Now, in the talk that followed I observed that, while the players amused by relating anecdotes, Ben Jonson made laughter by what he said, speaking in language which belongs to scholars and to books, and that Shakespeare sat for the most part in silence, yet not in the silence of a blockhead in the presence of wits, and when he spoke it was to the purpose. Also I remarked that the guitar passed from hand to hand, and that everybody could play and sing, and that the boldness of the talk showed the freedom of their minds. Who can repeat the unrestrained conversation of a tavern company? Nay, since some of them were more than merry with the wine, it would be an ill turn to set down what they said. We drank our cups and listened to the talk. Presently Ben Jonson himself sang one of his own songs, in a rough but not unmelodious voice: "Follow a shadow, it still flies you; Seem to fly it, it will pursue. So court a mistress, she denies you; Let her alone--she will court you. Say, are not women truly, then, Styled but the shadows of us men? "At morn or even shades are longest, At noon they are or short or none; So men at weakest, they are strongest, But grant us perfect, they're not known. Say, are not women truly, then, Styled but the shadows of the men?" We came away about sunset, or near half-past eight in the evening. Some of the company were by this time merry with their wine, and as we rose one began to bawl an old tavern ditty, drumming on the wood of the guitar with his knuckles: "There was a Ewe had three lambs, And one of them was blacke; There was a man had three sons-- Jeffrey, James, and Jack. "The one was hanged, the other drown'd; The third was lost and never found; The old man he fell in a sound-- Come fill us a cup of Sacke." It was nearly high tide on the river, which spread itself out full and broad between the banks, reflecting the evening glow in the western sky. Numberless swans floated about the stream. It was also covered with boats. Some were state barges belonging to great people, with awnings and curtains, painted and gilt, filled with ladies who sang as the boat floated quietly with the current to the music of guitars. Others were the cockle-shell of humble folk. Here was the prentice, taking his sweetheart out upon the river for the freshness of the evening air; here the citizen, with his wife and children in a wherry; here the tilt-boat, with its load of passengers coming up from Greenwich to Westminster. There were also the barges and lighters laden with hay, wool, and grain, waiting for the tide to turn in order to unload at Queenhithe or Billingsgate.