'Twas against soldiers of this stamp that such men us Drake were now waging war. The stern hearts and iron fists of his sailors and men-at-arms, were turned against wretches, whose cruel hearts had shewn no mercy to the harmless Indian; and fierce, bloody, remorseless, was the conflict when the Englishmen met the Don.
The great success of the Spaniard in both the Indies, too, was an additional stimulant to the emulation of the English adventurers.
He was indeed considered a hero, who returned safe from the horrors of murderous conflict, mid the sack and siege of town and settlement in the tropics. His sun-burnt visage was gazed on with curiosity; and his account also of hardships endured amidst swamp and thicket, together with exaggerated circumstance of horrid animals, fearful reptiles, and wonderous beings in human form, was listened to with awe and wonder.
The morning Clara had fixed on for her departure dawned brightly. Hill and dale, and wood and park, were faintly gilded with the early morning sun; she looked around, and sighed as she reflected, that perhaps for the last time she beheld the domain of her ancestors.
As her party left the grounds of Shottery and took their way through the village, she reined up her palfrey, and, with her female attendant, remained a few minutes behind. She then turned her horse towards Anne Hathaway's cottage, and, as the road ran close beside it, she resolved to pass the dwelling of her rustic friend, and perhaps see her for a moment and bid her again farewell. As she did so, she observed two youths advancing along the road. They carried cross-bows in their hands, and seemed bound for the woodlands.
"Is not the slighter of those youth's Anne's lover?" inquired Clara of an attendant, as the young men entered the garden of old Hathaway's cottage.
"It is, lady," said the attendant. "Yon handsome lad is William Shakespeare."
"Listen!" said Clara; "he is awakening his mistress with a song." And as the lady drew bridle under shelter of the tall trees beside the cottage, they heard a beautiful voice accompanied by a sort of lute, singing these now well-known words.
"Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Ph[oe]bus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady, sweet, arise.
Arise, arise."[10]
The beauty of the verse, and the sweetness of the singer's voice, completely fixed Clara to the spot; and, as she listened anxiously for another verse, she heard the lattice open, and the voice of Anne join in conversation with her lover. Clara felt extremely anxious again to see one who had been the friend of Walter Arderne, and she determined to accost the youth. When she rode round, however, to the front of the cottage, he was gone on his way, and afterwards with his companion might have been observed, concealed in the woods at Fulbrook. Together they lay in the thick covert and watched a sequestered stag, a bolt from Shakespear's cross-bow had wounded, and which he was again endeavouring to gain a shot at. 'Twas his first poaching offence; and whilst he lay thus crouching in the thick brake, and again sought to get near the stag, his comrade, Dick Snare, kept watch somewhat aloof, lest the keepers came upon them unawares.