Have you not seen the partridge quake,
Viewing the hawk approaching nigh?
She cuddles close beneath the brake,
Afraid to sit, afraid to fly, --PRIOR.
It chanced, upon that memorable morning, that one of the earliest of
the huntress train, who appeared from her chamber in full array for the
chase, was the Princess for whom all these pleasures were instituted,
England's Maiden Queen. I know not if it were by chance, or out of the
befitting courtesy due to a mistress by whom he was so much honoured,
that she had scarcely made one step beyond the threshold of her
chamber ere Leicester was by her side, and proposed to her, until the
preparations for the chase had been completed, to view the Pleasance,
and the gardens which it connected with the Castle yard.
To this new scene of pleasures they walked, the Earl's arm affording his
Sovereign the occasional support which she required, where flights
of steps, then a favourite ornament in a garden, conducted them from
terrace to terrace, and from parterre to parterre. The ladies in
attendance, gifted with prudence, or endowed perhaps with the amiable
desire of acting as they would be done by, did not conceive their duty
to the Queen's person required them, though they lost not sight of her,
to approach so near as to share, or perhaps disturb, the conversation
betwixt the Queen and the Earl, who was not only her host, but also her
most trusted, esteemed, and favoured servant. They contented themselves
with admiring the grace of this illustrious couple, whose robes of state
were now exchanged for hunting suits, almost equally magnificent.
Elizabeth's silvan dress, which was of a pale blue silk, with silver
lace and AIGUILLETTES, approached in form to that of the ancient
Amazons, and was therefore well suited at once to her height and to
the dignity of her mien, which her conscious rank and long habits of
authority had rendered in some degree too masculine to be seen to the
best advantage in ordinary female weeds. Leicester's hunting suit of
Lincoln green, richly embroidered with gold, and crossed by the gay
baldric which sustained a bugle-horn, and a wood-knife instead of a
sword, became its master, as did his other vestments of court or of war.
For such were the perfections of his form and mien, that Leicester was
always supposed to be seen to the greatest advantage in the character
and dress which for the time he represented or wore.
The conversation of Elizabeth and the favourite Earl has not reached
us in detail. But those who watched at some distance (and the eyes of
courtiers and court ladies are right sharp) were of opinion that on no
occasion did the dignity of Elizabeth, in gesture and motion, seem
so decidedly to soften away into a mien expressive of indecision and
tenderness. Her step was not only slow, but even unequal, a thing most
unwonted in her carriage; her looks seemed bent on the ground; and there
was a timid disposition to withdraw from her companion, which external
gesture in females often indicates exactly the opposite tendency in
the secret mind. The Duchess of Rutland, who ventured nearest, was even
heard to aver that she discerned a tear in Elizabeth's eye and a blush
on her cheek; and still further, “She bent her looks on the ground to
avoid mine,” said the Duchess, “she who, in her ordinary mood, could
look down a lion.” To what conclusion these symptoms led is sufficiently
evident; nor were they probably entirely groundless. The progress of
a private conversation betwixt two persons of different sexes is often
decisive of their fate, and gives it a turn very different perhaps
from what they themselves anticipated. Gallantry becomes mingled with
conversation, and affection and passion come gradually to mix with
gallantry. Nobles, as well as shepherd swains, will, in such a trying
moment, say more than they intended; and Queens, like village maidens,
will listen longer than they should.
Horses in the meanwhile neighed and champed the bits with impatience in
the base-court; hounds yelled in their couples; and yeomen, rangers, and
prickers lamented the exhaling of the dew, which would prevent the scent
from lying. But Leicester had another chase in view--or, to speak more
justly towards him, had become engaged in it without premeditation, as
the high-spirited hunter which follows the cry of the hounds that have
crossed his path by accident. The Queen, an accomplished and handsome
woman, the pride of England, the hope of France and Holland, and the
dread of Spain, had probably listened with more than usual favour to
that mixture of romantic gallantry with which she always loved to be
addressed; and the Earl had, in vanity, in ambition, or in both, thrown
in more and more of that delicious ingredient, until his importunity
became the language of love itself.
“No, Dudley,” said Elizabeth, yet it was with broken accents--“no, I
must be the mother of my people. Other ties, that make the lowly maiden
happy, are denied to her Sovereign. No, Leicester, urge it no more.
