The apartment in which they were congregated was one which Froth had appropriated to his own especial use,—a good-sized room, whose windows looked into the orchard in rear of the hostel, one of those sweet and verdant orchards peculiar to the time, and which are now, for the most part, destroyed; but which, in Elizabeth's day, were attached to every goodly dwelling, or hostel, in a country town.
A half-open door, on one side of the apartment, gave a peep into a smaller room, in which, as the sun streamed from the lattice-window, its rays fell upon, and lighted up, the deep red curtains and square-topped hangings of an antique bed; and at the same time gilded the high-backed chairs with which the room was furnished.
On the ample hearth of the first-named apartment two enormous deer-hounds were to be seen, sprawling at full length, their occasional disturbed sleep, and short sharp bark, shewing that their dreams were of the woodland and the chase.
The occupants of the room were five in number. They were seated round a massive oaken table, which placed near the window, gave them a delicious view of the green and bowery orchard.
The fat and jovial Froth, "the lord o' the feast," as he leaned back in his strong oaken chair, whilst he occasionally looked out upon the orchard, listened to the recital of some verses his opposite neighbour was reading aloud. Seated directly opposite the window was a tall thin man, of about five-and-twenty years of age, clad in the faded suit of an officer of pikemen, an enormous rapier tacked to his waist, with dagger to match. His chair being drawn so close to the table that he sat bolt-upright, and, as he dallied with the glass he ever and anon carried to his lips, he also listened with attention to the words of the poem.
Opposite to him sat another man, about thirty years of age, clad in a tawdry suit, which in our own days would have been shrewdly suspected of having done duty on the boards of a theatre. Beside him, with apron doffed, and his cap thrown aside, sat mine host of the tavern—a portly and jolly-looking companion.
Such was the party assembled, and, as the reader finished the fragment of verse, his hearers seemed so much interested in its recital that for some moments there was a pause of expectation. It was like the expiring sound of sweet music, which has a soothing effect upon the listener, making him long for a renewal of the melody.
"There is more?" said Froth, inquiringly, as he turned his eye upon the reader.
"No more have I written," said young Shakespeare, who was indeed the reader of the poetry; "nor deemed I this deformed offspring of my brain worthy of notice."
"Then I pr'ythee, good William," said Froth, "repair thy voice by another draught of Canary, and give the two first verses over again."