A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 15
ACT V.
_Enter +All Ladies+, +Nurses+, +Pinguister+, and +Lean-man+, as in the vault; +Philidor+ as a Crier._
+Phil.+ _O yes, O yes, O yes! did any man hear tale_ Or tidings of three nurses, called Three Flanders Mares, with three sucking colts?--
+All Nurses.+ Hark, we are cried In the streets.
+Phil.+ And also six maiden ladies, that should Have been married to a certain Promising gentleman?--
+All Ladies.+ Devil! we are Cried too.
+Phil.+ Also a very lean gentleman, That must be fatter before he's married?--
+Lean-man.+ Hark, that is I?
+Phil.+ And the hugest loss of All is one Master Pinguister, a lovely Fat gentleman, whom all that knew him, doubt him To be dead upon some privy-house; because He purged every day for love, by reason Mistress Mirida would not marry him till A certain measure that she[75] has will come About his waist--
_Enter +Mirida+._
+Ping.+ Crier, I am here, I am here.
+Phil.+ If any can bring news of the six aforesaid Virgin ladies, or of the three Flanders nurses And colts, to one Master Philidor, a very Conscientious young man--
+Omnes.+ A pox take him!
+Phil.+ They shall be extremely paid for their pains. Again, if any can bring tidings of this Master Pinguister to Mistress Mirida, She will be very bountiful in her Reward: the poor soul weeps most bitterly For him.
+Ping.+ Does she so, poor wretch? [_Cries aloud._] Prythee, good Crier, go tell her I am not dead, though I have been buried a great while in the Vault. Mercy of my bum-gut, my purge again?
+Omnes.+ You nasty rogue, turn your breech out of the Gate then.
[_Goes to do so, +Philidor+ kicks him down, he roars out._
+Mir.+ Philidor, I have broke a vein With laughing, to hear thy rogueries. I'll call To Pinguister. Master Pinguister? My Love, my dear, sure, I hear thy voice?
+Ping.+ Who's that, My dear female?
+Mir.+ The same, fat love.
+Ping.+ O, prythee raise me from the dead.
+Phil.+ Well, ladies and gentlewomen, how d'ye Like your crier now?
+Omnes.+ The devil take thee, was it you?
+Phil.+ The very same.
+2d Lady.+ Well, won't you let us out? pray howsoever, Take away this fat gentleman from us; For he has such a coming looseness, and 'Tis so dark here, that he has Shit upon every one of us.
+Omnes.+ Well, but won't you let us out?
+Phil.+ Yes, if you ladies would set your hands To this paper, to quit me as to all promises, I will; and also, my reverend nurses, You must set your hands to this discharge, To quit me from all arrears of nursing: Else farewell t'ye--
+Omnes.+ Well, well, stay; we will. [_Set their hands._
+Phil.+ So, now you may go take the air Again; there's the key to let yourselves out.
+Omnes.+ A cheating rogue!
+Phil.+ Come, Mirida, let's run away, for if They catch us, murder is the best we can Hope for. [_Exit, with +Mirida+._
+1st Nurse.+ They went this way; let's run after Them, some one way and some t'other. [_Exeunt +Women+._
+Ping.+ So you may, but if I run away, then Hang me; I am glad of my resurrection Howsoever. On my conscience, no green Carcase ever stunk as I did; to my best Remembrance I went to stool some Threescore times in the vault, _ergo_ I was beaten threescore times; the Unmerciful nurses, with their huge Palm'd hands, every time I went to't, Play'd at hot-cockles[76] all the while upon My buttocks. Well, I hope I shall ne'er be Buried again whilst I live, and so with That prayer I'll go to bed.
_Enter +Mirida+._
+Mir.+ My dear fat love, little dost thou think how many Tears I have shed for all thy sufferings; that rogue Philidor put a trick upon us all.
+Ping.+ Well, and has physic, heats, burial, Nor resurrection, made me yet lean Enough to be thy husband? why, I have Lost as much grease as would furnish A whole city with candles for a twelvemonth And all for the love of thee, sweet Mirida. [_Cries and sobs._
+Mir.+ Dear love, come sit thee in my lap, And let me try if I can enclose thy world Of fat and love within these arms: See, I cannot nigh encompass my Desires by a mile.
+Ping.+ How is my fat a rival to my joys! [_Cries._ Sure, I shall weep it all away.
+Mir.+ Lie still, my babe, lie still and sleep, It grieves me sore to see thee weep: Wer't thou but leaner, I were glad; Thy fatness makes thy dear love sad. What a lump of love have I in my arms!
+Ping.+ Nay, if I had not taken all these courses To dissolve myself into thy embraces, One would think my looking on thee Were enough; for I never see thee but I am like a fat piece of beef roasting At the fire, continually drop, drop, drop. There's ne'er a feature in thy face, or Part about thee, but has cost me many A pint of fat, with thinking on thee; And yet not to be lean enough for Thy husband--O fate! O fate! O fat! [_She lets him fall._
+Mir.+ O Lord, sir, I have let you fall, How shall I do to get you up again!
+Ping.+ Nay, that is more than all the world can tell.
+Mir.+ I'll e'en lie down by thee then.
+Ping.+ Nay, But prythee lie near me; thou hadst As good lie a league off, as that distance.
+Mir.+ Were I thy wife, fat love, I would.
_+She+ sings._
_My lodging upon the cold floor is, And wonderful hard is my fare, But that which troubles me more, is The fatness of my dear. Yet still I do cry, O, melt, love, And I prythee now melt apace; For thou art the man I should long for, If 'twere not for thy grease._
_+Pinguister+ sings._
_Then prythee don't burden thy heart still, And be deaf to my pitiful moan; Since I do endure the smart still, And for my fat do groan; Then prythee now turn, my dear love, And I prythee now turn to me; For, alas! I am too fat still To roll so far to thee._
+Mir.+ That were not modesty in me to turn To you; but if you can roll to me within This hour, I'll marry you in spite of all Your fat.
+Ping.+ Agreed, then I shall gain thee yet; You must lie still then.
+Mir.+ Yes, yes.
+Ping.+ Sure, I am Sysiphus's stone, for as fast as I turn Over, I think I turn back again, else I Must needs have been come to my journey's end [_He rolls to her, and she rolls from him._ By this time; for I am of such a breadth, That every roll I give I pass over An acre at least. Thou liest still, my love, Dost thou not?
+Mir.+ Yes, I long to have thee here.
+Ping.+ I doubt I shan't be with thee, though, This two hours.
+Mir.+ Then my heart will break.
+Ping.+ I'm sure mine will before I get to thee. O woman, O woman, O woman! They talk of woman in travail, I'm Sure I know a man in travail at This time, in more pain by half. [_She rises and laughs at him._
+Mir.+ Why, my most extreme fat ass, dost Thou not find that I have fool'd thee All this while?
+Ping.+ Why, hast thou?
+Mir.+ Yes, indeed have I.
+Ping.+ O thou woman! may'st thou grow Fat, that thy breast and belly may Meet together, so that all the fat Hostesses in Christendom may appear But eels to thee.
+Mir.+ Farewell, my lowly love.
+Ping.+ Why, wilt thou not help me up, before You go?
+Mir.+ What to do? to run heats again for love?
+Ping.+ No, to fight with thee.
+Mir.+ Fight with me? by this light, would we Had two swords. I'd have one pass At all thy tripes.
_Enter +Cutler+ with two swords._
Faith, and yonder's a fellow with two swords: Friend, lend me but thy swords one minute.
+Cut.+ I am going to carry them to two gentlemen.
+Mir.+ O, this will not hinder thee; thou shalt See rare sport. Go, help that gentleman Up that lies yonder, and give that sword Into his hand. Come, are ye ready, sir?
+Ping.+ Why, you dare fight then, it seems? Though thou art so ungodly a chit, as To say no prayers, before thou beginn'st, I will, I assure thee. Good--I pray and desire ye, if I Do miscarry in this duel, that I may Meet with no woman in the other World. Now, thou worst of females, Have at thee.
+Mir.+ Come, I'll let out all your fat and love at One thrust. [_Fight, and she disarms him._ Now ask thy life, and confess thou art an ass.
+Ping.+ I am an ass, and ask my life.
+Mir.+ Then I, thy conquering Cæsar, take my leave With this conclusion: _veni, vidi, vici._ And so farewell. O fate, O love, O fat! [_Exit._
+Ping.+ After all my miseries, would I were Up again, else the next man that comes Will make a roller of me, for to roll Bowling-greens. [_Makes several attempts to rise, and at last gets up._ So, now I have a mile home at least, And every toilsome step I take, I will Curse women. [_Exit._
_Enter +Zoranzo+ and +Amphelia+ lying upon straw together._
+Zor.+ Most bless'd of women, I must tell you truth; And yet I fear that truth will----
+Amph.+ Will what? I doubt he loves me-- [_Aside._ Speak it, sir, nothing from you can Be unwelcome.
+Zor.+ O yes, it will.
+Amph.+ I'll warrant you; out with it, sir.
+Zor.+ Then know, I----'Twill come no farther.
+Amph.+ Unhappy man! 'tis so, he loves me. [_Aside._ O sir, I have sadder truth to tell to you Than yours can be to me----I dare not Speak it.
