Richard Burbage in particular was sealed of the tribe. In those reverent eyes the true prince had no peer. The tragedian was not only a magnificent actor; he was also an uncommonly shrewd and practical man of the world. He of all men was able to appraise the merit of William Shakespeare. Burbage knew that his touch had an astonishing mastery. He knew Shakespeare to be an incomparable craftsman who had already furnished him with wonderful parts in which to display his own genius. Moreover the tragedian firmly believed that this wonderful man carried many another fine play as yet unborn in his brain. It mattered not what the theme was. It might be as old as the moon or it might be invented expressly for the Globe Theatre, but as soon as William Shakespeare took the pen in his hand the realms of gold were unlocked. An incommunicable thrill was given to the stale old plot; the light that never was on sea or land glowed over it; every line acquired a cadence, a fire, a magic that Richard Burbage, acknowledged monarch of its interpreters, knew to be incomparable. In the presence of the other members of the company, and particularly in that of the younger ones, Burbage would often allude to the playwright in terms of awe. His attitude of whimsical adoration was apt to amuse his brethren not a little at times. Whenever the playwright expressed an opinion on things and men--and an uncommonly shrewd one it was as a rule--it could count invariably on the approval of Richard Burbage. Furthermore all that he was moved to say or do had some high sanction in the sight of the tragedian. There might be those at that table less prone to idolatry. Some of the younger men, having much to learn, were tempted to smile at the spectacle of their chief sitting apart with a pair of nondescript vagabonds, who to judge by their clothes were no more than a couple of strolling Egyptians. But with Burbage and Kemp this was by no means an occasion for levity. Their implicit faith in their colleague enabled them to see method in his madness. “Another of his discoveries, I trow, Dick,” said William Kemp, with a sly glance in the direction of the window. “You can lay your sweet life upon that,” said the tragedian, fixing a stern eye upon a somewhat froward junior a little farther down the table. “Do you mind how he found Edgcumbe and where he found him?” “That I do, and Crosby too and Parflete also if it comes to that. There is not a man in all England has such an eye for a youth of likelihood.”