"O' my word, Will, he will be more likely to drive thee from it," said Snare; "for Launcelot Quill, Grasp's head clerk, vows he never saw man more angered than the old knight is against thee."
"Tush, man!" said Shakespeare, "never tell me of his anger. Let him do his spite. He hath already done me several ill turns, from the bare suspicion that I have broke his park. Now, I doubt not, he will fine, imprison, and what not, if he can but catch me! Come, another cup, and then to inform our companions of the Lucy Arms of this matter. Best, however, clap-to the outer door, and make all fast," he said, rising and drawing the bolt across the fore-door, "lest this Cavaliero Justice hath already let loose his myrmidons against me. Ha! ha!" he continued, reseating himself, "he a Justice of the Peace!—he a Parliament Member! Why, I will fashion a better justice after supper out of a cheese-paring. I pr'ythee, Snare, reach me that ink-horn. I will write a lampoon upon the peaking Cornuto, and fasten it up against his park-gates—I will, indeed, lad!"
"Nay, but Will," urged Snare, "thou wilt scarce venture, daring dog as thou art, further to irritate the knight? I tell thee, being married and settled here, this business will already go far to ruin thee."
"Ruin me!" said Shakespeare, somewhat bitterly. "Ruin me, saidst thou? Why, man, dost think me in a thriving condition here in Stratford?"
"Not entirely so," said Snare, looking around; "I would I could see thy nest better feathered, Will, and I trust I shall yet do so."
"I think it not," said Shakespeare; "business decreases apace with me. I am called wild, inattentive, dissolute,—nay, I have had one or two slight misunderstandings with my family; and, as thou sayest, this last business and the rancorous hatred of Sir Thomas, will go hard with your poor friend. But, come, here we have a couplet or two in his condign praise: for a taste—
"A parliament member, a justice of peace,
At home a poor scarecrow, at London an asse;
If lowsie is Lucy, as same volke miscalle it,
Then Lucy is lowsie whatever befall it."
"'Fore heaven, Will, stop," said Snare, laughing, "Thou hast indeed touched up the knight; thou hast tied him to a post, and wilt lash him into madness."
"Nay, but stay," said Shakespeare, "I will give him another stanza yet. Hearkee to this:
"He thinks himself great.
Yet an asse in his state,
We allowe by his ears but with asses to mate;
If Lucy is lowsie as some volke miscalle it,
Then sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it."