What was the history of his former life none could tell, for he had come a stranger to the town. Some said, however, that in his youth he had been engaged in the wars of the Netherlands, and cashiered for cowardice; others affirmed that he was the discarded steward of some noble, dismissed for arrant knavery and dishonest practices; whilst by others, again, he was said to have been the host of a low tavern, situated in the purlieus of Whitefriars of London, and, that having amassed a small competency, he had since pretty well dissipated it, and was now living at Stratford to be out of the way.
Be that, however, as it may, at the period of our story he resided at a sort of tavern or hostel, situated in the suburbs of the town, and which hostel himself and yoke fellows principally occupied, leading a roaring, rollicking life, to the great scandal of the more steady portions of the community.
In this society young Shakespeare heard many things which considerably augmented his store of knowledge. The soldier described "the toil o' the war," and the abuses of the service he had been in, where "preferment went by letter and affection." The adventurer told of seas, "whose yeasty waves confound and swallow navigation up;" of islands full of noises, and peopled by strange monsters; and the fat host spoke of the "cities usuries," "the art o' the Court," and the adventures and intrigues himself had been the hero of in various localities from his youth upwards.
In proportion to the pleasure young Shakespeare took in this society, was the dislike entertained for it by his wife; for the character of the presiding genius of the tavern she was well aware of, together with his loudness for, and capacity of, imbibing strong liquors, and carrying them steadily. His professed libertinism, and light opinion of the whole sex,—his impudent boast of favours received from several of the good dames of the town, and the various cudgellings he had received from their husbands—each and all of those matters had been industriously poured into her ear by her female gossipers, with the additional information, that the unwieldy gentleman, notwithstanding his unfitness for such exploits, was much given to walking, or rather riding, by moonlight; and, with his more active friends, making free with a stray haunch occasionally, at the expense of the neighbouring gentry. Nay, it was even affirmed, that some of the midnight excursions of himself and followers had not been entirely for the purpose of coney-catching and deer-stealing, but that more than once they had stopped certain travellers between Coventry and Warwick, and eased them of their cash.
As he was, however, well known to be one of the most arrant cowards that ever buckled on a rapier, this latter story was for the most part disbelieved, as far as he was concerned.
Be that as it may, the companionship of the eccentric John Froth, and his yoke-fellows was not likely to lead a youth of the free, unsuspicious, and generous disposition of young Shakespeare into any good employment, and that his wife well knew and as roundly told him of. Had her advice been well-timed, and gently given, perhaps it might have produced its effect; but unhappily, the fair Anne possessed a shrewd temper and little tact.
"In bed he slept not for her urging it,
At board he fed not, for her urging it,
Alone, it was the subject of her theme;
In company she often glanced at it."
And therefore came it that the man was wretched. In short, his sleep was hindered by her railings; his head made light, and his meat sauced with her upbraidings; so that he was driven, for relief, to associate the more with the very companions his wife was so jealous of.
"Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue,
But moody and dull melancholy—
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair;
The venom clamours of a jealous woman,
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth."
Perhaps one great charm young Shakespeare felt in the society of his fat friend, was the faculty he seemed to possess of enjoying every moment of his life to the utmost. He turned everything to mirth. Nothing could for a moment damp his spirits, unless his fears for his own personal safety were aroused; and, even then, he was the more amusing, from the very absurdity of his apprehensions, labouring, as he did, to persuade those who so well knew his infirmity, of the heroic nature of his disposition.