grief when the 
 dangers that threaten the land require you to 
 hasten to the rescue 1 I beseech you free 
 yourself from the trammels of your sorrow 
 don your favorite armor bestride your 
 choicest steed call to your standard the old 
 companions of your valor, and speed wher- 
 ever glory is to be gained or wrong re- 
 dressed ; and be assured that net only shall 
 
 ' the greatness of your fame exceed your 
 j former reputation, wherever your name can 
 be heard, but that you shall enjoy such con- 
 tent, such marvellous comfort, and such 
 wonderful sweet happiness, as have never 
 visited you all your life before." 
 
 " Ah boy, thou knowest nothing of what 
 I have endured," answered the Lord Urban, 
 and to his companion's exceeding disconten-, 
 tation, manifestly in as complete a sadness 
 as ever. "Thou speakest in entire ignor- 
 ance, else wouldst thou have refrained from 
 so perfect a mockery as speaking to me of 
 happiness. Be sure, that were I not held 
 to this spot by a chain, from which nought 
 biit the grave can release me, long ere this, 
 I I would have sought in the thickest of the 
 \ enemy a death, by which my name might 
 j obtain that honor which hath been denied to 
 my life. Comfort !" exclaimed he, in tones 
 scarce articulate, as he let go the hand he 
 J had held so long. " Prithee, speak not to 
 me such a word again ;" and so saying, he 
 rose from his seat, and slowly traced his 
 way out of the chamber. 
 
 Bertram gazed after him, with eyes full 
 of the tenderest solicitude, and remained for 
 some moments after his lord had disappeared, 
 in a deep reverie of thought. 
 
 It may be taken as an invariable truth} 
 that a truly honorable mind is ever a conn- 
 ding one, and taketh every fair appearance 
 to be what it resembles. Doubt and suspicion 
 belong only to the meaner sort. Those 
 whose intentions are thoroughly honest put 
 the fullest confidence in the dealings of their 
 associates ; and when once opinion getteth 
 to be fixed in them of another's worthiness, 
 a prejudicial thought finds such difficulty of 
 entrance in their unsuspecting minds, that it 
 requireth some extraordinary evidence before 
 it will be entertained. Thus was it with 
 this youth. Of his lord's nobility of charac- 
 ter he had formed so strong a conviction, 
 from what he had heard and seen of him, 
 that such a thing as suspecting him of 
 a dishonorable action, was utterly beyond 
 the bounds of possibility ; therefore, all the 
 Earl's self accusations and dark allusions 
 the other could only treat in the manner 
 already described, as distempered fantasies 
 arising from the gloomy melancholy in 
 which he had indulged, as the page had 
 heard, since the death of his Countess. 
 
 And thus it went on for many months, the 
 faithful Bertram striving all he could to win 
 the Earl from the terrible sorrow, with which, 
 as it seemed to him, his lord was afflicted ; 
 and ever imagining he was succeeding in 
 his endeavors, till some violent fit of frenzy 
 would make its appearance in the object of
 
 190 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 his grateful love, and prove how little he had 
 gained by his affectionate painstaking:. He 
 had observed, with some marvelling, that 
 when he had left the Earl for any length of 
 time in the chamber that served for his 
 library, on his return he was sure to find 
 him, either gloomily abstracted, or in some 
 violent excitement. Sometimes, long fits of 
 dreadful self-reproach would follow, and at 
 'others, he would fiercely insist he had done 
 a right thing. In the end he was sure to 
 relapse into his customary sadness, from 
 which it was with exceeding difficulty he 
 was thoroughly roused. It chanced to hap, 
 that wanting Lord de la Pole on one occa- 
 sion, to acquaint him with something he had 
 forgot, Bertram returned to the library, where 
 he had left him a few minutes since, and 
 not finding him there, there waited, believing 
 the, Earl had retired to his bed-chamber. 
 
 Finding his lord's stay was longer than 
 he anticipated, he took up a book and sat 
 himself down. He had not been long en- 
 gaged in reading, when he heard a noise 
 close to him, and glancing towards the spot 
 whence it proceeded, to his exceeding won- 
 der, beheld a portion of the book-case open 
 like a door, and immediately alter, the Earl 
 enter the chamber by its means, and close it 
 carefully after him. It was manifest the 
 Lord Urban had no expectation of finding 
 his page where he was at that time ; for, on 
 the instant he caught sight of him, he started 
 with a sudden exclamation of surprise, and 
 his look was angry, and his manner more 
 severe towards Bertram than ever the youth 
 had known it to be. 
 
 " How darest thou come here unhid ?" ex- 
 claimed the Earl, as with folded arms he 
 regarded his youthful companion with a 
 stern scrutiny. " Dost seek to pry into my 
 secret ? Have I then all this time been but 
 encouraging a pitiful spy, who laboreth to 
 thrust his curiousness into my most hidden 
 affairs, that lie might betray me to the 
 world ?" 
 
 " My lord ! my lord ! believe me, I never 
 entertained so base a thought," replied the 
 page, much affected his lord should think so 
 ill of him. 
 
 " Wilt promise never to divulge what 
 thou hast seen ?" inquired the Lord de la 
 Pole, with increased earnestness. ( 
 
 " In very truth, my lord, I never should 
 hare mentioned it to any person living if I 
 thought you so desired," said the other. 
 
 " Swear it !" cried the Earl, suddenly 
 grasping his companion firmly by the wrist, 
 seemingly violenlly agitated. " Down on 
 thy knees and swear by all thy hopes of hap- 
 piness here and hereafter, thou wilt hint to 
 
 none there is other entrance to this chamber 
 save those with which all are acquainted." 
 The page knelt as he was desired, and re- 
 peated, as his companion stood sternly over 
 him, the form of the oath he was required to 
 take. 
 
 " As Heaven is my witness, you need no 
 oaths to bind me to your will," urgently ex- 
 claimed the youth. 
 
 The Earl appeared scarcely satisfied even 
 by this solemn security he had exacted. He 
 was still showing most undeniable signs he 
 was terribly influenced by some dark pas- 
 sion, for anger flashed from his eyes, and 
 distrust appeared in every feature of his 
 countenance ; his breathing was hard and 
 loud, and at every gasp of breath his breast 
 heaved as though it would force its fasten- 
 ings. 
 
 " Be assured, my lord, I am your obedient 
 poor servant, and would die rather than 
 betray any secret you might entrust me 
 with," continued the other. " But it grieveth 
 me to the heart you should think so ill of 
 me. I coidd bear anything rather than you 
 should doubt of my entire allegiance. Other 
 friend tha'n you have I none in the wide 
 world, and therefore what could induce^me 
 to play the traitor to your confidence. I 
 beseech you, -my lord, put away so ungra- 
 cious a thought. As I trust in God's mercy, 
 I have done nought to merit it." 
 
 " Well, well, boy, perchance I have been 
 too hasty," replied the Earl, somewhat 
 moved by the touching earnestness of the 
 youth's speech. But never stay in this 
 chamber, even for a minute, when I am not 
 present. I should have told thee of this, my 
 desire, sooner, but it never struck me there 
 would be necessity for it." 
 
 The promise was cheerfully made, and 
 the Lord Urban's customary kindness re- 
 turning, all trace of unpleasantness speedily 
 vanished from both. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Should fre disdain our vines because they* 
 
 sprout 
 Before their time ? Or young men if they 
 
 strove 
 Beyond their reach ? No ; vines that bloom 
 
 and hpread 
 
 Do promise fruit, and young men that are wild 
 In age grow wise. 
 
 GREENE. 
 
 THE best room at the Crown Inn at Ox- 
 ford was filled with noisy boisterous students,
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 191 
 
 most of whom were seated at a long table, 
 covered with drinking vessels, at the top 
 of which was no other person than Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare, for whom indeed all had 
 assembled. The two scholars that had 
 been his fellow travellers in the waggon, 
 spread amongst their acquaintance of their j 
 different colleges, the fame of the young 
 countryman who had so charmed them 
 with his eloquent sweet rhetoric, and this 
 presently brought whole companies of stu- \ 
 dents to see this marvellous person. They 
 were so delighted with his ready wit and 
 admirable perfect knowledge of all man- j 
 ner of subjects, that they increased his re- j 
 
 Sutation so over the university, the dvvel- j 
 ng of John D'Avenant, large as it was, j 
 could scarce contain the wonderful great 
 press of guests that flocked into it. 
 Doubtless this made the cause of such 
 famous custom to be in especial liking with 
 mine host but independent of these consi- 
 derations, he could not help relishing his 
 guest's society, it was so full of cheerful ease 
 and pleasant h*mor ; and as for mine hos- 
 tess, if there existeth any language in a pair 
 of lustrous dark eyes, she did discourse to 
 him right eloquently of the favor in which 
 he was held by her. 
 
 Doubtless these latter would gladly enough 
 have kept their young guest where he was, 
 but he had expressed his determination to 
 start for London the following morning, and 
 this becoming known, the scholars must 
 needs give him a parting entertainment, and 
 therefore were they crammed so thick in 
 that chamber. Divers were thronging up to 
 the head of the table, wine cup in hand, to 
 pledge him, and there was a monstrous shak- 
 ing of hands and shouting of good will ; 
 others were talking across the tabk;, or 
 leaning over others to claim the attention of 
 a distant fellow student. Mistress D'Aven- 
 ant was attending to .her numerous guests as 
 well as she could, now listening with pretty 
 coquetry as one of the mad youths retained 
 her by the hand, as he whispered something 
 in her ear, which was sure to be followed by 
 a box of his own from the comely woman, 
 though not one that argued any great spite- 
 fulness, and the oflender would laugh as if 
 he had performed some excellent sweet mis- 
 chief; and presently answering the num- 
 berless sweet compliments, which poured ox 
 her from every side, with some sprightly jes- 
 ting speech, which appeared to put every 
 bearer into a sudden exstacy. 
 
 A party had got hold of her husband in a 
 corner, and were trying him with all the 
 forms of pleading used in a court of justice, 
 aad he appeared to take the jest very plea- 
 
 santly, defending himself with what wit he 
 had, and leaving his case to .the merciful 
 consideration of his judges. Another party 
 in another comer were dancing of a measure 
 to their own singing. Such a curious hum 
 of voices surely hath rarely been heard 
 before. Sometimes the speeches were in 
 Latin, and at others English. Here was 
 shouted the fag end of a macaronic verse, 
 there the well known burthen of a popular 
 ballad ; and this was mingled with a din of 
 cries for more wine to the drawers ; a 
 knocking of cups and flasks to attract the 
 attention of their companions, and peals of 
 laughter so long and loud it would often out- 
 drown every other noise. 
 
 " Will Shakspeare ! VVill Shakspeare !" 
 bawled several of the revelers at the table. 
 
 " What wouldst, my hearts of oak ?" re- 
 plied their companion, almost hid amongst 
 the throng of laughing riotous scholars, who 
 had left their seats the better to enjoy his 
 admirable jests. 
 
 " Prithee heed not those knaves of Ba- 
 liol," said a reund faced stout little fellow at 
 his elbow, who made himself the noisiest and 
 merriest of the whole party. 
 
 " ' Knaves of Baliol,' thou Brazen-nose 
 calf," exclaimed, from the other end of the 
 table, a tall youth with long hair, and a nose 
 that served his associates as a peg to, hang 
 their jests upon, it was of so unusual a 
 length. " Away with thee, thou cinnamon 
 rogue ! What ! because thou art a lord, 
 slialt thou call names ? Though thou look- 
 est so merry, thou art but a sorry lord. I 
 would carve a lord out of a piece of ginger, 
 and he should give a nobler flavor to a bowl 
 of toast and ale, than wouldst thou to a butt 
 of malmsey." 
 
 - Out on thee," replied the young noble- 
 man. " Truly thou art a famous carver, 
 for thou hast carved thy nose to a tine point. 
 I would I could say as rnuth for thy wit : 
 and thou hast monstrous need of ginger, for 
 there shall be found more savor in a dry bis- 
 cuit than can be got out of thee after such 
 pressing." 
 
 " Nay, press him not too hard, I prithee/' 
 said another, whose face appeared as red as 
 though it would have out-glowed the rising 
 sun. " At so social a meeting I should not 
 like to see any bones broke." 
 
 " What dost say thou salamander ?" cried 
 the scholar of Baliol somewhat incensed at 
 this sly allusion to his poorness of flesh. 
 t; Go and cool thy red hot aspect in the river, 
 it causeth the whole place to feel like an 
 oven, it burneth so terribly." 
 
 " As I live he will make the place too hot 
 to hold thee, anon," observed a companion,
 
 193 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SJIAKSPEARE. 
 
 mischievously. " If thou wouldst not have 
 us all roasted alive, blow not on him good 
 Martlemas." 
 
 " Pooh," exclaimed he of the red face. 
 " The nose of such a bellows must needs 
 carry too small a wind to inflame me." 
 
 " My nose in thy teeth, fellow !" cried 
 Master Martlemas, in a rage. 
 
 " I thank thee very heartily, but I want 
 not so delicate a toothpick," drily replied the 
 other, to the infinite amusement of his com- 
 panions. 
 
 " O my life, have I got amongst a party 
 of cunning limners, my masters," here 
 exclaimed William Shakspeare, good hu- 
 moredly. " Never saw I such cleverness in 
 taking off features." The laughter which 
 followed this conceit, restored every one to 
 an amiable pleasantness on the instant ; but 
 such choice spirits could never keep toge- 
 ther a moment, without a trial of their young 
 wits, and therefore no opportunities were al- 
 lowed to pass in which one could aim his 
 weapon at another. 
 
 " Sweet Mistress D'Avenantl" whispered 
 & handsome youth, as he caught his hostess 
 round the waist as she was passing him. 
 '' By those two lustrous stars of love, I 
 swear I have a most infinite affection for 
 thee. 1 Contrive for me a private meeting, I 
 will give thee good proof of it." 
 
 " Canary, did you say, my lord?" inquired 
 the pretty woman aloud, with a provoking 
 indifferent aspect, as she glided out of his 
 embrace much to the dissatisfaction of the 
 enamored noble. 
 
 " Hither my delectable dainty, Hebe !" 
 cried another close at hand.. " Brew us an- 
 other bottle of goodly Sack, and look thy 
 sweetest the while I warrant it shall want 
 no sugar." 
 
 " O' my word, I would it were so, Master 
 Lamprey," said Mistress D'Avenant archly. 
 " I could make conserves with little trouble 
 and small expense ; and who knows but in 
 time I should attain to such exceeding skill 
 in the producing of sweet subtleties, I might 
 have an Oxford scholar or two done in sugar." 
 
 " Make choice of me, I prithee, for thy 
 first exf^eriment," murmured one at her el- 
 bow. ' I would give thy tempting lips most 
 delicious entertainment." 
 
 " Methinks you are sweet enough upon 
 me as it is," replied the pretty hostess, in 
 the same merry humor. " But I care not to 
 make a trial of you provided you allow your- 
 self as it is necessary in such cases to 
 simmer over a good tire till you are reduced 
 to a proper consistence, and I have scum off 
 of you every portion of what grnssness you 
 have." This speech was followed by the 
 
 hearty laughing of all within hearing of it, 
 for the person to whom it was addressed was 
 far stouter of flesh than any in the room 
 indeed, he was of a singular corpulence for 
 his years. 
 
 " Prisoner at the bar !" cried one, with a 
 famous mock seriousness, who acted as 
 judge in the little court who had been trying 
 their host. " After a long and most impar- 
 tial trial, you have been condemned by a ju- 
 ry of good men and true, on the testimony 
 of divers most approved witness':', whoso 
 evidence hath not been shaken one tittle by 
 your defence to be a most notorious traitor 
 and horrible offender against a certain very 
 just and proper law, made and provided for 
 the express comfort of this good city of Ox- 
 ford to wit, that all the comeliest damsels 
 within a circuit of five miles more or less, 
 are and ever must be wards of the verv 
 worshipful the scholar of the University, 
 with whom can no man living contract a 
 marriage ; without first obtaining their privi- 
 ty and consent. You John D'Avenant. have 
 dared wickedly to seek after the true excel- 
 lentest fairest creature that ever <! 
 be in such covetable wardship, and with a 
 most monstrous horrible villainy that all 
 honest men must needs stand aghast at, you 
 have taken her to wife against the law 
 aforesaid, and against the inclinations of 
 divers honorable members of the very wor- 
 shipful gentlemen scholars, who desired her 
 for their own particular delectation. 
 
 " Silence in the court there !" shouted 
 the judge as if in a terrible seriousness, for 
 many were taking the jest very merrily. 
 " Master Attorney I am shocked to see you 
 so behave yourself at so awful a moment." 
 
 " My lord. I humbly beg pardon," an- 
 swered a merry varlet, who seemed to be 
 doing all he could to keep in his laughing: 
 but the jests and mirthful behavior of certain 
 of the jury and his brother counsellors, were 
 such as might provoke the mirth of a more 
 serious man. 
 
 " Prisoner at the bar !" continued the 
 judge, waxing more ludicrously solemn as 
 he proceeded. " It becometh to be now my 
 painful duty to pass on you your sentence. 
 Hope not for mercy, for, methinks, guilt 
 such as yours ought to expect none. I 
 grieve to see so young a person, and one of 
 otherwise good character, take to the doing 
 of so insufferable an offence. But it is evi- 
 dent you have lacked good counsel abomina- 
 bly. Had you sought myself now, previous 
 to your marriage with that exquisite sweet 
 creature, I doubt not it would have been to 
 both our contents. I would have paved the 
 way for your obtaining your honest desires,
 
 THE YOUTH OF 3HAK6PEARS. 
 
 193 
 
 in such a manner that you should have done j forter, and to preach a sermon on the sub- 
 nothing unlawful. i ject, for the edification of all present at the 
 "Master Attorney!" cried the judge, conclusion of which the sentence was to be 
 
 with a notable grave dignity, as a roar of 
 laughter broke from that unlawyer-looking 
 person, " see I any more of this unsemely 
 conduct, I'll commit you for contempt." 
 Tnen he added, turning to the culprit, who 
 strove all he could to keep a serious coun- 
 tenance, though with but an imperfect suc- 
 cess. " John D'Avenant, it would be but 
 a proper punishment of your horrible crime 
 to pass on you the extreme sentence of the 
 law, but in consideration of this being your 
 first offence, and out of regard for your youth 
 and inexperience, I make this your sentence 
 Your wife shall bo kissed before your 
 face, and you shall yourself appoint the per- 
 
 son to execute that punishment, 
 keep fast the doors." 
 
 Officers, 
 
 In a moment some hastened to prevent 
 Mistress D'Avenant's escape, and others 
 crowded round her husbilnd, recommending 
 theiusc-lves as capital executioners who 
 would^ do their office neatly, with as little 
 pain as need be. The uproar of voices was 
 greater than ever, and nothing but shouting 
 and laughing prevailed all over the chamber. 
 Tii' young husband, * who was rather of a 
 inoro careless idle humor than was proper 
 for one* in his vocation, though he never took 
 so much heed of his handsome wife as was 
 necessary, liked not these wild scholars to 
 be over familiar with her, and he would, if 
 he could, have done away with the sen- 
 tence ; but he knew full well the sort of 
 characters he had to deal with, and that 
 there was nothing for it but to submit with 
 a good grace. A thought suggested itself 
 to him that it was better his wife should be 
 caressed by a stranger who was not h'ke to 
 see her again, than by one who would re- 
 main in the neighborhood, and might per- 
 chance seek opportunities for obtaining a 
 repetition of such pleasure therefore, to 
 the importunities of those by whom he was 
 surrounded he presently named William 
 Shakspeare as the parson who should fulfil 
 the sentence. 
 
 Amid all this din and very Babel-like con- 
 fusion of tongues, the young traveller had 
 been engaged in an intertfeting discussion 
 with one or two kindred minds he had dis- 
 covered amongst the mass, but when he was 
 called on to do iJie" duty assigned him, he 
 rose nothing loath, and entered into the spirit 
 of the jest very readily. In a very short 
 time the busy laughing scholars cleared the 
 table for to be the place of execution, and a 
 certain divinity student there present, was 
 appointed to be the prisoner's ghostly com- 
 13 
 
 carried into effect. 
 
 " Truly, my masters, these are most sad 
 doings," exclaimed Mistress D'Avenant, who 
 was fast held by two young men, who took 
 upon themselves the duty of constables. 
 " I marvel you should behave so uncivilly 
 against a poor woman who hath done no ill 
 to any of you." Thereupon, the judge very 
 gravely told her that the course of justice 
 must not be perverted for theft voring of any 
 individual ; and the preacher commenced a 
 famous lecture on the duty every person 
 oweth to those put in authority over them. 
 In this way she was brought to stand in the 
 center of the table her husband at a short 
 distance, also held by two scholars, with the 
 preacher at his elbow, bidding him repent of 
 his sins for his time was come William 
 Shakspeare close by, gravely asking of his 
 pardon, swearing he bore him no malice, 
 but did his terrible office because he was 
 bound by his duty so to do ; and the judges, 
 assisted by the sheriffs and constables that 
 stood upon th.3 stools round the table, were 
 commanding silence from their riotous mad- 
 cap companions on the floor. 
 
 Then the preacher began his sermon, and 
 such a sermon as he then delivered had ne- 
 ver been iieard there or anywhere else. He 
 started with endeavoring to prove the neces- 
 sity there was for the furtherance of the 
 public morals, that learned persons should 
 possess and keep in their charge all comely 
 maidens of a tender age, for they being 
 wiser than any other class, had alone the 
 discretion necessary for the proper bringing 
 up of such gentle creatures. No doctrine 
 was ever considered half so orthodox ; but 
 the preacher seemed inclined to put it be- 
 yond the possibility of cavil, for he presently 
 fell to quoting divers of the Fathers brought 
 forward long passages from the writings of 
 the most famous theologians, and referred to 
 what had been laid down on the subject by 
 the Council of Trent, and in various bulls 
 published by the most influential of the Ro- 
 mish pontiffs ; and this was done with so 
 earnest a seriousness, that many did imag- 
 ine that such things had really been said 
 and written. 
 
 " Oh, fine preacher !" cried one. 
 
 ' ; Thou shalt be a bishop, Sir Topas !" ex- 
 claimed another. 
 
 " Marry, thou wouldst convert a dead In- 
 dian, thou speakest so movingly," added a 
 third. Others compared him to Peter the 
 Hermit, and some questioned him, how he 
 stood affected towards martyrdom he ap
 
 194 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 peared so fit for it. Bift the preacher went 
 on as gravely as he could, and then alluded 
 to the unhappy man who had fallen under 
 the vengeance of offended justice, and beg- 
 ged the prayers of all good Christians in his 
 behalf, seeing that he was about making 
 amends for the wrong he had done, through 
 punishment by the secular arm. Tiien he 
 recommended the culprit to their charitable 
 thoughts with such a monstrous earnestness 
 drawing so pitiful a picture of the terrible 
 sufferings he was about to undergo that 
 the hearers fell to wailing and weeping mosf 
 woefully. 
 
 ; ' Alack, that any man should come to so 
 miserable an end !" moaned Master Lamprey. 
 
 ' : And one that sold such brave liquor too !" 
 cried Master Martlemas, in still more doleful 
 accents. 
 
 Then the preacher concluded with a fa- 
 mous exhortation to his auditory ever to 
 bear in mind the notable example now set 
 before them ; and having gained from the 
 culprit that he confessed the justice of his 
 sentence, and was ready to meet his punish- 
 ment, master sheriff called forward the ex- 
 ecutioner to do his duty without delay; 
 whereupon William Shakspeare readily 
 stepped up to Mistress D'Avenant, who 
 looked as though she had not made up her 
 'mind whether to make a struggle or take 
 the matter quietly. 
 
 " I pray you, most sweet hostesss, to par- 
 don this my compulsory duty," said the ex- 
 ecutioner, as seriously as any of them. " I 
 assure you, were I not bound by a superior 
 power, I would not do it at least I would 
 not do it so publicly I would spare you all 
 this painful exposure. I would, believe me." 
 
 " Away with you ! O' my word, 'tis a 
 shame you should play such a jest upon 
 me," answered Mistress D'Avenant, as she 
 made some show of struggling, but it was 
 of so slight a sort that very little sufficed to 
 overcome it, and the next minute every one 
 had demonstrated the awful sentence of the 
 law had been carried into effect. This was 
 followed by shouts of triumph from some, 
 and cries of condolence by others, to the 
 now liberated husband and wife ; and in a 
 short time after, the whole party again found 
 their places at the table, and were jesting, 
 drinking, and laughing as famously as ever. 
 Mistress D'Avenant scolded her partner right 
 eloquently, for allowing of such scandalous 
 behavior, and mine host assured her he 
 would gladly have helped it if he could : but 
 she did not seem to be quite comforted with 
 such excuses for all which, it was confi- 
 dently believed by some, she was not the 
 least pleased of the company. 
 
 All at once there was a great cry for Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare to sing them a song. This 
 he had already done several times, to the 
 delight of his hearers, that they seemed as 
 though they could never have enough of 
 such delicious minstrelsy ; nevertheless they 
 promised, would he favor them with one 
 more, they would be content. After' re- 
 questing their indulgence for a simple ditty 
 the only thing he could at the present 
 moment call to his mind; he sang the fol- 
 lowing verses ; the noisy scholars the whilst 
 hushed to as complete a peace as if none 
 were in the chamber : 
 
 A SONG OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 " Sweet friends ! let Plaasure's social law, 
 
 Our souls to genial thoughts dispose, 
 For life's rich stream doth freely thaw, 
 
 And bloom and sun smile where it flows. 
 'Tis now with us the budding May, 
 
 From nature's bank let's freely borrow, 
 Around our Maypole dance to-day, 
 
 Our fates may make us pipe to-morrow. 
 
 " Dear friends ! the rosy morn is ours 
 
 To sport away : the hunt is up ! 
 But crown your game whh twin-like flowers 
 
 The brimming heart and brimming cup. 
 Now Phoebus glows through all the east ; 
 
 And joy, our lord, hath banish'd sorrow ; 
 Then haste to take his welcome feast 
 
 Our fates may make us fast to-morrow. 
 
 " Brave friends ! let Time no vantage gain, 
 
 Entrench your camp, your wants provide ; 
 Whilst Youth and Love your fight sustain, 
 
 You may for years his siege abide. 
 As friendly looks shed round their light, 
 
 From star or moon you need not borrow ; 
 Enjoy them while they shine to-night 
 
 Our fates may quench their beams to-morrow. 
 
 Universal were the plaudits which fol- 
 lowed the conclusion of William Shaks- 
 peare's singing, and well deserved were they 
 too, out of all doubt ; for in the belief that 
 this was the . last night he should see the 
 friendly company around him, he put such 
 expression into the words as could have 
 been produced by no other. Perchance the 
 greater portion of his new acquaintances 
 saw in him only 1 exceeding pleasant per- 
 son, but he was regarded in a much more 
 brilliant light by some two or three present ; 
 whom, with that unerring ^rnpathy which 
 leadeth great minds to their fellows, he had 
 singled out from their more noisy compan- 
 ions, to show to them somewhat of his true 
 nature. As they listened to the thrilling el- 
 oquence of his language, and perceived how 
 pregnant it was with new and profound
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 meanings, they did marvel exceedingly ; and 
 as the natural nobility of the man developed 
 itself before their amazed glances, there en- 
 tered into their hearts a loving reverence 
 the worship of true greatness among kin- 
 dred natures they had never felt during 
 their whole lives. It was far into the even- 
 ing before the party broke up, and it ended 
 with abundance of good wishes from the 
 thoughtless many ; and earnest hopes of 
 again meeting, from the discerning few. 
 
 When the young traveller ro*e in the 
 morning to continue his journey, he found 
 Mistress D'Avenant in a chamber by herself, 
 Cutting his things together ready for his tak- 
 ing with him. She was a woman as far 
 superior in mental as she was in personal 
 endowments to persons in her sphere of life ; 
 for her natural strong mind had been care- 
 fully cultivated ; and possessed of such gifts, 
 she was the very sort of woman that would 
 most appreciate a man so prodigally gar- 
 nished with admirable qualities as was her 
 youthful guest. Her marriage had not been 
 one of affection, and her husband quickly 
 proved himself a person whose weakness of 
 character she could hold in no esteem. Her 
 superior intellect soon exerted its proper in- 
 fluence, which he very readily acknowledged, 
 leaving his affairs to her entire management, 
 whilst, he sought for nothing but the enjoy- 
 ment of his* thoughtless pleasures ; but such 
 conduct still more lessened her respect for 
 him ; and when she beheld the manly dispo- 
 sition of William Shakspeare, and caught 
 glimpses of the marvellous noble mind with 
 which it was accompanied, she could not 
 help wishing Heaven had blessed her with 
 BO choice a husband. As for the young 
 traveller, he could not avoid seeing and ad- 
 miring the extraordinary capacity his beau- 
 tiful hostess evinced in such converse as he 
 had with her, and the extreme perfectness 
 with which she fulfilled her household du- 
 ties ; and more than once he found himself 
 making comparisons between such estima- 
 bloness, and the neglectful and obstinate 
 behaving of his vain and ignorant wife, 
 whereby the latter's unworthiness was shown 
 in most glaring colors. At the end, he would 
 grieve he had not met with so excellent rare 
 a partner as had John D'Avenant. 
 
 Having now been staying at the Crown 
 several days, on a footing of the completest 
 intimacy, he had ample opportunity for in- 
 creasing the admiration he felt for his charm- 
 ing hostess ; and she getting more knowledge 
 of his notable excellences, laid herself out to 
 please him as much as she could. It was a 
 dangerous situation for two young persons, 
 so admirably gifted in mind and person, and 
 
 so unhappily accommodated in marriage, to 
 be placed in. Each could not help desiring 
 to be well esteemed of the other, as the best 
 token they could have of their own worthi- 
 ness ; and neither could avoid holding the 
 other first in their esteem, their qualities 
 were so much more estimable than those of 
 any person of their acquaintance. Both 
 had had but little sleep this last night 
 through continual thinking of the approach- 
 ing separation ; and, earlier than usual, 
 Mistress D'Avenant left her husband sleep- 
 ing off the effects of his evening reveling, 
 to prepare for the departure of her youthful 
 guest. When the latter made his appear- 
 ance before her, there was a tear upon the 
 long lashes of her dark eyes, but she speed- 
 ily commenced affecting her customary cheer- 
 fulness ; and he too, merely addressed her 
 with his ordinary gallantry ; yet, in their 
 hearts the while, there were feelings as dif- 
 ferent to their outward conduct, as is light 
 to darkness. 
 
 For all this show of indifference, neither 
 could conceal from the other the extent to 
 which they were feigning. The trifling 
 speech which kept so carefully to all man- 
 ner of matters of little moment, as it had 
 never done before, grew less and less, and 
 then came to brief sentences, spoken with 
 tremulousness, till, for a time, words would 
 fail them altogether ; and the careless man- 
 ner of their behavior, gradually left them for 
 an evident restlessness, and such listless 
 doing of their occupations, as bore witness 
 to the extreme confusion of their thoughts 
 and feelings. Mistress D'Avenant was put- 
 ting the last knot to the little bundle of things 
 her companion had brought with him, and 
 she was engaged upon it with so extraordi- 
 dinary a care, pulling it to a proper tight- 
 ness, and smoothing the folds of the bundle, 
 as though she could never satisfy herself 
 with her work ; and William Shakspeare 
 close beside her, was putting on his left- 
 hand glove, so deliberately, and with such 
 prodigiQus heed that every finger should fit 
 well into the leather, as if such a thing was 
 an affair only to be attempted with the at- 
 tentiveness of a matter of vital importance. 
 As these things were doing, their hearts 
 were beating high and wildly, and each felt 
 the scarce endurable struggle of the power- 
 , fullest impulses of humanity laboring for a 
 free existence. " Well, this must needs 
 do," said Mistress D'Avenant, with a great 
 effort, as she placed the little bundle near 
 her guest. 
 
 " Oh, it will do exceeding well," grate- 
 fully replied he, giving it a hasty glance. 
 He appeared to have got his glove on to his
 
 196 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 'iking, or rather, he thought like his fair 
 companion, the time was now come for ac- 
 tion. He held out his ungloved hand before 
 her, and forced a faint smile into his hand- 
 some countenance. 
 
 " It is full time I should be on my jour- 
 ney," he added, hurriedly ; " so now I must 
 take my leave of you." She seized his 
 hand, with a very desperate grasp, as it 
 were, her own trembling all the while ; and 
 looked up into his eyes with a glance, where- 
 of the expression baffletli ail my powers of 
 description it was so imploringly tender. 
 He continued, " I cannot attempt to thank 
 you for the very bountiful sweet kindness 
 you have shown unto me, since it hath been 
 rny good hap to dwell beneath this roof: but, 
 believe me, the memory of it cannot pass 
 away, as long as my grateful nature bear- 
 eth any token of thought, feeling and life." 
 
 " Oh, sir, methinks it scarce deserveth any 
 mention, replied his beautiful hostess, with 
 such emphasis, as words have only when 
 they come direct from the heart. " Had I 
 been a thousand times more attentive to your 
 desires, I could not in mine own opinion, 
 have done for you one half sufficient. But 
 you are going. I just begin to learn how 
 to appreciate your inestimable excellences, 
 when you hurry yourself away ; and, per- 
 chance, I may never have sight of you 
 again." 
 
 ; ' O my life, sweet Mistress D'Avenant, I 
 will not allow that to be, for my own sake !" 
 exclaimed her companion. " Be assured, I 
 know the "infinite worth of the treasure I 
 leave behind me too well, to neglect it ; and 
 of whatever I most covet of Fortune, a 
 speedy return to, and a long continuance of 
 
 S>ur generous behavior have the first place. 
 y only fear is, my poor name may be too 
 speedily forgotten." 
 
 "Never. Master .Shakspeare!" cried the 
 beautiful woman, earnestly, " truly I must 
 ba dead to every sense of goodness, when 
 my memory faileth me on so goodly a sub- 
 ject. Believe me, in future times^ I will 
 look back upon the days I have known you 
 as the very sunniest of my existence ; and 
 might I have any hope of such enjoyment 
 again. I could endure my miserable state 
 with a proper patience. Go, sweet sir, since 
 it must needs be. I mistake you, hugely, if 
 you can think ill of me at my now adding, 
 you take with you all that 1 can deem of 
 most sterling preciousness in this world." 
 
 '' Dear Mistress D'Avenant ! assure your- 
 self I will gssay all means to deserve such 
 honorable opinion," replied he, much touch- 
 ed by 'this proof of confidence in his integ- 
 rity ; " what my feelings are for you I can- 
 
 not trust myself to express; and yet nothing 
 is so true as that their whole tendency is to 
 hold you as a pattern of everything that i 
 noblest in woman." 
 
 Thus parted the youthful Shakspeare and 
 the lovely Mistress D'Avenant ; and soon 
 after he was once more a traveller, trudging 
 his way manfully along the high road with 
 his little burthen on his shoulder his 
 thoughts looking towards Oxford and his 
 steps directed in the way of London. Hither- 
 to his journey had been productive of infinite 
 profit to him in getting acquainted with the 
 humors of men his favorite study ; but his 
 stay at the great university had been pro- 
 dig'iously to his entertainment, for he visited 
 every college, and examined every building, 
 with an especial veneration for their learned 
 character, and a particular delight in their 
 historical associations. As he proceeded on 
 his journey his mind dwelt delightedly on the 
 events of the preceding days, till it, at last, 
 fixed itself with a truly marvellous pleasure, 
 on the handsome young hostess of the Crown 
 Inn. He could not have avoided observing 
 how unsuitable to such a woman was her 
 husband ; and it was toti apparent to him 
 that her situation was far from pleasing to 
 her. To be as tenderly esteemed of so ad- 
 mirable a creature, as she had given him 
 reason to believe he was, gave him with 
 an inexpressible sweet pleasure, a peculiar 
 pride in himself, for he in the true spirit of 
 nobleness which influences the high-minded 
 man when he findeth himself beloved by a 
 worthy woman looked upon it as the chief 
 est honor his humanity could attain ; and, 
 beyond all doubting, there is nothing of which 
 true manhood should be so proud ; and when 
 as in this instance, a woman, so unhappily 
 circumstanced, showeth herself to be above 
 all petty prejudices and selfish cares, and 
 declareth her feelings in fullest confidence, 
 believing their cause and their tendency to 
 be too exalted to produce any base conclu- 
 sions, the man must be a disgrace to the 
 name he bears, if he do not feel himself as 
 proud a creature as may be found in the 
 whole world. 
 
 A being so well-disposed as was William 
 Shakspeare, most assuredly would appreciate 
 such conduct at a price beyond all telling. 
 Now, filled as he was by the thrilling im- 
 pulses of early manhood, when a sympathy 
 for what is loveable stirs in every vein, he 
 was peculiarly open to favorable impressions 
 from the other sex, but his sense of good 
 which so completely had the custody of 
 affections, exerted over him a higher power, 
 and were directed to better purposes, than 
 could any mere admiration ; and whilst it
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ihrew open his mind and heart to chamber 
 worthily the excellence of beauty, it kept for 
 {hem there a still more honorable lodging 
 for the beauty of excellence. He fe't, the 
 whilst, a motive free from selfish considera- 
 tion-, for hitherto he had sought but for to 
 raise himself and those belonging to him ; 
 but no \v he would seek his exaltation rather 
 as a pedestal to place another's goodness at 
 its summit. Mistress D'Avenant in her 
 avowal, had exhibited that fearlessnees, 
 which those only know, who, whatever may 
 be t'.ieir situation, are under the noblest in- 
 fluences. A moaner nature so circum- 
 stanced would have sought to hide iier feel- 
 ings, and exhausted the artillery of feminine 
 dissimulation ere she would have allowed 
 them to be known ; but in such a disposition, 
 those feelings would -have argued a weak- 
 ness, and, perchance, have led to a crime, 
 whilst in the other, they were an undeniable 
 evidence of strength, and, more than any 
 other thing, would have induced to virtue. 
 
 It is more than idle for any to assert that a 
 married woman to love any man save her 
 partner, is not to be tolerated under any 
 circumstances, for whore she is ill-matched, 
 there cannot be so notable a way to keep 
 her to the proper duties of good wifehood, 
 than to place her affections in so honorable 
 a quarter, she must needs know that only by 
 the most excellent behavior can she be held 
 in such esteem there as she desires whereof 
 the consequence must be, she will bear with 
 the humors of a bad husband, and show a 
 cheerful endurance of her unhappy fate in- 
 fluenced by the gladdening hope of gaining 
 what sha most covets. Deprived of so com- 
 fortable a stimulus, the chances are, the un- 
 happy wife would sink into a miserable 
 apathy, or, in disgust of her condition would 
 easily become the prey of any dishonest 
 artifices that might be directed against her 
 by a pretended lover. Mayhap some may 
 say such ennobling love so produced is rarely 
 to be found, but I place my faith too strongly 
 on the honorableness of woman, to doubt it 
 would be familiar enough, were men to be 
 met with of sufficient worthiness to call it 
 into more frequent existence. At least, such 
 was the affection with which Mistress D'- 
 Avenant regarded the youthful Shakspeare, 
 and t\i2 latter entertained it as of such a sort, 
 and fully resolved it should so continue, if its 
 lasting depended on his efforts to deserve it. 
 His thoughts very profitably employed, the 
 young traveller pursued his journey. The 
 waggon had gone too far to be overtaken by 
 his walking, and though he was passed, or 
 came up to divers carriers laden with pack- 
 ages of all kinds, his expenses had already 
 
 so diminished his means, that he found him- 
 self unable to purchase a sitting in any of 
 their carts, without leaving himself penni- 
 less ere his journey was finished. Indeed, 
 as it was, by the time he reached Uxbridge, 
 when he had paid his bill for lodging he 
 started in the morning with his purse emp- 
 tied of the last coin. This was a discovery 
 that would have come exceeding unpleasant- 
 ly to many in a like situation with himself, 
 ! for he was still a good distance from his 
 destination and nothing wherewith to get 
 him bed or board when he there arrived ; but 
 with the eager hope of youth, he trudged 
 along in high spirits, fully convinced he had 
 but to show himself to the elder Burbage, 
 and his old acquaintance would welcome 
 him with all proper heartiness. 
 
 As he was trudging manfully along, and 
 had got within a mile or so of Tyburn, he 
 came up to three men dressed with some 
 appearance of respectability, who seemed to 
 be comporting of themselves very merrily. 
 The one was a stout fellow with a bold 
 swaggering and an impudent daring look 
 with him, Eis face pimpled, and his nose of 
 a somewhat prominent redness about the top 
 of it. He was attired in an old plum-colored 
 velvet doublet stained down the front, as if 
 with wine his hose were scarlet, though 
 the tint was fading through dirt and age; 
 and his trunks had been of an orange 
 twaney, but by this time they were nigher 
 of a sad color. He wore roses in his shoes, 
 but they looked as though they had grown 
 in a chimney, and his hat was of that sort 
 that are distinguished by a high crown, but 
 a spectator might look as high as the skies 
 and yet see no crown of any kind. His 
 companions were garmented in no better 
 fashion onfe of whom, was a biear-eyed 
 youth, with a famous large mouth drawn on 
 one side as though he had been in the habit 
 of biting round a corner : and the other was 
 chiefly noticeable, for a short, stiff, red beard, 
 that stood out of his chin like a broken brick 
 hanging over an old door-way. 
 
 " Ha, truly a good jest. Master Sugarsob, 
 a good jest o' my life," cried the first, 
 seeming to be in a famous mood for laughing. 
 " Bots on't !" exclaimed he, with the wry 
 mouth. " I see not the jest, Captain Sack, 
 and if a jest it be, I like not the humor on't I 
 promise you." 
 
 " By this hand, my Lord Cinnamon, I 
 meant no offence in't !" exclaimed the own- 
 er of the red-beard, with prodigious earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 " I like not the humor on't I like not the 
 humor on't," muttered he who had been 
 styled Lord Cinnamon, twisting his mouth in
 
 193 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 a manner as though he had a marvellous 
 inclination to bite off the end of his left ear. 
 
 " I tell thee," 'tis a most exquisite jest," 
 cried thfe one called Captain Sack, laughing 
 out of all moderation. " What sayst Master 
 Countryman ?" 
 
 The young traveller felt somewhat sur- 
 prised at being appealed to in a matter of 
 which he was entirely ignorant, but he 
 could not help feeling amused at the droll 
 figures of the persons before him. 
 
 " I prithee tell me the jest, and I will say 
 what I think of it," replied he. 
 
 " 'Tis no more than this," said the pimple- 
 faced gentleman, as he very impudently 
 stared the other in the face, whilst he cut 
 the youth's purse from his girdle, and on 
 the same instant, the other two stood on 
 each side of him, with their daggers' points 
 at his throat. He saw at a glance resist- 
 ance was useless. 
 
 " 'Ifaith, if that be all the jest, I see not 
 much in it," observed William Shakspeare, 
 who could not resist his natural tendency 
 even at such a moment. 
 
 " Why, how now, and be hanged to thee !" 
 exclaimed the disappointed thief, as he be- 
 held the emptiness of the purse he had taken. 
 " Dost put thy quips upon us ? How darest 
 to come abroad in such heathen fashion. 
 'Slight 'tis a jest with a vengeance !" 
 
 " I see not the humor on't I see not the 
 humor on't!" cried his wrymouthed com- 
 panion, seemingly as if he enjoyed his as- 
 sociate's dissatisfaction. 
 
 " Nor I either, Jemmy," answered the 
 cut-purse; "but at least here is better 
 jesting. " And thereupon he snatched away 
 from the youth his little bundle of linen. At 
 this moment, a string of pack-horses becom- 
 ing viable in the road, the three thieves 
 made off as fast as they could down a bye 
 lane, leaving the young traveller to continue 
 his journey not only without money of any 
 kind, as he was before, but without a single 
 thing for his wearing, save what he had on 
 liis back. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Goe, little Booke ! thyself present, 
 As child whose parent is unkent, 
 To him that is the President 
 Of Nobleness and Ckivalrie. 
 And if that envy bark at thee 
 As sure it will for succor flee 
 Under the shadow of his wing. 
 
 METHINKS, it is now high time, the courte- 
 ous reader should know something concern- 
 
 ing of the two young knights, kinsmen to 
 Sir Marmaduke de Largesse, \\-ho were left 
 in so sore a strait sometime since, Sir Re- 
 ginald being badly wounded by one whom 
 he had so unjustly regarded an a false- friend, 
 and Sir Valentine seeming to be still more 
 hurt he had done his companion in anas such 
 dainagcment. Little time was lust in con- 
 veying the latter to his kinsman's residence, 
 where his loving cousin night and day at- 
 tended on him better th.in could have done 
 the faithfulest nurso that ever was known. 
 The wounded knight could not be indifferent 
 to such loving service, and when he was 
 told the exact history of his IxOiavitir to their 
 mutual fair mistress, he loved him more than 
 ever he had done, and on the instant, gave 
 up all pretension to her in favor of his friend ; 
 but this the latter took no advantage of. He 
 remembered the last words he had of the 
 poor foundling, and the determination they 
 evinced ; and feeling also, that, could he 
 succeed in getting her to change her mind, 
 he could not with any satisfaction to himself 
 enjoy the happiness whereof his friend was 
 deprived, he resolved he would see her no 
 more. As for her, it may b sufHcient to 
 say, she was where she fancied herself free 
 from her vile persecutors, yet was she much 
 nigher to danger than she iuviginod. 
 
 Sometime after this, the two friends join- 
 ed their commander and tutor in chivalry, 
 the noble Sir Philip Sidney, and accom- 
 panied him on hwembassy, to condole with 
 the French king, on the death of his dear 
 brother, the Duke of Anjou. They made a 
 most gallant figure at ti.e court of France. 
 Many fair ladies gave them excellent con- 
 vincing proofs they were well esteemed of 
 them, the which the elder received very readi- 
 ly, and lacked not a suitable return ; for his 
 disposition could accommodate itself to love 
 as he called it as many as would allow 
 of his passion ; but the younger was not of 
 this sort. He could give his afli'ctions to 
 one only, and they were unalterably lixed 
 on the gentle Mabel ; and though he receiv- 
 ed the lavors of the kind dames of France 
 with the courtesy becoming a true knight, 
 his heart was wandering through the groves 
 of Charlcote after that exquisite, yet most 
 unhappy creature, who had the sole claim 
 of its sovereignty. 
 
 Thfcy were now strolling together in the 
 garden of the Queen's palace at Whitehall, 
 whilst Sir Philip was with her Majesty, and 
 divers of the great lords and officers, hold- 
 ing of a privy council, to deliberate on cer- 
 tain important matters affecting the national 
 honor and safety. Of this council, inethinka 
 some description would here be in good place.
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 199 
 
 m a spacious chamber, richly hung with 
 arras, the Queen's Highness sat in robes of 
 state with a small crown of gold on her 
 head on a raised throne covered with rich 
 carving and embroidery. One arm rested 
 on the arm of the seat, with her jewelled 
 hand imbedded in a fair white handkerchief, 
 very line and delicately worked ; the other 
 elbow rested on the other arm of the chair, 
 her hand supporting her head, and her body 
 resting against the back of the seat. In 
 this position she remained with a famous 
 gravity in her features, listening to what 
 was advanced by each speaker; hut she 
 rarely remained in it long, for if anything 
 dropped tiiat she liked not, she would take 
 the orator up with some tartness ; and when 
 the speech met with her views, she would 
 add to it something of her own, which show- 
 ed how much it was to her satisfaction. 
 
 Before her in their robes of office sat the 
 chief oalcers of the crown, save only the 
 one w r ho might be at that moment speaking, 
 who stood up ; and chiefest of these were 
 the Lord Treasurer Burleigh, the Secretaries 
 of State, Walshinghain and Davison, the 
 Earl of Leicester, the Earl of Sussex, Charles 
 Howard of Eifingham, the Lord High Admi- 
 ral, Sir Nicholas Bacon, and Sir Philip Syd- 
 ney. The subject under discussion related 
 to the state of affairs in Flanders, and the 
 necessity of there keeping a powerful force. 
 It might bo somewhat tedious to give the 
 speeches of the different members of the 
 council. Suffice it to say, as was usual the 
 case when anything was to be done that re- 
 quired an outlay from the treasury, my Lord 
 Treasurer strongly advised great caution, 
 and argued, if peace could be procured, even 
 at some sacrifiee, 'twas infinitely better than 
 the uncertainties of a war ; and in his policy 
 he was seconded by the two secretaries and 
 Sir Nicholas Bacon. My Lord of Leicester, 
 on the other side, was for carrying on pre- 
 parations in that country worthy of Eng- 
 land's greatness ; and spoke of the important 
 results which would follow by so doing. My 
 Lord of Sussex was for a like dealing, only 
 he differed with the last speaker as to tho 
 manner it should be done, and that too with 
 an honest bluntness, that spoke more of the 
 soldier than the courtier. Whereupon the 
 other replied, defending his views with much 
 apparent calmness and courtesy,* which 
 brought a sharp rejoinder from my Lord of 
 Sussex ; and, as was often the case at the 
 council, here would have followed a very 
 angry disputation, had not her Highness 
 quickly put an end to the dispute by rebuk- 
 ing them both. These two powerful noble- 
 men "rarely met without having some words ; 
 
 but my Lord of Leicester, by a famous com- 
 mand of temper, always made it appear he 
 was in no way blameable ; and my Lord of 
 Sussex, who was usually rash enough to 
 express what he thought, and manifestly 
 thought no good of his opponent, was by 
 many looked upon as the one in fault. 
 
 The other commanders there advocated 
 the views of the Queen's favorite, save only 
 Sir Philip Sydney, who had not yet expres- 
 sed his opinions. At this her Highness, who 
 held him in high esteem, commanded him to 
 what he thought would be best in the handl- 
 ing of such a business, upon which he gave 
 a most eloquent and elaborate view of the 
 present state of Europe, particularly dwel- 
 ling on the hostile designs of the King of 
 Spain upon this country, as evinced in tho 
 immense warlike preparations he w ? as mak- 
 ing in all parts of his dominions ; and show- 
 ing in the clearest light what gain wouli 
 accrue to England, by conducting her opo 
 rations in Flanders with sufficient means 
 and a proper spirit. It is utterly impossible 
 to convey anything like unto an adequate 
 idc of this notable speech ; but it was put 
 forward with amazing fineness of rhetoric, 
 and with such excellence of language, that 
 it was clear any who had the slightest com- 
 prehension of the matter, must be convinced 
 of the properness of what Sir Philip had ad- 
 vanced. 
 
 Then Queen Elizabeth spoke at some 
 length, expressing how naturally averse she 
 was to any proceedings likely to give hurt 
 to her good subjects ; but as war was forced 
 upon her for the protection of the kingdom 
 from Popish snares, and that to fight abroad 
 was better for the people than to fight at 
 home, it must needs be she could do no 
 other than assist those who were combatting 
 against her worst enemies, and so endeavor 
 to keep the war from her own doors. Her 
 speech was very spirited and full of sage 
 quotations from Latin and other authors, 
 to show 'her justice somewhat to show her 
 learning somewhat more. The end was, 
 that she not only adopted the views of Sir 
 Philip Sydney, but gave him the command 
 of some forces that were to be sent into 
 Flanders, to disembark at Flushing, of which 
 place she appointed him governor. Other 
 things were also to be done, but as these do 
 not much affect our story, methinks there 
 shall be no need of the relation. After this 
 the council broke up, and Sir Philip returned 
 on horseback with the two young knights to 
 his own dwelling. 
 
 Shortly after, the three companions in 
 arms joined the Countess of Pembroke in. 
 the library, a fair chamber well stoclfed with
 
 200 
 
 THE YOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ail manner of books, especially of romances 
 and poems both English and foreign. The 
 countess seemed intent on a large manu- 
 script ; but this she put on one side at the 
 entrance of her brother and his friends, 
 whom she welcomed very gladly. Presently 
 they i'ell to conversing as was their wont 
 on such topics as were of the most intellec- 
 tual character, for it was a custom with this 
 truly famous woman to endeavor as much 
 as possible to draw out the minds of her 
 associates, and where she found them defici- 
 ent, to show them glimpses of the know- 
 ledge they wanted in its most delightful as- 
 pect, and give them a zest to acquire it 
 more fully. This made her so much the 
 admiration of the learned of her time. In 
 truth I have some reason for thinking she 
 diffused the spirit of intelligence more widely 
 by the fascinations of her eloquence, than did 
 one half the colleges in the kingdom with 
 all their notable efforts at teaching. A 
 familiarity with the best classic writers was 
 then the fashion perchance set by her high- 
 ness, who was no contemptible scholar and 
 to this there was frequently joined consider- 
 able knowledge of the Italian poets and the 
 French romances. But with the countess, 
 and with her equally gifted brother, the fashi- 
 on made itself apparent, arrayed in those 
 graces of humanity, which might make it 
 most enchanting, and to them Socked such 
 scholars as wished to be thought -of the 
 fashion, and those more fashionable sort of 
 persons who sought to be regarded as schol- 
 ars. The two young knights were among 
 the very sincerest admirers of the Countess 
 of Pembroke : but Sir Valentine regarded 
 her with an enthusiastic reverence, which 
 exceeded even the feeling of the same kind 
 with which he looked on Sir Philip Sydney, 
 and few of their numerous circle of friends 
 were so well esteemed of these illustrious 
 persons as were those gallant gentlemen. 
 
 " 1 have had notable rare company, brother, 
 since the morning," said the countess. 
 
 " Truly, I cannot see how it could well be 
 otherwise," answered Sir Reginald, with a 
 very ready courtesy. " For even were you 
 left alone, you must needs be in such excel- 
 lent company as can nowhere else be met 
 with." 
 
 " 1' faith, Sir Reginald, methinks you are 
 taking a leaf from the book of my kinsman, 
 Leicester," observed my Lady Pembroke,with 
 an exquisite smile. 
 
 " JN'ay, I think he hath been taking a lesson 
 from the courtly Sir Christopher Hatton," 
 observed her brother with a laugh. 
 
 "By this hand!" exclaimed the young 
 knight earnestly, "the last lesson I took 
 
 of any man was from%. better master than 
 either." 
 
 " And who might that be ?" inquired Sir 
 Philip. " For surely he must be exceeding 
 worthy my kinsman being a very noble 
 gentleman, and Sir Christopher, though a 
 very courtier, is not without some good 
 qualities." 
 
 " I doubt not I could make a shrewd guess 
 at this right famous master of yours ?" said 
 the countess, \vith an approving glance. 
 
 " I cannot imagine one who knoweth his 
 excellence so thoroughly, could name any 
 other," replied the knight. 
 
 " Let us have his title, and quickly, Sir 
 Reginald," cried Sir Philip. " For my me- 
 mory is at fault." 
 
 " Assuredly it is one Sir Philip Sydney, 
 well known of all men to be the best master 
 of knights that can be met with in this our 
 age," replied Sir Reginald. 
 
 " And with all proper pride I do acknow- 
 ledge myself also to have profited by his 
 right admirable lessons," added Siv Valen- 
 tine, with a warmer enthusiasm. 
 
 " Well, although, as I take it. you do over- 
 rate the master hugely," replied the < 
 of their eulogium, but not without a sensible 
 satisfaction at its thorough honesty, " I must 
 say this I would every master were as ho- 
 norably off for pupils. But who were of your 
 comparty this morning, my dear sister T' in- 
 quired he, seeming anxious, as great minds 
 ever are, by shifting of the conversation, to 
 avoid his own praises. 
 
 " Truly, I have had so many, I scarce can 
 remember one half of them," replied hi* ac- 
 complished relative. " First there came the 
 merry Bishop of Bath and Wells, to intro- 
 duce to me a certain learned'scholar of his 
 acquaintance, who was exceeding anxious 
 to be known to me, with whom I had much 
 choice discourse, made more pleasant by 
 some droll sayings of my Lord Bishop." 
 
 " Methinks Dr. Still is somewhat of too 
 jesting a nature for a grave prelate," ob- 
 served her brother, good-humoredly. Ci His 
 ' Gammar Gurton's Needle,' smacketh very 
 little of the church, and his talk hath just as 
 much of the sermon." 
 
 " My next comer was a certain Master 
 John Lily," continued the countess. '' He 
 hath brought me a play of his, entitled ' Alex- 
 ander and Campespe,' which though I find 
 to lack something in plot and character, is 
 not without some fair signs of merit." 
 
 " Ah, Master Lily, 1 know him well," 
 said Sir Philip. " He hath left the college 
 for the play-house, but I doubt his great fit- 
 ness for either. He hath lately sought to 
 set himself up as Master Grammarian, to
 
 THE Ydt T TH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 201 
 
 teach us a new style of English, but surely 
 nothinsr so strained and unnatural was ever 
 heard of!" 
 
 " Then I had with me the famous author 
 of Jeronimo," added his sister. 
 
 " Ay, Master Kyd hath got himself into 
 marvellous repute," observed the other. 
 " He hath a most moving skill in the compo- 
 sition of his plays. His blank verse is ex- 
 ceeding spirited, and not without a proper j 
 touch of true poetry nevertheless, he pos- 
 sesseth many faults of extravagance, it 
 would be advisable in him to eschew." 
 
 " After him I had the knight of the 
 smirched mantle." 
 
 " Ha ! my very excellent good friend Sir 
 Walter Raleigh !" exclaimed Sir Philip, with ; 
 much earnestness and some pleasantry. 
 " By this light his throwing his fine cloak ', 
 into the puddle, hath put his acquaintance 
 on so fair a footing with her highness, he is 
 like to make a gallant stand at court. But in 
 justice I must acknowledge he is a truly 
 valiant young soldier, and hath in him the 
 best gifts of the scholar and the gentleman 
 to an extent greater than that of any of 
 whom I have knowledge." 
 
 " At least so he hath seemed to me," said 
 the Lady Pembroke, and then the two knights 
 added their testimony of his worthiness, for 
 he was of their particular approved friends 
 but more of his truly noble character-anon 
 gentle reader. 
 
 " After these there came persons of all 
 kinds," continued the Countess of Pembroke. 
 " I was like unto a besieged city sore 
 pressed. Hither came gallants to idle their 
 time poets to read to me their verses 
 play writers to bespeak my presence at the 
 play-house to see" their play booksellers to 
 offer me the very newest works they had 
 published, hoping for my commendation, 
 and many poor scholars seeking to be au- 
 thors, who required only my poor influence, 
 at least so they believed, as a stepping stone 
 to fame. I did my best for all and all ap- 
 peared in excellent content with their visit." 
 
 After this the subject of their converse 
 turned upon a certain work recently written 
 by Sir Philip Sydney, since well known to 
 every reader as the right famous Arcadia. 
 
 " Nay, dear brother, but the merit cannot 
 be denied," exclaimed his fair relative, after j 
 the author had expressed a humble opinion ! 
 of it. " I will hot hear of your speaking 
 of it slightly. It is a work just as I should 
 have expected from you a combination of 
 chivalry and scholarship put into the most 
 delectable apparelling." 
 
 " You must needs be too partial a judge to 
 pass an honest sentence in' this case, sweet 
 
 sister," said Sir.Philip Sydney, good humor- 
 edly. 
 
 " That I can in no way allow," cried Sir 
 Reginald, " That my Lady Pembroke is a 
 good judge, and a fair judge, methinks would 
 be stoutly maintained by every one who 
 hath the honor of her acqftaintance ; not 
 only because she is in herself peculiarly 
 good and fair, but because her opinions par- 
 take so largely of the like qualities ; and 
 though she cannot help regarding the writer 
 of so notable a work with considerable par- 
 tiality, because of his standing in such near 
 relationship to her, it doth not follow she 
 cannot properly appreciate its excellences. 
 Indeed I am apt to think she would look 
 more closely into the nature of any produc- 
 tion from such a source, and-thercfore known 
 its quality and character better than could 
 any other." 
 
 " Surely there can be no doubt of this," 
 added Sir Valentine, more earnestly. " Even 
 were my Lady Pembroke less gifted than 
 she is, it is scarcely possible her love for the 
 writer could mislead her in her judgment of 
 the book ' for as all that most perfect wit 
 could do would be to praise, her affections 
 are surely not likely to stand in the way of 
 so appropriate a duty. But surely, of all 
 persons my lady ought to be the best quali- 
 fied to be a judge in, such case, else that no- 
 bleness of nature so many have found, can 
 be but of small advantage to her." 
 
 " O' my word, you are all alike !" ex- 
 claimed Sir Philip, seeking to turn off the 
 question as pleasantly as he could ; then 
 taking up a book which lay on the table be- 
 fore him, he added, " Want you now, a book 
 deserving of your warmest encomium, here is 
 one. It is no other than ' The Shepherd's 
 Calendar,' written by my esteemed friend 
 Master Edmund Spenser, who hath done me 
 the honor of its dedication. It is a sort of 
 rustic poem, or series of eclogues, wherein 
 the poet, in the feigned name of Colin, ex- 
 presseth very movingly his infinite griefs 
 caused by the treachery of a false mistress, 
 to whom he hath given the title of Rosa- 
 linde." 
 
 " I am apt to think this poem of Master 
 Spenser's is not altogether a fiction," ob- 
 served the countess. " There is a heartiness 
 in it, a truth and vividness, which never 
 come of the imagination alone." 
 
 <; You are right," replied her brother. " I 
 heard of Doctor Gabriel Harvey, to whom I 
 am indebted for my introduction to the poet, 
 that he had formed a deep attachment to some 
 female, who, after seeking, by all manner of 
 artifices, to ensnare his affections, when she 
 found they were hers beyond recall, treated
 
 202 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKfPEARE. 
 
 him with unexampled perfidy, and soon after 
 married some obscure person doubtless as 
 worthless as herself. The general cry on 
 hearing of such instances is, ' a good rid- 
 dance :' and this may be true enough to a 
 certain extent ; but men of Master Spenser's 
 stamp, when they do love, do so entwine the 
 filaments of their hearts with the beloved 
 object, that any disunion is to them the ter- 
 riblest laceration that can be imagined, and 
 leaveth a wound which afflicteth them with 
 a continual agony." 
 
 " Of aM men living, such as are of the 
 highest imaginations are most likely to meet 
 with such a fate," said his gifted sister. 
 " None do so readily become the prey of an 
 artful woman for their love of the pure and 
 beautiful which is the poworfullest impulse 
 of their natures, leadeth them to put their 
 faith, and, heart, and soul, in fair appear-' 
 ances; and when a, woman, under such 
 guise, showeth signs of being favorably dis- 
 posed to them, they enrich her with their 
 sweetest thoughts and sympathies, and look 
 to her, and to her alone, for the realization 
 of their happiness. I doubt not, as it gen- 
 erally happens in such a case, the original 
 of Master Spenser's Rosalinde was an ob- 
 scure person, who, assuming the qualities 
 with which such a disposition as that of her 
 gifted lover, is most apt to be taken, was 
 honored with his regard ; and then, merely 
 out of selfish vanity to possess so proud a 
 gallant, she made his confiding nature 
 believe she truly loved him, till she had 
 thoroughly enslaved his feelings, and forced 
 his adoration to be subservient to advance 
 sufficiently her own pride. I regret to say 
 such women are by no means rare. They 
 are of the thoroughly heartless, who reck- 
 lessly enter into a mischief for which they 
 can never render adequate compensation, 
 careless of ought save the gratification of 
 their vanity. 'Tis lamentable that such 
 base idols should receive such precious sac- 
 rifice." 
 
 Both Sir Valentine* and Sir Reginald, 
 with their acccustomed gallantry, were for 
 asserting that women so treacherously dis- 
 posed were not to be found ; but the coun- 
 tess would not allow of statements so flatter- 
 ing. She honored them for their opinion ; 
 but her own deeper knowledge of the sub- 
 ject, and honesty of heart, made her refuse 
 it as erroneous. 
 
 "It matters not," observed her brother, 
 interrupting the disputation. " There are 
 epots on the sun, and if that we meet with 
 similar blemishes in that wonderful fair lu- 
 minary, woman, we ought to remember 
 how many. are her admirable qualities, and 
 
 how hapless would be our case without her 
 shining light to warm and illumine our 
 world." 
 
 " I would grant ah 1 that very gladly," re- 
 plied the countess ; " and right proud am I 
 to hear my sex so considered. But this 
 altereth not the case; there are, unfortu- 
 nately, women of the sort I have alluded to ; 
 and, be they few or many, the evil they do is 
 out of any calculation ; for 'they single out 
 for their victims the truest and noblest na- 
 tures ; and the mischief endeth not with 
 them, for the misery of such must needs af- 
 fect the wide circle whb take in them the 
 interest they deserve. In the particular in- 
 stance of Master Spenser, I feel more moved 
 than perchance I otherwise might be, know- 
 ing, as I do his good qualities so intimately. 
 He is the gentlest creature I ever met, and 
 a very child in simplicity and affectionate- 
 ness thoroughly ingenious, unobtrusive, un- 
 offending, kind, and grateful. Gifted, too, 
 as he is, with the highest powers of mind, it 
 seemeth a marvel to me he should be other- 
 wise looked on by any woman save with ad 
 miration and homage." 
 
 " The worst feature in the case is the in- 
 gratitude of these false Rosalindes," added 
 Sir Philip. " The poet honoreth such a 
 woman by attiring her in the exquisite fair 
 livery of his genius, to the complete hiding 
 of her natural poor apparelling ; and then 
 thus admirably garmented, she quitteth him 
 to whom she is so greatly indebted, and, by 
 means of his gifts, palmeth her worthless- 
 ness upon some other." 
 
 " Now here is most excellent evidence of 
 the noble qualities of our esteemed friend," 
 said his sister, putting her hand upon the 
 manuscript before her. " It is the lirst part 
 of a great poem in heroical verse, wherein 
 he intendeth to represent all the moral vir- 
 tues, assigning to each a knight, in whose 
 conduct the operations of that virtue, where- 
 of he is the acknowledged protector, are to 
 be expressed, and by whom the vices and 
 unruly appetites, that are opposed to it, are 
 to bo overthrown. Truly, a most compre- 
 hensive design ; but the surprising richness 
 of the imagery the purely imaginative char- 
 acter of the language the high and chival- 
 rous feeling which pervades every part 
 and the perfectly original character of each 
 conception, as far as I have read of it are 
 equally manifest." 
 
 " Truly, ' The Fairy Queen,' promisetnto 
 
 be a work of lasting fame," added Sir Philip. 
 
 " From the specimen entrusted to me, I hes- 
 
 ! State not in saying, it cannot help proving to 
 
 be a mine of the very richest ore." 
 
 ; " But what most deserveth our eulogium
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 203 
 
 s the purifying and ennobling tendency of 
 this poem," continued the countess. " The j 
 object appeareth to be to exalt humanity, ! 
 and show to what heights it can climb ; '. 
 that those who may be ambitious of great- i 
 ness, shall iiave proper guidance to the ele- i 
 vation they aim at. With this idea in view, | 
 the poet bringeth before the reader, man in ' : 
 all his nobleness, and woman in all her pu- ', 
 rity everything that can make knighthood j 
 appear in such chivalrous x character, as must i 
 be most worthy of female adoration ; and all 
 that can give to feminine beauty that perfec- 
 tion, which is the truest excitement of 
 knightly achievements." 
 
 " Surely Master Spenser hath earned for 
 himself the gratitude of every knight in 
 Christendom !" exclaimed Sir Reginald. 
 
 " Ay, that has he," added Sir Valentine, 
 with a like earnestness. " Indeed I know 
 not how a great mind, such as his must 
 needs be, could have found employment so 
 profitable to virtuous feeling and honorable 
 conduct." At this moment, the conversation 
 was interrupted by the appearance of a 
 serving man, announcing the name of Mas- 
 ter Spenser, and presently there entered a 
 man of handsome mild features, somewhat 
 touched by the spirit of melancholy, but not 
 sufficiently so to render their gravity <un- 
 pleasing. His eyes were clear, and beam- 
 in.; \vitli the gentlest expressions; and his 
 beard short, and rounded under" the chin, 
 fie wore a suit of a sober cut, with a falling 
 band round his neck, cut into points. In 
 figure he was somewfiat slim, and in beha- 
 vior of a graceful courtesy. All rose to 
 welcome him at his approach, and though 
 the greeting of the others was exceedingly 
 hearty, there was in that of the counfess the 
 tenderness of a sister. He received these 
 tokens of their good-will with a modesty of 
 demeanor, that bespoke the natural retiring- 
 ness of his disposition. 
 
 The conversation soon returned to its 
 former subject the writings cf Master ; 
 Spenser. Sir Philip Sydney mingling with ! 
 his praises some show of criticism ; but his 
 gifted sister was evidently in no mood for 
 playing of the critic, for she spoke most elo- 
 quently in their commendation. The poet 
 listened with looks of delight and gratitude, 
 attend ing to the opinions they expressed with 
 the deepest respect, knowing what oracles 
 his judges were, and seeming to marvel any- 
 thing of his invention could be so well 
 thought of. 
 
 " I am greatly bound to you for such hon- 
 orable mention of my poor performance," 
 observed he, with an impressive sincerity ; 
 " 1 have merely trod in the footsteps, and, 
 
 as must needs be, at a humble distance of 
 those illustrious masters of the epic art, Ho- 
 mer, Virgil, Ariosto, Dante and Tasso ; and 
 I will strive all I may to continue in so glo- 
 rious a path. But I am come here with the 
 hope of seeing justice done to a poet, who, 
 as far as I can judge of the example of his 
 powers that hath accidentally fallen into my 
 hands, is like to overtop the ablest writers of 
 his age." 
 
 Tin's speech created exceeding surprise in 
 those around him, and the speaker was quick- 
 ly asked to what he alluded ; whereupon he 
 continued 
 
 " I had just parted with my gallant and 
 noble-hearted true friend, Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh, about an hour since, when, as I was 
 passing by Dowgate, my attention was forc- 
 ibly attracted by a decent-looking young 
 countryman, struggling in the rude grasp of 
 divers constables, who were hurrying him 
 off to prison, for what offence I know not. 
 Whilst observing him, I noticed a paper fall 
 from his doublet, which all else about him 
 were too busy with their prisoner to regard; 
 I presently stepped forward and picked it up. 
 I found it to be a poem, the which, with your 
 gracious permission, I would gladly read to 
 you." 
 
 Permission being very readily granted, 
 for every one appeared singularly carious 
 on so strange a matter, Master Spenser 
 produced a paper, from which he read what 
 is here set down : 
 
 " THE POET OWNETH HIS SUBMISSION TO THE 
 SOVEREIGN BEAUTY." 
 
 " Lo ! from the feathery foam I see thee rise 
 
 'Scaped from the arms of lh' enamored billow, 
 A thousand balmy airs stoop from the skies, 
 
 And round about thee hold their pliant pillow ; 
 
 The beach is gained the oak, the elm, the 
 
 willow, 
 With all their ancient heraldry appear, 
 
 Owning a brighter sunshine in thine eyes, 
 Streams laugh beneath thy looks ; and far and 
 
 near, 
 Doth the whole landscape thy rich livery wear. 
 
 " First-born of Nature ! Queen of Life and 
 
 Light ; 
 Mother of Love ! (whose power supports thy 
 
 being) 
 
 Whose flames the quenchless lamps of night, 
 And flasheth where morn's burning car i 
 
 fleeing, 
 Hither to me ! My fettered thoughts be 
 
 freeing ; 
 And, as the obedient slaves their mistress own, 
 
 With thy divine apparel make them bright, 
 That men may see they're thine, and thine alone, 
 And where they go they may thy might make 
 known.
 
 04 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " L call thee ! I, thy fervent worshipper, 
 Whom thou hast gazed on from thy secret 
 
 places, 
 Seeking to be thy holy minister ; 
 
 Enclasp my spirit in thy fond embraces ! 
 Delight each feeling with thy gladd'ning 
 
 graces ! 
 
 Teach every sympathy thy gentle lore ! 
 Be for my hopes a ready messenger ; 
 And all that's best of me instruct to soar, 
 Where thou hast garnered thy most precious 
 store. 
 
 " Ere I knew thee I was like some deep nook 
 O'ergrown with gnarled trunks and weeds 
 
 entangled, 
 
 Where smiling nature never deigned to look, 
 And wind and water wrestled as they wran- 
 gled ; 
 I met thy gaze ; then all my verdure span- 
 gled 
 With countless myriads of refreshing dews ; 
 
 The sullen flood turned to a sparkling brook, 
 And the hushed wind no more would show his 
 
 thews, 
 Where virgin buds betrayed their blushing hues. 
 
 " Then was I filled with store of sunny gleams, 
 As some rich pattern skilful hands are weav- 
 ing, 
 
 All shot about in threads with golden beams ; 
 Or ears of grain the harvest lord is sheaving, 
 Ere the great ripener his hot couch is leaving. 
 
 And such hath been the magic of thy glance, 
 A change fell o'er my thoughts, my hopes, 
 my dreams, 
 
 And I became, through my allegiance, 
 
 A wilderness turned to a fair pleasance. 
 
 " I saw thee when thy mother Nature held 
 
 Thee in her lap before my marvelling glances, 
 When breeze and billow their rough music 
 
 quelled 
 
 To soothing lullabies and cheerful dances, 
 When all earth's chivalry of blades and lances 
 Leaped into motion over hill and dale, 
 
 And blooming youth and patriarchal eld 
 On bow'rs and banks, the rock, the wood, the 
 
 vale, 
 
 Donned in thy name their brightest coat of 
 mail ! 
 
 " I knew thee by the soul-enthralling good 
 That threw its rosy halo round thy dwelling, 
 
 By banishment from thy pure neighborhood 
 Of things that show no token of excelling, 
 By tuneful praises, every voice was telling. 
 
 Of plumed courtier grateful for thy smile ; 
 And the sweet incense, not to be withstood, 
 
 Shed by a thousand censers all that while 
 
 Swung to and fro beneath each forest aisle. 
 
 " I loved thee for the kind and open hand 
 
 Thou hast at all times held out at my greeting, 
 For lessons of the true, the rare, the grand, 
 
 That made my entertainment at our meeting; 
 
 For bounteous largess ever more repeating, 
 Of precious favors delicately choice ; 
 
 And more than all for sky, and sea, and land, 
 Which, in thy braveries, thou madest rejoice 
 With graceful form and music-breathing voice. 
 
 " Seen, known, and loved of me so long and 
 well, 
 
 Methinks I hold such fond familiar footing, 
 That shouldst thou slumber in some mo.ss-grown 
 
 cell, 
 
 Or ruin hoar where reverend owls are hooting, 
 Whilst time its strong foundations is uproot- 
 ing, 
 Unto thy private chamber I might hie, 
 
 On tiptoe, breathless, lest I break the spell 
 Which holds thine eyelids with so firm a tie, 
 And couched beside thee lovingly might lie. 
 
 " Therefore I call thee now, sweet lady, mine, 
 Come forth, my queen, from thy most glorious 
 
 palace ! 
 
 Dear Priestess, leave thy star-enamelled shrine 
 That boasts its river font, and floral chalice, 
 To the storm's rage or cloud's most gloomy 
 
 malice, 
 
 And in my mind make thou thy present bower ; 
 Shed there thy warmest, brightest, purest 
 
 shine, 
 
 And as 'tis nurtured by the genial power, 
 Each fresh idea shall show a rarer flower. 
 
 " As 'tis of thee that I essay to sing, 
 
 On me let thy immortal worth be grafted, 
 My nature then thy precious fruit would bring 
 
 Like odors on the summer zephyrs wafted ; 
 
 Or some rude weapon gemmed and golden- 
 
 hafted, 
 To be a sign unto an after age, 
 
 That I had been thy knight, thy lord, thy 
 
 king, 
 
 Thy scholar, by thy teaching rendered sage, 
 Thy slave, whose labor brought a goodly wage. 
 
 " Ah me ! perchance thou -art not so inclined 
 
 And think'st it better to be gaily straying, 
 Giving thy tresses to the wanton wind 
 
 As thou dost wander up and down a maying ; 
 
 Or art by clearest waters idly straying, 
 Lost in delight of thine own loveliness, 
 
 Mirrored within the wave and there dost 
 
 bind 
 
 A delicate garland o'er each dainty tress, 
 And all thy charms doth tire in such brave 
 dress. 
 
 Well, if 'tis so indeed it needs must be, 
 I cannot give thee any such adorning, 
 Still shall all natural things witness for me 
 In courts where there hath never been sub- 
 orning, 
 That noon arid twilight eve, eve and early 
 
 morning, 
 
 Only to gain thy love I cared to live ; 
 But surely if 'tis vain to hope for thee,
 
 THE YOUTH OP SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 205 
 
 Thco. canst thy highest power and purpose give 
 
 To some befitting representative ? 
 
 " And such a one know I, whose great desert 
 
 Giveth her comeliness its noblest garnish; 
 Her spirit, that makes envy fall inert, 
 
 Gleams like a blade that Knows no soil or 
 tarnish, 
 
 Or painting shining in its freshest varnish ; 
 Oh ne'er hath been such, costly carcanet ! 
 
 A truth that none who live can controvert, 
 For in and out all Stirling gifts are met, 
 And every gem of price therein is, set. 
 
 " Doubtless so rare a being hath obtained 
 
 From thee the title of her rarity : 
 For from what other source could she have 
 gained 
 
 Her embassy of love and charity ? 
 
 'Twixt ye there is such small disparity, 
 I oft have thought she was herself the queen, 
 
 Thou her, and near her have remained, 
 Paying that rev'rence to her shape and mien 
 I would but give to thee hadst thou there been. 
 
 " And long may she such glorious office hold ! 
 
 And long to me present her fair credentials 
 May in each word her embassy be told, 
 
 Each look convey the same divine essentials 
 Thy mightiness alone hath meaning for : 
 
 Then with a tribute richer far than gold 
 Will I do homage as thy servitor' 
 And ever honor thy embassador. 
 
 " Truly, I'll find her lodging of the best, 
 
 All furnished in a fashion most endearing, 
 To be its mistress rather than its guest ; 
 
 And give such gallant vestment for her wear- 
 ing, 
 
 As shall the best become her noble bearing ; 
 I'll have before her Fame's loud trumpet sound ; 
 
 Upon her head I'll place a jewelled crest : 
 And wheresoe'er her footsteps shall be found, 
 My monuments shall glorify the ground. 
 
 " And thus my whole affections I subject, 
 Whilst o'er my cheek the hue of life is florid, 
 
 To use thy laws, thy rule, thy dialect, 
 Forswear all brutal hate and vengeance horrid, 
 From zone to zone, the frigid and the torrid 
 
 Whist of this world I am a denizen ; 
 And ever show the loyalest respect 
 
 Where'er thy signet is apparent, when 
 
 Thou seekest dealings with my fellow men." 
 
 A famous marvelling was exhibited by all 
 present, at the reading of these verses, and 
 much was said of the unknown author, for 
 whom exceeding interest had been excited ; 
 and, at last, Sir Philip Sydney hurried 
 Master Spenser away with him, that they 
 might learn who he was, and where he 
 might be found, with as little delay as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 This fool comes from the citizens, 
 Nay, prithee do not frown ! 
 
 1 know him as well as you 
 By his livery gown 
 Of a rare horn-mad family. 
 
 ANON. 
 Tell Fortune of her blindness, 
 
 Tell Nature of decay, 
 Tell Friendship of unkindness 
 
 Tell Justice of delay ; 
 And if they dare reply, 
 Then give them both the lie. 
 
 Sis WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 BY dint of constant inquiries of carmen, 
 pedlars and others, the youthful Shakspeare 
 found his way to the Bankside, where, as 
 he had heard, stood the playhouse whereof 
 the elder Burbage was manager. He en- 
 tered London by the Uxbridge road, in a 
 strange wonder at the number of persons he 
 met, as soon as he had got to the field called 
 the Hay-market, near Charing, where the 
 country people held a market of hay and 
 straw, for the convenience of the Londoners. 
 There, the abundance of splendid mansions 
 he passed, and numberless houses of the 
 citizens, the shops, the warehouses, the 
 churches, the great din of traffic, that soun- 
 ded along the streets, of itinerant chapmen 
 bawling their wares witli the rolling of 
 carts and waggons, and the goodly caval- 
 cade of nobles and gallants riding their 
 sprightly palfreys, astonished him exceed- 
 ingly, whilst the more closely he approached 
 the city, the path became more thronged 
 with- persons of all kinds and conditions, in 
 such exceeding variety of appearance, that 
 it seemed an endless puzzle to the young 
 traveller to guess their several characters 
 and vocations. 
 
 By the time he arrived at the Globe play- 
 house, he was weary with hunger and walk- 
 ing. A flag was flying a t the roof, which 
 denoted that the play had commenced, as he 
 learned from a bystander ; so he thought it 
 would be most advisable to wait till it was 
 over, before he presented himself to any of 
 his old companions ; therefore he strolled 
 about the place amongst the venders of 
 fruit, and crowds of idlers that stood nigh 
 the building. As he was noting, with his 
 accustomed curiousness, the manners of the 
 sorts of persons in his neighborhood, on a 
 sudden a horseman rode up, and alighting 
 beside him, cried, " Here, fellow, hold my 
 horse, and I'll give thee a groat at my 
 return," flung him the bridle and quickly 
 vanished into the playhouse. William Shaka-
 
 208 
 
 TIIE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 pcare was taken somewhat by surprise at 
 this occurrence, but remembering that his 
 purse was penniless, and himself both tired 
 and hungry, he was well enough disposed for 
 the earning of any sum, even though it came 
 of such humble employment as the holding of 
 a horse : nevertheless, whilst he walked the 
 animal up and down, his mind was wonder- 
 fully busy in forming all sorts of bright am- 
 bitious prospects, as completely at variance 
 with his present poor shift, as any matter 
 could be. 
 
 Thus he employed himself, till the people 
 coming thronging out of the doors of the 
 playhouse, told him that the play was done ; 
 and presently, up comes the gallant, whose 
 horse he had in charge, gave him the pro- 
 mised groat, and rode away ; but it so haj)- 
 pened, while he was engaged with the latter, 
 two young men, very fairly clad, who were 
 passing near, when they caught sight of the 
 young Shakspeare stopped of a sudden, and 
 regarded him with a very curious and mar- 
 velling aspect. 
 
 " It must be him, Dick !" said one. 
 
 " Ay, marry, it is ; but who bringeth him 
 here, holding of horses, Tom ?" added the 
 other. The object of their attention, as 
 soon as he had parted with the gallant, was 
 for proceeding to the Globe r but he wasstop- 
 * ped by these two persons making up to him, 
 whom he had no great difficulty in recogni- 
 zing as his old school-fellows, Tom Greene 
 and Dick Burbage. Great was the joy of 
 this meeting on both sides ; and the young 
 traveller soon told what brought hint to 
 London, and his adventures on the journey, 
 even to the .holding of the horse, which, was 
 received by his merry companions with some 
 interest and mote laughing. The latter 
 seemed to be just the same careless, free- 
 hearted fellows they had been when boys ; 
 and, I doubt not, were quite as ready to 
 pass off an ingenious jest here in London, 
 as ever they had been in merry Stratford. 
 
 " Where's thy father, Dick 2" inquired 
 Green. 
 
 " Methinks, he must now be intent upon 
 the getting rid of his blackamoor's face," 
 replied young Burbage. 
 
 "Come thou with us, Will," said the 
 former to the youthful Shakspeare. " We 
 will to Master Manager at once, and get 
 him to give thee a place in our company 
 amongst whom thou wilt meetHemings and 
 Condell, thy once chosen associates then, 
 leave the rest to us, and if we lead thee not 
 a right merry life, it cannot be other than 
 thine own fault." Talking of their old 
 pranks, in a famous humor at every allu- 
 sion to tfiern, the three proceeded together 
 
 into the playhouse, and after passing throngh 
 some strange places as the young traveller 
 took them to be, they arrived at a door ; 
 William Shakspeare, in famous spirits and 
 full of pleasant anticipation, for all his hun- 
 ger and weariness. 
 
 " What, ho, Master Manager !" cried 
 Tom Green, knocking loudly ; " Give us 
 entrance, I prithee! 1 bring thee aid I 
 bring thee strength I bring thee comfort 
 I bring thee a marvel, a prodigy, a phoenix, 
 J bring thee present profit and future 
 greatness." 
 
 " Come in, a God's name, Tom !" replied 
 a voice from within, with prodigious ear- 
 nestness. The young traveller had some 
 difficulty in recognizing his old 'acquain- 
 tance, in the smut-faced personage halt 
 unclad that was pulling off his hose, in the 
 meanly furnished chamber, in which the 
 former now found himself. 
 
 " Heart o' me !" exclaimed Greene, laugh- 
 ingly, as the manager at the entrance of a 
 stranger began hastily a drawing on his 
 hose again." " Care not for thy legs ; 
 methinks they are well enough for a black 
 fellow." 
 
 " Well enough !" echoed the manager 
 glancing at his limbs with a \very manliest 
 pride. " Well enough for a black fellow, 
 saidst thou ? I tell thee what it is, Tom, 
 black fellow or white fellow, or even a 
 Greene fellow, for the matter of that, hath 
 never been able to boast of such handsome 
 things to stand on since the world began." 
 
 " Bravely said, Legs !" replied the other 
 in the same merry humor. " But here I 
 have brought with me a certain friend of 
 mine whose great merit I can vouch for, 
 who desireth to be a player, and of our 
 company." 
 
 " 'Tis Will Shakspeare, father, from 
 Stratford," added his son. 
 
 "Away with him!" angrily cried. the 
 elder Burbage, to the extreme astonishment 
 of every one else. ' 'Slight, I've had enough 
 of Will Shakspeare to last me the rest of my 
 
 Why, what hast had of him, I wonder !" 
 exclaimed Greene. 
 
 " Had, quotha !' replied the manager ; I've 
 had of him what was like to get me a speedy 
 hanging on the highest tree. Some six years 
 since or more, I met him, when, with my 
 company about to play at a noble lady'a 
 mansion in the country, and he got me to 
 consent to his playing of a part in a new 
 play that I had sent me to represent before 
 her visitors well, the varlet was not con- 
 tent with marring the end on't by saying of 
 a parcel of stuff instead of what had been
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 207 
 
 put down for him ; but scarce an hour after 
 he mends the matter by assisting of a com- 
 panion to run off with a young damsel there 
 on a visit. It was well for me I showed my 
 prudence by affecting a perfect ignorance of 
 the whole proceedings, for had it come to 
 my lord's ears 1 had shared in them in any 
 way, I should have been ruined outright, 
 clapped in a prison and ordered fdr execu- 
 tion without hope of reprieve." 
 
 William Shakspeare explained the cir- 
 
 not being very heedful, had taken a wrong 
 turning out Fish Street Hill. He had got 
 some distance along sundry winding nar- 
 row streets, when all at once, he was brought 
 to a stand still by some authoritative voice, 
 and lie quickly found himself surrounded 
 by persons in long gowns trimmed with fur, 
 that seemed some officers of the corporation, 
 and others who, by their bills and apparel- 
 ling, he took to be constables of the watch. 
 " Stand, fellow, and give an account of 
 
 cumstance just alluded to, but the more he j yourself!" exclaimed one. 
 
 explained the more enraged seemed the \ " What brought thee here ? Whose 
 
 manager, that he should have been put in ! varlet art thou ?" inquired another. 
 
 such jeopardy as he had been to assist in a j An' he be not a masterless man, Master 
 
 scheme of which he was kept in entire igno- Fleetwood, I know not one when I see 
 
 ranee, and not even the entreaties of Greene hi m ," observed a third. 
 
 and his own son could induce him to alter A very vagrom, I'll swear," cried an 
 
 his resolution to have none of Will Shaks- ancient constable, poking his greybeard into 
 
 peare for to be of his company. Dick Bur- the young traveller's face. " I pray you, 
 
 bage got vexed at this look, but Greene, con- Master Recorder, to question him of his 
 
 fined not his vexedness to looks. He spoke calling. I am in huge suspicion I have had 
 
 out warmly in behalf of his friend, and said i n m y custody some score of times already." 
 
 such sharp words to the elder Burbage that ; What i s thy name, caitiff ?" demanded 
 
 he grew choleric, and there would have been h e who styled Master Fleetwood, in a very 
 
 a complete falling out betwixt them, had not high and mighty sort of manner. 
 
 the cause of it interposed, and 'implored First tell me, why I am thus rudely 
 
 them nut to make him an occasion for quar- \ questioned and stopped, my masters ?" said 
 
 telling. The young traveller left the chain- the youthful Shakspeare, who liked not being 
 
 ber with a much heavier heart than he had S( 5 handled. 
 
 entered it. Here were all his proud hopes Qh, the villain !" exclaimed one of the 
 
 overthrown at a blow, and he, faint with constables, in a seeming amazement. " Here 
 
 hunger, and his long journey, without a j s monstrous behaving to his worship master 
 
 place to lay his head in, q ought for his Recorder, and so many honorable aldermen ! 
 
 many necessities but the solitary groat he D ost know no manners ? Wilt show no 
 
 had received from the gallant for holding of 
 his horse. He had only got a few steps 
 from the playhouse when he was overtaken 
 by Tom Greene. 
 
 respect of persons ? Here are divers of the 
 worshipful corporation going about taking 
 up all manner of masterless men and house- 
 less vagroms that infest the city ; and if thou 
 
 " Care not for that old churl ; : ' said he, ar t one o f them, thou art a most graceless 
 " Perchance thou wilt do as well elsewhere; fellow. Tell master Recorder thy name on 
 so keep up thy heart, Will ; and Dick and I the instant, or thou shall to Newgate in a 
 will devise something for thy advantage. I presently." 
 
 have now an appointment which will take i You have no business with me, or my 
 me an hour or so ; in the meanwhile speed name either," answered their prisoner, get- 
 thee over London Bridge, and inquire thy ; t i ng to be a little chafed at his treatment. 
 
 way to the house of Mistress (\>lewort who ! Tin \ -^.-rr-) j 
 
 , , L/Tv- "Who is thy master, caitiff, inquired one 
 
 selleth simples, and herbs, an 1 such things, ' f , n J 
 
 at the sign of the Phoenix, in Bucklersbury I C e "' ., ,. , ,, a 
 
 11 e i V*! 3 \ "I have none, replied the youth, some- 
 there is my lodging ; call for what thou , . ,, J 
 
 wilt, and make thyself at home there, till I wlM 
 
 come." The kind-hearted player hurried i " There, he confesses it, an' it please 
 
 away; and his old schoolfellow full of grate- ! your worship," cried the constable. 
 
 ful feelings retraced his steps the way he 
 had com;?, lie remembered Bucklersbury, 
 having passed it going from Cheap to Lorn- 
 
 could have sworn he was a masterless man, 
 he hath such a horrible vagrom look." 
 " To prison with him !" exclaimed Master 
 
 bard-Streot, therefore, he never thought of : Fleetwood, with some asperity. " This 
 questioning any as to his road, but pro- ' country gear of thine, I doubt not, is only 
 ceeded on, thinking over his heavy disap- j worn as a blind. Thou hast a very dishonest 
 pointrnent so intently, he regarded nothing i visage ; an exceeding cutpurse sort of coun- 
 else. Be had passed London Bridge, and . tenance ; and 1 feel assured that when thou
 
 aoa 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 art hanged, there will be at bast one rogue 
 the less." 
 
 " And I feel assured," said William Shak- 
 speare, ' that when thou departest this life 
 no matter in what fashion there will be at 
 least one fool the less." 
 
 " Away with him, for a rude rascal !" 
 cried the enraged recorder. The aldermen 
 made similar exclamations, and five or six 
 'of the watch so held and hustled him, that, 
 for all his struggles, which were very groat, 
 he was presently dragged like a felon, 
 through the public streets with no lack of 
 abuse and blows, till he was safely lodged in 
 the prison of Newgate. Here he scarcely had 
 opportunity for the noticing of anything till 
 he found himself in a large yard, surrounded 
 by amazing high walls, wherein there were 
 several prisoners of different ages, most of 
 whom looked to be necessitous poor feUows, 
 who had most probably been driven into dis- 
 honest courses by the pressure of some 
 fierce want ; but there were others, whom, 
 at a glance, it was easy to see, were down- 
 
 prisoners and in return was told how he 
 came to b? among them. 
 
 " Ah, worthy sir," said the stranger, " you 
 have been placed here by the same meddle- 
 some person as hath imprisoned me to wit, 
 Master Recorder Fleetw'ood, who s.ekoth 
 by over-business, to pass wilh !n r high: 
 sage counsellors, for a famous, loyal, and 
 notable zealous officer. I have been thrust 
 
 of the high crime of being of the Catholic 
 faith, and of attending to the rites and sol- 
 emnities of such religion ; and for no greater 
 offence than this, divers worthy gentlemen 
 who have been by him so ignouuniously 
 treated. Some sent to one prison some to 
 another ; and all punished with heavy tines 
 and grievous imprisonment." 
 
 " I marvel such outrage upon justice 
 should be allowed," observed the youth, 
 warmly. 
 
 " I grieve to say such things are grown 
 too common to make marvels of," replied 
 his companion. " Perchance the Queen and 
 
 right villains and some few whose appear- j her chief ministers are not disposed to coun- 
 ance bespoke their only crime to have been tenance such pestilent tyranny ; indeed, I 
 
 their want of friends. 
 
 Some were amusing themselves at foot- 
 
 question they ever hear of it in any way 
 like the truth ; but such is the unhappy 
 
 ball, others at bowls some at cards, others 1 state of things in the city in consequence of 
 at dice; and these were generally of the I the meddlesomeness of this same tyrannical 
 
 recorder, that for a man to dare attend the 
 service of the religion he conscientiously 
 believeth to be the true one, he shall be ac- 
 counted the vfjjjt of villains ; and for one 
 
 as he had entered the p'ace, the young play- ' that cometh to Iray poverty and hath not a 
 er was surrounded by several of his fellow- j friend in the world, he is forthwith thrust 
 prisoners some curious, some abusive,-and | into prison, to consort with felons and the 
 all apparently thieves outright, for they pre- vilest of characters. All this while, almost 
 
 villainous sort. Here and thtie might be 
 seen one walking about in very woeful coun- 
 tenance, who joined in none of the sports ; 
 and these were of the friendless. As soon 
 
 scntly snatched from him whatever they 
 could lay a hand on, that had been spared in 
 the examination of the constables and turn- 
 keys ; and this they did with such thorough 
 artifice, he could not ee by whom it was 
 done. However, when they had discovered 
 he had nothing more they could readily de- 
 prive him of, or saw better entertainment 
 elsewhere, they left him to his own reflecti- 
 ons, which, it may well believed,'were none 
 of the comfortablest. 
 
 Tired of the noise and ribaldry of his 
 companions their fierce oaths, and coarse 
 vulgar manners, the young traveller took to 
 observing those who kept aloof. Some of 
 these appeared to be of a much higher rank 
 than the other ; and with one he soon made 
 acquaintance ; for it was impossible for any 
 well-disposed person to behold the counten- 
 ance of William Shakspeare and not feel in- 
 clined to be on friendly terms with him ; and 
 from this person he quickly learned the 
 names and characters of most of his fellow- 
 
 under the very noses of these zealous offi- 
 cers, a^ to be found houses where cutpur.-es 
 
 may be met with by scores, teaching their 
 art to young boys, and enjoying of their ill- got 
 booty in every manner of drunkenness and 
 riotous infamy, and they are left undisturbed 
 to do as they list." 
 
 " And how long, think you, worthy sir, K3 
 poor victims of such intolerable wrong, shall 
 be kept in this horrid place ?" inquired the 
 other. 
 
 " Truly, there is no knowing," answered 
 his fellow-prisoner. " If you have a friend 
 at court who will take up your cause, 'tis 
 like enough you will soon get your liberty ; 
 but if you are not so provided, there is no 
 saying of what length may be your imprison- 
 ment." 
 
 This was but sorry consolation for the 
 young traveller, and it left him nothing but 
 an endless prospect of bolts and bars, and 
 stone walls. The time came for the prison- 
 ers to be locked up for the night in separate
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 209 
 
 ^ells, and o, sullen fellow of a turnkey con- 
 ducted William Shakspeare to a most dis- 
 mal-looking narrow dungeon, furnished with 
 nothing save a little straw, a jug of water, 
 and a loaf of bread. Long as had been his 
 fast, he felt no desire to break it ; but the 
 bed was welcome, and he flung himself on 
 it with a heart overburthened with most un- 
 happy feelings. A famous ending had his 
 glorious anticipations come to ! The visions 
 of greatness that could awhile since scarce 
 be spanned, save by imagination, were now 
 cribbed within a cold narrow cell. All his 
 tine hopes that a few days before looked to 
 be heir apparent to the brightest honors of 
 genius, now must needs put up with straw 
 for lying, bread and water for victual, and 
 bare stone walls for lodging. To say he 
 was not cast down at such ill fortune, were 
 to depart from the truth strangely, for in 
 very honesty, he was in a desperate sad- 
 ness as will be found all very sanguine 
 natures when they come to lind their high 
 expectations overthrown ; and assuredly he 
 had some reason, for when he should have 
 his liberty was most uncertain., and to a free 
 aspiring mind like his, confinement in such 
 narrow limits was hardly to be endured. 
 
 But it soon struck him, that despondency 
 would do him but small service, and the only 
 way to get off the unpleasantness of his pre- 
 sent strait, was to bear it patiently, lie lay a 
 thinking what lie should do. He cared not 
 how soon he got away from his present com- 
 panions for he had already had enough of 
 them, and determined as the first thing to let 
 his old schoolfellow, Tom Greene, know 
 where he had been placed, that if by his 
 moans his liberation could be effected, it 
 might be done with all convenient speed. 
 In this he overlooked the difficully there was 
 of his getting any communication conveyed 
 from Newgate. Had he any sufficient bribe, 
 there would be some chance of it, but in his 
 penniless state, he was like enough to re- 
 main where he was till doomsday, ere his 
 friends could know of his hapless case, 
 through the assistance of his jailors. For- 
 tunately, of this he was ignorant, for he pre- 
 sently fell to more agreeable thoughts, and 
 as he was in fancy fondling his dear chil- 
 dren weary with trouble and exhausted by 
 fatigue, he fell into a deep sleep. 
 
 Here, in this noisome dungeon, he was 
 again visited by the glorious dreams of his 
 early days. The place became a most fair 
 landscape, beautifully garnished with ravish- 
 ing sweet blossoms, and the whole neigh- 
 borhood filled with a fairy company, as 
 choicely apparelled as beautifully featured, 
 einging as delectably and dancing with as 
 14 
 
 delicate a grace as ever ; and, as usual. 
 brighter than them all shone her who seem- 
 ed their queen, and she regarded him with a 
 very marvellous kindness, Jed the others to 
 do him all imaginable gentle courtesies, and 
 in music of exquisite pleasantness sung him 
 such comfortable words as appeared to fill 
 him with greater hope than he had known 
 j his whole life long. But besides this, she 
 I addressed him with language of counsel, to 
 the effect he would keep his nature unsul- 
 ; lied by evil doings ; pointing out the profit 
 I of honorable behavior, and assuring him of 
 the notable truth, that he who seeks for fame 
 never can hold it for any time, save with pure 
 hands and a noble heart. 
 
 Then she bade him look in a certain di- 
 rection, and there he beheld the figure of 
 himself, done to the very life, seeming to be 
 hungry, weary, and a prisoner as he was 
 anon the scene changed; he had his liberty, 
 but he was struggling with manifold hard- 
 ships, one following on another so closely 
 there was no rest for them, and each press- 
 ing with exceeding severity it seemed a mar- 
 vel how they could be tolerated ; they lasted 
 a long space, but gradually appearances 
 looked more favorable ; the prospect became 
 brighter, the scenes changed rapidly from 
 one delightful landscape to another, till it ap- 
 peared as though a whole world of splendor 
 and happiness lay open to his view. From 
 one quarter the applause of assembled thou- 
 sands were shouted in his ears ; from ano- 
 ther came the commendations of whole mul- 
 titudes of the learned ; here, in some hum- 
 ble hearth-side, resounded the honest praises 
 of the poor and lowly ; and elsewhere from, 
 the hall, the bovver, the garden, and the grove,, 
 plaudits as fervent were breathed from 
 gallant knights and honorable fair ladies. 
 Certes he would have been glad enough to 
 have dreamt such a' dream as this all his 
 days : but a rough voice and a rude shake 
 put it to a sudden ending, and starting up he 
 found one of the turnkeys standing over 
 him with a lanthorn, his ill-featured counte- 
 nance forming a most revolting contrast to 
 the sunny faces he had gazed on in his vi- 
 sion. 
 
 " A murrain on . thee,. wilt thou never 
 wake ?" exclaimed the jailor sharply. 
 " Why, thou sleepest as. though thou hadst 
 no hope of sleep again, " Marry, and 
 thou takest such rest the morning thou art 
 to be hanged, they must needs put thee to 
 the rope in the midst of it."' 
 
 " What want youiwith me. ?" inquired the 
 prisoner. 
 
 " Thou must along with me with all 
 speed," replied the man,. .
 
 210 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " For what purpose, I pray you ?" asked 
 the youth. ^ 
 
 " Purpose, quotha, how should I know ?" 
 said the jailor. " Mayhap 'tis the pillory 
 mayhap the stocks mayhap a goodly whip- 
 ping ; they be the only purposes that travel 
 to Newgate, I'll warrant. But come along, 
 I tell thee, I can allow of no tarrying." 
 
 Believing it useless to say anything more, 
 William Shakspeare rose and followed his 
 guide through numberless narrow passages 
 so dark he could scarce see his way along 
 even with the help of the lantern his com- 
 panion carried before him, the jailor grum- 
 bling at every step, and his prisoner in a mood 
 hardly more social, from having been dis- 
 turbed in such pleasant dreaming. From all 
 he could gather from the sulky turnkey, his 
 being led to another part of the prison boded 
 him no good ; and he supposed it was to re- 
 ceive some degrading punishment or ano- 
 ther, such as is commonly bestowed on per- 
 sons whose chief crime happeneth to be 
 their poverty. 
 
 In such manner the two arrived at a door 
 in a distant part of the building, which the 
 jailor opening, bade the other enter by him- 
 self. On gaining a'dmission into the cham- 
 ber, the latter found three persons seated to- 
 gether, whom he took to be his judges going 
 to sentence him to the dreaded punishment. 
 One was a very severe looking personage, 
 from whose aspect he could gather but few 
 hopes, and was clad somewhat in jailor 
 fashion, with sundry large keys at his belt. 
 The others had much of the gallant in their 
 appearance, and possessed countenances 
 that savored considerably more of humanity. 
 
 " An' it please you to leave his examina- 
 tion to me, I will have the truth from him 
 speedily," said the first to his companions ; 
 and then turning sharply to the young 
 prisoner, commenced questioning him after 
 the following fashion, the other answering 
 as follows : . 
 
 " Fellow ! what's thy name ?" 
 
 " William Shakspeare." 
 
 " Where dost come from ?" 
 
 " Stratford on Avon, in Warwickshire." 
 
 " How long hast been in London?" 
 
 " Only a few hours." 
 
 " What brought thee here ?" 
 
 " I came to be a player in the company of 
 Master Burbage at the Bankside." 
 
 " Now Master Turnkey, this evidently 
 proves him to be no vagrant," observed one 
 of the gallants. 
 
 " I pray your worship stop awhile," re- 
 plied the jailor. " These fellows have some 
 famous fine story always at their command- 
 ment. O.' my life, I do believe, were you to 
 
 examine the most notorious rogue under my 
 hands, he would presently make himself out 
 to be as honest a man as any in the city. 
 Let me ask of him a few more questions." 
 Then turning to his prisoner, lie added 
 " How long hast been a player ?" 
 
 " I cannot say I have ever been a player," 
 answered the other. 
 
 " There, I said I would presently make 
 him show himself for what he truly is a 
 masterless man, and no player !'' exclaimed 
 the turnkey, exultingly, to his companions, 
 and ' then turning sharply to the prisoner, 
 added " Prithee have done with thy coney- 
 catching ; I am not to be so caught, my 
 young master. Thou saidst but a moment 
 since thou wert a player, and now then 
 the impudency to declare thou hast never 
 been a player. What dost mean by that, 
 fellow?" 
 
 " I mean just what I said," replied Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare, undauntedly ; " I have 
 many times played in plays ; but as I have 
 done it solely for my own amusement, I could 
 not consider myself a player, who playeth 
 only for his own living." 
 
 " Truly, a just distinction," said one of 
 the gallants. 
 
 "A monstrous fine story, I'll warrant," 
 exclaimed the turnkey. " But if there be 
 any trutJr in what thou hast advanced, per- 
 chance trou wilt name some person of re- 
 pute who will testify to thy honesty." 
 
 " Very readily," replied the prisoner ; 
 " Thomas Greene, a player at the Globe, who 
 hath his lodging at the sign of the Phainix, 
 in Bucklersbury, where I was proceeding 
 when I was taken hold of by the constables 
 and conveyed here ; he will vouch for me 
 at any time, for he hath been my school-fel- 
 low ; as have also the younger Burbage, 
 Hemings, and Condell, other players at the 
 Globe." 
 
 " Marry,' players must make but sorry 
 vouchers, for, methinks, they be little better 
 than vagroms," observed the jailor. 
 
 " The persons named I know to be of a 
 very fair character," replied the gallant who 
 had before spoken. " William Shakspeare, 
 allow me to ask you one question ?" 
 
 " Any number, if it please you, sir." an- 
 swered the prisoner, charmed with the cour- 
 teous manner of his interrogator. 
 
 ' : Have you lost anything since your arri- 
 val in London ?" 
 
 " I have lost all I had," replied the other. 
 " The constables deprived me of what they 
 could lay their hands on, and the prisoners 
 here in Newgate took from me what was 
 left. I should have cared the less, if they
 
 f' 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 211 
 
 had spared me certain writings I had about I secret ; and the grave itself shall not be 
 
 " What sort of writings were they ?" 
 
 "Verses chiefly." 
 
 " Were they your own composition ?" 
 
 " They were." 
 
 " Is this or.e of them ?" inquired his ques- 
 tioner, placing a paper in his hand. 
 
 " Indeed it is, and the one I last wrote of 
 them all," replied the young poet, glancing 
 at his own lines, as if glad to have them 
 back. 
 
 " I am convinced of it," added the other. 
 " It was picked up by my companion, Master 
 Edmund Spenser, on the spot where you 
 had been struggling with the constables." 
 
 " I deem myself wondrous fortunate in 
 having been there at such a time," said 
 Master Spenser, warmly. " And having 
 read its worthy contents, I hurried to my 
 noble and esteemed good friend here, Sir 
 Philip Sydney, and succeeded, as I expected, 
 knowing his truly generous disposition, in 
 interesting him to seek you out, and deliver 
 you from your undeserved imprisonment." 
 
 William Shakspeare was surprised and 
 delighted beyond measure, at hearing of 
 names he had for some time looked up to as 
 the most honorable in the kingdom, and ex- 
 pressed himself very gratefully for the trou- 
 hle they had been at on his account. But 
 the matter rested not' here. He presently 
 walked out of Newgate, with his two famous 
 new acquaintances, without hindrance from 
 the jailor, for they had brought with them 
 the Earl of Leicester's authority for his li- 
 beration, which none dared gainsay : and 
 shortly after, to the infinite satisfaction of all 
 parties, he found himself seated by the side 
 of his early patrons, Sir Valentine and Sir 
 Reginald, at the house of Sir Philip Sydney, 
 by whom he was very kindly and liberally 
 entertained. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 To you I have unclasped my burthened soul, 
 Emptied the storehouse of my thoughts and 
 
 heart, 
 
 Made myself poor of secrets; have not left 
 Another word untold which hath not spoke 
 All that I ever durst, or think, or know. 
 
 FORD. 
 
 Give me a key for this, 
 And instantly unlock my fortunes here. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " BOY ! can I trust thee ?" 
 
 " Ay, my lord, with your heart's deepest 
 
 more silent than your poor page." 
 
 ' I do believe thee. I have tried thee long, 
 and found thee the faithfullcst honest crea- 
 ture master ever knew. That thou lovest 
 me I am assured. I have had good proof 
 on't. I thought there was not one heart in 
 whicli I could meet the slightest sympathy, 
 but in thee there are signs of such great 
 abundance as make me amends for the un- 
 feelingness of others. My spirit is weary of 
 long-suffering. My health is broken. 1 
 cannot disguise from myself I am sinking 
 fast. It therefore becometh necessary I 
 should procure some one to perform for me 
 those offices I sha,ll soon be disabled from 
 attempting. To do this I must betray a 
 secret I have kept as jealously as if my 
 whole life depended on its preservation ; and 
 in none can I put faith, save only thee. 
 Thou canst serve me if thou wilt, as page 
 never served his lord before; but if the duty 
 should be distasteful to thee, as 'tis very like 
 to be, I hold thee free to refuse ; and if after 
 what I am about to tell thee, thou canst look 
 on me no more as one worthy to be thy mas- 
 ter, I will honorably provide thee with all 
 things necessary for thy living elsewhere." 
 " My lord, I am in heart and soul a crea- 
 ture of your own ; and \vhatever service I 
 can render necessary for your safety, de- 
 pend on it, it shall be done faithfully and 
 well, according to my poor ability." 
 
 This conversation took place between 
 the Lord de la Pole and his page, after one 
 of the fearfullest of those fearful fits to 
 which the unhappy Earl was generally sub- 
 jecf, when he was left alone in the mourn- 
 ing chamber. It was evident, as he had 
 said, that his health was fast declining, for 
 his right noble countenance looked more 
 haggard than it was wont ; and his dark 
 lustrous eyes appeared to be rapidly losing 
 the fire which had so brightly lighted them. 
 His raven hair too had been thinned of its 
 luxuriance, and all about him bespoke that 
 breaking up of the constitution, which long 
 continued grief marks its victim for the 
 grave. His youthful companion \vore a si- 
 milar melancholy, doubtless caused from 
 constant observation of his lord's sufferings, 
 and this gave a very touching expression 
 to his handsome boyish features, which in- 
 creased greatly whenever he chanced to 
 turn his gaze upon the Earl. The latter, 
 still in his mourning suit, sate in the library 
 before mentioned ; and Bertram, in vest- 
 ments of the same color, seated himself at 
 a short distance, where he remained in an 
 attitude of the profoundest attention, and 
 with an expression of the most intense in-
 
 212 
 
 THE 
 
 YOU 
 
 JTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 terest, whilst the Earl proceeded with the 
 promised narration. 
 
 " Of my family, methinks I need say no- 
 thing," commenced he; "the greatness of 
 the Suflblks, of which I am a branch, must 
 be sufficiently known, but the fame of their 
 power and nobleness so influenced my early 
 life, I could not rest till I had done some- 
 thing worthy of the name 1 bore. My 
 youth was spent in foreign wars, under the 
 most famous leaders ; and whenever I heard 
 of any one celebrated for deeds of arms, I 
 sought all ways to surpass him ; nor would 
 I be satisfied till my pre-eminence was ac- 
 knowledged. But this was by no means 
 the whole of what I did. I had been well 
 instructed ; and perchance, I may add, I was 
 ever of a well-disposed nature, whereof the 
 consequence was, I took especial heed my 
 conduct elsewhere should be of a piece with 
 my achievements in the field. Honor was 
 my idol honor I worshipped : in no case 
 could I be prevailed on to meddle in any 
 matter wherein honor was not clearly con- 
 spicuous to all men's eyes ; and to the sume 
 extent that I strove carefully to attain every 
 title honor could bestow, I was jealous that 
 my right to it should have no questioning. 
 None could be more desirous of good opinion. 
 To hear myself well spoke of, was an in- 
 finite pleasure ; but to have any one's ill 
 word, to be ridiculed, slandered, or misused 
 in speech, fretted me beyond measure. May- 
 hap this was a weakness ; but whatever it 
 was, it kept unslacked in me the impulse to 
 exert myself to gain a lasting reputation, till 
 the name of De la Pole stood, as I proudly 
 believed, second to none in every commend- 
 able quality. 
 
 " I pass over my labors, to build me up 
 this go.odly reputation : suffice it to say, I 
 returned to my native land in the full vigor 
 of manhood, and at the court of her High- 
 ness Elizabeth was speedily recognized, as 
 what I had sought so earnestly to be. 
 Hitherto I had thought nothing of love ; my 
 career of honor left me no time for tender 
 dalliance, or else I was indifferent to the 
 charms of such fair creatures as I had seen ; 
 but amongst the queen's ladies there \vas 
 one, whose youth, beauty, character and sta- 
 tion, united to form, as I then thought, the 
 noblest damsel in the '"realm. In her, fame 
 had left no one part which envy might as- 
 sail ; and fortune had surrounded her with 
 such prodigality of gifts, as if to show how 
 delighted she was in having so worthy an 
 object on whom to bestow them. Methinks 
 'tis almost needless to say she had suitors. 
 She had broad lands ; she was of one of the 
 powerfu Ifamilies of the kingdom ; and she 
 
 appeared as peerless in conduct as she was 
 in person ; and such attractions could not 
 fail of bringing to her feet a sufficiency of 
 wooers. I had heard much in her praise 
 before I beheld her ; but ere I had an hour's 
 acquaintance, I doubted she had been done 
 justice to. Still I kept aloof from the crowd 
 by whom she was always surrounded, and 
 satisfied myself with observing her at a dis- 
 tance. Every day I saw her she seemed to 
 grow more admirable ; and each relation I 
 heard of her exceeded the preceding one, 
 towards proving her wondrous well disposed- 
 ness. 
 
 " A message from herself brought me at 
 last to her side a message so expressive of 
 compliment, I attended her summons with 
 more pleasure than ever I had known from 
 similar commendations, gratifying as they 
 had always been to me. Once there, it ap- 
 peared as though I must there stay. At first 
 she would scarce allow me to be anywhere 
 else ; but in a fair interval, I found myself 
 under so strong a charm, nowhere else would 
 I remain could I avoid it : in brief, I loved 
 her. Some months afterwards, I gained 
 from her, that long before she had seen me 
 she had loved me for my reputation. After 
 a delicious sufficiency of most exquisite 
 courtship, my happiness seemed to be com- 
 plete, when I received her in marriage. In 
 a little while, I believed my, real felicity had 
 only commenced, so much did my enjoyment 
 then exceed all that I had known before. 
 Every day she evinced in her character 
 some new and admirable feature ; the more 
 I saw of her, the more cause saw I to con- 
 gratulate myself I had been blessed with so 
 rare a partner. Her love for me looked to 
 be 'mingled with an honorable pride, that 
 made it all the more flattering to one of my 
 disposition. None could seem so exceeding 
 content none could have appeared so truly 
 affectionate. It may be easily imagined, my 
 love of praise at this time partook largely 
 of a desire of having my wife as famously 
 commended ; in fact it was the same identi- 
 cal feeling, for I looked on Lady Blanche as 
 the best and dearest part of myself ; and I 
 wished to see her pre-eminence in every 
 good quality universally acknowledged, be- 
 cause any contrary opinions might reflect 
 unfavorably on the other portion of me. 
 
 " At this period to add to her other pow- 
 erful claims upon my love, she promised to 
 become a mother an event I looked for- 
 ward to with an interest which exceedeth 
 all conceiving. Then it was there came on 
 a visit to me a young kinsman of mine. I 
 had heard rumors of his being of a wild 
 reckless disposition ; and that he bore him-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAr^PEARE. 
 
 213 
 
 self more carelessly than became any one 
 wishing to be honorably thought of. I liked 
 not this. It grieved me that one in any way 
 related to me should be so ill reported. One 
 day I took him aside and told him what I had 
 heard to his disadvantage, but he swore so 
 solemnly he had not deserved what was said 
 of him, that I could not help believing he 
 had been maligned, as he declared, by false 
 envious persons. I then counselled him to 
 marry some worthy woman, which would 
 put a stop to such slanders for the future, 
 and pointed to the happiness I enjoyed as 
 the best inducement to it he could -have ; but 
 he answered somewhat confusedly, that some 
 often considered themselves exceeding happy 
 from ignorance of matters, which, when 
 known, would make them the miserablest 
 persons in the world. Thereupon I said 
 such might be the c:ise, but as regarded my- 
 self there could be no possibility of such a 
 thing. He replied very earnestly, ' long may 
 you think so,' and witli a deep sigh left me 
 to my own reflections. 
 
 " My kinsman had ever shown to me a 
 marvellous frank and social spirit; but of 
 late I had noticed that he had rather avoided 
 me gazed on me with a countenance full 
 of pity, and when he talked, spoke with an 
 ambiguous and mysterious fashion, of which 
 I could make nothing, save a lamentation 
 that villainy should be so fairly disguised. I 
 marvelled, and not without an undefinable 
 uneasiness, at such sort of speech, but though 
 I pressed him to explain himself, he would 
 only shake his head, and say it was a thing 
 he had not the heart to do. Following close 
 upon the heels of this, he would oft regret 
 that so noble a gentleman as myself should 
 be so grossly impos3d upon ; and that, out of 
 extreme love for me, those who knew of the 
 cheat should be forced to allow of its con- 
 tinuance. All these hints and inuendoes, 
 and the mysterious manner in which they 
 were uttered, in time produced in me a most 
 fearful state of anxiousness and disquietude. 
 
 " It looked as though some extraordinary 
 mischief was impending, known only by 
 this kinsman, who liked not the office of 
 breaking such iil news, but in what quarter 
 it threatened, or in what shape it was to ap- 
 pear, I was completely at a loss ; and what 
 made the matter worse, so seemed likely to 
 remain. 
 
 "At last he dropped something concerning 
 of my dishonor. I fired at the word. My 
 whole nature* was stirred as if with a mighty 
 earthquake. We were alone. I presently 
 declared to him did he not tell me on the in- 
 stant the cause of what he had said, I would 
 slay him where he stood. He begged and 
 
 prayed most movingly I would let him off a 
 task he so hugely misliked, but the more 
 earnestly he strove to excuse himself, the 
 more fiercely I insisted on his declaring to 
 me whatever there might be to say. Then 
 he added with extreme seriousness, that the 
 consequences must rest with me that I was 
 hurrying on to meet my misery; but if I 
 would force the secret from- him, that I must 
 give him my assurance to take no measures, 
 or to show to any one a knowledge of it, 
 till he had given such proofs of its correct- 
 ness as he had at his disposal. This I sol- 
 emnly promised. My ears xlrunk in with 
 horror the tale he told me ; it was that once 
 being out late he had observed a gallant at 
 the dead hour of the night ascending by a 
 ladder of ropes to the Lady Blanche's cham- 
 ber so strange a sight made him marvel 
 exceedingly, and he stopped to see what 
 would follow. The gallant entered the 
 chamber, and there remained upwards of 
 an hour. When he again appeared at the 
 window there was a female in his company, 
 and they there embraced very fondly. Then 
 he descended to the ground and made off, 
 and the ladder was immediately drawn up 
 into the chamber. I felt as if I could have 
 torn my intelligence* lin.b from limb ; for it 
 angels had sworn matter of the like ten- 
 dency, I wou.ld not have credited a word of 
 it; but I dissembled so much of my passion 
 as to ask him if he recognized the female 
 he saw at the window. He said he did, for 
 he had such view of her as could not mis- 
 lead him. I bade him without fail confess 
 to me who it was. He replied on no ac- 
 count could he do so, as it might lead to ir- 
 reparable mischiefs : and added that he had 
 gone to the same place at the same hour 
 every night since, and had witnessed the 
 same proceedings. 
 
 " But I would have the name ; and by dint 
 of threat*, and repeated promises to behold 
 the proofs he spoke of, I gained it from him. 
 It was the countess. This I had anticipated 
 from the foregoing ; but on his confirming 
 my suspicions, I contented myself for the 
 present with determining in my own mind 
 to bestow a proper punishment on so vile a 
 traducer. However, I demanded of him to 
 lead me to the spot where he had seen what 
 he had related, fully convinced I should there 
 disprove every particular of his relation. Till 
 the hour appointed I kept myself as quiet as 
 I could, though my restlessness must have 
 been evident to all. 1 said to none what I 
 had heard. The countess retired to her 
 chamber somewhat earlier than usual, but 
 this I ought to have looked for, knowing the 
 state in which he was. Her manner was
 
 314 
 
 THE *)UTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 in no way different from the ordinary, save 
 she would have it I ailed something, assert- 
 ing she had r-jver seen me look so strangely, 
 and imploring me to take heed of my health. 
 To one, like myself, who placed such im- 
 mense importance on honorable opinion, 
 what had been told by my kinsman was like 
 enough to produce very terrible consequen- 
 ces. Certes I would not allow of its possi- 
 bility ; yet, for all that, I was filled with ap- 
 prehensions almost as unendurable as the 
 most perfect conviction could have been. 
 
 " To my great relief, midnight arrived, 
 and wrapping ourselves in large cloaks, my 
 kinsman tttid I proceeded behind some trees, 
 at a convenient distance from the Lady 
 Blanche's chamber window. The night 
 was somewhat dusky ; but not as I thought, 
 dark enough to prevent our seeing objects 
 as fur oft* as was required. There I stood 
 with the full intention of punishing my 
 companion's treachery as speedily as it might 
 become manifest. Having waited a consid- 
 erable time and seen nothing, I had just 
 commenced denouncing, with the fiercest 
 bitterness, his baseness in striving to impose 
 on me with so improbable a tale, when he 
 caught hold of me forcibly by the ami, cry- 
 
 ;d in a certain direc- 
 2 astonishment I then 
 
 ing ' hush !' and 
 tion. 
 
 pointe 
 To my exceedm- 
 
 beheld a man, closely wrapped up, stealing, 
 with extreme cautiousness, towards the 
 house. My wonder became the greater 
 when I observed him stop exactly under- 
 neath my wife's chamber window, and clap 
 his hands thrice ; and nought could exceed 
 the strange amazement I was in when I no- 
 ticed a female open the window and throw 
 out a ladder of ropes, on which the gallant 
 mounted rapidly the two caressed at the 
 window with every sign of mutual fondness, 
 and the next moment the ladder was drawn 
 up, and they disappeared. 
 
 ' ; I could not very plainly distinguish the 
 features of the lady, but the figure was man- 
 ifest beyond all mistaking. No one in the 
 house was in the same state ; and the dress, 
 too, was equally evident. It was the count- 
 ess. The horror, the shame, the rage, the 
 indignation with which I was filled at this 
 discovery, made me incapable of motion 
 nay, I stood breathless, as though I had been 
 turned to stone. My. senses were a com- 
 plete whirlpool of furious passions. I knew 
 not what to be about : all in me bespoke a 
 confused, bewildered, desperate madness. 
 My kinsman asking me what should be 
 done, roused me to a proper consciousness. 
 I bade him remain where he was, and if the 
 gallant, whoever he might be, sought to es- 
 
 hold him fast till I returned. At that he 
 drew his sword, and swore very earnestly he 
 should not escape alive. I then hastened 
 into the house. All slept or appeared to 
 sleep. There was a deathlike quiet in every 
 part of the mansion, that seemed in marvel- 
 lous contrast to the wild riot in my breust. 
 I gained the door gf my wife's chamber. 
 For the first time I had so found it, it was 
 locked. This discovery added fuel to the 
 fire. I strove with all my might to break it 
 open. It was too strong to be BO forced, but, 
 the violence of the shock I had given it 
 brought my wife to it presently. She in- 
 quired, in some seeming alarm, ; who was 
 there ?' I answered, commanding her to 
 open the door immediately. It was done. 
 
 " On my entrance she complained some- 
 what of my disturbing her rest so strangely. 
 1 , gave a rapid survey of the chamber, and 
 not finding him I sought for, I fixed a tierce 
 look on my wife, who was gazing on me as 
 it seemed, in the confusion of conscious 
 guilt. At this moment I heard the clashing 
 of swords, and running to the casement, 
 observed my kinsman fighting furiously 
 with the same person I had seen enter the 
 countess's chamber. The ladder of ropes 
 had been left attached to the window, and I 
 was proceeding to descend by it, when my 
 faithless wife caught hold of my arm, and 
 implored me not to venture myself into uny 
 danger. I took tin's as a crafty design to 
 assist the escape f her paramor, and with 
 violent execrations rudely thrust her from 
 me, and, as rapidly as 1 could, descended 
 the ladder. Ere I had got to the bottom I 
 beheld my kinsman fall and his opponent 
 take to rlight. I pursued, thirsting with 
 the horriblest vengeance, but at the distance 
 of about a hundred yards, to my infinite 
 rage and disappointment, I beheld him mount 
 a Meet steed and ride off at a pace that left 
 all pursuit hopeless. 
 
 " I returned to my kinsman, and found 
 him bleeding, and from his manner, appear- 
 ing to have been badly hurt. I assisted him 
 into the house ; but this took some time to 
 do, for he complained at every step, that he 
 could scarce endure the motion. ] at last 
 got him to his chamber. I found the house 
 in the same quietness as it had been when I 
 had entered it a short time previous ; and its 
 undisturbed state gave me a hope I might 
 still conceal my dishonor from the world a 
 hope I eagerly caught at. I extracted from 
 my wounded kinsman a solemn oath, that 
 what he had known and seen should never 
 pass his lips ; then proceeded I to the cham- 
 ber of a servant of mine, who had lived all 
 
 cape by the window, to fall upon him and I his life in my family, and in whose fidelity
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAK^EARE. 
 
 216 
 
 I could place implicit confidence. I called 
 him up, and as briefly as I could, acquainted 
 him with what had transpired. He readily 
 enough promised to do whatever I might 
 require at his hands. I then sent him to 
 call up my kinsman's servant, whilst I pro- 
 ceeded to my lady's chamber. I found her 
 lying on the floor senseless. I placed her 
 in her bed. In a short time, she began to 
 exhibit signs of consciousness, and with it 
 gave me reason to believe she was about to 
 become a mother. Thereupon I hastened 
 to the stables, saddled me a horse, and rode 
 at the top of his speed to the nearest mid- 
 wife ; and blindfolding her, and taking every 
 possible precaution, that she should not 
 know where she was going, I brought Her 
 back with me. She did her office. As soon 
 as I became aware of the child's birth, I 
 snatched it from her hand, and hurried with 
 it to the next chamber, where my faithful 
 Adam was waiting as I had desired, and to 
 him I gave it, with strict commands that 
 instant to drown it in the deepest part of 
 the Avon, which he vowed to do in such a 
 manner as should prevent the slightest clue 
 to discovery. Then I hurried the midwife 
 away with the same secrecy with which ] 
 had brought her. 
 
 " On my return, Adam acquainted me 
 that he had fulfilled my intentions to the 
 very letter, which gave me inexpressible 
 satisfaction, for there w*3 at least a riddance 
 of one witness to my dishonor. To the false 
 woman, its mother, I had resolved on satis- 
 fying my just vengeance -by a punishment 
 worse than death. None of the domestics 
 were yet stirring, and I gave orders on no 
 account should any bo allowed to go to 
 their lady's chamber, on the plea she was 
 in so bad a state she was not expected to 
 live. Thus I prevented her being seen by 
 any of the domestics for several days, during 
 which" time my kinsman was confined to 
 his own chamber by the hurt he had receiv- 
 ed, and therefore remained in as perfect ig- 
 norance of what was going on as the rest. 
 In the meaflwhile, with the assistance of my 
 faithful Adam, every thing was privily being 
 done as I desired. It was reported by him, 
 that the countess was daily getting worse, 
 and at last, to their infinite great grief and 
 Borrowing, it was given out she was dead. 
 A sumptuous funeral was prepared. I had 
 every sign of mourning placed about the 
 mansion ; and those signs I have never al- 
 lowed to be removed. But before the per- 
 formance of the funeral obsequies, I had 
 secretly removed the countess from her 
 chamber to another part of the building, 
 which had hitherto been scarcely ever used. 
 
 " Here was she shut up close from all 
 knowledge, save Adam and myself. He hath 
 never seen her from the date of her im- 
 prisonment till the present time, nor hath 
 she since then been allowed to behold any 
 human being but myself, her so deeply in- 
 jured husband; for such was my intended 
 punishment. All common necessaiies she 
 had, but her clothing was reduced to a coarse 
 mourning habit. Thus I had secured my 
 honor, but as I speedily found, at the ex- 
 pense of my peace of mind. Lady Blanche 
 made but one attempt to turn me from my 
 purpose, and that was at the birth of her 
 offspring ; but finding it needless, she never 
 after sought to. move my commiseration with 
 a single word, and seemed to have resigned 
 herself to the justice of her sentence. At 
 first, I took a sensible satisfaction in show- 
 ing myself to her, clad in the trappings of 
 woe. I declared to her what I had done, 
 and told her she was as dead to me as she 
 was to the world ; but in consideration of 
 the virtues she had assumed, my mourning 
 for her should only cease with my life. She 
 bowed her head submissively, and replied, 
 she was \vell content it should be so since 
 I had so willed it ; but before any very long 
 time had passed, I began to have doubts 
 that the manner in which I had endeavored 
 to keep the secret of my dishonor, was less 
 dishonorable than would have been its pub- 
 licity. An act which vengeance had not 
 allowed me to see in its proper colors, now 
 stood before me in all its horrible injustice. 
 I could easily reconcile my conscience to 
 any punishment of a guilty wife, but the 
 murder of an "innocent poor babe seemed 
 incapable of any justification. 
 
 " Nought in this world can exceed the 
 fierce struggles I have had to satisfy myself 
 with the deed ; but conscience, instead of 
 being overpowered by them, appeared to 
 grow the stronger after every encounter. 
 I 3 reviously, my dishonor, great as it might 
 be, was occasioned by no fault of mine own, 
 and by some, I doubted not, my reputation 
 would have stood in no way affected by it ; 
 but so ruthless a murder as that I had plan- 
 ned and put in practice, I felt was a crime 
 of the blackest die. the whole guilt of which 
 was mine, and if it was made public, I be- 
 lieved I should be condemned and shunncn 
 of all men. Remorse pursued me wherever 
 I went. Sleeping or waking the deed haunt- 
 ed me. I was perpetually goaded with the 
 reflection that Urban de la Pole, who had 
 won so many titles of pre-eminence, had 
 now made himself irrevocably on a level 
 with the basest and vilest in the land. Yet 
 all this time I sought as urgently as ever to
 
 216 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 excuse myself, by every manner of argu- 
 ment. Sometimes I succeeded, but only for 
 a brief space ; and again I was tortured by 
 the same dreadful feelings of self-condem- 
 nation. 
 
 " Years passed on ; but every year ap- 
 peared to increase my sufferings, and time 
 added to my misery, till it moved me like 
 a madness. During this long space the 
 countess bore her imprisonment without a 
 murmur she never once complained of her 
 privations she never once sought to re- 
 proach me for such stern usage of her she 
 
 must needs destroy me quite. It is with 
 the knowledge of my growing weakness, 
 and noting that my faithful Adam is getting 
 old apace, and witnessing thy extreme af- 
 fectionateness, that I came to the determi- 
 nation of putting such confidence in thee as 
 to require thy attendance on the countess 
 in place of myself. 
 
 " Thou hast not sought this secret of me. 
 I have seen such vouchers for thy honor- 
 able nature that I could trust thec, as I now 
 do, with the custody of my very so*ul. But 
 remember, as I told thee, that if thy disposi- 
 
 never once by w_prd, look, or sign intimated tion revolteth at the idea of serving a mur- 
 
 to me the slightest desire to change her way 
 of life. Whenever I presented! myself to 
 her, she wore a contented submissive look ; 
 which through twenty years of rigorous con- 
 finement hath remained the same, I found 
 out at last, that instead of punishing her I 
 was punishing myself. My sufferings were 
 becoming intolerable, whilst she did not 
 seem to suffer in any manner. Still I at 
 all times noticed in her an expression of 
 countenance which I felt deeply, but I can- 
 not describe. It seemed to appeal to me 
 more strongly than the most conspicuous 
 show of wretchedness could have done ; and 
 yet it was not one of wretchedness. It in- 
 variably made me, on my leaving her, ask 
 of myself, why I continued to bury her in 
 so merciless a manner ? and then followed 
 a raging storm of conflicting opinions for 
 and against her, in which remorse for the 
 murder I had perpetrated took its full share. 
 But in the end, I felt that death alone had 
 the power of affording her release. 
 
 " My kinsman, although h'e had got hurt 
 entirely in his zeal for me, I could not bear 
 the sight of. I know not why it was, but I 
 looked on him as the cause of my misery. 
 He it was who had first wakened me from 
 the dream of happiness and honor in which 
 I had been indulging; and I thanked him 
 not for his painstaking. When he was well 
 of his wound, I hastened his departure ; and 
 though he doth occasionally pay me visits, 
 the only part of them that pleaseth me is 
 when he turncth his back to be gone. 
 Since thou ha'st been with me I have seen 
 nothing of him, for which I am infinitely 
 thankful ; but I am in daily expectation of 
 hearing of his arrival. His nature and mine 
 can have no sort of assimilation. He never 
 comes but he goads me into frenzy with his 
 consolations and condolences, and a thou- 
 sand foolish speeches that call to my mind 
 my dishonor and my crime. Now I dread 
 his presence worse than ever, for the fangs 
 of remorse have worked in my heart such 
 deep wounds, methinks such probing as his 
 
 derer, I hold thee free to go at any time, 
 and will take careful heed thy going shall 
 do' thee credit. As for myself I can only 
 say, could a thousand years of severest suf- 
 fering undo the deed, I would set about it 
 with a cheerful spirit. Now tell rue, I pri- 
 thee, what thou art inclined to do. I offer 
 thee no reward for staying, and doing me 
 this great service, save my undivided love 
 and most absolute gratitude; shouldst thou 
 choose to go, I will enrich thee for life 
 Make thy choice." 
 
 " My lord you surely cannot doubt my 
 choice," replied Bertram, in a most winning, 
 affectionate manner. " I do as sorely la- 
 ment the deed that hath been done as can 
 you ; but our lamentations will never lessen 
 its enormity. Still from wh^t I have just 
 learned, I cannot hfelp perceiving you have 
 had monstrous provocation ; but provoca- 
 tion that justified the crime I cannot say 
 for methinks there can be no justification 
 where there is a crime or no crime where 
 a justification can be allowed. Neverthe- 
 
 materials, were you twenty times as guilty 
 as you are, were I to desert you after you 
 have put such entire confidence in me. Be- 
 lieve me, my Lord, my love for you is of 
 such a sort that I desire of all things to serve 
 you in honesty and faithfulness my whole 
 life through; and shall think my fortune 
 desperate, indeed, when it cometh to me in 
 such ill shape as my being forced to leave 
 so kind a master." 
 
 The Earl gave no answer to this earnest 
 and loving speech, unless it were replied by 
 his looks ; which, truly, appeared to be full 
 of right eloquent expression. lie presently 
 continued : 
 
 " Thou hast had opportunity for noticing 
 that a portion of this book-case hath been 
 ingeniously contrived to be a secret door, 
 
 known 
 
 Adam. 
 
 which is a chamber, which is no other than 
 
 the prison of my false Countess. There fur 
 
 only to myself and my faithful 
 This opens into a passage, beyond
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 217 
 
 twenty years she, a daughter of one of the 
 noblest families, hath endured such priva- 
 tions as the commonest menial scarce ever 
 is forced to resort to. I would have thee 
 now go to her and acquaint her with my 
 desire thou shouldst attend to her wants in 
 place of myself." 
 
 The page readily arose to fulfil his er- 
 rand, and the secret door being opened he 
 passed through it. Now he experienced 
 most strange feelings an infinite dread and 
 dislike of appearing before this dangerous 
 bad woman, who had done such terrible 
 mischiefs. He could not tolerate the in- 
 famy she had brought on herself, knowing, 
 as he did, the noble nature of the man she 
 had so basely wronged, and therefore thought 
 not*her confinement to be too great a pun- 
 ishment for her crime. He therefore pre- 
 pared himself to meet a woman whom he 
 should thoroughly detest at the first glance 
 one whose attractions must have faded 
 under the rigor of such long imprisonment, 
 and whose state, the lack of ordinary at- 
 tendance had made slovenly in attire and 
 uncleanly in person. He pictured too, in 
 his mind, her prison to be exceedingly dirty, 
 cheerless, and neglectful. His surprise may 
 be imagined, when he entered, where every 
 thing was as comfortable, neat, and orderly 
 as in the best apartment in the mansion. 
 Nothing could be so cleanly as seemed every 
 part of the chamber, and the only sign of 
 cheerlessness it had was its being entirely 
 covered up with black cloth. 
 
 If he was so greatly surprised with the 
 prison,4ie was far mor so with the prisoner. 
 He beheld before him a lady of extreme 
 beauty, looking to be in the very prime of 
 life. She was dressed simply in a black 
 robe, but the most splendid apparel could 
 not have shown to more advantage her ma- 
 jestic figure, or give such admirable con- 
 trast to her noble countenance. She was 
 sitting reading of a book at the entrance of 
 the page ; but as soon as she noticed him 
 she started up in a great marvel. Her won- 
 der was not without cause, for not having 
 seen any human baing save her lord for so 
 long a space, she could not but be infinitely 
 astonished at the presence of him she now 
 beheld. Truly, at any place Bertram was 
 no common sight, for by this time the hag- 
 gard, sjckly expression which long sickness 
 and suffering had left on his features, when 
 he first entered the house, was changed to 
 one of health and comfort, wherein the 
 softness of early youth was made more win- 
 ning by the sweet and pensive melancholy 
 with which his handsome features were 
 
 overcast. Now, with his intelligent eyes 
 radiant with wonder as he gazed on the 
 beautiful woman before him, he looked more 
 handsome than ever he had been whilst in 
 his present abode. His hair, in rich profu- 
 sion, fell down even to the white falling 
 bands spread open round his neck, which 
 added much to the picturesque expression of 
 his countenance, and his close-fitting suit 
 was famously adapted to display to the most 
 notable advantage the grace and symmetry 
 of his limbs. 
 
 After having thus wondrously gazed on 
 'each other for many seconds, the Lady 
 : Blanche at last broke the strange silence by 
 inquiring of the youth his errand. He spoke 
 it with so gentle a courteousness that none 
 could help being charmed with him, but the 
 countess took his message in very sorrowful 
 part. 
 
 " I pray you, tell me, young sir, for what 
 cause is it my lord refuseth to see me 2" in- 
 quired slie in a most urgent manner. 
 
 " His health, lady, is getting to be in so 
 decayed a state, it preventeth him," replied 
 the page. 
 
 " Alack !" exclaimed the Lady Blanche. 
 " I have marked his changed aspe*ct a long 
 time past. Whilst I was allowed sight of 
 him I cared not for being shut out from the 
 world, for from the first time I heard of his 
 gallant name, he hath been all the world to 
 me. But now I fed I am punished indeed. 
 I beseech you, gentle sir, implore him for 
 me that I may attend on him in his illness. 
 No servant shall serve him more humbly or 
 truly, than his once happy and honored 
 Blanche. Ah, me ! How wildly do I talk,;" 
 added the Countess, suddenly changing her 
 ardent, impassioned manner, to one of strict 
 patience and submissiveness. " Nay, if it 
 is my lord's will, it must needs be. Tell 
 him, gentle sir, I am ready to fulfil his 
 wishes." 
 
 When Bertram left her, his lord's faith- 
 less wife, whom a short time before he had 
 felt so disposed to detest from his heart, he 
 found he could not bring himself to mislike 
 her in any manner ; nay, she had awakened 
 in him feelings of a direct opposite tendency. 
 He marvelled a guilty woman could bear 
 such rigorous imprisonment so long a time 
 and it have no evident effect on her, he mar- 
 velled more, with the knowledge of her infa- 
 mous evil doing, she should wear so noble, 
 bright a countenance ; but all this could not 
 erase from his mind the impression of his 
 lord's narrative. He remembered the ter- 
 ribleness of the wrong she had wantonly 
 done so noble a gentleman, and strove to
 
 218 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 fortify his heart against the entrance of 
 those feelings, her language, looks, and 
 manner, had created in him ; nevertheless, 
 he found his thoughts taking to themselves 
 the shape of this question " Surely, this 
 lady, is not so wicked as I though', her." 
 
 On returning to the^arl, he told him every 
 syllable the countess had uttered in his 
 hearing, at which the former appeared ex- 
 ceeding moved, asked divers questions, hur- 
 riedly and anxiously, as to how she spoke, 
 and what she had said ; and every answer 
 manifestly did the more increase his uneasi- 
 ness. For a wlu'le he seamed lost in thought 
 but it was easy to see from the changing 
 expression of his aspect his deep sighing, 
 and violent hard breathing, that some such 
 struggle as had been but too common with 
 him, was going on in his nature. Bertram 
 stood observing him \vith a sincere, sweet 
 sympathy, expressed in every feature of his 
 countenance ; but saying never a> word, 
 knowing how useless was speech on such j 
 occasions. After a time the Earl recovered i 
 sufficiently to express what he would have ; 
 done. 
 
 " Methiiiks, 'tis full time this punishment 
 should cense," said he in a somewhat fal- ! 
 tering voice. " I can endure it no longer. : 
 This marvellous sweet patience of hers 
 subdues mo. My vengeance is gone, of my ; 
 honor I am careless. Go, tell her, she is 
 free to go where she will, so long as I may 
 never have sight of her again." 
 
 The page hastened to do his lord's bid- 
 ding, his thoughts by the way, busy in the 
 entertainment of every possible prejudice 
 against that false bad woman who had 
 brought such fearful sufferings upon her ; 
 generous, noble-hearted husband. He de- ' 
 termined to look on her as a very monster 
 an ungrateful, base creature, lost to every ' 
 sense of womanly excellence ; and expedite 
 her removal from the mansion by all means 
 in his power. He presented himself to the 
 lady a second time, and despite of his recent 
 stern determinations, delivered his message 
 as gently as though he spoke to some 
 person great in his respect. The Countess 
 heard it in evident emotion. Her cheek ; 
 grew pale and then red, of a sudden her 
 lips quivered somewhat but in the end her 
 whole countenance expressed a lofty pride 
 and noble majesty, which made her young 
 companion marvel more than ever. 
 
 " It cannbt be ;" replied she at last. 
 " Were I again to appear in the public eye, 
 perchance my lord's reputation would suffer ; 
 he, having for so long a period allowed it to 
 he closed against me. If my character hath , 
 
 gone, my death is no fiction. To what my 
 lord hath sentenced me I patiently submit. 
 Unless I can be wholly restored to his affec- 
 tions, which, methinks, 'tis vain to hope, I 
 wish here to live out my days, to the last his 
 
 foor prisoner, and humble, loving wife : and 
 will pray for him very earnestly on the 
 knees of my heart he may enjoy every man- 
 : ner of happiness that is-most to his liking. 
 I beseech you," gentle sir, tell him this much 
 ! from me that! will endure with all proper 
 submissiveness, whatever he shall think of 
 letting the world know of my existence : and 
 the only favor I would ask of him is, that 
 he will let me here remain till I have become 
 ! the thing he hath feigned. " 
 
 Again there was a change in the page's 
 thoughts of his lord's faithless wife ; his feel- 
 ings were now in her favor as strong as ad- 
 miration could make them. Her language, 
 her look, her bearing, savored so marvellous 
 I little of guilty consciousness, that he could 
 : not help 'saying to himself on leaving her, 
 I " Surely this lady cannot haX'e done the 
 ; wickedness with which she is charged." 
 i He acquainted the Earl with what had pas- 
 sed in consequence of his message, where- 
 upon, the unhappy man seemed more moved 
 ; than before, for he presently broke out into 
 a wonderful great passion of self accusa- 
 tions. 
 
 " Every word of hers cometh upon me 
 like a scourge !" exclaimed he, when his 
 frenzy had somewhat abated, " I have made 
 a terrible mistake ; I have been torturing of 
 myself all this while, instead of punishing 
 her. O reputation L reputation ! what a 
 poor idol of brass thmi art !'' And^n this 
 strain went he on, so much to the exceeding 
 grief of his faithful Bertram, that he knew 
 not what judgment to come to. He could 
 not believe his lord had misstated to him 
 anything, having had such manifold proofs 
 of his extreme honorableness of nature, 
 therefore he must needs consider the Count- 
 ess to be the very basest wretch breathing ; 
 and yet he could not think ill of that lady, 
 after having beheld in her as he had beha- 
 vior so thoroughly opposed to an unworthy 
 disposition. He considered much of the 
 matter; his reflections suddenly turned into 
 a new channel, and, as he left the chamber, 
 he put this question to himself " Surely, 
 there is some huge villainy at the bottom of 
 these woeful doings !"
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 This company were lightly the lewdest in 
 tlje land apt for pilfery, perjury, forgery, or 
 any other villainy. 
 
 GREENE (Groatsworth of Witte.) 
 
 " OH twine fresh roses round thy brow 
 
 And pledge the wine-cup high ; 
 Leave fears and cares to misers' heirs, 
 
 Leave tears to those who sigh. 
 For is there neatli heav'n a bliss so divine 
 As that which now beams in the sparkling 
 wine ? 
 
 Brighter than gems 
 In kings' diadems, 
 And fragrant as buds upon odorous stems. 
 
 Then fill to the brim ! Fiil to the brim ! 
 Fill whilst such joys on the green earth abound, 
 'Ere Pleasure grow pensive or Friendship 
 look dim, 
 
 Fill to the brim around ! 
 
 " Oh twine fresh roses round thy brow, 
 
 And pledge me once again : 
 Till we have quaff'd the rosy draught 
 
 And warmed the heart and brain. 
 Oar life is but short and our pleasures but few, 
 And time makes us old when our youth is but 
 new : 
 
 Wine then alone, 
 To all be it known, 
 Can grant us new life and a world of our own. 
 
 Then iiil to the brim ! Fill to the brim ! 
 Fill whilst such joys on the green earth abound, 
 Ere Pleasure grows pensive or Friendship 
 looks dim, 
 
 Fill to the brim around ! 
 
 " Bravo, Robin ! ' O,- my life, our sweet 
 Robin is a brave songster !" 
 
 ' Excellent well sung, as I live, Master 
 Greone ; and as Kit Marlowe most aptly 
 calleth thoe, thou art our own delectable 
 sweet Robin." 
 
 ' : Nay, Chettle, we will not have him so 
 mean a bird ; he is a swan at the very least." 
 
 ' ; Ay, truly, Master Lodge, by this hand, 
 a good thought. A swan a very swan ! 
 What sayest, Peele ? What sayest, Kyd ? 
 What sayest, Nash ? Is not Greens as right 
 famous a swan at singing, as though he 
 were the mighty Jove himself, going a bird- 
 ing after the delicate fashion told in the old 
 story ?" 
 
 "Prithee keep to the Robin, good Kit!'' 
 replied the singer, in the same merry humor 
 with his boisterous companions ; methinks 
 the conceit of the swan is somewhat dan- 
 gerous, it being a bird so nigh in feather to 
 a goose." 
 
 " Nay, nay, there is a huge difference in 
 the holding of the head," cried Kit Mar- 
 
 lowe, laughingly ; " so if*t chance to be 
 thou art only but a goose, if thou wilt but 
 have thy neck stretched, thou shall presently 
 be the braver bird, beyond all contradic- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " Then is Tyburn a choice place for 
 swanhopping ?" observed -Lodge, amid the 
 uproarious mirth of his associates. 
 
 "More wine! more wine! tapster!" 
 bawled Chettle ; " 'Slight ! after such mov- 
 ing praise of thy liquor, thou shouldst empty 
 thy casks for us, and charge nothing." 
 
 " Ay. by Bacchus, that thou shouldst, out 
 of sheer gratitude,'' added Nash. 
 
 "Truly my masters; and for mine own 
 part, I care not," said a miserable-looking, 
 threadbare knave, in a most abject manner, 
 " indeed, I care not in any sort of manner ; 
 yet, as I cannot live unless I sell my liquor 
 at some profit, I humbly beseech your wor- 
 ships, pardon me, that I would rather live 
 and sell, than give away and be ruined." 
 
 These were a party of play-writers, met 
 together round a rough table, in a mean 
 chamber of a common inn, near the Globe 
 playhouse, on the Bankside : they seemed to 
 be much alike as regarded their humors, be- 
 ing a set of as wild, licentious, unbridled 
 roysterers, as might be met with in any tav- 
 ern in Christendom. It was manifest on a 
 little stay with them, that they had more wit 
 than discretion, and less honesty than either ; 
 for their talk was either of tricks they had 
 practised, when reduced to any shifts, or 
 abuse of certain players they misliked, or 
 slander of certain writers, whose success 
 they envied. Their dress smacked of a 
 tawdy gentility ; in some instances showing 
 signs of-shabbiness, that could not be hid, in 
 others of expense that could not be afforded ; 
 for these worthies were of that .unthinking 
 sort, who feast to-day and fast to-morrow ; 
 carry their purses well lined on a Monday, 
 and ere the week hath half gone, have not a 
 groat. So improvident were they, that they 
 would have their canary for an hour or two's 
 enjoyment, though they should be reduced t<: 
 take their custom to the water-bearer, for a 
 month after ; and of so little principle were 
 the greater number, that as long as they 
 could get such indulgences as they most af- 
 fected, which were often of an exceeding 
 disreputable sort, they cared not a jot whe- 
 ther they had or had not in their power the 
 means of paying. Nevertheless, divers of 
 them were men of approved talent in their 
 art ; but this, methinks, should draw on them 
 greater censures ; for when men have know- 
 ledge, and use it not honorably, they should 
 be accounted infinitely more blameable, than 
 such as offend through igflorance.
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! by this light a most admirably 
 conceited jest, my de;ir boy," exclaimed 
 Greene, who, by the way, was a marvellous 
 different person from Tom Greene the player. 
 " But what dost think of this for a goodly 
 example of coney-catching. There hath 
 been a certain publisher to me, who is known 
 \vell enough to all here, requesting of rne to 
 write him something. I asked of him of 
 what kind, and thereupon he spoke so mov- 
 ingly of the great good to say nought of 
 the great profits that come of pious writings, 
 that on the instant I offered to compose a 
 repentance of my monstrous sinful life, 
 which should be so forcibly penned that the 
 wickedest persons that live should take ex- 
 ample of it, and straightway fall into godli- 
 ness. At this surely no man was ever in 
 such huge delight as was my saint-like sel- 
 ler of books ; and he offered me such fair 
 terms for a pamphlet of this tendency, that 
 I closed with him presently. Since then, I 
 have commenced my repentance ; and I carl 
 say most truly few have ever repented tljem 
 their sins with such profit as have I ; but 
 the jest of it lieth in this that my gain by 
 such labor must needs lead me into fresh 
 outbreaks, which at my need will form 
 goodly materials for another repentance, still 
 more cunningly to be wrought out for the 
 edification of strayed sheep, which will again 
 enrich my exchequer for advancing me 
 through a new career of revelry, to be fol- 
 lowed of course by the most pitiful repent- 
 ance of any. And in this manner mean I 
 to live sinning ^nd repenting, and repenting 
 and sinning, till there shall be no good to be 
 reaped by it, either for myself or any other." 
 
 Riotous shouts of laughter, and a famous 
 store of sharp witty saying, not worthy of 
 being written, accompanied this speech ; and 
 there was not one there present who did not 
 appear to regard it as fine a jest as ever they 
 heard. 
 
 " O' my word, but this is delicate coney- 
 catching indeed !" cried Nash, joining 
 heartily in the same humor. " When I am 
 hard pushed I will not fail following such 
 exquisite proper example ; and I only hope 
 I shall have grace sufficient to turn it to as 
 uotable great advantage." 
 
 " This showeth the utter foolishness of 
 such matters," exclaimed Kit Marlowe a 
 noted infidel. " And proveth that if you 
 bait your discourse sufficiently with relig- 
 ion, you may have in your power as many 
 gulls as can get within reach of it. But 
 hearken to the rare trick I played rny hostess 
 when I was reduced to such shifts forlodg- 
 ings I scarce kne*v where I should find my 
 lying for the next day. This woman was 
 
 coarse and fat, and a desperate shrew ; and 
 I being somewhat backward in paying her 
 pestilent charges, she opened her battery on 
 me at all hours, and at last swore very 
 roundly I should to prison and out of her 
 house, did I not settle what I owed by a cer- 
 tain day. Now it fortunately chanced so to 
 hap, her villainous house had two doors, one 
 front and one back, and she being usually 
 in a front chamber, put me upon practising 
 my wit in such a manner as should most 
 punish her, and most enrich rne. So I pre- 
 vailed on a broker of my acquaintance to 
 purchase ofme all the goods in my lodging, 
 on the condition that they should be removed 
 when I desired. Having got the money the 
 day before the day appointed for my paying 
 the grasping old avarice my hostess, I went 
 to her chamber, and told her I had come to 
 settle with her, her charges, which put her in- 
 to so rare a humor, that I kept her a full hour 
 talking and jesting, with the money in my 
 hand. Then thinking the broker had as I 
 designed, removed the old dame's chattels 
 | by the back door and got clear off, I begged 
 she wo'uld let me have of her some sort of 
 memorandum of the cancelling of my debt, 
 and quickly commenced counting of my 
 money on the table. Myrequest she thought 
 so reasonable, she lost not a moment in seek- 
 ing to gratify it ; but the instant I hoard her 
 proceeding to an upper room where I knew 
 she kept her pen and ink, I whipped up the 
 money and was out of the front door ere I 
 could draw breath. Truly, it must have 
 been most absolute and irresistable sport, to 
 have noted- the visage of my chap-fallen 
 hostess when she discovered not only the 
 loss of her money she was so desperate 
 about, but the departure of her lodger leav- 
 ing of his lodging bare to the very walls." 
 This narrative was received with more 
 riotous acclamations than the preceding, 
 and divers others of the company told the 
 like sort of tales, to the excessive mirth of 
 the rest, who looked upon them as most ad- 
 mirable jests ; and thus they kept drinking 
 and showing of their several humors. After 
 sometime they commenced talking of the 
 players, and not one was named who in their 
 thinking possessed the slightest share of 
 merit. Greene was a mere ape the elder 
 Burjjage a scare-crow the younger a poor 
 fellow that marred everything he spoke, 
 for lack of sense to know the meaning on't, 
 and Hemings and Condell very twins of 
 stupidness, who could do nought but strut 
 and fume, and blunder through such parts 
 as they uftlertook to play ; and so they pro- 
 ceeded with nigh upon all the players, 
 accompanying their opinions with marvel-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 221 
 
 loos lamentations their plays should be so [ 
 ill handled. 
 
 " Hast marked this new player, my mas- 
 ter ?" inquired Greene. 
 
 " What, him they call Shakspeare ?" 
 asked Marlowe. , 
 
 " Ay, '' answered his companion. "Didst 
 ever note so senseless foolish a person I \ 
 Marry, if there shall be found in him a 
 greater commodity of brains than may serve 
 him to truss his points withal, I have an 
 infinite lack of penetration." 
 
 " Slight, my dog would make a better 
 player!" exclaimed Marlow contemptuous- 
 ly. " Didst ever see any linger-post hold 
 itself so stiffly ? Didst ever find a drunken 
 tinker so splutter his words ! He hath a 
 little grace in his action as a costard-mon- 
 ger's jackass ; and as for his aspect, I could 
 get as much dignity out of a three-legged 
 stool.'' 
 
 li Well, well, he cannot do us any great 
 harm by his playing," observed Lodge. " He 
 is only put into the very poorest parts that 
 are written." 
 
 " Which he maketh a monstrous deal 
 poorer by his wretched performance," added 
 Greene. 
 
 " But who is this Shakspeare ? inquired 
 Nash. 
 
 " A very clown," replied Marlowe. " A 
 fellow that hath left the plough's tail and 
 his brother clods of the soil, in such utter 
 conceit of himself as to imagine he shall 
 become a famous player." 
 
 " He deserveth the whipping-post for his 
 monstrous impudence," said Peele. 
 
 " Give him a cap and bells, and dress him 
 in motley," added Kyd. 
 
 " Nay, I doubt he hath even wit enough 
 to pass for a fool," cried Greene, amid the 
 contemptuous laughter of his companions ; 
 and so went they on turning the edge of 
 their wits upon the new player, till the door 
 opening, there entered with young Burbage 
 the very person they were so sharp upon. 
 In an instant the whole company hailed ' the 
 poor fellow that marred everything he spoke, 
 for lack of sense to know the meaning on't," 
 as though none could be so well esteemed of 
 them. 
 
 " Sit thee down, my prince of players !" 
 cried Marlowe. 
 
 " Excellent Dick, I drink thy health," ex- 
 claimed Greene in the same extreme friend- 
 liness of manner. 
 
 " A pint of wine, tapster, for Master Bur- 
 bage V shouted Lodge, who had a new play 
 m fianu, and thought it good policy to be in 
 a. generous humor with the manager's son. 
 
 "Truly a good thought," added Nash, 
 
 who was more famous for commending of 
 another's generosity than of taking it as an 
 example. " It would be a notable remiss- 
 ness in us, to one to whose admirable choice 
 playing we stand so much indebted for the 
 success df our play, were we not at all times 
 to welcome him with open arms." 
 
 " Truly, I am beholden to you greatly," re- 
 plied young Burbage, sitting down amongst 
 them, by the side of his companion. ' I 
 shall be glad enough I warrant you, to do 
 my best in your honorable service, in espe- 
 cial when it cometh to be followed by such 
 fair wages. But your bountiful goodness 
 hath emboldened me to ask a liberal welcome 
 for my friend here, Will Shakspeare, whose 
 true social qualities, perchance, will lead 
 you, ere long, to thank me for his acquaint- 
 ance." Thereupon every one of the com- 
 pany greeted the stranger with as absolute 
 cordiality as ever was seen. 
 
 " O' my word, I have taken great note of 
 you, Master Shakspeare," exclaimed Mar- 
 lowe. " You promise well, sir ; by this light 
 you do ! I have not seen a young player 
 take to his art so readily since I rirst beheld 
 a play." 
 
 " Indeed you have the requisites, young 
 sir, of a complete master of playing," added 
 Greene. " You will shine. You will be 
 more famous than any of your day. You 
 will show the whole world how far an Eng- 
 lish player can exceed all that hath been 
 done of the ancients." The others followed 
 in the same vein, as if one was striving to 
 exceed the other in the extravagance of 
 panegyric : to this the young player replied 
 very modestly, as he at that moment believed 
 them to be sincere. This modest manner 
 of his seemed to convey to his new associates 
 an idea that he was of a poor spirit, as well 
 as vain enough to take to himself anything 
 in the shape of compliment, so they com- 
 menced covertly making of him their butt, 
 passing sly jests at his expense, and in pre- 
 tended compliments seeking to be terribly 
 satirical ; all which he took in such a man- 
 ner as seemed to strengthen them in their 
 small opinion of him. Doubtless, this made 
 them somewhat bolder with their wits. 
 
 " I pray you now. listen to me, Master 
 Countryman," said Marlowe, as if with a 
 monstrous show of aft'ectionateness. " I 
 will give you famous advice, I promise you. 
 As to your walk, methinks 'tis well enough 
 it showeth at least you are inclined to put 
 your best leg foremost, if you knew which 
 it was ; but methinks you are somewhat too 
 long in making up your mind which should 
 have precedence. As to your look, let it 
 pass it cannot be bettered I defy any one
 
 222 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 to show such a face for a player. Then for 
 your arms to make them swing like the 
 sails of a windmill, is a new grace in motion, 
 and, I doubt not will take exceedingly with 
 the groundlings : but, perchance of the two 
 styles you most affect, that in which you 
 seemed you were holding of a plough, is the 
 most delicately natural. I commend it 
 wondrously, only I would have you turn out 
 your elbows more than you do it seemeth 
 as if you determined to make for yourself 
 elbow-room. Lastly, of your voice O' my 
 life, I never heard a carter with a better 
 voice ; and the way you deliver your speech- 
 es, as though you were talking to a horse, 
 must be infinitely effective on a stage : but 
 I would have you speak louder let the ap- 
 prentices in the topmost scaffold know you 
 have lungs, and can use them to some pur- 
 pose. To keep up a good bawling is highly 
 commendable." 
 
 "Ay indeed, that is it," added Greene, 
 after the same fashion : " some there are of 
 the sock and buskin who play a feeble old 
 man with the throat of a boatswain ; but 
 when you come on as a courtier, looking so 
 much the sturdy hind, one fancieth every 
 moment you will be feeding of hogs or 
 thrashing of corn, which to my thinking is 
 exceeding more wonderful." 
 
 Others of their companions went on in the 
 same biting humor, the object of it all the 
 whilst, to the marvelling of young Burbage, 
 who saw the drift, taking what they said 
 with a show of notable simplicity, without 
 offering a reply. At last when he thought 
 they had exhausted their wit he spoke. 
 
 " I thank you heartily my masters, for 
 your excellent counsel," replied he very 
 gravely. " Believe me I do not undervalue 
 it, knowing that the very meanest things 
 that breathe may oft do a wondrous fine 
 service as witness the cackling of the 
 geese that saved Rome. Some of you have 
 been good enough in commending of my 
 perfections, to speak famously of several of 
 the notablest parts of my body ; but divers 
 qualities of them have been left untold : the 
 which, for the lack of a better chronicler, I 
 will now seek to give you some notion of. 
 He who spoke so movingly of my legs, forgot 
 to add that on an occasion, they could kick 
 an impudent shallow coxcomb to his heart's 
 content. Of my face it is as God made it. 
 Perchance it would have been better gifted, 
 had any of such persons as are here given 
 it the benefit of their greater skill, for I 
 doubt not I could prove in a presently, some 
 of you possess a very marvellous facility in 
 the making of faces. As for my arms, 
 doubtless they have a sort of swing with 
 
 them, I having in me so much of the sturdy 
 hind ; but though sometimes it is my hap to 
 come where the hogs feed themselves, the 
 thrashing part of my supposed duty I am 
 ready enough to perform, as long as there is 
 such necessity for it as there appeareth at 
 present. And with regard to my voice, 
 Master Marlowe, if I have in my speech at 
 times past appeared, as though I were talk- 
 ing to a horse ; surely, at this moment, there 
 is m it a notable likelihood I am speaking to 
 an ass." 
 
 No speech was ever received with such 
 astonishment by any company, as the pre- 
 ceding. Every man of them seemed as 
 much confounded as though they ha/1 raised 
 a hornet ; and, as the concluding sentences 
 were so pointedly directed to the foremost 
 of them in their sharp attack upon the so 
 despised "Master Countryman, he was 
 manifestly the most touched by it of them 
 all. 
 
 " Fellow, dost adddress gentlemen in this 
 styie ?" exclaimed he, as if half inclined to 
 be in a rage. 
 
 "Truly I think net," was the cutting 
 reply. 
 
 " Nay, 'tis all a jest of his, Master Mar- 
 lowe," said young Burbage, endeavoring to 
 keep the discomfitted wits in something like 
 good humor, " he is the very admirablest 
 fellow at such things that can be found 
 anywhere ; Mid try him at it when you will, 
 you shall find him so expert at his weapon, 
 there is no getting the better of him." 
 
 " O' my word, I cannot say much about 
 getting the better of me," observed William 
 Shakspcare, laughingly. " But can I serve 
 any of this worthy company, assuredly they 
 shall have the best of what ability I have." 
 
 Such of the worthy company that had been 
 in any way inclined for a quarrel, after suffi- 
 cient note of " the sturdy hind," thought 
 proper to look as if they were famously 
 amused ; and in honest truth, whether it 
 was from his natural cheerful humor, or a 
 desire to conciliate, the former so entertained 
 them with his delectable choice wit, that 
 presently the whole place was kept in a roar 
 by him. In the midst of this the tapster 
 came and whispered to Master Greene. 
 
 "Oh, let him up, let him up," replied he: 
 then turning- to the company, added, seeming 
 in an exceeding pleasant mood, " Here is a 
 certain well-known honest friend of mine, 
 coming to join us, one Cutting Ball he 
 hath done me many services. Indeed, a 
 right excellent good fellow is he, and a 
 useful." 
 
 " I promise you," replied Marlowe, with a 
 knowing wink, " Cutty standeth by you, out
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 223 
 
 of return for your standing by his fair sis- j cried Kyd, " we will tolerate no such vil- 
 ter." ; lainy. Restore your ill-got booty, fellow." 
 
 " Let that be as it may," cried the other, " Ay, truly," added Greene, as stern- 
 joining in the general laugh, " but to Master , ly as any of them. " Give Master Shaks- 
 Ball I owe much ; for he is so vigilant a peare his goods again, I prithee. O, 
 watch, that he allovveth not a pestilent bai- my word ! I am ashamed thou shouldst act 
 liff to shew his nose within a mile of. me ; with so thorough a disgracefulness. I in- 
 and if any should chance to come, seeking to sist that thou give back every tittle of what 
 make me their prisoner, Cutty and his fel- thou hast taken." 
 
 lows do so pay them my debts, that they are i ' Of course ! of course !" shouted one and 
 glad enough to 'scape with broken crowns, ; all. 
 for lack of better coin." " I do confess, I made bold with certain 
 
 These remarks were put an end to by the , things belonging to this good gentleman," 
 
 entrance of the object of them ; but, to the 
 surprise of all present, no sooner had he en- 
 tered, than young Shakspeare jumped on his 
 legs, stared at Cutting Ball, and Cutting 
 Ball stared at him, though in a manner as if 
 Cutty was somewhat confused. 
 
 "I greet you well, Captain Sack!" ex- 
 claimed the former at last ; " I pray you tell 
 me, how are your worthy, honorable com- 
 panions, Master Sugarsop, and my Lord Cin- 
 namon ? Truly I should have been right 
 glad had you brought them with you." 
 Then addressing Greene, he continued in 
 something of the same strain, evidently to 
 the prodigious marvelling of the company, 
 ' : Marry, Master Greene, but this same hon- 
 esl friend of yours, and I, are old acquaint- 
 ance. Methinks if I could forget that 
 stained velvet doublet, I could not put out of 
 my memory a visage that hath so many 
 marks to know it by. In brief, your honest 
 friend, with two others of a like honesty, de- 
 spoiled me a short distance from Loadon, on 
 the Uxbridge Road ; and I pray you, make 
 your honest friend return me the things he 
 robbed me of, else shall I be obliged to in- 
 troduce your honest friend to one Master 
 Constable, who, if your honest friend shall 
 get his Deserts, may chance to assist him in 
 making the acquaintance of one Master 
 Hangman.!' 
 
 At the hearing this, it was difficult to 
 say which looked the most confounded, 
 Master Greene or his honest friend ; and as 
 
 replied Cutty Ball, seeing there was no use 
 in denying the robbery ; " but had I known 
 he was a friend, I would have despoiled my- 
 self rather than have touched ought that be- 
 longed to hpn." 
 
 " I thank you, Captain Sack, or Cutty 
 Ball, or whatever your name may be," an- 
 swered young Shakspeare ; " but 1 should 
 thank you more would you be so good as 
 give me back those same things ; for truly I 
 stand so much in need of them, I shall be 
 forced to get them with the assistance of 
 such persons as I just now promised to make 
 you acquainted with, should you not return 
 them speedily." 
 
 " Ay, without doubt, and I will see to it 
 myself," exclaimed Marlowe and others of 
 his companions, who appeared equally in- 
 tent upon making the thief restore what he 
 had stolen. 
 
 " I'faith, ..I should be right glad enough 
 to do it, honorable sir, only in honest truth, 
 I have them not," said the thief. 
 
 " By this hand, that shall never pass," ex- 
 claimed Marlowe. 
 
 " O' my life, I will have thee get back 
 these goods, even if thou hast parted with 
 them," cried Greene, with equal earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 " Bots on't, so will I if I can !" replied 
 Cutty, somewhat sharply, " although I have 
 not the honest gentleman's things, mcthinks 
 he shall not have to go far to find them ; for 
 I have good reason for knowing, Master 
 
 for the rest, few of them seemed to take the j Greene at this present hath on one of his 
 
 matter very pleasantly. 
 
 shirts ; and Master Marlowe a pair of his 
 
 " Plague on't, Cutty, how couldst act so ; hose. Master Peele now weareth his falling 
 unworthily !" cried Marlowe, as if in a fa- j bands ; and Master Lodge had of me certain 
 mous indignation. other articles of linen, which make up the 
 
 'Slight man, 'tis monstrous !" exclaimed \vho0of what I took.'" 
 
 Nash, looking to be exceeding angered. 
 
 Terrible was the confusion of these four 
 
 " O' my life ! had I known thee to be so ] worthies who had been so forward in call- 
 desperate a rogue, Cutty, I'd have been , ing for restitution, at finding that they them- 
 hanged ere I would have tolerated thy infa- selves possessed the plunder : nevertheless, 
 mous company !"' said Lodge, in a like fash- \ with the best grace they could, they prom- 
 ion, ised every thing should be restored to the 
 
 " S'blood ! but you must give up what lawful owner, protesting most vehemently, 
 you have so basely taken, Master Ball," 1 that when they accepted them, they believed
 
 224 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 them to be honestly come by; all which 
 their friend Cutty Ball heard with an easy 
 impudency, that did in some manner belie 
 their assertions; and the young player, 
 though having penetration enough to spy 
 into the real nature of the transaction, ap- 
 peared to be satisfied. Soon after Master 
 Burbage whispering to Lodge that the read- 
 ing of his new play was fixed for twelve o' 
 the clock, took his leave of the party, taking 
 his friend with him. 
 
 " I thank thee, Will, for the very proper 
 castigation of those fellows," exclaimed 
 young Burbage, laughing heartily ; " me- 
 thinks they would now as lief meddle with a 
 mad dog, as play their saucy humors on 
 thee. Surely, never were a set of insolent 
 biting jackanapes so quickly brought to their 
 marrow-bones." 
 
 " Truly, thoy chafed me somewhat, or I 
 would not have answered them so sharply," 
 replied his companion. 
 
 It may here be. proper to advertise the 
 reader, that the young player had profited 
 nothing by his introduction to Sir Philip 
 Sydney, or by his falling in with his old 
 friends, Sir lleginald and Sir Valentine, 
 he not having informed them of his need be- 
 fore they left England for Flanders. Nor 
 had his acquaintance with Master Spenser 
 as yet availed him anything, for almost as 
 soon as they became known to each other, 
 that the right famous poet had been forced 
 to go a voyage to Ireland. For his becom- 
 ing a player, he was solely indebted to the 
 exertions of his schoolfellows, who absolute- 
 ly forced their manager to make him one of 
 their company. This the elder Burbagedid, 
 and with an especial ill grace, for no man 
 relisheth doing any thing against his will ; 
 but it was evident he had taken a huge dis- 
 like to the young player. He put him into 
 playing only such poor characters as could 
 gain him no reputation ; and gave him for it 
 so small a wage, that he could not so much 
 as find himself a decent living. During all 
 this while he had to bear all manner of priva- 
 tions, and hardships innumerable, now at a 
 loss for lodging now for victual and now 
 for raiment ; and yet making so little show 
 of the great straits to which he was so often 
 reduced, that his true friends knew it not un- 
 less by some accident it came to their Imovv- 
 1edge. 
 
 This sort of life was a monstrous differ- 
 r,,ce to what his golden anticipations had 
 made out to him. But he bore his ill-fortune 
 with a most cheerful spirit still as san- 
 guine as ever believing he should yet 
 raise for his dear children such a heritage 
 as should enrich and ennoble them to the end 
 
 of time. As soon as he found himself in some 
 way of settlement, he wrote to John a Combe, 
 among other things, inquiring for his off- 
 spring with all the eloquence of a fond 
 father, and "of himself, merely saying there 
 was likelihood he should do as well as he 
 wished : in reply to which he received a 
 very comfortable letter, marked with the 
 caustic sharpness the writer so much affec- 
 ted, yet for all that, betraying such natural 
 goodness of heart as was customary with 
 him. As the young player expected from 
 his knowledge of her character, it also in- 
 formed him that his wife assumed the bear- 
 ing of one horribly ill-used. This intelli- 
 gence brought him to reflect on the amiable 
 sweet qualities of the accomplished Mistress 
 D'Avenant, whose letters to him full of fe- 
 minine purity and highmindedness now 
 formed the chiefest pleasure his poor fortunes 
 set at his disposal. 
 
 At twelve o' the clock he was with the 
 rest of the company, on the stage assembled 
 to hear the reading of a new play written by 
 Master Lodge. The elder Burbiio-e^at in a 
 chair, with the MS. in his hum!; his brother 
 players, the author and divers of his friends 
 standing about him, or getting seats where 
 they could. The whole place looked ex- 
 ceeding dismal and comfortless. Below the 
 stage, where the groundlings were wont 
 to stand, was an old woman, busy sweeping 
 out the dirt, bitten apples, orange-peel .and 
 nut-shells, which had there been left. In 
 the rooms above, were one or two other such 
 remnants of humanity, engaged in scouring 
 and cleaning. From one part of the stage 
 the hammer of a carpenter was heard, noisily 
 enough putting together the materials of a 
 castle, in another, a painter was brushing 
 away in a great hurry, to make his canvas 
 assume something of the resemblance of a 
 deep forest albeit it seemed the likeness 
 did not promise to be very notable. Here 
 was a fellow on his knees, polishing of a piece 
 of rusty armor ; and there a tailor, in his 
 shirt-sleeves, stitching away at a torn doub- 
 let. The light came in from the open roof, 
 very brightly ; but for all that the building 
 had a monstrous miserable sort of look 
 with it. 
 
 It was thus situated the Manager read the 
 new play which proved to be a singular 
 admixture of talent and bombast unnatural 
 characters extravagant scenes, and such a 
 labyrinth of a plot nothing could be made of 
 it : yet despite of these great blemishes, the 
 play lacked not merit. There was force in 
 the language, and occasionally beauty and 
 amid heaps of confused nonsense, there were 
 a few clever touches of nature that appeared
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 225 
 
 the more admirable for being so surrounded ; 
 nevertheless, the chief players condemned it, 
 and the elder Burbage spoke more against it 
 than any. 
 
 " I think the play would do well enough 
 were it altered somewhat ;" observed Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare. 
 
 " A good jest, I'faith !" exclaimed the 
 manager, sarcastically, " what dost tlimi 
 Imovv of plays, I wonder ? Marry, but 'tis 
 like thy irapudency to give an opinion on 
 sucli a matter !'' 
 
 " Truly, I think he knoweth as much of 
 the matter as any of us," said Tom Greene. 
 
 " Indeed does he !" cried old Burbage with 
 a look of seeming great amazement ; " per- 
 chance, Master Cleverslnkes, thou wilt thy- 
 self essay to make this play well enough ?" 
 t '' I doubt not I could so make it ;" replied 
 the yo'ing player. 
 
 " What intolerable presumption !" ex- 
 claimed the manager. " O' my life, Will 
 Shakspeare. so vain a person as thou art, 
 never met I in all my days. Thou art, as it 
 were, new to the stage, and yet thou talkest 
 fif alt 'ring plays for the better, writ by one 
 well iisod to such writing !" 
 
 ' I beseech you, Master Manager, let him 
 try his hand at it, if he will," said Master 
 Lodge. ' If I be nut hugely mistaken, we 
 shall have at least some sport in his altera- 
 tions." 
 
 " Ay, let him have it, Burbago :" .added 
 Tom Greene ; " Will must needs have a fa- 
 mous talent if he can mend such a play as 
 this.'' 
 
 " Wilt take it in hand ?" asked the man- 
 ager.^ 
 
 " Gladly," replied young Shakspeare. 
 
 " Heaven help thee out of thy conceit !" 
 cried old Burbage giving him the MS. as he 
 rose from his seat. Some of the players 
 laughed ih-o authors sneered, but William 
 Shakspeare took the despised play to his 
 lodgings full "of confidence in his own re- 
 sources and then by altering, omitting, and 
 adding, where he thought such was most 
 needed, he after many days stud}-, made it to 
 his mind. Certes he was glad of such an 
 opportunity to distinguish himself, and took 
 marvellous pains he should do well what lie 
 had undertaken. At last lie brought back 
 the play, and it getting to be known what he 
 had assayed, there came that day all the 
 chiefest phy- writers to have a laugh at his 
 expense even his old schoolfellows thought 
 he had promised to do more than he could 
 perform. 
 
 ' ; I have brought you here the amended 
 play of Master Lodge," said the young 
 Shakspeare to the manager offering him 
 15 
 
 the MS. back again. " Perchance you will 
 now be so good as read it in its present state. 
 
 " Nay, an' you catch me reading your 
 foolish stuff you are cleverer than I take you 
 to be," replied the other, and at this the 
 play-writers set up a loud laugh. 
 
 " Well, an' you will not do that, mayhap 
 you will allow my reading it," added the 
 young player, evidently in no way discon- 
 certed. 
 
 " Read it or eat it 'tis all one to me," 
 answered the manager ; and again the wits 
 had a laugh at the expense of " Master 
 Countryman." With this permission Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare commenced reading the 
 altered play. At first, the players were 
 heedless, and the play-writers amused them- 
 selves by tittering at the style of the young 
 player's reading ; nevertheless, the% latter 
 read on. As soon as the alterations became 
 evident, he iiad a much more attentive au- 
 dience, the players were surprised the 
 play-writers amazed, and the manager lis- 
 tened and stared, as though under an en- 
 chantment. He continued the play, the 
 faultless delivery of which must of itself 
 have been a sufficient treat to any one caring 
 to hear an admirable reading : but the pas- 
 sages of exquisite sweet poetry the bursts 
 of passion, the powerful sketches of charac- 
 ter, and the thrilling interest of the scenes 
 which Master Lodge's play now possessed, 
 appeared to all present something truly 
 marvellous. 
 
 " Shall this play be played, my masters ?" 
 inquired young Shakspeare, something tri- 
 umphantly by the way, as he noted the effect 
 the perusal of it had made upon his au- 
 dience. 
 
 " Played !" exclaimed Tom Greene, in a 
 famous pleasure, " I'faith, we shall deserve 
 to count for precious asses all our days, 
 should we let so got>dly a play escape us.'" 
 k " By this light, 'tis the movingest, natu- 
 ralest piece of writing I ever heard," cried 
 young Burbage, in a like humor. His father 
 said nothing : for he was one of those, who 
 when they contract a prejudice against a 
 person are exceeding slow in getting it re- 
 moved ; but he was too old a jiudge of such 
 things not to know the nature of the perfor- 
 mance as it stood. As f<Jr the play-writers, 
 they looked at one another as if each was 
 striving to exceed the other in the expression 
 of his wonder ; but as Master Lodge, seeing 
 j he could not help it, acknowledged his plfry 
 | had been greatly improved, they confessed it 
 ' needs be so, as the author had said it. As 
 all the players were of one mind as to its 
 fitness for being played, the parts, were im- 
 mediately given out, and a day for a first
 
 J26 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 rehearsal fixed. The most envious of the 
 play-writers then went away, consoling of 
 themselves with the hope it might be damned. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXiy. 
 
 Some, men with swords may reap the field 
 And plant fresh lainfcls where they kill ; 
 But their strong nerves at last must yield. 
 They tame but one another still. 
 Early or late 
 They stoop ofate, 
 
 And must give up their murmuring breath 
 
 When they, pale captives, stoop to death. 
 
 SHIRLEY. 
 
 To set a lavve and kepe it nought, 
 There is no common profit sought ; 
 But above all, natheless, 
 The la we which was made fqr pees, 
 Is good to kepe for the beste ; 
 For that sette. all men in reste 
 
 GOWER (Confessio Amantis.) 
 The villainy you teach me I will execute, 
 and it shall go hard but 1 will better the in- 
 
 struction. 
 
 .SHAKSrEARE. 
 
 I MUST ask of the courteous reader to wend 
 awhile with me in the company of one, of 
 whom the historian has said nothing ; but, 
 as is ordinarily the case when he hath a 
 proper object, he hath not said one half suf- 
 ficient ; I allude to that accomplished gentle- 
 man, and truly valiant soldier, Sir Philip 
 Sydney. He possessed the comprehensive 
 mind that could only be fully developed in a 
 wide field ; but, unfortunately it was con- 
 tracted to suit the comparative subordinate 
 parts he was called on to fill ; and it took 
 refuge by idling itself in its leisure, in the 
 fashioning of quaint, conceits, that suited the 
 age in which they were produced, but were 
 not enough true to catch the favor of Time ; 
 besides which he possessed that truly intel- 
 lectual nature which exists entirely free 
 from tha clay of human selfishness. He had 
 no absorbing passion, that suck all into self, 
 till the soil becometh to be a mass of abomi- 
 nation, that polluteth what it touches. His 
 humanity was as different to this as is sun- 
 shine to a cloud. There was at one time 
 some talk of his being elected to the vacant 
 throne of Poland ; but Queen Elizabeth 
 would not have him leave her, she held him 
 so high in her esteem. Would he had been 
 s#king! what a glorious lesson he would 
 have set the community of crowned heads ! 
 and, in honest truth, as far as I have seen 
 of them they do lack infinitely some such 
 teaching. 
 
 It hath been already said, that during the 
 
 prosecution , of the war in Flandors, Sir 
 Philip was sent out as governor of Flushing, 
 which was to the huge -content of the ma- 
 gistrates and citizens. Ik-re he stayed, well 
 liked of all persons, his chiefest companions 
 being Sir Reginald and Sir Valentin^-, llav- 
 ving by his wise rule and courteous beha- 
 vior won the love of the whole town, he set 
 off with the two young knights to join the 
 army. Doubtless were all three sufiiciently 
 desirous of meeting the enemy in a fair field ; 
 but the ardor of Sir Reginald and his young 
 friend was very properly tempered with the 
 prudence and circumspection of their more 
 experienced associates. They at last carne 
 to the camp at Zutphen, where were assem- 
 bled with the besieging forces the Earl of 
 Leicester, as lord-lieutenant, with some of 
 the valiantest of England's chivalry, among 
 whom might be named the. Lord Willoughby, 
 the Lord Audley, the Earl of Essex, Sir 
 John Norris, Sir William Stanley, and Sir 
 William Russel ; but as soon as they knew 
 he was amongst them, they thronged to do 
 him honor, with as great show of love and 
 reverence as though he were the comman- 
 der of them all.' The Earl of Leicester pre- 
 sently showed himself to be a better courtier 
 than a general ; for he did little beyond dis- 
 playing his magnificence. 
 
 The siege commenced on the fifteenth of 
 September, and wherever there was any 
 fighting there was sure to be Sir Philip 
 Sydney and his two companions. As yet, 
 neither had received hurt ; but what spare 
 time he had Sir Philip would spend in his 
 tent, putting his papers in order and writing 
 his will : and by his sober discourse, show- 
 ing ho held himself in readiness should he 
 fall in the coming battle. But like a careful 
 master he took every possible opportunity 
 of teaching his disci ple.s a knowledge ol 
 their art. He showed to them how the en- 
 trenchments were made, explained to them 
 the nature of the artillery, and made them 
 familiar with the character and uses of the 
 several fortifications. Indeed all that might 
 be learned of the properest method of besieg- 
 ing a fortified town he taught them in the 
 camp before Zutphen ; and he laid it down 
 with such clear principles that nothing could 
 be so manifest to the understanding, as was 
 his teaching. A famous scene was it for 
 all young knights. 
 
 Great rows of tents spread far and/wide with 
 the panoply of war conspicuous about them, 
 from which officers at the head of their com- 
 panies issued at divers times, some on foot 
 and some on horse some to forage for the 
 army in the surrounding country others to 
 cut off the enemy's victual if any such could
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 227 
 
 be found. Then came the great guns and j 
 the ammunition waggons, with a strong | 
 guard for the forming of a battery and par- 
 ties of soldiers hastening to relieve those 
 working in the trenches. Here and there 
 would b3 seen the captains inspecting the : 
 different posts or hurrying to their coiaman- j 
 ders to acquaint them how matters stood. In 
 the distance might be noticed the flames of! 
 some neighboring village where had been 
 some skirmish ; and in another spot a de- 
 tachment driving cattle and grain to the en- 
 campment whilst afar off to the verge of 
 the horizon, the smiling country looked as 
 though such a thing as war was as far from 
 them as is Hell from Heaven. . 
 
 The enemy were of exceeding force in the 
 town, numbering many thousands, composed 
 chiefly of Spaniards and Italians, with Alba- 
 noys, both horse and foot, well equipped 
 with all things necessary for fierce fight- 
 ing ; and they had made their works of a 
 very notable strength, but they were some- 
 what distressed for provisions, which was 
 well known to the besiegers, and gave them 
 great hopes of overcoming the place. It was 
 late one evening, about a week after the 
 commencement of the siege, that Sir Philip 
 Sydney and his two companions were pro- 
 ceeding round the tines to see that proper 
 watch was set, and note if the enemy showed 
 the disposition to do them any molestation. 
 They were afoot and not in their armor. 
 The night was somewhat clouded, but there 
 was in the sky many signs it would soon 
 turn to a clear starlight ; nevertheless, in 
 the distance everything lay in great obscu- 
 rity, save at the moon's occasional escape 
 from her shadowy canopy, when the chief 
 features of the landscape became more con- 
 spicuous. Sir Philip \vas very eloquently 
 discoursing to his young companions, con- 
 cerning of the right famous battle of Azin- 
 cour, when to their somewhat astonishment 
 he came to a sudden break in his speech. 
 
 " What noise is that ?" said he very ear- 
 nestly, as he turned his gaze towards the 
 open country. 
 
 " I hear nought but the flowing of the 
 waters," replied Sir Valentine. 
 
 " Nay, but this "is no such sound, my 
 friend," added Sir Philip Sydney. " Mark 
 you those moving objects indistinctly seen 
 in the distance, creeping rapidly along by 
 the side of yonder hedge ?" 
 
 ' I do see something moving," answered 
 the other. 
 
 " Ah, there are many figures, and if I 
 mistake not a multitude of carriages of some 
 sort," added Sir Reginald, gazing hard 
 towards the spot pointed out. 
 
 - True !" exclaimed their companion, 
 " and those figures, my friends, you may 
 now plain enough see to be a detachment of 
 horse, and those carriages are some hun- 
 dreds of ^vaggons, doubtless, of victual and 
 other necessaries tor the relief of this town. 
 They must be stayed, or we are like to lose 
 our labor. See," continued he, as he turned 
 his piercing glance towards the besieged 
 town, on which the moon suddenly threw its 
 brilliance. " There are numbers of persons 
 bustling about very busily, nigh upon the 
 church. Of a surety they have knowledge 
 of their friends coming, and are preparing 
 to help their approach. Speed you, Sir 
 Valentine, to the tent of the lord general of 
 the horse, the Earl of Essex, and tell what 
 you have seen, thaff he may have his men in 
 readiness ; and you, Sir Reginald, to the 
 tent of the Lord Willoughby, on a like errand. 
 I will to his excellency, the Lord Lieuten- 
 ant, my honorable kinsman, where you can 
 say I am gone ; then get you to horse, and I 
 will join you anon." 
 
 The three knights, as rapidly as they could, 
 returned to the camp, where they imme- 
 diatetely spread the alarm, and ' the trum- 
 pet's shrill alarum presently called up the 
 sleeping soldiery ; and then there was a con- 
 fusion of running hither and thither, for this 
 and for that the grooms getting ready the 
 horses the knights donning their armor 
 the ensign bearers running to their compa- 
 nies the captains mustering their men. and 
 the commanders hastening to the tent of the 
 Earl of Leicester for to receive his orders ; 
 as turned the peaceful encampment that a 
 minute or two since sounded of nought else 
 but the measured tread or startling challenge 
 of the guard, into a very Babel of confused 
 noises and thronging multitudes. Sir Philip 
 Sydney quickly wakened up his kinsman, 
 but ere the latter was in readiness, the com- 
 manders came hastening in, desiring to be 
 placed where they could reap the most glory ; 
 all talking all pressing all urgent to set 
 out against the enemy without delay. Leav- 
 ing these for awhile, I must here describe 
 other matters that well deserve mention. 
 
 There was in the camp two notable brave 
 gentlemen, to wit, Sir William Stanley and 
 Sir John Norris, who a long time back had 
 had a quarrel in Ireland, and had been at 
 enmity ever since. It chanced so to hap 
 Sir William was first ready with his <"un- 
 pany some two or three hundred strong 
 which was of foot, and was sent to stand as 
 a bescado, when, as he was on his way, Sir 
 John Norris, who commanded among the 
 horse, overtook him being sent to the same
 
 228 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 service. Then thus spoke these enemies 
 one to another : ' 
 
 " There hath been," said Sir John, " some 
 words of displeasure between you and me ; 
 but let it all pass, for this day we both are 
 employed to serve her Majesty. Let us be 
 friends ; and let us die together in her Ma- 
 jesty's cause." Then quoth the noble Sir 
 William 
 
 " If you see me not this day, by God's 
 grace,, serve my Prince with a valiant and 
 faithful courage, account me forever a cow- 
 ard ; and if need be 1 will die by you in 
 friendship." Thereupon these brave s'oldiers 
 embraced very lovingly, td the exceeding 
 content of all present ; and as soon after as 
 might be, Sir William Stanley marched with 
 his footmen, intending to take up a position 
 at a church in the suburbs, but this the 
 t'.iK'iay had entrenched before hand, and there 
 lay to the number of more than two thou- 
 sand muskets and eight hundred pikes. 
 Before he could come to skirmish with them, 
 the Lord Audley joined him with a" hundred 
 and fii'ty men in desperate haste to be in 
 the first conflict. The fight soon began with i 
 hot voil'es of musket-shot. The English ! 
 pressing upon their opponents at the push 
 of the pike, till they drove' them into their 
 hold ; and then they retreated out of the ; 
 range of the muskets, there to make a stand. 
 At this the enemy issued in great strength 
 of horse, mostly Spaniards and Italians, and 
 at that moment there came up on the Eng- 
 lish side, the Lord General of the Horse, 
 the Earl of Essex, the Lord Willoughby, 
 Sir William Riisscl, and Sir John Norris, 
 and other valiant officers of a like fame with 
 their companies ; and these presently charged 
 the enemy with such fury, that they were, 
 after some hard lighting, fain to retreat to 
 their pikes, leaving a famous number of 
 dead and wounded, beside some twenty of 
 their principal commanders who had been 
 made prisoners. 
 
 In this charge Sir John Norris led with 
 his wonted valor, but in discharging of his 
 pistol it would not go off, which seeing, he 
 stroke it at the head of his enemy and over- 
 threw him. His associates used their lances 
 till they broke ; then plied they their curtel- 
 axes with such vigor of arm, that the enemy 
 took them 'to be more of devils than men, 
 they were so terrible. 
 
 " For the honor of England, my fellows, 
 follow me !" shouted the Earl of Essex, as 
 he threw his lance in rest, and wherever 
 he saw six or seven of the enemies together, 
 he would separate their friendship with more 
 speed tlian might be in any way comfor- 
 table to them. But surely of all these valo- 
 
 rous noble soldiers, none so behaved him- 
 self as did Sir Philip Sydney. His two com- 
 panions kept close to him wherever he 
 charged, and witli lance and with curtel-axe 
 so played their parts, that each was an 
 honor to the other. Even in the great ex- 
 citement of this hot conflict, Sir Valentine 
 thought of his humble, yet noble hearted 
 mistress ; and, inwardly resolved to do such 
 feats for her at that time, as might any 
 knight for the proudest lady that lived. Sir 
 Reginald's valor also was impelled by a fair 
 lady whom he had left in England, and 
 loved since he had last seen the gentle 
 Mabel ; but the valor of Sir Plu'lip was all 
 for the honor of England. His war cry 
 might be heard in the loudest uproar of the 
 battle, rising amid the din of the artillery, 
 and the shouts, groans, shrieks-and cries of 
 the wounded, and the lighting. 
 
 His lance had long since been shivered, 
 and his curtel-axe seemed to have the power 
 of Jove's thunder-bolt, for nothing was like 
 unto the dreadful destruction he spread 
 around. None won so much admiration as 
 did he, although every one appeared to be 
 endeavoring to signalise himself above the 
 bravest of those brave soldiers that were on 
 his side. He charged the enemy thrice in 
 one skirmish, spreading terror and death 
 wherever he appeared ; at last, as he was in 
 the very fury of the conflict, he fell to the 
 grgund, shot through the leg. His fall was 
 (juickly avenged, especially by Sir Valen- 
 tine and Sir Reginald ; and when they had 
 beaten back the enemy, they carefully con- 
 veyed their wounded friend to the tent of his 
 kinsman. All his old associates were pre- 
 sently about him, in most anxious suspense, 
 whilst the chirurgeon examined his wound ; 
 and when it was pronounced to be mortal, 
 there was most doleful visages in every one 
 present. 
 
 " O Philip, I am sorry for thy hurt !" ex- 
 claimed Leicester, as though he was deeply 
 affected. 
 
 " O ! my lord, this have I done to do your 
 lordship and her majesty service," replied 
 that great ornament of his age. Then came 
 to him Sir William Russel, who kissed his 
 hand, and said with tears in his eyes, 
 
 " O, noble Sir Philip ! there was never 
 man attained hurt more honorably than you 
 have done, nor any served like unto you." 
 And after him, others of that valiant com- 
 pany did testily their love and grief after 
 much the same moving fashion; but he an- 
 swered them every one very cheerfully, and 
 seemed as though he \vere the only content- 
 ed person in the place. As speedily as wa 
 possible he was removed from the tent under
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 229 
 
 the especial guardianship of his sorrowing 
 disciples the t\vo young knights to a 
 neighboring place called Arnarn ; and the 
 skilfullest chirurgeons in the nnny were 
 sent to him to see if anything might be done 
 to save one whose true greatness could be 
 so ill spared. But it was soon seen his 
 hours were numbered. Then the priest was 
 sent for, that he might have proper Christian 
 consolation in his extremity. 
 
 There lay the dying Sir Philip Sydney on 
 a couch, supported by pillows, with one hand 
 clasping Sir Valentine, the other laying as 
 affectionate hold of Sir Reginald, as they 
 knelt beside him in great tribulation his 
 old companions grouped about, looking on as 
 though their hearts would break ; and even 
 the chirurgeons, seeming by their aspects 
 to regard their honorable patient with ex- 
 ceeding sympathy. He had already* ex- 
 plained his last desires, which he had done 
 with such singular sweetness of humor and 
 quietness of mind, that none, when they had in 
 their remembrance the severity of his hurt, 
 and the extreme painfulness which naturally 
 come of it, couid sufficiently -marvel. He 
 was now intent upon expressing his opinion 
 on his approaching death, which he did 
 with so much calmness of true philosophy 
 that every one present appeared to listen in 
 a perfect amazement. At this moment en- 
 tered the priest. He had a venerable mild 
 countenance, and his bearing was altogether 
 that of a worthy minister of the Christian 
 Church. 
 
 " Welcome, excellent sir !" exclaimed Sir 
 Philip, with the same marvellous cheerful- 
 ness he had shown ever since he had re- 
 ceived his deadly hurt, " I am heartily glad 
 to see you, more especially, because, had 
 you not come, I might never more have en- 
 joyed the sweet comfort of your honorable 
 society. Methinks there can be no dis- 
 course so precious, as, when the soul hover- 
 eth over its mortal dwelling, pluming its 
 wings, as it were, for its last long night. 
 that which cometh of a religious friend. 
 Then is the fittingest time of all for grave 
 counsel ; for he that is departing, is like 
 to a knight about setting upon a journey, he 
 scarce knoweth where, and requireth some 
 wiser mind to advise with him, exhort him 
 to honorable valor, and acquaint him with 
 those infinite delectable consolations that 
 spring from a life well spent. Surely wick- 
 edness must be very foolishness ; for he that 
 is unjust, or doeth any manner of evil, put- 
 teth away from him every hope of contenta- 
 tion in his extremity he can only procure 
 for himself a disreputable living and a miser- 
 able end ; but what absolute sweet solace 
 
 hath a go'xl man when death claimp'Ji his 
 acquaintance ! He looketh back to the 
 bright vista of bygone years, and beholdeth 
 so fair a landscape, it cannot help being the 
 delight of his heart. There lie before his 
 gaze charitable thoughts, chaste feelings, 
 and noble achievements, blooming like 
 flowers in Paradise, whose freshness and 
 beauty know no fading ; then when he seek- 
 eth to peer into the future, it spreadeth out 
 for him such glorious store of starry hopes, 
 that it seemeth as though the brightest Hea- 
 vens were opening of their treasures to re- 
 ward him for his desert." 
 
 " Surely, I have no need here !" cried the 
 priest, evidently in some wondering, as he 
 stood by the couch of the dying soldier, wit- 
 nessing his extreme patience. 
 
 " O my master ! my father 1 Alack 'tis 
 pitiful, most pitiful thou shouldst leave us !" 
 exclaimed Sir Valentine, in a voice scarcely 
 audible for the greatness of his emction. 
 
 " His last hour is come," whispered one 
 of the chir urgeons to another ; and this, the 
 increasing paleness of his lips in some man- 
 ner testified. 
 
 " Yet of all deaths for a Christian knight," 
 continued Sir Philip, with the same mar- 
 vellous composure, "surely that is mostly 
 to be coveted which cometh in defence of 
 his country. To die in defending the rights 
 of the oppressed orphan or wronged widow, 
 is doubtless exceeding honorable ; to fall 
 whilst advancing the Christian banner 
 against the approaches of villainous heathen 
 Pagans, must also be a death to be envied ; 
 but the enemy's of one's country must needs 
 be the oppressor of its orphans, the wronger 
 of its widows, and the subverter of its reli- 
 gion ; and he who falleth in his country's 
 defence, hath all the glory that can be gain- 
 ed in the combined cause of liberty and 
 virtue. The Spaniard is the ruthless enemy 
 of England ; he secketh her disgrace, he 
 seeketh her dishonor ; he would trample on 
 her laws, violate her liberties, desecrate her 
 altars, enslave, tyrannize, and bring to 
 shame all her gallant men and admirable 
 fair women, who could not endure his rule. 
 Against such an enemy I have received my 
 hurt. Surely then I ought to account my- 
 self infinitely fortunate ; and you, my friends, 
 instead of sorrowing for my loss, should 
 rather envy me my proper ending. 
 
 " Sir Valentine, 1 know you to be a truly 
 valiant knight, and a most honorable gentle- 
 man," added he, turning his eyes affection- 
 ately towards his favorite pupil ; " grieve 
 not forme, I beseech you :> so much faith 
 have I in your well disposedness and gallant 
 qualities, I feel convinced you will do fa-
 
 330 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 mous credit to my instruction. Believe me, 
 I experience exquisite comfort in knowing 
 I leave behind me a young knight of such 
 rare promise." 
 
 " Oh, noble Sir Philip," exclaimed Sir 
 Valentino right piteously, " O my dear mas- 
 ter ! I cannot help but grieve with all my 
 heart ; I shall never behold so worthy a com- 
 mander." Then thedying soldier addressed Sir 
 Reginald and the other officers one after an- 
 other, and every one he commended for such ! 
 qualities as he had taken note of ; and each 
 he exhorted to continue in the like behavior. 
 After this, he courteously and gravely talked 
 with tha priest on religious matters, and feel- 
 ing his end drawing nigher, he asked to 
 have liis prayers. Thereupon the good man 
 prayed by his couch very fervently, Sir 
 Philip joining in such devotions with a pla- 
 cid countenance, his lips moving though he 
 made no sound ; and nothing else was audi- 
 ble iu the chamber, save the half-suppressed 
 sobs of those who could not conceal their 
 grief. The prayer was finished, but the lips 
 of the dying man still moved occasionally, 
 with a sort of indistinct muttoring ; once 
 only ha spoke audibly, and then the words 
 were, " For the honor of England," which 
 plain enough told what lay next his heart ; 
 and these were the last words he was heard 
 to utter, ^iis eyes wero rapidly getting to 
 be more dim, and aspect of a more deathly 
 paleness. At last, there was a sound heard 
 in his throat, which set every one to hiding 
 of his face ; and the bravest commander 
 there present did groan outright. 
 
 " In my life I have seen many deaths," 
 said the priest, a few minfites after all was 
 over, " but never saw I the dying of so esti- 
 mable a man, or so Christian a soldier !" 
 
 And thus perished, in the very flower of 
 life, one of the noblest examples of chivalry 
 England hath produced ; but numerous as 
 may have been her heroes, never before or 
 since hath she set up one so truly worthy of 
 the title. In him there seemed to ba ever 
 manifest, manhood in its brightest attributes, 
 the noblest properties of mind, and the purest 
 influences of feeling. His valor was divest- 
 ed of that animal dross which is too gene- 
 rally found mingled with it, in the shape of 
 cruelty, love of strife, outrageous violence, 
 or coarse unfeelingness ; and it arose out of 
 one motive, the honor of England, which 
 was in his nature a very Pactolus, enriched 
 with golden sands. Of the sterlingness of 
 his intellect, methinks he hath left good evi- 
 dence ; yet it cannot in any way be com- 
 pared with what might have resulted from 
 such a source, had he lived to disencumber 
 himself of the affectations of his age. But 
 
 of his virtues, surely there cannot be such 
 excellent witness, for no knight ever died 
 more lamented of the brave, the noble, the 
 just, the true and the wise. Old and young 
 rich and poor, and all sexes and conditions, 
 received the intelligence of his decease with 
 the deepest grief. Few men have been so 
 loved none so sore lamented. But from a 
 scene so instructive as the death of so in 'at 
 a man, I must now hurry the reader to one, 
 which, mayhap, hath also its lesson, though 
 never could difference be so complete, as 
 shall be found in their chief features. It is 
 necessary to say, that the event about to be 
 related followed upon the foregoing, after 
 some lapse of time. 
 
 The noble, of whom the reader hath al- 
 ready some knowledge through his base 
 attempts on the poor foundling, sat wjth his 
 ordinary companion in iniquity, the g.illant 
 before described, in a chamber, which for the 
 sumptuousnessof its furnishing, might justly 
 be styled regal. He no longer seemed as 
 though he sought concealment. b'>iug attired 
 in such gorgeousness as language can L;ive 
 but a faint idea of ; his countenance, full of 
 confidence, ever and anon brightened with a 
 social sort of smile, as he listened to his 
 dependant. The latter looked more the 
 worn-out profligate than ever ; but he was 
 more bravely clad thin was his wont; 
 and appeared as though his infamous ser- 
 vices earned him liberal wiues. In what 
 he spoke there was the triumphant villain, 
 rejoicing in the success of some foul scheme 
 just brought to a foul conclusion -with a 
 manner half laughing, half sneering, in re- 
 lation to the subject, yet as regarded his 
 hearer, marked with a mingled assurance 
 and security that sufficiently bespoke the 
 nature of his service, and his dependance 
 on his employer. 
 
 The table before them contained vessels 
 of wine, with silver cups, and dishes of gold, 
 filled with dried fruit, cakes, conserves, and 
 other delicates, as if they had been making 
 good cheer. The chamber was of s ( uch 
 dimensions and of so fair a structure, as 
 made it evident it appertained to some prince- 
 ly castle, and the battlements and towers 
 seen from the windows appeared as strong 
 witnesses to the same purpose. The noble 
 sat on a richly embroidered chair, in great 
 state, resting of his feet on a cushion of 
 costly stuff, beside the table, carelessly using 
 of a diamond-hafted tooth-pick; and the 
 gallant sat over against him on as proud a 
 seat, telling the staple of his discourse, and 
 making the whilst as famous cheer as he 
 could. 
 
 'Twas well done, if no suspicion fellow it
 
 THE YOUTH OF S^IAKSPEARE. 
 
 231 
 
 Sir Piers," obsen ad the former, as if musing 
 somewhat. 
 
 " Nay, suspicion is clean impossible, my 
 lord," replied the other. " The man is dead, 
 and I defy the scarchingest pryers to discover 
 how lie came to his death. As for me, my 
 disguise was so perfect, none could suspect 
 who I was, and even could that be possible 
 believing me as I affected to be your bitter 
 enemy, they would as lief suspect themselves 
 of the- deed as your honorable lordship." 
 
 " Did he make no outcry ?" inquired the 
 noble. 
 
 " Not a whisper," replied the gallant. 
 
 " Was there no fierce convulsions ?" ask- 
 ed the former. 
 
 " Scarce a struggle !" answered his com- 
 panion, " the poison is the most subtle I ever 
 heard of. It seemed to have entered into 
 his very marrow, ere you could say he had 
 well taken it, and left the face unmarked by 
 any blackening, f>r disfigurement, like one 
 who dieth of a sudden, without apparent 
 disease. Truly, 'tis a notable ridder of ene- 
 mies, I knew not so invaluable a mixture 
 could be had anywhere." 
 
 " I had it of an Italian woman who was 
 reputed the skilfullest compounder of such 
 things that ever lived," said his lord care- 
 lessly. " But tlu's is not the first trial I have 
 made of it. Thou hast managed the affair 
 most cleverly I must confess. I would tliou 
 hadst succeeded as well in procuring me the 
 beauteous* Mabel." 
 
 " O' my life, my lord, I did all that most 
 extreme cunning could accomplish," replied 
 his dependant very earnestly. " Some pes- 
 tilent tiling or another ever thwarted me 
 when I thought myself to be securest ; and 
 her long interest came, a murrain on't ! 
 when I believed the devil himself could not 
 have snatched her from my net." 
 
 " 'Tis strange, Sir Piers, thoti shouldst 
 never have heard ought of her since." ob- 
 served the noble. 
 
 " Nay, who could have supposed the 
 wench would have given me the slip when 
 the physicians said she was scarce able to 
 leave her chamber," replied the gallant. li I 
 have searched for her since then far and 
 near, and my man hath penetrated into all 
 sorts of places the whole country round 
 where it was supposed she might have got 
 shelter, but not so much as glimpse of her 
 have either of us gained. " 
 
 " She was a noble creature !" exclaimed 
 his companion. " I have seen nought to 
 compare with her either amongst our court 
 beauties here in England, or the lovely 
 dames I met during my stay abroad. I 
 never have been so monstrously disappoint- 
 
 ed as in her escape. I would have given 
 thousands to have prevented it." 
 
 " By this hand I was never so vexed all 
 my days !" added the other with similar 
 earnestness. After this there was a pause 
 of a minute or so, in which the former seem- 
 ed thinking of his loss, whilst the other re- 
 plenished the cups with wine, and helped 
 himself freely to the tempting cates before 
 him. 
 
 " Does that follower of thine know any- 
 thing of what thou hast lately done for me ?" 
 inquired the noble. 
 
 "Not a syllable," replied the gallant. 
 " He is faithful enough I doubt not, but I 
 would trust none in so dangerous a matter." 
 
 " Doth think he hath any suspicion of it?" 
 
 " Not the slightest." 
 
 " Nor any of the menial people about 
 me?" 
 
 " 'Tis utterly impossible, my lord, I have 
 been so close." 
 
 " 'Tis well," exclaimed the noble. " Thou 
 hast managed this matter very delicately, 
 Sir Piers. Thou hast proved thyself a true 
 friend withal, and I assure thee I will reward 
 thee fittingly." 
 
 " I thank you, my lord," replied his associ- 
 ate. " You have already bestowed on me 
 many marks of your honorable favor, and 
 methinks I cannot do enough to show my 
 readiness to serve so bountiful a master." 
 
 " Depend on't what I have done is nought 
 to what I intended doing," answered the 
 other. ".Thy knighthood is but a small 
 honor to what I can now 1 gain for thee. I 
 am paramount in the council, and with her 
 highness I have so fixed myself, I can do as 
 I will. Go getfthee, good Sir Piers, to my 
 privy chamber there is my George-collar I 
 would have out of the jewel-case on the 
 dressing-table. Bring it me straight, I pri- 
 thee, and tell my grooms not to come to me 
 unless I send to them." 
 
 " Readily, my lord," answered Sir Piers, 
 and taking the key of the jewel-case from 
 his patron, the newly made knight surely 
 never was knighthood so dishonored pro- 
 ceeded out of the chamber. Directly the 
 door closed on him, the noble sprung from 
 his seat, and very carefully took a small 
 paper packet from beneath the silken lining 
 of his velvet doublet, and cautiously opening 
 it, poured its contents into the silver cup of 
 his dependant, and then briskly stirred up. 
 the wine with his jeweled dagger. The 
 latter he first wiped on his handkerchief, 
 and replaced in its sheath ; and then saun- 
 tered to the window, gaily humming of a 
 popular tune. Sir Piers presently returned 
 with what he had been sent for, and took it
 
 233 
 
 THE YOUTI*OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 to the table, and his lord remained a minute 
 or so at the window, as if intent on noting 
 something in the base-court that had attract- 
 ed his attention, and then sauntered back to 
 his seat humming of his tune with the same 
 careless manner as he had commenced it. 
 
 " You are 'merry, my lord !" exclaimed 
 the -knight, who had now regained his seat. 
 
 " Merry ! ay, and why not, my friend ?" 
 replied the other very socially, as he put 
 round his neck the magnificent chain he 
 had sent for. " Melhinks, I have right 
 famous cause, Sir Piers. Everything con- 
 ypireth to make me the greatest man in these 
 realms. I have no peer, look where I will '; 
 and I have borne myself hitherto with such 
 marvellous prudence, none can urge against 
 me ought to my prejudice." 
 
 *." Marry, then you have famous cause for 
 singing," cried his dependant. 
 
 " Truly, have I, my faithful worthy friend," 
 said his companion, taking the wine cup in 
 his hand, with the look and manner of a 
 true reveller, " Come, Sir Piers, prithee 
 pledge me. As them shalt share my for- 
 tunes, 'tis but fitting thou shouldst drink to 
 my lasting prosperity." 
 
 " Most gladly will I," answered Sir Piers, 
 quickly rising from his seat, and following 
 his lord's- example in grasping his wine cup. 
 
 " Now, mark me, and do thou likewise 
 or I will proclaim thee a sorry drinker !" and 
 thereupon the noble drunk off at a draught 
 the contents of his cup. 
 
 " Bravely done, my lord !" cried the other, 
 very merrily ; and I will now show how apt 
 a scholar I am. My lord I drink to your 
 continual prosperousness." And then Sir 
 Piers finished his draught in as rapid a 
 fashion as his lord had done. 
 
 " Thou art indeed an apt scholar !" replied 
 the noble, manifestly with more than 'ordi- 
 nary satisfaction, as he placed his empty 
 cup on the table, and reseated himself the 
 knight at the same time doing the like 
 thing ; and then the former commenced 
 humming of his tune again, and using of his 
 toothpick, with as careless a look as if no 
 person could be so content as was he. Sir 
 Piers poured out more wine for himself, and 
 continued eating of the dried fruit. All 
 at once he smiled somewhat, and just at that 
 moment his patron, taking a sudden glance 
 at him, noticed it. 
 
 " Ha, are thy thoughts so pleasant, Sir 
 Piers !" cried tho other, and then went on 
 humming of his tune. 
 
 ' Exceeding pleasant, my lord," said his 
 companion, and smiled more evidently than 
 before. At this the noble looked at him 
 very hard, saying never a word ; and the 
 
 knight kept his eyes on those of his employer 
 as if he cared not for such scrutiny, for his 
 srnile continued to become more palpable. 
 The lord now looked surprised then amaz- 
 ed then distrustful his tune ceased ere it 
 had half ended the tooth-pick fell from his 
 hand, and laying convulsive hold of the 
 arms of his chair, he leaned forward, fixing 
 a stare of ^horror on his companion. The 
 smile of the latter now had a sort of devilish 
 derision in it, and his eyes glared on the 
 other with a very fiendlike mockery. The 
 noble now snatched at his dagger, holding 
 himself up with the strength of the other 
 arm, whilst the agony expressed in his face, 
 whence the blood had all rushed, leaving it 
 of a deadly paleness, and the strange manner 
 in which he began twisting his body, be- 
 spoke in him some terrible suffering ; but at 
 this his companion laughed outright. 
 
 "Caught in thine own trap!" cried his 
 triumphant partner in guilt. " O' my life, 
 never was traitor so well served ! What ? 
 After I had done at thy bidding all manner 
 of villanies, a dog's death was to be my re- 
 ward ; and so thou get rid of every evidence 
 of thy matchless infamy ! Prithee, my lord, 
 stop up thy key-hole whilst preparing to 
 poison thy familiars, when thou hast sent 
 them out of the way awhile, else they may 
 do as I have done, spy thy intention, and on 
 their return make so bold as change the 
 drugged cup for another, and so the poisoner 
 get the poison for himself." 
 
 Here the knight laughed again more scorn- 
 fully than before. At this, his lord made a 
 convulsive effort to rise his horrible fierce 
 looks distorted as if with the most racking 
 intolerable pains his eyes seeming to dilate 
 to a wonderful bigness, and flashing forth 
 most dreadful deadly malice his teeth 
 gnashing together, and his every limb start- 
 ing and trembling with the mightiness of 
 his agony ; but as soon as he had got him- 
 self to stand upright, his eyes rolled in their 
 sockets most frightfully ; violent fierce 
 spasms and convulsions shook him in every 
 part the uplifted dagger dropped from hia 
 nerveless grasp, and the next moment it3 
 lordly owner fell to the ground a corpse. 
 
 "Ko ends my Lord of Leicester!" ex- 
 claimed his villainous associate, as he ap- 
 proached the body. " Truly a very suitable 
 ending. But it will scarce be proper to 
 leave him here, else I may chance to follow 
 him more quickly than I desire." Saying 
 this, Sir Piers carefully placed the dead man 
 leaning back in his seat as if he slept, and 
 then hurried out of the chamber. Thus 
 finished his career, the most accomplished 
 villain of his age, who was EO admirable a
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 233 
 
 master of duplicity, that his real character 
 was suspected of but few ; and so cautious 
 in the doing of his villainies, that he rarely 
 left the slightest ground for suspicion. At 
 last, his over-anxiety to secure himself ended 
 in his own destruction, as hath been related. 
 Nevertheless, few know him to bj what he 
 was ; and by those few he was so thorough- 
 ly detested for Tiis extraordinary craft and 
 treachery, that amongst lin'-m he was usually 
 called by the nickname of ^ The Gypsey." 
 By the majority he hath been held in re- 
 membrance as ' ; The Great Earl of Leices- 
 ter ;" but his title to such greatness as they 
 would confer on him. was grounded on his 
 magnificence, his unrivalled power in the 
 kingdom,and't! i .e consummate policy of his en- 
 deavors to retain it. He was a brilliant char- 
 acter, but it was t ; i? brilliance that cometh 
 of a base metal, where the* art used to give 
 it a shining appearance, out of all comparison 
 exceedeth the value of the stuff on which it 
 is exerted. 
 
 Many such men there are, who by their 
 high position in the social fabric and won- 
 drous subtlety in outwardly conforming with 
 established opinions, pass for monuments 
 worthy of admiration and reverence, whilst 
 divers of the truly great, who have no other 
 title than honesty, and little wealth beyond 
 their daily crust, are passed over as of no 
 account, and all that cometh of thsir noble 
 aims as far as the world is concerned is 
 the oblivion of an unhonorod grave. Never- 
 theless, be sure Nature taketh a proper heed 
 of these last, and whenever that vile partial 
 chronicler, History, braggeth most loudly of 
 his proud lords and sanguinary conquerors, 
 ehs whispers in the ears of all just men, 
 the loving .kindnesses, the generous self- 
 denials, the true nobility, and imperishable 
 worth of her own peerage. Thus, among 
 the well-judging few, models of true great- 
 ness are ever to be found worthy of close 
 copying, which, age after age, lead to the 
 production of others of a like merit; and 
 thus nature fulfilleth the mission of truth, 
 and laugheth the mere brags of history in 
 utter and everlasting scorn. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Behavior, what wert thou, 
 fill this man showed thee 1 and what art thou 
 now? 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE sat in a miserable 
 garret which boasted of no better furniture 
 
 than an old table, on which were some booka 
 and papers, an old stool to match, whereon 
 he was sitting, a truckle bed of a like hum- 
 bleness, that served for his nightly rest ; and 
 a worm-eaten chest that played the part of 
 cupboard, of press, and of book-case also. 
 The casement was small and dirty, and 
 the wainscot and ceiling crumbling in many 
 places. I said amiss when I asserted there 
 was no better furniture in the chamber, for 
 there .was in it its gifted tenant ; and this 
 made the poor place to be more richly fur- 
 nished than could have been the stateliest 
 hall throughout the kingdom. Mayhap ho 
 was studying of a part in some play, for he 
 sat leaning his arms on the table, with his 
 hands supporting hisliead immediately over 
 a written paper ; and so serious was he in 
 this studying, that he heard not the opening 
 of the door, and the entrance of a visitorl* 
 
 " Ha ! there thou art, by this hand !" ex- 
 claimed Master Greene, the play-writer, with 
 as much seeming gladness as though the 
 young player was his dearest friend ; and 
 thereupon he went hastily up to him. and 
 shook him famously by the hand, inquired 
 after his health, and making such bountiful 
 show of friendship as was quite refreshing 
 to see. Master Shakspeare was courteous 
 as WAS his wont ; but still he could not help 
 marvelling what brought his visitor to him, 
 for they had never been on any notable inti- 
 macy. After awhile, Master Greene sat 
 himself on the end of the bed, for he would 
 not accept of the stool, though it was pressed 
 on him with some urgency. Then he talked 
 of the Queen of Scots' execution, and the 
 last conspiracy of the papists, and other 
 matter of news, as glibly as an intelligencer ; 
 to which the other listened with the utmost 
 civilness. joining in the discourse when it 
 seemed necessary, yet wondering exceed- 
 ingly such a person should put himself to 
 the trouble of calling on him merely to talk 
 to him on subjects with which every one 
 was familiar. At last the conversation 
 gradually approached the subject of plays. 
 
 "That play of Lodge's went bravely," 
 said he ; " but I said it needs must succeed 
 when I heard it read by you. Surely you 
 must have made marvellous alterations. I 
 detected them on the instant. I did, by this 
 hand ! Indeed they were filled with such 
 exquisite beauty, it was clean impossible 
 they should pass for the invention of Lodge, 
 who, between ourselves, is exceeding shal- 
 low a sorry scribbler, who hath written 
 nought deserving of serious commendation." 
 
 " Nay, Master Lodge is not without mer- 
 it," replied his companion. 
 
 li Merit he hath, it may be allowed," re
 
 234 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 sponded the other; "but be assured 'tis 
 monstrous little. He could never write a 
 play of any judgment, believe me. Mere 
 bombast for passion, dullness for wit : and by 
 way of dialogue, the inost tedious poor stuff 
 that e\er \vas writ. A knowledge of this 
 made me the more admire your wondrous 
 excellent genius iti fashioning so admirable 
 fine a play out of such sorry materials." 
 
 ' : I did as well as my jwor ability would 
 allow," observed the young player. " But 
 for mine owu part, I think not so highly of it. 
 J trust I may live to do much better things." 
 
 " Ay, that shall you, Master Shakspeare !"' 
 exclaimed Master Greene, very earnestly. 
 " And I will do all that in my power lieth to 
 put you in the way of attaining the excel- 
 lence you desire." 
 
 " I am much beholden to you, good sir," 
 safcl William Shakspeare. 
 
 " Not at all, not at all O' my life ! my 
 sweet friend, cried the play writer ; " it is 
 your merit commands it. I am right glad 
 and happy to bo -of service to so estimable a 
 gentleman. By the way, I prophesied from 
 the moment I noted your first appearance on 
 the stage, you would, ere long, distinguish 
 yourself famously. I saw it in you ; I did 
 by this hand." Now, considering that the 
 speaker was one of the bitterest of ^iose 
 who spoke so slightingly of the young player 
 at the tapster's, it was somewhat bold of him, 
 and impudent withal, to venture such an as- 
 sertion as this last, but his companion was 
 not of a nature to treasure up slights, and 
 he took what was told him as truly genuine 
 kindness. 
 
 " It is scarce fitting of me to speak of my 
 own works," continued Master Greene, in 
 some manner that was meant to be hugely 
 modest. " Methinks they should speak for 
 themselves. There is my play of ' The 
 History of Orlando Furioso,' which, as it 
 hath taken so well of all judges, leaveth me 
 nought to say of it. There is another of 
 mine, ' A Looking-Glass for London and 
 England,' the popularity of which is even 
 greater than the preceding. Again, there 
 is ' The honorable History of Briar Bacon 
 and Friar Bungay,' that hath been no less 
 praised ; and also, ' The Comical History of 
 Alphonsus, King of Arragon,' held in simi- 
 lar great liking : but surely my plays must 
 be familiar enough to you, they having had 
 such marvellous success." 
 
 " In most of them I have played," replied 
 the other ; " and as far as I could judge, 
 they were amazingly relished of the audi- 
 ence." 
 
 " Indeed, I have no reason to be dissatis- 
 fied with my writings," added his compan- 
 
 ion ; therefore, it seemeth to me that I should 
 be an exceeding proper person to give you 
 assistance in any such performances, design 
 you, as you should, to essay further efforts 
 at the writing of plays." 
 
 William Shakspeare remembered, that 
 Master Greene was of some note for his 
 learning, having taken degrees at both Ox- 
 ford and Cambridge ; and, being an experi- 
 enced play-writer, seemed a very fit person 
 to give instructions in whatever he might be 
 deficient. 
 
 " Truly I shall be glad of your friendly 
 advice, worthy sir," replied he ; " and I thank 
 you very heartily for being so kindly dis- 
 posed toward me." 
 
 " Believe me, it all cometh of my love of 
 your extreme worthiness, Master Shaks- 
 peare !" exclaimed the other, with a seem- 
 ing wonderful sincerity. " O' my life, I would 
 do anything within my compass for your ad- 
 vantage ; and this affectionateness leadeth 
 me now to offer to write a play with you as 
 speedily as may be most to your liking, after 
 the manner usual in such cases ; that is to 
 say, you shall write such a part of it, and I 
 will write another part of it, on a design 
 beforehand approved of us both." 
 
 " I care not how soon we set about it, 
 Master Greene," answered his* companion 
 very readily. 
 
 " Then meet me at Paul's, after the play 
 is over to-day, and we will talk the matter 
 more atlength," said the play-writer, rising to 
 take his leave, with an aspect of considera- 
 ble satisfaction. " But one thing before I 
 leave you, my dear sweet friend on no ac- 
 count mention what we are about doing to 
 Kit Marlowe, or any other writer of plays. 
 Between ourselves, Kit is a horrible slippery 
 sort of a person, a desperate coney-catcher ; 
 and his companions Lodge, Peele. and Nash, 
 are no better than lie. You will do well in 
 having nought to do with such." 
 
 The young player promised to say nothing 
 of the matter; and soon after, with an 
 abundance of friendliness, the visitor took 
 his leave. He had not been gone many 
 minutes, when a quick step was heard as- 
 cending the stairs, and presently in came 
 Kit Marlowe, apparently in an exquisite 
 good humor, full of boisterous greeting, and 
 laughing and talking as though his young 
 ho^t and he had been boon -companions a 
 thousand years. He too sat himself at the 
 bed's, foot, and after the first great gladness 
 of meeting was over, talked very freely all 
 manner of gossip, intermixed with jests, or 
 such as were intended to pass for such, and 
 a continual accompaniment of laughing, 
 which proved at least, he could relish hi*
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSgEARE. 
 
 235 
 
 own wit, He too, after a fit interval, led 
 the discourse almost imperceptibly to plays, 
 and when he got fairly hold of Master 
 Lodge's production, he broke out into such 
 praises of the amendments, as far exceeded 
 what Master Greene had said. 
 
 " As for Lodge, I marvel he should attempt 
 play-writing," added he ; " there is more wit 
 in a sour hedge crab, than in ail he hath 
 dona, which showeth what sweet grafting he 
 must have had, to have produced such good- 
 ly fruit as the last. Indeed, it hatii a most 
 luscious flavor ; as different to that of the 
 old stock as is honey to verjuice. But 'tis 
 natural enough, that whatsoever forceth one 
 to make a wry face, as have I scores of 
 times, I warrant you, at Lodge's poor per- 
 fonnancos, must needs bs of manifest un- 
 ripeness." 
 
 " Surely, you hardly do him justice, Mas- 
 ter Marlowe ?" observed the young player. 
 
 ' Justice, quotha !" exclaimed his com- 
 panion, with a loud laugh ; " by this light, 
 had ha justice, he would be badly off indeed. 
 Nay, nay, Master Sliakspeare, he is as bar- 
 ren as a whipping post; therefore am I bet- 
 ter able to acknowledge the merit which is 
 your due in altering of.his play. You have 
 transmuted his baseness into'a most sterling 
 commodity. But you must not rost here, my 
 friend; you are let slip, and you must for- 
 ward now like a true hound." 
 
 " lie assured, I would not throw away an 
 opportunity for advancing myself, came it in 
 my way," said William Shakspeare. 
 
 " I'faith, you would be notably to blamo, 
 were you to do so," added the other. " Now, 
 you know I have written some few trifles ; 
 for instance, there is my ' Tamburlaine the 
 Groat ;' there is my 'Doctor Faust us ;' there 
 is my ' Jew of Malta ;' there is my ' Massa-* 
 ere of Paris ;' and there are also one or two 
 other similar affairs of my unworthy endit- 
 ing; I think but poorly of them but it hath 
 pleased his worship the World to have a 
 different opinion. Mayhap, his worship is 
 an ass ; but trust me, I will not quarrel with 
 him, whilst he bcareth ma on his back as 
 bravely as he doth. Nevertheless, be my 
 plays well or ill, they take, which methinks 
 is the main point ; and it showeth I have 
 some sort of skillfulness in knowing what 
 will please." 
 
 " Doubtless !" replied his companion. 
 
 " Now my dear sweet friend," continued 
 the other very cordially, " it is evident you 
 are possessed of a like quality, else could 
 not Lodge's play have the success it hath 
 met with : therefore I have devi'sed a plan, 
 by which we may both profit exceedingly, 
 and hold the field against all comers." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed William Shaks- 
 peare, in some sort of surprise. 
 
 " Ay, my dear rogue, and this is my plan>" 
 replied Kit Marlowe, " we two will club our 
 wits and write a play in conjunction. 1 
 will bring forth what gifts I have that have 
 so long been wont to please the public, and 
 you shall add to them the same inimitable 
 [ choice talent you have already shown in 
 : your first efforts ; and the result cannot help 
 being such a play as the world hath never 
 yet seen, and which shall at once place us 
 far above the paltry bombastic scribblers 
 | who now thrust their worthless inventions 
 on the stage. What sayest, Master Shaks- 
 i peare ? How dost affect this plan of mine 
 my sweet friend ?" 
 
 " In honest truth I like it well enough, 
 Master Marlowe," replied his companion, 
 holding in mind the other's reputation*as a 
 writer of plays, which at that time stood se- 
 cond to none. "If you think it will be at- 
 tended with such famous results, we will 
 commence it as soon as you please." 
 
 " Well said, my heart of oak !" cried the 
 other, now rising with a notable pleased 
 | countenance, " I will call on you this time 
 to-morrow to confer further on the matter. 
 But I charge you, break not a word of it 
 to Greene, or Peele, or Nash, or any of that 
 set ; and have no dealings with them on any 
 account. There is neither conscience, 
 truth, nor honesty in them. They are coz- 
 eners all ; and that Greene, he is the very 
 blackest sheep of the flock. Keep aloof 
 from them, I beseech you, else you will suf- 
 fer for it terribly ; and I promise you, if you 
 will allow of my true friendship, I will, ere 
 any very long time hath passed, put you in 
 such good case, you shall consider fortune 
 and yourself are sworn brothers." So say- 
 ing, and with as prodigal a show of affec- 
 tion iteness as Master Greene had exhibited 
 in his leave taking, Kit Marlowe also de- 
 parted. 
 
 The young player marvelled somewhat 
 that persons of such reputation as were his 
 two visitors, should come to one obscure as 
 himself on such an errand ; but he thought 
 there might be advancement for him in 
 availing himself of their offers, and there- 
 fore very gladly accepted them. Their 
 abuse of each other, and of their compan- 
 ions, amused him, for he saw thoroughly in- 
 to it. Whilst he was engaged in reflections 
 upon these visits, another step on the stairs 
 betokened another visitor, and in came 
 Peele. He went through much the same 
 sort of scene as his predecessors, exhibited 
 the like extravagant joy at meeting gos- 
 sipped about similar indifferent subjects, till
 
 236 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 he skilfully led the converse to plays 
 abused Lodge as heartily us the others had , 
 done, and spoke with the s:une liberality of 
 commendation on the amendments of Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare, proposed to write a play 
 conjointly with the young player and after 
 warning him against his brother play wri- 
 ters, more especially against Greene and 
 Marlowe as notorious bad characters, he 
 took his leave. He was followed by Chet- 
 tle, Kyd, Nash, and others of the play wri- 
 ters, all of whom, in much the same sort of 
 routine, either offered to write plays with 
 him, or brought him plays they had already 
 writ, to do as he liked by, or some they had 
 commenced, to get him to finish as it pleased 
 him best. And pvery one albeit, forgetful 
 how greatly they had previously abused him, 
 came in such fashion as seemed most to ap- 
 prove their extraordinary love of him ; and 
 none departed without denouncing all of his 
 companions, who had gone before, or were 
 like to come after. 
 
 The young player answered them as well 
 as he could monstrously amused at the 
 whole aifiir, for he had wit enough to see 
 what they aimsd at; but resolved, a,s far as 
 he could, to make them subservient to his 
 own particular advancement. In this me- 
 thinks he showed his wisdom ; for as affairs 
 stood, it was not at all possible for him to 
 make way either as a player, or <i play wri- 
 ter without some such assistance. The 
 manager^was as inveterate against him as 
 ever, becklise the success of the piece Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare had taken in hand, convic- 
 ted him in the eyes of his associates of pos- 
 sessing a marvellous lack of judgment He 
 could plain enough see the great m^t of the 
 alterations, but his wounded seif-lcve now 
 made his prejudices all the stronger, and he 
 seemed for it only the more disposed to keep 
 the young player's talents as much in the 
 back ground as he could. This unworthy 
 treatment the latter bore with wonder- 
 ful sweet patience and dignity ; neverthe- 
 less it fretted his high aspiring mind exceed- 
 ingly at timps, and the bitter poverty in which 
 it kept him, exposed him to such humiliations 
 and sufferings as were scarce endurable. 
 
 His chiefest pleasures lay in hearing of 
 his children, which he never failed to do 
 with a famous regularity, by the kind as- 
 sistance of John a Combe ; and in the con- 
 tinuance of his correspondence with the 
 lovely Mistress D'Avenant, who mo r e and 
 more developed to his quick perceptions the 
 prodigal gifts of mind and heart of which 
 she was possessed. It is to be expected that 
 their correspondence should be marked with 
 a tone of more endearing earnestness as they 
 
 made more familiar acquaintance with each 
 other's manifold loving virtues. This in- 
 sensibly took place as their intimacy pro- 
 ceeded. The language of passionate devo- 
 tion mingled in greater portion with graver 
 discourse. Intellect came warmed with a 
 more endearing philosophy, and sympathy 
 took on itself sweeter and deeper feeling. 
 This change was first evident in Mistress 
 D'Avenant, and indeed it continued most 
 conspicuous in her correspondence. It 
 seemed as though she could set no bounds 
 to her affection for one of.so truly loving a 
 nature, and that it would scarce be justice if 
 her admiration of his genius came not to the 
 utmost extravagance of idolatry. Never did 
 any woman show a more generous self- 
 abandonment upon the altar of true devo- 
 tion ; but in this, as she imagined no ill, she 
 believed no ill could exist. She felt herself 
 ennobled by her feelings, and thought she 
 could not sufficiently testify her gratitude to 
 the honorable source whence they sprung. 
 
 Her frequent writing was of essential ser- 
 vice, for she never failed to hold out to him 
 the most brilliant hopes. Nothing seemed 
 she to love so much as the picturing of his 
 future greatness ; and her appreciation of 
 his worth was such, that these anticipations 
 were beyond all things magnificent. She 
 piled up a very pyramid of hopes to his 
 honor, which she fondly believed should last 
 unto eternity. This not only firod his am- 
 bition, but kept the flame burning with an 
 increasing brightness but it did more the 
 high opinion of his desert, which it evinced, 
 awakened and kept alive in him a deep con- 
 tinual anxiousness to make his conduct ac- 
 cord with it as much as was possible. Per- 
 chance this occasioned that marvellous 
 sweet patience he exhibited under the petty 
 tyranny of the elder Burbage, and that free- 
 dom from every sort of discreditablenesa 
 shown by him whilst suffering the fiercest 
 pressure of poverty. It is here necessary 
 to add that in his frequent letters to his af- 
 fectionate sweet friend at Oxford he gave no 
 intimation of the poorness of his estate, so 
 that she was in complete ignorance of his 
 sufferings and privations. This arose partly 
 from a certain delicacy which kept him from 
 acquainting her with such matters; and in 
 some measure, from a peculiar pride which 
 allowed him not to betray the immense dif 
 ference of his case betwixt what she desired 
 and what he endured. But to give the rea- 
 der a proper understanding of her character, 
 mcthinks it will be necessary to introduce 
 hero some specimen of the style and matter 
 of her writing. Here followeth an extract 
 from one of her letters :
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 287 
 
 * Let me beseech of you to take sufficient 
 heed of yourself, so that no hurt follow those 
 deep studies to which, you tell me, you give 
 all your leisure. Remember that this con- 
 stant wear and tear of the mind is infinitely 
 destructive of the body. I am fearful your 
 extreme ardor to fulfil your glorious destiny 
 may bring you to a halt ere half the journey 
 hath been accomplished. Think of this. I 
 pray you essay to curb in your impetuous 
 spirits. Ha who would win a race starteth 
 not off at the top of his strength, whereby 
 he might soon spend his energies ; but be- 
 ginnoth at a fair pace, which he can keep 
 up without fear of exhaustion, and mayhap 
 incroasj where there shall appear need of it. 
 Ever bear in mind the greatness of the prize 
 for which you are running; and never part 
 with ths conviction that it cannot help being 
 yours, use you but common prudence in its 
 attainment. I often find myself wishing I 
 were with you, that I might see your Wealth 
 suffered nothing by your studiousness. I 
 doubt not I should keep such excellent 
 watch for your safety as should be an ex- 
 ample to all vigilant officers ; and surely 
 this is the more fitting of me, knowing as I 
 do, above all others, the exceeding covetable 
 preciousness of such a charge. 
 
 " But as with you I cannot be, I hope you 
 will allow of my desires exerting their salu- 
 tary influence as my poor thoughts express 
 them in this present writing. To live to 
 see you so proudly circumstanced as your 
 merit gives you fairest title to, is what I most 
 fervently hope for. This, as it seemeth to 
 me, can only be marred by your own want 
 of proper care of yourself; and having 
 marked how marvellous little of the selfish 
 principle exists in your disposition, I cannot 
 help, at times, dreading the consequence. 
 Pardon me my importunity I must again 
 beseech you to be heedful. Let me at least 
 have the exquisite consolation of knowing 
 that my life hath been for some good pur- 
 pose ; for should it be my ill hap to behold 
 you, from want of proper guardianship, fall 
 short of my expectations, I shoulii from that 
 moment consider, and with strict justice, my 
 existence to have been a blank. But what 
 I am, or may be, must be of little moment 
 ill so important a matter. I would rather 
 you should keep in mind the thousands and 
 ten of thousands to whose delight your bril- 
 liant destiny calleth you to minister. In 
 brief, do for yourself as I desire of you ; and 
 all people, all times, and all countries shall 
 look to you as their chief debtor. 
 
 " I believe the amount of human happiness 
 to be none so large in comparison with the 
 countless numbers that would draw upon it ; 
 
 | and look upon such persons as yourself 
 1 Ah ! where shall I find me such another ! 
 as keepers of banks who are wont to issue 
 their own coinage for to be circulated gener- 
 ally to the vast increase of comfort in the 
 whole community. Having this office, never 
 forget for one single moment how great is 
 your responsibility. Should any accident 
 i happen to prevent the proper fulfilment of 
 I your services, how much will the world lose 
 of what is most sterling and necessary. 
 Perchance for lack of such, all manner of 
 baseness may be made to pass for the true 
 coinage, and poverty become more general 
 by reason of the spreading of such worthless 
 counterfeits. I conjure you be regardful in 
 tin's point. Take what recreation cometh to 
 your hand. Meet you with disappointments 
 or mishaps, look on them as the natural lets 
 of rife, and pass them by with the proper in- 
 ! differency that should belong to a philoso- 
 1 phic mind. Envy you may meet with slan- 
 der you may meet with which with injus- 
 tice, insolence, and oppression, mayhap will 
 seek to stop your way for these are the 
 common obstacles to greatness in its early 
 development; but of such, I know you 
 will make of them mere straws that shall 
 not hinder you a step. It is of yourself I 
 fear. No one else can prove himself your 
 real enemy. Take care then of yourself. 
 Watch yourself narrowly. Strengthen your- 
 self by all possible means ; and by so doing, 
 marvel not that you weaken the power of 
 yourself to do your fortunes injury. 
 
 " I expect you to bear with me for my so 
 constant repetition of this my request. My 
 zeal will not allow of my stopping short in 
 endeavors so paramount for the securing of 
 your welfare. You are to me all wisdom, 
 virtue, and excellence all nobleness, all 
 honor, all truth, charity, and love. In the 
 spirit of the devout worshippers of old, I am 
 not content with the conviction that the tem- 
 ple at which I pay my devotions is the wor 
 thiest in the whole world ; I would lay such 
 liberal offerings on the altar as should go far 
 to make it so. I devote all my acquirements 
 to its use such treasures as I have in my 
 thoughts, feelings, hopes, blessings, and 
 prayers, I give as jewels to enrich so admi- 
 rable a shrine and all I dare desire for my- 
 self for so doing, is that when the edifice 
 hath attained its deserved celebrity, and 
 far and near come throngs of earnest wor- 
 shippers, in the' innermost sanctuary there 
 should be one little nook concealed from the 
 vulgar eye, wherein should be entombed the 
 heart of her whose deep affections helped to 
 secure its fame." 
 On a nature like that of William Shaks-
 
 238 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 peare, it was not possible for such an inti- 
 macy so conducted, to exist without produ- 
 cing the best effect. There could not be a 
 more different person than was he at this 
 time to what he had been the first two years 
 of his marriage. He was proud of being 
 loved by so noble a woman. He felt there 
 was in it an honor, which for real value the 
 objects of his highest ambition could not ex- 
 ceed ; and this raised him so far above the 
 lowness of his condition that he was enabled 
 to endure it as well as he did. It so hap- 
 pened that this last letter remained unan- 
 swered a long while, which made him write 
 again ; but he heard not of her any the more, 
 which filled him with some uneasiness, for 
 she was ordinarily most punctual in her 
 writing. Not knowing whether his letters 
 had miscarried, or that she had been taken 
 with any sudden illness, he felt in some way 
 perplexed as to what would be best for him 
 to do. On the morning that the play-writers 
 had shown towards him such exceeding 
 friendliness, after he had got rid of the last 
 some half hour or so, and believed he should 
 have no more^uch visits, he heard another 
 footstep which put him into no little discon- 
 tent, for he was tired of such company. 
 Nevertheless seeing he could not well do 
 otherwise, he resigned himself to his fate, 
 and when a knock was heard at his door, 
 bade his new visitor enter. Thereupon the 
 door opened, and to his exceeding wonder, 
 who should appear at it but Mistress D'Ave- 
 nant, and to his greater astonishment she 
 was attired in the ordinary mourning of a 
 widow. 
 
 The sort of greeting may be imagined be- 
 tween two such persons under such" circum- 
 stances ; but still there was something in it 
 not likely to be conceived of any. It ap- 
 peared that John D'Avenant had been at- 
 tacked with a fierce disease, and all the time 
 it lasted his wife attended him so closely day 
 and night, she had not a moment to spare 
 for any other purpose. It is true he had 
 been any thing rather than a proper hus- 
 band to her ; and his own unworthiness had 
 brought him to his present condition ; but in 
 her eyes these facts could be no bar to her 
 showing of him in his extremity the proper 
 duties of a wife : whereof the consequence 
 was her unremitting kind nursing of him to 
 the very moment of his death, so exhausted 
 her, that she was fain to keep her bed for 
 some weeks after. On her recovery she 
 thought, instead of writing to the young 
 player, she would be herself the bearer of the 
 intelligence, and thereupon proceeded to 
 London. At the play-house where she had 
 been used to direct her letters, she learned 
 
 his address, and not long after that she ar- 
 rived at his lodgings. Perchance, this be- 
 havior of hers may be thought monstrous ir 
 regular by many ; but as she sought no evil, 
 she took in no sort of consideration any one's 
 opinion on the matter. In their meeting 
 there seemed a mutual restraint in her it 
 seemed to arise from the overpowering in- 
 fluence of her feelings in him it wus tho 
 result of an embarrassing idea, that at once 
 and for the first time presented itself to his 
 mind. 
 
 During his stay at Oxford he had never 
 alluded to his own marriage, perchance as 
 much from dislike of the subject as from im- 
 agining such allusion to be unnecessary ; 
 and in his after correspondence the feeling 
 which prevented him troubling her with his 
 own particular griefs, kept him silent on the 
 matter. Thus, his youth and his general 
 conduct, might, he thought, have impressed 
 her with the belief that he was unmarried ; 
 and his ardent affection for her which he had 
 made too conspicuous to be mistaken, might 
 now have brought her to London, with the 
 conviction he would immediately make her 
 his wife. There is no doubt nothing would 
 have given him such true pleasure as the 
 fulfilling of such expectations, had he the 
 power of so doing, but knowing its utter im- 
 possibility, and the terrible disappointment 
 the knowledge of it might create in a confi- 
 ding loving woman, he was for some min- 
 utes perfectly bewildered as to what he 
 should do for thelbest. However, being well 
 convinced that to delay making her acquain- 
 ted with his real situation, would but in- 
 crease the likelihood of evil, he determined 
 to break it to her as gently as he could with- 
 out loss of time. Thereupon lie took occa- 
 sion as they conversed together, to speak of 
 his children, doing it in such a manner as 
 might gradually prepare her for the know- 
 ledge of his marriage ; after which he in- 
 formed her of the circumstances under which 
 it had taken place, and without imputing 
 blame to any save himself, gave her such 
 insight into its unhappiness, as he thought 
 necessary. 
 
 Perchance Mistress, D'Avenant had en- 
 tertained some notion of being made his wife, 
 as she could not but be aware how dear she 
 was to him, for on her perceiving the purport 
 of his converse, her beautiful countenance 
 suddenly took on it the paleness of death. 
 There was a fixed unmeaning stare in her 
 | brilliant eyes, and a sort of quick swallow- 
 ing at her throat ; bnt these signs passed al- 
 most on the instant they made their appear- 
 ance, and she presently listened to this unex- 
 pected intelligence with scarce more than
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 239 
 
 an ordinary interest. Doubtless the disap- 
 pointment had been poignant enough*, but 
 she was of too noble a disposition to betray 
 her real feelings, seeing it could only contri- 
 bute to her lover's unliappiness ; and heard 
 him out without interruption. 
 
 ' ; 'Tis marvellous our fortunes should 
 have been so much alike," observed she. 
 " Like you I married too young to know 
 what I was preparing for myself, and in per- 
 fect ignorance of the nature of the person 
 to whom I was united. Like you I have 
 been deceived by fair appearances, and after 
 the discovery of the huge mistake I had 
 made, lived a life of hopes overthrown, and 
 cares which every day made less endurable. 
 When I became honored with your acquain- 
 tance, a new light shone on my path. ( I felt 
 I could endure a martyrdom but to seem 
 worthy in your eyes. Although I quickly 
 loved you with my every feeling, from the 
 moment I coveted your affection, I bent my 
 mind and my heart so to my duties as a 
 wife, that the most exacting husband could 
 have found in me no manner of fault for I 
 had in me the conviction, that one who was 
 amiss as a wife, must needs be unworthy as 
 i woman, and that such a woman had no 
 shadow of title to the sympathy of a dispo- 
 sition so allied to excellence as your own." 
 
 The young player replied not to this ; 
 saye only as he sat by her side, the hand he 
 had hitherto held in his own, he fondly 
 raised to his lips. She continuq^Hk 
 
 " When I learned I was .lovecroy you, it 
 gave me a value in mine own eyes I knew 
 not till then. I appeared as though I had at- 
 tained the very noblest and most glorious 
 dignity a woman could possess. How liber- 
 ally you garnished my poor state with the 
 wondrous magnificence of your genius, I 
 have not power enough of language to state ; 
 but on every fresh occasion, you bound my 
 nature to you with a chain more precious 
 than gold, and more durable than adamant. 
 Believe me I am grateful ; but I despair of 
 ever being grateful enough. In the after 
 time, when I hear as hear I must the uni- 
 versal voice breathing your immortal praises 
 over the land, methinks I cannot help being 
 the proudest creature on the earth, for I can 
 feed my heart with the exquisite sweet truth 
 that I, a humble creature of no worldly rank 
 or quality whatsoever, was singled out, es- 
 teemed, and loved of so truly honorable a 
 person." 
 
 ' Ay, dearest, truest, and best of all wo- 
 men !" exclaimed her lover as he rapturously 
 pressed her to his breast. " But there is a 
 truth that methinks would be still more satis- 
 factory to you at such a time, and that is 
 
 your (tesert alone made me enamored, and 
 by the proper influence of the same admira- 
 ble cause, I continued in the same fond feel- 
 ing. Think you I have no call for gratitude ? 
 Surely I have far more need to show it than 
 yourself ? I doubt not at all, had it not been 
 my inestimable good fortune to have found 
 myself at such a time supported by your en- 
 couraging and ennobling hopes, I should 
 have sunk under the harrassing vexatious 
 toils and troubles which met me at every 
 turn. Truly 1 am wondrously indebted to 
 you ; never was service so great as that which 
 you have done me ; and if ever I should rise 
 to that lofty summit your affections have de- 
 clared accessible, believe me I shall attribute 
 in nought but strict justice the whole 
 honor of it to her whose bountiful sweet 
 goodness brought it within my compass. At 
 present I have nought better to offer as a 
 proof of the grateful sense I entertain of 
 your most prodigal kindness, save the im- 
 perishable feelings it hath awakened. All 
 of me which I believe to be worthy of com- 
 mendation every proper thought every 
 excellent sympathy each sensation, impulse 
 and sentiment that most deserves entertain- 
 ment, do declare my love of you. If such 
 love content you well, count on it for the 
 lasting of my life. I am yours, and if, as 
 you have afforded me such indisputable evi- 
 dence, I may claim a loving property in your 
 affections, I beseech you very earnestly, con- 
 tinue me in the inexpressible delicious com- 
 fort of believing you are mine." 
 
 ' : Ah, Master Shakspeare, methinks I lack 
 not readiness to do that," exclaimed Mistress 
 D'Avenant with marvellous impressive ten- 
 derness. "" That I should be greatly con- 
 demned for my conduct is more than proba- 
 ble ; but such condemnation frighteneth not 
 rue. It seemeth that my loving you is ne- 
 cessary to your happiness, and that your 
 happiness cannot help but produce a very 
 cornucopia of delights unto the many thou- 
 sands that may come within your influence 
 The conviction of -the universal good J may 
 effect, maketh my love to know no bounds. 
 I ask nothing I wish for nothing but the 
 enviable office of driving all discqmforts 
 from your neighborhood, and so securing for 
 you a gladdening existence. That my merit 
 is so little I regret, but if you hold me in 
 such appreciation as you have oft made me 
 imagine, I am here the creature of youi 
 love. If it be necessary for your welfare 
 here am I, ready to live for you in all loving- 
 ness, devoting the best energies of my 
 nature to afford you the necessary facilities 
 for fulfilling your glorious ministry, till you 
 become what I would have you be the
 
 240 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 pride, the ornament, and the benefactor of all 
 humanity." 
 
 How this loving speech was received it 
 mattereth not to tell ;< but doubt not the 
 nobleness it breathed was as nobly regard- 
 ed. Perchance there shall bo found many, 
 who would spy in the conduct of Mistress 
 D'Avonant something to take offence at, the 
 which their own prejudices shall speedily 
 distort into matter not to be tolerated ; but 
 such persons are of that close watching, 
 magnifying sort, who, if they find a flea on 
 a neighbor's jerkin, straightway hie them 
 with a very microscopic malice, to show the 
 world what a monster they can make of it. 
 Such methinks are entitled to no manner of 
 consideration. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 She stirs ! Here's life ! 
 
 Return fair soul from darkness and lead mine 
 Oat of this sensible hell. She's warm ; she 
 
 breathes ! 
 
 Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart, 
 To stort them with fresh color. Who's there 1 
 Some cordial drink ! 
 
 Her eye opes, 
 And Heaven in it seems to one, that late was 
 
 shut 
 To take me up to mercy. 
 
 WEBSTER. 
 
 THE Page was alone, sitting in one of the 
 unfrequented chambers of his Lord's man- 
 sion, where he had of late been wont to re- 
 
 prove her guiltless of the horrible offences 
 laid to her charge. 
 
 All this time the Lord Urban seemed to 
 be fast sinking to the grave. He gave him- 
 self up more than ever to solitary rambles ; 
 and his fits of remorse became daily more 
 terrible. The murder he had done appeared 
 to be everlastingly in his thoughts ; and the 
 sufferings that came of it were of so moving 
 a sort, the beholding of them must needs 
 have softened the sternest heart in his favor. 
 On one so affectionately inclined as was his 
 youthful attendant, their effect may readily 
 be conceived : Bertram did all that faithful- 
 ness and love could do, towards bringing his 
 lord into a proper comfort ; but the iron had 
 entered too deep to be withdrawn by such 
 gentle surgery. Often and often, when he 
 found his efforts fruitless, had he stolen into 
 this unfrequented chamber, and there be- 
 moanedhis uselessness, and strove to hit on 
 some plan which might restore peace to this 
 noble family. Alack! there seemed not the 
 slightest hope of such a thing. lie liked 
 not questioning of the servants ; and Adam, 
 who alone knew the facts of the case, as he 
 believed though he was communicative 
 enough on every other matter, from affection 
 for the youth, never spoke on the subject. 
 
 At this time it was that the Earl's kins- 
 man before alluded to, arrived with his serv- 
 ing man at the mansion. He came laleat 
 night, and Bertram knew not of his visit 
 till the ilBaing. The unhappy De la Pole, 
 as soon ^S he had intelligence cf his kins- 
 man's arrival, rushed out of the house in a 
 desperate frenzy, as if he could in no man- 
 
 tire for the sake of more perfect privacy in : ncr endure the sight of a person, who, 
 the indulgence of his own thoughts. He ! whether his intentions had been good or 
 had for some time been in an exceeding otherwise, had been so instrumental to his 
 
 comfortless state of mind. Doubts of the 
 Lady Blanche's guilt had grown stronger in 
 him at each succeeding interview, and his 
 huge dislike of her had turned to an affec- 
 tionate sympathy, as deep and true as ever 
 rose out of unmerited suffering. That the 
 Earl was the dupe of some base villainy, of 
 which his wife and child were made the 
 victims, he could not help believing ; and 
 yet the story of her shame looked to be so 
 proved against her, that he knew not at 
 times whether to regard her conduct as the 
 evidence of a sincere repentance, or of a 
 consciousness of perfect innocence. To 
 him there appeared something so truly beau- 
 tiful in her uncomplaining endurance, that 
 whatever she might have been, there could 
 not be a doubt in his mind, she was of a 
 most sweetly disposed nature ; and this so 
 won upon his own gentleness of character, 
 he felt he would gladly lay down his life to 
 
 long-continued, unspeakable misery ; and his 
 youthful attendant, scarce less sad at heart, 
 retired to the privacy before mentioned, to 
 consider with himself how he could best get 
 rid of so unwelcome a person. Whilst he 
 was so engaged, he heard footsteps approach 
 the door, and with them voices he recogniz- 
 ed on the instant. In an agony of dread he 
 rushed bshind the arras ; and there conceal- 
 ed himself, just before two persons entered 
 the chamber. 
 
 " Here we are safe," observed one, as he 
 closed the door after him. " We need fear 
 no spies. Now, as I take it, the surest and 
 profitablest thing, is to put him out of the way 
 without any further delaying ; what sayest ? 
 Shall we live like persons of worship, or 
 starve like contemptible poor villains?" 
 
 " Nay, I am for no starving, an it please 
 you, master," replied the other; " I can have 
 no sort of objections to such a course, see-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 241 
 
 ing how many of the sort I have already 
 had a hand in ; but methinks, I have hither- 
 to been looked over somewhat. Here are 
 you, advanced to honor chiefly by my good 
 help, and likely to be put in possession of 
 abundant great wealth and broad lands, by 
 the same seasonable aid, whilst I am kept 
 to no better state than a humble, poor slave ; 
 and. as far as I can see, in such paltry case 
 I may ever chance to continue." 
 
 " By God's body, that shall never be !" 
 exclaimed his master, with wonderful ear- 
 nestness; " serve me in this matter, which 
 shall be the last aid I will seek at thy hands, 
 I will make thee a gentleman, and settle on 
 thee in lands or money at least two hundred 
 pounds a year." 
 
 " That contenteth me well enough," an- 
 swered his associate ; " I want only to live 
 in some sort of peace and comfort, for I am 
 getting to be tired of the life I have led : 
 but let us heed our courses. My lord hath 
 store of powerful friends, and get we sus- 
 pected, it must needs come to a speedy 
 hanging with us." 
 
 " Tut ! where didst pick up so silly a 
 thought ?'' cried the other ; " I have good 
 reason for knowing, his death would be in- 
 finitely acceptable to persons in authority ; 
 for since I have been at court, I have, noted 
 how much the Poles are hunted after, be- 
 cause of their nearness to the royal blood, 
 and though my Lord Urban is but a distant 
 branch, he is of the family, and that is suf- 
 ficient to make his destruction exceeding de- 
 sirable in high places." 
 
 " I would lie had died of his own accord," 
 exclaimed his companion ; " I'faith, I won- 
 der he hath lived so long in such monstrous 
 misery." 
 
 " Methinka we have waited for his dying 
 long enough, of all conscience," said his 
 master ; " and as I am circumstanced at this 
 present, his death is my only help." 
 
 " How desire you it shall be done ?" ask- 
 ed the meaner villain. 
 
 " There is nought so easy," answered the 
 other; " he is doubtless now wandering in 
 the neighboring wood ; there, whilst he is 
 wrapped in his miserable humor, we can 
 steal on him unseen, and despatch him with 
 our daggers, ere he hath opportunity for de- 
 f -ijjjg ac i 1 i eve( j ) nothing is so easy 
 
 fence 
 
 as preventing all suspicion falling on our- 
 selves, and making it appear it was done by 
 thieves, or other lewd characters : then our 
 fortunes are made, and we shall live plea- 
 santly the rest of our days." 
 
 " Prithee, let us about it at once, then ; 
 for I care not how soon it be over," added 
 his companion. 
 
 16 
 
 The page at first marvelled how such vil- 
 lains as he knew thpm to be, got into the 
 house, and feared only for himself; but 
 when he heard the vile deed they were plot- 
 ting, his senses seemed utterly confounded 
 with horror. His fear was now entirely for 
 his lord, and he dreaded every moment the 
 violence of his excitement would betray him, 
 and so he be prevented from defeating the 
 intended villainy. At last, having suffici- 
 ently matured their plan, the' murderers left 
 the chamber, to proceed to its instant exe- 
 cution ; and the page emerged from his 
 hiding place, with infinite terror and intense 
 anxiousness. 
 
 " Haste you Adam to the wood, or my 
 lord will be foully murdered !" exclaimed 
 lie, distractedly, as he passed through the 
 hall, wherein were several of the domestics ; 
 " to the wood !" cried he ; and stopping not 
 to be questioned of the astonished serving 
 men, he bent his steps as fleetly as he could 
 towards the place he had named. Here he 
 for some time continued running along every 
 path where he had hope of falling in with the 
 Earl, in a state of such alarm for his lord, 
 as exceedeth all conceiving. Every minute 
 lost might secure to the murderers the suc- 
 cess of their horrible plot ; yet many such 
 minutes passed in fruitless hurrying from 
 one part of the wood to another. Almost 
 hopeless, breathless and exhausted, on a 
 sudden turn he caught sight of those of 
 whom he had been in search. At a dis- 
 tance was the Earl leaning abstractedly 
 against a tree, as was his wont, his back 
 being to the path, and his senses so entirely 
 given up to his melancholy reflections, he 
 could have no knowledge that at the dis- 
 tance of a, few yards a man was creeping 
 stealthily towards him armed with a dagger, 
 closely followed by another, coming on with 
 a like caution and a similar weapon ; and 
 these latter were too intent on their wicked 
 object to note that, in a few seconds, they 
 were being rapidly gained on by the quick 
 light footsteps of their young pursuer. 
 
 Bertram, in a very agony of fear he should 
 be too late, seeing how near the murderers 
 were getting to their intended victim, pres- 
 sed on with a noiseless pace. The villain 
 who followed his companion was almost 
 within the youth's touch, but the latter was 
 fearful that whilst he attacked him, the other 
 might strike the fatal blow, and so render 
 his assistance of no service. At a bound 
 he presently passed the fellow before him. 
 
 " To your defence, my lord !" cried he as 
 loudly as he could, and in the same moment 
 he sent the foremost villain reeling to the 
 earth with a blow of his dagger. The earl
 
 242 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 started from his reverie, gazed amazedly to 
 find his kinsman standing a few paces from 
 him with a drawn weapon the kinsman's 
 servant stretched on the ground, as though 
 with a deep wound, and his page grasping a 
 reeking dagger, facing his kinsman with 
 looks of terribls determination. But the 
 murderer waited not a moment of such fac- 
 ing, for directly he beheld his servant fall, 
 and the youth's bloody weapon before him, 
 he fled with such precipitancy into the thick- 
 est of the wood, that he was quickly lost 
 sight of. Scarce had Bertram acquainted 
 the Lord de la Pole of the meaning of what 
 he had witnessed with such extreme aston- 
 ishment, when old Adam came up in great 
 haste and alarm, accompanied by divers of 
 the serving-men well armed. No pursuit 
 was made after the treacherous kinsman; 
 and finding that the wounded man was not 
 dead though apparently no great way from 
 it he was carried to the mansion. Surely 
 no one could be so happy as the page, in 
 having saved his lord, and none so truly 
 grateful as was the earl for such timely 
 rescue at his hands ; but with this service 
 the former rested not satisfied. It seemed to 
 Bertram something more might be done, and 
 to the surprise of Adam, his companions, 
 and their master, he went to the side of 
 the couch whereon the wounded man was 
 lying, and took him kindly by the hand. 
 The dying villain opened his eyes ; but as 
 soon as he beheld the youth's features, he 
 started in a strange amazement. 
 
 ' Saul," said the page to him in an ex- 
 ceeding earnest and impressive manner, 
 '^fou have long sought my destruction, and 
 f never harmed you by word or thought. 
 You have now fallen by my hand ; but from 
 no desire of vengeance for my own wrongs. 
 As I hope for mercy hereai'ter, I never wish- 
 ed you hurt, till to prevent my lord's murder, 
 I was forced to lift my weapon against your 
 life. I have before this knocked at yonr 
 heart, and found you not so great a villain as 
 you seemed. I would think well of you if 
 I could. I beseech you forget not that your 
 wound is mortal ; and that but a brief inter- 
 val remains to allow of your crowning your 
 bad life witli an honest repentance. I im- 
 plore you to do it. I am confident you can 
 effect a great good by a free confession of 
 certain deeds, whereof there remaineth no 
 doubt in my mind you had the principal 
 handling. I allude to the Lady Blanche. I 
 charge you as you look for your soul's com- 
 fort, reveal the whole truth." 
 
 At this the man fell to a pitiful lamenta- 
 tion of his monstrous wickedness, and very 
 readily confessed that the countess was in- 
 
 nocent of all that ,had been laid to her 
 charge, and that his master, for certain de- 
 signs of his own. had got one of the Lady 
 Blanche's attendants to represent her mis- 
 tress, after she was in bed and asleep, and 
 that he, Saul, was the cloaked person whc 
 had ascended the ladder of ropes, entered the 
 chamber, and caressed the waiting woman, 
 who was his leman, and that this woman 
 was afterwards privily made away with to 
 prevent her from declaring the part she had 
 taken in the deception, which she seemed apt 
 enough to do, believing it had caused the 
 death of her mistress. 
 
 " God help me, I have murdered mine own 
 child !" groaned the unhappy earl ; and 
 thereupon he fell into such a paroxysm of 
 anguish as was fearful to look on. 
 
 " My lord ! my lord ! as I am a sinful 
 man, that child received no hurt," exclaimed 
 Adam. 
 
 " Speak that again," shouted his master, 
 wildly catching the old man by the arm. 
 " Repeat it assure me of it, and I will bless 
 thee to my life's end." 
 
 " An' it please you, my lord, it is as I have 
 said," replied Adam. " I liked not the deed, 
 though I felt bound to do you whatever ser- 
 vice you required of me. I took especial 
 heed of the babe till morning, and soon as I 
 thought 'twas fit time, I rode to a charitable 
 lady's some miles off, and placed the new- 
 born child so conspicuously, she could not 
 fail seeing it on her going her morning's 
 walk. I waited in concealment till she ven- 
 tured out of her dwelling, as I knew she 
 was wont to do ; and I saw her take up 
 the child and carry it within doors. I made 
 you believe I had done as you desired, and 
 having no doubt of my lady's guilt, I never 
 thought it necessary to say the truth." 
 
 " But what name hath that place ?" in- 
 quired his lord hurriedly, and with a wond- 
 rous eagerness. " To horse, my fellows ! to 
 horse ! we must there on the instant." 
 
 " The place was called Charlcote, and ly- 
 eth cenvenient to Stratford on the Avon," 
 replied the old man. 
 
 " Look to the page by heaven, he hath 
 swooned !" exclaimed the earl, as he beheld 
 his faithful attendant fall senseless to the 
 ground. 
 
 " My lord !" murmured the dying man, as 
 he raised himself a little on the couch, " let 
 me at least make some lasting happiness 
 where I have produced such dreadful mise- 
 ry. That is no page. That is Mabel, the 
 foundling. To escape from the plots of Sir 
 Piers Buzzard and myself, then set on by 
 hopes of great reward, and striving all we 
 could, to get her into the power of my Lon?
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 243 
 
 of Leicester, who was enamored of her, she 
 a* last disguised herself and got away from 
 Charlcote, and hath hither fled. My lord, 
 be assured of it, she is your daughter, and 
 none other." 
 
 " Will my heart-strings cracl^f' exclaimed 
 the bewildered happy parent, as he pressed 
 the still senseless page within his arms, 
 with such marvellous affection as none 
 could see unmoved. " Help, I prithee, 
 knaves or my brain will turn at this sight. 
 Open thy lids, my child, and behold that un- 
 natural fierce father, who doomed thee to 
 death ; and to whom thou since played so 
 loving a part my faithful servant, my 
 brave preserver, my gentle-hearted, true" 
 
 she astonished to behold him kneel at her 
 
 her, then proceed to state he cause of her 
 sufferings, and the manner in which he had 
 discovered her innocence : and, in the page 
 whose gentleness had so won on her affecti- 
 ons, gave her back the child she had ever 
 since its birth believed had suffered a cruel 
 death. Mother and daughter in a moment 
 were so fondly clasped, and there was such 
 a prodigal sweet show of smiles, of tears, 
 of caresses, and the like exquisite affection- 
 ateness, as did all hearts good to look on. 
 
 " Blanche !" exclaimed the suppliant, " I 
 know not what amends to make you for the 
 unjust treatment you have had of me. As 
 
 daughter ! In mercy revive. Unworthy ! for myself, I have had such punishment of 
 though I am, I do beseech thee afford me it-already, nothing I might be sentenced to 
 
 the exquisite comfort of thy full forgiveness. 
 Ha ! she stirs ! My head swims with excess 
 of joy. Oh, my dear sweet noble child, from 
 what a hell of torment has this- discovery re- 
 lieved me !' 
 
 The feelings of the poor foundling, so sud- 
 denly raised to greatness and honor, passeth 
 description. She whom no lowness of cir- 
 cumstance could render servile, and that the 
 desperateness of danger turned from maiden 
 gentleness to most fearless heroic valor, was 
 not of a nature to meet such an event as 
 hath just been described, without her whole 
 being experiencing its influence ; but during 
 all the time, she poured out her heart's ex- 
 quisite affections on the bosom of her father, 
 there was one whom she was longing most 
 ardently to join, whose love could alone 
 make perfect the happiness she was enjoy- 
 ing : and waiting till the earl's transports 
 became more calm, she whispered to hyn the 
 words " my mother !" which in truth was all 
 she could at that moment utter. 
 
 " How shall I appear before that most 
 wronged of women ?" replied he. " But 
 justice commandeth it. We will to her on 
 the instant." Then turning to the astonish- 
 ed domestics, and pointing to the funeral 
 hangings that still covered the walls, he add- 
 ed, " Pluck down that mockery of woe. 
 Your mistress, for whom you have so long 
 mourned, is still alive. Follow me, and you 
 shall have sight of her." Thereupon, hold- 
 ing of his daughter by the hand, he led the 
 way to the library, followed by his wonder- 
 ing household ; and throwing open the se- 
 cret door in the old book-case, they proceed- 
 ed through the passage into the adjoining 
 
 could come in any way nigh. Truly never 
 was punishment so merited. For a phantom 
 of mine own creating that fantastic idol, 
 reputation, I hurried myself into deeds that 
 were far more completely its enemies than 
 either the deed I suspected, or the know- 
 ledge of it I so sought to prevent. My guilt 
 is none the less because things have turned 
 out as they are. I might have been the 
 murderer of my own child I have been a 
 merciless tyrant to a faithful loving wife. 
 Your humiliation I kept secret ; but I would 
 have my own a spectacle for the whole 
 world. Thus publicly I crave your pardon. 
 Banish me from your presence do with me 
 according to my desert ; but to my last hour 
 I will hold your name in my heart as the 
 gentlest, lovingest, and truest wife that ever 
 suffered of an unworthy husband." 
 
 " My lord !" replied the countess, as she 
 raised him very fondly to her embrace, with 
 tears in her eyes and deepest love in every 
 look, " I beseech you no more of this. You 
 have been the dupe of your false treacherous 
 kinsman, who poisoned your ear with vil- 
 lainous wicked perjuries, for his own base 
 ends. I have suffered scarce any thing. I 
 had always with me the conviction that your 
 noble mind had been abused in some such 
 manner ; and that the day would come when 
 my innocence would be proved to you : 
 therefore I waited in patience till such happy 
 time should arrive. Although my return to 
 your affections I expected, never expected I 
 sight of my dear child again : methinks the 
 happiness of that should counterbalance all 
 offences. My lord, I ever was your fond 
 obedient wife ; this nothing can change. 
 
 chamber, where, to their equal marvel and i And now, as there can be no hindrance to 
 
 delight, they beheld their long lost lady. 
 Doubtless, she was the most amazed of all 
 
 my leaving of this my prison, seeing you 
 
 to see her husband coming to her with so 
 great a company ; but how much more was i you 
 
 have yourself made it known and are satis- 
 
 fied of my perfect loyalty i 
 you, I will live differently ; 1 
 
 if it so 
 
 but let me live
 
 244 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 as I may, if I exist not for the securing of 
 your honor and happiness, be assured, in 
 mine own opinion, I shall live exceeding ill." 
 
 Shortly after, this fair model of womanly 
 patience and every other womanly virtue, 
 departed out of that chamber, supported on 
 one side by a daughter, in all respects wor- 
 thy of such a mother ; and on the other by 
 a husband, saving some -faults, worthy of 
 such a wife amid the honest boisterous joy 
 of every member of the household. Mabel 
 blessed the hour she thought of disguising 
 herself in a left-off suit of young Lucj's, 
 and friendless, penniless, and scarce able to 
 proceed from long illness, trusted herself .to 
 the uncertain chance of fortune : but more 
 fervently she blessed that exhaustion which 
 led to her becoming an inmate with persons 
 who, after exciting her powerfullest sympa- 
 .thies for months, till she loved them more 
 dearly than her life, proved to be those who 
 by nearness of blood and excellence of na- 
 ture, were best entitled to hold such place in 
 her affections. Here methinks 'tis but pro- 
 per to add, that despite of her many anxie- 
 ties and cares, she had oft thought and with 
 exceeding gratefulness, of that honorable 
 and gallant young gentleman, Sir Valentine, 
 who had loved her, and desired to make her 
 his wife, when she was a poor, despised 
 foundling. But we must now leave her to 
 the care of her good parents, whilst taking 
 to matter more necessary here to be handled. 
 
 Sir Piers Buzzard fled from the scene of 
 his intended murder, cursing of his unlucky 
 stars with all the fervor of a baffled villain, 
 and scarce knowing where to go or what to 
 be about. Truly he would have been glad 
 enough now to have remained Master Buz- 
 zard, roystering with Sir Nathaniel the cu- 
 rate, Stripes the schoolmaster, and others 
 of his boon companions he was wont to ca- 
 rouse with at Stratford, before he set upon 
 plotting against his kinsman's happiness, 
 that it might cause him to die without issue, 
 and so he profit by it or even the life he 
 led immediately afterwards when he gam- 
 bled away his patrimony at the dice, and so 
 being ready for any sort of service to retrieve 
 his fortune, readily became an agent for my 
 lord of Leicester, who never lacked such ser- 
 vants, or proper employment to set them up- 
 on. At last, he seemed in so desperate a 
 strait, he thought it might have been better 
 had he swallowed the poison his noble mas- 
 ter had prepared as a reward for his ser- 
 vices of a like sort upon others, the earl's 
 enemies ; for he had become a dfsgraced 
 man, his character was known, and he knew 
 not where to look for even so much as a bare 
 subsistence. 
 
 In a mood of extreme desperation he came 
 to a narrow causeway that led close by the 
 mouth of a pit, once worked for coal, but 
 now rilled with water, of a famous depth 
 and vastnea^ He saw an old man ap- 
 proaching nearly bent double, as if by 
 infirmity, anoadvancing slowly with the aid 
 of his staff. Wjien they came to within a 
 few yards of each other, the old man looked 
 up. In an instant such a change was ap- 
 parent in him as surely had never before 
 been witnessed. All traces of age or weak- 
 ness in him vanished as if they had never 
 been. He stood up firm and erect, with eyes 
 flashing and a look as fierce as human aspect 
 could express. 
 
 "Mine 'enemy!" muttered he at last, be- 
 tween his teeth, as his staff fell from his 
 hand, and his sword leaped from its scab- 
 bard. 
 
 " John a Combe, get thee hence quietly, or 
 thou shalt dearly rue it !" said Sir Piers, 
 drawing his weapon as quickly as he could. 
 
 "Hence, sayest !" shouted the usurer ; 
 ' ; have I lived for this hour to go at thy bid- 
 ding ? Expect not so idle a thing. I have 
 an account to settle with thee of long stand- 
 ing ; intolerable foul wrongs cry for re- 
 venge years of hopeless misery demand 
 recompense. The time hath come at hist. 
 Prepare ! Hell yawns for thee, thou match- 
 less damnable villain !" 
 
 At this he leaped towards the man who 
 had done him such unspeakable injury, and 
 commenced with him most desperate battle. 
 Sir Piers knew his enemy's cunning of fence 
 of old, and took to his defence with such 
 caution as the fear of death generally gives. 
 He had hoped that age had weakened the 
 usurer's arm, or loss of practice had lessen- 
 ed his skill ; but never was hope so vain. 
 The old man, as he looked a moment since, 
 plied his weapon with such briskness the 
 eye could not follow its rapid movement : 
 and though his opponent was in the full vi- 
 gor of manhood, and had of late years been 
 in the constant practice of his weapon, John 
 a Combe beat his defence aside as though 
 he had been but a weak unskilful youth. 
 There seemed a supernatural fury in his at- 
 tack. He breathed hard through his clenched 
 teeth ; and gazed on his enemy so wild dead- 
 ly a glance, it might of itself have appalled 
 the stoute.-t heart. 
 
 Sir Piers, for all he strove his best, pre- 
 sently found himself wounded. At the 
 sight" of his trickling blood the usurer set up 
 a scream of exultation that setteth all de- 
 scription at defiance, and fell on his opponent 
 with a fiercer hostility than ever, ever and 
 anon reminding him of the treacherous foul
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 245 
 
 villainy he had perpetrated against his peace. 
 Thrust followed thrust, and all craft in par- 
 rying was of no help in avoiding blows so hot- 
 ly put. One wound soon succeeded another, 
 till the efforts of the knight for his own de- 
 fence, from loss of hlood and despair of heart, 
 became more like those of a reeling drunk- 
 ard than of aught else. Still the relentless 
 weapon of his enemy pressed upcin him 
 pierced his flesh, and drew such streams 
 from his veins that his path became slippery 
 with his own gore. In the end; his rapier 
 fell from his relaxed grasp, and tottering 
 with a faint supplication for mercy, he lost 
 his footing, and fell with many wounds to the 
 ground. 
 
 " Mercy !" shouted John a Combe. " By 
 God's passion thou shall have the same mer- 
 cy thou didst show to me." 
 
 " Spare my life ! I beseech thee kill me 
 not ! good John a Combe ! worthy Sir !" 
 
 "Away with thee, thou abhorred and in- 
 famous villain !" cried the usurer ; and de- 
 spite of the other's struggles and abject 
 pleadings, he took him in his grasp as though 
 he 'were a child, and with a giant's strength 
 hurled him into the pit. There chanced to 
 grow just below the brink of this fearful 
 chasm, a bush, a branch of which in his de- 
 scent the knight caught hold of, and there 
 he hung clinging to it with so powerful a 
 hold, as if the terribleness of his danger had 
 given him new strength. Below him lay 
 the unfathomable depths of the mine, cloth-. 
 ed with a thousand horrors, and nought pre- 
 vented his being dashed to pieces against its 
 rugged sides, arid then swallowed in its 
 pitchy waters, save the twig by which he 
 swung above them. In this fearful situa- 
 tion he made the abyss echo with his pierc- 
 ing screams as he clung convulsively to his 
 hold. John a Ccoibe stretched himself on 
 the ground, with his head leaning over the 
 pit's mouth, and fierce as he was against his j 
 enemy, gazed in horror at beholding the ter- 
 rible spectacle that met his eyes. Sir Piers 
 looked up with an aspect so marked with 
 terror and agony, that it savored more of a 
 tortured demon than of a human being, his 
 countenance was black and distorted fright- 
 fully, his eyes starting from their sockets 
 and he grasped the branch of the bush with 
 such terrible force, that the blood oozed out 
 of his finger nails. But the struggle, though 
 horribly violent, was exceeding brief. It was 
 manifest he was monstrous loath to die, or he 
 would not so desperately have sought to 
 prolong his existence. 
 
 Weak as he must have been from his re- 
 cent wounds, and certain as was his destruc- 
 tion, he struggled and screamed to the last 
 
 moment in a manner awful to sac or hear. 
 As if to add to the extremeness of his de- 
 spair, he felt the bough by which he hung 
 giving way from the fierceness of his tugs. 
 He saw it crack and peal fibre after fibre 
 snapt and the tough green substance of 
 the branch was gradually breaking away. 
 John a Combe, unable to bear so dreadful a 
 scene, stretched out his arm with the hope 
 of saving his enemy, but at that moment the 
 branch was severed from the bush, and he 
 beheld the screaming villain turning over 
 and over as he fell into the yawning chasm, 
 till a loud splash, followed by a death-like si- 
 ence, told him that all was at an end. 
 
 And in the manner related in this pre- 
 sent chapter, perished Master Buzzard and 
 his man Saul a pair of those pests of so- 
 ciety which occasionally are allowed to run 
 their career of crime to do their vile mis- 
 chiefs unchecked nay, in divers instances 
 to obtain honor and profit by effecting the 
 misery of the noble and the good ; and then, 
 when they fancy themselves to be most se- 
 cure in their villainy, are overtaken and 
 overthrown, and by shameful and terrible 
 ends, become moiHime'Rts of avenging jus- 
 tice. And may all such manner of men 
 meet such fit reward, till the world becometh 
 to be purged of their baseness, and the ever- 
 lasting heart of nature rejoice in the posses- 
 sion of a generous, loving, and honorable 
 humanity. 
 
 John a Combe sheathed his own weapon, 
 and flung that of his slain enemy into the 
 pit ; then kicking of his staff on one side aa 
 a thing no longer necessary, he went his 
 way. Truly, there was little in him of the 
 infirm man now, for he walked as proud 
 and ereot as he had done in his best days. 
 It seemed, that in the fulfillment of the ven- 
 geance he had so long and vainly sought, he 
 had cast from him the load of suffering that 
 had bowed him to the earth. The sense of 
 intolerable wrong that had effected in him 
 so fearful an alteration, appeared to have 
 left him the instant his idea of justice had 
 been accomplished, and with it had departed 
 forever every sign of the change it had pro- 
 duced. His miseries had died with the 
 cause of them, and his truly benevolent na- 
 ture, that no wrong or suffering, however 
 monstrous, could affect to any great extent, 
 now returned to all its natural, healthy, and 
 generous influence. 
 
 It must not be imagined, that it is in any 
 way unnatural for a gentle-hearted liberal- 
 minded man, as was Master Combe in his 
 early manhood, to become so fierce and un- 
 relenting as hath been shown ; for it hath 
 ever been found that such ardent trusting
 
 246 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 dispositions do readily leap to violent ex- 
 tremes, at the sudden discovering of their 
 happiness destroyed by such villainous 
 means as were used by Master Buzzard. A 
 rankling wound giveth sore pains, and 
 wounds that come of over-confidence in 
 honorable appearances, and deepest truest 
 love outraged and put to shame, rankle most, 
 and are the longest healing. This breedeth 
 and keepeth alive a sense of wrong, which 
 feeds on hopes of fitting vengeance, till long- 
 suffering giveth to it so great a strength as 
 to make it the moving impulse of existence. 
 Methinks it followeth as a natural conse- 
 quence, that one so fiercely used should be 
 uo less fierce in his resentment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVH. 
 
 Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen 
 
 Our bending author hath pursued the story ; 
 In a little room confining mighty men, 
 
 Mangling by starts the (all course of their 
 
 glory. 
 
 Small time, but in thq^small, most greatly lived, 
 This Star of England. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 Why do you dwell so long in clouds, 
 
 And smother your best graces. 
 *Tis time to cast away those shrouds, 
 And clear your manly faces. 
 
 SHIRLEY. 
 Now all is done ; bring home the bride again, 
 
 Bring home the triumph of our victory ; 
 Bring home with you the glory of her gain, 
 
 With joyance bring her and with jollity. 
 
 Never had man more joyous day than this, 
 
 Whom Heaven would heap with 4^ s - 
 
 SfENSER. 
 
 "I PRAY you tell me, Master Spenser, 
 your honest opinion of this my play," said 
 William Shakspeare to his friend, after as 
 it seemed, reading a manuscript he had be- 
 fore him, as they sat together in his lodging. 
 
 " Truly, I scarce know what to say of it, 
 Master Shakspeare," replied the other, with 
 a look of as sincere delight as ever was seen. 
 " Nothing I have met with either among 
 ancient or modern writers cometh at all nigh 
 to it for truth, beauty, or sweetness. De- 
 spite the sad unhappy deaths of these ex- 
 quisite young lovers, Romeo and Juliet will 
 live as long as the language, out of which 
 you have carved their imperishable story, 
 shall endure." 
 
 " Indeed, I am infinitely pleased to hear 
 you say so," observed his companion ; "your 
 acknowledged admirable taste and judgment 
 qaaking you the fittest person whose opinion 
 
 should have greatest weight with me, and 
 your excellent friendliness creating in me a 
 confidence you would give me your advice, 
 saw you anything amiss in it." 
 
 ' Believe me, it hath such abundance of 
 merit as to put all faultiness qut of the 
 case," answered Edmund Spenser : " I am 
 enraptured beyond expression that I left Ire- 
 land at this time. I would not have missed 
 the hearing of so choice a performance for 
 a king's ransom. jOh, I would the noble Sir 
 Philip Sydney were living at this time, what 
 extreme pleasure he would have taken in its 
 manifold rare beauties ! But I will shortly 
 find means of making you known to a gal- 
 lant gentleman of my acquaintance, who I 
 take to be the only man in the world capa- 
 ble of filling the void left by my glorious do- 
 parted friend." 
 
 " Be assured, I should be right glad of hia 
 countenance, it he is so worthy a person," 
 observed the young player. 
 
 " He is no other than Sir Walter H aleigh," 
 replied his celebrated brother poet. " As 
 ripe a scholar as was Sir Philip, and no less 
 perfect a gentleman. But how came you to 
 hit on so truly charming a subject, and work 
 it out with such inimitable delicacy ? Have 
 you writ more such plays ?" 
 
 " I will tell you," answered William 
 Shakspeare; "for sometime past, I have 
 taken to the altering of plays of divers play- 
 writers, who, finding any of their perfor- 
 mances in which I had a hand, went better 
 with the public than those I had not meddled 
 with, took -care to employ me sufficiently. 
 With some I wrote conjointly, and the plays 
 of others I amended ; but all that I gained by 
 so doing, the affair having in every case been 
 kept secret beUvixt us was the denial 1 
 had done them any such service, with no 
 lack of slander behind my back. This put 
 me on attempting something on mine own 
 account ; nevertheless, in consequence of 
 the intrigues and enmity of my rivals, as I 
 believe, though I have already produced 
 more than one play of my own writing 
 solely, I have not met that success which 
 would be most to my liking. Certes, none 
 of my performnnces have failed ; nor have 
 they been as yet in any notable admiration 
 of the public." 
 
 " I would wager my life, that is the effect 
 of sheer malice of those paltry play-writers," 
 observed his companion, warmly. 
 
 " So I have been told," answered the 
 'other ; " I have therefore been advised to 
 act with some cautiousness. Meeting with 
 the story of Romeo and Juliet, I saw its ca- 
 pability for the stage, and have written it as 
 you see. This I mean to have read pri-
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 247 
 
 rately to the company, eve 
 save the manager, I belk 
 friends ; and though old 
 
 be my true 
 irbage is chur- 
 lish, I do not think him capable of caballing 
 against me with my rivals. Afterwards- it 
 shall he got up with a great secresy as to 
 the author, and performed without their 
 
 estimable teaching unto all persons, unto the 
 uttermost end of time. 
 
 I pass over the effect produced on his 
 brother players, by the reading of that honey- 
 sweet play ; suffice ft, that every one took 
 to the studying of his part with such boun- 
 tiful good will as he had never known be- 
 
 having suspicion of its relationship to one j fore. Even the elder Burbage hoped great 
 they manifestly mislike so hugely. I am things of it ; and, as some symptom his 
 apt to think, from what you have so hand- churlishness was giving way before an in- 
 somely expressed, it cannot fail of succeed- creasing knowledge of his young associate's 
 
 ing ; and if I chance to meet such good for- 
 tune, methinks I shall have famous cause 
 for laughing at the whole herd of play-writers 
 from that time forth." 
 
 " Ay, that shall you, Master Shakspeare," 
 said his gentle friend ; " and, believe me, I 
 am most earnest to aid you with what help 
 I may, that they shall afford a sufficiency "of 
 sport. I will now take my leave of you 
 for a brief space, having had such delectable 
 conviction of your resources in expressing 
 the beautiful and the true, that all my life 
 long I shall have but one longing, which 
 must needs be, that in after ages, the 
 name of Edmund Spenser may be found in 
 honorable companionship with that of his 
 estimable rare brother in love, and associate 
 in letters, William Shakspeare." 
 
 To this handsome speech, the young 
 player replied in a like admirable manner, 
 and these bright planets of their age sepa- 
 rated in perfect mutual appreciation of each 
 others unrivalled genius. Nor could this 
 be in any way extraordinary, for in many 
 things were they marvellously alike. Each 
 was possessed of that greatness of soul, 
 which payeth ready homage to excellence 
 wherever it may be found. The mind o'f 
 either was embued with that lofty spirit, 
 which emanates from the universal wisdom ; 
 and in their several hearts were those feel- 
 ings of gentleness, of purity, of sweetness 
 of love of truth, and sympathy for wrong, 
 which can exist only in such as are selected 
 by nature to be the chief priests of her im- 
 macular temple. William Shakspeare liad 
 more studied the humors of men Edmund 
 Spenser had acquired greater acquaintance 
 into the learning of books. The latter 
 sought to purify mankind of unmanly im- 
 pulses, by bringing before their eyes the 
 noblest achievements of the most romantic 
 chivalry ; but the other was disposed to show 
 - the lights and shadows of the actual world 
 the virtues, merits, vices and follies that 
 do commonly make for themselves homes, in 
 ( very age and condition and, embodying 
 in their portraiture so palpable and imperish- 
 able a philosophy, that they shall afford most 
 
 manifold excellences of heart and mind, he 
 insisted on drawing him out of his obscurity 
 as a player, and pressed him to take the 
 principal part in his new play. William 
 Shakspeare gladly accepted this offer ; for 
 it was a character written after his own 
 heart, and, to a great extent, the expression 
 of his own feelings. The full strength of 
 the co-jipany was employed in the perform- 
 ance ; and every precaution taken to keep 
 the authorship a secret. 
 
 The young player was in such excitement 
 during the whole time it was in rehearsal, 
 as he had never known on any other occa- 
 sion. He knew that the life of hardship he 
 had led for some years past, could only have 
 an ending through-the complete success of 
 this, his recent and favorite production he 
 saw that there was no way to attain the 
 greatness his ambition aimed at, save by 
 giving to the world something of his which 
 should be stamped by the seal of universal ap- 
 proval ; and he felt that a failure was likely 
 to give so rude a check to his proud aspir- 
 ings, that it would go nigh to deprive him 
 of that confidence in his own resources, 
 without which no truly great work can be 
 produced. In brief, he was well aware that 
 his every hope depended on the manner in 
 which his Romeo and Juliet should be re- 
 ceived of the audience. He studied his part 
 very carefully, and not without the belief, 
 an imperfect personation of the lover might 
 mar the whole performance ; but the praises 
 he received at the rehearsals assured him, 
 and the more perfect he got, the more com- 
 pletely he abandoned himself to the true 
 spirit of the character. 
 
 The day of the first representation of 
 Romeo and Juliet arrived. In a state of 
 monstrous anxiousness he was leaving his 
 lodgings to proceed to the playhouse, when, 
 who should he meet but his old tried friend 
 John a Combe. Not a sign had he of the 
 miserable crabbed usurer ; but in dress and 
 manner looked to be as true a gentleman as 
 might be met with anywhere. He had come 
 expressly to look after the young player, 
 believing he was not advancing his fortunes
 
 248 
 
 so rapidly as he desired. 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 After most hearty 
 
 greeting, the two bent their steps towards 
 the Globe, at the Bankside, Master Combe 
 relating all the news at Stratford, his own 
 recent adventures, ana the state in which he 
 had left his companion's wife and children, 
 parents and friends, whereof the greater 
 portion was exceeding comfortable to the 
 hearer ; and William Shakspeare in his turn 
 acquainting the other with all he had been 
 about of late, and the to him, important ex- 
 periment he was now on the eve of trying ; 
 whereupon John a Combe swore very lustily 
 he would not take bit or sup till this same 
 play he had seen, and so encouraged the 
 young player with his prophecies and praises, 
 that he arrived at the playhouse in as mar- 
 vellous pleasant content as though success 
 was certain. 
 
 When he entered upon the stage, a scene 
 disclosed itself, which more than any other 
 thing was like to fill him with a proper en- 
 couragement. As far as his experience 
 went, the audience used to be chiefly com- 
 posed of idlers of different classes, with oc- 
 casionally some person of note and credit 
 drawn to the place by curiosity. The play- 
 house was rarely full in any part ; for the 
 sports of the bear-garden seemed much more 
 approved of those persons of chiefest fashion 
 arid influence, who were wont to draw crowds 
 aft'.T them wherever they go but now, 
 wVjn his eye fell upon the space where the 
 groundlings stand, it met a complete den of 
 faces, crammed to very suffocation. The 
 rooms above were filled with so brilliant a 
 company as he had never seen before, com- 
 posed principally of the noblest ladies and 
 gallants of the court and up to the topmost 
 scaffold, every place was as full of specta- 
 tors as close pressing could make it. This 
 was in a great measure the result of the 
 friendly exertions of the gentle Edmund 
 Spenser, who so moved his friend Sir Walter 
 Raleigh then the Queen's especial favorite 
 with the infinite merits of the new play, 
 and the surpassing genius of its author, that 
 he presently took in its success such interest 
 as though it had been his own, and prevailed 
 on all his acquaintances to accompany him 
 to witness its representation. Where the 
 Queen's favorite went there hurried, of 
 course, the courtiers ; and where the court 
 came, all persons of fashion were sure to 
 follow and where fashion appeared, all who 
 were desirous of some claim to respectability,' 
 were right eager to make themselves of the 
 party. It followeth from these premises, 
 that Romeo and Juliet was like to have as 
 fair and full an audience as playhouse ever 
 held. 
 
 The young j^yer could not help seeing, 
 among the nJ^Rwominent of the ground- 
 lings, Greene,^TSIarlowe, Lodge and their 
 companions, seemingly in a monstrous curi- 
 ousness to see a play that none could name 
 the author of. He saw these his envious 
 rivals, of whose readiness to work him injury 
 he had had sufficient experience ; but his 
 confidence gained by the sight of them. 
 With such an audience before him, he felt 
 that nothing was to be feared ; and he en- 
 tered into the playing of his part with a spirit 
 which had never till then been seen upon the 
 stage. It is scarce possible any could have 
 been so fit to have personated the passionate 
 lover, as he who drew him in such imperish- 
 able rosy coloring. William Shakspeare 
 was possessed of all the graces of early 
 manhood, an intellectual handsome counte- 
 nance, that could take on itself the most elo- 
 quent enamored expression with exceeding 
 readiness, and a figure, which for manly 
 symmetry of limb and graceful motion in 
 exercise, was not to be excelled search 
 where you would; added to which, his voice 
 was so rich, mellow, and sweet, and he de- 
 livered the exquisite poetry of his sentences 
 with such ravishing expression, that with 
 music so delicate and new, no ear had hith- 
 erto held acquaintance. 
 
 The young player soon forgot audience, 
 rivals, and all other present matters, in the 
 intensity with which he entered into the 
 feelings he was expected to feign. Now it 
 seemed he had before him the gentle fair 
 foundling, whose exquisite beauty had won 
 the secret adoration of his boyhood anon, 
 the yeoman's blooming daughter appeared 
 in the most seductive charms of loving 
 womanhood, to rouse in him the uncontrol- 
 lable passionate impulses of his youth and, 
 lastly, the trusting, self-denying, noble-heart- 
 ed Mistress D'Avenant, enriched with those 
 sterling gifts of mind that afford a woman 
 her truest title to divinity, seemed ready to 
 pour out the treasures of her bountiful sweet 
 affections, as if to call on him to meet her 
 marvellous bounty by an immediate out- 
 pouring of every thought, feeling, hope and 
 sentiment, that existed in his nature, as the 
 proper inheritance of manhood. With such 
 deep moving stimuli, his exertions may in 
 some measure be imagined. As for the 
 effects they produced, it looked as if every 
 spectator was spell-bound. One would be 
 seen in the pauses of the playing, gazing on 
 another with such strange delight and mar- 
 velling as he could not find words to express. 
 All the females from the noblest to the hum- 
 blest, were so stirred by the thrilling lan- 
 guage and the passionate manner of the
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 249 
 
 young lover, that their very hearts were 
 bound up in the story, and ere he had half 
 played his part he had both old and young at 
 his devotion. Such unanimous hearty plaud- 
 its had never before resounded in a play- 
 house ; but proud as ne felt at them, he was 
 not a whit less pleased at the honest prodi- 
 gal pleasure of his old schoolfellows and 
 brother players, with his worthy friend John 
 a Combe, who every time he came off the 
 stage, rivalled each other in their commen- 
 dations, and sent him on again with fresh 
 assurances and renewed happy spirits. 
 
 In brief, the whole performance .vas a 
 triumph from the commencement; and so 
 brilliant a one, perchance no player or play- 
 writer had ever enjoyed. His envious rivals 
 were forced into the expression of the gen- 
 eral voice ; doubtless much against their 
 several wills, but as they believed his share 
 in the popular approbation proceeded solely 
 from his skill in playing, they beheld not in 
 It any particular injury to themselves. As 
 for the play, never were men put in so 
 strange a state by one. They saw how vain 
 must be p,ny effort of theirs to mar its success, 
 and kept perplexing of themselves with fears 
 of the author's topping them in the public 
 eye ; and wondering more and more who he 
 was. At the end the curtain fell amid such 
 an uproar of shouts and plaudits, as is be- 
 yond conceiving. Every man seemed to 
 triumph in 'the triumph of the play ; and 
 every woman regarded the author's success 
 as the cause of true love and honorable de- 
 votedness. 
 
 William Shakspeare, thoroughly exhausted 
 by his wondrous exertions, was receiving the 
 earnest congratulations of his friends in a 
 chamber of the playhouse, when the manager 
 rushed towards him, and pulling him by the 
 arm, implored him to come with him on the 
 instant, before the curtain, for the audience 
 were making of such a terrible din and 
 racket he expected he should have the whole 
 house pulled about his ears, if the young 
 player did not speed to pacify them. At this 
 the latter made what haste he could for, in 
 truth, he heard such a disturbance as was 
 enough to frighten the boldest manager that 
 lived. As he came nearer the stage, he could, 
 amid the universal uproar, plain enough dis- 
 tinguish his own name shouted by hundreds 
 of voices. This was gratifying enough 
 but as soon as he made his appearance, the 
 plaudits and shoutings recommenced with 
 tenfold fury. The ladies and gallants stood 
 up in the rooms ; the former waving of their 
 fair white handkerchiefs, and the latter clapp- 
 ing of their hands and crying out all manner 
 
 of praises. As for the groundlings and those 
 in the scaffolds, such a storm of shouts and 
 cries, and other boisterous noises, came from 
 them as gave to no one the chance of a hear- 
 ing. Some few appeared aware of who was 
 the author, but by far the majority were aa 
 ignorant of it as the play-writers. The 
 young player acknowledged the honor that 
 was done him by the approval of the audi- 
 ence, with a graceful courtesy that lacked 
 not a sufficiency of admirers ; and so he 
 waited to know their will, as he could not 
 at' first make out, among the confusion of 
 sounds, what it was they were crying for. 
 At last, one of famous strong lungs made 
 himself heard above the rest by putting of the 
 question, " Who wrote this play ?" Where- 
 upon the young player advanced nearer, to 
 the audience, which they taking as a sign 
 he was about to tell them what they so much 
 desired to know, and there was a silence in 
 a presently. His rivals listened with all 
 their ears. 
 
 " An' it please you, I wrote this play," 
 replied William Shakspeare. In an instant 
 the storm burst out more furiously than 
 ever. Hats and handkerchiefs were waved 
 by every hand, and a chorus of cheers and 
 praises broke forth from every throat. The 
 chief nobles and gallants left their company 
 and got upon the stage, thronging publicly 
 around the young player, to give him their 
 countenance and commendation; and his 
 gentle friend, Edmund Spenser, who ap- 
 peared to enjoy his, success as though it had 
 been his own, made known to him as many 
 as were of his acquaintance. William 
 Shakspeare felt that all his hardships and 
 sufferings were more than recompensed by 
 the proud triumph of that hour. As for his 
 envious rivals, never men wore such black 
 visages as did they at hearing the young 
 player acknowledge himself the author of 
 that choice performance ; and they slunk 
 out of the playhouse as quickly as they 
 could. It may here be necessary to say of 
 them, that Greene died of great poverty, 
 brought on by his own notorious ill living, 
 after finishing his last " Repentance" 
 wherein, with a sufficiency of canting la- 
 mentation of his own vileness, he stoutly 
 abused his quondam friends, and secretly 
 slandered his fortunate rival ; that his asso- 
 ciate, the infamous Cutting Ball whose 
 sister he kept as his leman was hanged at 
 Tyburn for his many crimes and wicked dis- 
 honest courses a fate he richly merited ; 
 and his chief companion, Kit Marlowe, in 
 seeking to stab a dissolute associate with 
 whom he had quarrelled at tables in a low
 
 250 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 tavern at Dcptford, was miserably slain by 
 him on the spot, with a stroke of a dagger 
 thrust througli his eye. Of the others, 
 though they lived and produced plays, little 
 is known to their credit, either of them or 
 their publications. 
 
 But the success of William Shakspeare's 
 admirable performance appeared to increase 
 every day it was repeated ; crowds came to 
 see it, who went away so charmed that it 
 presently became the talk both of the court 
 and of the citizens. This can be in no way 
 surprising, when the monstrous difference 
 is considered, that lies betwixt the graceful 
 perfections of Romeo and Juliet, and the 
 poor contemptible bombast of the Jeronimos, 
 the Tamberlaine the Greats, and Orlando 
 Furiosos, which had previously been favo- 
 rites of the public. The appearance of a play 
 in every way so amazingly superior, and so 
 filled with the sweet graces of natural beauty, 
 worked a prodigious change in favor of the 
 playhouse. It shortly became the most po- 
 pular as well as the most fashionable enter- 
 tainment of the time ; and the players, from 
 being looked upon as little better than vaga- 
 bonds, were now resorted to by the best 
 company in the land. The throngs which 
 the performance of Romeo and Juliet brought 
 to the Globe, completely obliterated the ma- 
 nager's prejudices against the author; and 
 when in consequence of the favor in which 
 that production was viewed in high places, 
 it was ordered^ that the company should be 
 styled the Queen's Players, old Burbage, to 
 show his gratitude to the one who had been 
 of such important service, made him a 
 shareholder in the property of the company. 
 By this measure the young player found 
 himself in the possession of a fair provision, 
 and saw that nought was wanting but pro- 
 per exertion on his part to lead him to for- 
 tune and greatness. 
 
 As soon as his circumstances allowed, he 
 resolved on paying a visit to his native- 
 Stratford, fondly longing to see his dear 
 children, and to make such arrangements 
 for his parents, as would place them beyond 
 the reach of those bitter necessities they had 
 had such prolonged experience of ; and tak- 
 ing John a Combe to be of his company, they 
 started on their journey. The day before 
 their departure from London, the latter in 
 passing along one of the streets with his 
 friend, was attracted by the appearance of a 
 ragged filthy-looking woman, in a state of 
 evident drunkenness, dragged along by a 
 party of the city watch, who loaded her with 
 such abuse, as if she had been the most no- 
 torious vibe creature that lived, which, in 
 
 honest truth, she went nigh to be. ' Master 
 Combe suddenly left his companion, and 
 went close up to her, regarding her with a 
 searching scrutiny ; but directly she cast 
 eyes on him she screamed fearfully, and 
 tried to hide her face "with her hands. 
 
 " 'Tis she !" exclaimed her former lover, 
 and left her, with an aspect of mingled 
 horror and disgust. This woman was the 
 pretended Lady Arabella Comfit, the leman 
 of Master Buzzard, who was so conspicu- 
 ous an agent in the vile attempt upon the 
 foundling; and having gone through all 
 the grades of infamy, was now in the hands 
 of justice, about to answer for a whole ca- 
 talogue of her wicked base offences. 
 
 William Shakspeare travelled very dif- 
 ferently at this time from the manner in 
 which he made his journey to London, for 
 he rode a good horse, as did also his com- 
 panion, whom he amused famously on the 
 road by recounting his adventures and mis- 
 haps in his former travels. The country 
 now was in no way like what it was. The 
 poor Queen of Scots had long ceased to be 
 made an engine for harassing the people 
 with vain alarms ; and wherever the travel- 
 lers went, the inhabitants seemed mad with 
 the recent triumph of England over the 
 Spanish Armada. Bonfires were lit in every 
 town, and divers of the worthy country 
 people, if they might have had their will, 
 would have made logs of such 1 " wretched 
 villainous papists" as were nighest at hand. 
 Little of note occurred on the journey. The 
 young player passed but one night at Ox- 
 ford ; but doubtless that visit was infinitely 
 to his contentation. They were nearing 
 their destination, when they approached a 
 cavalcade of horsemen, who seemed going 
 the same road. Among them William 
 Shakspeare quickly recognized his former 
 venerable benevolent patron, Sir Marma- 
 duke de Largesse, and putting spurs to his 
 steed he was soon by his side. 
 
 Great was the gratification on both sides 
 at this meeting ; the old knight acquainting 
 his young companion, that after arming his 
 vassals, and marching at their head to help 
 guard the coast during the threatened inva- 
 sion, he had disbanded them, and having 
 then proceeded to court to attend upon her 
 Highness, he was returning home, first in- 
 tending to call in his way on an old ac- 
 quaintance and brother-in-arms, who was 
 about giving a grand tournament. 
 
 " Truly I should be glad to see it," re- 
 plied the other. 
 
 " Well, wend with me to my Lord de la 
 Pole's, and you shall have as good a sight of
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 251 
 
 it as any," said Sir Murmaduke ; " besides 
 which you shall behold l-.\s fair daughter, the 
 Lady Mabel, whose histtvy is so marvellous 
 strange." 
 
 " De la Pole ! Mabel " exclaimed Wil- 
 liam Shakspeare, in exceeding astonish- 
 ment. " Surely that cannoi be the exquisite 
 sweet creature brought up as a foundling* by 
 Dame Lucy." 
 
 " The same, Master Shakspeare, the 
 same, o' my life ! I know the whole story," 
 answered the old knight. 
 
 " Never heard I anything so wondrous," 
 said the young player. " As I live, Sir 
 Marmaduke, that very Mabel travelled with 
 me, disguised in male apparel, from close 
 upon Stratford to the neighborhood of the 
 Lord Urban's mansion. Despite her gar- 
 ments, I recognized her ere I had been long 
 in her company ; but fancying she might 
 feel some disquietude if she thought I knew 
 who she was, I treated her for what she ap- 
 peared to be. She gave me to understand 
 she fled from some villainous intentions : 
 and believing, when my Lord de la Pole 
 benevolently took charge of her, taking her 
 to be what she represented, that there was 
 no likelihood of her being so safely disposed 
 of elsewhere, I took my leave of her ; but I 
 have often thought of the gentle, graceful 
 cre.iture since then, and this present moment 
 am journeying to my lord's mansion to make 
 inquiries concerning of her fortunes." 
 
 At this Sir Marmaduke marvelled greatly, 
 and not without a famous admiration of the 
 honorableness of his young friend's deli- 
 cate behavior to the distressed damsel. 
 After some further talk on the subject, he 
 spoke of his nephews : Sir Reginald had 
 lately married ; and Sir Valentine, after 
 distinguished himself very notably, had pro- 
 mised in a few months to visit his kinsman. 
 
 " He might have had the most covetable 
 matches in the kingdom," added the old 
 knight ; '- but he seemeth in no way in- 
 clined to marry. Methinks the death of his 
 noble friend, Sir Philip Sydney, hath so 
 grieved him, he cannot be got to care to 
 love any other person." 
 
 " Doth he know of this aRnge in the 
 foundling's fortunes ?" inquired the young 
 player. 
 
 " Not a word," replied the knight ; " for I 
 received not advice of it myself till I was on 
 the point of starting from London he being 
 then with the court at Greenwich ; and from 
 what I have learned my intelligence coming 
 from no other than the happy father that 
 though the earl hath sent, far'and near, in- 
 vitations to his entertainment, he doth not 
 
 intend making any acquainted with the 
 proper cause of it, till the whole company 
 are assembled." 
 
 " I have had excellent evidence for know- 
 ing Sir Valentine loved the Lady Mabel," 
 observed William Shakspeare, " and I doubt 
 not at all his refusals of marriage were cre- 
 ated from his affection being engrossed by 
 the humble beauty at Charlcote whom he 
 must long have lost sight of." 
 
 " I hope- it may be the case with all my 
 heart !" exclaimed his companion earnestly, 
 " for doubt I not to say nought of his own 
 merit, which methinks should make its way 
 anywhere my old friendship with the earl 
 will give no little help to my nephew's 
 successful wooing of his daughter : and I 
 should be right glad to see him happy, for 
 i he hath seemed in very woful case a long 
 time past." 
 
 " Think you he will be at the tournament ?" 
 inquired the other. 
 
 " Surely, he cannot fail," replied Sir Mar- 
 maduke. ' He taketh great delight in-such 
 things ; and it is scarce possible he should 
 ! not have intelligence of it. Nevertheless, if 
 ' I find him not amongst the company, I will 
 ' use all despatch in making him acquainted 
 with whatsoever is most desirous he should 
 I know." Here the conversation was inter- 
 rupted by the approach of Master Peregrine 
 I and Sir Johan, to whom John a Combe, in 
 the meanwhile, had been relating Ms young 
 : friend's notable success. , 
 
 "This cometh entirely of those proper 
 
 studies we pursued together," gravely ob- 
 
 ! served the chaplain, after a sufficiency of 
 
 ! congratulation : " be assured, young sir, 
 
 | there is nought so like to lead to greatness 
 
 I as deep study of the classicjfirritings of the 
 
 ancient Greeks and Romans. ' 
 
 " Ancient pudding !" exclaimed the anti- 
 quary, in a monstrous indignation. " Dost 
 claim my admirable rare scholar of me on 
 such weak pretences? Hast forgot the 
 many hours I have passed in Sir Marma- 
 duke's library teaching of this my pupil ? 
 Ancient Greeks ! Ancient fig's ends ! I 
 tell thee all his fame proceeded from my ex- 
 treme pains-taking he should be familiar 
 with every one of those sweet repositories 
 of delectable knowledge, the old ballads." 
 
 " Old fiddlesticks !" retorted Sir Johan, 
 less inclined now than ever to lose the repu- 
 tation of having instructed so worthy a 
 scholar ; and there was like to be again very 
 desperate war between them on this point, 
 had not the young player made such ac- 
 knowledgments as went far towards the 
 satisfying of both parties. For all which,
 
 252 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 to the day of their deaths, each considered 
 Master Shakspeare' s infinite genius came 
 exclusively of his teaching. 
 
 Before the latter could get sight of the 
 Lady Mabel, she and her noble parents had 
 been informed of his arrival by Sir Marma- 
 duke, who took especial care aught he knew 
 to his advantage should have a faithful in- 
 telligencer ; and there could scarce be any 
 persons who could so perfectly appreciate 
 the conduct of his young friend as those to 
 whom he spoke. The yojuthful student the 
 poor foundling had beheld with such intenest 
 asleep under the tree, and who had rescued her 
 so gallantly from the power of the licentious 
 lord and his villainous assistants, and had 
 moreover behaved so brotherly during her 
 painful travelling after her escape from 
 Charlcote, was sure to be received by the 
 high-born lady, with sincere welcome and 
 gratitude. Indeed, the earl and the count- 
 ess did vie with her how they could best 
 show their respect to one to whom they 
 considered themselves so deeply indebted ; 
 but her particular delight seemed to be to 
 have him with her on every occasion, to 
 hear him discourse, which on all matters he 
 could right eloquently, but if there was one 
 subject she preferred to others, doubt not it 
 was his former companion and excellent gal- 
 lant friend, Sir Valentine. 
 
 In honest truth, her thoughts had been 
 in that channel far more than ever, 
 since the discovery of her parentage ; and, 
 with a woman's gratitude, she longed for 
 nothing so much as some opportunity to tes- 
 tify to the generous-hearted gentleman who 
 would have taken her to wife though she 
 was of such liumble poor condition, that she 
 lacked not a Moper estimation of his true 
 
 affection. Whilst preparations were going 
 on for a grand chivalrous entertainment 
 which the earl had decided on giving for 
 purposes of his own, a little plot was got up 
 
 a careless eye, and took no sort of interest in 
 the scene, Her attention was now almost 
 entirely devoted to Master Shakspeare, whom 
 she had made sit close behind her. All at 
 once a great shouting arose from the crowd, 
 which made her look again upon the con- 
 tending knights, and then she beheld one 
 whom she had not seen before, and whose 
 title she had not heard. He had entered the 
 barriers when she was most deeply engaged 
 in conversing with the young player, h 
 arrived late. He was clothed in a complete 
 suit of black armor, with his visor down. 
 Noting that. this knight overthrew all who 
 opposed him, she asked who he was ; there- 
 upon Master Shakspeare gave her a very 
 moving history of him, stating that he waa 
 called the black knight, and was an exceed- 
 ing mysterious personage, of whom none 
 knew anything, whereof the consequence 
 was no person was so much talked of. 
 Among other things, he said he had hoard 
 his aspect was so marvellously ill-favored 
 that he rarely made it visible. - 
 
 Nevertheless, of that press of chivalry 
 none showed such skill as the Black Knight 
 ill favored as he might be and he was 
 publicly declared to be the chiefest of all 
 for knightly accomplishments. When the 
 tourney was over, the Lady Mabel left her 
 seat, exceedingly dull at heart, her lover 
 had not fulfilled her expectations by being 
 one of the actors in the scene she had just 
 witnessed. She was in one of the principal 
 chambers in the mansion, in the midst of a 
 most courtly company, in her attire rival- 
 ling the splendor of the noblest dame pre- 
 sent, and in her beauty far surpassing the 
 loveliest. The young player was beside 
 her, seeming to be very intent on affording 
 her some sort of amusement, by telling her 
 strange tales of the Black Knight in which 
 it was difficult to say whether the horrible 
 or the ludicrous most predominated. Whilst 
 
 by him and others of whom- was William j-he kept her attention engaged, there ap- 
 Shakspcare to assist in carrying it on to ] proached towards them the very object of 
 the conclusion all desired. On the day ap- their conversation, with his vizor up, accom- 
 pointed, the principal nobles and gallants in I panied by the Earl and Sir Marmaduke. He 
 the land came thronging to the lists, and a : stopped suctthly as he caught sight of her, 
 
 crowd of curious spectators, from far and 
 near, assembled in the great park, to see them 
 engage. Proper buildings had been there 
 erected ; and in a commanding situation the 
 
 and gazed 
 
 astonishment on her ex- 
 
 quisite fair countenance and majestic figure. 
 " Sir Knight," said the Earl, after ho had 
 allowed the other, as he thought, to marvel 
 
 Countess and her daughter sat surrounded ; to an absolute sufficiency, "this is my daugh- 
 by the chief nobility of the country, to wit- ter of whom I spoke. It grieveth me to the 
 ness the proceedings. Among the knights \ heart I cannot, after all I have said, get you 
 present the Lady Mabel looked in vain for the ! to entertain the idea of becoming my son-in- 
 one she most desired to see. She heard their j law." 
 
 titles, she beheld their cognizances, but all j " Mabel !" rapturously exclaimed the 
 were strange to her ; and she looked on with ; Black Knight, and so audibly, the iaay
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 turned her gaze upon him on the instant. 
 The voice stirred her deepest affections ; 
 and one glance sufficed to call them into 
 fulle*. action. The knight was Sir Valen- 
 tine, who had worn black armor since the 
 death of his lamented and valiant friend Sir 
 Philip Sydney. All traces of the Earl's suf- 
 fering had vanished, under the gladdening 
 influence of those excellent ministers of 
 good, whom he had treated with such mon- 
 strous injustice; and their happiness was 
 now his sole care. He took care to make 
 public the wrong he had done, that his story 
 might be a lesson unto all such mere slaves 
 of reputation, and their merit might be ex- 
 amples to every honest wife and affectionate 
 daughter, as long as the world lasted. His 
 efforts were crowned with a deserved suc- 
 cess. The Countess, who was hailed by 
 her friends as one risen from the grave, was 
 in such content as she had never till then 
 had knowledge of; and her daughter, in the 
 fond devotion of Sir Valentine, enjoyed such 
 extreme happiness, as was the fittest recom- 
 pence for her many painful troubles. Of 
 the spectators, not one so much enjoyed the 
 spectacle of her felicity, as he whose boyish 
 dreams she had made so radiant with her 
 early beauty. He had entered heart and 
 s:>ul into the little plot that had been design- 
 ed for the purpose of bringing the lovers to- 
 gether; and witnessed the mutual delicious 
 pleasure of their recognition^with a heart as 
 pregnant with true enjoyment as had either. 
 
 Having promised every one of that now 
 happy family, to their united earnest pressing, 
 he would be present at the nuptials of Sir 
 Valentine and Lady Mabel, he once more 
 pursued his journey, accompanied by the 
 same party with whom he had" visited the 
 Earl's mansion. As he drew nigh the fami- 
 liar places bordering on Stratford, every spot 
 called up a thousand delightful associations. 
 Far different were his feelings at approach- 
 ing his native town, to what they had been 
 when he last left it. Then, desperate unhap- 
 piness had banished him, friendless and ob- 
 scure but now, he returned full of pleasure 
 in the present, and hope in the future, lack- 
 ing neither store of friends, nor sufficiency of 
 reputation ; and having no sort of anxieties, 
 save for those from whom he had been so 
 long parted. Whilst his mind was filled 
 with sweet loving thoughts of his dear chil- 
 dren and parents, kindred and friends, he was 
 accosted by a voice he could not fail of re- 
 cognizing in a moment. 
 
 " Said I not so, my lambkin ?" exclaimed 
 Nurse Cicely, seeming to be overjoyed at 
 beholding her foster-child returning to his 
 
 native town in so gallant a fashion. She 
 stood in the very same spot where he had 
 last seen her and he now remembered the 
 fair hopes she had given him when he was 
 in so despairing a humor. He gladly stop- 
 ped and greeted the old affectionate creature 
 in his kindest manner, and bid her be of good 
 heart, for he would visit her anon, which put 
 her in such garrulous contentation, she went 
 off to her gossips, and would talk of nothing 
 else. Everything seemed just as he had left 
 it, and his old acquaintances appeared in no 
 way altered, save only Skinny Dickon, 
 who had grown to be as stout a man as any 
 in the town. As he rode by, there stood 
 the Widow Pippins, leaning over the rail in 
 her gallery, laughing with as notable a 
 heartiness as ever, at no other than that still 
 most miserable of constables, Oliver Dumps, 
 upon whom it looked monstrous, like as if 
 she had been playing some of her jests. 
 There sat the two merry wives-, Mistress 
 Dowlas and Mistress Malmsey, gossipping 
 at the iatter's casement, whilst the worthy 
 aldermen, their husbands, were standing at 
 their several doors, shouting little matters of 
 news across the street ; there was Mother 
 Flytrap and Dame Laaibswool, Maud and 
 her partner Humphrey, gaping with open 
 mouths at the approaching cavalcade till the 
 latter, recognizing his old master's son, 
 threw up his cap in the air, and shouted hia 
 congratulations in so hearty a manner, the 
 whole town were soon made acquainted 
 with their visitor. All this was exquisite 
 to William Shakspeare ; but when, on en- 
 tering Henly Street, he beheld his honest 
 old father in his homely jerkin, standing at 
 the door looking to see what made that sud- 
 den outcry, his feelings became so powerful, 
 he put spurs to his horse, and rode up to the 
 door as rapidly as he could ; but the joyful 
 cry to his dame of John Shakspeare, as he 
 beheld his son, brought out the fond mother 
 in a marvellous haste, and the young player 
 was scarce free of his saddle when he found 
 her loving arms around his neck. A few 
 minutes after, his happiness was completed 
 by holding in his tender embraces first one 
 and then the other of his dear children ; and 
 this he did in such a manner as seemed to 
 show he knew not which of the three he 
 ought to love the most. 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed the youthful father, in 
 an impassioned burst of tenderness, as he 
 pressed them in his fond embrace, the 
 others, with delighted aspects, noting his 
 famous enjoyment, " Such sweet happiness 
 never tasted I all my days ! Who would 
 not toil who would not suffer who would
 
 264 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 not school his affections unto virtuous hon- 
 est purposes through the bitterest pangs hu- 
 manity hath knowledge of, to crown his la- 
 bor with pleasure of so sterling a sort ? 
 
 Truly, methinks such glad otMviions prove 
 with the choicest of argun-n*, all else but 
 goodness is utter folly, and as abssrtrtv des- 
 perate ignorance as ever existed." 
 
 j HERE ENDETH THE STORY OF 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 NOTE. The courteous reader, with a very bounteous kindness, and it is to be hoped, not 
 without a fair entertainment, hath thus far proceeded with the moving history of this truly glo- 
 rious character ; yet if he'loveth the subject as it deserves he should, he ought in no manner to 
 be content here to stop ; but proceed with a proper diligence to the perusal of what is set dowh 
 concerning of his after brilliant career, and likewise of those master spirits of the age by whom 
 he got to be surrounded, which, with other matters of a like enticing sort, to wit, most stirring 
 adventures most delicate love-scenes most choice humors^ind exquisite witty jests, he may 
 count on having famous store of (else sundry notable critics err hugely) in the company of 
 " Shakspeare and his Friends."
 
 /;i\B 
 
 Itzfl&r ^^si&^^r ,-, w\ WK 
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE 
 
 (Efjc olton age of itterrg nalanii 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OP 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE." 
 
 s e was gente, an te eements 
 So mixed in him. that Nature might stand up. 
 And say to kl the world." This was a man." 
 JUL 'is CXSA* 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 STRINGER & TOWNSF.ND
 
 

 
 OF 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AID HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, 
 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine 
 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 
 Why should a man whose blood is warm within 
 
 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
 
 Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice 
 
 By being peevish? SHAKSPEAKE. 
 
 Soul of the age ! 
 
 Th' applause, delight, the wonder of our stage ! 
 My Shakspeare, rise ! BEN JONSON. 
 
 I PRYTHEE have patience, courteous 
 reader ! the whilst I describe a certain 
 chamber well worthy of most minute de- 
 lineation as thou wilt see anon from 
 its having been the retreat, or closet, or 
 place retired from the public eye, in 
 which the master spirit of his age, and 
 the glory of all times to come, did first 
 develop those right famous qualities from 
 which the world hath received such in- 
 finite profit and delight. I will not 
 trouble thee with a vain show of phrases 
 architectural, which crabbed antiquari- 
 ans do much affect ; for I am not learned 
 in the mystery of stone and timber; but 
 what true heart and simple skill can do 
 with language, will I essay, to give thee 
 an accurate conception of a place that 
 hath so many admirable recommenda- 
 tions to thy attention. 
 
 It was a room of no extraordinary di- 
 mensions, yet was it not stinted to space. 
 The ceiling was of a moderate height, 
 and the sides of the chamber were^ of 
 oak, the panels of which were adorned 
 with a goodly show of delicate tracery, 
 like unto the folds of linen : and round 
 the chimney-piece was a most liberal dis- 
 
 play of carving, in fruits and foliage. 
 A large vase of living flowers, that filled 
 the chamber with a ravishing sweetness, 
 stood beside the fire-dogs. One broad 
 casement, con^posed of many little panes 
 let into pieces of lead, looked out upon 
 the river, and the centre part of it being 
 open like a door, at divers times might 
 be heard the mellow " ye, ho !" of the 
 bargeman working his oar, as he piloted 
 his heavy craft toward the city wharves , 
 or, mayhap, softened in the distance, the 
 burden of a popular ballad, sung by a 
 party of merry apprentices going a pleas- 
 uring on the water. At one end of the 
 room there rested on the oak floor a large 
 heavy press of dark walnut-tree wood, 
 ornamented with rude carvings of Adam 
 and Eve, and the tree of knowledge ; and 
 opposite stood an ancient bookcase, the 
 shelves of which supported a number of fa- 
 mous black-letter volumes, folios and oth- 
 ers, cased in parchment or roan bindings. 
 On several narrow, high-backed chairs, 
 of carved oak, might be seen different 
 articles of apparel a hat on one, a cloak 
 on another, and mayhap, a rapier resting 
 against a third. In one corner were sup- 
 dry swords and a matchlock ; in another, 
 divers pieces of old armor. An empty 
 tankard, and the remains of the morning 
 repast, stood upon a large table in the 
 centre of the chamber; and near the 
 window, before a smaller table covered 
 with papers, and in an antique arm-chair, 
 sat its illustrious occupant. 
 
 Although his hose were ungartered, 
 and his doublet had been left unbraced, 
 his right noble countenance and worship-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Ail bearing left not the spectator opportu- 
 nity to notice the negligence of his attire. 
 His face, which was of a manly age 
 two years short of thirty had been most 
 providentially fashioned, with a fore- 
 head of marvellous capacity eyes mild, 
 yet lively withal a mouth impressed 
 with a very amatory eloquence and a 
 beard of a perfect gravity. Nor were his 
 limbs of a less favorable mould. In fact, 
 he was a man of multitudinous good 
 graces. I would there were more such. 
 Many such there never can be, for admi- 
 rable as he was in person, he was siill 
 more estimable in mind ; and the union 
 of these excellences in a like liberal pro- 
 portion is of such rarity, that peradven- 
 ture the example will last out the world. 
 
 I am but a sorry limner ; but had I the 
 art of Master Holbein, of famous mem- 
 ory, I could not hope, in a portrait, to do 
 him justice ; nevertheless, as what the 
 original hath done hath been so singu- 
 larly well liked, I despair nol that pos- 
 terity will give him proper countenance. 
 However, suffice it to say, he sat writing 
 with a creditable diligence ; ever and 
 anon leaning against his seat, abstracted- 
 ly as it were ; and when he had suffi- 
 ciently pqndered on the matter with 
 which he was in progress, his pen re- 
 sumed its path along the paper with ad- 
 ditional speed. Sometimes he would 
 smile as he wrote, as if tickled with the 
 creations of his own fancy ; and once his 
 humor seemed so touched with some pal- 
 pable conceit, that he cast down the pen, 
 and throwing himself back in his chair, 
 did laugh right heartily. At other times, 
 when he appeared to have written pas- 
 sages of a graver purport, which gave 
 him more than passable satisfaction, he 
 took the paper in his hand, and did read 
 aloud, with a rich voice and a most feli- 
 citous expression ; and of a verity, never 
 was the air so filled with delectable 
 thoughts. At this time there was heard 
 a knocking at the door. " Come in !" 
 exclaimed he ; and thereupon entered 
 one apparelled like a young gallant, with 
 hat and feather of a goodly fashion, a del- 
 icate satin doublet, an excellent fine ruff, 
 a cloak worn daintily on the shoulder, 
 and a long rapier fastened to his side : 
 trunks prettily cut and embroidered, with 
 silk hose and ruffled boots. 
 
 " Ah, Dick !" said he in the chair, 
 laughingly, as he recognised the good- 
 humored features of his visiter, and 
 scrutinizing his attire as he closed the 
 door and was advancing into the room, 
 " I'faith thou lookest as fine as a snake 
 
 that hath just cast its skin ; and," added 
 he, with more emphasis, " art as useful 
 to any good purpose I'll be bound." 
 
 "Will! Will! thou hast a most ma- 
 lignant wit !" cried the other, as he ap- 
 proached his friend with mock gravity, 
 and shook him earnestly by the hand. 
 " But what thinkest thou of these brave- 
 ries ?" said he, standing as upright as he 
 might, spreading out his cloak, and read- 
 justing his hat. " I fancied that we, the 
 queen's majesty's poor players, ought to 
 dress as becomes the queen's majesty, 
 and therefore have I robed myself anew. 
 What thinkest thou of the cock of this 
 hat? 'Tis in admirable conceit, is it 
 not ? and the feather doth it not hang 
 marvellously well ? Doth not this cloak 
 become me infinitely ? and the slashing 
 of this doublet, is it not of the most super- 
 lative fashion ?" 
 
 " In truth, Dick," remarked his com- 
 panion, drily, as he pushed back his 
 chair to take a better view of his visiter, 
 " I've seen many a jackdaw cut a finer 
 figure ?" 
 
 "A plague on thy pestilent jests !" ex- 
 claimed the other with assumed indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 " But as thou askest for my opinion," 
 he resumed, " I will tell thee. Didst thou 
 wish to attire thyself as becometh the 
 queen's majesty, thou shouldst have had 
 recourse to the queen's majesty's ward- 
 robe : for in honest truth, Dick, I do not 
 think thy present dress would become 
 that illustrious princess in the smallest 
 degree" 
 
 " Oh thou pernicious varlet !" 
 
 "As for the cock of thy hat, 'tis cer- 
 tainly in admirable conceit, or rather, the 
 conceit is in it, for thy head is in it ; and 
 I do not flatter thee when I say there is 
 no lack of conceit there." 
 
 "Perdition seize thy wit !" 
 
 " Thy feather doth hang marvel- 
 lously well i'faith I doubt much if thou 
 wouldst hang better thyself." 
 
 "Enough, enough, Will," t,3.gerly ex- 
 claimed his associate, putting his hands 
 together, as if begging for mercy ; " if 
 thou hast any bowels of compassion, 
 spare me." 
 
 " And if thou wert half as well slashed 
 as thy doublet," continued his friend, in- 
 attentive to his remonstrance, " I think 
 thou wouldst be in a much more superla- 
 tive fashion than thou art now." 
 
 "O'my word, Will," said the other, 
 laughing, as he took off his hat and flung 
 himself into a chair, " thou art all points, 
 like a I'^dgehog, or like the naughty girl
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 in the story-book, out of thy mouth there 
 cometh nothing but venemous things." 
 
 " But what mercer art thou attempting 
 to ruin ?" inquired his companion. 
 
 " A fig for the mercer 'tis the mer- 
 cer's daughter I seek !" replied his guest. 
 
 " Attempt to ruin a mercer's daugh- 
 ter !" exclaimed the other, half starting 
 from his chair with affected surprise. 
 " Fie on thee, for a reprobate! thou art 
 enough to corrupt us all ; thou wilt have 
 the whole city up in arms against us, and 
 we shall be obliged to fly from the Bank- 
 side to escape the stocks." 
 
 " I meant not that, Will I am a 
 neathen if I meant that ; but thou know- 
 est my failing I am always after the 
 women. Oh, those exquisite, sweet crea- 
 tures !" 
 
 " Thou shouldst have more ambition, 
 Dick ; precedency is man's natural right 
 in such instances, but if thou art always 
 after the women, thou canst never hope 
 to get before them." 
 
 " Thou hast me again," cried his com- 
 panion, as he threw himself back in his 
 seat to give vent to his laughter; "I 
 would as soon attempt to parry jests with 
 thee as to eat thistles with a jackass ; so 
 take thy fill, and be hanged to thee. But 
 I tell thee how it is, Will : This mercer's 
 daughter is said to be the richest heiress 
 in the city. I saw her at the Bear gar- 
 den with the old hunks her father, whom 
 she ruleth most filially ; and observing 
 that she had an eye like Venus" 
 
 " Only one, Dick ?" inquired his com- 
 panion, innocently. 
 
 " Two, or I'm a sinner," replied he 
 "and a bust like Juno: ay, and every 
 grace that all Olympus possessed. In 
 brief, a beauty of such ravishing perfec- 
 tions, that immediately I found her gaze 
 upon me, I felt as many of Cupid's ar- 
 rows in my heart as there are pins in her 
 huswife, and thereupon fell most conti- 
 nently in love." 
 
 " With her father's strong box, Dick ?" 
 asked the other. 
 
 "With her own sweet self, thou ag- 
 gravating varlet. I presently made up 
 to the father, and did enter into very so- 
 oer discourse, till I found I had got hold 
 of the daughter's ear, and then I pointed ', 
 out the persons of distinction in the com- 
 pany, and seasoned my conversation with 
 some delicate compliments, all which 
 she did receive in very good fashion, re- ; 
 warding me with such looks from her 
 soft hazel eyes as warmed my veins like 
 stoup of canary. The old fellow courte- i 
 ously invited me to his house, and the 
 
 dear wench did repeat some most enti- 
 cing words, which sent me to the mer- 
 cer's in a presently. To please him, 1 
 ordered these fallals, and to please her, I 
 wear them. I met her by appointment 
 since then in Paul's Walk, and after that 
 she gave me some delicious interviews 
 alone in her father's dwelling, of which 
 I made right profitable use. I tell thee, 
 she is ready to melt in my arms." 
 
 "A wax doll would do the same, Dick,*' 
 drily remarked the other, "if thou wert 
 warm enough." 
 
 "Away with thy pestilent similes!" 
 exclaimed his guest, starting up from his 
 seat, as if in anger ; then, resuming his 
 place, continued : " She showed me yes- 
 terday a sonnet, or some other pernicious 
 mischief of the kind, which had been 
 written in commendation of her beauty 
 perhaps by some crazy engrosser of 
 parchments. The plague of bad clients 
 be upon him ! and asked me to try what 
 I could do in that way. Now, unless I 
 can produce some such verses my mal- 
 ediction rest upon Apollo and all his gen- 
 eration ! I feel assured I may spare my- 
 self the trouble pf venturing within the 
 precincts of her tenement. Thou know- 
 est I could as soon fly as rhyme. I have 
 scratched my head till it ached, and 
 looked up to the ceiling till my neck was 
 as stiff as my ruff; but if ever I succeeded 
 in making reason of my rhyme, or rhyme 
 of my reason, I'm worse than a Jew. So 
 I tell thee what, sweet Will, thou shalt 
 help me in this strait with thine own un- 
 paralleled talents, and if I be not grate- 
 ful, call me a dog." 
 
 " Dog, quotha !" cried the other, in 
 seeming amazement ; "art thou not the 
 j veriest dog that howls o' nights ? What 
 : a face hast thou, thou impudent varlet, 
 after having, with thy miserable breath, 
 cursed Apollo and all his generation, to 
 come, cap in hand, to one of the humblest 
 of his followers ! Go to, I'll ha' none o' 
 thee ! I abandon thee to the fury of the 
 immortal gods." 
 
 " Nay, but, sweet Will." 
 
 " Ay, ' sweet Will ' thou callest me 
 now ; yet a moment since I was likened 
 to a jackass eating thistles. Hast thou 
 no shame? Dost think, because thine 
 own wretched hack will not stir a foot, 
 that thou shalt ride on my Pegasus ? I'm 
 an oyster if I let thee." 
 
 "What! not assist thy old friend and 
 co/nrade ?" asked the other, in the same 
 bantering tone he had used from the first : 
 " how often have I done thee a good turn 
 that way ? Dost remember, in merry
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Stratford, when we were both boys, yet 
 with an intolerant inclination for the hon- 
 ors of manhood, how often I did lead Sir 
 Thomas Lucy's gamekeeper in search of 
 imaginary deer-stealers, whilst thou wert 
 courting his niece in the shrubbery ?" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! thou hast me there, Dick," 
 replied his friend, unable to refrain from 
 laughing at the odd associations which 
 came crowding to his memory ; " thou 
 hast me there of a surety. Ah, Kate ! 
 she was a delectable little gipsey, with a 
 most enticing ankle, and a smile that 
 would thaw a six weeks' frost. But dost 
 forget thine own tricks, old memoran- 
 dum ? Hast forgot when thou wert lay- 
 ing siege to Barbara, the sexton's pretty 
 daughter, behind the church, how I, with 
 a sheet I had stolen for the nonce, and 
 a turnip-lantern and candle, did stalk 
 through the churchyard, to keep the folks 
 from disturbing thee to the horror of 
 the whole neighborhood, and the near 
 frightening to death of three ancient 
 spinsters, two drunken ploughboys, and 
 the parish constable ?" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" shouted the other, 
 with an obstreperous fit of mirth, " 'tis as 
 true as life ; I'm nothing better than a 
 Turk, if every word isn't gospel. But," 
 added he, gravely, " who could imagine 
 Master William Shakspeare playing the 
 ghost in a country churchyard ?" 
 
 " Or Master Richard Burbage playing 
 the lover to a sexton's daughter ?" 
 
 And thereupon the two worthies did 
 .augh till the tears ran down their cheeks, 
 and for some time every word they added 
 seemed to act as a provocative to their 
 mirth. 
 
 " I'faith, after all's said and done," ob- 
 served Master Shakspeare, when he had 
 recovered his gravity, " 'twas most ex- 
 quisite fooling." 
 
 " I'faith it was," said Master Burbage. 
 " But thou wilt let me have the verses ?" 
 he added, as he sauntered up to the table. 
 " Ay, marry will I, for old acquaint- 
 ance sake," replied his friend, and imme- 
 diately did search among his papers, from 
 which he presently selected one. Scru- 
 tinizing it earnestly, he continued " Ha ! 
 here is a string of idle rhymes that may- 
 hap may suit thy purpose, and thy mer- 
 cer's daughter also. I think of it indif- 
 ferently ; nay, I will acknowledge I fancy 
 'tis, rather discreditable to me ; but each 
 has his own taste, and therefore it may 
 stand a chance of pleasing thy inamorata. 
 Listen, and I will read it to thee." 
 
 Master Burbage did lean his elbow on 
 the table, having his body bent forward, 
 
 and supporting his head with h;s nand , 
 and kept a profound attention whilst 
 Master Shakspeare read the following 
 lines : 
 
 " The Time hath passed for godlike forms 
 
 To leave awhile their starry homes, 
 And throw, 'mid human clouds and storms, 
 
 Elysian joy on mortal domes. 
 The Time hath passed when Phoebus flung 
 
 His golden spells on laughing earth ; 
 And ev'ry field and forest rung 
 
 With hymns of bliss, and shouts of mirth. 
 Chaste Dian's silv'ry voice is mute, 
 
 The Sea Nymphs dance not on the shore , 
 Sjlent Is now the Dryad's flute, 
 
 And Pan's sweet reed is heard no more. 
 E'en Love hath folded up his wings, 
 
 And from his hand his bow hath cast ; 
 Apollo's lyre hath lost its strings, 
 
 Its tune hath fled THE TIME HATH PASSSB 
 
 " Gone are the glorious visitants 
 
 Who gave this world so bright a grace, 
 And Grief and Care a thousand wants, 
 
 And endless crimes, are in their place ; 
 Unhonored is the poet's lay 
 
 That once made all Olympus glad ; 
 And Worth is left to beg its way, 
 
 Or perish with the mean and bad. 
 And I, who strove with heart and mind, 
 
 That famished souls might break their fat, 
 Discover now that Heaven is blind, 
 
 The world is dead THE TIME HATH PAIMJ i 
 
 " Oh, no, the Time's restored, again, 
 
 And with it all its gladdening shapes. 
 The whilst, from off the breast and brain, 
 
 The cloud in which they lay, escapes. 
 Phcebus in thy bright shape returns. 
 
 Thy word's chaste Dian's voice enslave, 
 For thee the Sea Nymphs' crystal urns, 
 
 When in the bath thy limbs must lave. 
 Love in thine eyes hath ta'en new ground, 
 
 And keeps his sharp artillery there ; 
 The breeze Apollo's strings hath found, 
 
 And stirs them in thy golden hair ; 
 And as for Pan's Arcadian reed, 
 
 Tuned with the Dryads' measured trips, 
 What blissful melodies exceed 
 
 The music breathing from thy lips ? 
 Well cared for is the green earth still, 
 
 When round thee all Olympus glows ; 
 Well honored is the poet's skill, 
 
 When worth like thine its praise bestows. 
 Then blessings be upon thy path, 
 
 And joy that no ill breath can blast 
 Be with thee now the world's poor wrath 
 
 Can harm me not THE TIME HATH PASSED !" 
 
 " Excellent good, i'faith !" exclaimed 
 Master Burbage, delightedly. " Excel- 
 lent good ! If she tie not satisfied with 
 it, nothing less than another Iliad will 
 gratify her cormorant fancy. Give me 
 the paper, sweet Will ! Dan Homer was 
 a blind ballad-monger to thee, thou prince 
 of rhymers." 
 
 " A vaunt, thou horrid flatterer !" cried 
 Master Shakspeare, as he allowed his 
 companion to conceal the verses in his 
 purse. " But 'tis poor fishing with other 
 folks' tackle, Dick," he added, in his own 
 facetious way. 
 
 " Faith, I care not an' I have good 
 
 sport: and I'll pay thee for thy tackle 
 
 with a loose fish or two," replied the oth- 
 
 i er, with a 'Buckle of inward satisfaction.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " I'll ha' none o' thy gudgeons," said 
 his friend, with mock disdain. " When 
 I fish I catch whales." 
 
 " Then hast thou a very blubberly 
 taste," rejoined Master Burbage, " and 
 when I want salve for a wound I'll come 
 to thee ; for thou must have a most in- 
 finite stock of spermaceti." 
 
 Thus they proceeded, bantering and 
 laughing at one another, and indulging 
 their humors with perfect satisfaction to 
 themselves, when a knock was heard at 
 the door, and admittance being granted, 
 there entered a man of a pleasant aspect, 
 and of spare figure, not so gayly gar- 
 mented as Master Burbage, yet having 
 much of the outward appearance of re- 
 spectability. 
 
 " Welcome, good Lazarus Fletcher. 
 Welcome !" cried Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " Hail to thee, Lazarus !" added Mas- 
 ter Burbage, in his usual jocose manner. 
 " Hast thou come to the rich man's table, 
 Lazarus ? Look for the crumbs, man ! 
 Look for the crumbs ! and thou art not 
 like to get anything else ; for the table 
 hath nothing better than a bare trencher 
 and an empty tankard. Catch the crumbs 
 that hath fallen then, for, in truth, thou 
 lookest wofully like a right .hungry Laz- 
 arus. " 
 
 "If I look as hungry as Lazarus, thou 
 lookest as fine as Dives," retorted Master 
 Fletcher. 
 
 " What, be there no dogs to lick this 
 Lazarus, that he seemeth so woundily 
 sore ?" said the other. " But I tell thee 
 
 Fletcher ; for that there is something in 
 the book is evident in the index thou 
 looke'st as important as a tailor's wife 
 threading her husband's needle." 
 
 " O' my troth, I have something worth 
 the telling," replied he. 
 
 ' Disburthen thyself then, and quickly, 
 good Lazarus," observed Master Shaks- 
 peare. 
 
 " There hath a message come from the 
 master of the Revels, worthy Master Ed- 
 mond Tilney," said Master Fletcher, " to 
 the intent that it be the design of the 
 queen's majesty, with divers of her hon- 
 orable court, to honor her poor players 
 with a visit ; and leaving Hearings and 
 Condell and the rest to prepare for her 
 reception, I posted off here, as Master 
 Burbage had left word that he would be 
 found at Master Shakspeare's lodgings. 
 
 " Hurrah !" shouted Master Burbage, 
 snatching up his hat and waving it over 
 his head, " we'll have a right worshipful 
 audience. Heaven preserve her majesty, 
 and enrich her servants, say I. Come 
 along, good Lazarus !" he added, as he 
 caught his brother actor by the arm, " we 
 must to the playhouse." 
 
 " I will be with thee anon, Dick," said 
 Master Shakspeare, as his visiters were 
 proceeding to the door. " But I have a 
 letter to write to my Lord Southampton, 
 to thank him for yonder exquisite present 
 of flowers he hath sent me from his own 
 garden, and to acquaint him with our 
 proceedings with the court of aldermen, 
 touching our threatened liberties, at the 
 
 Blackfriars." 
 
 Success attend thee, Will, in all thy 
 
 what, Lazarus, an' thou ever liest in 
 Abraham's bosom, thou hadst best tuck 
 
 up thine ankles, for thou must needs find ; doings," exclaimed his friend, and put- 
 there a plentiful lack of bed-room." 1 ting on his hat he led his companion out 
 
 " Mind not the reprobate, worthy I of the chamber. 
 
 Fletcher," observed Master Shakspeare j Master Shakspeare being left alone, 
 yet unable to refrain from laughing. ' did presently draw up his chair closer to 
 
 " Marry, why should I mind him," re- the table on which he had been writing, 
 plied the other, " he only showeth that and did recommence his labors with an 
 he hath a spice of the ability of Sam- admirable diligence. Mayhap he was 
 son : for he maketh a goodly use of the engaged in the inditing of one of those 
 jawbone of an ass." ; right famous plays which did bring so 
 
 " Ha, ha !" shouted Master Shakspeare, much honor to his name ; but know I not 
 chafing his hands in the intensity of his this for a surety ; and as a trusty chroni- 
 delight. " Spare him not, good Lazarus : cler, I will only subscribe to that of which 
 an ; thou loveth me, spare him not.'' I have a perfect knowledge. However, 
 Then looking toward his friend, he added, it be certain that he had not been long 
 " I'faith, Dick, thou hast found thy , so engaged, when a third knock was 
 match." ' heard at the door, so gentle it was scarce- 
 
 " Match !" exclaimed Master Burbage, ly audible ; and although he seemed at 
 turning sharp rouad from the casement first somewhat impatient of interruption 
 out of which he had that moment been (for no man liketh to be much disturbed 
 leaning, "ay, marry! and like other in his privacy), when, upon his giving 
 matches all the good lieth in the brim- permission to the person to enter, he ob- 
 s'one. Bur tell us thy news, Master served his visiter, he gave him most cour-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 teous welcome He was a youth, aged 
 seventeen, or thereabouts, tall, slim, .and 
 elegant, and though clad in homelv rus- 
 set, there was that in his graceful car- 
 riage, and in his mild yet thoughtful coun- 
 tenance, that did signify something of a 
 far higher quality than such poor apparel 
 did denote. But most remarkable was 
 me exceeding modesty of his deportment. 
 He opened and closed the door almost 
 tremblingly, and respectfully taking off 
 his hat, advanced into the room witn 
 downcast eyes, t the great marvel of our 
 illustrious poet. 
 
 " I took the boldness, Master Shaks- 
 peare," said the youth falieringly, as he 
 kept smoothing his hat with his hand 
 where he stood in the middle of the 
 chamber " I took the boldness some 
 time since to send you a tragedy of my 
 poor contrivance ; hoping, from what I 
 had heard of your worthy disposition, 
 that you would honor that humble at- 
 tempt to such an extent as to give it your 
 perusal ; and peradventure if such an ob- 
 scure individual be not thought altogether 
 unworthy of attention from one so excel- 
 lently gifted as yourself, you will favor 
 me so far as to grant me your opinion of 
 its matter and management." 
 
 " That will I, worthy sir, without fail," 
 replied Master Shakspeare, regarding 
 his young visiter with a more 'ban ordi- 
 nary interest. "But you must first ac- 
 quaint me with your name, and the title 
 of the play you intrusted to my custody ; 
 for my reputation, however little deserved 
 it may be, and my influence at the play- 
 house, which is thought to be greater 
 than it is, are the causes of my being 
 continually applied to for a similar pur- 
 pose." 
 
 " The tragedy was called ' Hero Lean- 
 der,' and I signed my name ' Francis,' " 
 murmured the youth. 
 
 " Let me beg of you to be seated, wor- 
 thy Master Francis," exclaimed (he other, 
 as he hastily handed him a chair. " I 
 remember it well," he added, as he 
 searched among his papers on the table, 
 " by the token that it did contain many 
 passages that exhibited no mean ability." 
 
 The melancholy aspect of the young 
 stranger did brighten up marvellously at 
 the hearing of this commendation, and 
 his eyes looked abundance of thanks. 
 He argued the most favorable conclusion 
 from so promising a commencement, for 
 it is the nature of youth to be sanguine 
 -pon very little occasion. 
 
 " I have it," said Master Shakspeare, 
 as he laid hold of the manuscript ; and, 
 
 opening it, sat himself down in the chair, 
 aif to gi veil a careful examination : then 
 added, ' but in all honesty. I must ac- 
 knowledge that it hath a total unh'tness for 
 representation." At this the youth's coun- 
 tenance became blanched with a sudden 
 paleness. " It haih a lack of everything 
 which is most necessary for a drama to 
 have : to wit, action interest and char- 
 acter ; the which, if i I have not, were 
 it written by King Solomon himself, or 
 the seven wise masters in conjunction, it 
 would have no chance with our modern 
 audiences. The time of mysteries and 
 moralities hath gone by. People now will 
 not listen to dialogues without an object, 
 and plays without a plot. David hath 
 ceased to abuse Goliath in a set speech 
 an hour long, and Joseph lingereth no 
 longer to preach a thrice tedious sermon 
 to Potiphar's wife. If a play have not ac- 
 tion it must needs have but little interest ; 
 for although something may occasionally 
 be done in a narrative form, if the ball 
 be not kept up that is to say, if the 
 dramatis persona be doing of nothing 
 even if the sentences be proverbs of wis- 
 dom, then shall the play be a bad play. 
 Again, if the characters who form the 
 plot have no individuality or distinct fea- 
 tures, in accordance with nature or prob- 
 ability, though they look like Alexanders 
 and argue like Aristotles, shall the play 
 be a bad play- Your tragedy, Master 
 Francis, hath these particular defects, and 
 I should be hugely deficient in candor, and 
 in no way deserving the confidence you 
 have been pleased to place in me, were I 
 to refrain from telling you that it can not 
 be acted with any profit either to your- 
 self or others. There is another objec- 
 tion to it the subject hath already been 
 done by Kit Marlowe." 
 
 Master Shakspeare observing for the 
 first time that the lips of his visiter had 
 lost their accustomed ruddiness, and that 
 he did look most despairing and wo-be- 
 gone, with that sweet sympathy which 
 maketh the generous so fearful of giving 
 pain to another, instanily began to turn 
 over the leaves of Master Francis his 
 play, and resumed his discourse. " But 
 let me not cause you to imagine that I 
 think naught of your tragedy, Master 
 Francis. Far be it from me to say so. I 
 do consider the blank verse very musical 
 and eloquent, and full of right admirable 
 conceits. Here is a passage in which a 
 lover, expostulating with his mistress, 
 who doth affect inconstancy in no small 
 measure, sayeth this much as argument 
 to prove the unity of love :
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Efft and cause (tne lover and the loved) 
 Are consequence and origin of one 
 Pure, single, and connective property 
 The proud desire of human happiness : 
 Which leads one spirit to another one, 
 One heart unto its fellow. This is love, 
 Which, with an inclination natural, 
 And fond and sweet, and generous and good, 
 Ever inclineth one sex to the other 
 To realize a mutual bliss. The two, 
 In pairs, from other pairs apart, are joined 
 In bonds of budding hopes and blushing joys ; 
 The whilst the Social Virtues hand in hand, 
 Linked like the golden rings that form a chain 
 Of precious, priceless worth, circle them round, 
 And keep off from the temple of their bliss, 
 Unholy thoughts, false gods, and evil deeds.' 
 
 "And again, in continuation of the 
 same subject : 
 
 " ' The forest tops 
 
 Give voices to the wind, and there the dove 
 Sits with her mate secure with heart all joy 
 In inclination uncorrupt in dreams 
 That are reality : and still her breast 
 With passionate ecstacy heaves tremblingly ; 
 There is a stirring gladness in her eyes; 
 There is a thrilling music in her voice ; 
 For she doth own a blessed tranquillity. 
 No other winged one can seek that nest : 
 They find a perfect pleasure in themselves ; 
 Their lives are lor each other ; and unknown 
 Beyond the little sanctuary of their loves. 
 Is any rapture which they there enjoy. 
 
 14 ' If Nature then declare her law to be 
 That one alone should unto one be fixed 
 In sacred love and pure devotedness. 
 Shall human kind, of loving things the best, 
 The noblest, wisest, and the most divine, 
 Give that in partnership to more than one 
 Which one alone can know in purity ? 
 Divide this precious influence 'tis lost. 
 The moment that in other hands 'tis placed 
 Gone is the golden virtue it possessed. 
 The sage's wisdom is his own the wand 
 Of the magician doth torget its charm 
 With one who hath no magic strike the harp 
 A moment since so eloquent with song 
 Raised by the Poet's skill, and nothing speaks 
 But what is dull, and harsh, and dissonant. 
 And why is this? Because in natural things, 
 There is an ownership : and Love, of all 
 Our natural gifts most natural, 
 Admits of no division of its worth. 
 We can not set one gem in many rings.' 
 
 " I do opine, Master Francis," contin- 
 ued our illustrious dramatist, with a look 
 of kindness toward his young companion, 
 who had been listening with delighted 
 attention to Master Shakspeare's fault- 
 less delivery of his lines " I do opine 
 that there is much admirable matter in 
 these words ; and the same opinion holds 
 good toward other passages in your play, 
 of similar excellence ; which plainly 
 prove to me that there is no lack of 
 promise in you. But be not too hasty ; 
 pluck not the fruit before it be ripe, else 
 they who may chance to taste it will 
 make wry mouths. If you would take 
 the advice of one willing to do you all 
 manner of good offices" 
 " If I do not, I should be the most un- 
 worthy varlet that lives," exclaimed Mas- 
 ter Francis warmly. 
 
 " You will wait awhile before you offer 
 any composition to the public eye," said 
 Master Shakspeare, affecting not to no- 
 tice the interruption he had received, yet 
 being much pleased thereat. " You are 
 young your knowledge of the world 
 must, therefore, be scanty : and although 
 I do perceive in your writings a compre- 
 hensive acquaintance with books, he who 
 writeth tragedies should possess an equal 
 knowledge of men ; therefore I do advise 
 you, for some years to come, to study 
 mankind, if you entertain any desire of 
 taking your stand among our English 
 dramatists. Moreover, you have as yet 
 acquired no information as to the busi- 
 ness of the stage a matter of vast mo- 
 ment toward the success of even the best 
 play. This you can only inform yourself 
 of by noting what others have done. The 
 most effective way for you to do this is to 
 come to us at the playhouse, where you 
 shall have free ingress and egress upon 
 every fitting occasion : and I will forward 
 your interest in all that my poor skill or 
 influence can effect." 
 
 The tone of kindness with which these 
 last sentences were delivered, seemed to 
 have a most powerful effect upon the lis- 
 tener ; indeed it had gone direct to his 
 heart, and he sat for some seconds per- 
 fectly unable to utter a syllable. 
 
 " Is there anything more I can do for 
 you?" inquired Master Shakspeare, re- 
 garding the changing color and modest 
 demeanor of his visiter with increasing 
 interest. ' Though I seek not to make a 
 i boast of it, I have some powerful friends, 
 to whom, peradventure, my recommenda- 
 tion would do good service, if ventured in 
 behalf of one of your excellent parts and 
 disposition." 
 
 "Oh, Master Shakspeare!" murmured 
 the youth, looking up to him with eyes 
 made humid by his grateful emotions, " I 
 would I had language to thank you; but 
 my heart is too full." 
 
 ' Nay, nay, worthy Master Francis," 
 said the other, encouragingly, " if you 
 love me you must not think of that. He 
 who looks for thanks deserveth them not. 
 Such a one am not I. I will acknowl- 
 edge I feel a regard for you, and would 
 wish to be your friend : and if you will 
 intrust me with your confidence, rest as- 
 sured it shall not be abused. Tell me, 
 ! is your way of life agreeable to you ?" 
 
 "Indeed it is not," replied his visiter, 
 | with a melancholy expression of counte- 
 nance that completely attested the truth 
 of the avowal. " But why should I take 
 I advantage of the goodness of your dispo-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 sition ? or why trouble you with my com- 
 plaints ? I have already taken up too 
 much of your valuable time?" Then he 
 added, as he rose from his chair to de- 
 part, " I thank you very heartily for your 
 kindness, which, in all times to come, 
 shall be tne most delightful of my re- 
 membrances ; and if it please you to give 
 me my papers, I would gratefully take 
 my leave." 
 
 "We part not thus," said Master 
 Shakspeare, quickly, as he rose from his 
 seat, and taking hold of Master Francis 
 his shoulder, did affectionately push him 
 back into his chair ; then sitting carelessly 
 on the edge of the table adjoining, with 
 one hand of his visiter kindly pressed in 
 his own, and with a most benevolently 
 smiling countenance he proceeded. "We 
 part not thus. Sit you down, Master 
 Francis sit you down : and let not the 
 modesty of. your disposition be a stum- 
 bling-block to the advancement of your 
 fortunes. The world hath not used you 
 well, or I mistake countenances hugely. 
 Let me try to make amends for the un- 
 kindness of others. I have both the in- 
 clination and the power to serve ; and it 
 seemeth to me that I should do myself 
 credit by any service I could render. Let 
 me be your friend, Master Francis. I as- 
 sure you, on the honor of a Christian gen- 
 tleman, and an humble follower of the 
 Muses, that you will do me a great wrong 
 if you allow me not the satisfaction of 
 befriending you." 
 
 " Indeed, Master Shakspeare, you are 
 too good," exclaimed his visiter, warmly 
 returning the pressure of the hand he had 
 received. " I know not what to say I 
 lack words I am quite overpowered." 
 
 " What a wittol am I, and one shame- 
 fully neglectful of the duties of hospital- 
 ity !" said Master Shakspeare, suddenly, 
 as he sprung from the table and, pro- 
 ceeding to a cupboard in a recess of the 
 chamber, did presently return, bringing 
 a flask and two drinking-horns. 
 
 " I would you would excuse me, wor- 
 thy Master Shakspeare," said the youth, 
 modestly, as soon as he observed the 
 movement of his host. 
 
 " Excuse me no excuses," replied the 
 other, with a smile, as he made room on 
 the little table, and poured out the wine 
 into the vessels. " What ! shall it be 
 said that Will Shakspeare denied a broth- 
 er poet a draught of the fountain from 
 which he hath so often drawn inspira- 
 tion ? Tell it not at the Mermaid. A 
 cup of this excellent sherris will warm 
 both our hearts." 
 
 " You have made my heart warm 
 enough as it is," observed Master Fran- 
 cis, still hesitating to' take the proffered 
 cup. 
 
 " Tush, man !" replied Master Shaks- 
 peare, hospitably forcing the cup into his 
 guest's almost reluctant hand, will you 
 not drink to my health ?" 
 
 "Ah, that will I, with all true earn- 
 estness,'' exclaimed the other, as he im- 
 mediately raised the wine .to his lips. 
 
 " And I most heartily wish, as all Eng- 
 land must wish, that your life be long 
 preserved to delight and enrich this island 
 with your right excellent labors." 
 
 " Thank you, worthy Master Francis, 
 thank you," said his host, shaking his 
 companion cordially by the hand : " it is 
 gratifying to-be praised at all, but to be 
 praised by those who can appreciate, is 
 the most exquisite of flattery. And now 
 let me pledge you to our better acquaint- 
 ance," added he, as he poured out a 
 brimming cup for himself, " and may 
 success attend you equal to your deserts 
 which be of no common order." 
 
 " You are too liberal in your commen- 
 dation indeed you are," observed the 
 youth, as a slight blush appeared upon 
 his countenance. 
 
 "Not a whit, man, not a whit," re- 
 plied his host, as he finished his draught. 
 " There can be no harm in praising a 
 modest man ; for if the desert be not equal 
 to the praise, he will not rest till he make 
 it so. But your cup is empty." 
 
 " Nay, good Master Shakspeare," ex- 
 claimed the other, as he noticed his host 
 refilling the cup " if it please you, no 
 more." 
 
 " But it does not please me, Master 
 Francis," said his companion, jocosely. 
 
 " I am not used to drinking of wine of 
 a morning, and it may chance get in my 
 head." 
 
 " No vessel can be the worse for con- 
 taining good wine, Master Francis. So 
 you must e'en drink another cup." 
 
 " I thank you, but I would rather not," 
 said Master Francis, falteringly, as the 
 vessel was handed to him. 
 
 "What, hesitate to drink the queen's 
 health?" exclaimed Master Shakspeare 
 in seeming astonishment. "Why, how 
 now ? Surely loyalty hath gone out of 
 the land, if the guest of one of her majes- 
 ty's poor players refuse to join him in 
 drinking the health of Queen Elizabeth." 
 
 "I thought not of that," remarked the 
 other, quietly taking the wine, "I will 
 join you gladly." Thereupon, with much 
 sincerity of heart, these two did drink to
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 ii 
 
 the queen's majesty. "But I must be 
 going, or my uncle will be angered with 
 me ; and he is a man of a most ungra- 
 cious humor," said Master Francis. 
 
 "A murrain on him!" cried Master 
 Shakspeare. "And, if I may make so 
 free as to a?k, who is he?" 
 
 "He is Gregory Vellum, the scrivener, 
 of St. Mary Axe," replied the youth ; 
 " and though report say that he abounds 
 in riches, one would suppose that he hath 
 not sufficient to furnish a beggar's wal- 
 let." 
 
 "Have you no father living?" asked 
 his host. 
 
 " It is uncertain," responded Master 
 Francis more seriously. "My mother's 
 was a private marriage with a gentleman 
 much above her in -station, and as he 
 said it would injure him in the estima- 
 tion of his family if his union became 
 known, she kept his quality a secret from 
 all who knew her. He went to the wars 
 a short time before she gave birth to me, 
 and has never since been heard of: and 
 my pour mother died in childbed, with- 
 out leaving any other memorial of her 
 husband than this miniature, which I 
 always carry about with me." 
 
 Master Shakspeare silently examined 
 the trinket, which was in a gold frame, 
 that the youth wore round his neck. On 
 one side was the likeness of a very lovely 
 woman ; the other had contained another 
 miniature, mayhap, of a cavalier ; but it 
 was now empty. 
 
 "The initials E. V., on one side the 
 frame, are for my mother Eleanor Vel- 
 lum," continued the youth, "and the F. 
 H., on the empty frame, are doubtless 
 the initials of my father; of which one 
 must be Francis, for so she always called 
 him, as I have heard, and therefore by 
 that name have I been christened; but 
 what the other standeth for I know not, 
 and perchance may never know till the 
 day of judgment." 
 
 "Be of good heart, Master Francis," 
 said his companion, encouragingly, " per- 
 adventure the secret may be discovered 
 sooner than you look for v But what says 
 your uncle ? knoweth he nothing ?" 
 
 "Sometimes I am apt to think that he 
 knows more than he is inclined to tell," 
 replied Master Francis ; "for'in his un- 
 guarded moments, he hath dropped some 
 mysterious hints which savor a little of 
 the purpose. But he is so continually 
 upbraiding me for the troubles and the 
 charges I put him to he so stints me in 
 all sorts of necessaries, and so begrudges 
 me the little pleasure I enjoy that he 
 
 hath made my life a daily burthen, an(? 
 I should be right glad to get from under 
 his roof, to labor in any capacity for 
 which I may be properly qualified." 
 
 " That shall not be fong first, or my 
 name be not Will Shakspeare," ex- 
 claimed his host, as he poured out an- 
 other cup of wine for his guest. 
 
 " Nay, good Master Shakspeare," cried 
 the youth, rising up and taking his hat, 
 as he noticed the brimming vessel pro- 
 ceeding toward him, " prythee let me go ; 
 I have drunk most bountifully, I thank 
 you." 
 
 "One more cup, and it shall be the 
 last." 
 
 " Indeed I would rather not." 
 
 "Now, look at this !" exclaimed Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, in apparent wonder. 
 "Here is a youth of some eighteen years 
 or so, who confesses that he hath met 
 with no fair damsel with soul-enkindling 
 eyes and roseate cheeks, whose health 
 he deems worthy of being drunk in a 
 bumber of sherris." 
 
 " I said not that, Master Shakspeare," 
 replied his young companion, hastily, as 
 the color mounted to his cheek " Be- 
 lieve me, I said not that." 
 
 " I believe you most heartily, "said his 
 host with a laugh, as he noticed the 
 youth's increasing confusion. " I see 
 conviction in your complexion. Her 
 health, Master Francis." 
 
 "Well, I suppose I must," observed 
 his guest, as if anxious to be quickly re- 
 lieved from his embarrassment. " I thank 
 you kindly. She is a right noble crea- 
 ture, and I should be the basest wretch 
 alive were I to refuse to drink her health 
 
 considering " Here the young poet 
 
 stopped suddenly ; his complexion ac- 
 quhed a warmer glow ; and a shadow 
 of deep melancholy overspread his fea- 
 tures." 
 
 " Hath she no name, Master Francis ?" 
 inquired the other earnestly, and, if the 
 truth must be told, somewhat mischiev- 
 ously. 
 
 " Indeed she hath," he replied. " It is 
 a good name a name of excellent credit 
 
 " I doubt it not," observed Master 
 Shakspeare, with more than his u?ml 
 gravity ; " but to the point, man. Dost 
 hesitate to tell it ? Take my word for IT, 
 you are paying her no compliment if you 
 do." 
 
 " Her name is Joanna," said the youth 
 m a voice scarcely audible, and trying 
 unsuccessfully to hide his confusion. 
 
 " Then drink I your Joanna's health in
 
 12 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 a brimming cup, and with a most heart- 
 felt wish that he may be worthy of you, 
 and that you may be happy with her." 
 
 Master Francis said nothing, but hast- 
 ened to drink the wine that had been 
 placed in his hand. 
 
 "And now, Master Francis, here is 
 your tragedy," said his companion, as he 
 gave him the manuscript, with a benevo- 
 lent countenance and a cordial shake of 
 the hand ; " and henceforth consider me 
 your friend, for I wish to prove myself 
 such. Something shall be done for you, 
 rest assured, and that very shortly. Good 
 day, Master Francis, good day," he con- 
 tinued, as he kindly led his visiter to the 
 door, and opened it for him. 
 
 Master Francis could only look his 
 thanks, and then threading the narrow 
 staircase of the house, made the best of 
 his way to St. Mary Axe. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 My heart allows 
 
 No gums, nor amber, but pure vows ; 
 There's fire at breathing of your name, 
 
 And do not fear 
 
 1 have a tear 
 Of joy to curb any immodest flame. 
 
 SHIRLEY. 
 
 Oh, Sir, the wonder ! 
 
 A beauty ripe as harvest, 
 Whose skin is whiter than a swan all over, 
 Than silver, snow, or lilies ! A soft lip 
 Would tempt you to eternity of kissing, 
 And flesh that melteth in the touch to blood ; 
 Bright as your gold, and lovely as your gold. 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 " FRANCIS ! FRANCIS !" screamed out a 
 little old man, meanly apparelled, as he 
 stumped about with his stick in a gloomy 
 room, that appeared from its deficiency 
 in all furniture, save a desk with a tall 
 stool, and several papers and parchments 
 tied up and placed on shelves about the 
 fireplace, that it was an office. " Fran- 
 cis ! Francis, I say ! A murrain on thee 
 for a lazy varlet ! thou art sure to give me 
 the slip as soon as my back is turned. 
 Francis!" he shouted again, and then 
 muttered to himself, "a wasteful, idle, 
 good-for-naught, that be always consu- 
 ming my substance or misspending my 
 time ; I would I were well rid of him. 
 Francis, I say! Here have I been bawl- 
 ing about the house for the better part of 
 an hour searching for him the graceless 
 vagrant. Francis!" Thus he went on, 
 growling and grumbling, and poking inlo 
 every hole and corner, with a physiogno- 
 my most unnaturally crabbed, and a voice 
 feeble and shrewish. At last he sat him- 
 
 self down on the stool, laid aside his stick, 
 and began examining the loose papers on 
 the desk ; first putting on a pair of cracked 
 spectacles to assist his sight. Besides 
 being short and old that is, of some sixty 
 years or more he was of a marvellous 
 spare body ; and his sharp nose and point- 
 ed chin, small eyes and saturnine com- 
 plexion, did not appear to more advan- 
 tage, surrounded by a scanty beard that 
 had become quite grizzled by age. His 
 attire was of the homeliest nay, it gave 
 evidence of more than ordinary thrift 
 for his trunks were patched, and his hose 
 were darned, and his shoes would have 
 looked all the better had they been in- 
 debted to the craft of the cord wainer. As 
 for his doublet, it was of a most ancient 
 fashion, and though the cloth was origi- 
 nally a Lincoln green, it had become, by 
 long use, and exposure to all sorts of 
 weathers, more resembling the dingy hue 
 of a smoked rafter. 
 
