“Up-stairs and down-stairs, and in my Lady’s chamber,” sang Mr Underhill, in a fine bass voice; for even in that musical age, he was renowned for his proficiency in the art.
“In the King’s chamber, certes,” said Dr Thorpe. “I would with all mine heart he could be thence profligated.” (Driven out.)
“Methinks I can see one in the far distance that may do that,” said Mr Rose in his grave manner. “At the furthest, my Lord of Northumberland will not live for ever.”
“But how many sons hath he?” groaned Dr Thorpe. “‘Such apple-tree, such fruit’ If the leopard leave ten or a dozen cubs, we be little better for shooting him.”
“My Lord Henry, allgates, is no leopard cub,” said Mr Underhill. “I know the boy; and a brave, gallant lad he is.”
“Go on,” said Dr Thorpe. “The rest?”
“My Lord of Warwick,” pursued he, “is scarce the equal of his brother, yet is he undeserving of the name of a leopard cub; and my Lord Ambrose, as meseemeth, shall make a worthy honourable man. For what toucheth my Lord Guilford, I think he is not unkindly, but he hath not wit equal to his father; and as for Robin (the famous Earl of Leicester)—well, you shall call him a leopard cub an’ you will. He hath all his father’s wit and craft, and more than his father’s grace and favour; and he looketh to serve as a courtier.”
“He shall carry on, then, in his father’s place,” said Dr Thorpe, with a groan.
“Methinks he shall either make a right good man, or a right bad one,” answered Mr Underhill. “He hath wit for aught.”
“And who,” said Dr Thorpe, “ever heard of a Dudley a good man?”