But when it was told that his heart was as cold

As coldest winter in Muscovie;

That he was above ev'ry feeling of love,

And was bound by a vow unto chastitie.

Alack!' cried each damsel whose heart he had won,
What a wretch of a Knight is the Knight of St. John !"'

This song also met with exceeding commendation; and the wine having been circulated pretty briskly, all seemed to be in the very best of spirits, and ready to praise anything that shewed the smallest sign of worthiness, so that it proceeded from any of their company. Jests became more general. Master Shakspeare and Ben Jonson, however, still uttered the best, and the greatest number of them; as at first, usually choosing each other to be the subject: but it is utterly impossible I could put down one half of the choice things they said; and much afraid am I that the choicest have escaped me. At this time, Beaumont and Fletcher were engaged with Master Shakspeare in some friendly talk concerning of a play of theirs that was to be performed at the Globe. Master Selden was leaning forward over the table, listening attentively to an account given by Master Cotton, of the finding of certain curious manuscripts in an ancient chest, the which Master Donne and Master Martin seemed also intent upon hearing. Master Constable and Master Sylvester, with Master Carew, were laughing merrily to a droll anecdote told by Ben Jonson; and

Sir Walter Raleigh was relating to Master Francis an adventure that he had had in the wars.

"I have prevailed on Dick Burbage to play the principal character," observed Master Shakspeare to his brother play-writers, "but it hath so happened there must be a delay of some few days before it can be played. Dick went the other night to visit an alderman's wife by appointment, and his worship, her husband, returning sooner than they expected, Dick leaped out of window, and had the ill hap to sprain his ancle; since when I can get him to talk of nothing but the monstrousness of such husbands, who be ever a coming home when they should stay abroad."

"That is so like him," observed Master Beaumont, laughingly. "He doeth an ill thing, getteth himself into a scrape for it, and then, with a famous impudency none can help laughing at-abuseth not himself, who must be the only one to blame, but the very party he was striving to do hurt to."

"For his drolleries methinks he shall be found nearly as wild as Green," added Master Fletcher. "There is a good story of him I heard him tell to-day."

"Ha! prythee relate it," said Master Shakspeare. "Green walking nigh upon St. Saviour's, met a funeral," continued the other. "He was struck with the miserable countenances of all who made part of the procession. The undertaker and his

men seemed determined on looking more mournful than the mourners, and the mourners appeared to be vying with each other who should look the most woe begone. Green could not abide such awful long faces. He said the sight of them was so exceeding pitiful he could not but feel for their hapless conditions; and this made him resolved to strive if it were possible to make them all in a better humour. Thereupon, upon coming up to them, he puts on one of his comicalest faces. In a moment, undertaker, bearers, mourners, and all, relaxed somewhat in that severity of visage that had so moved him. If they did not smile, they were on the point of it. Seeing this, after passing them, Tom made a short cut, and met them at the corner of the next street, with a face more comical than he had put on before; at the sight of which there can be no doubt in the world every one set up a palpable grin. The next thing he did was to fix himself at the church door, and when they came up he looked into every man's face with a countenance so marvellously ridiculous that it was impossible to say whether the undertaker or the mourners laughed the loudest; and as for the bearers, they shook their sides so heartily, that the coffin went jog, jog, jog, upon their shoulders, in imminent danger of being pitched upon the parson, who, as was very natural, looked awfully scandalized at their behaviour."

"Ha! ha!" exclaimed Master Shakspeare, bursting out into a famous laugh, "that is Tom Green all over."

“What art making so much noise about? a murrain on thee!" cried Ben Jonson from the other end of the table. "Dost find so few to heed thy sorry jests thou art forced into laughing at them thyself. Well-had I wit of any sort, it should be such as might move the mirth of my company."

"Thou art right, Ben," replied his ready antagonist. "Hadst thou wit of any sort, doubtless thou couldst make a goodly use of it; but I see thou art aware of thine own deficiencies, so I will say no more on that head."

"Thou canst say as much as thou wilt on that or any other head-saving thine own," retorted the other. "And, as thou knowest full well, it be very proper policy of thee to be silent on so barren a subject."

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Nay, my head cannot well be barren," said Master Shakspeare good humouredly, "seeing that it hath its labours continually. But as for thine, Ben-I do wonder thou art not ashamed to look it in the face, thou doth it so little credit. Thou wilt bring shame upon thy head, depend on't. Some power thou hast there, no doubt, for 'tis well known thou art head-strong."

"Out upon thee!" exclaimed Ben Jonson, whilst those who heard the jest were laughing very mer

rily. "Thou art like a bad oyster-that openeth its mouth only to shew how worthless it be."

"Bad oysters again, and be hanged to thee!" cried the other. "Why, what a villainous taste hast thou! Well, if thy humour runneth on such garbage, let it; yet would it be but civil of thee couldst thou refrain from thrusting such unwholesome conceits before those of weaker stomachs."

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Mayhap there shall be found more likeness betwixt you and a bad oyster than you think can exist," observed Master Fletcher.

"O' my life I see not any resemblance," replied Master Shakspeare. "Prythee say how thou dost make it out."

"Because it seemeth to me that he that biteth at you be like to get the worst of it," answered Master Fletcher, "and so it be with your bad oyster."

"Ah! he is villainously unpalatable!” cried Ben Jonson in some bitterness.

"There is another point that bringeth the resemblance still closer," added Master Beaumont. "Alack, is it brought so home to me !" cried the other very pitifully.

"'Tis the bad oysters that produce all the pearls," continued his companion.

"Ben! thy bad oyster be not so bad a fish after all!" exclaimed Master Shakspeare very drolly, amid the laughter of all around him.