'Twas a picturesque-looking party that assemblage in the old room of the tavern in East Cheap. The chimes, sounding from the tower of St. Paul's, proclaimed the hour of midnight through an open casement which admitted the fresh and balmy breeze of May. In different parts of the room were to be seen portions of the arms and armour the wearers had cast aside when they sat down to their carouse,—the heavy rapier, the cuirass, the helmet, and the plumed hat are thrown carelessly into corners, whilst the story, the biting jest, and the song is heard:—
"And let me the canakin, clink, clink, clink,
And let me the canakin clink,
A soldier's a man, and life's but a span,
Why then let a soldier drink."
We have said that Shakespeare had obtained an influence amongst the men with whom he had become associated, and the present circumstance of this tavern meeting shews it,—"that tiger's heart wrapped in a player's hide, had stirred them up to join him in the present enterprise." The players have turned soldiers, and are about to seek service amongst the troops embarking with Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher. With the dawn they are to take boat, and drop down towards Tilbury Fort, where the Queen in person is to inspect her troops; and this night they hold perhaps their last revel in one of their old haunts, this night perhaps they drain their last cup in old London.
Fast and furious grows the revel. The spirit of the time lends its charm to men so easily excited, so "of imagination all compact." They drink deep to the healths of the bold spirits of the day. To Lord Howard of Effingham, who commands upon the seas; to the Earl Leicester, who defends the capital at Tilbury; to Lord Seymour; to Lord Hunsdon; to the Queen,—
"Cup her till the world go round."
And then that one man's voice is heard, as he rises and drains his glass, and his tongue gives utterance to words which still more fire the hearts of his hearers. For he speaks of his native land:
"That England hedged in with the main,
That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes.
England, that never did, nor ever shall
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
Unless she first doth help to wound herself."
And now, as the breaking dawn sheds a faint and pale light upon tower, and church, and lofty roof, gradually redeeming the narrow and overshadowed streets from the gloom of night, the sounds of bustle are heard around. Then comes the rattle and roll of drum, the blast of horn, and the quick tramp of armed men. Up Fish-street Hill, down St. Magnus Corner, rattles and reverberates the rolling sheepskin; now it sounds dead and dull beneath the caves and penthouses of St. Margarit's and Pudding Lane; and now it beats loud and shrill as it emerges into Chepe, whilst Aldgate, and Houndsditch, and Hog Lane, and Tower Street, and Cornhill, and Budge Row, also are filled with replications of the clamour.
As the tongue of war thus suddenly startles the ears of the revellers, they start from their seats, and hastily resume the defensive armour. A few minutes more and East Cheap seems filled with men, and all the crafts of London to have turned out and put themselves in arms. Then comes the short quick word of command, the halt and front, the trail of the puissant pike, and the ringing noise of caliver upon the hard ground.
Then, as the Golden Cheap, as it was called, displays its rich treasures from each window, its cloth of gold and silver, and velvets of various hue, its arras and rich carpetings and silk, and, more than all, its comely wives and the handsome daughters of the wealthy burghers standing at the casements they have thus adorned,—then on come the levies destined for the defence of the coast, or about to embark in various ships, lying in the Thames, and which, passing through the double rank of the civic battalions, with quick pace and heavy tramp, turn towards London Bridge.