+Zor.+ My fears are true; she loves me. [_Aside._ Pray tell me, what it is?
+Amph.+ Tell yours first, sir.
+Zor.+ Alas! you saw I tried, but could not get It past my lips.
+Amph.+ If I should try, mine would not come so far.
+Zor.+ Would I knew yours, I could tell it for you.
+Amph.+ So could I yours, [and] yet I can't my own.
+Zor.+ Alas! she loves me. [_Aside._
+Amph.+ Poor Zoranzo! I see he loves me. [_Aside._ But, sir, consider we are going to die; Let us die undeceiv'd in one another.
+Zor.+ O, that some one that knows each of our hearts, Would hearken to our griefs, and bid An angel come and speak for both!
_Enter +Jailor+._
+Jailor.+ Come, have you done your discourse? you must go To execution.
+Zor.+ A little patience, jailor: [_To her_] see, we are Called unto our deaths, pray tell me, what You mean.
+Amph.+ I cannot; first do you begin.
+Zor.+ Nor I.
+Amph.+ Let us tell both together then, that one May not blame the other.
+Zor.+ Agreed: are you ready now to speak!
+Amph.+ Yes--O no, I am not--well, now I am-- Are you?
+Zor.+ Yes, I am; begin--O, stay, I cannot yet.
+Jailor.+ Come, come, I can give you no longer time.
+Amph.+ Nay, then we must tell.
+Zor.+ Poor Amphelia! 'tis Amarissa that I love.
+Amph.+ O Zoranzo, I love the duke!
+Zor.+ Then I am joy'd, I was afraid 'twas me You lov'd.
+Amph.+ And so was I that you lov'd me. Now we shall both die happy, never was Two such friends as you and I.
+Jailor.+ Come, come.
+Amph.+ Good jailor, we go most willingly now. [_Exeunt._
_Enter as on a scaffold, +Duke+, +Amarissa+, +Ortellus+, +Zoranzo+, +Amphelia+, +Jailor+, and +Executioner+._
+Ama.+ Jailor, why didst thou let them stay so long?
+Jailor.+ They had so much to say to one another, That still they begged one minute, and then Another.
+Ama.+ D'ye hear, sir? pray let the jailor Be turn'd out of his place, for letting them speak to One another.
+Amph.+ See, Zoranzo, where they sit In triumph o'er our deaths.
+Ama.+ S'life, sir, they are Whispering, d'ye see Yonder? Executioner, why don't you Strike off their heads, and let them whisper then. Sir, you're melancholy.
+Duke.+ I am indeed.
+Zor.+ Now, Amphelia, to heaven and you I truly Vow, my love is still the same to cruel Amarissa.
+Amph.+ Heaven and you witness the same for me: My heart is still that undeserving duke's.
+Exec.+ Come, which of you will die first?
+Zor.+ Hast thou not Skill enough to strike our heads off together?
+Ama.+ Executioner, let them not have that Satisfaction; pray, sir, let that woman Die first, that damned Zoranzo may have Two deaths; it will be one to him to see Her die; shall it be so, sir?
+Duke.+ What you please.
+Exec.+ Come, lady, you must lay down your head First, the duke says.
+Amph.+ That word's the sharpest axe That I shall feel.
+Exec.+ Have you said all? [_Both kneel as at prayers._
+Amph.+ To earth I have, But not to heaven. Farewell, dear friend, for one short minute.
+Zor.+ My soul Shall hasten after yours.
+Ama.+ S'life! jailor, will you Let them speak to one another again?
+Amph.+ Executioner, now I am ready.
+Duke.+ Hold, The prisoner shall die first.
+Zor.+ With all my Heart, I am ready.
+Duke.+ Nay, it is not you I mean, sir; rise; 'tis I that am the prisoner, I will make you a present, take your life, Your love; nay, and my dukedom too: and to Oblige you most of all, executioner, Strike off my head, for I am weary of it.
+Amph.+ Not for ten thousand worlds, sir, Whate'er you mean.
+Duke.+ Know then, I have lov'd you All this while, but seeing your hate so great to me, I have dissembled scorn to you. [_She swoons._ Why dost thou swoon, Amphelia?
+Amph.+ Did not I hear some voice just now, That said the duke does love me still?
+Duke.+ Thou didst; 'twas he himself that said so.
+Amph.+ If 'twere from heaven, good heaven, say it again!
+Duke.+ 'Twas I myself, I tell thee--and I will Ne'er speak another word, if that displease thee.
+Amph.+ O, I am in heaven then, it seems, and 'tis Some god that is telling me how the duke Loved me still.
+Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, 'tis I That loves thee, tells thee so.
+Amph.+ Hark, now there is a god that says he loves Me too; blest god, I'm sorry if you do. Since I have heard the duke does love me still, He must be your rival, indeed I cannot Help it. O, let me fly down to the earth Again, only to hear him say he loves me. I cannot promise when I shall return: That very word from him would keep me there.
+Duke.+ I must answer her no more: they say 'Twill keep 'em longer in a trance. [_He rubs her._
+Ort.+ I am but in a scurvy condition now, if She comes to life again, for they will Examine one another, how the mistake Came between them, and then I am Sure it must come to light. [_Aside._
+Amph.+ Who's that,--duke Archimedes?
+Duke.+ The same, sweet angel.
+Amph.+ O sir, I am come from heaven to see you, Since there I heard you love me still.
+Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, thou hast dream'd all this while; Heaven, 'tis true, is where thou art, but 'twas My voice that said I love thee.
+Amph.+ Was not my head struck off just now?
+Duke.+ Canst thou ask that, while I have A head and heart?
+Amph.+ Why, have you lov'd me still?
+Duke.+ With as much truth as ever lover did.
+Amph.+ So have I you with equal constancy.
+Ama.+ Well, sir, now you are satisfied, pray let Me be so too, and let Zoranzo's head Be struck off quickly, I see he's mean as well as false, to quit Me for a woman that does not love him.
+Amph.+ Hold, Amarissa, hear me speak, before Zoranzo dies; and be assur'd he loves You still.
+Ama.+ Would you deceive me too?
+Amph.+ Indeed I don't; when we were going to die, You may remember that we whispered, Then we called heaven and ourselves to witness, That both our loves were true, Mine to Archimedes, and his to you.
+Ama.+ You can forgive me, sir? [_Kneels._
+Zor.+ I cannot answer yet; Thy civility has took away my speech.
+Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, how came this sad mistake 'Twixt you and I?
+Amph.+ I'll tell you, sir, in part; When you were in this last war, my woman Receiv'd a letter from one of the gentlemen Of your chamber, wherein he did assure Her that you had a new mistress in that Country, and therefore bid her tell me Of it, that I might by degrees wean my Affections from so false a man as you.
+Duke.+ Here has been some foul play; for this very man You spoke of, receiv'd a letter from your woman, Wherein she bid him assure me, that you Were prov'd false in my absence, and lov'd my Cousin Ortellus. Guard, go fetch them both Hither immediately; they shall die Without mercy.
+Ort.+ Nay, then, I had as good Discover, 'twill fall th' heavier on me else. Sir, let the guard stay, And I will tell you all. 'Tis I have sow'd the seeds of this mistake. I long have lov'd Amphelia, for which cause I tried this way to draw her heart from you. I knew this gentleman of your bed-chamber Was in love with Amphelia's woman, Therefore I brib'd her to write to him, To assure the duke that Amphelia lov'd me, And that she should also charge him, to write Another letter to her, wherein he Should complain of the duke's falling in love With another woman in that country. I knew your spirits both to be so great that Neither of you would stoop to one another, When you were both possess'd of either's falseness: And so it prov'd. For when the duke heard you lov'd me, he brought A fair new mistress over with him, to Let you see he did contemn you; and so Amphelia, sir, when she heard you lov'd Another, assur'd me then that she lov'd me, Which now I see was only to make you Think how much she scorn'd you, though still her heart Was true, and so was yours. Now, sir, I humbly beg your pardon.
+Duke.+ 'Twill be in vain, my lord; I cannot grant it. O Amphelia, how many hours of joy We two have lost!
+Amph.+ Base lord!
_Enter +Artabella+._
+Art.+ O sir, I heard that people were to die To-day; let me be one, I pray.
+Amph.+ Not for The world, sweet innocent.
+Art.+ O madam, you are she The duke loves. Pray spare your pity, sir; can You have the heart to let me live, and see You married to another?
+Amph.+ Have patience, Sweet young maid, I will not marry him; you won't Blame me, if I love him, though?
+Art.+ No; For then I should condemn my fault in you.
+Duke.+ But sure, Amphelia, you did but jest, In telling her you would not marry me?
+Amph.+ Indeed, sir, I am in earnest; consider It is but justice; she loves you as well As I: her heart was quiet till you troubled It.
+Duke.+ All this is true; but how will your Love show, if you refuse to marry me?
+Amph.+ Not less at all, but make my pity more.
+Duke.+ If I would marry her, I can't believe, That she would be thus kind to you.
+Amph.+ Yes, I dare say she would; ask her and try.
+Duke.+ Well, Artabella, will you marry me?
+Art.+ You never hated me till now; can you Believe I'd wrong so blest a woman as Amphelia?