Were I as others, free to seek my own happiness, then, indeed--but it
cannot--cannot be. Delay the chase--delay it for half an hour--and leave
me, my lord.”
“How! leave you, madam?” said Leicester,--“has my madness offended you?”
“No, Leicester, not so!” answered the Queen hastily; “but it is madness,
and must not be repeated. Go--but go not far from hence; and meantime
let no one intrude on my privacy.”
While she spoke thus, Dudley bowed deeply, and retired with a slow
and melancholy air. The Queen stood gazing after him, and murmured to
herself, “Were it possible--were it BUT possible!--but no--no; Elizabeth
must be the wife and mother of England alone.”
As she spoke thus, and in order to avoid some one whose step she heard
approaching, the Queen turned into the grotto in which her hapless, and
yet but too successful, rival lay concealed.
The mind of England's Elizabeth, if somewhat shaken by the agitating
interview to which she had just put a period, was of that firm and
decided character which soon recovers its natural tone. It was like one
of those ancient Druidical monuments called Rocking-stones. The finger
of Cupid, boy as he is painted, could put her feelings in motion; but
the power of Hercules could not have destroyed their equilibrium. As she
advanced with a slow pace towards the inmost extremity of the grotto,
her countenance, ere she had proceeded half the length, had recovered
its dignity of look, and her mien its air of command.
It was then the Queen became aware that a female figure was placed
beside, or rather partly behind, an alabaster column, at the foot of
which arose the pellucid fountain which occupied the inmost recess of
the twilight grotto. The classical mind of Elizabeth suggested the story
of Numa and Egeria, and she doubted not that some Italian sculptor had
here represented the Naiad whose inspirations gave laws to Rome. As she
advanced, she became doubtful whether she beheld a statue, or a form
of flesh and blood. The unfortunate Amy, indeed, remained motionless,
betwixt the desire which she had to make her condition known to one of
her own sex, and her awe for the stately form which approached her,
and which, though her eyes had never before beheld, her fears instantly
suspected to be the personage she really was. Amy had arisen from her
seat with the purpose of addressing the lady who entered the grotto
alone, and, as she at first thought, so opportunely. But when she
recollected the alarm which Leicester had expressed at the Queen's
knowing aught of their union, and became more and more satisfied that
the person whom she now beheld was Elizabeth herself, she stood with
one foot advanced and one withdrawn, her arms, head, and hands perfectly
motionless, and her cheek as pallid as the alabaster pedestal against
which she leaned. Her dress was of pale sea-green silk, little
distinguished in that imperfect light, and somewhat resembled the
drapery of a Grecian Nymph, such an antique disguise having been thought
the most secure, where so many maskers and revellers were assembled; so
that the Queen's doubt of her being a living form was well justified by
all contingent circumstances, as well as by the bloodless cheek and the
fixed eye.
Elizabeth remained in doubt, even after she had approached within a few
paces, whether she did not gaze on a statue so cunningly fashioned that
by the doubtful light it could not be distinguished from reality. She
stopped, therefore, and fixed upon this interesting object her princely
look with so much keenness that the astonishment which had kept Amy
immovable gave way to awe, and she gradually cast down her eyes, and
drooped her head under the commanding gaze of the Sovereign. Still,
however, she remained in all respects, saving this slow and profound
inclination of the head, motionless and silent.
From her dress, and the casket which she instinctively held in her hand,
Elizabeth naturally conjectured that the beautiful but mute figure which
she beheld was a performer in one of the various theatrical pageants
which had been placed in different situations to surprise her with their
homage; and that the poor player, overcome with awe at her presence, had
either forgot the part assigned her, or lacked courage to go through
it. It was natural and courteous to give her some encouragement; and
Elizabeth accordingly said, in a tone of condescending kindness, “How
now, fair Nymph of this lovely grotto, art thou spell-bound and struck
with dumbness by the charms of the wicked enchanter whom men term Fear?
We are his sworn enemy, maiden, and can reverse his charm. Speak, we
command thee.”
Instead of answering her by speech, the unfortunate Countess dropped
on her knee before the Queen, let her casket fall from her hand, and
clasping her palms together, looked up in the Queen's face with such a
mixed agony of fear and supplication, that Elizabeth was considerably
affected.
“What may this mean?” she said; “this is a stronger passion than befits
the occasion. Stand up, damsel--what wouldst thou have with us?”
“Your protection, madam,” faltered forth the unhappy petitioner.
