"Nay, but Will," urged Snare, "thou wilt scarce venture, daring dog as thou art, further to irritate the knight? I tell thee, being married and settled here, this business will already go far to ruin thee."

"Ruin me!" said Shakespeare, somewhat bitterly. "Ruin me, saidst thou?

Why, man, dost think me in a thriving condition here in Stratford?"

"Not entirely so," said Snare, looking around; "I would I could see thy nest better feathered, Will, and I trust I shall yet do so."

"I think it not," said Shakespeare; "business decreases apace with me. I am called wild, inattentive, dissolute,--nay, I have had one or two slight misunderstandings with my family; and, as thou sayest, this last business and the rancorous hatred of Sir Thomas, will go hard with your poor friend. But, come, here we have a couplet or two in his condign praise: for a taste--

"A parliament member, a justice of peace, At home a poor scarecrow, at London an a.s.se; If lowsie is Lucy, as same volke miscalle it, Then Lucy is lowsie whatever befall it."

"'Fore heaven, Will, stop," said Snare, laughing, "Thou hast indeed touched up the knight; thou hast tied him to a post, and wilt lash him into madness."

"Nay, but stay," said Shakespeare, "I will give him another stanza yet.

Hearkee to this:

"He thinks himself great.

Yet an a.s.se in his state, We allowe by his ears but with a.s.ses to mate; If Lucy is lowsie as some volke miscalle it, Then sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it."

"Nay," said Snare, "an thou stick that up, thou hadst better put the seas between thyself and Britain. The Knight of Charlecote will be driven stark staring mad."

"Well," said Shakespeare, "we shall see how matters progress. If Sir Thomas bears me hard, as true as thy name is Diccon Snare, I will nail this lampoon to his park-gates, and have it sung to filthy tunes through the town."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

THE GARDEN.

It was one bright morning, a few days after the events we have recorded that a gay and gallant-looking party rode into the grounds of Clopton and approached the Hall.

The mansion, which had for some time remained shut up, now appeared to be resuming something of its former state. Its latticed windows were once more open, whilst servants were to be seen moving about the offices and gardens, and even the bark and bay of dogs were heard in the kennel.

The good Sir Hugh had suddenly returned to his home from the Low Countries. Time had gradually ameliorated his deep grief, and restored the equilibrium of his mind. He felt tired of camps and military service, and his thoughts turned to the green woods and sweet scenes of his own home.

A feeling we suspect which almost all soldiers, however much ambition and the love of profession may keep them in harness, more or less experience. There is a period in the lives of all men in which the occupations of a country life form a sort of recreation after the toils and cares of the world. That which we disregard in youth, amidst the gaieties and frivolities and ambitions of life, in age seems to come as a natural repose. A wise provision of nature, and which in earlier times was perhaps better exemplified. To youth, the bright weapon, the helm, the shield, and the defence. To riper age, the plough, the hoe, and the dibble.

Sir Hugh had returned to his sweet home, and, albeit a settled melancholy was on his spirits, he could better enjoy that home now that absence had rendered it less painful to him to look upon, and he returned with renewed zest to his old employments. He was in his garden, giving directions to his gardener about the different plants, and flowers, and shrubs, and turning over in his mind the varieties which in his daughter's time she had loved to cultivate--

"Daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty. Violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength."

He was busied amongst his "somewhat o'erweeded garden," when an attendant announced that Sir Thomas and Lady Lucy were advancing towards the house, with the intention, no doubt, of paying him a formal visit on his return. Upon which the good Sir Hugh set his dibble in the earth, smoothed down the cuffs of his doublet, belted on the long rapier, which he had laid aside upon the walk when he commenced work, and, adjusting his short cloak and starched ruff, entered his house to receive these distinguished guests.

Sir Thomas Lucy, in the kindness of his heart, had hastened to pay a visit to his old friend the moment he heard of his arrival, and, well knowing there would be many things to excite the feelings of Sir Hugh on his return, he was resolved to carry him back to Charlecote.

