"If your honour looks but amongst the knot of men yonder," said the forester, "you cannot fail but see him."

"What, is it that fellow there with the broad shoulders and long back?

By my fay, a strong and able caitiff."

"Not so," said the keeper, "'tis the youth standing next him, in the gray doublet."

"Fetch him hither," said Sir Thomas; "I would speak with him."

As young Shakespeare approached Sir Thomas, the knight regarded him with a scrutinizing and searching eye.

"A goodly stripling," he said, turning to Sir Jacob Astley, of Hill Morton, one of the gentlemen with him, "a goodly stripling, and a bold looking withal."

"It hath been notified to me, sirrah," said Sir Thomas, addressing Shakespeare with infinite stateliness and hauteur, "that you are much given to evil ways, inasmuch as you are wont to make frequent trespa.s.s upon my parks and woods hereabouts; and that, too, to the detriment of my property and the disturbance of my deer."

"I am sorry such rumours have reached you," said Shakespeare coolly, "since there is, I fear me, some sort of foundation for them. I _have_ trespa.s.sed in your woods. Albeit, I have never intentionally molested the deer."

"I am glad you have the grace to confess so much," said Sir Thomas; "but sith you have not disturbed my deer, you have, at least, beaten my foresters during your trespa.s.s, and again to-day have you repeated the offence."

"Your foresters rated me in ungentle terms," said Shakespeare; "railed at, and bestowed vile epithets upon me. Nay, even laid hands on me."

"They are hired by me so to do," said Sir Thomas. "Their roughness is their virtue; and _by_ such roughness are they told to deter all trespa.s.sers and poachers from my parks and warrens."

"I am no poacher, to be so railed at and roughly treated," said Shakespeare coolly.

"Well, henceforth come no more into my woods," said Sir Thomas, preparing to ride off, "lest I give directions to have thee used in a more rough fashion than heretofore."

"I cannot promise that," said Shakespeare, "since I am much given to wandering; and, truth to say, I know not exactly which are, and which are not, your grounds. I would not willingly anger Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecote, _but_ an he keeps men for the preservation of the game, and the amus.e.m.e.nt of himself, methinks such men have small right to domineer and tyrannize over those of poorer sort, who seek but the free air and the wild woodlands."

"Thou art over bold and insolent for thy years," said Sir Thomas; "I will have thee whipped and imprisoned the next time my men take thee. So come not in Charlecote woods an ye be wise." And Sir Thomas, who found his choler getting high, put spurs to his palfrey, and, after ordering his keeper to quit the Green, rode off with his company.

It would be difficult to describe the expression of mingled acorn, contempt, and ridicule which was expressed upon the countenance of Shakespeare, as he regarded the departing figure of the knight of Charlecote.

He stood for some moments leaning upon his staff, looking upon the party as they rode off the Green and disappeared in the woods. He then turned his glance contemptuously upon the keeper, and laughing to himself as he repeated the words, "whipped and imprisoned," turned and was about to leave the spot.

"We shall meet again," said the keeper, in a deriding tone. "I know we shall."

"Not if I can avoid it," said Shakespeare.

"An we do," said the keeper, "you hear what is in store for you."

"He you serve can hardly tell what is in store for himself, much more for another," said Shakespeare, "an he could have done so, he had prophesied thy likely reward both here and elsewhere."

"What would that be?" inquired the keeper, coming close to the youth.

"Present beating, if again insolent," said Shakespeare, "and the gallows in reversion."

The keeper drew back; he remembered his comrade's discomfiture, and the skill the youth had displayed.

"Well, fare thee well," he said, "we shall cry quits anon. An Sir Thomas keep word with thee we shall lay thee by the heels yet."

"And, an he keep word with thee, he will have one knave the less in his service. Adieu, I waste time and speech upon thee." So saying, Shakespeare turned his back upon the forester, who, joining his companions, after exchanging a few angry words with their late opponents, they left the Green, and the sports were resumed.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE TWELFTH-TIDE REVELRY.

The rudeness of the keepers and their overbearing style towards the villagers, was by no means an uncommon occurrence. Backed up by their employers to display as much roughness towards all trespa.s.sers as they chose, the foresters were usually a coa.r.s.e and brutal set. They were mostly chosen too, at this period, for courage, strength, and skill with their weapons; consequently when they came into collision with the peasantry, the latter frequently had the worst of it, and the conflict seldom ended without serious consequences.

On the present occasion, several of the village lads a.s.sembled vowed war to the knife against the men they had fought with. They had so often experienced their _outrecuidance_ and overbearing rudeness, that they swore to annoy them in every possible way they could.