“Each daughter of England has it while she is worthy of it,” replied the
Queen; “but your distress seems to have a deeper root than a forgotten
task. Why, and in what, do you crave our protection?”
Amy hastily endeavoured to recall what she were best to say, which might
secure herself from the imminent dangers that surrounded her, without
endangering her husband; and plunging from one thought to another,
amidst the chaos which filled her mind, she could at length, in answer
to the Queen's repeated inquiries in what she sought protection, only
falter out, “Alas! I know not.”
“This is folly, maiden,” said Elizabeth impatiently; for there was
something in the extreme confusion of the suppliant which irritated her
curiosity, as well as interested her feelings. “The sick man must tell
his malady to the physician; nor are WE accustomed to ask questions so
oft without receiving an answer.”
“I request--I implore,” stammered forth the unfortunate Countess--“I
beseech your gracious protection--against--against one Varney.” She
choked well-nigh as she uttered the fatal word, which was instantly
caught up by the Queen.
“What, Varney--Sir Richard Varney--the servant of Lord Leicester! what,
damsel, are you to him, or he to you?”
“I--I--was his prisoner--and he practised on my life--and I broke forth
to--to--”
“To throw thyself on my protection, doubtless,” said Elizabeth. “Thou
shalt have it--that is, if thou art worthy; for we will sift this matter
to the uttermost. Thou art,” she said, bending on the Countess an eye
which seemed designed to pierce her very inmost soul--“thou art Amy,
daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall?”
“Forgive me--forgive me, most gracious Princess!” said Amy, dropping
once more on her knee, from which she had arisen.
“For what should I forgive thee, silly wench?” said Elizabeth; “for
being the daughter of thine own father? Thou art brain-sick, surely.
Well I see I must wring the story from thee by inches. Thou didst
deceive thine old and honoured father--thy look confesses it--cheated
Master Tressilian--thy blush avouches it--and married this same Varney.”
Amy sprung on her feet, and interrupted the Queen eagerly with, “No,
madam, no! as there is a God above us, I am not the sordid wretch you
would make me! I am not the wife of that contemptible slave--of that
most deliberate villain! I am not the wife of Varney! I would rather be
the bride of Destruction!”
The Queen, overwhelmed in her turn by Amy's vehemence, stood silent for
an instant, and then replied, “Why, God ha' mercy, woman! I see thou
canst talk fast enough when the theme likes thee. Nay, tell me, woman,”
she continued, for to the impulse of curiosity was now added that of an
undefined jealousy that some deception had been practised on her--“tell
me, woman--for, by God's day, I WILL know--whose wife, or whose
paramour, art thou! Speak out, and be speedy. Thou wert better dally
with a lioness than with Elizabeth.”
Urged to this extremity, dragged as it were by irresistible force to the
verge of the precipice which she saw, but could not avoid--permitted
not a moment's respite by the eager words and menacing gestures of the
offended Queen, Amy at length uttered in despair, “The Earl of Leicester
knows it all.”
“The Earl of Leicester!” said Elizabeth, in utter astonishment. “The
Earl of Leicester!” she repeated with kindling anger. “Woman, thou art
set on to this--thou dost belie him--he takes no keep of such things
as thou art. Thou art suborned to slander the noblest lord and the
truest-hearted gentleman in England! But were he the right hand of our
trust, or something yet dearer to us, thou shalt have thy hearing, and
that in his presence. Come with me--come with me instantly!”
As Amy shrunk back with terror, which the incensed Queen interpreted as
that of conscious guilt, Elizabeth rapidly advanced, seized on her arm,
and hastened with swift and long steps out of the grotto, and along
the principal alley of the Pleasance, dragging with her the terrified
Countess, whom she still held by the arm, and whose utmost exertions
could but just keep pace with those of the indignant Queen.
Leicester was at this moment the centre of a splendid group of lords and
ladies, assembled together under an arcade, or portico, which closed
the alley. The company had drawn together in that place, to attend the
commands of her Majesty when the hunting-party should go forward, and
their astonishment may be imagined when, instead of seeing Elizabeth
advance towards them with her usual measured dignity of motion, they
beheld her walking so rapidly that she was in the midst of them ere they
were aware; and then observed, with fear and surprise, that her features
were flushed betwixt anger and agitation, that her hair was loosened by
her haste of motion, and that her eyes sparkled as they were wont when
the spirit of Henry VIII. mounted highest in his daughter. Nor were they
less astonished at the appearance of the pale, attenuated, half-dead,
yet still lovely female, whom the Queen upheld by main strength with
one hand, while with the other she waved aside the ladies and nobles
who pressed towards her, under the idea that she was taken suddenly ill.