"I will have no denial, Sir Hugh," he said, "I have come hither to bring ye forth to Charlecote. We have wanted you long, and by my fay we cannot away without ye."

"Nay, but," said Sir Hugh, "I am but now returned. Methinks in a few days I should be more prepared to leave home again."

"Prepare me nothing," said Sir Thomas. "What the good-year, dost think we will let thee sit down to a solitary meal here, when we have shot the buck, and dressed the haunch on purpose for thee? Come, man, Lady Lucy takes no denial; and, see, my daughters are here to fetch thee."

There was no resisting this, so Sir Hugh, sighing as he glanced upon the lovely daughters of his neighbour, ordered out his steed at once.

It was a lovely morning, as the party rode through the grounds of Clopton, and emerged upon the road to Stratford. Many matters were discussed by the two friends after their long separation.

Sir Thomas rode, as was customary at the period, with his falcon on his glove, his falconers being in attendance. Nay, even the ladies carried their favourite hawks, which they petted, and even talked to as they rode; a favourable opportunity for giving them wing being not altogether neglected occasionally.

"We must have a day on't in the marshes, Sir Hugh," said the Knight of Charlecote, "and you must away with me next week to the Cotswold Hills, to the coursing, Sir Hugh. By 'ur Lady, I have a pup of old s...o...b..ll, which, an I am not mistaken, will win the match. 'Tis a goodly cur, I promise ye."

"I will see him run," said Sir Hugh.

"And that reminds me," said Sir Thomas, "to tell thee I have of late been much molested by a knot of young fellows breaking my parks and shooting my deer."

"Ah, the caitiffs," said Sir Hugh, "can'st not take them?"

"In sooth can I, and will trounce them too. One, especially, have I marked for punishment; and my lawyer hath him in hand. A wild lad of the town here, named Shakespeare."

"Shakespeare!" said Sir Hugh; "not young William Shakespeare, the eldest son of the wool-comber?"

"The same," said Thomas. "I shall impound the knave ere many hours more are over his head."

"Nay, I am truly sorry to hear this," said Sir Hugh, "for I have reason to think well of that lad."

"'Tis more than any one else hath, then," said Sir Thomas. "He hath been a bitter thorn in my side for some time."

"Truly, you surprise me; hath he then so altered since I left these parts?"

"I know not that," said Sir Thomas; "but I well know he hath the reputation of the wildest young fellow in the neighbourhood."

"Nay, then I am utterly astonished," said Sir Hugh. "We must talk further of this matter; and I must see if I cannot get you to over-look, in some sort, young Shakespeare's offence."

"I would do much to pleasure you," said the Knight of Charlecote; "but my lawyer hath instruction to prosecute him with rigour. I was resolved to make a Star Chamber matter o't. If he be, however, so much favoured by thee, my good friend, we must look to't. But come, here we are at Charlecote. Ha!" he continued, pulling up his steed suddenly; "what have we nailed up against the gate? Dismount, Hubald!" he said to the Falconer, "take it down, man, and read it, and see what 'tis."

The head Falconer dismounted, and approaching the gates, took down a good sized placard written in large characters, a single glance at which seemed to cover him with dismay.

"What is it, in the name of wonder?" said the Knight. "Read, man, read; don't stand glaring like a driveller. Is my place placarded for sale?"

"An it so please ye," said the Falconer, "a gnat hath gotten into my eye, and I cannot well make it out. 'Tis a verse, too, and I cannot read a verse anyhow."

"Thou art a knave," said the Knight. "Read, I tell thee. I am curious to know what such doc.u.ments can have to do with my gates. Read, I say, without more circ.u.mstance." And accordingly the Falconer, like one affrighted at his own voice, and in doleful tones drawled out the following couplet:--

"A parliament member, a justice of peace, At home a poor scarecrow, in London an a.s.s.

If Lucy is--"

"Ahem! 'If Lucy is--'" And the Falconer stopped.

"Proceed, sirrah," said Sir Thomas, with the calmness of concentrated rage; "proceed, a G.o.d's name!" And again the Falconer read--