"Nay, but," said Snare, "your wife, Will,—she likes me not; nay, she forbade my coming hither last Martinmas."
"Heed it not," said Shakespeare, smiling; "believe me, she meant not what she said. A friend both tired, hungry, and in need of shelter, shall never be turned fasting from my door. Besides, hath not thy love brought thee hither to warn me? Tush, man! Do you tell me of a woman's tongue—
"That gives not half so great a blow to the ear,
As doth a chestnut in a farmer's fire."
And Shakespeare threw open the door, and ushered his friend Snare into the inner-room, where they found the dinner spread, and the wife not best pleased at having to tarry.
"Not a word of matters appertaining," he whispered to Snare, as they entered. "Mistress Anne will not endure thee long, Diccon. After the meal is finished, she will take herself off to the upper-room."
Snare therefore followed his friend, and looking somewhat scared, made a leg, and paid his compliments to the hostess as he best could.
'Twas exactly as Shakespeare had surmised. The handsome Anne, whose brow grew somewhat contracted when she saw her husband usher in Snare, left the pair to themselves, as soon as she had finished her meal.
After her departure, Shakespeare placed liquor before his guest; and over a social glass they debated seriously of their affairs.
The high spirit of Shakespeare, however, would not permit of his long remaining under dominion of care or apprehension; and, under influence of a cup or two of Canary, he began to rail upon Sir Thomas, and lash him alternately.
"Out upon the clod-pate," he said; "his brains are as thick as Tewkesbury mustard. He imprison me—he have me whipped! Pshaw! I laugh at the dull ass! I will make him a jest to the whole country!"