“Where is my Lord of Leicester?” she said, in a tone that thrilled with
astonishment all the courtiers who stood around. “Stand forth, my Lord
of Leicester!”
If, in the midst of the most serene day of summer, when all is light and
laughing around, a thunderbolt were to fall from the clear blue vault of
heaven, and rend the earth at the very feet of some careless traveller,
he could not gaze upon the smouldering chasm, which so unexpectedly
yawned before him, with half the astonishment and fear which Leicester
felt at the sight that so suddenly presented itself. He had that
instant been receiving, with a political affectation of disavowing
and misunderstanding their meaning, the half-uttered, half-intimated
congratulations of the courtiers upon the favour of the Queen, carried
apparently to its highest pitch during the interview of that morning,
from which most of them seemed to augur that he might soon arise from
their equal in rank to become their master. And now, while the subdued
yet proud smile with which he disclaimed those inferences was yet
curling his cheek, the Queen shot into the circle, her passions excited
to the uttermost; and supporting with one hand, and apparently without
an effort, the pale and sinking form of his almost expiring wife,
and pointing with the finger of the other to her half-dead features,
demanded in a voice that sounded to the ears of the astounded statesman
like the last dread trumpet-call that is to summon body and spirit to
the judgment-seat, “Knowest thou this woman?”
As, at the blast of that last trumpet, the guilty shall call upon the
mountains to cover them, Leicester's inward thoughts invoked the stately
arch which he had built in his pride to burst its strong conjunction,
and overwhelm them in its ruins. But the cemented stones, architrave and
battlement, stood fast; and it was the proud master himself who, as
if some actual pressure had bent him to the earth, kneeled down before
Elizabeth, and prostrated his brow to the marble flag-stones on which
she stood.
“Leicester,” said Elizabeth, in a voice which trembled with passion,
“could I think thou hast practised on me--on me thy Sovereign--on me thy
confiding, thy too partial mistress, the base and ungrateful deception
which thy present confusion surmises--by all that is holy, false lord,
that head of thine were in as great peril as ever was thy father's!”
Leicester had not conscious innocence, but he had pride to support him.
He raised slowly his brow and features, which were black and swoln with
contending emotions, and only replied, “My head cannot fall but by the
sentence of my peers. To them I will plead, and not to a princess who
thus requites my faithful service.”
“What! my lords,” said Elizabeth, looking around, “we are defied, I
think--defied in the Castle we have ourselves bestowed on this proud
man!--My Lord Shrewsbury, you are Marshal of England, attach him of high
treason.”
“Whom does your Grace mean?” said Shrewsbury, much surprised, for he had
that instant joined the astonished circle.
“Whom should I mean, but that traitor Dudley, Earl of Leicester!--Cousin
of Hunsdon, order out your band of gentlemen pensioners, and take him
into instant custody. I say, villain, make haste!”
Hunsdon, a rough old noble, who, from his relationship to the Boleyns,
was accustomed to use more freedom with the Queen than almost any other
dared to do, replied bluntly, “And it is like your Grace might order me
to the Tower to-morrow for making too much haste. I do beseech you to be
patient.”
“Patient--God's life!” exclaimed the Queen--“name not the word to me;
thou knowest not of what he is guilty!”
Amy, who had by this time in some degree recovered herself, and who saw
her husband, as she conceived, in the utmost danger from the rage of an
offended Sovereign, instantly (and alas! how many women have done the
same) forgot her own wrongs and her own danger in her apprehensions for
him, and throwing herself before the Queen, embraced her knees, while
she exclaimed, “He is guiltless, madam--he is guiltless; no one can lay
aught to the charge of the noble Leicester!”
“Why, minion,” answered the Queen, “didst not thou thyself say that the
Earl of Leicester was privy to thy whole history?”
“Did I say so?” repeated the unhappy Amy, laying aside every
consideration of consistency and of self-interest. “Oh, if I did, I
foully belied him. May God so judge me, as I believe he was never privy
to a thought that would harm me!”
