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 gone down the tide of oblivion; but some, to such as sound strangely in our ears, when connected with the ordinary matters of human life, above which the gratitude of posterity has long elevated them. A few of Leicester's interlocutory sentences ran as follows:--

"Poynings, good morrow; and how does your wife and fair daughter? Why come they not to court?--Adams, your suit is naught; the Queen will grant no more monopolies. But I may serve you in another matter.--My good Alderman Aylford, the suit of the City, affecting Queenhithe, shall be forwarded as far as my poor interest can serve.--Master Edmund Spenser, touching your Irish petition, I would willingly aid you, from my love to the Muses; but thou hast nettled the Lord Treasurer."

"My lord," said the poet, "were I permitted to explain--"

"Come to my lodging, Edmund," answered the Earl "not to-morrow, or next day, but soon.--Ha, Will Shakespeare--wild Will!--thou hast given my nephew Philip Sidney, love-powder; he cannot sleep without thy Venus and Adonis under his pillow! We will have thee hanged for the veriest wizard in Europe. Hark thee, mad wag, I have not forgotten thy matter of the patent, and of the bears."

The PLAYER bowed, and the Earl nodded and passed on--so that age would have told the tale; in ours, perhaps, we might say the immortal had done homage to the mortal. The next whom the