hou shalt, Edmund," said Blount. "In faith I am glad thou
thinkest my garb well-fancied, for all Mr. Wittypate here; for when one
does a foolish thing, it is right to do it handsomely."

So saying, Blount cocked his beaver, threw out his leg, and marched
manfully forward, as if at the head of his brigade of pikemen, ever and
anon looking with complaisance on his crimson stockings, and the huge
yellow roses which blossomed on his shoes. Tressilian followed, wrapt
in his own sad thoughts, and scarce minding Raleigh, whose quick fancy,
amused by the awkward vanity of his respectable friend, vented itself in
jests, which he whispered into Tressilian's ear.

In this manner they crossed the long bridge, or tilt-yard, and took
their station, with other gentlemen of quality, before the outer gate
of the Gallery, or Entrance-tower. The whole amounted to about forty
persons, all selected as of the first rank under that of knighthood, and
were disposed in double rows on either side of the gate, like a guard of
honour, within the close hedge of pikes and partisans which was formed
by Leicester's retainers, wearing his liveries. The gentlemen carried no
arms save their swords and daggers. These gallants were as gaily dressed
as imagination could devise; and as the garb of the time permitted
a great display of expensive magnificence, nought was to be seen but
velvet and cloth of gold and silver, ribbons, leathers, gems, and golden
chains. In spite of his more serious subjects of distress, Tressilian
could not help feeling that he, with his riding-suit, however handsome
it might be, made rather an unworthy figure among these "fierce
vanities," and the rather because he saw that his deshabille was
the subject of wonder among his own friends, and of scorn among the
partisans of Leicester.

We could not suppress this fact, though it may seem something at
variance with the gravity of Tressilian's character; but the truth is,
that a regard for personal appearance is a species of self-love,
from which the wisest are not exempt, and to which the mind clings so
instinctively that not only the soldier advancing to almost inevitable
death, but even the doomed criminal who goes to certain execution, shows
an anxiety to array his person to the best advantage. But this is a
digression.

It was the twilight of a summer night (9th July, 1575), the sun having
for some time set, and all were in anxious expectation of the Queen's
immediate approach