“Woman!” said Elizabeth, “I will know who has moved thee to this; or
my wrath--and the wrath of kings is a flaming fire--shall wither and
consume thee like a weed in the furnace!”
As the Queen uttered this threat, Leicester's better angel called
his pride to his aid, and reproached him with the utter extremity
of meanness which would overwhelm him for ever if he stooped to take
shelter under the generous interposition of his wife, and abandoned
her, in return for her kindness, to the resentment of the Queen. He had
already raised his head with the dignity of a man of honour to avow
his marriage, and proclaim himself the protector of his Countess, when
Varney, born, as it appeared, to be his master's evil genius, rushed
into the presence with every mark of disorder on his face and apparel.
“What means this saucy intrusion?” said Elizabeth.
Varney, with the air of a man altogether overwhelmed with grief and
confusion, prostrated himself before her feet, exclaiming, “Pardon, my
Liege, pardon!--or at least let your justice avenge itself on me, where
it is due; but spare my noble, my generous, my innocent patron and
master!”
Amy, who was yet kneeling, started up as she saw the man whom she deemed
most odious place himself so near her, and was about to fly towards
Leicester, when, checked at once by the uncertainty and even timidity
which his looks had reassumed as soon as the appearance of his confidant
seemed to open a new scene, she hung back, and uttering a faint scream,
besought of her Majesty to cause her to be imprisoned in the lowest
dungeon of the Castle--to deal with her as the worst of criminals--“but
spare,” she exclaimed, “my sight and hearing what will destroy the
little judgment I have left--the sight of that unutterable and most
shameless villain!”
“And why, sweetheart?” said the Queen, moved by a new impulse; “what
hath he, this false knight, since such thou accountest him, done to
thee?”
“Oh, worse than sorrow, madam, and worse than injury--he has sown
dissension where most there should be peace. I shall go mad if I look
longer on him!”
“Beshrew me, but I think thou art distraught already,” answered the
Queen.--“My Lord Hunsdon, look to this poor distressed young woman, and
let her be safely bestowed, and in honest keeping, till we require her
to be forthcoming.”
Two or three of the ladies in attendance, either moved by compassion
for a creature so interesting, or by some other motive, offered their
services to look after her; but the Queen briefly answered, “Ladies,
under favour, no. You have all (give God thanks) sharp ears and nimble
tongues; our kinsman Hunsdon has ears of the dullest, and a tongue
somewhat rough, but yet of the slowest.--Hunsdon, look to it that none
have speech of her.”
“By Our Lady,” said Hunsdon, taking in his strong, sinewy arms the
fading and almost swooning form of Amy, “she is a lovely child! and
though a rough nurse, your Grace hath given her a kind one. She is safe
with me as one of my own ladybirds of daughters.”
So saying, he carried her off; unresistingly and almost unconsciously,
his war-worn locks and long, grey beard mingling with her light-brown
tresses, as her head reclined on his strong, square shoulder. The Queen
followed him with her eye. She had already, with that self-command which
forms so necessary a part of a Sovereign's accomplishments, suppressed
every appearance of agitation, and seemed as if she desired to banish
all traces of her burst of passion from the recollection of those who
had witnessed it. “My Lord of Hunsdon says well,” she observed, “he is
indeed but a rough nurse for so tender a babe.”
“My Lord of Hunsdon,” said the Dean of St. Asaph--“I speak it not in
defamation of his more noble qualities--hath a broad license in speech,
and garnishes his discourse somewhat too freely with the cruel and
superstitious oaths which savour both of profaneness and of old
Papistrie.”
“It is the fault of his blood, Mr. Dean,” said the Queen, turning
sharply round upon the reverend dignitary as she spoke; “and you may
blame mine for the same distemperature. The Boleyns were ever a hot and
plain-spoken race, more hasty to speak their mind than careful to
choose their expressions. And by my word--I hope there is no sin in that
affirmation--I question if it were much cooled by mixing with that of
Tudor.”
As she made this last observation she smiled graciously, and stole her
eyes almost insensibly round to seek those of the Earl of Leicester, to
whom she now began to think she had spoken with hasty harshness upon the
unfounded suspicion of a moment.