 As he scrutinized the papers, he broke 
 out into such vehement ejaculations as 
 these : 
 
 " This account not finished ! Here's a 
 villanous neglect of my interests ! Here's 
 a shameful contempt of my authority ! 
 Here's flat contradiction and horrible in- 
 gratitude ! Oh, the abominable and most 
 pestilent knave ! whilst he eats me out 
 of house and home costs me a world 
 and all in tailoring and other charges 
 he leaveth my business to take care of 
 itself. But what have we here ?" he ex- 
 claimed, as he commenced examining a 
 paper that had evidently been concealed 
 among the others. "Verses, or I'm a 
 heathen !" cried he in a tone of consterna- 
 tion. "Nay, if he takes to such evil 
 courses, it must needs come to hang- 
 ing." 
 
 While he was intent upon perusing 
 with angry exclamations the contents of 
 the object that had excited his displeas- 
 ure, he suddenly felt a hand upon his 
 shoulder, and turning round with no small 
 degree of alarm impressed upon his un- 
 amiable features, he observed a young 
 female by her dress probably of the mid- 
 dle ranks. She wore on the back of her 
 head a small velvet hat, from under which 
 escaped several long dark tresses, that 
 parted in the front, set off to great advan- 
 tage a right comely face, of a very rich 
 complexion, which was made infinitely 
 more attractive by a pair of delicate, dark 
 hazel eyes, peculiarly seductive in their 
 | expression. Her age might be somewhat 
 beyond twenty ; for her form was fully 
 ! rounded, and moulded into the most ex-
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 13 
 
 cellent proportions, which were admira- 
 bly apparelled in a neat boddice and a 
 dainty farthingale. In truth, she was a 
 damsel possessed of all the perfections of 
 womanhood. 
 
 " You sweet rogue, how you frightened 
 me !" exclaimed the old man, the surprise 
 and alarm he had exhibited in his counte- 
 nance now giving place 's pleasure and 
 admiration, as he gazed upon the smiling 
 beauty before him. 
 
 " But what hath so put your temper into 
 vital jeopardy, good Gregory Vellum?" 
 added she coaxingly, as she leaned 
 over his shoulder, seemingly the better 
 to observe the writing he held in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Marry, matter enough, sweetest," re- 
 plied he; "that undutifuland most hard- 
 ened reprobate, my nephew a plague on 
 all parents that can not provide for their 
 own offspring, say I unmindful of the 
 great expenses he hath put me to, not 
 only leaves my business unattended, 
 whenever I am not watching his move- 
 ments, but passeth the times he should 
 employ for my advantages in destroying 
 my paper, pens, and ink, in scribbling a 
 whole host of pernicious verses." 
 
 "Oh, the profligate !" cried the oiher, 
 as if marvelling greatly; but still stretch- 
 ing out her pretty neck to see what was 
 written on the paper. 
 
 "lam glad to see that you regard his 
 atrocious wickedness with a proper detes- 
 tation," repeated the other. " But that be 
 not the worst of his villany. Only think 
 of the pestilent varlet robbing me of these 
 fine bits of candle, which in my search 
 for him a moment since I found secreted 
 away in his chamber." And thereupon, 
 with a look of terrible indignation, he 
 brought out of his vest, carefully wrapt 
 up in an old rag, three candle-ends, each 
 about an inch long. 
 
 " What wonderful iniquity !" exclaimed 
 she, giving a hasty glance at the contents 
 of the rag, and then again quickly fixing 
 her gaze upon the paper. 
 
 "Ay, that is it wiih a vengeance,'' re- 
 plied the old man. "Now, he stealeth 
 these pieces of candle a murrain on him 
 for his abominable dishonesty and burn- 
 eth them when I, his too indulgent uncle, 
 am fast asleep ; and there he sits, wearing 
 out the night in studying a most unprofit- 
 able lot of heathenish books. But take 
 this trumpery and read it, Mistress Joan- 
 na, for he writes such an unnatural fine 
 hand that my poor eyes ache with look- 
 ing at it." 
 
 The fair Joanna rook the paper some- 
 
 what eagerly, and without a second sum- 
 mons or a word of reply, stood before the 
 old man, and, as he wiped his spectacles 
 and put them away, and carefully folded 
 up the candle-ends she read what fol- 
 lows: 
 
 A RIGHT EARNEST EXPOSTULATION . 
 
 ADDRESSED TO HER WHO WILL BEST UNDERSTAND IT 
 
 HAVING so oft and fondly sung thj* praise, 
 
 I lind I can not thy defects portray ; 
 My pen is ready for most flatt'ring lays, 
 
 But censures not : it knoweth not the way. 
 Thou, to my heart, hast given deep offence, 
 Yet see I in thee naught but excellence. 
 
 'Tis passing strange but pity 'tis too true ! 
 
 Thy goodness toward me doth seem to halt ; 
 Things manifold thou dost unkindly do 
 
 Which pain me much yet know I riot thy fault ; 
 For ev'ry day thou heapest on me wrongs 
 Find'st thou a perfect creature in my songs. 
 
 Wherefore is this ? 'Tis thus no loner time since 
 Each day, each hour, each moment found me blest j 
 
 All the fond love thy nature could evince. 
 All the sweet goodness of thy gentle breast. 
 
 Didst thou in pure devotion render mine, 
 
 To teach me what of earth was most divine. 
 
 As a rude heathen who to stock and stone 
 
 Prostrates his soul in worship when he knows 
 
 THE TRUTH that reigns almighty and alone, 
 He evermore with the true worship bows ; 
 
 My idols I cast down, and knelt and prayed 
 
 Where, 1 knew well, my hopes of Heaven were laid. 
 
 Then bountifully were thy blessings showered ; 
 
 And 1, the sole receptacle ihey sought, 
 Have known my grateful spirit overpowered 
 
 'Keath the delighting burthens thou hast brought, 
 Olt didst thou say tliou couldst love none but me ; 
 And much 1 stnved to be worthy thee. 
 
 But now unhappy chance that brought this tuni ! 
 
 Thou dost ueny rne with excuses weak 
 ! The fondnesses for which rny soul doth yearn, 
 
 And dost within another's eyeballs seek 
 The charm, the spirit, and the joy that shone 
 In my rapt gaze reflected from thine own ! 
 
 Nothing thou doest doth rny eyes escape ; 
 
 M know my purposes thy thoughts l.ehold . 
 Alas, that they should often take a shape 
 
 Which inuluphes my cares a thousand fold ! 
 Alas, that thou art changed ! alas, indeed, 
 A plant so fair should bear such worthless seed . 
 
 But these stern words on thee must never fall ; 
 
 "I'is my unlucky fortune that's to blame, 
 In my own heart 1 censure not at all ; 
 
 For all thy goodnesses such looting claim, 
 That thy unkindnesses there find no place- 
 There is no loom for 'things that seem so base. 
 
 Cease I to be of value in thy sight? 
 
 The worth I owned hath vanished utterly : 
 The pebbles upon which th) feet alight 
 
 To me more estimable seem than 1; 
 For as tiie moon -doth borrow all her sliine. 
 My worthiness hath hud its source in thine. 
 
 Fnu t ruiiie of mine is it that I am not 
 So precious as thy love hath made me seem . 
 
 Thou prized me then for worth 1 hiid nut got ; 
 Ai'.d now tl,,m dust my meed too lowiy doom 
 
 Vet it tliou Uunkest me such sort as this, 
 
 Am 1 the very poorest thing that is. 
 
 1 know not why trial thou shoiitast now prefer 
 Another lu a u. ait so much thine own : 
 
 I'd say no moie if it were worthier. 
 But. doubt I much it love like mine h;Un known 
 
 Oh, would J Cou;d loigbt that Ihou Weil kiiiu, 
 
 or tluiu would*! act more truly to my nun6 ' 

 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Remember this-the threat'ning cataract 
 That loudest roars, is used for no man's hands ; 
 
 And 'mid thy minds best stores retain this fact 
 The humblest waters may have golden sands : 
 
 Then scorn not thou the lowliest things that toil 
 
 The treasures of the earth are in the soil. 
 
 "Flat disobedience and rank athe- 
 ism !" exclaimed the old man, after he 
 had listened with evident impatience to 
 the perusal of the poem "Didst ever 
 hear of such heathenish notions ? not to 
 say that I understand it I'd rather be 
 hanged than understand any such villany. 
 But what think you of it, Mistress Joan- 
 na ? I see the horrible impiety of it hath 
 quite discomposed you." 
 
 In truth, what Gregory Vellum had 
 stated, was nigh unto the fact ; for Joanna 
 had quickly discovered that the verses she 
 was reading were written for her, and in- 
 tended for her eye alone ; and as the al- 
 lusions they contained struck upon her 
 mind, her changing color denoted how 
 much she was moved by them. When 
 she came to the end she was, for a few 
 minutes, utterly disconcerted. She seem- 
 ed lost in a maze of conflicting thoughts; 
 her brow became dark, and her eyes 
 fixed, and so completely had she given 
 herself up to her own reflections, that 
 she heard not the question that had been 
 put to her. 
 
 "What say you, sweetheart?" said he 
 familiarly, laying his hand upon her 
 shoulder. " Doth not your hair stand on 
 end to see how he misuseth me ? Why, 
 he costs me a matter of a groat a week 
 for his diet for he hath the appetite of 
 two carriers and then the cahiff! to be 
 robbing me in this monstrous manner, 
 when candles are threepence to the pound 
 and to be scribbling his preposterous 
 atrocities when stationary is at so high a 
 cost. By my troth he hath no more vir- 
 tue than an addled egg ! But what think 
 you of the verses?" 
 
 "Sad stuff, Master Vellum," she re- 
 plied, having perfectly recovered from 
 her confusion ; " but be assured there is 
 no harm in them. I think he ought not 
 to be encouraged in these practices ; so I 
 will e'en take the paper with me, and 
 tear it to pieces as I go along." 
 
 "Ah, do, good Joanna! show upon it 
 proper detestation of such thorough and 
 most inconceivable villany," said he, as 
 he observed her take possession of the 
 poem. " But I must turn the rogue out 
 of doors; he will ruin me straight an I 
 do not ; and I would as lief live among 
 savages as exist with a knave who plun- 
 dereth me by wholesale of such estima- 
 ble candles' ends, and destroys me so 
 
 many fair sheets of paper in inditing 
 matters it would be a scandal to under 
 stand." 
 
 " Nay, good Master Vellum," observed 
 his fair companion, " do not be so harsh 
 with him. He is but young : and boys 
 have a natural tendency for the perpe- 
 tration of these offences. When he at 
 taineth the becoming gravity of his un 
 cle, he will give over all such primi 
 live delinquencies." 
 
 " Dost think so, sweetest ?" inquired 
 the old man eagerly, as, with a most pre- 
 posterous leer, he thrust his ungraceful 
 countenance close to her beautiful face. 
 "You are a woman of admirable discre- 
 tion, and of a truly excellent fancy. Dost 
 despise these raw youths ; and couldst 
 affect a man of more mature years ?" 
 
 " Ay, marry, anJwhy not ?" inquired 
 she very innocently. 
 
 "You are a most excellent wench!" 
 exclaimed he with unaffected delight, as 
 he seemed to feast his eyes upon the 
 graces of her countenance "one of ten 
 thousand. Think you, you could rest 
 content with an old man nay, one not so 
 old either who would never be gadding 
 from you like your young gallants, none 
 of whom are ever to be trusted out of 
 sight, but would nourish you, and cherish 
 you, and fondle you, and make much of 
 you, and none but you ; and make you 
 mistress of all his gold, his house, and 
 chattels ?" 
 
 "Ay, marry, why should I not?" re- 
 peated she in the same tone. 
 
 " Then you shall have me, sweet- 
 heart !" cried the old man in an ecstasy ; 
 and seeming, by the unsteady movement 
 of his hands, with great difficulty to re- 
 frain from throwing his arms round her 
 neck. " I have loved you for some 
 months, sweetest ! and all the little gifts 
 I have bestowed upon you, were to show 
 you how enamored I was of your most 
 blessed condition. And I will tell you a 
 secret, my love ! my dove ! my angel ! 
 my paragon of womanhood !" continued 
 he fidgeting about, and gloating upon 
 her with his lack-lustre eyes as if he 
 were bewitched. " Although I seem so 
 poor yet am I richer than I seem. Ay, 
 am I. I have store of gold bright yel- 
 low gold ! Hush, there s no one listen- 
 ing, is there ?" he all at once exclaimed, 
 as, fearing he had said too much, he gave 
 a restless glance around the room. 
 
 "Not a soul," replied Joanna, still re- 
 taining the same unmoved countenance. 
 
 " Yes, sweetheart," he continued, ev- 
 ery now and then giving a suspicious
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 15 
 
 glance about him, "I have saved, and 
 scraped, and hoarded up a goodly store 
 of weahh, the result of infinite painsta- 
 king, and exceeding self-denial ; and you 
 shall enjoy it ; you, my life, my queen ! 
 Oh, how I long to hug you in my most 
 fond embrace." 
 
 "Softly, softly, Gregory Vellum," ex- 
 claimed she, quietly disengaging his arms 
 from her neck ; for, unable any longer to 
 resist his impatient wishes, he had en- 
 deavored, as our great dramatist hath it, 
 to suit the action to the word. " Modest 
 maids are not to be won in such boister- 
 ous fashion, and it little becometh the re- 
 spectability of your deportment to exhibit 
 such unseemly violence. As for your 
 love, you must prove it by something 
 besides words. You have professed for 
 some time to be hugely taken with me ; 
 but all professions are naught when un- 
 accompanied by that which proveth their 
 value. You are right liberal in promises, 
 but your performance, as yet, hath been 
 but scanty. If you have such store of 
 gold as you talk of 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! not so loud, I prythee, 
 sweetheart," whispered the old man, go- 
 ing cautiously to the door, on tiptoe, 
 opening, and looking out, and closing it 
 carefully after him. 
 
 " Of a surety you would act more gen- 
 erously toward me than you have yet 
 done," continued Joanna, without attend- 
 ing to the interruption ; "your true lov- 
 ers are always bountiful. Now there is 
 a certain Venetian chain" 
 
 " Ay, 'tis of gold, and of most admira- 
 ble workmanship," exclaimed Gregory 
 Vellum, " it cost me fifty crowns, or I'm 
 a villanous Jew. I did promise it you, I 
 remember well ; but if it please you, 
 sweetest," continued the old man, sidling 
 up to her, and leering in her face, " it 
 shall be yours for a kiss. Accept you the 
 conditions ?" 
 
 " For your sake, I will say yes, good 
 Gregory Vellum," replied she, without 
 hesitation. 
 
 " It shall be yours it shall be yours," 
 cried the old man, chafing his hands, and 
 every limb of him shaking with excite- 
 ment. " Now give me the kiss, my 
 heart ! my soul ! my life ! give me the 
 kiss, I prythee." 
 
 "The chain first, Gregory Vellum," 
 said the other quietly, as she retreated 
 from his proffered caresses. 
 
 " Ay, but wait awhile wait awhile, 
 sweetheart, and I will fetch it," said he, 
 Hastening to the door, in an agony of im- 
 patience, and immediately returning to 
 
 her side, before he had got half WHJT , 
 "but when shall be the happy day? 
 name it, name it, excellent Joanna, for I 
 do long for the time when we two shall 
 be one.'* 
 
 " We will talk of that anon ; but, the 
 chain," replied she. 
 
 11 1 fly, sweetest," cried the old man, 
 shuffling off toward the door ; but, just 
 as he was about to open it, he came back 
 hastily, with his eyes glistening, and his 
 leaden countenance all of a glow, " we 
 will spend all the yellow gold ; we will 
 live a right merry life. I'faith you shall 
 have all that heart can desire, you shall, 
 you shall, you shall, my queen of beauty !" 
 
 " The chain, worthy Gregory Vellum," 
 repeated his fair companion, as she elu- 
 ded his eager advances. 
 
 " I am gone," said he, again hasten- 
 ing off; but, before he opened the door, 
 he turned round, clasped his skinny hands 
 together, and turning up the whites ot 
 his eyes, exclaimed, " Indeed, I love thee 
 infinitely." 
 
 " That for thy love," cried she spitting 
 on the floor, with every mark of indigna- 
 tion and disgust, as soon as she heard him 
 rapidly ascending the stairs " that for 
 thy love, thou most abhorred and infa- 
 mous old dotard : but I will use thee. 
 For the sake of one whose little finger is 
 dearer to me than thy old moth-eaten 
 carcase, I will make thee bring out thy 
 long hoarded gold, and squander it right 
 liberally." Then hearing a noise at the 
 door which opened into the street, she 
 looked to see who it was. The same 
 modest youth entered to whom the reader 
 hath been introduced, at Master Shaks- 
 peare his lodging, on the Bank Side. 
 
 "What, Joanna!" he exclaimed, has- 
 tening toward her, with a most smiling 
 countenance "nay, this is a pleasure I 
 dreamt not of." 
 
 " 'T is I, Francis," she replied, allow- 
 ing him to take her hand, which he pas- 
 sionately pressed to his lips; "but thy 
 cheek is flushed, and thine eye unsteady, 
 What ails thee ?" 
 
 " Nothing, dearest," said he, " I have 
 been detained, and I thought my uncle 
 would be angered with me for stopping; 
 for thou know'st how easy he is of provo- 
 cation, so I ran all the way home." 
 
 " Thou hadst best make haste, and 
 conceal thyself somewhere for the nonce,' 
 responded she, "for thy uncle hath jus* 
 left me, meaning to return straight; and 
 he is out of all temper with thee, for sun- 
 dry offences which he saith thou hast 
 committed. So go thy ways, and let ma
 
 16 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AxND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 see thee soon, for I have much to say to 
 thee." 
 
 " I will do thy bidding lovingly ; yet it 
 is a most regretful thing to be obliged to 
 leave thee," he said, as with reluctant 
 steps, and slow, he made toward the 
 door. Then, keeping his eyes upon her 
 till the last moment, eloquent with a 
 most impassioned tenderness, he left the 
 room. 
 
 " Poor boy !" murmured she, as with 
 a countenance full of melancholy inter- 
 est, she watched his departure "poor 
 boy! he little knoweth how many dis- 
 tasteful things I do for his dear sake." 
 
 At this moment Gregory Vellum was 
 heard upon the stairs. There was a 
 marked difference betwixt his going and 
 his returning ; for, whereas, in the first 
 instance, he had gallops. d like an ostrich, 
 now he was heard descending step by 
 step, so slow that it would not be a great 
 stretch of fancy to say, he might have 
 fallen asleep between whiles. Presently 
 \ie opened the door, and instead of hast- 
 ening toward Joanna, with enamored 
 ooks and impatient gestures, as might 
 jaave been expected from his previous be- 
 havior, he advanced, at a laggard's pace, 
 with his eyes fixed upon a glittering 
 chain of gold, that he kept turning about 
 in his hand, and with a face in which 
 the demon of avarice, had evidently got 
 the better of the demon of sensuality. 
 
 " How now !" exclaimed his compan- 
 ion, as she noticed his approach, "you 
 went out as quick of motion as a young 
 colt you creep in with the preposterous 
 tediousness of a snail." 
 
 " It cost me fifty crowns!" remarked 
 he, still keeping his eyes on the precious 
 metal, as if there was a fascination in it 
 he could not \vithstand. 
 
 " Well, and what then?" inquired Jo- 
 anna ; " that is nothing to the store of 
 gold of which you mean to make such 
 generous use, you know." 
 
 "Ay, said I so !" said he quickly, and 
 with a monstrous serious look, " no, 
 'twas a mistake. Gold ! I huve no <rold ; 
 where should I get gold ? I am poor, 
 miserably poor, as you see. Tis a most 
 admirable chain, and of riffht delicaie 
 workmanship," he continued feastin.ghis 
 eyes upon it, as it glittered in his huiul. 
 
 " I'faith your love is of a most miserly 
 disposition," responded she, smiling most 
 bewitchingly all the time, " it preferreth 
 a furry chai i to the object of i; prutc-ndcd 
 adoration. By my troth, if I marrv you 
 a for tbi-, I'll vex myself iu.o iidtile- 
 struigs."' 
 
 " Ah! talked you of marrying, sweet- 
 est ?" asked the old man eagerly, as he 
 raised his eyes to her face ; and, immedi- 
 ately they rested upon her well-fa voml 
 countenance, they again began to twinkle 
 with delight. "Truly have you the soft- 
 est and most insinuating looks, and your 
 smile is most absolute and irresistible. 
 Your eyes, sweetheart, are as bright as 
 this Venetian gold but it cost me fif.y 
 crowns ; and the pouting ripeness of your 
 lips hath as much temptation as the pol- 
 ish upon the links; and, in good truth, 
 'lisa most rare and costly trinket." And 
 thereupon he continued, now fixing his 
 eyes upon the chain, and gloating upon 
 its brilliance ; and anon raising them to 
 the face of his fair companion, as if doat- 
 ing upon its beauty. It was evident that 
 there was a struggle in his soul, about 
 parting with his property. He longed 
 for a caress from the seductive Joanna ; 
 . but the Venetian trinket had wound itself 
 .round his heart so strongly, that he could 
 not bring himself to part with it. Sev- 
 eral times it appeared that her soft fflano.es 
 , had subdued his selfish nature ; but just 
 as he was on the point of giving up the 
 , object of his miserly regard, a look at 
 its glittering links would again awake 
 his avarice, and he would hesitate about 
 its disposal. 
 
 j " Good morning to you, Gregory Vel- 
 i lurn," said Joanna, as she turned upu:i 
 ! her heel, with the. intention of departing 
 | by the door that led into the street. 
 
 " Nay, nay sweetest!" exclaimed the 
 old man, as he hastened after her, and 
 held her by the arm, "you go not yet ; I 
 part not with you in this way. Shall I 
 have the kiss you promised me ?" 
 
 " By my troth you shall," replied she ; 
 " but why ask you ? You love your pal- 
 try gold better than me, or you would 
 seem less loath to part withii; so I'll 
 e'en have none of you." 
 
 " There is the chain, sweetheart," said 
 
 he, eagerly throwing it round her neck, 
 
 "and now for the kiss the kiss :hi- 
 
 1 kiss my angel upon earth ! ilu: kiss, 
 
 I sweet mistress Joanna: throw your sou 
 
 i arms around me, and press me your dt-li- 
 
 I cate lips." 
 
 "There's my hand," quietly repln .! 
 
 she, as all impatience und eagerness, 
 
 spite of her retreating, he advanced low- 
 
 . ard her, intent upon having her in his 
 
 t'liitrace. 
 
 "Your hand!" he exclaimed, wi:h 
 some surprise, as he slill strove tu uj> 
 I proach her more closely, " 'tis your rvsi 
 ! meuth ihiit 1 wx'uld have, hwettlit * <>."
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 17 
 
 "Nay, nay; a bargain is a bargain," 
 said she gravely ; " you gave me a chain, 
 and I promised you should have a kiss 
 for it. There was nothing said about my 
 lips ; and I intend only, as a great favor, 
 that you should kiss my hand ; so, fulfil 
 your contract : here's my hand." 
 
 At this, nothing could exceed the 
 change that took place in the old mafn's 
 countenance. His delight and impatience 
 forsook him of a sudden. From being 
 exceeding restless in all his limbs, he 
 stood as still as a stone, and he looked 
 perfectly confounded, and unable to say 
 a word. 
 
 "Well, if you will not> mayhap an- 
 other time will suit you better," observed 
 Mistress Joanna very courteously, as she 
 proceeded toward the door. "I thank 
 you for the chain very heartily ; 'tis a 
 gift worthy of the gravity of your affec- 
 tions ; and I know not, if you go on ma- 
 king a show of such liberal behavior, to 
 what extent you may be rewarded. You 
 ought, however, to be aware, that a pru- 
 dent woman granteth but small favors at 
 first; she will not give largely, or she 
 may be undone straight. I wish you an 
 increasing generosity ; and with this de- 
 sire, worthy Gregory Vellum, I do most 
 delightedly take my leave of you." And 
 thereupon she made a courtesy to the 
 ground, and with one of the sweetest 
 of smiles, departed from the office. 
 
 "Fool! dolt! idiot! madman!" cried 
 he vehemently, as he beat his head with 
 his clenched fist, "to be tricked, cozened, 
 and imposed upon, in this barefaced man- 
 ner, by a woman. Oh ! Gregory Vellum, 
 Gregory Vellum, what a very ass thou 
 art! My chain of Venice gold is lost 
 irretrievably, that I took for a debt of 
 fifty crowns, and for which Master Ingot, 
 the goldsmith, would have given me forty 
 at any time. Oh ! fool, that can only 
 cozen boys and folks afar off, thou art 
 cheated past all redemption !" Then he 
 went and sat upon the stool, and leaned 
 his head upon his hand, apparently in a 
 monstrous melancholy humor. " Fifty 
 crowns gone for nothing. Oh !" exclaimed 
 he frantically, beating his heels against 
 the stool, and then wringing his hands ; 
 " what a poor, wretched, miserable lu- 
 natic am I, to think of courting at my 
 time of day. Such a brilliant chain ! Oh ! 
 most preposterous idiot ! fifty crowns ! 
 Oh ! thou incomprehensible blockhead ! 
 I could beat out my brains with a 
 whisp of straw, out of very vexation." 
 And thereupon he jumped off the stool, 
 being perfectly restless, and unable to 
 2 
 
 contain himself, and did begin to shuf- 
 fle up and down the room with his stick, 
 flinging himself about, ejaculating all 
 sorts of condemnations upon his folly and 
 insanity, and looking with a physiogno- 
 my as woful and enraged as ever miser 
 exhibited at the loss of a part of his gain. 
 Presently he stood still of a sudden ; 
 for a voice a rich, clear, mellifluous 
 voice was heard singing the following 
 words : 
 
 " I gave my Love a posie gay, 
 Of all the sweetest flowers of May, 
 And bade her, till their leaves might die, 
 Upon her breast to let them lie. 
 
 I'faith,' quoth she, 
 
 Are these for me ? 
 
 Like thy sweet words, how sweet they be. 
 
 But if thy maid 
 
 Thy love should aid, 
 Oh ! bring her gifts that never fade.' " 
 
 " A murrain on him ! that's my pesti- 
 lent nephew," exclaimed the old man, in 
 high dudgeon ; " but I marvel infinitely 
 how he got in ; or hath he been in the 
 house all the time?" He stopped, for 
 the singer proceeded. 
 
 " I gave my Love a riband rare 
 To tie around her silken hair. 
 ' Sweetheart,' quoth 1, ' long may it grace 
 So brave, so proud a resting place.' 
 
 ' Ah me,' she cried, 
 
 And looked and sighed, 
 ' In this bright garb thy looks I've spied ; 
 
 But see ! 'twill fray 
 
 And wear away 
 Oh ! bring me gifts that last for aye.'" 
 
 " A pernicious varlet, will he never 
 have done with his coxcombical sing- 
 ing," cried Gregory Vellum: -but the 
 singer continued his song. 
 
 " I gave my Love a golden ring, 
 To prize above each meaner thing, 
 And on her finger bade it rest, 
 While truth had footing in her breast. 
 
 4 Dear heart, I vow, 
 
 Thou hast me now,' 
 She said, all blushing to her brow; 
 
 ' The sterling ore 
 
 Lasts evermore, 
 And binds fond hearts unbound before.' " 
 
 " Oh ! the unwhipped rogue ! he sings 
 of love at his .age," exclaimed the eld 
 miser, in seeming consternation. " Well, 
 who can doubt the wickedness of the 
 world after this ! But I'll trounce him, 
 I'll warrant me. Francis !" he bawlea, 
 as loud as he could, first opening the door, 
 that he might be heard, and then mutter- 
 ing to himself, and crying out by turns, 
 proceeded thus : "A young profligate, to 
 think of singing love ditties at his time 
 of life ; was ever such iniquity in this 
 world? Francis!" again screamed he, 
 with all the strength of his lungs. " An' 
 I do not make him hear, I'll make him 
 feel. Francis ! Francis ! Francis ! I say."
 
 18 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Did you call, uncle ?" said the youth 
 quietly, as he presented himself at the 
 door. 
 
 " Call, sirrah !" replied the old man, 
 shaking with rage" Call, varlet ! have 
 T not been bawling, and squalling, and 
 tearing my lungs piecemeal after thee 
 for these two hours past ?" 
 
 " I did not hear you till this moment, 
 or I should have come down," observed 
 the youth. 
 
 " Hear me !" exclaimed Master Vel- 
 lum vehemently " how couldst thou ex- 
 pect to hear me, thou reprobate! when 
 thou wert making the place ring with 
 thy amorous ballads ! Be that proper 
 matter to sing at an honest scrivener's ! 
 Why, the passengers will take the house 
 for a bagnio. Fie upon thee ! when I 
 was of thy age I sung psalms and godly 
 hymns but I was noted as a youth of a 
 most modest discretion. What art thou 
 noted for, I wonder? for impudency, 
 disobediency, and all manner of dishon- 
 esty." 
 
 " Dishonesty, uncle !" said Master 
 Francis, with unaffected surprise. 
 
 "Ay, dishonesty, sirrah ! Look here !" 
 and he took from his vest the dirty rag 
 that hath previously been described, and 
 begun carefully to unfold it " here be a 
 foul robbery thou hast committed. How 
 didst get these fine pieces of candle I 
 found in thy room ? Hast no shame ? 
 What ! pilfer from thy poor, yet too lib- 
 eral uncle, when candles stand me in fifty 
 crowns to the pound !" 
 
 " Fifty crowns, uncle !" exclaimed his 
 nephew, with increasing astonishment 
 " why, I bought them myself of Tobias 
 Mottle, the chandler over the way, and 
 then they had only rose to threepence for 
 the pound, in consequence of the exceed- 
 ing scarcity of kitchen stuff." 
 
 " Well, no matter, sirrah, no matter !" 
 cried the old man, in no way abating his 
 passion, " thou hast robbed me that is 
 manifest. Thou hast taken advantage 
 of the natural generosity of my disposi- 
 tion, and art in the habit of consuming 
 my substance without my privity. I tell 
 thee it be infamous I tell thee it be a fel- 
 ony I tell thee it be hanging, whipping, 
 and the pillory. What a monster of in- 
 gratitude thou art, to defraud me of such 
 exquisite gold of Venice of which they 
 are made." 
 
 " Gold of Venice, uncle !" exclaimed 
 the youth, almost inclined to laugh at the 
 idea ; " nay, if they be not made of the 
 most notorious tallow, I am a heathen." 
 
 " Tush ! I forgot," replied Gregory 
 
 Vellum, striking his stick violently 
 against the floor ; " but it availeth thee 
 nothing ; thou art a thief." 
 
 "I am no thief, sir," said the youth, 
 reddening in the face ; " I do confess that 
 I took what you have in your hand, that 
 I might have light to assist me in my 
 studies ; but if the loss grieve you, they 
 can not be worth more than a halfpenny, 
 and you may either keep them, or I will 
 pay you for them." 
 
 "Pay, pay ! why, how now? who talks 
 of paying? where dost get the money 
 from, fellow?" rapidly inquired the old 
 man, fixing on his nephew a searching 
 and inquisitive look; "and how earnest 
 thou by those heathenish books of which 
 thou hast such goodly store *" 
 
 " I had them from a hiend," replied 
 Master Francis ; "and I am obliged to be 
 indebted to the same quarter for such as- 
 sistance as my necessities require which 
 are caused by those who should have ta- 
 ken care that I lack nothing." 
 
 " Lack ! what dost lack ? thou un- 
 grateful vagabond !" demanded his uncle 
 angrily, yet not ill pleased that such 
 things were not done at his cost ; " do I 
 not find thee a most comfortable home ? 
 do I not keep thee in excellent wearing 
 apparel ? and as for eating, didst thou 
 not eat right heartily yesterday at dinner 
 of a most princely dish of cabbage and 
 bacon ?" 
 
 " As for the home, uncle," said the 
 youth, "your penuriousness and ill-tem- 
 per make it anything but comfortable. 
 For the clothing when you have worn 
 your doublet threadbare, you think it 
 good enough for me. And as for my din- 
 ner yesterday, it consisted of a piece of 
 rusty bacon, scarcely big enough for the 
 baiting of a rat-trap, with about as much 
 cabbage as might serve for a caterpillar's 
 breakfast." 
 
 " Oh, thou unnatural prodigal !" ex- 
 claimed Master Vellum, lilting np his 
 hands and eyes in amazement. " This 
 comes of writing verses ! this comes of 
 singing love-songs ! 0' my life, I have a 
 monstrous inclination to beat thee." 
 
 "You had better not, uncle," said the 
 other calmly. 
 
 "Nay, but I will, caitiff!" replied he, 
 lifting up his stick and approaching his 
 nephew threateningly. 
 
 "If you do," said 'Master Francis, his 
 face now as pale as it a moment since 
 was rubicund "if you do, I'll give you 
 such a shaking you never had since you 
 were born." 
 
 "Hub bub bool'' exclaimed the old
 
 SH 
 
 AKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 19 
 
 man, starting back, stammering, several 
 paces, as if the threat had taken his 
 breath away : and there he stood, with 
 stick uplifted and mouth open, looking 
 the very picture of horror and surprise. 
 In fact, the conduct of his nephew had 
 come upon him with a most perfect as- 
 tonishment; for the natural modesty of 
 the youth's disposition had hitherto made 
 him bear his uncle's ill humors with 
 meekness ; but possibly the wine he had 
 drunk with Master Shakspeare had put a 
 bolder spirit into his nature. There, 
 however, did he stand, pale and melan- 
 choly, yet resolute, with arms folded, and 
 eyes with an unmoved fixedness resting 
 upon his terrified kinsman. 
 
 " Oh, the monstrousness of the age !" 
 at last ejaculated Gregory Vellum, " Oh, 
 the horrid villany ! But thou shall troop 
 for it. I will get rid of thee straight. 
 Thou shalt find other uncles to give thee 
 house-room, and feed and clothe thee, 
 thou pestilent varlet ! for I'll have none 
 of thee. Was it not enough that thou 
 shouldst rob me of fifty crowns tush ! 
 what was I a saying ? of so much ex- 
 cellent candle but that thou shouldst 
 threaten to give me a shaking of right 
 exquisite Venetian workmanship Alas ! 
 these villanies have undone me ! I know 
 not what I say." Then wildly knocking 
 the palm of his hand against his forehead, 
 the old man rushed out of the room, 
 shouting " Oh, my fifty crowns ! my fifty 
 crowns !" leaving Master Francis in as 
 great a wonder as Master Francis had a 
 moment since put his miserly kinsman. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Love me not for comely grace, 
 For my pleasing eye or face, 
 Nor for any outward part, 
 Nor for my too constant heart. 
 For those may fail or turn to ill, 
 
 And thus our love shall sever ; 
 Keep therefore a true woman's eye. 
 And love me still yet know not why 
 So hast thou the same reason still 
 
 To dote upon me ever." WII/BYE. 
 
 ' A combination and a form indeed, 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal 
 To give the world assurance of a man." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 IT was in a private closet in the queen's 
 palace of Whitehall, that two of her ma- 
 jesty's maids of honor were assisting each 
 other in attiring, and were conversing 
 with that confidence that denoteth perfect 
 friendship. The one, the taller of the 
 ;wo, was of a most majestic shape, with 
 
 a countenance of exquisite softness, im- 
 pressed with a touch of reflection, that at 
 times made her seem somewhat of a re- 
 served and melancholy disposition : but 
 in truth she was a most handsome wo- 
 man, and of an excellent fair complexion. 
 The other appeared both shorter and 
 younger ; her face was dark, yet did the 
 roses bloom in it most becomingly ; an 
 arched mouth she had, dimpled on one 
 cheek, and as for her eyes, they were the 
 most laughing, roguish, brilliant pair of 
 twinklers .that ever pretty wench was 
 blessed withal. Of these fair damsels, 
 the first was Elizabeth Throckmorton, 
 and the latter, her cousin Alice. 
 
 "What dost sigh for, Bess?" suddenly 
 inquired the youngest. " O' my troth, 
 thou hast appeared very woful of late." 
 
 " Did I sigh, Alice ?" asked the other 
 dejectedly. 
 
 "Sigh, coz!" repeated Alice. "No 
 old bellows with fifty holes in it ever 
 breathed with so undone a sadness. This 
 comes of being in love, Bess. Art sigh- 
 ing for Sir Walter Raleigh ? I see by 
 thy blushing I have hit it. Well, Heaven 
 help thy five wits, that can find matter 
 for sadness in things that give me such 
 infinite matter for mirth. And what be 
 this same animal, called man ? A thing 
 to laugh at a joke that goes upon two 
 legs a walking piece of provocation for 
 women to break a jest upon. Is he not 
 a most absurd creature ? I'faith, us poor 
 maids would have all died of melancholy 
 long since, if the men had not kept us 
 alive by affording us such exquisite sub- 
 jects for sport. And then the airs they 
 give themselves. Didst ever see a pea- 
 cock in the sun ? he spreads himself out 
 just like your man animal ; and struts 
 about, and looks as preposterously fine 
 and proud. Poor fool ! a goose would 
 look as well had it the same feathers. 
 And, like the clown in the play, he taketh 
 a world of pains to get well laughed at 
 by his audience. Well, I think I lack 
 not gratitude. I owe a bountiful load of 
 thanks to these our estimable benefactors, 
 and all that my poor wit can do to render 
 them as ridiculous as they seek to be, 
 they shall have. They call themselves 
 lords of the creation too, when they have 
 about as much omnipotence as a cockle 
 shell. Whatever lords they may be of, 
 they shall never be lords of my bed-cham- 
 ber, I promise you ; for, before I marry a 
 man, I'll give my virginity to an owl." 
 
 " Alice, Alice ! how thou dost run on," 
 exclaimed Mistress Throckmorton. 
 
 " Ay, forsooth, had I no legs I could
 
 20 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 run on with such a subject," replied her 
 cousin, laughing merrily. " But how 
 dost like the setting of this sleeve ?" 
 
 " It is of a pretty fashion, and of most 
 dainty fabric," said the other, With a 
 careless glance at the dress. 
 
 " That all thou canst say about it ?" 
 responded her companion archly. " Had 
 I asked thee concerning the captain of the 
 queen's guard, wouldst thou have merely 
 said, 'It is of a pretty fashion, and of a 
 most dainty fabric ?' " here the merry 
 little creature mimicked her companion. 
 " 0' my word, no I should never have 
 heard the last of him. Thou wouldst 
 have given me whole chapters upon every 
 hair of his head." 
 
 " But is he not a wise and most noble 
 gentleman ?" asked her cousin earnestly. 
 "Wise, quotha!" exclaimed Alice, 
 with a smile of peculiar meaning. "Wise 
 man ? wise fiddlestick ! In what is he 
 wise ? Doth he not talk admirably ? So 
 doth a parrot if it be well taught. Wise 
 oyster ! And there is but little difference 
 betwixt your oyster and your man. Your 
 oyster hath a beard, so hath your man ; 
 so he need not brag so much on that 
 account. But the difference be all in 
 favor of your oyster ; for youi 1 oyster is 
 delicate eating, but your man is for no 
 Christian stomach, cook him how you 
 will. Wise calf! Why, there is more 
 philosophy in a forked radish than ever 
 you will find in your wise man." 
 
 " In truth, Alice, if I did not know thee 
 to be a most kind-hearted wench and a 
 merry, I should think thee very mali- 
 cious," observed the eldest 
 
 " I bear no malice against the poor 
 creatures," replied the other, with pre- 
 tended meekness. " It would be a right 
 shameful return for the unceasing efforts 
 they make to amuse me. Well, it be not 
 their fault that they have not more sense ; 
 and considering how foolish they are by 
 nature, I must do them the justice to say, 
 that they do as well as they can." 
 
 " But I can not love thee, if thou wilt 
 not love Walter," said Mistress Throck- 
 morton, looking with much seriousness in 
 the face of her witty relative. 
 
 " Love him, coz !" exclaimed Alice, 
 affectionately kissing her forehead, 
 will do anything to pleasure thee." 
 
 And thereupon the two cousins did ca- 
 ress one another with a lovingness that 
 was most touching to behold. 
 
 " But if he make thee melancholy, I'll 
 be hanged if I love him," continued she 
 with much emphasis. 
 " It be not his fault, dear Alice," re- 
 
 plied her companion. " He is always 
 good and kind and noble. I alone am 
 to blame I am very much to blame." 
 And, saying this, she suddenly did throw 
 herself upon the neck of her kinswoman, 
 in an uncontrollable agony of hysteric 
 sobs and tears; and wept outright. 
 
 "Bess! Bess! Cousin! Elizabeth!" 
 cried the now alarmed and anxious Alice. 
 "What meaneth this? Why are these 
 tears and for what art thou to blame ? 
 Nay, this is mere folly. If the queen 
 find out that Sir Walter love thee, she 
 may be wrath with him and thee for a 
 time, but it will all blow over harmlessly, 
 I'll be bound for it ; and there is no occa- 
 sion to fret thyself till it happen. Come, 
 dry up thy tears, or I will not let thee see 
 him for a month." 
 
 " I must see him this morning, dear 
 Alice !" remarked her cousin earnestly. 
 " Thou must contrive to let me have 
 speech with him here ; for it is of the ut- 
 most importance." 
 
 " Here, cousin !" 
 
 " Ay, here, Alice," replied she ; " my 
 life, all that is dear to me, depends upon 
 it." 
 
 " Well, if that be the case, I'll strive 
 whatever my love can do to bring it 
 about," responded the other. " But see 
 how monstrously thou hast rumpled my 
 ruff. If the queen see it, she will swear 
 I have been romping." At this they both 
 strove to smooth the creases as well as 
 they could. " And now let me help thee 
 on with thy robe," she continued, as she 
 assisted in attiring her. "Ah, love's a 
 sad thing, and therefore I like it not, dear 
 Bess ; for I like merry things." 
 
 'Thou wilt change thy tune anon, de- 
 pend on't," said the elder. 
 
 " Change my tune ? I'll change my 
 nature first," replied the other. " By my 
 troth, if the sky were to rain lovers, I'd 
 keep under shelter. Save in the way of 
 sport, if ever I have anything to do with 
 these man animals why then pickle me. 
 And what a set I have around me at this 
 present ! Noah's ark contained not such 
 another. First, I have my Lord Burgh- 
 ley, who looks as virtuous as small beer, 
 and is just as sour upon occasion. He 
 taketh upon him to commend my beauty, 
 when the lord treasurer desireth to make 
 himself agreeable to the maid of honor ; 
 then sayeth he, with a very infinite grav- * 
 ity, ' Be chary of thy smile, mistress ; 
 butter melts i' the sun ! butter melts i' the 
 sun !' " And here she mimicked the voice 
 and manner of that most worshipful and 
 profound statesman, of glorious memory.
 
 21 
 
 and then proceeded imitating, in the same 
 ludicrous way, the different individuals 
 she named. " Then comes young grav- 
 ity, his son, Sir Robert Cecil, who hath a 
 smile for every one, and nothing else ; 
 and as he happens to be possessed of a 
 person in no way nattering to the eye, he 
 chooseth to make use of a tongue in every- 
 way flattering to the ear. ' Sweet Alice,' 
 saith he, in a whisper if he happen to 
 stand by me in the throng, ' indeed, I 
 can not help but think thee the flower of 
 the whole court.' After him we have 
 Lord Henry Howard or rather with 
 him, for they generally hunt in couples, 
 like hounds of better breed ; and he is 
 somewhat of a soldier somewhat of a 
 sailor somewhat of a gallant, and a 
 great deal of a courtier ; and he kisseth 
 my hand cavalierly, and looketh into my 
 eye as if he saw something there he had 
 lost his own modesty, mayhap, if he 
 ever had any and sweareth me one of 
 the newest oaths, saying, ' I could stand 
 the enemy, but not those lustrous orbs!' " 
 
 "Alice, thy wit will be the ruin of 
 thee." 
 
 " Then cometh my Lord Pembroke, 
 the hopeful pupil of that marvellous 
 scholar and exquisite specimen of chiv- 
 alry, Sir Philip Sidney," continued the 
 laughing girl. " And he readeth me an 
 essay an hour long on the surpassing vir- 
 tues of the dames of antiquity ; and look- 
 ing the very pink of courtesy, telleth 
 me, 'Thouwouldst make an admirable 
 Arcadian shepherdess, only the infinite 
 roguery that lurks in the dimple of thy 
 cheek would create a world of mischief 
 among the swains.' Then comes my 
 lord chamberlain, the bluff and martial 
 Earl of Sussex, with guns and pistols in 
 his looks, and cannon-balls in his conver- 
 sation ; and he salutes me most soldierly, 
 with an "Hullo, mistress! were I for 
 kissing, I know the pair of lips I'd choose 
 out of a thousand.' After him we have 
 the proud and impetuous Essex all 
 splendor all gallantry all impulse 
 and all nothing: and he cometh to me 
 alone with an irresistible air, protest- 
 ing, ' By this hand, an' I love thee not I 
 am a Turk.' " 
 
 " Alice ! Alice !" exclaimed her cousin 
 seriously, " if thou art heard saying this, 
 thou art utterly undone." 
 
 " Then cometh the gallant, gay, the 
 learned, witty, brave, and handsome 
 in fact, the very thing Sir Walter 
 Raleigh." 
 
 " Alice !" cried Mistress Elizabeth 
 Tbrockmorton, reproachfully. 
 
 "Well, dear Bess, I will say nothing 
 of him, since it doth not please thee," 
 replied her companion. " And now, be- 
 cause thou art quite ready, and I have 
 teased thee in some measure, I will go 
 and seek the noble captain ; for, if I mis- 
 take not, he must by this time be in at- 
 tendance." 
 
 " There's a good wench !" exclaimed 
 her cousin, kissing her affectionately. 
 " But be cautious in thy proceeding, for * 
 if the queen know of his being with thee, 
 Walter will be ruined and I undone." 
 
 " Be cautious ! will I not ?" replied 
 
 the light-hearted creature, with a toss of 
 
 I her little head. " I'll be as sly as a cat 
 
 I stealing of cream ; and if her majesty 
 
 1 find me out, I'll e'en give her leave to 
 
 j box my ears, as she did those of the love- 
 
 | ly Mistress Bridges, who was guilty of 
 
 I having had the presumption to be admir- 
 
 : ed by the imperial Essex. But Bess," 
 
 j continued she, turning round with an 
 
 i arch look, as she reached the door, " 't is 
 
 j a burning shame thou shouldst be in 
 
 love. I marvel at it hugely. Well, if 
 
 ever thou catchest me possessed of any 
 
 of thy melancholy humors, I'll give thee 
 
 leave to shut me up in a mouse-trap." 
 
 And with a laugh as shrill and musical 
 
 as the alarum of a silver bell, did the 
 
 pretty piece of mirth and mischief leave 
 
 the room. 
 
 But her cousin was in no mood to join 
 in her merriment ; and immediately Alice 
 was gone she sat herself down in a chair, 
 and there stole over her fair countenance 
 an expression of deep and right eloquent 
 sadness. She sat with her arms crossed 
 upon her lap, most dejectedly ; and her 
 soft eyes, swimming in tears, fixed upon 
 the floor. And in that position did she 
 continue for at least the fourth part of an 
 hour, feeding reflection with the delicious 
 food of memory, mingled with so many 
 fearful forebodings as were sufficient, 
 i with their bitterness to spoil the sweet- 
 ! ness of her thoughts. She wept not, 
 , neither did she smile ; but it seemed as 
 j if in her admirable features there was go- 
 i ing on a continual struggle between the 
 most exquisite pleasure and the most dire- 
 ful apprehension, and the latter got such 
 mastery as might suffice to give her lids 
 i as much moisture as they could carry, 
 i and impress on her well-favored aspect, 
 ! a character of more than ordinary grief. 
 j Anon, her eyes becoming overcharged, 
 j there was cast down upon each cheek a 
 I tear-drop, and the light falling thereon 
 from the window near which she sat, did 
 i make its brilliancy so apparent, that it
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS 
 
 would have put to shame the brightest 
 jewel that ever glittered in her stom- 
 acher ; and these gems of purest water, 
 as if enamored of their fair-resting place, 
 sought not to move from the spot where 
 they had fallen ; which gave to her the 
 appearance of a most beautiful and mov- 
 ing Niobe. 
 
 Presently she heard a footstep in the 
 corridor, and her heart thereupon began 
 to beat with a more perceptible throb- 
 bing. The footstep approached, and the 
 color mounted to her cheek it stopped 
 at the door, and the cheek became pale 
 as marble. In a moment the door opened 
 quickly, and was as quickly closed ; and, 
 as a cavalier of a most noble appearance 
 entered the room, with a half-stifled cry 
 of exultation, she rushed toward him, 
 and sunk swooning upon his breast. 
 
 In truth, the cavalier was of a most 
 valiant and commendable presence. His 
 high and expansive forehead was partly 
 concealed by his hat (in which was a lit- 
 tle black feather, with a large ruby and 
 pearl drop at the bottom of the sprig, in 
 place of the button) ; yet sufficient of it 
 was observable to denote the fine intel- 
 lect that lay within. His eyes were large 
 and intelligent his nose somewhat long, 
 yet not out of proportion his lips deli- 
 cately curved, with a fair mustache on 
 the upper lip, and a beard of moderate 
 growth, handsomely rounded under the 
 chin beneath, encircled by a frilled ruff ; 
 and his complexion was somewhat 
 browned, as if by exposure to foreign cli- 
 mates, or hard service in the wars. His 
 stature was six feet full, with limbs ele- 
 gantly yet strongly moulded. He was 
 apparelled in a white satin pinked vest, 
 close sleeved to the wrist, having over 
 the body of it a brown doublet, finely 
 flowered, and embroidered with pearls; 
 with a belt of the same color and or- 
 nament, on the left side of which hung 
 his sword, and on the other was seen the 
 pommel of his dagger. His trunks, with 
 his stockings and riband garters, were 
 all of white, and fringed at the end ; and 
 his shoes were of buff, tied with white 
 ribands. He might be somewhere be- 
 tween thirty and forty years of age ; that 
 is to say, in the very prime and vigor of 
 his life. And a braver soldier, a hand- 
 somer man, or a more accomplished gen- 
 tleman, the court of Elizabeth did not 
 contain at that time. 
 
 " Bess ! Bess ! dear, sweet, exquisite 
 Bess ! :> cried he flinging down his hat, 
 rnd pressing her in his arms. "By 
 Heaven ! she hath swooned," he exclaim- 
 
 ed, as he observed her head droop, and 
 her cheek quite pallid : then cautiously 
 fastening the door, he bore his lovely 
 burden to where stood an ewer of water, 
 which he began presently to sprinkle on 
 her face, all the while using most endear- 
 ing expressions and caresses, and exhib- 
 iting a truly earnest solicitude. 
 
 " They have fastened thy boddice most 
 infamously tight, dear Bess, and 'tis be- 
 yond my poor wit to loose it," said he 
 earnestly, as he tried unavailingly to undo 
 the fastenings of her robe. " S'blood, I 
 have a good mind to rip it up with my 
 dagger ; and if she recover not quickly, 
 I will. Dear, dear Bess !" he continued, 
 with more emphasis, as he began vigor- 
 ously to chafe her hands. " Revive thee, 
 girl revive ! ' Tis I ' tis Walter thy 
 Walter, dear Bess. There is nothing to 
 fear, believe me. We have no one near, 
 the queen's in the council chamber, and 
 I have well excused my attendance. 
 Come, Bess, I say sweetest ! dearest ! 
 best ! my heart ! my life ! Ha, she re- 
 vives !" he cried joyfully, as he observed 
 signs of returning animation in her coun- 
 tenance. " Indeed, I have a mind to scold 
 thee only I have no heart to do it/' 
 
 " Walter ! dear Walter !" murmured 
 the beautiful woman, fixing upon him a 
 look of most impassioned tenderness, di- 
 rectly she recovered sufficient conscious- 
 ness of where and with whom she was ; 
 and then throwing her arms around his 
 neck, and resting her head upon his 
 shoulder, began to sob violently. 
 
 " Now, Bess, this is unkind of thee," 
 said Sir Walter in rather a reproaching 
 tone ; but immediately added with a 
 kinder voice, " but what aileth thee, 
 sweetest?" 
 
 " Oh, I have undone thee I have un- 
 done thee quite !" exclaimed she, as plain- 
 ly as her sobs would allow. 
 
 " Not while I wear a sword, dear Bess, 
 and am free to go where I will," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 " The queen will know all, dear Wal- 
 ter she must discover it soon.'' 
 
 " Why so, dear Bess ?" inquired Sir 
 Walter. 
 
 " Alas ! I can not tell thee no, indeed, 
 I can not tell thee, dear Walter," said 
 Mistress Elizabeth, sobbing more violent- 
 ly ; " but I must leave this place. Do 
 take me away. I can not stay here but 
 a very short time longer without utter 
 destruction to thy fortunes. Oh ! take 
 me away, Walter take me away !" 
 
 " It shall be as thou desirest, sweetest," 
 replied Raleigh, stooping down and kiss-
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 23 
 
 ing her cheek. "I have already arranged 
 with thy father for a private marriage 
 before I embark on a voyage, the good 
 results of which I hope will win my par- 
 don from the queen." 
 
 " Thanks, dear Walter," exclaimed 
 she, looking gratefully upon him through 
 her tears : " thou art always good, and j 
 noble, and generous ; but I am fearful it 
 will be thy utter undoing." 
 
 " Think not of it, Bess," said her lover 
 kindly, "and then it can not fright thee. 
 But the danger is none so imminent. I 
 shall not let her majesty know of our 
 marriage, if it can be helped. Thou shall 
 get away from here as if on a visit to thy 
 father in Aldgate, and so excite no suspi- 
 cions ; in the meantime, I will increase my 
 attentions to the queen, so that she shall 
 have no reason to quarrel with my be- 
 havior ; and when thou art secure in thy 
 asylum, I shall start in my good ships for 
 the voyage I intend." 
 
 " I would not have thee anger the 
 queen for worlds," observed the other ; 
 " for it is in her power to make thy for- 
 tunes, or mar them. Elizabeth hath a 
 very woman's heart in some things, 
 though she be masculine enough in oth- 
 ers ; and she loveth the adulation of 
 handsome men. She much regardeth 
 thee, dear Walter, I know, and from that 
 1 am fearful that her knowledge of thy j 
 marriage will deeply affect thy prosperity. 
 Indeed, I would rather die than that thou 
 shouldst receive injury for my sake." 
 
 " O'my life, thou art a most admirable 
 creature," exclaimed Sir Waller, as he 
 rapturously pressed her within his arms; 
 " and I should be totally unworthy of 
 possessing that rich argosie, thy affec- 
 tions, were I not to risk my life, and all 
 that to it do belong, in endeavoring to 
 secure thy peace of mind. I fear not 
 consequences in such a case, dear Bess. 
 As for the queen, I know that flattery is 
 rarely unacceptable to her ; and her name 
 and thine being the same, I can easily 
 quiet the scruples of my conscience, if 
 they say aught against my insincerity, by- 
 imagining that it is to thee my homage 
 is addressed." 
 
 " I care not, Walter, what thou sayest 
 or what thou doest, as long as thou bold- 
 est thy proper quality and station in the 
 court," replied the devoted woman ; and 
 then, with a sudden look of right earnest 
 affection, continued '-thy proper quali- 
 ty, said I ? nay, if thou attainest that, 
 by my troth, thou wouldst be king of 
 them all." 
 
 " Oh, thou outrageous flatterer !" cried 
 
 Raleigh, sportively shaking his head at 
 her. 
 
 " 'Tis no flattery, dear Walter 'tis the 
 very truth," said Mistress Elizabeth fond- 
 ly. " And who can loot on thy noble 
 form, clad in these princely vestments, 
 and not say the same ? But above all, 
 who can regard thy noble mind that 
 costly jewel in a rich case and deny thy 
 pre-eminence?" 
 
 " Bess ! Bess ! if thou goest on at this 
 rate," replied Sir Walter, with an as- 
 sumed gravity, " I shall be reduced to 
 follow the obsolete custom of blushing, 
 which will bear hardly upon me, seeing 
 that I lack blushes most abominably." 
 
 At this moment a quick, light footstep 
 was heard proceeding along the corridor, 
 and Mistress Elizabeth, as soon as she 
 recognised it, disengaged herself from the 
 embraces of her lover, hastened to the 
 door, which she immediately unfastened, 
 and opening it, gave entrance to her 
 cousin Alice. 
 
 " A plague on this love, say I," ex- 
 claimed she laughingly, as she bounced 
 into the room nearly out of breath. 
 
 " What's the matter, Alice ?" inquired 
 her cousin anxiously. 
 
 " Ay, what's the matter, sweet coz !" 
 added Sir Walter. 
 
 " Coz ! coz, indeed !" cried Alice, some- 
 what disdainfully, yet with an arch glance 
 of her eye, ashe turned sharp round up- 
 on the last speaker " I pry thee keep thy 
 coz-emng for those who will listen to 
 thee. I'll have none on't." 
 
 " I'faith, Alice, if thy wit be always so 
 sharp, thou wilt lead apes in the next 
 world, depend on't," said Raleigh. 
 
 " I don't know, sweet sir, whether 
 there be apes in the next world," said 
 I she, with a courtesy to the ground ; "but 
 I o' my word there be nothing else to lead 
 ! in this, as I can see." 
 
 At this Sir Walter good humoredly did 
 I laugh outright ; in which he was heartily 
 I joined by his merry companion. 
 
 "But what brought thee into the room 
 I so post-haste, Alice ?" inquired Mistress 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " Marry, matter enough," replied she 
 " there be the queen's majesty in her 
 chamber inquiring most piteously for her 
 captain of the guard, and sending the 
 ushers and the grooms in all directions 
 after the lost sheep. I being asked if I 
 ! knew where he was to be found, did inno- 
 cently answer, that having for some time 
 past suspected him of the criminal inten- 
 tion of setting the Thames on fire, I did 
 opine that he might he met with in the
 
 24 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 buttery, begging the loan of a wax taper 
 for the nonce." 
 
 "I'll give thee a beating for that," 
 cried Sir Walter laughingly, as following 
 her round the chamber with his glove he 
 did whip her over the shoulder, while 
 she, ducking her pretty head, cried out, 
 and sought to avoid the blows. 
 
 " Help, good coz, help !" she cried to 
 her cousin, who stood by, showing by 
 her sweet, smiling countenance that she 
 did mightily enjoy the scene. " Help ! or 
 this valiant Sir Walter Raleigh, who 
 maketh war upon women, will get the 
 better of me." 
 
 " Nay, Alice, I'll help thee not for 
 thou dost richly deserve all that thou re- 
 ceivest," said Mistress Elizabeth. 
 
 " Confess that thou hast slandered me, 
 thou pretty mischief," exclaimed Raleigh, 
 holding up the glove threateningly, as 
 she crouched down at his feet. 
 
 " I will confess, holy father," replied 
 sbe, with an admirable mock seriousness, 
 as she put her palms together, and turned 
 up her brilliant eyes to his all the 
 while a smile playing about her dimpled 
 cheek that gave to her face an expres- 
 sion of archness infinitely pleasant to look 
 upon. 
 
 "In the first place, holy father, the 
 queen is not in her chamber, because she 
 is still with the lords of the council." 
 
 " Oh, thou abominable transgressor !" 
 cried Sir Walter, with all the seriousness 
 he could assume. 
 
 " In the second place, she hath not 
 sent for thee, because she requireth thee 
 not." 
 
 " Daughter ! daughter ! thy iniquity is 
 palpable," said he with he same gravity. 
 
 " In the last place, I have just met 
 with master secretary, whosaith that the 
 council is about to break up, and inquired 
 if I had seen thee. Thereupon I sent 
 him where I knew he would not find 
 thee, and hastened to where I knew I 
 should." 
 
 " Thou most do penance for this," ob- 
 served Raleigh ; then somewhat mali- 
 ciously added, " therefore I do condemn 
 thee to the scarcely endurable punish- 
 ment of holding thy tongue for a whole 
 hoar." 
 
 " I' faith thou hast it this time, Alice !" 
 exclaimed Mistress Elizabeth, wilh un- 
 disguised glee. 
 
 " And now, beauties, I must be under 
 the painful necessity of hurrying my de- 
 parture," said Sir Walter, taking up his 
 hat, and ffallantly bowing to the fair 
 cousins; then smiling triumphantly on 
 
 the laughing Alice, who had remained 
 on the floor where he had left her, wear- 
 ing the most pitiful face that eye ever 
 beheld, he was about to make his exit, 
 when Mistress Elizabeth rushed before 
 him. 
 
 " Stop, Walter," cried she, hastily, 
 " till I see if the coast be clear for thee," 
 as she opened the door, and looking out 
 cautiously, immediately added, in a more 
 subdued voice " 'tis as it should be ; 
 and now, dear Walter, let me once more 
 entreat of thee to keep on good terms 
 with the queen." 
 
 " I will strive all I can, dear Bess," 
 replied her lover, affectionately raising 
 her hand to his lips, " and be sure that 
 thou make proper and speedy preparations 
 for thy departure from this place." 
 
 " I will not fail," said the beautiful 
 woman ; and, in the next moment, she 
 was watching the noble form of her 
 affianced husband retreating with hasty 
 strides along the corridor. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh proceeded onward, 
 passing several doors on each side of him, 
 and various passages that led to divers 
 parts of the palace, till he came to a 
 staircase of fair proportions, the balus- 
 trades of which were finely carved, hav- 
 ing at their extremities rampant lions, 
 most ingeniously wrought out of the solid 
 wood. At the bottom of this flight of 
 steps he passed sundry of the yeomen of 
 the guard, placed there upon duty, who 
 gave him instant salutation^ and still 
 advancing, met with pages, grooms, and 
 ushers, hastening on their business, who, 
 with great show of respect, did do him 
 reverence. With these were sometimes 
 mingled the higher officers of the palace, 
 and gentlemen and noblemen of the court, 
 either intent upon their duties, or dis- 
 coursing with one another, as they walked 
 carelessly along, and with them he did 
 exchange abundance of courtesies. As 
 he was turning sharply round a corner, 
 he came suddenly against a courtier of 
 a very notable aspect, and of right com- 
 mendable habiliments ; his face was fair 
 to look upon, and dressed with a constant 
 smile. An observer might suppose him 
 of an ingenuous nature, and of a remark- 
 able honesty ; gentle in his behavior, up- 
 right in his conduct, and chivalrous in his 
 disposition : yet was he a thorough cour- 
 tier, as will anon be made manifest to 
 the reader. He was young ; that is to 
 say, of some thirty years or so ; and being 
 of a handsome figure and countenance, 
 his apparel, though it lacked the splendor 
 of Sir Walter Raleigh's, was evidently
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 25 
 
 worn to set them off to the best ad- 
 Tantage. 
 
 " Odds pittikins, Sir Walter," exclaim- 
 ed he. laughingly, as he recovered him- 
 self from the shock, "dost take me for a 
 Spanish galleon, that thou runnest me 
 down in this pitiless fashion ?" 
 
 " Thy pardon, my good lord," replied 
 Sir Walter, as he held but his hand, 
 which the other shook with all the 
 fervor of old friendship, " Lord Henry 
 Howard hath so proved himself the 
 queen's good soldier, as to make it im- 
 possible for any one to take him for a 
 Spaniard." 
 
 " Nay, thou flatterest me there," said 
 the Lord Howard, with an appearance 
 of considerable modesty, " I did but fol- 
 low the example of that worthy and ap- 
 proved good knight, Sir Walter Raleigh 
 and but at an humble distance, as all 
 must who would tread in his valiant 
 footsteps. But, confess confess thee, 
 man ! wert thou not dreaming of another 
 armada, and wert intent on boarding the 
 biggest ship of them all, when thou didst 
 bear down upon me with thy whole 
 broadside so courageously ?" 
 
 "Indeed, my lord, I was thinking of 
 a different matter," replied his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " I doubt thee hugely," responded the 
 other, shaking his head, " for 'tis so much 
 in thy fashion. Then wert thou busying 
 thy most fruitful imagination in search 
 of new discoveries, and, instead of steer- 
 ing into some delectable bay, full of all 
 enticing prospects, thou of a sudden didst 
 drop thy anchor upon my new doublet 
 was it not so ?" 
 
 " Thou art again in the wrong, my 
 lord," replied Sir Walter, smiling; "I 
 was on no such voyage. I am bound to 
 her majesty, where my attendance is re- 
 quired. If nothing better await thy pleas- 
 ure, will it please thee walk with me, 
 my lord ?" 
 
 " I am infinitely gratified by thy cour- 
 iesy," said Lord Henry, with a most 
 courtier-like inclination of his head, as 
 he proceeded alongside of his companion, 
 " and will do myself that honor. The 
 queen is expected in the presence cham- 
 ber, on her return from the council ; and 
 I was but making a stroll in the mean- 
 while, when thou didst me the especial 
 favor of nearly running me down. But 
 what a superlative taste thou hast in thy 
 appointments," suddenly exclaimed he', 
 as he noticed the splendid attire of Sir 
 Walter ; " 'tis most exquisitely fashion- 
 ed, and of a very dainty conceit." 
 
 " Dost like it, my lord ?" inquired 
 Raleigh, carelessly. 
 
 " On mine honor, I admire it hugely," 
 responded his lordship, with a vast show 
 of admiration. " I marvel not thou 
 shouldst be the very model of dress 
 amongst us, for thou art truly delicate in 
 the choice of*thy fabrics, and infinitely 
 curious in the manner in which they are 
 to be worn. I do know a certain lord 
 who would give his ears, had he thy ap- 
 prehension of these things." 
 
 " Be his ears so long then, that he 
 would get rid of them for so trifling a 
 result ?" asked his companion, with some 
 affectation of seriousness. 
 
 "In truth thou hast hit it," exclaimed 
 the Lord Howard, with a hearty laugh. 
 "Between ourselves, he is marvellously 
 apt to play Midas to thy Apollo." 
 
 "By what name goeth he ?" inquired 
 j Sir Walter ; " for as far as my penetra- 
 tion sufficeth, I know of none such." 
 
 " Dost not know the earl of Essex ?" 
 whispered the other. 
 
 "Most assuredly do I, for a gentleman 
 of many noble qualities," replied Raleigh. 
 
 "I tell thee, out of friendship, he doth 
 affect thee not at all," said his lordship, 
 in the same low voice. 
 
 " Then hath some villain slandered me 
 to him," observed his companion, quick- 
 ly ; "for, although he hath his faults 
 as who hath not? I do believe him to 
 be of a right honorable nature.'' 
 
 "I have ofttimes heard him speak 
 slightingly of thee, Sir Walter by this 
 hand have I," continued his lordship, 
 with increased emphasis, yet still in a 
 subdued tone. 
 
 " Thou must have mistaken his mean- 
 ing, surely," responded the oilier, " I have 
 done him no offence. But he may speak 
 slightingly of me without disparagement, 
 my good lord, for possibly I may not have 
 j done sufficient to deserve his eulogy.'' 
 
 "I tell thee, in friendship and in se- 
 cresy, noble Raleigh for it be dangerous 
 to say anything against one so high in 
 favor that he hath disparaged thee vil- 
 lanously, ever since thy quarrel with that 
 ruffianly follower of his, Sir Roger Wil- 
 liams." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Sir Walter, turning 
 round quickly, and looking his compan- 
 ion full in the face. 
 
 " Thou hast done too much to please 
 him, noble Raleigh: thy gallant actions 
 are ever before his eyes thy well-de- 
 served praises are continually ringing in 
 his ears. He must make comparisons ; 
 and whenever he doth compare himself
 
 26 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 with thee, either in appearance, in wis- 
 dom, or in honorable deeds, he findeth 
 himself at a disadvantage ; and that doth 
 fret him hugely. Thou knowest he is 
 proud and that proud men are vain 
 and that vain men are apt to undervalue 
 the qualities they do not themselves pos- 
 sess. Marvel not, therefore, that he doth 
 not appreciate thee according to thy ex- 
 ceeding merits. I tell thee this, out of 
 my infinite love for thee, wishing to put 
 thee on thy guard." 
 
 " I am much beholden to thee for thy 
 consideration," replied Sir Walter, as if 
 musing upon what he had heard : " and 
 yet he hath always been, to all appear- 
 ance, most friendly disposed toward me." 
 
 " To all appearance, I grant," added 
 his lordship, dwelling in a marked man- 
 ner upon the words; "but thou mayest 
 rely upon what I have stated. Use it as 
 it pleaseth thee, noble Raleigh ; but well 
 convinced am I, that what I have said 
 out of affection, thou wilt employ after 
 such a fashion as may not be likely to do 
 me an in jury. "- 
 
 " Depend on it, thy interests shall be 
 well cared for," responded Sir Walter. 
 
 TfTe preceding conversation continued 
 while the parties proceeded along sun- 
 dry passages and through various suites 
 of rooms magnificently furnished, and 
 crowded with courtiers and others strol- 
 ling about or discoursing of the news one 
 with another. They at last advanced 
 into a room adjoining the presence cham- 
 ber a noble apartment hung round with 
 cost.ly tapestry, and strewed with fresh 
 rushes, into which came thronging the 
 archbishops and bishops, ambassadors, 
 nobles, counsellors of state, and others of 
 the mighty of the land. Presently it was 
 whispered that the queen was a-coming, 
 and thereupon way was made for her 
 majesty, just as the gentlemen pension- 
 ers with their gilt battle-axes and richly 
 embroidered vests were observed ap- 
 proaching. After these went certain no- 
 blemen of the queen's household, knights 
 of the garter, and the officers of her 
 council walking in their costly robes 
 bareheaded among whom was the 
 chancellor bearing the seals in a red silk 
 purse having on one side of him an offi- 
 cer of state carrying the royal sceptre, 
 and on the other another of the like rank 
 bearing the sword of state with the point 
 upward, in a scabbard of crimson velvet 
 plentifully studded with golden fleurs- 
 de-lis. 
 
 Next came our sovereign lady Queen 
 Elizabeth, very majestic in her" deport- 
 
 ment, and although getting into the de- 
 cline of life, still very pleasant to look 
 upon ; for her face if it was a little wrink- 
 led was fair ; her eyes small and livelv ; 
 her nose somewhat aquiline ; and her lips 
 though thin were continually adorned 
 with a gracious smile. She wore much 
 false hair of a red hue a color she great- 
 ly affected, and upon her head a small 
 crown of a very precious gold richly 
 worked. In her ears were rare pearls 
 with pendents of exceeding value ; and 
 on her bosom, which, in consequence of 
 her dress being worn low, was much 
 exposed, was a necklace of jewels of an 
 excellent fine water, with an oblong col- 
 lar of gold and precious stones above ; she 
 was attired in white silk daintily bor- 
 dered with pearls remarkable for their 
 size and beauty, over which was a man- 
 tle of black silk shot with silver threads; 
 having a train of marvellous length and 
 of a corresponding costly material, borne 
 by divers of the ladies of her court. As 
 she advanced every head was uncovered, 
 and those nearest to her did kneel on one 
 knee, some of whom who had letters to 
 deliver she raised and spoke to gracious- 
 ly, and as a mark of particular favor to 
 one Bohemian baron, who had come to 
 present certain credentials, she did pull 
 off her glove and gave him her right 
 hand to kiss, all sparkling with jewelled 
 rings. 
 
 Thus she proceeded in all this beauti- 
 ful magnificence, winning the hearts of 
 her dutiful subjects by her very gracious 
 condescension, and speaking to ittany for- 
 eigners with the same notable courtesy 
 in French, Italian, Spanish, or Dutch, as 
 it might happen, to their infinite wonder 
 and delight ; followed by a beautiful 
 throng of the ladies of her court, each 
 handsomely attired, though mostly in 
 white, with the addition of some display 
 of jewellery : and a guard of gentlemen 
 pensioners like that which preceded 
 them, till she entered the presence cham- 
 ber to give audience to those ambassa- 
 dors and ministers who had come on 
 pressing business. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 But if in living colors and right hue 
 
 Thyself thou covet to see pictured, 
 Who can it do more lively or more true 
 
 Than that sweet verse with nectar sprinkled; 
 
 In which a gracious servant pictured 
 His Cynthia, his Heaven's fairest light ? 
 
 That with his melting sweetness ravished,
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS- 
 
 27 
 
 And with the wonder of her beames bright, 
 My senses lulled are in slumbers of delight. 
 
 SPENSER. 
 
 I marie what pleasure or felicity they have in ta- 
 King this roguish tobacco. It's good for nothing but 
 to choke a man, and fill him full of smoke and em- 
 bers : there were four died out of one house last 
 week with taking of it, and two more the bell went 
 for yesternight ; one of them they say will never 
 scape it, he voided a bushel of soot yesterday up- 
 ward and downward. BEN JONSON. 
 
 THE queen of England having retired 
 from the presence chamber, sat in her 
 withdrawing-room on a well-c*rved chair, 
 having cushions covered with crimson 
 velvet, whereon the royal arms were em- 
 broidered in gold, resting her feet upon a 
 footstool of a like material and around 
 her were the select companions of her 
 privacy. Instead of her crown, she now 
 wore a pyramidal head-dress built of wire, 
 lace, ribands, and jewels. The chamber 
 was of handsome proportions, hung with 
 costly tapestry, on which was very fairly 
 depicted the principal events in the Iliad, 
 and besides such necessary furniture as 
 chairs, tables, and cabinets elaborately 
 chiselled into every kind of cunning de- 
 vice, the panels of the richly-decorated 
 wainscot did contain full-length portraits 
 of the late king's highness of glorious 
 memory, Henry the Eighth, with his il- 
 lustrious consort Anna Boleyn, in dark 
 ebony frames, and done to the life with 
 all the limner's skill. 
 
 The whole party seemed to be in an 
 excellent good humor, especially her maj- 
 esty, who led the example by laughing 
 loud and long, as she sat before two open 
 glass doors that looked into a garden 
 daintily laid out in long shady walks, 
 while leaning upon the edge of the door, 
 almost outside of the room as it were, 
 stood Sir Walter Raleigh, against whom, 
 evidently, all the mirth was directed ; 
 who, with a grave countenance continu- 
 ally disturbed by the merriment of his 
 associates, in which he ever and anon 
 joined right heartily, kept smoking a long 
 pipe, and watching the fumes as he puffed 
 them into the air. 
 
 " Ah, thou hast small cause to look af- 
 ter the fumes, for thou wilt be in a fine 
 fume thyself presently," said her majesty, 
 and the courtiers and the ladies thereat did 
 laugh more than ever. 
 
 " Please your majesty," replied Sir 
 Walter, taking the pipe from his mouth, 
 and laughing with the rest " My fumes 
 are perfumes ; and if ever I exhibit any 
 other futnes in your majesty's gracious 
 presence, I should be deserving of ban- 
 ishment, which would make me in a 
 fume indeed." 
 
 " Thou wilt lose thy wager, Sir Walter 
 Raleigh which will put thy pipe out, 
 depend on't," added the queen at which 
 witty conceit the courtiers were again in 
 raptures. 
 
 "My pipe will be out anon, please 
 your majesty," responded Sir Walter in 
 the same jocose spirit. " But I shall have 
 the honor of winning a purse of gold of 
 the most bountiful sovereign that subject 
 ever had." 
 
 " Odds bodikins, man, thou art mad, 
 sure !" exclaimed the queen good humor- 
 edly. " How canst expect to win such a 
 mad wager unless peradventure thou 
 seekest to amuse thyself by playing upon 
 j us some trick which if thou dost, by our 
 j halidom, thou shall smoke for it in right 
 I earnest." Thereupon the laugh went 
 round as before, and all in audible whis- 
 pers did commend her majesty's wit most 
 liberally. 
 
 " Nay, I should be unworthy to breathe 
 in so estimable a presence were I to make 
 so bold," replied Raleigh gravely. " And 
 for fear that your majesty should misunder- 
 stand my meaning, I will recal the terms 
 of the wager an the doing of which this 
 noble company f will correct me if I say 
 anything in error. Your majesty, out of 
 your gracious condescension, hath wager- 
 ed me a purse of gold against my Barbary 
 courser, that from a certain quantity of 
 this precious tobacco that I have before 
 all these honorable persons weighed and 
 put into my pipe to smoke, I shall not be 
 able to tell the exact weight of the smoke 
 that escapes." 
 
 "Why, thou foolish gull, how canst 
 tell the weight of anything that escapes ?" 
 asked the queen with a merry, malicious 
 glance, and to the infinite amusement oT 
 her circle. " Canst catch the smoke after 
 it hath mingled with the air, and press it 
 into thy scales! We did think that thou 
 hadst more wit than to undertake such a 
 thing, and when thou first spoke of it, 
 fancying thou wert taking the traveller's 
 privilege, we laid this wager with thee 
 on purpose to have a laugh at thy ex- 
 pense. 0' my faith thy Barbary courser 
 is as good as lost ; but though it be taking 
 but a barbarous advantage of thee, we 
 must e'en accept of it.*' 
 
 " Please your majesty, perhaps he hath 
 the wonderful seven-league boots, and 
 meaneth quickly to overtake his smoke," 
 observed a very lovely young gentlewo- 
 man who stood by the side of the queen's 
 chair. 
 
 "Nay, Lady Blanche Somerset," re- 
 plied her majesty, joining in the general
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 laugh, "be must be a bird if he means to 
 come up with it, for smoke hath the 
 property to ascend, as thou seest." 
 
 " Methinks Sir Walter be nothing else 
 but a bird," said Mistress Alice, with an 
 exceeding grave face. 
 
 " Why so, child ?" asked the queen. 
 
 " Doth not your majesty perceive he 
 hath a very owl-like look ?" added her 
 attendant archly, to the manifest increase 
 of the mirth of the company, the which 
 Sir Walter regarded only as if he had 
 more to laugh at than they. 
 
 " I do perceive something in this more 
 than meets your majesty's eye," remark- 
 ed a very old courtier, with an exquisite- 
 ly solemn foolish physiognomy. 
 
 " Speak out, my Lord Bumble," cried 
 her majesty. 
 
 " I hold it as most comfortable Chris- 
 tian doctrine, please your majesty," said 
 his lordship, advancing a little way on 
 his gold-headed cane for he stooped 
 much, " that the mouth was made for the 
 accommodation of honest victuals ; and 
 though I have lived in the reigns of your 
 majesty's father Henry VIII., of pious, 
 chaste, and glorious memory, and of his 
 most excellent highness Ed ward VI., who 
 surely hath a throne in heaven ; and of 
 our late illustrious Queen Mary, who 
 was of a most princely disposition, as it 
 becometh a queen to have, and which 
 your majesty doth possess to an extent far 
 beyond that which was exhibited by your 
 majesty's predecessors, I never saw a 
 
 fentleman, and, to speak the exact truth, 
 may add, any person of any degree 
 whatsoever, who used his throat to im- 
 bibe villanous smoke; and therefore I 
 hold it as most comfortable Christian doc- 
 trine that the mouth was made for the 
 accommodation of honest victuals. More- 
 over, I never heard of any one with whom 
 it was customary to make a smoke-jack 
 of himself, but one, and he did do it not 
 from liking, but from necessity." 
 
 "And who was he, my lord?" inquired 
 the queen. 
 
 " Please your majesty, it was no other 
 than the devil from whose machinations 
 be your majesty ever carefully guarded." 
 
 "Amen, my lord," said the queen, 
 gravely. 
 
 "\Vho, as the learned Dr. Thump- 
 cushion hath stated," added Lord Bum- 
 ble, "continually doth vomit smoke and 
 brimstone doubtless, much after the 
 same fashion as yonder honorable gentle- 
 man, the captnin of your majesty's guard 
 therefore I hold it as most comfortable 
 Christian doctrine" 
 
 "Never mind the doctrine, my lord" 
 here put in the queen rather impatiently, 
 while Sir Walter, with much ado, en- 
 deavored to preserve a serious counte- 
 nance " Say at once what thou perceiv- 
 est in this matter, that our poor wits are 
 not master of." 
 
 " I will come to the point without fur- 
 ther preamble, since it be your majesty's 
 excellent pleasure," said the old courtier, 
 " though I was going to say, that a thing 
 which looketh so unnatural and so dev- 
 ilish, can be practised for no other end 
 but to ensnare our souls and blind our 
 eyes, that we may be the more easily 
 caught and thrust into the bottomless pit, 
 where it be the fashion of Satan and all 
 his imps to smoke, and to teach others to 
 smoke, like unto the manner of yonder 
 estimable gentleman, Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh ; therefore, I hold it as most com- 
 fortable Christian doctrine, thai the mouth 
 hath been made for the accommodation 
 of honest victuals." 
 
 "We have heard that before, my lord, 
 so if thou meanest to enlighten us no 
 further on this matter, hold thy peace, 
 and Heaven will reward thee for it." 
 
 " Yes, Heaven will reward me, cer- 
 tainly, as your majesty hath so piously 
 remarked," continued Lord Bumble ; 
 who, in addition to other infirmities con- 
 sequent on old age, was exceeding deaf 
 " I am much bound to your majesty for 
 your majesty's gracious consideration ot 
 my long service, and if your majesty doth 
 not, Heaven will reward me, certainly. 
 But I must say, of all your majesty's 
 glorious family, none have I served with 
 half the infinite satisfaction I find in at- 
 tending on your majesty though his ex- 
 cellent highness, Henry VIII.,whose page 
 I was, did say that I was inestimable be- 
 fore bedtime." 
 
 . " Ah, thou didst doubtless make a most 
 admirable sleeping potion," observed her 
 majesty. 
 
 " As your majesty is pleased to say, he 
 did justly appreciate my devotion," pro- 
 ceeded his lordship. " But I am fearful 
 I am somewhat wandering from the 
 point." 
 
 " Thou has found tnat out at last a 
 plague on thy tediousness !" exclaimed 
 his royal mistress, angrily ; but in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "I have already stated enougn to sat- 
 isfy any reasonable personage that smo- 
 king is but a devilish pastime, and there- 
 fore not to be tolerated but there is more 
 mischief in it yet. I say it be unlawful 
 and infinitely dangerous. For let it b
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 29 
 
 observed that smoke is black which is 
 likewise the color the devil most affects 
 therefore to be avoided ; that the ac- 
 complishment of smoking is an art -and 
 the art being black, it standeth to reason 
 it must be a black art and I do uphold 
 that the exercise of the black art in your 
 majesty's presence is heathenish, treach- 
 erous, and abominable, and, consequent- 
 ly, that yonder noble gentleman, the cap- 
 tain of your majesty's guard, ought not 
 to be allowed, as is evidently his inten- 
 tion, to bewitch your majesty and over- 
 throw the state." 
 
 " Sir Walter Raleigh, dost hear that 
 weighty accusation?" asked the queen, 
 the frown of impatience upon her face 
 now giving way to an undisguised smile ; 
 " Hast thou had the audacity to practise 
 the black art before us ? hast the pre- 
 sumption to attempt to bewitch us and 
 overthrow the state ?" 
 
 " Without attempting any defence, I 
 will, at once throw myself upon your 
 majesty's clemency, of which I have had 
 such excellent experience," replied Sir 
 Walter refraining awhile from his pipe. 
 " But perhaps I may be allowed to ob- 
 serve, that if I have attempted to be- 
 witch your majesty, I have followed the 
 example of one who, with her admirable 
 qualities, hath bewitched all her loving 
 subjects." 
 
 " There ! he confesseth it, please your 
 majesty," cried the old courtier, press- 
 ing close to the queen, " therefore I do 
 hold it very comfortable Christian doc- 
 trine" 
 
 "Peace, fool!" cried her majesty, in a 
 voice that not only made Lord Bumble 
 hear, but astonished him so, that it sent 
 him staggering two or three paces back- 
 Ward upon the delicate toes of some of 
 the maids of honor ; who, not liking so 
 impressive a salutation, with features 
 expressive of pain and anger, pushed him 
 rudely out of the way, till he found him- 
 self beyond the circle, scarcely able to 
 breathe, and in a complete consternation. 
 
 " I do not believe that he practiseth the 
 black art," here observed Mistress Alice, 
 who was somewhat of a favorite with 
 the queen, for her lively temper, and, 
 more than all, because she never seemed 
 desirous of attracting the admiration of 
 the noblemen and gentlemen of the court ; 
 " Indeed, I will do him the justice to say 
 that I think him no conjuror." 
 
 The queen laughed, and, as matter of 
 course, the courtiers laughed also. 
 
 " Nay, be not so hard upon him, child," 
 said her majesty, "remember he will 
 
 have to Jose his Barbary courser, which 
 will sufficiently punish him for endeavor- 
 ing to cajole the queen of England." 
 
 " May it please your majesty," said Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, coming into the room 
 with his pipe in his hand, " I have 
 smoked out the quantity of tobacco 
 agreed upon." 
 
 " Haste thee and Weigh the smoke, 
 then," replied the queen, with a chuckle 
 of delight, which was echoed by those 
 around her. 
 
 " I will tell your majesty the weight 
 of the smoke in a few seconds," respond- 
 ed Raleigh, taking in his hand a small 
 pair of ivory scales which stood on an 
 adjoining table. 
 
 " Thou wilt never get so much smoke 
 into such tiny balances, Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh," observed her majesty with the 
 same tone, " so thou mayest as well ac- 
 knowledge that the wager is ours." 
 
 " Your majesty will be pleased to ob- 
 serve that the weight in this scale is the 
 exact weight of the ashes left in the 
 pipe," replied Sir Walter, showing the 
 scales, in one of which he had put the 
 ashes, at an even balance. "Now, if 
 your majesty will graciously remember 
 the weight of the unburnt tobacco upon 
 which the experiment was made, by sub- 
 tracting from it the weight of the ashes, 
 which I have here ascertained, the sum 
 produced will be the exact weight of the 
 smoke." 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, with the scales 
 still in his hand, wore on his noble fea- 
 tures, at this moment, an expression of 
 very evident satisfaction, as he turned 
 round and looked down upon his audi- 
 ence some of whom seemed incredu- 
 lous, others wondering, the rest puzzled 
 what to think ; but all were waiting in 
 silence the effect of his announcement 
 upon their sovereign, whose abler under- 
 standing perceived at once the accuracy 
 of the result, though it was so different 
 from what she had expected, and felt as 
 if she could not enough admire the sim- 
 plicity of the method which had so easily 
 proved what she thought had been im- 
 possible. 
 
 " The gold is thine, Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh," said she, rising from her chair 
 with a dignity none knew better how to 
 put on, as she placed a well-filled purse 
 in his hand, " and fairly is it won. There 
 have been many laborers in the fire 
 whose vast undertaking have ended in 
 smoke ; but thou art the first whose 
 smoke was ever turned into gold." 
 
 "Well, I did not think he was such a
 
 30 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 superlative master of hocus pocus," ex- 
 claimed Mistress Alice, with a wondei- 
 ful elevation of her eyebrows. " Please 
 your majesty, if you let him go on at 
 this profitable rate, every conjurer in 
 your dominions will hang himself in 
 despair." 
 
 " Indeed, 'tis a very pretty piece of con- 
 juration," said Lady Blanche Somerset, 
 opening her large blue eyes in a seeming 
 astonishment ; and all the rest, though 
 they did in no way understand the mat- 
 ter, did rival each other in ready praise 
 of Sir Walter Raleigh except my Lord 
 Bumble, who kept aloof, as if he had not 
 yet recovered from his fright and sur- 
 prise. 
 
 Sir Walter having put away the 
 things he was using, placed his hand 
 on his heart, and kneeling on one knee 
 before her majesty, as she presented him 
 the purse, said humbly, "I pray your 
 majesty to pardon me, that the deep 
 gratitude of my heart at this moment, at 
 receiving such munificent and generous 
 conduct from my sovereign, hath taken 
 from my poor tongue all adequate ex- 
 pression. What Paris must have felt 
 when he first beheld the beauteous Hel- 
 en, I experience at witnessing such gra- 
 ces of behavior with the like of which 
 was no princess ever blessed therefore, 
 if I make not too bold, I would implore 
 your majesty, out of your right royal and 
 princely disposition, and most admirable 
 wisdom, to frame, in my behalf, such ex- 
 cuse for my silence as your majesty may 
 think appropriate," 
 
 " Rise, Sir Walter Raleigh," said the 
 queen, graciously raising him from the 
 ground ; for, in truth, though waxing old, 
 she did find exceeding delight in having 
 such handsome gallants at her feet. 
 " The wager was honorably won there- 
 fore our bestowing it doth call for no 
 gratitude. We are now disposed for a 
 stroll through yonder pleasant walks, 
 and require thy attendance." So saying, 
 she led the way, with a becoming state- 
 liness, through the glass doors, and step- 
 ped out into the garden, closely followed 
 by her captain of the guard the rest 
 slaying behind, as they had not been in- 
 vited. After some little time passed in 
 the queen's garden, her majesty proceed- 
 ed through divers passages, and through 
 the new gallery in the palace, till she 
 reached St. James's Park. 
 
 " Hath Master Edmund Spenser, our 
 poet laureate, of whom thou hast so oft 
 spoke to us so fair, been well cared for, 
 since at thy request we granted him an 
 
 interview ?" inquired her majesty, as they 
 walked along. 
 
 " I believe that my Lord Burghley never 
 did anything for him, or paid him his 
 salary, please your majesty," replied Sir 
 Walter. " But I marvel not at that, seeing 
 that my lord treasurer hath not seemed 
 in any great degree affected toward the 
 inestimable sweet delights of poetry and 
 philosophy ; and yet one would naturally 
 suppose, that serving a mistress who hath 
 so perfect a knowledge and so exquisite 
 a taste in those divine enjoyments the 
 very Minerva of our thrice fortunate Eng- 
 lish land he would have imbibed suffi- 
 cient inclination toward them as to foster 
 such as possess them most for the true 
 glorification of his illustrious sovereign, 
 and to the great advancement of his own 
 honor." 
 
 " Ah, my Lord Burghley is certainly 
 somewhat deficient in such matters ; nev- 
 ertheless he is an excellent statesman and 
 a faithful servant," observed the queen. 
 "We will, however, not allow Master 
 Spenser to think himself unesteemed of 
 us, for we remember well he did read to 
 us divers passages from a poem called 
 ' The Fairy Queen,' of which we enter- 
 tain a very favorable consideration." 
 
 "Your majesty playeth ever the part 
 of the true judge of merit, and its most 
 liberal patroness," exclaimed Raleigh, 
 " and happy are those poetic spirits who 
 were born to flourish under such excel- 
 lent auspices. Surely they might aptly 
 be addressed in the wotrds of Lucan to 
 his Pharsalia, 
 
 Vos quoque, qui fortes animos belloque peremptos 
 Laudibus in longum, vates, diffunditis cevum, 
 Plurima securi fudistis carmina Bardi. 
 
 It has been left for your majesty's right 
 glorious reign to produce two such unri- 
 valled geniuses as Master Edmund Spen- 
 ser and Master William Shakspeare 
 the one as an epic poet, who writeth to 
 advance the admiration of that which is 
 chivalrous and noble, hath no peer ; the 
 other as an inventor of plays the which 
 in this country he may justly be said to 
 be the originator for judgment, wit, 
 imagination, and knowledge of human 
 nature, standeth above all in these realms. 
 Master Spenser hath fellowship with 
 such noble spirits as Homer and Virgil, 
 and Master Shakspeare deserveth to stand 
 on equal terms with Sophocles and Me- 
 nander." 
 
 " We take great delight in the produc- 
 tions of this Shakspeare as exhibited at 
 the playhouse," replied her majesty, "and
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 do intend this afternoon to partake of the 
 same amusement." 
 
 " It is an entertainment worthy of vour 
 majesty's enjoyment," responded Sir Wal- 
 ter, "for I take it that players are a sort 
 of looking-glasses, who show humanity 
 under all its fashions, as it is made to ap- 
 pear by the dramatist, to whom these 
 fashions are familiar; and they who es- 
 say to know the world, its conduct and 
 apparelling, will find no more direct 
 way than the playhouse, where Master 
 Shakspeare and some few who travel in 
 his footsteps are in requisition. Nor are 
 your majesty's players undeserving of 
 laudable mention ; lor, without tuition or 
 previous example, they have raised the 
 art, from little better than absolute va- 
 grancy, to a profession honorable with 
 the court, and in good esteem with the 
 people." 
 
 "Ah there is one Burbage, is there 
 not, of notable excellence in this art?" 
 inquired the queen. "We have marked 
 him oft. He that playeth the crook- 
 oacked king." 
 
 " The same, please your majesty," said 
 Raleigh, " which showeth your majesty's 
 exquisite discrimination, for he beareth 
 away the palm from them all ; being of 
 an exceeding ingenious nature, and of a 
 very happy facility in taking upon himself 
 the characters of others ; Avhich he show- 
 eth not only when appearing as Richard 
 the Third, though it be a most superla- 
 tive piece of acting, as your majesty nath 
 justly conceived, but in divers other parts 
 in which he hath exhibited a similar 
 excellence." 
 
 They walked on for some two or three 
 minutes without saying ever a word. 
 
 "Rememberest thou those lines of Vir- 
 gil," asked her majesty, " beginning: 
 
 Fortunate senex ! hie inter flumina nota 
 Et fontes sacros" ? 
 
 " How could I fail, please your majes- 
 ty ?" replied Sir Walter, seeing that they 
 form one of the sweetest pieces of pas- 
 toral ever written by that truly famous 
 poet, who hath for his epitaph: 
 
 Mantua me genuit, Calabri rapuere, tenet nunc 
 Parthenope, cecini pascua, rura, duces." 
 
 "If our judgment do not fail, they 
 are most happily chosen," continued the 
 queen. " How well he described) the 
 cool deliciousness of that pleasant place, 
 out of the scorching heat of the sun, 
 where the bees suck the dainty flowers, 
 while the cooing of the dove and the 
 plaint of the turtle are hushed, that the 
 
 sojourner therein might be wooed to re- 
 pose." 
 
 " Indeed, it is a marvellous refreshing 
 
 andscape, and your majesty doth show 
 that inimitable appreciation of its excel- 
 .ence, which hath delighted me so oft 
 when discoursing upon other of the an- 
 cient writers, either Greek or Latin." 
 
 " There is another picture, which ma- 
 feth a fine contrast to the foregoing," 
 
 iaid her majesty, who did mightily de- 
 
 ight to show her learning, of which she 
 was very bountifully gifted ; and more 
 especially took great pleasure in receiving 
 the praises of so fine a scholar as her 
 
 aptain of the guard : " it is given in The- 
 ocritus his Idyls, and commenceth : 
 
 A.Seia( 
 
 yya0drj 
 
 and so goeth on at considerable length.'** 
 "I remember me," replied Sir Walter, 
 where the poet describeth the luxurious 
 ndolence of reclining on the soft branches 
 of the vine and the lentisk ; while above, 
 the foliage of poplars and elms spreads a 
 most grateful shade, and the murmuring 
 stream flowing below gives coolness *to 
 the air ; shrill grasshoppers are chiruping 
 pleasantly in the green sward ; the sweet 
 honey-sucking bees are humming amid 
 the fragrant blossoms ; Philomel, pouring 
 out her melancholy song, concealed in 
 the grove ; and the turtle-dove, cooing 
 dulcetly, doth add a softer music to the 
 tuneful pipe of the small birds ; as, to 
 charm the eye equally with the ear, the 
 luscious fruits of summer and autumn 
 are heaped all about, showing piles of 
 rosy-cheeked apples and pears, and the 
 branches of the velvet plum, overloaded, 
 bending to the ground. In truth, 'tis a 
 most enticing picture ; and the reference 
 to it is another instance of your majesty's 
 unrivalled familiarity with the treasures 
 of classic song, and of that miraculous 
 fine taste which preferreth what is most 
 admirable, that giveth me such frequent 
 cause of infinite wonder and delight." 
 
 The queen did look exceeding pleased 
 at this discourse, fanning herself all the 
 time very prettily as she walked along, 
 and regarding the noble form and hand- 
 some attire of the speaker with an eye 
 of favor; till coming to a place where, 
 beneath the shade of a wide-spreading 
 beech, just where the walk, screened on 
 the side by a thick fence of hawthorn, 
 took a sudden turn that shut them out 
 from view, a commodious seat was 
 placed, and her majesty did rest herself
 
 32 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 thereon; She then, more at leisure, did 
 scan the rich habiliments of the gallantSir 
 Walter Raleigh, as he stood before her, 
 which seemed to give her ample satisfac- 
 tion, though she said never a word ; he 
 gazing upon her all the while with a 
 wonderful show of respectful admiration, 
 as much as to say, that if his tongue 
 dared speak his thoughts, his heart would 
 make them right eloquent. 
 
 " What sayest thou concerning the 
 voyage thou wert speaking of?" at last 
 she inquired in her most gracious tone. 
 
 Starting suddenly, as if recovering from 
 a trance, he replied, "I humbly pray 
 your majesty's pardon; for indeed 'tis a 
 most notable truth, that none but the eagle 
 can gaze on the sun without being daz- 
 zled." 
 
 Her majesty did infinitely relish such 
 conceits ; and her eyes twinkled with an 
 evident pleasure as she observed her at- 
 tendant suddenly let fall his looks to the 
 ground, as if the gazing upon her were 
 too much for his humanity. 
 
 " But of the voyage I will speak," con- 
 tinued he. " May it be known to your 
 majesty, that there are certain of my 
 former companions in arms, with other 
 valiant gentlemen, who are desirous of 
 serving your majesty, and of giving free 
 scope to their courageous spirits by do- 
 ing damage against the Spaniard, have 
 clubbed with me divers large sums of 
 money, for the purpose of procuring a 
 sufficiency of well-appointed ships for an 
 expedition against Panama, combined 
 with an intention of intercepting the 
 Plate fleet, the riches whereof is almost 
 incredible. They have funds enough for 
 thirteen ships-of-war, of the which, in 
 consideration that I have sunk the whole 
 of my private fortune in the scheme, and 
 that they do doubtless without proper 
 judgment acknowledge me to be the 
 properest man among them for seaman- 
 ship, acquaintance with the Spaniards, 
 and knowledge of the art of war, seek 
 me for to be their admiral, which, if it 
 be the good pleasure of your majesty, 
 whose poor soldier I am, I am in no wise 
 unwilling to be : but to make the conse- 
 quence we seek the more sure, I would 
 humbly pray of your majesty such assist- 
 ance in men, money, and ships, as would 
 put all thought of misadventure out of 
 the question, the granting of the which, 
 I feel assured, would tend greatly to the 
 complete crippling of your most notorious 
 enemies, the addition of abundance of 
 glory to your reign, and the vast enrich- 
 ment of your exchequer." 
 
 "Thou speakest us fair, Sir Waltef 
 Raleigh," said the queen, who had paid 
 very strict attention to what he had ad- 
 vanced ; but however partial she might be 
 upon occasion, she was rarely to be drawn 
 away from a consideration of her own ad- 
 vantage. "Thou speakest us fair; and 
 were we not as well acquainted with thee 
 as we are, having recollection of services 
 done by thee against the boasted armada, 
 which, by God's good help, we utterly dis- 
 comfited, and at other times against those 
 empty praters and wretched villains the 
 Spaniards and remembering also thy 
 skill in discovering strange lands, do put 
 some confidence in thy assertions ; nev- 
 ertheless, it is necessary we be informed 
 what share of the spoil shall be ours in 
 case we afford such assistance as thou 
 requires! ?" 
 
 Sir Walter, in no way disconcerted at 
 this, as he knew her majesty's disposi- 
 tion, answered, with a very becoming 
 humility : " Far be it from me to en- 
 deavor to make a bargain with my sov- 
 ereign ; but your majesty's condescension 
 is so great, and your liberality I have 
 experienced in so bountiful a measure, 1 
 am emboldened to say, that according to 
 the amount of the service rendered shall 
 your majesty partake of the treasures 
 gained." 
 
 " How many ships dost require ?" asked 
 the queen. 
 
 "As many as your majesty can gen- 
 erously assist us with," replied Sir Wal- 
 ter. 
 
 "If we allow thee half a dozen, prop- 
 erly equipped and provided for with all 
 the munitions of war, we shall expect to 
 share one half of the spoil." 
 
 " Your majesty's generosity exceeds 
 my expectations," exclaimed Raleigh; 
 though, if the truth be told, he did feel a 
 little put out at the unfairness of the bar- 
 gain. 
 
 " Then, if those conditions be accepted, 
 we do appoint thee admiral of the fleet," 
 continued the queen, "and will see that 
 thou hast proper warrant for it, with 
 power to officer thine own ships as it 
 pleaseth thee reserving to ourself the 
 right of appointing a vice-admiral, to 
 officer our ships as we think proper." 
 
 "Never had servant so bounteous a 
 mistress !" cried Sir Walter, as he krelt 
 at the feet of the queen, seemingly in a 
 transport of gratitude. "In truth, if I 
 am not allowed to pour out the overflow- 
 ings of my most grateful spirit, I must be 
 dumb ever after. Oh, where shall the 
 most passionate lover that ever sought to
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 33 
 
 do noble deeds in honor of her whom he ] 
 served, find such absolute cause for the 
 impelling of his valor as that which 
 moveth me? Had Arthur and all his 
 right famous Knights of the Hound Ta- 
 ble lived in these more fortunate days, to 
 have beheld the peerless Elizabeth, what 
 chivalrous doings would have been enact- 
 ed, that are, lost to the world ! But then 
 how much have I reason to congratulate 
 myself that I, who am nothing except in 
 the eyes of the divine Parthenia, whom 
 it is my happiness to serve the very sov- 
 ereign of beauty and queen of my heart's 
 best affections, should not only live in the 
 time which her existence hath made glo- 
 rious, but should be allowed to breathe in 
 her presence and bask in the imperial 
 sunshine of her eyes nay, honor nevet 
 to be too highly prized," continued he 
 with more vehemence, taking her hand, 
 as he observed that the stateliness of the 
 queen was sinking before the vanity of 
 the woman, " that out q her exceeding 
 condescension and wonderful goodness, 
 she sometimes enricheth my soul with 
 her most moving smiles, and vouchsafes! 
 me the supreme happiness of pressing 
 my lips upon her ivory hand." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Walter, thou wilt devour it 
 sure !" exclaimed the queen, coyly at- 
 tempting to withdraw her hand, which 
 he then impressed with a hundred eager 
 caresses: but she was too well pleased 
 with the action, and too much delighted 
 in seeing so noble a gentleman at her 
 feet, to use any great degree of force, and 
 the hand continued to be caressed as pas- 
 sionately as at first. 
 
 " Oh, might I but be allowed to ask 
 one favor one sweet one precious fa- 
 vor !" said Raleigh, gazing in her face 
 with as much apparent rapture as if she 
 had been a young and blooming Hebe, 
 instead of much nearer resembling a su- 
 perannuated Diana of some sixty years 
 or so. The queen kept her peace, look- 
 ing very bashful, not knowing but some- 
 thing might be required of her it would 
 be scarcely proper for her virgin modesty 
 to grant; when Sir Walter continued 
 "When I am doing furious battle with 
 the enemy, I know of nothing which 
 would so much strengthen my resolution, 
 and afford me consolation in all the de- 
 lays I may meet with in my scarcely 
 endurable absence from my absolute and 
 incomparable Angelica, as a lock of that 
 golden hair, which tome seemeth bright- 
 er than are the beams of Phoebus topping 
 the eastern hills : deign, then, to satisfy 
 your majesty's humble and truly devoted 
 3 
 
 slave, and pardon the deep yet most re- 
 spectful adoration that doth seek so in- 
 valuable a gift." 
 
 " In very truth, Sir Walter, if thou 
 seekest only so simple a thing of us, we 
 see no harm in its disposal," replied her 
 majesty very graciously. " Therefore set 
 thy mind at ease. Thou shall have it by 
 a trusty messenger before thou leavest 
 our shores." 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed he with a passionate 
 look, as he pressed the hand he held to 
 his heart "your majesty's unexampled 
 goodness hath already made my poor 
 heart bankrupt in thanks." 
 
 " Hush !" cried the queen, suddenly 
 snatching away her hand and putting her 
 finger to her lip. "Who are these that 
 dare to intrude upon our privacy I" 
 
 Just at that moment footsteps were 
 heard approaching along the walk on the 
 other side of the fence, and voices of two 
 persons in conversation were distin- 
 guished. They spoke low, but the words 
 " Raleigh," "Elizabeth," and " intrigue," 
 were distinctly audible. 
 
 "Now, by God's wounds, we'll not 
 suffer this !" exclaimed the queen, start- 
 ing up with a face crimsoned with rage. 
 "Arrest them, Sir Walter Raleigh, who- 
 ever they be." 
 
 " Let me entreat of your majesty" 
 
 " What, are we not obeyed ?" cried the 
 queen quickly, interrupting him, and cast- 
 ing on him a look of terrible menace 
 when she observed that he hesitated to 
 obey her command. 
 
 " On the knees of my heart, let a faith- 
 ful servant" 
 
 " Away, traitor !" fiercely exclaimed 
 her majesty to her kneeling favorite, as 
 she brushed by him ; and with haughty 
 steps strode toward the turning in the 
 walk which would give her a view of the 
 spot whence the sounds had proceeded : 
 but behold ! when she had there arrived, 
 no person was visible at which she mar- 
 velled greatly. She looked among the 
 trees, but could see nothing ; and much 
 chafed thereat, returned to where she had 
 left Sir Walter, as it may be said with 
 considerable show of truth, trembling in 
 his shoes at the imminent peril of his sit- 
 uation ; but he knew the character of his 
 mistress thoroughly, and his alarm soon 
 giving way, set him upon putting forward 
 a stroke of policy which should reawaken 
 all the influence he had lost ; so that when 
 her majesty came hack to the place she 
 had left, sweeping along, frowning ma- 
 jestically, and with a mind filled with 
 thoughts of inflicting the most complete
 
 34 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 disgrace upon her captain of the guard, 
 beheld a sight so piteous, that all the 
 dread sovereign did give place to the 
 sympathizing woman for there knelt 
 Sir Walter Raleigh exactly where he 
 had before kneeled, as if he was chained 
 unto the spot, gazing upon vacancy with 
 a look so despairing and wo-begone, that 
 it would have melted a heart of adamant. 
 To her exceeding astonishment, he no- 
 ticed not her appearance before him al- 
 beit he saw her well enough but contin- 
 ued with a fixed and glassy gaze to stare 
 into the empty air, like unto one utterly 
 bereft of reason ; and being moved with 
 pity to behold so gallant a man, and one 
 withal who was the best dressed gentle- 
 man in all her court, in so sorry a plight, 
 she presently went up to him and placed 
 her hand upon his shoulder, saying kind- 
 ly, "Sir Walter, what aileth thee?" 
 whereupon, with a long-drawn sigh that 
 seemed to come from the very bottom of 
 his heart, he lifted up his eyes to her face, 
 and then, as if struck with a sudden recol- 
 lection, he sunk down his head, and did 
 hide his face in his palms, with a groan 
 so hollow and sepulchral, that her majes- 
 ty thought he was about to give up the 
 ghost. 
 
 " Nay, nay, take not on so, take not on 
 so, Sir Walter ; we mean thee no harm, 
 be assured," said the queen, now in a very 
 trepidation ; which assurance was com- 
 fortable enough to her forlorn captain of 
 the guard ; but who, nevertheless, with a 
 most pitiful accent exclaimed 
 
 "Let me die at your majesty's feet, for 
 I am unworthy to live, having angered so 
 good a mistress." 
 
 " Odds pittikins, man, think not of dy- 
 ing," replied the queen in her most gra- 
 cious tone. 
 
 " In sad truth, if I be deprived of the 
 most delectable happiness of gazing on 
 such exquisite perfection as hath so oft 
 delighted mine eyes, I am utterly undone. 
 I have no desire to live," continued he 
 very movingly. At which the queen was 
 not a whit displeased, for it is out of all 
 contradiction, she had vanity enough to 
 believe that the deprivation of the behold- 
 ing her charms would produce so fatal an 
 effect. 
 
 " Despair not, and if we find that thou 
 still deservest our esteem, thou shalt have 
 no cause for fear," said her majesty in a 
 manner she thought likely to put him into 
 some hope. "Risr, Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 and return with us 10 the palace we will 
 inquire into this mutter." 
 
 "I am rooted to ihe earth," replied he, 
 
 in the most sorrowful voice that ever was 
 heard. " The fear of your majesty's dis- 
 pleasure hath fixed me to the ground. I 
 have no power to move. How much 
 would those wretched traitors rejoice, 
 who, to get me into disgrace, envying 
 me your majesty's good opinion, that I 
 prize as Jason did his Medea, and which, 
 as she taught him to tame the brazen- 
 footed bulls, and cast asleep the watchful 
 dragon that guarded the golden fleece, 
 hath inspired me to like honorable and 
 famous deeds, to witness the very pite- 
 ous strait to which I am reduced by the 
 effect of their contemptible trick to slan- 
 der the most excellent, chaste, and beau- 
 teous princess that ever did adorn this 
 sublunary world." 
 
 " Dost think 'twas a trick ?" inquired 
 she earnestly. 
 
 "How could it be else, please your 
 majesty?" replied Sir Walter, albeit he 
 knew all the time, haviag, from a better 
 sense of hearing, heard more than the 
 queen, that the conversation alluded to his 
 amour with Mistress Elizabeth Throck- 
 rnorton, though he could not distinguish 
 to whom the voices belonged ; but seeing 
 that her majesty fancied that it was in 
 allusion to her, was resolved to take ad- 
 vantage of that mistake. " Is not your 
 majesty well known, with all the super- 
 lative accomplishments of the nine im- 
 mortal daughters of Jupiter and Mnemo- 
 syne, to unite with them the exquisite 
 truth and modesty of the goddess Veritas 
 and the Vestals and how could those 
 villanous traducers, whoever they be, give 
 utterance to so notorious a calumny, un- 
 less it were that I should reap disadvan- 
 tage thereby ; but, relying on your majes- 
 ty's noble qualities and proper sense of 
 what is due to your own dignity, I feel 
 convinced that the paltry trick will be 
 regarded with the contempt it doth de- 
 serve only awaiting your majesty's par- 
 don, without which I am naught, to re- 
 lease me from this right painful and un- 
 happy posture." 
 
 " Rise, Sir Walter Raleigh thy par- 
 don is granted thee, and there is our hand 
 upon it," said the queen, in her most 
 gracious manner giving him her hand, 
 the which he did again press to his lips, 
 but in a style more respectful than before. 
 "We'll think no more of these paltry 
 tricksters but will show them how lit- 
 tle we can be affected by their villanous 
 yet most contemptible slanders." Then 
 did she very kindly raise him from the 
 ground, and return to the withdrawing- 
 room conversing with him all the way
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 35 
 
 on matters relating to his projected voy- 
 age in a way, the friendliness whereof, 
 he had rarely experienced. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Ambition is a vulture vile 
 
 That feedeth on the heart of pride, 
 And finds no rest when all is tried ; 
 For worlds can not confine the one, 
 The other lists and bounds hath none ; 
 And both subvert the mind, the state, 
 Procure destruction, envy, hate. 
 
 DANIEL. 
 
 Against bad tongues goodness can not defend her 
 Those be most free from faults they least will spare, 
 But prate of them whom they have scantly known, 
 Judging their humors to be like their own. 
 
 SIR JOHN HARRINGTON. 
 
 " MY Lord of Essex, you may account 
 me your true friend in this business," said 
 a dwarfish and ill favored person soberly 
 clad, to a handsome and gorgeously- 
 dressed gallant having remarkable dark 
 eyes, and a rich glossy beard very full at 
 the bottom as they sat over against each 
 other in a chamber hung round with 
 abundance of ancient armor. 
 
 " I think I may, Sir Robert Cecil," re- 
 plied he, addressed as the Earl of Essex, 
 looking moodily all the time, as if there 
 was something that mightily vexed him. 
 "She hath quarrelled with me at primero, 
 only because I did drop something that 
 to her appeared to call in question her 
 skill with the cards; and she hath spoke 
 to me never a word since. 'Sblood ! one 
 had need be a beggar's dog as put up 
 with such humors." 
 
 " Nay, but the queen is a most bounte- 
 ous mistress,'' observed the other in a 
 tone of apology ; " and though at times 
 she be easily displeased, yet is she quickly 
 moved to make amends if undeserved 
 disadvantage come of it." 
 
 "But she is too prone to *uch capri- 
 ciousness, and I'll stomach it no longer," 
 exclaimed his companion, his brilliant 
 eyes flashing very haughtily as he kept 
 playing with ihe jewelled pommel of his 
 dagger. "What! shall it be said that 
 the Lord Essex is fit for nothing better 
 than to play the pet falcon with, to be 
 \rmstled to, and driven off, as it suiteth 
 a woman's idle fantasies ?" 
 
 "Fie on you, my lord!" cried Cecil, 
 with an exceeding grave countenance. 
 "I would not the queen should hear of 
 this for as much as your earldom." 
 
 " Let her I care not ;" said the Lord 
 Essex sharply. 
 
 " Now, look you there, was ever ob- 
 
 stinate man so bent on his own destruc- 
 tion ?" exclaimeth the other. "But I 
 will do you a service as far as my poor 
 ability goeth ; for sure am I, that you 
 have no friend so earnest to advance 
 your interests as Robert Cecil, if you will 
 only look upon him as such." 
 
 "I thank you heartily," replied his 
 companion ; but in no way relaxing the 
 frown that had settled on his brows. 
 
 "Nay, I seek no thanks," rejoined Sir 
 Robert, " for, inasmuch as my honored 
 father hath been your guardian to say 
 naught of the noble qualities I do behold 
 in you have I ever felt disposed to do you 
 a service. Believe me, I would do good 
 for the good's sake. Now, my lord, in this 
 matter, be advised by me ; for though 
 seek I in no way to push forth my judg- 
 ment before one that is so ripe as your 
 own, yet, as your lordship is somewhat 
 apt to get heated at these things, being 
 touched by them more nearly than an- 
 other, I, having more coolness, which is 
 the greatest help to reflection, may be 
 considered better qualified to form an un- 
 biased opinion ; therefore, I do beseech 
 vou, in all true friendship, be advised of 
 me." 
 
 "What counsel you, Sir Robert Ce- 
 cil ?" inquired his lordship. 
 
 " Mark you Sir Walter Raleigh ?" ask- 
 ed the other. 
 
 " What hath he to do with it ?" said 
 my Lord Essex, very proudly. 
 
 " Truly he is a noble gentleman," repli- 
 ed his companion ; " he is one that hath 
 many commendable parts, being in out- 
 ward show right manly to look upon ; 
 the which he doth put to great advantage, 
 by apparelling himself very daintily. In- 
 deed, though I be no judge of these 
 things, I have heard it said by others, 
 that for the fashioning of a doublet, he 
 hath not his peer. For mine own part, I 
 envy him not such an accomplishment, 
 thinking that it more becometh a tailor 
 than a gentleman. Nevertheless he is 
 doubtless to be praised for it, seeing that 
 it showeth his great anxiety to please her 
 majesty, who, it is well known to him, 
 taketh exceeding delight in beholding 
 such braveries ; the which he continually 
 turneth to his profit. But he hath other 
 gifts that do the more recommend him to 
 the queen's favor ; he hath held himself 
 valiantly in the wars, and hath the repu- 
 tation of the most experienced soldier in 
 the queen's service ; though I for one do 
 think there be his betters not far off. 
 Then so it be said, though I know not 
 how true it be, his knowledge of sea-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 manship is inferior to none ; which hath 
 not only enabled him to exhibit his valor 
 against the enemy with great effect ; but 
 hath given him marvellous facilities in 
 the discovery of strange lands. Besides 
 which, they that take upon themselves to 
 know this phoenix, do give out that he is 
 a very Solomon for wisdom, and is won- 
 derfully quick at penning a stanza." 
 
 "And what hath all this to do with the 
 matter ?" haughtily inquired my Lord 
 Essex, who, though he could not help 
 admiring the character of Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, liked not to hear of his praises 
 so conspicuously. 
 
 " Much more, my good lord, than it 
 doth appear to you," replied Cecil, in a 
 tone, and with a manner of great meaning. 
 " Mark me ! I do not blame this valiant 
 gentleman for wishing to make the most 
 of his qualifications, for it is natural for 
 a man to advance his fortunes as' well 
 as he can ; but if he, standing upon the 
 opinion some have of him, which in all 
 honesty seemeth to me strangely over- 
 rated, seek to gain the first place at 
 court, and poison the queen's ear against 
 the absent" 
 
 At this moment my lord of Essex, who 
 had exhibited signs of great impatience 
 during the speech of his companion 
 with his handsome countenance hugely 
 disturbed leaped suddenly upon his feet, 
 and exclaimed 
 
 " By God's wrath, if he hath slandered 
 me, I'll make him rue it." 
 
 "Nay, I said not that, my good lord," 
 observed the crafty Cecil, with a show 
 of sincerity. " Indeed, far be it from me 
 to give you so ill an opinion of one who, 
 beyond all dispute, hath signalized him- 
 self very honorably ; but your absence 
 doth throw great temptation in his way. 
 I pray you be seated, my lord : and 
 there are some men such is the perver- 
 sity of human nature who think it no 
 discredit to them to build their rise by 
 working at the fall of their betters. I 
 would you would not stand, my lord : 
 not that I think Sir Walter Raleigh is of 
 such kind, but being the captain of the 
 guard, in constant attendance on the 
 queen, where he hath many opportunities 
 to drop hints to your disadvantage, which 
 in charity I do not think he would : I 
 would say, perhaps ;he might, as the only 
 way of dispossessing you of that high 
 seat in the queen's grace you so worthily 
 fill, be induced to increase her majesty's 
 displeasure against you as much as lay 
 in his power. But be seated, I pray you, 
 my lord." 
 
 " If he attempt it, were he twenty Sir 
 Walter Raleighs, he should have his de- 
 serts," said the proud noble, evidently 
 much disturbed by what he had heard ; 
 then, smiling contemptuously, added 
 " but he dare not," and quickly resumed 
 his seat. 
 
 "There are we of the same opinion," 
 observed Cecil, who, with an unmoved 
 countenance, had all the time kept a 
 careful scrutiny of the features of his 
 companion. "When 1 consider that he 
 is nothing better than a simple knight, 
 while you, my good lord, are known to 
 be connected with the powerfulest fami- 
 lies in the kingdom, and even stand in 
 some relationship to the queen's majesty, 
 I do conceive that he hath more wit than 
 to attempt such a mad scheme as the 
 driving you away from the court, that he 
 might supply your place ; nevertheless, 
 speaking from the love I bear you, I do 
 advise that you keep with the queen aa 
 much as may be possible ; thereby shall 
 you hinder all foolish speculations of the 
 kind, that may be built upon your ab- 
 sence, and notice for yourself whether 
 this Sir Walter Raleigh be inclined to 
 push himself forward at your expense, as 
 some say ; though for mine own part, I 
 do not think of his disposition so badly, 
 having, in all my intercourse with him, 
 found him to be a gentleman of very ex- 
 cellent integrity. Allow me also to hope, 
 that what my zeal for you hath embold- 
 ened me to say, you will not take in ill 
 part, assuring you that, of all men living, 
 is there not one I hold in so much re- 
 spect as yourself." 
 
 "I am greatly beholden to you, and 
 will think of your advice," replied my 
 Lord Essex, rising, with considerable as- 
 sumption of dignity, from his chair, as he 
 began putting on his embroidered gloves, 
 " but where is my Lord Burghley ?" 
 
 "My father hath not long returned 
 from the council," said his companion : 
 "he is greatly fatigued, and hath gone 
 to rest, desiring not to be disturbed. I 
 pray you, my good lord, excuse seeing 
 him to-day." 
 
 "In truth I have no particular busi- 
 ness with him," said his lordship, care- 
 lessly, as he arranged a costly silk cloak 
 he wore upon his shoulder; "commend 
 me to him, Sir Robert, and, if it be not 
 displeasing to you, I will see you again 
 on this matter at a fitting hour." 
 
 ."I shall feel proud of the honor you 
 will do me, my good lord," replied Cecil, 
 as with much show of respect he follow- 
 ed his visiter out of the door, when he
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 37 
 
 had put on his hat, which was of a high 
 crown, with a precious jewel in the 
 front ; and made the serving men, some 
 of whom were straggling about the hall, 
 hasten to open the gates, where he kept 
 bowing to my Lord Essex very courte- 
 ously, who received his salutations with 
 a haughty inclination of the head, before 
 he moved away from Exeter House, to 
 cross to the river where he had left his 
 barge ; and then the other came back, 
 seemingly in a very thoughtful mood, to 
 the armory, and fastened himself in. 
 
 He had sat himself down therein 
 scarcely a minute, when he was aware 
 of a gentle tapping at the wainscot; 
 which as soon as he heard, a smile of 
 peculiar meaning passed over his grave 
 features, and going directly to a place 
 where hung a suit of Saracen mail, he 
 did presently open a concealed door, and 
 there entered thereat Lord Henry How- 
 ard. 
 
 "Hast any news?" asked Sir Robert, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Indeed have I," said my lord. 
 
 " Good news ?" inquired Cecil. 
 
 "Excellent good news," replied his 
 companion. 
 
 "From the Scottish king, eh, my good 
 lord?" said the other, in a whisper. 
 
 " No, i'faith it hath not travelled so 
 far : 'tis English news ; news of our in- 
 comparable captain of the guard." 
 
 " Ha ! what, doth he seem inclined to 
 take the bait, and quarrel with Essex?" 
 inquired the other. 
 
 "I doubt it much," responded his com- 
 panion ; "I moved him a little, but not 
 sufficient to ground any such hopes 
 upon." 
 
 " Tis enough," exclaimed Cecil, " each 
 is jealous of the other, and very small 
 things will suffice to increase their mutual 
 ill will. I have had Essex here, and 
 have just succeeded in stirring up his 
 ancient animosity against Raleigh, and 
 I will take good heed it shall not go out 
 for want of fuel. See you my object?" 
 
 " To ruin both in good time, I hope," 
 said Lord Howard. 
 
 " True but more immediately to play- 
 one against the other, that we may take 
 advantage of their disunion ; for were 
 they strict friends, they would be too 
 strong for us ; or were either to be allow- 
 ed to proceed in his course without mo- 
 lestation of a rival, he would soon have 
 too firm a seat for us to shake him our. 
 We will set them by the ears, and I doubt 
 not we shall find our profit in it. But 
 what news have vou of Raleigh ?" 
 
 " What think you of a dainty intrigue 
 now with one of the maids of honor ?" 
 
 " No !" cried the other, incredulously. 
 
 " Just ripe for a discovery a private 
 marriage about to take place, to hide the 
 unwelcome consequences." 
 
 " To whom where is she what is her 
 name ?" hastily inquired Cecil, showing 
 by the earnest expression of his counte- 
 nance the interest he took in the intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 " She is no other than the right modest 
 daughter of old Sir Nicholas Throckmor- 
 ton." 
 
 " The fool's ruined," exclaimed Sir 
 Robert ; " but how know you this how 
 can it be proved ?" 
 
 "I was informed of it by my Lady 
 Howard, of Walden," said the other. 
 " Her ladyship, as it seemeth to me, hav- 
 ing been slighted by this Raleigh I 
 know not why, for truly she is rather a 
 dainty piece of goods to look upon and 
 suspecting from certain observations she 
 had made, that he was the welcome lover 
 of the virtuous Elizabeth, impelled by 
 jealousy, did conceal herself in Mistress 
 Throckmorton's chamber, and heard the 
 whole of the precious secret ; and now 
 her indignant ladyship is burning to tell 
 it to the queen." 
 
 " She must be stopped awhile she 
 will spoil all else," cried his companion, 
 eagerly. " This is a delicate affair, my 
 good lord, and requireth very careful 
 handling, or else mischief will come 
 of it." 
 
 " I thought it of consequence, and bade 
 her stay the discovery till I had seen you 
 on the subject, which she hath promised 
 me. But the best of the jest is, while we 
 were in earnest conversation on this very 
 matter, along one of the walks in the 
 park, the queen, who was on the other 
 side of the fence near which we stood, 
 without our knowledge of it, overheard 
 us, as I suppose ; for we presently recog- 
 nised her voice very loud, calling upon 
 Sir Walter Raleigh to arrest us ; the 
 which put us both in such a fright, that 
 each of us did suddenly run for it as if 
 our lives depended on our speed of foot. 
 Never ran I half so fast in all my days: 
 and as for my fair cousin by this light, 
 there never was such a racer. It would 
 have done your heart good to have seen 
 us, like two Spanish galeasses, cutting 
 before the wind with all sail, to get out of 
 the reach of an English frigate. Thanks 
 to the neetness of our heels, we escaped ; 
 but my Lady Howard hath got purli a 
 fright that she- will scarce dare to open her
 
 38 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 mouth before the queen for some time to 
 come." 
 
 "So much the better," observed his 
 companion, drily. 
 
 " I left her to calm herself at her lei- 
 sure, and hastened through the private 
 gate in the garden to seek you here by 
 the secret way.'' 
 
 " You did right, my good lord," said 
 Cecil, as he sat himself down, somewhat 
 abstractedly, leaning his head upon his 
 hand. 
 
 " And now, methinks, this fine fellow, 
 who evidently liveth in the opinion that 
 nothing is so good as that which he doeth, 
 hath done for himself; and / shall not be 
 sorry for one. I like not such whipper- 
 snappers persons of no extraction ig- 
 noble adventurers who are ever thrust- 
 ing themselves before their superiors, 
 and winning from them such honors as 
 they alone were born to possess. Indeed, 
 this Raleigh is a most pestilent piece of 
 conceit, and I mislike him hugely : I 
 shall glory in his downfall ; and I care 
 not how low his pride is humbled. Be- 
 sides, when he hath been put out of the 
 way, there will be only the haughty Es- 
 sex to cope with, who must easily be 
 overthrown, for he hath not the cunning 
 of the other." 
 
 " Tush, my lord," exclaimed Cecil, 
 with some impatience ; " see you not, 
 that if Raleigh be quite removed, Essex 
 will be paramount? . 'Tis a business that 
 must be managed with exceeding deli- 
 cacy. Hark !" he cried, in a more sub- 
 dued voice, rising quickly from his seat, 
 and opening the secret door as the Lord 
 Howard prepared to depart " Here are 
 visiters coming. Haste and tell my Lady 
 HoAvard not to stir in this matter till I 
 have seen her." Then closing it upon 
 his retreating associate, and unfastening 
 the other door, he was in a minute very 
 busily employed upon some writings on 
 a table before him, when there came a 
 knock ; and as soon as he had called out 
 to them that they might have admittance, 
 there entered Sir Walter Raleigh, with a 
 very courtier-like looking gentleman, most 
 daintily attired. 
 
 "Now I take this as exceeding kind 
 of you, Sir Walter," exclaimed Cecil, in 
 a manner marvellously friendly, as he 
 recognised his visiters. "And my worthy 
 brother-in-law, my Lord Cobham, too! 
 I know not which to be thankful for 
 most the presence of yourself or your 
 friend. I pray you be seated." 
 
 " Indeed I have but called to acquaint 
 yon that her majesty hath signified her 
 
 onsent to my expedition," observed Ra- 
 leigh. 
 
 " Of that I am very heartily glad, be- 
 ieve me," said Sir Robert, shaking Sir 
 Walter by the hand with as much ear- 
 nestness as if he had been the best friend 
 ae had in the world ; " and knowing, as I 
 do, your fitness to lead to a profitable and 
 lorious issue all such armaments, in 
 which, as far as I have heard of the best 
 ludges, is no man living your superior, I 
 do build upon it great hopes of your ad- 
 vancement in the queen's favor ; whereat 
 none of all your friends will feel more 
 infinite delight than myself. But sit, I 
 pray you, and let us drink a bottle of Ip- 
 pocras to your successful voyage." 
 
 'With all my heart!" exclaimed the 
 Lord Cobham, cheerfully, as he flung 
 himself carelessly into a chair, and did 
 put aside his hat. " Such a proposition 
 must be welcome for the sake of mine ac- 
 complished friend ; but there is another 
 consideration that claimeth to be taken 
 into account my throat is.dry." 
 
 "A good consideration truly," remark- 
 ed Cecil with a smile, as he rang a silver 
 bell that lay upon the table. 
 
 " Nay, if you will have wine, I must 
 leave you two to the enjoyment of it 
 my duties permitting me not to assist 
 you in what would otherwise be mightily 
 agreeable to me ; for I must hurry to at- 
 tend upon her majesty to the playhouse." 
 
 " Now sit you down," replied Sir Rob- 
 ert with great demonstration of friendship, 
 preventing Sir Walter from leaving the 
 room " it wanteth, to my certain knowl- 
 edge, a good half hour to the time when 
 her majesty is like to be ready, so your 
 haste need not be so immediate besides 
 I take it hugely unkind of you, seeing 
 that while I, who am of so notorious a 
 gravity, for the sake of one to whose ad- 
 mirable qualities I stand so well affected, 
 am inclined to unbend to a becoming so- 
 ciality, you, who are well known to be 
 the most absolute prince of good fellows, 
 on the poor excuse of press of time, do 
 seek to play the churl with my well-dis- 
 posedness." 
 
 " I'faith, Raleigh, there must surely be 
 lime for a glass or two with my worthy 
 brother-in-law," said his friend, and then 
 added very gravely, " and there is a very 
 good reason why I think so." 
 
 " Out with your reason, my good lord," 
 exclaimed Cecil, somewhat urgently 
 " out with your reason, if you love me, for 
 I do truly hope it will be a convincing one." 
 " My throat is dry," sagely replied the 
 Lord Cobham.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 <l 0" my life, there is no standing against 
 so grave an argument," said Sir Walter 
 laughingly, as he uncovered and did sit 
 
 and perfect scholar, and a most honorable 
 gentleman ; and knowing that he is about 
 
 himself down, "sol must e'en be indebted to command an important expedition 
 to your courtesy." against the enemy, he will, I question 
 
 At this instant a serving man entered, not, also allow me, from the very sin- 
 to whom orders were given for the bring- j cerity of my love, to wish him all that 
 ing of the Ippocras; and Sir Water Ra- infinite success to which his great merits 
 leigh noticing a peculiar suit of armor, j do entitle him." 
 
 Sir Robert Cecil then did acquaint him " In every word of this I gladly concur, 
 how his father, the Lord Burghley, took and drink success to him with all my 
 great delight in making a collection of i heart," added my Lord Cobham; and, 
 offensive and defensive arms, of different i both thereupon, quickly drank off their 
 times and countries, the which he had ! glasses. 
 
 that room built on purpose to receive, in i "Sir Robert Cecil," replied Sir Walter 
 preference to keeping them at his mag- in a truly dignified and impressive man- 
 nificent mansion at Theobald's, or at i ner, as he stood up to the table "It 
 Burghley House ; and when Sir Walter, ! would be but affectation in me were I to 
 being very learned in these things, did i seem indifferent to applause ; for, how- 
 explain to him the age and nature of some, j ever it may be taken, I must acknowl- 
 he listened with exceeding respect. In i edge, that I love praise because I love 
 truth, although Cecil was the youngest ! to deserve it : and if I have not merited 
 of the three, he was the very craftiest : it to the extent your goodness hath be- 
 man in all her majesty's dominions. His stowed, believe me it was rather from 
 appearance was in no wise preposses- \ want of ability than inclination : never- 
 sing being short of stature, and with a j theless I can not say how much beholden 
 face not at all handsome, shrewd eyes, | jo you I am for your good opinion, and, 
 and a scanty beard ; yet by falling into ! though as it seemeth to me, the success I 
 the humors of the great affecting a won- ' may have can not come up with your ex- 
 derlul sincerity, and seeming of a serious ; pectations, to prevent as much as lieth in 
 he had 
 
 advanced himself to her my power your judgment from being 
 
 majesty's confidence nor was he in- called in question, 1 will, in all times to 
 
 clined there to stop, for ambition was his come, urge my poor qualifications to the 
 
 ruling passion : and everything he schem- utmost. I thank you for your good wishes 
 
 ed about, had for its object, without ma- and iny lord also and in return drink 
 
 king enemies, to get as much power as 
 was possible into his own hands. All this 
 time my Lord Cobham was arranging 
 his hair, and trifling wiih his beard be- 
 fore a very polished coat-of-mail, that 
 served him as a mirror. 
 
 The wine now having been brought in 
 and poured out by the serving man before 
 he left the room, into three tall Venetian 
 glasses, Sir Robert Cecil standing up with 
 his glass in his hand, said, with an abun- 
 dance of humility: 
 
 " It ill becometh me, who am so little 
 
 to your prosperity. 
 
 "Well said!" exclaimed the Lord 
 Cobham, as his friend raised the wine to 
 his lips, and each had reseated himself 
 " the speech is worthy of the wine, and 
 the wine deserveth the speech therefore 
 are they capitally matched. I only wish 
 my Lord Essex had tasted some of this 
 truly delicious Ippocras before we met 
 him just now at the river's side me- 
 thinks he would have looked with a more 
 pleasant countenance." 
 
 "Saw you the Lord Essex as you 
 
 skilled in speech, to attempt what re- ; came ?" inquired Sir Robert, carelessly. 
 
 We met somebody very like him," 
 replied the other, " only he did regard 
 us with an aspect so Ethiopian, I had 
 like to have taken him for a blacka- 
 
 quireth such true eloquence as the praise 
 of one who hath so distinguished himself 
 in all manner of knightly and clerk-like 
 accomplishments, as hath my most wor- 
 thy and esteemed friend Sir Walter Ra- j moor/' 
 leigh ; yet, as he knoweth full well that] "Ah, my lord is doubtless a little out 
 my deficiency proceedeth not from lack of humor," observed Cecil, significantly, 
 of love, but from lack of wit, he will, I 
 doubt not, out of the generosity of his 
 humor, be content with the assurance, 
 that, as far as my humble judgment 
 
 goeth, I do consider him an honor to this by looking the like at all he met 
 our age, and an example to the world, of my Lord Cobham. 
 
 He is not in favor with the queen." 
 " 0' my word, one would have thought 
 he had fallen out with his own shadow 
 for looking black at him, and resented it 
 
 said
 
 40 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Unfortunately, my good lord," re- 
 plied the wily Cecil, "there are some 
 men of such unhappy dispositions, that 
 they can not bear to see superior merit 
 taking the lead of them ; and must there- 
 fore regard the object with a sullen and 
 unfriendly gloominess.'' 
 
 " By this hand I thought so," exclaim- 
 ed Cobham. 
 
 "Not that I would wish to insinuate 
 aught against the noble lord," continued 
 the other, "for he is doubtless of too 
 honorable a nature to have evil intentions 
 against those of whose rising power he 
 may be jealous though I have heard it 
 said tha.t he beareth no good will to our 
 excellent friend, but of the truth of it can 
 I say nothing. Indeed, in justice to him, 
 I can fairly assert that he hath many esti- 
 mable qualities, and showeth a very 
 princely liberality nevertheless, truth 
 
 compelleth me to say but your glasses 
 
 are empty," said he, suddenly breaking off 
 his discourse, and pouring out the wine. 
 
 "What were you about to advance, 
 Sir Robert Cecil ?" inquired Raleigh, very 
 earnestly. " As far as I have had means 
 of judging of Lord Essex, he is a brave 
 and honorable gentleman, but if he hath 
 said aught or done aught against me, I 
 should be glad to know of it." 
 
 " I pray you excuse me there, Sir Wal- 
 ter," quickly replied the other. " Believe 
 me, I am no maker of mischief. It would 
 grieve me much to see two such notable 
 good servants of her majesty at variance ; 
 and truly your high spirits are apt enough 
 to quarrel without being set on. The 
 Earl of Essex hath a bountiful disposi- 
 tion, as I have said, and if he inclineth 
 at times to be envious of another's greater 
 merit and better fortune, there be not one 
 of us without our faults; and it is but 
 Christian charity to look over such. How 
 like you the wine?" 
 
 " 'Tis of very curious flavor," respond- 
 ed Raleigh, yet, though he answered to 
 the purpose, he did seem as if he was 
 thinking of another matter. 
 
 " In truth, 'tis excellent good," said the 
 Lord Cobham, looking at it through the 
 delicate glass in which it sparkled beau- 
 tifully, and then sipping it that the flavor 
 might dwell upon his tongue, "very ex- 
 quisite stuff, by this hand ! I know not 
 where I should meet with a better wine; 
 indeed, with Ippocras of such admirable 
 quality never came I acquainted. If it 
 be not demanding too much of your cour- 
 tesy, I pray you tell me of what vintner 
 misht you get such brave liquor?" 
 
 " Of mire own knowledge know I not, 
 
 my good lord," answered Cecil, " yet 
 will I make it my business to inquire. 
 Believe me, I am marvellously well 
 pleased it hath taken your fancy, as it 
 showeth its excellence : for, for a singu- 
 lar fine taste in wine, of all men living 
 commend me to the Lord Cobham. Let 
 me replenish your glass." 
 
 " I am infinitely bound to you but in 
 very honesty, Sir Robert, I am but an in- 
 different judge," said my lord with some 
 humility, yet it was evident he was.well 
 pleased with the compliment. 
 
 " Your modesty maketh you under- 
 value yourself," replied Sir Robert: "I 
 have heard your judgment approved of 
 beyond all comparison." 
 
 " 'Tis indifferent 'tis indifferent," re- 
 sponded the other carelessly. 
 
 " Nay, but I have stayed too long," 
 exclaimed Sir Walter Raleigh, jumping 
 up of a sudden from a sort of revery, and 
 making preparations to depart. 
 
 " Not a whit," responded Cecil, " there 
 is ample time to get to Whitehall before 
 the queen hath need of your attendance. 
 Another glass, I pray you." 
 
 " There, then !" cried Raleigh, tossing 
 off the wine as his friend was making 
 ready, " and now we must tarry no long- 
 er. Come, my lord." 
 
 "Be advised of me, and think no more 
 of what my foolish tongue hath let out 
 concerning the Lord Essex," said the 
 crafty Cecil in an under tone, with a face 
 of much concern, as he walked by the 
 side of Sir Walter toward the gates the 
 Lord Cobham following at some distance. 
 " For your own sake, I would not have 
 you quarrel. He hath great power of 
 friends, and not that I think so ill of 
 that .honorable lord as to imagine he 
 would do aught dishonest against you 
 remember he is the late Lord Leicester's 
 kinsman like enough, may have been 
 his pupil ; and, as it may be known to 
 you, ' the gypsy' did practise very devil- 
 ish arts against those whom hemisliked." 
 
 " If I mistake him not, he is of a no- 
 bler spirit than to follow so base an ex- 
 ample," replied Sir Walter. 
 
 "So think I," added Cecil quickly 
 
 " yet appearances are oft deceitful, and, 
 
 for mine own part, I do confess to you I 
 
 put no great trust in him, he being so 
 
 nearly allied to one who was so badly 
 
 disposed. Pardon my zeal, if while I 
 
 counsel you to keep on good terms with 
 
 ! him, if it may be done without injury to 
 
 ; your honor, I do earnestly advise you to 
 
 I be on your guard." 
 
 "I take your caution in exceeding good
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 41 
 
 part," responded Raleigh, "and will not 
 fail to bear it in mind." 
 
 " I hope you will be worthily enter- 
 tained of the players'," said Sir Robert 
 Cecil, as a few minutes afterward he 
 stood at the gates with his two friends ; 
 "for though the gravity of my disposition 
 inclineth not to such amusements, I am 
 well pleased that others should enjoy 
 them." 
 
 In a moment after, the Lord Cobham 
 and Sir Walter Raleigh were making all 
 haste to the water side, and the wily Ce- 
 cil, with his mind filled with ambitious 
 schemes and cunning plots, returned into 
 the house. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 O kiss ! which doth those ruddy gems impart, 
 
 Or gems, or fruits, of new found paradise ; 
 Breathing all bliss, and sweet'ning to the heart; 
 
 Teaching dumb lips a nobler exercise. 
 
 O kiss ! which souls, ev'n souls, together ties 
 By links of love, and only nature's art ; 
 
 How fain would I paint thee to all men's eyes ; 
 
 Or of thy gifts, at least, shade out some part. 
 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 
 
 My lady is unkind perdie, 
 
 " Alack, why is she so?" 
 She loveth another better than me, 
 
 And yet she will say no. 
 
 SIR THOMAS WYATt. 
 
 WHEN Master Francis was left alone 
 by his miserly uncle in the office, as hath 
 previously been described, he presently 
 began to turn over the papers on the desk 
 like one in search of something ; and, 
 as if not finding what he sought, ex- 
 claiming, " Surely I did leave it here," 
 he the more carefully recommenced his 
 search ; but evidently with no better suc- 
 cess. 
 
 "It is gone!" cried he at last, with a 
 countenance in which surprise seemed to 
 mingle with regret ; and then, in much 
 perplexity, appeared to be considering 
 the cause of the disappearance of what 
 he had searched for. 
 
 " Possibly my uncle hath taken and 
 destroyed it, for he hath a strange disin- 
 .clination to my writing verses," said the 
 youth and then he did seem to think 
 again but, as was apparent, on another 
 subject, for his fair brow became more 
 troubled, and his clear and most intelli- 
 gent eyes had an uneasy and suspicious 
 look. 
 
 "If she doth affect that Ralph Gos- 
 hawk ?" he exclaimed in a sort of doubt- 
 ing yet inquiring tone, as if he knew not 
 for certain, yet wanted to know some- 
 
 thing he feared would not be desirable to 
 learn. Then having passed some miii' 
 utes in profound yet anxious reflection, 
 he suddenly started up, saying, " But she 
 is too good to be deceitful," he seemed 
 at once to dismiss all his uncomfortable 
 thoughts, and set himself to writing out 
 some account, with a very cheerful and 
 delighted countenance. At this he con- 
 tinued diligently, but ever and anon ex- 
 claiming, " Oh, excellent Joanna !" or, 
 with a like enthusiasm, " Dear sweet 
 exquisite creature !" or, with a counte- 
 nance that did witness for his sincerity, 
 "Oh, I do love thee infinitely !"till there 
 came a sudden turn in his humor, and 
 with a more thoughtful look he put down 
 his pen, and, folding his arms, asked him- 
 self the question " But why doth she 
 deny me the caresses which she hath so 
 often granted ?" after which he again 
 grew uneasy (judging by the expression 
 of his features), and it did seem as if his 
 reflections were hurrying him to very 
 unsatisfactory conclusions ; for he looked 
 not at all pleased. 
 
 V That Ralph Goshawk seemeth villan- 
 ously familiar with her," said he at last, 
 in rather a troubled voice ; and for some 
 minutes his cogitations appeared of a 
 truly unhappy character : but the anxiety 
 depicted upon his youthful features grad- 
 ually began to disappear, a smile played 
 about his delicate mouth, and seizing his 
 pen again, exclaiming emphatically, "I'll 
 be sworn she doth not countenance him !" 
 he cheerfully resumed his labor. How- 
 ever, he had not been long so employed, 
 before he started up in exceeding surprise 
 and perturbation, crying out, " Here is a 
 sad mistake ! alack, what have I writ- 
 ten ?" and he then read aloud from the 
 account which he held in his hand " To 
 the drawing up a bond for the payment of 
 250 caresses of good and lawful money 
 
 of our sovereign lady Queen Joanna" 
 
 " Indeed," added he, taking a knife to 
 scratch out the errors he had made, " it 
 be well my uncle saw not this, or he 
 would be wrath and with good cause." 
 He then proceeded to make the necessa- 
 ry erasures very carefully, only saying 
 with great emphasis, as if wonderfully 
 puzzled as to how such mistakes had 
 happened, " what could I have been 
 thinking about?" 
 
 He had but just done this when he was 
 conscious of some one opening the door 
 that led into the street, and looking round 
 observed a very old-looking boy in a 
 leathern jerkin and woollen cap, such as 
 were worn by the common people, ad
 
 42 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 vancmg into the office, desperately intent 
 upon picking a bone. He was somewhat 
 short of stature, with a pair of bandy 
 legs, and his face none of the cleanest 
 was fat and freckled, having a notice- 
 able huge mouth, then upon the stretch 
 a pug nose, and eyes squinting abomi- 
 nably. Without saying a word, he 
 marched toward one corner of the room, 
 and sat himself down on the floor, pick- 
 ing his bone the which employment he 
 varied by giving an occasional bite 
 which made a mark that placed beyond 
 dispute % his mouth's capacity in a thick 
 hunk of bread he drew from under his 
 jerkin. 
 
 Master Francis, who had regarded his 
 visiter with considerable curiosity since 
 his entrance, at last, seeing him with the 
 utmost effrontery munching away with- 
 out seeming to care for anything else, 
 asked him his business. 
 
 " Be you called Master Francis ?" in- 
 quired the bey, without removing his 
 eyes from the Bone. 
 
 " That is my name, certainly," replied 
 the youth. 
 
 "Sure on't ?" asked the other, taking 
 a monstrous piece out of the hunk of 
 bread. 
 
 " Of course I am," said Master Francis. 
 
 "Have ye any witnesses?" inquired 
 the boy. 
 
 " If you don't choose to take my word 
 for it, you must needs let it alone, and go 
 about your business," observed the youth 
 sharply, though too much amused to be 
 much offended. 
 
 " Rather pepperish do to play Hot- 
 spur," remarked his companion in an 
 under tone, as he renewed his attack 
 upon the bone. In a minute afterward 
 he inquired, somewhat authoritatively, 
 " Whose house be this ?" 
 
 "It is my uncle's," replied Master 
 Francis. 
 
 " Prythee tell me his name, if he hath 
 one." 
 
 " Gregory Vellum." 
 
 "His calling?" inquired the boy, still 
 keeping his teeth employed. 
 
 " 'Tis that of a scrivener but get you 
 gone quickly, or you shall repent this in- 
 trusion, I promise you." 
 
 " Rather desperate do to play Richard 
 the Third," said the boy. 
 
 "Who are you, and what seek you 
 here?" inquired Master Francis impa- 
 tiently " I have quite enough to plague 
 me without your assistance." 
 
 " Rather melancholy do to play Ham- 
 let," said the other, stripping the bone 
 
 perfectly clean, and making the brtad 
 disappear rapidly. 
 
 " Nay, if you do not satisfy me for this 
 impertinence, and speedily, I will have 
 it out of your flesh !" exclaimed the youth 
 angrily. 
 
 " Rather bloody-minded do to play 
 Shylock," answered the boy in the same 
 quiet tone he had used from the com- 
 mencement. 
 
 " I'faith but this is unbearable !" cried 
 Master Francis, as he jumped off the 
 stool with a thick stick in his hand be- 
 longing to his uncle that lay upon the 
 desk, and ran to his visiter as if with a 
 design to give him a drubbing. " Now 
 tell me, you worthless varlet, what want 
 you here, or your bones shall ache for it," 
 said he, holding the stick threateningly 
 over him. 
 
 "Why, I am Gib, the call-boy!" re- 
 plied the boy, finishing his last mouthful, 
 and eying the uplifted weapon with no 
 small astonishment " I hold the honora- 
 ble office of call-boy to the Globe, on the 
 Bankside, and earn me the handsome sum 
 of a whole shilling a-week, and find my- 
 self out on't: but such a one for the busi- 
 ness, the players are not like to find more 
 than once in an age, I take it and of this 
 they are in no way ignorant ; for Master 
 Burbage hath said that my ' calling' did 
 credit to me, and I did credit to my call- 
 ing and, as I remember me, Master 
 Green said he could swear I was born 
 with a caul, I was so apt at it. In fact, 
 there be none like me. It was but the 
 other day I paid a visit to the Rose to see 
 their call-boy. Such a miserable caitiff! 
 the varlet's got no mouth ! unless an in- 
 significant bit of a button-hole in his face, 
 scarce big enough to admit a peascod, be 
 called such ; the natural consequence of 
 which is, that he hath not voice enough 
 to frighten a cricket. Now have I some- 
 thing like a mouth" 
 
 " Something like half a dozen made 
 into one !" said Master Francis, seeing 
 that the boy extended his jaws to a com- 
 pass beyond conception. 
 
 "And when I call," continued he, "my 
 voice may be heard on t'other side of the 
 river by those who hear well enough. 
 If it be your desire, I will favor you with 
 a specimen of my talents." 
 
 " I thank you, but I would much rath- 
 er that you would favor me with your 
 business," replied the youth, who was too 
 much amused to put his recent threats 
 into execution. 
 
 - "But besides being call-boy," added 
 the other, unheeding what had just been
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 43 
 
 said, "I am oft times required to act 
 parts very important parts too, I prom- 
 ise you." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Master Francis, re- 
 garding with a smile the droll-looking 
 object at his feet. " In what part could 
 they possibly trust you upon the stage ?" 
 
 " I play the cock in Hamlet," replied 
 the boy very gravely at which his com- 
 panion laughed heartily " and so much 
 to the very life, that Master Taylor saith 
 he shall be content to pick a crow with 
 me every time he playeth the prince of 
 Denmark. And Master Fletcher saith 
 that that piece can never go off as it 
 ought to do unless I have the cock-ing of 
 it. Besides which I come on as one of 
 Falstaff 's regiment make a very excel- 
 lent courtier in the background play 
 one of the ghosts in Richard the Third's 
 dream and at all times make one of the 
 army, of which there are at least some 
 score of us, scene-shifters included. la 
 fact, I should think myself greatly to be 
 envied, were it not for one thing." 
 
 " Of what can you complain ?" asked 
 Master Francis. 
 
 " I am obliged to eat my meals where 
 I can," replied the boy " sometimes in 
 Juliet's tomb sometimes in Desdemona's 
 bed sometimes in Richard the Third's 
 tent one day near the forum at Rome 
 another close upon the Tower of London 
 nay, even this very day have I been 
 forced to munch my dinner as I came 
 along, because I was sent to you in a 
 hurry with a letter from Master Shak- 
 speare." 
 
 "A letter from Master Shakspeare to 
 me !"' cried Master Francis impatiently. 
 "Why gave you not it to me before?" 
 
 "Because you chose not to ask for it," 
 said the other very quietly. " I was told 
 to be sure and give it to the right person, 
 so I thought I'd make proper inquiries." 
 
 " Well, give it me make haste ! make 
 haste !" exclaimed the youth. 
 
 "It's like enough to be about offering 
 to take you into the company," observed 
 the boy, as he pulled .off his cap leisure- 
 ly, and gave the letter out of it, making 
 a notable mark on each side with his 
 greasy thumb and finger ; " but my ad- 
 vice be, try what you can do in the female 
 line. You be just the age and figure for 
 it ; and we want a new woman marvel- 
 lously. Our Juliet's obliged to shave 
 twice a day, and our Lady Macbeth, get- 
 ting to be a man, hath threatened to 
 throw up her engagement because they 
 wont allow her to let her beard grow. I 
 can put you up to a good deal about ma- 
 
 ving your points, and dying gracefully, 
 and walking in woman's fashion for- 
 I've seen it done scores of times, I prom- / 
 ise you so don't lose heart on that ac- 
 ount." 
 
 As Master Francis began reading the 
 note, the call-boy got upon his legs, shook 
 the crumbs from his jerkin, and sidled up 
 to him. 
 
 : ' I pray you tell me what terms offer 
 they?" asked he, trying to look over at 
 the note, which he could not very well 
 reach to do. 
 
 "No terms at all," replied the other, 
 in too good humor to be offended at the 
 freedom his companion was taking. 
 
 " Ah, you see it be not every one that 
 can get a whole shilling a-week and find 
 himself out on't," observed the boy with 
 an air of much importance ; " but talent 
 will always get its price." 
 
 " I am glad to find that yours is so well 
 appreciated," remarked Master Francis 
 laughingly. " However, not to balk your 
 inquisitiveness, which is somewhat of the 
 greatest I must confess, this note is only 
 to make an appointment at the playhouse 
 to meet Master Shakspeare." 
 
 "Doubtless you will then be engaged," 
 said the call-boy. " If you find any 
 difficulty in getting admittance for Will 
 Peppercorn, who keeps the door, is not 
 so social to strangers as am I just ask 
 you for Gib the call-boy, though some do 
 call me Stentor, because, as I have heard, 
 he was a famous call-boy in ancient 
 times ; and say you are a friend of mine, 
 you will find your entrances and your ex- 
 its as easy as throwing at cocks at Shrove- 
 tide." 
 
 " I thank you, Gib," replied Master 
 Francis, scarcely able to keep a serious 
 countenance, for the look of the boy was 
 so comical, with his queer eyes and enor- 
 mous mouth, and important swagger, 
 that he had a great ado to refrain from 
 laughing in his face. 
 
 " This seemeth a snuggish place how 
 much may you get a week here ?" in- 
 quired the boy very earnestly, after a 
 careful scrutiny of the office. 
 
 " That question I do not think it neces- 
 sary to answer," responded the other as 
 gravely as he could. 
 
 "Well those that have gifts should 
 make the best use of them," dryly ob- 
 served Gib. "But don't despair who 
 knows but that you may be a call-boy 
 some of these days only I'm afraid you 
 hav'n't got the very, properest sort ot 
 mouth." 
 
 "That I regret not, believe me," re-
 
 44 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 sponded Master Francis with a smile. 
 "And now I should earnestly advise you 
 to make the best of your way back to 
 Master Shakspeare, and tell him I will 
 not fail of the appointment." 
 1 "Ha!" replied Gib, turning on his 
 heel and slowly proceeding to the door, 
 tossing up the bone, with which he had 
 not yel parted. " Now, remember you 
 my advice do the women, and you can 
 not fail of getting on ; and if you want 
 to know how to look modest and like a 
 dainty young gentlewoman, come you to 
 me, I can instruct you in all that sort of 
 thing, for I've got a monstrous deal of 
 experience that way. Indeed, Master 
 Burbage did say that I should get ad- 
 vanced into the woman's parts when I 
 was old enough, and methinks it is high 
 time I should attempt something of the 
 kind. It's a genteel part of the profes- 
 sion, according to my thinking. Master 
 Condell did tell me he thought I could 
 play Ophelia ravishingly." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed his companion, 
 unable to refrain from laughing at the 
 idea." 
 
 " For my own part, being of an ex- 
 quisite melancholy humor, I doubt not I 
 should shine in tragedy," continued the 
 call-boy, taking a look at Master Francis 
 so solemnly ludicrous that it instantly 
 did set him into a roar. " Rather humor- 
 ous !" cried the boy as he opened the 
 door, "do to play the fool:" and there- 
 upon his mouth did spread out into a grin. 
 so far beyond all human conceit, that the 
 other laughed till the tears ran out of his 
 eyes. " Well," continued Gib, " though 
 I wish you a bountiful share of good 
 luck, in honest truth I say it expect not 
 to get so handsome a wage as a whole 
 shilling a-week, and find yourself out 
 on't." And thereat he strutted out of the 
 door, with such a villanpus squint that 
 it would have tickled the fancy of one at 
 the point of death. 
 
 Master Francis, much amused at the 
 oddity of the boy and his exceeding as- 
 surance, returned to his seat in monstrous 
 good humor, to finish his account ; but 
 he had scarcely taken pen in hand, when, 
 on hearing a noise, he turned round, and 
 lo ! there was Gib's bandy legs again 
 marching in. 
 
 " Stick to the women, I pray you, and 
 you shall find your advantage in it," ex- 
 claimed he, with a very earnest serious- 
 ness, and immediately disappeared. 
 
 " Away with you !" cried Master Fran- 
 cis, scarcely knowing whether to laugh 
 or to be angry. Then he applied him- 
 
 self to his task, and did finish it. without 
 further interruption. Presently his uncle 
 was heard stumping along the passage 
 with his stick, and in a few seconds he 
 entered, looking very crabbed and savage. 
 
 "Hast done that account?' 1 inquired 
 he sharply. 
 
 " Yes, uncle," replied the youth. 
 
 " Then take it to Master Ephraim Ven- 
 ture, the merchant in Thames street, 
 nigh unto Castle Baynard," said the old 
 man ; " and be sure to press for payment 
 for it be said that he hath had losses, 
 therefore must he be looked after. 
 'Sblood, an' he do not pay quickly, I'll 
 make him smart for't ! Tell him I must 
 and will have my money." 
 
 " I will, uncle," responded the nephew, 
 preparing with evident alacrity to start 
 on his errand. 
 
 " And mind that thou tarry not," added 
 he, "for I have business for thee at 
 home." 
 
 " I will use all convenient speed," re- 
 plied Master Francis, and in a minute 
 after he was making the best of his way 
 out of St. Mary Axe, right glad to get 
 from the house, and as well pleased that 
 the merchant's in Thames street lay in 
 the very direction to which his inclination 
 most tended. On he proceeded in his 
 way, taking no heed of the sober citizens 
 speeding on their business, or even of 
 their daughters, proud of a new kirtle or 
 a dainty coif, showing off their pretty co- 
 quetries to the gallants that came stroll- 
 ing along in their best braveries, maphap 
 carelessly humming a tune, or whisper- 
 ing a well -devised compliment as they 
 passed, at the which rione were very 
 hugely offended, I warrant you, for their 
 brilliant eyes sparkled the more ; and 
 some smiled with exceeding pleasant- 
 ness, and a few did take sly peeps over 
 their shoulder to notice if they were fol- 
 lowed ; but giving himself up to the in- 
 constant humor of his thoughts now 
 hoping, now despairing now filled with 
 the passion of love now moved with 
 the conceit of jealousy, he regarded 
 nothing around him till he entered into 
 Eastcheap. Then he was stirred up into 
 a very proper consciousness of where he 
 was his heart began to beat most dis- 
 turbedly the paleness of his cheek made 
 way for a flush of crimson, and his eye 
 had gained a lustrousness that gave unto 
 his gentle countenance a truly eloquent 
 expression. 
 
 Passing by shops of divers kinds, and 
 even taking no heed of the barber chirur- 
 geon's over the way, where his true
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 friend, Harry Daring, was apprenticed, 
 he at last made for one that was a mer- 
 cer's, where the owner, a somewhat lusty 
 old man with a lively roguish look, arid 
 an excellent jolly face, stood recommend- 
 ing to a customer sundry ells of three- 
 piled velvet that lay before him, whom, 
 seeing engaged, he stopped not to gossip 
 with, but Went on, as if it was his wont, 
 to a little room at the back, where find- 
 ing no one, he opened a door, and pro- 
 ceeded up a little flight of stairs close 
 upon it, at the top of which there was 
 another door, whereat, with his heart in 
 a greater flutter than ever, he did knock 
 gently with his knuckles ; and hearing a 
 voice, the soft tones of which he recog- 
 nised with a most infinite delight, he un- 
 covered and entered the room. 
 
 The chamber was rather low, and of 
 a no great size, having a wainscot and 
 floor of oak, with rafters very solid, run- 
 ning across the ceiling, and a window 
 stretching out into the street. The furni- 
 ture was substantial rather than elegant 
 such as might be seen in the houses 
 of the better sort of citizens yet was 
 there a considerable show of taste in 
 many things, which spoke as plain as 
 could any words, that a woman's graceful 
 hand had had the ordering of them. 
 There was.no one therein but Joanna, 
 who sat, or rather reclined, in an ample 
 chair with arms, supporting her head by 
 her hand ; she wore an elegant dress 
 of watchet color, laced down the front, 
 with a girdle of silver baudekin, at the 
 which was a little pocket on one side. 
 Her silken hair was artfully disposed, 
 falling in a love-lock on her delicate 
 shoulder, and bound at the top in a net- 
 work caul of gold. Her well-shaped 
 feet, were cased in a pair of dainty white 
 stockings and velvet slippers, projecting 
 out of her petticoat, with the heel of one 
 resting upon the instep of the other, to 
 the manifest disclosure of a most exquis- 
 ite ankle. In this position, the well- 
 defined outline of the ripened beauties of 
 her figure were seen to great advantage, 
 especially as the low, tight boddice then 
 in the fashion, did excellently well dis- 
 play the full bust, and truly admirable 
 neck and shoulder, the delicateness where- 
 of have I not the cunning to describe, 
 therefore will I leave it to the imagina- 
 tion of the courteous reader. She had 
 evidently been a thinking ; but whether 
 pleasurable or otherwise, I have no 
 means of knowing except this be taken 
 as a sign, that when Master Francis first 
 beheld her at that time, there was a 
 
 severity in the loveliness of her counte- 
 nance, tempered with a very touching 
 melancholy. 
 
 "Joanna!" exclaimed the youth, has- 
 tening delightedly to her side, ' I am 
 here at thy desire, and truly to. mine own 
 most infinite gratification. But what 
 aileth thee ?" he inquired suddenly, in a 
 tone of affectionate interest, as he noticed 
 that the pleasurableness expressed in his 
 own features was not reflected in hers. 
 At the question, she looked at him as 
 with a careful scrutiny of his pale and 
 thoughtful brow, but said never a word. 
 
 " Have I angered thee ?" he asked, in 
 ill a more subdued voice ; and his gaze 
 became as melancholy as her own. " Be- 
 lieve me I meant it not. In truth, I 
 would rather die than anger thee." 
 
 "No!" replied she to his question, 
 with impressive tones and eloquent em- 
 phasis* " Thou hast not angered me." 
 And then the severity of her look much 
 abating, added, with great stress on the 
 Avords, " Thou hast never angered me." 
 
 "Indeed, I hope not," said Master 
 Fjancis earnestly. " But who or what 
 hath made thee look so unhappy ?" 
 
 " Thou hast," she answered. 
 
 " I !" exclaimed the youth with ex- 
 treme surprise and sorrow. " What a 
 wretch am I to have done it ! and yet I 
 know not how it could be ; for gratitude 
 for thy never-tiring kindness doth prompt 
 me at all times to do the very reverse. 
 Tell me how it was, and instantly will 
 I seek to undo the unsought-for mis- 
 chief." 
 
 Joanna silently took from the little 
 pocket at her girdle a paper that she 
 gave into his hands the which he in- 
 stantly opened, designing to read it, as 
 such seemed to him to be her wish ; but 
 to his exceeding astonishment he dis- 
 covered it to be the very poem he had 
 written and lost from off the desk in his 
 uncle's office. He stood like one that is 
 detected in wrong-doing, unable to say 
 aught for himself; yet, though he saw 
 that his expostulation had done him mis- 
 chief, knew he not what offence there 
 could be in it. 
 
 "What made thee think I had ceased 
 to love thee ?" asked she, in a voice by 
 no means angry, after she had watched 
 for a sufficient time, his downcast eyes 
 and modest confusion of countenance, as 
 he stood before her. 
 
 " It seemed to me that thou dost regard 
 another," replied Master Francis, tremu- 
 lously. 
 
 "Whom?" inquired Joanna, with
 
 46 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 more earnestness, fixing on him a some- 
 what anxious and penetrating look. 
 
 " Ralph Goshawk," answered he. 
 
 She remained silent for some few sec- 
 onds, but a faint smile might have been 
 observed about the corners of her beauti- 
 ful mouth. 
 
 " In truth, I marvel thou couldst have 
 entertained such a conception," said she 
 at last. 
 
 " Dost thou not love him indeed ?" 
 asked the youth, almost incredulously, 
 as it were. 
 
 " Indeed, I love him not," she replied. 
 
 "And dost regard me as kindly as 
 thou wert used ?" he inquired more 
 urgently, raising his eloquent eyes to her 
 own. 
 
 " Methinks quite as kindly," answered 
 she. 
 
 " Dear, dear Joanna !" exclaimed Mas- 
 ter Francis as he kneeled on one knee, 
 and taking in his the disengaged hand 
 that lay upon her lap, bowed hjs head 
 till his lips rested thereon, and in that 
 position remained. The melancholy ex- 
 pression of Joanna's countenance still 
 was altered not ; but there was now a 
 tender interest in her dark eyes as she 
 gazed upon her youthful lover. Presently 
 she raised herself in her position, and 
 took his hand in both hers, very affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 " Yet am I much hurt that thou 
 shouldst doubt me," said she ; " I thought 
 I had proved beyond question, how much 
 I regarded thee above all others perhaps 
 with more carelessness than did become 
 me. But knowing the innocency of mine 
 intentions, and trusting in the. modesty 
 of thy disposition, I was content. Alack ! 
 'tis a sad world ! we can not do right 
 when we wish ; and when we are satis- 
 fied of our conduct, there cometh some 
 malicious tongue to slander our doings. 
 None know the wickedness that exists 
 that poisons the air we breathe with a 
 perpetual pestilence, and obliges us to 
 do by craft what we can not do by honesty. 
 I have to endure many things that make 
 me unhappy very unhappy I needed 
 not such verses as thou hast written." 
 
 As she concluded the sentence, he 
 raised his head, and saw that she was 
 wiping with her handkerchief a tear that 
 did tremble on her eyelid. 
 
 "Indeed, they shall trouble thee no 
 more," cried the youth, as he disengaged 
 his hand, and tore the paper into number- 
 less small fragments ; " and very heartily 
 am I vexed that I should have given thee 
 a moment's uneasiness. For what won- 
 
 derful goodness, hast thou exhibited tow- 
 ard me the like of which surely was 
 never known! Truly I must have be- 
 haved most unnaturally to have vexed 
 thee in this manner ; and I'll never for- 
 give myself, if thou wilt not forgive me." 
 And then, most sorrowful in heart, he 
 hid his face upon her lap. 
 
 " I have forgiven thee," said she, affec- 
 tionately twining her fingers in the light 
 curls of his chestnut hair ; " but take not 
 such fancies into thy head again ; be 
 content with the assurances thou art 
 continually receiving of how much I re- 
 gard thee, and think nothing of whatever 
 else may seem of a different tendency. 
 Nothing can be so sure as that, whilst 
 thou art worthy, thou wilt be beloved." 
 Master Francis was'too much enraptured 
 to reply ; and in this position they re- 
 mained for some minutes she bending 
 over him, with her dark hazel eyes 
 softened into tenderness; and he impresa- 
 ed so deeply with the subduing spirit of 
 the moment, that 'he would not, or cared 
 not to move from where he was. 
 
 Joanna having at last taken away her 
 hands to enclasp his, he raised his head, 
 and looking into her face, very fondly, 
 yet with a touch of regret, said " But 
 why hast thou denied me those most 
 sweet caresses thou didst use to grant ?" 
 
 " Truly I am not in the mood on all 
 occasions," replied she, *in rather a sad 
 tone of voice ; " there are remembrances 
 I can not obliterate when I would, that 
 come upon me at times, and make me 
 regardless of all except the discomfort 
 they bring. It would be but a mockery 
 to caress thee under such circumstances ; 
 and indeed, though I may often seem gay- 
 hearted forgetting for a time the un- 
 pleasantness of the past, in the enjoy- 
 ments of the present yet, when awaken- 
 ed to recollection -which is no difficult 
 matter there lives not a creature on this 
 earth so truly wretched as am I. Be con- 
 tent then with the pleasure I can grant 
 when I may be in the humor, and seek not, 
 when the time is notauspicious, to increase 
 my disquietude by ill-timed importunity." 
 
 " I will not," replied he ; " but wilt 
 thou do so ever again ?" he asked, as if 
 almost afraid to put the question. 
 
 " I will," she answered, with apparent 
 unaffectedness. 
 
 " Dear Joanna, but wilt thou do so 
 soon ?" he inquired, more impressively. 
 
 " I will," said she. 
 
 " Exquisite Joanna ! but wilt thou do 
 so now?" he asked, with still greater 
 emphasis.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 47 
 
 It would be unveiling the sweet mys- 
 teries of affection, to describe the endear- 
 ments that blessed the reconciliation of 
 these devoted lovers. There throbbeth not 
 a heart in the wide world, that hath been 
 touched by the generous influence of true 
 love, but hath played its part in the same 
 drama, and can, from the fond prompt- 
 ing of the memory, imagine the entran- 
 cing scene more vividly than could I de- 
 scribe the acting of it. Methinks, too, i 
 that the development of those delicious 
 influences that make humanity angelic, 
 should be kept sacred from the vulgar 
 eye; else might the selfish and the prof- 
 ligate find matter in it for idle specula- 
 tion, or licentious conjecture. Pity it is 
 that there should be any in whom the 
 better part of their natures hath vanished, 
 like the sap of a decaying tree, and vanity 
 Making them believe all to be like unto 
 themselves, in the green freshness of 
 fairer plants, they can see naught but 
 their own hollowness and worthlessness. 
 I know that, by the generous and true- 
 hearted, what I should relate would be 
 rightly interpreted ; but no writer is so 
 fortunate as to meet with all readers of 
 such a sort. 
 
 The affection which existed between j 
 Joanna and Master Francis, had in it this j 
 peculiar feature, that the former had so 
 much the seniority of her lover, it invested 
 her with an evident controlling power 
 over him. She appeared as though uni- 
 ting in her behavior the, authority of a 
 careful guardian with the fondness of a 
 devoted woman, and sometimes it ap- 
 peared as if some strange interest bound 
 her to the youth, of so deep a tenderness, 
 as was marvellously like unto that of a 
 parent. In truth, it was a strange thing 
 to behold a creature so exquisitely fash- 
 ioned, having much the outward appear- 
 ance of one existing only for, and in the i 
 enjoyment of the most passionate wor- 1 
 ship of the opposite sex, seeming, with a 
 delicacy the purest nature could never 
 have excelled, so virtuously to conduct 
 herself, as proved all the sterling excel- 
 lence of womanhood was manifest in her 
 actions ; while the enamored youth that 
 knelt before her, dumb with excess of 
 modesty, and overpowered with the in- 
 tensity of his admiration, regarded her 
 with such an enthusiasm in his delighted 
 gaze, tempered with so profound a re- 
 spect, as plainly showed he loved with 
 the purity of heart, and earnestness of 
 purpose, which belong only to that age 
 and disposition that exist in the enjoy- 
 ment of a perfect innocency. 
 
 " Dear heart," exclaimed he, after a 
 long, yet very eloquent silence, " it seem- 
 eth to me exceeding strange that when I 
 sit me down to write of thee, all admira- 
 ble thoughts, like the bees hastening to 
 the sweet blossoms, come crowding to be 
 penned ; but when with my lips I would 
 essay to breathe into thine ear aught of 
 what rare pleasure I experience from the 
 continual influence of thy unbounded good- 
 ness, such words as I have at command 
 are so little to the purpose, that I am 
 forced to a seeming ungrateful silence : 
 vet am I most gratefully bound to thee. 
 Thou art my guardian angel, and in 
 earnest truth, most exquisite Joanna, my 
 heart ever yearneth to pour out its spirit 
 in thanksgiving for thy unceasing kind- 
 ness." 
 
 He received no reply, unless it was 
 conveyed in a more evident pressure of 
 the hands she held clasped in her own, 
 or in a softer and more thrilling glanc 
 from the clear hazel of her lustrous eyes. 
 He continued 
 
 "My benefactress! my" 
 
 ",Hush !" she exclaimed, quickly inter- 
 rupting him. " Have I not told thee 
 never to allude to what I have done for 
 thy good ?" 
 
 He remained silent, as if conscious he 
 had committed an error. 
 
 " And now, prythee, tell me how hast 
 thou sped with thy tragedy ?" she in- 
 quired. JL 
 
 " It will not do, dear Joanna," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Despair not thou wilt do better 
 anon," she said, in an encouraging tone. 
 
 " But methinks I have found a friend," 
 added Master Francis, more cheerfully. 
 
 "I am truly glad on't," said she. 
 
 "Hast heard of Master Shakspeare 
 whose plays so wonderfully do delight 
 the town ?" inquired the youth. 
 
 "Indeed have I," she replied. "My 
 father hath often promised to take me to 
 see the players do a play of his, but he 
 liketh the sports of the Bear Garden best, 
 therefore I have not been." 
 
 "I should like to take thee mightily," 
 observed he. " For it is most delectable 
 entertainment. But I must tell thee 
 Master Shakspeare, to whom I was di- 
 rected to send my tragedy, though he did 
 tell me very candidly of its faults, ex- 
 pressed himself right glad to do me a ser- 
 vice ; and as earnest of his sincerity, he 
 hath but now sent for me to the play- 
 house." 
 
 " Speed thee, then, Francis," she ex- 
 claimed, rising from her seat and raising
 
 48 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 him from the ground. " It be not right 
 of thee to lose the precious time when 
 such a friend desireth to serve thee. But 
 here," she added, as she took from around 
 her neck the very gold chain she did re- 
 ceive of old Gregory Vellum, and threw 
 it over her youthful lover. "Wear that 
 for my sake but let not thine Uncle see 
 it, or mayhap he may think thou hadst it 
 not honestly, and question thee churlishly 
 upon it ; and I do not wish thee to say I 
 gave it thee, nor do desire that thou 
 shouldst say what is not true. And let 
 rne again request of thee in true kindness, 
 that when thou wantest aught that his 
 miserly nature doth refuse, ask it of me, 
 and thou shalt have it straight." 
 
 "Nay, dear Joanna," he replied, look- 
 ing somewhat distressed. " Thou hast 
 lavished upon me so many gifts already, 
 that I am ashamed to accept of this, or 
 to ask of thee anything ; and, if thou 
 wilt not be offended, I would sooner that 
 thou shouldst continue to wear it. In 
 truth, it is too good a thing for ine to 
 have." 
 
 " That it can not be," answered she, 
 regarding him with a more perceptible 
 fondness. " I would have thee wear it 
 beneath thy doublet, and affix it to the 
 miniature of thy mother. Now, no ex- 
 cuses ! I will not hear of them. And 
 be sure let me know when thou dost lack 
 anything." 
 
 " Oh, thou^rt too kind !" exclaimed 
 the youth, with all the expression that 
 love and gratitude could give. 
 
 " Now haste thee to Master Shaks- 
 peare," said Joanna. 
 
 " Dare I ask of thee once again, to let 
 me taste of those honey sweet delights 
 thou didst bestow on me a brief while 
 .since," inquired he, looking into her eyes, 
 as if his own were drawn thereunto by 
 some marvellous magic. How she an- 
 swered, methinks it be scarce necessary 
 to state, when it cometh to be known, that 
 in the next moment Master Francis was 
 speeding on his uncle's errand with a 
 heart as light as if he had not a qare in 
 the world. 
 
 Having delivered the account more 
 courteously than-his miserly kinsman de- 
 signed, he posted off to the playhouse on 
 the Bankside, sometimes imagining what 
 Master Shakspeare did want with him, 
 and thereupon building many monstrous 
 fine castles in the air, and then turning 
 his thoughts to the contemplation of the 
 exquisite excellences of Joanna, and feed- 
 ing his mind with dreams of happiness 
 she was to realize at some not-far-distant 
 
 day. In this mood he arrived at th plAy- 
 house, which he recognised by the flag 
 flying at the top. It was thronged with 
 people some waiting to see the queen, 
 and others the play ; round about were 
 boys and serving men holding horses, and 
 here and there might be seen costard- 
 mongers and others bawling out fruit. 
 Making for a little door at which there 
 was no crowd, he was entering thereat, 
 when he was stopped by a surly looking 
 fellow with a wooden leg and a red nose. 
 
 "Well, how now ! what dost want?" 
 he cried in a gruff voice. 
 
 "I am come to see Master Shak- 
 speare," replied the youth. 
 
 " Won't do," said the other sharply, 
 as he took up a position before him, as if 
 to stop his proceeding further, and then 
 scrutinized his appearance very closely. 
 " The players be all a dressing, and can't 
 be disturbed for every jackanapes that 
 wants to see the play for nothing." 
 
 " But I have business with iiim," ad- 
 ded Master Francis. 
 
 " Won't do," repeated the fellow, 
 stumping closer to him, and looking more 
 forbiddingly. " Dost thou not know that 
 this be no hour for him to see runaway 
 apprentices who seek to be players? So 
 get thee gone." 
 
 " But he hath sent for me, and I must 
 see him," said the youth more deter- 
 minedly. 
 
 " Won't do, I tell thee !" shouted the 
 man. " Nay, if thou dost not take thy- 
 self off, I'll set the dog on thee. Here, 
 Pincher! Pincher ! Pincher!" And im- 
 mediately a savage-looking wiry-haired 
 terrier came from under a chair barking 
 and snapping at his heels. Master Fran- 
 cis, seeing that there was no remedy, was 
 just about to turn back with a heavy heart, 
 when, who should come into the place 
 but the same wide-mouthed, squinting- 
 eyed boy that had brought him the letter, 
 bearing a tankard in his hand, as if he 
 had come from a neighboring tavern. 
 Gib seemed to understand the state of / 
 the case immediately. 
 
 " How now, Will Peppercorn !" he 
 cried, in a voice that showed that the 
 name of Stentor was not ill-applied. 
 " This good youth is he whom I told 
 thee Master Shakspeare did so much de- 
 sire to see." 
 
 " How should I know that ?" said the 
 fellow sulkily ; then drawing off his dog, 
 returned to his chair. 
 
 "Follow me, and I will show you the 
 way with a very absolute good will, "ad- 
 ded the call-boy ; but before Master Fran-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 49 
 
 CIS had got but a few yards he turned 
 round and inquired, "Why said you not 
 you were my friend ? He would not 
 have dared serve thee so. But we must 
 needs learn ere we get knowledge so 
 come on, and carefully." Master Fran- 
 cis found himself in a very dark place in 
 which he could see neither to the right, 
 nor to the left, nor yet straight on ; and 
 was directed solely by the voice of his 
 companion, which ceased not a moment. 
 
 " Stick to the women, I pray you," 
 he continued, "and you must needs be 
 made a man of soon: but mind the thun- 
 der there !" 
 
 At this injunction the youth was sadly 
 puzzled. 
 
 " If you have not the proper modesty, 
 I will soon put you in the way of getting 
 it, as I have said; therefore hesitate not, 
 for such another opportunity is not like 
 to happen. Here, mind you your foot- 
 ing, or you can not help falling upon the 
 rain." 
 
 Master Francis looked about, expect- 
 ing to find a pool of water near him ; but 
 nothing of the kind did he see. 
 
 " Now turn you sharp round the walls 
 of Athens, and keep you on the left of 
 Prospero's cell," said the other. 
 
 Unable quite to comprehend his mean- 
 ing, the youth made a turn as he was de- 
 sired, found his feet caught -laid hold 
 of he knew not what, that his elbow 
 struck against' this gave way, and down 
 he came on his face upon something that 
 seemed like a heap of canvas, bringing 
 over him a pile of the same kind. 
 
 " There now !" exclaimed the call-boy, 
 in a tone of apparent vexation >" you 
 have tumbled smack upon the sea, and 
 brought down upon you the palace of 
 Antioch." 
 
 Frightful as this announcement might 
 seem, it did not mean any great mischief 
 after all. 
 
 Master Francis soon extricated himself 
 from the fallen scenery, and without any 
 more mishaps was conducted by his suide 
 to the chamber in which Master Shak- 
 speare was waiting for him. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Man's life's a tragedy : his mother's womb 
 From which he enters is his tiring-room ; 
 This spacious earth the theatre, and the stage 
 That country which he lives in ; Passions, Rage, s 
 Folly, and Vice, are actors : the first cry 
 The prologue to th' ensuing tragedy. 
 The former act consisteth in duine shows ; 
 
 The second, he to more perfection grows ; 
 P the third he is a man, and doth begin 
 To mature vice, and act the deeds of sin ; 
 P the fourth declines ; i' the fifth diseases clog 
 And trouble him : then Death's his epilogue. 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 ALL the players were assembled in a 
 large room of rather mean appearance, 
 having little furniture, save settles, some 
 few chairs, an old table, on which lay 
 sundry tankards and drinking vessels, and 
 a long mirror hung up against the wain- 
 scot. The players were dressed in char- 
 acter for the play of Henry the Fourth, 
 the second part ; and divers young noble- 
 men and gentlemen were among, them. 
 Some were sitting, some standing in 
 groups, and others walking up and down 
 going out and coming in at intervals ; 
 while a voice, evidently from its loudness 
 belonging to the " Stentor" of the compa- 
 ny, kept bawling from without as the play 
 proceeded " Falstaff, on !" or " Shallow 
 and Silence, on !" or " The Prince, on !" 
 and then, others knowing that their turn 
 would be next, got themselves ready to 
 appear upon the stage. A merrier set 
 there seemed not in all her majesty's do- 
 minions. It was evident that care had 
 naught to do with such choice spirits 
 for the quick jest and the harmless jibe 
 went round, and the loud laughter fol- 
 lowed with them all ; nor did there seem 
 to be any distinction of rank among them 
 and their associates; or if such might be, 
 it was without doubt in favor of the play- 
 ers, for they appeared wonderfully inde- 
 pendent and careless of what they said. 
 
 Master Shakspeare stood in one corner 
 of the room pointing out to Master Fran- 
 cis the different persons around them ; 
 and occasionally returning the friendly 
 salutation of the young gallants who 
 came thronging in, and looked as if they 
 were mightily well pleased to have speech 
 of him ; but none could have received 
 more satisfaction than did the modest 
 youth at his side, for to him it was quite 
 a new world. He, who had seen nothing 
 of society save the customers and associ- 
 ates of the scrivener, now found himself 
 among the most famous authors and play- 
 ers of the time, with a fair sprinkling of 
 noble lords, distinguished knights, and 
 honorable gentlemen. He listened with 
 exceeding attention to every word that 
 was uttered by his gifted companion, and 
 regarded each individual that his atten- 
 tion was drawn unto with an interest 
 scarcely possible to be conceived. 
 
 " See you that most worshipful-looking 
 personage talking to Taylor and Con- 
 dell ?" inquired Master Shakspeare of
 
 50 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 his visiter, pointing out a very smartly- 
 dressed gallant, evidently much older 
 than he wished to appear. " He that 
 weareth so fine a satin cloak, and hath 
 such gay rosettes in his shoes." Master 
 Francis easily perceived who was meant. 
 " That is Sir Narcissus Wrinkles. He 
 hath as many lines in his face as you may 
 find jn a chart of the new world, where- 
 with Time hath written the sum total of 
 his age, yet doth he imagine that he can 
 find a way to disprove his arithmetic; 
 and with a periwig of the newest fashion, 
 and a beard dyed to match a very fus- 
 tian voice prodigal in strange oaths a 
 leering look a swaggering gait and an 
 infinite affectation of the air and apparel- 
 ling of our youngest gallants, he seeketh 
 to be thought as youthful as Ganymede, 
 and as full of tricks as a kitten. See, 
 now! he is telling his auditors some nota- 
 ble lie of the feats he did last week with 
 the bottle, or the wonders performed yes- 
 terday eve at the Bordello; mayhap he 
 digresses into some famous adventure 
 with the constable of the watch, and then 
 pathetically laments him, that his young 
 blood should lead him into such scrapes. 
 Hear how loudly he laughs at his own 
 follies ; and see with what a hearty smack 
 of the shoulder he saluteth his next neigh- 
 bor ! But they who hear him know their 
 man, and laugh, not with him, but at 
 him." 
 
 Master Shakspeare then directed his 
 attention to another group. 
 
 " See you that sagacious looking 
 youth," said he, " that hath got Will 
 Kempe in serious discourse, close unto 
 where Anthony Wadeson, Thomas Pope, 
 and Nicholas Towley, are in such furious 
 discussion ? Notice the very gravity of 
 his features the demure combing of his 
 hair the antique cut of his beard. See 
 how soberly he is clad mark how stiffly 
 he bears himself. He speaks slowly 
 as if he weighed every word that fell 
 from his lips and seemeth quite shocked 
 at the boisterousness of manner of the 
 group of gay young lords at his right. 
 He goeth among us by the name of Yonng 
 Antiquity yet is he called by his proper 
 name, Lord Wiseacre. I warrant you, 
 he is entertaining my friend Will with a 
 right woful lamentation upon the degen- 
 eracy of the age ; and leaving him with 
 a^shake of the head worthy of a second 
 Nestor, is now making the profound re- 
 mark, ' Alack ! boys will be boys !' " 
 
 Master Francis could not help a smile, 
 for the manner in which his companion 
 spoke the last words, was marked with 
 
 such an exceeding drollery, that to look 
 grave the while, was out of the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 ' "A little way to the left of him, notice 
 that neatly dressed old gallant, talking 
 with so mysterious an air to a handsome 
 young nobleman," continued Master 
 Shakspeare. " The one is my Lord 
 Howard of Walden, who sweareth every 
 man of his acquaintance to strict con- 
 fidence, aud then letteth out the famous 
 secret to all whom he can get to listen, 
 of some fair dame being in love with 
 him. He will dilate upon every look he 
 has received from her, and enumerate 
 what wonderful signs she hath given 
 him of her regard ; and then he will as- 
 sert his exceeding virtuousnes^, and the 
 fear he is in that this affection of an- 
 other woman for him should be noticed 
 by my Lady Howard, whom he believed 
 to be a very miracle of chastity though 
 there be others that have a different opin- 
 ion ; and will conjure his listener to be 
 as secret as the grave, and straightway 
 go and tell as many as he can the same 
 story, the which, as may well be believed, 
 bath no existence save in his own imagi- 
 nation, and thorough vanity. The person 
 lie hath hold of is my Lord Pembroke, 
 as worthy, admirable, and generous a 
 man as breathes ; and desireth to be my 
 excellent patron and friend. 
 
 "Now, behold you those two young 
 ords that have got Hart by the ear, up 
 m the corner ?" continued he ; " they are 
 my Lords Simple and Dimple ; they af- 
 "ect to be the Castor and Pollux of these 
 our times, and are never seen apart. At 
 no time have they been heard to differ on 
 any one subject ; they dress alike on all 
 occasions ay, to such a nearness, that 
 f my Lord Simple have thirty points to 
 lis hose, of a surety hath my Lord Dim- 
 exactly the same. At meals they 
 l be helped from the same dish, and 
 lave the same quantity to a nicety. If 
 .here be but one wing left of the pullet, 
 t must needs be divided to the exacti- 
 ude of a hair,or they will touch it not ; and 
 f the one hath a spoonful more gravy in 
 lis trencher than hath the other, then are 
 joth infinitely miserable till the balance 
 be adjusted. This conceit they follow 
 up in all things : when Simple hath the 
 toothache, Dimple tieth up his jaws; and 
 if one be afflicted with the colic, the 
 other rubbeth his bowels, and belioweth 
 like a town bull. Yet with all this af- 
 fectation of friendship, I warrant you 
 Castor doth not care a fig's end for Pol- 
 lux and Pollux would not cross the way
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 51 
 
 to save his Castor from the whipping- 
 post." 
 
 Then Master Shakspeare, suddenly 
 turning round, said to his young friend, 
 "Hear you how Green maketh the peo- 
 ple laugh ?" And sure enough there was 
 heard at that moment a very roar of 
 laughter,which, at intervals, did continue, 
 with boisterous clapping of hands and the 
 like. 
 
 "Now turn your vision to where stands 
 that tall slim gentleman, in close con- 
 verse with Robert Armyn," said he. 
 " Saw you anything so spic and span ? he 
 looks as dainty as a bowl of whipped 
 syllabub, and smelleth as nice as a dish 
 of stewed prunes. Surely you will think 
 so fine a personage was made only for 
 Sundays; for he seemeth a marvellous 
 deal too delectable for this every-day 
 world. His speech too he maketh to 
 match with his dress ; for it be other folk's 
 finery, cut and clipped in accordance with 
 his own taste. Truly is he choice in his 
 phrases, and putteth them to a very abso- 
 lute good use. He will talk you upon the 
 cracking of nuts in the tapestry style of 
 Sir Philip Sydney his Arcadia ; and de- 
 scribe the fashion of a garter in the heroic 
 vein of the blank verse of my Lord Sack- 
 ville. He is Master Aniseed: doubtless 
 you suppose that his birth was as delicate 
 as his behavior ; and his bringing up as 
 holyday-like as his apparelling. Yet was 
 his mother a poor midwife, and his father 
 a rat-catcher, and to the latter reputable 
 vocation was he born and bred, and did 
 practise with very notable success, after 
 the demise of his worshipful parents, till 
 a miserly uncle dying, whose heir he was, 
 he straightway began very earnestly, with 
 his new found gold, to purchase the ne- 
 cessaries of gentility; and now passeth 
 he, as he doth imagine, for a truly credi- 
 table gentleman. 'Tis like you may fan- 
 cy,, by the pains he takes, that Master 
 Aniseed preferreth his new mode of life 
 wonderfully: but in that are you much 
 deceived ; for have I good grounds for 
 saying, that, in secret, he doth sigh con- 
 tinually for the more exquisite pleasure 
 he hath found in the catching of rats." 
 
 At that moment there entered at the 
 door one of the players, dressed as King 
 Henry IV., whom Master Shakspeare 
 thus addressed: 
 
 "Well, Lowing, and how goeth the 
 play with her majesty?" 
 
 "Never went anything better," said 
 he, very cheerfully; "her majesty hath 
 shown from the beginning an admirable 
 interest in the story ; and Green hath 
 
 made her laugh till her crown tottered 
 again ;" and then he passed on. 
 
 "Here, observe you that portly man, 
 with the red face and the black beard, 
 talking familiarly to our Dame Quickly 
 and Doll Tearsheet," continued Master 
 Shakspeare to his young friend ; " a 
 turkey-cock looks not so valiant. Judg- 
 ing of him by the way he beareth him- 
 self, one might suppose that he had in- 
 herited the warlike spirits of all the he- 
 roes who have gone before him. He 
 seemeth of so great a heart that he could 
 have braved Caesar, or pulled Alexander 
 by the nose. Hear him talk, and to his, 
 the deeds of the seven champions of 
 Christendom are but as the feats of idle 
 apprentices. There, see how he stalks 
 across the room, holding by the scabbard 
 his monstrous rapier, and looking about 
 him as valiantly as if he cared not a rush 
 for the whole company, and would fight 
 them all round if any dared but wink at 
 him. Yet is Captain Swagger not so 
 dangerous as he looks ; indeed he hath 
 done no great damage as yet, as I have 
 heard ; nor is he ever like to distinguish 
 himself that way ; for in his heart he 
 hath a most Christian abhorrence of the 
 shedding of blood ; therefore, at all times, 
 he taketh good care of his own skin. He 
 will seem full of quarrel where there be 
 no disposition shown to take offence ; but 
 if you look him bravely in the face the 
 whilst, you may tread on his toes, and he 
 will be in no hurry to take notice of it." 
 
 " Now is it the common opinion," 
 added he, " that the players be confined 
 to the playhouse ; but I do maintain, 
 and have described some of the charac- 
 ters in this room, to prove that I speak 
 to the purpose, that there be better 
 players off the stage than on. Moreover, 
 if you look throughout the various busy 
 scenes in the drama of life, you shall 
 have good cause to admire the excellence 
 with which some do play their parts 
 often to the complete delusion of the 
 spectators into the belief that they are 
 what they seem. By this art, how often 
 doth the wanton pass for a creature vir- 
 tuously given, and the mere cheater 
 play the game of an honest man. This 
 is it that makes the glib-tongued profli- 
 gate so perfectly assume the character of 
 the devoted lover ; that teacheth the 
 sanctimonious hypocrite how to be re- 
 garded as one of God's chosen ; that 
 gives to youth and assurance the name 
 of candor and disinterestedness; and 
 gravity and gray hairs invest with the 
 air of wisdom and goodness. Truly,
 
 52 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Master Francis, if you look well to the 
 world, you shall find that there be feign- 
 ers that beat us poor players all to 
 naught." 
 
 Master Francis had listened with mar- 
 vellous attention to the discourse of his 
 companion, without daring to hazard a 
 word of reply, for fear of losing some- 
 thing he might say in the interim, at 
 which his companion' evidently was not 
 ill pleased. In truth, it seemed that the 
 more he beheld of the youth his modesty 
 and discretion, the greater became his 
 liking for him; and as he continued to 
 point out the persons worthy of note, 
 that were in the room, he looked as if 
 his gratification therein increased with 
 the increasing pleasure he afforded to 
 his auditor. 
 
 " There is as goodly a group yonder 
 as you will meet with in a playhouse," 
 continued he ; " it consisteth of young 
 Ben Jonson, a veritable son of the 
 muses, who promiseth to be better known 
 than he is ; my Lord Buckhurst, one who 
 hath written a tragedy of some note, 
 and loveth to spend his leisure upon 
 players ; Master Edmond Tilney, master 
 of the queen's revels, a very proper gen- 
 tleman, and a courteous, who hath the 
 licensing of plays, and therefore cometh 
 amongst us often ; Dr. Thomas Lodge, 
 and Dr. Thomas Legge, who have writ 
 for our neighbor the Rose with a very 
 fair success ; and that pedantic and most 
 conceited coxcomb Master John Lily, 
 who hath invented many comedies, yet 
 is like to get himself more laughed at 
 than any of them. Ben Jonson he 
 that is standing up seemeth to have the 
 lion's share of the argument, as is his 
 wont ; for his tongue is a rattling famous- 
 ly ; and I judge from that, the subject of 
 dispute concerneth the ancients, for he 
 prideth himself mightily upon his Greek 
 and Latin. But here cometh my excellent 
 good friend and patron Lord Southamp- 
 ton." At this he broke off, and his com- 
 panion noticed a noble-looking gentle- 
 man, scarce older than himself, well at- 
 tired, but not too fine in his appointments, 
 who was advancing toward them with 
 an easy courteousness, and a bland as- 
 pect. 
 
 " Well met, Master Shakspeare," said 
 he, shaking hands with the other very 
 cordially. 
 
 " I'faith, if your lordship be in as 
 good health as am I," responded Master 
 Shakspeare with a smile, " then are we 
 ' well met,' indeed." 
 
 " Ever at it," exclaimed the Lord 
 
 Southampton laughingly. " Surely there 
 never was thy match at quibbles and 
 quirks ! Indeed, thou art a very juggler 
 with words, and at the mere touch of thy 
 wit canst give them any meaning that 
 suits thee. 
 
 " In truth, my good lord," replied the 
 other, " my poor words when addressed 
 to you, however little their meaning may 
 be, must needs have a good meaning, 
 for they mean you well at all times ; and 
 such can not help but suit me, seeing 
 that I take abundance of care they are 
 brought forth on a Jilting occasion." 
 
 " There, again !" cried my lord, laugh- 
 ing again very merrily. " Sure, never 
 was the like ! But I have just left her 
 majesty, and rarely have I seen her in a 
 more commendable humor. She doth 
 applaud Burbage to the very echo, and 
 hath laughed at Green till her sides 
 ached for it. I tell thee, if thou canst 
 please the higher powers so well, hast 
 thou no cause to fear those foolish prag- 
 matics of the city. Let them do what 
 they list. I have spoken on thy behalf 
 to mine honorable and most esteemed 
 good friend, Sir Thomas Egerton, who, 
 for learning in the law, hath no superior ; 
 and he hath promised me to exert him- 
 self for thy advantage. Keep a good 
 heart. Knowing that thou hast the pro- 
 tection of Master Attorney-General, and 
 art in such absolute favor at court, the 
 aldermen, even if they have the power, 
 the which have I my doubts of, shall not 
 dare drive thee from the Blackfriars. 
 Nay, I should take it in very monstrous 
 hard case indeed, were a few paltry cit- 
 izens allowed to interfere with the pleas- 
 ures of so many worshipful lords and 
 gentlemen as find excellent entertainment 
 at the playhouse. Be of good cheer, 
 Master Shakspeare thou shall never 
 receive disadvantage at their hands." 
 
 " I am infinitely beholden to you, my 
 good lord," said Master Shakspeare. 
 " It is adding another leaf to that volume 
 of favbrs your lordship's bountiful spirit 
 hath accorded me." 
 
 " Take not what I have done for thee 
 as anything," replied my Lord South- 
 ampton, putting his hand in a friendly 
 way on the other's shoulder. " For, in 
 honest truth, I am ashamed I have as 
 yet been to thee of such exceeding poor 
 service. Fain would I show in more 
 substantial fashion how honorably I re- 
 gard the manifold excellencies of thy 
 nature; and be assured I will not rest 
 till I do something to the purpose. But 
 I must needs be gone, for I have a party
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 waiting, with whom is sweet Mistress 
 Varnon ; therefore, fare thee well, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, till we meet again." 
 
 " All good attend you, my lord !" re- 
 plied Master Shakspeare with a very 
 earnest sincerity, as he saw his patron 
 leave the room ; then turning to his 
 young friend, who had not lost a syllable 
 of the preceding discourse, he exclaimed, 
 " There is a truly noble spirit ! he is none 
 of your mere lords who can claim noth- 
 ing of distinction but the names of their 
 fathers he is enrolled in nature's own 
 peerage ; and carrieth his patent of no- 
 bility in his heart. Truly are such an 
 honor to the land ; and the more England 
 hath of them, the better able will she be 
 to cope with her enemies. Though he 
 hath so youthful a look, he is of a most 
 manly nature. He is ever intent upon 
 honorable purposes thinketh that of all 
 worshipful things intellect hath the su- 
 premacy and seemeth ever ready to put 
 his vantage of rank into obedience out 
 of respect to the gifts, such as they be, 
 which God hath grafted into my being. 
 Indeed it be the knowledge of such nota- 
 ble dispositions that maketh me in love 
 with humanity. I know of but one other 
 like him, and him you shall see anon." 
 
 At this instant there entered at the 
 door, laughing as if they had naught else 
 in the world to do but to be merry, two 
 of the players ; the one, of whom the 
 reader hath already had acquaintance, to 
 wit, Richard Burbage, was dressed as the 
 Prince Henry ; the other, with a look of 
 infinite drollery, in a suit of russet, with 
 huge swollen belly and legs, did represent 
 Sir John FalstafT; and he coming in did 
 freely accost Master Shakspeare with a 
 very " hail fellow" slap on the back, 
 exclaiming " How now, Chanticleer ? 
 thou lookest as demure as an old maid 
 that waketh in the night with a dream 
 that she hath been kissed by a blacka- 
 moor." 
 
 " Go to thou art Green '" replied Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare in the same humor ; " thou 
 art Green by name and green by nature, 
 therefore thy wit can not be ripe and 
 not being ripe must needs be sour. Go 
 hang thyself on a sunshiny wall, and may- 
 hap thou shalt in time become palat- 
 able." 
 
 " Away with thee, thou pestilent player 
 upon words, and unprofitable player upon 
 a s;age," cried out the other, "dost think 
 I'll hanjj at thy bidding ? No I'll be 
 Ganged it'I do. Away ! I am sick of thee." 
 
 " Then hast thou the Green sickness 
 which is marvellous to behold in one of 
 
 thy appearance," replied Master Shak- 
 speare. 
 
 " Now whip me this knave !" said 
 Master Green, turning to his companion, 
 who seemed as if he could not well main- 
 tain his gravity. " Here be a sorry fellow 
 for you, who hath as many jests to a name 
 as there are patches in a Jew's gaberdine. 
 See how he abuseth the license of speech ! 
 Was ever such poor practices known since 
 talking came into fashion ?" 
 
 " Let him have his way, I prythee," 
 observed Master Burbage : " he is but 
 simple ; and peradventure had he not his 
 usual pastime he might die from the lack 
 of it." 
 
 " Nay, if I die not till I lack sport, I 
 
 shall keep my breath as long as" here 
 
 Master Shakspeare paused a bit, and then 
 
 added archly " as long as this exquisite 
 
 j world provideth such sweet facetious 
 
 j rogues as they that now serve me to 
 
 break a jest upon." 
 
 " Out upon thee !" exclaimed the repre- 
 i sentative of Sir John Falstaff, good hu- 
 j moredly, " thou wilt come to no good, 
 | depend on't." 
 
 " How can I, forsooth, when such evil 
 things as thou art, stop my way ?" asked 
 the other. 
 
 " I'faith thou hadst best not meddle 
 with him," gravely remarked Master 
 Burbage. " He is like unto the great 
 bear in Paris garden he worrieth the 
 dogs more than the dogs worry him : a 
 murrain on him." 
 
 " Show not thy teeth then, good dogs," 
 added the other, with a smile. 
 
 " A fico for thee and all thy kind !" 
 cried Master Green, " I will show my 
 teeth in spite of thee ay, and use them 
 too if it seemeth me good." 
 
 "Doubtless, when such be thy humor, 
 thou wouldst succeed in making a green 
 wound in virtue of thy name," retorted 
 Master Shakspeare. 
 
 "Nay, if hanging be not too good for 
 thee, burn me for a schismatic !" laugh- 
 ingly exclaimed his antagonist. 
 
 " In good . truth, I do not think thou 
 wouldst burn, Tom," coolly observed the 
 one. 
 
 " Why not, Will ?" inquired the other. 
 
 " Seeing that green wood doth not 
 catch fire very readily," replied the first. 
 
 "What green again !" cried his droll 
 I companion, "why what a master of 
 j colors art thou who useth but one." 
 
 " Wouldst have him take thee for a 
 chameleon, who can change his complex- 
 ion as it suiteth his fancy ?" asked Master 
 Burbage.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " For the matter of that, he changeth 
 his hue very much like your chameleon," 
 said Master Shakspeare ; " for if you 
 catch him at the tavern, doubt not to find 
 him a bottle Green" 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" shouted both at the same 
 time. 
 
 " If he ventureth on the salt ocean, 
 assuredly he is a sea Green" 
 
 '.Good, o'my life !" exclaimed Master 
 Burbage, laughing very lustily. 
 
 " That he be not a Kendal or a Lincoln 
 Green, I can warrant, knowing that he 
 cometh from Warwickshire ; but when 
 all that is now man of him be turned 
 into mould, there can not be a question 
 that he will make a very respectable 
 grass Green." 
 
 "Oh, kill me that varlet straight!" 
 cried Master Green, shaking his mon- 
 strous stomach with the violence of his 
 mirth. "Kill him, Dick, if thou lov'st 
 me for he hath filled me full of most 
 villanous vegetable conceits. I do begin 
 to fancy some old grannum, coming for 
 simples, catching me up for a goodly 
 pennyworth, and boiling me, as a sov- 
 ereign remedy for her rheumatics." 
 
 " Nay, Tom, thou shall be put to no 
 such ignoble use, believe me," said Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, now laughing in his turn. 
 " Green thou art, it can not be denied, 
 and it be equally ceru ~ *hat tbou wilt 
 be ever-Green ; therefore, ^ it pleaseth 
 thee, when I seek tile bays I will come to 
 thee for as much as thou canst provide." 
 
 " Well said, bully rook !" replied the 
 other, giving him another hearty slap on 
 the back. " If thou dependest on me for 
 thy laurels, thou shall have good store 
 of them for I do believe that thou hast 
 earned them well." 
 
 "So say I," added Master Burbage, 
 with exceeding earnestness. 
 
 " But how goeth the play, my mas- 
 ters?" suddenly inquired Master Shak- 
 speare, as if inclined to give a tarn to the 
 conversation. 
 
 "As well as anything can go that go- 
 eth upon legs," replied Master Green. 
 
 " But how doih a play go upon leg?, 
 Tom ?" asked Burbage. " That conceit 
 be out of all toleration." 
 
 "Not a whit, not a whit, Dick," an- 
 swered the other " 'tis as plain as the 
 nose on thy face ; and I will do thee ihe 
 justice to acknowledge that thou hast very 
 ' plain' features." 
 
 " Out, thou pudding!" cried Burbage, 
 laughing heartily ; and fetching his com- 
 panion a sly poke in the midriff, he there- 
 upon gave a quick jump away, and went 
 
 with a great bang against Master Am" 
 seed, who coming strutling along in all 
 his finery to ascertain what they were so 
 merry upon, had got nigh upon Master 
 Green, when he was sent by the sudden- 
 ness of the concussion flying along as if 
 he had been shot out of a culverin, knock- 
 ing down Lords Dimple and Simple, scat- 
 tering others to the right and to the left, 
 and fetching Sir Narcissus Wrinkles with 
 one of his outspread arms such a whack 
 of the chaps, that it sent his periwig off 
 unto the other end of the room. In an 
 instant, half a dozen rapiers were drawn ; 
 and foremost of all, Sir Narcissus with 
 his bald pate, and swearing in a mon- 
 strous passion, was advancing to where 
 stood Master Aniseed, trying to catch his 
 breath, and looking as if he knew not for 
 a certainty whether he was on his head 
 or on his heels. Others presently inter- 
 posed to prevent bloodshed, but some 
 would not be pacified so readily : and a 
 good many were so provoked by the ri- 
 diculousness of the whole scene, that they 
 could do nothing but laugh. 
 
 " Let me at him !" cried Sir Narcissus. 
 " By Acheron and gloomy Styx, I'll teach 
 him to play his tricks on me, I warrant 
 you." 
 
 "'Sblood, I must kill him within the 
 instant," shouted Captain Swagger, look- 
 ing prodigiously fierce, and flourishing 
 his rapier in a most sanguinary manner. 
 " He hath given me a blow ! nothing but 
 his life can atone forV* 
 
 " By this light he dies, for he hath 
 hurt my friend, "exclaimed Lord Dimple, 
 raising his head from the floor, and look- 
 ing pathetically toward Lord Simple, 
 who lay at his length a little distance off. 
 
 "Nay, I be not much damaged," re- 
 plied the latter, slowly placing himself 
 in a sitting position. " But if I trounce 
 him not for the ill office he hath done 
 thee, then is friendship but a name." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Narcissus, put up your 
 weapon it was but an accident," said 
 Master Taylor. 
 
 " Ten thousand furies ! let me at him, 
 I say !" cried the enraged knight, vainly 
 endeavoring to break from those who 
 held him tight. 
 
 " Come, good captain, we must have 
 no fighting here !" cried Master Lowing, 
 who with others were trying to hold him 
 back. 
 
 "Away, gentlemen !" bawled Captain 
 
 Swagger. " He hath signed his own 
 
 j death warrant. He hath done me an 
 
 ! offence. Hold me not, I pray you, for I 
 
 ! must kill him."
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 55 
 
 "Who talks of killing?'* cried Master 
 Green, looking preposterously valiant and 
 oig, and coming in before Master Ani- 
 seed with a rapier of a tremendous length, 
 which he had drawn from the scabbard 
 at his side. " Is any man so weary of 
 life as to stand before my invincible 
 toasting iron ? then let him die now, 
 and pray all the rest of his days. Am I 
 not famed for the killing of giants, of 
 griffins, dragons, and monsters horrid ? 
 Then pity be pitiless : poppies shall 
 drown in pails, or I'll know the reason 
 on't. _,My masters, before I let fly my 
 valor and shave the world of its humani- 
 ty, it seemeth to me good to say this 
 much. So he that hath ears to hear, let 
 him give me his ears and if he be deaf, 
 why, let him hold his tongue. Thus is 
 it Let it be known to you that the good 
 youth who hath made all this turmoil, be 
 in no way to blame, seeing that he was but 
 an agent in the mischief of which he was 
 the innocent cause ; for thus stands the 
 tale : I jumping back suddenly, not know- 
 ing such a person was so nigh at hand, 
 came with all my force against him, and 
 did force him, very unwillingly on his 
 part, I will be bound for't, to do what 
 hath excited your high displeasure. Now, 
 mark this: it be an unquestionable truth, 
 that no man is ever in a rage with the 
 bullet that killeth him ; but, doubtless, 
 would be glad, if he could, to pay off 
 the pestilent varlet who shot the bullet. 
 Quarrel not, then, with the bullet in this 
 business but they whose indignations 
 be unquenchable, let them at me for I 
 shot the bullet." 
 
 Shouts of laughter rose from all parts 
 of the room during this discourse, but 
 when the speaker, with his great, stuffed 
 body and vaiiant looks, more laughable 
 than terrible, began swinging his mon- 
 strous weapon about, jumping quickly 
 here and there, and slashing on all sides 
 with an abundance of ridiculous antics, 
 they that were nig-best to him made all 
 haste to get out of his way ; the rapiers 
 were quickly sheathed, and such roars 
 of laughter followed one another from all 
 the company, that never was the like 
 heard. 
 
 "I pray you, if you be good Christians, j 
 bury the dead quickly," observed Master 
 Green, gravely putting up his weapon 
 at which every one laughed the more. 
 "Indeed this be killing work," continued 
 he, wiping his brows with his handker- , 
 chief, amid the shouts of all around him. 
 "'Tis a thousand pities it be so fatiguing 
 <o the body, else would I slay as many 
 
 score as I have done now, every 'day i' 
 the year, and find it a very pretty diver- 
 sion." 
 
 " Prythee, sweet friend, tell me if thy 
 hurt be great !" asked Lord Dimple, lean- ' 
 ing upon the shoulder of his associate, 
 very anxiously ; though, when he saw 
 the great weapon coming into play a 
 minute since, he jumped out of the way 
 without in the least looking after his 
 friend. 
 
 " In truth, my elbow be somewhat 
 bruised," replied Lord Simple, with a 
 right dolorous look. "But how is it 
 with thee ?" 
 
 "By this hand I am also a little hurt 
 in the elbow," said he, very tenderly feel- 
 ing his arm at the joint. " But I am 
 villanous sore where I sit me down." 
 
 " Alack ! I have there the most pesti- 
 lent soreness true friend ever endured," 
 replied the other, and immediately he did 
 begin rubbing himself behind with a 
 countenance that would have softened a 
 heart of stone. 
 
 "And now, Tom, to the proofs," said 
 Burbage, after the laughter had abated, 
 and things became in the room near what 
 they were before Master Aniseed's mis- 
 hap, "How doth a play go upon legs?" 
 
 " Doth not a play go upon the play- 
 ere?" inquired Master Green. 
 
 " Of a truth, it can not well go with- 
 out," observed the other. 
 
 "And do not the players go upon legs?" 
 asked he. 
 
 " Truly, they could not well go with- 
 out," remarked Master Shakspeare, with 
 all his gravity. 
 
 "Well, then, my masters, dost see the 
 drift of my argument ?" said Green. " If 
 the play be supported by the players, and 
 the players be supported by their legs, 
 is it not as true as that chickens come 
 out of egg-shells, that a play goeth upon 
 legs ?" 
 
 " I question not that if the play ' stand' 
 at all, it shall have legs to stand upon," 
 observed Master Shakspeare in the same 
 humor; "but I doubt hugely, that the 
 play and the players go together at all 
 times: for it may chance that the players 
 be 'damned,' which is like enough of 
 some of them that I know ; but the dam- 
 ning of the play doth not follow espe- 
 cially if it be one of mine." 
 
 " Out upon thee, thou intolerable piece 
 of vanity and horrible calumniator !" cried 
 Master Green, laughing all the time; "I 
 will forswear thy company, and on the 
 instant take myself off." 
 
 " Do so, Tom," replied Master Shak-
 
 56 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 speare, as his friend was leaving him 
 " thou wilt save me an infinite world of 
 trouble by it, for I have been taking thee 
 off this many a day." 
 
 " I owe thee one for that !" emphatical- 
 ly exclaimed the other, turning round as 
 he was going out at the door, and shaking 
 his droll face at him very merrily ; " and 
 if I pay thee not, Will, thou shall hold 
 me in no more estimation than a soused 
 gurnet." 
 
 " Away with thee ! thou wilt never be- 
 come half so dainty a piece of pickle !" 
 retorted his companion. 
 
 When Green was gone Master Shak- 
 speare did address Burbage in his usual 
 playful manner, with "Well, Dick, did 
 the verses play the part thou wouldst 
 have them ?" 
 
 "Excellently well," replied he. "In 
 truth, never verses had better reception. 
 If she be not an exquisite judge of all the 
 commodities of a good measure, then 
 stand I on very indifferent footing with a 
 pretty woman." 
 
 "I'faith, thy feet have but an indiffer- 
 ent appearance, Dick," said Master Shak- 
 speare, gravely looking down upon the 
 other's ghoes. 
 
 " That must needs become a standing 
 joke," observed his companion. 
 
 " It may, for I do not think it deserves 
 to be set down." 
 
 " Go too !" exclaimed Master Burbage, 
 jocularly. " But listen to me : I watched 
 her the while she read thy poem, and be- 
 lieve me, her face be worth the looking 
 at: and as she proceeded, she opened her 
 pretty lips a tempting pair, by this light ! 
 and said, ' That is not ill' and anon, 
 " brave words !' and presently, ' an excel- 
 lent good conceit ;' and thus went she till 
 she came to the end when she did ac- 
 knowledge that they were of better stuff 
 than she had expected of me." 
 
 " Then must she have had a marvel- 
 lous bad opinion of thee," duly remarked 
 his companion, " and evidently knew thy 
 value to a fraction. But what didst get 
 for them ?" 
 
 " Dost think I kiss and tell ?" said the 
 other, in a seeming indignation. " But I 
 tell thee how it is, Will I have cut out 
 him of the sonnet he hath no more 
 chance than a drowned kitten in Hounds- 
 ditch. And our next assignation hath a 
 very pretty conceit in it for it is agreed 
 between us that I shall come to her door ; 
 and to prevent mistakes, when she says 
 'Who's there?' at my knocking, I am to 
 reply, ' It is I Richard the Third.' " 
 "What, dost mean to play the tyrant 
 
 with her ?" laughingly inquired Master 
 Shakspeare. " But let not thy longings 
 for her father's gold make thee too san- 
 guine. Mayhap thou wilt find plenty of 
 Richmonds in the field yet." 
 
 " I care not if there be I am desperate- 
 ly in love ; and if she is to be had, will 
 have her in spite of them," replied Mas- 
 ter Burbage. " But there is our Stentor, 
 with his lungs o' leather, giving me a 
 pretty loud hint that I am wanted so I 
 am off." Saying which, he hastily de 
 parted at the door. 
 
 "And how like you the players and 
 their associates ?" asked Master Shak- 
 speare to his young companion. 
 
 " In truth, exceeding well," replied 
 Master Francis, cheerfully ; " never have 
 I been so much amused as during the 
 time I have been here. Methinks they 
 must lead a right merry life." 
 
 " They are the very grasshoppers of 
 the age," observed his friend: " a small 
 matter of sunshine sufnceth to make them 
 chirp; notwithstanding which they oft- 
 times live in fear of being trodden under 
 foot, or snapped up by such as think fit to 
 devour them and their substance." Doubt- 
 less in this Master Shakspeare did allude 
 to the efforts that had been made by the 
 city authorities to deprive himself and his 
 associates of performing plays within 
 their jurisdiction. 
 
 After some time longer passed in the 
 room, his friend did lead Master Francis 
 out just as many of the players came in, 
 denoting that the play was over ; and af- 
 ter carefully picking his way along, he 
 was brought before a large curtain, in the 
 which there was a hole whereat Master 
 Shakspeare took a peep, and desired his 
 companion to do the same. He looked, 
 and saw a throng of people of the re- 
 spectable sort, standing up close together 
 a little below him, while a vast number 
 of rooms, all round about and above them, 
 were filled with lords and ladies, and the 
 like, very splendidly attired ; and up 
 higher, on " the scaffold," or gallery, 
 were a crowd of the meaner kind, who 
 could afford neither a shilling nor a six- 
 pence, such as had been paid by " the 
 groundlings," and those in the rooms, but 
 came only as threepenny customers. All 
 was open to the sky, and at the top was a 
 great flag. But what struck him the most 
 was the noise and hubbub of the people. 
 Some were shouting " God save the 
 queen !" others casting up their hats, and 
 the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, 
 and turning his eyes to where the looks 
 of the audience were directed, Maste*
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 57 
 
 Francis beheld, in the largest of the 
 rooms, all daintily fitted up with cur- 
 tains of satin and gold, her majesty, 
 Queen Elizabeth, who, with a very queen- 
 like dignity, had presented herself in front 
 of her noble attendants, clad with prince- 
 ly magnificence, and continued most gra- 
 ciously to courtesy to her applauding sub- 
 jects. 
 
 He had not been many minutes en- 
 gaged in observing this interesting scene, 
 from the attractions of which he could 
 scarcely take off his eyes, when he felt 
 himself touched on the shoulder, and 
 turning round, saw a handsome and gal- 
 lant looking gentleman approaching the 
 place where he stood. 
 
 "I have been in constant expectation 
 of seeing you, Sir Walter" 
 
 "Speed thee, Master Shakspeare, and 
 follow me," said the other, interrupting 
 him quickly. 
 
 "I must first request your kind offices 
 in favor of my young friend here, who is 
 a youth of excellent parts and'' 
 
 "Let him come to me at Durham 
 house to-morrow, at eleven o'clock," 
 said he, " for, in truth, I have not a min- 
 ute to lose now. Her majesty hath de- 
 sired that thou shouldst be presented to 
 her. and if we make not prodigious haste 
 she will be gone." 
 
 "Be sure and go to Durham house, as 
 Sir Walter Raleigh hath required, and 
 thou wilt find thy advantage in it, "whis- 
 pered Master Shakspeare ; and in a mo- 
 ment afterward Master Francis found 
 himself alone. For a minute or two it 
 seemed to him that all had passed as a 
 dream. It appeared scarcely possible 
 that he should have stood in the presence 
 of the far-famed Sir Walter Raleigh 
 have been recommended to his patronage, 
 and desired of him to call at his man- 
 sion: and it could not but be (so he 
 thought) that the stately looking gentle- 
 man, so richly clad, who a moment since 
 stood before him, was a mere delusion of 
 the fancy. These reflections threw him 
 into a profound revery, in the which he 
 was so completely lost, that he saw and 
 heard nothing around him. 
 
 "Prythee tell me, what have they 
 offered thee a week ?" was asked him a 
 third time before he noticed that the ill- 
 favored and inquisitive knave, Gib the 
 call-boy, with his enormous mouth upon 
 the stretch, and his eyes squinting more 
 abominably than ever, was at his elbow, 
 wondering that he could get no answer. 
 
 "Hold thy prate I know not," was 
 the reply. 
 
 * " Nay, if thou knowest not, thou canst 
 not tell, of a surety," observed the call- 
 boy. "But thou canst think without 
 knowing, and therefore say, I prythee, 
 what thou dost think they have offered 
 thee ?" 
 
 " What matters it to thee," replied the 
 other, in spite of himself, amused at the 
 coaxing, wheedling manner in which the 
 bandy-legged urchin attempted to wm 
 the important secret from him. 
 
 " In honest truth, I am curious to know 
 if they are inclined to give thee as much 
 as a whole shilling a week and find thy- 
 self out on't," said the boy, holding up 
 his head with such an affectation of con- 
 ceit that the other could not help laugh- 
 ing in his face. 
 
 "Then, in honest truth,! believe they 
 are not," responded Master Francis. 
 
 "I thought so," said Gib, with an air 
 of satisfaction that increased the mirth 
 of his companion then added, in a tone 
 of consolation, "Be not cast down at it. 
 1 do assure thee, that if thou wilt abide 
 by my advice, and do the women, thou 
 shait get as much as that in good time ; 
 for truly thou art well fitted for playing 
 in such parts, seeing that thou wilt have 
 no call for a beard yet awhile, and when 
 it doth appear in any sort of prodigality, 
 I have an honest barber of my acquaint- 
 ance who shall pluck each individual 
 hair out by the roots, and charge thee 
 little or nothing for it." 
 
 "I am obliged to thee infinitely," seri- 
 ously observed the youth, who winced 
 under the very idea of such torture. "I 
 tell thee, once for all, I never had any 
 desire of becoming a player, and all the 
 service I require of thee, is to lead me 
 out of this place as quickly as thou 
 canst." 
 
 " Desirest thou not to become a play- 
 er?" thundered out the astonished call- 
 boy. "Well, here is a fortune thrown 
 away! And I did hope thou wouldst 
 have supplanted our Juliet, who, no 
 later than yesterday, gave me a villanous 
 kick i' the breech for offering to show 
 him how to die more graceful than is his 
 wont." 
 
 ' And I will give thee another if thou 
 dost not instantly lead me into the street," 
 added Master Francis, looking as seriously 
 as he could. At this the eyes of the call- 
 boy seemed directed in every way at the 
 same time ; and without saying a word 
 more, he began to shuffle his mis-shapen 
 legs away as fast as he could, closely 
 followed ..by the other. 
 
 While those two were leaving the
 
 58 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 playhouse, Sir Walter Raleigh was 
 hurrying Master Shakspeare along, and 
 they arrived at the queen's room just as 
 her majesty was moving to depart, with 
 all her noble train of lords and ladies 
 around her. 
 
 "Please your majesty, here is Master 
 William Shakspeare," said Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, as he pushed through the 
 throng. 
 
 " Let him enter," said the queen. 
 Thereupon, Master Shakspeare advanced 
 toward the queen and knelt before her ; 
 and her majesty and many of her cour- 
 tiers especially the ladies, did look upon 
 him very curiously. 
 
 "Master Shakspeare," exclaimed the 
 queen, " We do commend the excellence 
 of your wit, whereof the application 
 hath pleased us much, on more occasions 
 than the present ; and will take care you 
 suffer no hinderance in your calling, so 
 long as you continue as you have done, 
 to attempt not to meddle with matters 
 of state. Of all your performances, 
 that fat knight hath delighted us in the 
 greatest measure: and it seemeth that 
 we should find an additional satisfaction 
 could we see the rogue in love. Think 
 of it, Master Shakspeare, and if your 
 conceit jump that way, send word to the 
 palace, and we will give you the first 
 fitting opportunity to read to us whatever 
 you may write upon the snbject." Then 
 graciously giving him her ungloved hand 
 all brilliant with jewels, to which he 
 respectfully bent his lips, her majesty 
 passed him by, followed by her maids 
 of honor, her officers in waiting, and 
 others whose duty it was to attend upon 
 her person, leaving Master Shakspeare 
 kneeling, from which he presently rose, 
 and in a few minutes heard the trumpets 
 and kettle-drums, with the hurrahs of the 
 mob outside, striking up as the queen 
 left the playhouse in her caroch. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Millions of ynares this old drivell Cupid 5 lives ; 
 While still more wretch, more wicked he doth 
 
 prove ; 
 
 Till now at length that Jove an office gives, 
 (At Juno's suite who much did Argrus love) 
 In this our world a hangman for to be 
 Of all those fooles that will have all they see. 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 
 
 There are sort of men, whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, 
 And do a wilfull stillness entertain 
 With purpose to be dressed in an opinion 
 Of wisdom, grav'ty, profound conceit ; 
 
 As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, 
 And when I ope my lips let no dog bark. 
 
 SHAKSPKARE. 
 
 " COME, coz ! coz ! Prythee have done 
 with this sighing and trembling," ex- 
 claimed Mistress Alice to her fair cousin, 
 as they were together in their tiring-room, 
 seemingly getting themselves ready to 
 go upon a journey. " Why, thou makest 
 as much fuss at being married as might 
 I, for whom the idea of it hath but sorry 
 recommendation indeed. W ell, Heaven 
 help them that can not help themselves, 
 say I and of all that need help, none are 
 like your would-be wife ; for of a truth, 
 she must be in monstrous hard case, that 
 desireth so ridiculous a thing as a hus- 
 band." 
 
 " He can not help being ruined," ob- 
 served Mistress Throckmorton sorrow- 
 fully, and quite inattentive to the remarks 
 of her merry kinswoman. 
 
 ' Well, blame him not for it," said the 
 other, in her pretty droll way. " For, if 
 he can not help it, he should escape cen- 
 sure. But methinks there be no great 
 cause for such apprehension, for when I 
 showed thy father's letter to the queen 
 requesting thy presence at Aldgate, on 
 the pretence of his declining health ; she 
 had come from the play in so fine a hu- 
 mor, that it seemed as if she could have 
 granted anything : therefore art thou to 
 go, and I with thee : and if thy man ani- 
 mal fail thee not, thou wilt be made his 
 yoke-fellow straight. Now have I very 
 palpably in my mind's eye, the appear- 
 ance of thyself and thy precious helpmate 
 some two or three score of years hence. 
 Thou wilt sit on one side of the chimney 
 corner, and he on the other, like Darby 
 and Joan : with, mayhap, the cat at thy 
 feet, and the dog at his, and his worship 
 lifting up his woollen nightcap to scratch 
 his bald pate the whilst, shall say, in a 
 monstrous thin voice, like a sucking 
 beetle," here did she imitate an old man's 
 querulous speech to the life " ' Dame ! 
 it be woundy cold o' nights hast never 
 another pair o' hose to cover up my legs ?' 
 And then thou shah look at his shrunk 
 shanks very pitifully over thy spectacles, 
 and dividing thy nose and chin, which 
 shall then be nigh unto kissing each 
 other, shall answer, ' Forsooth, my old 
 man, 'tis but proper thou shouldst have 
 another pair ; for I know by the absolute 
 shooting o' my corns, we shall have foul 
 weather soon.' " 
 
 "Fie on thee, Alice !" exclaimed Mis- 
 tress Elizabeth, yet scarcely able to re- 
 frain from joining in her companion's
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 merriment for the little creature screw- 
 ed her pretty face into so odd an expres- 
 sion and made her voice sound so trem- 
 ulous and droll, in accordance with the 
 laughable scene she was describing, that 
 it was impossible for any one to have 
 looked on unmoved. 
 
 " And then being mightily skilful in 
 .the preparation of simples," continued 
 Alice very archly. "After having put 
 him to bed and tucked him up, that the 
 cold shall not visit his old bones too 
 roughly for I prythee remember, there 
 shall be nothing of him but skin and bone 
 thou shall make him a famous posset, 
 with spice in it, to comfort his poor bowels 
 whereof, when he hath swallowed a 
 sufficiency, thou shah take the rest ; then 
 to bed with him and a few minutes 
 after which, thou shall be heard snoring 
 a fine treble as an accompaniment to his 
 worship's excellent bass." 
 
 " Nay, I am ashamed of thee !" cried 
 the other, although she could in no way 
 help laughing at the conceit, in spite of 
 ihe trouble she seemed to be in. " But 
 haste thee, Alice, with our things, or my 
 father will have to wait wnich thou 
 knowest he likes not. Ah, me I would 
 it were all over !" 
 
 " Ah, rne I would it were well over, 
 or under either, so that it had a good 
 ending," said Alice, briskly. "By my 
 troth, there must needs be something in 
 this taking of a husband, by the to do 
 which is made of it ; though, methinks, 
 il would require as great a conjuror as 
 Dr. Dee, to find out where lieth the won- 
 der. For mine own part, I can not but 
 help believing, that these man animals 
 are hugely flattered seeing that we are 
 inclined to make so great a fuss out of so 
 small a matter." 
 
 "He will be undone!" exclaimed Mis- 
 tress Elizabeth sighing, and wringing her 
 hands. 
 
 "A pudding undone !" cried Alice, her 
 sparkling eyes flashing very merrily. 
 "Why should he be undone, I prythee? 
 unless he undo himself; and then may- 
 hap he shall get himself in a tanglement, 
 like the fag-end of a ball of worsted in 
 the paws of a kitten. I tell thee, Bess, 
 he shall never be undone. There is thai 
 in him which will put up with no un- 
 doing. Think not of it. It can not be. 
 Thou shah find him like a very pretty 
 skein of silk, as he is ; and shall wind 
 him off clear to the end." 
 
 " It was noble of him to offer to marry 
 me, "said Mistress Throckmorton some- 
 what as it were to herself. 
 
 " Nay, I can not see it be so very noble 
 either," replied her laughing cousin ; 
 " truly thou art worthy to mate with as 
 good as he or better, if it come to that." 
 
 " No, no, no !" cried Mistress Elizabeth, 
 shaking her head in very woful fashion. 
 
 " But I say yes, yes, yes !" quickly ex- 
 claimed the other. "In all respects he 
 hath got an excellent bargain, and the 
 varlet knoweth it, or I be much deceived. 
 Thou shouldst not hold thyself too cheap, 
 Bess ; a woman gets nothing by that, de- 
 pend on't. As for roe, if there be any 
 that would have me at mine own valua- 
 tion, then shall they coin all the man's 
 flesh that may be met with above ground 
 into rose nobles ; and lack the greatest 
 portion of what I would go for after all." 
 
 "In truth, then, thou wouldst go at a 
 price indeed," remarked her cousin. 
 
 <* Price, quotha ! why should I not go 
 at a price ?" replied the merry Alice, 
 tossing her little head very prettily. 
 " Dost think I am but a pennyworth ? 
 of so little account, that he that gets me 
 might run a withy through my gills, and 
 ca-r ry me home like a cheap mackerel ?" 
 
 " Nay, I meant not that," said Mistress 
 Elizabeth, smiling at the exceeding oddi- 
 ty of her cousin's humor. 
 
 " Thou art not held so poorly in my 
 esteem, believe me; for thou hast ever 
 been to me a very dear good creature," 
 and thereat she stooped and kissed her 
 rosy dimpled cheek with an admirable 
 affection. 
 
 " Ay, if I am to be bought, I'll be a 
 dear creature to him that buys me, de- 
 pend on't," laughingly answered she, as 
 she returned her cousin's caress. "But 
 hark here comes a footstep !" Saying 
 this, she hastened to the door, the which 
 she opened as some one approached it, 
 and noticing that it was one of the yeo- 
 men of the guard, she exclaimed, " Ha, 
 ! Master Annesley, what news ?" 
 
 " Please you, my lady," replied he very 
 
 respectfully, " there be certain of Sir 
 
 Nicholas Throckmorton's serving-men 
 
 ! down below, who say thai the barge is 
 
 ready at the water-side for Mistress Eliz- 
 
 ; abeth and yourself, to the which they 
 
 wait to conduct you." 
 
 " See that they be entertained ; and 
 say we will be with them anon, Master 
 Annesley," said Alice. 
 
 " I will, my lady," answered he; and 
 departed quickly to do her bidding. 
 
 " Bess ! Bess ! why how thou dost trem- 
 ble !" exclaimed the other, when she had 
 returned to her kinswoman. "Dosttrem- 
 , ble at a man ? Psha ! Fifty men should
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 not make me wag a hair of my head. 
 Now on with thy mantle !" 
 
 " Alas ! he will be ruined !'' cried Mis- 
 tress Elizabeth very piteously. 
 
 "Then the more goose he !" replied 
 her cousin. " But I apprehend he hath 
 more wit than to suffer it. Dost think I 
 would be ruined? Nay, I'd eat my head 
 off first! Come, here is thy hat. Alack, 
 thou looksl as pale as a Shrovetide pan- 
 cake. Courage, sweetheart ! If it were 
 not that I have no inclination that way, 
 I would marry all the bachelors between 
 this and Muscovy, and not be frightened 
 a whit. Nay, shake not so, I prythee, 
 for thou wilt have shaking enough soon, 
 I doubt not seeing that when we get to 
 London Bridge thou wift have to mount 
 on the pillion on uncle's brown Bess, 
 whilst I must ride before Diggory on the 
 gray mare ; and then we shall go trot, 
 trot, trot, to Aldgate, till neither of us 
 have more bowels than a flea. And now 
 thou art ready at last." 
 
 Then, after some few minutes employ- 
 ed in finishing her own attire for her 
 beautiful kinswoman seemed in such a 
 strait that she could assist her none at all 
 she drew her arm through that of the 
 other, cheering her all the time with 
 many droll sayings ; and they passed to- 
 gether out of the room in their travelling 
 equipments, giving notice as they went to 
 one of the yeomen that the men should 
 meet them near the gates ; thereat when 
 they arrived, they found the serving-men 
 in their best liveries (proper stout varlets, 
 each with a goodly rapier at his girdle), 
 and with abundance of respectful saluta- 
 tions from them, answered kindly and 
 without haughtiness by their fair mis- 
 tress, thus attended, they left the palace 
 of Whitehall, and proceeded across the 
 Queen's garden to the Privy bridge. 
 
 " Step in quick," said a voice that came 
 from one muffled up close in a large 
 cloak, who sat in the barge at the water- 
 side. 
 
 "Father!" exclaimed Mistress Eliza- 
 beth. 
 
 " Uncle !" cried Alice in the same 
 breath. 
 
 " Nay, there be no time for fathers or 
 uncles either," replied Sir Nicholas, "I 
 be not to speak nor disclose myself for 
 fear of watchers and praters, so in, 
 wench, and quickly. And now, Diggory, 
 push off from the shore, and help ply the 
 oars well." 
 
 " That will I, your Avorship," replied 
 one with a famous dull honest face and yel- 
 *ow beard, whc with a long pole sought to 
 
 push the barge into deep water ; " and as 
 your worship desireth that your name 
 shall not be mentioned, I will take care 
 it pass not rny lips. Truly 'twould be a 
 shame were I not to do the bidding of 
 so excellent a master as Sir Nicholas 
 Throck " 
 
 " Hang thee, villain, thou wouldst be- 
 tray me upon the instaqt !" exclaimed 
 the old knight. " Take to thy oar, and 
 let thy tongue wag on thy peril." 
 
 "I am dumb, Sir Nichol " 
 
 " Take that, for a prating varlet !" said 
 his master, interrupting the mentioning 
 of his name by a blow with an ashen 
 stick he had under his cloak, that not 
 only made Diggory wince mightily, but 
 had the effect of silencing him without 
 another word. 
 
 " Nay, father !" 
 
 " Hurt him not, good uncle !" cried the 
 cousins quickly, as they saw the weapon, 
 descending. 
 
 " 'Sblood ! one might as well be pro- 
 claimed at Paul's!*' exclaimed Sir Nich- 
 olas impatiently. " I tell thee I am now 
 neither thy father, nor thy uncle, nor thy 
 ox, nor thy ass, nor anything that is 
 thine." 
 
 They now glided slowly and in silence 
 along the river, keeping pretty nigh unto 
 the left bank the serving men straining 
 at the oars with all their strength Mis- 
 tress Elizabeth trembling exceedingly, 
 and her beautiful countenance marked 
 with a great paleness ; and Alice with 
 her arm round her waist, whispering ex- 
 cellent consolation, with now and then 
 such droll conceits as entered into her 
 head. 
 
 " Who be those getting into a pair of 
 oars from the very spot where we took 
 water ?" inquired Sir Nicholas, pointing 
 to two persons closely wrapped in large 
 cloaks, who were then stepping into a 
 boat. 
 
 " Methinks they are men of some sort," 
 replied Diggory, with a monstrous gravi- 
 ty, who fancying the question had been 
 addressed to him, had plucked up cour- 
 age to answer it. 
 
 " Mine eyes can tell me that," said his 
 master, drily. 
 
 " And wear they goodly coptanck hats, 
 out of all question," continued the man. 
 
 " That also I can see without thy as- 
 sistance," answered the old knight. "I 
 hope they be not coming after us." 
 
 " They are pulling across the river," 
 observed Alice. 
 
 " That is evident to me likewise," re- 
 sponded Sir Nicholas ; and for somemin-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 61 
 
 utes not a word more was spoken, till he 
 cried out, " but see, they are creeping 
 along the shore on the other side. Odds 
 my life ! but I think they be spies." 
 
 " If it please you, shall we run across ?" 
 said Diggory, " and Peter and I will 
 draw upon them, and spoil their spying 
 straight." 
 
 " Ay, that would we, with a vengeance, 
 if it please you, master," exclaimed an- 
 other, whose patch oa the forehead be- 
 tokened him to be one in no way averse 
 to a broil. 
 
 " Peace, knaves," exclaimed the old 
 knight ; " Dost think, if there be any 
 need of drawing, I can not play my part ?" 
 
 " For the matter of that," observed 
 Diggory, " I can affirm, with a safe con- 
 science, there be no such a master at the 
 weapon." 
 
 " Indeed, for a swashing blow, of all 
 valorous knights commend me to Sir 
 Nicholas Throck : Oh !" shouted Pe- 
 ter, before he had finished his sentence, 
 on finding the aforesaid ashen stick de- 
 scending on his pate, with the very swash- 
 ing blow he was speaking of. 
 
 "Wilt never hold thy prate?" angrily 
 cried his master: "nay, by God's suffer- 
 ing, I'll give thee a cudgeling all round, 
 if I hear another word." At this the men 
 said no more, but pulled on, passing di- 
 vers noble mansions that stood on the 
 slope of the Thames, nigh unto the vil- 
 lage of Charing, Sir Nicholas watching 
 very earnestly the strange boat, that kept 
 at a good distance on the other side of 
 the river, till they approached Ivy Bridge ; 
 when he commanded Diggory to make 
 for a small flight of stone steps, adjutting 
 out of a magnificent mansion that stood 
 there. As it was high water, the barge 
 was easily brought to the stairs, and then 
 the old knight, handing out his daughter 
 and his niece, pointed to them an open 
 door above the wall, against which the 
 tide was a running, for them to go into, 
 while ht tarried a moment to give direc- 
 tions to his men. 
 
 " Courage, Bess ! this is Durham house, 
 and thou wilt soon be a wife now," ex- 
 claimed Alice, as the other, seeming more 
 dead than alive, leaned upon her, as they 
 advanced through the little door, into a 
 dark passage. " At least Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh hath one virtue he hath a goodly 
 house to live in." 
 
 " To which he now welcomes his dear 
 sweet wife and thee," said a well-known 
 voice; and Mi stress Elizabeth found her- 
 self clasped in the arms of her affianced 
 husband. 
 
 "Oh, Walter!" was all she could say. 
 "Alack, I had like to have been fright- 
 ened," exclaimed Alice; "but now I see 
 who it be, I only wonder I took any 
 alarm, for I am not easily frightened at 
 so small a matter." 
 
 "Another time, Alice, I will give it 
 thee in good style for that," said Sir Wal- 
 ter, laughingly ; and then, turning to 
 Mistress Elizabeth, added, " Come, Bess, 
 to the chapel all is ready ; my chaplain 
 waits, and there is no one with him but 
 my friend Lord Cobham." 
 
 "And here comes her old father, to see 
 her honorably wedded to a truly excel- 
 lent and gallant gentleman," cried Sir 
 Nicholas Throckmorton, a little way be- 
 hind them. 
 
 "Welcome to Durham house, Sir 
 Nicholas," exclaimed Raleigh : and then 
 the two knights shook hands in a very 
 friendly manner. 
 
 "Thanks, Sir Walter," replied the 
 other ; " I have brought Bess here, with 
 strict attention to your directions ; yet had 
 I at one time misgivings we were watch- 
 ed." 
 
 " Who could have thought of playing 
 the spy upon you ?" asked Raleigh. 
 
 "In truth it was a mistake of mine," 
 replied the old knight ; " for the boat in 
 which were the supposed watchers hath 
 but now gone on, as I think, to the Bank- 
 side." 
 
 " I beseech you, follow me then to the 
 chapel," said Sir Walter ; and then, with 
 many kind and soothing words to her who 
 hung so fondly on his arm, he led the way, 
 closely followed by Alice and her uncle, 
 through many courts and passages, till 
 they came to a sort of oratory, dimly 
 lighted, fitted up in very antique fashion 
 as a place of worship ; in the which 
 stood, in his robes, at the altar, the chap- 
 lain, conversing with my Lord Cobham ; 
 and with a few hurried words of greeting 
 betwixt that lord and Sir Nicholas 
 Throckmorton, the ceremony was pro- 
 ceeded with ; Mistress Elizabeth looking 
 all the whilst, as some thought, fitter for 
 a burial than a bridal, and trembling 
 wonderfully ; but she said the responses 
 with a proper distinctness ; and in a mar- 
 vellous little time she did receive the 
 congratulations of those around her. She 
 answered not to what was said, save by 
 turning toward her husband, and with 
 her beautiful eyes swimming in their 
 own soft light, regarded him with a look 
 of such infinite thankfulness, that it sunk 
 direct to his heart, and never, while he 
 had life, was thence erased.
 
 62 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " And now, Sir Nicholas Throckmor- 
 ton," said Sir Walter, advancing to him, 
 with his arm fondly encircling his wife, 
 " I consign this precious charge into your 
 keeping for a while, which I hope will 
 be but brief. I am going, as it may be 
 known unto you, upon a voyage, whereof, 
 the successful result will, f hope, win me 
 the queen's pardon for this proceeding ; 
 and I know not where, with such excel- 
 lent propriety and advantage, I could 
 place in safety, during rny absence, what 
 I account so great a treasure, as with one 
 from whom its value did proceed. I pray 
 you look to her tenderly." 
 
 " That will I, Sir Walter, depend on't," 
 replied the old knight, briskly. "Amur- 
 rain on thee ; what dost look so pale 
 for ?" added he to his daughter ; " when 
 I married thy mother, her cheek out- 
 blushed the rose : but there will come 
 color enough by-and-by, or I'm hugely 
 mistaken ;" and then he gave a very merry 
 chuckle, and did touch her playfully un- 
 der the chin. 
 
 " It grieveth me that I should seem to 
 play the niggard, Sir Nicholas," said Sir 
 Walter ; " but it must be known to you 
 why it is so ; and therefore do I trust you 
 will excuse it." 
 
 " Odds my life, man, speak not of it," 
 answered Sir Nicholas ; " but if thou 
 canst, come to us this eve at Aldgate, 
 and we will have a merry night on't." 
 
 "I will strive to bring it about," re- 
 plied Sir Walter. 
 
 " Art admiring my apparel, fair Alice ?" 
 asked my Lord Cobham, with a great 
 show of gallantry, as he advanced toward 
 the place where she, with her roguish 
 eyes, seemed intently scrutinizing his 
 dress. 
 
 " Indeed it hath to me a right hand- 
 some look," replied she, very innocently ; 
 "but methinks it be a thousand pities it 
 should have so sorry a lining." 
 
 " 'Tis a mad wench, 'tis a mad wench !" 
 exclaimed the old knight, with a loud 
 laugh, while my Lord Cobham appeared 
 as if he knew not whether to be offended 
 or amused; "she hath a lively wit, it 
 can not be denied ; and they do say she 
 taketh after me." 
 
 " The truth of which I here do affirm," 
 said the merry girl; "for having many a 
 day helped yourself before me, it stand- 
 eth to reason, uncle, that I must take 
 after you." 
 
 " Ha, ha !" shouted her kinsman, who 
 seemed as fond of a jest as herself, "that 
 be a truth beyond all contradiction. Now, 
 Sir Walter, you take the lead, else I 
 
 know not how I shall find my way back 
 to the barge." Raleigh was whispering 
 a few encouraging words to his beautiful 
 wife, previous to his departure, when he 
 was startled by a knocking at the chapel 
 door. 
 
 "Now, Stephen, what news?" asked 
 he, going to the door, yet without open- 
 ing it. 
 
 "Please you, Sir Walter," replied the 
 voice of an old man, " there is my Lord 
 Burghley at the gate, who says he must 
 have immediate speech with you on the 
 queen's business." 
 
 "Get him into the library, good Ste- 
 phen," said Raleigh, "and say that I am 
 dressing, and will be with him in the in- 
 stant." 
 
 " That will I, without fail," responded 
 the other, and immediately he was heard 
 hastening away. 
 
 " Now, Bess, my life," exclaimed Sir 
 Walter, catching hold of her arm, " I 
 must be so ungallant as to hurry thee 
 from the house ; for if the lord treasurer 
 were to get but a hint of thy being here, 
 it must needs come 1 to the queen's ears, 
 and then it would go hard for us both." 
 So saying, he hastened with her not 
 without saying many endearing words by 
 the way, which doubtless were mightily 
 refreshing to her affectionate nature to 
 the little door that opened unto the river; 
 at the which he parted with her, and her 
 father, and Alice; who straightway pro- 
 ceeded into their barge, and continued 
 their journey, while he hurried back ; 
 and after going through other passages, 
 and up a flight of steps, joined his visiter 
 in the library. 
 
 The Lord Burghley was at the time a 
 man getting to be aged, and of some in- 
 firmities also. His beard was very sil- 
 very, and broad at the bottom ; and his 
 face much wrinkled, pale, and of an ex- 
 ceeding grave appect ; his head, which 
 seemed to be scant of hair, was covered 
 with a close cap of black velvet (whereof 
 the points came down over his ears), on 
 the top of which was a rounded hat, with 
 a fair jewel set in the centre. Below his 
 ruff his gown was fastened, having the 
 royal arms embroidered on the right side ; 
 over which he wore a goodly chain of 
 gold, and a broad sash, from the left 
 shoulder to the right hip : and in his 
 hand he carried a white wand. He had 
 sat himself down in an easy-chair, the 
 which a tall, thin, gray-head'ed old ser- 
 ving-man, who stooped much, had piaced 
 for his use; and seemed, with marvel- 
 lous shrewd looks, to be scrutinizing ev-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 63 
 
 eiything in the room ; and certes there 
 was a multitude of things opposite in 
 their natures, the close approximation of 
 the which would have been a marvel to 
 many : for above a vast heap of roman- 
 ces of love, and chivalry, and the like, 
 was the model of a ship ; then, upon a 
 pile of grave philosophers and ancient 
 historians, there peeped out a portion of 
 a quaint dress for a masque ; here lay a 
 theorbo, and by it a small piece of ord- 
 nance ; there a silver tankard, wrought 
 with the story of Bacchus and Ariadue. 
 Ovid's Art of Love lay on a shelf, with a 
 jewelled dagger in it to mark the page ; 
 and between the leaves of Plato his 
 works, in the original Greek, was seen 
 part of the gold case of a lady's minia- 
 ture. In one corner were clivers pikes 
 and halbords, with a torn banner taken 
 from the enemy ; in the other, a mass of 
 ore, brought from the country of Guiana 
 by a Spaniard, and one or two large shells 
 found on the American shore ; in this, a 
 right handsome arbalest, the handle of 
 which was of ivory, very daintily carved, 
 with a quiver full of arrows ; and in 
 that a lot of swords, pieces, and the like 
 sanguinary weapons, resting upon a roll 
 of madrigals, with a leaf exposed, having 
 on it part of the words and music of that 
 admirable composition of the truly melo- 
 dious Master Dowland, "Awake, sweet 
 Love." On parts of the carved wainscot, 
 were framed and hung up certain views 
 of the invincible armada being discom- 
 fited by the English fleet charts of the 
 Spanish main drawings of the coast of 
 Virginia and a right exquisite portrait 
 of Queen Elizabeth, looking wondrous 
 handsome and majestical, riding upon 
 horseback, as she appeared at Tilbury 
 Fort. There was no lack of tables and 
 chairs in the room, but most of them 
 were covered with such a host of ancient 
 books and weapons, with here and there 
 a case of toothpicks, or a delicate poun- 
 cet box ; pistols and perfumes lying side 
 by side, or a French trinket resti-ng upon 
 a Hebrew psalter, with a vast quantity 
 of papers, as would be tedious to describe 
 minutely. 
 
 "My master will be with you anon, 
 an' it please you, my lord," said the old 
 serving-man, very respectfully. 
 
 "Humph!" exclaimed the lord treas- 
 urer, drawing in his lips very tight, and 
 still regarding everything about him with 
 an unmoved countenance. 
 
 "He is but now a dressing, and bade 
 me say that he would not lose an instant 
 in the coming." 
 
 " Ho !" ejaculated my Lord Burghley, 
 lowering his chin and throwing out his 
 lips. 
 
 " And for a surety, he is always to be 
 depended upon in his word, an' it please 
 you, my lord," continued the other. " For 
 though T have served him since he hath 
 been but a boy as it were, never knew I 
 him to fail in the keeping of it." 
 
 "Ha!" cried the old lord, nodding his 
 head with a sort of complacency. 
 
 "And when he employeth himself on 
 the business of the queen to whom be 
 all honor and glory in this world and the 
 next," added Stephen reverentially, and 
 proud to be allowed to have speech with 
 the great Lord Burghley "I have 
 known him to be quite put out should 
 there be any let which would delay him 
 but a moment." 
 
 "Humph!" exclaimed my lord, still 
 very gravely. 
 
 " Therefore, it be certain, out of all 
 contradiction, he will be here straight; 
 an' it please you, my lord." 
 "Ho !" said the lord treasurer. 
 ">And, here he is," concluded the 
 serving-man, as he heard his master's 
 foots'ep approaching the door. 
 
 " Ha !" cried my Lord Burghley. 
 Thereupon, Stephen respectfully went 
 out as Sir Walter Raleigh entered. The 
 lord treasurer budged not an inch as the 
 other approached him, nor spoke a word, 
 nor altered he his countenance, nor took 
 he off his hat. 
 
 " I have first to thank you, my good 
 lord, for the honor you have done me in 
 paying my poor house a visit," said Sir 
 Walter, drawing a chair close to his 
 guest, and sitting himself therein. " For, 
 truly, may it be said, that where the 
 Lord Burghley cometh, he bringeth hon- 
 or with him for he bringeth the super- 
 latively wisest statesman of his age, 
 which I take to be the honorablest of all 
 titles of honor." 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed the lord treas- 
 urer. 
 
 "And, next," continued his host, "I 
 must make my excuses for keeping you 
 waiting but I made not the stop any 
 longer than I could help for mine own 
 sake, believe me ; for know I well, that 
 every minute that keepeth me from such 
 excellent good society, depriveth me of 
 more true wisdom than a week's hard 
 study could make up." 
 
 " Ho !" ejaculated the other. 
 " The queen, out of her own bountiful 
 humor, hath given me expectation of 
 your coming," added Sir Walter, " de-
 
 64 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 siring me to put you in possession of cer- 
 tain matters touching my expedition to 
 Panama, in the which I intend doing the 
 villanous Spaniards great hurt, and com- 
 ing back, fear not that I shall fail in 
 despoiling them of the Plate fleet to 
 the exceeding, enrichment of her majes- 
 ty's exchequer." 
 
 " Ha !" cried Lord Burghley. 
 
 " The matter stands thus the gentle- 
 men adventurers who with me have sub- 
 scribed the necessary moneys for this 
 golden undertaking, with her majesty's 
 high sanction, have promoted me to be 
 their admiral: and I, desirous that its 
 good effects should not fail for want of a 
 sufficiency of means, did seek of her maj- 
 esty, on profitable conditions, such as- 
 sistance in men, ships, and warlike stores, 
 as seemed unto me to be necessary." 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed the lord treas- 
 urer. 
 
 " And her majesty, with exceeding lib- 
 erality, as I take it, hath condescended 
 to promise me six of her ships, well 
 appointed in all -respects, under the com- 
 mand- of Sir John Burgh, who is to be our 
 vice-admiral." 
 
 " Ho !" cried the old lord. 
 
 "For the which we are willing to 
 allow her one half of the profits of the 
 expedition, arising either from the plun- 
 der of the town, or the taking of ships 
 which, doubtless, will amount to a sum 
 far exceeding that which has been gained 
 by any similar adventure." 
 
 " Ha !" said my Lord Burghley. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh then, at consider- 
 able length, described the nature of the 
 proposed undertaking, its manifest advan- 
 tages, the number of ships and men to 
 be employed the officers engaged, and 
 all concerning the expedition to the mi- 
 nutest particular ; to the which the lord 
 treasurer not only listened with his gravity 
 undisturbed ; but drawing in his mouth 
 tight, as if he were afraid something 
 should drop out of it, he replied only 
 with a " Humph !" a " Ho !" or a " Ha !" 
 as the case might be. It be out of all 
 manner of doubt that my Lord Burghley 
 could speak right eloquently when he 
 chose ; but he was exceeding chary of his 
 discourse when he fancied it was not 
 necessary for him to open his lips. Thus 
 did he preserve the wonderful taciturnity 
 with which he was gifted, throughout 
 the whole of the time ; and looking very 
 grave the whilst, as if he was taken up 
 with some deep thinking, with a slight 
 inclination of his head, he raised himself 
 from the chair, and leaning on his host 
 
 for support, he walked to the gates, 
 where he mounted his pony which a 
 serving-man had in waiting for him, and 
 immediately rode off. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Sir, you did take me up, when I was nothing ; 
 And only yet am something by being yours, 
 You trusted me unknown ; and that which 
 
 were apt 
 
 To construe a simple innocence in me 
 Perhaps, might have been craft ; the cunning of 
 
 a boy 
 
 Hardened in lives and theft : yet ventured you 
 To part rny miseries and me. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 To such a place our camp lemove 
 
 As will no siege abide ; 
 I hate a fool who starves her love 
 
 Only to feed her pride. 
 
 SIB JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 MASTER FRANCIS was so well pleased 
 with his visit to the playhouse, that 
 when he returned to St. Mary Axe, he 
 cared not a fig's end for the rating that 
 the old man gave him for having tarried 
 so long ; and after he laid him down on 
 his humble pallet of rushes, he could not 
 sleep a wink for thinking of the gallant 
 Sir Walter Raleigh and the noble Shaks- 
 peare ; the brave sight he had of Queen 
 Elizabeth, and all the fine lords and 
 ladies, knights and gentlemen ; and the 
 droll things he had seen among the 
 players ; and then he sat about building 
 of castles in the air, whereof he pleased 
 himself mightily ; for though of a modest 
 disposition, the which accorded well 
 with the humbleness of his fortunes 
 since he had recollection ; yet the mys- 
 tery of his parentage sometimes inclining 
 him to believe himself of notable de- 
 scent, and at other times filling him with 
 a dread that he was the deserted offspring 
 of some wretched adventurer, made him 
 irritable upon any slight, and more proud 
 than seemed becoming to one of his 
 state. His nature was very affectionate 
 without doubt, yet was he exceeding 
 sensitive of offence, and the excess of 
 regard with which he looked on those 
 who did him a kindness, disposed him 
 the more readily to yield himself to im- 
 pressions of an opposite tendency. I say 
 thus much here, to put the courteous 
 reader on his guard against expecting 
 too much of him ; for I am not one of 
 those that bring on the picture such mon- 
 strous perfect creatures as do some, the 
 like of which hath eye never seen in this 
 world ; for I put not finer feathers on th*
 
 65 
 
 bird than nature hath given him. If he 
 hath faults, all the better, for being of 
 tender years, then is there the greater 
 chance that he may mend. But, may- 
 hap, this shall be seen in the upshot. 
 
 The cock had crowed more than once, 
 yet still Master Francis continued at his 
 airy speculations this moment did he 
 discover his unknown parent to be of 
 great estate, and publicly was acknowl- 
 edged to be his only son and heir, with 
 the great rejoicing of a fine assembly 
 then, all daintily attired, he was a taking 
 his leisure in a fair pleasance, with his j 
 adored Joanna, very lovingly, having his 
 true friend, Harry Daring, in the back- 
 ground, after he had been doing of a good 
 office even unto his much misliked ac- 
 quaintance, Ralph Goshawk again he 
 was with Master Shakspeare and the ' 
 players, receiving their congratulations ! 
 on the success of a tragedy they had [ 
 brought out for him, which had taken 
 hugely with the spectators and now he J 
 was with Sir Walter Raleigh in some 
 place of office at court, discoursing very j 
 prettily on matters of state, and bearing 
 it among the gallants as bravely as the i 
 best of them. Thus passed he the time ' 
 till he was stirred up by the shrill voice 
 of his uncle from below stairs, abusing 
 him soundly for a lie-a-bed ; at the which j 
 he got up and employed himself at the j 
 necessary drudgery of his miserly kins- 
 man, till it was nigh unto the hour he 
 was desired to go to Durham House, 
 when, seeking occasion to be sent of an 
 errand, in the which he succeeded so far 
 as to be required to importune one who 
 lacked the will or the means of paying 
 a thing he was oft obliged to do, yet never 
 had any heart for he proceeded on his 
 way. 
 
 He had passed beyond the Temple Bar 
 oefore the anxiousness which he was in 
 allowed him to notice much what hap- 
 pened as he went, or the actable places 
 'n his progress ; but as he now thought 
 of the necessity of looking out for the 
 place he was in search of, he soon found 
 himself passing Essex house, then Arun- 
 del house goodly mansions both ; and 
 then Somerset house (a right handsome 
 pile), and the palace of the Savoy: and 
 keeping along the garden walls attached 
 to Worcester house, he got to Salisbury 
 house and a very delicate sight it was 
 to notice these and other fine buildings on 
 the banks of the Thames, with famous 
 gardens and grounds (intersected by run- 
 ning streams) that went down to the wa- 
 ter's edge; then keeping Covent Garden 
 o 
 
 and the Strand Cross at his right, with 
 the Maypole in the distance, he passed 
 by the Ivy bridge, and presently stood 
 before a truly noble structure, which the 
 passengers and wayfarers he had ques- 
 tioned of his way told him was Durham 
 house. In truth, it must needs be a nota- 
 ble fine building, having been an inn of 
 the bishops of Durham, and latterly the 
 residence of the once mighty John Dud- 
 ley, earl of Northumberland. 
 
 On gaining admittance at the wicket, 
 he was sharply questioned of several tall 
 serving-men, clad in gay liveries, with 
 silver badges on their left arms, who 
 seemed loath to let one of his hum- 
 ble appearance have speech with their 
 master. 
 
 " Ho, Roger ! Timothy ! Gabriel ! 
 Thomas ! what now, I say !" called out 
 old Stephen, as he slowly advanced tow- 
 ard the group, scanning them with a 
 somewhat displeased aspect " have ye 
 so little respect for our master's house 
 that ye loiter here gossiping together, 
 while your duties stand- unattended to? 
 In with ye, idlers !" 
 
 " Here be a stranger, Stephen Short- 
 cake, that seeketh our master," cried 
 Roger. 
 
 " And he will have it Sir Walter bade 
 him come," exclaimed Timothy. 
 
 "And heventureth to say that he hath 
 business with him," said Gabriel. 
 
 ''Worse than all, he will not budge 
 till he hath had speech of him," added 
 Thomas. 
 
 "And who bade you be an hinderance 
 to him ?" asked Stephen sharply, after 
 he had sufficiently scrutinized the modest 
 demeanor of Master Francis. " Have I 
 not told ye, many a time and oft, that 
 when a stranger presented himself, seek- 
 ing Sir Walter, and ye had doubts of his 
 errand, ye were to call me ? Away with 
 ye, knaves, and attend to the wants of 
 our master's guests." 
 
 Then, as soon as the serving-men had 
 disappeared into the house, which they 
 did in marvellous quick time, the old 
 man courteously addressed Master Fran- 
 cis thus : " I pray you, good youth, he 
 not vexed at the churlishness of those 
 varlets: follow me, if it please you, and 
 I will take care that you shall have op- 
 portunity to speak with Sir Walter ; but 
 that can not be at present, for he hath 
 with him a power of noble commanders, 
 sea-captains, men of war, and the like, 
 talking upon pressing matters. If your 
 business be not too urgent, doubtless it 
 may tarry awhile and no loss happen."
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "I would willingly wait Sir Walter 
 Raleigh's leisure," replied the youth. 
 
 " Then come you with me and wel- 
 come," said Stephen. "But let me tell 
 you, without meaning offence in it, that 
 at the present there be no vacancy for a 
 serving-man." 
 
 " I seek no such office," answered the 
 youth, rather proudly ; indeed, so little 
 did his ambition relish the idea of being 
 considered only worthy to be a serving- 
 man, that he stopped of a sudden, and 
 seemed inclined to turn back and give 
 over all hope of advancement from that 
 quarter. 
 
 " Nay, take it not ill of me, I pray you," 
 exclaimed the old man, who saw, by the 
 confusion in the youth's countenance, that 
 which he had given utterance to had 
 created some unpleasantness, " for all 
 that you be not so bountifully garnished 
 as many who come here on such a seek- 
 ing, I could swear, at a glimpse, you are 
 well worthy better hap. Come on, I 
 entreat of you ; and though I be but 
 Stephen Shortcake, yet having served 
 Sir Walter Raleigh a long service, and 
 I trust, I may add a faithful, he hath of 
 his excellent goodness thought proper to 
 advance me to his confidence, and to the 
 office of butler ; I may without presump- 
 tion say I have some influence with him ; 
 and if I could do aught for you, believe 
 me I shall be well inclined to say a good 
 word in your behalf." 
 
 " I am thankful for your kind offer," 
 replied Master Francis ; and then, with 
 an effort to conquer the disagreeableness 
 of his feelings, he advanced with his 
 companion into the house. The old 
 butler appeared to be vastly taken with 
 the youth ; but his quiet, pensive counte- 
 nance and his tall and elegant figure, 
 were enough to have made friends for 
 him wherever he went. 
 
 " Come you with me, good sir," con- 
 tinued Stephen Shortcake, " I will see 
 that your business be attended to at the 
 
 first fitting time, and" Here he 
 
 brake off his speech at once, for coming 
 to the door of the house as Sir Walter 
 Raleigh and some friends were leaving 
 it, he hastened to open the gates, and 
 Master Francis drew aside to let the 
 company pass. 
 
 " I will see that everything is got ready 
 with proper speed," said a very valiant- 
 looking gentleman, as he walked along. 
 
 " Thanks, Sir John Burgh," replied 
 Sir Walter, " I have set my all upon this 
 cast, and so many brave spirits have em- 
 barked with me in the adventure, with 
 
 large portions of their substance, that I 
 am exceeding anxious nothing should be 
 wanting to give us the end we look for." 
 
 " O' my life, Sir Waller, I long to have 
 a hand in it," said another, of the like 
 gallant nature. 
 
 " That wish I of all things, Sir Martin 
 Frobisher," answered Raleigh, " for know 
 I of an indisputable truth 'twould greatly 
 be to our advantage could we count upon 
 such profitable assistance." Then with 
 many courtesies, which none knew better 
 how to use, he saw them leave the gates. 
 
 "See I not he of whom mine esteemed 
 friend Master Shakspeare spoke but 
 yesterday ?" inquired Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 stopping before the youth and regarding 
 him somewhat kindly, as well as with 
 attention. 
 
 " If it please you, I am," replied Mas- 
 ter Francis, now looking and feeling 
 much abashed. 
 
 "Master Shakspeare hath given mo 
 good account of you," continued Sir 
 Walter, " and I am well disposed in 
 consequence thereof to do you what good 
 office lieth in my ability. I am in want 
 of a secretary. Think you you should 
 like to venture yourself in that capacity ?" 
 
 "I doubt much I am quite fit for it," 
 answered the youth with a very sincere 
 modesty. 
 
 " Of your sufficiency, from what hath 
 been said in your behalf, I can have no 
 question," said Raleigh, much pleased at 
 the other's behavior, " therefore if it ac- 
 cord with your inclination, be sure of 
 having liberal treatment. Are you con- 
 tent?^ 
 
 " Indeed, I am delighted to such a 
 measure" 
 
 "Enough!" exclaimed Sir Walter, 
 good-humored ly interrupting him, as he 
 saw from his manner there was no doubt 
 of his satisfaction ; then turning to his 
 butler, who stood respectfully at a little 
 distance, added, "Stephen, see that Mas- 
 ter Francis hath all things proper as my 
 secretary." 
 
 " I will lose no time upon it, an't please 
 you, Sir Walter," replied the old man 
 cheerfully. 
 
 "I will myself instruct you in your 
 duties," added his patron, "but at present 
 you must go with Stephen, who will see 
 you want for nothing." Having said this 
 very encouragingly, he went into the 
 house to join his guests. 
 
 " I congratulate you, sweet sir," ex- 
 claimed Stephen Shortcake, as soon as 
 his master was gone. " Think not ill of 
 me for fancying you driven to such ex-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 67 
 
 tremt shifts as what I spoke of. I did it 
 out of no unkindness to yon, or slight 
 upon your merit, believe me. When you 
 know me well enough, I doubt not you 
 shall give me credit for better inten- 
 tions, " 
 
 " Indeed, I am in too pleasant a mood 
 to think of it," replied Master Francis, 
 who was as rejoiced at this favorable 
 turn in his fortunes as may be conceived 
 of him. It was just that sort of employ- 
 ment he had most inclination for, and 
 that seemed to give his ambitious hope 
 the most ground to build upon. 
 
 " I pray you, good sir, follow me," 
 said the old butler, " I must about my 
 master's bidding so while he is engaged 
 with the noble lords and the men of war, 
 I will see that you have proper entertain- 
 ment." Then entering the house (talk- 
 ing a fair part of the time) he led Master 
 Francis through divers spacious rooms, 
 furnished very costly, and along sundry 
 passages, wherein were many serving- 
 men, dressed like those before spoken of 
 (some of whom he reproved sharply for 
 not seeming sufficiently attentive to their 
 duties), till he entered a chamber of more 
 humble appearance. 
 
 " I would fain find you more honorable 
 lodging," observed Stephen, " but this 
 being my room, and one in which you 
 are not like to meet intruders, methought 
 'twould be best. I pray you put up with 
 it for the nonce feel as content in it as 
 you may, and when all proper provision 
 be made for your residence with us, then 
 shall you be more becomingly accom- 
 modated." 
 
 Master Francis found no dissatisfaction 
 in the chamber, which in truth was well 
 stored with comforts, so that when 
 Stephen Shortcake left him with a cour- 
 teous excuse for his absence, he flung 
 himself in a convenient chair, and did 
 make comparisons with it and the room 
 he had at his uncle's, in the which the 
 former gained prodigiously, as may be 
 supposed. He then gave himself up to 
 his own reflections, which were gratify- 
 ing to him in a very prodigal measure. 
 He felt like a prisoner that hath cast off 
 his gyves, and is a free man, after a long 
 and terrible imprisonment; for he had 
 got away from his miserly old kinsman, 
 who had led him a pretty life of it so 
 far as his remembrance might go. Then 
 his thoughts reverted to his adored 
 Joanna, and he for some time found very 
 exquisite satisfaction in imagining how 
 pleased she would be to know of his 
 success. Here I must leave him for 
 
 awhile for what may be thought more 
 attractive matter. 
 
 It was about the afternoon of the same 
 day that a gallant, well dressed, without 
 affectation, of a free carriage and noble 
 aspect somewhat careless in his de- 
 meanor, yet evidently meaning no sort of 
 offence in fact, no other than Master 
 Shakspeare himself was seen walking 
 up and down upon London bridge, now 
 looking in at the shops, and sauntering 
 about the houses there, with very much 
 the look of one who is in waiting for an- 
 other. He amused himself for some time 
 with regarding the passengers, whether 
 of foot or on horse, and speculating from 
 their looks of what disposition they might 
 be ; but he seemed to tire of this at last 
 as who will not tire who is kept an un- 
 conscionable time waiting for one who 
 delays coming? and after looking wist- 
 fully several times toward the city side 
 of the bridge, as it seemed without avail, 
 he was on the point of leaving the place 
 with what philosophy he might, when all 
 at once his look brightened up wonder- 
 fulfy, and with the pleasantest air possi- 
 ble, he made for a very pretty woman, 
 well and daintily attired, who was ap- 
 proaching him. " Thanks, my sweet, for 
 this coming !" exclaimed he gallantly, as 
 he took his place by her side, and they 
 walked together. " But in honest truth, 
 I had like to have been out of patience." 
 
 " If you loved me but half as well as 
 you have sworn you have," replied she, in 
 an admirable soft voice, "you would have 
 had patience enough to have tarried here 
 till doomsday and longer than that. But 
 I was detained, gentle sir, or I would have 
 been truer to mine appointment." 
 
 "I doubt it not," said Master Shak- 
 speare ; "and the delight I now enjoy in 
 gazing on your perfections doth counter- 
 balance whatever disquietude I found in 
 your delay. Truly never hath true lover 
 suffered as have I since that most endear- 
 ing hour I chanced to meet you seeing 
 the archery in Finsbury Fields. Me- 
 thought the queen's company of liege 
 bowmen showed marvellous skill but it 
 hath since been made known to me, that 
 there was one nearer than they, whose 
 archery beat them hollow." 
 
 " An excellent fine conceit, by my 
 troth," exclaimed his "fair companion, 
 laughingly, " and cometh with marvel- 
 lous good grace from one who out of all 
 contradiction draweth 'the longbow' very 
 prettily." 
 
 " O' my life I swear to you" 
 
 " Nay, swear not, good sir/" 
 
 
 cried the
 
 68 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 other, interrupting him; "for that be 
 somewhat more than is required of you. 
 Would you not take oath upon.it that 
 mine eyes outflash the diamond; my lips 
 be ruddier than the cherry and that my 
 cheek putteth to shame the blushing of 
 the rose ?" 
 
 " Doubtless would I," replied he, look- 
 ing upon her features, which in truth 
 were exceeding comely. 
 
 "And think you I can find interest in 
 that I have heard so oft?" inquired she. 
 " Other gallants have I met with, who 
 were of such bountiful disposition that 
 they would put all nature into disgrace 
 for allowing me to leave her excellences 
 so far behind. "Was not that liberal of 
 them? But methinks it would have 
 sounded better from their lips had their 
 object been as generous as their words. 
 They would have had me believe myself 
 a deity forsooth ; but had I granted their 
 prayers, what a poor idol of clay I should 
 quickly have been thought." 
 
 Master Shakspeare said nothing ; but 
 he marvelled greatly at the tone and 
 manner of the speaker, the which, differ- 
 ing from his experience, made him the 
 more inclined to a nearer intimacy. 
 " Count me not as one of those, I pray 
 you," he exclaimed at last, " I look up- 
 on you as a truly admirable woman one 
 withal no woman's son could look on 
 without admiring, and could not admire 
 without loving desperately. Then as for ! 
 comparisons between your excellences 
 and those of nature, I do assert, and hope 
 to live and die in that opinion, that of all 
 fair things that give beauty to this flow- 
 ery earth, the loveliness of woman ex- 
 ceedeth them infinitely. Place side by 
 side with those thrilling orbs the brightest 
 stone that ever glistened in the sunbeam, 
 and while the spectator admireth the lat- 
 ter only for its brilliance, he must find 
 quickly he can not gaze upon the warmer 
 and more glorious radiance of your eyes, 
 without feeling the flood of life rushing 
 through his veins like a mighty river 
 breaking from its banks. The one hath 
 no expression the other hath a thou- 
 sand. And let him who preferreth fruits 
 and flowers, note the honey-sweet smile 
 that playeth round those tempting lips, 
 or press the eloquent softness of those 
 blushing cheeks; and I will wager my 
 life on it, he will presently leave the 
 poor unloving things he hath so much 
 admired, for the rich beauty of such deli- 
 cate flesh and blood as it is now my hap- 
 piness to behold." 
 
 "I'faith these are brave words," re- 
 
 plied his fair companion ; " but I doubt 
 not you would say as much to any other 
 that taketh your fancy for the while." 
 
 " You much abuse me by that opin- 
 ion," said Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " Yet will I acknowledge to you," ad- 
 ded she, " that you have in some way 
 pleased me. Your language and bearing 
 differ from all I have had acquaintance 
 with save one ; and I live in hopes that 
 you are of a better sort. 'Tis strange that 
 you have never told me your name." 
 
 "Not more so can it be than that you 
 have refrained from telling me yours," 
 observed he. 
 
 " Mine is Joanna," added the other. 
 
 "Joanna!" exclaimed Master Shak- 
 speare, as if he had heard the name be- 
 fore, for in truth he had, but had forgot 
 the occasion of it ; " and what else ?" 
 
 " No matter that is enough to call me 
 by," replied she. " And now, if it please 
 you, yours ?" 
 
 "Mine is William." 
 
 "William what?" inquired Joanna. 
 
 " No matter that is enough to call me 
 by," replied Master Shakspeare with a 
 smile. 
 
 " You will not say ?" she asked, as if 
 she was curious to know. " Then must I 
 take my leave of you, for I am in haste 
 to return home." 
 
 " Let me at least see you to the street 
 in which you dwell," said he, as he was 
 standing with her at the end of the bridge. 
 " I should hold myself but a sorry gallant 
 to leave so fair a creature to find her way 
 home unattended." 
 
 " Oh, if your name is such that it may 
 not be told, the sooner we part company 
 the better for me," observed Joanna, smi- 
 ling in her turn. 
 
 " Nay, it is not so bad as that, believe 
 me," answered the other. " In truth, I 
 may say, it is a name in some repute. 
 But it may just as well be told walking 
 as standing." And at that she hesitated 
 not to proceed onward. " Doth it not 
 strike you," he continued, "that what is 
 fair in one case is honest in another ; for 
 as you have given me but your Christian 
 name, have I given you but mine : and 
 yet are you not content." 
 
 " Were you as well disposed toward 
 me as you have asserted, observed his 
 fair companion, who, as is usual, grew 
 more inquisitive the longer her curiosity 
 remained ungratified, " you would have 
 made no question about the matter, 
 faith it says but little for your regard. 
 Methinks you must either have an il) 
 name, or hold me of so little account, tha'
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 69 
 
 you think me undeserving of knowing 
 you." 
 
 " Neither, o' my life !" exclaimed Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare. " Never met I a pretty 
 woman I so much desired to be well 
 known unto and as for my name, I do 
 assure you it standeth well in the public 
 estimation." 
 
 " By my troth, 'tis hard to credit." re- 
 plied Joanna, though the more intent 
 from what he said, of getting the knowl- 
 edge she required. Just at that moment 
 the Lord Southampton, the Lord Pem- 
 broke, and other noble gallants, to whom 
 he was well known, came riding by very 
 finely apparelled, and pulled off their hats 
 to him. " Know you those princely-look- 
 ing gentlemen ?" she inquired. 
 
 " It is mine excellent good friend the 
 Lord Southampton and certain of his ac- 
 quaintance," replied he : at which she 
 became all the more curious, and as they 
 arrived at the corner of Eastcheap, she 
 said, "Here is the street in which I live, 
 where I must leave you : but your name 
 hath not yet been told to me." 
 
 " Nay, let me behold the dwelling in 
 which lives so inestimable a creature," 
 asked the other very pressingly. "And 
 as for my name it may be told in one 
 street as well as in another," and they 
 continued to walk together. 
 
 "What a place for traffic is this !" ex- 
 claimed Master Shakspeare, "and how 
 busy do the citizens seem in the different 
 shops and warehouses ! Methinks I can 
 hear the chink of the money ; or at least 
 the ready laugh of the chapman at his 
 customer's jest. These be they, fair Jo- 
 anna! who are UD early and late, labor- 
 ing to the utmost'every day of their lives 
 that others may have the advantage of 
 it whose greatest pleasure consisteih 
 in the counting their gains, and great- 
 est consolation is the knowing that they 
 are worth something more than their 
 neighbors. These be they who are ac- 
 quainted with no virtue unless it be in 
 the possession of wealth ; and believe 
 there can not be any vice so abominable 
 as poverty. In their idea, aldermen are 
 on a footing with angels ; and to be in the 
 city compter is to be damned to all eter- 
 nity. They will wink at one who de- 
 frauds the orphan and robs the widow of 
 her right, if he hath done it to some tune ; 
 but at the necessitous wretch, who is 
 driven to do any small villany, they shout, 
 'Oh, the horrid rogue." and" would have 
 him hanged forthwith. A man who hath 
 his thousands might turn his wife and 
 children iatc the street, and live as sen- 
 
 sually as he pleased, ana they would 
 never wag a tongue at him ; but if an- 
 other, who liveth honestly with what lit- 
 tle he gains, be but suspected of kissing 
 a pretty wench on the sly, they would 
 raise such a hubbub about his ears, and 
 seem so shocked at his iniquity, that the 
 poor fellow should be right glad to escape 
 out of the city with a whole skin. These 
 be they but why stop you here ?" he in- 
 quired suddenly, finding that his com- 
 panion proceeded no further. 
 
 " This is the house in which I live," 
 replied she, who had not been inattentive 
 to what had passed. " But shame upon 
 you for keeping me unanswered ! you 
 have not told me your name yet." 
 
 " 0' my life I am exceeding tired, fair 
 Joanna," said Master Shakspeare. "It 
 would be but a charity to ask me in and 
 as for my name why it may as well be 
 told sitting as walking." 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to add that 
 | Master Shakspeare was ushered up stairs 
 into the best room ; in the which he 
 quickly made himself at home, as may 
 be believed. Indeed, Joanna found his 
 conversation so agreeable, that for a time 
 I she quite forgot to ask his name of him ; 
 but in truth he gave her not the opportu- 
 nity, for as soon as one subject seemed 
 about to be exhausted, he launched out 
 with another ; and displayed such abun- 
 dance of wit, genius, and knowledge of 
 the world, that she appeared quite in a 
 maze with wonder and admiration. 
 
 " Since you talk so well upon poetry," 
 said she, when she found opportunity for 
 speech, " I have some lines here of which 
 ! I should like mightily to have your judg- 
 ment." Then from a drawer she took a 
 i paper, which she brought toward him; 
 and added, " they were writ by a worthy 
 gentleman, who doth fancy, much after 
 your own fashion, that he is in love with 
 me, and pays me such fine compliments, 
 as you will therein peruse. Perhaps you 
 ! also write verses?" 
 
 " A little," replied Master Shakspeare 
 with a smile : and, believing that he had 
 a rival in theffiehl, he opened the paper. 
 His astonishment may in some degree be 
 conceived when it is known that he be- 
 gan to read the very poem he had given 
 to Master Burbage. He saw in an in- 
 stant how the affair stood, and was in no 
 small degree amused thereat. 
 
 "What think you of them?" inquired 
 Joanna. 
 
 " 0' my life, 1 think of them very in- 
 differently," answered he. 
 
 " Indeed !" she exclaimed with some
 
 70 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS*. 
 
 surprise, "I marvel at that for they 
 seem to me admirably ingenious. By my 
 troth, between ourselves, I have my 
 doubts that they were writ' by him who 
 brought them me ; for he seemeth such 
 a mad, hare-brained, wild, wilful gal- 
 lant. I have given him but monstrous 
 little encouragement, yet doth he go on 
 at such a rate, on would think he was 
 in so poor a case for the love of me, that 
 he would be a knocking at death's dopr 
 unless I smiled upon him." 
 
 " Oh, the exaggerating varlet !" cried 
 the other, laughing exceedingly as he 
 compared in his own mind Master Bur- 
 bage's statement with what he had just 
 heard. 
 
 " And when I told him I doubted his 
 authorship," continued his fair compan- 
 ion, "he swore by Apollo and all the 
 Nine that he wrote every line on't; and 
 that it was the worst stuff he ever did." 
 
 " He said that, did he !" exclaimed 
 Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " Ay, that he did," added Joanna ; " and 
 moreover, vowed to me most solemnly 
 that he was considered such an exquisite 
 fine hand at the making of verses, that 
 his friend Will Shakspeare, among many 
 others, was oft obliged to borrow a line 
 of him when he came to a halt in his 
 measure." 
 
 " Oh ! Dick, Dick, Dick," cried he, in 
 a more subdued voice. 
 
 "And when I asked of him bis opin- 
 ion of Master Shakspeare and his 
 plays," continued the other, " he answer- 
 ed slightingly, 'Why, a to be sure, 
 he was very well ; but no one knows how 
 much he hath been beholden to me for 
 all his best verses.' " 
 
 "If he deserved not cudgeling for this, 
 then am I no judge of merit," exclaimed 
 Master Shakspeare ; " but of course you 
 know him, fair Joanna ?" 
 
 " He hath told me that he was one of 
 the queen's players;" replied she ; " but 
 else I know of him as little as I do of you. 
 Tell me, I pray you, of what name you are, 
 for in truth I am near tired of asking." 
 
 " Hush !'' cried he, " there cometh some 
 one to the door ;" for a knocking was 
 heard at that momeitt. 
 
 " 'Tis he," replied the mercer's daugh- 
 ter, " and till now I had forgot he prom- 
 ised to pay me a visit." 
 
 " Hist ! hist ! Joanna," cried a voice 
 from the other side of the door, "'tis I, 
 Richard the Third." 
 
 " 'Tis Dick sure enough," thought Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare: then whispering to his 
 fair companion, " Leave him to me, I 
 
 pray you," he advanced softly to the 
 door. 
 
 "Hist! hist! adorable Joanna," ex- 
 claimed Master Burbage, through the 
 keyhole, " 'tis I, Richard the Third." 
 
 " Go, get thee hence, thou crook-back- 
 ed tyrant,* 1 replied Master Shakspeare 
 aloud ; " knowest thou not that William 
 the Conqueror reigned before Richard 
 the Third." 
 
 "What, Will !" cried the other in the 
 utmost astonishment ; " what ill wind 
 brought thee, here ? Oh ! thou abhorred 
 traitor, thou hast betrayed me." 
 
 "Nay, thou errest in that, Master 
 Dick," responded his old associate, " for 
 knew I not till this moment that the truly 
 adorable Joanna was known to thee. 
 But if I had taken advantage of thy con- 
 fidence, it would have been but proper 
 return for the most atrocious things thou 
 hast said of me to this exquisite creature. 
 So get thee gone, and quickly ; for in 
 truth thou hast interrupted the infinite 
 gratification I have bftn receiving." 
 
 " Oh ! most sweet Joanna," cried Mas- 
 ter Burbage, in a marvellous moving 
 voice, " my heart's treasure ! my soul's 
 idol ! my angel upon earth ! my every- 
 thing ! I do implore you, through the 
 keyhole (because the door is fast, and I 
 can not get in), by that fathomless ocean 
 of love I bear for your inconceivable ex- 
 cellences, get rid of that villain straight, 
 for it be utter destruction to be seen iu 
 his pestilent company." 
 
 " Who is he ?" asked she, laughingly ; 
 although she began to have some sus- 
 picion of who he was. 
 
 " The very notoriousest . villain that 
 walks, adorable Joanna," replied he, out- 
 side ; "he hath done such mischief 
 among women as you would find it hor- 
 rible to think on. Item, five-and-twenty 
 maids utterly undone fifty widows sent 
 stark mad and a hundred and odd wives 
 made miserable for life. I do assure you, 
 sweet Joanna, that through him there 
 hath lately been such abundance of 
 crowner's quests, that the like hath not 
 been known since the memory of man. 
 Indeed, it be beyond dispute, that half a 
 dozen stout fellows are kept in constant 
 employ fishing distracted damsels out of 
 the conduit, such a traitor is he to your 
 dear sex. And as for hanging, the citi- 
 zens scarce dare leave a nail sticking in 
 their wainscots, so many of their wives 
 and daughters have of late been found 
 suspended to them, with these melan- 
 choly words pinned upon their kittles, 
 'Oh ! cruel cruel Shakspeare.' "
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 71 
 
 " Are you such a wretch as this, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare ?" inquired Joanna, as 
 seriously as she could. 
 
 " No, on ray life," replied he," laughing 
 very heartily. 
 
 " Believe him not, dear Joanna," ex- 
 claimed Master Burbage, " he hath a 
 tongue that would undo the Gordian 
 knot; therefore your undoing would be 
 but an easy matter with such a thorough 
 villain. Oh ! incomparably sweet Jo- 
 anna ! here on my bended knees, outside 
 the door (for lack of being in), I conjure 
 you injure not your delicate reputation 
 by talking to such a fellow. Listen not 
 to what he hath to say, for truth and he 
 are in no sort of acquaintance : he will 
 swear you black's white, such a horrid 
 reprobate is he ; and then, on the instant, 
 turn round and take oath it be crimson. 
 I have preached to him by the hour, in 
 hopes of getting him to repent of his 
 villanies ; but, I say it with tears in my 
 eyes, adorable Joanna, he is incorrigi- 
 ble ; and as clean past all good counsel 
 as a chicken with the pip." 
 
 "Prythee go on, Dick," cried Master 
 Shakspeare, very merrily his fair com- 
 panion evidently being in much the same 
 mood ; " I admire thy invention hugely." 
 " Out, traitor !" exclaimed the other. 
 " If I had not heard this, I should 
 have doubted thou wert clever enough to 
 say the witty things thou hast." 
 " Away, villain !" 
 " But since I have known thou art 
 such an exquisite fine hand at making 
 verses," continued Master Shakspeare, 
 <l that 1, of many others, am oft obliged 
 to borrow a line of thee when I happen 
 to come to a halt in my measure ; and 
 remember how much I am beholden to 
 thee for all my best scenes, I marvel not 
 at all at thy present cleverness, and do 
 promise to have a better opinion of thee 
 than I have done." 
 
 " A fico for thy opinion," replied Mas- 
 ter Burbage ; " all stratagems are fair in 
 love and war ; and when I gave her thy 
 verses" 
 
 "What, wrote you not the poem?' 
 quickly inquired Joanna, interruptin 
 him ; " did you not swear to me by 
 Apollo and all the Nine, that you wroie 
 every line on't, and that it was the wors 
 stuff you ever did ?" 
 
 " What a goose art thou for not keep 
 ing thine own counsel," said his friend 
 " for though thou hast used me ver 
 scurvily, I would not have betrayed thee 
 for it." 
 
 " Let me in, I pray you, most exquisit 
 
 Joanna," exclaimed he through the key- 
 lole, " and I will say such things to you 
 hat you shall be satisfied of my beha- 
 vior." 
 
 " Nay, if you can put on me Master 
 Shakspeare's lines as your own," said 
 *oanna, " I doubt hugely you can be 
 more sincere in other matters." 
 " Pardon me this one small fault," re- 
 lied he, very movingly, " which I have 
 >een led into from exceeding love of 
 r our ravishing perfections, and send 
 iway that fellow, who, by this hand, is 
 he errantest deceiver that lives ; and let 
 me see you more commodiously than 
 hrough the chinks of the door, which in 
 ruth afford me but a mere glimpse of 
 rour infinite beauties ; and if I do not 
 ove you for it, in such a sort as will 
 make amends for my transgression, then 
 janish me for ever." 
 
 " Dost take me for thy friend, Dick ?" 
 inquired Master Shakspeare, leaning 
 against the door. 
 
 " Open the door, and get thee gone, 
 and then thou shah be held a friend in- 
 deed," replied Master Burbage. 
 
 " Well my bowels yearn toward 
 thee exceedingly," continued the other. 
 
 '' Ah ! do they so ? Thou wert ever a 
 true friend," said he on the outside : " do 
 open the door there's a sweet Will." 
 
 " But am I the very no tori ousest villain 
 that walks, Dick?" 
 
 "By this light thou art a very angel ! 
 Excellent Will, open the door." 
 
 " And have I really undone so many 
 women as thou hast said ?" 
 
 " Nay, on my life, thou hast so good a 
 heart, thou wouldst not undo a mouse. 
 Open the door, sweet Will, I prythee." 
 " Well, Dick" 
 " What sayest, old friend ?" 
 " For thy consolation in this extrem- 
 ity" 
 Ah !" 
 
 " Dost listen, Dick ?" 
 " With all my ears, excellent Will." 
 " I do assure thee she is a most 
 delicious creature." 
 
 " Out on thee, thou aggravating tan- 
 talizing abominable caitiff!" cried Mas- 
 ter Burbage, impatiently ; for Master 
 Shakspeare had said the preceding sen- 
 tence so slowly, and with so much em- 
 phasis on the last words ; and the sentence 
 was so different from what he had ex- 
 pected, that he seemed terribly put out 
 at it. "I do forswear thy acquaintance 
 from this. Nay, I will not remain 
 another moment in thy villanous neigh- 
 borhood ;" and whilst Master Shakspeare
 
 72 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 and the beautiful Joanna were laughing 
 heartily, Master Burbage made air haste 
 to get out of the house. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 I am as I am, and so will I be ; 
 But how that I am none knoweth truly : 
 Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free, 
 I am as 1 am, and so will I be. 
 
 SIR THOMAS WYATT. 
 
 Fraud showed in comely clothes a lovely look, 
 
 An humble cast of eye, a sober pace ; 
 
 And so sweet speech, a man might her have took 
 
 For him that said, " Hail. Mary, full of grace !" 
 
 But all the rest deformedly did look ; 
 
 As full of filthiness and foul disgrace ; 
 
 Hid under long, large garments that she wore, 
 
 Under the which a poisoned knife she bore. 
 
 SIR JOHN HARRINGTON. 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH did find ex- 
 ceeding difficulty in the setting out upon 
 his expedition, for Queen Elizabeth, in 
 no way prodigal of her means where 
 there might be doubt of advantage to 
 her, readily enough listened to the mis- 
 givings of Lord Burghley, who was 
 famous for keeping a tight hold upon the 
 treasury ; and the six goodly ships she 
 had promised, dwindled to two. She 
 delayed his starting from time to time, 
 upon some insufficient pretext ; and even 
 seemed inclined, from things that his 
 enemies gave out to his disadvantage, 
 the instant he had left the court, to take 
 from him the command and give it to 
 another ; but such a proceeding his asso- 
 ciates in the adventure would not hear of, 
 as she knew. At last he sailed with a 
 fleet of fifteen sail, whereof two the 
 Garland and the Foresight under the 
 command of Sir John Burgh, were those 
 of her majesty's providing; and the rest, 
 with the provision of all things neces- 
 sary, had been furnished by himself, Sir 
 John Hawkins, and others his good 
 friends the captains, soldiers, and sail- 
 ors therein, being men of notable resolu- 
 tion, and of sufficient experience in such 
 matters ; but contrary winds obliging him 
 to put back, and these continuing to blow 
 for a long time, he was forced to keep 
 harbor till he could proceed with better 
 hope of success. 
 
 In the meantime, there were not want- 
 ing those who made the opposition of the 
 elements assume the appearance of culpa- 
 ble neglect in Sir Walter Raleigh, in 
 consequence of which he had barely put 
 to sea again when he was overtaken by 
 Sir Martin Frobisher in a pinnace of my 
 lord admiral's, called the Disdain, bring- 
 
 ing her majesty's letters of recall, with a 
 command to leave his charge in the hands 
 of her officers. This, it may well be be- 
 lieved, he liked not to do seeing that he 
 had been in so much trouble and expense 
 (amounting to a third of the whole cost) 
 for the originating and fitting out of the 
 expedition, and was in a manner con- 
 strained'not to abandon the interests of 
 his* fellow-adventurers, who had put all 
 their trust in his valor and skilfulness ; 
 so, fancying he could well excuse himself 
 on his return, he would in no case re- 
 linquish his command : but held on his 
 course. Speaking with a vessel from the 
 Azores, he learned that Philip of Spain, 
 getting notice of his expedition, had sent 
 express orders to all the ports of the West 
 India islands, and in Terra Firma, to lay 
 no treasure abroad that year : therefore 
 there could be small hope of getting the 
 Plate fleet : but he turned not back till 
 he met wilh a dreadful storm athwart 
 Cape Finisterre that sunk some of his 
 boats and pinnaces. Then giving such 
 orders as he thought necessary for their 
 future conduct, he put about ship ; still in 
 hope, but exceeding vexed. 
 
 It may well be believed that his beauti- 
 ful young wife liked not his venturing 
 himself on a voyage at that time, and 
 parted not with him without infinite 
 regret, and some fears of the issue ; for 
 Dame Elizabeth was in continual dread 
 that the marriage would be discovered 
 of the queen, whose temper she had much 
 experience of; and doubted not that when 
 she came to know of it, she would be 
 wrath, beyond all hope of forgiveness, 
 against her husband. Therefore went 
 she in constant alarm. Never loved wo- 
 man more devotedly than she loved Sir 
 Waller Raleigh ; and as she could scarce- 
 ly be brought to allow him to peril his 
 fortunes for her safety so entire and un- 
 selfish was her regard for him she could 
 do nothing but blame her own affection- 
 ateness for having brought him into such 
 a strait. Her chiefest care was to deny 
 her own marriage, which, she knew not 
 how, had got bruited about ; and she 
 made Sir Walter promise, not only to 
 deny it, were he questioned, but by those 
 attentions she knew the queen most liked, 
 to put all thought of it out of her majesty's 
 head. Her father and the merry Alice 
 sought all occasion to second her en- 
 deavors, seeing that it was of so much 
 moment to her peace of mind; but all 
 their cares, and all her cousin's pleasant 
 talk, removed not from her the conviction 
 that she had been the ruin of him whose
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 73 
 
 happiness she would have died to se- 
 cure. 
 
 As for Master Francis -never youth 
 went on so prosperously. Sir Walter 
 seeing that he was apt and well disposed, 
 every day took a greater liking to him. 
 He would have him taught under his own 
 eye all gentlemanly accomplishments, in 
 the which he made such rapid progress 
 as delighted him amazingly ; and would 
 frequently discourse to him of such mat- 
 ters as he thought the most likely to he 
 of service hereafter. Such a change took 
 place in the scrivener's nephew, that he 
 looked in no way the same person. He 
 dressed in style, with a goodly feather in 
 his hat, and a handsome rapier at his 
 side; and having mingled continually 
 with gallant knights and gentlemen, some 
 of his shyness began to wear off. In 
 truth, he was as handsome a youth as any 
 of them, though still exceeding fair and 
 delicate ; the only sign of man in his ap- 
 pearance being a slight mustache on his 
 upper lip the which, had G-ib the call- 
 boy seen, might somewhat have shaken 
 his conviction of Master Francis's fitness 
 to " do the women." 
 
 The duties of Sir Walter Raleigh's 
 secretary consisted in most part of writing 
 letters, keeping a journal of the voyage, 
 and putting down, at his patron's dictation, 
 remarks on such subjects as he was dis- 
 posed to treat of. Of this employment 
 the young secretary never tired, it was so 
 agreeable to his humor; and so well did 
 he quit himself, that he soon gained Sir 
 Walter's entire confidence. That he 
 thought much of his miserly uncle is not 
 to be expected, but the mercer's daughter 
 was a frequent subject of his reflections ; 
 and his last interview with her oft gave 
 to his memory exceeding satisfaction. 
 He had written to her since several times, 
 and had received from her a few letters 
 the which, though they were in some 
 degree kind, he liked not, for they ap- 
 peared unto him scarce kind enough ; 
 but though this gave him no little uneasi- 
 ness, he doubted not when he returned, 
 to find her everything he wished. Noth- 
 ing could exceed the respect and admira- 
 tion he felt for Sir Walter Raleigh, for he 
 was^of that disposition to be most sensible 
 of Sir Walter's friendliness toward him ; 
 and his own intelligence which, for his 
 years, was great indeed, enabled him the 
 more correctly to appreciate the other's 
 singular fine genius in all things. 
 
 One evening, as they were homeward 
 oound, they were together in Sir Walter's 
 cabin, which was pleasantly fined up with 
 
 all manner of charts, some few books on 
 choice subjects, and divers instruments 
 necessary for the voyage. Master Fran- 
 cis sat writing at a table that was made 
 fast to the flooring, and which was light- 
 ed by a lamp that swung from above ; and 
 his patron walked up and down the room 
 with folded arms and grave aspect, oc- 
 casionally stopping to dictate something 
 to his secretary which the latter presently 
 put to paper. This had continued for 
 some two hours or more, when Sir Walter 
 stopped in his walk, and the other think- 
 ing that he was about to say something 
 of moment, leaning his left arm on the 
 table and holding his pen in readiness, in 
 an attitude of profound attention did look 
 up into his patron's face ; but Sir Walter, 
 at that time, thought of no other thing 
 than the pale and pensive countenance 
 of the youth before him, for the light 
 from the lamp falling on it as he sat in 
 that position, gave to him an appearance 
 so delicate that it clean put all other sub- 
 jects out of his head. 
 
 " So you know not your parentage ?" 
 said he at last in a very friendly tone of 
 voice. Master Francis was taken by 
 surprise as it were at this, as he looked 
 for other sort of speech from him ; and 
 his features presently were clouded wiife 
 
 ' a sudden melancholy. 
 
 " Aught more than I have told you, 
 
 \ honorable sir, know I not," he replied. 
 
 " 'Tis a strange history," observed the 
 other. 
 
 " In truth it is," said the secretary very 
 dejectedly. 
 
 " I have taxed my memory more than 
 once," continued Sir Walter, " to see 
 if among all mine acquaintances there 
 was one whose name would answer to 
 the initials you have on the miniature, 
 but with small profit. Certain it is, that 
 when I was seeking to advance the prot- 
 estant cause on the plains of Flanders 
 under that experienced soldier, Sir John 
 
 ; Norris, in my company there was one 
 Holdfast, whose Christian name, m- 
 thinks, was Francis." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the youth, earnestly. 
 
 ! " Perchance it was my father." 
 
 " I doubt it, Master Francis," said Sir 
 
 I Walter, kindly to him. " He was but an 
 
 ! indifferent fellow a mere adventurer, 
 
 j and a sorry character, by all accounts. 
 It was said of him he had leit England 
 to avoid a marriage with some person of 
 poor origin, whom he had undone, and 
 whose relations were like to make a stir 
 
 ; upon the business." 
 
 " Tis he!" cried his secretary, in very
 
 74 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 woful fashion ; for his heart was cast 
 down, and his aspiring thoughts utterly 
 discomfited. 
 
 " Nay, I doubt it hugely," replied his 
 patron. " This Holdi'ast was of so con- 
 trary a disposition to yourself. He was 
 given to many dishonorable practices 
 a hanger-on of prodigal youth, whom he 
 fleeced at play ; and a doer of any mean 
 thing by which he might get present 
 profit. I held him in exceeding dislike, 
 and was well pleased, upon proof being 
 shown that he had cheated a companion 
 at the dice, that we got rid of him." 
 
 "Know you what became of him?" 
 inquired the youth, anxiously. 
 
 " I did hear he had turned puritan," 
 answered Raleigh, " yet I can not say 
 whether upon sufficient authority." 
 
 Master Francis was now in most com- 
 fortless case, for he did remember that 
 his uncle, in his passions, oft had called 
 him " base-born," and the like ; which 
 made him apt to believe that he was the 
 fruit of some low intrigue ; whereof the 
 thought, to one of his sensitive nature, 
 was scarce to be endured. Seeing that 
 his intelligence had been taken in such 
 sorrowful part, Sir Walter did present- 
 ly go up to the youth, and laying his 
 hand, in a friendly manner, on the other's 
 shoulder, said kindly to him : 
 
 " Be of better heart, Master Francis. 
 If matters turn out so untoward as That 
 your birth should be of such indifferent 
 sort, mind it not, I pray you. Of your 
 fortunes I will take good heed. But there 
 exists no proof you are of such descent ; 
 and the evidence is not circumstantial 
 enough for me to place much reliance 
 on it." 
 
 " I think it be but too true, honorable 
 sir," replied his secretary. "For mine 
 
 uncle" 
 
 "What of your uncle, Master Fran 
 cis?" inquired his patron, seeing that the 
 other hesitated to say more. 
 
 " In his anger, hath often called me by 
 
 such vile terms as" 
 
 "Fear nothing," said Sir Walter, en- 
 couragingly, " 'tis a friend who listens." 
 " Indeed I can not say it," exclaimed 
 the youth, shaking his head, and looking 
 as if it was too repugnant to his feelings 
 to be named. 
 
 " Well, well, as you list," answered 
 Raleigh, raising himself up ; for he had 
 been leaning over him, and seemed to 
 understand and appreciate his feelings 
 ' but whatever it be, regard it not ; for a 
 bad man which, from what you have 
 said, I take your kinsman to be, will say 
 
 anything in his passion. It is a certain 
 truth that, in these times, good birth is 
 ever your best recommendation ; but let 
 not this affect you, even if it be your 
 mishap to want it; which, till I have 
 better warrant for it; will I never believe. 
 It sounds fine, doubtless, to claim kin 
 with a long line of honorable ancestry ; 
 but men that have no other merit than 
 this be like unto a growing crop of our 
 new vegetable, the potato all that is 
 good of them be undergroqnd. How 
 much better is it to be yourself the getter 
 of your own greatness. If you continue 
 to show that commendable nature I have 
 perceived in you, you shall not lack op- 
 portunity for honorable advancement, let 
 your birth be what it may : therefore I 
 would have you think no more of it, but 
 the rather apply yourself to get perfect in 
 such qualifications, as seem the most 
 likely to stand you in good service at a 
 fitting time." Saying which, Sir Walter 
 Raleigh made for the door ; and left the 
 cabin. 
 
 But Master Francis did think more of 
 it : and the more he thought, the more 
 he seemed inclined to think. His am- 
 bition bad had a shock, from the which 
 he was not like to recover speedily ; for a 
 notion had got fixed in him, that of all 
 things, ill birth was the most disgraceful 
 (sr.fing the odium in which it was gen- 
 erally held) ; and he could not endure it 
 should be said of him, that he was the 
 misbegotten child of a paltry cheater. 
 His pride was humbled mightily ; yet did 
 it rise up against such dishonor the more 
 it was cast down at it. It seemed as if 
 he would not be held in such poor esteem 
 of the world, however degraded he felt 
 in his own opinion. He tried to think 
 Holdfast and he could be of no sort of 
 relationship ; yet, in spite of himself a 
 conviction was forced upon him that the 
 contrary was the truth ; and the fear he 
 had now was, that it should be talked of. 
 In the meantime, the enemies of Sir 
 Walter Raleigh slackened not in their 
 endeavors to ruin him with the queen. 
 It may appear to some passing strange 
 that one who, besides being of most nota- 
 ble excellence, sought to do no man ill, 
 should have enemies : but it was in con- 
 sequence of his towering so much above 
 them in all commendable things, that he 
 was misliked of so many. And as they 
 who longed to ruffle it at court above all 
 others, thought they had no chance of it 
 while he was in favor, to whom they 
 stood in such poor comparison, they strove 
 all they could to bring him down, that
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 they might advance themselves upon his 
 ruin. First of these was Sir Robert Cecil, 
 whose ambitious aims would stop at no 
 impediments that craft could overcome ; 
 and he was so skilful in his cunning as 
 to be suspected of none ; for he seemed 
 to make all around him his tools, to do 
 what he would ; and keeping in obscurity 
 himself, escaped free from all suspicion. 
 His talents were above the ordinary ; but 
 he was ambitious of holding the greatest 
 power in his own hands, and liked not 
 that any should be mightier than he. 
 Next to him was Lord Henry Howard, 
 his associate and sworn coadjutor, one of 
 a good family, being brother of the Duke 
 of Norfolk ; but having been a great 
 spendthrift and profligate, to the ruin of 
 his fortune, made him glad to assist Cecil 
 in his plots and devices to oust Sir Walter 
 Raleigh from his vantage which he did 
 with exceeding craftiness. In the Lady 
 Howard of Walden they found a fitting 
 helpmate. She was a woman of some 
 beauty, but of no principle ; and as she 
 believed that Sir "Walter had slighted 
 her, she was impatient to be revenged 
 of him. Her close attendance on the 
 queen gave her what opportunity she 
 wanted, and she was only kept back from 
 using it by ihe counsel of Sir Robert Cecil, 
 who liked not to have it done till matters 
 were more ripe. 
 
 To these were added all the envious, 
 the ambitious, and the vain, who hung 
 about the court, and were ever intriguing 
 to raise themselves upon the disadvan- 
 tage of another ; and these had already 
 made themselves busy with calling in 
 question Raleigh's conduct with the fleet 
 and not without the effect they desired. 
 It was at this time that whispers were 
 set afoot concerning Sir Walter's mar- 
 riage, and many malicious things were 
 said of the cause of it ; but none, as yet, 
 had hinted it to the queen. It was now 
 thought time to bring matters to a push, 
 for her majesty was in some sort dis- 
 pleased with Sir Walter that he had 
 delayed so long with his expedition, and 
 had done nothing, as was yet known of 
 him. Therefore the Lady Howard took 
 occasion, when she was in private with 
 her majesty, to acquaint her with all 
 that she knew between Elizabeth Throck- 
 morton and Sir Walter Raleigh, taking 
 care to aggravate the matter as much as 
 was possible. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the indignation 
 of the queen. She was now pale with 
 anger, and in a moment red with shame. 
 Every wrinkle in her face was made 
 
 conspicuous, she was in such a towering 
 passion ; and she strode up and down 
 the chamber with haughty steps, now 
 uttering denunciations against her maid 
 of honor, and now denouncing terrible 
 punishment upon her captain of the 
 guard. Her attendant stood by, her dark 
 eyes flashing with pleasure at the storm 
 she had raised, endeavoring, by all man- 
 ner of spiteful insinuations, to increase 
 her majesty's fury against the offenders. 
 
 " Nay, by God's wounds, 'tis too bad," 
 exclaimed the queen ; " they shall rue it. 
 Their guilty doings shall have fitting 
 punishment, else are - we not queen of 
 England. And for her, no disgrace can 
 be sufficient for so deep an offence a 
 wanton a hussy a creature vile and 
 infamous ! Had she no shame ? Had she 
 no sense of her wickedness, to commit 
 her villanies so near us, and turn oar 
 
 palace into a O ! it is monstrous !" 
 
 " In truth, I wonder she could ever 
 look her virtuous sovereign in the face," 
 said her ladyship. 
 
 "Such unblushing impudency never 
 disgraced a Christian court," cried her 
 majesty; "it exceedeth aught of which 
 we have ever heard ; 'tis most atrocious, 
 horrible, and abominable ! What will it 
 be thought of us, if those so near our 
 person take to such vile courses ? Why, 
 it may give a handle to the malignant 
 to say we are as evil disposed ourselves. 
 Every hair stands on end at the thought 
 of it." 
 
 " I am horror-struck," observed my 
 Lady Howard, looking more completely 
 shocked than her royal mistress. 
 
 " Such shameless iniquity deserves to 
 be whipped through the world," con- 
 tinued the queen ; " out upon it ! fie upon 
 the age that doth produce such vile 
 women ! Nay, and forsooth, if things go 
 on at this rate, there will be neither 
 safety nor honor for us poor virgins." 
 
 "Indeed, I think not, please your maj- 
 esty," responded her attendant, who, by- 
 the-by, bore no very reputable charac- 
 ter; "and am I the more indignant, 
 when 1 think what a glorious example 
 she hath had before her in your majesty, 
 whose exceeding virtuousness should, me- 
 thinks, have taught her better behavior." 
 "Her extreme vileness was such that 
 it was beyond all teaching," replied her 
 majesty, sharply ; " she was a worthless 
 baggage from the first, who could profit 
 by no example. We are amazed she 
 should ever have ventured herself in our 
 presence : but by all the angels in 
 heaven, she shall suffer for it. As for
 
 76 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 him, whom we have raised from nothing, 1 
 we will let him know, and quickly, that 
 she who makes can mar. The ungrate- 
 ful caitiff, to carry on his paltry doings 
 with such a Jezebel, in total disregard 
 of his duty to us." 
 
 " And so near your royal presence too,"- 
 cried my Lady Howard. 
 
 " Oh ! 'tis most intolerable," exclaimed 
 the queen, in a fresh burst of rage ; " 'tis 
 the horridest loathsomest piece of vil- 
 lany that ever disgraced a royal palace. 
 What devilish malignity led him into it 
 'tis not possible to say ; but he hath done 
 us foul dishonor in the face of all Eu- 
 rope ; and, by God's wounds, he shall 
 smart for it. The ambassadors will talk 
 of it it will be a jest for Philip of 
 Spain, that arch idolater the pope will 
 have it preached from the pulpit ; and all 
 the wretched papists abroad and at home 
 will find matter in it for further calumnies 
 of us. Art sure he hath married the 
 wretch ?" 
 
 " I have heard, please your majesty," 
 replied her ladyship, " that Sir Robert 
 Cecil and my Lord Henry Howard, hav- 
 ing got into a pair of oars but a brief 
 space after this abandoned creature took 
 water, saw her land at Durham house, 
 where it is supposed of many, Sir Wal- 
 ter's chaplain, Dr. Robert Burrel, did 
 make ihem man and wife." 
 
 " Worse and worse !" cried the queen, 
 renewing her lofty strides along the 
 chamber, while her eyes were flashing 
 with anger, and her bosom heaved 
 mightily her wrath so moved her. " He 
 hath not only done us notorious infamy, 
 but, without our permission first asked 
 and granted, he hath dared marry. 
 What ! he thinks, forsooth, because we 
 have shown him some small favor, hav- 
 ing better opinion of him than he de- 
 served, he shall be allowed to juffle it as 
 he please. Now, by this blessed light, 
 we'll teach him somewhat differently. 
 As for that Burrel, he must be made to 
 know that to thrust his fool's head into 
 such a pestilent meddling, is not doing 
 God's work, but the devil's. He de- 
 serveth to have his gown stripped off his 
 back, and whipped at the cart's tail by 
 the common hangman. Such meddle- 
 some priests are ready for any villany. 
 We marvel greatly that Sir Robert Ce- 
 cil informed us not of what he had ob- 
 served of this, as in duty bound he 
 should. But 'tis thus we are served : 
 the shamefulest things are done against 
 us from day to day, yet those we have 
 promoted to d o us service, instead of giv- 
 
 ing us instant knowledge thereof, keep 
 as close upon the business as if they had 
 been bribed into complacency." 
 
 " There is a knocking at the door, 
 please your majesty," said my Lady- 
 Howard. 
 
 " See to it," replied the queen. 
 
 " 'Tis my Lord Burghley," added her 
 attendant, after she had gone to the door 
 to notice whom it might be. 
 
 "Let him have entrance," cried her 
 majesty. Presently the lord treasurer ad- 
 vanced slowly into the chamber, with his 
 hat in his hand, making proper obedi- 
 ence ; and saw in a moment by the 
 queen's countenance which, in spite of 
 all her cosmetics, looked exceeding black 
 and sour that something was out of 
 place. 
 
 "Be seated, my lord," said the queen, 
 for this indulgence she granted because 
 of the infirmities of his age. The lord 
 treasurer seated himself with becoming 
 gravity, marvelling much what made her 
 majesty look in such sort, and pace the 
 chamber so haughtily ; and he turned 
 toward my Lady Howard to see if he 
 could read in her looks any interpretation 
 of the mystery, but, to the prodigious in- 
 crease of his astonishment, she looked 
 the blacker of the two. 
 
 " My lord treasurer !" exclaimed the 
 queen, scarcely able to speak, she seemed 
 in so great a passion, and stopping sud- 
 denly before him, " that Raleigh hath be- 
 come the blackest traitor that ever was 
 known." 
 
 "Humph!" cried my Lord Burghley, 
 in some sort of surprise, and drawing in 
 his lips with an appearance of the very 
 profoundest gravity. 
 
 " He hath done us gross offence," con- 
 tinued the queen. " He hath committed 
 such foul wrong against our royal digni- 
 ty, that the sacrifice of his life will not be 
 enough amends." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the lord treasurer, 
 dropping his jaw as if with a sudden as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 "He hath had the audacity think of 
 the fellow's vileness, my lord to be 
 shamefully familiar with that horridest 
 of wantons Elizabeth Throckmorton !" 
 and then her majesty continued hex 
 haughty pacing of the chamber. 
 
 " And in the palace too, my lord," ad- 
 ded her attendant, with a look of exceed- 
 ing indignation. 
 
 "Ho!" ejaculated the other, poking 
 out his chin the while, as if in wonder a: 
 the enormity of the offence. 
 
 "She shall meet with her reward,
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 77 
 
 continued the queen very angrily. "It 
 shall never be said that we left such hus- 
 sies to the indulgence of their own wicked 
 wills." 
 
 " And so near the royal presence ["ad- 
 ded my Lady Howard, with sufficient 
 emphasis. 
 
 "Humph!" cried my Lord Burghley, 
 seeming very much shocked. 
 
 " But more than this my lord ! more 
 than this," said the queen, stopping be- 
 fore her lord treasurer with a look of ex- 
 treme anger, and raising her voice to the 
 highest pitch, " he hath dared to marry 
 her." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed he, m a manner as 
 if horror-struck. 
 
 " He hath held us in contempt he hath 
 put a slight upon our authority," saying 
 which the queen bounced off as before. 
 
 " After her majesty hath been so boun- 
 tiful a mistress to him," added her lady- 
 ship, " I am quite shocked at such devil- 
 ish ingratitude." 
 
 " Ho !" said my lord, looking mon- 
 strously shocked also. 
 
 " Where is Sir Robert Cecil ?" inquired 
 the queen, " we must have speech with 
 him instantly. It will go hard with him 
 if he do not explain satisfactorily how he 
 hath so much fallen short in his duty. 
 We will have none such about us. We 
 will favor no neglecters. We will not 
 be served by such as can be dumb when 
 treason stalks abroad. Send him to us, 
 my lord, without fail. He hath been 
 privy to these villanous goings-on, and 
 hath taken care to give us no hint of the 
 matter." 
 
 " Humph !" cried my Lord Burghley 
 very seriously, as he rose from the chair ; 
 then proceeded out of the chamber in 
 search of his son, as his royal mistress 
 had commanded him. 
 
 Her majesty continued in the same 
 humor to stride backward and forward, 
 letting out her anger without stint, now 
 against the one and now against the oth- 
 er, but most prodigally against her fair 
 namesake, for whom no punishment 
 seemed with her to be ample enough ; 
 while the Lady Howard took care that 
 her rage should not go out for lack of 
 proper stirring. Sir Robert Cecil evi- 
 dently had not been far off, for he knocked 
 at the door in a little space after the Lord 
 Burghley had left it. 
 
 "So, Sir Robert Cecil !" exclaimed the 
 queen angrily, as soon as he made his 
 appearance before her, " you must needs 
 oecome an aider and abettor of treason." 
 
 " I aid treason I abet treason !" cried 
 
 ' he in seeming consternation, as he hum- 
 , bly knelt before his sovereign. "What 
 ill hap is mine to have such accusation 
 brought against me by so good a mis- 
 tress? I will be sworn on my life I 
 never spoke or did aught against your 
 majesty. Fai from it, I find most exqui- 
 site delight in endeavoring to prove my- 
 self your majesty's faithfullest servant; 
 and I would not change your service for 
 that of any sovereign upon earth, were I 
 tempted to it ever so. Indeed, please 
 your majesty, if you take from me the 
 reputation I have at all times diligently 
 sought, of giving place to no man in hon- 
 esty and obedience, I would not wish 
 to live another hour: for without char- 
 acter I should be unworthy to breathe in 
 the presence of one so exalted in excel- 
 lence, and deprived of the pleasure all 
 persons enjoy who are held in such honor 
 as to be selected to do your majesty's 
 bidding, life hath nothing left that can 
 be esteemed after it. Let me humbly 
 ask of what treason I am accused?" 
 
 "The knowing of Raleigh's traitorous 
 proceedings with that disgrace of our 
 court, Elizabeth Throckmorton," replied 
 the queen with exceeding bitterness, 
 "whereof you told us nothing. What 
 they have done is as black treason as 
 ever was thought of secresy was all 
 they required to succeed in their infa- 
 mous designs, and by not declaring to us 
 what yon were privy to, that we might 
 have it hindered, you allowed them to 
 go on to the perfection of their iniquitous 
 doings, and so became an aider and abet- 
 tor of their treason." 
 
 "Please your majesty," said Cecil very 
 earnestly, "two reasons had I, and good 
 ones they seemed to me, that I should not 
 make a stir in this business. In the first 
 place my knowledge amounted to little 
 more than the common suspicion, of the 
 which there was no certain proof in the 
 next place, I like not being a tale-bearer 
 in the best of times but I do stand in 
 such respectful awe of your majesty's su- 
 perhuman virtue, that I could not for the 
 life of me break any matter to your maj- 
 esty's modest ear that appeared tainted 
 with indelicate meaning." 
 
 "We do approve of your reasons, Sir 
 Robert," replied the queen, " so far as to 
 clear you of all offence in this. But now 
 we charge you on your allegiance speak 
 without extenuation whatever hath corns 
 to your knowledge." 
 
 "Since your majesty hath graciously 
 given me leave, I will," answered he. 
 " I must premise that of their intercourse
 
 78 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 knew I nothing save what was the gen- 
 eral gossip ; but knowing how much the 
 world is given to scandal, I took no h'eed 
 of what I heard, believing, as I do, that 
 Sir Walter Raleigh is too noble and dis- 
 creet a gentleman to take to such dishon- 
 orable courses." 
 
 " My Lady Howard hath given us 
 good proof of it. which she had from 
 their own lips," observed the queen im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " Indeed, Sir Robert, I did by accident 
 overhear all their infamous secrets, the 
 which I thought it but proper in me to 
 carry to her majesty," said her attendant. 
 
 " I'm all amazed !" cried Robert Cecil, 
 looking in as absolute an astonishment as 
 was ever beheld. "I marvel at it in- 
 finitely ! who could have thought it ? 
 How impossible it doth seem that one so 
 superlatively wise and learned as is your 
 majesty's captain of the guard, should 
 have committed himself so abominably ! 
 Indeed, it maketh me afraid of mine own 
 honesty. I shall tremble for myself, 
 knowing as I do that if they who have 
 such wonderful store of learning can not 
 keep upright, we who fall short of such 
 gifts can not but tumble. Of all men few 
 have I regarded with the like admiration 
 I felt for Sir Waller Raleigh, for in truth 
 he did always appear to me a most ines- 
 timable sweet gentleman. I am heartily 
 grieved" 
 
 " Proceed with what you have to say 
 on this infamous matter," said the queen 
 sharply. , 
 
 " That will I without further loss of 
 time," replied the wily Cecil. "It 
 chanced that my Lord Henry Howard 
 and I going to the Bankside, got into a 
 pair of oars just as the barge containing 
 Mistress Throckmorton left the shore. 
 My lord directed my attention to some 
 one who sat in the barge cloaked up very 
 ciose, whom I had not noticed, for in truth 
 I had such respect for Mistress Elizabeth, 
 believing, from her nearness to your maj- 
 esty's person, that she was of a most hon- 
 orable nature, that I could not entertain 
 suspicion of wrong in anything that she 
 did, and was not curious about her pro- 
 ceedings." 
 
 "Who was that person, think you?" 
 eagerly inquired the queen. 
 
 "That know I not of mine own knowl- 
 edge," answered Cecil, "for we being of 
 the other side of the water could not 
 have a very distinct sight of things so far 
 off. 1 do not think it was Sir Walter 
 Raleigh fc/r a reason I will presently ex- 
 plain. The barge made for Durham 
 
 house, which, knowing the suspicions 
 that were afloat, created in us no small 
 astonishmeni. Then We saw him in the 
 cloak, land, with Mistress Alice and her 
 cousin ; and these three went up the steps 
 into the house. This seeing, we knew 
 not what to make of it ; so for the satis- 
 faction of my lord's curiosity and my 
 own, we waited at a convenient distance. 
 In half an hour or less, the three returned 
 to the barge and went on their way ; and 
 I, thinking it could be nothing more than 
 a passing visit, thought so light of it that 
 we watched them no more. He in the 
 cloak could not have been Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, because my father did have 
 bj -'t. 11 of him at your majesty's com- 
 mand in his own house, at the very time 
 I saw this person on the river. Knowing 
 this, as I soon found out, I did not see 
 any wrong in the visit of these young wo- 
 men with another person to Durham 
 house ; but my Lord Howard did offer 
 me a wager, that Mistress Elizabeth had 
 gone there to be married, and that he in 
 the cloak was no other than her father. 
 Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, who had 
 good reason for seeking concealment, as 
 it was given out he was like to perish 
 for want of proper nursing." 
 
 ''Now is it all made clear to us," ex- 
 claimed the queen, her face crimsoning 
 with rage. "We have been cozened, 
 cheated, and imposed upon ; and doubt- 
 less they now laugh in their sleeves at 
 rinding us gulled so easily. By God's 
 wounds, we'll let th-em know what it is 
 to make sport of their sovereign." 
 
 " I wonder at their baseness," cried 
 her ladyship with much asperity. 
 
 " 'Tis not enough for them to do us the 
 foulest dishonor we have received since 
 we have been a crowned queen," con- 
 tinued her majesty, seemingly waxing 
 more wrath every minute, " they must 
 needs play a trick upon us ! We are 
 thought to be worthy no better hap by 
 this false woman than for a stale to catch 
 her woodcock Raleigh !" 
 
 " 'Tis marvellous strange how such 
 extreme impudency can exist," said Ce- 
 cil very gravely. 
 
 "Get you to his chaplain, Sir Robert," 
 added the queen, " He is one Burrel, in 
 some repute for his learning, and doubt- 
 less may be found at Durham house. 
 Question him of this marriage: for we 
 would know if it hath taken place. It 
 he answer you to the purpose, you shall 
 come away and do him no hinderance 
 but if he be contumacious, or seem to 
 hold back what he knoweth straight
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 with him to prison : he shall there have 
 time to repent him of his meddlesome- 
 ness. Delay not to report to us the min- 
 ute you get aught worth the telling." 
 
 " I will be the most zealous intelligen- 
 cer in your majesty's dominions," replied 
 Cecil. 
 
 " My Lady Howard, we are for the 
 presence chamber," said the queen, and 
 straightway she passed haughtily out at 
 the door with her attendant, but not be- 
 fore the latter and Sir Robert Cecil had, 
 unseen by her majesty, exchanged a look 
 in which there appeared a wonderful 
 deal of meaning. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 I can not eat but little meat, 
 
 My stomach is not good : 
 But sure. I think that I can drink 
 
 With him that wears a hood. 
 Though I go bare, take ye no care, 
 
 I nothing- am a cold, 
 I stuff my skin so full within 
 
 Of jolly good ale and old. 
 
 GAMMER GUKTON'S NEEDLE. 
 
 My masters, are you mad ? or what are you ? Have 
 you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like 
 tinkers at this time of night? SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 IT was getting deep into the evening. 
 The prudent citizens had long closed 
 their houses, and many of the more sober 
 sort had retired to rest. Nothing dis- 
 turbed the silence of the streets, but now 
 and then the riotous singing of some prod- 
 igal gallants returning late from the tav- 
 ern, with more wine in their pates than 
 wit, with perchance the hoarse bawling 
 of some of the city watch, chiding them 
 for disturbing the night with their cater- 
 wauling ; or mayhap a score of disorder- 
 ly apprentices for the sake of diversion 
 screaming fire, murder, and the like, from 
 different places, till the whole neighbor- 
 hood was in an uproar, and the watch 
 running to and fro in strange perplexity 
 as to where was the mischief. Now you 
 might hear some particular clock striking 
 the hour, and anon there was such a 
 striking from all parts that it seemed as 
 if there would be no end to it ; like unto 
 when chanticleer croweth in the early 
 morning, there answereth to him anoth- 
 er, and he is taken up by a third, and so 
 on till the whole of the cocks round about 
 have tried the strength of their voices. 
 
 So it fared in the city, and in Eastcheap 
 more especially which of all places was 
 most noted for mad pranks and merry do- 
 ings; but while such goings on proceeded 
 
 outside, the little back parlor of Geoffrey 
 Sarsnet, the mercer, as oft did echo with 
 a very similar merriment. There he sat 
 before an oak table having on it a bowl 
 and drinking-horns, looking very portly 
 in a buff jerkin ; a jolly face and a merry 
 eye seeming to mock the gravity of his 
 gray beard and bald pate, and a loud, 
 short laugh, bursting from his mouth ever 
 and anon, said plain enough, of all con- 
 science, that his thoughts were none of 
 the saddest. Opposite to him, in singular 
 fine contrast sat the meager form of the 
 miser of St. Mary Axe, who, by the com- 
 placency of his withered aspect, had evi- 
 dently forgiven Joanna the loss of the 
 Venetian chain. 
 
 " Margery ! Margery !" bawled the 
 mercer, after he had looked into ithe 
 bowl and found it empty of liquor. " By 
 cock and pye, I'm no lover of jolly good 
 ale and old, if we haven't drained it as 
 dry as dry as thy wit, thou ghost of a 
 pickled herring. Haw ! haw ! haw !'' 
 
 " Forsooth, thou art in a most facetious 
 vein gossip," replied Gregory Vellum, 
 who cared not for being laughed at when 
 he had aught to gain by joining in the 
 mirth. 
 
 " If I be not in the vein, ihe vein be in 
 me," said the jolly mercer, with another 
 laugh as loud as the preceding. " Here, 
 Margery," cried he again then sinking 
 his voice, added, " Hang these old women, 
 say I ! They be as deaf as thy conscience, 
 and as slow as thy comprehension. Is'l 
 not so, thou delectable pippin-face ?" 
 
 " In truth they be exceedingly deaf and 
 slow," answered the scrivener, with a 
 wonderful gravity. 
 
 " The young ones for me eh, Grego- 
 ry !" continued the old fellow, with a 
 knowing wink of his eye. " They have 
 ears for anything ; and as for going, I 
 doubt them not, at an ambling pace, they 
 would beat any colt that runs. Haw ! 
 haw! haw! Why, Margery, I say !" 
 
 " How, now ? what do you lack, sweet 
 master ?" exclaimed a little old woman 
 with a very pointed nose and chin, and 
 sharp gray eyes, who appeared at the door. 
 
 " Another bowl, Margery !'' replied 
 Geoffrey Sarsnet. "And, prylhee, brew 
 it delicately, with good store of nutmeg 
 and a famous? toast in it." 
 
 " That will I, kind heart, and quickly," 
 answered the old dame, fetching the emp- 
 ty vessel. 
 
 " I'faith, Margery, thou lookest as in- 
 nocent as a sucking donkey," said the 
 jolly mercer, with his usual laugh, as he 
 gazed upon ner uncomely face.
 
 80 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " An't please your goodness, I was al- 
 ways noticed for the innocency of my 
 looks," replied the old dame very de- 
 murely. 
 
 "I doubt it not," cried her master; 
 " and thine innocency was always re- 
 spected, I'll be bound lor it. Haw ! haw ! 
 haw !" 
 
 " Indeed, you may say that," responded 
 Bhe. " For it is a most notable truth that 
 ao longer ago than five-and-twenty year 
 last Martinmas" 
 
 " Thou must then have seen a good 
 forty years at least an excellent fine age 
 for innocency ;" and then the old fellow 
 chuckled again mightily. 
 
 " Fie on you for saying so, and I not 
 fifty yet !" said Margery, her yellow 
 physiognomy blushing with indignation 
 at such an insinuation of her antiquity 
 the which, however, was no great way 
 from the truth. " No longer ago than 
 five-and-twenty year last Martinmas" 
 
 " Thou wert put in the stocks for a 
 wanton an excellent fine proof of inno- 
 cency, o' my life ! Haw ! haw ! haw !" 
 And then he gave the table a slap that 
 made the horns jump again. 
 
 " What, I ! I that have ever been the 
 discreetest and virtuousest of virgins !" 
 exclaimed the old woman, in a seeming 
 monstrous to-do. " I'll be upon my oath 
 I was never put in the stocks." 
 
 " Well, thou hast had exceeding good 
 luck, then," replied the mercer, winking 
 at his companion, and endeavoring to 
 keep a grave face ; but he succeeded not, 
 for he presently burst out in the same 
 short, loud laugh as at first. 
 
 " Nay, I'll tarry not to be made game 
 of," cried she somewhat sulkily; and 
 thereupon hurried out of the room. 
 
 " Mayhap, if she tarry to be made 
 game of, then should none hurry to put 
 her on the spit. Haw ! haw ! haw !" 
 shouted her master, his eyes twinkling 
 very merrily at the conceit. 
 
 " Methinks it would be but barbarous 
 to make a roast of her," observed the 
 scrivener, with a perfect seriousness. 
 " And indeed she seemeth not very deli- 
 cate eating.'' 
 
 "No more delicate eating than thou 
 art ; and I doubt not to find more juice in 
 the fag end of a piece of dowlas, than 
 thou canst boast of in thy whole body," 
 replied the mercer, who, being of a well- 
 fed person himself, held the other's lank- 
 aess in seeming contempt. "But what 
 sayest thou to a dainty young wench 
 of some sixteen years or so fresh and 
 plump and tender as a chicken? Doth 
 
 not thy mouth water at such fare eh, 
 Gregory ?" 
 
 "In honest truth, I have DO stomach 
 for human flesh," answered the scriv- 
 ener. 
 
 " Out qn thee for a dull wit !" ex- 
 claimed the other. "I'll be hanged if 
 thou bast more brains than a roast chest- 
 nut. But as thou canst not entertain me 
 with thy discourse, see if thou canst tune 
 up thy pipe for a song. A song a song, 
 Gregory !" 
 
 "Believe me, I have forgotten every 
 tune but one," said the miser of St. Mary 
 Axe in very serious fashion, " and that be 
 the hundredth psalm." 
 
 " Psalm me no psalms ! Dost take me 
 for a puritan ?" cried the jolly mercer. 
 
 "Nay, but it be an excellent sober 
 tune, Geoffrey Sarsnet." 
 
 " Then shall it be the most unfit tune 
 in the world over a full bowl. Haw! 
 haw ! haw !" shouted his companion in 
 the same merry key as at first. 
 
 "Methinks I know of none other," said 
 Gregory Vellum. 
 
 " Then ale of mine shalt thou never 
 taste till thou hast bethought thee of 
 something more to the purpose. So look 
 to thy memory, and quickly." 
 
 "I do remember me there was a song 
 I did use to affect in an idle hour when I 
 was but an apprentice," observed the 
 scrivener. 
 
 " Prythee, then, out with it !" exclaimed 
 the other. 
 
 " Indeed, I have no voice for singing, 
 gossip. Hem ! hem !" and then the old 
 fellow began to clear his throat very dili- 
 gently, looking, or rather striving to look, 
 exceeding modest all the time. 
 
 "I have asked thee not to sing with 
 any other voice than thine own, so I must 
 needs make the best of it," replied the 
 jolly mercer very merrily. 
 
 "Hem! hem!'' 
 
 "Nay, I would as lief sit with a tailor 
 as with one that doth nothing but ' hem,' " 
 said his companion, with a laugh as loud 
 as ever. 
 
 " I will fall to it as well as I may," re- 
 plied the scrivener. Then turning up his 
 eyes to the ceiling, began in a wonderful 
 shrill, trembling pipe 
 
 " ' When little birds sat on their nests' 
 
 " Nay, but good gossip, I be not in most 
 excellent voice," said he, ere he had got 
 any further. " Hem, hem." 
 
 " It wants no conjurer to tell me that," 
 answered his companion with a chuckle. 
 "But not a drop of my good ale shall
 
 SHARSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 moisten thy throat if thou dost not sing 
 me the song before it be brought in." 
 
 " Hem, hem !" repeated the other 
 quickly, for he had no objection to any 
 good thing at another's expense. Then, 
 with a lack-a-daisical look, the like of 
 which it is impossible to conceive, he re- 
 commenced 
 
 " When little birds sat on their nests, 
 
 And conies to the young wheat hied ; 
 Ana flowers hung down their dainty crests, 
 And Philomel her sweet trade plied. 
 ' With my heigh-ho ! 
 Whether or no, 
 Kiss me but once before I go, 
 Under the tre where the pippins grow.' " 
 
 " I say nothing against the matter of 
 thy ballad," here interposed the mercer ; 
 *' for it be as exquisite foolish stuff as 
 heart can desire. But if thou art not 
 singing it to the hundredth psalm then 
 never gave I honest measure." 
 
 " 'Tis very like," replied the old miser 
 gravely; "for I did tell thee I knew of 
 no other tune." 
 
 " I'll have none on't. So look that thou 
 sing the proper notes." At this, with a 
 preliminary hem or two, Gregory Vellum 
 did essay the second verse, much after 
 the same die-away fashion as at first. 
 
 " 'Twas then a lover and his lass, 
 
 Her rosy cheek with his acquaint" 
 
 "Thou art at the psalm again, and be 
 hanged to thee !" here exclaimed his 
 companion. 
 
 " Indeed, then I knew it not ; but I will 
 take good heed I fall no more into that 
 strain." And then he continued his bal- 
 lad : 
 
 " Had set them on the tender grass ; 
 
 Whilst he thus fondly made his plaint. 
 1 Singing heigh-ho ! 
 Whether or no, 
 Kiss rne again before I go, 
 Under the tree where the pippins grow.' " 
 
 "Thou art clean past all hope," cried 
 Geoffrey Sarsnet ; "for to one note of the 
 ballad thou hast given a score of the hun- 
 dredth psalm." 
 
 "Ah, did I so? then in truth it did 
 escape me unawares," replied the other, 
 and resumed his ditty, the first two or 
 three notes of the which seemed of a fit- 
 ting tune ; but the rest was the psalm be- 
 yond all possibility of contradiction. 
 
 " He kissed her once, he kissed her twice, 
 
 Though oft she coyly said him nay ; 
 Mayhap she had him kiss her thrice 
 Before she let him get away. 
 ' Singing heigh-ho ! 
 Whether or no, 
 Kiss me again before you go. 
 Under the tree where the pippins grow.' " 
 
 " Odds, my life ! thou hast no more 
 6 
 
 notes in thy voice than hath a cuckoo, 
 who singeth the same sorry tune ever," 
 said the jolly mercer. " But here comes 
 the bowl," he added, seeing Margery en- 
 ter with it in ner hands, and place it be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " Ay, marry does it," said the old wo- 
 man all trace of her late displeasure 
 having vanished "and there is in it as 
 fine a roasted crab as heart could wish 
 for, with store of all proper things." 
 
 " By cock and pye, so there is !" ex- 
 claimed her master, gloating over it with 
 his rosy face, and sniffing up the spicy 
 steam with wonderful satisfaction, " Now, 
 will I believe, Margery, all that thou 
 hast said of thy exceeding virtue : nay, 
 more, looking into thy face, I could take 
 upon me to swear, with a safe conscience, 
 that thou hast never had a lover in thy 
 life." And thereupon he again burst out 
 a laughing. 
 
 "Nay, you are wrong there, kind 
 heart,^ replied Margery, with great com- 
 placency, " I have had no lack of lovers 
 in my time, I warrant you. For, as I 
 was -a saying but now, it was just five- 
 and-twenty years last Martinmas" 
 
 " Since thou wert taken up by the 
 constable on evidence that thou wert like 
 to become chargeable to the parish: a 
 singular fine proof that thou hast had 
 lovers sure enough. Haw ! haw ! haw !" 
 Thereat he slapped the table so hard that 
 it did overturn one of the drinking horns 
 he had just filled. 
 
 The old dame answered not, save by 
 bouncing out of the room more angry 
 than before. 
 
 "Mind it not, Gregory!" exclaimed 
 the jolly mercer, as he beheld his com- 
 panion trying to save the ale, by catch- 
 ing it in the empty horn, as it run through 
 the chinks of the table. 
 
 " It be a shame to let such good liquor 
 run to waste, gossip," he replied. 
 
 " 'Twould have been all the same 
 hadst thou swallowed it," observed the 
 other ; " for to give it thee is to waste it 
 indeed ; because thou dost never look the 
 better for it. Here, hand up thy cannikin 
 though, in truth, thou deservest not to 
 partake of such brave stuff, seeing that 
 thou didst make such a miserable hand 
 at thy ditty." 
 
 " To tell thee the exact truth," said 
 the old miser, very earnestly, " though I 
 have, at divers times, essayed many dif- 
 ferent pongs somehow or another, yet 
 know I not why, I never could find any 
 other tune for them but the hundreth 
 psalm."
 
 82 
 
 SHAHSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Then art thou but a goose at sing- 
 ing," replied his companion, finishing a 
 draught of the good liquor before him, 
 which, by the smacking of his lips, seem- 
 ed to please his palate mightily, " but I 
 will troll thee a song, Gregory, and one 
 worthy to be mated with such right ex- 
 quisite tipple as this." 
 
 " Tis famous drinking, indeed !" re- 
 marked the scrivener, after a hearty 
 draught of the same ; " and the singing, I 
 doubt not, will match it." 
 
 "Thou shah judge,'' said the other; 
 then, with a full round voice, and in a 
 very jovial manner, he did give out the 
 following strain: 
 
 " I never had voice for a song that's choice, 
 
 And dainty ditties with rne must fail : 
 Yet, weeks at a time, I fain would chime, 
 Whenever I strike up in the praise of good ale. 
 Then troul, troul, 
 Each hearty old soul. 
 That loveth the sight of a foaming bowl ; 
 For there's naught in the land 
 He should care to command, 
 Who hath got such brave liquor as this at his hand. 
 
 " Full oft to the great have I held my prate 
 
 But when I have had*good ale enow, 
 I be not afeard to wag my beard 
 With any woman's son, be he high or low. 
 Then troul, troul, <t c. 
 
 " Perchance I am shy when a woman is by- 
 Yet if but good ale my jerkin line, 
 Wife, widow, or maid in sun or shade. 
 'Ere an hour may have passed, shall have sworn her- 
 self mine. 
 
 Then troul, troul, &c. 
 
 " Mayhap I've no store of the sage's lore 
 But when some good ale is in my pate, 
 I'faith I can speak in Dutch or Greek, 
 And argue a whole college as dumb as their gate. 
 Then troul, troul, &c 
 
 " It may be from fright I would run than fight- 
 Yet when with good ale beneath my skin ; 
 With sword or with lance will I advance, 
 And leagured by my foes, cut through thick and thin 
 Then trout, troul, &c. 
 
 " 'Twill needs be my hap to have not a rap- 
 But when that good ale hath warmed my veins, 
 There be none like myself, so rich in pelf 
 For ne'er can 1 count up the whole of my gains. 
 Then troul, troul, <tc. 
 
 " I'm nigh unto Death for the lack of breath- 
 Yet if of good ale I am not scant, 
 Full many a bout shall I see out, 
 And never shall I know aught of pain or of want. 
 Then troul, troul, 
 Each hearty old soul, 
 That loveth the sight of a foaming bowl ; 
 Fr there's naught in the land 
 He should care to command, 
 Who hath got such brave liquor as this at his hand !' 
 
 " Indeed it be an excellent fine song 
 gossip, and a merry," observed the ok 
 miser, with exceeding complacency. 
 
 " Somewhat better than thy miserable 
 ditty, that be only fit to be sung over a 
 kitten in a fit," replied the jolly mercer, 
 with his .customary laugh. " But hanc 
 up thy vessel, Gregory, for it hath ac- 
 
 quired a marvellous resemblance to thy- 
 self it be singularly empty : Haw ! haw ! 
 haw !" 
 
 " In truth, it hath nothing in it," said 
 the scrivener, losing no time in doing as 
 he was bid. " But what hath become of 
 the beautiful Joanna all this time ?" 
 
 "Like enough, she be above stairs 
 with some of her gallants," answered 
 the other, carelessly. 
 
 " With some of her gallants ?" ex- 
 claimed Gregory Vellum his leaden 
 visage in no small degree disturbed 
 " Prythee, tell me, be there many that 
 consort with her ?" 
 
 " Some score or two, at least," replied 
 his companion. 
 
 "But dost approve of it?" asked the 
 old miser, looking still less at his ease. 
 
 " To be sure 1 do, Gregory. Dost 
 think I know not on which side of the 
 bread the butter lies ? I tell thee, there 
 be all sorts of notable gentlemen and 
 brave gallants, come after her upon the 
 fame of her infinite comeliness; and, doubt- 
 less, seeking of my favor> they order of 
 me great store of fine things for their 
 own wearing. Many's the piece of satin 
 I have sold for a cloak ; and as for vel- 
 vets and silks, it be beyond calculation 
 the store I have got rid of on that ac- 
 count. Mayhap, in time, some of them 
 owe me a swinging bill, and I go with 
 it to their houses, and, like enough, get 
 no answer then send I Joanna, and she 
 bringeth me the money in a presently. 
 Odds my life, man ! seeing that she be 
 of such profit to me, will I not let her 
 do as she lists ?" 
 
 "But dost not fancy it may like to 
 damage her reputation ?" 
 
 " Damage her fiddlestick !" replied the 
 jolly mercer, with his ready laugh. " I 
 doubt not she be well able to take care 
 of herself; and if she grant them any 
 favor, 'tis like she maketh them pay 
 roundly for it." 
 
 This communication the miser of St. 
 Mary Axe in no way seemed to relish, 
 as was evident from the increasing un- 
 easiness of his countenance. 
 
 " Surely thou wouldst be glad to see 
 her honestly married to some reputable 
 person," said he at last. 
 
 " Dost take me for an ass, Gregory ?" 
 sharply inquired the other. "Neither 
 honestly nor dishonestly, with my good 
 will : for should I not lose by it all the 
 good custom that is now drawn to my 
 house ? If she marry, I must needs make 
 the best I can of it ; but I would ever 
 hinder it if I could."
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 83 
 
 *' Aiack do not say so, gossip," cried 
 his companion in very woful fashion, 
 "for in honest truth I love her infinitely, 
 and would marry her myself." 
 
 " Thou marry her !" shouted the mer- 
 cer, pushing back his chair, and staring 
 on the other in exceeding surprise. 
 
 " Ay, good Geoffrey, and have come 
 expressly to talk to thee upon the busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " Haw ! haw ! haw !" roared out his 
 lusty companion. 
 
 "And, as she knoweth full well, have 
 been courting of her for some time past." 
 
 "Haw ! haw ! haw !" repeated the 
 jolly mercer louder than before. 
 
 " Nay, forsooth, it be no laughing mat- 
 ter to me, I do assure thee," continued 
 the old miser, now a little nettled at the 
 manner in which his communication had 
 been received. " She hath had great 
 store of gifts from me owches, rings, a 
 Venetian chain that cost me fifty crowns, 
 besides sundry sums in rose nobles for 
 her private expenses ; and when upon 
 showing her of what bountiful disposition 
 I had been, I pressed her to name the 
 nuptial day, she did earnestly assure me 
 of her willingness, provided I succeeded 
 in the obtaining of thy consent." 
 
 " Haw ! haw ! haw !" shouted the 
 other, giving the table a thump that 
 made it sound again, and looking as if he 
 could hardly see out of his eyes, his 
 cheeks were so squeezed up with laugh- 
 ing, " That be best of all. So thou hast 
 been courting Joanna, eh, Gregory ? Why 
 thou shadow ! thou lath ! thou rush ! thou 
 first cousin to nothing ! what could mis- 
 lead thee into such egregious folly? to 
 say nothing of the presumption on't. 
 To think for a moment such a withered 
 apple-john as thou art should succeed 
 against so many fine young knights and 
 sprightly gentlemen !" 
 
 " Prythee, if I am not to have her to 
 wife, let her return the gifts she had of 
 me," cried the old miser with exceeding 
 earnestness. 
 
 " If thou ever seest a glimpse of one 
 of them, then shalt thou have better 
 eyesight than is customary for one at 
 thy time of life," replied the other, 
 chuckling famously. 
 
 " Nay, I will go to law on it an' I have 
 them not," cried the scrivener, starting 
 up from his chair in a monstrous conster- 
 nation at the thought of losing so many 
 valuable things. 
 
 " Prythee do no such thing," answered 
 the jolly mercer, as well as he could for 
 laughing, " for of a surety thou wouldst 
 
 be laughed out of every court in Christ- 
 endom." 
 
 ; ' Oh, I be utterly ruined and undone !" 
 exclaimed the old miser wildly, as he 
 sunk his hands in his face and dropped 
 again into his chair. 
 
 " I doubt it be so bad as that," ob- 
 served Geoffrey Sarsnet, " but it will be a 
 good lesson for thee to take heed when 
 thou dost again pay the piper, to see thou 
 art not left alone in the dance." 
 
 Gregory Vellum replied not for in- 
 deed he did stand very much in fear of 
 his lusty companion, and did scarce dare 
 utter a word : but no unfortunate wight 
 looked ever in so disconsolate a mood. 
 
 ' Come, drink, man ! drink !" cried the 
 mercer very merrily. " Care killed a 
 cat, and if it could put a finish upon her 
 nine lives, surely thy one must needs 
 stand but a sorry chance. So drown 
 care in the bowl, and thou shalt live all 
 the happier for it." 
 
 The scrivener of St. Mary Axe then, 
 as if in a desperate taking did begin to 
 drink like a fish, in the which he was 
 encouraged by the other, who joked and 
 laughed without ceasing. At this time 
 there entered one of a very impudent 
 countenance, and monstrous swaggering 
 manner. His hair was of the color of 
 flax that hath been scorched in the 
 dressing, and was combed back in a 
 mighty coxcombical fashion from his 
 forehead, where it was twisted up like 
 unto a cockatoo's crest ; his beard was 
 of the like hue, and cut to a peak. Of 
 his face it may suffice to say that it did 
 express a singular fine opinion of the 
 owner, and for assurance was not like to 
 meet with its peer. For his age it seemed 
 nigh unto thirty. He wore a high ruff 
 and a doublet very conceitedly cut, that 
 had once been much better than it was ; 
 with breeches stuffed out extravagantly 
 red hose cross gartered, and yellow 
 rosettes in his shoes, a world and all too 
 large. Sticking his right arm straight 
 out, with his other arm a-kimbo, as soon 
 as he had entered ; with a very fustian 
 voice, and high and mighty look, he thus 
 addressed the twain : 
 
 " Brave peers of France ! sith we have passed the 
 
 bounds 
 
 Whereby the wrangling billows seek for straits 
 To war with Tellus and her fruitful mines : 
 Sith we have furrowed through those wandering 
 
 tides 
 
 Of Tyrrhene seas, and made our galleys dance 
 Upon the Hyperborean billows' crests. 
 That braves with streams the watery Occident" 
 
 "What, Ralph Goshawk!" cried the 
 jolly mercer as he noticed the intruder
 
 84 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. ' 
 
 " Come, sit thee down, and help us to 
 finish this bowl." But the other, without 
 minding the interruption, continued : 
 
 " And found the rich and wealthy Indian clime, 
 Sought to by greedy minds for hostile gold" 
 
 " Nay, give over bombasting out thy 
 Dlank verse awhile,"said Geoffrey Sarsnet. 
 " In truth, Ralph, thou art exceeding like 
 a gutter on a house-top in a storm of rain 
 thou art so abominably given to spout- 
 ing. Haw! haw! haw!" 
 
 The miser of St. Mary Axe started 
 with a sort of consternation, for either 
 what he had drunk had fuddled him in 
 some measure, or he liked not the stran- 
 ger's appearance ; seeing which, the latter 
 made two or three dignified strides to 
 where the scrivener sat, and spoke him 
 thus : 
 
 " And I, my lord, am Mandricard of Mexico, 
 Whose climate fairer than Tyberius, 
 Seated beyond the sea of Tripoly, 
 And richer than the plot Hesperides." 
 
 "I drink your worship's health, Master 
 Mandricard," falteringly replied Gregory 
 Vellum, with trembling hands raising the 
 horn to his mouth. Thereat, the other 
 proceeded after the same fashion. 
 
 " As for myself, I walk abroad a nights, 
 And kill sick people groaning under walls :" 
 
 At this the miser could not drink, he 
 seemed struck with such a sudden fear. 
 
 " Sometimes I go about and poison wells." 
 
 " You don't say so !" exclaimed the 
 frightened scrivener. 
 
 " And now and then to cherish Christian thieves 
 I am content to lose some of my crowns ; 
 That I may, walking in my gallery, 
 See 'em go pinioned along by my door." 
 
 " Ha !" cried the frightened scrivener, 
 in a long tremulous tone. 
 
 " Then after that was Ian usurer, 
 And with extorting, cozening, forfeiting, 
 And tricks belonging unto brokery 
 I rilled the jails with bankrupts in a year, 
 And with young orphans planted hospitals. 
 And every moon made some or other mad." 
 
 " Good Lord, deliver us !" piously ex- 
 claimed the old miser. Then raising his 
 voice, and looking very frowningly, the 
 other recommenced : 
 
 " 'Twas 1, my lord, that got the victory 
 The god of war resigns his room to me, 
 Meaning to make the general of the world. 
 Jove viewing me in arms looks pale and wan, 
 Fearing my power should pull him from his throne 
 Where'er I come, the fatal sisters sweat, 
 And grisly Death by running to and fro 
 To do their ceaseless homage to my sword." 
 
 At this, Gregory Vellum trembling in 
 every joint, and looking as pale as any 
 
 of his parchment, threw himself on hi<* 
 tnees before the other, with closed palms 
 and uplifted eyes, and cried out as loud as 
 lis fright would allow, 
 
 " Good, your worship, don't kill me this 
 time !" 
 
 'Haw! haw! haw !" shouted the jolly 
 mercer, who with much ado, had refrain- 
 ed from laughing before. " Get thee up, 
 aregory, and fear nothing. It be only 
 Ralph Goshawk, a young haberdasher 
 r rom the Strand, as impudent a varlet as 
 lives ; but there be no harm in him, save 
 that he be stage-struck. Hegoeth to the 
 playhouse so oft, that his talk is all of 
 fag-ends of plays ; and so far gone is he 
 in it, that if one ask of him the price of 
 pack-thread, he will answer, like an 
 emperor," in blank verse. Sit thee down, 
 Ralph ! and take me off this horn of good 
 ale, or I will beat thee out of thy humor 
 in a jiffy." 
 
 The young haberdasher took two 
 majestic strides to a chair, which, in the 
 like princely manner, he drew to the 
 table ; then, with a right royal salutation 
 to the company, he tossed off his ale, and 
 sat himself down very gravely ; at the 
 which Geoffrey Sarsnet laughed louder 
 than ever. The scrivener, in some degree 
 assured that the other would do him no 
 harm, now returned to his seat ; but the 
 drink he had had, evidently was getting 
 into his head, for he had a very vacant 
 look with him, and he walked unsteadily. 
 
 " Come, drink, my masters, drink," 
 exclaimed the mercer, filling the cups 
 of his guests as fast as they were emptied. 
 "And how weareth the night, Ralph ?" 
 
 No sooner had the question been asked 
 than he that was spoken to jumped up 
 from his chair, placed his arms as before 
 described, and thus answered : 
 
 " The golden ball of Heaven's eternal fire, 
 That danced with glory on the silver waves, 
 Now wants the fuel that inflamed his beams ; 
 And all with faintness and for foul disgrace, 
 He binds his temples with a frowning cloud." 
 
 Then sat him down. 
 
 "Thou villain, thou wilt be the death 
 cf me," exclaimed his lusty host, with his 
 usual hearty laugh. " But can not we 
 have a catch, my masters ? I'm in a 
 brave humor for singing. A catch, my 
 masters a catch !" 
 
 Up jumped the young haberdasher at 
 this, exclaiming exactly after the same 
 fashion as at first : 
 
 " And in this sweet and curious harmony 
 The god that tunes this music to our souls 
 Holds out his hand in highest majesty 
 To entertain divine Zenocrate."
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 85 
 
 "A fig for Zenocrate and all her gen- 
 eration !" cried the jolly mercer. " I tell 
 tell thee we will have a catch ; what say- 
 est thou, Gregory ? Art for a catch ?" 
 
 "I'd rather the hundredth psalm if it 
 please thee, gossip," drawled out the 
 scrivener, winking his eyes abit, as if his 
 sight was none of the clearest. 
 
 " Be this a time to sing psalms, thou 
 heathen !" bawled out he of Eastcheap. 
 " Hast no respect for places ? well, if we 
 can not sing a catch, we will dance the 
 brawls : so away with the tables and 
 chairs, my masters, into the corner, and 
 let's foot it bravely." 
 
 The tables and chairs were quickly 
 moved by the jolly mercer, assisted by 
 Ralph Goshawk, who could not, in the 
 meanwhile, refrain from breaking out : 
 
 " Now Hecuba and Ilium's honored line." 
 
 "Hang Hecuba and thee too!" cried 
 Geoffrey- Sarsnet ; " and for the matter 
 of that, Ilium may take his line and hang 
 himself. Haw ! haw ! haw ! Now then, 
 my masters, at it in style, to the tune of 
 'Green Sleeves.' " 
 
 Then commenced a scene, the like of 
 which hath rarely been looked on ; for 
 the jolly mercer began throwing about 
 his lusty limbs, singing of the tune to the 
 top of his voice, with now and then vary- 
 ing it with a loud whoop, as he slapped 
 one or other on the back. He was sec- 
 onded by Ralph Goshawk, who moved 
 about as gingerly as though the flooring 
 was of pins and needles, and he was 
 mightily afraid of pricking his toes; and 
 after him came the old miser, with his 
 eyes half shut, and hanging of his head 
 on one side, as he staggered here and 
 there, as if without the slightest knowl- 
 edge of what he was a doing. Such a din 
 they kicked up as would have astonished 
 v a blacksmith. In the very midst thereof, 
 Gregory Vellum made a stumble, and 
 came with his back against the table, 
 knocking down from it the lights, the 
 horns, and every one thing that had been 
 there, and putting the place in utter and 
 complete darkness. 
 
 Immediately after the crash, the door 
 opened, and there appeared at it the 
 beautiful Joanna with a light, with Dame 
 Margery close behind, peeping to know 
 what such a terrible racket could be 
 about. Seeing the mercer's daughter, 
 the old miser, who had till now support- 
 ed himself against the table with his 
 hands, slipped down upon his nether end, 
 staling at her as foolishly as you please, 
 wila his nlouth open; and the young 
 
 haberdasher marched forward two paces, 
 and with his arms in the usual position, 
 addressed her thus : 
 
 " O gentle daughter of King (Edipus, 
 
 sister dear to that unhappy wight- 
 Whom brother's rage hath reaved of his right, 
 
 To whom thou knowest, in young and tender years, 
 
 1 was a friend and faithful governor, 
 
 Come forth.si nee that her grace hath granted leave, 
 And let me know what cause hath moved now 
 So chaste a maid to set her dainty foot 
 Over the threshold of her secret lodge." 
 
 " Go it, fustian !" cried the mercer, 
 giving the other so forcible a slap on the 
 back that it put him quite out of his 
 favorite position, and nearly sent him 
 sprawling on the floor. 
 
 " Father, I wonder you should make 
 such a clatter at this time of the night," 
 said Joanna, as gravely as she could ; for 
 in truth the scene was extremely ludi- 
 crous : then she added to the old woman 
 " Margery, let them have lights." ' At 
 the which, giving her candle to the oth- 
 er, she was hastening away, when she 
 stopped suddenly, turned back, and said, 
 " I think you had best gp to bed, father, 
 for 'tis exceeding late, and the neighbors 
 wfll marvel hugely at your making such 
 a disturbance ;" and then she went away. 
 
 "Well, the choicest of fooling must 
 have an end," exclaimed the jolly mer- 
 cer ; " so we must e'en part. Ralph, 
 thou hadst best see Gregory Vellum to 
 his house in St. Mary Axe, for I doubt 
 much, if he were left to find his way, he 
 would get beyond the next gutter." At the 
 which the young haberdasher answered 
 only by staring at the open door very 
 earnestly, and exclaiming thus: 
 
 " Techelles, draw thy sword, 
 And wound the earth, that it may cleav in twain, 
 And we descend into th" infernal vaults 
 To hale the fatal sisters by the hair, 
 Arid throw them in the triple moat of hell, 
 For taking hence my fair Zenocrate." 
 
 " What, Zenocrate again ? and be 
 hanged to thee," cried out his lusty host, 
 and thereat lent him such a kick of the 
 breech, that it sent him bounce against 
 the old woman, as she was a going out 
 at the door. 
 
 "Ya!" screamed she, as loud as she 
 could bawl, and took herself out of the 
 I room as if she had been shot out of it. 
 
 " Haw ! haw ! haw !" roared the jolly 
 mercer, while the discomfited haber- 
 dasher stood at a little distance, dili- 
 gently rubbing his nether end. "But 
 haste thee, Ralph, and take this fellow 
 away straight, for I am eager to have 
 ! him out of my house." 
 
 At this Ralph Goshawk took two or 
 | three of his most majestic strides to
 
 86 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 where Gregory Vellum now lay at hi 
 length, and with the assistance of hi 
 lusty companion, raised him on his legs 
 The old miser opened his lack-lustre eyes 
 and tried to look sensible, in the which 
 as may be supposed, he succeeded not a 
 all. 
 
 " Oh, woman ! lovely woman !" criec 
 he, in his shrill treble ; and thereupon 
 hugged Ralph so closely in his arms tha 
 both of them came tumbling to th< 
 ground together. 
 
 " Odds my life, this fooling will be th< 
 death of me," exclaimed the mercer, his 
 fat sides shaking with laughter ; and then 
 the two again essayed to raise the tipsy 
 scrivener. 
 
 " Spare my money, and take my life,' 
 drawled out he, as he arrived at his per- 
 pendicular. 
 
 '* Thy money's safe, I'll be bound for 
 it ; and as for thy life, 'tis the safer of the 
 two, for it be not worth the taking." And 
 then the mirth of Geoffrey Sarsnet burst 
 out as loud as ever. 
 
 " Oh, my gold ! my gold !" cried the 
 old miser, knocking his hands together, 
 and looking marvellously helpless and 
 pitiful, as, supported by the arms of Ralph 
 Goshawk round his waist, he dragged 
 himself along. The young haberdasher 
 accompanying him with a monstrous 
 dignified slow march, and looking as ten- 
 derly on his charge, as if he had been 
 some delicate princess ; and the jolly 
 mercer, following with the light, ever 
 and anon, breaking out in his customary 
 laugh. 
 
 " Gently with him !" exclaimed he. 
 " Hold him up, or he will slip down again, 
 and mavhay hurt his fool's head. Stop, 
 let me put on his hat and here's thine. 
 Now, let me ope the door: and if thou 
 meet any of the watch, say it be an hon- 
 est friend of mine, and they will molest 
 theenot ; for I be in good odor with Mas- 
 ter Constable, and have treated many of 
 his brethren with a tankard. Goodnight 
 to thee, old boy ; and, prythee, keep thy 
 body up if thou cast. Good night, Ralph !" 
 The young haberdasher no sooner 
 heard the words that had just been utter- 
 ed, than holding his charge firmly with 
 one arm, he struck out the other, and re- 
 plied "Thus Rhadamanthus spoke " 
 
 "Hang Rhadamanthus and thee too!" 
 cried the other, as he banged the street 
 door in his face: and what Rhadaman- 
 thus spoke remaineth to this day a mys- 
 tery. The jolly mercer, like a careful 
 ritizen, fastened the door, and saw that 
 all things were safe in his house ; and 
 
 then went he up stairs to bed, singing 
 very merrily : 
 
 " Full oft to the great have I held my prate ; 
 
 But when I have had good ale enow, 
 I be not afeard to wag my beard 
 
 With any woman's son, be he high or low," 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Since Fortune's will is npw so bent 
 
 To plague me thus poor man ! 
 I must myself therewith content, 
 
 And bear it as I can. 
 
 SIR THOMAS WYATT. 
 
 Happy is he that liveth in such a sort ; 
 He need not fear the tongues of false report. 
 LORD SURREY. 
 
 What comfort have we npw ? 
 By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly 
 That bids me be of comfort any more. 
 
 SHAKSPKARE. 
 
 THERE was a goodly company in the 
 parlor of mine host of the Ship at Chat- 
 ham, whereof most of them seemed to be 
 seafaring men from the vessels lying in 
 harbor, shipwrights of the town, and 
 the like. Some were a playing at shove- 
 groat ; others leaning out of the open 
 bow-window watching the ships. Here 
 one was upon a bench as fast as a church, 
 there another a nodding hi? head over 
 the table, as if he would speedily follow 
 his neighbor's example ; many were a 
 drinking, and some few discoursing very 
 soberly ; whilst ever and anon mine host 
 (a very tapster-looking varlet, with a 
 right rosy face and a short plump body) 
 came in and out, serving of his customers 
 with a tankard or so, and having some- 
 thing to say to all. 
 
 " Prythee, tell me what ship be that, 
 Simon Mainsail ?" inquired a stout handi- 
 craftsman of some sort, to a weather- 
 seaten old mariner with a scarred face, 
 who stood by him at the window. 
 
 "Which ship, messmate?" asked the 
 other. 
 
 " That one that hath but lately come 
 n," said the first. 
 
 " Oh ! be that she squaring her yards ?" 
 observed the mariner inquiringly. 
 
 ' Nay, I know not if she be squaring of 
 icr yards or her inches," replied the 
 landicraftsman ; " but it seemeth to me 
 hat she be just come to an anchor." 
 
 " That be the craft, ey ?' answered his 
 companion. " 'Tis a pinnace of my Lord 
 Admiral's, called the Disdain, and many 
 a time and oft have I been afloat in her 
 he saileth well enough afore the wind 
 ay, my heart ! as bravely as a witch in
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 87 
 
 a sieve ; but she wears heavily in some 
 weathers. I was in her off the Lizard, 
 when we first had sight of the Spanish 
 armada, and Captain Jonas Bradbury 
 was her captain a right gallant gentle- 
 man, and a skilful. Well, when my 
 lord admiral had allowed the villain 
 Spaniards, with all their host of big 
 ships, amounting to 160 sail, to pass him 
 by as they did, swaggering it along like 
 very bullies as they were, we in the Dis- 
 dain were sent to challenge them to the 
 fight, at the which we lost no time, for 
 we straight bore down upon the nearest, 
 and discharged our ordnance at her. 
 Then up came my lord admiral, in the ark 
 Royal, giving to the first galleon of the 
 enemy such a broadside as made her 
 shiver in all her timbers. Close at his 
 stern came Drake, in the Revenge, Sir 
 John Hawkins in the Victory, and Sir 
 Martin Frobisher in the Triumph, which 
 last was the biggest of all our ships, and 
 they soon began to fire away like mad. 
 Other of our craft followed, and they 
 of the armada, after a while, liked not 
 our salutations, 1 promise you ; for they 
 that were nighest to us bore away as if 
 Old Clooty was at their heels; but not 
 before we had done them great damage- 
 ment, burnt one of their largest ships, 
 and took another, in the which we found 
 55,000 ducats, whereof I spent my share 
 (for it was all divided amongst the sail- 
 ors) in drinking confusion to all villain 
 Spaniards." 
 
 " That was a proud time for Old Eng- 
 land," remarked a bystander. 
 
 " Proud time !" exclaimed Simon Main- 
 sail. " 'Slife, messmate ! I never think 
 on't but I feel as if I were head and shoul- 
 ders taller.'' 
 
 " Here be a brimming tankard, my 
 masters !" cried my host, as he set a filled 
 jug before two youths, who appeared 
 by their looks to be but simple apprenti- 
 ces. " I doubt not 'twill warm your young 
 hearts famously. 'Tis mild as milk, and 
 soft as silk ; and as good as can be drunk 
 by any nobleman in the land. But the 
 money, my masters the money !' : 
 
 " How much be the cost of it?" askec 
 one very innocently. 
 
 " Why, to such noble young gentlemen 
 I must say a groat ; though I would no 
 let those of meaner quality have it under 
 threepence, I promise you." Thereat he 
 nudged a bystander at the elbow. 
 
 " I thank' you kindly, good sir," replied 
 the youth; and then in a whisper added 
 td his companion, " Tim, hast got two- 
 pence? for no more than that ha r e I." 
 
 " I have it to a farthing," said the other ; 
 and thereupon handed him the amount, 
 which with his own he placed in the 
 hands of mine host. 
 
 ' I think you will find it right," ob- 
 served the apprentice, as he noticed the 
 tapster begin counting of it. 
 
 " One penny two three a halfpen- 
 ny and two farthings is it exactly, and 
 thank your worship," replied mine host, 
 with a monstrous serious countenance, 
 while all in the room could scarce refrain 
 from a laugh. 
 
 " Will you take a drink with us, good 
 sir ?" asked Tim modestly. 
 
 " That will I, and thank your honor," 
 answered mine host, raising the untasted 
 jug to his mouth. " So, your worships' 
 very good health !" 
 
 "I thank you," said both at the same 
 time. The two apprentices npw watched 
 the tapster very curiously, as they saw 
 his head gradually fall back as he was a 
 drinking of their liquor, and his stomach 
 poke out as much, till he put down the 
 tankard. 
 
 '"Why, he's drank it all !" exclaimed 
 one, opening his eyes with astonishment, 
 as soon as he discovered the vessel was 
 empty ; at the which announcement the 
 jaw of the other fell prodigiously, and 
 all the company burst out into a roar of 
 laughter. 
 
