“I’faith, my liege,” replied Sir Walter, “an’ anything could make me doubt Master Shakspear’s judgment, ’twould be the judgment of your Highness. Howbeit, in this instance, I must even hold against thee, and take part with my Lord Southampton.”
“Fie on thee, traitor!” said the Queen, smiling. “But I will put the matter out of question. I will even test Master Shakspear’s self-possession.”
“How? how, your Highness?” asked several voices.
“Ye shall see!” answered the Queen, with the same quiet smile.
The courtiers, either from curiosity, or a desire to make the Queen believe that they took a great interest in the matter, would probably have pressed her further; but, at this moment, the curtain drew up, and the performance was resumed.
The play proceeded without seeming to dispose the Queen to pursue her design; and, as the last scene opened, Lord Southampton began to think, from the delay, that, in the interest excited by the performance, it had escaped her memory. Just as the play was about to close, however, the Queen leaned over on the front of the box, and it became evident that she was preparing to carry her intention into effect.
As she rested her arms on the barrier of the box, which divided it from the stage, her eye, seeming intent on the performance, fixed itself on that of Shakspear. The poet at once discerned that she had in view some object, and when, as if by accident, she dropped her costly handkerchief on the stage, he caught her purpose and motive directly. He did not allow them, however, to interrupt his speech, which was that that Cymbeline delivers at the close of the play; and for some moments, the part he would take in the matter was left open to conjecture. At length he set it at rest, in the opinion of the Queen, by giving utterance to that decisive sentence—
“Set we forward!”
Proud of her triumph, Elizabeth was about to turn to Lord Southampton, and claim his submission, when the poet, after only a moment’s pause, resumed—