I have little doubt that, in early life, when running, like an
unbroken colt, about the neighborhood of Stratford, he was to be found
in the company of all kinds of odd anomalous characters; that he
associated with all the madcaps of the place, and was one of those
unlucky urchins, at mention of whom old men shake their heads, and
predict that they will one day come to the gallows. To him the
poaching in Sir Thomas Lucy's park was doubtless like a foray to a
Scottish knight, and struck his eager, and, as yet untamed,
imagination, as something delightfully adventurous.*
* A proof of Shakspeare's random habits and associates in his
youthful days may be found in a traditionary anecdote, picked up at
Stratford by the elder Ireland, and mentioned in his "Picturesque
Views on the Avon."
About seven miles from Stratford lies the thirsty little market town
of Bedford, famous for its ale. Two societies of the village
yeomanry used to meet, under the appellation of the Bedford topers,
and to challenge the lovers of good ale of the neighboring villages to
a contest of drinking. Among others, the people of Stratford were
called out to prove the strength of their heads; and in the number
of the champions was Shakspeare, who, in spite of the proverb that
"they who drink beer will think beer," was as true to his ale as
Falstaff to his sack.
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