 " Your worship was good enough^ to 
 ask me to take a drink, and methinks I 
 have done your bidding famously," said 
 mine host ; and without ever a word 
 more, he walked straight from the room, 
 as if he had done nothing out of the com- 
 mon, leaving every one a laughing more 
 than ever, and the two youths looking at 
 each other as foolish as you please. The 
 latter seemed as if they knew not whether 
 to go or to stay. Without doubt they 
 were monstrously ashamed, and would 
 have given their ears never to have en- 
 tered into a place whereof, it is on the 
 face of it, they had had so little experi- 
 ence; but while they were a reddening 
 and fidgeting about, and making up a res- 
 olution to take to their heels, in comes 
 mine host with a full tan"kard, as if for 
 another customer, and with such an ex- 
 ceeding comic face, that at the sight of it 
 the company laughed louder than at first. 
 
 "Here be a somewhat larger tankard 
 than the one I brought you in a while 
 since," said the tapster, as he placed the 
 vessel before the astonished youths. " But 
 the liquor hath been drawn from the same 
 tap, I'll warrant it. 'Tis in exchange for 
 that I hive swallowed. Drink, and make
 
 88 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 your nearts merry, ray masters. But let 
 me giye you this piece of advice, which 
 you will, I doubt not, find of some profit 
 to follow. Never ask another to drink 
 with you till you have first gauged his 
 stomach to see what he will hold." 
 
 "I'll gauge him without fail, depend 
 on't, good sir," exclaimed Tim, in an ex- 
 cellent cheerful humor ; and then all in 
 the room expressed their delight at mine 
 host's conceit, and many did order fresh 
 tankards, they were so well pleased with 
 the handsome way in which he had made 
 amends to the simple apprentices for the 
 trick he had played upon them. 
 
 " That be so like thee, Ephraim Spig- 
 ot," observed one merrily. 
 
 " That be a sure thing,'* replied he, af- 
 ter the same fashion ; " for of all my fam- 
 ily I be reckoned most like myself." 
 Thereat there was a laugh of course, and 
 he took himself out in the midst of it. 
 
 " Knowest thou where that vessel hath 
 been ?" inquired the handicraftsman of 
 his neighbor 
 
 "I did hear she sailed to bring back 
 Sir Walter Raleigh," replied Simon 
 Mainsail. 
 
 " What, he that went from here on 
 the late expedition ?" asked his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Ay, messmate, the same," said the 
 mariner. 
 
 " It hath been said that he be in dis- 
 grace at court, for that he will not splice 
 himself unto a gentlewoman of the 
 queen's choosing," observed another sea- 
 faring man. 
 
 " Now, I heard from my gammer, 
 said an artificer " and my gammer got 
 it from her gossip, and her gossip had it 
 from a cousin of h'ers, who is a serving- 
 man to some person of worship in Lon- 
 don that this Sir Walter Raleigh hath 
 fallen out with the great Earl of Essex 
 and that they were nigh coming to Wows 
 before the queen's majesty, the which put 
 her into so monstrous a fret, that she 
 straightway forbid them her presence." 
 
 " 'Tis said that this Raleigh be a fa- 
 mous conceited fellow," remarked anoth- 
 er, " and spendeth as much on his back 
 as would clothe a whole county." 
 
 " What dreadful extravagance !" ex- 
 claimed the handicraftsman. "Why can 
 not he be content with a jerkin of a mod- 
 erate price, such as might become any 
 honest man, and give the rest to the 
 poor ?" 
 
 "Why, messmate, thus runs the log," 
 replied the old mariner, hitching up his 
 slops : " If so be he be ordered to dress 
 
 lis vessel after one fashion, he must needs 
 lo it, or be put in the bilboes for a muti- 
 neer. Mayhap he hath had signals from 
 iis admiral to have his rigging smarter 
 han ordinary, and like a good seaman he 
 lath obeyed orders. As for his hanging 
 astern at court, for not consorting with 
 such as his betters choose for him, I have 
 seen none that have taken soundings 
 here, therefore have I no chart to go by 
 o lead me to the truth ; and whether hi 
 lave come to an engagement with Lord 
 Essex, know I as little ; but let him have 
 sailed on either tack, or, for the matter 
 of that, on both, I see nothing in it dis- 
 creditable to his seamanship." 
 
 " I heard from a very honest intelligen- 
 ;er that he was to be fetched back from 
 ais command in huge disgrace," observed 
 one of the artificers. 
 ."Mayhap," replied Simon Mainsail: 
 the very best man that walks a plank 
 can't always have fair weather with his 
 officers, albeit he have no fault in him ; 
 for on one watch they shall be in this 
 humor, and the next in one that is clean 
 contrary. 'Slife ! it be the difficultest 
 thing that is for a fellow to warp out o' 
 harbor without meeting with a squall 
 from some of 'em. As for Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, 'tis like enough I be as familiar 
 with his trim and seaworthiness as any, 
 seeing that I served as gunner under him 
 in Drake and Norris's expedition to the 
 Groyne, in the year eighty-nine ; and I 
 can say this much, that never met I a 
 more proper commander. He be none 
 of your thundering great ships that bear 
 down upon us smaller craft, as if they 
 would swamp every mother's son of us ; 
 but he hath often and often crept up 
 along side of me, and spoke about gun- 
 nery and such matters with as much cun- 
 ning as if he had been at load and fire all 
 his life. And as for his spirit, after we 
 landed in the bay of Ferrol, I saw him 
 bear up among the Spaniards at Puente 
 de Burgos, after a fashion that reminded 
 me only of that right gallant officer his 
 kinsman, Sir Richard Grenville." 
 
 "And what did he, neighbor?" asked 
 the handicraftsman. 
 
 "What did he, messmate?" replied 
 the veterans " Why, he did the gallant- 
 est thing that ever was known on the 
 high seas. You shall hear, for it be mar- 
 vellously worth the telling. You see 
 there was a fleet sent out in the year 
 ninety-one, under the command of Lord 
 Thomas Howard, consisting of six ships 
 royal, six victuallers, and a few pinnaces, 
 whereof Sir Richard Grenville was vice-
 
 admiral, in the Revenge, in the which I 
 had gone on board as master-gunner ; 
 and this expedition, like unto the one that 
 sailed from here awhile ago with Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, had for its object the 
 surprising of the Plate fleet, belonging to 
 the villain Spaniards, as it rendezvoused 
 at the Azores, coming from America. 
 Somehow or another the pestilent knaves, 
 the enemy, had wind of it, and they sent 
 a fleet of fifty-three of their biggest ships 
 of war to act as convoy ; of the which we 
 knowing nothing, were quietly taking in 
 water at Flores, when down they came 
 upon us. All hurried on board to weigh 
 anchor and escape, as there was no fight- 
 ing against such odds. But Sir Richard 
 Grenville, having seen every one of his 
 men embark, was the last to leave the 
 shore; and by this necessary delay the! 
 Revenge was left alone. He seeiag that 
 there was no hope of recovering the wind, j 
 knew nothing was possible but to cut his j 
 mainsail, tack about, and be off with what 
 speed he might, or stay and fight with all j 
 that could come up with him ; but though 
 the enemy had surrounded his ship in ' 
 such a wav as to leave him little chance ! 
 of escape, and though ninety of his men 
 were on the sick list, and only a hundred 
 able for duty, he was not the fellow to 
 turn from a parcel of villain Spaniards ; 
 so he had everything prepared for action, 
 and bore down to force a squadron that 
 stood on his weather bow. 
 
 " There, my messmates, was a sight to 
 see," continued the old mariner, his hon- 
 est weather-beaten face glowing at his 
 own narration : " one ship attacking a 
 whole squadron ! And the gallant Gren- j 
 ville was nigh beiog as successful as his ; 
 great heart merited, for divers of the vil- 
 lain Spaniards springing their loof, fell 
 under his lee ; but a cursed big galleon 
 of fifteen hundred tons gained the wind, 
 and bearing down on the Revenge, did so 
 becalm her sails that neither could she 
 make way or obey the helm. You may 
 have a notion, messmates, of what sort 
 of a customer this galleon was like to be, 
 when I tell you that she carried three tier 
 of guns on each side, and discharged eight 
 foreright from her chase, besides those of 
 her stern ports. Well, as ill luck would 
 have it, while we were peppering away 
 at this monster in such sort as soon made 
 her glad to sheer off, two of the like kind 
 boarded us on the starboard, and two on 
 the larboard ; but we minded 'em not a 
 whit nay, we beat 'em off, one afier an- 
 other, big as they were, till we had fought 
 some sixteen of them for the space of fif- 
 
 teen hours, two of which we sunk and 
 two made complete wrecks, and the rest 
 we handled pretty rudely, I promise yon. 
 
 " But how fared we all this time, my 
 messmates ? Scarce one of us escaped 
 forty as brave fellows as ever trod a deck 
 were sent aloft, where 'tis to be hoped 
 they'll be well cared for ; and of the rest 
 scarce any were left without something 
 to show of the sort of employment they 
 had been at. I got this slash across my 
 figure-head, with a bullet through my star- 
 board fin, and another near the main hatch 1 - 
 way, all along of those villain Spaniards. 
 Sir Richard, who had not left the upper 
 deck for eight hours after he was first 
 wounded, which was in the early part of 
 the action, was then shot through the 
 bulwarks ; and as they were repairing the 
 damage, he received another bullet, and 
 saw the doctor regularly capsized along- 
 side of him. But the Revenge was treat- 
 ed worse than all ; for when the morning 
 broke she was nothing but a naked hull, 
 having received as many as eight hundred 
 shot of great artillery, which those bullies 
 of sralleons had fired into her, whereof 
 some were under water : her masts were 
 beat overboard her tackle split to rib- 
 ands her upper works levelled to the 
 water's edge ; and she was altogether in 
 so pitiful a condition that she moved only 
 with the motion of the billows. 
 
 "For all that, my messmates, Sir Rich- 
 ard wasn't for striking his flag ; but pro- 
 posed to sink the ship rather than fall into 
 the hands of such notorious villains, in 
 the which he was seconded by myself and 
 some few of the crew; but the rest not 
 being of the like spirit, compelled him to 
 surrender, and this, methinks, rather 
 than his wounds, caused him to die soon 
 after." 
 
 " There went a noble heart !" cried one 
 of the seafaring men. 
 
 " In truth, he was a gallant gentle- 
 man," said the handicraftsman ; and 
 others made like ejaculations, for all had 
 listened with exceeding interest to the 
 old man's stirring account of the fight. 
 
 " But how got you out of their clutches, 
 Simon Mainsail ?" asked one ; " and how 
 did they behave to you?" 
 
 " 'Slife ! they used me like a dog, 
 messmate," replied the veteran, in a 
 monstrous indignatioa; "my wounds 
 were most infamously handled ; and how 
 I recovered under such barbarous treat- 
 ment is a marvel to me. But we were 
 all served alike, clapped in irons, and 
 treated with mouldy biscuit and bilge- 
 water, till we came to an anchor at
 
 90 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Cadiz, when we were paraded through 
 the streets, accompanied by shoals of 
 papist priests, soldiers, and a bloodthirsty 
 mob, yelling at the sight of us, as if they 
 had reason to boast of their victory. It 
 was given out that we were to be hang- 
 ed, which sent some of us on our beam- 
 ends at the thought of it ; but I told 'em 
 not to despair, and set them up to a thing 
 which made them put their helms up in 
 a presently. You must know, messmates, 
 that these Spaniards hate us for not car- 
 ing a breath of wind for their images, 
 relics, and such like popish abominations, 
 and curse us in their hearts for heretics ; 
 but the priests are mightily pleased at the 
 thought of converting a proteslant, as 
 they look upon it as a sort of victory. So 
 we got one of our crew who understood 
 their patter, to say we would fa.in change 
 our religion : thereupon came father this 
 and father t'other,,who preached to us'by 
 the hour, and very easily persuaded our 
 whole company to cross ourselves, to 
 kiss this image, and the other image, and 
 assent to whatever they directed. Then, 
 seeing us such good catholics, we were 
 taken out of our chains our victuals be- 
 came of a better sort, and they kept not 
 so sharp an eye on us as they did. The 
 end of all this was, one night we broke 
 out of prison very quietly, got into some 
 boats that were high and dry on the 
 beach with them boarded a ketch that 
 lay at anchor in the bay ; and having 
 found the crew asleep, took possession 
 of her without a blow ; and in the morn- 
 ing we were far out at sea, better protes- 
 tants than ever, making for Old England, 
 with a whole crew of villain Spaniards 
 our prisoners." 
 
 " I'faith that was well done !" exclaim- 
 ed one ; in the which all seemed to as- 
 sent, especially the apprentices, who, 
 having finished their tankard, had grown 
 bold enough to express their approval of 
 the old mariner's conduct. 
 
 " I should like to beat a Spaniard 
 hugely," said Tim to the other, very 
 bravely. 
 
 " Suppose he stand upon his weapon 
 and will not be beat of thee what theu ?" 
 asked his companion. 
 
 " Why a " observed Tim, somewhat 
 as it were in a sort of hesitation " I 
 would e'en tell him go hang for a knave 
 and let him go." 
 
 " Walk in, my masters walk in, I 
 pray you !" cried out mine host as he 
 ushered into the room two serving-men, 
 who looked by the dust on their jerkins 
 and long boots, that they had come of a 
 
 journey. " There be room enough and 
 to spare, I warrant you : and if so be you 
 are as dry as are the roads, doubtless you 
 will be all the better for a wetting." 
 
 " What sayest thou, Diggory, shall we 
 have a tankard ?" asked one of the other 
 as they swaggered themselves into a 
 seat. 
 
 " Ay, Peter, let it be a tankard," replied 
 Diggory. 
 
 " That you shall have, and of the best," 
 said Ephraim Spigot, " and 'tis to be 
 hoped 'twill enable you to drink away 
 your drought, and draught away your 
 drink." And away went the portly 
 tapster, with a loud chuckle at his own 
 conceit. 
 
 " Doth that fellow laugh at us ?" said 
 Peter with exceeding fierceness. " Nay, 
 and by goles I'll rap him over the pate 
 an' he do." 
 
 " Prythee do not," said his companion 
 urgently, "for rememberest thou what 
 Sir Nicholas Throckmorton said 'Men- 
 tion my name on no account, and of all 
 things keep out of brawls.'" 
 
 " Ha ! so said he sure enough, Diggory," 
 replied the other, " I mind it well, and 
 will be as close upon this business as if 
 I knew it not. Nay, if there be any so 
 daring as to say I be Sir Nicholas Throck- 
 morton 's serving-man, I'll swear he lies 
 in his throat, and slit his weasan for him." 
 
 "Dost think Stephen Shortcake will 
 be long, Peter ?" asked Diggory. 
 
 " Indeed, I can not say," responded he 
 sharply. " To tell thee the truth, Dig- 
 gory, I like him not ; for when I wanted 
 to cut off that impudent varlet's ears that 
 did seem to dog us so as we came along, 
 he would on no account let it be ; and 
 did give me a rating for seeking 4o en- 
 danger the reputation of our mistress by 
 my quarrelsomeness. 'Slife, I take him 
 to be a very precise fellow, Diggory." 
 
 " Here you are, my masters !" cried 
 mine host bringing in the liquor and set- 
 ting it before his customers, " and never 
 tasted you better stuff, I'll be bound 
 for it." 
 
 " Our master, Sir Nicholas Throck- 
 morton, hath better liq Hang thee, 
 
 Diggory, what dost tread on my toes for !" 
 exclaimed Peter, cutting himself short in 
 the middle of his speech, and making an 
 exceeding wry face. 
 
 "Here's the money, good sir," said 
 Diggory in a civil manner to his host, 
 " and doubt I not the excellency of your 
 liquor, believe me." 
 
 " I'll believe any one who pays with- 
 out being asked for his reckoning,-" re-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 91 
 
 plica Ephraim Spigot with a knowing 
 look ; and thereupon proceeded out of 
 the room. 
 
 " I marvel at thee, Peter," exclaimed 
 the other, immediately mine host had 
 turned his back, " thou wouldst have be- 
 gun thy brawling had I not stopped thee." 
 
 " 'Slife ! and shall a paltry tapster 
 have better ale than our master ?" cried 
 Peter indignantly. " By goles, I could 
 out with my tool and beat the knave into 
 shavings." 
 
 " Prythee be quiet, and take a drink," 
 said Diggory. 
 
 "Well, here's to thee, and confusion 
 to all beggarly knaves that can not fight 
 their way," replied his companion, taking 
 a hear'ty swill at the tankard. 
 
 " How look the roads, my master ?" 
 exclaimed an honest-looking yeoman in 
 the next corner. 
 
 " Why, but indifferently, good sir," 
 responded Diggory, with a like civility. 
 " Indeed, I may say that ever since I 
 left the house of my master, Sir Nicholas 
 Throck Hang thee, Peter, what dost 
 pinch me so for ?'' cried he, turning sharp 
 upon the other. 
 
 " 'Slife man, thou wert a saying Sir 
 Nicholas Throckmorton's name, which 
 be against the law," said Peter in a 
 whisper, which was overheard by every 
 one in the room. 
 
 " Thou didst right to interrupt me 
 then," replied Diggory. " But prythee 
 don't pinch quite so hard again," and 
 then he took a hearty swill at the tankard. 
 
 " All that be not seafaring men be 
 cowards !" cried out a drunken boat- 
 swain, as he woke up from his sleep on 
 the bench. 
 
 " Thou liest, dog !" shouted Peter, 
 drawing out his rapier, " I be no sea- 
 faring man, yet will I prove myself valiant 
 upon thy villanous body." 
 
 'Have at thee, then!" exclaimed the 
 seaman, endeavoring to stand up and 
 draw his weapon. 
 
 " Peter ! Peter !" cried Diggory, beat- 
 ing his fist against the other's back to '. 
 make him attend. "Rememberest thou 
 the law ? Peter, I say, thou knowest 
 there must be no brawling. Put up thy 
 weapon, Peter, I prythee !" 
 
 " For shame upon you, my masters !" i 
 exclaimed Simon Mainsail, running in : 
 between the combatants, and assisting , 
 with others to make them desist of their 
 intended violence ; whilst the two appren- 
 tices, like prudent youths, as soon as 
 they saw there was like to be a fighting 
 with swords, took to their heels. 
 
 " No brawling, I pray you, my mas- 
 ters?" exclaimed mine host, rushing into 
 the room as if with a fear of mischief. 
 
 " Make not an honest man's house a 
 place for the shedding of blood," cried 
 the handicraftsman. 
 
 "Hang him, villain !" shouted Peter, 
 endeavoring to get at his opponent, who 
 was held from him by the bystanders. 
 "Shall he call me a cowaxd because I 
 be no seafaring man ? He lies in his 
 throat! By goles, I'll cut off his ears 
 for't." 
 
 " Peter ! Peter, I say !" cried Diggory, 
 pulling and thumping him with all his 
 might. 
 
 " 'Slife ! man, dost want to pound my 
 back to a powder !" bawled out Peter to 
 his companion. " I will let out my valor 
 upon him. I'll cut him over his knave's 
 pate at least. Nay, our master, Sir 
 Nicholas Throck" 
 
 "Put up thy weapon, yarlet, this in- 
 stant !" angrily exclaimed Stephen Short- 
 cake as he entered the room and seized 
 his uplifted arm? "How darest thou 
 draw upon any man ? Wert not expressly 
 forbid to brawl and to mention names ? 
 and 1 leave thee only for a short space, 
 and find thee a doing of both. Up with 
 thy weapon, or thou shall rue it." 
 
 "Peter slowly and somewhat reluct- 
 antly put away his rapier, and the words 
 of the seafaring man hurried him out of 
 the room. 
 
 " O' my life thou art the most pestilent 
 knave that lives," cried the old butler to 
 the pugnacious serving-man. " Thou 
 art like to bring us all into trouble by 
 thy villanous quarrelsomeness. What 
 need hadst thou with a drawn weapon in 
 thy hand ? nay, I marvel hugely that 
 thou shouldst be allowed a weapon at 
 all." 
 
 " He did say that all were cowards 
 except seafaring men, "replied Peter dog- 
 gedly, " and I could not stand by and 
 disgrace our master by stomaching it." 
 
 " Thou hast disgraced thy master as 
 it is," said Stephen Shortcake, looking 
 very wrath at him. " But see that thou 
 offend not again, or it shall go hard with 
 thee. And I am ashamed of thee, Dig 
 gory, that thou shouldst have stood by 
 and hindered him not," he added, turning 
 sharp round upon the other. 
 
 " Nay, I do assure you, I did essay all 
 means to withhold him from it," an- 
 swered Diggory. " I did remind him 
 that our master, Sir Nicholas Oh !" 
 
 " Hang thee, thou babbling knave !" 
 cried the enraged old man, as he seized
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 the uncautious Diggory by the ear '< Is 
 this the way thou pbeyest thy master's 
 orders ? 0' ray life, 1 know not which 
 is the most pestilent villain of the two. 
 Now I charge thee stay here till I re- 
 turn ; and if there be any more prating, 
 or the least stir to a brawl, at thy peril 
 be it." So saying, Stephen Shortcake 
 took himself out of the room, leaving 
 the two serving-men mightily intent upon 
 their best behavior, and the rest of the 
 company in a famous marvelling at the 
 strangeness of their conduct. He then 
 proceeded up a winding flight of stairs 
 to the first landing, where there was a 
 door, at the which he knocked, and be- 
 ing bid come in, he did enter accordingly. 
 
 " Well, good Stephen what news 
 have you ?" inquired the beautiful young 
 wife of Sir Walter Raleigh, w"ho sat 
 leaning on her arm looking out of the 
 casement, attired as if she had but just 
 come off a journey. 
 
 " Indeed, sweet mistress, I have very 
 comfortable news," replied the old butler 
 respectfully. "I did make inquiries of 
 divers worshipful captains, and men of 
 the sea, and some have told me, that 
 they know for certain my honored master 
 is on board a vessel that hath but lately 
 come in." 
 
 " 'Tis comfortable news indeed, Ste- 
 phen," said Dame Elizabeth, brightening 
 up exceedingly. " But how looks he ? 
 Doth he ail anything ? Hath he pros- 
 pered in his voyage ? When shall I see 
 him ?" she then eagerly inquired. 
 
 " Of his looks I could learn bat little," 
 answered Stephen Shortcake ; " seeing 
 that I have met with none that have had 
 speech of him since he left here ; and of 
 his voyage know I no more, for there 
 were none who were informed of it. And 
 as for when you shall see him, sweet 
 mistress! methinks 'twill not be long 
 first, as I did lose no time in despatching 
 a trusty boatman with your note, who 
 hath promised me to use all speed, and 
 to give it into Sir Walter's own hand." 
 
 " Thanks, good Stephen !" exclaimed 
 she. " I am glad the information I re- 
 ceived that he was spoke with off the 
 coast, hath proved correct ; for the rest, I 
 doubt not, I shall have it from himself. 
 But get you some refreshment, good 
 Stephen, for you have had a hard ride, 
 and doubtless do require something." 
 
 " Nay, if it please you, I would rather 
 be a gelling of some dainty for yourself," 
 observed the old man. " For you have 
 scarce tasted bit or sup since we left Aid- 
 gate.' ' 
 
 " I have no heart for anything till I 
 see Sir Walter," replied the affectionate 
 woman. "But I thank you for your 
 painstaking ; and do. insist upon it, you 
 presently procure for yourself, whatever 
 proper thing the house affords." 
 
 " I thank you heartily, sweet mistress !" 
 exclaimed he, " and will haste to do your 
 gracious bidding." 
 
 When Stephen Shortcake had left the 
 room, Dame Elizabeth turned again to 
 the casement, and gazed among the ves- 
 sels as if with a hope of finding out the 
 ship in which was her beloved husband. 
 All at once she did behold a boat putting 
 off from one, upon which she kept her 
 eyes, as it made for the shore, pleasing 
 herself with the fancy, that therein might 
 be him she most wished to see. She 
 could just discern two persons (besides 
 the boatman), one of whom, as far as she 
 could make out in the distance, looked 
 the taller and nobler of the two. " 'Tis 
 he !" she exclaimed joyfully, as she 
 thought she recognised his figure ; and 
 then added, pressing her hands over her 
 throbbing breast, " be still, my heart!" 
 
 In a few minutes there could be but 
 little doubt of it for the one she had ob- 
 served, as if noticing her at the case- 
 ment, did suddenly stand up in the boat 
 and whirl his hat round and round his 
 head ; whereupon she took her kerchief 
 and waved it in the air ; her heart all 
 the whilst seemingly being in as great a 
 flutter. Then it was seen, as they made 
 the land, that the two were Sir Walter 
 Raleigh and Master Francis. She watch- 
 ed them very earnestly as they neared 
 the house, and when she lost sight of 
 them she rose from the casement then 
 sat herself down again while her heart 
 seemed so to beat, and her countenance 
 became so pale and agitated she scarce 
 knew what to do ; and when Sir Walter's 
 quick step was heard upon the stairs, she 
 could only stand by catching fast hold of 
 the arm of the chair, the which she had 
 not let go till she found herself within 
 the embrace of her loving husband. 
 
 " After all said and done, dear Bess," 
 said Sir Walter Raleigh, when they had 
 exchanged their affectionate greetings, 
 "I think we shall live as pleasant a life 
 of it as heart can desire." 
 
 " I hope so, dear Walter," replied his 
 beautiful young wife, " yet I have had 
 my doubts. There have been rumors 
 afloat to your disadvantage, which have 
 given me infinite uneasiness, and I oft- 
 times thought that our marriage had 
 come to the queen's ears, and she in con-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS 
 
 ft? 
 
 sequence thereof, had resolved on your 
 disgrace. Indeed it made me exceeding 
 sore of heart." 
 
 " Tush, girl, care not for it !" exclaimed 
 Raleigh. " I did hear of its being whis- 
 pered before I left here, and thereat did 
 write Cecil an ambiguous letter which, 
 methinks, should by this time have put 
 an end to all rumors. I know not why 
 it is, yet have I been marvellously ill 
 used in the matter of this expedition, for 
 the queen kept not her faith with 'me, 
 and hath put me to a sore trial of my 
 patience. But I doubt not the great suc- 
 cess that hath attended this adventure, 
 will not only create in her majesty a de- 
 sire to make me amends for what unkind 
 things I have endured, but will win her 
 pardon for having married without her 
 approval." 
 
 "Hast had great success, Walter?" 
 inquired Dame Elizabeth anxiously. 
 
 " Ay, that have we, sweet Bess," he 
 replied. " 'Tis true I have most unjustly 
 been called from my command, but be- 
 fore I left the fleet I gave orders that one 
 half of it, with one of the queen's ships 
 under the command of Sir John Burgh, 
 should cruise off the coast of Spain, while 
 Sir Martin Frobisher, with the rest, should 
 lay in wait off the Azores ; for I had great 
 expectation that there we should have the 
 good hap to intercept the Plate fleet. 
 Well, I have so long been kept back by 
 contrary winds, that as I entered this 
 port, I was overtook by a fast-sailing 
 vessel, that hath assured me on credible 
 authority, that Frobisher's squadron fell 
 in with the Indian ships as I expected ; 
 and hath taken a carrack of the burthen 
 of 1,600 tons, valued at half a million 
 sterling which most assuredly is the 
 largest and richest prize ever had from 
 the enemy." 
 
 " Indeed, that doth give me exceeding 
 comfort," cried she very joyfully. 
 
 " I doubt 'twill be the best recom- 
 mendation to the queen I have been able 
 to show this many a day," added Sir 
 Walter. 
 
 "I do think, myself, it cometh most 
 opportunely," observed his devoted wife. 
 " It hath put to flight all my foolish fears, 
 and methinks I can allow myself now to 
 hope that all will soon be well. We 
 will then be so happy so very happy, 
 won't we, dear Walter?" 
 
 ' Ay, dearest, without a doubt," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Open, in the queen's name !" shouted 
 out the voice of one who beat the door 
 rudly. 
 
 " Ah !" screamed Dame Elizabeth, start- 
 ing from the fond embrace of her hus- 
 band, and trembling in every limb. 
 
 "Hush, Bess, 'tis nothing," said Sir 
 Walter in an encouraging tone, and went 
 to open the door. " Ha, Sir George Ca- 
 rew, right welcome !" he added, as he 
 noticed who it was that had disturbed 
 them ; and then one of a military ap- 
 pearance, and somewhat serious counte- 
 nance, walked into the room with his 
 rapier drawn. 
 
 "I am sorry that I am come of so un- 
 welcome an errand," said he. " But I 
 have the queen's commandment to arrest 
 you, Sir Walter -Raleigh, and you, Mis- 
 tress Elizabeth, and conrey you prisoners 
 to the Tower." 
 
 " Ah, I was afraid of this I have ru- 
 ined thee," exclaimed Dame Elizabeth in 
 a piteous accent, as she fell sobbing on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " Bess !" cried Sir Walter in a grave 
 voice, as he lifted her from him, and 
 looked reprovingly in her face. " Re- 
 member, that thou art my wife !" 
 
 No sooner had these words been spoke 
 than the beautiful woman, as if with a 
 sudden effort to conquer her feelings, cast 
 back her head proudly ; and walking 
 with a truly majestic carriage up to Sir 
 George Carew, said in a firm voice, "I 
 am ready, sir." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Other sins only speak, murder shrieks out. 
 The elements of water moisten the earth, 
 But blood flies upward and bedews the heavens. 
 
 WEBSTER. 
 
 This yellow slave 
 
 Will knit and break religions ; bles* the accursed; 
 Make the hoar leprosy adored ! place thieves, 
 And give them title, knee, and approbation, 
 With senators on the bench. SHAKSPEAHB. 
 
 There is the murderer, for ever stabbed 
 
 Yet can he never die. FORD. 
 
 THE miser of St. Mary Axe sat in a 
 worm-eaten arm chair, in a narrow cham- 
 ber, of comfortless and mean appearance, 
 before a table on which were sundry par- 
 cels wrapt up in dirty bits of rag, and a 
 pair of small scales ; and he was enga- 
 ged in counting out a store of gold pieces 
 from an old stocking. His face looked 
 somewhat sickly, and his eyes yellowish ; 
 and his hands shook much as he handled 
 his treasures. There was a window in 
 the room, but it was so covered with dirt,
 
 94 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 and the broken panes so pasted over with 
 parchment, that it gave only sufficient 
 light to discern the squalidness and filth of 
 the place, one or two broken chairs, a rick- 
 ety table, some bundles of papers covered 
 with dust, a great chest, with a padlock, 
 that stood open behind him, and himself 
 the owner of all. Besides his usual 
 dress, which never varied, he had on his 
 spectacles, with which he carefully scru- 
 tinized every coin, and weighed some ; 
 now and then giving quick suspicious 
 glances around the room, and starting 
 fearfully at every little noise. It is not 
 to be supposed that he held his peace, for 
 he did talk continually, as if : for compa- 
 ny ; and on divers subjects, much at the 
 same time, like unto one whose mind 
 wandereth somewhat. 
 
 "Forty-nine fifty," said he closely ex- 
 amining the last piece he had taken from 
 the stocking. " Methinks this be exceed- 
 ing light. It hath been clipped, doubt- 
 less. Mayhap it hath been in the hands 
 of some vile Jew? No matter it must 
 with the rest. Alack ! how my head do 
 ache ! Fifty-one fifty-two. What a dolt 
 have I been to, drink so much of his vil- 
 lanous ale, knowing that it doth ever get 
 into my pate ! Fifty-three fifty-four. 
 That Geoffrey Sarsnet be a most ungodly 
 varlet he liketh not the hundredth 
 psalm ! Fifty-five fifty-six. Ha ! this 
 has a crack in it, sure enough. And that 
 he be a knave there can be no question, 
 seeing how he entertained my proposal 
 of marrying Joanna ; and doth allow her 
 to retain the many costly things she hath 
 
 tricked me of. Fifty this be rather 
 
 of a dull color. Certes, I have had a 
 good escape from that seductive Jezabeh 
 Fifty-seven fifty -eight. But she hath 
 most shamefully cozened me. I am glad 
 I am quit of her. Fifty-nine here be 
 as clean a face as if 'twas fresh from the 
 mint. Oh, that I could make her give 
 up that which she hath robbed me of! 
 Sixt Ha ! what noise be that !" 
 
 The old miser looked about him very 
 earnestly, and listened in a great tremble 
 for some sort of noise was heard. 
 
 "It be the wind, doubtless," continued 
 he, " for it doth at times make great dis- 
 turbances. Sixty-one sixty-two. I mar- 
 vel what hath become of my pestilent 
 nephew ; but I am hugely delighted that 
 he hath taken himself off. I did think 
 he had robbed me, knowing he be a most 
 dishonest caitiff as instance the excel- 
 lent candle-ends he stole of me ; but I 
 have searched, and missed nothing. 
 Sixty-three surely this piece be not good 
 
 it hath such a marvellous copper look 
 with ij. If any one were to give him a 
 knock on his knave's pate now, then 
 should I be rid of all fear. But it be the 
 right weight to a hair. Sixty-four 
 sixty-five. He hath been monstrously ur- 
 gent concerning of his father, yet hath he 
 got nothing of the truth from me, for all 
 his blustering. Sixty-six. 'Twould be 
 most unnatural were one of my years un- 
 able to deceive such a boy as that. Sixty- 
 seven sixty-eight. He doth not like the 
 hundredth psalm, the reprobate ! and as 
 for her, she be the impudentest baggage 
 that lives. I would I could get back 
 what she hath so infamously cozened of 
 me! Sixty-nine seventy. That be just 
 right:" he added, as he proceeded to put 
 his store of gold back by handfuls into 
 the old stocking ; and whilst he did so 
 his eyes seemed to glisten with exceed- 
 ing gratification. 
 
 " 'Tis well I married not that villanous 
 jade a murrain on her !" exclaimed he. 
 " Else the infinite pleasure I find in such 
 brave sight as this, should I not know 
 for long ; for all would go to satisfy her 
 prodigal humors. What a dolt was I to 
 let her have of me such store of costly 
 things; and he such an ungodly wretch 
 as not to like the hundredth psalm ! My 
 head doth seem to split of this aching. 
 Oh, 'tis an exquisite fine sight to see so 
 much lovely gold !" 
 
 " 'Tis an exquisite sight, indeed !" paid 
 a gruff voice, at his elbow. 
 
 " Mur mur mur murder !" scream- 
 ed Gregory Vellum, as loud as his fright 
 would allow, and letting drop some of 
 the gold upon noticing two fierce-looking 
 men standing over him, regarding his 
 treasures with eyes kindling with exces- 
 sive covetousness. 
 
 " Take that for thy bawling !" exclaim- 
 ed one, hitting him sharp over the pate 
 with the pommel of his dagger, " and if 
 thou breathest but a sound loud enough 
 to be heard within a yard of thee, I'll 
 slit thy weasan the same minute." 
 
 " Nay, what be the use of sparing such 
 an old hunks," observed the other, who 
 looked the most desperate cut- throat of 
 the two. " Let me give him a dig in the 
 ribs, 'twill do his business for him, I'll 
 warrant." 
 
 " 'Sblood ! be not such a fool, Tony," 
 replied the other, sharply. "He hath 
 more hoards than what we see ; and how 
 shall we find 'em, if we make him not 
 point 'em out to us ?" 
 
 " True, Jack !" responded the other. 
 " So let's bind him whilst we secure the
 
 SHARSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 prog around, then will we make him tell 
 where lieth the rest." Then these villains 
 bound the miser, with cords, to the chair 
 on which he sat ; he, too frightened 
 either to move or speak, made no noise, 
 save that of his teeth chattering together, 
 and rolling of his eyes (from which the 
 spectacles had fallen), with extreme fear, 
 as he turned his looks from one to the 
 other. 
 
 " 'Slife ! this be a proper windfall, 
 Tony !" cried he that was called Jack, 
 as he proceeded to pour into his hat the 
 contents of the stocking. "But I did 
 tell thee the old miser was a bird worth 
 the plucking." 
 
 "So thou didst, bully rook !" answered 
 Tony. " But let us count all the coin 
 into thy hat, that we may the easier 
 divide it." 
 
 " That will not I," replied the other, 
 with a loud laugh. " Find a stocking 
 for thyself, man, and mayhap it shall fit 
 thee as doth this me." 
 
 "What, shall we not share alike, and 
 be hanged to thee ?" asked Tony, fiercely, 
 as he undid one of the parcels done up 
 in a dirty rag. "Nay, I care not," he 
 added, and instantly swept all the parcels 
 into his hat. " Each of these be full of 
 Harry the Eighth's nobles." 
 
 " Nay, then, let us share, Tony," cried 
 Jack, his forbidding visage now seeming 
 disturbed at the other's greater good 
 fortune, " 'twas but a jest of mine." 
 
 " 'Sblood ! I care not, jest or no jest !" 
 responded Tony with a chuckle ef satis- 
 faction, as he poured out the contents of 
 each dirty rag, "Keep to thy stocking- 1 
 I'll keep to my rags." 
 
 " Hang thee for a villain !" muttered 
 ihe other, and then turning round, went 
 straight to the open chest, the which 
 seeing, made the old miser utter a faint 
 exclamation^-a sort of Wailing that de- 
 noted both terror and despair. 
 
 " 'Slife ! art weary of thy life ?" ex- 
 claimed Jack, threatening the trembling 
 scrivener with his drawn dagger, which 
 he held as if about to plunge into the 
 old man's side, and giving him a look 
 which seemed to make his very blood 
 turn cold within him. 
 
 " Here be the best prize of all !" cried 
 Jack, as he began searching of the chest. 
 
 " Ha ! what hast got ?" inquired Tony, 
 hastening to the side of his companion. 
 "I'faith, Jack, this be a prize indeed!" 
 continued he, as following the other's 
 example, he eagerly commenced hauling 
 out of the chest divers pieces of rich sil- 
 ver plate, such as candlesticks, tankards, 
 
 drinking cups, plates, and the like, where- 
 of each .appropriated as much as he 
 could lay his hands on ; yet seemed he 
 to grumble much at whatever his asso- 
 ciate did get into his possession. The 
 spirit of avarice was at work in the 
 hearts of both, and the great wealth 
 each one found himself possessed of, only 
 made him all the greedier to have more. 
 
 " If this be not the making of us for 
 life, I know not what filching means," 
 observed one, with his eyes glowing with 
 unlawful pleasure at the costliness of the 
 spoil he was making his own. 
 
 " We will turn honest upon the strength 
 of it," said the other, equally busy at his 
 work. "We will buy us some place of 
 lordship in the country, and swagger it 
 as bravely as any knight of the shire." 
 
 "And why not become parliament 
 men ?" asked the first. " They that 
 have been knights of the post will make 
 better knights of the shire than any, see- 
 ing that they be already marvellous skil- 
 ful in fingering the people's money." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! that be true enough," ex- 
 claimed his companion. " So knights of 
 the shire we must needs become ; ami 
 then will we have a law made that 
 rogues shall be protected in their calling 
 till they turn honest." 
 
 " Oh !" groaned Gregory Vellum in all 
 a miser's agony, as he beheld his secret 
 treasures passing away from his custody. 
 "Ha! What, dost move? dost 
 breathe?" cried Jack, scowling at him 
 so ferociously that it did set his teeth a 
 chattering all the more. 
 
 "Slife! let's finish him at once," 
 said Tony. " Then will he tell no tales. 
 Methinks we shall have enough to do to 
 get away what we have found without 
 seeking for more." 
 
 " I tell thee we will pluck him bare 
 first," replied the other ferociously. 
 " Such a prize comes not in our way oft, 
 therefore are we the more bound to make 
 the most of it we can. For mine own 
 part, I'll risk Tyburn rather than leave 
 him so much as would keep his miserly 
 old carcase for an hour." 
 
 " Well, hang him for a villain, I care 
 not," observed his associate. " But what 
 have we here ?" he added, as on putting 
 his hand into a goblet he did bring out 
 of it sundry gold rings, with precious 
 stones therein. 
 
 " Nay, I must have some of those !" 
 cried Jack, making a snatch at them. 
 
 " I'll see thee hanged ere I will let 
 thee," replied Tony, quickly placing the 
 goblet out of the other's reach.
 
 SHAKSPEARL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " 'Sblood! but I will be even with 
 thee !" muttered his associate, regarding 
 him with a threatening visage, which 
 he seemed >in no way to heed. 
 
 " Tush ! what care I !" said the other. 
 " Find a goblet for thyself, and mayhap 
 thou shall have good store of jewelry in 
 it." 
 
 " Thy greediness is properly punished 
 for see ! here be something worth more 
 than all thy paltry rings." And, as he 
 opened a jewel case, he exhibited a costly 
 necklace of pearls set in fine gold. 
 
 " I had mine eyes on that ere thou 
 didst lay a finger on't," said Tony, ex- 
 ceeding vexed that he had missed so fair 
 a prize. 
 
 " Tush ! what care I ?" replied Jack, 
 in the very words his associate had used 
 a moment since. 
 
 "Wilt let me have no share in't?" 
 asked the first, staring on the jewel and 
 then on the thief with eyes of devilish 
 covetousness and malice. 
 
 " Share in't !" exclaimed the other with 
 a scornful laugh. "Not so mach as 
 would buy thee a rope to hang thyself 
 with." 
 
 " Then take that !" cried Tony, thrust- 
 ing his dagger at him. 
 
 "What ! wouldst stab, villain ?" shout- 
 ed Jack, starting up in a monstrous rage 
 on finding himseli wounded. " Then 
 here's at thee." 
 
 "And that and that!" continued his 
 companion, repeating his blows which 
 the other tried to ward off. 
 
 " Murderous devil I had thee there !" 
 exclaimed the other, as he succeeded in 
 digging his weapon into his opponent's 
 shoulder ; and thereupon commenced the 
 most sanguinary fight that ever was 
 seen ; for the two villains, smarting with 
 pain and rage, and driven on by extreme 
 thirst for gain, did follow each other 
 round and about the room, cutting furi- 
 ously one at the other's flesh, with abun- 
 dance of curses and execrations their 
 looks all the while being more resem- 
 bling those of fiends than of anything 
 human, and their bodies streaming with 
 gore from their different wounds. Grego- 
 ry Vellum, half dead with fright, stared 
 upon the spectacle with eyes ready to 
 start from his head ; his teeth chattered 
 as if there was no keeping them quiet ; 
 and at every blow that was struck he 
 gave a wince as if the weapon entered 
 his own flesh. They passed him cl*v? 
 several times, and one striking furiou y 
 at the other upon the moment, some blood 
 did spirt over his face, at the which he 
 
 seemed ready to give up the ghost, he 
 uttered so pitiful a scream. This might 
 have brought on him more dreadful pun- 
 ishment from the two robbers ; yet were 
 they so fired by their mutual hatred one 
 of the other, and each so eager to destroy 
 his associate, that neither did take of him 
 the slightest notice. 
 
 All on a sudden, having dropped their 
 daggers, they had got locked in each 
 other's clutch, pulling here and pulling 
 there, tearing at each other's hair, and 
 giving blows with all their strength, when 
 tumbling over something, both came to 
 the ground together and began rolling 
 over and over, swearing horribly, and 
 striving to bite at each other's faces. 
 Surely never were two such incarnate 
 demons seen. There appeared to ' be 
 nothing human of them, and the mutual 
 deadliness of their hatred was terrible to 
 look upon. 
 
 " To hell with thee for a monstrous 
 murderous villain as thou art !" cried 
 Jack, who having recovered his weapon 
 as he passed over it, had plunged it into 
 Tony's breast as he lay upon him. The 
 other raised his head as if with one last 
 effort, and fixed his teeth in the cheek 
 of his murderer. 
 
 " Ah !" screamed he in agony, letting 
 his head fall with that of his companion. 
 " Unclose thy villanous teeth !" Jack 
 then stabbed the other several times 
 whilst writhing above him with the pain, 
 expecting to get free thereby ; but he was 
 in the gripe of the dead, and all his cut- 
 ting and screaming availed him none at 
 all. The torture he endured must have 
 been fearful, for the perspiration run 
 down over his face in a thick shower, as 
 he sometimes was cursing dreadfully, 
 sometimes making very pitiful meanings. 
 At last, as if unable to bear it any longer, 
 he thrust his dagger into the dead man's 
 mouth, unlocked his jaws, and freed his 
 own lacerated face. 
 
 " A murrain on thee, thou pestilent 
 villain !" exclaimed the survivor, casting 
 wrathful glances at his fallen comrade, 
 " if thou hadstany life in thy treacherous 
 body, I would hack thee into shreds for 
 having so spoilt my face: but I have 
 mauled thee beyond all hope, that's one 
 comfort. 'Slife how I do bleed!" he 
 added, as he looked to his hurts, which 
 were by no means slight or few, and did 
 attempt to bandage them. " This dig in 
 my side, methinks, hath an ugly look. 
 Alack, what a thrice-cursed knave hast 
 thou been, Tony ! and a fool to boot. 
 Not content with thine own gettingb,
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 97 
 
 ihou didst covet mine ; and now I have 
 all." 
 
 " Oh !" groaned the old miser. 
 
 "What! dost attempt to give the 
 alarm ?" cried out the robber. " Nay, 
 then will I settle theeat once." He rose 
 with his dagger in his hand, as if to put 
 his threat into execution, but his foot 
 slipped in the blood that had dabbled the 
 boards, and in falling he burst the bandage 
 he had tied over his wound in the side, 
 which began to bleed afresh. At this he 
 renewed his execrations, and again essay- 
 ed to stop the hemorrhage ; but he seem- 
 ed to be getting weaker rapidly, his hands 
 were exceeding unsteady, and his eyes 
 appeared to swim in their sockets. " Oh, 
 I be deadly sick !" he exclaimed in a faint 
 voice, as he supported himself on one 
 hand, sitting on the floor; thereat his 
 head drooped on his shoulder, his arm 
 gave way from under him ; and he fell 
 smack upon his back with a loud groan. 
 
 Gregory Vellum had watched the strug- 
 gles of the surviving villain with mingled 
 horror and fright for a more ghastly ob- 
 ject never presented itself to the eye 
 his face being so dreadfully disfigured and 
 covered with dust and gore, from amid 
 which the ferocious expression of his eyes 
 glared upon the trembling scrivener, 
 whenever he turned in that direction, in 
 a manner so terrible, that it made him 
 feel as if his heart was bursting in twain. 
 Seeing him fall and lie motionless, he 
 did think he was dead, the thought where- 
 of gave him inexpressible comfort ; but 
 not liking the idea of being kept bound 
 close to two dead men, he presently be- 
 gan to scream at the very top of his voice, 
 hoping that some of the neighbars would 
 come to his assistance. He had scarce 
 done this, when the robber who had 
 swooned raised himself, and fixed upon 
 the miser a look so threatening and 
 
 fhastly, that he presently drew in his 
 reath, as if his last hour had come ; 
 but he could in no manner draw away 
 his gaze from the villain's horrible stare, 
 and there he sat staring at him, with his 
 teeth knocking against each other, and 
 every limb a trembling like unto one in a 
 mortal agony. 
 
 Presently he heard some sort of a noise 
 below stairs, at the which he gave a 
 sudden gasp ; but the terrible eyes of the 
 dying robber did then glare upon him so 
 ghostlike, that he dared not make a 
 sound, and felt that he could not if he 
 dared. 
 
 " Uncle ! uncle ! where are you?'' he 
 heard cried out to him, and though he 
 7 
 
 recognised the voice of his nephew, whom 
 a short time since he would not have cared 
 to see hanged, it now seemed to him the 
 voice of an angel from heaven ; and he 
 was about to reply, when the robber 
 crawled a bit nearer, with his dreadful 
 dagger in his hand, the sight whereof 
 put him into so monstrous a sweat that 
 he felt himself drenched all over. Still 
 the dying villain crawled slowly toward 
 him, dragging his wounded body along 
 by his han,ds ; and though at the same 
 time Gregory heard his nephew's foot 
 upon the stair, the villain was so nigh 
 upon him, having got his hand upon the 
 bottom rail of his chair to raise himself 
 up, with his disfigured face, and terrible 
 eyes seemingly possessed of a thousand 
 new horrors, upon a level with his knees, 
 that knocked against each other most 
 deplorably, he did give himself up for 
 lost ; and when he found the ghastly 
 countenance close to his own face, and 
 the fearful weapon uplifted over his breast, 
 his heart sunk within him, and he swoon- 
 ed outright. 
 
 Master Francis, coming to visit his 
 kinsman, to see if he could gain of him 
 any intelligence of his father, and finding 
 the door ajar, and seeing that his kins- 
 man was not below stairs, he did call 
 out ; but receiving no answer, mounted 
 to a room he knew of old he was oft to 
 be found when wanted. At opening the 
 door, a sight presented itself to him, the 
 like of which, surely, he had never seen. 
 There was the room as unsightly as a 
 shamble, and strewed all about with 
 coin, jewels, plate, and most precious 
 things, which the robbers, in their scuffle, 
 had rolled over and over, and knocked in 
 all directions one man lay dead, and 
 another the frightfulest object his eye 
 ever lighted onsupporting himself on the 
 chair with one arm, had the other raised 
 clasping a blood-stained dagger, which 
 was descending in the direction of the 
 heart of his kinsman, who already looked 
 more dead than alive. At the robber he 
 made a rush upon the instant, and caught 
 him by the back of his jerkin at the scuff of 
 the neck, in the very nick of time to save 
 the old miser's life ; and dragged him 
 from the chair a distance of some yards, 
 and flung him heavily on the boards. The 
 dying villain did glare on Master Francis 
 with a look so terrible that he could never 
 forget it the weapon fell from his hand 
 he gave one mighty shiver in all his 
 limbs, then was there a hollow rattling 
 in his throat, which lasted but a few sec- 
 onds ; and then he lay as dead as any stone.
 
 98 
 
 SHAKSPEAHE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 The youth, in a monstrous marvel at 
 the whole scene, more especially at see- 
 ing such a store of precious things lying 
 scattered about as if of no sort of value, 
 did presently cut with his own dagger, 
 the cords that bound his kinsman, think- 
 ing at first, that he was as dead as the 
 others btit in some minutes, after call- 
 ing to him a bit, the old man opened his 
 eyes very fearfully, and with a great wild- 
 ness ; but, they lighting upon his nephew, 
 who, very concernedly, was assuring him 
 of his safety, he did grow more com- 
 posed ; and, upon looking about and see- 
 ing of his treasures so scattered, he 
 started up with a suddenness that nearly 
 upset Master Francis, and, as if ailing 
 nothing, he began to gather up his riches. 
 
 " Oh, these devilish villains !" exclaim- 
 ed he to the wondering youth. " They 
 did break in upon me having got en- 
 trance I know not how, and, after bind- 
 ing and threatening of me, proceeded to 
 rifle me of these valuables ; which an 
 honest friend hath left in my custody 
 for thou knowest they can not he mine, 
 seeing I be so exceeding poor ; and then 
 falling out upon their division, did 
 straightway go to murdering of each 
 other. When one had killed his com- 
 panion, the survivor though sorely 
 wounded himself, like a murderous vil- 
 lain as he was, made toward me with 
 his dagger to kill me, the which thou 
 didst luckily prevent by thy coming in. 
 But they have given me a most mortal 
 fright." 
 
 " Indeed you have had a narrow escape, 
 uncle," observed Master Francis. 
 
 " Ay, have I," replied the old miser, 
 very carefully wiping of everything that 
 had got in any way stained. " And I 
 give God thanks for it more especially 
 for the saving of the honest man's goods ; 
 who, had he suffered aught, might, per- 
 adventure, have wanted me to make up 
 his loss ; the which thou knowest I could 
 never do, being in so poor a state that I 
 can scarce get enough to live by. But 
 take heed that you give no hint I have 
 these things in my custody, else the re- 
 port thereof may bring other murderous 
 thieves upon me, and not only shall I be 
 like to be robbed of my life, but all this 
 goodly store I may be despoiled of, as I 
 was hut now like to be ; which doubtless 
 would be the utter ruin of the honest man 
 who hath placed them in my keeping." 
 
 " Be assured I shall say nothing," re- 
 plied the youth. " But shall I not assist 
 you in gathering them up ?" 
 
 " Nay, touch them not, I prvthee !" 
 
 quickly cried out Gregory Vellum ifl 
 great alarm, and casting a suspicious 
 glance at his nephew, as if doubtful of 
 the honesty of his intentions. " I will 
 look to them myself." 
 
 "Well let it be as you like, uncle," 
 said Master Francis, in no way offended, 
 for he had much experience of his kins- 
 man's suspicious temper ; besides, he 
 wanted not to anger him, by taking of- 
 fence at aught he might do, as he had an 
 object to gain thereby, the obtaining of 
 which, was to him of the greatest in- 
 terest. 
 
 " But where hast thou been all this 
 time ?" inquired his uncle after a short 
 silence still employing himself dili- 
 gently in wiping the plate and jewels, 
 and replacing them in the chest. " Thou 
 didst leave me of a sudden, without why 
 or wherefore." 
 
 " Methought 'twas time to do some- 
 thing for myself," answered the youth, 
 " and not any longer to be a burthen to 
 you, who seemed to lack either the will 
 or the means to make my life of any com- 
 fort" 
 
 " The means, Francis the means," 
 said the old man, quickly interrupting 
 him. " 'Twas the means I lacked. In- 
 deed, I be exceeding poor." 
 
 "By the recommendation of a true 
 friend, I did accidently as it were, en- 
 counter," continued hia nephew, " I suc- 
 ceeded in getting the respectable office 
 of secretary to one of our chiefest men 
 at court." 
 
 " Truly thou seemest in very fine 
 feather," remarked Gregory Vellum, 
 somewhat sarcastically, as he turned to 
 notice the handsome apparelling of his 
 youthful relative; "I warrant me thou 
 wilt spend on thy back all thou earnest. 
 Well, I care not, so that thou comest not 
 back on my hands." 
 
 "But I came to beg a favor of you, un- 
 cle," said Master Francis. 
 
 "Nay, ask of me nothing," hastily re- 
 plied the old miser, as he left off counting 
 the gold pieces into the old stocking ; "I 
 have scarce wherewith to live ; I can not 
 let thee have a groat. Thou hast taken 
 thyself off, and must fare as thou canst ; 
 so come not a begging, for it be of no 
 manner of use, I be so exceeding poor, 
 as thou knowest." 
 
 " I want not money of you," observed 
 the youth ; " I have enough for my wants, 
 and my patron doth not let me lack aught 
 his power or purse can procure. I seek 
 of you only that you truly tell me who 
 was my father."
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "What dost come a worrying me of 
 thy father ?" asked the scrivener, with a 
 disturbed countenance, as he quickly 
 caught hold of some parchments that 
 were nigh unto him, and placed them at 
 once in the chest. " I knovy naught of 
 him that be worth the knowing ; he was 
 some paltry fellow or other a very mean 
 person." 
 
 " Was he married to my mother?" in- 
 quired his nephew, more earnestly. 
 
 "Prythee question me not," teplied the 
 old man, seemingly taking it very uneasi- 
 ly. " It matters not at all ; I can not be 
 answering of thy unprofitable queries. It 
 be of no consequence whether he had her 
 in marriage or otherwise, for he was a 
 monstrous paltry fellow at all events." 
 
 " Indeed, it be of vital consequence to 
 me," cried the youth, in an increasing 
 agitation ; " I pray you, uncle, tell me the 
 truth." 
 
 " Well, then, if thou wilt have it, I 
 will tell thee," answered the scrivener 
 " I have kept it from the world, and given 
 out otherwise, for the sake of my sister's 
 reputation ; but I can tell thee of a cer- 
 tainty that thou art illegitimate." 
 
 "Ah! I feared 'twere so," exclaimed 
 Master Francis, as the color mounted to 
 his cheek, and he hid his face in his 
 hands, for very sharne. The which see- 
 ing, Gregory Vellum regarded only with 
 a sort of smile, that made his leaden 
 physiognomy not a whit more pleasant 
 than ordinary, and continued the counting 
 of his money. 
 
 "Was he one Holdfast, and did he live 
 in noted bad character ?" asked the oth- 
 er, suddenly, as if with a kind of despe- 
 ration. 
 
 "Ay, very like very like," replied 
 the old man. " If I remember me, his 
 name was Holdfast, or something exceed- 
 ing near it; and that he was a notorious 
 villain is out of all question." 
 
 " Then I know the worst," said he, 
 calmly, but with a great paleness of 
 face, " and I will now take my leave of 
 you." 
 
 " Stop awhile !" bawled out the miser, 
 hastily coming up to his nephew as he 
 was approaching the door. The latter, 
 on this, did stay his steps. 
 
 "Hast taken nothing while I was in 
 the swoon ?" he asked, gazing on the 
 other with a monstrous suspicious counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "Nay, this is too bad," said Master 
 Francis, in no mood to be so spoken to, 
 and moving off. 
 
 " But thou shall not go till I have 
 
 searched thee," sharply added Gregory 
 Vellum, as he laid hold of him to make 
 him stay. " I am sure, by thy wanting to 
 be gone with such speed, that thou hast 
 stolen something." 
 
 "Away ! you are past bearing !" cried 
 the youth, as he pushed him back, and 
 walked out of the room. 
 
 " Francis ! Francis !" the old miser 
 bawled out as his nephew closed the 
 door upon him, " Prythee leave me not 
 alone with these dead men ! I will not 
 search thee I do not think thou hast 
 robbed me of anything. Nay, go not 
 away till the house be rid of these 
 corpses ! Francis ! Francis, I say !" 
 and he came down the stairs after him in 
 great alarm. 
 
 The unhappy youth by this time was 
 into the street, pacing along with a most 
 woful heart. Indeed he had much to 
 trouble him. He knew that his patron, 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, whom he had begun 
 to love exceedingly, was a prisoner in the 
 Tower ; when he could get out, no man 
 could say. All that he had dreaded to 
 learn of his parentage seemed now put 
 beyond the possibility of question; at the 
 which he felt so cast down as scarce to 
 know what he was a doing ; and the late 
 behavior of his miserly kinsman, though 
 nothing more than he might expect of his 
 disposition, in the humor in which he was, 
 did irritate him all the more. After pas- 
 sing along a little way in extreme de- 
 spondency of mind, he bethought him of 
 visiting his beloved Joanna, whose recep- 
 tion of him, he doubted not, would pres- 
 ently relieve him of his miserable feel- 
 ings ; yet when he came to think of the 
 tone 01 her letters not coming up to his 
 expectations, in the peculiar mood in 
 which he then was, he straight began to 
 have suspicions that she regarded him 
 less than he would have her ; but in a 
 few minutes there came to his recollec- 
 tion numberless kindnesses she had done 
 him, which to him were as positive proofs 
 of the sincerity of her affection. The re- 
 membrance of these things did assure him 
 somewhat, and became to him of such 
 great comfort, that for the time it clean 
 drove all unpleasant thoughts out of his 
 head. 
 
 At this moment there came on a very 
 smart shower of rain, and he, wishing to 
 save his new doublet a wetting, hastened 
 for shelter under a gateway close at hand. 
 Passing beneath here, he spied an open 
 door at one side, for which he made, but 
 presently desisted of his purpose on hear- 
 ing voices that of a certainty came from
 
 100 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 it. He was about to content himself with 
 the shelter of the gateway as far as might 
 be from the door, when he recognised the 
 roice of Joanna, that did at once fix him 
 to the spot. 
 
 " Nay, nay, my lord," said she, " it may 
 please you to affirm this, but I doubt you 
 affect me so much as you say." 
 
 " 0' my life, adorable Joanna !" an- 
 swered one very urgently, whom Master 
 Francis instantly knew, by the manner 
 of speaking, to be my Lord Cobham, 
 whom he had often heard. " I swear to 
 you I do love you exceedingly. In truth, 
 your infinite loveliness is of such a sort, 
 that never expect I to find aught so wor- 
 thy of the steadfast and most perfect de- 
 votedness with which I do regard you." 
 
 Speech like this, it may be believed, 
 Master Francis liked not at all. 
 
 " Methinks you are but trifling with 
 me," observed the other. 
 
 " Nay, my heart's treasure ! believe me, 
 I never was in such earnest !" replied her 
 companion. " Take this ring 'tis a ruby 
 of great price ; yet should it be inestima- 
 ble to come up with my estimation of 
 your worthiness, exquisitely beautiful Jo- 
 anna ! Here, let me place it on your 
 most delicate finger." 
 
 At this Master Francis began to be 
 much troubled that she, whom he so 
 loved, should accept gifts from one who, 
 to his knowledge, was noted for his gal- 
 lantries. 
 
 " I scarce think it be right of me to 
 take your gift, my lord," said Joanna. 
 " Yet to refuse it might seem discourte- 
 ous of me, so I will e'en accept of it." 
 
 "And grant of me in return but one 
 precious favor," added the Lord Cobham 
 in an entreating voice, that did much in- 
 crease the disturbance of Master Francis. 
 "It be but to press that tempting lip, 
 compared with which, the ruby must 
 seem but pale." 
 
 "Indeed, that I can never do," replied 
 she. " Nay, hold me not so closely, my 
 lord, I entreat of you." 
 
 This put Master Francis in a perfect 
 tremble, and he suddenly felt the blood a 
 rushing to his cheek yet was he like one 
 chained to the spot; for though he felt 
 desperately inclined to disturb them, he 
 was so affected by the unexpectedness of 
 what he had heard, that he had not the 
 power of moving. 
 
 " Turn not away that exquisite counte- 
 nance, admirable Joanna !" exclaimed the 
 Lord Cobham, while a rustling was heard 
 as if he was a struggling with her, which 
 did increase Master Francis's disorder 
 
 mightily : " and strive not to move from 
 arms so eager to hold so perfect a crea- 
 ture in their fond embrace. In good 
 truth, I must, sweetest." 
 
 "Have done, my lord, I pray you! 
 You hurt me, indeed, you do. Nay, some 
 one will be a coming ! How you tease ! 
 Well, if you will.it must needs be," was 
 all that Joanna said in reply ; and Master 
 Francis, thinking from what she spoke, 
 that she liked not my Lord Cobham's ad- 
 vances, with one desperate effort was 
 about to break in upon him, when he heard 
 the consent given, and immediately fol- 
 lowed by the close smacking of lips, which 
 moved him so against her, that he rushed 
 from the gateway on the instant. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I can not hold ; good rascal, let me kiss thee : 
 1 never knew thee in so rare a humor. 
 
 BE JONSON. 
 
 A part to tear a cat in to make all split. 
 
 Sir Toby. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian ! 
 
 Fabian. Nay, I'll come. If I lose a scruple of this 
 sport let me be boiled to death with melancholy. 
 IBID. 
 
 We hope to make the circle of your eyes 
 Flow with distilled laughter. BEN JONSON. 
 
 Now must I transport the courteous 
 reader, who hath followed me along hith- 
 erto with admirable patience, and I hope 
 with some pleasure, into the shop of a no- 
 ted barber-chirurgeon, alluded to in the 
 preceding pages, as living over against 
 the jolly mercer's in Eastcheap. He was 
 called Martin Lather and sometimes Mas- 
 ter Lather by those who would seem to 
 hold him in some respect; and he had 
 for an apprentice one Harry Daring a 
 sturdy boy of some fifteen years or so ; of 
 both of whom more anon. First to de- 
 scribe the shop, which was of no little 
 repute among the citizens. On a pro- 
 jecting window there were divers notices 
 to acquaint the passengers of what Mas- 
 ter Lather was skilled in : some of these 
 were in rhyme, for he did pride himself 
 mightily on his scholarship. As for in- 
 stance 
 
 " Shaving done here 
 By the day, month, or year." 
 
 Or in another case 
 
 " Beards trimmed neatly ; 
 And teeth extracted completely." 
 
 And mayhap close upon it would be 
 found 
 
 " I breathe a vein 
 For a little gain ,
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 101 
 
 And on moderate terms 
 I cure the worms." 
 
 While in another place the gazer should 
 meet 
 
 " Hair cut and curled 
 As well as anywhere in the world ; 
 And in bald places made to grow, 
 Whether it will or no." 
 
 About there were some few shelves, hav- 
 ing on them bundles of herbs, jars of oint- 
 ment, and the like (very famous in the 
 cure of many disorders) ; and elsewhere in 
 the shop were some drawers, shelves 
 with gallipots, and bottles containing dif- 
 ferent colored liquors, and some with 
 powders in them. A lot of ballads and 
 broad sheets were against the wainscot. 
 Over the fireplace was framed a large 
 writing, having for the title, very con- 
 spicuous, " Forfeits," which ran thus 
 
 " He that must needs be served out of his turn, 
 Shall pay a penny, and better manners learn. 
 He that the master would stay in his calling, 
 Or dispute in such terms as will lead to a brawling, 
 Or meddle with what he hath had no occasion, 
 He shall pay two-pence to his great vexation. 
 He that doth swear, or doth say any scandal, 
 Or prate of such things as be not fit to handle, 
 Or from the ballads shall tear or take any. 
 Straightway from his pouch there must come forth 
 
 a penny. 
 
 And he that shall seek for to play any tricks. 
 With the pricking of pins, or the poking of sticks ; 
 Or chalk on a doublet or foul any hat, 
 Without doubt shall he forfeit a penny for that. 
 Likewise if against the queen's grace say he aught, 
 He shall, as 'tis fitting, be made pay a groat, 
 And ask pardon all round the which to his pain 
 Will keep him from talking such treason again " 
 
 A large black cat was cleaning of its 
 skin upon a three-leggea stool, nigh unto a 
 table standing by the side of the fireplace, 
 on which were sundry combs, brushes, 
 scissors, vials, a pestle and mortar, and in- 
 struments for the pullingout of teeth ; and a 
 little closer to the light, there sat in a huge 
 high-backed chair, an exceeding serious- 
 looking old man, rather short of stature, 
 with some few gray hairs on his head, 
 and a small peaked beard of the like sort ; 
 wearing on his nose, which was of the 
 longest and of an excellent fine point, a 
 pair of famous large spectacles, through 
 which he was gazin? upon what he was 
 about He was trimly dressed, with ev- 
 erything formal and grave about him. In 
 one hand he held a lancet, and in the 
 other a cabbage-leaf. A boy stood before 
 him seemingly very attentive. He was 
 thickset and short of his age, with an 
 honest plump face, and eyes that looked 
 as if ever intent upon some mischief or 
 another. In truth, it was a countenance 
 that was not easy to be described, saving 
 that it was a very dare-devil care-for- 
 naught full-of-tricks sou of face as ever 
 buy had. He had on a leather jerkin 
 
 and breeches of the same, partly covered 
 with an apron of linen, that looked as if 
 he had been rolling on the floor in it 
 which was like enough. He wore yel- 
 low hose, and thick shoes ff leather. 
 These two were Master Lather, the bar- 
 ber-chirurgeon, and his apprentice Harry 
 Daring. 
 
 " Methinks you know pretty well by 
 this time how to dress hair," observed the 
 barber to his pupil with a monstrous 
 grave countenance, "seeing that you have 
 been curling of the old mop for some 
 time past: the which be an admirable 
 way for the learning of that part of our 
 craft for if you singe it, then shall no 
 man rate you for the burning of his pate : 
 which maketh good the saying of Aris- 
 totle, 'Anre ilium imperatorem !' which 
 meaneth, ' hurt no one and he shall not 
 cry out.' " 
 
 "I promise you," replied the boy, 
 seeming as if regarding his master with 
 great attention, " without doubt I be as 
 clever at it as any 'prentice in the city ; 
 and upon the strength of my skilfulness 
 at the mop, I did essay to frizzle up the 
 locks of Gammer Griskin, who wanted 
 them done in a hurry when you were 
 from home, at the which I succeeded 
 marvellously." 
 
 " I remember me well," said the old 
 man, increasing in the gravity of his 
 features, "when next I dressed the old 
 woman I found one half of her hair 
 scorched to a cinder, and inquiring of her 
 what she had done to her head, did hear 
 that you had been practising on it 
 whereupon I said nothing remembering 
 what is written in Epicurus, ' Nihil reli- 
 qui fecit,' the which translated is, ' hold 
 thy tongue, and thy prating shall do thee 
 no harm.' However, you are at least 
 well skilled in the practice of shaving, 
 seeing that you have put the razor over 
 the scalded pig's head pretty often, and 
 with a proper degree of cunning." 
 
 "Ay, master, that have I," answered 
 the apprentice quickly. "Indeed, I have 
 tried my skilfulness on others besides the 
 chaps of dead pigs; for be it known to 
 you, Gaffer Gravestone coming one morn- 
 ing before you were up, with a beard of 
 a week's growth, to get rid of which he 
 was in too great a hurry to wait your 
 ' coming down, I took upon me to lather 
 and shave him to a nicety." 
 
 ' True," observed the barber-chirur- 
 
 geon with additional solemnity, " the 
 
 j sexton did complain to me, with a face 
 
 j covered with plasters, that as well as 
 
 j slicing of a piece off his chin as big as a
 
 
 i02 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 rose noble, aiid gashing of his cheek in 
 three several places, you had completely 
 cut off from beside his ear two moles of 
 no ordinary size, that there had grown 
 undisturbed and respected fpr a matter 
 of forty years. But witk some ado I 
 managed to pacify him, upon promising 
 that his face should look all the younger 
 for it, and doing his cure free of expense ; 
 having in my mind at the time the words 
 of that famous writer, Ayerroes, ' Tenuit 
 hoc propositum,' that should be thus 
 rendered in the vulgar, ' make amends if 
 any have suffered by thee, but if it be not 
 in thy power attempt it not, for thou 
 canst never succeed in the doing of that 
 which is impossible.' " 
 
 " Well, seeing that you have sufficient 
 insight for the nonce into these matters," 
 continued the old barber very seriously, 
 " methought 'twas fitting time you should 
 be taught the more noble part of our 
 excellent and profitable profession ; so 
 attend, and I will initiate you into the 
 whole art and mystery of the breathing 
 of a vein. See you this cabbage-leaf?" 
 
 "I'faith, master, that I can not fail of 
 doing, it being right under my nose," re- 
 plied the boy. 
 
 " Now, mark the different ridges in the 
 leaf," said Master Lather, pointing to 
 them for his inspection. " It hath Been 
 written in Galen, 'In suam tutelam 
 pervenissent,' which meaneth ' man be 
 exceeding like unto a cabbage-leaf.' And 
 the similarity is manifest for there be 
 veins in the leaf, and there be veins in 
 man also. Now, in the breathing of a 
 vein it requireth some dexterity ; for, 
 mayhap, you may chance to miss it ; 
 then shall it not bleed of a surety. Taking 
 this ridge for the vein having, first of 
 all, tied a bandage of broad tape, at a 
 penny a yard, above the bend of the 
 arm, here you see" and then he bared 
 his arm to show. " You must hold down 
 the vein with the thumb of your left 
 hand, that it may not slip ; then, in your 
 right holding your lancet betwixt the 
 thumb and finger, as I do, you will send 
 down the point into the vein, making a 
 moderate orifice by jerking it up thus ;" 
 and thereupon he did penetrate the 
 ridge of the leaf, whilst the boy was 
 a looking on with exceeding curiousness. 
 
 " The reason you should first essay in 
 a cabbage-leaf is this," continued the 
 ehirurgeon : " that whereas, on a first 
 trial or so, upon the arm of a living man, 
 not having the necessary experience, you 
 may chance to cut deep and draw no 
 blood, whereat he may be in a monstrou 
 
 passion ; but though you draw no blood 
 from the cabbage-leaf upon cutting ever 
 so, there shall be no falling out betwixt 
 you and it: for truly it is said by Escu- 
 lapius, ' Dulce est pro patria mori ;' the 
 which doth mean 'things that have no 
 voice can give no abuse.' Observe you 
 how it can be done, and then make trial 
 yourself." 
 
 " I warrant you I can do it famously," 
 cried Harry Daring, taking the lancet 
 into his own hand, and digging into the 
 cabbage-leaf after the manner of his 
 master. 
 
 " Villain ! you have cut my finger !" 
 bawled out Master Lather, dropping the 
 leaf, and looking very dismal at his fin- 
 ger, which began a bleeding somewhat. 
 " O' my life, I knew not your hand was 
 so nigh !" said the boy with an exceed- 
 ing demure face, though it be hugely 
 suspected the young dog did it on pur- 
 pose. 
 
 " A murrain on you, I doubt you will 
 ever make a ehirurgeon, you be so awk- 
 ward," added his master, as he tied up 
 his wound which, luckily, was no great 
 matter. 
 
 " Nay, master, look if I be not mar- 
 vellous skilful already !" exclaimed the 
 apprentice, now holding the cabbage-leaf 
 himself, and digging at it in a very furious 
 fashion. 
 
 " Not so fast ! not so fast, I pray you !" 
 cried the old man. " Put you down the 
 point a little inward, and make a sweep 
 with it up. Let it not go in so deep. 
 Nay, do it not as if you were digging a 
 salad ! Alack ! that will never do ! la 
 truth, if you were serving a man's arm 
 thus, he would cry out against you, and 
 have reason for't : for is it not written in 
 Galen, ' Rara avis in terris, nigroque 
 simillima cygno ;' which, done into Eng- 
 lish, is ' take heed you do no man any 
 hurt, else marvel not he come to you for 
 a plaster." There, that is better now 
 put it down. Mayhap I will give you 
 another lesson on the cabbage-leaf to- 
 morrow, for indeed, you must in no way 
 attempt to breathe a vein till you have 
 thus learnt of me the way many times. 
 Now, perchance you shall not have forgot 
 that we had part of a calf's head for din- 
 ner ?" 
 
 " No, i'faith, not I, master," replied the 
 other, instantly, a smacking of his lips, 
 " seeing that I did pick the bones so 
 superlatively clean, that puss hath looked 
 daggers at me ever since." 
 
 "Well get you into the kitchen and 
 fetch me the jaw for I have need of it."
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 103 
 
 " Marry, what wants he with it, I 
 wonder ?" muttered the boy to himself, 
 as he went quickly on his errand. " Me- 
 thinks he hath quite jaw enough as it is. 
 And hath he not a calf's head of his own, ' 
 too ? Well, some folks be never satis- 
 fied !" On his return he found Master 
 Lather with an instrument in his hand 
 for the extracting of teeth. 
 
 " Now will I give you a lesson on an- 
 other branch of our honorable profession," 
 said the barber-chirurgeon, taking the 
 bone into his hand, and handling his in- 
 strument so as to show the way of fixing 
 it on the tooth. " When one comes to 
 you with a raging tooth, it be best to take 
 it out straight, for thereby shall you ease 
 him of his toothache, and be at least a 
 groat the richer^-for your pains. Now, 
 there be two kinds of teeth, as it be writ 
 in Aristotle, ' malus puer,' an ' easy tooth ;' 
 and 'bonus puer,' an 'obstinate tooth ;' 
 that is to say, one that will out with a 
 small tug, and one that you may try ever 
 so at, and^ it shall stick as firm as ever. 
 Now, suppose you that this be the jaw 
 of one that hath come to you to do your 
 office on him for the riddance of his pain 
 for of a sure thing it be better at first 
 to practise on such a thing as this than 
 meddle with a living mouth ; which re- 
 mindeth me of what hath been said on 
 this very subject by the learned Podalirius : 
 ' De gustibus non est disputandum :' 
 which, rightly translated, reads thus 
 * Touch but the tail of a living dog and 
 he shall snap at you presently ; but you! 
 may hawl a dead lion by the ear and he 
 shall take it exceeding civil of you.' If 
 the tooth be a back tooth, and in the 
 under jaw (getting your patient to sit 
 quiet and say nothing), you shall present- [ 
 ly put your instrument into his mouth ; 
 and fix the claw on the further side of i 
 the tooth, thus holding it down firm j 
 with the finger of the other hand ; then 
 shall you give it a wrench, and, doubt- 
 less, it will come out, as you see." 
 
 " That be bravely done, master, sure 
 enough !" exclaimed Harry Daring, who 
 had watched the whole operation wilh 
 an abundance of curiosity. "And ine- 
 thinks I can do it now." 
 
 " Be not too hasty, boy," replied his 
 master. " See me do it some two or 
 three times more, then shall you take the 
 instrument and try for yourself." At this 
 the old man went over the same process 
 once or twice, with much the same direc- 
 tions as at first ; to the which his appren- 
 tice did seem to direct an earnest atten- 
 tion, then gave he the instrument into 
 
 the boy's hands, and held the jaw for him 
 to pull at. 
 
 " Now, supposing one came to you with 
 a raging tooth, how would you set about 
 the extracting of it 1" asked Master 
 Lather, with a famous serious counte- 
 nance. 
 
 " Why, I would do in this sort," an- 
 swered the other, setting briskly about 
 the operation. " I would make him open 
 his jaw straight, and fixing the instru- 
 ment in a presently, I would give him a 
 twist thus." 
 
 " Oh ! you're pinching my thumb !" 
 screamed the old man, stamping with 
 the pain ; and then releasing of it from 
 the instrument in monstrous quick time, 
 he sat twisting himself about a shaking 
 of his hurt hand, and making of such 
 faces as were a marvel to look upon. 
 " What an absolute awkward varlet are 
 you! Oh, my thumb! my thumb! the 
 flesh is squeezed to the very bone. NeTer 
 was master plagued with such a clumsy 
 apprentice. Oh, my thumb it doth pain 
 me piteously !" 
 
 "'I knew not it was so nigh," said the 
 boy with as grave a face as he could, 
 though, from the twinkle in the rogue's 
 eye, it was manifest he had perfect 
 knowledge of the matter. Then he set 
 to pulling out of the remaining teeth as 
 if he was a doing of it for a wager. 
 "But see, master, how bravely I can 
 manage it." 
 
 " Nay 1 will give you no more lessons 
 for the present I have had enough of 
 you!" exclaimed his master, taking his 
 hat from a pio against the wainscot, and 
 his stick out of the corner. " I am go- 
 ing to Moster Tickletoby the school- 
 master," he continued, putting on his hat, 
 and making for the door. " Send for me, 
 if I be wanted. Oh, my thumb ! my 
 thumb." 
 
 " Ha !" cried Harry Daring, as soon as 
 the old man had disappeared. " Doubt- 
 less thou art for the picking up of some 
 more Latin which old Tickletoby a 
 murrain on him for having given me the 
 birch so oft ! doth get out of his school- 
 books ; and which, as Master Francis 
 hath assured me, thou dost misapply 
 most abominably ; and he says thy trans- 
 lations be as much like the original as 
 is a Barbary hen to a dish of stewed 
 prunes. But I care not, so that there be 
 fun in the world, and plenty of it." 
 
 Then finding he had taken out all the 
 teeth from the jaw, he flung it aside, and 
 looked as if he scarce knew what to 
 be at.
 
 104 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog !" exclaimed he, 
 chafing of his hands merrily. " If there 
 should come one with a raging tooth 
 now, I would be at it without fail, for it 
 seemeth to me exquisite sport. Indeed, 
 'tis a thousand pities there be no living 
 jaw to have a twist at ; what, puss ! 
 puss ! hast got never a raging tooth in 
 thy head, puss? Come, none of thy 
 nonsense !" he added, seeing that the cat, 
 who knew him and his tricks of old, 
 thinking that he meant her no good, 
 after a pitiful mew, was making off to be 
 out of his way. But he soon had hold 
 of her; lifting her by the scuff of her 
 neck, he carried her to the three-legged 
 stool, on which he sat himself down, and 
 placed her upon her back in his lap; 
 where she lay quiet, as if scarce daring 
 to move, and only now and then noticing 
 what he was a doing of by a mew so 
 exceeding piteous, that few could resist 
 it:' yet he minded it not a whit. 
 
 " So thou hast not forgot how I singed 
 off thy whiskers, seeking to give them a 
 right fashionable curl," said the boy very 
 seriously, as he took in his hand the 
 tooth instrument, and seemed intent on 
 getting it into the cat's mouth. "I know 
 thou hast got a villanous toothache by 
 the look of thee, and mayhap, I will do 
 thee such excellent service as to take it 
 out. Ay, and charge thee nothing for't ; 
 inasmuch as thou hast nothing to pay, 
 and be hanged to thee! else shouldst 
 thou pay a groat, like any other Chris- 
 tian. And I will talk Latin to thee, puss, 
 and though I made nothing of it at school, 
 at least shall it be as famous Latin as my 
 master's, and thou shalt understand it as 
 well, I'll be bound. For is it not writ in 
 Aristotle, that there be two kinds of teeth 
 as hocus pocus,' ' an easy tooth' 
 ' presto prestissimus,'an ' obstinate tooth.' 
 So open thy mouth, puss, and quickly. 
 Nay, if thou dost but attempt to scratch, 
 I'll give thee such a clout of the head as 
 shall put all thy nine lives in jeopardy. 
 1 do assure thee, puss, 'tis all for thy good, 
 so there be no need of setting up so pite- 
 ous a mewing ; which remindeth me of 
 what hath been said on this subject by 
 the learned Podalirius, 'fol de riddle ido, 
 lillibullero, wriggledumfunnibus,' which, 
 rightly translated, reads thus ' he can 
 bear very little pain who crieth out be- 
 fore he be hurt.' Ha ! thou understand- 
 est Latin, I see, by the very wagging of 
 thy tail. So, pryihee, open thy mouth 
 at once, there's a good puss, for I must 
 give thy jaw a twist for the fun of the 
 thing. " What, thou wilt not, ey ? 0' my 
 
 life, 'I'll shave thy tail as bare as my 
 hand, and make thee ashamed to show 
 thyself before thy sweetheart, for truly 
 it is said by Esculapius, ' hoppeti kickoti 
 corum hie haec hoc cum tickle me,' the 
 which doth mean, ' that a cat with a 
 shaved tail be by no means comely to 
 look upon.' " 
 
 Here he was interrupted by an old wo- 
 man with her jaw tied up, entering at 
 the door ; at the sight of 'which, he let 
 down the cat very quickly, and with an 
 exceeding innocent face, advanced up to 
 her. 
 
 " Where be Master Lather ?" cried the 
 dame in right piteous accents, as with a 
 shrewish countenance of exceeding un- 
 easiness, she sat herself down on a chair, 
 swaying backward and forward, and 
 making such a moaning as was quite 
 moving to hear. 
 
 " He be out, good dame, and will tarry 
 long, doubtless, seeing that he be gone 
 to set a marvellous bad dislocation," re- 
 plied Harry Daring, with a look as grave 
 as that of his master. "But, if I can 
 do you any service, believe me, I shall 
 be infinitely glad on't." 
 
 " Oh, I have the cursedest tooth that 
 ever plagued a miserable old woman !" 
 said she, rocking herself to and fro, and 
 moaning worse than ever. 
 
 " In the extracting of teeth lieth my 
 particular skilfulness," added the boy, 
 " for in that have I had such practice as 
 would astonish you mightily to hear. 
 Indeed I am so cunning at it that master 
 leaveth all the tooth-drawing to me, say- 
 ing to the customers, that there be not 
 so apt an apprentice in the whole city. 
 Nay, I do assure you, take it as you list, I 
 have arrived at such perfection in the 
 art, that I could take out every tooth in 
 your head and you shall know it not ; 
 which remindeth me of what hath been 
 said on this subject by the learned Poda- 
 lirius: 'fol de riddle ido, lillebullero, 
 wriggledumfunnibus,' which, rightly 
 translated, reads thus ' he that can 
 draw a tooth without pain, must needs 
 be in famous request of those troubled 
 with an aching jaw.' " 
 
 " Well, if you can talk Latin at your 
 years, you must needs be exceeding clev- 
 er," remarked the old woman, " sol will 
 let you take out my tooth, and here's a 
 groat for you, if you promise to give me 
 no pain in it." 
 
 " I will whip it out and you shall know 
 naught of the matter," answered the ap- 
 prentice, readily taking the money, well 
 pleased at having so fine an opportuiity
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 105 
 
 for showing off his skill. " Which be it, 
 good dame ?" inquired he, after he had 
 got her to sit in the chair, and stood before 
 her, looking gravely into her mouth, with 
 the instrument in his hand. 
 
 " It be the last but two on the left side, 
 in the under jaw," replied she. "But 
 hurt me not, I pray you." 
 
 "Be assured I will hurt you none, if 
 you attend to my directions," said the 
 boy. " So, hold fast by the arms of the 
 chair, else you must needs feel the pain." 
 
 " Ah !" screamed the old woman, seem- 
 ingly at the very top of her voice, as she 
 lifted up her hands to her jaw immedi- 
 ately he gave a wrench. 
 
 " There, now !" cried Harry Darirjg, 
 looking monstrously displeased. "Did I 
 not say you would feel pain if you held 
 not fast to the chair ? For is it not writ 
 in Aristotle that there are two kinds of 
 teeth, as ' harem scarem,' an ' easy tooth.' 
 ' crinkum crankum,' an ' obstinate tooth ;' 
 and the latter kind have you, without a 
 doubt," 
 
 " Well, well, I will be as quiet aS I 
 may," said she, putting down her hands, 
 but looking wofully frightened. " Yet 
 'twas a most awful pain. Now hurt not 
 again, good youth, I pray you." 
 
 "Believe me I would not hurt a hair 
 of your head, for any money," replied 
 the apprentice, with a very touching earn- 
 estness; " but hold fast, I can promise 
 nothing if you let go the chair." 
 
 " Oh !" shrieked the dame, louder and 
 longer than at first ; and caught hold of 
 his hands as he was a tugging with all 
 his might. 
 
 " A murrain on you," exclaimed the 
 boy, stamping as if in a great rage, "did 
 ever any one see the like ? I was having 
 it out as easily as is the drawing of a 
 cork from a bottle of Ippocras, and with- 
 out pain enough to hurt a fly, when you 
 let go the chair, and made the pain come 
 on the instant. 'Slife, it be enough to 
 put a saint in a passion; for truly is it j 
 said by Esculapius, ' Syrupus croci scru- 
 pulum dimidium, aquae purae quantum 
 sufficit :' the which doth mean, ' she that 
 will let go when she be told to hold fast, i 
 deserveth all she may get for her pains.'" 
 
 " If it was not for the Latin, I should 
 doubt you were so skilled as you have 
 said," remarked his patient, very dole- 
 fully ; "but the Latin be a wonderful 
 comfort. You shall have at it once more, ; 
 and for the last time ; for in truth I can 
 endure no such horrible pain as the last." 
 
 " Hold fast, then ; and now or nevei," 
 cried the young barber, as he put his : 
 
 whole might and main into one desperate 
 tug. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! murder ! Oh ! Lord ha' 
 mercy on my sins ! Oh ! murder ! mur- 
 der ! murder !'' screamed the old woman, 
 with all the strength of her lungs, as she 
 tried to hold his hands ; but this time he 
 knit his brows fiercely, and twisted at the 
 instrument as if for his life; and in 'spite 
 of the struggles and shriekings of his pa- 
 tient, he desisted not till he wrenched the 
 tooth right out upon the floor. 
 
 "Here it be, dame," exclaimed he, joy- 
 fully, as soon as he saw it fall, "and o' 
 my life 'tis a famous one." But the other 
 seemed to think that her jaw had been 
 torn out; for with her hands up to he? 
 face, she sat a writhing and twisting her 
 body about the room, as if she was in her 
 last agony. 
 
 " Oh ! I be a dying ! my hour be come ; 
 I must needs give up the ghost," cried 
 she, very piteously. 
 
 "Keep a good heart you will be well 
 enough soon," replied he, as he was a wi- 
 ping of his instrument. 
 
 "Jndeed, 'twas a most awful scraunch," 
 added his patient, looking in most deplora- 
 ble fashion ; " methought my head was 
 a going clean off, and you was a pulling 
 of it up by the roots : but where be the 
 tooth ?" 
 
 " There, dame," he answered, pointing 
 to where it lay ; at the which she has- 
 tened to pick it up. 
 
 " Oh ! you murderous villain !" shouted 
 out the old woman, her face all of a sudden 
 becoming livid with rage, as she looked 
 upon the tooth : "you have pulled out the 
 only two sound teeth I had in my head, 
 and left the aching one in." 
 
 "What, have I pulled out two?''' ex- 
 claimed the boy, as if mightily pleased ; 
 " why, what excellent luck have I ! But 
 you must needs pay me the other groat, 
 seeing that you bargained only for one." 
 
 " I pay thee a groat, caitiff'!" cried she, 
 in a worse rage Fhan ever, " I'll see thee 
 hanged first ! And two such fine teeth, 
 too, that would have lasted me a good 
 score years. Oh ! 'tis not to be borne." 
 
 "Why, thoti shalt have all the less 
 toothaches for it," said the apprentice, in 
 a wonderful consoling voice ; " I warrant 
 they shall never ache; for is it not writ 
 in Aristotle" 
 
 "Drat Harry's total and thee too!" 
 screamed the other, looking as fiercely as 
 if she was about to fly at him ; " I could 
 tear thee limb from limb, you horrible 
 young villain." 
 
 " Nay, thou hadst best be quiet and
 
 106 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 take thyself off," observed the boy, seri- 
 ously ; though he took huge delight in 
 seeing her in so towering a passion. " In- 
 deed, if thou showest thy tearing humor 
 to me, I will set the dog on thee, who b 
 famous for worrying of an old witch." 
 
 " Dost call me an old witch, thou pes- 
 tilent little varlet? Me an old witch: 
 me!" 
 
 " Tis like enough to be true ; for 'tis 
 well known thou wert seen last Christ- 
 mas eve dancing of a measure with the 
 devil's grannum on the top of the moon.'' 
 
 "I dance with'the devil's grannum? 
 j I" 
 
 " I have spoke with those who will 
 take their oaths of it: and moreover tney 
 do report that thou didst caper after a 
 fashion that was a scandal to look upon." 
 
 " Oh ! the horrid perjurers ! But I do 
 believe thou sayest it of thine own villan- 
 ous invention : thou wilt come to the 
 gallows, that be one comfort." 
 
 " Away, old witch !" 
 
 " I'll live to see thee hanged, thou out- 
 rageous little villain." 
 
 " Mount thy broomstick, and be off up 
 the chimney; for thy cousin Beelzebub 
 be waiting for thee, with a goodly bowl 
 of brimstone and treacle for thy supper." 
 
 "I tell thee I bean honest woman that 
 have had children, and two of 'em be 
 twins," squeaked out the old woman, 
 now in such a rage she could scarcely 
 speak. 
 
 " Ah ! I have heard of thy twins," ex- 
 claimed the boy in an aggravating tone : 
 " the midwife told her gossip, and her 
 gossip told the neighbors." 
 
 "And what said she, thou hangdog?" 
 cried the other, trembling in every limb 
 with the greatness of her passion, 
 do defy thee, caitiff; they were as fine 
 twins as ever honest woman had." 
 
 " Marvellous fine, truly !" replied he, 
 in the same manner ; " for I was told by 
 those who had sight of them, that one of 
 them was a three-legged stool and the 
 other an elephant." 
 
 " Oh ! thou horrid young monster ! thou 
 perjured little villain !" 
 
 " Away, broomstick !" 
 
 " Thou hangdog ! Thou gallows-bird !' 
 
 " Out, brimstone !" 
 
 " Thou misbegotten imp of mischief 
 Thou"- 
 
 "The devil waiteth supper for thee 
 Vanish !" 
 
 " Agh !" shrieked the enraged old wo- 
 man, with a violent twist of her head, as 
 if she had exhausted all her spite ; anc 
 then shaking her skinny fist at Harry 
 
 Daring, she suddenly flung herself out at 
 he door. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" roared the boy, seem- 
 ngly in a perfect ecstasy. " Well, if 
 his be not the most exquisite fine fun, 
 hen know I not what fun is. But me- 
 hought this drawing of teeth would be 
 *ood sport ; and, if I could only get to 
 >leed a vein now, then should I be con- 
 en t. Ah, puss ! art there still ? Well, 
 '. must needs have at thee again for lack 
 of another customer. But I want not 
 aught of thy teeth at present : I be only cu- 
 rious to know if thou hast got ever a vein." 
 The mischievous apprentice soon had 
 the cat in his lap again, and after talking 
 to her in a similar strain as at first, with 
 a liberal supply of his Latin, he tied up 
 one of her forelegs with a piece of tape 
 as if about to let her blood. And doubt- 
 ess would he have persisted in such in- 
 tention, for he had the lancet in his hand, 
 and the cat lay as still as if she was too 
 frightened to move, when, upon a noise 
 of opening of the door, he let her down 
 quickly, and putting his hands behind 
 him, that none might see what he had 
 hold on, he turned round to see who it 
 was, with a face as demure and innocent 
 as you please. Then there entered no 
 other than Captain Swagger (of whom 
 the reader hath already some knowl- 
 edge), marching in with the absolutest 
 blustering manner that ever was seen. 
 
 " Fellow, where's thy master ?" he 
 exclaimed in a voice of thunder, as, with 
 his tremendous sword clattering against 
 the boards as he went, he flung himself 
 into the great chair, looking at the boy 
 as if he would eat him at a mouthful. 
 
 " Please you, my lord," replied Harry 
 Daring very respectfully, and with a 
 countenance that would have become a 
 judge ; " he hath gone to wait upon an 
 alderman, if it please your lordship, who 
 be troubled with the windy colics ex- 
 ceeding badly, please you, my lord ; but, 
 as he hath marvellous great confidence 
 in me, knowing that I be skilled beyond 
 my years in everything that appertaineth 
 to chirurgery and to the craft of a barber, 
 he is willing enough I should attend his 
 business in his absence, if it please your 
 lordship : therefore, if there be anything 
 you require of my master, if I attempt 
 it you may be well assured it shall lack 
 nothing in the doing, if it please you, my 
 lord." 
 
 "Canst let blood, fellow?" inquired 
 the captain, somewhat prepossessed in 
 favor of the apprentice, for that he had 
 taken him for a lord.
 
 SHAKSPEARE'AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 107 
 
 " I can let anything, if it please your 
 ordship," said the boy, famously well 
 pleased that such was required of him. 
 "But, indeed, in the letting of blood 
 lieth my particular skilfulness. I can 
 assure you, for a truth, that I have ac- 
 quired by repeated practice such excellent 
 cunning in the breathing of a vein, that I 
 do it, and lo ! the patient shall not 
 know it be done. And in all honesty I 
 can add, without boasting, that there be 
 divers worshipful members of the com- 
 mon council who will not hear of any 
 other letting them blood, I be held of 
 them in such high cousideration : which 
 remindeth me of what hath been said on 
 this subject by the learned Podalirius 
 ' Sanguis draconis granum unum, panis 
 recentis drachmae duas ; misce et divide 
 in pilulas centum,' which rightly trans- 
 lated reads thus, ' He that can breathe a 
 vein in such sort as to be out of compari- 
 son with any other, shall assuredly be 
 considered as one beyond all price among 
 those who would be let blood if it please 
 you, rny lord." 
 
 "What, canst quote Latin?" asked 
 Captain Swagger, as completely imposed 
 upon as the old woman had been. " Well, 
 take my arm ; but see that I be let blood 
 in proper fashion, fellow ! or I will cut 
 off thy ears." 
 
 " Of that rest you well satisfied," 
 answered the boy, gravely proceeding to 
 bind up the captain's arm, and in no way 
 daunted at his fierce manner ; for, in 
 truth, he was of such a spirit that he 
 cared for nothing when he was about 
 any mischief. " And as for the quoting 
 of Latin, if it please your lordship, I be- 
 gan so early at it, and took to it so 
 kindly, that I be now accounted such a 
 dabster there be scarce any book in Latin 
 I can not give you chapter and verse out 
 of." 
 
 The young rogue had by this time 
 bared and tied up the patient's arm, and 
 gave him to hold the handle of an old 
 mop to rest it on, and was looking very 
 earnestly for the vein ; but the arm was 
 one of the fattest, and nothing of a vein 
 was to be seen. At this he seemed a 
 little puzzled for a moment ; but being of 
 a disposition that would stop at no diffi- 
 culty, he presently put on a famous know- 
 ing look, and made up his mind about 
 what he was to do. 
 
 "Now, grasp you the mop firm, and 
 turn your head away, if it please you, my 
 lord," said the young chirurgeon, pressing 
 of the thumb of his left hand down nigh 
 unto the bend of the arm, and in the 
 
 right hand having the lancet very close 
 upon it. The other did as he was 
 desired, but not without looking a little 
 paler than he was awhile since. " T 
 charge you to look not this way till I 
 give the word ; then shall I have breathed 
 your vein for you in such delicate fashiou 
 as you can have no experience of." At 
 this he made a sudden plunge of the lan- 
 cet into the flesh, at which the captain 
 winced ; but, to the astonishment of the 
 apprentice, no blood flowed. 
 
 "Hast done it? methought I felt the 
 prick," said his patient quickly. 
 
 " Nay, 'twas only my thumb-nail, 
 which be rather of the sharpest ; and 
 like enough you felt it as I pressed down 
 to feel the vein," replied Harry Daring, 
 in noway put out. "For is it not writ 
 in Aristotle that there be two kinds of 
 veins ; as ' hocus pocus,'an ' easy vein' 
 ' presto prestissim us,' an 'obstinate vein': 
 and the latter kind have you, without 
 doubt, for it lieth not easy to be got at, if 
 it please your lordship." Then he made 
 another plunge deeper than at first, at 
 which the captain did wince again ; but, 
 to the exceeding puzzlement of the youth- 
 ful chirurgeon, not a drop of blood did 
 make its appearance. 
 
 " Surely thou hast cut me !" exclaimed 
 his patient with some sort of earnestness. 
 " A murrain on my nail for its sharp- 
 ness !" cried the boy, still not inclined to 
 relinquish his purpose. " But rest you 
 easy, and turn your head this way on no 
 account, lest something wrong come of it ; 
 for truly is it said by Esculapius, <Hop- 
 peti kicketi corum, hie, hsec, hoc, cum 
 tickle "me,' the which doth mean, ' he 
 that looketh .when he be told not, may- 
 hap shall spy what he shall not be 
 pleased to see.' " Then he made another 
 plunge deeper than ever, at which the 
 captain cried out lustily. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog !" angrily ex- 
 claimed the mischievous apprentice, 
 throwing down the lancet upon finding 
 he was not a whit more successful with 
 it than at first ; and quickly taking ofT 
 the bandage "thou hast no more blood 
 in thee than I could get out of a pickled 
 herring." 
 
 It would be impossible properly to 
 describe the rage of Captain Swagger 
 upon turning round and finding a huge 
 gash in his arm, and the vein not a 
 bleeding. His bushy mustaches seemed 
 to curl up with very indignation, and his 
 face, which had got exceeding pale, now 
 was in a monstrous fiery wrath. 
 ," A thousand furies !" shouted he, start-
 
 108 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 ing up of a sudden. " Hast dared to cut 
 me in this manner ?" 
 
 " In truth, I have cut thee to the bone !" 
 said the other, as seriously as you please. 
 "And if thou hast ever a vein in thy arm 
 of other sort than I can find in a cabbage 
 leaf, then know I naught of the matter." 
 
 " Slave ! hast done this and expect to 
 live ? Dost know who I be, fellow ?" 
 thundered out the captain, in an increas- 
 ing passion at the other's coolness. 
 
 " Mayhap thou 'art a brazier, and car- 
 riest thy stock in trade in thy counte- 
 nance, for in truth it be exceeding brazen," 
 replied the boy, in no way daunted at his 
 patient's fierce looks. 
 
 " 'Sblood ! I will crop thy ears for thee 
 on the instant!" bawled Captain Swag- 
 ger, as he drew forth his tremendous ra- 
 pier. 
 
 " What ! dost draw on me ?" cried the 
 apprentice, making to the door as if about 
 to run for his life ; but he was never in a 
 humor for turning tail, for he was back 
 again as quickly as he went, armed with 
 the party-colored pole that standeth, ever 
 at such shops as his master's. " Now God 
 defend the right! and look to thyself, old 
 Brazea-nose !" added he. 
 
 "Villain ! dost fight a gentleman with 
 such a heathenish weapon as a barber's 
 pole ?" exclaimed the captain in a mon- 
 strous astonishment. "Down with it, 
 fellow, or I will mince thee into noth- 
 ing !" 
 
 " Nay, if thou likest not a barber's 
 weapon, thou shouldst not draw upon a 
 barber," quietly replied Harry Daring, as 
 he boldly made up to him. "Andinow 
 for thy ribs !" 
 
 Would I had Dan Homer's pen to de- 
 scribe the famous combat that took place 
 betwixt these two heroes ; for of mine 
 own cunning can I never give the reader 
 an idea of it which will come sufficiently 
 nigh unto the reality yet what my poor 
 skill can effect he must needs put up with. 
 First, then, there was the redoubtable 
 Captain Swagger, foaming with wrath, 
 flourishing of his formidable rapier, and 
 skipping here and there and everywhere 
 witli a wonderful agility, to escape the 
 blows that were quickly aimed at him. 
 To him came Harry Daring, a very hero 
 among apprentices, who crept cautiously 
 along, holding of his pole with both hands 
 a little in advance of him, with an excel- 
 lent brave countenance, and ever and anon 
 giving a poke at his opponent wherever 
 he saw a place unguarded. The captain 
 retreating with a marvellously imposing 
 front, and the apprentice following him 
 
 round the shop, as if valorously resolved 
 to conquer or to die. The one slashed 
 about him his huge sword in a truly dan- 
 gerous fashion ; but the other came to the 
 poke with his barber's pole in so decided 
 a manner, that his enemy seemed to like 
 the appearance of it less and less every 
 moment. 
 
 " Oh, that I could get but one cut 
 at thee !" cried the captain. " I would 
 pay thee handsomely for the villanous 
 hurt thou hast given me on my right 
 side." 
 
 " Take that on thy left then one side 
 shall not grumble at t'other," replied the 
 apprentice, hitting him another desperate 
 poke where he had said. 
 
 " Villain, thou wilt break my ribs !" 
 thundered out his antagonist, evidently 
 in as great pain as rage. 
 
 " Then art thou but an ass for not hav- 
 ing them made stronger," answered the 
 other. "But look at thy toes, I pry thee !" 
 and then down came the end of the pole 
 right upon his foot, so heavily that he 
 bawled out with the pain, and began to 
 limp about after such a sort as would have 
 been piteous to look upon, had not the 
 absoluteness of his rage made of him so 
 droll a figure. 
 
 " I iell thee, fellow, I will have my ac- 
 tion of battery against thee !" exclaimed 
 Captain Swagger, making such desperate 
 exertions to ward off the blows of his ad- 
 versary, and to get out of the way of his 
 terrible weapon, that his great fiery face 
 seemed all in a muck. 
 
 " That for thy action of battery, old 
 Brazen-nose !" replied Harry Daring, 
 dealing him so famous a poke in his 
 stomach, that it clean sent him over the 
 three-legged stool, with his heels in the 
 air, his hat flying away to one place, and 
 his rapier to another, and his back com- 
 ing with a monstrous thump upon the 
 floor. 
 
 " Yield thyself my prisoner rescue or 
 no rescue !" cried the boy, stepping up to 
 the fallen combatant with the air of a 
 conquering knight-errant. 
 
 " Oh, my back ! my back !" groaned 
 the captain, as he attempted to rise. 
 
 "By Gog and Magog, thou shall not 
 rise from this till thou hast agreed upon 
 thy ransom, Sir Brazier, "said the appren- 
 tice gravely, as he poked him down again 
 with his pole. 
 
 ' Wilt murder me, varlet ?" asked Cap- 
 tain Swagger, looking at the dreadful 
 weapon of his opponent as if there was 
 instant death in it. 
 
 ' Nay, I will harm thee not, by the
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 109 
 
 honor of chivalry, provided thou dost 
 agree to two or three things I shall re- 
 quire of thee." 
 
 " Prythee tell me what they be, and let 
 me up." 
 
 *' First, thou shall acknowledge thy- 
 self conquered in fair fight." 
 
 " Granted. Oh, my back !" 
 
 " Secondly, thou shalt pay for thy ran- 
 som one shilling of good and lawful 
 money of our sovereign lady Queen Eliz- 
 abeth." 
 
 "Agreed. My ribs be as soft as but- 
 ter. Oh !' 
 
 " Lastly, thou shalt from this time for- 
 ward and for ever, hold in most especial 
 veneration and respect the goodly weapon 
 that hath caused thy overthrow to wit, 
 a barber's pole." 
 
 " Spare me there, I prythee !" groaned 
 the prostrate captain, in the most piteous 
 accents ever heard ; " I would pay thee 
 another shilling sooner." 
 
 "What, dost murmur, Sir Brazier?" 
 cried out Harry Daring, and was just 
 about to give him an additional poke, 
 when the door opened; and turning round 
 he beheld Master Francis. "Ah! I am 
 right glad to see thee!" he exclaimed, 
 going up to his visiter and shaking him 
 by the hand with great heartiness " for 
 in truth I have missed thee exceedingly." 
 
 " But what hast been about with this 
 good gentleman, Harry ?" inquired his 
 young friend, who marvelled greatly at 
 seeing of them in such a position. 
 
 "What ! hast dared to rise ?" exclaim- 
 ed the boy, upon perceiving that as soon 
 as his back had turned the captain had 
 sprung on his legs, with a wonderful 
 agility considering how hurt he was. 
 
 " I pray you hold him, good sir," cried 
 Captain Swagger, as he made haste to 
 pick up his sword and hat. " He hath 
 used me villanously. He hath hurt my 
 back, my ribs, and my toes, beyond all 
 endurance, by poking me with that 
 heathenish weapon of his. Indeed, he 
 be the horriblest young wretch, and the 
 absolutest little villain " 
 
 " Ha !^ dost call names, Brazen-nose ?" 
 shouted the apprentice, lifting up his pole 
 as if to renew the combat ; but no sooner 
 had the captain caught sight of his in- 
 tention, than, with a look of the most ex- 
 ceeding horror and alarm, he made two 
 or three tremendous strides to the door, 
 and was out of the house without another 
 word. 
 
 " Oh, Master Francis, I have had such 
 exquisite fine fun !" said the boy, after a 
 long fit of laughing, upon seeing of Cap- 
 
 ] tain Swagger take himself off in so evi- 
 dent a fright ; and then he told the other 
 the whole account of his attempts at 
 chirurgery at the which, though his 
 companion seemed in a monstrous melan- 
 choly humor, he could not help smiling 
 more than once. " Indeed, Master Fran- 
 cis," added he at the la&t, " if thou hadst 
 heard me speaking of my fine Latin, and 
 the infinite gravity of my behavior, thou 
 wouldst never have forgotten it. But the 
 rage of the old witch that was the fun ! 
 Nay, I do think that the sight of Brazen- 
 nose skipping away from the pole like a 
 roasi chestnut bouncing from the fire, was 
 the exquisites! fun of the two. But what 
 aileth thee? for in honest truth thou look- 
 est marvellously disturbed." 
 
 " 'Tis nothing Harry ! 'tis nothing," 
 replied Master Francis. 
 
 " At least I rejoice exceedingly to see 
 thee so famously attired," continued his 
 companion, looking with admiring eyes 
 upon his handsome dress, " and to wear 
 a sword too ! Well, he that says thou 
 art not worthy of it lies in his throat ; 
 and I would like to cudgel him within 
 an inch of his life. For in truth, in my 
 estimation, thou art good enough for any- 
 thing. Dost remember when we two 
 were at old Tickletoby's, and thou wert 
 a reading to me the romance 6f King 
 Arthur and other famous histories ? Thou 
 didst then say, if so be thou shouldst ever 
 have the good hap to become a knight, 
 which I always thought would be the 
 case, then should I be thy faithful esquire. 
 Prythee tell me if it be possible to be 
 where thou art if so, I will straight show 
 my indentures a fair pair of heels ; for 
 though I may have sport enough some- 
 times, in honest truth I would rather wear 
 a sword as thou dost ; and should think 
 nothing so pleasant as to be alongside of 
 thee fighting of the paynims and such 
 like caitiffs. Indeed, there be none I 
 think so true a friend as art thou, when 
 I remember the many times thou hast 
 saved me the birch by helping of me in 
 my tasks." 
 
 " Hast forgot, dear Harry, how many 
 uncivil boys thou hast beat who did call 
 me names ?" inquired Master Francis, 
 kindly. " Some nearly twice thy size, 
 too." 
 
 "Ah, thou wert then exceeding deli- 
 cate," replied Harry Daring, " and unfit 
 to cope with such. Yes, I remember me 
 whal a bout I had of it with big Jack o' 
 the Turnstile, for calling of thee ' Molly- 
 coddle' a murrain on him ! He got two 
 famous black eyes, and had his villanous
 
 ilO 
 
 SHAKSPEAR.E AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 nose pummelled for him till it was as 
 red and as big as a carrot. By Gog and 
 Magog, that was exquisite fine fun !" 
 And then the boy chafed his hands as if 
 with wonderful delight. " But I should 
 like to fight for thee all my life long, if 
 there be need of it ; and be thy faithful 
 friend and follower wherever thougoest." 
 
 " If I can get thee to be where I am, 
 Harry, it shall be done," replied Master 
 Francis. 
 
 " That be brave news- indeed !" cried 
 .the barber's apprentice very joyfully 
 " then a fig's end for old Lather and 
 Esculapius, and Aristotle, and all the 
 whole tribe of such pestilent knaves and 
 thorough-going villains as. they are, that 
 can do nothing but give the horridest 
 crack-jaw Latin names to things, that 
 ever puzzled an innocent poor boy's brains 
 to remember, may go hang !" 
 
 Harry Daring now went and restored 
 the pole to its proper place. 
 
 " Seeing Geoffrey Sarsnet, the jolly 
 mercer, at his door," said the boy, as he 
 returned to his companion, "it hath put 
 me in mind of a something methinks 'tis 
 my duty to tell thee." Observing that 
 his friend looked at him very earnestly, 
 he continued " Believe me, I like not 
 the part of a talebearer, or to be a med- 
 dling with what concerneth me not: but 
 noticing how hugely thou dost affect that 
 Joanna -" 
 
 " Ha ! what of her ?" exclaimed Master 
 Francis hurriedly. " Go on, Harry, I can 
 hear anything now." 
 
 " Look not so pale then, I prythee !" 
 observed the other with great concern, as 
 he noticed the effect that had been produ- 
 ced by the mentioning of her name. 
 
 " Mind me not at all, I prythee, but 
 tell what thou hast to say," said the youth 
 with some eagerness. 
 
 " Well, I will," added the apprentice. 
 " Then I take, it to be the part of a true 
 friend (the which I ever wish to prove 
 myself to thee, Master Francis), that if 
 one friend setteth his heart upon a pretty 
 wench, the other, if he believeth that she 
 playeth him false, should tell him of it as 
 speedily as may be. And as it be my cus- 
 tom to go in the early morning to bathe 
 in the river with Jack o' the Turnstile, 
 long-legged Tom, the tailor's son round 
 the corner, and Peter Perriwinkle, our 
 neighbor the chandler's apprentice, I did 
 notice sundry times, a man closely muffled 
 up in a huge cloak and slouched hat, 
 leaving of Geoffrey Sarsnet's house at 
 daybreak. There was something mar- 
 vellous suspicious about him, else had I 
 
 noticed him not ; and the extreme cau- 
 tiousness with which the door was opened 
 and closed, as if to make no noise, did 
 still the more attract my attention. Know- 
 ing that the old man was one not likely 
 to have any such mysterious visiters, me- 
 thought 'twas passing strange : and never 
 seeing who it was that let him out, be- 
 cause of the person keeping so close be- 
 hind the door all the while, I knew not 
 what to make of it. However, as it so 
 happened, one morn when the door open- 
 ed as usual, the wind blowing pretty high 
 at the time, I had the good hap to see 
 part of a kirtle, that 1 recognised on the 
 instant, and" 
 
 " Who's was it ?" inquired Master 
 Francis, who had listened with too much 
 anxiety to hear the narration to the end. 
 
 " Joanna's," replied the boy. 
 
 " And, like enough!" added the other 
 with some sort of bitterness. 
 
 " But let it not move thee so, I prytbee !" 
 cried Harry Daring, noticing in great 
 trouble the painful expression of his 
 friend's countenance. 
 
 " And yet she hath done me great kind- 
 nesses !" exclaimed the youth, as if to 
 himself. 
 
 " Though ft look not well, mayhap 
 there shall be no harm in it," observed 
 the other, as if with a riew of affording 
 some consolation. 
 
 " But I have known that of her that 
 hath harm in it !" exclaimed Master 
 Francis, more disturbed than ever ; " thai 
 had it not come of mine own knowledge, 
 would I not have believed and now it 
 be easy enough to credit almost any 
 treachery. , No! I will never allow my- 
 self to be bribed into a toleration of such 
 villanous deceits !" 
 
 "W.ell if she do play her jade's 
 tricks, let her go hang !" said the young 
 chirurgeon indignantly. "I tell thee, 
 Master Francis, if that be it, she be not 
 worth the caring for. Thou art as sweet a 
 young gentleman as eye would wish to 
 look on ; therefore shall thou easily meet 
 with her betters at any time. I say again, 
 let her go hang !" : . t \ j 
 
 " She hath done me many great kind- 
 nesses the which I now wish she had 
 never done, or that she had left unthought 
 of that which I now know of her, "observ- 
 ed the youth in extreme thoughfulness ; 
 then starting up suddenly, cried out, " but 
 who was he she let out." 
 
 " That know I not," replied the boy. 
 " For, as I told thee, he was so muffled 
 up, there was no getting a glimpse of his 
 countenence, or, in fact, of anything to
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 111 
 
 know him by. Methinks, however, he 
 was much about the size of that spouting 
 piece of fustian, Ralph Goshawk, whom 
 I have noticed to visit there very fre- 
 quently of late." 
 
 " Dost think 'twas he ?" inquired Mas- 
 ter Francis, with much earnestness. 
 
 " I would not affirm it, of an absolute 
 truth," answered Harry Daring. " Al- 
 though I mislike the fellow hugely, and 
 would as soon give him a bloody coxcomb 
 as look at him ; for, indeed, I take him to 
 be the impudentest jackanapes, and the 
 shallowest poor fellow I ever came a 
 nigh. I can not abide his tragedy airs. 
 But whether he be or be not the villain, 
 I should take it kindly if thou wouldst 
 let me break his fool's head for him." 
 
 " Why, he be twice as big as thee, 
 Harry," said his companion. 
 
 " What care I for his bigness ?" replied 
 the apprentice. " In truth, the bigger he 
 may be, seemeth all the more favorable, for 
 then shall he afford space for a greater 
 cudgelling. The varlet, for all the great- 
 ness of his humors, be nothing better than 
 a very paltry swaggerer ; and I should 
 take it exceeding kind of thee, if thou 
 wouldst let me give him a bloody cox- 
 comb." 
 
 " No, no, that must not be," observed 
 Master Francis. "Ifjieis to blame in 
 this affair, his punishment must be at my 
 hands. Bat I must make inquiries into 
 this. As for her, I will see her. and have 
 done with her." So saying, he bid a 
 curried "good-by" to his companion, 
 and immediately crossed the way to the 
 mercer's. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Sooner hard steel will melt with southern wind, 
 A seaman's whistle calm the ocean, 
 A town on fire be extinct with tears 
 Than woman, vowed to blushless impudence, 
 With sweet behavior and soft minioning 
 Will turn from that where appetite is fixed : 
 O powerful blood, how thou dost slave their souls ! 
 
 MARSTON. 
 
 Oh, what a sight it was wistfully to view 
 How she cuine stealing to the wayward boy ; 
 
 To note the fighting conflict of her hue, 
 How white and red did each other destroy .' 
 
 But now her cheek was pale, and by-and-by, 
 
 It flashed forth fire as lightning from the sky. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " HA, Master Francis !" exclaimed the 
 jolly mercer, looking up from measuring 
 of some silk, as the youth entered his 
 shop. " I am rejoiced to see thee more 
 especially, as thou comest in such famous 
 fashion as this. I heard of thy good for- 
 
 tune, and was desperate glad on'tt for I 
 liked thee well all along. And dost wear 
 a sword, too? Well see that thou be 
 not too ready to draw upon a man ; and, 
 as for a woman, thou wilt do none such 
 any harm, I warrant." And then the old 
 fellow burst out in his customary short 
 loud laugh. 
 
 " Is Joanna at home ?" inquired his 
 visiter. 
 
 " At home !" cried Geoffrey Sarsnet. 
 "Why, she maketh herself at home 
 wherever she goes. By cock and pye, I 
 do verily believe though, that she be as 
 much- abroad when she be at home, as at 
 home when she be abroad ; for at times 
 I know not what to make of her. In 
 truth, she be given to strange humors, 
 though willing enough when in the 
 mood." 
 
 " Think you I shall find her up stairs ?" 
 asked the youth. 
 
 "Either up or down," replied the jolly 
 mercer. " That is, if she allow herself 
 to be found : for mayhap she shall be 
 with some of her gallants then shalt 
 thou not find her, I warrant." 
 
 A't any previous time such an intima- 
 tion would have startled Master Francis ; 
 yet now it moved him not though it 
 passed him not unnoticed. 
 
 " But how. fareth that superlative old 
 pippin face, thine uncle ?" inquired 
 Geoffrey Sarsnet merrily. " Ha ! if thou 
 hadst but seen him last night singing of 
 a miserable love-ditty to such a villa- 
 nous hang-dog tune as the hundredth 
 psalm, with a melancholy small voice, 
 like that of a dying weasel hit on the 
 head by a tinker's hammer, thou would- 
 est have laughed at it for the rest of thy 
 life. But when he got up to dance the 
 brawls, with his lack-lustre eyes sinking 
 into his pate, as if to see that his won- 
 derful small stock of brains escaped him 
 not that was a sight to look on. Haw ! 
 haw ! haw !" and here the old fellow 
 shook his lusty sides famously. 
 
 The youth marvelled greatly that his 
 kinsman should so conduct himself, it 
 being so opposite to the usual staidness 
 of his manner. 
 
 " He aileth nothing," said he. 
 
 " By cock and pye, he aled so much 
 last night, that I was forced to send 
 Ralph Goshawk to see him home," ob- 
 served the jolly mercer laughing as loud 
 as ever. " He had put so much of my 
 good liquor into him, that he had scarce 
 left for himself' standing room.'" 
 
 " I knew not that he was so given to 
 drink," remarked the youth.
 
 112 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Pfaith I do believe this of him, that 
 he be never given to drink unless the 
 drink be given to him. Haw ! haw ! 
 haw !" roared the old fellow, as if in 
 exquisite delight with the conceit. 
 
 " I will just step to speak with Joan- 
 na," said Master Francis, moving off to 
 the door. 
 
 " Prythee do," replied Geoffrey Sarsnet, 
 " and see that thou hast a more pleasant 
 look with thee at thy return ; for, in 
 truth, thy countenance seemeth about as 
 cheerful as one that hath lost a shilling 
 and found a groat." Thereupon the 
 jolly mercer gave his customary laugh ; 
 then bawled out, in the same humor, as 
 the youth was leaving the shop, "Take 
 heed, and spoil no sport ; for there be 
 few gallants who like their privacy to 
 be broken in upon when engaged with a 
 pretty wench." 
 
 Master Francis went not up the stairs 
 in any pleasanter mood for this, it may 
 well be believed ; but his thoughts were 
 in a sort of confusion : He scarce knew 
 what he would be about. The shock he 
 received from what he gained knowledge 
 of when he was under the gateway, had 
 completely changed the current of his 
 feelings toward Joanna, and what he 
 had heard since was not like to do aught 
 in her favor ; yet was there still some 
 lingering tenderness in his disposition on 
 account of the many kindnesses she had 
 done him, but when he came to think 
 that these had been done but as bribes to 
 keep him in compliance with her humors, 
 as he thought more than once, his mind 
 was made up ; and he would have none 
 of her. In this mood reached he the 
 room that hath been previously described 
 as the one he had been in before, the 
 door of which standing open, he walked 
 in: but there found he no one but Dame 
 Margery, who seemed busy at dusting of 
 the furniture. 
 
 " Ah, Master Francis, be that you ?" 
 exclaimed the old woman, seemingly 
 with huge delight, as she observed who 
 it was. " Well, to be sure ! And how 
 bravely you be dressed ! In honest 
 truth, dear heart ! you be the sweetest 
 youn^r gentleman I've seen this many a 
 day." ' 
 
 " Is Joanna at home, dame ?" inquired 
 the youth. 
 
 " No, dear heart !" replied she. " She 
 hath stepped out some time since. And 
 you wear a sword too ! Indeed, you have 
 as handsome an appearance with you as 
 heart could desire." 
 
 " Know you what time she will re- 
 
 turn ?" asked Master Francis, in some 
 disappointment at not meeting with her. 
 
 "Nay, forsooth, how should I," an- 
 swered the old woman with an indignant 
 toss of her head, " seeing that she goeth 
 out at all hours, and stayeth mayhap 
 half the day, and no one knoweth a 
 word of where she hath been. Well, 
 they that live longest will see most. I 
 be not so blind, Master Francis, as some 
 folks think. I was not born yesterday 
 and the goings-on that I have seen would 
 be a marvel to hear." 
 
 "If you know aught of Joanna that be 
 not maidenly, you do not well in keeping 
 it from me," said the youth. 
 
 " Maidenly !" exclaimed Dame Mar- 
 gery, with a very significant look, as she 
 went and carefully closed the door. 
 " I'faith, 'twould be strange indeed, could 
 it be called maidenly. But, in honest 
 truth, I like not to see you so imposed 
 on. I have noticed, scores of times, with 
 what an earnestness you do affect her, 
 which hath the more shocked me to 
 know how she misuses you. But if I tell 
 you aught, how know I you will not tell 
 of me again ?" 
 
 " Be assured I will do no such thing," 
 replied he. 
 
 " Indeed, she would be the ruin of me, 
 knew she I told you of such matters," 
 added the old woman, "for she be of a 
 very revengeful nature, and of an ex- 
 ceeding bad heart, as is manifest by her 
 letting me work my old bones till I be 
 ready to d.rop ; and she standing by as 
 fine as you please, and never lending me 
 a hand. There's many a time she might 
 have said, ' Here be a dress of mine but 
 little the worse for the wear, that be 
 rather too tight in the sleeve or, may- 
 hap in the body but, doubtless, 'twill 
 fit you, dame, if you please to accept of 
 it ;" which she hath never done. In 
 fact, the grace of God be not in her, 
 that's a sure thing. And she be the 
 wickedest deceitful creature that lives, 
 for she hath ofttimes got me a rating of 
 her father, when she might easy have 
 prevented it. Forsooth, all the blame 
 must come upon poor me, when I be as 
 innocent as a babe." 
 
 " What hath come to your knowledge 
 concerning of her unmaidenly doings ?" 
 said the youth, in a little impatience. 
 
 " Oh, scores of things, I warrant you," 
 answered the dame, " and such things, 
 that the speaking of them maketh me 
 blush outright. Indeed, it be a most 
 absolute trulh that I be the virtuousest 
 of women ; and it be no other than a
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 burning shame in her to do what she 
 hath, instead of following my excellent 
 jxample. / never gave encouragement 
 to a parcel of fellows, I warrant you. 7 
 never shut myself up in rooms with fine 
 gallants not I, by my troth ! / never 
 went nobody knows where, and stayed 
 nobody knows how long, believe me ! 
 No! I was ever as discreet and modest 
 as a virgin ought to be ! that was I and 
 all the world knoweth it." 
 
 "Well, but what have you got to tell 
 me, dame ?" inquired Master Francis, 
 rather earnestly. 
 
 " I be coming to it, kind heart," replied 
 Margery. "Now, had it been my good 
 fortune, at her years, to have met with 
 such a sweet young gentleman as your- 
 self, methinks I should have cared for no 
 other ; but she she must entertain gal- 
 lants by the score ! Not only, forsooth, 
 must she have a parcel of famous fine 
 fellows to fill her head with nonsensical 
 notions about love and the like but she 
 must needs have a few of meaner quality. 
 Nay, for the matter of that, I do believe 
 she be in no way particular. She liketh 
 one as well as another, and careth only 
 that ther? should be plenty of them. 
 Would 7 have done such ? I that was 
 in such repute for the seriousness of my 
 behavio 1 -. that no man dared so much as 
 meddle with my kirtle? In honest truth, 
 it be hut five and twenty years last 
 Martinmas" 
 
 " But I have heard that before I pray 
 you, say at once what you have to tell me," 
 said the youth, still more impatiently. 
 
 " Ah ! but I forgot I had told you of it," 
 continued the dame. "Well, then, to 
 proceed. Often have I, going up the 
 stairs in the dark, stumbled over some 
 fellow sneaking out who'd been after 
 no good, I'll be bound, by the suspicious 
 manner of his getting away ; and when 
 I have come into the room suddenly, I 
 have surprised her with some of her fine 
 
 fallants sitting as close as you please to 
 er mayhap with his villanous arm 
 round her waist. Would 7 have done 
 such? I that but no matter. Then I 
 have heard such whisperings in corners 
 as were awful to listen to. And there 
 
 was that Ralph Goshawk" 
 
 "What of him, dame ?" inquired her 
 companion suddenly. 
 
 " Oh ? the paltry fellow ! Oh . the fus- 
 tian rogue ! I could never abide his pres- 
 ence," she added, as if in a monstrous in- 
 dignation ; " he would pass himself off 
 for a gentleman, forsooth ! and talk in as 
 holyday terms as any lord : yet was he 
 8 
 
 nothing but a trumpery haberdasher, who 
 had no higher employment than the 
 measuring out a yard or so of sad-colored 
 taffeta for some tapster's widow. He be 
 the impudentest varlet : but I will ac- 
 quaint you with what he did, Master 
 Francis, no longer ago than last week, 
 and yu shall judge him for an unman- 
 nerly knave, as he is, that hath no re- 
 spect for the virtuestest of women. This 
 was it. I was sitting in the low-backed 
 arm-chair, that hath a cushion in it, by 
 the side of the kitchen-fire, mending of 
 master's hose. I remember me, 'twas a 
 pair of blue hose ; for having no worsted 
 of that color, I was obliged to go out as 
 far as Jonathan Bodkin's, at the next cor- 
 ner, to get me a halfpenny ball. But you 
 must needs know I be obliged to mend 
 all master's hose, for she considereth her- 
 self too fine a lady to touch them; and 
 a famous labor be they, I do assure you, 
 Master Francis, for master hath got a 
 villanous fashion of wearing monstrous 
 great holes in the heel, as big as a crown 
 piece. Well, I was a putting in my 
 stitch.es as closely as I might, when up 
 comes this scurvy mealy-mouthed varlet, 
 who had been sitting some two hours or 
 more in the kitchen, talking the horri- 
 blest fustian to Joanna, about a certain 
 Zenocrate (who was no better than she 
 should be, I'll lay a wager, or she never 
 could have tolerated such a paltry fellow 
 as he is) ; and he says to me, in his thun- 
 dering fine swaggering air, 
 
 ' And if thou pitiest Tamburlane the Great, 
 Tell us, old woman, what o'clock it be.' 
 
 Oh ! the scurvy villain ! Oh ! the fustian 
 rapscallion !" continued she, seemingly 
 in as great a rage as she could well be 
 in, " to call me an old woman ! me that 
 am not fifty yet. He Tamburlane the 
 Great ! A poor paltry twopenny-halfpen- 
 ny haberdasher ! a swaggering rogue ! 
 a very trumpery fellow, that hath no 
 more respect for virtue than he hath for a 
 rotten apple. Oh ! I be out of all pa- 
 tience with his shameless impudency !" 
 
 " But what have you seen in his beha- 
 vior to Joanna not proper in her to al- 
 low?" asked the youth, getting in some 
 degree tired with the old woman's gar- 
 rulousness. 
 
 " Seen!" exclaimed Margery, throwing 
 up her hands and eyes, in amazement; 
 " what is it I have not seen ?" Then she 
 came nearer to him, wearing a face of 
 exceeding mysteriousness, and dropping 
 her voice a little, added, " I have seen 
 him paddle with the palm of her hand 
 in a way that was awful for to see. The
 
 114 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS, 
 
 paltry fellow ! I have seen him give her 
 the shockingest looks that eye ever light- 
 ed on. The scurvy villain ! I have seen 
 him so horribly familiar with her, that the 
 like was never before known in an honest 
 house. The fustian rogue as he is, to call 
 me an old woman ! And as for her, in- 
 stead of giving him such a setting down 
 as might have put him to the blush for 
 the villanousness of his conduct, as would 
 I in such a case, she would sit smiling at 
 him most abominably by the hour to- 
 gether ; nay, she has actually got up to 
 dance with him a gullard, and behaved 
 with so thorough a wantonness, that I 
 have oft been obliged to take myself off to 
 bed, my virtue could no longer abide such 
 infamous doings. 
 
 "But worse than that, Master Fran- 
 cis," continued the old woman, with in- 
 creasing indignation, while the counte- 
 nance of the youth exhibited considerable 
 uneasiness ; and coming closer, with a 
 look of greater mystery she added in a 
 deep low voice, " I have seen that 
 which would make your hair stand on 
 end to hear of;" then observing that his 
 cheek became still paler, and his look 
 more disturbed, she proceeded first giving 
 a cautious glance at the door: "listen 
 to me and you shall hear all. Coming 
 down stairs in the early morning to do 
 the household work, I oft noticed, during 
 this last winter, when I went to light the 
 fire in this chamber, that there were live 
 embers in the grate ; which I knew could 
 not have been unless a fire had been kept 
 burning till within an hour or so of my 
 coming down. From this I gathered 
 that she set up o' nights. My chamber 
 being nigh unto hers, put me upon keep- 
 ing a wake, to know for a certainty if such 
 was the case. I listened and watched all 
 the next night, and sure enough I heard 
 my dainty madam creeping to her cham- 
 ber, nigh unto six o'clock in the morning. 
 The next thing was to discover what she 
 set up for ; for I hugely suspected she 
 was not likely to sit up for nothing. But 
 this was a hard matter to know, she be- 
 ing as close as a fox ; so that there be 
 no getting at what she be about. Yet 
 had I known such things of her with that 
 fustian rapscallion Ralph Goshawk, and 
 others, that I was as good as certain she 
 was after what she should not. Well, I 
 kept a planning and scheming, in hopes 
 of finding it all out, for I knew there was 
 something villanous at the bottom of it ; 
 when one morning, an hour or two before 
 my usual hour of rising, up gets I ; and 
 after creeping as softlv as a mouse down 
 
 stairs, I saw by the light under this door 
 that madam was there. I stood still and 
 listened a bit ; and as certain as I stand 
 here, I heard a whispering. ' Ahum !' 
 said I to myself, ' you be at your tricks 
 sure enough ;' then I just stooped down 
 and took a peep through the keyhole, and 
 there I saw," said the old woman, very 
 slowly, and with great emphasis, 
 
 " Saw what ?" quickly inquired Master 
 Francis, trembling so he could scarce 
 stand. 
 
 " I saw Joanna and" 
 
 "And who?" 
 
 "And a man !" cried Margery, starting 
 back, her skinny lips puckered up, and 
 her little sharp eyes fixed on him, with a 
 stare of horror ; " but, hush !" she sud- 
 denly exclaimed, her wrinkled and yel- 
 low physiognomy changing its expression 
 from intense indignation to extreme cau- 
 tion " that be her foot on the stair : say 
 not a word, I pray you, else shall I be 
 ruined." No sooner, however, had Joan- 
 na entered at the door, which she then 
 did looking more beautiful than ever, 
 dressed as if from a walk than, with a 
 smile, the old woman hastened up'toher. 
 
 " It be you beyond all doubt," said she, 
 as if overjoyed to see her, " as I was just 
 a saying to this good youth. Indeed, and 
 you have the sweetest bloom on your del- 
 icate cheek I have seen you wear a long 
 time. I warrant me now, you have had a 
 right pleasant walk." 
 
 " Take these things and put them in 
 my chamber," said the mercer's daughter 
 to her, as she took off and gave into her 
 hands her hat, muffler, and cloak. 
 
 "Ah, that will I upon the instant," re- 
 plied Margery, cheerfully ; and then, as 
 soon as Joanna's back was turned from 
 her, she gave a look full of meaning to 
 Master Francis, put her finger to her lip, 
 and hastened away. 
 
 During these few seconds the youth 
 had been in a very agony of conflicting 
 emotions. He seemed making up of his 
 mind what to do ; and yet there was such 
 a tumult in him, of rage, and jealousy, 
 and indignation, that he looked as if tie 
 knew not what he was about. 
 
 "I can scarce think that the voyage 
 hath done you good, Francis," observed 
 Joanna, as she approached him " for in 
 truth you look not so Well as you used." 
 
 " Like enough," replied he, bitterly 
 "ay, it be exceeding like indeed." 
 
 " What aileth you ?" she inquired, with 
 much tenderness. 
 
 " Sick at heart ! sick at heart !" quick- 
 ly answered Master Francis " sick of 
 
 8
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 the villanous deceits that have been played 
 upon me. Like enough indeed to look 
 not so well as I was. I went in the ex- 
 treme comfort of thinking myself beloved 
 by one I imagined to be possessed of a 
 goodly store of all honorable virtues. I 
 return but to find that I have been the 
 dupe of the very wickedest wanton that 
 ever disgraced God's earth." 
 
 "What mean you by this?" asked the 
 mercer's daughter, seemingly iu great as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " What mean I ?" exclaimed the youth, 
 indignantly. "Hast done no ill thing? 
 hast given me no provocation to quar- 
 rel since I have been away, by the infa- 
 mousness of thy behavior ?" 
 
 "None!" replied she, with exceeding 
 earnestness. " I have done no ill thing : 
 I have done nothing that should give you 
 provocation to quarrel." 
 
 " Ha ! and indeed ?" cried her compan- 
 ion, now still more incensed against her; 
 " dost tell me that, and come straight 
 from the kisses of my Lord Cobham ?" 
 At hearing this the color mounted into 
 her cheek a little, of which he took speedy 
 notice and continued : " I see nature will 
 take no part in so monstrous a lie. But I 
 will at once confess that I was nearly as 
 nigh unto you as I may be at this present, 
 and heard all the shameless impudency 
 of your proceedings. In truth, you have 
 made of your lips a common, upon which 
 every ass may find pasture. Go to ! you 
 are a wanton." And so saying, he turned 
 away from her. 
 
 " I pray you, Francis, speak not in this 
 way," said Joanna, in a very serious man- 
 ner, and with a face somewhat troubled. 
 " That my Lord Cobham hath caressed 
 me, I acknowledge ; but that I gave him 
 any such return, is most untrue: and of 
 aught worse than that done by me at any 
 time, know I nothing." 
 
 " Dost think I can believeany such thing 
 from you?" asked Master Francis, sudden- 
 ly. " Dost think I know not more of such 
 conduct'? even if 'twere not enough to 
 condemn you by, as the stealing under a 
 public gateway with one so noted, and 
 going into hidden corners to be caressed 
 by him. I tell you he be not the only 
 one nor Ralph Goshawk, whom you did 
 unblushingly assure me you cared not for, 
 to whom you have given such villanous 
 encouragement ; for I have knowledge 
 of divers fine gallants that you must needs 
 have to attend upon you, doubtless to af- 
 ford you the like gratification. Nay, to 
 such a pitch of shamelessness have you 
 arrived, that if be known to more than 
 
 one you have a man with you in private 
 the whole night long, and then do your- 
 self secretly let him out into the street in 
 the early morning. And this hath been 
 done too when you have sworn you loved 
 me alone ! I do believe there existeth 
 not in this world so deceitful a creature 
 one of so false a heart and of so profligate 
 a nature one so thoroughly lost to all 
 sense of honor and of true affection. 
 Why, the wretchedest woman that liveth 
 upon her own iniquity, be no other than 
 what she seems, and seeketh not to pass 
 for anything better ; but thou hast added 
 hypocrisy to sin, and would hide the dis- 
 position of a wanton under the character 
 of a vestal." 
 
 " Take heed," exclaimed the mercer's 
 daughter, who, as she had listened, 
 had become exceeding pale her bosom 
 heaved mightily her brilliant eyes shot 
 quick and uneasy glances, and, altogeth- 
 er, her appearance was that of one mar- 
 vellously disturbed. " Take heed, Fran- 
 cis, I can bear much from you, but this 
 this I can not bear." 
 
 " 'Tis less than you have deserved," 
 replied he. " And now I have done with 
 you. There !" he cried, as approaching 
 her closely he dashed at her feet the chain 
 of gold she had of his uncle " there lies 
 one of the gifts with which you have 
 sought to bribe me into a toleration of 
 your infamous doings. And here !" he 
 added, as he followed it with a purse that 
 seemed tolerably well filled "here is 
 that which will pay for the cost I have 
 been to you in other things. Be assured 
 it hath been honestly come by ; and not 
 like your costly presents and generous 
 supplying of my wants the liberal wa- 
 ges of a more liberal iniquity." 
 
 To this she answered not save by a 
 slight gasping as if for breath ; but her 
 brow became darker, and the expression 
 of her eyes unnatural. 
 
 " I now take my leave of you," added 
 Master Francis in a voice somewhat 
 tremulous. "I care not if I ever see 
 you again. You have misjudged me 
 hugely if you thought I was of such a 
 nature as to tolerate for a single moment 
 the infamy you have been about. Your 
 judgment and your gifts have been equal- 
 ly misplaced. My heart is not one of so 
 mean a sort as to suffer itself to be satis- 
 fied with the affections of a jilt ; nor is 
 my disposition so base as to suffer itself 
 to" be bribed by a" 
 
 "Villain!" screamed Joanna, as she 
 furiously clutched him by the throat with 
 both her hands before the offensive word
 
 116 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 had been spoken. " Dost think I can he 
 maddened in this vile way, and bear it 
 tamely ! If thou hadest twenty lives 
 they would scarce be atonement enough 
 for so atrocious an insult. Thou hast tra- 
 duced me. Thou hast spoken of me the 
 horri blest things the falsest vilest 
 wickedest matters that ever misused wo- 
 man hath been forced to endure. Dost think 
 to live ? Dost hope for mercy that hath, 
 shown none ? Thou hast tortured me 
 into a raging madness ! My heart is 
 ready to burst and my brain reels ! But 
 thy life shall be the forfeit. Thy life, 
 villain thy life !" 
 
 Master Francis was so seized by sur- 
 prise that he seemed not to have had time 
 to make any struggle, for she had grasped 
 him with such exceeding violence that he 
 had only the power to move up his arms 
 a little and then let them fall ; and his 
 face grew black with an extreme sudden- 
 ness, so that when she took away her 
 hands from about his neck, his head fell 
 back, and he was falling to the ground 
 like one that is taken with a sudden 
 death, when Joanna sprung forward and 
 caught him in her arms. 
 
 " Why, I have not killed thee, sure !" 
 exclaimed she, apparently in wonderful 
 consternation. "Nay, it cannot be! 
 Indeed, I meant it not ! 'Twas but the 
 madness of the moment Oh ! what a 
 wretch have I been if I have done thee 
 any hurt. Francis ! dear dear Francis ! 
 I will forgive all the vile things thou 
 hast said of me if thou wilt not look at 
 me so horribly. Move but a limb 
 breathe or let me feel but the beating 
 of thy heart. No all be as still as a 
 stone. Oh, God ! he is dead he isdead, 
 and I have killed him !" So saying she 
 clasped him close to her breast with 
 many piteous sobs, and with the saddest 
 wildest look eye ever beheld. Again 
 she felt for his heart ; but there was no 
 beating ; she looked to his lips, but they 
 were slightly open, and breathed not at 
 all ; and eagerly watched all his limbs 
 as if to observe the slightest movement, 
 but the quietness of death seemed to be 
 upon them. The eyelids were not quite 
 closed, and little of the eyes save the 
 white part was to be seen, which made 
 them appear to look very ghastly and un- 
 natural ; and the delicacy of his com- 
 plexion was scarce discernible for the 
 discoloring of the akin, which marvel- 
 lously increased his deathlike appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " Alack ! what a sight is this ! What 
 a villanous thing have I done !" she con- 
 
 tinued as she kept kissing of his lips, and 
 pressing of him to her bosom with a very 
 heart-broken countenance. " I that have 
 loved thee better than all the world be- 
 side, and would freely have given my 
 own life to have saved thine ! I know 
 not what could have possessed me to lay 
 hands on thee. Oh! 'twas a most horrid 
 wickedness ! Francis ! thou who hath 
 ever been to me the gentlest, fondest, and 
 best of creatures, and thai I have loved 
 more as a child of mine own than aught 
 else. Oh ! speak but a word, or my heart 
 will break ! Indeed, and on my life, and 
 heart, and soul, and all things that be 
 most sacred in this world thou hast been 
 most shamefully deceived in what thou 
 didst say of me. I have done no such 
 vileness. Alack ! Alack ! He heeds me 
 not !" 
 
 Then she carefully laid him down on 
 the floor, and stood over him for the space 
 of something more than a minute, wring- 
 ing of her hands, and sobbing in such sort 
 as none could see unmoved ; when, sud- 
 denly, as if a thought had struck her, she 
 began vigorously chafing of one of his 
 hands with both hers, and then the other ; 
 and then she unfastened his doublet and 
 chafed his breast in the same manner, 
 lifting up with her other arm his head 
 the whilst, which she pressed closely to 
 her ; and kissing of his forehead ; and 
 sobbing wonderfully ; and ever and anon 
 saying all sorts of endearing things to 
 him. All at once he gave a slight gasp. 
 At this she uttered such a scream of ex- 
 ultation that surely the like was never 
 heard ; and fell to a chafing of his breast 
 with more vigorousness than ever now 
 laughing, now crying, now caressing ol 
 him, now pressing him fondly, in so wild 
 and distracted a manner as was a marvel 
 to look upon. In a little time he gave a 
 stronger gasp ; then two or three ; then 
 moved he his arms, sighing very heavily. 
 Presently his eyelids opened more and he 
 looked about him with a strange uncon- 
 scious stare, and kept breathing with some 
 sort of difficulty. The blackness went 
 from his face, leaving it exceeding pale, 
 and his lips got a little more color in 
 them. 
 
 Seeing these things, Joanna grew so 
 agitated that she was obliged gently to 
 put his head again upon the ground 
 whilst she stood up a bit. Then she 
 pressed her temples in her hands, and 
 seemed as if she was striving to collect 
 her scattered thoughts. In a few mo- 
 ments she went to a cupboard and poured 
 out some wine into a cup, with which
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 117 
 
 she presently returned to him, and set- 
 ting his head against her shoulder, she 
 poured the liquid down his throat. This 
 appeared to produce a wonderful good 
 effect, for in a few minutes his cheek lost 
 much of its extreme pallidness ; his eyes 
 looked as if with some knowledge of 
 where he was ; and he breathed not so 
 hard as he had done but a moment since. 
 Making a movement as if to rise, Joanna 
 placed her arm around his waist, and as- 
 sisted him up ; but she spoke not a word, 
 nor had she done so since he had given 
 such signs of his returning life as showed 
 he had some consciousness of surrounding 
 things. 
 
 In truth, she seemed in extreme per- 
 plexity as to howsheshould conducther- 
 self. She knew not what to say, and 
 scarce what to do. So monstrously 
 ashamed was she that the violence of 
 her passion should have led her into so 
 great a wickedness as the attempting of 
 his life, that she felt as if she could urge 
 nothing in defence of it ; and scarce dared 
 look him in the face. Every moment 
 she expected him to overwhelm her 
 with reproaches; and the more she 
 thought upon the matter, the more be- 
 wildered did she seem to get. At last, 
 when she had got him to stand upright, 
 and found he could do so without assist- 
 ance, her uneasiness became so great, 
 that she was obliged to leave him and 
 lean upon the back of a chair for sup- 
 port. As for Master Francis, he was in 
 such a state of mind, that he could not 
 for some time, remember what had taken 
 place. He looked about him like one 
 amazed. He thought that something ter- 
 rible had been done, but he knew not 
 what. It happened that his gaze wan- 
 dering about the room, met that of Jo- 
 anna, who was watching him with great 
 anxiety ; and then, by degrees the whole 
 scene, till he was deprived of conscious- 
 ness, came upon his memory. At this, 
 in a sort of horror, he shook in every 
 limb, and looked as if he was about to 
 fall ; which seeing, Joanna, regardless of 
 all else but his safety, hastened to sup- 
 port him ; but the weakness was only 
 momentary, and genily pushing her from 
 him, with a look of mingled terror and 
 dislike, he turned from her, and slowly 
 left the room. 
 
 Joanna moved not, and turned not her 
 eyes from him till the dc x or closed, when 
 she had just strength left to totter to a 
 chair ; were she was found about an hour 
 afterward by Dame Margery, with her 
 arm ilirowu over the back, and her head 
 
 leaning on it, in a state of complete in- 
 sensibleness. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 nature only helpt him, for looke thorow 
 
 This whole book, thou shalt find he doth not borrow 
 One phrase from Greekes, nor Latines imitate, 
 Nor once from vulgar languages translate. 
 
 DIGQES. 
 
 Dmeberry. Whither speeds his boldness * 
 Check his rude tongue, great sir ! 
 
 King Henry. O, let him range : 
 The player's on the stage still, 'tis his part ; 
 He does but act. FORD. 
 
 Now before Jove, admirable ! By Phoebus, my 
 sweet facetious rascal, I could eat water-gruel with 
 thee for a month, for this jest, my dear rogue. 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 A NUMEROUS party were assembled in 
 one of the queen's withdrawing-rooms, 
 consisting principally of the ladies of her 
 court, to hear Master Shakspeare read a 
 new play which he had writ upon her 
 majesty's suggestion, as hath been de- 
 scribed. Master Shakspeare stood with 
 his back to the light, and his face to the 
 queen, reading of his manuscript, with 
 his audience in a half circle before him, 
 in the centre of which sat Queen Eliza- 
 beth in her chair of state, looking exceed- 
 ing pleased, and dressed with marvellous 
 grandeur ; having at her right hand the 
 earl of Essex attired very gorgeously, and 
 leaning on her majesty's chair with the 
 air of one that is privileged to say what 
 he lists, ever and anon making of such 
 remarks as the circumstances seemed to 
 give good warrant for ; and joining in her 
 majesty's mirth, whenever it was exhibit- 
 ed, with a heartiness which showed that 
 in such instances, to play the courtier 
 was nothing but natural to him. It was 
 remarked of all, that never had the queen 
 looked so gracious, for she kept turning 
 and smiling upon the handsome noble- 
 man at her side, and saying of this thing 
 and that thing after so amiable a fashion ; 
 and commended Master Shakspeare so 
 liberally, that the whole court were moved 
 with admiration. All present appeared 
 in an excellent fine humor, and listened 
 with the very profoundest attention. 
 Some looked to be in a continual smile 
 others frequently did indulge themselves 
 with a giggle and some few, who seem- 
 ed as though they could not confine their 
 mirth within such modest bounds, must 
 needs laugh aloud. 
 
 By this time Master Shakspeare had 
 got into the third act of his play, which 
 hath become so singularly liked of the
 
 118 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 world, under the title of " The Merry 
 Wives of Windsor," and that it lacked 
 nothing in the reading of it is beyond all 
 possibility of doubt. Indeed it may be 
 said, without starting from the truth any- 
 great way, so altered he his voice-, and 
 expressed he the dialogue with such a 
 natural manner, that any one, at the 
 shutting of his eyes, might have fancied 
 he heard many different persons. In 
 truth, there wanted no more actors. He 
 was the whole dramatis persona? in him- 
 self. This excellent talent of his made 
 his hearers receive the scene of the chal- 
 lenge between the choleric Welchman 
 and the equally incensed French doctor, 
 in the field nigh unto Frogmore, with 
 wonderful admiration. But when came 
 Sir John Falstaff put into the buck-basket 
 by the merry wives, and the account he 
 gives of it to the jealous husband, surely 
 nothing could exceed the delight with 
 which it was received. 
 
 " In honest truth, Master Shakspeare," 
 cried the queen very merrily, " that fat 
 knight of yours is like to make our sides 
 ache. Oh, the absolute villain ! Oh, 
 the monstrous rogue ! I'faith 'tis in ex- 
 cellent conceit. We are taken with the 
 humor of it mightily. What say you, 
 my lord," exclaimed the queen, turning 
 to her favorite* " doth it not seem to you 
 as ridiculous as heart could wish?" 
 
 " Please your majesty, never have I 
 been so taken with any play," replied the 
 Lord Essex. " It hath in it a wonderful 
 store of wit certainly indeed, I take it 
 to be as rare a device of the mind as was 
 ever writ." 
 
 " What say you, my Lady Howard," 
 inquired her majesty, turning round to 
 the Lady Howard of Walden, who was 
 to the left of her, " think you the villan- 
 ous old fellow was well served of those 
 merry wives, by being stuffed into the 
 buck-basket, and then cast into the ditch 
 at Datched mead ?" 
 
 "Indeed, please your majesty, methinks 
 he had the very properest reward for his 
 abominable impudency," answered her 
 ladyship. " I would have served him 
 worse, for I would have had the greasy 
 rogue smothered to death, or drowned 
 outright." 
 
 " Nay, that's too bad of you," observed 
 the queen, "'twould be but right to let him 
 live and repent him of his misdoings. 
 But, odds my life, he be so droll a fish 
 none should have the heart to kill him." 
 
 "0' my word, so think I," added my 
 Lord Essex, " your majesty hath express- j 
 ed the very drift of my mind in this. I j 
 
 must say I like the varlet hugely, and 
 consider a ducking or so a very fitting 
 punishment for his offences." 
 
 "Nay, I think it be monstrous of him, 
 at his time of life, that he should be gal- 
 lanting of two women at once and they 
 married too !" cried Lady Blanche Som- 
 erset, who was somewhat of a prude. 
 
 " Married two .'" exclaimed my Lord 
 Bumble, who had heard not enough of 
 what had passed to give him a proper 
 knowledge of the matter. "Married two 
 did he? that be clean bigamy: that is to 
 say, if he had marriage of one while the 
 other was above ground ; but if one of the 
 two shall have become a defunct, then 
 shall there be no harm in't." 
 
 "Proceed, Master Shakspeare," said 
 the queen ; and not without a smile at 
 the mistake of her lord in waiting, which 
 seemed to have amused many. " We 
 are marvellously anxious to learn how 
 Sir John speeds in his wooing." 
 
 Master Shakspeare had said nothing 
 hitherto, yet did he seem in no way 
 abashed at being among so many people 
 of worship, for he turned his intelligent 
 eyes from one to the other as either spoke, 
 as if regarding with some amusement the 
 variety of characters before him, as each 
 displayed some distinct feature in what 
 was said, or in the manner of saying it. 
 Then fell he to the perusing of the fourth 
 act, in the very first scene of which, 
 where the Welsh parson is trying of the 
 boy in his Latin grammar, the queen 
 once or twice did put up her fan and gig- 
 gled very prettily, and thereupon her 
 ladies seemed wonderfully confused, and 
 giggled also; and the lords and gentle- 
 men smiled somewhat: but when in the 
 next scene Sir John Falstaff is i such 
 a wonderful anxiousness to escape, in 
 consequence of Mistress Page bringing 
 intelligence of Master Ford being a com- 
 ing from birding, with a whole company 
 to search the house for him ; and the 
 jealousy of the husband is made so mani- 
 fest, and he beateth the old knight in his- 
 disguise, taking him for to be the fat wo- 
 man of Brentford, whose dress he wear- 
 eth, every one appeared to laugh till their 
 ribs were like to crack. 
 
 "Better and "better!" exclaimed the 
 queen, in evident delight, when he came 
 to the ending of the act. "These be 
 merry wives indeed ! I'faith 'tis the dif- 
 ficultest thing possible to say which 
 serve they out the best Master Jealous- 
 pate the husband, or that huge piece of 
 roguery Sir John Falstaff. Is it not so, 
 my lord I"
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS /KIKNDS. 
 
 "Without doubt," replied my Lord 
 Essex, " nothing have I seen in play or 
 history so painted to the life. That your 
 majesty hath extreme discrimination in 
 the detection of that which be most ad- 
 mirable where there is much excellence, 
 what hath just fallen from you proves." 
 
 "Nay, my lord, you flatter," said her 
 majesty, smiling upon him all the time 
 very graciously. "We have but an in- 
 different judgment in these things. Our 
 opinion must be scarce worth the having. 
 Mayhap we have just wit enough to 
 know the good from the bad : but, in- 
 deed, that be all our poor knowledge can 
 lay claim to." 
 
 " That will I never believe, please your 
 majesty," cried my Lord Henry Howard, 
 who was close behind her chair. " For 
 of all human creatures that breathed, 
 never met I one that came at all nigh 
 unto your majesty in niceness of judg- 
 ment ; not only upon such matters as are 
 now honored with your infinite conde- 
 scension, but -in all things whatsoever, 
 whether they be of the simplest or of the 
 difficultest nature to comprehend." 
 
 " You think too well of us, my lord," 
 observed the queen, evidently taking 
 what, was said in very good part. "It 
 be but as we have expressed it. Such 
 knowledge as we possess must needs be 
 but small." 
 
 " By my troth, then, the wisdom of all 
 else must be none at all, please your maj- 
 esty," exclaimed the Lady Howard ; " for 
 as it is beyond all contradiction that your 
 majesty's wisdom toppeth that of the 
 wisest of our time to an extent that be 
 wonderful to observe, if, as your majesty 
 is pleased to say, it must needs be but 
 small, the smallness of the wisest of your 
 subjects can not but be of such sort as may 
 not be visible. But 'tis the modesty of 
 your majesty's disposition that leadeth 
 you to say this." 
 
 "Indeed, her majesty is noted for an 
 exceeding modesty," said Lady Blanche 
 Somerset. 
 
 " That be a true thing !" cried my Lord 
 Bumble, who leaned forward with his 
 head a little on one side, to catch with 
 his ear, as well as his deafness would al- 
 low, the purport of what was said. " Her 
 majesty is noted of all for an exceeding 
 modest eye." 
 
 " 0' my life, my Lord Bumble, that be 
 the prettiest blunder we have met with 
 a long time," exclaimed the queen, in an 
 infinite pleasant humor, while there was 
 no lack of smiling and tittering among 
 the courtiers, at the mistake. 
 
 "As your majesty says, it be the pret- 
 tiest wonder we have met with a long 
 time," added the old lord, who, from the 
 great length of his service in the palace, 
 was oft allowed by the queen a greater 
 license than had many others of more 
 influence. "By this hand, know I not a 
 prettier wonder in the whole world than 
 such a modest eye. 'Tis a marvel to 
 look on. There be no such another any- 
 where." 
 
 " Alack then, are we blind of an eye !" 
 cried her majesty, laughingly ; which con- 
 ceit did so tickle the fancy of those around 
 her, that the mirth it created was in such 
 excess, and the commendation it received 
 was so abundant, that, surely no wit had 
 been ever so received. All this time, 
 my Lord Bumble fearful, by the general 
 laughter, that he had said something 
 amiss, did keep turning from one to the 
 other, in extreme consternation, as if to 
 learn by their faces what strange error 
 he had had the ill hap to commit. 
 
 " Now, Master Shakspeare," exclaimed 
 the queen, " we are wonderfully desirous 
 of learning what next these merry wives 
 of yours shall do with that fat knight." 
 
 At this Master Shakspeare, on whom 
 it may well be believed nothing had been 
 lost of the preceding conversation, did go 
 on with the reading of his play. The 
 description of how Sir John Falstaff, in 
 the last act, was cozened into the taking 
 upon him the disguise of Herne the hunt- 
 er, and how he was tormented by the 
 pretended fairies when he lay under the 
 oak in Windsor forest, hoping there to 
 have much pleasure with Mistress Page 
 and Mistress Ford, according to their ap- 
 pointment ; and how they and their hus- 
 bands did jeer and laugh when they came 
 upon him in his concealment, was taken 
 in huge delight of all parties; but the 
 manner in which Ann Page tricked the 
 simpleton Master Slender, and the chol- 
 eric old French doctor, by getting each 
 of them to run away with a boy, dressed 
 up in such clothes as they expected to 
 find her in, while she went and got mar- 
 ried to her own love, seemed to be liked 
 best of all. 
 
 "An admirable ending, Master Shaks- 
 peare," exclaimed the queen, in her most 
 gracious manner, at the conclusion of it. 
 "We like that mum and budget conceit 
 infinitely ; indeed the whole play is one 
 of exceeding meritoriousness ; and be 
 assured that we will go to the playhouse 
 the first time it shall be acted." At the 
 hearing of this, all the courtiers did join 
 in commendation of the play, as if one
 
 120 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 was striving to exceed the other in the 
 liberality of his praise. 
 
 " If there be any merit in it, please 
 your majesty," said Master Shakspeare, 
 respectfully, "without doubt 'tis owing 
 to your majesty's infinite condescension, 
 in having desired of me the production 
 of such a play ; therefore I can not say 
 the merit be mine, but must, in proper 
 honesty, give it to the illustrious source 
 from which it sprung." 
 
 This speech appeared to give her maj- 
 esty great satisfaction, for she looked 
 well pleased at it ; and the ladies around 
 her spoke to one another in commenda- 
 tion of Master Shakspeare's modesty, 
 and did regard him with a wonderful 
 pleased aspect. 
 
 "Nay, you shall do yourself no such 
 wrong," replied the queen, with a kind- 
 ness of manner that was truly admirable ; 
 the performance is of your sole invention, 
 to the which we have contributed not 
 one line ; therefore in no case can we 
 claim the smallest partnership in the 
 merit. We have been hugely taken with 
 that fat knight of yours all along, and 
 we have found so much gratification in 
 the very proper treatment of him by the 
 merry wives, that we shall think the 
 better of Windsor for containing such." 
 
 At this the courtiers began a praising 
 of her majesty's liberality, for so hand- 
 somely denying having any share in the 
 excellence of what at least had been 
 done at her instigation ; and in conse- 
 quence thereof she might justly, they 
 said, have claimed some part of the 
 merit ; and all, marvelling at the extreme 
 pleasantness of her majesty's humor, did 
 anticipate that it would be to Master 
 Shakspeare's profit. In that it seemed, 
 from what immediately followed, they 
 were not without some grounds. 
 
 " Think you there is aught in which 
 we could do you a service ?" inquired the 
 queen. 
 
 " That is there, please your majesty, I 
 should like done of all things," answered 
 Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " Speak, then, what you would have ; 
 and if it be within modest bounds, it 
 shall be granted," added the queen. 
 
 "Please your majesty, 'tis but for the 
 pardon of a distressed friend of mine, 
 that hath the ill hap to offend your maj- 
 esty," said Master Shakspeare, with ex- 
 ceeding urgency ; " he is one of most 
 notable good parts ; as gallant a gentle- 
 man that breathes : infinite in his accom- 
 plishments, and princely in his disposi- 
 tion ; who hath borne himself so on 
 
 manifold occasions, as is alike honorable 
 to your majesty, whom it was once his 
 pride and happiness to serve ; and credit- 
 able to himself, who now languisheth in 
 a prison in utter hopelessness, at having, 
 in some misguided moment, incurred 
 your majesty's displeasure. I will 
 wager my life he is heartily sorry for 
 what he hath done amiss ; and that there 
 lives not in this bountiful world one who, 
 if he were allowed, would serve your 
 majesty with more honesty, valor, and 
 devotedness." 
 
 " And who may this distressed friend 
 of yours happen to be ?" asked the queen, 
 in some degree pleased to meet with one 
 of such a nature as would rather ask for 
 another than for himself. 
 
 " Sir Walter Raleigh," replied he. 
 
 Thereupon every one did look amazed 
 at Master Shakspeare's imprudence, and 
 the queen's brow grew black of a sudden. 
 
 " We are astonished that you could 
 find no better request to make," observed 
 the queen, somewhat angrily ; yet in her 
 heart wondering that there should come 
 before her one so bold as, in his first re* 
 quest of her, to plead for a disgraced 
 favorite. " He hath done us such extreme 
 dishonor as surely never before did 
 crowned queen suffer of a subject'.' We 
 have had him placed where he shall 
 have time to repent him of such shame- 
 ful misdoings; and there 'tis our good 
 pleasure he shall remain. As for your- 
 self, Master Shakspeare, you have done 
 greatly amiss in speaking of such a 
 traitor. It seemeth to us somewhat over- 
 bold of you. Go your ways, sir, and 
 when we next allow of your asking of us 
 a favor, see that it contains no such offen- 
 sive matter." 
 
 At this Master Shakspeare bowed very 
 low, yet with a marvellous dignity, that 
 was the admiration of all, and was about 
 to depart from the presence, when my 
 Lord of Essex, who, notwithstanding his 
 exceeding pride, and jealousy of any that 
 did seem to interfere with his supremacy, 
 was possessed of some noble qualities 
 thought to put in a word for him. 
 
 " Please your majesty," said he, " it be 
 all out of the very honesty of Master 
 Shakspeare's nature, that tie hath said 
 this, I will be bound for it. My honor- 
 orable friend the Lord Southampton, 
 hath given me great commendation of 
 him ; and I do assure your majesty he is 
 in excellent good report of all men. 
 What he hath urged in behalf of his 
 friend is in the manner natural ; and 
 methinks he might escape blame without
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 121 
 
 any dishonor to your majesty, whose 
 bountifulness of heart can in no way suf- 
 fer by it. I pray you, let not what he 
 hath said move you against him, for I 
 for one, who it may be supposed am not 
 like to go out of my way to say aught 
 upon the matter, do consider that Sir 
 Walter Raleigh hath the requisites of a 
 very noble gentleman." 
 
 Now the courtiers knew not which .to 
 marvel at most the imprudence of Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare in requesting pardon for 
 his friend, or the magnanimity of my 
 Lord of Essex in speaking in favor of 
 his rival ; but the consequence of my 
 lord's speaking was, that the queen did 
 
 five Master Shakspeare a more gracious 
 ismissal than she seemed before inclined 
 to do ; and acknowledged that she be- 
 lieved her captain of the guard had 
 many commendable qualities: and it 
 now appeared to those around her, a 
 greater marvel than all, that her majesty 
 should say this when it was known he 
 had done her so grievous a wrong. 
 
 Master Shakspeare made all haste 
 from the palace to the lodgings of Master 
 Burbage in Cheapside, in great disap- 
 pointment that he had succeeded no bet- 
 ter for Sir Walter Raleigh, whom he 
 greatly esteemed ; yet in some hope that 
 the consequences would not be to his 
 disadvantage. He found his friend dress- 
 ed, and on the point of going out. 
 
 "Ha, Will !" exclaimed he, as soon as 
 the other entered the room, "How liketh 
 the queen thy new play ? Doth it please 
 her? Dost think 'twill draw her to the 
 playhouse ? How was it taken among 
 the noble lords and fair ladies of the 
 court ?" 
 
 " I prythee have patience, Dick," re- 
 plied Master Shakspeare, sitting of him- 
 self down awhile, " I will answer thy 
 questions as speedily as I may. The 
 queen liketh my new play well it doth i 
 please her, because she liketh it she [ 
 will be at the playhouse the first time 
 of its performance, because it pleaseth i 
 her and the noble lords and fair ladies \ 
 were taken with it exceedingly, because ; 
 it was exceedingly taken of the" queen." | 
 
 "Bravo, Will! thou answereth mar- 
 vellously to the purpose," cried Master 
 Burbage, cutting a caper, as if the intelli- 
 gence was hugely to his liking. 
 
 " I'faith, 'tis well that thou art pleased," 
 remarked the other, " for I had need of ; 
 half a dozen tongues to do justice to thy 
 questions, they come so thick upon one." 
 
 " Tongues ! Talk not to roe of tongues, 
 1 prythee," exclaimed his companion, in 
 
 seeming anger. " Thou hast one of such 
 a sort that it requireth no other to help it. 
 O' my life, I do believe thou couldst 
 wheedle the moon into a nut-shell thou 
 hast got such a tongue. Didst thou not 
 cut me out with the mercer's daughter, 
 and be hanged to thee ?" 
 
 " Indeed I fared no better than thyself 
 in that quarter, believe me," said Master 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " No !" cried Master Burbage, in ex- 
 treme astonishment. " What, did she 
 not become villanously in love with thee ? 
 Did she not give thee most exquisite, fond 
 entertainment ? Didst thou not, now, 
 in honest truth, find her ' a most delicious 
 creature,' as thou didst say to me through 
 the keyhole thou aggravating villain !" 
 
 " In honest truth, then, Dick, I must 
 answer to all thy questions no !" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! 'tis good ! 'tis excellent 
 good !" exclaimed Master Burbage, and 
 he began to caper about the room, seem- 
 ingly in a monstrous delight. " That be 
 the pleasantest news I have heard a long 
 time ; and, in truth, thou hast been but 
 rightly served for the very heathenish 
 wickedness thou didst commit, of cutting 
 me out with her." 
 
 " Nay, I do assure thee, Dick, I knew 
 not, till within a minute or so of thy 
 coming, that thou wen at all of her ac- 
 quaintance ; and I then was resolved to 
 have some sport at thy expense, merely 
 because of thy having disparaged me to 
 her, and claiming for thyself the merit 
 of my best verses." 
 
 " Ah, that was done out of no malice, 
 thou shouldst be well aware I said it but 
 out of vanity, and would have been the 
 very first to tell thee of it again. By this 
 light, Will ! I do think it lawful to tell a 
 pretty woman anything. I would swear 
 to her I was the greatest, wisest, faith- 
 fulest of men, if 1 thought she would be- 
 lieve me. I would brave it out with her 
 I was the pope of Rome, or the Great 
 Mogul, or even one of the Anthropophagi, 
 if it looked as if 'twould advantage me 
 in my suit. Nay, Ovid himself knoweth 
 not the metamorphoses I would undergo 
 under such circumstances. Dost think 
 they would have no disguises ? Dost 
 think they stand upon the saying of any- 
 thing with us ? By this hand, I would 
 as soon expect to find sunbeams in a snow- 
 ball, as truth in a pretty woman. Ask 
 of her if she love thee, she shall answer 
 'no' straight, when be sure she hath 
 'yes' in her heart all the time. Attempt 
 to lay siege to her lips, she shall present- 
 ly frown and seem in a monstrous to-do,
 
 122 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 but so completely doth her nature assent 
 to it, that do but persist for a sufficient 
 time, and make no doubt the citadel shall 
 surrender at discretion." 
 
 " I do believe, Dick, thou knowest very 
 little of the matter," observed Master 
 Shakspeare. " Thou art like to a many 
 more I have met with, that can speak 
 bravely of the difficultest things, but ques- 
 tion them close of their knowledge, and 
 they shall be proved as ignorant as a 
 dead horse." 
 
 " None of thy dog's meat similes," ex- 
 claimed Master Burbage, as if in some 
 disdain: "I tell thee 'tis a subject that 
 none have studied closer than have I I 
 have entered into it thoroughly. I have 
 pursued my investigations (albeit though 
 it be a matter so exceeding profound that 
 no one ever got to the bottom on't) as 
 deep as have any. But tell me, Will, 
 how did it happen that, notwithstanding 
 of thy villany in cutting of me out, for 
 the which I now heartily do forgive thee, 
 thou hadst no better luck with the in- 
 comparable Joanna." 
 
 " She told me that she loved a youth 
 for whom I entertained great friendship," 
 replied his companion, " and thereupon 
 did I desist of my intentions toward her 
 out of respect to him. She did speak to 
 me of him with marvellous earnestness ; 
 and knowing that he had such excellence 
 as well deserved her praise, I joined with 
 her in such commendation. But liking 
 not the character of her behavior to me 
 previous to this avowal, which was that 
 of one who in appearance is indifferent 
 to admiration, and yet doth encourage 
 the admirer, I spoke to her upon the 
 possible mischief of it to herself, as much 
 as to those whose advances she allowed 
 of; and the palpable injustice of it to my 
 young friend, Master Francis, whom thou 
 hast seen with me once or twice. Upon 
 this she sought to defend herself upon the 
 plea, that if she could without sinfulness 
 create the happiness of others, she thought 
 there could be no harm in so doing to ever 
 so many. But I stBaightway gave her to 
 understand that the philosophy of love be 
 the possession of the beloved object ; and 
 assured her it was a truth beyond all dis- 
 pute, that no real lover ever yet existed 
 who did not at some time or other hope 
 to possess his mistress." 
 
 " Spoke like an oracle, Will, as thou 
 art," said the other. 
 
 "I said also," continued Master Shak- 
 speare, " that one of so much beauty of 
 person and kindliness of heart, as she 
 seemed to be, might, without the com- 
 
 mission of any apparent criminality cre- 
 ate a present pleasure of no ordinary kind 
 among such as may be content with affec- 
 tionate looks and sugared phrases but 
 no man that truly loveth will remain all 
 lis life so easily contented ; and the pres- 
 ent pleasure will in all likelihood be 
 ;urned to a continual misery, when he 
 inds, as find he must, 'tis all profitless 
 and inconclusive." 
 
 "That be indisputable !" observed Mas- 
 ter Burbage. " 'Tis marvellous pleasant 
 certainly for a pretty woman to say she 
 loveth thee, but if that be the full ex- 
 tent of her love, then is her parrot to 
 be as much envied as art thou. I'd be 
 none of such parrots, I promise thee, 
 Will. I would hop her perch in a twink- 
 ling." 
 
 "But more than all," continued his 
 companion, smiling at what had dropped 
 from the other, "I dwelt particularly on 
 the impossibility of her creating such 
 happiness with any honesty. The hap- 
 piness that may be created at the expense 
 of another can never be defended. Mas- 
 ter Francis I knew had given her his ex- 
 clusive affections, and he naturally looked 
 for, and imagined himself possessed of, 
 hers to the same extent. Any division 
 of her love to another, I told her was 
 not only an injustice to him, but, as the 
 knowledge of it was very like to make 
 him uneasy, it would decidedly be at the 
 expense of his happiness. It so happened, 
 that in a play of some merit Master Fran- 
 cis showed me on our first acquaintance, 
 there were certain passages marvellously 
 to the purpose on this very point, which 
 hath since given me reason to believe he 
 had some suspicion of her true character, 
 and wrote it as in the nature of an expos- 
 tulation, hoping she would mend. I 
 know not whether I quite succeeded in 
 proving to her her error ; but I fear much 
 for my young friend if she alter not speed- 
 ily. I know that, though of a truly mod- 
 est disposition, he may be easily moved ; 
 and as for Joanna, I think she is one 
 of a very insatiate vanity and selfishness, 
 and seeketh with great cunning to be ad- 
 mired of as many as she can with as lit- 
 tle peril to her virtue as possible ; or else 
 she is one of those well-meaning, incon- 
 siderate creatures who cajole themselves 
 with the belief, that as long as they do 
 what at the first blush appeareth no abso- 
 lute harm, the greater degree of pleasure 
 they may be able to create around them, 
 the greater degree of good will they be 
 enabled to produce ; which, under those 
 circumstances, is nothing better than a
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 123 
 
 robbery of one to be shared among 
 many." 
 
 " Well, let her rob and go hang," cried 
 Master Burbage impatiently, "I've had 
 enough of her ; and if ever I be caught 
 going after a mercer's daughter again, 
 tickle me with a fishhook. It hath cost 
 me a world in moneys expended with her 
 father in such braveries as methought 
 would the sooner win me her love and 
 his good will, and I have got about as 
 much by it as I might kick my shins 
 against without fear of a hurt. A plague 
 on all mercers' daughters, say I ; and as 
 for that cot-quean Joanna, I have a huge 
 suspicion her lip is like a nutmeg in a 
 vintner's parlor every one may have the 
 flavor on't when he lists. She hath gone 
 clean out of my opinion. I'll have none 
 of her." 
 
 " That's a most magnanimous resolu- 
 tion of thine, Dick," said Master Shak- 
 speare laughingly, "considering she'll 
 have none of thee." 
 
 "By this hand, she loved me as flies 
 love sugar !" exclaimed the other. 
 
 "As flies love pepper, thou shouldst 
 have said. Dick," observed his compan- 
 ion; "for I do assure thee she acknowl- 
 edged to me that she heeded thy fine 
 compliments as a thrifty housewife does 
 a litter of kittens she be pitching all of a 
 lump into the next pool." 
 
 " Ha ! said she so ? the little villain !" 
 cried Master Burbage. " But it mat- 
 ters not I have done with her. And 
 now attend to me, I prythee, for I have 
 more attractive matter in hand." 
 
 "Another Joanna?" inquired Master 
 Shakspeare maliciously. 
 
 "Another polecat !" sharply replied the 
 other. " I tell thee, Will, I but want thy 
 assistance to have such sport as we have 
 not seen together this many a day." 
 
 "Surely thou wouldst seek of me no 
 more verses?" said his companion archly. 
 
 "Verses! hang thy verses!" answered 
 Master Burbage. 
 
 "Well, if thou wilt hang them, let it 
 be with one of the lines I have been so 
 oft obliged to borrow of thee when I 
 came to a halt in my measure," observed 
 the other with exceeding eriousness. 
 
 " By this light, thou art like a woman 
 that hath left off having children thou 
 an past bearing," said his associate, as 
 if in some sort of vexation. " But listen 
 now, I prythee: thou knowest my Lords 
 Simple and Dimple ?" 
 
 "What, our Damon and Pythias? our 
 Castor and Pollux ? our David and Absa- 
 lom ?" asked his friend with a laugh. 
 
 ' To be sure I know them. There exists 
 not a pair of fools so well matched 
 throughout these realms." 
 
 " Thou hast it, Will," added Master 
 Burbage, in a like humor. " They are 
 precious fools indeed as innocent as 
 lambkins, and as loving as turtles. They 
 seem born of Folly, and twinned at a 
 birth. I'faith they seem such sworn 
 friends that one might as well expect to 
 meet with but one pannier on an ass as 
 one of these lords without the other. 
 Now, methinks such pestilent affectations 
 should be put down. I like them not : 
 and doubtless 'twould be exquisite sport 
 could we two set this Damon and Pythias 
 by the ears so completely, that they shall 
 not only.be eager to forswear each oth- 
 er's company, but that there shall be so 
 deadly a quarrel betwixt them, that they 
 shall presently out with their tools, and 
 appear to thrust away so nimbly, that it 
 shall be a difficult matter to say which be 
 the most ready to destroy the other." 
 
 " I like the humor of it vastly," replied 
 Master Shakspeare, who seemed to enter 
 into the jest with great spirit " indeed 
 'tis exceeding well conceited. But there 
 must be no mischief come of it." 
 
 " Mischief!" exclaimed the other, as if 
 in some astonishment at the idea. " Nay, 
 Will, make thy mind easy on that score. 
 If ever they come nigh enough with their 
 weapons to hurt each other, then am I no 
 judge of true valor : but we will be ready 
 to interfere in case they shall be bent up- 
 on anything deadly." 
 
 " Well, 'tis a goodly scheme," said his 
 companion, " and I doubt not 'twill af- 
 ford marvellous proper sport. But how 
 dost mean to set about it?" 
 
 "In this way, sweet Will," replied 
 Master Burbage. " About this time we 
 may make sure of finding these faithful 
 shepherds taking of their customary 
 walk toward Finsbury Fields, discours- 
 ing in very delicate phrase of the delights 
 of friendship. We will then bevupon 
 them. Thou shah draw one aside and 1 
 the other, and with well asserted accounts 
 of what one hath said and done in con- 
 tempt of the other, we will move both to 
 a monstrous furiousness." 
 
 " 'Tis admirable, Dick !" cried Master 
 Shakspeare, starting up in evident de- 
 light. "I do commend thy wit hugely, 
 in the devising of so superlative a piece 
 of wickedness; and, mayhap, it shall af- 
 ford thee a far more exquisite pleasure 
 than did thy aims upon the mercer's 
 daughter." 
 
 "Hang the mercer's daughter!" ex
 
 124 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 claimed his companion, seemingly in 
 some dudgeon. "By this light I would 
 not throw away a thought on so errant a 
 jade." 
 
 " The grapes be sour, Dick," said the 
 other mischievously. 
 " Grapes ! grapes, quotha !" cried Mas- 
 ter Burbage, with a well-assumed indig- 
 nation. " Yes, she shall be thought such 
 when grapes do grow on thorns and figs 
 on thistles." 
 
 " Oh, thou perjured piece of villany !" 
 exclaimed Master Shakspeare, laughing 
 very heartily. " Dost remember when 
 thou first spoke of her to me in my lodg- 
 ing at the Bankside, how, in a feverish 
 ecstasy, thou didst assert that she had an 
 eye like Venus, a bust like Juno, and 
 every grace that all Olympus possessed ?'* 
 
 " That was out of the very generosity 
 of my disposition, I do assure thee, Will, 
 added his companion, with as serious a 
 face as he could put on. " Thou knowest 
 I am ever inclined to make the best of 
 matters at all times, let them be ever so 
 bad ; but believe me, her teeth be like 
 park palings after a hurricane ; and her 
 nose hath an exceeding resemblance to 
 an onion running to seed it doth sprout 
 up so abominably." 
 
 " Alack, that disappointed vanity should 
 make of thee such a thorough slanderer !" 
 cried Master Shakspeare. " If she be 
 not as pretty a piece of womanhood as 
 eye ever dwelt on delightedly, then know 
 I not what is perfection in comeliness. 
 All the harm I could say of her is, that 
 in my thinking she is either mightily de- 
 ceiving herself, or deluding others to a 
 similar extent mayhap, 'there shall be 
 something of both when the truth cometh 
 to be known ; and I blame her only be- 
 cause I feel assured there will mischief 
 happen of it either to one party or the 
 other like enough to all. But come 
 along with thee, and let us after these 
 lords." 
 
 Saying this, the two friends started off, 
 and laughing and jesting all the way, 
 they made for Finsbury Fields, out by 
 Cripplegate. Here had they scarce ar- 
 rived when lo ! they spied my Lords Sim- 
 ple and Dimple very soberly a strolling 
 together for to take the air, in the direc- 
 tion of the windmills ; and so earnest in 
 talk, they knew not that the two players 
 were close upon them, endeavoring all 
 they could not to laugh aloud ; and nudg- 
 ing of each other on the elbow when 
 anything fell from them which was more 
 han ordinary ridiculous. 
 
 " Now, Simpl?, thou art in the wrong 
 
 there," said one, as if with great serious* 
 ness. "Thou knowest I am fully two 
 days older than art thou ; therefore, if, 
 as I before said, some tyrant should order 
 us to be executed to the death, I would 
 have precedency of thee, and suffer first." 
 
 "By this glove, that would I never al- 
 low !" exclaimed the other with extreme 
 eagerness. " What, shall it be said that 
 such a true heart as am I, should allow 
 his friend to die before him ? I tell thee, 
 Dimple, it must not be. I will set thee 
 such an example of friendship as shall 
 do thee infinite good to look on ; and shall 
 be a marvel to the world ever after." 
 
 " It is for me to set the example, who 
 am the oldest," cried Dimple, more seri- 
 ously than at first. " I claim it of natural 
 right, which will I never give up ; and 
 peradventure it shall happen as I have 
 said, then shall thou wonder to see how 
 heroic I will behave myself ay, with 
 such a strength of soul, that the name of 
 Dimple stall be engraved on monuments 
 of adament unto latest posterity." 
 
 "If I let thee, then am I no true 
 friend," replied Simple, with a more 
 earnest eagerness. " I will have it so. 
 I would give way to none in so vital a 
 matter! Indeed it must be. Then will 
 I astonish human nature then" 
 
 " Indeed it shall never be, my lord !'' 
 exclaimed the first, as if in some way 
 nettled " I am the elder, and if I die 
 not first, then will I know the reason 
 why." 
 
 " My lord, you do ill in disputing upon 
 this," observed the other somewhat warm- 
 ly. " 'Tis my particular wish to suffer 
 before you, and I will have it so." 
 
 " You be no true friend for wishing 
 what be against my inclination, and I 
 will not suffer it." said Dimple, as if get- 
 ting into a rage. 
 
 "You be a scurvy fellow, if you say I 
 be no true friend," replied Simple an- 
 grily. 
 
 "What caitiff! dost call me scurvy fel- 
 low ?" shouted one in a very monstrous 
 fierceness. 
 
 " My lords, this be a marvellous sight, 
 indeed !" exclaimed Master Burbage, 
 now breaking* in upon them with as 
 grave a face as he could assume for the 
 occasion, and leading of Dimple on one 
 side behind one of the windmills, whilst 
 Master Shakspeare did the same with 
 Simple. "Between ourselves, my lord," 
 added he, "you do exceeding right in 
 quarrelling with this person. He hath 
 no proper estimation of your lordship's 
 excellent parts. I did myself hear him
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 125 
 
 say that you had no more brains than a 
 maggot." 
 
 " He lies in his throat !" furiously cried 
 my Lord Dimple. " I will prove on his 
 villanous body that I have more brains 
 than fifty maggots." 
 
 "My Lord Simple," said Master 
 Shakspeare very concernedly, " I think 
 'tis exceeding strange that you should 
 hold acquaintance with one who hath 
 said you are of so faint a heart, you 
 would not draw upon a snail for fear he 
 should run at you." 
 
 " Oh ! the pitiful traitor !" shouted my 
 Lord Simple in a tearing passion. "By 
 this glove, there liveth not on this earth 
 the snail that I am afeard of." 
 
 " See ! he is going to draw upon you, 
 ray lord!" said Master Burbage. "I 
 pray you out with your weapon quick, 
 or he shall take you unawares, and may- 
 hap, give you a mortal wound." 
 
 " Prepare you, my lord, quickly," cried 
 Master Shakspeare. " He hath his weap- 
 on out, and corneth with deadly mischief 
 in his eyes." 
 
 " Thou villain, Dimple !" 
 
 " Thou villain, Simple !" shouted both 
 at the same moment of time, as they 
 came furiously on with their drawn 
 weapons and began a thrusting at each 
 other, though, without doubt, at a won- 
 derful respectful distance, after as fierce 
 a fashion as might be possible to behold. 
 But this continued not for long for sud- 
 denly they dropped the points of their 
 rapiers, upon hearing of such a burst of 
 laughter as startled them exceedingly, 
 and looking round, observed Master Bur- 
 bage a holding of his sides, and Master 
 Shakspeare with his hand before his 
 mouth. The two lords, upon this, looked 
 as if they knew not what to make of it. 
 
 " Didst say I had no more brains than 
 a maggot, my lord?" inquired Dimple, 
 as if wonderfully moved. 
 
 "By this glove, no," replied Simple, 
 with exceeding gravity. " For, if thou 
 hadst no more brains than half a mag- 
 got, it be not the part of such a true 
 heart as am I, to say it of his friend. 
 But didst thou assert I was of so faint a 
 heart, I would not draw upon a snail for 
 fear he should run at me ?" 
 
 " By all true friendship, never asserted 
 I aught of the kind," answered the first 
 with a monstrous seriousness. " For, if 
 thou wouldst not draw upon half a snail, 
 I would assert it to none, because I could 
 aever do so unfriendly a thing." 
 
 " These players be making fools of us," 
 whispered the other as he put up 
 
 his weapon. "Lei us away from 
 them." 
 
 "They be low fellows, that's a sure 
 thing," replied his friend as he sheathed 
 his weapon. " So we'll e'en have none 
 of their villanous company." Upon this 
 both went off together as quick as they 
 might; and in no way relishing the 
 mirth that was so loudly shouted from 
 behind them. 
 
 " Oh ! Dick, Dick !" exclaimed Master 
 Shakspeare, as seriously as he could, 
 " thou hast spoiled the most exquisite 
 sport : 'tis a thousand pities thou shouldst 
 have broken out into a laugh." 
 
 " Laugh !" cried Master Burbage, still 
 holding of his sides ; " 'twould have 
 made a man laugh that had been dead 
 this seven year. Never saw I so rare a 
 sight ! they skipped about like two fleas 
 on a bolster ! 0' my life, 'twould be no 
 easy matter to say which was the most 
 afraid of the two. And then the terrible 
 fierceness of their looks, and the awful 
 manner in which they made their thrusts, 
 compared with the monstrous safe dis- 
 tance at which they kept from the point 
 of each other's weapon, made me roar 
 again. By this hand, I would not have 
 missed so fine a jest for half my share of 
 the playhouse." 
 
 "But who have we here?" said his 
 friend, pointing to a man who was ma- 
 king up to them, wearing at his side a 
 rapier of extraordinary length. 
 
 " I'faith he taketh care he may be 
 known by a goodly weapon, at least," 
 observed the other ; " but see, here come 
 two others across the fields, from t'other 
 side." 
 
 "And beyond all doubt one of them is 
 my young friend, Master Francis," ex- 
 claimed Master Shakspeare. 
 
 The person first alluded to, whom the 
 courteous reader will have no great diffi- 
 culty in recognising, as soon as he came 
 nigh unto the two players, stopped, 
 placing his right foot a little forward, one 
 arm stretched out, and the other a-kimbo, 
 as was usual with him, and thus ad- 
 dressed them : 
 
 " Look on, great princes ! for 'tis I who come 
 To rend the world with adamantine groans, 
 And suck sweet horror from the empty air. 
 Then let some holy trance convey my thoughts 
 Up to the palace of th' empyreal heaven, 
 That this my life may be as short to me 
 As are the days of sweet Zenocrate." 
 
 Master Burbage, upon this speech, did 
 nudge his companion on the elbow, and 
 look as if he were marvellously inclined 
 for another laugh. 
 
 "Attend not to him, I pray your wor-
 
 J26 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 ship," shouted Harry Daring, as he, with 
 Master Francis, hastily approached the 
 spot, cudgel in hand ; " there be no more 
 truth in him than you shall find in an 
 empty walnut." 
 
 " Casane and Theridamas, to arms !" 
 
 now cried Ralph Goshawk, in exactly 
 the same posture as he had used at 
 first : 
 
 " Raise, cavalieros higher than the clouds, 
 And with the cannon break the frame of heaven ; 
 Batter the shining palace of the sun, 
 And shiver all the starry firmament." 
 
 " I am right glad to see you, Master 
 Francis," said Master Shakspeare, sha- 
 king of his young friend heartily by the 
 hand ; " but I pray you tell me what all 
 this may mean." 
 
 " Please your worship, that will I tell 
 you straight," said Harry Daring, as soon 
 as he heard the question. " You must 
 know that this be my particular friend, 
 Master Francis, who be as sweet a gentle- 
 man as you shall find anywhere, and I 
 will undertake to prove it with any 
 weapon, against all comers ; and he, as 
 be but proper for one in his condition, 
 happened for to look with a sort of affec- 
 tionateness upon a comely wench ; albeit 
 I of late have had some suspicion her 
 virtue be somewhat out at elbows; when 
 up cometh this fellow, who, for all he 
 may appear so bounceable, be nothing 
 more than a rubbishing haberdasher ; 
 and taketh the opportunity, to use some 
 devilish potion or another, for the ruin of 
 my friend's mistress, which I hugely 
 suspect he hath accomplished ; there- 
 upon Master Francis sendeth him a chal- 
 lenge by me purposing here to meet him, 
 and punish him for his villany ; upon the 
 which he breaketh out into such lan- 
 guage as would make a dog vomit to 
 hear of, were he within a mile of it, and 
 straightway calleth him 'Zenocrate.' 
 Upon the which, I, taking it to be some 
 vile name it was not proper for me to 
 put up with* did on the instant fetch the 
 pitiful villain such a punch under his 
 ribs, that it made him cry out like a 
 scalded pig: and here have I brought 
 my true friend to do him battle, as be- 
 cometh a gentleman who hath received 
 so deadly an offence as to have his mis- 
 tress ruined away from him, and then 
 called such a horrid name as Zenocrate." 
 
 " Am I to gather from this that you in- 
 tend to fight this person ?" asked Master 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " I am here for that purpose," replied 
 Master Francis. 
 
 "Well, I will at least see that you 
 have fair play," said his friend ; " but 
 methinks 'tis not honest of him to come 
 with so monstrous a weapon." 
 
 "If it please you, sir, to let me fight 
 the villain instead of my friend, I would 
 thank you for it," observed Harry Dar- 
 ing, earnestly. " I care not for his mon- 
 strous weapon, I promise you. Nay, by 
 Gog and Magog, if I am not hindered, I 
 will undertake to beat him out of the 
 field with this my cudgel." 
 
 "Harry, I have told thee before, he 
 must be left to me," replied Master Fran- 
 cis determinedly. 
 
 "But you must fight with equal weap- 
 ons, my masters," cried Master Burbage ; 
 " 'tis not fair, Master Haberdasher, to 
 come to the field with a thing at your 
 side long enough for the devil's tooth- 
 pick." 
 
 " Art not ashamed to bring such a vil- 
 lanous tool before gentlemen of wor- 
 ship ?" inquired Harry Daring, flourishing 
 of his cudgel before Ralph Goshawk, as 
 if he did itch to let fly at him. 
 
 " What daring god torments my body thus, 
 And seeks to conquer mighty Tamburlane ?" 
 
 answered the other as he retreated a lit- 
 tle way out of the reach of the stick. 
 
 "I pray you, sir, let him keep his 
 weapon, and I will have at him with 
 mine," said the youth, gallantly drawing 
 of his rapier. Seeing this, Ralph Gos- 
 hawk, with a fierce swaggering air, drew 
 from its scabbard the two-handed sword 
 he carried : which in truth had a blade 
 of prodigious length ; and he being much 
 stouter built than his opponent, and look- 
 ing as if he were a thorough master of 
 fence, did seem unto Master Shakspeare 
 and Master Burbage a very formidable 
 fellow. 
 
 " Come, let us march against the powers of heav'n, 
 And set black streamers in the firmament, 
 To signify the slaughter of the gods !" 
 
 "I tell thee what, thou detestable fus- 
 tian rogue," here exclaimed Harry Dar- 
 ing to Ralph Goshawk, " slaughter the 
 gods and welcome, for they be fellows I 
 know not of, and therefore care not for; 
 but if thou shouldst hurt but a hair of my 
 friend's head, I'll cudgel thee to death ere 
 thou hast lived another minute." Upon 
 hearing of this the other cried out, 
 
 " Villain, away, and hie thee to the field ; 
 I and mine army come, to load thy back 
 With souls of thousand mangled carcases." 
 
 and thereupon he advanced toward Mas- 
 ter Francis, flourishing of his long rapier 
 about, in a manner that made his friends
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 127 
 
 tremble for his safety. But the youth 
 waited, with his weapon upon guard, 
 hatching of the haberdasher's move- 
 ments with a cautious eye, and presenting 
 a bold front to him as he came, slashing 
 away, now on this side, and now on the 
 other. This had remained for some few 
 moments, when as if Ralph Goshawk 
 had calculated upon frightening his rival, 
 by his terrible swagger and dangerous 
 weapon, and was himself in fear of the 
 youth's courageous bearing and light 
 sharp rapier, his looks began to lose 
 much of their fierceness; his impudence 
 seemed about to forsake him ; and ob- 
 serving Master Francis draw back his 
 arm, as if about to make a thrust, with a 
 wonderful frightened aspect, he suddenly 
 put his sword under his arm, and took to 
 his heels as fast as they could carry him 
 along. 
 
 "I'll be hanged if thou shall escape 
 without a cudgelling," cried Harry Dar- 
 ing ; and while the others were laughing 
 famously at the fellow's cowardice, the 
 barber's apprentice pursued the runaway 
 haberdasher wiih all the speed he was 
 master of. Ralph Goshawk took but one 
 look behind him, and finding that he was 
 followed by the little desperate fellow 
 who had hit him so sore a punch in the 
 ribs, he seemed to take wings and fly, he 
 was so quickly out of sight. 
 
 " And, if 'tis a fair question, I pray you 
 tell me who is this pretty piece of frailty, 
 for whom you have so ably frightened 
 this hero out of the field ?" asked Master 
 Shakspeare of his young friend, as soon 
 as their mirth had subsided a little. 
 
 " By this hand, 'twas almost as good a 
 jest as that we had of the two lords !" 
 exclaimed Master Burbage, who appeared 
 to have taken it in huge delight. 
 
 " Oh ! she be of a very delicate come- 
 liness," replied Harry Daring, as he re- 
 turned out of breath from his bootless 
 chase. "And she be called Joanna, the 
 mercer's daughter in Eastcheap." 
 
 " Joanna !" cried both the players in the 
 same breath, as if marvelling exceedingly. 
 
 " That be her name beyond all doubtj" 
 added the barber-chirurgeon's appren- 
 tice ; and Master Francis, looking ex- 
 ceedingly disturbed, said nothing. 
 
 " Will !" said Master Burbage, as he 
 came up close to his friend, with a mighty 
 serious countenance. 
 
 " What, Dick ?" answered the other. 
 
 Master Burbage stooped his head a lit- 
 tle and whispered into the other's ear, 
 with all the emphasis he could put into 
 the words, " The grapes be sour!" 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Great miracle of constancy ! my miseries 
 
 Were never bankrupt of their confidence 
 
 In worst afflictions, till this now 1 feel them. 
 
 Report, and thy deserts, thou best of creatures, 
 
 Might to eternity have stood a pattern 
 
 For every virtuous wife, without this conquest. 
 
 Thou hast outdone belief : yet may their ruin 
 
 In after marriages be never pitied, 
 
 To whom thy story shall appear a fable. FORD. 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH sat at table, on 
 which were many books and papers, in 
 a small chamber in the Tower ; which, 
 certes, was properly furnished enough 
 though everything therein was of an ex- 
 ceeding antique fashion : and the beauti- 
 ful Dame Elizabeth, now looking with a 
 very matronly dignity, sat as near as 
 might be opposite to him, working of a 
 baby's cap, whilst close by her side was 
 a cradle, in which slept a marvellous 
 pretty infant. Now she would take her 
 eyes from her work and fix them on the 
 slumbering child with such sweet and 
 smiling looks, as showed her heart was 
 delighted with what she gazed on ; and 
 anon she would turn them to where sat 
 her nusband, leaning of his head on his 
 hand over a large book he seemed to be 
 a studying of so intently that he could 
 regard naught else ; and there was then 
 so tender a solicitude in her eyes as was 
 quite moving to see. She seemed as 
 though she would have spoke, and yet 
 refrained from it for fear of disturbing 
 him in his studies. Again she continued 
 at her work, but not without stealing of 
 an occasional glance at the babe, or at 
 Sir Walter. Yet was there ever a singu- 
 lar difference in the expression of her 
 look to each. She still regarded her child 
 with a foud and truly delicate smile, 
 whilst upon her husband her gaze fell 
 with an increasing melancholy, which at 
 last became exceeding pathetic. It so 
 happened that Sir Walter Raleigh, turn- 
 ing over a leaf, raised his head, and 
 noticed the moving sadness of her looks. 
 " What makes thee look so woful, 
 
 1 Bess ?" inquired he affectionately. 
 
 j , " Woful ! Surely I look not woful, 
 
 j dear Walter?" she replied as if with an 
 assumed cheerfulness. " I am content 
 
 j I lack nothing. Thou art everything I 
 could wish. For what should I look 
 woful then ? Indeed thou must have 
 
 i mistaken my countenance hugely, if thou 
 hast gathered from it I be in any way out 
 of heart." 
 
 " In truth, sweetest, thou hadst but now 
 so piteous a look that I was moved at it," 
 said he.
 
 128 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AM) HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Thea was it a false look, dear Wal- 
 ter ; and therefore regard it not, I pry- 
 thee !" exclaimed his beautiful wife very 
 earnestly. "Let it not move thee at all, 
 for it must have been a villanous deceit- 
 ful look if it hath given thee a moment's 
 uneasiness." 
 
 "I have never yet seen aught in thee 
 deceitful, dear Bess," observed Sir Walter. 
 " Therefore am I now loath to believe 
 that thou couldst have to do with such. 
 Have I said or done any such thing as 
 might have made thee sad ?" 
 
 " Nay, on my life, thou hast been to 
 me the kindest best creature fond woman 
 ever loved !" replied Dame Elizabeth with 
 great eagerness. " I am not sad at all, 
 dear Walter. I'faith ! methinks I should 
 be more merry than sad, seeing what 
 bountiful good fortune is mine. Thou 
 art with me. The queen might have 
 done me such ill office as to have kept us 
 separate ; yet hath she graciously allow- 
 ed me the extreme happiness of being 
 with thee. Then why should I be sad ! 
 Looked I less cheerful than ordinary, 
 mayhap it was for fear such deep study 
 as thou dost fall into may do thy health 
 some hurt." 
 
 "Fear not, sweet heart," said he, with 
 a most endearing smile. " There dwell- 
 eth such excellent good philosophy in 
 these books, that the perusing of them 
 maketh me forget I am here cribbed 
 within stone walls a doing of nothing of 
 any advantage to the world ; but if it 
 doth now afflict thee to see me so intent 
 upon such labors, I will for the present 
 leave them, and study a more alluring 
 lesson which is no other than thee, dear 
 Bess." 
 
 "Prythee do not, dear Walter!'' ex- 
 claimed she very fondly. " If these books 
 are such as have taught thee to become 
 so brave of soul, so good, so noble, so 
 kind and generous as thou art I would 
 on no account have thee leave such ex- 
 cellent studies to regard one who can 
 teach thee no one thing of any usefulness. 
 But I like not to hear thee say that thou 
 art doing of nothing of advantage to the 
 world ; for art thou not constantly writing 
 upon such matters as I doubt not must be 
 of great profit to all, and in after times 
 will make thee as exceeding famous, as 
 thou well deservest to be ?" 
 
 " 'T would be a right wonderful com- 
 fort could I think so," observed Sir 
 Walter. 
 
 "Then such shouldst thou ever think," 
 she replied. " I know that 'tis something 
 too much to expect of thee to show a 
 
 cneerful heart at all times, when I reflect 
 to what a doleful strait thy goodness to 
 me hath brought thee to, the thought of 
 which is enough, methinks, to make the 
 most patient nature feel vast discomfort 
 upon occasion : yet well assured am I 
 that, whether thou art within stone walls, 
 a powerless prisoner or aboard of a 
 goodly ship, the leader of a gallant arma- 
 ment thy noble mind would ever be de- 
 vising of some greatness whereof all man- 
 kind might receive benefit. If thou art 
 melancholy let me sing to thee, dear 
 Walter, and perchance thou shalt find 
 some pleasure in it." 
 
 " Indeed, thy singing is of so sweet a 
 sort that my spirit is enraptured when I 
 hear thee," said he. "Sing, dear Bess! 
 I do feel somewhat weary. 'Tis of little 
 moment that thy virginals be not at hand ; 
 for thy voice doth discourse such delicate 
 music as requireth no accompaniment to 
 set it off." 
 
 Then placing of her work in her lap 
 she turned upon him a look full of most 
 exquisite devotedness, and with such 
 tuneful notes as were a marvel to hear, 
 she presently did commence the following 
 words : 
 
 " Prythee, sweetheart ! be not so sad, 
 
 Else shall I think thou lov'st me not ; 
 For he that loves to love is glad, 
 
 And loving, hath all else forgot. 
 If that the Past doth seem unkind, 
 I will a better Present find : 
 If Present things should bring annoy, 
 Pll make thy Future brim with joy. 
 
 " If friends to thee have proved untrue, 
 I will be all they should have been j 
 If Fortune frown upon thy view, 
 
 I'll give the smiles thou sjiouldst have seen : 
 Then shalt not want for anything 
 That she who loveth thee can bring ; 
 And love makes all things to be had : 
 Prythee, sweetheart ! be not so sad." 
 
 " Truly a simple ditty and a kind, Bess !" 
 exclaimed Sir Walter Raleigh, who had 
 listened with evident delight both to the 
 singer and the song. " I'failh ! it almost 
 maketh me think that to be in a cage 
 with so sweet a bird as art thou, must 
 needs be better than to have the freedom 
 of the whole world, and lack the hearing 
 of so brave a songster." 
 
 " I care not what it maketh thee think, 
 Walter," replied Dame Elizabeth affec- 
 tionately ; " so that thou canst be in any 
 way the happier for it : and as for thy 
 freedom, I do believe thou canst acquire 
 it at very slight pains." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried he, as if in some sur- 
 prise. " 'Tis strange I knew it not. Be- 
 lieve me, \ would not stay here an in- 
 stant longer than I could help."
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 129 
 
 " Then why not seek to moye the 
 queen to thy pardon ?" she asked. 
 
 "Because I know 'twould avail me 
 nothing with her," he replied. " My 
 enemies are numerous and powerful, and 
 would be on the watch to overthrow any 
 attempt I might make for my liberation ; 
 for they know full well 'tis to their ad- 
 vantage to keep me where I am ; and 
 having constant access to the presence, 
 could easily increase the queen's wrath 
 against me." 
 
 " That will I never believe, dear Wal- 
 ter," said the devoted woman. "Her 
 majesty hath had considerable profit out 
 of the galleon that was taken at the 
 Azores, hath she not ?" 
 
 " Sir John Hawkins hath writ me 
 word," added Sir Walter, " that, in con- 
 sequence of the villanous pilfering of 
 some of the men, theMadre de Dios, on 
 examination, fell very far short of its es- 
 timate : and of this, although the queen 
 had but one of her ships present, she hath 
 seized upon as great a share as if she 
 had been at more than one half the trou- 
 ble and charges of the expedition." 
 
 " The possessing of so much treasure 
 through thy means will assuredly make 
 her somewhat favorably disposed toward 
 thee," she observed; "and that the 
 greatness of her rage hath by this time 
 much abated I make no manner of doubt. 
 This being the case, dear Walter, as it 
 needs must be ; and I knowing her to 
 be one with whom some pretty adulation 
 will do anything, so that there be enough 
 of it would wager mine existence that 
 if thou wouldst But contrive some pleas- 
 ant conceit, in which it shall appear that 
 thou art cone distracted because of the 
 impossibility of seeing her, and season it 
 Avith such pretty tropes as thou knowest 
 she most affects, thou shalt have thy lib- 
 erty in a presently." 
 
 "I like it not, dear Bess," replied her 
 husband, as if he entertained the pro- 
 posal with some distaste. " I have played 
 the courtier's and the lover's part with 
 her already to such an extreme, that it 
 made her "all the more enraged against 
 me when she discovered my marriage 
 with thee. She must be exceeding cred- 
 ulous if she would believe anything of 
 the kind of me now. Besides, it is a 
 fashion that however oft I may have fall- 
 en into, I liked never ; and at the present 
 time am more than ever disinclined to." 
 
 "That ought thou not to hold in any 
 sort of consideration, dear Walter," she 
 answered quickly. " Remember that she 
 hath made such flattery the common Ian- 
 
 guage, without which none who seek 
 her favor can expect to get aught of her; 
 and thou art no more to blame in using 
 of such means than art thou for wearing 
 of a doublet of a certain make : for both 
 are the court fashion, which every one 
 must adopt who would be in good esteem 
 with bis sovereign. And who can be so 
 worthy of such estimation as art thou ? 
 In truth, if thy merit were properly re- 
 warded thou shouldst then have the high- 
 est place there, and take precedence of 
 all. As for her indignation in finding out 
 that thou hast been playing of the lover 
 to her whilst thou were acting it more 
 truly to me, heed it not. In the first 
 place, the blame must be entirely her 
 own: for when a woman entertaineth a 
 lover of whose affection she hath good 
 knowledge that it can be naught but 
 words, she is but rightly served when he 
 leaveth her for the enjoyment of a more 
 sincere and more profitable passion. And 
 in the next place, the queen hath so ex- 
 cessive a vanity, that there be nothing 
 so preposterous told her of the power of 
 her "beauty she will not believe. Do but 
 say that I have been the party to blame 
 and in truth, dear Walter, all the cen- 
 sure should be -mine and assert with a 
 sufficient show qf sincerity that none but 
 her can be mistress of thy affections, and 
 I make no manner of doubt that she 
 would presently take thee into more fa- 
 vor than ever." 
 
 " Nay, if ever I say a word in censure 
 of one who hath shown to me so true a 
 heart shall I be the basest wretch that 
 lives!" exclaimed Sir Walter. 
 
 " Indeed I should think of thee all the 
 better for it," replied she very earnestly. 
 " Of a truth, dear Walter, lean know no 
 true pleasure till I see thee in the poses- 
 sion of such greatness as thy noble heart 
 deserves. For me thou hast sacrificed 
 all thy well-earned honors ; and know- 
 ing this, it can not be possible I should 
 feel any easiness of heart till they have 
 been restored to thee. As for me, I am 
 nothing but what thy infinite goodness 
 hath made me ; and thou couldst say no 
 censure, however great it might be, that 
 my demerits have not called for. Prythee ! 
 do it, dear Walter." 
 
 "Never!" cried her husband with a 
 very sincere earnestness. " I will never 
 be brought to say aught of thee but that 
 thou art the kindest, truest, and best of 
 wives, and the very fairest, sweetest, and 
 dearest of women." 
 
 "0' my life, thou thinkest a vast deal 
 too kindly of me !" said the affectionate
 
 130 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 wife ; and then putting aside her work, 
 rising from her chair, and taking him by 
 the hand, she led him to the cradle, 
 where, resting of her arm fondly upon 
 his shoulder, she did address him with 
 more seriousness, as she pointed to the 
 sleeping child. "Dear Walter! think 
 of that boy. He is now, as thou seest, as 
 lovely an infant as ever fond mother was 
 blest withal ; but when he cometh to riper 
 years, what poor hap must be his if he 
 come only to succeed to the ruined for- 
 tunes of a disgraced father ! and how 
 can he properly reverence that parent, 
 who, having it in his power by means of 
 a few idle words to gain the restoration 
 of his own honors, and leave them in 
 costly legacy to his child, chose rather to 
 remain in discredit with the world, and 
 to leave his son no better inheritance 
 than the remembrance of his father's 
 misfortunes. See, Walter ! he openeth 
 his little rose-buds of lips, and smileth on 
 thee ! He pleads with his mother that 
 thou wilt have more heed of thyself and 
 of him. Now his eyes unclose and look 
 upon thee like glimpses of heaven. Wilt 
 thou deny him ? And now he stretcheth 
 forth his little arms to implore thee to 
 such an act of justice. Canst thou deny 
 him?" 
 
 " Indeed, dear Bess," said he, looking 
 fondly upon her " thou hast proved thy- 
 self so excellent an advocate, that I shall 
 never attempt after this to argue a cause 
 against thee. I will promise thee to use 
 my best endeavors with the queen ; but 
 as for saying aught of thy unworthiness, 
 it is a thing of which I am so entirely 
 ignorant, and is a theme for which I have 
 so little inclination, that I do feel assured 
 I should break down in the very smallest 
 attempt. But I must take up this thy 
 admirable little assistant in thy pleading, 
 for in truth he appeareth as if he would 
 not rest where he" is." Thereupon Sir 
 Walter did take the babe into his arms, 
 and fondle him, and toss him up, in the 
 which the little fellow seemed to find 
 huge delight, for he crowed and clapped 
 his hands famously ; while Dame Eliza- 
 beth stood close by, watching of the two 
 as if she knew not which she loved the 
 best. 
 
 " I'faith, the rogue seems to like it, me- 
 thinks!" exclaimed Sir Walter, as he kept 
 throwing the child up in his arms ; and 
 it was difficult to say which seemed the 
 most gratified of the two. 
 
 " Like it ! to be sure he likes it, Wal- 
 ter," replied his beautiful wife. "And 
 when he careth not to be caressed and 
 
 dandled by so good a father, 'tis like 
 enough I shall fall out with him." 
 
 " What, canst talk of falling out with 
 so handsome a babe?" asked Raleigh, 
 seemingly in some astonishment; and 
 gazing upon the smiling infant as he held 
 it before him, added: "There are its 
 mother's eyes, of a surety !" 
 
 " Nay, Walter," said she, with an ex- 
 ceeding affectionate smile; " if he be not 
 every bit of him like thee, then am I but 
 an indifferent judge of a resemblance." 
 
 " Out on thee for a flatterer," exclaimed 
 her husband playfully. 
 
 "Well, if thou wilt not acknowledge 
 what all be ready to swear to, it be so 
 manifest, thou shah have none of him," 
 replied the devoted woman, coming as if 
 to take him away. " So hand him over 
 to me, I prythee." 
 
 " Be assured I will do nothing of the 
 kind," said Sir Walter, as he caught the 
 child close to his breast. " He is mine ; 
 I have him, and will keep him. Get 
 thee gone, good woman, thou hast had 
 nothing to do with him, and therefore art 
 not at all a proper creature to trust him 
 with/' 
 
 " Oh, shame on thee, for saying so," 
 answered Darae Elizabeth, laughingly. 
 " But I must have him, Walter his 
 mouth is on the silver buttons of thy 
 doublet, and he will put thee in a most 
 woful slobber." 
 
 " Better to spoil my doublet than lose 
 ray boy !" cried he ; and then sportively 
 made off with him, as if he would give 
 him up on no account, while his beautiful 
 wife kept following them round the room 
 with her arms stretched out, begging to 
 have the child. Presently, the little fel- 
 low spying of his mother, put out his 
 arms likewise, and soon after cried to be 
 taken. 
 
 " Tis nothing else but a conspiracy," 
 observed Sir Walter, as he gave the boy 
 into his mother's arms. " He assists thee 
 in everything. I like not being opposed 
 to so unnatural a combination ; so I will 
 to my books again." 
 
 Then he returned to his chair, and 
 Dame Elizabeth did go to hers with the 
 infant in her arms, who was soon very 
 quietly enjoying of himself after such a 
 fashion as seemed to be wonderfully 
 pleasant to him. This continued for some 
 short time, when Sir Walter Raleigh 
 looked up and said 
 
 " Hast seen anything of Stephen ?" 
 
 " He hath been here this morning,*' re- 
 plied his wife, "with a letter from Alice, 
 who writes me in a most merry vein, as
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 131 
 
 if for the enlivening of ray spirits. I have 
 it here, if thou wilt read it." And then 
 she offered to him the letter. 
 
 " If there be no secret matter unlawful 
 for husband to look into, I should like, 
 infinitely, to see what theyinerry wench 
 hath to say for herself, observed Sir 
 Walter, as he took the letter into his 
 hand. 
 
 ' I can never have any secrets from 
 thee, dear Walter," answered Dame Eliz- 
 abeth ; and, upon this, her husband did 
 open and read the letter, which proceeded 
 to this effect : 
 
 " ' SWEET Coz : While uncle is amu- 
 sing of himself by cudgelling of Peter, I 
 will seek entertainment for you in cudgel- 
 ling of my brains. I am willed to do this 
 by Sir Nicholas, who thinketh you shall 
 be all the belter for some intelligence of 
 home ; yet I find no lack of mine own in- 
 clination in it, I do assure you, for there 
 is nothing in which I take such singular 
 pleasure, as in affording of some comfort 
 to my excellent good Bess. But, first of 
 all, I know 'tis necessary, if I seek to be 
 loved of you, I should inquire concerning 
 of that man-animal, his worship, your 
 husband ; the which I now do with ex- 
 ceeding courtesy, thinking it a thousand 
 pities he should be the queen's prisoner, 
 when I am oft left to the small profit of 
 counting of my fingers for lack of having 
 him to teaze.' 
 
 " The little villain !" exclaimed Sir 
 Walter with a smile, when he came to 
 the perusing of this passage ; then con- 
 tinued. 
 
 "'I like him hugely just as mis- 
 chievous boys like cats, old women, and 
 bonfires for the sport they afford.' 
 
 " Oh the impudent baggage !" cried 
 he. 
 
 " 'But, as you have told me, that he 
 is the very best, and kindest of creatures 
 to you, dear Bess, for his sake will I 
 think well of all man-animals if I can.' 
 
 " There is nothing I should so much 
 delight in, as seeing her ladyship despe- 
 rately in love," observed Raleigh. " F- 
 faith, 'twould be a delectable revenge." 
 
 "I doubt not her lime will come," 
 said Dame Elizabeth. After which her 
 husband did proceed. 
 
 " ' It must be known unto you that, 
 on the report of the fortune Aunt Dorothy 
 left me, I have got me a famous set of 
 lovers. Oh, 'twould be a comfort to your ! 
 heart to behold what goodly fools they 
 be. By my troth, there shall be no occa- 
 sion for any of them to wear motley 
 they may be known for such as they are 
 
 let them wear what they list. First of 
 these, for methinks he should have pre- 
 cedence, being out of all contradiction, 
 the greatest wittol of the lot, there cometh 
 Sir Narcissus Wrinkles. Hast ever been 
 at table where there hath been mutton 
 dressed lamb fashion ? If so, then shall 
 you have some notion of Sir Narcissus 
 Wrinkles. He is nothing else than a 
 poor old wether that would needs pass 
 himself off for as innocent a lambkin as 
 ever frisked in a meadow. Yet is he so 
 marvellous stiff in the hams, that when 
 I drop my fan, which I do on the purpose 
 pretty oft, it taketh him a monstrous space 
 of time before he can stoop to lay hold 
 of it, and then he presenteth it lo me with 
 his hand on his heart, swearing by Cer- 
 berus, he would find infinite pleasure to 
 fetch and carry for me like a very spaniel ; 
 and all the whilst he looks as if he had 
 broken his back, and hath scarlet enough 
 in his face for the making of an old wo- 
 man's cloak. Then he hath such oaths 
 as be a marvel to hear. Mayhap, if you 
 heard him, you should presently affirm 
 that he was nothing better than an an- 
 cient pagan dug out of the earth after a 
 sleep of some centuries, for he swears 
 by all the heathen gods and goddesses. 
 
 " ' He skips after me, as perchance he 
 shall fancy, like a mountain kid ; but as 
 it seemeth to me in much more resem- 
 blance of its venerable grandfather ; and 
 he looketh upon my face till his eyes 
 water, and sighs heavily enough, I war- 
 rant you ; but though he would have me 
 take such signs for love, I do very affec- 
 tionately tell him I grieve that his eyes 
 should be so weak, and that he should be 
 troubled with so pitiful an asthma. Upon 
 this 'tis exquisite sport to see how brave- 
 ly he ventureth to swear he hath such 
 excellent vision, he can read print so 
 small others can in no way make out, 
 and that his constitution be of so fine a 
 character, he knoweth not what illness 
 means and to this he hath the unblush- 
 ing impudency to add, that he is so sound 
 of limb, and so active withal, that he 
 doubts not when, he shall be forty, he 
 shall be as young as is another at thirty 
 or less. Now, think of his saying this, 
 when he is as like to see any more fifties 
 as am I to marry him ! 
 
 " ' Afler him cometh my Lord Wisea- 
 cre, a young coxcomb of a fellow, who 
 looketh as grave as is a death's head upon 
 a tombstone, and seemeth as sanctimo- 
 nious as an alderman saying of grace. 
 He seeketh to be a wooing of me with 
 the saws of a graybeard, and talketh of
 
 132 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 his experience with so solemn an air, 
 that I can scarce help laughing Tn his 
 boyish countenance. Then he hath so 
 pragmatical a humor with him, that he 
 liketh not to see anything which doth 
 not assort with the very monstrousness 
 of his own gravity, and this profound 
 conceit he carrieth to such an extreme, 
 that if any do but attempt to jest in his 
 presence, he shall look as solemn as one 
 with the toothache, and at the breaking 
 out of a laugh he shall appear as if he 
 should swoon on the instant. I do assure 
 you, Bess, you would wonder mightily 
 were you tp see us two. If he look se- 
 rious, I look grave if he look grave, I 
 look solemn if he look solemn, I look 
 stern if he accost me in saws, I answer 
 him in proverbs and if he lament the 
 frivolity of youth, I sigh for one who hath 
 the experience of Methusalem. I believe 
 the varlet maketh sure of me for this, yet 
 will I show him such a change as shall 
 incline him the rather to wed with the 
 parish pump. 
 
 " The next is Master Aniseed one 
 who seemeth but lately to have exchang- 
 ed the grub for the butterfly. His phrases, 
 whereof he hath a goodly assortment, he 
 ever and anon mingles with some of a 
 coarser quality, that plain enough betray 
 him to have been no gentleman born ; 
 yet in his attiring is he as fine an insect 
 as ever fluttered in silk and satin ; the 
 which fabrics, however, he weareth not 
 with that becoming'ness that would prove 
 him to be properly used to such. What 
 he hath been I know not, yet will I strive 
 to find it out ; for methinks I shall have 
 some sport in the finding. Already I do 
 enjoy very pretty pastime in the exceed- 
 ing daintiness of his speech, when he hath 
 discourse with me, it seemeth so all of a 
 piece with his doublet, which be ever of 
 the delicatest hue or finest fabric. He 
 can not talk of the smallest matter with- 
 out dressing it up in the courtliest terms. 
 If he ask after my health, it shall be in 
 so nice a phrase that one who heard him 
 would think me to be some marvellous 
 fragile being or another, that requireth 
 to be wrapt up in lavender, and handled 
 as tenderly as a sparrow's egg ; and if he 
 bid me good day, it shall be after so em- 
 broidered a fashion as a mercer would 
 speak of his choicest goods. 
 
 " * After him I have Dr. Bashful, a 
 young divine, who can not look at me 
 without blushing; and if he offereth me 
 his hand when he approacheth me, 'tis 
 after such a sort as if he thought I should 
 bite him. F trembleth terribly when I 
 
 speak to him ; and if I ask of him to take 
 wine, he shall contradict himself half a 
 dozen times before he maketh up his 
 mind whether to take it or leave it alone. 
 He is so entertaining a companion that 
 he will sit by me a whole hour as dumb 
 as a post, and then, on a sudden, ask of 
 me what I think of the fathers. Although 
 he seemeth to love me, he would as soon 
 dare lay hold of my hand whilst we sit 
 together, as take a mad dog by the tail : 
 and although I doubt not he likes nothing 
 as well as to gaze on my face, he can 
 only have courage to steal a look at me 
 when I be a turning another way. Then 
 he seemeth continually intent upon the 
 making of some blunder. He be ever 
 upsetting of something in his haste to 
 show me some courtesy. He will destroy 
 everything breakable he shall lay his 
 hands on for he will either grip it so 
 firm that it shall smash in his hands, or 
 hold it so tremblingly that it shall fall to 
 pieces at his feet. Mayhap at dinner he 
 shall pay his court to me by knocking off 
 a tankard of ale into my lap, and then, 
 in' his hurry to repair the mischief, he 
 shall upset a bowl of soup into his own. 
 If he be watch,ed, he shall be found sau- 
 cing of his pudding with catsup ; and, 
 anon, drinking of the vinegar for wine. 
 Then, when he discovereth his mistake he 
 grins like a monkey over a bone, and sets 
 to a blushing till his face outrivalleth the 
 crimson of a poppy in a cornfield. Oh, what 
 goodly fools these man-animals be ! But 
 were I to describe to you every one of the 
 worshipful set by which I am environed, 
 methinks 'twould tire your patience won- 
 derfully, therefore will I wait till you can 
 have sight of them for yourself; the 
 which I am exceeding hopeful will not 
 be long first, for there is none I so much 
 desire to see as my own sweet Bess. 
 
 "'Uncle hath been in excellent good 
 health, but though I do all I can to make 
 him merry, I know that he doth miss you 
 oft. I have heard say that the queen is go- 
 ing the progress, and perchance she may 
 be in so gracious a mood as to forgive her 
 prisoners and let them have their liberty. 
 I would she could be brought to it. But 
 keep a good heart, and I doubt not mat- 
 ters will go right enough soon. 
 
 " ' From your loving cousin, 
 
 " ALICE THROCKMORTON.' 
 
 "I'faith, if Alice had such lovers, I 
 doubt not she will have famous sport of 
 them," observed Sir Waller Raleigh, as 
 he finished the letter. " Some of them I 
 know, and therefore can I safely say she 
 hath hit them off to a nicety. I will lay
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 133 
 
 a wager upon it that she will play them 
 such tricks out of her infinite genius for 
 mischief, that they shall be right glad to 
 get themselves out of her way." 
 
 " Tis a thousand pities she meets not 
 with some of more likely sort," said 
 Dame Elizabeth. After this there was a 
 pause of some few minutes. 
 
 "I marvel much at not seeing of Mas- 
 ter Francis," exclaimed her husband, at 
 last. "He is not wont to make such 
 long stays. I hope nothing amiss hath 
 happened to him.'' 
 
 " In honest truth, I hope so too," 
 added his fair companion, "for he seem- 
 eth to serve thee so lovingly, and with so 
 modest a spirit. Methinks he doth look 
 exceedingly unhappy." 
 
 'I do believe his mind is ill at ease," 
 replied Sir Walter. " There existeth 
 some obscurity in his birth which he 
 doth allow to prey on his sensitive spirit 
 more, I think, than the matter calls for. 
 Without doubt, he is a youth of admira- 
 ble good qualities ; yet hath he his faults 
 nevertheless. He is oft too apt to draw 
 conclusions which the premises will 
 scarce warrant: this is, however, a natu- 
 ral error at his time of life, and one that 
 time will correct. I have great hopes 
 of him." 
 
 Having said this, he did again return 
 to his books, and Dame Elizabeth con- 
 tinued nursing of her babe, who seemed 
 at it to crow and laugh so prettily, that 
 Sir Walter did more than once raise his 
 head and smilingly observe him ; and 
 mayhap would call to him in such sort 
 of prattle as parents do usually adopt on 
 the like occasions. Presently there was 
 heard a knocking at the door, and admit- 
 tance being allowed, in walked Master 
 Francis, with a very gentlemanly cour- 
 teousness, yet looking as pale and melan- 
 choly as ever. 
 
 " I have been detained, Sir Walter, 
 upon certain of mine own affairs that 
 did require instant attention, else had I 
 been here earlier," observed the young 
 secretary. 
 
 "It matters not," replied his patron, 
 kindly. " But now sit you down, Master 
 Francis. I would have some talk with 
 you." 
 
 The youth, at this request, put his hat 
 on one side, and sat himself down near 
 the table. 
 
 " Hast ever considered the moral effecis 
 of solitude upon the heart?" inquired 
 Raleigh, after a little while. 
 
 " Methinks its tendency must needs be 
 of a very soothing kind," replied the 
 
 other modestly, "yet, save the impres- 
 sions I have got of books, know I bm 
 little of the matter. I have heard of 
 divers philosophers and many godly ere- 
 mites, who, by retiring from the cares of 
 the busy world, have acquired a marvel- 
 lous wisdom and a right notable holiness. 
 Nay, it hath been writ in credible histo- 
 ries, that men used to, and moving in the 
 restless turmoil of political governments 
 and military avocations, have found won- 
 derful comfort from the enjoyment of a 
 perfect solitariness. It hath been said 
 of Pericles, as an example among many 
 i such famous lawgivers and statesmen, 
 that when he entertained in his mind any 
 j great object, the which, peradventure, 
 | might be for the right governing of the 
 : Athenian people, he would refrain from 
 all social feastings, and every pleasure he 
 ! was wont to delight in whatsoever, and, 
 j as much alone as might be possible to 
 I him, give himself up to the perfect con- 
 sideration of the question. As far as I 
 may be capable of judging, this seemeth 
 a truly excellent good plan. Out of no 
 small number of notable commanders, 
 Scipio Africanus, the Roman, and Epam- 
 iaondas, the Theban general, had a like 
 passion for retirement, and, doubtless, 
 found profit in it. And of the learned 
 and pious is there so great a number who 
 have lauded its advantages, as is almost 
 impossible for me to name." 
 
 " And from their report you do consider 
 that solitariness is to be recommended *" 
 said his patron, inquiringly. 
 
 " It seemeth so to me," answered the 
 youth. 
 
 "Believe me, 'tis a great error," ob- 
 served Sir Walter. " Of all things con- 
 tained within this infinite world that 
 have powers and offices, over man, you 
 shall find nothing so pernicious and un- 
 natural as this same solitude. That it 
 be pernicious, is on the face of it, for it 
 doth rob society of a member, whose 
 duty it should be to labor for the rest as 
 much as in him lieth. As you shall see 
 i in a hive of bees, or in a community of 
 i ants, there be none that go into holes and 
 corners, shutting of themselves up from 
 all fellowship, and working only for their 
 own gratifications; so ought it to be in 
 the common hive of the world. 'Tis 
 sociality that createth the sweet honey 
 j of life, to wit, philanthropy : and he 
 '. who is active in doing of jjpod amongst 
 his fellows, is the industrious ant, thac 
 ! ever storeth up grain for the general use. 
 He who findeth enjoyment in solitari- 
 ness, can not help but b selfish in his
 
 134 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 nature ; for it requireth of a man to con- 
 centrate all his affections upon himself 
 ere he can take any pleasure in it. That 
 'tis unnatural, is full as evident: for 
 nature hath made us all one universal 
 brotherhood, for the helping of each 
 other, for the pleasure of each other, and 
 for the teaching of each other, by such 
 exemplary doings as may be profitable in 
 the following. For one to get away 
 from the rest, and keep himself in secre- 
 sy, and labor in loneliness he shall be 
 accounted a deserter from his colors, the 
 defence of which he hath abandoned to 
 save himself; and deserveth no better 
 treatment than to be shot for the acting 
 of such an infamous cowardice. 
 
 "As for what you have said of Pericles 
 and others, in no instance must such be 
 brought forward as examples of solitude, 
 else with as much show of truth it may 
 be said of me because I have oft retired 
 unto the privacy of my study that I 
 might not be disturbed in my contempla- 
 tions, that I did it for no other end than 
 to gratify a desire for a like thing. I 
 would take it upon me to say, that he 
 who maketh it a practice to live out of 
 the world, is in no way worthy to live 
 in it." 
 
 " And yet I have found it asserted, both 
 of philosophers and divines," observed 
 Master Francis, " that solitude doth af- 
 ford excellent opportunity for a man to 
 study himself, without a proper knowl- 
 edge of which, he shall be considered ex- 
 ceeding ignorant." 
 
 "Better be ignorant in one thing than 
 useless in all, "answered his patron. "If 
 a man having only one book of his own, 
 and that mayhap of no great value, goeth 
 into a goodly library where there shall be 
 volumes of every sort out of all number, 
 whereof he may find admirable enter- 
 tainment when he lists by perusing them, 
 still keepeth poring over his own book, 
 what knowledge think you he would get 
 by it?" 
 
 " It could not help being but little, es- 
 pecially when brought into some com- 
 parison with what he might have had," 
 said the youth. 
 
 " I 'faith you could not have answered 
 me more in accordance with what I ex- 
 pected of you," added his patron. " Like 
 unto that man is he who goeth away 
 from the numberless natures around 
 him, where Doubtless he shall find an 
 exhausiless stock of learning ever at his 
 hand, to creep into some desert place or 
 another, with nothing to study from but 
 himself, the which I do hugely suspect 
 
 would turn out to be a very sorry volume. 
 Such a one must needs be a fool all 
 his life ay, though he thumb his book 
 till he knoweth it every bit by.heart: and 
 he shall be a doing of no more good by it, 
 than if he had been dead and buried a 
 hundred years." 
 
 " Maj^ I ask of you then how cometh 
 it that there hath been such store of 
 learned books and pious discourses writ 
 in solitude, from which surely the world 
 hath been the gainer ?" asked his secre- 
 tary. 
 
 " It must be proved that they are the 
 result of solitariness, ere solitariness 
 should have the praise of them," replied 
 Sir Walter. "It may perchance hap 
 that they were writ in retirement, yet are 
 they the result of much previous study 
 among men. Doubtless there are such mat- 
 ters of science as perfect abstraction from 
 all things else shall greatly advance the 
 knowledge of ; and this abstractedness 
 passeth among the many for the love of 
 solitude, yet of that selfishness which 
 solitude engenders hath it nothing ; for 
 the man of science careth as little for his 
 own person as for all other things, and, 
 like Archimedes, would allow himself to 
 be slaughtered in the working of a prob- 
 lem, than have the slightest care for his 
 safety. Nor is the solitude of out-of-the- 
 way places a thing for them to heed, 
 when they shall be as much alone in 
 the most populous city as in the desert- 
 est spot that can be found. Surely such 
 books as I may chance to write in this 
 my imprisonment, ought in no way to be 
 attributable to solitude, when it is certain 
 I would have writ the same at Durham 
 house had I enjoyed the like leisure. 
 Nor is this to be considered a solitude at 
 all ; for I do not confine my studies unto 
 myself, but look, as well I may, into "the 
 natures of all with whom I can get dis- 
 course: then ought you to be cautious of 
 believing that such books, to the which 
 you have made allusion, because they 
 were produced in some secludedness, 
 were writ otherwise than from a necessity 
 in the putting up with such a place, or in 
 some advantage it giveth to the perfect 
 contemplation of the subject writ upon.' 
 
 " Then it seerneth to me you have no 
 opinion of the efficacy of seclusion upon 
 human nature?" remarked the youth. 
 
 "Entire seclusion methinks is entire 
 foolishness," answered his patron. "Oc- 
 casional meditation in privacy may be so 
 far beneficial as to give a greater zest to 
 the right humanizing pleasures of social 
 intercourse when taken to again ; but se-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 131 
 
 clusi \reness is exclusiveness, it shutteth 
 the breast against all perchance with 
 no great loss to the world, for I doubt not 
 on examining the hearts of such they 
 should be found exceeding hollow." 
 
 " From this, if I understand aright, 
 monasteries, nunneries, and institutions 
 of the like sort, which seemed framed for 
 the express purpose of providing oppor- 
 tunity for meditation, in your judgment 
 can be of no particular benefit to the com- 
 munity at large," said Master Francis. 
 
 " Of so little that their benefit must be 
 in no comparison with their mischief," 
 answered the other. "The ostensible 
 object of all such establishments appear- 
 eth to be the exclusive serving of God, 
 but that God is better served by a certain 
 set of dirty fellows that mayhap live in 
 unwholesome cells, when they might 
 have comfortable lodging, going bare- 
 footed when they might be properly shod, 
 wearing of one dress when they might 
 have a change as cleanliness made it ne- 
 cessary, and fasting nigh unto starvation 
 when they might eat enough and be 
 thankful, than he shall be by those who 
 come to him with a clean skin and a de- 
 cent garment, and a heart full of thank- 
 fulness for the blessings he hath sent for 
 their partaking, and are moreover indus- 
 trious citizens, good husbands, and care- 
 ful fathers, I will never believe. But all 
 monasteries are not of this sort. In the 
 greater number, as was proved at the 
 dissolving of the religious houses in the 
 reign of Henry the Eighth, there were 
 fellows whose portly persons showed they 
 lacked nothing either in eating or drink- 
 ing ; and as for other indulgences there 
 can be no doubt that they rioted in a very 
 infamous dissoluteness and prodigality. 
 And that this be serving of God in the 
 best way will I never believe. 
 
 " Then as to nunneries, the chief boasts 
 of them seemeth to be in the preserva- 
 tion of the chastity of their members, 
 who are such women as choose to retire 
 from the allurements of the world, or are 
 forced to it. In the first place I main- 
 tain, and I doubt not to find plenty to be- 
 lieve me, that such chastity as can only 
 De preserved by being shut up close in 
 stone walls, is not worth the keeping. It 
 is very snow, that must be kept in a cold 
 corner, else it will clean melt away. In 
 the next place, 'tis no preservation at all, 
 for it he nothing else than a continual 
 endeavor to stifle the very delicatest feel- 
 ings of humanity, that have been given 
 as a source of every excellence in wo- 
 man, and every happiness in man. Nor 
 
 is it chastity, for the wife may be chaste, 
 but a nun knoweth nothing of chastity, 
 she only practiseth c.ontinency, which is 
 no virtue of any kind, but a quality 
 of* no more service to herself or to any- 
 body else than her ever wearing of 
 a certain kind of a garment, instead of 
 others in which she would find the great- 
 er comfort, or fasting for any unnatural 
 long time when she hath plenty of whole- 
 some food at hand. That a, way of life 
 that preventeth a woman from becoming 
 a. loving wife and a tender mother, and a 
 giver and receiver of such sweet affec- 
 tion as be a delight to think of, which 
 beyond all dispute are the properest 
 qualities of womanhood, be the best way 
 of serving God will I never believe. Yet 
 as there have been other monasteries than 
 the strict ones, so have there been other 
 than such nunneries, in the which it was 
 proved, every conceivable kind of profli- 
 gacy was proceeding ; and that this be 
 serving of God in the best way will I 
 'never believe." 
 
 " Methinks then you must have a still 
 less opinion of hermits and the like," ob- 
 served the secretary. 
 
 " Hermits, anchorites, and others, who 
 live entire by themselves, are of three 
 sorts fools, knaves, and madmen," re- 
 plied Sir Walter. They shall be fools 
 if they live upon herbs when they might 
 have wholesome food they are knaves 
 if they practise austerity for the sake of 
 such offerings as a few simple peasants 
 may bring to their abodes and they 
 must be madmen if they imagine that 
 standing upon a pillar, lying on a board 
 covered with nails, wearing of a hair 
 shirt, or flagellating of themselves with- 
 out mercy, shall be of any kind of service 
 to them either in this world or in the 
 next. I would as soon respect a jackass 
 for eating of thistles as a man for living 
 upon roots: and as for the humility of 
 such men, there lieth a monstrous deal 
 more ostentation under rags and filth 
 than you shall find beneath a robe of pur- 
 ple and a clean skin. Now, it hath gen- 
 erally happened that anchorites either 
 leave the world, or the world leaveth 
 them, and seek to live in solitary places 
 I when they no longer can find pleasure in 
 1 the abodes of their fellow-men ; or that 
 ! knowing something ill that they have 
 i done, these their fellow-men will have 
 j none of them, and force them to take to 
 ! a hiding-place and a severe life for the 
 i acquirement of a better reputation than 
 what they had. In most instances a man 
 ; becometh a hermit or a monk from dis-
 
 136 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 gust of life, or disappointment of the 
 world, and seeketh in self mortification 
 and a solitary living, to lose remembrance 
 of what he hath suffered. None but a 
 fanatic ever became such upon choice. 
 It seemeth to me that he is considered 
 the happiest amongst them who shall 
 succeed in making himself the most mis- 
 erable ; and that this be serving of God 
 in the best way will I never believe. 
 
 " In short, it hath all along been my 
 conviction that if these pretended lovers 
 of solitude, instead of seeking of a re- 
 cluse life, and undergoing of numberless 
 voluntary hardships, had attempted the 
 practice of some honest calling, and had 
 bestowed on the poor and helpless such 
 assistance as might have been in their 
 power to giv-e, they would have lived in 
 such a sort as would have been much 
 pleasanter to themselves, of more advan- 
 tage to the world, and a wonderful de- 
 gree more to the true glory of Him they 
 sought to serve by it." 
 
 To this Master Francis replied not 
 Dame Elizabeth had all the time seemed 
 to take exceeding interest in the discourse, 
 now turning to her husband, and now to 
 his secretary, as each spoke, with a coun- 
 tenance that evinced she found wonderful 
 pleasure in what was going on, and oc- 
 casionally putting up of her finger to the 
 child when he appeared in any way in- 
 clined to interrupt either of ihem. It 
 was in this way that Sir Walter Raleigh 
 oft invited his young companion to ex- 
 press his thoughts, and then, if he found 
 him in any error, would straightway pro- 
 ceed to set him right in the matter. 
 
 " Liked you our last voyage, Master 
 Francis?" inquired he, after a silence of 
 some few minutes. 
 
 " Indeed did I Sir Walter," replied 
 the youth. 
 
 " Then, if I gam my liberty, as soon 
 after as may be, will I be upon another," 
 added his patron. " In truth, have I for 
 some time considered of it, and methinks 
 you will find in it far more attraction 
 than the preceding, for it hath for its ob- 
 ject no other than a search after the right 
 famous El Dorado, or city of gold, the 
 which am I in tolerable certainty of find- 
 ing." 
 
 " I like the idea of it exceedingly," 
 observed Master Francis, with some earn- 
 estness : and then he waited in expecta- 
 tion of hearing more upon the subject; 
 but, somewhat to his disappointment,.! 
 Sir Walter soon after set him about the I 
 writing of some papers, and then went to 
 lean out of the window, where he long 
 
 remained, gazing upon the vessels in the 
 river. 
 
 " There goeth the queen's barge," ex- 
 claimed he, all of a sudden ; then turning 
 to his wife, added, "now, Bess, will 1 
 essay what thou hast desired of me,"- 
 and hastily left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 If so be that one had a pump in your bosom, I be- 
 lieve we should discover a foul hold. They say a 
 witch will sail in a sieve, but I believe the devil 
 would not venture aboard your conscience. 
 
 CONGEEVE. 
 
 Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum ! 
 The business asketh silent secresy. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 Olivia. Did he write this ? 
 Clown. Ay; madam. 
 
 Duke. This savors not much of distraction. 
 Olivia. See him delivered. IBID. 
 
 IT was not many hours after the trans- 
 piring of what hath been writ in the pre- 
 ceding chapter, that Sir Robert Cecil and 
 my Lord Henry Howard sat together in 
 close converse in the armory at Burghley 
 house. How long 'they hacl been so en- 
 gaged no man knoweth to this day ; but 
 there seemed a marvellous deal of secresy 
 in what they were talking of their looks 
 were exceeding mysterious, and they 
 smiled in such a sort as do men pleased 
 with their own craftiness. Upon a small 
 circular table, close to which they sat op- 
 posite each other, lay sundry papers and 
 letters, which Cecil did read and make 
 comments on, as if they were of great im- 
 port ; and the other appeared to give such 
 explanations as might be necessary to the 
 perfect understanding of them. 
 
 " Then you are sure that my Lord Es- 
 sex hath constant communication with 
 the Scottish king ?" inquired Sir Robert. 
 
 " I have it from my trusty correspond- 
 ent Master Edward Bruce, replied the 
 Lord Henry Howard, " that King James 
 stands well affected toward my Lord Es- 
 sex, from whom he hath continual in- 
 telligence of all things relating to the 
 queen." 
 
 " That hath a bad look for our inter- 
 ests," remarked Cecil. " If we mind not, 
 Essex will so ingratiate himself with his 
 majesty, that we shall scarce be able to 
 keep up our heads when he cometh to 
 these realms. And yet the king seemeth 
 to hold us in good countenance." 
 
 " Without doubt doth he," answered 
 the other. " I do believe, from what 
 Master Bruce hath writ, that he puttetb
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 137 
 
 great confidence in you. Would it not 
 be good policy, think you, to set the 
 king's mind against him, as we have done 
 against Sir Walter Raleigh and my Lord 
 Cobham." 
 
 " That would be a difficult matter, and 
 a dangerous matter to boot," replied Sit 
 Robert. "King James hath knowledge 
 of my Lord Essex, and hath of him a 
 favorable opinion, the which methinks 
 would be no easy matter to shake ; while 
 of Raleigh or Cobham he knew naught, 
 therefore could the easier believe aught 
 that was said of them. My Lord Essex 
 hath also divers powerful friends at the 
 Scottish court, who, 'tis like enough, 
 would not rest idle while attempts were 
 made to ruin him with the king : and of 
 such influence, neither my brother-in-law 
 nor his fine friend could make any boast. 
 I doubt not being able to spoil the ambi- 
 tiousness of all such in good time ; but 
 at present it be a difficult task to do 
 either Raleigh or Essex any great hurt 
 without the other being the sole gainer 
 by it." 
 
 " Mean you to let Raleigh out ?" asked 
 his companion. 
 
 " It must needs be," said Cecil. " I 
 mean to move the queen about it ; and 
 these letters I have received will doubt- 
 less go far to the completing of the busi- 
 ness. As I expected, my Lord of Essex 
 hath grown all the haughtier for the ban- 
 ishment of his rival. He beareth himself 
 as if he had sovereign authority ; but, par- 
 amount as he thinketh himself, will I pull 
 him down." 
 
 " He hath now got completely the favor 
 of the queen," observed the Lord Howard. 
 " Indeed, never saw I her majesty so gra- 
 cious to him as she hath been of late : it 
 seemeth as if he might have what he lists 
 for the asking of it." 
 
 " Count not upon that," replied his 
 companion, with something of a sneer 
 upon his countenance ; " he is one of 
 'hose fools that seem ever inclined to the 
 quarrelling with their good fortune. He 
 playeth the lover bravely, I am well 
 aware ; and that her majesty delighteth 
 in having one of such gallant bearing at 
 her side, I make no manner of doubt; but 
 such happens to be his disposition, that 
 the more she alloweth him of her favor, 
 the more will he increase his demands 
 upon it ; and upon ever so slight a cause, 
 will straightway become petulant, and 
 give her majesty some offence." 
 
 "I doubt much all that we have said 
 to him concerning Raleigh hath been of 
 any service," said the other. " I noticed 
 
 him some time back speaking of Sir Wal- 
 ter, in the presence, in exceeding friendly 
 terms." 
 
 " That is easily accounted for," en- 
 claimed Cecil; "he can afford to speak 
 well of one who is in discredit, and there- 
 fore can in no way excite his jealousy, or 
 ruffle his pride ; but let Raleigh return to 
 I his former influence, and I warrant you 
 | Essex shall be marvellously sparing of 
 his good word for him." f 
 
 " 0' my life I know not which I mis- 
 like the most," cried his companion, evi- 
 dently with much sincerity " the one be 
 so pestilent proud, and the other such a 
 thorough upstart." 
 
 "Both shall fall, and neither know who 
 giveth the blow," replied Sir Robert very 
 coolly. "For all that my Lord Essex 
 seemeth in such fine feather at present, 
 methinks he will be the first for the tum- 
 ble ; for he is the more easily worked 
 upon, being rash, haughty, and apt at a 
 desperate fancy. Though he can per- 
 suade himself that I am honest to him, 
 yet would he none the less be ready to quar- 
 rel with me, should I give him occasion. 
 Raleigh considereth me his true friend, 
 and this character must I keep up with 
 him, else might he have some suspicion 
 of my real intentions. He is by far the 
 difficultest character to deal with, for he 
 hath prudence and knowledge as much 
 as any man ; but methinks I shall touch 
 him through Cobham, who is weak 
 enough to be easily misled, and, on ac- 
 count of their strict intimacy, may as 
 easily involve the other." 
 
 "Hast heard of this Master Francis 
 Bacon, the son of old Sir Nicholas, that 
 is said to counsel my Lord Essex in every 
 thing ?" inquired his companion. 
 
 "I have heard of his being well 
 learned in the subtleties of the law," re- 
 plied Cecil. " But further than this 
 know I nothing." 
 
 "I have heard famous talk of him," 
 
 I added my Lord Henry Howard eagerly. 
 
 ; " It hath been said that the greatness of 
 
 his learning maketh all persons marvel. 
 
 ; He can discourse on the abstrusest mat- 
 
 [ ters of science and philosophy in such a 
 
 | sort as will astonish even the profoundest 
 
 scholars, and there appeareth no particle 
 
 of human knowledge he is not as familiar 
 
 with as others shall be with the com- 
 
 ' monest things. Nay, I can not te!l you 
 
 half the wonderful things that be said of 
 
 him. It be moreover related, on credible 
 
 testimony, that my Lord Essex hath 
 
 taken him to live with him in his house, 
 
 where he is to be his friend, and counsel
 
 138 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 him on all matters of difficulty and im- 
 portance." 
 
 " I doubt hugely my Lord Essex will 
 allow of the counselling of any man," 
 replied his companion. " He is of too 
 great a spirit, of too proud a heart, and 
 too vain a mind." 
 
 " Nevertheless, 'tis believed of all that 
 he will advance his fortunes at court," 
 observed the other. "Where, if Master 
 Bacon possess guch monstrous excellence 
 as report hath declared, it be like enough 
 he will come to some distinction. May- 
 hap we shall then have to deal with 
 him; and if he hath any particular 
 knowledge of laws and government be- 
 yond that of others, it may chance he 
 shall attain to so high an eminence as 
 shall put him out of our reach." 
 
 " He shall be raised high indeed if I 
 can not lay a hold on him," said Cecil. 
 " If he be sufficiently pliant I will make 
 a tool of him, let his learning be what 
 it may, and then shall he work for his 
 own advantage and mine too ; but if he be 
 of such nature as are those whose stub- 
 born spirits will not bow to any control 
 of mine, then will I seek either to over- 
 . reach him, or undermine him, so that he 
 shall topple headlong, as in good time 
 shall I make Essex and Raleigh." 
 
 " How mean you to work with these 
 two when Raleigh is let out ?" asked his 
 companion. 
 
 " In a like manner as hath been done 
 hitherto," replied Sir Robert. "I will 
 with as much secresy as shall be possi- 
 ble, set the one in opposition unto the 
 other, and yet in the belief of both en- 
 deavor to appear the very good friend of 
 each. With Essex methinks my labor 
 will be easy, notwithstanding he hath 
 taken to himself so sage a counsellor as 
 Master Bacon, for immediately he findeth 
 the other in rivalship with him, you shall 
 find him ready of belief to aught con- 
 cerning of Raleigh that seemeth to threat- 
 en his pre-eminence, then straightway 
 will he become as haughty and insolent 
 as you please, the which will sufficiently 
 convince Sir Walter that he beareth him 
 no good will, and he will, as it were in 
 self-defence, set about the strengthening 
 of his own position in the queen's favor, 
 and the lessening of his rival's influence ; 
 and this appearing a greater show of op- 
 position shall so incense my Lord Essex, 
 that if he break not out quickly into di- 
 rect and open violence, I lack judgment 
 in his character. Upon this, 'tis like 
 enough the queen shall be in some way 
 wrath with him ; for despite of her seem- 
 
 ing fondness, I am hugely mistaken if 
 she would not look upon any affront done 
 upon Raleigh whilst he possessed her 
 consideration, as an offence to herself; 
 whereupon it would be easy to move her 
 to send my lord from court to some office 
 of great honor, yet of greater difficulty 
 afar off, the which the boastfulness of his 
 spirit would make him eager to accept: 
 there placed, his rashness and unskilful- 
 ness would soon involve him and her 
 majesty's government in some terrible 
 embarrassment, which should more and 
 more lose him the queen's favor, till she 
 put upon him such disgrace as his proud 
 spirit can never stomach, and then his 
 rashness will like enough set him upon 
 some desperate enterprise of a treasonable 
 nature to regain his lost ascendency, 
 which failing, as it needs must in the 
 hands of one so headstrong, there shall 
 presently be an end of my Lord of Essex." 
 
 "Admirably devised!" exclaimed the 
 Lord Henry Howard, in a marvellous 
 cheerfulness. " 'Tis good ! I'faith, 'tis 
 excellent good ! 'Tis a plan so deep and 
 of so fine a contrivance that it can not 
 fail of success. But how shall this affect 
 our interest with the Scottish king, who 
 by all accounts is so well inclined toward 
 my Lord of Essex, that he would take 
 instant indignation against any who 
 should do him an injury." 
 
 " We will so bring it about that it shall 
 appear as if we had no hand in it," re- 
 plied his wily companion. " At the same 
 time we would contrive to shift the 
 blameableness of it upon Raleigh and 
 Cobham, which shall the more incense 
 the king against them." 
 
 " Good again !" cried the other with 
 increased gratification. " 'Tis as well 
 conceived a plot as was ever thought of. 
 Then how shall we do with Raleigh 
 when the other is put out of the way ?" 
 
 " Methinks we shall have some diffi- 
 culty to get him to commit himself, be- 
 cause of his exceeding prudence," an- 
 swered Cecil. " He will in no way anger 
 the queen if he can help it, if she forgive 
 him his foolishness in marrying of Eliza- 
 beth Throckmorton : therefore he shall 
 not be made to lose his influence at court 
 so easily as may at first be thought. We 
 must either build upon her majesty's vari- 
 able humor, or await a better opportunity. 
 At least, we will do what we can ; and, 
 in the meantime, by persuading of the 
 Scottish king that Raleigh and Cobham 
 are ever in opposition to his succession 
 that they hold him in small respect, and 
 were foremost in the working of the
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 139 
 
 downfall of my Lord of Essex, he shall 
 acquire such a dislike of them both, that 
 upon the king's coming to these realms, 
 which can not in the course of nature be 
 long first, seeing that the queen waxeth 
 old and sickly exceeding fast, he shall 
 disgrace them and distinguish us. 'Me- 
 thinks even then 'twill be a difficult task 
 to get Raleigh into the doing of such an 
 act as would put his life in jeopardy, 
 though 'tis easy to believe he would be 
 hugely discontented. But I know my 
 brother-in-law Cobham to be vain and 
 weak, and like enough to be so indignant 
 at the slight which would be put upon 
 him by the Scottish king, as to be readily 
 drawn into any treasonable conspiracy, 
 into the which 'tis natural enough to 
 believe he would presently seek to draw 
 his friend ; whereupon, if Raleigh will 
 have no share in it, I doubt not being 
 able to make it appear as if he was a 
 principal, which shall be quite sufficient 
 to bring him to such a trial as must needs 
 end in the lopping off of his head." 
 
 " O' my life ! never heard I any scheme 
 possessed of so wonderful a cunning!" 
 exclaimed his companion, as if in a mon- 
 strous admiration. " In my mind is there 
 no doubt of the very completeness of our 
 success." 
 
 " All that be necessary to secure it is 
 a sufficient secresy," added Sir Robert. 
 " In your letters to Master Bruce seek not 
 to say more than the occasion shall war- 
 rant ; and in all other communications 
 whatsoever take heed to write or speak 
 in such a style as none but the trustwor- 
 thy can make anything of. Appear to 
 all three acting toward them with a suf- 
 ficient friendliness ; and if you say aught 
 to one against the other, let it not appear 
 too officious of you, but the rather lament- 
 ing that there should be anything but 
 harmony betwixt them. By these means 
 shall you gain their confidence, and give 
 no color of suspicion in your actions.' 1 
 
 "I will fail in nothing that infinite dis- 
 like of them can accomplish," answered 
 my Lord Howard. 
 
 "Now will I take these letters to the 
 queen," said his companion, as he took 
 some papers from the table. "If I find 
 her in the mood, which 'tis like she will 
 be, I will essay to move her to Raleigh's 
 liberation, the which if I accomplish, I 
 doubt not by it raising myself so high in 
 his opinion, that he will take me for his 
 best friend ever after ; and give me by 
 his confidence such opportunity as I may 
 want for the furtherance of my plans." 
 
 Upon the saying of this both prepared 
 
 themselves to depart, and soon after went 
 together to court, which was held at no 
 great distance, the queen then staying at 
 Somerset house. Somehow it did hap- 
 pen that as they were journeying in that 
 direction they chanced to meet my Lord 
 Cobham ; and between him and them 
 there were presently such greetings as 
 might have convinced a looker-on that 
 few could be so well disposed toward 
 each other as were Sir Robert Cecil and 
 my Lord Henry-Howard toward my Lord 
 Cobham. Presently Cecil did tell his 
 brother-in-law, in a manner as if his 
 whole heart was in the business, how 
 long and how anxiously he had been 
 seeking for an opportunity to serve their 
 imprisoned friend, and now that he was 
 going to the queen with great hopes of 
 so disposing her toward him, that at the 
 least the accomplishment of his object, 
 which was no other than the liberation of 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, for whom he would 
 at all times strain his utmost, he held him 
 in so high a respect for his many com- 
 mendable qualities, would be achieved 
 at no very distant day. At this my Lord 
 Cobham seemed in a very excess of grati- 
 fication ; and did not proceed on his way 
 before he had expressed himself to that 
 effect. 
 
 "Now will that silly woodcock make 
 such a report of what I have said to his 
 chosen friend," observed Sir Robert to 
 his companion when my Lord Cobham 
 was out of hearing, " that I shall be con- 
 sidered so honest of heart toward Raleigh 
 as to be quickly in high esteem of both. 
 But 'tis with such baits these fine birds 
 are caught." 
 
 They had not made much progress 
 after this, before they observed my Lord 
 Essex, surrounded with a goodly group 
 of some of the highest nobles in the land 
 and men of distinction, in such gallant 
 array as was quite a splendor to behold, 
 bearing it so bravely among them as 
 made it evident he was considered as the 
 very greatest man of them all. He hardly 
 seemed to notice Cecil and his associate, 
 save by a haughty bend of his head, and 
 so little were they cared for by the group, 
 that the two were obliged to content 
 themselves with the road, the pathway 
 being entirely taken up with my Lord 
 Essex's friends, who appeared in no way 
 inclined to make room for them to pass. 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Cecil with some bit- 
 terness, looking after them with an ex- 
 ceeding frowning countenance when they 
 had got some way, " you ruffle it fa- 
 mously, my lord, without doubt ; but high
 
 40 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 as you hold your head, if I make it not 
 lie as low as shall lie that of the meanest 
 man in these kingdoms, then have I 
 strangely mistaken mine own power." 
 
 "A set of pestilent proud fellows!" 
 cried my Lord Howard very indignantly, 
 " to force us into the road ! Nay, if this 
 Essex be not put down shortly, there will 
 be no finding of a pathway for oneself in 
 all the realm, for him and his insolent 
 followers." 
 
 A fevv minutes after, they arrived at 
 Somerset house, where, bidding my Lord 
 Henry Howard tarry in one of the wait- 
 ing-rooms, Sir Robert Cecil went straight 
 to the queen's closet, in which he found 
 her majesty dressed to go on a journey, 
 and seemingly in a very fair humor. 
 Upon saying that he had private business 
 to communicate, the queen instantly did 
 dismiss all her attendants, and sat herself 
 down in some stateliness, to know of 
 what pressing matter it might be, for he 
 was greatly in her confidence. 
 
 "Any news from France?" inquired 
 the queen, "or is Philip of Spain pro- 
 ceeding to any further hostile measures 
 against us?" 
 
 " I have news from France, please your 
 majesty," replied Cecil, "which seemeth 
 to me of the uttermost importance." 
 
 " Ha !" quickly exclaimed her majesty. 
 "Hath the league got the upper -hand ? 
 But God forbid such murderous villains 
 should triumph ! Is the Due de Guise in 
 paramount authority ? But 'tis not to be 
 believed so base and brutal a wretch 
 could be allowed to have sovereign pow- 
 er. Doth not the Huguenots prosper ? Or 
 hath any ill hap come to their gallant 
 leader Henri ?" 
 
 "Please your majesty, my advices are 
 enough to make me despair of my fellow- 
 protestants," answered Sir Robert. " 'Tis 
 reported that Henri is about to change 
 his religion." 
 
 " The traitor !" cried the queen, look- 
 ing exceeding disturbed. "Surely he can. 
 never think of so base a thing as to for- 
 sake the holy protestant cause to become 
 a spiritual vassal of his arch enemy the 
 pope ? 'Tis not to be believed of him." 
 
 " I doubt not, please your majesty, that 
 by this time 'tis already done," observed 
 her companion, then laying some papers 
 before her, added, " here is the corre- 
 spondence of your majesty's agent at the 
 French court, in which will be found the 
 excuses Henri hath made to him for the 
 taking of such a step." 
 
 " What inexcusable villany !" exclaim- 
 ed Elizabeth, seemingly in great anger. ; 
 
 "What horrible ingratitude! After we 
 have sought to serve him in all possible 
 ways, he can show no better return for 
 such goodness, but the doing of this 
 shameful apostacy. We will write to 
 him speedily our opinion of so deplora- 
 ble, so wicked an act: and for these 
 papers, we will look over them at our 
 leisure. What letters are those you have 
 in your hand ?" 
 
 "Please your majesty, they shall be 
 found of very different sort," replied the 
 other. " They relate to a matter in 
 which your majesty is like to be charged 
 with the death of a certain gallant knight, 
 who, having incurred your majesty's dis- 
 pleasure, seemeth to have gone quite dis- 
 traught because he can no longer delight 
 his heart with the marvellous comeliness 
 of your majesty's royal countenance." 
 
 " Alack ! and is it so indeed ?" inquired 
 the queen, with an expression of some 
 concern. " Hath his wits forsook him on 
 that account ? Poor man ! mayhap he is 
 to be pitied. But who is this knight ?" 
 
 " It is one, please your majesty," an- 
 swered Cecil, " who hath doubtless well 
 deserved all he hath got, for 'tis beyond all 
 doubt he hath committed great offence ; 
 but methinks that is, if your majesty will 
 graciously allow your poor servant to 
 think upon such a business that, as he 
 hath suffered very severely, and undoubt- 
 edly hath that opinion of your majes- 
 ty's perfections which be very proper in 
 him to have, your gracious consideration 
 of his offence may not be otherwise than 
 beneficial to him, for it -.an not help ma- 
 king him the more ashamed of what he 
 hath done, whilst the punishment he hath 
 endured must needs keep the fault prop- 
 erly in his remembrance. Please your 
 majesty, it is Sir Walter Raleigh who 
 hath been brought to this pitiable strait." 
 
 " Away with him !" exclaimed Eliza- 
 beth, yet not with any particular anger. 
 "We doubt that he deserves any pity of 
 us whom he hath so foully wronged." 
 
 " Mayhap, if the truth could be come 
 at, please your majesty," said Sir Robert, 
 " she who brought him into the doing of 
 such a wickedness was /the more to 
 blame than he ; for upon perusing of these 
 letters, and from divers other sources, I 
 feel assured that the entireness of his de- 
 votion unto your majesty was so extreme, 
 that he could not, of his own accord, 
 have committed such evil. He was be- 
 guiled into it, as it were." 
 
 "Like enough," replied the queen, 
 " that Elizabeth Throckmorton was vile 
 enough to induce him into any baseness :
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 141 
 
 hut he should have known better than 
 to have tolerated so infamous a crealure. 
 And then to have taken her to wife. Oh, 
 it was villanous !'' 
 
 " Perchance he did it to save her from 
 utter disgrace," observed Cecil. "It is 
 on the face of it, please your majesty, he 
 married her from no hope of advantage. 
 He could get no gain of it. MethinKs, 
 then, he is more to be pitied than blam- 
 ed, or that he should be considered more 
 foolish than ill inclined. But I have a 
 letter here from Master Arthur Gorges 
 one of a creditable testimony that re- 
 la teth to something which hath lately 
 taken place in the Tower, in the which 
 Sir Walter Raleigh did behave very 
 strangely, that seemeth to me to be ex- 
 ceeding proper that your majesty should 
 hear of." 
 
 " We are careless whether you read it 
 or not," said the queen ; yet looking all 
 the while as if she was wonderfully ea- 
 ger to hear it read. " But since you have 
 it in your hand you may as well make us 
 acquainted with its contents." 
 
 Permission had scarcely been given be- 
 fore Sir Robert did commence the perusal 
 of the following : 
 " HONORABLE SIR : 
 
 " I can not choose but advertise you of 
 a strange tragedy that this day had like 
 to have fallen out between the captain of 
 the guard, Sir Walter Raleigh, and the 
 lieutenant of the ordnance, if I had not 
 by great chance come at the very instant, 
 to have turned it into a comedy. For, 
 upon the report of her majesty's being at 
 Sir George Carey's, Sir Walter Raleigh 
 having gazed and sighed a long time at 
 his study window, from which he might 
 discern the barges and the boats about 
 the Blackfriars' stairs ; suddenly he brake 
 into a great distemper, and sware that 
 his enemies had on purpose brought her 
 majesty thither to break his gall in sun- 
 der with Tantalus's torment, that when 
 she went away he might gaze his death 
 before his eyes with many such like 
 conceits. And as a man transported with 
 passion, he sware to Sir George Carew 
 that he would disguise himself, and get 
 into a pair of oars to ease his mind but 
 with a sight of the queen, or else he pro- 
 tested his heart would break. But the 
 trusty jailer woald none of that, for dis- 
 pleasing the high powers, as he said, 
 which he more respected than the feed- 
 ing of his humor ; and so flatly refused 
 to permit him. But in conclusion, upon 
 this dispute they fell flat out to outrage- 
 ous choleric words, with straining and 
 
 struggling at the doors, that all lameness 
 was forgotten, and, in the fury of the con- 
 flict, the jailer had his new perwig torn 
 off his crown ; and yet here the battle 
 ended not, for at last they had gotten out 
 their daggers, which, when I saw, I 
 played the stickler between them, and so 
 purchased such a rap on the knuckles, 
 that I wished both their pates broken ; 
 and so with much ado they stayed their 
 brawl to see my bloody fingers. At the 
 first I was ready to break with laughing, 
 to see them two scramble and brawl like 
 madmen, until I saw the iron walking, 
 and then I did my best to appease the 
 fury. As \ et, I can not reconcile them by 
 any persuasions, for Sir Waiter swears 
 he shall hate him for so restraining him 
 from the sight of his mistress, while he 
 lives; for that he knows not, as he said, 
 whether he shall ever see her again, 
 when she has gone the progress. And 
 Sir George, on his side, swears that he 
 had rather he should lose his longing 
 than he should draw on him her majes- 
 ty's displeasure by such liberty. Thus 
 they continue in malice and snarling ; 
 but I am sure all the smart lighted on me. 
 I can not tell whether I should more al- 
 low of the passionate lover or the trusty 
 jailer. But if yourself had seen it, as I 
 did, you would have been as heartily 
 merry as ever you were in all your life 
 for so short a time. I pray you pardon 
 my hasty written narration which I ac- 
 quaint you with, hoping you will be the 
 peace-maker. But, good sir, let nobody 
 know thereof; for I fear Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh will shortly grow to be Orlando 
 Furioso, if the bright Angelica persevere 
 against him a little longer." 
 
 Queen Elizabeth appeared to listen 
 with marvellous attention while the let- 
 ter was being read, ever and anon smi- 
 ling very prettily, and smirking up her 
 wrinkles after such a fashion as showed 
 she was monstrous well pleased with the 
 whole affair. 
 
 "Well, he must be in a tearing humor, 
 certainly, if he goeth on at such a rate as 
 that," observed the queen, laughingly. 
 "We knew not that our venturing to Sir 
 George Carey's would have caused so 
 terrible to-do, else mayhap we might 
 have changed our course. 'Tis grievous 
 to think Sir Walter Raleigh should take 
 on so on our account, yet hath he none 
 other to thank for it but himself, and the 
 wicked Jesabel he hath married." 
 
 " Then, am I to judge, from what 
 your majesty hath stated, that you will 
 graciously be pleased to give your un-
 
 142 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 happy prisoner his liberty ?" inquired 
 Cecil. 
 
 " Not so fast !" exclaimed her majesty, 
 with a more serious countenance. " We 
 intend naught of the kind, depend on't. 
 'Twould be a fine thing, truly, were we 
 so credulous as to believe all that hath 
 been writ in your friend's letter. How 
 know you not it be all a counterfeit? 
 'Tis like enough the whole affair is mere 
 invention. But we are not juggled so 
 easily as may be supposed of us. We 
 put no faith in fine words. We can not 
 abide flatterers." 
 
 " Ah ! please your majesty," cried Sir 
 Robert, in a wonderful earnestness, "I 
 can not see how there can be anything 
 in the shape of flattery ever presented to 
 your majesty's ear ; for your majesty, it is 
 well known, hath such extraordinary ex- 
 cellences, that however the world may 
 praise, it can not do otherwise than speak 
 the truth." 
 
 " Nay, we are in no way better than 
 the ordinary," replied the queen, as if 
 carelessly, yet well delighted with such 
 language. " By God's good help, we are 
 not badly off in some qualities, yet, doubt- 
 less, have we our faults, nevertheless." 
 
 "If your majesty hath faults, 'tis a 
 marvel to know where they lie," answer- 
 ed her wily companion ; " for many have 
 carefully looked for such, and could get 
 no sight of them, let them search ever so. 
 If it be not thought too bold of me, I 
 would fain present unto your majesty 
 that clemency hath ever been your ma- 
 jesty's brightest attribute: and although 
 this Raleigh hath behaved himself in- 
 famously, which none can gainsay, yet 
 hath he suffered in such a sort" 
 
 "By God's wrath, he shall stay where 
 he is," sharply exclaimed the queen, in- 
 terrupting the other in the very middle 
 of what he had been about to say. 
 
 " Then there is no occasion for me to 
 read your majesty this letter," observed 
 Cecil, turning another letter over and 
 over in his hand. " It is of Sir Walter's 
 own writing tome ; and speaketh of your 
 majesty in such exeeeding delicate terms, 
 that my heart was quite moved at it. But 
 I will put it up, since the perusing of it 
 meeteth not with your majesty's appro- 
 bation." 
 
 " Nay, do not so," cried the queen, as 
 she observed the letter about to disap- 
 pear ; " we care not for its being read, 
 yet if it be worded with a proper respect 
 of us, it can do us no Wrong to hear of 
 it." 
 
 "Indeed, 'tis the very properest pisce 
 
 of writing eye of mine ever beheld* please 
 your majesty," replied Sir Robert; and 
 thereupon proceeded quickly to the peru- 
 sing of what hath here been writ : 
 
 "Sin: 
 
 " I pray you be a mean to her majesty 
 for the signing of the bills for the guards 
 coats, which are to be made now for the 
 progress, and which the clerk of the 
 check hath importuned me to write for. 
 My heart was never broken till this day, 
 that I hear the queen goes away so far 
 off, whom I have followed so many years 
 with so great love and desire in so many 
 journeys, and am now left behind her in 
 a dark prison all alone. While she was 
 yet near at hand, that I might hear of 
 her once in two or three days, my sorrows 
 were the less ; but even now my heart is 
 cast into the depth of all misery. I that 
 was wont to behold her riding like Alex- 
 ander hunting like Diana walking like 
 Venus ; the gentle wind blowing her fair 
 hair about her pure cheeks, like a nyrnph ; 
 sometimes sitting in the shade like a god- 
 dess sometimes singing like an angel 
 sometime playing like Orpheus. Behold 
 the sorrow of this world ! once amiss hath 
 bereaved me of all. O glory ! that only 
 shineth in misfortune, what is become of 
 thy assurance ? All wounds have scars, 
 but that of fantasy ; all affections their 
 relenting, but that of womankind. W ho 
 is the judge of friendship, but adversity ; 
 or when is grace witnessed, but in offen- 
 ces? There were no divinity, but by 
 reason of compassion ; for revenges are 
 brutish and mortal. All those times past, 
 the loves, the sighs, the sorrows, the de- 
 sires, can they not weigh down one frail 
 misfortune ? Can not one drop of gall 
 be hidden in such great heaps of sweet- 
 ness ? I may then conclude, spec et for- 
 luna, valete ! She is gone, in whom I 
 trusted ; and of me hath not one thought 
 of mercy, nor any respect of that that 
 was. Do with me now, therefore, what 
 you list. I am more weary of life than 
 they are desirous that I should perish ; 
 which, if it had been for her, as it is by 
 her, I had been too happily born. 
 
 " Yours, not worthy any name or title, 
 "W. R." 
 
 It was a marvellous sight to observe 
 the countenance of the queen during the 
 perusal of the foregoing. At the first few 
 sentences she seemed moved to a great 
 attention ; when it came to the describing 
 of her riding like Alexander, and the like 
 gross flattery, the sudden flushing of her 
 face showed itself all through her cos- 
 metics ; and at her being likened unto a
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS, 
 
 143 
 
 goddess, an angel, and Orpheus, she sim- ' 
 pered famously, and showed her teeth, 
 which were none of the whitest. But 
 when the writer began to make his 
 dolorous moan, the which Sir Robert 
 read with so pitiful an accent, as if his 
 heart Was a breaking, her majesty look- 
 ed concerned, then piteous, then sorrow- 
 ful, and at the ending of the letter she 
 put up her handkerchief to her eyes ; but 
 whether there Was any likelihood of tears, 
 know I not. 
 
 " Odds pittikins ! it be wonderful mov- 
 ing," exclaimed the queen; "he hath 
 suffered more than we thought of: he 
 shall have some comfort straight. But 
 read that passage again, Sir Robert, that 
 beginneth concerning of our riding like 
 Alexander." 
 
 At this Cecil, with very good expres- 
 sion, read the whole of that dainty piece 
 of extravagance a second time, to the 
 which the queen did lend her ears in a 
 manner that showed she was infinitely 
 pleased at it. 
 
 " Ah ! never was anything so delicately 
 writ," cried her majesty, earnestly; "he 
 hath a good opinion of us, that is a sure 
 thing ; so we must e'en let him out of 
 prison. Go on the instant and ^ee that 
 he have his liberty. ^Tis a crfrel thing 
 to let him suffer what he doth. Indeed, 
 it be exceeding delicately writ." 
 
 It may easily be imagined Cecil lost 
 hut little time in executing of her maj- 
 esty's commands; and to the great joy of 
 all' his friends, and in particular to his 
 beautiful wife, Sir Waller Raleigh left 
 the Tower the same day. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Come, spur away, 
 I have no patience for a longer stay ; 
 
 But must go down, 
 
 And leave the changeable noise of this great town. 
 I will the country see, 
 Where old simplicity, 
 Though hid in gray, 
 Doth look more gay 
 Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad. 
 
 RANDOLPH. 
 
 In thy fair breast, and once fair soul, 
 I thought my vows were writ alone ; 
 
 But others' oaths so blurred the scroll, 
 That I no more could read my own. 
 
 And am I still obliged to pay, 
 
 When you had thrown the bond away? 
 
 SIR ROBERT HOWARD. 
 
 I MUST now hurry the courteous reader 
 a little forward in this my narration, first 
 premising that Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 'hough he had his liberty of the queen, 
 
 was not allowed of her to appear al 
 court, and was still a sort of prisoner at 
 large; the which to Dame Elizabeth, 
 was of huge discomfort, and she was 
 ever urging him to the doing of such 
 honorable deeds and great enterprise as 
 the report thereof might regain for him 
 the queen's favor. Indeed, so^admirable 
 a wife scarce ever lived as she proved 
 herself to be at all times ; for, though the 
 knowledge of his disgrace having come 
 upon him on her account, ever made her 
 monstrously ill at heart, she was intent 
 upon the continual cheering of him, 
 seemingly with such fine spirits as was 
 marvellous to behold, knowing of her 
 unhappiness ; and though it could not be 
 disputed she loved him as her life, and 
 cared for nothing so much as his society, 
 she would in no way allow of his giving 
 such attention to her as might interfere 
 with the carrying on of such great in- 
 tentions as appeared likely to restore him 
 to the honorable influence he had lost. 
 Despite, however, of this seeming dis- 
 paragement of his fortunes, he was chos- 
 en at this time for a parliament man, and 
 soon did so distinguish himself as an 
 orator, in the advancement of all such 
 measures as were for the public good, 
 and for the safety of the state, more par- 
 ticularly in the complete disclosing of* 
 the hateful intrigues and malignant de- 
 signs of Queen Elizabeth's powerful ene- 
 my, the king of Spain, that he won for 
 himself the opinion of many who had 
 thought ill of him hitherto : and though 
 her majesty looked exceeding inveterate 
 against him, and would not hear of his 
 venturing into her presence, this was 
 merely the behavior of an offended wo- 
 man ; for, as a sovereign, she could not 
 help esteeming of his worth, and as a 
 sign thereof, at some solicitation of him, 
 she did grant him the manor of Sher- 
 borne, in Dorsetshire ; a very princely 
 gift, for it did include the castle and park, 
 and a fair piece of land. 
 
 Here did he employ himself delight- 
 edly for some time. He builded, he 
 planted, he sowed with such skilfulness, 
 that the place all around and about be- 
 came quite an earthly paradise. There 
 was soon newly raised a most fine house, 
 bountifully embellished with all manner 
 of orchards, gardens, and groves, so fair 
 to look upon, that for a right delicate 
 aspect, it had not its like in those parts. 
 But his excellent wife would not allow 
 him to be satisfied with these pursuits, 
 doubtless thinking that, surrounded by so 
 many enticing pleasures, his noble spirit
 
 144 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 might sink into indolence, and he should 
 not be able to recover his lost greatness ; 
 therefore he did liberally employ his pen 
 in the writing of such papers to the 
 queen, concerning of the dangers of Eng- 
 land from foreign states, as might put 
 her to a careful regard of her own securi- 
 ty. Though he failed not to accompany 
 them with most moving complaints of 
 the unpleasantness of his situation, in 
 being kept from serving of her majesty 
 in such sort as he desired, while she paid 
 the properest attention to what he stated 
 upon matters of state, she heeded not 
 anything that^ related to his own affairs. 
 In truth, she 'was so taken up with my 
 Lord Essex at this time, that she cared 
 not for the presence of his rival. Yet 
 had she such estimation of Raleigh's 
 insight into the designs of her enemies, in 
 the which her great discrimination in 
 such matters made her a profound judge, 
 that she would receive aught from him, 
 in the way of information, with more 
 respect than she would give even to the 
 opinions of any in greater favor with 
 her. 
 
 Finding that all these endeavors of 
 his availed him nothing, he then com- 
 menced preparations for the going upon 
 a grand expedition, having for its object 
 no other than the discovery and conquest 
 of that wonderful rich country called 
 Guiana, in which was situated, as had 
 been related by many credible writers, 
 that far-famed city styled El Dorado. 
 Now it was the belief of all persons of 
 experience inhabiting the coast of the 
 Spanish main, that there was an inland 
 country abounding in such store of gold 
 and precious things, as exceeded all 
 sober belief among other people. And, 
 moreover, it was said by the Spaniards 
 generally, that upon their conquest of 
 the great empire of Peru, a kinsman of 
 the last reigning inca Atabalipa did 
 make his escape from that country, and 
 taking with him a powerful force, and 
 so wonderful a store of treasure that the 
 like hath never since been heard of, did 
 migrate into a place afar off, where, in 
 the course of time he established for him- 
 self a richer kingdom than that he had 
 left. This new country so abounded 
 with mines of the most precious ore, as 
 was reported, and with other costly 
 things, that the fame of such great riches 
 had stirred up divers Spanish commanders 
 to attempt its conquest; but all had 
 failed, from the lack of such knowledge 
 in them as might lead them to the dis- 
 covery of the exact place where this El 
 
 Dorado might he found. In the mean- 
 while, the fame of such a wealthy coun- 
 try more and more increased, not only 
 among the Spaniards, but it spread from 
 them into other nations ; and among 
 those notable commanders who were 
 ambitious to attempt its discovery and 
 conquest, Sir Walter Raleigh had long 
 been of the foremost. 
 
 He saw at a glance that there was 
 nothing so like to restore him to the 
 queen's favor as the succeeding in so fa- 
 mous an enterprise ; and to the acquiring 
 of the necessary knowledge, and the get- 
 ting of proper assistance from his friends, 
 he now bent all the powers of his mind. 
 With the first of these objects in view, 
 he presently fitted out a ship under the 
 command of one Captain Whiddon, in 
 whom he placed his trust, to obtain such 
 information as he could of Guiana at the 
 island of Trinidad, and make such obser- 
 vations of the coast bordering on the Ori- 
 noco (a famous river in the New World, 
 up which he must go to approach the 
 place he sought), as might be serviceable 
 to him when he proceeded on the voyage. 
 Then for the other object he maie it 
 public that he was about to venture him- 
 self on this alluring expedition, and such 
 was his reputation in these things, that 
 in a marvellous brief space he was ad- 
 dressed by scores of the bravest spirits in 
 the land, eager to join him iu the adven- 
 ture. With his share of the prize taken 
 at the Azores, which, despite of what was 
 seized of the queen and pilfered by the 
 men, amounted to so large a sum, that 
 after the making of all his improvements 
 at Sherborne, he had still enough to spare 
 to commence the procuring of such an 
 armament as seemed to him sufficient for 
 the realizing of his wishes ; in the doing 
 of which it was not long before he had 
 such assistance from those desirous of em- 
 barking with him, that his preparations 
 proceeded so fast as to make him and 
 his adventure the subject of the general 
 talk. 
 
 When the captain whom he had sent 
 out returned from his voyage, the infor- 
 mation he brought, though it spoke of 
 difficulty and danger, in no way abated 
 the eagerness of Sir Walter Raleigh or 
 his associates for the adventure ; and 
 now so well was it entertained of all 
 men, even of those skilled in maritime 
 affairs, and others of too much gravity to 
 be easily misled, that my Lord Howard, 
 the lord high admiral, did send him a ship 
 of his own called the Lion's Whelp, and 
 Sir Robert Cecil did forward him such
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 145 
 
 assistance as was like to stand him in 
 good stead, and both, it hath been sus- 
 pected, not without some coloring of 
 probability, were" done at the command 
 of the queen ; but as if it c.ime of them- 
 eelves, because she would seem as if she 
 would have no hand in it, in consequence 
 ?f his having so hugely offended her in 
 the matter of Elizabeth Throckmorton. 
 By these means there were collected of 
 soldiers and their officers, and .the gen- 
 tlemen-ad venturtrs, as many as a hun- 
 dred, with mariners in sufficiency, and a 
 squadron of five sail well equipped with 
 all manner of warlike stores, and with 
 puch a complement of barges, wherries, 
 ind tenders, as might suffice for the in- 
 land navigation. 
 
 During this time Master Francis had 
 grown to be as gallant a gentleman as 
 you shall see of his years, well taught in 
 all proper accomplishments, and in the 
 possession of a beard which would have 
 put his fitness for " doing the women," 
 completely out of the conceit of Gib the 
 call-boy. He was held in such estimation 
 of Sir Walter Raleigh, for the aptness he 
 displayed in everything, his modesty, and 
 his affectionateness, that Sir Walter seem- 
 ed inclined to stop at nothing for the ad- 
 vancement of his welfare, and his fortunes 
 thus seemed to be in such goodly keeping 
 that it was believed of many none ought 
 to be more happy than he. Yet was he 
 very doleful upon occasion. The more he 
 moved among persons of worship, which 
 he did in some respect of them, in conse- 
 quence of the visible esteem he was held 
 of Sir Walter and his lady, the more the 
 knowledge he had acquired of his birth 
 preyed upon his spirits. That he did ear- 
 nestly pant after honor and distinction 
 there is not a doubt; but, in the extreme 
 sensitiveness of his mind, his illegitimacy 
 came as a bar to his ambition ; and the 
 more he saw of what good opinion he was 
 held in by others, the less did he live in 
 his own repute. Whenever he was in 
 company, and there began a talk about 
 noble descent and the like, the hot blood 
 would rush into his cheek, and he would 
 feel as if well inclined to sink into the 
 pround, so that he might escape the gaze 
 of those around him. To him it were as 
 if all had a suspicion of the disgrace he 
 was born in, and he was continually in 
 fear that some one or other would find 
 him out for what he was, and would be- 
 
 fin a whispering it about, till he should 
 e turned from with coldness, or pointed 
 at with contempt. 
 
 Of Joanna he found himself thinking 
 10 
 
 more often than he desired, For some 
 time after he had seen her last he had 
 heard nothing from her ; then there came 
 to him a letter in her hand, the which he 
 straight returned unopened. After that 
 there came a message from her borne by 
 one whom he knew not, that she earnest- 
 ly desired to have speech of him, of the 
 which he took no heed. Since that he 
 was troubled no more by her ; but he 
 heard of his true friend Harry Daring that 
 she had been seized with a sickness that 
 brought her nigh unto death's door; and 
 it was said by Dame Margery that she 
 was all the while in a violent phrensy that 
 could not in any way be allayed, and that 
 she called upon Master Francis so pite- 
 ously, that old Lather, who attended her, 
 knew not what it all meant. This put 
 the young secretary in some trouble, for 
 though he doubted not of her guiltiness, 
 he had no desire that she should be in such 
 a strait as she then was. Sometimes he 
 would think he had been too hasty, and 
 a doubt would occasionally arise in him 
 that she was not so blameable as she 
 seemed, for what had been said of her by 
 the old woman might not be true. But 
 then he quickly remembered it was so 
 strongly corroborated by what Harry Dar- 
 ing had seen ; and what he had himself 
 been witness to under the gateway, was 
 of such a sort that it was plain her con- 
 duct could not be justified. Upon her re- 
 covery he treated her letter and message 
 as hath been described, and determined 
 in his mind to forget her, as one unwor- 
 thy of a thought ; but forget her he 
 never did. 
 
 It was about this time that Master 
 Francis, baving oft spoken to his patron 
 of the courageous spirit of the barber- 
 chirurgeon's apprentice, did earnestly re- 
 quest of Sir Walter his good offices in 
 providing of the boy, now grown of some- 
 what higher stature, and of great activity, 
 some fitter employment for his courage- 
 ous nature than what he held ; and hav- 
 ing sent for him at his patron's request, 
 the latter was so pleased at Harry Dar- 
 ing's undauntedness that he presently 
 took him .into his service, and had him 
 taught something of maritime affairs, de- 
 signing him to be a petty officer in his 
 projected expedition. At this no one 
 could be in such huge delight as our 
 young barber-chirurgeon. He left East- 
 cheap with an especial contempt of all 
 things appertaining to chirurgery and 
 barbering, and with the particular grati- 
 fication of his masier ; for the tricks the 
 apprentice had played upon his best cus-
 
 146 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 tomers were so frequent and of such a 
 sort that they were quickly destroying of 
 his business. Therefore with marvellous 
 gladness of heart he cancelled his inden- 
 tures, and was well pleased to get rid of 
 him at so cheap a rate: but Harry Dar- 
 ing went not without displaying of his 
 love of mischief, or as he called it, " ex- 
 quisite fine fun," in a manner best suited 
 to his humor at such a time. He played 
 such confusion among the medicaments 
 as must sadly have puzzled old Lather 
 to know what he had hold of when 
 he should next meddle with them ; for 
 he mixed the liniments with the juleps, 
 the syrups with the acids, and the purga- 
 tives with the carminatives. Then he 
 notched the razors, broke off the points 
 of the lancets, cut the brushes in such a 
 fashion that upon being used all the bris- 
 tles should fall out, and set a shelf of gal- 
 lipots so insecure that on the slightest 
 touch of his master they should all tum- 
 ble on his head. After this he parted 
 with the old man in a wonderful gravity, 
 but from the time he got out of sight of 
 him, up to his joining of Master Francis, 
 he kept himself in a continual chuckle 
 of delight at the thought of the mon- 
 strousness of old Lather's rage upon his 
 discovering of what he had been at. 
 
 When he found himself with his true 
 friend Master Francis he seemed as hap- 
 py as his heart could be, for that he loved 
 him with a perfect sincerity was out of all 
 question. His friend was some few years 
 the elder of the two, and was looked up 
 to by him as something much superior to 
 himself, because of his superior learning 
 and the gentlemanliness of his appear- 
 ance. Though he sought as much as he 
 was able to keep down the mischievous 
 propensities of the other, and Harry Dar- 
 ing seemed as if he would do anything to 
 pleasure him, he had no great success in 
 his efforts, for Harry was always a play- 
 ing of some tricks upon the serving-men, 
 whereof there were few who liked him 
 much at first, but before a very long time 
 he had cudgelled them all into respect 
 of him ; and once when Peter had come 
 with his master, Sir Nicholas Throck 
 morton, a visiting at Sherborne, and that 
 quarrelsome varlet had began a bullying 
 of Harry Daring for having chalked an 
 ass's head upon his back while he was 
 asleep, Harry straightway challenged 
 him to a bout at quarter staff, and in 
 half of an hour or less, had given the big 
 fellow such a drubbing that he was fain 
 to cry out he had had enough of him, 
 But such was the greatness of his spirit 
 
 that upon very little occasion he would 
 Eight like a dragon with any one, or any 
 number, be they big or little, and he 
 seemed as if he would rather die than 
 give in. He constantly exercised himself 
 with Master Francis in the firing of pis- 
 tols, guns, in the use of the sword, and 
 other warlike amusements, in which he 
 quickly attained great practice, and he 
 took care that he should hart him not; 
 but if he was a fencing with any othei 
 for whom he cared but little, depend on't 
 he would give him a sly cut, and then put 
 on a face of such concern at the accident, 
 that every one believed he had not done 
 it on the purpose. 
 
 With Stephen Shortcake, who had 
 now become Sir Walter's steward, though 
 he rated him famously when he found 
 him at such things as driving of all the 
 cocks together and setting them a fight- 
 ing or getting of the dogs to worry the 
 bull or tying of the tail of the old sow 
 to that of a cat, and while the one 
 scratched the other with a hideous 
 screeching, the old sow took to her heels 
 a grunting at such a rate that the whole 
 neighborhood was in an uproar, and he 
 upon the back of a jackass, without any 
 other bridle than a halter, hunted them 
 over the fields, whipping of his steed, a 
 laughing, and hallooing like mad his 
 fearlessness made him somewhat of a 
 favorite, the which grew to a greater 
 liking when, as he was returning from 
 a neighboring fair, the old man was set 
 upon by thieves, and as they were a rifling 
 of him, up came Harry Daring with his 
 cudgel, and he so belabored them that 
 one was left for dead, and the rest, sorely 
 bruised, took themselves off with such 
 speed of foot that they presently were 
 gone clean out of sight. This piece of 
 good service Stephen Shortcake never 
 forgot, and told Sir Walter of it, and ev- 
 ery one else he could, to the great credit 
 of his defender ; nay, when complaints 
 were made to him of such mischief as 
 the young rogue would oft do, he would 
 hush it up as well as he could, that it 
 might not come to the ears of his master. 
 
 Once Harry Daring was a walking 
 along the high road by himself, anxious 
 for some sport, he cared not of what sort, 
 he met an old woman in a red cloak a 
 going to market, seated on the top of a 
 high horse between two panniers full of 
 eggs ; and walking by the side of her, he 
 very soberly entered into a discourse upon 
 the price of butter and cheese and such 
 things ; when all of a sudden he fired a 
 pistol close unto the horse's ear, at the
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 147 
 
 which the animal set off full gallop, 
 pitching of the old woman head foremost 
 into a neighboring ditch, and shaking of 
 the panniers till the eggs were all of a 
 smash. .After laughing heartily, he pres- 
 ently lifted the old dame out of the ditch, 
 luckily in no way hurt, yet in as com- 
 plete a pickle as was possible for her to be 
 in ; and, much lamenting of the accident, 
 he caught her horse, which he brought to 
 her to mount ; but when she saw all her 
 eggs a streaming through the panniers, 
 and Dobbin's sides as yellowas a piece 
 of gold, she would have none of his lam- 
 entations, and on the instant broke out 
 into such a fury as might have been ter- 
 rible for any one else to have looked upon. 
 Of this he took no heed ; but quickly 
 began abusing of her in return, after so 
 aggravating a fashion, that she ran at 
 him to give him a good clouting, where- 
 upon he dodged her round the horse till 
 he made her legs ache again, laughing 
 all the time, as if he had never had such 
 excellent pastime ; and when he had 
 made sufficient sport of her, he took a 
 quick run, and making a leap over the 
 hedge close by which she stood, to her 
 great astonishment vanished from her 
 sight. However, it so happened that she 
 found out where he lived, and she soon 
 came in a desperate rage, and with a 
 woful tale, to Stephen Shortcake, who, 
 rather than Sir Walter Raleigh should 
 hear of it, paid her handsomejy out of his 
 own gains for the damage she had been 
 at, which sent her away in a better hu- 
 mor ; but he allowed not Harry to get 
 off from this mischievous trick of his 
 without speaking to him severely upon 
 the very heinousness of such doings, and 
 showing him how like it was to lose him 
 Sir Walter's favor, at the which the boy 
 expressed such great contrition, with so 
 very innocent a face, that the old steward 
 was charmed with him, and gave him a 
 cup of choice old wine to warm his young 
 heart, as he said. Nevertheless, his con- 
 trition lasted not long, for the very next 
 day Gabriel and Roger, two of the ser- 
 viug-men, fell into the brook, because of 
 the plank going across having been sawn 
 nearly through ; and although upon close 
 investigation it was found out nobody had 
 done it, that it was a trick of Harry Dar- 
 ing's contrivance none doubted. During 
 this time he discoursed frequently with 
 Master Francis and others upon what he 
 would do when he was a venturing of 
 himself in foreign parts : for the intended 
 adventure in search of El Dorado suited 
 his humor to a nicety, and he spoke of 
 
 the exquisite fine fun he should have in 
 the killing of Spaniards, with a wonder- 
 ful degree of pleasantness, as if all other 
 pastimes were as naught to it. 
 
 Now that preparations for the expedi- 
 tion were so far advanced, there was a 
 large party of the gentlemen-adventurers 
 and the principal officers met at Sher- 
 borne, and with them a many of Sir Wal- 
 ter's choicest friends, to take leave of 
 him. For two or three days these, his 
 guests, were kept in the constant enjoy- 
 ment of such pleasures as the country 
 afforded. There was hunting and hawk- 
 ing for some, and others seemed to take 
 most delight in going a fishing: the 
 dainty walks, the delicate orchards, the 
 flowery gardens, and the solitary groves, 
 did invite many to a stroll, where, as the 
 gallants with their ladies passed along, 
 mayhap they would come to a party of 
 country people, dressed up very famously, 
 dancing of a morrice to the pipe and 
 tabor, or on a sudden their ears should be 
 ravished with a concert of concealed 
 music from all manner of sackbuts, cor- 
 nets, flutes, and the like pleasant instru- 
 ments. Then, when they got into the 
 solitary groves, they should hear voices 
 singing of a roundelay, and none could 
 tell whence they came, which made them 
 all marvel exceedingly. In the evening 
 there was dancing and singing of madri- 
 gals among the guests; and some did act 
 in masques marvellous well devised, and 
 others played them on the lute, the vir- 
 ginals, and the theorbo, to the complete 
 enrapturing of the whole company : be- 
 sides which there were some of the best 
 musicians who could be had for money, 
 and they were placed in different rooms, 
 and, when desired, struck up most ex- 
 cellent sweet music. 
 
 Among the company there came the 
 merry Alice and her lovers, and she being 
 desirous of vexing them as much as possi- 
 ble for her own especial amusement, did 
 dance oft and very lovingly with Master 
 Francis, and appear wonderfully taken 
 with him ; and he, with a courteousness 
 that was natural to him, though his heart 
 was not in it, at her requesting, did play 
 the lover to her in jest, paying her such 
 close attention as moved them all into a 
 wondrous jealousy. Dr. Bashful sat him- 
 self in a corner, and would have speech 
 of no one, he was so disturbed at the 
 sight ; others looked on exceeding mel- 
 ancholy and dejected : and Sir Narcissus 
 Wrinkles, my Lord Wiseacre, and Mas- 
 ter Aniseed, did get into such a rage, that 
 after remarking unto each other the
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 strange familiarities of the young heiress 
 wi.h Master Francis, it was resolved 
 amongst them, that each should send him 
 a challenge, not doubting that one or other 
 should kill him, and so the survivors 
 have the better chance. The next ques- 
 tion was, who was to lake the challenge ; 
 and whilst they were debating upon it, 
 who should come up to them but Master 
 Shakspeare, whom they all knew; and 
 they instantly agreed it should be no other. 
 
 'By Tartarus!" exclaimed Sir Nar- 
 cissus, to him, " you are come in the 
 vry nick of time to do us three a mar- 
 vellous piece of service." 
 
 " Then have I come at the proper- 
 est time I could have chosen," replied 
 Master Shakspeare, very merrily. "What 
 want you of me, my masters? Hast got 
 ever a message for a pretty woman ? if 
 so, I will do my best she shall like either 
 the message or messenger, so that she 
 should be well pleased to hear more by 
 the same conveyance." 
 
 "Nay, it be a graver matter, I do as- 
 sure you," said my Lord Wiseacre, with 
 a monstrous serious countenance. "Jest 
 not at Death, else he may make your wit 
 come to a sorry ending. You must know 
 that a lady of no indifferent comeli- 
 ness" 
 
 "By this sword!" cried Master Ani- 
 seed, interrupting of the other, " she be 
 of such wonderful blessed condition that 
 the enamored air feedeth on the delicacy 
 of her most absolute beauty, as" 
 
 " By Charon, she be the very sort of 
 creature for any of us youth to love !" 
 exclaimed Sir Narcissus. " And she 
 hath given me such abundance of her 
 favor as to tell me she could not abide 
 men in general, but that a young fellow 
 of my years was more entertaining to her 
 than many others of riper age." 
 
 " And of me she hath said that the 
 very look of my face maketh her smile," 
 observed my lord. "And it must be 
 known unto you that women only smile 
 upon those they most affect. They that 
 be pleased shall have reason for smiling." 
 
 " Smile !" cried Master Aniseed, in a 
 seeming ecstasy, " never did the cerulean 
 heavens in sapphire beauteousness shine 
 out on this terraqueous globe, as did this 
 paragon of prodigal attractions smile on 
 me, while, to her ever-attentive ear, I 
 poured out the infinite eloquence of my 
 unfathomable affection. Nay, I would 
 take upon me to swear, by the very ever- 
 lastingness of my fantasy that she hath 
 as great regard for the many inconceiva- 
 ble fine qualities I have made manifest 
 
 to her, as you shall find in a rat for. a 
 piece of rusty bacon that has been a lit- 
 tle roasted at the fire." 
 
 "Well, I dispute not what hath been 
 said," observed the old knight, " but by 
 Cerberus and all his heads ! if she loved 
 not me as any pretty woman might regard 
 one so young and active as ami, then 
 know I not what loving be. However, 
 up comes this pestilent varlet, Master 
 Francis" 
 
 " Master Francis !" exclaimed Master 
 Shak&peare, in some surprise. 
 
 " A paltry secretary," added the retired 
 rat-catcher, with a look of monstrous con- 
 tempt. 
 
 " A mere boy," said my Lord Wiseacre, 
 disdainfully, although he was not many 
 years his senior. 
 
 " By gloomy Styx !" cried Sir Narcis- 
 sus, "if he be a boy then am I one like- 
 wise, for methinks we are much of an 
 age: but whether or no, he hath had the 
 abominable effrontery to thrust himself 
 into the notice of Mistress Alice"- 
 
 " Speak you of Mistress Alice Throck- 
 morton, my masters ?" inquired Master 
 Shakspeare, who now began to have some 
 insight into the matter. 
 
 "You have her name of a surety," re- 
 plied my Lord Wiseacre, very gravely. 
 "A good memory misnameth nothing." 
 
 "Ah, 'tis the delectable she herself," 
 added Master Aniseed, with a great earn- 
 estness. " The incomparable dainty 
 sweet creature, who hath such super- 
 lative excellences of condition that" 
 
 " And so we, being filled with indigna- 
 tion at his monstrous impudency," said 
 Sir Narcissus, assuming a very fierce 
 aspect, " have resolved to punish him as 
 the fellow deserveth of us, and would de- 
 sire of you, from us three, to challenge 
 him to a combat of life or death, if that 
 he do not instantly give up all claim to 
 her hand, and take himself straightaway 
 from her society : and, by the god of war ! 
 you may tell him from me, he had best 
 provide him a coffin, for I will leave him 
 not while there be any life in his pestilent 
 body." 
 
 " I will slay him outright," cried my 
 Lord Wiseacre. " A dead lover giveth 
 no cause for jealousy." 
 
 "He shall die before me like unto a 
 rat after a dose of nux vomica," exclaim- 
 ed Master Aniseed. 
 
 "But it seemeth to me you know noth- 
 ing of this person," observed Master 
 Shakspeare, very seriously. " You sure- 
 ly can have no knowledge of his true 
 character, else would you as soon fighi
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 149 
 
 with the devil as fight with him. For all 
 that he look so quiet, there liveth not so 
 deadly a swordsman in the queen's do- 
 minions. He is so cunning of fence that 
 no man can do him any hurt. Indeed, I 
 can say of my own knowledge, that a 
 great fellow of a Frenchman, who had 
 boasted of his skill at the weapon, he 
 challenged, and after a few passes he 
 left him dead at his feet. In private 
 quarrel I have heard that he hath kill- 
 ed at least a score. Nay, I know of a 
 surety, he be so bloody-minded that he 
 maketh it a rule to kill all who oppose 
 him." 
 
 At the hearing of this alarming intel- 
 ligence the three did look infinitely un- 
 easy, and there was a dead silence for the 
 space of some seconds, each one looking 
 at the face of the other as if he expected 
 of him to speak; and Master Shakspeare 
 gazing upon all, as if watching the effect 
 of what he had said. 
 
 'He be nothing better than a paltry 
 secretary !" cried Master Aniseed, at last, 
 with a wonderful disdain, " therefore is 
 he no fit opponent for a gentleman." 
 And then the rat-catcher's son marched 
 himself off very haughtily. 
 
 "I will have naught to do with such 
 boys," observed my Lord Wiseacre, in 
 seeming great contempt. " He that would 
 be wise consorteth only with they that 
 have wisdom." And away went he after 
 a like fashion as his companion. 
 
 "By Medusa and all her horrid snakes, 
 he be a murderous villain, and I will have 
 none of him,' 1 exclaimed Sir Narcissus 
 Wrinkles, in. a sort of terrible indignation, 
 and off he started. 
 
 When Master Shakspeare had suffi- 
 ciently laughed at the success of his ex- 
 periment, he went in search of Master 
 Francis, whom, after some trouble, he 
 found in an adjoining room, dancing of a 
 gullard with the merry Alice, so grace- 
 fullv, and with such spirit, that it was 
 the admiration of the whole company. 
 Upon the conclusion of it, his partner 
 hurried away, as she said, to make Dr. 
 Bashful dance with her a coranto, because 
 she knew he could not dance at all. 
 Master Shakspeare found no difficulty in 
 drawing of his young friend out of the 
 crowd, through the glass door, into the 
 open air, where, as they walked together, 
 he told him of what Mistress Alice's 
 )overs had said of him, and how he had 
 made them so marvellous fearful that they 
 would as soon take a mad bull by the 
 horns as meddle wiih him. Whereat 
 the young secretary could not help smi- 
 
 ling ; for his companion took off their 
 several humors so capitally. 
 
 " I congratulate you that you are on 
 such excellent terms with Mistress Alice," 
 said Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " Indeed, 'tis very good of her she should 
 take such notice of me," replied Master 
 Francis ; " but she does it at present mere- 
 ly to vex these fellows who are after her, 
 knowing that she hath a fortune." 
 
 " Methinks you have had a lucky es- 
 cape with that Joanna," observed the 
 other; and at the mention of her name, 
 the youth's cheek became of a sudden 
 paleness. "I must say I had a better 
 opinion of her, for she did appear to me, 
 although acting with great imprudence, 
 considering of her acknowledged fond- 
 ness for you, one of a far superior nature 
 than the ordinary." 
 
 " I knew not you were acquainted with 
 her," said his companion, rather tremu- 
 lously. 
 
 " I knew of her but little, and that was 
 before I had knowledge of your intimacy 
 with her," answered his friend; "and 
 though, from what I saw, I did tremble 
 for your happiness, I could not believe 
 she was so bad as she hath proved her- 
 self, till calling upon her father a short 
 time since to make me a doublet, I found 
 him like one that is crazed ; and inqui- 
 ring of the old woman of the house, I 
 learned, to my absolute astonishment, 
 that Joanna had suddenly disappeared, 
 taking with her her things, and gone no 
 one knew where. But the old dame 
 hinted to me that there was very good 
 reason for her taking of herself away ; 
 for that, 10 her certain knowledge, she 
 could not stay in the house much longer 
 without disgracing of herself and her 
 family." 
 
 "Lost, misguided creature ["exclaimed 
 Master Francis, with great earnestness; 
 " how hath she fallen from that high 
 opinion in which I once held her. I do 
 [ assure you, Master Shakspeare, that there. 
 j was a time, when she showed to rae as 
 i noble a heart as ever woman possessed. 
 She did me many kindnesses many great 
 | kindnesses, and I could not but love her, 
 she appeared to me of so loveable a na- 
 i ture. Alack ! 'tis a most piteous thing 
 I she should have so changed for the worse, 
 ! I have been monstrously deceived in her, 
 and never will I put my trust in woman 
 again." 
 
 " This is ill said, Master Francis," ob- 
 served the other, seriously, "and I doubt 
 | not you will live to unsay it. There can 
 not be a more gross injustice than the
 
 150 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 condemning of ihe whole sex, because 
 one hath been found at fault. Believe 
 me, there is that excellence in woman 
 which exceedeth your conception and 
 mine too. In fact, her extreme goodness, 
 her enduring patience, her wonderful 
 kindness of heart, and the exquisite 
 sweetness of her regard fur the one she 
 doth most affect, is a marvel, and will 
 remain a marvel to the end of time." 
 
 Soon after this they returned to the 
 dancing-room, where they arrived just in 
 time to see the conclusion of Mistress 
 Alice's coranto with Dr. Bashful, which 
 every one had crowded to see, it was of 
 so amusing a sort. There was the merry 
 Alice, with as serious a face as if she had 
 never laughed in her life, going through 
 the graceful figure of the dance, with the 
 young divine, one with an* exceeding 
 grave countenance, and with a habit be- 
 coming his profession, who, with his face 
 in a constant blushing, his arms a trem- 
 bling so they seemed about to drop from 
 his shoulders, and his feet a shuffling 
 along as though they knew not where 
 they should go, tried to get through it as 
 well as he could. His awkwardness was 
 most ridiculous, and the gravity of his 
 appearance not the less so; and as he 
 occasionally heard the suppressed titter- 
 ing around him, with a perfect conscious- 
 ness that he was the object of it, he 
 seemed as if he would gladly have given 
 all he was worth to have been at the bot- 
 tom of the sea. When it was over, he 
 received the congratulations of his fair 
 partner at the grace with which he had 
 conducted himself, and heard the like 
 praise from other ladies, who 'helped to 
 carry on the jest, with a sort of hysterical 
 laugh, and stared, as though he knew 
 not the parties who spoke ; and making 
 haste to break away from the mischiev- 
 ous circle, he took himself out of the 
 room as fast as he could ; but not with- 
 out first laying of his length on the floor, 
 irom stumbling over the feet of an old 
 lady who was sitting down to rest her- 
 self. 
 
 Supper was served in the great hall, a 
 famous large chamber, with a goodly 
 roof of carved cedar, very lofty, and 
 pleasant to look up to, and the walk 
 hung round with old battleaxes, helmets, 
 bucklers and swords ; and there were 
 tables laid all along, and at the top was 
 a raised dais, at which sat Sir Walter 
 and Dame Elizabeth ; and at each side 
 sat the guests, a lady between two gen- 
 tlemen, the whole length to the salt, 
 which was as gallant a sight as eye 
 
 could wish to see ; and there was brought 
 on every delicacy that could be had, and 
 wines and liquors of every sort ; and all 
 feasted merrily, and ihejest went round, 
 and the laugh followed, and there was 
 such a flashing of bright eyes, and such 
 a wagging of beards, as had not been 
 seen there for many a day. It so hap- 
 pened that, when the whole company 
 seemed in the finest of possible humors 
 Master Shakspeare, after filling of the 
 silver goblet he had before him with 
 choice Muscovadine, stood upon his legs, 
 as if about to say something ; and as he 
 was well known of all for the noble 
 creature he was, there was presently such 
 a silence as you might have heard a pin 
 drop. 
 
 " Methinks we lack something, my 
 masters," said he", looking rpund upon 
 the long lines of gallant gentlemen and 
 lovely dames who were gazing upon his 
 admirable countenance with mingled 
 feelings of curiosity and respect. "We 
 have been somewhat amiss in our beha- 
 vior. Our worshipful host hath pro- 
 vided us of his own bountiful nature, 
 with all things necessary for our delight* 
 and with such store of delicates as must 
 have been equally refreshing unto the 
 eye as the palate. Yet, hitherto, have 
 we enjoyed all and said naught. May- 
 hap, if you give a dog a bone, if he wag 
 not his tongue he shall wag his tail, in 
 token that the kindness be not lost on 
 him ; but we have had each thing that 
 heart could desire, and we have wagged 
 nothing but our beards. Of a truth, this 
 seemeth not to be holding the giver of 
 the feast in proper esteem. Under favor 
 I would say, it hath but an ungrateful 
 look. Another thing 'tis not unknown 
 unto us, that our excellent and most lib- 
 eral host goeth on the morrow on a dan- 
 gerous adventure across the wide seas, 
 and far away into foreign lands seeking 
 of great perils, and having such great 
 ends in view as, to those who know not 
 the greatness of his spirit, seem impossi- 
 ble to be achieved ; and yet no man hath 
 said to him, ' God speed you !' Among 
 so many brave captains and princely gen- 
 tlemen, is there not one who hath such 
 proper estimation of the pleasure he hath 
 enjoyed as to be able to speak his thank- 
 fulness, or careth so little for him who 
 gave it, as to seem indifferent as to his 
 safety in his dangerous undertaking ? I 
 will not think of you so unkindly. I see 
 a different spirit in your looks. Like 
 enough, all are ready to do this proper 
 office, but wait in hopes of one appearing
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 151 
 
 who will express their inclinations after j 
 a belter fashion than could they of .their 
 own accord. 
 
 " Gladly will I do this office for you," 
 continued Master Shakspeare, when the 
 applause which followed the close of the 
 last sentence, and plainly said it was him 
 they wished to speak for them, had sub- 
 sided. " Yet can not I help thinking that 
 there be many of this noble company fit- 
 ter than a poor player to discourse of the 
 courtesies of so gallant a knight, and to 
 give him God speed in such terms as so 
 brave a commander properly meriteth ; 
 but I who have put so many speeches 
 into the mouths of others, now must 
 needs put what should have been anoth- 
 er man's speech into mine own. If it 
 wanted naught but friendliness in the 
 speaker, methmks I could not fail in the 
 speech ; for I will allow of no man 
 acknowledging a greater regard for his 
 truly famous virtues than do I. Then, at 
 once, I will begin by saying, as the 
 mouthpiece of all present, that the enter- 
 tainment we have been furnished with 
 hath been of that princely sort which 
 could not come of a less prodigal dispo- 
 sition than the giver possesseth. But as 
 I can never hope to do it justice, I will 
 e'en let it alone, only saying, that like 
 unto the bountifulness of his hospitality 
 would we show the bouatifulness of our 
 gratitude, could we express the one as 
 well as he hath done the other. 
 
 " And now be it known unto you, that 
 he of whom I have been speaking is in- 
 clined to play the part of Jason, and is 
 about to set off in search of another golden 
 fleece. Shall we not pray for him and 
 his adventurous band of argonauts, and 
 hope for them success in their efforts, 
 and security in their perils ? If, to have 
 for their leader as skilful a commander 
 as ever led men to victory is the proper- 
 est thing to secure their fortunate return- 
 ing, they have it. If an honorable mind, 
 a courageous spirit, and a heart well dis- 
 posed toward every one who shareih with 
 him in the dangers, are at all necessary 
 for their succeeding, they have them. If j 
 knowledge in all things appertaining to 
 matters of warfare on sea or land is re- 
 quisite for the complete realizing of their 
 hopes, out o.f all manner of doubt they 
 have it. In short- they have, in their 
 commander, every one thing that could , 
 at all assist them in making success j 
 their own ; and none of us are there here j 
 who feel not satisfied that such success 
 will be theirs. This being our farewell 
 of this heroic leader, we must not allow j 
 
 the night to wane without the taking of 
 a parting cup. Therefore fill my mas- 
 ters, I pray you, every one his cup tb the . 
 brirn, and join with me in drinking, with 
 a true heart, to the health of Sir Waltei 
 Raleigh, wiih our earnest wishes fof'the 
 prosperity of his expedition in search of 
 the famous El Dorado." 
 
 Master Shakspeare tossed off his 
 draught in the instant, and he was quick- 
 ly followed by the whole of the worship- 
 ful company amid a very uproar of ap- 
 plause, and then Sir Walter did rise, and 
 spoke very much to the purpose concern- 
 ing of his thankfulness for the honor that 
 had been done him and the like, and he 
 launched out into exceeding commenda- 
 tion of Master Shakspeare, which was 
 well received of all ; and then he proposed 
 his health, which was acceded to with 
 great heartiness. And so they kept a 
 drinking of healths till it grew into the 
 morning ; and at last separated every 
 one with Wonderful regret at the parting 
 with Sir Walter Raleigh, but with an 
 equal degree of satisfaction at the enter- 
 ment they had received. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Whene'er the skilful youth discoursed or writ, 
 
 Still did the notions throng 
 
 About his eloquent tongue, 
 Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit. 
 
 COWLEY. 
 
 Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune, , 
 And will awake him from his melancholy. 
 
 ' SH AKSPE ARE. 
 
 I would leave kingdoms, were I queen of some, 
 To dwell with thy good father ; for, the son 
 Bewitching me so deeply with his presence, 
 He that begot him must do't ten times more. 
 
 MASSING EB. 
 
 Sm WALTER RALEIGH sailed from 
 Plymouth in the Lion's Whelp, accom- 
 panied only by a small bark, because of 
 the other ships- and pinnaces not being 
 ready at the appointed time, and he 
 stretched out to Teneriffe, giving orders 
 they were to overtake him there. Among 
 others who had come on board of Sir Wal- 
 ter's vessel was Simon Mainsail, as chief 
 gunner, and between him and Harry 
 Daring there was presently a huge liking, 
 because of the boy's apparent great cour- 
 age, and his eagerness to be taught of all 
 matters relating to maritime affairs, and 
 of the old man's wonderful experience in 
 such things. The former seemed of a 
 sudden to lose his relish for mischief in 
 the strictness of his attention to the gain-
 
 152 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 ing of this knowledge, and he would go 
 over every part of the ship to know its 
 use, and be familiar with it ; then he 
 would handle the ropes and the sails, till 
 he w*s as well acquainted with their ap- 
 plication as was any ; and as for climb- 
 ing, he had scarce been at sea a week 
 before he would ascend to the topmast 
 yards with such nirnbleness and fearless- 
 ness that none would follow him, and all 
 were in dread of his falling. He seemed 
 to like nothing so much as to hear the 
 old mariner tell of the dangers he had 
 passed ; of the terrible storms he had 
 seen; and of the fearful fights he had 
 been in ; and it appeared as if Simon 
 Mainsail liked nothing so much as to talk 
 of them. Often and often would they 
 two get together, mayhap sitting on the 
 breech of a gun, as the goodly ship was 
 a ploughing the waves in right admira- 
 ble fashion, and whilst the boy, wrapt up 
 in the very earnestness of his attention, 
 gazed upon the veteran's honest weather- 
 beaten face, the latter would discourse in 
 his homely yet stirring manner upon the 
 great store of riches the Spaniards had 
 acquired in the New World, and how 
 many brave spirits had enriched them- 
 selves by plundering of their ships and 
 sacking of their towns, till the boy, en- 
 tering into the excitement of his com- 
 panion, would cry out in the midst of the 
 narration, "By Gog and Magog, what 
 exquisite fine fun !" 
 
 "You see, Harry," continued the chief 
 gunner, " these same villain Spaniards 
 are the most treacherous craft as you 
 shall find anywhere they be the sav- 
 agest, rascalliest, falsest set of caitiffs 
 that ever warped out of this world into 
 t'other, and it be but the doing of God's 
 good work to sink the whole crew, if per- 
 adventure they could be met within one 
 ship. There be no telling of what horrid 
 cruelties they have practised upon the 
 poor Indians when they came aboard of 
 them in their own country, from the which, 
 being but simple, and not having so much 
 as an harquebus among the whole lot, 
 much less any piece of ordnance, the poor 
 Indians were soon driven out, and rifled 
 of all their gold and of every one thing 
 they possessed. Well, in the wake of 
 this the Spaniards built themselves fine 
 towns along the coast of the Spanish 
 main, which, what with the plunder they 
 had of the natives, and what they got out 
 of the mines for I have heard it said 
 that in those parts the earth be solid 
 gold they soon became so monstrous 
 rich that they sent fleets of huge ships 
 
 every year to Spain laden with bars of 
 gold and silver." 
 
 "It would serve them but righi, me- 
 thinks, could any of our ships meet with 
 such, and spoil them as they had done 
 the Indians," observed Harry Daring. 
 
 "It hath been done scores of times,' 
 replied Simon Mainsail. "Nay, I have 
 more than once given a helping hand in 
 the business. Many of their tall masts 
 have I sent by the board, and I have 
 made such havoc upon their decks as 
 would have been pitiful to look upon, 
 had they been anything but the monstrous 
 villains they be. Then comes the board- 
 ing ; and I promise you I never lagged 
 astern at that. I tell you, Harry, 'tis a 
 wonderful fine thing to have sight of these 
 galleons of theirs, every one with three 
 decks, sailing along as proudly as if they 
 were the castles of some prince or anoth- 
 er, that would not consort with vessels 
 of meaner quality; but presently we in 
 our craft, that seemed unto them like 
 cockle-shells to a Gallego boat, gave 
 chase, and accosted them more familiarly 
 than pleased their mightiness. At them 
 we went with every gun as could be 
 brought to bear, sweeping them into the 
 sea after such a sort as they knew not 
 what to make of; and then, if perchance 
 they allowed us to get upon their decks 
 before they struck, up we came clamber- 
 ing like so many cats, caring no more for 
 their fire than if they had naught but 
 popguns ; and then there was such cut- 
 ting and slashing and pistolling ; driving 
 of them here and slaughtering of them 
 there ; now on the upper deck and now 
 on the lower ; pinning them to the bul- 
 warks with our pikes, or sending of them 
 headlong down the hatchway with our 
 pieces, till we had got the ship in our 
 possession, and the captain had sung out 
 for quarter." 
 
 "What would I have given to have 
 had a share in such glorious doings!" 
 exclaimed Harry in huge delight. " In- 
 deed, methinks there can be nothing like 
 the killing of Spaniards. By Gog and 
 Magog ! I am in a monstrous impatience 
 to be at them, and if I kill not a score or 
 two at least before any long time is past, 
 I shall grow exceeding dull at heart." 
 
 " But you have not heard all, mess- 
 mate, "said the old mariner, looking well 
 pleased at the boy's eagerness. " Having 
 secured our prisoners, we had next to look 
 after the cargo ; and there we would find 
 such a prize ! The commonest things 
 were solid cakes of silver piled in heaps, 
 and ingots of the most precious gold io
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 153 
 
 the like abundancy; and, in overhauling 
 of them, mayhap we would light, upon 
 bags of costly pearls, and all manner of 
 rare stones, each one a fortune of itself. 
 And then every man of us were so wealthy 
 when we returned to port, that it was the 
 difficultest thing as could be to find out 
 what course to go upon so that we 'might 
 spend it all." 
 
 'Tfaith ! if I were so rich I'd soon get 
 me a ship of my own," observed his 
 young companion. " 0' my life, Simon ! 
 there be nothing I have so much desire 
 of as to be the captain of a goodly ship 
 like this; or failing in that, that my true 
 friend Master Francis should be captain, 
 and I next him, that we might, with a 
 plenty of brave fellows and lots of muskets 
 and swords, great guns and the like, go 
 after these same galleons, and when we 
 have peppered them famously, and slash- 
 ed the Spaniards after so excellent a 
 fashion as you have said, enrich ourselves 
 with their gold and silver." 
 
 " Perchance that shall come to pass in 
 good time," replied the gunner. " Un- 
 der so noble a commander as is Sir Wal- 
 ter Raleigh, if you stand to your gun like 
 a true man, you shall fail not in the get- 
 ting of proper advancement." 
 
 "Nay, if I turn tail I would like to be 
 pistolled on the instant !" cried Harry 
 Daring earnestly. " I promise you I am 
 none of such sort, whereof you shall have 
 good evidence on a fitting occasion." 
 
 " I doubt it not, Harry I doubt it not," 
 exclaimed Simon Mainsail. " You bear 
 up bravely ; and to my thinking, would 
 carry all the sail you could after an enemy 
 never asking of what force she may 
 be. Thougn you be of small tonnage, 
 I've seen many a bigger vessel I have 
 had less hope of. Let your gun want 
 nothing but the firing, and if your enemy 
 spring her loof, let her not slip away for 
 want of proper speed in the chase." 
 
 " If she slip away when I once have 
 hold of her, I will give her leave," an- 
 swered Harry Daring. "But what more 
 of these Spaniards? Melhinks I could 
 listen all day to hear of them." 
 
 "Why, they be so preposterous greedy," 
 replied the old mariner, "that they will 
 allow of no ship of any other country tra- 
 ding in that part of the world in the 
 which they have gained such store of 
 riches: and if they but catch any suffi- 
 ciently weak for them to overpower, they 
 will presently set a torturing of them 
 with such cruelties as be horrible to 
 think of." 
 
 " Hang them, the villains ! How I do 
 
 wish to be at them !" cried the boy, 
 seemingly in a very moving indignation. 
 
 " And to such mariners as be of Eng- 
 land, they be dreadful inveterate against, 
 because of their being heretics, as they 
 call u?," continued the gunner. "And 
 nothing seemelh so pleasing to such 
 abominable papists, as the doing of ug ' 
 all manner of treachery and deadly hurt. 
 'Slife ! it was only last year, when Sir 
 Walter sent Captain Whiddon on a voy- 
 age to the Orinoco to see how things 
 looked for this expedition, there was a 
 certain governor of these villain Span- 
 iards, named De Berrio, in the island of 
 Trinidad, who with a great cunning and 
 cruelty, got hold of eight of the captain's 
 men, whom he used after an infamous 
 fashion, and would have given Captain 
 Whiddon no better treatment had he suc- 
 ceeded in making him his prisoner." 
 
 " 'Tis to be hoped he will now be well 
 paid for it," remarked Harry Daring. 
 
 " Our commander be not of that sort to 
 pass over such a thing," replied Simon 
 Mainsail. "I doubt not Sir Walter will, 
 cut off his head." 
 
 " Hath he ever a son or two ?" inquired 
 the boy earnestly. 
 
 "Indeed I know not," answered the 
 other. 
 
 ' If he have, and they be but big 
 enough, by Gog and Magog ! I will cut 
 off their heads too, if I meet with them !" 
 exclaimed his young companion reso- 
 lutely. 
 
 " 'Tis like enough we shall have fight- 
 ing and plenty of it," said Simon Main- 
 sail. ' "For these caitiffs will, on no ac- 
 count, let us make way in Guiana, if they 
 can help themselves, because of the ex- 
 ceeding richness of the country ; and they 
 will bear down upon us with all theii 
 force in hopes of driving us back into the 
 sea ; but our commander careth for them 
 no more than do I for a maggot in a 
 mouldy biscuit, and, I doubt nol, we shall 
 have such sacking and burning as will be 
 a delight to see." 
 
 " 'Twill be exquisite fine fun," cried 
 Harry Daring, overjoyed at the very, 
 thought of it. " It be a thousand pities 
 we shall be so long before we get ta 
 them ; for, in truth, I do long for nothing 
 so much as the killing of a Spaniard." 
 
 " Take heed the Spaniard kill not 
 you," observed the other. 
 
 " Kill me !" cried his young compan- 
 ion in exceeding astonishment. "Nay, 
 'twould savor very much of the ass if I let 
 him. I promise you I can now handle 
 my piece as well as the rest at the firing
 
 154 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 of pistols ora a match for any ; and as for 
 sword or dagger, if I show my back lo an 
 enemy, be he big or little, at such weap- 
 ons, I will give up fighting, and get me 
 back to Eastcheap for to be nothing bet- 
 ter than a barber-chirurgeon all my life. 
 A Spaniard kill me ! Hang the villain, I 
 should like to catch him at it." 
 
 " Indeed, if vou get in the way of a 
 bullet, you shall hardly escape," added 
 the old, man seriously. 
 
 "Escape! Dost think I would try to 
 escape, Simon?" asked Harry Daring, as 
 if like to be wrath at the thought of such 
 a thing. " Hast that ill opinion of me, 
 as to fancy I be of so poor a spirit I must 
 need take heed of my life when there be 
 a plenty of enemies to kill? By Gog and 
 Magog, if you catch me doing of so pal- 
 try a thing as escaping, methinks I had 
 better be made meat for dogs." 
 
 "In honest truth, messmate, I meant 
 not you should take me on that tack," re- 
 plied Simon Mainsail, inwardly much 
 pleased with his young companion for 
 the courageousness of his manner. " It 
 was but my intention to hold out a signal 
 to tell you, 'twould show but a proper 
 cunning to change your course a little, 
 if that a bullet should be a coming that 
 way." 
 
 " I will change my course none," cried 
 the boy, determinedly. " If the bullet go 
 another way, let it go and be hanged ! 
 If it come at me, I care not to shrink 
 before a thousand of them." 
 
 " But if you keep not a good lookout, 
 you shall show no sense in it," observed 
 the old gunner. " Suppose, now, I be the 
 only one left at my gun, I see a sho; ma- 
 king straight for my figure-head, there- 
 upon I veer a point or two, and the shot 
 goeth by harmless ; then do I discharge 
 my gun at the enemy and do them great 
 damage ! whereas had I stayed where I 
 was, I could not help to be killed out- 
 right, and my gun having none to serve 
 her, could be of no service against the 
 enemy, who would quickly have had 
 some advantage of it, and mayhap have 
 taken the ship. So you see it be the duty 
 of one that wisheth to be thought skilful 
 in war, not to be rash, else not only him- 
 self, but his messmates may suffer for't." 
 
 " I will be no more rash than I can 
 help," replied Harry Daring ; " but if that 
 I am to be ever a looking after the shot, 
 there shall be no opportunity for me to a 
 killing of any one ; and in my thinking, 
 it be more satisfaction to cut down a 
 whole lot of pitiful Spaniards, than to be 
 a jumping away from a few pestilent bul- 
 
 lets. But I promise you I wul give them 
 no time to aim at me, for I will presently 
 get into the midst of them, and commence 
 slashing away at such a rate, now here, 
 now there, and now in another place, 
 that they shall be glad to take more heed 
 of themselves than me. Would the time 
 were come ! I shall rest but little tu the 
 fighting commence. Indeed, I be ever a 
 dreaming of the storming of towns, the 
 taking of ships, or the like, whereof I find 
 excellent entertainment in hearing of the 
 clashing, and groaning, and shouting, and 
 seeing heads flying this way, and arms 
 that, and other pleasant pastime of the 
 same sort, that when I wake and find I 
 have killed none, I be monstrous down at 
 heart at it." 
 
 " Be not out of patience, messmate," 
 replied the veteran ; " you shall take your 
 own course in time, depend on't. There 
 be no making a ship sail faster than she 
 will, unless perchance you shall have 
 dealings with those who have power over 
 the elements, which I take to be both dis- 
 honest and unlawful." 
 
 " Think you there be any such ?" in- 
 quired the boy, earnestly. 
 
 "There's no doubt on't, -messmate," 
 replied Simon Mainsail ; " there be cer- 
 tain old hags as familiar with the devil 
 and his imps, as am I with the breec.i 
 of this gun. And having sold themselves 
 body and soul to him, they be allowed 
 for some period of time to do as they list : 
 to command what wind shall blow, raise 
 a storm, sink ships, and work such mis- 
 chief as they have a mind to ; and if you 
 put not a horseshoe on the mast, or carry 
 not a child's caul aboard, it be a thorough 
 certainty that, when these witches choose 
 it, the ship and all hands shall go to the 
 bottom." 
 
 "What horrible villany !" exclaimed 
 Harry Daring ; " but methinks I have 
 knowledge of some of these old hags. Hast 
 heard whether any be ever troubled with,!, 
 a raging tooth, or ride on a high horse 
 between two panniers of eggs ? For then 
 have I known some ; and exquisite fine 
 fun I have had of them too." And then 
 he laughed heartily at the remembrance 
 of how he had served the two old women, 
 as hath been already described. 
 
 " 0' my life it be no laughing matter, 
 if you have angered any," remarked the 
 gunner ; " they be desperate in the doing 
 of some terrible mischief." 
 
 "I care not," cried the boy; "I war- 
 rant you I will give them as good as they 
 send, be they ever so familiar with the 
 devil and his imps. Indeed, I care as
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 155 
 
 little for the best devil that wears a 
 head." 
 
 " Hush, Harry, it be exceeding wicked 
 to say so ; how know you not the old fel- 
 low be a listening ?" 
 
 "Let him listen and be hanged to 
 him," exclaimed Harry Daring, fearless- 
 ly ; "I say my prayers nights and morn- 
 ings, and therefore will I take heed of 
 none such. By Gog and Magog, if it 
 comes to that, I would as soon kill a 
 devil as a Spaniard, they be both such 
 thorough-going villains." 
 
 "I would on no account have you say 
 so," observed the veteran, looking timidly 
 around him : for though brave as a lion, 
 he was as superstitious as the rest of his 
 class; "he be ever stealing alongside of 
 some of us, and giveth us a broadside if 
 we be not on the watch." 
 
 " Then up and have at him again," 
 cried the boy, quickly; "it be not the 
 part of an honest man to give in to a 
 scurvy devil. For mine own part, 1 know 
 not what his weapon may be ; but sword 
 or dagger, pistol or harquebus, I am for 
 him at any time." 
 
 " 'Slife you will anger me if you go on 
 so," exclaimed Simon Mainsail, with a 
 countenance somewhat disturbed : " it be 
 as easy for him to sink this ship, as for 
 me to walk the deck. Now on that point 
 I have made an entry in my log, which, 
 mayhap, it shall do you good to know of: 
 and this be it. You must know that 
 there was a messmate of mine once, by 
 name Jack Buntline,.who was just such 
 another dare-devil as yourself, only he 
 had been launched many years before, 
 and he had no more religion in him than 
 you shall find in a shark's belly. Well, 
 he was always a blowing great guns 
 about what monstrous things he would 
 do wiih the arch enemy of all true mari- 
 ners, if peradventure he could have the 
 weather-gage of him : and he often said j 
 he should like to get sight of the devil for 
 a few minutes or so, he would soon make 
 him mighty glad to sheer off. Now it 
 so happened, that one night while he was 
 upon watch, something he had got in the 
 hold made him wonderful drowsy, and he 
 was just a casting of his anchor in snooze \ 
 harbor, when he felt a queer sort of a ! 
 something a grappling of him on the lee | 
 quarter ; at the which he opened his day- ! 
 lights pretty quickly, and there he saw \ 
 what was enough to cast him on his beam ; 
 ends in no time." 
 
 " And what did Jack Buntline see ?" 
 inquired his companion, unconcernedly. ] 
 
 " He saw Old Nick himself!" replied 
 
 the old mariner, with a look of exceed- 
 ing horror and alarm; "there he stood 
 afore him with two great saucer eyes 
 flashing tire and smoke ; a huge pair of 
 horns growing out of his head ; a Jong 
 tail that hung abaft, with a sting to it; 
 two ugly hoofs instead of feet ; monstrous 
 claws, by way of hands; and all over 
 him flames of blue, and red, and yellow. 
 Now Jack hadn't a word to throw away 
 upon a dog; he was as dumb as a fish; 
 he hadn't fight enough in him to have 
 killed a cockroach ; but he sat stern on, 
 with his jaw-port open, and his eyes a 
 winking at the rate of fifty knots an hour. 
 Thereupon Old Nick flew upon him, 
 blazing away like a fire-ship, and was 
 for taking him up in his claws : when 
 Jack had sense enough to mutter a bit of 
 a prayer his mother had taught him when 
 he was a baby albeit 'twas a long time 
 since he had been on his marrow-bones ; 
 and at that Master Beelzebub vanished 
 like a flash o' lightning, leaving behind 
 such a smell of brimstone there was 
 scarce breathing for it. After this Jack 
 Buntline made no more boasting on that 
 head, as you may suppose." 
 
 "For all that, I would as soon kill a 
 devil as a Spaniard, "said Harry Daring, 
 and then walked himself away, to have 
 speech with his true friend, Master 
 Francis. 
 
 In the meantime Sir Walter Raleigh and 
 his secretary were pursuing their studies 
 quite as vigorously as if they were on land ; 
 for it was the practice of ihe former to 
 devote so many hours a day to his books, 
 whether he were on sea or on shore ; and 
 on all his voyages he failed not to take 
 with him a choice collection of volumes. 
 From this habit of his Master Francis 
 profited much, for it did enable him to 
 keep storing of his mind with useful lore ; 
 and the conversations he \vas ever hav- 
 ing with his patron were usually of that 
 instructive character which was the most 
 fit to assist in the like object. Indeed, 
 Sir Walter, not only of such things as he 
 thought properestfor him to have, helped 
 him in the acquisition of those languages 
 as seemed ihe profitablest to learn ; but 
 had that affection for him as to encour- 
 age him in his efforts at composition, 
 showing where lay the faults, that they 
 might be corrected ; and giving him such 
 commendation as looked the likeliest to 
 make him renew his labors. Could he 
 have lost all thought of Joanna, or have 
 been careless on the subject of his birth, 
 there can be no manner of doubt he would 
 have enjoyed a very marvellous comfort :
 
 L56 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 but, despite of his altempting'to dismiss 
 the subject as being unworthy of a 
 thought, the mercer's daughter would 
 ever be foremost in his contemplations; 
 and "he would at last acknowledge to 
 himself it was pitiful exceeding pitiful, 
 she shpuld so have disappointed his ex- 
 pectations: and when he got a thinking 
 of his reputed father, it grieved him to 
 the heart to know he should be the son 
 of such a notorious poor scoundrel as that 
 Holdfast. 
 
 Sir Walter had been walking with 
 him on deck, as was his custom, after, 
 what was considered by both, the business 
 of the day had been done, and, as was 
 usual with them, they were discoursing 
 together on such knotty points as might 
 chance to come uppermost in their 
 thoughts. From this there came to be 
 some talk concerning of those who had 
 distinguished themselves in any famous 
 manner as commanders, which was ever 
 a favorite subject with Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh ; though with his secretary there 
 were divers other matters he would have 
 preferred the discourse of. 
 
 "Think you that war is not a thing 
 in some degree to be lamented of all true 
 Christians?" inquired Master Francis to 
 his patron, when the latter had finished 
 a very moving picture of damage done to 
 the enemy in one of his campaigns abroad. 
 " Methinks all this wasting and spoiling, 
 this burning and slaughtering, is after all 
 nothing better than the creating of so 
 much misery and mischief, of which the 
 world hath already such store, that it be 
 scarce eadurable at times." 
 
 "Doubtless warfare is attended with 
 such effects as must be exceeding dis- 
 tasteful to a benevolent spirit," replied 
 his patron ; " but you shall scarce find 
 one good without having in it some ad- 
 mixture of evil ; and among evil things 
 there shall always be some that are ab- 
 solute and necessary ; nevertheless have 
 they an especial good purpose. War is 
 a sharp remedy for an intolerable disor- 
 der ii raiseth a blister and createth great 
 irritation ; yet in the end doth it remove 
 the infkmmatoriness of the parts adja- 
 cent; and the peace which followeth is 
 the state of health that treadeth on the 
 neels of such powerful medicaments." 
 
 ' Tis a thousand pities all cause for 
 quarrel among neighbor states can not be 
 done away with," observed the secretary. 
 
 " 'Tis a thousand pities all disturbances 
 ot the body can not be done away with," 
 answered Sir Walter. "The learned 
 Cusanus hath it ' Mundus universus nihil 
 
 aliud est quam Deas explicatusWthe 
 world universal is nothing else than God 
 expressed ; thereunto woukl I add, you 
 shall see in one man (he whole world in 
 a small compass ; for, as the universe 
 showeth the greatness of the Deity, in 
 one man appearelh the universe in minia- 
 ture. There is in him strange passions 
 and fierce desires, that .are the rebellions 
 of the flesh pride and ambiliousrress, the 
 very tyrants of the body ; and jealousies 
 and revenges, ^|lentless enemies that 
 carry fire and sword through every vein : 
 and these a,re oft the workers of such 
 strife in the man as could not be exceed- 
 ed in the world look where you will. It 
 be these agencies that have a many 
 score of tijxies set the mind against the 
 body, or stirred one member into the de- 
 sire of overpowering the rest, with so 
 desperate an opposition, that at last 
 nothing has come of it but the absolutest 
 rack and ruin over all. Let a man gov- 
 ern himself as well as he may, still shall 
 something or another internally or exter- 
 nally put him in a disturbance either with 
 himself or with others: so let a state be 
 ever so properly ruled, it can not help 
 upon occasion, avoiding of a quarrel either 
 among its own parties, or with a neigh- 
 boring kingdom. War, therefore, it must 
 not be expected of any, can ever be 
 altogether done away with ; and wars 
 against the enemies of one's country, or 
 for the hinderance of foreign invasion, in 
 my opinion is as lawful an occupation as 
 any man could be engaged in." 
 
 "But surely the warfare of the mere 
 conqueror hath no excuse for it," observed 
 Master Francis. 
 
 "That is as it shall happen," replied 
 Raleigh. " If be shall be a leader of 
 barbarians and over-run a more civilized 
 state, perchance he shall do but little 
 good, unless as it hath come to pass be- 
 fore this, the conquerors being of a nota- 
 ble courageous spirit, mingling with the 
 conquered, who may be luxurious and of 
 an effeminate heart, produce, in a future 
 generation, a people having the valorous- 
 ness of the one and the greater learning 
 of the other mixed into one harmonious 
 whole ; but when such heroes as Alexan- 
 der the Great or Julius Caesar carry the 
 arts and arms of a more enlightened 
 country into countries rude and untaught, 
 they shall presently make of their con- 
 quests a great benefit, inasmuch as they 
 spread abroad the superior civilization 
 they possess at home. What degree of 
 good followed the victorious achievements 
 of the son of Philip none can say \vilh
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 157 
 
 an}' great exactness of calculation, but ^remember me when I went as one of the 
 ,that they were entirely unprofitable, as hundred gentlemen volunteers under my 
 
 some would assert, will I never believe. 
 It is, however, more notorious, that the 
 Gauls and tjie Britons, to say nothing of 
 other nations that were possessed of the 
 Romans, dfd gain exceeding advantage 
 by the dwelling among Ihem of their en- 
 lightened conquerors. To come more to 
 our own time, the conquests of Cortes and 
 of Pizarro, though they might be attended 
 with many very monstrous cruelties, pro- 
 duced wonderful advantage in increasing 
 of our knowledge of the earth, making 
 known unto us kingdoms whereof the 
 skilfulest geographers were ignorant, and 
 diffusing among a heathenish and bar- 
 barous people some insight into the reli- 
 gion and the arts and the sciences of a 
 nation of Christians. In brief, it must 
 needs be an evil indeed that hath no good 
 mixed with it war may ,be considered 
 an evil, but upon proper scrutiny it shall 
 be found, except upon rare occasions, to 
 be attended with such advantages as 
 must make it a thing necessary to the 
 maintaining of the world in heakhiness." 
 
 "Allowing of the necessity of warfare," 
 said the young secretary, " which I can 
 in no way help grieving at, it doth appear 
 to me a monstrous sort of thing, that 
 there should be companies of men willing 
 to leave their own nation and take part 
 in the brawls of another. Of such mer- 
 cenary soldiers I think they deserve but 
 little respect of their fellow-men. They 
 fight not for their country but for their 
 hire ; and perchance they shall care 
 nothing against whom they fight, so that 
 they be well paid for it." 
 
 " 0' my life, you are rather hard upon 
 them," exclaimed his patron. " I have 
 known as gallant spirits as ever breathed, 
 which were such as you have dispara- 
 gingly spoken of. Were not the ten 
 thousand, of whose" exploits Xenophon 
 hath given so marvellous a history, of 
 this kind ? And surely none could behave 
 themselves more like good men and true. 
 In fact, it is a great conveniency when 
 one's country is at peace, and there be no 
 employment for its valorous spirits, 
 which country, for lack of such, may be- 
 come so ignorant of warlike accomplish- 
 ments as to be made an easy prey of by 
 some other state, for them to take part 
 in wars abroad, and by such means im- 
 proving of themselves in strategy and 
 good soldiership, as to make of them all 
 the more valuable when they shall return 
 home. This remindeth me of something 
 which seemeth a little to the purpose. I 
 
 kinsman, Henry Champernon, sent by the 
 queen to assist the Huguenots in France, 
 of the chiefest among them was one 
 Colonel Harquebus, who was some years 
 my senior, and as proper a soldier as you 
 shall find anywhere. He had, before 
 this, served in the Venetian, and in the 
 Scottish wars, to the obtaining of a nota- 
 ble reputation. Indeed I do 'believe he 
 cared but little for whom he fought, so 
 that the cause seemed to him a good one. 
 He had travelled much, and had gathered 
 abundance of information concerning of 
 the characteristics of the many different 
 people he had journeyed among, and 
 few were so familiar with their different 
 ways of behaving in the field, so that for 
 a young soldier like myself there could 
 scarce have been found a more agreeable 
 companion. 
 
 "Our intimacy became the more confi- 
 dential in consequence of our families 
 having been very friendly for many years, 
 their lands adjoining each other in Dev- 
 onshire ; and seeing me in some delight 
 with his society, he did give me as much 
 of it as he could. Thus it was I ascer- 
 tained that his mother, who I knew to be 
 of as proud a nature as was ever met 
 with, being importunate that he should 
 marry a lady of high birth and great for- 
 tune in those parts, for whom he could 
 have no liking, he chose the rather to go 
 to the wars, where he remained, making 
 most excellent use of his sword wherever 
 there was any fighting to be met with, or 
 improving himself by foreign travel as I 
 have said, to avoid a marriage he so 
 much misliked. A most gallant heart 
 had Harquebus. Ever foremost in dan- 
 ger, he would seek the thickest of the 
 enemy, and make such havoc in their 
 ranks as caused him to be held most con- 
 spicuous in their dislike of us. The 
 queen of Navarre had oft noticed him 
 for his gallantry, and, with Admiral Col- 
 igni and the Prince of Conde he was 
 ever a special favorite. 
 
 " I remember well, at the battle of 
 Jarnac, which was of such great disad- 
 vantage to our cause for we suffered a 
 signal overthrow, and the prince of Conde 
 being taken prisoner of the catholics, was 
 treacherously murdered by them in cold 
 blood Harquebus had before the battle 
 sent a challenge to the enemy to fight 
 any of a like condition with himself, and 
 a certain Colonel de Bombardiere did an- 
 swer it. He was as tall and proper a man 
 as I have seen in my time, and reckoned
 
 <5S 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND .HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 the completes! swordsman in France, j 
 Now, both of the. combatants were well | 
 esteemed of iheir weapons, therefore it 
 was agreed they should fight with swords 
 only : and each was above six feet in 
 heiglu, brave, and soldier-like. After 
 there had been some passes between 
 them, De Bombardiere's rapier flew out 
 of his hand, at the which he expected 
 instant death ; but his opponent quickly 
 picked up the fallen weapon, and pre- 
 senting him the handle of it, merely beg- 
 ged of him to be more careful in his hold. 
 Then at it they went again, but the 
 Frenchman was disarmed sooner than 
 at first ; and upon the getting back of 
 his sword, wilh some comment upon his 
 unskilfulness, he was so nettled that he 
 rushed upon his adversary with more 
 heat than cautiousness, and thereupon 
 was run through the. body. My friend 
 also distinguished himself greatly in the 
 battle ; but his valor could not save the 
 day. ,- ' 
 
 '"' Afterward, at Moncontour, when we 
 suffered a like disastrous defeat at the 
 hands ot' the duke of Anjou, he did be- 
 have himself most valorously during the 
 fight, killing of so many of the eriemy 
 wilh his own hand as would almost seem 
 incredible to tell of, and in the retreat so 
 conducting of himself as to bring upon 
 him the commendation of Count Ludo- 
 wick of Nassau, to whose ability and 
 generalship we who survived the day 
 were indebted for our safety. Of the six 
 years I sojourned in France, endeavoring 
 to perfect myself in the military art, I 
 was kept in constant admiration of his 
 great bravery, for he Was of so valiant a 
 spirit he could not rest a doing of nothing. 
 He was blunt in his language, and plain 
 in his apparel, and despised all who were 
 not of the profession of arms ; and he was 
 ready to undertake any man's quarrel, so 
 that there did appear to him no injustice 
 nor dishonor in it. He was free and hearty 
 in his manners upon general occasions ; 
 yet have I come upon him when he hath 
 been in so melancholy a mood he seemed 
 not fit society for any. Mayhap this was 
 on account of his mother pressing of him to 
 return to England to accomplish the mar- 
 riage which she was so intent about ; but 
 I, liking not to appear inquisitive, did 
 make no inquiry, therefore know I not 
 exactly whether this was it or no. 
 
 ' I met with him again in the force 
 under Sir John Norris, sent by the queen 
 to assist the states of Holland against the 
 power of Spain. This was a body of five 
 thousand strong in foot, and one thousand 
 
 in horse, and they did great service in the 
 Netherlands. Of these none distinguish- 
 ed themselves more nobly than did Colo- 
 nel Harquebus; and upon one occasion, 
 in the right famous battle of Rimenant, 
 in the which we gave a complete over- 
 throw to the Spanish army under the 
 command of Don John of Austria and 
 the prince of Parma, .he seemed to excel 
 all his former efforts. Before the battle 
 we were joined by a Scottish force under 
 Sir Robert Stuart, who gave us excellent 
 assistance ; but it did so happen that, 
 coming into the field after a weary march 
 on a sultry day, we straightway took off 
 our armor and our doublets to be the more 
 at our ease, and, doubtless to the wonder- 
 ful astonishment of the Spaniards, fought 
 them in our shirts and drawers. Now it 
 be out of all questioning, that the success 
 of that day was owing to the ardor with 
 which the enemy were attacked by the 
 English and Scottish volunteers, for noth- 
 ing could exceed iheir determined courage 
 and great discipline. At one time, led 
 away by the heat of the conflict, I had 
 got completely surrounded by divers of 
 the Spaniards, by whom, though I was 
 doing of my best, I must soon have been 
 cut down, had not Colonel Harquebus, 
 seeing of my danger, dashed in among 
 them with so absolute a furiousness, that 
 I was rescued in a presently, and just in 
 the very nick of time to save me from 
 their bloodthirsty weapons. 
 
 " Now the volunteers that did assist 
 the suffering Huguenots, and those that 
 entered into the service of the States, 
 though they were what you call merce- 
 nary soldiers, and spoke so ill of because 
 of their leaving their own country to share 
 in the conflicts of another, were as honor- 
 able men as can be met with anywhere ; 
 and my friend that I have described to 
 you at some length was a fair specimen 
 of the class. For mine own part I think 
 it no disparagement of a man, but rather 
 showing of his sense, let him be of what 
 profession he may, if that there shall be 
 abroad better opportunities for the study- 
 ing of it than at home, he seeketh to ad- 
 vance his knowledge by attending of a 
 foreign school." 
 
 " I deny it not," replied Master Fran 
 cis ; " yet would I rather that all men 
 should seek improving of themselves in 
 such studies as give no provocation to 
 anger, than be earnest in the acquiring 
 of such skill as can only be used for the 
 slaughtering of their fellow-creatures." 
 
 " Every truly philanthropic mind would 
 ' say amen to your wish," observed Sir
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 159 
 
 Walter. "Bat while different govern- ] nation for s;udy that will lead to the wri- 
 menis have different religions, the people ting of books; .net can all "books be of 
 
 of one will in some wav be prejudiced 
 against the inhabitants of" the other; and 
 if such prejudice lead not to a war be- 
 
 advantage to the reader when he hath 
 such in his hand. However it dotb oft 
 happen that what is stupidly writ shall 
 
 tween them, it shall continue it with find admirers ; or, as St. Jerome hath it, . 
 greater fierceness than can any other 1 ' Nulius est imperitus scriptor, qui lecto- 
 thiug. There are a many hot-headed | rein non inveniat' there be no book so 
 zealots who seem to think of their Crea- i dull but it shall meet with a suitable dull 
 lor as but another Mars, who delighteth reader. You should quarrel with.no man 
 only in sanguinary fields ; and think the | for having his taste or disposition unlike 
 fittest service they can render him is the j your own ; for if it were not for the in- 
 slaughtering of as many as they can of j finite diversity of likings which are to be 
 such as worship him. not after the exact I met with in the world, all mankind would 
 
 fashion as themselves. St. Bernard hath 
 justly said : 'Frustra sperant qui sic de 
 misericordia Dei sibi blandiuntur,' they 
 hope in vain who in this sort flatter them- 
 selves with God's mercy." 
 
 "But what became of Colonel Har- 
 quebus?" inquired the secretary, after 
 there had been a pause of some few min- 
 utes, for he had listeried with some in- 
 terest to Sir Walter's account of him. 
 
 be everlastingly set by the ears because 
 of the insufficiency of what they most 
 affect to satisfy so great a number; 
 whilst of what they mislike there should 
 be nothing but a monstrous wastefulness 
 ever a going on, because there is not one 
 who careth for a taste of it." 
 
 " Had I my will, there is none living 
 I should so much desire to be like as 
 yourself," said Master Francis, " for it 
 
 'By the last intelligence he was fight- i must be manifest unto all that you are 
 
 ing with his customary valor against the 
 Spaniards, who had come to assist the 
 Leaguers in Bretajjne," replied SirWal- 
 
 as excellent in the most admirable 
 schojarship as you are in every kind of 
 thing necessary for the statesman and 
 
 ter. "Yet I marvel somewhat he hath ] commander." 
 
 not returned to England before this, for "And why should you not belike me ?" 
 
 his mother hath been dead these ten j inquired his patron, kindly. "Do as I 
 
 years, and the lady she was so eager for have done. No mutter how many and 
 
 how pressing be your occupations of the 
 day, give but five hours to sleep, and six 
 to study, and you shall find time, as I 
 have, for the acquiring of a proficiency 
 in such matters as some think me perfect 
 in. I began life with no better advantage 
 than yourself scarce so much for when 
 I went with the volunteers into France, 
 and had little beside my sword to help 
 me, I was then but about seventeen years 
 
 him to wed, hath long since been mar- 
 ried to another ; so that there can be now 
 no hinderance to his coming back ; but 
 possibly the stirring life he hath led abroad 
 for the last twenty years he hath grown 
 so accustomed to, that he could not put 
 up with the quietness he should meet 
 with at home." 
 
 " Methinks 'tismarvellons strange there 
 should be such a fondness in one man to 
 
 seek the lives of his fellows," observed of age. However, by doing of what I 
 Master Francis. "He must needs be j have said, and throwing away of no op- 
 bur a poor spirit who will not do battle j portunity for honorable advancement,. I 
 with the enemies of his country when | have become what I am. And why 
 they are intent upon her disadvantage ; should you not be like me?" 
 but of the sort of satisfaction that is to be I His secretary did hesitate in giving 
 enjoyed by constant strife wherever it is j him an answer, and seemed a little dis- 
 to be met with, I know not, nor wish to turbed ; and when his patron repeated 
 know. I think he that be most worth j the question he grew more embarrassed 
 the respecting is one that hath ever his ] in his countenance. 
 
 weapon ready, hut is loath to draw it j " Supposing I possessed the wondrous 
 save upon warrantable grounds; and em- talents you have sliown, which cannot be 
 ployeth his leisure to gain such knowl- imagined a moment," at last he observ- 
 edge as may be most useful to mankind, ed, with a manner that looked as if he 
 whereof he shall essay to make it profit- j were ill at ease. " My birth must be an 
 able by the writing of books and the insurmountable bar to my rising above 
 like." what your goodness hath made me." 
 
 "If all were to write books there "You will have that Holdfast, then, for 
 should presently be no readers," replied your father!" exclaimed Sir Walter, 
 his patron, "nor can all have that incli- ! "I have spoken to my uncle on the
 
 [60 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 subject," replied Master Francis, "and 
 he hath assured me there can be no 
 doubt of it." 
 
 " I had ralher it had been otherwise 
 for your sake," said his patron, with all 
 sincerity of heart ; then, as if desirous of 
 changing the subject, he pointed out to 
 his secretary the little bark that had ac- 
 companied the Lion's Whelp, breasting 
 the waves very gallantly at the distance 
 of half a mile astern, with all her sails 
 spread out. Both watched her progress 
 with exceeding interest, for truly it was 
 a pleasant sight to look upon so small a 
 ship the only thing visible in the wide 
 expanse of waters, save a few por- 
 poises, nearer at hand, sportively tum- 
 bling about dancing over the huge bil- 
 lows as lightly as a rose-leaf. 
 
 "She smacks along at a brave rate," 
 observed Sir Walter, " seemingly a^s if 
 she were proud of the adventurous spirits 
 she carries. Well, they be noble hearts, 
 sure enough, yet are they of the same 
 sort of stuff as have been many others 
 since the days of Columbus, who boldly 
 dashed through unknown seas in vessels 
 of no greater burthen." 
 
 " It seetneth to me, that for a daring 
 spirit, the mariners of England bear the 
 palm from all others," remarked the sec- 
 retary. 
 
 " That do they, whether in the fight 
 or in quest of adventure," replied Ra- 
 leigh. 
 
 " The consideration of this hath put 
 me upon the writing of a ballad," said 
 Master Francis. 
 
 " 'Tis a stirring subject, and I should 
 like to hear what you have made of it," 
 added his patron. Upon this his young 
 companion gave a paper out of his vest 
 (with some modest apologies for its im- 
 perfections), the which Sir Walter open- 
 ing, did read aloud, as followeth : 
 
 Old Neptune rules no more the ever-rolling seas, 
 And from their ozier beds have fled the Oceanides ; 
 And despots of the earth that sought to sway the 
 
 waves, 
 Though they, like Xerxes, flung them chains, could 
 
 never make them slaves. 
 The mem'ry of the ark hath vanished from them 
 
 now, 
 And unesteemed the Bucentaur may bare her 
 
 golden brow ; 
 
 Whilst fearfully to port the Argosie must flee. 
 For the Mariners of England are lords of all the 
 
 sea ! 
 
 " A voice that pierced the world was shouted from 
 
 the isles 
 Wrere Phcebus in his glory, o'er aland of freemen, 
 
 smiles ; 
 
 The Adriatic heard, and started at the sound, 
 The In! lows of the Bosphorus made each a loftier 
 
 bound ; 
 Far o'er th' Atlantic waste that voice in thunder 
 
 roars, 
 
 And now the vast Pacific sends its echoes from 
 
 her shores ; 
 And every Ocean deep cries out, ' Come bow the 
 
 knee, 
 For the Mariners of England are lords of all the 
 
 sea!' 
 
 " No more shall England's foes hci island throne 
 
 put down, 
 Since Hawkins, Frbbisher, and Drake, have proved 
 
 she wears the crown ; 
 No more Armadas now will come to work her 
 
 shame, 
 
 Since Howard made ' th' Invincible* to wear a mean- 
 er name ; 
 Nor shall her gallant ships fear. all the power of 
 
 Spain, 
 Since they have spoiled the Spanish coast and 
 
 swept the Spanish main ; 
 
 And dread of foreign rule in England shall not be, 
 For the Mariners' of England are lords of all the 
 
 sea !" 
 
 What Sir Walter Raleigh-might have 
 said upon the ballad know I not, for just 
 as he had finished the perusing of it, there 
 came the master of the ship to him on 
 pressing business,- and returning the paper 
 to Master Francis, he did give up his at- 
 tention entirely to the other. 
 
 ;/ j^ CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Aspasia. He has a cozening face 
 You meant him for a man 1 
 
 Ant. He was so, fnadam. 
 
 Asp. Why then 'tis well enough. Never look oats 
 You have a full wind and a false heart, Theseus. 
 Does not the story say his keel was split, 
 Or his masts spent, or some kind rock or other 
 Met with his vessel ? 
 
 Ant. Not as I remember. 
 
 Asp. It should have been so. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall ; 
 I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk ; 
 I'll play the orator as well as Nestor ; 
 Deceive more slyly than Ulysses could: 
 And send the wondrous Machiavel to school. 
 
 SHAKSPEARK. 
 
 AFTER staying of several days at Ten- 
 eriffe without being joined by any of his 
 ship, Sir Walter Raleigh proceeded on 
 his way to Trinidad, and cast anchor at 
 a Spanish settlement called of the colonists 
 Puerto de los Espafloles, where .to his 
 great joy he found a part of his squadron. 
 From the bay the town had a very goodly 
 aspect, being of some size. The houses 
 were principally those of the natives, and 
 were built of wood very pleasant to look 
 upon, with trees growing among them in 
 great abundance, lofty, and of marvellous 
 verdure. Some buildings there were of 
 the Spaniards of a more stately sort; and 
 the country round about seemed exceed 
 ingly inviting, stretching here and there 
 into green pastures, with much diversity 
 of rock, and wood, and mountain. Of 
 natives they saw a vast number, but they
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 161 
 
 were a f a great distance, and came not 
 any nigher ; but at the landing-place there 
 was seen a company of Spaniards drawn 
 up as if keeping guard, whereof were 
 some stately fellows in long high-crown- 
 ed hats with feathers in them, carrying 
 of famous long pieces : seeing of the 
 strength of those in the ships, they pru- 
 denl-ly gave them no molestation. Indeed, 
 some of them presently got into boats and 
 came on board, and Sir Walter had them 
 treated very courteously, went amongst 
 them himself, giving of them a plenty 
 of wine and good cheer, of the which 
 having been without a long time, it made 
 them exceeding merry in a small space, 
 and he talked to them in their own 
 language inquiringly of Guiana of the 
 riches thereof and of the bays and pas- 
 sages that were most practicable ; making 
 it appear all the while that he cared not 
 for the going there, being bound for the 
 English colony he had planted in Vir- 
 ginia ; and the simple soldiers, charmed 
 with his courtesy, not only told him all 
 they knew, but all they had heard of, one 
 eagerly interrupting of the other in some 
 alluring narration of the wondrous riches 
 of the place. 
 
 It did look exceeding picturesque to 
 see those Spaniards grouped about on 
 the deck, some a sitting where they could ; 
 one or two lying of their full length, resting 
 of themselves upon their elbows ; and 
 the rest lolling wherever they might find 
 a conveniency ; their Spanish habits look- 
 ing soiled and worn ; thi-ir faces swarthy, 
 with peaked beards, long mustaches, 
 piercing eyes, and curly hair, all very 
 black ; every man armed, yet passing of 
 the wine-cup from one to another with as 
 cheerful a spirit as if such a thing as 
 strife was gone clean out of their hearts ; 
 and Sir "Walter standing amongst them 
 whose princely figure and noble counte- 
 nance as much won their admiration as 
 did the liberality of his spirit as evinced 
 in his treatment of them doing of every 
 courtesy that could make them feel at 
 their ease, the whilst he was dexterously 
 intent upon the getting of such informa- 
 tion as might be serviceable to him in 
 his hoped-for conquest of Guiana. Close 
 unto his elbow stood Master Francis, ap- 
 parently somewhat interested at what 
 was going forward, for he understood the 
 language pretty well, and he was descri- 
 bing to two or three of the officers what 
 was said. There was a strong guard of 
 soldiers posted about the ship for fear of 
 any sudden treachery, and the mariners 
 were looking on from different places 
 11 
 
 about the deck and up aloft, -and if with 
 some distrust, yet with a singular curiosity 
 of their visiters. 
 
 A little apart from the other Spaniards, 
 leaning against a mast by which he was 
 partly hid from Sir Walter and those 
 about him, stood a man, evidently from, 
 his long black habit, a priest of the order 
 of Jesus. His figure appeared to be rather 
 above the ordinary, formed in a mould 
 more graceful than bulky, as far as could 
 be seen of it under the ample folds of his 
 garment. His face was mostly shaded 
 by his arms, which were against the mast, 
 but above them two large dark eyes 
 peered out upon Master Francis with an 
 expression so fierce and penetrating, that 
 once seen it was not possible to forget. 
 Ever and anon he would take a stealthy 
 glance round the ship, doubtless noticing 
 of all things there, if he thought he could 
 do so without being observed of any ; but 
 if he saw the eyes of one upon him, he 
 would on the instant the more shade his 
 face, and seem intent only upon what was 
 going on before him. There was a group 
 round a gun on the other side of the ves- 
 sel, at some distance, but not far enough 
 to be shut out from a fan 1 view of these 
 proceedings, and it consisted of Harry 
 Daring, Simon Mainsail, a rough-looking 
 fellow with proper broad shoulders and 
 body thick and short, whose right-ugly 
 countenance looked none the handsomer 
 for a huge scar across the face, who was 
 no other than Tom Growler the boatswain 
 as surly a piece of goods as you shall 
 see anywhere and they, with divers 
 others of the petty officers, were discour- 
 sing about the strangers. 
 
 "Methinks it be clean contrary to all 
 rule and reason to let these caitiffs live," 
 observed Harry Daring. " If they be the 
 monstrous villains they must needs be 
 being Spaniards, I marvel they should be 
 so well treated of us." 
 
 " Hang 'em !" exclaimed Growler em- 
 phatically. 
 
 " Doubtless our commander is well ad- 
 vised of their true natures," said the old 
 gunner. " He be not of that sort likely 
 to venture upon a strange coast without 
 taking soundings ; and mayhap we shall 
 find profit in what he be a doing of." 
 
 " Mayhap we shan't," muttered the 
 boatswain. 
 
 " At least they seem proper men 
 enough for killing," added Harry. " 1 
 expected not to have found such tall 
 goodly-looking fellows. I do long to out 
 with my tool upon them, and see of what 
 stuff they be made of."
 
 163 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "They be dogs!" cried Tom Growler. 
 
 "Despicable papists!" exclaimed one. 
 
 " The very cowardliest villains that 
 live !" added another. 
 
 " Wretched traitors and scurvy rogues !" 
 said a third ; and in a moment nothing 
 seemed too vile to be said of them by any 
 there. 
 
 " They say the devil may be painted 
 blacker than he is," remarked Simon 
 Mainsail. " But if you seek to paint any 
 of these villain Spaniards, depend on't 
 you shall find no color of a sufficient 
 blackness.'' 
 
 "Hang 'em!" again cried the boat- 
 swain, in the very gruffest voice that 
 ever was heard. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog, my masters ! it 
 must needs be a good action to rid the 
 earth of such !" exclaimed Harry Daring 
 with a very marvellous earnestness. " In- 
 stead of giving of them good cheer, it 
 seemeth to me the best thing they should 
 have is no other than cold iron ; and I for 
 one would be well pleased to see they 
 had enough of it. For mine own part, I 
 think it be quite monstrous that these 
 our enemies should be allowed to come 
 aboard of us, each man armed as if 
 ready to do us all manner of hurt, and 
 only lying in wait for an opportunity to 
 take us off our guard. How villanously 
 familiar they be ! Some lolling in this 
 place, and some in that ; and jabbering 
 away as if there was either sense or hon- 
 esty in their speech. I do hugely sus- 
 pect those who can not speak honest Eng- 
 lish. There be no good in them, that's 
 a sure thing." 
 
 " Never was and never will be," mut- 
 tered Growler. 
 
 " But mark you that fellow leaning of 
 himself against the mast," said the boy 
 quickly, as he pointed out to his compan- 
 ions the figure of the priest. " Hath he 
 not the very air of a skulker ? See how 
 heathenishly the caitiff stares upon my 
 true friend Master Francis. Hang me ! 
 if he don't look as if he meant him some 
 hurt. 0' my life ! if I knew for certain 
 he had such traitorous thoughts in him I 
 would not rest a moment ere I had clove 
 him to the chine." 
 
 I have seen many such. He be a 
 priest," observed the old gunner. 
 
 'He shall be just as like to be the 
 devil," added the boatswain gruffly. 
 
 "Priest or devil.it matters not!" ex- 
 claimed Harry Daring, seemingly some- 
 what moved. "His looks be those of 
 a murderous villain. And see how he 
 hideth his face ! Mayhap he hath a hid- 
 
 den dagger with him, and shall be intent 
 upon springing upon my friend and kil- 
 ling him out-right before he can be saved 
 by any. By Gog and Magog ! I will 
 have at him ere he hath time to do it." 
 
 " Not so fast, messmate !" cried Simon 
 Mainsail, holding him by the arm as he 
 was hastening away. "Seek not to do 
 a man damage unless you have belief 
 warrant for it than his looks. He be a 
 villain Spaniard, therefore would I as 
 soon see him killed as look at him, but 
 he be now under the protection of our 
 commander, who could not help but be 
 exceeding angered were you to run aboard 
 of him. I like not you should get your- 
 self among breakers. Besides, he be but 
 a scurvy papist priest, and it be no way 
 in the nature of such craft to seek danger 
 there shall be no chance of their getting 
 out of. I will venture to say he meaneth 
 no harm, but should he, it be quite cer- 
 tain he dare not act any." 
 
 " Let him go hang !" muttered Tom 
 Growler. 
 
 Harry Daring was prevailed upon to 
 remain where he was ; but not without 
 much pressing and almosl forcible stop- 
 ping of him by his companions. In the 
 meantime the Spaniards seemed more and 
 more pleased with their reception, for Sir 
 Walter Raleigh did allow of their barter- 
 ing for linen, a thing of which they stood 
 much in need. 
 
 "And is Don Antonio de Berrio still 
 governor of this island ?" inquired Sir 
 Walter of one better dressed than ihe 
 olhers who stood by him. 
 
 " Ay, sefior," replied he. 
 
 " Perchance you may be able tell me 
 his residence, for I have a great desire to 
 pay my respects to him before I make for 
 Virginia," added Raleigh. 
 
 " Doubtless the Sefior Gobernador shall 
 be found at the new city he hath called 
 Santo Josef de Oruno," answered the 
 Spaniard. 
 
 " Can I have any guide or direction aa 
 to finding it?" asked the other. 
 
 " The padre is going there, Sefior Capi- 
 taine," replied the Spaniard. 
 
 "What padre?" 
 
 " Padre BartolomeV' 
 
 "Have you left him on shore? Can 
 I see him ? I should hold it in everlast- 
 ing estimation if he would be my guide 
 to your excellent governor." 
 
 " There is the padre, senor." 
 
 Sir Walter looked in the direction 
 pointed out, and, for the first time, ob- 
 served the Jesuit. He was now in deep 
 abstractedness, with his eyes fixed upon
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 163 
 
 a crucifix which was suspended from his 
 neck by a rosary of large beads. He 
 might be nigh upon forty years of age, 
 yet a face of so mild a character, and of 
 so pious an aspect, seemed the gazer 
 never to have met before. Maphap he 
 was younger, for was there a freshness 
 in his countenance that persons of the 
 age that hath been stated, seldom have ; 
 and the flesh looked of such transparen- 
 cy as may rarely be met with save in 
 those of younger years. Be that how it 
 may, it is certain none could look on 
 him without being possessed in his favor 
 as he stood up close upon the mast, his 
 saint-like head, perfectly uncovered, bent 
 a little back, showing of a most comely 
 neck, and his arms raised holding, as if 
 with both of his hands, the crucifix be- 
 fore his face, while his lips delicately 
 rounded and exceeding rich in color, 
 were parted but a little, as if in the very 
 act of breathing of some internal prayer. 
 Sir Walter looked on with some wonder 
 and much admiration, Master Francis 
 also was surprised, because he could not 
 help fancying he had seen the face be- 
 fore, yet was he in a huge puzzlement to 
 know where the group about the gun, 
 despite of their prejudices, were awed 
 into respect ; and others of the crew ap- 
 peared to regard him with a like feeling, 
 whilst the Spaniards all of a sudden be- 
 gan crossing of themselves and saying 
 of their prayers with as perfect a zeal as 
 ever was beheld even amongst catholics. 
 
 " Salve, Padre Bartolome !" exclaimed 
 Sir Walter with much reverence, as af- 
 ter a long pause, which seemed not like 
 to have an end, he approached the eccle- 
 siastic. 
 
 " Benedicte, my son !" replied a voice, 
 the softest and richest he had ever heard. 
 Still the eyes were not moved from the 
 crucifix. 
 
 " You speak English then, father,"' said 
 Raleigh, and not without some astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Thou hast heard," answered the 
 priest without the moving of a muscle. 
 
