Part 13

Fye _Nell_, this news is worse and worse, and doth increase my trouble, That I must now unstring my purse, doth make my sorrow double: From hence I thought for to convey what in this land I gained, But I am here confin'd to stay, and now my credits stain'd.

Pish, lightly come, and lightly go, ne'er let this matter grieve thee, Tho' fortune seems to be thy foe, and for a while to leave thee: Yet shee again on thee may smile, then be not broken hearted, Tho' from this little _Brittish_ Isle, thou must not yet be parted.

With care and grief I am opprest, and I am discontented, Sorrow is lodged in my Breast, my Youthful life lamented: How did I vainly spend my time, tho' Riches still increased, And played the Wanton in my prime, but now my comfort's ceased.

Well, thou hast laid up Riches store, to serve thee when afflicted, And yet doth carp and crave for more, thou cans't not contradict it: But let enough thy mind suffice since Fortune frowns upon thee, Now shew thyself discreet and wise, or else what will come on thee?

Could I but safely get to _France_, with all my Gold and Treasure, Then would I briskly sing and dance, and Riot beyond measure; But I am crost in my design, which greatly doth torment me, And 'tis in vain for to repine, what Plagues hath Heaven sent me.

Madam I fear it will grow worse, with patience strive to bear it, And since you must unstring your purse, for it now be prepared: Your debts in England must be paid believe me what I tell ye, And thereat be not dismaied, but be advised by _Nelly_.

FINIS.

Printed for C. Dennisson[F. 121] at the Stationer's Arms, within Aldgate.

[Footnote 119: Eleanor, or Nell, Gwynne.]

[Footnote 120: Louise de Querouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth, a mistress of Charles II. from whom are descended the Dukes of Richmond, died November 1734, aged 88. This ballad was evidently written soon after the king's death in 1685.]

[Footnote 121: He published from 1685 to 1689.]

It will be seen by the foregoing supposed portraits of Nell Gwynne and the Duchess of Portsmouth (which, by the way, do plenty of duty in other ballads) that the _patching_ of this age among women was in somewhat fantastic form, such a patch as a coach and four not being unknown; but few know that the mercers (or linen-drapers, as we now call them) patched themselves in order to show the effect to their fair customers. The annexed example shows one who holds a lady's vizard, or mask, for they did not then wear veils, which are quite a modern invention, together with a feather-fan and some ribands, or, as the frontispiece of the book records, divulging the secrets of the toilet.

Here's black Bags, Ribons, Copper Laces, [74.] Paintings, and beauty spots for faces? Masques, and Fans you here may have Taffity Gownes and Scarfes most brave Curled haire, and crisped Locks. Aprons white, and Holland Smocks: All sort of powders here are sold To please all People young and old. Then come my Customers touch and try, Behold and see, draw forth and buy.

Unfortunately this little penny book is generally too broad in its humour to be reprinted; but one extract, which may be reproduced, will suffice to show its quality:--"Come who buys my new Fashion'd Periwigs, if there be any manner of Single man, Widdower, or Batchelor that thinks his owne naturall Haire not good enough for him, here is _Jack in a box_, that will fit him to a haire, with all sorts of Periwigs, and all sorts of colours and fashions, both long Haire, or short Haire, Flaxen haire, or yellow haire, black, blew, red, tawny, browne, or Abraham[F. 122] Colour, thats halfe Nits, and half Lice; or if any bauld pated fellow among you that have lost his hair off from his head, I have a Periwig for him of goodly long Haire, that will hang downe and cover all his shoulders, and that may serve to cover all his knavery: or, if any younger Brothers that desires to have their naturall Haire that growes upon their heads Dyed of another Colour? here are all sorts of powders, of several colours and Fashions, that will doe the trick gallantly."

[Footnote 122: Nares thinks that _Abram_-coloured hair is a corruption for _auburn_, but it is just possible that, being a patriarch, very gray or white hair is meant.]

_To one that desired me not to name him._

Be safe, nor feare thy selfe so good a fame, [70.] That, any way, my booke should speake thy name: For, if thou shame, ranck'd with my friends, to goe, I am more asham'd to have thee thought my foe.

[4.] A Scholar meeting a Countreyman upon the Road rid up very briskly to him; but the Countreyman, out of respect to him was turning off his Horse to give him the Road, when the Scholar, laying his Hand upon his Sword, said, _'Tis well you gave me the Way, or I'd----_ _What wou'd you have done?_ said the Countreyman, holding up his Club at him---- _Given it to you, Sir_, says he, pulling off his Hat to him.

[17.] One wondred there was so many Pick pockets about _London_, seeing there's a Watch at every corner: _Pah_, says another, _they'd as willingly meet with a watch as any thing else_.

_More dew_ the Mercer, with a kinde salute, [5.] Would needs intreate my custome for a suit: Here Sir, quoth he, for Sattins, Velvets call, What e're you please, I'le take your word for all. I thank'd, took, gave my word; say then, Am I at all indebted to this man?

