THE COOKERY OF VENISON 301 



nature which makes the whole world of refinement 

 akin. 



That Shakespeare loved venison we know. Not 

 because he stole the deer from the Lucys' park at 

 Fulford for the theft did not come off at Charlecote. 

 That might have been done in a spirit of pure devilry 

 when he had fallen into dissipated company, as 

 Denzil and Risingham 'snatched the deer from Rokeby 

 Park,' or as Tompkins and Jocelyn came to the deadly 

 quarrel over their trespass in Woodstock. But we 

 see it in Shakespeare's plays passim. There is the 

 memorable scene when Sir John is befooled by the 

 merry wives in Windsor Forest. When he comes on 

 disguised in hide and antlers, he says, ' For me, I 

 am here a Windsor stag ; and the fattest, I think, i' the 

 forest.' Falstaff was a bon vivant if ever there was 

 one, and his thoughts flew at once to the fat to the 

 inches of grease on the brisket. He may have been 

 groaning over his own obesity, though well used to it ; 

 but he naturally thought of the savoury veniscn as it 

 would be served by mine host of the Garter or by 

 Mistress Quickly's cook in Eastcheap. 



We could multiply at will more modern instances. 

 Love Peacock's ' Maid Marian,' with the forest queen 

 and those sylvan banquets at which the victims of the 

 free outlaws were hospitably entertained in a semi- 



