“Let me fill your glass again.  As I am a true gentleman, it will not hurt you; a singular merit of pure Bordeaux being that you may drink it with impunity; and the like cannot be said of your sophisticated sack.  We will crush another flask.  Ho! drawer—­Cyprien, I say!  More wine—­and of the best Bordeaux.  The best, I say.”

And for a wonder the order was obeyed, and the flask set before him.

“You have been at the Bankside you say, young Sir?  On my credit, you must cross the river again and visit the theatres—­the Globe or the Rose.  Our great actor, Dick Burbadge, plays Othello to-day, and, I warrant me, he will delight you.  A little man is Dick, but he hath a mighty soul.  There is none other like him, whether it be Nat Field or Ned Alleyn.  Our famous Shakespeare is fortunate, I trow, in having him to play his great characters.  You must see Burbadge, likewise, in the mad Prince of Denmark,—­the part was written for him, and fits him exactly.  See him also in gentle and love-sick Romeo, in tyrannous and murderous Macbeth, and in crookback Richard; in all of which, though different, our Dick is equally good.  He hath some other parts of almost equal merit,—­as Malevole, in the ‘Malcontent;’ Frankford, in the ’Woman Killed with Kindness;’ Brachiano, in Webster’s ‘White Devil;’ and Vendice, in Cyril Tournour’s ‘Revenger’s Tragedy.’”

“I know not what may be the nature of that last-named play,” the young man rather sternly remarked; “but if the character of Vendice at all bears out its name, it would suit me.  I am an avenger.”

“Forbear your wrongs awhile, I pray you, and drown your resentment in a cup of wine.  As I am a true gentleman! a better bottle than the first!  Nay, taste it.  On my credit, it is perfect nectar.  I pledge you in a brimmer; wishing Success may attend you, and Confusion await your Enemies!  May you speedily regain your Rights!”

“I drink that toast most heartily, worthy Sir,” the young man exclaimed, raising his beaded flagon on high.  “Confusion to my Enemies—­Restoration to my Rights!”

And he drained the goblet to its last drop.

“By this time he must be in a fit mood for my purpose,” Sir Francis thought, as he watched him narrowly.  “Harkye, my good young friend,” he said, lowering his tone, “I would not be overheard in what I have to say.  You were speaking just now of the shortest way to fortune.  I will point it out to you.  To him, who is bold enough to take it, and who hath the requisites for the venture, the shortest way is to be found at Court.  Where think you most of those gallants, of whom you may catch a glimpse through the traverse, derive their revenues?—­As I am a true gentleman!—­from the royal coffers.  Not many years ago, with all of them; not many months ago, with some; those brilliant and titled coxcombs were adventurers like yourself, having barely a Jacobus in their purses, and scarce credit for board and lodging with their respective landladies.  Now you see how nobly they feast, and how richly they bedeck themselves.  On my credit! the like good fortune may attend you; and haply, when I dine at an ordinary a year hence, I may perceive you at the upper table, with a curtain before you to keep off the meaner company, and your serving-man at your back, holding your velvet mantle and cap, like the best of your fellow nobles.”