"What?" cried Nick.

"As sure as shooting, they did!" said Robin; "and when Sir Thomas's
gentry yeomen would have seen to it--what? Why, my Lord Admiral's
master-player clapped his hand to his poniard-hilt, and dared them come
and take it if they could."

"To Sir Thomas Lucy's men?" exclaimed Nick, aghast.

"Ay, to their teeth! Sir Edward sprang up then, and said it was a shame
for players to behave so outrageously in Will Shakspere's own home town.
And at that Sir Thomas, who, y' know, has always misliked Will, flared
up like a bull at a red rag, and swore that all stage-players be
runagate rogues, anyway, and Will Shakspere neither more nor less than a
deer-stealing scape-gallows."

"Surely he did na say that in Stratford Council?" protested Nick.

"Ay, but he did--that very thing," said Robin; "and when that was out,
the master-player sprang upon the table, overturning half the ale, and
cried out that Will Shakspere was his very own true friend, and the
sweetest fellow in all England, and that whosoever gainsaid it was a
hemp-cracking rascal, and that he would prove it upon his back with a
quarter-staff whenever and wherever he chose, be he Sir Thomas Lucy, St.
George and the Dragon, Guy of Warwick, and the great dun cow, all rolled
up in one!"

"Robin Getley, is this the very truth, or art thou cozening me?"