"Sir Thomas Lucy," said Ralph Coulter, "doth ever take part against us, let his men use us vilely as they may; nay, we shall soon have no leave to step either to the right or to the left from the beaten road. For look ye, an we steal but into the meadows to whisper a word into a fair la.s.s's ear, we are warned off, and ordered to keep the path; an we take a dog to hunt the ducks in the stream, we are threatened with imprisonment for poaching."

"As well do the thing at once as be blamed for it," said another peasant; "who'll go down with me to-night, and shoot a buck in Fulbrook?"

"Have with you for one, say I," said Ralph Coulter, "an we miss the buck and hit the keeper, so much the better shot."

"Nay, this is but folly," said a third, "and may bring all into trouble, so to speak before strangers; you do but jest, I trow! Look ye, we are overheard too."

"An ye mean this lad who hath so well cudgelled Black d.i.c.k," said Coulter, "I dare be sworn he is not a sneak to turn informer upon us."

"Wilt take a part and bring in a buck some night? Me thinks it would be rare sport," he continued, addressing Shakespeare.

"Marry will I," said Shakespeare, whose daring disposition was instantly aroused at the idea of the exploit. "Any night you like I should dearly love to do some despite towards those overweening knaves."

"Well," said Coulter, "we shall talk further of it anon; meantime see the dancing is over, and the indoors diversions are beginning. I am for old Hathaway's orchard and the cider revel."

"And I am for goodman Thorne's," said another; and so the party separated.

The shadows of a January's evening were now beginning to descend over the surrounding scene, and the several parties to retire to their different homesteads, there to continue their twelfth-tide diversions, and to partake of such fare as the good wives had prepared for the swains accompanying their daughters home.

Young Shakespeare, who had made acquaintance with Ralph Coulter, accordingly accompanied him to the cottage of Master Hathaway, where he again met with the handsome Anne, and renewed his acquaintance with her.

The maiden indeed seemed nothing loth to receive his attention, for his handsome figure and gallant conduct had already made some impression upon her.

According to an ancient custom in this and other counties of "Merrie England," Master Hathaway a.s.sembled his guests in the princ.i.p.al apartment of his domicile, a good-sized and comfortable-looking room, and which (as was usual in those days) served the jolly yeoman for "parlour, and kitchen, and hall." There was the huge gaping chimney, with its comfortable bench on either hand, together with those stout timbered rafters and oaken beams at the roof, from which hung such store of bacon and other good things appertaining. There was the diamond-paned-window and its seat beneath, with the stout timbered doors, the high-backed chairs, and the one ma.s.sive and c.u.mbrous oaken table, and which seemed from its thick supporters to be fixed into the floor, or growing out of it; and there sat the grandsire in his old accustomed seat under the chimney, "sans eyes, sans taste, sans teeth, sans everything," yet looking with some sort of recognition upon the sports he had witnessed, man and boy, for near a century in that very room. In short, it was a perfect picture of rural comfort and old world contentment that kitchen and its appurtenances, filled as it was with those happy, smiling, and rosy maidens, and their stout-limbed ruddy village swains.

As soon as Master Hathaway had a.s.sembled his guests and family, he filled a huge pitcher with cider, and the whole party, young and old, male and female, filed out into the orchard in rear of the cottage. Here they immediately took hands around one of the best apple trees, and dancing round it, the whole company hailed the veteran in the following doggrel, in the gladsome feeling of their light hearts, flinging and capering, shouting and hallooing, like so many baccha.n.a.ls.

"All hail to thee, thou old apple-tree, Whence thou may'st bud, and whence thou may'st blow, And whence thou may'st bear apples enow.

Bonnets-full! caps-full!

Bushel-bushel-sacks-full, And our pockets-full eke also; Here's for thee, thou old apple-tree, huzza! huzza!"

Whilst this was being sung, the females of the party, seizing the opportunity of the jug pa.s.sing round, made their escape within doors; and then the joint intended for supper being clapped upon the spit, the doors were all immediately made fast. Meantime Master Hathaway, having finished his "all hail" to the patriarch of the apple family, bestowed a libation on its mossed stem from the remains of the cider, and then, at the head of his party, made the tour of his orchard, singing the same exquisite piece of doggrel over again.

This done, as the sharp and biting blast of a January night began to be apparent, and the snow to fall, the whole of the men a.s.sembled filed off to the house. Here (according to the custom of the time and the sport toward) the doors were found to have been secured by the female portions of the revellers; and they were put through the ceremony of a formal demand for admittance, and as formal a denial.