"Has my verse, then, so much pleased you?" inquired Shakespeare.
"It hath more than pleased, it has delighted me," said Froth; "so to't again, lad."
"Two verses you shall have," said Shakespeare, smiling, "but no more." And he again read from his manuscript the following lines of a poem he had that morning commenced writing,—
"Even as the sun with purple-coloured face—"
"'Fore gad, bully host," interrupted Froth, "but thy countenance at this moment, round, fiery, and covered with huge angry welks and knobs, must have suggested that line. Was't not so, sweet William; didst thou not call the sun's face purple-coloured from the reflection of our host's mulberry visage?"
"Go to, go to," said the host; "'fore gad, if my face took but a tithe of the good vivers to keep it in colour that thine doth, I were altogether a ruined landlord."
"I cry you mercy, good William," said Froth; "proceed with thy stanzas. Mine host here is one of those prating knaves who would rather talk than listen, let who will be the orator."
And the poet again read from his manuscript,—
"Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose cheeked, Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn.
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And, like a bold-faced suitor, 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice fairer than myself'—thus she begun;
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are.
Nature that made thee with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.'"
"And how call ye the poem?" inquired Froth, as young Shakespeare finished the second verse, and then thrust the paper into the breast of his doublet.