+Amph.+ See, sir, would it be justice now in me? She will not wound my heart; should I kill hers?
+Duke.+ But consider, 'tis you I love, not her.
+Amph.+ That's her misfortune, sir, yet she deserves. As much as I: I can but love you, so Does she.
+Duke.+ Dear Amphelia, marry me.
+Amph.+ I cannot Out of pity, sir.
+Duke.+ Talk not of pity, if Thou wilt show me none.
+Amph.+ My pity is her due: My love is yours.
+Duke.+ O Amphelia, this was A cruel way to make me happy. Thou'st Better still have kept my joys unknown, than let The knowing of it be my death. Once more, My dear Amphelia, marry me.
+Amph.+ Do not Petition her; you may command in any Thing but this.
+Duke.+ Monster of villains, thou hast caus'd All this! Executioner, immediately strike Off his head.
+Ort.+ I'm sure you will not let me die.
+Duke.+ Impudent villain, dispatch him straight.
+Ort.+ Hold, sir, 'tis only I can make you Three happy, which if you do not confess, When you have heard me speak, then let me die.
+Duke.+ Well, let's hear it.
+Ort.+ Promise me my life First, if I do.
+Duke.+ Well, you shall have it.
+Ort.+ Then know, the lady Artabella is Your sister.
+Duke.+ Ha!
+Ort.+ I say, your sister; You do remember that you had one once?
+Duke.+ Yes, I do, but she was lost at three years old.
+Ort.+ 'Tis true it was thought so; but thus it is:-- When 'twas reported you were slain in th' battle, I straight convey'd away this lady, then A child, because she should not stand 'twixt me And the dukedom. I being then acquainted With the mother to Arbatus, I brought This lady, and gave her a sum of money, T' adopt her for her child. With willingness My offer she embrac'd, the more, because Her son Arbatus had been lost about Seven years, thought to have been cast away At sea, though afterwards returned home: I had enjoin'd her secrecy, which she Kept, therefore she told Arbatus 'twas his Sister.
_Enter +Arbatus+._
+Duke.+ And is she then my sister? O Arbatus, welcome, welcome! I've a crowd Of joys about my heart to tell thee.
+Arb.+ What! that you have broken my sister's heart?
+Duke.+ Thou hast no sister; 'tis I [that] possess that Blessing; Artabella is my sister. How blest a sound is _sister_ to my ears! I'll give command no other word but _sister_ Shall be spoke throughout my dukedom; I'll have it Taught to infants; so that when nature lends Their sucking tongues a means to speak one word, They shall all babble _sister_, 'stead of _nurse._ I'll have the name engrav'd in gold [up]on Every post and pillar in the streets, and passers- By shall worship it.
+Arb.+ I am amazed.
_Enter +Philidor+ and +Mirida+._
+Duke.+ Welcome, Philidor.
+Phil.+ I am glad To see joy in your looks again, sir; The time is long since I have seen you smile.
+Duke.+ Philidor, all that is joy I have within This breast; it overflows And runs into my eyes. This is my sister! (O, what a word is sister!) and this my dear And true Amphelia. Come, Mirida shall be thine to-day too. [_To +Philidor+._
+Mir.+ Hold, sir, I forbid that banns.
+Phil.+ Troth, so do I too; you always Take the words out of my mouth. You and I marry, quotha!
+Mir.+ No, faith, we'll be hang'd first. I'd Rather hear a long sermon, than Hear a parson ask me: _Mirida, Will you have this man for your Wedded husband, to have and to hold, From this day forward_, and so forth.
+Phil.+ Right, _for better for worse, in Sickness or in health._
+Mir.+ Ay, and perhaps after we have been Married half a year, one's Husband falls into a deep consumption, And will not do one the favour to Die neither, then we must be Ever feeding him with caudles. O, from a husband in a consumption Deliver me!
+Phil.+ And think how weary I should be Of thee, Mirida, when once we were Chain'd together: the very name of Wife would be a vomit to me: then Nothing but, _where's my wife? call My wife to dinner, call my wife to supper_; And then at night, _come, wife, will you Go to bed_?
+Mir.+ Ay, and that would be so troublesome To be call'd by one's husband every night To go to bed. O, that dull, dull Name of husband!
+Duke.+ Indeed you two are well met, The world has not two more such, I am confident.
+Mir.+ The more the pity, sir.
+Phil.+ No, sir, if you please, never propose Marrying to us, till both of us have Committed such faults as are death By the law; then instead of Hanging us, marry us.
+Mir.+ And then you shall hear how Earnestly we shall petition your Highness to be hang'd rather than Married.
+Duke.+ No man can judge which is the Wildest of these two. Now, brave Arbatus, in all my dukedom There is but one gift worthy thy Receiving, and that's my sister; Here, sir, take her as freely as heaven Gave her me.
+Arb.+ D'ye forgive me, sir?
+Duke.+ Or not myself, Arbatus. This day Hymen shall light his torch for all.
+Phil.+ With your pardon, sir, not for me And my female?
+Mir.+ No, faith, I'll blow it out, If he does.
+Art.+ Sir, though in my own desires I should have chose the man that you have given me, Yet I beg we may not marry yet; we have Call'd brother and sister so long, that yet We needs must think we are so still.
+Arb.+ Pray, madam, Let's think so as little a while as we can, That fancy may not keep my joy in prison.
+Duke.+ Let's to the temple now, and there thank Heaven for these unexpected joys. Each day the gods shall lend me in this life, I'll thank them for a sister and a wife. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[75] [Old copy, _he_.]
[76] [See Thoms' "Anecdotes and Traditions," 1839, p. 95.]
HISTORIA HISTRIONICA.
_EDITION._
_Historia Histrionica. An Historical Account of the English-Stage; showing the Ancient Uses, Improvement, and Perfection of Dramatic Representations, in this Nation. In a Dialogue, of Plays and Players._--Olim meminisse juvabit. _London. Printed by G. Croom, for William Haws, at the Rose in Ludgate-Street._ 1699. 8º.
This tract is said to have been the production of James Wright of New Inn, afterwards of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law, who was the son of Abraham Wright, a well-known miscellaneous writer (1645-70). The former was the author of "The Antiquities of Rutlandshire," and some poems; particularly (1) "An Essay on the Present Ruins of St Paul's Cathedral." To which is annexed, "The Misfortunes of St Paul's Cathedral," in heroic verse, 4º. 1668; reprinted with two other poems under the title of (2) "Three poems of St Paul's Cathedral; viz., The Ruins, The Rebuilding, The Choire,[77] Fo. 1697," and (3) "Phœnix Paulina, a Poem on St Paul's Cathedral, 4º. 1709."[78] He was alive in 1710, being mentioned by Mr Hearne in his preface to Leland's "Itinerary," in this manner; "I could have supply'd more Lacunæ, and in all likelyhood have render'd this performance more perfect, if I had had the use of a very good transcript of Mr Leland's 'Itinerary,' taken about the time of Queen Elizabeth (before the originals took wet, as is suppos'd) and was formerly in possession of James Wright, of the Middle Temple, Esq., the worthy author of the 'Antiquities of Rutlandshire;' but this, with a multitude of other valuable curiosities, was unhappily burned in the fire at the Middle Temple, in the year 1698, as Mr Wright has been pleased to inform me." Anthony Wood says, he wrote an elegy on the death of Mr John Goad, Master of Merchant Taylor's School, who died 1689. (See Wood's "Athenæ," vol. i. p. 839.)
FOOTNOTES:
[77] British Topography, vol. 1. p. 610.
[78] Catalogue of pamphlets in the Harleian Library, p. 140.
THE PREFACE.[79]
Much has been writ of late _pro_ and _con_ about the stage, yet the subject admits of more, and that which has not been hitherto touched upon; not only what that is, but what it was, about which some people have made such a bustle. What it is we see, and I think it has been sufficiently displayed in Mr Collier's book; what it was in former ages, and how used in this kingdom, so far back as one may collect any memorials, is the subject of the following dialogue. Old plays will be always read by the curious, if it were only to discover the manners and behaviour of several ages, and how they altered. For plays are exactly like portraits, drawn in the garb and fashion of the time when painted. You see one habit in the time of Charles I., another quite different from that, both for men and women, in Queen Elizabeth's time; another under Henry VIII. different from both; and so backward, all various. And in the several fashions of behaviour and conversation there is as much mutability as in that of clothes. Religion and religious matters were once as much the mode in public entertainments as the contrary has been in some times since. This appears in the different plays of several ages: and to evince this the following sheets are an essay or specimen.
Some may think the subject of this discourse trivial, and the persons herein mentioned not worth remembering. But besides that I could name some things contested of late with great heat, of as little or less consequence, the reader may know that the profession of players is not so totally scandalous, nor all of them so reprobate, but that there has been found under that name a canonised saint in the primitive church, as may be seen in the "Roman Martyrology" on the 29th March: his name _Masculas_, a master of interludes (the Latin is _Archimimus_, and the French translation _un Maître comedien_) who, under the persecution of the Vandals in Africa by Geisericus the Aryan king, having endured many and grievous torments and reproaches for the confession of the truth, finished the course of this glorious combat, saith the said "Martyrology."
