"May the pestilence strike the crafty knave!" said Shakespeare to himself, as a slight pang of jealousy shot through his breast. "He affect the handsome Anne Hathaway!"
"You know Master Grasp?" said Dame Hathaway, inquiringly.
"I do," said Shakespeare, drily.
"I thought as much," said the good dame, "for I heard his discourse to Anne, and, sooth to say, he did not speak well of you; nay, he speaks vilely of you."
"Thank Heaven, therefore," said Shakespeare, smiling; "the praise of the wicked is less to be coveted than their censure. By your leave I will seek your daughter in the orchard."
"I pray you do," said Dame Hathaway, "and bid them in to dinner."
When Shakespeare entered the orchard he found the two damsels engaged in removing apples from a sort of store-house erected at the further end of it, to another outhouse nearer to the dwelling; and, as the two elderly swains had gallantly volunteered to assist them in their labours, the damsels were amusing themselves by taxing their good-nature and strength to the utmost.
Accordingly as the youth strolled amongst the tree towards them, he beheld the unhappy Grasp bent double under the weight of an enormous basket, so filled with apples that he could scarce stagger beneath it, whilst Anne Hathaway, with both hands, was still piling up more fruit. Master Doubletongue was similarly loaded, and both the maidens were laughing till their sides ached at the rueful figures their patient lovers exhibited.
The situation was indeed felt by the suitors as sufficiently ridiculous, and when they saw some one approaching both would fain have thrown down their burthens if they had been able.
"Nay, I pray thee, Good Mistress Anne," said Grasp, "give me not the entire produce of the orchard at one turn. I am neither Hercules nor Atlas. My back is well nigh broke, as well as my heart, by your cruelty. I would fain stand upright. Heaven relieve me," he muttered to himself, "from this pestilent load."