those who fail--pebbles cast into water whose ring
still wideneth, reacheth God knows what unguessable shore where loss may
yet be counted gain! I drink to Fortune her minions, to Francis Drake
and John Hawkins and Martin Frobisher; to all adventurers and their
deeds in the far-off seas! I drink to merry England and to the day when
every sea shall bring her tribute!--to England, like Aphrodite,
new-risen from the main! Drink with me!"
The tavern of the Triple Tun rang with acclamation, and, the windows
being set wide because of the warmth of the June afternoon, the noise
rushed into the street and waylaid the ears of them who went busily to
and fro, and of them who lounged in the doorway, or with folded arms
played Atlas to the tavern walls. "Who be the roisterers within?"
demanded a passing citizen of one of these supporters. The latter made
no answer; he was a ragged retainer of Melpomene, and he awaited the
coming forth of Sir Mortimer Ferne, a notable encourager of all who
would scale Parnassus. But his neighbor, a boy in blue and silver,
squatted upon a sunny bench, vouchsafed enlightenment.
"Travellers to strange places," quoth he, taking a straw from his mouth
and stretching long arms. "Tall men, swingers in Brazil-beds,
parcel-gilt with the Emperor of Manoa, and playfellows to the nymphs of
Don Juan Ponce de Leon his fountain,--in plain words, my master, Sir
Mortimer Ferne, Captain of the _Cygnet_, and his guests to dinner, to
wit, Sir John Nevil, Admiral of our fleet, with sundry of us captains
and gentlemen adventurers to the Indies, and, for seasoning, a handful
of my master's poor friends, such as courtiers and great lords
and poets."
"Thinkest to don thy master's wit with his livery?" snapped the
poetaster. "'Tis a chain for a man,--too heavy for thy wearing."
The boy stretched his arms again. "'Master' no more than in reason,"
quoth he. "I also am a gentleman. Heigho! The sun shineth hotter here
than in the doldrums!"
"Well, go thy ways for a sprightly crack!" said the citizen, preparing
to go his. "I know them now, for my cousin Parker hath a venture in the
_Mere Honour_, and that is the great ship the Queen hath lent Sir John,
his other ships being the _Marigold_, the _Cygnet_, and the _Star_, and
they're all a-lying above Greenwich, ready to sail on the morrow for the
Spanish Main."
"You've hit it in the clout," yawned the boy. "I'll bring you an emerald
hollowed out for a reliquary--if I
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