_Elizabeth._ I advise thee again, churlish Cecil, how that our Edmund Spenser, whom thou callest most uncourteously a whining whelp, hath good and solid reason for his complaint. God's blood! shall the lady that tieth my garter and shuffles the smock over my head, or the lord that steadieth my chair's back while I eat, or the other that looketh to my buck-hounds lest they be mangy, be holden by me in higher esteem and estate than he who hath placed me among the bravest of past times, and will as safely and surely set me down among the loveliest in the future? _Cecil._ Your Highness must remember he carouseth fully for such deserts: fifty pounds a year of unclipped moneys, and a butt of canary wine; not to mention three thousand acres in Ireland, worth fairly another fifty and another butt, in seasonable and quiet years. _Elizabeth._ The moneys are not enough to sustain a pair of grooms and a pair of palfreys, and more wine hath been drunken in my presence at a feast. The moneys are given to such men, that they may not incline nor be obligated to any vile or lowly occupation; and the canary, that they may entertain such promising wits as court their company and converse; and that in such manner there may be alway in our land a succession of these heirs unto fame. He hath written, not indeed with his wonted fancifulness, nor in learned and majestical language, but in homely and rustic wise, some verses which have moved me, and haply the more inasmuch as they demonstrate to me that his genius hath been dampened by his adversities. Read them. _Cecil._ How much is lost when neither heart nor eye Rosewinged Desire or fabling Hope deceives; When boyhood with quick throb hath ceased to spy The dubious apple in the yellow leaves; When, rising from the turf where youth reposed, We find but deserts in the far-sought shore; When the huge book of Faery-land lies closed, And those strong brazen clasps will yield no more. _Elizabeth._ The said Edmund hath also furnished unto the weaver at Arras, John Blanquieres, on my account, a description for some of his cunningest wenches to work at, supplied by mine own self, indeed, as far as the subject-matter goes, but set forth by him with figures and fancies, and daintily enough bedecked. I could have wished he had thereunto joined a fair comparison between Dian--no matter--he might perhaps have fared the better for it; but poets' wits--God help them!--when did they ever sit close about them? Read the poesy, not over-rich, and concluding very awkwardly and meanly. _Cecil._ Where forms the lotus, with its level leaves And solid blossoms, many floating isles, What heavenly radiance swift descending cleaves The darksome wave! Unwonted beauty smiles