Shakespeare's Christmas, and other storiesQuiller-Couch, Arthur
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Shakespeare's Christmas, and other stories
Quiller-Couch, Arthur
English fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, English
"Then we are well met. I' faith we are very well met," responded the
countryman, recognising Burbage's grave face and plum-coloured doublet.
"Or, as one might better say, well overtaken," said Burbage.
"Marry, and with a suit. I have some acquaintance, Sir, with members
of your honourable calling, as in detail and at large I could prove to
you. Either I have made poor use of it or I guess aright, as I guess
with confidence, that after the triumph will come the speech-making,
and the supper's already bespoken."
"At Nance Witwold's, by the corner of Paris Garden, Sir, where you
shall be welcome."
"I thank you, Sir. But my suit is rather for this young friend of
mine, to whom I have pledged my word."
"He shall be welcome, too."
"He tells me, Sir, that you are Richard Burbage. I knew your father
well, Sir--an honest Warwickshire man: he condescended to my roof and
tasted my poor hospitality many a time; and belike you, too, Sir, being
then a child, may have done the same: for I talk of prosperous days
long since past--nay, so long since that 'twould be a wonder indeed
had you remembered me. The more pleasure it gives me, Sir, to find
James Burbage's sappy virtues flourishing in the young wood, and by the
branch be reminded of the noble stock."
"The happier am I, Sir, to have given you welcome or ever I heard your
claim."
"Faith!" said the apprentice to himself, "compliments begin to fly
when gentlefolks meet." But he had not bargained to sup in this high
company, and the prospect thrilled him with delicious terror. He
glanced nervously across the yard, where some one was approaching with
another lantern.
"My claim?" the countryman answered Burbage. "You have heard but a part
of it as yet. Nay, you have heard none of it, since I use not past
hospitalities with old friends to claim a return from their children.
My claim, Sir, is a livelier one----"
"Tom Nashe! Tom Nashe!" called a voice, clear and strong and masculine,
from the darkness behind the advancing lantern.
"Anon, anon, Sir," quoted Nashe, swinging his own lantern about and
mimicking.
"Don't tell me there be yet more wagons arrived?" asked the voice.
"Six, lad--six, as I hope for mercy: and outside the gate at this
moment."
"There they must tarry, then, till our fellows take breath to unload
'em. But--six? How is it managed, think you? Has Dick Burbage called
out the train-bands to help him? Why, hullo, Dick! What means----"
The newcomer's eyes, round with wonder as they rested a moment on
Burbage, grew rounder yet as they travelled past him to the countryman.
"Father?" he stammered, incredulous.
"Good evening, Will! Give ye good evening, my son! Set down that
lantern and embrace me, like a good boy: a good boy, albeit a man of
fame. Didst not see me, then, in the theatre this afternoon? Yet was I
to the fore there, methinks, and proud to be called John Shakespeare."
"Nay, I was not there; having other fish to fry."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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