“‘Sir shepherd! I held down my head,
And “Mother! fie, for shame!” I said;
All I could say would not content her;
Mother she would for ever harp on’t,
“A man’s no better than a sarpent,
And not a crumb more innocenter.”’
“I know not how it happeneth; but a poet doth open before a poet, albeit of baser sort. It is not that I hold my poetry to be better than some other in time past, it is because I would shew thee that I was virtuous and wooed virtuously, that I repeat it. Furthermore, I wished to leave a deep impression on the mother’s mind that she was exceedingly wrong in doubting my innocence.”
William Shakspeare.
“Gracious Heaven! and was this too doubted?”
Sir Thomas.
“Maybe not; but the whole race of men, the whole male sex, wanted and found in me a protector. I shewed her what I was ready to do.”
William Shakspeare.
“Perhaps, sir, it was for that very thing that she put the daughter back and herself forward.”
Sir Thomas.
“I say not so; but thou mayest know as much as befitteth, by what follows:—