I would
like to baa at him again, but I dare not with all these foreign folk.
There is Leicester, that tall man with a bald forehead in the cap with
the red feather, on the white horse behind the carriage--he always keeps
close to the Queen. He is the enemy of your prelate, Master Anthony, you
know.... That is Oxford, just behind him on the chestnut. Yes, look well
at him. He is the prince of the tilt-yard; none can stand against him.
You would say he was at his nine-pins, when he rides against them all....
And he can do more than tilt. These sweet-washed gloves"--and she flapped
an embroidered pair before Anthony--"these he brought to England. God
bless and reward him for it!" she added fervently.... "I do not see
Burghley. Eh! but he is old and gouty these days; and loves a cushion and
a chair and a bit of flannel better than to kneel before her Grace. You
know, she allows him to sit when he confers with her. But then, she is
ever prone to show mercy to bearded persons.... Ah! there is dear Sidney;
that is a sweet soul. But what does he do here among the stones and
mortar when he has the beeches of Penshurst to walk beneath. He is not so
wise as I thought him.... But I must say I grow weary of his nymphs and
his airs of Olympus. And for myself, I do not see that Flora and
Phoebus and Maia and the rest are a great gain, instead of Our Lady and
Saint Christopher and the court of heaven. But then I am a Papist and not
a heathen, and therefore blind and superstitious.
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