The lady half rises, as the poet enters and as she does so, he sinks upon one knee, and respectfully kisses the hand she extends to him.
Nothing, indeed, can exceed the respectful attention with which the poet stands in the presence of that female. He does not even take the chair, placed near the couch on which she is seated, till she requires him to do so. And well indeed might Shakespeare gaze with interest, and no less admiration, upon that lady, as she again reclined upon the couch from which she had half risen at his entrance.
The perfect proportions of her form and features, softened as they both were in the subdued light of that antique apartment, rendered her in the eyes of the poet even more beautiful. Her dark hair fell in wavy ringlets upon her shoulders, and her large eyes beamed with an expression of sweetness and regard upon him, which made them full of peril to one so impassioned.
Frankly and gracefully she again stretched forth her hand. "My kind preserver," she said, "my generous and noble friend; but that weakness keeps me a prisoner to my couch, 'tis I who ought to kneel to thee."
"I heard the sweet tones, lady," said the poet, "which gave notice that I might approach."
"Alas!" she replied, "how can I ever requite thy generosity? Had it been my fortune to fall into other hands, I might, indeed, have been unhappy; but thou, oh! thou art different from other mortals."
"Beauty, lady," said Shakespeare, "provoketh thieves even sooner than gold. Nay, it is that beauty which has made fearful of trusting you in this evil town, save whilst I can myself guard over you. The wild and reckless spirits who dwell around us here, the desperate characters of many who, in their outward seeming, are of the virtuous, render a sojourn in this city unsafe, and therefore have I brought thee hither; and therefore have I constituted myself thy sole guardian till recovered strength shall enable you to take the journey you contemplate."
"You will forgive me, then," said the lady, "that although I have related to you some portion of my story, I yet conceal my own, and the name of those connected with the tale".
"I am in all thy friend and servant," said Shakespeare.
"And now that I have somewhat recovered," she continued, "recall to me in how much I am indebted to you during my illness. The attendant you have furnished me with hath partially informed me of your goodness, but I would fain hear the recital from your own lips."