Without hesitation, trepidation or excuse, William arose in manly attitude and drew a picture of beautiful Venus:
"Sometimes she shakes her head and then his hand,
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band;
She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone
She locks her lily fingers one in one!
"'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemmed thee here,
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;
Feed where thou wilt on mountain or in dale;
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower where the pleasant fountains lie.
"'Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom grass and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brake obscure and rough
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain;
Then be my deer since I am such a park—
No dog shall rouse thee though a thousand bark!'"
When he dropped in his chair the revelers went wild with enthusiasm, and Marlowe and Southampton wished to know where the "Stratford Boy" got the poem!
William smiled, tapped his forehead and tossed off a bumper of brandy to the cheers that still demanded more mental food.
But as it was two by the clock, our friend Field suggested that we retire, when Marlow and himself took us in a carriage to the Devil Tavern, where we slept off our first spree in London.
"O thou invisible spirit of wine,
If thou hast no name to be known by,
Let us call thee Devil!"
We arose the next morning a little groggy, and William had a shade of melancholy remorse flash over his usually bright countenance.
He abstractedly remarked: "Well, Jack, we are making a fine start for fame and fortune. The stride we took last night, at the Boar's Head, will soon land us in Newgate or Parliament!"