At length, as if tired of
what in modern phrase would have been termed lounging, he suddenly
remembered that Burbage was to act Shakespeare's King Richard, at the
Fortune, that afternoon, and that he could not give a stranger in
London, like Lord Glenvarloch, a higher entertainment than to carry
him to that exhibition; "unless, indeed," he added, in a whisper,
"there is paternal interdiction of the theatre as well as of the
ordinary."
"I never heard my father speak of stage-plays," said Lord Glenvarloch,
"for they are shows of a modern date, and unknown in Scotland. Yet, if
what I have heard to their prejudice be true, I doubt much whether he
would have approved of them."
"Approved of them!" exclaimed Lord Dalgarno--"why, George Buchanan
wrote tragedies, and his pupil, learned and wise as himself, goes to
see them, so it is next door to treason to abstain; and the cleverest
men in England write for the stage, and the prettiest women in London
resort to the playhouses, and I have a brace of nags at the door which
will carry us along the streets like wild-fire, and the ride will
digest our venison and ortolans, and dissipate the fumes of the wine,
and so let's to horse--Godd'en to you, gentlemen--Godd'en, Chevalier
de la Fortune."
Lord Dalgarno's grooms were in attendance with two horses, and the
young men mounted, the proprietor upon a favourite barb, and Nigel
upon a high-dressed jennet, scarce less beautiful.
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