It appears from this and some further instances in the following discourse, that there have been players of worthy principles as to religion, loyalty, and other virtues; and if the major part of them fall under a different character, it is the general unhappiness of mankind, that the _most_ are the _worst._
FOOTNOTES:
[79] This preface was omitted by Mr Reed, probably because his copy was not perfect. It is reprinted from the first edition in 1699, which the former editor had not been able to procure.--_Collier._
A DIALOGUE, &c.
+Lovewit+, +Trueman+.
+Love.+ Honest old cavalier, well met! faith, I'm glad to see thee.
+True.+ Have a care what you call me: old is a word of disgrace among the ladies; to be honest is to be poor and foolish (as some think); and cavalier is a word as much out of fashion as any of 'em.
+Love.+ The more's the pity. But what said the fortune-teller in Ben Jonson's "Masque of Gipsies," to the then Lord Privy Seal?--
_Honest and old! In those the good part of a fortune is told._
+True.+ Ben Jonson! how dare you name Ben Jonson in these times, when we have such a crowd of poets of a quite different genius, the least of which thinks himself as well able to correct Ben Jonson as he could a country schoolmistress that taught to spell!
+Love.+ We have, indeed, poets of a different genius, so are the plays; but, in my opinion, they are all of 'em (some few excepted) as much inferior to those of former times, as the actors now in being (generally speaking) are, compared to Hart, Mohun, Burt, Lacy, Clun, and Shatterel; for I can reach no farther backward.
+True.+ I can, and dare assure you, if my fancy and memory are not partial (for men of my age are apt to be over-indulgent to the thoughts of their youthful days), I say the actors that I have seen before the wars--Lowin, Taylor, Pollard, and some others--were almost as far beyond Hart and his company as those were beyond these now in being.
+Love.+ I am willing to believe it, but cannot readily; because I have been told that those whom I mentioned were bred up under the others of your acquaintance, and followed their manner of action, which is now lost: so far that, when the question has been asked why these players do not revive the "Silent Woman" and some other of Jonson's plays (once of highest esteem), they have answered, "Truly, because there are none now living who can rightly humour those parts; for all who related to the Blackfriars (where they were acted in perfection) are now dead and almost forgotten."
+True.+ 'Tis very true, Hart and Clun were bred up boys at the Blackfriars, and acted women's parts. Hart was Robinson's boy or apprentice; he acted the Duchess in the tragedy of the "Cardinal," which was the first part that gave him reputation. Cartwright and Wintershal belonged to the Private House in Salisbury Court; Burt was a boy, first under Shank at the Blackfriars, then under Beeston at the Cockpit; and Mohun and Shatterel were in the same condition with him at the last place. There Burt used to play the principal women's parts, in particular Clariana, in "Love's Cruelty;" and at the same time Mohun acted Bellamente, which part he retained after the Restoration.
+Love.+ That I have seen, and can well remember. I wish they had printed in the last age (so I call the times before the Rebellion) the actors' names over against the parts they acted, as they have done since the Restoration, and thus one might have guessed at the action of the men by the parts which we now read in the old plays.
+True.+ It was not the custom and usage of those days, as it hath been since. Yet some few old plays there are that have the names set against the parts, as "The Duchess of Malfy," "The Picture," "The Roman Actor," "The Deserving Favourite," "The Wild-Goose Chase" (at the Blackfriars), "The Wedding," "The Renegado," "The Fair Maid of the West," "Hannibal and Scipio," "King John and Matilda" (at the Cockpit), and "Holland's Leaguer" (at Salisbury Court).
+Love.+ These are but few indeed. But pray, sir, what master-parts can you remember the old Blackfriar's men to act in Jonson, Shakespeare, and Fletcher's plays?
+True.+ What I can at present recollect, I'll tell you. Shakespeare (who, as I have heard, was a much better poet than player), Burbage, Hemmings, and others of the older sort, were dead before I knew the town; but in my time, before the wars, Lowin used to act with mighty applause Falstaff, Morose, Volpone, and Mammon in the "Alchymist," Melantius in the "Maid's Tragedy;" and at the same time Amyntor was played by Stephen Hammerton (who was at first a most noted and beautiful woman-actor, but afterwards he acted with equal grace and applause a young lover's part); Taylor acted Hamlet incomparably well; Jago, Truewit in the "Silent Woman," and Face in the "Alchymist." Swanston used to play Othello. Pollard and Robinson were comedians; so was Shank, who used to act Sir Roger in the "Scornful Lady:" these were of Blackfriars. Those of principal note at the Cockpit were Perkins, Michael Bowyer, Sumner, William Allan, and Bird, eminent actors, and Robins, a comedian. Of the other companies I took little notice.
+Love.+ Were there so many companies?
+True.+ Before the wars there were in being all these play-houses at the same time. The Blackfriars and Globe on the Bank-side, a winter and summer house, belonging to the same company, called the King's Servants; the Cockpit or Phœnix, in Drury Lane, called the Queen's Servants; the Private House, in Salisbury Court, called the Prince's Servants; the Fortune, near Whitecross Street;[80] and the Red Bull, at the upper end of St John's Street: the two last were mostly frequented by citizens and the meaner sort of people. All these companies got money, and lived in reputation, especially those of the Blackfriars, who were men of grave and sober behaviour.
+Love.+ Which I admire at; that the town, much less than at present, could then maintain five companies, and yet now two can hardly subsist.
+True.+ Do not wonder, but consider that, though the town was then, perhaps, not much more than half so populous as now, yet then the prices were small (there being no scenes), and better order kept among the company that came; which made very good people think a play an innocent diversion for an idle hour or two, the plays themselves being then, for the most part, more instructive and moral. Whereas, of late, the play-houses are so extremely pestered with vizard-masks and their trade (occasioning continual quarrels and abuses), that many of the more civilised part of the town are uneasy in the company, and shun the theatre as they would a house of scandal. It is an argument of the worth of the plays and actors of the last age, and easily inferred, that they were much beyond ours in this, to consider that they could support themselves merely from their own merit, the weight of the matter, and goodness of the action, without scenes and machines; whereas the present plays, with all that show, can hardly draw an audience, unless there be the additional invitation of a Signer Fedeli, a Monsieur l'Abbé, or some such foreign regale expressed in the bottom of the bill.
+Love.+ To waive this digression, I have read of one Edward Alleyn, a man so famed for excellent action, that among Ben Jonson's epigrams I find one directed to him, full of encomium, and concluding thus--
_Wear this renown; 'tis just that who did give So many poets life, by one should live._
Was he one of the Blackfriars?
+True.+ Never as I have heard (for he was dead before my time). He was master of a company of his own, for whom he built the Fortune Playhouse from the ground, a large round brick building. This is he that grew so rich, that he purchased a great estate in Surrey and elsewhere; and having no issue, he built and largely endowed Dulwich College in the year 1619[81], for a master, a warden, four fellows, twelve aged poor people, and twelve poor boys, &c. A noble charity!
+Love.+ What kind of play-houses had they before the wars?
+True.+ The Blackfriars, Cockpit, and Salisbury Court were called private houses, and were very small to what we see now. The Cockpit was standing since the Restoration, and Rhodes's company acted there for some time.
+Love.+ I have seen that.
+True.+ Then you have seen the other two in effect, for they were all three built almost exactly alike for form and bigness. Here they had pits for the gentry, and acted by candlelight. The Globe, Fortune, and Bull were large houses, and lay partly open to the weather, and there they always acted by daylight.
+Love.+ But prythee, Trueman, what became of these players when the stage was put down, and the Rebellion raised?
+True.+ Most of them, except Lowin, Taylor, and Pollard (who were superannuated) went into the king's army, and, like good men and true, served their old master, though in a different, yet more honourable capacity. Robinson was killed at the taking of a place (I think Basing House) by Harrison, he that was after hanged at Charing Cross, who refused him quarter, and shot him in the head when he had laid down his arms; abusing Scripture at the same time in saying, _Cursed is he that doth the work of the Lord negligently_. Mohun was a captain, and (after the wars were ended here) served in Flanders, where he received pay as a major. Hart was a lieutenant of horse under Sir Thomas Dallison, in Prince Rupert's regiment; Burt was cornet in the same troop, and Shatterel quartermaster. Allen of the Cockpit was a major, and quartermaster-general at Oxford. I have not heard of one of these players; of any note that sided with the other party, but only Swanston; and he professed himself a Presbyterian, took up the trade of a jeweller, and lived in Aldermanbury, within the territory of Father Calamy. The rest either lost or exposed their lives for their king. When the wars were over, and the Royalists totally subdued, most of 'em who were left alive gathered to London, and for a subsistence endeavoured to revive their old trade privately. They made up one company out of all the scattered members of several; and in the winter before the king's murder, 1648, they ventured to act some plays, with as much caution and privacy as could be, at the Cockpit. They continued undisturbed for three or four days; but at last, as they were presenting the tragedy of the "Bloody Brother" (in which Lowin acted Aubery: Taylor, Rollo; Pollard, the Cook; Burt, Latorch; and, I think, Hart, Otto), a party of foot-soldiers beset the house, surprised 'em about the middle of the play,[82] and carried 'em away in their habits, not admitting them to shift, to Hatton House, then a prison, where, having detained them some time, they plundered them of their clothes, and let 'em loose again. Afterwards, in Oliver's time, they used to act privately, three or four miles, or more, out of town, now here, now there: sometimes in noblemen's houses, in particular, Holland House at Kensington, where the nobility and gentry who met (but in no great numbers) used to make a sum for them, each giving a broad piece, or the like. And Alexander Goffe, the woman-actor at Blackfriars (who had made himself known to persons of quality), used to be the jackal, and give notice of time and place. At Christmas and Bartholomew Fair, they used to bribe the officer who commanded the guard at Whitehall, and were thereupon connived at to act for a few days at the Red Bull,[83] but were sometimes, notwithstanding, disturbed by soldiers. Some picked up a little money by publishing the copies of plays never before printed, but kept up in manuscript. For instance, in the year 1652, Beaumont and Fletcher's "Wild-Goose Chase" was printed in folio, for the public use of all the ingenious, as the title-page says, and private benefit of John Lowin and Joseph Taylor, servants to his late majesty; and by them dedicated to the honoured few lovers of dramatic poesy, wherein they modestly intimate their wants, and that with sufficient cause; for whatever they were before the wars, they were after reduced to a necessitous condition. Lowin, in his latter days, kept an inn, the Three Pigeons at Brentford, where he died very old, for he was an actor of eminent note in the reign of King James I.; and his poverty was as great as his age. Taylor died at Richmond, and was there buried. Pollard, who lived single, and had a competent estate, retired to some relations he had in the country, and there ended his life. Perkins and Sumner of the Cockpit kept house together at Clerkenwell, and were there buried. These all died some years before the Restoration; what followed after, I need not tell you; you can easily remember.