[61.] A mad young Gallant, having rid as he feared, out of his way, overtook a blunt Country fellow, and asked him, which was the way to _Salesbury_? The Country man, intending not only to set him right: but withall to know whether or no he had committed any error in his way thither, asked him as the manner is, from whence he came, to which the surly Gallant answered, _Why what is that to you, from whence I came?_ _You say true Master,_ quoth the Bumkin, _It is nothing to me from whence you come, nor whether you goe._ So he walkt away with his hands coupled behind him, and left the gentle fool to study out his way to _Salesbury_.

To review, or even to largely quote from the dramatists of the seventeenth century is not within the scope of this work, but I cannot refrain (because they are so scarce) from giving a sample of one of the "Drolls," as they were called--short plays performed in booths at the fairs, and very often abbreviated versions of the legitimate drama, as "Bottom the Weaver," from _A Midsummer's Night's Dream_; "The Humours of the Gravemakers," from _Hamlet_. In fact, as the preface to the book [75.], whence the accompanying Droll is taken, states, "The most part of these Pieces were written by such Penmen as were known to be the ablest Artists that ever this Nation produced, by Name, _Shake-spear_, _Fletcher_, _Johnson_, _Shirley_, and others; and these Collections are the very Souls of their writings, if the witty part thereof may be so termed: And the other small Pieces composed by several other Authors, are such as have been of great fame in this last Age, 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 our selves 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 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[F. 123] as any of our late famed Plays. I have seen the _Red Bull_[F. 124] Playhouse, which was a large one, so full that as many went back for want of room as had entred; 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. How have I heard him cryed up for his _John Swabber_, and _Simpleton the Smith?_ In which he being to appear with a large piece of Bread and Butter, I have frequently known several of the Female Spectators and Auditors to long for some of it: and once that well known Natural, _Jack Adams_ of _Clarkenwel_, seeing him with Bread and Butter on the Stage, and knowing him, cryed out, Cuz, Cuz, give me some, give me some; to the great pleasure of the Audience. And so Naturally did he Act the Smith's part, that being at a Fair in a Countrey Town, and that Farce being presented, the only Master Smith of the Town came to him, saying, well, although your Father speaks so ill of you, yet when the Fair is done, if you will come and work with me, I will give you twelve pence a week more than I give any other Journey-Man. Thus was he taken for a Smith bred, that was indeed as much of any Trade.

... Thus were these Compositions 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 Souldiers, 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, were commonly, not only strip'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 ... and this painting puts me in mind of a piece I once saw in a Country Inn, where was, with the best skill of the Workman represented King _Pharaoh_ with _Moses_ and _Aaron_, and some others, to explain which figures, was added this piece of Poetry

Here _Pharaoh_ with his Goggle Eyes does stare on The High Priest _Moses_, with the Prophet _Aaron_. Why, what a Rascal Was he that would not let the People go to eat the Phascal.

The Painting was in every wayes as defective and lame as the Poetry, for I believe he who pictured King _Pharaoh_, had never seen a King in his life, for all the Majesty he was represented with was goggle Eyes, that his Picture might be answerable to the Verse."

We see by the above extract that much was not expected in a Droll; and, verily, few could have been disappointed. To modern taste the humour of the majority is too coarse; and, therefore, I have been obliged to take, as an exemplar, the most innocent of its class.

[Footnote 123: It is a curious fact that both Nares and Halliwell, in their glossaries, describe Drolls as being _puppet_ shows, when, as is shown, they were acted by living people.]

[Footnote 124: This theatre was in Clerkenwell, at the corner of what is now Woodbridge Street, and here acted (in October 1617, if not again) Edward Alleyn, the founder of Dulwich College. It is frequently mentioned in contemporary books, notably by Prynne in his _Histrio Martix_, and by Pepys in his Diary, 4th August 1660, and 23d March and 26th May 1662.]

The Humour of Bumpkin.

_Argument needless, It being a Thorow Farce very well known--_

[75.] _Actors Names._

Acteon, three Huntsmen, Bumpkin, three Country Wenches.

_Enter first Huntsman, and Bumkin._

_1. Hunt._ Why, what's the matter?

_Bump._ Nay, I know not; but every day my great Guts, and my small Guts make such a Combustion in my belly, as passes, and my Puddings, (like Lances) run a-tilt at my heart, and make me queasie-stomacht.

_1 Hunt._ Canst thou not guess the reason of this trouble?

_Bump._ Yes, I think I can, and I'le be judged by thee, if my case be not desperate. I have a horrible mind to be in love.

_1 Hunt._ With whom?

_Bump._ With any body; but I cannot find out the way how to be in Love.

_1. Hunt._ Why? I'le instruct thee: Cans't thou be melancholly?

_Bump._ Yes, as a Dog, or a Hog-louse; I could even find it in my heert to cry presently.

