"What?" cried Nick, in amazement. "No stage-play? And why not?"

"Why," said Robin, "it was just this way--my father told me of it. Sir
Thomas Lucy, High Sheriff of Worcester, y' know, rode in from Charlcote
yesternoon, and with him Sir Edward Greville of Milcote. So the
burgesses made a feast for them at the Swan Inn. Sir Thomas fetched a
fine, fat buck, and the town stood good for ninepence wine and twopence
bread, and broached a keg of sturgeon. And when they were all met
together there, eating, and drinking, and making merry--what? Why, in
came my Lord Admiral's players from London town, ruffling it like high
dukes, and not caring two pops for Sir Thomas, or Sir Edward, or for
Stratford burgesses all in a heap; but sat them down at the table
straightway, and called for ale, as if they owned the place; and not
being served as soon as they desired, they laid hands upon Sir Thomas's
server as he came in from the buttery with his tray full, and took both
meat and drink."

"What?" cried Nick.

"As sure as shooting, they did!" said Robin; "and when Sir Thomas's
gentry yeomen would have seen to it--what? Why, my Lord Admiral's
master-player clapped his hand to his poniard-hilt, and dared them come
and take it if they could."

"To Sir Thomas Lucy's men?" exclaimed Nick, aghast.

"Ay, to their teeth! Sir Edward sprang up then, and said it was a shame
for players to behave so outrageously in Will Shakspere's own home town.
And at that Sir Thomas, who, y' know, has always misliked Will, flared
up like a bull at a red rag, and swore that all stage-players be
runagate rogues, anyway, and Will Shakspere neither more nor less than a
deer-stealing scape-gallows."

"Surely he did na say that in Stratford Council?" protested Nick.

"Ay, but he did--that very thing," said Robin; "and when that was out,
the master-player sprang upon the table, overturning half the ale, and
cried out that Will Shakspere was his very own true friend, and the
sweetest fellow in all England, and that whosoever gainsaid it was a
hemp-cracking rascal, and that he would prove it upon his back with a
quarter-staff whenever and wherever he chose, be he Sir Thomas Lucy, St.
George and the Dragon, Guy of Warwick, and the great dun cow, all rolled
up in one!"

"Robin Getley, is this the very truth, or art thou cozening me?"

"Upon my word, it is the truth," said Robin. "And that's not all. Sir
Edward cried out 'Fie!' upon the player for a saucy varlet