“Nay, you egregious mime, a thing of more account than a coney or two. It is to save the life of an innocent man and, as we will hope, to lose a foul knave his head.”
The tragedian, in accordance with a cautious, practical and sagacious disposition, began to look dubious.
“I am by no means clear,” he said, “that Richard Burbage was designed by nature for knight errantry.”
“No harm shall come of this adventure, I promise you. But all I ask is, that your dove’s voice shall roar a little like the Nubian lion; and that your large assemblance shall make us look valiant in the light of the moon.”
“That will I promise, if I have but a flask of canary within me.”
“It is a choicely pretty stratagem. And if there is no miscarriage, I think we may obtain a night’s honest amusement at the expense of one who looks not to provide it.”
“What is your plan, you mad maker of plays? And what is its aim and object?”
“All in a good season you shall be told. But first, we must prick our band for the wars. I name myself captain generalissimo, and I name Richard Burbage, a large man, frowardly given, for my ancient. And for my squire, I name young Parflete, whose light limbs and smooth face and gentle air make innocence herself seem a baggage. And then I will name Lowin, an honest, good fellow with wit enough not to ask questions, and stout Kemp who is a wag but not a fool, and of course Heriot, this poor ill-used young man whose life I will save, I am determined upon it.”
“All the same, my William, I would learn the nature of your stratagem,” said Burbage, tenaciously.
“Nay, Richard, possess your soul in patience for the nonce. The stratagem is a good stratagem, else may I never drink sack out of a bombard again. But I must now seek young Mr. Heriot and assemble horses for our troop.”