antient masters waye did breede yem an atmosphere of sweetnesse and joyaunce yat was verily ye mother of theire greatnesse. Shakespeare never could have written had he been yforced to a type-writer, neither could Spenser have sung had he been compelled to spell ‘faerie’ as ‘fairy’. Ye atmosphere which bred yem was bred of ye quaintnesse of yr spelling.”
The soap-boiler was touched, for he loved books. He pondered all these things for long, and then he wrote to his friend:
“Verily mine eyen are oped. I have seen a greate lichte and have a newe hearte withinne me. Odzooks! I have lost much time, pardee, but I will this atmosphere of quaintnesse in mine owne kingdomme, for I have charged mine hirelings that they call me ‘ye master’. Beshrew ..text continues
