"
"Now, Willy, there is not one poet or lover in twenty who careth for
consequences. Many hint to the lady what to do, few what not to do
although it would oftentimes, as in this case, go to one's heart to
see the upshot."
"Ah, sir," said Bill, in all humility, "I would make bold to put the
parings of that quince under my pillow, for sweet dreams and
insights, if Doctor Glaston had given me encouragement to continue
the pursuit of poetry. Of a surety it would bless me with a bedful
of churches and crucifixions, duly adumbrated."
Whereat Sir Thomas, shaking his head, did inform him, -
"It was in the golden age of the world, as pagans call it, that
poets of condition sent fruits and flowers to their beloved, with
posies fairly penned. We, in our days, have done the like. But
manners of late are much corrupted on the one side, if not on both.
"Willy! it hath been whispered that there be those who would rather
have a piece of brocade or velvet for a stomacher than the
touchingest copy of verses, with a bleeding heart at the bottom."
WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
"Incredible!"
SIR THOMAS.
"'T is even so!"
WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
"They must surely be rotten fragments of the world before the
flood,--saved out of it by the devil.
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