“Is my lord, then, so greatly indisposed?” said Tressilian.

“We fear the very worst,” answered the elder gentleman, “and by the worst practice.”

“Fie,” replied Tressilian, “my Lord of Leicester is honourable.”

“What doth he with such attendants, then, as he hath about him?” said the younger gallant.  “The man who raises the devil may be honest, but he is answerable for the mischief which the fiend does, for all that.”

“And is this all of you, my mates,” inquired Tressilian, “that are about my lord in his utmost straits?”

“No, no,” replied the elder gentleman, “there are Tracy, Markham, and several more; but we keep watch here by two at once, and some are weary and are sleeping in the gallery above.”

“And some,” said the young man, “are gone down to the Dock yonder at Deptford, to look out such a hull; as they may purchase by clubbing their broken fortunes; and as soon as all is over, we will lay our noble lord in a noble green grave, have a blow at those who have hurried him thither, if opportunity suits, and then sail for the Indies with heavy hearts and light purses.”

“It may be,” said Tressilian, “that I will embrace the same purpose, so soon as I have settled some business at court.”

“Thou business at court!” they both exclaimed at once, “and thou make the Indian voyage!”

“Why, Tressilian,” said the younger man, “art thou not wedded, and beyond these flaws of fortune, that drive folks out to sea when their bark bears fairest for the haven?—­What has become of the lovely Indamira that was to match my Amoret for truth and beauty?”

“Speak not of her!” said Tressilian, averting his face.

“Ay, stands it so with you?” said the youth, taking his hand very affectionately; “then, fear not I will again touch the green wound.  But it is strange as well as sad news.  Are none of our fair and merry fellowship to escape shipwreck of fortune and happiness in this sudden tempest?  I had hoped thou wert in harbour, at least, my dear Edmund.  But truly says another dear friend of thy name,

     ’What man that sees the ever whirling wheel
     Of Chance, the which all mortal things doth sway,
     But that thereby doth find and plainly feel,
     How Mutability in them doth play
     Her cruel sports to many men’s decay.’”

The elder gentleman had risen from his bench, and was pacing the hall with some impatience, while the youth, with much earnestness and feeling, recited these lines.  When he had done, the other wrapped himself in his cloak, and again stretched himself down, saying, “I marvel, Tressilian, you will feed the lad in this silly humour.  If there were ought to draw a judgment upon a virtuous and honourable household like my lord’s, renounce me if I think not it were this piping, whining, childish trick of poetry, that came among us with Master Walter Wittypate here and his comrades, twisting into all manner of uncouth and incomprehensible forms of speech, the honest plain English phrase which God gave us to express our meaning withal.”