"Did not your brother, John Coomb, accommodate Master John Shakespeare, at his need, with moneys, not long back?" inquired Cramboy.
"In sooth did he," returned Thin Beard, "more than once, I can tell thee."
"And did I not hear that John Coomb pressed him hard for repayment, and would have clapped him up in jail but for the debt being defrayed by this poet of our's,—this William his son,—so soon as he became aware of it?"
"Nay, 'tis true enough," said Thin Beard; "I may not deny that my brother doth press hard for moneys due."
"Go to," said Mumble; "we all know John Coomb and his usances well enough without your confession. 'Tis creditable to Master hath been given to courses wild. I like him better for his befriending his father than for his poetry."
"Come," said the head bailiff, laying down his pipe, and rising from his chair, "Let us drink the health of our good townsman, since he hath so far done honour to the place of his birth. Who knows, he may do even better yet! We have not altogether approved of the production here before us, peradventure his songs and sonnets are in better taste than his lampoons. Fill, my masters, to the brim. Since the Queen delights to honour Master Shakespeare, here's his health, and may he soon return amongst us!"
And if such was the feeling entertained towards the poet by the more mechanical portion of the community of Stratford, those of higher degree felt a proportionable share of respect, since they could better appreciate his merits.
And now, having once more returned to the spot from whence we started, we must again revisit some of the localities in and around that sweet neighbourhood. Sir Hugh Clopton having also returned from London on business of import, is once more to be seen in his old dwelling.
Since we last beheld him located there, many stirring events have transpired. His life, on the whole, has passed, since the action with the Armada, in ease and quietude. At the present moment, however, he is in some trouble, consequent upon the untoward events connected with his nephew. Nay, he has returned to London for the purpose of parting with all he possesses, so that he may but pay off the huge debts Walter Arderne has become liable for, and save him from the other difficulties he is surrounded by.
It is now far advanced in the month of September. The season is wet and dreary,—one of those unhealthy seasons which produce much sickness throughout the land. The continued rain had flooded the country around. The roads, never at this period good, are now almost impassable. The woods are wrapped in mist, and the marsh lands a perfect sea.