"It runs over with gold.

No man may tell its richness.

Its beauty you can not imagine." "Faith," said Sir Arthur Pembroke, bending over the table with glass in eye, "if the ladies of that land have feet for this sort of shoon, methinks we might well emigrate.

Take you the money of it.

For me, I would see the dame could wear such shoe as this." One after another this company of young Englishmen, hard players, hard drinkers, gathered about the table and bent over to examine the little shoe.