"Upon my word, it is the truth," said Robin. "And that's not all. Sir
Edward cried out 'Fie!' upon the player for a saucy varlet; but the
fellow only laughed, and bowed quite low, and said that he took no
offense from Sir Edward for saying that, since it could not honestly be
denied, but that Sir Thomas did not know the truth from a truckle-bed in
broad daylight, and was but the remnant of a gentleman to boot."

"The bold-faced rogue!"

"Ay, that he is," nodded Robin; "and for his boldness Sir Thomas
straightway demanded that the High Bailiff refuse the company license to
play in Stratford."

"Refuse the Lord High Admiral's players?"

"Marry, no one else. And then Master John Shakspere, wroth at what Sir
Thomas had said of his son Will, vowed that he would send a letter down
to London town, and lay the whole coil before the Lord High Admiral
himself. For ever since that he was High Bailiff, the best companies of
England had always been bidden to play in Stratford, and it would be an
ill thing now to refuse the Lord Admiral's company after granting
licenses to both my Lord Pembroke's and the High Chamberlain's."

"And so it would," spoke up Walter Roche; "for there are our own
townsmen, Richard and Cuthbert Burbage, who are cousins of mine, and
John Hemynge and Thomas Greene, besides Will Shakspere and his brother
Edmund, all playing in the Lord Chamberlain's company in London before
the Queen. It would be a black score against them all with the Lord
Admiral--I doubt not he would pay them out."