Richard Burbage, one of the intellectuals of his day, was a little shocked by such a banal observation. Had it been possible for the god of his idolatry to seem less than himself, he had never been in such imminent danger. But the true prince must ever be allowed to speak as it seemed good to him.
“We will thank God that Gloriana has at any rate a shrewd and seizing mind,” said Richard Burbage, with enthusiasm. “At least, it will not be above her.”
The playwright smiled the little sad smile that was so often his when others chose to refer to his writings in his presence. None had ever been able to interpret that gesture; none ever would, but it was a smile of pain rather than of happiness.
With a sudden effort of the will the playwright cast these trivialities out of his thoughts. “Dick,” he said, “I am come to talk of a matter of more account than this. I would have you know that our poor young Egyptians are returned.”
“Oh, a murrain on them!” The face of the tragedian grew startled and discomposed. “Plague take them,” he said, “I had hoped we had seen the last of them.”
“Poor souls!” said the playwright.
Never had Burbage seen his too-sensitive comrade—to whom he had come to stand in the relation of a protective elder brother—in such a state of distress. The tragic story had torn his heart. But the counsel of the tragedian was sadly discouraging.
“If you will be ruled by me, my friend,” said that sage and practical man of the world, “you will take precious care to keep out of this matter. Let them go their ways. The times are perilous. And he who touches affairs of state generally finds it easier to lose his head than to keep it.”
“You are right there, Dick,” said the playwright, with an odd light in his eyes. “But better a man should lose his head than forswear his soul.”
Burbage knew that it was vain to argue with William Shakespeare in a matter of this kind. There were certain things in which he was not as other men. For all his childlike simplicity of character, he had yet the power, as he had proved many times, to take a line of his own when occasion called.