"A largess universal, like the sun,
Her liberal eye did give to every one."
Those who have stood in the ranks of an English battalion can perhaps best imagine the proud feeling which must have animated the breast of Shakespeare at this moment. His eye passed rapidly over the glittering files, and then it dwelt with curiosity upon the stern features of the troops, as each glance was bent upon that one form, "so regal, so majestical;" and, as he looked upon the expression of those bearded men, he felt that no power which the invader could bring would be likely to subdue such a host. The English might be struck dead—blasted—annihilated by some wrathful bolt from the skies, but, unless the power of Heaven fought against them, no foreign force could subdue that island-host upon their own ground. And then, whilst he gazed upon this inspiriting sight, as the Queen passed off the ground, and took her way "so strongly guarded" amongst the innumerable white tents, a wild flourish of martial music floated through the air, the firm unbent forms of the soldiery relaxed, the sword point was lowered, the pike trailed, drum and fife sounded, and the various companies wheeled off then-several positions and followed through the camp. As column after column moved past, still that observant eye was rivetted upon them. The musqueteers in the front rank; the pikemen in a dense column behind; then came the cavalry, slow and stately, with a rushing ringing sound, the horses reined back to keep time to the trumpets' clang. Squadron after squadron, they moved past with stately pace and slow; the several leaders armed in steel, galloping up and down the ranks, and giving the word as they wheeled round and moved off the field. They were led by one scarce two-and-twenty years of age, who seemed, on his magnificent charger, with his beaver raised, "the prince of chivalry," the "arm and burgonet of men." The young Earl of Essex, just then in the zenith of his fame, and to whom the Queen had given command of the cavalry.
And so the eye of the "poor player" pierced through the camp and witnessed all the "pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war;" himself, in his humble suit of buff, with buck and breast and helm of a common soldier, the greatest man there. He saw the tented field, so as only a nation's "endeavour for defence" could have shown it him. He mingled amongst tho white tents of the soldiery, and he visited the huts made of boughs of trees and poles, beneath which many of the gentry from the various counties and their followers were sheltered.
At this period of his life his profusion had made him known to many of the nobles and leaders present, and those who fell in with him were pleased to have a word with "the pleasant Willie" amidst the excitement and bustle of the hour. As he turned from the scene, and, with his companions threaded his way amidst the crowd of soldiers, suttlers, and the other accompaniments of a huge army, he was met and accosted by one high in authority amongst the host.
"Ah! Will Shakespeare," said the noble, "hast thou too put thyself in arms? 'Fore Heaven, man, thou shalt come with me to my tent. See, here is my Lord of Southampton, and other gallants, 'the very elements of the camp,' would fain have a rouse ere they wait upon the Queen. Come, man, a word from thee will spice the cup. No denial," continued the noble, as Shakespeare endeavoured to excuse himself on the plea of wishing to make on toward Dover that night. "No denial. Come, thou shalt cup us this day in the field. I could better lack the best of my followers on the day of battle than lose thee now we have once met here. What says't thou, my Lord of Southampton, thou canst not excuse the gentle William, eh?" And so it was late in the day ere Shakespeare left the tented field of Tilbury.
When he did so he crossed over a bridge of boats and barges which had been drawn across the Thames at Gravesend. This bridge had been constructed for the purpose of opposing the passage of the invading fleet, should any portion of the expedition succeed in crossing the Nore, and to afford a means of communication for supplies of men and munition from Kent and Sussex.
With two or three companions (and who, like himself, were resolved to hasten to the coast and, if possible, get on board some vessel at Dover,) Shakespeare hastened, after leaving Gravesend, along the Old Kent Road, then the most beaten track in England.
Thus then, under circumstances so peculiar, the players found themselves in the county of Kent, that interesting county, which has been the battle-ground of the English for so many centuries, and which yet retains the ancient name Cæsar,[20] conferred upon it upwards of eighteen hundred years before.
Much as was the traffic on this thoroughfare at the period of our story, the road was still in a very primitive state, thickly shadowed by trees on either side, ill kept and full of deep ruts and quagmires, whilst the country on either hand seemed one entire forest, and thus, amidst the bustle of the time, troops marching and counter-marching, "posts tiring on," pack-horses, and wains, and carriers occasionally overtaking them, Shakespeare took his way.
We leave our readers to imagine the feelings of the poet as he passed along this, the old Roman road.