+Love.+ Yes; presently after the Restoration, the king's players acted publicly at the Red Bull for some time, and then removed to a new-built play-house in Vere Street, by Clare Market. There they continued for a year or two, and then removed to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, where they first made use of scenes, which had been a little before introduced upon the public stage by Sir William Davenant, at the Duke's Old Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, but afterwards very much improved, with the addition of curious machines, by Mr Betterton, at the New Theatre in Dorset Garden, to the great expense and continual charge of the players. This much impaired their profit o'er what it was before; for I have been informed by one of 'em, that for several years next after the Restoration every whole sharer in Mr Hart's company got £1000 _per ann._ About the same time that scenes first entered upon the stage at London, women were taught to act their own parts; since when we have seen at both houses several actresses, justly famed, as well for beauty as perfect good action. And some plays, in particular the "Parson's Wedding," have been presented all by women, as formerly all by men. Thus it continued for about twenty years, when Mr Hart, and some of the old men, began to grow weary, and were minded to leave off. Then the two companies thought fit to unite; but of late, you see, they have thought it no less fit to divide again, though both companies keep the same name of His Majesty's Servants. All this while the play-house music improved yearly, and is now arrived to greater perfection than ever I knew it. Yet for all these advantages, the reputation of the stage and people's affection to it are much decayed. Some were lately severe against it, and would hardly allow stage-plays fit to be longer permitted. Have you seen Mr Collier's book?
+True.+ Yes, and his opposers'.
+Love.+ And what think you?
+True.+ In my mind, Mr Collier's reflections are pertinent, and true in the main; the book ingeniously wrote, and well intended; but he has overshot himself in some places, and his respondents perhaps in more. My affection inclines me not to engage on either side, but rather mediate. If there be abuses relating to the stage--which, I think, is too apparent--let the abuse be reformed, and not the use, for that reason only, abolished. 'Twas an old saying, when I was a boy--
_Absit abusus, non desit totaliter usus._
I shall not run through Mr Collier's book; I will only touch a little on two or three general notions, in which, I think, he may be mistaken. What he urges out of the primitive councils and fathers of the Church seems to me to be directed against the heathen plays, which were a sort of religious worship with them, to the honour of Ceres, Flora, or some of their false deities. They had always a little altar on their stages, as appears plain enough from some places in Plautus. And Mr Collier himself, p. 235, tells us out of Livy that plays were brought in, upon the score of religion, to pacify the gods. No wonder, then, they forbid Christians to be present at them, for it was almost the same as to be present at their sacrifices. We must also observe that this was in the infancy of Christianity, when the Church was under severe and almost continual persecutions, and when all its true members were of most strict and exemplary lives, not knowing when they should be called to the stake, or thrown to wild beasts. They communicated daily, and expected death hourly; as their thoughts were intent upon the next world, they abstained almost wholly from all diversions and pleasures (though lawful and innocent) in this. Afterwards, when persecution ceased, and the Church flourished, Christians, being then freed from their former terrors, allowed themselves, at proper times, the lawful recreations of conversations, and among other, no doubt, this of shows and representations. After this time, the censures of the Church indeed might be continued or revived upon occasion against plays and players; though, in my opinion, it cannot be understood generally, but only against such players who were of vicious and licentious lives, and represented profane subjects, inconsistent with the morals and probity of manners requisite to Christians, and frequented chiefly by such loose and debauched people as were much more apt to corrupt than divert those who associated with them. I say, I cannot think the canons and censures of the fathers can be applied to all players, _quatenus_ players; for if so, how could plays be continued among the Christians, as they were, of divine subjects and scriptural stories? A late French author, speaking of the Hotel de Bourgogne, a play-house in Paris, says that the ancient dukes of that name gave it to the Brotherhood of the Passion, established in the church of Trinity Hospital, in the Rue St Denis, on condition that they should represent here interludes of devotion; and adds, that there have been public shows in this place six hundred years ago. The Spanish and Portuguese continue still to have, for the most part, such ecclesiastical stories for the subject of their plays; and if we may believe Gage, they are acted in their churches in Mexico and the Spanish West Indies.
+Love.+ That's a great way off, Trueman; I had rather you would come nearer home, and confine your discourse to Old England.
+True.+ So I intend. The same has been done here in England; for otherwise, how comes it to be prohibited in the 88th Canon, among those passed in convocation, 1603? Certain it is that our ancient plays were of religious subjects, and had for their actors, if not priests, yet men relating to the Church.
+Love.+ How does that appear?
+True.+ Nothing clearer. Stow, in his "Survey of London," has one chapter _Of the Sports and Pastimes of old time used in this City_; and there he tells us, that in the year 1391, which was 15 Richard II., a stage-play was played by the parish clerks of London, at the Skinner's Well beside Smithfield, which play continued three days together, the king, queen, and nobles of the realm being present. And another was played in the year 1409, 11 Henry IV., which lasted eight days, and was of matter from the creation of the world, whereat were present most part of the nobility and gentry of England. Sir William Dugdale, in his "Antiquities of Warwickshire," p. 116, speaking of the Grayfriars or Franciscans at Coventry, says: "Before the suppression of the monasteries, this city was very famous for the pageants that were played therein upon Corpus-Christi Day; which pageants, being acted with mighty state and reverence by the friars of this house, had theatres for the several scenes very large and high, placed upon wheels, and drawn to all the eminent parts of the city, for the better advantage of the spectators, and contained the story of the New Testament, composed in old English rhyme." An ancient manuscript of the same is now to be seen in the Cottonian Library, _Sub Effig. Vesp. D. 8_. Since the Reformation, in Queen Elizabeth's time, plays were frequently acted by quiristers and singing-boys; and several of our old comedies have printed in the title-page, "acted by the children of Paul's" (not the school, but the church); others, "by the children of her majesty's chapel:" in particular, "Cynthia's Revels" and "The Poetaster" were played by them, who were at that time famous for good action. Among Ben Jonson's epigrams you may find an epitaph on S. P. (_Sal. Pavy_), one of the children of Queen Elizabeth's chapel, part of which runs thus--
_Years he counted scarce thirteen, When fates turn'd cruel, Yet three fill'd zodiacs he had been The stage's jewel; And did act (what now we moan) Old men so duly, As, sooth, the Parcæ thought him one, He play'd so truly._
Some of these chapel-boys, when they grew men, became actors at the Blackfriars; such were Nathan. Field[84] and John Underwood. Now I can hardly imagine that such plays and players as these are included in the severe censure of the councils and fathers; but such only who are truly within the character given by Didacus de Tapia, cited by Mr Collier, p. 276, viz., _The infamous playhouse; a place of contradiction to the strictness and sobriety of religion; a place hated by God, and haunted by the devil_. And for such I have as great an abhorrence as any man.
+Love.+ Can you guess of what antiquity the representing of religious matters on the stage hath been in England?
