I might, indeed, write unto him;
but our Warwickshire pens are mighty broad-nibbed, and there is a
something in this plaguy ink of ours sadly ropy--"
"I fear there is," quoth Willy.
"And I should scorn," continued his worship, "to write otherwise
than in a fine Italian character to the master of a college, near in
dignity to knighthood."
WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
"Worshipful sir! is there no other way of communicating but by
person, or writing, or messages?"
SIR THOMAS.
"I will consider and devise. At present I can think of none so
satisfactory."
And now did the great clock over the gateway strike. And Bill
Shakspeare did move his lips, even as Sir Thomas had moved his
erewhile in ejaculating. And when he had wagged them twice or
thrice after the twelve strokes of the clock were over, again he
ejaculated with voice also, saying, -
"Mercy upon us! how the day wears! Twelve strokes! Might I retire,
please your worship, into the chapel for about three quarters of an
hour, and perform the service {108a} as ordained?"
Before Sir Thomas could give him leave or answer, did Sir Silas cry
aloud, -
"He would purloin the chalice, worth forty-eight shillings, and melt
it down in the twinkling of an eye, he is so crafty.
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