 " I would gladly have speech with 
 you, reverend sir, if you could for a few 
 minutes favor me with your attention." 
 
 " At the concluding of my devotions, 
 which are now nigh unto the finishing, I 
 shall be at thy service." 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh waited with an i 
 exemplary patience, employing of him- 
 self in more closely examining the ap- j 
 pearance of the Padre Bartolome ; but i 
 upon the very closest scrutiny he detected ' 
 nothing which could in the slightest de- 
 
 gree shake the favorable impression the 
 first sight of him had created. 
 
 " Is there aught a poor son of the 
 church can do to serve thee ?" inquired 
 the priest at last in such mild accents, 
 and with so benevolent a look, that the 
 other was charmed with him. 
 
 " Being in these parts," said Sir Wal- 
 ter, " methinks I should be wanting in 
 proper courtesy were I not to seek to pay 
 rny respects to your illustrious governor, 
 Don Antonio de Berrio, to whom I have 
 heard you are bound. If it is not asking 
 too much at your hands, reverend sir, I 
 should esteem it of you mightily, would 
 you be my guide and messenger unto him. 
 I am about to sail for my colony in our 
 new territory of Virginia, but I should be 
 loath to go till I had seen one whose ex- 
 cellent merit hath been so much bruited 
 abroad." 
 
 The ecclesiastic kept his dark eyes 
 fixed upon the speaker with an atten- 
 tiveness that made him feel he was be- 
 fore one who could look through the eyes 
 into the heart; but he was not of the sort 
 to shrink from such an ordeal. 
 
 "Itgiveth me pleasure to know that I 
 can be of use to thee, my son," replied the 
 padre with the same kindliness of man- 
 ner as at first. " And his excellent lord- 
 ship, will, I doubt not at all, be in a mar- 
 vellous delight to make thy acquaintance, 
 for he hath ever been well inclined to re- 
 ceive with a proper honor all creditable 
 navigators that stop at his ports. I am 
 but an indifferent judge if each be not 
 greatly admired of the other. It will be 
 but necessary for me to return to the 
 shore to make such scanty preparations 
 as will suffice me for my departure, when 
 I will embark in this ship and bring with 
 me one who shall pilot thee to our new 
 city, under the sanction of the Most 
 High : a Dios, my son !" so saying, the 
 priest took his leave with a respectful in- 
 clination of his head, and Sir Walter, all 
 courteousness at the finding him of so 
 obliging a spirit, saw him enter the boat 
 with his companions and regain the shore. 
 
 The good ship, the Lion's Whelp, had 
 scarcely been cleared of her visiters,when, 
 as her gallant commander was speaking 
 to his secretary concerning of some pri- 
 vate matters, up comes to him Harry 
 Daring. 
 
 " Well, Harry, what want you ?" in- 
 quired Sir Walter. 
 
 " Want to go ashore, an' it please you," 
 replied the boy. 
 
 " Want to go ashore !" exclaimed his 
 patron in a considerable surprise. "Pfairh
 
 .04 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 that is a marvellous want of a sure thing, ' 
 considering that you would go amoug 
 enemies, and as like as possible get your 
 throat cut for your painstaking. I pray 
 you tell me what want you to go ashore 
 for ?" 
 
 "To kill a Spaniard, an' it please you," 
 answered Harry Daring, with as much 
 unconcern as if it was but an ordinary 
 sort of thing. Sir Walter could not re- 
 strain his mirth at this. 
 
 "You are indeed in a vast hurry, and 
 possess an infinite lack of discretion," at 
 last he observed. " Why you stand not 
 an atom of a chance at the killing of a 
 Spaniard should you go ashore, for you 
 could not help but get shot ere you could 
 well land." 
 
 " Indeed, and if they can they may," 
 replied the boy carelessly, " but I'll be 
 hanged if I would allow a paltry Span- 
 iard shooting me. An 1 it please you to 
 let me go ashore by myself, if I kill not 
 one or two at least, I will ask not to go 
 again." 
 
 " Quite preposterous, Harry," said Sir 
 Walter in an excellent good humor. 
 
 "An' it please you, I am quite sick for 
 the killing of a Spaniard," added Harry 
 Daring, with a dejected look, and with a 
 more earnest voice. " I have clean lost 
 mine appetite, I lack sleep wonderfully, I 
 care not for one thing more than for an- 
 other, I be in a most woful taking ; and 
 I shall break my heart an' I do not kill a 
 Spaniard straight. 
 
 " In truth, you are in a very piteous 
 way, "exclaimed his patron, quite amused 
 at the boy's impatience to be at his ene- 
 mies; and then added in a kinder voice, 
 "Restrain your eagerness awhile, Harry, 
 and mayhap you shall have the, opportu- 
 nity you seek: but at present it ca"n not 
 be. Attend to your duties, When the 
 time comes, if you distinguish yourself 
 as I hope of you. I will see that you shall 
 be properly rewarded for it." 
 
 Harry Daring was turning away look- 
 ing monstrous disconsolate at what he 
 considered to be his exceeding ill fortune ; 
 but stayed at the voice of Master Fran- 
 cis. 
 
 "Can you say naught in thankfulness 
 unto Sir Walter for his goodness to you ?" 
 inquired he. 
 
 "Indeed, I be wonderful thankful," re- 
 plied the boy, yet in his countenance 
 looking nothing of the kind, " more es- 
 pecially for showing of so generous a 
 spirit unto you who hath been to me the 
 truest of true friends ; but would he have 
 the bountifulness to allow of my swim- 
 
 ming ashore, for I need not a boat or care 
 for a companion, carrying with me only 
 a pistol or two and my rapier, I" 
 
 "Sir Walter hath already told you his 
 commands on that head," said Master 
 Francis in some seriousness, interrupting 
 of him, " it is not acting a good part to 
 moot the matter again, and I shall have 
 great cause to be vexed with you if you 
 make angry one who hath done you such 
 true service." 
 
 At this Harry Daring said nothing, for 
 he always had paid most extreme atten- 
 tion to what was said of the other, but 
 presently moved slowly away. In a short 
 time, however, it appeared as if all trace of 
 his disappointment had vanished utterly, 
 for having dared some of the nimblest of 
 the mariners to follow him, he rapidly 
 ascended the yards, and after leaping and 
 scrambling along the rigging like a very 
 wild cat, from one part of the ship to 
 the other, he at last got himself up to a 
 point so high, and a place so fearfully 
 dangerous, that his companions halted 
 below with dread and wonder, and would 
 come anighhim on no account, whilst he 
 continued to shout to them all manner 
 of taunts and bravadoes, and played such 
 tricks as proved he felt himself quite at 
 his ease. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh had said nothing 
 to either of the young friends after Mas- 
 ter Francis spoke, but he had listened 
 and observed the two with a deep and 
 lively interest. 
 
 " 0' my life this barber-chirurgeon is 
 as famous a little desperado as ever I 
 saw," observed he to his secretary. " He 
 bids fair to be of some note, but his too 
 great hastiness must be put down, or he 
 must needs be his own destruction before 
 he is much older." 
 
 " I have feared thaj often, and have 
 checked him as much as I could," replied 
 Master Francis, "but he hath always 
 been of this humor after any sort of dan- 
 ger or mischief, which he seeketh entirely 
 heedless of consequences, and merely for 
 the kind of sport he findeth in it. At 
 present and for some time past, the ex- 
 pectation of sharing in the danger of 
 actual warfare hath so excited him that 
 he can scarce contain himself. Still, 
 however mischievously inclined he may 
 be, it is ever from sheer thoughtlessness. 
 Although his tricks have often been to 
 the great loss of some one or another, he 
 hath not an atom of malice in his heart. 
 He can not see any wrong in what he 
 doth, let it be ever so full of harm ; every- 
 thing of the kind to him appeareth only
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 165 
 
 to be exquisite fine fun !' and that seem- 
 eth sufficient excuse." 
 
 " He wanteth only a little disciplining," 
 said his patron, "he must be got out of 
 that recklessness, which I doubt not will 
 be no great difficult matter as he gets 
 older; and then his valorous spirit will 
 carry him forward wherever he goes. 
 But what thought you of the Padre Bar- 
 tolome ?" 
 
 " He seems exceeding pious," remarked 
 the secretary. 
 
 " Few are what they seem," replied 
 the other. -'Piety is a cloak that ap- 
 peareth to fit all who wear it, and beateth 
 everything for excellence in the hiding 
 of defects; and though I was somewhat 
 impressed with the padre's spiritual coun- 
 tenance and benevolent manner, I now do 
 suspect that when religion is made such 
 a display of as was apparent in him, it is 
 but the cloak I have stated ; and conceal- 
 eth something which appeareth so to be 
 hid. I shall watch him well." . 
 
 " At the first it did strike me I had seen 
 him before," observed Master Francis, 
 " but as 1 can not bring to my mind 
 under what circumstances, methinks I 
 must have been mistaken." 
 
 " Doubtless you have," answered Sir 
 Walter. "It can scarce be possible that 
 you have met before. But see the boat 
 is putting off with him." 
 
 Sure enough the priest was seen stand- 
 ing up with his hands clasped, as the 
 boat left the land, with his face toward 
 the Spaniards, who were now kneeling 
 in a confused crowd on the shore, as if 
 sharing in his parting benediction, and 
 supplicating of Heaven for his prosperous 
 voyage. In the space of a few minutes 
 the Padre Bartolome came on board the 
 Lion's Whelp, bringing with him a dark 
 complexioned man, in the dress of a 
 fisherman. 
 
 "With God's good help I am here to 
 fulfil my promise," said the padre, as he 
 approached Sir Waller; "and here have 
 I brought with me honest Tobias, who 
 of all men hereabouts knowest best the 
 navigation of this island." 
 
 " I am infinitely beholden to you, rev- 
 erend sir," replied Raleigh : then turning 
 to the other, inquired, "You are well 
 acquainted wilh the coast, my friend ?" 
 
 " Ay, sefior," answered the man, with 
 a sulky look, yet" taking off a rusty old 
 hat, and making an obeisance nearly to 
 the ground. 
 
 " And can undertake to conduct a ship 
 safely to your new city Santo Josef de 
 Oiufic?' 
 
 " Ay, sefior," replied the Spaniard, re- 
 peating the genuflexion. 
 
 " Take the helm, then ; and if your 
 performance be as good as your promise, 
 doubt not of receiving a handsome recom- 
 pense." 
 
 " Ay, sefior," repeated the pilot, making 
 a more profound bow than either of the 
 preceding ; and straightway went to fulfil 
 his mission, as orders were given to 
 weigh anchor. All the vessels being.now 
 in full sail, Sir Walter was walking the 
 deck in company with the Jesuit. 
 
 "I have heard that Don Antonio de 
 Berrio is governor of the right famous 
 province of Guiana," observed Raleigh. 
 
 " Unquestionably is he, my son," replied 
 the priest. " He hath ever been a duti- 
 ful child of the true church, and the virgin 
 hath favored him as he deserveth. He 
 married a kinswoman of the illustrious 
 Quesada, the conqueror of the Neuvo 
 Reyno de Grenada, and by the will of 
 that hero, confirmed by a royal grant, 
 hath become governor of Guiana, inclu- 
 sive of the island of Trinidad and the 
 mouths of the Oronoco." 
 
 " 'Tis a most notable fine government," 
 exclaimed Sir Walter, " and one that 
 could not be placed in fitter hands than 
 in those of so noble a gentleman. Me- 
 thinks a space so great must require a 
 vast force of soldiery for its proper se- 
 curity." 
 
 "Doubtless it doth, my son," answered 
 the padre ; " but I see but little occasion 
 for soldiery, the governor being so much 
 beloved of the natives." 
 
 " It delighteth me to hear that said of 
 him," remarked his companion. " I sup- 
 pose he hath a garrison at this new city 
 of his, and if he feareth not an attack it 
 need not be of any great strength." 
 
 " In truth no, my son, for he might do 
 without, and no harm come ol it," said 
 the priest. 
 
 During this questioning and replying, 
 the two kept ever and anon eying of 
 each other's countenance as intently as 
 they might, without exciting of any par- 
 ticular observation. 
 
 "Surely your pilot is bringing the ship 
 too close to the rocks,"' suddenly exclaim- 
 ed Sir Walter, as he noticed the-gradual 
 approximation of his vessel to a very 
 dangerous shore. 
 
 " He is reckoned marvellous skilful in 
 the conveying of ships about the island," 
 replied the padre. " If I ,had not been 
 well assured of his fitness, I would on no 
 account have recommended him unto 
 thee."
 
 166 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 At (his time Raleigh having cast his 
 eyes around about the deck, met several 
 anxious faces turned toward him, many 
 of whom were his most experienced mari- 
 ners, and it did appear, bv their uneasy 
 and gloomy looks, that they suspected 
 some treachery. He gazed steadily on 
 the padre ; but the same calm and holy 
 countenance beamed upon him as had so 
 impressed him in the first instance. It 
 was scarce possible for any one to distrust 
 so saintlike a face: but Sir Walter did 
 distrust him. Nevertheless he saw he 
 had a difficult game to play, and in his 
 own noble features exhibited no alarm. 
 
 " Methinks this Tobias can not be so 
 well skilled, padre, as hath been repre- 
 sented to you,'* observed he. "Doubtless 
 your good nature hath been imposed on." 
 
 " Nay, 'tis impossible any should have 
 dared deceive me, my son," answered the 
 priest ; " I am convinced of his trust- 
 worthiness, and that, with the blessing 
 of God, we shall in good time be safe at 
 our destination." 
 
 "Will it please you to walk with me 
 into my cabin ?" inquired Raleigh, very 
 courteously. 
 
 " I thank thee, my son ; I am well 
 enough where I am," replied the Padre 
 Bartolome, as if inclined to stay where 
 he was. 
 
 "Nay, padre, I can hear of no denial," 
 added the other, laying hold of him by 
 the arm. " It is necessary you should 
 have some refreshment." 
 
 "'Tis a strict fast with me, my son," 
 answered the ecclesiastic, holding back, 
 as it were. 
 
 " But I have matter of moment for your 
 private ear, Padre Bartolome," said his 
 companion, more earnestly, as he still, in 
 a very friendly manner, forced him along. 
 The priest perceiving that he could scarce 
 nelp himself, did as he was desired, and 
 they left the deck together, as uncon- 
 cernedly as if thinking of nothing in the 
 world. 
 
 " I pray you be seated," exclaimed Sir 
 Walter to the Jesuit, as they entered the 
 cabin, and then suddenly added, as if in 
 a wonderful surprise, " 6' my life I have 
 forgotten. Excuse me, padre, a brief 
 space I will return anon." He then left 
 the cabin, locking ihe door after him, 
 and hastily returned to the deck. Padre 
 Bartolome looked as though somewhat 
 disturbed, and his large dark eyes flashed 
 glances of a different sort to those that 
 lately had given to his countenance so 
 religious an aspect. He gazed out of the 
 window, and noticed how closely the ship 
 
 was approaching the rocky coast. At 
 this he smiled ; but the smile had a very 
 devilish malice in it. 
 
 During the latter part of the time taken 
 up with what hath just been described, 
 Harry Daring was seen as if stealthily 
 approaching the man at the helm. 
 
 " I say, old fellow, can you fight ?" 
 exclaimed he to the pilot. The Spaniard 
 turned round to see who it was who ad- 
 dressed him ; and observing that it was 
 no other than a boy, merely scowled at 
 him and said nothing. 
 
 " Come give us none of your black 
 looks, Master Dingey," cried the other, 
 " I heed not any such, I promise you. 
 You be the first villanous Spaniard I 
 have had speech with, and if you are in 
 the humor, I would fain meet you when- 
 ever there shall be a fitting occasion ; 
 and I care not how soon, with sword and 
 pistol, or any other honorable weapon ; 
 and I mean not to leave you till I have 
 killed you outright." 
 
 The man stared at Harry Daring with 
 a fierce and malicious expression ; for 
 though not knowing a word of what was 
 said, he might gather from the undaunted 
 looks of the boy that he meant him no 
 good ; and then, in a deep gruff voice, 
 muttered the word " herege," which was 
 calling him a heretic a most hateful and 
 contemptuous appellation in the eyes of 
 any catholic. 
 
 " You are a very absolute villain and 
 coward, Master Jack Spaniard ; or when 
 one comes unto you with a civil challenge, 
 you would answer me in honest English. 
 I shall feel a marvellous comfort in 
 ridding of the earth of so thorough a 
 scurvy rogue." 
 
 To this the other answered only by 
 calling of him diablo, meaning devil, and 
 grinding his teeth at him. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog !" exclaimed 
 Harry Daring, raising of his voice and 
 regarding the pilot with famous angry 
 looks, " if you answer me not in honest 
 English, I will give vou a clout of your 
 knave's pate." And thereupon he shook 
 his fist. Then the brow of the Spaniard 
 grew blacker than ever, and putting of 
 his hand into his vest, he showed a dag- 
 ger, making a significant nod, and mut- 
 tering in Spanish that he had a mind to 
 stab him ; but no sooner did Harry Dar- 
 ing catch sight of the blade than, as quick 
 as lightning, he bent down his head, and 
 making of it a sort of battering-ram, gave 
 the man unexpectedly so vigorous a poke 
 in the stomach that it seemed to have 
 sent the breath out of his body, and after
 
 I 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 167 
 
 staggering back a few paces, he fell so 
 heavily upon a coil of rope that the 
 dagger was knocked out of his hand. 
 In the next instant Harry was upon him, 
 and then commenced a most furious 
 tusselling. between the two. The Span- 
 iard cursing, grinding of his teeth, and 
 clutching of him as well as he could, and 
 the boy, who seemed as strong as a young 
 lion, abusing him for a villain, and ever 
 and anon hitting of him such hearty cuffs 
 as was evident he liked not at all. 
 
 This could scarce go on without at- 
 tracting attention. Indeed, no sooner 
 was Harry Daring seen to rush upon the 
 pilot, than all within notice of it came 
 crowding to the spot, some hanging by 
 the rigging, others clambering to wherev- 
 er they might get a place to stand on, and 
 ail cheering and encouraging of Harry as 
 much as they could. Some of the officers 
 were hastening to interfere, but it came 
 to a stop much sooner than was expected, 
 for the Spaniard having regained his legs 
 rushed like a furious mad beast upon his 
 youthful adversary, who, stooping as he 
 came, sent his head between the other's 
 legs, and putting forth all his force, gave 
 him a jerk that pitched him on his head 
 behind him, where he lay stunned for 
 some minutes. At this moment the voice 
 of Sir Walter Raleigh was heard giving 
 orders to put the ship about ; the men 
 returned to their duties ; the necessary 
 alterations were made in the sails; an 
 experienced mariner was placed at the 
 helm ; and in the space of half an hour 
 or less the good ship the Lion's Whelp 
 was seen retracing of her way to the 
 place she had lately left. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Sir, be appeased ; he is come to humble 
 Himself in spirit, and lo ask your patience, 
 If too much zeal hath carried him aside 
 From the due path. BEN JONSON. 
 
 Nay, then, I am betrayed, 
 
 I feel the plot cast for my overthrow. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 In at the window, or else o'er the hatch ; 
 Who dares not stir by day must walk by night ; 
 And have is have however men do catch, 
 Near or far off ; well won is still well shot. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 IT was with exceeding astonishment 
 that Padre Bartolome observed the ship 
 receding from the shore. He began to 
 feel a little uneasy at his own situation, 
 and paced the cabin floor with hasty 
 strides, and with wild malignant glances. 
 
 Nevertheless, upon the hearing of a foot- 
 step close at hand, he hurriedly sunk 
 down on his knees, and began praying 
 with wonderful earnestness. 
 
 " I have tarried not a moment longer 
 than I could help, padre," courteously 
 exclaimed Sir Waller Raleigh, as he 
 entered at the door. 
 
 " I have not missed thee, my son," 
 replied the ecclesiastic, after he had risen 
 from the ground. 
 
 "But a strange accident hath fallen 
 out that had like to have kept me longer, 
 had I not done what I have," continued 
 Sir Walter. "But sit you, good padre, 
 sit, I pray you." 
 
 " I hope nothing ill hath happened," 
 observed the priest, as he seated himself 
 opposite the other. 
 
 "0' my faith ! it might have been of 
 great detriment to us all," answered 
 Raleigh ; " for upon my getting upon 
 deck the whole ship was in a perfect 
 confusion and uproar. I know not the 
 exact rights of it, for every one I have 
 spoke to seemeth to have a different ac- 
 count of the matter. But it appears that 
 your pilot and one of my people had some- 
 how or other got to giving of each other 
 ill language, and Tobias drawing his 
 dagger upon the other, they presently fell 
 to blows, in which the former being cast 
 headlong very heavily upon the ground, 
 received such a fall that for the time be- 
 ing it knocked all sense out of him. In 
 consequence of this mishap I have been 
 obliged to turn the ship about, and make 
 for the place whence we came, for I could 
 no longer allow of the safety of the ship 
 and crew being intrusted to one who 
 seemeth of so hasty a temper : and in- 
 deed I am exceeding anxious to get him 
 back with a whole skin, for he hath made 
 all my people so incensed against him 
 that I expect if he be not removed away 
 straight he will suffer for it. I am sorely 
 vexed at this, for that it will delay my 
 long-desired interview with your honora- 
 ble governor." 
 
 " Indeed, 'tis much to be regretted, my 
 son," answered the Padre Bartolome, re- 
 garding his companion with one of his 
 most searching glances. " Tobias deserv- 
 eth to be well censured for behaving of 
 himself so badly. Alack ! it doth make 
 my heart ache wonderfully to observe 
 how prone to strife are the children of 
 one Father. What vile thing can there 
 be in human nature that preventeth the 
 whole world living as they ought in a 
 universal brotherhood ? I have strove 
 early and late to estroy that hatefulness
 
 168 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 one of another which leadeth men into 
 such riotous turmoils ; yet it hath availed 
 me but little, in vain preached, in vain 
 prayed for the removing of their quarrel- 
 someness. Ever have I gone amongst 
 them on missions of peace and charity, 
 yet have I seen of my labors no better 
 ending than war and bloodshed. Oh, 
 Madre de Dios !" continued the priest, 
 lifting up his brilliant eyes to the ceiling, 
 and raising of his voice to a tone of great- 
 er excitement. " Pluck from our sinful 
 hearts these hateful passions, that with 
 one accord men of all nations and con- 
 ditions whatsoever, may bow down in 
 thy worship, and glorify thy name with 
 natures attuned by thy sweet influence 
 unto everlasting harmony and love." 
 
 " Amen !" exclaimed his companion 
 reverently. " Much pleased am I to hear 
 of such sentiments,; and doubt I not that 
 if they were common, and were acted on 
 by the different ministers of religion, one 
 faith would soon pervade the world, and 
 one feeling of love unite all mankind in a 
 bond of peace that should never be sun- 
 dered." 
 
 "Ah, my son!" cried the padre with 
 increased fervor. " How earnestly would 
 I strife to bring about so good a work. 
 There are multitudes of my brethren 
 who hold that a man can not be saved 
 unless he be of the catholic church ; but 
 my heart can not consign to perdition so 
 many of my fellow-creatures. Among 
 protestants I have met with very many 
 who without doubt were truly excellent 
 Christians. They led good lives; they 
 gave bountifully to the poor ; they wor- 
 shipped their Creator in all gratitude and 
 sincerity ; and that such are to be re- 
 warded with the torments of the damned, 
 seemeth to me incredible." 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh now had some 
 doubt that his companion was of the sort 
 he had suspected. Ideas so liberal he 
 had not met with before in any catholic, 
 much less a priest : and he could never 
 have suspected them in a Jesuit. 
 
 " I am afraid, padre, the superiors of 
 your order would but little approve of 
 such opinions as you have just expressed," 
 said he. " Yet I am wonderfully delight- 
 ed with your liberality, and shall have 
 better thoughts of your religion for pro- 
 ducing such." 
 
 "Indeed, my son, I speak but as I 
 think," replied .the ecclesiastic, with a 
 look of very convincing earnestness. " It 
 is true that many of us are not so toler- 
 ant; but the cell and the cloister are the 
 last places from which ideas enlarged 
 
 and charitable should be expected to 
 come. It hath been my good hap to 
 travel much. I have seen with mine 
 own eyes. I have taken my opinion of 
 men from themselves, and not from an- 
 other party who may be either ignorant 
 or prejudiced, and like enough give false 
 testimony. The result of this thou dost 
 behold. I can respect a man for all that 
 he be of a nation with which mine is at 
 enmity. I can believe in his worth for 
 all that he followeth a religion which 
 mine declareth to be damnation. I am 
 not to be cheated out of my admiration 
 of honorable conduct in deference to 
 any unjust judgment of another, though 
 he should be my spiritual chief and di- 
 rector in all matters of conscience." 
 
 "0' my life, well said!" exclaimed 
 the other, diligently scrutinizing the fea- 
 tures of his companion to detect aught of 
 insincerity. Finding that the benevolence 
 of his aspect altered not a jot, he was 
 beginning to think more and more every 
 minute that he had been too hasty in 
 what he had done. "And so you have 
 travelled, padre ?" continued he. " Cer- 
 les, there can be nothing like travel fo 
 the liberalizing of the mind. Have you 
 ever been in England ?" 
 
 " I have, my son, but 'tis many years 
 since." 
 
 " My secretary doth imagine that he 
 hath met with you." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried the padre in some 
 surprise, then added with more indiffer- 
 ence, "It can scarce be, for I left Eng- 
 land when I Was but a boy." 
 
 "I thought he had been mistaken," 
 observed Sir Walter. Then there fol- 
 lowed a silence of some few minutes, in 
 which each was busily engaged with 
 thoughts of the other. 
 
 " Have you resided long in this island ?" 
 inquired Raleigh. 
 
 " For some years, my son," replied the 
 Jesuit. 
 
 " Doubtless then you must be well ac- 
 quainted with the natives, their disposi- 
 tions and habits ?" 
 
 " Methinks there are but few who 
 know them better. I ventured here un- 
 der the favor of the Virgin, in the hope of 
 converting of these heathens to the true 
 faith. I have labored hard, and not with- 
 out some success. Still I must in friend- 
 liness acquaint thee that they are in no 
 way to be depended on. They are thor- 
 oughly treacherous and false at heart. 
 Mayhap if thou hast speech with them 
 they shall tell thee the most moving sto- 
 ries concerning of cruelty and oppression
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 169 
 
 suffered of the Spaniards, whereof there 
 shall be no sort of truth: their only ob- 
 ject beiog to create a. confidence by the 
 which they may better be able to rob 
 and murder those who put their trust in 
 them." 
 
 " They must be a bad set indeed if that 
 be the case, padre," answered Sir Wal- 
 ter. " Nevertheless, it seemeth strange 
 to me that none of them should come on 
 board." 
 
 "Fearing of some mischief,'' said the 
 priest, " I did exert my influence with 
 the commandant to stop them from leav- 
 ing the shore, knowing how inveterate 
 they be against foreigners, and, worst of 
 all, against thy worthy countrymen the 
 English." 
 
 " Then am I under much obligation to 
 you," replied his companion : yet still he 
 had his doubts upon the matter. 
 
 " Mention it not, my son. I am happy 
 that I have the power of doing a service 
 to one of a nation I have ever had such 
 excellent good cause to respect. I hope 
 thou wilt tarry amongst us some time?" 
 
 " I know not how long my stay may 
 be, padre." 
 
 " Hast thou any more ships besides 
 these, my son ?" 
 
 " I have ; but their sailing with me 
 has been delayed." 
 
 "Perchance they shall overtake thee 
 ere long ?" 
 
 " 'Tis like enough some of them may." 
 
 " Be they ships of a force like unto 
 this, my son ?" 
 
 "Somewhat, padre." 
 
 "Prythee, tell me again what number 
 of ships thou expectest to join thee ?" said 
 the Jesuit. 
 
 "I said not any number," answered Sir 
 Walter, who now began to suspect that 
 his companion had some object in his 
 questions. 
 
 " Oh, 'tis of no sort of consequence !' 
 exclaimed the priest as unconcernedly as 
 he might, and on the instant turned the 
 conversation into another channel. Each 
 tried to obtain of the other such informa- 
 tion as he required the one concerning 
 of the force possessed by Don Antonio 
 the other of the number of men and ships 
 under Sir Waller's command ; and each 
 strove to mislead his companion as mucl 
 as was possible of him. 
 
 " I have changed my mind as to going 
 to your new city," observed Raleigh. 
 
 "The Sefior Gobernador will be righ 
 glad to see thee," replied the padre 
 "And he will take it unkind of ihee 
 shouldst thou leave the island withou 
 
 laying him a visit. I should earnestly 
 advise thee, as a friend, to neglect such a 
 thing on no account." 
 
 " I will think of it," said Sir Walter. 
 'But you are proceeding thither I be- 
 .ieve ?" 
 
 'I shall go by land immediately I get 
 me on shore," answered the Jesuit. 
 
 " Is the distance very great by land ?" 
 inquired the other. 
 
 " Some few leagues, my son ; but the 
 roads are not of the best, and the way by 
 sea being the shortest, I usually prefer it." 
 
 "When you see the worshipful Don 
 Antonio de Berrio, present my duty to 
 him, and say I be most earnest in wishing 
 him all the prosperity in his government 
 his great merit deserveth: and that if he 
 come not to see me straight, I will do my 
 best to pay him a visit." 
 
 "I will not fail, m,y son." 
 
 Soon after this the Padre Bartolome 
 and the man Tobias went ashore, but not 
 before the latter had expressed in Spanish 
 to Harry Daring, with a look that could 
 not be misunderstood, that he jvould be 
 glad to cut his throat on the very first 
 opportunity ; to the which Harry replied 
 by an action more expressive than ele- 
 gant, that the Spaniard could not help 
 interpreting much better than if any 
 language had been used, in what con- 
 tempt he was held. 
 
 Toward the evening of the same day 
 the good ship, the Lion's Whelp, being 
 at anchor about the same place in which 
 she lay in the morning, and a strong 
 watch being set for fear of a surprise 
 Harry Daring being on duty, observed 
 several boats leaving the land. These 
 made toward the ship, and it was pres- 
 ently noticed that they were filled with 
 natives. Upon this Sir Walter and his* 
 officers, being told of it, hastened on the 
 deck having everything in readiness in 
 case of any hostile intention on the part 
 of those in the boats ; but upon closer 
 inspection, seeing that they were without 
 arms it was evident that their object Was 
 peaceable. As they neared the vessels 
 they were hailed, and one, in good Span- 
 ish, cried out to be taken aboard. To 
 some who seemed the caeiques or chiefs 
 this was allowed, and presently, there 
 came aboard the Lion's Whelp five or six 
 Indians, most o f them very proper looking 
 men, though of a dusky hue, clad in little 
 else save a linen cloth girt about the 
 middle, a head dress of tar feathers very 
 stately to look on, and a sort of cloak 
 made of a curious stuff very bright, and 
 ornamented with feathers and shells.
 
 170 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 They came upon the quarter-deck where 
 Sir Walter Raleigh was with his officers, 
 and an interpreter which Captain Whid- 
 don.had brought from these parts on his 
 voyage last year. The latter was named 
 Ferdinando, and was an Araucan Indian 
 from some place betwixt the Orinoco and 
 the Amazons, and had been taken with 
 his brother in canoes laden with cassava 
 bread to sell at a neighboring island 
 called Margarita. One of these Indians 
 was a tall old man who carried himself 
 very stately, and whether because of his 
 being the chiefest among them, or the 
 more experienced, is not known, but he 
 acted as spokesman for the rest. He was 
 called the acarawana or lord. 
 
 Upon being asked their intention of 
 coming on board, he said that it was for 
 the purpose of trading for such things as 
 they could have, and that the reason of 
 their not attempting it by daylight was, 
 because of the governor having given 
 orders through the whole island that 
 none of the natives should go aboard of 
 the English ships, upon pain of hanging 
 and quartering. Upon this, Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, who had had his doubts of the 
 Jesuit, did question them through the in- 
 terpreter, of the majiner in which behaved 
 the Spaniards to them; and the acara- 
 wana did reply right movingly, that Don 
 Antonio had divided the island, and given 
 each soldier a part, making of all the 
 ancient caciques, who were the rightful 
 proprietors, to be their slaves, some of 
 whom he kept in chains, torturing of 
 them by dropping upon their naked bodies 
 burning bacon and the like: others of 
 these Indians then spoke divers tales of 
 cruelty and oppression which had been 
 suffered by their countrymen of these 
 Spaniards, till all who heard were in a 
 monstrous passion at such barbarous do- 
 ings. 
 
 Sir Walter then inquired of then* 
 where the governor was, and was told as 
 the padre had stated, with the which he 
 was informed that Don Antonio, upon 
 hearing of the arrival of the ships, had 
 sent for soldiers to Margarita, and like- 
 wise to a small place on the main land 
 called Cumana, that it was known the 
 padre had come straight from the very 
 place he was pretending to go to ; and 
 that the way the pilot was directing the 
 ship, was right upon the most dangerous 
 part of the coast, it doubtless being his 
 intention to get the vessels so entangled 
 among the rocks that they must needs 
 strike ; upon which, all on board could 
 not but fall an easy prey to the soldiers 
 
 which should be brought against them. 
 The hearing of this convinced Sir Walter 
 Raleigh that his suspicions had been cor- 
 rect, that some treachery was intended 
 him ; and he did congratulate himself 
 on the manner he had acted, so as to be 
 able to rescue bis ships from the snare 
 without exciting the alarm of the Jesuit. 
 This he knew to be necessary, should he 
 have any design for punishing the gov- 
 ernor for his malice, which had been his 
 intention all along, and he forthwith 
 began considering the properest way to 
 set about it. In the meantime other of 
 the Indians were allowed to come on 
 board, and presently the whole ship was 
 in the completest bustle ever seen all 
 were so busy a trading. 
 
 On the next evening the acarawana 
 came again with many of his country- 
 men, and they were exceeding wrath be- 
 cause of the Spaniards having executed 
 two of those who had ventured on board 
 the previous night. Upon this Sir Wal- 
 ter sounded them as to whether, in case he 
 commenced hostilities against their ty- 
 rants, he could depend on them for any 
 assistance, which, when they heard, they 
 made him the most solemn assurances 
 not only of their co-operation in the is- 
 land, but of the friendliness of all the 
 different nations on the main land should 
 it become known amongst them, that Sir 
 Walter came as the enemies of the Span- 
 iards ; and when he promised them, that 
 if he had of them proper guidance to the 
 new city he would rout their oppressors 
 out of it, they seemed so overjoyed they 
 could scarce speak, and said they were 
 ready on the instant to do whatever he 
 should desire of them. 
 
 Matters being so far favorable, the 
 officers of the ships were called together 
 into his cabin to consult with their com- 
 mander as to the best measures to be pur- 
 sued at this crisis of their affairs ; and 
 then Sir Walter reminded them of how 
 treacherously this Don Antonio de Berrio 
 had entrapped eight of Captain Whid- 
 don's men in his voyage last year how 
 he had with devilish cunning, endeavored 
 to cast away their vessels upon the rocks 
 for the purpose of the more easily attack- 
 ing them with his soldiers, and with 
 what extreme cruelty he did torment the 
 poor natives to get from them where they 
 had concealed their treasures. Then he 
 stated, as it was not possible to pass the 
 Orinoco in his ships, he must leave them 
 behind him some four or five hundred 
 miles, whilst he got along as he best 
 might in the small boats, which could
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 171 
 
 never be done with any safety to the 
 former, should he leave a garrison at his 
 back, who were anxious to spoil his en- 
 terprise, and, as he had heard of the In- 
 dians, were in daily expectations of great 
 supplies out of Spain. Believing too, as 
 he could not help doing, that the Span- 
 iards would plot his overthrow as soon as 
 they could do it with any chance of suc- 
 cess, he stated it was safest to come upon 
 them unawares before they could hatch 
 their schemes; and he doubted not at 
 all of being able to give them so absolute 
 an overthrow as should sufficiently pun- 
 ish them for their villany. 
 
 This was marvellously well liked of all 
 the captains, for there was scarce one 
 there who did not burn with impatience 
 to be at the Spaniards ; and it was soon 
 agreed that the following evening a 
 strong force should be secretly got ready 
 to attack the settlement before them, 
 whence it was immediately to proceed to 
 the new city San Josef de Oruno, to en- 
 deavor to take the governor prisoner. In 
 consequence of this resolve, all who be- 
 longed to the expedition were as joyful 
 as such brave spirits could be, their dis- 
 like of the Spaniards was so great ; and 
 every one was wanting to be of the pariy ; 
 but as it was necessary some must be 
 left behind to take care of the ships, 
 many of those who were the readiest to 
 volunteer were hugely disappointed, be- 
 cause of their ill fortune in not being al- 
 lowed to go with the others. It may 
 readily be believed that of all who were 
 in delight of the approaching encounter 
 was there none so well pleased as Harry 
 Daring. When he heard of it he flung 
 his cap up in the air, and hurraed and 
 jumped about as if he were crazed with 
 joy. The evening before he could sleep 
 nothing, because of his thinking so much 
 of what he would do when the fighting 
 began, and the exquisite fine fun he should 
 have in it. He would scarce allow Master 
 Francis, who slept with him to get a wink, 
 he kept so continually asking of him how 
 such and such a great knight's esquire 
 had behaved when he first ventured into 
 battle, and a many more of questions to 
 the like purpose, whereof the other at 
 first gave him such answers as seemed to 
 inflame his humor the more, for he 
 straightway waxed so wonderfully in- 
 quisitive on all warlike matters, that 
 Master Francis got tired of it, and was 
 obliged to tell him pretty sharply to hold 
 his prate, for that he could get no sleep 
 for him. In the morning, as soon as 
 might be, he was found in an out-of-the- 
 
 way corner practising with one of the 
 most experienced swordsmen in the ship 
 the cunningest cuts that he knew of, and 
 it was exceeding fair diversion to observe 
 how earnestly the boy set about his les- 
 son, evidently taking such huge delight 
 in it as showed he had a greater liking 
 for such things than he had found when 
 j he was apprentice to the barber chirur- 
 j geon in East Cheap. As the time drew 
 i on he grew more impatient. He must 
 needs sharpen his sword to make it cut 
 well then he would polish up his piece 
 and oil the lock, so that it should not miss 
 fire. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, who had taken 
 great note of him, came up with Master 
 Francis as Harry was busy in the steerage 
 getting ready his accoutrements, assisted 
 by a young Indian, whose affections he 
 had gained by cudgelling of a big fellow 
 who had been using of him ill, jeering him 
 and playing him all manner of shameful 
 tricks, ever since which Harry had acted 
 toward him as a sort of patron, and would 
 allow him to be despisingly used on no 
 | account. This youth, though dressed as 
 I an humble ship-boy, had a manner with 
 | him of wonderful courteousness. His 
 j face, albeit his complexion was of the 
 darkest, was not uncomely, and his eyes 
 I were exceeding bright and expressive ; 
 i indeed, there was often noticed in him, 
 ] for all he seemed so simple and humble 
 i at other limes, a look of pride and haugh- 
 j tiness, that did the more draw on him 
 i the uncivil remarks of some of his com- 
 I panions. He had been brought to England 
 j by Captain Whiddon ; and being of Gui- 
 ana, and of an intelligent nature, it was 
 thought he might be of service in the 
 present adventure. 
 
 "Now, Snowball," exclaimed Harry 
 Daring, as he was loading of his piece 
 and the other was looking on with won- 
 dering eyes, " you see, having cleaned 
 the barrel and oiled the lock as well as 
 I may, I presently put in powder, for 
 i there shall be no going off of the piece 
 1 at any time unless there be powder in it." 
 " Deara me !" cried the boy, looking 
 i from the gun to its possessor with un- 
 ! feigned astonishment and admiration. 
 
 " Then, Snowball," continued Harry 
 i with the like importance of manner, "I 
 i put me in this bullet, for it be a sure 
 | thing there shall be no killing of any one 
 i unless there be a bullet with the powder." 
 "Oh, my!" said the other, after the 
 i same wondering fashion as at first; for 
 j it seemed a very marvellous thing to the 
 i simple Indian.
 
 172 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " The which done, I next place a pinch 
 of the powder in the pan, for if that be 
 not done it shall be of no use to you to 
 load your piece at all." 
 
 " Dat very strange ! Massa Harry," ex- 
 claimed the boy with more wonder than 
 ever. 
 
 " Then, supposing you to be one of those 
 villanous caitiffs the Spaniards," contin- 
 ued his companion, as he raised the weap- 
 on to his shoulder and pointed the barrel 
 toward the young Indian. "I take aim 
 at you thus intending to have the kill- 
 ing of you on the instant." 
 
 " No, Massa Harry, you no killa me, if 
 you please, sar !" cried the youth, as he 
 shrunk down in some affright and looked 
 imploringly toward the other. " You beat 
 him big fellar cause him kicka me and 
 pincha me. You no hurt poor Indian 
 boy. You no killa me, Massa Harry ?" 
 
 "Hullo, sir, what mischief have you 
 in hand now ?" inquired Sir Walter some- 
 what angrily, as he caught the piece out 
 of Harry's hold. 
 
 " Surely you meant not any harm," 
 said Master Francis, though he marvelled 
 prodigiously at finding of the two in such 
 a situation. 
 
 " Nay, o' mv life I intended not to 
 shoot him," exclaimed Harry Daring with 
 extreme earnestness, " I was but showing 
 of him how to manage his piece." 
 
 "No, no, Massa Harry no mean to 
 killa me, I tank you, sar," cried the young 
 Indian, upon whom it was evident some 
 pains had been at for the instructing of 
 him in politeness. " He beat him big 
 fellar cause him kicka me and pincha 
 me, if you please, sar ; he no hurt poor 
 Indian boy, I tank you, sar." 
 
 " 0' my word it looked exceeding like 
 intent to kill," said Raleigh; "but it 
 matters not, so that it be no worse than 
 it is." 
 
 " If it please you, I was but showing 
 the boy the right proper manner in which 
 I purposed serving out the Spaniards," 
 observed Harry Daring. 
 
 " But how know you you are to be al- 
 lowed to join the attacking party?" in- 
 quired Sir Walter. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog, an' I be not al- 
 lowed, I shall go stark mad !" exclaimed 
 Harry, very earnestly ; and he looked ut- 
 terly dismayed at the thought of being 
 kept away. 
 
 "I'faith that must never be," replied 
 his patron, with a smile; "or else, if it 
 must needs be that you go mad, methinks 
 'twould be as well, were you to bite a 
 few that would lag astern, when the en- 
 
 emy are before them ; and mayhap they 
 shall be none the worse for it. But if I 
 let you go, will you promise me to be 
 obedient to all orders, and never to move 
 from the place you are put in till I shall 
 think there be occasion ?" 
 
 " If it please you I will promise any- 
 thing, so that two things be allowed me," 
 said Harry Daring in a more cheerful 
 tone. 
 
 "And what may you require ?" inquired 
 Sir Walter. 
 
 " First that my place be by the side of 
 my true friend Master Francis; so that 
 if any of those villanous caitiffs seek for 
 to do him a mischief, I may, on the in- 
 stant, cut off their knaves' heads for 
 them." 
 
 " Granted," cried Sir Walter, seeming 
 much delighted at the hearing of such a 
 request. 
 
 " And next, should I have the good hap 
 to meet with that monstrous poor worst- 
 ed rogue that drew his dagger upon me, 
 merely for giving him a civil challenge to 
 fight, that I should have the killing of 
 him for my own particular pastime." 
 
 " For the granting of that I am not so 
 ready," replied Raleigh; "I think he is 
 no fit match for you. He is aTnan grown, 
 seemeth strong and cunning, and doubt- 
 less hath had much experience in his 
 weapon. Depend on't, if he is found in 
 arms, and maketh much resistance, he 
 shall be well cared for by those who are 
 better able to do it than are you." 
 
 " Say you not so if it please you, sir," 
 asked the boy, imploringly ; " my heart 
 be set upon the killing of him ; and as 
 for his being a man grown, I care for it 
 not a fig's end. He be but an ass, sir, I 
 do assure, for he hath not the sense to 
 speak honest English." 
 
 "Let Massa Harry killa him, it you 
 please, sar," said the young Indian, very 
 urgently, as he lifted up his expressive 
 eyes unto the face of Sir Walter. " Mas- 
 sa Harry brave as lion. He beat him big 
 fellar, 'cause him kicka me and pincha 
 me, I tank you, sar." 
 
 " I think in this case, a conditional 
 promise might be given, without hurt to 
 any," here observed Master Francis to 
 Sir Walter. " It may be, as circumstan- 
 ces shall direct, with proper caution at- 
 tending it, as should save Harry from all 
 dangerous consequences." 
 
 " Hang dangerous consequences ! Mas- 
 ter Francis," exclaimed Harry Daring, 
 with his customary undauntedness. "I 
 care not for such, I promise you. It be 
 enough for me to look at what I be about,
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 173 
 
 without heeding what shall come of it. 
 Let me have but the getting of this rom- 
 bustious fellow weapon to weapon, where 
 all shall be as fair for one as for t'other, 
 and if I let him get the better of me, I 
 Will e'en stick to a barber's pole for the 
 rest of my days, deeming myself deserv- 
 ing of no better weapon. Not to say that 
 it be one -in any way to be despised ; for 
 I have had good service with it, as when 
 I paid out that valorous knight of the 
 brazen countenance, for drawing of his 
 monstrous tool upon me, because, when 
 breathing of a vein for him, I could find 
 no more blood in him than you shall get 
 from a cabbage-leaf." 
 
 The saying of this made Sir Walter 
 exceeding curious to know more of the 
 matter ; but when, upon inquiring, he 
 heard the boy relate the whole story of 
 how, upon his first attempt in the breath- 
 ing of a vein, he had cut, and cut, and cut 
 Captain Bluster in the arm, to no manner 
 of purpose the rage of the patient the 
 deadly combat which ensued, and the 
 overthrew of the valorous captain, he did 
 laugh as if he would never have done. 
 And so droll was Harry Daring in de- 
 scribing the whole scene, that Master 
 Francis was more amused than when he 
 first heard it; and the Indian kept show- 
 ing of his ivory teeth, and grinning as 
 though nothing could have so tickled his 
 fancy. 
 
 " Well, if you can make such effective 
 use of a barber's pole, I doubt not of 
 your being able to do as much with more 
 creditable weapons," observed Sir Wal- 
 ter, after his mirth had a little subsided ; 
 " therefore, supposing you shall come up 
 with this Tobias, as I think he is called, 
 provided it can be made manifest to me, 
 he shall have no unfair advantage of you, 
 I will allow of your giving him battle ; 
 and you shall be assured of my earnest 
 wishes for coming off victorious in the 
 encounter." 
 
 At this Harry Daring began a jump- 
 ing about as if he was out of his wits for 
 joy. In truth he was of a simple artless 
 nature, for all that he was oft so mis- 
 chievously disposed doing naught from 
 malice, as hath already been represented, 
 but merely from the love of sport. He 
 had not the heart to hurt a fly, unless 
 perchance he should find a big fly a bully- 
 ing of a smaller one, and then he would 
 presently settle the matter after a fashion 
 that showed he had the very properest 
 sense of justice. Sir Walter having ex- 
 pressed himself as hath been described, 
 gave notice that the attack was to be 
 
 made that very evening as soon as it be- 
 came dark, which being made known 
 throughout all the ships put every one 
 into getting of himself ready for the con- 
 flict. When the hour appointed had ar- 
 rived, and it was thought that all was 
 still upon shore, the boats being got ready, 
 the different captains with about a hun- 
 dred soldiers and such mariners as were 
 necessary, did leave their ships without 
 any noise. The feelings with which 
 Harry Daring steps into the vessel that 
 was to bear him unto his enemies are not 
 easy of description. Suffice it to say, that 
 he was in a monstrous impatience, and 
 did plant himself as near to that part of 
 the boat he expected would first touch 
 the land as he could, from a device of his 
 own, which will be seen anon. Present- 
 ly they all glided along the water neve"r 
 a one saying a word, Sir Walter Raleigh's 
 own barge taking the lead, in which was 
 Harry, and Master Francis, and such of 
 the ship's company as the barge would 
 hold, all armed to the teeth ; and the 
 other boats lay as close to her as they 
 could get, using of their dars so dexter- 
 ously as to make no great splashing, so 
 as in any way to alarm the Spaniards. 
 The night was somewhat of the darkest, 
 but that was all the better for their enter- 
 prise, as they looked to surprise the corps 
 de garde to prevent them from sending 
 off any intelligence to the governor. 
 
 Scarcely had Sir Walter's barge touch- 
 ed the shore when Harry Daring sprung 
 out of it before any one entertained a 
 suspicion of what he intended, and leapt 
 upon land the first of all. He was quick- 
 ly followed by the rest with as little noise 
 as could be, and Sir Walter giving some 
 orders to his officers to keep the men 
 together, marched them off. They passed 
 several buildings, of what sort they knew 
 not because of the darkness, and made 
 direct for the guard-house, which was 
 marked out to them by a strong light 
 burning within. This they surrounded 
 on all sides so as to prevent every chance 
 of escape. There was a sentinel at the 
 door, but he was so fast asleep leaning 
 against a post, that he saw not and heard 
 not aught of what was going on around 
 him. He was not disturbed of any, but 
 was allowed to snore where he was, 
 which he did in very earnest fashion. 
 An open window stood a little above the 
 ground, and Sir Walter causing Harry 
 Daring to be lifted in the arms of the 
 tallest man, the boy gave note of what 
 he saw within. There were the Span- 
 iards lying of their lengths on the floor,
 
 '74 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS frRIENDS. 
 
 all fast asleep, their pieces were piled 
 up in a corner of the room, and their 
 swords hung against the wall. What to 
 do was next to be considered. The sen- 
 tinel lay across the door as it were, rest- 
 ing of his back against one post, and his 
 feet against the opposite. He seemed to 
 grasp his piece so tight that there ap- 
 peared to be no getting it away from him 
 without his crying out, nor could there 
 be any passing of him without moving 
 him in such a manner that he should 
 wake on the instant. The casement was 
 somewhat too high from the ground to be 
 easily got at. However, it was determin- 
 ed, come what would, that as many as 
 could should get in at the window, whilst 
 others should remove the sentinel, kill 
 him if he sought to give the alarm, and 
 rush in at the door. 
 
 No sooner had Harry Daring heard of 
 this arrangement than he leapt from the 
 man's shoulders on which he had climb- 
 ed, scrambled quickly up to the casement, 
 and quietly dropped himself down into 
 the room. There was he among the 
 enemies he had so longed to grapple 
 with ; but every man of them seemed to 
 be a sleeping soundly, and he could not 
 think of attacking a sleeping foe. He 
 examined them by the light which burn- 
 ed in the chamber, and, as he was intent 
 upon this, who should he discover amongst 
 them but his old antagonist Tobias, not 
 dressed as a fisherman, as he was when 
 aboard of the Lion's Whelp, but in the 
 habit of a soldier. He had scarce made 
 this discovery when he observed the 
 man's eyes open, and, for a single moment 
 glaring at him with- the ferocity of a tiger, 
 Tobias jumped on his feet with a scream 
 of exultation, and made for the place 
 where the harquebuses were piled : but 
 Harry, who saw there was no time to be 
 lost, levelled his piece at him, and laid 
 him his length on the floor. The report 
 of this roused the sleepers, but they 
 seemed all taken with a sudden phrensy, 
 running this way and that, making a 
 strange wild outcry, and jostling against 
 each other as if they knew not what they 
 were about. Now, as quick as could be, 
 one man dropped from the window, and 
 then another, and at the same time there 
 was heard the shout of the sentinel, a 
 rushing at the door, and the hurra of Sir 
 Walter's soldiers, for whom at this time 
 silence could do no good. 
 
 Hurry Daring, as soon as he had brought 
 down Tobias, did himself haste to the 
 place where the arms were piled, and 
 ii rawing of his hanger, slashed about with 
 
 right good will, so that the whole com- 
 pany of Spaniards made at him with th'eir 
 rapiers for to get at their fire-arms, their 
 numbers did so incommode each other, 
 and Harry did use his weapon with such 
 nimbleness, that he kept them at bay, 
 giving a many fearful cuts to such as 
 ventured within his reach, till some of 
 Sir Walter's men jumping in at the 
 window, and others rushing in at the 
 door, at once bore down all opposition, 
 and then the Spaniards straightway fell 
 on their knees, imploring very lustily for 
 quarter which was granted them by the 
 victors. Of the Englishmen there was 
 none hurt, but of the Spaniards there 
 were six killed, beside several wounded. 
 Leaving these last to the surgeon, and 
 securing of his prisoners, Sir Walter 
 Raleigh sent one of his captains with 
 sixty soldiers, guided by an Indian, whilst 
 he followed with forty more, to look after 
 Don Antonio de Berrio in his new city, 
 San Josef de Orufio. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 1 am another woman ; till this minute 
 1 never lived, nor durst think how to die, 
 How long have I been blind ? Yet on the sudden 
 By this blest means, I feel the films of error 
 Ta'en from my soul's eyes. 
 
 MASSINGBB. 
 
 Never have unjust pleasures been complete 
 In joys entire : but still fear kept the door, 
 
 And held back something from that vale of sweet, 
 To intersour unsure delights the more. 
 
 For never did all circumstances meet 
 With those desires that were conceived betore, 
 
 Something must still be left to cheer our sin, 
 
 And give a touch of what should not have been. 
 
 DANIELL 
 
 IN a handsome chamber of the gov- 
 ernor of Guiana well lighted, and decked 
 with such costly furniture as might be- 
 come the dwelling of a sovereign prince, 
 there sat a right beautiful woman in a 
 dress in the Spanish style, of exceeding 
 rich materials. She was reclining on a 
 silken couch figured in with gold in a 
 wonderful costly pattern, supporting her- 
 self by pillows of the same, and was 
 leaning of her head back upon her hand, 
 whilst her elbow rested on the cushions 
 behind her. Her eyes were somewhat 
 dark and marvellously lustrous, her face 
 very lovely to look upon ; yet the expres- 
 sion on it was of so gloomy and disturbed 
 a nature, mingling great grief with great 
 ange.r, that there would be few so hazard- 
 ous as to venture to gaze thereon with 
 any sort of affection, notwithstanding o/
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 175 
 
 its great comeliness. Her form was truly 
 beautiful, showing she was a woman 
 arrived at the very maturity of her at- 
 tractions. The outline of her limbs was 
 fully rounded ; whilst her spreading 
 shoulders and swelling < bosom were of a 
 corresponding character. 
 
 Doubtless was she wondrously moved 
 by her own reflections, for her breast 
 heaved violently, and the glances that 
 shot from lier brilliant eyes were not such 
 as betokened a mind at ease. After con- 
 tinuing to look more moodily every mo- 
 ment, and starting every now and then 
 from her position with a sort of half- 
 stifled sob, she rose from her seat, and 
 began pacing of the room with haughty 
 strides. The whilst she was at this a 
 door opened; and there entered a stately 
 looking man, habited in all the . proud 
 apparelling of a Spanish noble. His age 
 might be somewhere about forty. He 
 Was well featured, yet had he in his coun- 
 tenance a sort of scornfulness that ever 
 and anon gave his countenance an expres- 
 sion in 110 way amiable. Even when he 
 Was striving for to inspire confidence and 
 affection, he had so much of guile in his 
 look, that few could be deceived by it.' 
 An experienced observer could not fail, 
 should he be long in his company, of see- 
 ing in him the selfish sensualist and the 
 cruel despot. On the noise of the door 
 opening the lady turned round, and 
 noticing who entered, she seemed to 
 make a struggle with herself; her look 
 was not so gloomy, but still it Was much 
 disturbed. 
 
 " Ah ! my adored !" exclaimed the gen- 
 tleman as he advanced toward her with 
 an easy carriage, and a face dressed in 
 smiles. "I have hastened to thee from 
 a thousand pressing duties ; but when 
 love beckons all else may siay behind. 
 How fares it with thee, senora ? Thy 
 looks scarce welcome me. Is there ausfht 
 I have neglected providing thee with? 
 any one thing thou hast the desire of? 
 Nay, by the Virgin, thou usestme but un- 
 kindly if thou hast any wish ungratified." 
 
 "I lack nothing, Don Antonio," said 
 the senora faintly, as she moved from 
 him as if to hide her feelings. 
 
 " 0' my life 'tis but uncivil of thee to 
 turn away, "observed the governor, as he ! 
 went up to her and took her hand, gazing 
 in her face all the time with very passion- j 
 ate admiration. " For art thou not the 
 very light of mine eyes? Do I not love ; 
 thee, dofia ?" 
 
 "Love?" cried his fair companion 
 with a sort of sarcastic emphasis. 
 
 " Ay, love, Querida !" replied de Berrio. 
 " And well art thou worthy of such. 
 Madre de Dios! I shall think better of 
 heretics for thy sake, and I shall ever 
 hold the worthy padre's piety in greater 
 estimation, because he hath secured so 
 delectable a sinner for the consoling of so 
 good a catholic as am I." 
 
 " Mention him not !" exclaimed the 
 lady somewhat fiercely. " He is a wretch, 
 upon whom to waste a thought Would 
 be a waste indeed. He is a villain a 
 very absolute villain. A traitor a 
 | thorough black-hearted hppocrite the 
 very completest wretch that ever dis- 
 graced the name of humaniiy. I scorn 
 and loathe and detest him from out of 
 the very depths of my heart." 
 
 " Give him not such hard words, I 
 prylhee," said Don Antonio, seemingly a 
 little surprised at the earnestness with 
 which she had spoke. " As times go, 
 methinks he is none so bad. For mine 
 own part, I see nothing in him worse 
 than shall be met with in most of our 
 holy men. He is n marvellous fine 
 preacher, and is altogether so skilled in 
 the knowledge of human hearts, that he 
 hath ofttimes been employed by our gov- 
 ernment on the delicatest missions. What 
 hath he done amiss 2 " 
 
 " What hath he done amiss ?" echoed 
 the senora in a voice and with a look 
 that startled her companion. "But no 
 matter. If he escape punishment in this 
 world, which I doubt, I doubt not he 
 shall have a fearful retribution in the 
 time to come." 
 
 " Indeed, I can not help but think thou 
 hast taken a great prejudice against him," 
 observed de Berrio, " I have found him 
 well to be depended on, and do trust him 
 most implicitly. -Even now he hath gone 
 on an adventure for me that hath great 
 risk in it, for 'tis no other than the en- 
 deavoring to entrap that notorious English 
 pirate Sir Walter Raleigh and his vil- 
 lanous followers, so 1 that I may give them 
 a complete overthrow." 
 
 "Sir Walter Raleigh, said you?" in- 
 quired the senora, seemingly as if she 
 marvelled much at hearing of his name 
 mentioned, 
 
 "The same, dofia," replied the gov- 
 ernor. " He is now upon the coast witii 
 divers of his ships, intending to venture 
 himself and the pitiful fools he hath in- 
 duced to follow him, into the interior of 
 Guiana, hoping for the discovery of El 
 Dorado; but if I spoil not his voyage, 
 then am I wonderfully mistaken." 
 
 "Are you sure 'tis Walter Raleigh ?"
 
 176 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 asked liis fair companion, seemingly in a 
 monstrous agitation. 
 
 " Sure !" cried Don Antonio, in some 
 surprise. "What doubt can there be of 
 it? Did not Padre Bartolome bring me 
 certain intelligence of every one thing 
 connected with the expedition. I faith, 
 so minute is my information, that I have 
 with me a paper containing the names 
 ^f every officer engaged upon it, and the 
 exact number of the men and ships ;" and 
 he produced a paper from his vest. 
 
 " Let me see it," said the sefiora, and 
 she instantly snatched the paper from his 
 hand, and began a reading of it. She 
 had not put her attention to it many min- 
 utes, which she did holding the paper 
 trembling in her hand, when her gaze 
 stopped a moment, and then quietly fold- 
 ing up the list, she returner! it to the gov- 
 ernor. "I thank you. But are you sure 
 this is to be relied on ?" 
 
 " I will be bound for't, 'tis accurate to 
 a letter," replied Don Antonio. 
 
 " Doubtless, you mean to take them 
 prisoners if you can ?" inquired his fair 
 companion, seemingly as if perfectly un- 
 concerned. 
 
 " By the Virgin ! I mean to hang up 
 'very rascal of them as soon as ever I 
 can get them in my power," answered 
 De Berrio. " I will make such an exam- 
 ple of this Sir Walter Raleigh and his 
 piratical associates, that no more such 
 shall ever dare venture on the coast. 
 But away with all thought of such poor 
 knaves !" continued he, as he placed 
 his arm round her waist. " This deli- 
 cious evening surely was never made 
 to be wasted in idle talk concerning of 
 such sorry rascals ; let us give the mo- 
 ments to love. Turn me those lustrous 
 eyes this way, dona, and smile on me thy 
 delicatest smiles." 
 
 "Smile ! I have lost all humor for smi- 
 ling," replied the senora. 
 
 " Then find the humor again, I prythee, 
 for 'tis a humor that becoraeth thee in- 
 finitely." At the hearing of this his fair 
 companion, mayhap intent upon some 
 object, did smile most bewitchingly ; per- 
 adventure, it may have been at the flat- 
 'cry she had just heard, for it be difficult 
 to find any woman, upon so pretty a com- 
 pliment entirely indifferent ; but let it be 
 as it may, that she smiled there can be 
 no manner of doubt, even though the 
 cause of her smiling there shall be no cer- 
 tainty of. 
 
 ' O 1 my life, thou art the very sweet- 
 est piece of womanhood eye of mine 
 ever dwelt on," exclaimed the governor, 
 
 gazing upon her with most enamored 
 glances. 
 
 " Thou dost but flatter me, Don Anto- 
 nio,' 1 replied the lady ; yet, as if with a 
 manner that showed she was not ill 
 pleased with what she had heard. 
 
 " Nay, by our Lady, 'tis the truest 
 thing that ever was spoke," added Don 
 Antonio, with more fervor, as he did 
 press her very lovingly in his arms. 
 " None of our Spanish women are to be 
 compared with thee. Thou hast a shape 
 which would dissolve the icy heart of an 
 anchorite ; and looks hast thou which 
 heart of man. never could stand against. 
 By all the saints, Querida ! lean not look 
 upon those pouting lips of thine without 
 mine own being drawn thereto with a 
 power I can not resist for the soul of me." 
 
 The governor was about attempting 
 to caress his fair companion when the 
 noise of a door opening behind him was 
 heard, and there was presently seen en- 
 tering Padre Bartolome, look'ing as if 
 exceeding travel-worn. As soon as he 
 caught sight of the two in the position 
 in which they stood, of a sudden his 
 handsome features did put on a scowl of 
 verv great malignity, and he stopped 
 where he was. The senora was the first 
 to observe him, which, when she did, she 
 broke from the arms of Don Antonio, 
 and with a look of extreme disgust and 
 abhorrence, proudly swept by the Jesuit, 
 and vanished out of the room. De Ber- 
 rio upon this turned round, and then no- 
 ticed the padre advancing toward him, 
 now with a countenance of profound hu- 
 mility. 
 
 "Welcome, Padre Bartolome!" ex- 
 claimed the governor, with wonderful 
 cheerfulness ; " welcome back to San Jo- 
 sef de Oruno. But say, how hast thou 
 speed on thine errand ? Are those wood- 
 cocks snared ? Shall we have a famous 
 revenge on these villanous Englishmen ?" 
 
 " I grieve to say, my son, that the Vir- 
 gin hath not smiled on my efforts," an- 
 swered the ecclesiastic. 
 
 "What, have they escape 3 ?" loudly 
 inquired Don Antonio, and l\ ereupon his 
 face became mightily clouded. 
 
 "I did seek to cast them away on the 
 coast, as I sent thee word," continued the 
 padre. " Meaning to manage it so that 
 it should seem but the result of an acci- 
 dent ; yet the soldier Tobias, who was 
 recommended to me as one of so daring a 
 nature that he would do the boldest thing 
 for love of God and the Virgin, did man- 
 age so ill, that, when nigh upon the very 
 completing of our purpose, he must needs
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 177 
 
 pick a quarrel with one of those accursed 
 heretics, and so bring on a brawl ; which 
 so incensed Sir Walter Raleigh against 
 him, that he would have none of him for 
 a pilot, and straightway turned the ship 
 about, and made back for the place 
 whence he came." 
 
 " A thousand curses on that villain's 
 head for marring so goodly a plot !" ex- 
 claimed De Berrio, furiously. " He de- 
 serveth to be flayed alive, at least. I 
 will see that he have fitting punishment. 
 But thinkest thou those piratical rascals 
 have taken the alarm!'' 
 
 " I can not say for certain, my son," re- 
 plied the priest. " It did seem to me 
 more than once that Sir Walter had sus- 
 picion of me ; but I could not be assured 
 of it. He did behave very courteously, 
 and talked much of the felicity he should 
 enjoy, could he but assure himself of 
 possessing thy company for a brief 
 space." 
 
 " Madre de Dios ! he shall have it 
 longer than he looks for," cried Don An- 
 tonio, with a very savage expression of 
 countenance. " He shall have right fa- 
 mous enjoyment of it. I will give him 
 such felicity as he hath met nothing like 
 in this world, or may expect in the loath- 
 somest place in purgatory, where I will 
 send him." 
 
 " Thou hadst best, then, be quick, my 
 son," observed the padre, " else shall he 
 slip through our fingers, and then shall 
 the church suffer a great loss ; for 'tis a 
 most commendable thing to cut off these 
 heretics root and branch they be so in- 
 veterate against our holy religion. Lose 
 no time, 1 prythee. Their force is al- 
 ready far from contemptible, and if they 
 are joined by the other ships, it will be the 
 difficultest thing possible to do them any 
 damage, unless thou hast those supplies 
 from Spain which will be sent thee on 
 purpose to spoil their adventure." 
 
 " I would they had arrived !" exclaim- 
 ed^he governor, " then should I be at no 
 loss what to do: but, doubtless, Aich sol- 
 diers as I can have, are now on their 
 march, and will reach here in a few 
 days. Then, meihinks,. 'twill be an easy 
 matter to inveigle this Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh and his companions into the island, 
 where they shall fall into an ambuscade, 
 in the which they shall be so handled as 
 shall make the survivors glad to surren- 
 der at discretion." 
 
 " Dost think 'twill be so late as two or 
 three days, my son, before thou canst 
 have the soldiers ?" inquired Padre Bar- 
 tolome. 
 
 12 
 
 " It can not be less," replied Don An- 
 tonio. 
 
 " Metbinks such a delay is exceeding 
 dangerous," observed the Jesuit. 
 
 " What makes thee think so, padre ?" 
 asked De Berrio. 
 
 " The commander of these heretics 
 was wonderfully inquisitive concerning 
 of what force thou possesseth," answered 
 the priest with much seriousness. " He 
 asked many questions, whereof, as might 
 be presumed of me, I gave him such an- 
 swers as he could profit little from : but, 
 supposing that he should get speech of 
 the natives, the which, though I have 
 endeavored to prevent, is like enough to 
 happen ; perchance he may procure such 
 information as may lead him into the 
 making of a sudden attack upon thee." 
 
 "Ha ! dost think so ?" exclaimed Don 
 Antonio, listening attentively, and with 
 some uneasiness. 
 
 "I had the ill hap to sprain my ankle, 
 as I journeyed this way, else should I 
 have been here sooner," continued the 
 padre. " But it oft struck me in my prog- 
 ress, 'twould be an easy thing for them 
 to master the guard at Puerto de los Es- 
 panoles, and proceeding quickly thence 
 to this place, come upon thee unawares." 
 " Carba de San Pedro, 'tis like enough !" 
 cried the governor, now in some alarm. 
 
 "How are thy forces disposed? Hast 
 a strong guard set ? Hast thou such 
 strength at hand as could beat off these 
 cursed heretics?" inquired the ecclesias- 
 tic, with increasing earnestness. 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, I have scarce a hun- 
 dred men," replied De Berrio, whilst fear 
 and anxiousness did more and more take 
 possession of his haughty countenance. 
 " But how wears the night, padre ? With 
 the blessing of the virgin, there shall yet 
 be time to prepare for these wretched 
 villains, supposing they would dare to 
 venture against me which I doubt huge- 
 ly." 
 
 " Doubt nothing of the kind, my son," 
 said the padre quickly, "I know them 
 well. There is nothing so like to hap- 
 pen as their surprising of thee. 'Tisnow 
 nigh unto midnight. 'Twould be best 
 to rouse thy soldiers without a moment's 
 delaying, and so dispose of them as 
 to keep them from much loss, whilst 
 they do what damage they can to 
 these Englishmen should they make an 
 attack." 
 
 "I will about it on the instant," an- 
 swered Don Antonio, as he hastily made 
 for the door. " But come thou with me, 
 I would have speech with thee on the
 
 178 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 way." The two then went forth togeth- 
 er, but scarce had they got into the street 
 when they were aware of a sudden firing 
 of pieces, a clashing of swords, and a 
 din of voices, that^in the still night 
 sounded with marvellous distinctness. 
 
 " By Heaven, they are upon us !" ex- 
 claimed the governor, drawing his sword 
 and hastening to whence the sounds pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 " Thou art going wrong, my son the 
 tiring is from this way !" cried the padre, 
 holding the other by the arm. 
 
 " Nay, 'tis this way, I am assured of 
 it," said his companion more urgently, as 
 he strove to proceed in the direction he 
 was a going. 
 
 " Hark ! hearest thou not the firing: 
 now ?" cried the priest, still detaining 
 him. 
 
 " Madre de Dios, they have us on both 
 sides !" exclaimed Don Antonio with 
 great emphasis, and he appeared quite 
 bewildered. At this time there came 
 running past him sundry of the inhabi- 
 tants half-dressed, as if they had just fled 
 from their beds, a screaming and crying 
 out wonderfully ; and seeing of the gov- 
 ernor, some who knew him did implore 
 his assistance with very piteous accents 
 and yet none knew of what they were 
 afraid. Some said it was one thing and 
 some another, and many got round De 
 Berrio, every one telling of him a differ- 
 ent story. During this the firing and the 
 hurraing increased, and came so nigh 
 that Don Antonio was shortly left alone ; 
 and upon his looking round for the padre, 
 he was nowhere visible. Presently he 
 observed a company of soldiers retreat- 
 ing in haste and disorder, and running in 
 amongst them, he called on them to stop ; 
 but they would not hearken to him, and 
 continued their flight, with him in the 
 midst of them. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog, here be more of 
 'em to kill !" cried out Harry Daring, 
 at the head of a party of his countrymen 
 that now made their appearance. 
 
 " Down with the villain Spaniards !" 
 shouted Sirnon Mainsail. 
 
 " A Raleigh ! a Raleigh !" exclaimed 
 some score of voices, and a discharge of 
 firearms, followed by a rush sword in 
 hand upon the affrighted soldiers of Don 
 Antonio de Berrio, soon convinced the 
 latter that they had fled from one set of 
 em-mies only to meet with others of a 
 like desperate character. They made hut 
 litile opposition: most of them threw 
 down their arms and begged for mercy 
 A few of a braver sort fought rounc 
 
 heir commander, but they were soon cut 
 down by the followers of Sir Walter Ra- 
 eigh, among whom Harry Daring dis- 
 inguished himself in a manner that did 
 jreatly surprise both friends and foes. 
 
 " Yield thee my prisoner or die !" ex- 
 ilaimed Harry, after having knocked the 
 governor's rapier out of his hand, he put 
 he point of his own to 'his breast. Don 
 Antonio looked as if he liked not to be 
 mastered by, so young an antagonist, but 
 seeing there was no help, he said in 
 Spanish that he yielded. 
 
 "Nay, if thou canst not speak honest 
 English, thou must needs be a rogue and 
 a villain, so I had best rid the world of 
 thee," said the other, and seemed about 
 to fulfil his intention. 
 
 "Hullo, Harry, hurt him not: he is an 
 officer of rank !" exclaimed Master Fran- 
 cis, as he hastened toward him, seeing 
 what his friend was a doing of, then ad- 
 dressing the governor in Spanish, added 
 very courteously " I pray you yield 
 yourself prisoner, senor, and say of what 
 quality you are. I will answer you shall 
 tiave fair treatment." 
 
 ' I have already yielded," replied the 
 Spaniard proudly, " and am Don Antonio 
 de Berrio, the governor of Guiana." 
 
 At this moment who should come up 
 but Sir Walter Raleigh, at the head of a 
 portion of his force, and he heard what 
 was going on "And I am Sir Walter 
 Raleigh," said he, addressing the gov- 
 ernor in his own language. " The for- 
 tune of war hath made thee my prisoner, 
 Senor Gobernador. I am well aware 
 that had I had the ill-hap to have fallen 
 into thy hands, in consequence of the de- 
 signs which I am confident thou didst 
 entertain against me, I should have fared 
 but ill : but I follow no bad example. I 
 forgive thee thy malicious intentions, be- 
 cause thou art in my power, and will 
 have thee treated as I should have 
 wished to have been used had I been in 
 thine." Don Antonio bowed, haughtily, 
 but he said never a word. Sir Walter 
 then gave certain commands to his offi- 
 cers for the securing of the prisoners, and 
 the resting of the men after their fatigues ; 
 and then proceeded, accompanied by 
 Master Francis, Harry Daring, and a 
 sufficient guard, to take possession of the 
 governor's house. 
 
 It was about an hour after what hath 
 already been related, that Master Francis 
 had laid himself down on the couch in 
 the chamber described at the commence- 
 ment of this chapter, whilst Harry Dar- 
 ing was laying of his length upon some
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 179 
 
 rushes at his feet. Neither had taken 
 off any of their clothes, designing only 
 to get what sleep they could for a few 
 hpurs, the which they greaily needed, 
 having had a toilsome march before they 
 came to the city. The lights had been 
 put out, but the moon shining through the 
 windows with great Splendor, did suffi- 
 ciently enable any one' to distinguish 
 objects. 
 
 "Well, this be exquisite fine fun of a 
 sure thing!" exclaimed Harry Daring 
 cheerfully. "There be nothing like the 
 Killing of Spaniards. Indeed it be the 
 very properest way of breathing of a vein 
 after all. 0' my word, if old Lather had 
 seen me shooting of one villain here, and 
 cutting down another villain there, the 
 whilst so many of our enemies were run- 
 ning this way and that, some shouting, 
 some crying, and some a fighting as well 
 as they might, and the more peaceable 
 sort of men, women, and children, stri- 
 ving lo escape from their houses in so 
 monstrous a fright, that they could scarce 
 put on themselves a morsel of covering, 
 would he not have marvelled wonder- 
 fully, Master Francis?" 
 
 " I dare say he might," replied his 
 companion. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog ! methinks he 
 would not know what to say upon it," 
 added the boy. "But hang all barber- 
 ing ! say I ; and as for physic, let them 
 that like it take it. I'll meddle no more 
 with such things, I promise you. How 
 I should have liked big Jack o' the 
 Turnstile lo have been amongst us. He 
 would have seen how bravely thou didst 
 bear thyself in the thick of the fray, and 
 would not have dared ever after to call 
 thee ' mollycoddle.' I'faith ! I do be- 
 lieve that scurvy rogue of a Spaniard, 
 when we were forcing of our way through 
 the city-gates, would have pinned me 
 against the wall a murrain on him ! 
 hadst thou not so timely cut in and given 
 the fellow his deserts. Dost not think 
 'twas a great pity the fighting was so 
 soon over ?" 
 
 "The sooner such things are over 'tis 
 the better for both the conquered and the 
 conquerors," observed Master Francis. 
 
 "Dost think so indeed!" said Harry 
 Daring in some surprise. " O' my life ! 
 1 can not see it in that light. For mine 
 own part, I would not care to meet with 
 an enemy who would soon give in. 
 There seemeth to be no credit in fighting 
 with such. I be for those who will not 
 allow of their being beat till they can 
 not help themselves. Many a bout of 
 
 quarter-staff have I had with fellows 
 who gave me no lack of sore thumps, 
 and had I then said I had had enough 
 of it, they should have boasted ever 
 after that I was one of a poor spirit ; but 
 I held out at all times, and thumped the 
 more for the thumping I got, the which 
 they could never stand so well as could I ; 
 and the end of it was that I prevailed over 
 them, and made them acknowledge they 
 had got such a drubbing as till then they 
 had no experience of. Dost not think 
 quarter-staff an exceeding pleasant pas- 
 time ?" 
 
 " I never had liking for it," replied his 
 companion. 
 
 " True !" exclaimed the other. " I did 
 forget how delicate thou wert. 'Twould 
 never have done for thee to have prac- 
 tised at so rough an amusement, for thou 
 couldst not have helped getting thy head 
 broke in a presently, and mayhap some 
 of thy limbs into the bargain. Indeed, 
 there was but slight occasion for thy li- 
 king such rude sports ; for, as I have ever 
 said, thou wert a gentleman born." - 
 
 "Prythee, talk not, good Harry !" said 
 Master Francis in a marvellous tremulous 
 voice, which showed that what he had 
 just heard moved him exceedingly. "I 
 am much fatigued, and need rest." 
 
 " Nay, then, I am a villain if I disturb 
 thee !" cried Harry, perfectly unconscious 
 that he said aught hurtful to the feelings 
 of his friend. " Good night, Master Fran- 
 cis !" 
 
 " Good night, Harry," replied his com- 
 panion, and for the space of a minute or 
 so there was a strict silence; but after 
 that the courageous boy seemed not to 
 lay at all comfortable, for he turned him- 
 self about many times. 
 
 "What aileth thee, Harry?" asked 
 Master Francis very kindly. 
 
 " The pestilent moon must needs shine 
 upon my face^ and be hanged to it !" ex- 
 claimed Harry Daring. " Do what 1 
 will I can not keep my eyelids closed." 
 
 " Come and sleep with me on this 
 couch there is plenty of room," said his 
 friend. 
 
 "That will I never do," replied the 
 other. " I have read in books it be not 
 customary the esquire should sleep with 
 the knight, nor have I heard of such a 
 thing. It be the properest place for me 
 to lie at your feet; and, like a faithful 
 esquire, here will I take my rest." 
 
 " Let it be as is most pleasing to thee, 
 good Harry," said Master Francis; " but 
 I would not have thee deprived of sleep 
 for such notions."
 
 ISO 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "Oh ! I care not for sleep a fig's end," 
 cried Harry Daring, "and would as lief 
 ktep awake as asleep. 0' my life I think 
 there bo nothing so pleasant as having a 
 famous talk with a friend just before one 
 drops off' like. Did I ever tell thee of the 
 exquisite fine fun I had with old Barnaby 
 Braddle, the constable of the watch ? 
 Nay, I be certain thou hast not heard a 
 word of it. Well, it must be known to 
 thee, that Barnaby could scarce see be- 
 vond the end of his nose: which, by-the- 
 by had no end at all, for it was nigh as 
 round as a ball, and of a very fiery red- 
 ness: besides which he was so deaf, he 
 could hear but faintly. For all that, was 
 he made constable of the watch, and was 
 ever in a monstrous tyrannical humor if 
 he caught any of us apprentices playing 
 of such innocent tricks as breaking win- 
 dows, rousing up the citizens by calling 
 fire, and the like; therefore did I deter- 
 mine to have some sport with him. So I 
 and big Jack o' the Turnstile, long-leg- 
 ged Tom the tailor's son round the cor- 
 ner, Peter Perriwinkle, our neighbor the 
 chandler's apprentice, and ooe or two 
 others, did station ourselves in such pla- 
 ces as we knew were the properest for 
 our plan ; and presently we saw him, 
 with his lanthern in one hand, and his bill 
 in the other, peering about him with as 
 much earnestness as if he could see but a 
 glimpse of anything, though it might be 
 within a yard of him ; and grumbling the 
 whilst as if he must needs hear his own 
 voice to keep up his courage. 
 
 " As he passed, one cried out, close 
 at his elbow, ' Watch ! watch ! I be set 
 upon by thieves.' ' Stand, ye dishonest 
 caitiffs !' straightway would he cry ; but 
 he ventured only a step or two in the di- 
 rection he fancied the sound proceeded 
 from, and then slopped, expecting the 
 thieves would run away at the hearing 
 of his voice. ' Help ! Master Consta- 
 ble, help ! here be a cutpurse upon me !' 
 shouted another from behind him ; and 
 he presently turned himself round, saying 
 quickly, ' I charge ye hold him fast till I 
 come ;' and went a step or two that way. 
 'Here, honest Barnaby, help a poor wo- 
 man who is nigh being undone by vil- 
 lains !' screamed a third, a little on the 
 opposite side of him. ' Murrain, on ye ! 
 why don't ye say in what direction ye be 
 to be found ?' grumbled out Master Consta- 
 ble, turning himself very leisurely about. 
 ' Watch ! watch ! I pray you come, or I 
 shall be killed,' cried a fourth very pite- 
 ously, from another place. ' Be killed 
 and be hanged to ye !' bawled the old 
 
 follow, now in a horrible bad ftutnor ; 
 canst not keep in ori* place ? If the vil- 
 lains but stay till I come up to them, I 
 promise to show them no mercy, so they 
 had best look to it, and take themselves 
 off;' and then he ventured a few steps in 
 that way ; but he had scarce done so, when 
 another cried out something else from an 
 opposite quarter, at the which lie began 
 to swear most lustily ; but immediately 
 he stepped in any direction, there was a 
 voice calling of him, from one totally 
 different. 
 
 "At last, when he appeared so bewil- 
 dered, after poking of his lanthern here, 
 and then turning of it round there, and 
 looking into this place, and then into 
 that, with marvellous little profit and 
 wonderful vexation, we all got round him 
 and commenced a calling of him, every 
 one at the same time ; and this he could 
 in no manner stand ; for after listening a 
 bit, in the most perfect fear and trem- 
 bling ever beheld, he dashed through the 
 circle, bawling out that he was set upon 
 by devils, and stopped not a moment till 
 he found himself among a whole com- 
 pany of his brethren of the watcjj, who 
 had been drawn to him by his cries. 
 Now I think he was rightly served of us. 
 Dost not think so, Master Francis?" 
 
 Harry Daring waited a brief space, but 
 received no answer. 
 
 " Dost not think he was rightly served 
 of us, Master Francis ?" he again in- 
 quired, but got no more answer than at 
 first. " 0' my life he hath gone to sleep," 
 added Harry, as if in some surprise. 
 " Well, I douht not he be exceeding 
 tired ; therefore 'tis the best thing he can 
 do, poor fellow. Methinks I have done 
 but an ill thing in having talked to him 
 so much. By Gog and Magog, this be 
 the most pestilent moon I ever saw ; for 
 it will shine on rny face in spite of me." 
 Thereupon he turned himself upon his 
 stomach, and resting of his forehead on 
 his arms, in a few minutes it was evident, 
 from his regular and deep breathing, he 
 was as sound asleep as was his companion. 
 
 This had scarce concluded when the 
 door opened, and the figure of Padre Bar- 
 tolome glided softly into the room, hiding 
 of his face in his garment. Cautiously 
 stepping over Harry Daring, he approach- 
 ed the couch on which Master Francis 
 was lying. For a minute or two he gazed 
 upon the sleeping secretary with a coun- 
 tenance more of a demon than that of a 
 human being. Every trace of comeliness 
 had vanished from his handsome fea- 
 tures, and his eyes, that had been seen to
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 181 
 
 beam with piety and benevolence not 
 long since, now flashed glances of the 
 deadliest hate and malice. Master Fran- 
 cis lay upon his back, with his left hand 
 under his head, and his right upon the 
 handle of his rapier. His shoulders sun.k 
 into the soft pillows that he rested his 
 arm on, and his legs were crossed one 
 over another. Scarce any face could be 
 met with more mild and affectionate in 
 its expression than was his. 'Twas al- 
 most doubtful he was asleep he breathed 
 so softly, yet was he dreaming a most 
 pleasant dream of the happiness of by- 
 gone days, when Joanna appeared to him 
 all he thought most worthy to be wor- 
 shipped. Alack ! that such visions of 
 woman's perfectness should ever be so 
 unsubstantial! 
 
 The Jesuit slowly drew from his vest 
 a dagger. He knelt down on one knee 
 to bring himself more upon a level with 
 the sleeper. The weapon was raised 
 above the breast of Master Francis. In 
 the next moment it was wrenched out of 
 the padre's hand. He looked up in some 
 alarm, and beheld, standing over him, 
 the beautiful form of the lady described 
 at the commencemeHt of this chapter. 
 Surely never woman looked with such 
 terrible glances as did she on Padre Bar- 
 tolome. 
 
 " Begone !" whispered she to him in 
 his own language, holding the dagger 
 over him with her right hand, whilst 
 with her left she pointed to the door. 
 " Stay but another instant in this place 
 and I will cleave thy treacherous heart 
 ia twain." The ecclesiastic seemed quite 
 cowed. Her gaze appeared to burn with 
 pride and disdain. Her whole form look- 
 ed as though it were dilating with a pow- 
 er something beyond the human. The 
 Jesuit slowly rose. He felt as if he did 
 not dare speak. His looked quailed be- 
 fore those scorching glances; and with 
 cautious steps he left the room, her eyes 
 fixed upon him as he went, and she con- 
 tinuing in the same attitude, and with 
 the same fearful expression of counte- 
 nance as when <he first spoke to him. 
 When he had departed out of the door 
 she turned her eyes upon the form of 
 Master Francis like one that is almost 
 afraid to look. All of a sudden the ex- 
 pression of her features changed to the 
 most devoted affection. She came closer. 
 She siooped down over him Wi h a gaze 
 of the very sincerest love, and there stayed 
 gazing for a minute or two. Presently 
 she siooped lower, aiid looked as (hough 
 *he were about to touch his lips with her 
 
 own ; but on a sudden she drew herself 
 back quickly a strong shudder passed 
 over her limbs, and a look of terrible 
 anguish took possession of her counte- 
 nance. She seemed as if she could not 
 glance that way again ; and in a few 
 seconds quietly followed the Jesuit. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 PI- .hi* i. . r breathes on England's stage, 
 'Hi ii. ' itart 'mi i .u SOUTHAMPTON, in whose sight 
 M>1 i||.;pil I lu ' <ltt , and in his absence night ? 
 SIB JOHN BEAUMONT. 
 
 '!'!> ulniioos I .:iu ell of the Muses' hill ; 
 V : li-ise eye ilotli n'. wne the most victorious pen ; 
 l! 'git', l.ampeol Vi tue, in whose sacred skill 
 I -I all the l'li*<M f eares-inchanting men. 
 
 JAKVIS MABKHAM 
 
 ' night lit 1 1 ii> stranger to thy worth, 
 Vor. let i In v'i.mes in oblivion sleep. 
 
 WlTHEK 
 
 TV "e Is bellei 1ii>in high birth to me ; 
 Ri<'uor than weaUh. prouder than garments cost ; 
 Of 'Hire delight than hawks or horses be, 
 An I 'nving thee of ; I men's pride I boast. 
 
 SHAKSPBABE. 
 
 " I THANK you right heartily for the 
 cheerl illness with v\hich you have offered 
 me yo'ir friendly assistance in this busi- 
 ness," observed trie youthful earl of 
 Southampton, as ho sat close upon Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare io his lodgings at the v 
 Bankside. "BelieAe me, of all mine ac- 
 quaintance there is none I could so readi- 
 ly trust as yourselT in a matter of so 
 delicate a kind." 
 
 ." Be assured I will in no way discredit 
 your favorable opiniin," replied his com- 
 panion very sincerely. "Indeed, I arn 
 delighted that it lieU> within the compass 
 of my poor ability t< do a service to one 
 whose friendliness k me hath been made 
 manifest on so man\ occasions; to say 
 naught of your lordsl ip's singular admi- 
 rable qualities, whirl make the service 
 doubly honorable." 
 
 "An, Master Shaktpeare !" exclaimed 
 the young nobleman, seemingly in a more 
 serious humor. "Ui what avail is the 
 <jood repnn of one's associates when that 
 happiness which sin u)d be the reward 
 of desert is denied nit '<" 
 
 "Nay, my good d, not altogether 
 denied. "saiM the oil u " Fortune doth 
 not smile on v 1 ". I-" M this moment as 
 she should l;a i the controlling of her, 
 nor doth her op position look so formidable 
 as to afford no hope of overcoming it. 
 Hath not the lovely Mistress Varnon al- 
 rtady favored you with excellent proof 
 of her esteem ?'"'
 
 182 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "Truly she hath," replied his friend, 
 brightening up somewhat. " That I pos- 
 sess her young heart's best affections, 
 raethinks then- can be no manner of doubt. 
 She hath given me most sweet evidenc 
 of it a thousand times." 
 
 "And is she not bountifully graced by 
 nature with all loveable qualities?" in- 
 quired Master Shakspeare. 
 
 "Indeed is she!" answered my Lord 
 Southampton with increasing animation. 
 " Her beauty is of a very choice kind. 
 Her disposition gentle and full of great 
 kindness, and her modesty that of one 
 who, innocent herself, believeth in the 
 innocency of all around her." 
 
 " And enriched with the love of a 
 cfea'ture so rarely gifted, you can assert 
 that happiness hath been denied you !" 
 exclaimed the former in some sort of 
 surprise. "Fie on you> my lord! I can 
 not help thinking that in this matter you 
 show yourself discontented upon exceed- 
 ing little occasion." 
 
 " But her kinswoman, Dame Deborah, 
 hath forbid me the house," replied his 
 youthful patron. " She is fearful of the 
 queen's anger ; for her majesty, having 
 heard of my attachment, hath seated she 
 will not allow of my marriage with 
 Mistress Varnon, on the ground that she 
 is no fit match for me ; and expecting 
 the same harsh results that followed the j 
 union of Raleigh wi'th Mistress Throck- j 
 morton, the old gentlewoman is using j 
 measures to put an end to our intimacy. 
 'Slife, Master Shakspeare!" continued 
 the young nobleman, evidently much 
 moved. " Call you not this most tyran- 
 nical usage? Here is an exquisite sweet 
 lady, who, because she is noted for a 
 lack of the world's gear, is to be deprived 
 of a loving husband; and I, who desire 
 to be claimed by her by so fond a title, 
 am to be denied the possession of an 
 estimable and affectionate partner, who 
 hath in her nature a treasury of all 
 sterling commodities, because she only 
 wanteth that of which Island in no need. 
 She is of good family, being of near kin 
 to rny Lord of Essex. Her behavior is 
 of the best, she having been brought up 
 in all courtly accomplishments ; and for 
 her disposition, it is not possible to meet 
 with one more worthily disposed: and 
 yet the queen declareth her to be no fit 
 match for me ! I'faith ! fit match or not, 
 I will have her, holds she the same mind 
 she was." 
 
 " ]So\v I do perceive in you something 
 of the true lover," observed his companion 
 with a smile; "which I could not but 
 
 have my doubts of before, seeing that th 
 triHing obstacles you spoke of seemed 
 sufficient to put you out of heart. Be 
 assured that he who loveth sincerely, 
 loveth only the more, the greater shall be 
 the difficulties that oppose his affection ; 
 for love is that sort of seed which once 
 planted in the soil will live on through 
 the sharpest winter nay, though hillocks 
 of snow be piled upon it, and all manner 
 of fierce storms assail the very spot it 
 doth inhabit there shall it dwell un- 
 harmed ; and in its proper season of sun- 
 shine lo ! you see it a perfect plant, 
 rejoicing in such exquisite beauty as 
 ravisheth the heart that can appreciate 
 its divine perfections." 
 
 " Excellently said, sweet Master Shak- 
 speare!" exclaimed my Lord Southamp- 
 ton, in evident admiration. " 'Tis indeed 
 of the very sort you have so eloquently 
 expressed ; and that such love is mine 
 you may rest assured. But the obstacles 
 I am now threatened with can not be of 
 the small account you bold them in. 
 Remember I can get no speech of her 
 though I have strove earnestly for such 
 happiness for some days past. I can not 
 even get sight of her, for the old dame 
 keepeth her under strict lock and key in 
 an out-of-the-way old house at Islington, 
 and will let her be seen of none save such 
 as be in her confidence. My letters have 
 been returned ; my messages receive no 
 attention; I have attempted to bribe the 
 servants without avail ; and all uny 
 schemes to gain admittance to her dear 
 presence have come to the like unprofita- 
 ble conclusion. In sober truth, I am nigh 
 driven to my wit's end ; and if that you 
 can not assist me, I know not what next 
 to be about." 
 
 "Despair not, my good lord," replied 
 Master Shakspeare. " Unpromising as 
 things may be, I doubt not to make them 
 put on a more pleasing aspect in no very 
 long time." 
 
 " Say you so, indeed ?" cried the young 
 nobleman, his handsome features glow- 
 ing with pleasure. " Let it be soon then, 
 I pray you. Truly, if you accomplish 
 such an excellent purpose, I shall esteem 
 you the truest friend man ever had." 
 
 " I will do it, or else my wit shall he 
 hugely at fault," replied Master Shak- 
 speare. " But you must promise to be 
 entirely guided by me in this matter, else 
 can I succeed in nothing." 
 
 "All that you please to desire of me 
 I will willingly perform, depend on't," 
 said the other. 
 "Then come you this way, my good
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 183 
 
 lord," cried his companion rising from 
 his seat and approaching what looked to 
 be the door of a closet. "And if I fail 
 in procuring you speech with your fair 
 mistress before the day is over, proclaim 
 at Paul's that Will Shakspeare is no 
 match for an old woman." 
 
 " Sweet Master Shakspeare, I am at 
 your bidding," answered the Lord South- 
 ampton very cheerfully, and thereupon 
 they both proceeded into an adjoining 
 chamber. There we must leave them 
 for awhile. 
 
 In a room of moderate dimensions fairly 
 hung with arras that looked to be of an 
 ancient manufacture for, out of all doubt, 
 the colors were wofully dim ; and in fact, 
 the whole of the furniture had much the 
 same appearance of wornout splendor 
 there were two ladies. One, from her 
 evident antiquity and the faded costliness 
 of her attire, seemed of a piece with the 
 furnishing of the chamber. She could 
 not have been many years short of sixty ; 
 her features were sharp, and at that time 
 wore a marvellous cold and stern ex- 
 pression. Her false locks had been dyed 
 of a sandy hue (doubtless in compliment 
 to Queen Elizabeth, whose natural hair 
 was of that color) and dressed in the 
 fashion of the tire valiant, with no lack 
 of feathers and jewels. Her ruff was 
 laced and plaited with wonderful art, 
 coming from the back of her neck very 
 broad, and extending on each side of her 
 face till the ends rested on her bosom, 
 having two wings of lawn stiffened with 
 wire, and starched of a yellow dye. The 
 stomacher was exceeding long, straight, 
 and broad, and in the fore part of the 
 waist there was a pocket for such things 
 as were needed to be put in it. The 
 gown was of velvet embroidered with 
 bugles, with the sleeves curiously cut ; 
 and the farthingale was monstrously 
 bulky. Silk stockings, with shoes having 
 famous high heel*, and long gloves trim- 
 med with silk, completed her costume ; 
 and there she stood as stately and stiff as 
 the figure of Queen Sheba done in wax- 
 work, occasionally fanning of herself with 
 a large ivory fan, or putting to her sharp 
 nose an embroidered pocket-handkerchief 
 richly wrought and delicately scented. 
 
 To this the other lady was as exquisite 
 a constrast as could possibly be met with. 
 She was young. I doubt much she had 
 seen more than sixteen or seventeen 
 summers. Her stature was not above the 
 ordinary, yet was her figure so graceful 
 it looked as though to add would only be 
 to spoil ; and her complexion was of that 
 
 choice kind where the red comes peeping 
 through the pure skin, as a flower out of 
 the 'snow, that gives to comeliness of 
 feature its rarest garnishing. There was 
 in her countenance so admirable an ex- 
 pression of youih and innocence, that it 
 must have charmed the most suspicious 
 nature. In contrast to her companion's 
 antiquated finery, she wore a simple gown 
 made close to the body, with an apron 
 of fine linen ; and her hair without orna- 
 ment save its being curiously knotted and 
 raised from the forehead. She stood with 
 her eyes modestly fixed upon the ground ; 
 whilst the other regarded her with a stern 
 and searching look. 
 
 "I marvel at thy exceeding shameless- 
 ness, Mistress Varnon !" exclaimed the 
 old gentlewoman in a lone of monstrous 
 indignation. "Never, in all my days, 
 saw I such thorough baseness of be- 
 havior. Prythee, dost think I can tolerate 
 these unmaidenly doings? Dost fancy I 
 will allow of our family being disgraced, 
 and our name brought into disrepute 
 a name that hath hitherto been of such 
 exceeding worship, that it might stand 
 second to none in these kingdoms ? I 
 take pride in saying the honorableness 
 of the Varnons hath never been question- 
 ed the sons have been heroes of valor, 
 the daughters models of discretion ; but 
 woe is me ! our house is like to be utterly 
 put out of its notable reputation by the 
 contumaciousness of its last and only un- 
 worthy scion." 
 
 "But, dear aunt!" exclaimed her young 
 kinswoman imploringly. 
 
 " Speak not to me, Mistress Varnon," 
 replied the other with a dignified wave 
 of her arm, and the same formal, proud, 
 and stern demeanor. " Respect for my- 
 self and the unsullied name I bear, ma- 
 keth me desirous of disclaiming all re- 
 lationship with one who hath exhibited 
 such abominable, disobedience. I know 
 not the language which should express 
 my absolute abhorrence of thy crime. 
 'Tis something so marvellous in a mem- 
 ber of our family that the commission 
 of it hath moved me to so excessive an 
 indignation, that I find it clean impossi- 
 ble to express the sense I hold it in. 
 How horrified my sainted grandmother, 
 the abbess of St. Ursula must be could 
 she behold thy delinquency ! How shock- 
 ed would my great uncle the bishop be- 
 come ! With what consternation would 
 it be regarded by my illustrious kinsman 
 the lord-chamberlain ! And how in- 
 famous would it appear in the eyes of my 
 respected aunt the maid of honor ! I ara
 
 
 184 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 thankful they have been spared this in- 
 fliction. They are to be envied upon 
 whom the grave hath shut out from their 
 view so humiliating a scene." 
 
 " But my lord loveth me honorably, 
 Aunt Deborah," murmured the abashed 
 maiden. 
 
 "Love thee, Mistress Varnon !" cried 
 the old -gentlewoman, in some sort of 
 astonishment. "And what, thinkestthou, 
 is his love compared with thy loyalty ? 
 Hath not her gracious majesty forbid the 
 marriage, and thinkest thou thata princess 
 of such immeasurable knowledge, immac- 
 ulate virtue, and unbounded beneficence, 
 knoweth not what is proper for thee ? 
 Wouldst have the audacity to dispute the 
 commands of thy lawful sovereign ? My 
 hair standeth on end at so traitorous a 
 supposition. Queen Elizabeth, out of her 
 abundant grace of disposition, hath ever 
 held our family in proper estimation, 
 which she showeth in a very laudable 
 measure, in the favor with which she 
 hath, for some time, regarded my kins- 
 man the Earl of Essex ; and shall a 
 daughter of the house she hath so hon- 
 ored, ungratefully disobey her royal com- 
 mands ? Is it to be believed, that of a 
 race approved for their loyalty, there 
 should now come a rebel ? If I had not 
 known it as a truth, I would have doubted 
 such wretched villany could have existed 
 amongst us." 
 
 " Indeed, dear aunt, I can not help lov- 
 ing my Lord Southampton," observed 
 her youthful companion, in a low sweet 
 voice, " he hath so noble, so admirable a 
 disposition." 
 
 " Disposition, quotha !" exclaimed the 
 other with increased indignation. " Dar- 
 est thou talk of his disposition when thy 
 duty is concerned ? Had he twenty dis- 
 positions, thou shouldst think no more of 
 him when such be the will of thy sover- 
 eign. It is, on the face of it, that thou 
 art obstinate to a degree that exceedeth 
 all example. But thy ill-doing confineth 
 not itself to obstinacy. Ill-hap is mine 
 to find that a daughter of the house of 
 Varnon hath not only so forgot her natu- 
 ral obedience, as to set herself in opposi- 
 tion to her lawful sovereign, but hath 
 shown such little regard for the dignity 
 of her family, as to attempt to bribe a 
 serving-man to assist her in carrying on 
 a clandestine correspondence. Yes," 
 continued Aunt Deborah as she slowly 
 drew a letter from her pocket, evidently 
 to the infinite consternation of her pretty 
 niece. " I have discovered all thy ex- 
 ceeding baseness. Thou hast done a deed 
 
 enough to draw thy ancestors out of their 
 tomb's, in horror of its very villany. But 
 I will read what horrible treason thou 
 hast here set down, though I doubt not 
 t'will move me to be marvellously 
 ashamed of thy disgraceful conduct." 
 And thereupon, slowly, and with an air 
 of stern dignity, she first put on her spec- 
 tacles, then broke open and commenced 
 reading the letter, whilst the eyes of the 
 fair culprit were fixed on the floor more 
 intently than ever, with so sweet an ex- 
 pression of jnnocency, that it seemed im- 
 possible for any person to gaze on her 
 face, and feel harshly toward her. 
 
 " To my ever-honored and most dear 
 Lord Henry Wriothesly, Earl of South- 
 ampton.' 
 
 " Alack, what an atrocious superscrip- 
 tion is here !" exclaimed the old gentle- 
 woman. " ' Most dear lord !' Hadst thou 
 been married to him a good ten years, 
 thou couldst not have addressed him 
 more like a wife. But I will proceed. 
 
 " ' I am sorely grieved, sweetheart, 
 that I am debarred the exquisite delight 
 of seeing thee.' 
 
 " Did ever any one read such downright 
 rebellion ? Sorely grieved because her 
 majesty hath been graciously pleased to 
 command that my Lord Southampton 
 have naught to do with thee! I am all 
 amazed. ' And thinking tbou art in a 
 like unhappy case in hope of affording 
 thee the sweet comfort I so much stand 
 in need of I write to assure thee I do love 
 thee so infinitely, naught on this earth 
 shall make it less.' Well ! never met I 
 such wanton immodesty ! Why, what 
 sense of shame canst thou have to tell a 
 man such horrid things ? But where left 
 I off? Ah ! < make it less.' ' And all I 
 now pray for is that thou wilt give me 
 such covetable place in thy remembrance 
 as, of a surety, dear lord of my life, thou 
 hast in mine, till the happy time come 
 round again when I may see thee, and 
 hear thee, and bless thee, with .such true 
 affectionateness as would I at this present 
 were thy dear presence allowed me.' 
 
 "And hast thou really the impiety to 
 pray for such wicked things ?" inquired 
 Aunt Deborah with a look of stately as- 
 tonishment, as she deliberately put away 
 the letter and her spectacles, and then 
 began to fan herself with a slow and dig- 
 nified motion. "Well may religious men 
 cry out against the iniquity of the age. 
 Indeed, the world must have come to a 
 sad pass when in one so young there 
 existeth so much disloyalty, obstinacy, 
 immodesty, and impiety. But to prevent
 
 SHAKSPEARE AlSD HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 185 
 
 further dishonor to our name, I shall see 
 that the commands of her most gracious 
 majesty are properly obeyed." 
 
 "Dear aunt!" murmured the offender, 
 as if almost afraid to speak. 
 
 " Go to thy virginals, Mistress Varnon," 
 replied her kinswoman in a lofty manner. 
 "Practise the last new madrigal I pro- 
 cured thee of the ingenious Master Mor- 
 ley. I will hold thee well to thy studies, 
 so that thou shall have no chance of 
 practising the evil the infamousness of 
 thj nature would set thee upon." 
 
 The abashed maiden, probably glad to 
 escape from the lecture, moved toward 
 a corner of the room where the instru- 
 ment was placed, and her aunt Deborah, 
 with slow and stately steps, proceeded 
 to a chair close upon it, where, after a 
 solemn arrangement of her drapery, with 
 a calm and dignified countenance she sat 
 herself down. Presently Mistress Var- 
 non commenced singing the first part of 
 a madrigal, which she did with a very 
 delicate voice, accompanying of herself 
 on the virginals, whilst her kinswoman 
 sat by listening with a most delectable 
 gravity impressed upon her ancient fea- 
 tures, a beating of the time with her fan. 
 At this time an old serving-man, in a 
 faded showy livery, entered, and advanced 
 with an air of respectful awe a little way 
 into the chamber. The music ceased, as 
 did also the beating of the time. 
 
 "Well, Joseph?" exclaimed Dame De- 
 borah, sitting upright in her chair very 
 formal and stiff. 
 
 " An' it please you, my lady," replied 
 the man, "there is one waiting below 
 who calleth himself Master Dulcimer, a 
 teacher of music, as he says, who de- 
 sireth to have speech with you, saying 
 that he hath come at the express desire 
 of my Lord Essex." 
 
 " What sort of man seemeth he ?" in- 
 quired his mistress. 
 
 "A very worshipful sort of man, an' it 
 please you, my lady," replied Joseph, 
 " one of wonderful fine accommodation 
 in his apparelling." 
 
 "Let him have entrance," said Aunt 
 Deborah in her stateliest manner ; and at | 
 this command the old serving-man, keep- '' 
 ing his face very respectfully toward his! 
 mistress, retreated out at the door. Di- 
 rectly he had disappeared the old dame 
 began fidgeting about her dress, pulling 
 out this part and smoothing that, and | 
 looking to see that nothing was out of! 
 order; and before she had well done this 
 the door again opened, and thereat en- | 
 tered a stranger. He was a man of a ; 
 
 very commendable stature and features 
 yet carried he himself so stiffly, and look- 
 ed with such a primness as was singular 
 to see. In age he must have been no 
 youngster, for his face seemed wrinkled 
 somewhat. In dress he Was attired as a 
 gallant of the old fashion, wearing a 
 beard of an orange tawny color, trim- 
 med spade-wise, with jewels in his ears, 
 and a love-lock with a silken rose at the 
 end hanging down nigh upon the shoul- 
 der. The ruff was very large, well stif- 
 fened and bushy ; and the doublet of fine 
 cloth, having a capacious cape and Dan- 
 ish sleeves, was apparently So hard quilt- 
 ed that the wearer stood in it like unto a 
 man in armor. The gallygaskins were 
 bolstered up all round the lower part of 
 the body to a preposterous size with a stuf- 
 fing, doubtless of wool and hair ; the hose 
 were of woven silk wiih broad garters ; 
 and his feet were cased in pantofles of 
 such high heels as bore him up some two 
 or three inches more than his natural 
 stature, and these were ornamented with 
 shoe-roses that looked to be of some five 
 pound a piece. He wore a dagger at his 
 back, and a rapier, the scabbard whereof 
 was very prettily ornamented, at his side. 
 His hat was of a high tapering crown, 
 daintily embroidered all over, and having 
 a goodly plume of feathers drooping 
 from it; and his gloves, as was soon 
 made manifest, were perfumed very 
 sweetly. 
 
 As soon as Dame Deborah observed the 
 entrance of her visiter, she rose from her 
 seat slowly and with a monstrous digni- 
 ty ; seeing which Master Dulcimer stop- 
 ped, with his hat in his hand, and with 
 a very famous courtesy bowed as low as 
 the quilting of his doublet would allow 
 him ; thereupon the old gentlewoman 
 courtesied to the ground with exceeding 
 deliberation ; after which he advanced in 
 a respectful manner some few paces and 
 bowed to her with the like profound cour- 
 teousness, and then she again courtesied 
 to him with the same stateliness of be- 
 havior. All this time each of them re- 
 garded the other with a visage of as per- 
 fect a gravity as was ever carried by one 
 at a funeral, taking no manner of notice 
 of Mistress Varnon, who, having risen at 
 the entrance of the stranger, stood nigh 
 unto her seat, marvelling in no small 
 measure at the ridiculousness of the scene 
 that was being acted before her. 
 
 " I have ventured to intrude myself 
 into your desirable presence, most honor- 
 able lady," said Master Dulcimer at last, 
 addressing Aunt Deborah in a voice of
 
 186 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 infinite affectation, " having been moved 
 thereto by the report of my worshipful 
 friend and patron the Lord Essex, who 
 for a right exquisite taste in the truly 
 delectable science of music hath not his 
 fellow anywhere. Peradventure it may 
 be known unto your honorable ladyship 
 that I have some poor ability in the wri- 
 ting of madrigals, and in divers other 
 kinds of tuneful compositions, having, 
 besides great study in the art pursued in 
 these realms for a long course of time, 
 travelled into Italy and in France, learn- 
 ing as I went of the choicest masters 
 those countries afforded, from the which 
 I have but lately returned. It hath been 
 my extreme honor to be in admirable 
 good favor with many persons of wor- 
 ship, but hearing of ray Lord Essex that 
 your excellent ladyship hath such fine 
 judgment in madrigals as is marvellous 
 to your friends and the world, I hasted 
 here on the instant, desirous of all things 
 that what my poor wit hath fashioned 
 should be found worthy of a hearing by 
 one of such notable delicate taste in 
 these matters." 
 
 " I pray you be seated, Master Dulci- 
 mer," replied Aunt Deborah with exceed- 
 ing graciousness, after listening in a stiff 
 attitude and with exceeding gravity to 
 the speech of the musician : at hearing 
 this request, he, with a bow as profound 
 as ever, walked with stately steps to the 
 nearest chair, and put it down close be- 
 side her, with another bow of the like 
 sort ; but the old gentlewoman remained 
 standing till her companion had placed 
 a chair for himself over against her own, 
 and then the two looking upon each other 
 with immovable gravity sank gradually 
 and at the same moment into their re- 
 spective seats. 
 
 "For this courtesy, noble madam, I 
 tender you my entire devotions,'' said 
 Master Dulcimer respectfully. 
 
 " I could do no less for one that cometh 
 with the recommendation of my illustri- 
 ous kinsman," answered the other, hold- 
 ing up her head as high as she could. 
 " But how fareth my Lord of Essex ? I 
 would fain know something certain of bis 
 health and well-doing ; and you, Master. 
 Dulcimer, having parted with him but 
 lately, must needs be the fittest intelli- 
 gencer I could meet with. Time was, I 
 had no need of learning what was going 
 on at court, I being at that time in some 
 honor there myself; but the degeneracy 
 of the age is such as hath made me pre- 
 fer a life of retirement to all the honors 
 the queen's majesty could confer on me. 
 
 I pray you, tell me how fareth my noble 
 kinsman ?" 
 
 "Bountifully as his princely disposition 
 deserveth," replied her companion, dis- 
 playing a pouncet-box, the which he oc- 
 casionally put to his nose. " Indeed, it 
 is very much as your ladyship hath but 
 now most justly remarked. Things are 
 not now as they were. The times can not 
 boast of such infinite choice accommoda- 
 tions as have existed in my remembrance. 
 Methinks the world is wearing nay, I 
 am in some doubts it be not clean thread- 
 bare. Ah ! what would I give to meet 
 with such musicians as I have known, 
 who could sing their part of a madrigal 
 without previous study, and, mayhap, 
 play an accompaniment at the same time." 
 
 " Tis a rare accomplishment, Master 
 Dulcimer," observed the old dame, with 
 a conscious satisfaction showing itself in 
 the very gravity of her countenance, "a 
 rare accomplishment, beyond all manner 
 of doubt : yet the great practice I have 
 had from my youth in singing and play- 
 ing on the virginals, maketh it to me a 
 thing of easy performance." 
 
 " Say you so, indeed, honored madam !" 
 exclaimed the other, with a look of 
 pleased surprise. " Then am I fortunate 
 above all measure. I have searched far 
 and near amongst the young gentlewo- 
 men of the day, yet found I none so ad- 
 vanced in the exquisite sweet art as to 
 be capable of what you have reported ot 
 yourself." 
 
 " Ah, Master Dulcimer !" cried Aunt 
 Deborah, in her usual tone and manner. 
 "In my time, girls were brought up in 
 an honest fashion, and being ever of a 
 very notable obediencv, applied them- 
 selves diligently to the doing of what they 
 were set upon. What famous cloth of 
 tissue have I had a hand in the working 
 of ay, and goodly counterpanes and cov- 
 erlets, and ail manner of curious needle- 
 work. Then, in confectionary and in the 
 making of wines and cordials, I was ex- 
 celled by none ; and so proficient was I 
 in my music that there was no three or 
 four part song I was afraid to join in. 
 Though I say it, Master Dulcimer, 'us 
 not. easy to meet with a young gentlewo- 
 man so well accommodated as was I. 
 But I marvel not at all at it. The de- 
 generacy of the age is such that no better 
 can be expected than the infinite lack ol 
 excellency that distinguished! thepreseni 
 time. My dainty young madam now 
 must needs go to Paris garden when she 
 should be at her virginals; and careth 
 more to be loitering her time away in a
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 187 
 
 room at the playhouse, than to be play- 
 ing the part of a good huswife in her own 
 house." 
 
 "In truth, I do prefer that which I 
 have seen in my youth to aught that the 
 present age affords," observed her com- 
 panion. " Yet 'S there one gratification 
 left me for which I am prodigiously 
 thankful. I remember me the exceeding 
 beauteousness, the exquisite sweet grace, 
 and the right excellent accomplishments 
 of that star of the court of Queen Mary, 
 Mistress Deborah Varnon, and to find such 
 great skill, such marvellous comeliness, 
 and such admirable fine wit, still adorn- 
 ing the world wherein I am allowed to 
 move, produce in me so rare a comfort as 
 nothing else under heaven can bestow." 
 
 During this courteous speech, which 
 was delivered with a seriousness of coun- 
 tenance, and expression of voice, it is im- 
 possible to describe, Aunt Deborah fre- 
 quently bent her head in acknowledg- 
 ment of the compliments she was receiv- 
 ing, and fanned herself with an air of 
 greater stateliness than ever. 
 
 " Said you that you had written some 
 new madrigals, Master Dulcimer?" in- 
 quired the old dame, in an indifferent sort 
 of voice, as if she cared not for being 
 so talked of. 
 
 " Indeed have I," replied the muscian, 
 " and such as divers of my friends have 
 well commended ; but though these are 
 persons of worship, and considered to be 
 of a very absolute fine taste, I can not 
 help being careless of their opinion while 
 I lack the praise of so exceeding nice a 
 judge as Mistress Deborah Varnon." 
 Again that lady bowed her acknowledg- 
 ments. "Such as I have done are for 
 four voices, whereof the first part hath, 
 by some ladies who have essayed the 
 singing of it, been pronounced too diffi- 
 cult to be sung without a wonderful deal 
 of study, and then, so it hath been said 
 by them, it shall chance not to go so well 
 as it ought. For mine own part, I doubt 
 much whether any be so well skilled in 
 music as to perform it at sight." 
 
 " In the first place, there is a voice 
 short," said Dame Deborah ; " in the 
 next, you have not your madrigal at 
 hand, else would I prove to you, Master 
 Dulcimer, that there be no difficulties in 
 singing I can not master." 
 
 "And have you three voices at com- 
 mand ?" inquired her companion. 
 
 " There is myself for the first," replied 
 she ; " there is my niece, whom I have 
 made next in skill to myself, for the sec- 
 ond ; and the third you can supply of your 
 
 own ability: provide you a fourth, and 
 set your madrigal before me, I dou v t not 
 it shall be done justice to." 
 
 The musician appeared to reflect a 
 few moments with a wonderful thought- 
 ful countenance, and at last said : 
 
 " I know not how it may be brought 
 about, yet if it cuuld be, I should like it 
 well." ' 
 
 " What mean you, Master Dulcimer ?" 
 inquired Aunt Deborah. 
 
 " There is my boy waiting below with 
 with my cittern and music," answered he. 
 " Now he hath as proper a voice as you 
 might wish to hear ; and having been 
 long taught of myself, is cunning in all 
 manner of singing." 
 
 " If he can bear himself discreetly, let 
 him join us," observed his companion, 
 who seemed anxious to convince the mu- 
 sician of her own skill in minstrelsey. 
 
 " For discretion he can not be ex- 
 celled," replied the other; "but he is of 
 a simple nature. Indeed he hath so won- 
 derful a shyness with regard to ladies, 
 that he can not bear to be looked at in 
 the face by any." 
 
 " Since that be his humor, I will not 
 gaze on him at all," said Aunt Deborah. 
 
 " I implore you not to do so on any ao- 
 count," added Master Dulcimer, "el?" 
 you will so put him out, that his voice 
 will leave him on the sudden." 
 
 "Neither I nor my niece shall regard 
 him in any way, rest assured," answered 
 the old lady ; " and now, if you are for 
 the trial of your madrigal, I will give or- 
 ders that your boy come here, and we 
 will about it without loss of time." 
 
 Joseph was summoned, and command 
 ed to send Master Dulcimer's boy to 
 them ; immediately after which Dame 
 Deborah and her visiter rose from their 
 seats at the same moment, and she cour- 
 teously giving him her hand, went sailing 
 proudly along in all her finery, while he, 
 quite as stiffly, walked at her side, and 
 led her to a seat before the virginals. 
 
 " I charge you, Mistress Varnon, look 
 not at this youth who is about to join in 
 our singing," said she, addressing her 
 niece with a most profound gravity ; 
 then, turning to her gallant companion, 
 couriesied with a marvellous solemnity, 
 as he bowed himself to the ground, and 
 then, with the same deliberate stateli- 
 ness, seated herself before the instrument. 
 This had scarce been done when the door 
 opened, and there entered a youth ham- 
 bly apparelled in a suit of Lincoln gre>?n, 
 seemingly of a great modesty ; for lis 
 eyes were fixed on the ground, and he
 
 188 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 carried his master's cittern and music so 
 before him, that of his face but little 
 could be seen. 
 
 While Master Dulcimer was tuning of 
 his cittern, sitting down close beside 
 Aunt Deborah, to whom he kept ad- 
 dressing frequent observations relating to 
 the music he had placed oefore her, Mis- 
 tress Varnon was standing behind her 
 aunt, holding with one hand a copy of 
 the same madrigal, which was also held 
 in one hand by Master Dulcimer's boy, 
 (or man he might be called by his stature), 
 who stood at her elbow ; and she appeared 
 wondering much at the oddness of such 
 a performance. All at once she felt her 
 disengaged hand touched by her com- 
 panion ; and not being desirous of such a 
 familiarity from one of so mean a quality 
 as a musician's' boy, she snatched away 
 her hand with some, indignation. Pres- 
 ently she felt it touched again, and being 
 mightily enraged at the impudency of 
 the fellow forgetting the injunction of 
 her kinswoman, she turned round to give 
 him a look which should convince him 
 she was not to be so meddled with by 
 such mean persons; but scarce had her 
 eyes fallen on his face when she uttered 
 a short scream, and let go her hand from 
 the music. 
 
 "What meaneth this?" exclaimed 
 Dame Deborah, turning quickly round, 
 at the same moment that the boy moved 
 his face in an opposite direction, and 
 seemed to be quietly intent on looking 
 into his part. 
 
 " Nothing, aunt," replied Mistress Var- 
 non, endeavoring to conceal her confu- 
 sion. " That is I only I mean I felt 
 it was but a small matter, aunt a sud- 
 den pain. 'Tis going off now." 
 
 " Let it go off, and quickly then," said 
 her kinswoman,- with exceeding serious- 
 ness ; "I marvel at your want of dis- 
 cretion in having sudden pains at such a 
 time. Attend to your part, and put not 
 out the boy with any such follies." 
 
 " Here we again return to the major 
 chord," observed Master Dulcimer, draw- 
 ing her attention back to the madrigal: 
 and she was soon so occupied with listen- 
 ing to his explanations that she could 
 think of no other matter. The boy was 
 once more at the side of Mistress Varnon, 
 and they held the music betwixt them as 
 before. But his impudency exceedeth all 
 description ; he took her hand, and, what 
 seemeth equally unpardonable, she al- 
 lowed him to retain it. Nay, not only 
 did she now exhibit no sign of indigna- 
 tion, but she ever and anon smiled on him 
 
 as graciously as if none could be held in 
 such esteem of her. All parties being at 
 last ready, they commenced singing of 
 the madrigal, the words of which are 
 here written. 
 
 " Come, shepherds, come, and whilst our lambkins 
 play, 
 
 And every friend and neighbor 
 Dance to the pipe and tabor, 
 We'll make sweet music with our roundelay. 
 Come, shepherds, come ! 
 
 ' Hark ! how from out yon green umbrageous bower 
 Rise tuneful pastorals 
 And pleasing madrigals, 
 That fill with melody the jocund hour. 
 
 Come, shepherds, come ! 
 
 " Now, let us rival them till they take winy, 
 And round about us throng, 
 To hear our sweeter song, 
 As on the daisied ground we sit and sing, 
 
 Come, shepherds, come ! 
 
 ' Then, with pale lady's smocks and king cups yel- 
 low, 
 
 And [tansies newly blown, 
 We'll fashion forth a crown, 
 For him who singeth better than his fellow. 
 Come, shepherds, corne !" 
 
 It so happened that Aunt Deborah, not 
 liking to put on her spectacles before so 
 perfect a gallant, according to her notion, 
 as seemed Master Dulcimer, was obliged 
 to keep her face close to the music ; and 
 so her whole attention was taken uf 
 Perchance it was well it was so ; for hac 
 she been allowed opportunity for noticing 
 what was going on behind her, I doubt 
 not she would have been greatly scandal- 
 ized. Never were appearances more de- 
 ceptive than in Mistress Varnon and the 
 musician's boy. The exceeding inno- 
 cency of the one, and the marvellous 
 shyness of the other, must needs have 
 been nothing better than a catch ; for, 
 during the singing of the madrigal, not 
 onlydid the one allow the other to take 
 her hand, but when he had the presump- 
 tion to raise it to his lips, she cared not 
 even to frown at him. It may well be 
 believed that they two were somewhat 
 heedless in their singing. In truth, they 
 did put out the others more than once, to 
 the wonderful vexation of Aunt Deborah ; 
 but the old gentlewoman went througb 
 her part without halting in a bar; ana 
 though her voice was none of the strong- 
 est, she sung with a correctness and ex- 
 pression that was somewhat marvellous 
 at her time of life. At the end, so liked 
 she the madrigal, or the praises Master 
 Dulcimer did lavish on her singing, that 
 she must needs have it gone through 
 again, to the which all, evidently in a 
 like humor with herself, cheerfully ac- 
 ceded. Now must I notice a fresh in- 
 stance of most improper conduct of the
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 189 
 
 young pair standing behind ; for whilst 
 Master Dulcimer was diligently singing 
 and playing on his cittern, and "therefore 
 could not see what his boy was at, and 
 Aunt Deborah's countenance was close 
 upon the music, and could have no notion 
 of what her niece was about, that very 
 boy who was said to be of so monstrous 
 a shyness he could not bear to be looked 
 in the face of any woman, had got his 
 arm round -the waist of the lovely Mis- 
 tress Varnon, singing away as carelessly 
 as you please, whilst she, with a counte- 
 nance as modest as an angel's, delightedly 
 sang her part, and seemed in no way dis- 
 pleased at his abominable impudency. 
 But of all extraordinary things, was the 
 contrast betwixt the wonderful gravity 
 and the absblute stateliness of Aunt De- 
 borah and Master Dulcimer, with the 
 arch, handsome, youthful, happy faces 
 behind them. 
 
 After this they did essay other com- 
 positions of the same nature, whereof the 
 greater part were so singularly liked of 
 the old gentlewoman, or else she was so 
 well pleased with the appearance and 
 behavior of the musician, that she must 
 needs show him her garden, where they 
 stayed alone together some time, and 
 pressed him very courteously to come as 
 oft as he desired to her, and bring his 
 boy also ; the which he promised to do ; 
 and then the boy taking his cittern and 
 music in as humble and shy a manner as 
 ever was seen with an abundance of the 
 same respectful bows that marked his 
 entrance, that were duly acknowledged 
 with a like number of profound courtesies 
 from the lady, Master Dulcimer at last 
 took his leave of her. 
 
 Scarce had they well got out of view 
 of the house, when the boy, again drop- 
 ping of his humility and shyness, burst 
 out into a loud laugh. 
 
 " By this hand, Master Shakspeare," 
 exclaimed he, very merrily, to his associ- 
 ate, " never saw I any old woman so 
 thoroughly deceived." 
 
 "Said I not, my Lord Southampton, I 
 would procure you speech with your 
 mistress before the day was over ?" in- 
 quired the other, in his natural voice, 
 who, out of all doubt, was no other than 
 that most witty and ingenious gentleman 
 just named. 
 
 " Indeed you did, and you have well 
 kept your promise," replied his com- 
 panion ; " but I must confess I had huge 
 doubts of your success ; for who could 
 suspect for a moment so perfect a trans- 
 formation. 0' my life so exquisite state- 
 
 ly were you, I more than once found my- 
 self doubting your identity." 
 
 " I am a player, my good lord," an- 
 swered Master Shakspeare, with a smile ; 
 " and it is our vocation to be the very 
 creatures of change. We are kings or 
 beggars, priests or sinners, as there may 
 be occasion. The bed of Procrustes, that 
 is said to have stretched those who were 
 too short for it, and cut down such as 
 were too long, had much of the players' 
 art, for we make all characters fit us 
 whether they will or ho. As for the 
 playing of a music-master, it can be no 
 great matter, seeing what assistance I 
 have had from .mine esteemed friend 
 Master Dowland : nor can it be surprising 
 I should so readily cozen the old dame, 
 when it is remembered how much I 
 learned of you of her particular humor." 
 
 " I did more than once fear we should 
 be discovered," observed my Lord South- 
 ampton ; " for sometimes I could scarce 
 help from laughing at seeing how pre- 
 posterous fine and proud you looked, and 
 with what a monstrous gravity the an- 
 cient gentlewoman regarded your an- 
 tiquated gallantries." 
 
 "In honest truth it was droll enough," 
 replied his companion ; " but that was 
 nothing to my being obliged to listen, 
 whilst in the garden with her, to the very 
 bitterest abuse of one Will Shakspeare, 
 who, as she said, was turning the heads 
 of all the women of the court with his 
 abominable vile comedies and inter- 
 ludes." 
 
 " I'faith that was exceeding good," 
 exclaimed the other, laughing hearti- 
 ly ; " but said you not a word in his 
 favor ?" 
 
 " Had he been a drunken turnspit he 
 could not have received less courtesy at 
 my hands," answered Master Shakspeare, 
 in the like humor ; and thus they pro- 
 ceeded, laughing and jesting at their ad- 
 venture, till they came to a by-lane in 
 the neighborhood of Islington, where a 
 caroch was waiting, into which they 
 presently got, and were speedily driven 
 home to their lodgings. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 And now a wind as forward as their spirits 
 Sets their glad feet on smooth Guiana's orean, 
 Where (as if each man were an Orpheus) 
 A world of savages fall tame before them, 
 Storing their theft-free treasures with gold. 
 
 CHAPMAN. 
 
 On, on, you noblest English 
 Whose blood is fet from fathers of war reproof!
 
 190 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS, 
 
 Fathers that, like so many Alexanders. 
 Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, 
 And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 IN the morning of the next day, the 
 city of San Josef^de Orufio having been 
 sacked of its valuables by the victors, who 
 found great store of wealth in it, there 
 was discovered, in a loathsome dungeon, 
 five of the powerfulest native lords, chain- 
 ed, and dying of famine, after having 
 been cruelly tortured, by the order of Don 
 Antonio de Berrio, to make them say 
 where they had hid their treasure. These 
 were immediately liberated, and treated 
 with exceeding attention by Sir Walter 
 Raleigh. As soon as it was known that 
 the power of the Spaniards had been 
 overthrown in that island, the natives 
 came flocking toward the city in great 
 numbers, testifying, in every conceivable 
 manner, how glad they were in their 
 heans that the iron rule of their oppres- 
 sors had been put an end to. Sir Walter 
 got them altogether, as many as were in 
 the neighborhood, in a large plain out- 
 side of the city, and it was a goodly sight 
 to behold so great a multitude of these 
 people, all clad in divers colors, wonder- 
 fully discreet in their behavior, the most 
 of them well limbed, and of comely faces, 
 and regarding of their deliverers as a 
 race from heaven. Sir Walter got the 
 caciques about him, and then, by means 
 of his interpreter, addressed them in a 
 famous speech, explaining to them that 
 he was the servant of a queen who was 
 the powerfulest cacique in the world, 
 and had under her more great chiefs than 
 that island contained trees that she had 
 the very absolutest hatred for all sorts of 
 oppression, and had sent him purposely 
 to free them from the cruelty of the 
 Spaniards, whose enemy she was on ac- 
 count of their treachery and tyrannical 
 doings. Then he showed them a picture 
 of Queen Elizabeth, on the which they 
 gazed with wonderful veneration, and 
 called out, in their language, that she was 
 the mightiest princess on the earth ; and 
 it seemed as if they were almost inclined 
 to worship the picture, so greatly had they 
 been moved at the sight of it. 
 
 What he said having been explained 
 to the people, there presently arose such 
 shouts as was almost deafening to hear ; 
 and every one did exhibit his satisfaction 
 in a manner that, however strange it 
 iniirht be to some of the English officers 
 and soldiers, was as sincere as any that 
 \va? ever seen. The Acarawana" then 
 made a famous oration concerning of how 
 
 grateful were the people of that island at 
 finding that the heart of the Great Spirit 
 had been turned toward them in the 
 midst of the afflictions they were endur- 
 ing at the hands of their oppressors, and 
 had sent 10 their assistance a band of his 
 choicest warriors for the overthrowing of 
 their tyrants. He proceeded at some 
 length, detailing many horrible cruelties 
 his countrymen had suffered of the Span- 
 iards out of their desperate thirst of gold, 
 till all who understood were moved with 
 wrath and indignation against such vil- 
 lanies ; and it was resolved that the city 
 should be burnt down forthwith : the 
 which, when the Indians came to know, 
 there arose such rejoicings amongst 
 them as was quite wonderful to behold ; 
 and at the desire of Sir Wa'lter Raleigh 
 they hastened to set it on fire. In a brief 
 space it was blazing away in many 
 places, whilst hundreds of the natives 
 danced, and sung, and shouted about the 
 burning building like so many mad peo- 
 ple. In the meanwhile Sir Walter did 
 inquire of divers of the caciques, some 
 of whom were of the main land, and 
 had been planted in Trinidad by Don 
 Antonio, in hopes of their destroying they 
 that were natural of the island, such par- 
 ticulars of Guiana as he thought they 
 could give ; and they quickly made him 
 acquainted with all they knew. 
 
 Having liberated those of the Spaniards 
 as were of the common sort, retaining 
 only the governor and his officers till 
 their ransom should be paid, Sir Waller 
 departed to his vessels accompanied by 
 great multitudes of the natives, carrying 
 boughs of trees, and singing of his praises 
 as if he were some mighty conqueror. 
 When he had returned to Puerto de los 
 Espafioles he found that two more of his 
 ships had arrived, 'the sight whereof 
 pleased him mightily, and he made in- 
 stant preparations for proceeding in 
 search of El Dorado. Many were the 
 plans that were considered before one 
 was pitched upon, that was thought to be 
 more practicable than the others for the 
 purpose required, that had for its object 
 the best means of navigating the great 
 river Orinoco, up which they were about 
 to proceed ; but it was agreed at last, be- 
 cause only small vessels could be used, 
 that an old gallego boat should be cut 
 down into a galley, in the which he thrust 
 with himself nigh upon sixty men, be- 
 side divers of his officers, his secretary, 
 and Harry Daring in the Lion's Whelp's 
 boat and wherry he had other of his offi- 
 cers and twenty men, in another wherry
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 191 
 
 there were ten, and in Sir Walter'.* own 
 barore ten also makinsr above a hundred 
 in all. These carried victual fora month, 
 and were well armed every one of them. 
 
 They rowed very famously from the 
 open sea till they came to a stream, being 
 the first Christians who had ever ventur- 
 ed therein, and Sir Walter in remem- 
 brance of his friend Master Spenser and 
 his poem of the Faery Queen, did call it 
 the river of the Red Cross. Here they 
 spied three Indians in a canoe, and saw 
 divers others on the banks of the stream, 
 which were shadowed by a thick wood, 
 grazing on them with a singular curious- 
 ness. Wishing to have speech with those 
 in the canoe, Raleisrh 2~ave chase, and 
 having eight oars with him was enabled 
 to overtake them before the Indians could 
 reach the island. By means of his in- 
 terpreter he spoke to them of his desire 
 to traffic, and those on the shore seeing 
 that no harm was offered to their coun- 
 trymen, did take heart, and straightway 
 came and trafficked for such things as they 
 had, with a show of such great friendli- 
 ness that it induced the interpreter Fer- 
 dinando to go with his brother to a vil- 
 lage close at hand tp fetch some fruit and 
 make acquaintance wilh the natives: 
 but when he had there arrived, the lord 
 of the island was for seizin? him and 
 putting him to death because he had 
 brought a strange nation into his territory 
 to spoil and destroy him, the which when 
 the brothers saw they showed their nim- 
 blenessof foot without loss of time, and 
 were soon seen by Sir Walter and his 
 companions pursued by the Indians with 
 a great cry and tumult. Ferdinando's 
 brother having most speed quickly made 
 for the barge, crying out that his brother 
 was slain ; whereupon an old man of the 
 Indians who was standing close by was 
 laid hold of at the command of Sir Walter, 
 and told that if Ferdinando was not let 
 free they would cut off his head : and 
 then the man cried lustily to his country- 
 men to save the interpreter: but they 
 heeded him not at all, for they set a 
 hunting of him with deer-do<rs with so 
 main a cry that the woods did echo with 
 the noise. 
 
 It Avas debated whether the adventurers 
 should land and by force carry off Ferdi- 
 nando, but none knew where he was to 
 be found, or what force the natives had 
 in that island, so they kept coasting alone: 
 the shore in hope of rescuing him should 
 he rnnke his appearance: and it so hap- 
 pened thai he was presently seen to leap 
 out of a tree where he had taken refuse, 
 
 and swam to the barge more dead than 
 alive. Sir Walter retained the old Indi- 
 an, because he was natural of that place, 
 and was like enough to know the navi- 
 gation better than any stranger; and it 
 was well he did, for it was soon discov- 
 ered that Ferdinando knew nothing of 
 these rivers and islands, and the old man 
 proved them an admirable pilot. 
 
 They rowed on among many fair is- 
 lands covered with an abundance of 
 goodly trees, and having speech with the 
 na'tives whenever they could find occa- 
 sion, passing up the river with the flood, 
 and anchoring during the ebb, when they 
 had the ill hap to have their galley ground, 
 and stick so fost she could not be moved 
 anyhow, which mad many in her fear- 
 ful that they should be forced to take up 
 "their dwellings in these partaf;er thefash- 
 ion of the natives, who build their houses 
 hiorh up in the midst of tall trees; but Harry 
 Daring said he doubted not there was as 
 exquisite fine fun tu be had in trees as else- 
 where : however, after casting out all 
 her ballast, and with a monstrous deal of 
 tugging and hauling, they again Bother 
 afloat. At the fourth day they fell into 
 as fair a river to look on as rye ever saw, 
 which was liked all the better for having 
 but few windings ; hut when the flood 
 of the sea left them, which it did at that 
 place, they were forced to roAV with might 
 and main against a violent current, every 
 one of them, the gentlemen taking it in 
 turns with the mariners and soldiers, 
 which they did on being persuaded it 
 was but two or three days' work. When 
 that time had passed, the sun shining 
 fierce upon them, and the tall trees that 
 bordered the banks of the river shutting 
 out the air, and the current against them 
 becoming stronger every day, "the compa- 
 nies began to despair ; but the pilot prom- 
 ised them relief on the next day, and they 
 pulled on as vigorously as they could. 
 Notwithstanding this, many days were 
 spent by them in the same way, till they 
 were driven to short allowance. At last 
 their bread being nijjh the last morsel, 
 bavin? no drink at all, and being scorch- 
 ed and lirefl almost unto death, some did 
 begin to speak harshly of the enterprise, 
 and were for turning back ; but Sir Wal- 
 ter talked to them very reasonably that it 
 would be worse to turn back than to go 
 on, they having no provision to look to 
 unless they proceeded, the which if they 
 did they would be sure to get all they 
 wanted in a day or two at the utmost"; 
 whilst, should they attempt to return, 
 they would either be starved on the way,
 
 192 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 or escaping from thai, be laughed at of 
 the world for going of a fruitless errand. 
 
 Now all of them, both those in the 
 calley and in the barge and wherries, 
 had no victual left, and they would have 
 been in very hard case indeed, but flocks 
 of birds of all sorts of fine colors, carna- 
 tion, crimson, orange, tawney, and pur- 
 ple, and some mixed, kept flying about, 
 and by shooting of as many as they could, 
 the people had wherewith to eat for some 
 days more. The old Indian, who was 
 now the pilot, seeing their extremity, 
 offered to take them to a town of the 
 Araucas, where they should find a store 
 of all good things, both for eating and for 
 drinking, but to get to it they must leave 
 the galley at anchor, she drawing too 
 much water to proceed up that branch 
 of the river along which they must go; 
 and departing at noon with the barge 
 and the wherries, he undertook to return 
 ere night with plenty of bread, hams, 
 fish, and abundance of the country wines, 
 for those that tarried behind. This upon 
 consideration Sir Walter allowed, seeing 
 that it was the best that could be done; 
 therefore taking with him his secretary, 
 two of his captains, and sixteen muske- 
 teers, he was for departing on the instant. 
 Harry Daring did press very much to be; 
 of the party, but his commander would 
 have him stay where he was, for this 
 reason that whilst divers of the compa- 
 nies when *they were badliest off were 
 nigh upon sinking with despair, he would 
 keep them laughing as merrily as if they 
 had naught to care for, by telling of them 
 what laughable tricks he had played, 
 and droll mischiefs he had done, when 
 he was apprentice to the barber-chirur- 
 geon in East Cheap; and Sir Walter 
 thought that the men would be all the 
 more patient if he tarried amongst them; 
 therefore, assuring them of his speedy 
 return to their relief, he proceeded on his 
 way. 
 
 After six hours' hard rowing, the sun 
 being set, and no sign of habitation visi- 
 ble though the old Indian declared the 
 town was so close at hand they began 
 to suspect he was betraying them, partic- 
 ularly as he said that the Spaniards who 
 had escaped from Trinidad were with 
 others of their nation in a village upon 
 the river. As it grew toward night, and 
 still there was no sign of any place, Sir 
 Walter did question the pilot very close- 
 ly ; but he still kept saying it was nigh 
 at hand it was this turning and then 
 that, at the which when they came and 
 still finding no habitation, 'they were 
 
 angered ; and well they might be, for 
 they had rowed forty miles without bit 
 or sup, and were continually forced, worn 
 and weary as they were, to cut with 
 their swords a passage along the stream, 
 because the branches of the trees did so 
 cover the water. At last they determined 
 to hang their pilot ; but he implored so 
 earnestly for them to go a little further, 
 that they spared him yet awhile. 
 
 Although every one of the jiarty were 
 exceeding faint and vexed at the great 
 way they had come to so little purpose, 
 and of the monstrous labor they had had 
 to get there, they could not help admiring 
 the beauty of the country on both sides 
 of them. By Master Francis the sight 
 was enjoyed more than any other, be- 
 cause of Sir Waller's anxiety for his fol- 
 lowers, and their care for themselves 
 which engrossed their thoughts, but the 
 former feasted his eyes on the beautiful 
 scenes that lay before him, illumined by 
 the silvery moonlight, till he forgot hun- 
 ger, and thirst, and weariness. ^Besides, 
 it was a great contrast to what Biey had 
 been passing for so many miles, which 
 seemed naught but woods and prickly 
 bushes, for what he now saw were plains 
 of^some twenty miles in length, having 
 the grass short and green, which was 
 marvellous refreshing to the eye, with 
 here and there groves of trees, as if the 
 most wonderful art had been used in the 
 planting of them, whilst as they rowed 
 along, the deer came down feeding at the 
 water's side, as tamely as if they had 
 been used to a keeper's call. 
 
 At last, about an hour after midnight, 
 they saw a light afar off, which they 
 made for presently, and soon heard the 
 dogs of the village barking in full chorus. 
 Here they quickly arrived, and though 
 there were but few people left in it, the 
 cacique having, it was said, gone with 
 most of his people up the Orinoco, to 
 trade for gold and to buy women of the 
 cannibals, a dwelling was provided for 
 Sir Walter and his men, where all were 
 hospitably entertained, and promised in 
 the morning to have as much of such 
 things they required as they could carry 
 with them. Raleigh and his companions 
 retired to rest themselves as soon as they 
 could, for to sleep off the fatigues they 
 had endured. Master Francis did not 
 remain long before he was in a sound 
 slumber, from the which waking earlier 
 than the others, and not being inclined 
 to sleep again, he passed out of thUhouse 
 without waking any, being curious to see 
 the place. Meeting with none as he
 
 RHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 193 
 
 Went on, for scarce any of the natives 
 were, out of their houses, he strolled 
 along, much pleased with the comfort- 
 ableness of the dwellings, and the ex- 
 ceeding pleasantness of the scenery 
 around him, till he came to a grove of 
 'all trees, many bearing sweet blossoms, 
 and some loaded with fruit very delicate 
 to the eye. Numberless small birds were 
 up and tuning of their merry pipes to a 
 pleasant harmony ; and there were others 
 of a more brilliant plumage who flew 
 about the verdant branches, making a 
 wonderful noise certainly : yet was there 
 in it a great lack of music. 
 
 Having proceeded some way, enticed 
 along by the delightfulness of what he 
 beheld, he was bending down the more 
 closely to examine a curious flower that 
 had struck his eye,' growing nigh unto 
 the root of a tree, when all of a sudden 
 he felt a huge cloak thrown over him, in 
 the which his arms were pinioned so that 
 he could not move them in the least, and 
 then being forcibly gripped, he was hur- 
 ried along, not knowing where he was 
 going or what he was to be done with. 
 He cried out as well as he could, for he 
 was so muffled" up he could scarce speak: 
 but in a moment he heard a voice at his 
 elbow, which, to his great astonishment 
 he recognised as that of Padre Bartolome, 
 telling him to hold his prate or he should 
 have a bullet through his head. He mar- 
 velled at this hugely, because he knew 
 not that he had ever done him any of- 
 fence ; but hearing as he went along the 
 voice of one and then of another, all 
 talking Spanish, he surmised that he had 
 fallen into the hands of such Spaniards as 
 had escaped from Trinidad, and he doubt- 
 ed not they were going to revenge on him 
 the overthrow they received at San Josef 
 de Oruno. 
 
 Presently he felt himself lifted on a 
 horse, whereon one got up behind him 
 and held him fast ; and directly after that 
 they set a galloping as fast as they could. 
 He could tell by the noise that there were 
 at least some five or six horsemen. They 
 scarce ever said a word one to another ; 
 but that was nothing strange, seeing that 
 they were going at so great a pace. 
 Master Francis had made up his mind 
 that he was to be killed, but this in his 
 own heart he cared but Jittle for of itself; 
 for he was of a truly courageous dispo- 
 sition though of a modest nature, and was 
 more to be depended on in such a strait 
 than they who bear it more bravely when 
 no danger is at hand. He thought thisj 
 life could be but of small value, since the 
 13 
 
 meanness of his birlh took from him all 
 hope of honorable advancement, and 
 Joanna's ill conduct had deprived him of 
 every reasonable expectation of happi- 
 ness. Still he could not help thinking 
 there were those he liked not the parting 
 with so suddenly to wit, such true friends 
 as Sir Walter Raleigh, Master Shaks- 
 peare, and Harry Daring, whom he loved 
 so in his heart, that he would give the 
 world to see again were it possible. Then 
 he took to thinking of the manner of 
 death it was most like he should die. He 
 could not bear that he should be hanged 
 like any mean villain. And then he 
 wished they had but given him time to 
 draw his rapier, he would on no account 
 have allowed himself to be taken alive. 
 At last, considering that his end was 
 drawing nigh, he thought 'twould be but 
 Christian-like to forgive those who had 
 done him wrong ; and from his very heart 
 he did forgive Joanna the treachery she 
 had played him ; and as he did so, he 
 could not but grieve that a creature who 
 had appeared to him of so superlative an 
 excellence, should at last take to the do- 
 ing of such villanies as he believed she 
 had done. 
 
 At this time his reflections were put a 
 stop to by the party coming to a sudden 
 halt. He was lifted from the horse and 
 sat down on the ground with his back 
 leaning against what he thought was a 
 tree. By the talking they made he could 
 hear they did intend taking some refresh- 
 ment, whilst the horses were allowed to 
 crop the herbage around them ere they 
 proceeded on their journey; but whilst 
 they were sitting of themselves down, 
 preparing to make what good cheer they 
 might, Master Francis heard all at once 
 a great screaming and yelling close at 
 hand, and a noise of missiles rushing 
 through the air, and afterwards a rush of 
 many persons toward him. At first, he 
 could only marvel what it all meant; but 
 hearing the groans and execrations of the 
 Spaniards, he guessed they had been set 
 upon, and in a moment after he found 
 himself unbound, with a many armed 
 Indians gazing upon him with strange 
 and curious looks. Taking of a hurried 
 glance around him, he observed that all 
 the Spaniards were slain with arrows and 
 spears, excepting only Padre Bartolome, 
 whom some of the Indians were binding 
 with cords, and talking to all at once in 
 a monstrous furious manner ; but, Master 
 Francis, knowing not their language, 
 could only guess they were wrath with 
 the priest, and meant him some harm.
 
 194 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS, 
 
 After the same fashion behaved they not 
 to him ; for they did converse one to 
 another with very wondering looks, and 
 then seemed they to put questions to him 
 with more mildness than he could have 
 expected of them. Thinking they were 
 desirous of knowing what he was, and 
 how he came there, he was for telling 
 them in Spanish, but he had scarce ut- 
 tered a sentence when their looks turned' 
 to fury, and they beat him with blows, 
 and bound him hand and foot, and talk- 
 ing furious and fast, with many signs, 
 gave him to understand they would have 
 his life. 
 
 Believing that they took him for a 
 Spaniard, he then addressed them in 
 English, whereupon they again looked to 
 one another as if not knowing what to 
 think of it ; and he strove by signs to 
 make them understand he was an enemy 
 to the Spaniards, and had by them been 
 surprised and taken prisoner. Whether 
 they understood this, or were favorably 
 disposed toward him on account of the 
 comeliness of his appearance I know not, 
 but certain it is that after much talking 
 amongst themselves, they unbound his 
 cords ; yet did they make signs to him 
 the whilst, that ir he sought to escape 
 he should be speared on the instant. 
 Presently they brought him some singu- 
 lar sort of roots, which seeing of an In- 
 dian eat before him, he took to the tasting 
 of, and found it to be such excellent 
 meat, that he eat plentifully ; and then 
 they gave him to drink wine of the coun- 
 try, which would have been all the more 
 pleasant had there not been such quantity 
 of pepper in it. Notwithstanding this, 
 he felt wonderfully refreshed of the 
 victual he had had ; and had great hopes 
 that by their treating of him so bounti- 
 fully they bore him no ill will. All this 
 while many of them came crowding 
 round him, examining his dress very cu- 
 riously, and asking of him abundance of 
 questions, which, though he knew not 
 tlie meaning of, he would strive to an- 
 swer as he best might, but always in 
 English, which never failed to set them 
 talking to one another with such looks as 
 proved it astonished them mightily. 
 
 He saw not Padre Bartolome again for 
 some days, but being allowed his liberty, 
 though he was closely watched, he no- 
 ticed that his captors were some two hun- 
 dred in number, well armed with spears 
 and other Indian weapons, and appeared 
 to be returning i'rom some war expedi- 
 tion, but this was no more than his con- 
 jecture, for he could have no certain 
 
 knowledge about the matter. Let this 
 be as it may, he journeyed with them 
 for the space of many days through great 
 plains and forests, and along rivers, and 
 over mountains and rocks, all so grand 
 and beautiful, that it appeared to him the 
 most marvellous sight he had ever wit- 
 nessed : and sometimes he went wish 
 them a hunting the deer, wild boars, and 
 divers savage beasts natural to those 
 parts, the like of which he had never 
 seen before. He had wonderful enter- 
 tainment from the Indians, for they 
 feasted him with venison and pork, and 
 flesh of many different birds, with roots 
 that made a right admirable substitute 
 for bread ; and with plenty of wine, so 
 that he lacked nothing. Indeed, he 
 might have been happy did he not often 
 rind himself a thinking of how Sir Wal- 
 ter Raleigh might be put to by his ab- 
 sence, and how Harry Daring Would take 
 on ; but as he found that there was no 
 help at present, he did wisely determine 
 to make the best of it he could, and did 
 so demean himself as to win the good 
 will of all about him. 
 
 At one time whilst they were about to 
 rest themselves for th night upon an ex- 
 ceeding high mountain up which they had 
 been toiling the whole of the day, Master 
 Francis spied the Jesuit, still in his bonds, 
 sitting by himself upon a block of stone, 
 and regarding him with looks so gloomy 
 and revengeful, that the young English- 
 man was quite moved at it. Master 
 Francis knew that he had done him no 
 ill office, and he could scarce think it pos- 
 sible that national prejudice should go so 
 far as to become such deadly hatred. De- 
 sirous of knowing for what cause the 
 other looked at him so maliciously he 
 made up to him ; but he had only got to 
 within a few paces of the stone on which 
 the padre sat, when he found himself laid 
 violent hold of, and dragged back by 
 those of the Indians who had seen his in- 
 tention. They then looked frowning upon 
 him, and did threaten him, as he under- 
 stood, if that he ever essayed to speak 
 with the priest again, they would as good 
 as kill him for it. This made him more 
 cautious, for it may well be imagined he 
 had no desire of getting his death for pay- 
 ing of any courtesies to one who seemed 
 as though he would gladly be his destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 They travelled on for some time long- 
 er, amidst an exceeding wild country till 
 they came to a goodly city, wherein they 
 were welcomed by crowds of Indians who 
 flocked put of their houses to meet them
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 195 
 
 with great shoutings, and clanging of 
 noisy instruments men, women, and 
 children, clad in dresses of divers colors. 
 At first there were many amongst them 
 that did regard Master Francis with most 
 sinister aspects, reviling and jeering of 
 him, and seeming to triumph over him 
 as if he were an enemy taken in battle ; 
 but when something was said to them by 
 those he was amongst, they did abuse 
 him no more, nor regard him in any sort 
 than with a very marvellous curiousness. 
 As for Padre Bartolome, there could not 
 be a question as to their treatment of 
 him. They cast dirt on him as he went; 
 they spat on him, they screamed, they 
 yelled, they danced for very joy; naught 
 could exceed the wonderful pleasure they 
 seemed to find in the sight of him. But 
 he regarded them not at all. He passed 
 along with his fine eyes fixed upon the 
 glowing heavens with a most pious ex- 
 pression of countenance, as if his spirit 
 was in such strict communion with his 
 Creator he could not regard for a mo- 
 ment the din that was going on around 
 him. His hands were tied behind his 
 back, and he was strictly guarded ; yet 
 walked he with a proud step, more like 
 that of a conquerer than a captive: and 
 looked such resignation and hope as if he 
 would needs appear like one of the right 
 famous martyrs of old, who did suffer ex- 
 treme persecution of the heathen, even 
 unto death, rather than give up their faith 
 in the life everlasting. 
 
 Nothing astonished Master Francis so 
 much as the wonderful quantity of gold 
 that was worn by the natives. They had 
 armlets, bands for the ankles and for the 
 forehead ; plates that hung about the 
 joints, rings and chains, all solid, and 
 curiously wrought ; and these shining in 
 the sun, had a singular fine and brilliant 
 effect ; but when he came into the city 
 and saw the insides of the houses, and 
 beheld the commonness of this precious 
 metal, for it appeared to he made into 
 every sort of thing that could be named, 
 as if its abundance was beyond all com- 
 parison, he marvelled ten times the more. 
 In this place he abode many days, being 
 well cared for, having to eat all kinds of 
 fish, flesh, and fowl, that could be pro- 
 cured, with fruit in great plenty ; tortoise 
 eggs, which he found to be a very whole- 
 some meat ; and wine of a good sort, as 
 much as he could drink of it: and he 
 saw nothing of Padre Bartolome all this 
 time, for the priest was kept close in du- 
 rance, having scanty fare, and usage of 
 the hardest ; but at last there came a 
 
 command from the king of all these parts, 
 that the stranger should be sent to the 
 imperial city, where he was, for him to 
 see the prisoners, and judge how they 
 should be disposed of. Then Master Fran- 
 cis and the Jesuit were straightway set 
 on two of the horses taken of the Span- 
 iards, and accompanied by a strong guard 
 to prevent escape ; and proceeded on their 
 journey to the city of the king. 
 
 After passing a great distance through 
 a fine open country, rich with verdure, 
 and of a most delicate aspect, when a 
 many days had elapsed, they approached 
 a magnificent city, which was the place 
 they were in quest of. Master Francis 
 could see, as he came nigh unto it, that 
 it was a famous large place ; and noticing 
 of the vast numbers that were thronging 
 in its vicinity, some going and some com- 
 ing, he did judge that it was well popu- 
 lated. The first thing that did give him 
 a proper estimation of the wonderful rich- 
 es of the city, was the great gates, which, 
 to his exceeding astonishment, he saw 
 were made of the solid gold, and wrought 
 in all manner of beautiful figures of men, 
 and beasts, and birds, and flowers, with 
 such extreme cunning that he marvelled 
 as much at the skilfulness of the work- 
 manship as at the costliness of the mate- 
 rial. Discoursing with one of his guard, 
 for he had picked up some little knowl- 
 edge of the language, he learned that the 
 riches of this city was considered to be 
 far beyond that of any place in the world 
 for there were in it four-and-twenty gate* 
 of a like fashion and fabric ; and t^. 
 quantity of the same precious mettT 
 wrought up into idols, monuments, alta 
 places, and the like, was beyond all cal- 
 culation. Hearing this, and beholding, 
 as he proceeded along through the broad 
 thoroughfares, the strongest evidence that 
 what he heard was no other than the 
 truth, he did from it imagine that he was 
 in that right famous place called El Hom- 
 bre Dorado, or the Man of Gold ; of the 
 which divers notable comfcianders of the 
 Spaniards had searched for in vain ; and 
 for the discovery thereof Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh had got together so brave an expe- 
 dition ; and, as imagination was strength- 
 ened into certainty by his guides telling 
 him the city was called Manoa, it did 
 create in him a singular curiousness to 
 observe, as closely as was possible, this 
 wonderful place. 
 
 As he rode onward he could not but 
 marvel at the sight of such goodly struc- 
 tures, that seemed like unto palaces, ah 
 the way long. Presently he would come
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 to some open space, in the midst of which 
 there was set up a huge figure of some 
 idol, whereof he saw a great many, all 
 wrought out of the solid gold, and the 
 crowds of natives dressed in the costliest 
 silks and fine cloths, some walking, and 
 some riding on prancing steeds, the har- 
 ness of which was covered over with 
 gold and jewels, were wonderful to look 
 upon, for the beauty and variety of their 
 apparelling. They seemed, for people 
 of so dark a skin, an exceeding handsome 
 race ; the women remarkably so, having 
 well disposed bodies and comely coun- 
 tenances ; eyes dark and penetrating, and 
 hair very long and black, the which, in 
 many instances, was powdered with gold 
 dust, that did have a marvellous shining 
 effect ; the most of them wore gold ank- 
 lets and armlets, very thick, and some 
 curiously cut and set in with precious 
 stones, and some wore so many plates of 
 the same metal that they kept up a con- 
 stant jingling as they walked along, 
 from the pieces knocking one against 
 another. 
 
 Master Francis was made to halt at a 
 building of wonderful size and stately 
 aspect, story above story, and tower 
 above tower, with figures upon them, all 
 of gold, stretching out over a vast space 
 of ground. As he approached it by one 
 of many wide streets of goodly mansions 
 that led to where it >tood, quite apart in 
 an open plot of ground, he observed 
 divers companies of armed Indians, doubt- 
 less soldiers, led by their lords, or caciques, 
 arrayed in most sumptuous fashion, 
 marching wilh bands of warlike instru- 
 ments, that made a monstrous clang, 
 some going and some coming away 
 some of horse and some of foot ; and 
 there being a marvellous high flight of 
 steps all around, to reach the gates of this 
 palace, it was a pretty sight to see the 
 foot soldiers ascending and descending, 
 with their spears glancing in the sun, 
 their feathers waving in the breeze, and 
 their draperiesYof the very brightest 
 colors, together with the abundance of 
 gold ornaments they wore, looking more 
 beauiiful and costly than the most ex- 
 treme cunning with the pen could de- 
 scribe. Having dismounted, Master Fran- 
 cis had to ascend the steps with his 
 guard, which was a wosk of some labor, 
 there being a hundred steps to go up ; 
 and then passing along a level way of 
 tine polished marble, which was covered 
 with a crowd of Indians, seemingly of 
 all sorts and conditions, going in and out, 
 
 le entered the palace by one of the maojr 
 golden gates it had, whereof he was told 
 here were fifty, all of a like splendor 
 and massiveness with the one he now 
 saw, which was indeed the most mag- 
 nificent thing to see eye of his ever be- 
 held. 
 
 Here some of those he was with did 
 lave speech with a chief of officer of the 
 uard, who stopped them ; and hearing 
 of their business, hurried them on, him- 
 ielf leading the way, telling them that 
 he king was sitting in council with his 
 wise men, and had given orders that the 
 trangers should immediately on their 
 arrival be brought before them, to be 
 done by as they should think fit. After 
 )assing through vast halls and long spa- 
 cious passages, and up broad flights of 
 steps, meeting with a great crowd of the 
 natives, seeming to be officers, priests, 
 soldiers, and the like, appearing to be 
 ntent upon some important business or 
 another, they at last arrived at an ante- 
 room^ which was guarded on both sides 
 rows of Indians, with long spears 
 standing up much higher than themselves, 
 where they waited till some went to 
 announce their arrival to the king ; which 
 having been done, after a short delay 
 Master Francis and Padre Bartolome, 
 uncovered, were allowed to advance into 
 the council chamber. 
 
 Upon entering, the first thing Which at- 
 tracted the attention of Master Francis 
 was a splendid throne, supported by fig- 
 ures of leopards, wrought in solid gold, 
 and blazing with all manner of sapphires, 
 carbuncles, emeralds, diamonds, pearls, 
 and divers other precious stones ; and on 
 it, upon cushions of embroidered silk, 
 there sat a man of a mild, yet majestic 
 countenance, clothed in robes of the very 
 richest sort, and wearing beside the most 
 costly armlets, anklets, and plates of gold 
 all about him, and rings, and chains, and 
 rare gems, a tiara of the same precious 
 metal, set in with diamonds and rubies 
 of the very largest and purest kind. 
 Round him, in a semicircle, seated on 
 thrones, less elevated, but of almost equal 
 costliness, were the wise n?n of the 
 council, which seemed to be to -has were 
 selected for their great knowledge, for 
 they did appear to be of a wonderful 
 gravity, and were clothed in long robes 
 of white cloth bordered with gold. Padre 
 Bartolome was desired to prostrate him- 
 self immediately upon his entering, which 
 he did, with an affectation of great rev- 
 erence ; but Master Francis liked not the
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 197 
 
 fceharing with such humility to a mere 
 mortal, and could not be got to do aught 
 save the making of a respectful bow, 
 which it was evident angered many in 
 that assembly, for some did regard him 
 with stem and forbidding glances, 
 
 An interpreter being present, who was 
 the chief priest, and was one that had 
 lived with the Spaniards till he was as 
 familiar with their language as with his 
 own, the padre was asked if the other 
 white man, meaning Master Francis, was 
 a Spaniard, many of the Indians having 
 asserted he talked a different tongue, and 
 was of an entirely different nation. Then 
 up spoke the wily Jesuit, exceedingly to 
 his companion's astonishment, and may- 
 hap instigated of the devil to do it, saying, 
 that not only was he a Spaniard, although 
 he spoke a foreign tongue, wanting to 
 pass himself off as of a different country, 
 but that he was the chief counsellor of 
 the governor Don Antonio de Berrio, and 
 had instigated him to do those cruelties 
 against the Indians of which such loud 
 complaint had been made. At the hear- 
 ing of this, it was easily seen that the 
 king and all his council were moved to a 
 great wrath. Master Francis was so 
 taken by surprise at the hearing of so 
 atrocious a calumny that he knew not 
 what to say or do; and, by his judges, 
 his confusion was taken as a sign of 
 guilt. 
 
 They then examined the padre as to 
 what were the designs of himself and 
 party in entering the territory of Guiana, 
 and he answered that he was but a man of 
 peace, and merely accompanied the others 
 at their request, to give them such good 
 instruction as they stood in need of; that | 
 the command of the party was intrusted 
 to his companion, and that its object was 
 to fall upon the Indians in some village 
 or another, murder them, and take away | 
 their gold. At this the assembly were ' 
 more wrath than at first : and when ' 
 Master Francis sought to deny what had ; 
 been so falsely said of the other, they I 
 would scarce hear him, and the king, [ 
 having taken the opinion of his wise 
 men, did speak with great bitterness of ' 
 the inhuman cruelties of the Spaniards j 
 in their inordinate search after gold, and ' 
 then adjudged Master Francis to be sac- ! 
 rificed to his gods, whilst Padre Bartolome 
 should be kept close prisoner. When the 
 priest heard this sentence he turned on ; 
 Lis companion a look of fiendish exulta- ; 
 lion, which the other returned only with i 
 one o*' wonder and pity. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 He that is thy friend indeed 
 
 He will help thee at thy need ; '>j 
 
 If thou sorrow he will weep, 
 
 If thou wake he can not sleep ; 
 
 Thus of ev'ry grief in heart, 
 
 He with thee doth bear a part. 
 
 SHAKSPEABZ 
 
 There is no grief, no smart, no wo, 
 
 That yet I feel or after shall, 
 That from this mind may make me go ; 
 
 And whatsoever me befall, 
 I do profess it willingly 
 To serve and suffer patiently. 
 
 SIB THOMAS WYATT. 
 
 Talbot. I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. 
 Come hither, captain ! (whispers.) You perceive 
 
 mind ? 
 
 Captain. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 UPON Sir Walter Raleigh's rising in 
 the morning and missing Master Francis 
 he did marvel exceedingly. v Every place 
 was searched for him, and every inquiry 
 set on foot, but one or two only of the 
 natives had had sight of him as he was 
 walking toward the grove, and after send- 
 ing parties hither and thither, and finding 
 no trace of him, Sir Walter was obliged 
 to return to his boat, because of those 
 who were waiting for victual. He knew 
 not what to think. It was not likely his 
 secretary should have been devoured by 
 savage beasts, because there was none 
 known to frequent those parts, nor was it 
 probable that he had been set upon and 
 slain by the Indians, because of their 
 hospitable character, and of the great in- 
 terest they showed when it was made 
 known to them one of the white men had 
 disappeared from amongst them. No 
 man could be more downcast at anything 
 than was Sir Walter. He offered great 
 rewards he spared neither trouble nor 
 expense, but it was all unavailing ; and 
 on his voyage back loaded with provision 
 for those of his followers he had left be- 
 hind him, he could scarce speak a word. 
 In truth, he loved Master Francis as a 
 son ; and his loss did affect him more 
 than anythiu? he had ever endured. 
 
 If Sir Walter was thus moved, how 
 much more strongly did the intelligence 
 of his friend's disappearance affect Harry 
 Daring. He was like one distracted 
 he did abuse all around for a parcel of 
 pitiful rogues and villains for coming back 
 without bringing his true friend with 
 them; and was for starting himself quite 
 alon'e and on the instant to fetch him 
 away in spite of everything : but Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, though he could not but 
 pardon the intemperance of his language, 
 knowing of what disposition he was, and
 
 198 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS 
 
 how much he was attached to the other, 
 would have him go on no account, be- 
 cause he believed it would be a fruitless 
 and a dangerous errand for him to set out 
 on alone, and he could not spare others 
 at such a time; therefoie he was held 
 fast ; notwithstanding which he spared 
 none with his tongue; for he did rate 
 them all after a fashion that must have 
 angered many who knew not of what sort 
 he was, and the provocation he had had. 
 After a bit, finding that this was of no 
 service, he appeared more tranquil, and 
 said naught to any save the young Indian, 
 with whom he was noticed to be frequent- 
 ly a whispering. His commander think- 
 ing that he was now resigned to the loss 
 of his friend, took not so much heed of 
 him, nor could he well, for his attention 
 was taking up with looking after his own 
 and the other boats, whereof the com- 
 panies now, every one having feasted and 
 drunk to his heart's content, were pro- 
 ceeding at a famous rate upon their 
 voyage. 
 
 It did so happen that of a party that 
 on the next day landed from the boats to 
 traffic with the natives of a village on the 
 banks of the river, Harry Daring and the 
 Indian boy were of the number, and 
 whilst all else were busily engaged, they 
 two slipped away unobserved with what 
 arms they had, and with such things as 
 they had got ready for the occasion ; and 
 threading their way through the thorny 
 bushes that grew along the water-side, 
 and which completely shut them out from 
 view, they came at last to where lay a 
 canoe, into the which they got without 
 loss of time, and commenced rowing 
 away with all their strength to return the 
 way they had come the day previous. 
 None noticed them, either from the boats 
 or on the land, their attention being taken 
 up with the natives; and having the tide 
 in their favor, they proceeded along very 
 famously, Harry Daring in an admirable 
 humor at having a chance of finding out 
 his true friend, and the young Indian in 
 as much delight with the prospect of see- 
 ing again his family, who knew not what 
 had become of him. Though these two 
 were boys, as it might be said, seeing 
 that they were each scarce above sixteen 
 or seventeen years of age, yet were they 
 strong aftd of wonderful activity. The 
 young Indian was somewhat about the 
 tallest of the two, being a youth of a 
 truly graceful figure, but Harry Daring 
 was of a thicker make, and, though he 
 had shot up since he had left England, 
 he looked nothing better than a big boy. 
 
 They found in the canoe provision! 
 enough for their wants and a plenty to 
 spare, for it had been victualled for a 
 party of Indians who were about going 
 upon a voyage, so that they were enabled, 
 yet not without vast labor and pains, to 
 reach the village at which Master Fran- 
 cis had slept the morning he had been 
 stole away. Here, they were entertained 
 in a like hospitable manner as their com- 
 panions had been ; and hearing from Har- 
 ry's comrade in the adventure, upon what 
 errand they had come, every facility was 
 afforded them to pursue their search. 
 Whilst Harry Daring was getting ready 
 such things as he designed taking with 
 him in the way of victual, a woman, who 
 seemed to be natural of that place from 
 her dress and complexion, did enter the 
 room where he was, and call aside his 
 companion, and they went out together. 
 As many of the natives had done the 
 same, because he alone could understand 
 them, Harry did not much notice it, but 
 went on with what he was a doing of. 
 After an absence of nigh upon half an 
 hour, the young Indian came running 
 back to him, seemingly in a wonderful 
 great pleasure and surprise. 
 
 "I have found where him gone to, 
 Massa Harry !" exclaimed he, dancing 
 about for very joy as it seemed. 
 
 "Where, where, Snowball, where ?" 
 quickly asked Harry with extreme earn- 
 estness. " Let me have sight of him on 
 the instant. I be a longing to behold 
 him again. Say where he is or I shall 
 take thee to be but a sorry friend, and 
 will presently forswear thy company." 
 
 " She tella me all, Massa Harry she 
 tella me all !" cried the young Indian. 
 
 " And who is she and what did she 
 tell thee ?" inquired the other. 
 
 " Not know who she be, Massa Har- 
 ry," replied his companion. "She one 
 nobody know of. very good woman for 
 all dat. What for she come a me ? She 
 tella me secret I not tell you. What foi 
 she tella me secret ! She know where 
 Massa Francis gone, and she wisha me 
 and you go wid her and take him away." 
 
 " A brave wench ! a brave wench !' 
 exclaimed Harry Daring, overjoyed at 
 the prospect of seeing his true friend. 
 " And as for her secret, I be not at all cu- 
 rious, so there can be no fear of my know- 
 ing it. But where is she, Snowball? 
 Can I not see her? Can I not have 
 speech with her?" 
 
 " No, Massa Harry," answered the 
 young Indian. "What for she say no? 
 She say she no letta you see her, 'cause
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 199 
 
 in her country no woman show her face. 
 She say she no have speech wid you, 
 'cause she no understanda what you say, 
 and you no understauda what she say." 
 
 " By Gog and Magog ! I care not so 
 that she show me Master Francis," said 
 the other. " Is he at any distance ? Can 
 I see him within a day or so ?" 
 
 " She tella me he long, very long way 
 off," replied his companion. " She get 
 horse to ride on ; and for you and for me. 
 We go very fast gallop ; by-and-by stop, 
 horse him eat grass, we eat victual. 
 When night come hang hamaca upon 
 tree in forest ; we go sleepa by turns. 
 Wild beast come, Massa Harry shoot him 
 bang, or me run him troo wid spear after 
 fashion of my couniry. She sleeps very 
 much quiet all the time." 
 
 "I'faith, 'twill be exquisite fine fun, 
 Snowball ?" exclaimed Harry ; " and I 
 don't care how soon we set about it." 
 
 " What for you call me Snowball, 
 Massa Harry ?" asked the young Indian. 
 " My name be Pomarra, if you please, sir." 
 
 "Hang Pomarra!" cried Harry. "I 
 dislike everything that be not honest Eng- 
 lish. Snowball be much the properest 
 name for thee, so Snowball thou canst 
 not help being." 
 
 A few hours after what hath been here 
 related, Pomarra, Harry Daring, and an 
 Indian woman were galloping along the 
 very road the Spaniards took when they 
 carried off Master Francis. The face of 
 the female was concealed in the folds of 
 a thin scarf or muffler, that allowed noth- 
 ing lo be seen but the eyes, which seemed 
 to be of great brilliancy. The young In- 
 dian was completely under her guidance, 
 and he it was, when they were at all at 
 a loss, found out the path the Spaniards 
 had taken by tracking their horses' feet. 
 They passed the place where these latter 
 had been set upon by the Indians, which 
 they easily discovered by the stains of 
 blood, which were yet fresh ; and then 
 proceeded onward at a good pace, only 
 halting to get such refreshment as they 
 needed. 
 
 At night they slept in a forest after the 
 following fashion. An hamaca was slung 
 from the branches of some trees, and first 
 of all the Indian woman lay in it and 
 went asleep for two or three hours, whilst 
 Harry Daring and Pomarra kept watch, 
 which they did very famously, because 
 the one would keep the other awake by 
 'elling of him all manner of laughable 
 stories of what tricks he had played when 
 he was apprentice to the barber-chirur- 
 geon in Eastcheap ; and then when their 
 
 female companion had slept sufficiently 
 she would keep watch with the young 
 Indian whilst Harry Daring slept, and 
 when he had had enough, Pomarra turned 
 in whilst the other two kept guard. One 
 night a strange adventure happened to 
 them, which had like to have put an end 
 to their journey. Harry Daring was very 
 intent upon the telling of how he had 
 pulled out the old woman's two sound 
 teeth instead of the one aching one, and 
 the goodly rage she was in when she 
 discovered it, when he was stopped in 
 his narration by his companion's sudden 
 exclamation of " Hist !" as he caught hold 
 of his arm. Harry then noticed that the 
 horses, which were fastened to the tree 
 behind him, were plunging, snorting, and 
 trembling wonderfully. 
 
 "Wild beast, Massa Harry," said his 
 companion in a whisper. 
 
 " Spear him if I miss, Snowball !" 
 whispered the other, as he took hold of 
 a musket that was leaning against a tree 
 at his elbow, and looked about him to 
 notice where was his enemy. The night 
 was clear and starlight, but the shadows 
 of the trees kept a great portion of the 
 ground around him in utter darkness. 
 The hammock in which slept the Indian 
 i woman was elevated two or three feet 
 from the ground, between two large 
 trees, whereof the thick branches crossed 
 each other, and round about were clumps 
 of bushes, and tall grass, and weeds, much 
 of which was enveloped in a deep shad- 
 ow, but occasionally illuminated by myri- 
 ads of fire-flies. 
 
 " Now, Snowball, dost see anything 
 of the villain ?" asked Harry, as with 
 Pomarra close at his elbow, having a 
 long sharp spear held in such a manner 
 as to give all his force to it should it be 
 required, he was looking cautiously about, 
 with his gun ready to put to his shoulder 
 upon the first occasion. 
 
 " Look in de bush, Massa Harry," 
 
 | whispered the young Indian, pointing to 
 
 a cluft of underwood within a few paces 
 
 of him. " See him big eye roll about 
 
 like ball of fire." 
 
 The horses were every moment getting 
 to be more restless, showing that one 
 they liked not was in their neighborhood ; 
 and" Harry Daring looking in the direc- 
 tion pointed out, and seeing something 
 move, knew it was high time to be doing 
 of something, so he stealthily crept a 
 pace or two closer, that he might have 
 all the better aim, and then bidding of 
 his companion be ready, he raised his 
 piece very quietly, kept his eye on the
 
 200 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 barrel till it covered a spot between the 
 two fiery balls that he could just see 
 glaring at him out of the bush, pulled the 
 trigger and fired. In the instant the re- 
 port was heard, every bush in the neigh- 
 borhood was in a stir"; there was a rustle 
 of wings, with screaming noises, from 
 all the trees, and numberless figures that 
 were scarcely distinguishable were ob- 
 served stealing off as quickly as they 
 could. At the same time an animal of a 
 large size made a spring toward Harry 
 Daring, as he was drawing of his hanger. 
 
 " This how Indian serve jaguar, Massa 
 Harry," exclaimed Pomarra as, with a 
 quick spring toward the enraged animal, 
 he drove the spear into his heart with 
 such a force that the beast tumbled back- 
 ward, and died without a groan. 
 
 " Bravo ! Snowball," cried Harry, as 
 he stopped to examine the jaguar. " Me- 
 thinks if the villain had once got hold 
 of us, we should have fared but badly ; 
 and killing of such be infinite better sport 
 than its killing of us. See ! I hit him in 
 the head, I thought 'twas scarce possible 
 
 rescued by the readiness and true valor of 
 Harry Daring. The young Indian was 
 also of great value to them, for he was a 
 complete child of the woods, and when 
 their victual run short, told them of what 
 wild fruits they might eat, and what they 
 should let alone. Once Harry was about 
 to poison himself by eating of the coco 
 de mono, or monkey's nut, which grew 
 in those parts, had not the other stayed 
 him ; and once he was for sleeping under 
 the manchinsel-tree, the which would 
 have been his death, had he been allow- 
 ed ; for Pomarra told him it was of so 
 strong a nature, that to slumber beneath 
 its leaves is certain destruction, and the 
 juice of it corrodeth the flesh like unto 
 vitriol. He did "gather for them the cas- 
 sava root, which whet* eaten moderately 
 makes excellent victual, whether roasted 
 or boiled ; and he pointed out a climbing 
 plant called bejunco, with which having 
 well rubbed his arms up to the elbows, 
 he did freely take up sundry venomous 
 snakes, whereof there seemed a great 
 plenty thereabouts, and they harmed him 
 
 I could have missed him. But I must be j none at all. Then had they to eat also as 
 after loading of my piece, in case of j much of the flesh of many sorts of birds, 
 
 ' deer, porks, and other animals they had a 
 mind to, that Harry Daring shot, and 
 then Pomarra, by rubbing of two dry 
 sticks briskly, did kindle a fire, and roast 
 after the fashion of his country, as he 
 
 need.' 
 
 "Ah! Massa Harry, wild beast very 
 great plenty here," observed Pomarra, 
 drawing of his spear from the dead ja- 
 guar, as his companion was loading his 
 musket. " All round they come creep, 
 creep ; now you fire and killa him, and 
 soon as you go bang, every fellow turn 
 him tail and be off. What for him turn 
 him tail ? 'Cause him no like meddle 
 with Massa Harry." 
 
 Harry Daring soon returned to his 
 story ; but he and his companion were 
 not the only spectators of the scene just 
 described, for at the report of the musket, 
 the female in the hamaca started up, and 
 stared at what was going forward with 
 a countenance that did express wonder 
 and alarm. Her face was uncovered, and 
 though of a dark complexion, it seemed 
 to be as comely as might be seen any- 
 wnere. The backs of her young defend- 
 ers being toward her, they could see 
 naught of her countenance, and she had 
 full opportuniiy of noticing what they 
 were about. When it was all over she 
 lay down again, but she slept not any 
 more that night. Not so the others, for 
 when their turns came, they fell into as 
 sweet and profound a slumber as ever they 
 enjoyed. 
 
 They proceeded on their way, meeting 
 with numberless adventures of a like 
 hazardous nature, from which they were 
 
 said. Their female companion also busy- 
 ing herself in getting of their meals, 
 though she talked not, save to the young 
 Indian, and that was only when he was 
 at a distance from the other, and would 
 show her face on no account. This Harry 
 took no heed of, for he was one that trou- 
 bled not his head about strange things, as 
 long as he believed there was no treach- 
 ery afoot. 
 
 They had exceeding difficulty in pass- 
 ing over a high mountain that lay in their 
 path, for ofttimes they were obliged to 
 dismount from their horses and lead them 
 by the bridle, there was such dangerous 
 footing; hut none murmured, or were in 
 the least fearful, and they continued to 
 make progress. As they were descend- 
 ing upon the other side down a very pre- 
 cipitous part, which had at the bottom a 
 black and foaming torrent, crossed by a 
 natural bridge of rock, so narrow it 
 seemed scarce possible to pass over it 
 the horse of their female companion 
 slipped as she was leading of it along, 
 and Pomarra had just time to catch her 
 by the waist and bid her let go the bridle, 
 when the animal, after sliding down upon 
 the narrow bridge, did plunge over the
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 201 
 
 of it, and was dashed from rock to 
 rock, till he fell into the torrent beneath. 
 All three looked over the precipice after 
 him, and held their breath. Ii was a 
 fearful sight to look upon, and few could 
 have stood it unmoved. The female 
 trembled ; even the horses seemed srnit 
 with a sudden fear, for they stood stiff 
 end still, as if they were of stone, and 
 the young Indian appeared a little dis- 
 mayed. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog !" exclaimed 
 Harry Daring, breaking the silence which 
 ensued. "What a fool was he to have 
 gone that way, when had he but went as 
 we wished him, he would have received 
 no hurt." From this it was evident the 
 accident had affected him but little. At 
 las;, by dint of great coaxing and en- 
 couragement, Pomarra managed to get 
 his horse alon2, and the other followed. 
 The Indian woman went first, holding 
 of Pomarra's hand, who in a low voice 
 seemed to be a speaking to her such corn- 
 fort as he thought necessary, whilst wilh 
 the other hand he held his horse's bridle, 
 and conducted him carefully along the 
 dangerous pathway. This, at last, after 
 a monstrous circuitous fashion, led them 
 to the bottom, where the first sight that 
 did present itself to them was the body 
 of an Indian hunter lying close upon that 
 of a horse both dead, and evidently, from 
 the appearance of them, had been dashed 
 from the rocks above. There was what 
 appeared to be a coil of hide rope, having 
 two or three ball* affixed to ii, hanging 
 .at the saddle-bow, whereof when the 
 young Indian saw he seized upon wi:h an 
 exclamation of delight, and then took off 
 the bridle from the dead horse, which he 
 threw over his arm. Pomarra then 
 mounted his female companion before 
 him, and they rode together through a 
 sort of pass having high mountains on 
 each side. 
 
 They emerged from this into an open 
 plain, or at least were about to do so, 
 when they stopped of a sudden, for there 
 was observed a scene the like of which 
 hath not been often met with. Three or 
 four hundred wild horses were before 
 them; some grazing quietly, some frisk- 
 ing about, others chasing of and biting 
 at each other in sport, all of the most 
 beautiful shapes eye ever beheld, and of 
 .different colors. Pomarra whispered to 
 his companion to dismount, which she 
 did on the instant, and asked Harry Dar- 
 ing to remain where he was till he called 
 him, and notice what he did, which ihe 
 other promised to do, then taking nothing 
 
 with him but the coil of rope already 
 described, he put his steed into a gallop 
 and darted into the plain. As he ap- 
 proached, the wild horses left off what 
 they were about, and huddled themselves 
 together in a body with their heads turn- 
 ed toward him ; but when he came wilJj- 
 in a few paces of them they wheeled 
 round quick as lightning, and every one 
 started off at so great a pace that the 
 catching of any seemed quite out of the 
 question. The ground trembled beneath 
 their hoofs, and the sound they produced 
 as they rushed along was like unto thun- 
 der. The young Indian was seen for a 
 few minates galloping after them at the 
 top of his speed, with the halter of hide 
 whirling round and round above his head. 
 Suddenly he threw the end of the rope 
 from him, and turned his horse round 
 quick. A beautiful jet black colt at that 
 moment rolled oVer and over on the 
 ground, held fast by the rope which had 
 been thrown over him, and was twisted 
 round his body. 
 
 Pomarra then beckoned to Harry Dar- 
 ing to come on, who lost no time in 
 riding up to the spot, having mounted the 
 Indian woman before him as soon as his 
 companion had entered the plain, and he 
 could just notice the wild horses disap- 
 pearing at the verge of the horizon, so 
 rapid had heen their pace. Both rode up 
 to the horse they had captured, that lay 
 as if stunned by the fall he had received. 
 In this state the young Indian placed the 
 bridle on his head, and then untwined the 
 cord from about his limbs. Presently he 
 rose from the ground, and as he did so 
 Pomarra leapt on his back. No sooner 
 was the horse conscious of the burthen 
 then he exhibited the most violent im- 
 patience of it that ever was seen. He 
 plunged he reared he kicked, and tried 
 to turn round and bite his rider ; then he 
 would start off rapidly and stop of a sud- 
 den, all the while with mane and tail 
 erect, and eyes terribly bright, snorting, 
 and shaking, and pawing of the ground 
 with a wonderful fierceness; yet the 
 young Indian sat as firm on his back as 
 if he grew there. Certes, it was a most 
 delicate sight to see the two : the grace- 
 ful animal showing the perfect symmetry 
 of his shape in every movement, and the 
 elegant figure of his rider displayed lo 
 marvellous advantage in the simple tunic 
 worn by him, as his light limbs bent this 
 way and that, according to the motion 
 of the horse. Presently the latter started 
 off with such extreme quickness that the 
 eve could scarce follow him. His feet
 
 402 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 seemed not to touch the ground, and era 
 many minutes had elapsed he had gone 
 clean out of sight. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog ! the horse hath 
 run away witn him!" exclaimed Harry 
 Daring, who had neither been a silent nor 
 an unadmiring spectator of the scene. 
 " But if it please you, mistress, to keep 
 your seat, I will mount the other horse, 
 and we will be after them." The Indian 
 woman said not a word to this; but as 
 if she had some notion of what was 
 meant, took the reins in her hand. " Hang 
 me ! if I have not forgot she could have 
 no speech of me," continued he, and then 
 added in some vexation, "A murrain on 
 it ! what a pestilent shame it be every- 
 body can not speak honest English !" 
 They then rode on together in silence for 
 a brief space. At last they saw the wild 
 horse coming toward them at a great 
 distance with Pomarra on his back ; but 
 he returned not so fast as he went. As 
 they rode nigher they could not but no- 
 tice that the glossy coat of the animal 
 was covered all over with a white foam 
 that did drop from his sides most plente- 
 ously, and his eyes looked as though he 
 were monstrously frightened. His great 
 spirit had been conquered. He now 
 paced along in entire obedience to the 
 will of his rider. 
 
 After this they were riding along very 
 quietly, only in some doubt as to whether 
 they were in the right road, for they had 
 lost all trace of those of whom they had 
 been in pursuit for so many days, when 
 Pomarra's quick eye noticed a single 
 horseman making toward them. He 
 hastily caught hold of his spear, which 
 the Indian woman had been carrying for 
 him. 
 
 " Now, Massa Harry, you see how me 
 fight in my country," said he as he rode 
 off very gallantly in the direction of the 
 approaching horseman. Harry Daring, 
 as soon as he heard the word fight, was 
 for joining in it; but seeing that there 
 was only one enemy, if enemy he were, 
 he contented himself with quietly riding 
 by the side of his companion, and watch- 
 ing the combatants. It was seen that 
 the stranger was a young Indian, dressed 
 very splendidly, as if he were of some 
 account, and he carried with him no other 
 weapon than a long spear like unto that 
 of Pomarra. The two rode on as fast as 
 they might with their weapons poised a 
 little above the head, as if about to throw 
 them, shouting such violent exclamations 
 as were quite a wonder to hear. All at 
 once, when within a few paces of each 
 
 other, they reined in their horses with 
 looks of wonder and surprise ; each utter- 
 ed a cry of exultation ; each cast his spear 
 into the ground ; each rode alongside of 
 the other ; and in the next moment they 
 were grasping of each other in a close 
 and loving embrace, and uttering all sorts 
 of affectionate cries. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog ! that be the 
 very strangest way of fighting I ever 
 saw !" exclaimed Harry Daring. "Dost 
 not think so, mistress ? Hang me !" he 
 added, when he found he received no 
 answer. "I be always forgetting." 
 
 The two expected combatants, having 
 taken hold of their spears again, were 
 now riding slowly toward Harry and his 
 companion. Pomarra talking as fast as 
 he could, and seeming in a monstrous de- 
 light, and the other listening with ex- 
 ceeding earnestness. As they came nigh- 
 er, Harry noticed the wonderful store of 
 gold ornaments the stranger had about 
 his person* and the trappings of his 
 horse. He was of a very comely coun- 
 tenance, and of a well-disposed body, and 
 seemed to be nigh upon twenty years of 
 age. 
 
 " Dis my brudder, Massa Harry !" cried 
 Pomarra, as he came up to Harry Daring. 
 " I never tella you who I was. What for 
 I no tella you ? 'Cause you people de- 
 spisa poor Indian boy. What for you 
 despisa poor Indian boy ! 'Cause him 
 skin be dark : heart same color for all 
 dat. Me lika you very much, Massa 
 Harry. 'Cause you beat big fellar when 
 him kicka me and pincha me : never for 
 get dat. Me now in my own country. 
 Me poor Indian boy no longer. Me very 
 good friend to you. My fader him king 
 of Guiana ; my brudder tella me he come 
 dis way with great company." Sure 
 enough a multitude of horsemen were 
 now observed in the distance making 
 toward them. 
 
 "Bravo, Snowball !" exclaimed Harry 
 Daring in great delight with what he had 
 heard. " So thou art a prince, eh ? I' 
 faith ! that be droll enough too. But I 
 don't like thee a bit the worse for't ; and 
 even now, if I saw any using of thee de- 
 spisingly I would cudgel them well, I 
 promise thee." 
 
 It was not more than half an hour 
 after this that Pomarra had presented 
 Harry Daring to his father, in the midst 
 of a splendid retinue of caciques and 
 other of his nobles who had come out a 
 hunting ; and in consequence of what 
 the young prince said, Harry was made 
 much of by all. He did also, in his own
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 203 
 
 language, speak favorably of their female, 
 companion, whom the king regarded with 
 singular curiousness, and ordered to be 
 well cared for 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Yet unspoiled 
 
 Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons 
 Call El Dorado. MILTON. 
 
 Guiana, whose rich feet are mines of gold, 
 Whose forehead knocks against the roof of stars, 
 Stands on her tiptoes at fair England looking, 
 Kissing her hand, bowing her mighty breast, 
 And every sign of all submission making." 
 
 CHAPMAN. 
 
 While with a joyous smile she turns away 
 The face, that map, that deep impression bears 
 Of hard misfortune carved in with tears. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 MASTER FRANCIS was hurried away 
 from the council chamber into a close 
 prison, where he was left to solitariness, 
 and his own thoughts. For some time 
 he could do nothing but reflect upon the 
 rnonstrousaess with which Padre Bar- 
 tolome had behaved to him. He could 
 scarce believe in such thorough villauy. 
 It seemed to him so utterly unnatural 
 that one man should do such a thing to 
 another who never did him an injury. 
 Whilst he was in this mood there came 
 to him the chief priest, who had acted as 
 the interpreter before the king, and he 
 intimated that he was sent to prepare the 
 prisoner for his death. Now the, priest 
 was a famous punchy little old fellow, 
 with a head like unto a ball of black 
 worsted nose had he of such a small- 
 ness that the least that be said of it must 
 the best describe it ; but what he lacked 
 in nose he made up in mouth, the lips 
 whereof looked as though they were two 
 masses of black pudding squeezed one 
 upon the other. He was dressed in a 
 white tunic, that made the very black- 
 ness of his skin all the more apparent, 
 and he looked upon Master Francis wiih 
 a sort of dignified pitifulness, which at 
 any other time the other could not 
 but have laughed at. 
 
 " Child, thou art to die !" said he, in 
 Spanish. " But our illustrious monarch, 
 out of the absolute bountifulness of his 
 nature, hath adjudged thee a death that 
 all might envy. Thou wilt have the 
 honcr of being made a sacrifice of to the 
 great god ^ingarydunkyhunkyhoonka." 
 
 Master Francis had so little opinion of 
 the honor intended him, and such small 
 respect for the powerful deity just 
 
 named, as most cordially to wish Sin- 
 garydunkyhunkyhoonkaata place which 
 shall be nameless. 
 
 " Child, thou art to die !" repeated the 
 old fellow in a like pathetic tone and 
 manner. " But our most pious monarch, 
 out of the exceeding religiousness of his 
 disposition, doth wish thee, before the 
 devouring flame consumeth thy body 
 to a cinder, to give up the god of the 
 Christians, who, it be out of all man- 
 ner of doubt hath let thee into this 
 misadventure, and acknowledge the om- 
 nipotence of Singarydunkyhunkyhoonka, 
 who, though he hath but one eye, seeth 
 all our wants with it, and though he hath 
 four-and-^wenty pairs of hands, hath all 
 of them full of good things he be con- 
 tinually a giving to they who worship 
 him." ' 
 
 "It is my intention to die in the reli- 
 gion in the which I was educated," re- 
 plied Master Francis. 
 
 " Oh, blind of heart!" exclaimed the 
 priest, looking all sorts of horror and 
 consternation. "Oh, stubborn and stiff- 
 necked ! Prepare for the fire that shall 
 consume thee. Thou art a base wretch. 
 Thou art unworthy to die so honorable a 
 death. I would have thee hanged like a 
 dog." At the saying of this away started 
 the chief priest, pursing up his pudding lips 
 with a look of infinite forbiddingness. 
 
 Master Francis was again left alone, 
 and remained so for some few hours. 
 His reflections, it may well be believed, 
 were not of the most pleasing character. 
 To be burnt alive was a prospect that 
 few could contemplate without dread, 
 but to his susceptible mind it appeared 
 with the very terriblest features that 
 could be imagined. Despite of his great 
 fearfulness, his thought were soon a wan- 
 dering to other subjects. He thought 
 how great a consolation it would be at 
 such a time could he think commendably 
 of Joanna. So difficult is it for a sensi- 
 tive mind that hath for any considerable 
 period conctntrated its thoughts upon 
 one object with the deepest and sincerest 
 affectionateness to regard it despisingly 
 when that object has proved itself to be 
 of a despicable nature. An ingenuous 
 disposition, such as was Master Francis, 
 hath ever such confidence in the appear- 
 j ance of truth, that however shocked he 
 j may be at first when he findeth out the 
 | falsehood, there ever remaineth some 
 i little doubt that things be so bad as they 
 seem, or some strong inclination that they 
 should be of a better sort. He could not 
 , help but marvel that she had shown such
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 signs of excellence as had made him 
 worship her as one of so blessed a condi- 
 tion her peer was not to be met with in 
 the whole world; hut such is it ever. 
 Many a one mistaketh gilding for gold 
 and doth wonder famously when he find- 
 eth that all be mere brass, but the show 
 of something sterling that was put on it. 
 
 The result of his reflections was, as he 
 had already forgiven her the wrong she 
 had done him, he felt he could not die in 
 any comfort of heart if he continued to 
 entertain against her such feelings as lie 
 had so much experience of: and then did 
 he commence remembering of the many 
 wonderful kindnesses she had done him, 
 till all thought of her badness went 
 straightway out of his mind. In this 
 mood he remained for the whole of the 
 day. Food was brought him of a mean 
 sort, but he cared not for it. He paced 
 the narrow chamber in which he was 
 confined, or sat himself down on a bench 
 that was fixed there, passing of his time, 
 as I have said, with occasional thinking 
 of such dear friends as was evident he 
 should never see again. So went the 
 day and the next something after the 
 same sort. He could not help upon an 
 occasion marvelling at the strangeness of 
 what was to come to pass to wit, that 
 instead of his entering of the right famous 
 El Dorado, in which he now was, as one 
 of its conquerors, he should be executed 
 in it as a criminal. 
 
 On the third day the old priest paid 
 him another visit, in the which he stated 
 that the Padre Bartolome, no watch hav- 
 ing been put upon him, had made his 
 escape, and nothing was known of where 
 he had taken himself: whereof the con- 
 sequence was, Master Francis was or- 
 dered to prepare himself for immediate 
 death, it being feared that he might give 
 them the slip also. The old fellow again 
 essayed to make his prisoner a convert 
 unto the faith of Singarydunkyhunky- 
 hoonka, the beneficent deity with one 
 eye and four-and- twenty pairs of hands, 
 but he got no more success of it than at 
 first, and this did put him in a more 
 monstrous passion than ever. Presently 
 there came certain other Indians, who 
 appeared to be officers of justice, and 
 they gave him to understand he was to 
 go with them. With them he accord- 
 ingly went. Upon passing out of his 
 prison into the open air, he found himself 
 in the midst of a vast multitude, who re- 
 ceived him with great outcries, yet were 
 there many amongst them who pitied 
 iim the death he was to die because of 
 
 his youth and comeliness. Many a kind 
 word was said of him as he passed along, 
 though he knew it not. All that he knew 
 was that he was in the midst--of some vast 
 procession passing along the thorough- 
 fares of a great city. He could hear a 
 monstrous clanging of instruments, and 
 the wild discordant singing of a multitude 
 of priests who were around him ; long 
 files of soldiers, armed with prodigious 
 spears, encompassed him on either side, 
 and at his elbow was the old priest open- 
 ing and shutting of his ugly mouth with 
 wonderful rapidity in praise of his om- 
 nipotent deity. Nevertheless, Master 
 Francis heeded him not at all and soon 
 ceased to pay any great attention to 
 what was going on around. He walked 
 along with an erect carriage, and a heart 
 disturbed but little at the contemplation 
 of what he was to endure, for his mind 
 was fixed upon endeavoring so to bear 
 himself in so dreadful a strait as might 
 command the commendation of his true 
 friends, Sir Walter Raleigh, Master Shak- 
 speare, and Harry Daring, were they pres- 
 ent. On he went, with nothing that could 
 distinguish him from what he was at 
 other times, save a countenance some- 
 what more pallid than usual. The 
 crowd increased as he proceeded, and 
 every part of the neighboring houses and 
 temples was crowded with spectators, 
 anxious to have sight of what they be- 
 lieved to be the most cruel and crafty of 
 all the Spaniards. Many came with re- 
 vengeful feelings, who felt quite pitifully 
 inclined toward him when they noticed 
 his mild and melancholy aspect ; but 
 others, of a worse sort, in their language 
 taunted him all the way he went. At 
 last he arrived at an open space in the 
 city, where there was a magnificent 
 statue in gold of a gigantic size, humanly 
 shaped, saving that it had but one eye, 
 Whilst of hands it had four-and-twenty 
 pairs, each holding some desirable thing, 
 as if for its worshipper. Before it was 
 ever so much wood piled up, at the sight 
 of which Master Francis did give a 
 shudder, but as quickly as he might he 
 shook off that fearfulness, and praying 
 inwardly with fervor, he still advanced. 
 A great crash of the instruments was 
 made when the procession came in sight 
 of the idol, and the shouting of the people 
 at the same instant was so tremendous, 
 that scarce ever cwas the like heard. 
 Some did kneel down, and some threw 
 themselves prostrate ; and the priests 
 bawled out their discordant chorus at the 
 very top of their voices. Platforms had
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 205 
 
 aeen erected round about the place, on 
 which vast companies had congregated 
 themselves, to have a view of the execu- 
 tion of so notable a criminal, and all that 
 was the greatest in so grand a city as 
 Manoa had been drawn together about 
 thai spot. 
 
 When Master Francis came close upon 
 the wood which was to burn him, he bad 
 to ascend a flight of steps to bring him- 
 self to the top of the pile, and as soon as 
 he there appeared, there was presently a 
 vast cry of the multitude. Two men 
 ascended with him, and bound him ; and 
 then also came the old priest, mumbling 
 away, as fast as he could, the praises of 
 the deity he worshipped, in expectation 
 of making a proselyte of the youth ; but ! 
 the latter paid him no sort of attention ; 
 and such behavior did wondrously en- 
 rage the old idolater, who thundered all 
 manner of imprecations upon him for his 
 exceeding stubbornness. Master Francis 
 took no heed of this, for he was so intent 
 upon his own devotions that he saw 
 nothing, and heard nothing he remem- 
 bered not where he was he knew not 
 wherefore he was in that place. The 
 priest descended from the pyre, and took 
 a torch into his hand. Upon this, all the 
 priests began a singing louder than ever; 
 and the multitude fell down upon their 
 knees before the great idol, and the in- 
 struments struck up a clang that would 
 have set anybody's teeth on edge. The 
 chief priest then put fire to the wood, 
 which began to blaze presently ; but as he 
 was a doing it, there was a monstrous 
 busding behind him. The multitude 
 were stirred in one particular part, and 
 some voices kept crying out very lustily. 
 All strained their eyes to see ; but few 
 could make out what it all meant. 
 
 " Hullo, old pudding chaps, get out of 
 this !" exclaimed Harry Daring, suddenly 
 forcing his way to the pyre in a moustrous 
 eagerness, and giving the priest such a 
 shove that it sent him a staggering along j 
 till he fell upon his back, distending of 
 his ugly mouth at so rude a salutation, 
 and staring till his eyes seemed ready to 
 start out of his head. At the sight of 
 such an affront offered to their chief 
 priest, the whole multitude seemed mov- 
 ed to a marvellous indignation,and the sol- 
 diers were rushing forward to take the of- 
 fender prisoner. He spying where Master 
 Francis was, cried out, " By Gog and Ma- 
 gog, he must be nigh burning to death !" 
 then began kicking aside the burning 
 wood, and clambering up the steps. In 
 a minute, drawing of his hanger, he had 
 
 cut the cords that bound his friend, and, 
 with one arm supporting him by hold- 
 ing of him tightly round the waist, with 
 the other he menaced, with his hanger, 
 the soldiers, priests, and others of the In^ 
 dians, Who were hastening toward the 
 spot, determined that their beloved idol 
 should not be cheated of his sacrifice. 
 
 " Come on, ye worsted knaves, and 
 I'll stick ye like so many black beetles on 
 a skewer !" exclaimed Harry, as despite 
 of the numbers against him, he was seek- 
 ing to force a passage from the blazing 
 pyre. It seemed as if he was like to fare 
 badly ; for he was so surrounded by ene- 
 mies that it did not appear as if he could 
 cut his way through them ; and the fire was 
 flaming around him so famously that it 
 looked as if he would be burnt to a cin- 
 der ere he should have time to get Mas- 
 ter Francis away. In the midst of it, 
 however, there was suddenly a shouting 
 of the people greater than before; and 
 presently the king of Guiana, accompa-- 
 nied by his two sons, and a splendid ret" 
 inue of caciques, all on horseback, and 
 attended by a numerous guard of soldiers, 
 made their appearance. Harry Daring 
 and the royal party had set out from the 
 palace at the same time, but his impa- 
 tience to rescue his friend was so great 
 he soon outstripped them, and pressed 
 through the crowd, and conducted him- 
 self as hath been described. 
 
 It be scarce necessary to add that the 
 omnipotent Singarydunkyhunkyhoonka, 
 with one eye and four-and-twenty pairs 
 of hands, was deprived of his destined vic- 
 tim ; whereof, at first, the Indians showed 
 wonderful discontent, especially those of 
 the more religious sort. But it having 
 been made known to them that this cruel 
 Spaniard who had done their people so 
 much wrong, was no Spaniard at all, but 
 one of a nation who was a determined 
 enemy to the whole Spanish race ; that 
 amongst them the youngest son of the 
 king, who had disappeared unaccounta- 
 bly the year before, had been residing, 
 they having taken him away, and now 
 restored him to his family, their disap- 
 pointment was turned into gratification ; 
 and on their return with the king's party 
 to the palace, they greeted Master Fran- 
 cis and Harry Daring with such piercing 
 cries of commendation, as they could 
 hardly have given had they been the 
 very chiefest and most prized of their 
 countrymen. The former rode between 
 his friend and the young prince Pomarra. 
 and Harry, as he went along, described 
 to the other how he and " Snowball"
 
 206 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 for he would call him by no other name 
 goi away i'rom Sir Walter Raleigh 
 and the companies, and under the gui- 
 dance of an Indian woman who had ob- 
 tained knowledge of the direction in 
 which Master Francis had been carried 
 off, started in pursuit of him ; and how 
 Snowball met with his brother in one he 
 was about to give battle to ; and how the 
 latter turned out to be no other than a 
 son of the very king who had got Mas- 
 ter Francis close prisoner ; and how, find- 
 ing the execution about to take place, 
 Snowball did disabuse his father's mind 
 of the monstrous lies which that wretch- 
 ed caitiff Padre Bartolome had told ; and 
 how, by telling the king that Master 
 Francis was of a great nation who were 
 enemies unto the Spaniards, and had 
 come on purpose, with others, to drive 
 the Spaniards out of the Indian territory, 
 he immediately gave orders to stop the 
 sacrifice, and did himself proceed to the 
 place, with all his principal nobles, on 
 purpose to see his commands properly 
 executed. 
 
 " But what hath become of your female 
 companion ?" inquired Master Francis. 
 " Is she one of this goodly company ?" 
 
 " Snowball knoweth more about her 
 than I do," replied Harry ; " for she not 
 being able to speak honest English, I could 
 have no speech with her, which I took in 
 rather hard case, I promise you, for see- 
 ing of the interest she showed in you, I 
 was ever a wanting to discourse to her 
 of your excellent parts, that she might 
 affect you as much as I did ; but Snow- 
 ball, as it seemed to me, being of her 
 tongue, she talked only with him, and 
 he, therefore, be the properest person to 
 tell you all about her." Here Harry 
 Daring turned to the young prince and 
 said, " Tell Master Francis what you 
 know of that female Snowball who trav- 
 elled with us to this place." 
 
 "I tella you but little,'' said Prince Po- 
 inarra. " What for I tella you but little ? 
 'Cause what she tella me, she bid me no 
 say again. She very much love you, 
 Massa Francis." 
 
 " Love me !" exclaimed the other, with 
 unaffected astonishment. " How can that 
 be possible 1 I have not had speech of 
 any of the Indian women, and have scarce 
 been seen of one." 
 
 "She very much love you for all dat," 
 replied the young prince. "She travel 
 nil de way sometimes get little victual 
 sometimes get little sleep. Wild 
 beast come she no care. What for she no 
 care ? 'Cause she love you very much.'' 
 
 " By God and Magog, if I didn't think 
 she did affect you in some measure," 
 cried Harry Daring ; " for it stands to 
 reason no pretty wench would venture 
 herself so far in strange company, and 
 amid perils few Women Would like to even 
 look on, in search of the best man that 
 ever wore a head, had she not a mon- 
 strous liking for him. But it showeth 
 her good sense marvellously, to cast, her 
 eye where she did ; for she knoweth right 
 well she might look amongst the whole 
 nation of Snowballs in despair of finding 
 any one like unto Master Francis." 
 
 "Well, let it be as it may, I can not 
 help but be grateful," observed Master 
 Francis. "Where is she? Where shall 
 I see her?" 
 
 "She no see you," replied the prince ; 
 " she come all dis way to save you ; but 
 now you safe, she love you no more, and 
 no see you at all." 
 
 "Hang me if that be not the strangest 
 way of loving I ever heard of," exclaimed 
 Harry Daring. " What ! not see him ? 
 Not see Master Francis after she hath 
 suffered so much to come butanigh him? 
 She meaneth nothing of the sort, I'll be 
 bound for't." 
 
 " At least it be exceeding strange of 
 her," remarked Master Francis. "I know 
 not what to make on't; but I should like 
 infinitely to see her, to say how much I 
 feel myself beholden to her for the good 
 offices she hath done me." 
 
 "You no see her for all dat," replied 
 the young prince. At this Master Fran- 
 cis marvelled greatly ; but as they now 
 had arrived at the palace, all thought of 
 the subject was for a time put out of his 
 head. A short time after he had alight- 
 ed, he and Harry Daring had audience of 
 the king, who sat surrounded by the chief- 
 estof his nobles, and having his two sons 
 on each side of him, all dressed with ex- 
 traordinary magnificence. Pomarra acted 
 as interpreter. The business began by 
 the king expressing of his regret that any 
 of so great a nation as the English, of 
 whom he had heard from his son such 
 accounts as made him anxious to be in 
 friendly relation with them, should have 
 received any treatment they liked not of 
 any of his subjects ; but for what Master 
 Francis had suffered, none were to blame 
 but the Jesuit by whose testimony the 
 former had been condemned, as the very 
 cruelest of all the Spaniards, of -whom 
 his people throughout Guiana had en- 
 dured such torture and tyranny as was 
 never before heard of in those parts. He 
 begged that, as it was a mistake, Master
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 207 
 
 Francis would treat if as such, and allow 
 him, in such way as he thought fit, to 
 make him amends. 
 
 Then Master Francis, thoug ^ he was 
 a little out of countenance at first, at 
 speaking before so many, spoke up fa- 
 mously, declaring the great design of Sir 
 Walter Raleigh in favor of the Indians to 
 abolish the oppressions of the Spaniards 
 over them, and that he had come out of 
 his own country with a fine expedition 
 of many ships and a great force of men, 
 with the sanction of his illustrious sov- 
 ereign, to do what services he could 
 to the natives of Guiana, and to all the 
 Indians on. that part of the continent ; 
 that he had already driven the Spaniards 
 out of Trinidad, and done good service to 
 the Indians there; and if he had not re- 
 turned, by this time was venturing in his 
 boats along the Orinoco, seeking for that 
 right famous city, called of the Spaniards 
 El Dorado. Master Francis then de- 
 scribed how he had been entrapped by 
 Padre Bartolome and his companions, and 
 carried off; and how the Indians had set 
 upon the Spaniards and killed them all 
 save the Jesuit, and what had since taken 
 place. With regard to himself, he re- 
 quested only that such conveniences 
 might be allowed him, as would enable 
 him to rejoin Sir Walter Raleigh as 
 speedily as was possible ; but of other sort 
 of favor wanted he none. 
 
 At this the whole court was moved to 
 i sudden admiration, as might be noticed 
 by their looks, and one of the king's chief- 
 est counsellors said, that intelligence had 
 been received that many boats full of white 
 men were now returning toward the sea, 
 after having visited divers towns and villa- 
 ges, and trafficked with the natives, and be- 
 haved unto them with exceeding friend- 
 liness. After him the king spoke again, 
 and said tfyat an escort should be got 
 ready without delay, for the purpose of 
 attending the two young Englishmen, 
 with a proper show of respect, to such 
 place as they were like to meet Sir Wal- 
 ter Raleigh ; but that he could in no 
 way allow them to be quit of him without 
 exhibiting some mark of his esteem for 
 their country, and admiration of them- 
 selves. He then turned to Harry Dar* 
 ing, and expressed himself with won- 
 derful commendation of his conduct tow- 
 ard his son, whereof he had been made 
 acquainted by Pomarra ; and said, that 
 if he would stay in Guiana, and en- 
 ter into his service, he would raise him 
 to rank with the highest of the ca- 
 ciques, and when he came to be a man, 
 
 give him his own daughter in mar- 
 riage. 
 
 "What ! leave my true friend, Master 
 Francis!" exclaimed Harry, as soon as 
 what had been said had been interpreted 
 to him. " Nay, that will I never do. It 
 be the part of the most villanous knave 
 that lives, to forsake his friend for his 
 own profit ; and I be none such, I prom- 
 ise you. By Gog and Magog, I should 
 be a right scurvy fellow, if, after ventur- 
 ing myself so far into foreign parts for the 
 love of him, merely because that I could 
 better my fortune by staying here, I should 
 leave him to find his way back as he best 
 might." 
 
 " Think not of me, Harry : I shall be 
 well cared for, depend on't," observed 
 Master Francis, kindly to him. "If that 
 your inclination lead you to stay here, I 
 doubt not at all you will quickly arrive at 
 that greatness your courageous humor 
 deserveth. 1 should be loath to stand in 
 the way of your advancement at so prom- 
 ising a time. Consider of what the king 
 hath told you, and do what is most pleas- 
 ing to you." 
 
 "1 will never consider of it," cried 
 Harry determinedly, " if the consider- 
 ing of it lead to the parting of me from 
 you. What dost think I could marry one 
 of these, and mayhap in time to come 
 have ever so many little Snowballs round 
 about rne, and I get not a sight of you 
 the whilst ? I say again, if it be to my 
 profit ever so, I will have none of it. 
 Should it please you to stay here, I doubt 
 not of your arriving' at such eminence as 
 you be most fit for ; and there be nothing 
 I should like so much as being under your 
 command. It be not the part of a faith- 
 ful esquire to think of being a greater 
 man than the knight he serveth. I would 
 as lief cut off my hand as think of such a 
 thing. Remain here, I pray you, if you 
 would have me stay in these outlandish 
 parts." 
 
 " That can not be, Harry," replied 
 Master Francis. " My duly to Sir Wal- 
 ter Raleigh requireth me to hasten to 
 him with all despatch." 
 
 "And -my duty to you requireth I 
 s-hould be wherever you are, "said Harry 
 Daring ; then addressing himself unto the 
 kins who, with all his court, were mar- 
 velling at what the two were talking of, 
 he added, "an it please your mightiness, 
 lean in no way be brought to live in these 
 parts, though I think it be exceeding kind 
 of you to make me so fair an offer ; but 
 Snowball here will tell you that Master 
 Francis is my t r ue friend, than whom
 
 208 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 there liveth not on this earth one of a 
 better nature, and I should be prouder in 
 being his humble follower, whether he 
 meet with good or ill hap in the world, 
 than I should feel in being king of all 
 this goodly country. If it please you, my 
 lord, what I have done in the way of 
 friendship to Snowball here, whilst we 
 were in the Lion's Whelp, I would have 
 done to any other whom I saw despising- 
 ly used, and I never cared to be thanked 
 for it ; but if that you must needs be 
 generous, though I would have naught 
 for myself, I should be right glad to see 
 you shower your gifts upon my true 
 friend, Master Francis, who be one of so 
 noble a sort, nothing can be too good for 
 him you can enrich him with." 
 
 " Harry, Harry, you must not say such 
 fine things of me !" exclaimed the other. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog, if there be any 
 here that will gainsay it, I would as lief 
 give them a cut over the pate as look at 
 them," replied Harry with a sincere earn- 
 estness. This being interpreted to the 
 king and his court, they did marvel ex- 
 ceedingly at the friendliness of the one 
 for the other, and the king spoke much 
 in praise of them both, and not being able 
 to prevail on either to stay, he dismissed 
 them with great store of presents sufficient 
 to enrich them for life. 
 
 They stayed only a day or two whilst 
 preparations were made for their de- 
 parture, the time whereof they passed in 
 seeing whatever was most notable in El 
 Dorado, which they found to exceed all 
 that had been said of it in splendor and 
 costliness. Master Francis essayed many 
 times to have speech with the Indian 
 woman, who had ventured herself so far 
 for his rescue ; for not only was he curious 
 to see her, but could not help being grate- 
 ful to her for doing him such great kind- 
 ness. Yet though he oft inquired where 
 she might be met with, he never could 
 get sight of her, which put him into a 
 strange sort of wondering ; he knew not 
 what it could mean. At last they started 
 with a famous cavalcade, all having horses 
 of the choicest breed, curiously caparison- 
 ed, save those of meaner ort who formed 
 the guard, the king L -elf being of the 
 company some portion of the way, and 
 then parting with the two young English- 
 men with such exceeding courteousness 
 that ,\ looker-on might h~/e supposed 
 they were persons of quality and power 
 above all men, instead ' *" being, as they 
 were, of no quality or influence what- 
 soever. 
 
 Prince Pomarra had the command of 
 
 the escort after the king had departed { 
 and a famous sight it was to see that 
 goodly company ascending and descend- 
 ing the mountains, or forcing their way 
 through the forests, and galloping along 
 the valleys to the number of several hun- 
 dreds, each with a-long spear in his hand, 
 a bow slung across his shoulder, and a 
 quiver of arrows at his back, and the 
 prince at their head between Master Fran- 
 cis and Harry Daring, on the very wild 
 horse he had caught in the plain ; now 
 so covered over with costly trappings and 
 ornaments of gold, and so quietly beha- 
 ving of himself, as scarce to be recognised 
 for what he was ; nor seemed the rider 
 to bear any likeness unto the despised 
 Indian boy that was aboard of the Lion's 
 Whelp ; for he was robed as became his 
 station, very gorgeous with gold and 
 jewels, and a dainty plume of feathers of 
 the very brightest colors waved upon his 
 head. His spear he held in his hand like 
 unto the others, and like unto them did 
 he carry his bow and his arrows. A 
 handsomer figure could scarce be seen of 
 an Indian youth ; and one who bore him- 
 self more gallantly it would be the very 
 difficultest thing possible to meet with 
 anywhere. 
 
 Of what befell these as they journeyed 
 it might seem tedious to relate, seeing 
 that nothing very striking occurred, save 
 only in one thing. Master Francis, once 
 on a time, not many days after they had 
 set out, noticed to his exceeding surprise, 
 that a female was of their company. She 
 was not dressed at all like unto the In- 
 dian woman who had led Harry Daring 
 and the young prince to his rescue ; for 
 the habiliments of this female were of the 
 richest materials, jus if she were of the 
 highest rank amongst them, whilst the 
 other was attired as one of the very hum- 
 blest sort. Her face was hid in a muffler 
 as had been the other's; and in the hasty 
 glance he had of it, for he came on her 
 suddenly as she was riding along talking 
 to Pomarra, he could only notice her 
 eyes, which she had left uncovered, but 
 turned from him the instant he appeared. 
 On his coming up both seemed wondrous 
 confused ; and he thinking that it was a 
 love affair betwixt them, which they 
 wished should be secret, he put some 
 trifling question to the young prince, and 
 galloped off to the head of the escort, 
 fancying that he should make but indiffer- 
 ent company if he remained. 
 
 More than once as they proceeded on 
 their journey, upon a sudden turning of 
 his gaze in that direction, he observed
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 209 
 
 Let eyes fixed upon him with singular 
 earnestness, which seemed strange, see- 
 ing that he had never spoke and scarce 
 looked at her ; but believing from seeing 
 of Prince Pomarra frequently at her side, 
 and noting that she talked to no other, 
 that his first idea of them was true, he 
 ..nought only she regarded him with such 
 curiousness as might be natural to one 
 of her nation at the sight of a white man, 
 and took no further heed of her looks. 
 It so happened that Harry Daring saw 
 her, and would have it at first it was the 
 same he had travelled with ; but finding 
 that she noticed him not at all, and ob- 
 serving how differently she was dressed, 
 he came to the opinion that it was an- 
 other, and said as much to Master Fran- 
 cis when they spoke on the subject. They 
 were now nigh unto the end of their jour- 
 ney, for as they passed along they had 
 speech with sundry Indians, from whom 
 they got intelligence that the white men 
 were proceeding down to the sea, and 
 were but a few miles in advance of them ; 
 and this put Harry Daring and Master 
 Francis in high spirits. They talked to 
 one another of how delighted they should 
 be to see again Sir Walter and the rest. 
 
 "Methinks he will be famously wrath 
 with me for giving him the slip," ob- 
 served Harry. 
 
 " That he can never be when he know- 
 eth, as he shall, all that thou hast done 
 to bring me back to him, "replied Master 
 Francis. 
 
 "Let it be as it may I care not so that 
 
 I am with thee," added the other. " But 
 
 art not glad we be returning to England ?" 
 
 "The idea of it pleaseth me I must 
 
 own," answered his companion. 
 
 "What exquisite fine fun I shall have 
 when I get there!" said Harry Daring. 
 "Methinks old Lather would be puzzled 
 to know me I be so altered. I wonder 
 whether he goeth on with his Latin as 
 of old ? Doubtless he would be in a 
 thundering humor at the sight of me, I 
 did play him so famous a trick before I 
 left. Wouldn't big Jack o' the Turnstile 
 and the rest of them marvel could they 
 see me now, riding on a fine horse, and 
 decked out in such famous trim as the 
 king gave unto us! When I get me to 
 Eastcheap I shall not fail to call on 
 neighbor Sarsnet, to inquire of him and 
 of old Dame Margery what hath become 
 of that slippery jade Joanna." 
 
 "For what object?" inquired Master 
 Francis. 
 
 "I should like monstrously to know 
 the rights on't," replied the other. "I 
 14 
 
 told thee she was no good long before she 
 proved herself such, for she could not be 
 otherwise, using thee as she did. But 
 let her go hang! thou wilt find her bet- 
 ters anywhere. For mine own part, I 
 have no patience with a wench who 
 showeth such extreme cunning over such 
 thorough baseness.*' 
 
 "It be a thousand pities she hath be- 
 haved herself so ill," observed his com- 
 panion, with great seriousness of manner. 
 " I can love her no more ; but I have 
 heartily forgiven her the wrong she hath 
 done me, and sincerely hope that she 
 may be as happy as her heart can de- 
 sire." 
 
 Master Francis had scarce said these 
 words when he turned round suddenly 
 upon hearing of two or three hysterical 
 sounds at his elbow. They came from 
 the Indian woman, who he knew had for 
 some time been ridine at his side. She 
 seemed about to fall from her horse, and 
 would have done so had he not leaned 
 over and caught her in his arms. The 
 horses were stopped on the instant, and 
 that of Master Francis being brought as 
 close as Was possible unto hers, he was 
 enabled to hold her in a more convenient 
 position, having he-r head resting upon 
 his shoulder. He sent some of the guard 
 forward to the young prince, who was 
 far in advance of them, to give him no- 
 tice of what had taken place; but be- 
 lieving her to be in a swoon as she 
 seemed, and that the best thing that 
 could be done for her was to let her have 
 as much air as could be got, he presently- 
 fell to undoing of her muffler, which was 
 tied about her face. An exclamation of 
 surprise and wonder burst from the lips 
 of Master Francis and Harry Daring at 
 one and the same moment. It was the 
 face of no Indian woman that they gazed 
 upon. It was the mercer's daughter of 
 Eastcheap ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Eacn scene of many colored life he drew, 
 Exhausted worlds and then imagined new. 
 
 JOHNSON 
 
 Whom she lifted up into a throne 
 
 Of high renown. SACKVILLB 
 
 It is the mind that maketh good or ill, 
 That makes a wretch, or happy, rich, or poor, 
 For some that have abundance at their will 
 Have not enough but want in greatest store, 
 Another that hath little asks for more, 
 But in that little is both rich and wise. 
 
 SPEXSIB
 
 aio 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Divine Philosophy ! 
 
 Not harsh andtrabbed as dull fools believe, 
 But musical as is Apollo's lute. 
 
 '. SlUKSPBARE. 
 
 Now must I make such srmends t<? the 
 courteous reader for keeping him away 
 so long from the chiefest person in this 
 my story as mav hold him in good humor 
 until he cometh to the end of the narra- 
 tioq, for doubtless some may think Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare hath not been well used 
 of me, inasmuch as so much less hath 
 lately been said of him than of others, 
 but it be beyond all matiner of contradic- 
 tion that aught of great goodness should 
 be used sparingly, else shall it be straight 
 lessened in value. 'Things that lack rare- 
 ness be seldom esteemed by any man ; 
 and Master Shakspeare being possessed 
 of excellence of so rare a sort, methinks 
 my thrusting of him inio these pages 
 less oft than those of less note shall 
 make him all the more liked of such who 
 know how to prize such extreme worthi- 
 ness. Albeit, though of this conceit, yet 
 here must I say this much to wit, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare did bring out his play 
 called " The Merry Wives of Windsor," 
 that was so much approved of by Queen 
 Elizabeth and all her court upon its read- 
 ing, at which time her majesty with a 
 fine company of courtiers did honor the 
 playhouse with her presence, and seemed 
 to relish the acting of it marvellously 
 and it met with wonderful success, as its 
 singular merit well deserved. To mark 
 the sense the queen's majesty had of him, 
 his vast genius, and great honesty of 
 heart, the next day she sent him a purse 
 of money with a commendable message. 
 After this he sat to the writing of other 
 plays, whereof many were relished of the 
 town in a like manner, and these, to- 
 gether with what he derived from his 
 playing, brought him in such gains, as 
 gave him no fear of the future, and en- 
 abled him to send loving tokens to his 
 relations very frequently, and to invite 
 his brother Edmund from Stratford to 
 become a player with him in London. 
 
 His reputation continuing so to increase, 
 he was much sought after by many no- 
 blemen and persons of worship, who took 
 nuge delight in his society for the deli- 
 cacy of bis wit and the honorableness of 
 his behavior. He was held in such re- 
 quest of them, that no name was so oft or 
 famously spoken of; and amongst the 
 iray gallants. of the time, not to have been 
 in company with Master Shakspeare ar- 
 gued a want of distinction that was con- 
 sidered of all an infinite disparagement. 
 
 Of those who esteemed him most wa 
 there none so true a friend as my Lord of 
 Southampton, -for be seemed not only 
 never to tire in doing him good service 
 but the more he did for him in the wa;, 
 of friendliness, the more appeared he in- 
 clined to da Indeed, he was such a pa- 
 tron as poet hath been seldom blessed 
 with, but this also may be said, he met 
 with such a poet as patron never had. 
 About this time Master Shakspeare took 
 also to the writing of poems, whereof 
 one was of the subject of Venus and 
 Adonis, and the other the Rape of Lu- 
 crece, and both were very movingly writ, 
 and full of right delicate fancies. They 
 were dedicated by him unto his excellent 
 good friend and patron, in token of what 
 respect he held him in, and in grateful 
 remembrance of my lord's manifold good 
 offices. 
 
 It so fell out that Master Shakspeare, 
 though he had some share in the play- 
 house at the Blackfriars before this, as 
 well as that of the Globe at theBankside, 
 had been exceeding anxious to have 
 greater share in them ; yet lacked he the 
 means to do it with, for it required no 
 small sum. He had saved up but little, 
 and could scarce expect, saved he ever 
 so, to get for some years to come as much 
 as he needed. This told he to none, for 
 he was not of a nature to solicit a favor, 
 though few writers of his time stood much 
 upon ceremony in that respect. His 
 friend Master Burbage knew of it only, 
 and it was like enough he should have 
 more knowledge of his affairs than any 
 other, because of their being such con- 
 stant associates, sharers of the same 
 property, and fellow-players ; and from its 
 being equally the desire of one as of the 
 other that Master Shakspeare should 
 have a greater interest in the playhouse 
 than what he had. For such purpose the 
 latter was eager to increase his gains as 
 fast as he might that he should the soon- 
 er realise his wish, therefore brought he 
 out as many plays as he could, together 
 with the poems that have already been 
 mentioned. 
 
 About this time Master Shakspeare 
 was in a large room in the playhouse at 
 the Blackfriars, that served as a ward- 
 robe. It had shelves and presses in it as 
 many as it could hold, and pins against 
 the wainscot, on which were placed a 
 wonderful variety of different dresses, 
 such as might be worn of the players in 
 their different plays. There were the 
 robes of the Ottomite and the Venetian, 
 the swarthy Moor and the gay Italian, the
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 211 
 
 ancient Greek and Roman, and others of 
 modem date, as well foreign as English, 
 together with divers suits of armor, 
 weapons of sundry sorts, hats, caps, 
 cloaks, doublets, jerkins, and boots, seem- 
 ingly out of all number. The room was 
 so crowded with such motley gear that 
 there was scarce space for one to sit ; yet 
 had Master Shakspeare found himself a 
 seat, he being in the habit of using this 
 chamber as a dressing-room ; and there 
 sat he in a deep arm-chair, resting of 
 himself, as if after some labor he had 
 undergone, or considering of some matter 
 he was intent upon. He was dressed in 
 what appeared to be a complete suit of 
 armor, having his vizor up, and what 
 could be seen of his face looked exceed- 
 ing pale and ghostlike, but doubtless that 
 was from some white stuff he had put on 
 to make it so. He was leaning back in 
 his seat, with his legs stretched out before 
 him, resting of his elbow upon an old 
 table, upon which there was seen a ra- 
 pier and a hat, some papers, with pen 
 and ink, a silver goblet with a flask of 
 wine at the side of it, and two or three 
 books. There was a log blazing on the 
 fire-dogs nearly opposite to him, which 
 cast a cheerful light over the room. 
 
 Whilst he was sitting as he was, there 
 was ever and anon heard a voice shouting 
 out famously, which beyond all manner 
 of doubt could belong to none other than 
 Gib the call-boy ; and at other times there 
 was heard a noise like unto a great clap- 
 ping of hands. Once the latter sounds 
 were of so great a loudness, it roused 
 Master Shakspeare from his thoughtful- 
 ness, and he jumped up of a sudden with 
 a smile upon his face, that showed he 
 found some satisfaction in them. Then 
 he took off his helmet, and such portion 
 cf his armor as encased the upper part of 
 his body and arms ; and going to an ewer 
 and basin that stood in a corner, fell to 
 washing of his face, humming of a merry 
 tune all the while, which was only inter- 
 rupted by the splashing of his mouih 
 with the water. As he was finishing of 
 his lavation he broke out into the follow- 
 ing pleasant song: 
 
 " Go, happy youth, and loudly swear 
 That with thy Love none can compare ; 
 And vow to own her angel hand, 
 Will make Ihee proudest of the land. 
 Thou hast her hand. 'Though that be true. 
 I asked not for a cudgel too ; 
 And though my own my angtl be, 
 She now doth play the devil with me.' 
 
 ' Alack ! Alack ! and well-a-day !' 
 
 I heard a hapless husband say, 
 
 Bachelors all be not too bold, 
 
 Tis better go hang than marry a scold.' 
 
 " Go, happy yonth, and swear once mote, f-il* 
 Thy Love all Loves be far before. 
 1 Troth 1 another wife have got, 
 Who never rateth me one jot.' 
 A month passed by the honey-moon 
 The doting husband changed his tune ; 
 
 ' O hapless wight '. my wife,' cried h*, 1 - 
 ' Loves others quite as well as me !* ~ , -. 
 
 'Alack! Alack ! and well-a-day !' 
 I heard a hapless husband say, 
 ' Bachelors all be not betrayed, 
 Tis better go hang than marry a jade.' 
 
 " Go, happy youth, and swear at last 
 That all thy travail now is passed. 
 ' I'fiiit ii 'tis true. My wooing thrives 
 I've found the-very hest of wives.' 
 Another month went by again 
 I heard the horn mad fool complain. 
 She doth not scold she doth not roam- 
 But drinketh me out of house and home.' 
 
 ' Alack ! Alack ! and weil-a-day !1 
 I heard a happy widower say ; 
 1 Bachelors all seek ye no thrall, 
 'Tis better go hang than marry at all.' " 
 
 This sung he with such a happy careless- 
 ness, it was plain he had not much to 
 fret him ; but scarce had he finished it 
 when he heard some one whom he knew 
 on the instant, coming toward the door, 
 whistling of the tune of " Green Sleeves." 
 Not being in a state to be seen of any, 
 for that he was but half-dressed, he pres- 
 ently hied to the door and bolted it inside. 
 
 " Ope the door, Will !" cried Master 
 Burbage from without, knocking at it 
 briskly. " Ope the door, I prythee." 
 
 " Tarry awhile, Dick," replied Master 
 Shakspeare, "I can not let thee in For 
 some minutes." 
 
 "Nay, why should I tarry?" inquired 
 the other, "did I not hear thee singing 
 like a very swan? Haste and ope the 
 door, for I must have speech with thee." 
 
 "Tarry awhile, Dick, I tell thee again," 
 said his companion with more emphasis 
 than at first. " I can let thee in now on no 
 account." 
 
 " Oh thou villain !" exclaimed he OB 
 the outside in his customary jocular man- 
 ner. "I see through thy tricks now 
 Thou art not the bird to be ever a singing 
 to thyself. Thou hast got some pretty 
 wench with thee a murrain on thee for 
 thy slyness." 
 
 " Thou art out in thy reckoning this 
 time, good Dick, depend on't," observed 
 Master Shakspeare laughingly. 
 
 "By this hand I do not believe thee," 
 cried Master Burbage. " It be plain 
 from thy singing so like unto a swan, 
 and thy not opening the door to me, that 
 thou art playing at Jupiter and Leda 
 after thine own fashion. Oh, I be so 
 monstrously shocked! I be afraid my 
 innocency will so suffer by keeping of thy 
 villanous company, I shall soon get me a
 
 212 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 bad character. Dost not know that evil 
 communications corrupt good morals, and 
 be hanged to thee ?" 
 
 " Thy good morals, Dick !" exclaimed 
 the other in the like bantering way. 
 "Under what bushel hast thou hid so 
 goodly a rushlight ? Thy good morals! 
 Diogenes with his lanlhorn might have 
 met with an honest man, but if h,e spied 
 thy good morals searched he ever so 
 close, he must needs be blest with mar- 
 vellous fine eyesight." 
 
 " Out oa thee for a reprobate !". cried 
 his companion. " Thou dost slander the 
 modestest nature that breathes." 
 
 "Then alack for modesty!" repKed 
 Master Shakspeare. "But I tell thee 
 what it is, Dick" I am stripped to the 
 buff, therefore be as patient as thou canst 
 for a minute or so." 
 
 " I do hugely suspect thee," said Mas- 
 ter Burbage. " Thou art not the first I 
 have met in a buff jerkin, therefore is 
 there no occasion to make that a hinder- 
 ance." Notwithstanding of what he said, 
 his friend opened not the door till he was 
 ready. 
 
 " I'faith thou lookest marvellous well 
 considering that thou hast just 'given up 
 the ghost,' " observed Master Burbage up- 
 on his entering. " Be thy intent wicked or 
 charitable, oh, representative of the maj- 
 esty of buried Denmark ! But I will see 
 with mine own eyes whether thou hast 
 not been cozening of me." Upon this, 
 whilst Master Shakspeare could not but 
 laugh, the other began to look about him 
 with a monstrous earnestness, rummaging 
 of every place, spying into the drawers 
 and presses, and under the tables and 
 chairs. 
 
 " Mayhap thou hast conjured her into 
 the bottle," observed he very seriously, 
 as he first took a look into the flask, and 
 then poured out some of the wine into 
 the goblet. " Well, if she be as good as 
 this, "continued he, upon drinking off the 
 liquor, " then is she the very excellentest 
 woman I ever came anigh. I'faith, she 
 can not help being a wench after mine 
 own heart. I drink to her better acquain- 
 tance." And thereupon he drunk off 
 another draught of the wine. 
 
 "But how hath Hamlet gone off to- 
 day?" inquired Master Shakspeare, as 
 soon as he could put on him a serious face. 
 
 'VNaught could go better," replied his 
 companion. " I was in front best part of 
 the time, and famously did I notice thy 
 admirable performance; I tell thee truly, 
 Will, thou art the only ghost I would 
 care to look on a second time." 
 
 " I believe thee there, Dick," said the 
 other with a laugh. " Nay, 'tis probable 
 enough thou wouldst much rather turn 
 thy back on a ghost than look on it at 
 all. 
 
 " I will acknowledge to thee, I like not 
 holding acquaintance with any," said 
 Master Burbage. 
 
 "And yet they be not unsocial," ob- 
 served Master Shakspeare with as much 
 gravity as he could assume. "For I 
 doubt not at all, that not only on its first 
 appearance would one shake thy hand, 
 but shake thy body for thee into the 
 bargain." 
 
 "By this light, that be not so bad!" 
 exclaimed his companion, laughing heart- 
 ily. "But methinks thy wit be like unto 
 a steel breastplate the brighter it be- 
 cometh the oftener it be used." 
 
 " And that- be none so bad," replied his 
 friend. "But how didst like the playing 
 of Taylor ?" 
 
 " He playeth the character of Hamlet 
 so well, that, as far as my judgment goeth, 
 none living cart come up with him," said 
 the other. 
 
 " I do assure thee, I took huge pains in 
 the teaching of him," observed Master 
 Shakspeare, as he was fastening his 
 doublet. 
 
 " That is manifest enough," answered 
 Master Burbage^ " And he hath profited 
 well. It was my good hap to be in a 
 room with my Lord of Southampton 
 whilst noticing of the play, and he was 
 quite rapt in it as it were, and greatly 
 commended Master Taylor. But of thy 
 playing of the ghost he seemed to like 
 most of all, for he said there was so 
 awful a fearl'ulness in thy doing of it, 
 'twas quite moving to 'look on ; which 
 methinks is nothing more than the truth. 
 We then fell to discoursing of thy many 
 singular excellences, and I do assure thee 
 he spoke right eloquently in thy praise. 
 He mentioned the exceeding fine pleas- 
 ure he had lately derived from the peru- 
 sing of thy most sweet poems, which 
 thou hast properly dedicated to him, for 
 of all true friends I do believe him to be 
 the truest, and spoke of his great desire 
 to do thee such service as might be most 
 lasting. He asked of me concerning of 
 thy circumstances, and pressed much to 
 know whether thou didst lack anything 
 he could obtain for thee. Upon this re- 
 quest of his, I presently told him how 
 anxious wen thou to purchase a greater 
 share in the playhouse than what thou 
 hast already." 
 
 "Thou shouldst not hare told him
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 213 
 
 that, Dick," said Master S4iakspeare, with 
 some earnestness. 
 
 " And why not, Will ?" inquired Mas- 
 ter Burbage. 
 
 " In truth, I like not seeming to want 
 aught of any," replied the other. 
 
 "Seeming to want fiddlestick," ex- 
 claimed his companion. " Thou axt too 
 scrupulous by far. Dost think I would 
 stand upon my punctilios with one in- 
 clined to do me a kindness? I be no 
 such a wittol, I promise tliee. But to 
 proceed with my narration. My lord did 
 inquire very particularly what sum was 
 required the value of the property the 
 advantages to be gained by a purchase 
 of such a share of it, and the like sensible 
 quesiions ; to all of which, thou mayest 
 depend on it, I gave right sensible an- 
 swers." 
 
 "I would thou hadst never spoke on the 
 matter," observed Master Shakspeare, 
 very seriously. 
 
 " Out on thee for an ungrateful var- 
 let !" cried Master Burbage. " Well, af- 
 ter this, my lord left me, courteously bid- 
 ding of me good day, and I, as soon as I 
 might, posted to thee, to Jet thee know 
 how good a friend thou hast in him ; for 
 I be quite certain, though he gave me no 
 hint of a promise that he hath most lib- 
 eral intentions toward thee." 
 
 " I have seen few of so generous a na- 
 ture," said the other. " Yet can I never 
 bring my mind to take advantage of it, 
 nevertheless" 
 
 " Here cometh Gib's heavy foot may- 
 hap he hath a message for one or other of 
 us," observed his companion, interrupting 
 him, and sure enough a footstep was heard 
 of the very clumsiest sort approaching the 
 door then there came a knock at it, and 
 admittance being granted, certes Gib, the 
 call-boy, made his appearance, looking 
 in no way altered from what he was 
 when the courteous reader had sight of 
 him last, being just as bandy in the legs, 
 as monstrous in the mouth, as squinting 
 in the eyes, as carroty in the hair, as 
 awkward in his manner, and as clumsy 
 in his shape as ever. 
 
 " Here be a letter for Master Shak- 
 speare," said he, and straightway Master 
 Shakspeare took it from his hand. 
 
 "Well, Chanticleer!" exclaimed Mas- 
 ter Burbage, hilling of the boy a slap on 
 the back which nearly sent him off his 
 legs. " Thou didst play thy part fa- 
 mously." 
 
 " Methinks, for ihe playing of the cock 
 in Hamlet, there be few so apt," replied 
 ihe call-boy, looking exceeding dignified. 
 
 "Thou art too moaest by half," said 
 Master Burbage with a wondrous grav- 
 ity. "Th6u art sure to be < cock of the 
 walk' wherever thou goest. I'faith, thou 
 deserveth to be the king of the cocks and 
 of the hens too, thou hast such a superla- 
 tive talent for crowing." 
 
 " Dost think so, indeed !" cried Gib, 
 grinning with such delight it did stretch 
 his monstrous mouth from ear to ear. 
 " Perchance, if such be your opinion, you 
 will advance me in the profession of 
 which you have said so oft I am like to 
 be so great an ornament ?" 
 
 " 0' my word there would be no such 
 an ornament amongst us," remarked the 
 other, looking upon the uncomely figure 
 before him with all the seriousness he 
 could put on. "But stick id the cock, I 
 prythee, for in the playing of that thou 
 hast not thy peer ; yet would I venture to 
 assert that, shouldst thou make an essay 
 in any other part, there would be none 
 like unto thee in the performance of it." 
 
 "Doth any person wait?" inquired 
 Master Shakspeare, after reading of the 
 letter, whilst the two were talking. 
 
 " None, an' it please you," replied the 
 boy. "It was my Lord Southampton 
 who gave it to me, as I was showing of 
 Will Peppercorn the way I would play 
 Romeo, were I let." At this the two 
 players looked at each other very partic- 
 ularly, with something of an inclination 
 to laugh: "and my lord bade me carry it 
 to Master Shakspeare," continued he ; 
 " and was so civil as to give me a silver 
 groat; and then, merely requesting of me 
 not to delay in the delivery of the letter, 
 he took himself out of the playhouse." 
 
 "Having done what was required of 
 thee, we will now dispense with thy 
 company," said Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " Get thee gone, good Cock," ex- 
 claimed Master Burbage, lifting up his 
 foot, and lending him such a kick of the 
 breech, as he was a turning round, that 
 sent him. as it were, flying through the 
 open door. 
 
 "Nay, hurt him not, I prythee," cried 
 Master Shakspeare, upon seeing the rapid 
 disappearance of the call-boy, though he 
 could not help laughing. 
 
 " O' my life, I do believe he hath no 
 more feeling in him than a stone," replied 
 the other, who was very merry upon it. 
 i " 1 doubt not, if he were handsomely 
 paid, he would allow himself to be kicked 
 ! from this world to the next. He liketh 
 .nothing so well. I have seen him re- 
 joice at having a cuff from any of us; 
 ; and a kick appeareth to delight him be-
 
 214 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS i'itlEEDS. 
 
 vond all measure. But what sayeth my 
 Lord Southampton ?" 
 
 "Thou shall hear," replied his com- 
 panion, and without further preamble 
 read the following : 
 
 "< WORTHY MASTER SHAKSPEARE: To 
 say aught of the delicate pleasure I have 
 received from that marvellous sweet 
 poem you have done my poor name the 
 honor of dedicating unto me, I can not 
 at this present, as I lack time to ex- 
 press all that I feel : and to do less than 
 that, were not to do you justice. Rest 
 you satisfied, then, that though I be si- 
 lent on the matter, I am eloquent enough 
 at heart : for well can I appreciate such 
 things, and exceeding glad shall I be to 
 prove how well I think of them. On the 
 receipt of this, please you to come to me 
 at my dwelling, for I am desirous you 
 should do me a favor, the granting of 
 which will be to my extreme gratifica- 
 tion. "<H. W.'" 
 
 " 0' my life he be but a scurvy fellow 
 after all," exclaimed Master Burbage, 
 jumping up from the table on which he 
 had sal himself, and seeming in a won- 
 derful vexation. "Instead of acting the 
 true friend by thee, with such handsome- 
 ness as he might do, without hurt to him, 
 he contenteth himself with asking a fa- 
 vor of thee. A fig for such patrons, say 
 I: there be too many of this sort,. Won- 
 drous fine fellows are they all, who are 
 exceeding bountiful with their praise, 
 which costeth nothing ; but when there 
 shall come a fine occasion for showing 
 lhargenerousness of soul which one that 
 hath the power should always show to 
 him he assumeth to be the patron to, 
 they slink away, and will do nothing." 
 
 "Thou dost grossly abuse him, I will 
 be bound for't," said Master Shakspeare, 
 warmly. " I do not think there breathes 
 a better, a truer, or gentler heart, than is 
 my Lord of Southampton. I see nothing 
 in the letter but the kindly disposition I 
 have ever known in him." 
 
 "Kindly fig's end!" cried the other, 
 seemingly in no very pleasant mood; 
 " talk not to me of kindly dispositions, 
 that be shown in naught but mere words. 
 I have no patience with such." 
 
 " Notwithstanding of which, I shall 
 haste to my lord's without loss of time," 
 observed his companion. " Whatever 
 favor it may be that lean confer, he may 
 depend on receiving, and right glad shall 
 I be of the opportunity of doing it." 
 And thereupon he proceeded to make 
 himself ready to go out. 
 
 ' Then thou deservest all thon wilt 
 get for thy pains," said Master Burbage. 
 "Depend on't, he intendeth only to suck 
 thy brains for thee, which having done 
 to an absolute sufficiency a murrain on 
 him ! he will be monstrous prodigal in 
 his compliments, but as for putting of 
 his hand in his purse, he would as soon 
 meddle with the plague." 
 
 " I want not his purse," Jeplied Master 
 Shakspeare; "so he need never put his 
 hand there for me: but of his willing- 
 ness to serve me, I am well convinced. 
 Wilt go with me ?" he added, as he was 
 making for the door. 
 
 " Nay I am bound for the very pretti- 
 est woman that lives." observed his com- 
 panion, seemingly putting of his dress 
 in the very properest order, as he stood 
 before a large mirror nigh unto the fire. 
 " Oh ! she hath such a delicate waist, 
 and so dainty an ankle such lustrous 
 eyes so ruby a lip so" - 
 
 "Another Joanna?" here interrupted 
 Master Shakspeare. 
 
 "Hang Joanna!" exclaimed Master 
 Burbage, with extreme asperity, and 
 quickly followed his friend, who had 
 gone laughing out of the room. 
 
 Master Shakspeare made the best of 
 his way to the Lord Southampton's, 
 pleased in his heart that he had it in his 
 power to oblige one for whom he eatr r- 
 tained so perfect a respect. He found 
 him in his study an elegant chamber of 
 moderate dimensions, well furnished 
 with books, together with some few pic- 
 tures. He was sitting before a pleasant 
 fire, having wine, and fruit, and some 
 choice cakes on a table beside him, and 
 was reading of a book by its light, the 
 time being toward the dusk of the after- 
 noon, a little too early for candles. 
 
 "Welcome,Master Shakspeare," he ex- 
 claimed, as soon as the other entered the 
 room, quickly putting of his book down, 
 and rising to shake him by the hand. 
 "Sit you down, and partake of such 
 cheer as I can give you." 
 
 " With all mine heart, rny good lord," 
 replied his companion, cheerfully com- 
 plying with my lord's request ; and they 
 presently, with exceeding sociableness, 
 fell to drinking of wine, and eating of 
 the delicacies upon the table, seasoning 
 them with such friendly converse as was 
 like to pass on such an occasion between 
 two so well inclined to each other. 
 There could be no mistaking the expres- 
 sion on the features of the young noble- 
 man, for never was benevolence so ap- 
 parent in a human face; and the fine.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 215 
 
 open, manly countenance of Master 
 Shakspeare, whereon was writ a free 
 heart and a noble mind, was not less wor- 
 thy of admiration. 
 
 "I have been reading of your truly de- 
 lectable poem," observed my lord, as he 
 pointed to the book on the table. " In- 
 deed, I can not help but be a looking 
 into it at whatever time I can find the 
 leisure." 
 
 " I hope you have gathered some en- 
 tertainment from it, be it of ever so slight 
 a kind," answered the other, with that 
 real modesty which can only be found in 
 the rarest natures ; " for it would be a dis- 
 couraging thing to me to know that the 
 courteousuess which led you to the peru- 
 sal of my book, came to an unprofitable 
 ending." 
 
 " There can be no fear of that, on mine 
 honor," said my Lord Southampton, kind- 
 ly. " Indeed, I have found excess of en- 
 tertainment rather than the lack of it. 
 In your plays I have ever met with poe- 
 try of the very choicest, wherein it was 
 difficult to say whether the dhought or the 
 expressing of it was the most admirable. 
 But such things came as flowers met with 
 in a journey. They grew, as it were, on 
 the road-side of the play ; and he who 
 kept on his way could scarce fail of see- 
 ing and delighting in them ; and they 
 enticed him forward at every step. The 
 Rape of Lucrece must be considered in 
 no other light than an entire garden, laid 
 out with such prodigality of flowers, that 
 there be scarce any getting on at all, one 
 is so continually forced to stop and admire 
 this and the other." 
 
 "Methinks 'twould be afiVjtation in 
 me were I to deny I find pleasure in your 
 commendation," remarked Master Shak- 
 gpeare. " Indeed, I would venture to as- 
 sert that he whopretendeth to a careless- 
 ness of praise, be worthy of no praise at 
 all. I write, as all must write who have 
 any true talent for it in hope that what 
 I have done shall be considered of some 
 merit. That you commend it, is at least 
 a proof of some kindliness on your part, 
 the which can not but give me exceed- 
 ing gratification, for I am assured you 
 would not show so honorable a feeling 
 unless you thought there was such wor- 
 thiness in me as might warrant it. As 
 to the judgment you evince in this your 
 opinion of my poor performance, it doth 
 not become me to speak, for every one 
 is but too well satisfied with the judg- 
 ment that be satisfied with him." 
 
 " Mayhap my judgment is but of small 
 value," said his companion, " but at least 
 
 it hath the recommendation of being sin- 
 cere." 
 
 " There are few whose opinion I should 
 be more inclined to bow to on ordinary 
 topics," remarked his companion ; " yet 
 in this, methinks, the friendship you have 
 distinguished me with hath given you 
 partial eyes." 
 
 " That can not be, worthy Master 
 Shakspeare," replied my lord. " Every 
 j one who knoweth what true merit is, can 
 j not fail of seeing it in this your exquisite 
 poem ; and there can be no partiality in 
 approving of that which none but the 
 most ignorant or the most envious could 
 fail of commending. ' However, let that 
 pass for the present. The wine standeth 
 unnoticed before you. I am fearful you 
 make but poor cheer." 
 
 " I thank you, my good lord," answered 
 Master Shakspeare, refilling of his glass. 
 " But it seemeth to me I should show an 
 infinite lack of understanding were I to 
 make poor cheer when the cheer hath 
 been so bountifully provided." Then for 
 a few minutes both appeared to be intent 
 upon enjoying of the good things within 
 their reach, saying little, save remarks of 
 no moment relating to them. 
 
 " Mis-tress Varnon hath acquainted me 
 with a strange secret," observed the 
 young nobleman, with a smile. 
 
 " Hath she, indeed ?"' answered the 
 other. " I doubt not it was of a pleasing 
 kind ; for a pretty woman's secret is 
 usually well worth knowing." 
 
 " That is as you may think it," said 
 
 his patron, still looking exceedingly 
 
 amused. "But this is it: whilst you 
 
 were in the garden -with Dame Deborah, 
 
 the last time we were at Islington, and, 
 
 ' as of old, had left us two to such sweet 
 
 1 delights as I can never be too grateful for, 
 
 the loving creature told me that her aunt 
 
 spoke of nothing but Master Dulcimer 
 
 was ever praising his looks, his dress, his 
 
 1 manners, his music his everything he- 
 
 ! longing to him, with so absolute an ear- 
 
 | nestness as was a marvel to behold that 
 
 1 she was melancholy and restless when 
 
 | he was away, and seemed as if she en- 
 
 ! joyed nothing so much as the sunshine 
 
 of his presence in short" 
 
 " Nay, the conclusion is manifest, my 
 good lord," exclaimed his companion, 
 I laughing very heartily, in the which the 
 '< young nobleman joined. " My vanity is 
 ; infinitely tickled, So, her stately lady- 
 ship loveth me ? I'faith, 'tis as ridicu- 
 j lous a thing as ever happened. Mayhap, 
 if she were forty years younger, I would 
 ; be well content: wnether my teeth be
 
 216 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 tender or my stomach be over dainty, 'tis 
 hard to say, but I doubt not she would 
 now prove so preposterously tough a 
 morsel, I should be forced to leave jlhe 
 dish ere it had well been tasted/' 
 
 Both continued to laugh and jest on 
 the subject very merrily, for some min- 
 utes. 
 
 " Meant you not, in your note,*' con- 
 tinued Master Shakspeare, " there was 
 some good office I could do you ? Believe 
 me, I shall be right glad to set about it." 
 " 'Tis a favor I would have at your 
 hands," replied my Lord Southampton. 
 " Indeed, I shall be wondrously vexed if 
 you refuse me." 
 
 " Think not of such a thing, I pray 
 you," observed the other quickly. "Be 
 assured there is nothing I would not wil- 
 lingly do to give you pleasure, so that it 
 be but in my power to perform." 
 
 " 'Tis a simple thing enough," said his 
 companion. " It hath come to my knowl- 
 edge that you are exceeding desirous of 
 purchasing a greater share in your play- 
 house than what you already possess. 
 Have I been told truly ?" 
 
 " I have such intention, without doubt," 
 replied Master Shakspeare, " but it is one 
 I mean not to put in execution for some 
 time to come." 
 
 " Think you it would be much to your 
 advancement?" inquired my lord. 
 " Greatly," said the other. 
 Then the favor I would ask of you is 
 this : I have a thousand pounds of mine 
 own, doing of no good in the world. Will 
 it please you to apply it to the purpose 
 you have mentioned?" 
 
 "My lord, I" 
 
 " I will hear of no objections, Master 
 Shakspeare," said he. "Mayhap, if you 
 take it not, I may be tempted to apply it 
 to some bad end ; and you shall do me a 
 great injury by having refused to give it 
 a more honorable occupation. Whilst it 
 lieth idle in my hands it can afford me 
 no pleasure, but rather will be to me a 
 source of disquiet ; now when I know it 
 hath gone for so good a purpose as the 
 advantage of a worthy man, I can not 
 help being infinitely content." 
 
 " Bdieve me, it can not be," exclaimed 
 Master Shakspeare, who appeared so 
 taken by surprise he scarce knew what to 
 eay. 
 
 "Believe me, it must be!" cried my 
 lord, more earnestly. " I have set my 
 heart upon it. I will not hear of a de- 
 nial." 
 
 " Indeed, you must excuse me in this, 
 my lord." 
 
 "I will hear of no excuses. Beside, 
 you have already averred there was noth- 
 ing you would not willingly do ,to give 
 me pleasure. I hold you to it, Master 
 Shakspeare." 
 
 " My good lord, it is so extraordinary 
 large a sum." 
 
 " All the better it shall do you the 
 more benefit." 
 
 "'Twill be a rank abusing of your 
 good nature nay, take it not uncivil of 
 me"- 
 
 "I do take it monstrous uncivil of you, 
 Master Shakspeare, that you should 
 make any demur in doing me this favor. 
 There can be no pleasure so great as that 
 you will afford me by your compliance." 
 " Then let it be but a hundred pounds, 
 I pray you, my lord." 
 
 " I will not abate you a single groat of 
 the thousand." 
 
 "I do assure you I can not bring my- 
 self to accept it, for I know not at what 
 time I shall be able to pay you." 
 
 " Talk not of paying, else shall I be 
 angry presently. I tell you, Master 
 Shakspeare, I have received such infinite 
 pleasure from the wondrous excellences 
 of your genius that twenty times the sum 
 I have mentioned would not have pur- 
 chased. Shall 1 receive advantage and 
 give none ? I pray you no more denials. 
 I have set my heart upon it, and it must 
 be." 
 
 At this moment there entered a serving- 
 man, announcing my lord of Essex and 
 Master Francis Bacon, to whom his mas- 
 ter gave orders for their instant admit- 
 tance. 
 
 " I wih se'nd a trusty messenger to youi 
 lodgings viith the money to-morrow ' 
 morning, Master Shakspeare," said my 
 Lord Southampton, as he in the very 
 friendliest manner possible took his com 
 panion by the hand, which he cordially 
 shook, his youthful face beaming with 
 benevolence all the while. " And ] 
 sincerely trust it may be the foundation 
 of a fortune worthy of your high deserts 
 Hush ! say not a word !" he exclaimed 
 seeing the other was about to speak. 
 " My friends approach ; and I would not 
 have this breathed to any." 
 
 Master Shakspeare was silenced ; but 
 he reflected all the more. " And this is 
 the man," thought he, " of whom Bur- 
 bage spoke so slightingly ! Why, what 
 a princely heart he hath! O' my life! 
 if I can not help myself of profiting by 
 his munificence, I will do my best to 
 prove it hath not been misapplied." And 
 so went he on, so lost in admiration cf
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 217 
 
 the other's noble conduct, as not to per- 
 ceive he was the object of very attentive 
 observation by a stranger who had entered 
 the room, and, whilst the two lords were 
 conversing very earnestly, yet in a low 
 voice, as if on some important matter, at 
 the further end of it, and the serving-man 
 was putting a fresh log on the fire, and 
 some clean glasses on the table, he, 
 drawn to him probably by that appear- 
 ance of superior intelligence in his counte- 
 nance which none could look on without 
 affection or reverence, came as close as 
 he might, and sat himself down the more 
 nearly to observe him. This was no 
 other than Master Francis Bacon, then 
 coming into some note for his great learn- 
 ing, and afterward so highly esteemed 
 as the very chiefest philosopher of his 
 time. 
 
 He was dressed in no way distinguish- 
 able from other young lawyers, wearing 
 a doublet of a sober color: indeed, his 
 whole apparelling was a complete con- 
 trast unto the gorgeous splendor of my 
 lord of Essex, who affected to outdo all in 
 costliness of dress. Master Bacon was 
 rather of a comely countenance; of a 
 gravity that was more pleasing than se- 
 vere, having a mouth of some tendency 
 to mirth, a thoughtful brow, eyes clear 
 and bright, and a beard well trimmed. 
 He seemed rather younger than Master 
 Shakspeare ; but they appeared, as near 
 as might be of a like height. There 
 then were the two finest intellects of the 
 age met together for the first time. Each 
 had heard of the other; and what each 
 had heard was sufficient to make him 
 desirous of knowing as much more as he 
 could. 
 
 Master Shakspeare had not been but 
 a very few seconds reflecting upon his 
 patron's bountiful behavior to him, when 
 he started up of a sudden, as if conscious 
 he had committed some rudeness in not 
 paying more respect to my Lord South- 
 ampton's guests, and seeing of Master 
 Bacon regarding of him so attentively, he 
 straightway, with a courteousness that 
 did become none so well as he, expressed 
 how glad he was to make his acquaint- 
 ance. To this the other replied to a -like 
 purpose ; and they presently fell to con- 
 versing one with another with as much 
 freedom as if they were acquaintances 
 of long standing. Yet was there a mark- 
 ed difference betwixt the two in their 
 manner. Master Shakspeare was open 
 and cordial, like a man who is at home 
 with the world after much knowledge 
 of it he was perfectly at his ease; butj 
 
 Master Bacon, thougn not so much so as 
 at first, looked to be in a sort of constraint. 
 Whether he held the other in such respect 
 as made him more reserved in his com- 
 pany than he was likely to be in any 
 other, or whether his deep study of books 
 had given him not sufficient opportunity 
 for acquiring that graceful confidence 
 which social intercourse alone confers, or 
 whether his pursuit of the law had crea- 
 ted in him a suspiciousness of any man's 
 intentions till their excellence was proved, 
 I can not take upon me to determine ; but 
 certes he was in some degree formal and 
 sententious. 
 
 The two lords still kept at the further 
 end of the room, conversing with much 
 earnestness of look and manner, and in 
 so low a voice it was plain they had got 
 hold of a matter of deep interest to talk 
 about. But of this took the others no 
 notice. Indeed they were so taken up 
 with their own conversation, as not to be 
 able to heed what else was going on. 
 
 " I have heard wonderful commenda- 
 tion of your familiarity with the pro- 
 foundest things," observed Master Shak- 
 speare. "Of such learning know I just 
 enough to make me inclined for a more 
 perfect knowledge. Will it please you, 
 Master Bacon, to give your opinion of the 
 schools of philosophy possessed by the 
 Greeks, that I may know, from one so 
 qualified to judge, which may be the de- 
 sirablest of them all?" 
 
 "I am but indifferently learned in such 
 matters, believe me, Master Shakspeare," 
 replied Master Bacon. 
 
 " Nay, you undervalue yourself I am 
 assured," said the other. 
 
 "Indeed, it is as I say," answered bis 
 companion. "Yet of what small knowl- 
 edge I may possess will I put you in pos- 
 session ; for I hold that he who hath 
 learning, be it ever so little, and holdeth 
 it back from they who have less, is as 
 unprofitable a man as the most ignorant 
 that lives." 
 
 "That be a sure thing," said our illus- 
 trious poet. " 0' my life ! I have no pa- 
 tience with such as do cuddle up in their 
 brains whatever they know, whereof 
 others be ignorant, and are so obstinately 
 intent upon the enlightening of none, that 
 they allow of their secrets being buried 
 wiih them. Such exceeding selfishness 
 ought never to be tolerated. There have 
 been divers alchymists who, at least, so it 
 be said of them, acquired famous insight 
 into the transmutation of metals, the vir- 
 tues of all mannerof waters, plants, earths, 
 and the like ; yet have they kept such
 
 818 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 things a mystery from their fellow-men, 
 and their great discoveries, if discoveries 
 they were, were of as little advantage to 
 mankind as if the finders of them had 
 never been born. For mine own part, 1 
 think that knowledge is a sort of money, 
 which if it be hoarded up by one of these 
 misers, and none know where it is secre- 
 ted, and may not lay hand on it when they 
 want, it shall be as good as nothing to 
 them ; whJst the more that share in the 
 riches of learning, the less shall there be 
 of those ignorant 'poor folk, whose pover- 
 ty of knowledge it is the chief business 
 of philosophy to relieve." 
 
 " Well said, Master Shakspeare!" ex- 
 claimed the other with some earnestness, 
 for he was pleased at hearing of senti- 
 ments so akin to his own. " Philosophy 
 is indeed that right admirable legislation 
 which provideth for the poor of all coun- 
 tries and condilions the halt, the lame, 
 and the blind ; and insistelh that every 
 man who hath the means shall con- 
 tribute, according to his ability, to the 
 wants of his fellows. To describe to you 
 the different philosophical schools that 
 have existed among the Greeks, methinks 
 is a labor for which I have not anything 
 like sufficient leisure before me. Suffice 
 it to say, it is in philosophy like unto 
 what it is in religion throughout the 
 world ; there be a wonderful number of 
 roads and by-paths, some more direct 
 than others, and a few that go every- 
 where but in the right way ; but the 
 right way is always to be found by those 
 who will sufficiently search for it. As 
 for a distinct system of philosophy, any- 
 thing of the sort can scarce be said to 
 have existed before the time of Socrates ; 
 for though it be said Thales founded the 
 Ionic, and Pythagoras the Italic schools, 
 one might with as much show of truth 
 call the proverbs of Solomon, or the fa- 
 bles of JEsop, a system, as consider that 
 what the two preceding have said, 
 which was naught but some few precepts 
 or apophthegms relating unto morals and 
 politics, should have such a name. 
 
 " It may certainly be said that Socrates 
 founded no complete theory of ethics, 
 but he left such materials as went a fair 
 way toward it. He was the first phi- 
 losopher who taught the sublime truth 
 to wit: that the principles of virtue are 
 the laws of God, and that none may de- 
 part from such principles without suffer- 
 ing for it in some way or other. Plato 
 staled that virtue could in no way be 
 taught, but could only come as an ema- 
 nation from the Divine Spirit Aristotle', 
 
 Who was a disciple of Plato, ana the 
 founder of the peripatetics, taught that 
 virtue is either of the theory or of the 
 practice the one being a proper exer- 
 cise of the understanding, the other the 
 pursuit of excellence ; and that there 
 are no such pleasures as those which do 
 proceed from virtuous actions; and that 
 happiness is either contemplative such 
 as may be derived from the pursuit ot 
 wisdom or active, such as may be gath- 
 ered from external conduct conformable 
 to virtue ; that the latter is inferior to the 
 former, because the understanding is the 
 chiefest part of our nature, and the aims 
 to which it should be directed are of the 
 noblest kind ; but that for a state of per- 
 fect felicity both are necessary." 
 
 " Doubtless this teaching of Aristotle 
 cometh nigh unto the right way," ob- 
 served Master Shakspeare. " It seeraeth 
 to me a very proper teaching. Before I 
 knew aught of Aristotle, it did always 
 appear in ray mind, much the same as 
 you have said of his doctrines. I thought 
 the first object of existence was to live 
 virtuously that virtue was the doing 
 well unto others and that happiness was 
 that state of pleasurableness which must 
 be the result of such well-doing. As for 
 what he hath said of the understanding 
 being the chiefest part of our nature, and 
 the pleasures it affords being the choicest 
 of all enjoyments, methinks none would 
 dispute it. But proceed, I pray you : I 
 should be loath to lose a particle of such 
 excellent discourse." 
 
 "There was another sect produced by 
 the school of Socrates, called cynics," 
 said Master Bacon. " The most celebra- 
 ted of these were Antistbenes and Di- 
 ogenes, and they taught that virtue was 
 the only wisdom, and he alone deserved 
 to be called virtuous who could stifle his 
 natural sympathies, and live in a thorough 
 carelessness of the comforts and refine- 
 ments of life, most of which they regard- 
 ed as things that ought not to be allowed, 
 because their influence tended to prevent 
 that austerity wherein they supposed 
 virtue exclusively existed." 
 
 "I'll have none of them!" exclaimed 
 Master Shakspeare. " If men are to 
 have no sympathy one for another, naught 
 can result but entire selfishness in all ; 
 and if the refinements of life are not to 
 be tolerated, all that is elegant in science 
 and graceful in art, in fact, all that 
 must be most humanizing in intellect are 
 clean lost to us, and we must needs de- 
 generate into mere brutes. It might as 
 well be said, a green gooseberry is more
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 219 
 
 desirable than a ripe one, as that an aus- 
 tere and crabbed cynic can be a better 
 limn than one of so ripe and sweetly-dis- 
 posed a nature that he alloweth his in- 
 tellect to exalt his humanity, whilst his 
 humanity liberalizes his intellect." 
 
 " The next of the more celebrated sects 
 of Greek philosophers were styled stoics," 
 continued the other. " Amongst divers 
 things, they maintained that nature im- 
 pelleth every man to the pursuit of what- 
 ever appeareth to him to be good, and 
 that as all animals derive pleasure from 
 those things which be suited to them, 
 which nature leadeth them to discover 
 and enjoy, every one who seeth clearly 
 into what is good, will presently take to 
 conforming to nature in all his actions." 
 
 " That seemeth plausible enough," ob- 
 served his companion. " Yet methinks 
 it should have its limitations. To follow 
 nature under every circumstance might 
 lead to the hurt of some other, and a 
 pleasure purchased by an injury should 
 be eschewed of all honest minds; but to 
 follow nature with justice to yourself and 
 others, to my thinking, be to follow the 
 very properest guide that shall be met 
 with anywhere." 
 
 "On that point say I nothing at this 
 moment," said our distinguished philoso- 
 pher. "When the time cometh for 
 speaking, believe me, I intend not to be 
 dumb. But return we to the stoics. Their 
 idea of happiness is to this effect that 
 no external thing can affect the happiness 
 of any man that pain, because it be- 
 longeth not to the mind, is no evil and 
 that a virtuous man must be happy in all 
 manner of torment, for that virtue is no 
 other than happiness." 
 
 " Nay, I can not hold with them there !" 
 cried Master Shakspeare. " Indeed, it 
 seemeth to me clean contrary to common 
 sense. Any one who doth observe at all, 
 knoweth that a man's happiness is almost 
 ever in the power of circumstances 
 any one who knoweth what pain is, must 
 feel convinced it be an evil and as for 
 what they have said of virtue being hap- 
 piness, it hath no truth in it, for there are 
 few so ignorant who know not that the 
 misconduct of others, let alone numberless 
 other causes, may make the most virtuous 
 person that breathes, in a state of mon- 
 strous unhappiness." 
 
 "Then comes the Cyrenaic school, 
 with Aristippus for its founder, and Dem- 
 ocritus and Protagorus for its chiefest 
 supporters," continued .Master Bacon, 
 without seeming to heed what the other 
 had said. " They preached that the dis- j 
 
 tinction between virtue and vice is nothing 
 more than arbitrary that no one thing 
 can be sacred or profane, just or unjust, 
 but as it shall be agreeable or contrary to 
 established laws and customs, for that 
 what is considered lawful to-day, human 
 authority may make improper to-morrow ; 
 and that present pleasure is the sovereign 
 good of man." 
 
 " O' my life, those doctrines be more 
 preposterous than the other !" exclaimed 
 his companion. " The true distinction 
 between virtue and vice must needs be 
 immutable. Men's ideas of them may 
 alter, but the qualities themselves never 
 change at least so it seemeth to me. 
 For instance, if a man do whatsoever 
 good lieth in its power, and committeth 
 no wrong to any in the doing of it, he 
 can not but live virtuously, no matter 
 what may be the laws or customs where 
 he dwelleth ; and if he do the reverse of 
 this he must live viciously under any cir- 
 cumstances or laws whatever. But what 
 other system had these Greeks 1" 
 
 " Among others they had the system 
 of Epicurus, which was in excellent re- 
 pute of them," replied Master Bacon. 
 "He taught that the ultimate good is 
 happiness, which is a state in which man 
 may be said to exist, when he enjoyeth 
 as many good things, and endureth ns 
 few evils as may be possible to /be met 
 with in human life. He calleth pleasure 
 good, and pain evil, which be not only 
 good and evil in their own natures, but 
 must be taken as the measure of whatso- 
 ever is good or evil in every object of de- 
 sire or aversion, because we expect pleas- 
 ure, in pursuing of one, and apprehend 
 pain in avoiding the other. He maintain- 
 eth also, that any pleasure which pre- 
 venteth the enjoyment of a greater pleas- 
 ure, or produceth a greater pain, i$ to be 
 eschewed ; whilst that pain which r- 
 moveih a greater pain or procureth a 
 greater pleasure, is to be endured. He 
 elsewhere proveth that temperance in the 
 enjoyment of pleasure is no other than a 
 state of virtue, and that virtuous conduct 
 steadily pursued, produceth the greatest 
 quantity of happiness human nature hath 
 the capability to enjoy. These maxims, 
 with sundry others of a like sort, with 
 wonderful force of argument he putteth 
 together and buiJdeth into a system." 
 
 "And a right famous system it must 
 needs have been," exclaimed Master 
 Shakspeare. " That happiness is the 
 real aim of existence, surely none can 
 doubt, and that the enjoyment of pleasure 
 produceth the possession of happiness
 
 220 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 seemeth to me as little questionable ; but 
 methinks that there is greater happiness 
 in the pleasure we afford to others than 
 there can he in that which the individual 
 enjoyoih exclusively, and were I inclined 
 to set others in the pursuit of the greatest 
 felicity, I would say, go and create the 
 pleasure of as many as you may, without 
 injustice to yourself or any. But as these 
 systems of philosophy appear but so 
 many different ideas of virtue, and of the 
 distinctions between good and evil, and 
 their natural results, happiness, and mis- 
 ery, I pray you, Master Bacon, let me 
 know what may be your opinion of these 
 matters." 
 
 What Master Bacon's opinion was I 
 can not here relate, as just at that moment 
 the two lords left that part of the room 
 where they had been staying, and came 
 to the table, where, after a stately greet- 
 ing from my Lord of Essex to Master 
 Shakspeare, the four did sit down and 
 partake of the cheer that was before 
 them ; but this omission can be no loss to 
 the courteous reader, for if he turn to the 
 many commendable volumes of excellent 
 philosophy Master Bacon hath writ, he 
 shall behold his opinions clothed with 
 such fine arguments as I despair of being 
 master of. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Don Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant spirited lady. 
 
 Leonato. There's little of the melancholy element 
 in her, my lord : she is never sad but when she 
 sleeps ; and not even sad then : for I have hoard 
 my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhap- 
 piness, aud waked herself with laughing. 
 
 Don Pedro. She can not bear to hear tell of a 
 husband. 
 
 Leonato. O, by no means : she mocks all her 
 woers out of suit. 
 
 ^ SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Fair angel of perfection, immortality 
 Shall raise thy name up to' an adoration ; 
 Court every rich opinion of true merit, 
 And saint it in the calendar of virtue. 
 
 FOBD. 
 
 " WHY dost take on so, Bess ?" asked 
 the merry Alice, as she sat with her cous- 
 in in a fair chamber looking out into the 
 open country at their house in Sherborne. 
 "By my troth, thou art but little credit 
 to womanhood. I will give thee up. I 
 will forswear all relationship to thee if 
 thou continues! to mope after this fashion. 
 Well, if ever I be caught fretting after 
 any man-animal, the world must needs 
 be as good as at an end. I would as 
 soon think of taking to the making of 
 simples for consumptive puppies. Nay, 
 
 o' my life, I would sooner begin the dig 1 - 
 jing of my own grave with a pap-spoon." 
 " How thou dost talk, Alice !" ex- 
 claimed Dame Elizabeth, who seemed 
 ndeed exceeding sad at heart* as she sat 
 with her cousin working of some tapes- 
 try, whilst a beautiful little boy, doubtless 
 ler own, was riding a cock-horse round 
 the room upon an old sword in its scab- 
 jard, with such shouting and gladness of 
 ook as showed it was wonderful pleas- 
 ant sport to him. -" Thou knowest he 
 lath been gone away so long a time I 
 can not but doubt of his safety." 
 
 "Nay, he be safe enough, I'll warrant 
 dim !" replied the other laughingly. " He 
 knoweth that if he were to get any hurt 
 and so vex thee I would as good as do for 
 him. But these husbands be marvellously 
 inclined to take care of themselves took 
 they as much heed of their wives now, 
 there should be no falling out betwixt 
 them. What a monstrous difference lieth 
 in lovers and husbands! There is no 
 more likelihood in the two, than may be 
 found in a sparrow and a cod-fish. The 
 one is always a chirruping, and billing, 
 ami hopping about one, as pleased as 
 ever he can be the other layeth his length 
 where he may, careth as much for his 
 wife as if she were a stone, and if he 
 approach her at any time, seemeth like 
 a very fish out of water. By my troth, 
 methinks the difference betwixt wooing 
 and wedlock be a difference indeed." 
 
 " I have not found it so," observed her 
 companion. "Walter hath been ever 
 the same to me. I do so wish he would 
 come back ! Alack ! I can not but be 
 wretched, when day after day passeth 
 by and bringeth me no tidings of him. 
 Surely it is better to know the worst than 
 to live in this state of uncertainty." 
 
 "I tell thee thou hast no worst to 
 know," answered Alice, and then turning 
 to the boy, who was shouting lustily, she 
 cried, "Walter! if ihou makest not less 
 noise on the instant, I will kiss thee with- 
 in an inch of thy life." The child stop- 
 ped a moment in his course, turned his 
 laughing face toward his pretty kinswo- 
 man, shook his curly head with a famous 
 archness, and proceeded on his way shout- 
 ing more loudly than ever. "Ah, that is 
 so like all man-animals, be they big or 
 little," continued Alice. "For a contrary 
 humor there is not their like in this world. 
 Dost believe it, Bess, that once upon a 
 time one of these would needs be after 
 caressing of me, for truly some are of so 
 monstrous an impudency it can scarce be 
 guessed what they would be about; but
 
 SHAKSP.EARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 221 
 
 I pretty .sharply gave him to know I would 
 put up with no such thing, and threatened 
 him with all manner of dreadful punish- 
 ments made he but the slightest attempt at 
 it. And what dost think the villain did ?" 
 
 " Nay, I know not," replied her cousin. 
 
 " He kissed me on the instant I'^cried 
 her merry companign, with a voice and 
 look of such extreme solemnity, that the 
 other could not but smile. 
 
 " And what saidst thou to that," in* 
 quired Dame Elizabeth. 
 
 "What said I?" exclaimed Alice, 
 seemingly in a great astonishment. "By 
 my troth, my breath was clean taken 
 away at so horrid a villany I could say 
 naught : but worse cometh to be told ; for 
 ere I could recover myself, the caitiff was 
 for doing of it again. At that moment I 
 fetched him so absolute a box on the ear, 
 that ever since then he can no more hear 
 on that side of his head than can a dead 
 pig whistle a coranto." Here both jumped 
 up quickly from their work, the boy in 
 running round the room having tripped 
 and fallen heavily on his head, and Dame 
 Elizabeth, with a face marvellously pale, 
 hastened to pick him up. 
 
 " Be in no sort of fear, Bess," said Al- 
 ice consolingly, as the other took the 
 child into her lap as she stood by, "he 
 can not be hurt at so little a fall." 
 
 "But he is hurt, Alice," replied the 
 mother, regarding the motionless child 
 with a wild sort of fearfulness ; " he 
 moveth not a limb, and his little lips 
 have no color in them." 
 
 " There !" exclaimed her cousin, as she 
 noticed that he moved his arms up to his 
 head and opened his eyes, looking as if 
 in some way frightened, " I told thee his 
 hurt could not be much." 
 
 "Oh, there hath gone a weight off my 
 heart which was nigh pressing me to the 
 earth, "said the other with much earnest- 
 ness, as she caught the child to her 
 breast, and then kissed him over and 
 over again with as true a love as ever 
 woman showed. Upon examining of him 
 carefully, it was seen he had been but a 
 little stunned, and could have received 
 but a slight bruise or so, for he presently 
 went to sleep in his mother's lap, never 
 crying in the least, as if he had been 
 none the worse for his tumble. 
 
 This had scarce been done before there 
 entered at the door Sir Nicholas Throck- 
 morton, with as much mirth in his face 
 as ought to content any honest man, and 
 with this there was a sort of mystery, as 
 if he was upon some trick or another that 
 required secresy in bringing it about. 
 
 "They are come, Alice," exclaimed 
 he in a low voice, and seemingly with a 
 monstrous disposition to laugh outright. 
 
 "Who are come, uncle?" inquired she. 
 
 " Why, thy lovers, wench, to be sure !' 
 cried the old knight, bursting out into a 
 famous chuckle. "Stephen hath much 
 ado to keep them in their chambers, they 
 be so furious to have sight of thee." 
 
 "Oh, I did forget," said Alice laugh- 
 ingly, " I promised my lovers that this 
 day I would give them an answer ; and 
 so hither have they come, each one, 
 doubtless, fully convinced he shall be 
 chosen of all the rest. Now will I show 
 them such sport as they have no notion 
 of." 
 
 " A mad wench ! a mad wench !" en- 
 claimed Sir Nicholas, giving free vent 
 to his mirth. " Thou wilt be the death 
 of me some of these days, thou wilt, thou 
 pretty rogue." 
 
 Now, I tell thee what, good uncle," 
 observed his merry kinswoman unto him, 
 "if thou hast a mind to see what sport t 
 will make of them" 
 
 "That wish I of all things," cried the 
 old knight, interrupting her quickly, " for 
 in truth it seemeth such excellent fooling 
 I would miss it on no account." 
 
 "Then get thee to the dining-room and 
 hide behind the arras," replied Alice. 
 
 " That will I straight," answered he, 
 and was going out chuckling mightily at 
 the thought of what fine pastime he 
 should have. 
 
 " I will be -with thee anon," continued 
 the light-hearted girl. "But make no 
 noise, else shall thou spoil all presently." 
 
 " Trust me no mouse nigh unto a cat 
 shall show greater quietness." Then out 
 he went, and made haste to the room she 
 had said. 
 
 " Wilt go and see how I will use these 
 lovers of mine ?" inquired Alice of her 
 cousin. 
 
 "Prythee ask me not," replied the 
 other, in some sorrowfulness of heart ; 
 " I be in no humor for such scenes. Be- 
 sides, the boy demandeth all my care : I 
 am not sure yet he hath escaped hurt." 
 
 " Indeed he hath, Bess there can be 
 no doubt on't," said her cousin, more seri- 
 ously ; " but let it be as thou wilt. I 
 must see these man-animals, now they 
 are come here ; but as suon as I have got 
 rid of them I will hurry back to thee. 
 So tarry awhile, dear Bess, and put a bet- 
 ter heart on it. I am certain sure he will 
 return soon, and then will he win the 
 queen's favor, and everything will be as 
 thou wouldst have it"
 
 322 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Dame Elizabeth only sighed in reply to 
 this, and Alice, kissing of her eheek af- 
 fectionately, hurried out of the room. At 
 the bottom qf the stairs she met with 
 Stephen Shortcake, who was evidently, 
 by the waggish expression of his coun- 
 tenance, one of the conspirators. To 
 him she whispered something, and then 
 entered the dining-ropm. There was a 
 large arm-chair on each side of the fire, 
 and into one of these she presently sat, 
 with a monstrous demure face, looking 
 exceeding dignified and sedate. 
 
 " Prythee breathe not so hard, uncle," 
 said she, in a whisper ; " thou wilt mar 
 all else."* 
 
 " Nay, I will scarce breathe at all but 
 hush ! here cometh one," replied Sir 
 Nicholas, popping of his head out of the 
 arras behind her, and as quickly popping 
 it back again ; for at that moment Stephen 
 Shortcake opened the door and announced 
 my Lord Wiseacre : and sure enough my 
 lord made his appearance, with a face as 
 formal and severe as ever ; and making 
 of a low bow, walked up to the now sol- 
 emn Alice with a gravity of deportment 
 that might have become his- great-grand- 
 fa iher's ghost. 
 
 "How fareth it with you, Mistress 
 Alice ?" inquired he, exceeding seriously 
 and took hold of her hand with the air of 
 a doctor about to feel her pulse. " Be it 
 the cold breezes that make you look so 
 bloomingly ? Truly is it said, it be an ill 
 wind that bloweth nobody good." 
 
 " Methinks what you have said is in- 
 disputable," replied Alice, very gravely ; 
 "and that which can not be doubted 
 must needs be true." 
 
 " Indeed, and so it be," observed my 
 lord, with a look of wonderful sagacity, 
 as if it was a truth he was- not before 
 aware of. "It doth give me exceeding 
 pleasure to hear you talk so profoundly ; 
 hut understanding delighteth better than 
 all things, and a wise woman is more 
 precious than gold." 
 
 " Believe me, I affect not the vanities 
 of youth," said she, in a gravity of tone 
 and manner that did almost exceed his. 
 " I have done with such frivolities. There 
 is a time for all things. I mean now to 
 devote myself to the acquiring of what I 
 think must precious in this world ; for is 
 it not said, ' Wisdom is better than house 
 or land ' " 
 
 " That is it out of all manner of doubt," 
 answered the young nobleman. "Wis- 
 dom is a thing that that is to say, wis- 
 dom is in short, it be beyond all contra- 
 diction that wisdom is better than house 
 
 or land, as you have justly remarked. 
 But there shall be no wisdom without 
 experience, and therefore if you lack ex- 
 perience, it be plain you can not have 
 wisdom. Now this experience have I, 
 in some measure. I make no boast of it, 
 Mistress Alice ; yet do I say I have as 
 much experience as any man of my 
 inches. And this be the reason. Expe- 
 rience ever came to me naturally, and 
 with little trouble in the learning of it. 
 It hath grown with my growth, and 
 strengthened with my strength. I have 
 lived upon it from my youth upward. 
 Indeed, .though I be in no manner given 
 to boasting, I may assert no man that 
 hath lived as I have, hath more experi- 
 ence than have I." 
 
 "In good truth be you so experienced 
 as that, my lord ?" inquired his fair com- 
 panion, in a seeming astonishment and 
 admiration. " What a marvellous share 
 of wisdom, then, must be yours !" 
 
 "Mayhap I am better off than many 
 in that particular," replied he; " but, as I 
 have said, it is not in my nature to boast. 
 'Brag's a good dog, but Holdfast's a bet- 
 ter.' " 
 
 "Is the moon made of green cheese, 
 my lord ?" asked she, very innocently. 
 
 "There hath been some dispute about 
 it," answered my lord, looking as he 
 thought monstrous philosophical. " For 
 mine own part, I doubt it. It seemcth 
 to me, that were it a cheese, there should 
 be mice at it presently ; for it be in the 
 disposition of these animals to have an 
 appetite for cheese ; and did they ever 
 get to the nibbling of it, it standeth to 
 reason that before this the moon would 
 have been clean nibbled away." 
 
 "Indeed, and so it would !V exclaimed 
 Alice, with great earnestness. " Yet is 
 it exceeding strange I saw it not in that 
 light before : however, we are never too 
 old to learn. Now doth it strike me how 
 wonderful is your wisdom ! It be impos- 
 sible after this to doubt you have the 
 great experience you spoke of." 
 
 " That have I, you may depend on," 
 replied the other, evidently excellently 
 well satisfied with the commendation he 
 was receiving. "Therefore am I the 
 best fitted of all your suitors to take you 
 to wife. Should you give me the answer 
 I have now come for, and which our sim- 
 ilarity in disposition inclineth me to ex- 
 pect you will, you can not help leading a 
 very pleasant life with me : for is it not 
 written, ' A wise son maketh a glad 
 father.' " 
 
 "How infinitely you talk to the pur-
 
 3HAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 223 
 
 pose !" exclaimed his fair companion, 
 more gravely than ever. "By my troth, 
 ihe woman that gaineth yoo wili'gain a 
 treasure indeed." 
 
 'Dost think so, sweet Alice," inquired 
 my lord, with a look of such thorough 
 satisfaction as defieth all description. 
 
 "How can I do otherwise ?" answered 
 she. " Have you not acquired such su- 
 perlative experience, there be no doubt- 
 ing of your infinite wisdom ?" 
 
 " Then wilt wed with me, fair Alice ?" 
 asked he. 
 
 " That dependeth very much upon 
 circumstances," replied his companion. 
 " You know well I can not abide such 
 men as are not of a ripe age, and of the 
 very gravest discretion. As for yourself, 
 rny lord, you seem as nigh unto that 
 which I would have, as I have yet seen. 
 You look of a very absolute old age 
 enough, only I would rather you had a 
 sufficiency of gray hairs." 
 
 "By this hand, I will Wear me a gray 
 periwig, if you will like me the better 
 f'ur't !" exclaimed the oiher with extreme 
 urgency. 
 
 " Then had you a fair stock of wrinkles, 
 doubtless you would be more to my taste," 
 said she. 
 
 " Wrinkles will I have iu plenty, after 
 we are married, sweet Alice," he replied, 
 with a like fervor. 
 
 " Mayhap, if you had lost your teeth, 
 I could the more affect you. It seemeth 
 strange to me you should have such mar- 
 vellous wisdom and yet have so many 
 leeth. Methinks such experience as you 
 possess, should have never a tooth in his 
 head." 
 
 " la truth, fair Alice, I have that ex- 
 perience in spite of my teeth. Indeed, 
 between ourselves, I expect not they will 
 last long, for one or oilier of them, be 
 ever troubling me with the must pestilent 
 aching, tooth ever gave." 
 
 " Of what age are you, my lord ?" in- 
 quired she. 
 
 "I look much younger than I arn," re- 
 plied he, hesitating awhile io say of what 
 age he might call himself. " Yet, though 
 I look it not, depend on't, I am just upon 
 thirty." 
 
 " Just upon thirty only just upon 
 thirty said you!" exclaimed Alice-, as if 
 in a great astonishment. 
 
 " Nay, I mis-lake nigh upon forty, I 
 meant," answered he quickly. 
 
 "No more than nigh upon forty?" 
 cried Alice in a greater wonder than be- 
 fore. 
 
 "Indeed, I scarce know exactly mine 
 
 own age," replied my lord, as if in some 
 perplexity. "But I doubt not at all, I 
 can not be far short of fifty.'' 
 
 "Oh, I am ruined and undone !", ex- 
 claimed his fair companion, looking ut- 
 terly disappointed. "I have been de- 
 ceived in you, my lord. Never was poor 
 woman so cozened before." The young 
 nobleman seemed as though he knew not 
 what to make of it. " 0' my life, I took 
 you for threescore and ten at least," con- 
 tinued she. "Your excessive gravity 
 only accordeth with that time of life. 
 Men at fifty be but mere boys. They 
 can not have the great experience you 
 boast of. I will not put up with one so 
 young. I will have none of you. I pray 
 you, never let me have sight of you 
 again !" 
 
 At (he hearing of this, the face of my 
 lord got like unto that of a fat man seen 
 upside down in the bowl of a spoon, it 
 became of so marvellous a length, and 
 of so singular a gravity. He seemed at 
 first inclined to speak, but, as if seeing 
 it would be all to no purpose, he present- 
 ly stalked out of the room as solemn as a 
 judge. 
 
 "Oh, thou mad wench!" exclaimed 
 Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, showing his 
 head from behind the arras, and laughing 
 as if his sides would crack. 
 
 " Hide thee, good uncle !" cried the 
 merry Alice. " Here be another of them 
 coming." The old knijjhi concealed him- 
 self as quick as he could, and as soon af- 
 ter as might be, the door opened, and 
 Stephen entered ushering in Dr. Bashful. 
 The young divine, afier making of an 
 awkward bow to his fuir mistress, who 
 courtesied to him, and then sat down very 
 demurely, advanced seemingly in some 
 sort of trepidation, to a chair at the op- 
 posite side of the fireplace and sat him- 
 self on the edge of it, putting of his hat 
 and stick on the floor by the side of him. 
 He spoke never a word, but looked around 
 the room seemingly examining of every- 
 thing in it with extreme curiousness. 
 His jra/e next fill upon his companion, 
 | but finding that she was looking at him, 
 in a moment his eyes were fixed upon 
 the floor, and his face became of such a 
 redness it was a marvel to see. In a 
 minute or two he gave a sigh so profound, 
 it did appear to have come from the very 
 bottom of his heart, then, as if aware of 
 I what he had done, hiscomplexion became 
 ', of a deeper crimson than ever. All this 
 I time he removed not his eyes from the 
 j floor. Presently he coughed a little, like 
 ! one who is about to speak. Alice thoughr
 
 ? -. - 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 he had summoned up sufficient resolution 
 to ask of her whether she would have him 
 or not. Mayhap he would as soon have 
 asked her to hang- him. Though he had 
 come for that purpose, it was the last 
 thing he could jiave brought himself to do. 
 After a bit he coughed again. 
 
 "Now 'ris coming," thought she. 
 
 ." "Tis a fine day, Mistress Alice," ob- 
 served he, still keeping of his look upon 
 the floor. 
 
 " That is it beyond doubt," answered 
 she, as gravely as she could. 
 
 "Indeed, methinks, it be A very fine 
 day, Mistress Alice," said the other. 
 
 "Indeed, methinks so too," -replied 
 Alice. 
 
 "Dost not think to-day be a finer day 
 than yesterday ?" inquired Dr. Bashful, 
 with an infinite earnestness. 
 
 " It hath something of the appearance 
 of it," answered his fair companion. 
 
 " That it hath certainly," said he. To 
 this she replied not, having no answer to 
 make; and there consequently ensued a 
 pause of some minutes, that the young 
 divine employed in considering of what 
 he should say next. It, was plain, upon 
 the fineness of the day nothing more-could 
 be added. Should he speak of the ap- 
 pearance of the country ? or rather make 
 some observation upon Master Shak- 
 speare's last play? or inquire after .her 
 health ? or ask her opinion of the sermon 
 he had just published? He hesitated 
 and knew not what to be about. What 
 he had said had made him a little more 
 at his ease, but the silence w,as becoming 
 irksome. He began to wonder whether 
 she was looking at him, and the very 
 imagination of such a thing brought the 
 color into his cheek again. Then he 
 thought he would take a look at her. 
 But such was more easy to be thought 
 than done. He remained some moments 
 before he could bring his mind to it. At 
 last, raising of his eyes from the floor, he 
 turned them to the corner of the room 
 the farthest from her, and with a sort of 
 trembling in his limbs, praying, in his 
 heart, she might be looking another way, 
 he glanced slowly round the room toward 
 the place where she sat, to his incon- 
 ceivable confusion she was looking at 
 him, and what he liked worse than all, 
 there was a twinkling in her eyes that 
 made him exceeding uneasy, added to 
 which, she was holding her handkerchief 
 to her mouth in what he thought a mon- 
 strous suspicious fashion. 
 
 In a moment his look was fixed upon 
 the floor as if it was nailed there, and his 
 
 face was as fine a crimson as was ever 
 seen. Was she laughing at him ? thought 
 he. His seat felt marvellously uncom- 
 fortable. He changed his position, and 
 in a minute or so altered it again, yet felt 
 he none the easier. Presently he heard 
 sounds which had a wonderful resem- 
 blance to a suppressed tittering. At this 
 he was more uneasy than before. He 
 would have given anything to have been 
 anywhere but where he was ; and, if he 
 could have done it, he would on the in- 
 stant have taken himself off nevejr to have 
 come near the place again : but it seem- 
 ed to him as if he were chained to his 
 seat. During this time his face felt like 
 the fireiteside him, and be could no more 
 have taken his eyes from the flqor than 
 ventured to fly. To his horror the titter- 
 ing became louder, and all at once he 
 could plainly distinguish that there was 
 some person behind the arras striving to 
 smother his laughter, in which it was 
 evident he succeeded not at all. The 
 knowledge that he was brought there 
 only to be laughed at, gave Dr. Bashful 
 something of a preternatural desperation, 
 so seizing of his hat and stick, with a 
 face that eeemed like to scorch his ruff, 
 it looked so burning, and with eyes that 
 glanced half angry and half frightened, 
 scarce daring to look anywhere, as quick 
 as he could, and without opening of his 
 mouth, he darted out of the rooru. 
 
 " Oh, these man-animals ! what goodly 
 fools they be," exclaimed Alice, now 
 giving free vent to her mirth. 
 
 " Thou wilt be the death of me !" cried 
 her kinsman, holding of his sides and 
 laughing right heartily. 
 
 "Back good uncle to your hiding," 
 said she in a whisper. " Here cometh 
 Stephen with another of the lost sheep." 
 And sure enough scarce had Sir Nicholas 
 concealed himself, when Stephen Short- 
 cake ushered in Ma'er Aniseed. He 
 was not in such fine feather as he was 
 wont, for in .truth the expense he had 
 been at in keeping the company of gay 
 gallants who only cared for him as long 
 as they could fleece him at play or bor- 
 row his money, which, with a remarkable 
 regularity they ever forgot to return, had 
 so wasted the fortune the old miser had 
 left him, that he saw nothing but a return 
 to the catching of rats unless he married 
 the heiress he had been so long in quest 
 of. He knew that the result of his pres- 
 ent interview would seal his fate, and he 
 came with the determination of exercising 
 all his powers of pleasing to obtain the so 
 much desired end.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 225 
 
 ff Ah, what ecstasy is mine !" exclaimed 
 he, as ho advanced toward her with a 
 mincing face and a lackadaisical air. 
 "Heresitteth my arbitress throned like 
 some famous goddess of old in supremest 
 elysium, and I, of all her manifold wor- 
 shippers, alone Allowed to gaze my soul 
 away upon her very infinite beauty, and 
 find a new existence in her most absolute 
 sweet speech. In truth, I do feel as 
 much delight as a rat escaped from a 
 trap." And thereupon, he took her hand 
 very tenderly, and looked in her face as 
 though he were about to die. 
 
 "Ah, Master Aniseed, methinks you 
 do but flatter," observed Alice, somewhat 
 coyly, as it were. 
 
 "Nay, by this light I do not, delectable 
 fair creature!" cried he, with a marvel- 
 lous deal of affectionateness. " Believe 
 me, I flatter none; and, least of all, could 
 do so unto one whose incomparable deli- 
 cate charms putteth all flattery at defi- 
 ance. Speak, then, dainty sweet Alice ! 
 speak my doom am I to be in the enjoy- 
 ment of the extremest felicity which ap- 
 pertaineih to this terraqueous globe, or 
 be thrust down in such intolerable misery 
 as hath never been known out of Tarta- 
 rus." 
 
 " Is your family of any note, Master 
 Aniseed ?" inquired she, with as much 
 seriousness as she could put on. At this 
 he seemed a little confused, for he ex- 
 pected not such a question. 
 
 " Indeed, some have been exceeding 
 notable," replied he, at last ; doubtless, 
 at that time remembering that his grand- 
 father had been a knight of the post of 
 great celebrity. 
 
 "Said you not the Aniseeds came in 
 with William the Conqueror?" asked his 
 fair companion. 
 
 " 0' my life, I can not but think they 
 came in a long time before,'' answered 
 the other ; although he knew nothing 
 particular of his family beyond the hang- 
 ing of his grandfather at Tyburn, for a 
 robbery on Gad's Hill, which, as may be 
 supposed, he liked not to tell of. "But 
 why speak of this matter. I pride not 
 myself on my genealogy, believe me ; I 
 care only fur the incommunicable rapture 
 I seek in the gaining of the incomparable 
 fair Alice. Surely it seemeth in some 
 sort a strange lack of affection in you to 
 question me on a matter so unimportant, 
 a i a moment so critical to my exquisite 
 sweet hopes." 
 
 "Nay, it showeth no lack ot affection, 
 Master Aniseed, as I will prove to you 
 anon," replied Alice, evidently forcing of 
 15 
 
 a serious look upon her laughing coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " Wilt prove your affection, heavenliest 
 creature?" exclaimed Master Aniseed, 
 sinking on one knee. 
 
 " That will I, beyond the possibility 
 of doubt, "answered she. "It hath come 
 to my uncle's ears that you are not what 
 you have given out ; and he hath it 
 from such authority as hath proved it to 
 his satisfaction." 
 
 " Ha !" cried he, looking amazing con- 
 fused. 
 
 " It hath been said," continued Alice, 
 " that instead of being one of an ancient 
 family, as you have said, that came in 
 with William the Conqueror, or a long 
 time before, many of whom have been 
 exceeding notable, you are nothing better 
 than the son of a pitiful poor rat-catcher, 
 and have yourself lived by the catching 
 of rats, till a miserly kinsman left you 
 his property, and you thought of passing 
 yourself off far a gentleman born. Now, 
 although the catching of rats be doubt- 
 less an honorable occupation, my uncle 
 is in a very tearing rage with you, for not 
 having let him know you had aught to 
 do with it; and mayhap it shall be 
 thought notable enough to have one's 
 grandfather hanged for the cutting of a 
 purse, yet my uncle is in a monstrous 
 ugly humor with you for keeping him in 
 ignorance you had any such in your fam- 
 ily. Whereof the consequence is, that 
 he hath ordered two of our serving-men, 
 with cudgels as thick as is my arm, to 
 wait for you upon your leaving this room, 
 and not to leave you till they have broke 
 every bone of your body." 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! oh, Lord !" exclaimed the 
 now terrified rat-catcher, after having 
 listened to Alice's statement with a coun- 
 tenance expressive of the absolutest alarm 
 that ever was witnessed. " Oh, Mistress 
 Alice !" continued he, now dropping on 
 both his knees, seemingly to implore her 
 clemency, " save me from these villanous 
 serving-men ! Everything you have said 
 be as true as that rats will not be caught 
 if they can help it. Save me, I pray 
 you, Mistress Alice !" 
 
 " They have cudgels as thick as my 
 arm, I tell you," said she. 
 
 " Oh, where can I hide me !" he cried, 
 looking about him in a terrible frantic 
 manner. 
 
 " I heard him tell them to be particu- 
 lar in not leaving a bone unbroke in your 
 whole body," replied Alice. 
 
 "Alack, I shall be clean murdered' 
 How shall I escape ? I pray you, assist
 
 226 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 me, or these bloody-minded villains of 
 serving-men will be the death of me." 
 
 "Canst get up the chimney?" asked 
 his fair companion. 
 
 " Nay, the fire would scorch me to a 
 cinder presently," answered he, in an in- 
 finite moving Voice. " Is there no closet 
 I can creep into ?" And then he ran 
 about the room distractedly, poking of 
 his head here and there to see where he 
 could hide himself. 
 
 No, Master Aniseed, there is no place 
 of any kind where 'twould be safe to con- 
 ceal yourself in," observed the other. 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! oh, Lord ! If ever I get 
 myself out of this with a whole skin, I 
 will straightway give up playing of the 
 gentleman, and take again to the catch- 
 ing of rats. Oh, how can I escape ?" 
 
 " Canst jump out of this window ?" in- 
 quired Alice, throwing open a window 
 that looked into the park. 
 
 " "Tis a fearful height!" replied he, 
 as he gazed upon the distance that lay 
 between the room and the ground, which 
 was some ten or twelve feet. " I must 
 needs break my neck if I attempt it.'' 
 
 " Alack ! there is my uncle's voice !" 
 cried she. "I hear him nigh the door, 
 urging the serving-men to enter the room 
 and seize on you." Alice had scarce said 
 the words when Master Aniseed, without 
 venturing of another word, jumped him- 
 self out of the window, and finding him- 
 self unhurt when he got to the ground, 
 he sat off at such a tearing pace that he 
 was soon far enough out of sight. 
 
 " Oh, Alice ! Alice ! what a mad wench 
 thou art!" exclaimed her uncle, at her 
 elbow, looking as if he had found won- 
 derful amusement in what he had heard. 
 'But how didst come to find this out?" 
 
 " That it matters not you should learn, 
 good uncle," replied she shutting down 
 the window with an exceeding arch look. 
 " But haste back to your hiding ; there is 
 another yet to come, who is the goodli- 
 est fool of all the lot, and methinks I 
 hear him approaching." Sir Nicholas 
 made two or three hasty strides and re- 
 treated to the arras. The door opening 
 at this time, Stephen announced Sir Nar- 
 cissus Wrinkles. "Ha !" cried he lusti- 
 ly, hitting of his hand against his leg, as 
 soon as he stood within the door, " by 
 Cerberus and his three heads, you look 
 lovelier than ever I saw you. But my 
 young blood will not allow "me to stay at 
 this distance when so tempting an object 
 can be approached as closely as may be." 
 And straightway flinging of his hat in a 
 chair, he gave a short, quick run, like 
 
 unto a cow's gallop, was at her side in 3 
 moment, and instantly took her hand very 
 gallantly, with a look so marvellously 
 tender she was obliged to turn her head 
 on one side she could not look upon him 
 seriously. 
 
 " By Erebus and gloomy Styx !" he 
 continued, " my heart be overflowing with 
 extreme love for you, exquisite Mistress 
 Alice ! By day you do engross my 
 thoughts, and by night all my dreams be 
 of you and of none other. My youth is 
 wasted away in sighs. I shall grow old 
 before I can well call myself a man. In 
 truth, my delicate sweet creature, if I am 
 not this day made as blessed as I expect 
 to be, I can not be long for this world. I 
 must needs die in my prime, like a bud 
 stricken with the worm." 
 
 " How is your sciatica ?" inquired Alice 
 in some sort of earnestness. 
 
 "Eh? what sayest?" asked Sir Nar- 
 cissus, looking as if he was striving to 
 appear not to understand the question. 
 
 " How is your sciatica, Sir Narcissus ?" 
 repeated his merry companion still with 
 a famous gravity. 
 
 "Sciatica? sciatica? what sciatica, I 
 pray you ?" inquired the old knight, red- 
 dening a little in the face, for all his 
 seeming to be unconcerned. 
 
 "I did hear you were lately laid up 
 with the sciatica very badly," replied she. 
 
 " A good jest ! By Castor and Pollux, 
 an excellent good jest !" cried Sir Narcis- 
 sus laughing, as if he really had some- 
 thing to laugh about, " an excellent good 
 jest indeed. The sciatica ! I have the 
 sciatica ! At my time of life too! Well, 
 it be infinitely droll." Then he laughed 
 again more famously than at first. " Now 
 it is well known that for a strong back 
 and loins there is scarce my match to be 
 found. There, Mistress Alice is that a 
 back for the sciatica ?" And thereupon 
 he turned his back upon her, which was 
 certainly of a more than ordinary breadth. 
 "I should like to see the sciatica which 
 could touch such a back as that." 
 
 " Methinks of late you have shown 
 yourself monstrously afraid of stooping,' 
 observed Alice, still keeping on an ex- 
 ceeding seriousness. 
 
 " 7 afraid of stooping !" cried the old 
 knight in a seeming wonder. " By Apollc 
 and all the Nine, better and better ! Why, 
 it can be scarce a week since, for a tri- 
 fling wager with a few youths about mine 
 own age, I did gather up a hundred 
 stones planted a yard apart, and stooped 
 and picked up every one separately, and 
 did place it in a basket nigh unto the
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 227 
 
 first Nothing but the marvellous fine 
 back I have could have stood such infi- 
 nite stooping." 
 
 At this moment Alice dropped her 
 pocket-handkerchief on the floor as if it 
 was an accident. Sir Narcissus Wrink- 
 les presently stooped to pick it up, but 
 he had bent his body but a little way be- 
 fore he suddenly drew himself up again, 
 putting both his hands to his back, and 
 making a face as if he had swallowed 
 vinegar by mistake for wine. 
 
 " My handkerchief, Sir Narcissus," said 
 his waggish companion as gravely as she 
 could. 
 
 The old gallant stooped again, bend- 
 ing himself very slowly, and evidently 
 with extremes! difficulty and pain, and 
 got his hand within a few inches of 
 the handkerchief, when with a long- 
 drawn '' whew !" he drew himself up 
 more quickly than before, showing of a 
 face that outglowed the poppy in red- 
 ness, and distorted into an expression so 
 painful, it was moving to look at it. 
 
 "I marvel you should keep me wait- 
 ing, Sir Narcissus !" exclaimed Alice, as 
 it seemed a little out of temper, though if 
 was apparent in the corners of her eyes she 
 was in as fine a humor as ever she was. 
 
 " Believe me, I have the terriblest 
 stitch in my side, Mistress Alice" 
 
 " Are you sure it be not the sciatica?" 
 inquired she, interrupting of him with a 
 wonderful seriousness. 
 
 " By Pluto, that be utterly impossible !" 
 exclaimed he in a great urgency. " The 
 sciatica troubleth only old men, and the 
 stitch attacketh none but the stronger and 
 more youthful sort." 
 
 " Well, if it be not the sciatica, get me 
 my handkerchief, I pray you," said Alice. 
 
 Sir Narcissus once more stooped down, 
 but more slowly than ever, and doubtless 
 with an infinite share of suffering. It 
 was evident he was straining famously, 
 bending of his back and stretching out 
 his arm to reach what he sought to have 
 hold of. There it lay, within an inch or 
 two of his fingers, and for the soul of 
 him he found he could not bend his back 
 another inch. It appeared to him as if a 
 river of molten brass was rushing into 
 his head, and a thousand imps of dark- 
 ness were amusing themselves by stick- 
 ing red-hot skewers into his loins. Feel- 
 ing that to endure this another minute was 
 beyond the power of human forbearance, 
 and believing that if he failed in picking 
 up the handkerchief the truth would be 
 known, and he should lose his mistress, 
 he summoned up all his remaining strengh j 
 
 into one great effort, and made a sudden 
 dart at the object he was so desirous of 
 gaining. That he grasped it firm is most 
 true, but alack ! he lost his balance, and 
 the next moment lay his length upon the 
 floor. 
 
 " Why, Sir Narcissus ! methinks you 
 have had a cruel tumble !" exclaimed 
 Alice, doing all she could to restrain her 
 mirth. 
 
 " Nay, it be only the slipping of my 
 foot," replied the old knight, striving to 
 take it very indifferently. Sir Narcissus 
 by means of his hands raised himself 
 upon his knees, and then began earnestly 
 attempting to get upon his feet, but the 
 first essay he made down went he upon 
 his hands and knees again with some- 
 thing very like a groan. 
 
 " Oh, I have the cursedest stitch in my 
 side that" 
 
 " To me it looketh exceeding like the 
 sciatica," observed his merry companion. 
 
 " A thousand furies !" cried the old 
 knight in some vexation. " I tell you, 
 Mistress Alice, the sciatica troubleth old 
 men only. It can have naught to do with 
 us youth." 
 
 " Well, get you up quickly then," said 
 she as seriously as she might. " Yet it 
 seemeth marvellous strange to me, that 
 one who hath so lately stooped to pick 
 up a hundred stones can n'ot now do so 
 easy a thing as pick up himself." 
 
 " Nay if it were not for this villanous 
 stitch, I would have been up on the in- 
 stant," replied he, and then he began 
 again seeking to raise him. For all that he 
 seemed to take such wondrous pains to 
 succeed in what he was about, down he 
 came the moment he sought to get foot- 
 ing on the floor. He tried once more, 
 with more care than at first, and again 
 he tumbled. At this he swore most ve- 
 hemently by divers pagan names, and 
 recommenced his labor with all the vigor 
 he was master of, and down came he 
 again with such force it seemed enough 
 to knock the breath out of his body. 
 
 " Said you not a moment since, that 
 for a strong back and loins there was not 
 your match to be found ?" inquired Alice, 
 as innocently as you please. The OjUes- 
 tion appeared to have put Sir Narcissus 
 in a perfect fury, and he commenced so 
 desperate a scramble to get his footing 
 that he was like unto a madman. No 
 sooner did he tumble than he essayed to 
 rise ; the instant he thought himself on 
 his legs down tumbled he on his hands ; 
 and there he continued puffing, and groan- 
 ing, and sighing, and swearing, till he
 
 228 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 heard such sounds as made him desist of 
 a sudden. He turned himself round, and 
 to his extreme confusion he beheld his 
 fair mistress laughing at him to her heart's 
 content ; and her uncle close at hand 
 twisting of himself about with so exces- 
 sive a mirth thai the tears did rua down 
 his cheeks. Certes, if there ever was a 
 sight to laugh at in this world, Sir Nar- 
 cissus Wrinkles, as he then sat on the 
 floor, was of that sort. In his furious 
 scrambling he had knocked his periwig 
 on one side, which gave to his face, 
 which was of a very fiery color, so lu- 
 dicrous an expression, that the rage he 
 was in only made the more laughable. 
 
 " Oh ! these man-animals !" cried Alice, 
 seemingly half choked with excess of 
 mirth. 
 
 " Alack, Sir Narcissus !" exclaimed Sir 
 Nicholas; but what more he would have 
 said was stifled in a fit of laughter. The 
 old gallant uttered not a word, nor moved 
 from his position ; but looked on the two 
 with a countenance so exquisitely foolish, 
 that the gravest could scarce have gazed 
 on it unmoved. 
 
 ' Now, Sir Narcissus, what think you 
 of yourselfl" said his fair companion, 
 endeavoring to recover her gravity. " Is 
 it not most preposterous in you, at your 
 time of life, to affect the gallant, and 
 seek to pass yourself off for one scarce- 
 ly arrived at years of discretion ? You 
 must needs be my husband, forsooth, 
 when you are nigh old enough to be my 
 grandfather ; you would attempt making 
 love when you ought to be saying of your 
 prayers. You would swear you were 
 monstrous strong, and of so fine a consti- 
 tution, the like was never met with, when 
 you can not stoop without tumbling, 
 and have so confirmed a sciatica, you 
 can not raise yourself from the floor strive 
 you ever so. By my troth, I thought nol 
 there were such old fools in the world ! 
 But I beg I may see no more of you. 1 
 would as soon wed a superannuated bab- 
 oon as take for my husband so monstrous a 
 piece of folly as yourself. Fare you well, 
 Sir Narcissus, and be sure not to stoop' 
 
 Here she was stopped in her speech 
 
 for the old gallant had, since she spoke 
 began to make so ridiculous a face, which 
 grew more ludicrous every minute, thai 
 she could gaze on him no longer, anc 
 hurried out of the room in a violent fit 01 
 laughter. 
 
 Leaving Sir Narcissus to be lifted up 
 by Stephen and Sir Nicholas, which was 
 done without his saying ever a word, he 
 was so crest-fallen he scarce attempted 
 
 breathe till he got out of the house, the 
 :ourteous reader must follow the merry 
 Alice to the chamber in which she had 
 
 eft Dame Elizabeth. There she found 
 ler, with the boy still asleep in her arms, 
 and with tears straggling upon her deli- 
 ate countenance. 
 
 " O'my life, Bess, it be exceeding un- 
 und of thee to fret in this way, ex- 
 claimed her cousin, as she hurried to her, 
 wiped away her tears, and affectionately 
 iissed her cheek. " I tell thee he will re- 
 turn anon: there can not be a doubt of it." 
 
 " I feel assured some harm hath hap- 
 pened to him, else would he have been 
 here long since," replied the fond wife, 
 very dolefully. 
 
 ' Believe it on no account, dear Bess,'* 
 said the other, " it be the very falsest, 
 wretchedest stuff that ever was thought 
 of: it doth not deserve credit of any. I 
 would not put trust in it, were it ever so. 
 The rather believe that he is speeding 
 back, after having met with wonderful 
 success in his expedition, and that he 
 careth for naught so much as the sight of 
 his dear sweet excellent good wife." 
 
 " I wish I could think so, Alice," ex- 
 claimed her companion, with a profound 
 sigh. 
 
 "And why not think so?" inquired her 
 merry cousin. " Methinks it be far better 
 thinking than the other. For mine own 
 part, I would be hanged before I would 
 allow of such paltry poor thoughts to fret 
 me as thou hast. It can not be other than 
 
 1 say, so no more of this moping. Be 
 happy as I am. I tell thee what, Bess, 
 I have got rid of all my lovers, and they 
 were every one of them so excellently 
 well served of me, sight of any of them 
 shall I never see again, I will be bound 
 for it. Oh ! it was such exquisite fine 
 sport ! I will tell thee how famously I 
 managed." Here the promised narration 
 was completely put a stop to, by Dame 
 Elizabeth giving a loud scream, which 
 awoke the child out of its sleep, and her 
 countenance became all at once lighted 
 Op by a wonderful exultation. 
 
 " Bess ! Bess !" cried Alice, looking 
 upon her in some alarm, "what aileth 
 thee?" 
 
 " 'Tis his voice !'' exclaimed the other, 
 gasping so for breath she could scarce 
 speak the words. 
 
 " 0' my life thou art crazed," replied 
 her cousin ; " there is no voice of any 
 kind as I can hear." 
 
 " Oh ! I would swear to it," cried the 
 devoted wife, with a very touching em- 
 phasis ; " there can not be such another.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 229 
 
 Here, take the boy. I will see. I can 
 }ot tarry here a moment longer." 
 
 " Bese ! Bess! if thou goest on at this 
 rate, thou wilt break my heart," cried 
 Alice, who was fully convinced her com- 
 panion was distracted. " Whose voice 
 dost fancy thou hearest ?" 
 
 " His that I love better than all voices 
 in the world," said Dame Elizabeth, fer- 
 vently, as she stood up with her boy in 
 her arms. " 'Tis Walter! 'tis he beyond 
 all doubt. I hear him in the hall, greet- 
 ing Stephen and my uncle." 
 
 " Methinks I do hear something now," 
 observed her cousin ; " but be calm, dear 
 Bess. If 'tis he, he will be here on the 
 instant." 
 
 The words had scarce been said, when 
 a quick footstep was heard, and in an- 
 other moment Sir Walter Raleigh was 
 locked within the embraces of his wife 
 and child. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
 Thou wouldst as soon go kindle (Ire with snow, 
 As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Alas ! the snow, black shall it be and scalding. 
 The sea waterless, and fish upon the mountain, 
 The Thames shall back return into his fountain, 
 And where he rose, the sun shall take lodging, 
 Ere I in this find peace or quietness. 
 
 SIR THOMAS WYATT. 
 
 My suit is, 
 
 That you would quit your shoulders of a burthen, 
 Under whose ponderous weight you wilfully 
 Have too long groaned to cast those fetters off 
 With which, with your own hands, you chain your 
 freedom. MASSINOKK. 
 
 "'Tis exceeding strange, this story of 
 Joanna," observed Master Shakspeare, 
 as he sat in his lodging, with Master 
 Francis, opposite a famous fire. " I 
 scarce know what to think of her: but 
 how behaved she upon the discovery of 
 herself?" 
 
 " More strangely than ever," replied 
 Master Francis. " When she recovered 
 consciousness, I had got her off her horse, 
 and she was reclining in my arms, as I 
 stood upon the ground; and the moment 
 she found she was known, she tore her- 
 self from me, with an appearance of ex- 
 treme confusion, and as it did appear to 
 me, in some sort of horror. Upon this I 
 did n<e no lack of entreaty she would be 
 calm, and allow of my showing her such 
 attentions as my affection for her prompt- 
 ed ; fur in truth the knowledge that it 
 was to her I was indebted for my deliv- 
 erance from being made a sacrifice to the 
 
 Indian idol, put every feeling of resent- 
 ment against her out of my heart, and I 
 could on the instant have loved her as 
 madly as ever. But when I attempted 
 to approach her, she put up her hands, 
 and averted her face, and begged of me not 
 to come nigh her, with so wonderful an 
 earnestness, that I was quite moved at it. 
 Still imagining only that she did this on 
 account of the attempt on my life, to 
 show how ashamed and horrified she 
 was with herself for the acting of so 
 monstrous a thing, I assured her I was 
 willing to forget all that was past ; and 
 believing from what she had lately done, 
 that I had misjudged her, I told her, if 
 she would allow of it, my future conduct 
 should prove the sincerity of my affec- 
 tion. 1 was approaching to take her 
 hand, when, as if in a very monstrous 
 alarm, she fell on her knees before me, 
 and implored me not to touch her. I 
 knew not what to make of it ; and whilst 
 I hesitated, she, in the same wild man- 
 ner, seeming as if she knew not what 
 she was saying, prayed 1 would not come 
 nigh her, or seek to have speech with her 
 till the morrow, when she would ac- 
 quaint me with all I had a mind to 
 know. Seeing the dreadful state of ex- 
 citement she was in, and that to persist 
 in my intentions would only the more in- 
 crease it, I agreed to what she said, and 
 on leaving her to the care of the young 
 prince, I presently mounted my horse, 
 and rode forward at the head of the es- 
 cort, leaving the others to follow. 
 
 " Most religiously did I keep my prom- 
 ise ; for I never so much as looked tow- 
 ard where she was the whole of the day, 
 but rode along marvelling at her conduct 
 more and more every minute, and think- 
 ing of what she must have suffered in 
 travelling so far for my rescue, and won- 
 dering and imagining till I got myself 
 into a complete perplexity. Toward the 
 evening we arrived at the very village 
 nigh which I had been kidnapped by 
 that villanous Padre Bartolome. We 
 were as well entertained of the natives as 
 formerly, and as soon as I could I took 
 myself off to rest; but sleep got I none 
 all the night for thinking of Joanna, and 
 from the very absolute impatience I was 
 in to see her, and hear the explanation 
 she had promised me. In the morning, 
 as soon as might be, I hied me to Pomar- 
 ra, that he might get me speech of her. 
 Upon inquiry, 1 heard to my exceeding 
 trouble and astonishment, she had gone 
 from the village, and that I must never 
 expect to meet with her again."
 
 230 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Left she no message ?" inquired Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare. 
 
 "Indeed did she," replied his com- 
 panion. " Her message was that 'twould 
 be useless my attempting to follow, or 
 make any inquiry after her, as it was her 
 determination never to see me again ; and 
 though she wished me every blessing that 
 this world could give, she assured me 
 that nothing was so like to secure my 
 happiness as the complete forgetting that 
 there ever existed so miserable a creature 
 as was herself." 
 
 " That is marvellous strange !" exclaim- 
 ed the other, and he seemed to be con- 
 sidering the matter very intently. 
 
 "I questioned the young prince and 
 Harry Daring, what they knew of her," 
 continued Master Francis. "From the 
 former I found that she had told him how 
 much I was in her regard when she 
 sought his assistance to go in search of 
 me, at which time she had begged his 
 secresy, the which he kept with all possi- 
 ble caution up to the last moment ; but 
 Harry had never had the slightest sus- 
 picion that she was any other than an 
 Indian woman, till I took the muffler 
 from about her face, though he could not 
 help believing, from her ready seeking 
 of such perils as they encountered in their 
 journey, that she had a wonderful liking 
 for me/' 
 
 " And you know not how she got into 
 the country ?" inquired Master Shak- 
 speare. 
 
 " Not a word of it," replied his com- 
 panion. " That morning, hearing' that 
 Sir Walter Raleigh had been the day be- 
 fore at a village a few miles above where 
 we were, I, thinking my duty to my 
 patron ought to be the first consideration, 
 took measures for my immediate depar- 
 ture, and parting with Pomarra with 
 great regret, because of his many com- 
 mendable qualities, and the exceeding 
 generousness of his behavior, I and Harry 
 Daring got into a canoe with two strong 
 Indians and such things as we had given 
 us of the king of Guiana, and a famous 
 plenty of victual of all kinds, and rowed 
 down the stream till we came into the 
 great bed of the Orinoco. There we had 
 scarce got when, to our wonderful con- 
 tentment, we observed the barges and the 
 wherries all lying pretty close unto each 
 other, approaching us at a fair rate. That 
 Sir Walter was glad of our coming, whom 
 he had long given up for lost, is to say 
 too little. No father seemed so pleased 
 at the return of a dear son after the ab- 
 sence of many years ; and so little diffi- 
 
 culty had I in making Hariy's peace with 
 him for his desertion, that ne was taken 
 into greater favor, and promoted to a much 
 higher rank than what he had held. 
 When we got to our ships, I was so con- 
 stantly with Sir Walter, he asking of me 
 what I had seen, and telling me what had 
 befell him since we parted, and I writing 
 at his dictation whatsoever he thought 
 necessary for the goodly work concern- 
 ing of the expedition that is now about 
 to be published, I had but little time to 
 think of Joanna, and when that I did 
 think, I got myself into so strange a per- 
 plexity, that methinks, for all the good 
 I had of it, I had as well let it alone." 
 
 " Hast never heard or seen aught of her 
 since ?" inquired Master Shakspeare. 
 
 "Never," replied the other. " I know 
 not where she is or what hath become 
 of her. What dost think of it, Master 
 Shakspeare ? I would be loath to con- 
 demn her without good warrant, seeing 
 that she hath ventured so much for my 
 safety ; but there hath been such a strange- 
 ness in her proceedings that I like it not, 
 however grateful I may be for the peril 
 she hath undergone for my sa-ke." 
 
 "Her behavior is involved in some 
 mystery, certainly," replied his compan- 
 ion, with such concern in his countenance 
 as showed he had his young friend's in- 
 terest at heart in what he was saying, yet 
 wished to make the matter appear better 
 than he thought it was, knowing of the 
 extreme sensitiveness of the other's na- 
 ture. " From what I have seen and 
 heard of her, I can in no way be brought 
 to approve of her conduct. Perchance 
 there shall be found such reason for it, 
 as may give it a different coloring to what 
 it hath possessed in my mind. I hope it 
 may. It appeareth to me that she is of 
 a disposition that delighteth in violent 
 extremes, and one that no man could be 
 happy with for long. In this is there no 
 sense of justice either for herself, or for 
 any other ; and that nature can not be of 
 any real goodness where such a sen-e be 
 absent. As for her perilous journey in 
 search of you, and many other things you 
 have told me of, done previously by her, 
 they doubtless exhibit a greatness of soul 
 which might counterbalance much be- 
 havior of a meaner quality ; yet, as it is 
 evident she desireth you to forget her, for 
 which it be reasonable enough to imagine 
 she hath some sufficient cause, I would 
 advise you to think of her no more. In 
 my mind, it is much the properest thing 
 you can do." 
 
 "Ah, Master Shakspeare ! I would i
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 231 
 
 were the easiest!" exclaimed Master 
 Francis. 
 
 " Of its difficulty am I well convinced," 
 added the other. " When the heart haih 
 fixed itself upon one, and hath for any 
 length of time lived in the express con- 
 viction that the one so loved is the chief- 
 est of all for excellence, it be in no sort an 
 easy matter to throw off all thought and 
 feeling upon the subject. Yet where it 
 must be evident upon the very slightest 
 consideration that no good can come of 
 any further affection, or there be no 
 longer cause for such honorable opinion, 
 methinks it is the part of every wise man 
 to endeavor to free himself from the do- 
 minion of such unprofitable impressions. 
 Occupation, perhaps, more than any other 
 thing, tendeth to this end. I am glad to 
 find, notwithstanding your labors for Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, you have used such op- 
 portunity as you had for Avooing of the 
 Muses. I know your talents to be of no 
 ordinary kind ; and I do anticipate from 
 the play you have brought me for my 
 opinion, such gratification as I have not 
 received from the perusal of any." 
 
 " I am fearful you will be disap- 
 pointed," observed Master Francis mod- 
 estly. "It is true I have taken what 
 pains I could with it; but after reading 
 or seeing of any of your productions, 
 what I was about seemed to them of so 
 poor a character, that I left off more than 
 once in despair of ever doing anything 
 that would be fit to be seen by you. To- 
 day it did strike me there could be no 
 harm in letting you have sight of it 
 knowing the wonderful liberality of your 
 nature therefore carried I the manu- 
 script in my hand with me." 
 
 " I am heartily arlad you have done so, 
 and will lose no time in its examination," 
 replied Master Shakspeare, and then 
 added he in a manner that showed he 
 felt great concern in what he said "Ex- 
 cuse me if I be trespassing, but I have 
 an exceeding desire to know whether you ! 
 have yet learned anything authentic con- 
 cerning of your father?" 
 
 " I know no more than I have told you 
 of," answered his companion. " I have 
 long wished to have speech with Hold- 
 fast, or at least to know in what circum- 
 stances he is, for it be like enough I might ! 
 now do him some service; yet save his' 
 being a preacher among the puritans, and ! 
 doth occasionally hold forth in Moorfields. I 
 I have heard naught of him to this day." 
 
 "I can not but applaud your desire to 
 better him, if bettering he wants," ob- 
 served the other. " Yet must I say, he 
 
 deservelh but little at your hands. It is 
 plain enough he hath deserted you most 
 infamously, and that he at all troubleth 
 his head ahout you, I can not believe." 
 
 " No matter, Master Shakspeare !" ex- 
 claimed Master Francis. "Though he 
 hath been no father to me, methinks that 
 should not release me from being a son 
 to him ; beside, if he be conscientious in 
 the opinions he hath embraced, he may 
 have become a good man such as would 
 be a pleasure to me to own as a parent. 
 Mayhap though, he would be all the 
 more inclined to think it a disgrace to 
 own me as a child." 
 
 "Nay, it must be impossible for any 
 man, were his rank of the highest, to 
 feel disparagement in acknowledging one 
 of your merit," replied Master Shak- 
 speare affectionately. "I know not the 
 father who ought not to be proud of such 
 a son." 
 
 " 'Tis your infinite kindness that lead- 
 eth you to say so," observed his young 
 friend with a heartfelt look of thankful- 
 ness. 
 
 " 0' my life, I would be right glad in- 
 deed, and proud too, were you" son of 
 mine," cried the other. 
 
 "And what pride would be mine to 
 boast of such a father !" exclaimed Mas- 
 ter Francis with marvellous earnestness. 
 "Indeed, Master Shakspeare, I know 
 not whether it be a weakness or what it 
 be, but. I have grown up in the belief 
 that I was of honorable birth. What 
 little I knew of my parentage, fixed in 
 me from mine infancy a kope that the 
 mystery which enveloped my father's 
 name would one day or other be cleared 
 to my own satisfaction and my mother's 
 credit, and that I should then obtain such 
 a name and station as might content my 
 ambition. I can not help it, but it hum- 
 bleth me to the very dust, to think that 
 my father hath been but a paltry cheater, 
 
 and my mother a" He was stopped 
 
 in his speech by a sort of choking which 
 made him unable to finish his sentence, 
 and his face became strangely pale and 
 distressed. 
 
 "Heed it not, Master Francis, I pray 
 you," said his companion as he went up 
 to him and kindly took him by the hand, 
 laying of his other hand upon his shoulder 
 whilst he stooped over him. " Though 
 they who seek the reputation of the 
 world must usually search after it with 
 such helps as the world affordeth, his 
 fame be much the most lasting and the 
 most worthy that hath had no other help 
 to gain it by than his own merit. There
 
 232 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 are many persons of worship in the place 
 of my birth who, because of their high 
 lineage and great possessions, have hith- 
 erto looked down upon me who have 
 none. Now it hath ever been my hope to 
 make my writings of such a sort, that in 
 the after time, the small town of Strat- 
 ford-upon-Avon, shall be considered of the 
 learned to have such greatness as the 
 greatest cities could not boast of, whilst 
 itspersonsofworshipshall beheldofnoac- 
 count, and I, whose humbleness they have 
 despised so much, shall be thought the 
 source from which all that giveth honor 
 to the place shall How. Try you, Master 
 Francis, to have some such a hope, and 
 I doubt not in the least, you will presently 
 care no more about your lineage than 
 do I." 
 
 "I should not care so much as I do," 
 added Master Francis, " were it not for 
 thinking that they among whom I now 
 associate on a footing of equality, may 
 sometime or other find out the meanness 
 of my birth, and then treat me with 
 indignity for presuming to mingle with 
 those above me, and for seeking to be 
 thought of some note when I was but 
 little better than an impostor." 
 
 Here the conversation was broken in 
 upon by the sudden appearance of Harry 
 Daring entering at the door, seeming, 
 from the laughing face he had, fresh from 
 some mischief. Certes, there was now 
 a wonderful alteration in him from what 
 he was when he was apprentice to the 
 barber-chirurgeon in Eastcheap. Though 
 he could not be called a man, he had 
 grown from the boy to be a youth coming 
 nigh unto manhood albeit he had no 
 beard as yet. Still was he more than a 
 head shorter than Master Francis, who 
 for gravity of deportment and elegance 
 of manner, was more a contrast to him 
 than otherwise. For all this hisfree-heart- 
 edness and his fearless look were the more 
 pleasant for a spice of roguery that might 
 oft be observed in it, which made him 
 quickly liked of all who met with him. 
 His countenance, from constant exposure 
 to the sun in a hot climate, had become 
 almost as brown as a berry, and for 
 strength of limb, it looked not as if he 
 were soon likely to meet with his match. 
 He was clothed in a handsome doublet 
 with a rapier at his side : with other of 
 the appurtenances of a gentleman, and a 
 hat and feather worn saucily on one side 
 of his head. 
 
 " Oh, Master Francis, I have had such 
 exquisite fine fun !*' exclaimed he, cast- 
 ing his hat on one side aud making him- 
 
 self quite at home by drawing of a chair 
 near the fire, on which he sat himself 
 down, chafing of his hands and looking 
 in a famous merry humor. 
 
 "What fun hast had, Harry?" in- 
 quired Master Shakspeare, who took a 
 huge delight in him. 
 
 " Oh, the very capitalest fun that ever 
 was," replied Harry. 
 
 "Prythee let us know of it," said the 
 other. 
 
 " That will I and gladly, Master Shak- 
 speare. You must know then, I started 
 off this forenoon from Durham house in- 
 tent upon calling on some of my old ac- 
 quaintances to show they were still re- 
 membered of me. Well, I made straight 
 for Eastcheap, and entered the well- 
 known shop where I was apprentice as I 
 have told you, and there I beheld every- 
 thing as if I had but left it yesterday, 
 with old Lather in it looking as pensive 
 as ever, holding of a disputation with 
 Master Tickletoby the schoolmaster, up- 
 on the merits of one Holdfast, a famous 
 preacher among the puritans, as I under- 
 stand from them." 
 
 "Ah! Didst say Holdfast, Harry?" 
 inquired Master Francis earnestly. " Dost 
 know where he may be met with ?" 
 
 " No, not of mine own knowledge ; 
 but I doubt not it may easily be found," 
 replied Harry Daring. 
 
 " It shall be inquired into anon, Master 
 Francis, be assured of it," said Master 
 Shakspeare. "But proceed, Harry." At 
 this Master Francis seemed satisfied, and 
 Harry continued his narration. 
 
 "Master Tickeltoby thinking me to be 
 a stranger, presently took his leave ; but 
 not before he had, with an abundance of 
 thanks for my courtesy, accepted an invi- 
 tation to dine with me at twelve o' the 
 clock, at the Mitre tavern in Fleet street. 
 Then sat I down in the old arm-chair, 
 and requested of old Lather in the court- 
 liest phrase I could think of, because I 
 wished not to be known of him, to do his 
 barber's office in the cutting and dressing 
 of my hair. He appeared not to have 
 the slightest suspicion as to who he had 
 got hold of, but evidently imagined me 
 to be a new customer, and was striving 
 his best to make me pleased with him. It 
 would have done your heart good, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, to have seen the absolute 
 gravity with which I sat at my ease 
 whilst he attended to me with as much 
 formality as if I had been one of the al- 
 dermen, ever and anon treating me with 
 some of the choicest of his Latin phrases, 
 with which he favored me with a trans-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 233 
 
 .ation that was, I will be bound for't, as 
 tnuch unlike the original as his extreme 
 ignorance of the matter could make it. 
 To this I usually replied as gravely as 
 you please, with some fine Latin of my 
 own making, to the which I appended 
 such a translation as I thought fit to give ; 
 and it was right famous sport to hear 
 how the old barber did commend my 
 scholarship.*' 
 
 " I doubt not it was droll enough," 
 observed Master Shakspeare, looking 
 amused at the idea of it. 
 
 " Then he fell to telling me the news," 
 continued Harry Daring. "And a fa- 
 mous intelligencer he proved himself. 
 What dost think he told me, Master 
 Francis ?" inquired he, seeming as though 
 he could scarce ask the question for 
 laughing. 
 
 " Indeed, I can not tell, Harry," replied 
 his friend. 
 
 " He said that Sir Walter Raleigh had 
 returned from his adventure in search of 
 the famous El Dorado," added the other. 
 " And that he knew for certain, for that 
 a creditable friend of his had had speech 
 with divers of the sailors, that besides Sir 
 Walter bringing home so much gold the 
 ships were like to have been sunk by the 
 weight of it, and conquering such a mul- 
 titude of kingdoms there was no naming 
 of them all in a summer's day, he had 
 mat with a strange people that had two 
 heads, one upon each shoulder, so conve- 
 niently placed that every one man among 
 them could see before and behind him at 
 the same moment of time, and some of 
 these he had brought with him to show 
 the queen's majesty, together with two 
 mermaids that could play marvellously 
 well on the cittern a real basilisk that 
 killed people by looking at them sun- 
 dry parrots as big as a Michaelmas goose, 
 that could speak several languages; and 
 a monstrous kind of nondescript that was 
 half a crocodile and half a monkey, and 
 was covered over with quills full of dead- 
 liest poison, that it would discharge 
 against all such as provoked it, and was 
 of so ravenous a nature that it would eat 
 a man at a meal." 
 
 "Truly, a horrid monster !" exclaimed 
 Master Shakspeare with a laugh. 
 
 " I listened to him as seriously as I 
 could," continued Harry, " and a famous 
 job it was to keep my countenance ; for 
 he did lay such stress upon the credible- 
 ness of the person who had told him these 
 wondrous tales, that I had much ado not 
 to laugh in his face. However, I not only 
 managed to hear it all out with a gravity 
 
 equal to his own, but at the conclusion 
 of it I assured him I had no doubt of 
 its truth, for I had heard much the same 
 from another quarter a person of the 
 strictest integrity, who was of the expe- 
 dition, and he moreover stated that in his 
 travels far into the interior of that won- 
 derful continent, he fell in with a nation 
 who were all barber-chirurgeons divers 
 of the boys being found pricking of cab- 
 bage-leaves, by way of learning to breathe 
 a vein others wrenching the teeth out 
 of some jaw that did belong to a calf's 
 head they had cooked for dinner, to be 
 for them a lesson in the extracting of 
 teeth some were seen curling of old 
 mops, and others shaving of dead pigs' 
 faces, which were to afford them a proper 
 familiarity with the offices of barbering : 
 and then the men were engaged as brisk 
 as so many bees in trimming of each oth- 
 er's beards, drawing of each other's teeth, 
 breathing of each other's veins, and curl- 
 ing, and shaving, and physicking of each 
 other after a fashion that was a marvel 
 to look upon. Oh, Master Shakspeare!" 
 exclaimed the young rogue, joining heart- 
 ily in the laugh of his companions, " nev- 
 er saw you a face in all your days so 
 astonished as looked that of Master 
 Lather upon the hearing of what I had 
 said." 
 
 " Methinks he had good cause for it," 
 observed Master Francis. 
 
 "His spectacles seemed ready to hop 
 off his nose with sheer wonder," contin- 
 ued Harry, " and mayhap had they done 
 so they would have taken themselves 
 down his throat, his mouth stood so invi- 
 tingly open. 'That exceedeth in strange- 
 ness aught that hath been told me, hon- 
 orable sir !' exelaimed he as soon as he 
 could speak. 'But, as Cicero hath it, 
 " Vox populi, vox Dei," which, as it 
 must be known to you, meaneth, " won- 
 ders will never cease."' True, Master 
 Barber, I replied ; and is it not writ in 
 Aristotle, ' hopped kicketi corum hie haec 
 hoc cum tickle me,' that is to say, 
 ' when barbers live at peace with each 
 other the world shall stand still to look at 
 the marvel.' ' Ay I remember that pas- 
 sage well,' exclaimed he, ' I have read it 
 in Aristotle scores of times.' " Here 
 again the mirth was loud and general. 
 Indeed it could scarce be otherwise, Har- 
 ry Daring did take off his old master after 
 so droll a fashion. 
 
 " After that I began to talk of appren- 
 tices," added he, " and innocently enough 
 inquired of him whether he had any. 
 Then he replied he bad one, an excel-
 
 334 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS'. 
 
 lent quiet lad, who was out on an errand, 
 whom he liked the more for that he was 
 of so different a sort to one he had before 
 had, who was ever a doing of some vile 
 mischief or another, that he became quite 
 the plague of the neighborhood. Upon 
 further questioning of him, he in the most 
 pathetic mutiner possible described what 
 he and others had suffered by what he 
 styled my pestilent humor, dwelling most 
 of all upon the villanous trick I had done 
 him before I quitted his dwelling, of mix- 
 ing his pharmaceutical preparations of 
 the most opposite natures, so that on ex- 
 amination of them it did puzzle his wits 
 to find out what he had hold of; and 
 placing of a shelf of gallipots so insecure, 
 that on his going to take one they all 
 tumbled down on him, and not only broke 
 themselves, but broke his head into the 
 bargain." 
 
 " That was too bad of you, Harry," ob- 
 served Master Shakspeare somewhat re- 
 provingly. 
 
 " So think I." said Master Francis. 
 
 " And so thought I," replied Harry 
 Daring, with more seriousness than he 
 had hitherto used. " Though I took it 
 to be good sport at the time it was done, 
 being exceeding thoughtless and mis- 
 chievous, it oft struck me after, it was a 
 great injustice; for, to say the truth of 
 him, old Lather had never been a bad 
 master to me; arid it was because I felt 
 I owed him amends for my many mis- 
 chiefs, I had then paid him a visit. 
 Thereupon I began telling of him that 
 in my travels I had fallen in with this 
 once mad apprentice of his, whose con- 
 science allowed him not to rest easy be- 
 cause of the wild pranks he had played 
 upon a kind and worthy master, and that 
 from a desire to remove the loss Master 
 Lather had suffered on account of them, 
 he had sent by me a purse of twenty gold 
 pieces ; which I then and there put into 
 his hand. At the sight of this, and at 
 what I had said, the old man looked as 
 though he could scarce believe his eyes 
 and ears. He stared at the purse, and 
 then at me, and then at the purse again ; 
 and then broke out into such commenda- 
 tion of me, vowing that for all my con- 
 tinual tricks he had ever loved me as a 
 son, that my heart was touched, and I 
 presently declared to him who I was. 
 This made him so beside himself with joy 
 and affectionateness, that in hugging me 
 in his arms he burned my ear with the 
 curling irons, till I cried so lustily he 
 jumped away from me in a complete 
 flight. The end of it was, before I left 
 
 him I made him promise to dine with me 
 at the Mitre." 
 
 " That was well done you, Harry," 
 exclaimed Master Shakspeare, who ap- 
 peared to be wonderfully pleased at what 
 he had heard. 
 
 " Indeed it was," added Master Francis 
 with the like cordiality. " But notwith- 
 standing of Harry's reckless mischiefs, I 
 would have vouched for the goodness of 
 his heart at any time." 
 
 " It be wondrous kind of you to say 
 that, Master Francis," replied Harry 
 Daring. " But the very truth is, I never 
 took any consideration of what I did ; 
 and if it promised to afford sport, I could 
 not fancy there could be harm in it. How- 
 ever, to return unto my story. I crossed 
 from old Lather's over to Geoffrey Sars- 
 net's. Instead of finding the jolly mercer 
 passing of his jokes with his own ready 
 laugh amongst three or four customers, 
 as of old, there was he, sadly reduced in 
 flesh, marching up and down the shop, 
 wringing of his hands, looking as dismal 
 as a dainty gallant in a shower of rain, 
 and swearing he was about to end his 
 days in the compter. He quickly told 
 me of his troubles, saying how his daugh- 
 ter had deprived him of his chiefest cus- 
 tomers by her undutiful reaving of the 
 house, and hinting that the ruining of 
 herself would have been no great matter, 
 but to ruin her father was most unnatural 
 and devilish. Having put him in a better 
 humor by purchasing of him a few things 
 I required, and letting him know who I 
 was, I made him also promise to dine 
 with me at the Mitre. I then started off 
 after some of my old cronies. Peter Per- 
 riwinkle, our neighbor the chandler's ap- 
 
 Erentice, I found making of farthing rush- 
 ghts down in the cellar; and when he 
 first caught sight of me in my fine apparel, 
 he was so wonder-struck he let all the 
 rushes fall into the tallow. I got a holy- 
 day for him without much to do, and bid- 
 ding him put on his Sunday jerkin, I told 
 him to be sure to be at the tavern by 
 twelve, which he readily promised. Then 
 posted I to long-legged Tom, the tailor's 
 son round the comer, upon whom I came 
 whilst he was being whapped by his 
 father for ill-stitching of a doublet. Nev- 
 ertheless, I soon managed to make peace 
 betwixt them, and was promised Tom's 
 attendance at the dinner. After that I 
 hied me to big Jack o' the Turnstile, 
 whom after some painstaking I found 
 sadly out at heart, and out at the elbows 
 too, because of his parents having latel) 
 died ejid left him to shift for himself as
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 235 
 
 he best could which in truth seemed to 
 me to be of the worst kind of shifting. 
 As soon as I heard his pitiful story, I 
 took him to a shop where clothes were 
 to be had ready made, and had him fitted 
 with a buckram suit, in the which he 
 looked to be so taken with himself I 
 thought I should never have got him 
 away from the glass." 
 
 "Be he so much a Narcissus, then ?" 
 inquired Master Shakspeare laughingly. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog, he was as ugly 
 a fellow to look upon as you may meet 
 wilh anywhere," replied Harry. " He 
 was pimple-nosed, wall-eyed, and bull- 
 headed, and had a twist in his mouth that 
 was as good as a joke to laugh at. It 
 may be supposed I had but small diffi- 
 culty in persuading him to dine with me, 
 seeing that for some time past he had been 
 made to forget that such things as dinners 
 had ever been invented. Coming back I 
 spied a wretched old fellow clothed in 
 rags picking up some sticks in the road. 
 I made up to him and gave him alms. On 
 his turning round to thank me,who should 
 it turn out to be but Gregory Vellum." 
 
 ' Is he so much in want ?" asked Mas- 
 ter Francis. 
 
 " Nay, he be in no want at all," an- 
 swered Harry. " On my making myself 
 known to him, he made a pathetic lamen- 
 tation upon the extravagance of people 
 leaving such fine pieces of wood to rot in 
 the streets, and straightway put the sticks 
 in one pocket, and the money I had given 
 him in another. Thinking to have some 
 sport, I did invite him also to the tavern, 
 of the which he eagerly availed himself." 
 
 " Asked he not after me ?" inquired his 
 nephew. 
 
 " Not one word," replied Harry, " his 
 speech was all a lamentation upon his 
 own poverty that I and many others 
 know to be nothing better than a sham. 
 Well, from him I went straight to the 
 Mitre, where there was a drawer of my 
 acquaintance, and him I ordered to get 
 ready as famous a dinner as the house 
 could afford, which was done to the in- 
 finite satisfaction of all I had invited, not 
 one of whom failed to attend. It did 
 amuse me famously to notice the atten- 
 tions paid to me by Master Tickletoby, 
 whom old Lather had informed who I 
 was, as they came along. He seemed 
 striving, by his commendations, to make 
 me forget he had given me the birch so I 
 oft. However, there I sat, king of the j 
 feast, making every one enjoy himself to | 
 his heart's content. Old Lather could ! 
 eat but little, he was so pleased. Geof- 
 
 frey Sarsnet seemed to forget he was so 
 nigh to the compter. Gregory Vellum 
 ate as if he meant to put provision in him 
 for a month, notwithstanding which I 
 spied him, when he thought none were 
 looking, stuffing what he could in his 
 pocket, to serve for another meal. Big 
 Jack o' the Turnstile, long-legged Tom, 
 the tailor's son round the corner, and 
 Peter Perriwinkle, our neighbor the 
 chandler's apprentice, rarely opened their 
 mouths save to put something in them. 
 Indeed, they looked wonderfully shy- 
 But when the wine had been on the table 
 a sufficient time (and though I took but 
 little myself, I caused it to be drunk of 
 others without stint), they three were the 
 noisiest of the whole lot. The jolly 
 mercer now became as jolly as ever, and 
 had his jest as ready as any, and his 
 laugh the loudest of all. From joking 
 they soon proceeded to singing. At first 
 it did require some pressing to get a song 
 out of either, but before long every one 
 was shouting of some ditty at the top of 
 his voice. Still I made the wine flow 
 down their throats as brisk as it could. 
 At last there was a scene which for ex- 
 quisite fine fun beateth all I ever met." 
 
 "By your description of it, it must 
 have been a droll company, indeed, Har- 
 ry," observed Master Shakspeare. 
 
 "But the best comes to be told," said 
 Harry Daring, laughing so he could scarce 
 get on. " There sat Master Tickletoby, 
 bol t upright in his chair, staring at me as 
 though he thought I was a ghost. Geof- 
 frey Sarsnet was snoring by the side of 
 him ; Big Jack o' the Turnstile was for 
 drubbing Peter Perriwinkle because he 
 would not allow that the son of a black- 
 smith was a better gentleman than a 
 chandler's apprentice ; but on his getting 
 up to have at him, he measured his 
 length on the floor, from which he made 
 no effort to rise. Long-legged Tom was 
 crying like a babe, and must needs think 
 of going home to his mother ; but on 
 making for the door he stumbled over 
 Big Jack o' the Turnstile, and there he 
 lay, unable to move; and Peter Perri- 
 winkle, hastening to pick him up, in a 
 trice was as badly off as the others. Old 
 Lather knelt in a corner of the room, 
 saying of his prayers over a basin, and 
 Gregory Vellum was singing of the hun- 
 dredth psalm whilst draining of an empty 
 bottle under the table." 
 
 "O'my life, a ridiculous scene!" ex- 
 claimed Master Shakspeare, who had 
 been famously amused by Harry's descrip- 
 tion of it, as was also Master Francis.
 
 236 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Then paying ni the drawer, I took 
 myself off," continued the other, " and 
 laughed right heartily the whole way I 
 came here, thinking of what sport I had 
 had with those I had left behind me. 
 Indeed, had you caught sight of Big 
 Jack o' the Turnstile, in his fine buckram 
 suit, looking as though he thought him- 
 self a lord, you would not have forgot it 
 in a hurry, I promise you. Then he 
 would commend the wine as being the 
 best he had ever tasted ; which was true 
 enough, for of such drink hitherto had 
 he known about as much as doth a blind 
 puppy of daylight." 
 
 " In truth, Harry, I would have given 
 something to have been of the party," 
 observed Master Shakspeare. " But I 
 must now have you both with me to the 
 playhouse," he added, as he rose from his 
 seat. His companions jumped up im- 
 mediately, and in a few minutes they 
 were proceeding together in the direc- 
 tion of the playhouse in the Blackfriars. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Ye have no cause to fear be bolde, 
 For ye may here lie uncontrouled. 
 And ye in this have good avauntage, 
 For lyeng is your comen usage. 
 
 JOHN HETWOOD. 
 
 Be of your patron's mind whate'erhe says, 
 Sleep very much, think little, and talk less ; 
 Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong, 
 But eat your pudding, fool, and hold your tongue. 
 
 PRIOR. 
 
 Noble friend, 
 
 You bind me ever to you : this shall stand 
 As the firm seal annexed to my hand. 
 
 WBBSTEB. 
 
 IT was some few weeks after the con- 
 versation related in the preceding chapter, 
 Sir Robert Cecil satin the armory at Bur- 
 leigh house, intent upon the perusing of 
 a goodly quarto volume. There sat a 
 devilish sneer upon his countenance the 
 whilst he turned over the pages, as if he 
 saw in them naught but matter for to be 
 despised ; and as he proceeded, he read 
 not as a student who hath any liking for 
 his subject, and goeth through it regular- 
 ly, but as one who dippeth into a book 
 only to find something he might cavil at, 
 and careth not to know more of it. In 
 this mood, and in this employment was 
 he, when the door opened and in walked 
 my Lord Henry Howard. 
 
 " Ever at study !" exclaimed he, as, 
 upon closing of the door carefully, he ad- 
 vanced cheerfully toward him. "Me- 
 thinks, one so learned in the natures of 
 
 men, need care but little for the learning 
 of books." 
 
 "I am but looking into this precious 
 work of Raleigh's," replied Sir Robert, 
 somewhat contemptuously. 
 
 "Ha!" cried the other, with a like 
 feeling. "What hath this right famous 
 discoverer of nothing, to say for himself? 
 Hath he described all the fine kingdoms 
 he meant to have conquered, had he been 
 allowed, or spoke of the wondrous riches 
 he would have brought home had they 
 fallen in his way ?" 
 
 " Pfaith you are not far off," answered 
 Cecil. " Tlie book, as much as I have 
 seen of it, is filled with nothing better 
 than marvellous descriptions. Here you 
 may meet with an exceeding tempting 
 account of some famous rich city there 
 whole pages concerning of an open coun- 
 try that beateth everything for fruitful- 
 ness a little further, gold and jewels lie 
 thick as blackberries in a hedge by-and- 
 by, you shall come to a plentiful lot of 
 monsters, and in the next place, count- 
 less multitudes of Indians, all sick to 
 have the queen of England for their 
 ruler." 
 
 " But what hath he done?" asked my 
 lord, sarcastically. 
 
 "Why, he hath spent all his money,'* 
 replied Sir Robert, and thereupon both 
 laughed heartily. " The book seemeth 
 to me to have been writ for the purpose 
 of bolstering up his reputation at court, 
 and to induce others, by its alluring rep- 
 resentations, to embark with him in an- 
 other adventure to the same place." 
 
 "As for his reputation at court," ob- 
 served his companion, " the result of this 
 expedition hath done for him in that 
 quarter. I have just left a circle of thosa 
 that have most constant access to the 
 queen, and rarely have I heard any one 
 so mauled as was this once-powerful Sir 
 Walter Raleigh. To be called a brag- 
 gart, an imposter, a mere adventurer, and 
 a writer of the very impudentest fables, 
 be the smallest part of what they said 
 of him. It is evident enough her majes- 
 ty holdeth him now in wonderful small 
 respect. As I have heard, she doth 
 scarcely notice his many cunning at- 
 tempts to get himself again in to her good 
 graces." 
 
 " 'Tis plain he would give his ears to 
 be in favor again," said the other; "he 
 hath here writ a pitiful dedication to my 
 lord admiral and myself, because we con- 
 tributed somewhat more largely than 
 others to his adventure. Little kuoweth 
 he how much the queen had to do in it.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 237 
 
 As I told you, he now taketh me to be 
 the powerfnlest friend he hath, and would 
 willingly move me to exercise my in- 
 fluence in his behalf, to get him again to 
 court. This would I willingly do, seeing 
 my own interest in it, but at present it is 
 scarce practicable ; for my Lord Essex 
 hath got such exceeding power with her 
 majesty, she careth not for Raleigh's 
 presence, and there are many about her 
 who, thinking to be in favor with her fa- 
 vorite, miss no opportunity of speaking 
 in disparagement of his rival." 
 
 " To say the truth, my Lord Essex hath 
 become so pestilent proud, there be no 
 bearing with him," observed the Lord 
 Howard. "Disliked I Raleigh less for 
 assuming so much of the oracle, I would 
 willingly assist in putting down the 
 other." 
 
 " That anon," replied Cecil significant- 
 ly ; " he seemeth to hold me of but little 
 account, yet have I managed so with the 
 queen, that she could not do without me 
 if she would ; and I doubt not, before 
 long, she will give me such a place of 
 trust as may in some measure reward me 
 for my painstaking." 
 
 " I'faith that be good news but how 
 didst manage it ?" inquired his com- 
 panion. 
 
 "I made myself useful to her," said 
 Sir Robert. " By means of my agents 
 abroad I gave her intelligence of what 
 was going on, before she could have a 
 notion of it from any other quarter ; and 
 this made her well pleased with me, for 
 she delighteth above all things to astonish 
 her ministers by seeming to know more 
 than they do, and thereby make them the 
 more on the alert to get knowledge of 
 such things. And then I have been ever 
 ready to do her bidding in matters in 
 which she could not safely have trusted 
 others. I have gone on secret messages 
 I have ridden hard and fast on long 
 journeys I have endured fatigue of body 
 and trouble of mind ventured into peril, 
 and suffered contumely, with as much 
 apparent cheerfulness of heart, as if I 
 took wonderful pleasure in it: and all to 
 obtain the queen's confidence." 
 
 " I heard say a short time since you 
 were gone on a special mission from her 
 majesty to the famous Dr. Dee," remark- 
 ed the other; "some said it Was that the 
 cunning man might consult the stars as 
 to whether it was propitious to attack the 
 Spaniards; others knew for certain you 
 were sent by the queen's command to 
 know if it would be safe for her to be let 
 blood ; and a few would have it, that it 
 
 being well known he had discovered the 
 philosopher's stone, her majesty was 
 monstrous eager to have the use of it." 
 
 "They knew but little of the matter," 
 replied Cecil. "The truth is, although 
 her majesty hath had great faith in the 
 knowledge of this wonderful astrologer 
 and alchymist ever since she commenced 
 her reign, when she had him consult the 
 stars for a propitious day' for her corona- 
 tion, his greatest value lieth in his excel- 
 lence as a secret intelligencer." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed my lord, in some 
 surprise, "doth the old conjuror play the 
 spy ?" 
 
 "None so well," answered his com- 
 panion; "his reputation for hermetical 
 learning giveth him great facilities for 
 acquiring information wherever he goeth ; 
 and this he turned to good account in his 
 visit to the court of Maximilian during 
 his travels in Germany while he stayed 
 with the palatine of Siradia, the king of 
 Bohemia, and a certain rich noble of his, 
 to all of whom the fame of his skill in 
 the transmutation of metals, the drawing 
 of horoscopes, the conversations with 
 spirits, and other of the like marvels, 
 recommended him ; and without exciting 
 of the slightest suspicion, he was enabled 
 to send such intelligence to the queen of 
 what was being done in these parts, as 
 was of infinite service to the state, and 
 proved of considerable advantage to hhn- 
 self. Somewhat in acknowledgment of 
 his scholarship, which out of all doubt 
 was more than the ordinary, and some- 
 what to show the queen's appreciation 
 of his services, which are considered to 
 be of the chiefest importance, he hath 
 lately been appointed warden of Man- 
 chester college; and it is there I have 
 been, by her majesty's order, to have 
 his opinion on how stand the stars af- 
 fected toward the French king's govern- 
 ment." 
 
 " How mean you to work upon Ra- 
 leigh ?" inquired the Lord Howard. 
 
 " 'Twould be impolitic at present to 
 move for his return to court," replied 
 Cecil. "I have a surer plan. I find that 
 the queen is bent upon some expedition 
 against the Spaniards which was sug- 
 gested to her some years since by Raleigh, 
 from the which it is not probable Essex 
 will be kept indeed, I know he is ex- 
 ceeding eager for it; and Raleigh' of 
 course will be among the commanders, 
 for the queen well knoweth his value on 
 such an occasion, and, in spite of any 
 prejudice she might have against him, 
 or favor for his rival, would see that be
 
 838 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 nad his proper place, well aware how 
 much it would tend to her advantage. 
 Now it may either happen in this way 
 Essex, by his notorious rashness, may 
 have the hap to get knocked on the head, 
 and so I get rid of him; or Raleigh, by 
 his superior knowledge and discretion in 
 warlike matters, may get such fame over 
 the other, that the queen could not avoid 
 having him again in favor. The latter 
 taketh me to be the best friend he hath, 
 as I expected ; and whilst I raise no sus- 
 picions of my real intentions, I doubt not 
 of being able to lead him as I please, till 
 such time as I may think it profitablest 
 to get rid of him. But the extreme 
 haughtiness of Essex maketh it impossi- 
 ble fur me to have any firm hold of him 
 by seeking to appear his friend ; therefore 
 there can be no way so certain of produ- 
 cing his downfall, as allowing it to come 
 of his own rashness in battle, or by the 
 natural hastiness of his temper, that will 
 exhibit itself in some way offensive to 
 the queen, if Raleigh be taken much 
 notice of by her." 
 
 " An excellent good plan," exclaimed 
 his companion ; " but how, if, during their 
 voyage together, they become great 
 friends ?" 
 
 " I have made them too jealous of each 
 other for that," replied Cecil : " beside 
 which I would take care Essex had round 
 him such persons as should, with as much 
 subtleness as might be possible, excite 
 and foster in him, who is easily worked 
 upon, an enmity of the other." 
 
 Thus these two crafty men proceeded. 
 Cecil, whose great cunning was not to 
 be equalled, developing his plans to my 
 Lord Howard, who was at all times his 
 willing agent and thorough parasite ; and 
 both determined to pursue those plans 
 with no other object than the advance- 
 ment of their own interests. After some 
 further parley upon the like confidential 
 matters, the Lord Howard took his leave, 
 to go on a message to the Lady Howard 
 of Walden. He had scarce gone when 
 a serving-man announced Sir Walter 
 Raleigh and Master Francis. 
 
 "Ha!" cried Sir Robert Cecil, rising 
 quickly. from his seat, and with an ap- 
 pearance of extreme cordiality, hurrying 
 toward Sir Walter to welcome him. 
 " Of all men living, you are he I most 
 wished to have sight of. I knew not 
 you were in London, else would I have 
 called at Durham house. Be seated, I 
 pray you." 
 
 "I arrived but last night," said Sir 
 Walter, with a like friendliness of man- 
 
 ner, but with much more sincerity of 
 heart; and then added, drawing his at- 
 tention to his companion " allow me tc 
 present to you my friend and secretary 
 Master Francis, whose worthiness I think 
 of so highly, that I would fain have oth- 
 ers prize it as much as myself." 
 
 " Master Francis, believe me I am in- 
 finitely glad to make your acquaintance," 
 observed Cecil, seemingly with an earnest 
 courtesy. One so famously commended 
 from so truly excellent a source, must 
 needs deserve all my regard ; and I shall 
 feel hurt if you do not make use of my 
 poor influence, if that it can advantage 
 you in any way." 
 
 " I thank you heartily, Sir Robert," 
 replied Master Francis, modestly. 
 
 "You see," cried Cecil to Sir Walter, 
 pointing to the open book on the table, 
 "I have been feasting my mind on your 
 right admirable work." 
 
 " Like you the matter of it ?" inquired 
 Raleigh. 
 
 "I like it so thoroughly that, in its 
 perusal, I have been bound, to the com- 
 plete forgetting of the most pressing 
 things," answered the other. " Indeed, 
 never read I anything I was so charmed 
 with. It containeth the very wonderful- 
 est accounts that ever were writ; and 
 proveth, beyond all I have known of you, 
 your perfect fitness, above any, as a com- 
 mander and discoverer of strange coun- 
 tries. Methinks we have a Columbus 
 now ; and I shall not rest satisfied till I 
 see you acknowledged as such. 0' my 
 life, it putteth me to the fret to see the 
 envy of base minds, that be ever busy in 
 undervaluing of your merit." 
 
 "If they find any pleasure in it, let 
 them," replied Sir "Walter. "I heed 
 them not. Nay, I look upon it as a sort 
 of justice, knowing there be some who 
 praise me greatly beyond my merits, that 
 there should be others who will allow 
 me no merit at all." 
 
 " But then to hear the things that be 
 said of you by such persons maketh me 
 clean out of all patience," added Sir 
 Robert. 
 
 " a fig's end for them !" cried Raleigh 
 contemptuously. "If any say aught 
 against me to my face my mouth shall 
 reply ; but if they must needs mutter their 
 slanders at my tail, I will answer in such 
 fashion as be good enough for them." 
 
 "Ah! 'tis but fitting they should be 
 despised of you," observed the other. 
 
 "Doth the queen stand in any way 
 better affected toward me, think you?" 
 asked Sir Walter.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 239 
 
 "I have lacked nothing in zeal, de- 
 pend on't," answered Cecil. "Indeed, I 
 have more than once done some hurt to 
 myself in becoming your advocate ; yet 
 that I cared not for. What grievelh me 
 so much is to see my hone,st pains come 
 to naught because of the shameful jeal- 
 ousy of some, who being in favor at 
 court, are ever prejudicing the queen 
 against you, out of fear you should come 
 and supplant them." 
 
 "Who are these you allude to?" in- 
 quired Raleigh. " If they be worthy of 
 any notice from me, I will presently let 
 them know what I think of them." 
 
 "Nay, I will name none," replied Sir 
 Robert. " I like not being a breeder of 
 mischief. 1 would rather assist in making 
 Vuu friends with all than foes with any. 
 I doubt not that before any very long 
 time, despite of the malice of your many 
 enemies, I shall succeed in my constant 
 endeavors to get you placed in such near- 
 ness to her majesty as your superiority in 
 all gallant accomplishments, and your 
 unrivalled experience in war and state 
 affairs deserve/' 
 
 "I am infinitely bound to you for the 
 many great kindnesses you have done 
 me," said Sir Walter earnestly. "I 
 should certainly feel more than ordinary 
 satisfaction in returning to the place I 
 held at court, were it only to prove to you 
 how grateful a sense I have of your ex- 
 treme friendliness." 
 
 " Mention it not, Sir Walter, I beg of 
 you," answered the other with an affec- 
 lation of marvellous disinterestedness. 
 " What 1 have done hath been from love 
 of your notable fine qualities of heart 
 and mind." Then turning to Master 
 Francis, who was examining a curious 
 piece of armor, he added " Dost not 
 think that suit of chainmail exceeding 
 singular, Master Francis ?" 
 
 "Truly, it doth seem of a most curious 
 fabric, Sir Robert," replied he. 
 
 " It belonged to a famous gallant war- 
 rior," continued Cecil. "His great bra ve- 
 ry and his wonderful knowledge attracted 
 general attention, and he was so much 
 prized that he became the particular as- 
 sociate of the prince he served, and of his 
 chiefest nobles. Although his many ex- 
 cellencies made him every man's praise, 
 none knew for certain of what family he 
 was, and as he had ever kept a mysieri- 
 ous silence on the matter, it was supposed 
 of some he was related to one who had 
 drawn odium on his name by treason-or 
 sacrilege. All believed him to be of high 
 birth, because of the princely manner in 
 
 which he bore himself, and the equality 
 with which he appeared to associate with 
 the priiice and his nobles; but upon its 
 being discovered that he was nothing bel- 
 ter than the base-born offspring of an iu- 
 trigue between two vulgar persons, the 
 scorn and contempt with which he was 
 immediately treated eve-i by the very 
 lowest man-at-arms, was such as his 
 proud spirit could not endure, and he 
 presently made away with himself- with 
 his own dagger." 
 
 Master Francis heard this account with 
 the very deepest interest, which increased 
 as it proceeded. He tried to look indif- 
 ferent, knowing that the gaze of the 
 ! speaker was upon him ; but the sudden 
 I burning of his cheeks, and the quick 
 flashing of his eyes, would have betrayed 
 j him to the most unobservant spectator. 
 I He felt convinced Sir Robert Cecil knew 
 | his history, and made up the story he 
 ; had told only to remind him of his dis- 
 j grace; and this conviction made him feel 
 I more ashamed of himself every moment. 
 Sir Walter Raleigh saw the confusion of 
 his secretary, and knew the cause of it, 
 and drew off the attention of Cecil as 
 quickly as he could by inquiring the his- 
 tory of some other piece of armor, and 
 then kept him in talk in a distant part of 
 the room till Master Francis had recov- 
 ered himself. Soon afterward, to his 
 secretary's extreme comfort, Sir Walter 
 took his leave. 
 
 Cecil was again alone. A sinile of 
 peculiar satisfaction was visible upon his 
 features as he sat for some minutes appa- 
 rently absorbed in thought. His quick 
 eye had noticed the change of counte- 
 nance in Master Francis, and he in a mo- 
 ment had a shrewd suspicion of the 
 truih ; but he soon dismissed the subject 
 as one unworthy of his consideration. 
 His thoughts were now fixed upon mat- 
 ters of far more moment to him, which 
 were no other than the different intrigues 
 in which he was engaged for the obtain- 
 ing of political power for himself, that 
 now, after so much patient plotting, 
 seemed about coming to a successful issue. 
 Whilst he was thus engaged, he heard 
 a tapping on the wainscot, that made him 
 hurry tc the sliding, panel elsewhere de- 
 scribed ; upon opening of which there 
 entered no other than my Lady Howard 
 of Walden, closely wrapped in a dainty 
 cloak, with a close hat and muffler. 
 
 "This is wondrous kind of you!" ex- 
 claimed Sir Robert, now casting aside 
 the absorbed politician for the devoted 
 lover, as he led the lady to a seat.
 
 240 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " I doubt you deserve I should have 
 such regard for you as to take this step," 
 replied she with an air of wonderful se- 
 riousness, as if she was in no way satis- 
 fied with what she was about. 
 
 " 0' my life, adorable sweet creature ! 
 you speak but too truly !" cried Cecil, 
 gazing upon her with most enamored eyes. 
 "What high desert would suffice for so 
 inestimable a thing as a proof of affec- 
 tion from one of so delicate a beauty as 
 my Lady Howard the admiration of the 
 whole court of England the envy of her 
 own sex, the delight of the other, and the 
 object of tbe very fondest idolatry to him 
 who is allowed the supreme felicity of 
 calling himself the humblest of her 
 slaves." 
 
