Age is a page
For the Court full unmeet,
For age cannot rage
Nor buss her sweet sweet.
I shall bide at home and kiss the Queen's hand, through my son, more like."
"Indeed," said the page, "I hear reports that her Majesty hath already a mind to send for him."
"Is that so, Will?" His father beamed, delighted.
"In some sort it is," answered Herbert, "and in some sort I am her messenger's forerunner. She will have a play of thee, Will."
"The Queen?" Shakespeare turned on him sharply. "This is a fool's trick you play on me, my Lord." Yet his face flushed in spite of himself.
"I tell thee, straight brow and true man, I heard the words fall from her very lips. 'He shall write us a play,' she said; 'and this Falstaff shall be the hero on't, with no foolish royalties to overlay and clog his mirth.'"
"And, you see," put in the page maliciously, "we have come express to the Boar's Head to seek him out."
"That," Herbert added, "is our suit to-night."