William Shakespeare as he lived Part 42

"The horn, the horn, the l.u.s.ty horn, Is not a thing to laugh to scorn."

When just at this moment the whole company were startled by an apparition nearly as appalling in appearance as the spectre they had themselves scared the keepers of Sir Thomas Lucy with in Charlecote, and which indeed was neither more nor less than Sir Thomas Lucy himself.

The knight advanced a few paces into the room, accompanied by several of his men, and stood to regard the party. Mine host was the first to catch sight of him, and the l.u.s.ty chorus he was trolling out died away in a faint quaver, and as the rest of the company, following the direction of his staring eyes, turned and beheld the tall knight, conscience made cowards of them all, and, with a desperate rush, they endeavoured to get out of the room. Two dashed into the sleeping-chamber of Froth, whence they escaped into the orchard, whilst mine host, Caliver, and Careless, bolted through the open window.

Following the example of these latter fugitives, Froth made also an attempt to escape by the window, but his huge body became fixed like a wedge, as he endeavoured to throw himself forwards upon the gra.s.s without, and his nether man presented so fair a mark that the irate knight pointing him out to his head keeper, the st.u.r.dy forester stepped up, and by a most industrious application of his hunting-whip, so stimulated the exertions of Froth, that, bellowing with pain, he at last managed to get through the opening.

If the stately knight had been given to mirth, the sight of this swollen porpoise, during his efforts to escape,--his huge legs kicking at his tormentor,--his great body fast jammed,--would have furnished him with laughter for some minutes.

Sir Thomas, however, was too irate to be so moved; he sought for proof of the guilt of the parties in this their sanctum, and, quickly proceeding to overhaul the lodgement of Froth, he found sufficient evidence of their poaching propensities; cross-bows, matchlocks, and snares of various sorts, were rummaged out and brought to light; and even the costume of Dreary Death, and other disguises, were produced. In fact, the query which had been often suggested by some of the more staid neighbours of the vicinity, as to how the swash-bucklers and rollicking blades const.i.tuting the society of the Lucy Arms, managed to live, was brought to light. They lived by their exertions on the road and the glade. They were squires of the night's body--Diana's foresters--gentlemen of the shade.

No sooner was Sir Thomas fully satisfied on this point than he retired from the interior, and, mounting his horse, ordered the men awaiting him at the town-end to be summoned.

"Master Grasp," he said, "I have more than once given this caitiff host notice to quit, and he hath still hung on and craved to remain my tenant. You have seen him this day evacuate the premises of his own free will, and I will now give my own people possession."

Thus saying, Sir Thomas ordered his men to enter the hostel, and proceed to unroof it,[17] after which he desired them with pick and spade to demolish and destroy as much as they could effect that night, and in the morning to return and level the Lucy Arms with the ground. That done, he reiterated his commands to the obsequious Grasp to proceed against the whole party as aiders and abetters in the robbery--William Shakespeare, in particular, as princ.i.p.al. To _prosecute_ and _persecute_ with the utmost rigour of the law. After which he turned his horse, and, grave and stately, attended by his keepers, rode off to Charlecote.

[Footnote 17: This sort of ejectment was not uncommon in Elizabeth's reign.]

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

THE LAMPOON.

On the morning of the day on which Sir Thomas paid a visit to the Lucy Arms, William Shakespeare, seated in a small parlour at the back of his house, was employed reading from a somewhat bulky volume certain matters which appeared deeply to interest him.

So much so, indeed, that albeit his attention was often called from the subject of his studies by the little crowing baby he held in one arm; still he ever returned with renewed avidity to devour a few more pages, as often as the playful infant gave him an opportunity of doing so.

The volume Shakespeare was reading from was a thick squat folio, then some thirty years printed, and called Hall's Chronicles. Many and various were the histories contained in this thick volume; and the deep interest young Shakespeare felt in their perusal, and the impression they made upon his mind, may be imagined when we enumerate them as set forth. First, then, there was "the unquiet time of King Henry ye Fourth." That was indeed a stirring page in England's history, "when trenching war channelled her fields," and intestine jars and civil butchery "daubed her lips with her own children's blood."

Then followed the victorious acts of King Henry the Fifth--a glorious epoch--a "record of fair act," and which, as we read of, he already saw before him, "the warlike Hal, in the vasty fields of France,"

"a.s.suming the port of Mars, and at his heels Leash'd in, like hounds, famine, fire, and sword, Crouching for employment."

Then came the troublous season of King Henry the Sixth, when

"Cropp'd were the flower-de-luces in our arms, And England's cost one-half was cut away."

Then followed the boisterous reign of King Edward the Fourth, the pitiful life of King Edward the Fifth, the tragical doings of King Richard the Third, the "politic governance" of King Henry the Seventh, the triumphant reign of King Henry the Eighth.

How diligently young Shakespeare perused this book; and how carefully he remembered the impression made upon his mind, his after-life has shewn us.

At the present moment, like many a less elevated genius, his studies were disturbed by civil discord, domestic brawls, and the matters of every-day life around him.

Such, however, was the fine disposition of the man, that it took much to disturb the serenity of his temper and the equanimity of his mind.

We have seen that, in the amiability of his disposition, he was s.n.a.t.c.hing an hour's leisure from the business in which he was engaged, and helping to nurse his child whilst pursuing his studies. This employment in itself would but have enhanced the pleasure afforded by such study. But unluckily (albeit he gave as little attention thereto as possible) he was at the same time subjected to the observation and sharp rebuke of his somewhat shrewish better half.