 " Fie on you, for a flatterer !" exclaim- 
 ed her now smiling ladyship. 
 
 " Never was truer word spoke," replied 
 her lover, lowering his arm from her 
 shoulder, where it had rested a moment 
 since, to her waist, which it presently 
 encircled, as he knelt down on one knee 
 before her, and with his other hand took 
 one of hers and passionately pressed it 
 to his lips. " By this fair hand ! woman 
 have I never seen in any way fit to be 
 compared with you. For indeed, where 
 else shall I meet with eyes of so lustrous 
 a fire the glance whereof melteth one's 
 very heart away in gazing?" 
 
 " Methinks you shall easily find some 
 of a brighter kind," said his fair com- 
 panion, looking upon him with all the 
 brilliancy her eyes pos&essed. 
 
 "Be sure nature hath formed none 
 such," answered the other ; then, having 
 both arms round her waist, he added with 
 increased fervor ; " And where shall I 
 find me a form of such exquisite propor- 
 tions as this I hold in my loving embrace ? 
 Oh ! what rapture is mine thus to press to 
 my most devoted heart a creature whose 
 every limb hath such perfect grace in it 
 that angels might be drawn from Heaven 
 but to have sight of her perfections." 
 
 " Nay, in good truth you can not think 
 so," replied she, smiling upon him in 
 such a manner as showed she took huge 
 delight in what he had said. 
 
 " I swear it !" exclaimed Cecil very fer- 
 vently, and then raising of himself gradu- 
 ally, he continued Avith more fondness 
 than ever "And where shall I meet 
 with lips so deliciously smiling, and of so 
 tempting a ruddiness, that he who look- 
 eth on them unmoved must needs be lit- 
 tle better than a stone. Indeed, there is 
 in them so powerful an attraction that ! 
 with an influence it be impossible to re- j 
 
 sist, I find mine own drawn toward them 
 ay, even upon them !" 
 
 "O* my word now, Sir Robert! this 
 must not be !" cried his fair companion, 
 looking to be somewhat offended at the 
 liberty he was taking. 
 
 " Dear sweet excellent Lady How- 
 ard !" 
 
 " Nay, I can not allow it !" 
 
 "Most charming most admirable of 
 women !" 
 
 " Have done ! or I shall be vexed with 
 you presently." 
 
 11 Believe me it be nothing but the ex- 
 cess of my passion that no reason can 
 chain, no consideration destroy. I love 
 you, beautiful Lady Howard ! and whilst 
 I gaze on such incomparable charms as 
 those I press within my eager embrace, 
 I find exquisite cause for all I can say or 
 do. It could never be meant that such a 
 paragon of womanly grace should be the 
 monopoly of one who hath no proper ap- 
 preciation of your value. 'Twould be the 
 grossest injustice ever thought of were it 
 allowed. Throw not away so precious a 
 gift as yourself in such a manner I im- 
 plore you. I who long have worshipped 
 you I who have sighed in secret for you 
 year after year who live but in your 
 presence who think of naught, care for 
 naught, and wish for naught but your 
 own dear self I best deserve you. There- 
 lore, it be but in common justice, you 
 should make the treasure mine." 
 
 "Indeed, I must not suffer any such a 
 thing," replied her ladyship: neverthe- 
 less she did suffer it. It may to some seem 
 strange that a man like Sir Robert Ce- 
 cil, of exceeding unprepossessing appear- 
 ance, dwarfish in stature, and noted for 
 no gallant accomplishments, should play 
 the lover successfully with so attractive 
 a woman as my Lady Howard of Wai- 
 den. But he had so beguiling a tongue 
 that an angel might have been deceived 
 by him ; and it is a known fact that there 
 be some women of so base a nature (of 
 which sort was her ladyship out of all 
 doubt), that with them the fame of hon- 
 orable deeds, a true heart, or a mind 
 gifted with the rarest knowledge, would 
 have no chance ; whilst a wily tongue 
 that would sufficiently flatter their self- 
 love, no matter how crooked the body, or 
 how evil the disposition with which it 
 was accompanied, would win any such 
 with little trouble. The Lady Howard 
 had managed to conceal an intriguing 
 nature under a vast affectation of prudery 
 so well, that she was not suspected of 
 any ; and by her husband she was looked
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 241 
 
 Upon as the only truly virtuous woman 
 of his acquaintance. He was much older 
 than herself, yet was he ever playing the 
 gallant of some pretty woman, all the 
 While living in a monsirous fear that his 
 wife should get knowledge of it. She 
 and Cecil had been much together of 
 late. Each knew the usefulness of the 
 other : each was equally ambitious and 
 unprincipled. The one played the lover 
 to get the queen^s confidante in his pow- 
 er ; and the Lady Howard saw her own 
 advantage in having as her slave a man 
 evidently so bent upon raising himself to 
 greatness as was Sir Robert Cecil. 
 
 These two were very lovingly engaged 
 when all at once the lady jumped up in 
 seeming great alarm. " That is my hus- 
 band's voice !" exclaimed she. " Let me 
 out quickly ! I would not have him see 
 me here for worlds." 
 
 "There is no time to get out at the 
 panel, as I hear him approaching the 
 door. Hide behind here, I pray you/' 
 
 The Lady Howard had just time to get 
 concealed behind the figure of a man in 
 armor that stood in a corner of the room, 
 when the door opened and in walked her 
 husband, as Cecil was very fervently 
 wishing him at the bottom of the Red 
 sea. 
 
 " This is an unexpected pleasure !" 
 cried Sir Robert with a famous cordiali- 
 ty, as the other with the gait of a dan- 
 cing monkey came smirking toward him. 
 
 "By this hand ! I thought I should take 
 you by surprise," replied my Lord How- 
 ard of Walden affectedly. " I'faith ! I 
 am ever surprising of my friends that be 
 the truth. But I have come, having a 
 secret of marvellous importance, which I 
 can not rest without telling you of." 
 
 "I feel infinitely honored by the confi- 
 dence you would place in me," replied 
 Cecil. 
 
 " But mind you say to none the slight- 
 est breath of that I mean to acquaint you 
 with," said my .ord with a monstrous 
 earnestness. 
 
 " Of that be well assured, Lord Thom- 
 as," answered his companion. 
 
 " It be such a secret as I should not 
 like to have known of any," continued the 
 other. " But I would as soon die as my 
 wife should know of it." 
 
 Sir Robert Cecil had much difficulty 
 to restrain from smiling, knowing, as he 
 did, that the Lady Howard was so close 
 to her husband she could hear every 
 whisper he uttered ; and that therefore 
 the secret, whatever it might be about, 
 and he knew of what character it was 
 16 
 
 most like to be, could not help being 
 known by her the moment it was said. 
 
 " The fact is, these women will be my 
 ruin," added the Lord Howard with a 
 truly wonderful complacency. " For mine 
 own part, I know not why it is, for I see 
 not I am a properer man than others, but 
 I am ever a finding of some pretty wo- 
 man desperately in love with me, and I 
 can not help being like to get myself into 
 some scrape with my wife, who is one 
 of so rigid a virtue she can not abide the 
 thought of anything unlawful. Indeed, I 
 believe her to be the very purest wife 
 that breathes." 
 
 " You have much occasion to congrat- 
 ulate yourself, my good lord," observed 
 Sir Robert. 
 
 " Ay, that have I," said her husband. 
 "But what am I to do? These women 
 no sooner have sight of me than they 
 straightway get furiously enamored. 
 Mayhap, if I should appear indifferent 
 to the many tokens they afford me of 
 their attachment, they would go upon 
 violent courses ; and I should have their 
 deaths upon my conscience, which I as- 
 sure you, would' make me infinitely mis- 
 erable all my days/' 
 
 "Doubtless, to occasion the death of a 
 fair creature is by no means a pleasant 
 source of after reflection," remarked Cecil 
 with an excellent gravity. 
 
 " I could never exist with it," replied 
 my Lord Howard. " In honest truth, I 
 am of so mild a heart, that the knowl- 
 edge of a pretty woman being in any sort 
 of suffering for me, maketh me as pitiful 
 as a child. So if any love me, I must 
 needs love them in return. Methinks I 
 could do no less without the very abso- 
 lutest cruelty. What think you?" 
 
 " It be a delicate matter to pronounce 
 judgment on," answered his companion. 
 " Yet, being possessed of so incompara- 
 ble a wife, it seemeth to me an injustice 
 to her, that you should seek the love of 
 any other/ 1 
 
 " That is the very devil of it," exclaim- 
 ed my lord. " Yet, if you will believe 
 me, seek I the love of none. Do what 
 I may they be ever after me. For my 
 lady's sake I would fain avoid them if I 
 could ; but the more attempts I make to 
 be true to her, the more violently do they 
 persevere in their affections toward me. 
 Never was man so besieged. Go where 
 I will, I meet them. I can turn no way 
 without finding some fair dame furiously 
 intent upon loving me whether I will or 
 no. O' my life, it be the difficultest thing 
 possible to keep ray Lady Howard igno-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 rant of these matters. By this light, 1 
 Know not what she would do came she to 
 get acquainted with any part of what I 
 have told you." 
 
 At that moment Cecil observed her 
 ladyship peeping from behind jhe figure 
 of the man in armor which was now at 
 the back of her husband, and the expres- 
 sion of her countenance was a mixture 
 of exceeding curiosity and anger. What 
 to do he scarce knew, for he expected 
 something would happen ; but knowing 
 that such women are never at a loss un- 
 der the most embarrassing circumstan- 
 ces, he left the management of the matter 
 to her. 
 
 " But now for the secret I would you 
 should know of," continued my Lord 
 Howard of Walden, with an air of mys- 
 tery, as he drew Sir Robert closer to the 
 corner of the room where his wife stood 
 concealed. "I beg of you keep a strict 
 silence. Should you drop a hint of it to 
 another, mayhap it would come to my 
 lady's ears, who hath such extreme horror 
 of unlawful love, there be no knowing 
 what mischief it might do, she would be 
 so shocked." 
 
 " Unless you tell it her yourself, Lord 
 Thomas, be sure she can never hear of 
 it," replied his companion. 
 
 " I tell it her !" exclaimed her husband 
 in a famous astonishment. "I would no 
 more dare breathe a syllable of it to her 
 than fly. She is so marvellous chaste a 
 wife that were she but to suspect of such a 
 thing, I doubt not she would have no 
 more to do with me ; and then the queen 
 coming to know of it, with whom she 
 is wonderfully familiar, I should not be 
 able to show my face at court. So I im- 
 plore you, be cautious. By this hand, I 
 would not repose this confidence in you, 
 but that I do believe you to be of so trust- 
 worthy a disposition, there is nothing you 
 would rather not do than that I should 
 receive hurt at your hands." 
 
 " Indeed, you but do me justice, my 
 lord," answered the other with his usual 
 affectation of sincerity. " It will ever be 
 my happiness to serve you in any way 
 in which my poor ability lieth ; and from 
 the admiration I can not but entertain for 
 my Lady Howard, in consequence of the 
 wonderful goodness of her nature, in any- 
 thing in which she is concerned, you may 
 always count upon my instant good offices 
 out of very absolute affection I assure 
 you." 
 
 " No\v, that be exceeding kind of you !" 
 cried my lord, shaking his supposed friend 
 by the hand very cordially. " It doth my | 
 
 heart good to meet such friendship. I 
 would do you such another turn at any 
 time." 
 
 "I doubt it not, I doubt it not, my 
 lord," replied Cecil, returning the other's 
 shake of the hand with infinite earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 " But about this secret," continued his 
 companion, dropping his voice a little, 
 and assuming a greater mysteriousness 
 than ever. "You must know there hath 
 lately come on a visit to my wife, as 
 sweet a young creature as eye ever beheld. 
 To describe to you her charms of feature 
 and person, could I never with any justice. 
 In honest truth, her comeliness is of such 
 a sort that none could gaze on without 
 loving. By this light, I tried all I could 
 not to be enamored with her. I would 
 scarce look at her. I avoided being left 
 alone with her at any time. I gave her 
 such a lack of civil speech as must have 
 offended any other. Yet it was easy to 
 see from the beginning she had taken a 
 desperate liking to me. She possesse'h 
 the most moving eyes woman ever had ; 
 and these she should fix on me for such a 
 length of time, and with such an extreme 
 tenderness, I could not help knowing what 
 her thoughts were about. Still was I 
 mightily circumspect in my behavior. 
 Finding this of no avail, she would, ever 
 and anon, fetch such woful sighs as were 
 quite pitiful to hear ; and give me such 
 sly glances as would have set any man in 
 a flame. However, I kept thinking of 
 my lady, and regarded her with as little 
 attention as was possible. Afterward she 
 took to showing me the lovingest passages 
 out of Master Shakspeare's most sweet 
 poem, the Rape of Lucrece, and asked 
 me, with a look that shot a thousand 
 arrows into my heart and liver, if I did 
 not believe them to be monstrous delicate- 
 ly writ. I must confess, at this I began 
 to be somewhat moved. By this hand, 
 there can be no man living who could 
 read of such things pointed out to him by 
 a sweet young creature, and remain in- 
 different. I could not help acknowledg- 
 ing, with some emphasis, that they were 
 writ with a very infinite delicacy. There- 
 upon she smiled on me after so loving a 
 fashion, that my heart could not avoid 
 dissolving of itself away like a lump of 
 sugar in a cup of wine. The next time 
 I handed her to dinner she squeezed my 
 hand. 0' my life, she did squeeze it so 
 tenderly I was forced into doing of the 
 same ; I could no more help it than I 
 could help any other thing that I must 
 needs do; for, to say the truth, she hath
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 243 
 
 ihe plumpest, delicatest hand I ever held ; 
 and no mortal man could have his fingers 
 pressed by such a sweet young creature 
 and feel it not. 
 
 " Still I tried not to love her. By this 
 light, the more I tried the less I suc- 
 ceeded ! There was she, day after day, 
 giving me the lovingest looks, the touch- 
 ingest sighs, and the movingest squeezes 
 of the hand, that ever were known. I 
 did all that could have been expected of 
 me. But to hold out with an indifference 
 of such things was more than I could 
 have done had I been as virtuous as a 
 pickled herring. My humanity would 
 endure it no longer. I straightway fell 
 to loving her as famously as I might. My 
 heart is now filled with her night and day. 
 I know that she is enamored of me to 
 that extent she can not eat, drink, or 
 sleep, with any comfort ; and I, having 
 knowledge of this, can not but be in the 
 like way affected. All that troubleth me 
 is the fear that my Lady Howard should 
 suspect me. I am in a constant alarm 
 at the thought of it. It be beyond all 
 manner of doubt that she is the very vir- 
 tuousest of wives ; yet, betwixt you and 
 I, when she hath been put out at all, she 
 hath a look with her of so terrible a sort, 
 that oh Lord !" exclaimed he, breaking 
 off on a sudden in his narration, and 
 starting back in as complete a fright as 
 ever was seen ; for, to his utter confusion, 
 there stood his wife before him ; and, as 
 if to show he had in no way exaggerated 
 the terribleness of her looks, she had fixed 
 on him a gaze so threatening, gloomy, 
 and indignant, as must have made her 
 appear to him a very Medusa. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Now, gentlemen, I go 
 To turn an actor and a humorist. 
 
 BEN JONSO.V. 
 
 Then to the well-trod stag* anon, 
 
 If Jonson's learned sock be on ; 
 
 Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, 
 
 Warble his native wood-notes wild. MILTON. 
 
 Seeing too much sadness hath congealed your blood, 
 And melancholy is the nurse of phrensy, 
 Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play, 
 And frame your mind to mirth and merriment," 
 Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life. 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " COME, Master Francis! Prythee let 
 us tarry no longer ! Master Shakspeare 
 bade me tell you to be sure to be at the 
 playhouse early, as there was a new 
 play, which he wished you to see from 
 thebe-rinning." 
 
 " I shall be ready on the instant, Har- 
 ry." 
 
 The two young friends were in a room 
 fitted up as a library, that stood in a tur- 
 ret of Durham house, looking over upon 
 the river, and Harry was leaning out of 
 the casement, taking note of what sort 
 of persons were upon the water, on whom 
 he would make all sorts of droll remarks, 
 and occasionally turning of himself round 
 to hurry his companion, who was now 
 fastening on his rapier. In a few min- 
 utes they were both speeding together in 
 the direction of the playhouse in the 
 Blackfriars. There was a marked dif- 
 ference between the two young men. 
 Harry Daring was full of spirits, talking 
 and laughing as he went, as if he cared 
 for nothing in the world ; but Master 
 Francis looked with as absolute a melan- 
 choly as ever was seen in him, and took 
 heed of nothing that was said of the 
 other, or of any one thing or person that 
 he passed. In truth, what had been told 
 him by Sir Robert Cecil had made a 
 wonderful impression on his sensitive na- 
 ture, and had created in him with in- 
 creased force those humiliating feelings 
 regarding his birth that had ofttimes be- 
 fore made him so miserable at heart 
 He fancied that it had been said by de- 
 sign, but this was merely the result of 
 the state of suspiciousness and fear in 
 which he felt when any allusion was 
 made to this distressing subject ; and 
 which made him conjure up all manner 
 of evils, when he thought it possible his 
 fine acquaintances might find out that he 
 was of such low origin. He had long since 
 entertained a desire to see his reputed 
 father, but now he was determined on it. 
 It appeared to him that if this Holdfast 
 was a good man, and would not be 
 ashamed to acknowledge him as a son, 
 he should be enabled to care the less for 
 the contumely of those to whom he had 
 used to look as the conferrers of that hon- 
 orable reputation he had been so am- 
 bitious to acquire. 
 
 In these different moods Master Francis 
 and Harry Daring entered the playhouse, 
 and took their seats in one of the rooms. 
 The lower part of the playhouse was 
 nearly full, the scaffolding quite, and that 
 in which the more genteel sort of the 
 audience sat, was rapidly receiving com- 
 pany. The opening and shutting of the 
 doors as the people were let in, and the 
 hum of those who were talking in dif- 
 ferent parts of the house, were the chief 
 sounds that were heard. Harry amused 
 himself before the play began by noticing
 
 244 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 the great variety of hats and caps which 
 were worn by those beneath him ; and 
 certes there seemed to be some of every 
 kind and shape under the sun. Master 
 Francis was still engaged in pursuing of 
 his melancholy thoughts, when alt at 
 once he was roused from his reflections 
 by a sudden uncovering of heads and a 
 great cry of, " The queen ! the queen !" 
 and true enough, upon looking opposite 
 to him, he noticed Queen Elizabeth, clad 
 in such splendor as he had not seen her 
 in before, with a famous throng of lords 
 and ladies entering one of the rooms, 
 which was hung very richly with em- 
 broidered velvet. Before she took her 
 seat, she came forward and courtesied 
 several times, with a dignity and becom- 
 ingness that did win her all sorts of com- 
 mendations from those of her loving sub- 
 jects who could get a sight of her. Upon 
 the subsiding of the tumult one of the 
 players came forward and spoke the pro- 
 logue, which was well received, and then 
 the curtain which divided the stage from 
 the groundlings, slowly rose. All in the 
 house presently directed their entire at- 
 tentions to the players. 
 
 Master Francis now, for the first time, 
 felt some sort of interest in what he 
 came to see. He had not the slightest 
 knowledge of the subject of the new play, 
 or by whom it had been writ, but as Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare had been so particular in 
 wishing him to see it the first time it was 
 played, he had no doubt it would be 
 found of some merit. At the beginning 
 he could hear but indistinctly what was 
 said on the stage, which he noticed as 
 having been fresh strewed with rushes, 
 but on something reaching his ear he 
 listened more attentively. 
 
 "No! Surely it can not be!" he ex- 
 claimed, and his face became so flushed, 
 and then so pale, and he looked so won- 
 der-siruck, and felt such a quick beating 
 at his heart, as he had before had no 
 experience of. 
 
 " Eh ? What can not be, Master Fran- 
 cis ?" inquired his friend. 
 
 "Nothing Harry, nothing," replied 
 the other, as well as he could, for he felt 
 as though he could scarce breathe. 
 
 " Silence, fellow !" cried my Lord Dim- 
 ple, who was in the same room with 
 him. 
 
 "Dost call my friend 'fellow'?" asked 
 Harry Daring, turning sharp round upon 
 the last speaker ; but my Lord Dimple 
 answered not. Mayhap he liked not the 
 resolute look of the youth who questioned 
 him. Master Francis pulled Harry by 
 
 the sleeve, who, though he seemed won* 
 derfully inclined for a quarrel, presently 
 turned his attention to the stage. As for 
 Master Francis, he seemed as though he 
 could not sit still a moment. Now he 
 was bending forward to see the players, 
 and anon throwing himself back in his 
 seat with a flushed countenance and anx- 
 ious look that showed he took in the play 
 a deeper interest than common. When- 
 ever there was any applause from the 
 audience he appeared more moved than 
 ever ; yet his eyes brightened up famously 
 all the time as if he was as well pleased 
 as any. Sometimes when no approbation 
 was exhibited his cheek grew pale, and 
 his whole appearance exceeding uneasy ; 
 but directly there was any clapping of 
 hands his color came as vividly as before, 
 and there was an extraordinary excite- 
 ment in his look. 
 
 The subject of the new play was " The 
 Right Tragical Story of Hypatia." It 
 may not be known to all that in the early 
 part of the fifth century there lived a lady 
 of wonderful virtue, beauty, and learning, 
 who was the daughter of the mathema- 
 tician Theon of Alexandria ; and was of 
 so gifted a mind that she presided over 
 the school of Platonic philosophy taught 
 in that city, with such marvellous ability 
 that she drew crowds of scholars, philos- 
 ophers, and statesmen, from all parts, to 
 hear her lectures ; and was the chief 
 adviser in matters of importance of Ores- 
 tes, the governor of Alexandria, by whom 
 she was held in the very greatest estima- 
 tion. Now the patriarch of the city, 
 Cyril or, as he hath been since called 
 by many who were about as little worthy 
 of the title as he, St. Cyril was an arro- 
 gant, turbulent, and bigoted priest, who, 
 surrounded by a mob of worthless monks, 
 as furious and fanatic as himself, was 
 ever creating of some disturbance by 
 aiming ,at the destruction of all such who 
 would dare to worship God after any 
 fashion save what he would allow; and 
 he, envious of the superior reputation of 
 the wise and beautiful Hypatia, and sus- 
 pecting that she influenced the governor 
 in his behavior to him seeing that Ores- 
 tes would not tolerate his mischievous 
 conduct caused Peter, a preacher, to- 
 gether with a party of his clergy, whom 
 he had infuriated against her, every one 
 of whom were priests of the devil rather 
 than of God, to seize her as she walked 
 along the streets, which they did like so 
 many enraged demons, then dragging her 
 into a neighboring church with violent 
 outcries and fierce execrations, they strip-
 
 ***. 
 n 
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 245 
 
 pd her to tne skin, when having satiated 
 their eyes upon the beauties of her person, 
 they tore her limb from limb, carried the 
 mangled body in horrid triumph through 
 the city ; and at last made them a famous 
 bonfire, and therein had her consumed to 
 ashes. 
 
 A very moving play was made out of 
 this doleful tragedy, and the players 
 seemed intent upon exerting themselves 
 as much as was possible, that it might be 
 well liked of the audience. Burbage 
 played the part of St. Cyril, and got 
 abundance of applause for the wonderful 
 striking picture he did give of this priestly 
 Richard the Third. Lowing was exceed- 
 ingly dignified as Orestes, the governor. 
 Demetrius, a young philosopher, in love 
 with Hypatia, was very admirably played 
 by Taylor: and other of the players had 
 parts allotted to them in which they 
 could best display their particular skilfuf- 
 ness. There Avas one part, though of but 
 minor importance in the tragedy, that 
 did require no ordinary ability in the per- 
 formance of it, which was the character 
 of Cleon, the father of Hypatia, and he 
 found so able a representative in Master 
 Shakspeare that nothing could exceed 
 the admiration with which it was looked 
 on by the spectators. In fact, though 
 each player seemed doing of his besi, none 
 could have put his whole heart into what 
 he was about as did Master Shakspeare. 
 
 Master Francis only appeared to get 
 the more excited as the play proceeded. 
 He took a hasty glance around him, and 
 observed every part of the playhouse 
 thronged with persons, all of whom, from 
 the queen's majesty to the very humblest 
 serving-man who had treated himself 
 with standing room upon the scaffold, 
 looked absorbed in the progress of the 
 play. At this his heart beat more quickly 
 than before, and he leaned himself back 
 in his seat with a countenance in a con- 
 stant flush, marked with a continual anx- 
 iety and fearfulness. 
 
 "Harry!" whispered he at last. 
 
 "Nay, prythee speak noi to me," re- 
 plied his friend with some little impa- 
 tience, " this be the capitalest play I ever 
 saw, and I be so taken up with it I can 
 have no ear for anything else."' 
 
 This rebuff, instead of offending him 
 as it might have done others, appeared 
 the rather to please him much, for he 
 smiled in such a sort as showed he found 
 some saiisfaclion in it. Presently the 
 curtain fell to mark the close of the act. 
 "Now, Master Francis, what would you 
 ri;L me ?" said the other. 
 
 " This is my play, Harry," whispered 
 his companion. He spoke in the lowest 
 voice he could, for though he thought 
 'twould be a pleasure for his friend to 
 know this, he could not bear that any of 
 the strangers around him should have 
 suspicion of it. 
 
 "Your play, Master Francis? Said 
 you your play though, indeed ?" asked 
 Harry Daring, his honest face in a won- 
 drous exultation. 
 
 " Speak not so loud," replied the other, 
 in so little a voice he could scarce be 
 heard. " This is the very play I did 
 take to Master Shakspeare for his peru- 
 sal the day you treated my uncle and 
 others at the Mitre ; and he hath got it 
 acted by the players without letting me 
 know anything of the matter, thinking 
 for to surprise me when I should see it 
 played."- 
 
 " By Gog and Magog, what excellent 
 good news !'' cried Harry, seemingly in 
 as great a delight as he could be. "I 
 did like it infinitely when I knew not by 
 whom it was writ, but now I like it a 
 thousand times better than ever." 
 
 After this nothing could exceed the in- 
 terest which Harry took in the progress 
 of the play, save the zeal with which he 
 applauded such passages as met with the 
 approbation of the audience. What Mas- 
 ter Francis had said of it was true. Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, on its perusal by him, saw 
 of what merit it was, and after revising it 
 with great care, he had read it to the 
 chiefest of his brother-players, by whom 
 it was so liked they would have it brought 
 out as quickly as was possible : thereupon 
 he gave to each the playing of such char- 
 acters as he knew best suited their abili- 
 ties, taking to himself one of less import- 
 ance, which he studied with all the care 
 he was master of; and took such pains 
 that all should be perfect in their parts 
 as he had never done even for plays of 
 his own : then, when everything was 
 ready, he did prevail on his patron, the 
 Lord Southampton, through his influence 
 with my Lord Essex, to get the queen to 
 come to the playhouse the first time it was 
 played, knowing this would be the means 
 of procuring for it as favorable an audi- 
 ence as play could have ; after which, 
 bavin a: kept Master Francis in entire 
 ignorance of the matter, he sent for him 
 in the manner as hath been described. 
 
 It has been shown how desirous Master 
 Francis was none should know he was 
 the writer of the play. Indeed, he had 
 ever been of so modest a nature that he 
 liked not at all being made the gaze or
 
 246 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 the talk of those around him, and although 
 the greater intercourse with society he had 
 had oflate years had taken from him much 
 of his natural shyness, the situation in 
 which he found himself placed, made him 
 now painfully anxious to escape observa- 
 tion. With these feelings, it can be no 
 difficult matter to imagine what he ex- 
 perienced when he heard, at the close of 
 the fourth act, a famous fat old dame 
 who, with a daughter as fat as herself, 
 sat close to him, inquire of Harry Daring, 
 if he knew by whom the play was writ. 
 
 " Ay, that do I, mistress," replied Har- 
 ry quickly ; " it be writ by my true friend, 
 Master Francis here, who for an honest 
 heart hath not his match anywhere." 
 
 Master Francis heard not what follow- 
 ed. He felt as if he would have given 
 everything he possessed to get out of the 
 playhouse, but he was well aWare that 
 if he attempted to move, all eyes would 
 be upon him, so there he sat in a state of 
 confusion impossible to be described, 
 knowing but too well, that not only were 
 the eyes of the portly dame and her 
 portly daughter fixed wonderingly upon 
 him, but that every one in the room was 
 whispering remarks concerning his being 
 the writer of the play. Even my Lord 
 Dimple was heard to tell another lord who 
 was beside him, who was now his true 
 friend in place of my Lord Simple, with 
 whom he had lately had a dreadful quarrel 
 because the other would have it he was 
 the truer friend of the two, that he thought 
 the play must be a good play if, when it 
 came to the end, no fault should be found 
 in it. To take off his attention from 
 these, Master Francis turned to look at 
 the spectators before and around him. In 
 a moment he drew back his head with 
 more confusion than ever. It seemed to 
 him, by the hasty glance he took, as if 
 every eye in the playhouse was directed 
 toward the place where he sat. In his 
 mind there could be no doubt that it was 
 generally known he was the writer of the 
 play, and his sense of shame became 
 every moment more overpowering at find- 
 ing of himself put forward with a 'con- 
 spicuousness he had ever such dread of. 
 In this belief he had somewhat deceived 
 himself. As he leaned forward to gaze 
 on the players, his youthful handsome 
 face had attracted some attention, which, 
 from the singular way in which he beha- 
 ved, his restlessness, the ever-varying ex- 
 pression of his countenance, and the mark- 
 ed anxiety he exhibited, soon increased, 
 and at last became so general, that during 
 the interval between the acts, he was the 
 
 subject of observation of nearly all who 
 could get sight of him. 
 
 The last act having the deepest inter- 
 est in it soon took off from him the notice 
 of the spectators. He then found he 
 could look up without being observed of 
 any, and could not help feeling wonder- 
 fully gratified at the sight of so noble a 
 company the queen her court the 
 many beautiful dames, and proud gallants 
 that filled the rooms around him the 
 throng of groundlings beneath, and the 
 crowd of those above, all with eyes fixed 
 upon the stage, and ears so attentive to 
 what was being said by the players, that 
 you might have heard a pin drop. As 
 the play proceeded toward its conclusion 
 a more powerful feeling influenced him 
 and quickly took possession of his nature. 
 This was a fear that the spectators might 
 not like the catastrophe. As yet no dis- 
 approbation had been shown. The ap- 
 plause was right hearty on numberless 
 occasions, and seemed to increase the 
 more at every scene. The players seeing 
 that their exertions were probably appre- 
 ciated, now took all the more pains with 
 what they did, striving what they could 
 that the play should be well liked to the 
 end ; but Master Francis, seeing how 
 strongly the feelings of the spectators 
 were excited, as the tragedy approached 
 its termination, had so overpowering a 
 dread that the ending would disappoint 
 the general expectations of it, that at last 
 he could gaze no more upon the stage, but 
 sat himself as far back as he could, trem- 
 bling with the most fearful anxiousness ; 
 and his heart beating with such marvel- 
 lous quickness as made it quite distres- 
 sing. The crisis came. He could only 
 hear, beside the voices of the players, 
 the half-stifled sobs of some fair creature 
 in whom the deep tragic interest of the 
 conclusion was exciting her powerfulest 
 sympathies. All else in the house seem- 
 ed as silent as the grave. He felt as if he 
 could scarce breathe. The play had 
 ended. For a second or two nothing was 
 heard but the sobbing of several; when, 
 all at once, as if by a general impulse, 
 there burst forth such a torrent of tumult- 
 uous applause as seemed like to shake 
 the playhouse to its very foundations. 
 
 " Ah, Master Francis, this be a play 
 indeed !" exclaimed Harry Daring, clap- 
 ping of his hands as if he would never 
 have done, with the tears running down 
 his cheeks in a very shower. Master 
 Francis could not have uttered a word if 
 it had been to save his life. He felt proud 
 and happy: so happy it seemed as though
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 247 
 
 naught of what had plagued him so long, 
 had now power to hurt him in the slight- 
 est so happy, he could think of no one 
 thing but the infinite gratification he en- 
 joyed in finding his play so liked of such 
 a noble company. Alack, his happiness 
 lasted not long. Upon raising his eyes, 
 in the room opposite to him, which, he 
 had heard my Lord Dimple tell his friend, 
 contained the French ambassador and a 
 party of foreign gentlemen and ladies, he 
 beheld no other than Padre Bartolome 
 dressed in a very courtier-like fashion, 
 and close behind him gazing intently on 
 Master Francis, sat the beautiful Joanna. 
 He would have hurried toward her on 
 the instant, but seeing her in company 
 with such a thorough villain as he felt 
 convinced the Jesuit must be from the 
 baseness of his behavior to him, made 
 him pause some minutes, the which lime 
 he employed in perplexing thoughts of 
 how she got acquainted with him, and 
 in wondering if they had knowledge of 
 each other whilst he was with the ex- 
 pedition in Guiana. Upon again looking 
 up he noticed that the room was empty 
 of all its company. 
 
 "Come, Master Francis! the queen 
 hath gone, so methinks we had best fol- 
 low," here exclaimed Harry Daring, who, 
 unnoticed by his friend, had hitherto been 
 commending of the play to the portly 
 dame and her daughter. " I warrant me 
 you are monstrous glad at heart now be- 
 cause of your play succeeding so well. I 
 can only say, never felt I such delight as 
 I have this day." 
 
 His companion replied not, but he was 
 anything but glad at heart. An uneasi- 
 ness upon the subject of Joanna's myste- 
 rious behavior, had taken away all the 
 pleasurable feelings he had enjoyed but 
 a short while since. However, making 
 a violent effort, he accompanied Harry 
 Daring out of the room, and made direct 
 for that part of the playhouse where he 
 expected to meet Master Shakspeare, for 
 he could not think of leaving the place 
 without thanking him for the pains-ta- 
 king and loving kindness he had shown 
 in performing of his play. He had scarce 
 put his foot upon the stage when he was 
 met by his old acquaintance Gib, the 
 call-boy, who, as soon as he recognised 
 in the handsome gallant before him, the 
 youth whom he had been so desirous 
 should " do the women," shuffled round 
 him, scratching of his head, with his 
 eyes staring in all sorts of ways, and his 
 mouth extending of itself to its greatest 
 dimensions. 
 
 " Hullo, Beauty !" exclaimed Harry, 
 laughingly, as soon as he caught sight of 
 the call-boy, "did your mother feed you 
 with the fire-shovel ?" 
 
 At this moment Master Shakspeare 
 came up, and gave very cordial greetings 
 to both the young men. Master Francis, 
 though he sought his friend with the ex- 
 press intention of expressing his grati- 
 tude, now found he could not say a word. 
 All that he could do was to press the 
 hand he held in his own, and look the 
 infinite thankfulness he felt ; and this 
 appeared to be as well understood of the 
 other as if he had said all it was possible 
 for him to say. Master Shakspeare hur- 
 ried him along, saying that some friends 
 of his were waiting for him Harry Dar- 
 ing following, till they entered a goodly 
 room filled with a worshipful company, 
 like unto that previously described in the 
 chamber of the actors at the Globe play- 
 house, on the Bankside. 
 
 " My masters !" exclaimed Master Shak- 
 speare, addressing them, as soon as he 
 had come in, " I have brought you here 
 one to whom you owe great store of 
 thankfulness for the absolute gratifica- 
 tion received of you to-day from the play- 
 ing of that most sweet, very moving, and 
 admirably-writ piece of tragedy, upon the 
 doleful history of Hypatia, that hath been 
 I so well liked of the queen's majesty and 
 | a noble concourse of spectators. Of the 
 | excellent fine genius this play showeth, 
 [ methinks it be scarce necessary for me 
 to speak. I doubt not all here are as 
 willing and as able to do it justice as am 
 I. What further I would say is, that the 
 ! writer thereof, to my certain knowledge 
 ! of him, is of as courteous, as modest, and 
 ' as sweet a disposition as ever it hath been 
 ; my good fortune to meet." 
 
 Master Francis had but an imperfect 
 [knowledge of what took place after this. 
 ! The handsome manner in which Master 
 Shakspeare had spoke of him before so 
 many of the chiefest wits and gallantest 
 spirits of the age, had so bewildered him 
 he could make no reply to the fine com- 
 pliments and hearty congratulations of 
 those who came thronging round, seem- 
 ingly anxious to show their commenda- 
 tion of a writer in such repute of so nota- 
 ble a critic. His shamefacedness though 
 won him such good opinion of many, as 
 he could never have gained by the com- 
 pletest impudency that ever was exhibit- 
 ed. Master Shakspeare behaved through- 
 out with so entire a friendliness as was 
 truly delightful to look on ; answering 
 for the youth when there was any neces-
 
 248 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 sitjr, just the exact sentiments he felt at 
 his heart ; and with pleasant jests, and 
 kindly assurances, seeking all he could to 
 make the other feel at his ease. It so 
 happened Master Francis had managed 
 to bring himself to some sort of compo- 
 sure when a new source of disquietude 
 appeared. This was no other than my 
 Lord Southampton coming in all haste 
 into the room, saying the queen was so 
 taken with the new play she would have 
 the writer present himself before her 
 without delay at her palace at White- 
 hall. Of those who heard this intelli- 
 gence, there were none so well pleased 
 as Master Shakspeare and Harry Daring, 
 the latter of whom expressed his gratifi- 
 cation in no measured language, with a 
 perfect carelessness of the persons of 
 worship by whom he was surrounded. 
 
 Master Francis, placing himself under 
 the guidance of my Lord Southampton, 
 started off for the palace. It is not to be 
 denied that his thoughts now took some- 
 what of that ambitious turnhe had once 
 so loved to indulge himself with. But as 
 the wind is impelled, so it will go. The 
 knowledge that the queen had so liked 
 his play as to send for him, was a suffi- 
 cient basis for the most famous dreams 
 of honorable advancement, to the entire 
 Ibrgetfulness of all other things; and on 
 he went, building up his hopes higher 
 than ever he had done. Nor was the 
 conversation of his companion at all 
 likely to make him less sanguine. The 
 latter had heard from Master Shakspeare 
 such accounts of his young friend as in- 
 terested him greatly in the success of his 
 play ; and the little he had seen of him, 
 in conjunction with the singular fine tal- 
 ent the play exhibited, so increased that 
 favorable impression that he would glad- 
 ly have done whatever lay in his power 
 to serve him. What he said by degrees 
 wrought in the other such confidence that, 
 when he entered the presence-chamber, 
 he was more at his ease than he ex- 
 pected to be. 
 
 Her majesty stood in the centre of a 
 brilliant circle, the most conspicuous of 
 whom were my Lord Essex, dressed very 
 gorgeously, and looking as if he were 
 Icing of them all; my Lady Howard of 
 Walden and her lord, with whom, after 
 a great to-do, on the part of Sir Robert 
 Cecil, whom he ever after regarded as the 
 honestest nature that ever lived, she was 
 reconciled : Lady Blanche Somerset, and 
 many ladies of her court ; my Lord Henry 
 Howard, my Lord Bumble, and divers 
 other nobles and gallants. Mv Lord 
 
 Southampton pressed forward, and with a 
 very famous courtesy introduced his young 
 companion to the queen's notice. It was 
 evident that Master Francis's well-dis- 
 posed features and elegant figure, set off 
 to the fairest advantage by a dress that 
 was at once simple. and gentlemanly, 
 created for him a favorable impression 
 amongst all there. Some of the ladies 
 whispered their commendations to one 
 another, the gentlemen stared in some 
 sort of curiosity, and Queen Elizabeth, 
 who had a notable liking for men of a 
 proper stature and comeliness, could not 
 help gazing admiringly on the handsome 
 youth before her. He stood with a very 
 natural modesty at some little distance, 
 i his heart beating high, and his pale 
 i thoughtful face a little more flushed than 
 ordinary. 
 
 " This play of yours, young sir, hath 
 pleased us mightily," observed the queen 
 at last, in her most condescending man- 
 ner. " Out of all doubt it is a marvellous 
 proper play. You seem scarce of ripe 
 age enough for a play-writer ; and for a 
 play so well writ, disclosing of so excel- 
 I lent a judgment, it seemeth strange in- 
 deed it should be writ by you. Hast writ 
 other plays ?" 
 
 " Others have I writ, please your maj- 
 esty ; but this be the first I have had the 
 good hap to get played," replied Master 
 Francis, in a wonderful delight at hearing 
 of such pleasant words from so honora- 
 ble a source. 
 
 "And who is he that hath writ so ad- 
 mirable a play ?" inquired her majesty ; 
 " as yet we know naught of the writer, 
 save that we see him." 
 
 "I am the secretary of Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, please your majesty." At this 
 acknowledgment there was a dead si- 
 lence, and many of the courtiers thought, 
 however clever Master Francis might be 
 as a writer of plays, he lacked judgment 
 wofully in saying he was in any way 
 connected with a disgraced favorite. My 
 Lord Essex was the first to speak. 
 
 " Methinks Sir Walter Raleigh is ex- 
 ceeding fortunate in having such a ser- 
 vant," observed he. 
 
 " Had he showed as much wit in other 
 matters as he hath in the choice of a sec- 
 retary, mayhap there would be but little 
 fault to find in him," added the queen. 
 To an observation so shrewd the courtiers 
 thought no reply could be made. Her 
 majesty then turning to Master Francis 
 said, "We asked you not of what office 
 you held, but of what name you were." 
 This was a question he seemed perfectly
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 249 
 
 unprepared for. Since his remembrance 
 he had been called "Master Francis," 
 by some, because he was a gentleman- 
 like youth, by, others, because such they 
 had heard him styled. Not knowing of 
 his father's name, he had himself used 
 no surname. He liked not to call him- 
 self of the same name with his mother, 
 fearing it might injure her reputation ; 
 and after he had heard of Holdfast's re- 
 lationship to him, he had as little liking 
 for his name, knowing it was that of a 
 paltry cheater ; so " Master Francis" he 
 had still remained. 
 
 " We wait your answer," observed the 
 queen, somewhat impatiently, for she 
 would put up with no dallying. 
 
 "lam called Master Francis, please 
 your majesty," replied he, in some con- 
 fusion. 
 
 " Master Francis, is it ?" observed his 
 interrogator, sharply ; " but hast no other 
 naroe than Master Francis? Of what 
 name was your father called ?" 
 
 Master Francis hesitated whether to 
 say Holdfast or Vellum. He dreaded 
 telling a lie, and he liked not speaking 
 the truth. He got more embarrassed 
 every moment, and knowing that the 
 eyes of the whole assembly were fixed 
 upon him, only increased his uneasiness. 
 The queen looked as if she was displeased 
 at his delay in answering of her questions. 
 
 " Odds pittikins !" exclaimed her maj- 
 esty, " by the backwardness of your re- 
 plies we are inclined to think, with the 
 old proverb, that it be a wise child who 
 knoweth his own father." The laugh 
 which followed this remark of the queen's 
 did increase Master Francis's confusion 
 to such an extent, he scarce knew what 
 to do or say. 
 
 " Dost keep the queen of England wait- 
 ing for an answer, sirrah ?" angrily asked 
 Elizabeth. " We asked of you the name 
 of your lather. Who was he ?" 
 
 "I believe his name was Holdfast," 
 * Hammered out Master Francis ; who now 
 felt he would be glad enough had he 
 never entered the place. 
 
 " You believe his name was Holdfast !" 
 exclaimed the queen, with marked em- 
 phasis, and then added, with her face in 
 a sudden flush of indignation, and her 
 voice expressing all the bitterness of scorn 
 and disdain. " But we now see the cause 
 of your so delaying us an answer. You 
 must needs be the offspring of some low 
 intrigue ; and we wonder at your villan- 
 ous impudency in entering our presence. 
 Get you gone, sirrah ! This be no place 
 for the encouragement of bastards." 
 
 Master Francis felt at that moment as 
 if all the blood in his body had rushed 
 into his face. His heart throbbed so he 
 was obliged to gasp for breath. His 
 throat seemed as if tightened with a cord, 
 and his temples were as though fire burn- 
 ed within them. He saw not the looks 
 of contempt with which the courtiers re- 
 garded him, the surprise of my Lord 
 Essex, or the pity of my Lord Southamp- 
 ton, as the queen haughtily turned upon 
 her heel, saying to one of the gentlemen- 
 pensioners in attendance, " Remove that 
 fellow !" and heard not the cutting sar- 
 casm of my Lady Howard of Walden, 
 as she shrunk away from him as though 
 he were a leper, or the many rebukes of 
 my Lord Bumble, whilst he helped to 
 lead him from the presence; and how he 
 got out of the palace and made his way 
 to Master Shakspeare's lodgings, he 
 never could explain. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 My free drift 
 
 Halts not particularly, but moves itself 
 In a wide sea of wax : no levelled malice 
 Infects one comma in the course I hold, 
 But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 These are the youths that thunder at a pla)-house- 
 And fight for bitten apples ; that no audiencp 
 But the tribulation of Tower Hill or the limoo 
 Of Limehouse, their dear brothers are able to endure. 
 
 IBID. 
 
 Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here ! 
 They grow still too from all parts they are coming. 
 
 IBID. 
 
 " OH, Master Shakspeare !" exclaimed 
 the young secretary, in a voice scarcely 
 articulate for emotion, as he caught hold 
 of his hand and stood pale and trembling 
 beside him. "For the love of Heaven, 
 counsel me, or methinks I can not but go 
 mad." His friend marvelled greatly to 
 see him in so terrible an excitement ; and 
 after talking reasonably, and with a sin- 
 cere affection, he drew from him what 
 had happened. 
 
 "To be buoyed up unto the highest 
 pitch of expectation," continued Master 
 Francis, still giving evidence, in his look 
 and manner, he was exceeding moved. 
 " To have the fairest hopes a sanguine 
 nature ever had to stand in the presence 
 of the queen of England, and of a right 
 noble company, and to be admired and 
 commended by all and then to have so 
 gross an insult cast on me that my heart 
 boils at it, and to be thrust out of the 
 royal palace with such scorn as the bases
 
 250 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 of wretches could scarce have deserved 
 indeed, Master Shakspeare, I can not 
 can not bear it." 
 
 "Regard it not, Master Francis," ob- 
 served his companion, who seemed fa- 
 mously vexed his young friend should 
 have had no better treatment. " Remem- 
 ber you are in no way to blame in this. 
 The disgrace is theirs who put so infa- 
 mous a wrong upon you." 
 
 "Knew you how earnestly I have 
 sought an honorable reputation," added 
 the other, " how, night and day, I have 
 toiled that my name might be in some 
 repute ; with how great a love I reve- 
 renced those of admirable fame, and how 
 anxiously I strove to gain for myself some 
 of their excellence, that I might live to 
 be thought as nobly of by others as I 
 thought of them, you would know how 
 deeply I feel the contumely that hath 
 been cast upon me by the queen and her 
 court ! AH hope is lost to me now 
 nothing but shame and contempt can be 
 my portion." 
 
 " You wrong yourself mightily in think- 
 ing so, and you wrong the world more," 
 answered Master Shakspeare. " Mayhap 
 the queen is as good a queen as any ; but 
 that she hath either delicacy or feeling, 
 will I never believe : as for the trumpery 
 of the court, I have had sight of them. 
 They will live, die, and rot, and be no 
 more heard of. The good opinion of such 
 be no more Avorth having than is the 
 cackling of so many geese. Look abroad. 
 There be thousands of honest hearts and 
 manly intellects in the streets and the 
 fields, the chamber of the student, the 
 workshop of the artisan, and the ware- 
 house of the merchant. 'Tis the breath 
 of their voices that hath the establishing 
 of a reputation. The opinion of couriiers 
 be of no worth, and liveth but for a day ; 
 but the judgment of the nation soundeth 
 the trumpet of fame, that hath its echoes 
 from generation to generation, unto the 
 ending of the world. Fear not you shall 
 not have justice done you. I doubt not 
 at all your merit standeth as fair a chance 
 of honorable distinction with the world, 
 as any that live. My advice to you is, 
 let not what hath passed trouble you. 
 Come with me to find out this Holdfast. 
 If he be of any reputation he shall own 
 you as a father. If he be of a different 
 sort, heed not his relationship. Come 
 what may, I will be as good to you as 
 any father that breathes ; and right hap- 
 py and proud shall I be to be thought of 
 kin to one of so estimable a nature." 
 
 The result of this truly honest speech 
 
 on the part of Master Shakspeare, was 
 the proceeding of the two toward the 
 barber-chirargeon's in Eastcheap. For 
 all that Master Francis was so moved at 
 what had lately taken place, upon coming 
 nigh unto the house of Geoffrey Sarsnet 
 he could not help recollecting of what 
 sweet pleasure he had there had, and 
 how it had all at once been dashed with 
 bitterness, the taste whereof had since 
 made his life a perfect misery ; and from 
 this he presently took to thinking of the 
 strangeness of his seeing Joanna and the 
 Padre Bartolome together in the room 
 with the French ambassador. However, 
 his thoughts on this matter were quickly 
 brought to an ending upon his entering 
 the shop of his old acquaintance. Mas- 
 ter Lather was standing with his specta- 
 cles on his nose, and his stick in his hand, 
 intent upon the putting on of his hat, 
 whilst giving some directions to an 
 exceeding tall, spindle-legged, hatchet- 
 faced boy, his new apprentice, whose dull 
 look and awkward bearing made him a 
 famous contrast unto the spirited and 
 quick-witted Harry Daring, his predeces- 
 sor. Noticing the entrance of two gal- 
 lants, the barber-chirurgeon turned from 
 his apprentice, and with his hat in his 
 hand, with some courtesy, mixed with a 
 marvellous fine gravity, he made up to 
 them and asked them of their pleasure. 
 It was plain he knew not Master Francis, 
 though he had seen him frequently. Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare took upon himself the 
 business they had come about, believing 
 he could best manage it. 
 
 " Know you, good sir, whereabout 
 dwelleth a worthy man of this neigh- 
 borhood, one Master Lather ?" inquired 
 he, putting on as monstrous serious a face 
 as ever was seen. 
 
 " I be Martin Lather, may it please 
 you, sweet sir, and there be no other of 
 that name hereabouts," replied the other, 
 wonderfully pleased to be inquired for in 
 so courteous a fashion, by so noble-look- 
 ing a gentleman. 
 
 " I am infinitely glad so easily to have 
 found one of whom I have heard such 
 good report," added Master Shakspeare, 
 at the which old Lather looked to be in 
 a greater delight than before. " I have 
 come to you on a matter of some moment 
 to this my friend and me, in which none 
 but you can avail us anything ; and from 
 the honorable account we have heard of 
 your great learning, your admirable ski, 
 and your extreme worthiness, we have 
 made bold to wait on you for your ad- 
 vice." *
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 251 
 
 " I shall be proud to serve you, sweet 
 sir, in anything wherein I have ability," 
 answered the chirurgeon, bustling eagerly 
 to put seats for his visiters. "Seat you, 
 good sirs, I pray you ; for is it not writ 
 in Esculapius, ' requiescat in pace,' which 
 meaneth, ' much standing tireth the 
 legs' ?" Master Shakspeare would have 
 smiled, hut he knew what depended on 
 the keeping of his gravity, so he took the 
 offered chair without moving of a muscle. 
 "I am much bound to those who have 
 so commended me to you," continued old 
 Lather. " As for my worthiness, I would 
 it were more than it is; for as that shi- 
 ning light of the age, Master Tribulation 
 Holdfast, declareth, we are all but as 
 pitch that defileth they who touch it." 
 
 "Alack, we are very pitch !" exclaimed 
 Master Shakspeare, looking as doleful as 
 if he were about to be hanged. 
 
 " As for my skill, mayhap it is some- 
 tliirf; more than the ordinary," added the 
 chirurgeon with some complacency. "I 
 have studied my art but ill, lack I any 
 knowledge in it. It be true enough I 
 can not recover one dead of the plaffue, 
 or fit a bald man with a periwig without 
 stuff for the making of it; yet in aught 
 which can reasonably be done appertain- 
 ing unto barbering or chirurgery, me- 
 thinks I can do as well as the best in the 
 land." 
 
 "Better, I will be bound for V said 
 the other. 
 
 "It pleaseth you to think so," replied 
 Master Lather, looking in no way dis- 
 pleased with such an opinion. "And as 
 for my learning, I have ever been diligent 
 in the studying of books: and perchance, 
 I shall be found as good at the making 
 of verses, or the quoting of Latin, or 
 other clerk-like accomplishments, as some 
 of our chirurgeons who pretend to greater 
 scholarship. My painstaking hath been 
 constant, and there be no becoming learn- 
 ed wiihou.'. wonderful trouble. Indeed, 
 Aristotle himself sayeth that the cbiefest 
 aids to wisdom are, 'Pallor et genae pen- 
 dulse, oculorum ulcera tremulae manus,' 
 the which rendered into the vulgar, is, 
 ' late hours and early, thumbing the prop- 
 erest books, and discoursing with they 
 who be more learned than yourself;' the 
 which I have done this forty years." 
 
 " I am well convinced of it," remarked 
 Master Shakspeare as gravely as he 
 could. " But the business upon which 
 we come is of such moment as requireth 
 your instant attention. Listen, I pray 
 vou, worthy Master Lather." The old 
 barber-chirurgeon was in a moment look- 
 
 ing as attentive as any man could, where- 
 upon the other proceeded. " We two, 
 sick of the vanities of this most heathen- 
 ish world, and long having scruples of 
 conscience concerning of certain things 
 belonging unto the faith as by law estab- 
 lished, desire to enter into a more strict 
 society, where we may be comforted by 
 the hearing of some famous preacher, 
 capable of ministering to our spiritual 
 wants. We have heard of your being 
 one of such a community as that we wish 
 to enter into, and the manner in which 
 you have been commended hath made us 
 marvellously desirous to ask of you to 
 render us your assistance in the hearing 
 and having speech with such a preacher 
 as you, in your superior judgment, may 
 think best qualified to do us the service 
 we require." 
 
 "That will I and readily," quickly re- 
 plied Master Lather. "When you came 
 I was on the point of attending a meet- 
 ing of the faithful, where, if you will now 
 come with me, you shall hear Master 
 Tribulation Holdfast, who be, according 
 to ray thinking, the very searchingest 
 preacher that ever expounded text." 
 
 This was exactly what Master Shak- 
 speare wanted ; and presently the three 
 were proceeding together under the gui- 
 dance of the barber-chirurgeon, who all 
 the way kept sounding of the praises of 
 the person they were so intent upon see- 
 ing. It was a difficult thing for any who 
 were not of that sect to get admission 
 among a congregation of puritans, as 
 these being frequently oppressively used 
 of the government, and contemptuously 
 treated of the court, would retaliate with 
 some disdain if they could ; and this 
 Master Shakspeare knowing, made him 
 have recourse to stratagem. The anxiety 
 and uneasiness of Master Francis had 
 greatly increased. He was now about to 
 see his father, of whom he had been kept 
 in entire ignorance, and of whose affec- 
 tion he had been debarred for so long a 
 time. From his earliest boyhood he had 
 been of that affectionate nature which 
 ever requireth some natural source upon 
 which to pour out its sympathies. For 
 his uncle he could have no feeling in 
 common; his affection for Harry Daring 
 though sincere was not powerful enough 
 to satisfy him : nor was his young friend 
 of such a disposition as could create in 
 him any kinder feeling. At one time his 
 devotion to Joanna was of so fond and 
 exclusive a kind as left no room in his 
 heart for love of any other. When he 
 discovered this was not reciprocal there
 
 S52 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 was a void which all that he felt for 
 Master Shakspeare and Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh could not fill. The shame that, to 
 his sensitive nature, seemed to cling to 
 him, made him despair that he should 
 meet with any of a like disposition with 
 his own. Indeed, it was not probable he 
 would ; for there was somewhat of an 
 effeminate softness in it which no man 
 that had not the fondness of a parent for 
 him could regard him with ; and though 
 he had formed in his own imagination 
 the most pleasurable pictures of fatherly 
 regard, when he heard the character of 
 this Holdfast, he felt the conviction that 
 such a father he could neither love, or be 
 loved by ; and his heart again sunk within 
 him. Now he listened attentively to all 
 that was said by old Lather, and most 
 fervently hoped that Holdfast might have 
 become as good a man as he was deemed 
 excellent a preacher. 
 
 They arrived at last before an old 
 house with projecting casements running 
 all along, one above another, which was 
 in Houndsditch, and, the barber-chirur- 
 geon leading the way, they presently en- 
 tered a chamber of spacious dimensions 
 filled with people. These were chiefly 
 men, clad in formal cut suits of coarse 
 material, and without ornament. They 
 had usually stern forbidding visages, and 
 famous grave-looking beards. Some 
 women were there ; but they were old 
 and by no means comely. In the middle 
 of the chamber, standing upon a barrel 
 with a book in his hand, was a tall man 
 formally clad, and with a very absolute 
 sanctified countenance. He was preach- 
 ing with a monstrous fierce gesticulation, 
 and with a loud voice that was not the 
 more tunable for having of an audible 
 nasal twang in it. Now he would threat- 
 en terribly, his dark fiery eyes flashing 
 the very gloomiest glances, and his long 
 bony arms waving about in the air in a 
 wonderful awful manner; and then his 
 congregation would groan, and sigh, and 
 look exceeding moved ; anon he would 
 call them the vilest names he could lay 
 his tongue to, and bid them repent of 
 their sins quickly, or every one of them 
 should suffer the horride'st torment that 
 ever was endured; and then there was 
 amongst them the making of such solemn 
 faces, and such turning up of their eyes 
 to the ceiling as was quite pitiful to look 
 upon. 
 
 Upon the entering of Master Shak- 
 speare and his young friend they were re- 
 garded by such of the assembled puritans 
 as could get sight of them, with the 
 
 gloomiest scowling glances ever seen 
 mayhap taking them for some idle gal- 
 lants who only came to make sport; but 
 when that they had noticed Master Fran- 
 cis's pale and melancholy aspect, still 
 looking to be infinitely uneasy, and turned 
 from him to gaze on his companion, who 
 had put on him as long a" face as any 
 there, they thought not they could have 
 any such intention. Still some continued 
 to watch them very suspiciously. Master 
 Francis, as hath been said, was becoming 
 monstrously uneasy. He had heard old 
 Lather point out the preacher as Holdfast, 
 and at the first glance he liked him not 
 at all. His appearance and manner were 
 too repulsive for him to anticipate he 
 should find in him that affection for which 
 his heart yearned. At the conclusion of 
 his sermon the preacher made a pow- 
 erful appeal to his auditors on be- 
 half of certain persons he styled " the 
 suffering saints," who were, in fact, divers 
 puritan divines who had been mulcted or 
 imprisoned by the government ; and with 
 sundry famous arguments held forth the 
 necessity of each contributing according 
 to his means, toward the acquiring for 
 them such assistance as their necessities 
 demanded. Then descending from his 
 elevation, he took his hat and went round 
 with it among the congregation. Some 
 put in it a groat, some a sixpence, some a 
 shilling, and others what they could, and 
 then went their way. 
 
 Master Francis trembled when Hold- 
 fast approached him. He felt some fear 
 of he knew scarce what. He had listen- 
 ed and had observed attentively, and he 
 fancied, from what he had noticed, that 
 there could be no affection in one so se- 
 vere as he seemed. Indeed, he began to 
 doubt the other would even acknowledge 
 him. Neither had Master Shakspeare 
 been an inattentive spectator; but his 
 scrutiny was assisted by a more perfect 
 knowledge of character than was pos- 
 sessed by Master Francis. As the preach 
 er came nearer, Master Shakspeare no- 
 ticed his features more closely. From 
 the impudent expression of the eyes, the 
 extended nostril, and large mouth, he 
 suspected him to be nothing better than 
 an unreclaimed profligate. The look of 
 sanctity imposed not on him. He saw 
 that the countenance before him was one 
 the comeliness whereof had been spoiled 
 by riotous ill-living. The skin was coarse, 
 of a purplish hue on the cheeks, and had 
 the wrinkles and the crowsfoot famously 
 conspicuous. It was plain such a father 
 would do no credit to his young friend ;
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 253 
 
 mdeed, had not the latter seemed so con- 
 fident of it, he should have doubled there 
 ivas any relationship betwixt them. Not- 
 withstanding of what he thought, he had 
 mac.e up his mind how he should act. 
 
 it so happened that Holdfast did not 
 cotae to old Lather and his companions till 
 nearly all of his congregation had taken 
 their departures. Upon seeing of what 
 he took to be two gallants, he looked 
 upon them with a sort of sneer, yet pres- 
 ently put his hat before Master Shak- 
 speare, who, taking out his purse, drop- 
 ped among the contributions of the others, 
 a ryal of Henry the Eighth. At the sight 
 of the gold, the yellow eyeballs of the 
 puritan did glisten again. 
 
 " Here is another for my friend," said 
 
 Master Shakspeare, dropping a second 
 
 into the hat, "and heartily do we both 
 
 wish the suffering saints out of the power 
 
 of their tyrannical persecutors." 
 
 " I thank you in their names and the 
 Lord thanketh you also," replied Hold- 
 fast looking wonderfully gracious. "Ver- 
 ily, I took you to be of the ungodly, for 
 the vanity of your apparelling did mis- 
 lead me." 
 
 " Indeed, worthy sir, it hath misled 
 you hugely," observed the barber-chirur- 
 geon. " These be two very honorable 
 gentlemen of my acquaintance, who, re- 
 penting of the blindness in which they 
 have lived, are desirous of entering into 
 our community, that they might profit by 
 the discourses of such an absolute search- 
 er of hearts as yourself; therefore have 
 I brought them here for is it not writ- 
 ten in Aristotle" 
 
 "Mind not the heathen," said the 
 preacher, with a monstrous grave face, 
 interrupting old Lather in his speech. 
 " Speak ye of any written thing, let it 
 be the word of the Lord: for therein lieth 
 all comfortable knowledge, and all un- 
 derstanding worthy to be known of the 
 faithful." 
 
 " Could I and my friend have private 
 speech with you, worthy sir," said Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare to Holdfast. "I doubt 
 not 'twould be to the wonderful comfort- 
 ing: of our disturbed spirits ; for what we 
 have heard this day, so ably delivered as it 
 was, hath come home to us. Your marvel- 
 lous eloquence hath touched us mightily. 
 We can not help wishing to be of the 
 flock of so truly admirable a shepherd." 
 
 " Verily, I am in the Lord's hands," 
 replied the preacher, with his usual nasal 
 twang, as he lifted up his eyes to the 
 ceiling. " What I have is of his giv- 
 ing ; what I do is of his performance." 
 
 "Should you bestow on us your inval- 
 uable counsel, you would not find us un- 
 grateful for your pious office:" and here 
 Master Shakspeare, as if by accident, 
 jingled his purse, which the puritan 
 knew to be well filled, by the sound of it. 
 
 " Wait you but till I dismiss the con- 
 gregation,with the Lord's help, I will give 
 you whatever consolation you stand in 
 need of." The preacher then went round 
 to such as remained, and after the barber- 
 chirurgeon had taken his leave of them, 
 Master Shakspeare and his young friend 
 were led into a little room adjoining the 
 chamber used as a chapel, where there 
 was a bottle of wine and a pasty on the 
 table, as if waiting to be partaken of. 
 Master Francis took a seat. He was in 
 such a state of anxiety he could say 
 nothing. He felt that the crisis was ap- 
 proaching that was to determine his fu- 
 ture happiness or misery. 
 
 " It is the Lord's work," observed the 
 puritan, as he was placing the money out 
 of his hat into a bag, the which he seem- 
 ed to do with an infinite satisfaction. " It 
 is the Lord's work, and blessed be the 
 name of the Lord. He hath sent you 
 unto me to be his instrument for with- 
 drawing you from the ways of perdition 
 to enter into the paths of holiness. Verily 
 you have determined on a wise thing. 
 Join the brethren. Fly from the allure- 
 ments of the devil, and the lusts of the 
 flesh. There is no peace out of our holy 
 assembly. Fly from false teachers, and 
 ignorant villanous pretenders to be of 
 God's high ministry. I that am but as 
 a worm like to be trodden under foot, by 
 the influence of an especial grace have 
 become a light among the Gentiles. I 
 will lead you out of your darkness I 
 will" 
 
 " Dost think any one can overhear us ?" 
 inquired Master Shakspeare, going close 
 up to Holdfast and interrupting him in 
 the midst of his preaching. 
 
 " There be none nigh enough," replied 
 the other, seeming somewhat surprised 
 at hearing of such a question. Master 
 Shakspeare again produced his purse, 
 which he laid on the table. The preach- 
 er stared at the gold with an exceeding 
 avaricious eye, yet did he look as if he 
 marvelled in some measure. 
 
 " Let us understand each other," added 
 Master Shakspeare. " The contents of 
 that purse are yours on condition you an- 
 swer truly such questions as I shall put 
 to you. Be assured, that although they 
 relate to yourself, you shall receive no 
 hurt amongst your friends by the faith-
 
 254 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 fulness of your replies ; but the rather ex- 
 pect to have such ruin brought upon you 
 as the exposure of your early life must 
 needs produce, speak you not honestly 
 and to the purpose. I ask not out of any 
 idle curiosity, believe me ; but for a good 
 and honorable end, which, if I find it ne- 
 cessary, you shall know of." The puri- 
 tan listened wilh a countenance of won- 
 der, not unmixed with some dread. Mas- 
 ter Francis attended with an increasing 
 anxiousness. 
 
 " You are called Tribulation Hold- 
 fast ?" said Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " That be my name beyond all doubt," 
 replied the preacher. 
 
 " Is not your proper name Francis 
 Holdfast ?" inquired his interrogator. 
 
 " When I was one of the ungodly I 
 was known by such a name," replied the 
 other. 
 
 "By such a name you were known at 
 leas', some twenty years since?" 
 
 "Ay, that was I." 
 
 " Remember you about that time be- 
 ing acquainted with a young female, to 
 avoid a marriage with whom you went 
 to the wars?" 
 
 The puritan hesitated awhile, but his 
 eyes happening to light upon the purse on 
 the table, he presently answered, "1 do 
 remember me something of it.'' 
 
 "Were you married to her at any 
 time ?" inquired Master Shakspeare, fix- 
 ing on the other a very searching glance. 
 
 " No that was I not at any time," re- 
 plied Holdfast. Upon hearing which 
 Master Francis did utter a sudden groan, 
 and covered his face with his hands. 
 
 " The birth of a child was the conse- 
 quence of your intimacy with her?" con- 
 tinued Master Shakspeare. The preacher 
 again paused before he would answer. 
 
 "Verily I was then among the back- 
 sliders," replied he at last very demurely. 
 " I was sorely tempted of the devil, and 
 fell headlong into the snare : but lo ! the 
 Lord hath disentangled me He hath 
 raised me up He hath" 
 
 " Died not the mother soon after?" in- 
 quired Master Shakspeare, interrupting 
 the other with very little ceremony. 
 Whether Holdfast liked not to confess 
 the truth is not known ; but he delayed 
 answering of the question so long that it 
 was repeated with a look and manner 
 that did command attention. 
 
 "She died within a short time of its 
 birth," answered Holdfast, with some- 
 thing of a tremor in his voice, and a look 
 that showed he was ashamed to make 
 the acknowledgment. Master Francis 
 
 sat trembling like a condemned critni- 
 nal. 
 
 " Know you what became of the 
 child?" asked Master Shakspeare. The 
 puritan again hesitated, but observing 
 from the severe scrutiny of his gaze that 
 his interrogator would have an answer, 
 he replied in more evident confusion, 
 ' She lieth buried with her mother at St. 
 Mary Overy." 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" screamed Master Fran- 
 cis, as he started up of a sudden with a 
 look of frantic exultation, and ran and 
 shook Holdfast heartily by the hand, as if 
 he was the very dearest friend he had, 
 though a moment since he would have 
 shrunk from his touch. " You have saved 
 me from the horriblest misery I am in- 
 debted to you beyond all measure." 
 
 " The purse is yours, Master Holdfast," 
 observed Master Shakspeare, almost in 
 as great a delight as was his young 
 friend, " I need ask you no more ques- 
 tions." The puritan stared at one and 
 then at the other, believing both of them 
 to be crazed ; but he hesitated not in ta- 
 king possession of the purse. 
 
 "We must now to your uncle's, Mas- 
 ter Francis,'' said his friend, as they were 
 making their way fromHoundsditch. " It 
 seemeth to me he hath been playing the 
 villain with you." 
 
 " I will go wheresoever you please to 
 lead," replied the other, in a famous 
 cheerful humor. "Indeed, I feel so infi- 
 nitely joyful at heart I have no care about 
 anything." And this was exactly the 
 case with him. In truth, Master Fran- 
 cis was of that nature which be com- 
 mon enough in the young and imagina- 
 tive that he was ever jumping from 
 one extreme to the other. What Sir 
 Robert Cecil had said, had plunged him 
 into a wonderful melancholy the suc- 
 cess of his play had delighted him be- 
 yond all measure the sight of Joanna 
 with Padre Bartolome had filled him 
 with a very monstrous uneasiness the 
 hearing he was sent for by the queen put 
 him in so extreme a cheerfulness, he could 
 do nothing but imagine the honorable 
 things he expected would come of it 
 the gross insult she had put upon him 
 before all her court, made him feel him- 
 self degraded into the lowest depths of 
 shame and the hope that his supposed 
 father was of a reputable character the 
 fear he would not acknowledge him as 
 his son the dread he felt when he saw 
 Holdfast and noticed what manner of 
 man he was, and the delight he experi- 
 enced upon finding that thorough hypo-
 
 SHAHSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 255 
 
 Cfite to be of no. kin to him, were as 
 powerful in their effects upon him, as 
 sudden in their changes. Now all the 
 weight of fear and the deep sense of 
 shame which had laid so heavy on his 
 spirit, appeared to be utterly cast off, and 
 he again gave himself up to the indul- 
 gence of those ambitious and romantic 
 dreams which, in early years, he had ta- 
 ken such huge delight in. 
 
 By this time they arrived at St. Mary 
 Axe the evening was so far set in that the 
 shops were closed, and many of ihe more 
 industrious sort of citizens had retired to 
 their beds. Master Shakspeare knock- 
 ed at the house of Gregory Vellum sev- 
 eral times before any sign appeared that 
 it contained any living creature. The 
 tenement seemed in a d readful dilapidated 
 condition, and the windows were covered 
 with mud and dirt, having most of the 
 iflass broken, with the holes in some 
 places stuffed with old dirty rags. At 
 last a casement was thrown up, and, by 
 the light of the stars, Master Francis and 
 his companion observed the old scrivener 
 looking cautiously out of it, projecting 
 before him the barrel of a rusty har- 
 quebus. 
 
 " What want you, knocking so loud at 
 this late hour ?" inquired the old miser in 
 his shrill treble. 
 
 It is I, uncle," replied his nephew. 
 " I would fain have speech with you on a 
 matter of some importance to me." 
 
 " Uncle, me no uncles !" exclaimed 
 Gregory Vellum querulously. "I know 
 you not. Get you gone quickly." 
 
 "Open the door to us on the instant! 
 We have pressing business with you !" 
 cried Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " I will open my doors to none," an- 
 swered the other. " Mayhap you be 
 thieves, as I do indeed suspect you of 
 being." 
 
 " I assure you, we are nothing of the 
 sort," said Master Shakspeare, " I have 
 come here with Master Francis, your 
 nephew, to hear some certain intelligence 
 concerning of his father." 
 
 " Get you gone for a couple of knaves !" 
 cried the old man sharply. " You be 
 thieves out of all doubt, I will fire on you 
 stay you at my door any longer." 
 
 "Open the door, you old fool I" ex- 
 claimed Master Shakspeare, getting to be 
 somewhat out of temper. "I do insist 
 upon your giving us the information we 
 need of you, else shall you presently re- 
 pent it." 
 
 " Watch ! Watch ! Here be villains 
 a breaking into my house. Watch, I 
 
 say. Come quickly, or I shall be spoiled 
 and undone!" Bawling this as loudly as 
 he could, Gregory Vellum banged down 
 the casement, and left the two friends no 
 wiser than they came. 
 
 " If you be true men, stand !" exclaim- 
 ed a rough voice close at their elbow, 
 and on turning round they observed one 
 of the city watch a famous stupid-look- 
 ing pudding-headed sort of a fellow, 
 coming up to them, holding of his bill in 
 his hand in such a manner as sho.ved 
 some intention of making their bodies 
 acquainted with it. " 1 charge you sta&d 
 in the queen's name. I apprehend you 
 as vagrom men, going upon exceeding 
 dissolute courses, and will straightway 
 bring you before Master Constable to 
 give an account of yourselves. Come on 
 in peaceable fashion like well-behaved 
 villains, as I doubt not to find you, else 
 will I raise my brethren of the watch, be- 
 sides giving you some terrible wounds 
 with my bill. It be flat felorty to resist 
 one of the watch. You can not escape 
 hanging for it Come on, then, in the 
 queen's name." 
 
 " You bade us stand in the queen's 
 name but this moment," replied Master 
 Shakspeare very gravely, and moving 
 not a foot. " Therefore will we stand 
 till doomsday like true men, as we are." 
 " Nay, that be against the law," cried 
 the other authoritatively. "No vagrom 
 men must be allowed to stand when they 
 be told to move on, nor move on when 
 they be told to stand, for so saith Master 
 Constable, who knoweth the law better 
 than any man in our ward. I charge 
 you, first of all, to stand, if you be true 
 
 men" 
 
 "And I charge you, next of all, to run 
 away if you be a villain !" answered Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, quickly drawing of his 
 rapier; at the sight of which the other 
 left his speech unfinished, and took to 
 running away as fast as he could, bawl- 
 ing murder with all the strength of his 
 lungs. Scarce had Master Shakspeare 
 had his laugh out, and put up his weapon, 
 when he noticed the same man coming 
 toward him with some five or six of his 
 brethren of the watch. 
 
 " There be the villains, Master Con- 
 ! stable !" cried he. " I caught them about 
 I to break into a house, and upon charging 
 j of them to stand, one did draw his tool 
 | upon me. and would have done me some 
 [ deadly hurt, had I not showed what speed 
 I of foot I had." 
 
 "That be murder with intent to kill ; 
 or manslaughter at the least," observed
 
 256 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 one of his companions, a fat old fellow 
 with a famous red nose, and a marvellous 
 grave countenance. 
 
 " Le' us he upon them, else will they 
 escape, Neighbor Braddle," bawled one in- 
 to his ear, as if ihe old fellow was deaf. 
 "If we stab them with our bills and 
 they die of it shall they have their action 
 of battery upon us?" asked another in a 
 loud voice. 
 
 " No, for we shall have the law on our 
 sides," replied he that was called Brad- 
 die. " If you kill a man in the execution 
 of your duty he shall not have his action 
 against you that is, if he resist none. 
 If he do not resist and you kill him, he 
 shall be entitled to have you cast for the 
 murder." 
 
 ' Then, methinks, it be best to meddle 
 not with these," remarked a third. " Per- 
 chance we might come but badly off, 
 Master Constable?" 
 
 " So stands the law," said Neighbor 
 Braddle, with as much of the look of an 
 oracle as he could put on him. " If we 
 kill them, save upon resistance to our 
 authorities, we shall be judged to be 
 malefactors, and not get off without hang- 
 ing." 
 
 " What, if they kill us ?" inquired one. 
 " Then shall we have the law on our 
 sides, and may kill them again," answer- 
 ed the other. 
 
 " But I like not being killed, I promise 
 you, Neighbor Braddle," observed his 
 companion with an inconceivable serious 
 look. 
 
 " Let us speak them fair," said anoth- 
 er. " Mayhap we shall be able to lay 
 hold on them without a brawl." 
 
 " It shall be done," answered the con- 
 stable. "I will to them myself." There' 
 upon, he and his companions walked up 
 to Master Shakspeareand his friend, who 
 had been so amused with what the others 
 had said, whereof they had heard every 
 word in consequence of their talking so 
 loud, that both stayed to see what would 
 come of it. 
 
 " My masters," exclaimed the consta- 
 ble, presenting himself before them with 
 a famous consequential look, whilst his 
 brethren of the watch kept close upon 
 his heels. " On your allegiance, stir not ; 
 as you are true men, answer what I ask 
 of you ; and as you hope to be saved, 
 speak up, for I be monstrous hard of 
 hearing." 
 
 "What would you do with us honest 
 men ?" inquired Master Shakspeare ; but 
 he had scarce let the words out of his 
 mouth, when he found himself firmly 
 
 seized by two of the watch, and at the 
 same time two others had fast hold on 
 Master Francis. 
 
 " If you resist us it be lawful to make 
 an end of you," cried one. 
 
 " Hold them fast, neighbor, for they be 
 such thorough rogues, I doubt not they 
 would escape if they could," said the first 
 " Now I look on you closer," observed 
 the constable, po"king his red nose as neat 
 as he might to the faces of his prisoners, 
 who held themselves very quiet. "Now 
 I look on you closer, two such absolute 
 cut-throats never saw I in my days." 
 
 "Especially he with the villanous 
 high forehead," exclaimed another. 
 
 " I pretend not to know aught of read- 
 ing or writing," remarked a third ; " but 
 hanging be written so plain on the coun- 
 tenance of that varlet that methinks none 
 need learn his horn-book to find it out." 
 
 " I doubt not but that this be as great 
 a villain as the other," observed one of 
 his companions, who had hold on Master 
 Francis. "Indeed, if I be not hugely 
 deceived, I have already had him in cus- 
 tody for cutting of a purse." 
 
 " For all their fine apparelling, I know 
 them to be the very rascallest pair of 
 knights of the post that live," cried an- 
 other. 
 
 " It be plain, then, that you are the vil- 
 lains I took you to be," said Master Con- 
 stable, looking upon the prisoners with 
 extreme severity. "Now, answer me, 
 as you wish to escape hanging carrj 
 you any money in your purses ?" 
 
 "I have neither money nor purse," re- 
 plied Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " Dost think to escape hanging, varlet, 
 and have no money?" exclaimed the 
 other, sharply : " 0' my life you be the 
 shockingest villain I have met with this 
 many a day." 
 
 "It be plain they be vagrom men," 
 cried the first, " for it be well known of 
 all, vagrom men be a horrible pennyless 
 set." 
 
 " I have money, Master Constable," 
 exclaimed Master Francis. 
 
 " There be some hope of you," quickly 
 replied Neighbor Braddle: "saving that 
 you have fallen into abominable bad com- 
 pany, I would not utter a word to your 
 disparagement I doubt not it will be 
 found upon inquiry you be a youth of a 
 very marvellous honesty. Let me have 
 the keeping of your money, honest youth, 
 else it will stand a good chance of being 
 stolen." 
 
 " I thank you, I would rather keep it 
 myself," answered Master Francis.
 
 AND HIS FfclENDS. 
 
 257 
 
 ".Oulon you for a hardeped young vil- 
 lain !" cried the other, looking exceeding 
 wrath. " There can be no doubt of your 
 being a couple of as infamous cutpurses 
 as ever were put in the compter. Bring 
 them along, neighbor Sheepface^-to pris* 
 on with them they can not help swing- 
 ing for't." 
 
 Master Shakspeare and his young 
 friend were dragged along the whole 
 fength of the street, and they began to 
 think their situation somewhat unpleas- 
 ant. They attempted to remonstrate'with 
 *heir captors upon the wrong they were 
 doing, in hurrying to prison persons of 
 their respectability for committing of no 
 offence, and threatened them with the se- 
 verest penalties of the law, were they 
 not released on the instant; but they re- 
 ceived nothing but abuse in reply. They 
 had scarce got into the next street when 
 the whole party were met by four young 
 men, who were coming along singing 
 aud catterwauling, and making of such a 
 terrible racket, that some of the citizens 
 were seen in their nightcaps looking out 
 of window, to know what horrible noise 
 it was. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog, Big Jack o' the 
 Turnstile, here be two honest gentlemen 
 in custody of the watch !" cried a well- 
 known voice, as he approached within 
 sight of them. ",To the rescue, Peter 
 Perriwinkle ! to the rescue, Long-legged 
 Tom ! they be my true friends," shouted 
 Harry Daring, as he recognised who they 
 were. In a minute all four hurried tow- 
 ard the spot, evidently in that state in 
 which legions of watch would have been 
 cared for but little. " Ha ! what Barna- 
 by Braddle !" exclaimed Harry, in some 
 sort of astonishment, as he stood before 
 Master Constable ; " take that for old ac- 
 
 Suaintance sake!" and the next moment 
 arnaby Braddle measured his length on 
 the ground, knocked on the pate by his 
 own bill, which Harry had wrested from 
 him. 
 
 This appeared to be the signal for a 
 general fight. Master Shakspeare and 
 his young friend were soon out of the 
 hands of ( their captors, having each of 
 them tripped up the heels of such of the 
 watch as held them ; and laying hold of 
 the weapons of those who fell, they as- [ 
 sisted Harry Daring and his companions 
 with such good will, that in an .exceeding 
 brief space, their opponents took to their 
 heels, or were laid with broken pates on 
 the ground. However, the noise of the 
 disturbance and the outcries of those who 
 ran away, soon fetched such numbers of 
 17 
 
 the city watch, that, for all that they 
 fought with the most determined resolute- 
 ness, every one of them, Master Shaks- 
 peare and his party would have been 
 overpowere*d, had not Harry Daring all at 
 once raised the cry of " prentices ! pren- 
 tices! clubs! clubs!" in which he was 
 so vigorously assisted by Big Jack o' the 
 Turnstile, Long-legged Tom, and Peter 
 Perriwinkle, that there presently were 
 seen running in all .directiqns some score 
 of young men and boys, every one with 
 a cudgel in his hand, who began laying 
 about them so famously, it looked as if 
 they were used to it. Mpre of the watch 
 continued to come, but the apprentices 
 who. had already taken part in the conflict 
 soon drew such a number to their assis- 
 tance, by shouting as loud as they could, 
 " prentices ! prentices ! clubs ! clubs !" 
 that the street became filled with them 
 and the watch to the amount of -some 
 hundreds^ all fighting with 'one another 
 as fiercely as dragons, with such furious 
 outcries, that it brought the citizens, 
 frightened out of their wits, to their 
 windows. 
 
 It can not be doubted but that Harry 
 Daring was in the thickest of the fray. 
 Indeed, though he got a few famous 
 thumps from the bills of his opponents, 
 he ceased not till he and his companions 
 had driven .them to seek safety in flight ; 
 and after seeing of Master Shakspeare to 
 his lodgings, and bidding good-night to 
 his old school-fellows, he went home with 
 Master Francis, overjoyed that he had 
 again participated in such" exquisite fine 
 fun," as he had ever found in beating of 
 the watch. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 What things have \ve seen 
 
 Done at THE MERMAID : heard words that have been 
 So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, 
 As if that every one from whence they came 
 Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest ! 
 
 BEAUMONT. 
 
 But that which most doth take my Muse and me, 
 Is a pure cup of rich Canary wine, 
 Which is THE MERMAID'S now but shall he mine . 
 Of which had Horace or Anacreon tasted, 
 Their lives, as do their lines, till now had lasted. 
 BEN JOSSON. 
 
 Come, let us go while we are in our prime, 
 And take the harmless folly of the time. 
 
 HBBBICK. 
 
 THE next day Master Shakspeare pro- 
 ceeded, with Master Francis to the scriv- 
 ener's, determined, if it were possible, to
 
 258 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 make the old miser declare what he 
 knew of liis young friend's parentage: 
 but Gregory Vellum was obstinate, nay, 
 quite rude on the matter.. He would 
 have it he knew no more than he had 
 already said ; and could not be ever a 
 wasting of his time in answering ques- 
 tions concerning the birth of one that was 
 base born. In vain his nephew implored 
 him to say all that he was acquainted 
 with ; he only laughed at his prayers, 
 and bade him about his'business; in vain 
 Master Shakspeare threatened him with 
 legal proceedings told he not the truth : 
 he set him at defiance, and accused them 
 both of coming to him with no better 
 purpose than to extort money. After re- 
 ceiving from him nothing but abuse, and 
 finding he could not be brought, either 
 by threats, or bribes, or entreaties, to 
 declare any one thing, they, with a very 
 evident reluctance, took themselves away. 
 Master Francis now found that his birth 
 was involved in as much obscurity as 
 ever ; yet as he was not deprived of hope, 
 he was less uneasy on the subject than he 
 had been a long time. It was a great 
 relief the getting rid of all idea of rela- 
 tionship with that wretched hypocrite 
 Holdfast. Could he as perfectly con- 
 7ince himself of his own legitimacy as 
 he could that he was no son of that man, 
 he would have cared but little. Even 
 were his father some honest poor man, 
 he would now be satisfied, provided he 
 had been bound in marriage with his 
 mother. In fine, he felt he could humble 
 his ambition to any lowness, to secure his 
 mother's honor from suspicion. 
 
 T.he success of his play, for it seemed 
 to take with the town more and more 
 every day, set him to the writing of other 
 things, and he began to be considered of 
 the critics one of the most promising 
 poets of the time. Save Master Shak- 
 speare, none exhibited such interest in 
 the success of his writings as did Sir 
 Walter Raleieh. He had been delighted 
 with the tragedy, and took every occasion 
 to bring the young author into notice 
 amongst such of his friend^ and acquain- 
 tances as possessed rank' or influence. 
 What had passed betwixt his secretary 
 and Queen Elizabeth had vexed him as 
 much as the knowledge that the youth 
 was in no way related to such a paltry 
 cheater as he had known that Holdfast 
 to be, had given him pleasure. His own 
 affairs looked not to be in the most flour- 
 ishing condition. At the earnest solicita- 
 tions of his devoted wife he had strove 
 to the utmost to get himself restored to 
 
 the queen 's favor ; but, as Cecil insinuated", 
 my Lord Essex and his friends had such 
 influence at court as prevented all ap- 
 proach to a reconciliation with her maj- 
 esty, though he was unceasing in his 
 efforts to bring it about. For all this the 
 queen did often send him comfortable 
 messages, which did give him some hope 
 he should make bis peace with her be* 
 fore long. An expedition against the 
 Spaniards had been 1 talked of, and though 
 it met not with the approbation of her 
 lord-treasurer, who liked not atiything 
 that cost much money, and seemed to be 
 attended with more risk than profit; as 
 it was warmly supported by the lord- 
 admiral and my Lord Essex, it was 
 thought, amoqg those supposed to be in 
 the secret, my Lord Barghley's opinion 
 would go for naught. The expedition 
 had been originally proposed by Sir Wal- 
 ter Raleigh, some years since ; and as 
 the queen had lately sent frequently to 
 consult him on the matter, Dame Eliza- 
 beth did imagine he would have some 
 command in it ; and this thought of hers 
 pleased her mightily, for she did argue 
 from it he would have such opportunity 
 for distinguishing of himself as must 
 needs end in his being restored to the 
 honorable place he had lost by his mar- 
 riage with her. 
 
 " Put you on your hat and cloak, Mas- 
 ter Francis, and come with me," said 
 Sir Walter to his secretary, as they sat 
 together, after the labors of the day were 
 ended, in the library at Durham house, 
 that was in the turret overlooking the 
 Thames, " I wish you to meet certain 
 friends of mine, in whose society I doubt 
 not you will find infinite pleasure." 
 
 Master Francis was not long in com- 
 plying with his patron's request, and 
 shortly afterward they walked out to- 
 gether till they came to a tavern of excel- 
 lent great repute, called " The Mermaid," 
 in Friday street. It seemed to be a goodly 
 structure, being of some size, with a 
 famous porch in the centre, having case- 
 ments from the ground floor projecting 
 into the street further than the ordinary, 
 each story above story, with quaint carv- 
 ings round about them, and a huge sign 
 over the door, representing a mermaid 
 in the sea, daintily combing of her hair 
 with one hand, and having a looking- 
 glass in the other, into which she ap- 
 peared to be gazing. There were two or 
 three gentlemanlike men loitering about 
 the entrance, conversing with each other. 
 
 " Ha ! Master Donne !" exclaimed Sir 
 Walter, cordially greeting a young man,
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 259 
 
 dressed very soberly, yet of a simple good- 
 natured countenance. " How goeth the 
 world with you ?" 
 
 "Indeed, it goeth but ill with me, Sir 
 Walter," replied he, " yet why should I 
 repine ? It be true enough, I have lost 
 most of my property ; yet my dear wife 
 hath been restored to me. Methinks I 
 should be exceeding content." 
 
 " I hope all will end happily at last," 
 remarked Raleigh. Now the reader must 
 know that this Master Donne having been 
 secretary to a certain Lord Elsinore, with 
 whom he had travelled in Spain and 
 Italy, fell in love with my lord's niece, 
 who was the daughter of Sir George 
 More, and upon finding they were both 
 of one mind, privately married her ; 
 which did so enrage her father when he 
 came to know of it, that he took away 
 his wife from him, had him dismissed 
 from his office of secretary, and then cast 
 him into prison. He got his liberty pres- 
 ently ; but he got not his wife again till 
 he had recourse to law proceedings with 
 his father-in-law, that nearly consumed 
 all his substance. 
 
 "My kinsman, Sir Francis Whalley, 
 with whom I am living, is exercising of 
 his best means to get Sir George to be 
 reconciled to me,' 1 added Master Donne. 
 " I know not what will come of it, but 
 will hope for the best. Then there hath 
 been my true friend, Dr. Morton, that 
 very excellent and truly good divine, ad- 
 vising me to enter into the church, and 
 offering me a benefice if I would." 
 
 "And surely you will do as he advises 
 you, the more especially as your fortune 
 is so low ?" remarked Sir Walter. 
 
 "Indeed, I can not," replied the other. 
 " 'Tis a great temptation at this time 
 certainly, the offer of a fair benefice when 
 I have nothing to look to, and a sweet 
 young wife to provide for ; but I have 
 such scruples against entering the priest- 
 hood, because I am not of that holy dis- 
 ?osition methinks it should require, that 
 can not bring my conscience to the do- 
 ing of any such thing." 
 
 " O' my life ! I do most truly believe 
 you would do the church infinite honor 
 in becoming one of its members," said 
 Raleigh. " I wish all were as conscien- 
 tious and as worthy." Then turning to 
 another he exclaimed, with a like cordial 
 manner as he had used to Master Donne 
 " And how speedeih Master Cotton in 
 his labors? Hast found any more rare 
 manuscripts and ancient records, such as 
 your laudable industry hath already put 
 you upon the discovery of?" 
 
 "Indeed have I, Sir Walter," replied 
 he, who was one of a famous staid de- 
 meanor, and in great repute for his knowl- 
 edge of, and eagerness after, all manner 
 of ancient things. "I have had the good 
 hap to get hold of a marvellous number 
 of such wonderful, curious, and valuable 
 manuscripts, charters, records, and the 
 like precious documents, as scarce any in 
 these kingdoms have met with, the which 
 I shall be proud to show you, call you 
 on me at any time." 
 
 " I will not fail to pay you a visit 
 soon," answered Sir Walter. " Master 
 Selden well met !" exclaimed he to an- 
 other "And Master Martin too," he ad- 
 ded to a fourth. " Pray t*>U me who are 
 come?" 
 
 " There are Master Beaumont and 
 Master Fletcher," said one. 
 
 " Arcades ambo !" cried Raleigh laugh- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Methjnks they be the very < Gemini' 
 of our literary zodiac," observed Master 
 Marlin in a like humor. " They look to 
 be ever so closely coupled." 
 
 " Then there have lately gone up Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare and Master Jonson," added 
 another. 
 
 " If Beaumont and Fletcher be ' Gem- 
 ini,' " said Master Selden, " surely Shak- 
 speare and Jonson be 'Pisces ;' for, o' my 
 life, never saw I such fish for drinking !" 
 Thereupon there was a laugh among 
 them all. 
 
 " Not a long while since Master Carew 
 passed me, and went in," remarked Mas- 
 ter Donne. 
 
 "Doubtless inventing of some new 
 ballad," said Master Cotton, " with such 
 a monstrous fire of love in it as might 
 dissolve all the ice between this and the 
 Frozen ocean." 
 
 "Master Constable and Master Syl- 
 vester are also there," added another. 
 
 "Master Sylvester came before the 
 other in a monstrous haste," observed 
 Master Selden in the same merry humor. 
 "But that can be nothing out of the ordi- 
 nary ; for he be famous for outrunning 
 the constable." 
 
 " Well, let us up and join them, my 
 masters!" exclaimed Sir Walter, laugh- 
 ing with the rest ; upon which the whole 
 party moved on through the spacious door- 
 way with its fantastic carvings about it, 
 passing a notable fat landlady in the 
 passage, who left off rating one of the 
 drawers to drop her guests a courtesy, 
 and make some courteous inquiry, as ev- 
 ery one said a civil word before they went 
 up stairs. As they were entering the room
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 above, they heard such shouts oflaughter 
 as showed plain enough there was no 
 lack of good humor among the company; 
 and so it appeared, for upon their coming 
 in they noticed that every one was laugh- 
 ing as heartily as he might; and Master 
 Shakspeare, and one of a right merry 
 aspect, whom Master, Francis knew to 
 be Ben Jonson, were in the midst of them, 
 evidently causing all the mirth they had 
 heard. The room was long, and of a fair 
 height, having a long old oak table with 
 rounded legs put in the centre, on which 
 a drawer appeared to be setting things 
 ready for supper. The compartments in 
 the wainscot were elaborately carved with 
 all manner of foliage and griffins' heads; 
 and the chimney, which was of a more 
 than ordinary height and capaciousness, 
 was ornamented in a like manner. There 
 was an open cupboard on one side, in 
 which was a rare display of glass and 
 china, and one or two parcel-gilt goblets; 
 and a goodly silver tankard, curiously 
 wrought with a scene of persons going 
 a hawking ; and the tapestry round the 
 room was worked with rude designs de- 
 scriptive of the destruction of the Span- 
 ish armada, with labels coming out the 
 mouths of the principal commanders in 
 the ships, saying of certain things attrib- 
 uted to them. 
 
 Master Francis upon first coming in 
 did as he saw others do, put his hat upon 
 a peg, and then turned to see who was 
 of the company. Most of them he knew ; 
 for they were the chiefest wits of the 
 time, that he had often met in the cham- 
 ber of the players, and these greeted him 
 kindly. Whilst looking about him, he 
 could not help observing the drawer, who 
 was a youth marvellous spare of flesh, 
 with long legs and long arms, in a white 
 canvass doublet and saffron-colored hose, 
 and an exceeding innocent countenance, 
 in which the sense of respect for the com- 
 pany in which he was, seemed to behav- 
 ing a sore struggle with the desire to laugh 
 at the right admirable jests that ever and 
 anon broke from one or other of them. 
 
 " Here cometh our king of El Dorado !" 
 exclaimed Ben Jonson good-humoredly, 
 as he noticed the entrance of Sir Walter 
 Raleigh and those who came with him. 
 " Mayhap we shall have something ster- 
 ling now. O' my life! I be wonderful 
 like good money kept with bad. Me- 
 thinks, by this time, I must needs have so 
 suspicious a look with me, on account of 
 the rubs I am getting among these base 
 ones, that I can not help being thought as 
 brass as my company." 
 
 , " Verily,thy company be brazen enough, 
 of all conscience," replied Master Shak- 
 speare in a like tone and manner. "I 
 will put thee up to a good thing, Ben. 
 When the next lord mayor's day comes 
 round, offer for a reasonable sum to play 
 the part of one of the men in armor. Na- 
 ture hath provided thee with such a com- 
 plete suit of brass, thou art sure to be 
 able to do it cheaper and more to the life 
 than any." 
 
 " Away with thee ! thy wit be all of 
 a quality with thyself!" cried the other, 
 whilst his companion laughed as loud as 
 the rest. " Not only art thou brazen be- 
 yond all denial, but thou art a very bra- 
 zen bull of Phalaris ; for thou dost ' roar' 
 at the expense of thy victims." 
 
 " Ifaith be I the bull of Phalaris, thou 
 must needs be the Colossus of Rhodes," 
 replied Master Shakspeare. " Mayhap 
 it would be greatly to somebody's profit, 
 who would break thee up and sell thee 
 by weight, as was done with that ancient 
 image. But heard I not that the wor- 
 shipful company of braziers had made 
 thee a handsome offer at so much per 
 pound, wishing to melt thee into candle- 
 sticks, hand-irons, stew-pans and the 
 like famous utensils? I hope 'tis true, 
 for thou wouldst then come to a goodly 
 use, which be more than I can hope of 
 thee at present." 
 
 " Oh ! would I had the lapis philo' 
 sophicus" exclaimed Ben Jonson, "I 
 would, with what speed I might, trans- 
 mute the abominable baseness of thy hu- 
 mor into something more creditable to 
 thee." 
 
 "Use it on thyself, Ben, I prythee, for 
 thou wilt find it more to thy profit," an- 
 swered the other, laughingly. "Had 
 such transmutation been done, and thou 
 hadst been one of the children of Israel 
 that were hastening away from Pharaoh, 
 there would hare been no occasion for 
 them to have melted the trinkets they 
 had filched from the Egyptians." 
 
 "And why not, my CEdipus?" asked 
 his companion. 
 
 " Because they would have had a gold- 
 en calf ready at their hands," replied 
 Master Shakspeare. At this the compa- 
 ny laughed louder than ever, and the 
 drawer turned his head on one side, to 
 hide the grin that made its appearance 
 on his countenance. 
 
 " Well, my masters," exclaimed Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, fearing that the liveli- 
 ness of their wits might, if not inter 
 rupted, lead them to loggerheads, " ther 
 can be no doubt you are both ' men o
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 26! 
 
 metal ;' and if the nature thereof hath 
 an inclination for the brazen, ' Corinthian 
 brass' it must be at the least." 
 
 "That is a pretty compliment, o' my 
 word," cried Master Cotton, " and in 
 honest truth I take them to be of such 
 choice metal, if brass they be; that had 
 they lived in Rome, under either its con- 
 suls or emperors, I doubt not at all they 
 would both have been coined into 'ass- 
 es.' " 
 
 " Nay, hang it, Master Cotton !" ex- 
 claimed Master Shakspeare. good-hu- 
 moredly, " travel not so far as Rome to 
 make asses of us. I would take no such 
 trouble in such a case, I promise you ; 
 for were I so inclined, I see no reason 
 for doubting I could make an ass of you 
 on the spot." Thereupon the laugh was 
 as general as ever, and the drawer put 
 his hand to his mouth to prevent others 
 from seeing he could not avoid joining 
 in it. 
 
 " Barnaby !" cried Ben Jonson, winking 
 at some of those around him, as if to in- 
 timate to them what he would be at, 
 " what hast got for supper ?" 
 
 In a moment the drawer had on him 
 as grave a face as ever was met with in 
 a drawer, and gazing steadily on his fin- 
 gers, he began with the finger and 
 thumb of his right hand to touch the 
 points of the thumb and fingers of the 
 other, as he slowly named the following 
 dishes: 
 
 "Turkey pullets, venison pasty, two 
 
 roasted capons, cold" 
 
 " Art sure they be capons, Barnaby ?" 
 inquired one, interrupting him. 
 
 " Ay, master," replied he, " brave ca- 
 pons. I promise you." 
 
 "Art cock sure on't?" asked another. 
 " Ay, master,"' answered the drawer. 
 " Now how canst pretend to be cock- 
 sure on a matter of capons ?'' said the 
 first, with an infinite gravity. Barnaby 
 scratched his head and looked puzzled, 
 and the rest took the question very mer- 
 rily, as may be supposed. 
 
 ' Well, and what else hast got for 
 supper ?" asked Master Shakspeare. The 
 drawer again, with a monstrous serious 
 countenance, began counting of his fin- 
 gers as, with the same voice and manner, j 
 he repeated the following list of good/ 
 things : 
 
 " Turkey pullets, venison pasty, two j 
 
 roasted capons, cold sirloin of beef" 
 
 "Dost not think the sirloin would have 
 been all the better had it been hot ?" ask- 
 ed Ben Jonson, very earnestly. 
 
 " Mayhap it would, master," replied 
 
 Barnaby, with a wonderful innocency 
 " yet I know not for certain. Peradven- 
 ture asked I about it of mistress, she 
 could say." 
 
 " It matters not proceed with what 
 you were stating," said the other. 
 
 Again Barnaby took to the counting of 
 his fingers, and the naming of the dishes, 
 with more steadfast a gravity than ever, 
 beginning as at first: 
 
 "Turkey pullets, venison pasty, two 
 roasted capons, cold sirloin of beef, boiled 
 coneys, stewed lampreys." Here he made 
 a stop, and seemed to think very intently 
 for a minute or so ; then began counting 
 of his fingers again after he had counted 
 out the left hand, making use of it to 
 count the right with, and renamed what 
 he had mentioned in a lower voice, as if 
 it was to himself. " Turkey pullets, 
 venison pasty, two roasted capons, cold 
 sirloin of beef, boiled coneys, stewed lam- 
 preys stewed lampreys stewed lam- 
 preys," repeated he, looking from his fin- 
 gers to the ceiling with a stare so won- 
 drous hard, every one supposed he saw 
 there something marvellous. " Stewed 
 lampreys odds pittikins ! now my mem- 
 ory will not serve me to name what cometh 
 after the stewed lampreys, though I said 
 all the dishes to mistress not an hour 
 since." None interrupted him, though 
 every one looked to be exceeding inclined 
 to laugh, he appeared to be so famously 
 perplexed ; but many could keep their 
 gravity no longer when they observed 
 him, though he spoke not, evidently from 
 the moving of his lips repeating what he 
 had already said, as with a gravity mixed 
 with some little furiousness, he once 
 more took to the counting of his fingers. 
 "Boar's head !" shouted he at last, amid 
 the boisterous laughter of all present. 
 "Alack i hat I should forget the boar's 
 head I" Then he continued as intent 
 upon his fingers as ever. " Boar's head, 
 marrow pudding, two dishes of roast 
 apple-Johns, three of stewed prunes, and 
 a custard with plums in it." 
 
 "It be plain enough, Barnaby, thou 
 wilt not have to go far to bring us our 
 supper," observed Master Beaumont. 
 
 "No farther than the kitchen, master," 
 replied the drawer very innocently. 
 
 " Surely there can be no occasion for 
 your going to the kitchen," said Master 
 Beaumont. " It seemed but now you 
 had it all at your ' finger's ends.' " Amid 
 the laughter which followed this, the 
 voice of a woman was heard crying out, 
 " Barnaby !" as loud as she could. 
 
 "Anon, mistress!" replied he.
 
 262 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " How long hast been a drawer, Bar- 
 naby ?" asked Ben Jonson. 
 
 "A year since Pentecost, master," an- 
 swered be. 
 
 "Barnaby! Why, thou idle varlet!" 
 screamed the voice from the bottom of 
 the stairs. 
 
 "Anon, anon, mistress!" cried Barna- 
 by, evidently anxious to get away. 
 
 "Dost like thy business?" asked the 
 other. 
 
 "Ay, marry do I, master," answered 
 the drawer, looking toward the door as 
 if in some dread his mistress would be 
 coming. 
 
 " Prythee tell me what dost get by thy 
 business?" inquired Ben Jonson with an 
 infinite seriousness, as if the question 
 \vas one of great moment. 
 
 " Twenty good shillings a year, besides 
 vails ; and" 
 
 " Barnaby ! Barnaby ! Thou knave, 
 must I bawl here all day ?" shouted the 
 hostess. 
 
 "Anon! anon, mistress!" cried he 
 again with his countenance in some 
 afarm ; and then^added hurriedly, " and 
 a suit at Lammas and Shrovetide." 
 
 " Prythee detain him no longer, Master 
 Jonson," said Sir Walter, though he 
 could not help laughing at the anxiety 
 of the drawer to attend to his mistress, 
 whilst he seemed fearful of taking him- 
 self away from his interrogator too quick- 
 ly, from the likelihood there appeared in 
 it of giving him offence. "Let him to 
 his duty ; else shall we have Dame Can- 
 nikin so put out, our supper may chance 
 to suffer for it." 
 
 " Nay, I would not allow of our supper 
 suffering on any account," replied Ben 
 Jonson laughingly, as the draw^r made 
 his escape. 
 
 " How tender of heart thou art !" ex- 
 claimed Master Shakspeare. "But for 
 all thy fine professions, I doubt not in the 
 least thou wouldst act toward it the part 
 of the wolf to the lamb thou wouldst 
 make a meal of it." 
 
 " I own that be my intention," said 
 Ben Jonson, joining in the mirth that 
 then became general. "There is some 
 likelihood of its suffering from me to 
 some extent, after that fashion ; for at 
 present I must plead guilty to a cruel 
 appetite." 
 
 "At present!" cried Shakspeare with 
 marked emphasis. " Certes, it be modest 
 of thee to speak but of 'the present' in 
 relation to thy appetite; for thou reraind- 
 est me of a certain maelstrom I have 
 heard of, which be ever at work swal- 
 
 lowing all things that come within its 
 reach." 
 
 " It be a thousand pities thou hast 
 never gone that way," observed the other. 
 " But I forgot. There are some people 
 that an old proverb declareth will never 
 be drowned." 
 
 It is probable some reply of a like 
 nature with what had been already said 
 by these two of one another, would have 
 been spoken by Master Shakspeare ; but 
 at that moment, evidently to the huge 
 satisfaction of the company, the door 
 opened, and there entered no other than 
 Mistress Cannikin herself, carrying of a 
 dish of roast capons, which she placed 
 on one end of the table. Master Francis, 
 when he passed her in the passage, fan- 
 cied he had had sight of her portly person 
 and fair florid face before, and now, on a 
 more careful scrutiny he, to his no small 
 surprise, recognised her as the famous fat 
 dame, that with her equally fat daughter, 
 had been in the room with him at the 
 playhouse at the first playing of his tra- 
 gedy. She was, on this occasion, appar- 
 elled very stately in a dress of flame- 
 colored taffeta, cut low, and with a mon- 
 strous fine ruff to it, wearing a goodly 
 bunch of keys at her girdle, besides a 
 pair of scissors and a pincushion. After 
 her came her daughter with another dish, 
 who was decked out as daintily as her 
 mother, in a dress of the same material ; 
 which made Ben Jonson, as he saw the 
 two coming along enveloped in the steam 
 of the dishes they carried, call them per- 
 sonifications of the destruction of Pompeii 
 and Herculaneum. Next to mine hos- 
 tess's daughter came Barnaby, then anoth- 
 er drawer, then a lull stout woman with 
 a countenance that outflamed the taffeta 
 then a clumsy scrub of a girl with a 
 black face and red elbows and then a 
 still greater scrub of a boy scarce half 
 her size, in a leather jerkin a mile and 
 all too big for him, all bearing in their 
 hands dishes as much as they could 
 carry. 
 
 "Now, Kate!" exclaimed Dame Can- 
 nikin addressing all of them in turn ; 
 " put you the turkey pullets in the cen- 
 tre. Barnaby ! lay the boar's head at the 
 top of the table, where the noble Sir 
 Walter Raleigh is used to sit. Hum- 
 phrey ! the venison pastry here for Master 
 Shakspeare. Mary Cook ! the boiled co- 
 neys on this side. Dorothy ! the stewed 
 lampreys opposite. Dick Turnspit ! the 
 marrow puddings next the turkey pullets 
 and now get you gone all of you for the 
 rest of the things, whilst I fetch the tank-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 263 
 
 arks and glasses from the cupboard." 
 Whereupon all departed, after placing 
 the things as she directed, saying never 
 a word, and presently returned with what 
 else was intended for the supper, as she 
 got what she wanted from the cupboard. 
 During this time her guests were placing 
 of themselves at the table, where every 
 man found his knife and his napkin ready 
 for him. Master Francis being at the 
 right hand of Sir Walter and Ben Jonson 
 on the left -Master Shakspeare at the 
 other end having Beaumont on one side 
 and Fletcher on the other, and the rest 
 of the party sitting themselves on each 
 side of the table as they could. 
 
 Mine hostess as she helped in putting 
 everything in proper order, seemed to no- 
 tice whatever was going on around her, 
 and kept not her tongue still a moment; 
 addressing one 01 other of her guests in 
 some courteous speech, or rating the 
 drawers, or apologising for whatever she 
 thought was deficient in the serving of 
 the supper. 
 
 "Good Master Donne, I am heartily 
 glad to see you," she exclaimed. "You 
 have been a stranger of late." 
 
 " Much against my will, depend on't, 
 fair hostess," replied he. 
 
 " Then, forsooth, yon are not to blame," 
 added she. " Worthy Master Cotton, you 
 are welcome as a rasher of bacon in peas- 
 cod time. Kate ! dip not your sleeves in 
 the stewed lampreys. There lieth the 
 carver, noble Sir Walter, by the side 
 of the dish ! By my troth, Mary Cook 
 hath forgot to put the lemon in the boar's 
 mouth. Go you and get a lemon, Barna- 
 by ! Sweet Master Shakspeare, I live in 
 hope the pastry will be to your liking." 
 
 "Where the hostess is so greatly to 
 my liking, what is of her providing must 
 needs be as desirable," answered the 
 other gallantly. 
 
 "La, forsooth, Master Shakspeare!" 
 exclaimed she, looking exceeding pleased. 
 "Well, fora prettily spoken gentleman 
 never met I your peer." 
 
 " Wilt say grace, Master Shakspeare ?" 
 inquired Sir Walter from the other end 
 of the table. 
 
 " Nay it be useless asking of him," 
 cried Ben Jonson. "For he be the most 
 notorious grace-lexs varlet that lives." 
 
 " O' my life, he cares only to avoid 
 saying it himself," replied Master Shak- 
 speare, in a like jocular manner. "For 
 there can not b,e in this \vorld so infa- 
 mous a ^cape-grace." After the laugh 
 had subsided which followed these witty 
 sayings, the latter, with a monstrous se- 
 
 rious face, repeated the following coup- 
 let : 
 
 " With these good things before our sights, 
 Grant us, good Lord, good appetites." 
 
 " Mayhap, if our commons were to be- 
 come as short as our grace, our appetites 
 would stand but a poor chance of being 
 satisfied," said Master Selden. 
 
 " Indeed, the grace be of a singular 
 fine brevity," observed Mistress Cannikin, 
 seating herself at the centre of the table, 
 whilst her daughter placed herself oppo- 
 site to her at the same time, as if they 
 were accustomed toil. "But methinks 
 it be all the better, for then shall the 
 meat stand the less chance of getting 
 cool. Now, Master Carew, let me help 
 you to a leg of this coney," she added, as 
 she began dividing the joints of it still 
 seeming to have her eyes everywhere, 
 and talking by turns to all. " Please you, 
 good Master Donne, to carve those turkey 
 pullets. I pray you, worthy Master Cot- 
 ton, look to the capons. Kate, serve you 
 lampreys. Well, forsooth, if there be 
 not Master Francis! I am right glad to 
 see you at the Mermaid, sweet sir. You 
 are heartily welcome, I assure you. In- 
 deed, that was a most moving tragedy 
 of yours. Sauce to your capon, Master 
 Fletcher? I cried not so much anytime 
 since the day my last husband died. 
 Take you no boar's head with your pullet, 
 Master Beaumont? I pray you, what 
 will you have, sweet Master Francis ? 
 Let me commend the pastry to you. Bar- 
 naby ! prythee make more speed with 
 Master Carew's trencher ! Ah ! thou 
 awkward varlet, Humphrey ! thou wert 
 nigh spilling all the gravy upon the no- 
 ble Sir Walter's ruff. Alack ! Master 
 Francis hath no bread ! A manchet for 
 Master Francis, Barnaby, on the instant ! 
 And how is the sweet young gentleman 
 your friend, Master Francis, who spoke 
 so commendably of you it did my heart 
 good to hear him ?" 
 
 Master Francis felt he would have 
 given anything to have escaped her ob- 
 servation, for he thought it would draw 
 on him the notice of others, but to his 
 great relief he found the good dame 
 waited not to have any of her many ques- 
 tions answered, for she went on talking 
 without ceasing, and the company were 
 too well employed to heed him. 
 
 " Shall I help you to some of ihis pas- 
 try, my fair hostess ?" inquired Master 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " No, forsooth, kind sir, help yourself, 
 I pray you," replied Mistress Cannikin, 
 " you have not put bit in your mouth
 
 64 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS- 
 
 yet. Noble Sir Walter, I hope the sup- 
 per is of your liking ? O' my life, these 
 varlets of mine have forgot the ale ! 
 Haste, Barnaby, and draw it; and mind, 
 secure the spigot. Kate ! what wouldst 
 have ?" 
 
 " Indeed, la ! I have no choice," 
 drawled the girl, who appeared to be 
 somewhat of a simpleton. 
 
 " Say you that to all, you will never 
 
 et married, fair Kate,'' observed Master 
 hakspeare. 
 
 " Tilly vally ! she will have choice 
 enough I warrant me when the time 
 comes !" exclaimed her mother, laughing 
 till her fat cheeks seemed to shake like 
 a jelly. " Sauce to your pullet, Master 
 Jonson ? Humphrey, you idle varlet, look 
 to Master Jonson's trencher. Forsooth, 
 if she taketh after her mother, her mind 
 may soon be known when a husband be 
 in the way, I promise you." 
 
 " Indeed, la ! I care not for a husband," 
 said Kate very demurely. 
 
 " Say that when thou hast one, wench. 
 It will be soon enough to care not for one 
 then, I warrant me," cried the hostess of 
 the Mermaid, again shaking herself all 
 over like a very aspen. " Noble Sir Wal- 
 ter ! there is a right delicate wing of a ca- 
 pon on the dish. Master Cotton, I pray you 
 prevail on Sir Walter. Lack you any- 
 thing, Master Francis ? The ale will be 
 here anon. Humphrey, thou heedless 
 caitiff ! see'st thou not master Carew look- 
 ing for the salt ?" 
 
 * ; Can I not prevail on you, fair Kate ?" 
 inquired Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " If you be wise, let him not prevail 
 on you, sweet Kate !" cried Ben Jonson 
 laughingly. 
 
 " Heed him not, I pray you, sweet 
 Kate," said Master Shakspeare, in a like 
 humor. " He would do you some wrong 
 if he could not I, believe me ; for it be 
 well known of all men living he hath 
 the very greediest tooth for ' sweet cates' 
 of every kind." 
 
 " 0* my life, Master Shakspeare, that 
 be as good a thing as I have heard this 
 many a day," exclaimed the portly dame, 
 joining as heartily as any in the general 
 laugh. " Sweet cates, forsooth ! Barnaby ! 
 ale for Master Francis. It be a famous 
 jest indeed. I pray you, Master Donne, 
 stand not upon being asked for anything. 
 A truly excellent jest, by my troth."" 
 
 " Hast heard of that new-fangled in- 
 vention called ' forks' " inquired Master 
 Constable of Master Cotton, as he was 
 diligently fingering of his meat. 
 
 " It comes from Italy," replied the 
 
 other. " Your gallants there are so mon 
 strous fine they can not be brought tt 
 touch their victuals, so they have go- 
 them a sieel thing with prongs to it, with 
 the which they lift what they would ea 1 
 into their mouths." 
 
 " That looketh to be nothing better than 
 flying in t^e face of providence," observed 
 Master Donne very gravely. " Of what 
 use, I pray you, can be our fingers if not 
 for laying hold of our meat? I could 
 never be brought to tolerate such atheis- 
 tical inventions." 
 
 The supper proceeded much in this 
 way ; with an occasional joke from Ben 
 Jonson or Master Shakspeare, which was 
 sure to create famous mirth among the 
 company. The face of the portly hostess 
 looked as warm and as round as the sun 
 at harvest-time, whilst that of her daugh- 
 ter, sitting opposite, seemed like unto a 
 reflection of it. Both at last were pre- 
 vailed on to eat ; but Dame Cannikin, 
 though ever so much engaged in the eat- 
 ing of her own supper, still appeared to 
 have her eyes everywhere, still talked 
 with little intermission to all ; and still 
 continued to shake her fat sides at every 
 jest.that was uttered, either by her guests 
 or herself. 
 
 When all had eat what sufficed them, 
 Mistress Cannikin giving her daughter a 
 look which the other quickly interpreted, 
 rose from her seat. 
 
 " I hope the supper hath pleased you 
 gentlemen ? Barnaby, get you the voider 
 ready, and sweep the table," observed 
 she ; and as soon as she spoke commenda- 
 tions broke from all. 
 
 " Indeed, it was most admirably pro- 
 vided," said Sir Walter. 
 
 " It be said that some mermaids are to 
 be avoided," added Master Shakspeare, 
 " because of their beguiling men to their 
 destruction ; but they who relate this tale 
 never met with the mermaid of Friday 
 street, else would they have told a clean 
 contrary story." 
 
 " Yea, forsooth, and indeed most truly 
 and prettily spoken," replied the portly 
 hostess. "Barnaby! heed hw thou 
 boldest that dish ! Our mermaid shall 
 harm none, I promise you. Humphrey ! 
 take up the trenchers carefully ! And 
 what wine please you to have noble Sir 
 Walter? See to the carrying of the 
 dishes into the buttery, Kate! Shall it 
 be the Gascoigne, the Bastard, the Ipo- 
 cras, the Muscovadine, the Canary, the 
 Sherris, or the Charneco?" 
 
 " What say you, my masters?" inquir- 
 ed Sir Walter. " Methinks the Canary
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 265 
 
 is of so good a quality we can not do bet- 
 ter than give it another trial." 
 
 "In truth it be exceeding good," re- 
 plied Master Shakspeare. " Mayhap 
 'twould be as well though were we to 
 have with it some Ipocras." 
 
 "And some sack also, good hostess!" 
 cried Ben Jonson. " The sack of your 
 making be of so delectable a sort, I would 
 I could swallow a butt of it." 
 
 nikin, carrying the huge silver tankard 
 that had stood in the cupboard, closely 
 followed by the buxom Kate with a plate 
 of figs and another of oranges. 
 
 " I have brought you the sack, Master 
 Jonson," said she, placing it before him, 
 with her full round face all radiant with 
 smiles. " It be made of the choicest 
 sherris, and I have used all my cunning 
 
 in the brewing of it. Barnaby, place the 
 " Then would you make but a sorry ! baked pippins and comfits nigh Master 
 sack-but" observed Master Shakspeare Francis, and the marchpane closer to Sir 
 with a laugh, in which he was joined Walter." 
 
 by all. 
 
 " Nay, but the sack-but be a famous 
 
 " Say not so, good hostess, I pray you," 
 replied Master Jonson, " for if you have 
 used all your cunning, you must needs be 
 
 ancient instrument," exclaimed Master 
 
 Cotton. "I doubt not were it well play- ! at your wit's end for the next brewing." 
 ed on 'twould discourse most excellent; "Yea, forsooth, and sol should," ex- 
 music even now." 'claimed the portly dame, laughing very 
 
 "Let me catch any playing on me," j merrily. " That be a famous conceit of 
 replied Ben Jonson, seeming to be a little i yours. Kate ! put you the figs before 
 out of humor. " I promise you I vyould Master Jonson, he may chance to like 
 give them a tune to dance to." 'some. Well to be sure that be most wit- 
 
 " ' Green Sleeves,' or ' Light o' love,' i tingly said of you." 
 
 perchance," said Dame Cannikin merrily. " What wine would you please to take 
 "Master Francis, I hope you have found | with us, good dame ?" inquired Raleigh, 
 proper enjoyment in your supper. They i "Excuse me, I pray you, noble Sir 
 be the movitigest tunes I have ever met Walter,'' replied Mistress Cannikin ; yet, 
 with, and many a time and oft have I for all her denial, looking as if she would 
 danced to them by the hour. Barnaby, I comply on a little pressing: " methinks 
 
 mind you let not the dish slip ! Then it 
 shall be my choice Canary and Ipocras; 
 and you shall have some sack too of my 
 very delicatest brewing." Whereupon 
 the portly hostess took herself out of the 
 room, talking all the way she went. 
 
 After Barnaby had swept, with a long 
 wooden knife, the hones off the table, 
 into a basket, called the voider, the wine 
 was brought upon the table, with sundry 
 sorts of fruits and cakes, and very quick- 
 ly the whole party got to be more merry 
 than ever. Jests flew about Iik0*haii- 
 stones, hitting everybody ; but there was 
 nothing like unto the sayings of Ben 
 Jonson and Master Shakspeare, which 
 
 women should not be wine-bibbers. 
 Kate ! those oranges to Master Fletcher." 
 
 "What! doth our sweet hostess of the 
 Mermaid refuse to drink with her guests?'' 
 cried Master Shakspeare, seemingly in 
 some surprise. " Indeed, that can we 
 never allow. We shall drink with a 
 greater zest when your cherry lips have 
 been bathed in the wine." 
 
 "By my troth, Master Shakspeare, 
 that is prettily spoken of you," cried the 
 portly dame, smirking famously, as if she 
 was well pleased with the compliment. 
 " Cherry lips, forsooth ! as I am a true 
 woman, those be most fair words for my 
 time of life. Try you one of those pip- 
 
 for sparkling wit exceeded all that had | pins, Master Donne, they be in excellent 
 been heard. These two were continually j good repute. Well, then, sweet Master 
 letting off some smart thing against each i Shakspeare, since you are so pressing, I 
 other, which was sure to be retaliated, will take just one cup of canary." The 
 till mayhap, Ben Jonson getting the worst wine was given to her without loss of 
 
 of it, or not being of so pleasant a tem- 
 per as was his antagonist, did sret so nigh 
 
 time, and she then added, standing up 
 with it in her hand, " Gentlemen 
 
 upon quarrelling, that Sir Walter Raleigh 1 1 drink your good healths, and wish you 
 was obliged to interfere to keep peace be- a hearty welcome to the Mermaid," after 
 tween them. Master Francis held his i which she tasted the canary, sipping it 
 
 prate like a modest youth as he was; or 
 
 very daintily at first, and then finishing it 
 
 at a draught. 
 
 And now, fair Kate, what say you 
 
 spoke only when he was addressed by 
 any of those around him, for he could 
 
 not bring himself to attempt bandying ! to a cup of canary ?" asked Sir Walter. 
 
 jests with the choicest wits of the age. j "Indeed la! I would rather not," 
 
 Presently there returned Mistress Can- ' said the girl, looking somewhat abashed.
 
 266 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND. HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Tilly vally, wench ! one cup will do 
 thee no hurt," exclaimed Mistress Can- 
 nikin. 
 
 " No harm in the least, sweet Kate, o' 
 my word," cried Master Shakspeare. 
 " Nay, we can not excuse you, pretty 
 Kate. I would I were the cup that should 
 be kissed by so delicate a mouth." 
 
 " Who would be after sweet cates now, 
 and be hanged to thee !" exclaimed Ben 
 Jonson, throwing a fig's end at Master 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " Heed him not, sweet Kate ; but drink 
 a cup of wine, I pray you," said Master 
 Shakspeare : " we can judge by what he 
 hath thrown at me, that he careth but a 
 fig's end about the matter ; so to the ca- 
 nary, and quickly, sweet Kate." 
 
 " Indeed la ! it seemeth monstrous to 
 drink wine with so many brave gallants 
 all at once," exclaimed Mistress Kate, 
 seemingly with a wonderful innocency. 
 
 " Take a cup with each of us, then," 
 observed Ben Jonson'; "I doubt not that 
 would satisfy you." 
 
 "Yea, forsooth! but I should not be 
 satisfied, I promise you," replied the 
 portly hostess. "She would be ' in her 
 cups,' indeed, were she to drink so 
 many." 
 
 " Nay, I think the cups would be in 
 her," rejoined the other. 
 
 " Like enough she would have both 
 cups and hiccups," added fhe dame, in 
 the same humor. " Come, wench, drink 
 the wine : I warrant me now thou art as 
 eager for it as a brood of ducklings for 
 the water. I mind not taking another 
 cup just to keep thee company, for I 
 doubt hugely thou wilt do it unless, for 
 all thy eagerness thou art so monstrous 
 shy in such matters." 
 
 It may not appear quite incredible that 
 the portly hostess and her portly daughter 
 drank of the Canary, soon after which 
 they took themselves out of the room. 
 
 " Shall we not have a song, my mas- 
 ters?" inquired Sir Walter. " Are there 
 so many notable sweet choristers here, 
 and yet not inclined for a carol ? Fie on 
 you, Master Shakspeare ! Is your voice 
 out of tune, or dolh your memory fail 
 you ? Master Jonson, you are not used 
 to be so tuneless. Master Beaumont ' 
 Master Fletcher! Master Carew ! wha 
 hath become of your admirable minstrel- 
 sy ?" 
 
 To these inquiries there were presently 
 some excuses ; but Sir Walter would take 
 none. Then some said they would sing 
 presently. 
 
 "Why ask you not Master Cotton?' 
 
 aid Ben Jonson, " I doubt not, were he 
 iressed upon it, he would sing you a fa- 
 mous song." 
 
 ' Indeed, I have the most pestilent 
 joarseness," replied Master Cotton. 
 
 "A murrain on thy hoarseness!" ex- 
 claimed the other. " Thou canst sing 
 ike a very swan, if thou hast a mind : or, 
 f th9U hast no voice for singing, croak 
 ike the frogs of Aristophanes. But, 
 come, tune thy reed. Give us a wonder- 
 "ul moving ditty on the loss of some mus- 
 y old manuscript ; or a right laudatory 
 mllnd, made upon the discovery of Cleo- 
 patra's Jordan." 
 
 ' I have no such songs, I promise you," 
 replied the antiquary, joining in the mirth 
 of his companions; "but, provided you 
 excuse all defects, I will essay whatever 
 my poor ability will allow." 
 
 'Bravo, Master Cotton!" cried those 
 around him ; and soon after, in a famous 
 merry humor, he sung the following, bal- 
 lad : 
 
 MASTER COTTON'S SONG. 
 
 I sing of a friar a barefooted friar, 
 As brawny a fellow as heart could desire, 
 With his shaven crown, and his corded gown, 
 And his rosary counting from town to town ; 
 Oh ! he'd shout forth a psalm with such absolute 
 grace, [face. 
 
 That the folks cried ' God speed to your rosy round 
 
 Oh the friar ! the barefooted friar ! 
 
 Let us sing in the praise of this excellent friar. 
 
 He preached not of fasting not he by the rood ! 
 
 For he knew that short commons did nobody good : 
 
 Instead of denouncing a flagon of wine, 
 
 He swore that good liquor made good men divine ; 
 
 And as for the kissing a wench on the sly, 
 
 He would do it himself or at least he would try. 
 
 Oh the friar ! the barefooted friar ! 
 
 Let us sing in the praise of this saint of a friar. 
 
 'Twas a marvel to hear how well he his beads told, 
 Whenever he had nothing better to hold, 
 And out of his mouth how his prayers made a din 
 When any choice morsel he could not put in ; 
 Or at his devotions how strict he had grown, 
 If not to " Our Lady" doubtless to his own, 
 
 Oh the friar ! the barefooted friar ! 
 
 Let us sing in the praise of this capital friar. 
 
 Brave-hearted knights hath he shrined with his 
 
 prayers, 
 
 Buxom fair dames hath he blessed with his cares ; 
 He hath christened the babe on the mother's fond 
 
 breast, 
 
 And scores of young virgins to him have confessed. 
 Of the penance he set surely none could complain, 
 For they got absolution again and again. 
 
 Oh the friar ! the barefooted friar : 
 
 Let us sing in the praise of this excellent friar. 
 
 He talked not of tithes for Pope cared not a fig, 
 Whilst he dined off a capon or dainty fat pig ; 
 But the fame of his doings his frolics and feasts, 
 Excited the wrath of the rest of the priests : 
 They vowed he'd be damned, as the worst sinnei 
 
 should, 
 But Ae boldly swore he'd be if he would ! 
 
 Oh the friar ! the barefooted friar ! 
 
 Let us sing in the praise of this resolute friar. 
 
 Now one luckless day this good friar he died, 
 Whereat all the women most lustily cried ;
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 267 
 
 There was wringing of hands-there was shedding 
 
 of tears, , 
 
 Tiiere were lots of long faces, and no lack of fears. 
 Old Nick might have broiled every saint on his fire, 
 Had he only but spared them their barefooted friar. 
 
 Oh the friar ! the marvellous friar ! 
 
 Let us sing in the praise of this Wonderful friar. 
 
 " Oh ! oh !" quoth the devil, at meeting his soul 
 
 Nigh the gate of purgation, a taking a stroll, 
 
 ' Though some score of sinners you've got out of 
 
 here, 
 
 I have you fast for this many a year." 
 " By the mass," said the friar, "'if here I must stay, 
 I'll be hanged if I'll go till you show me the way." 
 
 Oh the friar '. the barefooted friar ! 
 
 Let us sing in the praise of this valorous friar. 
 
 Master Satan, who's learned some civilities now, 
 Led the way to the gate with a smile and a bow, 
 When lo ! 'mid the damned did he presently shoot, 
 With a kick of the breech from the friar's broad foot : 
 Away sped the friar his foe followed quick ; 
 But heaven opened for him, and shut out Old Nick. 
 
 Oh the friar ! the barefooted friar ! 
 
 Let us sing in the praise of this saint of a friar ! 
 
 " An excellent good song and a merry, 
 Master Cotton !" exclaimed Ben Jonson ; 
 and similar commendations flowed from 
 others of the company. " Said I not, my 
 masters, we should have famous singing 
 out of him?" continued he, "and have 
 I not proved myself a true prophet?" 
 
 " Indeed, methinks you spoke of songs 
 in no way like unto that we have just 
 heard," answered Master Constable. 
 
 "No matter," replied the other. "If 
 I have not touched the bull's eye, I have 
 hit the target." 
 
 " I can now commend thee with a 
 good conscience, Ben," observed Master 
 Shakspeare, " thy conceit, like thy shoot- 
 ing, is not a miss." 
 
 " Ah, thou sweet wag ! thou wilt give 
 me 110 rest," cried Ben Jonson, laugh- 
 ingly. 
 
 " There be no rest for the wicked, Ben," 
 said Master Shakspeare, in the same hu- 
 mor. 
 
 " Callest thou me one of the wicked ?" 
 inquired his companion, seeming to be 
 greatly shocked. 
 
 " Nay, thou shall not be of the wicked 
 this time," added the other, "because it 
 happeneth thou art one of us ; and if 
 thou art of the wicked, then, mayhap, I 
 am like to be nearly half as bad as art 
 thou, which is a thing so horrible to ac- 
 knowledge, I could never be brought to 
 do it." 
 
 "Oh, thou aggravating varlet!" ex- 
 claimed Ben Jonson, good-humoredly ; 
 "thou abominable, facetious villain ! May 
 I never taste sack asain if I do not think 
 thee the most superlative, prevaricating 
 piece of vanity that ever associated with 
 true men. What, thou wouldst be afraid to 
 confess thyself half so bad as am I? Thou 
 art right there, for no one would believe ; 
 
 the confession when 'twas made. I tell 
 thee, I would find more virtue in a bad 
 oyster, than is to be met with in thy 
 whole body." 
 
 "As thou wilt, Ben, as thou wilt," re- 
 plied Master Shakspeare. " If thou art 
 for finding anything commendable in bad 
 oysters, I have done with thee. My stom- 
 ach will endure no such unsavory similes. 
 Keep whatever virtue thou discoverest 
 under such circumstances; for though it 
 must needs be but little, 'twill be some- 
 thing for thee to boast of and that, me- 
 thinks, ought to be a great object with 
 thee at present." 
 
 Shortly after this, Master Cotton did 
 call upon Sir Walter Raleigh for a song, 
 which presently brought forth the ballad 
 that is here given : 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH'S SONG. 
 
 A comely young knight went out to the fight, 
 And he was the pattern of chivalrie ; 
 
 For so boldly he went through the tournament, 
 And in hall and in bower so courteouslie. 
 
 Each damsel she uttered a benison, [John. 
 
 And sighed when she thought of the knight of St 
 
 With sword or wilh spear, he had not his peer, 
 
 In England, in France, or in Germanie ; 
 And at singing, so choice was his lute and his voice, 
 That there never was heard of such minstrelsie. 
 Then the heart of each damsel went galloping on 
 When she glanced on the face of the knight of St. 
 John. 
 
 His eyes were as bright as rivers of light, 
 His cheek like a rose from the east countrie ; 
 
 And he stood up so tall and so gallant withal, 
 None couid gaze on unmoved at his excellencie. 
 
 Then ev'ry fair damsel, cried when he was gone, 
 
 ' What a love of a knight is the knight of St. John.'' 
 
 He Paynims had slair., a hundred or twain, 
 
 In Palestine and in Arabic ; 
 Yet ten times a day would he kneel down and pray, 
 
 As though he had lived in great infarnie. 
 And loudly each damsel proclaimed when 'twas done, 
 " What a saint of aknightis the knight of St. John." 
 
 But when it was told that his heart was as cold 
 
 As coldest winter in Muscovie ; 
 That he was above ev'ry feeling of love, 
 
 And was bound by a vow unto chastitie. 
 " Alack !" cried each damsel whose heart he had won, 
 " What a wretch of a knight is the knight of St. 
 John !" 
 
 This song also met with exceeding 
 commendation ; and the wine having 
 been circulated pretty briskly, all seemed 
 to be in the very best of spirits, and ready 
 to praise anything that showed the 
 smallest sign of worthiness, so that it 
 proceeded from any of their company. 
 Jests became more general. Master Shak- 
 speare and Ben Jonson, however, still 
 uttered the best, and the greatest number 
 of them ; as at first, usually choosing 
 each other to be the subject: but it is 
 utterly impossible I could put down one 
 half of the choice things they said ; and 
 much afraid am I that the choicest have
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 escaped me. At this time, Beaumont 
 and Fletcher were engaged with Master 
 Shaksptare in some friendly talk con- 
 cerning of a play of theirs that was to be 
 performed at the Globe. Master Selden 
 was leaning forward over the table, lis- 
 tening attentively to an account given by 
 Master Cotton, of the finding ol certain 
 curious manuscripts in an ancient chest, 
 the whicli Master Donne and Master 
 Martin seemed also intent upon hearing. 
 Master Constable and Master Sylvester, 
 with Master Carew, were laughing mer- 
 rily to a droll anecdote told by Ben Jon- 
 son ; and Sir Walter Raleigh was relating 
 to Master Francis an adventure that he 
 had had in the wars. 
 
 "I have prevailed on Dick Burbage to 
 play the principal character," observed 
 Master Shakspeare to his brother play- 
 writers, " but it hath so happened there 
 must be a delay of some few days before 
 it can be played. Dick went the other 
 night to visit an alderman's wife by ap- 
 pointment, and his worship, her husband, 
 returning sooner than they expected, 
 Dick leaped out of the window, and had 
 the ill hap to sprain his ankle ; since 
 when 1 can get him to talk of nothing 
 but the monstrousness of such husbands, 
 who be ever a coming home when they 
 should stay abroad." 
 
 " That is so like him," observed Master 
 Beaumont, laughingly. "He doeth an 
 ill thing, getteth himself into a scrape for 
 it, and then with a famous impudency 
 none can help laughing at abuseth not 
 himself, who must be the only one to 
 blame, but the very party he was striving 
 to do hurt to." 
 
 "For his drolleries methinks he shall 
 be found nearly as wild as Green," added 
 Master Fletcher. " There is a good story 
 of him I heard him tell to-day." 
 
 "Ha! prythee relate it," said Master 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " Green walking nigh upon St. Sav- 
 ior's, met a funeral," continued the other. 
 " He was struck with the miserable coun- 
 tenances of all who made part of the 
 procession. The undertaker and his men 
 seemed determined on looking more 
 mournful than the mourners, and the 
 mourners appeared to be vying with each 
 other who should look the most wo-be- 
 gone. Green could not abide such awful 
 long faces. He said the sight of them 
 was so exceeding pitiful he could not but 
 feel for their hapless conditions ; and this 
 made him resolved to strive if it were 
 possible to make them all in a better 
 humor. Thereupon, upon coming up to 
 
 them, he put on one of his comicalest 
 faces. In a moment, undertaker, bearers, 
 mourners, and all, relaxed somewhat in 
 that severity of visage that had so moved 
 him. If they did not smile, they were 
 on the point of it. Seeing this, after 
 passing them, Tom made a short cut, and 
 met them at the corner of the next street, 
 with a face more comical than he had 
 put on before ; at the sight of which there 
 can be no doubt in the world every one 
 set up a palpable grin. The next thing 
 he did was to fix himself at the church 
 door, and when they, came up he looked 
 into every man's face with a countenance 
 so marvellously ridiculous that it was 
 impossible to say whether the undertaker 
 or the mourners laughed the loudest ; 
 and as for the bearers, they shook their 
 j sides so heartily, that the coffin went jog, 
 jS> jog. upon their shoulders, in immi- 
 nent danger of being pitched upon the 
 parson, who, as was very natural, looked 
 awfully scandalized at their behavior." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" exclaimed Master Shak- 
 speare, bursting out into a famous laugh, 
 " that is Tom Green all over." 
 
 "What art making so much noise 
 about? a murrain on thee !" cried Ben 
 Jonson from the ofher end of the table. 
 " Dost find so few to heed thy sorry jests 
 thou art forced into laughing at them 
 thyself. Well had I wit of any eort, it 
 should be such as might move the mirth 
 of my company." 
 
 "Thou art right, Ben," replied his 
 ready antagonist. "Hadst thou wit of 
 any sort, doubtless thou couldst make a 
 goodly use of it ; but I see thou art aware 
 of thine own deficiencies, so I will say 
 no more on that head." 
 
 " Thou canst say as much as thou wilt 
 on that or any other head saving thine 
 own," retorted the other. " And, as thou 
 knowest full well, it be very proper policy 
 of thee to be silent on so barren a sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " Nay, my head can not well be bar- 
 ren," said Master Shakspeare good hu- 
 moredly, " seeing that it hath its labors 
 continually. But as for thine, Ben I dp 
 wonder thou art not ashamed to look i 
 in the face, thou doth it so little credit. 
 Thou wilt bring shame upon thy head, 
 depend on't. Some power thou hasi 
 there, no doubt, for 'tis well known thou 
 art head-strong" 
 
 " Out upon thee !" exclaimed Ben Jon 
 son, whilst those who heard the jes 
 were laughing very merrily. " Thou ar 1 
 like a bad oyster thatopeneth its mouth 
 only to show how worthless it be."
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 269 
 
 'Bad oysters again, and be hanged to 
 liiee!" cried the other. "Why, what a 
 villanous taste hast thou ! Well, if thy 
 humor runneth on such garbage, let it ; 
 yet would it be but civil of thee couldst 
 thou refrain from thrusting such unwhole- 
 some conceits before those of weaker 
 stomachs." 
 
 " Mayhap there shall be found more 
 likeness betwixt you and a bad oyster 
 than you think can exist," observed Mas- 
 ter Fletcher. 
 
 " 0' my life I see not any resemblance," 
 replied Master Shakspeare. "Prythee 
 say how dost thou make it out." 
 
 " Because it seemeth to me that he 
 that biteth at you be like to get the Worst 
 of it," answered Master Fletcher, "and 
 so it be with your bad oyster." 
 
 " Ah ! he is villanously unpalatable !" 
 cried Ben Jonson in some bitterness. 
 
 " There is another point that bringeth 
 the resemblance still closer," added Mas- 
 ter Beaumont. 
 
 " Alack, is it brought so home to me !" 
 cried the other very pitifully. 
 
 " "Tis the bad oysters that produce all 
 the pearls," continued his companion. 
 
 " Ben ! thy bail oyster be not so bad a 
 fish after all !" exclaimed Master Shak- 
 speare very drolly, amid the laughter of 
 all around him. 
 
 " Away ! I'll have none of thee !" cried 
 Ben Jonson, seemingly a little put out. 
 whilst he appeared intent upon the par- 
 ing of an orange. "Thou art intolerably 
 conceited. Thou takest none to be so 
 good as thyself. I doubt not for all the 
 airs thou dost give thyself, there shall 
 easily be found thy betters in scholarship, 
 and ihy equal in all things." 
 
 " A song, Master Shakspeare, I pray 
 you," exclaimed Sir Walter Raleigh, see- 
 ing a quarrel was at hand, unless he had 
 skill enough to thrust it aside. "It be 
 monstrous of you to have remained all 
 this time and sung nothing." 
 
 "Ask Ben for a song," replied Master 
 Shakspeare. " He is the capitalest singer 
 of a good song among us all." 
 
 "I be not in the humor. I can not 
 sing. I have forgotten such songs as I 
 used to attempt," said Ben Jonson, still 
 a little out of temper, but not so much as 
 he was. 
 
 " Surely thou hast not forgot that most 
 sweet song of thine, ' Drink to me only 
 with thine eyes'?" inquired the other. 
 " The sweetest, truest, delicatest verses I 
 have met with this many a day ; and I 
 be thoroughly convinced of it, they will 
 live in the reputation of the world as 
 
 long as there shall be found hearts and 
 minds capable of appreciating their infi- 
 nite beauty." 
 
 " Dost really think so, Will ?" eagerly 
 asked Ben Jonson, his features gradually 
 changing from a very evident sulkines's 
 to a most glowing pleasure, as he took 
 his eyes off what he was intent upon, 
 and fixed them upon Master Shakspeare. 
 " Dost think them of any goodness ? Dost 
 fancy they will live any time? 'Art sure 
 the song pleaseth thee?" 
 
 " There can be no doubt of it," replied 
 the other. " 'Tis as proper a song as 
 ever was writ: and I should show an in- 
 famous lack of s judgment were I not to 
 give it the praise that be its due." 
 
 "At least it showeth a wonderful noble 
 heart in thee to say so," said Master Jon- 
 son earnestly. " The more especially, 
 because thou hast written a score or two 
 of songs of a merit I despair of attaining ; 
 and I do lake some little shame upon my- 
 self for appearing out of temper with 
 thee, because thou dost sometimrs press 
 me, as I have fancied, somewhat too 
 hard." 
 
 "I can not press thee too hard, Ben," 
 answered Master Shakspeare. " When 
 I meet with thee I know I have my 
 match. I like mightily to find so able 
 an opponent; and if I seek to give thee 
 a hard rub or so, 'tis to rouse thee to put 
 forth all thy strength -that I may ad- 
 mire thee the more for it." 
 
 " I'faith you are just like two of the 
 very skilfulest masters offence," observed 
 Sir Walter in an excellent good humor. 
 " They know of each other's cunning at 
 the weapon, and are ever a thrusting 
 away to prove which be the better 
 man ; and although both get no lack of 
 hard pokes, they can not part without 
 being in famous admiration at the other's 
 skill." 
 
 " That is it, true enough, Sir Walter," 
 replied Ben Jonson, in a like merry mood. 
 "We never meet without a duello of 
 quirks and quiddities. Mayhap he com- 
 eth at me with a jest, and o' my life I can 
 not help having at him agafc." 
 
 " You combat not with blunt foils, as 
 I am a witness," added Raleigh laugh- 
 ing, "for there is ever a Very fine point 
 in your weapons." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Perchance there be !" cried 
 Ben, joining in the laugh. " But 'tis my 
 humor 'tis my humor." 
 
 " That is just what I wish," said Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare. " Thou hast known for 
 some time how infinitely I like 'Every 
 man in his humor.' "
 
 270 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Ah, that have I, sweet Will," replied 
 the other with a very sincere friendliness. 
 " Nor have I forgot that it was thy kind- 
 ness, when I was unknown and uncared 
 for, that got ray play to be taken up by 
 the players." 
 
 "I pray you," Master Jonson, favor us 
 with your song," said Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 " The night is drawing in, and if things 
 go on at this rate, we shall be forced to 
 take ourselves away with such a lack of 
 harmony as is not usual amongst us." 
 
 " I sing not before my master. I know 
 myself better," replied Ben Jonson good- 
 humoredly. "When that sweet face- 
 tious varlet has delighted us sufficiently, 
 I will strive what my poor wit can do to 
 amuse you in an humbler way." 
 
 " Disparage not thy ability, Ben ; else 
 must my judgment be called in question," 
 observed Master Shakspeare in a like 
 mood. " But that there shall be no wast- 
 ing of time in the matter, I will give you 
 what I know of a merry ballad I heard 
 in Warwickshire when I was a boy." 
 
 This announcement was received with 
 exceeding satisfaction by all ; and short- 
 ly, after a monstrous diverting fashion, 
 he sung the verses here given. 
 
 MASTER SHAKSPEARE'S SONG. 
 
 Gaffer Gosling arose on one fine summer's day, 
 Donned his best Sunday jerkin and hosen of gray, 
 And with staff in his hand, and his hat on his head, 
 Right out of his threshold he presently sped. 
 He told unto none on what he was intent. 
 But in truth, 'twas in search of the cuckoo he went ; 
 For of late, let him go anywhere, far or near, 
 The note of that ill-omened bird met his ear. 
 
 " Cuckoo ! Cuckoo !" 
 
 And all the year through, 
 Gaffei Gosling was mocked by the villain cuckoo ! 
 
 He went a few steps, in no mood to rejoice, 
 
 He stopped to take heed and again heard the voice. 
 
 Now this way, now that now a little way on, 
 
 Now close at his elbow, now far away gone. 
 
 He looked up to the housetops, and down to the 
 
 ground. 
 
 But never a trace of a cuckoo he found ; 
 A few folk of the village he met in his way, 
 And they all smiled upon him and wished him Good- 
 day '. 
 
 " Cuckoo ! Cuckoo !" 
 " There, 1 hear it anew !" u 
 
 Cried the Gaffer. " I must find this villain cuckoo !" 
 
 He hied to his gossip, and him he addressed, 
 To know where the cuckoo had builded his nest ; 
 Who told him he kept quite unseen and unknown, 
 And preferred any pretty bird's nest to his own. 
 There tarried the varlet whilst he had a mind, 
 Then fled he, and left a young cuckoo behind ; 
 And the pretty bird fed it and tended it well, 
 And amongst her own brood oft allowed it to dwell. 
 " Cuckoo ! Cuckoo !" 
 " Gog's wounds ! he's here too!" 
 Said the Gaffer, and searched for the villain cuckoo. 
 
 Then hither and thither, in every place, 
 He poked his gray head and his old pippin face ; 
 For still was he certain the bird was close by, 
 Though wherever he turned he was mocked by the 
 crv 
 
 He got in a rage, but his rage was in vain ; 
 
 For wherever he turned still it mocked him again. 
 
 He stamped and he struck the hard ground with his 
 
 stick, 
 
 Crying, " Where dost thou hide thee. thou slander 
 ous chick ?" 
 
 " Cuckoo ! Cuckoo !" 
 " Drat thee and thy crew ! 
 
 I could wring thy young neck oh, thou villain 
 cuckoo !" 
 
 Through the lane, through the wood, o'er the com- 
 mon he hies, 
 
 Yet in vain for the sight of a cuckoo he tries ; 
 
 Although from each tree, every hedgerow and wall, 
 
 As plain as could speak, he heard the bird call. 
 
 Then came home dull of heart and as gloomy in 
 thought. 
 
 Because that he'd had all his trouble for naught ; 
 
 But he there met a sight that nigh robbed him of 
 life 
 
 'Twas the priest, cheek by jowl with his pretty 
 young wife ! 
 
 " Cuckoo ! Cuckoo !" 
 Gaffer Gosling looked blue. 
 
 He had found out the nest of the villain cuckoo. 
 
 " 0' my life, a good song, Will !" cried 
 Ben Jonson, laughing as loud as any 
 there. " A right exquisite song ! By this 
 hand ! I have not heard so droll a song 
 this many a day." 
 
 " Indeed, 'tis a most merry conceit," 
 said Master Constable. 
 
 " I like the humor of it hugelv," ad- 
 ded Master Sylvester ; and all said some- 
 thing to the same purpose ; for, out of all 
 doubt, there was none there that did not 
 relish exceedingly both the drollery of 
 the song, and the infinite drollery of 
 the' singer. 
 
 " Commend you not so liberally, my 
 masters," observed Master Shakspeare, 
 after emptying a cup of wine. " Ben 
 Jonson will presently give you better 
 cause for praise." 
 
 " Nay, that can never be, sweet Will !" 
 replied Ben Jonson. " I know not any- 
 thing so truly laughable as that which 
 thou hast so diverted us with, nor could 
 I put such provoking mirth in it as thou 
 hast, knew I songs of ever so comical a 
 sort. But such as I have remembrance 
 of you shall hear if it please you to lis- 
 ten." This intimation produced a proper 
 attention amongst his companions, and in 
 a few minutes he commenced singing of 
 the following ballad : 
 
 BEN JONSON'S SONG. 
 
 Once Old Father Time walked along, 
 
 A journey to take at his leisure ; 
 When a group of fair nymphs there came up in a 
 
 throng, 
 
 AH moving in gracefulest measure. 
 " He shall tarry awhile," did they laughingly say ; 
 "We will hold him with us, and tlien dance Time 
 
 away ."' 
 But although bound with garlands they made him 
 
 advance, 
 
 They soon found that they could not keep Time in 
 the dance. 
 
 " Alack, silly nymphs !" then he cries, 
 " Whilst ye all dance so gayly, TIME FLIES."
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 271 
 
 Father Time again set, 
 The dust from his scythe gravely wiping ; 
 Till a party of skilful young shepherds he met, 
 
 Passing Time most melodiously piping. 
 Some sought 10 hold Time with a vigorous gripe, 
 Some bade him to listen how well they could pipe, 
 They played, but ere long found their pipes would 
 
 not chime. 
 
 They held not the tune, and they could not keep 
 Time. 
 
 " Alack, silly shepherds !" he cries, 
 " Whilst ye all pipe so gayly, TIME FLIES " 
 
 Again the old fellow set out, 
 
 Without a companion to cheer him ; 
 But was stopped in his way by the laugh and the 
 
 shout 
 
 Of a crowd of gay Bacchanals near him. 
 With his scythe the wild youths cut the grapes 
 
 from the vine, 
 
 And seizing his hour-glass soon filled it with wine. 
 "We with drinking kill Time!" cried they all, in 
 
 great glee : 
 
 But whilst merrily quaffing, Time set himself free. 
 ' Alack, silly topers "' he cries, 
 " Whilst ye all drink so gayly, TIME FLIES." 
 
 So. my masters, drink freely and fast, 
 
 Time coming iooks wondrously pletsant ; 
 Let us merriiy find our pastime in Tine past, 
 As we make the best use of Tune present. 
 Then crowned with fresh roses let's pass round the 
 
 llask, 
 And the sunbeams of wit on our pleasures shall 
 
 bask ; 
 
 For ke may all heed of Time's progress resign, 
 Who quails free.y quaffs of the rosy red wiite. 
 Old boy, we thy hour-glass desp.se, 
 We care not a vvhit koa TIME FLIBS. 
 
 This song was well received of all, 
 especially by Master Shakspeare, who 
 seemed much taken with the conceit of 
 it; and it appeared to give a fresh zest 
 to the conviviality of the company ; for 
 more wine was brought in, mofe sack 
 made, and ihe laugh became louder, and 
 the jest more frequent. The table now 
 lacked much of the pleasant appearance 
 it had. Certes, there was a great show 
 of empty bottles, glasses, cups, tankards, 
 and lighted candles; but of the dishes, 
 mayhap ihere was a pippin in one, two 
 or three prunes in another, h;ilf an orange 
 in a third, and in the fourth nothing but 
 parings of apples and shells of walnuts. 
 Many more songs were sung : a love 
 ballad by Master Carew, and ditties of a 
 like kind by Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 Master Dotine and one or two others, the 
 which have gone clean out of my memory, 
 as well as sundry droll caiches and ex- 
 quisite madrigals which were then and 
 there sung by diver-s of the company. In 
 truth, nothing could exceed the mirth and 
 harmony that prevailed, the which Sir 
 Walter Raleigh at one end of the table, 
 and Master Shakspeare at the other, 
 sought to preserve with an exceeding 
 pleasant humor and courteous free-heart- 
 edness. Every one looked moved by the 
 spirit of good-fellowship, and although 
 
 Master Cotton being in a grave discourse 
 to two or three atteniive listeners oa a 
 matter of some antiquity, did ever and 
 anon get slyly pelted by Master Shak- 
 speare on one side, and Ben Jonson on 
 the other, with orange pips and nutshells, 
 to the infinite mirth of those around, he 
 took it in good part, till a prune-stone 
 from the latter hit him so sore a blow on 
 the nose, that he suddenly caught hold 
 of the half orange that lay in the dish 
 before him, and flung it at Ben Jonson 
 with so true an aim that it smashed 
 against his head, whereupon the laugh 
 was louder than ever, and Master Jonson 
 joined in it as merrily as the rest. All 
 at once there was a great cry for Master 
 Francis to sing a song. He felt he had 
 scarce confidence to attempt such a thing 
 before so famous a company, and begged 
 hard to be let off; but none heeding his 
 excuses, and Sir Walter Raleigh and 
 Master Shakspeare pressing him on the 
 subject, he, after some to-do, and with a 
 voice somewhat tremulous, began to sing 
 the verses here set down. 
 
 MASTER FRANCIS 1 SONG. 
 
 Forbear, sweet Wanton ! Go your ways ! 
 
 1 heed no more your dainty smiling: 
 Your sugared words your thrilling gaze 
 
 And matchless craft in heart-beguiling. 
 For though your beauty may be bright, 
 
 If all may in its splendor bask, 
 Now bid my love a fair " good night !" 
 
 1 will not con a common task. 
 
 Forbear, false Syren ! Strive no more ! 
 
 Your tuneful voice hath ceased to charm me: 
 Your power hath gone your reign is o'er, 
 
 Those witching sounds can no more harm ro- 
 For though Ihe strain was honey sweet, 
 
 Its honey sweetness all allowed; 
 And I like not the poor conceit, 
 
 To be but one among the crowd. 
 
 But give to me the steadfast soul 
 
 'Whose love no selfish care can sever, 
 And I will own her fond control, 
 
 And throne her in my heart for ever. 
 But till such gulden muld I find, 
 
 (And fondly hope I such exists) ; 
 The love that changeth like the wind, 
 
 May, like the wind, go where it lists. 
 
 " Truly, a most sweet song, Master 
 Francis," exclaimed Ben Jonson, who 
 had listened to the young singer, as had 
 all, with an entire attentiveness. 
 
 " And of an exceeding proper spirit," 
 added Master Shakspeare ; who fancied 
 it was writ by Master Francis in relation 
 to Joanna in which he was in some way 
 right, for he had composed it soon after 
 his quarrel with her. 
 
 " 'Tis indeed, very admirably conceiv- 
 ed," said Sir Walter Raleigh ; and from 
 others round about him, Master Francis 
 received such praise, that although it
 
 272 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 pleased him mightily to be so commend- 
 ed of so many good judges, it somewhat 
 disconcerted him. 
 
 " Now, my masters, for a parting cup, 
 and then for our homes," cried Sir Wal- 
 ter, rising, and presently all filled up their 
 cups with what liquor they had, and drink- 
 in<r it off jovially, each took his hat and 
 made himself ready to go. But it 50 
 happened that Master Cotton was seen 
 fast asleep in his chair, and Ben Jonson 
 spying this, and having enough sack in 
 him to be in the humor for any sport, 
 cautiously approached him the rest look- 
 ing on, curious to see what would come 
 of it ; and fully expecting some famous 
 jest or another. 
 
 "Fire ! fire ! fire !" bawled Ben Jonson 
 in the ear of the sleeper. 
 
 " Ha ! what ? eh !" cried Master Cotton, 
 jumping up suddenly and rubbing his eyes. 
 
 " Your house be burning to the ground !" 
 cried Master Jonson. 
 
 " Save my manuscripts ! Save my 
 books !" shouted the antiquary, as he rush- 
 ed hither and thither in as complete a 
 fright as ever was seen but he was 
 quickly called to his senses by the shouts 
 of laughter that broke from every one in 
 the room ; and then finding matters were 
 not so bad as he had feared, he took the 
 jest as merrily as any. 
 
 " And now, good dame," said Sir W al- 
 ter, as he, with the others, entered a little 
 room furnished with a goodly show of all 
 sorts of drinking vessels and bottles, and 
 things appertaining to a tavern, among 
 which the portly hostess and her daughter 
 were sitting ; " If you will reckon the pay, 
 we will pay the reckoning." 
 
 " That will I, noble Sir Walter, and 
 quickly," exclaimed Mistress Cannikin, 
 laughing loudly at the conceit, as she 
 proceeded to the back of a door on which 
 sundry curious marks were chalked ; then 
 making her calculations, she cried out in 
 the midst. "Humphrey! put out the 
 lights in the Dolphin. Kate, take the 
 money of such as I name. Barnaby, ask 
 the gentlemen in the Half-Moon, if they 
 lack anything. Indeed Sir Walter, 'twas 
 an exceeding droll conceit. Ten and six- 
 pence if it please you, noble sir." 
 
 " See that we get into no scrape we 
 are reckoning without our host," observed 
 Ben Jonson in a manner that afforded 
 much mirth to his companions. 
 
 "The hostess shall bear you blame- 
 less," added the portly dame, laughing 
 heartily. "I thank you, noble Sir Wal- 
 ter. Good, upon my life ! Worthy Mas- 
 '.er Jonson, your reckoning cometh to 
 
 just six shillings and a groat. Kate! 
 take of Master Cotton five shillings and 
 three-pence. An admirable conceit, by 
 my troth." 
 
 " The reckoning must needs be in very 
 good hands," observed Master Shakspeare 
 gallantly. "Every one knoweth our 
 hostess be so exceeding fair." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" cried Mistress Cannikin, 
 displaying her double chin to famous ad- 
 vantage. "Sure never was so witty a 
 thing said. Nine and eleven-pence, sweet 
 Master Shakspeare. At my time of life 
 too ! Kate, seven and a penny to Master 
 Donne. And yet it was so prettily 
 spoken." 
 
 " And now, sweet hostess, for a salute 
 at parting," exclaimed Master Shak- 
 speare, as he threw his arms round her 
 portly person, and snatched a caress. 
 
 "Heaven prosper you!" cried the old 
 dame, taking it very good-humoredly. 
 "Eight and a penny halfpenny, good 
 Master Fletcher. An excellent-hearted 
 gentleman, and a courteous. Kate, five 
 and six-pence to Master Beaumont." 
 
 "Indeed, la! Master Jonsoii, it be 
 monstrous to be kissing of me !" drawled 
 out the hostess's daughter, as she was 
 faintly struggling in the arms of him she 
 had named. 
 
 " Tilly valley, wench !" exclaimed her 
 mother, laughing to see what was going 
 on. "A kiss from a gentleman be no 
 great matter especially if he payeth his 
 reckoning handsomely. Seven shillings 
 and two-pence if it please you, worthy 
 Master Constable, and two shillings and 
 a penny left owing at the last time." 
 
 "Now, sweet Kate," whispered Ben 
 Jonson. 
 
 "Ben ! Sen !" called out Master Shak- 
 speare, shaking his head very reproving- 
 ly. " Thou art still hankering after the 
 sweet cales, 1 see." 
 
 " Cater for thyself, then," replied the 
 other in the same humor. This sort of 
 scene proceeded till the reckoning was 
 paid, and then all started into the street 
 as merry as crickets. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend 
 The brightest heaven of invention ! 
 A kingdom for a stage, princes to act. 
 And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
 Then should the warlike Harry like himself 
 Assume the port of Mars ; and, at his heels, 
 Leashed in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire 
 Crouch for employment. 
 
 SHAKSPKARB.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HiS FRIENDS. 
 
 273 
 
 Convey thee from the thought of thy disgrace 
 Steal from thyself, and be thy care's own thief. 
 But yet what comfort shall 1 hereby gain? 
 Bearing the wound J needs must feel the pain ! 
 
 DANIEL. 
 
 What bloody villain 
 
 Provoked thee to this murder? 
 
 BBAUMOKT AND FLETCHEK. 
 
 MASTER FRANCIS was again upon the 
 wide seas in as goodly a ship as ever 
 ploughed the waves, with his true friend 
 Harry Daring, and his kind patron Sir 
 Walter Raleigh. I have already made 
 mention of the likelihood of an expedi- 
 tion against the Spaniards, and this had 
 come to pass. At the time when Eng- 
 land was threatened with an invasion 
 by the boastful armada, which, by God's 
 good help, was turned into a laughing 
 stock, Sir Walter Raleigh counselled the 
 sailing of an expedition to destroy the 
 Spanish fleet in their own harbor, and 
 although it was not acted on at the time, 
 now, after a lapse of eight years, as it 
 was known Philip was engaged in simi- 
 lar desperate enterprises against England, 
 Queen Elizabeth resolved on giving him 
 such a blow as should make him repent 
 of his villany. For this purpose, at an 
 expense to Elizabeth of fifty thousand 
 pounds, and of great sums to many who 
 did contribute toward it, a fleet of a hun- 
 dred and fifty sail were equipped at Ply- 
 mouth, of the which were seventeen of 
 the navy royal, eighteen men-of-war, and 
 six store-ships supplied by the States, 
 and twenty-two ships-of-war furnished 
 by the Dutch, under the command of 
 their own admiral the rest being tenders, 
 pinnaces, victuallers, and transports 
 and these, carrying nigh upon fourteen 
 thousand soldiers and seamen, beside one 
 thousand gentlemen-volunteers, were ma- 
 king what speed they could for the Span- 
 ish coast, every ship wiih sealed orders 
 not to be opened till a proper time, under 
 the direction of my Lord Essex and my 
 Lord High Admiral, assisted by a coun- 
 cil of the queen's chiefest officers, of 
 which, to Dame Elizabeth's huge delight. 
 Sir Walter Raleigh was selected as one, 
 appointed rear-admiral, and put in com- 
 mand of the Warspite, a ship of the first 
 class. 
 
 Nothing could be more in accordance 
 with Raleigh's humor than this expedi- 
 tion. At the urgent entreaty of his de- 
 voted wife, he had sought all means to 
 restore himself to the queen's favor, and 
 all means had failed ; but although his 
 very good friend Sir Robert Cecil, as he 
 believed him to be, had, before his start- 
 18 
 
 ing, done all he could to impress him 
 with the notion of my Lord Essex's hos- 
 tility, and he could not help observing, 
 that Essex relished not at all that he 
 should divide his authority, or control 
 him in any way, Sir Walter saw that 
 there was now a noble opportunity for 
 him to distinguish himself, and he doubted 
 not he should make such good use of it, 
 as should recommend him to his sover- 
 eign, and win the friendly opinion of my 
 Lord Essex, and all whom he had been 
 taught to regard as his enemies. 
 
 By Master Francis the expedition was 
 looked upon as an adventure in which 
 he might gain such honor as would give 
 him a fair credit with the world, despite 
 of the mystery attached to his birth. ' Al- 
 though he was greatly rejoiced at the is- 
 sue of his interview with that wretched 
 hypocrite Holdfast, and did build many 
 pleasant dreams in consequence, more 
 than once there came into his mind the 
 possibility of his being that abased thing 
 Queen Elizabeth had called him ; and 
 then the recollection of the shame she 
 had put upon him before all her court, and 
 the likelihood there was that such scenes 
 might again occur, did fill his heart with 
 so entire a wretchedness, that he felt he 
 could endure anything rather than suffer 
 similar treatment again. It is not to be 
 imagined he got rid of all thoughts of 
 Joanna. Frequently since he had caught 
 sight of her at the playhouse, had she 
 formed the subject of his reflections, to 
 the exclusion of every other. The ap- 
 pearance in her company of such a thor- 
 ough villain as he believed Padre Bar- 
 tolome to be, made him infinitely uneasy ; 
 and though he tried to dismiss any unfa- 
 vorable inference, by fancying they might 
 be strangers, the knowledge he had that 
 both had been living at Guiana whilst he 
 was there, more than once gave him the 
 suspicion that they might be better ac- 
 quainted with each other than he liked. 
 He would probably have been careless of 
 the matter had he believed what he had 
 at his quarrelling with her : but ever since 
 his finding she had done so much to res- 
 cue him from the Indians, notwithstand- 
 ing the extraordinary manner she had 
 behaved to him on his discovery of her, 
 and all that he had heard and seen before 
 there ever lingered in his mind a doubt 
 that she who could act so nobly was of 
 so base a nature as he had been led to 
 imagine : and living in the hope that she 
 would one day prove herself to be all he 
 could wish, whatever fresh thing he knew 
 of her likely to discourage that hope,
 
 274 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 gave him a very monstrous disquietude. 
 Imagining she was in London, he had 
 made every inquiry, and sought every 
 place in search of her; and when he 
 found the pursuit fruitless, upon Master 
 Shakspeare seriously counselling of him 
 to give up all thoughts of her, he had 
 sought the society of such young gentle- 
 women as his intimacy with Sir Walter 
 Raleigh gave him access to: and though 
 many were exceeding comely and 
 though there were few who did not 
 look upon him with a more than ordinary 
 kindness, he found, after all his endeav- 
 ors, he could like none of them as he had ! 
 liked the mercer's daughter of Eastcheap. i 
 
 But who could enter into the expedition | 
 with more spirit than did Harry Daring? 
 To him nothing could come more in the 
 nick of time, or more completely to his 
 mind. Ever since his return from El 
 Dorado his restless humor had employed 
 itself in all sorts of mad freaks, leading ; 
 of such apprentices as he could get to- j 
 gether (who looked upon him as a very ! 
 prince of a fellow, he was so careless of! 
 his purse) into frequent encounters with ! 
 his old opponents, the city watch, that 
 the worthy citizens knew not what to 
 make of it. All Eastcheap was in a 
 constant uproar. There was scarce ever 
 a night passed without some scuffle and 
 tumult ; and the barber-chirurgeons were 
 kept in constant employ getting simples 
 and plasters for the wounds, broken 
 pates, and bruised limbs, of such of the 
 watch and apprentices who got hurt. 
 But amid all this wildness and prodigal- 
 ity, Harry Daring was ever doing of 
 some generous action. He got Big Jack 
 o' the Turnstile in a comfortable berth in 
 the very ship of which his patron Sir 
 Walter had promoted him to be one of 
 his junior officers. To those who had 
 suffered in any way by his tricks, he 
 had made what amends he could. Even 
 the old dame whose jaw he had so de- 
 spoiled at his first essay in the extracting 
 of teeth, meeting by accident, he gave 
 such recompense to as nearly put her out 
 of her wits with joy ; and to Stephen 
 Shortcake he and Master Francis be- 
 haved so liberally as quite to win the old 
 man's heart. Not one of the serving-men 
 were there that did not taste of his boun- 
 ty; and those that he had drubbed the 
 most were the most rewarded. 
 
 As the fleet sailed gallantly along, 
 spreading themselves about, and the best 
 sailors going ahead, they intercepted 
 every vessel likely to convey intelligence 
 of their coming to the en^my, so that not 
 
 so much as the least pmk could come 
 within sight but was taken ; and after a 
 prosperous voyage they entered St. Se- 
 bastian's bay, within a league of Cadiz, 
 whilst the Spaniards dreamed not of the 
 English being out of their ports. When 
 they arrived before Cadiz it was in the 
 early morning, the sea went marvellous 
 high, and the wind was exceeding large 
 nevertheless it was designed by the lord 
 admiral to land some companies at the 
 west side of the town, in divers long 
 boats, light-horsemen, pinnaces, and 
 barges : but in the attempt, one of the 
 barges, having in her fourscore good sol- 
 diers, was sunk, out of whom eight were 
 drowned, though great exertions were 
 made to save all ; and by the advice of 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, who hastened to my 
 Lord Essex on board of his ship, the 
 Repulse, to show how injudicious it was 
 to attack the town before the enemy's 
 ships in the harbor had been mastered, 
 the land forces were recalled, and little 
 was done that day, save discharging at the 
 enemy certain great pieces of ordnance, 
 which they replied to in a like manner , 
 but in consequence of the distance both 
 parties were from each other, no grea< 
 damage was done on either side. 
 
 The bay in which the English and 
 Dutch fleet were riding looked large and 
 amazingly beautiful, being in one part 
 six or seven miles over, or thereabouts, 
 yet having in it so many rocks, shelves, 
 sands, and shallows, that the proper sea- 
 room is not above two or three miles, 
 and not so much in some places, so that 
 it would be somewhat hazardous for 
 many ships, of great burthen, such as 
 those of me navy royal to be thrust in 
 there, the more especially when the po- 
 sition of the enemy was considered. No 
 sooner had the English presented them- 
 selves than four of the largest galleons of 
 the Spaniards placed themselves to de- 
 fend the numerous merchantmen which 
 were lying there ready bound for the In- 
 dies, and seventeen of their galleys, all 
 armed to the teeth were speedily got 
 (under the walls of the town) in a posi- 
 tion in which they might face the enemy 
 with their prows; also keeping in such 
 order and so together, that they could de- 
 fend the '.own, the castle and the forts. 
 The harbor was defended by Fori St. 
 Philip, and by many piec'es of ordnance, 
 placed so as to rake the channel ; and 
 Fort Punial guarded the strait leading 
 toward Puerto Real, along the curtain 
 upon the ramparts. 
 
 It having been agreed that the Spanish
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 275 
 
 fleet should be attacked to the wonder- 
 ful satisfaction of Harry Daring and all 
 in the expedition between five and six in 
 the morning of the next day, it being the 
 twenty-first of June, the English ships 
 bore down upon their opponents, imme- 
 diately upon which the merchants run up 
 the river with as much speed as they 
 could, the galleys betook themselves to 
 the defence of the town, and all the pow- 
 erfulest ships moored themselves head 
 and stern, to have their broadsides to 
 bear upon the advancing English. The 
 four principal galleons of the Spanish 
 fleet anchored under the guns of the fort 
 of Puntal, placing three frigates on their 
 right, two Portuguese galleons and argo- 
 sies at their back, with the galleys by 
 three and three, at intervals, in the 
 choicest situations; and the admiral of 
 New Spain, with forty sail of huge mer- 
 chant-ships richly laden, defending the 
 entrance, by stretching across it like a 
 bridge. It was originally planned that 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, he having been ap- 
 pointed rear-admiral, should lead the 
 van ; but although the honor of it was 
 claimed by the vice-admiral, who was no 
 other than Lord Thomas Howard, Sir 
 Walter at the sailing of his squadron, 
 took the start of all, and bore gallantly 
 into the midst of the enemy, to the great 
 admiration of the whole fleet. At first, 
 the garrison let fly at him their artillery; 
 then bellowed the cannon on the curtain, 
 and next the seventeen galleys poured 
 into him their great and small shot ; but 
 he answered them only with a flourish 
 of trumpets; and amidst the loud cheer- 
 ing of his men and officers, he anchored 
 beside two of the largest galleons, and 
 presently poured all his heavy ordnance 
 into them ; the which he continued to do 
 without intermission, though he was ex- 
 posed to so raking a fire that the War- 
 spite got dreadfully shattered. Sir Wal- 
 ler being well supported by other of the 
 queen's ships, amongst whom was my 
 Lord Essex, the fight soon became ex- 
 ceeding hot. 
 
 At this time, whilst the conflict was ra- 
 ging very terrible and hideous, on ac- 
 count of the quick flashes of fire and roar- 
 ing thunder of the many culverins and 
 cannon, one of the Dutch fly-boats, con- 
 taining about a hundred fighting men, 
 who had behaved themselves very val- 
 iant, by some negligence, set its powder 
 afire, and blew up with a dreadful explo- 
 sion, to the dismay of the English and 
 Dutch, and to the wonderful contentment 
 of the Spaniards ; but their content was of 
 
 no long continuance. They were so sorely 
 pressed by such of the English ships as 
 could get nigh them, though these were 
 but seven in number, that they began to 
 like it not at all. The scene on board of 
 the Warspite was marvellous to look on 
 The wonderfulest enthusiasm prevailed 
 both amongst mariners and soldiers, be- 
 cause of Sir Walter setting them so val- 
 iant an example ; and amidst a most de- 
 I structive fire, every piece which could 
 be brought to bear against their gigantic 
 enemies, the galleons, was cheerfully 
 served by the crew ; and the only desire 
 expressed by all was, to come to closer 
 quarters. Sir Walter having waited, hour 
 after hour, for the coming up of the fly- 
 boats, which ought to have gone in and 
 boarded the enemy, and none coming, he 
 went on board my Lord Essex's ship, and 
 stated to him the necessity he was in, 
 from the condition of his vessel, to board 
 from the Warspite, did not the fly-boats 
 instantly arrive ; and my Lord Essex, 
 who had greatly admired his gallantry 
 throughout, for all that my Lord Howard 
 of Walden and others of his company, 
 I being creatures of Cecil, did try to ex- 
 cite a jealousy in him, answered, in most 
 friendly fashion, that whatever Raleigh 
 would do, he, on his honor would second. 
 This made Sir Walter row back to his 
 ship with all the speed he could ; but the 
 other commanders taking this to be a sig- 
 nal to run in upon the enemy, made prep- 
 arations on the instant, and before he 
 could get on board several had passed 
 him. This, however, Raleigh was not 
 in the humor to allow of, and presently 
 so manoeuvred that he again had the first 
 place, having anchored within twenty 
 yards of the San Felipe, a large galleon 
 of fifteen hundred tons, in such a position 
 across the channel that no ship could 
 pass him. Finding he was prevented by 
 the wind from getting close enough to 
 board, although his officers and men were 
 monstrous eager for it, he laid out a 
 warp " to shake hands with her," as he 
 said ; and those of the English fleet nigh- 
 est to him following his example, the 
 great galleons, in the utmost fright and 
 hurry, slipped their anchors and run 
 aground; and the soldiers and mariners 
 were presently seen tumbling out of them 
 into the sea by hundreds some getting 
 drowned, others choked in the mud, and 
 a vast number mortally wounded. 
 
 Whilst Master Francis and Harry Dar- 
 ing were, with divers of the officers, ob- 
 serving this strange tumurt from the 
 the quarter deck of the Warspite, all at
 
 276 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 once flames were seen issuing from the 
 lower deck of the San Felipe. 
 
 " The villains have fired her !" ex- 
 claimed Harry, seeming to be greatly 
 vexed about it. "By Gog and Magog, 
 it be infamous so goodly a ship should 
 be destroyed !" 
 
 He had scarce spoke when, with a 
 wonderful explosion, the mainmast of 
 the burning galleon shot up into the sky 
 like an arrow, together with such a 
 shower of blazing timbers that the air 
 seemed on fire with it. With the huge 
 ship were blown up vast numbers of the 
 Spaniards, who had not got out of it in 
 time, so that it did make a very hideous 
 spectacle to see their bodies scorched and 
 blackened, falling into the sea in the 
 midst of numberless burning planks, 
 whereof some fell as far as the War- 
 apite, and put her to great peril, which 
 was promptly guarded against by the 
 vigilance of the officers and crew. 
 
 "Alack, if there be not another of 
 them a burning !" cried Harry, in greater 
 vexation than before, pointing to a ship 
 from which flames were seen to issue. 
 
 " 'Tis one of their argosies !" observed 
 Master Francis. 
 
 "And, o' my life, here is another with 
 the like sign of fire in it," added his 
 young friend, "It be monstrous, such 
 goodly ships should be in the charge of 
 such careless villains." 
 
 And, sure enough, another of the gal- 
 leons and an argosie caught fire from the 
 San Felipe, and the sight became more 
 dreadful than ever, for the flames spread 
 with wonderful fury ; and whilst some 
 of the Spaniards were clinging with 
 frightful cries, to the rigging, many 
 drowned themselves some burned, some 
 wounded, flung themselves into the sea, 
 and strove to swim for their lives some 
 hung by ropes over the ship's side, up to 
 the lips in water, but as the fire continued 
 with increased fierceness, either the dis- 
 charge of the great ordnance from the 
 galleons as the flames reached them, or 
 the blowing up of the ship, when the 
 powder caught, soon put them out of 
 their pain. By the marines and soldier? 
 on board of the Warspite indeed, by all 
 throughout the fleet, this sight was looked 
 upon with exceeding disappointment, for 
 they expected to have made these mon- 
 strous vessels their prize ; and the men 
 and officers might be seen crowding 
 wherever a sight could be got of the 
 blazing ships, and expressing their lamen- 
 tations with famous long faces. SirWal- 
 ier Raleigh had been carried below some 
 
 short time before, to have his leg dressed 
 he having been wounded by a splinter . 
 but whilst Harry Daring and Mastei 
 Francis were looking so wofully upon 
 the destruction of the galleons, there came 
 an order from him to make haste after 
 the other two, so that they should noi 
 escape, or beset on fire ; and in an instant 
 all was hurry and scurry in every part of 
 the Warspite, the sailors running nimbly 
 up the yards at the boatswain's call, to 
 make such alterations in the sails as the 
 sailing-master thought necessary; others 
 cheerfully raising the anchor, shouting 
 their pleasant chorus; the trumpets 
 sounding for the gentlemen-volunteers to 
 muster on deck in readiness to board the 
 Spaniards, and the officers shouting their 
 orders to get their men in proper order. 
 
 Three of the Warspite's largest boats 
 were in the meantime being filled witli 
 soldiers and sailors, armed to the teeth, 
 on the side of the ship farthest from the 
 Spaniards; and whilst the Warspite, 
 moved by the wind which at that time 
 sprung up, bore gallantly down upon the 
 huge galleons, the boats were rowed round 
 the blazing vessels, avoiding as well aa 
 they might the showers of burning wood 
 that fell into the sea, to board the galle- 
 ons on the other side. Of one of these 
 boats Harry Daring was the second in 
 command ; and he was all impatience to 
 be at the enemy, and so encouraged the 
 sailors that they strained every limb in 
 plying of their oars, with such good effec i 
 that they soon got ahead of the other 
 boats. When they were within muskei 
 range of the San Mateo the nighest ol 
 the galleons, each of which were ol 
 twelve hundred tons burthen a discharge 
 of small arms from the lower decks ol 
 that ship killed his superior officer anc 
 several of his men. 
 
 " For death or victory !" shouted Harry, 
 standing up as nigh the helm of the boat 
 as he could, waving his hat over his head 
 very gallantly. "Ply your oars merrily, 
 my hearts of oak ! Be ready with youi 
 pieces, soldiers, and pick me off these 
 villains at the portholes and lower deck." 
 He was answered by the cheers of his 
 men, responded to by the cheering of 
 those in the other boats, who seemed ma 
 king every exertion to get up with him; 
 and the soldiers under his command dis- 
 charged their muskets with so true an 
 aim, that presently there was scarce a 
 Spaniard to be seen on that side of the 
 ship. 
 
 " Now, my masters !" cried Harry Dar- 
 ing, as he drew his sword, " every man
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 277 
 
 that hath the honor of Old England at 
 his heart, follow me." Again the men 
 cheered with greater heart than ever, 
 each grasped his sword or his pike firmly, 
 and prepared himself to follow to the 
 death their gallant leader; but Harry, 
 when he came to the ship's side and saw 
 the huge wall of timber that rose before 
 him, with scarce anything about it that 
 presented a fair hold or footing, he felt a 
 little puzzled what to be at, but hearing 
 the rattle of the musketry and a huge 
 shooting from the other side of the gal- 
 leon, which proved she was being boarded 
 by the Warspite, and observing that the 
 other boats were close upon him, as the 
 next wave dashed his boat against the 
 San Mateo, and the sailors hooked her 
 on, he boldly flung himself into an open 
 porthole, rapidly followed by some score 
 or two of his men, who came tumbling 
 one after another, as if they had been shot 
 out of a sack, the others thrusting in their 
 pikes, harquebuses, swords, and such 
 weapons as they had brought with them, 
 as quick as they could. 
 
 Every man upon getting his footing 
 looked for his weapon, and then for his 
 enemies ; but they found themselves in a 
 low chamber, wherein there was just 
 light enough to see a few Spaniards, 
 some dead, some dying, and to discover 
 by the furnishing of the place, that they 
 Jiad got into the victualling-room. None 
 stopped to taste any of the good things 
 that were around them; and Harry Dar- 
 ing seeing that all his men had their 
 pieces loaded, and everything in proper 
 order, commanded silence and great 
 caution, made toward a door, upon open- 
 ing which he saw instantly he was in the 
 jiuwder magazine, for there was a man 
 with his back toward him, stooping over 
 a barrel with a lanthorn at his side, near 
 a basket nearly full of gunpowder. The 
 man turned round upon hearing footsteps, 
 and seeing who were behind him, seized 
 upon the lanthorn, as if with the design 
 of firing the powder, and so blowing the 
 English, whom it is supposed he believed 
 to be in possession of the ship, and the 
 San Mateo up together, bui before he 
 could execute his villanous intention, 
 Harry had run him through the body. 
 
 Here the young officer placed a guard 
 to prevent all access to the powder, and 
 then hastening out at another door, found 
 himself in a broad passage, having doors 
 on eacli side. Heeding none of these, 
 and seeing ;i flight of steps a few yards 
 ahead, he marched his men there. Whilst 
 :hey were mounting these steps they 
 
 spied a party of Spaniards coming down, 
 carrying divers of their wounded, who 
 no sooner caught sight of them than in a 
 famous fright they dropped their burthens, 
 and with terrible outcries took to running 
 away as speedily as their legs could carry 
 them. The noise brought some soldiers 
 to see what was the matter ; but a well- 
 directed fire killed the most part and dis- 
 persed the rest in all directions. 
 
 " On, my gallant hearts, and this huge 
 galleon shall be our own !" cried Harry 
 Daring, pointing with his sword up the 
 steps as he led the way a little in advance 
 of the rest. His followers looked as if 
 they were delighted to be so bravely led. 
 " There he none here likely to lag 
 astern when such as you lead the way, 
 Master Harry !" responded old Simon 
 Mainsail, who was one of the foremost 
 of the party. " Make all sail, my mas- 
 ters !" added he to the soldiers, " there 
 be shoals of these villain Spaniards yet 
 left for us to be a killing of." He was 
 cheerfully answered by his companions, 
 and all pressed forward after their gallant 
 leader. Harry Daring presently found 
 himself on the aft part of the lower deck. 
 He gave a hasty glance around him, and 
 noticed on his left the decks of the War- 
 spite, With scores of her mariners and 
 soldiers pouring down upon the galleon's 
 fore-quarter, amidsuch a tumult of shouts, 
 cries, groans, firing of pieces, and clash- 
 ing of swords, betwixt them and the 
 Spaniards, as made a complete Babel: 
 On the opposite side he heard the cheers 
 of those in the other boats, who were in- 
 tent upon boarding on that quarter ; where 
 a company of soldiers were drawn up 
 ready to resist them. 
 
 " A Raleigh ! a Raleigh !" shouted Har- 
 ry, leading on his men sword in hand, 
 who charged the soldiers with such good 
 will, and they being quite taken by sur- 
 prise, that they made but a feeble resist- 
 ance. Some threw down their arms and 
 cried for quarter, and others fled hither 
 and thither, wherever they fancied there 
 : was safety. The way being clear, Harry 
 | Daring and his party quickly enabled 
 I their comrades below to get footing on 
 the deck, and up. they came scrambling 
 as fast as they could, to nigh upon a hun- 
 dred in number. These then made for 
 the fore parts of the galleon*, where the 
 Spaniards had crowded in great numbers, 
 because there they were being boarded 
 by the Warspite; and fell upon them 
 with such vigor that they who could were 
 glad to retreat to ihe upper decks ; but 
 now a panic seemed to have seized them,
 
 278 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 and wherever the English appeared, as 
 they soon did in some force, following up 
 the advantage iheyhad gained with such 
 spirit as not to leave their enemies 
 breathing time, they threw themselves 
 into the sea in crowds, hoping to swim to 
 the shore: and then it being given out 
 amongst them that the galleon was taken, 
 every one sought to save himself in the 
 same manner, jumping out of the cabin 
 windows, off the decks, and out of the 
 portholes, like bees issuing from a hive. 
 
 The other galleon was carried in a 
 similar manner. This struck a terror in 
 the whole Spanish fleet. Many of the 
 ships run ashore, the merchants made off 
 for the roads of Puerto Real, and the gal- 
 leys went creeping along the coast to 
 where there was a bridge called the 
 Puente de Zuazo. Thus was a glorious 
 victory achieved over this formidable ar- 
 ray upon land and water, with no more 
 than seven ships on the part of the Eng- 
 lish ; but great as the triumph was, it 
 satisfied not the valiant hearts who had 
 gained it. Master Francis in the War- 
 spite, and Harry Daring in the boat, had 
 been exceeding conspicuous in their at- 
 tack upon the San Maieo, the former 
 having disposed of himself very cqurage- 
 ously in boarding the galleon from his 
 own ship, and the latter having behaved 
 as hath been described', in heading the 
 party in the boat. It so happened that 
 these two met sword in hand at the win- 
 ning of the Spanish ship. 
 
 " Well !" exclaimed Harry, after sha- 
 king his friend heartily by the hand, and 
 exchanging congratulations upon finding 
 each other unhurt. "For exquisite fine 
 fun commend me to the taking of a gal- 
 leon." 
 
 " I can not say much for the fun, Har- 
 ry," replied Master Francis. " But it 
 certainly hath in it a wonderful excite- 
 ment." 
 
 " Excitement !" cried the other, taking 
 off his hat and wiping his hot forehead 
 and face with his handkerchief. " I take 
 it, excitement and exquisite fine fun be 
 much the same thing." 
 
 "Hast lost many of your party ?" in- 
 quired his friend. 
 
 " Not above five or six," answered 
 Harry. " Old Simon Mainsail hath got 
 shot through the arm, but he taketh it in 
 very good heart now we have got the 
 better of these villains. What a wonder- 
 ful fine ship, though, this be ! Never 
 saw I anything of the like bigness save 
 the others. It be a thousand pities any 
 should have been burned, for I doubt not 
 
 we could have taken them all as easy as 
 we have this." 
 
 Master Francis glanced at the dimen- 
 sions of this gigantic vessel, and could 
 not but acknowledge it merited all the 
 admiration it had excited in his compan- 
 ion ; but he soon turned to notice the ap- 
 pearance of the English and Dutch fleet 
 in the bay. Those that had been engaged 
 in the conflict bore on them numberless 
 marks of its fury, and of these the War- 
 spite seemed to be the most roughly han- 
 dled of all, for she was shot about in ev- 
 ery direction. In the distance were seen 
 fly-boats and other vessels making for 
 that part of the bay where the galleons 
 were, and on the land side were the 
 Spanish fleet, some dispersed, some run 
 aground, some scorched and burning to 
 the water's edge, and the San Mateo and 
 San Andres another galleon of a like 
 size, were in prize of the English. The 
 soldiers of the Warspite were busy in se- 
 curing their prisoners, and the mariners 
 were going in parties under divers of their 
 officers, to different parts of the ship to 
 inspect their prize, and to guard against 
 treachery on the part of the Spaniards. 
 Master Francis and Harry Daring were 
 upon the chief deck with a company of 
 their men keeping guard upon such offi- 
 cers and soldiers of the Spaniards as they 
 had secured ; but this Master Francis 
 was not allowed to do long, for there 
 came a message from Sir Walter Raleigh 
 to the intent, that he was to take a boat 
 well manned, and make all speed to my 
 Lord of Essex to acquaint him with the 
 victory ; and this he hurried to do. 
 
 Upon getting on board of the Repulse, 
 which lay but a lit le way from the War- 
 spite, he found my Lord Essex on the 
 quarter-deck surrounded by his officers. 
 He had seen Sir Walter's messenger be- 
 fore, both in Sir Walter's company, and 
 when he had been so insultingly used of 
 Queen Elizabeth, and liking his gallant 
 appearance, and having heard much of 
 his valiant behavior, he received him 
 with a very pleasant courtesy : but when 
 he heard the good news brought by him, 
 it put him in as agreeable a humor as 
 might be seen in the sociablest gentle- 
 man that ever lived ; and gave instant or- 
 ders for the landing of three thousand 
 shot and pikemen to assault the town. 
 Whilst the officers were getting their 
 men into the boats, my Lord Essex de- 
 tained Master Francis, inquiring of him 
 particulars of the taking of the galleons ; 
 the which he answered modestly as re- 
 garded himself, but with plentiful com-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 279 
 
 mendalion of all others who had been 
 engaged in that enterprise the which 
 seemed infinitely to the satisfaction of his 
 noole listener. 
 
 " And how fareth my gallant friend, 
 Sir Walter ?" inquired he. 
 
 "He is badly hurt in the leg, ray lord, 
 from a splinter," replied Master Francis, 
 'else doubtless would he have been here 
 himself." 
 
 "He hath sent a right proper repre- 
 sentative," said rny lord. "Yet I hope 
 his wound be one of no great moment, for 
 I doubt not we shall have hot work pres- \ 
 ently, and we can not well spare so valiant 
 a commander at so critical a time." 
 
 " If it please you, my lord, I will hasten 
 back to the Warspite and tell him this," 
 observed the young secretary. " I am 
 quite sure he would like nothing so well ; 
 as sharing, with your lordship, in the ! 
 glory of this noble enterprise." 
 
 " Nay, Master Francis, I can not part 
 with you just yet," replied Essex. "I 
 will send a messenger to Raleigh, requi- 
 ring of him to support me, if his hurt will 
 let him, with what force he can get to- 
 gether ; and state to him I have kept you 
 to be officer of mine for the present." 
 
 " If it so please you, my lord," answer- 
 ed Master Francis, who was not dissatis- 
 fied with this design of the lord-general's. 
 " Quite sure am I Sir Walter will hasten 
 to support you, even if he be carried to 
 the field, for I have oft heard him speak 
 in so friendly a manner of your lordship's 
 valiant disposition, that I am sure he hath 
 that regard for you that would hasten him 
 into any enterprise by which he might do 
 you a service." 
 
 "Dost think so?" inquired my lord, 
 looking into the other's face somewhat 
 incredulously. "Hast heard him speak 
 in such friendly manner as should warrant 
 your saying this." 
 
 " That have I out of all manner of 
 doubt," replied his companion. 
 
 " By this hand, I have heard the clean 
 contrary," exclaimed Essex. 
 
 " Then such who told you, my lord, 
 did most grossly belie him," answered 
 Master Francis with such exceeding earn- 
 estness as carried conviction with it. " I 
 have had better opportunities of knowing j 
 his true nature than have many, and I do ; 
 affirm, it be utterly impossible he would! 
 not appreciate such qualities of behavior j 
 as your lordship possesses. Believe me, i 
 my lord, they have most vilely slandered j 
 him who have said otherwise, for onei 
 more ready to acknowledge the merit of j 
 another d'd I never know." 
 
 " Tis likely enough," said the lord- 
 general. " I can not imagine that one 
 who hath behaved with the notable true 
 valor he hath shown to-day, and on divers 
 other occasions, should be given to such 
 poor passions as envy and malicious- 
 ness." 
 
 " I will answer for his true-hearted- 
 ness vvrth my life !" replied his companion 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I doubt you not at all, Master Fran- 
 cis," answered the other. "I shall think 
 of him all the better for what you have 
 said. But I pray you attend me in my 
 barge. We will talk more on this matter 
 when opportunity allows." 
 
 My Lord Essex then sending a mes- 
 senger to Sir Walter Raleigh, proceeded 
 to the barge which was waiting for him, 
 in company with Master Francis ; and 
 the latter found himself putting to shore 
 with three regiments of soldiers well ap- 
 pointed, filling a little fleet of barges and 
 boats, rowed by the mariners. They 
 landed in a sandy bay, close upon Fort 
 Puntal, the garrison whereof waited not 
 to come to blows with them, but aban- 
 doned it as speedily as they might upon 
 their first appearance ; whereupon Essex 
 took possession of the fort, and finding he 
 could only be annoyed from the mainland 
 by -the Puente de Zuazo, despatched at 
 least one half of his force under able offi- 
 cers to lake that bridge and at the same 
 time sent a message to my lord admiral, 
 to attempt the Mexican fleet lying at 
 Puerto Real, to prevent their escape or 
 burning ; and then with the remainder 
 of his regiments advanced in good order 
 toward the town which lay at about three 
 miles distance ; but the road being all 
 of a deep sliding sand, and the day hot 
 and dry, made the march wonderfully 
 fatiguing. 
 
 At some slight distance from the town 
 they found a force of some five thousand 
 foot and eight hundred horse, and although 
 my Lord Essex had with him but fifteen 
 hundred men in all, these attacked the 
 Spaniards with such fierceness that they 
 abode very little fighting, and did make 
 their retreat with such speed that when 
 the English came up to the walls of Cadiz 
 they found the fugitives safe within them, 
 and the gates closed. Whilst some of 
 the assailants were striving to break 
 through the gates, others, among whom 
 was Master Francis, by means of an un- 
 finished work, mounted the walls and 
 leapt down as fast as they could ; and the 
 gate having been forced, the rest entered 
 in good order, with their flags flying and
 
 280 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 trumpets blowing, and charged at all they 
 met. 'But now the struggle commenced 
 for they found every house turned into a 
 fort, its flat roof having been made a 
 magazine for weighty stones, which wo- 
 men as well as men let fall as they ad- 
 vanced others of the Spaniards annoy- 
 ing them with firearms in the, mean- 
 while. 
 
 Some houses were so offensive in this 
 way that the lord-general was obliged to 
 detach small parties of his men under 
 commanders of most approved courage 
 to take them by assault ; and to one which 
 seemed to be a church or religious house 
 of some kind he sent Master Francis 
 against, with a force of fifty men, whilst 
 he sought to make his way to the market- 
 place. The young commander, after an 
 obstinate opposition, carried the place by 
 assault, which proved to be a nunnery 
 for, upon his forcible entrance at the head 
 of his men, he noticed the nuns flying 
 before him, screaming and calling on the 
 saints for assistance. Taking care that 
 none such should be hurt, he followed on 
 briskly till he came to the cloisters, and, 
 greatly to his surprise, perceived at some 
 little distance from him a man in the 
 habit of an ecclesiastic dragging along 
 by the hair of her head a female in the 
 dress of a novice. 
 
 " Turn, villain !" cried Master Francis, 
 hurrying toward him with his sword 
 drawn. " Thou art but a coward to use 
 a woman so. Let go thy hold or I will 
 cut thee to the chine." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the man turning tow- 
 ard him the well-known face of the Padre 
 Bartolome, looking more malignant than 
 ever he had known it. 
 
 " Art thou here, accursed heretic ! Then 
 this to thy heart, wanton !" In the same 
 moment, to Master Francis's horror and 
 surprise, he saw the Jesuit snatch a dag- 
 ger from his vest, and bury it in the breast 
 of his female companion, who sunk with 
 a scream at his feet ; and then with a 
 fiendish laugh was seeking to make off 
 by a side passage ; but the young officer 
 was upon him too quickly. 
 
 "There, thou abhorred murderer, and 
 damned treacherous villain ! take thy 
 reward !" shouted he as he ran the priest 
 through the body. The thrust seemed 
 to have gone home ; for the padre fell on 
 his back and spoke not afterward, but 
 fixed on his assailant so hateful a glance 
 that the other was glad to turn away his 
 eyes. His men had by this time come 
 up, and looked wondering to see a nun 
 flam by a priest. 
 
 " She moves !" cried their commander, 
 hastening to the prostrate novice, who 
 gave some evidence of life. " Mayhap 
 the blow the villain gave her was not 
 deadly." She lay on her side, with her 
 long glossy hair streaming over her face, 
 and a stream of blood issuing from a 
 wound a little below her breast that had 
 stained her garments down to her feet. 
 Master Francis gently raised her from 
 the ground, and gazing upon her pallid 
 face, beheld there the idolized features 
 of the mercer's daughter of Eastcheap. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 Lo ! here the hopeless merchant of this loss, 
 With head inclined, and voice damned up with woes, 
 With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across, 
 And lips now waxen pale. SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Oh, where have I been all this time ? how friended, 
 
 That 1 should lose myself thus desperately, 
 
 And none for pity show me how I wondered? 
 
 There is not in the compass of the light 
 
 A more unhappy creature. Sure, I am monstrous '. 
 
 For I have done those follies, those mad mischief*, 
 
 Would dare a woman. Oh, my loaden soul ! 
 
 Be not so cruel to me ; choke not up 
 
 The way to my repentance ! Oh, my lord ! 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER 
 
 " DISTURB not yourself, I pray you !" 
 exclaimed Master Francis earnestly, as 
 he bent with an anxious countenance over 
 the form of Jpanna. She now reclined 
 upon a pallet in a narrow cell, furnished 
 only with a small table, on which ap- 
 peared to be a missal or breviary, a ro- 
 sary, and a crucifix ; and he was sitting 
 on a chair close beside her, holding of one 
 of her hands. Her face looked marvellous 
 pale that settled pallor that betokeneth 
 approaching dissolution ; and her eyes, 
 though still turned toward him with all 
 the affectionate' tenderness that had once 
 dwelt in them, looked with wonderful 
 languor and uneasiness, and lacked much 
 of that extreme brilliancy by which they 
 had used to be distinguished. 
 
 " The chirurgeon hath told me I have 
 but a few hours fb live," replied the mer- 
 cer's daughter in alow voice. "And I 
 would fain devote such short time as is 
 allowed me to make my peace with God 
 and my conscience, by a confession which 
 methinks be equally necessary for you to 
 hear as for me to slate." 
 
 " Nay, trouble not yourself about the 
 matter now, I implore you," cried her 
 over. "I would not have you make 
 rourself miserable at such a time by al- 
 usion to what I would willingly wish 
 mried in oblivion.''
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 281 
 
 44r Tis imperative,' 'answered the other 
 firmly. " Justice calls for it. I feel with- 
 in me an influence that maketh it a thing 
 absolute and not to be set aside. I con- 
 jure you listen. Hear me, Francis; and 
 hear me with whatsoever patience you 
 can bring to the hearing ; for, indeed, the 
 tale I have to tell requireth much endu- 
 rance of you," 
 
 Master Francis made no further objec- 
 tion ; and with considerable wonder and 
 some curiousness attended to the follow- 
 ing narration : 
 
 " I trace all the evil that hath happen- 
 ed to me to the want of a mother's care- 
 ful control in my bringing up," said his 
 companion. "She died in my early 
 childhood. I was thus left to the entire! 
 care, if care it might be called, of my i 
 other parent, who soon showed how unfit j 
 he was for any such duty. Being cou-l 
 sidered a child of some comeliness I was ! 
 ever petted by him the commendation'! 
 I received of strangers making him proud ! 
 of my appearance. I heard naught from ' 
 him and his associates save such flattery 
 as taught me to imagine there could be 
 nothing in the world of so much value 
 as the attractions of the person. Vanity 
 early took possession of my character ; 
 and the love of admiration which it en- 
 gendered grew the stronger the more it 
 was fed. I got but little education deserv- 
 ing of the name, save occasional school- 
 ing in the neighborhood, which when I 
 liked not I gave up, and when I fancied I 
 took to again ; but I quickly acquired all 
 sorts of cunning and deceit, from min- 
 gling with my father and his chief 
 friends, who looked upon craft as nothing 
 else but cleverness; and my passions 
 which were exceeding violent even when 
 young, were fostered in every conceivable 
 way by the indulgence and harshness 
 equally misapplied. 
 
 "As I grew toward womanhood, and 
 my features and person began to assume 
 something of that appearance they after- 
 ward acquired, the admiration I excited i 
 became greater, and my vanity the more 
 intense. I lacked not suirors: no girl 
 could be more followed. I was the fa- 
 vorite of all the apprentices round about; 
 and many an honest citizen's son vowed 
 he loved me dearer than a 11 the world be- 
 side. My father had early impressed me 
 with a distaste for becoming a wife, draw- 
 ing fearful pictures of the misery, drudge- 
 ry, and insignificance of such women as 
 married ; and then, in more glowing col- 
 ors, painting the consequence and happi- 
 ness enjoyed by a girl of wit enough to 
 
 draw plenty of fine gallants round her all 
 ready 10 be her slaves, that I thought only 
 of how I might place myself in the envia- 
 ble situation of the latter. I liked flattery 
 too well to turn away from it, let it come 
 from any, so I encouraged all who spoke 
 after such a fashion as long as it pleased 
 me so to do ; and if they became impor 
 tunate, or pressed me on the subject of 
 marriage, gave them such answers as 
 might hold them on, if 1 liked not to give 
 them up, or send them away if I cared 
 not for their company. As for studying 
 the feelings of any of them, I never knew 
 of such a thing. Being perfectly selfish 
 myself in these instances, I believed all 
 to be much like me, and cared nothing 
 when I found it otherwise ; for when I 
 heard that any worthy youth had taken 
 to heart my behavior, it moved me not at 
 all : indeed, so utterly heartless have I 
 been, when I had, by the cruel disappoint- 
 ments I put them to, reduced some to be 
 nigh unto death's door, I have boasted to 
 my female confidante of the time that 
 so many were dying for me. In fact, 
 I looked upon such things as great tri- 
 umphs that showed the power of my 
 beauty. 
 
 "That you must sufficiently despise me 
 for conduct so despicable I feel assured. 
 In truth, I do despise myself most hearti- 
 ly ; and the only excuse I can bring for- 
 ward in extenuation of such baseness is, 
 that it was taught me, and encouraged by 
 those who ought to have inculcated in 
 me honester principles. I may add, so 
 little seemed my father to care for my 
 morals, that he scrupled not in allowing 
 me to associate with women living in 
 great disrepute, if they happened to be 
 good customers to him ; and would have 
 such to dwell with him in the house with 
 as little shame or compunction. In fact, 
 he cared for nothing save the increasing 
 of his gains, so that he might have such 
 companions as he chose, and live in con- 
 tinual feasting and jollity. It so hap- 
 pened that the selfishness which made me 
 so regardless of the feelings of others v . 
 whilst I could gratify my own vanity, 
 secured me from anything like moral 
 danger. I knew not anything that did 
 deserve the name of love whatever I 
 might have professed so that the ardor 
 of the most devoted lover might with as 
 much profit have been cast on a stone as 
 on me. 
 
 "The admiration of apprentices and 
 young citizens soon ceased to con tent me. 
 Many brave gallants and young noblemen 
 coming to my father's shop, and getting
 
 282 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 sigh* of me, liked me, or professed to like 
 me, with so monstrous an affection, that 
 they were ever besieging -me with the 
 sweetest of flatteries ; and my father 
 finding his advantage in it, afforded them 
 every facility for seeing me when any of 
 them had a mind. The report of my 
 comeliness brought others ; and all, to 
 get my father's assistance toward having 
 speech with me, had dealings with him, 
 whereby he got great gains. Here then, 
 was I, a woman young, and, by report, 
 lovely exposed to all the artsof some of 
 the most dissolute men about the court. 
 They tempted me with costly presents 
 they strove to cajole me with the most 
 delusive speeches ; but I had too much 
 cunning not to perceive their designs; 
 and though it did delight my vanity fa- 
 mously to be so admired by so many brave 
 gallants, and my selfishness allowed me 
 to take freely what they freely gave, to 
 none did I give better encouragement than 
 an occasional caress -the which I had 
 ever been taught to consider as a thing 
 of no sort of moment. 
 
 " This continued till I knew you, and 
 then my whole being seemed changed 
 of a sudden the barren rock seemed 
 struck by some holy hand, and there gush- 
 ed forth a stream of the purest and sweet- 
 est feeling. Before, everything was for 
 myself now, everything was for you. 
 Although the love of admiration was im- 
 plasjted too deeply in my disposition to 
 be readily eradicated, I made it subser- 
 vient to the most generous purposes. I 
 learned how you were situated with your 
 miserly kinsman I noticed your inability 
 to supply that thirst for information which 
 distinguished you. Love not only taught 
 me liberality, but instructed me to use 
 such delicacy in the application of it, as 
 enabled me to supply all your wants after 
 such a fashion as could be least objection- 
 able to one of so modest and retiring a 
 nature as I found you to be. You were 
 then but a mere youth, and I a woman of 
 some six or seven years your senior ; the 
 delight I felt in affording you facilities 
 for improving yourself in study, and the 
 gratification that arose in me as I observed 
 the rapid progress of your mental facul- 
 ties in consequence, I am altogether un- 
 able to express ; but the affection I felt 
 was of so different a sort from anything I 
 have heard or read of, that I can not fancy 
 such was ever felt before. 
 
 " The fact was, you seemed so entirely 
 thrown on my protection there was such 
 a sweet purity and entire excellence in 
 vour disposition, and you were so young, 
 
 affectionate, and perfectly free from guile, 
 that the feelings with which I regarded 
 you mingled the deep devotion of a fond 
 woman for the object of her early idolatry, 
 with the sweet tenderness of a mother for 
 her most cherished offspring : but when 
 in the overpowering eloquence of your 
 full-heartedness you began to pour forth 
 those passionate ecstasies so delicious for 
 an attached woman to find she has excited 
 in her lover, and developed those bounti- 
 ful gifts of mind you were possessed of, 
 in writing in my commendation the most 
 endearing and graceful poetry, I have 
 known transports so sweet and refresh- 
 ing, that all my heart melted in my eyes, 
 and I then felt I could endure every evil, 
 and would willingly make any sacrifice 
 the securing of your happiness required. 
 Oh ! would that these exquisite sympa- 
 thies had continued their generous in- 
 fluence ! Would that they had destroyed 
 in me that wretched vanity and contempti- 
 ble cunning, which, to my shame be it 
 spoken, were called into action as fre- 
 quently as ever! 
 
 " 'Tis true my love of admiration still 
 allowed me to listen to the flatteries of 
 every gallant I met, with a sensible satis- 
 faction, and put forth numberless little 
 arts I then thought nothing of, but now 
 consider sufficiently contemptible to ex- 
 cite their adulation ; but though I liked 
 the flattery well enough, it was rare I did 
 not despise the flatterer, and easily per- 
 ceiving the selfish object had in view, it 
 was not possible I should care much to 
 excite hopes in them I never meant they 
 should see realized : but I did more than 
 this, I encouraged all such as were so in- 
 clined, to the giving of me presents, the 
 which, as soon as might be necessary, 
 were applied to the sole profit and ad- 
 vantage of one, whose profit and advan- 
 tage I had ever at heart." 
 
 " Gained I what friendly assistance I 
 had of you by such means ?" inquired 
 Master Francis, looking with infinite se- 
 riousness. 
 
 " I pray you disturb me not with ques- 
 tions," replied the mercer's daughter 
 faintly, "I have much yet to say, and I 
 feel exceeding faint ; as though it were 
 not possible for me to go through it all. 
 But I must on. Ah ! where was I ?" 
 asked she, and hesitated a moment, and 
 then proceeded. "Suffice you to know 
 I had no other means of doing you such 
 service as it was ray good fortune to do, 
 for of my father's bounty had I never 
 known, he scarce letting me have enough 
 for mine own necessities, and seeming to
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 fST 
 
 car<? for nothing but constant indulgence 
 of himself in riotous ill-living. Though 
 I had no scruples myself about procu- 
 ring sums of money this way, knowing 
 the thorough worthlessness of nearly all 
 those from whom I had it indeed it did 
 appear to me a laudable application of 
 what was offered with evil intentions I 
 had looked so well into your disposition, 
 I knew you would not tolerate such a 
 thing on any account, and I therefore did 
 put forth all manner of artifices to deceive 
 you, not only as to the source whence I 
 derived what gains I had, but in every- 
 thing relating to my true character. I 
 strove all I could to keep from your 
 knowledge that I knew of any such gal- 
 lants, and ever behaved to you in such a 
 sort as might convince you I cared for 
 pleasing none other than yourself: for I 
 had noted you to be sudden and of a 
 quick temperament, and I did hugely sus- 
 pect, gained you any knowledge of how 
 I was proceeding, you would think the 
 worst of me, and quarrel on the instant. 
 
 " About this time I made the acquaint- 
 ance of a gallant of exceeding prepossess- 
 ing countenance and manner, and of a right 
 noble person, whom I had met at Paris 
 garden, a place my father often took me to. 
 He appeared, by his look and language, 
 to be foreign-born ; and there was about 
 him so courteous a dignity, that I doubted 
 not he was also nobly born. Finding his 
 advances not ill received, at the conclu- 
 sion of the entertainment he must needs 
 be seeing of me home, to the which my 
 father not only made no objection, seeing 
 that he was gallantly apparelled, but 
 presently took himself away, and left us 
 together. His admiration was evident, 
 yet he spoke not, save with exceeding 
 respect, and did conduct himself with a 
 gentleness of behavior that flattered me 
 more than all. This meeting led to pri- 
 va'e interviews at my father's dwelling, 
 throughout which he behaved with the 
 same delicate courteousness as at first. 
 When our intimacy had more ripened, I 
 learned from him, in confidence, that he 
 was a Spanish noble, styled Don Santia- 
 go de Luz, though he called himself 
 Count de Blanc on our first acquaintance ; 
 and he further stated, that being a Span- 
 iard, he could only remain in England in 
 disguise, and therefore had passed him- 
 self for a Frenchman, which, by his skill 
 in languages, he could readily do. At one 
 time after this he came to me apparently 
 in some little alarm, stating that suspi- 
 cions of his true character having been 
 exciled in some of the queen's govern- ! 
 
 ment, he could not visit me .unless it was 
 by stealth, after dark, for he found a 
 watch was set upon him, that made him 
 not inclined to stir out in the day. 
 
 " In consequence of his saying this, I let 
 him in at what hour of the night he 
 chose to come, and very willingly too, for 
 the confidence he placed in me I found 
 agreeable to my vanity ; and the sweet 
 courteousness of his conduct, and his 
 avowal of the grateful sense of the favor, 
 he was pleased to call it, I did him, were 
 equally acceptable to me. All this time 
 he spoke not a word of love no sort ot 
 passion was exhibited in his behavior 
 he made me no costly presents he 
 breathed no delusive flatteries; his bear- 
 ing had in it more of the attached and 
 respectful friend than the gay and noble 
 gallant. He was ever the same mild and 
 gracious gentleman, delighting me with 
 most entertaining discourse of the foreign 
 countries he had visited, and seeming to 
 have so serious an interest in my welfare 
 that he took to teaching of me the Span- 
 ish language, as he said it might be of ad- 
 vantage to me hereafter. Though I could 
 not doubt of his admiration, it was shown 
 in too pleasing and too respectful a man- 
 ner to cause the slightest wish in me for 
 its discontinuance, or create a single ap- 
 prehension for its consequences. 
 
 '' At no time felt I anything like affec- 
 tion for this Don Santiago. I liked his 
 society well enough. I felt sufficiently 
 pleased that so noble a gentleman as he 
 seemed to be, should pay me the atten- 
 tion he did; and having been brought up 
 in the way I had, I could see no harm in 
 allowing of his visits, even though I was 
 professing, and did feel, for you a most 
 fond and entire devotedness. About this 
 time I met Master Shakspeare, though 1 
 knew not who he was till some days af- 
 ter. I had behaved to him much as I had 
 done to other gallants that sought me; but 
 he, upon finding I was the Joanna whom 
 he knew you to feel such true and exclu- 
 sive affection for, did reason with me very 
 seriously on the injustice and impropri- 
 ety of my proceedings ; but selfishness 
 and vanity had taken too firm hold of my 
 nature to allow myself to be in the wrong ; 
 and I went on as before, caring only to 
 keep from your knowledge that I associ- 
 ated with any other than yourself. 
 
 "There were times when I felt I was 
 unworthy of you. For you were so pure- 
 minded, and perfectly free from craftiness 
 of every kind, and of so different a sort 
 to such men as I had had acquaintance 
 with, that I looked up to you as to a su-
 
 284 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 j erior creature ; and the fear of losing 
 you not only led me into the practice of a 
 thousand deceits to disguise what I ima- 
 gined you would take alarm at, in my 
 natural character ; bnt I deceived you to 
 the same extent in other things, that I 
 fancied the knowing of might lessen the 
 affection you had for me. I would re- 
 strain my feelings as much as I could, 
 and appear to you no other than a kind 
 protectress ; believing, from my experi- 
 ence of lovers, that but little encourage- 
 ment bindeth the attachment stronger, 
 whilst the appearance of much fondness 
 iiazardeth an early satiety: and when I 
 found you, as you oft did, lavishing on 
 me, with so bountiful a heart as you pos- 
 sessed, the affectionate impulses of your 
 .mpassioned nature, I checked their too 
 evident warmth, fearing that so great a 
 fire could not but quickly burn itself out. 
 So absolute an effect had your youth and 
 mnocency of soul on my maturity and 
 preat knowingness, that when enjoying 
 such sweet endearments with you as I 
 sometimes would allow, I have felt my- 
 self a different being all selfishness, all 
 vanity, all deceit, all cunning, seemed to 
 have left me I have wept like a child, 
 and loved with all the entireness of a 
 woman's devotion." 
 
 Here the mercer's daughter paused for 
 a few seconds, as if her feelings would 
 not allow her utterance. Master Francis 
 nad listened with considerable disquie- 
 tude to the account she gave of the vani- 
 ty of her behavior ; but for all this, at 
 her stopping in her narration, he, may- 
 nap involuntarily, pressed the hand he 
 :ield in his own. 
 
 " Alack ! it lasted not long !" exclaimed 
 Joanna. " The next hour I might be 
 with some gallant or another, as heartless 
 and as full of artifice as the meanesjt 
 wretch that breathed* One thing only 
 did I do, and continue, that proved I was 
 not entirely regardless of what was due 
 to you. I never would suffer your cares- 
 sing of me when any other had done so. 
 However earnestly you pressed it, and 
 nowever greatly you took the refusal to 
 .lean, I could on no account endure your 
 sweet endearments should fall where the 
 idle or the profligate had lately sought a 
 turned gratification. I endured such from 
 ethers when it could not be avoided, part- 
 y because I had been taught to think of 
 ;t lightly, and partly not by refusing to 
 teem rude, and so offend such gallants as 
 Bought it of me ; by which means, be- 
 cause they were his chiefest customers, I 
 should hugely have angered my father. 
 
 They afforded me no. pleasure beyond the 
 satisfying of rny self-love at seeing noble* 
 and princely gentlemen seeming to be sc 
 intent upon having such a favor of me 
 but on receiving such precious gifts from 
 you, all that was good of me was stirred 
 into exercising of its.influence, and I lei' 
 such exquisite enjoyment as I have found 
 in naught else in the world. 
 
 " I come now to the fatal hour of our 
 first and last quarrel. I had rejoiced in 
 your good fortune in meeting with such a 
 friend as the noble Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 and however I might in my letters to you 
 have seemed to lack affection, I loved you 
 as tenderly as ever, and wished for noth- 
 ing so much as your prosperous voyage 
 and speedy return. One luckless day I 
 had gone, by desire of my father, to the 
 house of my Lord Cobham, with an ac- 
 count for payment, my father having 
 found out that when any of these noble 
 gallants settled not their bills as quickly 
 as he wished, he had only to send me, 
 and they not choosing to appear niggardly 
 before a woman they pretended to have 
 great admiration of, paid presently, and 
 with some show of handsomeness. My 
 Lord Cobham having done what was re- 
 quired of him, did himself courteously con- 
 duct me to a door leading from his dwel- 
 ling into the gateway, where perchance 
 you were at the time. There he would 
 needs have a kiss of me before parting, 
 and though I made some resistance to 
 him, it was more for form sake than 
 aught else, for I cared not much about 
 the matter. By what dropped from you 
 afterward, it was plain you heard us ; 
 and you had also gained knowledge of my 
 allowing of Don Santiago's visits at night, 
 and letting him out in the early morning, 
 which moved you to say the harsh things 
 of me you did. 
 
 " My passions had ever been uncon- 
 trolled, and when you spoke in such cru- 
 el language as you used on my return 
 from my Lord Cobham's, it stung me to 
 the quick. Selfish as I was, vain as I 
 was, deceitful as I was, I was not the 
 base thing you would have made me out. 
 It did enrage me mightily to hear myself 
 so abused, and all that was vile in my 
 nature rose up in arms to revenge the 
 wrong. But what then took place re- 
 quireth not further allusion. Bitterly re- 
 pented I afterward; and when I found 
 that I had lost you, I woke at once to a 
 sense of the shamefulness of my beha- 
 vior, and felt in my inmost heart the 
 truth of all Master Shakspeare had stated. 
 The violent fury of my passions brought
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 285 
 
 me to ;he brink of the grave ; and ray 
 slow recover; gave me ample time and 
 opportunity for the examination of myself. 
 Right heartily did I then despise those 
 false dealings by which I had repaid your 
 sincerity ; and yet, though knowing how 
 worthless I had been, you were so com- 
 pletely the object of my best sympathies, 
 1 could not give you up without a strug- 
 gle. I felt you were necessary to my ex- 
 istence. I would have gone barefooted 
 over the world to have obtained your par- 
 don. I, the proud, the selfish, the heart- 
 less Joanna, would have lowered myself 
 to any humility, and sacrificed everything 
 most dear to woman, to have been re- 
 stored to your affections. Ah me ! all 
 was unavailing. You rejected every over- 
 ture you would not forgive ; and I was 
 left with a despairing heart and a broken 
 spirit." 
 
 " Indeed, I have forgiven you long 
 since," replied Master Francis, kindly. 
 " And now I do consider myself much to 
 blame in having so spoken to you with- 
 out better warrant. Dear Joanna, believe 
 me it is all forgiven." And again the 
 hand was tenderly pressed. 
 
 " Hush !" hastily exclaimed his com- 
 panion. " Call me not ' dear.' But every- 
 thing seemeth to press hurriedly upon me 
 now. I can scarce collect my thoughts 
 in order. Still I will proceed as I best 
 may. Let me return to Don Santiago. I 
 saw him not till I was convalescent, when 
 he seemed so exceeding concerned at my 
 illness, and expressed himself so much 
 more like a friend than a lover on the 
 subject of my evident unhappiness, that 
 after infinite pressing on his part to know 
 the cause of it, I told him so much of 
 our attachment, and your behavior as I 
 thought necessary, and I conjured him to 
 assist in endeavoring to bring about a 
 reconciliation betwixt us. Thishe readily 
 promised to do ; but at the same lime ex- 
 pressed monstrous indignation at your 
 conduct vowing you knew not how to 
 appreciate so rich a prize a prize worthy 
 of the proudest noble in the land and 
 much more to the same purpose. He 
 went with a message from me, request- 
 ing of an interview, and returned, stating 
 that you rejected such a proposal with 
 scorn and contempt that you spoke 
 most disgracefully of me ; and that he 
 had found out, upon inquiry, you were 
 diligently seeking the affections of a fair 
 damsel in your neighborhood." 
 
 " I saw no Don Santiago !" exclaimed 
 Master Francis in some surprise and in- 
 dignation. " Never spoke I in my life to 
 
 I any one disgracefully of you and never 
 have I sought the affections of any save 
 yourself." 
 
 " I believe you," replied Joanna. " Do.i 
 Santiago now showed his admiration ol 
 me more conspicuously ; and spoke with 
 such persuasiveness of the injustice I was 
 doing myself by thinking of one whose 
 conduct proved he deserved not the 
 slightest consideration, whilst some ot 
 worthier station, who would be but too 
 happy to show the earnest love they felr 
 for the marvellous excellence I possessed, 
 obtained no sort of regard, that I strove 
 to care not for you, and endeavored to 
 make myself content with the increasing 
 devotion and affectionate attentions ot 
 this foreign gallant. Don Santiago had 
 hitherto behaved himself with an appear- 
 ance of so much delicacy and disinterest- 
 edness, that I felt myself perfectly safe 
 with him at all times. 'Tis true, his 
 language became more fond, and his 
 manner toward me more impassioned, 
 but his love came mingled with such ex- 
 ceeding respect, that I could never ima- 
 gine any sinister intention in him. This? 
 good opinion of him led me to allow him 
 such favors as I had allowed others. 
 Ever the most honorable sentiments were 
 on his lips, and his look and bearing- 
 were of such a sort as seemed to the full 
 to express the same noble meaning, i 
 suffered his frequent endearments wilhou; 
 the slightest alarm. This apparent yield- 
 ing of myself, the more emboldened him 
 in his advances. Alack, I knew not the 
 villain he was ! I had no thought of the 
 danger I was exposed to. All looked 
 honor and sincerity of heart. All breathed 
 of love and the very deepest respectful- 
 ness. Miserable degraded wretch that I 
 became, little knew I, with all my cun- 
 ning, what monstrous craft was arrayed 
 against me ; or how soon it might come 
 to pass, that she who had duped so many 
 should herself be the completest wretch 
 edest dupe that ever breathed ! I fell 
 the victim of such base treachery as 1 
 dreamed not the existence of. 
 
 "Not by any consent of mine own!* 
 exclaimed Joanna more vehemently, as 
 Master Francis drew away his hand and 
 averted his face. " I thought not sus- 
 pected not the nearness of such dishonor. 
 'Twas a vile trick an unmanly strata- 
 gem a very atrocious piece of villany !" 
 
 " Francis !" she cried with increased 
 wildness, her eyes lighted up with such 
 extreme excitement they looked more 
 brilliant than ever they were ; and by 
 clutching at his arm convulsively, raising
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HTS FRIENDS. 
 
 r.erself from her pallet till her head came ] 
 on a level with his shoulder. "Francis! i 
 1 feel the hand of death is on rny heart. ' 
 j zould not tell a lie at such a lime. On 
 ray soul now ffoing to judgment there 
 was a drug administered in some wine 
 without my privity, and I woke from the 
 torpor it put me into, to find myself in 
 mine own eyes as loathsome as a leper. 
 I pray you, in pity's sake, think not so 
 meanly of me as I see you do. Francis ! 
 Francis! this is worse than death!" 
 Saying this in the most heart-moving ac- 
 cents, she sunk on her face upon the 
 I allet ; and nothing was heard from her 
 i.ut violent deep sobs, at intervals of a 
 minute or so, that seemed as if they were 
 rending of her heart in twain. 
 
 Master Francis had listened to what 
 aaih been stated, with a flushed and un- 
 easy countenance ; and the quick heaving 
 tit his breast and perceptible loudness of 
 us breathing expressed how much he 
 had been moved by the narration. His 
 look, however, had more of pain than 
 uistrust in it ; and, suddenly, as if he 
 could bear it no longer, he buried his 
 lace in his hands and groaned aloud. 
 
 "Joanna !"he exclaimed, after a silence 
 (1 several minutes, looking upon her with 
 a grave and melancholy gaze. "It can 
 not be unknown to you, that I loved you 
 in all truth and honesty, and believed you 
 to be the perfectest creature that ever 
 olessed this earth. You appeared of a 
 nature so bountiful in goodness, that I 
 regarded you as a ministering angel sent 
 10 be my constant guide and protectress, 
 and I could look forward to no felicity 
 you did not either share or create. My 
 i.appiness depended on my' thinking as I 
 did of you. The moment I discovered 
 ur believed you to be other than I had 
 thought, there seemed to be nothing in 
 store for me but wretchedness. Still, 
 however, angered as I was by your beha- 
 vior, and miserable at heart at it, I have 
 oft entertained a hope that, bad as appear- 
 ances might have been, at some time or 
 other you would prove yourself guiltless 
 cf any dishonesty. To find you untainted 
 was all I prayed for. The consequence 
 of this feeling of mine maketh what I 
 have heard to shock me greatly. It is 
 intelligence of so horrible a sort, that it 
 hath come like a withering blast upon 
 me, and taketh from me all sense and 
 sympathy. But I will not I can not 
 dwell upon it. Proceed with your nar- 
 ration, I pray you." 
 
 Joanna did not answer on the instant, 
 and when she did turn her face toward 
 
 him, it was more pale than before, and 
 was impressed with such anguish as was 
 pitiful to look on. 
 
 " You can not condemn me more than 
 I condemn myself," she replied, speaking 
 as if with some difficulty. " As soon as 
 I became aware of what had happened, 
 I grew frantic with rage and horror ; and 
 a sense of shame fell upon me that 
 weighed me to the dust. I saw in a mo- 
 ment, I was irrevocably lost to all honor- 
 able affection, and dared no longer regard 
 you with the slightest feeling of love. 
 Don Santiago strove all he could to mol- 
 lify my anger: and made such protesta- 
 tions and excuses, and seemed to regret 
 so exceedingly what, as he said, the un- 
 governableness of his passion had led 
 him into, that he pacified me in some 
 measure. But what was I to do? You 
 were lost to me for ever ; and when the 
 Spaniard pressed me to "accompany him 
 to his own country, I thought now it 
 must be all one where I went : and as he 
 earnestly swore he would make me his 
 wife on our arrival in Spain, I trusted in 
 his honor, and embarked on board a ship 
 bound, as I thought, for that country. 
 We had not been out at sea many days, 
 when the behavior of Don Santiago 
 toward me completely changed. From 
 mild and respectful, he gradually became 
 haughty and uncivil. He rated me for 
 my melancholy as if it was a crime ; and 
 continually got into monstrous passions 
 of jealousy, swearing I was ever thinking 
 of you. One day he completely threw 
 off the mask. He acknowledged he was 
 no Don Santiago de Luz he confessed 
 that the ship was not bound for the Span- 
 ish coast, and bade me think not of mar- 
 riage with him, for he was a Jesuit. He 
 was Padre Bartolome." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Master Francis, 
 starting up with his face famously flushed. 
 "I had seen him then before. I remem- 
 ber me now, he did call upon me at 
 Sherborne, but with no such name as Don 
 Santiago, and when I saw the villain at 
 Trinidad, I had some faint recollection of 
 his face, but could not call to mind where 
 I had met with him." Master Francis 
 paced the narrow cell for a minute or so, 
 looking very disturbed and angry. 
 
 "But the caitiff hath gone to his ac- 
 count," said he, as he flung himself back 
 into his seat. " 'Tis useless allowing ol 
 his villany to move me. Proceed you, 
 Joanna, with what remaineth to be told." 
 
 " I afterward learned from him and 
 from others, that he was a sort of a spy in 
 the service of the Spanish government,"
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 287 
 
 continued the mercer's daughter. "For 
 this employment his- wonderful talent 
 m dissimulation, and great accomplish- 
 ments, must have well fitted him. He 
 cloaked his real character under so fair 
 an exterior, that there could be no suspect- 1 
 ing any craft or treachery. Having man- 
 aged to obtain intelligence of Sir Wal- 
 ter Raleigh's expedition in search of the 
 famous El Dorado, which he presently 
 forwarded to Spain, he engaged the ship 
 in which he had put me, and sailed di- 
 rect to South America, and gave the 
 governor of Guiana the most minute in- 
 formation of its force, and plotted with 
 him for the destruction of all concerned 
 in it. As soon as I knew him for what 
 he was, I hated him with all my heart 
 and soul, and the more earnestly for his 
 throwing out mysterious hints of your 
 speedy death, with such apparent satis- 
 faction, as none but so black a villain 
 could have known. Wishing to be quit 
 of such a wretch, I endeavored to make 
 a friend of Don Antonio de Berrio, in 
 whose guardianship I had been left du- 
 ring a temporary absence of the padre, 
 and who quickly professed himself my 
 * lover. From him I learned the arrival 
 of the expedition, and that you were of 
 the party. On that very evening the 
 city was taken by assault, and I found 
 you were an inmate in the same house 
 with me. The padre had concealed him- 
 self in my apartment, vowing the horri- 
 blest vengeance, and believing him ca- 
 pable of doing any villany he had a mind, 
 I kept a strict eye on his movements. I 
 was fortunate enough to come upon him 
 as he was about to stab you in your sleep, 
 and quickly forced him to leave the room 
 with his wickedness unperpetrated. Up- 
 on finding you once again before me, and 
 in the great joy I felt at having rescued 
 you from death, there was a sudden rush 
 at my heart of such powerful sweet feel- 
 ings, that you seemed to me again as we 
 were once to each other ; and I was just 
 on the point of clasping you in my arms 
 ij pour out the fulness of my heart upon 
 1 our breast, when I remembered the de- 
 graded thing I had become I shrunk 
 from you in the wretched belief that my 
 touch would be pollution, and with a 
 -acking anguish turned away and left 
 he room. Alack ! alack ! the misery I 
 .hen felt, language hath no name for." 
 
 Joanna was for some time unable to 
 proceed, and seemed to breathe with ex- 
 ceeding difficulty : at last, as with a great 
 uTort, she thus continued her narration: 
 
 M I escarped the same night with the 
 
 padre to the mainland. We sojourned 
 with others who had fled from the island, 
 at a. village nigh upon the Orinoco, and 
 seemed to be in safety and in some com- 
 fort ; but one day, the padre having gone 
 early with a party to a village some 
 leagues off, to procure provisions for our 
 little settlement, there came back one of 
 them with the news, that whilst they 
 were carrying off a young Englishman 
 the padre had set them upon, they had 
 been attacked by a tribe of Indians, and 
 all killed save only the padre and the 
 captive Englishman, who had been taken 
 up the country by the natives ; and the 
 fugitive had escaped only because he was 
 at some distance when they made the 
 onslaught, and on the first alarm climbed 
 ,up a tree. On their departure he caught 
 one of the horses that had strayed from 
 the rest and made for the settlement with 
 all the speed he could. I was sure, from 
 the description of the Spaniard, whom I 
 questioned closely, that it was you Padre 
 Bartolome had sought to entrap, and the 
 Indians had now hold of. I was in such 
 fear for your safety I scarce knew what 
 to do ; but expecting some pursuit would 
 be made, I got of an Indian woman, 
 to whom I had done some kindness, a 
 dress such as she usually wore, and stain- 
 ing myself so as to be of her color, I 
 started under her guidance to the village 
 whence you had been taken, having got 
 all the information I could of the Span- 
 iard and others, of the direction the In- 
 dians were supposed to have gone, in- 
 tending to offer myself as a guide to such 
 as would be looking for you. I foun3 
 your true friend and the young Indian ; 
 and desiring not to be known of the first, 
 and much liking the appearance of the 
 other, I told the prince, under promise of 
 secresy, such of ny story as I had a mind 
 to tell. My confidence had all the effect 
 I wished. Pomarra, during my stay wish 
 him, treated me with such true respect 
 and delicate courtesy as might have put 
 to shame the behavior of the most finished 
 gallant. What followed is sufficiently 
 known to you. 
 
 " I did all I could to keep myself from 
 discovery. It was a delight to me, how- 
 ever litile I might deserve it, to be so 
 near you, and to know of your safety. I 
 shrunk instinctively from such familiarity 
 as micht betray me; but bearing you 
 speak of me as you did took awiy from 
 ! me every faculty I possessed, and on my 
 swooning I was discovered. I left you 
 as quickly as I could after that, and has- 
 tened to our little settlement, where I
 
 388 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 had left whatproperty I had. This taking 
 with me, I proceeded to a part of the 
 coast where I was told a small vessel 
 was lying at anchor. I saw tlie captain : 
 his ship was bound for France. It mat- 
 tered not to me where I went so that I 
 escaped from that villain Spaniard. I bar- 
 gained for a passage, and the very first 
 person I met on board was Padre Bar- 
 tolome, who had engaged the vessel for 
 his own use. 
 
 "It would be to no good purpose to 
 tel) you how he misused me, or to say 
 how I hated him, or how I strove to get 
 myself away from his villanous compa- 
 ny ; but wherever he went he seemed to 
 have such wonderful influence that all I 
 did was only to put myself the more in 
 his power. We stayed in France but a 
 short, time, and then proceeded to Eng- 
 land, where we lived at the French am- 
 bassador's, with whom the padre appear- 
 ed on marvellous good terms. He passed 
 me off as his sister ; but kept me under 
 such jealous watch, that I never went 
 out of the house, save once to go to the 
 play with him. There I saw you again, 
 and marked you well ; but though I no- 
 ticed your uneasiness, and the interest 
 you took in the play, I had no suspicion 
 of the cause till I gathered from the 
 signs and looks of those around you that 
 you were the author. The next day we 
 took ship for Spain, and after a prosper- 
 ous voyage landed at Ca'diz. Here the 
 padre left me to the care of some in 
 whom he placed confidence, and went to 
 Madrid ; but I managed to escape from 
 them, and took refuge in this convent, 
 wherein I intended passing my life in 
 meditation and prayer. The Jesuit, on 
 his return, finding me escaped, lacked no 
 exertion to discover my retreat, the which 
 he at last found; and* ray noviciate not 
 having expired, he sought by the most 
 moving entreaties to get me to desist 
 from my purpose ; and these availing 
 him nothing, took to the horriblest threats, 
 which I regarded with the like indiffer- 
 ence, bidding him be gone and trouble 
 me no more. He went, but during your 
 assault upon the city, he got admittance 
 into the convent, and finding me out, 
 thinking none would heed him in the tu- 
 mult, as I treated him with the scorn and 
 hatred he deserved, he took to dragging 
 me by force in the way you saw. 
 
 " I care not for having fallen by his 
 dagger," continued Joanna, her voice get- 
 ting fainter every moment. " Twas a 
 mercy rather than a punishment. I doubt 
 much had I lived I should have done any 
 
 credit to the whole community among 
 whom I had taken refuge ; for I found, 
 though I strove ever so, I could not be- 
 come so religious minded as seemed 
 necessary. My meditations were all of 
 you my prayers were all for you. Yet, 
 in the solitary contemplation of my own 
 unhappiness, I had ever one consolation. 
 It was the belief that you were in the 
 enjoyment of that prosperity your many 
 excellences deserved. Francis, this was 
 indeed a pleasure ! I could think of no 
 other pleasant thing. Miserable and 
 degraded as I was an outcast and an 
 alien with a mind almost maddened, 
 and a breaking heart after wearing put 
 the long night on my knees, beseeching 
 every blessing might be showered upon 
 you, Francis ! I felt the sweet conviction 
 steal upon me that you would be must 
 be happy ; and i|t brought with it a com- 
 fort that left me naught to wish for but 
 the grave." 
 
 Master Francis again took the hand he 
 had before held, and his eyes looked 
 humid as he turned his gaze upon his 
 companion. Although Joanna seemed 
 quite exhausted, and was gasping for 
 breath at the close of her speech, the* 
 moment she felt his hand pressing her 
 own, she snatched it to her lips, and cov- 
 ered it with her caresses, with such sobs 
 and tears as would have moved a heart 
 of stone. It was evident he was also in 
 tears. He looked a moment irresolute ; 
 and then, as though the influence of old 
 impressions were not to be resisted, sud- 
 denly bent down and caught her up in his 
 arms. " Francis ! dear Francis !" she 
 exclaimed in a faint voice. " Now I also 
 am happy !" 
 
 Master Francis was too much moved 
 to speak. Indeed, his feelings were of 
 that tumultuous character that left him 
 not even the ability to think. He was 
 aware only that the heart of the being he 
 had loved was beating against his breast, 
 and remembered only the many noble 
 things she had done in his behalf. For 
 a few minutes he lost all sense of sur- 
 rounding objects ; and was first awakened 
 to consciousness upon finding that Jo- 
 anna's heart did not beat against his own. 
 On unclosing of his arms, he saw at a 
 glance he had embraced the dead ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Who dares, who dares, 
 In purity of manhood stand upright, 
 And say, This man's a flatterer ? 
 
 SHAKSPEABt
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 289 
 
 And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
 And to your quick conceiving discontents 
 1'U read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
 As full of peril and advent'rous spirit, 
 As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud, 
 On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 
 
 IBID. 
 
 He endures beyond 
 'ihe sufferance of a man. 
 
 MASSINQBH. 
 
 THE English armament was now on 
 its homeward voyage, being nigh upon 
 Cape St. Vincent. The victors brought 
 with them, beside the two galleons aftd 
 the spoil of Cadiz, divers wealthy priso- 
 ners, and forty hostages, for the due per- 
 formance of 'he ransom ; and afterward 
 having landed at a town called Faro, 
 which they took, did bring away with 
 them the library of a famous ecclesiastic 
 one Osorio, Bishop of Sylves. Master 
 Francis and Harry Daring were sitting 
 together in a secluded part of the main 
 deck. There was, as often happened, a 
 marked contrast between the two ; the 
 face of the former being paler than usual, 
 and of a settled melancholy, whilst the 
 features of the other were lighted up 
 with a wonderful animation. Harry 
 carried his arm in a sling, showing that 
 he had a wound of some kind ; but to 
 look at the^ cheerfulness of his counte- 
 nance, none'would have believed it was 
 any great matter yet it had been cut to 
 the bone with a halberd. It appeared he 
 was relating to his friend what he had 
 seen of the taking of Cadiz. 
 
 " It was a horrible march that over the 
 sands," exclaimed Harry ; " but at last, I 
 being with Sir Walter, who was carried 
 on men's shoulders till my lord-admiral 
 lent him a horse, entered the town with 
 our colors flying very gallantly, and soon 
 came up with my Lord Essex, who was 
 fighting in the market-place surrounded 
 by enemies. As ill luck would have it, 
 the villains made but little resistance 
 after we came. I managed however to 
 get into the thick of the fight before it 
 was all over, and got me this thrust in 
 my arm; whereupon I paid the caitiff 
 who did it so handsomely. I doubt not 
 he was as thoroughly satisfied as ever a 
 Jead Spaniard could be. The town now 
 being our own, Sir Walter, who had 
 hitherto rode with us on horseback, suf- 
 fering much from his wound, returned to 
 the fleet, but I was left with the rest to 
 help keep possession of our conquest. 
 Then came the sack. Now I did think 
 the taking of the galleon was as exquisite 
 fine fun as could be known ; but the sack- 
 ing of Cadiz beateth it hollow. Methinks 
 19 
 
 all the houses in the place in the twink- 
 ling of an eye were turned inside out into 
 the street ; and our men began a plun- 
 dering away like a troop of half-starved 
 mice just broke into a malthouse. There 
 was such shouting and laughing as I 
 never heard before ; some guzzling rare 
 wines with as little discretion as an 
 apprentice might swallow small beer 
 others devouring the choicest cates as 
 greedily as a litter of pigs taketh to a 
 feed of grains. They who cared not so 
 much for eating, stuffed their trunks with 
 whatsoever valuables came nighest to 
 hand, and then filled their hats, and then 
 loaded themselves with as much as they 
 could carry. Perchance coming away 
 and meeting with something they liked 
 better, they disgorged what they had 
 about them, and took to burthening them- 
 selves with the choicer commodity. Here 
 you might see one fellow wrapt up in the 
 costliest silks knocking out the head of a 
 cask of raisins, and a little way on, anoth- 
 er in a famous robe of gold brocade, dili- 
 gently sucking of a wine-barrel. In an 
 incredible short time the principal streets 
 were covered with almonds and olives, 
 figs, raisins, and spices, which were 
 kicked about and trampled under foot, 
 and mixed with streams of wine and oil, 
 j left running out of casks that had been 
 broken to see what they contained : and 
 upon these were bales of stuffs and arti- 
 cles of furniture of great value, that had 
 been abandoned for less bulky or more 
 attractive plunder. But the next day I 
 saw a sight that put me into such a 
 humor I could take pleasure in nothing." 
 
 "What was that, Harry?" inquired 
 Master Francis. 
 
 " This was it," replied the other. " Sir 
 Walter had sent at day-break into the 
 town to get orders from the lord-general 
 that he might go and secure the Indian 
 fleet which might easily have been done 
 but he got no answer; and whilst my 
 lord admiral and others were disputing 
 with the Spaniards about the ransoming 
 of these ships, the monstrous horrible 
 villains set fire to them all ; and there 
 were burned nearly forty sail of as ex- 
 cellent fine vessels as Christian might 
 wish to see, laden with choice merchan- 
 dise for Mexico. Well, it be a certain 
 sure thing that they who set them afire 
 will get a like burning themselves some 
 of these days that's one comfort." 
 
 His companion did not answer to this. 
 Indeed he was too intent upon his own 
 contemplations to pay it any regard. 
 
 " Hast noticed this Colonel Harquebus,
 
 290 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Master Francis, that Sir Walter hath 
 taken so much to lately ?" asked Harry 
 Daring. 
 
 " In truth no, Harry," answered his 
 friend ; " I can not say I have taken of 
 him any great notice." 
 
 "Methinks he behaveth exceeding un- 
 civil to you," observed his companion. 
 
 " I have noted no such behavior in 
 him," replied Master Francis. 
 
 "Why he looketh at you with a per- 
 petual frown," added Harry ; *' and when 
 he, in company with Sir Walter, passed 
 us to-day on the quarter-deck, I heard 
 him mutter the words 'paltry secretary,' 
 with a visage sour enough to turn all the 
 wine in the ship into verjuice." 
 
 " There can be no harm in that," ob- 
 served his companion, carelessly. 
 
 " No harm !" cried Harry Daring, in 
 some astonishment. " Let any of my 
 quality frown at me, or say or do any- 
 thing despisingly, I warrant you I could 
 not be easy till I picked a quarrel with 
 the varlet, and taught him to carry his 
 sweetest looks next time we came in sight 
 of each other. Now you be fully as good 
 a gentleman as is any Colonel Harquebus 
 of them all, and next time he seeketh to 
 put on you any such indignity, I would 
 have you call him a villain, and if he 
 draweth upon that, have at him, and 
 show him what brave stuff you be made 
 of." 
 
 " That I can never do, Harry," replied 
 Master Francis : " Colonel Harquebus is 
 so far my superior, as to render such a 
 course out of the question. Besides he 
 hath done me no offence, nor do I think 
 he would affront me wantonly and with- 
 out any provocation on my part, for I 
 have heard he is one of marvellous great 
 magnanimity, and of exceeding singular 
 fine gallantry in warlike matters. In- 
 deed, he hath been looked upon by many 
 as one of the completest soldiers in all 
 Christendom: added to which, his many 
 laudable good virtues have made him Sir 
 Walter's particular friend." 
 
 " Were he the devil's particular friend 
 I would care not !" exclaimed his com- 
 panion. Here the conversation ended, 
 by a messenger coming from Sir Walter 
 for Master Francis to attend him in the 
 state cabin. Thither then hurried he on 
 the instant, and found none there but his 
 patron and Colonel Harquebus, socially 
 quaffing of their wine after dinner. The 
 latter seemed to be a man of some fifty | 
 years or so his hair and beard gray, or 
 rather, grisled his face brown, and mark- ' 
 ed with a famous scar along the right i 
 
 cheek and another over the forehead, hi* 
 eyes were piercing and severe, and his 
 features, though not uncomely, were so 
 stern and haughty as almost to be repul- 
 sive. It was evident, from the grea" 
 breadth of his shoulders and size of his 
 limbs, he was of exceeding vigor ; indeed, 
 he had been one of the tallest and prop- 
 eresl men of his time and even now ap- 
 peared scarcely to have passed the very 
 prime of his age. His dress was of ex- 
 uctne plainness, carelessly put on, having 
 a dagger at his girdle, and a Spanish 
 rapier of great length at his side. He 
 was talking when Master Francis entered, 
 whom he only noticed with a stare, some- 
 what of the rudest. 
 
 " Sit you down, Master Francis," said 
 Sir Walter kindly to him. " There is 
 some of the enemy's wine before you, 
 and of very choice quality. Drink you 
 our safe and speedy return to our own 
 shores." Master Francis did as he was 
 bid, the colonel all the time seeming to 
 scrutinize his appearance with so search- 
 ing and severe a look, that others beside 
 Harry Daring might have supposed from 
 it he was monstrous uncivil in his man- 
 ners. 
 
 " The fight commenced," said Colonel 
 Harquebus to Sir Walter in a quick sharp 
 voice, and as if in continuation of what 
 he had before stated "Enemy strongly 
 posted. Met us with a galling fire, and 
 the action soon became sharp. Right 
 wing engaged with a superior force. Held 
 their ground well. Enemy's cavalry tried 
 to turn our left, were charged by our own 
 horse. Desperate conflict slashing work 
 as excellent good fighting as ever I saw ! 
 Our horse forced to give way, were re- 
 inforced by another regiment, and then 
 they charged the enemy with such won- 
 derful fine vigor, they retreated behind 
 the village in a presently. Enemy's guns 
 annoyed our centre. Shifted ground and 
 took up better. Splendid manoeuvre, by 
 this hand ! Enemy's pikemen and mus- 
 kets, five thousand strong, strove to break 
 into us upon passing the wood. Received 
 them steadily desperate sharp fire ! 
 battalions moving in line horrible diffi- 
 cult ground ! got broke reformed 
 wheeling up into line at last, obtained a 
 marvellous fine position. Enemy kept 
 gaining strength at this point. Charged 
 again and again, and were beaten back. 
 Monstrous hard work ! but a singular, 
 admirable piece of good fighting. Went 
 with my regiment to take the village. 
 Every house a fortalice and a windmill 
 at the entrance strongly garrisoned, that
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 291 
 
 opened on us a dreadful villanous fire 
 took it by assault. Forced the Spaniards 
 out of the village at the point of the pike. 
 Pushed on to take the guns. Were 
 charged by the enemy's cavalry fell 
 back upon the village in exceeding credit- 
 able order. Enemy's foot in great force 
 advanced to retake the village. Magnifi- 
 cent fighting ! Wonderful fine heavy 
 fire! Admirable famous slaughter ! Re- 
 ceived a shot in the shoulder. Dreadful 
 hard pressed by numbers. Got separated 
 from my regiment. Killed a few of the 
 enemy. Had my sword knocked out of 
 my hand was overpowered and taken 
 prisoner." 
 
 "I remember that battle well," ob- 
 served Sir Walter, "'twas right hotly 
 contested." 
 
 " Odds wounds ! that it was, I promise 
 you," continued the colonel, after a 
 quaffing a goodly cup of wine : then 
 looking with some contempt at Master 
 Francis, who was absorbed in his own 
 reflections, added expressively, " But we 
 had men about us, Sir Walter ! Proper 
 fellows of their inches. No pale-visaged 
 varlets in fine doublets. No popinjays. 
 No chamberers. Men were they, Sir 
 Walter men of the true breed, that 
 looked on the barrel of a musket as the 
 best pouncet-box, and preferred the flash- 
 ing of a row of pikes to the wanton glan- 
 ces of a bevy of idle women. There 
 were no scribbling skip-jacks amongst 
 them. They consorted not with a parcel 
 of trumpery rhymesters. They were ex- 
 cellent brave fellows. Sir Walter gal- 
 lant hearts, every man of them." 
 
 " I doubt it not," observed Raleigh. 
 " But what became of you after you were 
 taken prisoner?" 
 
 " I was known," replied the colonel. 
 " The enemy knew me well. By this 
 sword ! I had given them infinite good 
 reason for it ! 1 doubt much had I been a 
 mere absolute fine gallant my name would 
 have been so famous amongst them. I 
 was none such, I promise you can't 
 abide them fit for nothing. Well the 
 Spaniards were mightily rejoiced at hav- 
 ing got hold of me. I was taken to the 
 rear. Chirurgeon came to dress my 
 wounds. Didn't like his treatment, for 
 he probed my shoulder and put me to 
 the very horriblest torture I ever endured. 
 Wouldn't wince. Next time he did it, 
 tweaked his villanous nose for him. Saw 
 no more of him. Another chirurgical 
 knave came approaching me trembling 
 like an aspen handled me as tenderly 
 as though he took me to be a dragon. 
 
 After that, was carried with a strong es- 
 cort to Spain. Horrid roads long jour- 
 ney escape impossible." 
 
 " How fared you during your captivi 
 ty ?" inquired Sir Walter. 
 
 "Pretty well at the first," answered 
 the colonel, occasionally glancing at Mas- 
 ter Francis during his speech such looks 
 as seemed to show he liked not his ap- 
 pearance. "A soldier wanteth not to 
 have his delicate flesh pampered with 
 dainties, no more than he careth for silk 
 and satin for his apparelling. I was con- 
 tent with what I could get. Ate drank 
 slept, as I might. Was marched to 
 Cadiz, more strongly guarded than ever 
 Had I been but noted for my skill with 
 the pen, doubt much they would have so 
 cared for me. People stared at me as 1 
 passed, like rustics at a conjuror. Was 
 lodged in the castle. Wounds got well. 
 Every one came a visiting of me. Mar- 
 velled to find so many priests of the num- 
 ber, all a praying away from morning till 
 night. Not one of these knaTes had any 
 skill in warlike matters, I'll be bound 
 for't. Asked what they came about. 
 Found 'twas to make a papist of me. 
 Began a kicking of them all out of my 
 company on the instant ; which, when 
 they saw, none stopped to cover the re- 
 treat of the rest. A panic seized on the 
 whole detachment ; and they made for 
 the door with all sorts of fearful excla- 
 mations, whilst I hung upon their rear, 
 doing them what damage I could." 
 
 " Methinks that was but uncourteous 
 treatment for religious men," said Ra- 
 leigh, but not without seeming somewhat 
 amused. 
 
 "Hang them for villains!" exclaimed 
 Colonel Harquebus. "They thought of 
 making an apostate of me. Got thrust 
 into a dungeon after that, and fed on 
 bread and water. Didn't care. A sol- 
 dier careth for naught. All the beggarly 
 monks, friars, and the like contemptible 
 set in the town, were preaching a crusade 
 against me. Wanted to have me burnt 
 as a heretic. People furious. Officers of 
 the garrison in a fright. Gave out I had 
 throttled myself. Priests satisfied mob 
 quiet. Had I been but a paltry secreta- 
 ry, the Spaniards would have cared but 
 little whether I lived or died." And here 
 he glanced again at Master Francis. 
 
 " But sought they not to treat with you 
 about your ransom all this time ?" asked 
 Sir Walter. 
 
 " Wanted a thousand ducats," replied 
 the colonel. " Hadn't a maravedi. When 
 I quitted England had left all my dispo-
 
 292 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 sable property in the hands of a citizen 
 of London, in great repute for his honesty 
 and frugality. Could write little else save 
 my name. Hate writing. A soldier can 
 employ himself better. Got one of the 
 garrison to pen me a letter to my honest 
 citizen. Put on it my seal and signature. 
 Forgot it had been writ in Spanish, of 
 which my honest citizen had no knowl- 
 edge. Sent it by a Hollander trading to 
 London. No reply. Next got one writ 
 in English. No reply. Next got the 
 captain of a Dutch merchant to call on 
 rny honest citizen, requesting of him to 
 send the money for my ransom. Honest 
 citizen swore he had never heard of my 
 name. Wretched villanous caitiff! hath 
 got in plate, money, and jewels, some ten 
 thousand marks of mine besides my 
 deeds and papers. Mean to cut his wea- 
 san for him on my return." 
 
 "Nay, I would do the knave no vio- 
 lence," observed Raleigh. " Give him 
 to justice the law will right you, and 
 see he hath fit punishment.' 
 
 "Let the law go hang!" exclaimed 
 Colonel Harquebus. "What be the use 
 of a lot of scribbling, prating, poor rogues 
 of lawyers, but to set honest brave men 
 by the ears? There be no law like unto 
 the law of the sword, and no such law- 
 yers as soldiers expert at their weapon. 
 I will cut off his ears at least a mur- 
 rain on him ! But he was one of those 
 intolerable mqnstrous clerklike varlets, 
 from whom no better behavior could be 
 expected : fellows that live by penning, en- 
 grossing, and such like villanies. I would 
 the world were well quit of such 'twill 
 never be fit for brave men, till all craft 
 of penmanship and monkish bookishness 
 be driven out of it at the point of the 
 sword. Detest such vocations. Can't 
 abide scribblers. Hate books." 
 
 "How kept you your health during 
 your imprisonment ?" asked Sir Walter. 
 
 " Famously well," answered the colonel. 
 " I cared not a jot how things went. 1 
 ate my bread drank my water prayed 
 to God to confound my enemies and 
 went to sleep in my dungeon with a safe 
 conscience. Had I been one of your fa- 
 mous fine gallants, now, who must needs 
 dress themselves up in silk doublets, and 
 look as melancholy as a woman without 
 a lover, mayhap I should have been all 
 the worse for the treatment I had whilst 
 a prisoner, but T was of no such trumpery 
 sort, I promise you ; and the only thing 
 that vexed me was, when I heard the 
 firing of the great guns of the castle and 
 the othei ordnance and learned for what 
 
 it was, I could not get to have any share 
 of the fighting." 
 
 " I would you had been with us," ob- 
 served Raleigh, " some of our command- 
 ers had wonderful need of your experi- 
 ence. There hath been famous blunder- 
 ing, and monstrous loss of excellent great 
 profit to the queen in consequence." 
 
 " Alack ! for me not to have been at 
 the taking of Cadiz is a thing to grieve 
 at all my days," replied the colonel in 
 some dejection, and then swallowed a cup 
 of wine, as if to wash down his disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 " I see not why you should so much 
 lament it," observed Raleigh. "You 
 have been at so many important actions, 
 that methinks having no part of one 
 only should be of no moment to you." 
 
 " But it is of exceeding moment to 
 me!" exclaimed Colonel Harquebus sharp- 
 ly. " To have missed seeing so much 
 excellent fine fighting is monstrous to 
 think of. 'Tis abominable intolerable, 
 villanous !" 
 
 " I must now to the captain of my 
 ship," said Sir Walter, rising from his 
 seat. " And to see how go on the wound- 
 ed. Master Francis, remain you here 
 till I return." 
 
 Master Francis had noted but little 
 of the preceding conversation, for his 
 thoughts had the most of the time been 
 engaged upon the melancholy death of 
 Joanna ; but what he had seen and heard 
 of his companion did not make him feel 
 in any sort of comfort when he found 
 himself left alone with him. There was 
 something so stern in his look and un- 
 courteous in his manner his heart felt 
 chilled at it. A silence for a minute or 
 so ensued after Sir Walter had left them. 
 Master Francis felt too humbled to speak, 
 and the other appeared not inclined for 
 conversing. The colonel seemed scrutini- 
 zing more severely than ever the appear- 
 ance of the young secretary, who was of 
 too modest a disposition to find himself 
 so rudely stared at without looking some- 
 what confused. He imagined that his 
 companion might have heard from some 
 one in the ship what gross affront the 
 queen had put upon him before all her 
 court, and believing there was sufficien. 
 cause for it, was determined to use him 
 despisingly. Colonel Harquebus drank 
 off another cup of wine, and seemed to 
 be in some impatience. He beat the 
 table with his knuckles coughed a little 
 made two or three slight hems as if he 
 were about to speak, and ever and anon 
 glanced frowningly at his companion.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 293 
 
 Master Francis wished that Sir Walter 
 would return. Still never a word was 
 spoke by either. Presently the colonel 
 rose, stalked haughtily from ihe table, 
 and just as he passed the other, he put on 
 his face the scornfulest look he had yet 
 used, and left the cabin muttering with a 
 most contemptuous expression the words, 
 " paltry secretary !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 It is a work of charity, God knows, 
 The reconcilement of two mortal foes. 
 
 MlDDLETO>4. 
 
 Hold my heart-string*, whilst contempt 
 Of injuries, in scorn may bid defiance 
 To this base man's foul language. FOBD. 
 
 Peace, damned enchantress peace ! I should look 
 
 on you 
 
 With eyes made red with fury ; and my hand, 
 That snakes with rage, should much outstrip my 
 
 tongue, 
 And seal my vengeance. SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 "I LIKE it not, Master Bacon," observed j 
 my Lord Essex, as he flung himself into ! 
 a chair in a spacious and well-appointed ! 
 chamber in his own stately mansion, wiih 
 a countenance that showed he was chafed 
 at something. %"I like it not, I promise 
 you. Here the first thing I find on. my 
 return is this fellow Cecil appointed sec- 
 retary of state ; and on my telling of the 
 queen how little it pleased me, seeing I 
 had wished Sir Thomas Bodley should 
 have the place, he being much the proper- 
 er man, she rated me soundly for ques- 
 tioning of her appointments, and said 
 haughtily, she would have for her servants 
 such as she liked." 
 
 "I do not see how your interest can 
 suffer by this," replied Master Francis 
 Bacon, looking up from a huge volume 
 he had in his lap. " Sir Robert Cecil 
 doubtless knoweih what be his best policy. 
 The man who hath his fortune to make 
 beginneth not by setting of himself against 
 one whose fortune is established." 
 
 "Nay, 'tis not for that I care, "answer- 
 ed my lord disdainfully. " I heed not a 
 rush any of these Cecils, busy as they 
 make themselves ; but I looked to have 
 the place for rny friend ; and it vexeth 
 me monstrously to find, after perilling 
 myself so often as I have done put my- 
 self to great charges, and borne with her 
 humors whilst I \vas fighting of her 
 battles, the queen should put such a slight 
 on me as to appoint this fellow to the 
 eegle' 1 ' -*xg of Sir Thomas Bfdley, whose 
 
 fitness and worthiness I had earnestly 
 spoke to her upon." 
 
 " I pray you make the best of it, my 
 lord," said Master Bacon. " Though Sir 
 Thomas hath not been made secretary, 
 it was not from lack of zeal in you for 
 his advancement : therefore have you 
 naught to complain of yourself. And 
 now that Sir Robert hath been appointed 
 to that office, it must be to little purpose 
 your seeming vexed in any way ; for your 
 vexation will in no way serve your friend, 
 or disparage his rival. All that can be 
 said of it amounteth to this that the 
 appointment is a disappointment." 
 
 "And a miss-appointment, or I'm 
 hugely mistaken," replied the other in 
 some bitterness. 
 
 " Then shall no blame be attached to 
 you in the appointing,'' added his com- 
 panion. 
 
 "But it be monstrous of the queen to 
 have used me thus !" exclaimed my Lord 
 Essex sharply, as he left off playing with 
 the gold buttons upon his green velvet 
 doublet, and threw himself back in his 
 chair, looking more discontented than 
 ever. " It seeraeth that every fool must 
 have influence with her now, whilst they 
 who have perilled life and limb for her are 
 to be slighted at every turn of her pesti- 
 lent humor." 
 
 "My lord," replied Master Bacon, 
 gazing upon the other with exceeding se- 
 riousness. " It hath pleased you 10 take 
 me to be your friend and counsellor 
 more from your infinite sweet nobleness 
 of heart than from any merit of mine 
 therefore must you excuse any seeming 
 over-boldness in me seek I the proper 
 performing of the counsellor's part. It 
 must be apparent on the very slightest 
 reflection, that her majesty hath been a 
 most bountiful mistress to you. Mayhap 
 she hath some qualities of temper you 
 approve not of; but where will you find 
 any one human creature, more particu- 
 larly a woman, still more a sovereign, 
 that hath so happy a disposition naught 
 could be taken away to better it ? I know 
 not of the queen's majesty's ill qualities 
 of mine own knowledge, but I know of 
 her very many princely virtues ; and have 
 seen with how singular admirable a 
 friendliness she hath been disposed tow- 
 ard you on divers occasions, to the 
 making of you the chiefest in her court. 
 That your marvellous great worth, excel- 
 lent valor, and very perfect discretion, 
 deserved no less of her, be true enough : 
 but it speaketh famous things of her dis- 
 crimination that she should have found
 
 294 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 out your truly noble excellences ; and 
 she deserveth the like praise in prov- 
 ing she knew how to appreciate them. 
 Touching this appointment of Sir Robert 
 Cecil, it must be known unto you, the 
 queen's majesty must needs have a voice 
 in the matter. She hath used it; her 
 will is absolute, and all opposition fruit- 
 less. Perchance Sir Thomas Bodley was 
 the properer man ; and having recom- 
 mended him as such, you should recon- 
 cile yourself to another being preferred in 
 his stead 1 , by remembering you have done 
 your duty as a subject in stating to your 
 sovereign who was the fittest person, and 
 fulfilled all that your friend could have 
 expected of you by lauding and bringing 
 forward his qualifications. The thing is 
 ended. Now you can neither serve your 
 friend in the matter, nor yourself by ma- 
 king any stir in it; and if Sir Robert Ce- 
 cil hath any ill will against you, or any 
 of his family I say not they have, for I 
 should be loath to attribute bad feelings 
 to any honorable person they would like 
 nothing so well as seeing you setting of 
 yourself against the queen's pleasure, 
 which they know well enough can only 
 end in your discomfort, and their further 
 profit. I pray you, pardon me, my lord, 
 if, in my earnest zeal for your welfare, I 
 may have seemed to put myself too for- 
 ward in saying what I hatve ; but no con- 
 sideration i'or mine own interests would 
 allow me to see you risking your favor 
 with the queen, without giving you proper 
 caution." 
 
 My Lord Essex had listened to what 
 fell from Master Bacon rather impatiently 
 at first looking haughtily, pulling down 
 the sleeves of his doublet, adjusting his 
 cloak, and changing of his position; but 
 toward the end of it, he seemed better 
 satisfied, and looked with a more pleased 
 aspect. The reasoning was too convin- 
 cing to be disputed ; and it was so prop- 
 erly put forward, that one even of so 
 proud a nature as was my Lord of Essex, 
 and spoiled child of Fortune as he was, 
 could find no offence in it. 
 
 " I will endeavor to think no more of 
 the matter," observed he, rising from his 
 seat and proceeding to the window. " But 
 I like not these Cecils. My lord treasurer 
 seemeth to be ever opposing me : and I 
 would rather any man than Sir Robert 
 had been made secretary." 
 
 My Lord of Essex stood a few minutes 
 silently looking out into the court-yard, 
 and Master Bacon quietly returned to the 
 perusing of his book. 
 
 " Ha !' exclaimed the former, in a note 
 
 of pleased surprise, " here conaeth Ra- 
 leigh." At the first hearing of this in- 
 telligence Master Bacon closed the vol- 
 ume he held and placed it on the table 
 before him, looking also in some degree 
 gratified. 
 
 "I can say naught of his ability as a 
 commander," observed he, " that not be- 
 ing of my province ; but a riper scholar 
 than Sir Walter Raleigh have I rarely 
 met with." 
 
 " And a famous gallant commander is 
 he,*' added my lord, "and I do believe a 
 truly noble gentleman. Mayhap he hath 
 sometimes presumed somewhat, and took 
 on him too much of the oracle, but his 
 showing of the valiant spirit he did at the 
 attacking of the Spanish fleet, hath made 
 many by whom he was hugely misliked 
 for his presumption, to speak of him more 
 worthily than they used." 
 
 Presently, preceded by a serving-man 
 in a gorgeous livery, to announce him, 
 Sir Walter Raleigh made his appearance, 
 and the reception he met with was won- 
 derfully cordial. 
 
 " Master Bacon, I am heartily glad in 
 meeting with you again," said Raleigh, 
 turning courteously to the other ; " 'tis an 
 infinite pleasure to have an argument 
 with so able an opponent nay, not a 
 pleasure only, but as great a profit; for 
 although he who disputeth with one of 
 such marvellous learning and perfect 
 judgment must needs come off but sec- 
 ond best, still what he heareth of the 
 other bringeth such additions to his 
 own knowledge, that he gaineth by his 
 loss." 
 
 " That could not be with one who ar- 
 gueth after the fashion of Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh," answered Master Bacon, " even 
 supposing it could be with any other: 
 for in the first place, I have ever found 
 you to have such mastery of your subject, 
 I have felt at my wit's end to answei 
 you with any sort of discretion ; and, in 
 the next place, what you could get from 
 my poor ability I know not, seeing you 
 are a perfect Croesus in learning, and I 
 but a mere beggar, as it were, who 
 must needs put in his wallet what he 
 getteth of others." 
 
 " I would there were a few more such 
 beggars," observed Raleigh, with a smile ; 
 " poverty would then be more desirable 
 than wealth, and they who now bestow 
 their alms so sparingly would be forced 
 to seek alms for the supplying of their 
 own wants, and be taught the generous 
 lesson they know not how to practise. 
 But what news have you, my lord ?" in-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 295 
 
 quired Sir Walter, suddenly addressing 
 my lord of Essex. 
 
 "Little of any moment," replied he. 
 " The queen beffinneth to grumble about 
 the little profit she hath had of her fifty 
 thousand pounds, and hath rated me and 
 my lord admiral for inducing her, by our 
 tempting speech, to embark so great a 
 sura in the undertaking." 
 
 " Had we taken the Indian fleet, now 
 how famously had we pleased her maj- 
 esty," said Raleigh. 
 
 "But the Indian fleet having been 
 burned of the Spaniards, it standeth to 
 reason we could not bring them away 
 with us," replied Essex, somewhat sharp- 
 ly, for he liked not the subject to be al- 
 luded to, he having been charged with 
 rernissness in allowing of their destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 "Methir.ks, under the circumstances, 
 we did the best we could," added Sir 
 Waller; ''and the advantages we have 
 gained are neither few nor slight. We 
 have shown to the world how little we 
 care for the power of Spain, for we have 
 carried the war, as it might be said, into 
 the braggart Philip's private chamber, 
 and, with small loss on our sides, anni- 
 hilated his fleet prevented him from 
 sending any supplies to Mexico for this 
 season at least took from him the power 
 of injuring our commerce for some time 
 to come, and beside the two galleons 
 and much other profit we deprived him 
 of took by assault one of the chiefest 
 and strongest of his cities.'' 
 
 " I would we had kept it, as I wished," 
 answered my lord. " Could we have got 
 victual from Morocco, or elsewhere, in 
 sufficiency for our force, I doubt not we 
 would have held Cadiz till Philip had 
 offered us Calais in exchange." 
 
 " Ffaith that would have been to us 
 the greatest advantage of the two," said 
 Raleigh, " seeing that it be so much 
 more commodious ; and having been in 
 our 'possession for so long a time, and 
 then lost, the regaining of it would have 
 been exceeding satisfactory to the queen 
 and all her loving subjects. But let us 
 be content with what we have done. 
 Methinks it deserveth to be considered a 
 glorious triumph." 
 
 "And so it doth, out of all doubt," re- 
 plied Essex ; " but some are never satis- 
 fied, do what you would. There hath 
 application been made to my lord treas- 
 urer for the payment of the soldiers and 
 marines, which hath caused all this dis- 
 satisfaction of the queen concerning of 
 the expending of her fifty thousand 
 
 pounds ; and she declareth the men have 
 been well paid by what they .gained in 
 the sacking of the city." 
 
 " Mayhap some of them," observed Sir 
 Walter, "did then and there get such 
 handsome wages as might have justified 
 my lord treasurer in his own eyes, doubt- 
 less of refusing further payment. At 
 least there lieth a consolation for us, let 
 ray Lord Burghley be as little satisfied as 
 he may, in knowing with what extreme 
 satisfaction the whole realm regardeth 
 the issue of our expedition." 
 
 " Indeed, it seemeth to me so," said 
 Master Bacon. " Every one talketh of it. 
 Even in the courts, when I go to hear 
 some knotty question decided, 1 find the 
 young lawyers are as full of galleons and 
 argosies as ever was any port in the king 
 of Spain's dominions ; and question I any 
 how speedeth the plaintiff in his action, 
 they will answer me, he took fire and 
 blew up with a monstrous thundering re- 
 port, and did terrible damage by dis- 
 charging of his heavy ordnance." 
 
 The two commanders laughed heartily 
 at this conceit, and it appeared to have 
 put my lord of Essex in entire good hu- 
 mor, lor he began conversing cheerfully 
 on the matter with both of his compan- 
 ions. 
 
 " I would fain have your company to 
 dinner with me, my lord," observed Sir 
 Walter to Essex, as they stood jesting 
 and laughing together at the window. 
 " Durham house would gladly open its 
 gates for your entertainment." 
 
 "And I would as gladly enter them," 
 replied my lord, in the like courteous 
 spirit. " I doubt not of meeting a right 
 hospitable reception; and I know not 
 where I would sooner go in the expecta- 
 tion of being honestly entertained." 
 
 " 0' my life, my good lord, you do me 
 but justice," said Raleigh, earnestly. " I 
 lack not sufficiency of good will in the 
 matter, believe me ; and therefore shall 
 I be the more inclined to give you good 
 cheer, that it may induce you to honor 
 my poor dwelling with your company 
 as often as your convenience will allow." 
 
 " You shall not find me backward, I 
 promise you," answered Essex. " I will 
 ;aste of your cheer this day, if it please 
 fou, Sir Walter, for a beginning, and af- 
 er, whenever you may be in the humor." 
 
 " I thank you, my lord I desire no 
 jetter good fortune," observed Sir Wal- 
 ter. "But there is a certain friend of 
 mine I much wish you to meet at my 
 house to-day, who hath had the ill hap to 
 offend you, in a matter whereof he pro-
 
 296 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 testeth bis entire ignorance; and I have 
 set my heart upon reconciling you to 
 him." 
 
 " Then should I be loath to disappoint 
 you," replied my lord. " If the gentleman 
 hath done me no great offence no wrong 
 to mine honor naught impossible for me 
 to hush up and professeth that he hath 
 offended me in ignorance, consider your 
 desire accomplished." 
 
 " It delighteth me infinitely to hear 
 you say so," said Sir Walter. "And 
 well convinced am I, Sir Robert Cecil 
 will be as much gratified as am I, at 
 hearing of your readiness to live with him 
 on terms of greater friendship than you 
 have of late." 
 
 " Nay, I will have none of him," cried 
 the haughty noble, as soon as he ascer- 
 tained he was to meet the new secretary ; 
 and turned away. 
 
 "But, my good lord 5 ' 
 
 " He hath an exceeding meddlesome 
 disposition, Sir Walter, a most pestilent 
 busy nature, and is ever thrusting of him- 
 self where he should not." 
 
 "He hath stated to me that this ap- 
 pointment was forced on him by the 
 queen," observed Raleigh. " And more- 
 over declareth, that had he known at the 
 time you were seeking of it for your 
 friend, he would have been eager to ex- 
 cuse himself, and recommend Sir Thomas 
 Bodley's greater fitness." 
 
 " He putteth himself ever against me 
 in whatsoever I would undertake," con- 
 tinued my Lord Essex, still looking 
 gloomy and dissatisfied. " These Cecils 
 be ever at it." 
 
 " He hath sworn to me, in as moving 
 terms as ever I heard, he was your very 
 true friend and servant," added Raleigh. 
 " And vowed there was no man living 
 for whom he would sooner do a service, 
 was it within the compass of his ability." 
 
 " I want not his services," said my 
 lord, haughtily. "I doubt not I could 
 serve myself, at a pinch." 
 
 "He who serveth himself, rarely com- 
 plains of a hard master," observed Mas- 
 ter Bacon, in a manner somewhat between 
 seriousness and jesting. "Yet, however 
 well qualified some may be to do without 
 assistance, there is generally a time when 
 they shall be glad enough to have anoth- 
 er's aid. A man prideth himself on the 
 excellence of his legs he could walk 
 through the world upon them by-and- 
 by he shall be forced to take a stick or a 
 crutch to help him to his neighbor. I say 
 not, my lord, there can "be a likelihood 
 of your requiring any such propping, save 
 
 as regardeth the natural decay of strength; 
 which is common to all men ; neverthe- 
 less, when, in a spirit of friendliness, any 
 help may be offered, methinks the policy 
 can not but be bad which, by a churlish 
 and discourteous refusal, because it is 
 not needed at the time, preventeth its 
 coming to you, should you afterward sink 
 into any extremity." 
 
 " Trouble me no more about it, Master 
 Bacon I like not these Cecils," answered 
 my lord of Essex, though not so haught- 
 ily as before. " They are ever professing 
 of themselves my true friends, yet find I 
 them every day striving to thwart me in 
 some way or other." 
 
 " Pardon me, my good lord, seem I too 
 earnest in this!" exclaimed Sir Waller. 
 "I pray you, remember, that both of you 
 being much in her majesty's confidence, 
 and engaged in the duties of the state, it 
 is absolutely necessary there be no differ- 
 ences or dislikes betwixt you ; else must 
 the queen suffer for it to some extent for 
 no government can act with efficiency 
 when the members of it are at variance 
 with each other ; because one being ever 
 ready to oppose the other, nothing can be 
 accomplished by either." 
 
 " A government can not stand long 
 under such circumstances," observed 
 Master Bacon, finding my Lord Essex 
 made no reply to what Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh had stated. "You two stand in 
 the state as are the arms to the body if 
 each pull contrary ways, there existeth a 
 great chance you neutralize your own 
 strength, or tear in two that which you 
 pull at; but pull you together bravely, 
 your united force shall move whatever 
 you have a mind." 
 
 "That seemeth plain enough," said 
 my Lord Essex, " and I should not like 
 the queen's government should suffer by 
 my dislike of any one. In honest truth, 
 Sir Walter, I bear him no malice." 
 
 "That will I readily believe, my good 
 lord," replied Raleigh, as if spying his 
 advantage and anxious to follow it up. 
 " 1 have seen such signs of a princely 
 disposition in you, that I can not imagine 
 a mere feeling of prejudice against Mas- 
 ter Secretary, should lead you into allow- 
 ing the realm to be ill governed." 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, I would not, Sir 
 Walter !" cried my lord. 
 
 " I will answer for him in that," ob 
 served Master Bacon. " So far from his 
 bearing malice, I have known him, out 
 of his gracious and admirable magna- 
 nimity, give up a just resentment for the 
 better furthering of the queen's interest.
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 297 
 
 "That was noble of him," answered 
 Raleigh, with extreme earnestness. "In- 
 deed, 'tis a most convincing sign of a 
 truly great ana gallant nature." 
 
 " It. scarcely deserveth mention," said, 
 my Lord Essex, looking to be in a much 
 better humor. " By this hand, I would 
 do such any day." 
 
 "I doubt it not, my good lord, "replied 
 Sir Walter. "And" if you knew wiih 
 what deepness I have this reconciliation 
 at heart, knowing how much her maj- 
 esty may be benefited by it, I am certain, 
 from all I have seen and heard of your 
 bountiful sweet virtues, you would put 
 aside whatever unkind feeling you enter- 
 tain against Sir Robert Cecil, as some- 
 thing your noble nature disdaineth, and 
 come with me to meet him at my house, 
 without another word said." 
 
 "As you will, Sir Walter," answered 
 my Lord Essex, very courteously, " I am 
 ready now. If it please you, we will go 
 this very minute." 
 
 Leaving Sir Walter Raleigh and my 
 Lord Essex to proceed to Durham house, 
 I must request of the courteous reader, 
 that he follow me with Master Francis, 
 who was leaving the lodging of his true 
 friend Master Shakspeare, at the Bank- 
 side, and was making for his uncle's 
 dwelling in St. Mary Axe. The truth 
 was, the behavior of Colonel Harquebus 
 had become so unpleasant to the young 
 secretary, that it made his life perfectly 
 miserable. He would have taken the 
 advice of his true friend Harry Daring, 
 and challenged the colonel for the indig- 
 nities he was continually putting on him, 
 but imagining that that officer knew of 
 the queen's behavior to him, which was 
 ever in his mind, and believing he would 
 treat wi;h scorn and contempt any pro- 
 ceeding of the kind from one of such 
 obscure origin, Master Francis shrunk 
 from drawing upon himself greater con- 
 tumely than he received, which seemed 
 like enough to come to pass, were he to 
 attempt calling his insulter to account for 
 his conduct. Another reason weighed 
 greatly with him. Colonel Harquebus 
 was Sir Walter Raleigh's particular friend 
 and companion in arms ; and the kindness 
 Master Francis had received from his 
 patron made him feel exceeding delicate 
 about quarrelling with one for whom he 
 ever expressed great admiration and at- 
 tachment. His position becoming so 
 peculiarly uncomfortable, because the 
 colonel had taken up his residence with 
 Sir Walter, and had constant opportuni- 
 ties for affronting him, whereof he let 
 
 none escape, made him more anxious 
 than ever to know something certain of 
 his birth. Upon acquainting Master 
 Shakspeare with all that had transpired 
 since they last met, the latter had advised 
 him to go alone to his kinsman who, it 
 was thought by both, knew more of the 
 matter than he chose to tell) and offer 
 such a sum of money for his giving up 
 the secret as would be sufficient to tempt 
 his avaricious disposition ; and upon this 
 counsel Master Francis was now acting. 
 
 He had stepped out of a pair of oars 
 on to the Blackfriars' side of the river, and 
 was going on his way, lost in his own 
 melancholy meditations, when he was 
 roused from his revery by hearing him- 
 self accosted in a loud pedantic voice in 
 the following words : 
 
 " Behold rne here, divine Zenocrate, 
 Raving, impatient, desperate, and mad, 
 Breaking my steeled lance, with which 1 burst 
 The rusty beams of Janus' temple doors, 
 Letting out Death and tyrannizing war, 
 To march with me under this bloody flag." 
 
 Master Francis saw before him a man 
 with an exceeding dirty face and ragged 
 apparel the perfectestspecimen of a vag- 
 abond he had met with a long time hav- 
 ing his right arm stretched out, holding, 
 what seemed to the young secretary, to be 
 a rolling-pin, the other arm being akimbo, 
 but occasionally changing its position to 
 wave a cabbage-leaf, which he did with 
 a look of the heroic cast so ludicrous, 
 that serious as was Master Francis's hu- 
 mor at the moment, he could not help 
 smiling. It was some few minutes before 
 he recognised in this odd compound of 
 dirt and drollery, his old acquaintance 
 Ralph Goshawk, the young haberdasher 
 of the Strand; and believing, from the 
 neglectedness of his appearance, he was 
 in great poverty, he questioned him upon 
 the matter. With considerable difficulty, 
 the young secretary understood from the 
 other's blank verse and tragedy manner, 
 that play-going had been his ruin. His 
 customers liked not being addressed in 
 ends of plays, and all by degrees left him 
 to have their wants looked after by haber- 
 dashers more attentive to their business. 
 Want followed from bad he fell to 
 worse ; and now lived as he could, which 
 was as vagrant a life as ever was known 
 but so powerful was his passion for the 
 seeing of plays, that got he a penny or 
 two-pence of any one, he would be off 
 on the instant to one of the cheapest play- 
 houses, though he wanted food ever so. 
 Master Francis bestowed on him a hand- 
 some sum, telling Ralph to put himself
 
 293 
 
 SHAKSPEAEE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 in a better doublet, and when he wanted 
 greater assistance, to seek for him at 
 Durham house. The play-mad haber- 
 dasher first gazed with a famous wonder 
 in his look, at the money, the which he 
 presently put in a place of security ; then 
 turning out his toes, whereof the better 
 part had already turned out of the shoes 
 which should have covered them, and 
 placing himself in his favorite position 
 in a monstrous melancholy visage, at first 
 fixing his glance on the person he ad- 
 dressed, and afterward on the heavens 
 above him, he spoke these lines very 
 movingly : 
 
 " Durst I presume to look upon those eyes, 
 Which I have tired with a world of woes, 
 Or did I think submission were enough, 
 Or sighs might make an entrance to my soul, 
 Yon heavens ! you know how willing I would 
 
 weep, 
 
 Yon heavens can tell how glad 1 would submit, 
 Yon heavens can say how firmly 1 would sigh !" 
 
 At the concluding of the last line, and 
 before Master Francis had the slightest 
 expectation of such a thing, Ralph Gos- 
 hawk threw his arms around the neck 
 of his benefactor, embracing him with 
 an abundance of most heart-moving 
 sighs ; and then stalked away, patheti- 
 cally wiping of his eyes with the cabbage- 
 leaf. 
 
 Master Francis had scarce parted with 
 him when he was accosted by an old 
 woman in a dark cloak, whose sallow 
 and wrinkled physiognomy and queru- 
 lous voice he easily recognised as those 
 belonging to Dame Margery. 
 
 " Odds pittikins, how you be changed !" 
 exclaimed the old gossip with a look 'of 
 prodigious wonder. " Marry, were not 
 your countenance so familiar to me, I 
 doubt hugely I should have known you. 
 By my troth, you must needs have made 
 your fortune ! and who deserveth it so 
 well, I should like to know! Indeed, 
 never saw I a more comely and gallant 
 gentleman and never knew 1 one of so 
 bountiful a heart when he had where- 
 withal to give, and an old acquaintance 
 who requireth it as badly as do I, nigh 
 at hand, to thank him for his largess." 
 
 Master Francis would gladly have 
 avoided the old dame, for she awakened 
 in his mind associations of an exceeding 
 unhappy character. He brought out his 
 purse to bestow a liberal gift, that he 
 might the sooner get rid of her. 
 
 " Oh, Master Francis, we have had 
 such monstrous doings since you left us," 
 cried Dame Margery, glancing wistfully 
 at the well-filled purse. " Master Sars- 
 
 net be running as fast as he can to the 
 devil as I would away from him he is* 
 ever in his cups, and his business be go- 
 ing to rack and ruin, whilst he giveth 
 himself to riotous ill-living. I served 
 him faithfully for many a long year, but 
 latterly he got to be so profligate in his 
 courses, that my virtue could abide it no 
 longer." Master Francis had got a piece 
 of gold in his hand, at the sight of which, 
 the old woman looked to be quite in a 
 fidget to be fingering of it. 
 
 "By my troth, you have had a narrow 
 escape," continued she, rubbing her 
 thumb and forefinger together, and star- 
 ing at the gold as if she could not take 
 her eyes away. " A narrow escape, in- 
 deed. For of all shameless horrible 
 wantons that breathe, that Joanna was 
 the worst. Her infamy exceeded descrip- 
 tion. Master Francis ! Master Francis !" 
 bawled out Dame Margery upon finding 
 him of a sudden move away from her as 
 hastily as he could, without giving her 
 the piece of gold her mouth had been 
 watering at so long ; but the slanderous 
 old gossip bawled to no purpose. Master 
 Francis quickly placed himself out of 
 sight and hearing, leaving her in such a 
 complete vexation and disappointment 
 she had never known since her worthless 
 existence commenced. 
 
 Upon Master Francis reaching his 
 uncle's he knocked for admittance, and 
 after some little delay, to his extreme 
 surprise, knowing his uncle kept no at- 
 tendant, the door was opened by a stout 
 varlet with a monstrous searching look 
 with him, that the young secretary re- 
 membered at a glance to be the very 
 watch that had sought to take Master 
 Shakspeare and himself to the compter, 
 but noticing the gallant young gentle- 
 man who wanted entrance, Neighbor 
 Sheepface fell back respectfully to give 
 him way. 
 
 " They be all up stairs, an it please 
 you, noble sir," said the man. Master 
 Francis entered, puzzled to know who 
 could be up stairs, and why Neighbor 
 Sheepface was there. On coming into 
 the office he observed Barnaby Braddle 
 with as red a nose and as punchy a body 
 as ever, sitting upon the very same stool 
 whereon he had so oft sat himself when 
 attending to his kinsman's business, with 
 a right famous knowing aspect, laying 
 down the law to some brother-constables ; 
 and they were so intent upon what they 
 heard, that they noticed not the entrance 
 of Master Francis. 
 
 " You see, my masters," observed Bar-
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 299 
 
 naby Braddle, pressing the forefinger of 
 his right hand into the palm of the other. 
 " This can be no other than flat burglary"." 
 
 " No doubt on't, Master Constable/' 
 cried one into his ear. 
 
 " Which so runneth the law be an 
 offence so heinous the malefactor can not 
 help being hanged for't." 
 
 " The caitiff deserveth no better," ad- 
 ded another, in as loud a voice. 
 
 " Now mark you this, my masters 
 cutting a purse be one thing, and burglary 
 be another thing ; therefore cutting a 
 purse be not burglary." 
 
 " There be no denying that, Master 
 Constable," exclaimed a third. 
 
 " Again forgery be one thing and 
 burglary be another thing : yet forgery be 
 not burglary." 
 
 " Indeed, no I thought as much," said 
 the first, very gravely. 
 
 " And murder be one thing, and treason 
 be one thing, and rebellion be one thing; 
 and burglary be another thing. Yet, as 
 it hath been judged by the law, burglary be 
 neither murder, nor treason, nor rebellion." 
 
 " You have laid it down like a coun- 
 sellor, Neighbor Braddle," observed the 
 second. 
 
 "But what be burglary, Master Con- 
 s'able?" inquired the third, with exceed- 
 ing earnestness. 
 
 "There .be divers kinds of burglary, 
 Neighbor Calfskin," answered the other, 
 putting so profound a gravity on his fool- 
 ish fat face, it was laughable to notice it. 
 " To wit burglary with intent to kill, 
 and burglary wiih intent to rob. Now, 
 burglary with intent to kill, is when a 
 man is" felo-de-se ; and burglary with 
 intent to rob, is when he becometh a 
 malefactor." 
 
 " Never heard I a thing more scholarly 
 stated !" cried Neighbor Calfskin. 
 
 "I would I had so studied the law," 
 exclaimed another: and every one ex- 
 pressed his admiration of Master Consta- 
 ble's marvellous fine wisdom ; and did 
 regret he possessed not similar advan- 
 tages. Master Francis left these un- 
 noticed, and proceeded up stairs; but had 
 not gone far when he was stopped in his 
 progress by hearing the voice of Colonel 
 Harquebus, very loud and sharp, and 
 seeming to be in a great anger. 
 
 " Out with it all !" exclaimed he, 
 Make speed, for the constables are at 
 hand. The money the plate the jew- 
 els the title-deeds ! Disgorge thy spoil 
 to the utmost farthing, or I will have thy 
 viilanous old carcase hanged on the high- 
 est gallows that can be built." 
 
 " Good sweet colonel ! be not su hasty, 
 
 I pray you," cried the shrill voice of 
 
 Gregory Vellum, imploringly. " You 
 
 shall have whatever I possess of yours. 
 
 I 0' my life, I meant not to deprive you of 
 
 | aught." 
 
 " Thou liest, for a knave," shouted the 
 other " a viilanous scribbling knave ! 
 a parchment rascal ! Didst not tell my 
 messenger whom I sent tothee for money 
 for my ransom, thou hadst never heard 
 of my name ?" 
 
 " Nay, sweet colonel, he hath belied 
 me, said he so," replied the scrivener 
 tremulously. " Truly, your name be a 
 most honorable name a name in famous 
 excellent repute a name I have ever 
 held in most especial reverence and af- 
 fection." 
 
 " Away with thee !" cried his com- 
 panion. " I will be dallied with no long- 
 er. The constables are in reserve. They 
 shall lodge thee in the compter. 'Tis fit 
 such a caitiff should be hanged." 
 
 " Alack, be not so severe with me, no- 
 ble colonel," exclaimed the old miser in 
 wonderful piteous accents. "It be no 
 fault of mine that thieves broke into my 
 dwelling, and despoiled me of the chiefest 
 part of your property." 
 
 " Thou liest again !" shouted the colo- 
 nel, seemingly more enraged than ever. 
 " They took from thee nothing. They 
 destroyed each other whilst squabbling 
 upon the division of their booty. Wilt 
 deliver up my chattels? Wilt refund? 
 Wilt disgorge ?" 
 
 " Nay, I meant not to say they took 
 everything," replied Gregory Vellum, his 
 voice faltering more as the other's grew 
 the louder. "It was a mistake. Francis 
 knew they took nothing. A good youth ! 
 an admirable sweet youth ! I have been 
 more than a father to him." 
 
 " My money ! my plate ! my jew- 
 els ! my papers!" thundered out the col- 
 onel. 
 
 "You you you shall have them, 
 noble colonel," cried the scrivener more 
 tremulously than ever. "They shall be 
 safely restored to you anon. But there 
 be certain charges, good sweet colonel 
 amounting mayhap to a matter of two 
 hundred crowns or so, for my infinite 
 pains, and labor, and honest steward- 
 : ship" 
 
 " Honest!" shouted his companion sar- 
 castically. "Didst say honest? Honest 
 stewardship? honest devilship ! Dost 
 not blush at using such a word ? Art 
 ; not ashamed of thy villany ? Why thou 
 : abominable, cheating, pitiful old rogue !
 
 300 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Dost think I am ignorant of how thou 
 hast misused the confidence I reposed in 
 thee? Dost think I know not to what 
 extent ihou hast strove to dishonor the 
 dead, and rob the living ? All thy tricks 
 are familiar to me ! I have made inquiry, 
 and discovered thee to be the horrible 
 villain thou art. By this sword, I have 
 a great mind to hew thee in pieces but 
 thou art only fit to be hanged like a man- 
 gy cur. Here, Master Constable !" cried 
 he in a louder voice, " take me this caitiff 
 to prison." 
 
 "Say not so, good colonel, I pray 
 you !" exclaimed the miser in marvellou^ 
 moving accents. " All your property lieth 
 secure in yonder chest." And then the 
 old miser began wringing of his hands, 
 and crying out in a wonderful pitiful 
 voice, " Alack ! Alack ! I am ruined ! I 
 am ruined !" 
 
 At this moment entered Master Fran- 
 cis, who had till now hesitated whether 
 he should come up or turn back, and he 
 beheld Gregory Vellum sinking into a 
 chair, trembling like an aspen, whilst 
 Colonel Harquebus was giving directions 
 to certain of Sir Walter's serving-men to 
 take away a chest, the young secretary 
 remembered was the one wherein his 
 uncle had put such store of treasure. 
 
 "Francis! Francis!" cried the old man 
 very movingly, as soon as he noticed the 
 entrance of his nephew, and was making 
 
 toward him "Sweet excellent" 
 
 What more he would have said I know 
 not, but his utterance was at that mo- 
 ment completely stopped upon finding 
 himself swung to the other end of the 
 chamber. 
 
 " Breathest thou another word to that 
 fellow, I will kill thee on the spot !" ex- 
 claimed the colonel with a fierce look, 
 as he drew his dagger out of its sheath, 
 the sight whereof appeared to have ta- 
 ken the miser's breath away : then turn- 
 ing to Master Francis, who looked as if 
 he marvelled exceedingly to see what he 
 did, added somewhat contemptuously, 
 " See'st thou not, sirrah ! we are on pri- 
 vate business? Hast forgot thy man- 
 ners? We want no intruders. Prythee 
 get thee gone !" Master Francis made 
 a hurried apology, in the midst of which 
 the colonel turneid on his heel, muttering 
 the words "paltry secretary!" Master 
 Francis involuntarily put his hand to 
 his rapier, but in the same moment re- 
 membering what obligations he owed 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, he forbore taking 
 notice of the affront ; and with a courte- 
 ous bow, yet with a dreadful aching 
 
 heart, he left the room, and as quickly 
 as possible the house. 
 
 "Ah me!" thought Master Francis, as 
 he hastened dejectedly along the street, 
 " this Colonel Harquebus putteth my pa- 
 tience to sore trials! I would he were 
 far away from me. I fear me I can not 
 abide these indignities much longer: but 
 if I could get Jo know my parentage 
 be honest, and I come of a creditable 
 family, I could bear them without their 
 moving me a jot. I will to my uncle's 
 as soon as I may, and I doubt not, with 
 proper temptation, now his dishonesty is 
 found out, I shall get the secret from 
 him." It so happened Master Francis 
 never could get an opportunity to go to 
 St. Mary Axe, he was kept in such con- 
 slant employ by Sir Walter Raleigh on 
 matters that would stand no delay ; and 
 in a few days he was suddenly obliged to 
 start for Sherborne. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 \ 
 
 To make some sire acknowledge his lost ton, 
 Found when the weary act is almost done. 
 
 RETURN FROM PARNASSUS 
 
 Ho-v now ? 
 
 Even as quickly may one catch the plague, 
 Methinks I feel this youth's perfections, > 
 
 With an invisible and subtle stealth 
 To creep in at mine eyes. SHAKSTEASE. 
 
 Where did I leave ? No matter where, quoth he, 
 Leave me ; and then the story aptly ends. 
 
 IBID. 
 
 " HEIGHO !" exclaimed Alice, as she 
 sat at work with her cousin in her tiring 
 room at Sherborne. 
 
 "What aileth thee, coz ?" inquired 
 Dame Elizabeth, " it be something strange 
 to hear thee sigh ; yet of late 'tis a fash- 
 ion thou hast taken to marvellously. 
 
 " What I ?" asked the other, in a 
 seeming monstrous surprise. "What I 
 sigh ? Nay, Bess, that must be clean im- 
 possible. I'd be hanged if I'd sigh." And 
 the merry Alice commenced very briskly 
 humming of a tune, as if to show how 
 careless of heart she was. 
 
 " Nay, but I have noticed thee to be in 
 a most sighing humor of late," continued 
 her kinswoman, "and thou hast looked 
 melancholy hast ceased to be ever 
 breaking of jests and art monstrously 
 given to solitary walks. Thou art the 
 last person I should suspect of unreason- 
 able sadness, and that thou art sad in re- 
 ality I feel assured. Prythee tell me why 
 thou art sao, Alice ?" 
 
 " I tell thee I am not sad, coz," replied
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 301 
 
 the other, attempting to laugh at theidea 
 of such a thing. " Tis an excellent good 
 jest indeed to say I be given to sadness, 
 and melnncholy and solitary walks for- 
 sooth ! By my troth, an infinite fine jest ! 
 Why, there can not be so merry a cricket 
 in the whole^ realm," and then she hum- 
 med her tune louder than before. 
 
 " If thou art sad, it is not kind of thee 
 to keep the cause of it from me, dear Al- 
 ice," observed her companion affection- 
 ately. " Methinks too 'tis somewhat 
 strange thou shouldst be sad at all at 
 such a time as this now that I am so 
 exceeding happy." It may here be men- 
 tioned that Sir Walter having reconciled 
 to each other my lord of Essex and Sir 
 Robert Cecil, and for his right gallant 
 behavior at the taking of Cadiz, was 
 called to court at the queen's express 
 command, and had been restored to all 
 his dignities and his place in the queen's 
 favor. " I marvel thou art not as happy 
 as am I," added Dame Elizabeth. 
 
 "I am happy, dear Bess," answered 
 her cousin, but there yas a slight tremu- 
 lousness in her voice which seemed to 
 deny the truth of her statement. "Very 
 happy wonderfully happy." 
 
 "It delighteth me to hear thee say so," 
 said the other, " for I was beginning to 
 fear thou wert vexing thyself at some- 
 thing or other. For mine own part there 
 is nothing on this earth I care for pos- 
 sessing, now Walter hath again acquired 
 the queen's countenance, which he lost 
 by the nobleness of his behavior to me, 
 who but little deserved it of him ; and 
 though I was the cause of such deep mis- 
 hap, never gave he me one cross look or 
 impatient word, from first to last. Truly, 
 a more kind husband fond woman was 
 never blessed with ; and to notice his ex- 
 treme satisfaction now he is again all I 
 wished him to be, giveth me such per- 
 fect pleasure as I never felt before. Sure- 
 ly there can not be greater happiness 
 than is enjoyed by Walter and I." 
 
 Here Alice sighed again, and her pret- 
 ty face looked singularly thoughtful and 
 melancholy. 
 
 " By my troth, there is another sigh !" 
 exclaimed her cousin, "and it came so 
 from the heart, I am half inclined to 
 think thou art in love." 
 
 " In love !" cried her companion in 
 some amazement, yet blushing up to her 
 eyes the whilst she spoke. " In love, 
 Bess? why what man-animal thinkest 
 thou I would be in love with 1" 
 
 "In truth I cannot say, dear Alice," 
 answered the other, "for thou hast so 
 
 urned thy lovers into ridicule, no man 
 dare accost thee affectionately. Yet glad 
 at heart should I be could I meet wiui 
 iome proper match. for thee." 
 
 " Proper fiddlestick !" exclaimed Alice 
 quickly. "Dost think I be such a fire- 
 .ock I can not go off without a proper 
 match? Well 'Heaven help them that 
 an't help themselves, say I. Matched 
 quotha ! am I a coach-horse that I am to 
 be thought nothing ot unless I have my 
 fellow ? or so odd a fish that like a sole I 
 can not be taken save as one of a pair ?" 
 
 " Nay, Alice," observed Dame Eliza- 
 beth more gravely ; " this is the way 
 thou hast ever treated the subject. If I 
 press thee on the matter thou art sure to 
 answer with a jest. I would thou wouldst 
 grow more serious." 
 
 "Alack, Bess! how difficult it be to 
 please thee/' answered her cousin. " A 
 moment sine* I was blamed for my grav- 
 ity, and now 1 am rated for my mirth." 
 
 There was a silence of some minutes 
 after this. Mayhap Dame Elizabeth 
 liked not the other's speech, and felt too 
 hurt to reply ; or, perchance, Alice found 
 there was no more to say on the subject 
 however, let the cause be what it may, 
 both plied their needles and held their 
 prates, and Alice again got to look mar- 
 vellous thoughtful and reserved. Pres- 
 ently she stopped in what she was do- 
 ing of. 
 
 " Dost not take Master Francis to be a 
 most gentleman-like youth, sweet Bess?" 
 inquired she. Immediately upon hear- 
 ing of the question, her cousin fixed on 
 her a glance of mingled wonder and cu- 
 riousness ; at the which Alice's eyes, al- 
 beit though she looked famously uncon- 
 cerned, appeared to shrink a little. 
 
 " Indeed, he appeareth well enough," 
 replied Dame Elizabeth, in such a tone as 
 seemed to show she thought not much 
 of him. 
 
 "Well enough!" cried Alice, laying 
 down her work, and darting a look at the 
 other of extreme astonishment. " Only 
 well enough ! I doubt much thou wilt 
 find, search the world through, so proper 
 looking a gallant." 
 
 "Why, what dost see in him, Alice ?" 
 asked her kinswoman carelessly. 
 
 "What do I not see in him ?" replied 
 her companion with increasing earnest- 
 ness. " Didst ever see so noble a car- 
 riage ? Dost note elsewhere limbs of such 
 just proportion, or of such infinite grace- 
 fulness? Where canst meet with fea- 
 tures so delicate and lovely 2 Doth not 
 Sir Walter speak everlastingly of his
 
 302 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HTS FRIENDS. 
 
 valiant spirit, his modest nature, his ex- 
 cellent fine talent in the writing of plays 
 and the like, and his wonderful great 
 learning in all profound matters? I tell 
 thee, Bess, never saw I so noble a figure, 
 or so admirable a countenance. He hath 
 eyes that be very stars, and a mouth so 
 small, so rosy, and of so gracious a smile, 
 'tis a pleasure to look at it. What do I 
 see in him?" added Alice with more em- 
 phasis, her pretty dimpled face lighted 
 up with a wonderful animation. " I see 
 in him the sweetest, bravest, comeliest, 
 gallantest, noblest, wisest, worthiest, 
 young gentleman ever saw I in all my 
 days !" 
 
 Dame Elizabeth smiled, but said never 
 a word. 
 
 " Then to hear his voice," continued 
 her cousin, who had stopped only to take 
 breath ; " there can be no such music in 
 this world. W hat mellowness it hath ! 
 what richness it hath ! what expressive- 
 ness it hath ! 0' ray life ! every other 
 singing hath seemed to be the very abso- 
 lutest paltry poor stuff ever attempted, 
 since I heard Master Francis singing a 
 love-ditty, sitting by himself under the 
 elms in the park one midsummer noon. I 
 shall never forget hiding behind the trees 
 listening to that love-ditty. There was 
 he lying of his length on the grass, look- 
 ing as youthful and handsome as a very 
 Cupid, resting of his head on his arm, 
 whilst in the other hand he held an open 
 book ; and so filling the air with exquis- 
 ite sweet melody that the very birds held 
 themselves silent the better to hear his 
 singing. Some time after this, upon 
 pressing of him very much for never 
 knew I a creature of such exceeding shy- 
 ness I got him to sing me that love- 
 ditty when we were together in the grove, 
 and methought it sounded more exquisite 
 sweet than the time before. All the love- 
 ditties I had ever heard seemed such' 
 wretched paltry nonsense I would as s6on 
 have given my ears to a fool as listened to 
 them ; but what Master Francis sung, to 
 say naught of the moving manner in 
 which he gave it, was a love-ditty indeed. 
 By my troth, I could listen to such the 
 whole day long !" 
 
 Dame Elizabeth smiled again ; and, as 
 she had done before looked with a pecu- 
 liar arch meaning in her beautiful coun 
 tenance. 
 
 "And then to hear how wisely he dis- 
 courseth," added her pretty kinswoman 
 with greater eagerness. " He hath spoken 
 so of some little flower, its marvellous 
 beauty, and wonderful excellent virtues, 
 
 that* I would have given all 1 possessed 
 to have been that little flower, that hr 
 might have spoken so eloquently of me. 
 And he hath described to me on some 
 fair night we have been taking of a 
 moonlight walk, the bright stars that 
 were shining over our heads, in language 
 so choice and noble, and in a manner so 
 earnest and moving, that many a time I 
 have envied those bright stars for having 
 such rare things said of them. But he dis- 
 courseth not of flowers and stars alone in 
 so admirable a style : there can not be a 
 subject ever so profound, or a thing of 
 ever so little account, that I have not 
 known him dilate on with such bountiful 
 store of learning it was a marvel to hear, 
 Indeed, I do believe there is not so wise 
 a man living." 
 
 " Wise man !" exclaimed Dame Eliza- 
 beth, archly. "Wise fiddlestick! In 
 what is he wise? Doth he not talk ad- 
 mirably ? So doth a parrot if he be well 
 taught." 
 
 " Ah, Bess !" cried Alice, endeavoring 
 to hide her confusion under an assumed 
 carelessness. " I knew not Master Fran- 
 cis when I said that." 
 
 "Wise calf I" continued her compan- 
 ion, in the same humor. " Why there is 
 more philosophy in a forked radish than 
 ever you will find in your wise man." 
 
 " When I said that, I had not seen 
 Master Francis," observed the other with 
 increased embarrassment. 
 
 " And what be this same animal called 
 man ?" added Dame Elizabeth, mimick- 
 ing her cousin's voice as well as she 
 could. " A thing to laugh at. A joke 
 that goes upon two legs. A walking 
 piece of provocation for women to break 
 a jest upon." 
 
 " So be all men but Master Francis," 
 replied Alice, graVely. 
 
 " As for me," continued her kinswo- 
 man, "if there be any that would have 
 me at mine own valuation, then shall they 
 coin all the man's flesh that is above 
 ground into rose nobles, and lack the 
 greatest portion of what I would go for 
 after all." 
 
 " I tell thee, Bess, I knew not Master 
 Francis when I said these things," an- 
 swered the other, looking frowningly, as 
 if she liked not to be reminded of them. 
 
 " If the sky were to rain lovers, I'd 
 keep under shelter," said her cousin, in 
 the same tone and manner. 
 
 " So I would ere I had known Master 
 Francis," replied Alice, sharply, and evi- 
 dently getting to be a little out of temper 
 j with her cousin's raillery. 

 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "Before I marry a man I'll give my 
 virginity to an owl !" continued Dame 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " Bess, I hate thee /" cried Alice, in 
 extreme earnestness, flashing such an an- 
 gry look upon the other she seemed quite 
 iiurt at it, and then suddenly burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " Nay, Alice dear, sweet Alice ! I 
 meant not to vex thee!" exclaimed her 
 kinswoman affectionately, as she threw 
 her arms round uer neck ; " I did it but 
 to tease thee a little for having been so 
 secret with me about this. And dost 
 really love Master Francis?" inquired 
 Dame Elizabeth, after she had succeeded 
 in quieting this sudden burst of passion 
 in her pretty cousin. 
 
 " I do believe I love him right hearti- 
 ly," replied 1 Alice, hiding her blushing 
 fuce on the bosom of her companion 
 for she was no longer afraid or ashamed 
 to acknowledge the truth. 
 
 " And how came it first about?" asked 
 the other. 
 
 "Nay, I know not, for. a certainty," 
 answered her cousin. "Mayhap it was 
 whe;i I was so besieged by suitors upon 
 their getting knowledge of what Auat 
 Dorothy had left me, I had him play the 
 lover to me, to make the others jealous; 
 and he played the lover in jest, so well, I 
 had a mind he should play it in earnest." 
 "A goodly beginning, o' my word!" 
 exclaimed Dame Elizabeth, with a smile ; 
 " but hath he ever shown any such ear- 
 nestness of affection thou didst desire to 
 see in him ?" 
 
 " From first to last never, dear Bess," 
 replied Alice, dejectedly; and that hath 
 made me oft so dull at heart." 
 
 "And didst give him any sort of en- 
 couragement, Alice?" asked her com- 
 panion. "Didst show him any sign of 
 regard ? Was it likely, from thy beha- 
 vior, he could guess his company was not 
 distas;eful to thee ?" 
 
 " I know not the encouragement I have 
 not given him," answered the other. " I 
 have shown him all sorts of signs rny 
 behavior hath ever been of the kindest 
 to him, whilst other suitors were used 
 with extreme uncivilness. Yet all hath 
 been to no manner of profit. Hetreateth 
 me with a very gentlemanlike courtesy, 
 certainly, but in every other thing ap- 
 peareth as indifferent to me as is a beg- 
 gar to the stocks. I never meet him 
 ?ave with a welcome smile, and he 
 straightway accosts me with a bow. I ask 
 affectionately how he hath fared of late, 
 and he will' reply by inquiring, with a 
 
 like affectionateness after my dog. I get 
 him to talk of love, hoping it will em- 
 bolden him to discourse lovipgly tome; 
 and thereupon he entertaineth me with a 
 famous account of -/Eneas and Dido, or 
 Hero and Leander, or some other people 
 I would as lief hear of, /as of my grand- 
 mother. This perfect carelessness, and 
 monstrous lack of affection in him, doth 
 make me fancy he hath given his heart 
 to another ; and that, dear Bess, driveth 
 me into an utter despair." 
 
 " 'Tis marvellous thou shouldst have 
 gone on regarding him as thou hast done, 
 and he so indifferent," observed Dame 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " 0' my life, 'twas that which so pro- 
 voked me," replied Alice. " Had he ad- 
 dressed me with such fine phrases as had 
 others, I doubt much I should have cared 
 ' for him at all; but noting how insensible 
 I he was, let me do or say what I would, 
 put me upon u?.ing greater efforts, and 
 taking more interest in my endeavors, till 
 he possessed all my thoughts, and I was 
 no better off than at first." 
 
 " Thou hast played a very gambling 
 game with thy affections, dear Alice," 
 said her kinswoman, seriously; "thou 
 hast lost a little, hoping to make a great 
 gain ; and kept losing till thou hast 
 nothing more to stake. I would giv thee 
 comfort if I could ; but, supposing Mas- 
 ter Francis to be attached to some other, 
 which lookelh to be exceeding like, thou 
 hast but a sorry prospect of it." 
 
 " Alack ! say not so, sweet Bess !" 
 cried Alice, very movingly. 
 
 "As far as mine own wishes go, I 
 should like nothing better than to see 
 Master Francis a lover of thine," added 
 her cousin; "for I have marked what 
 excellent good disposition he hath, and 
 how rare a nature ; and knowing Walter 
 holdeth him in huge esteem, I can not 
 think he would object to it in any way. 
 I will acknowledge I have observed in 
 him all the commendable qualities thou 
 hast spoken of, and do take him to be as 
 noble and gallant a young gentleman as 
 any that breathes." 
 
 "Indeed is he," cried Alice, her eyes 
 again becoming brilliant with anima- 
 tion, and her rosy-dimpled cheek ex- 
 pressing all its pleasantness, " hadst thou 
 seen him as I have, and heard him as I 
 have, thou wouldst say as I do there 
 can not be another in the world like 
 unto Master Francis." 
 
 "Possibly he thinketh his condition to 
 be too low to allow him to have any 
 thoughts of thee," continued her kinswo-
 
 ,104 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 man, "and that may keep him respect- 
 ful and unassuming." 
 
 " I would thou wouldst give me some 
 hope, dear Bess," said the other earnestly. 
 
 "I will give thee not only whatever 
 hope, but whatever aid I can in the mat- 
 ter," answered Dame Elizabeth, with a 
 sincere affection. " There existeth noth- 
 ing I would not do to secure thy happi- 
 ness. Nevertheless I must consult with 
 Walter as to what is best to be done." 
 
 "Nay, prythee let him have no hand 
 in it," exclaimed her cousin, looking to 
 be in some alarm. 
 
 " And why not, Alice ?" inquired the 
 other. 
 
 " Oh ! he will so jest at me," replied 
 her companion. " I doubt not he will 
 so laugh on the occasion, I shall scarce 
 be able to show my face for him." 
 
 " Indeed I will not suffer it," answered 
 her kinswoman. "Besides, I know Wal- 
 ter too well to think he would offer thee 
 annoyance in such a case as this." 
 
 " Then as it pleaseth thee, dear Bess," 
 added Alice, affectionately caressing her 
 companion. "Do all that thou canst for 
 me, like a good, sweet, kind coz, as thou 
 art ; for in honest truth I do believe I shall 
 break my heart if Master Francis will 
 have naught to say to me." 
 
 It was two or three days after what 
 hath just been described, that Master 
 Shakspeare who had that day come 
 on a visit to Sherborne and Master 
 Francis were walking together in an al- 
 ley of tall trees in the park. They were 
 in earnest conversation, and did keep pa- 
 cing to and fro in that umbrageous alley, 
 intent upon what they were saying, and 
 for so long a time, it was plain ihey.took 
 great interest in their discourse. 
 
 "I do think it exceeding wrong of you 
 to give yourself up to these melancholy 
 humors,'' observed Master Shakspeare, 
 seriously. " 'Tis natural enough to la- 
 ment the loss of any one we have greatly 
 loved and that you most truly loved Jo- 
 anna is beyond all question. Alack ! 
 there is no small reason for regret, I 
 must allow ; for hers was a noble nature 
 spoiled in the rearing a rich soil that, 
 for lack of proper culture, hath been 
 choked up by unsightly weeds. Had her 
 mind and heart had proper schooling, to 
 the full development of those excellen- 
 ces she undoubtedly possessed, I hesitate 
 not in saying, she would have proved as 
 glorious an example of womanhood as 
 ever existed : but, as divers singing-birds 
 catch the tones of those nigh whom they 
 are caged, yet will sometimes break forth 
 
 ! into a sweeter minstrelsy of their own 
 I Joanna caught up her father's wretched 
 cunning and selfishness, till love for you 
 woke in her some impulses of her own 
 natural humanity. It should be a source 
 of rejoicing to you that she at last under- 
 stood the evil she had practised, and 
 learned how to appreciate the truth and 
 honesty she had been so ignorant of. It 
 should be a still greater source of rejoi- 
 cing to you that your behavior to her hath 
 been ever that of a sincere and honest 
 heart that you stooped to no meanness, 
 and lent yourself to no dishonor, in the 
 seeking of her affection. Now all regret 
 is unavailing. It would be just as wise 
 in you to make yourself miserable be- 
 cause a goodly tree had been cut down, 
 as to fret yourself into a continual melan- 
 choly for her loss. You can not make 
 the tree to grow again, nor recal the 
 dead to life ; and instead of benefiting 
 yourself by this sadness, it be much more 
 like to lead to your destruction. To 
 what sensible purpose, then, go you on in 
 this way ?" 
 
 "I can not help being sad at heart at 
 times," replied Master Francis ; " but 
 you know I have other things besides the 
 melancholy death of Joanna that create 
 my unhappiness." 
 
 "Naught that I can consider of suffi- 
 cie*nt moment to vex any man that hath 
 in him a proper philosophy," said his 
 friend. " 'Tis true enough your mind is 
 of no common order; yet is your nature 
 wonderfully sensitive ; and I have studied 
 too long and deeply not to know that in- 
 tellect hath but little power over disposi- 
 tion : but you must be disposed to tutor 
 yourself into more refreshing thoughts 
 and feelings. Remember you the con- 
 solation of Joanna in her last extremity ? 
 Was it not the conviction of your perfect 
 happiness 1" 
 
 " Indeed it was," answered the other. 
 " And yet, knowing this, you can show 
 so little respect for her wishes, as to live 
 in the pleasureless way you do," said 
 Master Shakspeare, seemingly as if he 
 marvelled greatly. 
 
 " From what can I derive pleasure ?" 
 | inquired Master Francis. 
 
 "From all things, be you so disposed," 
 
 answered his companion ; " and surely 
 
 ; there lieth enough of the agreeable around 
 
 ' your path to balance whatever can be of 
 
 another sort. Have you not what you 
 
 will at your command a liberal patron 
 
 and a circle of admiring friends? You 
 
 lack nothing you are honored wherever 
 
 you go ; and being in the confidence of
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 305 
 
 one who is now so great a man at court 
 as Sir Walter Raleigh, you may consider 
 your fortune as made. "Can you not find 
 pleasure in these advantages?" 
 
 "But I lack something that these can 
 not give," replied his young friend, some- 
 what dejectedly. 
 
 "Ah ! now I think of it, 'tis reasonable 
 you should," observed Master Shakspeare, 
 with a smile of peculiar meaning the 
 other did not see. "You have a void in 
 your heart that requireth filling up, and 
 the sooner it shall be done, the sooner 
 shall you be the happier." 
 
 " What mean you, sweet Master Shak- 
 speare?" asked Master Francis. 
 
 'Know you no pretty damsel in these 
 parts who could teach you such pleasant 
 lessons as might lead to the forgetting of 
 all your troubles ?" 
 
 "In honest truth I know none such." 
 
 " Hast associated with none whose 
 company you could prefer to that of all 
 others whose disposition you could ap- 
 prove of before any and who hath shown 
 you such kindness of manner as show- 
 eth she holdeth you first in her regard ?" 
 
 " There is Mistress Alice whose com- 
 pany I should ever make choice of before 
 any living; for she hath a most sweet 
 disposition, and hath shown me infinite 
 Kindnesses, the which I can never forget: 
 but that she holdeth me in any particular 
 regard is not to be imagined ; for, in the 
 first place, my outward behavior could 
 not have induced her to it ; and, in the 
 next, she doth nothing but jest at all such 
 things as love and the like." 
 
 "Hath she jested on such matters lat- 
 terly ?" 
 
 " I think not so much as she did." 
 
 " And have you noted any change in 
 her appearance or behavior to you?" 
 
 " She seemeth never in so merry a 
 mood as she used, and sometimes looketh 
 to be vexed with me, though I sing to 
 her when she asks, and discourse to her 
 of such things as she hath a mind to 
 know of.'' 
 
 " And of all women you have had ac- 
 quaintance with, you would prefer the 
 pretty Alice for a wife ?" inquired Master 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " Nay that is clean out of the question," 
 answered Master Francis : " there be such 
 difference betwixt us in fortune and qual- 
 ity that 'tis an idea I can not entertain 
 for a moment." 
 
 " Now answer me at once, and to the 
 purpose. Provided all parties were wil- 
 ling, and sh-e so disposed, could you re- 
 gard her with such affectionateness as 
 20 
 
 might give her a fair chance of leading 
 a happy life with you?" 
 
 " I doubt not I could ; for, from the 
 first, I have liked her exceedingly, she 
 hath evinced toward me such marvel- 
 lous goodness of heart. But why speak 
 you of this ? She hath given me no war- 
 rant for drawing of any such conclusions." 
 
 " Hath she not, indeed ?" asked Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, with much emphasis. 
 " Hath she not taken hugely to your so- 
 ciety ? hath she not made a jest of all 
 men but you ? hath she not got you to 
 sing her love-songs again and again ?" 
 
 " Truly she hath," replied Master 
 Francis ; " and as for the singing of love- 
 songs,she seemeth to like nothing so well." 
 
 " And yet you have had no warrant for 
 imagining she doth affect you?" said his 
 friend. "I tell you she hath loved you 
 all along with a most sincere affectiou- 
 ateness, and you have caused her many 
 an aching heart by your monstrous in- 
 difference." 
 
 "0' my life I never saw it in that 
 light," answered the other, looking fa- 
 mously surprised ; " and I am wonder- 
 fully grieved at hearing I have occasion- 
 ed her any uneasiness. I could not help 
 it. I saw not she took to me in any way 
 but in friendship. But tell me truly, 
 Master Shakspeare, hath she such regard 
 for me as you have said ?" 
 
 " What else could have made that 
 change in her you have stated ?" asked 
 his companion. " She is not in so merry 
 a mood, because she believeth you care 
 not a whit for her; and she seemeth an 
 gry with you, because of your ungrate- 
 ful indifference to all the infinite kindness 
 she hath lavished upon you." 
 
 " Nay, I do assure you I am in no way 
 ungrateful," exclaimed Master Francis, 
 earnestly. " But think you not her friends 
 would look upon it as exceeding great 
 presumption and impudency in me, used 
 I any endeavor to attach her affection?" 
 
 "I do believe they would like nothing 
 so well," replied Master Shakspeare ; 
 " and for mine own part, I should be in- 
 finitely delighted to see you wedded to 
 Mistress Alice, for nothing can be so like 
 to cure you of your present troubles as a 
 union with so sweetly-disposed a crea- 
 ture. And she having such excess of 
 mirth as will correct your excess of mel- 
 ancholy, there can not be a doubt but 
 that you will be as happy a pair as any 
 that live." 
 
 "I hope I shall love her well enough," 
 observed his young friend, looking very 
 thoughtful ; and then added, with more
 
 306 
 
 ,SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 seriousness " Mayhap some will say I 
 only sought her for her money." 
 
 "A fig's end for what any say, save 
 her, and her friends," answered Master 
 Shakspeare. " But let me tell you, Mas- 
 ter Francis, that your apparent unkind- 
 ness is leading to the breaking of her 
 heart-^-she is pining and 'tis very evi- 
 dent to me, go you on in this way any 
 longer, you will have to answer for the 
 death of the cheerfulest, sweetest, excel- 
 lentest young creature that ever smiled 
 upon a lover." 
 
 " Alack, do not say so !" exclaimed 
 Master Francis, movingly, and with an 
 exceeding anxious countenance. "I 
 would on no account be the cause of suf- 
 fering in any, much less in one who hath 
 ever exhibited toward me so bountiful a 
 heart. I will strive as earnestly as I may 
 (olove her." 
 
 " Then lose you no time about it," said 
 his friend ; "for I see her coming out of 
 the garden gate, and entering the av- 
 enue." Master Francis looked up, and 
 sure enough Mistress Alice was coming 
 toward him. Her step seemed not so 
 buoyant as it was wont, and her look had 
 lost all that laughing gayety for which 
 she had used to be distinguished. 
 
 " Yes I will speak to her on the in- 
 stant," said he, turning to where the 
 other had stood when he last spoke : but 
 Master Shakspeare had darted in amongst 
 the trees upon the first sight of the fair 
 intruder, and Master Francis found him- 
 self alone. He advanced toward the 
 lovely Alice in a wonderful disturbed 
 state of mind, half doubting Master 
 Shakspeare had sufficient warrant for 
 what he had stated concerning of that 
 damsel's love for him ; and yet with a 
 remembrance of numberless acts of some- 
 thing more than kindness he had received 
 from her, that made such a thing have 
 the look of probability. He had.intended 
 saying of something without delay ; but 
 when they met he found himself, he 
 knew not why, at such a loss for words as 
 he had never experienced before ; and 
 his heart began to throb more quickly 
 than he had" known it in her company 
 since he had been acquainted with her. 
 He was just able to reply te her saluta- 
 tion, and then walked by her side under 
 the shadow of the leafy elms, striving in 
 his mind to form some speech as would 
 be sufficiently apt, and to the purpose ; 
 but the more he strove, the less seamed 
 be to succeed ; for sometimes the words 
 appeared not to express as much as they 
 ought, and so were rejected ; or, at other 
 
 times, they looked too like presumption 
 in him, and lack of proper respect, and 
 he could not bring himself to give them 
 utterance. 
 
 As for Alice she knew not at first what 
 to make of his disturbed countenance and 
 silent manner, and did hazard a jest or 
 two on the subject in her usual humor ; 
 but it so happened she succeeded not at 
 all in her attempts. She spoke falter- 
 ingly her laugh had no heartiness in it, 
 and she soon found herself embarrassed 
 in her speech, and so moved by a sort of 
 anxiousness and fear, she presently be- 
 came as reserved as Master Francis. 
 Yet it was out of all doubt she did like 
 this silence of her companion better than 
 all the eloquent discourse he had used to 
 entertain her with. Upon taking a glance 
 at his handsome features, their eyes met, 
 and it was no easy matter to say which, 
 on the instant, looked the most confused 
 of the two. After that Alice seemed to 
 be in a monstrous uneasiness, and having 
 a rose in her hand, began plucking of it 
 to pieces, leaf by leaf. 
 
 " Nay, spoil not so goodly a flower, 1 
 pray you !" exclaimed Master Francis in- 
 voluntarily, upon seeing the destruction 
 of the chiefest of his floral favorites. 
 
 " Indeed, I did forget your extreme 
 fondness for roses," said Alice in a voice 
 scarce to be heard. " I shall not forgive 
 myself doing so wrong a thing but in 
 truth I knew not I was at such ill em- 
 ployment." 
 
 " If it would not be thought somewhat 
 over bold of me, sweet Alice, I would 
 ask that flower' of you," observed her 
 companion, yet in a tone that evinced 
 considerable embarrassment. Alice, with 
 a sensation of pleasure she had never 
 before experienced, noticed that till that 
 moment Master Francis had always called 
 her " Mistress Alice," and he, as if he had 
 styled her " Sweet Alice," without know- 
 ing it, presently looked more confused 
 than ever, thinking he had taken too great 
 a liberty. Now Alice Throckmorton, the 
 liveliest and wittiest of the maids of honor 
 at the court of Elizabeth, who had never 
 been at a loss for a reply, let whatever 
 might be said to her, amongst crowds of 
 nobles and gallants, and boldly jested ai 
 every thing in the shape of love and lovers, 
 lost all confidence in herself, and became 
 as timid as a child. Spying of a seat in a 
 turning of the walk, she very gladly made 
 for it, and sat herself down, finding it diffi- 
 cult for her to proceed further, in the 
 present strange excitement of her feelings. 
 " I have spoiled you th'is rose," said
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 307 
 
 she as Well as she could speak, " 'tis not 
 worthy your accepting. Lei me gather you 
 another as I return through the garden." 
 " I doubt not I should prize that above 
 any," replied her companion earnestly. 
 Alice stretched forth her arm to give it 
 to him, and thereupon Master Francis 
 not without some slight embarrassment 
 took the flower with one hand, and her 
 hand with the other. Immediately she 
 felt her hand pressed by his, the once 
 confident and careless Alice began a 
 trembling as if she were seized with a 
 sudden fear ; and though the action had 
 been done hundreds of times by others, 
 and she looked upon it as a thing of no 
 note, no sootier had Master Francis raised 
 her hand to his lips, than she blushed as 
 if she thought there was something 
 wrong in the doing of such a thing. 
 
 "Alice! Sweet Alice!" exclaimed 
 Master Francis tremulously, as he still 
 held her trembling hand in his own. " I 
 do remember me some time ago you did 
 ask of me to play the lover to you in 
 jest." His fair companion answered 
 not ; but sat with downcast eyes, flushed 
 cheek, and heaving bosom such a pic- 
 ture of maidenly love, diffidence, and 
 anxiety, as none could have expected to 
 have met in the once witty and fearless 
 Alice. 
 
 'I pray you now, if it please you, let 
 me try how I can play such a part in 
 earnest," added he with increased fer- 
 vor. At this Alice did tremble more 
 than ever, and did seem in a greater con- 
 fusion ; but she answered him never a 
 word. In truth, she i'elt so full at heart 
 that she could not have spoke had it been 
 to save her life. Presently she lifted up 
 her brilliant eyes, and they flashed upon 
 Mtster Francis a look of such exquisite 
 sweet affection as all the language that 
 was ever writ or spoke could never ex- 
 press. Master Francis did play the lover 
 in earnest, and so marvellously to the 
 satisfaction of his fair mistress, that she 
 appeared well inclined to have stayed 
 where she was the livelong day, to be- 
 hold the playing of it. At last, after the 
 passing of better than an hour in this 
 way, it was put a stop to by the hearing 
 of footsteps close at hand. Alice sprung 
 from her seat, and turned the corner 
 toward the house, bidding her lover fol- 
 low ; and this Master Francis was about 
 to do when he was stopped in his progress 
 by the sudden appearance of Colonel 
 Harquebus close upon him, coming from 
 that direction. He would rather have 
 met any one in fact, he would have 
 
 given anything in the world the colonel 
 had been fifty miles away, for he could 
 not help looking exceeding confused at 
 seeing him so unexpectedly. 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed Colonel Har- 
 quebus in his usual sharp voice, and 
 looking more scornful than ever. " jPretty 
 conduct this! Honorable behavior truly ! 
 Get into the confidence of a family 
 Scribble your way into their good graces 
 They treat you well Reward you 
 handsomely for your labors such as they 
 be. In return, you steal into the affec- 
 tions of a young gentlewoman of the 
 family, knowing she hath a fortune." 
 
 " Colonel Harquebus !" said Master 
 Francis, greatly annoyed by the insinua- 
 tion conveyed by the other, ' methinks it 
 would be as well were you to confine 
 your interference in matters wherein you 
 have a right to meddle ; and not impute 
 ill motives to one of whose character and 
 conduct you must be ignorant." 
 
 "Why, you impudent young jacka- 
 napes !" cried the colonel contemptuously, 
 "dost think to come the secretary over 
 me in this fashion ? Is it not palpable ? 
 Am I blind ? Dost suppose you can man- 
 age your inano3uvres so secretly an old 
 soldier such as am I can not detect them ? 
 I tell you 'tis exceeding paltry of you 
 But what better could be expected from 
 a varlet who gaineth his living by scrib- 
 bling and the like worthless employ- 
 ments ?" 
 
 " Colonel Harquebus !" replied Master 
 Francis, getting to be somewhat angered, 
 " I know not why it is, seeing I have 
 given you no offence in rn*y life, you should 
 be ever putting of some affront upon me: 
 but I can endure it from you no longer. 
 I would have you remember I wear a 
 sword." 
 
 " Indeed !" answered the other, with 
 a very evident scorn. " I have had my 
 doubts of that. Wear a sword do you? 
 I did suppose you had only a scabbard, 
 for I have found you marvellous chary of 
 showing the blade." 
 
 Master Francis put his hand to his ra- 
 pier on the instant. 
 
 " No," exclaimed he, making a strug- 
 gle to put down his auger, " you are the 
 friend of Sir Walter Raleigh." 
 
 " A good excuse o' my life !" cried the 
 colonel, with a look of derision, " a fa- 
 mous good excuse. But cowards are 
 never at a loss for excuses, and your 
 wretched scribblers and paltry secretaries 
 be ever the errantest cowards that live. 
 Know you not I am the best swordsman 
 in Europe ?"
 
 308 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "I neither know nor care," replied his 
 companion, yet still striving to put down 
 his indignation at the continual provoca- 
 tion he was receiving. " Coward I am 
 not nor ever was, as Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 under whose eye I have fought, can suf- 
 ficiently assure you. Neither am I a 
 braggart so aught of what I have done 
 you will not know from me. I seek not 
 to quarrel with you. I will add, let you 
 impute it to what motive you please, I 
 would rather avoid it ; but not from any 
 fear of your skill in the weapon. That 
 you are a brave soldier, I have heard ; 
 but 'tis a pity your long experience in 
 matters of war hath made you forget 
 there was also a necessity of your being 
 also as brave a gentleman." 
 
 " Say you so, my fine secretary fellow ?" 
 said the other in the same insulting tone 
 and manner he had used from the first. 
 " Fine talking, o' my life ! Brave words ! 
 An excellent good speech! Out of what 
 book didst steal such holyday phrases? 
 Alack, it be a pitiful thing methinks that 
 your fine talkers should ever be such 
 poor fighters. So, forsooth, your worship 
 doth not take me to be a gentleman ! 
 How infinitely vexed am I ! I will on 
 the instant get me a fine doublet. I will 
 study the courtliest phrases out of book. 
 I will stifle my valor and take to scrib- 
 bling. Why, how now, yarlet! What 
 dost mean by such impudency ! What 
 know you of gentlemen a paltry poor 
 fellow, of no note or quality, that can 
 not say who was his own father?" 
 
 Master Francis had been much moved 
 before but now he became exceeding 
 agitated. He breathed hard he pressed 
 his teeth upon his lower lip so firmly that 
 the blood oozed from it, and his cheek, 
 which had hitherto been famously flushed, 
 now grew wonderfully pale. 
 
 "Colonel Harquebus!" exclaimed he, 
 looking proudly and angrily at his insult- 
 er, " I have borne more from you than 
 ever I endured from any man in my life. 
 As the friend of one for whom I feel the 
 affection of a son, you have had in my 
 eyes a claim to my forbearance, which I 
 should be loath to set aside. But forbear- 
 ance hath its limits. Urge me not any 
 more, for were you fifty times the skilful 
 swordsman you are, give me such another 
 affront, I will die but I will avenge it on 
 you with my sword. Colonel Harquebus, 
 I would pass you." Thereupon Master 
 Francis bowed haughtily to his compan- 
 ion, and seemed intent upon taking him- 
 
 ir re 
 
 sen away. 
 
 "Never saw I such thorough cow- 
 
 ardice," replied the colonel, scornfully , 
 at hearing which the young secretary 
 stopped of a sudden, and looked on the 
 other with knitted brows and a fearless 
 gaze. " It be palpable. No sun at noon- 
 day ever was seen so clearly. Go to ! 
 you are contemptible ! You are paltry ! 
 You are vile ! I have suspected your 
 worthless origin with sufficient cause. 
 Such base behavior proveth you to be the 
 base offspring of some wanton woman." 
 In an instant the rapier of Master Fran- 
 cis flashed from its sheath. 
 
 " Thou liest !" shouted he, trembling 
 with irrepressible rage, his eyes glancing 
 with a brilliancy they had never till then 
 exhibited, and his countenance, though 
 pale as death, expressing extreme anger 
 and defiance. " Thou liest, for a foul- 
 mouthed calumniating villain. Draw, 
 if thou hast the spirit of a man, and I 
 will prove that thou art a slanderer on 
 thy villanous body." 
 
 . " Not so fast, Master Secretary," coolly 
 replied the colonel, as he slowly drew 
 forth his weapon. " All in good time. I 
 like not to be hurried, I promise you. 
 Right glad am I, however, to see that 
 you wear something beside a scabbard. 
 'Tis a pretty blade. I hope you are tol- 
 erably skilled in the use of it, for I like 
 not killing one who is ignorant of his de- 
 fence. Put forth your cunning. Live as 
 many minutes as you may. But I would 
 fain persuade you to the saving of your 
 life. You know what a master of fence 
 I am. Be wise in time. Sheathe your 
 weapon and go your ways." 
 
 Master Francis only replied by throw- 
 ing his hat on one side, and making a 
 demonstration of readiness to attack his 
 opponent. Colonel Harquebus very un- 
 concernedly put his hat at the foot of a 
 tree close by ; but he looked not so scorn- 
 ful as he had done; indeed, he seemed 
 to be setting upon a conflict of life and 
 death, as though it were a marvellous 
 pleasant pastime to him. 
 
 " Then you accept not of my clemen- 
 cy, Master Secretary ?" said he, advan- 
 cing toward him. " Life is sweet. Death 
 endeth all scribbling. I pray you have 
 pity on yourself, and sheathe your weap- 
 on." 
 
 "Heed not me !" replied Master Fran- 
 cis, in no way lessening his rage. " I am 
 loath to draw in a quarrel ; but I sheathe 
 not my weapon till I have had satisfac- 
 tion for an injury." 
 
 " Then look to yourself, Master Secre- 
 tary," added Colonel Harquebus, as he 
 made a flourish of his rapier, "T must
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 309 
 
 needs kill you. Yet I like not making a 
 hole in so fine a doublet.'' 
 
 The sarcasm contained in the last sen- 
 tence seemed to have increased the an- 
 ger of Master Francis; for he instantly 
 crossed the other's weapon with his own, 
 and began a brisk assault. The colonel 
 took it at first very coolly, scarcely exert- 
 ing of himself at all, as if he believed 
 he had so poor a swordsman to deal with 
 there was no necessity for his putting 
 forth any particular skill for the van- 
 quishing of him ; but this contemptuous 
 behavior the more stirred up the indigna- 
 tion of the young secretary. Still, how- 
 ever greatly angered he was, he bore in 
 mind his adversary's reputation with his 
 weapon, and used such caution as would 
 give him as little advantage as was pos- 
 sible. Presently, the colonel found him- 
 self so pressed, he was by little and little 
 forced into the using of all the cunning 
 he possessed. Now their weapons flashed 
 against each other with such marvellous 
 rapidity the eye could not follow their 
 movements. The colonel looked not so 
 cool as he did. In a minute or two the 
 colonel found himself obliged to give 
 ground. I know not whether it was Col- 
 onel Harquebus was not such a master of 
 fence as he had said, or that increased 
 excitement led Master Francis to the 
 using of a greater vigor; but the colonel 
 was now so hotly assaulted he had to 
 employ all his vigilance, all his strength, 
 and all his skilfulness in his own defence ; 
 and having his attention fully employed 
 by his adversary, could not notice where 
 he was retreating to, till his foot came 
 against the root of a tree that projected 
 somewhat above the earth, and in a mo- 
 ment he measured his length on the 
 ground. 
 
 "Hold thy hand, boy!" shouted he, 
 upon seeing the point of the other's 
 weapon coming direct upon his breast. 
 "Wouldst kill thine own father?" 
 
 Master Francis dropped his rapier on 
 the instant, and stood with clasped hands, 
 and looks of wonder, fear, and horror, j 
 gazing upon his prostrate antagonist. As j 
 for the colonel, all trace of any ill feeling 
 had vanished from his features, and he 
 looked now with a sort of half-ashamed 
 and half-pleased face. 
 
 " Well, colonel art satisfied ?" in- | 
 quired Sir Walter Raleigh, coming up 
 with Master Shakspeare unseen by Uie 
 combatants, followed by Dame Elizabeth 
 and Alice, and Harry Daring and young 
 Raleigh, all excepting the first looking as 
 if they marvelled exceedingly. 
 
 " Satisfied, quotha !" replied the other 
 as he sprang upon his feet, and began 
 wiping of his hot face. " O' my life, I 
 had nigh been satisfied after such a fash- 
 ion as would have left me naught to de- 
 sire in this world ! A valiant young 
 villain ! a very Hector ! As pretty a 
 fellow at his weapon as ever I met. You 
 have seen something of my skill at the 
 sword, Sir Walter : I have overcome the 
 best masters of fence in Christendom. 
 But, my by troth ! though I sought with 
 all my cunning to disarm him, that I might 
 then say who I was, and acknowledge 
 him as a son of mine, the varlet not only 
 would not allow of such a thing, but 
 pressed on me with such a furious valor, 
 I had great ado to keep me a whole 
 skin." 
 
 "You will take my word next time," 
 said Raleigh with a smile ; then turning 
 to Master Francis, who was gazing on 
 one and on the other, so bewildered it 
 was evident he scarce knew what to say 
 or do, he added " Master Francis ! or, 
 as you must henceforth be called, Master 
 Francis Harquebus, it is now my business 
 to tell you, and I would gladly have told 
 you before had I been allowed, that, from 
 the likeness you bear to your most virtuous 
 and excellent mother, the colonel, on the 
 first sight of you, did suspect your rela- 
 tionship to him, and did question me very 
 closely upon your history, the which I 
 told to the full extent of what I knew. 
 Thereupon he acknowledged himself 
 your father, stating that he had secretly 
 married your mother, and soon after left 
 England for foreign wars, to escape being 
 forced into a marriage he liked not, as I 
 told you before ; but, finding you were my 
 secretary, and hearing you were much 
 given to studiousness and writing, which 
 he hath a most unreasonable contempt 
 of, he would on no account have you 
 made aware of your kindred to him. It 
 was in vain I related such instances of 
 your courage as had come under mine own 
 eyes: his dislike of scribblers and mere 
 gallants would not allow him to think 
 otherwise than that I was partial in my 
 commendations of you, and stated his 
 resolve to make trial of your valor, that 
 if you proved yourself of such gallant 
 spirit as would make him glad to own 
 you as a son, his son you should be im- 
 mediately acknowledged ; but if, as he 
 imagined, you had no such spirit in you, 
 nothing should be said about the matter; 
 for he said he would never be brought to 
 own relationship to a pitiful fine milksop 
 Upon this he tried to affront you, expect-
 
 310 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 ing you to call him to account for it. 
 Your forbearance he took for ftar, and 
 vowed he would have none of .you for a 
 son. I said what I could to create in 
 him a different opinion ; and he continued 
 to put upon you such insults as he thought 
 most offensive and intolerable. I do be- 
 lieve you endured till nature could endure 
 no longer ; and now you have convinced 
 him that learning, and taste in apparel- 
 ling of oneself, can do no hurt to true 
 valor." 
 
 " 0' my life ! I do begin to believe they 
 be not so bad as I have thought," observed 
 the colonel good-humoredly, as he sheath- 
 ed his rapier. 
 
 " One thing more," continued Sir Wal- 
 ter. " You must not suppose, from the 
 harshness of his behavior to you, that your 
 father is of the crabbed nature he hath 
 seemed. I have known him long, and 
 have seen him oft ; and do in all sincerity 
 assert there liveth not a kinder, heartier, 
 and more sweetly-disposed gentleman in 
 this world as far as I know of it." 
 
 " 0' my life !" exclaimed the colonel. 
 " I do believe he hath taken such offence 
 at my behavior, and knowing once I would 
 have none of him for a son, he will turn 
 the tables, and now have none of me for 
 a father." 
 
 Master Francis had no such idea in 
 him. He was lost in a sort of pleasing 
 wonder ; and his feelings were overpow- 
 ered at remembering that the parent he 
 had been so anxious to meet, the ignorance 
 of whom had occasioned him such ex- 
 treme unhappiness, he was a moment 
 since on the point of running through the 
 body. 
 
 " Wilt shake hands and be friends, Son 
 Francis?" inquired his father. "Wilt 
 have peace after all this famous fighting ? 
 Dost care for owning an old soldier for 
 thy father, thou valiant young villain ? 
 Heed not what I have said ; care not for 
 what I have done. Thou art of my blood 
 I could swear by the way thou holdst thy 
 weapon. I am proud of thee. I will be 
 hanged if ever I affront thee again, thou 
 desperate little Hercules ! Thou hast 
 thy mother's look and thy father's spirit: 
 so if thou wilt, become a son to me in my 
 old age, and I will love thee as well as I 
 loved thy mother." 
 
 Master Francis, wilh a heart too full 
 for utterance did hasten to his faiher, who, 
 after shaking of him cordially by the 
 hand, presently pressed him in his arms 
 with such show of affection as was de- 
 lightful for the others to look upon. 
 
 " By Gog and Magog, this be the 
 
 happiest day of myl' exclaimed Harry 
 Daring, whose honest face beamed with 
 joy at his friend's good fortune ; and ev- 
 ery one of that party seemed to be as 
 greatly rejoiced. 
 
 "And now, Master Francis Harque- 
 bus," said Sir Walter Raleigh; "I must 
 needs dismiss you from my service: the 
 colonel will not allow you to remain my 
 secretary. But I part with you with the 
 less regret, as I here place you in a situ- 
 ation of equal confidence, wilh one whose 
 service 1 doubt not you will find far more 
 pleasant than mine." Thereupon he took 
 the hand of Alice and placed it in that 
 of her lover. 
 
 " And hark you, Master Francis !" cried 
 Master Shakspeare, looking to be in his 
 merriest humor. " If from this time for- 
 ward I catch you wearing of a melan- 
 choly visage, I will do my best to have 
 you smothered in sad-colored taffeta, or 
 sent to become an undertaker's appren- 
 tice." 
 
 " And look you, Mistress Alice !" ex- 
 claimed Raleigh with the like good na- 
 ture. "If from this time forward I catch 
 you breaking your wicked jests upon man- 
 animals of any sort, I will do my best to 
 have you shut up in a mouse-trap, or put 
 in a cage like a tame raven, and hung 
 where you shall not have sight of a man 
 for the rest of your days." 
 
 All laughed at these sallies ; and Alice 
 turned away blushing very prettily, still 
 holding her lover by the hand, and they 
 | two turned their steps toward the house. 
 Master Shakspeare and Dame Elizabeth 
 followed ; then came Sir Walter Raleigh 
 and his companion in arms Colonel Har- 
 quebus ; and lasily, Harry Daring and 
 the child : and it was no easy matter to 
 say of these which wore the happiest 
 countenance, or who had the gladdest 
 heart. 
 
 All the goodly chambers in Durham 
 house were filled with company. Crowds 
 of fine gallants and beautiful dames were 
 moving to and fro. There had been 
 feasting in such prodigality that it was 
 the marvel of all. There had been such 
 delicate sweet music as seemed never to 
 have been heard till then. Dancing had 
 there been of such a sort the oldest there 
 remembered not anything so commenda 
 bly done ; and pageants of such wonder- 
 ful excellent conceits had been performed 
 which eclipsed all things of the like kind 
 that had ever been seen before. So bril- 
 liant a company it was thought by all, 
 at no time had met together upon one 
 occasion ; for here were all the chiefest
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 nobles of the land ; here were all the 
 most famous commanders of the age: 
 here were all the loveliest ladies of the 
 court ; here were all the greatest wits of 
 the time ; and such splendor of apparel- 
 ling, such bountiful show and infinite 
 variety of all manner of rarest fabrics 
 and costliest jewels were there to be seen, 
 that a stranger gazing thereon might 
 have said there would be no occasion for 
 any one going to distant parts in search 
 of an El Dorado, here it was at his hand. 
 But more magnificent than all, on a rich 
 throne placed upon a raised dais, in the 
 fairest chamber of the mansion, sat 
 Queen Elizabeth, looking to be in such 
 sweet content as was the admiration of 
 her loving subjects. 
 
 And for what occasion had this noble 
 company been brought together? To 
 do honor to the marriage of Master 
 Francis Harquebus to Mistress Alice; 
 Throckmorton. The nobles had come 
 out of respect to Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 who, since his return from the expedition 
 to Cadiz, had grown to be wonderfully 
 popular amongsi them, and was now in 
 greater favor with the queen than ever 
 he was. And who so proud as he who, 
 having just danced with her majesty a 
 coranto, to her infinite delight, stood 
 close at her side, arrayed with that ex- 
 quisite taste and costliness she so much 
 admired, ever and anon breathing into 
 her ear such courily phrases as he knew 
 she most affected ; and she answering 
 him with smiles and pretty words, and 
 tapping him playfully with her fan, and 
 doing a hundred things that proved on 
 what excellent terms he was with her. 
 
 The commanders came out of respect 
 to their gallant associate, Colonel Har- 
 quebus, who was in great reputation with 
 them for his approved good soldiership: 
 and who so proud as he, as he received 
 the congratulations of the Howards and 
 the Veres the Monsons the Carews 
 the Cliffords and scores of the like brave 
 spirits, who thronged around him. The 
 fair dames and lovely young gentlewomen 
 had come out of respect to Dame Eliza- 
 beth and her pretty cousin, who had re- 
 ceived such gracious behavior from her 
 majesty as no ladies of her court had 
 ever been known lo be honored with be- 
 fore. And who so proud as Dame Eliza- 
 beth, seeing her husband, after being dis- 
 graced for her sake, now in such estima- 
 tion with her sovereign and all England, 
 as he had never reached till now. Alice 
 was proud of her husband also, but she 
 was more happy than proud. 
 
 The wits had come out of respect for 
 Master Francis, by whom he was con- 
 sidered one of themselves; and famous 
 compliments he received, and heartily 
 was his good fortune hailed by them. 
 And who so proud as he, at sight of 
 so gallant a company, all met to do him 
 honor ; but I doubt not, when his eye 
 glanced toward the dimpled rosy cheek 
 of his exquisite sweet bride, he was also 
 more happy thaki proud. The courtiers 
 came because the queen was there, and 
 they now rivalled each other in showing 
 of their devotion to the reigning favorite, 
 and marvelled any one should ever have 
 thought ill of so princely a gentleman. 
 My Lord Essex was not of the party, he 
 had excused himself on the score of ill- 
 ness; but some did say he was only in- 
 disposed to come. The new secretary 
 of state was there, with others of the 
 queen's chief officers, and all were won- 
 derful courteous to the captain of the 
 queen's guard. None seemed more friend- 
 ly than did Sir Robert Cecil ; but an ob- 
 server, had he paid strict attention to 
 him as he was in earnest conversation 
 with his coadjutor and parasite, Lord 
 Henry Howard, in a corner of the cham- 
 ber of state, where were her majesty and 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, might have noticed 
 in the sneer upon his lip, as he eyed the 
 two, that Master Secretary was devising 
 of some crafty scheme to mar the good 
 feeling that existed between them. 
 
 Master Francis was in one of the rooms 
 in the midst of a circle of cheerful friends, 
 amongst whom were Master Bacon, Ben 
 Jonson, and divers of his old acquaint- 
 ances of the Mermaid, diffusing around 
 him such pleasant wit and courteous good 
 humor, it was delightful to look upon the 
 scene, when he was accosted by Sir 
 Nicholas Throckmorton, stating that the 
 queen was desirous of seeing him on the 
 instant ; thereupon he hurried away in 
 company with the old knight,whoamused 
 himself as they passed along, by inform- 
 ' ing his young friend that her majesty was 
 in a very monstrous passion, and having 
 I got hold of the swoH -f her captain of 
 i the guard, was about performing of some 
 j bloody tragedy upon one Master Francis 
 ! Harquebus and his father they having 
 : been proved to be exceeding traitorous 
 and disloyal subjects. Master Francis 
 could easily perceive, from his merry 
 ! countenance, that the old knight was 
 ! jesting; but still he could not help enter- 
 I ing upon some speculation on the cause 
 of the queen's sending for him. As he 
 : proceeded through the splendid crowd
 
 312 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 that thronged the rooms, the eyes of all 
 turned in admiration upon his right hand- 
 some countenance and gallant figure. He 
 was clothed in a peach-colored velvet 
 d .ublet, ornamented with pearls; and 
 trunk lio.-e of delicate white saiiu, with 
 white rosettes in his shoes. Many a fair 
 damsel of rank envied Alice her good 
 fortune. In truth, though Sir Waller 
 Rakish might have been the nobler-look- 
 ing, Master Francis was the very hand- 
 somest man in the whole company ; and 
 as he moved along, he won the gracious 
 opinion of all, by his courteous behavior 
 and modest deportment. 
 
 Upon entering the royal chamber and 
 parsing through a circle of nobles, gal- 
 lants, and lovely dames, who gladly made 
 way fur him, he heard a buz of admira- 
 tion, and noticed his father rising from a 
 kneeling position, with the queen holding 
 of a sword in her hand, by his side, hav- 
 ing Sir Walter Raleigh and all the chief- 
 est of her court about her. " Master 
 Francis !" exclaimed her majesty, evident- 
 ly scanning the perfections of his grace- 
 ful person with a famous admiration, 
 " we do remember putting on you some 
 affront, the which you deserved not ; and 
 we are now anxious to make you some 
 slight amends for it, which we do with 
 the greater pleasure, having heard won- 
 derful commendation of you from our 
 captain of the guard. We command 
 you to kneel." Master Francis knelt on 
 one knee at the queen's feet, in a strange 
 tumult of proud and happy feelings. He 
 felt something touch his shoulder, and 
 her majesty say, "Rise up, Sir Francis 
 Harquebus !" and then followed some 
 courteous speech from the queen, and 
 congratulations from the splendid circle 
 around him ; though of what was said 
 he had but an indistinct knowledge; he 
 felt in so great a surprise and wonder, and 
 admiratioa. 
 
 A short time after this, as he was turn- 
 ing from the proud and happy Alice, and 
 the equally delighted Dame Elizabeth, 
 with a pleasure equal to their own, and 
 proceeding out at the door, lost in the 
 sweet bewilderment of his own thoughts, 
 he was roused from his ambitious revery 
 by a well-known voice. 
 
 "Remember you not, when we two 
 were at Master Tickletoby's, and we 
 talked of what we should do when we 
 grew to be men, how I said that you 
 should be a famous' gallant knight, and I 
 your esquire ?" . 
 
 "I remember it well, Harry!" replied 
 Sir Francis, cheerfully, as he gazed 
 
 upon the honest happy face of his true 
 friend. 
 
 "I knew you would be a knight," 
 added Harry Daring, with great earnest- 
 ness ; " I always said you were a gentle- 
 man born. How glad of heart I am I 
 forswore barbering to follow you to the 
 wars." 
 
 "Indeed, Harry, I am infinitely glad 
 also," answered the other. "I can not 
 forget what extreme goodness and mar- 
 vellous noble behavior you showed tow- 
 ard me when I had no other friend than 
 you." 
 
 "By Gog and Magog, I could not help 
 it !" exclaimed his companion, " I loved 
 you; that is the honest truth; and you 
 were always of so excellent sweet a dis- 
 position, it was clean impossible I could 
 do aught else." 
 
 " Desire you to go to the wars again, 
 Harry ?" inquired Sir Francis. 
 
 " What, against those villanous caitiffs, 
 the Spaniards ?" asked Harry Daring, 
 quickly. "Ah, that should 1, Master 
 Sir Francis, I mean.'' 
 
 "And what say you to the having, 
 some short time hence, a goodly ship of 
 your own ?" added his friend. 
 
 " O' my life, I should like nothing so 
 well !" replied the other, with increasing 
 animation. " Then would I go cruising 
 in the Spanish Main after those same rich 
 galleons and argosies, and I doubt not I 
 would make prize of some." 
 
 " That you shall do, Harry," answered 
 Sir Francis. 
 
 The conversation was here broken in 
 upon by the coming up of divers persons 
 of worship, to congratulate Sir Francis 
 upon the distinction just conferred upon 
 him. 
 
 But of all this noble company there 
 was not one so greatly noticed as was 
 Master Shakspeare. This was owing, 
 in some part, to his own excellent repu- 
 tation, and partly to the respect and 
 friendliness shown toward him by Sir 
 Walter Raleigh and his young friend, Sir 
 Francis Harquebus. The queen having 
 spied him among the throng, had been 
 exceeding gracious in her behavior to 
 him, keeping him for a considerable time 
 engaged in agreeable converse ; and then, 
 after much courteous speech, she removed 
 a ring from her finger and gave him to 
 wear in token of her admiration of his 
 genius and character. This being whis- 
 pered from one to another, and much talk 
 ensuing concerning of the many wonder- 
 ful fine plays and poems he had writ, 
 wherever he went he was itgarded with
 
 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 313 
 
 a singular curiousness and respect; and 
 the chiefest of the nobles thronged up to 
 him as though they were proud to be 
 considered among the number of his 
 friends. 
 
 "All is settled, sweet Master Shak- 
 speare," whispered the young Lord South- 
 ampton to his friend, as they stood to- 
 gether toward the close of the evening 
 in a corner of the room. " I have pre- 
 vailed on her at last to risk a marriage 
 with me.'' 
 
 " I wish you joy, my good lord," said 
 the other with a very earnest sincerity. 
 "I do believe Mistress Varnon to be in 
 every way worthy of you, and I hope you 
 will be as happy as both your hearts 
 desire." 
 
 "I ihank you, with all my hearts," re- 
 plied his patron with a look of exceeding 
 affection. " And there liveth none to 
 whom I feel myself so deeply indebted. 
 Indeed, I know not what I should have 
 done had you riot stepped in so opportune- 
 ly to my rescue, and with your excellent 
 rare wit set at naught the tyrannical de- 
 vices of those who would put asunder 
 two young hearts that love had joined. 
 Surtly no man ever had such true friend 
 as I have found in you." 
 
 " Nay, my good lord, you overvalue my 
 poor service," observed Master Shak- 
 speare in a kindred spirit. 
 
 "That can never be," exclaimed my 
 Lord Southampton. " But I can not trust 
 myself to say more on that head now. I 
 will wait a better time." 
 
 " I'failh I am right glad to find I could 
 turn the singing of madrigals to such 
 good account," said his friend merrily. 
 " Yel, I must say, 'twas not without infi- 
 nite painstaking, I acquired the dignified 
 approbation of Aunt Deborah ; neverthe- 
 less, I have been so well repaid by the 
 amusement I have had in noticing of her 
 antiquated humor, I would cheerfully go 
 through the same trouble to procure rue 
 the like sport." 
 
 " Alack, what a very absolute rage she 
 will be in when she discovereth her niece 
 hath given her the slip !" said the young 
 noble. " But I do shrewdly suspect her 
 greatest grief will be for the loss of her 
 gallant. I have heard it said that she doth 
 continually sigh for Master Dulcimer in a 
 manner so profound, that it is quite pitiful 
 to hear her; and when she doth fancy 
 herself unseen of any, she will pace up 
 and down her chamber, putting her em- 
 broidered handkerchief to her eyes, and 
 turning up her eyes to the ceiling, and 
 clasping of her hands together, and ever 
 
 and anon singing snatches of madrigals 
 in the most delicate moving manner ever 
 known." 
 
 " 0' my life, 'tis wonderfully pathetic !" 
 cried the other, laughing heartily, " but as 
 I have no taste for antiquarian matters 
 methinks 'twould be as well were I to 
 turn her over to Master Cotton, who, I 
 doubt not, will make much of her, as he 
 holds nothing in such estimation as an- 
 cient pictures and the like, and I will 
 warrant her as old a piece of painting 
 judging from her complexion as he shall 
 find anywhere out of a frame." 
 
 " Ha, sweet Will !" exclaimed Master 
 Burbage coming up with Ben Jonson, as 
 the other two were indulging themselves 
 with their mirth. " Of what jest hast 
 thou just been delivered ? for I see there 
 hath another been born of thy most mul- 
 titudinous family." 
 
 "Mayhap, it shall be nothing better 
 than a new version of the old story," ob- 
 served Ben Jonson. " Mons parturiens, 
 nascitur mus." 
 
 " Nay, good Ben, I will not have it that 
 way," said my Lord Southampton. " A 
 mountain he may be Olympus itself 
 was scarce such another, but what is 
 bom of him hath nothing of the insignifi- 
 cance of a mouse." 
 
 " I would say here as many a tender 
 housewife hath said before let the mouse 
 go," answered Master Shakspeare good- 
 humoredly. "Perchance my jests are 
 but mice. Yet are they such as have too 
 much wit in them to go into a trap. As 
 for any disparaging words that may be 
 spoken of this facetious varlet, mind them 
 not, my good lord. Ben is like unto one 
 of the heathen gods he hath grown fa- 
 mous for devouring his own offspring." 
 
 " Go to !" exclaimed Ben Jonson, join- 
 ing in the laugh of the others. " Thou 
 hast done nothing of the sort I will be 
 bound for't, with regard to thy words, for 
 thou knowest well enough what poor 
 eating they would make." 
 
 " 'Tis hard to say what hunger would 
 do," remarked Master Burbage in the 
 same merry humor. " Bears suck their 
 own paws for lack of better victual ; and if 
 Will was reduced to a like strait, mayhap 
 he should be found driven to his ' wit's 
 end' for a meal." 
 
 " Good, by my troth," cried Master 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 "He would not be the first that had 
 come to the extremity of living by his 
 wits," said my Lord Southampton. 
 
 "I wish him no such bad fortune," re- 
 marked Ben Jonson. " Doubtless famine
 
 
 314 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 is a great evil ; but to get starved to 
 death so rapidly as he must needs be, 
 having come to so sorry a shift, is pitia- 
 ble to think of.'' 
 
 " Save thy sympathy for thyself, Ben," 
 replied his opponent. "Wert thou in 
 such want, I have a huge suspicion thou 
 wouldst discover that there could be no 
 jesting with an empty stomach ; for it is 
 allowed I have wits to live upon, albeit 
 there be no great provision but that thou 
 canst find diet of however poor a kind in 
 a like circumstance, I have no such as- 
 surance." 
 
 " You are merry, my masters !" ex- 
 claimed my Lord Howard of Walden, 
 who, with two or three noblemen of his 
 acquaintance, now came up, attracted by 
 the evident mirth of Master Shakspeare 
 and his companions. " I warrant me you 
 have said some choice conceit or anoth- 
 er. I pray you tell us what was the jest." 
 
 " Indeed, it was scarce worth repeat- 
 ing," observed Master Shakspeare, now 
 with a monstrous grave countenance. 
 " We were but admiring the infinite con- 
 scientiousness of a certain prudent gen- 
 tlewoman, who, having in a fit of anger, 
 called her husband 'a brute' the which 
 at that time she knew he was not, did as 
 speedily as might be, verify the accusa- 
 tion because she would on no account ac- 
 knowledge to the telling of an untruth." 
 
 Upon this the laugh became louder than 
 ever, and my Lord Howard did join in it 
 as heartily as any, with a perfect inno- 
 cency of the jest having been directed at 
 him, although it was well known of the 
 others to what it alluded. 
 
 " If we may judge of the firing of the 
 report there must needs be a sharp en- 
 gagement here," said Colonel Sir Fran- 
 cis Harquebus, joining the circle with sev- 
 eral of his friends, who had also been 
 drawn there by the seeming good humor 
 of the group. "I trust there may not be 
 many wounded on your side ?" 
 
 " Nay, good colonel, stav you with us 
 but a brief space you will find there be 
 no need of any serious apprehension," re- 
 plied Master Shakspeare in the same 
 pleasant mood, whereupon the mirth 
 broke out afresh. " Our ordnance doeth 
 the clean contrary of that you have b.een 
 used to. Perchance we shall keep up 
 a constant fire when we enter the field, 
 yet instead of lessening the forces en- 
 eaged, we shall be continually adding to 
 our numbers." And so it proved for 
 the frequent loud laughing of these few, 
 every moment' brought to them others of 
 the company many of whom were the 
 
 most distinguished in the land and as 
 Master Shakspeare had ever ready some 
 excellent fine conceit or another which 
 did infinitely tickle the fancies of such as 
 were within hearing, the mirth became 
 louder, and the throng about him in- 
 creased so prodigiously he could scarce 
 move for the crowd. 
 
 " It is Master Shakspeare !" said one ; 
 and as soon as it got whispered about 
 that he was uttering his notable witty 
 sayings, the singers, and the musicians, 
 and even the masquers and dancers were 
 left unheeded ; and these, beginning to 
 know the cause they were so abandoned, 
 with as absolute a curiosity as any, 
 thronged as quickly as they might, tow- 
 ard the same scene of attraction. It hap- 
 pened when the crowd was at its thick- 
 est, a message came from the queen's 
 majesty, who had noted the flocking of 
 the company to one place and had been 
 told the cause of it, for Master Shak- 
 speare to appear before her forthwith. 
 
 " We charge you, Master Shakspeare, 
 with high treason !" exclaimed Queen 
 Elizabeth, when he presented himself ac- 
 cording to her bidding, whereupon he be- 
 gan to be somewhat alarmed, and others 
 nigh unto the presence were exceeding 
 curious to know what he had done to 
 bring upon himself so weighty an accu- 
 sation. 
 
 " Please your majesty, I"- 
 
 " The offence hath been proved to us," 
 said the queen, interrupting of him very 
 quickly, and then the courtiers looked 
 marvellous serious. " You have drawn 
 away divers of the subjects of this realm 
 from their duty to their lawful sovereign, 
 which is treason of the very greatest 
 magnitude. Is it not so, Master Bacon ?" 
 inquired Queen Elizabeth, seeing that 
 excellent fine lawyer in the circle before 
 her. 
 
 "Please your majesty, there can be no 
 doubt of it, replied he with a smile, for 
 he saw into her majesty's humor though 
 few of the others were so quickwitted. 
 
 " You have by sundry sorts of jests and 
 other pointed weapons," continued the 
 queen, " very dangerous when not in dis- 
 creet and lawful hands, excited number- 
 less of our nobles, and officers, besides 
 others of lower quality, into violent dis- 
 turbances against the peace of the realm. 
 We charge you on your allegiance, con- 
 fess what hath led you into this notorious 
 misbehaving." As soon as they heard 
 this speech, the courtiers seemed struck 
 with a wonderful admiration of her maj- 
 esty's conceit, and with very different
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 3J5 
 
 faces to those they had put on awhile 
 since, they waited the issue. 
 
 " Please your majesty," replied Master 
 Shakspeare, looking in no way daunted 
 at the charge. " Before I enter on ray 
 confession, let me humbly represent to 
 you, that this is the first time any sov- 
 ereign hath made treason a laughing 
 matter." 
 
 " If such it be, methinks it is like to 
 make the offender laugh on the other side 
 of his mouth," exclaimed ihe queen mer- 
 rily, at the which the mirth became gen- 
 eral. 
 
 " That I dispute not, believe me," an- 
 swered he. " I plead guilty of the of- 
 fence of which your majesty hath justly 
 accused me, but I would venture to say 
 in extenuation, that although I might 
 perchance succeed in the shaking of your 
 majesty's sides, it hath never been my in- 
 tention in any way to disturb your maj- 
 esty's crown." 
 
 " Odds boddikins !" exclaimed the 
 queen an oath she much affected when 
 in a pleasant humor and laughing very 
 
 heartily, as did her courtiers also. " We 
 believe you, and willingly admit the in- 
 nocency of your intentions, but we let 
 you not off a fitting punishment, and a 
 heavy, proceed you not on the instant to 
 tell us what caused the loud burst of 
 laughter that made us send to you our 
 messenger ; and if there seemeth to us 
 to have been sufficient provocation for it, 
 you shall be allowed to depart from our 
 presence free and unharmed." 
 
 " Your majesty's gracious condescen- 
 sion I can not sufficiently express my ap- 
 preciation of," replied Master Shaks- 
 peare very respectfully. " But in honest 
 truth, the cause was in indifferent pro- 
 portion to the effect. However, of that 
 your majesty shall judge. This was it : 
 
 " ' I called my Rachel ' Plain-face !' In a pet 
 
 She vowed she'd never speak to me again ; 
 She frowned, she pouted, and she sulked and yet 
 My Rachel hath a face that's very plain.' " 
 
 Methinks it be scarce necessary to add, 
 that the offender was allowed to go from 
 the presence unpunished. 
 
 HERE ENDETH THE STORY OF 
 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS 
 
 NOTE. Should the courteous reader, from what he hath here perused, desire of me some 
 further account of this inestimable rare and sweet-minded gentleman, and to know what 
 befell Harry Daring in his adventures in the Spanish main, and to become acquainted with 
 what happened unto my Lord Southampton in his wooing of the loving Mistress Varnon, 
 besides learning the doings of others of whom mention is made in this story, I say unto 
 him in the words of the drawer of mine hostess of the Mermaid, " Anon anon, sir!"
 
