Well, what remains to tell? We married, we were happy? Thou knowest it, and yet sayest, "Go on." _Anne_ and I were married early in the _October_ of that Year; and on the _29th_ of that same Month, Master _Hewet_ was chosen Lord _Mayor_ of _London_, and knighted at _Westminster_. What a Pageant we got up for him! I was a young Husband, full of Spirits, and ready for Anything that came in my Way, Feasting or Fighting; in special, then, to do Honour to him unto whom, under Heaven, I owed all earthly Good. So I took Council with the Master-revellers; and, between us, we concocted as pretty a Subtlety as ever was devised! Don't laugh, Sirrah! you'd have thought it very fine. There was the Symbol of our Mystery, a Golden Ram, ridden by a little Child, cherub-like for Beauty, followed by rustical Shepherds and Shepherdesses with Pipes and Tabors and flower-wreathed Crooks. Then came the Players of the Pageant, which was the Story of _Apollo_ keeping the Flocks of _Admetus_, and helping him to win his fair Wife; all which was to be enacted at the proper Time on a goodly Stage representing a pastoral Wilderness, with Trees, Bushes, Shrubs, Brambles, and Thickets, interspersed with Birds and Beasts. In the Midst, _Apollo_ playing on his Lyre: on either Side a Satyr, mopping, mowing, and curvetting. This was, as you may plainly perceive, altogether diverse from and very superior to the Drapers' tasteless Pageant of _Salisbury Plain_, whereon were assembled Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Carders, Spinners, Dyers, Wool-combers, Shermen, Dressers, Fullers, Weavers, without any Order or Propriety. [Illustration: J Jellicoe The Masque] Ours was of another guess Sort, Sir! I fancy there was some little Classicality in it; though I say it that should not. After the Hall Dinner, ('twas noted of all how pretty _Anne_, the young Bride, looked as Lady Mayoress!) the Players having set up their Stage, _Apollo_ was discovered lying all along, a playing of his Lyre, with his Crook cast aside and his Sheep scattered hither and thither: and, quod he, "_Whoe'er may it gainsay, I am the God of Day; And it is also I Am God of Poetry: Howbeit, 'tis my Fate, Thus cast from high Estate, In these poor Weeds to keep The good Admetus' Sheep._"