The King looked at him for a moment, and then roared out—­“Weel, gudeman, your commencement is pertinent and true enough; and though we be ‘the greatest of mortals,’ as ye style us, dinna fash yoursel’ about our grandeur, but go on, as if we were nae better nor wiser than your ain simple sel’.”

But, instead of encouraging the dumbfounded deity, this speech completely upset him.  He hastily retreated; and, in trying to screen himself behind the huntsman, fell back from the stage, and his hound leapt after him.  The incident, whether premeditated or not, amused the spectators much more than any speech he could have delivered, and the King joined heartily in the merriment.

Silence being again restored, the first divinity came forward once more, and spoke thus:—­

’Dread lord! thy Majesty hath stricken dumb
His weaker god-head; if to himself he come,
Unto thy service straight he will commend
These foresters, and charge them to attend
Thy pleasure in this park, and show such sport;
To the chief huntsman and thy princely court,
As the small circle of this round affords,
And be more ready than he was in words."[5]

“Weel spoken, and to the purpose, gude fallow,” cried James.  “And we take this opportunity of assuring our worthy host, in the presence of his other guests, that we have never had better sport in park or forest than we have this day enjoyed—­have never eaten better cheer, nor quaffed better wine than at his board—­and, altogether, have never been more hospitably welcomed.”

Sir Richard was overwhelmed by his Majesty’s commendation.

“I have done nothing, my gracious liege,” he said, “to merit such acknowledgment on your part, and the delight I experience is only tempered by my utter unworthiness.”

“Hoot-toot! man,” replied James, jocularly, “ye merit a vast deal mair than we hae said to you.  But gude folk dinna always get their deserts.  Ye ken that, Sir Richard.  And now, hae ye not some ither drolleries in store for us?”

The baronet replied in the affirmative, and soon afterwards the stage was occupied by a new class of performers, and a drollery commenced which kept the audience in one continual roar of laughter so long as it lasted.  And yet none of the parts had been studied, the actors entirely trusting to their own powers of comedy to carry it out.  The principal character was the Cap Justice, enacted by Sir John Finett, who took occasion in the course of the performance to lampoon and satirise most of the eminent legal characters of the day, mimicking the voices and manner of the three justices—­Crooke, Hoghton, and Doddridge—­so admirably, that his hearers were wellnigh convulsed; and the three learned gentlemen, who sat near the King, though fully conscious of the ridicule applied to them, were obliged to laugh with the rest.  But the unsparing satirist was not content with this, but went on, with most of the other attendants upon