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 TOR HILL. By the same Author. Illustrated - 37| 
 
 CHARLES CHESTERFIELD. By MRS. TROLLOPS. Illus. 50 
 
 MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURES - - 25 
 JEREMIAH SADDLEBAGS' ADVENTURES IN THE GOLD 
 
 DIGGINGS. 100 Comic Engravings 25 
 
 Nautical Standard Novels: 
 
 THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE 
 
 TOM CRINGLE'S LOG 50 
 
 THE OCEAN CHILD 25 
 
 CRUISE IN A WHALE BOAT .... 25 
 
 Useful and Entertaining Works: 
 
 TWENTY-SIX YEARS IN THE LIFE OF AN ACTOR. 2v. Jb 
 
 HISTORY OF ALL CHRISTIAN SECTS 37 
 
 CALIFORNIA AND ITS GOLD REGIONS - - 50 
 
 MRS. ELLIS'S HOUSEKEEPING MADE EASY - - 12) 
 
 CHOICE WORKS, BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 IGHT AND DARKNESS. By Mrs. Crowe 50 
 
 WILFRED MONTRESSOR. With over 50 Illus. 1 vol. 50 
 
 IGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE. ByHellstab 50 
 
 VA ; or, The Isles of Life and -Death. By Maturin - 50 
 
 )LD LONDON BRIDGE ; or, The Days of Henry VIII. 50 
 
 IICHARD OF YORK 50 
 
 LDVENTUHES OF A MEDICAL STUDENT - 
 ^HE LOVES op PARIS. Illustrated 
 
 MIRANDA. By the Author of the "Trapper's Bride" 50 
 
 LNN GREY 50 
 
 ^ORINNE. By Madame de Stael .... 50 
 
 ARCHIBALD WERNER 50 
 
 HS ORPHANS OF. <fec. 50 
 
 )ERMOT O'BRIAN. By H. W. Herbert 50 
 
 'HE BLACK PROPHET. By Carleton ... 50 
 
 >VAT TYLER, the Bondman 50 
 
 IY PENINSULAR MEDAL. By an Old Peninsular - 25 
 
 'HARITY, and its Reward. By Mrs. Snelling - - 25 
 
 IARY BUCHANAN - 25 
 
 IDMIRAI.'S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Marsh. 25 
 
 IR. DALTON'S LEGATEE, a very Nice Woman - - 25 
 IATERNAL LOVE : a Novel 
 
 IARMADUKE VVYVit. By II. W. Herbert - - 37J 
 
 OURTSHIP AND WEDLOCK 25 
 
 HE PEER'S DAUGHTERS. By Lady Bulwer - - 37J 
 HE GOLDEN CALF - :," 
 [ATE IN SEARCH OF A HUSBAND - - 
 
 IEORGE BARNWELL 
 
 .OSE SOMERVILLE 25 
 
 JEORGE I.OVELL. By Sheridan Knowles 25 
 
 THE OLD CONVENTS OP PARIS - * * A, 25 
 
 IYSTERIES OP THE CRIMINAL RECORDS 25 
 
 'HE FITJST FALSE STEP 25 
 
 'HE BOTTLE ; or, The First Step to Crime 
 
 'HE Pr.EDSE ; or, the First Step to Fortune. - 25 
 
 RAVO'S DAUGHTER ; or. The Tory of Carolina. - 25 
 
 LEVELAND. A Tale of the Church ... 25 
 
 ANOEI.OT WlDOE 25 
 
 HE MONK Ry Lewis .... . 25 
 
 LEMF.NT LORIMER; or. The Book with ihe Iron Clasps 25 
 
 iiAuiTY SISTERS AND THE DEFORMED 25 
 
 ANS SHORE : a Romance 25 
 
 IANUSORIPTS FROM THE DIARY op A PHYSICIAN - 25 
 
 ODY THE ROVER. By Carleton .... 25 
 
 HE Two LOVES : a Story of New- York 25 
 
 HREE NIGHTS IN A LIFETIME .... 25 
 
 SHIPWREHKEB GOLD SEEKERS: a Tale - - - 2& 
 
 THREE CUTTERS. By Capt. Marrya'.* ... 25
 
 S1CR1T PASSION, 
 
 BT THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE,' 
 SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS, 
 
 tee. 
 
 Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage 
 Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, 
 
 To thee I send this written embassage^ 
 To witness duty, not to show my wit 
 
 SHAKSPEARE 
 
 STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 
 822 BROADWAY, CORNER OP ANN ST.

 
 
 OF 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 What sport do I make with these fools ! what 
 
 pleasure 
 
 Feeds me, and fats my sides at their poor inno- 
 cence ! 
 
 Hang it, give me mirth, 
 Witty and dainty mirth : I shall grow in love, 
 
 sure, 
 With mine owne happy head. 
 
 THE WILD GOOSE CHASE. 
 He that will not, now and then, be a Cala- 
 bingo, is worse than a Calamoothe. 
 
 THE VIRGIN MARTYR. 
 
 But do you know what fooling is ? true fool- 
 ing? 
 
 The circumstances that belong unto it ? 
 For every idle knave that shows his teeth 
 Wants, and would live, can juggle, tumble, fid- 
 dle. 
 
 Make a dog-face, or can abuse his fellow, 
 Is not a fool at first dash ; you shall find, sir, 
 Strange turnings in this trade. 
 
 THE MAD LOVER. 
 
 IF laughter may be taken as a sign of 
 happiness, then right happy were the bois- 
 terous, free-hearted merry-makers) that were 
 causing the goodly rafters of Dame Hart's 
 kitchen to ring with their exceeding mirth- 
 fulness. Peal followed peal, and shout 
 burst forth after shout, with so little show 
 of dilatoriness, that, ere one was half spent, 
 t'other was in full force. Had any listened 
 to it but ever so small a space, he could 
 scarce help being assured that the wanton- 
 est wits and very drollest varlets in all 
 Stratford, ay, and for miles round, had 
 
 thronged to the threshold of their good gos- 
 sips, the jolly hatter, and his no less jovial 
 spouse, and were there, with their famous 
 tales and excellent good jests, intent oiVj> s 
 having the walls about their ears, from the 
 effect of the huge tempest of laughter they 
 must needs be provoking. 
 
 Yet had little Tommy Hart and his af- 
 fectionate little helpmate no such company. 
 In very truth, they had but got about them, 
 as was their wont ever since the two had 
 been made one which was no great time- 
 one or two neighbors and acquaintances of 
 some standing, who were most of their hu- 
 mor, in a readiness to join in all lawful 
 pleasures, to speak a jest in season that 
 hurt none, and promote whatever of singing, 
 or telling of stories, or other goodly frolic, 
 that promised amusement sufficient for the 
 wants of the hour and the company. 
 
 Hugely did folk of more serious sort mar- 
 vel at the wondrous appetite for, and enjoy- 
 ment in, matters of drollery of Joan Hart ; 
 a laugh seemed as necessary to her as is 
 water to a fish; and, to look into her 
 admirable clear eyes, and into the corners 
 of her pouting lips, you would be ready to 
 take oath on it she had such provocation to 
 mirth at her commandment, nought should 
 reach her, however remote from lightness, 
 but her smiles should break out at it as 
 bright and gladly as though, under its as- 
 sumed gravity, there was jesting of the 
 very exquisitest kind. 
 
 Our Joan was small in stature, it is true, 
 but her heart was of an exceeding bigness, 
 containing, as it seemed, whatever was most
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 pleasant in all humanity, and in such meas- 
 ure, it looked to be in a constant humor of 
 overflowing. But of this sort she had been 
 from her earliest years. Never did Fate 
 look so frowningly but she could make as 
 though the frown was a smile of most cov- 
 etable import. When she came to have 
 lovers, she laughed famously at them all, 
 which none could take so pleasantly as 
 'twas meant, save only little Tommy Hart, 
 an honest chapman of her native town, of a 
 like size, of a like humor, and of a like 
 ago as herself, who laughed at her with as 
 true a zest as did she at him. Ere any 
 long space was passed, they laughed at each 
 other in perfect truthfulness, it may be 
 said, with all their hearts and, in the end, 
 the daughter of the honest woolstapler, to 
 the vast contentation of the whole neigh- 
 borhood, became the wife of the waggish 
 maker of hats. 
 
 And now were they keeping the anniver- 
 sary of that very wedding, in their holiday 
 bravery, with no lack of jollity, as may be 
 expected, the which, if example could bring 
 a sufficiency, there was like to be the prodi- 
 galest display of it ever beheld. For there 
 was Joan, with her face as brown as any 
 oerry, and as full of laughter as is the sun 
 of fire, and looking nigh upon as warm with- 
 al, standing in the midst of a group, sitting 
 roti nil her; whereof there was no one 
 whose visage indicated not all the mad frol- 
 ic in the which they were then engaged. 
 There were they, a group of some twenty 
 or so of divers sorts, conditions, and ages ; 
 okl and young, fat and spare, servant and 
 master, alike enjoying themselves to the 
 most absolute contentation ever known. 
 
 Prominent among these was seen the un- 
 wiekly form of Winifred Poppet, in a fair 
 miniver cap, a dainty partlet of white thread, 
 and a stamel red petticoat of a most choice 
 fashion, as intent on the sport as if she took 
 no heed of such braveries. 
 
 Nevertheless, this was by no means the 
 c'aso, for a careful observer might have no- 
 ticed that ever and anon, however busy she 
 seemed with the game that was going on, 
 she turned a sly glance to some part or other 
 of her gay apparel, and twitched a fold here, 
 and smoothed a rumple there, with a look 
 of as infinite contentation as ever brightened 
 up the visage of threescore and ten. 
 
 By her side was seen the well-known 
 figure of Jonas Tietape, in excellent favor 
 among the burgesses' wives at Stratford, as 
 a woman's tailor. That it was the cunning 
 in his craft that made him so well liked of 
 his customers, seemed evident enough, of all 
 conscience ; for gifts of person or counte- 
 
 nance, for the obtaining of a fair woman's' 
 approval, had he none at all, seeing that his 
 features were by no means comely, his 
 height so dwarfish, that an ordinary boy of 
 some twelve or fourteen years, might, with 
 no great difficulty, have glanced over his 
 shoulder, and his-head, arms, and feet of a 
 bigness out of all proportion to the length 
 and size of his limbs. 
 
 With these defects in him, Jonas was in 
 such huge favor with his customers ay, 
 and with whoever were of his acquaint- 
 ance as was no woman's tailor in the 
 whole county. And how came so marvel- 
 lous a tiling to pass, seeing that women, of 
 all persons, are only to be taken by come- 
 liness ? inquireth of me the courteous rea- 
 der. Thus was it : He had so comic a 
 manner with him, you could scarce look him 
 in the face but you must needs laugh out- 
 right. So many droll antics, and grimaces 
 had he, such odd sayings, so great a multi- 
 tude of quaint, diverting tricks, and such an 
 infinite fund of good humor at his disposal, 
 that you might as well expect a hungry dog 
 to be indifferent to a full platter, as that 
 man, woman, or child, in his neighborhood, 
 could hear him, or look on him, and carry 
 on any melancholy or ungracious hu- 
 mors. 
 
 Yet it must also be recorded, he had gifts 
 of some sort. Of a surety, as hath been 
 said, they were not of person ; nevertheless, 
 I doubt not they did him more true service 
 wherever he went, than could he have 
 gained had he been ever so proper a man. 
 There was no game known or heard of be- 
 twixt John O'Groat's house and the Land's 
 End, he had not as pat as though he had 
 played it all his days. Hot-cocles, or 
 chuck-farthing, loggets, tick-tack, seize- 
 noddy, barley-break, cross-and-pile, pick- 
 point, shove-groat, and a lot more I cannot 
 stop to name, were as familiar to him as his 
 fingers and thumbs. 
 
 There was no sport at which he was not 
 so skilled, it was rare indeed he met with 
 his fellow at any. Cunning at the bow 
 was he, as though he had sought to be held 
 as a rival to Clym o' the Clough, or even to 
 Robin Hood himself; and at quarter-stalF 
 none had dared touch him since he had 
 cudgelled Sandie Daredevil, the big drover 
 from over the border, who had made mocks 
 at him, and called him scurrilous names, 
 and threatened him most villanously, till 
 though no seeker of brawls he took him 
 to his weapon, and, with such earnest- 
 ness, the rude Scot got so ugly a knock on 
 the pate, he was fain from that time forth to 
 take up his hostel in the churchyard. Theu
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 at mumming was there ever so monstrous a 
 dragon? or in the May games, who had eyes 
 for any thing, but his most delectable hob- 
 by-horse 1 lie roared so dragoni.sh, it looked 
 as though he would swallow a whole parish 
 at a mouthful ; and his curvetings, his 
 neighings, and his paces, were so to the life, 
 there was never a natural horse of any sort 
 that was thought able to do them half so 
 well. 
 
 But Jonas Tietape, in a suit of motley ! 
 Then was there famous shaking of sides ! 
 Of a Christmas or a New Year's Eve, per- 
 chance, when the spacious hall or kitchen 
 was thronged with some of the merriest 
 hearts in Stratford, he would don the cap 
 and bells and parti-colored suit, and so 
 choicely play his part, that the very wisest 
 of the lookers-on could scarce help lament- 
 ing he had such lack of the fool in him. 
 
 Then, how brave a musician was he ! 
 'Twas a marvel to hear him play the bag- 
 pipes. UP blew them with such exceeding 
 spirit, all the dogs in the parish would join 
 in full chorus whenever he headed a wed- 
 ding party, playing up " Light o' Love," as 
 was his wont ; and when he was in the hu- 
 mor of taking to tlie pipe and tabor, the mor- 
 ice would be danced with such vehemency, 
 the lookers-on could scarce help thinking 
 all in it had no less sufficiency of wings to 
 their legs than bells. 
 
 These gifts caused him to be held in 
 such esteem, that his misshapen condition 
 was never commented on by any save some 
 few malapert, uncivil grooms, who, when- 
 ever they had sight of him, allowed tlieir 
 rude wits to run riot at the expense of his 
 persorf and his calling, till they got cudgelled 
 into more honest behavior. 13y those he 
 was used to come among, nought amiss was 
 seen in him. They had got so familiar 
 with the strangeness of his fashioning, they 
 had acquired a sort of affectionateness to it. 
 His dwarfishness they got a liking to, far 
 more suitable stature in other men failed to 
 create. His large head had become an ob- 
 ject of singular approval ; and what else 
 was in him unseemly or objectionable to or- 
 dinary persons, to them was a feature of 
 matchless interest. 
 
 His apparelling was as little like that of 
 common persons as was his visage or figure. 
 He ever arrayed himself according to some 
 conceit or other ; and, being his own fash- 
 ioner, and having usually a fine choice of 
 materials, he failed not on any occasion of 
 mirth to be clothed in the most ridiculous 
 garb eyes ever beheld. 
 
 At this present showing, he had on a jer- 
 kin of divers colors, made of pieces as vari- 
 
 ous in shape as opposite in fabric ; for lin- 
 sey-woolsey and Genoa velvet, taffeta and 
 broad-cloth, fustian of Naples and Welch 
 frieze, Norwich satin and Yorkshire ker- 
 sey, were most disorderly mingled together ; 
 and as for the suitableness of the colors, 
 what could be said of an arrangement where 
 iron-grey and scarlet, murrey and sadnew 
 color, watchett and russet, black and Lin- 
 coln green, were in closest neighborhood ? 
 Below this was seen a singular kind of 
 breeches, of which one leg disclosed French 
 sail-cloth of the coarsest sort, and the other 
 painted arras, as ridiculously fine as the lim- 
 ner's skill could make, having so goodly a 
 subject as the Queen of Sheba's stomacher. 
 These had monstrous great pockets ; and as 
 amongst his sundry several ways of getting 
 a living was the breeding certain little dogs, 
 much affected by his richer customers, he 
 was wont to carry one in each. One leg 
 wore hose of orange tawny, the other pur- 
 ple ; and the feet had on them severally, a 
 boot of undressed leather, and an embroi- 
 dered pantofle. 
 
 Laughing at the droll antics and smart 
 sayings of Jonas Tietape, till the tears made 
 themselves channels down his floury cheeks, 
 sat Cuthbert Dredger, the stout miller of the 
 Seven Meadows, in his well-worn leather 
 jerkin, high boots, and well-stuffed gallegas- 
 kins as famously covered with meal as was 
 his ruddy face, beard, and hair whilst on 
 one hand of him stood the good 'dame, his 
 wife, and on the other his stalwart son as 
 like to his father in all externals as is one 
 peascod like another in their homely suits, 
 showing such signs of the dusty miller, that 
 even the shaking of their sides filled the 
 air with myriads of motes. 
 
 In close neighborhood to the stout miller's 
 son sat, spic and span as a new-coined 
 groat, the youthful Margaret Hippocras, - 
 better known of the good folk of Stratford 
 and thereabouts, as Peg o' the Twiggen 
 Bottle her father keeping a hostel in the 
 town so called though, by some of her fa- 
 miliars, she was often entitled Blinking Peg, 
 because of a slight infirmity in her vision, 
 approaching nigh unto what some unman- 
 nerly people said was a squint. 
 
 Next to her again lolled, almost at full 
 length, the hurley figure of Jasper Broadfoot 
 the ploughman of a rich farmer in the 
 neighborhood in the hugeness of his pleas- 
 ure, his mouth stretching open as it were 
 from ear to ear, and his freckled face half 
 hid by the liberal show of sandy locks, that 
 curled in straggling masses around it. Two 
 old maiden sisters were close adjoining, 
 sitting up as straight as darts, and seeming
 
 8 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 to be almost as spare ; their sharp noses and 
 chins showing a manifest longing for a 
 nearer acquaintance, and their apparelling 
 scrupulously neat and clean, as though put 
 on for the first time ; nevertheless, they had 
 been holiday suits with them any time these 
 twenty years* They were screaming and 
 clapping of their hands in infinite contenta- 
 tion at the passing scene ; and, indeed, as 
 absolute was their content at all such mer- 
 rymakings in the which they had entered 
 together with the same zest since they had 
 been girls, making mutual monstrous exer- 
 tions the live-long day to earn a decent sub- 
 sistence as sempstresses, and, after working 
 hours, enjoying themselves wherever there 
 was a fair promise of creditable pastime. 
 
 Last of all was a smart little varlet, with 
 a pair of merry dark eyes, lighting up as 
 pleasant a face albeit the complexion was 
 of the darkest as ever the sun shone on. 
 Mis well knit limbs were famously dis- 
 played in his plain russet suit, and he 
 seemed as though he could never tire of 
 their employment ; for, with all the quick- 
 ness of an eel, he was thrusting himself 
 now here, now tb,ere, with an intent as 
 though he would on no account fail to 
 share at the fullest in the sport that was 
 going on. 
 
 This was no other than the jolly hatter, 
 the laughing husband of the merry Joan : 
 and, whilst she was now stooping down in 
 the circle around her they being all en- 
 gaged in the monstrous pleasant game of 
 " hunt the slipper" swearing most ear- 
 nestly the lusty Goody Poppet had got the 
 slipper behind her ample person, Tommy 
 Hart, who had cleverly contrived to get hold 
 of it, unexpectedly gave his buxom dame 
 so eore a smack where there was an excel- 
 lent fair mark for such a purpose, as to make 
 her regain her perpendicular ere you .could 
 count one, amid the loud laughing of .the 
 whole party, in the which she precisely 
 joined, with a heartiness exceeded by none. 
 
 " Beshrew thy hand, Tom,'.' exclaimed 
 she, with a sort of mock anger in her laugh- 
 ing ; " and I do not complain to the Third- 
 borough of thy monstrous heavy blows, I 
 am a shorten herring." . 
 
 1 lore, catching a glimpse of the slipper 
 gliding behind the backs of divers of the 
 circle, she made a sudden pounce upon the 
 tapster's daughter, but, by some trick of the 
 woman's tailor, her foot slipped, and she 
 came against Jasper Broadfoot with such 
 force, as to send him against the two an- 
 cient sisters, who, in spite of their exceed- 
 ing uprightness, were speedily put on a level 
 with the floor. 
 
 " A murrain on thee, wench !" cried her 
 laughing husband. " In seeking for the 
 slipper, thou must needs be a slipper thy- 
 self. Where were thine eyes to lead thee 
 so far from the object of thy search ? Per- 
 chance, an thou canst not see, thou canst 
 feel ?" 
 
 So saying, with the slipper again in his 
 hand, he took her smartly over the toes. 
 
 " Oh, thou villain!" exclaimed she, of a 
 sudden throwing herself upon him, grap- 
 pling him with both arms to secure 
 what she wanted ; but, lo ! ere she was 
 well down she felt a tap on the shoulder, 
 and, directing her gaze that way, she be- 
 held the point of the slipper resting there, 
 as if held by some one behind her. She 
 was up on the instant, and was just in time 
 to see it, as it looked to her, disappearing 
 down the gaping throat of Jonas Tietape 
 It was a feat of conjuring, such as he was 
 wont on an occasion to amuse his wonder- 
 ing gossips with, but the simple Joan 
 thought she could not miss having it, and 
 grappled her acquaintance by the throat, to 
 make him disgorge the desired mouthful, 
 till he was getting black in the face, and 
 she distinctly saw it in the hands of the 
 young ploughman, flourished within an 
 inch of her nose. Before she could recover 
 herself, it had disappeared she knew not 
 whither. 
 
 " Never saw I the like o' this, gossips !" 
 cried Joan, somewhat scant of breath, and 
 looking in a huge perplexity. " It hath 
 been said there are few quicker at this 
 pastime than am I, and yet have I been toil- 
 ing to no profit this half hour or more.'' 
 
 This speech elicited no more sympathy 
 than might be gathered from a general 
 laugh both loud and long, to which many, of 
 the company added famous commendations 
 of the poor woman's patience and agility. 
 
 " I do think thou couldst teach a horse to 
 eat his beans with a toothpick, dame," ob- 
 served Jonas, in his drollest manner ; " thou 
 hast so persevering a way with thee." 
 
 " Slow and sure, Joan," exclaimed her 
 husband, approvingly. 
 
 " Nay, good fellow," quoth the old miller, 
 who was as ready as any at a jest, " had 
 she taken such .time to discover a husband 
 as she hath to find a slipper, I doubt much 
 thy fair commodity of hats would have seen 
 a mistress in her this side of domesday." 
 
 " A husband, quotha !" cried Joan, cun- 
 ningly taking a sharp scrutiny of the circle 
 around her. " They require no such horri- 
 ble painstaking to get a hold of Heaven be 
 thanked ! Had I thought my Tom had 
 been so difficult of possessing, I would as
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 9 
 
 soon have gone for counsel to a Bedlam 
 beggar, as have looked beyond my nose for 
 him. Ah, goody, I have thee this time !" 
 
 But goody, with a chuckle that made her 
 chin quiver like a goodly aspen tree, exhibit- 
 ed to the disappointed Joan her two empty 
 hands. 
 
 " By my halidom, I could have sworn I 
 eaw it !" exclaimed she, in some little em- 
 phasis, as she narrowly watched a very sus- 
 picious movement behind the two ancient 
 spinsters. As a cat looketh after a mouse, 
 did she continue to peer at their motions, 
 elily affecting the whilst to have nothing so 
 far from her thoughts. 
 
 And thus it continued some little time 
 longer, with a vast expenditure of jests from 
 all, and such antics from the frolicsome wo- 
 man's tailor, as helped the general mirth 
 hugely. It so happened at last, however, 
 that Peg o' the Twiggen Bottle, being intent 
 upon a complete concealment of her defect 
 of vision from hearing some pretty flatteries 
 poured into her ear by the young miller, had 
 got her eyes modestly fixed as it were upon 
 the floor, and was so taken with the atten- 
 tions of her companion, that she neither 
 heard nor saw the efforts of her other neigh- 
 bour to induce her to pass the slipper. 
 Joan, whose looks were sharpened by re- 
 peated failures, detected the impatient pok- 
 ings the inattentive Peggy was receiving, 
 and unexpectedly dashed upon the possessor 
 of the slipper before she had lime to remove it, 
 and, with a shout of exultation, which was 
 swelled by that of all the circle, she caught 
 hold of the long-sought prize, and waved it 
 over her head in triumph. 
 
 The first use she made of it was,, though 
 with infinite good humor, to repay her 
 husband the smacks she had had of him, 
 and, malgre his attempts to escape behind 
 others of the company, she desisted not till 
 all was returned with a handsome interest, 
 to the exceeding good entertainment of her 
 several guests. Jonas Tietape must needs 
 put his unshapely person in the way, mak- 
 ing of such grimaces as would have un- 
 settled the solenmess of an owl, but the 
 slipper spared not him any more than his 
 host : certes he got it in places quite oppo- 
 site to what the giver intended, for with his 
 antics he so flung himself about, that what 
 was aimed at his head lighted on his heels. 
 He was as nimble at his tricks as a kitten 
 now with his heels in the air and his 
 hands on the ground, or each following the 
 other like the sails of a windmill, whilst the 
 head seemed to be shifting of itself into all 
 sorts of unnatural positions, with such ridi- 
 culous looks upon the ungainly counte- 
 
 nance, all around laughed till their sides 
 ached. And this of a surety did not lessen 
 when the heads of two little dogs, doubtless 
 made in some way uncomfortable by his 
 strange movements, were seen suddenly to 
 emerge from his pockets, with looks half of 
 curiousness and half of alarm, making a 
 sharp angry yelp, as if they liked not such 
 uneasy motion. 
 
 The chamber in which these famous 
 gambols were going on, albeit no other than 
 Dame Hart's kitchen, was as proper a one 
 to sit in as might be found in dwellings of 
 greater note than that of the jolly hatter of 
 Stratford. There were huge rafters went 
 across the top, whereon was fixed a rude 
 rack containing divers flitches of bacon. 
 The chimney was of exceeding capacious- 
 ness, projecting far into the room, having 
 within on each side, a commodious bench 
 for the lovers of the chimney-corner, to 
 whom the close neighborhood of the fire- 
 dogs offered most choice attractions. Above, 
 was an old crossbow, a rusty helmet, a stout 
 sword and buckler, and a quarter-staff 
 worthy of the Miller of Mansfield. 
 
 On a shelf were arranged an excellent- 
 show of clean platters, and on another divers 
 cooking utensils as bright and clean as 
 scrubbing could make them. Bunches of, 
 dry herbs were swinging in one place, and 
 a bag with seeds close upon it. A goodly 
 bundle of corn, in the ear, and a fair bough 
 of hawthorn, full of berries, were seen not 
 far from them ; a skin or two were stretched 
 out and drying on the wainscot ; there was 
 no lack of blocks and irons such as apper- 
 tained to the hatter's trade, but they were 
 evidently put away for the nonce, wherever 
 good room for them could be found ; and a 
 space, nigh upon a yard square, naar the 
 chimney, was covered with the choice bal- 
 lads of the time. 
 
 A large oak table had been thrust on one 
 side to allow the revellers more spac\ and 
 a liberal show of stools were huddied to- 
 gether in.another corner. A huge iron pot 
 was swinging over the firedogs, to which a 
 stout, middle-aged woman, with bare arms, 
 and a face that rivalled them in ruddiness, 
 ever and anon came out of some adjoining 
 chamber to look to. , 
 
 On one occasion she was accompanied 
 with an exceeding ragged boy, who ' looked 
 not to be more than some six or eight years 
 old. He helped to carry a log from the 
 wood-house to the kitchen-fire, which he 
 seemed intent on with so monstrous an 
 earnestness expressed in his fat, foolish 
 visage, that it drew upon him the good- 
 humored jesting of divers of the company
 
 10 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 whilst, on a sudden, Jonas took him by the 
 seat of his soiled and worn-out slops, held 
 him at arms' length above his head, and 
 made such monstrous mouths as though 
 about to make a meal of him without any 
 grace said. The boy struggled somewhat, 
 to the great endangering of his sorry gar- 
 ments, that were so patched there was no 
 telling of what color they might have been, 
 and he bawled most famously, but only as 
 it seemed to the heightening of the mirth of 
 the lookers-on. 
 
 The woman observed this with a huge in- 
 diff'erency, that some might have thought 
 argued little of the mother in her; though 
 out of all doubt the chubby, dirty, and rag- 
 
 Sed little urchin, on whom the frolicsome 
 onas was playing off his antics, was her 
 child. She continued her attentions to the 
 cookery, notwithstanding the boy occasion- 
 ally set up so main a cry she must have 
 been monstrous hard of hearing had she 
 not known of it somewhere nigh upon the 
 end of the street. At last it so chanced, his 
 tormentor, by some odd contortions of all 
 his limbs, thrust his unseemly head exactly 
 upon the very opposite extremity to where 
 nature had originally placed it, and hopped 
 around the room on his two hands like a 
 bird, supporting the frighted boy on his legs, 
 which were standing above his head like a 
 pair of monstrous horns. The shouts 
 which this feat created made the mother 
 turn from the pot she was so intent on. 
 
 " Heart o' grace, here's a sight to see !" 
 exclaimed the woman, in no slight astonish- 
 ment, and with some small spice of ill- 
 nature. " Launce, lad ! o' my life, thou 
 ridest in a strange fashion : but fair and 
 softly, and the worst beast may be made to 
 go its best paces." 
 
 Notwithstanding this consolation, the boy, 
 who from the ordinary state of his apparel 
 was known by gentle and simple as Ragged 
 Launce, cried more lustily than ever : yet 
 was his fright so ludicrous it was clean im- 
 possible for any to care about releasing him 
 from his unpleasant position : and the merry 
 knave continued his leaping till he was 
 tired. 
 
 " I have put thee to most unblessed ex- 
 tremities, friend Launce," said he, as he 
 gravely placed him again upon his legs, 
 and with a mock interest appeared to ar- 
 range in the best fashion the boy's dilapi- 
 dated garments. " But thou hast bad habits, 
 friend Launce," he continued, pulling the 
 poor boy's linen out of the wide rents hi his 
 several garments " bad habits, which, al- 
 beit neither parson nor pedagogue, it is my 
 vocation to mend. I prythee come to my 
 
 dwelling when thou hast ceased to be want- 
 ed as a scarecrow, and I will do thy elbows 
 all the service my craft can compass." 
 
 " In sooth, his apparelling be none o' the 
 best," said his mother, with a show of gra- 
 vity in the laugh she heartily joined in with 
 those about her, " nor could it well have 
 been so, seeing that after Dickon o' the 
 Close had worn it seven year, he gave it to- 
 his ploughman Robin, who died the next 
 sheep-shearing of the sweating sickness ; 
 and my poor husband, that's also dead and 
 gone, had it on him in all seasons, thatch- 
 ing or ditching, felling or weeding from the 
 Martinmas Master Gosling's brindled cow 
 tossed Goody Skillett into the horse-pond, 
 till that very Allhallows when Sir George 
 Carew's Irish hound was drowned in the 
 well ; a matter of three year and a half: and 
 since then Launce hath had them for lack 
 of better." 
 
 " A fine choice of masters, o' my life," 
 cried Tom Hart to his guests, merrily. " I 
 trust there may be no danger of hats serv- 
 ing so many." 
 
 "'Nay, Tom, that would suit us but ill, I 
 promise you," answered his ready help- 
 mate, as she was assisting to get the supper 
 in proper forwardness. " Of the two, I 
 would liefer a lack of heads for the hats, 
 than a lack of hats for the heads. For 
 mine own part, were I a sovereign princess, 
 I would make it felony, without benefit of 
 clergy, for any one to shelter his crown in 
 any covering whereof another man hath al- 
 ready had honest advantages." 
 
 " That is to say, dame," observed Jonas 
 Tietape, with a grin of surpassing drollery, 
 " an a man must needs take to other men's 
 hats, he should have no head to support his 
 own withal." 
 
 " Odds pigs, Jonas !" exclaimed the stout 
 miller, " that would not be a law to break 
 on a sudden. However ill-lined a man's 
 purse may be, methinks he could better af- 
 ford to lose his hat than his head." 
 
 " Ah ! feyther, that would I for one at 
 all times," answered the younger Dredger, 
 breaking off for a while from his dalliance 
 with the fair tapster. 
 
 " I warrant you," observed Jasper Broad- 
 foot, opening his huge mouth with a horse- 
 laugh such as might have disturbed the re- 
 pose of all the steeds in the neighborhood. 
 
 Jasper Broadfoot had not much to say; 
 but Jasper Broadfoot had at times a mon- 
 strous deal to laugh, and his little say wate 
 ever the prelude of a burst of mirth, of 
 which the end seemed more problematical 
 I than all the pages of that famous master of 
 figures, Master Euclid.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 11 
 
 "Prythee heed not snch idle fancies, 
 good gossips," here observed Goody Pop- 
 pet, with an air the while that spoke an in- 
 finite satisfaction with her fine apparel, the 
 greater portion of which was of other 
 people's wearing. " There be no harm in 
 putting on a thing that fitteth you the 
 more especial if it cost nothing though it 
 hath been worn of another." 
 
 " Truly I think not," added the miller's 
 wife, who did not disdain a cast gown from 
 the lady of the manor, or any other wor- 
 shipful person within five miles of her, 
 which she appeared in with slight regard of 
 the laws made and provided against the 
 commonalty wearing what was allowed only 
 to their betters. 
 
 " Daar heart, doth say so, iadeed !" ex- 
 claimad Penelope Tressle, the elder of the 
 two spinsters, with a smile of some am- 
 biguousness on her spare visage. " For 
 mine own part, I either mislike others ap- 
 parelling hugely, or it misliketh me, foiof 
 other than mino own gear have I never 
 donned since I have known the use of 
 homespun : and Honour hath been afflicted 
 with the like foolishness." 
 
 " Ay, that have I," said her younger sis- 
 ter, innocently, " and I thank God for it." 
 
 " And what art thou thankful for, thou 
 scarcecrow ?" cried Tommy Hart, as he 
 caught Ragged Launce up by the arm, and 
 placed him on one of the stools, where in 
 the light of the fire, he stood half abashed, 
 with one finger to his eye, -and the other 
 hand grasping the tattered remnants of his 
 lower garment. He was silent for awhile, 
 even thuugh all around him were busy 
 nuking the very "bitingest jests they could 
 think of at his expense ; and laughing 
 seemed a privilege it was evident none cared 
 to be deprived of. 
 
 " Thou hast monstrous cause for thank- 
 fulness, friend Launce," said Jonas, as he 
 was soberly intent on making the boy's jer- 
 kiu which was a world too large sit upon 
 him witli some pretensions to the court style ; 
 ever and anon standing at a distance, as 
 though to admire the sit of it, and looking 
 on the bystanders with that air of satisfac- 
 tion with which an admirable workman is 
 wont to shew his handicraft. 
 
 " What art thankful for, I prythee ?" cried 
 Tommy Hart, once again. 
 
 " Methinks I have no great call for thanks 
 at this present," observed Ragged Launce, 
 looking steadfastly on the cuff of his jerkin ; 
 then, suddenly lifting up his eyes to his 
 questioner with a famous shrewd look, 
 added, " but an thou let me have a fair new 
 
 have such notable cause for thanks, I can- 
 not help being thankful the rest of my life.'* 
 
 " Why, thou cozening rogue, thou !" ex- 
 claimed the merry hatter, joining heartily in 
 the laugh this speech raised at his expense. 
 " But, out of goodwill to thy father, to 
 whom I owe some thanks, the fair new cap 
 thou shalt have, and with it such a suit 
 withal as thy mother Maud and that grin- 
 ning varlet Jonas can provide for thee out of 
 one of mine." 
 
 This announcement was received with 
 infinite contentation ; and, as may be sup- 
 posed, none were so well content with it aa ' 
 Maud and her ragged boy, of whom the 
 latter was so in especial, and minded not a 
 whit the many rough tricks the merry knave 
 kept playing upon him. In the meanwhile, 
 Maud, assisted by Dame Hart and her more 
 matronly gossips, had finished her cookery, 
 and got it spread on the table ready for the 
 now hungry company, who, nothing loath, 
 sat themselves down to it in a presently, 
 and were soon wondrous busy in essaying 
 the several dishes. Nevertheless, busy as 
 they seemed every one of them, their mirth 
 scarce slacked an instant. The woman's 
 tailor appeared to have a greater commodity 
 of tricks, jests, strange grimaces, and odd 
 distortions- of himself than ever he had, 
 whereof he displayed a most choice store, 
 till some could not eat for laughing, and 
 others could not laugh for choking ; and, as 
 for drinking, none dared so much as put a 
 cup to his mouth in his sight, for, after the 
 resistless, ludicrous grimace that was sure 
 to come of it, a hogshead was as likely to 
 be swallowed as a mouthful. 
 
 The first to begin, and the last to leave off 
 every laugh that was set a-going was Tom- 
 my Hart or his fair helpmate ; and so excel- 
 lent an example was not like to be lost sight 
 of in such a company; whereof the conse- 
 quence was, the black -pudding cooled on the 
 trenchers, and the porridge was like to be 
 sent away scarce touched by any, had not 
 some space intervened between the fits of 
 mirth that were so general. 
 
 Of all those present there was but one 
 who looked as if taking any interest in the 
 meal before hi m, and that was no other than 
 Ragged Launce. He sat on a stool cross- 
 legged, with a smoking bowl of porridge in 
 his lap ; and though such excess of mirth, 
 shrieks, and shouts, and frantic gesticula- 
 tions proceeded from every one about him, 
 Launce continued at his porridge as grave 
 as a lawyer making a will at the death-bed 
 of his client, blowing every burning spoon- 
 ful with an intense energy that puffed up hia 
 
 cap to my head to wear on holidays, I will dirty fat cheeks as big as those of a trump.
 
 12 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 eter at the sounding of some monstrous high 
 note ; yet, in his eagerness taking of it so 
 hot, the tears ran down his eyes in stream 
 as he gulped the scalding morsel. But, 
 when he had finished the bowl, there was a 
 change, I warrant you ! In an instant he 
 was as alive to the fun as any, and, of the 
 various voices that burst forth at every fresh 
 piece of exquisite fooling on the part of Jo- 
 nas, the shrill treble of Ragged Launce was 
 far above the loudest. 
 
 In a short space, he was called upon to 
 help to remove the trenchers, which he did 
 with an exceeding readiness, taking care, as 
 he turned his back to the table, to empty in- 
 to his gaping jaws whatever eatable was 
 left thereon. 
 
 " Launce !" shouted Jonas Tietape, in a 
 voice that made the boy drop the trencher 
 he was then carrying away. He turned 
 round short, and picked up the fallen vessel, 
 but answered not, for a reason doubtless suf- 
 ficiently to the purpose. "Launce, I tell 
 thee, come hither !" 
 
 The boy slowly approached albeit with 
 a countenance of some irresolution. " My 
 trencher, sirrah ! What made thee remove 
 it without any request so to do ?" 
 
 Launce seemed suddenly suffering from 
 some convulsive action of the face, part of 
 which looked afflicted with an awful swell- 
 ing. He twisted his mouth about in an ex- 
 ceeding odd manner ; but instead of answer- 
 ing, stared very hard at the questioner, and 
 returned the trencher to the table. 
 
 " Ah, this be it out of all doubt !" exclaim- 
 ed Jonas, " but what witchcraft had conjured 
 away the goodly portion of exquisite dump- 
 ling that was on it but a moment since ?" 
 
 Launce looked as though making desper- 
 .ate efforts to answer. The corners of his 
 mouth were seen to move with violent 
 twitches ; the swelling shifted a bit, but did 
 not diminish. Nothing, however, came of 
 these movements, but a stare more fixed and 
 of less meaning than the former one. 
 
 " Hast lost the use of thy tongue, knave .'" 
 No, it was his teeth he had lost the use of. 
 In transferring the contents of the trencher 
 to the capacious cupboard, that had already 
 received the unfurntfhing of sundry others 
 equally well provided, he had on the sudden 
 sent his teeth with such force into the thick 
 piece of dough, that he could not withdraw 
 them, and he could neither swallow the un- 
 wieldly mouthful, nor disengage his jaws for 
 the purposes of speech. In short, his mouth 
 was as firmly closed as though a padlock 
 had fastened it. 
 
 "Alas, gossips, this is a sad business!" 
 cried Jonas, looking wondrously doleful. 
 
 " The loss of my dumpling I care not so 
 much. Though I do affirm it to be as deli- 
 cate eating as dumpling ever was. Yet the 
 loss of this poor boy's gift of speech is as 
 deplorable a thing as can well be thought 
 of. But I must needs essay a touch of mine 
 art. I do hope to recover both these losses." 
 Ragged Launce was getting more uneasy 
 every minute. His face had become mar- 
 velously hot and red, and his grimaces hor- 
 ribly violent. The company looked in si- 
 lence it is true, but with looks of such mean- 
 ing as any language at their commandment 
 could not half so well have expressed. 
 
 The tailor with great gravity drew the 
 boy towards him, muttering a strange jargon 
 in a rapid voice that made Ragged Launce 
 tremble to his shoes. Suddenly laying the 
 boy's head in his lap, he caught hold of his 
 nose with one hand, and his chin with the 
 other, and drew open his mouth, exhibiting 
 to all the huge lump of dumpling that seem- 
 ed io fill the whole space within. 
 
 " Behold the virtue of mine art, my mas- 
 ters !" cried Jonas ex ultingly. "Lo! I have 
 found my lost dumpling." A laugh long 
 and loud testified the general acknowledg- 
 ment of his skill as a conjuror. Launce 
 made one desperate effort a swelling rose 
 in his neck of a size awful to look on his 
 eyes became red with straining tears 
 gushed over his dingy cheeks he gasped 
 as though like one taken with a sudden fit, 
 and then drew a strong breath. " O my 
 life, I knew not but you had done with your 
 trencher !" said he, in a monstrous eager- 
 ness. 
 
 " Behold the virtue of mine art v my mas- 
 ters !" again exclaimed Jonas, in the same 
 exulting tone. " Lo ! I have found the lost 
 speech." 
 
 In the midst of the roar of mirth which 
 came on the heels of this marvellous discov- 
 ery, there was heard a loud knocking at 
 the outer door, at which all started, some 
 with astonishment, some with alarm, and 
 some with wonder. Ragged Launce in very 
 fear slunk away and hid himself under the 
 big settle, but failed not as he went to take 
 with him a huge roasted pippin with cloves 
 in it, that lay with others close at hand on 
 the table ; but, quick as he had done it, it 
 escaped not the eye of his busy mother, who 
 on the instant pursued him with the ladle 
 she had in her hand, and, as he was duck- 
 ing under the settle, hit him so sore a stroke 
 with it on his pole, he set up a cry loud 
 enough to alarm all the watch in town. 
 Nevertheless, seeing he was likely to have 
 no worse usage, as the enraged Maud for- 
 tx>re any further proceedings, hearing a re-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 petition of the rude knocking more violent 
 than before, he quitted his crying, and with 
 one hand rubbing his bruised pate, with the 
 other he thrust the pippin into his mouth, 
 and soon lost all sense of pain, or fear either 
 in its enjoyment. 
 
 "Who can it be?" 
 
 " What can any seek here at this untime- 
 ly hour ?" 
 
 " It cannot be thieves surely." 
 
 "Pray Heaven it be not fire !" 
 
 " Hath any ill-mannerly rogue been set 
 on to disturb our pleasure ?" 
 
 " Some drunken varlet mayhap, wh'" '"ill- 
 mistaken his lodging." 
 
 " Perchance it be some one for me." 
 
 " Nay, I expect 'tis I who am wanted." 
 
 " As I live, it was an awful knocking !" 
 
 " An it should be anything not of this 
 world." 
 
 " Alack ! do not say so, I prythee !" 
 
 " Mercy on us, there it be again ! Oh it 
 cannot help being a warning for us to pre- 
 pare for our ends." 
 
 And thus every one cried out something, 
 and every one imagined something, but 
 none looked inclined to see what something 
 it was. This state of things was made a 
 thousand times worse by the woman's tailor 
 suddenly assuming an aspect of the most 
 absolute affright ever witnessed, whilst at 
 the same time he uttered a cry so terrible 
 all the women shrieked, and rushed into the 
 arms of the men nearest them with such 
 wondrous force, more than one was borne 
 to the ground, and the rest were so jostled 
 together, a flock of timid sheep set on by a 
 dog could not have got in so small a com- 
 pass. 
 
 Jonas stood aloof from the fear-struck 
 throng with his hands on his hips, and his 
 mouth at its utmost stretch, giving vent to 
 so boisterous a peal of laughing as even 
 those old rafters, familiar as they were with 
 such sounds, had had no knowledge of. 
 
 "Why, thou intolerable -faint hearts!" 
 exclaimed he, as soon as he could get pro- 
 per command of his speech. " If it be any 
 thing less substantial than Goody Poppet's 
 stout wench, with her lantern to see home 
 her mistress, I have no more brains than a 
 three-hooped pot." Whereupon the merry 
 knave threw open the door, and flying like 
 a wheel, turning round upon his hands and 
 feet, he passed with a mischievous chuckle 
 through the next chamber lo the house-door, 
 though the way was so dark yon could not 
 see your hand in it. 
 
 This declaration somewhat pacified the 
 affrighted company, whereof the male part 
 Bcemed the readiest satisfied the most 
 
 scared being by far the quickest to assume 
 an air of indifferency the miller and his 
 son boldly saying they were assured all 
 along it could be no other than their gossip's 
 handmaid ; but Tommy Hart honestly said, 
 he had not been in so horrible a fear all his 
 days, and vowed he would never rest till he 
 had served that " snipttaffeta fellow," as he 
 styled the tailor, with such another trick. 
 
 As they were rapidly gaining confidence, 
 and Goody Poppet was preparing lor putting 
 herself under the guidance of her usual at- 
 tendant in dark nights to return home, the 
 _ioor opened. Every one expected the stout 
 wench so well known to them, but there 
 presently entered one who was no more like 
 unto her, than is the golden sun to a Ban- 
 bury cheese. 
 
 The hood with which her delicate sweet 
 face was pnwp) one( j was suddenly thrown 
 back from ner shoulders by the hand of Jo- 
 nas Tietape, who had entered with her, and 
 there was displayed the features of a young 
 girl, of not more than twelve years, flushed 
 as though with some great exertion, and 
 wearing withal a troubled air, that did give 
 to its surpassing loveliness an expression so 
 touching, the horridest villain could not help 
 feeling its exquisite influence. 
 
 "Susannah!" cried Joan Hart, evidently 
 in a wondrous amazement as she recogniz- 
 ed her youthful visitor. " Why, what hath 
 brought thee here at this untimely hour ?" 
 
 " Truly a great need !" replied as musi- 
 cal soft a voice as ear ever heard this side 
 of heaven ; and then she wrung her dainty 
 little hands, and looked so pitiful, all present 
 felt their hearts melt within them. " An it 
 please you, good, sweet aunt, you return 
 with me to Shottery on the instant." 
 
 The tender-hearted Joan stopped not for 
 questioning. Leaving the child to the sym- 
 pathy of her guests she flew for such things 
 as were needful for her to put on for the 
 journey, and before the more inquisitive of 
 the company had extracted, from amidst her 
 tears and sorrowful exclamations, aught be- 
 side her having run all the way over the 
 fields, without any companion, in so dismal 
 a night, Joan had returned ready to start. 
 Her husband grasped his cudgel, and, hav- 
 ing quickly lighted a lantern, and put him- 
 self in a like readiness, he bade his guests 
 " good-night," and was soon anxiously ac- 
 companying the fair child and his excellent 
 helpmate into the street.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 All I have done is little yet to purpose, 
 
 But, ere I leave him, I will perceive him blush ; 
 
 And make him feel the passions that I do, 
 
 And every true lover will assist me in't, 
 
 And send me their sad sighs to blow it home, 
 
 For Cupid wants a dart to wound this bosom. 
 
 THE LAWS OF CANDY. 
 
 Fred. She's free as you or I am, and may have, 
 By that prerogative, a liberal choice 
 In the bestowing of her love. 
 Lod . Bestowing ? 
 
 If it be so, she has bestowed herself 
 Upon a trim youth. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN. 
 
 THE musician sat turning of his cittern, 
 close upon where sat an ancient gentle- 
 woman, with whom it was evident he was 
 not only upon terms of some intimacy, but, 
 if looks and courteous words denote aught, 
 the exquisite and very vehement gallantry 
 of his manner towards her had touched hjr 
 affections somewhat. Of a verity, he was 
 a man like enough to impress a woman's 
 heart with a senses of the most absolute af- 
 fectionateness, for not only had he in visage 
 and person such gifts as are usually all- 
 powerful with a fair lady, the which were 
 sjt off in a vqry gallant, peach-colored suit, 
 with a cloak of murray velvet, faced with 
 fur, and all corresponding appurtenances ; 
 but there was that in his look, in his voice, 
 and in his every motion albeit there was a 
 marvellous stillness in the homage and ten- 
 derness with which he appeared to regard 
 his companion; that smacked of an age gone 
 by thin spoke him to be of no common 
 sort. 
 
 Cortes, the tall, antiquated, stately dame, 
 who looked into his eyes with so manifest a 
 conceit of ecstacy, was not of that proper 
 condition that would in ordinary cases at- 
 tract so admirable a gallant. She lacked 
 youth most abominably ; and of charms had 
 she no more than would serve to show she 
 was not quite a dressed-up-anatomy. Her 
 parchment visage albeit there was paint 
 enough on it to have done some service to- 
 wards creating any Red Lion or flaming 
 Phojnix worthy of being the pride of the 
 whole city only gave signs of life in the 
 constant trick she had of forcing her mouth, 
 which resembled a hole in a hose that had 
 been horribly boggled in the mending, into 
 the fashion of smiling ; and in the no less 
 continual habit of hers, of raising her 
 sunken eyes from the edge of her robe, that 
 stood out all around her still as any board, un- 
 to those of the handsome musician, and then 
 
 as suddenly letting them fall to renew their 
 long acquaintance with the fading pattern 
 of her dress. 
 
 Her close vest and round ruff, her long 
 waist and stiff farthingale, her lace cuffs 
 and trimmings, with her gown of faded 
 satin, looked as though done on stone ; and, 
 had it not been for a sort of palsy, which 
 she strove to disguise by keeping her chin 
 fixed in her left hand, as though it were in 
 a pillory, that gave her head an inconstant 
 humor of motion, the curls of her perriwig 
 set with streamers in the old Venetian 
 fashion, with a feather at the side might 
 as easily have passed for a cunning piece of 
 statuary. Her right hand, however, par- 
 took not of such stillness ; for, though it 
 was close on winter, and a pleasant fire of 
 logs was burning on the tire beside her, 
 she kept it beating the air with a huge fan 
 very vigorously ; ever and anon furling 
 it quickly, and tapping of her companion 
 playfully, or shaking it at him, when his 
 compliments seemed to her to have a mean- 
 ing in them which appealed somewhat too 
 directly to her too susceptible nature. 
 
 "Nay, Master Dulcimer, thou mu?t in- 
 deed," exclaimed the dame, with an exceed- 
 ing earnestness, furling her fan briskly, and 
 then as rapidly opening it to the full display 
 of a most moving scene from the romance 
 of Launcelot du Lac, painted 'thereon. 
 
 " By those divine and love-darting orbs, 
 I am in no voice," replied the musician, in 
 a tone of exquisite melancholy, as he struck 
 two or three tender chords upon his instru- 
 ment. 
 
 " Oh, thou silly flatterer, thou !" cried she, 
 shaking her closed fan at him, though with 
 a smirk on her visage that would have as- 
 sured a less observant spectator she was 
 well 'pleased at such language. " But, pry- 
 thee, tell me . not thy voice is like to fail 
 thee, for I have set my heart on hearing 
 this ballad." 
 
 " A villanous cold, an it please you, 
 sweetest lady," said the gallant, bending 
 over his cittern to the complete hiding hi * 
 face for the nonce from the keenness of her 
 looks, as he added, in a sort of passionate 
 whisper, " Sooth to say, the foolish liking I 
 have for singing o'nights under the chamber 
 that holds such a pearl of price, hath occa- 
 sioned me so monstrous a hoarseness, I 
 doubt I have more notes than a cuckoo." 
 
 " Dear heart, thou shall have a posset on 
 the instant !" exclaimed the enamored 
 dame, rising with as much state in her 
 movements as tenderness in her looks. 
 
 " Nay, by this heavenly light, I will nevei
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 allow it, sweet Mistress Deborah !" cried 
 the musician, suddenly rising with a famous 
 humility in his countenance. " I am scarce 
 fit to be noticed of such excellence." 
 
 " Thy hoarseness must be cured, Master 
 Dulcimer," said the lady, curtseying to the 
 very ground to the low bending of the gal- 
 lant before her, as he with the deepest air of 
 reverence took her hand to lead her back to 
 her seat, from which she had got a pace or 
 two. " Believe me, Master Dulcimer, 'tis 
 the exquisitest posset ever made the sove- 
 reignest thing on earth for a hoarseness. 
 Her gracious highness Queen Mary, of glo- 
 rious memory hath oft applied to my poor 
 ability for the concocting of it, and hath ex- 
 pressed ' wonderful comfort ere she had 
 scarce swallowed a mouthful." 
 
 " I should scorn myself ever after, could 
 I suffer my humbleness to be raised by such 
 matchless goodness, to taste what the high- 
 est of the land must have been but too proud 
 to have enjoyed at such fair hands." 
 
 " They were well pleased enough doubt- 
 less, Master Dulcimer. Not only her late 
 Highness, who honored me with many to- 
 kens of her most princely regard, but that 
 puissant and most excellent sovereign Henry 
 the Eighth, and his sweet son, the* young 
 King Edward, who is now a saint in Heav- 
 en, as likewise her present Highness the 
 Queen's Majesty, hath granted me many 
 precious favors ; for, as thou art I know 
 well acquainted, I have lived among princes 
 and nobles all my days." 
 
 "Of a surety, that accounteth for the 
 princely and noble air thou possesseth so 
 completely." 
 
 " In sooth I know not," said the lady with 
 another majestic bend to the ground, in re- 
 turn for one of a like kind which followed 
 the civil speech of her gallant. " But thy 
 hoarseness, Master Dulcimer, getteth no 
 remedy all this while. As it hath been got 
 in my service, I cannot but endeavor its 
 cure with all speed." 
 
 At this she was again, in all the dignity 
 of a queen, sweeping forward to procure the 
 promised posset, when the musician once 
 more, with a reverence even more respect- 
 ful, and a concern more absolute than he 
 exhibited on the previous occasion, took her 
 hand with many fine spun expressions of 
 humbleness, and led her back to her seat. 
 A little more stately colloquy followed, full 
 of flattery on one side, and of vanity on the 
 other. But as the speech of Master Dulci- 
 mer was evidently getting terribly thick, till 
 it became more like the croaking of a raven 
 than the voice of a gallant, she became 
 mcustrous eager the posset should be tried. 
 
 At last when she found the flattering hu- 
 mility of her companion was in no way to 
 be moved, and possibly in some measure 
 tired of the many bendings to the floor, her 
 notions of proper ceremony bade her make 
 in return for the many equally lowly her 
 gallant honored her with at every fine 
 speech, a thought seemed suddenly to have 
 entered into her head, the which, had she 
 not been so intent on the sweet things she 
 heard, would have found a place there at the 
 very first. 
 
 " By my fay, I had clean forgot !" said 
 she ; then raising her voice to a pitch some- 
 what of the sharpest, she cried, " Mistress 
 Varnon ! haste, I prythee, and make a pos- 
 set for worthy Master Dulcimer." 
 
 This speech was directed to a most comely 
 maiden, who stood concealed from view in 
 one of the deep windows. Possibly she 
 had gone there for the better seeing some 
 music she held in her hand ; and perchance 
 the youth at her side was offering what as- 
 sistance he had at his commandment in the 
 proper understanding of it, but methinks, if 
 thjs had been the case, there had been no 
 such need as there seemed for the passion- 
 ate words that. one gave the other, and the 
 deep fondness which shone in their looks, 
 and in their exceeding closeness. Surely, 
 it needed not the youth's hand locked in that 
 of the maiden, whilst the other arm encom- 
 passed her girdle with so firm a pressure, 
 her little ruff ever and anon seemed like to 
 be crushed against his jerkin, for the proper 
 understanding of music of any kind ; but 
 this was not aU. These two, it was evi- 
 dent, had been as regardless of the anti- 
 quated dame and her formal gallant, as were 
 that goodly pair, of them. Their loving 
 dialogue, for such it was out of all doubt, so 
 filled every sense, not only were Their com- 
 panions lost sight of, but of the whole world 
 were they in a like forgetfulness. 
 
 " Methinks it cannot but be wrong, my 
 dear lord," murmured the blushing maiden, 
 her heart beating against her lover's breast, 
 like a bird newly caged fluttering the bars 
 of its prison-house. " 'Tis true aunt De- 
 borah useth me with exceeding harshness, 
 but I can scarce reconcile me to the part 
 your friend is playing, which cannot but end 
 in her great unhappiness, and to leave her 
 in a state of such terrible disappointment as 
 must needs come of it, when all is discover- 
 ed, looketh to me cruel and unmaidenly." 
 
 " Tush, sweet heart !" exclaimed the dis- 
 guised gallant, pressing her to him more 
 fondly. " The usage you have at her hands 
 is such, that for it nothing can be too great 
 a punishment. She hath employed her ut>
 
 16 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 most for the complete marring of your hap- 
 piness, merely because the Queen like^h not 
 my Lord Southampton to marry, and so 
 leave her with one servant the less, of whom 
 she can command attentions that in her old 
 age she should have never thought of; and 
 to be in favor with her Highness, Dame De- 
 borah, hath not only done me all manner of 
 ill offices with the Queen, but hath spoke 
 of you to her in so horrible, infamous a man- 
 ner, as your pure heart can have no notion 
 of." 
 
 "In very sooth now, dear Wriothesley, 
 hath she done me this huge unkindness ?" 
 earnestly inquired his indignant mistress, 
 whilst big tears trembling on the long lashes 
 of her fair eyes did most eloquently speak 
 her sense of her kinswoman's injustice. 
 
 "As I live, my sweeting, 'tis so!" re- 
 plied the youth with a like earnestness. " I 
 was told of it by one who was present, and 
 I shortly after received of the Queen a sharp 
 rating, with numberless proud peremptory 
 terms, for paying any sort of heed to one so 
 discreditably spoken of." 
 
 The lashes of the fair listener became- so 
 heavily laden with those most choice pearls, 
 that they could no longer have footing there, 
 and came stealing over her downy cheek as 
 if well inclined to linger upon such dainty 
 ground. 
 
 " Sweetest life !" whispered her lover 
 with increased vehemency of love at the 
 sight of her tears. " There is no bearing 
 this monstrous tyranny. Will's stratagem 
 is the very properest stratagem that could 
 have been devised, for without it how could 
 I have had access to thee, my life ! my 
 heart! for a single instant? and 'tis her 
 own unconsionable vanity that is to blame, 
 if she tak^ to heart at the discovery, the be- 
 ing made so absolute a gull. But I am as- 
 sured no harm will come of it. Her heart 
 is as stiff as her stomacher, and she hath 
 about as much feeling as hath the oak floor 
 she passeth over with so stately a step." 
 
 Mistress Varnon wiped away the tears 
 that rested on her cheeks, as though they 
 meant to settle there all their days ; but she 
 attempted not any sort of reply. 
 
 " On the knees of my heart, I beseech 
 thee secure my happiness !" continued the 
 devoted lover, pressing the trembling girl to 
 him with a greater shew of affectionateness 
 than ever. " I have all things in readiness ; 
 it needeth but thy consent to be free for ever 
 of the infamous slanders, and continual ty- 
 rannies to which thou hath of late been sub- 
 jected." 
 
 The looks of Mistress Varnon were fixed 
 on the floor, and an expression of indecision 
 
 appeared to linger over her exquisite sweet 
 countenance, but her heart was beating fas- 
 ter than she thought any heart had done, 
 since the world was made. 
 
 " Do I not love thee, a thousand times 
 better than life !" murmured the young no- 
 bleman in a tone of tender melancholy, it 
 was scarce possible for one of her loving na- 
 ture to listen to unmoved. " In honest truth, 
 my whole soul is so wrapt in thy infinite 
 perfections, if thou deny me the precious 
 gift of them, I shall take such a hatred to 
 my miserable life, I will to Ireland on the 
 instant, in the hope some rebellious kern 
 may help me to a speedy riddance of it." 
 
 " Nay, that thou shall never do," replied 
 the loving maiden, in tones so soft and low, 
 and trembling withal, they could scarce be 
 heard. 
 
 "Wilt consent, then, my sweeting, to 
 what I have in my exceeding love for thee 
 proposed?" asked her lover, with a look 
 that spoke how much depended on her an- 
 swer. Her lips just opened, and at the same 
 moment her head drooped upon his shoulder. 
 The reply can only be guessed by the man- 
 ner in which it was received. The lover 
 pressed his fair companion in an embrace, 
 that seemed not likely to be ended shortly ; 
 and he only raised his lips from the rosy 
 resting-place they had found without any 
 effort at resistance, when her name, repeated 
 in her aunt's sharpest tone, and a warning 
 cough from Master Dulcimer, awakened 
 the devoted maiden from a sense of bliss to 
 which she had given herself up, heart and 
 soul. 
 
 Recovering as quickly as she could the 
 music that had dropped from her hand in 
 the ecstacy of her feelings, she was busily 
 pointing out to her lover, seemingly equally 
 intent en the notes as herself, a passage 
 which they were trying in a low voice, 
 when the tall figure of her kinswoman, 
 handed along by the disguised music-mas- 
 ter, with a formality that made any great 
 speed impossible, came upon their hiding- 
 place. 
 
 " Excellent proper scholars, o' my life !" 
 exclaimed the pretended Master Dulcimer. 
 " Mistress Varnon proveth herself worthy 
 of the lessons of her most admirable sweet 
 mistress." 
 
 Here followed the courteous bend that 
 closed every such sugared compliment the 
 which of necessity was acknowledged by 
 another from the lady equally ceremonious. 
 
 " In sooth, Master Dulcimer, I must needs 
 own she is a close scholar, and an apt," re- 
 plied the antiquated virgin ; the suspicions 
 excited, and the sharp reproof she had pre-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 17 
 
 pared, changing, in consequence of the 
 timely flattery, into smiles and good will. 
 " And she hath of late so liked thfe singing 
 of madrigals, she is no less impatient than 
 am I for the coming of yourself and boy to 
 help us in the indulgence of this exquisite 
 rare pastime. But 1 must not let aught in- 
 terfere with the curing of your hoarseness. 
 Go, Mistress Varnon, use thy utmost skill 
 in the making of my choice posset ; prepare 
 it with all proper speed ; and take with thee 
 Master Dulcimer's boy into the garden to 
 help thee gather the herbs that are neces- 
 sary in the making of it." 
 
 It is doubtful whether the young lovers 
 were more pleased to escape from the room, 
 than was the stately spinster to get rid of 
 them. She had a little scheme in her mind, 
 intended to force her companion into a con- 
 fession of the unconquerable passion she 
 fancied she had inspired him with, for, 
 though he had said many tender and gallant 
 things, she had heard nothing of a sort to be 
 compared with the intensity of her own af- 
 fection ; but his reservedness she attributed 
 to his modesty. She could not believe him 
 to be no better than a poor musician. In 
 her own mind there was no conviction so 
 perfect as that he was some prince or other, 
 so smitten with her attractions, as to wil- 
 lingly seek disguise to obtain the pleasure 
 of her sweet society. His appearance, his 
 manners, and his language, she had for 
 some time passed, pronounced to be as a 
 long acquaintance with courts could alone 
 obtain ; and in this rare delusion she fooled- 
 herself to the top of her bent. 
 
 She considered that he wanted encour- 
 agement, and that nothing could afford it so 
 well as a declaration of her feelings in his 
 favor. How to bring this about in a dis- 
 creet and maidenly manner she had long 
 thought of, and at last satisfied herself she 
 had conceived a plan excellently well adapt- 
 ed for her purpose. She had scarce well 
 rid herself of her exquisite fair niece and 
 her disguised lover, when she turned a gaze 
 upon her companion of such infinite affec- 
 tionateness, as no language can do justice 
 to, whereupon, meeting his bright glance, 
 in the which lurked though she saw it not 
 a look of sly pleasantry, she as suddenly 
 cast her eyes to the ground, and sighed as 
 though her heart must needs break in a pre- 
 sently. 
 
 The seeming musician regarded her for 
 a moment with some sort of compassionate- 
 ness, as though loath to carry the deception 
 further; but the very absolute ridiculous- 
 ness of the love-sick anatomy before him, 
 together with what he knew of her infamous 
 
 behavior to her gentle kinswoman, and a 
 remembrance of how completely the happi- 
 ness of two young and amiable people de- 
 pended on his successfully carrying on the 
 jest, satisfied his conscience for the nonce ; 
 and furnishing his looks with the proper 
 gravity, and his carriage with the customa- 
 ry starchness, he bowed himself upon her 
 hand, which he took, into his own with a 
 monstrous show of gallantry, and in words 
 of the movingest sort, requested, as he was 
 denied the most sweet delight of entertain- 
 ing her with his voice, she would, out of her 
 marvellous condescension, lap his spirit in 
 that rapture he never failed to enjoy to an 
 exquisite excess, when listening to her in- 
 comparable performance. 
 
 The only reply she gave was conveyed in 
 a sort of hysteric sob a sudden casting of 
 her eyes to the ceiling, as sudden a clasping 
 in both her own of the hand of her gallant 
 then a look at him brimming over with af- 
 fectionateness and lastly, a sudden move- 
 ment with stateliest steps, her eyes fixed on 
 him all the way to the virginals. 
 
 " Oh, Master Dulcimer !" exclaimed she, 
 in a most perturbed voice as she sunk on 
 the seat that stood before that instrument. 
 
 Master Dulcimer said never a word ; for, 
 having seated her, and made his leg with 
 the gravity expected of him, he was dili- 
 gently employing himself in turning over 
 the leaves of Thomas Morley's " First Booke 
 of Ballets to five Voyces," which, with va- 
 rious other madrigals, pastorals, roundelays, 
 ayres, and catches by John Bennett, Thomas 
 VVeelkes. John Farmer, William Bird, John 
 Dowland, and John Wilbye ; with a goodly 
 heap of older works by Sheryngham, Davy, 
 Browne, Sir Thomas Phillips, Fairfax, 
 Cornish, Turges, Tudor, and Banister, were 
 partly on the virginals, and on a stand ad- 
 joining. 
 
 Whilst thus employed, Aunt Deborah had 
 time to recover in some measure from the 
 intense pleasurable bewilderment into which 
 her gallant had thrown her, and, with an ex- 
 ceeding audible sigh, and a marvellous lov- 
 ing glance, she began a few bars of quaint 
 and pleasing symphony. Ere she had pro- 
 ceeded far, however, she stopped. 
 
 " In sooth," she murmured, with a smile 
 that might have been becoming enough 
 some forty years before ; " in very sooth, I 
 know not what to sing." 
 
 " Such exquisite sweet singing as thou 
 singest at all times," replied her companion, 
 somewhat enamoredly, " rendereth the 
 choice of but slight concern. Be assured, 
 whatever pleaseth thee to sing, shall infi- 
 nitely please mo to hear."
 
 18 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 " Excellent Master Dulcimer !" exclaim- 
 ed his antiquated mistress, in a very fervor. 
 
 " Hast thou no moving ballad, most ad- 
 mirable Mistress Deborah no touching dit- 
 ty that should express, with a natural force, 
 the desperate passion of some love-lorn 
 heart? Hast thou " 
 
 " Have I not, sweetest Master Dulcimer !" 
 replied the lady, clasping her hands power- 
 fully together, and taftmg another sharp 
 scrutiny of the ceiling. 
 
 " A song of such ravishing sort must 
 needs command my very deepest attentive- 
 ness," observed the disguised musician. 
 
 " But it is one of my poor contrivance," 
 whispered Aunt Deborah, her look again 
 downcast. " A trifle, a very trifle, dear 
 Master Dulcimer, which thy superior skill 
 cannot but despise." 
 
 How the gentleman protested the great- 
 ness of his opinion of any production from 
 such a source, may readily be imagined ; 
 and the modest depreciation with which the 
 lady spoke of her performance ere she could 
 be got to commence the singing of it, it 
 needeth no great stretch of fancy neither to 
 have a proper notion of. Suffice it, that, 
 after many delays, a wonderful display of 
 affection in her looks, and with a constant 
 fire of sighs thut ought to have melted the 
 most obdurate heart, Aunt Deborah betook 
 herself to her instrument, and, in a voice 
 of the shrillest, commenced the following 
 words : 
 
 AUNT DEBORAH'S DITTY. 
 
 " Honey-sweet lips! Most tempting fruit that 
 
 groweth, 
 
 Fain would I taste, if tasting there might be : 
 Honey-sweet lips ! Most rosy flower that 
 
 bloweth, 
 Fain would I own, if such might bloom for 
 
 me. 
 
 Oh, doleful strait ! The tree doth grow so high, 
 I might o'er-reach, would I such fruit devour ; 
 Oh, sad mischance ! The plant so low doth lie, 
 I fear to fall stooping to pluck the flower. 
 Honey-sweet lips !" 
 
 It was with a great to do the disguised 
 master of music kept the grave and deeply- 
 attentive visage he had all along command- 
 ed; for, in sober truth, the very monstrous 
 pas&ionateness put on by the starched and 
 ceremonious maid of honor to Her High- 
 ness Queen Mary, of sanguinary memory, 
 was so extremely ridiculous, that any ordi- 
 nary man might have laughed his head off 
 ere his mind would have well got rid of the 
 humor it would have put him into. Such 
 turning up of eyes now to her companion, 
 
 and anon to that part of the ceiling tha 
 directly above her head such sugared 
 
 at was 
 looks 
 
 that no conserve could have been half so 
 sweet, had not the vessel that furnished them 
 had more in it of the fashion of the empty 
 gallipot than of any such tempting cates as 
 good housewife's do put in them such 
 smiles of infinite love as must have pene- 
 trated the very core of a millstone, had they 
 beamed on any thing human, of whatsoever 
 sort, more desirable than the shrivelled-up 
 lips from which they originated such 
 blushes of modest bashfulness, a tithe of 
 which would have sufficed the wants of St. 
 Ursula's eleven thousand in any extremity 
 such sighs as no undone church-organ 
 ever gave, whereof the bellows lacked wind 
 beyond all toleration such devotion, such 
 prudence, such longing, such coyness, such 
 hope, such doubt, and such fear, were never 
 exhibited in the singing of any ditty since 
 the beginning of time. 
 
 Nevertheless, the assumed Master Dulci- 
 mer leaned on the virginals ovei against the 
 singer, beating of the time as it were with 
 his hand, and seeming to be quite rapt with 
 such bewitching minstrelsy albeit, las mid- 
 riff was in extreme jeopardy with his ef- 
 forts to restrain his mirth. Peradventure, 
 he dared not trust himself to speak, though 
 he had no lack of encouragement so to do, 
 for speech gave he none at all ; yet the suf- 
 fusion of his eyes, which arose from his 
 powerful struggle to preserve his gravity, 
 was regarded by the love-sick Aunt Debo- 
 rah as a sure sign her ditty had touched 
 him to the quick, and after a short pause to 
 allow time for it to produce its due effect, 
 she proceeded : 
 
 SECOND VERSE. 
 
 " Tempt me no more ! Wijh excellence so 
 
 winning, 
 
 Scarce can 1 look, and not as soon be won ; 
 Tempt me no more ! Though knowing nought 
 
 of sinning, 
 
 With such sweet sin I needs must be undone. 
 Oh, sunless joy ! Methinks these sugared baita 
 
 Do hold to me an unresisting lure ; 
 Oh, nameless bliss ! Methinks there honor 
 
 waits, 
 
 With honest bonds to make my wish secure. 
 Honey-sweet lipa !" 
 
 Nature could hold out no longer. The 
 assumed Master Dulcimer was just on the 
 point of giving way to those powerful in- 
 clinations he had with such huge difficulty 
 withheld, when, as the singer, with amorous 
 sighs, and looks, blushes and smiles, a 
 thousand times more exquisitely ridiculous
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 than those which accompanied the singing 
 of the first verse, closed her ditty as it" the 
 pent-up passion she had so long kept within 
 proper bounds had now burst its barriers 
 she had no sooner got to the last note than, 
 with an energy that nigh pressed the breath 
 out of his body, she on a sudden threw her- 
 self forward into his arms, and doubtless 
 would, if she had dared, have helped herself 
 right liberally to the tempting objects that 
 had formed the burthen of her song. 
 
 The gallant was so taken by surprise, he 
 could do nothing against such an assault 
 h^it struggle as he best could to get free ; 
 certes, Aunt Deborah had got so close a hold 
 of him, and he was placed in so exceeding 
 awkward a position, his liberation looked to 
 be no easy matter. At last it came with a 
 quickness he h-td hardly dared to hope. 
 
 Whilst he was tugging and twisting with 
 more vigor than gallantry to rid himself of 
 the embrace of his antiquated mistress, the 
 door of the chamber was suddenly burst 
 open, and there rushed into the room, seem- 
 ingly out of breath with the speed he had 
 used in getting into it, the long-legged, iron- 
 visaged, ancient serving-man, that was at 
 once her steward, groom of the chambers, 
 gardener, bailiff, cellarer, clerk of the kitch- 
 en, running-footman, and a good score of 
 other callings, and had been so ever since 
 he could clean a trencher, empty a flask, or 
 grow a salad. 
 
 That he was intent on the saying of some- 
 t'r.nor of the very utmost consequence there 
 could be no manner of doubt; nought but 
 the most absolute necessity could ever have 
 induced a serving-man, used to the rigorous 
 formalities of so stern a mistress, to break 
 into her privacy in so rude a manner as he 
 had done. He would himself have thought 
 the world was at an end, had he dared to do 
 so on any common occasion. But, what- 
 ever was his intent, of a surety he said 
 nothing, for he had scarce got well into the 
 room, when he stopped short in his speed as 
 though he had seen a basilisk. 
 
 He, who had ever regarded the stately 
 Aunt Deborah with an awe scarcely less 
 than that he would have felt standing in the 
 presence of the Queen's Highness, and 
 would as soon have expected to have dis- 
 covered the grave Lord Burghley cutting 
 p'irsss in Tothill Fields, as his proud and 
 formal old mistress allowing of the most in- 
 nocent familiarity from an individual of the 
 opposite sex, even had he been a prince, be- 
 held her in a situation with so mean a per- 
 son as a singing-master, which, to put on it 
 tiie most charitable construction, was ex- 
 ceeding equivocal. He was struck dumb 
 
 with surprise and consternation, and stood 
 with mouth wide agape, and eyes staring 
 with all their power. 
 
 But how did Aunt Deborah take this un- 
 timely interruption ? At sight of her serv- 
 ing man, from whom she had exacted the 
 respect due from one having absolute power 
 and empire, she was nigh ready to die with 
 rage, vexation, and pride. She who had 
 set herself up as so immaculate, of such 
 wondrous dignity, of such unparalleled per- 
 fection in all things, as one so infinitely su- 
 perior to those around her she was not to* 
 be approached without every possible show 
 of humility and reverence ; to be detected 
 by her own serving-man in an act so op- 
 posed to her former bearing, as having ten- 
 der dalliance with a gallant, was shame un- 
 speakable. The offence of finding her under 
 such circumstances would at any time have 
 been beyond forgiveness bearing the rude 
 character the old man's intrusion did, it was 
 deadly. 
 
 The affectionate old spinster resumed her 
 starched appearance with what facility she 
 could, and livid with shame and anger, she 
 glared upon the bewildered and terrified do- 
 mestic. "Begone, rascal!" cried she, in 
 those deep tones that express, much more 
 than violent, loud exclamations of any sort, 
 the powerful feelings under which the 
 speaker is laboring. " Out of my house ! 
 Pack, on the instant I An I see thy villa- 
 nous visage another hour, I will have thee 
 scourged out of my presence !" 
 
 " But, mistress ! prythee my lady !" ex- 
 claimed the serving-man, trembling, and 
 pale with fear. 
 
 " Dost dare speak to me ?" replied the 
 enraged dame, stretching out her arm in 
 the direction of the door ; then adding, in a 
 higher key, "Begone, knave !" 
 
 But to do her bidding the poor man had 
 not the power. His knees knocked togeth- 
 er, his hands and head shook as with the 
 palsy, and he looked as one about to give 
 up the ghost. 
 
 " Strip off my apparelling, and the badge 
 of the Varnons, and get thee hence for an 
 unmannerly, meddling jacknapes." 
 
 " But Mistress Varnon hath run off with 
 the musician's boy, an it please you my la- 
 dy!" stammered out the serving-man, as 
 well as his fear would allow him. 
 
 Aunt Deborah gave a sudden start at this 
 intelligence, and her paleness was visible, in 
 despite of her paint. 
 
 " What sayest, fellow ?" demanded she 
 solemnly. " Dost dare to say a Varnon is 
 capable of such infamy ?" 
 
 The man, as he gained courage, told his
 
 20 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 tale ; which was to the effect that, as he was 
 working in the garden, he spied the musi- 
 cian's boy and Mistress Varnon in a won- 
 derful loving humor, and thinking their be- 
 havior marvellous strange, he kept an eye 
 on their movements. They seemed for a 
 while to be gathering of herbs, but made no 
 great progress in their labor. In their ram- 
 bles they at last came to the wicket at the 
 bottom of the garden, and they were so 
 loving and so intent on each other's dis- 
 course, they took no heed that they were 
 'watched. They presently opened the gate 
 and went out, and, on the man's going there 
 to see what they could be at, which he did 
 not like doing too quickly, he beheld them 
 both galloping away on fleet horses. 
 
 Aunt Deborah listened in a state of breath- 
 less amazement, evidently in such a rage 
 with her gentle kinswoman, her anger 
 against the serving-man was clean forgot. 
 She was uttering the bitterest denunciations 
 against her for bringing such shame upon 
 her family by her intolerable infamousness 
 in running off with so low a person as a 
 musician's boy ; when her attendant having 
 obtitined some slight sense of security, 
 ventured to say that he believed the musi- 
 cian's boy was no musician's boy at all, nor 
 any thing of the sort, for, as he was looking 
 after the runaways at the gate, a swash- 
 buckler-looking knave, in a terrible swag- 
 gering mood, came up to him, and bade him 
 tell his mistress to be under no concern for 
 the disappearance of the young lady, for 
 my Lord Southampton had her safe, and that 
 they would be married within rive minutes 
 of their leaving the house. Moreover, he 
 had given him a tester, to tell one Master 
 Dulcimer to join his friend instantly. 
 
 " Master Dulcimer !" screamed his mis- 
 tress, looking around ; but if she sought 
 that admirable master of music, her eyes 
 must have been of a very choice sort to 
 have seen him, considering that he was then 
 on a swift horse, on the track of his young 
 friend, and the lovely partner of his flight, 
 having made the best of his way out of 
 Aunt Deborah's house, as soon as h;; found 
 himself released from her too affectionate 
 embrace. 
 
 The love-sick virgin now saw that she 
 "had been cozened. She had managed to 
 regain her huge fan, and had employed it, 
 in its wonted manner, with great diligence, 
 when she suddenly furled it, with a look as 
 full of hate and rage as might have be- 
 longed to a Medusa, broke it over the head 
 of the astonished menial, and stalked out of 
 the room, desperately intent on vengeance. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 Beware, delighted poets, when yo i sing, 
 To welcome nature, in the early spring, 
 
 Your numerous feet not tread 
 The banks of Avon ; for each flower 
 (As it ne'er knew a sun or shower) 
 
 Hangs there the pensive head. 
 
 D'AVENANT. 
 
 Here I lay, and thus I bore my point. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " Now, dame, prythee put forth thy beat 
 housewifery, for amongst our company this 
 day will be one for whom I have an especial 
 respect." 
 
 " "Pis Master Shakspeare, then, I lay my 
 life on't." 
 
 " Ay, that is it, dame ; and one more wor- 
 thy of ull honor either amongst such as be 
 players, or with folk of any condition, dis- 
 tinction, or goodness, whatsoever, we are 
 not like to see in our time, I promise you." 
 
 " Marry, he shall have the best enter- 
 tainment we can give him, and with such 
 heartiness of good-will, as he may, per- 
 chance, lack in a braver feast. But who 
 have you provided to meet him, sweet heart ? 
 for, methinks, there should be some choice 
 in the company which one so esteemed is 
 required to grace." 
 
 " As for that, dame, I can but ask mine 
 own fellows of the Fortune, most of whom 
 must depart with me, on the morrow, for 
 Windsor ; and, though they may not be so 
 approved in their art as those he hath been 
 used to at the Globe, I doubt not at all he 
 careth for Ned Allen sufficient to be con- 
 tent with the fellowship of such humbler 
 spirits as he is wont to have at his board." 
 
 "Heaven be good to him, for he is a. most 
 sweet gentleman, and his great deserts are 
 not like to suffer discredit from an honest 
 woman's prayers. But it is fit we should 
 have no brawlers nor breedbates, nor ruf- 
 fling braggadocios amongst us to disgrace 
 him and ourselves ; for, if I mistake not 
 hugely, there are such to be found among 
 our friends of ' The Fortune ;' and it will 
 as little credit you, dear heart, who, I am 
 proud to say, hath as honest a name in 
 his calling as hath any man, and, moreover, 
 hath as fair a provision for his living as 
 might satisfy some of higher estate, as it 
 will honor a guest who, of his eminent 
 qualities, demandeth at your hands whatev- 
 er respect and affection it may be in your 
 power to afford." 
 
 " Well said, sweet heart ! O my life, an 
 excellent proper speech ! And as it regard-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 eth my state and prospects, what you have 
 said be as true as truth itself, and I thank 
 God for it, and will never abuse his favor, 
 be assured. But as to our fellows, there be 
 some, I am afraid, of rather a graceless 
 sort; nevertheless, I think not of them so ill 
 that they will show their unworthy humors 
 before so true a heart as Will Shakspeare. 
 I must needs have Ben Johnson for one." 
 
 "I should like him the better, could he 
 better govern himself; for he can be, at 
 times, as excellent good company as might 
 be desired. But he is not free from envy 
 of another's greater good-fortune, however 
 assured he may be of his worthiness, and 
 hath a boisterous, rude way with him, at 
 times, that looketh to be ever intent on a 
 quarrel." 
 
 " Nay, dame, speak of him not so ill. Ben 
 is a king, in his way." 
 
 " A king, i'faith, that, ever and anon, 
 must needs be using of his sceptre by way 
 of cudgel, for the better showing of his au- 
 thority." 
 
 " Like enough, dame ; nevertheless, he 
 is too great a personage amongst us to be 
 slighted, and he is, besides, well known to 
 Will, so that we can have no cause for 
 omitting him." 
 
 " For mine own part, husband, I have no 
 wish that way ; indeed, I have oft found in- 
 finite pleasure in his company ; so let him 
 come, o'God's name, only I would be more 
 content were 1 assured he would come in a 
 fitting mood. But who else shall you have 
 to meet sweet Master Shakspeare ?" 
 
 " Why, dame, I cannot but have Will 
 Byrde ; he hath a most exquisite throat for 
 a ballad, of any one of my acquaintance ; 
 and Humphrey Jeffes, he playeth the viol 
 like a master ; and John Shanke, he telleth 
 a good jest with a marvellous proper spirit ; 
 and Tom Dowton, he knoweth tricks of 
 conjuring that would surprise you mightily ; 
 and Ned Colbrand, and Francis Grace, and 
 Samuel Rowley, they sing a three-part song 
 in a manner which is a delight to hear ; and 
 Gabriel Spencer " 
 
 " Surely that is he who broke the con- 
 stable's head." 
 
 " Ay, but none of us are constables, sweet 
 heart ! so our head will be in no danger." 
 
 "I warrant you. But if he be so vio- 
 lently disposed, one head is like to be no 
 more respected by him than another." 
 
 " Fear nought, dame. Gabriel would not 
 harm a mouse ; but there doth exist such 
 an antipathy between a constable and a 
 player, that if a cracked crown come of it, 
 it is no marvel ; and, peaceable man as I 
 am, if, of the two. one is to be hurt, me- 
 
 thinks he should be the constable there- 
 fore Gabriel deserveth no blame. Besides, 
 he hath many commendable gifts, which 
 should make him good company. Possibly 
 I may chance to fall in with Armin, or 
 Massye, or some other choice spirit, whose 
 tricks and jests cannot fail to garnish our. 
 entertainment right pleasantly." 
 
 " As you will, dear heart ; but fail not to 
 have sufficient recourse to your lute, which, 
 in my humble thinking, be as delicate gar- 
 nish for a friend's banquet as any honest " 
 heart need desire." 
 
 " But it is not reasonable all should be so 
 good a wife. And now I must needs be 
 going. I have pressing business. I am 
 ordered to bring my dogs and bears to court, 
 for her majesty's games. Spare neither 
 pains uor_pence, Joan. So God be with 
 you!" 
 
 " Good bye, sweet heart ; and if you see 
 my father, 1 pray you give him my love and 
 duty." 
 
 " I will not fail, and will strive to bring 
 him with me to dinner ; for I know he will 
 be right glad to meet Master Shakspeare." 
 
 The foregoing dialogue had been spoken 
 by persons aiming at no great pretensions in 
 any of those things most commonly assum- 
 ed. They were simple of heart, and simple 
 in manners ; had been married long enough 
 to know how to appreciate each other's 
 good qualities, and to conform completely 
 to each other's tastes. So contented a 
 couple was not often to be met with. They 
 had no ambition in dress, in great company, 
 in fine furniture, or in gay living ; they 
 cared only to be a comfort to each other, 
 and a source of pleasure to those around 
 them. Edward Allen had lately built a 
 playhouse in Cripplegate, which, as with a 
 prophetic eye to its results, he named " The 
 Fortune ;" and, having married the daughter 
 of Phillip Henslowe, who had realized a for- 
 tune by his gains, as the master of a com- 
 pany of players, and of a collection of dogs, 
 bulls, and bears, which seemed in equal 
 favor, Allen found himself obliged to take a 
 prominent part in both performances, and 
 was now hulloing on one of his four-footed 
 company at Paris Garden, and anon ap- - 
 plauding as favorite a biped at the Fortune 
 playhouse. 
 
 These different pursuits, at times, made 
 strange confusion in his speech. Tj^ey 
 would then so mingle in his thoughts, he 
 could not mention them with the qualities 
 that were singular to each and every one, 
 but would speak of one of his best bears as 
 of a most moving tragedian ; whilst he, who 
 had drawn floods of tears from a crowded
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 audience, was mentioned as the bravest 
 dog at his game that had been seen any 
 time these ten years. 
 
 His wife, though she had been bred, as 
 it were, in one continual scene of worrying 
 and biting, had a monstrous dislike of all 
 quarrelsomeness ; but the baiting of bulls 
 and bears she had been so used to look 
 upon, that she could no more regard it as 
 strife, than could a miller decry as noise the 
 turmoil of his mill-wheel. She could see, 
 with infinite contentation, a bull pinned to 
 the ground by a savage dog, whilst some 
 of his fellows were being tossed in the air, 
 yet would not allow the cat to be catching 
 of mice, she so hugely disliked dumb inno- 
 cents to be harmed. Amongst her friends 
 she was universally esteemed, as more than 
 ordinarily grave in her humor, charitable, 
 pious, discreet, and kind; and if her hus- 
 band thought her face or person not so good 
 as those of many women of his acquain- 
 tance, there could be no doubt of it he found 
 her heart a wondrous deal better than them 
 all. So, as it must needs be, Edward Allen 
 and his yokefellow led an exceeding happy 
 life. 
 
 Leaving his fair helpmate to play the 
 part of the good wife, which she was wont 
 to perform with inch perfectness there was 
 not room for the finding of a single fault, 
 the courteous reader must a while with the 
 husband, whose excellences of disposition 
 were no less admirable ; for, having, under 
 the care of his fair partner, been getting 
 himself ready for a journey, the whole time 
 of what hath been set down of their dis- 
 course, he started off in his best suit and 
 Cap, and making forth from the liberty of 
 the Clink, where he had his dwelling, he 
 
 Eroceeded across a field lying towards Lam- 
 eth Marsh, called Pedlar's Acre, where- 
 in were some buildings, towards which he 
 made. These proved to be the ordinary 
 habitations of certain of his company of 
 beasts before they were suffered to make 
 sport at the Paris Garden. Here he re- 
 mained not long, ascertaining from an old 
 woman remaining there, that his father-in- 
 law and partner had gone off with his best 
 bears and dogs to the Queen's Majesty, at 
 Somerset House. Making his way from 
 thence to the water-side, he jumped into a 
 boat, and was soon crossing the river with 
 as much speed as a pair of oars could make 
 for him. 
 
 On landing at the stairs, he was allowed 
 to pass the yeomen there on guard, for they 
 knew him well, and shortly found himself 
 greeted by a bullet-headed, bald-pated, old 
 fellow, with legs like nine-pins, a body like 
 
 a barrel, and a face as glowing as the flam- 
 ing cinders in a blacksmith's forge. He 
 was surrounded by a motley group, some 
 holding dogs and some bears, and there 
 were with them certain officers of the 
 queen's household, who appeared to be ex- 
 ceedingly intent on what was going for- 
 ward. They were in a part of the court- 
 yard, where a post had been set up over- 
 against the window of the queen's privy 
 chamber, where she was wont to regale 
 herself with a sight of the sport. At other 
 windows that commanded a view of the 
 games, were groups both of ladies and of 
 gallants ; whilst, surrounding the spot which 
 contained the bear-keeper and his beasts, 
 was a throng of curious people, young and 
 old, who thought themselves fortunate in 
 being able to see the queen witness such 
 royal pastime. 
 
 The new comer being addressed as " son 
 Allen," in a rough but not unfriendly voice, 
 by the person just alluded to ; this pointed 
 the latter out to be no other than Phillip 
 Henslowe, the most, approved master of the 
 sports of the Paris Garden all London could 
 produce, and a long-established favorite with 
 its good citizens. 
 
 After a few words of cheerful greeting, 
 and an affectionate inquiry after his daugh- 
 ter, which elicited the loving message she 
 had sent, the old man set his son-in-law to 
 fasten one of the bears to the post, he giv- 
 ing directions the whilst to him and the 
 holders of the dogs, and ever and anon ad- 
 dressing the beasts themselves, that they 
 should, on account of their having such 
 noble spectators, exhibit such nobleness of 
 sport as should make them worthy of so 
 much distinction. Then he would turn to 
 some of the queen's officers about him, and 
 lament the irreparable loss he had sustain- 
 1, in the last winter, of two of the very 
 cleverest bears that had ever come out of 
 Muscovy. He told how they had been 
 brought over to him when cubs, and what 
 absolute pains he had taken with their 
 education, till they had become the most 
 accomplished bears that had ever hugged 
 the breath out of a mastiff. And then he 
 digressed to certain of his dogs, whose 
 qualities he vaunted as excelling that of 
 the best that had ever been known in the 
 the memory of man, either in the baiting 
 of bulls or bears ; nay, for the matter of 
 that, they were of such unmatchable cour- 
 age and fierceness, they would as lief fly 
 at a lion or a tiger as at more accustomed 
 prey. 
 
 Old Henslowe did not want listeners, and 
 tie talked with the air of one who takes the
 
 subject of his discourse to be of such high 
 consequence it can admit of no rivalry ; 
 and though, like all his fellows, he had his 
 jerkin and cap off, and his shirt-sleeve; 
 tucked up above his elbows, and his appa- 
 relling was in every way the reverse of the 
 courtier, he lacked not attention, nor, it 
 may he added, respect ; for he was an oracle 
 . in these matters, and they were in such 
 fashion, there were few at court who de- 
 sired not to have some knowledge of them. 
 His son-in-law was busily engaged in fas- 
 tening up the animal that was first to be 
 baited a hu^e, shaggy brute, that stared 
 about him with a solemnness of visage as 
 of a justice of the peace at the least. 
 
 He had scarce done this, when a stir in 
 the crowd gave notice that the queen was 
 approaching ; and, sure enough, her high- 
 ness appeared in great splendor, closely at- 
 tended by the noble Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 then first in her favor, and surrounded at a 
 convenient distance by her courtiers and 
 ladies in waiting. Even, at that distance, 
 the marks of age and decay were but too 
 visible in her visage; and, moreover, she 
 wore an expression of inquietude, which, 
 despite of the efforts of her courtly compa- 
 nion who stood at her side, after she had 
 seated herself on a chair of state placed for 
 her at the window, to entertain her with 
 such discourse as he knew she most af- 
 fected, scarcely left her an instant. On 
 her appearance, all heads were uncovered, 
 and an huzza set up, which caused the 
 dogs to bark, and the bears to growl, as if 
 they must needs testify their loyalty, and 
 the satisfaction they had in being set by the 
 ears for the entertainment of such exalted 
 company. 
 
 Presently a clear circle was made round 
 the bear at the stake, none being allowed to 
 come within it, save only those engaged 
 with the dogs. Old Henslowe took by the 
 neck one of the powerfullest of his mastiffs, 
 and showed him to Bruin, which set him to 
 growling and struggling furiously to get at 
 him ; and Bruin turned his solemn visage 
 towards his enemy, with a glance from his 
 eye and a glisten of his formidable teeth, 
 that savored of any thing but affection. 
 The old man aggravated the dog by shak- 
 ing him at his, prey, and sohoing him on, 
 not forgetting to remind the beast that the 
 eyes of the Queen's Highness were upon 
 him, and that it behoved him to show of 
 what high blood he was, and who had been 
 his master. 
 
 At a little distance his son-in-law was 
 encouraging another dog to the attack by 
 similar means, and others were being held 
 
 in readiness, all of which looked desperately 
 eager at the sport. Presently, old Hens- 
 lowe let loose his dog, and went direct at 
 his prey, like a hawk at the quarry ; but 
 Bruin was an old hand at the game, and, 
 standing on his hind-quarters, looked ready 
 for his assailant, let him come as savage as 
 he would. The mastiff flew at his throat, 
 but the bear knocked him aside with one 
 of his fore-paws, like a dexterous fencer. 
 He made another spring, which would have 
 succeeded better, had not Bruin got him in 
 his arms with so fierce a hug that it made 
 him squeak for it. Before, however, he 
 could do any serious hurt, the other dog 
 was let at him, and Bruin was fain to let 
 go his hold of the first to defend himself 
 from the second. 
 
 The game now became wondrous excit- 
 ing, for the dogs were eager and fierce, and 
 the bear marvellous quick in his movements, 
 and snapping and pawing off his foes with 
 a dexterousness that baffled their attacks 
 and won him great applause. The audi- 
 ence seemed to take great interest in the 
 combat ; even her highness looked as though 
 she regarded it with more attentivenesa 
 than the sugared compliments of the noble 
 gentleman at her side. Hitherto all had 
 looked on, with too much respect for the 
 great personage in whose company they 
 were, to attempt any interruption, save some 
 hearty commendation now and then from one 
 or two of the more privileged ; but old Hens- 
 lowe, in the intensity of his honest pleasure 
 in the fight, clean forgot under whose aw- 
 ful eyes he was, and made the air resound 
 again with his plaudits, which, with even- 
 handed justice, he bestowed with equal ve- 
 hemence now on one party and now on the 
 other. Now it was "Brave dog!" anon 
 " Brave bear !" then was heard, " Well 
 fought, Jowler ! a good grip, Pincher ! . 
 closely hugged, Bruin !" and the like en- 
 couragements, which seemed to have vast 
 effect, for the dogs worried the bear with a 
 spirit that increased every minute, and the 
 bear seemed every minute to put forth a 
 more valiant opposition. Edward Allen 
 looked on with quite as great a satisfaction, 
 though he was not quite so boisterous in 
 giving it words ; yet he could not forbear 
 once remarking to a bystander, that Bruin's 
 action was of the true, high, Roman dignity ; 
 and Jowler's delivery pointed him out as the 
 first tragedian of his time. 
 
 When it was thought the bear had been 
 sufficiently worried, and the dogs appeared 
 to tire of the sport, they were put on one 
 side, and another bear and other dogs were 
 brought forward to supply their places.
 
 24 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 As this fight was but a repetition of that 
 already described, methinks there be no 
 need of giving here any account of it. 
 Nevertheless, it afforded as abundant con- 
 tentation as the other. 
 
 It so chanced an odd accident put an end 
 to the entertainment in the most summary 
 fashion. As the second bear was being re- 
 leased from the stake, he slipped his collar, 
 and made a sudden rush at the cr9wd 
 around. After so much fighting, it was 
 not supposed he could be in any very ami- 
 able mood, so his unexpected attack threw 
 the whole company into the horriblest fright 
 the eye ever beheld. In endeavoring to get 
 themselves out of his way, they tumbled 
 over each other by dozens : in the confusion, 
 the dogs broke from their keepers and flew 
 at their liberated prey. Old Henslowe and 
 his son-in-law rushed forward to part them ; 
 but, in the press, they were knocked down, 
 and bear, dogs, and men were presently 
 seen struggling on the ground in one un- 
 distinguishable mass, whilst such as had 
 the use of their legs were making their es- 
 cape with no less haste than alarm. Her 
 majesty and her courtiers got themselves to 
 a place of safety with much more speed 
 than dignity ; but in a few minutes, the up- 
 roar ceased, Bruin was recaptured, and the 
 dogs severally secured. It may readily be 
 believed there was no more bear-baiting be- 
 fore her highness that day. 
 
 Henslowe saw his beasts depart to their 
 habitations with their attendants, and then, 
 putting on his jerkin, accompanied his son 
 Allen to look for his expected guests. Much 
 they discoursed by the way on the state of 
 their affairs now dilating on their doings 
 at the Fortune, and now at Paris Garden ; 
 and, from what passed betwixt them, a 
 goodly lesson might have been learned of 
 the relative value of interludss and bear- 
 baiting ; of players and play-writers, and 
 bull.-;, baars, and dogs of divers kinds and 
 qualities. Apparently well satisfied with 
 these matters, as far as they were concerned 
 with them, they at last arrived at a small 
 way-side inn, near the Pimlico fields, as you 
 go to Chelsea, much frequented by honest 
 citizens with a taste for the country, and a 
 proper enjoyment for curds and cream, hot 
 cakes, and a gamo at bowls. Instead of 
 going through the house, they entered at an 
 open gate, which led them through a shady 
 avenue info a sort of garden, having bowers 
 all round for the accommodation of the com- 
 pany. Here was a swing, and several other 
 rustical pleasures, and beyond was a smooth 
 bowling-green, in great repute for the neat- 
 ness with which it was kept. 
 
 Old Henslowe And his son became aware 
 as they approached, of some persons being 
 in hot ana violent dispute. People were 
 seen leaving their favorite bowers, some with 
 alarm, and some with curiosity. The swing 
 was deserted ; the climbing-pole, the skittles, 
 and the butts for the shooters completely 
 neglected ; and all were hastening to look 
 into the cause of the huge uproar which 
 was existing in the bowling-green. Among 
 a throng of persons, some of whom affected 
 a display of greater bravery than was usual 
 amongst the regular frequenters of " The 
 Shepherd and Shepherdess," whose sharp 
 speeches and ready answers had more than 
 once drawn attention to them from the more 
 quiet part of the company, there was seen, 
 more prominently than all others, a sturdy, 
 broad-faced, stout-made man, not ill apparel- 
 led, yet seeming to be careless of such 
 things, his features inflamed with passion, 
 and both by voice and gesture showing, as 
 plainly as such things could, that he was in 
 a very monstrous, tearing humor with some 
 one. Around and about him were two or 
 three of his companions, evidently striving 
 all they could to pacify him, most prominent 
 among whom was one who, by his appear- 
 ance, was a person of worship, though this 
 arose as much from his having so goodly a 
 presence as from wearing handsome gar- 
 ments. 
 
 A little in the rear of these was another 
 group, surrounding a man of a middle height, 
 yet of a well-knit frame, whose face was 
 pale with passion. It might be seen, from 
 his manner and language, that he was quite 
 as violent as the other, and that he paid as 
 little attention to the representations of his 
 companions in their endeavors to restore him 
 to good humor. An indifferent spectator 
 could easily have ascertained, from what fell 
 from these different persons, that there had 
 been a violent quarrel during a game at 
 bowls betwixt two of a party of players who 
 had met together at " The Shepherd and 
 Shepherdess" for the enjoyment of those 
 innocent pleasures the place afforded. The 
 two, it appeared, were Benjamin Jonson and 
 Gabriel Spencer, both of " The Fortune ;" 
 the former, besides, being a writer of plays 
 of singular merit, as witness his admirable 
 " Every Man in his Humor." Both were of 
 marvellous hasty tempers, and exceedingly 
 intolerant of the slightest opposition. After 
 taunting each other with terrible provoking 
 words, they got so inflamed, that they were 
 for running each other through where they 
 stood ; but they were separated by some of 
 their more peaceable companions, and made 
 to put by their rapiers ere they had done any
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 mischief yet not without the giving and 
 receiving of a challenge to settle their quar- 
 rel the naxt day in Hoxton Fields. It was 
 hoped, by those who strove most to reconcile 
 them particularly the person just spoken 
 of, who was addressed sometimes as Will, 
 and sometimes as Master Shakspeare that 
 the matter in dispute might be adjusted 
 without any recourse to weapons ; and they 
 labored assiduously with that object in view. 
 It was in this stage of the proceedings 
 that old Henslowe and his son-in-law ap- 
 proached them. The later thought it wisest 
 to take no notice of the dispute ; and, there- 
 fore, in a cheerful manner, he accosted them 
 all and severally, which behavior of his was 
 immediately responded to by the greater part 
 with every sign of welcome and good humor, 
 for the purpose of calling off the attention 
 of the disputants from their quarrel ; and 
 they even put aside their squabble, and re- 
 plied to their salutations in something like 
 a friendly spirit. An invitation was shortly 
 after proffered to them by Edward Allen, 
 which was as heartily received as given, 
 and in a presently there was such a vast ex- 
 penditure amongst them of harmless frolick 
 and pleasantry, that it appeared to the peace- 
 ful Allen harmony had been completely 
 restored. He was, however, about the only 
 one in the company under that impression, 
 which doubtless arose from his entire igno- 
 rance ,of the bitter, taunting speeches that 
 had passed betwixt Ben Jonson and Gabriel 
 Spencer, which, it was well known, from 
 their turbulent -dispositions, neither would 
 overlook. 
 
 Nevertheless, in the full belief that the 
 quarrel was a trifling one, which must, of 
 course, be entirely forgotten whilst they were 
 enjoying themselves under his roof, he readi- 
 ly joined in the mirth that was going on 
 around him, as they strolled towards West- 
 minster, for the purpose of taking boats to 
 Southwark. They engaged two boats ; and 
 it was so managed, that Gabriel should pro- 
 ceed in one, and Ben in the other, and there 
 were about either, one or two judicious 
 friends who tried to reconcile them. It did 
 not appear they had much success, for both 
 parties continued in the same dogged hu- 
 mor without doubt entertaining feelings 
 against each other not readily to be removed. 
 They all arrived, without further adven- 
 ture, at Edward Allen's house in the liberty 
 of the Clink, and met with the most friendly 
 of welcomes from the good dame, who, in 
 her extreme pleasure at seeing of her father, 
 seemed determined to be pleased even with 
 those she least liked to see. She had got 
 two or three good gossips of her acquaint- 
 
 ance of her own sex to meet her husband's 
 company, and had greatly excited their ex- 
 pectations by anticipating the monstrous 
 satisfaction they were to find in the society 
 of some of her expected guests, particularly 
 dilating on the marvellous sweet qualities of 
 her husband's fast friend, Master William 
 Shakspeare, of " The Globe," whom she 
 made no disguise in averring she liked with 
 all an honest woman's partiality. At the 
 entrance of her husband with his company, 
 she singled out Master Shakspeare, and 
 made him known to these her friends with 
 such warmth of gratification, as no doubt 
 would have rendered somewhat uneasy a 
 husband less satisfied with his wife's worthi- 
 ness of nature, or his friend's honorableness 
 of mind, than the well-contented Ned Allen. 
 
 The reception, and the efforts they were 
 obliged to make to renew an acquaintance 
 or to establish one with the fair companions . 
 of their fair hostess, for awhile took off the 
 attention of the associates of Ben Jonson 
 and Gabriel Spencer ; and the securing of 
 their places at dinner, the satisfying of their 
 several appetites, and the attentions they 
 thought it necessary to pay to their female 
 fellow-guests, prevented them for some time 
 noticing their behavior. Nevertheless, some 
 time before the meal was finished, they could 
 not help regarding, with very considerable 
 alarm, the exceeding strangeness of their 
 conduct. Gabriel sat pale and stately, with 
 a sinister, restless look glancing from his 
 grey eyes. He was wont to be a good feeder 
 and a loud talker, but all marvelled to see 
 he ate little and talked less : Ben, with his 
 broad, red face, sat over against him, look- 
 ing all the less pleasant for the gloomy frown 
 which seemed to sit on it immoveably. He 
 had never been wont to neglect eitner his 
 meat or his liquor ; but now he had not a 
 maid's appetite in courting time ; neverthe- 
 less, he neglected not the good wine, of 
 which there was abundance, but poured it 
 down as though he was laboring under a 
 thirst that could not be quenched, or made 
 his throat a funnel for the purpose of noting 
 how quickly good liquor would run down it. 
 The excellent housewife had put forth all her 
 skill in the making of dainty dishes to enter- 
 tain her husband's guests, as she believed 
 they deserved ; and the result was a banquet 
 that should have pleased the most critical. 
 
 There certainly was no lack of commen- 
 dation from the well-pleased guests. Even 
 the dame's good gossips eat and praised, and 
 praised and eat, as though desirous of doing 
 the fullest justice to their entertainment. 
 And well were they qualified for this, for 
 they were no flaunting madams too proud
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 and ignorant to trouble themselves about 
 domestic matters. They were simple, 
 honest, city dames, of excellent reputation, 
 than whom none knew better the proper 
 ordering of a house, and all that showeth 
 the notable true housewife, in the best and 
 kindliest fashion. Dame Allen, in her duty 
 of a good hostess, was diligent in seeing 
 that all fared well, and were well .satisfied 
 with their fare. Whilst engaged in this 
 office, she was struck with the uneasy air 
 and strange, unsocial manner of the quar- 
 rellers ; but. as neither of them were of her 
 esteemed acquaintance, she contented her- 
 self with an occasional pressing to partake 
 of her dainties, and then directed her atten- 
 tion to such as she regarded with more 
 esteem. Still, ever and anon, she glanced 
 at the two with a curious inquietude, and 
 busied her mind with marvelling what it 
 was that made them appear so ill at ease, in 
 the midst of such general contentation. 
 
 At last the meal was over, the table clear- 
 ed, and again spread with tankards, and 
 glasses, and wine, and sack, and cakes, and 
 comfits, and the like after-dinner cates ; and 
 every one seemed to be inclined to talk to 
 his neighbor ; some ventured upon a jest, 
 and all looked to be inclined for pleasantry 
 and good fellowship after the bias of their 
 several humors. Old Henslowe talked of 
 the notable bulls and bears he had seen in 
 his day, and entered into some spirited 
 accounts of the dogs they had been matched 
 with. His daughter chimed in with anec- 
 dotes of the savagest of these animals, 
 speaking of their fiercest encounters as 
 familiarly as might another of her sex of 
 the sportiveness of kittens. Her worthy 
 husband, as was his wont, divided his dis- 
 course so much between quadrupeds and 
 bipeds, that there was no knowing, for cer- 
 tain, which had the advantage of his com- 
 mendations. Others spoke of news from 
 court and gossip concerning the ill-repute 
 into which, it was said, the Earl of Essex 
 had fallen with the queen. Shakspeare 
 was dividing many gentle courtesies and 
 compliments amongst his fair hostess and 
 her fair friends, as it seemed, infinitely to 
 their contentation. Each appeared to have 
 something to engage himself withal, and 
 some means of affording entertainment to 
 himself and his neighbors. 
 
 Yet, of the company, there must be ex- 
 cepted two, for Gabriel Spencer still con- 
 tinued his sullen reserve, and Benjamin 
 Jonson kept up his wild manner and frequent 
 recourse to the tankard ; in addition to which 
 he began, in a fierce, taunting manner, to 
 make remarks which, though riddles to most 
 
 of the guests, were easily seen by Gabriel, 
 and a few others, to be levelled at him. 
 The flashing eyes and increasing paleness 
 of the latter warned the observant that there 
 would be mischief anon, if they had not the 
 wit to ward it off; and so they presently 
 took measures that should direct attention 
 Isewhere. They chose to be pressing on 
 their host for a taste of his skill on the lute, 
 which," after some backwardness, he was 
 induced to afford ; and, of a surety, he well 
 lamed the praises so liberally bestowed on 
 liis admirable handling his instrument. 
 Then was enjoyed the sweet throat of Will 
 Byrde ; and his exquisite ballad was scarcely 
 nded when Humphrey Jeffes was enforced 
 to show the goodly quality of his violdi- 
 Gamba. John Shanke's ready jest was 
 qually at their bidding ; and Tom Dow 
 ton's tricks of conjuring were as little called 
 for in vain. Ere the last of these marvels 
 had exhausted the astonishment of the com- 
 pany, the three-part song of Ned Colbrand, 
 Francis Grace, and Samuel Rowley, was 
 heard in all its grateful harmony. 
 
 The thoughtful few who so judiciously 
 sought to render ineffective the evil humors 
 of their unfriendly companions, noticed, not 
 without much alarm, that neither the taste- 
 ful playing on the lute, the exquisite ballad, 
 the famous performance on the viol, jest, 
 conjuring, or three-part song, had any effect 
 on the angry and unsocial spirits who sat 
 amongst them ; and they began to experi- 
 ence a creeping dread, that chilled their own 
 efforts to keep the rest sufficiently amused. 
 Of these, Master Shakspeare had been all 
 along the most active. He had seen that 
 mischief was brewing under the cloudy brows 
 of his two angry associates, and sought all 
 means at his disposal to bring them into 
 pleasanter and more commendable feelings ; 
 but the evident uselessness of his labors 
 began to be painfully conspicuous, for, mis- 
 liking the strange looks and behavior of Ben 
 Jonson and Gabriel Spencer, Dame Allen 
 and her gossips had, one after another, stolen 
 out of the chamber. The newsmongers sat 
 si'ent, gazing with no small share of anxious- 
 n< ss, at the singular bearing and behavior 
 o/ their turbulent friends. The singers 
 forgot their voices, and the musicians their 
 instruments ; the jester had ceased attempt- 
 ing to raise a laugh at his quirks and quid- 
 dities, and the conjurer seemed to have taken 
 an entire leave of his art so wrought upon 
 were they all with the strangeness of the 
 conduct of their fellow-guests. Old Hens- 
 lowe and his son-in-law appeared to be the 
 only persons who knew not the feelings that 
 were nourished by their implacable friends ;
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 27 
 
 and they were so intent upon a discussion 
 respecting the best age at which bears 
 should be first brought to the games, as to 
 have no thought or care for anything else. 
 
 Shakspeare, who had omitted nothing that 
 might reconcile the hostile parties, or make 
 them forget their quarrel, saw, with alarm, 
 the offensive conduct of the now half-intoxi- 
 cated Ben Jonson ; and at last ventured, in 
 an under-tone, to make an impressive remon- 
 strance to him. At this, the other, striking 
 his fist on the table, loudly exclaimed, with 
 a contemptuous look and voice, " Let him 
 go hang ! Who cares for such a white- 
 livered hound ?" The words were scarce 
 out of liis mouth, when Gabriel started up, 
 his long pent-up passion no longer to be 
 restrained, and, catching in his hand a heavy 
 tankard that stood before him, he sent it, 
 with so true an aim, at the head of the in- 
 sulter, that it knocked him off his stool. A 
 violent scene followed, every one springing 
 to his legs in confusion, all asking questions, 
 or making comments, and crowding round 
 either the prostrate player or his adversary. 
 Henslowe a'nd his son-in-law seemed as 
 greatly astonished as though all their bears, 
 bulls, and dogs, had joined in general fight ; 
 and the rest, if their astonishment was less, 
 their anxiety was equally painful. 
 
 At the fir.-t outcry, Dame Allen and some 
 of her gossips had rushed to the door, in as 
 hugh a fear as women are wont to fall into 
 on such occasions, to learn the nature of 
 the disturbance ; and their exclamations,-as 
 may well be believed, did not tend, in any 
 manner, to lessen the uproar and confusion. 
 Poor Dame Allen ! terrible was her disap- 
 pointment at the result of an entertainment, 
 to enjoy the superior attractions of which 
 she had invited so many estimable persons 
 of her own sex; and it was not till the 
 worthiest of her guests, in her thinking, had 
 had come to assure her that there was no 
 cause to be under any alarm, for his friend 
 had only been stunned, and was in a fair 
 way of perfect recovery, that she grew to be 
 in a more tranquil state. 
 
 Whilst some of the company were busy 
 raising the fallen man, a few assembled 
 about the other, and, partly by persuasion, 
 partly by force, got him out of the room, 
 and thence into the street. On coming to 
 himself, Ben was monstrous furious, and at 
 first could not be pacified in any manner, 
 when he found his adversary had gone 
 away ; but in the end he became less vio- 
 lent, and finally took his leave of his host as 
 though he thought no more of the matter. 
 At this all the company went their several 
 ways, with an abundance of friendly good 
 
 wishes from their kind and cheerful enter- 
 tainers. They, in the simplicity of their t 
 hearts, fancied that the quarrel would go 
 no farther ; but in that they were in as 
 great error as ever they were in all their 
 days. 
 
 Early on the morrow, two men were seen 
 walking rapidly together in the direction of 
 Hoxton Fields. It was a fair morning in 
 September, with a fine cool air, and the 
 hedges were in full foliage, showing a rare 
 crop of berries, and a no less pleasant stock 
 of the latest flowers of the season ; and the 
 herds, which stood in groups, hither and 
 thither, were breaking their fast with what 
 looked to be a most absolute enjoyment of 
 their meal. Flocks of sparrows and finches 
 were flitting from spray to spray, and nu- 
 merous bands of larks were whirling over 
 the open pastures. The distant report of a 
 gun from the stubbles, which were plainly 
 discernible in the landscape, showed that 
 the sportsman was abroad, and busy at his 
 vocation. The two men walked on at a 
 brisk pace, as hath been said, the one look- 
 ing exceedingly fierce and sullen, the other 
 wearing a melancholy expression, with a 
 visible tinge of uneasiness. 
 
 " I think, Ben," exclaimed the first, in a 
 serious tone of voice, " it would be as well, 
 your honor well cared for, to settle this un- 
 happy dispute, betwixt you and Gabriel, 
 without the shedding of blood." 
 
 " Tush, Will ; dost take me for a cra- 
 ven !" exclaimed the other, fiercely. " Am 
 I to be knocked o' the pate by every scurvy 
 knave that lists, and care for nought but to 
 patch up my quarrel ! Zounds ! shall I, 
 who, as it were, have served apprenticeship 
 to the profession of arms, and that, too, with 
 some small credit to myself and respect of 
 mine enemies, shall I be a mark for so 
 worthless, contemptible a fellow as this 
 Gabriel Spencer ; to be flung at when it 
 suited his humor, and, when I have had 
 my brains nigh upon knocked out, present 
 my service to him with his morning 
 draught ! Nay, I'll put my tongue in pawn 
 to the first cur who seeketh a breakfast, ere 
 it shall give its assent to anything so 
 odious." 
 
 " I admit that the blow is an affront n< t 
 to be endured," observed the other, whom 
 the understanding reader will have no diffi- 
 culty in discovering to be Master Shaks- 
 peare. " But surely he had exceeding pro- 
 vocation." 
 
 " Provocation be hanged !" sharply an- 
 swered his friend, who was no other than 
 Benjamin Jonson. " Was it like, after 
 what had passed that I could sit tamely by
 
 28 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 and see so vile a fellow making mouths at 
 me, like a sick ape after physic ! Fore 
 George, I had a month's mind to cudgel him 
 as lie sat. I tell thee, Will," added he, in 
 a decided tone, " the knave hath crossed me 
 often. I like not his humors. I am ear- 
 nest in my quarrel, and with the help of my 
 good rapier, which hath done me yeoman's 
 service before now, I will bring it to a pro- 
 per ending." 
 
 Master Shakspeare knew Ben too well to 
 expect any approach being made to the 
 amicable s'ettling of this difference in his 
 present mood ; therefore, he wisely held his 
 speech, arid the two continued to walk on in 
 silence till they turned the end of the lane, 
 which bordered on the fields to which they 
 were proceeding. As they were advancing 
 along the path that leads across one of 
 the larger fields, they became aware of two 
 persons waiting under a clump of trees, 
 down in one of the corners of it, for whom 
 they made. They were so intent on their 
 discourse, that they did not discover the ap- 
 proach of Ben and his friend, till they came 
 close upon them, and overheard the follow- 
 ing dialogue. 
 
 " Of a truth, Captain Swashbuckler, you 
 Bpeak monstrous temptingly of your rapier." 
 
 " A right Toledo, as I live, worthy Mas- 
 ter Spencer. But that I have confidence in 
 your discretion, I would not have told you 
 the name of the great grandee of whom I 
 had it." V 
 
 " The Duke de Medina Sidonia, I think 
 you said, to whom it had been presented by 
 the King of Spain." 
 
 " And in consequence of my pressing ne- 
 cessities, and of my exceeding friendship for 
 you, I reduce my demand of forty crowns, 
 which is not a quarter of its right estimate, 
 to five, which I would not of any one else 
 tike for the loan of it." 
 
 " I am bound to you, Captain Swashbuck- 
 ler, for your consideration, and for standing 
 my friend in this quarrel ; and I willingly 
 pay you the sum you require." 
 
 " Thanks, worthy sir ; but concerning of 
 this little matter of dispute betwixt you and 
 that hectoring bricklayer, Benjamin Jon- 
 son, be you under no manner of concern as 
 to its issue. Remember you my lessons 
 forget not your punto reverso of al) tilings 
 bear in mind the secret thrust I took such 
 pains to inform you of and you shall have 
 his weapon at your command and his life 
 at your disposal, ere you have exchanged 
 half a score of passes with him. I remem- 
 ber me, as well as if it was but yesterday, 
 when I taught the noble Earl of Leicester 
 this same matchless trick of fence ; and I 
 
 know not how many of his enemies h* over- 
 threw by employing it in the duello with 
 them. But, by the god of war, here come 
 the very men we look for !" 
 
 Saying this, Captain Swashbuckler ad- 
 vanced, and, taking off his hat with the easy 
 assurance of a cast captain, saluted the 
 persons who approached him. His broad, 
 bronzed face was not made a whit handso- 
 mer for the patch over his eye, and his un- 
 gainly shape was not more prepossessing 
 than his aspect. He was dressed in a fa- 
 ded suit of cinnamon, with a goodly ruff, 
 wore his soiled beaver with the air of a 
 commander, and strode in a pair of worn- 
 out buff shoes, with crumpled roses, as 
 though there could not be so great a man in 
 the world. 
 
 After salutation and mutual introductions, 
 Master Shakspeare and he stood a little 
 apart to arrange the business of the meet- 
 ing. It was the earnest desire of the for- 
 mer to bring things to an amicable settle- 
 ment, but the other must needs show him- 
 self to be a man of war, and talked so over- 
 poweringly of the affront his principal had 
 received, and entered so learnedly into the 
 proper proceedings of the duello in such ca- 
 ses, that, with a sad heart, Master Shaks- 
 peare found he could not prevent the fight 
 both parties were so bent upon. 
 
 It chanced, however, that previous to the 
 combatants being set against each other, on 
 the seconds- measuring their rapiers, " the 
 right Toledo," which Captain Swashbuck- 
 ler had sold his friend, was found to be sev- 
 eral inches longer in the blade than the 
 sword of Ben Jonson. Master Shakspeare 
 lustily protested against such a weapon 
 being used, and was in hopes this inequality 
 would put an end to the combat ; but Ben 
 insisted that his adversary should have his 
 own weapon, which he strongly commended 
 as having befriended him on many a pinch, 
 and he would take that worn by his friend, 
 Will Shakspeare, which was of the same 
 length. The latter strove to prevent this, 
 but all his objections were overruled ; and 
 at last Ben Jonson and Gabriel Spencer 
 found themselves opposite each other with 
 the naked blades, as the former had ruled, 
 crossed in front of them. 
 
 Captain Swashbuckler appeared even less 
 pleased with this arrangement than Master 
 Shakspeare, but they both drew a little off 
 from the combatants, to watch and wait the 
 issue of the fight. Ben Jonson looked de- 
 terminedly, yet with the quiet steady glance, 
 of an old swordsman ; and Gabriel Spencer, 
 though he was somewhat disconcerted at 
 the disappointment he had to endure in
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 being deprived of the advantages he might 
 have derived from so choice a weapon as 
 that which had had the honor of being con- 
 ferred by the King of Spain on so distin- 
 guished a grandee as the Duke de Medina 
 Sidonia, felt such confidence in the lessons 
 he had received from a master of fence so 
 well known at Paul's as Captain Swash- 
 buckler, as to be perfectly free from appre- 
 hension for himself. But, most unfortu- 
 nately for him, it so chanced' that, in the 
 very beginning of the duel, after a few pas- 
 ses only, and before he thought of applying 
 to the famous secret thrust that had so be- 
 friended the great Earl of Leicester, his own 
 weapon was turned aside, and at the same 
 moment the other passed through his body. 
 Poor Gabriel ! he uttered but one groan, and 
 fell dead at the feet of his adversary. 
 
 Master Shakspeare was greatly shocked, 
 but he saw at a glance no human aid could 
 avail. Ben Jonson seemed no less dis- 
 tressed ; it was evident he was terribly 
 moved, and he vowed very earnestly he 
 would willingly give all he was worth in 
 the world such a mischance had not hap- 
 pened. He called to Captain Swashbuck- 
 ler to help to bear his friend out of the field, 
 but the noble captain had thought it much 
 better to bear himself out, as soon as he be- 
 held the turn things had taken, and was no 
 longer within hearing. He, however, did 
 not forget to take with him the goodly ra- 
 pier, which he had so lately sold at so poor 
 a price, in the fullest conviction that its 
 matchless character must be of much more 
 advantage to a living teacher of fence than 
 to a dead pupil. 
 
 With the assistance of some laboring men 
 from an adjoining brick-field, the body of 
 Gabriel Spencer was removed to a fitter 
 resting-place ; and his death was so much 
 spoken of, as soon as it became known, that 
 Ben Jonson found it necessary to remove 
 himself as far from the scene of the fatal 
 quarrel as was possible for him. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Let me crave 
 
 Thy virtuous help to keep from grave 
 This poor mortal, that here lies 
 Waiting when the destinies 
 Will undo his thread of life. 
 
 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS. 
 
 INTO a certain tenement that was in the 
 village of Shottery, must we now introduce 
 the courteous reader. Certes, this same 
 
 dwelling was none of the stateliest, yet had 
 it very fair accommodations for those who 
 dwelt therein, and an exceeding inviting ap- 
 pearance from the highway before it, when 
 the twining woodbine which covered the 
 porch, and clung round the casements, and 
 about every part, up to the eaves, with infin- 
 ite luxuriousness, was in its fullest bloom 
 the more especial when there was a fair 
 posy of freshest flowers standing in some 
 convenient vessel on the window-sill, and 
 through the open door there could be seen a 
 glimpse of the fruit-trees in the garden, in 
 fullest bloom, or with store of pippins and 
 cherries on their pleasant boughs, while, 
 before the door, two rosy-cheeked girls sat 
 with an exceeding fair show of diligence 
 the one knitting of hose, and the other, evi- 
 dently, scarce a year older, spinning at her 
 wheel, ever and anon looking from her la- 
 bors to regard or give some sage admoni- 
 tions marvellous for one of her tender 
 years to a laughing, shouting, lovely boy, 
 twinned at a birth with her sister, who was 
 romping and rioting with a young hound of 
 a noble breed, at a little distance, the two . 
 rolling over each other on the grass with 
 admirable good fellowship on both sides, 
 and a huge outcry of mingled barking and 
 shouting ; and presently the dog, breaking 
 away from his companion, and standing at 
 some little way off", uttering many a short 
 joyful bark, and wagging of his tail very 
 famously, watching the movements of his 
 lovely playfellow, and bounding off again 
 as the boy sought to lay hold of him, and 
 repeating these antics till he graciously al- 
 lowed himself to be caught. 
 
 Then broke out afresh the noisy play with 
 so wild an uproar, that it would bring out 
 the alarmed mother from her household- 
 work, and thereupon she would rate the boy 
 and the dog, for their blameableness in cre- 
 ating so horrid a din, and, more than all, 
 rate the elder sister for having allowed it. 
 Whereof the result would be, the dog would 
 presently look as grave as dog ever looked 
 when found at fault, and, spying of a beggar 
 at the end of the village, would set off with 
 a monstrous eagerness down the road to 
 show his extreme watchfulness ; the boy 
 would return to the task he had been con- 
 ning, ere weariness made him fling it aside 
 for choicer entertainment ; and the elder 
 girl, after many loving words, endeavoring 
 to impress on the truant the exceeding pro- 
 fitableness of book over play, would continue 
 her spinning, and her discourse with her 
 sister on divers matters seeming to be of the 
 most absolute importance, which had been 
 so rudely interrupted.
 
 so 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 By the time the matron had left the door, 
 the dog had returned to his accustomed 
 place before the house. At first he put on 
 mi exceeding discreet behavior, only ven- 
 turing to cast a wistful glance at his fellow 
 culprit, when tired of scratching at his ears, 
 biting at his tail, snapping at the flies that 
 ventured in his neighborhood, or following 
 any of those employments most in request 
 among dogs of all degrees, when not in- 
 clined for sleep, food, or other occupation. 
 For awhile the head, so rich in shining 
 curls, of his playfellow, was not raised from 
 his task ; but ere long it was slowly lifted 
 up. 
 
 As soon as the child's eyes met those of 
 his fast friend, the latter left off what he was 
 
 been leading a horrible ungodly life, in all 
 sorts of riotous ill-living taking little note 
 of his poor wife and sweet young family, 
 save once in a way or so coming to see 
 them. 
 
 Then, if the intelligencer were a woman, 
 which was like enough, and a careless and 
 unthrifty wife, which was not impossible, 
 she would be monstrously indignant at the 
 barbarousness of husbands, saying that, aa 
 far as she knew, one was not a whit better 
 than another ; wives were to be slaves for- 
 sooth, and to be cast aside like old garments 
 not fitting to be worn when the occasion 
 served, while their dissatisfied partners did 
 nought but find fault and give trouble. 
 
 Much more to the same purpose was like 
 
 then about ; his tail was in motion on the j to follow, was her companion inclined to 
 instant ; at first slowly and softly, then j listen, but it most frequently happened she 
 beating of the ground with monstrous vig- was brought back to the proper subject of 
 orous thumps, as he ventured on a subdued j inquiry, and then proceeded to communicate 
 bark. Anon, some little encouragement j numberless interesting particulars relating 
 covertly given by the boy, set him leaping j to the persons whom she had before men- 
 around him, at a short distance, making it ( tioned ; and the stranger, unless he sought 
 less and the bark louder as the other in- other information, went away with the im- 
 creased, the evidence he could not avoid pression that of all the base, idle, careless, 
 showing of the pleasure with which his profligate husbands, unnatural fathers, and 
 playmate's proceedings were regarded. It intolerable worthless varlets, one Will 
 
 was rarely the temptation was long resisted. 
 The task was again cast aside, and they 
 were presently frolicking together with 
 more noisy enjoyment than ever. 
 
 Such was the scene, with occasional tri- 
 
 Shakspeare was the worst, out of all doubt. 
 But the other tale was of an exceeding 
 different complexion, inasmuch as it de- 
 scribed the said Will as being the son of a 
 respectable Burgess of Stratford ; some time 
 
 fling variations, that had every sunny morn- j since Alderman and High Bailiff of that 
 ing for the last year or two, been presented town, a youth well esteemed of many for 
 to the ordinary wayfarer when passing j his singular fine talent in the writing of 
 through the quiet village of Shottery. Did : ballads and plays, who was inveigled into a 
 it appear he was a stranger in these parts, marriage ere he was eighteen, by an artful 
 and, struck by the singular beauty and in- 1 cozening jade nigh upon old enough to be 
 telligence of the children, must needs in- , his mother, whose temper was of that in- 
 quire to whom they belonged, he was sure ! tolerable sort he was forced to fly his native 
 to hear one of two monstrous different sto- j town, rather than endure any more of it, 
 ries perchance both. i and seek his fortune in London, where his 
 
 One was, that the mother was the daugh- j marvellous skill and learning so wrought 
 ter of an honest yeoman, whose sons lived upon the Queen's Highness, it was said she 
 in the house higher up the road, where the would have had him right willingly to have 
 family of the Hathaways had dwelt time been her husband, had he not had already a 
 out of mind, and that Anne, instead of mar- j wife of his own. Nevertheless, this stood 
 rying some person of substance and repute so little in the way of his advancement that 
 among her neighbors, as was expected of his fortune was made presently by her 
 her, and as she might have done, had she j Highness, who would scarce let him out of 
 so desired there being no lack of such her sight, and it was with much ado he 
 
 anxious to be connected with so worthy a 
 man as John Hathaway had taken up 
 with a young fellow from Stratford (whose 
 father was as poor as a church mouse), so 
 wild in his courses that, after stealing of 
 Sir Thomas Lucy's deer, beating his men, 
 and numberless worse offences, he abandon- 
 ed Iris wife and his three children, and joined 
 
 could escape from her to attend to the wants 
 of his young family, who with their mother 
 he maintained with so liberal an exhibition, 
 taking for her the house in which she then 
 dwelt, and filling it with comforts such as 
 no woman of her condition had experienced, 
 that she was envied of all the wives in the 
 village. 
 
 the players in London, where he had since I Should the teller of this tale be a man
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 31 
 
 as is not unlikely, and had a thriftless idle 
 baggage, with a goodly spice of the shrew 
 in her, for a wife, which many men have 
 had before now, he will at this point of his 
 discourse speak terrible bitter things of the 
 wretchedness of husbands that have such 
 vile jades for to be their helpmates, and if 
 the strangar check him not, it is like he 
 will be mons rous moving upon his own 
 grievance in this particular, till he do. 
 
 He will then straightway be ready to take 
 his oath on it, so loving a husband and ten- 
 der a father as Master Shakspeare never 
 lived in this world ; that, despite his dame's 
 crabbedness, artfulness, and folly, he had 
 tried all things to induce her to be a good 
 wife to him ; and that on his children he so 
 doatecl, he lavished his whole gains in the 
 bringing of them up tenderly. The boy in 
 especial he had such proud hopes of, it 
 was said he had writ a play wherein he 
 was made to be no less a person than the 
 Prince of Denmark. Thereupon the stran- 
 ger would quit the place in the opinion that 
 the said Master Shakspeare was made up 
 of every wonderfullest excellence, and was 
 so fortunate withal, save in the matter of 
 his wife, that he could not but envy him his 
 
 gifts- 
 Whereabouts lyeth the truth betwixt these 
 contrary statements, the courteous reader 
 will doubtless be able in some sort to deter- 
 mine. 
 
 It hath been discovered by some prying, 
 impertinent jackanapes or another, that the 
 bright source of all that we have of splen- 
 dor, clearness, and excellence in things visi- 
 ble, hath on it divers unsightly spots. If 
 that face which is of such wondrous bril- 
 liance no gaze can be fixed on it for long 
 and not blinded, be so disfigured, it is utter 
 foolishness to expect the fairest and perfect- 
 fectest thing in nature to be free of speck or 
 flaw. f 
 
 The sun throweth out his golden beams 
 with so unmeasured a prodigality that none 
 save such poor inquisitorial critical knaves, 
 who, if allowed to see a hair's breadth be- 
 yond their noses, must do so only to find 
 fault with what most helpeth them in the 
 use of their sight, would be so horribly un- 
 grateful as to point out any small defect in 
 him visible only after intolerable prying and 
 searching, quite regardless of the prodigious 
 heap of benefit all derive at his hands. 
 
 Wherefore, in portraying of certain spots 
 in this our intellectual sun, or rather such 
 as do so appear when viewed in ignorance 
 of the circumstances which produced them, 
 the which becometh proper and necessary 
 for the full understanding of the subject it 
 
 behoveth all who read, to be mindful of the 
 inca.culable advantages placed at our dis- 
 posal by the infinite generousness of his 
 nature, and if there should be any grievous 
 error mixed up with such bountiful store of 
 good, let us straightway regard with a proper 
 humility the knowledge that the sweetest, 
 I gentlest, noblest of God's creatures could 
 1 nfct escape the debasing touch of evil. 
 
 Peradventure, this blemish, if any there 
 be, shall ba none so great at least it must 
 needs leave good warrant for the exercise 
 of our charity. 
 
 In the blooming daughter of the honest 
 yeoman of Shottery, of a surety, there was 
 no lack of womanly tenderness. Yet so 
 frequently did her womanly vanity under 
 evil counsel get the better of her better qual- 
 ities, it was rarely the latter were allowed 
 their natural influence. 
 
 To one of so sensitive a sort, as he to 
 whom the church had given her, whose as- 
 pirations pointed to such fine issues, and 
 whose affections could embrace only what 
 was most choice, such intractableness as she 
 exhibited must needs have produced in him 
 a sense of intolerable discomfort. 
 
 In the very flush of youth, possessed of all 
 those personal gifts that do most attract a 
 loving woman's eye, and having such prodi- 
 gal graces of mind and heart withal, as wo- 
 man never yet resisted, it is like enough his 
 nature was as ready to meet the love he had 
 sought so earnestly with such little profit, 
 as were the natures of all such fond and 
 loveable creatures with whom he chanced to 
 associate, eager to assist him to its attain- 
 ment. 
 
 Directly it chanced he had the means at 
 his commandment, his thoughts turned to- 
 wards a suitable provision for his wife and 
 young family. He had the pleasant cottage 
 in which they had since dwelt at Shottery 
 taken for them, and furnished with all things 
 useful and proper in abundance, and their 
 several wants were so fully considered, nt> 
 family in the village were so well cared for. 
 . He never allowed a year to pass without 
 | paying them a visit, at which times, as may 
 well be imagined, he was not like to come 
 ! empty-handed. Indeed, so prodigal was he 
 1 in the giving of such things as children 
 most desire, and so many other ways had he 
 of winning their young hearts, his coming 
 was looked for by them all with monstrous 
 eagerness ; but not more anxious were they 
 for his return, than was he to be amongst 
 them, for so loving a father was he, it mat- 
 tered not what pleasures and honors awaited 
 him among his many excellent noble pat- 
 rons and friends, wher the time approached
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 for his customary visit, he was as impatient 
 to be on the road, as ever was lover to meet 
 his mistress. 
 
 That he loved them all was most mani- 
 fest ; but of his three children, there was 
 one whom he loved with so infinite and ab- 
 solute a devotedness, it moved every heart 
 that saw it. This was his only son Ham- 
 net. The helpless infant, the tottering chifd, 
 and the romping boy, were regarded by him, 
 as the fond lather year after year saw him 
 take on himself these several characters, 
 with an intensity of interest, such as none 
 but a dealing parent can have any thought 
 of. His affection became a passion the 
 powerfullest impulse of his existence. His 
 thoughts seemed to tend in one direction 
 with a constancy that was rivalled only by 
 the ever-steady compass. 
 
 Fame, wealt h, friends, and all the other cov- 
 etable enjoyments of life he sought for only 
 as a means of elevating this lovely boy into 
 a manhood that might find its place among 
 the proudest df the land, and insure for 
 many generations living evidences, readily 
 obtaining high fortune and distinction, that 
 the name of Shakspeare was not of a per- 
 ishable sort. 
 
 Oft and oft would his musings take unto 
 themselves shapes whereof the purport was 
 his son's greatness in some one way or 
 another ; and he would further delight his 
 humor by imagining such glorious scenes 
 whereof this most precious boy was the 
 chief feature, as one of such wondrous 
 qualities of heart and mind could alone 
 conceive. 
 
 As he grew up, so grew the love with 
 which he was regarded by his proud, affec- 
 tionate, and exceeding sanguine father. His 
 wants were ministered to with a hand that 
 left no room for an unsatisfied desire of any 
 sort to have a moment's existence. The 
 anxious parent, when he last parted from 
 him, not only charged divers his zealous 
 friends at Stratford and thereabouts, to watch 
 over his safety and happiness, as was his 
 wont on such occasions, but provided that 
 his education should be carried on with all 
 possible advantages, having secured as an 
 instructor for him that excellent ripe scholar, 
 the learned Vicar of Stratford, Master Rich- 
 ard Bi field. 
 
 Hamnet, now no longer the romping 
 child who loved far better than aught else 
 in the world beside a tumble in the grass 
 with Talbot, who had been his faithful friend 
 and ready playmate from earliest infancy 
 was a thin tall boy, in his thirteenth year, 
 who, as regularly as any clock in the parish, 
 
 morning and afternoon with his satchel 
 strapped over his jerkin, intently conning 
 of a book that was in his hand, halting not, 
 nor turning to the right or left, let there be 
 what attraction for one of his age there might, 
 but proceeding direct to the vicarage, there 
 to say his daily tasks to Master Bifield. And 
 on his return home it was not as other boys 
 would, when let loose from school, in disor- 
 derly rioting and, like enough, any mis- 
 chief that looked easiest to do, but walk- 
 ing the same serious pace, and as earnestly 
 studying his book as on his leaving home. 
 Even when, on approaching the village, his 
 old favorite came bounding towards him 
 with his well-rernembered joyful bark, the 
 only recognition he had of the studious boy 
 was an affectionate pat or two from his dis- 
 engaged hand, as the dog leaped on him, 
 and, without moving his gaze from the page, 
 he would continue his walk to his mother's 
 door, his hand resting on his four-footed 
 friend, who now walked sedately at his side, 
 ever and anon casting a glance at the pale 
 face of his once rosy playfellow, and giving 
 a low whine, that seemed to express a very 
 monstrous concern at the change that had 
 taken place in him. 
 
 The amusements to which his sisters in- 
 vited him, with abundance of sweet entrea- 
 ties and caresses, and the sharp dissatisfac- 
 tion of his mother, at ever finding him poring 
 over some book or another, were as little 
 efficacious in making any alteration in his 
 excessive studiousness. The commendation 
 he had of his excellent instructor, for his 
 diligence and forwardness in all manner of 
 learning, and the exceeding pleasure as 
 Master Bifield told him frequently, it would 
 be to his losing father to find him so godd a 
 scholar, made him so exert himself to ad- 
 vance rapidly in his studies, that, morning, 
 noon, and night, he seemed intent on noth- 
 ing but the learning of everything he could 
 be set at. 
 
 Proud was the master of such a pupil. In 
 truth, he was too proud of him to be suffi- 
 ciently discreet. He had been a scholar all 
 his life long poor in this world's gear, but 
 rich in virtue, learning, and all good gifts ; 
 and so conspicuous were his merits, that, 
 when the former schoolmaster was summa- 
 rily sent from an office he had too long dis- 
 graced, such recommendation of his fine 
 parts was made to the patron of the vicar- 
 age, as caused' that very estimable, pious 
 gentleman to bestow it on him, to the great 
 and lasting profit of the parishioners. 
 
 Long and severe study had made sad in- 
 roads in his health, ere he commenced his 
 
 might be met on the road to Stratford every new duties ; and the heavy labors he set
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 himself, to undo the many mischiefs caused 
 by the disreputable acts of his predecessor, 
 wrought on his constitution still further evil. 
 He disregarded severity of weather, and all 
 other inconveniences whatsoever, in the do- 
 ing of the various pious offices he might at 
 any time or season be called upon to per- 
 form. This, in time, reduced him to a mere 
 skeleton in appearance ; and, though yet in 
 the prime of life, so feeble in body was he, 
 he was scarce ever able to do more than 
 the least laborious of his customary 'duties. 
 As he complained not to any one, and was 
 ever of a cheerful disposition, none took him 
 to be in so bad a case as he was ; but the 
 sunken cheek and eyes, emaciated frame, 
 and constant teazing cough, were signs that 
 ought not to have been disregarded. 
 
 At last he got so much worse, he was fain 
 to take to his bed. Nevertheless, such was 
 his love for Hamnet, he would have him say 
 his tasks at his bedside with the young 
 scholar's accustomed regularity, and com- 
 mend him, and set him further lessons, and 
 discourse with him on all matters wherein 
 he lacked intelligence, though the sick man 
 was scarce able to move a limb, or use 
 his voice above a whisper. Surely such a 
 sight hath rarely been seen as presented 
 itself every morning and afternoon in the 
 vicar's antique chamber. 
 
 Perchance, on his first entering, the boy 
 would have with him some choice fruit of 
 his own plucking, or dainty posie of his own 
 gathering, or some other choice thing or 
 another to please the sick man's eye or pal- 
 ate, and with these in his hand he would 
 first dutifully present them to his master, 
 not forgetting the while to ask earnestly 
 whether he was mending ; and then, having 
 received all proper thanks and the necessa- 
 ry reply, he would put the flowers, or what- 
 ever it might be, where he thought his mas- 
 ter would be best pleased to have them, and 
 then take his accustomed place and begin 
 his proper task. In sooth, it then became 
 a scene of no ordinary interest. 
 
 There was the zealous master, pale as 
 any ghost, lying supported by pillows, one 
 shrunken arm and bony hand resting on the 
 coverlet, his eyes brightening as he noticed 
 the exceeding aptness of his diligent scho- 
 lar, who, with visage having but little more 
 warrant of health in it, stood by the sombre 
 tapestry at the bed's head, affectionately and 
 reverently regarding his excellent instruc- 
 tor, as he repeated without a fault the vari- 
 ous lessons he had been tasked with. This 
 done, Hamnet would seek to do the sick 
 man all manner of loving offices, which the 
 other took as though he would have them 
 3 
 
 done by none other than he ; and, when 
 there was nothing left to do, the scholar 
 looked as loth to go as was the master to 
 have him depart. But at last came an af-, 
 fectionate fear, expressed by the sick man, 
 that the boy's mother would needs be made 
 more anxious for his safety than was right 
 he should make her, delayed he his depar- 
 ture any longer ; and, with heartfelt bles- 
 sings on the one side, and as fervent pray- 
 ers on the other, the two would separate for 
 that day. 
 
 This went on for some weeks, Master 
 Bifield making some small progress towards 
 recovery, though still too feeble to leave his 
 chamber, when it chanced that one morn- 
 ing, at the usual hour, marvellous as it was, 
 the punctual scholar made not his appear- 
 ance. The worthy vicar at first thought he 
 might have been stayed by his mother ; 
 then he fancied he had gone with his sisters 
 to some distance, and had not got back in 
 time to get to the vicarage ; and then made 
 for him some other excuse equally reasona- 
 ble. But still he came not. 
 
 Hour after hour passed by, to the prodig- 
 ious surprise of the good priest, and almost 
 to the exhausting of a very plentiful stock 
 of reasons for Hamnet's absence, and yet 
 the boy was no nearer his place by his mas- 
 ter's bedside than at first. Thus proceeded 
 the day a most uneasy one to Master Bi- 
 field, and it was succeeded by as restless a 
 night. 
 
 The morning found him not less san- 
 guine of the coming of his beloved scholar 
 than he had been the day previous ; but, 
 when the school-hour arrived, and Hamnet 
 came not, his master became exceeding 
 troubled, and at once despatched his at- 
 tached, but somewhat too querulous, domes- 
 tic to Shottery, to inquire the cause of the 
 boy's extraordinary absence. 
 
 Master Bifield had been lying in his bed, 
 monstrously troubled in his thoughts con- 
 cerning the absence of his diligent and af- 
 fectionate young scholar, waiting with pro- 
 digious anxiety the return of Esther, when 
 he heard a step he knew to be hers ; but, to 
 his huge disappointment, the lighter and 
 more welcome sound of Hamnet's footsteps, 
 did not accompany it. Presently the door 
 of his chamber opened, and there entered 
 thereat the tall, gaunt figure of Esther, clad 
 with her usual extreme neatness, and wear- 
 ing a visage of more than ordinary serious- 
 ness and melancholy concern. 
 
 As soon as the vicar caught sight of her, 
 he raised himself up a bit, with a look of 
 exceeding alarm. " Hast seen him ? Why 
 doth he not come ? Doth aught ail the bov ?
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Prythee sit down and rest thyself, good Es- 
 ther, after thy walk; and let me know, as 
 speedily as thou canst, what keeps Hamnet 
 from the vicarage. When will he come ? 
 ffath lie his lesson ready? I trust he will 
 be here anon." 
 
 Esther did not sit. She saw something 
 in the arrangement of the things nighest 
 her master she liked not. She busied her- 
 self awhile in putting them more conven- 
 iently, and of all the questions asked of her, 
 ehe replied but to the last, and that was with 
 a shaking of the head, that looked of such 
 bad import to the sick man, he seemed 
 struck with a sudden fear. 
 
 "Nay, I trust in God's love no ill hath 
 happened to him !" cried he, with all the 
 fervor of the excellent, proper Christian he 
 was ; but seeing that his messenger con- 
 tinued her employment as though she 
 would delay uttering what she liked not to 
 say, and that her aspect took on it a more 
 painful shade of seriousness, he caught her 
 by the arm, and added, in the most moving 
 accents ever heard : " I prythee, good Es- 
 ther, tell me what aileth the boy ? Some 
 slight thing or another of which he shall be 
 well presently ? I may expect his coming 
 a week hence at the farthest ?" 
 
 This elicited not the reply he wished, for 
 Esther was too moved to commence her 
 task as an intelligencer. The anxiety of 
 the sick man mounted to an agony, and, with 
 features blanched with affright, he gasped 
 out " Esther, Esther ! prythee tell me not 
 that sweet boy is dead !" 
 
 " Nay, master, it hath *not come to that 
 yet," replied she, in a tone she intended 
 should be consolatory. " But," she added, 
 thinking, now it had come to this push, it 
 were better the truth should be known at 
 once, "an if 1 know aught of such matters, 
 the poor boy's days are numbered in this 
 world. God help him !" 
 
 She then proceeded to state how evident 
 to every one's observation the young scho- 
 lar's health had been rapidly sinking under 
 his too great study, and that, after getting 
 wet to the skin in a sudden rain, on return- 
 ing home, he sat in his damp things study- 
 ing his morrow's lesson, till he was taken 
 with a terrible shivering fit. He was put 
 to bed, but in the morning he was in so bad 
 a state, the apothecary was sent 'for from 
 Stratford, who pronounced him to be in the 
 most imminent danger, since when he had 
 been getting worse every hour, and, to all 
 appearance, could not live many days. 
 
 " This is all that is to be got of poring 
 over books," added Esther, emphatically. 
 " And this. Master, hath brought you to a 
 
 bed of siclaiess, and hath been this many a 
 year wearing out your life by inches, as I 
 have warned you so oft. But, alack ! alack ! 
 my painstaking hath been to such small 
 profit, that you have not only been destroy- 
 ing of yourself with such pestilent things, 
 but have allowed this poor boy, under your 
 own eyes, to waste his sweet young life 
 away, after the same horrible fashion. 
 
 Hitherto the sick man had kept staring at 
 his companion, too bewildered at the sudden 
 blow to have the use of any sense save that 
 of hearing. But, as she finished her speech, 
 the truth of what she had stated flashed 
 upon his mind, and the enormity of the mis- 
 chief he had done presented itself to him so 
 overpoweringly, that he, with a sharp cry, 
 clasped his hands together and sunk in a 
 swoon on the bed. 
 
 Esther flew to him on the instant, and 
 with the tender interest of a mother adminis- 
 tered such remedies as she knew were of 
 most efficacy in such cases. As soon as 
 he recovered" his senses, he seemed to have 
 a strength he had not known a long time, 
 and called for his apparel. In vain his faith- 
 ful attendant attempted to dissuade him from 
 his intention, but he would attend to no sug- 
 gestions or apprehensions. Dressing him- 
 self as quickly as he might, talking the 
 while as though to himself, now bitterly con- 
 demning his own negligence of Hamnet 'a 
 health, and then breaking out into the fond- 
 est praises of his promising scholarship, he 
 took his staff in his hand, left his chamber, 
 walked out of the vicarage with a step he 
 had not known any so firm these ten years, 
 and proceeded the directest way to the cot- 
 tage at Shottery. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 If thou be scorn'd, 
 
 Disdaine it not : for preachers grave 
 Are still dispis'd, by faces hornde, 
 
 When they for better manners crave. 
 That hap, which fails on men divine, 
 If thou feele, doe not repine. 
 A GLASSE TO VIEW THE PRIDE OF VAIX-GLOBIOUS 
 WOMEN. 
 
 " A FEW words, John, and we must needs 
 part. Heaven only kuoweth whether it 
 may be our fortune to meet again ; but, 
 however it shall chance, I am fully per- 
 suaded I thank God very heartily for an 
 assurance so comfortabre to a mother you 
 will do no discredit to your bringing up. In 
 sooth, you are a notable good youth, and 
 
 seem like enough to keep your honored fa- 
 
 -. :
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 35 
 
 ther's name blessed be his memory ! in 
 fair repute as long as it shall be in your 
 keeping." 
 
 " I trust so, good mother. I will do all 
 that I needs can that you shall have not one 
 minute's discomfort from my behavior." 
 
 " I doubt it not, my dear boy. In sooth, 
 the knowledge of your well-disposedness is 
 my great solace and contentation in this 
 trying hour. I have provided you, without 
 sparing cost or care, with such learning as 
 you had the greatest liking for ; and you, 
 having made choice, of your own free will, 
 of the calling or profession of medicine as 
 excellent proper choice as could have been 
 made I have, as is already known to you, 
 entered into such arrangements with one of 
 the notablest London physicians, for your 
 sojourning with him until you have com- 
 pleted your necessary studies in the treating 
 of diseases, in the nature of simples and the 
 like for the which I think it but right I 
 should tell you, I have taxed my means, to 
 the utmost, that you may use whatsoever 
 diligence you have, they be not rendered un- 
 profitable." 
 
 " That will I, rest assured. It would be 
 a villanous ill return, methinks, for your ex- 
 quisite sweet goodness to me at all times, 
 were I to be amiss in any thing." 
 
 ' You know not what temptations may 
 assail you in that great city whereto you 
 are going the which, I grieve to say, hath 
 the horriblest bad character ever heard for 
 you have been brought up so homely, in 
 these retired parts, no bruit of such could 
 have reached you." 
 
 " I' faith, it mattereth not, sweet mother. 
 You have taught me I give you my very 
 heartiest thanks for it to know good from 
 evil, to follow the one and eschew the other ; 
 and that will suffice, let me go where I 
 will." 
 
 " I hope and trust, with all my heart and 
 spirit, it may." 
 
 Thus spoke mother and son on the eve of 
 a parting that seemed like to be of some 
 duration ; and, after entering more into par- 
 ticulars in the way of cautions, the anxious 
 parent allowed her son to receive her last 
 caress and her blessing ; and, in company 
 with a steady, middle-aged, serving-man, 
 that had, in better times, lived at livery at 
 Ids father's board the best part of his life, he 
 was allowed to go his way. 
 
 Simon Stockfish had managed to get the 
 loan of two steeds for their journey ; one 
 for his young master, and the other for his 
 own riding. He had done all that he could 
 to make them worthy of the occasion, but 
 with exceeding small profit, for Dapple and 
 
 Jack were two as worthless and misshapen 
 brutes as were ever rode. Dapple the one 
 his master chose, was an iron-gray, as an- 
 cient a piece of horseflesh as you shall see 
 any day, rising nigh upon sixteen hands, 
 and so bony withal, the poor youth looked 
 to be striding a tombstone ; and his head 
 was so long and narrow, his ribs so promi- 
 nent, such a goose-rump had he, and hia 
 tail was so short and stiff, for it was nothing 
 but a stump with two or three hairs, it may 
 well be imagined the horseman was not en- 
 vied of other equestrians. 
 
 Simon followed, on Jack, a little, black, 
 stiff-necked, rough and ragged cart-horse's 
 colt, with long mane and tail, pretty well 
 off for flesh., but so heavy and unwieldy 
 withal, that when he trotted which seemed 
 his only quick pace, and one not easily to 
 get him into his hoofs clattered on the 
 ground like monstrous hammers on an an- 
 vil. As Simon was a sturdy knave, whose 
 belt encompassed a fair rotundity of body, 
 his weight was not like to make his steed's 
 paces any the lighter, added to which, he 
 carried behind him his master's wardrobe, 
 at his holsters a brace of heavy pistolets, 
 and at his side a formidable rapier ; but the 
 jolting he got, and the unseemliness of the 
 animal he bestrode, seemed not to incon- 
 venience him in any manner. 
 
 H retained an immoveable visage of 
 such dignity as he thought best became one 
 who was entrusted with the guardianship 
 of his young master, and riding at a re- 
 spectful distance, yet near enough to be at 
 band when need required it, he cultivated 
 bis ordinary humor of taciturnity whilst 
 cogitating on the constant attentiveness ne- 
 cessary on his part to secure his old mas- 
 ter's only son from the dangers which, he 
 believed, were sure to beset him on his jour- 
 ney to London. 
 
 But all this time, what were the reflec- 
 tions of John Hall ? The young student of 
 medicine was now fairly on his road to for- 
 tune. Was he anticipating his career, and 
 seeing a brilliant prospect of court patients, 
 and liberal fees ? Was his mind turned the 
 other way, recalling the many admirable 
 pleasant hours he had enjoyed in the famil- 
 iar scenes he was now leaving ; perchance, 
 never to see again ? Was he regretting the 
 parting with his fond mother, or fixing on 
 iiis attention the excellent advice he had 
 ust heard from her, touching his behavior 
 with such young persons of her sex as he 
 might be about to associate with ? 
 
 He was neither thinking of the past nor 
 the future ; lamenting his separation from 
 a dealing parent, nor caring in the leasi
 
 30 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 whether he was or was not to mingle with 
 women of any sort. In honest truth, he 
 was merely intently questioning of himself 
 whether mustard, made with verjuice, very 
 sharp, and somewhat thick, was the proper- 
 est remedy for a quartan-ague. 
 
 Thus proceeded the two for sundry miles, 
 not without exciting some curiousness from 
 every one they met, and a few jeers from 
 such rude and rustic persons as are sure to 
 be found in every highway, conducting of 
 themselves as though they had a patent for 
 sauciness. The young physician was often 
 roused from his .deep studies by some un- 
 mannerly waggoner, or insolent groom, 
 shouting out certain inquiries as to the 
 number of years that had elapsed since his 
 steed had had a feed of corn ; and a sturdy 
 beggar clapped his dish on his head, and 
 fell on his marrowbones, in a seeming 
 ecstasy of devotion as the youth passed him, 
 crying how blessed he was in being allowed 
 a sight of one of the very cattle with which 
 Nebuchadnezzar had gone to grass. 
 
 At first, John Hall had given no thought 
 of the appearance he cut on so sorry an an- 
 imal ; and, as regarded his own apparelling, 
 was well content with the cap and feather, 
 the sober suit of russet, and the stout boots 
 and gloves he had on ; but at last, hearing 
 of so many scurvy terms applied to his 
 horse, he got ashamed of it, and would haye 
 preferred going the journey on foot, had it 
 been possible. He knew, however, there 
 was no help for it, but to make the way as 
 short as possible ; therefore he put his spurs 
 to the lank sides of the poor beast, and 
 urged him to the top of his speed. 
 
 if it was ridiculous to see the tall, gaunt, 
 misshapen tiling that had been provided for 
 the young traveller's riding, proceeding at a 
 walk, it was a thousand times more so when 
 he was displaying his anatomy in his awk- 
 ward attempt at a canter, i^ndered the more 
 ludicrous when Simon Stockfish came after 
 on the ugly brute he had under him, the 
 which he was urging him to use his heavy 
 heels with such expedition as would serve 
 to keep him at a convenient distance from 
 the other. Whether it was the clattering 
 of this brute's iron hoofs, or the loud shout 
 set up when passing them by a miller and 
 his wife going together on one horse to mar- 
 ket, that startled the old grey, is not known ; 
 but certain is it he took fright, and put his 
 old bones to such good use, as made all who 
 
 held him marvel exceedingly. 
 
 Simon Stockfish, in no small alarm, strove 
 he could to get nigher to his master; 
 
 d, what with the spur and the horrible 
 discordant noises set up by all who were in 
 
 sight of fhe travellers, the young hone cot 
 as much frightened as the old one, and set 
 off after him, striking fire from his hoofa 
 every time they oame on the hard ground, 
 and making such a din with his heels as 
 was deafening to hear. 
 
 Simon pulled his statute cap over his 
 brows, that it should not fall off his head ; 
 and then, digging his knees into Jack's fat 
 sides, and grasping his long mane with one 
 hand as the other held the reins, kept his 
 gaze fixed upon the figure of his young 
 master, who sat firmly in his seat. The in- 
 creased clattering behind him, and the 
 shouts and screams by which he was as- 
 sailed on ah 1 sides, did not, as may easily 
 be believed, serve to lessen Dapple's fear ; 
 and, therefore, the two continued their 
 course to the huge amusement of some, and 
 the no less alarm of others, for many miles. 
 
 As they passed through the villages, the 
 casements were thrown open, and aspects 
 of alarm and wonder projected through them. 
 The pigs rushed one way, the geese fled 
 another. The parish bull galloped bellow- 
 ing to the gate that looked into the road, 
 with the cows at his heels. The sheep hud- 
 dled together to what they thought the safest 
 corner of the field. The tinker's ass set up 
 a hideous bray, as he rose affrighted from 
 his bed of nettles, in the pound, and the 
 fowls took refuge on the top of the cage ; 
 whilst the children got out of the way with 
 all possible speed, and, when the danger 
 was passed, saluted the cause of it with the 
 full energy of their lungs, and, like enough, 
 the more mischievous sort took to throwing 
 of stones ere the horsemen were well out of 
 ieir neighborhood. 
 
 At last the travellers came to a wide 
 aeath, through which was a road that con- 
 tinued for several miles. And now, as they 
 were not assailed by the screams and shout- 
 ngs which accompanied their flight, be- 
 ;ause of their nor meeting any one, save an 
 old woman, driving her pig to the next town, 
 who fled opposite both ways over the heath, 
 as soon as Dapple and Jack became visible, 
 and both the horses, being horribly tired of 
 ;he exertions they had made, never having 
 jeing so put to it all their lives before, they 
 gradually slackened their speed till each 
 resumed the sober pace with which he had 
 started. 
 
 John Hall looked for his attendant, and 
 spying him at the customary distance, with- 
 out a word said, for from a natural shyness 
 
 was not much given to speech with any 
 one, he returned into the train of studious 
 reflection the running away of his goodly 
 steed interrupted. Simon Stockfish belie 1 '
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 37 
 
 hia charge in safety ; and he was so con- 
 tent, he also, without any manner of diffi- 
 culty, and with as little commodity of phrase, 
 fell again into thinking of the dangers 
 that threatened his young master, whereof 
 the imminent one, from which he had but 
 now escaped, he marvelled hugely he had 
 not expected. 
 
 So intent did they soon become in their 
 several thoughts as to be totally regardless 
 of all around. The student of medicine 
 was canvassing, in his mind, the question 
 whether Galen or Hippocrates were the bet- 
 .ter authority in the treatment of fevers, 
 when, of a sudden, he felt himself rudely 
 seized by the arm and leg, and in a moment 
 was on the ground, and completely in the 
 power of two exceeding suspicious-looking 
 tatterdemalions. Simon Stockfish, at the 
 same time, was cudgelling of his brains to 
 find the best method of securing his young 
 charge in safety to his journey's end, when 
 he was pounced on in a like manner ; and, 
 ere he could touch a weapon, was complete- 
 ly at the mercy of his rude captors. 
 
 The incautious travellers looked mon- 
 strously astonished, as may readily be sup- 
 posed, at finding of themselves in a situa- 
 tion so little to be coveted. They had not 
 noticed that darkness was fast approaching, 
 and they seemed to have been quite regard- 
 less of the many miles of desolate heath 
 they had to pass ere they could arrive at the 
 place appointed for their night's lodging. It 
 standeth to reason also, that they were 
 equally ignorant of the neighborhood of the 
 rude knaves who had so suddenly sprung 
 upon them out of a hollow made by digging 
 for sand, that was close upon their path, 
 where they apparently had lain in ambush. 
 
 Neither spoke a word, their ordinary po- 
 verty of speech being in no way improved 
 by the unexpected peril in which they found 
 themselves, but gazed with looks made up 
 of astonishment, doubt, and fear, at eacli of 
 the scowling, villanous countenances of 
 which they liad just made the unwelcome 
 acquaintance. Nothing there were they 
 likely to find to afford them comfort of any 
 sort ; nor, from a glance of their soiled, 
 patched, and rent apparelling, could it be 
 supposed they would gain any greater de- 
 gree of contentation. And when their eyes 
 met the threatening weapons, each villian 
 held over them huge knives and heavy 
 clubs, they presently gave themselves up to 
 be as dead men as ever were measured for 
 their coffins. 
 
 It was not long before their rude captors 
 proved to them what little benefit they were , 
 like to receive at their hands ; for, with di- ( 
 
 vers horrible oaths and demands to each, 
 which were but too intelligible to them, and 
 with sundry strange phrases to each other, 
 neither Simon nor his young master could 
 tell the meaning of, they took to plundering 
 them, the which they did with such famous 
 expedition, that in a minute or so, man and 
 master were as naked as ever they were 
 born. 
 
 After some discourse, however, amongst 
 themselves, the robbers made them put on 
 garments they threw off for that purpose ; 
 and when the young physician had got his 
 legs into a pair of greasy slops big enough 
 for a Hollander, and a tattered jerkin, that 
 looked to have been measured for the Colos- 
 sus of Rhodes, and Simon Stockfish had 
 placed over his limbs a suit of faded velvet, 
 exceedingly ragged, patched, and soiled, 
 that might have suited one half his size, 
 they were savagely bid to go with their 
 plunderers, on their peril making any noise 
 or attempting to escape. 
 
 All then left the ordinary road, and struck 
 into a narrow track, numbers of which ap- 
 peared to traverse the heath, crossing each 
 other in all directions ; and this they follow- 
 ed, through the innumerable windings 
 whereof it seemed to consist, for a good 
 mile, keeping a perfect silence the whilst. 
 To prisoners so surrounded, escape was 
 out of the question. They came, at last, to 
 a stagnant pond, whereat they halted a mo- 
 ment ; and one of the knaves, on whose vis- 
 age gallows was written in as legible char- 
 acters as ever were met with, put his 
 knuckles to his mouth and blew so shrill a 
 whistle, it seemed to Simon and his master 
 to pierce their very ears. This had scarce 
 been done when, at a great distance, an- 
 other was heard in reply. John Hall look- 
 ed in the direction whence it came, but 
 nothing met his eye but a wide expanse of 
 heath, all beyond being wrapped in mist that 
 looked as though it would shortly shroud 
 the whole neighborhood in darkness. 
 
 At this the thieves turned into another 
 bye-path, two of their company, as before, 
 riding the tired steeds of their disconsolate 
 captives, and the others keeping close to 
 their elbows. Having proceeded thus, nigh 
 upon a quarter of a mile without sight or 
 sound, beyond what hath already been des- 
 cribed, Simon Stockfish was startled by the 
 sudden rising from the ground close behind 
 him, where he had hitherto lain concealed 
 in the thick fern that grew there, a boy, who 
 appeared scarcely to have reached his tenth 
 year. His visage was exceeding dusky, 
 with piercing black eyes, and having an 
 abundance of dark hair hanging confusedly
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 about his neck and shoulders. His feet and 
 legs were bare, his head without covering of 
 any sort, and such pitiful rags as he had on 
 could barely be called garments. 
 
 Saying something which was very He- 
 brew to the captives, but was answered in 
 a like jargon by one of their dishonest com- 
 panions, the child instantly made a loud 
 noise so like the barking of a shepherd's 
 dog, that the young student of mediclm 
 imagined some animal of the sort was at 
 his heels. He had not done this a minute 
 when a like cry was heard at a distance 
 the boy then dropped at his length into the 
 fern as quickly as he had risen from it, and 
 the rest proceeded along a path scarcely 
 visible. They met with no one, and little 
 likelihood was there, as it seemed to the 
 poor distressed prisoners, of such meeting ; 
 when, as they came under an ancient tree 
 whereof a few branches bore leaves its 
 withered stem gave no sign of, a shaggy 
 grey head and grizzly beard were thrust 
 out of the rotten trunk, and the leader of 
 the party was addressed in the same strange 
 language that Simon Stockfish and his 
 young master had so recently heard. 
 
 Some conversation followed betwixt the 
 confederates, whereupon the person in the 
 hollow tree took to hooting like an owl, 
 which he did so to the life, any one might 
 have believed an owl was close at hand. 
 The sound had hardly been uttered, when it 
 was replied to as though a similar bird 
 was not far off, and then, with a few unin- 
 telligible words, which doubtless comprised 
 Borne direction, the grizzly head and beard 
 were withdrawn into the tree, and once 
 more the party proceeded. 
 
 They went not a hundred yards before 
 they approached a deep sand-pit, concealed 
 from view till any one came close upon it, 
 by thick brushwood growing all around the 
 brink. The leader pushed his way through 
 this, by a track it looked impossible could 
 be discovered by any who knew it not. 
 All at once a voice demanded something, 
 and so close at hand was it, it appeared to 
 come from amongst them, yet was no one 
 visible, notwithstanding both the captives 
 glanced in all directions. A reply was given 
 by the one who had acted as leader, and 
 shortly after John Hall and his serving-man 
 found themselves descending a narrow zig- 
 zag path of great steepness. The barking 
 of dogs below became now. audible even to 
 the deafest of the party ; and then the deep 
 voice of a man calling them roughly to hold 
 their peace. 
 
 As they got lower down, they might have 
 beheld two or three tents of soiled and 
 
 patched canvas, rendered almost black by 
 long exposure to all sorts of weathers. Then 
 in one place there was perceptible a huge 
 fire ourning, with a monstrous kettle over 
 it, and several figures grouped around ; 
 further off, a large mastiff-bitch chained to 
 a stake, with two or three meaner dogs at 
 large close by, barking with all their might, 
 till a terrible tall fellow left the fire, and 
 with a huge whip belabored them so heart- 
 ily, it stopped their tune presently ; never- 
 theless, as the strangers approached, they 
 one and all kept ever and anon snapping, 
 snarling and growling, as though, as they 
 dared, they would do them some horrible 
 mischief. 
 
 Upon reaching level ground, the thieves 
 and their prisoners were welcomed with a 
 riotous chorus of shouts and acclamations, 
 sundry scurvy jests were passed and an- 
 swered, but no violence was offered to the 
 captives save by an old hag, who was su- 
 perintending the cookery, and hit Simon 
 Stockfish a smart blow over his pate with a 
 wooden ladle she held in her baud, because 
 he replied not to some question of hers, he 
 could not understand a word of, the which 
 seemed exquisite pleasant sport to divers of 
 her associates of both sexes, for they set up 
 a loud laugh. The clamor they made 
 suddenly brought out of the bettermost of 
 the tents a person who had evidently some 
 authority over them, for, as soon as they 
 heard his voice, as it appeared abusing 
 them for creating of such a din, they at cnoe 
 became as dumb as fishes, and slunk out of 
 the way as quietly as they could. 
 
 This man by his look and bearing assum- 
 ed to be of a superior sort. He was of a 
 dark visage, somewhat of the Moorish cast, 
 with beard and hair of a deep black, and 
 eyes of a like tint, but so terribly piercing, 
 the horriblest swaggerer that ever was stvn 
 in Finsbury Fields must have been awed by 
 a glance of them. In figure he was as 
 well limbed as the finest gallant at Court, 
 and though his apparelling was nothing 
 more than a stout suit of buckram, it sat 
 on him better than did the prodigalest show 
 of braveries on many of greater state. He 
 looked not to be more than thirty at the 
 most, and was in the full pride of vigorous 
 manhood, tall, stout of limb, with an eye 
 like a hawk, and the tread of a conqueror. 
 
 Examining the strangers with a search- 
 ing glance, as he approached them, he 
 sharply addressed the man who had appear- 
 ed the leader of the party by whom they 
 had been attacked. The answer he re- 
 ceived seemed only to set him on a severer 
 scrutiny, and he regarded the student of medi-
 
 , 
 
 SECRET PA 
 
 33 
 
 ^rc T 
 cinefor a few moments in silence. His 
 
 black brows at first were knit fiercely, and 
 his swarthy visage wore an aspect of mis- 
 trust and disquietude ; but as his gaze 
 rested on the pale, thoughtful countenance 
 of John Hall, his look grew gradually less 
 threatening, until there appeared in it so 
 much of sympathy as would have given 
 confidence to the youth had he observed it. 
 This, however, he could not have done, see- 
 ing that, with a sense of apprehension his 
 situation gave some warrant for, as soon as 
 he beheld the flashing eyes of the person so 
 intently observing him, he fixed his own on 
 the ground. 
 
 The other then turned his gloomy visage 
 towards Simon Stockfish, but the honest 
 Berving-man shrunk not from his fiery gaze, 
 as his master had. He put his ordinary 
 grave face on tho matter, as though he was 
 as much at home under such sharp glances 
 as under the mild looks of the studious 
 youth beside him. Nevertheless was his 
 mind exceedingly busy. 
 
 " How now, knave !" exclaimed he of the 
 dusky visage, finding the man kept a coun- 
 tenance under his scrutiny, as if it was iron 
 or stone, and took not his eyes off for a sin- 
 gle moment. " I'll warrant thou 5 !! know me 
 again after this long perusal of me." Si- 
 mon still steadily gazed on the terrible 
 bright eyes before him, but said never a 
 word. 
 
 "Fool !" continued the man, savagely 
 enraged as much at Simon's taciturnity as 
 at his indifference to his threatening looks. 
 " Hast never a tongue in thy head ? Speak, 
 fellow, or I'll have thy coxcomb mauled in 
 such fashion as will make thee have cause 
 to hold me in remembrance thy life long." 
 
 " What dost want of me ?" asked the 
 other, in a quiet tone without altering his 
 features a jot. 
 
 '" I'faith, not much, seeing that my hawks 
 have left not a feather on thee worth pluck- 
 ing," replied his questioner, a smile passing 
 over his comely features. " I merely seek 
 at thy hands some small intelligence, which 
 thou hadst best give, and give quickly. 
 Whence comest thou, and where art going ?" 
 
 Simon Stockfish paused ere he answer- 
 ed. He thought that the safety of his be- 
 loved master's only son now depended on his 
 prudence, and was determined to be won- 
 derfully cautious, that nothing he said 
 should bring the youth into any jeopardy- 
 
 " I came whence I was sent," said Simon, 
 very quietly, " and I am going on a lawful 
 journey." 
 
 " Why, thou peremptory slave, dost dare 
 give such words to me !" exclaimed the 
 
 . 
 
 other, his dark visage instantly becoming a 
 
 thousand times more gloomy. 
 
 It was evident that Simon's notions of 
 prudence were of a strange sort. However, 
 he now thought to anger a man in whose 
 power his young master was, ought to be 
 avoided, and, by a plan that looked to him 
 wondrous politic, he sought to put himself 
 on better terms with him. 
 
 " I ask not thy business, and see not why 
 thou shouldst demand mine," observed the 
 serving-man, with his ordinary gravity, 
 " notwithstanding there be divers thy very 
 worshipful good friends, to whom any cer- 
 tain intelligence of thee would be right wel- 
 come, or I am hugely mistaken." 
 
 " Ha ! dost know me, fellow ?" 
 
 " Exceeding well," answered Simon, dis- 
 regarding the angry scowl now fixed on 
 him. " Thou art Black Sampson, king of 
 the gipsies at least, so thou wert called at 
 the 'sizes, where I saw thee tried for sheep- 
 stealing but I was heartily glad afterwards 
 when 1 heard, by the Hue and Cry, that 
 thou hadst broke prison the day before .they 
 were to have hanged thee." 
 
 Simon Stockfish was not a whit happier 
 in his notions of what was politic, than he 
 found he had been in his ideas of prudence. 
 The scowl of the recognized gipsy grew 
 every moment more threatening, and his 
 eyes flashed fearfully, when he heard the 
 ignominious fate alluded to, which had so 
 nearly overtaken him. With a horrible 
 imprecation, he seized the astonished ser- 
 ving-man by the throat and it looked at 
 first terribly as though he would throttle him, 
 but he suddenly gave him a swing that sent 
 him forcibly to the earth, several paces dis- 
 tant from where he had stood, and, after 
 shouting in a savage mood, some directions 
 to his lawless associates, Black Sampson 
 turned on his heel, and presently disappear- 
 ed within the tent whence he had come. 
 
 The command was obeyed almost as soon 
 as uttered, and the hapless travellers found 
 themselves rudely seized, and their hands 
 tightly bound behind them by a group of the 
 most villanous, hang-dog, rascal thieves that 
 could be met with any where. John Hall 
 had heard all that had passed, but was so 
 taken by surprise, he could make no interfe- 
 rence in behalf of his thoughtless compan- 
 ion, and suffered himself to be roughly 
 handled by the gipsies without either com- 
 plaint or resistance.
 
 40 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Why, thou simple parish ass, thou, didst thou 
 never see any gipsies ? These are a covey of 
 gipsies, and the bravest new covey that ever 
 constable flew at. 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 For, when Dame Nature first 
 
 Had framde hir heavenly face, 
 And thoroughly bedecked it 
 
 With goodly gleames of grace, 
 It lyked her so well ; 
 
 Lo here, quod she, a piece 
 For perfect shape that passeth all 
 Apelles 1 work in Greece. 
 
 GASCOIGNE. 
 
 THE two sat for some time on the ground 
 in silence, with reflections none of the plea- 
 santest. All the gang appeared to have left 
 them, when they had grown tired of the 
 pastime they had found in their unresisting 
 victims. Jeers unanswered, and ill-usage 
 unresisted, soon becomes sorry sport : and, 
 after the roughest of their company had put 
 them within the length of the savage mas- 
 tiff-bitch, saying of certain words to the 
 brute which she seemed to understand on 
 the instant, for she crouched down and 
 fixed her eyes on them, as though, moved 
 they an inch, she would tear them to pieces 
 they drew off, all of them to another part 
 of the pit. 
 
 The young student, by degrees, recovered 
 from the amazement and fear in which he 
 had been thrown, and began to consider the 
 perilous situation in which he was placed. 
 He had ascertained that he was a prisoner 
 in an encampment of the Rommanees, or 
 gipsies. Of their leader he had heard, for 
 his name was the terror of all the country 
 round for twenty miles. He was called 
 Sampson, from his huge strength, and 
 Black, from his dark visage ; and this name 
 was as well known in cottage and hall as 
 Guy of Warwick, or Robin Hood. He had 
 the subtlety of the fox, and daring of the 
 lion ; and so skilfully did he commit his de- 
 predations, that nothing could be traced to 
 him, although there never was any hesita- 
 tion in pronouncing Black Sampson to be 
 the malefactor. 
 
 There was much of mystery and romance 
 in the tales that were circulated over thecoun- 
 try about him, which his handsome features, 
 noble figure, and courteous bearing of him- 
 self, whenever at fairs and wakes he chose 
 to mingle with the villagers and townsfolks 
 such festivals always brought together, were 
 sure to increase. He won all the prizes 
 at cudgel-play, wrestling, and all country 
 eports whatever; and he had ever borne 
 
 his good fortune with such exceeding good- 
 humor, it seldom gave umbrage to any. It 
 so chanced, however, that his ordinary good 
 fortune once forsook him not in games, 
 for that would not have mattered so much, 
 but in crime. 
 
 There was a shepherd on a neighboring 
 farm named Wattie Elliott, from over the 
 border, as fine a fellow of his inches as the 
 race of Elliotts ever boasted of. He had 
 missed one of his flock. Nothing could ex- 
 ceed his vigilance and care, yet it was barely 
 a week when he missed another. 
 
 Wattie had many reasons for wishing 
 to capture the depredator of his master's 
 flock. His own honesty might be suspect- 
 ed, were the knave allowed to escape with 
 his booty a third time. He was as certain 
 Black Sampson was the thief as he was of 
 his . own existence, and his inclination to 
 catch him was wonderfully sharpened by 
 the recollection of the broken head he got 
 of him at the last cudgel-play. Wattie was 
 a shrewd fellow, and feared nothing in 
 human shape, and he had a son now close 
 upon manhood, as strong, as active, as sharpj 
 and as bold as himself, on whose crown 
 Black Sampson had left a similar token of 
 his mastery at cudgelling. 
 
 The father and son kept watch almost 
 day and night, and put in practice certain 
 notable, clever schemes for the detection of 
 the sheepstealer ; but the king of the gipsies 
 was a match for both of them ; and tired, as 
 it were, of their useless labors, they seemed 
 all at once to slacken in their vigilance. 
 They gave out they were going that night 
 to the next town to bring an addition to 
 their master's flocks he had purchased of a 
 farmer there, leaving their place to be filled 
 by a lad, whose carelessness was well 
 known, and were seen at dusk proceeding 
 in the direction they had stated. 
 
 Two hours afterwards, whilst the boy was 
 intently amusing himself hunting water-rats, 
 a man was stealthily approaching the folded 
 flock. Nothing could exceed the caution he 
 exhibited as he crept along the shadow of 
 the hedges, stopping frequently to listen. 
 Save the bleating of the sheep, he could 
 hear nothing but the barking of the dog, set 
 on by the boy to catch the vermin, and his 
 occasional shouting but both boy and dog 
 were completely hid from view. 
 
 After awhile, he lightly threw himself 
 over the gate, and discovered his prey in the 
 adjoining field, to get at which there waa 
 but one way by leaping the only part of 
 the fence that was not impassable. He 
 was the best leaper in the whole country 
 round ; but the high thick hedge and deep
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ditch that surrounded the field, except in 
 this place, was not to be attempted. 
 
 Before leaping it, he seemed to think it 
 necessary to examine the other side, and, 
 by great difficulty, attained such a place on 
 the bank, that he had a full view of the 
 place where he must alight, and the sheep 
 close at hand, in the most convenient place 
 possible for abstracting one without attract- 
 ing attention. After, as it seemed, satisfy- 
 ing his extreme caution, he went a few 
 paces back, took a quick run, and sprung 
 over the gap without touching a twig; 
 nevertheless, on coming to the ground, the 
 turf broke from under him, and he found 
 himself in a pit that had with extreme cun- 
 ning been prepared by the vigilant shepherds. 
 
 " Hurrah ! We ha' gotten him at last !" 
 shouted the elder Elliott, springing from his 
 concealment in the branches of a pollard, 
 close on the spot, at the same moment with 
 his equally active son ; and then both flung 
 themselves upon the athletic gipsy. "Hold 
 thee grip, lad ! Hold'n fast ! Body and 
 bones, keep'n under thee !" 
 
 There was a fearful struggle. The gipsy 
 was taken at a disadvantage ; but never was 
 his immense strength seen so palpably as 
 in his efforts to throw off of him his two 
 powerful assailants. They held him as 
 dogs do a bnll the father encouraging his 
 son, and the son putting forth all his 
 strength to assist his parent. A few impre- 
 cations only burst from the detected sheep- 
 stealer, as he strove with the force of a 
 giant to free himself from the grasp of the 
 shepherds. The perspiration stood in big 
 drops on his dusky forehead, and every limb 
 was strained till the flesh seemed to take on 
 itself the hardness of iron. 
 
 Young Wattie Elliott appeared to dis- 
 commode the struggling gipsy the most. He 
 had obtained a powerful hold, in which he 
 commanded both his captive's arms, and the 
 tremendous exertions the latter made to roll 
 over him, and free his pinioned limbs, were 
 baffled by the young man's caution and 
 strength. 
 
 " Ha ! Sampson, my mon," said old 
 Elliott, " thou art in the grip o' the Philis- 
 tines, and if thou dost ever get free, except 
 with the hangman's help, thou mayst split 
 thy wame with laughing at all o' the name 
 o' Elliott." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" shouted the gipsy, in tones 
 like some devil incarnate, as the scream of 
 death from the youth, who had held him so 
 long and well, mingled with it. " That 
 laugh thou hast now heard !" He had at 
 last, by one desperate effort, disengaged his 
 right arm from the young shepherd's em- 
 
 brace, and in the next moment the knife the 
 sheep-stealer had in his girdle was buried 
 in the heart of his hrave opponent. 
 
 But the homicide was not free. The 
 hold young Elliott had had o f the gipsy was 
 still unloosened, and all in vain were the 
 tremendous struggles the latter made to 
 shake it off, that he might, have the better 
 chance of escaping from the father, which 
 he doubted not he could now easily do. Old 
 Elliott, as he caught a glimpse of his son's 
 blood, raised a piercing cry of agony, and 
 sprung upon his murderer with the fury of 
 a maniac. 
 
 He struck at him with his clenched fists, 
 tore his hair, dashed his head against the 
 earth, as regardless of the severe wounds 
 he received from the villain's knife as though 
 they inconvenienced him not at all. Per- 
 haps, loss of blood might at last have weak- 
 ened his efforts, but the fearful cry he had 
 uttered brought to his assistance some hinds 
 who were, according to the plan he had de- 
 vised for the capture of the sheep-stealer, 
 on their way to join him, and the murderous 
 efforts of Black Sampson were at once put 
 a stop to by a stunning blow on the head 
 from the heavy staff of the first who reached 
 the spot. 
 
 The li ving Wattie Elliott was with great 
 difficulty drawn from the unequal conflict, 
 and he had^hardly been placed on level 
 ground when he swooned away : but it was 
 a still greater difficulty to move the dead 
 Elliott, whose hold was as a vice. The 
 strength of all there could not unclasp the 
 embrace of the corpse, and it was not till they 
 took unusual means that they succeeded in 
 their endeavors. The youth had done his 
 father's bidding in a terrible earnest fashion. 
 He nad held so fast, Black Sampson could 
 not have released himself of his own means 
 had he strove ever so. 
 
 The gipsy was tried for the murder, not 
 for sheep-stealing, as Simon Stockfish had 
 said perchance thinking the truth might 
 be unpalatable but, as the serving- man 
 had rightly declared, had escaped from 
 prison the day preceding that appointed for 
 his execution. Wattie Elliott recovered of 
 his wounds, but when he heard the mur- 
 derer of his son had escaped, he swore a 
 deadly oath he would hunt him night and 
 day until he had had his heart's blood. 
 
 Black Sampson, previous to this, had 
 been, as hath already been stated, popular 
 with every one ; but now he dared not show 
 his face, so general was the execration in 
 which his name was held. In truth, he had 
 become a changed man. He had lost his 
 cheerful humor, that had made him such
 
 42 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 pleasant company, and had grown gloomy, 
 savage, and distrustful of all around him. 
 Occasionally, to those he affected, he would 
 appear in a better mood ; but he was ordi- 
 narily sullen, capricious, and given to fits of 
 ungovernable passion. 
 
 John Hall had heard what hath here been 
 stated, and kept ruminating on these matters 
 without drawing from them anything of 
 pleasure or consolation. Simon Stockfish 
 had heard all this and much more to boot. 
 The gossip of the whole country round, 
 concerning certain marvellous adventures 
 of these Rommanees, in which figured a 
 most lovely creature of that strange race, 
 and was, as may be supposed, the subject 
 of infinite speculation to such as could get 
 the slightest knowledge of her. Simon's 
 thoughts were busy with a thousand strange 
 stories, and the unpleasantness they created 
 was not a whit lessened by the behavior of 
 the savage brute that kept guard over him 
 and his young master. 
 
 There seemed such a fascination in the 
 snake-like eyes of the mastiff-bitch, that he 
 could not take his own eyes off her. To 
 the curious spectator, the brute might have 
 seemed to have been carved out of the 
 marble stone, so motionless did she stand ; 
 but Simon could see something in the 
 steady glare of her organs of sight he felt 
 assured might in a moment prove in a 
 manner he liked not at all that not only 
 was she flesh and blood, but those she kept 
 watch over were of a like material. In 
 sober truth, Simon was horribly afraid the 
 the fierce-looking animal would spring on 
 him and tear him to pieces ; therefore, lor a 
 wonder, his thoughts kept no longer any 
 account of his young master's peril his 
 own seeming so imminent he could regard 
 nothing else. 
 
 During this interval, the night had been 
 gradually closing in, and the only light 
 which illumined the scene was from the 
 huge fire, where stood the caldron already 
 alluded to. This was at some distance from 
 the prisoners, who might have considered 
 themselves, but for the watchful mastiff so 
 unpleasantly close to them, quite unregarded 
 by the gipsy brotherhood, whom they could 
 see in various groups ; some sitting, some 
 standing, some lying their lengths on the 
 ground, eating, drinking, playing of cards 
 and tric-trac, but all taking no more heed 
 of them than if they had been stocks or 
 stones. They could also hear the murmur 
 of their conversation one with another, now 
 shouting, anon laughing, with presently a 
 eilence broken only by one a whistling a 
 
 morrice, or some other mui muring of a pas 
 sionate ballad. 
 
 How long this state of things might have 
 remained, God only knoweth ; but to the 
 huge comfort of Simon Stockfish, it was 
 suddenly put a stop to by the re-appearance 
 of Black Sampson, who strode from' the 
 tent, now wearing a slouched hat, and car- 
 rying in his hand a stout cudgel, and made 
 direct to his prisoners. 
 
 " 1 am sorry you have met with molesta- 
 tion, young sir," observed he, directing of 
 his speech to John Hall, with a courteous 
 manner, " but my rascals are rough and 
 rude, and are like enough to meddle with 
 other folks' goods in a way that, I am will- 
 ing to believe, is none of the civilest. Per- 
 chance, some amends may be made for the 
 hindrance you have experienced." 
 
 Here he busied himself awhile in un- 
 fastening the chain of the mastiff, who by 
 many canine demonstrations testified her 
 delight at her master's presence. 
 
 "I would be right glad," gravely observed 
 the young student, " to be put in a way 
 for the pursuing of my journey to London." 
 
 " Ah, that he would, worthy Master 
 Sampson God he knows," exclaimed 
 Simon Stockfish. His fears relieved by the 
 attention of the mastiff being drawn off him, 
 his thoughts turned at once to a considera- 
 tion of the proper means to be employed for 
 the liberation of his young master, and he 
 thought it would be admirable policy to take 
 advantage of Black Sampson's present 
 amiable mood. 
 
 " Hold thy malapert tongue, knave, or I'll 
 give thee such a rubbing down with this 
 goodly napkin, as shall make thee infinitely 
 careful to avoid such napery the rest of thy 
 days." 
 
 This ominous speech from the murderer 
 of Wattie Elliott, assisted by a significant 
 flourish of the very formidable weapon he 
 had in his hand, and a menacing growl from 
 the mastiff, who seemed waiting only for a 
 signal from her master to be at his throat, 
 made Simon Stockfish quake in his shoes. 
 
 " Nay, I meant no offence, o' my life !" 
 cried he, in as humble a tone as he could put 
 on, " and, for mine own part, I am satisfied 
 you are of no such crabbed disposition as I 
 have been told you are, and that Wattie 
 Elliott's rnurd " 
 
 A heavy blow on the head stopped the 
 incautious serving man's speech, and laid 
 him at his length at the feet of the enraged 
 gipsy. 
 
 " 'Sblood !" exclaimed he, looking to be 
 in a monstrous passion. " Dost think I will 
 be bearded by such a sorry ass as thou ?"
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 43 
 
 Then, turning to divers of his company, who 
 were approaching the spot, attracted doubt- 
 less by their leader's violence, he shouted. 
 " Keep me these hated Busne in close prison 
 till I return ; and, mark me, an they seek to 
 escape, cut their villanous throats." A 
 moment after he had unloosed the dog, and 
 was seen with her rapidly bounding up the 
 path that led out of the pit. 
 
 It was some time before Simon Stockfish 
 recovered from the stunning blow he had 
 received, and then he found himself stretch- 
 ed on his back, on a rude sort of bed made 
 of fern, that was in one of the tents, his 
 head bound up, and his arm bandaged. There 
 was a dull, aching pain in his head, and a 
 strange feeling of sickness, but this was all 
 the inconvenience he experienced. As he 
 opened his eyes, they fell on the 'anxious 
 countenance of his young master, who was 
 standing over him in his own proper gar- 
 ments, feeling his pulse. The only other 
 person in the place was an old crone, who, 
 by the lamp she carried in her hand, he 
 could observe was of the peculiar dark vi- 
 sage of the wandering people, into whose 
 power they had fallen, and was dressed 
 somewhat in the Eastern fashion, though 
 her apparelling was of the coarsest. She, 
 too, was regarding him ; and with an ex- 
 ceeding curiousness. 
 
 " I doubt not, with my teaching, thou 
 wouldst in time become a skilful leech," ob- 
 served she, turning to John Hall, on noticing 
 the signs of recovery in his fellow-captive. 
 
 " I doubt it not, good dame !" courteously 
 replied the young physician. " Thou 
 seemest especially well versed in the treat- 
 ment of green wounds, and in the employ- 
 ment of simples of all kinds." 
 
 " I warrant you," said the other, with a 
 very evident satisfaction in herself, " and 
 where wouldst seek such knowledge, if not 
 from Rujia, the mother of the Rommanees, 
 to whom for three-score years the heavenly 
 influences have been made more familiar 
 than to any other of our tribe, since we 
 wandered from the sunny clime wherein, as 
 our traditions tell, we were a mighty people. 
 But thou hast thyself not been unattentive 
 to the marvels that are continually around 
 thee. It was well for this poor Busno thou 
 wert by, or the stroke of our chief would 
 have spoiled him for this world. As the 
 stars may witness for me, though I have had 
 to mend much of his marring, I have not had 
 one instance of such eminent mischief as 
 this looked to be." 
 
 At this moment, a gipsy woman hastily 
 entered the tent, looking wondrously dis- 
 turbed, and, after some few words passed 
 
 between them in their strange language, 
 she, who had called herself Ruj a, placing 
 the lamp in the hand of the young student", 
 and bidding him give the wounded man a 
 posset she had just before made for him, 
 followed the one who had summoned her 
 out of the tent. 
 
 John Hall quietly put in practice the di- 
 rections he had heard, and Simon Stockfish 
 as quietly submitted to them ; but the one 
 could not keep from reflecting upon the 
 knowledge he had got of simple surgery 
 from the ancient gipsy-woman's discourse, 
 as she assisted him in dressing the wound of 
 his luckless attendant ; and much he mar- 
 velled that neither Hippocrates, nor Galen, 
 nor Mathias Carnax, nor Alexius Paedo- 
 montanus, nor Canonherius, nor, in short, 
 any writer of his acquaintance, ancient or 
 modern, had given any note whatever of 
 such things ; whilst the other marvelled to 
 find himself in that strange place, and to 
 hear the grave discourse that had just pass- 
 ed between his young master and a gipsy 
 beldame. After indulging in all manner of 
 inward questioning as to how these matters 
 came about, he arrived at the interesting 
 discovery that he had got his head broke, 
 for not being sufficiently mindful of his 
 tongue, just as the posset began to have its 
 proper effect upon him, and thereupon he 
 tell into a sound sleep. 
 
 John Hall sat himself down on a stool 
 that was there, over-against his patient, and 
 was deeply intent on a volume of Aristotle 
 he had long been in the habit of carrying 
 about with him it was so especial a favo- 
 rite when his studies were suddenly broken 
 in upon by his being seized by the arm, and 
 urgently desired to go on the instant, with 
 his so recent instructress, in a case of life or 
 death. 
 
 The book of the young physician was in 
 his pocket in a moment, and he in readiness 
 to go wherever he might be wanted. After 
 certain hasty injunctions, seemingly of a 
 mysterious import, which did not in any way 
 enlighten him as to the nature of the case 
 that demanded his assistance so urgently, his 
 guide led him out of the tent, and in a few 
 minutes he found himself in another, in all 
 respects a direct opposite to the one he had 
 left. 
 
 It was furnished not only with all manner 
 of comforts, but there was in it even an air 
 of luxury, that, as may be supposed, surprised 
 him greatly. There was a floor of boards, 
 with a small yet rich Turkey carpet in the 
 centre, a handsome bedstead quaintly carved, 
 with chairs of a like pattern covered with 
 velvet Or- table near the bed, both of
 
 44 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 which had the goodliest covers eye ever be- 
 held, were a saver lamp burning, of very 
 ancient make, as was also the deep dish of 
 the same metal close to it with dried fruit, 
 and the flask which stood by a tall Venetian 
 glass. On one of the chairs was a lute, and 
 a theorbo stood in the corner. An ewer 
 and basin of antique china, with sundry 
 articles for the toilet, were on a further table, 
 having on it the whitest of napery ; and an 
 empty cradle, with furniture of a like white- 
 ness, was close against it. Some few articles 
 of wearing apparel were scattered here and 
 there, and on a large oak chest were a quar- 
 ter staff and a long rapier. 
 
 But the object on which John Hall's at- 
 tention was quickly engrossed was a very 
 beauteous and very young creature, seeming 
 in age to be but a child. Yet it was evident 
 she was a mother, for none but such could 
 exhibit such terrible deep grief over the babe 
 she held close pressed to her breast, ever 
 and anon unclosing of her arms to gaze at 
 the pallid rigid aspect there presented to her, 
 and then, uttering a wild cry of distress, and 
 pressing the senseless infant still closer to 
 her breast, frantically paced about, making 
 of all manner of moving exclamations. 
 
 A profusion of dark glossy hair fell in 
 disorder about her dusky neck and shoulders ; 
 she was divested of her outer garment, and 
 wore but a sort of loose jacket and petticoat, 
 whereof the only thing worthy of note was 
 that the materials were exceedingly fine and 
 white. Yet did all this negligence the 
 greater set off the perfect loveliness of her 
 countenance and person. Her full dark 
 eyes brimming with tenderness, her exqui- 
 site rosy mouth, delicate pearly teeth, her 
 dainty small hands, her rounded arms, and 
 tender swelling bosom, were all apparent to 
 the enamored gaze ; added to this, she show- 
 ed a pair of dusky feet, of such marvellous 
 beauty, the sight whereof would have ravish- 
 ed an anchorite. 
 
 The young physician was sufficiently 
 amazed at what he saw. He gazed curi- 
 ously, and with no slight interest, but he 
 would have done the like had this exquisite 
 object been created of marble or wood. A 
 few words from Rujia quickly put his indif- 
 ference to a hard trial, for scarce had they 
 been uttered, when the young beauty sud- 
 denly rushed to him, knelt at his feet, and, 
 in the absolutest passion of tears and prayers, 
 besought of him to restore to her the babe. 
 
 At tliis he felt woridrously moved. In- 
 deed his heart beat quicker, and a moisture 
 came into his eyes ; and he was so confuset 
 by the suddenness and energy of the appeal. 
 he scarce knew what he would be at 
 
 Nevertheless, he presently became himself 
 Ike a grave and careful physician, made 
 sertain inquiries, and closely examined the 
 state of his little patient. As the mother 
 'eared it was dead, infinite was the conten- 
 tion of her, when he pronounced the child 
 ;o be in a fit only ; and, when he bade her 
 to be of good cheer, for he would recover it 
 jresently,he had such prodigal store of blese- 
 'ngs, the remembrance of them brought him 
 ;omfort all his life after. 
 
 Thereupon he issued his orders promptly, 
 and spoke so convincingly, yet so modestly 
 withal, his directions were followed without 
 a question or doubt, and the still senseless 
 hild was given into his hands by the young 
 mother, with the trust of her entire heart, 
 to be done with as he thought proper. She 
 watchetl him, however, with an earnest 
 attentiveness, that looked as though her own 
 ife hung on the issue, and when, after the 
 child had been placed in a vessel of hot 
 water for some minutes, he fetched his 
 jreath, she seemed herself to breathe for the 
 first time. 
 
 How delightedly she beheld the color 
 returning to the pale lips, and animation to 
 the fixed eyes, words have no power to tell. 
 Her joy, however, at last became s"o exces- . 
 sive, that on the young physician's declaring 
 his little patient to be fully recovered, ske, 
 caught hold of the astonished youth by the 
 hand, and pressed it to her heart ; then she 
 fetched from off her finger a ring of curious 
 workmanship, with a fair stone set therein, 
 and placed it on one of his, with wondrous 
 .great heaps of thanks and blessings, and 
 finally she snatched her child, now crying 
 lustily in the arms of Rujia, who was intent 
 on dressing it, and, after a prodigious deal of 
 crying, laughing, and caressing, she stilled 
 its cries with that sweet nourishment, which 
 Nature, out of her very infinite bounty, 
 bestoweth on every tender mother. 
 
 Whereupon there was a silence of some 
 few minutes. John Hall was so bewildered, 
 he seemed to have lost all power of speech ; 
 Rujia busied herself in striving to put the 
 place in some order, muttering all the while ; 
 and the fond young mother was in too happy 
 a mood to speak. After a few minutes the 
 young physician became aware that an ani- 
 mated conversation was going on betwixt 
 his two companions, and, although he under- 
 stood never a word that was said, the youth 
 could perceive by many signs that he was 
 the subject of their talk. 
 
 Presently he was courteously asked his 
 name, and bid to show the palm of his hand, 
 whereupon much note was took of it by both 
 women; the younger in especial tracing the
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 lines upon it with as much attentiveness as 
 concern. 
 
 " Thy palm telleth but a sad story," ob- 
 served she. " Sore trials await thee. Thy 
 heart will be fiercely wrung ; but, take 
 courage, sweetheart ; though there be much 
 deep suffering denoted in these lines, there 
 is happiness in an ample measure at the end. 
 Nevertheless, be assured, whatever ill be- 
 tide thee, Xariqua is thy fast friend, and 
 with all her heart will help thee at thy need. 
 I prythee take my best wishes, good Master 
 Hall, and be not overcast when thou and 
 misery become bedfellows. When thy time 
 cometh; thy good fortune will be so great, 
 all thy previous suffering must be considered 
 as of no account." 
 
 Before he could recover from his surprise, 
 the old gipsy woman had led him out of that 
 tent into the one he had previously quitted. 
 
 There he found Simon Stockfish just 
 awaking from a refreshing sleep, and when 
 Rujia bade them make haste as they loved 
 their lives and liberties, the faithful serving- 
 man sprang from his couch, put on his own 
 garments, which, like his master's, had been 
 restored, and declared himself ready to start 
 that moment. He had experienced such 
 uncivil treatment since he had fallen into 
 the hands of the bold outlaws, that he was 
 right glad to take advantage of any oppor- 
 tunity that offered to get his young master 
 away from such rascally company. 
 
 Neither was John Hall loath to go. 
 Nevertheless, from some strange cause or 
 another, he felt exceeding desirous of know- 
 ing something concerning the young and 
 beautiful creature with whom he had by 
 such singular chance become acquainted. 
 He at last got so much the better of his 
 natural timidity as to express his surprise, 
 that one so very young and comely should 
 be a gipsy. 
 
 It would doubtless have been better had 
 he held his peace, for it brought on him so 
 fierce a torrent of abuse from the old hag, 
 for the most part in her own language, and 
 she looked so savagely, he would have been 
 right glad had he not been so bold ; but when 
 she bade them, as they valued their wretched 
 lives, keep close on her footsteps, for she 
 was about to put them in the way of escape, 
 adding something in her own jargon which, 
 had they known its tendency, they would 
 have hesitated trusting themselves with her 
 they gave themselves, without a word 
 said, entirely to her guidance, and she led 
 them quickly yet cautiously from the tent, 
 out of the pit by a path different from the 
 one by which they had arrived. They saw 
 not a creature of any kind, nor heard sign 
 
 of such, till, after threading a very narrow 
 and intricate path, they came to a green hoi' 
 low, wherein, to the infinite great joy of 
 Simon Stockfish, they beheld their two good- 
 ly steeds, Dapple and Jack, whose loss had 
 added marvellously to the uneasiness his 
 master's capture had created in Simon's 
 mind. 
 
 Their" somewhat uncivil guide showed 
 them where their harness and other property 
 were hid, and assisted them to bridle and 
 saddle, the while giving them directions 
 as to the road they were to pursue ; then, 
 bidding them to use their utmost speed, if 
 they wished to save their worthless lives, 
 she disappeared behind a clump of brush- 
 wood. Simon Stockfish had just finished 
 fastening the belt round his body which held 
 fast his master's stock of apparel, and had 
 got one foot in the stirrup, when, hearing a 
 savage growl, he quickly turned round, and 
 there, but a few yards from him, looking in 
 the moonlight more ferocious than ever, he 
 beheld the mastiff bitch that had so lately 
 put him in such imminent bodily fear. 
 
 He was paralysed. He felt sure his more 
 brutal master could not be far off, and the 
 fate of Wattie Elliott stared him in the face 
 in all its horrors. Uttering two or three 
 sharp clear barks that rung on his ears like 
 a death knell, the dog was bounding in all 
 its savage fury towards him, when, ere half 
 the distance was passed, she was seen to 
 spring in the air, with a piercing howl of 
 agony, as the loud report from an arquebus 
 close at hand burst upon the ear, and she 
 fell to the ground horribly mangled and dead 
 as a stone. 
 
 Almost at the same instant there appeared 
 at the opposite sides of the hollow, two per- 
 sons one was quickly recognized by the 
 alarmed travellers as their unpleasant ac- 
 quaintance, Black Sampson, who no soon- 
 er caught sight of the man^>ver-against him, 
 than, as if seized with a sudden panic, he 
 turned quickly round and ran off at his 
 utmost speed ; whereupon, the other mut- 
 tering distinctly the words, " Blood for 
 blood !" flourished his weapon over his head, 
 and started at a desperate rate in pursuit. 
 
 The latter was Wattie Elliott. Neither 
 the young physician nor his companion cared 
 to watch the result of the race, but instantly 
 sprung into their saddles ; and their steeds, 
 alarmed at the report of the piece, put them- 
 selves to their swiftest pace.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 If your worshippe vouchsafe to enter the 
 Bchoole doore, and walke an hour or twaine 
 within for your pleasure, you shall see what I 
 teache, which present my schoole.my cunning, 
 aud myselfe to your worthy patronage. 
 
 THE SCHOOLS OF ABUSE. 
 
 THE pretended Master Dulcimer was re- 
 joicing, as such noble hearts only can, at the 
 success which attended his efforts to secure 
 the heart's wish of his young friend and 
 patron, having just witnessed his secret 
 marriage with that admirable fair young 
 creature, Mistress Varnon. He had also 
 another source of satisfaction, having suc- 
 ceeded in effecting the liberation of his friend 
 Ben Jonson, who had been put in prison for 
 the death of Gabriel Spencer, and was pro- 
 ceeding intent on his ordinary duties' at the 
 playhouse in the Blackfriars, amusing him- 
 self monstrously by the way in imagining 
 the distress of that exceedingly starched and 
 antiquated damsel, Aunt Deborah, on dis- 
 covering she had not only been deprived of 
 .her beautiful kinswoman, with whom she 
 had so long been wont to play the terrible 
 tyrant, but had lost her sworn servant also, 
 who had obtained entire possession of her 
 virgin heart. 
 
 Truly, if ever man looked in a contented 
 mood, that was he, and it shone in his wor- 
 shipful sweet countenance with such ex- 
 ceeding brilliancy, 'that such of the way- 
 farers who took note of him as he walked, 
 who knew not his extreme worthiness, eith- 
 er by personal knowledge or general repute, 
 set down in their minds, on the first glance, 
 he must needs be as thoroughly happy as 
 any man this side of Heaven. But few men 
 of his day were better known both amongst the 
 citizens and gallants ; and, as he had quitted 
 his disguise of the master of music, he was 
 recognized as he passed along the crowded 
 streets ; and the courteous, cheerful manner 
 in which he doffed his beaver to simple and 
 gentle ; the blushing girl and the wrinkled 
 tlame, and in sooth to persons of all condi- 
 tions who looked as though they were well 
 pleased at the sight of him, assured them 
 of his infinite happiness and contentation. 
 
 Marvel not. gentle reader, they were in 
 pome measure deceived. It is not so huge 
 a wonder as it may appear ; for divers in- 
 stances have occurred where the face hath 
 been dressed in smiles, and the heart in sack- 
 cloth and ashes. We cannot be said to be 
 masters of ourselves when we are riot mas- 
 ters of our affections, and these are matters 
 the mastery whereof the wisest men have not 
 
 5een able to obtain. There hath been nrtablo 
 nstances of minds framed in the best school of 
 wisdom, teeming with good intent, and full of 
 virtuous resolution, that by a combination 
 of ill circumstances have been forced into 
 the surrendering of their natures to an at- 
 tachment which cannot be openly encour- 
 aged without a sensible disrespect of the 
 world and of themselves. Such feelings, 
 of a surety are not to be justified, are not to 
 ae tolerated ; yet do they come about in such 
 a manner a,s often to make such as have the 
 ill-fortune to entertain them, more to be 
 pitied than blamed. Methinks there can 
 scarce be any object more worthy of com- 
 miseration than a noble nature enslaved by 
 an unlawful passion, struggling betwixt the 
 xtraordinary admirableness of the fair crea- 
 ture he cannot but devote himself to heart 
 and soul, and the natural self-condemnation 
 which he must feel in allowing the existence 
 of a state of things of such infinite unprofit- 
 ableness to either party. 
 
 Whether Master Shakspeare had got 
 himself entangled in this hopeless mesh, our 
 information at this v time doth not state. It is 
 but known that occasionally he was given 
 to long fits of perfect abstraction, when his 
 features wore a sad and troubled air ; and 
 he would act as though he were but an ac- 
 countable creature, given to wild fancies, 
 and exceeding strange resolves. Anon he 
 would burst out of the gloom which these 
 humors created, and exceed all warrantable 
 grounds in lightness of behavior, endeavor- 
 ing to excuse his late sadness by affirming 
 he slept ill o' nights, and was tormented by 
 fearful dreams. 
 
 Of a surety he had dreams, and they 
 might well be considered by him of a fearful 
 sort. In part, they were the dreams of his 
 early youth ; but the loving faces that haunt- 
 ed his sl^ep many a midsummer day by the 
 stream side, beneath an antique tree, or on 
 some mossy bank retired from the public eye, 
 though they wore the same features of ever- 
 lasting beauty, possessed an expression of 
 the very deepest sorrow ; the exquisite sweet 
 harmonies which of old were wont to intox- 
 icate his mind with unutterable joy, now, by 
 their mournful and melancholy cadences, 
 filled him with a most painful sadness ; and 
 instead of the floral treasures which, with 
 every cheerful hue and pleasant form, threw 
 around him an atmosphere of light and per- 
 fume, he beheld nothing but rue and rose- 
 mary, willow and cypress, nightshade, and 
 the like sort of plants, the gloomy posies of 
 death. 
 
 When he woke, it was with an apprehen- 
 sion of impending evil he could not readily
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 divest himself of; yet, not caring to be 
 thought superstitious, he would strive to 
 cast it off by giving himself up to the very 
 wildest flights of an untameable spirit. That 
 he had some secret source of huge disqui- 
 etude, a shrewd observer might have pre- 
 dicted from these premises ; albeit, his beha- 
 vior was ever of so noble a sort as to win 
 the hearts of all around him, and his admira- 
 ble cheerful temper did so often and so 
 pleasantly make itself manifest. 
 
 However this may have been, it is certain 
 that the mood in which Master Shakspeare 
 went on his way to the playhouse, after a 
 friendly leave-taking of the young Lord 
 Southampton and his loving bride, was, to 
 all appearance, as contented a one as any 
 happy man ever had. After sufficiently 
 amusing of himself with thinking of his 
 antiquated mistress, he fell into a train of 
 pleasant anticipations of the prodigal heaps 
 of happiness in store for his estimable kind 
 friend, and marvellous was the contentation 
 it gave him. From this he presently took 
 to considering of his own affairs ; and, in 
 the happy humor he then was, it was in no 
 way surprising his thoughts should light 
 upon the most comfortable part of them his 
 sweet young son. 
 
 He recalled the great solace and pride he 
 had taken in the handsome boy at his last 
 visit, what rare gratification he had experi- 
 enced in noting his aptness for study, his 
 warm affectionateness and well-disposed- 
 ness in all things ; and, after he had suffi- 
 ciently basked in the sunshine of the past, 
 he would find for himself a still more sunny 
 future, and enjoy its glowing horison with 
 more intense transports than he had yet 
 known. 
 
 It so chanced that as he was proceeding 
 through Cheap, nigh unto the conduit, quite 
 regardless of every one thing in the world, 
 save his own pleasant thinking, on a sudden 
 his waking dream was broken in upon by 
 some one seizing him by the arm, and ac- 
 costing him in a strange, wild, and confused 
 manner. On turning round, he beheld a 
 man of decent apparelling, for all it seemed 
 slovenly pat on and travel -stained, with an 
 aspect which, though marked in strong lines 
 with exhaustion and alarm, bore in it so 
 much of native benevolence, that the wor- 
 thiness of the owner scarce admitted of a 
 doubt. 
 
 " Master Bifield !" exclaimed his old ac- 
 quaintance; looking on him with a famous 
 surprise and pleasure, " O' the dickens, what 
 hath brought thy reverence in this ungodly 
 place ?" And thereupon he shook hands 
 with him very heartily, and expressed, in his 
 
 exquisitest manner, his gratification at the 
 sight of him, swearing he should have no 
 other inn than his own dwelling, in the 
 Clink Liberty, and that not an ordinary in 
 the city should boast of having entertained 
 him, for he would share with none living so 
 cove.table a pleasure, and much more of the 
 same courteous sort, seasoned with all man- 
 ner of choice jests and excellent pleasant 
 conceits ; the priest the whilst saying never 
 a word to all his numberless questions and 
 courtesies, for, in truth, he was so bewil- 
 dered at finding him in so happy a mood, he 
 knew not how to begin the task he had set 
 himself. 
 
 " And how goeth on the schooling ?" cried 
 he, in his most joyous tone ; " and, more es- 
 pecially, how goeth on the scholar ?'' The 
 worthy priest winced at the question, and, 
 in huge confusion and distress, commenced 
 stammering out a few unintelligible words. 
 
 " Heart o' me !" exclaimed the happy 
 father, slapping his companion familiarly on 
 the shoulder, " 'tis the old story. Hamnet 
 is a prodigy and a phoenix, and promiseth to 
 be wiser than Solomon, and worthier than 
 the best saint of them all. Well, if it must 
 needs be, I would as lief see him a bishop 
 as any thing. He shall to Oxford anon, 
 where I have friends willing to do him any 
 service in getting him snug quarters with 
 that most admirable, bountiful hostess holy 
 Mother Church. But," added he, " dost not 
 think the profession of arms better bacorneth 
 the name of Shakspeare than that of a 
 clerk ? His ancestor did yeoman service at 
 the bloody field of Bosworth : if Hamnet 
 have a like spirit, which I doubt not at all, 
 I see nought to prevent his becoming a 
 captain. ' Perchance, if he be one of a 
 greatly adventurous disposition, he shall 
 take to seeking new lands in the far ocean, 
 and, as li kely as not, come home a mighty 
 admiral. What dost think eh, man? Why, 
 thou art mute as a fish !" 
 
 " Oh, Master Shakspeare !" at last ex- 
 claimed the other, in accents that seemed 
 to come from the uttermost depths of his 
 heart. 
 
 " Why, how now, my old friend !" said his 
 friend. " Were I not used as I am to thy 
 pale visage, I would swear something aileth 
 thee. O' my life, thou lookest as melan- 
 choly as the stuffed owl in Sir John Clop- 
 ton's blue parlor. But come with me to my 
 lodging, and I doubt not, ere we have emp- 
 tied together a flask of my choice Canary, 
 I will have the owl, so thoroughly washed 
 out of thee, thou shalt be glad to forswear 
 melancholy ever after." Thereupon, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare seemed intent on dragging
 
 43 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 the vicar by the arm, the which seemed only 
 to make him the more distressed. 
 
 " Nay, worthy sir, excuse me, I pray you," 
 replied Master Bifield. " I have other busi- 
 ness. I am in no humor I I " 
 
 "A fig for thy humor !" cried his com- 
 panion, his face irradiated with the spirit of 
 good fellowship, as he still strove to pull him 
 along. " If I cannot, of mine own accord, 
 make thy humor fit the entertainment, the 
 which I have done so oft, why there is Will 
 Kempe, against whom the most unsocial of 
 humors standeth not the tithe of a minute ; 
 and Ned Allen, who is good company for 
 my Lord Justice and I know not how many 
 more choice ones, who shall be as familiar 
 with thee as sworn gossips. Prythee, come 
 at once." 
 
 " I would to God there were no reason for 
 my denial " muttered the vicar, in increased 
 trouble of mind. 
 
 " That there cannot be," answered his 
 friend, " for thou hast no unreasonable scru- 
 ples, and thou mayst be assured, where I 
 lead thee, there shall be nothing discreditable. 
 Come, I am in haste to drink Hamnet's 
 h alth, which I know thou wilt pledge as 
 fervently as myself." 
 
 " Oh, Master Shakspeare !" exclaimed the 
 good priest, as he, in a sort of frenzy of 
 grief, convulsively seized the parent of his 
 beloved scholar by the hand, and pressed it 
 between both his own. " I pray you call to 
 your aid all the philosophy and patience ne- 
 cessary for the hearing of ill tidings." 
 
 " Eh, what dost say ?" cried Master 
 Shakspeare, hurriedly. " 111 tidings ? thou 
 canst have no ill tidings for me." 
 
 " In honest truth, they are the worst a 
 loving father ever heard." 
 
 " On thy life, man, speak," said the other, 
 as if oppressed with some desperate fear. 
 " Keep me not on the rack. Surely, nothing 
 hath happened to my sweet son ?" 
 
 " There hath, indeed. He hath been ail- 
 ing some time, and it wringeth my heart 
 to tell it I saw not that the closeness of 
 his pursuit of learning was secretly under- 
 mining his health. I knew not that every 
 triumph he achieved over the difficulties of 
 study was at the expense of his precious 
 life. Perchance, my neglect was culpable. 
 Believe me I shall never cease to accuse 
 myself for my fatal remissness ; but had I 
 observed anything likely to excite appre- 
 hension, I would have sacrificed my own 
 worthless life a thousand times rather than 
 any harm should have come to him. Alack ! 
 alack ! he was heedless, and I was blind. 
 He having missed school a whole day, and 
 hearing he was sick, I lost no time in get- 
 
 ting to Shottery. Oh, worthy sir, I saw a 
 terrible moving sight. I beheld the best, 
 the sweetest scholar master eve/ had, 
 stretched in a raging fever, with a strange 
 and unconnected speech, pale as a corpse, 
 and wasted to an anatomy. I got me a 
 horse as soon as I might, to bring you to 
 him ; for the doctors assured me he had not 
 many hours to live. Master Shakspeare, 
 my excellent good friend !" here suddenly 
 exclaimed the vicar, in a monstrous state of 
 alarm, " I pray you stare not so wildly at 
 me ! What hath so blanched your cheeks 
 and lips ? Alack ! alack ! the heavy news 
 hath broken his noble heart. Help, masters, 
 help! I have not strength to save him 
 from falling." 
 
 Assistance was quickly rendered, but it 
 was long before the unhappy father recover- 
 ed sufficiently from the shock to be sensible 
 of what was required of him ; but when he 
 did, he lost not a moment of time. The 
 swiftest saddle horses were instantly sought 
 for ; and, accompanied by Master Bifield, in 
 as napless a mood as himself, lie rode day 
 and night on the road to Stiatford, at the 
 top of their speed. 
 
 He spoke scarce a word the whole way. 
 His faculties seemed to be stunned by the 
 terrible intelligence he had heard, and he 
 appeared to be animated but by one wish 
 that of getting to Shottery in time to see his 
 son before he died. The good vicar watch- 
 ed him anxiously ; performing all friendly 
 offices, but forbearing from speech, seeing 
 how completely his humor lay towards 
 silence. 
 
 How different was this to all former jour- 
 neyings of his to the fondly cherished 
 scenes of his early griefs and pleasures ! 
 There was scarce any noticeable part of 
 this oft-traversed road that could not have 
 called up whole hosts of pleasant remem- 
 brances, and many a fellow-traveller had he 
 entertained with admirable choice stories, of 
 strange adventures he had had, or curious 
 scenes he had witnessed in those parts in 
 former times. Not a village but had its 
 narrative, and hardly an inn of any re- 
 pute, all along the road, but was made 
 to furnish most excellent entertainment; 
 and his fortunate companion at last could 
 not help fancying he had either fallen in 
 with a second Boccaccio, or a twin brother 
 of that exhaustless teller of stories, whose 
 invention supplied continuous amusement 
 for a thousand and one nights. 
 
 The case was now altered with a ven- 
 geance. Master Shakspeare was company 
 for no one, not even for himself; and he 
 passed by every familiar place as though ho
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 49 
 
 were in a strange land, that had not in it a 
 feature worthy of remark. 
 
 But though he was so scant of speech, is 
 it to be presumed he had a similar lack of 
 thought ? Perchance, and like enough, his 
 mind was monstrous busy with all manner 
 of miserable reflections, touching the la- 
 mentable state of his dear son. The most 
 subduing fears might have got possession of 
 him, and the imminence and unexpectedness 
 of the danger have given to such fears a 
 profound and entire sway. Mayhap he 
 might allow himself to hope things were 
 not so bad as they were represented, and 
 then, as in the usual course, small hopes 
 leading to large ones, his thoughts would 
 presently make for themselves a prospect as 
 fair as that which he had at various occa- 
 sions so fondly regarded. But his aspect 
 was not one that hath a reasonable fami- 
 liarity with agreeable anticipations. It ex- 
 pressed a settled grief, such as cannot hold 
 any acquaintance with consolation. 
 
 It did not escape the eye of his watchful 
 companion, that he suffered greatly ; and, 
 desirous of shortening the sway of his un- 
 happy friend's reflections as much as was 
 possible, he made most strenuous exertions 
 to bring their journey to a quick ending. His 
 endeavors met with such success, that, in a 
 space which then appeared incredible, the 
 exhausted travellers reached the cottage at 
 Shottery. 
 
 As he drew near the object of his deep 
 love, the agitation of the miserable father 
 became so great that it was with much ado 
 the worthy priest could keep him in any 
 sort of governance ; and, when they were 
 on the threshold of the sick chamber, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, though but a minute since 
 so terribly impatient, felt as though he dared 
 not enter. He was overpowered with his 
 apprehensions. A sickness of the soul 
 smote him so terribly, the strong man was 
 subdued, and all the father in him seemed to 
 lay with so heavy a load upon his heart, he 
 could neither breathe nor move. 
 
 His excellent pious friend saw in how sad 
 a taking he was, and administered to him 
 such cheering encouragement, that, in a 
 brief space, he felt sufficiently invigorated 
 to proceed. The latch was raised, and, 
 like one embarking on a perilous Venture, 
 he entered the chamber of his sick child. 
 A glance at that wan face would have as- 
 sured any but a doting parent that death 
 had there set his seal, and was nigh at hand, 
 waiting to place the instrument in his 
 greedy coffers : but, seeing him alive, after 
 such dreadful agony of fear as he had scarce 
 a moment since experienced, appeared to 
 4 
 
 render Master Shakspeare unconscious of 
 his son's imminent danger ; and, as Ham- 
 net, immediately his father approached, re- 
 cognised him with a joyful cry, his appre- 
 hensions left him, he dropped down beside 
 the bed, took the outstretched little hand, 
 and, with an exhaustless prodigality of fond 
 exclamations, covered it with kisses, whilst 
 tears of exquisite sweet pleasure rushed 
 from the fountains of his love, and did freely 
 force their way over his manly cheeks. 
 
 The poor fond father was for awhile left 
 to the full enjoyment of such feelings, and 
 was only roused from them by noting some- 
 thing strange pushing against him, and his 
 hand quickly after touched by something 
 warm. It was the faithful hound, Talbot ; 
 who, seeing his master, instead of the rio- 
 tous demonstrations of joy with which he 
 was wont to greet, him, by that wondrous 
 instinct often shown by these sagacious 
 brutes on like occasions, had noiselessly 
 moved towards him, and began licking of 
 his hand, soon after which he showed the 
 same affectionateness to the hand of his at- 
 tached playmate the whilst, as though he 
 knew the misfortune that was impending, 
 he wore the pitifullest look eye ever saw 
 now turning it towards Master Shakspeare, 
 and anon towards Hamnet. 
 
 "Poor Talbot ! Brave Talbot !" exclaim- 
 ed his master, patting him on the head for, 
 in very truth, that was all he could say or 
 do, he was so moved. 
 
 " Poor Talbot !" murmured the sick child, 
 the only words he had uttered, that showed 
 he was conscious of what was going on 
 around him, since he had been ill ; and, at 
 hearing whiph, the faithful dog seemed 
 marvellously disturbed, for he whined in a 
 low voice, once more licked the hands of the 
 father and son, and then proceeded slowly 
 to the foot of the bed, where he placed him- 
 self so that he could see the faces he had 
 regarded with so fixed a sorrow. 
 
 Ever since his playfellow had been con- 
 fined to his chamber, Talbot had fixed him- 
 self in that place, whence neither threats, 
 not caresses, nor temptations of any sort, 
 could remove him. He refused his food, he 
 took no notice of any of the family, or of the 
 different visiters who entered and went out. 
 His eyes were upon the visage of his fast 
 friend and pleasant associate in so many 
 rare sports, with a disturbed and anxious 
 expression ; and, though all this time the 
 sick boy had taken no manner of notice of 
 his devotion, in consequence of not being 
 sensible of his presence, he continued his 
 vigilant watching, night and day. as though
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 he were as handsomely rewarded as his 
 fidelity had so often been. 
 
 After this long disregard of him, it may 
 easily be imagined with what feelings |e 
 heard himself recognized by the sick boy, 
 and the exceeding comfort with which he 
 returned to his place of watching : never- 
 theless, though he wore for a moment a 
 look of infinite contentation, as he continued 
 to gaze upon the features he loved so well, 
 whereon the animation that had been given 
 to them by the entrance of Master Shak- 
 speare was rapidly disappearing, and they 
 were assuming an aspect of the most terri- 
 ble sort, it was easy to see the poor brute 
 was getting fearfully anxious, and his look, 
 no less strongly than his movements, be- 
 spoke the greatness of his distress. 
 
 This change in Hamnet had not been re- 
 garded by his fond parent ; for his attention 
 had been taken off his son by his weeping 
 mother, who, with a total abandonment to 
 sorrow, had thrown herself into his arms. 
 Such passionate lamentations broke from 
 her as soon as she could find her speech, 
 that, though her husband strove with all the 
 affection of better times to bring her to 
 reason, it was to marvellous little profit. 
 
 To add to his trouble, at this trying mo- 
 ment, he found himself in a like manner 
 called upon by the no less lively sorrow of 
 a fair young girl who was with her, whom 
 he could not fail of recognizing as his 
 daughter Judith, the twin sister of his be- 
 loved Hamnet. He pressed both of them 
 in his arms, and strove to console them with 
 the best arguments at his commandment. 
 
 He looked about him as though he missed 
 some one, and his gaze presently lighted 
 upon the lovely countenance and graceful 
 person of his elder daughter the same who 
 made the acquaintance of the courteous 
 reader, at the dwelling of her kinsman, little 
 Tommy Hart, in Stratford. She stood at 
 some distance, with no other sign of grief 
 in her than a most anxious countenance ; 
 rega/ding, with deep attention, the sallow 
 visage of a little man in a threadbare suit 
 no other than the Stratford apothecary 
 who was in another part of the chamber, 
 conversing with Master Bifield ; and it was 
 easy to see, from the effect of his speech 
 on the worthy vicar, that what he heard 
 troubled him exceedingly. 
 
 Fothecary's stuff had done him no man- 
 ner of good, and though he was nursed by 
 his sister Susanna with untiring love and 
 attention his mother and Judith being so 
 overpowered with their fears for him, as to 
 be incapable of rendering any useful assis- 
 tance in the s'ck chamber, it advantaged 
 
 him not at all. Susanna appeared the least 
 moved at her brother's illness of any about 
 him, but, young as she was, she saw the 
 necessity of keeping her feelings under 
 control, that she might the better be enabled 
 to tend him with that care his case so much 
 required. Therefore, had she been his care- 
 ful nurse, never leaving the chamber, an 
 never closing her eyes, from the first mo- 
 ment she had been made aware of the dan- 
 ger of the case. 
 
 Hearing her name called by her father, 
 she hurried to receive his caresses, and re- 
 turned them with a most devoted heart, 
 though with as sorrowful a one as any pre- 
 sent. She had been as anxious to receive 
 them as her sisfer, but had stood aloof, that 
 her brother might have all his attention, 
 knowing how much he needed it. She now 
 spoke not a word of lamentation ; indeed, 
 her. young heart was too full for speech of 
 any sort, but her straining embrace and 
 tearful gaze touched her father more deeply 
 than did the noisy grief that Judith and her 
 mother continued. This was not the first 
 time he had observed in her signs of a truly 
 feminine nature exceeding delicacy, the 
 truest affectionateness, and the noblest self- 
 denial and these had endeared her to him 
 exceedingly. The measure of her own af- 
 fection for her father was of the prodigalest 
 sort the remembrances of his smiles and 
 commendations feeding her love, till it took 
 on it a strength marvellous at her early 
 youth. It may, therefore, be conceived 
 with what absolute affection they mingled 
 their caresses at a time so trying. 
 
 But the intense gratification Susanna ex- 
 perienced whilst receiving such sweet proof 
 of her father's love for her, could not for a 
 moment render her forgetful of her beloved 
 patient, whose features now getting of a 
 deadly paleness, were for a very brief sea- 
 son enlivened with a fault smile, as he 
 gazed on his father and sister ; and she had 
 just succeeded in drawing his attention to 
 Hamnet, when the eyes of the sick scholar 
 turned towards his revered master, who at 
 that moment was directing towards him a 
 glance of the terriblest distress and anxiety, 
 and there seemed a meaning in them, which 
 the good priest quickly interpreted, and aa 
 speedily sought to act upon. 
 
 He advanced to the bed with a solemn 
 and distressed air, and knelt beside it. At 
 this moment it was that Master Shakspeare 
 looked again upon his son, and the terrible 
 change his countenance had undergone in 
 the last few minutes his attention had been 
 I taken off it, seemed to pierce his soul like a 
 barbed arrow. He saw now he must hope
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 no more ; and, with an agony that appeared 
 to be crushing both heart and brain, he fell 
 on his knees, still clasping the little hand, 
 that all this fearful time had rested so 
 quietly in his own. The attention of the 
 rest of the family was by this movement di- 
 rected to the countenance of the dying 
 boy, on seeing which his mother covered 
 her face with her apron, and sunk in a 
 swoon on the nearest chair, and Judith fell 
 on her knees before her, hiding her face in 
 her lap. 
 
 Susanna had softly and quickly made her 
 way to the other side of the bed, where, 
 kneeling down, with the remaining hand of 
 her beloved brother clasped in both her own, 
 she joined fervently in the fervent prayer 
 Master Bi field had commenced. How mov- 
 ing was the scene the chamber of the sick 
 scholar then presented I There were on 
 two or three shelves he had himself fixed on 
 the panel, the books he had conned with such 
 loving, yet such fatal diligence. It was as 
 simple .a chamber as scholar ever had, hav- 
 ing nought in it but the truckle-bed whereon 
 its poor occupant then lay, a small table at 
 which he was wont to write and study, now 
 having on it in divers vessels certain medi- 
 caments of the apothecary's compounding, 
 and a chair whereon the child sat during 
 his long studies. 
 
 The only casement it had looked into 
 the orchard, where he had got many a task 
 by heart, poring over it at the foot of a 
 tree ; and the door opened into his mother's 
 chamber, wherein were now several rela- 
 tions and friendly acquaintances, some of 
 whom were peering in with grave and dis- 
 tressed visages. Hanging upon a peg was 
 his satchel, and nigh it the gay cap and 
 feather his fond father at his last visit had 
 brought him for holiday wear. The rest of 
 his apparelling had been neatly folded up 
 by his good sister Susanna, and put away 
 in a chest that stood at the furthest corner 
 of the room, from which the apothecary had 
 gone to take his hat and stick, seeing the 
 case of his patient was now beyond all re- 
 medy, but, on hearing the solemn words of 
 Master Bifield, be reverently bent his knees, 
 and stayed where he was. 
 
 The countenance of that excellent good 
 man was elevated, and bore the expression 
 of a martyr passing from life to immortality, 
 with a joyful hope that holdeth pain at de- 
 fiance. The light fell full upon it, and the 
 ravages that disease and care had made 
 there were painfully visible. Yet, as with 
 clasped hands and uplifted eyes, he implor- 
 ed the Divine custody for the spirit that was 
 about to pass away, his passionate moving 
 
 eloquence appeared so to excite him, that 
 to those who beheld him from the next 
 chamber, he seemed to possess a greater de- 
 gree of strength than they had seen in him 
 for many years past. 
 
 Then with a still greater heartiness he 
 prayed for forgiveness for the great sin he 
 had committed by his negligence, and broke 
 out in a confused passion of grief and self- 
 condemnation, whereof the burthen was, he 
 had sacrificed the sweetest excellent scholat 
 master ever had, and thereupon the tears 
 ran down his cheeks the pitifullest sight 
 eyes ever looked on and, lastly, he finish- 
 ed his discourse with a like urgent appeal 
 as that with which he had commenced it, 
 dilating on the child's worthiness of Heaven, 
 with such a power of language, that at last 
 it became evident his feelings were over- 
 powering him. He could only at intervals, 
 and with a sort of frenzied earnestness, ut- 
 ter a few words of loving praise, which be- 
 came fainter and fainter, till at last his 
 head sunk on his hands, and he seemed to 
 be continuing the prayer in silence, too ex- 
 hausted for further speech. 
 
 There had been no other sounds during 
 this discourse, but the sobbing of some of 
 the women, and the laborious breathing of 
 the sick boy. His look bad been cast up- 
 ward from the first moment Master Bifield's 
 voice became audible ; as it grew interrupt- 
 ed, the breathing grew less distinct, and ad 
 the former ceased, there was heard in the 
 deep silence that then reigned throughout 
 the chamber, the horriblest of all sounds, the 
 death-rattle. Master Shakspeare uttered a 
 cry of agony, and took to be so frantic, 
 three strong men were necessary to tear him 
 from the chamber, and at the same instant, 
 the faithful TaJbot set up a long and pier- 
 cing howl, which never left tSe remem- 
 brance of those who heard it. 
 
 Yet the saddest thing of all remains to be 
 told. After the chamber had been cleared 
 of the afflicted relatives, Master Bifield still 
 remained in silent devotion, which, as might 
 be supposed, none liked to disturb. At last 
 the apothecary said something to one of 
 Master Shakspeare's friends who was pre- 
 sent. On this hint they both approached to 
 where he knelt, and, not receiving any an- 
 swer to certain words with which they ad- 
 dressed him, they each took him by the arm, 
 and held back his head. 
 
 A long and wasting illness, followed by 
 several days' violent exertion to both mind 
 and body, had brought him to so low a state 
 that the suffering and labor he had put him- 
 self to during those last few moments, had 
 sufficed for the utter extinction of his feeble
 
 52 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 life ; and, as it looked to those who witness- 
 ed, the master so honored, and the scholar 
 so doted on, concluded their loving studies 
 by taking their way to heaven hand in hand. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 We present men with the ugliness of their 
 vices to make them the more to abhore them ; 
 as the Persians- use, who, above all sinnes loath- 
 ing drunkennesse, accustomed in their solemne 
 feasts to make their servants and captives ex- 
 tremely overcome with wines, and then call 
 their children to view their nasty and loathsome 
 behaviour, making them hate that sinne in 
 themselves, which shewed so grosse and abho- 
 minable in others. 
 
 AN APOLOGY FOR ACTORS. 
 
 WHETHER Dapple and Jack liked as lit- 
 
 don, which place, it was like enough, they 
 intended surprising ; whereof, the conse- 
 quence was, a hue and cry was presently 
 despatched to the Privy Council, describing 
 the appearance of the enemy in the most 
 imposing array, and messengers sent to 
 alarm the district for miles round, and take 
 measures for its defence. 
 
 Perfectly unconscious of the sensation 
 they were creating, the travellers continued 
 their course ; their desire to place them- 
 selves out of the reach of Black Sampson, 
 occupying their thoughts, to the exclusion 
 of all other things whatsoever ; and they 
 did not begin to feel secure till, just as the 
 day began to break, they rode into the yard 
 of " The Golden Dragon," at Uxbridge. 
 
 A lame ostler was perceived, with the 
 assistance of a lantern which he carried, 
 grooming a horse. A heavily-laden waggon 
 stood at the bottom of the yard, and divers 
 
 tie the neighborhood of the gipsy encamp- goodly packages, with pack-saddles, and 
 ment as their riders, there is no knowing I other stable-gear, lay about. Doubtless the 
 
 for a certainty ; but, judging by the unac- 
 customed pace at which these two goodly 
 steeds went, and the extraordinary long 
 time they continued it, there seemeth some 
 grounds for so thinking. It may readily be 
 imagined no effort was made to check their 
 fleetness. In sooth, if ever horse and man 
 were of one mind, the old grey and the 
 youthful physician were, out of all doubt, 
 and in this agreement of opinion they were 
 closely copied by the stalwart serving-man 
 and his rough, heavy-heeled colt. 
 
 They made so huge a clatter in the dead 
 of the night, as to cause infinite alarm to 
 some of the rustical sort of people whose 
 habitations they passed by, divers of whom 
 fell readily into the conceit that it could be 
 no other than an army of bloodthirsty Spa- 
 niards intent on ravaging the whole king- 
 dom. Others took it to be a rising of the 
 Papists for the cutting of Protestant throats. 
 A few were no less certain that it was no 
 other than an army of thieving Scots ; 
 whilst certain, who affected a greater wis- 
 dom, put it down to witchcraft, and shook 
 in their beds for an hour after. 
 
 Whilst passing through one straggling 
 hamlet, an alarm-bell was rung by the sex- 
 ton, who happened to be returning from a 
 roaring carouse with the parish clerk, at 
 the neighboring sign of " The Foaming 
 Tankard ;" and these worthies took their 
 oaths on it, a few hours after, before the 
 borough reeve and his equally frightened 
 partners in authority, that they had witness- 
 ed a host of horsemen, nigh upon a thou- 
 sand or two, dashing along with full speed, 
 armed to the teeth, on the highroad to Lon- 
 
 whole inn was in as peaceable a state as 
 ever inn was a minute since ; but, directly 
 Dapple and Jack rushed clattering over the 
 stones, all show of quiet was at an end. 
 
 Haifa dozen carriers' dogs began bark- 
 ing and yelping, as though trying against 
 each other the fierceness of their noise, and, 
 presently after, out rushed their several 
 masters at different doors, each with a lan- 
 tern and a heavy cudgel, fearing nothing 
 less than that their bales were being rifled. 
 The shouting and uproar they made had the 
 effect of bringing into the gallery which 
 went round the yard, and at every one of 
 the doors and casements, mine host and 
 hostess, with all their guests and servants, 
 with spits, guns, rapiers, and various other 
 deadly arms some but half-dressed, and 
 others with nought on but what they were 
 sleeping in here and there one carrying a 
 light, believing they were about to be robbed 
 and murdered at the least. But, when the 
 carriers held up their lanterns to the intru- 
 ders, who were as much astonished at the 
 strangeness of their reception as were the 
 people of the inn alarmed by their sudden 
 appearance, and saw in what peaceable 
 guise they came, and, moreover, when they 
 heard the chorus of loud laughter, and the 
 various rude jests which came from the car- 
 riers, as they observed the goodly speci- 
 mens of horseflesh on which the travellers 
 were mounted, they presently returned to 
 their beds, assured of the safety both of their 
 purses and their lives. 
 
 Simon Stockfish was by no means of a 
 quarrelsome humor perchance the perils 
 his young master had already escaped im-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 53 
 
 the more deeply on his mind the ne- 
 cessity of keeping out of broils so that, 
 whilst John Hall, under the guidance of 
 mine host, went his way into a comfortable 
 chamber, the careful serving-man, unheed- 
 ing the taunts that were levelled at his 
 skill in horseflesh, proceeded to get his 
 beasts the nourishment and repose they 
 needed ecfually with their riders. 
 
 The young physician soon found himself 
 discussing a pleasant meal, and relating to 
 a circle of marvelling listeners of both sexes 
 the strange adventure that had befallen him 
 with the king of the gipsies. Thereupon 
 arose amongst them much curious talk re- 
 lating to Black Sampson and his comely 
 leman ; and many marvellous things were 
 said of both, and the outlaws also, which 
 greatly increased the astonishment Master 
 Hall had experienced from the knowledge 
 of them he had himself with so much peril 
 obtained. 
 
 In the end, a soldier-sort of man, who had 
 a patch over one eye, and a complexion like 
 unto the bark of a tree, and whose pate was as 
 bald as though it had just been cleanly shaved, 
 though his grey beard was as ample as 
 need be, promised the youthful traveller his 
 protection on the remainder of his road, 
 vowing, fore gad, he would make any vil- 
 lanous Rommanee meat for dogs, who should 
 venture to touch a* hair of his head whilst in 
 his company. This being said with a terri- 
 ble fierce air, and a blow on the hilt of his 
 rapier that sent the blade into the scabbard 
 with a great noise, as the captain turned on' 
 his heel, and marched with imposing strides 
 to his own chamber, was not without its due 
 effect. Although this personage was a 
 stranger to the travellers, he was none to 
 the reader. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Simon Stockfish was 
 doing his best for the comfort and conveni- 
 ency of Dapple and Jack, apparently pru- 
 dently heedless of the sauciness of his rude 
 associates. It may here be remembered 
 that his having had his crown so recently 
 cracked by his endeavoring to show his no- 
 tions of what was most prudent and politic, 
 had a wonderful influence towards shaking 
 his opinion of the excellence of such 
 notions, to say nought of the little good 
 they had done the object for whose peculiar 
 benefit and security they were entertained : 
 therefore, he held his peace, as a secure 
 means of offending none, and in no slight 
 degree prided himself on the subtlety of 
 such behavior. 
 
 Alack-a-day ! such subtlety appeared to 
 be poorly estimated by his unmannerly 
 companions, who, enraged by what they 
 
 called his sullen humor, at hearing of their 
 merry jests at his expense, one jostled him, 
 and then another jostled him, and in a mo- 
 ment they all commenced pushing him vio- 
 lently from one to another, with a huge up- 
 roar of sportive shouts and cries, till there 
 seemed no spot where he could be allowed 
 to stand, and every bone in his body was 
 as tender as an over-boiled chicken. Then 
 a tall strapping fellow emptied upon him a 
 huge bucket of water, and, after fixing the 
 vessel on his head, the carriers, one and all, 
 set up a loud horse-laugh, and led their 
 several beasts, as quickly as they might, 
 out of the inn-yard. 
 
 Poor Simon, soaked to the skin, and sore 
 in every limb, whilst drying of his garments 
 at the kitchen-fire, and breaking his long 
 fast on the goodly meal provided for him, 
 was sadly puzzled at the difficulty he found 
 in behaving so as to scape harm, and was 
 fast inclining to the conviction that he was 
 living in a villanous world, where no honest 
 serving-man could hope to exist with whole 
 bones. 
 
 As the valiant personage alluded to Jin a 
 preceding page intended leaving the Golden 
 Dragon by nine of the clock that morning, 
 that he might be in the good city of London 
 at a convenient hour of the same day, for 
 the transacting of a certain important busi- 
 ness, with no less a person than the Lord 
 Mayor, on which he was bound, our tired 
 travellers were allowed a fair rest ; and 
 whilst one is sleeping in the chamber set 
 apart for him, and the other is obtaining as 
 sound a slumber stretched on a hard bench 
 in the chimney-corner, methinks it will be 
 an admirable opportunity for making tms 
 worthy better known to the courteous reader 
 than he is, which cannot, in common policy, 
 be let pass. 
 
 Titus Swashbuckler, sometime an an- 
 cient, above which dignity he never rose, 
 notwithstanding it hath been his good plea- 
 sure nigh upon a score of years to be styled 
 captain, was as well known in e\ery ordin- 
 ary in the city as the conduit in Eastcheap. 
 How he lived was oft a mystery to many, 
 but that he did live, and with very tolerable 
 accommodations, the many who beheld him 
 on his customary stool, in one or other of 
 these houses of entertainment, eating and 
 drinking evidently to his heart's content, 
 were satisfied there was no manner of 
 doubting. 
 
 Certes, his apparelling never looked to be 
 of the newest, and his linen often showed a 
 marvellous inclination for the buck-basket, 
 but as he took on himself the character of a 
 cast-captain, these signs were never regard-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 cd as marvc llous, and as he had the faculty 
 of making himself agreeable to any one who 
 Beemed capable of paying his reckoning, 
 and never attempted to of&nd such as look- 
 ed in good odour with the rest of the com- 
 pany, he grew speedily to be as well liked 
 as any one of his calling. 
 
 It Ls said that his principal source of sub- 
 sistence was teaching the use of the rapier 
 and dagger ; for in Paul's Walk his bills 
 might often be seen, offering to teach any 
 kind of weapon, and challenging all comers 
 at fence for a thousand crowns. Where he 
 was to find a thousandth part of this sum 
 was, six days out of seven, as complete a 
 puzzle as ever was the sphinx to the learn- 
 edest scholar in Christendom, but greater 
 difficulties never troubled the valiant cap- 
 tain. His challenge was repeated as often 
 as it got defaced and torn down ; and as 
 none of the celebrated swordsmen in Eu- 
 rope, Asia, Africa, and America, to whom it 
 was particularly directed, seemed desirous 
 of obtaining the said handsome wager of 
 him, he, doubtless very disconsolately, was 
 i'orced to content himself with teaching the 
 youth of London, for the trifling considera- 
 tion of sixpence a lesson, those marvellous 
 tricks of fence which had got for him so ex- 
 ceeding terrible a name, none dared enter 
 the lists with him. 
 
 This teaching, therefore, was considered 
 to be his chief means of living, though it 
 had been noised abroad that the cast-cap- 
 tain, whenever there was a likelihood of 
 gain, would have recourse to numberless 
 other arts in less credit with the world. He 
 pretended to teach all the delicate mysteries 
 of the duello, as practised in the first courts 
 of Europe, and was ready, for a proper re- 
 compense, as had been the case with the un- 
 fortunate player, to be the second of any 
 gentleman desirous of showing the most ex- 
 act familiarity with these important obser- 
 vances : nay, if he had fitting remunera- 
 tion, he \v< >uld be glad to take up any man's 
 quarrel, no matter how bad a cause he had. 
 
 Then, should any gallant want a blade of 
 exceeding good repute, he would have one 
 ready at your hand in a presently ; one of 
 a thousand, so sweet a temper, so rare an 
 edge, neither Damascus nor Toledo had seen 
 such choice metal ; indeed, on his honor, it 
 was given him in such a famous battle, by 
 some great general of the enemy, whom the 
 fortune of war had made his prisoner, and 
 he would not part with it did he not esti- 
 mate your worth and valour so highly. 
 Thereupon he would ask, perchance, fifty 
 gold pieces, swearing the whilst it was of 
 inestimable value, and, noting your indiffer- 
 
 ence to purchase, would speedily bring 
 down his demand to a matter of a few shil- 
 lings, insisting on it he'd let you have it al 
 so poor a price out of pure affection. May- 
 hap, you are at last induced to buy it, and 
 in good time discover this matchless weapon 
 to be as good a blade for toasting cheese 
 withal as any you are like to meet with. 
 
 Such was Titus Swashbuckler, as he 
 rode out of the yard of the Golden Dragon 
 by the side of John Hall ; after having, as a 
 matter of especial favor, allowed his new 
 acquaintance to pay his score of two shil- 
 lings and eightpence, at the inn, protesting, 
 very heartily, on the honor of a soldier, he 
 had not so much as a doit in his purse, he 
 having thoughtlessly, the night before, on 
 being applied to, emptied its contents into 
 the hat of a poor fellow, who had fought by 
 his side at the taking of Cadiz, and was 
 then in the utmost extremity of want. 
 
 As they jogged on together, the captain 
 entertained his young companion with the 
 most wonderful tales of battles and sieges ; 
 in the which nothing appeared so evident 
 as the narrator's exceeding valor. Among 
 other tilings, he stated how he had lost h.s 
 eye, when with a few other daring spirits 
 he was in the act of boarding a galleon iu 
 the Spanish main a villanous Spaniard 
 having thrust it out with a pipe but, find- 
 ing his listener did not enter into these spir- 
 it-stirring recollections with the interest he 
 expected and desired, and did not show the 
 least anxiety to become possessed of the in- 
 comparable weapon that had been the favor- 
 ite rapier of no less a hero than Sir Philip 
 Sidney, and had been presented by his 
 widow to her deceased husband's brother in 
 amis, Captain Titus Swashbuckler, at that 
 hero's particular request in his dying mo- 
 ments, the valiant captain felt a wish to 
 learn something more of his fellow-traveller 
 than the little he at present knew, before he 
 expended any more of his eloquence upon 
 him. 
 
 Such an inclination was easily gratified, 
 being directed upon one so candid and un- 
 suspecting ; and the young student of me- 
 dicine, in a few words, told the valiant cap- 
 tain who he was, for what object he was 
 travelling, and whither he was going. 
 
 " By this sword, this is strange indeed !" 
 exclaimed the master of fence, with every 
 appearance of excessive astonishment. 
 " How exceeding fortunate it is that I have 
 met you on your journey, Master Hall." 
 
 " Why so, good Captain ?" inquired the 
 youth. 
 
 " Fore George ! if there be one man wita 
 whom I am more familiar than another, it is
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 mine estimable worthy friend Master Doc- 
 tor Posset. Why, we are sworn brothers ! 
 Many a gay carouse have we had together, 
 I promise you; for the Doctor, i'faith, be- 
 longeth to the fraternity of jolly dogs, and 
 doth the order no small credit." 
 
 The young student did not think this 
 character any recommendation ; for his 
 opinion of what a skilful physician should 
 be did not harmonize at all with the im- 
 pression made by his companion's descrip- 
 tion of the man with whom he was about to 
 commence a finishing course of study in 
 medicine, previous to seeking a degree. 
 
 " I tell you. my worthy young Escula- 
 pius," continued the valiant captain, " you 
 have met with especial good fortune in 
 having made choice of so admirable proper 
 an instructor. He is a rare fellow, this 
 Doctor, and one in as absolute repute for 
 his skill with the sick, as for his pleasant- 
 ness with the hale. Many a bottle have we 
 cracked together, and shall again as long 
 as there shall be any virtue in good wine." 
 
 " Hath he many patients ?" inquired John 
 Hall, very coolly. 
 
 " By this sword, he hath such store of pa- 
 tients, I know not they who have not, at 
 some time or other, sought to obtain benefit 
 at his hands." 
 
 The young student began to feel more re- 
 conciled. 
 
 " You cannot help being wondrous con- 
 tent with your condition, my young friend," 
 remarked the ancient. " You will find the 
 Doctor such excellent company, and one so 
 learned, withal, in the flavor of choice wine, 
 you are not like to meet, search where you 
 will." 
 
 " I do not much need such knowledge," 
 answered the young physician, gravely ; 
 " and, methinks, a practitioner of physic 
 ought to have studies of a very different 
 sort." 
 
 " Fore George, well said !" cried the 
 soldier, who was of so amiable a disposi- 
 tion, he never differed with a person on 
 whose purse he had any design. "This 
 same drinking must needs be of huge detri- 
 ment to the proper study of medicine ; and, 
 for mine own part, I cannot believe one jot 
 of what the idle world reports concerning 
 the doctor's fondness for good wine. Indeed, 
 this world is so villanously given to lying, 
 it must needs be the safest policy never to 
 believe a word one hears. On mine honor 
 as a soldier, I take the doctor to care as 
 little for wine, as the gravest physician of 
 them all. He would scorn to take more 
 than became him. But if you are not like 
 
 to meet temptations to intemperance, you 
 will find in his house seductions less easily 
 to be withstood." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed the youth, in some 
 alarm. , 
 
 " Out of all doubt, Master Doctor !" cried 
 the other, in a joyful tone. " This learned 
 physician, let me tell you, hath a daughter 
 just of an age, a form and countenance that 
 would make a man's heart melt within him, 
 were he ever so little given to the dear sex. 
 And the little fiery god play not the very 
 devil with you ere you have been^a week 
 under the same roof with her exquisite 
 lustrous eyes, I am no master of fence." 
 
 " I care little for these things," quietly 
 replied the student, on whom his mother's 
 grave entreaties touching his behavior, which 
 were almost the last words she spoke to him, 
 now exercised their fullest influence. 
 
 The valiant captain stared with all hig 
 solitary eye. To meet with a young man 
 for whom martial stories had no interest, 
 wine no attraction, and who was indif- 
 ferent to the charms of woman, seemed so 
 extraordinary that he could scarce credit his 
 senses. Believing that no good was to be 
 got by exercising his talents upon such in- 
 sensible materials, he was about to enter- 
 tain the idea of getting rid of such unprofi- 
 table society, when the remembrance of the 
 two-and-eightpence he had already pocketed 
 induced him to continue his exertions. 
 
 " I doubt not you are a master of your 
 weapon," observed the cast captain. " Nay, 
 that warlike look and bearing you have with 
 you telleth me you are as perfect a swords- 
 man as any one of your ' years. Fore 
 George, here is a pretty soldier spoiled !" 
 
 Now, John Hall had as little of the soldier 
 in him as you might hope to find in an apple 
 custard ; and, instead of a warlike look and 
 bearing wore the peaceablest air possible. 
 
 " Perchance, you have killed your enemy 
 now already," added his companion. " Heart 
 o' me, I am sure on't!" 
 
 " In sooth, you misjudge me hugely," 
 replied the student. " My vocation is to 
 cure, not to kill ; and so little do I know of 
 the soldier's art, that I am as ignorant of 
 the sword as the babe that hath not yet seen 
 the light." 
 
 " This is strange indeed !" observed the 
 captain, as though monstrously astonished. 
 " As I live, I would not have believed a tittle 
 of it, had you not told it me yourself. Why, 
 how dost intend to live, sweet sir ? A youth 
 of your goodly appearance, that must needs 
 associate with gallants of the court, and 
 young citizens who are as familiar with their
 
 66 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 weapons as with their toothpicks why you 
 cannot but be a lost man, know you not how 
 to stand on your defence." 
 
 " I will take heed I give offence to 
 none ; then, of a surety, I must escape 
 harm." 
 
 " Fore gad ! such a thing was never 
 known," added the master of fence, vehe- 
 mently. " It be as necessary for a man to 
 know his weapon as to know his alphabet ; 
 nay, in mine opinion, the weapon deserveth 
 to be considered the most essential of the 
 two, for with it a man shall not only be able 
 to keep his life secure, but shall carve for 
 himself a way to fortune, reputation, and his 
 mistress' favor, which the extremest cun- 
 ning in letters cannot effect." 
 
 The young student rode on, apparently 
 but little interested in his companion's argu- 
 ment, but he offered no opposition to what 
 he had just advanced. 
 
 "I will give you an instance, Master 
 Esculapius," he continued, " of the exceed- 
 ing importance of being skilled in noble 
 swordmanship. When I was in Spain, with 
 the forces of my very excellent good friend 
 and admirable commander, the Earl of Essex, 
 who with that valiant admirable Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, the thrice noble Sir Philip Sidney, 
 and in short nigh upon all our chiefest offi- 
 cers, had of me their well known cunning 
 of fence, I was sent on a mission of import- 
 ance, being considered one of the few fit to 
 be employed on such high occasions, as 
 much for my daring valor, as for my ripe 
 experience in martial affairs. I was pro- 
 ceeding alone through the outskirts of Cadiz, 
 intent on the performing of my mission with 
 credit, when, as I turned the corner of a 
 convent, I became aware of an ambuscade 
 of villanous Spaniards nigh upon a dozen 
 in sooth, I will not assert there were not 
 thirteen but they were the horriblest cut- 
 throat dogs I had ever met. I promise you 
 my rapier was in my hand in a second, and 
 ere you could count one, 1 had stretched two 
 of my assailants at my feet." 
 
 " Still your foes were too numerous for 
 one man to combat with ;" said John Hall, 
 innocently. " Methinks there could be no 
 great difficulty in some of them taking you. 
 from behind, whilst you were defending your- 
 self in front." 
 
 " Under ordinary circumstances, I grant 
 you," readily returned the cast-captain. 
 " But you should take into consideration my 
 wonderful mastery of my weapon, which 
 hath enabled me to triumph over all the 
 most distinguished swordsmen from every 
 part of the civilized globe, whom I have 
 overcome by a secret stroke it is not possible 
 
 for any one to withstand, however great a 
 master of fence he may be." 
 
 " I knew not that, valiant captain," ob- 
 served the young physician, seemingly in 
 some surprise. 
 
 " Fore George, I could have guessed as 
 much !" replied the redoutable Swashbuck- 
 ler. " But to the telling of my tale. Such 
 was the quickness of my eye, and the ex- 
 cellence of my guard, that my opponents 
 could not touch me any one of them* and 
 their numbers, by their jostling together, 
 made them unable to defend themselves, as 
 they otherwise might, against my quick and 
 fatal thrusts. One by one they dropped 
 around me, till three only were left, when, 
 feeling somewhat tired by my great exer- 
 tions in this unequal fight, I sought some 
 mean or another of bringing the combat to 
 a speedy close. And what think you, sweet 
 sir, I did ?" 
 
 " In sooth, I know not," said the student. 
 
 " This was it," answered the ancient, with 
 a very commendable gravity. " I employed 
 all the strategy of which I was master to 
 set my assailants in a line, and then, sudden 
 as a flash of lightning, with one terrible 
 lunge, I pinned my three Spaniards against 
 the wall." 
 
 " That was marvellous indeed !" exclaim- 
 ed John Hall, with a tone and look of pro- 
 digious surprise. 
 
 " By this sword, I held them as easily as 
 so many larks on a skewer," added the 
 master of fence. " Now this sheweth how 
 absolutely necessary it is for every one to 
 have a perfect knowledge of his weapon. 
 I must needs have the teaching of you, Mas- 
 ter Hall. It must not be allowed that one 
 who holdeth himself so handsomely, should 
 be at the mercy of every lewd fellow, who 
 chooseth to pick a quarrel with him. When 
 you have so little chance with one, if you 
 should be set upon by numbers, as was I, 
 you would be cut to pieces presently." 
 
 " Methinks, I am little likely to be in such 
 peril," said the youth, " seeing I am not a 
 valiant captain like yourself, and, having no 
 intention of voyaging to Spain, I must needs 
 be safe from Spanish ambuscades." 
 
 ' I doubt it not. Master Hall, I doubt it 
 not;" quickly replied Swashbuckler. "But 
 a man who hath not a proper degree of skill 
 in the handling of his weapon, standeth no 
 better chance in England than elsewhere. 
 The highways are beset with villanous cut- 
 pursesdesperate unruly thieves, who get 
 together in companies and despoil the travel- 
 ler, both of his life, and of whatever he hath 
 about him." 
 
 " Can skill with the sword avail the travel-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 7 
 
 ler if these cut-purses be armed with pis- 
 tolets ?" inquired the young physician. 
 
 " Out of all doubt," answered the other, 
 with as perfect a confidence as ever was 
 seen. " If you will be taught, 1 will show 
 how one may defend himself at any odds 
 against such rascal fellows, and run every 
 one through the body, by my infallible secret 
 stroke, ere he have time to pull a trigger." 
 
 " I knew not the use of the sword could 
 be made of such advantage," observed the 
 young physician. 
 
 " Truly, there is no telling the marvel the 
 skill I teach can be made to perform," grave- 
 ly asserted the master of fence. " One fact 
 is worth a volume of discourses. I have so 
 often stretched these cut-purse villains in 
 the dust, when they have set on me in a 
 body, that, be they ever in such great num- 
 bers, they durst not come a near me. The 
 last acquaintance I had of them was in Tot- 
 hill Fields, when two sturdy knaves set on 
 me with a sword and dagger, and two more 
 took to their pistolets, seeking to get a sure 
 aim. What think you I did in this strait ?" 
 
 " It seemeth to me past telling," said the 
 other. 
 
 " Like enough, good youth ;" answered 
 Swashbuckler. (> I thought a long time 
 how I could with great dexterity escape from 
 these miscreants, and made use of a master- 
 stroke of policy for that purpose." 
 
 " After what fashion, valiant captain ?" 
 
 " This was the manner of it, Master Hall. 
 I did so skip and so jump, and so dodge 
 about, that they with the pistolets could get 
 no aim at me, without putting their fellow 
 rogues to imminent danger : so they all 
 spread themselves to have at me, and were, 
 as I could see, exceeding eager for my 
 destruction. Seeing they with the pistolets 
 right over-against each other, I gave them 
 good opportunity for aiming, whilst I allow- 
 ed the sword and dagger men, whom I had 
 got in a like opposite situation, to prepare a 
 fatal spring at me. Watching my time, on 
 a sudden I jumped clean away from them. 
 And what think you followed ?" 
 
 " Perchance, they made after you." 
 
 " Fore George, they were in no case for 
 moving a step ! The sword and dagger 
 men fell thrust through by each other's hands 
 at the same moment of time they with the 
 pistolets shot each other through the head." 
 
 " As I live, a most strange thing!" ex- 
 claimed the youth very much astonished. 
 
 " But what sort of company have we 
 here ?" he added, pointing to some men 
 who seemed to be making towards them in 
 the direction they were proceeding: "now, 
 if they chance to be cut-purses, valiant cap- 
 
 tain, methinks they had best away with 
 themselves as they are wont to do at the 
 sight of you, as quick as they can else 
 your exceeding skill with your weapon must 
 needs be their entire destruction." 
 
 Captain Swashbuckler at this directed his 
 gaze where he was required, and, after a 
 few minutes sharp scrutiny, suddenly put 
 spurs to his horse and turned at full speed 
 down a bye lane ; but whilst John Hall was 
 marvelling at this strange behavior, he notic- 
 ed the men who were approaching quicken- 
 ing their pace towards him, and seeing they 
 were armed and of a very vagrant-like ap- 
 pearance, he looked to his weapons. As 
 they rushed towards him with threatenings 
 and imprecations, he had just time to be on 
 Ms guard, and, one of the villains attempting 
 to seize his bridle, he let fly at him presently, 
 and, doubtless wounded him, for he fell back 
 into the arms of one of his associates. 
 
 It was evident that neither Dapple nor 
 Jack had ever so slight an acquaintance with 
 the munitions of warj for, as in a previous 
 instance of a similar sort, on the instant they 
 heard the report of the pistolet, they started 
 off with a desperateness that rendered futile 
 all attempts on the part of the cut-purses to 
 lay a hold on their riders ; the old horse 
 giving one of the rascals so sharp a kick as 
 senfhim to the ground, yelling like a dog 
 that hath got his tail jammed in a door-way. 
 Simon Stockfish had not passed unprofi- 
 tably the time taken up by the discourse of 
 his master with the cast-captain. He had 
 been thinking with a wondrous intentness 
 on the best means of securing his young 
 master's safety till he got him securely hous- 
 ed in the dwelling of the famous Doctor 
 Posset, in Barbican ; after imagining all 
 sorts of evils it was possible for him to meet 
 during the remainder of his journey, and 
 every possible kind of remedy for one and 
 all of them, he had just come to the sage 
 conclusion, founded on the little profit he had 
 got, of the ability to help him in his need, 
 that it would be discreetest to let things take 
 their course, when the firing of the pistolet 
 and the uncontrollable fury of his steed put 
 an end to his reflections. For some time, he 
 had quite enough to do to endeavor to keep 
 his seat, and probably this inability to inter- 
 fere secured his master's safety and his own. 
 They pursued the rest of the way without 
 any adventure worth naming ; not, however, 
 without Dapple and Jack creating a vast 
 deal of attention wherever they appeared ; 
 and, after some difficulty, the young phy- 
 sician found out the place of his destination. 
 Those goodly steeds were at once sent to 
 proper stables, that they might have a suffi-
 
 58 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 cient rest previous to their return to their 
 owners the next day, in the careful custody 
 of Simon Stockfish. 
 
 John Hall was so fortunate as to meet 
 his instructor in the art and mystery of medi- 
 cine, within a few doors of his dwelling. 
 Dr. Posset appeared to be a little man, of a 
 lively temperament, having grey hair, grow- 
 ing very thin, carefully curled ; his short 
 beard being looked after with equal affection. 
 His eyebrows were very thick, and jutting 
 out exceedingly, under which were a pair 
 of keen, hawk-like eyes. A thick and mis- 
 shapen nose, and a mouth of a moderate 
 size, drawn in by loss of teeth, completed 
 the list of his principal features. His dress 
 was a sober suit of plum-colored cloth, with 
 falling band and ruffles ; hose of the same 
 color ; a velvet cap, without a feather ; and 
 square-toed shoes, without roses ; and these, 
 with a long staff in his hand, tipped with 
 ivory, made up the distinguishing marks of 
 his apparelling. 
 
 On first spying him,- Dr. Posset, as though 
 in no manner of doubt as to his man, gave 
 him a hearty welcome, inquired after his 
 good mother, and how he had borne the 
 journey, and hoped they should be excellent 
 friends, and that tbe youth might find with 
 him as pleasant a home as the one he had 
 left. 
 
 The house wherein the student was about 
 to find a dwelling seemed to him a fair edi- 
 fice, though bearing an antique and some- 
 what gloomy aspect. The chambers above 
 the ground floor projected into the street, 
 and much rude carving was observable 
 round the door and over the lower casement ; 
 a rude figure representing the goddess Hy- 
 geia, carved in oak, was displayed at full 
 length, with all her proper attributes, in a 
 prominent place above the door ; whilst a 
 head of Galen, in monstrous dingy colors, 
 was slung in an iron frame in front of it. 
 Above the front story projected another, with 
 much the same sort of wide casements, all 
 black with time and weather stains ; and in 
 the shelving roof, there seemed to be one or 
 two more, though of a much smaller sort. 
 
 The houses adjoining were of the same 
 respectable sort, belonginf to persons of 
 pubstance and credit, most of them having 
 some sort of sign to distinguish the calling 
 of the tenant; and, as bravely-apparelled 
 gallants, discreet gentlewomen, and citizens 
 of fair repute, were seen going in and out 
 of them, there could be no manner of doubt 
 but that Barbican was a place peopled by 
 thriving and respectable citizens. 
 
 John Hall followed his conductor through 
 the door, which he opened with a latch, and 
 
 found himself in a capacious hall, having 
 chambers to the right and left, distinguish- 
 able by the open doors which led into them ; 
 and there was a staircase at the further end, 
 the lower part being seen through another 
 open door at the left, corresponding with a 
 closed door, or rather wicket, at the right, 
 formed in an oaken partition of some eight 
 or ten feet high ; the upper part of the stair- 
 case being visible above it ; the wicket lead- 
 ing to the back premises, and the other door 
 to the chambers above. 
 
 John Hall had scarcely time to notice 
 these particulars, when his attention became 
 completely engrossed by a number of persons 
 grouped about the foot of the stairs. Stretch- 
 ed at her full length on the steps, her head 
 supported in the lap of an elderly female of 
 a monstrous sharp visage, a younger one 
 sitting at her feet, whilst a stout youth had 
 firm possession of her arms, lay a girl, 
 evidently just entering upon her career of 
 womanhood. 
 
 She appeared rather of a tall stature, with 
 limbs somewhat large, though by no means 
 ungraceful, well-rounded arms and bust, 
 being in a low, tight bodice, were at least 
 sure of being regarded admiringly ; and her 
 dainty farthingale disclosed sufficient of her 
 ancles to prove they were no less commend- 
 able. Her features bespoke nothing of a 
 singular comeliness, but they were seen to 
 no sort of advantage, the eyes being fixed, 
 the nostrils dilated, the mouth opening and 
 shutting as though with sudden spasm--, 
 and the complexion pallid, whilst the abun- 
 dance of her glossy hair strayed in confusion 
 over her forehead and shoulders. 
 
 She made a strange mumbling sound, and 
 threw out her arms by sudden starts, which 
 he who grasped them albeit he did not 
 seem to lack strength had much ado to 
 keep under his commandment. Anon she 
 would strive to overthrow those who held 
 her, by some prodigious effort of strength, 
 which it was with exceeding difficulty they 
 could withstand ; and failing in this, burst 
 out into a monstrous passion of laughter so 
 long and loud, it was as though all Pande- 
 monium were moved by some devilish jest ; 
 and, after this, straightway commenced talk- 
 ing eagerly the strangest stuff ever heard, 
 the which was only brought to an ending by 
 a sudden and mighty dashing of herself as 
 though to escape, which was soon followed 
 by another wild scream of laughter more 
 fierce than ever. 
 
 Near her stood one with a vessel of water, 
 which was being sprinkled on her face, 
 whilst another held burnt feathers to her 
 nose, and a third was approaching with
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 some kind of madicine in a glass. Other 
 remedies were suggested by her distressed 
 companions, but she minded them none at 
 all, for she struggled, and screamed, and 
 gabbled, and laughed with increasing fury. 
 Whilst John Hall gazed on this scene 
 with the most absolute astonishment, it 
 seemed to fill his conductor with nothing but 
 vexation, for he spoke impatiently, now 
 wringing his hands and casting up his eyes, 
 and anon pacing up and down with his 
 hands behind him. 
 
 All at once she seemed to be in a less 
 tearing humor. At this the young man bent 
 his head near the ear of the sick girl, and, 
 whispering with an impressing earnestness, 
 as though calling to her, the name of " MiJ- 
 licent." He had scarce done so, when she 
 replied, in a faint and languid voice, and 
 thereupon commenced a dialogue between 
 the two, the one asking how she felt, and 
 what she would have done for her ; and the 
 other answering she was better, and desired 
 nothing so much as to be taken to her 
 chamber. 
 
 Preparations were soon made for carrying 
 her wishes into effect, the youth seeming to 
 take nearly ail the burthen of her conveyance 
 upon himself. 
 
 It was easy to guess that the sick girl 
 was the physician's daughter ; the elder 
 female was a neighbor, following the trade 
 of a capper, in Golden Lane ; the other was 
 a young friend ; the youth was an appren- 
 tice to Dr. Posset of more than a year's 
 standing ; and the others were certain ac- 
 quaintances of the physician's neighbors 
 and gossips invited by him, to welcoma 
 amongst them the young scholar, whose 
 studies he was about to superintend. 
 
 As the young physician watched the re- 
 treating form of the fair Millicent up the 
 Blairs, was he recalling the seductive charac- 
 ter of the one who was about to be his near 
 associate for a long period, which he had 
 heard from the estimable Captain Swash- 
 buckler ? It did not recur to his mind, for 
 a single moment. He thought only of what 
 was writ in a certain part of Galen on the 
 subject of epilepsy. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 You neede not goe abroade to bee tempted : 
 you shall bee intised at your own windowes. 
 The best councel that I can give you is to keepe 
 at home, and shun all occasion of ill speech. 
 
 THE SCHOOLS OF ABUSE. 
 
 4 
 
 WE may not tarry with tho bereaved fath- 
 
 er longer than will suffice for the reader's 
 proper understanding of his unutterable sor- 
 row. By the death of his so deeply beloved 
 son, Master Shakspeare's heart was smote 
 as though the king of terrors had dealt 
 therein his fiercest dart. He recovered so 
 far as to follow to its last resting-place all 
 that remained of the form which had so long 
 been the chiefest object in every ambitious 
 dream, with a seeming marvellous calm and 
 patience ; but when he heard the clods of 
 earth rattle against the little coffin, there 
 rushed into his mind so vast a sense of the 
 sumless love there buried and lost for ever, 
 that his oppressed brain could not bear tlis 
 burden of it, and he straightway fell into 
 such a passionate frenzy, it was with a mon- 
 strous to do he could be got home ; and o >-1 y 
 with many strong men's help, day and ni-;it, 
 could he be kept to his chamber. How 
 wildly he raved ; how piercingly he called 
 on the remorseless tomb to give up its 
 youthful tenant ; how fiercely he waged war 
 on divers shadowy powers, which, in his 
 fantasy, kept from him his heart's best 
 treasure ; and how urgently he prayed to 
 what seemed to him the unnatural callous 
 natures that set at nought a father's agony, 
 and could not be moved by a father's love 
 it passeth the skill of my rude p3n to say. 
 Perchance, of those whose eyes wander over 
 these pages, there shall be some whose af- 
 fections have been uprooted after the rude 
 fashion which marked the love of this nobb 
 gentleman for his sweet Hamnet, and can 
 readily conceive the manifold workings of 
 so terrible tempestuous an earthquake of the 
 heart ; but, doubtless, there shall be many 
 who know nothing of these things. God 
 keep them, to their lives'- end, in so proper 
 an ignorance ! 
 
 We must, however, state that, partly from 
 the sympathy which this huge affliction cre- 
 ated for miles round, now directed to the 
 promising scholar, anon to the diligent an,{ 
 well-pleased master, and then to the doting 
 father, and, from the respect felt generally 
 for one of such blameless life as the de- 
 ceased vicar, and for one of so many ad- 
 mirable qualities as William Shakspeare, 
 there was at the funeral so numerous an 
 assemblage as had never been known be- 
 fore to have congregated on such an oc- 
 casion. 
 
 Not only did the gentry of the neighbor- 
 hood attend, but every one of the corporation 
 of Stratford, from the high bailiff to the 
 humblest of the burgesses, with every proper 
 sign of mourning, joined in the melancholy 
 procession. Honored with the sincere re- 
 grets of rich and poor, and such a bountiful
 
 60 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 store of tears from man, woman, and child, 
 as though their deaths were regarded as a 
 public calamity, they, who had been so long 
 and intimately connected by a mutual love 
 of learning, were on the same day consigned 
 to their narrow homes. Though it may be 
 said of them, that they brought their studies 
 to a most sorry ending that their eager pur- 
 suit of wisdom led them only to that un- 
 matchable dreary state where alone wisdom 
 hatli no privilege who shall aver that, in 
 those groves of everlasting verdure, which 
 hath in so many good men's minds been con- 
 sidered the abiding-place of all intelligent 
 spirits that have passed away from this 
 lower world, that diligent and affectionate 
 scholar is not at this very moment of time 
 3r~oying the inestimable lessons of the mas- 
 ter by wiiom he was so truly loved ? 
 
 It was long after the churchyard was de- 
 serted, when every one of that goodly as- 
 semblage by whom it had been tilled were 
 in their own more enviable homes, reflecting 
 on the affliction that had visited the .cottage 
 at Shottery, one mourner still lingered about 
 the grave of Hamnet Shakspeare. It was 
 Talbot. 
 
 The poor hound had managed to escape 
 from the outhouse where, since the death 
 of his young playmate, he had been care- 
 fully yet kindly confined by taking advan- 
 tage of the absence at the funeral of the 
 affectionate creature who had shewn such 
 friendly heed of him. Talbot never failed 
 to recognize the attentions and caresses of 
 the gentle Susanna, but the food she brought 
 was left untouched, and the tears with which 
 the sorrowing girl mingled her persuasions to 
 take the tempting morsels she put before him 
 elicited no other sign of his attention than 
 an uneasy whine. 
 
 By what singular instinct it was, on 
 breaking from his bonds and displacing a 
 loose board, he made direct for the church- 
 yard, cannot be explained any more than his 
 immediately selecting the exact spot beneath 
 which lay all that remained of one with 
 whom he had had such heaps of pleasant 
 sport. A short time after he was discover- 
 ed howling the piercingest tones ever heard, 
 whilst making prodigious efforts to tear up 
 the soil that rested on Hamnet's coffin. To 
 drive him or coax him out of the church- 
 yard was found impossible, till Susanna, 
 having discovered his escape, on her pYo- 
 ceeding at her return home to tempt him 
 once more with some nice morsel, hurried 
 in search of him, and, with infinite trouble, 
 at last succeeded in getting him away. 
 
 It was only by the constant care and exqui- 
 site loving kindness of this gentle girl that the 
 
 life of the poor hound was saved. For a long 
 lime Talbot looked but the skeleton of what he 
 was. Deeply must he have grieved for the 
 loss of his fast friend and playmate. He 
 never again ventured near the churchyard ; 
 but, when allowed to wander where he 
 chose, he would take every possible pains to 
 avoid it. And, after the lapse of many 
 months, having accompanied some of the 
 family in that direction, he stopped at one 
 of the gates, and set up so pitiful a howl, it 
 moved all who saw him. 
 
 Advancing somewhat in time, it must now 
 be stated, that, stretched on a bed in a cham- 
 ber, the which may readily be recognized as 
 the one in which young Hamnet died, al- 
 though it had since seen divers alterations, 
 lay the heart-broken father, slowly recover- 
 ing from the moral and physical effects of 
 the fatal blow at his happiness he had so 
 unexpectedly received. His eyes were open, 
 and, though dimmed by sorrow and long 
 sickness, still shone with that fine spirit 
 whereby so many worthy actions of his had 
 been influenced : his face was exceeding 
 pale and much wasted ; but the benevolence 
 that might be read in its expression, like a 
 written language, was as visible as ever ; 
 and the intelligence that spoke as intelligi- 
 bly from his noble forehead as though it were 
 the powerfullest eloquence ever heard, was 
 such as neither grief nor illness had any 
 power over. 
 
 He gazed about him somewhat strangely, 
 leaning his head upon his hand, perchance 
 for obtaining a better survey of his cham- 
 ber, and his eyes wandered over all its ob- 
 jects, but could not be said to rest on any, 
 till it fell upon a plot of pansies that grew 
 in a box outside the open casement, and 
 were then in full bloom. A yellow butter- 
 fly that common sign of summer and sun- 
 shine was hovering over the pretty blos- 
 soms, on which it presently descended. 
 
 These familiar shapes, that speak, too, so 
 cheerfully of life and its most exquisite 
 sources of enjoyment, did not present them- 
 selves to the mind of the sick man without 
 bearing with them those marvellous lessons 
 with which Nature, in her exceeding love, 
 refreshes the weary and heals the wounded 
 spirit. Though the goodliest edifice that 
 doting affection ever raised out of the most 
 excusable feelings of pride and ambition 
 had been overthrown to its very foundations, 
 and the poor architect stood overwhelmed 
 and stunned with the completeness of his 
 ruin, scarce had he recovered the faculty of 
 seeing, when he became sensible that life 
 had still hopes, and Nature bounties, and with 
 such help more secure fabrics might be built
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 61 
 
 up of nearly as fair proportions and lofty 
 elevation. 
 
 As he continued his gaze on the pansies, 
 Master Shakspeare's thoughts fell out of 
 that disordered state in which they had so 
 long been left to wander, and gradually grew 
 into a wholesome regularity. That they led 
 him to the pleasant mossy banks, and the 
 sweet shady nooks where, in times past, he 
 had first sought to indulge that sympathy 
 for the beautiful which had linked so indis- 
 solubly all his exquisitest feeling to nature, 
 can be no marvel ; that they convinced him 
 that all the enjoyments sought by him out 
 of the wide range of unrivalled pleasures 
 she offers to such as devote themselves to 
 her service, were not only profitless, but 
 deeply mischievous, is likewise no more than 
 natural : and that, at last, they directed him 
 for the future to place his whole reliance on 
 those means of happiness still at his dis- 
 posal, as having in this pursuit neither vex- 
 ation nor trouble of any sort whatever, is 
 the probablest thing that could be thought of. 
 
 Whether this happened or not, certain it 
 is that a more cheerful aspect took posses- 
 sion of the sick man's features. He seemed, 
 by some effort of his will, to lift his mind 
 from the earth, and, extricating, it from the 
 fearful wreck which death had made of his 
 affections, elevate it on those proud aspira- 
 tions which had so often borne it out of sight 
 of base earthly things. Then it was that the 
 fluttering insect rose from its flowery resting- 
 place beside the casement, and soared into 
 the air, rising gradually before the sick 
 man's eyes, till it had gone out of sight, as 
 though aiming at the very highest heaven. 
 
 Whilst pondering on this apparent prom- 
 ise, Master Shakspeare was aware of a door 
 opening, and with a step so soft, she seemed 
 to be treading on the very air, and a look 
 of deep interest, that gave but another gentle 
 touch to the gentle expression of her beauty, 
 Susanna entered the chamber. At the first 
 glimpse he had of her he recognized the 
 graceful form that had been wont to pre- 
 sent itself in so many affectionate ways to 
 his bewildered senses, but he could not have 
 known the admirable attentive nurse she had 
 been. 
 
 It was marvellous to behold the exceeding 
 care with which the fond girl had watched 
 over her parent throughout his terrible mal- 
 ady ; of a truth, he owed his recovery to her 
 patient and unceasing regard of him. A 
 conviction of such an obligation entered 
 his mind as she carefully approached the 
 bed, and with it came the consoling thought, 
 so much love would go far to replace the i 
 monstrous loss he had sustained. 
 
 As she took note of the improvement so 
 visible in her patient's appearance, she 
 smiled in such sort as plainly proved how 
 greatly it was to her contentation. The 
 father unclosed his eyes which he had shut 
 at his child's approach and the affectionate 
 joy that shone so brightly in her sweet coun- 
 tenance had so powerful an effect on him, 
 that he presently threw his arms round her, 
 and pressed her in a fond embrace. Al- 
 though Susanna was somewhat taken by 
 surprise, the endearing expressions she heard 
 soon assured her, and she speedily gave her- 
 self up to the full enjoyment of those deli- 
 cious moments. 
 
 To be loved was all her gentle nature de- 
 sired, but had hitherto desired in vain. Her 
 mother's affection was fixed exclusively 
 upon her sister. Judith appeared to love 
 no one, not even her too indulgent mother. 
 Hamnet's whole soul was engrossed by his 
 books, and her father, though always kind, 
 seemed to have no affection to spare out of 
 the heap he lavished on her brother. Fail- 
 ing in these quarters, she had strove hard to 
 endear herself to Talbot, but the heart of 
 the noble hound was so entirely that of his 
 playfellow, that she found her exertions to 
 win him to herself were fruitless. Disap- 
 pointed though she was in her desires, it 
 made not the slightest change in her dispo- 
 sition ; whilst every one seemed cold and 
 careless to her, she was gentle and kind to all. 
 
 It may, therefore, be imagined, that the 
 pleasure with which she received the ca- 
 resses of her father was of as perfect a sort 
 as ever existed. She had not dared to hope 
 to be made so happy. Indeed, she had al- 
 most despaired in her pursuit, knowing how 
 little was to be expected from her mother and 
 sister, and believing her father's affections 
 to be buried in the coffin of his beloved 
 Hamnet. But the conversation by which 
 the well-pleased parent now skilfully brought 
 out his daughter's disposition, assured her, by 
 the commendation of her it elicited, that there 
 was at least one heart in the world whose 
 love she might obtain. 
 
 After this he mended fast, and bid fair to 
 be a whole man again speedily ; which, to 
 be sure, was in a great measure owing to 
 the loving care and heedfulness of his 
 daughter Susanna the only one in the 
 hous% who troubled herself about him in 
 any way worthy of notice. To be sure, 
 her mother did, at times, pay him some at- 
 tentions, and Judith would stay with him 
 awhile when there was no great temptation 
 to entice her away ; but to a heart such as 
 his, affection of this sort gave him anything 
 but satisfaction.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 It was about a week or so after this col- 
 loquy, that three old dame?, each equally 
 short of stature and stout of flesh, with 
 visages alike in the marvellous fieryness 
 that shone in them, like so many yulelogs in 
 a blaze, and a similar showiness in their 
 several apparelling, sat in the kitchen of the 
 cottage at Shottery, as though they had just 
 come in, and were intent on resting them- 
 selves after a walk. These were near rela- 
 tives of Master Shakspeare's wife ; three 
 sisters, somwhat notorious for causing strife 
 wherever they went. 
 
 Susanna was making bread at a goodly 
 sized dough-trough on one side of the 
 chamber, standing on a stool the while, and 
 her mother and sister were tiring of them- 
 selves as though about going on a journey. 
 But though the old dames were resting their 
 limbs, their tongues got no rest, I promise 
 you ; nay, it more than once chanced, they 
 all talked together, and so fast withal, it 
 looked as though they had each got so much 
 to say, Aunt Frateapace in especial, and so 
 little time to give it utterance, all must needs 
 out at once. In this chorus they were, ever 
 and anon, joined by the mother and daugh- 
 ter, Susanna alone holding her peace; and 
 she, too, continuing her labors apparently 
 as little regarded of the rest as though she 
 were a good thousand miles away. 
 
 " By my halidom, Anne, an I had a hus- 
 band, I'd see him hanged ere I would be 
 plagued by his humors !" said she in the 
 yellow bodice with a crimson kirtle, tossing 
 up her pincushion nose in a monstrous dis- 
 dainful manner, as though she had smelt 
 carrion. " A fine thing, truly, for a poor 
 woman to be the slave of every tyrannical 
 tearing fellow it may be her ill hap to have 
 married ! It is fit a wife should have her 
 recreations and her pleasures, and have ever 
 about her those who are her true friends 
 and gossips, and engage in all manner of 
 sports and revels she can get to ; and in no 
 case is it proper for her to be kept to her 
 home like a rat in a trap, making herself a 
 worthless, pitiful, 'poor drudge from day to 
 day, and from year's end to year's end. All 
 saints' days and holidays, and all manner of 
 festivals and merrymakings, she ought to 
 enjoy to her heart's content ; and, if any 
 pragmatical, peremptory husband sought to 
 prevent it, she should value him no^more 
 than a cracked flea that's my thinking," 
 and the old dame laid an emphasis on her 
 last words, slapped her closed fist against 
 her open palm, ami, looking as fierce as a 
 ferret, turned short round on her stool to- 
 wards her associates, as though there could 
 be no appeal to so famous an argument. 
 
 " Truly, Aunt Gadabout, we poor women 
 are hardly used," observed the still fair Anne, 
 eyeing her comely features complacently in 
 a small mirror she held in her hand an ob- 
 servation they had heard from her when on 
 the same subject any time this dozen years. 
 
 " Hardly used, quotha !" mumbled ano- 
 ther, as, with her hands resting on her knees, 
 and her body bending forward on the settle 
 where she sat, she shook her head, as 
 though it was took with a sudden ague. 
 " Had Peter Prateapace ventured on such 
 unbearableness, I'd a used him, i 1 faith !" 
 
 ". Now it should be known that the said 
 Peter, whilst he was in the flesh, would as 
 soon have ventured on taking on himself the 
 very slightest appearance of a husband, as 
 of claiming kin with the Pope. It so 
 chanced, however, that once having grown 
 valiant by sitting over-late at his cups, with 
 a noted scorner of scolds and termagant 
 shrews, he came home, and dared to bid his 
 wife bring him a pot of small ale, and, on 
 her refusing, bade her go hang for a jade. 
 The next morning, on his coming to his so- 
 ber senses, the consequences looked so torri- 
 ble, he went and incontinently drowned him- 
 self in the mill-stream. 
 
 " Hardly used, quotha !" she continued, 
 in the same triumphant strain. " Lord war- 
 rant us ! an all women had my will, Anne, 
 they should follow their own humors with 
 such infinite perfectness, they should have 
 nothing to wish for in that matter, and snap 
 their fingers on all men whatsoever. By'r 
 lady ! methinks 'tis a good thing for wives 
 to be held in subjection of their husbands 
 to be thwarted, and vexed, and put upon as 
 though they were fit for nought but to bear 
 fardels enough to break their backs, whilst, 
 forsooth, their precious helpmates are to look 
 on and find fault. Were the best man that 
 ever wore a head to attempt ordering of me, 
 or interfering with my pleasures, ere he were 
 a day, an hour, a minute older, an his face 
 were not as well scratched as though it 
 had been thrust through a bramble-bush, it 
 should be a marvel indeed, I promise you 
 I warrant he should be in no mood lor a 
 second attempt of the sort." 
 
 " But I have such an infinite lack of spir- 
 its," added Anne, " and am so weak and fear- 
 ful withal, such violent courses would only 
 succeed in doing me a mischief." 
 
 " Alack, poor lamb !" cried the other, in a 
 commiserating mood. " But this is the 
 real grounds of it all. Were she not of such 
 poor health, she would be more kindly used, 
 but he taketh advantage of her weakness to 
 treat her scurvily. I never could affect the 
 fellow. He was ever a proud, bombastical,
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 63 
 
 fustian knave. I protest I liked him not from 
 the first hour I saw him ; and, since he hath 
 been a player save the mark he hath be- 
 come so intolerable fantastical and indiffer- 
 ent, and putteth on himself so monstrous 
 nice a behavior, and so smooth a discourse, 
 I would as lief lie in a butter-woman's bas- 
 ket as within earshot of him." 
 
 Susanna heard this disparagement of one 
 whom her young heart regarded as the kind- 
 est and best of human beings, with pain ; 
 but she said never a word, continuing knead- 
 ing of the dough as though she had no in- 
 terest in the discourse even her mother 
 seemed to like not such plain speaking. 
 
 " Nay, Aunt Breedbate, you do him 
 wrong," she said, " I have seen no such be- 
 havior in him." 
 
 " All. child ! I warrant me there is a good 
 deal thou hast not seen of his goings on," re- 
 plied the old dame, with an air of exceeding 
 mystery. " Wished I to speak, I could say 
 something on tliat matter marvellously to 
 the purposa ; but I am not like to cause mis- 
 chief betwixt man and wife. To be sure, it 
 is said, ' What God hath joined let no man 
 put asunder,' which hath no allusion of any 
 sort to women, so they may be left to do as 
 they please in it. Nevertheless, I am so 
 great an enemy to evil speaking, I hate any 
 one who cannot keep what they know of ano- 
 ther's ill deeds to themselves. Monstrous 
 mischiefs have come of the idle employment 
 of slanderous tongues, and the fair fame of 
 the best are at the mercy of such. For mine 
 own part, ere I would take to speaking ill 
 of any one, albeit, though he were as vil- 
 lanous as a Jew, and there should be no 
 other subject for speech, I would be dumb 
 for a week. Therefore, the horrible wick- 
 edness your notable fine husband has fallen 
 into must go untold forme." 
 
 " What horrible wickedness hath he done, 
 Aunt ?" inquired Anne, in a tone of alarm. 
 " Prythee, let me know it. Nay, I will not 
 stir a step till I have heard it all." 
 
 " 'Tis but sailor's news, child," observed 
 Aunt Gadabout, consolingly. " Knewest 
 thou men as truly as do I, thou wouldst 
 marvel at no news of this sort, were it ever 
 so black. There is no treachery they will j 
 not act to the spoiling of us poor women j 
 there is no injury they will not do against 
 us. One and all, they are a vile, abomina- 
 ble, uncivil, abandoned set of profligate mon- 
 sters and wretches that's my thinking," 
 and again the old woman twisted herself 
 half round her seat with a slap against her 
 palm, and a look that conveyed in it her con- 
 viction that what she had stated there could 
 be no gainsaying. 
 
 " But I must and will know what he hath 
 done amiss," exclaimed Anne, determinedly 
 a mood by no means unusual to her. 
 
 " What matters it ?" cried the relict of 
 Peter Prateapace, as she again poked her 
 body forward, and commenced shaking of 
 her head with an air of wondrous meaning. 
 " Be assured, Anne, that there never yet was 
 any thing done by our precious partners 
 worth a woman troubling her head about. I 
 warrant you they know better than to be 
 doing of any mischief. Marry, an any such 
 essayed to play his tricks upon me, I would 
 so maul him he should not know whether he 
 stood on his head or his heels for the rest of 
 his days." 
 
 " A plague on you all !" cried Anne, ve- 
 hemently. " Tell me, on the instant, what 
 hath been done, or I will have no more to 
 say to either of you from this hour." There- 
 upon in her passion she tore her dress, after 
 several idle attempts to make it please her. 
 Susanna still continued intent on her bread- 
 making, but she was terribly ill at ease. 
 
 " Well, if I am so commanded, I cannot 
 get off saying it," observed Aunt Breedbate, 
 with a look of as absolute indifferency as 
 ever was seen. " But it must on no account 
 be bruited that you had your intelligence 
 from me, for I would not have it thought I 
 could speak ill of any one for mines of wealth. 
 Though I like him so little, I should be loath 
 to set you against him. For my own part," 
 she added, with a marked emphasis, " /hate 
 meddling and mischief-making." 
 
 " Marry, yes, and so do other folk, Sister 
 Breedbate, quite as much," observed Aunt 
 Prateapace, rather sharply. 
 
 " Sister Prateapace," exclaimed the other, 
 evidently taking some offence at the inter- 
 ruption, and regarding the interrupter with a 
 monstrous severe look. 
 
 " Ay, 1 maintain it !" cried Sister Prate- 
 apace, so little abashed as to meet the gaze 
 with one of a like severity. " / hate med- 
 dling perchance, a wondrous deal- more 
 than they who are ever a boasting of their 
 misliking it, and yet all their lives long are 
 in the constant humor of meddling." 
 
 " Why, thou slanderous jade thou, how 
 darest thou affirm I am in a constant humor 
 of meddling ?" screamed Sister Breedbate, 
 her red face turning purple. Here seemed 
 a great likelihood of quarrelling betwixt the 
 two sisters ; nevertheless, no one interfered. 
 In truth, these squabbles were such every- 
 day matters betwixt these two, that had they 
 met without disputing, it would have been 
 accounted a marvel. 
 
 " Prythee hold thy peace, Sister Pratea- 
 pace !'' said Aunt G'adabout, turning round
 
 64 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 towards her, with a sour visage. " Thou art 
 ever making words." Sister Gadabout, 
 whenever these squabbles took place, was 
 famous for sitting still, and ever and anon 
 saying something to one or other, which add- 
 ed exceedingly to the existing ill feeling be- 
 twixt them. Mayhap, this was as pleasing 
 to her as was the constant quarrelling agree- 
 able to the other two ; for, it cannot be ima- 
 gined, they would take so much trouble to 
 find a cause of strife, preferred they a more 
 peaceable living. " I know not, in this 
 world," continued she, " one of so cursed a 
 temper." 
 
 " Cursed enough, truly !" added Aunt 
 Breedbate. " Heaven preserve me from 
 such shrewishness, say I !" 
 
 " So- said Goodman Breedbate a week 
 after his marriage, when* he could no longer 
 abide the horrible misery he had fallen 
 into," replied Aunt Prateapace, with a fa- 
 miliar nod of her head to her angry sister. 
 " Doubtless, since his precious helpmate 
 drove him away from his home, by her intol- 
 erably violent torfgue forty year come Lam- 
 mas he hath had no inclination to return, 
 and have more of it. Truly, he hath had a 
 blessed escape !" 
 
 " Blessed escape, quotha !" cried the other, 
 scarce able to speak, she was in so deadly a 
 rage. " Metbinks thou hast had a blessed 
 escape of the hangman. It is not all wives 
 who push their husbands into mill-streams, 
 who are so fortunate." 
 
 " I marvel, Sister Breedbate, thou shouldst 
 utter so horrible a slander," exclaimed Aunt 
 Gadabout, turning as sharply to her as she 
 had a minute since, to the other. " Of 
 all villanous traducers, thou art surely the 
 worst." 
 
 " There cannot be a doubt of it," said the 
 widow of Peter Prateapace, as coolly as you 
 please. " But as it is in her nature, it can- 
 not well be helped. Nevertheless, it is 
 greatly to be lamented she should be so in- 
 tent on mischief as to injure her nearest of 
 kin, rather than refrain from evil speaking. 
 It' she must needs have some villany to talk 
 of, I doubt not she would find enough for 
 her complete contentation in certain scanda- 
 lous proceedings that took place, I know not 
 how many years since, wherein one Barna- 
 by Rackstraw, a club-footed thatcher, of no 
 great repute, from Wilmington, was en- 
 gaged with a notable shrew, well known in 
 these parts, who drove her husband from his 
 home, and " . 
 
 " Why, thou horrible malefactor, thou !" 
 screamed the other, jumping off her seat as 
 though bitten sharply by some hungry cur, 
 and shaking her clenched fist so furiously, it 
 
 seemed like to loosen her knuckles for the 
 next month to come. " Dost dare to say 
 such monstrous things of me. Had I been 
 as familiar with Barnaby Ra.ckstraw as 
 wert thou with Ephraim Clods, the one- 
 eyed delver " 
 
 " Ephraim Clods !" observed her sister, 
 like one who is striving to recollect some- 
 thing. u Ah ! I remember me. The poor 
 man hath been dead this thirty year. A 
 worthy soul and an honest. He liked a 
 race of ginger in his ale as well as ere a 
 man in Warwickshire, and was smothered 
 by the falling of the earth when he was dig- 
 ging a well for Sir Hugh Clopton, at the 
 New Place. What of him, good sister ?" 
 
 " What of him !" cried Aunt Breedbate, 
 getting more passionate from observing the 
 other's composedness. " What, is it not 
 notorious " 
 
 " His one eye ?" inquired Aunt Pratea- 
 pace. " I' faith, yes. It was almost as 
 much talked of as a certain club-foot after 
 it had been seen in the grey of the morn- 
 ing " 
 
 What further scandal might have been 
 said cannot now with any accurateness be 
 ascertained, for a stop was suddenly put to 
 this sharp speech, and to the sharp reply 
 which it was easy to see was on the point 
 of breaking forth, by the opening of the 
 door, and the appearance there of a noble- 
 looking, soldier-like gentleman, very bravely 
 apparelled. He seemed to have passed the 
 best of his years his hair and beard being 
 plentifully sprinkled with those tokens of age 
 to which the rich are subject equally with 
 the poor. Nevertheless, his eyes had a mer- 
 ry, wanton twinkle in them, which, with the 
 careless expression of his fine mouth, and 
 somewhat prominent nose, showed such to- 
 kens gave him no manner of uneasiness. 
 His visage was of a fresh, sanguine com- 
 plexion, and wrinkled somewhat but of all 
 doubt belonging more to the court-gallant 
 than to the country gentleman the which 
 looked more apparent when the observer re- 
 garded his goodly hat and feather, with a 
 jewel set in it of the last fashion ; his hand- 
 some doublet, and rich satin trunks, with 
 other bravery of a like sort, not forgetting 
 the very soldier- like quality of his rapier and 
 dagger. 
 
 In his company was a fair youth, of some 
 sixteen or seventeen years, nearly as tall as 
 he, and quite as bravely clad. Nevertheless, 
 though so young, his look lacked the bash- 
 fulness and ingenuousness which are wont 
 to be seen in a youthful face. 
 
 "With your leave, mistress!" cried the 
 elder, very gallantly, as he stepped up to
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 65 
 
 Anne, then fully equipped for her journey 
 and gave her a right courtly salute. 
 
 " With your leave, mistress !" cried th 
 younger, quite as gallantly stepping up tc 
 Susanna, and favoring her in a like man 
 ner. 
 
 " By Ovid, mistress, thy lips are very sn- 
 gar !" exclaimed the old gallant, in a seem- 
 ing passionate manner. 
 
 " Worthy Sir George, I am much bounden 
 to you," respectfully replied Anne, with her 
 best courtesy. Thereupon the knight pro- 
 ceeded, with the same courteous manner, to 
 salute her three aunts, who were standing 
 up, all smiles and courtesies, striving as 
 hard as they might to look as innocent as so 
 many lambkins ; and, ac che compliments Sir 
 George uttered, dropping a courtesy to the 
 ground, and each, as simple as a maid, spoke 
 her thanks. 
 
 " By mine own captive heart, mistress, 
 there is no honey like to those most ravish- 
 ing sweet lips !" exclaimed the young gal- 
 lant. The gentle Susanna, however, took 
 not her salute as quietly as did her mother. 
 Her face and neck were presently the hue 
 of the rosiest flower eye ever beheld ; and, 
 instead of acknowledging the compliment in 
 some simple maidenly phrase, she stood as 
 if ready to sink into the ground with shame- 
 fulness, and fixed her beautiful, fair eyes on 
 her taper fingers as though the flour which 
 clung to them was some villanous thing or 
 another that might witness against her very 
 disparagingly. 
 
 " What, Cousin Hugh ! art planet- 
 struck ?" cried Sir George, slapping the 
 youth on the back, as he approached the 
 abashed maiden, doubtless with the intent 
 of behaving to her in the same courtly fa- 
 shion as he had used to the others. " I' faith, 
 but methinks thou hast good cause for it," 
 added he, gazing on her blushing beauties 
 with no less admiration than had his young 
 cousin ; then, addressing her with more' 
 show of sincerity than he had employed to- 
 wards the others, he continued, " I pray you 
 suffer an old soldier, who hath just returned 
 from a long and arduous service amongst 
 barbarous Irish kerns and gallow-glasses, as 
 a fit recompense for all the dangers he hath 
 passed, to taste so tempting a cate as that 
 most delicate rosy mouth." Thereupon the 
 knight drew Susanna towards him, and, 
 stooping down as he took off his jewelled 
 hat, saluted her with as great an air of re- 
 spect as she had been the daughter of a so- 
 vereign prince. 
 
 ' And who is this tercel gentle ?" inquired 
 Sir George. 
 " An it please you, Sir George, she is no 
 
 other than mine own daughter," replied 
 Anne. 
 
 " What, a child of my excellent worthy 
 friend Will ? r ' asked he, turning to her again 
 with a pleased astonishment. 
 
 " Indeed is she, an it please your lord- 
 ship's goodness," said Aunt Prateapace, 
 bustling forward with some officiousness ; 
 " which cannot be gainsayed of any man, 
 gentle or simple, seeing they be as like as 
 are two peas in the same pod." 
 
 tt He must needs be a marvellous happy 
 man," observed the knight. 
 
 " Ay, that is he, Til be bound," here put 
 in Aunt Gadabout with some eagerness. 
 " Your honorable worship doth not know the 
 happiness he hath. I' faith, he shall be as 
 happy as a sand-boy, an it will be your wor- 
 ship's desire." 
 
 " Truly, my good dame," answered Sir 
 George, " if he be as happy as he deserves 
 to be, he can have nothing to wish for." 
 
 "Lord warrant us, there is a notable 
 sweet saying now !" exclaimed Aunt Breed- 
 bate, her harsh features subdued as nearly 
 into an expression of cheerfulness as was 
 possible. " I would the worthy man were 
 here, to hear your honor's estimation of 
 inn." 
 
 " Tell me where he is, I prythee, for I 
 must needs have speech with him," said the 
 might. 
 
 " Judith !" cried Anne to her younger 
 daughter, who stood at her side, striving in 
 vain to court the notice of either of the gal- 
 ants, " show those noble gentlemen to the 
 orchard, where your father is." 
 
 But Judith seemed not inclined to do any 
 hing of the sort. Indeed, fancying herself 
 o have been neglected, she immediately de- 
 ermined not to stir a step. She was again 
 equested by her mother, but seemed as 
 hough she heard it not, for she kept making 
 
 rf in her dress, as though that should be 
 ler only employment. 
 
 Nay. an it be your good pleasure, dame," 
 aid Sir George, observing the child's reluo 
 ,ance, " let our guide be our sweet acquaint- 
 mce here." 
 
 " An it please you, noble sir," murmured 
 usanna, who had recovered somewhat of 
 ler confidence, and was desirous her sister 
 hould be noticed, " my sister Judith will 
 villingly fulfil your honorable wishes." 
 She had, however, scarce uttered the words, 
 vhen the spoiled child no less rudely than 
 riefly, put a negative on her assertion. Su 
 anna then, to take off* all attention from 
 uch uncivilness, at once led the way out 
 f the house, and, opening the wicket of the 
 rchard, pointed to a figure seated reading
 
 66 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 beneath a tree at some distance, and with a 
 humble yet graceful courtesy, returned to 
 put her bread into the oven. 
 
 The two gallants proceeded quickly to- 
 wards the tree, and there assuredly was 
 Master Shakspeare, and there also at his 
 feet was Talbot, each apparently, in the 
 other's society, forgetful of the great loss 
 they had sustained. Both rose at the ap- 
 pearance of strangers, with a manner as 
 though, in their secret hearts, they took 
 their coming as an unseasonable interrup- 
 tion to their meditations, the poor hound re- 
 tiring backward a little as though he was in 
 no mood for any familiarities : a touching 
 contrast to the cheerful mariner with which 
 he was ever wont to welcome any of his mas- 
 ter's friends. 
 
 " Sir George Carew !" exclaimed Master 
 Shakspeare, his pallid features brightening 
 under the influence of the most cheerful of 
 smiles, as he seized the hand that was 
 stretched out for him, and shook it very 
 heartily. 
 
 " And your fast friend, be assured, Will," 
 aaid Sir George, with a famous sincerity ; 
 " and here is cousin Clopton, who is going 
 with me to court, and, if it please her maj- 
 esty, he shall smell powder anon that is, 
 if he hath stomach for fighting, and liketh 
 his kinsman for his commander." 
 
 " I am assured Master Clopton will do 
 credit to his ancestors," observed Master 
 Shakspeare, courteously ; " and, with so 
 notable an example before him for all the 
 qualities of good soldiership, as he hath in 
 Sir George Carew, his career in arms must 
 needs be a glorious one." 
 
 " That is kindly said, Will," replied the 
 knight, " and kindly meant, I will wager my 
 life for it, else it would not have been spoken 
 by so generous a spirit as Will Shakspeare. 
 But cousin Clopton must to the wars, and 
 endeavor with his sword to gain what divers 
 of his family have lost. Here hath 'the 
 New Place' been sold that hath belonged to 
 them since old Sir Hugh built it in the reign 
 of Henry the Seventh, all for the lack of a 
 little pestilent coin. There is strange news 
 at court, Will," added Sir George, taking 
 Master Shakspeare by the arm, and walk- 
 ing with him apart. " My Lord South- 
 ampton " 
 
 " What of him ?" eagerly cried the other. 
 
 " He hath been so rash as to wed Mis- 
 tress Varnon, despite her Higlmess's com- 
 mands to the contrary." 
 
 " Well ?" said Master Shakspeare, im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "And the Queen in great wrath hath 
 lodged them both in the Tower. I fear me 
 
 neither will escape easily, for it is said she 
 is more furious against them than was she 
 with Raleigh for a like offence. I grieve 
 for the sweet lady he hath chosen, and I 
 grieve for him also, for in truth I liked him 
 well." 
 
 " He had a heart, Sir George, as noble as 
 his name !" cried his companion with a deep 
 earnestness. 
 
 " Ay, that he had, I am assured. And he 
 was a true friend to you, Will, for I have 
 oft heard him speak of you, as though no 
 other man was so well esteemed of him." 
 
 " He had a most princely disposition, and 
 ever acted towards me no less worthily than 
 he spoke," said his friend. 
 
 " Well ! I wish him well out of his pres- 
 ent lodging !" 
 
 " Amen, Sir George, with all my heart !" 
 
 " There is the most singular business 
 connected with this marriage that ever was 
 heard of," added the knight, in a livelier 
 tone. " It is said my lord could not have 
 succeeded in his measures, had he not got 
 important assistance from a certain master 
 of music, who mark the exquisite policy 
 of it, Will got admittance to the house of 
 the lady's kinswoman as ancient a piece 
 of goods as ever was met with ; and, what 
 think you ? by this hand, he brought my 
 lord with him, and by means of some dis- 
 guise passed him off as his boy ; and, to 
 keep the old gentlewoman's attention from 
 the lovers, did pursue a suit of his own to 
 her with such vehemency, that speedily she 
 had neither eyes, heart, nor tongue, for 
 any but the master of music. She hath 
 made such bitter complaints to the Queen 
 of the jest that hath been played her, that 
 her Highness became in a towering passion, 
 and issued orders for his instant apprehen- 
 sion vowing he should smart for it ; but 
 the wonder of it is, search hath been made 
 throughout the kingdom with a most minute 
 description of this Master Dulcimer's per- 
 son, manners, and dress, and there hath 
 been no such a musician seen or heard of." 
 
 Master Shakspeare had a great to do to 
 maintain the unconcern and gravity of his 
 aspect, during this speech. At last he mas- 
 tered his inclination for mirth, and quietly 
 inquired if those who had been in search 
 of the master of music had 'found trace of 
 him. 
 
 " None, and the mystery is such, it hath 
 been shrewdly hinted, my lord hath had re- 
 course to the powers of darkness, and the 
 ancient damsel is now frightening herself 
 out of her seven senses with the horrible 
 apprehension she hath been enamored of the 
 devil."
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 67 
 
 At this Master Shakspeare could contain 
 himself no longer, but he burst out into as 
 hearty a laugh as ever was heard, in the 
 which Sir George Carew joined in as per- 
 fect an abandonment, and they too contin- 
 ued for some time longer making light of 
 Aunt Deborah's passion. Nevertheless, one 
 was more concerned than he appeared, for 
 the news of Lord Southampton's imprison- 
 ment in the Tower, with the exquisite sweet 
 creature he had married, was exceeding ill 
 news to him, and he scarce heard of it, ere 
 he fell to considering the best means for se- 
 curing his liberation. 
 
 The penalties he had already drawn up- 
 on himself in seeking to secure his friend's 
 happiness, he thought not of for a moment. 
 He remembered only the prodigal kindness 
 with which that friend had regarded him, 
 when such behavior was of the highest con- 
 sequence to the advancement of his fortunes, 
 and that the generous spirit to whom he 
 was so indebted was chafing within the mis- 
 erable compass of four stone walls. 
 
 AH this time Master Clopton was striving 
 earnestly to be on good acquaintance with 
 Talbot, but for a long space his commenda- 
 tions and pattings were little heeded. In- 
 deed, as though the poor beast wanted no 
 such company, he more than once removed 
 himself from the young Squire's neighbor- 
 hood ; but the latter would by no means be 
 so easily kept at a distance, for he liked the 
 noble appearance of the dog. Talbot had 
 too good a heart to resist long any seeming 
 kindness where he suspected no ill, and at 
 last the "Ho Talbot!'' "Brave Talbot!" 
 was listened to with the wave of the tail 
 which denoteth satisfaction in such animals, 
 and a little while after he allowed himself 
 to be handled with more familiarity than 
 he would previously have suffered. In the 
 end, the two seemed to have come to a toler- 
 able understanding. 
 
 After Sir George Carew had for he 
 would take no denial made Master Shaks- 
 peare promise to join a few friends on a cer- 
 tain day, who were corning to eat venison 
 with him at Clopton Hall, ere he returned 
 to the wars, they walked leisurely to the 
 house, young Clopton and Talbot following 
 at a little distance. They were in he gar- 
 den, when they were suddenly stopped by 
 hearing through an open casement close to 
 which they had approached, a musically 
 sweet voice carolling the following ditty. 
 
 THE BEGUILING OF THE BIRD. 
 
 * What ho, silly wanton ! why would'st thou 
 
 away, 
 With thy f eathers so glossy and fine ? 
 
 Here are cates of the best, come and taste them 
 
 I pray, 
 
 Come enjoy this brave feast whilst 'tis thine." 
 So spoke a bold fowler (in sooth a fair speech) 
 
 His nets the while spreading with care ; 
 But the bird 'mongst the branches kept out of 
 
 his reach, 
 And would not be caught in the snare. 
 
 " Ah me, what a carol !" he cunningly said, 
 
 As her throat gave its tones sweet and clear. 
 " Oh, I would, matchless singer, thou wert not 
 afraid, 
 
 Half thy skill now escapeth mine ear." 
 Well pleased with his praises, now closer she 
 drew, 
 
 Her song in his hearing to get ; 
 As he flattered, still nearer and nearer she flew, 
 
 And, lo ! was enclosed in the net !" 
 
 Sir George peeped through the casement. 
 There was no one in the chamber but Su- 
 sanna. She was left alone as usual, whilst 
 her aunts and her mother and sister were 
 gone a-pleasuring and there was she solac- 
 ing herself at her spinning-wheel with a 
 spirit as blithe as her voice was melodious. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Eche is not lettred that nowe is made a lorde, 
 
 Nor eche a clerke that hath a benefice : 
 They are not all lawyers that plees do recorde, 
 All that are promoted are not fully wise, 
 On'suche chaunce now fortune throws her 
 dice. 
 
 BARCLAY'S SHIP OF FOOLS. 
 
 Oh ! sister An, what dremes 
 Be these that me tormente ! Thus afraide. 
 What new come gest unto our realme ys come ! 
 SURREY'S VIRGIL. 
 
 " LAUNCELOT !" bawled a sharp voice, in 
 as loud a pitch as ever angry woman used. 
 No reply followed. " Launce, I say ! thoa 
 lazy varlet," continued she, lowering of her 
 key not a jot. '' Here it be five o'clock, and 
 thou abed. An thou art not a stirring in a 
 presently, I'll cudgel thee within an inch of 
 thy life !" 
 
 " Coming, mistress !" replied a boy, rais- 
 ing himself on his elbow from a heap of 
 rushes and shavings in the corner of an 
 upper chamber in the roof of the house, 
 lighted only by a small window. The coarse 
 coverlet that fell from his shoulders disclos- 
 ed to view the same fat, foolish visage, that 
 was made known to the reader in the open- 
 ing chapter of this volume, as belonging to 
 a boy known throughout Stratford as Rag-
 
 68 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ged Launce. His mouth now was extend- 
 rng itself in a yawn which threatened to 
 make the little nose above it the point 
 whereof, by nature, had a singular inclina- 
 tion upwards dissolve into the chubby red 
 cheeks, that with no particular show of 
 cleanliness pressed against it on either side. 
 An arm, wrapped in a shirt sleeve, no less 
 soiled than ragged, was about the same time 
 drawn out, and the hand commenced scratch- 
 ing, with a lazy motion, a head, evidently 
 unused to other comb or brush than the 
 owner had store of at his fingers' ends. 
 
 There was scarce light sufficient to dis- 
 tinguish the candle-end stuck in a bottle 
 that was upon an old box, the ballads against 
 the wall, or the rude drawings, with a bit 
 of charcoal, that covered every side of the 
 room, whereof the principal seemed to be 
 that of a woman in divers ridiculous atti- 
 tudes, and undesirable situations. Never- 
 theless, besides these, a few articles of 
 wearing-apparel lay in disorder upon the 
 floor, with a goodly commodity of nut-shells, 
 apple-cores, cherry-stones, small bones, bits 
 of crust, cheese - parings, and the like, 
 doubtless the remnants of sundry feasts 
 gone by, which the sole inhabitant of the 
 chamber had enjoyed in solitary contenta- 
 tion. 
 
 Launce still reclined on his elbow, in a 
 state half asleep and half awake. Yawn 
 followed yawn with little intermission ; and 
 the scratching of the head was only occa- 
 sionally varied by a slight rubbing of the 
 knuckles against the eyes, or a stretching 
 out of the arm to its full extent. In short, 
 he went through all the manoeuvres of one 
 who hath been disturbed in his slumber ere 
 he hath had enough of it, and is marvelous- 
 ly inclined to obtain the deficiency. In the 
 last yawn, his elbow slipped from under 
 him, and his head quietly dropped upon it ; 
 the outstretched arm sunk at his side, and 
 in a moment he was in as deep a sleep as 
 tired apprentice ever had. 
 
 Mayhap he was dreaming of some good 
 sport with his fellows, in a holiday stroll 
 to Pimlico Path, or a famous pennyworth 
 for his own particular delectation all among 
 the pleasant fields of Islington. Yet it mat- 
 tered not of what his dream might be, for he 
 was scarce well into it when he was dis- 
 turbed with so main a ory that he jumped 
 clean out of the coverlet, to the manifest 
 disclosure of certain lower garments of 
 coarse texture, much the worse for wear, 
 of the which he had not taken the trouble 
 to divest himself when seeking of his proper 
 rest the previous night. 
 
 ' Launce ! Launce ! thou lazy catiff ! 
 
 I'D rouse thee, I warrant me, ere thou art a 
 minute older." 
 
 " [ be tiring myself, mistress, and shall be 
 down straight, and it please you," replied 
 the boy, in a mild, deprecating kind of voice, 
 as he left off awhile scratching, and rub- 
 bing, and stretching of himself ever and 
 anon giving a slight shiver, as though he 
 were none of the hottest, to twitch up his 
 darned hose and patched breeches, bearing 
 witness of many a soil and much hard ser- 
 vice. 
 
 " I'll tire thee, by the rood !" exclaimed 
 the same female who had spoken before. 
 " Did I not tell thee over-night to be up be- 
 times, because of my desiring to go with 
 my worthy neighbors to see the Queen's 
 Highness enter the city returning from a 
 progress, and, as I'm an honest woman, this 
 is the fifth time thou hast played me the 
 sluggard's trick since my first calling. But 
 an I be tricked any more in this sort, I'll 
 give my head to play at bowls with." 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, mistress, 1 be putting 
 on my jerkin !" cried the apprentice, with a 
 very monstrous earnestness, as he caught 
 up that part of his apparel from the floor, 
 and proceeded to put his arms through the 
 sleeves with something more of wakeful- 
 ness than he had shown heretofore. Whilst 
 so employed, he seemed to listen attentively. 
 Apparently all was quiet in the lower 
 chamber, for he slackened considerably in 
 his hurry of apparelling himself, and the 
 earnestness of his features gave place to a 
 roguish impudency and boyish cunning. 
 
 " The old hawk sticks to her perch !" mut- 
 tered he, with a grin of exquisite self-con- 
 gratulation. " Rateth as she may, she liketh 
 no more leaving her roost thus early, of a 
 pestilent raw morning, than do I." 
 
 Saying this, he sauntered leisurely tow- 
 ards the small window that looked out into 
 the street, which he opened carefully ; then, 
 suddenly spying of a boy, who looked to be 
 about his own age, on the opposite side, 
 leaning on his arms on the window-sill, 
 over-against him, watching a couple of cats 
 on a neighboring roof, he snatched up one 
 of the sundry rotten apples that lay together 
 on the box, and flung it with all his force 
 at the boy's head ; doubtless the aim was a 
 true one, for the varlet, with a half-audible 
 chuckle, hastily crouched down, so as to be 
 out of sight of him he had thrown at, and 
 there for a second or two remained, striving 
 hard to repress a violent burst of mischiev- 
 ous laughter. 
 
 Presently he raised himself slowly, as if 
 with a view of reconnoitering the position 
 of the assailed party ; but, to all appearance,
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 69 
 
 the latter was familiar with his mode of 
 warfare, and was right willing to return the 
 attack, for Launce had scarce got his shag- 
 gy pole over the base of the open casement, 
 when an old cabbage-stump came whizzing 
 over it, with a force which, had it been less 
 hastily discharged, might, thick as it was, 
 have done it no slight damagement. 
 
 " O' my life, well thrown, Martin !" cried 
 Launce, with a, taunting sort of laugh, the 
 which the other could hear well enough. 
 " Wounds ! an I were a Shrovetide cock, I 
 would pray right heartily for such thorough 
 aimstraights." 
 
 " I would thou wert !" replied the oppo- 
 site boy. " But cock, or no cock, here's at 
 thy cocks-comb !" and, ere Launce was well 
 aware, a missile of the like sort as was 
 thrown at him awhile since came against 
 his luckless pole with such force, that he 
 was fain to cry out from the smart. Aloud 
 clear laugh, across the street, was all he got 
 for his hurt in the way of sympathy. 
 
 " Cock-a-doodle-do !" screamed the merry 
 knave, like a very chanticleer, exulting at 
 the manner he had answered the other's 
 sarcasm. " Body o' me, but thou makest a 
 brave cock, Launce. Prythee wait till I 
 can get me another stump, and I will knock 
 thee off thy legs so prettily thou shalt fancy 
 nought ever after but turning of such deli- 
 cate summersets." 
 
 " Slife. and I do not pay thee for that, 
 call me a pickled hedgehog !" replied Launce 
 in some rage, putting his hand tenderly to 
 the bruised part : " her,e be a lump coin- 
 ing, of I know not what size ; but let me 
 catch thee ; I'll warrant thou shalt have as 
 famous a drubbing " 
 
 " Dost talk of drubbing, thca worthless 
 varlet !" exclaimed a voice close to him, 
 that make him quake frojn head to foot. A 
 woman, apparently of a goodly size, but so 
 wrapped in a huge cloak thrown over her 
 petticoat, her figure could not fairly be told, 
 and wearing so vinegar an aspect withal, 
 it might have done monstrous good service 
 in the way of pickling, was at his elbow. 
 
 " Dost talk of drubbing !" she continued ; 
 " I'll drub thee, i' faith !" and thereupon be- 
 gan raining down upon Launce's devoted 
 head, with all the vigor of her brawny arm, 
 such abundant store of blows, as might have 
 sufficed a flagellating friar for a whole year. 
 He roared most lustily ; no town-bull could 
 have done so more to the life ; but the of- 
 fended Tabitha heeded his cries and suppli- 
 cations no more than a cat heeds the squeak- 
 ing of a mouse she is about to make her re- 
 past of. 
 
 " Have I not been bawling myself hoarse 
 
 for thee these two hours ! " said she to him 
 in a manner that could not be gainsayed. 
 " Did T not tell thee over-night to be sure to 
 be stirring betimes, for that I was bent oil 
 going to witness the goodly pageants that 
 are to be seen to-day in honor of our admi- 
 rable sweet queen ? and, instead of getting 
 the shop swept and dusted, and the house 
 opened, and the fire lit in the kitchen, and 
 all things made ready for what company 
 may come, thou art at thy old tricks, and be 
 hanged to thee ! Get thee to thy work on 
 the instant ! Well deservest thou the name 
 thou art known by. Thou art Lazy Launce, 
 with a vengeance. But I'll have no idle 
 'prentices. An I catch thee at these pranks 
 again, it shall go worse with thee, I'll war- 
 rant. Troop, sirrah, whilst thou hast a 
 whole skin, for my fingers do itch to be at 
 thee." 
 
 Launce had vainly essayed, with a mar- 
 vellous prodigality of writhings and twist- 
 ings, to get free of his mistress's powerful 
 grasp, whilst she was displaying so much 
 at his expense her eloquence and vigor; i 
 and, so soon as he found her hold relax, he '^: \ 
 bounded out of her reach, and fled down the 
 narrow stairs with the speed of a liberated 
 rat. But he had not got so easily quit of 
 her as he imagined. Ere he had reached 
 the kitchen, which was a long irregular 
 chamber, at the back of the house, and serv- 
 ed for the general eating-room, he heard 
 her voice bawling to him to return. This 
 he did with some misgiving, and an infinite 
 lack of speed, for there was that in its tones 
 which seemed to bode him no good. 
 
 " Prythee how come these figures here ?" 
 asked she, with a look that appeared to the 
 unhappy Launce to threaten killing by 
 inches. His mistress pointed to a ridicu- 
 lous effigy of herself carried pick-a-back on 
 a personage, who, by his horns and tail, was 
 evidently intended to represent the arch en- 
 emy of mankind ; whilst another demon of 
 the like sort was preparing to thrust a pitch- 
 fork into her flesh, in the part of it that 
 looked to offer the firmest hold. A little 
 further on was the same female figure hang- 
 ing on a gallows, whilst a whole circle of 
 devils were portrayed fantastically dancing 
 just beneath her. Above was written, in 
 large uneven letters of the strangest shape 
 eye ever met with : 
 " With thy dog's nose and pig's eyes, 
 The devil hath got a notable prize ; 
 Thou'rt a jade that's ever a bawling and bang- 
 ing, - 
 
 And I warrant thou'lt be none the worse for a 
 good hanging." 
 
 In another place, a monstrous cat was
 
 70 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 drawn, seemingly at death's door, and un- 
 derneath these lines were writ : 
 
 " The shabby, 
 Scabby. 
 Flabby-dabby, 
 
 old 
 TABBY ;" 
 
 the last word in larger characters than the 
 others, and doubtless meant to be the fa- 
 miliar abbreviation of the good Tabitha's 
 name. 
 
 " How came these villanous figures 
 here ?" repeated she, in a louder key, to her 
 trembling apprentice. 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, mistress, I know not !" 
 replied Launce, looking the very picture 6f 
 virtuous astonishment and indignation. 
 
 " Thou abominable young villain, thou...!" 
 exclaimed the enraged woman, grasping 
 with one hand the long hair of her appren- 
 tice, whilst in the other she held a stick she 
 hud snatched from a corner, the which she 
 lost no time 4n putting across his shoulders 
 with a right good will in every stroke. Her 
 tongue, too, was excellently well exercised 
 the whilst. 
 
 " Dost thou dare write such horrid libels 
 of mo, thy too indulgent mistress ! Have I 
 a dog's nose, catiff ? answer me that. Have 
 I pig's eyes, thou perjured reprobate ! 
 Wouldst thou have me hanged, forsooth ! 
 I'll shabby thee ! I'll scabby thee ! I'll 
 flabby-dabby thee with a vengeance ! An I 
 leave an inch of thy pestilent skin innocent 
 of the cudgel, I'll give thee leave to carry 
 on thy scurvy jests till doomsday !" 
 
 As every sentence here put down was 
 ended with a blow, the only answer Mistress 
 Tabitha got of her questions came to her in 
 the pitifulest cries cudgelled apprentice ever 
 attempted, and doubtless she might have 
 continued her punishment and her speech 
 for some time longer, had not he, taking ad- 
 vantage of her letting go his hair to obtain 
 a hold on the collar of his jerkin, rushed 
 from her, yelling most piteously, at a pace 
 that left no chance of her coming up to him 
 again very readily. 
 
 Leaving this good dame to digest as 
 well as she might the affront she had re- 
 ceived from Launce's revenge of her form- 
 er savageness to him, we shall follow him 
 to the kitchen, where, smarting from the 
 fury of her discipline, he was diligently es- 
 saying to strike a light, but, in consequence 
 of his tears, whereof there was a plentiful 
 supply, falling into the tinder, he knocked 
 his knuckles with small profit. 
 
 In this strait, cursing heartily all ter- 
 magaut mistresses, and sparks that went 
 
 out as soon as they showed themselves, 
 he drew his sleeve across his eyes, took a 
 candle in his hand, and, opening a door 
 right against him, proceeded i:to a narrow 
 yard, having a paling on each side so much 
 broke as to admit easily of his passing over 
 it This he iid ; and, entering at a wicket 
 belonging to the next house, he found him- 
 self among some half-dozen slovenly men 
 and boys, sitting croas-legged on a huge 
 table, where many lights were a burning, 
 stitching away upon divers garments before 
 them with a most commendable speed. 
 
 Scarce had he shown himself, ere Launce 
 was hailed by all present as a familiar and 
 perchance a welcome acquaintance; none 
 failing to attempt a merry jest at his ex- 
 pense. Launce lit his candle, as though he 
 was so crest-fallen of his late beating he 
 had not a word to throw away on a dog^ 
 nay not even on a tailor ; but, as he was on 
 the eve of departing, he slowly pushed the 
 hot iron, with which one had that moment 
 been flattening the seams of a doublet, 
 against the bare toe peeping out of the rag- 
 ged hose of him who seemed to possess a 
 greater commodity of jokes than the others ; 
 and, as he screaming with the greatness 
 of the pain started back with a force 
 which laid his neighbor on hig back, and put 
 all his fellows into a sudden terror, the boy, 
 with aloud laugh, whisked out of the cham- 
 ber, jumped over the paling, and was soon 
 engaged upon his duties in the kitchen, as 
 light of heart, from the remembrance of the 
 trick he had played Toby Snipkin, as if he 
 knew not what a beating meant. 
 
 It should here be made known to the cour- 
 teous reader, that Mistress Tabitha Thatch- 
 pole carried on the art of a capper, in a goodly 
 tenement situated in Golden Lane, Barbi- 
 can; the which excellent calling her father, 
 honest Barnabas fhatchpole, had pursued 
 in good repute till his death, leaving it, and 
 all the profits thereunto appertaining, to his 
 beloved daughter and sole heiress, the esti- 
 mable Mistress Tabitha Thatchpole afore- 
 said. How it came to pass, that, with so 
 tempting an addition as this trade in caps, to 
 a visage and person by no means of the 
 ordinary sort the former having a strik- 
 ing resemblance to that of a sand-boy's 
 horse, and the latter being built much af- 
 ter the fashion of a coal-barge the name 
 of Tabitha Thatchpole should have clung 
 to her even after her lease of it had> been 
 protracted beyond half a century, re- 
 maineth the most incomprehensible of mys- 
 teries. Certain is it, she had strove all that 
 a poor woman could to alter this undesira- 
 ble state of things. She first sought the
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 young, who would have none of her ; then ' 
 aspired to the middle-aged, who gave her 
 as little comfort ; and now very mightily 
 affected the old, with a desperateness, the 
 exceeding desperate nature of the case 
 seemed to give her excellent warrant for. 
 
 She was a great furtherer of all manner 
 of merry meetings, both at her own house 
 and those of her neighbors, in which her os- 
 tensible object was to bring young people to- 
 gether, in whose happiness she professed a 
 marvellous interest. When she had suc- 
 ceeded in getting her female friends conve- 
 niently disposed of, she would, with an ami- 
 ableness to which no pen can do justice, sit 
 herself by the side of any respectable grey- 
 beard widower or bachelor it mattered not 
 which, so easily pleased was she who 
 happened to be amongst the company, and 
 dilate on mutual affection and the union of 
 appropriate ages, in a strain that ought to 
 have subdued the most callous and indiffer- 
 ent old heart that ever throbbed under a 
 comfortable jerkin. 
 
 Launce had been sent from Stratford, by 
 Tommy Hart, to his kinswoman, Tabitha 
 Thatchpole, of 'London, at her earnest so- 
 licitation to have some such a boy as he was 
 to assist her in her business. To prevent his 
 quitting her, as some had done with exceed- 
 ing brief warning, she lost no time in hav- 
 ing him bound apprentice ; and here, in 
 Golden Lane, Barbican, was Launce fixed, 
 under the tender mercies of the fair Tabi- 
 tha, ostensibly to learn the art and mystery 
 of a capper, but, in fact, to do all things, 
 from the top of the house to the bottom, and 
 get nought for his pains but blows and 
 abuse. 
 
 Had it not been for the fellowship of a 
 few merry Knaves in the neighborhood, 
 about his own age, with whom he was as 
 often at loggerheads as in sworn brother- 
 hood, it is hugely to be doubted if his in- 
 dentures would have held him in Golden 
 Lane for a day. 
 
 It must now be supposed that he made an 
 ample fire in the kitchen a chamber, floor- 
 ed with red brick, which formed, save on 
 grand occasions, the usual sitting-room 
 and in this duty he had so long lingered 
 that Mistress Tabitha came nigh upon 
 catching him lying his length on one of the 
 settles that stood on each side of the ample 
 chimney corner, forgetful of all else but the 
 comfortableness of his situation. The hear- 
 ing of her foot on the stair, however, roused 
 him as effectually as might a cannon fired 
 close to his ear ; and, in the twinkling of 
 an eye, he was as busy as a bee sweeping 
 out the front chamber. 
 
 Here she presently entered, scolding and 
 cuffing him for not finding things there ex- 
 actly to her mind. This was out of its 
 place, that was carelessly put by, and the 
 other ought to have gone to a customer; 
 then, some fine cap or another had been in- 
 jured by his utter carelesness ; and she had 
 lost the sale of others by his placing them, 
 to keep them free of moth and dust, where 
 they were never to be got at. 
 
 " Launce !" cried she, sharply, having 
 completed her arrangements in the kitchen. 
 
 " Anon, mistress," replied the boy. 
 
 " What said that worthy Master Doctor 
 Posset to my message of last night 2" 
 
 " An it please you, mistress, he said 
 nought." 
 
 " How so, fellow ?" 
 
 " For this most especial reason : he was 
 attending a candlemaker's wife in Bread 
 Street, and could have no note of your mes- 
 sage, mistress." A sharp box on the ear 
 followed this speech. 
 
 " Wilt never have done with thy fool's 
 answers, thou miserable dolt, thou ! But 
 thou had speech of his admirable daughter, 
 Mistress Millicent?" 
 
 " An it please you, mistress, I had," re- 
 plied Launce, rubbing his ear with some 
 vigor. " That is to say, when it pleased 
 her to have done a swounding, for when I got 
 me into Master Doctor's chamber, there I 
 found Mistress Millicent on the ground, 
 supported by a strange young fellow, look- 
 ing as solemn as the queen of Sheba, done 
 in worsted, that is up stairs in the blue 
 chamber." 
 
 " Master John Hall, perchance. But 
 were they alone ?" 
 
 " No, mistress. There was the physician's 
 man there, too." 
 
 " Physician's man. fellow !" exclaimed Ta- 
 bitha, aiming another blow at him, which 
 he avoided by ducking his head ; an ac- 
 complishment in which practice had made 
 him so proficient, he rarely failed of escap- 
 ing the intended blow. " Physician's man ! 
 Canst not say Master Leonard?" Then, 
 in a lower tone, continued, " Doubtless, he 
 was greatly concerned at the sad plight of 
 one to whom he hath been so long betrothed. 
 Was no other present ?" 
 
 " Yes, mistress, there was the stuffed al- 
 ii orator hanging from the top of the chamber, 
 and the kitten, with five legs, that was in a 
 bottle on a shelf." 
 
 " Out, fool !" cried his mistress, aiming 
 her customary salute with no more profit 
 than before. Thou art the most incorrigible 
 ass ever honest woman was troubled with. 
 But what followed ?"
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 " Followed, mistress V' repeated Launce, 
 scratching his head in some perplexity. 
 " O' my life, I saw no following of any one 
 for they all stood where they were." 
 
 " Knave, dolt, idiot !" exclaimed Mistress 
 Tabitha, her remarkable yellow complexion 
 getting suddenly enpurpled with rage, as 
 she sought to inflict a proper chastisement 
 on her apprentice. " What said they to 
 you ? Tell me on the instant, or I will beat 
 thee to a shaving." 
 
 " An it please you, mistress, they^ said 
 but little, till Mistress Millicent recovered 
 herself from her swound, when they ques- 
 tioned me as to my errand to the doctor ; 
 the which having told, Mistress Millicent 
 presently spoke in a monstrous small voice, 
 and said Master Doctor should come with- 
 out fail, and there should be in his company 
 herself and a young acquaintance, whom 
 methinks she called Mildred, with Master 
 John Hall and Master Leonard Supple." 
 
 " Good ; and you went to Martin Poins, 
 the spurrier ?" 
 
 " I did, an it please you, mistress ; and 
 he said he would come the instant after 
 morning prayers." 
 
 " Ah, good, excellent man ! A most ad- 
 mirable, worthy Christian. And what said 
 Simon Peltry, the leather-seller ?" 
 
 " In troth, mistress," replied the boy, de- 
 spite of the fear in which he stood before 
 his mistress, a smile of roguish meaning 
 breaking over his grimy cheeks, " he was 
 in no case for the saying of any great mat- 
 ter, seeing that I found him at the Peacock, 
 so overcome with the drinking of new ale, 
 that he was as blind as a bat, as deaf as a 
 beetle, and as mute as an owl ; and when I 
 roused him to hear of your message, he re- 
 plied, unconnected, and confusedly, in praise 
 of sobriety, adding, the fiddlers must needs 
 pray for your death right heartily, for they 
 would then be like to get such exquisite 
 tough catgut as they had never seen all 
 their lives before." 
 
 " A merry knave, i' faith !" exclaimed the 
 rather antiquated damsel, who could find 
 toleration for the faults of every man who 
 afforded her the slightest prospect of a hus- 
 band. " He must needs have his jest. And 
 how sped you with Roger Chinks, the 
 lantern-maker ?" 
 
 " An it please you, mistress, with no great 
 profit. Chinks was hard at work among his 
 men, and received your message as though 
 it were a huge affront. He might or he 
 might not come. He cared not. An it 
 suited him, he would ; and the like." 
 
 " As honest a heart as ever broke bread !*' 
 
 cried Mistress Tabitha. "And what said 
 Master Galliard ?" 
 
 " The old Frenchman fellow, an it please 
 you ?" 
 
 " The French gentleman, sirrah," replied 
 the other, sharply. 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, mistress, I took him to 
 be a right Tom o' Bedlam, for I found him 
 playing of all sorts of antics in Bessy 
 Marshmallow, the simple woman's upper 
 chamber. He was twisting, and turning, 
 and curvetting, and capering, worse than an 
 unbroke colt ; and his toe kept pointing to 
 all quarters of the wind, for all the world 
 like the great vane on the top of our church." 
 
 " But what said he to my message ?" 
 
 " A long speech, and a flowery, but in 
 such outlandish phrases, I bad to cudgel my 
 brains pretty soundly ere I could get so much 
 as a glimpse at the sense of it. He laid his 
 hand on the breast of his doublet, and made 
 a leg to me as though I was the Emperor of 
 the Indies. This I let pass, but he presently 
 fell to calling you mad-dam, which I taking 
 to be some reflection on you it did not be- 
 come me to be a listening to, up and told 
 him I'd punch his head if he called my 
 mistress any such names, for she wasn't a 
 bit of a ' mad-dam,' not she, and he was a 
 scurvy rogue, and lied in his pestilent throat. 
 On this, the villain had the horrible impu- 
 dency to say something about a pardonnez 
 moi, the which was, I doubt not, a more 
 gross offence than t'other, so I would no 
 longer stand to be so put upon, and straight- 
 way gave him so sore a clout on the chaps 
 it sent him spinning to the other side of the 
 chamber ; whereupon he out with his toast- 
 ing-iron, and would have skewered me 
 against the wall, like a pickled herring left 
 to dry, had I not shown him a fair pair of 
 heels, ere he had got it fairly out of its scab- 
 bard." 
 
 In making this relation, Launce had some 
 hopes of being rewarded for the great zeal 
 he had shewn in his mistress's defence. 
 What then must have been his astonishment 
 when of a sudden a shower of blows came 
 on his defenceless head, which all his skill 
 in taking care of put at nought she the 
 whilst rating him for his rudeness and 
 bearishness in such terms of vehemency as 
 went night to take her breath away ! 
 
 The hapless apprentice vanished from 
 her presence as quickly as he might, vowing 
 from his heart the pestilent Frenchman 
 might call the old Tabby whatsoever dis- 
 reputable name he chose, without his ever 
 attempting to wag a finger in her defence. 
 
 He returned to the front chamber, where
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 he occupied himself very busily in putting 
 his mistress's wares in the most tempting 
 array. It bad a broad casement, looking 
 into the street, made up of small diamond 
 panes, through which the passenger, if he 
 chose to peer with any great degree of curios- 
 ness, might note a vast display of caps and 
 hats of all fashions, from the statute cap of 
 the humble artisan, to the goodly copthank 
 beaver of the gay gallant. On shelves, on 
 one side, were placed rows of boxes, and 
 upright against he wainscoting, was fixed 
 a long mirror, in a carved frame, on which 
 .Mistress Tabitha set great store. A large 
 table, having a motley assortment of hats, 
 caps, feathers, brushes, irons, and blocks, 
 and two stools, that seemed to have seen 
 good service, constituted the remainder of 
 the furniture save only Launce, without 
 whom Tabitha Thatchpole might have kept 
 the place empty. 
 
 He was not, however, as usual, allowed 
 to be long doing of any thing without his 
 mistress coming and rating him for not 
 doing it to her liking. Nought satisfied her 
 of his performance, essayed he ever so. 
 Nevertheless, in the midst of her cuffing and 
 rating, she on a sudden changed the crabbed 
 expression of her countenance for one of 
 the absolutest sweetness. At that moment 
 there entered a tall, thin, figure, hat in hand, 
 which was pressed against his breast with 
 a marvellous energy, as he bowed himself 
 almost to the ground. His face looked to 
 be mightily given to wrinkles, but two rest- 
 less, sharp eyes gave it a youthfulness, the 
 greyness of his beard and hair, both of 
 which were somewhat of the longest, belied ; 
 his suit had once been fine, but it was now 
 threadbare and faded, yet there was not a 
 soil in it from top to toe ; the ruff looked 
 fresh from the starcher's, and the shoe-rosss 
 were without a' crumple, though they had 
 graced the feet of the wearer any time these 
 ten years. The stranger was Monsieur 
 Galliard, of whom mention has just been 
 made. 
 
 Mistress Tabitha tripped up to him with 
 the most amiable manner ever seen ; where- 
 upon Monsieur Galliard seized one of her 
 enormous hands, and pressed it betwixt 
 both his, and bowed upon it, and shrugged 
 his shoulders with an appearance of pro- 
 found devotion. 
 
 In sober truth, they were most like anto 
 a pair of Barbary apes chattering and gri- 
 macing, than two human beings Whilst, 
 however, they were completely taken up 
 with passing mutual civilities, they were 
 suddenly disturbed by a loud, joyous laugh 
 behind them, and, turning round, discovered 
 
 a fellow somewhat coarsely apparelled, 
 standing at the door with his hands on his 
 hips, and a jolly face well covered with fiery 
 carbuncles, expanding under the influence 
 of a hearty laugh. 
 
 " Heart o' me !" cried he, merrily, " I 
 would rather have lost my best stroke at 
 bowls, than so exquisite moving a scene. 
 Here's choice fooling brave fooling deli- 
 cate fooling as ever was witnessed! If 
 Will Somers had been alive, he could never 
 have compassed it." 
 
 " Ah, Simon Peltry, Simon Peltry !" ex- 
 claimed Mistress Tabitha, " ever at thy 
 merry conceits ! Why, what a maa thou 
 art !" 
 
 " Man, quotha !" answered the leather- 
 seller, giving the grinning Frenchman, as 
 he offered his salutations, a slap on the 
 back that appeared, for the moment, to have 
 taken his breath away. " In troth, 1 look 
 upon myself to be as good a man as any 
 that never was a better. What sayest, good 
 Mounseer Spindleshanks ? 
 
 " But talking is dry work, dame," added 
 he. " Hast ever a draught o' small ale ? for 
 I supped last night of pickled herrings, and, 
 if I had a drop of honest liquor to cleanse 
 my throat of the salt, I am a Dutchman/' 
 This assertion what Launce had stated of 
 him completely disproved ; therefore, it can 
 be in no way strange that, on hearing it, 
 the apprentice, who was close at hand, 
 opened his eyes with very absolute amaze- 
 ment. Nevertheless, Mistress Tabitha very 
 courteously bade him follow her. to partake 
 of such poor cheer as the house afforded, 
 the which welcome bidding the thirsty 
 leatherseller gladly accepted, and witnout 
 more words, the three proceeded in that di- 
 rection. 
 
 They had scarce arrived in the inner 
 chamber, and were intent on seating them- 
 selves comfortably in the chimney-corner, 
 when voices were heard approaching, which 
 immediately sent away Mistress Tabitha to 
 welcome the new comer. One of these 
 proved to be a truly broad-shouldered man, 
 with an exceeding dark complexion and 
 severe expression of countenance, and ap- 
 parently of a middle age, who was presently 
 hailed by the parties already arrived as 
 Roofer Chinks, the lantern-maker. The 
 other wore a more pleasing look, and was 
 attired in less coarse apparelling ; and he, 
 when receiving the attentions of the now 
 superlatively amiable Tabitha Thatchpole, 
 appeared to own the name of Martin Poins, 
 the spurrier. 
 
 The former spoke but few words, and 
 they of the gruffest, to his hostess's oft-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 repeated assurance of her gladness at the 
 sight of him ; and the replies of the latter 
 consisted, for the most part, of allusions to 
 the goodness of Providence in allowing him 
 the gratification of visiting so excellently 
 
 disposed an 
 Thatchpole. 
 
 acquaintance as neighbor 
 
 With him came a boy, out of all doubt 
 his son, of about the tallness of Launce, 
 though of far greater slimness, and of more 
 intelligent features ; and, whilst the rest of 
 company were completely engaged with 
 their gossip, he had got a spur in his hand, 
 which he held nigh to the cheek of Launce, 
 who, unaware or his close neighborhood, 
 was intent upon trimming of a hat for a 
 customer, and, upon hearing of his name 
 whispered in his ear, turned suddenly round, 
 and received the prickles of the spur in his 
 cheek. Smarting with the pain, he gave 
 the young rogue who inflicted it, and with a 
 laugh was endeavoring at his best speed to 
 get out of his reach, a sharp kick on the 
 shins, the which made him cry out, and 
 commence rubbing his hurt leg with a most 
 doleful visage. 
 
 Upon Mistress Tabitha inquiring what 
 ailed him, he very readily stated that he had 
 hit his leg against the table ; the which 
 was instantly believed to be the truth, for no 
 one could have fancied from Launces' un- 
 concerned visage, that he had aught to do 
 with the matter. But they were both very 
 dogs at such tricks. Martin Poins was he 
 who had flung at Launce with so true an 
 aim across the way when the latter was 
 jibing him for being wide of the mark ; and 
 indeed, morning, noon, and night, were they 
 slily engaged in such warfare for all which 
 two such fast friends never existed. They 
 not only never complained when one suf- 
 fered of the other, contenting themselves 
 with retaliating at the first opportunity, but 
 each would fight for the other at a pinch 
 as long as he could stand. 
 
 Martin, having been left behind when 
 Tabitha and her two guests proceeded to 
 join the others in the kitchen, commenced 
 a race round the table after Launce, which 
 had not lasted long before one knocked 
 down a goodly heap of boxes, which stood 
 convenient- in a corner. Tabitha Thatch- 
 pole and her company rushed .into the front 
 chamber to see what was the matter; 
 when Launce, with as absolute a solemn- 
 ness as any judge could have assumed, 
 elated that the mischief had been done by a 
 strange dog, whom Martin and he strove 
 earnestly to send a packing, and, as Martin, 
 with quite as great a seriousness asserted to 
 
 which he described the monstrous ugly pes- 
 tilent beast they had such difficulty in get- 
 ting rid of, they all returned to the chimney- 
 corner ; Mistress Tabitha bidding her ap- 
 prentice replace the fallen boxes, and, taking 
 in her hand the spurrier's son, whom she 
 seemed intent upon making much of, per- 
 chance with a view of creating in the mind 
 of the portly widower, his father, an idea 
 that she would make the very properest sort 
 of mother for him. 
 
 Scarce, however, had she got him into 
 the kitchen, when she again hurried back 
 with the same pleased alacrity, for .there a 
 group waited, whose voices she had heard, 
 to whom she seemed bound by no ordinary 
 tie. First she rushed eagerly towards a 
 young female of rather a commanding 
 figure, tall, and somewhat stout of shape, 
 with a face, though it could not be ranked 
 of the handsomest, possessed of a pleasing 
 expression, which peculiar set off as it was 
 with all possible art, as was her person, 
 gave to her an exceeding agreeable appear- 
 ance. In this tempting guise it was rather 
 difficult at first to recognize the damsel that 
 was in so pitiable a state on Master Doctor 
 Posset's stairs at the entrance into his house 
 of the new scholar. 
 
 Millicent had on one side of her a youth 
 of exceeding good carriage and appearance, 
 having a round good-natured sort of face, 
 and a head remarkable for a profusion of 
 very light air. He was soon hailed by his 
 smiling hostess as the Master Leonard to 
 whom it has been stated Millicent was be- 
 trothed. On the other side was an acquain- 
 tance of the courteous reader's of older 
 standing no other than our reserved stu- 
 dent of medicine, John Hall. He looked 
 somewhat less grave of aspect than had 
 been his wont when in company with his 
 marvellous careful guide, Simon Stockfish 
 long since with those estimable specimens 
 of horseflesh, Dapple and Jack, in ease and 
 security in his native hamlet. Both these 
 youths were welcomed with similar demon- 
 trations of their infinite contentation at 
 their coming. 
 
 From them she hurried to a little damsel, 
 who hung on the arm of the physician the 
 same who was in attendance with Mistress 
 Tabitha on the fair Millicent when we first 
 bad acquaintance with her. Her features 
 were fair and regular, and might be thought 
 comely, but a constant humor she had of 
 laughing in a child-like manner, though she 
 was within a year as old as her friend the 
 physician's daughter, gave her aspect an air 
 of silliness. Mildred was caressed as eagerly 
 
 the same thing, with sundry additions, in as had been Millicent. There remained
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 75 
 
 now only Master Doctor Posset himself, for 
 her who was so intent on playing the amiable 
 hostess to welcome, and right welcome was 
 he made. Indeed, the sober-clad, active 
 little man, with his saturnine complexion, 
 and beard of formal cut, was as 'dear to 
 Mistress T^bitha as the apple of her eye ; 
 and all the attentions she lavished on his 
 daughter, and the attachment she professed 
 for every one and everything belonging to 
 the physician, were for him, and for him 
 only. Even the courteous master of danc- 
 ing fell far short of the esteem with which 
 she regarded the doctor of physic, and all 
 other men whatsoever were as nothing in 
 her eyes compared to him. 
 
 All apparently in the choicest spirits, the 
 little Mildred, heard above the rest, giggling 
 at every word, proceeded to the chamber 
 where the others of the party were assem- 
 bled, and, after mutual salutations had pass- 
 ed, they were placed at their several seats, 
 the doctor having the place of honor ; and 
 the cold sirloin and the manchets, the pasty, 
 the turkey poults, and the other goodly things 
 their hospitable caterer had provided for her 
 guests, were quickly, with the help of a huge 
 flagon of ale, passing from the dishes into 
 the trenchers, and from the trenchers down 
 the throats of the company ; Mistress Tabi- 
 tha pressing all with a most bountiful spirit, 
 but kindly taking care the little doctor should 
 have the tit-bits, and he intent upon making 
 the best use of her welcome attentions ; 
 Monsieur Galliard administering to the 
 wants and wishes of every female in the 
 circle with an infinity of sugared compli- 
 ments and expressive pantomine, the which 
 seemed to afford such absolute diversion to 
 Mildred, her childish mirth was breaking 
 forth at every minute ; the jolly leather- 
 seller drinking to all with more freedom 
 than good manners ; the pious spurrier 
 moralizing at every mouthful, and the surly 
 lantern-maker saying naught unless spoke 
 to, and then being so short in his speech, 
 few but they who knew his humor would 
 have tolerated such bearishness. 
 
 Young Martin Poins, found himself care- 
 fully placed by the side of his hostess, for 
 she was too experienced a campaigner not 
 to have two strings to her bow indeed, she 
 might have acknowledged to at least half 
 a dozen where he was plentifully supplied 
 with whatever the table-afforded, with a vast 
 show of ' sweet-hearts." "clear little rogues," 
 and the like. After awhile, Launce joined 
 the group, having washed his face and hands, 
 and put himself into as decent a trim as he 
 could, and sat opposite young Poins, and 
 these two mischievous varlets kept amusing 
 
 themselves during their meal, by endeavor 
 ing to stamp on each other's toes under the 
 table, looking the whilst as though nothing 
 was so far from their thoughts. It chanced 
 that Launce, intending inflicting on the 
 other a proper punishment for the missile 
 that had given him so sore a blow that morn- 
 ing, stamped with all his force, after, as he 
 thought, he had made sure of his victim. 
 
 In an instant the guests were prodigiously 
 alarmed, by seeing Mistress Tabitha jump 
 from the table in the middle of an animated 
 discourse she was holding, and, screaming 
 like twenty wild-cats, commence hopping 
 about the chamber, frantically holding of 
 one foot in her hand. A soft corn of exqui- 
 site tenderness she had long endeavored to 
 conceal had received the full force of the 
 heavy foot of her apprentice ; but her ges- 
 tures and grimaces were so singular that 
 even those who were most eager to proffer 
 their assistance could scarce restrain their 
 mirth. Martin Poins endeavored to smother 
 his laughter by hiding his face in his arms, 
 which were crossed before him on the table, 
 ever and anon peeping up at the bewildered 
 Launce, with eyes that glistened again with 
 the intensity of his enjoyment. 
 
 The Frenchman looked the most concern- 
 ed, and was in an instant at her side with 
 the equally attentive Millicpnt, expressing 
 all manner of consolation and simpathy after 
 his fashion ; the little doctor, like most of 
 the others, had more in his countenance of 
 marvel than of pity ; Mildred was giggling 
 openly ; and Simon Peltry was having a 
 more hearty laugh in the nearly empty 
 flagon he held for disguise before his face. 
 
 Tabitha Thatchpole found that she had a 
 difficult part to play. Had she followed her 
 inclinations, her apprentice for she was hut 
 too well satisfied to whom she was indebted 
 for her intolerable suffering would not have 
 had a whole bone in his body, ere one could 
 count twenty ; but, had she exhibited her 
 wrath, her character for sweetness of dispo- 
 sition she had been at such infinite trouble 
 to make her friends properly aware of, 
 might have been in some danger ; therefore 
 she thought it most to her interest to put off 
 for the present the display of her rage, and, 
 evidently struggling hard against the agony 
 she endured, she presently limped towarela 
 the table, assuring every one it was a sudden 
 pain in her foot, but that it had left her al- 
 together. She glanced but once at Launce, 
 and the hapless apprentice thought he beheld 
 as many cudgels in her eyes as might have 
 sufficed all the apprentices of his acquaint- 
 ance, in an attack upon the city watch. 
 
 Millicent, like the rest, returned to her
 
 78 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 place, which was on one side John Hall, 
 Leonard being on the other, and these two 
 seemed rivals in their attentions to the young 
 student. If he had been a brother, he oould 
 not have been more kindly cared for. 
 Doubtless this was all in the best spirit of 
 friendship and regard of the youth's amiable 
 Disposition; yet, when the full lustrous eyes 
 cf the physician's daughter dwelt upon him 
 with the delicious smile which played around 
 her most seductive mouth, it looked as 
 though she invited him to a more tender 
 attachment. Howsoever this might be, al- 
 ready John Hall reflected less intently upon 
 the opinions of the learned in his profession, 
 than he had been wont for some years past. 
 During the greater portion of this time, 
 there had been no lack of discourse amongst 
 the hostess and her guests. There had been 
 a deal of friendly gossip relating to neighbor 
 this, and neighbor t'other ; the state of the 
 weather, parish matters Old Poins being 
 one of the city officers and, most of all, of 
 the Queen's Highness, of whom many loyal 
 speeches were said even the bearish Roger 
 Chinks professing a zealous devotion 
 where she had been during the last progress, 
 the goodly entertainments provided for her, 
 and the excellency of her health and govern- 
 ment, were canvassed in a spirit that denoted 
 the admiration with which she was regarded 
 by her good and faithful citizens. Some- 
 thing too was said of the day's pageant, but 
 the discussion was brought to a speedy end- 
 ing by general preparations for departure ; 
 Mistress Tabitha, forgetful of her hurt, hur- 
 rying them w;th the fear of losing the sight. 
 Having locked up all the victual, and secured 
 the exclusive attentions of Dr. Posset, she 
 led the way, apparently in the happiest mood 
 possible. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 O happy life, if that their good 
 The husbandmen but understood ! 
 Who all the day themselves do please, 
 And younglings with such sports as these ; 
 And, lying down, have nough t' affright 
 Sweet sleep that makes more short the night. 
 ROBERT HERRICK. 
 
 A NOISE of the roughest, wildest, maddest 
 port, ever and anon came from one of the 
 humblest tenements in all Stratford. It was 
 borne on the eir in gusts, such as made the 
 rafters creak again, when the wintry wind 
 visiteth us in his rudest fashion, but, unlike 
 in this much, it bore little o' the humor of 
 melancholy in its accent. It was a strange 
 medley. In truth it held as little accord- 
 
 ance with aught of nature's music, RB you 
 may find betwixt the filing of a saw and the 
 strain of a nightingale, arvi to so extraordi- 
 nary a degree had it the trick of varying 
 from one character and meaning to another 
 totally opposite, that nothing could exceed 
 the ridiculous effect it had up<jn such as 
 heard it. 
 
 At one time you would have sworn all 
 the cat family in the town of Stratford were 
 pouring forth their amorous declarations ; at 
 another it seemed as palpable that a whole 
 pack of curs were snarling and snapping at 
 each other with a most canine ferocity ; a 
 moment after, and lo ! you heard some lusty- 
 throated cock hurling a shrill defiance to 
 every one of his feathered brethren within a 
 mile of him, which, ere quite ended, would 
 be replied to in as hearty a spirit, by anothe 
 terribly valiant crower eager to uphold the 
 dignity of his own dunghill ; then some 
 contemplative donkey would pour out his 
 honest song in such piercing style you were 
 forced to clap your hands to your ears to 
 shut out the riot. Anon, a peacock would 
 trumpet a most moving flourish ; thereupon 
 followed, a chorus of ducks, geese, turkey?, 
 pigs and cows, such as ought to have satisfied 
 any one there was a goodly farm close at 
 hand, as well furnished with all manner of 
 live stock as any in Warwickshire ; and after 
 such would come a burst of laughter mixed 
 of screams, and the strangest cries ever 
 heard, that sounded as though a score or 
 two of drunken mad fellows were having 
 their diversion, with the devil to pay the 
 piper. 
 
 Whence came this strange uproar 1 what 
 causeth it 1 what meaneth it 1 perchance 
 some may ask. Whereof the proper answer 
 can only be got, by leading the questioner 
 by the ears, which, an he will excuse my 
 being 'so free with him, I will do, unto the 
 very spot where it exists, under which guid- 
 ance, doubtless, he would marvel hugely at 
 noting what a lack of attentiveness there 
 appeared amongst those he chanced to find 
 nighest to it. buch of the townsfolk as he 
 might meet abroad lingering about the doors 
 of their gossips, or speeding on some urgent 
 errand, seemed to take as little heed of that 
 terrible coil as though it were of no more 
 account than a child's whistle ; save when, 
 on a sudden, as it were, it burst out with a 
 greater veh,emency of strangeness, the intel- 
 ligencer would stop i' the midst of his news, 
 to join in the laugh those about him raised 
 as they took heed of it, and he on his errand 
 would chuckle to himself as though his brain 
 had just been tickled by the apprehension of 
 some singular good jest.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 TT 
 
 It was evident, beyond all doubting, that 
 the noise proceeded from a chamber, in a 
 small tenement, at the outskirts of the town ; 
 the wicket whereof a low door not more 
 than three feet from the ground though 
 closed, allowed of a free current of air and 
 sound above it. Over the threshold was the 
 rude sign of a pair of shears, which with 
 the diamond-paned casement, a little on one 
 side of it, were half concealed by the tendrils 
 of a thick-spreading creeper, that nearly 
 covered up the whole front of the little 
 dwelling. 
 
 Should the curious spectator be induced 
 to peep over the half-door to behold the cause 
 of the racket, which now raged fiercer than 
 ever within, the first thing he would catch 
 a glimpse of would be no other than his odd 
 acquaintance Jonas Tietape, his hose un- 
 gartered, his feet unshod, and his slops open 
 at the knees, seated cross-legged on his 
 shop-board without his jerkin, a stitching a 
 kirtle, that seemed much to need his repair- 
 ing hand, as fiercely as though his life de- 
 pended on his speedy getting of it done ; all 
 the whilst amusing of himself by making 
 the rude concert already mentioned, the 
 which seemed to afford him the most abso- 
 lute contentation, for ever and anon he 
 would stop in the midst of it to rid himself 
 of the mirth he could no longer contain. 
 
 In the chamber which, in many things, was 
 of a like oddness with its occupant, having 
 an aspect of grotesqueness in all its furniture, 
 a goodly fire was blazing on the hearth, and 
 a rude lamp was burning over his head, 
 both affording him for it was long after 
 sunset a sufficiency of light to work by. 
 Perched on a chair, made out of divers rough 
 pieces of such branches as had grown in the 
 most fantastic shapes, was a magpie, evi- 
 dently keeping a fixed and somewhat suspi- 
 cious eye on the busy tailor ; and, on the 
 other side of the hearth was seated, on a 
 low bench, a grave and venerable cat, in color 
 much like unto a fox, who also watched him 
 with a marvellous keen look. Besides these, 
 three or four little dogs, of various breeds, 
 were attempting to snatch a "brief repose in 
 the neighborhood of the fire. 
 
 One of the sources of Jonas' pastime was 
 the annoyance he managed to cause his 
 companions. After a course of odds and 
 ends of ridiculous songs, varied with the m'.- 
 micry of all manner of animals, his attention 
 would be directed towards the blazing 
 hearth, and they who were enjoying its 
 warmth ; and then he would commence all 
 manner of extravagant grimaces and antics, 
 mingled with the wildest screeching and 
 squealing, till the magpie exhibited its alarm 
 
 by flapping its wings, and cawing at him 
 with a very monstrous earnestness. And 
 the cat, no less disturbed, would raise her 
 back, and commence a sort of half-threaten- 
 ing, half-frightened song, in the lowest bass 
 of her compass ; and the little dogs would 
 uncurl themselves and yelp in chorus. This 
 state of things achieved, their delighted owner 
 would fall back in a seeming ecstacy, shout- 
 ing out his exceeding gratification with a 
 strength of throat, the like of which no man 
 ever heard, and then allow his grave associ- 
 ates a few minutes respite. 
 
 Ere he again took to his stitching, he 
 again cleared his throat with an affectation 
 of ceremony most laughable to witness ; 
 taking up an old cittern which was beside 
 him, and gazing at the occupant of the stool, 
 with a passionate tenderness in the first part 
 of each verse the most devoted gallant could 
 not have excelled, he sang the following 
 words, well known by the title of 
 
 A RIGHT MOVING DIALOGUE BETWIXT THE 
 
 DESPAIRING LOVER AND HIS 
 
 JOLLY GOSSIP. 
 
 Despairing Lover. 
 Alack, there is no remedie, 
 
 My moving plaint is heard in vain ; 
 Oh, traitress false, thy treacherie 
 
 Doth cleave my very heart in twain .' 
 
 Jolly Gossip. 
 Tush, boy, for shame ! the heart that breaks 
 
 Can feed no more a thirsty throttle : 
 Who cares a jot for Fortune's freaks ?~ 
 
 Come, Drawer, open t'other bottle ! 
 
 Despairing Lover. 
 
 I'm sick of life I long for death ! 
 
 Say what ye will, deem as ye list ; 
 Why should I breathe this worthless breath, 
 
 Since I your priceless love have missed I 
 
 folly Gossip. 
 Tush, boy, for shame ! Hold up thine head ' 
 
 If of thy life she's none so chary, 
 She'll care still less for thee when dead 
 
 No woman's worth this rare canary. 
 
 Despairing Lover. 
 
 Ah me, my breast is pierced with woe ! 
 
 Death's dart doth in my vitals lie : 
 Thou didst not well to use me so, 
 
 Naithless I bless thee as I die. 
 
 JoUy Gossip. 
 
 Tush, boy, for shame ! What.fall'n indeed, 
 
 As ripest acorn in October ! 
 Here, Drawer, help him in his need, 
 
 And let him sleep until he's sober !
 
 78 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 " By Jeronimo, a good song !" exclaimed 
 a voice, evidently proceeding from one who 
 leaned at his ease, resting of his elbows on 
 the wicket. There could be no more mis- 
 taking the merry way of the speaker, than 
 the waggish look that peered over the low 
 door of the woman-tailor's humble tenement. 
 The words had scarce been said when the 
 singer jumped up on the board, whereon he 
 was so nimbly a stitching, with a ridiculous 
 screech, and holding of his right leg, stretch- 
 ed out before him, with his two hands, as 
 though it were an arquebus, and he was 
 taking deadly aim at his visitor, uttered a 
 loud sound, threw a summerset, as though 
 from the recoil of the piece, and then made 
 a clear leap out of the open window. No 
 sooner had this been done than he at the wick- 
 et leapt lightly over it, sprung on the shop- 
 board, and jumped through the casement af- 
 ter him, which was the commencement of a 
 terrible sharp race betwixt the two ; the one 
 screeching and hallooing as though flying 
 for his life, passing over the wicket and 
 through the window like a fox hard pressed, 
 and the other at his heels barking and yelp- 
 ing as though exceeding ravenous to have 
 him for his prey. 
 
 The horrible din these 'two made can 
 scarcely be conceived. Dick, the magpie, 
 flew and hopped about, cawing with a mon- 
 strous energy, as though he thought his last 
 hour was come ; and Tib, the cat, clamber- 
 ed to a high shelf, where she kept up a con- 
 stant swearing, spitting, and caterwauling, 
 as the strange chase proceeded, and as each 
 engaged in it passed close by her : the little 
 dogs crowded into one of the corners, bark- 
 ing with all their little might. 
 
 Thus these two went on, till on a sudden 
 Jonas, turning quickly round, and making 
 in the opposite direction, they came against 
 each other with so monstrous a shock as to 
 cause both to tumble backwards. For a 
 second or so, they lay silent and motionless, 
 as though dead as any stone. Anon, one 
 raised his head, and peered at his compa- 
 nion, and then again laid himself at his 
 length. The other did the like, with the 
 same affectation of gravity ; and this they 
 continued to do alternately, Tib and Dick 
 looking on from their resting-places with a 
 singular curiousness, and the little dogs a 
 Lttle less disturbed, but still uttering an oc- 
 casional bark. 
 
 At last they, both rose at the same mo- 
 ment, and sat gazing at each other, face to 
 face, with the rueful visages of whipped 
 schoolboys, each putting his finger to his 
 eye, and each commencing first to whimper, 
 
 then to sob, and at last to roar as though in 
 the terriblest tribulation. 
 
 Suddenly the woman's tailor stopped short 
 in his grief, clapped his hands to his sides, 
 and uttered so piercing a crow, it must 
 needs have been heard by every chanticleer 
 in the parish ; whereupon, his companion 
 jumped on hie legs, laughing as heartily as 
 ever man did, and flung himself into a chair. 
 
 " O' my life, this is exquisite fooling !" 
 exclaimed he. " I would my dame had seen 
 it. Joan's merry heart would have enjoyed 
 it right heartily. In truth, 'twas rare sport. 
 I would rather have lost my best customer 
 than have missed it." The speaker threw 
 himself back in his chair and indulged in a 
 succession of mirthful chuckles. His com- 
 panion answered not, save by a whoop at 
 his favorites, which made them look intent 
 on a speedy taking of themselves away from 
 their present places of refuge, as he pro- 
 ceeded to do the host's part to his visitor. 
 
 The gossips entered upon a jovial ca- 
 rouse, and, as their spirits became refreshed, 
 they grew into a greater content with them- 
 selves, and had recourse to their customary 
 tricks, till they kicked up such a racket, the 
 dogs, the cat, and the magpie, were again 
 driven from their ordinary places, on each 
 side the fire, to which they had returned, to 
 find security wherever they could. 
 
 It was whilst they were intent upon the 
 performance of some of the maddest of their 
 freaks, that two men, cloaked, and otherwise 
 habited like persons of worship, were pro- 
 ceeding at a slow pace into the town in the 
 direction of the woman-tailor's humble ten- 
 ement. These persons were Sir George 
 Carew and his friend Master Shakspeare. 
 It was now so late an hour, that all the so- 
 ber-minded townsfolk had taken them to 
 their beds. It followeth that the place was 
 hushed into a profound stillness, save where 
 the noise of the two gossips spread itself, 
 and the darkness of the night was of that 
 impenetrable sort, nothing could be keen 
 but here and there a stream of light from 
 some casement wherein a fire still blazed, 
 or a candle was kept burning, betokening, 
 perchance, a late carouse,- or the good 
 dame's preparations to welcome to his com- 
 fortable hearth her absent bedfellow ; or a 
 door thrown open to admit of the departure 
 of some merry party to their several homes, 
 would, the whilst they were saying their 
 parting courtesies on the threshold, illumine 
 the deep gloom of the whole neighborhood 
 in a still more cheerful fashion. 
 
 The two persons, to whom allusion hath 
 just been made, kept close together, conver-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 79 
 
 sing in a low tone to each other, but return- 1 spirators, and are as well informed of their 
 
 ing. with much heartiness, the fair " good 
 nights" they had of every one who passed 
 them on their way. At their heels was a 
 stately hound, who seemed to take no heed 
 whatsoever of any thing or any one, but 
 stalked along with as much affectation of 
 solemness and dignity, as would have suf- 
 ficed the goodliest justice 'o the peace that 
 ever sentenced a sturdy beggar to the stocks. 
 The subject of their conversation was no 
 other than the Earl of Essex, whose trea- 
 sonable designs, after his abandonment of 
 
 in Ireland, had become 
 Sir George Carew detail- 
 
 his government 
 much talked of. 
 
 ed to his friend the intrigues in which this 
 vain and headstrong noble had been en- 
 gaged, after he had been placed under ar- 
 rest by the Queen's order. 
 
