"By all the blood of all the saints, I will give thee burial in my own
grave when all's done," he spluttered; "for there never was such fooling,
never such a wise fool come since Confucius and the Khan. Good be with
you, fool, and thanks be for such a lady. Thanks be also for the Duke's
Daughter. Ah, how she laid Leicester out! She washed him up the shore
like behemoth, and left him gaping."

Buonespoir intervened. "And what shall come of it? What shall be the
end? The Honeyflower lies at anchor--there be three good men in waiting,
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and--"

The Seigneur interrupted. "There's little longer waiting. All's well!
Her high hereditary Majesty smiled on me when she gave Leicester conge
and fiery quittance. She hath me in favour, and all shall be well with
Michel and Angele. O fool, fool, fantastic and flavoured fool, sing me
a song of good content, for if this business ends not with crescendo and
bell-ringing, I am no butler to the Queen nor keep good company!"

Seating themselves upon the mossy bank, their backs to the westward sun,
the fool peered into the green shadows and sang with a soft melancholy an
ancient song that another fool had sung to the first Tudor:

"When blows the wind and drives the sleet,
And all the trees droop down;
When all the world is sad,
'tis meet Good company be known:
And in my heart good company
Sits by the fire and sings to me.

"When warriors return, and one