“These are homely thoughts—thoughts from a-field, thoughts for the study and housekeeper’s room. But whenever I have given utterance unto them, as my heart hath often prompted me with beatings at the breast, my hearers seemed to bear toward me more true and kindly affection than my richest fancies and choicest phraseologies could purchase.
“’T were convenient to bethink thee, should any other great man’s park have been robbed this season, no judge upon the bench will back my recommendation for mercy. And, indeed, how could I expect it? Things may soon be brought to such a pass that their lordships shall scarcely find three haunches each upon the circuit.”
“Well, Sir!” quoth Master Silas, “you have a right to go on in your own way. Make him only give up the girl.”
Here Sir Thomas reddened with righteous indignation, and answered,—
“I cannot think it! such a stripling! poor, penniless; it must be some one else.” And now Master Silas did redden in his turn, redder than Sir Thomas, and first asked me,—
“What the devil do you stare at?” And then asked his worship,—
“Who should it be if not the rogue?” and his lips turned as blue as a blue-bell. Then Sir Thomas left the window, and again took his chair, and having stood so long on his legs, groaned upon it to ease him. His worship scowled with all his might, and looked exceedingly wroth and vengeful at the culprit, and said unto him,—
“Harkye, knave! I have been conferring with my learned clerk and chaplain in what manner I may, with the least severity, rid the county (which thou disgracest) of thee.”
William Shakspeare raised up his eyes, modestly and fearfully, and said slowly these few words, which, had they been a better and nobler man’s, would deserve to be written in letters of gold. I, not having that art nor substance, do therefore write them in my largest and roundest character, and do leave space about ’em, according to their rank and dignity:—
“Worshipful sir!”