 " He got his liberty at last," added he, 
 " but was not allowed to come to court, or 
 near the Queen's person. These restric- 
 tions he could not stomach. His great 
 heart would not take quietly the humility 
 that was put upon him. He regarded those 
 who were most in favor at court as his rest- 
 less and remorseless enemies, and was ever 
 saying some scurvy thing or another against 
 them. His discontent grew greater every 
 day, and he gathered about him a number 
 of mischievous, restless busybodies, bold 
 swordsmen, confident fellows, men of broken 
 fortunes, and such as saucily used their 
 tongues in railing against all men. They 
 did him no good ; but his worst adviser was 
 one Cuffe, his secretary, a plotting dangerous 
 knave, who had been with him in Ireland." 
 
 " Methinks I have heard of this man, Sir 
 George, at Oxford. Held he not some ap- 
 pointment there ?" 
 
 " O' my life, I know not well. AH I 
 know is, that he is the most pestilent, trea- 
 sonable knave that ever carved out employ- 
 ment for the hangman, the which I make no 
 manner of doubt he is now busily intent on, 
 assisted by divers others whose names aie 
 
 in great repute, 
 assured friend 
 ampton." 
 
 Foremost of these is your 
 and patron, Lord South- 
 
 " Nay, nay, Sir George Carew, this can- 
 Your intelligencer must have play- 
 
 not be. 
 ed you 
 
 false !" exclaimed Master Shaks- 
 
 peare, greatly excited. " I would pledge 
 my life on his loyalty." 
 
 " Do nothing unadvisedly, friend Will," 
 replied his companion. " The Privy Coun- 
 cil know of a surety that he is engaged in 
 a treasonable design, and, moreover, that.he 
 hath engaged his friend, Sir Charles Dan- 
 vers, in the same desperate undertaking. 
 In short, they have the names of all the con- 
 
 plans as they are themselves." 
 
 " I must to London, Sir George. I must 
 away without loss of time. I am bound to 
 save him. He shall not be sacrificed in 
 this foolish business, an I have power to 
 help him." 
 
 " Well said, Master Shakspeare," replied 
 Sir George Carew, to his agitated friend. 
 " It was mainly for this I sought occasion 
 for privy speech with you. I knew with 
 what affectionateness you do regard this 
 young lord, nor am I ignorant of his worthy 
 nature ; therefore desired I he should have 
 the aid of so trusty a friend in the perilous 
 condition in which he hath placed himself. 
 But, hush ! What wild uproar is that ?" 
 
 The two speakers stopped of a sudden 
 and listened intently ; but all around seem- 
 ed wrapped in as deep a silence as dark- 
 ness ; and, whilst they tarried, Talbot put 
 himself forward in the direction whence 
 the rude sounds that so much startled Sir 
 George Carew had come. It may readily 
 be imagined that this noise proceeded from 
 the woman's tailor and his merry gossip, 
 who still pursued their mad pranks as riot- 
 ously as ever. They had got to the re- 
 hearsing of certain strange feats of postur- 
 ing, which they intended performing at the 
 next Stratford games an annual festival, 
 in famous repute all over Warwickshire 
 that would be held in a day or so, twisting 
 of their bodies in the oddest positions ever 
 seen, to the extreme bewilderment of Dick 
 and Tib, who glanced on the scene with a 
 singular curious look, from a place of safe- 
 ty. Jonas stood on his head and hands, 
 supporting Tommy Hart on his feet, whose 
 head and body formed a sort of ring, the 
 legs being round the neck, when, as they 
 were deeply intent on keeping their unnatu- 
 ral posture, they suddenly heard a dreadful 
 sort of sharp snapping noise. The eyes of 
 both were at the same moment directed to 
 the spot, and, fo their extreme horror, they 
 beheld, peering over the wicket, a horrible 
 black visage, with eyes that looked to be of 
 burning coals, glaring on them as though 
 about to do them a terrible mischief. The 
 lateness of the hour, joined to the fiendish 
 aspect of their visitor, as it was seen in the 
 ruddy firelight, looked a thousand times 
 more unearthly from the singular positions 
 in which they observed him, struck the 
 hearts of both with a sudden and over- 
 whelming fear, and, in an instant, Tommy 
 Hart tumbled from his elevation, and he and 
 his equally frightened gossip rolled over and 
 jostled each other till they got to a distant 
 corner of the chamber. There each strove,
 
 80 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 with main and might, to get behind the 
 other, uttering all manner of fearful cries in 
 a low voice, and trembling in every limb. 
 Dick and Tib and their associates seemed 
 to share in their terror, for they got them- 
 selves as far as possible from the door one 
 cawed, the other mewed, and tha rest yelp- 
 ed, as though they, too, were within an inch 
 of being frightened out of their lives. 
 
 The once merry hatter had now sunk on 
 his knees, as terribly out of conceit of mirth 
 of any sort as a whipped turnspit, and com- 
 menced a strange, yet monstrous earnest 
 sort of prayer, full of asseverations of the 
 thorough honesty of his dealings to man, 
 woman, and child, whilst the poor woman's 
 tailor was kneeling behind him, engaged in 
 a similar kind of devotion, but making very 
 urgent confession of divers appropriations 
 of small pieces of stuff, which he had ne- 
 glected returning to his customers. 
 
 " An it please you, my lord," muttered 
 the fear-struck hatter, scarcely daring to 
 lift his eyes to the horrible object he ad- 
 dressed, " I am in no case for the society of 
 your honorable worship ; I am an exceed- 
 ing humble, worthless poor varlet, unwor- 
 thy to tie your honor's shoes. But here is 
 my friend here, an your honorable worship 
 pleases, as worthy a soul as ever broke 
 bread " 
 
 " Nay, I assure your noble worship," 
 cried the other, with a wild kind of fervor, 
 " I am a monstrous malefactor, that hath 
 more sins to repent of than there are threads 
 in a piece of cloth. It is this, my very ex- 
 cellent sweet gossip, you must needs be in 
 quest of, for he hath such rare virtues '' 
 
 " Believe him not, I beseech you, good 
 my lord," screamed out Tommy Hart in 
 as loud a voice as he could use, " I have 
 no more virtue in me than you may find in 
 a withered radish. Jonas will do credit to 
 your worship's judgment Jonas is such 
 admirable choice company." 
 
 " I am but an ass to Tommy here, an it 
 please you, my lord," replied Jonas Tietape 
 with equal energy " there is not such an 
 intolerable ass in all Warwickshire." 
 
 " Try him, an it please your worship. An 
 you do not find him worth a score of such 
 poor wittols as am I, I will give my head as 
 a buttered-toast for the next hungry dog I 
 meet." 
 
 How long this altercation might have 
 continued I cannot take upon me to say, 
 had it not been put to a sudden conclusion. 
 The sole cause of it at that moment opened 
 a- pair of monstrous formidable jaws that, to 
 the excited and terrified visions of the tremb- 
 ling posturers, looked to be of the size of a 
 
 church-door, at least, when fully extended. 
 At this, Tommy Hart, with a cry of terror, 
 made a desperate struggle to get behind the 
 friend in whose praise he had spoken so 
 movingly scarce a moment since, the which 
 the latter seemed as desperately intent on 
 not allowing, and began struggling fiercely, 
 shouting murder at the top of his voice. 
 The object of their terror closed his terrible 
 fangs with a curious sound, that was any- 
 thing but human ; and, at the uproar it 
 created in the two gossips, began a series 
 of other sounds that were less human still 
 for beyond all manner of doubt they were 
 such as a dog uses when barking. 
 
 In all honesty, the horrible head peering 
 over the wicket, that had so frightened the 
 woman's tailor and his associate into the 
 assured conviction the arch enemy had 
 come to them on his devilish errand for one 
 or both, was no other than that of Talbot, 
 who, attracted by the noise the two were 
 making during their performances, went 
 straight to the house, and put his paws on 
 the low door so that he could see all that 
 was going on in the chamber. The singu- 
 lar attitudes of the posturers made him utter 
 the low growl that attracted their attention ; 
 and, not being able to make out the nature 
 of the eloquent addresses that were made to 
 him, and, moreover, being somewhat in- 
 clined for sleep, he indulged himself in a 
 yawn of more than ordinary length ; and 
 the outcry this occasioned so disturbed him, 
 that he took to barking rather angrily. 
 
 The cry of " Murder !" made Master 
 Shakspeare and Sir George Carew quicken 
 their steps ; and they arrived at the wicket 
 just in time to witness the recognition of 
 Talbot by the frightened gossips, who now 
 laughed at their fears till the tears ran down 
 their cheeks ; and, whilst the merry hatter 
 caressed his old acquaintance, Jonas took 
 to his ordinary antics, and went whirling 
 along the chamber, on his hands and feet, 
 with more wantonness than ever, scaring 
 his favorites from the snug places wherein 
 they had been bewildered spectators of the 
 strange scenes just described, and some- 
 what disturbing the gravity of Talbot, who 
 could not refrain from an occasional bark. 
 On Sir George and his friend coming up, 
 the story of the fright Talbot had 'put them 
 into was soon told, to the amusement, as it 
 seemed, both of narrators and hearers ; and, 
 in a short time afterwards, Master Shaks- 
 peare and Sir George parted, with a few 
 hasty words that seemed to be of deep im- 
 port. The former, in an exceeding perturb- 
 ed state of mind, made the best of his way 
 to his cottage at Shottery, whilst Sir George
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 81 
 
 Carew returned to his own mansion ; and 
 the two gossips, for a brief space longer, to 
 their postures, their jests, and their bursts 
 of joyous laughter at the recollection of the 
 awful visit that had so hugely disturbec 
 them. 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 
 As she goes, all hearts do duty 
 
 Unto her beauty ; 
 And enamored do wish, so they might 
 
 But enjoy such a sight, 
 That they still were to run by her side, 
 Through woods, through seas, whether 
 she would ride. BEN JONSON. 
 
 TABITHA hurried on with her companion 
 j though with an exceeding desire to wit- 
 ness the goodly pageants of which rumor 
 had spoken pretty loudly throughout Barbi- 
 can, and perchance also with some particu- 
 lar eagerness to show to all of her acquain- 
 tance, in the first place, in what marvellous 
 good company she was, and, in the second, 
 what brave attire she could don for such an 
 occasion. 
 
 Ever since she had heard from an intel- 
 ligencer in whom she could put her trust, 
 that Queen Elizabeth was to return on such 
 a day to her good city of London, and, ac- 
 cording to a fashion in excellent favor with 
 her, was to be welcomed back with rejoic- 
 ings and shows of all descriptions, she de- 
 termined to play the part of the good wo- 
 man, on as large a scale as possible, and, 
 by every means in her power, endeavor to 
 secure for herself the long-coveted station 
 of wife to that very admirable, famous phy- 
 sician, Master Doctor Posset. 
 
 It was rare that Mistress Tabitha was 
 seen in the streets with other male compan- 
 ion than Launcelot Curthose, whose task 
 it had often been, when his mistress stayed 
 out nights in visiting any of her gossips at 
 a distance, to march before her, as every 
 dutiful apprentice was wont to accompany 
 his mistress, with a lantern in one hand and 
 a cudgel in the other : the one for lighting 
 of her way, the other to be raised in her 
 defence, in case of need. But Launce was 
 now little thought of, save only for the con- 
 sideration of the notable punishment that 
 was due to him for the horrible monstrous 
 torture he had put her to, which entered her 
 mind when a smart twinge of pain occurred 
 in the wounded foot. At all other periods, 
 her thoughts, like her speech, had but one 
 direction. She laughed and talked, occa- 
 
 sionally turning round to say something pe- 
 culiarly gracious to her followers, and 
 omitting nothing that could make herself 
 appear as devoted to the wishes of her com- 
 panion as she was pleasant and amiable. 
 
 The conduct of the Physician did not ve- 
 ry clearly establish an opinion on the state 
 of his feelings towards her, as satisfactory 
 as she could have desired. He looked as 
 lively as a superannuated ape, to which 
 his mowing and chattering gave a marked 
 resemblance. He never failed to laugh 
 when it was expected he should ; and 
 though there might be nothing absolutely 
 lover-like in his behavior, there was cer- 
 tainly nothing to discourage the idea that 
 at least a very friendly feeling existed. 
 There was only one thing in his conduct 
 Tabitha disliked. He kept continually 
 turning round, even in the midst of her 
 most powerful attacks upon his affections, 
 to observe their followers. She fancied 
 that the proceedings of his daughter with 
 Leonard and John Hall, who were walking 
 on each side of her, did not meet with his 
 approbation. Although this might be very 
 natural on his part, she liked not the indif- 
 ference it manifested to her claims upon him. 
 
 After them came Millicent and the two 
 young students as it seemed, the other 
 two still vying how most to gratify John 
 Hall. With the girl every sentence was 
 accompanied with a most seductive smile k 
 and her betrothed seemed to heed a vast 
 deal more the making of himself agreeable 
 unto his male associate than unto the other. 
 The young physician could not but appear 
 leased. Reserved as he was, and of so mar- 
 vellous a gravity, he could not but feel the ge- 
 nial influence of two such persons anxious 
 to give him all the contentatioo in their 
 power. 
 
 They were followed by Monsieur Galli- 
 ard and Mildred, each apparently on the ex- 
 quisitest terms with the other. After these 
 came Roger Chinks, old Poins, and Simon 
 r'eltry, gossips almost from their cradles, 
 who were so intent on dilating on the 
 jood qualities of the Earl of Essex, whose 
 affairs then were much talked of by the ci- 
 izens, as scarce to heed the vast crowd 
 n wliich they had now got commingled. 
 
 Every one, gentle and simple, young and 
 
 old, appeared to have donned their holiday 
 
 ire in honor of their sovereign ; and a 
 
 countless multitude of such, as gaily hab- 
 
 ted as their means would allow, were hast- 
 
 ning along the narrow streets of the city ; ^ 
 
 he tankard-bearer's daughter elbowing 
 
 iast the alderman's wife, and the artificer's 
 
 widow pushing before the poor genflewo-
 
 82 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 man, without regard to respect or precedence. 
 Gay gallants were mixe'd up with the rascal 
 sort ; valiant commanders were thrust aside 
 by unruly apprentices : and honest mer- 
 chants were hustled by a pack of master- 
 less vagrants, and the like worthless poor 
 knaves. 
 
 The major part were intent on making 
 the best of their way to the nearest point 
 where the Queen's Highness was expected ; 
 but a very many were too busy to have 
 such intentions. Of these, some were mak- 
 ing preparations for a goodly bonfire, wher- 
 ever the space admitted of it ; and here 
 there was a marvellous activity and run- 
 ning to and fro with faggots, and logs, and 
 tar-barrels, to heap up for the expected 
 blaze. 
 
 Along the whole line of road the owners 
 of the bettor sort of houses were engaged dis- 
 playing from their windows whatever store 
 of tapestry or arras they were possessed 
 of, which, stirred by the wind, did make a 
 pretty show, out of all doubt. In almost 
 every fresh turning were seen artizans us- 
 ing of their utmost diligence in the getting 
 ready of some wondrous pageant : for these 
 things, especially wherein fine Latin speech- 
 es were addressed to her the Queen won- 
 derfully affected. This day being the an- 
 niversary of her coronation, more than usu- 
 al efforts were made to give her contenta- 
 tion in this way, and the utmost cunning 
 of the times was taxed in producing alle- 
 gorical shows of more scholarly sort than 
 any that had hitherto been seen. The city 
 authorities only allowed their zeal to be 
 exceeded by their diligence ; they had 
 made the most magnificent preparations ; 
 yet, satisfied as they might be with them, 
 they were too well aware of tiie variable 
 humor of their royal mistress to await the 
 result without some anxiety. 
 
 Whilst these more important matters 
 were in hand, there was no lack of amuse- 
 ment ready for such as chose to partake of 
 it. There was scarce a corner that had 
 not its balled-singer, by whose stentorian 
 lungs the superhuman qualities of their 
 sovereign were insisted on in the most 
 choice doggrel. Mountebanks took advan- 
 tage of the continual thronging to endeavor 
 to find a market for sundry excellent reme- 
 dies for divers most potent diseases, which 
 it was delicately hinted by them, good sub- 
 jects should strive earnestly to rid them- 
 selves of. Here, conjurors swallowed fire ; 
 there, astrologers announced the telling of 
 fortunes : here was a delicate puppet-show, 
 just arrived from the court of Prester John ; 
 and there, a bear, of such capital sort for 
 
 the showing of sport, the Sophy had offered 
 a thousand crowns for it from the owner to 
 have it for his own particular paatime. 
 
 Noticing of these famous sights, and com- 
 menting on most, the party from Barbican 
 kept pressing on. Of these the three gos- 
 sips, who brought up the rear, took the least 
 notice. Their attention seemed engrossed 
 by political matters, and, after discussing 
 the aspect of affairs at home and abroad, 
 abusing of certain courtiers, and extrava- 
 gantly landing their favorite the Earl of 
 Essex, it seemed as though they were about 
 to take up with one of the most fruitful 
 sources at all times of popular eloquence 
 grumbling. 
 
 " Gog's wounds, it would be wondrous 
 such things should be allowed !" exclaimed 
 Roger Chinks, in a gruff voice. " Things 
 are getting in so bad a ease, I doubt hugely 
 there will be honest living for any man, 
 soon. The prices of whatsoever matters 
 are most needed of us poor men, are nigh 
 upon double what they were a score of 
 years back." 
 
 " Ay, neighbor, that I find to my cost," 
 observed Simon Peltry. " I cannot get 
 me a pint of huffcap for less than a penny, 
 which in my father's time was to be had 
 for a halfpenny at any ale-house within the 
 walls. As for bracket and dagger ale, they 
 have got to such a pestilent price, as have 
 put them clean out of my drinking." 
 
 " But it endeth not at the ale-house," re- 
 plied the lantern-maker. " else might it be 
 in some way bearable. Here have I been 
 obliged to raise the wages of my journey- 
 man twopence a day more than ever was 
 heard of since the craft of a lantern-maker 
 came into exercise ; and yet they have the 
 horrible impudency to tell me they cannot 
 keep soul and body together. Do not you, 
 neighbor, remember that, within these thir- 
 ty years, I might in this goodly city buy the 
 best pig or goose I could lay my hand on 
 for fourpence, which now costeth twelve- 
 pence ? a good capon for threepence or 
 fourpence ? a chicken for a penny ; a hen 
 for twopence, which now costeth me double 
 and triple the money? It is likewise, in 
 greater ware, as in beef and mutton. More- 
 over, I have seen a cap for thirteenpence as 
 good as I can now get for two shillings and 
 sixpence of our good gossip, Mistress 
 Thatchpole. Of cloth, ye have heard how 
 the price is risen. Now a pair of shoes 
 cost twelvepence : yet, in my time, I have 
 bought a better for sixpence. Now I can 
 get never a horse shoed under tenpence 
 or twelvepence, when I have also seen the 
 common price was sixpence."
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 B Ay, marry, 1 " responded the leather-sel- 
 ler, " and hast marked, neighbor, the mon- 
 strous falling off there is in the goodness of 
 whatever things we moat need, notwith- 
 standing of such exceeding charges ? Now 
 the lambswool I have tasted of late hath no 
 more the true smack of such as I was 
 wont to drink, no more than a score of years 
 back, than has a draught of this conduit 
 we are passing the flavor of muscadine. 
 Hanging be too good for the cheating var- 
 lets who plunder us in this intolerable fash- 
 ion." 
 
 In good sooth, neighbors, methinks you 
 are somewhat too hasty in these your judg- 
 ments in this matter," observed the spurri- 
 er. Doubtless is it that the prices of divers 
 commodities have been raised to some ex- 
 tent since our youth : but it remaineth not 
 merely in matters of victual ; divers other 
 things needed by us are not to be bought 
 but at as high a price. Perchance, Neigh- 
 bor Chinks, the selling of lanterns hath of 
 late become more profitable than it used ?" 
 
 " An if it had not," replied the lantern- 
 maker, " I must needs have abandoned the 
 trade." 
 
 " And in the selling of leather, there 
 might also be larger gains," added the 
 other. 
 
 " Body o' me, yes," answered Simon Pel- 
 try, laughingly, to whom the preceding 
 question had been addressed. " 1 had no 
 need to grumble on that score, did not the 
 villanous tapsters rob me of them." 
 
 " Then I prythee say, where is the wit 
 or honesty of complaining of the times ?" 
 asked Martin Poins quickly, yet with deep 
 seriousness. '' I marvel hugely you should 
 lack that proper sense of religiousness, 
 which would have made you perceive that 
 this change in the times was a thing for 
 which you should have been hugely grate- 
 ful. Instead of being foolishly discontent- 
 ed at the highness of prices, you should 
 have gone down on your knees, and have 
 thanked God you lived when such were 
 general." 
 
 The only reply the pious spurrier got was 
 a sort of grunt from the surly maker of 
 lanterns. The jolly dealer in leather made 
 no other sign of having attended to the 
 speech, than by putting his tongue in the 
 corner of his cheek in a manner infinitely 
 more significant than refined, and winking 
 at his fellow-grumbler. At this instant, the 
 attention of all the party was drawn to- 
 wards Mistress Tabitha, calling to young 
 Martin Poins to point out to him a pageant 
 that seemed exceedingly to have struck her 
 
 fancy. Martin was no where to be seen. 
 All had been so engaged upon their sepa- 
 rate gratifications, that the boy had been 
 entirely forgotten by them for some time 
 past. 
 
 Many were the comments, and various 
 the conjectures his disappearance occasion- 
 ed. Mistress Thatchpole, in especial, ap- 
 peared to take his absence much to heart, 
 there being no end to her hopes and fears 
 concerning of the dear child's safety. What 
 looked to be most strange, the father seem- 
 ed the least interested or alarmed, though 
 known to be of a singular affectionate dis- 
 position. He knew Martin better than the 
 rest, and could, had he chose, have made a 
 shrewd guess as to his whereabouts. He 
 contented himself, however, with express- 
 ing his conviction that there was no cause 
 of alarm. This at last satisfied his anxious 
 neighbor ; and, after some exceeding strong 
 assertions, that she should never know the 
 least atom of comfort all her days should 
 any harm befall her precious favorite, she 
 was induced to resume her hold of the phy- 
 sician's arm, which she had dropped in the 
 intensity of her concern, and the party pro- 
 ceeded on their course. 
 
 The crowd grew more dense as they ad- 
 vanced. The doctor began to find consid- 
 erable difficulty in making a path for him- 
 self and his companion. The people were 
 wedged together in countless multitudes, 
 without the slightest distinction of worth or 
 station. The windows and housetops were 
 crowded with eager faces, turned in one di- 
 rection, which was of course that by which 
 the Queen's Highness was expected. -But 
 the party from Barbican had now nearly 
 approached their destination, which was the 
 house of a certain gossip and kinswoman of 
 Mistress Tabitha 's, well known to most of her 
 companions as Dame Quiney, then living in 
 the city in excellent repute both there and 
 at court as a clear-starcher. The windows 
 of her dwelling overlooked the road through 
 which the expected procession was to pass, 
 and one on the ground-floor had been set 
 aside for the conveniency of those now ur- 
 gently pushing their way towards it. 
 
 In due time, after no small difficulty, they 
 were so fortunate as to obtain access to 
 Dame Quiney's dwelling; and, after a 
 courteous welcome from an exceeding clean 
 and still comely matron, wearing one of the 
 very ruffs she was so famed for preparing 
 for the Queen's Highness and the ladies of 
 her court, they took their position at the 
 large open casement, some sitting on stools 
 and benches, and the rest standing up be-
 
 84 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 hind. After seeing them all properly placed, 
 their hostess retired, to look after other 
 guests of hers. 
 
 It was now about the hour of noon. The 
 day was none so bright at the first dawn of 
 it, but suddenly the sun burst out with a 
 marvellous cheerful aspect, that made the 
 decorated streets and countless thousands 
 in their holiday suits look wonderfully 
 brave. In all that vast assemblage, there 
 was scarce one face whereof the expression 
 was not cheerfulness and content. 
 
 A famous commodity of debating was go- 
 ing on amongst the crowd, during the time 
 Tabitha and her party were kept waiting.; 
 but it was suddenly put a stop to by distant 
 shouts, that made every individual in the 
 crowd break off what he was then intent on, 
 and do all that in him lay to get a good 
 view in the direction of those welcome 
 sounds. 
 
 Every one was now restless with expec- 
 tation. They who were in the streets were 
 on tiptoe, striving to look over each others 
 heads the short deploring their want of 
 height, and the tall wishing themselves to 
 be very May-poles ; whilst, from the win- 
 dows and housetops, and indeed from all 
 elevated places, the same efforts were made 
 for the satisfying of the general curiosity. 
 Anon the sound of trumpets caught the ear, 
 ami the shouting became louder. Where- 
 upon, the crowd in the neighborhood of the 
 party from Golden Lane showed greater 
 restlessness in their movements, and more 
 curiosity in their looks. And so it contin- 
 ued, with the addition of divers impatient 
 yet loyal exclamations from all quarters, till 
 the sound of the trumpets coming nigher 
 and nigher, the shouts every instant in- 
 creasing in loudness and the cries and 
 movements of all around who were well 
 placed for a. view in the quarter to which 
 every gaze was directed, gave good assur- 
 ance that the Queen's Highness was ap- 
 proaching. 
 
 A short time, which to many seemed to 
 grow to a marvellous length, and the im- 
 posing cavalcade that accompanied the 
 Queen began to make its appearance. 
 First, came trumpets and kettle-drums on 
 horse-back ; the performers whereof, in gay 
 dresses almost covered with gold lace, appear- 
 ed to be making the loudest music in their 
 power. Then came a goodly company of 
 the highest nobles and gentlemen of the 
 land, on prancing palfreys gaily compari- 
 eoned. In the midst of these, and they were 
 a very many, came a handsome caroche 
 drawn by six horses, in the which were 
 two or three persons, but conspicuous above 
 
 all a woman right royally apparelled, the 
 sight of whom seemed to make that vast 
 multitude mad with very joy. Such shouting 
 of gpod wishes, such throwing up of caps, 
 such waving of handkerchiefs, it was scarce 
 possible any human eye had ever seen be- 
 fore ; all the whilst the lady so welcomed 
 regarded everything with exceeeding gra- 
 ciousness, inclined her head in grateful 
 acknowledgment of the popular good-will, 
 and more than once spoke her thanks in 
 words of winning courtesy. 
 
 Bravely as she was clad, and gracious as 
 she appeared, there could be no disguising 
 that age had marked her features with 
 many unpleasing memorials ; besides which, 
 her visage had a careworn and heavy look, 
 that told of a heart ill at ease. In truth, 
 she had just then many causes of disquie- 
 tude in the aspect of affairs at home and 
 abroad ; but the conduct of her favorite, the 
 Earl of Essex in his Irish government, and 
 since his improper return thence, as it was 
 continually represented to her, filled the 
 aged beauty with more uneasiness than all 
 the other things put together. She strove 
 hard to disguise her cares and anxieties 
 from her loyal subjects under a smiling ex- 
 terior, but she could not conceal from her- 
 self that the arrow had entered into her 
 soul, and her increasing moodiness and ir- 
 ritability had long since told to her attend- 
 ants the increase in her sufferings. 
 
 In this manner Queen Elizabeth continu-r 
 ed her progress, with such occasional stops 
 as came of certain pageants, consisting of 
 such dainty conceits in the way of the per- 
 sonating of allegorical and heathenish cha- 
 racters, as were considered most apt for the 
 occasion. 
 
 Here came Time, to lay aside his scythe 
 and hour-glass, and swear he had nought 
 more now to do than to note, with infinite 
 reverence, the peerless being on whom his 
 poor eyes had been allowed to gaze. There 
 Hercules put by his club, vowing that, al- 
 though he had performed so many marvellous 
 labors, to stand undazzled within the influ- 
 ence of such radiant beauty was of too much 
 difficulty therefore he would not essay it, 
 but at an humble distance be ever at hand 
 ready to put forth his puissance to the utter- 
 most against any who should be daring 
 enough to deny her exceeding exquisiteness 
 of feature and supereminence of mind. 
 
 In one place, Faith, Hope, and Charity- 
 came forward to say that they had had 
 nought to do on earth, since a princess had 
 appeared, who, in her own proper person, 
 made so fair a show of all their virtues, and 
 every other it was possible to have : and, in
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 85 
 
 another, Neptune exhibited himself, with his 
 trident and sea-horses, swearing most lustily 
 that he had given up all empire of the seas, 
 since its true and invincible ruler, the high 
 and mighty Elizabeth, had put forward her 
 pretensions to such sovereignty ; and a vast 
 deal more of the like sort, spoken in most 
 excellent sounding verse, and replied to by 
 the Queen's Majesty in fair and pleasant 
 speech. 
 
 To the monstrous delight of the immense 
 multitude, congregated in every street, 
 Queen Elizabeth proceeded, after this fash- 
 ion, to Somerset House, where she intended 
 to remain. 
 
 Mistress Tabitha Thatchpole and her par- 
 ty waited where they had placed themselves, 
 rarely pleased with the sight they had had, 
 till the crowd in the streets had so far dimi- 
 nished as to allow of their retracing their 
 footsteps to Golden Lane, it never having 
 been their intention to stay in Dame Qui- 
 ney's house but sufficient time to see the pa- 
 geant ; so, taking leave of the clear-starch- 
 er, who, to tell the truth, was right glad to 
 be quit of them, she having persons of higher 
 condition then staying with her, they bent 
 their steps homeward. But, in so happy a 
 mood were they for even the old lantern- 
 maker spoke and looked with some pleasant- 
 ness that they cared not for immediate re- 
 turning, and, at the suggestion of the jovial 
 leather-seller, proceeded to a quiet inn in 
 Paternoster Row, to solace themselves after 
 their fatigues with a tankard of choice ale. 
 All the chambers seemed as full of thirsty 
 customers as they could well be : and the 
 drawers were running hither and thither, 
 calling to this one, and answering that, and 
 serving all as busy as bees in a hive. There 
 was, the while, such a hum of voices as could 
 scarce have been exceeded at the building 
 of Babel. 
 
 * With a great to-do, and not without much 
 patience, and a word or two spoke by Simon 
 Peltry to one of the drawers, an acquaint- 
 ance of his no marvel, for the thirsty lea- 
 ther-seller was as familiar with every drawer 
 in London and South vvark as he might be 
 with his own jerkin ; the.y were accommo- 
 dated with a small table and the proper 
 quantity of stools, and thereupon they, with 
 a very reasonable heartiness, commenced 
 paying their attention to the tankard. 
 
 This was well liked of each, and singu- 
 larly so of the jolly leather-seller, who. whilst 
 pronouncing his opinion on its merit, and 
 giving its whole history, from the sowing of 
 . the grain and the gathering of the hops, to 
 its present acquaintance with his throat, had 
 such frequent recourse to his subject, that 
 
 few of the party knew of its worth, save 
 through the medium of his commendations ; 
 whereof, the consequence was, another tank- 
 ard was ordered, of which a fairer division 
 was enforced ; and, as they this way were led 
 to understand the justice of their neighbor's 
 commentaries, each began to be as eloquent 
 as Simon Peltry. 
 
 Of John Hall, it is sufficient to state, he 
 was not altogether unmoved. Whether the 
 blandishments of the kind Millicent, or the 
 friendly attentions of her betrothed, or the 
 generous influence of the tankard, did most 
 in removing that grave and somewhat studi- 
 ous air, that had so distinguished him, when 
 leaving his mother's home, under the guar- 
 dianship of that unmatchable prudent guide, 
 Simon Stockfish, we have no positive assur- 
 ance, but it was easy to see he was exceed- 
 ing well pleased. 
 
 Simon Peltry, in the meanwhile, was re- 
 lating to such of the company as he could 
 get to listen to him the particular history of 
 every drawer who had been seen by any of 
 his companions since they had entered the 
 inn, for in such learning he had not his 
 match all the world over. He could name 
 not only the parents of each individual, but 
 knew their gossips, and every thing they had 
 said or done worthy of the telling. As. for 
 Mistress Thatchpole, she was in her ele- 
 ment. It seemed to her that the little doctor 
 was as attentive as though she had been his 
 most profitable patient, and she fancied his 
 looks were of a wonderful tender and devot- 
 ed nature. 
 
 All at once the conversation took a turn 
 towards Golden Lane ; and she, perchance, 
 being more at home there than in any other 
 subject that had been mentioned, cared no 
 more for being a listener, and straight talked 
 away as vigorously as the best. She entered 
 at some length into her own history, not fail- 
 ing, with proper expressiveness, to state how 
 ! well things were going on with her in the 
 I selling of caps and hats, and giving a full, 
 j perchance an over, valuation of the tenement 
 j that had been left her for the carrying on of 
 : her business. In short, she left nothing im- 
 ; said that could convey to her hearers the 
 conviction that Mistress Tabitha Thatchpole, 
 of Golden Lane, Barbican, was worth any- 
 body's having, be he whom he might. 
 
 " Methinks that apprentice of yours doth 
 not lack industry," observed Martin Poins. 
 
 " By my troth no," replied Tabitha, anxi- 
 ous, for especial reasons, to appear ready to 
 speak kindly of every one. " He is no idler, 
 I promise you. And, though I cannot but 
 hesitate somewhat in telling you of it, aa 
 i it may seem in some sort the showing of
 
 
 88 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 a great vanity in me, he entereth into my 
 service with such exceeding affectionate- 
 ness, that he will allow of none assisting. 
 Nay, so devoted is he, that of his own accord 
 lie pressed, with a monstrous earnestness I 
 found it impossible to deny, that he should 
 be left on this glorious day to look after the 
 concerns of the shop, stating that 1 should 
 enjoy myself all the more, as it was his wish, 
 if 1 knew that my customers were as well 
 looked after as though I were present." 
 
 Whilst Mistress Thatchpole's company 
 were adding their several commendations to 
 hers of this phoenix of an apprentice, it so 
 chanced that a noise was heard of no little 
 laughing and shouting in one of the adjoin- 
 ing rooms, and, amid the maddest uproar of 
 mirth from many voices, they could easily 
 distinguish the following sentences : 
 
 " Out on her for a scurvy jade, say I ! 
 But I cannot restrain mine honest mirth, 
 when thinking what a fury the old tabby- 
 would be in, knew she I have set at nought 
 her strict commands and threaten! ngs in 
 case of disobedience to keep within doors. 
 But she is well served. I entreated to be 
 allowed, as other 'prentices are, to make this 
 a holiday, but all I got of my prayers was a 
 rating plague on her shrewish tongue ! 
 BO loud, I was nigh upon stunned by the fu- 
 ry of it ; and, as for cuffs methinks she tak- 
 eth me for nothing better than a custard, 
 that must needs have a constant beating to 
 make it of any goodness. But prythee join 
 with rne in a draught of huff-cap, to drink 
 this Mother Brimstone a speedy meeting 
 with her proper master and helpmate, Old 
 Scratch." 
 
 Scarce had this speech ended, when, with 
 a shout of riotous laughter, a party of nearly 
 a dozen youths, seeming to be apprentices, 
 burst into the chamber, and at the head of 
 them, and .out of all doubt the speaker of 
 what hath just been stated, was no other 
 than the phoenix, Lazy Launce. At the 
 hearing of such rude phrases at such a mo- 
 ment, Mrs. Tabitha Thatchpole, quite forget- 
 ful of the amiable character she had been so 
 earnestly endeavoring to assume, directly 
 Launce made his appearance, flew towards 
 him, shewing by her looks and manner, that 
 neither this offence, nor that whereby her 
 corn had suffered so terribly, would be al- 
 lowed to pass without a signal punishment. 
 
 Doubtless he would have had a famous 
 mauling, had not young Poins, who was one 
 of the most boisterous of the party, as she 
 came rushing with her utmost speed, thrust 
 one of his companions towards her with such 
 
 force, that they scarcely escaped coming 
 the ground together. E're Tabitha couldT: 
 
 cover herself, Launce, looking to be in a* 
 great a fright as ever he was in -his life for 
 all his big words, took but two steps to the 
 door, and vanished out of the neighborhood 
 as though the very helpmate he had proposed 
 for his mistress was in full chase, at his 
 heels. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Here are none that can bear a painted show, 
 Strike when you wink, and then lament thto 
 
 blow ; 
 
 Who, like mills, set the right way for to grind 
 Can make their gains alike with every wind ; 
 Only some fellows with the subtlest pate, 
 Amongst us, may perchance equivocate 
 At selling of a horse, and that's the most. 
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT. 
 If we do prosper now, not we on Fate, 
 But she on us shall for direction wait. 
 
 TBE GREAT FAVORITE. 
 It is a weary interlude 
 Which doth short joys, long woes include ; 
 The world's the stage, the prologue tears, 
 The acts vain hopes, and varied fears ; 
 The scene shuts up with loss of breath, 
 And leaves no epilogue but death. 
 
 DR. HENRY KING. 
 
 THE principal chambers in Essex House 
 were thronged with men of divers charac- 
 ters and conditions, but for the most part 
 bearing in their several 'aspects an air of 
 fierce determination and gloomy discontent. 
 Amongst them were some of high lineage 
 and good reputations, and divers of singular 
 repute for ability in learning and in arms ; 
 but there were also present a vast number 
 of gentlemen of poor fortunes and poorer 
 characters ; daring adventurers, who had 
 nothing to lose but their lives, which they 
 were ready to risk in any venture that pro- 
 mised to better their fortunes ; and impov- 
 erished cast captains, who sought a desper- 
 ate enterprise, somewhat out of revenge 
 against certain persons in the government, 
 by whom they fancied they had been scur- 
 vily treated, and somewhat in the hope of 
 obtaining rich advantages, as had been held 
 out to them if they assisted in the stirring 
 game that was afoot. 
 
 There were signs of exceeding restless- 
 ness and noisy debate in the crowded cham- 
 bers. Little knots of eager disputants kept 
 together on the staircase, in the ante-rooms, 
 and even in the state apartments, where the 
 leaders of the party were in close and ear- 
 nest debate. Although many bore upon 
 them the appearance of discontented :ourti-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 87 
 
 eta and poor soldiers, wearing of such bra- 
 very as their means would allow, albeit it 
 was in many oases exceedingly worn and 
 soiled, there were others who were dressed 
 with a marked 'plainness. These latter 
 were men of severe aspect and of formal 
 manners ; rude in their bearing, loud of 
 voice, and violent in their counsels ; in their 
 outward apparel affecting the new religion, 
 and in their behavior monstrously disatf'ect- 
 ed to the existing government. Amongst 
 them were two or three who wore the garb 
 of priests ; and these were, for the most 
 part, engaged in loud discourse on the mar- 
 vellous qualities of their noble patron, the 
 Earl of Essex, and of the intolerable griev- 
 ances that had been thrust upon him by 
 certain ungodly wretches who poisoned the 
 ear of the Queen's Highness against him. 
 
 The hubbub of voices, and the constant 
 going to and fro of upwards of three hun- 
 dred persons, gave to the scene an air of 
 strangeness and confusion, to which the vast 
 number of offensive weapons that lay here 
 and there on the rich furniture of the prin- 
 cipal apartments, and in every convenient 
 corner, added greatly. Messengers were 
 rapidly passing in and out, bringing reports 
 to the leaders ; one was rudely shouting to 
 his fellow afar off, and numbers were stand- 
 ing upon the carved benches and chairs, 
 making their comments upon the strange 
 scene and the chief actors in it. 
 
 At one corner of one of the suit of apart- 
 ments, wherein the principal part of this as- 
 semblage were crowded, there were two 
 persons, a little apart from the crowd ; the 
 one, who looked to be a Puritan from the 
 plainness of his suit, stood on an oak table 
 of great strength, supporting himself by 
 leaning against a massive cupboard, richly 
 carved, that stood beside it ; the other, whose 
 apparelling had a vast deal more of the gal- 
 lant and the soldier about it, to which a 
 patch over one eye and a well-bronzed com- 
 plexion, were expressive additions, stood on 
 a cane-backed chair almost at his elbow. 
 The first, notwithstanding a huge, rough 
 beard, wore an aspect of honest plainness, 
 and seemed to take a wonderful interest in 
 the proceedings, though he said but little ; 
 but the features of the other were expressive 
 of more impudency than honesty, and his 
 tongue wagged like the clapper of a village 
 bell giving an alarm of fire, though it is much 
 to be doubted his heart was in the cause he 
 had embarked in. 
 
 " Now, I pray you, good Master Puritan," 
 said the latter, whom the reader will present- 
 ./ recognize, " cast your eyes beneath the 
 great window yonder. There are all my 
 
 excellent worthy friends and sworn brothers 
 persons with whom I am as intimate as I 
 am with my sword, the which, to tell you 
 the truth, is a rare one, the right Toledo. 
 Fore George, it is not long since it graced 
 the thigh of the King of Spain." 
 
 " The speaker, finding the curiosity of 
 his companion was not then to be drawn to 
 so goodly a weapon, proceeded " Yes, there 
 they are by this light. All of them look up 
 to my judgment and vast experience in mi- 
 litary matters, and had counsel of me but 
 yesterday as to the conducting of this enter- 
 prise. He with the grey beard is Lord San- 
 dys, as gallant a nobleman as any that lives 
 he is talking urgently to Lord Monteagle 
 (he with the slashed doublet) ; and Lord 
 Rutland, another of my especial intimates, 
 together with Sir Ferdinando Gorges he 
 that is governor of Plymouth and Sir John 
 Davis, surveyor of the ordnance, are listen- 
 ing and occasionally joining in the discourse. 
 Next to Davis is John Lyttleton of Frankley, 
 a Worcestershire man, not long since knight 
 of the shrre for that county, a person of 
 great resolution and ability, my familiar and 
 sworn gossip ; the person who is pulling 
 him by the sleeve is Sir Gilly Merrick. It 
 was he who, last night, bespoke the play 
 of ' Richard the Second,' at the seeing oif 
 which were nearly all who are now in this 
 action." 
 
 The Puritan, in a sort of snuffle, said 
 something expressive of the iniquity of such 
 performances ; but regarded the persons at 
 the further end of the chamber wifh increas- 
 ing earnestness. 
 
 " Fore gad, I forgot your misliking of 
 plays," observed his communicative associ- 
 ate. But there is a group now a little to the 
 right of those I have just been naming 
 these are of more moment than all the 
 others. You know none of them, I doubt 
 not, except by casual observance ; but, if 
 you seek their notice, you will find no one 
 so like to get it you as I, in regard of the 
 great love they bear me for certain import- 
 ant services it hath been my good fortune to 
 be able to render them." This hint not be- 
 ing taken any notice of, the speaker conti- 
 nued " Now, mark you that stately gentle- 
 man, in the falling collar and ruff; he in 
 the plain russet suit, with the full beard, that 
 looketh so restless and uneasily, and speak- 
 eth with so great a vehemency ; see how 
 disdainfully flash his eyes ; note how proud- 
 ly he beareth himself, like one grievously 
 oppressed, and passionately desirous of hav- 
 ing his revenge of his enemies. Well, that 
 is no other than my Lord of Essex." 
 Verily, he looketh to be a right proper
 
 88 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 leader !" exclaimed the other, with that par- 
 ticular nasal twang they of the new religion 
 chose to affect. 
 
 " By this sword, yes !" replied his compa- 
 nion ; " and of his soldier-like qualities few 
 can speak so confidently as can I, who have 
 been his companion in arms throughout all 
 his campaigns, and, in truth, may be said to 
 have been his sole teacher in what he know- 
 eth of the art of war. But of this it doth not 
 become me to speak. Some say he has 
 moved in this action merely to oust his ene- 
 mies, Cecil, Raleigh, Cobham, and the rest ; 
 others assert he will change the common- 
 wealth, and reform all abuses and disorders 
 in it ; and divers are confident it is his in- 
 tention to bring in King James, of Scot- 
 land : but I, who am so deep in his confi- 
 dence, could tell his meaning and objects 
 more faithfully, chose I to do so ; but, of 
 course, I am bound in honor to keep so great 
 a secret." 
 
 The Puritan seemed to have nothing to 
 say to a truth so evident ; indeed, his whole 
 attention was directed towards the group 
 round the Earl of Essex. 
 
 " He who is so busy with the Earl, writ- 
 ing at the table before him," continued the 
 other, " is my lord's secretary, one Henry 
 Cuffe. He affects a clownishness and hon- 
 est bluntness of manner, but he is shrewdly 
 suspected of having secret ambitious ends, 
 with a marvellous disposition towards deep 
 plotting and far-sighted policy. The Earl 
 once dismissed him his service, assured his 
 sharp and importune infusions would one 
 day prove his ruin ; but he hath been so 
 politic in his behavior as to be again taken 
 into his lord's favor, and hath the credit of 
 being the main-spring of this enterprise. 
 On the other side stands one of a different 
 spirit. He is my Lord Southampton, anoth- 
 er of my especial familiars, and he is lean- 
 ing on his friend Sir Charles Danvers, who 
 hath been drawn by love for him into this 
 action." 
 
 The Puritan's apparent deep interest in 
 the group he was observing was, at this mo- 
 ment, interrupted by the loud shouting of 
 the name of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, and 
 great commotion was created amongst the 
 conspirators when it was known that Sir 
 Walter Raleigh was waiting to have speech 
 with him on the river. The Earl of Essex 
 seemed to put himself into a rage at the 
 first mention of Raleigh's name, but allowed 
 Sir Ferdinando to see what was wanted of 
 him, although the Earl had given strict or- 
 ders that none of the company should leave 
 the house. As Sir Ferdinando took his de- 
 parture, he was counselled to seize Raleigh 
 
 and bring him in prisoner, which it was 
 thought by some it was hie intention to do. 
 
 Scarce was the stir which this occasioned 
 at an end, when a still more violent commo- 
 tion was occasioned by one coming in and 
 declaring that divers persons of state from 
 the Queen's Highness were at the gates 
 demanding admittance. This begat a great 
 confusion of opinions, some shouting to 
 keep them out, and others to have them in ; 
 and, at last, orders were given to let them 
 into the courtyard by the wicket, but not to 
 allow any persons of any sort, to have ad- 
 mittance with them. All now hurried down 
 into the courtyard, amongst others the Puri- 
 tan and his companion ; the latter, from some 
 reason, kept close to the other ; and, believ- 
 ing him, as it seemed, to have little or no 
 knowledge of the distinguished characters 
 with whom they were associated, he con- 
 tinued hie information as to their several 
 names and characters. From him the Puri- 
 tan learned that the personages the conspir- 
 ators were now so eagerly thronging around 
 were the Lord Keeper Egerton, the Earl of 
 Worcester, the Lord Chief Justice, and Sir 
 William Knowles, the comptroller of the 
 Queen's Household ; all of whom were con- 
 sidered friends of the Earl of Essex, the 
 latter being his uncle. 
 
 They walked uncovered, with a dignity 
 worthy of their office, through the crowd, 
 most of whom regarded them with looks of 
 malice and mischief, till they reached to 
 where Essex stood with a proud and haugh- 
 ty bearing, surrounded by his principal as- 
 sociates, also uncovered. The Lord Keeper 
 spoke first, and in an audible voice delivered 
 a message from the queen, stating she had 
 sent them to know the meaning of so great a 
 concourse of people in that place, and promis- 
 ing, if they had any griefs to complain of, they 
 should be heard and remedied. This con- 
 ciliatory speech on the rash and headstrong 
 Earl had no other effect than to make him 
 the more intent on his desperate purpose, 
 thinking in his own weak mind it proceeded 
 from fear ; and he loudly and passionately 
 replied, in confused assertions, that his life 
 was in danger from the plotting of his en- 
 emies, that his handwriting had been forged, 
 and that, seeing he could get np redress, and 
 was threatened with the horriblest mischiefs, 
 he and his friends had resolved to defend 
 themselves. This speech was received by 
 those around him by loud acclamations. 
 
 Thereupon the Lord Chief Justice stated 
 that, if any such matters were attempted or 
 intended against the Earl, it was fit he 
 should declare it ; they would report it faith- 
 fully to her Highness ; and he could not fail
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 89 
 
 of finding a princely indifferency and justice 
 on her part. On this the Lord Southampton 
 spoke, describing his having been lately set 
 upon by Lord Grey of Wilton, sword in 
 hand, when he was quietly riding along one 
 of the public streets, unexpecting and un- 
 prepared for such an attack ; to which the 
 Lord Chief Justice replied that justice had 
 been done in that matter, the offender having 
 been sent to the Fleet Prison. This answer 
 might have sufficed ; but there were those 
 in the courtyard who, for especial reasons, 
 misliked any thing approaching a reconcili- 
 ation in this stage of the business. 
 
 The Lord Keeper, noting the mood of the 
 conspirators, asked Essex to explain his 
 griefs privately, since he would not in pub- 
 lic, adding he doubted not being able to give 
 or procure him satisfaction. But this was 
 not in accordance with the intentions of 
 many of those around, who interrupted him 
 with great clamor, shouting to the Earl : 
 " Away, away, my lord ! They abuse your 
 patience ! They betray you ! They abuse 
 you ! You lose time ! " Whereupon the 
 Lord Keeper put on his hat, and said to the 
 Earl with a louder voice : " My lord, let us 
 speak to you privately, and understand your 
 griefs ;" and then, turning to the noisy crowd, 
 with a grave and severe aspect, added : " I 
 command you all upon your allegiance to 
 lay down your weapons, and depart." 
 
 This command, however, suited not with 
 the humor of any of the conspirators to 
 obey, and the chiefs looking on it as an at- 
 tempt to draw their followers away from 
 them, took it up with much appearance of 
 disdain. Essex and his friends put on their 
 hats, and turned away into the house ; and, 
 the queen's officers, thinking he made that 
 movement to confer with them privately, 
 followed as they could. But there was a 
 great outcry made at them, and on passing 
 through the principal suite of rooms, some 
 shouted : " Kill them ! kill them !" Others, 
 of a less sanguinary turn, cried : " Shut 
 them up !" " Keep them as pledges !" This 
 latter advice Essex thought fit to follow, for, 
 when they arrived at his book-chamber, he 
 gave orders to keep them fast there, and 
 gave them in charge to three resolute fel- 
 lows, who stood at their door with muskets 
 charged and matches lighted. 
 
 It was during the confusion consequent 
 upon this scene, that the Puritan made di- 
 vers efforts to shake off his gossiping com- 
 panion, who, nevertheless, continued to 
 press upon him, introducing of himself with 
 many nourishes as Captain Swashbuckler, 
 and proffering to teach him the utmost cun- 
 ning of fence for an exceding moderate re- 
 
 ward ; and, when this was impatiently neg- 
 atived, kept pressing on him with still more 
 urgency to buy the King of Spain's trusty 
 Toledo at the small sum of ten crowns. 
 At this the Puritan turned round fiercely, 
 and, with a look that made the noble captain 
 feel exceedingly uncomfortable for a good 
 hour after, swore, with a monstrous oath, 
 that if he dared to follow him a step further, 
 or address to him another word, he would 
 slit his nose to the bone. Ere this valiant 
 gentleman could recover from so unexpected 
 a mode of address, the Puritan was urging 
 his way rapidly through the noisy crowd, 
 as though to overtake my Lord Essex ; but 
 it was not the Earl he sought, but the Lord 
 Southampton, in whose ear he unperceived 
 whispered something which made the young 
 nobleman turn round with a start of intense 
 astonishment. He looked bewildered for a 
 moment ; then, making a sign for the Puri- 
 tan to follow him, he opened a door, within 
 which both quickly disappeared, and instant- 
 ly fastened it to prevent intrusion. 
 
 "In the name of all that's marvellous, 
 Will, what bringeth thee here in this guiae '?" 
 exclaimed Lord Southampton, evidently in 
 a monstrous wonder at the appearance of 
 the person before him. 
 
 " A good errand, my dear lord, and one 
 that admitteth of no delay," replied the oth- 
 er ; but in a voice as different from the 
 snuffling drone with which the same per- 
 son but a few minutes since, addressed 
 himself to the cast captain, as is a night- 
 ingale's from an owl's. "You are on 
 the high road to destruction. The net is 
 spread for you, and all those who have join- 
 ed this rash and ill-arranged enterprise, and 
 you cannot help falling into it. I pray you, 
 my lord, hearken to one who never ad- 
 vised you but for your good. Move no 
 more in this foolish business, but escape 
 from it whilst there is safety. This I will 
 secure at the hazard of my life." 
 
 " I thank you heartily, Master Shaks- 
 peare ?" exclaimed his young patron, press- 
 ing his hand affectionately. " I am well 
 assured of your heartiness to serve me at 
 all times, but 1 am so bent on this action, I 
 cannot give it up ; and, as for the desperate 
 character you give it, be assured you have 
 been misinformed" then^ observing some 
 sign of impatience in the other, added : 
 " Know you not that Essex counteth upon a 
 hundred and twenty earls, barons, and gen- 
 tlemen of his party ; that the citizens of 
 London are with him heart and soul ; and 
 that Sir Thomas Smith., one of the sheriffs', 
 is to support him with a thousand train- 
 bands, of whom he hath the command 1 By
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 this hand, sweet Will, we cannot but pros- 
 per. We are sure of success." 
 
 " Nay, such is out of all possibility," re- 
 plied Master Shakspeare. " I 'have certain 
 intelligence that every preparation has been 
 made to defeat the objects for which you are 
 striving so ill-advisedly, and they have been 
 made with such judgment that the issue can- 
 not be doubted. The Lord Mayor hath been 
 warned of your projects, and an infinitely 
 stronger force than any you can get togeth- 
 er is on its mlrch to overpower you, and 
 make you all prisoners. Let me beg and 
 pray of you, my dear friend and patron, to 
 abandon this mad scheme at once. I have 
 arranged a plan for your escape that can- 
 not fail. I entreat you to save a life so 
 dear to me !" 
 
 " You must be misinformed, Will !" ex- 
 claimed the young lord, much moved. " I 
 am greatly beholden to you for your urgency 
 to do me service, but in this matter it can- 
 not be. Mine own grievances have not 
 been few or trifling. 1 have endured along 
 imprisonment, for no greater fault than mar- 
 rying for mine own liking. 1 was degraded 
 from my command as Master of the Horse, 
 lor no reason of any sufficiency ; and I have 
 been attacked in the open streets, with no 
 more ceremony than might be used to a 
 common cut-purse." 
 
 " I know it all, my lord," answered his 
 companion, urgently. " You have good 
 cause for complaint, there cannot be a 
 doubt. But your appearing in arms against 
 your sovereign, the which you are now 
 doing, is of all things the surest road to 
 prejudice your good cause irretrievably. 
 Once more, my dear lord, I pray and be- 
 seech you to take heed whilst it is time. 
 Leave this wretched plot to the wretched 
 fate that must overtake it. Pardon hath 
 been promised you from a sure hand. Quit 
 this place, and allow me the singular sweet 
 pleasure of seeing the truest friend man 
 ever had, out of the most imminent and ter- 
 rible danger that could touch him." 
 
 " Nay, Master Shakspeare, it cannot be," 
 said my Lord Southampton, resolutely, yet 
 much affected by his friend's -urgent entrea- 
 ties. " Metljinks I am bound in honor to 
 see my kinsman through this perilous action 
 of his, if perilous it be. Come weal or 
 woe, I must share it." 
 
 In vain did Master Shakspeare strive to 
 move his resolution, by showing he could do 
 the Earl no good by involving himself in 
 his guilt. He would hearken to no counsel 
 of the sort, but commenced urging his friend 
 to secure his own safety as quickly as he 
 
 could. But Master Shakspeare had too great 
 a love "for the youth who had shown to him 
 so much nobleness of soul, and resolved at 
 least to watch over his safety throughout 
 the adventure. 
 
 Lord Southampton did again and again 
 urge him to put himself out of danger, but 
 the other roundly stated that, an he would 
 not escape with him he must share his for- 
 tune, for he could not reconcile himself to 
 leaving so estimable choice a friend to cer- 
 tain destruction. It was useless wasting 
 time in such a debate, with natures so de- 
 termined ; so at last they made out of the 
 room as privily as they had entered, and 
 mingled unnoticed with the crowd, who 
 were now hurrying out of the house ; the 
 Earl having set himself at the head of two 
 hundred of the boldest of his followers, who 
 were sallying forth with the intention of 
 raising the city. 
 
 But a force less likely to do any essential 
 service in so stirring a business there could 
 not well be. Few were in any way provided 
 as soldiers, the greater part having no wea- 
 pons but their rapiers, and no defence but 
 their cloaks wrapped about their arms. Nev- 
 ertheless, they sallied forth full of confi- 
 dence ; the which was greatly increased by 
 their being joined by one or two small par- 
 ties, among whom were the Earl of Bedford, 
 the Lord Cromwell, and a few other persons 
 of distinction. 
 
 My Lord Southampton made his way to 
 his kinsman, and the pretended Puritan kept 
 as close at his heels as he could get. The 
 party entered the city at Ludgate, preceded 
 by the Earl, shouting lustily, " For the 
 Queen ! For the Queen ! A plot is laid 
 for my life ! England is bought and sold to 
 the Spaniards !" the which none doubted 
 would send every man and apprentice who 
 heard it, with their weapons ready, eager to 
 swell their ranks ; but, to the surprise and 
 consternation of all, not one person joined 
 them. Devoted as the citizens were to Es- 
 sex, he coifld not account for this utter de- 
 sertion of him. In vain he repeated his 
 cry as he proceeded every house was as 
 quiet as though the plague had swept away 
 all its inmates: and neither man nor boy 
 was to be seen. 
 
 The conspirators liked not this appearance 
 of things at all, as was evident from their 
 blank visages ; but when, on going through 
 Cheapside, towards Fen Church, and arriv- 
 ing at Sheriff Smith's house, where such 
 mighty succors were expected, they found 
 every duelling closed and apparontly de- 
 serted, many began to repent them of joining 
 a plot so badly supported.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 91 
 
 He 
 
 Chief Justice, and make the best terms he 
 could, and took his way with his company 
 by Paul's ; but at the West Gate they were 
 stopped by a chain drawn across the street, 
 having pikemen and musqueteers to defend 
 it. The Earl drew his sword, and ordered 
 his followers to fall on. Lord Southampton 
 obeyed the command eagerly, and the pre- 
 tended Puritan started forward to endeavor 
 to guard him from harm. A skirmish en- 
 sued, and one or two were killed and wound- 
 ed on both sides, but Essex was repulsed, 
 and a shot through his hat showed how near 
 he had been to add to the list of mischances. 
 He was allowed to turn off to Queenhithe 
 unpursued, where he and his company took 
 boats, and in due time landed at Essex 
 House. 
 
 When the Earl arrived within his own 
 dwelling, he and the rest were greatly as- 
 tonished to find that Sir Ferdinando Gorges, 
 out of a care of his own safety, had releas- 
 ed the four prisoners, and had gone with 
 
 Essex and his adherents traitors ; and that j them by water to court. Essex had now 
 the Earl of Cumberland, and Sir Thomas no hope, save in the remote one of the Lon- 
 Garard, Knight Marshal, made a like pro- 1 doners coming to his relief. He felt con- 
 clamation in other parts of the city. It was fused and distracted by his danger, burnt 
 then that Master Shakspeare drew his whatever papers might compromise him, 
 young patron on one side, and urged him, j and gave directions for fortifying his house, 
 with increased eloquence, to provide for his intending to defend it to the last extremity, 
 safety ; but the young nobleman had too He had little time for consideration. He 
 gallant a spirit to allow of his abandoning j found it invested with a force likely to over- 
 his friend when his fortune .looked deeper- power all opposition. On the land side 
 ate : nevertheless, he very affectionately j were the Earls of Cumberland and Lincoln, 
 entreated of his attached friend to. endanger ( the Lords Thomas Howard, Grey, Burleigh, 
 himself no longer by remaining with him, I and divers others of note, with a strong 
 but this the other would not hear of, still j force of horse and foot ; whilst the garden 
 hoping to be able to free him from the peril- j was filled with the Lord Admiral, his son 
 ous condition in which he had placed him- Lord Effingham, Lord Cobham, Sir John 
 self. Stanhope, Sir Robert Sidney, Sir Fulke 
 
 Presently, my Lord Essex started off with Greville, and a sufficiency of foot-soldiers 
 
 Where is the Sheriff ?" cried the Earl. 
 " Let him bring muskets and pistols. It is 
 for the good of the Queen, and for you all, 
 my masters ; for I am credibly informed, out 
 of Ireland, that the kingdom of England is 
 sold to the Spaniards." 
 
 Alack, no Sheriff was to be seen, 
 had withdrawn from his house by a back 
 door, and hastened to the Lord Mayor. Es- 
 sex entered his dwelling faint unto death. 
 His folly and madness seemed now for the 
 first time placed properly before him ; but he 
 made a struggle to disguise his feelings by 
 calling boisterously for refreshments, and 
 linen to shift himself, for the intenseness of 
 his anxiety had caused him to sweat at 
 every pore. 
 
 The faces of the principal conspirators 
 wore an uneasy expressiAi, which did not 
 lessen when word was brought that Lord 
 Burleigh (Cecil's elder brother), and Geth- 
 ick Garter, King at Arms, with a few horse, 
 had entered the city, and had proclaimed 
 
 his followers, thoroughly hopeless of doing 
 of himself any benefit, yet not so despair- 
 ing as to give up the attempt. He called 
 
 upon 
 
 preparing to attack it on the river side. 
 Whilst the majority of the conspirators 
 
 were overwhelmned with consternation at 
 
 the 'citizens to arm, and assured , these preparations, increased by the fright 
 them that England was sold to the In-j of certain ladies who, were amongst them, 
 fanta of Spain ; but not one obeyed his | Sir Robert Sidney came, by the Lord Ad- 
 summons, or took any heed of his intelli- j miral's order, to summon them to surrender, 
 gence. His followers were now leaving ' But some of them had spirits worthy of a 
 him rapidly ; and, when it became known j better cause. 
 
 that the Lord Admiral, with a strong force, j " To whom ?" cried Southampton, boldly, 
 was hastening to attack them, desertion be- " To our enemies ? That would be running 
 
 headlong to destruction. To the Queen ? 
 
 came still more frequent. 
 
 After a brief consultation, it was decided 
 
 That were to confess ourselves guilty. Yet, 
 
 that the conspirators should return to Essex I if the Lord Admiral will give us hostages 
 House as speedily as they could, and obtain < for our security, we will appear before the 
 their pardon by the release of the queen's i Queen ; if not, we are, every one, resolved 
 officers there imprisoned. Hearing that the to die in our defence." 
 
 gate at which he entered the city was now 
 well guarded, Essex sent forward Sir Ferdi- 
 
 To this spirited speech, the Lord Admiral 
 returned for reply, that conditions were not 
 
 nnndo Gorges alone, to release the Lord to be propounded by rebels, nor hostages
 
 92 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 given to them; but he informed Essex that 
 he would permit his Countess, and Lady 
 Rich, his sister, and their waiting gentle- 
 woman, to go out. The earl took this as a 
 favor, but asked an hour or two to fortify 
 the place, by which they should go forth. 
 This was readily granted. 
 
 " Now, my lord," whispered Master 
 Shakspeare to his young patron, seizing op- 
 portunity for doing so unobserved, " prythee, 
 be persuaded to your good. Your cause is 
 lost, as I full well knew it would be, and 
 you cannot do yourself, or any other, the 
 slightest benefit by clinging to it. Escape 
 is still open to you. Trust yourself to me, 
 I pray you, and I doubt not being able to 
 bring you off scathless even now." 
 
 " Thanks, sweet Will, a thousand times," 
 replied Lord Southampton, eagerly. " But, 
 as I wanted to partake of Essex's good for- 
 tune, methinks it would not be well in me 
 to shrink from sharing his bad." 
 
 His friend intreatedand prayed, and used 
 every argument of force, but the young lord 
 was not to be .moved. Master Shakspeare 
 knew not now what course to adopt. He was 
 loath to leave him *o the sure destruction 
 he was courting, ard saw no prospect of 
 advantage in remaining to share the fate of 
 those by whom he was surrounded. As for 
 the conspiracy, he hated it with all his soul ; 
 and for those engaged in it he had no sympa- 
 thy, save only in his generous young patron, 
 for whom he felt so deep an interest, he 
 could not bs induced by any consideration 
 for his own safety to leave at so perilous a 
 moment. 
 
 All this time, Essex and a few other of 
 the leaders strove to keep a good face on 
 the desperateness of their fortunes. Pre- 
 parations were made for a vigorous defenqe, 
 and divers talked of dying sword in hand, 
 as became their quality. But most were 
 wild with affright, and even the Earl acted 
 in a confused violent manner, as though he 
 knew not what to be about. Now he abused 
 the citizens as a base people, and boasted 
 he could take the whole city with four hun- 
 dred men ; anon he threatened to force his 
 way through his enemies, and seek to es- 
 cape with his followers to Ireland ; and then 
 he spoke of the goodness of his cause, with 
 a great show of bravery, and seemed to find 
 consolation in its miscarriage. But all this 
 vaporing ended in nothing. The conspira- 
 tors, before the time had expired, had agreec 
 to surrender upon conditions; and when 
 the Lord Admiral would agree to none, they 
 were fain to do without, and oresently they 
 gave up their weapons, and were taken into 
 custody. 
 
 It is presumed that the assumed Puritan 
 lad some . understanding with the Lord 
 Sigh Admiral, or other great person, for he 
 managed to get himself at large, when all, 
 n whose company he had been, were pro- 
 ceeding to their prisons; but, in the first 
 moment of his freedom, he resolved to use 
 t for the advantage of the gallant and ex- 
 cellent young nobleman, to whom he felt 
 limself so largely indebted, and was assured 
 such would not be entirely profitless. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Break, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud, 
 
 And spread thy purple wings ; 
 Now all thy figures are allowed, 
 And various shapes of things ; 
 Create of airy forms a stream, 
 It must have blood and nought of phlegm ; 
 And though it be a waking dream, 
 Yet let it like an odor rise 
 
 To all the senses here, 
 And fall like sleep upon their eyes, 
 Or music in their ear. 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 TIME, in his steady flight, seeth many 
 changes, but rarely any more marked than 
 such as were created in the period that 
 elapsed betwixt the last chapter and the 
 present. 
 
 The strange and powerful sway of those 
 melancholic humors which had visited Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare with such uncontrollable 
 vehemency ever since the death of his sweet 
 young son, appeared now ta have gathered 
 such head, that, when his thoughts travelled 
 that way, he seemed quickly to lose all con- 
 sciousness of surrounding circumstances, 
 and to give up every sense to the considera- 
 tion of the huge grief that prayed upon his 
 spirits. What this grief might be, none 
 knew. None even guessed that a gentle- 
 man, so prodigal with his pleasant jests, 
 when surrounded with proper company, was, 
 when left to his own sad thoughts and feel- 
 ings, the very miserablest wretch that can 
 be conceived. 
 
 Frequently was it that he looked to bo 
 overpowered with a heaviness that wrapped 
 him all around like a shroud, and, from his 
 aspect, there might be read an anguish that 
 was wont to probe him to the quick. Could 
 it arise solely from a consideration of the 
 great loss his affections had sustained by 
 the death of the youthful Hamnet? Could 
 it be occasioned solely by the exceeding un- 
 satisfactory nature of his domestic affairs ? 
 Might it arise from disappointed ambition
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 93 
 
 loss of friends or deficiency of worldly 
 wealth ? Or, did it proceed from the recol- 
 lection of some offence of very monstrous 
 evil, the consideration whereof smote him 
 terribly ? Hamnet's death, of a surety, was 
 an intolerable blow to his happiness ; but, 
 since the doleful day it happened, Time, the 
 sure alleviator of human affliction, had ex- 
 ercised his reconciling influence, and closed, 
 though it could never entirely heal, the 
 wound it had made. Philosophy, perchance, 
 did something towards banishing all useless 
 regrets ; but philosophy hath but a small 
 hold upon the heart of a doating parent, 
 from whom the object of its infinite love 
 hath been untimely snatched away. 
 
 There was much in the state of his home, 
 which, to one of quick sensibility, like Mas-' 
 ter Shakspeare, might have afforded most in- 
 tolerable reflections. That any of his am- 
 bitious views had failed in fulfilling their 
 promises, is very much to be doubted, seeing 
 the position he had gained in society by the 
 proper influence of his own greatness. Of 
 loss of friends he might complain. His royal 
 patroness, who had held him in such honor- 
 able estimation throughout his career, had 
 died full of years and glory, but of- a heart 
 broken by vain regrets for the loss of her 
 unworthy favorite, the Earl of Essex, who 
 had perished by the hand of the headsman 
 for his treasonable practices. His still more 
 generous friend, the young Earl of South- 
 ampton, had been kept a close prisoner, for 
 his share in Essex's treason, up to the 
 Queen's death : a worse fate would have at- 
 tended him, had not the loving friend who 
 strove so earnestly to get him out of the 
 conspiracy, employed all-powerful appeals 
 for the saving of his life. He had received 
 certain intelligence that another of his esti- 
 mable friends, Sir Walter Raleigh, was like 
 to be in as pitiful a case as my Lord South- 
 ampton, from the coming of the Scottish 
 king to the throne of these realms, in whom 
 the very strongest prejudices against Sir 
 Walter had been artfully raised by his rivals, 
 Cecil and Essex. 
 
 Therefore, loss of friends might have 
 gone some way towards exciting melan- 
 choly humors. Yet was Master Shakspeare 
 so richly off in this respect, the few who 
 were taken away were not like to be missed 
 so greatly as to throw so thick a gloom over 
 his spirits as had oppressed them. But, as 
 to the only other cause we have hinted at 
 what offence could there be in one of so 
 honorable a way of living that could touch 
 him so nearly as the hidden cause of his 
 huge trouble appeared to do ? We doubt 
 there could exist anything of the sort. 
 
 
 Nevertheless, Master Shakspeare had a 
 heart so ill at ease, no man would have en- 
 vied him, could he have known what an in- 
 finite lack of comfort he possessed. 
 
 But who could have guessed he had so 
 much aa the slightest uneasiness of any 
 sort ? In whatever play chanced to be be- 
 fore the audience, he so forgot himself in 
 the performance of his part, that the spec- 
 tators might reasonably enough have judged 
 him to have nothing in his own nature to 
 complain of, or regret, of sufficient import 
 to call him from his feigning for one minute. 
 In the company of his brother-players, and 
 all the nimble wits and learned spirits with 
 whom he associated, he looked to be of so 
 happy a mind, he displayed ever so prodigal 
 an abundance of pleasant thoughts and ad- 
 mirable witty jests, and Was at all times so 
 ready to add to, rather than share in, the 
 general entertainment, that tew who observ- 
 ed him could have thought of saying, 
 " This gentleman hath griefs. He is dis- 
 tracted with trouble. He is as sick at heart 
 as a man who hath not a hope in the world." 
 
 This unhappy gentleman, then, for so 
 methinks we must needs consider him, sat 
 in his lodging, in the Clink Liberty, in a 
 deep fit of profound abstractedness, his head 
 resting on his hand as he leaned upon the 
 table, and his noble visage wearing an as- 
 pect so sad and woe-begone, the feeling 
 that had caused it evidently lay as deep in 
 the heart as it well could. Before him were 
 many papers and books, and implements of 
 writing, but they seemed to be thrust on 
 one side, as though the owner cared not to 
 have aught to do with them. Amongst the 
 papers was one which appeared to have 
 been recently written. It seemed at first to 
 be fragments of verse ; but, on a closer 
 look, these would be found to be divers small 
 poems, much affected by the writers of that 
 period, under the name of Sonnets. They 
 were thus entitled : 
 
 A NEW PARADISE OF DAINTY DE- 
 VICES. 
 
 I. PLANETARY INFLUENCE. 
 
 A radiant star within th' empyrian dwelt ; 
 It stood confessed a glorious Cynosure, 
 Shedding a light around so. bright, so pure, 
 
 That aa I gazed, with throbbing heart I knelt, 
 " Oh, would," quoth I, " I might thy rays se- 
 
 (Marvel not I such covetousness felt 
 With such temptation.) Ah! those starry 
 
 beams 
 Had shed their beauty on another's dreams. 
 
 Yet deep within my heart I nurtured still 
 The love that fed upon its rosy streams
 
 94 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Still hoped, still prayed for it with eager will, 
 And turned away from nil the shining wealth, 
 
 That woo'd me oft from Heaven's sapphire hill, 
 That one proud star to idolize by stealth. 
 
 II. A COMPARISON. 
 
 Behold the jewel-hunter, searching well, 
 
 With a most curious eye, the mountain-tops, 
 Each rock, and ravine, cleft, and hidden cell, 
 
 Where from the soil the shining treasure 
 drops 
 
 He suddenly with admiration stops, 
 As if entranced by some secret spell ; 
 
 For naught of emerald, or amethyst, 
 Or costly stone, that his experience knew 
 With such bright sheen, or with so rich a hue, 
 
 Dazzled his gaze on fairest ear or wrist, 
 As doth a gem now flashing on his view : 
 
 Enriched thus, thus wondering I exist. 
 Thus found I thee, and in my loving sight 
 Art thou my perfect, matchless chrysolite. 
 
 III. THE SOUL'S LONGING. 
 I dreamt a dream of marvellous good intent, 
 The harbinger (would 'twere !) of coming 
 
 bliss ; 
 And thou, fair seer, shall tell me what it meant, 
 
 For thou alone canst well interpret this. 
 Methought an angel had from Heaven been 
 
 sent, 
 Whose starry wings the air seemed proud to 
 
 kiss ; 
 Quoth he, " Thy struggles have not been in 
 
 vain, 
 And for thy suff'rings passed, name now thy 
 
 gain 
 What thy soul yearns for, say, and all is 
 
 thine." 
 
 Then not a moment's space did I refrain 
 From uttering longings, precious as the mine, 
 Countless as motes within the glad sunshine ; 
 For beauty, honor, in the first degree ; 
 For all things that are excellent FOB. THEE! 
 
 IV. THE TRUE PHCENIX. 
 
 In the old time, as ancient bards rehearse, 
 In many a legend of barbaric verse,- 
 
 Where Araby exhales her spicy breath, 
 There came a wondrous bird, but rarely seen; 
 
 TliMt drew a new existence from its death, 
 
 Whereat, doubtless, the reader marvelleth. 
 This wonder therein scarce such time had been 
 
 A pile of goodly incense to have laid, 
 When there arose a fierce, consuming fire 
 
 That burned it utterly which did not fade, 
 Ere a new bird sprung from the funeral pyre ! 
 Love is to me the Phcenix poets mean, 
 
 Which in its sweets a flamingfaed hath made, 
 Whence it doth new and perfect life acquire. 
 
 V. THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 The pilgrim who, with weary feet and slow, 
 Travels his sacred journey anxiously, 
 
 Measuring, with a self-inflicted woe 
 And earnest pray'rs, that heed not pang or 
 throe, 
 
 Each step he taketh, feels and acts as I, 
 Who, having set myself a pilgrimage 
 
 Unto a shrine of pure excellency, 
 Do tread on thorny ways, and constant wage 
 
 A warfare with myself a sharp infliction 
 
 A sense of some most grievous direlection 
 Unworthy of the goodness I have sought. 
 
 Say in what moving terms, what passionate 
 
 diction, 
 
 Shall I, sweet saint ! thine ear and heart engage, 
 To be absolved in feeling and in thought. 
 
 VI. A GREAT OFFENCE GREATLY PUNISHED. 
 
 The sun hath drawn his curtain in the West, 
 
 Where the tired hours do chaunt his lullaby ; 
 And Heaven's Argus eyes now watch the rest 
 
 In which the weary world doth calmly lie. 
 
 The blossoms now their oderous alms deny, 
 
 Folded in dreams on Nature's bounteous breast. 
 
 The nightingale, nor time nor tune doth keep 
 
 E'en the rude winds, bound in their caverns 
 
 deep, 
 
 Murmur their vespers with a holy care. 
 All thing? in earth and heav'n seemed hushed 
 in sleep, 
 
 All things save 1 I no such blessing share. 
 Punished like him who stole th' immortal fire 
 
 A vulture's beak my vitals seems to tear 
 Fit recompense for those damned by such proud 
 desire. 
 
 Whether any passage in the writer's life 
 of some singular deep import is marked out 
 in the foregoing poems must be left to the 
 consideration of the sagacious reader. It 
 may be thought they appear to indicate an 
 attachment on the part of the inditer of 
 these sonnets to some fair creature of the 
 other sex very far above him in rank, which 
 had been the cause to him of exceeding 
 trouble both of heart and of mind. Never- 
 theless, it may be looked -upon merely as a 
 device of the imagination, which hath in it 
 no reality of any sort, the poet having, in 
 the exercise of his vocation, fancied a 
 mistress under the circumstances related, 
 whereof both circumstances and sentiments 
 had no other origin in his fruitful brain. 
 
 Of these two views, the reader may in- 
 cline to either. But we will obtain for him 
 the perusal of another paper from the same 
 source, which perchance may assist his 
 judgment. This was entitled after the fol- 
 lowing fashion I- 
 THE GROWTH OF LOVE. 
 
 In those warm climates nearest to the sun 
 The flow'rs and fruits a wondtous nurture 
 show ;
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 05 
 
 The breezes fan them, and their part is done, 
 The sunbeams kiss them, and they bud and 
 blow. 
 
 So 'tis with love in this warm heart of mine : 
 It springs at once to highest perfectness ; 
 
 It blooms as sunny looks upon it shine, 
 And the fruit ripens 'neath the first caress. 
 
 A DOUBLE ENCHANTMENT. 
 Within those orbs a trembling radiance dwells, 
 Full of strange charms, and soul-enthralling 
 
 . spells ; 
 Whilst round those tempting lips such magic 
 
 lies 
 
 As overpow'rs th' enchantment of thine eyes. 
 Yet still the witcheries of thy gaze I seek, 
 Still own the smiling bondage of thy cheek ; 
 But if one spell the other should eclipse, 
 Oh, bind me in the magic of thy lips ! 
 
 Of a surety, if the sonnets do not speak 
 sufficiently of love, there must needs be 
 enough of it in the sugared poems the reader 
 hath just, perused. But it may be advanced 
 that in them there may chance to be no 
 more of reality than in the other. For 
 mine own part, I am inclined to the belief 
 that the writer of each and all these poems 
 was in earnest when they were written by 
 him, and that he hath therein figured out 
 his own particular thoughts and feelings re- 
 garding an individual by whom they had 
 been powerfully excited under circumstan- 
 ces obscurely hinted at in one of the son- 
 nets. 
 
 Nor is there any thing improbable in en- 
 tertaining such a view of the matter. At 
 an early stage in his career, eminently qual- 
 ified as he was both by appearance and un- 
 paralleled gifts of mind to please the eye 
 and captivate the heart of any fair creature 
 disposed to be enamored of such qualities, 
 his prominence in the public gaze, under 
 the double advantage of an admired player 
 and admirable writer of plays, could scarce 
 fail of giving ample opportunity for some 
 doting nature of this sort to regard him with 
 a sweet yet dangerous sympathy. It is the 
 natural disposition of passion to level dis- 
 tinctions and smooth obstacles of the diffi- 
 cultest kind ; and it was no unusual thing, 
 in the age sought to be pictured in these 
 pages, for a gentlewoman of high estate 
 and lineage to give the entire devotedness 
 of an uncalcukting and, alas ! unthinking 
 affection, to some individual of the other 
 sex, whose natural or acquired gifts were 
 in her estimation infinitely preferable to for- 
 tune, birth, and the like estimable qualities. 
 
 That the development of such a sympa- 
 thy took place clandestinely is rather to be 
 deplored than wondered at. The obliga- 
 
 tions the young poet had already contracted 
 must have rendered the entertainment of 
 any feelings of the sort an offence not to be 
 justified : but we are fearful that passion 
 hath no considerations for what is strictly 
 creditable and honest, and that, however 
 excellently disposed in other respects, a 
 youth, scarce twenty, full of the irrepressi- 
 ble yearnings that form so prominent a part 
 in the influences which do commonly gov- 
 ern the humanity of all the higher order of 
 intellects in early manhood, is not to be ex- 
 pected to withstand so powerful a tempta^ 
 tion as is presented to the senses in the 
 kindling glances of a fair creature of ex- 
 quisite loveliness, forgetful of differences of 
 degree, and indeed of whatsoever should 
 most rule the conduct of one of her condi- 
 tion, in an uncontrollable admiration of him 
 and his works. 
 
 The love of woman is the exquisitest in- 
 toxication under all circumstances, to any 
 man of truly manly feelings, but when the 
 most complete self-abandonment is evidenced 
 in her love, with the most earnest idolatry, 
 what man of woman born is there who could 
 resist her affection ? 
 
 The young poet, in whom love is the very 
 breath of his being, and whose noblest 
 thoughts and feelings can be nurtured only 
 by intimate communion with the many ad- 
 mirable sweet qualities a loving woman 
 possesses, of a surety is the very last person 
 in the world to withstand such temptation. 
 Tender looks, passionate sighs, and delicious 
 smiles, can scarcely be aimed at him, with- 
 out exciting a world of fond tumultuous 
 hopes, and entrancing dreams, that make 
 him at once a worshipper and a slave, im- 
 pelling the current of his thoughts in one di- 
 rection, with a maddening eagerness that 
 leapeth all boundaries, overcometh all ob- 
 structions, dangers, and difficulties, and 
 heedeth nothing of any sort but the one 
 object to which it is directed ; and that give 
 to all the visible world around a voluptuous 
 coloring of the like glowing nature as that 
 with which the said looks, sighs, and smiles 
 have tinged his every sense. 
 
 Although it may be too much to expect 
 one thus circumstanced to say nought of 
 the cruel disappointment by which his do- 
 mestic peace had been made shipwreck, 
 which could but exert a powerful influence 
 towards the same conclusion to hold him- 
 self aloof from the enticements of passion 
 when coming in so flattering a guise, yet 
 was he exactly of that well-disposednesa 
 which, when he recovered the proper exer- 
 cise of his sense of justice, would see the 
 monstrous mischiefs that could not help
 
 96 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 coming of his allowing of such temptation, 
 and would lament, with an intolerable sense 
 of misery, his own umvorthiness. For what 
 infinite evils might not result from giving 
 way to such enticements ! 
 
 It cannot be denied that there are instances 
 in which deception, even in the highest 
 * places, sit so easily upon those by whom it 
 is worn, that it would seem altogether su- 
 perfluous for a man to trouble himself with 
 any regretful feelings for his share in pro- 
 ducing it, but Master Shakspeare would on 
 no account have believed in such a deplora- 
 ble state of things, and the woman that en- 
 joyed his affection was too secure of his 
 respect to have so much as a doubt enter- 
 , tained of her detestation of all falsehood and 
 mystery. 
 
 It was whilst engaged in deeply thinking 
 on this subject, that there suddenly came a 
 gentle tapping at the door. In the mood in 
 which the tenant of this goodly chamber 
 then was, it can be by no means strange 
 that he heeded it not, though it was repeated 
 more than once. At last the door opened 
 cautiously, and there peeped in no other 
 than our old acquaintance, Simon Stockfish, 
 who. through the good offices of his old 
 master's son, had been engaged as serving- 
 man to Master Shakspeare. There was on 
 his stolid visage an air of mystery, mingled 
 with that look of caution and prudence he 
 was wont to. assume whenever he was under 
 any difficulty. 
 
 Noticing his master's position, he walked 
 straightway up to him on tip-toe, and whis- 
 pered his name very gently. 
 
 " Well. Simon," said he, instantly rous- 
 ing himself. " Anything from the Globe ? 
 Any one wanting me about the new play ?" 
 
 " No, honorable sir," answered he, still in 
 a whisper, and pointing to the door. " There 
 is a lady, an it please you, seeketh to have 
 instant speech with you." 
 
 " A lady, Simon ?" answered his master, 
 in some surprise. " Prythee, what sort of 
 a lady ?" 
 
 " A gentlewoman, honorable sir," was 
 the exceeding lucid answer, with an aspect 
 of increased mystery and a show of more 
 confidence in his voice. " That is to say, 
 her apparel is of a creditable sort ; never- 
 theless, it is not to be gainsayed, dress alone 
 doth not make the gentlewoman. She is 
 tall, and of a stately carriage, and speaks 
 like one used to command ; yet, as is like 
 enough, she may be a monstrous indifferent 
 sort of woman enough as any within a mile." 
 
 " What sort of face had she, Simon ?" 
 
 " I have especial reasons for not knowing, 
 honorable sir ; seeing that she allowed none 
 
 of it to be noticed by me. Her mouth and 
 chin were closed wrapped in a muffler, and 
 the rest of her visage was hid behind a mask. 
 Now, for mine own part, I do think that 
 one who taketh such trouble to hide her face 
 must needs be ashamed of it, and in this case 
 she can be no fit company for your honor ; 
 therefore, an it please you, honorable sir, I 
 think it would be prudent not to allow such 
 a person to have speech of you, and if it be 
 your good pleasure I will on the instant send 
 her packing." 
 
 " Said she not who she was, or what bu- 
 siness she had with me ?" 
 
 " Her name she refused, doubtless for 
 some excellent good reasons ; but, as to the 
 matter she came upon, she said you would 
 have full knowledge of it on your having 
 sight of this ring." 
 
 As soon as Simon Stockfish displayed the 
 trinket that had been entrusted to his cus- 
 tody, his master looked like one seeing a 
 ghost. 
 
 ' Gracious Heaven, can this be possible !'' 
 he exclaimed, starting up in a marvellous 
 excited manner, as he took the ring into his 
 hand. " Run, Simon, run !" he added, hur- 
 riedly, and to the intense astonishment of 
 his new serving-man. " Bring her to this 
 chamber with all possible speed, and on your 
 life see that I am disturbed by no one even 
 were it the king himself !" 
 
 " What marvel hath we here ?" cried he, 
 pressing his hands against his brows in a 
 distracted manner, as Simon left the cham- 
 ber, somewhat bewildered in his thoughts 
 of the person to whom he was sent. " How 
 wondrous ! how incomparably strange ! 
 Surely there must be some huge mistake in 
 this. But, no, this is the ring, out of all 
 manner of doubt : it must be her it can be 
 no other." 
 
 He had scarce well uttered the words> 
 when the door opened, and there entered the 
 chamber just such a female as Simon Stock- 
 fish had described. She was enveloped, 
 and hid, as it were, in a large, coarse cloak. 
 This and her face being completely covered 
 up, took from the spectator all ordinary 
 means of guessing her character and con- 
 dition. The first oare of Master Shakspeare 
 was to fasten the door, as hurriedly and as 
 speedily as possible, which he did with an 
 air of wildness, altogether unusual to him, 
 that bespoke some strange and powerful ex- 
 citement. Whilst this was a doing, the 
 lady tottered to a seat, like one scarce able 
 to support her limbs, into which she dropped 
 as though without sense or motion. It 
 looked as though she had swooned, but thi
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 97 
 
 was not so, for presently she drew a hand 
 beautifully fair and dazzling with gems 
 from beneath her cloak, and spread it open, 
 and tore from her face the mask and muffler, 
 and gasped as though for air. 
 
 The face that was discovered was of ex- 
 traordinary loveliness ; the features were of 
 mature womanhood, yet their settled un- 
 happiness made her seem much older than 
 she was. A proud and lofty brow, eyes 
 that seemed to gleam with a supernatural 
 light, an arched nose, with a mouth, whereof 
 every line spoke unutterable disdain of all 
 mean things, did sufficiently tell of high 
 lineage, without the costly-embroidered robe, 
 fitting tight to the neck and bust, that was 
 seen through the open cloak, which one of 
 poorer quality could never have worn. 
 
 Master Shakspeare was hastening to- 
 wards her, when a sudden and imperative 
 motion of her hand compelled him to stop 
 within a couple of yards of her chair, and 
 for some minutes he there stood, to all ap- 
 pearance, humble as the veriest slave, with 
 looks cast to the earth, a pallid cheek, and 
 a most sorrowful visage she gazing on him 
 as though her eyes were starting from her 
 head, now pressing her hand to her heart, 
 as if to stop its tumultuous throbbings, and 
 anon raising it to her brow, as if to repress 
 some terrible spasm there. Neither spoke 
 a word, and nothing was to be heard but a 
 sort of gasping, with which the lady took 
 her breath. Once or twice it looked as 
 though she essayed to speak, but the sounds 
 died unuttered on her tongue. Yet lan- 
 guage wanted she none. The look she 
 cast upon her companion spoke volumes of 
 meaning, such as the most picked phrases 
 could never express. 
 
 Master Shakspeare was the first who 
 spoke. But his words were breathed slowly, 
 falteringly, and in a whisper, as though the 
 confused state of his feelings would scarce 
 allow him utterance. 
 
 " My Lady Countess, I , " 
 
 " Hush !" hastily exclaimed the lady, 
 with a sort of wild desperateness, as it were. 
 " I have taken such pains as I have to seek 
 you, unknown to any, to obtain at your 
 hands a service, to the granting of which I 
 have looked forward with feverish anxious- 
 ness, through many sleepless nights, and 
 miserable days." 
 
 " Be assured, good my lady, it is already 
 granted," said her companion. " Your slight- 
 est wish must ever be a law with me, whilst 
 I have aught remaining of sense or life." 
 
 " Swear it !" exclaimed she, suddenly 
 starting from her seat, and grasping Master 
 Shakspeare by the arm ; then, dropping on 
 7 
 
 her knees by his side, enforced him to the 
 same posture. " Swear it !" she cried, with 
 a look and manner of intense excitement 
 " Swear you will do my bidding, as God is 
 your witness and your refuge !" 
 
 " I swear it !'' answered Master Shak- 
 speare, solemnly. At this his companion 
 dropped her hold on him, buried her face in 
 her hands, and sobbed convulsively for se- 
 veral seconds. In leaving the chair she 
 had freed herself from the cloak which had 
 concealed her dress, which was now dis- 
 played in all its richness and a most costly 
 robe it was, as ever the cunning of wo- 
 man's tailor triumphed in. It was of wrought 
 cloth of goldj, daintily set with pearls ; the 
 stately wearer whereof, though boasting of 
 such bravery, in the humble posture which 
 she had chosen, and in the deep distrees of 
 heart she exhibited, looked a marvellous 
 contradiction. The humility of her spirit 
 would have better sorted with cloth of frieze, 
 or other modest apparelling, but her noble 
 figure and majestic beauty undoubtedly did 
 well become the cloth of gold. 
 
 Master Shakspeare sought not to disturb 
 her grief, or to check it by any attempt at 
 consolation. He retained his position hi 
 silence, but with a heart deeply wrung by 
 the sorrowful spectacle beside him. Her 
 sobs growing to be less vehement, she made 
 a movement as though she would rise, the 
 which he readily assisted ; and, without a 
 word on either side, he respectfully led her 
 to her seat, then fell back to the place he 
 had occupied before she had left it, and kept 
 gazing on her with looks which did plainly 
 bespeak his entire sympathy. She con- 
 tinued to sob for some time, leaning low 
 against her chair, her breast heaving con- 
 vulsively, and in other signs betraying the 
 exceeding powerful agitation by which she 
 was moved. 
 
 After a few minutes she raised herself, 
 and gazed steadily at her companion. Her 
 eyes were humid, and her face deadly pale. 
 She paused awhile, and it was evident she 
 labored under some extraordinary feeling 
 that checked her speech. At last, in a 
 murmur that could scarce be heard, she 
 said " I have a son." Master Shakspeare 
 listened with intense interest. She com- 
 tinued, but still with extreme difficulty of 
 speech, and in a marvellous low voice 
 " This boy love I with all my heart and 
 soul. A mother's love, huge as it is at most 
 times, giveth no sufficient conception of the 
 particular affection I bear to him, for rea- 
 sons which cannot readily be expressed. Up 
 to this time his schooling hath been well 
 cared for. He will not be found deficient ia
 
 98 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 such scholarship as is considered necessary 
 for one of his condition. But he is now 
 grown to be a youth, requiring for his gui- 
 dance, in after-years, a knowledge of men 
 rather than of books." 
 
 The speaker paused, perchance to collect 
 her ideas. Her countenance was still more 
 like unto a marble effigy, than a human 
 being; and her eloquent gaze was fixed 
 upon the flushed cheek and kindling eye of 
 her companion, who listened to her speech, 
 as though he put his whole soul into his 
 looks. 
 
 "It hath become a common, and, methinks, 
 a commendable custom," added she, " for 
 youth, of any fortune or degree, to travel to 
 distant countries, under the eye of some 
 wise and worthy person, to see and profit 
 by whatever is most noticeable in other 
 countries ere they commence their career 
 of action in their own. I have so much 
 liking of this custom, I would fain have 
 mine own sweet son to get whatsoever ad- 
 vantages it may bring to him ; but there is 
 but one person in this wide world under 
 whose guardianship I would he should obtain 
 it," 
 
 Here came another pause, somewhat 
 longer than the other, in which it was ex- 
 ceeding difficult to say which seemed to be 
 most moved. The lady was still the first to 
 display her powers of speech. Her words 
 were uttered slowly, thickly, and scarcely 
 above her breath ; and, moreover, there 
 was in them a solemnness which carried 
 them at once to the heart of her singularly 
 attentive companion. She then added 
 " You have sworn to do me this excellent 
 service." 
 
 Master Shakspeare felt his every sense 
 in such a whirl of bewildering sensations, 
 he could not find one single word of speech 
 to state his readiness to fulfil the oath he had 
 taken. He felt not only as if utterance was 
 denied him, but as if he could scarce breathe. 
 
 " Dost shrink from it ?" asked she, in the 
 same trembling tones. 
 
 " I have sworn," said Master Shakspeare, 
 at last, in a manner which showed he had 
 no small difficulty in having such words at 
 his command, " I have sworn, and will re- 
 gard mine oath most reverently." He 
 longed to ask certain questions in especial 
 he was desirous of learning when he might 
 be required for this service, but his tongue 
 did so cleave to his throat, not a word more 
 could he utter. 
 
 " 'Tis well," replied she, taking a long 
 breath, " 'tis exceeding well-: and I thank 
 you right heartily for your readiness in so 
 
 disposing of yourself. But there is one 
 thing more a thing of most vital moment, 
 a matter of such huge consequence " 
 Here the speaker ended abruptly, and pressed 
 her hand against her breast, as though its 
 pulses were of such force she could no 
 longer endure them. Then with a mighty 
 effort of self-cornmand, she proceeded 
 " Whatever your feelings or your thoughts 
 may be regarding him, none must know 
 them ; and more than all, at whatever cost, 
 they must be strictly concealed from him. 1 " 
 Here, seeing her companion striving earnest- 
 ly to interrupt her, she added, with a mom 
 tender expression in her face than she had 
 hitherto used " I have such opinion of 
 your nobleness of soul that I would not 
 have uttered this caution ; but it is not any 
 thing evil, I fear, in you : it is rather an 
 excess of goodness. The better qualities 
 of your heart may, unless they are discreetly 
 governed, do a world of mischief. I pray 
 you think of this." 
 
 " Be assured it shall be well thought of," 
 replied he, faintly. 
 
 " Guard him as the apple of your eye," 
 she continued. " Instruct him both by pre- 
 cept and example, till his nature hath taken 
 upon itself as much as possible of kindred 
 with your own. Keep him secure of dan- 
 ger of every sort, and make him worthy of 
 bearing an honorable name, and rilling a 
 creditable station, if his country should have 
 need of his services. I can speak to you 
 no further on this subject now, but I will 
 not fail to apprize you of the time when you 
 will be called upon to fulfil the service you 
 have undertaken." 
 
 At the ending of this speech, Master 
 Shakspeare knelt respectfully at her feet. 
 At first, she seemed inclined to withhold 
 her hand, but, as if struck by the air of res- 
 pect that was in his aspect and demeanor, 
 she gave it him, and he at once pressed it, 
 though with much more of reverence than 
 gallantry, to his lips. He had scarce done 
 so, when she started up with every sign of 
 fear in her lovely countenance. Sounds 
 were heard on the stairs leading to the 
 chamber in which they were ; they appear- 
 ed to arise from a struggle and an alterca- 
 tion, as though some persons were strivin<r 
 to force their way up stairs. " God of 
 heaven, I have been watched !" exclaimed 
 the lady, in tones of agony and affright. 
 
 " I tell thee, thou senseless dolt, thou !" 
 cried a husky voice from outside, " thou 
 shotten herring ! thou guinea-hen ! tliou 
 empty peascod ! I must and will have 
 speech with him."
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 99 
 
 " Nay, Will, prythee let us depart," said 
 another. " It is unmannerly to press upon 
 him thus, if he have company." 
 
 " It is Kempe and Allen," two of my fa- 
 miliars," said Master Shakspeare. "But 
 they must, on no account, have sight of you. 
 On with your disguise, I beseech you, and 
 whilst my knave holds them in parley, I will 
 see you safe to the street by a way that shall 
 avoid them." 
 
 " As 1 live, they are forcing their way !" 
 replied the lady, in intense anxiety and 
 alarm, as she hastened to put on her mask 
 and her apparel. " They are coming they 
 are close upon the door ! Oh, let me away 
 this instant !" 
 
 Master Shakspeare lost no time in open- 
 ing a door that entered upon a book-closet, 
 at the end of which was a back stair, down 
 which both proceeded hastily, till they came j immediate attention, and in a few seconds 
 
 affirmed very confidently his ancient kins- 
 woman had left him some time, and he had 
 since fallen asleep. Nevertheless, it was 
 easy to see, by certain signs, more signifi- 
 cant than mannerly, that Kempe was vastly 
 incredulous. What he had to express on 
 the matter he was prevented from giving 
 utterance to by his companion, whd com- 
 menced by informing Master Shakspeare of 
 certain matters of intelligence respecting 
 the patronage of different companies of 
 players, by the king, the queen, and Prince 
 Henry, and ended by requesting his com- 
 pany at supper at his poor dwelling. This 
 Master Shakspeare was in no mood for, but 
 he was anxious to get both Allen and Kempe 
 out of the house as speedily as possible, so 
 he at once very heartily signified his assent, 
 spoke of an errand he had that required his 
 
 upon a long passage. Here they could hear 
 a noise of knocking at the door above, 
 mingled with a violent altercation of voices. 
 Master Shakspeare hurried his companion to 
 a door that led into one of the thoroughfares 
 in the liberty of the Clink, knowing full well 
 that Will Kempe, in the state his husky 
 voice too well denoted, was not like to 
 mince his phrases. A brief farewell was all 
 that was passed ; the door was quietly closed, 
 and Master Shakspeare rapidly ascended 
 the stairs, and, unmindful of the din outside 
 his chamber, flung himself into the chair 
 near the table, hiding his face upon his 
 arms. A short time sufficed for the indul- 
 gence of his feelings. He seemed to make 
 a powerful effort at composure, and rose 
 from his seat to put an end to the wild up- 
 roar at the door. 
 
 " An ancient kinswoman, sayest !" ex- 
 claimed one. " Why thou Barbary ape, 
 thou unspeakable foolish knave ! dost think 
 Will Kempe is to be caught by so poor a 
 conceit ? Is my gossip and namesake one 
 to have an ancient kinswoman with him at 
 this hour ? He is better employed, I'll war- 
 rant him." 
 
 It is here necessary the reader should 
 know that Simon Stockfish had considered 
 it to be both prudent and politic to conceal 
 from his master's visitors the exact sort of 
 person closeted with him, and took upon 
 himself to say that he was engaged with an 
 ancient kinswoman, and could on no ac- 
 count be disturbed. The which, as was 
 
 was proceeding with them, in an exact con- 
 trary direction to that just taken by his fair 
 
 visiter. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Next unto his view 
 She represents a banquet, ushered in 
 By such a shape as she was sure would win 
 His appetite to taste. 
 
 JOHN CHALKHILL. 
 
 AND how, all this while, fared our stu- 
 dent of medicine ? He had surely been 
 a sufficient time an associate of the family 
 
 himself at home, and, although, perchance, 
 he might miss the anxious care and affection 
 of his admirable kind mother, there was great 
 likelihood that he was looked after by one 
 who omitted no opportunity of showing that 
 she regarded him with a care equally tender, 
 and a much more endearing affection. lo 
 short, the attentions of the attractive Milli- 
 cent were of so flattering a sort he must be 
 the dullest stock ever heard of that could 
 resist them. 
 
 John Hall, it is true, entered the house a 
 mere student, on whom the passion com- 
 monly called love had hitherto made no 
 sort of impression ; but the conduct pursued 
 towards him by the fair damsel with whom 
 he had become domesticated was of a nature 
 
 usual in all his politic strokes, made matters j that so powerfully appealed to his feelings, 
 a great deal the worse. ' he soon began to throw off the humor of the 
 
 It so chanced that the discussion was put ' book-worm, and by degrees take on himself 
 to a speedy ending by the opening of the | that of the passionate lover. These appeals 
 door by his master, who, after duly acknow- j were not only made by means of a thousand 
 ledging the presence of his ill-timed visiters, ' nameless offices of kindness, of services that
 
 IOC 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 had in them the appearance of devotion, 
 which could not but have immense power 
 over a nature so new to the influence of 
 woman, but the critical state of her health, 
 caused by a constant recurrence of convul- 
 sive fits of the most alarming character, and 
 the too evident existence of some secret 
 cause of unhappiness, increased greatly the 
 interest with which the young student felt 
 disposed to regard her. 
 
 She said nothing positive as to the nature 
 of her unhappiness ; all that he could gain 
 on the subject was through the expression 
 of mysterious hints, by which he was made 
 to understand that she led an exceedingly 
 unhappy life with her family. 
 
 Whilst the germ of affection was develop- 
 ing itself in the breast of the young student, 
 he heard nothing and beheld nothing that 
 could lead him to imagine that there was 
 any engagement betwixt his friend Leonard 
 and his fair mistress ; but, when it had a 
 sure hold of him, Millicent took occasion to 
 acquaint him of its existence. But she did 
 so in a way that looked so like lamenting 
 such should be the case, and did so prettily 
 and so fondly withal promise him at least 
 half the heart, thus unhappily pre-engaged, 
 that he was so bewildered with her flatteries, 
 he could not bring on himself to give up his 
 suit. The more he saw of the behavior of 
 the two to each other, and of the conduct of 
 each towards persons that seemed to be 
 inrinitely better thought of, the more he felt 
 satisfied that the engagement was mutually 
 dissatisfactory ; and as afterwards she fre- 
 quently displayed the state of her feelings 
 to him, in a manner that could not be mis- 
 taken, he allowed himself to act and feel as 
 if no such engagement existed. 
 
 John Hall was of a nature as unsuspicious 
 as any child, and equally credulous. His 
 experience of womankind had been limited 
 almost exclusively to his mother, who was 
 one of its rarest examples gentle, fond, 
 generous, pure-hearted, and single-minded ; 
 and he was \\ illing enough to believe that in 
 the devoted Millicent he beheld all that was 
 most admirable and worthy of honor. The 
 education he had had, and the h.tbits of 
 thinking in which he had been wont to in- 
 dulge, made much in her speech and. conduct 
 to him seem strange and unaccountable, but 
 her manner was so pleasing, and her argu- 
 ments so specious, that it was impossible he 
 could imagine there was any thing improper 
 in hor proceedings. Indeed, he most firmly 
 believed her to be the most disinterested, 
 noble-hearted being upon earth ; and, though 
 he marvelled at the earnestness with which 
 she pressed him to be on his guard, thai 
 
 Leonard her betrothed should remain in ig- 
 norance of the good understanding which 
 :xisted betwixt them, he had not a doubt in 
 the world she had some excellent good mo- 
 tive for it. 
 
 We must beg leave to transport the 
 courteous reader into no other place than 
 Mistress Millicent's bed-chamber, at a time 
 XK>, when, with her young companion, she 
 was preparing to retire to rest. The cham- 
 3er, though small, was peculiarly orderly 
 and clean. It was situated in the roof of 
 the house, at a considerable distance from 
 any of the others. But, though thus isolated, 
 it had every appearance of security, and 
 many of comfort. The bed lay low almost 
 to the floor, yet it seemed to promise more 
 than ordinary accommodation, and from the 
 number of packages, and huge chests and 
 cupboards about it on every side, it showed 
 that there was good store of other furniture 
 equally useful. 
 
 Mildred, chatting as fast as her tongue 
 would let her, with a constant recourse to 
 her childish and unmeaning laugh, was 
 getting ready to take the rest it was evident 
 she needed. Millicent seemed to be listen- 
 ing, as she sat at the foot of the bed, comb- 
 ing out her luxuriant tresses, but there was 
 that settled gravity in her aspect that showed 
 she was thinking of a far different matter. 
 But the other cared little whether her espe- 
 cial friend was listening or not. On she 
 proceeded with her narrative, exceeding 
 content to have no interruption. 
 
 Now and then her companion uttered a 
 brief unmeaning phrase, evidently more be- 
 cause she was expected to say something, 
 than from any interest she took in the sub- 
 ject or subjects so fluently spoken of. Thus 
 she slowly pursued her task indeed so 
 slowly, that the other had placed herself 
 under the bedclothes before she had taken 
 off her outer garment. Then she seemed \ 
 to be wondrous busy looking over a heap of 
 linen, that stood in a heavy arm-chair, as if 
 fresh from the buck-basket. For some short 
 time after Mildred had laid down, she con- 
 tinued her gossip. At last, as though tired 
 of its constant exercise, her tongue ceased, 
 and her full and regular breathing declared 
 she was sinking to sleep. As soon as she 
 heard these sounds, Milhcent left off what 
 she was about and gazed for some moments 
 at the sleeper. Presently she took the lamp, 
 and walked gently to the bedside. The ex- 
 amination she gave seemed to satisfy her, 
 for then she quickly but softly glided out of 
 the chamber. 
 
 She passed down the staircase without 
 producing the slightest sound, and entered
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 101 
 
 & chamber, directly over the basement floor. 
 Here she hid the lamp in the fireplace, and 
 went direct to the window. This projected 
 considerably over the lower part of the dwell- 
 ing, as was the case in most houses at that 
 time, so that any one could gain from it a 
 clear view up and down the street. She 
 opened the casement, and looked to the 
 right for a considerable space. She then 
 gnzed in the opposite direction, but as 
 it seemed with a like result. If she expect- 
 ed any one at that hour, it did not look as 
 though her expectation would get fulfilled. 
 There was no one visible from one end of 
 Golden Lane to the other, as far as could be 
 seen of it. Indeed, all Barbican appeared 
 undisturbed, even by so much as a solitary 
 constable of the watch. 
 
 It was a clear starlight night, that made 
 the picturesque features of the quaint old 
 houses in that quarter of the city as goodly 
 a picture of the sort as the eye might look 
 on. Millicent sat herself down by the open 
 casement, with her elbow resting on its 
 ledge, and her cheek supported by her hand. 
 She sometimes looked up to the deep blue 
 sky, which, with its myriad lights, spread 
 far and wide over the tall chimnies and 
 sloping eaves; but her look wondrously 
 lacked that devotion, which the young heart 
 cannot fail to feel when impressed with the 
 beauty of that marvellous work of the Great 
 Architect. She gazed upon the buildings 
 before her with the same absolute indif- 
 ferency. Neither the work of God nor man 
 appeared to excite in her the slightest spec- 
 ulation ; yet was her mind infinitely busy. 
 All its energies were bent to the considera- 
 tion of the best means of accomplishing 
 certain purposes of her own, the policy of 
 which would have done credit to the veriest 
 grey-beard that ever sat at a council board, ; 
 of directed the powers of mighty states. 
 
 A slight sound disturbed lier reveries, and j 
 she immediately looked forth, but drew in j 
 her head again, or seeing it was a neighbor ! 
 hastening for a midwife. Again they were I 
 interrupted, but this time it was by the noisy ' 
 singing of a group of merry apprentices, ' 
 who had stolen out from their master's \ 
 dwellings, doubtless for some especial mis- j 
 chief, which caused her to draw back so far j 
 into the chamber she could not be seen by ' 
 them. She returned to her position, and 
 remained there some time longer. The 
 silence was undisturbed, the blue' canopy i 
 above seemed to have gained additional 
 brilliancy, and the sharp outlines of the 
 houses around looked to be placed in a more 
 pleasing perspective, but to Millicent all these i 
 were still as though they had never been. I 
 
 Now a light quick footfall attracted her 
 attention. She started up on the instant, as 
 though she recognized the sound. By the 
 indistinct light she observed a man hurriedly 
 approaching towards the house. What was 
 his age or dignity was not sufficiently evi- 
 dent ; but from the firm step he took, and 
 the uprightness of his stature, it might rea- 
 sonably be supposed he was not far advanced 
 in life. He was close upon the house and 
 just under the casement, when Penelope 
 cried out, "Hist!" which caused him to 
 stop instantly and look up. She put her 
 finger to her lips, as she leaned forward. 
 Satisfied that the sign was attended to, she 
 presently closed the casement, took the lamp 
 from its hiding-place, and noiselessly crept 
 down stairs. 
 
 In a moment after, the street door was 
 opened very gently, and the person seen out- 
 side admitted. The door was then gently 
 closed and fastened. Scarce had it been 
 done, when without a word spoken on either 
 side, he received such usage as showed her 
 visiter was on the footing of a lover. The 
 two were then perfectly in the dark. Then 
 he followed her footsteps up-stairs, at a turn- 
 ing in which stood the light which she had 
 left there when she admitted him. This she 
 took up, and proceeded, followed by the 
 other noiselessly, tiU she entered a chamber 
 which adjoined that in which lay the uncon- 
 scious Mildred. 
 
 There was an appearance in it of studied 
 comfort. A fire burnt on the hearth, and 
 materials for an excellent repast stood on the 
 table. Millicent put down the light, and 
 once more embraced her gallant for her 
 gallant out of all question he was. Nothing 
 could exceed the delight she displayed. Her 
 pale features were lighted up with admira- 
 tion. Her words were most honeyed flat- 
 teries, and her actions the most caressing 
 fond woman ever disclosed. She divested 
 her companion of his hat, then of his boots, 
 putting on his feet a pair of comfortaole 
 slippers, and made him sit dcfwn to his sup- 
 per and waited on him pressingly and dili- 
 gently, partaking of none herself, but sparing 
 no pains to make him eat and drink 
 heartily. 
 
 And who was the gallant so well cared 
 for ? It was no other than John Hall, and 
 the place in which he and the seductive 
 Millicent were was his own chamber, which, 
 by the way, was in some way evident, from 
 the books and other signs of study there to 
 be found. He could not but make earnest 
 acknowledgments for the loving care she 
 took of him. In truth, her entire devoted- 
 ness to him, which she made every possible
 
 103 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 effort to show him clandestinely, had not 
 been without its due effect on his grateful 
 disposition. 
 
 Indeed, the manner of her behavior filled 
 him at last with a sort of intoxicating deli- 
 rium. He was never happy save when he 
 was alone with her, and although there was 
 nothing on his part strictly evil to conceal, 
 he was ever in a constant mood of appre- 
 hension that his feelings should betray her. 
 
 He began to feel exceeding anxious and 
 uneasy when alone with the always friendly 
 Leonard, although it would have been a 
 difficult matter to have shown any just cause 
 for it. In short, his senses were mystified 
 and confounded, and lie scarce could arrive 
 at one definite conclusion, save that he loved 
 Millicent, and, although this was a mon- 
 strous injustice to his friend, he would be 
 doing a still greater wrong to the fond crea- 
 ture who strove so earnestly to pleasure him, 
 were he to love her one jot the less. 
 
 By this time the supper things had been 
 cleared away save only the flask of wine and 
 a tall glass, and Millicent had seated herself 
 on a chair on the opposite side of the 
 chimney. 
 
 At the constant request of his fair mistress, 
 the young student, from time to time, finished 
 his glass ; and the wine began to have its 
 effects upon him. His eyes flashed with 
 an unwonted brilliance ; his pale cheek had 
 on it a glow that in warmth rivalled that of 
 health, and his tongue contrived to exercise 
 its qualities after a fashion quite foreign to 
 his ordinary habits. His spirits seemed 
 every moment to rise higher and higher. 
 He uttered jests, and delivered compliments, 
 the one with humor, the other with both 
 spirit and grace ; and she seemed to have 
 equal satisfaction in both, returning too, the 
 coin he gave with prodigal interest. Then 
 she, when this humor of his was at its height, 
 begged of him, in too pretty a way to be 
 denied, that he would sing to her the same 
 exquisite sweej; ballad she had heard him 
 sing to Leonard the day previous. 
 
 At another time it is like enough our 
 young student would have done all in his 
 power to get off attempting a love-ditty to 
 the too charming Millicent, but he had drunk 
 so much wine, and imbibed so much flattery 
 the more intoxicating of the two that he 
 was ready to do her bidding on the instant. 
 He merely uttered a few brief apologies for 
 his want of skill, and then commenced : 
 
 THE HEART'S REGAL. 
 
 Come back, fond heart ! why wouldst thou stay? 
 
 Content thee with thy present dwelling ; 
 Enjoy thine ease, whilst here thou may 
 
 What ills thou seek'at, there is no telling. 
 Fond heart replied, " Too long I've pined, 
 
 Unloved, unloving, dull, and dreary ; 
 In yon fair breast a home I'll find, 
 
 For of my own I am full weary." 
 
 Ah, me, 'twas but a little space 
 
 The least of Time's fast bursting bubbles 
 The truant found his dwelling-place 
 
 Beset by countless pains and troubles. 
 " Oh, would 1 could but know again," 
 
 Quoth he, " that peace I have so needed, 
 None then should say, ' Come back,' in vain, 
 
 None then should warn, aud be unheeded '." 
 
 When he came to the end of his ditty, he 
 fully expected to hear the usual gracious 
 commentary, but, to his extreme surprise, 
 there ensued a dead silence ; and turning 
 round to see why it was, to his astonishment 
 and alarm he perceived that his companion 
 was in one of those strange convulsive fits 
 that were wont to visit her so roughly. 
 
 She sat leaning back in her chair, her 
 face bloodless, her eyes fixed, and her lower 
 jaw constantly snapping against the other. 
 Her arms were in her lap, but they were 
 slightly raised once or twice, and dropped 
 down again. John Hall was hugely con- 
 cerned at this. He hurried to her, and, sup- 
 porting her in his arms, strove to open her 
 hands, which were close shut and com- 
 pressed. 
 
 Whilst he was intent in this, she heaved 
 a deep breath. Anon, she began to laugh, 
 first slightly, and then in long peals of fright- 
 ful vehemence. Then she took to talking, 
 and, to her companion's no small gratifica- 
 tion, did say many things that spoke the 
 extent of her passion for him. 
 
 Crying followed laughing, and all sorts of 
 strange phrases were mixed up with her 
 passionate declarations. Sometimes there 
 was a pause, and she seemed, but for the 
 beating of her heart, like one from whom 
 life hath departed, and then the wild hyste- 
 rical laughter would burst out afresh, and 
 she would act over again with increased 
 frenzy the loving confession she had just 
 made. 
 
 To John Hall's exceeding credit, he bore 
 himself towards her throughout with an in- 
 finite greater show of the physician than the 
 lover \. and when she at last began to exhibit 
 signs of returning consciousness, he gently 
 placed her back in the chair, and merely stood 
 by her, holding one of her hands, so that, on 
 her recovery, her sense of womanly delicacy 
 might not be shocked by any thing which 
 might lead her into the belief that she had 
 made the disclosure of her feelings she had. 
 
 She presently drew her hands over her
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 103 
 
 face, and stared about her like one waking 
 from a strange dream. Then she cast her 
 eyes upon her companion with a singular 
 curiousness, and slowly began to have some 
 conception of surrounding objects. She 
 heaved a deep sigh, and looked unutterably 
 wretched. The young student, with an 
 evident sympathy, expressed his hopes she 
 felt better. She smiled faintly, and, in few 
 words, acknowledged she was so. Then 
 she rose from her chair as though with some 
 difficulty, and for a while leaned her head 
 on his shoulder. John Hall was too much 
 accustomed to receive such familiarities 
 from her to be surprised at such an act. 
 Yet he felt a thrill of pleasure dart through 
 his frame as her cheek came close to his, 
 and he could not refrain, by means of the 
 arm that encircled her waist, from drawing 
 her into closer neighborhood a great bold- 
 ness in him. This was immediately respond- 
 ed to on her part by her raising her lustrous 
 eyes to his, and fixing on him a gaze, that 
 he could not have looked on for an instant. 
 His eyes fell before it, and he felt dizzy and 
 faint, like one about to sink into a swoon. 
 
 A silence followed, uninterrupted on either 
 side. Finally, Millicent, making some ordi- 
 nary remark on the lateness of the hour, lit 
 a small lamp that was in the room, and, with 
 one of her most bewitching " good nights," 
 .faintly answered by him, took her own light, 
 and quietly glided out of the room. She 
 had scarcely closed the door when her whole 
 countenance underwent a sudden and most 
 complete change. Her brow was fiercely 
 knit, and her visage expressed utter dissatis- 
 faction. Little did the unsuspecting student 
 imagine that the whole scene, like many 
 others that bad preceded it, had been acted 
 by her ; and that each and all those fits, 
 which had so distressed him to look on, were 
 simulated for the purpose of exciting his 
 sympathy. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 They that enter into the state of marriage 
 cast a die of the greatest contingency, and yet 
 of the greatest interest in the world, next to 
 the last throw for eternity life or death, fe- 
 licity or a lasting sorrow, are in the power of 
 marriage. JEREMY TAYLOK. 
 
 AFTER due consideration of the duty he 
 had so strongly bound himself to fulfil, 
 Master Shakspeare made arrangements for 
 paying a visit to his family at Shottery. He. 
 us was usual with him on all such occas- 
 ions, took leave of his friends and fellows 
 
 at the playhouse, by means of a jovial sup- 
 per at his lodgings in the liberty of the 
 Clink ; and early next morning started off, 
 accompanied by Simon Stockfish, both well 
 armed, and otherwise well provided for a 
 long journey, on the road to Oxford. 
 
 Simon was very differently circumstanced 
 in this journey, to what he was then travel- 
 ling with his old master's son ; in the first 
 place, there was a very opposite style of 
 horseflesh employed on the present occa- 
 sion ; in the next, he had no such important 
 responsibility as weighed so heavily on him 
 when acting as guardian to the young stu- 
 dent. Master Shakspeare rode a fine tall 
 horse, worthy to carry an emperor, and 
 Simon had for his own riding a truly ser- 
 viceable gelding, that was possessed of very 
 good paces ; and, so far from wanting a 
 guide, Master Shakspeare knew the road 
 so well, he could have gone the whole dis- 
 tance blindfold. 
 
 Simon, however, had, as in his memorable 
 journey to London, ample opportunity for 
 cultivating his genius for taciturnity. 
 Though he had usually found his master 
 agreeably communicative, and ever with 
 something pleasant in his speech, all the 
 way nearly to Oxford, he was so deeply in- 
 tent on his own thoughts, as to seem to take 
 no heed of any other matter whatsoever. 
 Doubtless he was considering the important 
 matters that had transpired during the ex- 
 traordinary visit he had received. He 
 seemed to be going over in his mind the 
 whole remarkable history of his Secret 
 Passion. 
 
 As he approached the University, he 
 strove to shake off the load of thought 
 which pressed upon him, and suddenly dis- 
 turbed his sedate old follower, in the midst 
 of certain deej) considerations as to the pro- 
 perest policy for him to pursue for the ad- 
 vancing or securing of his master's inter- 
 ests under divers possible contingencies, 
 by affording him various pleasant remem- 
 brances of the fair city he was about to en- 
 ter. As if for to make up for his want of 
 sociality previously, he now began to enter- 
 tain his humble fellow-traveller with num- 
 berless stories of the freaks and humors ol 
 the college youths. They seemed to amuse 
 Simon wonderfully ; and when they rode 
 up to " The Crown," it was difficult to say 
 which was in the choicest spirits, the mas- 
 ter or the man. 
 
 Simon, however, speedily recovered his 
 customary staidness, and in looking after 
 the stable-boys, and giving directions for 
 the proper dieting and attentions to his mas- 
 ter's beasts, demeaned himself as became
 
 104 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 his reputation for gravity or caution. He 
 did more fully impressed with the superior 
 advantages of gaining the ear of the high- 
 er powers, and feeling bound in conscience 
 to do his utmost for the benefiting of his 
 good master, he took the first opportunity 
 he could of speaking in private with the 
 hostess of "The Crown," in honor of the 
 exceeding worthy person whose serving- 
 man he had the good fortnne to be, and with 
 much earnestness begged she would see 
 that he had every thing of the best at a fair 
 and reasonable charge. 
 
 Simon Stockfish little knew the amuse- 
 ment the relation of this studied speech of 
 Ins, by Mistress D'.Avement to Master 
 Shakspeare, caused in the little parlor the 
 latter was wont to use when staying at Ox- 
 ford. But we cannot now tarry to narrate 
 what was said on that occasion, nor any 
 other thing that passed, when it came to be 
 bruited among the Oxford scholars that 
 Will Shakspeare was at " The Crown." 
 We must needs hurry him out of that fair 
 and ancient city, which he left early the 
 next morning, to carry him as fast as we 
 can towards Stratford. 
 
 As he travelled along, his thoughts set 
 in a totally different direction to that they 
 had taken in the earlier part of his journey. 
 The heart of Master Shakspeare was one 
 admirably attuned to all the sweet affections 
 of domestic life. God only knoweth with 
 what overmastering love he had regarded 
 his sweet young son. He could not but 
 shudder when he considered the terrible 
 punishment he had endured in his lament- 
 able death, in which all his ambitious hopes 
 for him had been levelled to the dust, and his 
 whole nature crushed, as it were, in the 
 ruins. But, though his beloved Hamnet 
 was no longer to gladden his eyes with his 
 beauty and intelligence, there was still left 
 him the wild and wilful Judith, who, with 
 all her strange unfeminine ways, was 
 an object of love to him ; and, better still, 
 there was the tender and loving Susanna, 
 of whose entire affections he felt himself 
 secure. 
 
 He had, as was his custom, brought with 
 him presents for every member of his fam- 
 ily, selected to meet their several wants or 
 tastes. Even the three aunts, whose hos- 
 tility to him and talent for mischief he had 
 been made to appreciate so often, had not 
 been forgotten ; and he busied himself very 
 pleasantly in anticipating the gratification 
 these gifts would create: how greatly 
 Mistress Anne would be enamored of the 
 piece cf Norwich stuff that was to make her 
 a new gown ! What exceeding joy Judith 
 
 would display at the sight of the gay rib- 
 bons he would set before her ! and how 
 tenderly Susanna would express her thanks 
 for the dainty ear-rings of Venetian gold he 
 had bought to adorn her delicate earo ! 
 The new knitting instruments, the excel- 
 lent hose, and the admirable Cambridga 
 gloves, which he had procured for the three 
 elderly Breedbates, he doubted not would 
 suffice for the creating of their good-will 
 and good-humor till the next opportunity 
 of backbiting presented itself. 
 
 Simon Stockfish all this while did not al- 
 low the time to grow irksome ; so thought- 
 ful a person, about to make such important 
 connexions as the family of his respected 
 master, could not fail of giving the circum- 
 stance all the benefit to be derived from suf- 
 ficient reflection, He laid down rules for 
 his guidance, prepared answers ready for 
 certain questions he expected to be put to 
 him, made up his mind to be a miracle of 
 discretion touching his master's secrets, 
 the more especial as regarded the ques- 
 tionable visiter he had strove to pass off on 
 Kempe and Allen as an ancient kinswoman, 
 and cudgelled his brains for politic strokes 
 wherewith to screen his honored master, 
 should any thing of this suspicious matter 
 have got bruited abroad. "Therefore it was 
 no wonder Simon wore a graver counte- 
 nance even than usual. Truly had all the. 
 cares of empire devolved upon him, he could 
 not have looked more thoughtful than he did. 
 
 As Master Shakspeare approached scenes 
 so familiar to him, and so endeared to hi a 
 recollection as those that were in the neigh- 
 borhood of his home, every object that met 
 his sight did, by some means or other, con- 
 nect itself with his lost Hamnet ; and, by 
 some singular association of ideas, this in- 
 tolerable affliction drew his mind to the con- 
 sideration of other things, which did mar- 
 vellously increase the sadness of his humor. 
 He was in no mood for light converse. He 
 endured such sharp pangs, that, as he ad- 
 vanced, he became more dejected, and less 
 inclined for playing of the social part that 
 so well became him. 
 
 He was disturbed in these unpleasant re- 
 flections, when within a short distance of 
 Stratford, by observing two figures ap- 
 proaching from the town, that, at first, from 
 the strangeness of their motions and ap- 
 pearance, did puzzle him exceedingly to 
 make out to what kind of animal they be- 
 longed. On they came, seeming to be fly- 
 ing along the surface of the ground, utter- 
 ing the most singular cries ever heard. 
 Whether they were beasts, birds, or those 
 marvellous creatures that are said to par-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 105 
 
 Ake of the different natures of both, it was was expected at Stratford, and he was sent 
 not easy to decide. Master Shakspeare [ to meet him with a communication of grave 
 was at a nonplus. But Simon Stockfish, [ import. He was joined by his nimble friend 
 who had been preparing himself to meet j Jonas ; and, quite forgetful of the exceed- 
 raany strange things, as, in his sagacity, he ing serious nature of what he was instruct- 
 thought was very natural when going to fed to state, no sooner had he caught sight 
 a strange place, was astonished far beyond j of Master Shakspeare than he challenged 
 
 any astonishment he had felt all his life 
 long. 
 
 On came these nondescripts with a most 
 
 his companion to a race, in his favorite 
 method of progression, alternately using the 
 hands and feet. The challenge was as 
 
 horrible din, sometimes abreast, anon fol- soon accepted as spoken, and off they started, 
 lowing each other ; having so singular a > Both were adepts in this strange feat, for 
 motion withal, it could not be said, with I which they were famed, far and near ; and 
 any certainty, whether they were flying it was the manner in which they advanced, 
 like birds, or leaping like grasshoppers, j now with the head close to the ground and 
 Simon, though he was in a terrible fright at ! now up, and at a distance showing nothing 
 meeting such outlandish things, considered but a confused bundle of arms and legs, go- 
 it was his duty to defend his master from j ing round like the spokes of a wheel in 
 any mischief they were like to do him ; for rapid motion, with the savage cries they 
 that they came with some murderous intent ; thought fit to make, that puzzled Master 
 he had no manner of doubt. He looked to | Shakspeare, and put his valiant and faith- 
 his pistolets, and had his hand upon one, in I ful serving-man into so absolute a fear. 
 
 Readiness to meet the expected assault. 
 
 The wonder with which Master Shaks- 
 peare noticed them at first gave way to a 
 smile, as soon as they came near enough 
 for him to view them correctly. He drew 
 up his horse, and, notwithstanding his mind 
 was &o ill at ease, he could scarce refrain 
 from mirth. His faithful serving-man, 
 judging, from his master's stopping, that 
 now was the time for action, though his 
 heart was in his mouth, he was in so huge 
 a fear, drew forth a pistolet, and rode to his 
 side, having valorously made up his mind 
 not to be eaten up alive till he had done 
 something in his respected master's defence. 
 " I will shoot the first villain, an it please 
 you," he said, hurriedly, and in a terrible 
 trepidation. " Perchance it would be good 
 
 Simon, albeit he had so carefully made 
 up his mind to see strange things, marvelled 
 so greatly at the wonderful transformation 
 he had just beheld, that -it clean took away 
 his speech. He gazed upon Tommy Hart 
 and his odd-looking associate, as though he 
 could not convince himself that they were 
 human. It was his master who first brought 
 all parties to feel a little at their ease. He 
 explained the mistake of his attendant so 
 pleasantly withal, that they who were likely 
 to have suffered by it so dreadfully seemed 
 to take it as the most exquisite jest they had 
 ever heard. 
 
 After making friendly inquiries for all of 
 his acquaintance at Stratford, which brought 
 upon him a whole budget of nesvs, and as- 
 suring both his townsmen he would not be 
 
 policy were you, at the same moment, to long before he paid them a visit, he took his 
 
 despatch the other." Simon got no other 
 answer than having his weapon knocked 
 upwards by his master's hand, at which in- 
 stant it went off, expending its ammunition 
 harmlessly in the air ; and well it was for 
 
 leave of them. Tommy Hart was so taken 
 up with the enjoyment of his mirth, and the 
 prodigious quantity of. gossip he related, that 
 the message with which he had been sent 
 escaped him as completely as though he had 
 
 Simon that action was so quickly done, or j had no knowledge of it ; and Master Shaks- 
 such mischief would have followed as would j peare rode away towards Shottery, unwarn- 
 have put him in greater peril than that from ed of the state in which he was like to find 
 
 which he sought to escape. 
 
 If this astonished him, how infinitely 
 
 matters there. Simon rode after him, but 
 not before he had seen the two singular be- 
 
 more did he marvel when, at the same in- ings, whose approach had so much alarmed 
 stant, the horrible nondescripts appeared him, commence again their unnatural meth- 
 standing before him, in the outward resem- j od of progress. He said never a word, but 
 blance of men- men, too, from whom it was he was fully satisfied, extraordinary a.s it 
 evident there was nothing to fear, there was seemed to him, that the men of YVarwick- 
 in them so much to laugh at. j shire went upon four legs. 
 
 They were no other than the reader's old His master dismounted when within a 
 acquaintances, Jonas Tietape and Tommy ; convenient distance of the cottage, and Si- 
 Hart. The hitter had heard that the much- j mon held the horse while he proceeded to 
 respected brother of his merry little wife i the door. It struck him as something mar-
 
 106 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 vellous, that no one of the family was visi- 
 ble in or about the house. At all other 
 times they were wont either to meet him in 
 a body, within a mile or so of home ; or, if 
 circumstances would not allow of this, they 
 were about the door, waiting anxiously for 
 his appearance ; and, directly he rode up, 
 the children would rush towards him with 
 loud demonstrations of pleasure. Now not 
 a soul had he seen, and the place was as 
 silent as though it had been deserted. The 
 doors and windows, too, were all carefully 
 closed. Even of Talbot, a still more rare 
 occurrence, there was no sign. 
 
 This unusual state of things struck the 
 loving father and husband as exceeding 
 strange. He knocked at the door. No an- 
 swer was returned ; but on listening, he 
 fancied he could hear some persons whis- 
 pering inside. He knocked still louder, 
 and could evidently distinguish the voice 
 of his tender and affectionate Susanna, en- 
 deavoring to quiet Talbot, who had been 
 disturbed by the knocking. Marvelling 
 greatly that no one came, though there 
 could be no doubt several persons were 
 within, and knowing he had sent word by a 
 trusty hand of his coming at this very time, 
 he took his heavy riding-whip and beat the 
 door with sufficient violence to arouse all 
 the people in the house, were they ever so 
 deaf, and also raised his voice to its highest 
 pitch, bidding them let him in. No sooner 
 did the faithful Talbot hear his master's 
 voice, than all attempts to keep him silent 
 were vain ; he barked and whined most vo- 
 ciferously. It then appeared that he was 
 shut up, but his efforts to get out were of 
 the most violent sort. Still Master Shaks- 
 peare could hear three or four individuals at 
 least, carrying on an animated debate in a low 
 tone of voice. He could hear nothing dis- 
 tinctly, but the voices appeared to be those 
 of women. 
 
 At last, on his loudly asking the reason 
 of this strange reception of him, the win- 
 dow over his head was slowly thrown open, 
 and there appeared at it the strongly mark- 
 ed visage of Aunt Prateapace. She put on 
 at first a monstrous friendly manner, and 
 bade her kinsman " good den," as pleasantly 
 as you please, but, upon his peremptorily 
 insisting upon knowing why he was kept 
 out of his house in this unheard-of fashion, 
 she presently raised her voice to the true 
 shrewish pitch, and, as 'Master Shakspeare 
 could plainly hear, continually prompted by 
 some persons behind her to whom she ever 
 and anon turned her head, she began to rate 
 him right soundly, and let him know " our 
 Anne," with a spirit worthy of her family, 
 
 had come to the proper determination of 
 having no more to do with him ; therefore, 
 he might take himself away with all possi- 
 ble haste. 
 
 Master Shakspeare listened to this tirade, 
 fully satisfied that the three old harridans 
 had been employing their talents at mis- 
 chief-making with more than ordinary zeal ; 
 but proud, weak, and wilful as he knew his 
 blooming Anne of former years to be, he 
 could not readily believe that the influence 
 of her meddling kinswomen over her was 
 so great as to induce her to take the step 
 which, he was well convinced, they had 
 long been leading her to. That he was 
 greatly moved at a determination so unex- 
 pected there is no question ; but he kept his 
 feelings under control, and courteously bade 
 Aunt Prateapace acquaint " his dear bed- 
 fellow" from him, that he was exceeding 
 anxious to see her, and that he had no doubt 
 in the world that in a few minutes he would 
 explain all apparent evils to her perfect sat- 
 isfaction, and would make such arrange- * 
 ments for her future comfort as should con- 
 vince her how dear to him was her happi- 
 ness and conterrtation. 
 
 " In sooth, fairly spoken," replied Aunt 
 Prateapace, sharply. " But our Anne hath 
 had enough of such poor bates to catch 
 fools, I promise you." Here she disappear- 
 ed, and immediately in her place came Aunt 
 Breedbate, looking even more crabbed than 
 the other. 
 
 " Take your fine speeches to those who 
 are willing to be cajoled by them," she said 
 in her harshest tones. " Our Anne hath too 
 much sense, ay, and spirit too as becomes 
 her, i' faith, any longer to be made a con- 
 venience of." Thereupon, she took in her 
 head, and it was straightway replaced by 
 that of Aunt Gadabout, with one of the 
 most fiercely shrewish of her shrewish 
 looks. 
 
 " Wives are not to be made slaves of, 
 whatever their tyrants of husbands may 
 think !" she exclaimed in a scream like un- 
 to that of an angry peacock. " Our Anne 
 thinks herself made of better stuff than to 
 be a poor household drudge, that is to be 
 kept at home whilst her unworthy husband 
 is to wander about the world at his plea- 
 sure ;" and then she added in an emphasis, 
 and with a look that spoke pokers and tongs 
 at the least, " An I had a husband that 
 would use me so, I warrant you I would 
 teach him better ere he was a week older !" 
 
 " There must be some great misunder- 
 standing in this matter," replied Muster 
 Shakspeare with a marvellous sweet pa- 
 ! tience. " In all reasonable things Anne
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 107 
 
 hath ever found me willing to indulge her 
 to the fullest extent of my ability, and this 
 I am always ready to do." 
 
 " There hath been nothing of the sort ! ' 
 cried Aunt Breedbate, rudely. 
 
 " Monstrous reasonable, forsooth !" ex- 
 claimed Aunt Prateapace, taking her place 
 at the casement directly she left it. " Pry- 
 thee, what dost call indulgence ? Dost in- 
 dulge her by the horrible injustice of keep- 
 ing her in this poor place by herself, whilst 
 you sometimes for a whole year together 
 care not to come near her once ! And now, 
 more monstrous still, you have sent her 
 \vord you are about going, Heaven only 
 knoweth how many miles away, for the see- 
 ing of far off countries, saying never a 
 word of her going with you, farther than to 
 state you would like it of all things ; but it 
 could not in any way be brought about or 
 some such poor stuff. If she put up with 
 such a slight as this, she hath no more wo- 
 manly spirit than a cracked flea !" 
 
 " Let her be assured that no slight is in- 
 tended," said Master Shakspeare, very cer- 
 tain it could not have been taken so by her 
 unless a vast deal of malicious care had 
 been used to give it that color. "My ab- 
 sence from her was first caused by necessity, 
 and by necessity hath been continued, and 
 all the years it hath lasted, she hath never 
 to my knowledge been otherwise than satis- 
 fied ft should so remain. As for my intend- 
 ed journey out of England, it is clean out 
 of my power to take her with me, even were 
 there no such absolute cause existing as 
 there is, for her remaining at home with her 
 children, nor do I think so ill of her that 
 she would ever entertain so unworthy an 
 idea, had it not been thrust upon her mind 
 by the perverse exertions of a set of worth- 
 less mischief-makers." 
 
 " Mischief-makers !" here eagerly ex- 
 claimed all three, putting out their several 
 heads at the same moment, with every ap- 
 pearance of guilty consciousness, and the 
 most absolute rage. Forthwith each vigor- 
 ously disclaimed having any thing to do in 
 the matter, vowing nothing was so far from 
 their thoughts. They stoutly and with an 
 infinite lack of civility insisted that they had 
 a right to see that ' our Anne' had justice 
 done her, and that they could not allow of 
 her being so trampled on as she was with- 
 out feeling for her unhappy, distressed state 
 that they thought it particularly commen- 
 dable of her acting as she did, and that they 
 would give her the benefit of their counte- 
 nance and advice, in spite of all the mon- 
 strous tyrannical husbands that could be 
 found. 
 
 Much more they might have said to the 
 same purpose, had not Aunt Prateapace, in 
 her impatience to be heard, interrupted Aunt. 
 Gadabout somewhat sharply, which was re- 
 plied to in a terrible savage humor, where- 
 upon a squabble ensued betwixt them, which 
 Aunt Breedbate did all she could to increase. 
 In the midst of their mutual bickerings and 
 revelations, Master Shakspeare, much ex- 
 cited, declared that he insisted on seeing 
 and hearing from their kinswoman the de- 
 termination they had stated she had resolved 
 on. This took them from the window in a 
 very brief space. 
 
 A long and vigorous discussion followed, 
 which could not be distinctly heard by the 
 outraged husband, though he could distin- 
 guish the noisy hum of many voices. It 
 seemed to him as though others than the mis- 
 chievous three shared in the conference, and 
 he more than once fancied he could detect 
 the tones of the high-spirited Judith and the 
 affectionate Susanna. 
 
 The result of the discussion was, that 
 i Mistress Anne made her appearance at the 
 i window, but not before he had plainly heard 
 j such phrases as, " Hold thee a good spirit, 
 I Anne !" "Never be made a slave of!" 
 " An you suffer yourself to be cajoled, you 
 deserve all the ill-usage and neglect it can- 
 not help but bring you !" with divers others 
 of a like tendency. Her visage did not be- 
 speak any very terrible grievances, though 
 there was a certain expression of discontent 
 in it. She had still some pretensions to be . 
 considered the blooming Anne, though pretty 
 well a score of years had passed since first 
 that title had been bestowed upon her. But 
 she valued her good looks too highly not to 
 have taken particular care of them. 
 
 Master Shakspeare, at sight of her, urged 
 all arguments that a fond husband 'could be 
 expected to have, to bring her to reason and 
 show her the folly of persisting in a course 
 of conduct so unworthy of her : but she had 
 been too well instructed in her lesson to al- 
 low the proper influence of any thing of the 
 ,sort. She answered with a firm show of re- 
 solution, that she considered herself to have 
 been exceedingly ill used, and that she would 
 endure it no longer. Her husband tried 
 every possible exertion t6 induce her to give 
 up so unworthy a determi nation, and pro- 
 mised many additional enjoyments, would 
 she determine more wisely. But the prompt- 
 ings became now eager and audible^ " Not 
 to be cozened," and, " to show a proper spi- 
 rit." Unfortunately for herself, either 
 through fear or inclination, she took too 
 mucbJieed of them, and answered she had
 
 108 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 considered the matter well, and had resolved 
 to change not her course. 
 
 This seemed so far to satisfy her husband 
 that lie left off pressing the point, though he 
 wore a very disturbed countenance. He 
 asked to see his daughters that he might at 
 least have the pleasure of beholding their 
 improved appearance, and enjoy their love 
 after his journey, as it was not likely he 
 could promise himself that pleasure for some 
 time. Thereupon, one of the aunts an- 
 swered tartly, that, as was exceeding pro- 
 per and natural, the children shared in the 
 sentiments of their mother, and that neither 
 of them wished to have further speech with 
 him. 
 
 At this cruel speech, all the father was 
 in his heart, and he replied, with an ex- 
 treme earnestness, he could not believe in 
 any thing so monstrous and undutiful. It 
 was almost too unnatural a thing to be con- 
 ceived that children should be so set against 
 a loving parent, and he inveighed bitterly 
 against the authors of this atrocious mis- 
 chief. How much more was his affectionate 
 heart wrung by soon afterwards beholding 
 Judith, who too, doubtless, had been well 
 taught her lesson, appear with an unbecom- 
 ing boldness at the casement, and express 
 herself very rudely. 
 
 Whether he so misliked this last drop in 
 his cupof bitterness, or could not bring him- 
 self to strive further to obtain more affecti- 
 onate trentment, cannot be said, but the 
 speech had scarce been uttered when he 
 hastily left the place, mounted his horse, 
 and rode full speed from the door, as though 
 he was anxious to be as quick as possible a 
 thousand miles away. Simon Stockfish, 
 who had been an amazed spectator and 
 hearer of all that had passed, lost no time 
 in following ; but what He had already seen 
 and heard of the people who were natural 
 to the place, sufficed to satisfy him that they 
 were a sort of savages, who had as mon- 
 strous a way of receiving a tender father 
 and husband, after a long journey, as they 
 had of taking an ordinary ramble on the 
 king's highway. 
 
 Master Shakspeare did not draw rein till 
 he arrived at the porch of the goodly man- 
 sion of his excellent friend, Sir George Ca- 
 rew. That estimable, worthy gentleman, 
 and approved good soldier, chanced, at the 
 time, to be sitting at an open window on the 
 ground-iluor, giving orders to some of his 
 people who were employed in clipping some 
 old yew-trees into the strange figures then 
 in fashion. But on the instant he caught 
 sight of his visitor, riding like a post, with 
 a. \\ ild, unnatural look, such as he had ne- 
 
 ver seen in him before, he made no more to 
 do but leaped out of the window as nimbly as 
 ever he could have done in his youth, in the 
 fullest conviction that something dreadful 
 was the matter. 
 
 Giving orders to one of his varlets to look 
 to the horses, he lost no time in leading his 
 disturbed friend into a retired chamber, 
 where, in a strange, incoherent, passionate 
 manner, the latter made known to him how 
 matters stood. At this the valiant old sol- 
 dier was greatly moved, and with no small 
 stock of soldier-like oaths did he denounce 
 the conduct of the three old mischief-mak- 
 ers, whose dishonest meddling had disturbed 
 his friend's peace, and he strove, as well as 
 he was able, to console him. 
 
 But the unhappy father was then in no 
 mood to profit by his kindly intentions. The 
 iron seemed to have entered into his soul, 
 and he did nought in the world but rave, in 
 an unconnected and vehement manner, on 
 the singular and hateful ingratitude of his 
 daughters. He burst out with a passionate 
 phrenzy of language that was quite awful 
 to hear. His words seemed to flow from his 
 mouth like a stream of living fire. All the 
 agonies of a great heart, hurt in its tender- 
 est part, were shown in him both by lan- 
 guage and action for his movements were 
 no less wild and forcible than his speech. 
 In brief, it presently showed such undenia- 
 ble signs of a disturbed mind, that Sir 
 George, in great concern, despatched mes- 
 sengers for the nearest chirurgeon, and his 
 guest was shortly carried to a chamber that 
 was immediately prepared for him, in a fit 
 of raving, of so outrageous a sort, it took 
 several persons to restrain him. 
 
 In this state he continued for several days, 
 to the terrible alarm and grief of his approved 
 good friend, Sir George Carew, and to the 
 no less concern of his sedate and trusty serv- 
 ing-man, Simon Stockfish, whose grave 
 countenance took on it an expression infin- 
 itely more serious, as he witnessed the 
 course of his worthy master's malady. With 
 so sharp a sickness as he had, it was won- 
 derful to hear with what intensity his mind 
 would run on, on the subject of his children's 
 disobediency. He seemed to have but one 
 subject for his thoughts, that could hold it 
 for any length of time ; for, although his 
 mind would wander from time to time to 
 other matters, it quickly returned to the one 
 theme, and thereupon treated it in so mov- 
 ing a manner, it was truly pitiful to hear 
 him. 9 
 
 lie would seem to be addressing his 
 daughter, Judith ; and would pour out such 
 a tempest of bitter reproach for her coiitu-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 109 
 
 macy, that the obduratest heart ever heard 
 of must have shrunk under it. Perchance 
 she might have been all the better, had she 
 been brought in to hear it it could scarce- 
 ly have failed to have touched her nearly. 
 Indifferent as she seemed to the ties that 
 bind the child to the parent, it must have 
 wakened in her a proper sense of her intol- 
 erable ingratitude. But the style in which 
 he, in his unhappy conceit, discoursed to his 
 daughter, Susanna, was of a totally different 
 sort. The bruised heart of the loving father 
 was apparent in every word. The speech 
 was gentle, loving, and pregnant with a 
 melancholy tenderness. It spoke of the un- 
 utterable delight those tokens of an affecti- 
 onate nature she had previously displayed 
 had given to her doting father ; and how oft 
 he had strove to show to her, by every kind 
 of acceptable remembrance, how exceeding 
 dear she was to him ; and then it entered 
 into the monstrous cruelty of suffering one 
 who had made for her so high a place in his 
 heart to be so stricken by hsr hand as to make 
 the horriblest torture of body to be desired in 
 preference. 
 
 There was so much sweet earnestness, 
 and a misery so sharp in the manner in 
 which all this was spoken, that there was 
 not a dry eye in the chamber during its ut- 
 terance. Many of his most esteemed friends 
 at Stratford, and thereabouts, hastened to 
 the mansion of Sir George Carew, as soon 
 as they heard of the lamentable sickness 
 that had overtaken so worthy a, man ; and 
 when they learned, as they quickly did, that 
 it arose from the ill-behavior to him of his 
 family, there was a general denunciation of 
 one and all. 
 
 The three meddling busy-bodies, in espe- 
 cial, were spoken of in good set terms. 
 They were in considerable ill repute in and 
 about Shottery, as it was ; and the account 
 Simon Stockfish gave of their appearance 
 m this unhappy business, whilst it satisfied 
 all who had in any way heard of their pranks, 
 that the whole matter had been one of their 
 handling, spread their bad names far and 
 wide. All those persons who felt a proper 
 respect for Master . Shakspeare would have 
 no sort of association with them, and the 
 feeling against them became at last so strong, 
 that even some of their most familiar gossips 
 thought it best to hold them at a convenient 
 distance. 
 
 Their kinswoman, too, Mistress Anne, 
 was greatly condemned for being so led 
 against her husband by such bad counsel- 
 lors. As for Susanna and Judith, it ap- 
 peared as if nothing could be said of them 
 sufficiently condemnatory. To behave in 
 
 so contumacious a manner, particularly to 
 a father, who gave them so many proofs of 
 his prodigal love and kindness, was sad evi- 
 dence of a natural badness of heart : and it 
 was confidently prognosticated that disobedi- 
 ent children of this sort must needs come to 
 an evil end. 
 
 To the great joy of all his friends, after ' 
 some days, the violence of Master' Shaks- 
 peare's fever showed some abatement, and 
 he began gradually to recover. Sir George 
 Carew had sent several times to the cottage 
 at Shottery, in hopes of getting the family 
 of his guest to act more becomingly ; but 
 his messengers met with no one but the 
 three arch instruments of mischief, and they 
 had set their hearts too strongly on the evil 
 they were doing, to allow of its being set 
 aside therefore, nothing but unsatisfactory 
 answers had been obtained. This, when his 
 guest was sufficiently recovered, Sir George 
 thought proper to inform him of; and the 
 intelligence was so distasteful, that, waiting 
 only to make some arrangements which 
 should secure ample comforts for the unna- 
 tural inhabitants of the Cottage, he must 
 needs take himself at once to London. 
 
 He vowed he would never again seek a 
 roof whence he had been so shamefully dri- 
 ven, and was in a monstrous hurry to get as 
 far as possible from it. Without waiting to 
 gain a proper strength, he started off, mak- 
 ing as little delay on the journey as he could 
 help ; whereof the consequence was, that, 
 when his faithful old serving- man had got 
 him safely within his dwelling, in the Liber- 
 ty of the Clink, his intense anxiety, over- 
 fatigue, and unhappiness of mind, brought 
 on a relapse, which caused him to be worse 
 even than he was before. Simon thought 
 he could not do better than send for his old 
 master's son, and, very shortly afterwards, 
 John Hall was at the bedside of his patient, 
 and, as he ascertained, not before he had 
 been wanted there. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A modest maid decked with a blush of honor, 
 i Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and 
 
 love ; 
 
 The wonder of all eyes that look upon her ; 
 Sacred on earth ; designed a saint above ; 
 Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes, 
 Live reconciled friends within her brow. 
 
 SAMUEL DANIEL. 
 
 WHATEVER success the three villanous 
 ministers of mischief met with in their pro-
 
 110 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ceedings in the cottage at Shottery, they had 
 no manner of assistance in it from the gen- 
 tle and tender-hearted Susanna. But, it is 
 believed, they held her in so little account, 
 they cared for none at her hands. She was 
 in no way consulted in the matter. Never- 
 theless, she regarded the whole proceedings 
 with the most intense interest. She listened 
 to all the plans and arguments of the arch- 
 conspirators with a feverish impatience, and 
 when she heard her dear father abused, she 
 could scarce refrain from calling the slan- 
 derers to task for their insolency. However, 
 she knew of old what little good was like to 
 arise from any interference on her part ; 
 therefore, she was fain to hold her peace, and 
 weep in silence. 
 
 Her knowledge of such vile behavior, 
 shown to one whom she so greatly loved and 
 venerated, preyed on her spirits so that she 
 could take no pleasure in any thing. Most 
 unhappily the day passed over, and most 
 wretched was the day that followed. She 
 was exceeding anxious to have some certain 
 intelligence of her father, but she heard no- 
 thing irom the villanous conclave who ruled 
 the little household of which she was so un- 
 important a member, that was sufficiently to 
 the purpose, and she knew but too well the 
 unproh'tableness of asking. 
 
 To such a height at last arose her anxie- 
 ty, that on the evening of the second day she 
 foil into a violent hysterical fit, that did so 
 weaken her, that she was forced to keep her 
 bod for several days. She thus remained 
 in entire ignorance of the critical state of 
 health of that beloved object to whom all 
 her thoughts had lately been so painfully 
 devoted. It was more than a week before 
 she was so far recovered she could return 
 to her usual duties. For some reason or 
 other, there was little then said, either by 
 her mother, sister, or aunts concerniug her 
 father. If they conversed on that subject, 
 they took care to do so when she was not 
 by. This conduct perplexed her exceed- 
 ingly. Desiring more every hour to learn 
 how her dear father took the monstrous un- 
 kinrlnoss that had been shown him, and 
 longing most heartily to find some means of 
 acquainting him, that in her heart, at least, 
 there was a proper love and obediency to- 
 wards him, Susanna sought an opportunity 
 of going to Stratford, in the hope of learn- 
 ing from her merry kinswoman, Joan Hart, 
 with whom she had ever been an especial 
 f ivorite, all that she knew of the matter, her 
 ignorance of which so distressed her. 
 
 She found little difficulty in this, and in 
 a state of mind made up of rejoicing, that 
 she was now pretty sure of hearing intelll 
 
 gence of her father, and a dread that it 
 might be of a terrible bad complexion, she 
 Toceeded as rapidly as she could towards 
 Stratford. She had not left the cottage 
 far behind her, when her attention was at- 
 tracted by the sound of horses' feet, and she 
 soon discerned two horsemen coming from 
 the place to which she was going. One of 
 these she perceived was Sir George Carew, 
 and the other young Squire Clopton. 
 
 She had never met the former without 
 his showing towards her a most kind and 
 fatherly attention. He would stop her 
 wherever they chanced to meet, and make 
 all manner of friendly inquiries respecting 
 her and her mother and sister, and would 
 usually inform her of some piece of pleas- 
 ant news respecting her father, he had 
 heard from some trustworthy intelligencer, 
 and he would season his discourse with cer- 
 tain pretty commendations of his own re- 
 garding her appearance, that never failed 
 to call a blush to her cheek, and a touch of 
 grateful pleasure to her breast ; and there- 
 upon he would take his leave of her with a 
 show of gallantry, as though she were as 
 greatly in his esteem as his own lady. 
 
 The young squire, also, had not been 
 wont to pass her by unheeded. Indeed, if 
 the truth must be told, this was very far 
 from the case. He had seen something of 
 a camp life, and moreover something of 
 a court life, the which the great repute his 
 kinsman and guardian enjoyed in both 
 places threw open to him, but he had brought 
 little from'either, save an inordinate love of 
 brave apparel, and a desire of distinguish- 
 ing himself as an irresistible fine gallant. 
 
 The beauty of Susanna Shakspeare 
 seemed sufficient to entitle her to as prodi- 
 gal -an extent of gallantry as it was in his 
 power to evince. Therefore, he sought 
 every opportunity to meet her when she 
 was abroad, or sse her alone when she was 
 at home, at which times there was sure to 
 be as fair a selection of sugared phrases 
 and dainty conceits on his part, as might 
 have sufficed for the use of some half a do- 
 zen of the perfectest gallants of the time. 
 
 As Susanna felt fully satisfied that one 
 or both these persons would detain her, she 
 was by no means pleased at meeting them. 
 Notwithstanding she was sure they were 
 both well inclined to make their greetings 
 as gallant to her as possible. Right glad- 
 ly would she have got out of their way 
 so desirous was she of using all speed to 
 get to Joan Hart's for the one great purpose 
 with which she had left the cottage but 
 there was no time to avoid them, they came 
 at such speed.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Ill 
 
 As she fully expected, they both reined 
 in their horses at sight of her, but how 
 much was she astonished, when, instead of 
 the exceeding courteous and flattering at- 
 tentions she had ever before received from 
 him, Sir George shouted to her with a stern 
 voice and manner ; " So, Mistress Susan- 
 na ! a pretty daughter thou hast proved 
 thyself a murrain on thee ! I hope thou 
 wilt be satisfied with thy horrible and un- 
 natural disobsdiency, now that, in conse- 
 quence of it, thy poor unhappy father, as I 
 have just baen credibly informed, is lying 
 at death's door, in his lodging at South- 
 wark." Saying this, Sir George put spurs 
 to his horse, and, followed by his compan- 
 ion, was soon out of sight, leaving the mis- 
 erable Susanna like one stunned by the 
 overwhelming intelligence she had so unex- 
 pectedly heard. 
 
 As soon as she had recovered so far as 
 to proeeed, she bent her steps towards the 
 well-known dwelling of her jovial kinsman, 
 Tommy Hart. Here she found evidence 
 that all was not as it should be, for not a 
 eign of mirth of any sort was visible. 
 Strange to say. Tommy and his merry bed- 
 fellow were completely chapfallen, and Jo- 
 nas Tietape, who had come to comfort them, 
 was for a marvel standing quietly on his 
 legs a sure sign he was in no very pleas- 
 ant humor himself. Their faces, instead of 
 the joyous expression they were wont to 
 have, seemed monstrous sorrowful. Joan 
 was crying, as it was believed, for the first 
 time in her l^fe, and her husband and his 
 gossip looked on the point of following her 
 example. 
 
 Susanna soon learned the cause of this 
 wondrous change. They had just learned 
 that her estimable, worthy father was sick 
 of a fever, and reduced to so sore a strait 
 as to be given over by his physicians. She 
 heard the news with an appearance of indif- 
 ferency that made her friends half inclined 
 to think there was an infinite lack of the 
 loving daughter in her ; but they did her 
 huge injustice. The blow struck her so 
 forcibly, it seemed to have stilled all her 
 emotions. She could not feel. All sense 
 seemed dead in her for the time. 
 
 There was a good deal said by one and 
 the other respecting what had been done in 
 the cottage, and a full measure of indigna- 
 tion was poured out upon the authors of the 
 horrid mischief, but Susanna heard not a 
 WO rd, and even the forms of those present 
 had ceased to find a place in her vision. 
 She was as one stone deaf and stone blind. 
 
 When consciousness returned to her, she 
 tought an excuse for hurrying away, for, in 
 
 sooth, she was in no mood for society of any 
 sort, and returned with what haste she could 
 to Shottery. She thought much and deeply, 
 and could not reflect on the imminent dan- 
 ger of her father without a shudder. She 
 frequentl)' endeavored to be alone on that 
 day, and succeeded. Much self-accusation 
 much bitter remorse visited her, for not 
 having assured her parent that she had no 
 part in the unnatural proceedings against 
 him ; and then there would come question- 
 ings as to what was now her proper line of 
 duty. 
 
 There can be no doubt that she gave these 
 matters her closest attention ; for, early the 
 next morning, before any of the family were 
 astir, after a fervent prayer that God would 
 prosper her in her perilous undertaking, she 
 first crept into the chamber where her mo- 
 ther and sister were asleep, and kissed them 
 both without disturbing them ; then, fully 
 equipped for a long journey, and as well 
 furnished for it as it was possible, in her 
 state, she crept softly out of the house. She 
 lingered awhile upon the threshold, and then 
 made her way to the ordinary resting-place 
 of Talbot, who made not the slightest dis- 
 turbance, for, though he was fully awake, 
 he knew her step, light as it was, and would 
 have known it from a thousand. 
 
 She fondled him, and, as she did so, shed 
 many tears, for he had long been regarded 
 by her as the only true friend she had in her 
 own home, and the noble hound whined, 
 and seemed exceeding restless as he return- 
 ed her caresses, after his fashion. At last, 
 she left him where he was, doubtless, 
 much against his will and took her way 
 along the high road. She did not expect in 
 her own neighborhood, if she met any one 
 at that early hour, to be closely questioned 
 as to her being abroad at such a time, as it 
 was no unusual thing for her to be so early 
 afoot ; and as she advanced, she did not fear 
 that strangers would be inconveniently cu- 
 rious, for it was a common thing with a coun- 
 try girl, such as she seemed, to be met, going 
 of her errands to the nearest town, as soon 
 as it was day. 
 
 Her great care and anxiety was to re- 
 member the names of the different towns 
 that lay betwixt her own village and the fair 
 city of Oxford, for her object was to get there 
 with as little delay as possible, and thence to 
 find her way to London. As to her induce- 
 ment to undertake so long and hazardous a 
 journey for one of her delicate nature, me- 
 thinks there needs no great trouble to dis- 
 cover it. The deep affection she bore her 
 loved and honored father, her exceeding 
 anxiousness to show she was not so unna-
 
 112 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 turally indifferent to him as she feared he | 
 had been led to believe, and an earnest hope 
 that she might be enabled, by constant and 
 capful attendance, to administer to his re- 
 covery, all helped in it. Such inducement 
 as it was, it seemed to carry her along fa- 
 mously. The very sad expression of her 
 young and beautiful face appeared to be 
 fad ng away under an aspect of cheerful- 
 ness such as she had been a stranger to a 
 long time. 
 
 She had so often heard her father mejition 
 the manner and way of his journeys to and 
 from London, she was under no fear that, 
 with what she remembered, and what infor- 
 mation she might acquire by asking, she 
 should miss her way ; nor was she under 
 any apprehension as to the kind of treat- 
 ment she might meet with. For the first 
 hour or two, she saw none but laborers go- 
 ing to their work in the fields, who gave her 
 a civil greeting and passed on ; yet not 
 without being especially impressed in her 
 favor by her neat and pleasing appearance, 
 Anon, a farmer or substantial yeoman would 
 come by on horseback, going to look after 
 his farm-servants, or to be at market be- 
 times, and would venture upon some com- 
 mendation of her remarkable comeliness, 
 which she would receive with a proper mo- 
 desty that increased their regard. And then 
 she met wayfarers of all sorts, from the hum- 
 blest vagrant, trudging wearily afoot, to the 
 the powerfullest noble, surrounded by a train 
 of serving-men, in their coats and badges, 
 on fair horses, perchance speeding on an er- 
 rand of state. 
 
 But it often happened that she continued 
 her journ.ey for a long time without meeting 
 any one. When she began to feel tired, she 
 sat herself down a little from the road, and 
 refreshed herself with what victual she had 
 brought with her. The birds were twitter- 
 ing in the hedges, apparently their little 
 hearts greatly rejoicing at the> brightness of 
 the day ; and every thing, animate and in- 
 animate, looked to be full of a like pleasant 
 spirit. Had she been in the mood, doubtless 
 she would have regarded, with an admiring 
 eye, the richness of the landscape outspread 
 before her. Wood and water, field and or- 
 chard, with here and there a windmill, a 
 farm-house, a stately mansion, an ancient 
 church, and a straggling group of cottages, 
 made a choice picture for the eye ; but Su- 
 sanna could not now give her attention to 
 such graces, however attractive they might 
 he. Her thoughts were with her sick pa- 
 rent ; and her anxiety to get to him made 
 her regardless of every other thing what- 
 soever. 
 
 She soon finished her hasty meal ; and, 
 after a draught at a neighboring spring, con- 
 tinued on her way with renewed spirit. She 
 came to where two roads met, and which 
 of them she ought to take she knew not. 
 She had no knowledge of where either led 
 to, and there was none near to whom she 
 could make inquiries ; but, after a few mi- 
 nutes of uneasy hesitation, she went for- 
 ward at a hazard. A man passed her soon 
 afterwards, riding on a stout horse ; and, 
 seeing a young girl, of a more than ordi- 
 nary comeliness, going his road, as he 
 thought, he stopped, and was so civil as to 
 ask her to ride beside him as far as she lik- 
 ed. Susanna did not greatly incline to trust 
 herself to a stranger, but her anxiousness to 
 get forward with all haste overbalanced her 
 fears ; and, after a scrutiny of the man's 
 features, which were noticeable for good 
 humor and honesty, she accepted his offer, 
 and a minute after was jogging along with 
 him like a farmer and his wife going to mar- 
 ket. 
 
 Her confidence was not misplaced, for he 
 behaved with a kindness, though of a rusti- 
 cal sort, which showed the goodness of his 
 nature. He asked verv few questions, seem- 
 ing to take his companion for what she ap- 
 peared, a yeoman's daughter going to the 
 market-town to make purchases, but he rea- 
 dily answered what questions were put to 
 him, by which she gained much information 
 of infinite value to her in her present under- 
 taking. The horse they rode was a great 
 fat creature, of the cart-horse breed, deco- 
 rated with gay ribbons ; and the man was 
 taking it to a cattle-fair, at a town some 
 twenty miles off, with the hope of getting a 
 good price for it. Dobbin's speed, therefore, 
 was not very great ; but, as it was faster 
 than her own travelling pace, and promised 
 to forward her twenty miles on her journey, 
 Susanna was well content she had got on his 
 broad back. 
 
 On their way, as her companion stopped 
 to victual Dobbin, he took care his fellow- 
 traveller should be provided for in a like 
 manner ; and, having borrowed a pad for her 
 to ride on, they resumed their journey. In 
 due time they came to the town to which 
 Dobbin was bound, and not without some 
 sort of regret from his owner, who had got 
 so content with the pleasant company he 
 had had, he was not willing to be so soon 
 quit of it ; nevertheless, with a wondrous 
 show of good-will, he was fain to take his 
 leave, and Susanna proceeded alone on her 
 road. She had managed to get such minute 
 directions from her recent acquaintance, that 
 she was now pretty confident she should be
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 113 
 
 able to find her way without any very great ! blood. At any other time, Susanna would 
 difficulty. The town was crowded by buy- 1 have been content enough to have escaped 
 ers and sellers, and a liberal sprinkling of ! the peril she was in, by parting with a much 
 idle spectators ; but she passed on, heedless larger sum ; but the sole thought she had at 
 of pedlars, mountebanks, dancing-bears, and that fearful moment was the impossibility 
 motions of the rarest quality ever exhibited, | of her ever reaching her sick father's dwel- 
 though nought was left by them undone to ling, were she deprived of it, and therefore 
 
 stay her steps. 
 
 Having got completely free of the fair, 
 .and all its wild uproar and confusion, she 
 found herself passing over a wide common, 
 overgrown with furze, with here and there 
 
 she was not content to part with it. She 
 avoided the woman as she made up to her, 
 and the next moment took to running at the 
 very top of her speed. 
 
 The young traveller was light of foot, and 
 
 a pollard, or blackthorn, the deep silence of fear seemed at first to have given her wings, 
 which contrasted very forcibly with the bu- i but on turning her head round, and finding 
 
 ey scene she had left behind. Here she had 
 full leisure to consult her thoughts ; and 
 this she did with so huge an intentness, 
 having them directed to a subject of no less 
 
 she was hotly pursued, her heart seemed to 
 jump to her mouth, and she felt almost in- 
 capable of exertion. She screamed as long 
 and loudly as she could, hoping it might 
 
 interest than her sick father, that she was ' bring some one to her assistance, and 
 unaware of being closely watched, and her j strained every nerve to increase the dis- 
 steps dogged by a savage-looking woman, ! tance that was betwixt herself and her pur- 
 of a complexion like unto an Indian in | suer ; but the latter, though not so light of 
 
 brownness, dressed in tattered weeds, coarse 
 and patched, that spoke of vagrancy in every 
 fold, and had a child at her back, with a vis- 
 age peeping over her shoulder of a like dark- 
 ness with her own. 
 
 She appeared a few steps in advance of 
 the young traveller, and, with a manner 
 half-supplicating, half-threatening, asked an 
 alms. Susanna was startled by her unex- 
 pected presence, and her surprise partook 
 largely of alarm when she had glanced at 
 her forbidding features. In the lonely place 
 in which she was, it was by no means desir- 
 able to meet such a person. Of her small 
 store she knew she had little to spare, but 
 her eagerness to get rid of the applicant 
 was infinitely stronger than was her desire 
 to retain unbroken the funds she had thought 
 proper to take with her to meet the necessi- 
 ties of her journey. Therefore she took her 
 purse from oft* her girdle, and untied its 
 strings, intending to give the woman a pen- 
 ny, at the least. The avarice of the beggar 
 was awakened at the sight of the few coins 
 it contained, and a powerful longing began 
 to show itself in her, to have it by hook or 
 by crook ; so she cast a furtive glance to- 
 wards the town, then along the road, then 
 on both sides of her, jabbering the whilst a 
 rambling jumble of wants and thanksgiv- 
 ings, when she suddenly made a snatch at 
 the purse, but not before Susanna was aware 
 of her design, and drew it so quickly back, 
 she completely failed in her purpose. 
 
 Thereupon, with divers horrible impreca- 
 tions, the strange woman drew, from a bag 
 that hung suspended before her, along knife, 
 and rushed forward, calling on her to deliver 
 her money, or she would have her heart's 
 
 step, and, moreover, burthened with the 
 child at her back, was more used to a fleet 
 pace than the other, and soon began with 
 long strides to gain sensibly upon her. Su- 
 sanna ran wildly on, half-dead with fright, 
 and screaming at the very top of her voice, 
 and the woman followed, shouting such 
 bloodthirsty resolutions as were like to turn 
 the current of her veins into ice. 
 
 Thus they proceeded to a distance of full 
 a quarter of a mile. At last Susanna found 
 she had neither breath nor strength to con- 
 tinue the race a minute longer. Her 
 motions and aspect were those of one frantic 
 with excess of terror, and her cries were 
 awful and heart-rending. The threats of 
 her savage enemy, who tracked her heels 
 like a blood-hound, became every instant 
 closer to her ear, and every step looked as 
 though it brought the murderous knife she 
 had menaced her with nearer to her heart. 
 She began to reel and stumble as she ran, 
 her strength was fast failing her, every 
 thing seemed to swim unsteadily before her, 
 and at last, with a piercing scream of agony, 
 she fell to the ground. 
 
 At this terrible moment, when a violent 
 and dreadful end was so imminent, one feel- 
 ing of regret took entire possession of her. 
 Of losing her young life thus early and thus 
 horribly she thought but little ; the feeling 
 that was almost insupportable arose from 
 despair of being able to show her beloved 
 parent that she was not so vilely unmindful 
 of him as he had been led to suppose. Her 
 pursuer came up with every bad passion 
 written in legiblest character on her gloomy 
 brow. There could be no doubt as to her 
 intentions, and the little imp at her back
 
 114 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 seemed to chuckle with unnatural delight, 
 as she hastened, with fierce curses and 
 bloody threats, to wreak her vengeance for 
 the opposition she had met, and then satisfy 
 her dishonest purposes at her leisure. 
 
 The fair young traveller had no mercy 
 to expect. Her hours, nay, her minutes, 
 seemed numbered, and drawing to a speedy 
 close. The murderess seized her savagely 
 by the arm with one hand, as she knelt upon 
 her panting body. Susanna murmured a 
 short prayer. The upraised steel glittered 
 before her eyes, and was descending with a 
 force that must have buried it to the very 
 haft in her flesh, when the arm that directed 
 the blow was suddenly grasped from behind, 
 and with a swing, that a person of prodi- 
 gious strength only could have given, the 
 woman. was hurled from her destined victim 
 to a considerable distance. With such force 
 was this done, that the knife was sent flying 
 through the air, and the child was cast out 
 of his resting-place and safely transferred to 
 a clump of fern several yards off; neverthe- 
 less, as though in some measure used to 
 treatment of the roughest sort, he raised no 
 outcry, but presently employed himself, as 
 well as he was able, in delivering himself 
 out of the mass of leaves in which he had 
 been thrown. 
 
 The person who had thus timely inter- 
 rupted the beggar-woman's murderous de- 
 sign was a man of mean and slovenly appa- 
 rel, with a visage bearing no slight preten- 
 sions to manly beauty, though having on it 
 a wild and desperate expression. His figure 
 denoted unusual strength and activity, but 
 his whole appearance was in no manner 
 likely to predispose any one very greatly in 
 his favor. He must have leaped out from 
 one of the hollows, or sprung from behind a 
 neighboring clump of brambles, where pos- 
 sibly he might have been lying his length, 
 for his intervention was so sudden as to 
 make it doubtful he had been brought to the 
 fair traveller's assistance from any great 
 distance. His interference was at the very 
 nick of time, and appeared to be as effec- 
 tual as any one could have desired; the 
 vile wretch, who had been so intent on her 
 deadly purpose, now lay her length on the 
 hard road, apparently stunned by the fall. 
 
 Of this the man took no further notice, 
 than some words, perchance a fierce male- 
 diction ; the language in which they were 
 spoke, sounded uncouth and strange, so that 
 their exact meaning could not be come at. 
 It was, out of all doubt, the common tongue 
 of the gipsies, and on close observation it 
 was as evident that the speaker, though 
 greatly changed for the worse in his visage 
 
 and outward appearance, was no other than 
 that villanous murderer whom the reader 
 hath already some knowledge of by the 
 name of Black Sampson. 
 
 Since he had behaved so roughly to 
 Simon Stockfish, in his memorable journey 
 to London with his young master, he had 
 lived a terrible restless life. Pursued by an 
 avenging hand, that seemed, to his fancy arm- 
 ed with a deadly weapon that was ever within . 
 an inch of his heart, he had wandered from 
 one extremity of the kingdom to the other, 
 in the vain hope of security. It was singular 
 that, though of a more fearless spirit than all 
 the wild tribe of which he was the acknow- 
 ledged chief, either by some superstitious 
 feeling, or the weight of a wicked con- 
 science, he never could hear the name of 
 the man whose dear and only son he had so 
 ruthlessly slain, without being seized with a 
 sudden panic, and to know that he had been 
 seen in his neighborhood was sufficient to 
 cause him to flee from the place as though 
 pursued by the legions of the damned. 
 
 This occurred frequently. He would re- 
 tire to the wild fastnesses of Wales, and for 
 a time fancy he was safe from further pur- 
 suit ; but at last he got certain intelligence 
 from his scouts that a gaunt, grey-bearded 
 churl was lurking about his retreat, and off 
 he would be as secretly and expeditiously 
 as possible to the weald of Kent, where, in 
 some apparently impenetrable wood, he 
 would hide himself and his dusky band. 
 Ere he grew confident of security, he would 
 learn that the same terrible form had appear- 
 ed within some few miles of him, which wag 
 quite sufficient to make him abandon, with 
 all speed, his late secure position ; and per- 
 chance he would seek some lonely moor or 
 solitary common in Devon. Here he would 
 remain, but only for a brief season. He got 
 good reason for knowing the untiring blood- 
 hound was upon his track, and away he 
 started, like a hunted deer, to the deep caves 
 on the rough coast of Cornwall. 
 
 Mayhap he would abide here in peace 
 in such peace as the wicked know, whereof 
 he knew about the least of any ; but, when 
 he thought from all absence of rumor touch- 
 ing his enemy, he might rest secure in his 
 deep concealment, he was sure to learn that 
 one answering but too truly to his descrip- 
 tion had arrived at the next village, and at 
 once he would quit the place which hereto- 
 fore looked as though it might have defied 
 the very searchingest eye, and never rest 
 foot till he had buried himself in one of the 
 most remote and savagest parts in the high- 
 lands of Scotland. Here even he met with 
 the same fortune. The old shepherd dog-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 115 
 
 ged his heels with a pertinacity that was 
 truly marvellous. Go where he would, 
 hide as closely as he might, use the cun- 
 ningest disguise, sooner or later Wattle 
 Elliott was certain to get so close to his 
 neighborhood, as to induce him to quit it 
 with all speed, and in the terriblest fear. 
 
 Although Black Sampson avoided a per- 
 sonal encounter with his pursuer, this was 
 by no means the case with divers of his 
 trusty followers. They felt no compunctions 
 or dread of any sort ; and, seeing the 
 straits in which they were put by their chief 
 through his sudden and desperate changes, 
 as well as being made sufferers by the wild- 
 ness and unreasonableness of his humor, 
 were well inclined to put an end to it in the 
 only way which presented itself to them. 
 With this object they banded together, and 
 lay in wait for the old man. But for a long 
 tLne he avoided falling into their hands. He 
 seemed as cunning in escaping their toils 
 as he was in following up the fierce chase 
 he was pursuing. Nevertheless, he did not 
 succeed at all times. Though he made the 
 most determined resistance, which cost 
 some of his assailants their lives, he was at 
 last overpowered, beat with sticks, and left 
 for daad. 
 
 This result achieved, all felt sure their 
 leader would speedily recover his wonted 
 greatness of soul. They assured him his 
 enemy had got his quietus, and related how 
 completely it had been done. A month or 
 two might pass over, and hearing no sign of 
 him, Black Sampson would relax somewhat 
 in his precautions, when, lo ! to his horror, 
 he would himself, when abroad, catch a dis- 
 tant view of his well remembered figure ; 
 and off the outlaw would start on the instant, 
 like a heron who spyeth the hawk afar off. 
 Again the gray-haired shepherd would b 
 set upon, and, after a furious contest not 
 without much injury to many of the assail- 
 ants he would sink at their feet pierced 
 with innumerable deadly wounds. Again 
 the terror-struck gipsy would be persuaded 
 he had nothing to fear, and again, after a 
 dfte interval, he would find the slaughtered 
 man, as hale and vigorous as ever, close 
 upon his footsteps. 
 
 At last, the wildest of the band began to 
 be as fear-struck as their chief. The old 
 shepherd had been shot at by all their best 
 marksmen ; he had been stabbed in the 
 vitalest parts ; he had been beaten, as it were, 
 to death with heavy cudgels; nevertheless, he 
 was certain to appear in their sight in 
 some brief space as whole as though nothing 
 had happened to him it looked as though 
 
 bore a charmed life, or was a creature 
 lot of this world. So deep did this impres- 
 sion enter their minds, that they forebore 
 ver after from molesting him in any way, 
 and were as ready to be a hundred miles 
 Tom him at all times as was Black Samp- 
 son himself, who felt a secret assurance 
 ;hat his enemy had so unconquerable a spirit, 
 
 could not or would not be allowed to die 
 :ill his just revenge upon the murderer of 
 lis son had been fully satisfied ; and this 
 daunted him so by night and by day with 
 such continual apprehension, that he grew 
 to wear the altered appearance he possessed 
 at this date. 
 
 After so forcibly separating the woman, 
 who was one of his own tribe, from her 
 threatened victim, he raised the latter gently 
 from the ground, and seemed to marvel at 
 her singular beauty. Susanna, though in 
 a horrible fear, and with scarce strength to 
 breathe, she was so spent with running, 
 still held possession of her senses, albeit it 
 was with but a slight thread. She under- 
 stood she had been saved from a frightful 
 death, but, on the first glance she got of her 
 deliverer, she seemed to have little cause 
 for satisfaction so dreadful a visage to 
 look on had she never seen before. It was 
 so unnaturally wild and terrible, she shud- 
 dered as she gazed upon it ; nevertheless, 
 she made no effort to remove herself from 
 his hold, but lay helpless on his arm, as 
 though she could not take away her eyed 
 from the unnatural, searching gaze that was 
 fixed upon her. 
 
 What feelings the contemplation of such 
 comeliness, united to so much helplessness 
 and innocency, might have created in the 
 breast of this caitiff, cannot very clearly be 
 known ; but, of whatever sort they may have 
 been, it is out of all manner of doubt they 
 were right summarily put an end to, for, on 
 his quick ear detecting the sound of distant 
 footsteps, he presently turned his gaze in 
 that direction, and, on the instant, with a 
 marvellous lack of ceremony, dropped hi* 
 gentle burthen to the ground, and, with a 
 cry of alarm, ran off at the very top of his 
 speed. It was soon manifest what had been 
 the cause of this sudden movement. A man 
 was seen passing over the common with 
 marvellous quickness of foot ; and as he 
 drew nearer, it was observed he was of a 
 gaunt figure, ill and rudely clad, with a 
 fierce and haggard expression of counte- 
 nance. On he came in sooth an awful 
 sight his grey hair and beard of unnatural 
 length, streaming in the wind ; his eyes 
 sunken under shaggy overhanging brows.
 
 118 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 yet gleaming with an unnatural fire, and 
 one hand brandishing threateningly an open 
 dagger. 
 
 As he passed swiftly by our gentle tra- 
 veller, she could not believe he. was any 
 thing human ; and the unearthly manner in 
 which she heard him raise, as he hurried 
 on, his ordinary cry of " Blood ! Blood !" 
 seemed enough to turn her to stone. It was 
 the old shepherd in pursuit of the murderer 
 of his dear son. On he sped with an eager- 
 ness far beyond what his more youthful days 
 had witnessed ; and, holding the murderer 
 in sight, he kept at his heels over bush and 
 hollow, hedge. and ditch, till both were lost 
 to sight in the depths of a neighboring wood. 
 
 Susanna had just began to breathe with 
 a little more freedom than she had done for 
 some minutes past, when she was again 
 overwhelmed with deadly fear by the sight 
 of the woman from whose murderous hand 
 she had so lately been rescued again 
 making towards her. Doubtless she could 
 now have wreaked" her vengeance uninter- 
 rupted, and have plundered her at her lei- 
 sure, and such it is more than probable was 
 her intent; but at this critical time, a com- 
 pany of carriers from the fair made their 
 appearance at a little distance, and she was 
 fain to content herself with breathing the 
 horriblest threats ever heard, as she reco- 
 vered her weapon, and then replacing her 
 child at her back, who had been all the 
 while playing about as though he required 
 DO better nursing than had Romulus and 
 Remus, she took herself quickly off in a 
 contrary direction. 
 
 The carriers, who were simple men, mar- 
 velled greatly at the tale they heard when 
 they came up ; and when the fair traveller 
 appealed to them for protection, so eager 
 were they to render it, they were ready to 
 go to loggerheads before they could settle 
 who should be the fortunate man to guard 
 so much beauty and innocency. At last 
 the matter was settled in some sort satis- 
 factorily, and Susanna was raised on a pack- 
 saddle on a fine mule that belonged to one 
 of the party, all agreeing that she should 
 ride upon it, because it was the goodliest 
 beast of them all, and set off, nothing loath, 
 in their company. 
 
 It was curious to see the sudden change 
 that appeared, as soon as Susanna took her 
 place in the midst of them. They had ap- 
 proached in very boisterous style, with an 
 abundance of rude jests, and prodigal display 
 of riotous mirth, consequent doubtless on 
 the long draughts they had taken in fellow- 
 ship at the last town ; but now, as though by 
 common consent, each one put a bridle on 
 
 hia tongue, so that there should be no of- 
 fence in it, and essayed to distinguish him- 
 self above his fellows by courtesy, serious- 
 ness, and all manner of civil speech, where- 
 of the consequence was, our late terror- 
 struck traveller quickly recovered her 
 proper spirits, and journeyed on, with no 
 other wish than for increased speed, that she 
 might the sooner reach the lodging of her 
 dear father in Southwark. 
 
 No further adventure happened till they 
 arrived at Oxford, wherein she had scarce 
 entered when a number of Oxford scholars, 
 struck at first by the strangeness of BO fair 
 a creature riding in the midst of a parcel 
 of rude carriers, were fora closer acquaint- 
 ance, and in their admiration becoming too 
 familiar, to the great scandal of divers of 
 her simple company, one must needs break 
 the head of the foremost, which was so re- 
 sented by his associates, that a fierce attack 
 was made upon the offender and all his fel- 
 lows. These defended themselves with 
 such spirit, emboldened by the presence of 
 their gentle fellow-traveller, in whose de- 
 fence they considered they were fighting, 
 that soon a most violent battle raged be- 
 twixt them. The scholars every moment 
 were reinforced ; nevertheless, the carriers 
 with their cudgels fought so desperately, 
 many of their numerous assailants got sore 
 hurt. 
 
 Susanna sat on her mule, wringing hei 
 hands, begging and praying each party to 
 leave off their quarrel ; but the greater part 
 of the scholars, who had seen nothing of the 
 beginning of the affray, believed that she 
 was held against her will by the knaves in 
 whose company she was, and that her dis- 
 tress was occasioned by her detention, felt 
 a chivalrous desire to rescue her from out 
 of the hands of such Philistines, and they 
 returned to the charge again and again with 
 increased numbers and tenfold fury. The 
 street was a scene of the wildest riot seen 
 there for many a day. All were attracted 
 to the neighborhood, alarmed by the horrible 
 outcries and fierce contention that raged in 
 that spot, and, as is usually the case in dis- 
 turbances in that fair city, they took differ- 
 ent sides. The citizens, satisfied that where 
 the scholars were fighting it must be against 
 them, without question of any sort ranged 
 themselves on the opposite side, and with 
 whatever weapons they could get, gave bat- 
 tle furiously by the side of the carriers. 
 
 In this way every instant the fight was 
 increasing with such vast strides, that it 
 looked as though two rival armies were con- 
 tending for mastery. The more peaceable 
 sort were in a monstrous fright, and the au-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 117 
 
 thorities ^ere getting ready as strong a 
 force of constables, as they had at their 
 commandment for the immediate quelling of 
 the riot, and securing the disturbers of the 
 peace. By this time the scholars had grown 
 to so huge a force, that they had been able 
 
 so that the two found no difficulty in making 
 their way to the distressed damsel. 
 
 Sir George appeared to have 'forgot his 
 late cause of displeasure, as he rode to her 
 side with the courteous bearing towards 
 women so familiar to him ; but when he 
 
 to beat back her doughty champions and ' listened to -her hurried narrative, and dis- 
 their now numerous adherents, and were in covered that she had gone through such 
 
 triumph leading away in the midst of them 
 the unoffending cause of the battle they 
 considered they had so gloriously won. 
 Their shouts of victory and martial songs 
 drowned every attempt the poor distressed 
 damsel made to show them how little reason 
 she had to be content with their services. 
 None knew what was to b done with her, 
 
 and none troubled themselves to think, their without delay of any sort. 
 
 minds were so filled with their hard-fought 
 success. 
 
 As they crowded along in this state, they 
 were made aware of the approach of the 
 strong force of foot sent by the civil autho- 
 rities against them, among whom were se- 
 veral of the principal persons in the Uni- 
 versity on horseback ; but, in their present 
 mood, there is little doubt the victorious 
 scholars would have given them instant 
 battle. It so chanced, however, that the de- 
 lectable young creature they felt assured 
 they had rescued from unmannerly knaves, 
 spied, amongst the horsemen, two gallants, 
 whose persons she recognized with a vehe- 
 ment cry of pleasure. There could be no 
 doubt as to who they were. They were 
 Sir George Carew and young Master Clop- 
 ton, then journeying to London, who from 
 curiosity had joined the civil power, to be- 
 hold the quelling of the violent disturbance 
 that had so unaccountably sprung up in the 
 city. By singular good fortune they imme- 
 diately recognized her. which was in some 
 sort easy, she being on her mule, above the 
 heads of the riotous assembly which sur- 
 rounded her. 
 
 Seeing her, like one in the very absolutest 
 distress, as if calling and making signs to 
 them to come to her, Sir George and his 
 companion marvelling to behold her in so 
 strange a company, put spurs to their horses, 
 and dashed forward ; but they would have 
 been roughly handled, had not the old sol- 
 dier had the exceeding good policy to cry 
 out that the young female they had got 
 amongst them was his fellow-traveller, and 
 he desired she might be allowed to return 
 to her friends. Many knowing Sir George, 
 made way for him, and others did the same, 
 seeing he was a person of note by his wor- 
 shipful figure, and the number of his retain- 
 ers with their blue coats and silver badges, 
 
 troubles and dangers out of her anxious de- 
 sire to minister to the wants of her sick 
 father, his very estimable good friend, he 
 seemed to regard her with unusual interest, 
 interrupting her with many soldier-like com- 
 mendations, and bidding her to be of good 
 heart, for he was her assured friend till 
 death, and she should travel in his company 
 
 Then, turning to the crowd, in a brief and 
 energetic speech, he showed them the mis- 
 take they had been under, and begged them 
 as a proper token of respect for the fair 
 damsel for whom they had so manfully ex- 
 erted themselves, to disperse each to their 
 homes as speedily as possible. This proper 
 advice was instantly acted upon, and in a 
 brief space all were making what haste they 
 could to their several colleges ; perchance, 
 some using the more expedition from a 
 wholesome fear of punishment. Sir George 
 did not find much more difficulty in satisfy- 
 ing the authorities and the citizens, and he 
 allowed but little time to pass over before 
 he sought out the trusty carriers, to reward 
 them for their exceeding commendable con- 
 duct. 
 
 In due time he set off, with the fair Susan- 
 na, on a goodly palfrey,, in his company, for 
 London, and they arrived the next day, with- 
 out further adventure, at Master Shaks- 
 peare's lodgings in the Liberty of the Clink. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A honey shower rains from her lips, 
 
 Sweet lights shine in her face ; 
 She hath the blush of virgin mind. 
 
 The mind of viper's race. 
 These things we write merrily, but we would 
 that the reader should observe God's just judg- 
 ments, and how that he can deprehend the 
 \vorldly-wise in their own wisdom, make their 
 table to be a snare to trap their own feet, 
 and their own purposed strength to be their own 
 destruction. JOHN KNOX. 
 
 FROM what hath already been stated, mine 
 especial friend, the reader, hath good war- 
 rant for suspecting that our young student
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 of medicine was not in such good hands in 
 the dwelling of that famous physician. Mas- 
 ter Dr. Posset, as his excellent mother trust- 
 ed he was, and that the abundance of admi- 
 rable counsel she had so impre^ively given 
 him, touching his behavior to women, had 
 not been altogether superfluous. . But what- 
 ever little insight there may have been 
 obtained by the progress of this story, as to 
 the characters of the several inmates of the 
 doctor's house, it is essential for its full un- 
 derstanding that something more should be 
 known. With the object of furnishing such 
 information, the reader is urgently requested 
 to allow himself to be transported to a cer- 
 tain closet, in which the doctor, after the 
 labors of the day were over, was wont to 
 solace himself in private with a few glasses 
 of sherris-sack, and the enjoyment of the new 
 fashion of smoking a pipe of tobacco. 
 
 This closet was lighted by one small 
 window, and was wainscoted all round from 
 ceiling to floor, with projecting cupboards 
 at the corners, in which, under lock and key, 
 were kept the napery, and other household 
 stuff, of which he was possessed. There 
 was an oak table in the middle of the room, 
 en which were placed the customary tank- 
 ard, and two glasses, with a small brass- 
 bound box, wherein was kept the Indian 
 weed with which he furnished his pipe. 
 Doctor Posset sat, leaning against a high- 
 backed chair, his legs resting upon a tall 
 stool ; he was dressed with a formal sort of 
 neatness a compromise between the plain- 
 ness generally affected by the old and the 
 bravery of the young physician of his day. 
 His hair and beard, though scant and grey, 
 were kept in excellent order by the barber ; 
 and though his years were far past the best, 
 there was a piercing quickness in his eye 
 that made him seem more youthful than he 
 was. As he had lost all his teeth, his mouth 
 was drawn in with monstrous little improve- 
 ment to his wrinkled and leaden visage ; and 
 when lie took on himself the humor of laugh- 
 ing, he looked like one of those grinning 
 satyrs sometimes to be found carved on the 
 stalls of our ancient cathedrals. 
 
 It would be no difficult matter for any skill- 
 ful peruser of faces to have guessed, after a 
 careful observation of that of this famous 
 physician, in his private hours, the sort of 
 character he was. There was a mixture of' 
 craftiness and self-conceit in the continual 
 expression of his visage that occasionally 
 made way for a sort of sneering devilishness 
 that became it no better. Of this craftiness 
 he prided himself extravagantly, although it 
 was merely just sufficient to keep his neck 
 out of a halter, and his person from the 
 
 rough handling, as it had been whispered, he 1 
 had too frequently deserved. Obsequious- 
 ness, impudency, and some chances of for- 
 tune, had greatly befriended him. To those 
 more ignorant than himself, he ever assumed 
 a marvellous extent of knowledge, whilst, 
 to any likely to be better informed, he cau- 
 tiously held his peace, and looked as pro- 
 foundly sage as he could. 
 
 On the side opposite to that on which he 
 sat stood an empty chair, and the doctor 
 seemed by his frequent glance at the door 
 to expect some person to fill it. Nor had he 
 long to wait. Presently the door opened, 
 and there entered the seductive Millicent, 
 apparently in the best of humors, or assuming 
 such for some secret purpose. She soon sat 
 herself down, and, as was her wont, proceeded 
 to fulfil her first duty the making oi the 
 sack; the which she did with a constant 
 affectation of light-hearted gossiping. Had 
 her too-devoted lover, John Hall, been 
 present, he would have marvelled hugely to 
 have heard his melancholy mistress making 
 a most bitter mockery of the grief of Tabitha 
 Thatchpole, her especial friend as she had 
 led him to believe because her boy Lauuce 
 had given his indentures a fair pair of heels, 
 and run away with Martin Poins, as it was 
 supposed, to try their fortunes on board an 
 armed ship that had sailed down the river, 
 bound for the Spanish main ; and IK- had 
 marvelled still more to note the exceeding 
 heartiness of her good will towards her 
 father, of whom she never spoke to hi in i n 
 confidence, without conveying to his mind 
 the idea that he was a monster to be regard- 
 ed only with execration. 
 
 Her merry, biting jests, and the excellence 
 of the sack she had brewed with even more 
 care than usual, had their expected effect. 
 The old man was in the mood she desired. 
 Sitting herself to the enjoyment of her own 
 glass of the exquisite beverage she had been 
 manufacturing, she gradually and skilfully 
 led the conversation of her companion's most 
 favorite subject, the success he had had as 
 a gallant. 
 
 The old fellow threw himself back in his 
 seat, his satyr-like visage growing more 
 hideous as the expression of vanity which 
 lighted it with smiles became more intense. 
 He smoked on and chuckled, occasionally 
 interrupting his associate to add more im- 
 portant features to the things she reminded 
 him of with such singular satisfaction. 
 Then she chided him slightly, and seemed 
 to think it was high time he should give over 
 such unbecoming matters, take to himself a 
 wife, and live in matrimonial respectability 
 for the rest of his days.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 119 
 
 He fell into this humor very readily, as 
 he had long entertained the desire of having 
 for his wife his daughter's little friend, 
 Mildred ; but began to despair of its accom- 
 plishment, as she, besides being young 
 enough to be his grand-daughter, did nought 
 but make sport of him. The wily Millicent 
 knew this well, and had determined to turn 
 it to her own profit It matters little what 
 was said on both sides ; suffice it that a 
 bargain was entered into betwixt the two, 
 that the father was to pay to the daughter 
 the sum of two hundred crowns as a mar- 
 riage-portion with her betrothed, on the day 
 Mildred became his wife. 
 
 She stayed not long after this, excusing 
 herself that she had much to do to bring 
 matters to the conclusion desired, and there- 
 upon left him to enjoy his customary after- 
 noon's sleep which followed upon his stuffing 
 his skin so full it could hold no morei 
 
 Truly she had much to do. To effect the 
 infamous sale she had set on foot, there was 
 no small difficulty. There was first to be 
 got over a strong feeling of dislike in her 
 friend to the old man, considering him only 
 as an acquaintance, which doubtless would 
 amount to abhorrence, if he were to be pro- 
 posed to her as a husband. The disparity 
 of age was not greater than the disparity of 
 disposition. Even could that natural feeling 
 be removed which disinclines the youthful 
 tasting the first rich draught of life to par- 
 take of the cup of another which hath nothing 
 left of it but the lees, the opposition of 
 thoughts and feelings, pursuits, habits, and 
 tastes is hardly possible to be overcome. 
 Doubtless there are some to be met with, 
 among womankind in general, who are pos- 
 sessed of that singular indifFerency which 
 renders them insensible of any preference, 
 and there can be no question divers aged 
 persons may be found more worthy the en- 
 tire love of the young heart than others of 
 fewer years, but these are extreme cases. 
 
 In the instance here given, nothing could 
 be more atrocious ; but the utter selfishness 
 of the crafty Millicent took no note of any 
 thing but her own base ends. She sold her 
 youthful acquaintance, and cared for nothing 
 in the wide world save the price she was to 
 obtain for the infamous bargain. 
 
 There was one thing in the aspect of 
 affairs, which she could not regard without 
 uneasiness. For objects of her own, she had 
 done all she could to foster the growth of 
 friendly feelings betwixt her betrothed and 
 her new lover ; this had led to a more than 
 ordinary affectionate intimacy in the young 
 men for each other ; but now, as she found 
 it more to her interest to wed the former, it 
 
 was requisite that she should put herself to 
 particular pains to lessen this attachment 
 It might, in spite of all her care to prevent 
 it, lead to so profound a confidence, that her 
 double-dealing and infamous views regard- 
 ing both would surely be discovered. 
 
 There was still a great obstacle, and this 
 was no other than the much-abused John 
 Hall. His love for the worthless creature 
 by whom he had been so played upon had, 
 by this time, become the better impulse of 
 his life. The frequent recourse she had to 
 mystery he had got so used to, that however 
 strange the matter might seem, he put it 
 down to her humor, and gave himself no 
 further concern in it 
 
 We will, however, with the reader's con- 
 ?ent, penetrate into another part of the same 
 tenement. This was the chamber in which 
 were made all the surgical and pharmaceu- 
 tical preparations wanted for Master Doctor 
 Posset's numerous patients. There were in 
 it the usual objects that make the vulgar 
 marvel when entering such places, to wit 
 the stuffed crocodile hanging from the ceil- 
 ing, a multitude of bottles and jars and galli- 
 pots of sundry sorts, with strange characters 
 marked upon them, a shelf of monstrosities 
 preserved in spirits, sundry bundles of sim- 
 ples hung up to dry, a nesl of drawers with 
 Latin names no each, a strong table with 
 vials, measures, weights, scales, knives, 
 scissors, pestles and mortars, and the like 
 necessary things, for the use of a chirurgeon; 
 and a large iron mortar, fixed on a huge 
 block of wood, with a famous ponderous pes- 
 tle of the same metal, stood in the centre of 
 the same chamber. 
 
 At the further end, opposite to a window, 
 was a stout chair for patients to sit in when 
 undergoing any operations. Close to it was 
 another table, containing basons and other 
 vessels for making infusions, decoctions, and 
 syrups ; with tape, plaster, bandages and 
 ointment-pots, for the dressing of wounds. 
 On one side was a chimney, where, on the 
 fire, in an open earthen pipkin, so:ne pre- 
 paration was simmering, intended as a re- 
 storative for a sick courtier, which was care- 
 fully watched by John Hall, who, ever and 
 anon, stirred it carefully with a ladle. 
 Leonard was engaged at the large table, 
 with an open book before him, weighing and 
 mixing together certain powders, and then 
 dividing them into small papers, for the bar- 
 ren wife of a gouty alderman. They were 
 intent upon a discussion connected with the 
 art they were studying, when they were in- 
 terrupted by the entrance of a gentleman 
 borne like unto a dead person in the arms 
 of Ned Allen and Will Kempe, whilst a
 
 120 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 crowd of players, among whom was Ben 
 Jonson, followed at their heels, with concern 
 and alarm depicted in all their countenances. 
 Even the humorous visage of Will Kempe 
 had a cast of melancholy that might even 
 have become one at a funeral. 
 
 The party were shown into an adjoining 
 chamber, used only by the Doctor for private 
 consultations with his patients, and the 
 person they had brought placed convenient 
 on a table. He gave no sign of life, which 
 the players did not fail to notice with an 
 increased length of visage. The physician 
 was hastily sent for, and all things were got 
 ready handy for his using plasters, band- 
 ages, and the like, with certain surgical- 
 looking knives and probing instruments, in 
 case an operation should be required. The 
 poor players scarcely breathed, they seemed 
 so frightened at this array, assured that the 
 danger must be imminent that called for such 
 ominous-looking things, and whispered to 
 one another brief sentences significatory of 
 the badness of the case. 
 
 At last Master Doctor came, not in the 
 best humor that his sleep should be disturb- 
 ed. Either by accident or design, a towel 
 had been thrown over the face of his patient, 
 so that he was not recognized by the Doctor. 
 The latter asking what had happened, he 
 was told that the poor gentleman who was 
 there in so pitiable a case, had given some 
 offence to Ben Jonson, which he could not 
 stomach ; so, making him draw, he attacked 
 him furiously, and, it was believed, had killed 
 him outright, for he presently dropped like 
 a stone at his feet, and had since given no 
 sign of life, save one or two most piteous 
 groans, that seemed to denote the utter rend- 
 ing of his soul from his body. 
 
 " 'Tis a sad case," said one. 
 
 "Indeed, 'tis most lamentable," added 
 another. 
 
 " Sblood !" exclaimed Ben Jonson, greatly 
 vexed, " am I also to have this poor gentle- 
 man's death at my door ? I had rather a 
 hundred pound I had never set eyes on him." 
 
 " Thou art ever of too hasty a spirit, Ben," 
 observed Master Allen, " and I doubt not it 
 will some day or other put thine own life in 
 jeopardy from the hands of the law." 
 
 " 1 fear it will go hard with Ben at As- 
 size," said another of the players gravely. 
 " The dead man's friends may pursue him 
 with such rigor, he may chance to find him- 
 self in nigh upon as bad a case himself." 
 
 " I fear hugely he his dead," said the first. 
 
 " Assuredly there is no room to doubt it," 
 replied a second. 
 
 All this time the doctor, assisted by his 
 apprentices, examined the body of the wound- 
 
 ed man very carefully ; but he lay stiff ana 
 motionless, as though all such care was 
 superfluous. 
 
 " Alack, poor gentleman !" exclaimed 
 Master Allen. 
 
 "Alack, indeed!" added Will Kempe. 
 
 Now the doctor, looking somewhat puz- 
 zled, felt the pulse of the dead man many 
 there present thinking such as unnecessary 
 a thing as could be ; and in a moment pulled 
 the towel off" his face. 
 
 " Captain Swashbuckler, o' my life !" he 
 cried in a monstrous surprise, as he caught 
 sight of his well known visage ; then, turn- 
 ing to the company, added, " Had I not seen 
 it with mine own eyes, I would not have 
 believed there were in the world such easy 
 gulls as those I now see before me. Be 
 assured, my masters, that the valiant Cap 
 tain hath received no wound of any sort, and 
 is at this present in as perfect health as ever 
 he was in his life." 
 
 " Why the cozening rascal !" 
 
 " Out on the pitiful knave 1" 
 
 " Get thee gone, thou intolerable base 
 trickster !" exclaimed the players. 
 
 " A goodly football, my masters !" cried 
 Will Kempe ; " and i' faith, we'll play a fine 
 game." Thereupon the poor captain, as he 
 found his trick discovered, and was for get- 
 ting out of the place as fast as he could, as 
 soon as he was on his legs, was sent forward 
 with a hearty kick by the last speaker, at 
 which he turned round to mark who did it ; 
 but had scarce done so, when he received 
 a like favor from Ben Jonson, given with so 
 fine a zeal he was thrust to the end of the 
 chamber. Nevertheless, his stay there was 
 exceeding brief; one of the players who had 
 recently been most concerned at his supposed 
 death propelled him from it forthwith, after 
 a fashion that was so quickly and closely 
 imitated, that he was soon thrust into the 
 street, amid the jeers and laughter of those 
 who had waited outside to learn whether the 
 wounded man was past cure. 
 
 Whilst the players were vigorously follow- 
 ing their game, John Hall was surprised by 
 the appearance of Simon Stockfish, with 
 whom, after one or two of their marvellous 
 brief speeches on either side he presently 
 left the house.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 His mirth was the pure spirit of various wit, 
 
 Yet never did his God or friends forget ; 
 
 And when deep talk and wisdom came in view, 
 Retired and gave to them their due. 
 
 For the rich help of books he always took, 
 Though his own searching mind before 
 Was so with notions written o'er, 
 
 As if wise nature had made that her book. 
 
 COWLEY. 
 
 THE tender-hearted Susanna had now the 
 full enjoyment of her own sweet will. She 
 was in constant and most loving attendance 
 upon the father, whom she regarded with so 
 1 dutiful an affection, to show which she had 
 put herself to a difficult and perilous jour- 
 ney, on foot and unattended save by the 
 courage of her own pure heart ; but though 
 she had escaped the knife of the assassin, 
 and was secure from the insults and rude 
 questioning of unmannerly strangers, she 
 had to meet with treatment of a far more 
 intolerable sort. 
 
 The mind of her sick father was a prey 
 to the fantasies of a wild delirium, the con- 
 stant theme of which was the ingratitude 
 of his daughters. On this he would ever 
 and anon dilate very movingly in especial 
 dwelling on the undutiful behavior of 
 his favorite Susanna, after so touching a 
 fashion, that the poor damsel, who was close 
 at hand, feared her heart would break, it did 
 touch her so deeply. Nevertheless, she 
 would on no account allow her feelings to 
 betray her ; so, keeping up a high heart, 
 albeit it was often a most aching one, she 
 busied herself in ministering night and day 
 to the wants of him who spoke of her so 
 hardly. 
 
 Sleep took she none, at least none of any 
 account, for at all hours she was to be found 
 playing the faithful nurse with such admira- 
 ble matchless skill, it was the marvel of all 
 who beheld it. The pillow was smoothed 
 for the aching head, the dampness wiped 
 from the burning brow ; the parched mouth 
 was kept moist with refreshing drinks, and 
 the burning skin bathed with cooling lo- 
 tions ; the various medicines were adminis- 
 tered to the patient by none but her hand ; 
 the little matters -of diet she herself prepared 
 and placed before him ; every comfort that 
 could be procured for one in his hapless 
 condition she obtained for him ; and it was 
 her musical voice that sought to make him, 
 as readily as might be, follow the directions 
 of his physician, and. the dictates of her 
 tender love. The words she spoke soothed 
 the sick nwn, but the voice he did not recog- 
 
 nize ; he appeared to understand^ the great 
 comfort of her careful nursing, but the once 
 loved form passed before him as that of a 
 stranger. 
 
 This was a sore trial to her, but she held 
 up bravely ; and none who saw the untiring 
 patience and sweetness of disposition with 
 which she fulfilled her office, could have 
 guessed how piercingly her poor heart ached 
 the while. 
 
 Her loving attentions were well seconded 
 by John Hall, whose assistance had been 
 hastily sought, with the fullest confidence in 
 its superiority over that of all other doctors 
 whatsoever, by his father's faithful follower, 
 Simon Stockfish. Together had they watch- 
 ed at the bedside of their suffering patient, 
 seeking to take immediate advantage of 
 every favorable symptom together had they 
 administered to his wants and provided for 
 his comforts. Surely had no man in the 
 like strait such great heed taken of him, as 
 had Master Shakspeare in this sharp sickness 
 of his. The young physician employed all 
 the resources of his art to conquer it, partly 
 to serve his humble friend, and in a great 
 measure from the deep interest he felt 
 in him whom he was attending. He soon 
 learned in what nearness of relation his 
 matchless nurse stood to him, and the frantic 
 declarations of the poor gentleman did inform 
 him sufficiently of how matters stood betwixt 
 them. This, as may be supposed, did not 
 in any way lessen his respect, or check his 
 sympathy. Indeed its effect was exactly 
 the reverse. Simon Stockfish also afforded 
 such service to his sick master as it was in 
 his power to perform, and did it with an 
 earnest affection and reverence which could 
 only be exceeded by the more ardent love of 
 his devoted daughter. These three in their 
 constant attendance followed their natural 
 inclinations, for they spoke marvellous little, 
 but it would have been difficult to have found 
 the like number of persons who, under any 
 circumstances felt one-half as much as they 
 did. 
 
 The chamber in which Master Shakspeare 
 lay was of a fair size and height as indeed 
 were all the principal ones throughout the 
 house one of the best in all Southwurk, it 
 having been, at no distant date, the mansion 
 of a person of worship, from whom Master 
 Shakspeare had bought it, with a great part 
 of its chattels and household gear. All 
 round was a goodly suit of tapestry hang- 
 ings, representing certain notable scenes and 
 adventures in the life of William the Con- 
 queror, with labels issuing from the mouths 
 f divers of the chief characters. A large
 
 122 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 window, or casement, which was thrown 
 open, gave a refreshing view of the green 
 trees of the adjoining gardens, whence the 
 small birds were heard twittering lustily 
 their cheerful chorus. Through an open 
 door, a view was got of part of the next 
 chamber, up to the window which over- 
 looked the street, with glimpses of its quaint- 
 ly-carved cupboard ; some one or two tall 
 chairs, having about them a cittern, a rapier, 
 and a hat and feather ; a table with a rich 
 coverlet, and its goodly burthen of books, 
 manuscripts, writing utensils, and other fur- 
 niture of a like sort. 
 
 On each side of the bed's head was a 
 stout arm-chair, wherein the watchers of the 
 sick man were wont to keep guard. There 
 was a small table at a convenient distance 
 from the casement, covered with a fair cloth 
 of damask, whereon was a mirror in an 
 ebony frame, with an antique vase of fresh 
 flowers before it, which were prettily imaged 
 in the glass, having on one side a crystal 
 bottle daintily figured over, and a large gob- 
 let of a like material and fashion on the 
 other, containing a delectable beverage for 
 the patient's own drinking ; whilst in a 
 china plate that stood betwixt them, in front 
 of the vase, were grapes and oranges, 
 whereof of the latter one was sliced ready 
 for his eating. In a corner adjoining were 
 the proper utensils for washing, and nigh 
 the fireplace was a table of polished oak, on 
 which were sundry bottles and vessels, and 
 all conveniences for the concocting of such 
 articles of diet and drink as were deemed 
 necessary for him ; and it was here that the 
 neat-handed Susanna was wont to prepare 
 them. 
 
 Elsewhere were other chairs, and also 
 other necessary furniture, the chief of which 
 waa a massive oaken press, for the contain- 
 ing of linen and wardrobe. The bedstead 
 was handsomely provided with all proper 
 matters of bedding, most conspicuous of 
 which was a rich counterpane, such as 
 adorned the beds of the wealthiest sort in 
 those days. With his head supported by 
 pillows, the occupant of this chamber was 
 there and then lying, his noble visage bear- 
 ing evident marks of the ravages of sick- 
 ness ; but, his beard and hair being new- 
 trimmed, and his face constantly and care- 
 fully refreshed with the necessary ablutions, 
 he showed no signs of that neglect in such 
 things which others less lovingly attended 
 never fail to exhibit. 
 
 John Hall and Simon Stockfish stood on 
 each side of him, regarding their charge 
 with a vigilant eye, yet even with more 
 
 seriousness than ordinary, for he was in one 
 of his raving moods, and it behoved them 
 to interpose when there was a likelihood of 
 his doing himself a mischief. And where 
 was the ever-watchful and loving Susanna ? 
 In honest truth, she had but turned her head 
 away to conceal a tear that came unbidden 
 to her eyes, through hearing the sharp re- 
 proaches which her fond, distracted father 
 did heap on her, whereof every word seemed 
 armed with a barb that pierced and tore her 
 sensitive heart to an agony insupportable. 
 She considered she had merited it all, hard 
 as it was to bear, for she loved her father 
 with such entireness, she could not believe 
 him capable, even in his distraction, of any 
 unkind behavior to her. Therefore was 
 she now raising a look to Heaven with so 
 strong an appeal in it, it could have been 
 withstood by nothing of mortal nature, her 
 beautiful figure supported by one hand lean- 
 ing heavily against the table, striving to re- 
 cover such composure of mind as would 
 allow her again to attend diligently to the 
 duties of her office. 
 
 But her brave spirit was soon to have its 
 fitting recompense. Her loving nursing had 
 in time its proper effect. The sick man 
 mended apace ; and be sure there were no 
 pains spared to hasten his recovery. But 
 greatly as she rejoiced and no imagination 
 can do justice to the exceeding exquisiteness 
 of her feelings, as she beheld this much- 
 desired improvement there was one conse- 
 quence attending on it which she allowed 
 with inBnite reluctance this was banish- 
 ment from the sick chamber. 
 
 From the many intolerable speeches she 
 had heard, she was painfully impressed with 
 the opinion that, when her dear father should 
 come to know her, it might perchance make 
 him worse, and he would be sure to bid her 
 begone for a disobedient daughter, that de- 
 served not the pleasure of attending upon 
 him. Therefore she kept herself in the next 
 chamber as privily as possible, albeit she 
 took good heed to have constant intelligence 
 of aught relating to the object of her so 
 much love that could be told her, and was 
 as busily engaged in providing tor his wants 
 and comforts as though she had remained 
 with him. 
 
 Whilst Master Shakspeare remained in 
 this deplorable state, and even from the first 
 notice of it that was bruited abroad, there 
 came to his lodging every day vast numbers 
 of persons, some his very good friends and 
 gossips, and others known unto him only by 
 the fame of his singular great worthiness, 
 and these were of various classes and cop
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 183 
 
 ditions, from the humblest drawer at " The 
 Mitre," or call-boy at " The Globe," with 
 whom his pleasant speech and libera hand 
 made him ever a monstrous favorite, to the 
 highest noble in the kingdom, who had en- 
 joyed many a well-spent hour in taking into 
 his mind the prodigal store of delightful 
 thoughts and images he had furnished in the 
 exercise of "his matchless talents. His 
 brother players, all the principal writers, the 
 most notable of the citizens, and the most 
 worthy of the courtiers, either came them- 
 selves or sent continually to inquire what 
 hopes were had of him ; and Simon Stock- 
 fish was, out of sheer necessity, forced to 
 abandon his humor of taciturnity somewhat, 
 he had such a horrible press of questions 
 forced upon him. 
 
 Of those who were most anxious in their 
 inquiries and most frequent in their visits 
 were Master Edward Allen and Sir George 
 Carew. Nothing could exceed the former's 
 concern at the pitiful plight to which his 
 assured friend had been reduced ; and he 
 straightway sent his excellent partner to 
 afford Susanna such advice and help as the 
 exigency of the case needed ; and well and 
 kindly did she fulfil his wishes. Sir George 
 was no less deeply interested in him, and 
 was continually bringing or sending such 
 things for his use as he thought might ad- 
 vance him in his recovery. To the marvel- 
 lous sweet satisfaction of all, as hath been 
 said, his worst symptoms left him. He grew 
 conscious of all that was being done, and 
 was evidently gaining strength rapidly. 
 One thing was in especial noticeable at this 
 time that he carefully avoided all manner 
 of allusion to his family. What was so re- 
 cently the one sole theme of his thoughts 
 and of his tongue, was now, as it were, 
 driven from both perchance from dread its 
 entertainment might induce the evil conse- 
 quences he was still smarting under. . 
 
 This state of things Sir George Carew 
 liked not at all, as it made a difficulty in 
 what he was waiting to venture on, on the 
 first favorable opportunity, which he knew 
 not how to get over. Nevertheless, the mat- 
 er he had undertaken could not be delayed ; 
 therefore, when the sick man grew suffi- 
 ciently hale to converse on ordinary topics, 
 he began, though not without some misgiv- 
 ing, to come to the point with him. Master 
 Shakspoaie was then dressed for the first 
 time since his sickness, and sitting in his 
 chair, leaning against a cushion, and in- 
 hafing the invigorating breeze that came 
 through the open casement, for it was a most 
 balmy day, that was like to till his mind 
 
 with all manner of healthy impressions. 
 His noble features still bore on them the 
 marks of sickness, but the old expression 
 of infinite good humor seemed forcing itself 
 through the painful gravity so deeply im- 
 pressed upon them. He was informing his 
 friend of all that he remembered of his re- 
 cent sufferings, and entered at length, and 
 not without some show of animation, into 
 certain fantasies, under the influence of 
 which he had spoken and acted. 
 
 " But what I can by no means satisfy my- 
 self of," said he, "is a marvellous powerful 
 impression my disordered senses have retain- 
 ed, touching a fair vision, by which I was 
 constantly visited during the fiercest stage 
 of my malady." 
 
 " A fair vision ! I warrant you now some 
 black-eyed wench," observed Sir George, 
 merrily. 
 
 " To the best of my memory, her eyes 
 were of no such color," replied Master 
 Shakspeare ; " but rather of the deep pure 
 blue, such as the heavens seem made of in 
 the sunniest weather. Indeed, she seemed 
 in her majestic motions, her youthful grace, 
 and most seraphic voice, a creature of the 
 skies, rather than of the earth." 
 
 " Prythee say no more of her by way of 
 description, Will, for my mouth waters vil- 
 lanously," said his friend, in his usual cheer- 
 ful humor. " But, what was her errand ? 
 doubtless, she took your heart into her keep- 
 ing without more ado, and proclaimed you 
 to be her sworn servant." 
 
 " Her errand was that of a ministering 
 angel," answered the other, fervently. " She 
 soothed my pains, she created my comforts ; 
 her delicate hand smoothed my pillow ; her 
 loving eyes watched my rest. All that I 
 knew of ease, or comfort, or satisfaction of 
 any sort, seemed to come at her command- 
 ment, and was provided by her care." 
 
 " A golden girl, truly !" exclaimed Sir 
 George, right heartily. "Had she ever a 
 sister ?" 
 
 " I fear not," replied his friend ; " I can- 
 not think there can be two of such a sort. 
 But I know not how it was of a sudden I 
 missed her. 1 felt no more her dainty hand 
 upon my fevered brow ; I heard no more the 
 gentle rustling of her dress, or the scarce 
 audible sound of her light footsteps, as she 
 glided like a creature of air about my cham- 
 ber ; and her soft voice, every tone of which 
 1 was the delicatest music, I listened for in 
 vain. In brief, the deprivation of this looked 
 so intolerable, notwithstanding I was con- 
 scious of greatly amended health, that more 
 than once I felt disposed to have endured
 
 124 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 the full fierceness of my malady, to have 
 enjoyed again the wondrous solace I found 
 in this exquisite vision." 
 
 " Saw you nothing in the features of this 
 matchless creature, familiar to you ?" in- 
 quired Sir George, in a more earnest tone" 
 than he had hitherto used. 
 
 " Nothing," replied Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " They in no way reminded you of, in no 
 long time since, the chief object of your 
 love and worship, your own fair daughter 
 Susanna ?" asked his companion ; whereat 
 the other seemed greatly moved, and could 
 not for some lapse of time answer the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " I pray you, Sir George," he at last said, 
 evidently with some difficulty of utterance, 
 " out of the especial regard you have had 
 for me so long, never more to mention to me 
 that unworthy name." 
 
 " That can I not promise, Master Shak- 
 speare," said Sir George, gravely. " In 
 sooth, I must needs have your serious atten- 
 tion to much in which that name is nearly 
 concerned." 
 
 " Torture not a bruised spirit !" cried his 
 companion, greatly excited ; " I cannot heed 
 you. I am in no way capable of enduring 
 any allusion to one by whose horrible diso- 
 bediency and ingratitude I have been so 
 sorely tried." 
 
 " Hear me this once," urged his friend. 
 " For be assured I have that to tell which is 
 worth your hearing." Master Shakspeare 
 said not a word, but, with a distracted sort of 
 gesture, seemed to say he would have none 
 of it. " You have spoken of disobediency 
 and ingratitude," continued Sir George. 
 " These are bitter charges to make against 
 a child. Suppose, now, for a moment, they 
 should be without any manner of warrant. 
 Suppose that the very child thus villanously 
 accused should, at the imminent hazard of 
 her life, and, despite all difficulties in the 
 way of sucli an undertaking, as soon as she 
 got knowledge that the father she so dearly 
 loved she cared not to suffer a thousand 
 deaths to prove it was sick of a fever, and 
 like to die in a city several days journey 
 from her, she set off afoot, and, unattended, 
 travelled through a strange country, every 
 step of which was attended with perils 
 enough to daunt the" most courageous of her 
 sex; and, pfter enduring and triumphing 
 over all with unheard of constancy and pa- 
 tionce, made her way to his sick room, 
 where night and day she fulfilled the tender 
 ollice of nurse, with a sweetness of dispo- 
 sition and entireness of devotion, which 
 made all marvel to see her. Suppose now 
 that the blessed creature, you thought was 
 
 the offspring of a disordered brain, was ir 
 truth no vision at all, but a real and palpa- 
 ble being, gifted with all the noblest graces 
 of womanhood, who did keep watch and 
 ward, and tended over you like a minister- 
 ing angel, as you have saidj and suppose this 
 matchless creature of such infinite perfec- 
 tion was no other than the much-abused 
 Susanna what say you then ^' 
 
 Master Shakspeare had listened to this 
 strange speech with increasing interest, till 
 interest grew to amazement, and amazement 
 became a wild, bewildering phrenzy of ex- 
 citement, that could keep within no bounds. 
 As soon as he could find speech, he ex- 
 claimed, very urgently, " Can this be true ?" 
 
 " Ay, on mine honor and life, is it, every 
 word !" replied the other. 
 
 " Where is she ? Bring her to me. I 
 pray you let a fond father have the satisfac- 
 tion of holding her to his heart." He had 
 scarce said the words, when Susanna, who 
 had previously been placed in the adjoining 
 chamber in readiness, rushed into his arms. 
 
 Her joy was not loud, but unfathomably 
 deep. She laid her head upon his breast, 
 and wept. He disturbed her not, but ever 
 and anon seemed to draw her to him with a 
 firmer pressure, as if to assure himself she 
 was still in his embrace. All this while 
 they were alone, for Sir George Carew had 
 suddenly slipped away when he had secured 
 his desired end. 
 
 With the happy Susanna, all cares and 
 pains were now in as perfect an oblivion as 
 though they had never existed. She felt 
 herself richly rewarded for whatever had 
 been thrust upon her, which seemed hard to 
 bear, and would readily have undertaken a 
 much more hazardous enterprise than her 
 long terrible journey, to have secured but 
 half the priceless satisfaction that she now 
 possessed. She was assured her dear and 
 honored father did not regard her as one un- 
 mindful of his love : nay, there was a most 
 flattering conviction she had that share in 
 his heart she had so long coveted. With 
 such impressions, she thought no evil could 
 touch her no pain annoy her neither vex- 
 ation, nor sorrow, nor doubt, nor fear, trouble 
 her under any circumstances. 
 
 But the so late unhappy father, how took 
 he the gaining of this incomparable pleas- 
 ing knowledge ? As a bird escaping an 
 unwholesome cage to the grandsome free- 
 dom of the invigorating air. He experi- 
 enced feelings to which he had long been a 
 stranger, and his breast became lightened 
 of a most weary load. He made his fond 
 and dutiful daughter tell over and over again 
 all her various adventures, from the com-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 125 
 
 mencement of her brave journey up to the 
 present hour ; and much he marvelled, and 
 greatly he praised, as he listened to her sim- 
 ple narrative. 
 
 The discovery that he had met with a 
 heart truly devoted to him, that would, with 
 a prodigality of affection akin to his own, 
 pay him back his love with an interest that 
 smacked largely of usury, was undoubtedly 
 a wonderful blessing to him. Its effect on 
 his health savored of a miracle. He gain- 
 ed strength and spirits so fast, that the happy 
 change was visible to the dullest eye ; and 
 of the numbers who hailed it with genuine 
 pleasure, it was evident in none so strongly 
 as in the doating Susanna, the attentive 
 John Hall, and the faithful Simon Stockfish. 
 Of the two latter, the young physician was 
 looked on as one, for his absolute painstaking, 
 deserving especial gratitude, and this be 
 sure was shown him in exceeding liberal 
 measure ; whilst his attached follower, from 
 that time, was regarded by him as certain a 
 fixture in his household as the most stable 
 thing in it. 
 
 It chanced, however^ ere he was scarce 
 well recovered of his sickness, that he had 
 another subject presented to his thoughts, to 
 which they seemed to cling with a prodigious 
 powerful hold, and this was caused by his 
 receiving, in a close and mysterious manner, 
 the following letter : 
 
 " By a trusty intelligencer, I heard of 
 your lamentable sickness, and have since 
 learned, with singular satisfaction, of your 
 assured recovery. This I am desirous of 
 hastening and securing as much as possible, 
 and with such a view I bid you prepare to 
 take the charge on yourself already men- 
 tioned to you. W. H. is a youth of quick 
 parts, and is kindly disposed to all whom he 
 believes mean well towards him ; yet in his 
 disposition so unstable, he requires constant 
 directing to prevent him going greatly astray 
 whenever he may think lie finds proper ex- 
 ample for it. All is ordered for your and 
 his sufficient accommodation. Methinks I 
 need not commend him to you. I feel well 
 assured you are prepared to satisfy me in 
 all things relating to him, to yourself, and to 
 me. Make then what despatch you can in 
 your own affairs, so as, with only such 
 slight delay as cannot be helped, you may 
 be able to transport yourself to where the 
 pure bright atmosphere of Italian skies is 
 like to afford you the health and strength 
 most urgently desired by your well-wishers ; 
 among whom not the least sincere, let there 
 be ranked, 
 
 " Your fast friend, and her own enemy." 
 
 Master Shakspeare pondered on the con- 
 tents of this long and deeply. It stirred a 
 current of feeling, which, though carefully 
 hid from all obervance, was the strongest in 
 his nature. Powerful as it was, it was 
 wonderfully sweet and delectable ; a sort of 
 delicate intoxication, as it were, that ex- 
 cited the senses into a wild, ecstatic delirium, 
 that thrust aside all common matters of life 
 as unworthy of any account. That he most 
 passionately, and with a wondrous earnest- 
 ness of devotion, loved the fair writer of this 
 letter, there can be no denying ; it was 
 scarce in the ordinary nature of things that 
 he could avoid this, considering how singu- 
 larly choice a pattern she was of all womarily 
 excellence ; admirable in form, and more 
 admirable than all in the exquisite worthi- 
 ness of her heart ; and this matchless com- 
 bination of rare qualities had regarded the 
 intellectual graces of his exalted character 
 under circumstances that appealed most 
 irresistibly to her sympathies, and had 
 showed her appreciation of him in a manner 
 too flattering not to touch the heart of one 
 so exceedingly sensitive of kindly offices. 
 
 This love, be it remembered, must not be 
 classed with the selfish passion which usu- 
 ally goeth by that name. Here, in both 
 parties, it was the better impulses of deep 
 feeling, exalted by the constant operation 
 of high intellect. It was an adoration or 
 soul worship, wherein the moral and intel- 
 ligent being was wondrous powerfully ope- 
 rated upon by a like intensity of the moral 
 and intellectual quality in another. I will 
 not say that physical beauty had no hand in 
 it, for where it exists it cannot help but 
 make its due impression on the nature pre- 
 pared to receive it ; but as the channel 
 through which its impressions were con- 
 veyed was completely under the influence 
 of the mind and heart, each acting upon the 
 other, it standeth to reason that whatever 
 was physical got so idealised and moral- 
 ised in its course as to be regarded only in 
 its best and most ennobling aspect. 
 
 Master Shakspeare loved this noble lady 
 then after the same fashion that singular 
 choice poet, Petrarch, loved his inestimable 
 sweet mistress, the Lady Laura. He loved 
 her, as it is familiarly said, with all his 
 heartand, an excellent addition, with all 
 bis mind also. There is no manner of doubt 
 this was a marvellous sum. But he loved 
 not her alone ; he loved whatever belonged 
 to her with a like prodigal extravagance, 
 and this his promised intimacy with W. H. 
 seemed particularly to call forth his loving 
 feelings. Nevertheless, though he might
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 indulge in private to what extent he pleased 
 in this his fond devotion, he knew, before 
 the public eye, he must be intent on noth- 
 ing so much as showing his indifferency, 
 arid therefore he sought to school his affec- 
 tions with a severity such as the absolute- 
 ness of the occasion called for. 
 
 On the perusal of the foregoing communi- 
 cation, his thoughts took an excursive flight 
 rising high in that elevated region where 
 whatever is pure and noble is readily found, 
 a ad floating long among the crowd of great 
 and worthy images that properly belong to 
 it. His present mood was one admirably 
 adapted for the ready creation of those 
 thoughts and feelings which are called and 
 considered poetry ; which, with one whose 
 whole being was constituted of this choice 
 quality, cannot seem singular : thereupon 
 he suddenly took pen in hand, and presently 
 wrote down the following succession of 
 verses. 
 
 THE LOVER TURNED MERCHANT- 
 
 The thriving merchant, moved by former gains, 
 
 Doth readily his venturous trade increase, 
 Taking such wondrous pleasure in his pains, 
 
 As though his good fortune was ne'er to 
 
 cease. 
 Day after day doth find him grow more bold 
 
 He sends out merchandise of ev'ry sort, 
 And sees his ships, heavy with silk and gold, 
 
 Amber and gems, float proudly into port. 
 He adds, he doubles, trebles ev'ry chance, 
 
 And doubled, trebled, every chance returns ; 
 At last, his huge wealth hugely to enhance, 
 
 He ventures all his store : this Fortune 
 
 spurns, 
 
 Scatt'ring it to the winds in divers ways, 
 And leaving him a bankrupt all his days. 
 
 I fear me much my goods I do embark 
 
 In traffic no less hazardous and blind, 
 Albeit though pounds at least for ev'ry mark 
 
 I in my ventures rarely fail to find. 
 A TV! by such profit have I been led on 
 
 To make my chances greater than before, 
 Whilst tears that held me back at first are gone, 
 
 And I am thrust on risking more and more. 
 Within my warehouse, all in swelling piles, 
 
 My stores are garnered, making a fair show ; 
 That proveth how man fares when Fortune 
 smiles, 
 
 And what vast increase her adventurers 
 
 know. 
 
 Yet am I not content a sumless gain 
 Tempts me to risk the heaps which there re- 
 main. 
 
 m. 
 
 At first I sent forth but an humble freight, 
 
 Of admiration void of flatt'ring gloss ; 
 \nd in the venture my ambition's height 
 Was but to be secured from heavy loss. 
 When proper time elapsed, my ship came in 
 
 With a fair cargo of sincere, esteem, 
 Which so well paid me, I was moved to win 
 More large returns with what should worthier 
 
 seem. 
 Straightway I fell to gathering what I had 
 
 Of courteous sentiment and gallant speech, 
 Then put them forth, and, with a heart right 
 
 glad, 
 Gained kindly thoughts in rich return for 
 
 each, 
 
 Next on my gladdened feelings I laid hand, 
 And found, well pleased, they were in good de- 
 mand. 
 
 IV. 
 My traffic flourished and, now bolder grown 
 
 I ventured on a precious store of hope ; 
 The which, in sooth, I ne'er had called mine 
 
 own, 
 
 Had not my ends attained so wide a scope. 
 I scarce was sure my good ship held her course, 
 When I had notice she -was coming back, 
 So richly laden, merchants on the Bourse 
 Might deem her of the seas the Queen Car 
 
 rack. 
 Thus bountifully gifted, an invoice 
 
 I then made out " Item. A rare supply 
 Of strong affections, very pure and choice." 
 
 Wherewith my ships sailed onward gallantly. 
 They owned when next they to their anchorage 
 
 drew, 
 The treasures of the old world and the new ! 
 
 Is this similitude too finely drawn 1 
 
 Smacks it not roundly of the poet's dream? 
 Nay, 'tis so true, I'd put my heart in pawn, 
 
 I've done scant justice to the worthy theme. 
 For what, in honesty, can poor words do 
 
 The profit I have lit on to express? 
 What bravest speech sufficiently pake true 
 
 The prodigal source which gave to such ex- 
 cess? 
 Ah, my heart's queen ! but little reck the crowd 
 
 The heaped abundance of all goodly things, 
 Which in thy matchless nature stands avowed, 
 
 Which from thy bounteous heart uncounted 
 
 springs ; 
 E'en the blest few to whom thou dost come 
 
 forth, 
 Have not intelligence of half thy worth. 
 
 I speak not of the crisped gold that waves 
 Its glorious treasure o'er thy noble brow ; 
 
 Or of the pearls lodged in their coral caves, 
 Whose smiling glimpses glad me even now ;
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 127 
 
 Nor speak I of those gems of sumless price, 
 
 Worthy the proudest spot in HeaVn's blue 
 
 zone, 
 That, without foil or other artifice, 
 
 Can dim the lustre of the rarest stone. 
 I look not to the sun that untold lies 
 
 In ev'ry curve of thy fair arm and hand ; 
 The African might gaze with wild surprise 
 
 To see such store of ivory in the land 
 For with such cosily gifts doth Nature grace 
 Those in her court who hold the highest place. 
 
 'Tis not of outward bravery I speak, 
 
 That doth not enter into this account ; 
 For the most rounded bust or rosy cheek , 
 
 Which e'er hath made the eager blood to 
 
 mount 
 In the wrapt lover's veins, must in its time 
 
 Be turned to dust. There doth exist 
 A beauty boasting a perpetual prime, 
 
 That the Destroyer's sythe hath ever missed. 
 Age lays no wrinkle on its fair aspect, 
 
 Its sweet complexion ne'er was known to 
 
 fade, 
 
 It steals no grace from gauds wherewith 'tis 
 decked ; 
 
 From cunning art it never looks for aid. 
 This quality, of such great eminence, 
 Hath for its name and title " EXCELLENCE." 
 
 vm. 
 
 Herein we find a wondrous aggregate 
 
 Of every gift that clothes humanity ; 
 Where noblest hopes and kindest wishes wait 
 
 Where charitable thoughts are standing by. 
 There VIRTUE prospers there in worthiest 
 guise, 
 
 HONOR with stately mien doth glance around ; 
 There PITY seeks to dry her tearful eyes, 
 
 And MODESTY looks blushing to the ground ; 
 There sits RELIGION with a brow serene, 
 
 And calm-eyed JUSTICE eloquently grave, 
 Whilst meek OBEDIENCE so rarely seen, 
 
 With TEMPERANCE a quiet nook doth crave. 
 And breathing round a soul-entrancing thrall, 
 LOVE, with a regal power, ennobles all. 
 
 DC. 
 
 Such is the marvellous goodness of her heart ! 
 But of her mind snatch from a seraph's 
 
 wing, 
 A quill, and fashioned by the scholar's art 
 
 Dip it in truth's most delectable spring : 
 Where should we find a tablet large enough 
 
 To hold its worthiness save Heav"n itself? 
 (Forced though I be to put it in the rough, 
 I'll lodge the abstract on my heart's first 
 
 shelf.) 
 There WIT on honest fellowship is bent, 
 
 And LEARNING reaps where most are feign 
 to lease ; 
 
 There THOUGHT is great with child of Good 
 
 Intent, 
 Where WISDOM, the grave mid-wife, takea 
 
 her ease. 
 There JUDGMENT, FANCY, TASTE, and GENIUS 
 
 dwell, 
 And do become their lodging passing well. 
 
 In traffic like the merchant Prince of old, 
 
 A very Croesus in her treasury, 
 Hath she not funds to pay a thousand fold, 
 
 For whatsoever I would have her buy ? 
 Ay, with such gen'rous spirit doth she trade, 
 
 It seems you cannot greatly sink your store ; 
 And with the wondrous profit I have made 
 
 I well may hope to better me still more. 
 Like a successful gambler do I pause, 
 
 Exulting in my winnings. " On ! still on ! 
 Once more be swayed by Fortune's crooked 
 laws, 
 
 Great gains remain all comes or all ia 
 
 gone !" 
 
 Shall I seek ruin, in th' increase I crave, 
 Or rest me now, content with what I have ? 
 
 XI. 
 
 Down, ye insatiate longings ! Hence, avaunt 
 
 All covetous influences ! In vain 
 With eager restless impulses ye haunt 
 
 The secret chambers of my heart and brain ! 
 Have I not gained a gracious competence 
 
 In this adventurous barter of the soul ? 
 And shall I do my worth such huge offence, 
 
 When blessed with part, to hunger for the 
 
 whole 1 
 
 Nay, let such selfish ends be thrust aside, 
 As very mire that muddles the pure fount. 
 We have sufficiently the traffic tried , 
 
 Let us, like honest merchants, close th' ac- 
 count ; 
 
 And should there be a balance small or large, 
 Let each to the other grant a full discharge. 
 
 I But think not, bounteous spirit, I withdraw 
 
 From thy fond dealings, here to make an end : 
 Conscience, a sworn accountant, learn'd in law, 
 
 Is in this matter pleased to stand my friend : 
 And sheweth me a way where without ill 
 
 I can my grateful feelings cultivate ; 
 Whereof to take advantage is my will, 
 
 And shall my study be, early and late. 
 Trust me, that nei'her damp, decay, nor moth, 
 
 Shall ever touch my precious merchandize ; 
 Nor shall there be a sign of ease, or sloth 
 
 In my behavior when this change shall rise. 
 I shall have constant use for all my store, 
 And in its care be busier than before. 
 
 Then farewell, honorablest of all thy kind, 
 Epitome of Heav'n, for earth to grace !
 
 128 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Farewell, thou trusty heart thou noble mind, 
 
 Thou exquisite in nature as in face ! 
 Farewell the bounteous hand, whose princely 
 aims, 
 
 Were not more fair than is its dazzling hue ; 
 Farewell the seraph tongue, whose music claims 
 
 More soul-subduing power than Orpheus 
 
 knew. 
 Oh, what a sum of sweetest womanhood 
 
 Makes the grand total of thy worthiness ! 
 How vast a heap of all things great and good 
 
 Doth in thine excellence upon me press ! 
 Blessings, and happiness too great to tell, 
 Be ever in. thy path Farewell! Farewell ! 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Such is her beauty as no arts 
 Have enriched with borrowed grace ; 
 Her high birth no pride imparts, 
 For she blushes in her place. 
 
 Folly boasts a glorious blood 
 
 She is noblest, being good. 
 
 HABINGTON. 
 
 MASTER SHAKSFEARE had by this got so 
 far towards recovery as to be able to resume 
 his ordinary duties and employments; and, 
 being busy in the bringing out of the new 
 play at " The Globe," his mind had no time 
 to dwell upon any troublesome matter like 
 to disturb his peace. He had many very 
 liberal arrangements for the comfort of those 
 of his family remaining at Shottery, the 
 knowledge whereof doubtless gave him great 
 contentation ; but the gentle and faithful 
 Susannai still abode with him, one cause of 
 which was, that he had grown so attached 
 to her, he delayed parting with her till the 
 last moment ; and another was, he knew not 
 for the best how to dispose of her during 
 his travels, for he doubted she would live in 
 any sort of comfort if she returned to the 
 cottage, and he was undecided where else 
 phe could be placed with satisfaction to her- 
 solf and him. 
 
 The subject of the new play he had taken 
 from Scottish ,story, in compliment to the 
 Scottish king, his own sovereign ; and he 
 was earnest to have it brought out with as 
 little delay as might be, as the time was fast 
 approaching when he was to leave England, 
 in charge of one of whom he could never 
 think without emotions of the tenderest sort. 
 It was now complete, and ready for the 
 players ; but, before he gave it for perform- 
 ance, he must needs try if it wanted not 
 any finishing toacb.es, and he did so after 
 this fashion: IIo sat in his chair in a 
 
 thoughtful attitude, with Susanna over- 
 against him, reading aloud from his MS. 
 She, pleased to be so employed, went through 
 her task very lovingly, and, with a sweet, 
 womanly voice, did give such melody to the 
 vigorous lines, that the author felt himself 
 much better content with his work than he 
 had before been, and greatly did he marvel 
 at the excellent rare judgment and taste dis- 
 played by the reader, as she entered into the 
 spirit of that especial masterpiece of the 
 writer's genius. 
 
 Of a surety, it made a most admirable, 
 loving picture the father and daughter so 
 employed, set off, as their figures were, by 
 their brave apparelling, and surrounded by 
 the picturesque furniture of the chamber 'in 
 which they sat ; and the understanding 
 spectator, had he seen, could not have failed 
 to have noticed how much the pleased ex- 
 citement in the reader, and the gratified 
 pride in the listener, did add to the expres- 
 sion of their noble countenances. Susanna 
 had scarce finished her task, which, in se- 
 cret she thought much too soon an opinion 
 shared by her delighted parent when Sir 
 George Carew entered, and, after saluting 
 the blushing Susanna, with an air a much 
 younger gallant might have envied, and 
 cordially congratulating his friend on his 
 greatly improved looks, he at once opened 
 on his errand. This was no other than to 
 inform his old acquaintance that he had 
 been appointed ambassador to the court of 
 France whereupon he received congratu- 
 lations no less hearty than awhile since he 
 had bestowed. He went on to say he had 
 a project in his mind, which not only him- 
 self but Lady Carew had set her heart on, 
 that Master Sha,kspeare could alone effec- 
 tually help him to. On hearing this, the 
 other lost no time in assuring him his poor 
 services were ever at his disposal, and that 
 he should be infinitely glad to be a means 
 for securing him and his sweet lady their 
 several desires. 
 
 On this assurance, Sir George proceeded 
 to state that he had thought very much of 
 late of " his dear mistress" as he styled 
 his friend's daughter and that the sorrow of 
 parting with one he affected so deeply was 
 so great he could by no means be brought 
 to endure it, and that it did seem an especial 
 hard case that so true and well-disposed a 
 servant as was he should be debarred the 
 exquisite sweet content he had been used 
 to nd in his dear mistress's delectable com- 
 pany indeed it was altogether intolerable, 
 and not to be borne so that, after much 
 debate on the matter with Lady Carew, it 
 had been decided that the latter should in-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 129 
 
 vite hia dear mistress to accompany her to 
 Paris, where it was earnestly desired she 
 might be allowed to stay under her honora- 
 ble guardianship, whilst the worthy gentle- 
 man, her father, proceeded on his travels till 
 he reached Paris on his return home. 
 
 During this sportive speech, which want- 
 ed no grace the courtier could bestow upon 
 it, was in course of utterance, Susanna 
 turned a rosy red, and her eyes did flash 
 very prettily, as much at the conceit of it, 
 as at the exceeding pleasant prospect it 
 opened ; and her father could not conceal 
 the extent of his satisfaction for the propo- 
 sal was what he had never dared to hope 
 for it was such an unlooked-for honor; 
 yet nothing could have come so seasonably, 
 seeing that he had been at a loss, for some 
 time past, to dispose of her during his ab- 
 sence from England. Therefore, with a 
 heart-felt thankfulness for so agreeable a 
 proof of his consideration, he gladly agreed 
 to such a disposition of his faithful Susan- 
 na, and soon got her to express her conten- 
 tation at it, though she did so with that dif- 
 fidence the nature and extent of the obliga- 
 tion could not fail of creating. 
 
 After this, in an excellent, pleasant hu- 
 mor, the two friends fell to discussing the 
 state of the French king, Henry the Fourth's 
 court, and Sir George promised both his 
 companions he would take care they should 
 both have a proper knowledge of it, of the 
 gallant Henri Quatre, of the stately Marie 
 de Medicis, of the grave and politic De Ros- 
 ni, and of all the other notable characters 
 there to be found. 
 
 " But," said he, in his own cheerful hu- 
 mor, " 'tis of another Henry you must now 
 think of making the acquaintance, who 
 bids fair to rival the French king in all his 
 more sterling qualities." Then, seeing the 
 other looked puzzled, he added, " I speak of 
 our promising young Prince of Wales, than 
 whom a more honorable, noble nature never 
 breathed in this world ; and for the proper 
 qualities of a gentleman, as to learning, 
 carriage, and the use of arms, I kno - v not 
 where to find his peer. In some discourse 
 with him I had yesterday at HampVm Court, 
 where he is staying, he chanced to make 
 a.n allusion to yourself, and, being of a mar- 
 vellous inquiring mind, put to me a vast 
 number of questions concerning you and 
 your writings, of which he appeareth to have 
 a fair knowledge. I answered him in such 
 sort, acquainting him with your intended 
 journey, that he commanded me to bring 
 you to him without fail this morning ; there- 
 fore you must e'en surrender yourself at 
 once, and away with you to Hampton Court, 
 9 " 
 
 for which journey I have taken care to pro- 
 vide horaes ready for our riding." 
 
 Master Shakspeare expressed his willing- 
 ness to be gone on the instant ; and, alter 
 making certain arrangements regarding his 
 new play the necessity of its speedy perfor- 
 mance required, he left the house, accom- 
 panied by his assured friend, but not till the 
 latter had made many gallant speeches to 
 the fair Susanna, with a devotedness wor- 
 thy of the perfectest example of knighthood 
 in the most chivalrous times ; and in a lit- 
 tle while they were both riding together in 
 the direction of Hampton Court, followed at 
 a respectful distance by several mounted 
 serving-men of Sir George Carew's, in 
 their coats and badges. 
 
 " I hugely mislike the complexion of this 
 trial of my right noble friend, Sir Walter 
 Raleigh," observed Master Shakspeare in a 
 confidential tone. "I am assured he is 
 much too wise a man to have been guilty 
 of the practices attributed to him, and his 
 unworthy associate the Lord Cobham. I 
 have heard from a trusty intelligencer that 
 Cecil poisoned the king's ear against him 
 before his coming to the throne, out of jeal- 
 ousy of his greater virtues and talents; 
 and, having completely abused the king's 
 mind, so that he could not endure the sight 
 of him, notwithstanding his surpassing ex- 
 cellency, both as a soldier and a scholar 
 more securely to get rid of him, he devised 
 this incredible charge of treason, and had 
 him sent to the Tower, where he now is a 
 close prisoner." 
 
 " I know not how this may be, Will," 
 said Sir George, somewhat reservedly ; 
 " but this I do know, that if any of Cecil's 
 spies be abroad, who are said to hear every 
 thing, you stand an exceeding fair chance 
 of sharing his imprisonment for what you 
 have just said ; and, indeed, if you escape 
 being cast for a traitor, you will be in bet- 
 ter fortune than many others in a like con- 
 dition." 
 
 "Doubtless," replied his friend. "Yet 
 there is warrant for my safety that I am not 
 a rival, or am like to be one. In sooth, to 
 tell you my exact sentiments, I like not 
 much that has been done at court of late." 
 
 " Neither do I, Will," said the other, in 
 a like confidential manner. " And in all 
 honesty I have sought this appointment, 
 that I might not continually see what I 
 cannot but disapprove." 
 
 " I would have sworn as much," observed 
 Master Shakspeare ; then, after a pause, 
 asked : " Holds the king still to his minion 
 Carr ?" 
 
 " Ay, with fonder conceit than ever," an
 
 130 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 swered he. " This shallow popinjay not 
 only hath no one merit to entitle him to be 
 preferred over the heads of the bravest and 
 best that peek the king's service, but he hath 
 a marvellous ill reputation, that is like to 
 dishonor all with whom he may chance to 
 get connected." 
 
 " And our sweet young prince, how takes 
 he such undue preference ?" 
 
 " He is too deeply intent upon his various 
 studies to heed greatly what is going on 
 around him ; nevertheless, his carelessness 
 in this matter is not like to do him any sort 
 of .service where it should be most ef- 
 fective." 
 
 " How so, Sir George ?" 
 
 " Truly, after this fashion, Will. He is 
 already gaining to him the general voices, 
 for which his many admirable sweet quali- 
 ties are sufficient warrant, and not without 
 some comparisons in no way pleasing to the 
 principal subject of them. Now a displea- 
 sure so created will greedily be taken ad- 
 vantage of by those who feel assured they 
 can make their advantage of it, and I fear 
 me much he will hardly escape some terri- 
 ble mischief, however discreet may be his 
 carriage." 
 
 " Like enough. But Heaven preserve 
 our fair young prince from all such evils!" 
 
 " Amen, with all my heart, Will !" 
 
 By this time they had rode so far, all the 
 beauties of the country were fairly display- 
 ed before them, and greatly it delighted both 
 travellers to see the farms which lay on 
 every side, with here and there a windmill, 
 a group of hay stacks, and a goodly man- 
 sion, till they came to the villages on their 
 way. They beheld much which excited 
 their observation in the groups they passed, 
 which were of singular variety, from per- 
 sons of the highest authority and worship, 
 going or returning from the court, with such 
 speed and state as bespoke the greatness of 
 their business, to those of the humblest call- 
 ing, who trudged quietly along, with a per- 
 fect indifferency of all their prouder way- 
 farers evidently held in such huge estima- 
 tion ; and much was said by them of very 
 excellent purport ; but, when they had reach- 
 ed the neighborhood of Hampton, and saw 
 spread before them, as in a picture, the live- 
 ly beauties of all that part of the pleasant 
 county of Surrey, though each had beheld 
 them scores of times before, they frequently 
 stopped their horses the better to admire 
 them, and warm were the commendations 
 both expressed. 
 
 Nor did the magnificence of the building 
 they were approaching escape without a 
 due share of admiration, and before they 
 
 ' entered its walls many a pleasant anecdote 
 
 1 and many an interesting history had been 
 told of the gay doings they had witnessed 
 frond the stately days of Cardinal Wolsey, 
 to a date much nearer their own experience. 
 And thus it was Master Shakspeare made 
 himself so singularly well liked wherever 
 he went, either affording entertainment from 
 the bounteous stores of his own mind, or 
 eliciting it by judicious questioning from 
 such as could dispense it, yet lacked incli- 
 nation, that his company was ever eagerly 
 
 j sought after by any who had once enjoyed 
 the opportunity of knowing how profitable 
 it was. 
 
 In the courtyard were men waiting with 
 horses, dogs, hawks, statues, pictures, books, 
 armor, and weapons, and divers other things, 
 hoping to find a purchaser in their liberal 
 young prince. 
 
 After giving their horses to the grooms, 
 they advanced into the house together, un- 
 checked by the porters and guards standing 
 with their halberts about the entrance, 
 whose duty it was to see none had admis- 
 sion who came not by proper authority, for 
 this especial reason Sir George Carew, 
 being so well known there, any gentleman 
 in his company would be sure to pass un- 
 questioned. But, on their reaching the re- 
 ception-room, Sir George was speedily ac- 
 costed by one of the grooms of the chamber, 
 who, on hearing the other's errand, cour- 
 teously bade him wait with his friend 
 amongst the company, with which the place 
 
 ,seemed well crowded, whilst he went to ac- 
 quaint the Prince of Wales of his coming. 
 " Surely, that is my Lady Countess of 
 Essex !" exclaimed Master Shakspeare, as 
 they stood together, where they could have 
 a good view of the company. 
 
 "My Lady Countess that was, Will," 
 whispered his friend. " She hath succeed- 
 ed, Heaven only knoweth by what arts, in 
 getting a divorce from her husband, on 
 whom, as I am credibly informed, by devil- 
 ish practices, she hath infamously imposed 
 ever sii ce they married." 
 
 " I have heard the like," answered Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare ; " in especial of her deal- 
 ings for chai us and drugs, by the help of 
 which she might effect her horrible purpose. 
 Yet to look at her, as she stands there so 
 bravely apparelled, dealing out to the gal- 
 
 i lants around her such delectable smiles, one 
 
 ', cannot but doubt that she could be guilty 
 of such thorough infamousnesa. She hath 
 an angel's shape." 
 
 " And a devil's heart if one half of what 
 is bruited abroad be true," added Sir 
 
 ; George.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 131 
 
 " It hath been confidently said," observed 
 his companion, " yet I know not on what 
 grounds, that the prince is enamored of her, 
 and that she favors him." 
 
 " That the prince liketh her passing well 
 I have seen enough to think probable, and 
 that she is disposed to return the liking with 
 unlawful interest I cannot doubt, but I ques- 
 tion there is such attachment between them 
 HS is like to be lasting ; for, in the first 
 place, his Highness hath no more know- 
 ledge of her, than her woman's grace and 
 woman's wit hath bestowed upon him ; and 
 J have that good opinion of his regard for 
 honesty, I am in hopes, when he discovers 
 what a terrible cockatrice she is, he will 
 speedily be quit of her, and in the second 
 place, I have good reason for believing that 
 she hath cast her eye on the king's favorite 
 n ly, I have been assured that he hath got 
 himself made Earl of Rochester at her in- 
 stigation, and that it is his intention to mar- 
 ry iier forthwith." 
 
 " It is at least a marvellous fit and proper 
 match," said Master Shakspeare, jestingly ; 
 " never were two people so well assorted. 
 Their tastes are so equally abominable and 
 abhorrent, there can surely be no failing 
 out betwixt them ; and their reputations are 
 so wondrous alike in baseness, it is clean 
 impossible they should ever take to calling 
 each other names." 
 
 Sir George Carew laughed heartily at 
 this conceit, which brought to them a cour- 
 tier of his acquaintance, who would needs 
 know the cause of his mirth ; which the 
 other, not being willing to tell, very gravely 
 laid it to some cause so trivial and ridicu- 
 lous, a child would scarce have taken it for 
 a jest ; nevertheless, the courtier laughed 
 famously, and, satisfied he had been told an 
 exceeding g >od thing, went, to the infinite 
 satisfaction of his present company, to re- 
 peat it to divers of his friends there present. 
 Master Shakspeare and his companion, af- 
 ter this, continued their remarks on certain 
 f the persons who thronged the chamber, 
 occasionally interrupted by such as they had 
 knowledge of, who were not disposed to 
 pass them without, a courteous recognition. 
 
 The company was of a mixed sort : gal- 
 lant ladies, each ambitious to monopolise 
 the young prince's smiles with the most 
 powerful of the great nobles of the state, 
 anxious to testily their respect to the heir 
 to the throne ; divines and lawyers, elbow- 
 ing each other in the hope of gaining the 
 attention of their prince to certain ponder- 
 ous tomes of thoir inditing ; whilst poets 
 and playwriters trod on their heels, ready to 
 tear each other to pieces to be first in get- 
 
 ting his Highness to :i crept their high-flown 
 dedications to their labored trifles. Then 
 came scores of commanders and captains, no 
 less eager of the prince's countenance of 
 their merit; whilst ingenious mechanics 
 same with their inventions and contrivan- 
 ces, that, in their opinions at the least, were 
 marvels, such as the world had never seen 
 before. With these came jockeys to brag 
 of their horses ; virtuosos, to put oft' their pic- 
 tures and statues ; musicians, matchless in 
 the practice of their art ; possessors of 
 choice dogs and hawks; armorers, paint- 
 ers, players, famous swordsmen, and gun- 
 ners unrivalled any where in the world. 
 
 They were employed in this way, when 
 a stately gentleman, with a serious aspect, 
 yet gracious manner, came up and accosted 
 Sir George Carew with a friendliness that 
 showed they were of old acquaintance, af- 
 ter which the latter introduced him to his 
 friend as Sir Thomas Chaloner, the prince's 
 chamberlain ; and he having stated that he 
 had been sent by his Highness to bring 
 Master Shakspeare and Sir George Carew 
 to him, they immediately proceeded with 
 him to the chamber, where the prince await- 
 ed them. This they found to partake much 
 of the character of a museum of arms and 
 other warlike matters, with a few things of 
 a more peaceful sort. There were ranged 
 round the room sundry sorts of armor, of 
 curious fabric, confusedly dispersed with 
 all manner of weapons models of ships, 
 boats, and pieces of ordinance stood upon 
 the tables, with a crowd of books and 
 pamphlets whilst in other places were 
 many ingenious instruments, with globes, 
 maps, and the like objects of philosophical 
 study. 
 
 When Sir Thomas Chaloner entered, an- 
 nouncing his companions, they beheld a 
 youth of grave and studious aspect, earnest- 
 ly attending to the explanation of a plain 
 seafaring sort of man, who was describ- 
 ing the various parts of the model of a fine 
 ship before them. He was not dressed with 
 such grandeur as would denote his dignity, 
 yet there was that princely air with him, a 
 stranger would have been at no loss to give 
 him his right title. At a distance was one 
 in the habit of a priest, with a mild expres- 
 sion of countenance that greatly became his 
 calling, who appeared to be regarding the 
 young Prince with an unusual deep interest. 
 This was his secretary and tutor, Master 
 Adam Newton. 
 
 Prince Henry received the homage of his 
 visitors with a very Prince-like courtesy, 
 noticing of Master Shakspeare, as it seem- 
 ed, with singular curiousness, the which
 
 132 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 was returned by its object, coupled with a 
 feeling of the purest gratification ; and, af- 
 ter the first few proper speeches had pass- 
 ed, his Highness addressed him, as though 
 he was his assured friend and counsellor. 
 
 " I hear you are about venturing on a 
 long journey" said he, " for that you are 
 going to travel as governor to my Lord of 
 Pembroke's heir, to show him whatsoever 
 things are worthy of note in ^er coun- 
 tries." 
 
 Master Shakspeare briefly answered that 
 he was about taking upon himself such an 
 office. 
 
 " Surely, my Lord of Pembroke hath sin- 
 gular good fortune !" he exclaimed. " Me- 
 thinks, it is rare for any one, let him be as 
 rich as he please, to secure for his son in 
 such a case a person so like to do honor to 
 his judgment, and justice to his son's good 
 qualities." The compliment was graceful- 
 ly and gratefully acknowledged. 
 
 " I have read several of your works 
 Master Shakspeare," added the Prince, 
 " and have seen others represented by mine 
 own players ; and believe me I am exceed- 
 ding taken with them." Here the well 
 pleased author could do no less than bow 
 very reverently at being so commended by 
 his Prince. " There are passages which 
 methinks can never be read or repeated too 
 often, that will bear no addition to their ve- 
 ry exquisite sweet beauty, and from which 
 nothing can be taken without irreparable 
 loss." Master Shakspeare again testified 
 his sense of the honor of such praise. " I 
 have long wished to have speech with you, 
 having received such excellent profit from 
 all that you have writ ; and, hearing 'of 
 your speedy departure, I begged of my 
 greatly esteemed friend, Sir Geerge Carew, 
 that he would manage so that I should see 
 you before you sailed. I feel infinitely 
 thankful to him he hath so readily accom- 
 plished my wishes." 
 
 At this Sir George said how heartily 
 glad he was, at all times, to serve so gra- 
 cious a prince, but more especially in this 
 instance, when his office was to bring be- 
 fore His Highness's attention an honorable 
 gentleman, whose qualities of mind and 
 heart were of such a sort, he felt it a dis- 
 tinction to be of his acquaintance. There- 
 upon Master Shakspeare thought himself 
 bound to acknowledge, more at length than 
 he had before done, the honor he had re- 
 ceived ; and he spoke to such good purpose, 
 and with such force of language, the prince 
 seemed to listen with a visage that plainly 
 expressed his satisfaction. He then in- 
 quired concerning his route ; and on learn- 
 
 ing the cities in Italy he intended visiting, 
 he turned to his secretary, and bade him 
 write such and such letters to the king his 
 father's ambassadors in those places, to be 
 sent to Master Shakspeare's lodging with 
 all proper speed. Then, learning he was 
 to pass through France, he promised he 
 would write a letter in his own hand, to 
 his excellent good friend the French king, 
 as well to recommend unto His Majesty a 
 person of such note as Master Shakspeare, 
 as to thank him for certain presents of ar- 
 mor and arms Henri Quatre had lately pre- 
 sented him with. 
 
 These he presently showed his visitors, 
 and got Sir George Carew, whose intimate 
 knowledge of such things he seemed to 
 take into great account, to give his opinion 
 of them, after which he spoke of certain 
 horses he had got fit for the great saddle, 
 and exhibited, in various ways, the interest 
 he took in every thing of a warlike charac- 
 ter, particularly dwelling on the model he 
 had been so intent on of a certain ship that 
 was to be built for him under the direction 
 of that approved shipwright, Phineas Pett, 
 who, on their entering, had been explain- 
 ing to him many interesting particulars re- 
 lating to it, and speaking of a number of 
 other subjects with such vivacity of tongue 
 and extent of knowledge, that his hearers 
 were as much gratified by his speech as 
 they were charmed by his courtesy. 
 
 On their moving to depart, the prince 
 again spoke very earnestly of the marvel- 
 lous sweet pleasure he had had from the 
 productions of Master Shakespeare ; so 
 handsomely alluded to the entertainment he 
 looked forward to on his return from travel, 
 from new efforts of his fantasy, and in his 
 deportment so kindly carried himself to- 
 wards him and his friend, that it seemed as 
 though neither could find language suf- 
 ficiently strong to express their contenta- 
 tion. Sir Thomas Chaloner accompanied 
 them, and to him they mentioned the pride 
 they felt in their good fortune, in having a 
 prince so worthy to reign over them ; upon 
 which the worthy chamberlain, who was go 
 well pleased to hear as they were to speak 
 his praises, gave them many choice anec- 
 dotes of the like behavior of his, at which 
 they found excellent entertainment. 
 
 They were pushing their way through 
 the crowd, waiting the prince's appearance, 
 when they were struck with the stir that 
 was made at the other end of the cham- 
 ber, and soon they heard the cry spread of 
 "The King! the king !" 
 
 " King James is returning from hunt- 
 ing," said the chamberlain ; " and if he
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 133 
 
 Cometh back in no better humor than he 
 went, I would as lief hang as ask him a 
 favor." 
 
 " Hath any thing in particular put him 
 out ?" asked Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " Ay, something exceeding particular," 
 answered he. 
 
 " Carr hath got the tooth-ache, per- 
 chance ?" inquired Sir George, with an af- 
 fectation of gravity he was far from feeling. 
 
 " No, by this light it is scarce so bad as 
 that," said Sir Thomas, laughingly. " But 
 touching this new-made Earl of Rochester, 
 for I hear the patent of his nobility is al- 
 ready made out, high as he holds himself, 
 and secure as he thinks himself, methinks 
 his fall shall not be very far distant." 
 
 " How so, pray you ?" asked both, ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 " See you that handsome youth, in the 
 satin doublet, curiously embroidered ?" de- 
 manded the Prince's chamberlain. 
 
 " A well-limbed youth, by this hand ! and of 
 a very excellent aspect," said Master Shaks- 
 peare. " Of what name and rank is he ?" 
 
 " His name is Villiers," answered Sir 
 Thomas ; " and the graces of his manners 
 are not more conspicuous than those of his 
 person. Now King James hath more than 
 once been seen to cast an admiring eye on 
 his delicate figure ; and those. who know him 
 best say it waiteth only some slight differ- 
 ence to spring up betwixt Carr and his patron 
 for Villiers to step in and be preferred at 
 once." 
 
 " But what was it, I pray you, Master 
 Chamberlain, that hath so discomposed His 
 Majesty, as you said but now 2" said Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare. 
 
 " Marry, matter enough, of all consci- 
 ence," answered he. " Some one, more 
 blessed with tongue than brains, hath, in his 
 place in parliament, so roundly abused 
 Scotland and the whole Scottish nation, that 
 every one of that honest people, from the 
 king to the lowest beggar among his liege 
 subjects, look upon it as an intolerable af- 
 front. His Majesty, in especial, is in hor- 
 rible disdain ; and, if the orator succeed in 
 keeping his ears, he will have better fortune 
 than some predict for him." 
 
 Here the approach of King James, and 
 the bustle it created, put an end to the dia- 
 logue. He approached in a hunting-habit, 
 with as little of the trappings of royalty as 
 of its demeanor, wearing a dull, stolid counte- 
 nance, marked by no pleasing lineaments, 
 and exhibiting a form possessing as little 
 pretensions of kingly state as to manly grace. 
 Near him were several of the courtiers, who 
 
 had been his companions in the chase, look- 
 ing tired and heated, and not a whit better 
 pleased than their master, for they had all 
 had ill success. All at once, as the king 
 was advancing through the crowd, who 
 respectfully made way for him, a well- 
 apparelled female, of noble appearance, rOsh- 
 ed forward, and, with every sign of the 
 deepest distress, threw herself at his feet. 
 The king looked no less displeased than 
 surprised ; but he evidently knew not Who 
 she was, or what was her object. 
 
 " By this light, 'tis Dame Raleigh !" ex- 
 claimed Sir George Carew. 
 
 " Ay," added Sir Thomas Chaloner, " she 
 hath come to sue his Majesty for the restora- 
 tion of her husband's lands, which the king 
 hath seized, considering them forfeited by 
 Sir Walter's late abominable treason." It 
 was no less than he had said. They could 
 hear her imploring the king, in the most 
 passionate, moving arguments woman's elo- 
 quent tongue ever uttered, not to strip her 
 innocent children of their inheritance ; but 
 the monarch turned from the beautiful ma- 
 tron impatiently ; and, with a severe aspect, 
 and almost savage voice, cried out, "I maun 
 ha' the land ! I maun ha' it for Carr I" 
 then hastily continued his progress. 
 
 Master Shakspeare smothered the execra- 
 tion that readily rose to his lips ; and his 
 companions, whatever their thoughts may 
 have been, had too much experience of court- 
 life to betray them ; nevertheless, they also 
 remained silent till it came to leave-taking. 
 Such effect had the scene on him, that, for 
 some time, he rode on in silence ; and, 
 though he entered into conversation with his 
 friend during their return with his accustom- 
 ed spirit, he did not shake off the feelings 
 in had created till he found himself at the 
 Globe, and was busily employed in making 
 the requisite preparations for the immediate 
 performance of his new play. 
 
 It is here only necessary to state, that this 
 his very admirable and right-moving tragedy 
 of Macbeth, so took with the public, that 
 more complete success was never known ; 
 and when he beheld it thoroughly established 
 with the audience, he took leave of his 
 friends, and prepared himself for the imme- 
 diate commencing of his travels.
 
 134 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 But wot you what ? The young was going 
 To make an end of all his wooing ; 
 The parson for him staid ; 
 Yet by his leave, for all his haste, 
 He did not so much wish all past, 
 
 ^ Perchance as did the maid. 
 
 SUCKLING. 
 
 MARVELLOUS was the stir in the cottage 
 at Shottery, when it was discovered that 
 Susanna had taken herself away from home, 
 on the hazardous and difficult errand her 
 affectionate, grateful heart had set her. 
 The tongue of Aunt Prateapace wagged as 
 though it was never to stop, to the infinite 
 disparagement of her gentle niece. Aunt 
 Gadabout lost no time in going hither and 
 thither to pick up what information she 
 could of the runaway, and returned with a 
 budget of scandal, for which she found 
 eager listeners ; but, ere she had well got 
 rid of it, these two came to words, which 
 Aunt Breedbate did so encourage, that no- 
 thing was like unto the fierceness of their 
 quarrel. Nevertheless, they agreed at least 
 in this that they had always been satisfied 
 in their own minds she would come to no 
 good : and then they glanced from her to 
 her estimable worthy father, who, for the 
 crime of encouraging her to quit her home 
 in >o horrible scandalous a fashion, was 
 every thing most intolerably villanous and 
 to be abhorred ; and, for the shamefulness 
 of his behavior to his wife, was all the 
 brutes that ever went into Noah's Ark, with 
 a commodity of monsters sufficient to supply 
 a similar establishment. 
 
 Then they set to lamenting most pitifully 
 how poor wives were horribly tyrannized 
 over, and laid it down, as a well-ascertained 
 fact, that husbunds and wives were natural 
 enemies, and that the latter being so abomi- 
 nably put upon, ought to look the sharper 
 after their proper rights and privileges ; the 
 which, as it seemed, principally consisted in 
 doing as they pleased, whether right or 
 wrong, and deceiving and defrauding their 
 tyrannical helpmates to the very best of their 
 abilities. On this fruitful subject, it may be 
 said to their credit, they spoke like unto 
 those who practiced what they preached 
 and with an eloquence equally moving anc 
 edifying, until, as usual, something was saic 
 offensive to the other, which the third hand- 
 led to such good purpose, that a bitter wran- 
 gle ensued 'more sharp and lasting than the 
 one so lately concluded. 
 
 She, for whose pretended benefit they 
 labored so assiduously, said little ; in truth 
 ehe began to entertain misgivings she ha< 
 
 >een led to act a good part ; but such idea* 
 were quickly driven from her by her mi- 
 ;hievous kinswomen, and she was fain to 
 rest under the exceeding consolation, that of 
 11 ill-used wives she was the most infamous- 
 y abused. Her favorite daughter, Judith, 
 lowever, was not to be so easily contented. 
 Jnder the careful tutorings of her aunts, 
 he had made such progress in what they 
 took to be a woman's proper sense of her 
 own worth, that she outrivalled each in her 
 peculiar merit. She was as indifferent to 
 he proper pleasures of home as Aunt Gad- 
 about as greedy of gossip as Aunt Pratea- 
 jace and, not only was as prone to strife 
 as Aunt Breedbate, but showed her discon- 
 tent of things by a shrewishness that had 
 come to be the general talk of the wholo 
 county. Though it was a matter of doubt 
 a young woman of a more enticing appear- 
 ance could have been met with anywhere 
 for her form had now been moulded in that 
 ripe and tempting perfectness for which her 
 mother had been so famed at a like age, and 
 the rich blooming beauty of her countenance 
 was admirable to look on, at those rare 
 times, when it was free from the marks of 
 passion yet the young men who knew her 
 took such heed to avoid her, as though she 
 were ugly as Hecate. 
 
 The simple truth was, several had already 
 taken some pairis to prove themselves her 
 true lovers; but one having, as a choice 
 proof of affection, got a broken pate, with a 
 besom-handle from her own fair hand, for 
 venturing to express an opinion of colors 
 differing from her own, another, equally 
 fortunate, escaping by a miracle, a martyr- 
 dom she intended him by casting a pasty, 
 two wheaten loves, a neat's tongue, and a 
 dish of pippins at his head, because, at din- 
 ner, she took offence at his arguing for 
 brown meats whilst she was expressing her 
 preference for white ; and divers having 
 been pretty nearly annihilated by the flash- 
 ings of her dark eyes, and the torrent of 
 searching words she poured upon them, for 
 some small fault they had unwittingly com- 
 mitted that had provoked her violent temper, 
 that all had resolved she was of so cursed a 
 tongue, and so evilly disposed withal, they 
 would have none of her. Therefore had she 
 come to be carefully avoided of them all, as 
 though she had the pestilence. 
 
 At home she was often as difficult to 
 please as abroad, and had more than once, 
 in scolding, proved herself a match for 
 either of her aunts, proficient though they 
 were in the art. But, though they had 
 been taught to understand the force of her 
 temper, never did it come upon them with so
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 135 
 
 sharp and pitiful a shower as after the dis- 
 covery had been made of her sister's flight. 
 On a sudden, she turned upon them, and so 
 mauled them with her tongue, they were for 
 a time clean dumbfounded with astonish- 
 ment; nevertheless, they were too experi- 
 enced in such warfare to be easily beaten, 
 and were inwardly ashamed so young a 
 hand should got the better of them, even for 
 a moment ; therefore they took to their 
 weapons very briskly, in the hope of quickly 
 silencing their rash antagonist. Thereupon 
 ensued a terrible din, to which that confu- 
 sion of tongues which existed at the build- 
 ing of the Tower of Babel was harmony in 
 comparison. Judith, so far from being 
 abashed at so overpowering an attack, did 
 presently meet it with a countercharge so 
 furious, it swept down all before her. In 
 sooth, she raised such a hurricane of words, 
 the three scolds were one and all fairly driven 
 out of the field ; and, after this, ever held 
 their young kinswoman in especial respect, 
 looking up to her with much the same sort 
 of admiration men of war regard a famous 
 commander. 
 
 The more grave among the burgesses of 
 Stratford became at this time exceedingly 
 disturbed by the wild pranks of a young 
 kinsman, from London, of Malmsey, the 
 vintner, who was called Dick Quiney. He 
 not only spent his money prodigally in 
 roystering with divers his loose companions, 
 to the scandal of the greybeards, but kept 
 the whole town in continual ferment by 
 some mad prank or another, which exceeded 
 all things in audacity and recklessness the 
 longest liver amongst them had ever heard of. 
 
 At onetime lie would cause an ass, dress- 
 ed in the robes of the High Bailiff, to be 
 found taking the bailiff's place in the Town 
 Hall ; at another, he would so change the 
 signs that usually hung at the burgesses' 
 doors, that every one had something as dif- 
 ferent as possible to what he had before, 
 which oft had some satirical meaning in't, 
 of which the witty rogues made rare sport. 
 There was a bunch of grapes seen hanging 
 over the parson's porch, and a fleece swung 
 before the lawyer's ; the apothecary's door 
 boasted the sign used by the furnishers of 
 funerals ; and the baker's had that which 
 belonged to the dealer in bones, chalk and 
 the like stores. One who was known to 
 have a scolding wife found his house deco- 
 ra" ed with the sign of the good woman 
 that is, a woman without a head ; and an- 
 other, who had shown himself deficient in 
 courage, was similiarly pointed at by a 
 board before his dwelling, representing a 
 wlu'te hart. In brief, there was never a day 
 
 passed that did not bring forth some freak 
 of his wanton wit at the expense of the 
 more sober-minded of the community. 
 
 But though by some he was regarded as 
 a scandal to the place, his free spirit and 
 manly bearing made him a favorite with 
 others. He affected neither fineness of dress 
 nor of phrase, though his well knit limbs 
 and comely visage would have right well be- 
 come the one, and his ready wit might not 
 have turned the other to bad account. And 
 his readiness to join in any sport, as well 
 as to create such sport as all those of his 
 station were sure to flock to, made him well 
 liked of many, among whom be sure were 
 Tommy Hart and his merry partner, and 
 their constant associate* and good gossip, 
 Jonas Tietape, who, by the way, was 
 shrewdly suspected of assisting in most of 
 the jests which young Quiney played upon 
 the graye burgesses of Stratford. In the 
 kitchen of the jovial hatter he was a fre- 
 quent visiter ; and there, often after the gay 
 song and merry tale, many a famous scheme 
 had been devised for the furnishing of good 
 occasion for honest mirth. 
 
 One night they were altogether, as merry 
 as so many crickets in a clover-field. The 
 hatter and the vintner's nephew were play- 
 ing at tables, with the good-humored Joan 
 looking on, yet occasionally casting aside 
 her eyes to watch the strange movements of 
 Jonas, who was balancing himself on two 
 chairs, and employing other strange antics, 
 much to the diversion of herself and the 
 players, both of whom, ever and anon, forgot 
 their game to be spectators of his grotesque 
 antics. There was no lack of converse 
 amongst them, but it looked not to be of the 
 very gravest import, if any judgment of it 
 could be drawn from the mirth it excited. 
 The chief source of this was the laughing 
 dame, strongly recommending to the young 
 bachelor beside her, certain honest maids of 
 her acquaintance as wives, the whole of 
 whom she knew to be as little to his taste 
 as ugliness, shrewishness, age, or folly, 
 could make them. At last, she seemed to 
 fix upon her neice Judith, of whose exceed- 
 ing gentleness, quietness, and pleasantness 
 of temper, she expatiated so largely, out of 
 the nrischievousness of her spirit, that he 
 looked to be greatly taken with the descrip- 
 tion, and swore lustily he would have her, 
 come what would, for she was exactly what 
 he wished to find in a wife. At this Tommy 
 Hart turned his head on one side, and laugh- 
 ed in his sleeve. 
 
 Then the merry Joan went on to state 
 what a blessed fainily he would unite him- 
 self to, particularly referring, with famous
 
 136 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 imposing words, on the marvellous sweet 
 disposedness of her three ancient kins- 
 women : how singularly homely a body 
 was Aunt Gadabout how reserved and 
 prudent with her tongue was Aunt Pratea- 
 nace and how precious and notable a 
 peacemaker was Aunt Breedbate. There- 
 upon young Quiney answered these were 
 the very sort of persons he would most de- 
 sire as relations. At hearing this, his merry 
 host could contain himself no longer ; and, 
 after the hugeness of his mirth had some- 
 what abated, he undeceived his companion 
 as to the characters and dispositions of the 
 damsel and her intolerable meddling, mar- 
 ring, mischief-malting kinswomen. And all 
 laughed at the jest that had so cleverly been 
 played upon him. They very cordially con- 
 gratulated him on his meeting a person so 
 well fitted to secure his happiness, and as- 
 sured him that, if his heart was really so 
 set on having a shrew, he might be certain 
 in Mistress Judith to have, the most perfect 
 example of shrewishness of which all War- 
 wickshire could boast. 
 
 " Odds, cat o' mouxtains !" said he, very 
 merrily. " Be she ever so savage, I will 
 tame the shrew, I warrant you," and, out 
 of bravado, would still continue -in his hu- 
 mor of taking her to wife ; and the tales he 
 was told of the villanous manner she had 
 behaved to her suitors only seemed to in- 
 flame him the more. He seemed to like 
 the conceit of wooing such a tigress, and in 
 this humor started the next morning for 
 Shottery. 
 
 It so fortuned that Judith had that morn- 
 ing chose to remain at home whilst her 
 mother went on some errand of revelry with 
 Aunt Gadabout, and was sitting in the 
 kitchen, earnestly engaged in spinning, 
 when she was startled by a loud knocking 
 at the outer door. Thinking it was some 
 one of her acquaintance, she bade them 
 enter, though in no gentle voice, for she 
 was not in a mood to be disturbed ; but this 
 mood was in no way lessened, when she 
 beheld enter a young fellow with a counte- 
 nance and manner betaking of a careless 
 impudency, negligently apparelled, whom 
 she knew slightly by sight, but more by re- 
 port, as the wildest roysterer in Stratford. 
 The cloud on her brow darkened ominously 
 as he hailed her on his entrance in intolera- 
 ble familiar language, and made to salute 
 her with a huge profession of gallantry. 
 She started up from her seat with no less 
 indignation than amazement, for it was a 
 marvellous thing for any man to offer to 
 come near her, much logs to address her 
 after such a fashion. 
 
 "Away with thee, fellow !" exclaimed she, 
 in a right angry pitch. " On what fool's 
 errand hast thou come here? Get thee 
 hence, on the instant, or by my halidome 
 I'll crack thy crown for thee, thick as it is !" 
 " What exquisite music i" exclaimed 
 young Quiney, in a seeming ecstasy. " Had 
 the trees and rocks, that were so moved by 
 the power of Orpheus, but have heard thy 
 harmonious voice, they must needs have 
 reeled again in the infinite sweet intoxica- 
 tion of its too absolute charm upon the 
 senses. Permit me to claim a faithful ser- 
 vant's privilege " 
 
 " Hands off, knave !" cried Judith, as she 
 started back. " Nay, by the rood ! this im- 
 pudency exceedeth my poor patience. Pry- 
 thee, have done with it straight, or I will 
 give thee cause to repent it the rest of thy 
 days." 
 
 " Deny me not, fair arbitress of my des- 
 tiny !" continued he, putting himself into 
 all manner of extravagant attitudes, in what 
 looked to be the likeness of a courtly lover, 
 only the homeliness of his garb made it 
 seem infinitely ridiculous. " My heart is 
 overburthened with the weight of my ex- 
 ceeding love for thee, which I can no longer 
 contain in pining secrecy, as I have, O light 
 of my life, for so long a time past." 
 
 " Thy heart and thee may go hang to- 
 gether," replied 'the damsel, sharply. "1 
 need no such garbage. Thou wilt find, I 
 tell thee, thou hast taken the wrong sow by 
 the ear, an thou comest any thy fool's tricks 
 upon me." 
 
 " The greatness of my passion must needs, 
 find vent, dear heart," persisted he. " Love 
 hath such wondrous potency, nought can 
 stay him in his fond career ; and, having 
 such food to feed on as thy exquisite beauty, 
 and admirable sweet gentleness of nature, 
 what marvel is it he should be uncontrolla- 
 ble, as in mine own case. Matchless ex- 
 ample of woman's perfectness, I must needs 
 do thee a pardonable violence " 
 
 " Wouldst !" cried she in a fury, as she 
 snatched up a rollingpin that was nigh at 
 hand. "I'll pardon thee, i'faith!" And 
 she aimed a blow at him which, had it taken 
 effect, would have quenched the fire of his 
 love had it burned ever so fiercely ; but he 
 caught her wrist ere she had time to use it, 
 and, despite her struggles, not only deprived 
 her of her weapon but inflicted the violence 
 he had spoke of; uttering, all the whilst, 
 such affectionate declarations as it seemed 
 only could have been drawn from the most 
 thoroughly enamored heart. She broke 
 away from his caress, and, in a very mon- 
 strous passion, took to flinging at his head
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 137 
 
 with a prodigal store of abusive and con- 
 temptuous epithets, every sort of thing within 
 her reach, that might do him a mischief; 
 but he, by his quickness, succeeded in es- 
 caping all harm, and continuing in the same 
 loving mood, again caught her in his arms, 
 and took his revenge, malgre all her kick- 
 ings, plungings, and cuffings, till he was 
 content. It was terrible for her to be so 
 foiled ; so directly she could get away, her 
 first effort was either by taking up some 
 heavy weapon to fell .him to the ground, or 
 to drive him out of the place by means of a 
 furious shower of missiles ; but she had 
 small profit of her pains, for he allowed no- 
 thing to touch him, and, watching his op- 
 portunity, soon succeeded in again taking 
 the freedom which did so enrage her. 
 
 At last, thoroughly exhausted, and pant- 
 ing with her long and violent struggles, with 
 a heated face, and disordered hair and dress, 
 she threw herself into a chair. Seeing 
 which, young Quiney sat himself familiarly 
 on the table over-against her, and pursued 
 the gallantry of his humor in his speech, as 
 though nothing could ruffle him. Judith 
 was so spent by her exertions, she could 
 only get a few words out now and then, but 
 their virulence showed the greatness of her 
 spirit was in no way diminished. 
 
 " Thou art an insolent knave ! I doubt 
 thy true errand is to rob the place." 
 
 " My true errand, sweet heart, is to woo 
 thee." 
 
 " Woo me ! Ere I will suffer myself to 
 be wooed by such a scurvy rogue, I'll eat 
 my fingers by way of breakfast." 
 
 " I will not only woo thee, sweetest, but 
 wed thee ; and that shortly." 
 
 " Nay, if thou dost, I will let thee call me 
 a snipe. / marry such a lackfarthing 
 such a ruffian roystering pickthank ? Why 
 thou hast no more credit than wit, and as 
 little honesty as either ! I would as lief 
 marry the whipping-post, for it could not 
 put me more in mind of all manner of knav- 
 ishness and ill-dealing. 
 
 " Nevertheless, sweet Judith, be assured 
 1 will marry thee and none other ; and I 
 doubt not at all, out of the absolute affection 
 thou dost kindly entertain for me " 
 
 " I entertain affection for such a worth- 
 less, ill-behaved knave as thou art. I would 
 right willingly give all I am worth in this 
 world to see thee have thy deserts from the 
 hands of the hangman." 
 
 " Thou wilt shorten the time of my woo- 
 ing, so that I may take thee to church in as 
 brief a space as may be possible." 
 
 Judith bitterly disclaimed any such in- 
 tention ; nevertheless, her lover continued 
 
 to sit with his heels dangling under the 
 table, perseveringly insisting on the won- 
 drous greatness of her love for him, and the 
 necessity of their speedy marriage, and took 
 no manner of heed of her interruptions. But 
 whether it was it so chanced she could not 
 help being influenced by such singular be- 
 havior, or, as she sat, had time to scan the 
 handsome features and well-knit figure of 
 her determined gallant, which was evident 
 enough in spite of his rough, unhandsome 
 garments, her abuse began perceptibly to be 
 less violent. 
 
 At this time, her aunts Breedbate and 
 Prateapace who had hitherto been no 
 farther off than the garden, yet were en- 
 gaged in so violent a dispute they had heard 
 nothing of what had been going on in the 
 kitchen entered, and no sooner did they 
 spy young Quiney, sitting at his ease so 
 famously, than they took to calling him to 
 task in the severest language they had at 
 their commandment ; during which he look- 
 ed them quietly in the face, and whistled 
 and drummed on the table with an excess 
 of impudency that inflamed their rage the 
 more. His mistress, who seldom missed 
 an opportunity of defying her meddling 
 kinswomen, was drawn more towards him 
 by this opposition of theirs to him ; yet she 
 did not think proper to interfere in the mat- 
 ter. 
 
 Aunt Breedbate and aunt Prateapace now 
 became quite furious, and in a torrent of 
 villanous language bade the intruder be- 
 gone, or they would tear his eyes out ; at 
 which he suddenly jumped down, and put- 
 ting on a horrible fierce look, snatched 
 up a spit that was hanging above the 
 chimney, levelling it at them, shouted out in 
 a most murderous voice : 
 
 "Ha! dost dare attempt such sacrilege 
 as to disturb two happy lovers ? Nay, then, 
 I'll pin thee to the wall like a couple of cock- 
 chafers." But the sight of the point of the 
 blade, presented in so formidable a manner, 
 was enough for them, and ere you could 
 count one, they turned tail and fled, shriek- 
 ing like scalded pigs, into the garden, in 
 their haste stumbling over each other as 
 they got to the threshhold. 
 
 Judith could not forbear laughing at the 
 ridiculous fright the two old women were 
 put into but there were other laughers 
 besides herself for young Quiney's gossips, 
 Jonas Tietape and Tommy Hart, had come 
 to see how their friend fared in his wooing 
 of the terrible shrew, and from the open door 
 had been spectators of it from first to last. 
 Jonas was so well pleased with the conceit 
 , of the cockchafers, that, whilst his companion
 
 138 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 was enjoying his mirth, he commenced before 
 the house a series of tumbles, with all his 
 might, quite forgetful of a young terrier he 
 had got in each pocket, who put out their 
 heads, and yelped most lustily at being so 
 strangely turned about. 
 
 Judith's lover now took his departure, yet 
 with many famous speeches denoting the 
 excess of his love, ana the intolerable hard- 
 ship of tearing himself away ; but, the next 
 day, after watching the absence of her 
 mother and aunts, he again presented him- 
 self before her, and a like scene passed be- 
 tween them, with this difference, that she 
 did not put herself in so tearing a passion, 
 nor abuse him quite so scurvily as she had 
 done the day before. The truth was, her 
 mother and her aunts, hearing of his strange 
 visit and its object, did declaim against him 
 so fiercely, that, out of sheer opposition, as 
 was her wont, she took up the cudgels in 
 his defence, and swore very roundly he 
 should marry her, an she liked it, come what 
 would. Nevertheless, when he repeated his 
 visit every day, assuming to himself the 
 appearance of one who is greatly beloved, 
 she was frequently exceeding sharp upon 
 him ; but his perseverance won so upon her, 
 that at last, looking to be in a great rage, 
 she promised she would marry him, that she 
 might be the better able to punish him for 
 his matchless impudency. 
 
 In this humor die wedding-day was soon 
 fixed, but, when the neighbors came to hear 
 of it, there seemed no end to their marvel- 
 ling. To think that Judith should find a 
 husband ! They could scarce believe it 
 possible ; and that so reckless a fellow as 
 jDick Quiney should have sought out a 
 helpmate of Judith's villanous temper, so 
 monstrous looked the union, they could 
 hardly be brought to believe it. The matter 
 though was settled: and everyday the dis- 
 inclination of the damsel to it became less 
 and less evident ; in truth, she could not but 
 admire the spirit with which her lover pur- 
 sued his object, and be amused with the 
 extravagance of his professions in averring 
 the prodigious extent of her affection for 
 him. Ever and anon she broke out into 
 sudden rages, but these latterly had come at 
 longer intervals. 
 
 The wedding day approached, and slie 
 determined on carrying it with a high hand, 
 bid all her friends to the ceremony, and got 
 together as much finery as she could to 
 grace the occasion. Some of her acquaint- 
 ance affected to lament her so casting of 
 herself away; but others and these were 
 such as had had most knowledge of her dis- 
 position by this time had assured them- 
 
 selves this marriage promised to be a good 
 riddance of her. 
 
 The wedding-day arrived, and the bride 
 and all the company were assembled in 
 their holiday suits, ready to go to church. 
 Of the latter, whatever might have been 
 their thoughts, their visages were as pleas- 
 ant as though the match was one of their 
 own contriving. They had been waiting 
 some time, to the damsel's infinite impa- 
 tience, and yet no bridegroom had arrived. 
 Judith began to chafe at this neglect, and 
 her brow darkened, and her foot beat the 
 ground. Still no bridegroom came. His 
 absence began to be marked, and whispers 
 went round, which the bride observed not 
 without a marvellous increase to her former 
 discontent. For a time she managed to 
 comfort herself to some small extent, by 
 imagining that in honor of her he had been 
 making extraordinary preparations which 
 delayed him, and in a brief while he would 
 doubtless appear at the head of a gallant 
 cavalcade, all in new suits, got ready ex- 
 pressly for the occasion. But, as time 
 passed, and still there was no sign of him, 
 she began to suspect he had no intention of 
 marrying at all, and only cared to put her to 
 this public shame. 
 
 The idea of it so galled her, that she was 
 about bursting forth in horrible tearing 
 rage, to send every one sans ceremony 
 about his business, when she heard the wel- 
 come intelligence of his coming. She took 
 a hasty peep at the casement, to observe the 
 brave fashion in which he had chosen to 
 lead her to church, but words of mine can- 
 not picture her dismay, indignation and 
 shame, when she beheld him approaching 
 on foot with hasty strides, not only in the 
 old buff jerkin and slops, the soiled boots, 
 and the worn beaver, she had ever seen on 
 him, but so covered with dust from head to 
 foot, he could scarce be recognized. Instead 
 of the gallant company she expected with 
 him, there followed close at his heels the 
 well-known figure of Jonas Tietape, in a 
 similar rude suit, making the most extrava- 
 gant strides to keep pace with him, with 
 the heads of two young water-dogs peeping 
 out of his pockets, a. long rusty sword at 
 his side, and a pair of pistolets in his belt. 
 
 Without a word said, young Quiney strode 
 through the astonished crowd assembled to 
 do honor to his nuptials, and the woman's 
 tailor quite as indifferently strode after him. 
 The bridegroom stopped before the enraged 
 and humiliated bride, and, malgre her black 
 looks, accosted her with a familiarity in no 
 way corresponding with the time, and in a 
 voice ah 1 could hear, vowed he had been
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 139 
 
 playing at bowls, and had nigh forgotten 
 his appointment; then, hastily turning to 
 his Crusty squire, who had assumed a very 
 owl-like visage, he iiiquired whether he 
 thought not bowls an exceeding pleasant 
 pastime to while away a dull hour or so, to 
 which the other answered, in a monstrous 
 aggravating voice : " By goles, there was 
 none such in his estimation, when he was 
 of the winning side, and the tipple was 
 
 The whole assembly looked thunderstruck, 
 and the bride could not conceal her intense 
 mortification, but time pressed so closely, it 
 admitted of no remonstrance on her part; so, 
 comforting her loving nature with the pros- 
 pect of an ample revenge, she allowed her- 
 self to be led to church, her lover all the 
 way behaving towards her as though he 
 had done all that was best and littest, and 
 that she must needs be satisfied with him 
 in every respect, and occasionally turning 
 away from her to ask some question about 
 the game he had been playing, of the wo- 
 man's tailor, who chose to walk in the pro- 
 cession a little way behind him. Judith felt 
 disposed to have brained them both, so hor- 
 ribly indignant was she with the slights 
 that had been put upon her, but she satis- 
 fied herself with nursing her wrath, and 
 vowing all' sorts of intolerable retaliations. 
 A they came to the church-door, Q,uiney 
 turned round, and reminded his companion 
 the steeds would be wanted at such a time, 
 to which the other answered : " The noble 
 animals should be in attendance at his 
 worship's order." 
 
 The ceremony proceeded, every one mar- 
 velling more and more at the strange be- 
 havior of the young bridegroom. Judith 
 had fancied she had endured enough af- 
 fronts ; but, when the priest demanded 
 " who gave the maid away ?" and Jonas 
 Tietape, puppy-dogs and all, gravely step- 
 ped forward to claim that office, she felt 
 ready to sink into the earth with vexation ; 
 and at the termination of the ceremony she 
 relished not a whit the more the rough, 
 rude manner in which her husband, before 
 all the people, gave her a salute which 
 made the church ring again, and hailed her 
 as Dame Quiney, after such boisterous 
 fashion as might be seen only at the wed- 
 ding of a tinker. She seemed overpowered 
 with this villanous usage. No one con- 
 gratulated her; for in truth, all were so 
 wonderstruck they knew not what to do ; 
 and she proceeded back to the church-door 
 in so discontented a state of mind, she had 
 resolved, when she mounted on one of the 
 " noble steeds" she had heard would be pro- 
 
 vided to take her to her husband's home, to 
 ride away somewhere, she cared not whith- 
 er, so that "she escaped the base usage to 
 which she had been subjected. 
 
 But, whatever had been her discontent 
 hitherto, it increased to a pitch beyond all 
 toleration when she beheld at the church 
 door, a raw-boned, wind-galled, goose-rump- 
 ed, wall-eyed animal, that seemed in age a 
 very Methusalem among horses, which evi- 
 dently by the pillion fastened upon him, was 
 intended for her riding ; and, by his side, 
 was a half starved donkey looking as mis- 
 erable as though he had not a belly-full 
 since the day he was foaled which she 
 supposed must be for her husband. At the 
 very sight of these " noble steeds" she held 
 back, and, fearing she could have no better 
 conveyance, she flatly refused to budge a 
 foot to mount such wretched horseflesh. 
 
 In vain the bridegroom, with most per- 
 suasive gentleness, assured her that she 
 could not reach his dwelling in any other 
 way, and dilated on the matchless qualities 
 of the horse, relating a pedigree boasting 
 of the first blood of the kingdom. She 
 vowed she would not be a laughing-stock 
 to her friends, and stoutly determined no 
 power on earth should make her mount so 
 sorry a beast. At this, Quiney himself 
 mounted the horse, all the whilst giving him 
 as many flattering expressions as though he 
 were an Arabian of the purest descent, and 
 then made a sign to his gossip, the woman's 
 tailor. In a moment Judith found herself 
 enclosed in two powerful arms, raised from 
 the ground, and, in the next, despite her 
 struggles and cries, placed on the pil- 
 lion by the side of her husband. Having 
 done this with singular dexterity, Jonas 
 mounted the donkey, and, amid the laughs 
 and shouts of the spectators, the three started 
 off. 
 
 Finding in physical force, she was no 
 match for him into whose hands she had fal- 
 len, she let loose her tongue, and did so be- 
 maul him with it, such a torrent of invec- 
 tive was surely never heard before ; but he 
 minded it not a jot, every now and then stop- 
 ping in the tune he was whistling, to ask 
 her, with a marvellous show of affection, if 
 she felt herself perfectly comfortable ; or 
 turning unconcernedly around to his trusty 
 companion, to make some pleasant remark, 
 which was sure to elicit a smart rejoinder, 
 in the roughest tone voice ever had. Her 
 surprise at this indifferency became much 
 lessened, when she discovered tliat her 
 husband's ears were so stuffed with cotton, 
 doubtless for the occasion, that, had she 
 rated him in ever so high a key, he could
 
 140 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 have heard no more than one who was a 
 thousand miles off. Finding scolding of no 
 avail, she grew to be sulky, and would an- 
 swer no questions ; but, as her husband 
 seemed careless whether she replied or not 
 to what he said, she got but small satisfac- 
 tion from her silence. All this time she 
 was exceeding curious as to where she was 
 going ; but it did not appear she was like to 
 have any information very speedily. 
 
 In a few hours they arrived at a desolater 
 looking cottage on the heath, far from any 
 public road. She entered, and the unprom- 
 ising outside was not a foretoken of the 
 want of comfort within. Indeed it did so 
 lack all proper accommodation, that, forget- 
 ting her late humor of sulkiness, and the 
 small likelihood there was of her talking to 
 any profit, she once more burst out into the 
 most overwhelming reproaches and abuse, 
 till she remembered how idle was all mat- 
 ter of speech ; then, breaking forth in a rage 
 to be so foiled and unhandsomely used, she' 
 began to scatter and destroy everything that 
 was within her reach. Much did she mar- 
 vel-to find her husband, instead of checking 
 her as she expected, not only encouraging 
 her by liis voice, but assisting her in the 
 work of destruction, and with such extra- 
 ordinary fury, that, in a brief while, there 
 was not a thing of any sort left whole in the 
 chamber. Then she took to be sulky again, 
 and sat herself down on a bench fixed 
 against the wall, beating her foot against 
 the ground, and biting the string of beads 
 she wore round her neck with a pull which 
 looked as if it was about to be torn assun- 
 der. 
 
 Presently the woman's tailor made his 
 appearance, and he and the bridegroom be- 
 gan jesting with each other, seemingly to 
 be as indifferent of her presence as though 
 she was a stone. From this Jonas Tietape 
 got to his tricks he tumbled, he juggled, 
 he did so many wonders and in so ludicrous 
 a vay, that Judith found herself more than 
 once unable to refrain from joining in the 
 hearty mirth they caused. By this time, 
 vexed to the heart as she had been, she 
 could not help feeling unusually hungry, 
 which cannot be thought singular when it 
 is known she had scarce ate anything the 
 whole day, and had had a long ride in the 
 keen air. It was now getting late, yet no 
 sign of a meal had appeared. She could 
 not bring herself to say anything, were it 
 ever so, yet she would have been right glad 
 to have had an opportunity of breaking her 
 fast. 
 
 Notwithstanding her hunger, hour after 
 hour passed by, and yet she saw no means 
 
 of satisfying it. Her companions continued 
 to divert themselves as though they were 
 so used to long fasts they cared not for eat- 
 ing. She expected no abundance, nor any 
 show of delicacies where she was ; but, aa 
 the time passed without bringing forth the 
 slightest sign of diet of any sort, she began 
 to fear she was in a fair way of suffering all 
 the horrors of starvation. To her great 
 relief, an old woman, with a visage like a 
 dried applejohn, came and announced sup- 
 per; and, all at once, her husband seemed 
 to grow marvellous attentive, and offered 
 his arm, with a wonderful affectionate 
 speech, to lead her to the chamber where 
 the supper was laid. She did not think 
 proper to accept his civilities, but she rose 
 and walked out of the chamber with him, as 
 otherwise she would have been left alone 
 and in the dark. She passed into another 
 chamber where there were a few stools 
 and a table as a ragged boy was serving 
 up the supper. 
 
 The place was mean and bare, but the 
 meal gave her even less satisfaction, for 
 there looked not to be enough for one, and 
 it was such as none but a beggar might 
 have been content with. Judith, however, 
 was by this time in so ravenous a mood that 
 she was willing to let her pride wait'upon 
 her hunger. 1 he meat looked stale and the 
 bread hard and dry, but she felt she couki 
 have devoured even such poor eating with 
 a fine relish. Such relish, however, she 
 was not fated to enjoy ; for, on a sudden, as 
 'the bridegroom was paying her some ex- 
 ceeding gallant compliments, his eye seem- 
 ed to flash at Something he took note of at 
 the table, and he broke out into the most 
 ungovernable fury of passion eye ever be- 
 held. He expressed the terriblest indigna- 
 tion and rage, and actually seemed to foam 
 at the mouth as he denounced the omission 
 he perceived. There were no custards ! 
 
 Though custards seemed as out of place 
 amongst such miserable odds and ends as 
 the table afforded, as a court dame in a 
 lazar-house, their absence was regarded as 
 an offence not to be pardoned. In vain the 
 bride urgently affirmed she cared not for 
 custards ; in vain she acknowledged she 
 was content with what see saw before her, 
 and was willing to make her supper of it 
 her husband, increasing in his fury, threw 
 the viands out of the open casement, kicked 
 over the table, and, taking up a three-legged 
 stool, run after the ragged urchin, swearing 
 lustily he would make an example of him, 
 for showing such neglect towards his new- 
 made wife. 
 
 The woman's tailor had disappeared, ao
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 141 
 
 that, on the departure of her husband, Ju- 
 dith found herself alone. Great as was her 
 spirit, she felt somewhat alarmed at the 
 outrageous violence she had just witnessed. 
 Her appetite was gone ; she cared not now for 
 partaking-of the goodliest banquet the world 
 could produce ; and when the old woman 
 entered, scarcely able to speak for very fear, 
 the few exclamations she uttered pointed to 
 matter so horrible, she begged she might be 
 led to her chamber. This was readily done, 
 and the old crone did not leave her till she 
 had filled the mind of the young bride with 
 the most fearful accounts of the terrible fu- 
 rious temper of her husband whenever he 
 met with any sort of opposition. In other 
 respects, he was described as a man so mar- 
 vellously well disposed, any woman might 
 be happy with him to the end of her days ; 
 but, whenever it chanced he was crossed, 
 or contradicted, or opposed in any manner 
 whatsoever, no whirlwind was so fierce as 
 his wrath. 
 
 Judith locked herself in her chamber, not 
 without a secret dread the door might pres- 
 ently be burst open, and herself be made a 
 sufferer from such frantic violence as she , 
 had witnessed. Her meditations, which j 
 were none of the pleasantest, were frequent- 
 ly disturbed by strange, unnatural noises, 
 which made her tremble from head to foot. 
 She did not dare to stir she could not at- 
 tempt to go to sleep ; but, from hour to 
 hour, continued to expect to be involved in 
 a scene of uproar which appeared to be go- 
 ing on below. 
 
 Little did she fancy that her husband all 
 this while was never in so good a humor in 
 his life, and that, saving a few minutes 
 passed in making for her sole entertainment 
 the unnatural screeches that so frightened 
 her, he was feasting right merrily from a 
 bountiful store of excellent meats, with his 
 fast friend and counsellors, Jonas Tietape 
 and Tommy Hart, and kept pledging with 
 them bumper after bumper of most choice 
 Gascon, to " The speedy and thorough tam- 
 ing of the Shrew." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 These are the works of our God, whereby 
 he would admonish the tyrants of this earth, 
 that in the end he will be revenged of their 
 cruelty, what strength soever they make in the 
 contrary. 
 
 JOHN KNOX. 
 
 Il was on a morning of matchless beauty 
 
 the sky being all around of a clear, in- 
 tense blue, the soft, warm, voluptuous air, 
 refreshed by its closeness to the sea, which 
 looked of a delicious coolness and transpa- 
 rency that a small .ship, of that sort called 
 a pink, was seen entering the Bay of Naples. 
 It was evident she had no warlike intention, 
 from the absence in her of any thing which 
 showed a disposition for hostilities ; never- 
 theless, a few guns, well placed, gave sure 
 sign that she was not altogether unprepared to 
 make a defence, should she be attacked. At 
 this time, however, she neither expected nor 
 sought to use such weapons ; her sails were 
 spread to catch the breeze that was gaily 
 wafting her to her destined port ; and on 
 her deck might be seen several curious 
 spectators enjoying the lovely prospect that 
 opened before them. 
 
 Prominent amongst them there stood the 
 figure of one in his full manhood, well fa- 
 vored in countenance, noble in figure', hand- 
 somely but not too bravely apparelled, and 
 bearing about him many other marks that 
 point out a man of more than ordinary note 
 in the eye of the world. He was addressing 
 a youth that was leaning over the side of 
 the vessel, and by his manner -it might be 
 supposed they were father and son, had not 
 the deep affectionateness which beamed in 
 the intellectual countenance of the elder one 
 been mingled with a respect that spoke 
 more of homage due to superior rank. The 
 younger of the two, though the natural 
 graces of his face and person, set off as they 
 were with such admirable bravery as he 
 displayed, might have seemed to furnish 
 ample proof of relationship, the indifferency, 
 beyond the interests he could not help feel- 
 ing for the objects to which his attention 
 was directed, with which he listened to the 
 speech of his most eloquent companion as 
 he pointed out the beauties of the magnifi- 
 cent scene that every moment seemed to 
 become more enticing, was sufficient assur- 
 ance he was no son of his. 
 
 Such, in truth, was the case the former 
 being no other than our marvellous sweet 
 Shakspeare, and the other Master William 
 Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke's heir, to 
 whom, at the desire of one whose slightest 
 wish had long been the most absolute of 
 laws, he was now travelling to the principal 
 countries of Europe, as his governor, and 
 diligently did he endeavor to fulfil satisfac- 
 torily the task he had undertaken. He 
 strove, by all means in his power, to make 
 the mind entrusted to him acquire whatever 
 of knowledge, or the love of it, he himself 
 possessed ; and his discourse was so preg- 
 nant with high and noble truths, that often
 
 142 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 the nide mariners that chanced to be within , 
 earshot of him, stopped what labour they 
 were about, and forgot their business, how- 
 ever pressing it might be, as they listened to 
 his wondrous speech. 
 
 Nor was it done less lovingly than dili- 
 gently. Indeed, he had cheated himself 
 into no common pleasure in the conceit, that 
 the sumless heaps of love he might not feel 
 for the mother, he could allow himself to 
 feel for the son as her representative, image, 
 and second self. All the voyage, he had 
 secretly been feeding his heart with the 
 most passionate transports for his young 
 namesake and pupil ; and as he was forced 
 to conceal as much as lay in his power the 
 idolatry with which the youth was regarded 
 by him, and yet could not restrain the busy 
 world within, he, at every convenient oppor- 
 tunity, privily committed his thoughts and 
 feelings to paper, -in the form of the most 
 exquisite verse poet ever writ. This prac- 
 tice he continued for a long time after. 
 Often, when he had been struggling to en- 
 dure outwardly unmoved-the coldness in the 
 unconscious inheritor of the features of the 
 noble lady, against the powerful influence 
 of whose excellences he had so long and 
 vainly struggled, has some passionate son- 
 net expressed and eased the fulness of his 
 o'ercharged heart. 
 
 But this excess of affection rested not en- 
 tirely, though, in sooth, it did in a marvel- 
 lous great measure, on the grounds here stat- 
 ed, for he would fancy at times that, had his 
 loved Hamnet lived, he would have been 
 just such another goodly youth to look on as 
 Master Herbert, and thereupon he would 
 mingle the gallantry of his devotion to the 
 representative of the best and loveliest lady 
 of her age, with the touching earnestness of 
 that fathomless love with which he had been 
 wont to look on the sweetest, worthiest son 
 fond father ever had. 
 
 Whilst he was talking, one who looked to 
 be the captain, a sturdy Englishman, who 
 knew well the country he was sailing to, 
 joined the group, and, in answer to Master 
 Shakspeare's praise of the smiling Eden 
 from which he had been drawing such in- 
 finite contentation, he launched out into 
 very sharp abuse of it, vowing that it har- 
 bored so many who lived by spoiling and 
 murdering all such ns came in their way, 
 that the place was clean unfit for a Chris- 
 tian to live in. In proof of what he ad- 
 vanced, he spoke of a noted brigand called 
 Zingano who had lately infested those 
 parts a captain of wandering Bohemians, 
 who had made himself a terror to the whole 
 nei Thborhood, by plundering travellers and 
 
 attacking and carrying off to their secret 
 caves any one in their reach who could pay 
 a tempting price for his ransom, making 
 short work of such as they could not make 
 a market of. This intelligence did, in some 
 measure, damp the pleasure Master Shak- 
 speare felt in observing so fair a scene ; but 
 much time was not allowed him for the en- 
 tertainment of his disappointment, for, by 
 this time, the pink had entered so far into 
 the bay, that the anchor was let go, and pre- 
 parations were made for an immediate land- 
 ing- 
 Master Shakspeare's party consisted of 
 himself and young Herbert, and the former's 
 faithful serving-man, Simon Stockfish ; with 
 them came an aged mariner, of a wild, un- 
 natural aspect, whose exceeding taciturnity 
 was so much to the humor of Simon, that 
 he engaged him to attend his master on 
 shore, and help take charge of the luggage. 
 They reached the landing-place without any 
 hindrance or difficulty, and soon were in the 
 streets of Naples, to the vast content of 
 Master Herbert, who seemed to admire 
 hugely every thing out of the ordinary that 
 met his observation. His governor failed 
 not to direct his attention to what was most 
 worthy of note, but he looked too pleased 
 with the aspect of all that met his gaze to 
 heed much what was said. 
 
 In the house in which they presently took 
 up their lodging they were so fortunate as 
 to meet with a person ready, for a fitting re- 
 ward, to do them all good services in show- 
 ing them whatever in the city was consider- 
 ed worthy of observation. But all the talk 
 of Naples then was of Vesuvius, for it was 
 generally believed, from certain signs, that 
 an eruption in that fiery mountain would 
 soon display itself. Great alarm seemed to 
 exist amongst the Neapolitans on this subject ; 
 and they who had property lying in the di- 
 rection it was expected the burning lava 
 would take, were busily devising all sorts of 
 idle schemes for the saving of it. 
 
 Master Shakspeare determined to ascend 
 the mountain, that his youthful charge might 
 see one of the most marvellous of the deep 
 mysteries of nature, yet no sooner was this 
 known than many friendly attempts were 
 made to dissuade him from it. The most 
 horrible accounts were given of. the danger 
 there must be in making the ascent at such 
 a period ; added to which there were awful 
 stories told him of the atrocities of the terrible 
 Zingano and his band, whose haunts were in 
 the very part of the mountain along which 
 they must proceed. These, however, took 
 little effect on him. He caused preparations 
 to be immediately made for attempting the
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 143 
 
 ascent ; and, in case he might be molested 
 by the brigands, all his party went well 
 armed, and, for farther security, he took 
 with him, in addition to the usual guides, a 
 strong escort of the town-guard. 
 
 Simon Stockfish appointed his new ac- 
 quaintance to help him in carrying whatever 
 might be required during the expedition ; 
 for, though old, he did not look as if he 
 lacked strength, and there was something in 
 the sternness of his glance that satisfied 
 Simon, in case of danger he would stand on 
 his defence right sturdily. He therefore 
 was properly armed, and took his place in 
 the party. 
 
 They left Naples, and proceeded in the 
 direction of the burning mountain, Master 
 Herbert's governor very much lightening 
 the way for him by pleasant and profitable 
 discourse touching the nature and history of 
 volcanos ; thence proceeding to notice the 
 wondrous mischiefs they had done, more es- 
 pQciauy the destruction of the cities of Pom- 
 peii and Herculaneum by showers of red 
 hot cinders this brought him to speak of 
 Pliny and his miraculous escape from the 
 terrible fate that overtook the inhabitants 
 of those cities, and then he followed on with 
 later eruptions, eliciting by apt questions 
 from the guides, full particulars of what had 
 happaned in their experience ; and thence 
 arose sundry narratives of the phenomena 
 Vesuvius exhibited, descriptions of the de- 
 struction caused by the progress of the 
 burning fluid, and certain marvellous es- 
 capes of the country people from the scorch- 
 ing and consuming element. 
 
 There was no great difficulty in passing 
 from this subject to the brigands, and there 
 followed an abundance of stories of their 
 daring and savageness, in which different 
 captains of them were made the heroes ; 
 but, in especial, there was great mention of 
 Zinirano, who, according to all accounts, in- 
 finitely exceeded in audacity, courage, and 
 fierceness, the most celebrated of his villa- 
 nous brethren. Some spoke of him as a 
 devil incarnate, not satisfied with plunder- 
 ing all who fell in his way, he was merciless 
 as an enraged tiger to such as he took of- 
 fence at; others magnified his prowess to 
 what was far beyond the ordinary, and 
 touched upon instances he had afforded of 
 succor to the distressed. Then came such 
 accounts of his life as would have sufficed 
 all the heroes of the table round. No ro- 
 mance was ever so marvellous, no ballad 
 so full of strange adventure. Nevertheless, 
 the guides, one and all, seemed deeply im- 
 pressed with the truth of the most incredible 
 
 of such accounts, and if need were, would 
 have borne testimony of their faithfulness. 
 
 My Lord of Pembroke's heir appeared to 
 take but little heed of these narratives, as 
 though he looked on them as old wives' 
 fables, unworthy of the attention of a youth 
 of noble blood. 
 
 His worthy governor had marked this in- 
 differency to matters of more moment, and 
 not without some slight disquietude. He 
 would put himself right earnestly to exalt 
 his scholar's mind to nobler perceptions. 
 With the deep interest in him he could not 
 help feeling, no wonder his councils some- 
 times, spite of his efforts to conceal how 
 much his heart was in his task, looked to be 1 
 of a warmer character than the situations 
 of the parties seemed to warrant ; but the 
 coldness with which such manifestations 
 were invariably regarded, never failed 
 quickly to bring him back to a proper state 
 of self-control. It was a hard task for him to 
 look on the living image of the noble-hearted 
 woman to whom so large a portion of his 
 best thoughts had been dedicated, with the 
 unconcern of one who hath but a depend- 
 ant's interest ; but it was harder still when 
 the tender impulses which were struggling 
 in his breast made themselves visible, to find 
 them met by the proud wondering of a 
 haughty spirit that considers kindness so 
 shown as savoring of nothing so much as of 
 a presumption that he is bound to check by 
 every way in his power. 
 
 This time the behavior of his youthful 
 charge had struck him more powerfully 
 than on any preceding occasion, but he dis- 
 sembled as well as he might, and pursued 
 his way up the mountain, conversing in his 
 ordinary cheerful manner with the guides. 
 The path now began to be a troublesome 
 one, the soil being composed, for the most 
 part, of cinders and lava, which made an 
 exceeding loose footing, so that each one of 
 the party was forced to look carefully to his 
 own progress. 
 
 Young Herbert, with an active guide, 
 lightly and rapidly led the way ; he was fol- 
 lowed closely by Master Shakspeare, who 
 anxiously kept up with him. At a little 
 distance followed Simon Stockfish, silently 
 entertaining numberless doubts as to the 
 advantage .of all this arduous climbing, and 
 considering whether some fine stroke of 
 policy could not be hit upon whereby such 
 dangers as seemed most imminent might be 
 diverted from his good master.. Simon had, 
 close at his hand, the old seaman from the 
 Pink, carrying a basket, and though he 
 seemed to 'have a friendly feeling toward*
 
 144 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 him, he did not think it necessary to com- 
 municate his good wishes ; and as for the 
 other, there could be little question he was 
 in a like hurr.or, for he scarcely so much as 
 opened his mouth all the way. After them 
 came other guides, and the escort followed 
 at a convenient distance. It appeared as 
 tiiougti nothing was so plain as the unne- 
 cessariness of the latter, for there existed 
 not in the neighborhood the slightest sign 
 of living creature of any sort ; the wild and 
 flesolate scene would not have accorded ill 
 with groups of savage banditti, but there 
 was no evidence of any such thereabouts. 
 
 They had climbed so far that their near- 
 ness to the volcano might easily be judged 
 by the sulphureous fumes that pervaded the 
 air, and by certain rumblings and shakings 
 in the belly of the mountain. At last the 
 atmosphere appeared to be gradually getting 
 darker, and the rumblings did so increase as 
 to shake the ground beneath their feet. 
 Whereupon the guides wore a monstrous 
 serious aspect, and did affirm with singular 
 earnestness, these signs portended a speedy 
 eruption, and that all were in singular jeo- 
 pardy, from which there was no likelihood 
 of escaping, unless they met with very mar- 
 vellous good fortune. 
 
 The gloomy color of this intelligence 
 Master Shakspeare liked not at all. But not 
 on his own account was it so little pleasing 
 to him, for he was not of a spirit to heed his 
 own convenience or safety in a case of 
 common danger, but he could not help cer- 
 tain uneasy thoughts of the infinite respon- 
 sibility he had taken on himself in leading 
 his young charge into a situation so fraught 
 with peril. The life of one in whom the 
 nature lie so devotedly worshipped seemed 
 part and parcel, was very far dearer than 
 his own, and he trembled to think of the 
 consequences, should aught of evil befal 
 him. But Master Herbert would not hear of 
 any retreating. He treated the prognosti- 
 cations of the guides as statements worthy 
 of no credit, and being exceeding curious 
 to see the crater, he bade all push on with- 
 out tin instant's loss ; and, attended by his 
 guide, briskly led the way. His worthy 
 governor followed with all the" speed possible, 
 and his faithful serving-man, with his des- 
 perate looking associate, did their best to 
 keep near at hand. The rest came stragg- 
 ling on at their leisure. 
 
 With all the activity displayed by the 
 foremost, their progress was slow, and not 
 unattended with danger. Frequently did 
 their legs sink so deep into the hot cinders, 
 *heir only footing, that it looked as if they 
 
 were to be swallowed up in that treacherous 
 soil. A guide was engaged in pointing out 
 to the travellers the course of the last stream 
 of burning lava which had poured down the 
 sides of the volcano, when, on a sudden, 
 there came a terrible explosion, that seemed 
 to deafen all who heard it, which was fol- 
 lowed by the shooting up from the crater of 
 an immense pillar of burning stone and 
 ashes, that fell on the other side of the moun- 
 tain, in a mass that would soon have anni- 
 hilated a city. Presently this black pillar 
 turned into one of fire, spouting up to an in- 
 measurable height, in the midst of which 
 were seen huge masses of rock thrown up 
 as though shot out of a great cannon, which 
 fell thundering down the sides of the vol- 
 cano, splitting into fragments as they fell. 
 
 Scarcely had this terrible eruption com- 
 menced, when the leaders of the party had 
 reached a sort of shelf or platform overlook- 
 ing the crater, whence the fearfullest sight 
 broke on them eye ever saw. The^noun- 
 tain, like an enormous monster, continued 
 to belch out immense volumes of fire and 
 flame, that reached a height at which the 
 eye ached to follow it, and it broke in a 
 resistless flood that went boiling, hissing, 
 and scorching down the side of the mountain, 
 and into the valley beneath, threatening the 
 destruction of all the orchards, gardens, and 
 villages that lay in the direction it was 
 taking. 
 
 Master Shakspeare could not forbear 
 shuddering as he remembered that a change 
 in the wind might bring upon the heads of 
 his party the whole power of this consum- 
 ing inundation. He could not sufficiently 
 marvel at the sublimity of the spectacle be- 
 fore him ; but, attractive as it was, he 
 would have given all he was worth in the 
 world to have got his charge at that moment 
 some fifty miles off. 
 
 A new danger threatened him much more 
 imminent than the one he had such dread 
 of, from which there appeared to be no es- 
 cape. Whilst all eyes were directed to the 
 huge mouth of the burning mountain vom- 
 iting such prodigious volumes of fire, one 
 of the guides, in accents of terror, cried 
 out, " Zingano! Zingano !" and all turning 
 at that instant, discovered a tall, stout ban- 
 dit, with a dark and savage aspect, well 
 armed with sword and dagger, pistolet and 
 arquebus, within a few yards of them, on 
 the same ledge of the mountain, whilst, 
 from various eminences that overlooked 
 them, appeared several of a like threatening 
 appearance, whose pieces were pointed at 
 them with matches ready, as much as tc
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 145 
 
 say if they stirred they were no better than 
 so many dead men. Resistance was hope- 
 less ; they had advanced so expeditiously as 
 to leave their lagging escort behind them, 
 at a distance too far off to know the strait 
 they were in, or to be able to render them 
 any assistance. 
 
 Zingano suffered not his victims to have 
 much time for reflection, or to mistake his 
 intentions. With a monstrous loud and in- 
 solent voice, he bade the party deliver their 
 purses and all they had about them of va- 
 lue, threatening speedy dea 1 h delayed they 
 a moment in doing his bidding. Had as- 
 sistance not been so near, they would have 
 been stripped at once and carried off cap- 
 tive, but the object was to get what booty 
 they could easiest obtain and quickest de- 
 part with. 
 
 Seeing, whichever way they looked, a 
 horrible cut-throat visage peering at them 
 from the further end of a tube, that in a 
 moment or so could put a ball through their 
 heads, without a chance of escape, they took 
 to getting ready what was wanted of them 
 as speedily as was possible. Even Simon 
 Stockfish was so taken by surprise, he pre- 
 pared to deliver all he possessed, without 
 aiming at a single stroke of policy, either 
 for his worthy master or for himself. 
 
 All at once there came a cry from one of 
 their own party or rather a shriek of ex- 
 ultation such as a savage Indian might be 
 supposed to make at the sight of an enemy 
 in his power, and, turning to whence it 
 came, how greatly did they marvel at see- 
 ing the aged seaman whom they had taken 
 from the Pink to help them in the ascent, 
 leap before them with all the quickness of a 
 deer, and armed only with a long knife, con- 
 front the captain of the bandits. The re- 
 cognition was evidently natural a cry of 
 terror, involuntarily as it were, burst from 
 the lips of Zingano, better known to the 
 reader as Black Sampson, as he heard the 
 cry of " Blood ! blood !" hissed into his 
 ears. He saw at a glance that the eyes 
 which were piercing through him were 
 those of the old shepherd, whose gallant son 
 he had so ruthlessly slain. 
 
 With a mighty effort he suddenly sought 
 to nerve himself fora deadly encounter with 
 his remorseless pursuer, and swaying with 
 his vigorous arm by the end of the barrel, 
 the weapon he held in his hand, he sought 
 to crush him at a blow. Ere it descended, 
 however, the shepherd had leapt upon him, 
 and his knuckles were at his throat : then 
 commenced a most fearful struggle not 
 only from the deadly rage which animated 
 the breasts of each with equal degree, but 
 10 
 
 from the perilous place in which the conflict 
 was carried on. 
 
 They stood only within a few feet of the 
 spouting gulf of fire, the intense heat of 
 which became hardly possible to breathe in, 
 and for their footing they had a loose soil 
 of cinders and lava that crumbled at the 
 slightest tread. Nevertheless, each looked 
 only to his enemy, thought only of his ene- 
 my, and in such looking and thinking had 
 but one object his quick and utter destruc- 
 tion. No weapons were used, there was no 
 time to employ them ; it appeared as though 
 the first thing sought was by mere strength 
 to overpower the other, and then dispatch 
 him. 
 
 The old shepherd had got a good grip, 
 and he held on like grim death. The ban- 
 dit put forth every muscle to free himself, 
 but with little avail, and his companions 
 would readily have put a bullet through his 
 antagonist, did not the constant twisting and 
 turning of the combatants make a sure aim 
 impossible. Some would have come to their 
 captain's assistance, but the ledge where 
 they stood was so narrow, from a part of it 
 having just given way, that another could 
 not get there without incurring a very hor- 
 rible risk, and they also thought that the 
 old man was not strong enough to be a fit 
 match for their famous leader. 
 
 Apparently without knowing it, they 
 were gradually nearing the brink of the 
 crater, the ashes sunk beneath their pres- 
 sure, and fragments of the ledge continued 
 to break off, and fall into the fiery mass 
 now boiling and raging so awfully near 
 them. Still neither relaxed in his endeavors 
 neither thought of the horrors of his posi- 
 tion. Each had contrived to get one arm 
 fixed as in a vice round the other's waist, 
 and the gipsy was intent on drawing the 
 other away from the grasp it had, to seize 
 a weapon ; but to keep such advantage as 
 he had, he was fain to hold on and -continue 
 his fierce struggling and wrestling. At 
 last, with the quickness of lightning, he 
 snatched the dagger from his girdle ; but in 
 the very act of uplifting it, he was carried 
 off his feet by a tittnendous exertion of the 
 old man, who, with a fierce shriek of horri- 
 ble laughter, leapt with him in his arms in- 
 to the boiling flood. 
 
 The horror-struck spectators saw them 
 disappear, and the next instant they rose a 
 whitened shapeless mass in the midst of an 
 enormous spout of boiling lava, that rose 
 like a fiery torrent into the sky then they 
 fell back, and in a thought became indistin- 
 guishably commingled with the flaming in- 
 gredients in that terrific caldron.
 
 146 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 By tliis time the escort had approached 
 so near, that the companions of Zingano, 
 terrified by the spectacle they had witness- 
 ed, disappeared as speedily as they could, 
 but not without one or two sho*.s being fired 
 at them, which, however, it is believed did 
 no great damage. The travellers had seen 
 enough of the burning mountain, and no 
 one seemed disinclined to resist the wishes 
 of the leader of the party to get back to Na- 
 ples, before a change in the wind made 
 their fate scarcely less terrible tlian that 
 of the murderer and the avenger of his 
 crime. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 His countenance was a civil war itself, 
 And all his host had standing in their looks 
 The paleness of the death that was to come. 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 IT was about the midwatch, in a serene 
 night, a gallant pinnace might have been 
 seen cleaving her way through the waves 
 of that highroad to great adventures, com- 
 monly called the Spanish Main. To a sail- 
 or's eye, she was as fair a craft to look on 
 as might be seen anywhere on the wide 
 ocean, bravely appointed with warlike 
 stores, and manned with a valiant company 
 of daring adventurers, most of whom were 
 as careless of life as though, in their esti- 
 mation, it was not worth a pin's fee. A 
 famous sight was it to see the good ship, 
 " The Little Wolf," careering over the 
 foaming billows that ofttimes raised their 
 huge crests as though to topple her down 
 headlong in sooth, it was an admirable 
 goodly sight : yet there were some persons 
 to be met with who misliked it hugely ; 
 they could not hear the gallant pinnace so 
 much as named without being terribly 
 moved, and to get sight of her, no matter 
 how strongly furnished they might be for 
 war, they instantly fell into a deadly fear. 
 These were no other than the Spaniards 
 inhabiting those coasts, or had occasion to 
 voyage in those seas ; and the reason of 
 their monstrous fear was, that this same 
 ship was known far and near amongst them 
 as the terriblest scourge to all of their coun- 
 try the liveliest imagination could conceive. 
 The crew were looked upon as a sort of 
 roaring devils, and their captain it was 
 thought could he no other than the arch- 
 riend himself. Since she had first appeared 
 on that coast, it was wonderful the damage 
 Bne had brought upon them ; the strongest 
 places and the powerfulles' chips were of 
 
 no avail against the unnatural fierce valor 
 of those on board of her : they were storm- 
 ed and sacked in an incredible short space 
 of time, and those who attempted opposition 
 greviously hurt, or slain outright. 
 
 This captain was known on the coast as 
 " the devil-Englishman," England having 
 been his birthplace, as it was reported, but 
 it was more generally believed he was a 
 native of a much warmer place rumor de- 
 scribed after divers horrible fashions ; some 
 giving oat that he was infinitely beyond the 
 ordinary stature of man, with a wild inhu- 
 man countenance, the nostrils whereof had 
 been seen to breathe fire, as several credit- 
 able witnesses could testify, and that he 
 was of a most savage appetite, loving to 
 pamper his delicate stomach on nothing so 
 much as a new-born babe, carefully barba- 
 cued over a gentle fire, or tit-bits from a 
 young virgin, daintily done in their own 
 gravy. 
 
 That he had cloven feet there seemed not 
 to be any dispute nay, there was a certain 
 priest who, in the midst of a most moving 
 sermon touching the identity of the arch- 
 enemy with this terror of the Spaniards, 
 did avouch most solemnly that, when a 
 prisoner on board the dreaded ship, he once 
 came upon the devil-Englishman suddenly, 
 and found him paring his hoofs, and, as 
 undeniable proof of what he stated, he im- 
 mediately produced to his fear-struck audi- 
 tors a portion of the infernal paring he had 
 then and there secreted. 
 
 Much more of these awful accounts 
 found ready credence in those parts ; but, 
 although in some points they were exceed- 
 ing contradictory, as regards the courage 
 of the individual to whom they related, 
 there seemed but one voice. Nothing could 
 withstand his fierceness : he swept all be- 
 fore him, no matter how 'great the force, or 
 how strong the defences, the whilst no hos- 
 tile weapon or destructive missile had pow- 
 er to do him the least injury. Many a se- 
 rious Spaniard had beheld a bullet drop to 
 the ground, having been flattened upon his 
 person ; and more than one goodly rapier 
 was shewn, the edge whereof quite turned 
 from having been forcibly thrust against 
 him. 
 
 Of his first appearance in those seas 
 there were various legends ; but the best 
 informed seemed to lake on themselves to 
 say that he began to war against them as a. 
 person of little or no authority, yet that his 
 terrible furious courage soon raised him 
 above his associates. From a small com- 
 mand he quickly rose to a greater, and had 
 been wont latterly to come upon them with
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 147 
 
 from one to five c? six large ships, well 
 equipped with all munitions of war, and 
 with valiant and skilful crews, that took 
 all vessels coming m their way, attacked 
 the towns and villages upon the coast, and 
 plundered them of whatever of value they 
 possessed that could be carried away, spoil- 
 ing them, and doing them such intolerable 
 mischiefs, the like had not been heard of in 
 the memory of man. 
 
 The men who joined in this warfare were 
 known in that part of the world by the name 
 of buccaneers, from the manner of curing 
 their meat ; and the chief of these, or at 
 least the most famous amongst their leaders, 
 was now this terrible fierce captain. It was 
 said that they were no better than pirates, 
 making war without any authority, save 
 their own desperate inclinations ; but, let 
 them be what they would, it is certain they 
 were a monstrous evil to the Spaniards in 
 those seas, against whom, in especial, they 
 were exceedingly implacable. 
 
 They were people of many countries ; 
 but principally English, Dutch, Portuguese 
 and Moors, of the most adventurous and 
 fearless sort the world contained, who took 
 to the high seas as a road to fortune ; and, 
 though they were ever in a constant peril 
 of their lives, they, for the most part, man- 
 aged to amass great riches, with which they 
 that escaped after many years' fighting with 
 their enemies, returned to their several 
 countries, and were ever after looked upon 
 as persons of worship. 
 
 These buccaneers would appear in the 
 Spanish Main with sometimes one, some- 
 times more ships ; and, making a landing at 
 some place on the coast, where they knew 
 beforehand they were like to get, with a few 
 hard knocks, good store of plunder, they 
 would steal upon the inhabitants when they 
 least expected them, and, slaying all who 
 made opposition, take all the gold and silver, 
 and other precious stuff they could lay hand 
 on, and, when they had obtained all they 
 could, would get on board and sail away. 
 Perchance they would meet ships of the Spa- 
 niards of equal or greater force ; but these 
 they would attack, and, in an incredible short 
 space, get the better of. 
 
 Such was the marvellous courage on 
 which they entered upon their most desper- 
 ate enterprises, it seemed as though there 
 was no resisting them. On Jand or at sea. 
 attacking the strongest towns or the biggest 
 ships, they so rarely tailed of destroying and 
 spoiling their adversary, that many of the 
 terrified Spaniards looked upon them as 
 leagued with the powers of darkness, and 
 did utter or give credence to the strange 
 
 tales concerning them and their captain, 
 such as hath awhile since been mentioned. 
 
 It was on an expedition of this sort that 
 the good ship, " the Little Wolf^" was now 
 pursuing her course. She had sailed in 
 company with two smaller vessels from the 
 general place of assembling of these adven- 
 turers in the Western Indies, but had been 
 separated from them in a tremendous storm, 
 which drove her at the mercy of the winds, 
 day and night, till the crew were nigh spent 
 with watching and labor. Moreover, the 
 water and provision were found to run short, 
 which greatly increased the discontent. Of 
 buccaneers, the common sort were, by rea- 
 son of their riotous, disorderly habits, not ea- 
 sily kept in any sort of discipline, and any 
 mischance or reverse of fortune they took 
 so ill, that it was only by great heedfulness 
 on the part of their appointed officers, they 
 could be held in proper subjection. 
 
 In the case of the Little Wolf they were 
 horribly dissatisfied every one of them : they 
 had been so tossed about, they had lost their 
 reckoning; none knew for certain where 
 they were, yet many presumed to find fault 
 with the course they were steering, and 
 murmurs, and even threats, were heard 
 amongst the most turbulent. Their captain 
 they knew to be a thorough seaman, and as 
 brave a leader as brave men ever fought un- 
 der ; nevertheless, they were not wanting, 
 some amongst them who looked upoh his 
 rule as intolerable, and were for any change 
 by which they fancied they could in any way 
 better themselves. Their captain was strict, 
 keeping every man to his duty, and punish- 
 ing sharply the slightest disobediency. This 
 fretted their proud stomachs monstrously, 
 especially those who were not of his nation. 
 They could not endure such sharp handling, 
 and seemed only to wait for an opportunity 
 to put an end to it. 
 
 It was under such circumstances that the 
 ship was proceeding on her way, as hath 
 been described at the commencement of this 
 chapter. The watch had been set, and in 
 general all seemed fur and orderly, save ever 
 and anon a burst of riotous merriment would 
 break forth from the forecastle, where it was 
 evident enough, of all conscience, a numer- 
 ous party of the crew were entertaining 
 themselves, after their own rough fashion. 
 On the main deck, as far as possible from 
 the hearing of the revellers, two boys were 
 sitting together away from close scrutiny on 
 one of the guns. They spoke in a low voice, 
 and, as it seemed, in a manner especially sa- 
 voring of confidence. 
 
 " Nay, I like not this seafaring life, Mar- 
 tin," said one, who, out of all doubt, was no
 
 148 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 other than our especial acquaintance, lazy 
 Launce, the runaway apprentice of Tabitha 
 Thatchpole, and his companion was his 
 sworn fellow and loving friend, Martin Poins, 
 his opposite neighbor. Neither looked the 
 better for their rash embracing of that wild, 
 adventurous life they had adopted the one 
 from impatience of the hard rule of his se- 
 vere mistress, the other that he might share 
 the fortunes of his sworn lover. Hearing 
 there was a ship of war lying in the Thames, 
 which it was rumored was about to sail for 
 the Spanish Main, where her captain had 
 already greatly signalized himself by his 
 valor and seamanship, they got on board, 
 volunteered to serve the captain, and, being 
 approved of by him, they had been ever since 
 sharply employed learning to filfil the duties 
 of a sailor. 
 
 " I like not this seafaring life, Martin. It 
 jumpeth not with my humor at all," said 
 Launce, with marvellous seriousness. " I 
 wish very heartily I were well back again 
 in Golden Lane. The cuffs and ratings I 
 got of that old cat afforded fair entertain- 
 ment, in comparison with the intolerable 
 climbings aloft for the bending of sails or 
 some other villanous hard work, and the 
 constant fear of my life I am in through the 
 terrible furious storms we have had since 
 we left the Thames. Though I had in Bar- 
 bican such monstrous abundance of hard- 
 ships and ill-usage as ever poor 'prentice 
 endured, I had on an occasion no lack of 
 good sport, but in the horrible case in which 
 I am now tossed like a cat in a blanket, on 
 the Spanish Main, there are no tailors at 
 hand to play tricks upon, or constables of 
 the watch, or old women, or stray pigs, to 
 have any proper diversion with, or dogs or 
 cocks to set a fighting. There are no late 
 passengers to pelt privily from the window 
 as they pass unsuspecting along the street, 
 nor a chance of a stolen game of bowls as 1 
 go of an errand ; and, as for a delectable 
 draught of tickle-brain to comfort one's-self 
 withal, I have as clean lost sight of such a 
 thing, as though such good liquor had vanish- 
 ed out of the world." 
 
 " A hard case, o' my life !" exclaime( 
 Martin Poins, very gravely. " Were I you 
 I would no longer put up with such grie- 
 vous losses, but straightway be quit of the 
 good ship and her company, and walk my 
 self off." 
 
 " Ah, there's the horrible mischief of it,' 
 said the other, in an exceeding lamentabL 
 tone. " I am like a pig in a pound ; 
 must e'en stay where I am, whether I wil 
 or no." 
 
 ' Doubtless !" answered his associate, 
 drily. 
 
 " If it should be my good hap to get back 
 o Golden Lane," added Launce, with a pro- 
 ligious show of sincerity, " 1 promise you 
 on shall not catch me on board a ship of 
 ny sort, come what will on't." 
 
 " Dost remember the famous words you 
 rave utterance to when you sought me to 
 oin with you in this adventure ?" inquired 
 Martin. " How hugely you comforted your- 
 self with the great store of gold you were 
 ,o gain by your assisting in taking of some 
 Spanish galleon, and how gallantly you 
 would conduct yourself in every desperate 
 enterprise, till you had raised yourself to be 
 a great captain, and how you would marry 
 some king's daughter at the least, when it 
 suited you, and in good time succeed to his 
 wealth and kingdom ? Dost remember " 
 
 " Body o' me, I am in no humor of remem- 
 bering of anything," cried his friend, impati- 
 
 ntly. " But, as for Spanish galleons, I wish 
 not lor their acquaintance, for I am told they 
 are armed with guns, that do terrible exe- 
 cution when they are let off; and that the 
 Spaniards we are so intent on spoiling 
 have a villanous way with them of putting 
 to death all of oar nation that fall into their 
 hands. Methinks they and their goods are 
 best let alone. For mine own part, I regard 
 them with no malice, and care to do them 
 no injury. But, hush, what choice singing 
 is this ?" 
 
 The two young men listened attentively, 
 and they distinctly heard, in a fine, manly 
 voice, tolerably familiar to them already, the 
 verses which are here set down : 
 
 THE BUCCANEER'S SONG. 
 Come, seek with me the blushing girls 
 
 That India's spicy islands hold ; 
 Where ev'ry stream doth brim with pearls, 
 
 And ev'ry rock doth burst with gold : 
 And where some overladen tree, 
 
 Holds low its store of purple berry 
 Their charms shall prove our argosie, 
 
 And there we'll feast and live right merry 
 
 You paler beauties of the south 
 
 May serve to grace a gallant's feast, 
 Who's tasted not the luscious mouth 
 
 We find within the burning East. 
 Love there a draught more sweet secures, 
 
 Than gascon, muscadine, or sherry : 
 Then make the bounteous vintage yours, 
 
 There take your fill, and be right merry ! 
 
 " Doth not that move you ?" asked Mar- 
 tin Poins, as soon as the singer had come 
 to a halt. 
 
 " 'Tis an exquisite song, o' my life," re- 
 plied Launce, " and I have heard many such
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 149 
 
 from the same sir.ger ; yet I like him not, 
 Martin." 
 
 " Nor do I," said the other, with more se- 
 riousness than he had yet affected. " I 
 know not what he may have been before he 
 sought his fortune in this ship ; but there 
 seemeth to be that in him which smacks of 
 a better condition. Nevertheless. I like him 
 none the better for it, for I much doubt his 
 honesty. I have seen him laying himself 
 out very craftily to catch the voices of the 
 worst-disposed of the crew, particularly af- 
 fecting the foreigners. I cannot help fan- 
 cying he harbors some ill design ; for I like 
 not the manner I ever find him in corners 
 holding converse with all who are known to 
 be dissatisfied with the voyage." 
 
 " I have heard it said, and very roundly 
 too, the captain is much to blame," observed 
 Launce. 
 
 " And so have I, many times," answered 
 Martin. "But, as far as I can learn, from 
 the best informed in such matters, nothing 
 better could have been done in such stormy 
 weather as we have had, and I hugely sus- 
 pect these grumblings are produced only by 
 envy and jealousy, and the like evil passions 
 in they who are discontented." 
 
 "Hush, surely this is him coming this 
 way !" exclaimed the other ; " and he being 
 to-night captain o' the watch, may chance 
 not be well pleased to find us loitering here. 
 Let us hide till he has passed." 
 
 There happened to be thrown over the 
 gun a large piece of sail-cloth, to which 
 some repairs had been made during the day, 
 and not having been finished, it had there 
 been left until it could be thoroughly mended. 
 Under this, Launee and his friend, as quickly 
 as they could, disappeared. 
 
 They had scarcely done so when two men 
 were seen approaching slowly towards the 
 place,engaged in deep and earnest discourse. 
 One was an Englishman, a tall fellow of his 
 his hands, with somewhat of a slouching gait 
 and with an exceeding dissolute look. Doubt- 
 less, this was the person to whom allusion 
 had just been made. The one with whom 
 he was in company was evidently a Moor, 
 by his complexion and apparel. His yellow 
 eye-balls seemed to gain additional ghastli- 
 ness in the moonlight, and there was trea- 
 chery in every line of his swarthy features. 
 He was, like his companion, a proper fellow 
 of his inches, and of an exceeding powerful 
 frame. To look at the countenance^ of these 
 two, and notice the earliest manner of their 
 discoursing, the understanding observer 
 might readily have suspected 'something 
 unusually damnable and treacherous ; and 
 such suspicions would soon have received 
 
 strength through a little attention to their 
 discourse. 
 
 " I tell thee, Abdallah, the plot cannot fail," 
 observed the Englishman, in a low voice, 
 as he approached the hiding-place of the 
 runaway apprentice and his friend ; and 
 these were the first words they heard, but 
 they caught much of what followed, the 
 conspirators continuing to pace up and down 
 close to them on the moon disappearing be- 
 hind a cloud " I have got over all but my 
 countrymen, and I can easily secure them 
 also, when they discover there is at least 
 three to one against them. But there is one 
 thing, without which our chance of success 
 will be little, even with all the advantages 
 we possess." 
 
 " Let thy slave know thy pleasure in this 
 matter," answered the Moor, " and doubt not 
 it shall be as thy heart desireth." 
 
 " The captain must be made away with 
 before any thing else is attempted," said the 
 other. " I know thy great courage, Abdal- 
 lah, and have that confidence in thy. discre- 
 tion, I can entrust this important business 
 only to thy sure hand." 
 
 " I have already settled the proper execu- 
 tion of it, O Compton," replied Abdallah. " I 
 have so planned, that I can readily enter hia 
 cabin when he sleeps my trusty blade will 
 do the rest." 
 
 " Good ; but when can this be accomplish- 
 ed ?" inquired Compton. " The plot is 
 ripe ; I would not have a moment lost. 
 Let us burst forth before any smell it out 
 I would have it done tin's night ay, this 
 minute, if within the warrant of possibi- 
 lity." 
 
 " Such is thy slave's design," replied Ab- 
 dallah. " Our great captain shall meet hia 
 death, in his first sleepy this night." 
 
 " That is well thought of, Abdallah. I 
 like the plan on 't marvellously," said his 
 companion. " The other officers we can 
 dispose of more at our leisure ; but prythee, 
 noble friend, take good heed he escape not. 
 Remember, thou art to be my lieutenant, 
 and that a life of sweetest enjoyment, with 
 exhaustless hoards of Spanish gold, await 
 us when we have got possession of this 
 ship." 
 
 " By the beard of the prophet, I swear to 
 thee, he shall die !" answered the Moor. 
 
 Launce listened with very different feel- 
 ings to those of Martin, though both youths 
 were horribly astonished at the treachery 
 thus laid open to them. The one felt as 
 though he dared scarcely breathe, and trem- 
 bled from head to foot ; but the other, though 
 greatly alarmed with the imminence of the 
 danger, was anxious to make some effort
 
 160 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 to prevent it. To issue from his conceal- 
 ment, he knew would insure certain death, 
 if discovered. The arch-conspirators would 
 not hesitate to slay one who had got posses- 
 sion of their villanous secrets ; and to remain 
 where he was would be to prevent all possi- 
 bility of an alarm being given in time to 
 prevent the approaching massacre. 
 
 Not an instant wasto be lost. Whisper- 
 ing to Launce to remain quiet till his return, 
 ^Martin softly took off his shoes ; then, when 
 he knew, by the retreating footsteps, that 
 the backs of the conspirators were towards 
 him, he raised the sail-cloth, and crept away 
 from it very cautiously across the path they 
 would make in returning. When he thought 
 they had got their usual distance, he lay 
 quiet, and endeavored to still the violent 
 beating of his heart. This was the critical 
 moment. It was too dark to distinguish ob- 
 jects at a little distance ; but, should the 
 moon appear whilst the conspirators were 
 approaching, he could not fail of being de- 
 tected. 
 
 He waited in an agony of suspense. 
 Suddenly they both stopped, and' he felt as- 
 sured all was over with him. To his great 
 relief, they did not cease talking, and he 
 heard, with a terrible distinctness, some of 
 the details of the murders that were about 
 to be acted. At last they continued their 
 paces, evidently too intent on their treason 
 to notice his closeness to them. As soon as 
 their backs were fairly turned, he again 
 commenced creeping on all-fours, and so 
 continued, stopping when they approached, 
 and cautiously proceeding when they re- 
 treated, till he had got himself out of dan- 
 ger. 
 
 In the meantime, Launce lay quaking for 
 very fear. He would have given all he was 
 worth in the world, and all he was like to 
 be, from that time forward his hopes of the 
 galleon, of being a great captain, and of 
 marrying a king's daughter into the bargain 
 only to have been safe on his accustomed 
 pallet, in the well-remembered chamber in 
 Tabitha Thatchpole's homely dwelling. 
 
 How bitterly he lamented his folly in 
 quitting such a delectable spot as he now 
 looked on it, and so sweet a mistress as he 
 now considered the very shrewish Tabitha, 
 to be in daily risk of drowning, escaping 
 which he stood in hourly fear of having his 
 throat cut ! He could have cried with vex- 
 ation, had he not been well aware that the 
 slightest noise might betray him ; and then 
 he tremb'ed from head to foot, and dared 
 not think or, the peril he was in. 
 
 He marvelled greatly that Martin Poins 
 had left him. and entertained intolerable 
 
 fears that it mig'rt lead to^thc discovery of 
 his concealment and there he lay crouched 
 up, like a frozen snake, expecting the very 
 horriblest deaths in every creak of the cord- 
 age or whistle of the wind, that sounded 
 louder than ordinary. 
 
 The two conspirators appeared to have 
 much to say, ere they could settle their 
 plans to their liking they agreed that the 
 time for action had arrived, and that the mu- 
 tiny should break out forthwith. 
 
 The massacre of the captain and his offi- 
 cers was to be followed by an attack on 
 those of the English amongst the crew who 
 were not disposed to join them, and then the 
 ship's course was to be altered, and a cer- 
 tain town on the American coast, which 
 was believed to be richly furnished and but 
 weakly guarded, was to be surprised, the 
 place sacked, and they who could not ran- 
 som themselves to be put to death ; after 
 which, they were to cruise on that coast 
 till every man was as rich as he wished to 
 be. Then they were to sell the ship and 
 her prizes to the Portuguese, and every one 
 return to his own country, or wherever else 
 he liked, to enjoy his gains. At last, they 
 parted the Moor going to the captain's ca- 
 bin for the purpose of murdering him with 
 his own hand, and Compton proceeding to the 
 rest of the conspirators to prepare them lor 
 immediately commencing the attack on the 
 other officers and men they had determined 
 on getting rid of. 
 
 Launce heard their retreating footsteps, 
 but he was in so deadly a fear he could not 
 dare to lift up the sail to see if the coast 
 was clear. 
 
 Compton proceeded on his errand. Just 
 then the moon escaped from the clouds 
 which had veiled her glories, and poured a 
 flood of soft light upon the ship and along 
 the waves over which she was so gallantly 
 floating. He glanced a sharp and eager eye 
 around him, and noted the extreme negli- 
 gence of those who kept watch. This au- 
 gured well for his plot, and he smiled exult- 
 ingly, as he saw how unprepared those from 
 whom he feared any resistance were, for 
 the fierce encounter which was to wrest 
 the ship out of their hands, to give it into 
 his. 
 
 This man had been born in a respectable 
 station, and was not without parts, but had 
 led so dissolute a life that all his friends 
 had disowned him, and, after committing ah 
 manner of villanies, he had been fain to go 
 to sea, to escape the hue and cry set for him. 
 
 In the present expedition, he had been al- 
 lowed a small command, but this served only 
 the greater to excite his huge ambition.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 161 
 
 He must needs be first in the enterprise he 
 and his companions were upon, and, to ob- 
 tain this station, he cared not what monstrous 
 crimes he committed. 
 
 He passed on to the forecastle, where se- 
 veral of the conspirators were waiting in 
 expectation of the summons that was to set 
 them at the work of slaughter. They ap- 
 peared to be carousing, as if they had no 
 such thoughts in their heads. The English- 
 men had gone to their hammocks. This was 
 what they had counted on, and what was 
 wanted for the full success of their infamous 
 designs. They now only waited the appear- 
 ance of their new captain to break out into 
 open mutiny. Compton was seen approach- 
 ing whereupon all started from the places 
 where they had been sitting or lying, as the 
 case might be, and hailed him as their cap- 
 tain. 
 
 They were a wild crew the scum of all 
 nations each in the manner of dressing 
 that best pleased his fancy, and all variously 
 armed, fierce, unruly ruffians, that had 
 lived by cutting purses, had abandoned that 
 vocation for the more perilous one of cutting 
 throats, and had taken service with their 
 captain from the fame of his bravery and 
 success in all his enterprises. 
 
 " Now, my masters, to our rendezvous on 
 the quarter-deck !" exclaimed Compton, ex- 
 ultingly " and then a sharp struggle, and 
 the ship is our own." 
 
 " Hurrah for Compton !" answered the 
 mutineers right lustily. " He alone shall 
 be our captain ! Death to all who oppose 
 him ! Away with the tyrant, Daring ! 
 Ho, for Spanish gold, and a free life !" 
 And, with divers other sentences of a like 
 character, in as many different languages, 
 the mutineers rushed in a body towards the 
 quarter-deck, to cut down all who should 
 withstand them, as they sought to take pos- 
 session of the ship ; whilst another body of 
 them, under the command of the Moor, was 
 to murder the officers and seize on the ma- 
 gazines. 
 
 On they came, sure of gaining an easy 
 victory over their unsuspecting messmates ; 
 nor did they discover their error till they had 
 made good their footing on the deck, when 
 they were brought to a speedy halt, crowd- 
 ed altogether as they were, by perceiving 
 the Englishmen they believed to be secured 
 under hatches, with the officers they had 
 supposed to be murdered, drawn up, well 
 armed, with an evident intention of disputing 
 their further progress. 
 
 In front of them was a figure, beneath the 
 fire of whose eagle eye the stoutest of them 
 quailed. He had not had time to put on his 
 
 doublet, and most of his people were in a 
 like predicament, but all had got arquebuses, 
 or pistolets, or swords, or pikes, or other ser- 
 viceable weapons ; and, though greatly infe- 
 rior to the mutineers in numbers, they were 
 like to make the contest more doubtful than 
 seemed agreeable to any of them. 
 
 The captain stood in front of his faithful 
 followers, his brawny arm bared to his el- 
 bow, with his trusty sword in his hand, and 
 the other clutching a pistolet that was in 
 his belt. His countenance bore, in every 
 line of it, the desperate valor which had 
 carried him in triumph through so many 
 fierce encounters. At his side was Martin 
 Poins, by whose timely warning he had been 
 enabled to make such arrangements for his 
 safety as we have noticed ; and, at a conve- 
 nient distance, Launce might be seen, look- 
 ing to be in no pleasant plight, very desirous 
 of getting out of harm's way, yet not being 
 able to satisfy himself as to where he should 
 be. as safe as he desired. 
 
 " Why, how now ?" exclaimed the cap- 
 tain, tauntingly, as he noticed the surprise 
 the mutineers exhibited. ' By Gog and 
 Magog, but these are fine doings truly, ye 
 mutineering dogs ! Back, every one of ye, or 
 ye shall have no better hammock this night 
 than a shark's paunch is like to afford. 
 To your duty, knaves !" 
 
 " Down with him !" cried Compton, who 
 hoped, with his superior force, to bear down 
 all opposition. " Behold, my masters, we 
 are three to one, as it is, and the Moor will 
 anon come to our assistance." 
 
 " Methinks you are reckoning woefully 
 without your host, ye thrice treacherous vil- 
 lain !" replied bis captain. "Behold him 
 from whom you expect succor !" Compton 
 turned his eyes in the direction the other 
 pointed, and, to his extreme horror, discov- 
 ered the body of his fellow-conspirator, Ab- 
 dallah, hanging at the fore-yard-arm. The 
 moon shone full on his features, which were 
 convulsed with agony, so that he presented 
 an awful spectacle. 
 
 Villain as he was, Compton was brave 
 and, seeing the desperateness of the case, 
 he determined on not being subdned without 
 a struggle. Turning to his followers, 
 amongst whom some were already waver- 
 ing, he cried out amain " Revenge, my 
 masters ! revenge the noble Moor ! If you 
 wish to 'scape his fate, follow me, and the 
 ship is our own. Down with the tyrant ! 
 Ho, for Spanish gold and a free life !" 
 
 He was answered by a loud cheer, and 
 the mutineers rushed, in a body, on the rest 
 of the crew, who came forward manfully
 
 152 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 with their favorite cry of " A Daring ! a 
 Daring !" and a fierce and terrible fight 
 ensued. The captain was attacked at once 
 by Compton and two of his foreign associ- 
 ates, powerful knaves, who singly seemed 
 more than a match for him ; but pne he 
 pistoled on the spot, and the other was 
 knocked on the head by Martin Poins with 
 a heavy axe, with which he had armed him- 
 self. Left only with the arch-plotter to deal 
 with, he set himself to bring the matter to 
 a speedy ending. 
 
 Compton was both strong and valiant, 
 and he fought with the fierceness of a des- 
 perate man, who has set his all upon a cast ; 
 but he had but small chance against so 
 determined a combatant. Whatever might 
 be the degree of credibility attached to the 
 Spaniards' estimation of him, certain is it 
 the terrible Englishman was invulnerable to 
 his present assailant, and in a few short 
 minutes his sword was passed, with fatal 
 effect, through Compton's body. As they 
 had already lost many of their number by 
 the fire which the English part of the crew 
 assailed them, both from aloft and other 
 advantageous places, directly they com- 
 menced their attack, the fall of their leader 
 further dispirited the mutineers that they 
 began to give way. 
 
 It was at this critical moment that a 
 voice was heard shouting out from the mast 
 head, " A sail ! a sail !" which appeared to 
 have quite a magical effect on the crew. 
 They desisted from all show of fighting on 
 the instant. Due inquiries were presently 
 made ; and, on its being stated that she was 
 a Spaniard, and like enough to be the very 
 treasure-ship they had been so exceedingly 
 desirous of meeting, one shout of universal 
 obedience to their leader broke forth from 
 them to a man, the mutineers joining in it 
 more lustily than any ; they acknowledged 
 entire submission to his pleasure, endeavor- 
 ing to excuse themselves for their late crime, 
 on the plea that they had been worked upon 
 by designing villains, who sought to make 
 of them the stepping-stones to their own 
 ambition, and promised, with many signs 
 of repentance, that if they were forgiven 
 their fault they would so conduct themselves 
 against the enemy as should prove they 
 were not unworthy of being commanded by 
 so great a captain. 
 
 Captain Harry Daring saw the politic- 
 ness of agreeing to their request at such a 
 time ; so, after a brief admonition, and a 
 few sharp speeches showing the enormity 
 of their offences, he bade the wounded to 
 be looked to, and the dead to be thrown 
 overboard, but solemnly vowed the Moor 
 
 should hang were he was, as a token of 
 the disgrace of the crew, till they had made 
 prize of the Spanish ship : then he sent 
 them to their several duties. This mingling 
 of severity and conciliation had its due ef- 
 fect. Every one strove to do his utmost for 
 the pleasuring of his captain ; and few 
 persons, at this moment, called to observe 
 the unanimity and extraordinary diligence 
 exhibited in every part of the ship, could 
 have supposed that a few minutes before it 
 had been the scene of the most desperate 
 mutiny. 
 
 Under the able directions of the captain, 
 assisted by his officers, the good ship, the 
 Little Wolf, was rapidly approaching the 
 Spaniard. At first, those in the latter ap- 
 peared to give themselves no concern, per- 
 chance noticing how greatly superior was 
 their size, or not taking the other to be an 
 enemy ; but when they got closer view of 
 her, and beheld her to be no other than the 
 terrible ship that had already done their 
 nation such huge damage, they set up all 
 their sails, and strove earnestly to escape as 
 speedily as they could. 
 
 The gallant leader of the buccaneers was 
 not of a temper to allow so golden a chance 
 to slip out of his hands, now, after so much 
 watching and travail, he had, as it were, a 
 hold of it ; for out of all doubt, it was the 
 galleon, to intercept which had been the 
 principal object of his expedition. He knew 
 her capture would enrich himself and all 
 his followers for life she was reputed to 
 carry such immense wealth ; therefore he 
 made every preparation, not only to overtake 
 her in her flight, but to attack her, with all 
 his means of offence, as soon as ever he 
 could get within shot of her. 
 
 The Spaniard was too heavily laden to 
 be a good sailer, and therefore it was no 
 marvel the smaller and lighter vessel gained 
 upon her rapidly. The decks were cleared 
 for action ; every man was armed with 
 whatever weapons best suited the occasion ; 
 ammunition was served out, the guns were 
 loaded, and the gunners standing by, witli 
 matches lighted, to discharge the murderous 
 missiles they contained, and all were on the 
 tiptoe of expectation. 
 
 At this time it was Captain Harry Dar- 
 ing called to him Master Poins, and, after 
 much commendation of .him before all his 
 officers for the good service he had rendered 
 them all, presented him with a purse of gold 
 to provide for him in case he should fall in 
 the approaching engagement, and named 
 him to be a junior officer under him, ex- 
 pressing a hope that amongst those whom 
 he had so well served, he would find a
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 friend to realize his good wishes, in case he 
 should be deprived of the power of doing so 
 himself. Whereupon all his chief officers 
 readily promised that, should any mischance 
 occur to their captain, which he hoped might 
 never be, they would see that Martin Poins 
 was well cared for. 
 
 Thus was Martin already, through his 
 courage and prudence, placed on the high- 
 road to fortune, whilst Launce looked only 
 to be in a worse case than ever. In the first 
 bruit of an engagement with the galleon, 
 wishing himself cuffed and rated by the un- 
 gentle Tabitha within an inch of his life 
 rather than were he was, he, unnoticed by 
 any one, stole away, and hid himself in an 
 empty tub in the ship's hold. 
 
 The report of the Little Wolfs great guns 
 spoke in a pretty loud voice that the two 
 ships were getting to be within reach of 
 each other's shot. This was answered by 
 the great guns of the Galleon, who, seeing 
 they could not get away, determined on 
 making \vhatresistance they could, and with 
 their immense superiority in every way it 
 seemed probable to her commander they 
 might succeed in beating off the buccaneers, 
 or sinking the dreaded vessel with their 
 heavy ordnance. These discharges soon 
 began to be vry brisk and tierce on both 
 sides, but the Galleon floating so much high- 
 er in the water than the jnnnace, her shot 
 usually pitched clean over her, whilst on 
 the contrary, almost every time the buc- 
 caneers fired, the shot wounded her enemy 
 either in the spars or rigging or hull, be- 
 sides doing infinite mischief upon her crowd- 
 ed decks. 
 
 The little pinnace all this time came gal- 
 lantly up to her huge enemy, and, after 
 pouring in a destructive broadside, lost no 
 time in grappling with her for the purpose 
 of taking her by boarding. This, however, 
 was an exceeding difficult matter to accom- 
 plish, the sides of the larger ship rising up 
 before the other like a wall, the decks being 
 guarded by nettings, behind which stood a 
 close array of hostile Spaniards, pouring 
 down all sorts of heavy missiles, and shoot- 
 ing of their pieces at their assailants as 
 fast as they could load them. 
 
 The sight of the Moor hanging at the 
 fore-yard-arm struck an extraordinary terror 
 in them, and doubtless, with the terrible 
 reputation of the Devil-Englishman, made 
 their defence more weak than it might have 
 been ; for when they found that so deadly 
 a fire was kept upon them from the tops of 
 the Little Wolf, that it brought them down 
 by scores, and that their enemies climbed up 
 to their decks with the agility and fierceness 
 
 of wild cats, whils others dropped upon them 
 from the over-hanging rigging of their own 
 ship, they began to be monstrously dispirited, 
 and gave way. 
 
 Tbe confusion of Babel was nothing to 
 the uproar which existed in both ships, the 
 one crowded with grandees of Spaniards 
 returning with all their treasure from the 
 new world to the old, inciting by their ex- 
 ample and oratory the soldiers that were on 
 board to guard the galleon, to beat back the 
 furious enemy, whilst the other, no less in- 
 tent on making their way, came 011 shouting 
 of all sorts of wild tumultuous cries and 
 execrations, in divers languages," enough by 
 thema&lves to daunt the stoutest hearts. 
 Then interspersedly were heard the screams 
 of the women on board the Spanish ship, 
 the groans of the wounded, and the constant 
 discharge of arquebuses and pistolets mak- 
 ing the most infernal concert that can be 
 conceived. 
 
 At last Harry Daring, supported by a 
 considerable number of his crew, made good 
 his footing on the deck of the galleon. He 
 had in his hand a monstrous battle-axe, 
 which with tremendous force he swung 
 around him, crushing to the earth every 
 Spaniard on whom it fell. Many a despe- 
 rate intent was made to bring him down, 
 but the few who were so fortunate as to 
 survive them fled from before his terrible 
 strokes, crying out to thei r fellows to save 
 themselves from the Devil-Englishman. A 
 gallant band of Dons, who were evidently 
 made of the best stuff their country afforded, 
 still kept up a stiff defence, supported by 
 the more courageous of the soldiers. 
 
 " Down with the villain Spaniards '" 
 cried the captain of the buccaneers, with all 
 the energy of his earlier days, as he rushed 
 forward to attack his enemies. 
 
 "A Daring! A Daring!" shouted his 
 men, now every instant increasing in num- 
 bers, as they threw themselves upon the 
 Spaniards. The battle was fierce, but 
 short. The bravest of the Dons were cut 
 to pieces, and the rest fled or surrendered ; 
 and in a few minutes the huge ship with all 
 her treasures became the property of Harry 
 Daring and his crew. 
 
 A curious incident occurred during the 
 hottest part of the engagement the body of 
 the Moor suddenly disappeared, and no one 
 knew where or how ; but divers had shrewd 
 suspicions, a person reputed to be of a like 
 color with him had come and claimed his 
 own ; nevertheless, I incline to the opinion 
 that he was shot away by some of the great 
 )rdnance and fell into the sea. 
 
 The wealth found in the galleon exceed-
 
 154 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ed the conquerors' expectations. Ingots of 
 gold and bars of silver, with heaps of coin 
 and plate beyond all counting, and bags of 
 pearls and other precious stones, together 
 with an incalculable abundance of the most 
 costly merchandize, appeared before them 
 till the eye marvelled there should be such 
 wondrous store of riches in the world. This 
 was all taken from the galleon and placed 
 in the pinnace, after which the former was 
 allowed to proceed on her voyage. A divi- 
 sion of the booty soon afterwards took place, 
 to the monstrous satisfaction of every one 
 of the crew of the Little Wolf. As Launce 
 had disappeared, it was supposed he had 
 fallen in the contest ; when, whilst h'm fast 
 friend Martin, who had behaved himself 
 very stoutly throughout the fight, was la- 
 menting his supposed loss, he crept from 
 his concealment so privily no one knew he 
 had been there, and now all danger was 
 over, took care to make it believed he had 
 distinguished himself amongst the Spaniards 
 in a terrible heroical manner. 
 
 Of the gallant Harry Daring let it suffice 
 here to say, that he continued to be the 
 greatest scourge to the Spaniards they had 
 ever known, spoiling them of their sub- 
 stance, and overthrowing all their arma- 
 ments, whether on land or on sea. Indeed, 
 after the taking of the treasure-ship, his re- 
 putation as " The Devil-Englishman" was 
 more fierce than before. Amongst his own 
 men, he grew to be in such extraordinary 
 estimation, he had soon several ships and 
 some thousands of followers of all nations 
 desirous of being led by him, and there 
 never after was any thing in the shape of a 
 mutiny attempted by any one of them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A sweeter swan than ever sung in Po 
 A shriller nightingale than ever blest 
 The prouder groves of self-admiring Rome. 
 THE RETURN FROM PARNASSUS. 
 
 She who tamed the world tamed herself at 
 last, and, falling under her own weight, fell a 
 prey to time. JAMES HOWELL. 
 
 WHO that hath either heart or brain can 
 walk unmoved among the vestiges of fallen 
 greatness thsft attract attention on every 
 side of that city of cities, that birthplace of 
 noble soldiership, that cradle of honorable 
 freedom, that home of classic learning, that 
 seat of omnipotent majesty, that altar of 
 true religion ; the feared, the honored, the 
 condemned, the classical, the venerable 
 
 Rome ? Who can see her crumbling baths, 
 ner ruined temples, her tottering aqueducts, 
 her prostrate monuments, her shattered am- 
 phitheatres, and her desolate, silent, and 
 choked-up forums, without calling to mind 
 the greatness that hath passed away ? 
 What a marvellous story is here writ ! ay, 
 and what pregnant characters compose the 
 writing ! they are your true hieroglyphics, 
 whereof one hath the meaning of a volume. 
 
 Here you shall have a whole host of re- 
 collections of the infant colony struggling 
 with its neighbors for a mere existence. 
 There you shall gather as goodly a crop of 
 memories from the Imperial City that gave 
 conquerors and laws to all the world. In 
 one place the mind is crowded with augurs, 
 vestal virgins, sacrifices, incense, and 
 hymns, and all the impressive worship 
 which of old was offered up to that more 
 powerful than creditable assemblage yclept 
 the gods and goddesses ; in another it finds 
 room for no less numerous a company of 
 lictors, centurions, praters, conscript fathers, 
 .orators, philosophers, and poets, and all, 
 whether of the patrician or plebeian class, 
 that belonged to the intelligence of the 
 Seven Hilled City in its palmy days. 
 
 Here comes a gigantic memento of its 
 gladiatorial barbarousness, there an endur- 
 ing sign of its Apician refinement. One 
 instant brings before us the peaceful luxury 
 of an Augustus, another the brutal despo- 
 tism of a Nero. We behold in every thing 
 presented to us a series of the noblest spec- 
 tacles the world ever saw. The joyful city 
 witnessing an ovation ; the infant republic 
 forcibly carrying off from a neighbor state 
 such women as suited them for wives ; the 
 slaughter of Caesar in the capitol ; Coriola- 
 nus prevented by his domestic affections 
 from leading the Volscians against his un- 
 grateful city ; Cincinnatus called from the 
 plough to lead the armies of his country 
 against the enemv ; and Belisarius, blind 
 and old, begging his bread amongst those 
 whose safety his talents and his courage 
 had secured. 
 