The Queen's eye found the Earl in no mood to accept the implied offer
of conciliation. His own looks had followed, with late and rueful
repentance, the faded form which Hunsdon had just borne from the
presence. They now reposed gloomily on the ground, but more--so at least
it seemed to Elizabeth--with the expression of one who has received an
unjust affront, than of him who is conscious of guilt. She turned her
face angrily from him, and said to Varney, “Speak, Sir Richard, and
explain these riddles--thou hast sense and the use of speech, at least,
which elsewhere we look for in vain.”
As she said this, she darted another resentful glance towards Leicester,
while the wily Varney hastened to tell his own story.
“Your Majesty's piercing eye,” he said, “has already detected the cruel
malady of my beloved lady, which, unhappy that I am, I would not suffer
to be expressed in the certificate of her physician, seeking to conceal
what has now broken out with so much the more scandal.”
“She is then distraught?” said the Queen. “Indeed we doubted not of
it; her whole demeanour bears it out. I found her moping in a corner of
yonder grotto; and every word she spoke--which indeed I dragged from her
as by the rack--she instantly recalled and forswore. But how came she
hither? Why had you her not in safe-keeping?”
“My gracious Liege,” said Varney, “the worthy gentleman under whose
charge I left her, Master Anthony Foster, has come hither but now, as
fast as man and horse can travel, to show me of her escape, which
she managed with the art peculiar to many who are afflicted with this
malady. He is at hand for examination.”
“Let it be for another time,” said the Queen. “But, Sir Richard, we envy
you not your domestic felicity; your lady railed on you bitterly, and
seemed ready to swoon at beholding you.”
“It is the nature of persons in her disorder, so please your Grace,”
answered Varney, “to be ever most inveterate in their spleen against
those whom, in their better moments, they hold nearest and dearest.”
“We have heard so, indeed,” said Elizabeth, “and give faith to the
saying.”
“May your Grace then be pleased,” said Varney, “to command my
unfortunate wife to be delivered into the custody of her friends?”
Leicester partly started; but making a strong effort, he subdued his
emotion, while Elizabeth answered sharply, “You are something too hasty,
Master Varney. We will have first a report of the lady's health and
state of mind from Masters, our own physician, and then determine what
shall be thought just. You shall have license, however, to see her, that
if there be any matrimonial quarrel betwixt you--such things we have
heard do occur, even betwixt a loving couple--you may make it up,
without further scandal to our court or trouble to ourselves.”
Varney bowed low, and made no other answer.
Elizabeth again looked towards Leicester, and said, with a degree of
condescension which could only arise out of the most heartfelt interest,
“Discord, as the Italian poet says, will find her way into peaceful
convents, as well as into the privacy of families; and we fear our
own guards and ushers will hardly exclude her from courts. My Lord of
Leicester, you are offended with us, and we have right to be offended
with you. We will take the lion's part upon us, and be the first to
forgive.”
Leicester smoothed his brow, as by an effort; but the trouble was too
deep-seated that its placidity should at once return. He said, however,
that which fitted the occasion, “That he could not have the happiness of
forgiving, because she who commanded him to do so could commit no injury
towards him.”
Elizabeth seemed content with this reply, and intimated her pleasure
that the sports of the morning should proceed. The bugles sounded, the
hounds bayed, the horses pranced--but the courtiers and ladies sought
the amusement to which they were summoned with hearts very different
from those which had leaped to the morning's REVIELLE. There was doubt,
and fear, and expectation on every brow, and surmise and intrigue in
every whisper.
Blount took an opportunity to whisper into Raleigh's ear, “This storm
came like a levanter in the Mediterranean.”
“VARIUM ET MUTABILE,” answered Raleigh, in a similar tone.
“Nay, I know nought of your Latin,” said Blount; “but I thank God
Tressilian took not the sea during that hurricane. He could scarce have
missed shipwreck, knowing as he does so little how to trim his sails to
a court gale.”
“Thou wouldst have instructed him!” said Raleigh.
“Why, I have profited by my time as well as thou, Sir Walter,” replied
honest Blount. “I am knight as well as thou, and of the earlier
creation.”
“Now, God further thy wit,” said Raleigh. “But for Tressilian, I would I
knew what were the matter with him. He told me this morning he would not
leave his chamber for the space of twelve hours or thereby, being bound
by a promise. This lady's madness, when he shall learn it, will not, I
fear, cure his infirmity. The moon is at the fullest, and men's brains
are working like yeast. But hark! they sound to mount. Let us to horse,
Blount; we young knights must deserve our spurs.”