"Verily none," replied Willy, "of the morning's discourse, saving
the last words of it, which, with God's help, I shall always
remember."
"Give us them, give us them," said Sir Thomas.
"He wants doctrine; he wants authority; his are grains of millet,--
grains for unfledged doves; but they are sound, except the CRYING.
"Deliver unto us the last words; for the last of the preacher, as of
the hanged, are usually the best."
Then did William repeat the concluding words of the discourse, being
these:-
"'As years are running past us, let us throw something on them which
they cannot shake off in the dust and hurry of the world, but must
carry with them to that great year of all, whereunto the lesser of
this mortal life do tend and are subservient.'
Sir Thomas, after a pause, and after having bent his knee under the
table, as though there had been the church-cushion, said unto us, -
"Here he spake THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY, as blessed Paul hath it."
Then turning toward Willy, -
"And nothing more?"
"Nothing but the GLORY," quoth Willy, "at which there is always such
a clatter of feet upon the floor, and creaking of benches, and
rustling of gowns, and bustle of bonnets, and justle of cushions,
and dust of mats, and treading of toes, and punching of elbows, from
the spitefuller, that one wishes to be fairly out of it, after the
scramble for THE PEACE OF GOD is at an end--"
Sir Thomas threw himself back upon his armchair, and exclaimed in
wonderment, "How!"
WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
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