 These are but a few of the rallying places 
 that, upon some remembrancer starting up 
 as could not be avoided, wander where 
 you might gave occasion for a busy 
 throng of associations to take exclusive pos- 
 session of the mind. But these are such 
 as most prominently and frequently came 
 before the imagination of Master Shaks- 
 peare in his rambles with his beloved charge 
 in this antique city. In particular, he dwelt 
 with exceeding interest on the story of the 
 exiled Coriolanus, lingered over the tragic 
 fate of the noble Caesar, referred to the
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 165 
 
 magnificent follies of the enamored Marc 
 Antony with the seductive Cleopatra, and 
 recalled the moving history of the haughty 
 Tarquin and the abused Lucrece, as though 
 lie were never weary of having them 
 brought under his consideration. 
 
 And on these subjects would he dilate to 
 his young companion with an eloquence so 
 winning, that the usually -indifferent youth 
 gave him all his attention, and appeared to 
 feel almost as much interest for what he 
 heard as he was sure to exhibit did a pret- 
 tier face than ordinary come within sight 
 of him, or there looked to be a horse-race, 
 a religious procession, a mountebank, or 
 any public sport or show that promised 
 something new or marvellous. 
 
 Though my Lord of Pembroke's heir did 
 not lack ability, he was strangely deficient 
 in steadiness ; and, notwithstanding the in- 
 finite painstaking of his worthy governor 
 that, in the strange cities they visited, he 
 should see all that was commendable, and 
 know all concerning them that was worth 
 the hearing, he would frequently give him 
 the slip ; and there was but too good reason 
 for believing he would at that time be de- 
 voting his attention to objects the least like- 
 ly to afford him any wholesome knowledge. 
 
 As his person and countenance were sin- 
 gularly well favored, and he dressed as 
 became his birth, wherever he went, there 
 was sure to be divers persons anxious to 
 have him in their company, whose society 
 could confer upon him little credit. There 
 had been already more than sufficient evi- 
 dence that the handsome English youth had 
 attracted the attention of many beautiful 
 signoras, who had the reputation of being 
 as kind as fair ; and at Naples the watch- 
 ful governor had observed sufficient of the 
 willingness of his charge to meet their ad- 
 vances, to make him hurry away with him 
 to Rome. 
 
 Though the earnest affection with which 
 Master Shakspeare regarded him, from cer- 
 tain deep and powerful causes, might have 
 led him to look on his faults with extreme 
 leniency, the promise he had given to the 
 noble lady, whose vowed servant he was, 
 made him exceeding urgent in the proper 
 discharge of his duty ; and, fearing he 
 might, if not properly cared for, fall into 
 the hands of some base adventurers, whose 
 fair visage and goodly person were always 
 ready to be put out to pawn at most usu- 
 rious interest, whereof the penalty was the 
 monstrous infamy of the lender, he was 
 wondrously anxious to save him from such 
 snares. 
 
 But in this there was a difficulty of a 
 
 kind not easy to be got over. He cared 
 not showing too open an interference with 
 the youth's inclinations, as he knew it was 
 like to be resented in such a manner from 
 his great pride and high-spiritedness as 
 would throw an insurmountable obstacle in 
 the way of all further leading of him ; or, 
 governed by the excellent policy which says 
 that " prevention is better than cure," he 
 watched carefully and anxiously to keep 
 out of his way the sort of dangers he had 
 most fear of. 
 
 Rome he thought less dangerous than Na- 
 ples, where the hearts of its fair inhabitants 
 seemed akin with the combustible stuff on 
 which that gay city is built ; for the monu- 
 ments of antiquity, and the associations 
 connected with them, gave such abundant 
 food for the mind, that there was scarce op- 
 portunity for it to turn for nourishment to 
 those mischievous sources whose complex- 
 ion he so hugely misliked. In this he judg- 
 ed by the influence of the place on himself. 
 
 He had been furnished with letters that 
 insured him all manner of courtesies from 
 the noblest families, and even obtained per- 
 sonal notice from the sovereign pontiff ; but 
 these flattering favors had far less attrac- 
 tion for him than a companionship with the 
 mighty spirits whose tombs or favorite 
 haunts he loved to explore. The charms 
 of music and painting were placed before 
 him in such perfectness as he hud never 
 known at any other time; but, deeply as 
 his soul was moved at hearing the won- 
 drous harmonies the Catholic Church so 
 well knows how to use, and, as he stood 
 entranced before the marvellous works of 
 art which join their mighty forces in the 
 same gorgeous service, to him there was 
 a music far more touching in the pastoral 
 sounds that enriched some of the many 
 lovely landscapes the neighborhood affords, 
 and his eye was fed continually wherever 
 he went, with pictures painted with a truth, 
 a force, and a beauty no mortal painter 
 ever yet could boast of. The song of the 
 herdsman or the muleteer, a chorus of vine- 
 dressers, or the jingle of a rude gittara, to 
 which a score or two of merry feet were 
 tripping it in artless measure, had more 
 charms for him than the sweetest airs of 
 Palestrina ; and a young girl offering her 
 heartfelt devotions before a rude statue of 
 the Virgin in one of the public streets, a 
 sunset scene from the terrace of any of th? 
 suburban villas, or a moonlight on the Ti- 
 ber, gave him scenes which neither Ra- 
 phael, nor Titian, norall the schools of Italy 
 together, could ever come up to. 
 = It was in that gigantic ruin, known as
 
 156 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 the Coliseum, that Master Shakspeare, with 
 his young charge, were standing, lost, as it 
 were, in utter astonishment, with the faith- 
 ful Simon in attendance, who, if one might 
 judge from his looks, was in as huge a won- 
 der as either. The sunlight streamed upon 
 the desolate amphitheatre, investing its pic- 
 turesque details with a beauty almost magi- 
 cal to look on. The eye of the poet re- 
 garded those broken arches with a double 
 consciousness, the actual and the ideal : 
 first it embraced the wondrous picture of 
 desolation they presented the stains of 
 time, the rank verdure, and the influence of 
 many centuries of neglect, laying on tints 
 and perfecting forms that, combined, gave 
 the image of antiquity in her most majestic 
 garment ; gradually this faded away, and 
 the glorious fragments made one more glo- 
 rious whole ; and the wondrous wreck dis- 
 played a more marvellous perfectness. 
 
 Tier above tier became thronged with 
 earnest, anxious countenances, in countless 
 variety and with well-defined grade ; the 
 humble plebeian, the haughty patrician, and 
 every class and dignity, from the most ab- 
 ject of the citizens up to the highest officer 
 of the state consul or emperor, as the case 
 might be ; whilst below, to whom the uni- 
 versal gaze was directed, there raged a 
 fierce combat, perchance some of the very 
 savagest denizens of the forest against each 
 other the fell rhinoceros, the cruel tiger, 
 the raging lion, the terrible hippopotamus, 
 and the majestic elephant ; or mayhap, with 
 one or other of these horrible monsters, a 
 man should be matched, and so he dares 
 the unequal combat, armed only with a 
 short sword, whilst among the multitudi- 
 nous host above there exists an awful si- 
 lence, as deep as that of one in a trance. Or, 
 it may be, public gladiators are set to try 
 their strength and skill, among themselves, 
 after divers fashions of fighting, and blood 
 flows like water, and there is no lack of 
 gaping wounds, crushed bones, and bruised 
 limbs ; and the shout of the spectators rises 
 like a burst of mountain thunder, as he who 
 hath the skill or good fortune to survive 
 this monstrous butchery, steps forward the 
 acknowledged victor of the day. 
 
 On this fantasy the mind of the poet lin- 
 gered till all sense of existing things seem- 
 ed absorbed, and all attention was concen- 
 trated upon this fearful leaf in the mighty 
 volume of the past. How deeply his noble 
 heart was touched by the outrage on human- 
 ity it so forcibly exhibited, abler pens than 
 niine must seek to show. But to one 
 taught in that most ancient of free schools, 
 nature, the humiliating reflections which 
 
 could not but arise from it must have cloth- 
 ed his spirit with a bitterness the natural 
 sweetness of his disposition could scarce 
 Bender endurable. 
 
 For after the exulting mind has been tra- 
 cing the imposing signs and tokens of Ro- 
 man greatness, from what small beginnings 
 a brave and enlightened people became 
 great and free, triumphed over the barba- 
 rian, and, for his loss of freedom he knew 
 not how to keep, conferred the blessings of 
 civilization he would soon learn how to ap- 
 preciate, how terrible is the shock that fol- 
 lows a closer inspection, when it is discov- 
 ered that the cement which held together 
 these immortal monuments is composed of 
 the blood and tears of tortured and degraded 
 manhood ! Rbman freedom, Roman great- 
 ness, Roman glory, raise them on their 
 towering pedestals, and then, behold ! the 
 whole fabric is built up of the basest sla- 
 very, the vilest meanness, and the saddest 
 degradation, that ever weighed down the 
 aspiring soul of man since the gates of 
 Eden were first closed against it. 
 
 On this theme the intelligent mind of 
 Shakspeare was wondrous busy ; and, after 
 he had found sufficient entertainment in the 
 impressions it received, he bethought him of 
 his duty to his young companion, and ad- 
 dressed him in a marvellous moving speech, 
 full of fine scholarship, and finer wisdom, 
 touching the difference of false greatness 
 and true ; and, like another Cicero, he spoke 
 high and learnedly, distinguishing the gen- 
 uine claims the Romans have on the res- 
 pect of posterity for the many signs that 
 have been preserved of a surpassing intel 
 lect, from the fictitious demands that have 
 been so prominently brought forward to 
 obtain an immortal admiration, for causes 
 purely physical. 
 
 Young Herbert listened as though he had 
 forgot he was my Lord of Pembroke's heir, 
 and, which was of no less consequence, as 
 if he had not seen at Naples an exquisite 
 fair face, that had haunted his young fancy 
 with the glow of a perpetual sunrise. He 
 was not entirely indifferent to the force of 
 classic examples, and the scene and the 
 sentiments that so naturally and forcibly 
 arose out of it touched him somewhat. 
 
 He began to ask questions which, in the 
 result, was like unto one beginning to dig 
 in a soil abounding with treasures, every 
 effort was so singularly productive of ster- 
 ling truths : and, pleased with his acquisi- 
 tions, he grew more inquisitive and more 
 eager to obtain a greater sum of that profit 
 which was repaying his exertions a hun- 
 dred-fold. By his inquiries his governor
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 167 
 
 was led to draw a comparison between 
 heathen and Christian Rome ; between the 
 Caesars of the one, and the Popes of the 
 other ; between the invincible arms of the 
 Roman-warrior, and the absolute ascenden- 
 cy of the Romish priest ; and, in the paral- 
 lel, divers new and striking illustrations 
 were produced. A family likeness seemed 
 to run in the heathen Caesar Caligula and 
 the Holy Catholic Caesar Borgia : a great 
 similitude was showed betwixt the supersti- 
 tions of the classic soothsayer, and those of 
 the Christian dispenser of Indulgences ; 
 and the same love of dominion, which ar- 
 rayed the Roman phalanx against every ap- 
 pearance of independence in other coun- 
 tries, was proved to be observable in the 
 policy which, from time to time, influenced 
 the occupant of the papal chair in its rela- 
 tions with foreign states. 
 
 But here the parallel ended, and the most 
 positive contrast commenced. The former 
 trusted to obtain their ascendency over the 
 rest of the world by physical means, and 
 conquered by force of arms ; whilst the lat- 
 ter relied on a moral force only, as a means 
 of subjection, and maintained a despotic 
 sway over every part of the civilized globe 
 by force of opinion. 
 
 Then the speaker went on to show that 
 this opinion, in modern Rome, bore the name 
 of religion, and it was produced in a man- 
 ner best suited to answer its desired end. 
 All things whatsoever that could most at- 
 tract and subdue the senses, either as a 
 source of gratification or one of fear, were 
 pressed into the service of the successors of 
 the ancient ' sovereigns of Rome. With 
 this object, art was appealed to as an auxil- 
 iary of the most powerful character ; and the 
 painter, the sculptor, the architect, and the 
 musician, were taught to put forth all their 
 excellences to assist in subduing the Cath- 
 olic world. How ably they fulfilled the pur- 
 port for which they were devoted, it did not 
 require a journey to Rome to ascertain, 
 though undoubtedly there it might be learn- 
 ed in more perfectness than elsewhere ; and 
 if the Julius Caesars of the pontifical chair 
 had been satisfied with an authority based 
 on such means, they need not have been 
 very harshly condemned ; but they sought 
 to establish a despotism with more ex- 
 ceptionable weapons the terrible thunders 
 of the Vatican, the dreaded whispers of the 
 Inquisition, torture, injustice, tyranny, and 
 superstition, were employed upon human 
 conscience, as with an intention of binding 
 it forever in the humiliating bonds of credu- 
 lity and ignorance ; and then it became a 
 
 question whether the state of heathenism or 
 Catholicism were the most desirable. 
 
 But, as Master Shakspeare eloquently 
 proved, the parallel became again destroyed. 
 The world grew more enlightened, and con- 
 sequently less tolerant of mental bondage, 
 and each succeeding century found modern 
 Rome lessening its pretensions to a power 
 equal to that which existed in the ancient city; 
 and now it possesses neither mental nor phys- 
 ical energy sufficient to keep a creditable 
 place among the states of the civilized 
 world. An emasculated race, who are 
 slaves to the most lamentable ignorance, 
 pride and self-conceit, bear the dreaded 
 name of the Conquerors of Carthage, and 
 if any one individual, to whom it now be- 
 longs, obtaineth any sort of celebrity in for- 
 eign countries, you shall find him no greater 
 character than a bigoted monk, who hath 
 not a thought beyond his breviary ; a skil- 
 ful limner, whose whole soul is in his paint- 
 pots ; or a fair composer of madrigals, 
 whose highest philosophy is drawn from an 
 exact application of his mi sol re. 
 
 They have lost all that was Roman but 
 the name valor, glory, and all the nobler 
 qualities of honorable manhood are depart- 
 ed ; and in their place there is nought but the 
 subtlety of the fox and the venom of the ser- 
 pent a fierce hatred of liberal thoughts and 
 institutions and the most degrading ob- 
 servance of solemn fooleries, unmeaning 
 self-abasements, and contemptible decep- 
 tions. 
 
 But the utterer of these strictures was of 
 too great a soul to omit the mention of what 
 was in any way of a worthier nature than 
 what hath just been set down, and he did 
 ample justice to the piety, charity, humility, 
 and wisdom that characterized many of 
 these unwarlike descendents of the heroes 
 of Roman history ; nor did he pass over the 
 merits of those illustrious men who had 
 made Rome the metropolis of art. It can- 
 not be supposed that he who was the first 
 and noblest of artists should fail in appre- 
 ciating those ideas of the grand and the 
 beautiful which the Roman painters had 
 expressed in such immortal characters, as 
 in their frequent visits to the most famous 
 galleries and churches of Rome, Master 
 Herbert and his governor had witnessed; 
 far from it the latter showed how much 
 more Catholic was the religion of Raffaelle 
 than that of Leo ; and how much nearer 
 heaven were the labors of Michael Angelo 
 and Sebastian del Piombo, than were those 
 of the College of Cardinals, or the Society 
 of Jesus.
 
 158 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 If the palette, then, might be allowed to 
 stand in place of the sword, the painters, at 
 least, were worthy of their origin ; and if 
 the influence they maintained was peaceful, 
 it was more valuable, pleasing, ennobling, 
 and enduring, than that obtained by their 
 ancestors with so vast a cost of injustice 
 and bloodshed. They admirably upheld the 
 honor of Rome they had triumphs worthy 
 of rivalry with any which were gloried in 
 throughout the rejoicing streets of the an- 
 cient city and they, be it remembered to 
 their everlasting credit, had no Coliseum. 
 
 This was not uttered without some 
 searching questions from the speaker's com- 
 panion, who seemed to listen with more than 
 ordinary attentiveness and satisfaction ; but 
 the humor was only a little less transient 
 than usual, and as soon as his curiosity was 
 .sufficiently gratified, he moved off to where 
 Simon Stockfish was reclining at his ease, 
 diligently employed in providing for imag- 
 inary evils that might visit him, by subtle 
 strokes of policy such as would do credit to 
 the exceeding gravity of his turn of mind, 
 and was soon deeply engaged, with the 
 faithful old servitor, in carrying on some 
 business of his own, as little creditable as 
 profitable. 
 
 Whilst the youth was thus employed, his 
 tutor returned to the luxury of his own 
 thoughts, which, in the first moment of lei- 
 sure, took the following complexion. 
 
 THE ADDRESS 
 
 OF A FAITHFUL SERVANT IN A FAR-OFF LAND 
 TO A MOST GRACIOUS MISTRESS. 
 
 The ever-rolling seas in vain divide 
 Two separate natures, such as do exist 
 
 In that pure shrine where thy fond wishes hide, 
 And this poor heart, who hath such 'vantage 
 
 miss'd ; 
 For I thus differ from the egotist, 
 
 Who his dear self in ev'ry thing doth see 
 
 Whatever I behold is full of tliee. 
 
 Therefore, nor time, nor space, availeth much, 
 Thine image is so constant in mine eyes; 
 
 For here ihou liv'st in ev'ry thing I touch : 
 I meet thy gaze in these Italian skies, 
 I hear thee in these glorious harmonies. 
 
 That fill with marvellous praise each holy place, 
 
 And lind thy smile on each Madonna's face. 
 
 If from the presence of the Past I turn, 
 And live mid relics of an antique time, 
 
 Where temple, bust, or monumental urn, 
 Bang back the classic ages in all its prime, 
 In glory infinite, in grace sublime ; 
 
 Go where I will, consider what I may, 
 
 Signs of thy nobleness start forth straightwoy. 
 
 Perchance, some crumbling column rears on 
 
 high 
 
 The remnant of a glorious architrave ; 
 Or matchless Torso 'witching every eye, 
 With shape such as God's noblest creatures 
 
 have, 
 
 Doth my especial wonder seem to crave 
 Where 'tis most admirable there doth dwell 
 That quality in which thou dost excel. 
 
 But e'en the statue most divinely bright, 
 
 The proudest structure of our proudest days, 
 
 The fairest picture offered to man's sight ; 
 In brief, whatever marvels art could raise, 
 Can never take one atom from thy praise. 
 
 There is no chance 'gainst such o'erwhelming 
 odds 
 
 They are man's masterpieces thou art God's ! 
 
 Yet in such perfectness as they possess, 
 For thee they bear triumphant evidence, 
 
 Which in my pleadings, dwelt on more or less, 
 So well establishes thine excellence, 
 A verdict for thee must be drawn from 
 thence : 
 
 Making a precedent of such import, 
 
 Who deems it ill should be put out of court. 
 
 How then can I from thee be separate, 
 Did nought express a closer likelihood ; 
 
 But when mine eyes take in thy goodly state, 
 Clothed with the tempting worth of flesh 
 
 and blood, 
 Of thee I am so thoroughly imbued, 
 
 So rilled with thy sweet self, in heart and soul, 
 
 We stand confessed a just harmonious whole. 
 
 But were this but a shadowy fantasy, 
 Bred of th' imagination's rank conceits, 
 
 I should allow it here less readily. 
 
 The understanding no such mockery meets, 
 I see thee not in visionary cheats ; 
 
 Thy honest, tangible, and occular grace, 
 
 Presents itself before me face to face. 
 
 Seeing thy living image, 1 enjoy 
 
 The profit of thy pleasant neighborhood, 
 
 And ev'ry step of time I do employ 
 In storing up the admirable good 
 Thou dost dispense in such a gracious mood : 
 
 I see thee, hear thee, touch thee, and from 
 thence 
 
 Sight, hearing, touch, assume a threefold sense, 
 
 But who shall set aside fate's stern decree ? 
 
 Zeuxis his painted grapes poor birds did not 
 More hugely disappoint than thou poor me 
 
 In the fac-simile which thou hast got ; 
 
 Thou findest me a most unhappy lot ; 
 Like him who sought a goddess, pressed a cloud, 
 I find the robe of Love become his shroud. 
 
 Cold slighting looks, and high and haughty 
 
 tones, 
 Indiff'rfnce rude, and careless disrespect,
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 169 
 
 Sharp questions, and some few uncivil ones, 
 And wild extravagances passed unchecked > 
 Tenants at will, that Time will soon eject ; 
 These are but sorry solace for the lack 
 Of that which Memory only can bring back. 
 
 Yet hath that solace some sweet gift withal, 
 Some pleasant power, some profitable end ; 
 
 The contentation it affords is small, 
 
 Still doth it oft a wondrous comfort lend ! 
 It speaks of that incomparable friend, 
 
 Whose image charges, wheresoe'er it lies, 
 
 Th' unkindest thoughts with kindliest properties. 
 
 Therefore can never obstacle divide, 
 
 Nor contrary thing oppose, nor time delay, 
 
 The sweet communion that must now abide 
 All tests, all chance, without change or decay, 
 That betwixt thee and I shall from this day 
 
 Live wheresoever I take up my rest, 
 
 Making the cursedest thing appear most blest. 
 
 One of those gorgeous assemblages of 
 the countless religious orders that throng 
 the Seven Hilled City had passed through 
 its chief thoroughfare, with banners and 
 crucifixes, and images, and proudly decora- 
 ted prelates, and monks in humbler garb, 
 but not less lofty spirit, and incense-bearers 
 making the air rich with frankincense, and 
 choristers filling it with stately harmony, 
 which occasioned the assembling of vast 
 numbers of idle Romans and curious stran- 
 gers, who dropped on their knees as the pro- 
 cession passed, many of whom affected a 
 marvellous degree of devotion and rever- 
 ence, and others no small extent of surprise 
 and wonder. 
 
 The chanting of the priests was begin- 
 ning to be inaudible in the distance, when, 
 in a certain open space, over which those 
 holy men had passed, there was formed a 
 circle of the good people who had but a mo- 
 ment since been so greatly edified by the im- 
 pressive spectacle that hud been presented 
 to them, who were as busily engaged in re- 
 garding the graceful attitudes and marvel- 
 lous tricks of a party of Bohemian dancers 
 and jugglers, as though the sight had clean 
 put out of their mind the sacred one which 
 had immediately preceded it. Of the exhib- 
 itors there were two men of monstrous sin- 
 ister-looking aspect, who flung brazen balls 
 into the air, and sharp-pointed daggers, one 
 after another, and did catch them with a 
 dextrousness that was a wonder to behold. 
 
 Their audience looked on as much amazed 
 as delighted. Presently one took to swal- 
 lowing a sword, and the other to eating fire, 
 as though he were a salamander, and the 
 faces of all present seemed bewildered with 
 the beholding of sights so strange. Anon 
 
 one seized a rude chair, strong and heavy, 
 and seated on it a young boy of their com- 
 pany, exceedingly well favored, though he 
 had a roguish look withal, then placed it on 
 his head, balanced on one leg, where he 
 kept it as he walked about, picking up a 
 certain number of eggs from the ground, the 
 boy the whilst looking about him uncon- 
 cernedly cracking of nuts, as though he had 
 the securest seat in the world. After this 
 he took his comrade by a linen fastening 
 round his loins, and fixed it between his 
 teeth, and so carried him round the circle. 
 These tricks were also regarded with the 
 hugest astonishment. 
 
 But the most pleasing sight of all, was a 
 woman of the same company, of a beauty 
 the most ravishing eye ever dwelt upon, and 
 attired very temptingly after the Moorish 
 fashion, who, to the accompaniment of a 
 small drum decorated with silver bells, 
 which she struck and shook, and cast about 
 her in every graceful motion, danced the 
 Romalis or gipsy dance in so moving a fash- 
 ion, that the gazer seemed to look on in a 
 manner entranced. Truly the swimming 
 eyes and pottting mouth, and the eloquent 
 motions of the Bohemian, were enough to 
 warm the current of a man's blood had it 
 flowed less sluggishly than it doth in Italian 
 veins. 
 
 There was in her appearance such a 
 mingling of the ripe Hebe with the joyous 
 Bacchante, that a Roman, even of the clas- 
 sic age, would have felt her influence. Her 
 dance was a sort of hymn in motion an in- 
 vocation in pantomime to. the winged ur- 
 chin, who, with his marvellous keen ar- 
 rows, is wont to cause such sharp wounds 
 in every one that hath part and parcel with 
 humanity in the which every twirl, and 
 every bend of that voluptuous body, every 
 wave of those delicate arms, every spring 
 of those elastic feet, each glance of those 
 subduing eyes, and each smile from that 
 provoking mouth, were examples of poetical 
 meaning.such as even the rarest masters of 
 the poet's craft seldom reach. There seem- 
 ed an intense ecstacy of animal enjoyment 
 breathing all around and about her, evident 
 not only In the flashing of her soft dark eyes, 
 but in the saucy wantonness of her raven 
 hair, and in the expressive buoyancy of her 
 most seductive limbs. 
 
 Perchance the reader would fain have 
 some acquaintance with this very delecta- 
 ble, sweet creature, but he must needs here 
 be reminded that she is not so complete a 
 stranger to him as it would appear ; he hav- 
 ing already enjoyed the exquisite pleasure 
 ofhnr company, when our grave young stu-
 
 160 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 dent of medicine, John Hall, and his polite 
 serving-man, Simon Stockfish, were, hugely 
 against their wills, made inmates of a gip- 
 sy encampment, when on their way to Lon- 
 don. 
 
 In sober honesty, this wondrous dancer in 
 the public streets of Rome was no other than 
 the very youthful companion of Black Samp- 
 son, as he was then called, the king of such 
 of the wandering outlaws as were to be 
 found in England ; and the strong, sturdy- 
 looking urchin, who so bravely looked from 
 his perilous seat, was the same admirable 
 fair child for whose existence she felt herself 
 so deeply indebted to the skill of our young 
 physician. 
 
 The life of this matchless dancer had been 
 at every step the sport of fortune she had 
 gone through numberless adventures of the 
 most extraordinary character. It was be- 
 lieved, when very young, she had been 
 found in a Moorish barque, that had been 
 captured on the coast of Barbary, by the 
 crew of a Spanish sln'p, the captain of which 
 had sold her to an ancient grandee, who had 
 her taught all feminine accomplishments, 
 and brought her up in the closest, strictest 
 retirement, in a strong castle in Andalusia. 
 All went on fairly enough with the Don, till 
 about thirteen or fourteen years of age, the 
 ripening beauty of his interesting purchase 
 induced him to double hi3 attentions, and 
 treble his vigilance. The old gallant strove 
 earnestly to win his way to her heart ; and 
 just as he was beginning to congratulate 
 himself on the favorable result of his exer- 
 tions, the astounding intelligence was con- 
 veyed to him that the incomparable Dona 
 Xariqua was nowhere to be found. 
 
 Whether he hanged the Duenna who had 
 charge of her is not known, but certain is it, 
 that, whilst he was employing his vast re- 
 sources to recover what he considered a 
 treasure far more valuable, she was being 
 conveyed from the nearest port, in the good 
 ship, " Endeavor," of Bristol, by a famous, 
 tall, well-favored young fellow, that looked 
 a prince at the least, and this he was most 
 assuredly, for he was a prince at the least 
 sort of estimation. 
 
 He belonged to the royal tribe existing 
 amongst that wandering people, so general- 
 ly spread over Europe, under the several 
 names of Bohemians, Rommanee, Egyptians, 
 jtrypsies, and Zincali ; and, though born and 
 brought up in England, he had joined some 
 daring smugglers on the coast, who traded 
 with Spain. Whilst pursuing his adven- 
 tures in the country, he had got sight of the 
 Don's destined mistress, and, struck with 
 her exceeding loveliness, had, in a manner 
 
 no less daring than ingenious, carried her 
 off from the garden of the castle. It must 
 be acknowledged, that the youthful, nay, al- 
 most childish Xariqua, got wonderfully soon 
 reconciled to the change, from a particular- 
 ly crabbed, ill-favored old lover, to one as 
 remarkably young and comely ; and on their 
 landing in England, she made no objection 
 to be married to him, according to the cere- 
 monies of his tribe, to which about the same 
 time he was elected to be king, in conse- 
 quence of the decease of his predecessor in 
 the roypl dignity, in a somewhat unregal 
 way at Tyburn. 
 
 She soon made herself mistress of the arts 
 and mysteries practised by the females of 
 the strange people with whom her life was 
 now to be passed ; and, though her partner, 
 from the violence of his passions, did not 
 make her the best of husbands, she made 
 him a model of a perfect good wife down to 
 the very day of his so terrible death, sharing' 
 in all the hazards of his dangerous way of 
 living with a fearlessness and devotion wor- 
 thy of a better object. After she was left 
 a widow, still young, still of ravishing love- 
 liness, she was prevailed on to turn her at- 
 tractions and the accomplishments she had 
 been taught, to some account. Therefore, 
 she made part of an exhibition which certain 
 of the Bohemians got up about this time, and 
 acted from town to town, whilst their equally 
 active confederates contrived to ease the 
 wondering spectators of whatever valuables 
 they had about them that were accessible to 
 their light fingers. 
 
 As her charms were set off to the great- 
 est advantage by her picturesque dress, and 
 her dancing was exceedingly animated and 
 graceful, after the Bohemian fashion, where- 
 ever she appeared she gained no lack of ad- 
 mirers, on whom she never failed to levy 
 contributions, often gaining from them some- 
 thing additional by practising for their edifi- 
 cation the science of palmistry. 
 
 La Xariqua became celebrated, through- 
 out more than one of the Italian states ; and 
 her witcheries turned the heads of all the 
 gallants, and also of men of graver sort, 
 who might be expected to have been insen- 
 sible of such follies. Rumors on this point 
 had got abroad, to the prejudice of divers 
 holy lathers of the church, which had, more- 
 over, come to the ears of their superiors, 
 who, though they looked to be horribly 
 shocked at such scandals, were secretly as 
 much enamored of the beautiful Bohemian 
 as their humbler brethren. Her appearance 
 in the Holy City caused quite a stir, both 
 amongst clergy and laity ; and although, 
 generally, she was spoken of as a creature
 
 THE SECRET PASSIOX. 
 
 161 
 
 worthy to be worshipped of all men living, 
 it chanced that she was made the subject of 
 comment in another and totally different 
 quarter, which boded her no good. 
 
 Among the most enraptured of those 
 whom she had gathered round her in Rome 
 at this time was a youth, who looked on 
 with all his soul in his eyes, to appearance 
 fairly bewitched by a scene so exquisitely 
 seductive. The emotion he exhibited did 
 not escape the brilliant eyes of the dancer 
 neither did his noble visage and admirably 
 formed figure ; for, from beneath her long, 
 dark lashes she ever and anon shot at him 
 such glances as set his heart in a flame in a 
 presently. 
 
 It so chanced, during the performance of 
 the Romalis, that she was exerting herself 
 to the very utmost to outrival all she had 
 previously done, and the admiration of the 
 surrounding crowd approached to a frenzy ; 
 the enticing scene was put a stop to by the 
 sudden apparition of two mysterious figures 
 in sombre robes that entirely enveloped their 
 persons, who pushed through the circle, in 
 which, with looks of mingled awe and terror, 
 all fell back. They made their way to the 
 fascinating Bohemian, whom each seized 
 by an arm, and placing the fore-finger mys- 
 teriously on the lip, began to drag her away. 
 At seeing this, all her enraptured admirers 
 slunk away in every direction, without dar- 
 ing so much as to look behind them, and 
 none seemed inclined to stay, save a few 
 ill-looking knaves, who, out of all doubt, 
 were her companions, and the youth whose 
 intoxicating dream had been so rudely dis- 
 turbed. He seemed at first to marvel hugely 
 at the appearance of the two mysterious 
 figures, taking it to be a part of the per- 
 formance ; but when the cries and struggles 
 of the dancer convinced him her seizure was 
 an act of violence, his rapier flew out of his 
 scabbard on the instant. 
 
 The crowd had by this time entirely dis- 
 appeared. The youth rushed after the 
 struggling Xariqua, sharply calling on those 
 who were hurrying her along to loose their 
 hold of her if they desired to live. They 
 paid no manner of heed to him, 'but con- 
 tinued to hurry away their terrified prisoner. 
 He was upon them sword in hand, when 
 from a neighboring portal, there came upon 
 him unawares two or three armed men, by 
 whom he would infallibly have been slain 
 or taken captive, had it not happened, that 
 almost as quickly after rushed hastily, from 
 an opposite direction, a gallant, who ranged 
 himself on his side. The contest lasted not 
 long, for the Bohemians, with weapons of 
 various sorts, so bestirred themselves, that 
 11 
 
 the beginners of the fray were speedily 
 either stretched on the ground with grievous 
 wounds, or running for their lives with 
 what speed of foot they had. La Xariqua 
 was rescued out of .their hands, and soon, 
 by the contrivance of her associates, beyond 
 all fear of recapture. 
 
 It was but a short hour after this occur- 
 rence that the youth, and the friend who 
 had come to his assistance, were with a single 
 attendant, pursuing their way out of Rome 
 as fast as fleet horses could carry them. 
 The younger of the two was no other than 
 the Earl of Pembroke's heir, who had giv&: 
 his Companion the slip whilst examining 
 some of the many marvels of the City of the 
 Caesars ; and the other was, of course, his 
 worthy governor, who, as he came upon the 
 spot, and beheld the danger with which his 
 charge was menaced, could do no less than 
 hasten to his assistance. But when he 
 came to learn, as he shortly did, that Mas- 
 ter Herbert had provoked an attack from 
 the Pope's guards, by endeavoring to rescue 
 a sorceress, then in charge of the messen- 
 gers of the Holy Office, he knew there was 
 no longer any safety for either of them 
 within the Papal States. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 And with that word she smiled, and ne'erthe- 
 
 thelesa 
 
 Her love -toys still she used, and pleasures bold. 
 
 FAIRFAX. 
 
 THE treacherous Millicent, by the exer- 
 cise of that craft with which she was so 
 eminently gifted, was now in a fair way of 
 seeing all things settled as she would have 
 them. She persuaded her young friend and 
 confidant that the desirablest thing on earth 
 would be a marriage with her father ; and, 
 by dint of working on her vanity and pride, 
 of which she had no slight share, got her to 
 see, in a union with one thrice her age, only 
 famous braveries, money at command, and 
 the covetable situation of mistress of a fine 
 mansion. Her consent was obtained, and 
 a day fixed for this May and December 
 union ; when it was also settled should take 
 place the marriage of AJillicent and Leon- 
 ard. 
 
 At first, when his mistress urged him to 
 complete his contract with her, for which 
 she failed not to give him good and sufficient 
 reasons, he seemed somewhat taken by sur- 
 prise, as not only had he long given up all 
 idea of such a thing, but he had seen what
 
 162 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 had assured him of his fellow-student's at- ! 
 tachment, whose true friend he held himself 
 at this time, and would have been right glad 
 to have furthered his happiness in any 
 honest way. This friendly inclination of 
 her destined husband towards her lover it 
 was her policy now to destroy, as she saw 
 it would be a serious obstacle in the way of 
 the success of her fine scheming ; where- 
 upon she set about to poison his. mind with 
 dark hints and discreditable insinuations of 
 and concerning his friend's integrity, and, 
 to give sufficient color to these, she read 
 otters from John Hall to herself, which 
 proved incontestibly that he was not stfch 
 as he took him to be. 
 
 Concerning of these letters it is sufficient 
 here to state, that, though Leonard was al- 
 lowed to recognize the handwriting, he had 
 no means of comparing the passages read 
 with what was written, and entertaining no 
 suspicion of deceit, it is not surprising that 
 she should easily have passed off on him 
 what was entirely her own invention, for 
 the handwriting of John Hall. 
 
 Leonard had nothing for it but to fall into 
 the humor of one whom he had allowed to 
 govern him as she listed. Yet it was long 
 before he could reconcile himself to what 
 he looked on as the violent extinguishing of 
 his fellow-student's happiness. In due time, 
 by -the constant artifices of the crafty Milli- 
 cent, the estrangement was complete. Leo- 
 nard^ habitual indolence and indecision 
 were taken advantage of, and John Hall 
 every day became less and less cared for. 
 Indeed, as it usually happens with those 
 who wrong their fellows, Leonard felt dis- 
 posed ere long to look on John Hall as one 
 possessed of the absolutest unworthiness 
 ever heard of. 
 
 But how fared the young physician all 
 this while ? How took he the intelligence 
 his mistress artfully conveyed to him of her 
 being forced against her wish to complete 
 the betrothal of so long standing ? Of a 
 truth it came on him like a thunder-clap. 
 He had allowed himself so completely, in 
 consequence of her conduct to him, to lose 
 sight of any such engagement, that he could 
 not now be brought to tolerate it in any man- 
 ner. It was a most moving sight to see the 
 tears which chased down her cheeks, and the 
 passionate fondness of her bearing^ and lan- 
 guage, when this accomplished dissembler 
 informed her lover of her father's tyranny 
 in insisting upon her immediate marriage 
 with one she liked not. 
 
 No man who has ever devotedly loved 
 could reconcile himself to another's possess- 
 ing his mistress ; and the heart of John Hall 
 
 was too completely given up to the seduc- 
 tive Millicent to be easily drawn into an 
 abandonment of his claim upon her. Her 
 representations were marvellous powerful, 
 and his nature was exceeding yielding. 
 Nevertheless, though he did not in any way 
 dispute the marriage, in heart and soul he 
 loathed and detested it. 
 
 From the first hour he heard of the ar- 
 rangement he became a different being. A 
 slow, consuming fever preyed upon him 
 his flesh fell away he could endure no em- 
 ployment he could enjoy no gratification. 
 He confined himself to his own chamber, 
 where, hour after hour, he sat a.t the table 
 with an open book before him ; but the page 
 was never turned, and, though the eyes 
 dwelt on it, they took in nothing of its 
 meaning. His thoughts were directed else- 
 where, but kept themselves to a most con- 
 tracted circle ; for, oppressed by a sense of 
 his own misery, they seemed to have no 
 energy to get beyond it. 
 
 Thus, day after day passed by, he getting 
 weaker and weaker, his cheek more trans- 
 parent, his look more haggard, and a settled 
 despair seemed stamped upon his visage, 
 with a sharpness that expressed death in 
 every line. No one came near him but 
 Millicent, who used some arguments to con- 
 sole him, but they were not understood ; 
 and, if they had been, they would not have 
 afforded the sufferer any consolation ; and, 
 the caresses she continued to heap upon him 
 he received as one in a delirium takes a drug 
 that is to give him present composure. 
 
 The night before the wedding-day arrived, 
 and whether her bad heart was touched by 
 the youth's uncomplaining but most eloquent 
 misery, or she had a bad purpose in view, in 
 which her heart was not concerned, is not 
 known ; but, most assuredly, she sat up the 
 whole of that night with him : all which 
 time, by every word and deed most convinc- 
 ing, she let him know that he was beloved 
 by her as no other ever could be. He seem- 
 ed moved by her affectionateness, and clung 
 to it with all the wild fervor of one who 
 knows he hath before him his only stay. 
 The excitement which this produced bel 
 came at last two powerful for his enfeebled 
 frame, and, towards morning, he sunk into 
 a stupor. 
 
 It was full noon, on that eventful day, 
 before the unhappy youth recovered to a 
 perfect consciousness. He felt more than 
 ordinarily weak and feeble, but he mechani- 
 cally rose and made his morning toilet as 
 usual. He noticed that his customary 
 breakfast was prepared for him, but he 
 touched it not. He went to the easement,
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 and marvelled greatly to see, by the shadow 
 of the sun on the opposite house how late it 
 was in the day. 
 
 His thoughts were strange and discon- 
 nected. Now he was with his mother in 
 the home of his childhood, hearkening to 
 her sweet counsel ; anon, he was engaged 
 with such profitable company as Celsus and 
 Hippocrates, in the familiar seat under the 
 old walnut tree ; in a moment he was in the 
 tent of the gipsy girl, restoring her child to 
 life, and directly after he was no less de- 
 lightfully listening to Master Shakspeare's 
 admirable converse in his well-remembered 
 lodging in the Clink Liberty. 
 
 In short, his thoughts went from one 
 thing to another with no settled purpose, 
 travelling hither and thither, yet carefully 
 avoiding home. He dared not think of her. 
 He strove all in his power to avoid recall- 
 ing to his mind anything which would bring 
 the business of this intolerable day before 
 him. Nevertheless, do what he would, he 
 frequently found himself approaching the 
 dreaded subject. He walked about .his 
 chamber, counting his strides as he proceed- 
 ed ; and when he tired of that, he leaned out 
 of the casement and watched the sparrow 
 flitting about the eaves, and the smoke of 
 the chimneys curling up till it disappeared 
 in the blue sky. 
 
 The day seemed to be of a monstrous 
 length. He ardently longed for it to end, 
 but every minute had to him the duration of 
 the most tedious hours. He was struck 
 with the extraordinary quietness of the house. 
 In directing his attention to this, the know- 
 ledge of why it was so rushed upon him 
 with a force that overthrew all his precau- 
 tions. Millicent was gone to church ! by 
 this time she was another's ! and doubtless 
 they were all making merry every one with 
 another ; and while he was in the extremity 
 of his misery, hovering over the brink of 
 very madness, the more fortunate Leonard 
 was 
 
 As his mind caught a glimpse of the ex- 
 quisite sweet happiness of his rival, there 
 seemed to him to come a sudden whirlwind, 
 which crushed the walls of the chamber in 
 upon him on every side, and making a feeble 
 clutch at the chair on which he had been 
 leaning, he fell in a deadly swoon on the 
 floor. 
 
 How long he remained in this state he 
 never knew, for several weeks elapsed be- 
 fore he recovered the facultiss of a reason- 
 ing being, and then he was lying on his 
 pallet as feeble as a child, with an entire 
 oblivion of all that had been done to him 
 during that interval, and all the wild rav- 
 
 ings and monstrous extravagances he had 
 then exhibited. But he had not been dis- 
 covered till, on the return of the wedding- 
 party from their day's pleasuring, Millicent 
 stole up to his chamber hurriedly. 
 
 If ever contrition touched her cold, selfish 
 heart, one would have fancied it would have 
 been now ; but her sole object was her own 
 security, and for this only she looked to his 
 wants, and nursed him throughout his dis- 
 order. She feared that, despite her fine 
 scheming, her treachery might be made vi- 
 sible, and albeit her influence over her new- 
 made husband was none of the weakest, it 
 was possible a knowledge of her infamous 
 behavior he might receive in a fashion little 
 to her liking. She obtained assistance in 
 which she could trust, and the malady of' 
 John Hall began at last to assume a more 
 favorable character. 
 
 In especial, the young stepmother of his 
 treacherous, false mistress, was untiring in 
 her attentions, and showed a more than ordi- 
 nary kindness in every thing she did. He 
 felt gratefully disposed towards her, for 
 her exceeding friendliness at such a time, 
 and, noting his thankfulness, set her to make 
 herself still more agreeable. She had, by 
 this time, learned the true value of the po- 
 sition into which she had been cajoled she 
 saw the sacrifice that had been made of her 
 and was at no loss to discover for whose 
 sole advantage she had been thus infamously 
 bartered. Her mind was of a most limited 
 capacity, but it was large enough for ven- 
 geance, and it became the business of her 
 life to study some sure way of obtaining it. 
 
 She sympathised with him, and denounc- 
 ed the unprincipled conduct of her quon- 
 dam friend, whose whole proceedings she 
 gradually placed before him in their proper 
 light. He shrank from believing her stat- 
 ments, but she returned again and again to 
 the charge, supporting her accusations by 
 proofs there was no questioning. 
 
 Loath as the lover always is to believe ill 
 of the woman he loves, he cannot resist, for 
 any long time, insurmountable evidence, 
 unless he be wilfully blind. Our young 
 physician was wondrously moved at the in- 
 formation he had received, and* felt much 
 inclined to upbraid the crafty Millicent for 
 the infamousness of her proceedings ; but, 
 on her next making her appearance, the 
 consummate hypocrisy of her bearing, and 
 the influence of old impressions, drove him 
 from his purpose, and he let her take her 
 departure as though she were still the 
 matchless, spotless, admirable fond creature 
 he had so long been used to consider her. 
 But when she was gone, and her confidante
 
 164 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 returned to him with fresh instances of her 
 falsehood, he again resolved to charge her 
 with it, and break off all intimacy for the 
 future. 
 
 He was now sufficiently recovered to 
 leave his chamber ; and, as he had of late 
 been schooling himself to meet the woman 
 of whom he had been so enamored, in 
 company, with a sufficient indifferency, he 
 resolved to have his meals on a certain day 
 with the family, as had been his wont be- 
 fore his illness. He presented himself at 
 his customary place, and, though feeling 
 horribly restless and uneasy, he received 
 the general congratulations upon his recov- 
 ery without much embarrassment. He took 
 his seat. Towards her he dared not look ; 
 but he felt she was sitting over-against him. 
 Her husband, to his great relief, was ab- 
 sent, and not expected to return till late. 
 
 The meal passed off without anything 
 worthy of notice, save that old Posset strove 
 to show himself in the character of a jester ; 
 but his was the facetiousness of a grinning 
 skeleton. Nevertheless, his daughter en- 
 couraged his humor, and seemed, to the 
 unhappy student, to have an extraordinary 
 flow of spirits. He could not fail of draw- 
 ing some comparisons between her now 
 ever ready mirth and her constant affecta- 
 tion of wretchedness a few short months 
 before. 
 
 The dinner had all been removed, and the 
 master of the house had brewed a pot of 
 sack, which was poured out in glasses for 
 the company. Millicent had hardly got 
 hers in her hand, when, in a manner half 
 of carelessness and half of spite, she ad- 
 dressed every one in turn, and wished them 
 something which had much the appearance 
 of being what was least desired. John 
 Hall was left by her to the last, when she 
 commenced a speech to him in the same 
 strain, in ambiguous phrase, but sufficiently 
 apparent to all present. She. alluded to his 
 ill-placed passion, and wished him, as the 
 best thing that could be had for \i\rn, farget- 
 fultiess. This was too much for the miser- 
 abfe lover; his pride revolted at thus being 
 openly pointed out as the sufferer he was, 
 but the blow was one he could not ward off 
 or withstand. He felt the Corners of the 
 room whirling round, and, for some seconds, 
 he lost all consciousness of what or where 
 he was. 
 
 It chanced that, just at this time, word 
 was brought that one badly wounded in a 
 scuffle was waiting to have his hurts dressed? 
 which instantly caused the room to be emp- 
 tied of all but Millicent and John Hall. 
 The former, for some motive or other, left 
 
 her place, and came round to him, when sha 
 presently put her arm round his neck, as of 
 old. " Take not this accursed marriage of 
 mine so much to heart, my sweet life !" 
 whispered she in his ear very lovingly. 
 " Heed thy behavior, and thou shall profit 
 by it to thy exceeding contentation. - For 
 now such can be done safely which " 
 
 John Hall looked in her face with a sort 
 of bewildered stare, every vein and artery 
 throbbing as though they would burst. He 
 could scarce believe his ears, which had 
 conveyed to him a meaning which seemed 
 to have turned him to a mass of fire ; but 
 the gaze that met his own there could be no 
 doubting ; his eyes had fallen before its too 
 obvious expression once before ; albeit, now 
 the villany of it came to him so glaringly, 
 that his whole soul revolted at its baseness, 
 and he forcibly pushed her from him. 
 
 Whilst he buried his face in his hands, 
 he saw nothing of the horrible, fiendish 
 scowl with which the spurned tempter gazed 
 upon him. The comely face was distorted 
 out of all likeness with humanity ; it waa 
 spectral, Medusa-like, and devilish, beyond 
 all expression. In a short time it returned 
 to its ordinary expression nay, was more 
 smiling than it had ever been, and Millicent 
 sp"oke in the light manner she had a mo- 
 ment since, as if nothing had occurred to 
 change her humor. When he found him- 
 self strong enough, the young student stag- 
 gered out of the room, and was soon in the 
 privacy of his own chamber. Here he had 
 full leisure to think over the unquestionable 
 evidence he had just obtained of the worth- 
 less nature of the woman he had so dis- 
 tractedly loved. Had the testimony come 
 from any other source, he might have en- 
 tertained a doubt, but, proceeding as it did 
 from her own polluted lips, it carried with 
 it a terrible conviction. A sensitive nature 
 and a pure mind, that have remained for a 
 long period in the most blessed conviction 
 that the fair creature for whom all their 
 best energies were devoted, was the one 
 rare example of perfect excellence the world 
 possessed, discovering, of a sudden, that 
 she is among the very vilest of her sex, can 
 scarce fail of receiving a shock likely to 
 unsettle his whole being. He who truly 
 loves, loves only in the impression of his 
 mistress's superiority in all worthiness this 
 conviction is to his passion air, and food, 
 and raiment ; this it is that leadeth him to 
 adoration, this it is that speaketh for him in 
 song : but it hath more than once fortuned, 
 that this fair seeming hath been only the 
 fruit of a much-studied hypocrisy, and that 
 under the outer semblance of such great
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 165 
 
 goodness there existed unparalleled base- 
 ness ; and such was it beyond all manner 
 of doubt, in the case of this unnatural false 
 Jezabel. 
 
 Our young student was sorely troubled 
 in mind ; but he saw there was for him but 
 one measure, which was a proper schooling 
 of himself to regard the tempter in the light 
 she ought only to be looked upon by him ; 
 and, strengthening his heart with divers 
 wholesome resolutions, he succeeded at last 
 in quieting his disturbed nature somewhat. 
 He called to mind his mother's tender warn- 
 ings, and these and other goodly recollec- 
 tions of the admirable principles she had 
 taken such infinite pains to implant into 
 him, did strengthen and encourage him 
 wonderfully. 
 
 It was a little after midnight on the same 
 evening that Millicent left her sleeping bus 
 band, and, wrapping herself in a loose gown, 
 stealthily and silently crept down stairs. 
 Having provided herself with a lighted 
 lamp from the kitchen, she proceeded to the 
 little back chamber described in a preceding 
 chapter, as one where Master Docter Posset 
 was wont to enjoy his privacy unmolested 
 by any save his daughter, the door of which 
 she unlocked with a key she took from her 
 girdle ; then entering she locked herself in. 
 Placing the lamp on the table, she went 
 immediately to the old cabinet, which she 
 opened with another key. The doors thrown 
 back discovered nests of drawers, save at 
 the top which looked to be blank ; but. Mil- 
 licent, touching a secret spring, the panel 
 slid on one side, and there appeared several 
 curiously-shaped little bottles, some with 
 powders, and some with liquids. 
 
 She opened one of the drawers, and took 
 from thence a pair of ivory scales with 
 divers small weights ; from another she took 
 a graduated glass measure; from a third a 
 pestle and mortar of the same material. 
 These she carefully placed on the table 
 without noise ; then took several of the 
 bottles, and weighed and hieasured their 
 contents in certain quantities, and mixed 
 them in the mortar. 
 
 Whilst this was being done, it was curi- 
 ous to notice the dull, unearthly expression 
 which pervaded her visage. Her sallow 
 cheek was more bloodless than ever ; her 
 eyes seemed covered with a dead glaze ; 
 and her lips were of a blueish tinge, and 
 firmly compressed. Once or twice she 
 looked as though she smiled, but it was a 
 smile of such a sort as might, have become 
 a corpse, raised to life by some awful deed 
 of sorcery. Anon, at a sudden noise being 
 heard, she suspended her operations, shaded 
 
 the lamp by interposing her handkerchief 
 between it and the door, held her breath, 
 and glared, listening with a terrible atten- 
 tiveness, with an aspect that seemed to 
 have the fearful power of blasting the sierht 
 of any too curious looker-on. All was still 
 again, and she resumed her work with the 
 cold, inhuman visage with which ehe had 
 commenced it. 
 
 The mixture was at last completed, and 
 secured in a vial, and the vessels which 
 had been used were each separately washed 
 and dried, and put with the rest of the things 
 in their proper places. The panel was then 
 returned to its place, and the cabinet locked ; 
 and the lamp was held close before the table, 
 and then to the floor, to see that nothing 
 had fallen which could show any one had 
 been in that chamber. Having sufficiently 
 satisfied herself in this respect, she took the 
 vial and the lamp, and, carefully locking the 
 door of the room after her, blew out the 
 light, replaced it in the kitchen, and then 
 cautiously returned to her own chamber. 
 
 John Hall awoke much weaker in body 
 than he had been the day before at the same 
 time. As he dressed himself, he again re- 
 flected on the incident of the previous day, 
 and he came to a determination of renew- 
 ing those studies that had been so complete- 
 ly interrupted by the violence of his passion. 
 In accordance with this very admirable re- 
 solution, he looked to his favorite books with 
 which he seemed to return with a new 
 relish. But he was not in a condition for 
 any serious study the task soon became 
 irksome to him, and despite of hjs inclination 
 to continue at it, he more than once found 
 himself indulging in his old habit of dreamy 
 reveries, instead of directing his attention 
 to the page before him. 
 
 To his infinite wonderment and no small 
 confusion, the person of all others he wished 
 least to see entered the room. He would 
 gladly have told her he desired not her com- 
 pany ; but there was such a winning cheer- 
 fulness in her manner, and such an impres- 
 sive kindness in her language, that any 
 repulse on his part would appear a rudeness 
 there seemed no warrant for his shewing. 
 She had brought with her a basin of 
 strengthening broth, which she had made, 
 as she said, expressly for the perfect healing 
 of his sickness for she had determined to 
 take his cure into her own hand and she 
 continued to converse with so graceful a 
 modesty, and so admirable a good humor, 
 that he could not help coming to some doubts 
 lie had understood her rightly in her beha- 
 vior to him the previous day. 
 
 The end was, that he allowed himself to
 
 166 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 be persuaded by her of the restorative qual- 
 ities of the broth, and was content to make 
 trial of its effects. She insisted she would 
 see him take it, as was the duty of a good 
 nurse, and so he fell into her humor, and 
 straightway began to do as she would have 
 him. 
 
 The broth seemed of especial excellence, 
 and cunningly compounded, as she said, of 
 certain rare herbs. He commended its 
 savor, and was content she should concoct 
 the same mess for him every day till he re- 
 covered. Several days passed, and she 
 came regularly at the same hour, and be- 
 haved in the like commendable fashion, 
 always overflowing, as it were, with good- 
 humor, gentleness, and the tenderest sym- 
 pathy. Nevertheless, for all her friendly 
 care, he felt himself getting much worse, 
 and in a manner for which, with all his 
 skill in medicine, he could not account. 
 His pulse was sinking, his mouth was 
 parched with an ill taste, his head ached 
 strangely, he had racking internal pains, 
 and his limbs could scarce support his body. 
 His new nurse, hearing these symptoms, 
 made light of them, and still maintained her 
 restorative broth should work his speedy 
 cure. This while he saw no one else but 
 Millicent, for she had taken especial pains 
 to keep every one out of the way. 
 
 His pains were getting to be so great, 
 and his feebleness so to increase, that he 
 began to think his case needed the most 
 skilful physician he could find; and on this 
 point he spoke seriously to his attendant, 
 but she treated his fears as proceeding only 
 from lowness of spirits, which would leave 
 him in a day or two, and pressed on him her 
 restorative broth as an unquestionable re- 
 medy. 
 
 It had been her practice every day to stay 
 in the room whilst her patient swallowed 
 the broth, and she would never be satisfied 
 till he had drank it all. It so happened on 
 one occasion she was suddenly called away 
 very urgently when he had about half fin- 
 ished it, and, not feeling- disposed to take 
 any more, John Hall put the basin on the 
 ground before a favorite little spaniel that 
 usually accompanied Millicent in her visits. 
 The dog, nothing loath, licked it up every 
 drop ; but, scarcely had he done so, when 
 he began to appear exceeding restless and 
 uneasy. Presently he whined very piteous- 
 ly, and ran round the chamber with his 
 tongue out of his mouth, looking terribly dis- 
 turbed. Anon he stopped, and straightway 
 twisted himself about, and writhed and roll- 
 ed, howling wildly, and foaming at the mouth 
 as though in a monstrous agony. 
 
 John Hall gazed on the poor animil in 
 a strange amazement and alarm. At first 
 he was fain to believe he might be taken 
 with a sudden fit ; but when he beheld the 
 evident torture he endured, and saw too 
 plainly he was dying a terrible death, ho 
 was bewildered and astounded with his own 
 thoughts. The symptoms were undoubtedly 
 those which arise from the taking of poison ; 
 this poison could only have been in the broth 
 he had just swallowed ; and, if the broth 
 had been mixed with any poisonous stuff, it 
 was such as he had been taking for several 
 days. 
 
 A horrible conviction came upon him, and 
 he gasped for breath as he entertained it. 
 He had been daily taking the broth, and had 
 been daily getting into a state like one who 
 may be said to be dying by inches. 
 
 At this moment the dog uttered a pierc- 
 ing howl, and gave up the ghost, and John 
 Hall sank, sick unto death, into the uighest 
 chair. 
 
 He was, however, roused from the stupor 
 that was coming over him by the return of 
 Millicent, and, making a desperate effort as 
 he clung to the back of the chair for sup- 
 port, he hurriedly related the awful sight he 
 had just witnessed, and, in a few and inco- 
 herent words, accused her of attempting his 
 life by daily administering some noxious 
 ingredient. As, with looks of horror and 
 alarm, he gazed upon her visage, he was 
 struck by the ghastly paleness which in- 
 stantly overspread it, and the shrinking eye, 
 quivering lip, and trembling form, were 
 alone sufficient evidence of her atrocious 
 guilt. 
 
 Where was the matchless hypocrisy, the 
 subtle craft, the wondrous readiness of de- 
 ception that had so often served her in times 
 of peril ? Where were her tricks, and gloz- 
 ings, and cheats she had in such irfinite 
 abundance at her commandment ? Had 
 the ample magazine of her artifices b^en so 
 exhausted, there was no lie left, ho deceit 
 practicable, no treachery at command, by 
 which she could move the fcul suspicion 
 which every moment grew more black 
 against her ? 
 
 - A few seconds of horrible silence fol- 
 lowed, which the young student at last 
 broke, as with a. superhuman energy. 
 Catching his breath with a sharp guttural 
 spasm, in a voite scarcely audible for its 
 hoarseness, he bade her "Begone!" The 
 wretch obeyed, cowed as it were by the sud- 
 denness of the discovery of her damnable 
 villanousness, and retired as quickly as she 
 could perchance to devise means of prac- 
 tising upon hei victim more effectually.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 187 
 
 But, scarce had the door closed upon her, 
 when John Hall started up with frantic ea- 
 gerness, hurried down stairs, and rushed 
 out of the house, with the fullest determi- 
 nation never to enter those accursed doors 
 again. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Then the Soldier 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Seeking the bubble reputation, 
 Even in the cannon's mouth. 
 
 SHAKSREARE. 
 
 THE state of Venice had been famed for 
 the vigor wherewith it had in times passed 
 carried on war against the Ottoman ; and, 
 although years had gone by since any dis- 
 tinguishing victory had brought honor to the 
 arms of this renowned republic, there were 
 not wanting, either amongst her hardy gon- 
 doliers, her skilful artificers, or prodigal 
 young nobles, spirits as ready to rally round 
 the glorious banner of St. Mark, as when 
 defended by the most heroic of her doges, 
 it was planted on the walls of the capital of 
 the western world. 
 
 The winged lion, though far less promi- 
 nent in the war of Christian chivalry 
 against the turbaned infidel, than in the 
 time-honored days of the worthies of her 
 golden book, had not yet learned to live in 
 inglorious peace with the ancient enemy of 
 its protectors, and both by land and sea, had, 
 with scarce any intermissions, looked over 
 battles and skirmishings, as varying in their 
 natures as in their fortunes. Sometimes both 
 Venetians and Turks carried on their en- 
 during contest in places as remote from the 
 natural home of the one as of the other, and 
 upon an occasion armaments would be tit- 
 ted out by either power to invade the do- 
 minions of the other ; but, wherever they 
 might chance to meet, this was certain, that 
 very pretty fighting would soon follow, 
 which was thought so attractive a matter to 
 divers of the restless bold hearts of the more 
 peaceful kingdoms of Europe, that they 
 liked nothing so much as to serve a cam- 
 paign or so under the Venetian commanders. 
 
 It chanced that the whole senate of Ve- 
 nice became thrown into a sudden commo- 
 tion by the intelligence that a powerful 
 body of Turks had contrived to land, and 
 take by surprise a small place in the Vene- 
 tjan territory, which it was said they had 
 entrenched, as though with a view to re- 
 tain. Measures, however, were promptly 
 taken to dispossess them of their conquest, 
 
 and the warlike citizens of the republic, in- 
 flamed by the rumors of their unfortunate 
 countrymen taken prisoners only to be sold 
 as slaves, thronged to the ships that were 
 to transport them to the spot they intended 
 to signalize by the punishment of their au- 
 dacious enemy, and the deliverance of their 
 pining friends. I would I might, with a 
 proper convenience of this, my story, here 
 tell the goodly show of weapons, the famous 
 display of armor, and the no less admirable 
 array of all other proper munitions of war, 
 that gave such a brave appearance to the 
 lagunes ; but I must for certain good and 
 proper reasons at once transport the reader 
 to the camp of the Venetians, a brief space 
 only before they assaulted the position the 
 Turks had taken, and seemed ready enough 
 to defend. 
 
 The two armies lay in sight of each other, 
 the Ottomans on a hill over-against the lit- 
 tle town, above which their standards still 
 proudly waved. Afar off was the sea, with 
 the Turkish fleet hotly engaged with the 
 ships of Venice, which, having put ashore 
 the force intended to operate against their 
 enemies on the land, had sailed to destroy 
 their vessels, and so prevent their escaping 
 by sea. 
 
 The town seemed to be defended with no 
 lack of military skill, but the principal reli- 
 ance of the infidels looked to be a battery 
 of six petards, which already began to pour 
 forth its murderous fire as the front col- 
 umns of the Venetians approached with 
 trumpets blowing and banners flying to be- 
 gin the combat. The whole army of the 
 republic was in motion ; and it was at this 
 period, just as their general, surrounded by 
 his ablest captains, had given his last or- 
 ders for the disposition of his forces, an an- 
 cient approached, and with a vast show of 
 respect and reverence, delivered certain pa- 
 pers into his hands. The general was a 
 veteran, tall, stately, and severe of aspect, 
 who, it was easy to see, had fought under 
 the banner of St. Mark, for some two score 
 years at least. He was splendidly appa- 
 relled in the picturesque Venetian habit, 
 which lost nothing of its state by being seen 
 on his commanding figure. In brief, he 
 was just that manner of man whereof the 
 skilful limning of Titian hath given such 
 admirable examples. 
 
 Taking the papers into his hands, he 
 broke the seals, and read them attentively, 
 and with visable appearance of interest. 
 This done, he addressed himself to the bear- 
 er, and said, in an audible sonorous voice : 
 " Let them enter." Straightway the of- 
 ficer made his obedience, and departed
 
 168 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 thence ; presently, however returning, ac- 
 companied by two persons, whom he an- 
 nounced as " the Signer Shikspea, and the 
 Signor Guglielmo Erberto, Cavalieri Ingle- 
 si. The different captains looked on the 
 strangers with a pleased curiousness, for 
 there was that in both that did as well be- 
 come as bespeak the soldier. The captain- 
 general gazed from one to the other as they 
 saluted him, and, if satisfied with the fiery 
 valor that shone in the glances of the 
 younger of the two, his eyes rested with no 
 less approval on the steady resoluteness that 
 was as plainly to be seen in the graver as- 
 pect of the senior. Him he addressed. 
 
 " I have read with very singular satisfac- 
 tion, Signor," said he with exceeding gra- 
 ciousness of manner, " these letters from 
 certain honorable Councillors of State, in 
 Venice, my assured friends, stating your de- 
 sire to serve with your young companion, 
 under my command, and urgently recom- 
 mending you both, as persons of considera- 
 tion and worship, to my countenance and 
 favor. Signor, I am right glad to please 
 the state and am well content to have any 
 of your honorable nation to be my good 
 comrades in this campaign. By the favor 
 of God and St. Mark, I will anon give you 
 such opportunity of displaying your noble 
 valor against the infidel as I doubt not will 
 be greatly to your contentation. 
 
 " Da Ponte !" he exclaimed, to a young 
 soldier of the group around him> " take these 
 worthy cavaliers to be of your company, 
 and with all dispatch join the division now 
 marching against the enemy's centre ; and, 
 gentlemen," he added, to the others, " we 
 will all, an it please you to our several 
 posts." 
 
 Thereupon there was a stir among that 
 warlike assembly each hurried away to 
 his company, or to perform such duty 
 as had been previously assigned him 
 sounds of command were heard in all di- 
 rections trumpets were blown and drums 
 beat: the general mounted a charger richly 
 caparisoned, and with several of his cap- 
 tains about him, galloped off; and my Lord 
 of Pembroke's heir and his estimable gover- 
 nor found themselves, in a few minutes' 
 space, marching in the midst of a well-ap- 
 pointed body of Venetian soldiers, directly 
 in front of the enemy's position. 
 
 At this time, the loud report of the great 
 guns, and a scattered firing of matchlocks, 
 told that some of the advanced parties were 
 already engaged with the Turks : but it was 
 not till the armies approached each other 
 more nearly that the contest became gene- 
 ral, and then it began to wax fiercer and 
 
 fiercer every instant for both were inflam- 
 ed with religious zeal, and a national ani- 
 mosity that had endured for many genera- 
 tions. 
 
 The bravery of silken scarfs, embroidered 
 vestments, rich banners, gorgeous turbans, 
 costly arms and armor, that figured in that 
 battle-field exceedeth belief, and when the 
 smoke cleared away from any part, it was 
 like unto a curtain rising above some 
 matchless picture, glowing with all the 
 deepest colors of the painter's art. 
 
 The infidels had something besides fana- 
 ticism and hatred to urge them to make a 
 stiff fight of it, for they were well aware 
 that, unless they beat off their assailants, 
 their case was desperate indeed. What 
 success their fleet met with, they could have 
 no knowledge of, but they saw it was in 
 vain to look there for assistance at that 
 time. Therefore, they encouraged each 
 other with their warlike cries, and rushed 
 forward with shouts in praise of their pro- 
 phet, and execrations against " the Chris- 
 tian dogs," with whom they were so eager 
 to engage in deadly battle. 
 
 Master Shakspeare, in availing himself 
 of that favorable opportunity to obtain for 
 his beloved scholar the prized accomplish- 
 ments of a soldier, had not done so without 
 some inward strife with himself. All the 
 earnest deep passion he had so long yet se- 
 cretly felt for the noble mother, he had gra- 
 dually transferred to her high-spirited son, 
 as her representative and perfect image ; to 
 the lawfulness of which he had succeeded 
 in reconciling himself, though he was as 
 zealously intent as ever in concealing from 
 its object the influence by which his feel- 
 ings were ever directed towards him. 
 
 Moreover, he had more than one reason 
 for directing his steps towards the Vene- 
 tian camp, not the least pressing of which 
 was the necessity there existed of removing 
 his charge, where pressing duties and con- 
 stant action would destroy a degrading en- 
 tanglement he had watched with solicitude, 
 and had in vain by other means endeavored 
 ' to destroy. The youthful lover would needs 
 ! be his own judge in the correctness of such 
 matters, and like a fiery horse would rush 
 into the horriblest mischief were any rude 
 means employed to move him out of the way 
 of it. 
 
 To his governor's huge content, he found 
 that he readily embraced the attractive pro- 
 ject of seeing somewhat of the art of war ; 
 but now that Master Shakspeare had him 
 where he so desired, he was by no means 
 free from disquietude ; for one moment, see- 
 ing the stoutness with which the battle was
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 169 
 
 contested, he feared he might come to harm, 
 and so cause the greatest unhappiness that 
 could befall his noble mother ; and anon, 
 noting his wilful heedlessness of proper dis- 
 cipline, he despaired of his distinguishing 
 himself as would be most to her contenta- 
 tion. 
 
 Weapons of numberless sorts were now 
 glancing threateningly in all directions 
 around him the well-tempered Damascus 
 blade crossing the trusty Toledo, and the 
 bright Moorish lance ringing against the 
 Milan breastplate. The spirited war cry 
 of " God and St. Mark," from the stout 
 goldiers of the republic, was replied to by 
 deafening shouts in which " Allah" and 
 " Mahomet" could not fail of being heard. 
 The Turks opposed the Venetians at every 
 inch, endeavoring with frantic furiousness 
 to break their ranks, but the latter forced 
 them back with great slaughter after a long 
 and severe contest, and advanced to a 
 bridge entering upon the town, which was 
 defended by petards supported by a strong 
 force of desperate infidels. If Master Shaks- 
 peare found enough employment in locking 
 to the safety of his young companion in 
 arms, awhile since, in the attack on the 
 bridge that soon followed, the service was 
 one that required tenfold watchfulness. 
 
 The winged Lion waved proudly above 
 the heads of its defenders, as they came 
 steadily on to the assault in the very face 
 of the terrible iron engines, that vomited 
 their deadly iron shower amongst them. 
 Here the Venetians suffered severely, for 
 when the Turkish engineers had fired their 
 formidable artillery, numerous matchlock 
 men from the neighboring houses and walls 
 kept up a murderous fire, whilst they pre- 
 pared for another discharge. Cries, mingled 
 with groans, and defiances, were answered 
 with insults and execrations. More than 
 once the brave soldiers of Venice were bea- 
 ten back on this point, but they eagerly re- 
 sponded to the voice of their commanders, 
 and pressed fonvard to revenge their slaugh- 
 tered comrades. 
 
 My Lord of Pembroke's heir was often in 
 the most imminent peril his companions 
 kept falling fast around him, and it could 
 scarce be expected he could long escape 
 the same end, for he had got himself in the 
 foremost ranks, and, to the admiration of 
 both friends and foes, was ever with his 
 anxious governor close at his side, the first 
 to push forward after a repulse. The be- 
 havior of the English cavaliers so inspirited 
 their allies, that on a sudden they all rush- 
 ed, in spite of the storm of missiles that sa- 
 luted them, up to the very mouths of the 
 
 cannon. The engineers fled from their 
 guns, and the bridge was in the possession 
 of the Venetians. 
 
 It was here, during the short but slaugh- 
 tering conflict that took place before the 
 Turks finally gave way, that a gigantic in- 
 fidel threw himself suddenly before young 
 Herbert, as he impetuously pressed onward 
 with the most daring of the assailants, after 
 their retreating foes, and easily beating 
 aside his slight rapier, the glittering blade 
 he wielded with no less strength than skill 
 was descending on the youth's head, when 
 it fell from a nerveless grasp, as the sword 
 of the trusty governor was buried to the hilt 
 in his heart. Thrice had a similar service 
 been conferred, in that perilous fight, by 
 the same vigorous arm ; then the watchful 
 guardian, assuming a calm he felt not, had 
 been forced to hurry on in a feverish anx- 
 iousness, to avert the mischiefs that seemed 
 to threaten him in countless numbers ; but 
 in this instance, the greatness of the escape 
 of his charge affected Kim so, that he lost 
 sight of his ordinary self-control, and with a 
 frantic trans port embraced him with all man- 
 ner of joyful and endearing ejaculations. 
 He was not long, however, before he became 
 aware of his forgetfulness, and as suddenly 
 left his passionate fond humor to put on the 
 more sober fashion of the worthy governor. 
 Fortunately, as he thought, the youth marked 
 not the strangeness of his behavior, taking 
 it to be excessive pleasure in having effect- 
 ed his rescue, in so timely a manner, and 
 did no more than express his thankfulness 
 for such excellent service. 
 
 Just at this time, the Captain-General of 
 the Venetian army coming up, stopped at 
 sight of the two English cavaliers, and, be- 
 fore all the captains and soldiers around 
 him, did commend them exceedingly for 
 their notable gallantry. Fired with this 
 praise, both presently hastened with the 
 main body into the town, which was storm- 
 ed at all points. Numbers of the Turks 
 were driven into the sea many perished in 
 the houses in which they vainly attempted 
 to defend themselves and the few who re- 
 mained together in the streets, keeping up a 
 desperate and hopeless resistance, disdain- 
 ing quarter and shouting defiance to their 
 enemies, were cut down to a man. 
 
 Scarcely was this glorious victory com- 
 pleted, when the fleet of the republic, after 
 an equally successful conflict with the 
 Turkish ships, returned with several prizes, 
 the rest having been either sunk, or scattered 
 to the winds, so that no two of them could 
 be found together. Such an humbling of 
 the Ottoman power the state of Venice had
 
 170 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 not achieved for many a year, and great 
 was the exultation among all classes, both 
 of the land and sea forces in consequence. 
 
 My Lord of Pembroke's heir and his wor- 
 thy governor were held in especial honor by 
 their principal men of war, for the exceed- 
 ing valor they had displayed when the fight 
 was at the hottest; and, at the return of the 
 expedition, the nobles vied with each other 
 which should show them most favor and 
 distinction. 
 
 Nor were the ladies in any way behind 
 their lords in this, and showered their most 
 bewitching smiles, as though of all things 
 they cared for nothing so much as to have 
 such gallant spirits for their declared ser- 
 vants and devoted favored lovers. As there 
 were many amongst them of a very exqui- 
 site and ravishing beauty, Master Shaks- 
 peare did look with no slight degree of alarm 
 on the greatness of the temptation with 
 which his young charge was now surround- 
 ed ; and he had need of all his watchfulness 
 to take heed he thrust himself in no fatal 
 mischiefs. The secret assignations the 
 nightly serenades the stolen interviews 
 he knew to be full of deadly peril ; and he 
 never saw him enter his gondola but he 
 feared the poniard of some envious rival, or 
 the poison of some jealous mistress, would 
 put a terrible close to the adventure, in 
 which, he was but too well aware, he was 
 then embarking. 
 
 It was on the very balmiest of moonlight 
 nights, when the silver radiance of that 
 planet, which is so well liked of lovers, was 
 lighting up the rich architecture of one of 
 the stateliest palaces in all Venice, that a 
 lady of that ripe and luscious loveliness 
 that doth, as it were, take the senses of the 
 gazer by storm, was seen in such glorious 
 robes and ornaments, as could the most 
 temptingly set off her admirable form and 
 countenance, leaning on a balcony over- 
 against a marble terrace that led by a flight 
 of steps into the canal that washed the base- 
 ment walls of the building, looking with 
 eyes lustrous as fire, yet possessed of a ten- 
 derness withal, that did marvellously soften 
 their flaming glances, across the water, as 
 though for something she expected there to 
 behold. Ever and anon a melancholy gon- 
 dola would be seen gliding along, and the 
 voices of the gondoliers might be heard 
 answering to each other in words of liquid 
 sweetness and tones of passionate music. 
 Perchance the slight breeze, that so gently 
 stirred the waters, would waft to the etr 
 of the watcher a burst of harmony which 
 was readily recognized as a serenade of 
 some fond lover for the peculiar delectation 
 
 of his, perchance, equally fond mistress , 
 but these were all afar off, and evidently 
 were not, in any way, attending upon the 
 pleasures of the lady of the balcony. 
 
 She seemed to span the blue waves that 
 spread out before her glance with an in- 
 creasing interest the glowing cheek some- 
 times paling, and anon, flushing to a warmer 
 hue than before, as she watched the course 
 of the distant gondolas. Presently she 
 noted one dextrously turned into the chan- 
 nel that flowed beneath her, and then her 
 rosy mouth dimpled into an expression of 
 such delicious sweetness, that doth defy the 
 poet or the painter's craft to do justice to ; 
 and, after waiting awhile with an eloquent 
 heaving breast, a softer glance, and a more 
 crimsoned cheek, as she recognized the well- 
 known boat being propelled towards the 
 palace, she retired a little distance, whence 
 she could conveniently see and yet not be 
 seen. 
 
 The gondola was urged onward till it 
 stopped at the foot of the stairs thereupon 
 a strain of soft music commenced, which 
 presently received additional harmony, of 
 no ordinary sort, from a rich, manly voice, 
 whose every note was as full of passion as 
 of music. The words, which lacked no art 
 in the singer to make them sufficiently ex- 
 pressive, were to the following purpose : 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 The day hath lost its gladness, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 The night is wrapt in sadness, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 The wave, the shore, the skies, 
 
 Now don their sober dyes, 
 
 Pining for thy sweet eyes, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 But, ah ! more deep emotion, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 Than earth, or air, or ocean, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 Must be his hapless case, 
 
 To whom all's dull and base, 
 
 That lacks thy matchless grace, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 Then bring thy fondest glances, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 To chase such solemn fancies, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 And hear, till blushing morn, 
 
 All nature put to scorn, 
 
 And love's soft worship sworn, 
 
 Bella Donna f 
 
 As the song of the unseen singer came 
 to its close, the lady, with looks that did 
 most completely bespeak her approval of its
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 171 
 
 sentiments, came to the balcony and waved 
 her handkerchief. A moment, and there 
 leapt on shore a young and handsome cav- 
 alier a moment more he had ascended the 
 stairs, crossed the terrace, reached the bal- 
 cony, and was locked in the arms of the 
 kind Venetian. Scarce, however, had the 
 lovers begun to give utterance to their mu- 
 tual adoration, when a shadow fell upon 
 them, and the figure of an -old man, whose 
 wrinkled visage was distorted with hatred 
 and jealousy, was seen creeping stealthily 
 behind them, with a long, sharp dagger 
 clutched in his nerveless grasp. 
 
 ' : Fly, Signer Erberto ! Maledetto ! here 
 is my husband !" screamed the terrified 
 dame, as she glided from his embrace and 
 disappeared. The youth was so hugely 
 surprised that he knew not where to look 
 for tiie unwelcome intruder ; and the threat- 
 ening weapon was already gleaming in his 
 eyes, when a figure, closely wrapped in a 
 black domino, and as closely masked, rushed 
 from his place of concealment, and, in the 
 same instant, the meditated assassin was 
 hurled down the marble stairs, and lay stun- 
 ned and motionless at the bottom. 
 
 4i Well met again, Excellency," said an 
 unknown voice, cheerfully. 
 
 " And a^ain I thank thee, Signer," re- 
 .plied the gallant, though with more reserve 
 than might have been expected under the 
 circumstances. "But methinks it seemeth 
 marvellous strange thou shouldst ever be at 
 hand when my life is in jeopardy. I would 
 fain know to whom I am so hugely indebt- 
 ed." 
 
 " Pardon me, Signor Erberto," said the 
 other, " my name is not of such importance 
 to deserve the attention of a noble English 
 cavalier, like yourself. But let me warn 
 you, Excellency, that if you leave not this 
 city ere another sun sets, the vengeance of 
 offended husbands and jealous rivals, to 
 whom you have given such potent provoca- 
 tion, cannot fail of overtaking you." 
 
 " A notable warning, i' faith !" cried the 
 youth, laughingly. " But I fear me much 
 I am in no case for profiting by it, while 
 the dames of this beautiful city are at once 
 so fair and so kind." 
 
 " Cospetto ! they are indeed a temptation," 
 said the stranger, but added, more gravely, 
 " The love which is so lightly wen me- 
 thinks, ought to be valued by any man, 
 who is not a fool or madman, as of little ac- 
 count in comparison with his own life." 
 
 "Am I fool or madman, Signor, if I 
 choose to risk my life in such pursuits ?" 
 angrily demanded the fiery youth. 
 
 " In honest truth, so it would seem," qui- 
 etly replied the other. 
 
 " And, perchance, I may be thought some- 
 thing worse ?" asked Master Herbert, with 
 every symptom of a rising passion. 
 
 " I doubt not you would be open to such 
 an opinion," gravely responded his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Nay, by this hand, this is sheer insult !" 
 exclaimed the impetuous young English- 
 man. " You have put an intolerable affront 
 on me. I will owe no obligations to one 
 who doth good services only to hold the 
 person on whom he conferreth them in con- 
 tempt. I charge you, draw and defend your- 
 self." 
 
 The stranger seemed unwilling at first to 
 comply with this challenge ; but soon find- 
 ing he could not avoid it, he opened his 
 domino, and drew his rapier. He had but 
 barely time to put himself on his defence, 
 when the rash and fiery youth came upon 
 him so vigorously, yet so incautiously 
 withal, that, after a few rapid passes, he 
 ran upon the point of his opponent's weap- 
 on, and it entered his side to some depth. 
 At the sight of his blood, the stranger ut- 
 tered a cry of horror and despair, impossible 
 to be expressed ; and his mask dropping off 
 as he stooped to catch the wounded youth, 
 who was falling in a swoon to the ground, 
 there appeared the noble features of Master 
 Shakspeare. He hurriedly caught his young 
 charge in his arms, and carried him down 
 to the gondola, where he presently bound 
 up the wound, and soon had him safe at his 
 own lodgings, unuer the care of the skilful- 
 lest chirurgeons in Venice. 
 
 Master Herbert never knew by whom he 
 had been wounded, and believed that he had 
 been discovered after he had received his 
 hurt. The worthy governor now played the 
 part of the anxious nurse, not only attend- 
 ing strictly to the surgeon's directions, but 
 making the hours of the invalid restless 
 at all times^ but now still more impatient of 
 confinement so pleasant with the legends 
 and ballads he had picked up from the gon- 
 doliers and others, that he seemed to forget 
 he was under any restraint. Foremost in 
 these narratives in his favor was the roman- 
 tic story of a Moor, who was a general of 
 the Venetian army, and, taking to wife an 
 :xquisite Venetian lady, was driven to such 
 a madness of jealousy by the perjuries of 
 an artful villain, that he stifled his fair wife 
 as she slept ; and when he found how deeply 
 !ie had been deceived, presently laid violent 
 lands on himself, and died, in the old Ro- 
 man fashion, with his own sword.
 
 172 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 In this way he was healed in an incredi- 
 ble short time; and, leaving Venice, they 
 travelled in the direction of Verona, visiting 
 all the places worthy of note in their way. 
 It is true, young Herbert seemed to listen to 
 what came from his worthy tutor with more 
 attentiveness than formerly ; but the magic 
 of a pair of black eyes soon deprived the 
 forciblest lessons of wisdom of their attrac- 
 tion ; and he was wont to neglect them al- 
 together when he found more pleasing stud- 
 ies elsewhere. Master Shakspeare lived in 
 a state of exceeding anxiousness about his 
 young charge, who would be absent from 
 him for two or three days together, dreading 
 he was engaged in some questionable ad- 
 venture, endangering as much his credit as 
 his safety ; but he so loved him, as much 
 now for some nobler qualities he had seen 
 in him, as for the noble mother he did so 
 forcibly remind him of, that he found greater 
 difficulties every day to put on the governor 
 towards him, as harshly as he made it ne- 
 cessary. 
 
 It is essential that here the author should 
 change the scene of the many-colored life 
 he has essayed to draw, to one as strangely 
 differing from what the understanding reader 
 hath had knowledge of, as doth a phosnix 
 from a barn-door fowl. So, with his per- 
 mission, I will at once transport him to one 
 of the wildest landscapes that ever figured 
 in a painter's canvas or a poet's dream. 
 It was a sort of ravine or gorge in the 
 mountains, enclosed by huge masses of 
 granite, covered with lichens of various 
 colors ; but rank and luxuriant vegetation 
 of shrubs and grasses was perceptible where 
 the soil was deeper, with here and there a 
 tall tree, stretching its giant arms far above. 
 
 Picketed where the best fodder seemed 
 to grow were two or three young horses, 
 which, to all appearance, were worth a fair 
 sum, save only to such as were well expe- 
 rienced in the buying of horse-flesh, who 
 would detect in them such faults, cunningly 
 disguised though thoy were, that made them 
 comparatively worthless. Further off were 
 asses and mules grazing at full liberty, save 
 that a half-naked urchin, who seemed to 
 find excellent sport, as he lay at his length 
 on the ground, by gambling with himself for 
 a single doit, was watching that they strayed 
 not too far. In one place tents were pitched ; 
 in another, a fire burnt, and a huge black 
 pot was reeking over it ; but, save a few 
 boys lying about in idle, listless groups here 
 and there, whose devil-may-care features 
 appeared to have lost half their audacity, 
 thore was nothing of human life visible. 
 
 But, on getting behind the tents, this 
 
 could be no longer the case, for, lo ! there 
 was an assemblage grouped together, of 
 man and woman, of age and youth, swarthy 
 as Moors ; all looking as wild and lawless 
 a set as ever cheated or robbed, and not a 
 few having just that sort of visage commonly 
 thought to belong exclusively to such as deal 
 in witchcraft, and have dealings with the 
 arch enemy of mankind. 
 
 Truly this was as diabolical a set of 
 beings as could ever have been found to- 
 gether in one place. They squatted on 
 their hams, excepting some who leaned 
 against the rock, or lay at full length, rest- 
 ing on their elbows ; but the faces of all had 
 the same settled stern malignity, whether it 
 was that of the toothless crone, or the bud- 
 ding girl, the decrepid grandfather, or the 
 sportive child all, save one, and she waa 
 as different from all around her as is a costly 
 gem among basest pebbles. She stood in 
 the centre of the circle, her hands tied be- 
 hind her; and, though the stream of silken 
 hair, that hung dishevelled over her graceful 
 shoulders, almost concealed her exquisite 
 countenance, there was enough of her visi- 
 ble to show it could be no other thus strange- 
 ly placed than the wondrous dancer of the 
 Romaica, the seductive Bohemian, the idol- 
 ized Xariqua, whom the reader last beheld 
 winning all hearts in the streets of Rome. 
 
 But what a change was here ! She then 
 was free as a bird, and as though her heart 
 was only lighter than her fairy feet. Now 
 the downcast eye, the cheek of deathlike 
 paleness, the compressed lip, and the quick 
 heaving of her breast, betokened a state 
 fearfully different. What meant this ? In. 
 honest truth no other than this she had 
 sinned against the" laws of her tribe, and 
 was now on her trial. Her offence waa 
 one that, in their savage code, was visited 
 the most heavily of all for which they sought 
 to legislate. The very spirit of their dis- 
 tinct existence was an irreconcilable hatred 
 against all who were not of their blood, and 
 she had been detected in indulging a passion 
 for a stranger. As her judges and accusers 
 were influenced by one feeling, and as their 
 law expressly stated the crime and the purf- 
 ishment, they were not long in coming to a 
 verdict. In short, she had been tried and 
 condemned. The oldest man of the tribe, 
 a hoary patriarch, with beetling eyebrows 
 and tanned and shrivelled skin, arose in all 
 the dignity of rags and dirt, and, leaning 
 heavily on a long staff, in a cold and malig- 
 nant tone thus addressed the criminal. 
 
 ' Woman, thou hast brought shame and 
 dishonor on the Rommanee ! thou hast be- 
 stowed thyself on one of the hated Bosnee.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 173 
 
 Woman ! it was lawful for thee to have so 
 conducted thyself with a lover of that ac- 
 cursed race, that he might be deluded, 
 cheated, and tricked for thy especial sport 
 and satisfaction ; and when thou hadst had 
 sufficient gain of him, there was plenty of 
 our people ready to cut his throat too good 
 a death for so base a hound ! had it been 
 thy command. Woman, thou hast not 
 sought to show the craft of the Rommanee 
 in thy dealings with this son of a hated race ; 
 it is known and proved that thou hast loved 
 him may his blood be drink for dogs ! 
 only as thou shouldst love the man of thine 
 own people. 
 
 " It is provided by our law that the wo- 
 man who shall commit this villany shall 
 assuredly die ; that the manner of her death 
 shall be by the knife ; that it shall be done 
 in a convenient secret place. ; and that the 
 punishment of her crime after this manner 
 shall, under all cases and circumstances, be 
 by the hand of her next of kin." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no !" shrieked the criminal, 
 looking wildly at her judges, " you cannot 
 be so inhuman an act so monstrous can 
 never be intended. I am ready to die. I 
 will not shrink I will not utter a groan. 
 But to find my executioner in mine own 
 child oh, it is too terrible ! Spare me ! 
 have mercy ! You that are mothers, you 
 that are fathers, you that have seen how a 
 mother's heart clingeth to her own offspring 
 I pray you change this horrible sentence, 
 and I will willingly endure a thousand deaths 
 of another sort, be they all the cruellest that 
 ever were devised !" 
 
 She implored in vain. They who chose 
 to take any heed of her appeal coldly said, 
 " It is our law ;" others answered her with 
 curses, and the rest moved carelessly away 
 Then she frantically called on one, and re- 
 minded him of such a service she had done 
 him ; another she bade remember her prom- 
 ises of returning, on a tit occasion, some 
 portion of the benefits she had bestowed 
 upon her ; a third she begged, in return for 
 the securing his happiness with his mistress 
 he would strive for her to get so intolerable 
 a sentence altered. They one and all mut- 
 tered, " It is our law," and departed their 
 several ways. 
 
 At this time two horses, with rude bri- 
 dles were brought ; and one of the savages 
 of the tribe leaping on one, the criminal was 
 placed before him. The boy noticed in an- 
 other chapter now made his appearance 
 dogged and sullen in visage, yet with a 
 resoluteness worthy of one of the devil's 
 imps. He leaped on the other horse, and 
 
 ;hey both rode through the gorge, till they 
 came to a clump of cork-trees quite out of 
 sight of the encampment. At the foot of 
 one a grave had been dug. 
 
 The poor dancer had not failed to use the 
 most moving entreaties which, in her agony, 
 she could think of ; but she might have as 
 well addressed them to a stone as to her 
 ompanion. He interrupted them with the 
 lorriblest imprecations; and, alighting at 
 .he end of his journey, roughly took her off 
 ler seat, and bound her with" cords to a tree, 
 tie then addressed the boy, and, putting a 
 ongj sharp knife into his hand, bade him 
 act as became one of the true blood, and 
 
 should be their king, as his father was. 
 Having said this, he mounted his horse, and 
 returned to his people, without attempting 
 jo look back, or show any further concern 
 in the matter. 
 
 The criminal had uttered never a word 
 since she had been bound to the tree. But 
 her eyes were fixed on her son with an in- 
 tensity of horrible curiousness which lan- 
 guage can give but an exceeding faint idea 
 of. Her face was of a bluish paleness, and 
 in the expression of it, at that time, was 
 something which seemed awfully unearthly. 
 There was no motion at her heart, there 
 was no color 4i her lips ; in her eyes only 
 there looked to be life, and it was such life 
 as the living had never before been known 
 to have possession. 
 
 The boy remained for a few seconds gaz- 
 ing on the weapon given him for the atro- 
 cious act he was expected to perform. 
 Whether his memory fell back upon the 
 numberless proofs of the deepest and sin- 
 cerest love woman ever felt for her first- 
 born he had experienced, or whether, as 
 was more common to the children of these 
 singular and abominable race, he was in- 
 sensible to any grateful feeling, and indif- 
 ferent to the most sacred ties, cannot be 
 ascertained ; but the sounds from the hoofs 
 of the retreating horse had died away be- 
 fore he ventured to look up. 
 
 At that instant he met the full force of 
 the spectral gaze that had been fixed upon 
 him, and it made him start as though he 
 had felt the shock of an earthquake. He 
 seemed to strive to avoid it, but on him it 
 had the power of fascination. He could 
 not glance aside ; he could not turn. He 
 felt his feet rooted to the ground, and his 
 eyes drawn as though by cords in the di- 
 rection of those whose light he was there 
 to quench for ever. His arms fell power- 
 less at his side ; the weapon dropped from 
 his feeble grasp. He felt sick faint, buru-
 
 174 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ing, scorching, suffocating ; and presently, 
 with a loud cry, fell down in a fit into the 
 open grave before him. 
 
 This result had scarcely been effected, 
 when a youthful cavalier, who. had, for some 
 moments prior, been engaged in making a 
 cautious descent from a neighboring tree, 
 fbw as though on wings to the intended 
 victim ; and, rapidly cutting the cords which 
 bound her, easily placed her, insensible 
 as she was, on the horse quietly grazing 
 near, which he then mounted and rode off 
 over the broken and tortuous paths that led 
 from this savage scene, at its fullest speed. 
 
 It was not till all chance of immediate 
 pursuit seemed removed, that the cavalier 
 ventured to slacken the pace for the purpose 
 of beholding the state of his helpless bur- 
 then. He unclasped his arms, and looked 
 on her face. The current of air to which 
 she had been exposed during her rapid 
 journey appeared to have revived her some- 
 what ; a more natural color had returned to 
 her skin ; she breathed gently but regularly ; 
 anon she opened her eyes ; and then, with 
 a very ecstacy of gladness, murmured " Er- 
 berto mio !" as she gave back her lover's 
 affectionate embrace. She then fell into 
 another swoon ; but a few drops from the 
 contents of a hunting-flask recovered her 
 presently, and he pushed on as fast as he 
 could to where his own horses were wait- 
 ing, where he arrived just as the one on 
 which he rode showed undeniable symptoms 
 of being utterly exhausted of its strength. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 We came to Paris on the Seine, 
 
 'Tis wondrous fair, 'tis nothing clean, 
 
 'Tis Europe's greatest town : 
 How strong it is 1 need not tell it, 
 For all the world may easily smell it, 
 
 That walk it up and down. 
 
 RICHARD CORBET. 
 
 IN the time sought to be illustrated in 
 this veritable story there was a worshipful 
 city, the fame whereof was bruited far and 
 wide as the abode and seat, as it were, of 
 pleasure ; for, from the very getting up of 
 the sun to its lying down, nought seemed to 
 In- known or understood in that gay place, 
 but the art of passing time or wasting it, 
 according to some in the pursuit of the 
 most agreeable pastime in which man and 
 woman could be engaged. This pastime, 
 be it known, which was so generally en- 
 gaged in, that old and young, rich and poor, 
 
 learned and ignorant, the greatest states- 
 men and the most absolute blockheads, 
 joined in it with a like eagerness, and each, 
 after his own fashion, made it the very busi- 
 ness of his life, was, by general consent,, 
 regarded by a name to which it had no man- 
 ner of pretension. As in a great cage of 
 monkeys you shall see every one of them 
 filching his neighbor's apple rather than 
 guard his own, these worthy persons took 
 on themselves to leave their wives, or daugh- 
 ters, or sisters, or mistresses, as the case 
 might be, for any man's unlawful having, 
 while they were dishonestly intent on the 
 wives, daughters, sisters, or mistresses of 
 their especial friends ; and this was to them 
 a source of infinite contentation, nay, the 
 summum bonum of their lives and the 
 name they gave to this pleasure was none 
 other than " Love." 
 
 Now it chanced that the king of this peo- 
 ple as much exceeded any of his subjects 
 in the energy with which he embarked in 
 those pleasant adventures, as doth a triton 
 exceed a minnow. It would be in vain to 
 number the wives, daughters, sisters, and 
 mistresses of other men who were honored 
 as objects of his particular and right royal 
 regard. In these pleasant affairs he was a 
 merchant adventurer, who had taken out 
 letters of marque against all and sundry the 
 fairest dames and damsels that were to be 
 met with on the high seas of gallantry ; and, 
 though he chose to appear as a holiday 
 barge rather than as a corsair, he rifled 
 such as fell in his way as completely as 
 though he carried a black flag at his mast ; 
 and the citizens of his good city looked up 
 to him with admiration, assisting him with 
 all their powers to secure success in his 
 several adventures, feeling most loyally in- 
 dignant when he met with any obstinate, 
 rebellious virtuousness, and triumphing in 
 his successes over chastity, modesty, and 
 the like sort of traitorous criminality, as 
 though they felt a more than ordinary in- 
 terest in the prosperity of his undertaking. 
 
 The consequence 'whereof was that the 
 whole city was continually astir with every 
 sort of entertainment that could so please 
 the fair dames and damsels within its walls, 
 as to incline their hearts to share in that 
 pastime which both sexes had been pleased 
 to distinguish with the name just mentioned. 
 Dancing, singing, feasting, drinking, gam- 
 bling, and all other pleasures whatsoever, 
 were in such constant requisition, that an 
 indifferent person might have said, after ob- 
 serving this constant humor of revelry, that 
 there could be no other business in the 
 world. Such was the city, and such ita
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 175 
 
 sovereign such was Paris at the com- 
 mencement of the seventeenth century, and 
 such its popular monarch the gay, the 
 gallant, fond, and fickle Henri Q,uatre. 
 
 It was about a month after the circum- 
 stance related at the close of the last chap- 
 ter that the gayest palace of this gay city 
 seemed to have assumed more than its cus- 
 tomary excess of revelry. Wherever the 
 eye turned within this magnificent building, 
 it fell upon evidences of luxury, profusion, 
 and grandeur. Such carving, such gilding, 
 such painting, such tapestry, such gold and 
 silver plate, bright burning lights, such va- 
 riety of costly raiment, such abundance of 
 rich jewels, such dancing, such music, such 
 a multitude of light hearts, and, to say the 
 truth, lighter heads, could be found in no 
 other place in the world. And, in especial, 
 the principal state rooms seemed the very 
 court of pleasure, where every one "gave 
 himself up to the most absolute enjoyment. 
 Albeit, instead of the dwelling of a Chris- 
 tian king, it seemed the palace of a heathen 
 Aspasia, where beauty was the passport of 
 both sexes, and all qualities, gifts, and en- 
 joyments made to minister to the gratifica- 
 tion of personal vanity. 
 
 There were great lords and great ladies, 
 great statesmen and great prelates, great 
 soldiers and great wits, one and all intent 
 npou .considering themselves under the 
 shafts of the rosy urchin whose arrows are 
 of such intolerable keenness. The very at- 
 mosphere was pregnant with vows of ever- 
 lasting devotedness, and praises of incom- 
 parable attractions whereof the vows might 
 stand firm for a week at the least, and the 
 attractions be deemed matchless for a dura- 
 tion almost as long ; provided always no 
 other form and features appeared with any 
 pretensions to rivalry. 
 
 The great lords and ladies made their 
 language to be less of the proper court 
 phrase than the proper courting phrase. 
 The great statesmen pondered less on na- 
 tions and their policy than on hearts and 
 their affections. The great prelates preach- 
 ed but from one text, which was " Love 
 one another ;" and, to their praise be it said 
 after a certain fashion they practised as 
 they preached. The great soldiers chose 
 one particular campaign only, wherein, in 
 besieging hearts, taking captive such as re- 
 sisted them, and in bringing their fair ene- 
 my to art engagement, they covered them- 
 selves with laurels more than sufficient to 
 have satisfied all the Caesars ; and the great 
 wits were ever industrious, in the invention 
 of sugared poems, pretty jests, choice epi- 
 grams, quaint sonnets, and the like dainty 
 
 goods, upon one theme only, whereof the 
 reader may presently get acquainted by the 
 prominency with which such brave worda 
 as " love" and " dove," " heart" and " dart," 
 " grace" and " face," are thrust before him. 
 
 Filled with a throng of such worshipful 
 good company, the palace of the King of 
 Fra'nce presented, a scene alike joyous and 
 picturesque. The Bravery of dress display- 
 ed by both sexes outrivalled the peacock 
 and the dolphin in delicate colors, and in 
 gold and gems looked as though the jewel- 
 lers of the city had scattered their whole 
 shops upon their several persons. They 
 were engaged in all sorts of ways. In one 
 chamber they sat round tables gambling 
 with cards and dice, ladies as well as lords, 
 and, perchance, the winnings of the latter 
 from the others were rarely paid or demand- 
 ed in the current coin ; in another, they 
 danced to amorous tunes measures of a like 
 tender character ; in a third was much pas- 
 sionate singing^ and discoursing a mon- 
 strous deal of flattery, and a prodigal al- 
 lowance of scandal the natural sauces 
 which do most delight a court palate. There 
 were groups of spectators, and groups of gos- 
 sips ; groups of busy bodies, and groups of 
 idlers ; groups of young courtiers, discussing 
 the perfections of the thousand-and-first last 
 new favorite ; and groups of old ones, equal- 
 ly fluent in their recollections of the thou- 
 sand who had preceded her. 
 
 Then in one place you heard a sort of 
 popinjay, with the earnestness of life and 
 death, laying down the law respecting the 
 color of the beard, the material of a doublet, 
 and the fashion of a sleeve ; while in an- 
 other should be a throng of vain-glorious 
 libertines, making free with the reputation 
 of every lady who had the misfortune to be 
 of their acquaintance. It is our business 
 with none of these, but with a small party 
 of young gallants, who stood in a recess 
 some little way apart from the rest, and 
 seemed exceeding well satisfied with them- 
 selves, and inclined to hold every one else at 
 an infinitely less valuation. 
 
 They spoke of their own little exploits, 
 both in the duello, and in the favor of fair 
 dames, with a self-exultation that made them 
 appear as monstrous fine fellows as you 
 shall see any where. There was no lack 
 of names of great ladies, with whom they 
 wished it to be known they had become, as 
 it were, hand and glove, and they abounded 
 in anecdotes sufficiently explanatory of 
 the excellent understanding that existed 
 between them. From this they took to 
 scandalous gossip, and put forth insinua- 
 tions respecting certain ladies of their ac-
 
 176 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 quaintance, that were exceeding defama- 
 tory. They dilated on the orgies of the 
 Hotel de Sens, and disputed as to the exact 
 number within a score or two of the lovers 
 of its voluptuous mistress, Margaret de Va- 
 lois. They made comparisons between the 
 last batch of the king's mistresses, and the 
 most celebrated of their predecessors, in 
 which divers delectable tales were told of 
 the fair Gabrielle, Charlotte des Essarts, la 
 belle Corisande, the beautiful daughter of 
 the gardener of Aret, and many others. 
 
 One thing leading to another, they at last 
 began to discourse of the appearance in Pa- 
 ris of a mysterious stranger, whose arrival 
 had for some days past caused the circula- 
 tion of the most marvellous stories ever told 
 of a pretty woman, and had set the youths 
 of the court and city in a fever of curiosity 
 to know who and what she was, and whence 
 she came. All that was really known was 
 that she entered Paris in company with a 
 young gallant, supposed to be an English 
 nobleman, who affected the strictest secrecy 
 and privacy ; that they lived in handsome 
 lodgings, without friends or visiters ; that 
 fc-he was young and of a ravishing beauty, 
 and was supposed to be a Jewess. This 
 was but scant materials, but it was suffici- 
 ent to originate the most strange and event- 
 ful histories ever heard, even in a city so 
 famed for the marvellous, as the capital of 
 the King of France. 
 
 It chanced, that, as these idlers were in- 
 tent upon their discourse, a party of five or 
 six individuals in passing through the rooms 
 took up a position close to them, for the bet- 
 ter observation of the crowd of gay compa- 
 ny that went from one apartment into ano- 
 ther. Sundry of these were of the courte- 
 ous reader's especial friends : to wit, the 
 noble and gallant Sir George Carew, not as 
 had been his wont many a festive day in 
 the glittering chambers of this gay palace, 
 with the fair and gentle Susanna Shaks- 
 peare on his arm, to whom, to the huge en- 
 vy of all the gaUants of the court, who 
 much desired to bo|a>the good graces of a 
 creature so fresh aujd, beautiful, he bore him- 
 self with the tenderness of a parent, and the 
 gallantry of a lover, out of respect for his 
 especial friend, her worthy father ; but, in 
 close and serious converse with that friend, 
 whose thoughtful brow was impressed with 
 an expression of deep sadness, as if the im- 
 port of what he discoursed of was a matter 
 of life and death. 
 
 They were a little in advance of their 
 party, the principal persons of whom, 
 out of all doubt, were the stately Lady . 
 Carew herself, having, on one side of ' 
 
 her, in all the imposing pomp and vanity of 
 his church, a right reverend cardinal ; but 
 the bravery of his dress fell short of that of 
 his speech, which did out-compliment the 
 very finest words courtier ever spoke. Yet 
 though it seemed directed to this excellent 
 fair lady and no other, she was wise enough 
 to know it was intended for her exquisitely 
 fair companion, our admirable acquaintance 
 Susanna, who, dressed in the full court tire, 
 looked a princess at the least, as she bowed 
 her graceful head in courteous acknowledg- 
 ment of the numberless fine things said to 
 her and of her, by a distinguished grand 
 duke, who had the honor of walking by her 
 side. After these came certain princes, 
 marshals, and prelates, having the new 
 made knight, young Sir Hugh Clopton, in 
 the midst of them, in whose hearing they 
 rivalled each other in the extravagant things 
 they said of the charms of " la belle Su- 
 sanne," who had caused the composition 
 of ballads, ditties, sonnets, and madrigals, 
 since her arrival in France, out of all num- 
 ber. 
 
 As Master Shakspeare and his attentive 
 friend passed the knot of talkers in the re- 
 cess, he heard part of a sentence, which 
 caused him to interrupt some observation 
 the other had commenced. 
 
 " A young Englishman, say you ?" said 
 one of them, in a tone of exaltation. 
 
 " Perdie, that is well ! These Ehglish 
 are always thrusting their insolent preten- 
 sions before some charming creature or 
 other, for whom a Frenchman is her only 
 proper lover : but we have but to show our- 
 selves, and the intruder is content to make 
 the best of his way to his own foggy island, 
 leaving the prize in our possession." 
 
 "Pardonnez moi, mon ami" replied the 
 one who had spoken immediately before ; 
 " but this Englishman is not to be so easily 
 disposed of. I am told he carried her off 
 from an army of Turks, who were taking 
 her to the prince, their sultan, after slaying 
 with his own sword I know not how many 
 of her turbaned escort." 
 
 " By this light, these English are mad !'' 
 observed another. 
 
 " They have not brains enough to be mad. 
 They are only foolhardy," said one less cha- 
 ritable. 
 
 " I know not, gentlemen, whether they 
 be one or the other," resumed the former 
 speaker ; " but of this I am sure, that Mon- 
 sieur le Comte du Barre, my cousin, having 
 contrived, by the most politic stratagem, to 
 gain admittance by the door, to the lodging 
 of this charming Jewess, or Moorish prin- 
 cess, or whatever she may be, in a few se-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 1T7 
 
 ."onds was seen to make her exit by the 
 window, in a fashion that must needs have 
 been intolerably disagreeable to so fine a 
 gentleman." 
 
 " How was that ?" exclaimed half a dozen 
 voices, in some astonishment. 
 
 " It was the pestilent Englishman !" re- 
 plied the other, with a shrug of his shoul- 
 ders, that said a great deal more than his 
 speech. 
 
 " Bah !" cried the first speaker, in great 
 contempt ; " Monsieur le Comte should 
 have chastised this rude fellow with his ra- 
 pier, and then carried off his mistress." 
 
 " My cousin, Monsieur le Comte du 
 Barre, intended so to do," answered the 
 other ; " but the Englishman, almost as soon 
 as he drew, sent my cousin's rapier flying 
 some twenty yards off in one direction, and 
 then, taking him by the back part of his 
 embroidered murray velvet trunks, and, 
 seizing him with the other hand by the 
 neck of his satin doublet, sent Monsieur 
 le Comte du Barre flying through an open 
 window, some twenty yards off, in ano- 
 ther." 
 
 At this the party uttered various excla- 
 mations of indignation and horror, with a 
 handsome sprinkling of the newest oaths, 
 during which a few words passed between 
 Master Shakspeare and Sir George Carew, 
 which ended in the latter making his way 
 towards the group ; and, as he knew them 
 all exceeding well, he addressed them as 
 his familiars, begging to be made acquaint- 
 ed with the subject of a discourse, which 
 could not be but of surpassing interest, as 
 it rendered them indifferent to the attractive 
 scene around them. Courteous pleasan- 
 tries followed on both sides, after which he 
 heard all that they had to tell concerning 
 the Moorish princess, or Jewess, or the 
 grand Turk's favorite Sultana as she was 
 described to be by his various informants 
 and her English lover. 
 
 " You are right, Will," exclaimed Sir 
 George, as he returned to his friend, with his 
 ever pleasant countenance beaming with in- 
 finite satisfaction in every feature. " These 
 fine chattering popinjays were talking of 
 your lost sheep, and the seductive wolf who 
 had carried him off." 
 
 " Let us away, Sir George !" exclaimed 
 Master Shakspeare, eagerly, all trace of 
 his late seriousness disappearing : " He 
 hath led me a fine dance, and hath filled me 
 with the most absolute anxiousness poor 
 governor ever endured, since, with my 
 trusty squire, Simon Stockfish, I have been i 
 tracing his footsteps. I prythee let us 
 away, and secure him at once !" 
 12 
 
 " Not so fast, friend Will !" replied Sir 
 George. " At present he is safe enough, I 
 warrant you ; and it will be as well hot to 
 disturb his fancied security till we have tho 
 means of holding him fast for the future. I 
 will lose no time in consulting a certain 
 excellent powerful friend of mine, who will 
 be here anon, and will put us in a way of 
 securing your scapegrace, and of placing 
 his dark dulcinea in worse than Egyptian 
 bondage, where she must needs find other 
 pastime than stealing young noblemen from 
 their proper guardians and teachers. But 
 we must hasten to pay our respects to the 
 crowned majesty of France ; for, having ob- 
 tained permission to present you both to 
 Henri and the royal Marie de Medicis, hia 
 ill-beloved consort, I should get myself into 
 huge disgrace were I to allow you to leave 
 the palace without the necessary presenta- 
 tion, so you must e'en with me, my master, 
 as my poor jest hath it, ' Willi nilli.' " 
 
 Seeing there was no help for it, Master 
 Shakspeare proceeded through two or three 
 of the state apartments, and, notwithstand- 
 ing his excessive eagerness once again to 
 get his youthful charge under his govern- 
 ance, he could not help being- famously en- 
 tertained by the little histories his compan- 
 ion gave him of the different notables with 
 whom he exchanged courtesies, or whom 
 he pointed out-in the crowd, as well as some 
 account he furnished of divers intrigues in 
 which the present favorite, the Marchioness 
 de Verneuil, was engaged for the purpose 
 of securing her power over the king, and 
 humbling and annoying the queen. Ever 
 and anon Sir George would turn round and 
 address some pleasantry to the daughter of 
 his friend, who replied in a like spirit, which 
 caused the tongues of his eminence the 
 Cardinal and of his highness the Grand 
 Duke to proceed with their sweet phrases 
 with a new impulse. Tho graceful ease 
 and admirable self-possession of the village- 
 girl,, amongst the most polished portion of 
 the most polite court irf^hrjstendom, was 
 not lost upon the dehjJijMtfather. But he 
 knew that Nature hfflMPffiSfrlity as well' 
 as kings and queensF^and there was no 
 finer example than he exhibited in his own 
 person and findeth, when it so pleaseth 
 her, from the humblest homesteads her 
 maids of honor, who could confer grace and 
 dignity to a palace or to a throne. 
 
 The courtly throng increasing, the party, 
 slowly making their way, were at last allow- 
 ed to approach a group composed principally 
 of ladies who were stationed on a dais, under 
 canopy of state, in the midst of which was 
 a throne, richly carved and gilt, whereon
 
 178 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 eat the proud, majestic, but unhappy-look 
 ing Marie de Medicis. The display of 
 costly silks and velvets, embroidered with 
 gold and jewels, were here exceeding con- 
 spicuous ; indeed, every thing in that grant 
 apartment bespoke a scene of luxury ant 
 magnificence worthy the taste of a daugh- 
 ter of a de Medicis. The proper officers 
 having facilitated their approach, Master 
 Shakspeare was presented in due form by 
 his friend ; but, although the queen conde- 
 scended so far as to grant the request of 
 the English ambassador, having subse- 
 quently learned that Monsieur Shakspeare 
 was neither a lord nor an abbe she did not 
 at first think it necessary to notice him be- 
 yond that very slight attention the ceremony 
 permitted ; but his noble bearing and grace- 
 ful courtesy of manner did impress her so 
 favorably towards him, that she ultimately 
 unbent herself of much of her stiffness, and 
 even honored him so far as to mention in 
 terms of commendation his fair daughter. 
 
 " There is a Queen of France for you, 
 now !" said Sir George Carew to his com- 
 panion, as they left the presence. " She 
 certainly lacketh none of the external signs 
 of a queen, but she hath no more. All the 
 real power and consequence that should be 
 with the king's consort rests with the king's 
 mistress, who, besides usurping her state 
 and inveigling her husband, puts monstrous 
 affronts upon her, ridicules her, and seeks 
 all she can to excite the king's mind against 
 her. The knowledge of this maketh her to 
 wear so grave a visage : but it is said, on 
 pretty good authority, that she is not entirely 
 without consolation ; for that supple eccle- 
 siastic on her right hand, the very reverend 
 Master Richelieu, Bishop of Lucon, hath 
 the reputation of being able to preach to 
 her, to her heart's content, on matters of 
 which his breviary aftbrdeth him no text. 
 Yet, whatever may be the state she here 
 supports, that with which the Marchioness 
 de Verneuil had surrounded herself in her 
 splendid apartments in the Louvre, and in 
 her own magnificent chateau, smacketh in- 
 ' finitely more of the queen." 
 
 As the two friends were pressing on with 
 their company, a general murmur of " Le 
 Roi ! I,e Roi !" whilst passing through one 
 of the handsomest of the saloons, announced 
 the approach of the king ; and, in a minute 
 or two, they beheld a middle-aged man, roy- 
 ally attired, with a peculiarly dignified 
 bearing and pleasing aspect, though, to a 
 close observer, it bore traces of sensuality 
 and satiety, walking along, leaning fami- 
 liarly on the arm of a man, much his senior, 
 of a most profound gravity, to whose dis- 
 
 course he seemed to listen with very little 
 attention, his eyea being directed to the 
 persons within his observation, yet never 
 resting on any for a moment, unless the in- 
 dividual chanced to.be a woman with a new 
 face, and a famous handsome one. fiut he 
 was courteous and affable to all who recog- 
 nized him, returning their courtesies in 
 right princely fashion, and, to those who 
 knelt, giving his hand to kiss with the air 
 of one who strove earnestly to be consid- 
 ered the father of his people. 
 
 " Behold the invincible Henri Quatre, 
 king of France and Navarre !" exclaimed 
 Sir George Carew to his companion. " A 
 great conqueror, truly ; though his conquests 
 have been amongst women rather than men 
 a great hero, according to the ideas of the 
 former ; for he hath often, to obtain an in- 
 terview with one or other of them, put the 
 fortune of a whole campaign into jeopardy, 
 and hath purchased their smiles at little 
 less than the cost of a kingdom. His open- 
 handed generosity, his indulgent humor, and 
 his graceful courtesy, seem to blind hii 
 good subjects to the extent of the evil he 
 has created in France by the general laxity 
 of morals throughout the country, caused 
 by his inattention to the ordinary decencies 
 of society. There is scarce a barber in 
 Paris who would care to live in honorable 
 wedlock there is not an idler in all France 
 who hath not as deep an interest in her des- 
 tinies as his king. Fortunately for him 
 and for France, he hath for his counsellor a 
 man capable of managing the state for him ; 
 and equally fortunate is it, he chooses to 
 leave it to such management." 
 
 'That must be Monsieur the Baron de 
 Rosni, of whom I have heard so much," 
 said Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " It is no other," answered Sir George. 
 ' And there he stands the Grand Master 
 of the Ordnance and Chancellor of the 
 Kingdom by the side of his thoughtless 
 master ; in all honesty, much too good a 
 mentor for so indifferent a scholar. But 
 the King's eyes are upon us. Will. We 
 must advance." 
 
 The two approached the King of France, 
 who presently accosted the ambassador in a 
 sufficiently cordial spirit ; and, when the 
 alter presented his friend, received his hom- 
 age with a marvellous degree of courtesy, 
 and, after inquiring with much apparent 
 larnestness news of Prince Henry, he spoke 
 to some extent of the English stage, not 
 ailing to express several well-earned com- 
 )liments respecting the important share Mas- 
 er Shakspeare had in making it what it 
 was. Presently he returned again to Prince
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 179 
 
 Henry, whom he mentioned in exceeding ex- 
 cellent terms, yet seemed to be in doubt his 
 life would be either very happy or very long. 
 Master Shakspeare proved himself an ad- 
 mirable intelligencer, and his pertinent an- 
 swers so pleased the king, he continued his 
 questions now asking him of his travels 
 now of his plays now of the fair dames of 
 England now of those of Italy and France 
 now of his brother, the King of England 
 and now of him. The conference broke 
 up at last, leaving each very favorably dis- 
 posed towards the other. Whilst they were 
 thus engaged, Sir George Carew took the 
 opportunity of entering into conversation 
 with the Grand Master of the Ordnance, 
 to whom, when the king was in deep dis- 
 course with the Spanish ambassador, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare was presented. They con- 
 versed together for several minutes, on di- 
 vers subjects, in which the great counsellor 
 of the French king showed how well he 
 merited the reputation he had acquired, and 
 the friend of the English ambassador proved 
 how worthy he was to hold discourse with 
 him. After sundry courteous expres-ions 
 on either side, Monsieur de Rosni returned 
 
 and her husband, who had dared to evade 
 the King's august intentions, were stigma- 
 tised as traitors of the blackest die. Several 
 of the nobles threw themselves at the feet 
 of their unhappy monarch, and offered their 
 services to trace the fugitives, and happy 
 was he above all his fellows who obtained 
 the envied commission of proceeding on their 
 footsteps, 
 
 " We have seen enough of this," said Sir 
 George. " Let us away, Will, after your 
 lost sheep. The Grand Master of the Ord- 
 nance hath promised me all necessary help, 
 so that now it may be ' the hunt is up,' as 
 soon as you please," 
 
 On this much, Master Shakspeare was 
 all eagerness to be going, and the party were 
 soon afterwards seen leaving the palace, but 
 not before his Eminence, the Cardinal, had 
 taken advantage of a convenient opportunity 
 to whisper to the fair object of his attentions, 
 a communication which had all the fervor 
 of the most devout supplication he had 
 ever offered ; and his Highness, the Grand 
 Duke, had availed himself in a similar man- 
 ner of an occasion to express his senti- 
 ments, which were ottered with no less im- 
 
 to his sovereign, who had just received some I pressiveness than he could have employed 
 nows which had thrown him into an extra- j had he been addressing an assembly of no- 
 ordinary state of disquietude. He kept ex- tables. And the small crowd of princes, 
 claiming, " All is lost! All is lost!" in the marshals, and prelates, that were in her 
 most moving tones ; and, in his looks and train, either by look or speech, ventured to 
 
 movements, showed as a man suddenly over- 
 taken by some overwhelming calamity. 
 
 " What think you, Will, is the monstrous 
 evil that hath so moved this magnificent 
 king ?" asked Sir George. 
 
 "Of a truth I know not!" replied the 
 other, " but methinks it must be something 
 very terrible." 
 
 " Perchance you would take it to be the 
 destruction of an army abroad, or a terrible 
 insurrection at home, the death of a favorite 
 child, or the discovery of a deep spread con- 
 spiracy, the intelligence of the plague 
 
 make known to her that in losing sight of 
 her inestimable sweet society, they should 
 lose everything that gave attraction to the 
 place, or pleasure to the hour. The gentle 
 Susanna acknowledged all these precious 
 courtesies, with an air of graceful indiffer- 
 ency and happy pleasantry, and left the 
 glittering magnificoes with as much of her 
 regard as they had on the first moment of 
 their acquaintance; which was of that 
 smallnessail the resources of fractions could 
 not give it quantity. 
 
 VVhilst these tilings were proceeding, 
 
 BptinCT] tilt; llltl lUi/ClICC Ul LUC ^fdglt^ ^T? IIllOl* Olltoo WJIUgo nrwii^ JJ ^v^v^uiu^, 
 
 breaking out in the city, or the news of its j doings of equal import to this our story 
 
 fairest quarter being burned to the ground ?' 
 
 " Surely it must be one or other of these 
 huge calamities." 
 
 " By this hand it is nothing more or less 
 than the knowledge that the Princess di 
 (xnti, a young beauty, recently married, 
 hath ventured to save ' herself and husband 
 from dishonor, by flying with him out of the 
 country !" 
 
 " This is marvellous, indeed !*' cried Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare. 
 
 By this^ time it had become generally 
 known how the King's sudden disorder had 
 been created, and universal was the sympa- 
 thy for the royal sufferer, whilst the lady 
 
 were in progress in a quiet but respectable 
 lodging in a retired part of Paris. Thither 
 had arrived, some days before, a noble cava- 
 lier, and a beautiful lady he treated with all 
 the tenderness and consideration due to an 
 adored wife. The young cavalier was no 
 less handsome than liberal qualities that 
 served him better in this good city than if 
 he had brought with him the recommenda- 
 tions of the greatest princes in the world. 
 
 It is true the lady was of a dark com- 
 plexion, and there seemed no small amount 
 of mystery in her behavior ; but the people 
 of the house, like good Parisians of that 
 time, finding there was a sufficiency of mo-
 
 180 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ney, did not think it necessary to trouble ' 
 themselves about what seemed inexplicable ; 
 in which they were confirmed by their lod- 
 gers conversing in a language of which, 
 with all their powers of listening, they found 
 they could not make out a word. 
 
 The understanding reader will find no 
 difficulty in discovering that the strangers 
 were the seductive Bohemian and my lord 
 of Pembroke's heir. This thoughtless pair 
 had sought such concealment the more ef- 
 fectively to enjoy the happiness they, in their 
 short-sightedness, fancied was in store for 
 them. For anything in the shape of real 
 happiness, neither their dispositions nor 
 their circumstances allowed ; and, in a few 
 days after their mutual flight, they awoke 
 from a feverish dream, with anything save 
 the entire concentration of feeling for each 
 other, writers have been pleased to distin- 
 guish with the name of love. Nevertheless, 
 they would have been exceeding loath to 
 admit there was the very slightest diminu- 
 tion of their mutual devotion. 
 
 If the truth must be stated, they were 
 both of much too restless a spirit to be con- 
 tent with each other's society for any length 
 of time ; and a short period after their en- 
 trance into Paris, the retirement in which 
 they lived throwing {hern entirely upon their 
 own resources, they found themselves living 
 after a monstrous dull fashion. 
 
 La Xariqua yearned for the exulting 
 freedom of the green woods the guiltless 
 intercourse of the wild family of which she 
 was an honored member : and the young 
 noble began to regret the seclusion that 
 kept him from sharing in the festivities and 
 revelries that were going on in every quar- 
 ter of the gay city in which he had taken 
 up his residence. He had been both an- 
 noyed and enraged by the impertinent cu- 
 riosity of some hair-brained Frenchmen, 
 whom the extraordinary charms of the Bo- 
 hemian had influenced to an extent that 
 made them desperately eager for any ad- 
 venture that promised her notice and favor : 
 but latterly he had taken less notice of this 
 curiosity. 
 
 He also had been the object of similar no- 
 tice, ns he had received several tender com- 
 munications, one of which, signed "La Dame 
 des Roses," had not failed to create a slight 
 Impression in favor of the writer. 
 
 lie had all along behaved to the compan- 
 ion of his flight with the very utmost devo- 
 tedness ; but, to one so ignorant of anythinj 
 iu the shape of restraint, the comforts an 
 luxuries with which he had surrounded her 
 Beemcil a poor recompense for the inspiring 
 dance iu the free air, and the tumultuous 
 
 plaudits of crowds of spectators. He began 
 to imagine that the care with which he had 
 kept her concealed was unworthy of him 
 and her. He had heard much of the attrac- 
 tions of the gardens of the Hfttel de Sens, 
 wherein the gayest company in Paris were 
 wont, not always creditably, to amuse them- 
 selves, and proposed to her, by way of a 
 frolic, to go there disguised, and be enter- 
 tained with whatever was worth seeing. A 
 joyful assent was readily given ; and as 
 there was no difficulty in the way of admis- 
 sion, he having a few days since received 
 an invitation, the pair were soon promena- 
 ding the pleasant walks and umbrageous 
 groves, masked and disguised so completely 
 that they scarcely knew each other. 
 
 They mingled with the crowd of idlers 
 that had there assembled to kill time as 
 agreeably as possible, listening to concealed 
 music of the most ravishing description 
 and admiring the dancers, the jugglers, the 
 singers, the fountains, the flowers, and the 
 trees, that gave a fairy-iike beauty to the 
 scene. They at last found themselves in a 
 path into which all the company seemed to 
 be crowding, as if it led to some peculiar 
 place of attraction. By imperceptible de- 
 grees it narrowed till it was impossible 
 for two to walk abreast ; and on each 
 side there rose a wall, as it were, of holly, 
 that seemed about to contract, till further 
 progress, even for one person, looked to be 
 impossible. 
 
 The cavalier allowed his fair companion 
 to precede him. The path ended in a sort 
 of fairy temple divided into several compart- 
 ments. He saw her enter one, when the 
 whole structure turned on a pivot, and 
 placed her out of sight. He followed into 
 the building, and found as soon as he en- 
 tered it, that it revplved w r ith him. On its 
 stopping, he beheld a flight of very narrow 
 stone steps, down which he perceived his 
 companion proceeding with considerable 
 speed. He followed very quickly, and saw 
 her disappear under an archway, where an 
 ascent of steps brought him again into the 
 open air, but in a grove thickly planted with 
 trees. 
 
 Observing female drapery fluttering in 
 the distance, he was quickly in pursuit, al- 
 most inclined to marvel at the sportiveness 
 which made his mistress so nimble of mo- 
 tion, now she was once more under the 
 friendly covert of such old familiar friends 
 as the tall trees of the forest. He mended 
 his pace, but so quick of foot was she, that 
 only with much ado could he keep her in 
 sight. At last he saw her enter a building 
 1 by a postern door. He followed as quick
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 181 
 
 as he might, and found himself entering up- 
 on a long dark passage. Thinking he might 
 lose her in so strange a place, he called to 
 her to stop, but to his huge astonishment 
 received no answer. He repeated his call 
 with a like success. He then hurried on, 
 not knowing what to think. 
 
 The banging of the door led him towards 
 it. He passed through as he beheld another 
 at some distance thrown back. In this way 
 he went on, meeting no one, the chambers 
 increasing in the richness of their furniture, 
 in as great astonishment at the whole ad- 
 venture, as a youth of his spirit could well 
 be. He began to doubt that it could be his 
 enamored mistress running from him in this 
 strange fashion. Alas, poor youth ! She 
 to whom you direct your thoughts is far 
 enough away in a different direction, well 
 cared for, by one who has both the will and 
 means ample enough to secure her from all 
 others whatsoever. 
 
 He at last entered a magnificent saloon, 
 with hangings of the very richest looms of 
 arras, delicately painted with the stories 
 from Ovid his .Metamorphoses. He made 
 for a door he saw before him, and nothing 
 could equal his surprise, when, on pushing 
 it open, he found himself in a place fash- 
 ioned like a bower of roses, and giving out 
 the most ravishing perfume of that daintiest 
 of flowers. On what seemed to be literally 
 a bed of their odorous leaves, reposed a fe- 
 male figure in a garb no less classic than 
 seductive. 
 
 He gazed as it were spell-bound scarcely 
 willing to believe his eyes. The lady rose 
 gracefully from her position, and bade him 
 welcome to her palace, where she added 
 his presence had been long hoped (or. Then, 
 clapping her jewelled hands thrice, there en- 
 tered several nymphs of ravishing loveli- 
 ness, also in the ancient classic garb, bear- 
 ing refreshments of the most tempting sorts, 
 which they set before him. Half inclined 
 to believe the whole a delusion, he tasted of 
 the cates and the wine so temptingly brought 
 for his delectation, and any thing for the 
 palate so truly delicious he had never known 
 before. He soon ascertained that he be- 
 held his fair correspondent; and, recovering 
 from the bewilderment into which he had 
 at first been thrown, he presently poured out 
 a bumper of wine, and with a gallant air 
 drank to the health of "La Dame des 
 Roses." 
 
 As the attendant nymphs disappeared, he 
 could almost fancy himself that he had gone 
 a vast way back in the history of the world , 
 and was at the 'moment in classic Athens, 
 
 in the luxurious villa of the voluptuous AB- 
 pasia. Although this was not the case, he 
 could not be considered in better hands ; for, 
 as he soon discovered, he was in the pres- 
 ence of Margaret de Valois, the divorced 
 Queen of France. 
 
 The ladies of Paris were not more active 
 in seeking new objects of attachment than 
 the cavaliers, and the arrival of a young and 
 handsome Englishman created as great a 
 sensation amongst them, as his companion 
 had done amongst the other sex. Marga- 
 ret de Valois had early intelligence of the 
 stranger's appearance, and determined to 
 captivate him, if possible. She took her 
 measures without delay, and the reader has 
 seen how far they succeeded. The Lord 
 of Pembroke's heir had heard too many sto- 
 ries of Margaret de Valois, not to be well 
 satisfied as to who was his entertainer ; and 
 neither his taste nor his principles were suf- 
 ficiently vitiated to make him see any grat- 
 ification in an intimacy with such a person- 
 age. Nevertheless, he thought it necessary 
 not only to conceal his sentiments, but to 
 behave with a certain degree of gallantry. 
 
 This had its due effect. After a suffi- 
 cient commodity of impassioned looks, ten- 
 der speeches, amorous ditties, and the like 
 artillery, the regal beauty fancying she had 
 made a sufficient impression for one inter- 
 view, gave another summons, which was 
 answered on the instant by a black slave 
 dressed in the Indian fashion, who was di- 
 rected to le\d her honored guest to his 
 chamber. The Lady of the Roses accepted 
 his murmured adieus with a glance suffi- 
 ciently encouraging, and he lett her bower 
 to all appearance her vowed servant. 
 
 With the assistance of his sable conduct- 
 or, he very shortly made his way to a cham- 
 ber furnished in the most magnificent man- 
 ner. Vessels of gold and silver, costly 
 hangings, richly carved furniture were pre- 
 sented to his observation in every direction, 
 and an almost overpowering air of luxury 
 seemed to pervade the chamber. Our young 
 adventurer, in a cursory glance he gave to 
 its ornaments, saw that if the senses could 
 be operated upon by external objects, noth- 
 ing had been left undone in the furnishing 
 ofthis chamber to make the influence as 
 perfect as possible. He found a suit of the 
 most splendid description ready for him, 
 and every arrangement for a change of ap- 
 parel worthy of a crowned head. A silver 
 bell lay on a table of porphyry for his use, 
 when he required an attendant. He was, 
 however in no mood for availing himself of 
 such munificence. There were some un-
 
 182 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 pleasant stories afloat respecting the fate of 
 certain gentlemen and lords, who were 
 known to have been the lovers of Margaret 
 de Valois, and, with every disposition to play 
 the gallant, he had no ambition of following 
 them too closely. Besides which he was 
 anxious to learn something concerning his 
 so suddenly lost mistress, who had disap- 
 peared after so very marvellous a fashion in 
 the gardens of the Hotel de Sens ; but this 
 he knew full well he was not likely to do as 
 long as he remained in his present sump- 
 tuous quarters. 
 
 By drawing aside the arras, he discovered 
 a window, and, although the day had closed, 
 he could easily see that the chamber was 
 elevated not more than ten or twelve feet 
 from the ground. His resolution was eoon 
 taken. Opening the casement, he cautious- 
 ly glanced at the ground beneath, and find- 
 ing there nothing likely to impede his de- 
 scent, he carefully let himself out feet fore- 
 most, with his face to the window, till he 
 was supported only by his hands clinging to 
 the sill he then let go his hold and dropped. 
 The shock was considerable, but in divers 
 of his adventures he had had worse. 
 
 lie now found himself in a deepening 
 twilight, standing in the shadow of a spa- 
 cious mansion, in an enclosed space that 
 seemed to be a courtyard. If this were the 
 case, he knew that high walls and impassa- 
 ble gates still stood between him and his 
 liberty. He had not yet concluded what he 
 should next attempt, when he heard the 
 hum of voices approaching, and presently 
 discerned several figures by the light of 
 flambeaux crossing the courtyard. He kept 
 in the shadow as close as possible. 
 
 As the party approached nearer, he fan- 
 cied he recognised a voice. He redoubled 
 his attention. He could discern a figure 
 and countenance in which it was impossi- 
 ble for him to be mistaken. It was that of 
 an English gentleman to whom he was well 
 known, and whose powerful protection he 
 might rely upon. With him were several 
 persons ; but the majority, from being in the 
 livery of Margaret de Valois, it was evident 
 were attending his departure as an honored 
 guest of their mistress. As they passed, he 
 heard his friend say, " 'Tis marvellous 
 strange. I can prove he entered the gar- 
 dens at three of the clock, and hath not been 
 heard of since. O my life, 'tis exceeding 
 strange !" What reply was made he could 
 not distinguish, but what he had already 
 heard was quite sufficient to cause him to de- 
 cide what he should do. Stealthily creeping 
 from hi& hiding, he made for the great 
 
 gates, which a gigantic porter was unfast- 
 ening for the Englishman'sexit ; when one 
 gate opened, he VatcJied his time, and, as 
 the man was pulling back the other, he 
 quickly glided out. 
 
 He waited close by. In a few minutes, 
 to his great relief, he heard the sound of the 
 horses' hoofs. His friend and his retinue 
 of grooms and running footmen were sweep- 
 ing by ; when he called out his name, the 
 latter pulled up instantly, and the whole, 
 party stopped. It was the English Ambas- 
 sador, who, not finding his friend's scholar, 
 had traced him to the gardens, and, as he 
 had never returned, had been to make in- 
 quiries at the palace, where he was assured 
 by the chamberlain, the groom of the cham- 
 bers, and other domestic officers, that such 
 a cavalier as he described had not been seen 
 there. As their mistress was not visible, 
 he was returning to seek the assistance of 
 the Grand Master of the Ordnance, when 
 the object of his disquietude, to his great 
 relief and astonishment, unexpectedly pre- 
 sented himself before him. 
 
 Sir George Carew had been a frequent 
 visitor at the mansion of the Earl and Coun- 
 tess of Pembroke, and was on such intimate 
 terms with the family, as to allow of his 
 taking upon himself to play the counsellor 
 to the son ; and this he did so earnestly and 
 pleasantly withal, that the thoughtless 
 youth promised to be guided by him, and 
 told him all his story from his Hight with 
 the Bohemian. Sir George knew too well 
 the character of the divorced Queen, not to 
 be fully aware of the hazard his young 
 friend would run by remaining in Paris. 
 He found him well enough inclined to take 
 his departure, but felt bound to remain for 
 the purpose of finding out where his mis- 
 tress had been kidnapped. This duty Sir 
 George promised he would himself perform, 
 assuring his young friend, from his know- 
 ledge and influence, he was far more likely 
 of the two to succeed. 
 
 The joy of his worthy governor at seeing 
 him again was of the deepest sort the heart 
 could have experienced. Master Shaks- 
 peare had ever since the discovery of his 
 flight endured the most painful anxiety. 
 His love for the youth, notwithstanding his 
 wilful unsteadiness, was, as it were, twined 
 with his life ; and his anxiousness became 
 the more painful, as he saw how impossible 
 it was for him to present himself before the 
 youth's noble mother, to inform her what 
 little heed he had paid to the trust she had 
 reposed in him, as to allow of his giving 
 him the slip with so ill-chosen a companioo.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 183 
 
 Having experienced such deep distress, 
 there is the less cause for marvelling that, 
 on the youth's making his appearance, in- 
 stead of being severely lectured for his 
 monstrous ill conduct, he found himself 
 clasped in the arms of his faithful fond 
 governor, as though he were a prodigal son 
 returned to a doting father. Nevertheless, 
 having learned all Sir George Carew could 
 inform him of, he was in such a fever to be 
 gone, that he would give no one any peace 
 till he had left Paris far behind. 
 
 He now came to the determination that 
 these travels should end, and in a few days 
 he was on the sea, shouting " Ho, for Eng- 
 land !" with a more cheerful heart than he 
 had known since his undertaking so great 
 a charge. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVin. 
 
 Ay, but the milder passions show the man ; 
 For as the leaf doth beautify the tree, 
 The pleasant flowers bedeck the painted spring, 
 Even so in men of greatest reach and power, 
 A mild and piteous thought augments renown. 
 
 LODGE. 
 
 OTJR young physician had now so long 
 sojourned amongst the scenes he so well 
 loved, as to have recovered, in a great mea- 
 sure, from the violent shock, both his moral 
 and physical nature had sustained, through 
 the abominable villanyofthe infamous Mil- 
 licent. His very excellent fond parent had 
 tended him with all a mother's affection, 
 and all a woman's delicacy. She asked no 
 questions, and made no comments likely to 
 give her son pain ; but she had contrived to 
 obtain a tolerable correct knowledge of his 
 trials and sufferings, and took heed to min- 
 ister to the diseased mind with that marvel- 
 lous gentle hand for which her exquisite 
 sweet sex are famous. She talked indiffer- 
 ently as .it were, yet was there in every 
 thing she said a healing balm, that soon be- 
 gan to show its wholesome effect. 
 
 With such soothing converse, joined to 
 the healthy inspirations which nature ever 
 giveth to such as seek her medicinal aid John 
 Hall began once more to take a proper in- 
 terest in the small concerns of daily life. He 
 again had recourse to his books, and, in 
 studying the art of healing others, rapidly 
 obtained a cure for himself ; albeit, though 
 the wound was in time healed, it left a pain- 
 ful cicatrice. He could not think of the 
 peril he had passed without a shudder as 
 one who, by wonderful good fortune, is 
 saved from the jaws of a venomous serpent. 
 
 long after remembers with fear and tremb- 
 ling the vehemency of his danger. 
 
 It so chanced, that an incident occurred 
 about this time, which, though it was fruit- 
 ful of misfortune to him beyond any thing 
 that could have happened, by engrossing 
 his attention, perfected his cure more read- 
 ily than other things could. This was the 
 death of his admirable mother. Her only 
 son had been to her the very well-spring of 
 her pure life. Her late anxiety had been 
 infinitely greater than it seemed, but it did 
 not show itself upon her delicate system, 
 till it appeared no longer to be excited by 
 the subject. Then she fell ill, and though 
 she was cared for by the most skilful and 
 tender of nurses, she daily grew worse. 
 The fiat had gone forth, and it found her 
 well prepared, though it was a sore strug- 
 gle to part from all she so dearly loved and 
 prized. Her beloved son had her last wishes, 
 her last blessings, and her last prayers ; 
 and then the fragile form that rested in his 
 arms became but as a clod of the earth, ob- 
 livious of the active world of fine percep- 
 tions and excellent influences that had so 
 long and well supported the claim of its spir- 
 it to immortality. 
 
 John Hall buried her in the well remem- 
 bered nook in the green churchyard, where 
 his other parent had found his last resting- 
 place, and he went forth from its melan- 
 choly memorials with a saddened heart, it is 
 true, but with a vigorous desire, that be- 
 came a joy to him in after-life, to prove 
 himself worthy of that immeasurable love 
 he had just seen shut out from communion 
 with mortality, by the only gates that never 
 re-open for those they enclose. 
 
 On proceeding to examine the papers the 
 fond mother had with a careful foresight 
 prepared in case of her decease, our young 
 physician found fresh evidence of her rare 
 affection. By the most rigid economy and 
 comprehensive self-denial, she had contriv- 
 ed to save what he saw at once was a suf- 
 ficient sum, not only to finish his education, 
 but to give him a good start in his profes- 
 sion, and in the directions with which this 
 sum was made over to him, he read what 
 was henceforth to become the twelve tables 
 of his law. 
 
 As soon as possible, he prepared to fol- 
 low the first and most important of her 
 wishes, and entered himself a student in one 
 of the most esteemed colleges at Oxford. 
 Here he remained, steadily pursuing his 
 studies, and winning the esteem of the 
 learned in that famous school, till he ob- 
 tained his degree. It was about this time, 
 that he was found by his father's faithful
 
 194 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 serving-man, Simon Stockfish, when at Ox- 
 ford on business of Master Shakspeare. 
 The result was their travelling to London 
 together, which journey, thanks to omission 
 of all attempts at policy from the over-poli- 
 tic serving-man, partly perchance from his 
 conviction that his old master's son was of 
 an age to take care of himself, was attend- 
 ed with no accident. 
 
 On his arrival at the lodgin'g of Master 
 Shakspeare, he was enforced to make his 
 home under his roof, for no denial was al- 
 lowed, and Master Doctor Hall, as he must 
 now be styled, found himself in greater con- 
 tentation of mind than a few months since 
 he could have hoped for, which he owed to the 
 pleasant intercourse of his excellent friend-, 
 and of his excellent friend's very excellent 
 fair daughter. 
 
 This careful friend provided against any 
 further designs from his vindictive enemy, 
 the false Millicent, by gettinghim appointed 
 physician to the embassy in Paris, where he 
 shortly afterwards proceeded to fulfil the du- 
 ties of his office. 
 
 In the meantime, there had been other 
 doings connected with the principal person- 
 age in this my story that deserveth not to be 
 lost for lack of a chronicler, for as soon as 
 his return was known, so well was he loved 
 of all who had any acquaintance with him, 
 lie was, as it were, besieged with visitors. 
 Among the first comers were that truly 
 honest heart, Master Edward Allen and his 
 buxom honest partner ; and whilst the latter 
 closeted herself with Susanna, to hear the 
 marvels she had seen in foreign countries, 
 the other two friends gossipped about their 
 own matters with as ready an eloquence. 
 The master of the Fortune spoke of the 
 various admirable new players and match- 
 less fresh bears he had got, so confusedly 
 withal, that many times was his friend led 
 into asking questions concerning the famous 
 brute he spoke of, when the other had all the 
 while been praising a man ; and when he 
 desired to know what place had the honor 
 of giving birth to the estimable famous gen- 
 tleman he mentioned in such high terms, 
 learned, in some astonishment, that he be- 
 lieved it must have been a den in some of 
 the trackless forests of Muscovy. 
 
 One interview he had long looked for- 
 ward to with the most excited feelings. 
 Perchance, the courteous reader hath not 
 forgotten the memorable secret visit of a 
 noble lady to Master Shakspeare's lodgings, 
 in the Clink Liberty. The hour had arrived 
 when he should present himself before her, 
 and declare how he had fulfilled the honor- 
 able office she had induced him to take. 
 
 Many a time and oft, when in far off lands, 
 he thought of the time when he should again 
 stand before her, and hear what estimate 
 she made of his services ; but, with the an- 
 ticipation of the happiness of again behold- 
 ing her, there mingled no small share of 
 disquietude, when he called to mind how 
 little benefit he had been able to effect in 
 the exercise of his office, where benefit was 
 so greatly needed. 
 
 He had now little cause of congratulation 
 on that score, and he could not but take a 
 heavy share of blame to himself for not hav- 
 ing been more strict in the execution of his 
 duty ; but, circumstanced as lie wasj how 
 was he to put on the pedagogue ? Pie had 
 made many resolutions to use a proper se- 
 verity ; but when he .beheld the face of the 
 offender, all thoughts of harshness disap- 
 peared from his mind, as the dews of the 
 morning before the flashing sun. And now 
 he was to render an account of his steward- 
 ship ! He had neglected his trust. The 
 want of discipline that had previously been 
 so marked had blazed forth in ungovernable 
 wantonness, and what excuse could he have 
 for having caused so discreditable a blot to 
 be produced so close to her unsullied nature ? 
 
 He had but one consolation. This wild- 
 ness arose in a great measure from the ex- 
 cess of animal spirits. These must exhaust 
 themselves before long, and then there was 
 every hope that the many noble qualities he 
 inherited from his noble mother would have 
 fair play, when he must needs become an 
 honor instead of a reproach ; a source of 
 unbounded content, instead of one of mon- 
 strous disquietude. 
 
 The worthy governor had, as carefully as 
 he could, concealed his feelings towards his 
 young charge from him ; and though his 
 affection would often burst through the re- 
 straints he put upon it, the other saw only in 
 these displays a more than ordinary attach- 
 ment to him, which it was impossible to re- 
 sent. Had he not found vent for the power- 
 ful emotions that often so moved him, by 
 writing down his thoughts from day to day, 
 in many a powerful sonnet and lofty rhyme, 
 he could not have.worn the mask so well. 
 It was now more than ever imperative on 
 him to keep his nature under the strictest 
 subjection. The old Earl had been called 
 to his ancestors, and the youth, clothed with 
 the proud distinctions of nobility, was in a 
 situation where an evil surmise might work 
 incalculable mischiefs. 
 
 After many delays, the interview took 
 place. There was now no longer a necessity 
 for its being clandestine ; and, instead of 
 creeping in disguise to obtain the conversa-
 
 TIIE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 185 
 
 tion she wanted, the noble lady gave him 
 audience in her own mansion. As Master 
 Shakspeare was ushered into the lofty cham- 
 ber, surrounded on all sides with the impos- 
 ing evidences of rank and fortune, and be- 
 held the stately form of that most queen-like 
 woman, in her mourning habit, he felt much 
 inclined to doubt her identity with the self- 
 denying, heart-devoted being who had so 
 long carried on an untiring war with her 
 own feelings. But it needed not this change 
 to induce him to treat her with the most 
 profound respect. He bowed his head as to 
 a shrine of unsurpassable holiness, and his 
 heart partook of the same reverence. A 
 deep and eloquent silence was maintained 
 for a few minutes. The lady had schooled 
 herself with the severe discipline of pride 
 and self-respect to pass through this ordeal 
 with a spirit worthy of her race. But blood 
 respccteth no discipline it taketh marvel- 
 lous little heed of any lessons of inward or 
 outward application. 
 
 Finally, as though determined to express 
 one of the many sentences that presented 
 itself to her, to break the embarrassing si- 
 lence, she said in a low tone : " My son 
 Herbert hath borne testimony, Master Shak- 
 speare. of your great zeal and affectionate- 
 ness for his interests, whilst he had the 
 benefit of your trusty guardianship." 
 
 " Truly, it glads rny heart, my lady, to 
 hear he hath been so good to me." 
 
 " In truth, he is ever sounding your 
 praises. He loveth you well indeed. Me- 
 thinks he hath profited much of your proper 
 teaching." 
 
 Her companion could not in conscience 
 affirm this. 
 
 " He seemeth to be well disposed ; which 
 is a huge comfort-to me. I am wondrously 
 anxious he should prove himself deserving 
 your attentions, and worthy of his family." 
 
 Master Shakspeare was anxious also, but 
 had had reason to doubt the youth was in 
 the right way to worthiness. As it was 
 utterly impossible he could breathe a word 
 of such doubt to the devoted mother, he felt 
 forced, somewhat against his conviction, to 
 affirm that my lord would prove himself 
 every thing that was desired of him. 
 
 The lady had got so far with some effort ; 
 but here she came to a stop. This lasted 
 not long, however ; for, as though she 
 thought silence more dangerous than speech, 
 anon she strove to enter into conversation 
 with her companion on indifferent matters, 
 the which he encouraged by many perti- 
 nent remarks and just conclusions. But an 
 uninterested spectator might easily have 
 perceived that she was talking at random, 
 
 and, though she strove most earnestly to 
 conceal her real - sentiments, her emotion 
 was getting so evident, it was impossible it 
 could escape observation. At last she seem- 
 ed to have come to a sudden resolution, foi, 
 leaving all her idle questions and unmean- 
 ing remarks, she, though evidently hugely 
 excited, addressed him in a hurried and 
 somewhat wild manner : 
 
 " I sent for you, Master Shakspeare," said 
 she, " to make one request of you." See- 
 ing he was about to speak, she added : " I 
 know what you would say. Your assent is 
 already on your tongue. Your willingness 
 to give me further assurance of the noble 
 spirit I have so long admired in you, I see 
 and know how to appreciate. I am now 
 about making a greit demand upon.it. It 
 is a sacrifice which very few of your sex 
 would make, and it is to be hoped, still 
 fewer of mine require." 
 
 " Be assured," answered her companion, 
 emphatically, " you cannot ask anything I 
 should find any difficulty in granting." 
 
 A pause of a few seconds succeeded, 
 which seemed employed by the lady in ar- 
 ranging her thoughts for expressing the re- 
 quest of which she had given notice. Pre- 
 sently she added, in a low voice, evidently 
 laboring under increased excitement, and 
 with downcast look, which seemed not able 
 to raise itself from its enforced humbleness, 
 " It is proper and necessary that this should 
 be our last meeting." 
 
 Master Shakspeare seemed to hear this in 
 some surprise, and with more regret. With- 
 out noticing him, the lady continued : 
 " There seemeth to me to be but one way 
 in which our coming together. . either by 
 accident or design, can be prevented. Whilst 
 you a*re in London, I can scarce help my- 
 self from meeting you at some time or an- 
 other, and hearing of you at all times. I 
 pray you, sir, of your infinite goodness, of 
 which I have had ample evidence, this long 
 time passed, to satisfy me in tiiis. I must 
 not see you again. I am asking a great 
 matter, I am exacting a serious condition ; 
 but, sir, if you could only know how vital a 
 thing it is to me, so noble a gentleman as I 
 have found you, would not deny me. I pry- 
 thee leave this place, and avoid where I am 
 with all possible care ; and deem me not 
 moved to this on light grounds. Avoid in", 
 sir, avoid me. It is necessary for my peace 
 of mind. As God is my help, it is a thing so 
 absolute, it cannot, must not, be avoided !" 
 
 " Your wishes shall have a speedy ac- 
 complishment," replied he, striving to con- 
 ceal his great emotion. " But this much 
 let me say before I depart. If blessings-atid
 
 186 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 prayers, good wishes and honorable thoughts 
 can minister to your contentation, be sure, 
 my lady, that there never can exist a more 
 earnest laborer in your happiness." 
 
 At this her heart seemed too full for 
 speech. After a while she held out her 
 hand, which he advanced to take. As he 
 knelt with more of the spirit of a devotee 
 than of a lover to raise it to his lips, she 
 pressed his hand eagerly in her own, and, 
 snatching it towards her, covered it with ca- 
 resses ; then, muttering a fervent blessing 
 as she rose, she rushed wildly out of the 
 room. 
 
 A few days after this, Master Shakspeare 
 surprised all his good friends and gossips, 
 by announcing his intention of leaving 
 London entirely, and retiring to live in his 
 native town. By his fellows at the Globe 
 such intelligence seemed most unwelcome. 
 Since his return to England he had taken 
 his place amongst them as of old, occasion- 
 ally enrapturing the town by some new pro- 
 duction from his golden pen, the sterling- 
 ness whereof all readily acknowledged. But 
 it was not alone as the most successful 
 writer of the day that his character was ad- 
 mirable. He was the friend of all writers, 
 no matter how obscure, who possessed ta- 
 lent of any sort. He gave them honest 
 counsel ; he improved their ideas by con- 
 tact with his own ; he increased their know- 
 ledge out of his own boundless stores ; and, 
 after each several play had been by him and 
 by his well advised hints improved into an 
 effective drama, he tooE care to have it 
 played in such a manner as to secure it a 
 fair chance of success. 
 
 With the players, not only of his own com- 
 pany, but of all others, he was looked up to 
 as their head and chief, and all Master-Shak- 
 speare did in the bringing out of a play was 
 accounted as a law, which was well worthy 
 their observance. If the tiring-room of the 
 players was resorted to by the gallants in 
 Queen Elizabeth's days, it became quite a 
 fashion in those of her successor. All the 
 gayest courtiers, the bravest gallants, and 
 many even of the graver sort of our nobles, 
 were wont to be found thronging round 
 Shakspeare, either at the theatre in the 
 Blacklriars, the one at Southwark, or at the 
 Mermaid Tavern ; and his lively wit and 
 his general handsomeness of behavior did so 
 recommend him, that to several of the no- 
 blest and best amongst them, he was on 
 such near terms of intimacy, no brother 
 could be more kindly and honorably treated. 
 
 His circumstances had so .continued to 
 thrive, that he had become quite a man of 
 worship as to property, having been able to 
 
 make sundry purchases of houses, both in 
 London and in Stratford. He had also bo- 
 come possessed of a principal share in the 
 property of the company to which he be- 
 longed. Though his purse was ever open 
 to a distressed brother, and he did not fail to 
 send ample remembrances to Stratford, he 
 might be called a rich man. His affairs 
 were in an excellent flourishing state, out 
 gf all doubt, but he was far from being 
 happy. The continued wildness of the 
 young Lord Pembroke often caused him 
 much uneasiness ; and in his own domestic 
 state, saving only the treasury of love with 
 which the gentle Susanna had enriched him, 
 there was but little room for congratulation. 
 Nevertheless, save only a few admirable 
 rare verses, wherein he expressed his feel- 
 ings towards his late pupil, and took his 
 leave-taking of the idolized object of his 
 Secret Passion, he never gave any evidence 
 of complaint. In society he was ever the 
 courteous, gracious, witty gentleman, that 
 made his company so sought after, and his 
 discourse so listened to. It was only in the 
 retirement of his study, when left to the ex- 
 pression of his own thoughts, that they took 
 a melancholy and unsatisfactory tone. 
 
 Among those of his old acquaintances 
 most surprised by his determination to quit 
 the field of his triumphs, and the scenes 
 where his greatness had been realized and 
 acknowledged, was honest Ned Allen. He 
 would not at first believe he could have en- 
 tertained any such serious intention, and in 
 the feelings with which he regarded the 
 matter, he forgot every thing relating to the 
 two different objects of his regard, that 
 played such fantastic tricks with his me- 
 mory. But much against his will, he was 
 convinced that he was going to lose his 
 good gossip and fast friend. He, however, 
 proved a friend to the last, by purchasing 
 whatever property Master Shakspeare had 
 in London, he could not or cared not to lake 
 with him. 
 
 There were friends of a higher though 
 not, perchance, of a warmer sort, who as 
 little approved this retirement of their fa- 
 vorite. His intention became talked of by 
 the nobles and courtiers ; and, among others, 
 it came to the ears of that gracious young 
 prince, now so completely the idol of the 
 whole nation for his great virtues and gal- 
 lant spirit. Prince Henry had oftentimes 
 sought his pleasant society, and at each 
 grew more and more to like it. Since 
 Master Shakspeare's return, they had had 
 much discourse together, the prince asking 
 numberless questions concerning of what 
 '. remarkable things fell under his observation
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 187 
 
 during his travels, and at every interview 
 the other coming away more deeply im- 
 pressed with the excellences of his heart 
 and mind. A mutual liking of these noble 
 spirits had sprung up betwixt them ; and 
 now the prince was threatened with the loss 
 of his pleasant associate, he had resolved 
 not to let him go till he had been able to ex- 
 press his high estimate of his character. 
 
 Master Shakspeare had fixed that the 
 last day of his stay in London should be the 
 last day of his appearance as a writer of 
 plays. But he wished to close his London 
 career with some crowning work, that 
 should excel alt previous efforts. With this 
 object in view, he had selected a subject 
 that he had studied during his travels ; and 
 ho bestowed upon it more than ordinary 
 pains. Of a s.irety, the result was of the 
 most sterling sort one on which the world 
 hath stamped its hall mark of immortality. 
 What he was intent on was well known to 
 the young prince, who had had, at his de- 
 sire, many passages read to him ; and he 
 took counsel with certain of his friends that 
 the representation should be as great a 
 triumph to its author as it deserved to be. 
 
 On the morning of the day fixed for the 
 first perlbr.nance of the new play, the door 
 of the Globe was besieged, as it were, with 
 a crowd impatient to get admittance. Al- 
 most as soon as it was opened, the interior 
 was as full as it could cram, the best places 
 being filled with the prince and his friends, 
 and even among the understanding gentle- 
 men of the pit were divers persons of wor- 
 ship, who were fain to be content with what 
 accommodation they could there find. There 
 was no room on the stage now for any tine 
 gallant to set up his stool, and enjoy his pipe 
 of tobacco, as he criticised the play. He 
 was forced to be well content to take up 
 with standing reom where it could be had. 
 
 The play commenced with an audience 
 exceedingly content to be well pleased ; but, 
 as the exquisite poetry of this new creation 
 fell upon their minds, their satisfaction grew 
 upon them until it burst forth in loud and 
 frequently-repeated plaudits. When the 
 object of their esteem first appeared, as the 
 magician Prospero, it seemed as though he 
 really had the gifts he assumed, for he rais- 
 ed a famous storm throughout the whole 
 house ; and as the delighted spectators 
 learned all the excellence of the work his 
 genius had set before them, had sufficiently 
 admired the tender Miranda, had marvelled 
 at the monster Caliban, and had begun to 
 love the graceful Ariel, the enthusiasm that 
 then manifested itself in all quarters was of 
 the most extravagant character. At the 
 
 closing of the play, there was such a scene 
 before the curtain as that curtain had never 
 fallen upon. Every one seemed under the 
 same influence. Acclamations, praises, and 
 good wishes, burst from all the tiiroats with- 
 in the walls ; and a sea of handkerchiefs, 
 and a forest of hats and caps, were waved 
 to and fro, as though their owners were 
 complimenting a hero who had gained a 
 province, or saved a kingdom. 
 
 A few hours after he had broken away, 
 with monstrous difficulty, from the hearty 
 congratulatious and dolorous farewells of 
 his fellow players and play-writers, he might 
 have been seen seated at the festive board, 
 whence the remains of a sumptuous banquet 
 were being removed, and surrounded by 
 some of the noblest of his friends, making 
 the enjoyment of his society more prized 
 than the precious wine and sweet cakes that 
 were placed upon the table. The chamber 
 was one worthy of a palace, and this most 
 assuredly it ought to have been, for to a 
 palace it belonged. The furniture was of 
 the richest, the attendants numerous, and of 
 the royal livery, and every object within 
 sight bespoke an enlightened mind, and am- 
 ple means for affording it every desirable 
 enjoyment. Pictures, bronzes, carvings, 
 armor, books, and musical instruments, met 
 the eye in every direction, intermingled with 
 a profusion of gold and silver plate, costly 
 hangings and rich drapery. 
 
 At the head of the table was a noble 
 youth, in a suit of embroidered velvet, in 
 whose pleasing features and thoughtful 
 brow the observant reader cannot fail to re- 
 coimise that darling of the nation, and de- 
 light of all who had the honor of being of 
 his acquaintance, his highness Henry Prince 
 of Wales. On his right, sat Master Shak- 
 speare, whose right witty speech had evi- 
 dently done its office, for the prince was 
 attending to him with such a face of enjoy- 
 ment as bespoke his full appreciation of 
 some inimitable jest. On his left was the 
 prince's governor and chamberlain, Sir Tho- 
 mas Newton, his grave aspect relaxing into 
 pleasantry under the influence of the mirth- 
 ful spirit then ruling the hour. 
 
 At the bottom of the table sat the most 
 courteous of old courtiers, Sir George Ca- 
 rew. but lately returned from France ; he 
 appeared to be bantering the young Lord 
 Pembroke, who was seated near him, which 
 the latter took in a humor as if he was far 
 from being displeased. Of him it is neces- 
 sary to add that he was as bravely appar- 
 elled as the last new tire, and no lack of 
 means for paying the mercer and tailor 
 could make him. He was known as a very
 
 
 183 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 model of a gallant ; a reputation he to ik 
 what measures he could to increase. His 
 nandsome person and gay appearance caus- 
 ed him to be no less a favorite with the fair 
 dimes and gentle damsels of his acquaint- 
 ance, than he was the dread of their hus- 
 bands and fathers. If the truth must be 
 told, in the respect of his wildness, little 
 improvement was to be seen in him ; and 
 tliough his mind had prolited much from the 
 admirable lessons he had had during his 
 travels, and, in some respects, he had been 
 awakened to g. clearer sense of what was 
 due from himself to his own honorable sta- 
 tion, it still, much too frequently happened, 
 that in the gratification of his passians he 
 was equally wilful and wanton. 
 
 Near him was the young Sir Hugh Clop- 
 ton, in appearance as fine a gallant as my 
 Lord of Pembroke ; my Lord Southampton, 
 returned from his exile, and much honored 
 at court ; Sir Charles Cornwallis, the 
 prince's treasurer, and one or two more of 
 the hi giiest officers of the prince's house- 
 hold. The discourse was full and exceed- 
 ing animated, tiie prince eagerly putting 
 questions to Master Shakspeare of his 
 travels, and afso of books that had been 
 sent him from other countries, and men- 
 tioning what intelligence he had had from 
 divers noblemen and gentlemen his corres- 
 pondents ; thereupon Master Shakspeare 
 would reply in speech full of pleasant recol- 
 lection?, not only of books and men, but of 
 all the countries he had visited. His de- 
 scriptions of scenes were very pictures ; 
 and, when he spoke of ancient Rome, or 
 classic Naples, he so filled his hearers with 
 remembrances of their wisdom and glory, 
 that his words seemed to bring back with 
 the memories of the Caesars and of the 
 more powerful Caesars, the great poets and 
 historians whose monuments survive in all 
 tlioir freshness and beauty, whilst those of 
 emperors, conquerors, and gods are crumb- 
 ling into dust the classic days of the 
 world's youth, when the song of the melli- 
 fluous Ovi'd was not less honored than the 
 law of the imperial Augustus. The dis- 
 course was greatly enriched by the appeals 
 of the prince to Southampton, Carew, and 
 Cornwallis, who had recently been travel- 
 lers, and could furnish excellent garnish to 
 the sumptuous feast their friend and favor- 
 ite was setting bafore them. 
 
 Their prince did not fail to fulfil the du- 
 ties of a host in other matters besides find- 
 inir sufficient subjects for the conversation 
 of his guo.st.3, and the wine having done its 
 genial otnce, a little less coremoniousness 
 might have been perceived in the younger 
 
 portion of them. The Prince of Wales 
 himself set the example in a pause which 
 ensued, whilst the principal speaker wae 
 doing due respect to the rare Malmsey that 
 had been placed before him, by calling for 
 a song from my Lord Pembroke, who was 
 diligently carving an . orange, with his 
 thoughts where he had last seen such choice 
 fruit growing. 
 
 Now, of all the accomplishments of this 
 young lord, none stood him in such good 
 stead, amongst his numerous fair mistresses 
 whose sworn servant he would sometimes 
 be, for a matter of four and twenty hours 
 as. his very exquisite sweet voice. Whe- 
 ther he chose to handle the lute or not 
 which, by the way, had many a time and 
 oft been a famous letter of introduction to 
 him to the tempting dames of Italy his 
 song was sure to be infinitely relished. The 
 knowledge of his musical qualities, to the 
 which that choice musician, Dr. Bull, had 
 given its best graces, made him ever amongst 
 the first to procure the freshest ballads and 
 love ditties, and nothing of the choicer sort 
 ever came from Lawes or Wilbye but he 
 was ready to pour out its sweetness in a 
 moment of gentle dalliance or of social 
 festivity. 
 
 The Prince's desire excited loud applause ; 
 and without any delayings or excusings he 
 commenced. 
 
 THE GALLANT'S SONG. 
 
 I lead the gallant's pleasant life, who liveth a,t 
 
 his ease, 
 Having no aim, but buxom dame and dainty 
 
 maid to please ; 
 My doublet is of velvet piled, my trunks are 
 
 gay and new, 
 But if my purse be all the worse, " Why 
 
 what is that to you ?" 
 
 To see me as I walk along, it is a goodly. 
 
 sight 
 No maid or wife can, for her life, but gaze 
 
 with all her might; 
 The jewel glitters in my hat, the feather's cock 
 
 is true, 
 But if she cares for other wares, " Why what 
 
 is that to you ?" 
 
 Or seated at the social board, where good 
 
 wine doth abound, 
 Now this I try, now that put by, until the 
 
 room goes round. 
 A catch I'll roar with any man, and have my 
 
 jest heard too, 
 And if my gains be loss of brains, " Why 
 
 what is that to you ?" 
 
 Perchance, I meet some brawling knave, who 
 giveth me the lie,
 
 THE SECRET PASSION, 
 
 189 
 
 Thtn at a word I draw my sword, and at him 
 
 I let fly; 
 I all my skill of fence employ and make a 
 
 great to do, 
 If then give in, to save my skin, " Why 
 
 what is that to you ?" 
 
 But see me when " A hall ! a hall ! my mas- 
 ters !" hath been cried, 
 
 Forth I advance, to lead the dance, the host- 
 ess at my side 
 
 We foot it well, the dame is pleased, and pass- 
 ing fair to view, 
 
 And if I find I'm to her mind, " Why what 
 is that to you ?" 
 
 Should I away from town delights, to rustic 
 
 folk resort 
 From blushing maid (but half afraid), to learn 
 
 her country sport ; 
 To couch amid the golden sheaves, and hear 
 
 the ringdove coo, 
 But if you spy her coif awry, " Why what 
 
 is that to you ?" 
 
 Thus do we glide from youth to age, like 
 
 water through a trench, 
 A game of bowls to glad our souls, and now, 
 
 a pretty wench : 
 New braveries, new toys, new jests and thus 
 
 our course pursue ; 
 But :f that Death should stop our breath, 
 
 " Why what is that to you 1" 
 
 The applause being subsided, and also 
 the many pertinent allusions which the 
 Prince, my Lord of Southampton, and Sir 
 George Carew gave to it, Master Shak- 
 speare took the opportunity of privately 
 communicating some intelligence to his 
 highness, that seemed to interest him mar- 
 vellously. The subject was, that noble 
 gentleman, Sir Walter Raleigh, still a close 
 prisoner in the Tower, whom Master Shak- 
 speare, at the direction of the Prince, had 
 lately visited. He was the better able to 
 state what he was intent on without attract- 
 ing observation, as a conversation had 
 sprung up at the lower end of the table, 
 seeming of such interest as to engross the 
 attention of all but themselves. As what 
 passed was so strictly confidential, no part 
 of it has been handed down to these times, 
 the courteous reader must be content with 
 knowing that it was no doubt expressive of 
 the greatest possible sympathy for the illus- 
 trious hero, scholar, and gentleman, whom 
 fear and envy, in the most contemptible of 
 kings, had consigned to a dungeon. Leav- 
 ing the Prince and his friend to their pri- 
 vacy, the author will give him an insight 
 into the interesting subject discussing by 
 the rest of the Prince's guests. 
 
 " Never was there so beauteous a lady 
 
 in all Paris," said my Lord Southampton. 
 " Courtiers and citizens, for once in their 
 lives, were of one opinion, and united in 
 declaring the pre-eminence of her attrac- 
 tions." 
 
 " I' faith that was a miracle at the least !" 
 exclaimed Sir George Carew. 
 
 ' But the stories said of her beauty," con- 
 tinued the young nobleman, " were not half 
 so marvellous as those said of herself. The 
 popular version of her history varied every 
 day, but that which was most in repute, 
 spoke of her as a princess brought to their 
 city from some far kingdom in the East, by 
 a youthful Sultan of a neighboring state, 
 who had suddenly disappeared, without 
 leaving so much as the slightest clew by 
 which he might be traced." 
 
 " I will wager my George he had grown 
 tired of his princess, and had gone to get 
 him another," said Sir George, merrily. 
 
 " Some were of such an opinion," replied 
 the Lord Southampton", " but the majority 
 were of an opposite way of thinking. They 
 found it was clean impossible for any man 
 to have done so ungallant a thing./ Her 
 beauty was of that excessive rareness, he 
 who had once felt its power could no more 
 tear himself from it, than he could have 
 created it. It was the common rumor that 
 he must either have been hurried away pri- 
 vately to some secure hiding-place, by one 
 or other of the great nobles envious of his 
 exceeding good fortune, or slain outright 
 and made away with, by a vindictive rival, 
 intent on the most villanous courses to pos- 
 sess such ravishing perfections." 
 
 " What, kill a Sultan !" cried my Lord 
 of Pembroke, as he put a tall glass, of rare 
 workmanship, from his lips. " By this 
 hand, he deserveth the strappado !" 
 
 " I warrant you he is no man of Paris," 
 observed Sir George, in a like tone. " They 
 prize such rare birds too well to make away 
 with one, unless it might be by killing him 
 with kindness." 
 
 " Of a truth, 'tis hardly credible," said 
 Sir Charles Cornwallis. 
 
 "Any great personage from a far-off 
 land, were he from the savagest state of 
 Africa, is sure of being sufficiently caressed 
 by those- good people, out of their love for 
 what is new and strange." 
 
 " This may be, my masters ; nevertheless 
 the young sultan was nevermore heard of," 
 replied the Lord Southampton. " But the 
 strangest part of the story is yet to come 
 Aftershe had disappeared for some time 
 and a score of new wonders had in theij 
 turn outlived the marvelling of the people 
 of that famous city, she suddenly reappear
 
 190 
 
 TIIE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ed at court. Some say she had superseded 
 the Marchioness de Verneuil in the exceed- 
 ingly comprehensive affections of the mag- 
 nificent Henri Quatre ; others gave her to 
 the Prince de Joinville, and not a few to the 
 Duke de Guise ; but there were many who 
 insisted on affirming much scandal relating 
 to her in connexion with the name of the 
 queen's confessor, the wily Richelieu, to 
 whom they attributed the merit of her con- 
 version to their holy religion from the errors 
 of paganism and the knowledge of the 
 French tongue." 
 
 " Monstrous !" exclaimed Sir George, 
 laughing. " What, not content with a Chris- 
 tian queen ! did the holy man covet a 
 heathenish princess ? What very villany !" 
 
 " He assured it is a calumny," said Mas- 
 ter Newton, who liked not to hear the char- 
 acter of a priest, of even an opposite faith, 
 rudely assailed. 
 
 ' ! Like enough," replied my Lord South- 
 ampton. " They are not quite so careful 
 of what they say in that good city, that is 
 out of all doubt. But certain it is that, for 
 I know not quite how long, from the high- 
 est to the humblest, little was said, except 
 about her peerless beauty, her unparalleled 
 extravagance, her magnificent banquets, her 
 splendid palace, and her innumerable do- 
 mestics. Not a song was written that was 
 not to her praise ; and, of all the newest 
 oaths, you could only be in the highest fash- 
 ion when swearing by the matchless splen- 
 dor of the infinitely lustrous eyes of the in- 
 comparable Xariqua !" 
 
 "Xariqua!" exclaimed the young Lord 
 Pembroke, with an air of utter astonish- 
 ment, as soon as that familiar name met 
 his ear. 
 
 The speaker continued, without noticing 
 the interruption 
 
 " The crowning marvel is yet to come/' 
 
 " By this light, my lord, you are like a 
 
 conjuror at a fair." cried Sir George Carew, 
 
 very merrily ; " you keep your greatest 
 
 woader for the last." 
 
 " .Of a surety, this is an extraordinary 
 l.idy," remarked Sir Thomas Newton, in a 
 more serious tone ; " yet she doth not ap- 
 pear to have been a very creditable one." 
 
 " Ah ! Sir Thomas, credit is no commo- 
 dity in this good city we are speaking of," 
 replied Sir Charles (Jornwallis. " One who 
 hath the least character is sure there of get- 
 tvng'on the best ; and he that doth the most 
 nil warrantable things, is more talked of than 
 he hath the least chance of being were he 
 one of the seven sages." 
 
 " But touching this crowning marvel," 
 said my Lord of Southampton, " which it is 
 
 but proper you should have the benefit of. 
 Know then that, after keeping the whole 
 city in a ferment with her brave way of liv- 
 ing, she suddenly disappeared ; and, after 
 incredible labor spent in tracing her retreat, 
 it was discovered that she had fled to an en- 
 campment of Bohemians, or. as some call 
 them, Rommanees, or gypsies, who had 
 scarcely a day before made their appearance 
 in the neighborhood. A deputation was des- 
 patched on tile instant to the peerless Xari- 
 qua, to offer her two palaces, two innumer- 
 able trains of domestics, with permission to 
 be twice as unparalleledly extravagant as 
 she had hitherto been ; but when, with their 
 horses in a foam, they reached the spot that 
 had been pointed out to them, not a vestige 
 of a Bohemian or any other creature of any 
 sort was to be seen ; nor, though messen- 
 gers were despatched in every direction 
 throughout the kingdom, and most tempting 
 rewards offered for any information that 
 would lead to her recovery, was any one 
 able ever to get sight of her in France 
 again." 
 
 "A strange tale, o'-my life !" exclaimed 
 Sir George. Perceiving, for the first time, 
 how closely connected with it was the 
 young Earl of Pembroke, and wishing, with 
 his natural good feeling, to spare him any 
 embarrassment, he sought to change the dis- 
 course. " But strange tales are the natur- 
 al property of every traveller. I remember 
 one now " 
 
 " But was nothing further heard of this 
 singular woman, my lord?" inquired the 
 prince's secretary. 
 
 " I' faith, yes, and in a manner which is 
 not the least marvellous part of the busi- 
 ness," replied the young noble. "A cer-> 
 tain French nobleman, travelling on an em- 
 bassy into the Low Countries about a 
 month after, in one of the towns through 
 which he was journeying, was stopped by a 
 crowd who were fixed in admiration on the 
 movements of a woman dancing in a style 
 no less animated than graceful to some rude 
 music, fie stopped and looked on with the 
 rest. The dancer, having finished her per- 
 formance, comes to him for money ; and 
 prythee, if you can, imagine the noble 
 count's consternation in discovering that 
 the woman who in Paris had enjoyed all the 
 state of a queen, had been displaying the 
 graces which captivated the powerfullest 
 princes of France, for a few coins drawn 
 from the chance passengers in the dirty 
 street of an obscure Flemish town." 
 
 " An extraordinary change," observed 
 Master Newton. "But was it never ex- 
 plained r'
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 IS. 
 
 Sir GeOTge Carew saw it was useless at- 
 tempting to stem the current of inquiry, and 
 wisely desisted. The object of his regard, 
 however, had in a great measure recovered 
 the shock he had received, and was listen- 
 ing without any greater appearance of in- 
 terest than the character of the narrative de- 
 manded. 
 
 " He questioned her," replied my Lord 
 Southampton ; " and she, after some hesi- 
 tation, acknowledged that she was a Bohe- 
 mian, and was so enamored of that wander- 
 ing way of life, that she returned to it the 
 first opportunity she had, and for no tempta- 
 tion would be induced to abandon it again. 
 It then came out that she had carefully trea- 
 sured up the dress she had been used to 
 wear, throughout the whole of the time she 
 had been queening it so bravely at Paris. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 See'st thou not, in clearest days, 
 Oft thick fogs cloud heaven's rays: 
 And the vapors that do breathe 
 From the earth's gross womb beneath, 
 Seem they not with their black steams 
 To pollute the sun's bright beams, 
 And yet vanish into air, 
 Leaving it unblemished, fair ? 
 So, my Willy, shall it be, 
 With Detraction's breath and thee. 
 
 GEORGE WITHEB. 
 
 He is great and he is just, 
 He is ever good, and must 
 Thus be honored 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 THERF, were merry doings at Stratford. 
 The whole town was astir, as with a new 
 
 The sight of this served to call her back to impulse. Such gossippings at street-cor- 
 
 the free air of the forest, and the green 
 nook, and the murmuring stream, that had 
 been so long her familiar friends ; and, 
 when she heard that some of her people had 
 arrived in the neighborhood, she put on her 
 humble yet treasured garments, leaving all 
 her jewels, velvets, satins, every coin of the 
 large sum she had at her disposal, and all 
 the luxuries she had so long enjoyed, and, 
 like a bird escaped from a gilded cage, 
 made off for the tents of the Bohemians, to 
 fare coarselv and become a vagabond." 
 
 ners such visitings such a commodity of 
 endless questions, and seemingly equally 
 endless answers had never been known 
 before. Mine host of the Twiggen Bottle, 
 in attending to the demands for intelligence 
 from his numerous customers, made his 
 throat so dry that he was fain to moisten it 
 from the nighest tankard every quarter of the 
 hour at the least, to keep it from splitting ; 
 and Ralph, the barber, got so bewildered by 
 the interminable catechism he had to en- 
 dure from those of his townsmen whose 
 
 Was it never known why and in what beards he trimmed, that even his tongue, 
 manner she had at first forsaken this so : inured to as much clatter as the parish 
 prized way of living ?" inquired Sir Charles bells, became at last dumb from exhaustion 
 Cornwallis. The baker allowed his batch to spoil while 
 
 " On this point she would not give any swallowing, with more zest than his him 
 direct information," said the other. " Yet | griest patrons ever felt for anything of his 
 it was generally rumored there had been a j handiwork, the surprising account brought 
 lover in the case, from whom, by some to him by his journeyman and apprentice 
 
 trick, she had been separated." 
 
 who had heard the strange news from the 
 
 My Lord of Pembroke was inexpressibly ' chandler's son. The butcher allowed a 
 Believed at this moment by hearing the ! long reprieve for the bound and panting 
 voice of the Prince of Wales, challenging sheep, while he made inquiries of the one- 
 his guests to a bumper. The subject of j eyed water-carrier for the latest news of the 
 their discourse was presently lost sight of ; all-engrossing subject. The blacksmith 
 and, as if to make amends for the time that stopped his hammering, and almost let trie 
 had been devoted to conversation, the Prince; forge-fire burn out, whilst listening to the 
 took care that sociality should rule para- last particulars of a travelling tinker. The 
 mount, and healths were drank, and songs aldermen and burgesses, in their town-hall, 
 sung with unabated spirit, many compli- equally with the humblest of the beggars in 
 ments being paid to Master Shakspeare by the streets, seemed wonderfully interested 
 all the company,especially by their prince- in this strange matter, 
 ly host, to which he responded in language \ And what think you was it that so corn- 
 worthy of himself, till, the hour getting late, pletely turned one of the quietest towns in 
 the party broke up. ! all England into one of the most active and 
 
 j talkative ? Of a truth, it was no more than 
 this : The fair mansion, known as New 
 | Place, which had remained so long tenant- 
 less, that all hope of its again becoming a 
 dwelling seemed to have departed from tho
 
 193 
 
 TIIE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 minds of every inhabitant of the town, at 
 last was enlivened with an owner, and this 
 owner was no other than their excellent ac- 
 quaintance and fellow-townsman, William 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 But, of all the houses in Stratford town, 
 there was not one to equal the amount of 
 gossipping on this marvellous proper topic, 
 that took place in that of the merry hatter 
 and his buxom little helpmate. The topic 
 was dear to both of them Master Shaks- 
 peare possessing their love and reverence, 
 to an extent it was- impossible to exceed ; 
 therefore, all who had got any thing to say 
 respecting him, were sure of a right honest 
 v/elcome under their roof always provided 
 their speech was sufficiently respectful 
 for, if not, they stood a monstrous chance 
 of being sent out of the house faster than 
 they came in a chance that had happened 
 to more than one, as the three inveterate 
 mischicfmakers, Aunt Breedbate, AuntPra- 
 teapace, and Aunt Gadabout, bad discover- 
 ed to their exceeding sorrow. 
 
 Under this impression, the kitchen of 
 Tommy Hart was rilled with visitors, either 
 desirous of telling or of hearing something 
 concerning the object of the general talk. 
 There was Jonas Tietape in his motliest 
 wear, the little dogs, as usual, ever and 
 anon peering and yelping out of his great 
 pockets, when any vagary, more violent 
 than the rest, disturbed them in their hi- 
 ding-place ; and, as usual, he was keeping 
 the company in an incessant roar, by the 
 si range freaks of his wild fancies grima- 
 cing, posturing, tumbling, juggling, and 
 singing old snatches of ridiculous songs, as 
 though he must needs be doing some out-of- 
 the-way thing or other, or cease to live. 
 
 There, too, came Dick Quiney, in his 
 roughest suit, full of strange oaths and mon- 
 strous unpolished speech, like a mariner af- 
 ter a three years' voyage. With him was 
 Cuthbert Dredger, the old miller ; his hair 
 and board and suit of friar's gray covered 
 with meal ; and there was his son, in all 
 things his very fac-simile, even to his style 
 of speech ; and there also was Jasper 
 Broad foot, the sturdy ploughman, with his 
 huge honest face, bearing unanswerable 
 testimony of his extreme satisfaction. These, 
 with the merry hatter himself, in a merrier 
 I rim than ever, constituted the male part of 
 the company. 
 
 The women consisted of the laughing 
 Joan, who had not lost somuch as an atom of 
 h ;r overwhelming good nature ; her buxom 
 kinswoman, Judith, no longer the desperate 
 shrew she Was, for i' faith, the shrew had 
 been tamed so absolutely, that there never 
 
 was a more excellent obedient wife, quiet 
 and modest withal, as a good wife should 
 ever be. With them was Goody Poppet 
 with a face like a harvest moon always 
 excepting the matter of the triple chin. The 
 two maypoles, starched and stiffened, and 
 looking like a couple of ninepins left stand- 
 ing after a" successful cast of the bowl 
 amongst their fellows ; and Peg o' the Twig- 
 gen Bottle, with such a dextrous use of her 
 somewhat sinister looks, as made it mar- 
 vellous she had not become a Peg for some 
 of her admirers to hang himself on withal, 
 the which would most certainly have been, 
 had it not been thought by all the better sort 
 that she was a Peg too low. 
 
 As none of these worthies had much ac- 
 quaintance with the rare gift of holding 
 their tongues, as pretty a confusion of voi- 
 ces was going as might have been produced 
 in a rookery by a sudden shot. The sole 
 subject and object of this Babel was the 
 new tenant of New Place. Some of them 
 had been enabled to obtain intelligence of 
 matters respecting him and his establish- 
 ment, of which the others were clean igno- 
 rant, and their interest in him would have 
 made them good listeners, had not their ea- 
 gerness in asking questions far outspent 
 their patience to hear the answers. Some 
 had been so fortunate as to see him ; and 
 wondrous appeared the result of their inter- 
 view. At last the notion seemed to bo 
 gaining ground that the best way of becom- 
 ing acquainted with the strange matters 
 their more fortunate associates were com- 
 municating, was to allow the latter to speak 
 their minds uninterruptedly. They, there- 
 fore, grouped round the principal speakers, 
 and, saving a due allowance of eager inter- 
 jections and judicious comments, appeared 
 disposed to become respectable listeners. 
 
 " To think that Ragged Launce should 
 have been taken into favor !" observed the 
 ploughman, in a sort of amazement, " a 
 thoughtless, idle varlet, that knoweth not so 
 much as the coulter from the furrow it 
 turns over." 
 
 " Not so fast, good Jasper, 1 prythee," 
 said Tommy Hart. " Ragged Launce will 
 not now answer to his title. He hath since 
 been styled ' Lazy Launce :' but methinks 
 he shall now rejoice under the style of 
 1 Bragging Launce ;' for jje be ever telling 
 you the wonderfullest brags concerning his 
 adventures beyond the sea, that can be con- 
 ceived." 
 
 " He it is, then, that is to look to the 
 beasts ?" inquired the old miller. 
 
 " By the bunghole of the cask of Bac- 
 chus !" exclaimed young Quiney, " he can-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 193 
 
 not look to one requiring more looking to 
 than himself." 
 
 " But commend me to the varlet whom 
 Master Shakspeare hath brought with him 
 as his steward," observed Tommy Hart, 
 with a chuckle. "When I said to him, 
 ' Simon Stockfish,' quoth I, ' wilt take a 
 draught ?' he fixed on me a wonderful pen- 
 etrating look, as though he thought my ci- 
 vility intolerably suspicious, and, with a 
 grave face, informed me he would think of 
 it.". 
 
 "An ass of a notable breed, o' my life !" 
 added Jonas Tietape, " for I have good rea- 
 son for knowing he thinketh himself three 
 parts fox. Nevertheless, with all his hu- 
 mor of sublety, the plainest trap that ever 
 was set shall hold him fast, though he be so 
 on the guard, he fancieth snares in every 
 body's speech." 
 
 " We will take the fox out of him before 
 he is many days older, I promise you," said 
 Joan, laughingly. " I am no woman, if I 
 fail to make him stand confessed the goodly 
 breed he is, ere our acquaintance be thor- 
 oughly ripened." 
 
 Affairs of such importance soon began to 
 bs discussed, and of such interest too, that 
 even Jonas Tietape left oft' his vagaries to 
 take part in the conversation. Tommy 
 Hart had spoken to the aldermen and bur- 
 gesses about holding a festival, and having 
 all sorts of country games in the town, in 
 honor of tlieir worthy Master Shakspeare : 
 and as they determined Stratford should pro- 
 duce all that was most attractive in the way 
 .of revels, every one of the company felt 
 bound to do his or her best to afford amuse- 
 ment. The question was, what shape 
 should this amusement assume. Various 
 sports were then thought of, and each in 
 turn discussed ; every one giving an opin- 
 ion for some favorite. There were advo- 
 cates for Coventry Plays : for mock tourna- 
 ments ; for mummings ; for a morrice ; for 
 a chase after a soaped pig ; for a bear bait- 
 ing ; for a badger hunt; for chuck farthing ; 
 and for divers other approved sports of a 
 similar sort. 
 
 At last it seemed settled, that nothing 
 could be chosen so likely to do honor to 
 their distinguished townsman as a play ; 
 and although to other sports they might also 
 have recourse, a play* they determined 
 should be the great feature of the day. On 
 this decision baing come to, Jonas Tie- 
 tape put himself forward to arrange not 
 only the particular play, but the particular 
 way in which it should be played, and the 
 particular persons who were to share in its 
 performance. Considering they had got 
 13 
 
 neither scenery nor wardrobe, the company 
 
 appeared less doubtful of their resources 
 
 than might have been expected : but this 
 
 | was the result of the superlative confidence 
 
 I of their leader, who acted the part of each 
 
 in turn, showing how marvellous well it 
 
 ! might be done, after a fashion that was a 
 
 marvel indeed. 
 
 Jonas took immeasurable pains to in- 
 struct his associates, who were not all of 
 j them so apt at their lessons as they might 
 have been. This, let it be observed, was 
 the first of- several meetings of the same 
 kind, when the same lessons were repeated, 
 ' and the assistance of other worthies pro- 
 cured to help out the personation of the va- 
 rious characters that were to speak on this 
 momentous occasion. But, leaving them 
 to arrange such business in their own way, 
 we must at once to higher game. 
 
 As the reader hath already learned, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare had returned to hrs native 
 town, a prosperous if not a happy man. 
 That he left London with some reluctance 
 is exceeding probable. There he had 
 achieved his first triumphs ; had secured 
 his best friends ; there he had obtained the 
 flattering notice of one of the noblest of 
 created beings, whose attentions were re- 
 garded by him as honors, to which those of 
 Czars and Caesars were empty and puerile. 
 He had been driven forth out into the wide 
 ocean of the world without chart or compass, 
 stores, or necessaries of any sort by which 
 the fearless mariner might pontend out the 
 fiercest storms, and had found there a port 
 in which he had rode at anchor for many 
 years in safety and honor, whilst others, 
 seemingly better provided, had been cast 
 away. 
 
 London and her multitudes, therefore, 
 might well be dear to him. He was grate- 
 ful, he was proud, he was happy in the 
 greatness they had brought him ; and it 
 was with a sighing breast and dimmed eyes, 
 he left the crowds of warm friends and hon- 
 est admirers its numberless streets contain- 
 ed. But with one individual, the parting 
 was more difficult than with all the others 
 put together, or even a. thousand times their 
 sum ; and, such are the marvellous freaks 
 of human nature, this one was no other 
 than his quondam scholar, my Lord of Pem- 
 broke, from whom he had more trouble than 
 every other besides. It is not in the art of 
 poor words to express the depth of his feel- 
 ings in being obliged to tear himself from, 
 an object that had lately become the very 
 principle of his life. He, however, knew 
 the huge necessity there was for this forced 
 separation, and with a swelling heart school-
 
 194 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ed himsell into a proper affectation of indif- 
 ferency. 
 
 If there was regret in leaving a place in 
 which he had been made so rich in friends, 
 there was much of the same feeling await- 
 ed him on his return to a place where all 
 he had known of sorrow and humiliation 
 had visited him. The wound may have 
 healed, which the death of his sweet young 
 son had created ; and that equally painful 
 blow which had annihilated his domestic 
 happiness may have ceased to give any 
 very acute pain ; but there were times when 
 they" would not bear touching, and these 
 times the scenes that every day met his 
 gaze seemed to bring before him. But if 
 he had his discomforts in this return to a 
 spot which, whatever of pain or disappoint- 
 ment there was with it, he had his pleasures 
 also ; the satisfaction which his coming to 
 dwell among his townsmen gave to one and 
 all, filled* him with a peculiar satisfaction. 
 For the rude but honest affection of the com- 
 pany that assembled in the kitchen of Tom- 
 my Hart, he had a deeper sympathy than 
 for his popularity with the gay butterflies of 
 the court of King James. 
 
 Bat the great source of his gratification 
 was his most admirable fair daughter. Su- 
 sanna had become his companion and friend. 
 With her he was wont to visit the old fami- 
 liar faces that had haunted him so often in 
 his dreams the favorite walks, and views, 
 and resting-places in and about Stratford, 
 where, during the vernal spring of his fruit- 
 ful life, he had learned so many lessons of 
 beauty, purity, and love, that he had since 
 reproduced in materials as indestructible 
 as the pyramids, and as intelligent as the 
 stars. 
 
 She gave earnest attentiveness to all such 
 reminiscences they were to her as the re- 
 velations of an oracle. But at times he 
 felt somewhat disappointed in her hearing. 
 It was kind, considerate, soothing, full of 
 exquisite comfort and consolation : but a 
 sensible change seemed lately to have pass- 
 ed over her. She was no longer the crea- 
 ture of life and light he had seen her at the 
 French Court. Perhaps, thought he, she 
 cannot reconcile herself to the sudden alte- 
 ration of her position from being one of 
 the brightest ornaments of the brilliant 
 court of Henri Quatre, where all eyes 
 were upon her and all hearts at her devo- 
 tion, to be the repository of melancholy 
 thoughts, and receive no other courtesies 
 than might fall from a solitary in a small 
 provincial town in England. He enter- 
 tained some hopes that this gloom might be 
 removed in due course of time. He would 
 
 take care to secure her amusement and so 
 ciety more worthy of her time of life. 
 
 Poor Susanna ! There was indeed a 
 change in her. Her buoyant nature, that, 
 like the brighter glories of the sky, came 
 upon your vision floating in an atmosphere 
 of its own light, had received so rude a 
 shock, that nothing but the possession of 
 that steadfastedness of spirit, which, in per- 
 sons so excellently disposed, bears up against 
 the rudest shock of evil, could have ena- 
 bled her to keep her proper place, and re- 
 tain her proper part. A settled melancholy 
 had possessed her the . light and grace- 
 ful gaiety, which had thrown around her 
 natural gentleness and modesty so winning 
 a charm, had given way to a gravity almost 
 solemn. But it was not any yearning after 
 the lost splendors of Paris life, that had 
 created in her so painful a gravity. Of a 
 truth, so far from it, she was right glad 
 she was well quit of the place, and all its 
 hollow pleasures. Nor would the sunshine, 
 which her courteous admirer, Sir George 
 Carew, was preparing to fling across her 
 path, penetrate, to the slightest extent, the 
 deep shadow by which, in her idea, she was 
 surrounded. 
 
 What had caused this shadow to fall ' 
 there was no telling the discreet Susanna 
 kept a strict silence. Her father asked her 
 no questions. His quick eye perceived the 
 change, but mistook the cause. Yet, had 
 this been otherwise, he respected her too 
 much to have attempted to pry into a secret 
 she seemed inclined to preserve. 
 
 On her part, whatever gloom may have 
 overspread her mind, she felt bound to con- ' 
 ceal it as much as possible from her indul- 
 gent parent, and ofttimes took upon herself 
 the humor of pleasantry, as if she had not 
 a care she need trouble herself about. She 
 appeared to take a sensible interest in the 
 approaching revels, and put some touch of 
 liveliness upon her speech, whilst she des- 
 canted on the infinite pleasure it would 
 afford to the worthy people of all the neigh- 
 boring villages. Nevertheless, she would 
 have liked nothing so well as hearing it 
 abandoned or that she could in any way 
 escape appearing there. Yet, of all strange 
 matters, this seemed the most unaccounta- 
 ble for, next to her father, whom she re- 
 verenced above aH human creatures, and 
 loved with an affectionateness akin to wor- 
 ship, she regarded the gallant Sir Georgo 
 Carew, and his equally kind and conside- 
 rate lady, who had been active in planning 
 and settling all the necessary arrangements. 
 
 Far and near, for many miles, these ap- 
 proaching revels had become the favorite
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 195 
 
 theme of every idle tongue. As the day 
 they were to be held drew near, there was 
 no subject so generally discussed, and every 
 one seemed to be making extraordinary 
 preparations for a visit to Stratford. 
 
 At Shgttery this was especially the case ; 
 and, at the cottage, the three aunts seemed 
 to be talking themselves into a fever. Aunt 
 Gadabout had been to Welford Wake, to 
 Bidibrd Whitsun Ale, to a hurling at Ful- 
 brooke, to a wedding at Charlcote, and to a 
 christening at Bidford ; yet she looked for- 
 ward to her jaunt to Stratford as to a plea- 
 sure that cometh but once in a way. Aunt 
 Prateapace had heard a world and all of 
 gossip concerning Giles of Binton and the 
 parson's maid ; had managed to get even 
 on the right scent respecting the secret 
 visits of Tom the Piper, to the widow at 
 Bardon Hill ; and had ferretted out the rea- 
 son why the young squire went so fre- 
 quently to Wellesbouru Wood ; neverthe- 
 less, her talk was all of Stratford, of what 
 was doing, and what was to be done. Aunt 
 Breedbate ceased to inveigh against the 
 horrible tyranny of Batch, the baker, to his 
 prentices, though she had succeeded in per- 
 suading the latter that they were monstrous- 
 ly ill-used, because they had puddings, no 
 more than thrice a week ; and made no 
 boast of having caused her neighbor, 
 Hunks, the carrier, to turn his only son out 
 of doors ; she, too, could find no other mat- 
 ter for speech than all that she knew or 
 guessed of Stratford Revels, in which she 
 quarrelled with her sisters no more than 
 some half score times during the hour. 
 
 The old and favorite source of their 
 tinited mischief-making and bickerings, 
 hugely to their discontent, they had for some 
 time past been denied. Their kinswoman 
 would hear no more of their meddling in 
 anything that related either to her " villa- 
 nous husband," or her " horrible infamous 
 children." Indeed a marvellous change 
 had taken place in her. She remained at i 
 home from morn till eve took no concern 
 in the affairs of tlxne around her, and cared 
 not for the visits of any of her gossips ; the 
 more especially for those of her loving aunts. 
 No one knew but herself how the weary 
 hours were employed ; but it might have 
 been guessed that they were none so plea- 
 sant, as her looks were not those of" one 
 whose privacy was happiness. She would 
 not be induced to go to Stratford, but let 
 her kinswomen depart without her ; and 
 then shut herself in her chamber, in the 
 same gloomy humor in which, of late, she 
 was commonly to be found. 
 
 Bright gleamed the golden sunshine on 
 the diy of the Stratford Revels, and from 
 
 every village and town for miles round not 
 only from Bidford, Wixford, Exhall, Alces- 
 ter, Great Alne, Aston-Cantlow, Snitter- 
 field, Barford, and Wasperton a distance 
 of some five or six miles or so but even 
 from Evesham, Warwick, Coventry, and 
 Worcester, from ten to thirty miles, came 
 horsemen, ay, and divers stout footmen, to 
 enjoy the sports that had so long been talked 
 of over the whole country. They came 
 pouring into the town in every accessible 
 direction, but over Clopton Bridge they 
 pressed like an invading army. They passed 
 I under the famous triumphal arches made of 
 flowers and evergreens, which had been 
 erected at the bidding of the corporation 
 across the principal streets, where as fa- 
 mous companies of musicians as all War- 
 wickshire could produce were stationed, 
 making such a glorious piping, trumpeting, 
 and drumming, as none ever heard before. 
 Much they talked as they passed alongj 
 concerning that marvellous man, for whom 
 fortune and fame had done such wondrous 
 things, and of whom every group possessed 
 some one or more who could, of his own 
 knowledge, testify to the strangest matters 
 that ever befel one of mortal nature. Be 
 sure they had scores of eager listeners. He 
 who could tell some unheard-of tale of his 
 estimation aftnong great lords and princes, 
 of which he had himself seen ample war- 
 rant, ensured for himself the consequence of 
 their chief and director during the rest of the 
 journey ; but he whom chance and a good 
 memory had furnished recollections of cer- 
 tain glorious plays, seen in London or else- 
 where, was regarded by his associates, from 
 that time forward, as a friend to be proud of. 
 
 The high bailiff, with the powerful back- 
 ing of Sir George Carew, had taken espe- 
 cial care that due provision should be made 
 for the sustenance and refreshment of all 
 comers during the day. Nearly every 
 house had a bush over the door, where a 
 good draught of ale or cider might be had 
 almost for the asking ; and there had been 
 more boiling, roasting, and baking in the 
 town, during the last three days, then had 
 been for a full twelve months passed : so 
 that he that was tired, athirst, or ahungered, 
 had only to turn into the first open door, and. 
 might be sure of getting all he desired. 
 
 For the gentry, other arrangements had 
 been made. New Place had been so rarely 
 garnished with green boughs and gay flow- 
 ers, that not a foot of the front could be 
 seen ; and within was the same dainty dis- 
 play in every possible direction : for the 
 which gay work the humblest poor person, 
 as well as the wealthiest burgesses, had 
 joyfully contributed. But there was store
 
 196 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 of other things tables were laid out in the 
 hall, and over them was such bountiful 
 store of good eating and drinking, as, so it 
 seemed, might suffice for a garrison to sus- 
 tain a seven years' siege. The high bailiff 
 also kept open house so did the vicar and 
 BO did the chiefest aldermen. The inns 
 were as admirably well provided : and them 
 were also capacious covered booths erected 
 in various directions, with flags and goodly 
 branches at top, whereof some showed such 
 a commodity of good victual as the whole 
 town could not have supplied at another 
 time others were for dancing ; wherein 
 could be had wine, or ale, or cider, in such 
 plenty as it was a marvel to see. 
 
 The fame of these revels had brought all 
 sorts of mountebanks, pedlars, ballad-sing- 
 ers, conjurors, masters, of puppets, exhibi- 
 tors of monsters, quack-doctors, and the like 
 sort of folk, who, in every street, were to 
 be seen pursuing their vocations, infinitely 
 to the amusement of the rustics. This kept 
 the immense multitude from crowding too 
 much in one place, which the corporation 
 had likewise endeavored to avoid by caus- 
 ing different attractive sports to be going on 
 at the same time some within the town 
 and some without. 
 
 On the road to Shottery there was to be a 
 hurling-match on that to Bi4ford, a bull- 
 baiting close to the chapel of the Guild 
 was to be a game at barley-break near 
 the church, a cudgel-play provision for 
 sliooting at the butts in one field, and for 
 running at the quintain in another a bad- 
 ger-hunt on the Avon a jumping-match in 
 the meadows by the elm, at the Dove- 
 house Close end, in the Henley Road, a 
 maypole for a dance and at the opposite 
 boundary, the two elms in the Mesham 
 highway a bonfire. There was also to be 
 every thing as at a May-day Robin Hood 
 and Maid Marian Hobby-horse and St. 
 George and the Dragon and, greatest of 
 all attractions, in the most open place in all 
 the town, was set up a stage, in which was 
 to b*e represented the exceeding admirable, 
 most moving, and very delectable choice pa- 
 geant of " The Nine Worthies." 
 
 But now there is a cheerful sound of 
 trumpets, and it is made known that the 
 corporation are going in procession from 
 the Town Hall to New Place, and present- 
 ly there is a vast show of running and 
 scrambling. The high bailiff, in the garb 
 of his office, descends from his horse, and 
 enters Master Shakspeare's dwelling, amid 
 a flourish of trumpets and a great shout of 
 applause, to invite him and his exquisite 
 fair daughter, in the name of the people of 
 Stratford, to see all the goodly sports that 
 
 have been provided for their especial honor 
 and delectation ; and, presently, he is seen 
 bringing forth Master Shakspeare ; where- 
 upon there is set up so main a cry, and so 
 piercing a flourish, that thousands are s&en 
 hurrying to the spot in every direction. 
 Master Shakspeare acknowledged! the ap- 
 plause with such gracefulness and noble- 
 ness of bearing as speedily brought it forth 
 with double strength. The whilst he was 
 so engaged, there was brought up. to his 
 door a most stately steed, caparisoned as 
 for a king, which had been provided by his 
 loving friends for his accommodation. He 
 leaped into the saddle, and held his seat 
 with so commanding an air, doffing his 
 beaver courteously to all around, as the 
 proud beast curveted and pranced his best 
 paces, as though knowing what inestimable 
 honor he bore, that the hurraing was re- 
 newed and continued as if never to end. . 
 
 Anon there appeared at the door the figure 
 of the gentle Susanna, looking, from the 
 flush of affection and pride, in seeing her 
 father so honored, that spread over her deli- 
 cate features, more lovely than ever she 
 had been. She seemed for a moment over- 
 powered by the tumultuous greeting that 
 awaited her; but this speedily passed, and, 
 with one graceful recognition, assisted by 
 the ever-gallant Sir George, she leaped 
 upon the noble steed that had been provided 
 for her, and, by her noble horsemanship, was 
 winning the hearts of the vast masses that 
 thronged to every point, window or house- 
 top, that could command a view of what 
 was going on. 
 
 A number of the gentlefolks of the neigh- 
 borhood, of both sexes, next appeared ; 
 who, having mounted their horses, the pro- 
 cession started from New Place in the fol- 
 lowing order 
 
 Constables of the watch. 
 
 Twenty-four poor men of Stratford, be- 
 longing to the alms-houses, in blue coats. 
 
 Scholars of the Free-School where 
 Master Shakspeare had received his learn- 
 ing two abreast. 
 
 Vicar and Schoolmaster. 
 
 The different trades, with their banners. 
 
 Trumpeters followed by the great ban- 
 ner of St. George and the Dragon, like unto 
 that famous representation on the chapel of 
 the Guild. 
 
 The high bailiff, on horseback. 
 
 The two churchwardens, a-foot. Also 
 the aldermen and other officers of the corpo- 
 ration, two and two. 
 
 Another great banner, bearing the arms 
 of England united with Scotland. 
 
 A company of musicians, playing joyful 
 Junes.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 197 
 
 MASTER ,SHAKSPEARE, on a tall horse, 
 richly caparisoned. By his side, MISTRESS 
 SUSANNA SHA.KSPEARE, riding in a like man- 
 ner. 
 
 Indies and gentlewomen, on prancing 
 palfreys. 
 
 Knights and gentlemen of the neighbor- 
 hood, all riding. 
 
 Yeomen of Stratford and the Hamlets of 
 Shottery, Dray ton, Little Wilmecote, and 
 Bishopton every man on his own horse. 
 
 Serving-men of the gentry, in their coats 
 and badges, a-foot. 
 
 A great banner of the cross. 
 
 Two trumpeters. 
 
 Constables of the watch. 
 
 As the procession passed through the 
 principal streets, there was such a general 
 craning of necks from opetfed casements 
 and crowded house-tops, doorways, and every 
 other convenient place, and such shouting 
 arid hurraing, and waving of hats and hand- 
 kerchiefs, as was truly wonderful to see and 
 hear. There was no lack of comment on 
 the personal appearance of both the princi- 
 pal personages, nor was there any lack of 
 admiration. Of their feelings, nothing can 
 be said to make them sufficiently under- 
 stood. Master Shakspeare felt elated of 
 a surety, the sight that presented itself to 
 him was sufficient to have exalted the most 
 earthborn of mortals : but the satisfaction 
 arose less from gratified vanity than from a 
 love of that kindness that seemed the moving 
 spirit of the whole scene. 
 
 It was not till he passed by the well-re- 
 membered house in Henley Street, that his 
 feelings seemed to be getting the mastery. 
 He thought of the estimable hearts at rest, 
 under the churchyard turf, that would have 
 rejoiced beyond all mortal joy to have seen 
 that day : and, for one, what a day of honor 
 it would have been held, had not the de- 
 stroyer, so prematurely, cut him off from 
 the world he was so well fitted to adorn ! 
 
 He was aroused from an unhappy reverie 
 by a fresh burst of plaudits, which brought 
 his thoughts into a more agreeable channel. 
 
 Susanna rode by his side with a swelling 
 heart. She seemed entirely oblivious of 
 her own peculiar ideas and sensations and 
 she had much to forget. She thought and 
 felt only for her father. She had always 
 been proud of him, but now her pride had 
 in it something so reverential, it looked like 
 an angelic appreciation of immortal excel- 
 lence. They passed on, viewing with in- 
 finite contentation the arrangements that 
 had been made for the enjoyment of the 
 people of the different revels. They beheld 
 several in full operation. Most, however. 
 
 | had suspended their operations to obtain a 
 view of the approaching procession, but they 
 saw enough to know how well everything 
 had been managed. 
 
 They now drew ear to the spot where 
 the stage had been erected, and were soon 
 marshalled within view of it ; the footmen 
 being placed in front, and the horsemen be- 
 hind. Here they had been but a brief space, 
 when the grand and wonderful pageant 
 commenced with the appearance on the 
 stage of three marvellous ill-visaged, ill- 
 shaped, ill-clad personages, in turbans and 
 sandals, with monstrous long beards, who, 
 in rare ranting speech, proceeded to pro- 
 claim to their audience that they were the 
 three Hebrew worthies, Joshua, David, and 
 Judas Maccabaeus they spoke some ex- 
 ceeding fine-fustian sentences, and made 
 no small exertions to appear to perfection 
 the heroes of Israel, albeit they were but in- 
 different Christians, that answered to the 
 names of Jaspar Broadfoot, Cuthbert Dred- 
 ger, and his son. 
 
 When they had ranted sufficiently about 
 their distinguished names and deeds, they 
 made off and presently they were succeed- 
 ed by three as odd-looking varlets as ever 
 were met within the world, in helmets, hav- 
 ing naked feet with sandals, and an odd 
 kind of drapery thrown over their naked 
 shoulders. Their very appearance was the 
 signal for a burst of mirth that seemed to 
 shake the whole town. First came the 
 mighty Hector, and a rare hectoring blade 
 he proved himself. He swore pretty round- 
 ly there was not so fine a fellow of his inches 
 any where, and that he had just come from 
 the walls of Troy at the rate of a sheriff's 
 post, to show the whole world what match- 
 less choice spirits there were in the old 
 times. In sooth, he talked big enough ; 
 yet, for all his fine feathers, he was no other 
 than the reader's politic friend, Sirnon Stock- 
 fish, who, after due deliberation, had, at a 
 pressing request, lent his excellent powers 
 to secure a proper performance of the pag- 
 eant. 
 
 Next came a fellow who seemed full as 
 broad as he was long ; yet his length was 
 little better than that of a dwarf, and in his 
 bullet head appeared a brace of open jaws 
 that looked to be ready to devour any one 
 of the company inclined to test his powers 
 of swallow- When he declared, in the 
 highest sounding phrase, that he was Julius 
 Caesar, there was a laugh among all such 
 as had any acquaintance with that worthy. 
 Nevertheless, he strutted, and grimaced, and 
 vapored for an intolerable long time, con- 
 cerning his valorous doings ; few there
 
 198 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 would have taken him for Julius Czesar, : busy with the tankard, and had become pot- 
 but if there had been any doubt on the mat- valiant. Tin's burst of indignation set the 
 ter amongst the townspeople, it must have whole audience laughing, and in this merry 
 ceased when, in the midst of one of his most mood concluded the " exceeding, admirable, 
 tearing speeches, from two cavities or pock- most moving, and very delectable choice 
 ets befow his girdle, sprung forth the heads j pageant of the Nine Worthies." 
 of two little dogs, who set up such a yelp- 1 Certes, Master Shakspeare found no 
 ing, that Julius Caisar stopped sudden short ! slight degree of amusement in this perform- 
 in his heroics, and with two smart pats on ance ; he often discovered himself wishing 
 
 their heads, the voice of Jonas Tietape bade 
 them " get in, and be hanged !" 
 
 At his heels came a like sort of knave, 
 
 that honest Ned Allen, Dick Burbage, or 
 any other of the great London players could 
 see how choicely the players of Stratford 
 
 about the same height, but not so stout ; employed the resources of their art ; and he 
 albeit, however small he was in his inches*, could have laughed right earnestly, had he 
 he, too, was a famous tall fellow with his not remembered that, however burlesque 
 
 tongue. He made it out that he had con- 
 quered the world ; and by his bearing it was 
 plain to be seen, in his own conceit, he 
 could do it again as easy as he could drink 
 off a pint of small ale. But, let him have 
 
 was the playing, the players were honest 
 hearts, whose sole aim was to do him honor. 
 Thus influenced, it was no marvel he ex- 
 pressed himself exceeding gratified with 
 every part of il. 
 
 After this the procession moved on, arid 
 
 bragged till doomsday, it was plain enough, 
 
 Alexander the Great was but Tommy Hart ' in turn visited the scene of the rest of the 
 
 the Little. I ^Stratford Revels, with the which he was 
 
 These three having departed, there ap- 1 equally well pleased. 
 
 peared another lot of a like number, to An important feature in the day's festivi- 
 make up the nine ; and, however the Jews ties, was a grand banquet at the Guildhall, 
 and Infidels had bestirred themselves in this j mostly at the expense of the Corporation ; 
 business, these three, who came as Chris- j where they feasted their illustrious towns- 
 tians, in full suits of armor, outcrowed them man and his friends right sumptuously ; 
 all to nothing. It came out that they were many handsome things being said of him, 
 no other than King Arthur, Charlemagne, ' to which he replied in a tone of earnest 
 and Godfrey of Boulogne. King Arthur j thankfulness that did famously express his 
 had got a squint, and was lame of a leg, j sense of the honor they did him. When 
 that marked him for tlie constable of the i this was over, Sir George Carew, with more 
 watcli ; and Godfrey of Boulogne was high- j tender gallantry than any of his juniors 
 shouldered, and spoke with a cracked voice, could have used, must needs lead off the 
 nobody would have owned but the school- j first dance with his fair favorite, Mistress 
 master. As for the illustrious and very ab- j Susanna. They kept it up till a late hour, 
 solute valiant potentate the great Charle- ) having all the most approved dances, and 
 magne, by some chance or other, ere he had j every admired tune ; and when the time for 
 spoke many lines, he wanted prompting. ; parting could no longer be delayed, it was 
 Charlemagne the great, it was soon ob- ! said of all both such as came from a dis- 
 served was gifted with a wonderful little ! tance, and by those living in the neighbor- 
 memory. He hardly knew who he was : hood that, in their memory, there had been 
 
 clean torgot what he had done, and could 
 not for the life of him say why he was 
 there. The spectators made many sharp 
 
 nothing in the county that afforded such ex- 
 cellent desport as these Stratford Revels; 
 and it was the general desire that on the 
 
 remarks on this strange failing in Charle- 1 twenty-third of every succeeding April, the 
 
 magne and at last,things growing worse, 
 the great man was so badgered that he 
 scarce knew which way to turn. 
 
 When the public disapproval of him be- 
 gan at last to show they would bear with 
 him no longer, he presently opened his hel- 
 met and threw it aside, swearing pretty 
 roundly to the crowd beneath him, " He was 
 none of Charley Main, but only simple 
 Launcelot Curthose, Master Shakspeare's 
 boy, and he didn't care a fico for the nine 
 worthies, or any of their generation." 
 
 In simple truth, Launce had been tool 
 
 town should be rendered attractive by a 
 similar entertainment.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 199 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Hark hither, reader ! wilt thou see 
 Nature her own physician be ? 
 Wilt see a man all his own wealth, 
 His own music, his own health ; 
 A man whose sober soul can tell 
 How to wear her garments well ? 
 
 CRASHAW. 
 
 MASTER SHAKSPEARE had, by this time, be- 
 come settled in his new position. His man- 
 sion was large and commodious, and he had 
 taken good care that in it he should be sur- 
 rounded with such comforts and accommoda- 
 tions as he most liked. There was his li- 
 brary full of choice authors, with here and 
 there a rare specimen of old armor, that 
 recalled the glories of the Black Prince, 
 and the triumphs of Henry of Monrnouth, 
 There, too, was a goodly hall, with no lack 
 of helmets, swords, and bucklers around the 
 walls ; a dining parlor, with well-carved 
 furniture and handsome panels, with a few 
 choice old portraits; a "blue chamber," so 
 called from being hung with arras of that 
 color ; a " paradise," bearing this designa- 
 tion in consequence of its having the story 
 of our first parents, to their expulsion from 
 the Garden of Eden, done in German water- 
 colors on the walls ; a " yellow chamber," 
 styled so from its yellow hangings, and 
 divers others, distinguished in a like man- 
 ner by some peculiarity in the character 
 of the furniture. There was also ample 
 accommodation in the way of buttery, kit- 
 chen, and the like sort of places, with stable, 
 and a choice garden. 
 
 The chamber he most affected was the 
 one used as a common refectory. It was 
 distinguished by a bay window, and a most 
 capacious chimney-corner. Here in his 
 high chair he loved to sit, surrounded by 
 admiring friends, who affected nothing so 
 well in the long winter nights as to get him 
 in the humor of telling stories ; and number- 
 less narratives, of wonderful interest, did he 
 narrate to that enviable circle.. There were 
 tales of all hues and complexions, to suit all 
 manner of tastes and inclinations ; tales of 
 all countries and of all times ; yet each 
 marked with the same marvellous invention, 
 that kept the rapt* hearers in a very ecstacy 
 of mingled pleasure and wonder, till they 
 had deeply encroached into their ordinary 
 hours of rest. 
 
 When he chose to seek relief from his 
 in-door amusements, he looked after his ! 
 lands and herds as attentively as ^iy yeo- 
 man in Warwickshire. If it pleased him 
 better, he would mount his horse ; and, with 
 
 the fair Susanna riding by his side, each 
 with a favorite bird, would enjoy the delec- 
 table sport of hawking. Or, mayhap, he 
 might be ready for any other pastime that 
 looked to be most ready for him. His gar- 
 den and his farm seemed to possess for him 
 inexhaustible resources ; and, next to them 
 in interest, he regarded a cheerful ride or 
 walk into any of the most pleasant places in 
 the neighborhood. 
 
 He daily grew into more esteem with his 
 honest townsmen and neighbors, and was 
 much talked of for many miles round, not 
 so much in relation to the great gifts which 
 had secured him his great name, but rather 
 as one Squire Shakspeare of Stratford. In 
 truth the character of squire' suited him as 
 well as it would any who had been born in 
 it ; and so it is palpable would any other, 
 let it have been of whatsoever rank or sta- 
 tion it could have possessed. 
 
 He had been appointed to the honorable 
 office of justice of peace ; and, having had 
 his hall in New Place turned into a justice- 
 room, it was his wont, with certain assist- 
 ants of his, to examine such offenders as 
 were brought before him. Frequently would 
 he so admonish the evil-doers that they 
 straightway abandoned their vile courses, 
 and became of a notable honesty ever after. 
 He saved many from the commission of 
 base offences ; and those notorious malefac- 
 tors he was obliged to condemn, he did so 
 in so impressive a fashion, they presently 
 clean repented of their infamy, and took to 
 better behaving from that time forth. In 
 brief, the fame of his justice, and his skill 
 in rinding out the intricatest matters, spread 
 so every day, that he became looked upon 
 as the chief judge of such offences in those 
 parts ; so that it was seldom he had not his 
 hands full of it. 
 
 He sat in his chair of worship, which he 
 filled wiili no lack of dignity, his person 
 being now full and portly mayhap the 
 combined results of good living and of good 
 nature Sir George Carew sitting near, 
 who shared in such business whenever he 
 could ride over from, his own house; and 
 Simon Stockfish over-against them acting 
 as clerk, who occasionally ventured on 
 giving a hint in the way of deep policy, 
 which, though profiting no one, was sure 
 of being taken in good part. Launce had 
 been promoted to the office and dignity of 
 crier of the court, the which he filled to 
 marvellous admiration, allowing of no noise 
 or disturbance of any sort, save what he 
 made himself, which was sure to be enough, 
 in all conscience, for all the rest of the com- 
 pany. There were also certain constables,
 
 200 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 to wit, young Quiney, of whose discretion 
 and diligence in his office Master Shaks- 
 peare entertained an excellent proper opin- 
 ion ; Tommy Hart, who, an he could be 
 serious, would have arrested any offender 
 that came in his way ; but he was so ready 
 to crack a jest with him. instead of proceed- 
 ing with such serious matter, that it was 
 scarce safe to put him on such office alone. 
 To these were added Jasper Broadfoot, and 
 old Cuthbert Dredger and his son, who were 
 
 where Master Shakspeare and his friend 
 were discussing some favorite subject with 
 marvellous earnestness. 
 
 At this period the reader's familiar ac- 
 quaintance Launce, the crier of the court, 
 who looked on himself as little less in dig- 
 nity than his worship, shouted out in his most 
 worshipful tone, " One to speak with his 
 worship!" and immediately afterwards there 
 appeared at the door a female, humbly clad 
 and closely veiled, attended by Susanna and 
 her sister on each side of her. 
 
 " A plain case tin's," said Master Shaks- 
 peare, in an under-tone. " These two jades 
 of mine take under their protection all the 
 amiable offenders and interesting criminals 
 they can hear of ; and, forsooth. I am to 
 stand godfather for their misdemeanors." 
 
 "None so well, Will none so well," 
 replied Sir George, merrily. " There are 
 
 strength. She continued advancing, but it 
 was evident that her emotion increased 
 wonderfully. 
 
 " Merit reduced to beg ; or, misfortune 
 forcing an unwilling petitioner," observed 
 Master Shakspeare to his friend, as he be- 
 gun to regard her with considerable interest. 
 " Well, well, Master Justice," said the 
 other, who also looked favorably in the same 
 direction, " in such cases, it is easy enough 
 to see to which side the scale leans ; and, 
 she being a wolnan, she is entitled to the 
 most liberal dealing of that most worshipful 
 member of her sex, the blind lady, whose 
 office you have been called upon to fulfil." 
 
 All this time, Simon Stockfish was fid- 
 geting on his seat, his- eyes now dwelling 
 with no small .degree of alarm upon the ad- 
 vancing female anon, winking and point- 
 ing at the constables, who were all close at 
 hand, in a remarkable state of vigilance. 
 
 ' Well, dame !" exclaimed Master Shaks- 
 peare, gently. " Whatever may be your 
 cause, you have taken care to provide your- 
 self with such counsel as the judge is pretty 
 sure to listen to with some favorableness." 
 No reply was given to this assurance 
 unless it was offered in the increasing sobs, 
 which came from the person to whom it 
 was directed. The gentlemen seemed af- 
 fected, and even the constables looked some 
 what bewildered. 
 
 so many of thine own to answer for, that a " Prythee, come nearer, dame !" said Mas- 
 few, more or less, need not trouble thee." [ ter Shakspeare, in a still kinder voice. 
 
 " Let her not come any nearer, I pray 
 you," earnestly whispered Simon Stockfish, 
 across the table, interposed between them. 
 " She, perchance, may have some danger- 
 ous weapon hid about her : if she be made 
 to stop where she is, there need be no fear 
 of her using it to any fatal purpose." 
 
 Thereupon he made a particular move- 
 ment with his head to Launce, who ap- 
 peared to understand its import on the in- 
 stant, for he repeated it to certain of the 
 constables, who, quite as quickly on the 
 alert, presently drew nigher to the prisoner, 
 or petitioner, or whatever she was ; so that, 
 had she offered any violence, they could 
 have pounced upon her before she could 
 have done mischief. But the person who 
 had thus engrossed their regards seemed in 
 no case for any deed of desperation. If it 
 was not for her fair supporters, she must 
 have fallen to the ground, her steps seemed 
 so monstrous weak and irresolute. She 
 trembled violently, and her sobs were deep 
 and frequent. She paused a few moments, 
 and seemed as though she desired to go 
 back, but a few words from her kind con- 
 
 " Perchance you may have something to 
 tell me in confidence. Be assured you will 
 find me anxious to afford you any reason- 
 able assistance, and all proper sympathy." 
 
 At this the sobbing increased wonderfully; 
 but never a word was spoke. Master Shaks- 
 peare was almost inclined to think that it 
 was a case of crime, followed by deep re- 
 morse. He looked steadily at her ; but, 
 from the thickness of her veil, could make 
 out nothing but a drooping head, a heaving 
 breast, and a trembling form. Both Susan- 
 na and Judith had occasionally addressed 
 words of encouragement to her in an under- 
 tone, but they ceased to produce any bene- 
 ficial results. At last the elder spoke. 
 
 " I have ventured, sweet sir," said she, 
 " to bring hither, at her most urgent prayer 
 and solicitation, one who is deeply sensible 
 of certain unworthinesses by her committed, 
 when her heart and mind was clean inno- 
 cent of any knowledge whatsoever of the 
 nature and extent of her ill-doing." 
 
 ' If sincere repentance of what ill she 
 hath dflhe," added the younger sister, im- 
 pressively, " for which others are more ac- 
 
 ductors appeared to give her additional I countable than herself, may be considered a
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 201 
 
 claim, of a surety, dear father, she hath 
 admirable grounds for being indulgently 
 dealt with in this state." 
 
 " I am ever right glad," said her worthy 
 parent, " to hear of a turning back to the 
 right path, when any deviation hath been 
 made from it. If it be in my power to set 
 your mind at ease, be content. I pray you ; I 
 will insure you every consolation your case 
 admits of. But, an it so please you, I would 
 fain see your features. In a business of 
 this sort, such mystery is by no means 
 desirable." 
 
 At this the trembling and the sobbing 
 became more violent than ever. The party 
 had approached close to Master Shakspeare, 
 to a vast increase to the fears and doubts of 
 Simon Stockfish, who, with his mind in a 
 whirl at the imminency of the danger, was 
 racking his brain, to discover some politic 
 plan of removing his honored master out of 
 the way. Sir George Carew looked on the 
 ground with singular interest so gallant a 
 heart as was his was alive in a moment to 
 the distresses of a woman ; and he felt the 
 more sympathy from seeing the amiable 
 part played in it by his fair friends, Susanna 
 and Judith. 
 
 Master Shakspeare gently attempted to 
 lift up the veil to which no resistance was 
 made ; and as he did so, the wearer of it fell 
 on her knees before him, in an agony of tears 
 and sobs. He started back, overcome as it 
 were, with extreme astonishment. There 
 knelt before him, as a suppliant and a peni- 
 tent, the creator of his earliest and sweetest 
 pleasures the originator of his early griefs 
 and miseries. She knelt not alone ; her two 
 daughters knelt on each side of her, and all, 
 in the mute eloquence of tears, prayed for 
 forgiveness. 
 
 Sir George Carew could look on no longer; 
 on pretence of brushing back the hair from 
 his forehead, he removed from his eyes the 
 abundant moisture that there suddenly start- 
 ed forth. Simon Stockfish, in despair of 
 devising any stroke of policy to meet the 
 occasion, was on the point of rushing for- 
 ward to seize upon the suspected assassin, 
 when he became transfixed with wonder- 
 ment staring with open mouth like one 
 beholding a ghost. Not less of marvelling 
 was seen in the countenances of the consta- 
 bles ; and one or two turned aside their 
 heads, and drew their sleeves across their 
 eyes. 
 
 What a flood of subduing recollections 
 rushed upon the mi ml of Master Shakspeare, 
 at the sight of that still lovely face ! -The 
 exquisite sweet pleasure of early love, and 
 all the bewildering trances of passion and 
 
 romance it brings in its train the admirable 
 influence of a faith strong as life, in the 
 existence of the most complete perfectness 
 in womankind the deep and ennobling 
 sympathy which, whilst it exalts the object 
 ! of preference to the dignity of a saint, places 
 the admirer in the privileged position of -a 
 devotee all pressed upon him at one and 
 the same moment. He thought not of things 
 evil, as arising out of this overgrowth of grate- 
 ful feeling, like fungi spreading at the base 
 of the noblest plants of the verdant forest 
 he saw before him the Anne Hathaway of 
 his happiest hours, the wife of his bosom, 
 the mother of his children, and the partner 
 of his cares and sorrows, ere both had be- 
 come intolerably familiar to him, and caught 
 the trembling penitent in his arms to hush 
 her tears and terrors, on the breast from 
 which she had too long, by her own sen- 
 tence, been banished. 
 
 This blessed event had been brought 
 about by the judicious and affectionate man- 
 agement of Susanna and Judith though 
 the former had much the largest share in it. 
 Scarcely had she returned to Stratford, 
 when, unknown to any one, she made for 
 the cottage at Shottery, where, if a rough 
 reception awaited her, she contrived, by 
 good management, to get it passed over 
 without any ill consequences ; and, taking 
 advantage of the absence of the three harpies, 
 who were as.usual juanting it together some 
 few miles off, she commenced her advances 
 towards the object nearest her heart. They 
 were less ill received than she had expected ; 
 and, at her next visit, which she so timed as 
 to avoid her aunts, she pushed forward more' 
 boldly, with such satisfactory results, that, 
 on the next occasion of her coining, she 
 took Judith with her, and their united re- 
 presentations and entreaties effected every 
 thing that was desired. 
 
 Aunt Prateapace managed to gain intel- 
 ligence of the reconciliation, and hastened 
 with her two allies to their kinswoman to 
 use alf their influence to prevent it ; but, 
 when they arrived at the cottage, there were 
 persons there they little expected meeting. 
 Master Shakspeare had gladly proceeded to 
 the dwelling, which had so often rose up in 
 his reveries to. bring him pleasant remem- 
 brances of the pleasant hours he had once 
 known in it, and a large party of humble 
 friends had been collected to welcome him 
 back to his old threshold. When the three 
 mischief-makers made their appearance, 
 they were horribly astonished at seeing tho 
 room filled with company, over whom the 
 object of their bitter calumnies were presid- 
 ing like a host, with both power and wish
 
 202 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 to make his guests happy around him. 
 Prominent amongst these were Tommy Hart 
 and liis merry helpmate ; Cuthbert Dredger 
 and his son ; Jasper Broad foot; Peg o' the 
 Twiggen Bottle, and her old acquaintance 
 with the triple chin ; Quiney and his affec- 
 tionate partner; Susanna and Jonas Tietape. 
 
 After a stare of intolerable astonishment, 
 at the company, the three worthies stared 
 as fixedly at each other. The company 
 looked as though they enjoyed their confu- 
 sion ; one or two wore a grave aspect, a 
 few seemed inclined for sport ; and, when 
 the old Jezabels looked at young Quiney, 
 or Tommy Hart, or Jonas Tietape, they 
 found faces so disguised by the extravagant 
 grimaces with which each strove to rival 
 the other, that they knew not what strange 
 animals they had got amongst. 
 
 " O' the dickens !" exclaimed Aunt Prate- 
 apace, who was not easily abashed. " Wh'o 
 would have thought of meeting here so plea- 
 sant a company ? There is Tom Quiney, 
 as I live !" At this recognition, the afore- 
 said Tom put his visage into a horrible 
 squint. " How fare you, Tommy Hart ?" 
 continued she, whereupon little Tommy set 
 up a squint more horrible still. " And my 
 merry gossip, Jonas Tietape ! how goes all 
 with you ?" Jonas answered only with so 
 unnatural a contortion of eyes, nose, and 
 mouth, that such as had with great difficulty 
 kept a serious aspect could restrain them- 
 selves no longer, and there was a general 
 laugh. 
 
 " Let us off to the church-ale at Wilme- 
 cote," said Aunt Gadabout; " I warrant 
 vou, we shall be more welcome there than 
 here." 
 
 " Go hang thyself for an old fool !" ex- 
 claimed Aunt Breedbate, evidently bursting 
 with rage and spite. " What care I for 
 their welcome ! Anne hath not the spirit 
 of a woman, that's plain." Here young 
 Quiney set up a caterwauling. " But if she 
 fiincyeth being trampled on, I doubt not 
 she'll have enough of it, poor wretch !" At 
 this Tommy Hart addeth an exquisite at- 
 tempt at caterwauling in a higher key. 
 " She's an unthankful, false, worthless, vile, 
 treacherous jade as ever was born; her fine' 
 husband will find that out, I can tell him. 
 God give her grace to mend her ways, say 
 1 ! for the villany I have known of her 
 
 " She was interrupted by such a ter- 
 rible burst of cat music from Jonas Tietape, 
 as though a fight of tabbies had broken out 
 more general than had ever been known. 
 Thereupon young Quiney and Tommy Hart 
 joined in full chorus, which made so intol- 
 erable a din, Talbot, who had hitherto re- 
 
 garded -the whole scene in silent wonder 
 rose up and commenced howh'ng with al. 
 his might, and some of the company were 
 glad to put their hands to their ears, the 
 rest having enough to do holding their 
 sides. 
 
 The three worthies waited not for any 
 thing else. They bounced out of the house 
 like very furies ; but, ere they had well got 
 into the road, commenced so fierce a qu<-r- 
 rel amongst themselves, as to who was to 
 blame for this misbehaving of their kinswo- 
 man, that for the first time since they had 
 been together, they would have none of each 
 other's company. It may be here added, 
 that soon after this they found themselves so 
 ill received wherever they went, that they 
 thought it best to leave Shottery. Each 
 proceeded in a different direction, and for the 
 rest of their lives never again entered into 
 that neighborhood. 
 
 Perchance ' the reader will not object in 
 this instance to diverge a little from the 
 current of the narrative, to follow the for- 
 tunes of one of his especial acquaintances, 
 the young physician. It has been shown 
 how he went to the French king's city of 
 Paris, to be physician to the ambassador. 
 When Sir George Carew returned home, 
 Dr. John Hall was recommended to a great 
 nobleman 'of France, with whom he travel- 
 led into the Low countries. He ultimately 
 left Flanders for England. On his landing 
 he made directly for London, where, as he 
 approached, he was sensible of some un- 
 pleasant feelings. What further annoy- 
 ances might be in store for him he had yet 
 to learn, but the subject was one he could 
 not think of without many discordant asso- 
 ciations. It chanced, as he entered London 
 by the Oxford road early in the ^morning, he 
 descried a great assemblage of persons 
 pushing towards him with a horrid yelling 
 and screaming : " Prythee, good friend," 
 said he, to one of a group who were pass- 
 ing close to him, " what meaneth this com- 
 motion ?" 
 
 " Know you not. valiant sir," replied the 
 other, seemingly in some astonishment, 
 " that this is the morning of the execu- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " A morning which all London have been 
 thinking of this last fortnight or more," 
 added a middle-aged, flauntingly-dressed fe- 
 male beside him. Dr. Hall recognised the 
 voice. It was one he had often heard. It 
 was that of Tabitha Thatchpole, of Golden 
 Lane. He, however, stood iu no fear of 
 being recognised, as in the last few yeara 
 he had greatly altered. He briefly men- 
 tioned that he had been but scarcely a day
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 203 
 
 in England. This made the other commu- 
 nicative. 
 
 He stated that, in the midst of .the ap- 
 proaching crowd, two of the horriblest cri- 
 minals ever heard of were being conducted 
 to Tyburn. 
 
 " I would not have believed it," said Mis- 
 tress Thatchpole, " had it not been so clear- 
 ly proved against them. They were among 
 my most familiar gossips. Alack, who 
 would have thought, after such pleasant 
 hours passed with them, that I should go so 
 far to see them hanged ! In sooth, 'tis a 
 strange world, excellent sir. This noble 
 soldier, Captain Swashbuckler, is my hus- 
 band." 
 
 " A master of fence to the Czar of Mus- 
 covy, and to the Emperor of China, at your 
 service, valiant sir," whispered the cast 
 captain. 
 
 " And we have 'known these villanous 
 wretches as familiarly as we have known 
 each other," added the female. " But it was 
 clean impossible any one could have dreamt 
 of the villany they practised. As for Mistress 
 Millicent " 
 
 "Millicent who?" demanded the young 
 physician earnestly. 
 
 " Why the intolerable base wretch, who, 
 with her horribly infamous father, Doctor 
 Posset, as he was styled, are now about to 
 suffer the punishment due to such abomi- 
 nable wickedness as they have been guilty 
 of during a long course of secret poison- 
 ings, by which it has been proved they got 
 great gains."' 
 
 On hearing this, Doctor Hall strove to 
 put his horse in another direction, but he 
 was encompassed by the crowd, and he was 
 obliged to wait till it had passed. The in- 
 telligence he had heard was .but too true. 
 An enquiry into the mysterious death of a 
 nobleman excited suspicion, a connexion 
 having been proved between the widow and 
 the physician's daughter. Sufficient came 
 out in the examination to warrant the com- 
 mittal to prison of both father and daughter. 
 Evidences of their guilt were discovered in 
 the little back chamber in the house in Gol- 
 den Lane, which contained, in a secret 
 press, a collection of the most subtle poi- 
 sons, with every apparatus for weighing, 
 measuring, and mixing ; and it was proved 
 in the trial that, under cover of being a phy- 
 sician, the self-styled doctor had for many 
 years securely carried on the trade of a se- 
 cret poisoner, in which his daughter had ac- 
 tively assisted, among others having been 
 employed for that purpose by the infamous 
 Countess of Rochester. 
 
 It was in vain Dr. Hall strove to keep 
 
 his horse out of the press ; the yelling and 
 shouting so increased, the animal became 
 almost unmanageable ; and, in a state of 
 horror not to be conceived, he found himself 
 so close to the sledge on which the crimi- 
 nals were being dragged to the gallows, 
 that he could distinguish their haggard, 
 ghastly features. He closed his eyes a 
 sense of suffocation seemed to (jverwhelm 
 him, and he knew not how he got out of the 
 crowd, or completed his journey to his inn 
 in Smithfield, for afterwards all seemed a 
 blank. 
 
 It may here be added, that these villanous 
 wretches were hanged at Tyburn, accord- 
 ing to their sentence, after having confessed 
 to a series of murders, by secret poisoning, 
 that made the very blood run cold to hear. 
 Such was the detestation felt by the citi- 
 zens for their hellish practices, that the 
 house in which they dwelt was presently 
 razed to the ground ; and, for many years 
 afterwards, jnany an awful tale was told of 
 the dark practices of the secret poisoners 
 of Barbican. The rest of the family disap- 
 peared, and were never more heard of. 
 
 It was not until he found himself in the 
 genial society of his fast friend, Master 
 Shakspeare, a welcome visiter at New 
 Place, that Doctor Hall could get out of 
 his mind the terrible end of the base wretch 
 whose villanous arts had cast such a blight 
 upon his youth. There, however, he spee- 
 dily regained his wonted composure. Cheer- 
 ful society, continued intercourse with 
 minds of a pure and lofty character, could 
 not fail to elevate his own. He soon found 
 himself taking a deep interest in matters 
 that entirely led him away from the past ; 
 and, as this grew more- engrossing, the in- 
 fluence of the latter entirely disappeared. 
 But the restoration of his mind to its native 
 tranquillity he owed rather to the daughter 
 than to tjie father. Ever since their mutual 
 attendance at the sick bed of the honored 
 inmate of the dwelling in the Clink Liberty, 
 they had entertained a most favorable opi- 
 nion of each other from the amiable quali- 
 ties they exhibited. 
 
 Many a miserable hour had been bright- 
 ened by the recollection of the gentle, self- 
 denying creature, with whom the young 
 physician had shared so many anxious vi- 
 gils at the bedside of Master Shakspeare : 
 and it may also be said that, in the brilliant 
 scenes in which she afterwards moved. Su- 
 sanna did not forget the grave, pure-minded 
 youth, whose devotion to her parent had so 
 entirely won her esteem. On their meeting 
 under happier auspices, these favorable es- 
 timates of each were much strengthened.
 
 204 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 They now possessed ample opportunities of 
 studying each other's disposition, and every 
 day 'they gave to the task increased thei 
 admiration. 
 
 They were necessarily thrown much into 
 each other's society under circumstances 
 which allowed the cultivation of the most 
 agreeable impressions. Master Shakspeare 
 was ever intent on setting afoot some plea- 
 sant pastime in which all those around him 
 might join. One day, a party went a-bird- 
 ing to Tiddington, another a-hunting in 
 Drayton Bushes, a third a-fishing by the 
 meadows near Welford, a fourth they would 
 proceed to fly their hawks along the river 
 by Ludingtdn ; then they would take ram- 
 bles, perchance, to Hampton Lucy, or Low- 
 er Clopton, or Bardon Hill, a summer-day's 
 stroll in the woods, or a moonlit walk on the 
 banks of the Avon. In all such cases, Mas- 
 ter Doctor Hall and Mistress Susanna 
 Shakspeare frequently found themselves 
 together, taking exceeding delight in each 
 other's observations. Although since his 
 appearance she was observed to be a shade 
 less grave than she had been for some 
 months, she was far from being the same 
 careless-hearted being she had seemed dur- 
 ing her appearance at the court of France. 
 
 The young physician seemed to possess 
 unusual buoyancy. The vast stores of 
 learning he had accumulated he gave out 
 with liberal hand, and took his share in the 
 conversation with the many noble spirits 
 continually appearing at Master Shaks- 
 peare's hospitable board, in a way that 
 shewed he was not unworthy of such fel- 
 lowship. 
 
 Their mutual liking had been of long 
 standing, but it appeared as though warmer 
 feelings were now exercising their influ- 
 ence. This was not so plainly visible in 
 their conversation as in their general bear- 
 ing towards each other. There was a con- 
 stant attention paid by the one to the other's j 
 feelings and sentiments. Neither expressed 
 the emotions the other had inspired, but a 
 thousand graceful attentions gave evidence 
 of their existence. They were, however, 
 becoming much too strong to remain longer 
 undeclared. 
 
 It chanced that, in one of their customary 
 moonlit rambles, which had been prolonged 
 somewhat, beyond the usual time, they con- 
 versed in that low, earnest tone used only 
 whore the speaker speaketh to the heart ra- 
 ther then to the ear. The subject, either 
 by accident or design, was the possibility 
 01 the existence of a second attachment, af- 
 ter the first had ended in horrible disap- 
 pointment. The young physician, with 
 
 deep earnestness, and a tremor in his voice 
 that bespoke the powerful interest he felt 
 in his -subject, was expressing his argu- 
 ments in favor of the mind and heart reco- 
 vering themselves even after the terriblest 
 shock. 
 
 Susanna listened with unusual attention. 
 Her eyes were directed to the ground, and 
 her complexion seemed a shade paler than 
 ordinary. There was a balmy freshness in 
 the air, peculiarly welcome after a sultry 
 day ; and the stars shone in the clear hea- 
 vens with a brightness that seemed truly 
 magical. The mill and the mill-stream 
 looked bathed in an atmosphere of liquid 
 silver, that gleamed over the river, and on 
 the neighboring barn, the trees, and the 
 town and church spreading out in the near 
 distance. In brief, it was a landscape which 
 lacked nothing but a pair of lovers to appear 
 a very paradise upon earth. It can hardly 
 be said that there was any thing of such a 
 sort wanted here. If the two who walked 
 so quietly through this unfrequented path 
 were not lovers, they were in a state aa 
 near to loving as it was possible for them 
 to be in. 
 
 " Methinks," continued he, " nature would 
 be losing sight of justice, were the heart, 
 that hath already been once strongly acted 
 upon to no end but its own deep uuhappi- 
 ness, never to know the genuine taste of 
 that extreme bliss of the which it hath been 
 wilfully cheated. That it doth so happen 
 cannot be denied, for, in some, the shock 
 which misused affection enclureth is of that 
 terrible soit that it bringeth all to one con- 
 fused ruin ; but as, in the physical world, 
 we see after the fiercest tempests the land- 
 scape look more lovely than ever, so in the 
 moral world, these rude tornadoes may 
 spend their fury, yet in time there shall 
 arise sensations, hopes, and wishes, of that 
 goodlier sort no appreciation can fully ap- 
 praise. The clouds have passed oft'; the 
 atmosphere hath become clear ; the mind 
 rebounds from the severe pressure that hath 
 fallen on it to an elevation far above its or- 
 dinary level ; and the sense of enjoyment 
 becomes the more active, it being, as it 
 were, a rebound from the sense- of misery 
 which preceded it." 
 
 Susanna still listened with downcast eyes. 
 
 " If any one look carefully to the laws 
 which govern the great sphere we inhabit, 
 there will be found to be a carefully adjust- 
 ed system of compensation. No injury is 
 done for which a recompense is not offered. 
 No loss is sustained which is not followed 
 by a gain. The leaves that the autumnal 
 blast tears from the boughs, form, during
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 305 
 
 winter, a source of nourishment and warmth 
 to the roots. The fire that destroyed an 
 impassable tangled thicket, where there 
 grows nothing wholesome, creates a soil 
 that will speedily produce the richest ver- 
 dure. Wherever there is evil, be sure there 
 is some good at hand to neutralise it. It is 
 not enough to know, that the bee that 
 stingeth you can. sting you no more ; the 
 true satisfaction lieth in learning he posses- 
 ses a honey-bag, that is at once the best 
 remedy for the wound, and the exquisitest 
 gratification to the taste. When you are 
 tossed in a storm that mingleth sea and sky 
 together, you may draw comfort from the 
 conviction that the same mighty force which 
 plungeth your ship into the trough of the 
 sea, sends her careering over the next 
 mountainous billow, a good step towards a 
 secure port." 
 
 The speaker paused, but he heard neither 
 reply nor comment. 
 
 ' And touching our inward natures," 
 salJ be. ' ; It standeth to reason that the 
 Rime beneficence should equally preside 
 there. Surely there is a fund to draw upon 
 in case of reverses : and that he who is a 
 bankrupt in heart shall find means to begin 
 the world again with fairer hopes than ever. 
 Perchance I shall be better understood, if I 
 put the case in this sort." At this part his 
 voice began to falter somewhat. " I will 
 say that I have loved loved wholly and 
 most passionately ; but have been made the 
 victim of the most consummate craft and 
 treachery. My affections have suffered 
 shipwreck, but Time, the consoler, hath at 
 last enabled me to put to sea again, far 
 away from any such breakers as have done 
 me such ill service. Suppose it should 
 chance to be my good fortune to meet with 
 a person so admirably disposed as yourself, 
 and, under the influence of your number- 
 less sweet virtues, I should surrender up 
 my faith, my hope, my pleasures, unto your 
 honorable custody. Let it not be conceived 
 that, having been robbed of my happiness, I 
 am so thorough a pauper in that commodity, 
 I am in the state of him who seeketh a pro- 
 vision out of the abundance of another, on 
 the claim of destitution. So far from the 
 sweet well of human comfort being exhaust- 
 ed in me, it is only in that state which re- 
 quires a touch of genuine sympathy to bring 
 it out in more freshness and abundance, 
 than followed the smiting of the rock by the 
 great law-giver of ancient time. Well 
 then, excellent Susanna ; in this case I pre- 
 sent myself before you I look to you for 
 the happiness I should have found elsewhere. 
 I require of you to answer whether, knowing 
 
 my misadventure, you can assure yourself 
 of the same perfectness of contentation, you 
 might have looked for from one who hath 
 had no experience in such matters." 
 
 These words were not expressed without 
 some hesitation on the part of the speaker, 
 and on the part of the listener, with very 
 evident embarrassment. At the conclusion 
 of his speech, there remained a pause for 
 some few minutes : the silence was at last 
 broken, but, as it seemed, with no small 
 difficulty. 
 
 " The case you have put," answered she, 
 " of a surety, is well worthy of attention, 
 and demandeth some consideration in the 
 answering. Before I attempt this, I have 
 much to say, that must be said. I do not 
 feel equal to enter into such a matter at this 
 moment. Permit me some sufficient time 
 to think of it. To-morrow, if it please you, 
 we will resume our walk in this direction, 
 when I will unburthen my heart of a misery 
 which I thought to have left there undis- 
 turbed for the rest of my days. Till then, 
 bear with me, I pray you." 
 
 'The walk was concluded in silence, but 
 this silence was more eloquent to the hearts 
 of both, than could have been an age of ordi- 
 nary talking. Soon afterwards they sepa- 
 rated. Dr. Hall pressed an uneasy pillow 
 that night. There was something in the 
 parting words of Mistress Susanna, that 
 seemed pregnant with unpleasant mystery, 
 and he thought it boded him and his hopes 
 of happiness no good. She had impressed 
 on him so firm a conviction of her being es- 
 sential to his felicity, if ever that was to be 
 attained by him, that any thing that tended 
 to disturb it filled him with intolerable un- 
 easiness. 
 
 He waited all the next day with a sort 
 of creeping dread upon him, and thought 
 time never hung so heavy as in the hour 
 that interposed between their meeting. He 
 saw her not all that day. As the time drew 
 near, his uneasiness increased. He imag- 
 ined all sorts of unaccountable strange 
 things* that were to affect his hopes. Doubts 
 and misgivings followed each other in ap- 
 parently endless succession, the hour at 
 last arrived for the customary evening walk, 
 but to his exceeding astonishment, instead 
 of mistress Susanna, came a letter from her. 
 He opened it with infinite inquietude, and 
 read as follows : 
 
 " I thought I could have schooled myself 
 into the doing of a task, which your late 
 advertisement to me hath rendered too abso- 
 lute to be avoided ; and finding I am quite 
 unable to the due performance of it, I must 
 throw myself on your indulgence, whilst,
 
 208 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 with whatever humble craft of pen I possess, 
 I proceed to it by an easier method. Know 
 then, sweet sir, that like yourself I have 
 loved with all mine heart, one whom I be- 
 lieved the devotion of^a thousand hearts, 
 had I possessed them, were no more than 
 his due. In station he was so far above 
 me, th.it I felt it to be an honor to have his 
 notice a happiness unspeakable to obtain 
 his affection. For some time he lived under 
 the same threshold with myself, and, besides- 
 swearing himself my true servant, seemed 
 never to be easy unless testifying to me how 
 much above all other women in the world 
 he held me in his esteem. In sooth these 
 fine speeches gave me such exquisite con- 
 tentation, that nothing on earth could come 
 nigh it. If ever woman loved in all hon- 
 esty of heart, and believed she was loved 
 with a like entireness, I was that happy 
 creature. Of course I thought him of such 
 nobleness of mind as only angels are kin- 
 dred of; I could not for an instant imagine 
 that one who looked so well and spoke so 
 well, had any sort of ill-disposedness what- 
 ever. 
 
 " One night we had sat up late together, 
 and were alone, as we had been many times 
 before ; but of this terrible night, spare me, 
 I implore you, any further history, than thai 
 only by a chance so fortunate as to declare 
 itself a Providence protecting a helpless and 
 almost fallen creature, I escaped from a 
 viilany as deeply laid as it was basely put. 
 in practice. I held my peace, for I saw 
 full well my speaking might do much mis- 
 chief, but could do no good. Of him it is 
 only necessary to say that he had the grace 
 to seem repentant ; yet the outrage was too 
 gross to be so readily overlooked as he ex- 
 pected. I bade him avoid me I would 
 have none of him from that time forth. My 
 heart ached for it for many a weary day and 
 sleepless night, but I felt it was due to my- 
 self to show such a person I possessed that 
 souse of self-respect which is the true armor 
 of proof to innocence and purity. 
 
 ' ; I will not deny that you, sweet sir, have 
 medicined most welcomely to the devouring 
 misery, which, for no inconsiderable time, 
 looked to have marked me for its prey. The 
 influence of your worthiness has fallen on 
 my path like a sunshine, and the shadow 
 that seemed impenetrable is now dispersing 
 rapidly away. I deeply regret that the 
 heart you have done me the honor to desire 
 is too battered and bruised to be worthy of 
 your possessing; but, if you be in the same 
 mood after the perusal of what is here writ 
 down, be assured that, as far as your hap- 
 piness can be secured by so poor a source 
 
 of enjoyment, there shall be nothing want- 
 ing to hold it as securely as ever happiness 
 was held in this world. And so fare you 
 well, sweet sir, till we meet on the morrow !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Ease and wine 
 Have bred these bold tales : Poets when they 
 
 rage, 
 
 Turn gods to men, and make an hour an age ; 
 But 1 will give a greater state and glory, 
 And raise to time a noble memory. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 IN the long winter evenings, it became 
 the custom at New Place to cheer away 
 the hours with all manner of pleasant sports, 
 Master Shakspeare being ever ready to set 
 an example of such pleasantry, and a jovial 
 time it was sure to be when he set the game 
 afoot. Barley-break, hunt-the-slipper, blind- 
 man's-buff, hot-cockles, and I know not what 
 exquisite pastimes, were going on in the 
 hall ; and of the merry company who en- 
 joyed themselves equally with the host, be 
 sure there was Sir George Carew, our 
 young physician, Susanna and Judith, Tom- 
 my Hart, Jonas Tietape, and Dick Quiney ; 
 and the prodigal heaps of mirth with which 
 they garnished this pleasantry, no pen can 
 sufficiently express. When they had tired 
 themselves of these several honest sports, 
 they would each to his stool or a corner of 
 the settle, and sit round the hearth, banter- 
 ing, and jesting, and relating such things 
 worth the telling as had come within their 
 several observations. But the chief enjoy- 
 ment to the greater number was the telling 
 of stories, as hath been said, which, when 
 they got in the humor, all were obliged to 
 do in turn, and the listening to such was 
 found to be as exquisite pleasure as ever 
 was known. Now, there was some mar- 
 vellous thrilling narrative from the host 
 which sent them to their beds brimming 
 with wonder, pleasure, and admiration ; anon 
 came a strange eventful adventure among 
 the wild Irish, or some glance into court 
 life by Sir George Carew. Next followed 
 some touching tale of love by Judith or Su- 
 sanna ; Jonas Tietape, Dick Quiney, and 
 Tommy Hart, would be content only with 
 tales of mirth ; and such mirth was put , 
 forth in them as would have stirred a bed- 
 ridden weaver out of his melancholy. Joan, 
 too, could not but choose to be in as merry a 
 key as her husband ; and our young physi- 
 cian tturew variety into the series by nar-
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 207 
 
 rating scenes of sorrow and suffering he 
 had had notice of whilst practising the art 
 of healing in England and France. 
 
 Of the stories that formed the entertain- 
 ment of this merry circle, it so chances 
 that the reader cannot, at this present, 
 have a choicer sample of them than can be 
 found in the one here given, which was 
 one night related by the fireside by no less 
 a person than Sir George Carew, and called 
 by him 
 
 THE COURT FOOL. 
 
 In a goodly chamber, well hung with 
 costly arras that was in the palace of Hat- 
 field, there sat a lady of a very commenda- 
 ble aspect, though it wore an expression 
 somewhat serious withal. She was young 
 that is to say, nigh unto five-and-twenty 
 years of age, and looked to be of a fair 
 stature. Her hair, of a light red tint, where- 
 of the greater portion was concealed under 
 a small caul of gold thread, was combed up 
 from the forehead, showing a right delicate 
 complexion, and a brow of a famous thought- 
 fulness. Her dress was a close-vested robe 
 of a sober color, and without ornament, 
 that had nothing noticeable about it, save 
 its extreme simplicity ; indeed, in her whole 
 attiring, seemly though it was, there was 
 evidence of a wonderful modesty in the 
 wearer, and a marvellous freedom from that 
 common vanity of the sex thai delighteth in 
 the wearing of gaudy apparel. She sat in 
 a cushioned arm-chair of carved oak, close 
 upon the hearth, seemingly as if gazing up- 
 on the log that -was burning on the lire-dogs 
 for it was the 17th November holding 
 in her lap what looked to be a missal, or 
 other work of the like kind, used by Catho- 
 lics in their devotions ; and she wore a ro- 
 sary round her neck, to the which there was 
 affixed an ivory cross. This was no other 
 than the Lady Elizabeth, at that time resi- 
 ding in a sort of honorable durance at the 
 royal palace of Hatfield, by command of her 
 sister, Queen Mary, who, out of fear that 
 the Protestants of the kingdom would, in 
 consequence of her highness's persecution 
 of them, rise in rebellion, and drive her from 
 the throne, to place the Lady Elizabeth 
 thereon, did treat her with a monstrous lack 
 of sisterly affection, kept her a prisoner, and 
 sought always to make her disavow any 
 participation in the principles of the Re- 
 formed faith ; of which the end was, that 
 the poor lady did lead a most unhappy life. 
 
 Doubtless was she reflecting upon her 
 distressed condition at that time, and ima- 
 gining of some means whereby she might 
 escape the snares with which her enemies 
 did encompass her all around. Presently 
 
 she pulled from her bodice a letter, which, 
 first taking of a hasty glance around the 
 room to see that she was watched of none, 
 she opened, and quickly began to read. It 
 was to this effect : 
 
 " Count me not a laggard, or one unmind- 
 ful of your interests, I pray you ; for, though 
 1 have not writ to you so long a time, it 
 hath been entirely because of my poor wit 
 not being able to discover such conveyance 
 as would warrant me risking a letter. Me- 
 thinks now I have hit upon such a plan as 
 must be the very safest of all under the cir- 
 cumstances of the case. The bearer hereof 
 is trustworthy, and is pot like to be suspect- 
 ed. You may say to him what your neces- 
 sities require of you, the which he will, with 
 a proper cunning, and with all convenient 
 speed, transmit to me ; and at the next fa- 
 vorable opportunity .count upon having my 
 answer at his hands." 
 
 At the perusal of this passage, the Lady 
 Elizabeth broke off, and looked to be con- 
 sidering of the matter for a minute or so ; 
 anon she read on : 
 
 " To my certain knowledge, you will be 
 placed in great jeopardy, mind you not how 
 you carry yourself. My lord cardinal ap- 
 peareth to be sick of the slaughter that hath 
 been going on among the suffering Protes- 
 tants of this now unhappy country ; but 
 Bonner only getteth to be more sanguinary, 
 the more Christian blood he is allowed to 
 shed. Her highness, as I think, affects the 
 counsels of this recreant bishop, more than 
 she does those of Pole ; and I ofttimes 
 tremble for your safety, for the loss of Ca- 
 lais hath made her. temper most inhuman 
 and bearish. Doubtless the'y will strive for 
 the making a convert of you. Regard not 
 their efforts with too great an indiffer- 
 ence ; rather seek to make them believe 
 that you are ready to be convinced should 
 they afford you proper argument for it. In 
 this way shall you gain time, which is of 
 vital moment, and keep them from all ex- 
 cuse of violent measures. Remember how 
 many look to you for the rescuing of un- 
 happy England from the Philistines, by 
 whom she is oppressed, and be not regard-* 
 less of a life so dear to so vast a multitude. 
 " From your humble, poor servant 
 "At commandment, 
 
 " W. C." 
 
 The lady Elizabeth, after carefully read- 
 ing of this epistle some two or three, times, 
 with a countenance which showed she was 
 pondering on its contents, stood up and drop- 
 ped it into the fire ; then, after watching it 
 till it burned out, and, re-seating of herself, 
 she appeared to bo intent upon perusing tha
 
 208 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 little book she had a while since held in 
 her lap. 
 
 " I prythee hold thy prate !" exclaimed a 
 gentleman of a pleasant cheerful counte- 
 nance, and somewhat worshipful presence, 
 as he entered at the door. He was closely 
 followed by as merry looking an object as 
 eye could desire to gaze on. He wore a 
 parti-colored coat, fastened round the body 
 with a girdle, having a hood to it, partly 
 covering the head, and surmounted with 
 ass's ears ; below his coat he had on close 
 breeches, with hose of different colors on 
 each leg ; and in his hand he carried a short 
 stick, with an inflated bladder at one end, 
 and a carving like unto a fool's head at 
 the other. He came into the room, whirl- 
 ing of his stick, making strange grimaces 
 and ridiculous antics behind the person he 
 followed. 
 
 " I prythee hold thy prate," repeated the 
 gentleman, but not as if in any way out of 
 humor. 
 
 " That will I, master," replied the other, 
 with a famous grave countenance ; "be you 
 so civil as to show me at which end I be to 
 hold it ;" and then he suddenly brake out 
 into singing : 
 
 " My leman and I fell out, perdie ! 
 
 With my hey nonnie, nounie, ! 
 For love will not last every day, 
 And the summer grass soon turns to hay, 
 With my hey nonnie " 
 
 " Hast no better singing than that in a 
 lady's hearing ?" exclaimed his master, 
 turning round upon him rather sharply. 
 
 " Ay, marry have I brave singing, I 
 warrant you, if it please her ladyship to be 
 in a brave humor," answered he; "I have 
 songs of every color in the rainbow, for all 
 the several sorts of fancies ; and some that 
 be parti-colored, for such as God hath bless- 
 ed with an infinite proper disposition after 
 motley." 
 
 " How canst talk of the colors of songs, 
 fool ?" asked the gentleman. " That must 
 needs be out of all reasonable conceit, seeing 
 that songs are made up of sounds that can- 
 not be judged by the eye. " Please you, 
 my lady," added he, as he advanced cour- 
 ' toously to the Lady Elizabeth, who,- undis- 
 turbed by the entrance of her visitors, seem- 
 ed ^tjll to bo perusing of the book she held 
 in her hand, " seeing that your ladyship 
 hath grown exceedingly melancholy of late, 
 I have- taken into my service this varlet, at 
 a friend's recommendation, hoping he may 
 allbrd you such entertainment as may ren- 
 der your way of life somewhat the more 
 agreeable to you, than I am fearful it hath 
 been for this several weeks past." 
 
 " Truly, Sir Thomas Pope, I am much 
 beholden to you," answered the lady, gra- 
 ciously. " It is long since my poor condi- 
 tion hath seemed to be regarded of any in 
 this land ; yet happy am I that, with an un- 
 troubled conscience, I can resign myself to 
 what may come of it. Certes, methinks 
 there must be no offence so great as that of 
 being innocent of all ; nevertheless, it is not 
 in my nature to be altogether indifferent to 
 the many great kindnesses I have received 
 at your hands, the which, weary of my life 
 as I am, I do hope, with God's good help, I- 
 may live to requite." 
 
 " Well, Heaven hath been wonderfully 
 bountiful to me, that be a sure thing !" 
 cried the fool, with a monstrous urgency, 
 as he looked to be examining of some books 
 upon a table in the middle of the chamber. 
 
 " How now, fool !" exclaimed Sir Tho- 
 
 is. 
 
 " A grace of God, lady !" added the other, 
 in the same tone and manner, as he brought 
 a volume in his hand for her to look at. "I 
 pray you say of what this book may be 
 about, and in what tongue it be writ?" 
 
 " It containeth divers select orations of 
 Isocrates," replied she, " written in very 
 choice Greek." 
 
 " And this ?" asked he, taking up another 
 book. 
 
 " That is Sophocles his tragedies, writ in 
 the same tongue." 
 
 " And this, and this ?" continued he, 
 showing a new volume, when the last one 
 had been named. 
 
 " The one is no other than the Holy Evan- 
 gelists ; the other those masterpieces of elo- 
 quence, the orations of Demosthenes ? both, 
 also writ in Greek, and very delectable 
 reading for all scholar-like and Christian 
 people." 
 
 " And. I pray you, tell me what may be 
 these others ?" inquired the fool, pointing 
 to many more that were upon the table. 
 
 " The one nighest unto you is a volume 
 of Titus Livius his histories, in excellent 
 good Latin," answered the Lady Elizabeth, 
 as courteously as if she was holding con- 
 verse with some ripe scholar or person of 
 worship, instead of being so close ques- 
 tioned of an ignorant poor fool, who pos- 
 sessed not so much learning as would mas- 
 ter a horn-book. "That beside it is the 
 very moving and truly admirable story of 
 Amadis de Gaul, writ in French ; and the 
 two that lie further off are the pleasant 
 tales of Boccaccio and Bandello, writ in the 
 Italian tongue ; beside which there are sun- 
 dry right estimable volumes treating of re- 
 ligion, philosophy, and such other grave
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 209 
 
 matters it be necessary for the wise and 
 good to know of ; and these be writ in the 
 same several languages, as well as some 
 that be in English." 
 
 Doubtless, to know all these strange 
 :ongues requireth a wonderful deal of pains- 
 taking and patience ?" asked the other. 
 
 " They cannot be well learned without, 
 nor can any be accounted truly wise that 
 knoweth. them not," replied the lady. 
 
 " Then they that be fools have much to 
 be thankful for !" exclaimed he, very hear- 
 tily. 
 
 " How so, knave ?" exclaimed his mas- 
 ter. " What have fools to be thankful for, 
 more than wiser folk ? that be clean con- 
 trary to common sense." 
 
 " Nay, by your leave, master, I will prove 
 it beyond all denying," replied the other, 
 with an exquisite, solemn, foolish face." 
 
 " Do so, then, and quickly, or I will have 
 thee whipped over thy fool's pate with thine 
 own bauble !" added Sir Thomas. 
 
 " Now, it be on the face of it, no man 
 can be wise without he endure a monstrous 
 deal of trouble to make himself so." 
 
 " Well, varlet !" exclaimed his master. 
 
 " Now, this trouble, I take it, is a thing 
 that they be best off who know least of ; 
 in honest truth, it seemeth to be a very 
 pestilent sort of tiling, and to be eschewed 
 of all men." 
 
 " What then, knave ?" 
 
 " This much, master. Methinks it be 
 no way difficult to prove that a man may 
 become a fool, and know not a jot of trouble 
 in the becoming." 
 
 " I doubt it not," said the other, smiling 
 at the varlet's exceeding gravity. 
 
 " It cometh naturally, as peascods come 
 upon their stalks, or as a calf seeketh its 
 dam by a sort of instinct as it were, or 
 disposition which a man hath to be a fool. 
 Therefore, not being put to the infinite 
 trouble which waiteth upon they that seek 
 to be wise, they that be fools have much to 
 be thankful for !" 
 
 " Truly, a fool's argument !" cried Sir 
 Thomas, laughingly. " Dost not think, my 
 lady, that the knave hath some shrewd- 
 ness ?" asked he, turning to the lady Eliza- 
 beth. 
 
 " Methinks, for a fool, he is well enough," 
 answered the lady, carelessly, as if she took 
 not much interest in the matter. At this 
 the fool began to sing, with great earnest- 
 ness 
 
 "Hush thee poor babe ! cold blows the wind, 
 Thick fails the rain upon the tree ; 
 
 But more regardless more unkind, 
 Hath been thy father's heart to ne !" 
 14 
 
 " If thou canst not sing better matter 
 than that, and be hanged to thee, thou hadst 
 best come to a quick halt in thy singing," 
 exclaimed his master. " Be such miserable 
 cot-quean ballads as that the properest sort 
 of minstrelsy for a lady's bower to say 
 nought of its unfitness for one of a melan- 
 choly humor ?" 
 
 "In good fay, master, I knew not the 
 lady was so disposed," replied the other. 
 Then, turning to the Lady Elizabeth, added, 
 " Art melancholy for lack of a husband, an 
 it please you, my lady ?" 
 
 " By my troth, no, indeed !" answered 
 she, smiling. 
 
 " Such things have been, and much mis- 
 chief come of it," continued the fool, with 
 extreme solemness. " Now, there be 
 two kinds of husbands to wit, your fool 
 husband, and your wise-man husband ; of 
 the which your fool husband is ever in won- 
 derful estimation of all women." 
 
 " He must needs be a fool who would be 
 seeking me on such an errand as marriage," 
 observed the Lady Elizabeth, with a smile. 
 
 " But how shall we distinguish your fool 
 from your wise man ?" asked his master, 
 evidently in a most cheerful humor. 
 
 "Hearken to their wives .'" answered the 
 other, knowingly. " If you hear a wife call 
 her husband ' a brute,' be sure she hath 
 some particular reason for't, there be no 
 gainsaying. He is one of your wise men, 
 out of all doubt, who are ever at their wives' 
 kirtles ; whilst ' the dear good man,' who 
 is so cuddled and praised of his loving part- 
 ner, is, beyond all contradiction, some esti- 
 mable famous fool or another, who heedeth 
 no more his helpmate's goings-on than he 
 does which side of a Shrovetide pancake 
 getteth first into his mouth." 
 
 " O' my life ! Sir Thomas, methinks your 
 fool speaketh but uncivilly of us poor wo- 
 men," exclaimed the lady, yet not in any 
 way ungraciously. 
 
 " Nay, he meaneth no harm, be assured," 
 replied his master. Here the fool, looking 
 pathetically on the head carved on his 
 bauble, burst out a-singing 
 
 " Oh, turn away those orbs of light, 
 
 Else, as the sun, where fires are blazing, 
 Their brighter splendor dim my sight, 
 And I grow blind by rashly gazing." 
 
 " I' faith, that would be a pitiful mishap, 
 indeed !" cried the knight, with a merry 
 chuckle ; " but I like not the humor of thy 
 singing it soundeth as melancholy as a 
 hoarse cuckoo : peradventure, thou wilt now 
 explain thy conceit of having songs of all 
 colors, affirmed by thee as we entered my 
 lady's chamber. Thou hast some exquisite
 
 210 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ridiculous reason for it, I'll be bound," 
 
 " Dear heart ! I have reason enough, 
 and to spare, for any honest man," replied 
 the fool ; " and yet. master, I make no boast 
 of it. Forsooth, there be some who think 
 'tis a marvellous distinction now-a-days to 
 be a fool ; but he who ventures to say I am 
 prouder of it than I ought to be, is a tho- 
 rough slanderer, and a shallow poor knave, 
 who deserveth no better hap than to have 
 his brains beat out with a fool's bladder !" 
 
 " Well, knave ; but to the matter !" ex- 
 claimed Sir Thomas. 
 
 " And was my mother of a very excellent, 
 fine virtue ?" continued the other, with in- 
 creasing earnestness. " Ay, that was she 
 and every one had a wonderful apprecia- 
 tion of her exceeding virtuousness. Indeed, 
 it be well known she was sought after by 
 so many husbands, she never had time to 
 marry one of 'em. 
 
 " That showeth the respect her virtue 
 was held in, of a surety," observed the 
 knight merrily. " But to thy conceit of the 
 colors !" 
 
 " Ay, master, and hugely to her credit ; 
 she brought up a large family and one of 
 'em is a fool," added he, assuming of some 
 dignity. " Nay, it hath been said by divers 
 persons of worship, that you shall rind him 
 to be as pretty a fool as any that live ; but 
 he hath not the presumption to think him- 
 self a greater fool than his betters." 
 
 " To thy reason of the songs, and be 
 hanged to thee !" cried Sir Thomas, catch- 
 ing up the bauble, and hitting the fool two 
 or three sharp thumps over the pate with 
 the bladder, and yet as if he was in a humor 
 of laughing all the time ; whilst the Lady 
 Elizabeth, as was evident, could not forbear 
 smiling 
 
 " Ntiy, master," exclaimed the fool, duck- 
 ing his head here and there to avoid the 
 blows, " if you kill me, I doubt you will 
 have it a bit the quicker. I will about it 
 o' the instant, please you to stay your 
 thumping !' : 
 
 " O' my word, I will send thee to the 
 grooms to be well cudgelled of them, hear I 
 any more of such prating," said his. master, 
 desisting from his exertions. 
 
 " I pray you do not," cried the other, with 
 much seriousness. " Believe me, cudgel- 
 ling hath not agreed with me at any time. I 
 never took it kindly. But concerning of 
 the songs I will speak." 
 
 Thou hadst best," observed the knight. 
 
 " There be songs of divers colors, out of 
 all doubt," continued the fool. " In the 
 first place, there is your sad-colored song, 
 which be no other than a ballad that wear- 
 
 eth a perpetual suit of mourning. It al- 
 ways cometh close upon the heels of a tra- 
 gedy, or other doleful occasion, and is as 
 apt at a funeral as an undertaker. Now 
 those that do most affect your sad-colored 
 song are, perchance, a maid who hath lost 
 her lover, or any other small matter there 
 be no likelihood of her recovering a thief 
 that hath his neck being fitted with a rope's- 
 end and a debtor that findeth himself with- 
 in four stone walls, and no chance of get- 
 ting out. And thus sing they." There- 
 upon, in an infinite melancholy voice, and 
 with a very pathetic countenance, he sung 
 these lines : 
 
 " Oh, woe is me ! oh, Doleful strait ! 
 
 Now mine is sorrow's piercing thorn ; 
 Oh, luckless hour ! oh, cruel fate ! 
 
 Alack that ever I was born !" 
 
 " In honest truth, there can be no doubt- 
 ing of what color such a song should be," 
 observed Sir Thomas. 
 
 " But my troth, it be a very sad color, in- 
 deed," added the Lady Elizabeth, in a like 
 humor. 
 
 " An it please you, my lady, so it is," 
 said the fool. " Now your flame-colored 
 song is of a clean contrary sort. It be full 
 of heat. It burns, as it were. In fact, ity 
 complexion be much the same as though it 
 were taken out of the fire, red-hot ; and I 
 doubt not, were it well hammered on a 
 blacksmith's anvil, there would be sparks 
 fly from it presently. The matter of this 
 song be ever of love ; therefore, it s no 
 marvel that it is in wonderful great request 
 of all your young, your middle-aged ; ay, 
 and your old oft affect it in no small mea- 
 sure after such a fashion as this." Then, 
 putting his hand to his heart, he, with a 
 look of famous affectionateness, commenced 
 the singing of these words : 
 
 " As burning coal, 
 
 I find my soul 
 
 Doth glow with Love's divine desires : 
 But in the blaze 
 Thine image plays, 
 A phcenix rising from its fires !" 
 
 " Methinks the singing of such a song 
 should save coal and candle all the winter," 
 remarked the knight. 
 
 " F faith, the flame of it seemeth so appa- 
 rent, I marvel it burn not the house over 
 our heads !" cried the lady, with a manner 
 as though quite forgetting of her melan- 
 choly. 
 
 " Certes, if the timbers be dry enough, 
 lady, such should be the case," observed 
 the fool, very seriously. " Of other songs,
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 211 
 
 >*hat shall easily be known by their colors, 
 there is your watchet-colored song, which 
 cometh also of a lover's fantasy. In it you 
 may expect to find all the flowers of speech 
 culled to form a posy of compliments. Then 
 cometh your yellow song, which hath ever 
 a very jaundiced look with it, and is in huge 
 request with your outrageous, combustious 
 jealous pates, and thorough-going cuckoldy 
 knavfts. After this, there is your green 
 song, which shall be known by its conceit 
 of vegetation, as 
 
 
 
 " 0, the green willow ! 
 I'll have for my pillow ;" 
 
 or, with a like wofulness 
 
 " The green, green grass shall form, my bed, 
 
 Alack and well-a-day, O ! 
 And the cold, cold stone shall hold my head, 
 Whilst worms on me shall prey, O !" 
 
 These be such pitiful ballads as are chosen 
 of those who ofttimes take to an ugly fash- 
 ion of tying their garters higher than need 
 be ; or, like new-hatched ducklings, rush 
 to the nighest pond as their properest place. 
 Then, look to encounter your orange-tawny 
 song, an exceeding brave-hearted ditty 
 free as air with an amorous countenance, 
 well embrowned with tropical sunshine. 
 Close upon which cometh your nut-brown 
 song, which is sure to smack of a tankard, 
 and is like to be in more estimation of a tap- 
 ster, than the whole Book of Psalms. They 
 do say it giveth more provocation to drink 
 than a pickled herring ; therefore, will I 
 not essay the singing of it, an it please you, 
 master, else shall it chance to make me dry, 
 aaJ a dry fool cannot help being as sorry a 
 commodity as heart could desire." 
 
 " Gad a mercy, fellow, thou sayest true !" 
 exclaimed Sir Thomas, evidently amused, 
 as seemed the Lady Elizabeth also, with 
 the famous droll seriousness with which the 
 fool spoke the last sentence, as he appeared 
 intent upon the examination of his fingers. 
 " But here is a groat for thee, and, if that 
 will not stay thy drought, get thee to the 
 buttery, and say I sent thee for a drink of 
 good ale." 
 
 As the fool was making his acknowledg- 
 ments for his largess, which he did in very 
 prodigal fashion, there entered a groom of 
 the chambers, announcing the arrival of 
 some person who would have instant speech 
 with Sir Thomas Pope on a matter of ex- 
 treme urgency, whereupon Sir Thomas 
 bade the fool stay where- he was awhile, 
 and, with a courteous speech to the lady, 
 hoping the varlet might afford her some en- 
 tertainment, he presently took his leave. . 
 
 No sooner was he out of the chamber, and 
 the fool left alone with the lady, than th 
 former, on a sudden dropping of his appear' 
 ance f foolishness, seemed listening to the 
 retreating footsteps with a countenance of 
 intense interest ; then went he and opened 
 the door and looked out, and after that kept 
 spying about the arras hangings very curi- 
 ously, the lady all the while regarding him 
 with a wonderful earnestness. In a few 
 minutes he approached his companion, in a 
 manner marvellous respectful, and, going 
 close up, said, in a low voice, " I pray you, 
 my lady, tell me, have you read Sir Wil- 
 liam Cecil's letter ? the which, though it 
 hath been in my hands ten days, could I 
 find no opportunity for its safe deliverance 
 till noonday yesterday, when, as Sir Tho- 
 mas was in close converse with the priest 
 in the park, I slipped it in the posy of dan- 
 delions and daisies, and such poor weeds I 
 was then gathering, and gave unto you." 
 
 " In truth, yes," said the lady, still re- 
 garding him closely, and speaking in an 
 under-tone ; " I have read it, but I marvel 
 greatly Sir William Cecil should show such 
 an infinite lack of discretion as to make 
 choice of such a messenger. That busi- 
 ness must needs come to a foolish ending 
 that hath a fool to meddle with, it." 
 
 " I beseech you, my lady, take me not 
 for what I have appeared,' 5 replied the 
 other, earnestly. '"This is nothing but a 
 device put on for the better carrying on of 
 our purposes, and watching over your safe- 
 ty. Think not that my worthy and approved 
 friend, Sir William, would have set me on 
 such service, had he not first looked narrow- 
 ly into my fitness. I hope to prove myself 
 your assured good servant and poor bonds- 
 man ; hinder you not my service. It is an 
 excellent fine plot, my lady ; and I doubt 
 not to carry it on with such singular cun- 
 ning, that you shall reap by it much benefit, 
 and with God's good help be rescued from 
 your present troubles." 
 
 " I would your hope could be accom- 
 plished," replied the Lady Elizabeth ; " but, 
 I pray you, tell me to whom I am indebted 
 for such ready zeal in my behalf." 
 
 " My name is Thomas Challoner," an- 
 swered he ; "a poor gentleman of some 
 small credit with his fellows, and not alto- 
 gether deficient of that experience at least 
 so it hath been thought necessary to one 
 who is ambitious of devoting his life in the 
 cause of the very fairest and most excellent 
 princess in Christendom." 
 
 " I heartily thank you, Master Challoner," 
 said his companion, very graciously ; " I 
 would it were in my power to recompensa
 
 212 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 you as your great pains-taking, and ready- 
 thrusting yourself into danger for my sake, 
 merit ; but, assure yourself, I will ever hold 
 in my heart a grateful remembrance of 
 
 four infinite goodness towards me, and that 
 live in the extreme hope of one day or 
 other making you such poor amends as my 
 ability may allow." 
 
 " Talk not of it, I pray you, my lady," 
 exclaimed Master Challoner, respectfully. 
 " Believe me, the honor I find in what I 
 have undertook exceedeth all that the proud- 
 est monarch could bestow ; but rather, if it 
 so please you, for the time is precious, give 
 me some answer to the letter of Sir Wil- 
 liam Cecil." 
 
 " Tell him, then, from me, worthy sir, I 
 have done all that he would have me do, ere 
 his letter came into my hands," replied the 
 Lady Elizabeth. "This same meddlesome 
 and violent priest, Master Dr. Crosier, whom 
 I suspect Bonner hath sent here to worry 
 me into my grave, hath essayed all the hot- 
 test zeal and furious bigotry could do for my 
 conversion ; he hath persecuted me night 
 and morn with the horri blest threatenings 
 and terriblest denunciations, giving me rea- 
 son to believe that her Highness is thirsting 
 for my blopd, and that nought could ensure 
 my safety but the complete renunciation of 
 my Protestant errors, and the declaring of 
 myself a member of hrs infallible church : 
 whereupon, weary of his persecutions, and, 
 in truth, almost weary of my life, and, scarce 
 knowing which way to turn in my extre- 
 mity, I heard mass, and confessed to him, 
 and in all things outwardly appeared as he 
 would have me, though in heart, as God is 
 my judge, I am as true a Protestant as ever 
 lived." 
 
 Master Challoner listened to this avowal 
 with a countenance of much anxiousness, 
 but at its ending brightening up somewhat, 
 he added 
 
 " Methinks 'tis well it is no worse. I 
 grieve from my heart that your sufferings 
 should have been so great; but, knowing 
 the nature of those who have greatest influ- 
 ence in your fate, I know they are in a 
 manner natural, and to be expected. I be- 
 seech you, my lady, think me not over-bold 
 if I offer to advise you in this strait, for I 
 know better than yourself the many dangers 
 that encompass you. From what I have 
 lately learned from a creditable source, I 
 believe this to be the criticallest time of all 
 your life ; and therefore I pray you, in com- 
 pany with all your assured friends, take 
 good heed of what you do; appear what 
 you like, but pledge yourself to nothing; 
 etir not your tyrants against you, if you 1 
 
 can help it ; but sign no papers tliat shall 
 bind you to be their servitor in aftertimes ; 
 delay, and keep delaying, should they press 
 you upon any such matters, for you shall 
 find such policy of the very utmost conse- 
 quence to your present safety and future 
 welfare." 
 
 Whilst this conversation was proceeding, 
 three persons had been in a secret debate in 
 another chamber of the palace. One seem- 
 ed to have rode hard and fast upon a jour- 
 ney, for he sat wiping of his face with a 
 napltin, though he talked earnestly all the 
 while ; beside which, the rowels of his 
 spurs were of a sanguine tinge, showing 
 he had spared not his horse as he came ; 
 and his apparel was so covered with dirt 
 and dust, that it was hard to tell of what 
 color or material it might be. He was 
 stoutly built, and his features had some- 
 whaf of a stern and unpleasant cast with 
 them. Close upon him stood one of a spare 
 body, tall, with a sharp, thin face, of a 
 dark complexion, beetling eyebrows, hooked 
 nose, and thick bushy black beard, dressed 
 in the habit of an ecclesiastic, who seemed to 
 be listening to the other with so severe an 
 earnestness, it was evident that the matter 
 they talked of was of huge importance ; ajid 
 occasionally he would interrupt the speaker 
 with questions, to which the other gave an- 
 swers that appeared only the more to in- 
 crease the number of such inquiries. Op- 
 posite to him, leaning against a table, on 
 which was a hat, whip, and gloves, as if 
 carelessly thrown there, stood the more 
 courtly figure of Sir Thomas Pope, with a 
 countenance full of anxiety and interest, as 
 he listened or took part in the discourse. 
 
 " Then there must be no time lost," ob- 
 served the ecclesiastic, as the other came to 
 a pause in his speech. " Hast got the pa- 
 pers that honorable and truly Christian pre- 
 late, my lord bishop, gave you, worthy sir ?" 
 
 " Here are they, safe enough, I warrant 
 you, master doctor," replied the other, pro- 
 ducing some papers from his vest. 
 
 " Then come you with me, Sir Thomas ; 
 we will to her on the instant !" added he, 
 who had been styled doctor, as he took the 
 papers into his own hands. 
 
 " I trust you will use no violence, Dr. 
 Crosier," said Sir Thomas Pope, as the 
 other two seemed about to leave him. 
 " This is an affair of great peril, nor am I 
 sure Bishop Bonner hath proper warrant 
 for setting you .upon it." 
 
 "It is for her soul's comfort, and the 
 good of the true church !" exclaimed the 
 ecclesiastic, regarding Sir Thomas with 
 some severity. " Methinks that be proper
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 213 
 
 warrant enough ; and I marvel that any of 
 our holy faith should say aught against it 
 I charge you, as you value your soul's wel- 
 fare, see that none enter at these gates till 
 we return to this chamber. This is God's 
 own work we are about, and I doubt not to 
 make it the greatest victory ever achieved 
 over the accursed heresy that plagues this 
 unhappy land." 
 
 At hearing this, Sir Thomas reverently 
 bowed his head, though in his countenance 
 it was evident he was exceeding anxious 
 for the issue ; and then Dr. Crosier and his 
 companion, all dusty as he was, took them- 
 selves out of the chamber. As they walked 
 along, they conversed with each other in 
 Latin ; and so intent were they on what 
 they were saying, that they noticed not one 
 close upon their footsteps. 
 
 " How now, fool ?" cried Dr. Crosier 
 sharply, as he all at once discovered he was 
 followed. 
 
 " Forsooth, and may it please your rever- 
 ence," said Master Challoner, in as foolish 
 a manner as was ever seen, " I have heard 
 it said that the ways of holy men were in 
 the paths of righteousness, and wishing to 
 get as nigh heaven as a fool can, I thought 
 it good to bring my toes and your rever- 
 ence's heels in as close acquaintance as pos- 
 sible, that I might be all the more sure of 
 the right path." 
 
 " Begone, fellow, or your bones shall ache 
 for it !" exclaimed master doctor. 
 
 " Nay, O' my life, I will tread on your 
 heels as little as may be !" added the as- 
 sumed fool, very movingly. 
 
 " Get you not gone this instant, I will see 
 you have such a cudgelling, as you shall 
 bear in remembrance to your life's end." 
 
 At this the other began to whimper, and, 
 rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, turned 
 himself round, and proceeded slowly the way 
 he came. 
 
 " Thinkest thou, he heard aught of our 
 speech ?" inquired he who was styled Sir 
 Topas, as they continued their walk and 
 their discourse. 
 
 "It matters not," replied Dr. Crosier; 
 * he is a very fool, without learning of any 
 kind.'' 
 
 Soon afterwards they arrived at that part 
 of the palace where the lady Elizabeth had 
 ner lodging, and. gaining admittance to her 
 chamber, found her seated in a recess, 
 where the window looked out upon the park 
 and grounds, as if seriously intent upon the 
 perusal of the same little volume of prayers 
 she had in hand a while since. 
 
 " Glad am I to find you so well disposed," ! 
 said Dr. Crosier, after some civil greeting j 
 
 betwixt him and the lady. " Doubtless your 
 ladyship findeth excellent comfort from the 
 contemplation of such true piety and mar- 
 vellous fine wisdom as may be found in 
 those homilies." 
 
 " Indeed, I do find in them exceeding com- 
 fort !" answered the lady Elizabeth. 
 
 " Surely, you had no such satisfaction 
 from aught appertaining to that pestilent 
 heresy in which you had the ill-hap to get 
 instructed ?" inquired the divine. 
 
 " Methinks, no," responded his apparent 
 convert. 
 
 "Believe me, there can be no -compari- 
 son," added Dr. Crosier ; " and I doubt not, 
 ere long, you shall receive such delight 
 seek you with all your heart arid soul to be 
 a good Catholic as, before, you have had 
 no knowledge." 
 
 " I humbly trust I may become so deserv- 
 ing," answered the lady. 
 
 Thus went they on for some time, he 
 with great persuasiveness assuring her of 
 the wonderful content she must find in the 
 doctrines of what he styled the only church 
 in which rested the saving of souls ; and 
 she, with a wonderful resignation, seeming 
 to assent to everything, yet pledging herself 
 to nought. 
 
 " Methinks, now, I cannot doubt of your 
 conversion," said this ecclesiastic at last ; 
 " witli the which I am the more pleased, as 
 her Highness, at my report of your complete 
 casting away the wretched schism with 
 which you had been affected, hath sent one 
 of her chaplains, my estimable and very 
 learned friend here, Sir Topas Fletcher, to 
 see that you have truly done what I have 
 reported." 
 
 " Truly, honorable lady," exclaimed his 
 companion, now addressing the lady Eliza- 
 beth for the first time, " what Dr. Crosier 
 hath stated is not a whit from the truth." 
 
 " And moreover, he hath brought from 
 her Highness," continued master doctor, 
 producing and opening a paper, " a written 
 recantation of your errors, which, it is ex- 
 pected, you will sign without any demur or 
 delay." 
 
 The lady Elizabeth, without expressing 
 any objection, took the paper into her hand, 
 and read it carefully, the two priests regard- 
 ing her all the whilst with a severe scrutiny. 
 She discovered that it contained not only a 
 solemn declaration of her true and steadfast 
 participation of the doctrines of the Church 
 of Rome, but promised, on the event of her 
 attaining the English crown, to do her ut- 
 most to extirpate here?y out of the land ; 
 and in case of any remissness on her part 
 in such godly and laudable endeavors, re-
 
 214 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 nounoed all natural right and claim to the 
 throne, now and for ever after." 
 
 " There is matter in this that requireth 
 deep consideration," observed she, assuming 
 an indifference she felt not at all. 
 
 " And moreover," continued master doc- 
 tor, producing another paper, " her High- 
 ness hath sent here a warrant for your com- 
 mittal to the Tower, in case you hesitate in 
 the immediate signing of what is required 
 of you." 
 
 The lady Elizabeth then examined the 
 second paper, and finding it to be a warrant, 
 as had been stated, for her imprisonment, 
 and that it bore Queen Mary's signature, 
 her heart was smote with a sudden fear, for 
 she knew full well, went she to the Tower, 
 her enemies would grant her no peace till 
 they had taken her life. It was well re- 
 membered of'her, at that moment, that she 
 had been advised to seek, by every means 
 she could, to gain time if pressed on any 
 such matter ; but the hapless lady felt a pre- 
 sentiment that, in such an extremity, all 
 such endeavor would be fruitless. 
 
 " I pray you lose no time, if it please you, 
 my lady," here observed master chaplain, 
 with some eagerness ; " for I promised her 
 Highness I would not stay an hour at Hat- 
 lield, without your signature, or yourself in 
 my custody." 
 
 " Here is pen and ink ready at hand," 
 paid the other, as he brought them from the 
 table where the books were. 
 
 " Surely there be no need of such ex- 
 treme haste," remarked the lady Elizabeth. 
 " There yet remain many matters of doc- 
 trine of the which I have no certain knowl- 
 edge ; and my conscience will not allow me 
 to attest my conviction of the truth of that 
 I am ignorant." 
 
 " I doubt not you are a sufficient Cath- 
 olic for the purpose required of you," an- 
 swered Dr. Crosier ; " and, as there can be 
 no delaying now, her Highness's orders are 
 so strict, I promise you, on your dismissing 
 master chaplain with the necessary docu- 
 ment, without more words said, I will mike 
 it my business to give you daily instruction 
 in every minutest point of faith professed by 
 all true Catholics, till you shall be as learn- 
 ed in them as is my Lord of London him- 
 self." 
 
 " But grant me some preparation;" ex- 
 claimed she, as one held out the pen for her, 
 while the other unfolded the paper. " Sure- 
 ly, on a matter so vital, I may have time 
 afforded for proper reflection ?" 
 
 ' Nay, it cannot be," said Sir Topas. " I 
 myself heard her Highness say, the signing 
 of such a declaration would be a test of 
 
 your sincerity and affectionateness towards 
 her." 
 
 "The which, if you made any to do 
 about," added master doctor, " her Highness 
 would judge your late behavior as hypocrit- 
 ical, and put on the better to hide some 
 treasonable practices you are privately en- 
 gaged in, of which she hath constant intel- 
 ligence ; and, moreover, I heajd her High- 
 ness affirm," continued the chaplain with 
 increasing earnestness, " should you attempt 
 to evade the signing of that paper, no pun- 
 ishment should be severe enough for you ; 
 for it was plain, whatever appearance you 
 put on, you were in heart a plotter of trea- 
 son, a black heretic and a false woman." 
 
 In vain the poor lady tried all sorts of 
 excuses, and brought forward all manner of 
 pretexts for delay. She wished first to 
 write to her Highness; she would rather 
 defer the signing fora week, till to-morrow 
 at noon : in vain she prayed to be left alone 
 for a single hour the two priests were in- 
 flexible; it was more than their lives were 
 worth to allow of any such thing. Her 
 Highness was imperative, and the signing 
 must be without the delay of a single mo- 
 ment. Bewildered, and in great perplexity 
 of mind, seeing no help for it, and fearful 
 of the consequences if she refused what 
 was required, the Lady Elizabeth was about 
 to take the pen in her hand, when she spied 
 a company of horsemen riding post-haste 
 towards the palace, which, the other two 
 seeing, they regarded each other with some 
 uneasiness, and their brows grew black of 
 a sudden. 
 
 " I can tarry here no longer !" cried thf 
 chaplain, with more severity than he had 
 yet used. " Hither come the escort to con- 
 vey you to the Tower." 
 
 " Surely never was woman so much her 
 own enemy before 1" exclaimed master doc- 
 tor, with an exceeding stern aspect. " You 
 are hurrying your head to the block." 
 
 " I pray you pardon me, but I like not be- 
 ing in such monstrous speed," observed the 
 Lady Elizabeth, at last taking the pen into 
 her hand. At this the two ecclesiastics 
 looked with a sort of smile. " At least I 
 will again peruse what is here writ, that 1 
 may not be in ignorance of what I am 
 signing," added she. 
 
 " Nay, by the mass, but once reading 
 must serve your turn this time !" exclaimed 
 Sir Topas, somewhat rudely. 
 
 " O' my word, lady, this is but trifling 
 with us !" cried Dr. Crosier, in a like un- 
 civil manner. 
 
 " By your leave, worthy master doctor, I 
 must needs re-peruse this paper e r e I sign,"
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 215 
 
 answered the lady ; and despite all they i 
 could say or do, she not only commenced | 
 reading of it slowly, sentence by sentence ., 
 but made remarks on such passages as [ 
 seemed to demand observation ; wherein 
 she was constantly interrupted by the im- 
 patience of her companions, who, at last, 
 got to be so desperate to have her do their 
 bidding without further hindrance or loss of 
 time, that they lost all respect in their be- 
 havior, and they looked to have more of the 
 restless eagerness of lunatics than the so- 
 briety of doctors of the church. Neverthe- 
 less, she dipped not her pen in the ink till 
 she had come to the end of the paper. At 
 this moment there was a loud outcry heard, 
 mingled with a great knocking. 
 
 " What noise is that ?" asked she, eager- 
 ly, doubtless glad to avail herself of any- 
 thing that gave her a delay, was it of a 
 single moment. Her two companions ap- 
 peared more alarmed than she at these 
 souncV? ; for their hands trembled as the one 
 held the paper and the other the ink. 
 
 " The noise matters not !" cried master 
 
 doctor, vehemently. "Sign the paper on 
 
 the instant, or be adjudged a confirmed and 
 
 obstinate heretic, accursed in the sight of 
 
 ' God and man !" 
 
 . " Nay, but so huge an uproar putteth me 
 in some fear of my life," added the lady, 
 with more urgency as the noise increased. 
 " Mayhap there is mischief in it for one or 
 all of us the house is on fire, or there be 
 thieves broke in ? Indeed, I know not what 
 great evil it may not be the herald of." 
 
 " Pish v !" exclaimed master chaplain. 
 " 'Tis nought but the escort, impatient of 
 being kept *so long awaiting. Sign or, 
 without more ado, I must oft' with you to the 
 Tower." 
 
 " Indeed, it be but uncivil of them to be 
 so soon impatient," cried she again ; " for, 
 methinks, they have scarce had time to get 
 to the palace gates." At this moment the 
 noise was heard more distinctly as if it was 
 approaching nearer, and seemed to be the 
 hurraing of many voices. 
 
 " All's lost !" exclaimed master doctor, 
 furiously dashing down the ink-horn, and 
 hurrying himself out of the chamber ; and, 
 at the same moment, master chaplain 
 snatched away the papers, and disappeared 
 with the like celerity : but, just as the lady 
 Elizabeth had got wefl quit of them, a com- 
 pany of stately gentlemen entered her cham- 
 ber by another door, followed by a multitude 
 of meatier sort, and, with every demonstra- 
 tion of respect, the foremost of them all did 
 kneel before her on one knee. 
 
 "What meaneth this, Sir William Ce- 
 
 cil ?" exclaimed a lady, in exceeding as- 
 tonishment, to him.* 
 
 " It meaneth, an it please you, my gra- 
 cious mistress," replied he, with much rev- 
 erence, " that your troubles are at an end. 
 Your sister hath been overtaken by the hand 
 of death, and by all the proper authorities 
 your Highness, without opposition or let of 
 any kind, hath been proclaimed Queen of 
 these realms." 
 
 "God save Queen Elizabeth!" eagerly 
 exclaimed the assumed fool, throwing his 
 cap and bells, with a monstrous zeal, far 
 above his head ; and every one of that as- 
 sembly thereupon, with the same heartiness, 
 joined in the cry. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 The sixth age shifts 
 
 Into THE LEAN AND SLIPPERED PANTALOON, 
 
 ******* 
 
 His youthful hose well saved; and his big 
 
 manly voice, 
 Turning again towards childish treble, 
 
 pipes 
 And whistles in the sound. 
 
 SHAKSP.EARE. 
 
 Despiteful Flora ! Is't not enough of grief, 
 That Cynthia's robbed, but tliou must grace 
 
 the thief? 
 Or didst thou hear Night's sovereign queen 
 
 complain, 
 
 Hymen had stolen a nymph out of her train, 
 And matched her here, plighted henceforth 
 
 to be 
 
 Love's friend, and stranger to virginity. 
 And mak'st thou sport for this J 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 THERE was a cloud resting upon the 
 honored roof-tree of New Place a cloud 
 that cast its shadows over all Stratford, and 
 even over many a fair dwelling far beyond ; 
 for the master-spirit, who was the pride and 
 glory of all that admirable neighborhood, 
 had for a long period been so nigh unto 
 death's door, that it had more than once 
 been feared he had crossed the gloomy 
 threshold. 
 
 Master Doctor Hall, with no less, craft of 
 love than of medicine, had held a desperate 
 conflict with his malady, day after day, and 
 week after week, assailing it in so many 
 divers .ways, as though his resources were 
 out of all number ; and whenever it seemed 
 to be getting the mastery, bringing forth 
 some new sort of artillery, and some secret 
 stratagem of physic, that made his enemy 
 fain to give up what ground of vantage he
 
 316 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 had gained. The skill of other physicians 
 had been required so ill looked the case ; 
 but they so approved what he had done, and 
 were so favorably impressed with his mar- 
 vellous knowledge of all that related to their 
 art, that one and all decided the patient 
 could not be in better hands, and thereupon 
 left him to his entire care. 
 
 Of a surety, he could not have been bet- 
 ter provided for. The young physician 
 acted as though he had in his power not only 
 the existence of an individual, but the fame 
 of a nation ; nay, the very glory and boast 
 of humankind. Another could not have had 
 that stake in his preservation he had ; he 
 must have experienced the common effects 
 of prolonged watchfulness, over-anxiety, 
 absence of necessary rest and food, and con- 
 tinual strain upon the mind when taxing 
 all its powers upon an issue that looked to 
 tremble upon a hair ; but he who presided 
 over that sick chamber appeared to claim 
 immunity from the pains and penalties fol- 
 lowing a deviation from natural habits he 
 lost all sense of self moved, breathed, lived, 
 only in the contest he was carrying on. He 
 watched every symptom, considered every 
 remedy, traced every effect to its cause, 
 brought the experience of the sages of his 
 craft to act in alliance with the result of his 
 own observations, and maintained what 
 seemed a hopeless struggle, inch by inch 
 in sooth, not giving up so much as a hair's 
 breadth till the conviction forced itself upon 
 him that it might be recovered at a future 
 time. 
 
 Though amiable and gentle as a woman, 
 it was marvellous to note how entirely he put 
 on the despot, when his patient's safety 
 seemed to demand it of him. He would 
 have no intrusion into the sick-room not 
 even from the best and dearest of his friends 
 shutting his heart as closely against the 
 pleadings of the fond Susanna, save when 
 the occasion better warranted her appear- 
 ance there, as against the arguments of the 
 faithful Simon, who tried many a master- 
 stroke of policy in vain to plant himself with- 
 in its hallowed walls. He would have help 
 from none at such times, save only from an 
 ancient dame he had hired as a nurse, 
 who.se watchfulness, devotion, and freedom 
 from weariness, thirst, or hunger, rivalled 
 his own. She was truly a most venerable 
 object. Her form looked much too feeble 
 for the proper fulfilment of the labor she 
 had uiulortaken ; but the strange brilliancy 
 of her eyes gave evidence of a vigorous 
 spirit, such as the most youthful frame rare- 
 ly pOLise.-ws. By such attendants was the 
 sick man, during the critical time his disor- 
 
 der maintained th< ascendant, nursed and 
 tended ; and in this period, his loving 
 friends were fain to content themselves with 
 such intelligence of his condition as they 
 could by chance obtain from them, or from 
 some in the house, who were enabled, at_ 
 rare intervals, to hold with them a brief 
 communication. 
 
 Every where throughout the neighbor- 
 hood the inquiry was, " How fareth Master 
 Shakspeare ? " and one and all were as in- 
 terested in him as though he was of their 
 flesh and blood. In some, the knowledge 
 of his danger wrought strange effects. 
 Tommy Hart and his merry bedfellow not 
 only lost that ready pleasantry which had 
 made them a proverb throughout Stratford, 
 but wore there features in so sad a fashion, 
 their most familiar gossips hardly knew 
 them. Young Quiney and his wife had 
 taken up their abode at New Place, and it 
 was no small difficulty to say which was the 
 most disconsolate of the two. Both Judith 
 and Susanna were however fain to repress 
 their own sorrows whilst endeavoring to 
 comfort their mother, whose grief touched 
 all hearts. 
 
 Sir George Carew came frequently to 
 Stratford, as though with a view to console 
 the family to whom he was so greatly at- 
 tached, but it was easy to see he needed con- 
 solation as much as any. The strangest 
 effects were observable in Jonas Tietape, 
 who grew as serious as a Puritan, when he 
 first heard that Master Shakspeare kept his 
 chamber ; but when it was bruited he was 
 houily expected to give up the ghost, he shut 
 himself up in his cottage, allowing none to 
 have sight or speech of him, and, as it was 
 verily believed, took no heed of himself 
 whatever. 
 
 But in all conditions, age or sex. the 
 same spirit prevailed for the patient had 
 won all hearts ; the poor by his charities 
 the rich by his excellences children by his 
 graciousness women by his courtesies, and 
 men of every sort by his interest in their 
 pursuits and apparent knowledge of every 
 thing that related to them ; and there waa 
 scarcely a minute of the day in which some 
 fervent prayer was not put up to the thresh- 
 old of the Most High, for his restoration to 
 health, and to the society of his so numerous 
 lovers. 
 
 These prayers were* heard, and answered. 
 As soon as it became known, as it shortly 
 did, that a change for the better had taken 
 place in the object of their constant good 
 wishes, then was there a change for the bet- 
 ter in the aspect of the whole town. Tom- 
 my Hart took his helpmate by the hand, and
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 217 
 
 repaired to the now melancholy-looking ! istered to his recovery, was the general de- 
 habitation of their good gossip, the woman's j sire to assist in some way or other in mak- 
 tailor, where they made such an outcry, j ing it as speedy as possible. With this 
 shouting the good news, that presently the | feeling, all sorts of things were daily sent 
 door was thrown open, and out bounded the I that might tempt his palate, or strengthen 
 Rejoicing Jonas with a summerset that j his frame, and Simon and Launce had a 
 pitched his friend on his back in the middle sufficiency of work in taking in the delicate 
 
 - chickens and dainty capons, and exquisite 
 sweetbreads, and scores of other tempting 
 'things that daily came to the door with the 
 kindest inquiries and heartiest best wishes of 
 tkeir several donors. 
 
 Now, Launce, of all things, Iqved to hear 
 himself talk, and, of all subjects, loved most 
 to talk of himself, and rarely did he fail, 
 when he thought he could secure a listener, 
 of endeavoring to impress upon him a due 
 sense of all the terrible dangers he had been 
 in, and of the wonderful courage with 
 which he had borne himself when sailing 
 with that valiant commander Captain Harry 
 Daring in the Spanish Main. Had he spok- 
 en so bravely in Golden Lane, he would 
 have been soon silenced ; but Tabitha 
 Thatchpole's apprentice and Master Shak- 
 speare's man were exceeding different per- 
 sonages, and, therefore, he fancied he might 
 readily become a hero at Stratford. 
 
 This, however, he found more difficult 
 than he had calculated on, and Bragging 
 Launce became as familiar in that good 
 town, as Ragged Launce had been there in 
 times past, or as Lazy Launce had been in 
 his well-remembered attic in Golden Lane. 
 It was only when he could get hold of some 
 credulous good soul, too simple to doubt, 
 that lie was ever listened to with any sort of 
 patience or respect, and among the bearers 
 of the different gifts that came to his mas- 
 ter's dwelling he found many such. 
 
 It was rare to see with what skill he led 
 the inquirer after the health of Master 
 Shakspeare, with a little loss of time as 
 might be, right to the deck of the good ship, 
 " The Little Wolf," and this having attain- 
 ed,' how rapidly he led her into the terri- 
 blest battles, mutinies, storms, and ship- 
 wrecks, in all of which he made himself 
 out, if not exactly the captain of the ship, 
 at least, a person to whom the command 
 
 of the road, which he not attending to, flew 
 down the street, to the huge astonishment 
 of his honest neighbors, whirling round 
 and round, now on his hands and now on 
 his feet, after the old fashion, followed by a 
 pack of little dogs in full chase, evidently, 
 by their frisking and barking, as well pleased 
 as their master. 
 
 Dr. Hall had won a famous victory over 
 Death : and it was soon seen h ^w deadly 
 had been the struggle betwee^ diem. Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare was reduced to a very skele- 
 ton. The commanding figure that had so 
 well filled the justice-chair could not be re- 
 cognised in the wasted form that leant on the 
 arm of his physician as he shuffled across 
 the chamber. His voice also had under- 
 gone a like alteration, it having become fee- 
 ble and shrill as that of a man at a great 
 age. The change struck the sick man as 
 powerfully as it had others, but a gleam of 
 his customary facetious grace broke from 
 him at the time. 
 
 " O' my life, doctor," said he, pointing to 
 his hose, that were now much too large, 
 they being in bags, as it were, from his 
 knees to his slippers, "if I might have rfiy 
 will, I would fain leave the world better 
 supported than I am in this sorry plight." 
 
 " Thou shall have thy will, dear heart !" 
 exclaimed a familiar voice near him. The 
 sick man turned round, but saw only his old 
 nurse making a posset for him. He seemed 
 to marvel a little, but in a moment con- 
 tinued to jest on his condition, as he proceed- 
 ed in his walk. 
 
 " Methinks Death has spared me," con- 
 tinued he ; " because he began to be asham- 
 ed of taking such poor prey, so, out of pity, 
 and, doubtless, not without some contempt, 
 he allows me to find rest for my bones on 
 the earth, instead of under it. F faith, he 
 hath left me much to thank his worship for : 
 
 item, a voice as pleasant to hear as the tun- 1 might have been given with great advan- 
 ing of a viol-de-gamba ; item, a pair of I tage to all concerned. But, enough of this 
 
 ' braggart. Nevertheless, a little more will 
 
 sticks by way of legs ; two of a like pattern 
 for arms ; item, a quantity of ribs might 
 make pegs to hang caps on at small cost ; 
 and item, a skull that needs no polishing to 
 grace an anchorite's cell for the nonce." 
 This pitiful state of things, however, 
 
 finish his history. His big words imposed 
 upon Peg of the Twiggen Bottle, who 
 overlooked his mean estate, in favor of his 
 being a hero a character she much affect- 
 ed but on the wedding-night he showed 
 
 gradually disappeared, to the huge conten- ; himself such a craven to one of her former 
 tation of his friends, under careful nursing. ! lovers who was present, and made a butt of 
 Among the most powerful agents that min- \ him, that she drubbed him in the bridal chain-
 
 218 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 oer so that he did not feel himself comfort- 
 able for a week after. 
 
 All this time the sick man was mending 
 rapidly, so that he received visitors as usu- 
 al, and the chimney-nook in the hall was 
 again the comfortable resting-place of the 
 favored few, who were wont to assemble 
 there ; and the jest and the tale went round 
 as briskly as of old. Sometimes an ac- 
 quaintance or two would join the circle 
 with news of what strange things were do- 
 ing in London or elsewhere, and often was 
 there much to marvel at, often much to la- 
 ment, and almost as frequently much to 
 doubt. 
 
 The news least liked and most talked of 
 was the mysterious death of that darling of 
 the nation, Prince Henry. Various were 
 the rumors afloat concerning the cause of 
 this sudden and fatal sickness ; some talk- 
 ed confidently of poison ; and the bolder 
 sort plainly alluded to the king as having 
 been jealous of the general favor in which 
 his admirable young son was held by the 
 people ; and, if not instigating, certainly 
 having a guilty knowledge of the deed. But 
 these horrible surmises were not canvassed 
 at New Place. Master Shakspeare was 
 deeply moved at learning of so truly nation- 
 al a loss. He knew it to be a loss never to 
 be repaired. 
 
 He had news also of more than one 
 friend, for whom he cherished the liveliest 
 remembrances. There were divers his good 
 gossips and fellows at the globe, of whom 
 and from whom lie had occasional intelli- 
 gence. Of worthy Master Allen, too, 
 still the most thriving of players, and the 
 most honest of men, where among his bears, 
 or his nobler animals, he had especial ad- 
 vices. And a like sort of familiar know- 
 lego he had of the city came to him from 
 the court, where he was well pleased to 
 hear his much-loved scholar, the Earl of 
 Pembroke, was rapidly advancing into fa- 
 vor. Bat there was one to whom his best 
 i'eelings clung with the like fixedness the 
 devotee regards the emblem of his faith, and 
 never did a thought rise in that direction 
 that was not made yokefellow with a bless- 
 ing. Need it be said that this was the no- 
 ble lady, from whom he had separated him- 
 self so completely as it seemed yet with 
 whom, while he lived, he would be joined 
 in no common bonds. 
 
 It was while gradually recovering his 
 health that he became aware of the attach- 
 ment existing betwixt his admirable young 
 physician and his most estimable gentle 
 daughter. At this he was especially pleas- 
 ed. There was no man living he should 
 
 so soon have wished for a son. He felt he 
 owed him no trifling amount of obligation, 
 in the first place for the excessive devotion 
 he had shown for him during more than 
 one critical period of his life ; and in the 
 next his high talents in art and his thorough 
 amiableness of disposition pointed him out 
 as likely to make happy his excellent Su- 
 sanna. He was rarely pleased that they 
 should bave come to so good an understand- 
 ing albeit he more than once found him- 
 self comparing in some astonishment the 
 stately creature that had no long time be- 
 fore received so complacently the adulation 
 of the gayest and noblest of the gayest 
 court in Europe, with the quiet blushing 
 maid fixing her heart and mind upon the 
 thoughtful aspect and unassuming bearing 
 of the young physician. 
 
 All this time these two were enjoying a 
 species of happiness peculiarly their own. 
 It looked as though the deep trouble they 
 had endured had given them a keener rel- 
 ish for the exquisite rare pleasure that 
 seemed in store for them. Quiet, grave 
 and unimpassioned, as both had appeared, 
 they entered into the condition of lovers 
 with a depth and intensity of feeling less 
 experienced hearts could have no know- 
 ledge of. Each seemed to have dispersed 
 from around the other the cloud which 
 had thrown into blackest shadow all 
 the fairest hopes and dreams of life. And, 
 with a delicate sympathy in the other's past 
 sufferings, each strove to show a brimming 
 measure of that felicity they had previously 
 looked for in vain. 
 
 Whilst his patient demanded his utmost 
 vigilance, Dr. Hall would be nothing but 
 the attentive physician ; but, when it be- 
 came evident he might be left to the care of 
 others, he put on the devoted lover with no 
 less singleness of purpose. Many were the 
 pleasant walks he and his fair mistress had 
 through the shady lanes, or the fields of 
 waving corn, and long and earnest the dis- 
 course which then and there passed betwixt 
 them. Now came the reign of arms inter- 
 linked, clasped hands, and waists encircled, 
 low-breathed aspirations, blushing replies, 
 an over-brimming joyousness in the present, 
 and daintily conceited plans for the future. 
 For our young physician tin's period 
 brought a harvest of sweet thoughts, of 
 such abundance withal, he who reaped it 
 could scarce conceal his astonishment at 
 its excess. It looked as though the goodly 
 qualities of the soil, during the time their 
 development had been checked, had been 
 accumulating, and now thrust themselves 
 forth in produce of the rarest excellence
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 219 
 
 and the most marvellous abundance. His 
 mind, purified in the furnace in which it 
 had been cast, seemed peculianly sensitive 
 to all the subduing impressions of the affec- 
 tions. It was no longer the feverish 
 dreams of youth, prematurely created by the 
 villanous artifices of a scheming adventu- 
 ress ; it was the natural operation of the 
 most admirable grace, and the most perfect 
 excellence, on a nature peculiarly disposed 
 to cultivate their exquisite influence. It 
 was an intelligent mind strongly reflected 
 upon by mind of a like sagacity, and one 
 heart operating upon another, the feelings 
 whereof were of the same ennobling nature. 
 
 When he considered his good fortune in 
 attaching to himself a creature so excel- 
 lently gifted, the miseries of former years 
 faded as a snow-flake in the sunbeam. Un- 
 der her fair sovereignty, he felt raised to 
 the proudest estimation ; his reserve did not 
 entirely leave him ; he was still grave, re- 
 flective, and retiring but this was consti- 
 tutional. There were times however when, 
 led along by the stirring spirit of her covet- 
 able society, he seemed to break down all 
 the restraints of habit, *nd his voice became 
 animated by the eloquence of his own 
 thoughts ; he spoke, looked, and moved, as 
 a being gifted with all the finer properties 
 of manhood manhood in its worth, its 
 grace, its nobleness, and its purity. 
 
 And our gentle Susanna, was she not 
 moved by a similar agency? Did not the 
 bread of her kindly heart she had cast up- 
 on the waters, return to her after many 
 days ? Did not her mind, so long thrust in- 
 to shadow, beam out as a cynosure in the 
 deep night, making her fair neighborhood 
 an atmosphere of light and beauty ? To 
 this no more need be said than that she 
 was absolutely and perfectly happy ; happy 
 in her own thoughts, and in the thoughts of 
 those nearest and dearest to her ; happy in 
 her choice, happy in her hopes, happy in 
 her dreams, happy in the present, and ex- 
 quisitely happy in the future. Day after 
 day passed by, and, the more intimately 
 she became acquainted with the virtues of 
 the man whose finer qualities she had per- 
 ceived and done justice to in her earliest 
 acquaintance with him, the more did she 
 congratulate herself on finding, whatever 
 storm might come, she had so famous an 
 anchor to trust to. 
 
 Thus this estimable pair, in the days of 
 their honeyed courtship, seemed to live in 
 and for each other ; their rambles became 
 longer, their attachment to each other's so- 
 ciety more intense. Their senses seemed 
 to become m )re exquisitely alive to the at- 
 
 tractions of external nature. The flowers, 
 the sunshine, the shady lane, the green re- 
 treat, the intelligent aspect of the mute 
 stars, and the murmuring music of the gen- 
 tle river, were to them features of a land- 
 scape of such ravishing beauty, that its on- 
 ly type could have been found in that un- 
 rivalled landscape in which the first lovers 
 experienced a happiness direct from Hea- 
 ven. 
 
 It shortly became publicly known that 
 they were betrothed in sooth, some who 
 pretended to be better informed than their 
 neighbors, went so far as to say they 
 knew the very day they were to be mar- 
 ried ; but it was every where understood 
 that, in a short time, there would be a fam- 
 ous wedding, and they were so well liked 
 'that no allusion was ever made to the 
 match without its being followed by a bless- 
 ing. In honest truth, the approaching 
 event was so universally known, and the 
 persons so intimately connected -with it so 
 greatly respected, that did any of their well- 
 wishers get sight of the happy pair in one 
 of their rambles, he would make a circuit 
 so as to avoid disturbing their privacy. 
 
 The ceremony so much talked of awaited 
 only the complete recovery of Master 
 Shakspeare ; but he seemed in no hurry to 
 bring it about. For this there were 
 divers reasons first, he saw that they 
 were happy, and much of his happiness de- 
 pending on seeing theirs, he was desirous 
 this golden state of things should continue 
 as long as possible. Next, he liked not 
 parting with them; they had become, 
 through the influence of their own virtues, 
 the chief objects of his regard, and he could 
 not readily bring himself to loose either. 
 The .matter was ultimately settled to the 
 satisfaction of all parties, they agreeing to 
 remain under his roof as long as might be 
 agreeable to him. 
 
 He frequently held long and interesting 
 consultations witli his fast friend, Sir 
 George Carew, who took a warm interest 
 in their expected nuptials ; and there could 
 be no manner of doubt he intended perform- 
 ing some liberal act of kindness ; doing 
 something for his fair favorite on this par- 
 ticular occasion. 
 
 There was one person, however, who re- 
 garded the approaching union with ill-con- 
 cealed ill feeling this was no other than 
 Sir Hugh Clopton, by this time transformed 
 
 ; into a court-gallant of the first pretensions. 
 
 i Possibly the praise of the gentle Susanna. 
 
 I sc frequently heard from his guardian, Sir 
 George Carew, influenced him but little 
 possibly the interest shown by all the com-
 
 220 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 munity ?n her happiness he regarded with 
 a like indifferency ; but he liked not that 
 some one should come and bear away from 
 him what he seemed to think could easily 
 Irave 'been his own. He held long and se- 
 rious debates with himself as to the line of 
 conduct he should pursue, and ultimately 
 he came to the wise determination of hon- 
 oring the subject of his thoughts with a 
 visit. 
 
 Taking marvellous pains that every ar- 
 ticle of his toilet should be impressed into 
 his service in some such a manner as to 
 assist in producing the desired impression, 
 and, after carefully examining the result, 
 and, satisfying himself that there could be 
 no doubt of his perfect success in the ex- 
 periment he was about to make, he ordered 
 his horse, and took the road from Clopton 
 to Stratford. When he arrived at New 
 Place, Susanna was in attendance upon 
 her father in his chamber. She did not 
 hear the name of Sir Hugh Clopton with- 
 out some emotion ; but it passed away as 
 rapidly as it went, and the expression by 
 which it was followed was of a much less 
 pleasant character. 
 
 " Speed thee, wench!" cHed her father 
 merrily, " Sir Hugh asketh for thee. 
 Doubtless he is come to offer his congratu- 
 lations, like a courteous gentleman. Hie 
 thee to the blue-room, then, at once, and 
 prythee use him in thy most gracious fash- 
 ion." 
 
 Susanna made a most gracious reply in 
 the same spirit as she tripped out of the 
 chamber, but she was far from being indif- 
 ferent as she seemed. She would have 
 avoided the interview, had it been possible, 
 without creating comment, but she nerved 
 herself with a woman's proudest spirit to 
 appear in it as became her father's daugh- 
 ter. On her entrance, she found the young 
 knight, examining, with much intentness, 
 as it seemed, the pattern of the siege of j 
 Troy on the arras albeit, he was giving 
 entire thoughts to the consideration of 
 what lie should say, and how he should 
 say the business he had come upon. 
 
 " God save you, Sir Hugh !" exclaimed 
 tho damsel courteously. " My father bids 
 me express his acknowledgments for the 
 honor you have done him in visiting his 
 poor dwelling. He trusts all are well at 
 Clopton." 
 
 There was a dignity as well as an indif- 
 ferency in this speech that was far from 
 setting the young knight at his ease. He 
 replied in the best courtier fashion, tou^h- 
 ing his profound respect for Master Shak- 
 gpearo, and gave his assurance that at 
 
 Clopton every one had the good fortune to 
 be in excellent health. Hereupon he en- 
 deavored to get a point towards his errand, 
 bt he was "stopped by an earnest inquiry 
 of his kinsfolk. .Having informed his com- 
 panion that Sir George Carevv and his es- 
 timable lady were gone to Kenilworth, he 
 once more strove to bring the discourse to- 
 wards himself and his intentions ; but, at 
 his firsj step, he was interrupted by a string 
 of questions as to divers persons and scenes 
 in and about the neighborhood of the 
 family mansion ; and, as soon as these 
 were replied to, there came a long cate- 
 chism respecting his ancestors, their char- 
 acter and monuments. Thus it continued 
 for a period much beyond what was given 
 to a visit of compliment. 
 
 Sir Hugh Clopton was getting more and 
 more discomposed. He was wondrously 
 anxious to address himself at once to the 
 object he had in hand, but he knew not how 
 to commence such a business. He felt a 
 strange awkwardness in the first step, 
 which seemed to throw a terrible stumbling- 
 block in his way; and, when he called to 
 mind how studiously of late she had avoid- 
 ed him, and that, when thrown in his com- 
 pany, with what ceremonious respect she 
 had behaved herself towards him, his chance 
 of a favorable hearing appeared to become 
 more desperate every minute. The fair 
 Susanna all this while looked as though 
 she had met this monstrous fine gentleman 
 for the first time, to whom she accorded 
 the graceful courtesy of a gentlewoman, 
 out of respect for his excellent \v r orthy kins- 
 man, her sworn servant,* Sir George Carew. 
 
 " Perchance, you are off to some hunting 
 party or another ?" said she, at last, " and I 
 am, out of all doubt, much to blame for 
 keeping you from such delectable sport; so 
 I will at once take my leave of you, thank- 
 ing you, in the name of my most dear father, 
 for your courteous visit." 
 
 " Nay, I pray you, Mistress Susanna, 
 leave me not in this way !" exclaimed the 
 young knight., the fine gentleman evidently 
 breaking down under a pressure of natural 
 feelings. " I have much to say to you ! I 
 have much to implore of you ! In an evil 
 hour ' 
 
 " Ah ! I had nearly forgotten," said she, 
 suddenly stopping in the slight advance she 
 had made towards the door. Her aspect 
 became a slight degree more serious, yet 
 there was no sign in it of anger or triumph. 
 " I have also something that ought to be. 
 said. It cannot but be known to you, Sir 
 Hugh, that it is my estimable fathers plea 
 sure I should be married next St. George's
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 221 
 
 day to a worthy gentleman, his {riend, one 
 Master Doctor Hall ; a physician of much 
 skill in his art, and of as honorable a nature 
 as man ever possessed. I trust, Sir Hugh, 
 you will do us the honor to grace that occa- 
 sion with your company. Among your 
 well-wishers, Sir Hugh, ever count on my- 
 self as belonging to the sincerest. Be as- 
 sured that I entertain a firm hope that you 
 will speedily cast aside as weeds that ill-be- 
 come a soil of much natural goodness, the 
 follies of a thoughtless youth ; and if I could 
 see you divested of every such unworthi- 
 ness, securing yourself the respect which 
 hath ever been so intimately attached to 
 your honorafele name, and united with some 
 noble lady who would do credit to your 
 judgment, believe me, Sir Hugh, it would 
 be such infinite satisfaction to me as my 
 poor \vords cannot express. Fare you well, 
 Sir Hugh, and much happiness attend you !" 
 
 Methinks it need hardly be said that, by 
 ?uch a speech so delivered, " the monstrous 
 t'ne gentleman" was completely silenced: 
 und before he could recover from the stun- 
 ning blow, that gentle and graceful rebuke 
 gave to his vanity, he found his fair compa- 
 nion had left the chamber. He was not 
 long in doing the same, but as he rode back 
 to Glopton he thought over every word of 
 those golden sentences he had just heard, 
 and in so proper a mood, that from that time 
 forth he became so swayed by their spirit as 
 to cast from him all discreditable tendencies 
 and foolish humors, and take upon himself 
 the nobler characteristics of an honorable 
 gentleman. 
 
 Now that it had become well known 
 throughout Stratford and its neighborhood, 
 Mistress Susanna Shakspeare was to be 
 married at such a date to that famous phy- 
 sician. Master Doctor Hall, there was a 
 wonderful deal of rejoicing in all quarters. 
 Of all places in the world, be sure the mat- 
 ter was-properly discussed in Tommy Hart's 
 kitchen in sooth, there had been divers 
 consultations on this particular subject, in 
 which, besides Tommy and his helpmate, 
 Jonas Tietape and young Quiney labored 
 with exceeding earnestness. 
 
 They sometimes obtained the assistance 
 of Simon Stockfish, who seemed as though 
 capable of speaking on no other points than 
 the nobleness of the master he now possess- 
 ed, and the worthiness of the one he had 
 once served. It used, however, to take him 
 a monstrous time to make up his mind to 
 place himself \v here so many questions were 
 sure to be put to him ; but having satisfied 
 himself that it would be politic not to answer 
 correctly more than one in ten, he occasion- 
 
 ] ally made his appearance in the hatter's 
 chimney-corner. 
 
 Concerning the marriage, they were all 
 agreed that it was what was most to be de- 
 sired ; for both the young physician and his 
 fair mistress were such especial favorites, 
 that nothing could seem so appropriate as 
 their union ; but this auspicious event they 
 seemed called upon to distinguish in some 
 remarkable manner, and they considered 
 long and earnestly amongst themselves how 
 this was to be done. 
 
 When Jonas Tietape could be drawn 
 from his vagaries, he was forced to give in 
 his opinion to th9 common stock, which he 
 did after his fashion, whereupon much de- 
 bating followed, of which the object was to 
 mark the day appointed for the wedding 
 with appropriate revels. Every pleasant 
 pastime was learnedly discussed, and the 
 best ways of having them with due effect 
 set forth in the goodliest manner possible. 
 
 As the appointed day approached the 
 ever-honored^first of May so closely, it was 
 at last decided that May Games should be 
 performed with all due solemnity unusual 
 care being taken that every character there- 
 in should find the very fittest representative 
 besides which, provision should be made 
 for minstrelsy ; the resources of the town 
 consisting only of one bagpipe, a blind 
 harper, and a lame fiddler, it was resolved 
 that the neighboring villages and towns 
 should be called upon to assist with whate- 
 ver of a musical sort they had at their com- 
 mandment. As the decisions of this coun- 
 cil, though not expressed with so much dig- 
 nity as those of the High Bailiff and his co- 
 adjutors, were scarcely less influential, 
 there could be no fear that the eventful day 
 would pass by unnoticed. 
 
 Scarce had the sun rose on the memora- 
 ble morning of the twenty-third of April, 
 when the bells began a merry peal, which 
 called up all who were not getting them- 
 selves ready to play their part in the day's 
 revels. In every part of merry Stratford * 
 and well did it deserve that name there 
 was rare bustling about, and running hither 
 and thither, and such a prodigality of jests 
 expended as might have sufficed the small 
 wits of the court from then till doomsday ; 
 and yet .have had abundance to spare. 
 
 The first commencement of the day's 
 sports was seen in the bringing in of the 
 tall tree that had been cut down for a May- 
 pole, and the setting it up in a fair, open 
 space, where its fine colors and finer gar- 
 lands and streamers could be seen to some 
 advantage. Rare was the display of rib- 
 bons and other finery in the youths and
 
 222 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 maidens who assisted in the dance round the 
 lofty maypole, that followed its first plant- 
 ing, but their universal mirth and well-dis- 
 posedness made them still more attractive. 
 
 It was while this pleasant sport was going 
 on in full force, that those whom it most 
 concerned were preparing for the grand 
 proceedings of the day. With no slight sa- 
 tisfaction they hailed the arrival of the hour 
 that \vas to realise their most cherished 
 wishes. In especial, the feelings of Master 
 Shakspeare were of the most intense grati- 
 fication. He had long studied the character 
 of his young friend, and had perceived in 
 him, under his manifold coverings of shy- 
 ness and reserve, a nature replete with ho- 
 norable feelings, virtuous resolves, and 
 manly sentiments. He saw it was scarce 
 possible for him to find any man to whom 
 he could confide his excellent Susanna, with 
 so perfect a confidence in her future happi- 
 ness. Nothing delighted him so much as 
 the evidences he had met with of their at- 
 tachment to each other, and so great was 
 his content in their marriage, that it is not 
 going too far to affirm that on this particu- 
 lar morning he was infinitely the most plea- 
 sant-humored of the three. Though it could 
 scarcely be said he had recovered his wonted 
 strength and appearance, he was sufficient- 
 ly full of health and spirits to enjoy himself 
 as absolutely as man could on so choice an 
 occasion. 
 
 As for the happy lovers, sedate though 
 they looked, and, as some thought, more 
 grave than such a time warranted, they had 
 us full hearts as they could well have, and 
 minds brimming with the same overflowing 
 measure. In brief, they were as absolutely 
 happy a poor humanity hath any chance 
 to be. Perhaps they had the more enjoy- 
 ment from having known feelings of so 
 very opposite a sort. They took their places 
 in the procession, and performed their parts 
 in the ceremony, that joined their destinies 
 together indissolubly, with a total abandon- 
 ment of all things whatsoever but their own 
 infinite contentatioo. 
 
 They became spectators of the pleasant 
 labors of their numerous friends, to do honor 
 to the day graced by an event so welcome 
 to them, with senses too much engrossed by 
 their own happiness to be as mindful of them 
 as they deserved. But this was unobserved 
 by the principal actors therein, who were in 
 such famous good humor with their efforts, 
 they seemed as though celebrating their 
 own particular happiness, rather than the 
 happiness of the two young persons who 
 could hardly be regarded as belonging to 
 their circle. 
 
 On this memorable day it was well said 
 of many that never had Jonas Tietape made 
 so worshipful a dragon ; nor Tommy Hart 
 rode so capering a hobby horse ; never 
 had young Quiney played so right reverend 
 a Friar Tuck ; nor the young miller ap- 
 peared to such rare advantage as Robin 
 Hood ; nor was there ever so choice a mor- 
 rice ; in brief, it was well said of the wiser 
 sort, that there had not been in the remem- 
 brance of any Stratford man a day of such 
 entire pleasantness as that which had been 
 appointed for the marriage of Master Doctor 
 Hall and Mistress Susanna Shakspeare. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXm. 
 
 That blast that nipped thy youth will ruin 
 
 thee; 
 That hand that shook the branch will quickly 
 
 strike the tree. 
 
 QUAJILES. 
 
 Egyptians, dare ye think your highest pyra- 
 mids, 
 
 Built to out-dare the sun, as you suppose, 
 Where your unworthy kings lie raked in ashe?, 
 Are monuments fit ibr him ? No, brood of 
 
 Mylus, 
 
 Nothing can cover his high fame but Heaven, 
 No pyramids set off his memories, 
 But the eternal substance of his greatness, 
 To which I leave him. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 ;t NAT, as I live ! By all that's rare, 'tis 
 Ben himself!" exclaimed Master Shaks- 
 peare, with as huge astonishment as plea- 
 sure, as about a year after the events men- 
 tioned in the last chapter, Simon Stockfish 
 ushered into his book-room one on whom 
 he had exerted much exquisite policy, in 
 vain, to discover who the stout, bluff, free- 
 spoken stranger was, or what his business. 
 
 ' I' faith, if it be not the great Ben him- 
 self," replied the other joyously, " 'tis so 
 fine a copy, it may pass for the original 
 among the best judges." 
 
 The stranger was no other than Benja- 
 min Jonson, of whom the understanding 
 reader hath already some acquaintance. He 
 was looking more like a hearty yeoman 
 than a London playwright, having under his 
 belt a waist of no ordinary breadth ; but the 
 excess of revenue necessary for its subsis- 
 tence seemed to have kept the outer cover- 
 ings of his person of less richness than he 
 might have aimed at. 
 
 He had had a long journey, out of all doubt, 
 and possibly he had clad himself more 
 roughly than was usual with him ; but in
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 223 
 
 whatever fashion he was clad, he received 
 a most warm and absolute welcome. He 
 was soon made to feel himself at home ; a 
 state of feeling by the way, in which he 
 could enter with even much less encourage- 
 ment than he now received. His friend 
 played , the host towards him with equal 
 kindness and courtesy, partly because, put- 
 ting some faults out of sight, he liked his 
 society and admired his talents, and in a 
 great measure because his arrival seemed 
 to promise news of many of his friends of 
 whom he had been a considerable time with- 
 out intelligence. 
 
 A substantial meal, the principal feature 
 of which was a goodly sirloin, was placed 
 before him on the very whitest napery, 
 flanked with a richly chased silver tankard 
 containing excellent Canary. Ben care- 
 fully tucked a napkin within his falling 
 bands, and began an attack on the viands 
 with all the vigor of an old campaigner. 
 Master Shakspeare sat at a little distance 
 from him. in no small measure pleased at the 
 evident enjoyment his friend took in his 
 labor ; occasionally rising to place at his 
 commandment something he thought would 
 add to his satisfaction, or laughing at the 
 jests in which his guest indulged, with a 
 heartiness that shewed how completely he 
 understood and appreciated their humor, 
 and when an occasion served, relating one 
 from his own prodigal resources that so di- 
 verted the hungry traveller, that he was 
 nigh being choked -in the excess of his 
 mirth. 
 
 The satisfaction of these two old friends 
 in meeting after so long a separation was 
 of the very heartiest sort. Anecdotes fol- 
 lowed on the heels of each other ; and jest 
 succaeded jest with a prodigality that was 
 truly marvellous. Some remark on a play 
 would bring forth an account of some 
 player, that both had known and then 
 came a goodly history of all the ups and 
 downs, the whims and vagaries, the strange 
 sayings, the odd ways, the singular ideas, 
 the wild adventures of divers of their ac- 
 quaintance, connected in some way or other 
 with the stage. In a little while, the men- 
 tion of something done at court would pro- 
 duce a whole chapter of amusing gossip, 
 respecting the different personages therein 
 to be found. It was as good as a gallery, 
 they were so hit off to the very life ; for if 
 one was at a loss for any part of the picture, 
 it was sure to be happily finished from the 
 experience of the other. 
 
 " And so Raleigh is still a prisoner,' ' ob- 
 served Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " More shame to those who made him 
 
 I one !'' was the indignant reply. " 'Sdeath ! 
 my blood boils, when I think of this noble 
 gentleman, cooped up in stone walls to gra- 
 
 ' tify the mean revenge of that poor Scotch 
 
 animal, who hates this noble gentleman for 
 ' towering so high above him. Nevertheless 
 
 as I can fully testify, he keepeth up his 
 
 great spirjt. 1 managed to get admission 
 
 to him in the Tower, and there I paid him 
 
 j a visit, which I shall not very readily forget. 
 
 Never saw I a man so truly a philosopher, 
 
 ! or one while possessed of such a high Ro- 
 
 1 man soul, with such store of learning at his 
 
 I commandment, as was only owned by the 
 
 most famous worthies of Greece." 
 
 " You saw him then ; how fareth he in 
 this imprisonment ?" 
 
 " Only so far the worse, as the blade left 
 to rust in the scabbard. There was with 
 him -a marvellous deep and learned man, 
 my Lord of Northumberland, with whom he 
 pursueth all manner of strange studies in 
 I chemistry ; my assured friend, Master Ser- 
 ' geant Hoskj^s, an excellent, poet, Thomas 
 ! Hariot, an estimable philosopher, and acer- 
 i tain parson, Master Doctor Burrell, a most 
 1 ripe scholar ; and amongst these, I had such 
 | discousse, as 1 could have found, methinks, 
 in no other place in the whole world. Such 
 , famous speeches, worthy to be called ora- 
 | tions ; such profound knowledge ; such 
 deep and comprehensive learning; such 
 marvellous wisdom, it hath never been my 
 lot to listen to. We had, as well as the 
 Greek and Roman, fragments of Hebrew 
 sages, and snatches of the lore of Arabian 
 poets and philosophers, that made the wis- 
 dom of the western world appear as very* 
 foolishness." 
 
 " Of a truth, I envy you that visit me- 
 thinks 'twas as rare a treat as man could 
 i wish for." 
 
 " Ay, was it, Will. But there was one 
 bitter reflection that robbed it of the better 
 I part of its sweetness. Who could think 
 | unmovedj of such choice spirits made to be 
 partakers of a dungeon, who should have 
 had the first place of honor nearest the 
 throne, whilst such honorable places were 
 filled by the vilest scum and dregs of hu- 
 manity, who would have but disgraced the 
 ; prison they deserved ?" 
 
 " A lamentable truth ! But, think yon 
 
 not Sir Walter will be given his freedom ?" 
 
 " Never ! His fame as a hero galls one 
 
 who is a noted coward ; his reputation as a 
 
 scholar hurts his vanity who hath scarcely 
 
 the knowledge of a pedagogue ; and his 
 worth, as a man, confounds him who, even 
 in bis vices, is ever grovelling and contemp- 
 
 . tible. What sympathy can a feeble, vaiu-
 
 224 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 glorious, mud-witted, besotted wretch have 
 for one who is at once gallant, high-spirited, 
 learned, and virtuous ? The sympathy of 
 the wolf for the deer of the mouse for the 
 lion of the owl for the linnet. I tell thee, 
 Will, he hates the noble Raleigh, and will 
 not rest till he has his blood which he will 
 at la?t take, on some frivolous pretence that 
 will damn him to all posterity." 
 
 " Raleigh hath lost a powerful friend in 
 Prince ilenry had he lived much longer, 
 J think he would have got Sir Walter his 
 liberty." 
 
 " At least, he would have tried but, now 
 that sweet youth is dead, Raleigh hath lost 
 his only safeguard against the murder 
 which hath been so long meditated. But 
 it is useless lamenting," added Ben Jonson, 
 as he raised a full cup of wine to his lips. 
 " We are powerless to serve him ; but we 
 can have at least the comfort of drinking 
 confusion to his enemies, which I now do 
 with all my heart more especially refer- 
 ring to one who is a hypoc^te in religion, 
 a pretender to learning, a bad husband, a 
 vile father, a false friend, a dishonor to his 
 lineage, and a disgrace to his country." 
 
 Thereupon Ben quaffed off his glass with 
 the satisfaction of one convinced he hath 
 done virtuously. If thus indignant of the 
 undeserved treatment of so great and good 
 a man as Sir Walter Raleigh, how would 
 he have expressed himself, a few years later, 
 when that noble gentleman, after venturing 
 with great risk to his newly-discovered 
 country of Guiana, in hope of satisfying the 
 cupidity of his royal jailor, who hankered 
 after a gold mine there existing, on his re- 
 turn was infamously brought to the block 
 and made the victim to his cowardice ! 
 
 "But I will tell you a stranger matter," 
 said Ben, replenishing his empty platter. 
 " Ned Allen hath grown as serious as an 
 undertaker's dog. His talk is of nothing 
 but building hospitals, or colleges for de- 
 cayed folk. He is determined to set up for 
 a. Samaritan, and will take care there shall 
 be plenty of oil and wine provided for such 
 wayfarers as may chance to fall among 
 thieves and get spoiled. None can doubt 
 his heart to be of the best, but his speech 
 hath become the strangest medley spoken 
 by human tongue. If he talk of the Fathers, 
 you would be rarely puzzled with the bear- 
 garden eulogium directed towards them 
 instead of St. Chrysostom, you will hear 
 him speak of St. Bruno./ Polycarp will 
 have to give way to Ponto and Taurus 
 will take the place of Thomas Aquinas." 
 
 " This is a new humor," said Master 
 
 marked myself a singular confusion in hig 
 speech : but then it has been between the 
 heroes of his bear-garden and those of his 
 playhouse." 
 
 " I'faith, Will, such confusion is none so 
 extraordinary on an occasion," added the 
 other, with a sly humor working in his 
 eyes. " I have known as many well-played 
 brutes as brutal players, ere now." 
 
 " Prythee tell me what fortune you have 
 had of late with your excellent writings." 
 
 " Fortune, the jade!" exclaimed he, in a 
 more serious tone " She go hang ! She 
 hath been a damnable stepdame to me as 
 ever worthy heart was plagued withal. 
 Could it ever be believed that one who hath 
 writ the best comedies, all' as well flavored 
 with the true attic salt as Aristophanes had 
 writ them in his best days, is forced aside 
 to make room for some unlearned ass, who 
 hath no more art than wit 1 There is my 
 ' Volpone,' now : with no ill-judged pride 
 did I dedicate such a masterpiece to the 
 two learned universities. I will swear it 
 is a very phoenix among plays that its 
 like hath not been seen in England, nor 
 never will. Yet I know of a sort of fellows, 
 with scarce brains enough to hatch a bal- 
 lad, who have thrust their crude inventions 
 before it, and, by means of some tickling 
 sauce for the palate of the vulgar, have got 
 them to be preferred. Let them lick their 
 chaps over this savory garbage, say I. If 
 they can stomach such trash, I would have 
 them feed till they burst. They are not n't 
 to have the choice fare I set before them. It 
 is the nature of such hogs to wallow in the 
 refuse and filth a better taste would scorn." 
 
 Ben was intent on displaying his weak 
 point ; but his friend, who knew how much 
 of worth there was in him, despite his over- 
 appreciation of himself and his contemptu- 
 ous regard of the pretensions of others, tried 
 to change the conversation. This, however, 
 was no such easy matter, and he found 
 himself obliged to listen to much disparaging 
 remarks on many writers he knew and hon- 
 ored. At last, the meal having been finish- 
 ed and the flask emptied, the last draught 
 drew him into a passing commendation of 
 the wine : thereupon his host availed him- 
 self of this, and they were presently in ear- 
 nest discourse of the wines of the ancients, 
 on which subject Ben poured forth a flood 
 of learning as inspiring as his theme. 
 
 Whilst Simon Stockfish cleared away the 
 things and brought a fresh supply of the 
 wine Ben had so commended, Master 
 Shakspeare informed his visitor he had 
 come at a rare time, for to-morrow waa ' 
 
 Shakspeare, laughing heartily. " I have ' the customary day of the Stratford revels.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 225 
 
 Ben Jonson seemed much taken with this, 
 and vowed he had never been in such good 
 fortune as to have hit upon so excellent a 
 time for his visit. He promised he would 
 play no ignoble part amongst the revellers. 
 At this his friend made known to him what 
 strange characters were some he was like- 
 ly to meet ; and he found such entertain- 
 ment in the description he heard of Jonas 
 Tietape, Young Quiney, and Tommy Hart, 
 that, at his earnest request, they were sent 
 for to afford him present amusement. They 
 caniQ and, of a surety, they made a night 
 of it. 
 
 Ben shook his fat sides most lustily at 
 the humors of the woman's tailor, a^d the 
 sport afforded that night made the walls of 
 New Place resound again. Their host took 
 an occasion to leave them when their mirth 
 was getting furious, but he found it a diffi- ' 
 cult matter to get to sleep for the shouting 
 of ridiculous catches and roaring songs j 
 they chose to indulge in. This sort of up- 
 roar wonderfully disturbed the sense of pro- 
 priety of Simon Stockfish ; and, learning 
 his master had gone to bed, he cudgelled 
 his brains, with small profit, to hit upon some 
 rare stroke of policy by means of which he 
 might be rid of it presently. This he knew 
 could only be done by the dispersion of 
 ^.hose who were the busiest peace-breakers, 
 and he found he had a difficult task to effect 
 this with perfect security to himself and 
 credit to his master two points of equal 
 importance with him. 
 
 Little did these choice spirits imagine, 
 whilst so absolutely giving themselves up 
 to jollity, what throes they were causing 
 the grave serving-man, whose lack of 
 speech afforded a copious source of speech 
 in them. Ben Jonson had got them to re- 
 hearse before him certain speeches they j 
 svere to deliver in a magnificent play, styled , 
 the Siege of Troy, made by the schoolmas- 
 ter, destined to be the chief attraction in the 
 Stratford revels of the morrow. He was 
 leaning back in his chair, hardly able to 
 see out of his eyes, his mirth did so puff up ' 
 his cheeks, with his arm resting on the table, ! 
 on which stood lights, cups, tankards, and ; 
 curious shaped bottles, and the other lying [ 
 across the arm of his chair with an empty ' 
 glass in his hand. His three associates 
 stood in choice attitudes in the open space 
 before him and the wall ; and, as Jonas 
 Tietape was representing Hector, armed 
 with a pot-lid by way of shield, and a spit | 
 for spear ; Tommy Hart Agamemnon, with 
 a besom handle ; and Young Quiney 
 Achilles, with a rolling-pineach with bare 
 arms, spouting the most terrible fustian ever I 
 15 
 
 heard, there was sufficient cause for his 
 appearing so famously amused. It so 
 chanced as Jonas was delivering himself of 
 some most hectoring lines, in rushed Simon 
 Stockfish, his leaden visage a most moving 
 picture of horror and alarm. 
 
 " How now, knave ?" cried Master Jon- 
 son ; "how darest thou intrude thyself, un- 
 announced, upon such heroes as these ?" 
 
 " Speak answer, slave ! or Trojan 
 ghosts shall keep thee company," shouted 
 the assumed Hector, stalking up to him 
 with stately steps. 
 
 "Death dogs thy steps, presumptuous 
 varlet !" cried Tommy Hart, strutting for- 
 ward with Agamemnon strides. 
 
 " Nay, good sirs ! I pray you, worthy 
 Jonas ! excellent gossip Tommy !" exclaim- 
 ed the alarmed serving-man, turning im- 
 ploringly from one to the other, " I did not 
 venture without strong warrant, be assured." 
 " Speak, caitiff! or thy recreant life 
 shall be the forfeit," cried Ben Jonson. 
 
 " Excellent valiant sirs," hurriedly ex- 
 claimed Simo*, not without same apprehen- 
 sion, " some one hath just brought me word 
 that worthy Jonas Tietape's house hath ta- 
 ken fire." 
 
 Scarce had the words been spoke, when 
 the three players dropped their several wea- 
 pons, and rushed out of the chamber. In- 
 dependently of their consideration for the 
 dogs and othef animals, they knew full well 
 that most of the properties necessary for the 
 performance of their famous play were 
 there housed ; and they at once made off, in 
 a horrible fright, to endeavor to save them 
 from the devouring flames, leaving Simon 
 Stockfish, for once in his life, highly grati- 
 fied at the success of his profound policy. 
 
 The earliest risers the next morning 
 looked at the gloomy sky with huge mis- 
 giving ; but, much to their content, as the 
 day grew older, the heavy clouds dispersed, 
 and the visitors were ushered into Stratford 
 with a burst of sunshine, that made the gay 
 scene tnat presented itself before them a 
 thousand times more cheerful. Again com- 
 menced the Stratford revels in all their 
 several varieties, and again a glorious ca- 
 valcade filed through the streets, wherein 
 Master Shakspeare was the particular grace 
 and ornament to thousands upon thousands 
 of admiring spectators. This time he rode 
 alone ; for the gentle Susanna, now Mas- 
 ter Doctor Hall's excellent fair helpmate, 
 was with her friends, riding amongst the 
 gentlewomen who had joined the procession. . 
 
 With the gentlemen rode Master Benja- 
 min Jonson, wonderfully taken with all he 
 saw and heard, especially with the various
 
 326 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 sports which he did commend right liberal- 
 ly. Hie perfect restoration to health made 
 Master Shakspeare appear in sucn good 
 case as greatly delighted his innumerable 
 admirers; and, possibly, the great danger he 
 had been in appeared greatly to increase the 
 claim on their admiration his own talents 
 had secured. 
 
 The great business of the day proceeded 
 admirably ; but the grand, unrivalled spec- 
 tacle of a classical play appeared to take 
 the spectators by storm. The Siege of 
 Troy was looked upon by many as a super- 
 human effort of human intellect ; and the 
 wooden horse, supposed to have done such 
 rare service, the invention of Jonas Tietape 
 and young Quiney, for the safety o which 
 the three friends had made such famous use 
 of their legs the previous night, was the 
 source of the most absolute wonder and ad- 
 miration. Certainly, Master Shakspeare 
 did marvel in no small measure, but he 
 found it horribly difficult to maintain his 
 gravity whilst glancing at his friend, whose 
 ludicrous aspect during the performance it 
 looked impossible to stand against. 
 
 But all things have an end ; and, though 
 the Siege of Troy was unconscionably long, 
 it did at last reach its conclusion with no 
 slight regret, by the way, to much the grea- 
 ter part of the spectators, who seemed hard- 
 ly to know of which they should most ap- 
 prove, the Greeks or the Trojans. Never- 
 theless, the reader must submit to be hur- 
 ried from this and many other delectable 
 sights that were attracting delighted crowds 
 on that notable holiday, and be set at once 
 before the choicest sight, which was a 
 grand banquet, given' by the high bailiff and 
 corporation in honor of the guest, to whose 
 fair name the proceedings of the day in- 
 tended to do some sufficient honor. 
 
 Certes, this banquet was marvellously 
 imposing, and in consequence of Master 
 Shakspeare's recent recovery from his dan- 
 gerous sickness, a greater number of 
 guests assembled than the Guildhall had 
 ever contained before. There was a most 
 imposing array of flowers, and laurels, and 
 no lack of plate or napery. The high bai- 
 liff sat at the head of the room, with Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare on his right, and Sir George 
 Carew on his left ; and down a long table, 
 having a cross one at the bottom, sat not 
 only all the notables of those parts, with the 
 more respectable sort of burgesses of Strat- 
 ford, but many persons of some distinction, 
 fast friends of Master Shakspeare, who had 
 hurried to Stratford once more to renew 
 their acquaintance with one with whom ac- 
 quaintance was a distinction. 
 
 Nothing can be said here particularizing 
 the viands, or describing their number and 
 qualities. It is sufficient here to state that 
 the tables might have groaned with their 
 weight and number. Everything connected 
 with the feast was of the choicest sort, and 
 amongst the company there existed one 
 ennobling spirit of homage to the object of 
 their sympathy and goodfellowship. They 
 were wonderfully enlivened by the company 
 of Ben Jonson, who was in a rare mood for 
 the display of his choice, facetious talent. 
 In this he was well seconded by Sir George 
 Carew, whose exceeding courteousness, 
 and affable pleasant grace won the hearts 
 of all. It was when the wine-flasks had 
 commenced doing their inspiring office, that 
 the attention of the whole of that gallant 
 company was attracted towards Sir George* 
 by his rising from his seat with an evident 
 desire in him to address them. A respec- 
 table silence quickly ensued. 
 
 " It hath been said," he observed, after a 
 brief preamble touching his pleasure at 
 meeting so numerous and brave an assem- 
 bly, " that a famous monarch, of times 
 passed, offered a most tempting reward to 
 any one who would invent for him a new 
 pleasure. Certes, had he lived in these 
 days, he would not have had long to wait 
 for what he so required, and methinks it be- 
 hoveth us, with whom so much of a very 
 exquisite sort have been made familiar, to 
 be no less liberal. We, too, should offer i 
 higher appreciation for the delights th#4 
 have been so bountifully afforded us, for 
 they are altogether of a nobler kind than 
 such as might have been created for the en- 
 tertainment of a jaded voluptuary. Our new 
 enjoyments are drawn from that better part 
 of us that constitutes our intelligence, acting 
 in unison with those fine sympathies that do 
 serve to bind us indissolubly to all human 
 things. But, as cannot be unknown to you, 
 we have a source of pride as well as of 
 pleasure in the creator of these exquisite 
 sweet enjoyments. He is one of ourselves. 
 He is our neighbor our companion our 
 friend. He is that incomparably sweet gen- 
 tleman so well known amongst us all he 
 is our townsman and friend William Shak- 
 speare !" 
 
 Every one had listened with a most 
 pleased attentiveness to the flowing sylla- 
 bles of the old courtier. As his meaning 
 began to break upon them, every eye flashed 
 with eloquent delight ; and when the object 
 of his eulogium was betrayed by the men- 
 tion of his name, there came forth such a 
 hearty burst of applause as . stopped ail 
 speech for some few moments.
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 227 
 
 " Of his excellence in the art he pro- 
 fesses," continued the speaker, " there hath 
 already been ample testimony. He hath ob- 
 tained such repute, and such gain in its 
 exercise, as hath never been possessed by 
 by any in the same art. But it is with no 
 small gratification I find myself enabled, 
 from personal knowledge, to advance, that 
 his worth as a man keepeth such fair pace 
 with his merit as though they were twin- 
 born. I feel assured those who know him 
 will agree with me in the opinion that in him 
 the girts of the heart are not less powferful 
 than those of the mind. Such is sweet 
 Willie Shakspeare our Shakspeare, of 
 Stratford upon Avon." 
 
 Again a burst of loud applause broke 
 forth from the company, testifying their ac- 
 knowledgments of the propriety of this 
 praise. 
 
 " Filled with these impressions," he add- 
 ed, " I must needs say I look for your com- 
 plete contentation to a proposition I have risen 
 to submit to you. In this most honorable of 
 days for such surely it should be styled, 
 having given birth to two such distinguish- 
 ed characters as Shakspeare and St. George 
 we have been employed in various devi- 
 ces for showing how gratefully we look upon 
 it for having bestowed upon us our rare 
 townsman and friend let us crown our pro- 
 per task with drinking, in full glasses, of 
 the choicest wine before us, in this sort 
 
 the marvellous talent which hath raised him 
 to so proud an eminence, were but as dwarfs 
 compared with him. His greatness smacked 
 of those days of which it was said there 
 were giants. To what hath been already 
 advanced by one so admirably qualified by 
 his scholarship, by his far distant travels, 
 and by his long intimacy with the object of 
 his well, deserved praise, to speak on such a 
 subject and fully and entirely to the purpose, 
 I can make no addition worthy of note. It 
 hath not been my good fortune, like him, to 
 have lived amongst you, nevertheless, I have 
 had many opportunities of studying the fair 
 page he hath so admirably got by heart. I 
 have known him to whom I allude and 
 loved him long, honored his genius beyond 
 that of any living or dead, and regarded his 
 worth with a kind of reverence. I cannot, 
 
 a way of honoring, what I honor so exceed- 
 ingly, is under discussion. I must needs, 
 at such a call as we have just heard, be 
 the first to answer : therefore do I now re- 
 peat, with all earnestness of soul, ' Here's 
 to thee, sweet Willie Shakspeare, and num- 
 berless happy returns to thee of this golden 
 day !' v 
 
 Amid a storm of plaudits, no less loud 
 than followed the former speech, Master 
 Shakspeare was seen to rise from his seat. 
 He looked admirably, with health in his 
 cheek, and pleasure in his eye, and vigor in 
 
 Here's to thee, sweet Willie Shakspeare, ! every manly limb, and, as he directed his 
 and numberless happy returns to thee of j gaze down the line of friendly faces turned 
 
 this golden day !" 
 
 At the conclusion of this goodly speech 
 such acclamations arose, as made a very 
 tempest, at it were, throughout that cham- 
 ber. Scarcely had it subsided, when Mas- 
 ter Benjamin Jonson sprang to his feet, and 
 began a comment on what had so moved the 
 company. He was unknown to nearly all, 
 but his powerful manner of speaking, and 
 an air of free and jovial humor with him, 
 got him abundance of listeners. His pre- 
 face of his disadvantages in being a stranger 
 to the friends of one whom he had ever re- 
 garded as the best and noblest of men, it is 
 unnecessary to repeat, nor is there need he 
 should be followed in the prodigality of quo- 
 tations from Greek and Roman authors with 
 
 towards him with looks of mingled rever- 
 ence and affection, his gaze seemed to 
 brighten with the purest happiness, and his 
 form to dilate, as it were, with the most ex- 
 alted pride. He began to speak, at first de- 
 liberately, with words of ordinary accepta- 
 tion, as he mentioned the honor that had 
 been done him, and his unworthiness to ex- 
 press the grateful sense of it he entertained ; 
 but, when he advanced more into the sub- 
 ject, he got free of the spirit of form and 
 ceremony that he had been struggling with. 
 He spoke of his early years, and showed 
 how much he was indebted to Stratford for 
 whatever had given him the means of taking 
 the place amongst them he sought ; and, 
 knowing and feeling his obligations, it 
 
 which he chose to lard his discourse. Me- could not be surprising that he had chosen 
 thinks it will be best to give no more than it as the spot in which he desired to live 
 
 this, the marrow of what he said : 
 
 " We are told, my masters, in a. certain 
 classic author of my acquaintance, that 
 there were great men before Agamemnon, 
 but, before the Agamemnon of our Iliad, 
 there were no great men ; in brief, so far 
 from it, all who were his predecessors in 
 
 out the remainder of his days. 
 
 " A few years only have passed," said 
 he, " since I traversed foreign lands, where 
 my eyes were witnesses to many strange 
 and wonderful things. I stood were fire and 
 ashes have burned and buried two large and 
 noble cities, yet, with many such marvellous
 
 328 
 
 THE SEfjgET PASSION. 
 
 matters about me, I thought of Stratford. 
 I beheld the yellow Tiber flowing in the 
 honored neighborhood of ancient Rome ; I 
 floated on the dark lagunes of once trium- 
 phant Venice ; and I gazed in transport on 
 the blue waters of the Auriatic Sea; but 
 they were to me as though they never were, 
 when I thought of the less imposing beau- 
 ties of our exquisite Avon. 
 
 " And since I have returned to them, what 
 a balm hath visited me in their looks ! 
 river, wood, and sky ; the green lane, the 
 flowery heath, the corn-field, the orchard, 
 and the grove, have come upon me like the 
 faces of ministering angels seen in dreams, 
 giving assurance of health's comfort, and 
 the soul's repose, never to be gainsaid. With 
 these have been associated many a gallant 
 spirit, overflowing with generous sympathy 
 many a tender heart prodigal of its sweet- 
 est solace much admiration, some rever- 
 ence, and more good-will. It cannot, there- 
 fore, be thought surprising I should gather 
 matter of infinite contentation in finding my 
 ark at rest in so admirable a spot. 
 
 " I have to thank you for your good wish- 
 es. When a boy, I remember me well, in 
 the prospective my young ambition Stirred, 
 my fancy with, I saw in the remotest dis- 
 tance some such proud scene as the present. 
 Its happy accomplishment looks as if Des- 
 tiny hath done for me all that had been 
 promised, and that I must prepare me for a 
 change where alteration is unknown. 
 Should it so chance that I live not to see 
 another anniversary of the day you have so 
 greatly glorified, accept, I beseech you, my 
 grateful thanks for this bountiful proof of 
 your desire for my honor and well-being, 
 and be assured I feel both proud and happy 
 in your favorable opinion, which it hath been 
 as much my wish to possess, as it shall be 
 my duty to retain." 
 
 The applause which here followed, and 
 the various enthusiastic commendations 
 from other quarters, must be left to the un- 
 derstanding reader. The scene was a proud 
 one, and none regarded it with feelings of 
 such exquisite gratification as the affection- 
 ate Susanna and her loving husband, who 
 looked on the pleased triumphant features of 
 their honored parent with feelings of ming- 
 led reverence and affection. The reader, 
 however, must be content he should leave 
 the place where his hero received those 
 well-merited honors, and accompany him 
 back to his own dwelling. Before retiring 
 to his chamber, he took a light, and appear- 
 ed to feel a singular pleasure in going over 
 the few pictures, examining some of the rare 
 books, and one or two of the best examples 
 
 of antique furniture. He seemed to dwell ' 
 upon them with a more than ordinary earn- 
 estness. 
 
 Anon he drew himself away from them, 
 and, having entered his own chamber, sat 
 himself down by the open casement, and, 
 resting his head upon his hand, leaned out, 
 gazing upon the blossoming orchard, the 
 pastures, and hedge- rows, and all the fea- 
 tures of a lovely landscape then spread out 
 before him, over which the moon, riding 
 high and clear, occasionally obscured by 
 quick-passing clouds, appeared to bathe ev- 
 ery object in an atmosphere of supernatural 
 beauty. His thoughts seemed spiritualized 
 by the touching aspect of the scene he 
 looked on. 
 
 Not very far removed from the moon's 
 orbit, he observed a star with an exceeding 
 bright and strange brilliancy. While he 
 gazed, there suddenly entered into his mind 
 the conviction that the soul of his long-la- 
 mented Hamnet inhabited its precincts. 
 Master Shakspeare lived again in the past 
 a holy and a tranquillizing spirit seemed 
 to take possession of him, that brought him, 
 as it were, into immediate communion with 
 the immortal nature of that glorious boy of 
 whom he had been so proud, and whose pre- 
 mature divorce from his embraces he had 
 lamented, with more than a lover's constan- 
 cy in a first and only passion. His soul 
 was subdued by the force of early memories 
 affections, aspirations, anticipations, once 
 so devoutly cherished, he clung to as doth a 
 drowning wretch to the tangled weed upon 
 the perilous shore whereon he hath suffered 
 shipwreck. Yet in all this abandonment to 
 so ancient a sorrow, there came a sense of 
 present relief beaming like a Pharos through 
 the gloom of a troubled night upon the 
 ocean, that did calm his perturbed spirit 
 most admirably. 
 
 He turned from the casement, and in a 
 few minutes was resting his honored head 
 upon his pillow. He shortly fell into a light 
 slumber, half-waking and half-dreaming, in 
 which indistinct images of things presented 
 themselves, mixing the past, the present, 
 and the future in strange confusion. At 
 one time his thoughts wore the rosy hues of 
 his early life, and the visions that had filled 
 his solitude with fairy shapes and heavenly 
 scenes came to him, as doth the sudden res- 
 toration of sight to one who hath been blind 
 many years. Anon rose forms of a more 
 endearing loveliness, every limb and feature 
 teeming with feminine truth and passionate 
 devotedness ; the last bearing the likeness 
 of the noble lady whose rare qualities of 
 ! heart and mind had held his senses in
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 229 
 
 such strict yet honorable subserviency. 
 Then came memorials of triumphs accom- 
 plished, of honor won, of supremacy ac- 
 knowledged a most imposing retinue : and 
 at last all seemed to mingle into one a 
 golden mist penetrating and obscuring all, 
 so that he could get but obscure snatches 
 of what had awhile since appeared so dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 One of the very last objects that present- 
 ed itself was a face that rapidly changed 
 from a feminine aspect of immortal beauty 
 to an old crone, which was presently suc- 
 ceeded by a lovely smiling youth, in a beck- 
 oning attitude ; but hardly had he recog- 
 nized its familiar shape, when a black cloud 
 surrounded its outline, and it began percep- 
 tibly to fade away. 
 
 At this period he became aware of a 
 strange sensation, like a small flame creep- 
 ing up his extremities. The cloud grew 
 blacker round the indistinct image of the 
 intelligent aspect he had loved with such 
 entireness. The flame crept up above his 
 knees. The cloud encompassed the figure 
 of the child, passing over it like a thick film, 
 and gathered round the dreamer's head in a 
 heavy volume. The flame crept up his 
 legs to his body. The inky cloud passed 
 over the exquisitely-smiling aspect, and be- 
 came as a pall before the dreamer's eyes. 
 The flame crept up to his heart, at the same 
 moment that a darkness enveloped him too 
 black for a ray of light ever again to pene- 
 trate. 
 
 All the revellers were fast locked in their 
 first sleep, and the whole town seemed to 
 slumber no less profoundly, so tranquil wa.s 
 its aspect-in the calm moonlight ; but if any 
 where there existed a perfect repose, surely 
 it was in a certain part of the meadows bor- 
 dering on the river. The Avon, of a surety, 
 still pursued its course, b it it was as with 
 a lethargy that threatened to check its ca- 
 reer. The mill had stopped, and the mill- 
 stream was therefore dumb. For a marvel, 
 neither beast nor fowl gave evidence of ex- 
 istence. The moon shone clear and cold, 
 in a sky traversed with quick, gloomy clouds, 
 row giving the river an aspect of molten 
 silver, and making visible the farms, the 
 mill, the straggling town, and the towering 
 church ; anon, leaving all in impenetrable 
 darkness. 
 
 Suddenly there arose a low wail ; it was 
 not easy to pronounce its cause, for it par- 
 took of the moan of the wind among the 
 trees, and the just audible diapason of the 
 church-organ heard afar off. It gathered 
 force and character every moment and. 
 
 grew into a solemn chant, or lament, so 
 touching, so subduing, it might have passed 
 for a Miserere, sung by a company of spec- 
 tral monks in some ruined abbey. 
 
 At this time, there might be seen innu- 
 merable specks high in the atmosphere. 
 These presently grew upon the eye till they 
 took the shape of figures of extraordinary 
 smallness, each clad in a cloak of inky 
 blackness ; and as they all came in a body 
 towards the meadows, it might readily be 
 known that they sang in solemn chorus the 
 following words : 
 
 THE FAIRY REQUIEM. 
 
 Fair courtiers of the fields and woods, 
 
 Rare minstrels of the skies, 
 Put off gay vests and flaunting hoods, 
 
 Attempt grave harmonies. 
 The funeral cloak, the church-yard chant, 
 Comprise whatever ye rp^st want. 
 
 Ye lilFies pure, and sweet jonquils, 
 Lone violet, queenly rose, 
 
 Ye pansies, kingcups, daffodils, 
 Forswear your gallant shows ; 
 
 Ye marigolds, so proudly dress'd, 
 
 A darker suit becomes ye best. 
 
 And all things that are fair and good, 
 Your bravest shapes give o'er ; 
 
 The darling of your brotherhood 
 Belongs to you no more. 
 
 Mourn ! mourn ! for such another one 
 
 Shall ne'er be found beneatli the sun. 
 
 The earth hath lost its fairest grace, 
 Gift ne'er to be supplied, 
 
 And tails to be a fitting place 
 For fairy forms to hide. 
 
 Here, losing all we might befriend, 
 
 Cur pleasant rule is at an end. 
 
 Farewell, then, each loved bud and flow'r ; 
 
 Farewell the verdant mead, 
 The fragrant air, the secret bow'r, 
 
 Soft fern and towering reed. 
 Bearing, in solemn rite we come, 
 Our honored SHAKSPEARE to his HOME. 
 
 As the innumerable multitude approached, 
 the attentive spectator could not fail of ob- 
 serving that, in the midst, was a sort of cir- 
 cle, at the head of which two figures might 
 have been noticed, so far like the rest in 
 wearing black cloaks, but differing from 
 them in this important matter each wore
 
 230 
 
 on its head what looked to be a golden 
 crown. In the centre, thus surrounded, it 
 was difficult to make out what had a place 
 it bore the appearance of a thin, gray 
 film, having much the resemblance though 
 too indistinct to pronounce decidedly of a 
 human figure and countenance, floating up- 
 on the air. Afterwards came a countless 
 crowd of the small figures, in their inky 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 garments, and the doleful wail of their nu- 
 merous voices sounded like a funeral dirge. 
 Presently a huge mass of clouds came 
 upon the moon, and when she emerged 
 from behind this black shield, the same deep 
 stillness reigned that had a moment since 
 wrapped the whole neighborhood as closely 
 as if the place formed a sepulchre in the 
 midst of a mighty desert. 
 
 HERE ENDETH THE STORY OF 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 NOTE. This pleasant task is ended. This labor of love hath been brought to a conclusion. 
 There now only remaineth one thing to be done ere the courteous reader, and the doubtless 
 too-ambitious author, who hath so long and largely demanded his attention, part of a surety 
 never to meet again in such honorable company. He cannot close an acquaintance carried 
 over so many pages, without expressing a hope that, notwithstanding manifold defects, /or 
 which he prayeth a gracious indulgence, his excellent worthy friend has received some plea- 
 sure at this picture of an age that in its many golden features has not been equalled in latter 
 times, and this portrait of greatness never excelled in any. To those of his readers, slowly and 
 heedfully descending the hill of life, he desireth such absolute perfect ease at the end of the 
 journey, as tired traveller never had glimpse of, with many inestimable memories with which 
 to rejoice such as they leave behind ; and to those who are but climbers in the same path to 
 the exquisite fair creatuie who hath carried her generous sympathies through all the varying 
 scenes here set down, he wishes the fullest measure of content in her affections her prodigal 
 young heart can sigh for : whilst to the young gay gallant, glowing with all life's richest 
 impulses, he wishes numberless opportunities for roble adventure, and much comfort with 
 his lady
 
 
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