'"
SIR THOMAS.
"Yea; and he appeareth unto me to know more of poetry than of
divinity. Those ancients have little flesh upon the body poetical,
and lack the savour that sufficeth. The Song of Solomon drowns all
their voices: they seem but whistlers and guitar-players compared
to a full-cheeked trumpeter; they standing under the eaves in some
dark lane, he upon a well-caparisoned stallion, tossing his mane and
all his ribbons to the sun. I doubt the doctor spake too fondly of
the Greeks; they were giddy creatures. William, I am loath to be
hard on them; but they please me not. There are those now living
who could make them bite their nails to the quick, and turn green as
grass with envy."
WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
"Sir, one of those Greeks, methinks, thrown into the pickle-pot,
would be a treasure to the housewife's young jerkins."
SIR THOMAS.
"Simpleton! simpleton! but thou valuest them justly. Now attend.
If ever thou shouldst hear, at Oxford or London, the verses I am
about to repeat, prithee do not communicate them to that fiery
spirit Mat Atterend. It might not be the battle of two hundreds,
but two counties; a sort of York and Lancaster war, whereof I would
wash my hands.
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