+True.+ How long before the Conquest, I know not, but that it was used in London not long after, appears by Fitz-Stephen, an author who wrote in the reign of King Henry the Second.[85] His words are, _Londonia pro spectaculis theatralibus, pro ludis scenicis, ludos habet sanctiores, representationes miraculorum, quæ sancti confessores operati sunt, seu repræsentationes passionum quibus claruit constantia martyrum._ Of this the manuscript which I lately mentioned, in the Cottonian library, is a notable instance. Sir William Dugdale cites this manuscript by the title of _Ludus Coventriæ_; but in the printed Catalogue of that library, p. 113, it is named thus, A Collection of Plays in Old English Metre; h. e. _Dramata sacra, in quibus exhibentur historiæ Veteris et N. Testamenti, introductis quasi in scenam personis illic memoratis, quas secum invicem colloquentes pro ingenio fingit poeta. Videntur olim coram populo, sive ad instruendum, sive ad placendum, a fratribus mendicantibus repræsentata_. It appears by the latter end of the prologue, that these plays or interludes were not only played at Coventry, but in the other towns and places upon occasion. And possibly this may be the same play which Stow tells us was played in the reign of King Henry IV., which lasted for eight days. The book seems by the character and language to be at least 300 years old. It begins with a general prologue, giving the arguments of 40 pageants or gesticulations (which were as so many several acts or scenes) representing all the histories of both testaments, from the creation to the choosing of St _Matthias_ to be an apostle. The stories of the New Testament are more largely expressed, viz., the Annunciation, Nativity, Visitation; but more especially all matters relating to the Passion, very particularly, the Resurrection, Ascension, the Choice of St _Matthias_. After which is also represented the Assumption, and Last Judgment. All these things were treated of in a very homely style, as we now think, infinitely below the dignity of the subject; but it seems the _goût_ of that age was not so nice and delicate in these matters; the plain and incurious judgment of our ancestors being prepared with favour, and taking everything by the right and easiest handle. For example, in the scene relating to the Visitation:
Maria.[86] _But, husband, of oo thyng I pray you most mekely, I have knowing that our cosyn Elizabeth with childe is, That it please yow to go to her hastyly, If ought we myth comfort her, it were to me blys._
Joseph. _A Gods sake, is she with child, sche? Than will her husband Zachary be mery. In Montana they dwelle, fer hence, so mot y[87] the, In the city of Juda, I know it verily; It is hence, I trowe, myles two a fifty, We ar like to be wery, or we come at that same, I wole with a good will, blessyd wyff Mary; Now go we forth then in Goddys name_, &c.
A little before the Resurrection:--_Nunc dormient milites, et veniet anima Christi de inferno, cum_ Adam _et_ Eva, Abraham, John Baptist, _et aliis._
Anima Christi. _Come forth, Adam, and Eve with the, And all my fryndes that herein be, In paradys come forth with me In blysse for to dwelle. The fende of hell that is your foo He shall be wrappyd and woundyn in woo: Fro wo to welth now shall ye go, With myrth evyrmore to melle._ Adam. _I thank the, Lord, of thy grete grace That now is forgiven my gret trespace, Now shall we dwellyn in blyssful place, &c._
The last scene or pageant, which represents the day of judgment, begins thus:[88]
_Michael._ Surgite, _All men aryse_, Venite ad judicium, _For now is set the High Justice, And hath assignyd the day of dome: Rape you redyly to this grett assyse. Both gret and small, all and sum, And of yowr answer you now avise, What you shall say, when that yow com, &c._
These and such like were the plays, which in former ages were presented publicly. Whether they had any settled and constant houses for that purpose, does not appear; I suppose not. But it is notorious that in former times there was hardly ever any solemn reception of princes or noble persons, but pageants, that is, stages erected in the open street, were part of the entertainment: on which there were speeches by one or more persons, in the nature of scenes; and be sure one of the speakers must be some saint of the same name with the party to whom the honour is intended. For instance, there is an ancient manuscript at Coventry, called the "Old Leet Book," wherein is set down in a very particular manner, p. 168, the reception of Queen Margaret, wife of Henry VI. who came to Coventry; and, I think, with her young son, Prince Edward, on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, 35 Hen. VI. 1456. Many pageants and speeches were made for her welcome; out of all which I shall observe but two or three in the old English, as it is recorded:--
St. Edward. _Moder of mekenes, dame Margarete, princes most excellent, I king Edward wellcome you with affection cordial, Testefying to your highnes mekely myn entent. For the wele of the king and you hertily pray I shall, And for prince Edward my gostly chylde, who I love principal, Praying the, John Evangelist, my help therein to be, On that condition right humbly I give this ring to the._
John Evangelist. _Holy Edward, crowned king, brother in verginity, My power plainly I will prefer thy will to amplefy. Most excellent princes of wymen mortal, your bedeman will I be. I know your life so vertuous that God is pleased thereby. The birth of you unto this reme shall cause great melody: The vertuous voice of prince Edward shall dayly well encrease, St Edward his Godfader, and I shall prey therefore doubtlese._
St. Margaret. _Most notabul princes of wymen earthle, Dame Margarete, the chefe myrth of this empyre, Ye be hertely welcome to this cyte. To the plesure of your highnesse I will set my desyre; Both nature and gentlenesse doth me require, Seth we be both of one name, to shew you kindnesse; Wherefore by my power ye shall have no distresse._
_I shall pray to the prince that is endlese To socour you with solas of his high grace_; _He will here my petition, this is doubtlesse, For I wrought all my life that his will wace. Therefore, lady, when you be in any dredfull case, Call on me boldly, therof I pray you, And trust in me feythfully, I will do that may pay you._
In the next reign, as appears in the same book, fol. 221, another Prince Edward, son of King Edward IV., came to Coventry on the 28th of April, 14 Edward IV. 1474, and was entertained with many pageants and speeches, among which I shall observe only two; one was of St Edward again, who was then made to speak thus:--
_Noble Prince Edward, my cousin and my knight, And very prince of our line com yn dissent, I St Edward have pursued for your faders imperial right, Whereof he was excluded by full furious intent. Unto this your chamber, as prince full excellent, Ye be right welcome. Thanked be Crist of his sonde, For that that was ours is now in your faders honde._
The other speech was from St George, and thus saith the book:--
"---- _Also upon the condite in the Croscheping was St George armed, and a king's daughter kneling afore him with a lamb, and the fader and the moder being in a towre aboven beholding St George saving their daughter from the dragon, and the condite renning wine in four places, and minstralcy of organ playing, and St George having this speech underwritten_"--
_O mighty God, our all succour celestiall, Which this royme hast given in dower To thi moder, and to me George protection perpetuall_: _It to defend from enimys fer and nere, And as this mayden defended was here By that grace from this dragons devour, So, Lord, preserve this noble prince and ever be his socour._
+Love.+ I perceive these holy matters consisted very much of praying; but I pity poor St Edward the Confessor who, in the compass of a few years, was made to promise his favour and assistance to two young princes, of the same name indeed, but of as different and opposite interests as the two poles. I know not how he could perform to both.
+True.+ Alas! they were both unhappy, notwithstanding these fine shows and seeming caresses of fortune; being both murdered, one by the hand, the other by the procurement, of Richard, Duke of Gloucester. I will produce but one example more of this sort of action or representations; and that is of later time, and an instance of much higher nature than any yet mentioned; it was at the marriage of Prince Arthur, eldest son of King Henry VII., to the Princess Catherine of Spain, ann. 1501. Her passage through London was very magnificent, as I have read it described in old MS. chronicle of that time.[89] The pageants and speeches were many; the persons represented, St Catherine, St Ursula, a senator, noblesse, virtue, an angel, King Alphonse, Job, Boetius, &c. Among others, one is thus described:--_"When this spech was ended, she held on her way tyll she came unto the standard in Chepe, where was ordeyned the fifth paygend made like an hevyn, theryn syttyng a personage representing the fader of hevyn, beyng all formyd of gold, and brennyng beffor his trone vii candyilis of wax standyng in vii candylstykis of gold, the said personage beyng environed with sundry hyrarchies off angelis, and sytting in a cope of most rich cloth of tyssu, garnishyd wyth stoon and perle in most sumptuous wyse. Foragain which said pagend upon the sowth syde of the strete stood at that tyme, in a hows wheryn that tyme dwellyd William Geffrey habyrdasher, the king, the queene, my lady the kingys moder, my lord of Oxynfford, wyth many other lordys and ladys, and perys of this realm, wyth also certayn ambassadors of France lately sent from the French king: and so passyng the said estatys, eyther guyving to other due and convenyent saluts and countenancs, so sone as hyr grace was approachid unto the sayd pagend, the fadyr began his spech as folowyth"_
Hunc veneram locum, septeno lumine septum. Dignumque Arthuri totidem astra micant.
_I am begynyng and ende, that made ech creature. My sylfe, and for my sylfe, but man especially Both male and female, made aftyr myne aun fygure, Whom I joyned togydyr in matrimony, And that in paradyse, declaring opynly That men shall weddying in my chyrch solempnize, Fygurid and signifyed by the erthly paradyze._
_In thys my chyrch I am allway recydent As my chyeff tabernacle, and most chosyn place, Among these goldyn condylstikkis, which represent My catholyk chyrch shynyng affor my face, With lyght of feyth, wisdom, doctryne, and grace, And mervelously eke enflamyd toward me Wyth the [un]extyngwible fyre of charyte._
_Wherefore, my welbelovid dowthyr Katharyn, Syth I have made yow to myne awn semblance In my chyrch to be maried, and your noble childryn To regn in this land as in their enherytance, Se that ye have me in speciall remembrance: Love me and my chyrch yowr spiritual modyr. For ye, dispysing that oon, dyspyse that othyr._
_Look that ye walk in my precepts, and obey them well: And here I give you the same blyssyng, that I Gave my well beloved chylder of Israell; Blyssyd be the fruyt of your bely; Yower substance and frutys I shall encrease and multyply; Yower rebellious enimyes I shall put in yowr hand, Encreasing in honour both yow and your land._
+Love.+ This would be censured now-a-days as profane to the highest degree.
