“But, honest Willy!?—­”

Such were the very words; I wrote them down with two signs in the margent,—­one a mark of admiration, as thus (!), the other of interrogation (so we call it) as thus (?).

“But, honest Willy, I would fain hear more,” quoth he, “about the learned Doctor Glaston.  He seemeth to be a man after God’s own heart.”

William Shakspeare.

“Ay is he!  Never doth he sit down to dinner but he readeth first a chapter of the Revelation; and if he tasteth a pound of butter at Carfax, he saith a grace long enough to bring an appetite for a baked bull’s {106a} —­zle.  If this be not after God’s own heart, I know not what is.” *** Corrected and spell-checked to here—­page 107 *** sir Thomas.

“I would fain confer with him, but that Oxford lieth afar off,—­a matter of thirty miles, I hear.  I might, indeed, write unto him; but our Warwickshire pens are mighty broad-nibbed, and there is a something in this plaguy ink of ours sadly ropy—­”

“I fear there is,” quoth Willy.

“And I should scorn,” continued his worship, “to write otherwise than in a fine Italian character to the master of a college, near in dignity to knighthood.”

William Shakspeare.

“Worshipful sir! is there no other way of communicating but by person, or writing, or messages?”

Sir Thomas.

“I will consider and devise.  At present I can think of none so satisfactory.”

And now did the great clock over the gateway strike.  And Bill Shakspeare did move his lips, even as Sir Thomas had moved his erewhile in ejaculating.  And when he had wagged them twice or thrice after the twelve strokes of the clock were over, again he ejaculated with voice also, saying, —

“Mercy upon us! how the day wears!  Twelve strokes!  Might I retire, please your worship, into the chapel for about three quarters of an hour, and perform the service {108a} as ordained?”

Before Sir Thomas could give him leave or answer, did Sir Silas cry aloud, —

“He would purloin the chalice, worth forty-eight shillings, and melt it down in the twinkling of an eye, he is so crafty.”

But the knight was more reasonable, and said, reprovingly, —

“There now, Silas! thou talkest widely, and verily in malice, if there be any in thee.”

“Try him,” answered Master Silas; “I don’t kneel where he does.  Could he have but his wicked will of me he would chop my legs off, as he did the poor buck’s.”

Sir Thomas.

“No, no, no; he hath neither guile nor revenge in him.  We may let him have his way, now that he hath taken the right one.”

Sir Silas.

“Popery! sheer popery! strong as harts-horn!  Your papists keep these outlandish hours for their masses and mummery.  Surely we might let God alone at twelve o’clock!  Have we no bowels?”