that might serve a queen, though she be all too black and beetle-
browed for Queen Elizabeth. Who is she, Master Gilbert?"

"She is Cicely Talbot, daughter to the gentleman porter of your
Majesty's lodge."

"See to her--mark her little dignity with her heather and bluebell
crown as she sits on the rock, as stately as jewels could make her!
See her gesture with her hands, to mark where the standing ruff ought
to be. She hath the true spirit of the Comedy--ah! and here cometh
young Antony with mincing pace, with a dock-leaf for a fan, and a
mantle for a farthingale! She speaks! now hark!"

"Good morrow to you, my young mistress," began a voice pitched two
notes higher than its actual childlike key. "Thou hast a new
farthingale, I see! O Antony, that's not the way to curtsey--do it
like this. No no! thou clumsy fellow--back and knees together."

"Never mind, Cis," interposed one of the boys--"we shall lose all our
play time if you try to make him do it with a grace. Curtsies are
women's work--go on."

"Where was I? O--" (resuming her dignity after these asides) "Thou
hast a new farthingale, I see."

"To do my poor honour to your Grace's birthday."

"Oh ho! Is it so? Methought it had been to do honour to my fair
mistress's own taper waist. And pray how much an ell was yonder
broidered stuff?"