+True.+ No doubt on't: yet you see there was a time, when people were not so nicely censorious in these matters, but were willing to take things in the best sense; and then this was thought a noble entertainment for the greatest king in Europe (such I esteem king Henry VII. at that time) and proper for that day of mighty joy and triumph. And I must farther observe out of Lord Bacon's "History of Henry VII." that the chief man who had the care of that day's proceedings was Bishop Fox, a grave counsellor for war or peace, and also a good surveyor of works, and a good master of ceremonies; and it seems he approv'd it. The said Lord Bacon tells us farther that, whosoever had those toys in compiling, they were not altogether pedantical.
+Love.+ These things, however, are far from that which we understand by the name of a play.
+True.+ It may be so; but these were the plays of those times. Afterwards, in the reign of King Henry VIII., both the subject and form of these plays began to alter, and have since varied more and more. I have by me a thing called "A Merry Play between the Pardoner and the Friar, the Curate and Neighbour Pratt." Printed the 5th of April 1533, which was 24 Henry VIII. (a few years before the dissolution of monasteries.) The design of this play was to ridicule Friars and Pardoners. Of which I'll give you a taste. To begin it, the Friar enters with these words:[90]
Deus hic; _the holy trynyte Preserve all that now here be._
_Dere bretherne, yf ye will consyder The cause why I am com hyder, Ye wolde be glad to knowe my entent: For I com not hyther for mony nor for rent, I com not hyther for meat nor for meale, But I com hyther for your soules heale_, &c.
After a long preamble he addresses himself to preach, when the Pardoner enters with these words:
_God and St Leonarde send ye all his grace, As many as ben assembled in this place_, &c.
and makes a long speech, showing his bulls and his reliques, in order to sell his pardons, for the raising some money towards the rebuilding
_Of the holy chappell of sweet saynt Leonarde, Which late by fyre was destroyed and marde._
Both these speaking together with continual interruption, at last they fall together by the ears. Here the curate enters (for you must know the scene lies in the church):
_Hold your hands; a vengeance on ye both two, That ever ye came hyther to make this ado, To polute my chyrche_, &c.
Friar. _Mayster Parson, I marvayll ye will give lycence To this false knave in this audience To publish his ragman rolles with lyes. I desyred hym ywys more than ones or twyse To hold his peas tyll that I had done, But he would here no more than the man in the mone._
Pard. _Why sholde I suffre the, more than thou me? Mayster Parson gave me lycence before the. And I wolde thou knowest it I have relykes here, Other maner stuffe than thou dost bere: I wyll edefy more with the syght of it, Than with all thy pratynge of holy wryt; For that except that the precher himselfe lyve well, His predycacyon wyll helpe never a dell_, &c.
Par. _No more of this wranglyng in my chyrch: I shrewe yowr hertys bothe for this lurche. Is there any blood shed here between these knaves? Thanked be God they had no stavys, Nor egotoles, for then it had ben wronge, Well, ye shall synge another songe._
Here he calls his neighbour Prat, the constable, with design to apprehend 'em, and set 'em in the stocks. But the Friar and Pardoner prove sturdy, and will not be stocked, but fall upon the poor Parson and Constable, and bang them both so well-favouredly, that at last they are glad to let 'em go at liberty: and so the farce ends with a drawn battle. Such as this were the plays of that age, acted in gentlemen's halls at Christmas or such like festival times by the servants of the family or strollers who went about, and made it a trade. It is not unlikely that the[91] lords in those days and persons of eminent quality had their several gangs of players, as some have now of fiddlers, to whom they give cloaks and badges. The first comedy that I have seen, that looks like regular, is "Gammer Gurton's Needle," writ,[92] I think, in the reign of King Edward VI. This is composed of five acts, the scenes unbroken, and the unities of time and place duly observed. It was acted at Christ's College in Cambridge, there not being as yet any settled and public theatres.
+Love.+ I observe, Trueman, from what you have said, that plays in England had a beginning much like those of Greece; the Monologues and Pageants, drawn from place to place on wheels, answer exactly to the cart of Thespis, and the improvements have been by such little steps and degrees as among the ancients, till at last, to use the words of Sir George Buck (in his "Third University of England"), "Dramatic poesy is so lively express'd and represented upon the public stages and theatres of this city, as Rome in the auge (the highest pitch) of her pomp and glory, never saw it better performed, I mean (says he) in respect of the action and art, and not of the cost and sumptuousness." This he writ about the year 1631. But can you inform me, Trueman, when the public theatres were first erected for this purpose in London?
+True.+ Not certainly; but I presume about the beginning of Queen Elizabeth's reign. For Stow, in his "Survey of London" (which book was first printed in the year 1598), says--"Of late years, in place of these stage-plays (_i.e._, those of religious matters) have been used comedies, tragedies, interludes, and histories, both true and feigned: for the acting whereof certain public places, as the Theatre, the Curtine, &c., have been erected." And the continuator of "Stow's Annals," p. 1004, says that in sixty years before the publication of that book (which was Ann. Dom. 1529), no less than seventeen public stages, or common playhouses, had been built in and about London. In which number he reckons five inns or common hostelries to have been in his time turned into playhouses--one Cockpit, Saint Paul's Singing-school, one in the Blackfriars, one in the Whitefriars, and one in former time at Newington Butts. And adds: Before the space of sixty years past, I never knew, heard, or read of any such theatres, stages, or playhouses, as have been purposely built within man's memory.
+Love.+ After all, I have been told that stage-plays are inconsistent with the laws of this kingdom, and players made rogues by statute.
+True.+ He that told you so strained a point of truth. I never met with any law wholly to suppress them: sometimes, indeed, they have been prohibited for a season; as in times of Lent, general mourning, or public calamities, or upon other occasions, when the government saw fit. Thus, by proclamation 7th of April, in the first year of Queen Elizabeth, plays and interludes were forbid until All-hallow-tide next following. Hollinshed, p. 1184.[93] Some statutes have been made for their regulation or information, not general suppression. By the stat. 39 Eliz. cap. 4[94] (which was made for the suppression of rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars) it is enacted "_That all persons that be, or utter themselves to be, proctors, procurers, patent gatherers, or collectors for goals, prisons, or hospitals, or fencers, bearwards, common players of interludes and minstrels, wandering abroad (other than players of interludes belonging to any baron of this realm, or any other honourable personage of greater degree, to be authoris'd to play under the hand and seal of arms of such baron or personage) all juglers, tinkers, pedlars, and petty chapmen, wand'ring abroad, all wand'ring persons, &c., able in body, using loytering, and refusing to work for such reasonable wages as is commonly given, &c. These shall be adjudged and deemed rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars, and punished as such_."
+Love.+ But this privilege of authorising or licensing is taken away by the stat. Jac. I., ch. 7, s. 1., and therefore all of them, as Mr Collier says, p. 242, are expressly brought under the aforesaid penalty without distinction.
+True.+ If he means all players, without distinction, 'tis a great mistake. For the force of the queen's statute extends only to wandering players, and not to such as are the king or queen's servants, and established in settled houses by royal authority. On such the ill character of vagrant players (or, as they are now called, strollers) can cast no more aspersion, than the wandering proctors, in the same statute mentioned, on those of Doctors'-Commons. By a stat. made 3 Jac. I.[95] ch. 21, it was enacted, "_That if any person shall, in any stage-play, interlude, shew, may-game or pageant, jestingly or prophanely speak or use the holy name of God, Christ Jesus, or of the Trinity, he shall forfeit for every such offence_ 10_l._" The stat. 1 Charles I. ch. 1,[96] enacts, "_That no meetings, assemblies, or concourse of people shall be out of their own parishes, on the Lord's day, for any sports or pastime whatsoever, nor any bear-baiting, bull-baiting, interludes, common-plays, or other unlawful exercises and pastimes used by any person or persons within their own, parishes_." These are all the statutes that I can think of, relating to the stage and players; but nothing to suppress them totally, till the two ordinances of the Long Parliament, one of the 22d of October 1647, the other of the 11th [9th] of Feb. 1647;[97] by which all stage-plays and interludes are absolutely forbid; the stages, seats, galleries, &c., to be pulled down; all players, tho' calling themselves the king or queen's servants, if convicted of acting within two months before such conviction, to be punished as rogues according to law; the money received by them to go to the poor of the parish; and every spectator to pay five shillings to the use of the poor. Also cock-fighting was prohibited by one of Oliver's Acts of 31st March 1654. But I suppose nobody pretends these things to be laws. I could say more on this subject, but I must break off here and leave you, Lovewit; my occasions require it.
+Love.+ Farewell, old Cavalier.
+True.+ 'Tis properly said; we are almost all of us now gone and forgotten.