The stolen hours spent with his a.s.sociates of the Lucy Arms had caused him a series of lectures and upbraidings, which completely s.h.i.+p-wrecked his domestic peace.

All this be suffered in silence, for, as he could not compromise his companions by disclosing their confederacy in his deer-stealing exploit, he wisely held big tongue; not that he, however, deemed it right to keep secret counsel from the wife of his bosom; but in this case, where others were concerned, honour bound his tongue. In his own words he could have told her--

"That he knew her wise, but yet no further wise Than William Shakespeare's wife. Constant she was, But yet a woman: and for secrecy No lady closer, for he well believed She would not utter what she did not know, And so far would he trust the gentle Anne."

In the present instance the gentle Anne appeared determined to have a serious quarrel with her husband. She flatly told him she would never rest till she had discovered where and with whom he had pa.s.sed the night; and her upbraidings, as is frequently the case with females in her station of life, were by no means mild.

"The venom'd clamours of a jealous woman Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth."

And William Shakespeare found it, and accordingly at length his patience gave way, and he arose, laid aside his book, placed his child in the cradle, and notwithstanding his stomach warned him it was near the dinner hour, he donned his castor, left the small apartment, and was about to leave his house for the Lucy Arms, when, just as he reached the door, he beheld Diccon Snare.

Dismounting from his horse, Snare entered the front-room of Shakespeare's house; and having desired the lad to whom he gave charge of the steed to lead it round to the shed in rear, he closed the door behind him carefully, and then threw himself into a chair, as one who had ridden far and fast since he had taken to the saddle.

"There is ill news abroad, Will," said he; "the Charlecote business is blown--Sir Thomas Lucy knows all. That much concerns you, for you are made the princ.i.p.al in the affair. Other matter hath also come out regarding some transactions in which Caliver and Careless are concerned.

Caliver is in custody. Careless hath escaped, and, as I am not altogether exempt, I am for London with all speed."

"For myself I care nothing," said Shakespeare; "but for Pierce, Caliver, and Careless, I am grieved. But whence is all this derived?"

"I met one of Grasp's lads at Kenilworth this morning," said Snare, "who with an officer was searching for Caliver; he gave me a hint to convey intelligence to the lads of the Lucy Arms; and I have ridden hard to give you the first notice."

"This doth indeed look ugly," said Shakespeare. "Sir Thomas hath ever held me in his hate, and undeservedly so. Wherefore he hath this dislike, I partly guess; now he has me on the hip, I doubt not he will do his utmost against me. But I pry'thee come in, Snare, you look pale, and lack refreshment. Our meal is about to be served."

"Nay, but," said Snare, "your wife, Will,--she likes me not; nay, she forbade my coming hither last Martinmas."

"Heed it not," said Shakespeare, smiling; "believe me, she meant not what she said. A friend both tired, hungry, and in need of shelter, shall never be turned fasting from my door. Besides, hath not thy love brought thee hither to warn me? Tush, man! Do you tell me of a woman's tongue--

"That gives not half so great a blow to the ear, As doth a chestnut in a farmer's fire."

And Shakespeare threw open the door, and ushered his friend Snare into the inner-room, where they found the dinner spread, and the wife not best pleased at having to tarry.

"Not a word of matters appertaining," he whispered to Snare, as they entered. "Mistress Anne will not endure thee long, Diccon. After the meal is finished, she will take herself off to the upper-room."

Snare therefore followed his friend, and looking somewhat scared, made a leg, and paid his compliments to the hostess as he best could.

'Twas exactly as Shakespeare had surmised. The handsome Anne, whose brow grew somewhat contracted when she saw her husband usher in Snare, left the pair to themselves, as soon as she had finished her meal.

After her departure, Shakespeare placed liquor before his guest; and over a social gla.s.s they debated seriously of their affairs.

The high spirit of Shakespeare, however, would not permit of his long remaining under dominion of care or apprehension; and, under influence of a cup or two of Canary, he began to rail upon Sir Thomas, and lash him alternately.

"Out upon the clod-pate," he said; "his brains are as thick as Tewkesbury mustard. He imprison me--he have me whipped! Pshaw! I laugh at the dull a.s.s! I will make him a jest to the whole country!"

"O' my word, Will, he will be more likely to drive thee from it," said Snare; "for Launcelot Quill, Grasp's head clerk, vows he never saw man more angered than the old knight is against thee."

"Tush, man!" said Shakespeare, "never tell me of his anger. Let him do his spite. He hath already done me several ill turns, from the bare suspicion that I have broke his park. Now, I doubt not, he will fine, imprison, and what not, if he can but catch me! Come, another cup, and then to inform our companions of the Lucy Arms of this matter. Best, however, clap-to the outer door, and make all fast," he said, rising and drawing the bolt across the fore-door, "lest this Cavaliero Justice hath already let loose his myrmidons against me. Ha! ha!" he continued, reseating himself, "he a Justice of the Peace!--he a Parliament Member!

Why, I will fas.h.i.+on a better justice after supper out of a cheese-paring. I pr'ythee, Snare, reach me that ink-horn. I will write a lampoon upon the peaking Cornuto, and fasten it up against his park-gates--I will, indeed, lad!"