FOOTNOTES:
[80] This is afterwards said to be a large round brick building. Mr Steevens supposes, from the extent of it, that all the actors resided within its precincts. It was pulled down about the time of the Restoration, soon after the appearance of the following advertisement in the _Mercurius Politicus_, Tuesday, Feb. 14, to Tuesday, Feb. 21, 1661. "The Fortune Playhouse, situate between Whitecross Street and Golding Square, in the parish of St Giles, Cripplegate, with the ground thereunto belonging, is to be let to be built upon; where twenty-three tenements may be erected, with gardens; and a street may be cut through for the better accommodation of the buildings." (See edition of Shakespeare, 1778, i. 267.) From the following passage of "The English Traveller," by Heywood, 1633, sig. I 3, we find there was a picture or statue of Fortune before the building.
"I'le rather stand here Like a statue in the forefront of your house For ever; like the picture of Dame Fortune Before the Fortune Play-house."
[81] The Letters Patent under the Great Seal bear date the 21st June 1619.
[82] This is confirmed by Kirkman who, in his preface to "The Wits; or, Sport upon Sport," 1672, says, The small compositions of which his work was made up, being scenes and parts of plays, were at this period "liked and approved by all, and they were the fittest for the actors to represent, there being little cost in cloaths, which often were in great danger to be seized by the then soldiers; who, as the poet sayes, _Enter the red coat, exit hat and cloak_, was very true, not only in the audience but the actors too, who were commonly not only stripp'd, but many times imprisoned, till they paid such ransom as the souldiers would impose upon them: so that it was hazardous to act any thing that required any good cloaths: instead of which painted cloath many times served the turn to represent rich habits."
[83] "When the publique Theatres were shut up, and the actors forbidden to present us with any of their tragedies, because we had enough of that in earnest: and comedies, because the vices of the age were too lively and smartly represented; then all that we could divert ourselves with, were these humours and pieces of plays which, passing under the name of a merry conceited fellow, called "Bottom the Weaver," "Simpleton the Smith," "John Swabber," or some such title, were only allowed us, and that but by stealth too, and under pretence of rope-dancing or the like; and these being all that was permitted us, great was the confluence of the auditors; and these small things were as profitable and as great get-pennies to the actors as any of our late famed plays. I have seen _the Red Bull Playhouse_, which was a large one, so full, that as many went back for want of room as had entered; and as meanly as you may now think of these drols, they were then acted by the best comedians then and now in being; and I may say by some that then exceeded all now living, by name, the incomparable Robert Cox, who was not only the principal actor, but also the contriver and author of most of these farces."--Kirkman's Preface to "The Wits, or Sport upon Sport," 1672.
[84] [Concerning Field the actor and dramatist, see introduction to his "Woman is a Weathercock," &c., xi. 3-6, 89-91, and Collier's "Memoirs of Actors," p. 206, _et seq._]
Nathaniel Field, on the authority of Roberts the player (see his answer to Mr Pope's preface to Shakespeare), has been considered as the author of two plays: "A Woman is a Weathercocke," 1612, and "Amends for Ladies," 1618. He is also supposed to be the same person who assisted Massinger in "The Fatal Dowry." I suspect that Roberts was mistaken in these assertions, as I do not find any contemporary writer speak of Field as an author; nor is it mentioned by Langbaine, who would have noticed it, had he known the fact. It seems more probable that the writer of these plays was Nathaniel Field, M.A., Fellow of New College, Oxford, who wrote some Latin verses, printed in "Oxoniensis Academiæ Parentalia, 1625," and who, being of the same university with Massinger, might join with him, while there, in the composition of the play ascribed to them. Nathaniel Field above mentioned was celebrated in the part of "Bussy D'Ambois," first printed in 1607. On the republication of that play in 1641, he is thus spoken of in the Prologue:--
"_Field_ is gone, Whose action first did give it name, and one, Who came the neerest to him, is denide By his gray beard to shew the height and pride Of D'Ambois youth and braverie; yet to hold Our title still a foot, and not grow cold By giving it o're, a third man with his best Of care and paines defends our interest; As Richard he was lik'd, nor doe wee feare, In personating Dambois, hee'le appeare To faint, or goe lesse, so your free consent As heretofore give him encouragement."
[85] P. 73, 4º. Edit. 1772.
[86] [This and the other quotations were not correctly printed. See Halliwell's "Ludus Coventriæ," 1841, p. 121.]
[87] [_Ibid._, p. 343.]
[88] [See Halliwell's "Ludus Coventriæ," 1841, p. 401.]
[89] [See a description of the espousals in Stow's "Chronicle," ed. 1615, fol. 483-4.]
[90] [Compare vol. i. pp. 199, 201, &c.]
[91] Till the twenty-fifth year of Queen Elizabeth, the queen had not any players; but in that year twelve of the best of all those who belonged to several lords were chosen, and sworn her servants.--_Stow's Annals_, p. 698.
[92] [An error. This play, which has been long known not to be the first regular comedy, was probably performed about 1566.]
[93] [See "English Drama and Stage," edit. Hazlitt, p. 19.]
[94] [_Ibid._, p. 37.]
[95] ["English Dramas and Stage," p. 42.]
[96] [_Ibid._, pp. 59, 60.]
[97] [But see _Ibid._, pp. 63-70.]
ERRATA
VOL. I. Page 62, for _goodness_ read _goddess_.
VOL. II. ... 135, ... _knotted_ ... _notted_.[98]
... ... 216, ... _noboby_ ... _nobody_.
VOL. III. ... 58,[99] ... _oppose_ ... _appose_.
... ... 59, ... _maketh_ ... _keepeth_.
... ... 71, ... _fault_ ... _faults_.
... ... 82, ... _so sore_ ... _to fore_.
... ... _ib._ ... _be fed_ ... _to be fed_.
... ... 83, l. 17. The correspondent thinks this line belongs to _Omnes Famulæ_.
... ... 88, for _had chid_ read _chid_.
... ... 95, ... _I ever_ ... _ever I_.
... ... 97, ... _wage-pasty_ ... _way-pasty_.[100]
... ... 99, ... _he_ ... _ye_.
... ... _ib._ ... _ield_ ... _yelde_.
... ... 105, ... _to please_ ... _it please_.
... ... 108, ... _a master_ ... _an M_.
... ... 117, ... _as much_ ... _so much_.
... ... 118, ... _make a_ ... _make me a_.
... ... 121, ... _another ... _another but_. than_
... ... _ib._ ... _readiness_ ... _a readiness_.
... ... 122, ... _other's_ ... _others'_.
... ... _ib._ ... _point ... _point whereof_ wherefore_.
... ... 125, ... _draw ye_ ... _draw we_.
... ... 128, ... _thou goose_ ... _you goose_.
... ... 139, ... _Not if all ... _Nor if all the_. the_
... ... 140, ... _where or ... _where nor how_. how_
... ... 158, ... _all men_ ... _of all men_.
... ... 178, ... _halse-aker_ ... _half-acre_.[101]
VOL. V. ... 115, ... _Alvearic_ ... _Alvearie_.
... ... 285, ... _Got_ ... _Get_.
VoL. IX. ... 98, ... _collection_ ... _collation_.
... ... _ib._} ... _moldash_ ... _molash_.
... ... 332,} ... _moldash_ ... _molash_.
... ... 205, ... _Amoretta_ ... _Amoretto_.
VOL. X. ... 274, ... _Foresaw_ ... _Foreseen_.
VOL. XI. ... 436, ... _Sir Thomas_ ... _St. Thomas_.
FOOTNOTES:
[98] See Nares. ed. 1859, _v._ Nott. We still have the vulgarism _nut_ for the head; but it more properly means a head with the hair cut close.
[99] These errors in "Ralph Roister Doister" have been pointed out by a correspondent, who states that he has detected them on a personal collation of the original copy at Eton College. But many of the variations noticed by this gentleman have been intentional corrections of the old copy.
[100] Yet in "Jack Juggler" (ii. 141), _wage-pasty_ occurs.
[101] So in "Appius and Virginia" (iv. 136)--
"Hard by Hodge's half-acre, at Gaffer Miller's stile."
INDEX TO NOTES.
INDEX TO THE NOTES.
Abhominable, ii. 69
Abraham-men, iii. 171
Absolutions, tariff for, xi. 465
Accointenance, i. 79
Accombred, i. 299
Accomplished Woman, 1656, xiv. 483
Acquaince, i. 105
Actors' Remonstrance, x. 348
Addison, Joseph, ix. 490
Address, xiv. 326
Adonai, i. 109
Adultery, punishment for, xiv. 475-6
Adventures of Five Hours, a play, xv. 185-320
Adventures or insurances, xi. 137
A friend in court is worth a penny in purse, prov. i. 178
After kissing comes greater kindness, prov. xiii. 114
Agnes' Eve, St, xii. 21
Aim, to cry, v. 225
Ajax Oïleus, x. 132
Albricias, xv. 292
Albumazar, a play, xi. 294-421
Alcazar, battle of, xi. 213
Alder speed, i. 135
Alimony, Lady, a play, xiv. 273-367
Ale, i. 161, 185 -- Derby, xi. 234
Ales, church and other, xiii. 503
Alestake, i. 191
Alexander and Lodwick, a play, xi. 239
Algates, i. 237
Almond for a parrot, an, x. 534
Alva, Duke of, xv. 231
Amadis of Gaul, xv. 91
Amain, xiv. 182
Ambergris, xiii. 490
Ambree, Mary, xi. 111
Amends for Ladies, a play, xi. 88-172
America, viii. 406;