_1. Hunt._ Canst thou sleep well?

_Bump._ I cannot tell, I never saw myself sleep.

_1. Hunt._ Is't possible that thou so long been an attendant upon my Lord Acteon, shoulds't be to learn the way to be in love.

_Bump._ I would it were not possible, on the condition thou wert hang'd and quartered.

_1 Hunt._ I thank you, Sir. But _Bumpkin_ list to me; This day thou knows't the Maids and Young men meet to sport, and revel it about the May pole: Present thy self there, tell thy cause of grief, and I dare warrant thee a Sweet-heart presently.

_Bump._ If thou cans't do that, Ile marry her first and learn to love her afterwards.

_1 Hunt._ Hast hither, _Bumpkin_ I'le go on before (_Exit_)

_Bump._ And I will follow thee a dog trot. Is it not a pitty: that a man of Authority as I am, having been chief Dog-Keeper to my Lord Acteon this five years, being a man so comely of person, and having such a pure complexion, that all fair Ladies may be ashamed to look on me, and that I should be distressed for a Sweet-heart? Maypole I come.

And if the Wenches there encrease my pains And scorn to love, i'le beat out all their brains.

(_Exit_)

_Enter Huntsmen with three Country Wenches._

_2. Co. Wench._ Is it possible would _Bumpkin_ be in love?

_1 Hunt._ Yes, if he knew but how, and for that sickness I have undertaken to become his Doctor: For at the May Pole meeting 'tis decreed, a Sweet-heart must be purchast, come what will on't.

_3. Co. Wench._ Nay, if he be distressed, twenty to one he may find charitable persons there. Come, strike up a _Farewel to Misfortune_. (_Exit_)

_Enter Bumpkin._

_Bump._ That is a Dance that I could never hit of: pray desist a woile, and hear my doleful Tale.

_1. Co. Wench._ He'l make us cry sure.

_Bump._ Be it known unto all men by these presents----

_2. Co. Wench._ An Obligation, we will be no witnesses.

_Bump._ Why then I'le hang my self.

_3. Co. Wench._ We will be witness then.

_Bump._ What, to my hanging? O' my Conscience, if I should woo my heart out, I should never be the fatter for it.--Where's your promise now?

_1. Hunt._ You have not yet exprest yourself; be plain, tell them your grief; a remedy will follow.

_Bump._ If that be all, 'tis an easy matter, pray take notice that I am in love--with somebody.

_2. Co. Wench._ Would I were she.

_Bump._ Why, so you are, if you have a mind to it.

_2 Co. Wench._ Why then, you are my own.

_3. Co. Wench._ Pardon me, Sister, I bespake him yesterday.

(_They all hang about him_)

_Bump._ Yes, marry did she (Goes to her).

_1. Co. Wench._ But I was she that won him at the May pole.

_2. Co. Wench._ Was that the Cause you strove so for the Garland.

_Bump._ What's that to you? (_Goes to her._) Would I had any of them in quietness.

_3. Co. Wench._ But yet I must have share.

_1. Co. Wench._ So must I too. (_All pull him_)

_2. Co. Wench._ I will not part without the better half.

_Bump._ Then who shall have me whole? what--are you mad?

_3. Co. Wench._ Theres reason for a madness in this Case.

_1. Co. Wench._ I will not loose my right. Let go, I say.

_2. Co. Wench._ He shall be mine, or else he shall be nothing.

_Bump._ Away you burrs, why do you stick so on me? Now by this hand, if nothing can perswade you, I'le drown myself for spight, that you may perish. (_Horn_)

_1. Hunt._ Hark, hark, my Lord _Acteons_ warning piece; That Horn gives us intelligence he doth intend to Spend this day in hunting: _Bumpkin_ why stay you? the hounds will quarrel with you: we'l come after.

_1. Co. Wench._ Will you not stay, my Love?

_Bump._ I'le see you hang'd first, and by this hand, ere I will be in love again, I will feed my hounds with my own proper Carcase. (_Exit_)

_2. Co. Wench._ Now he is gone, our dancing may go forward.

_2. Hunt._ My Lord Acteon stays, be quick, I pray.

_3. Co. Wench._ Quick as you will; the doing of it quick, makes it shew the better. (_A Country Dance. Then Exeunt._)

_Enter Acteon and Bumpkin._

_Acteon._ Be nimble, Sirrah.

_Bump._ Nimble? yes, as a bear that hath been lug'd to purpose: if Love be such a troublesome Companion I will entreat him to keep out of my Company.

_Acteon._ We consume the day.

_Bump._ They have saved me a labour.

_Acteon._ Fie, what mean you? The glory of the day calls us to action.

_1. Hunt._ Sir, you may please to know, that yesternight I lodged a boar within the neighbouring Forest.

_Bump._ Yes, Sir, and I lodged a Fox at a house hard by.

A pleasant new Ballad to sing both Even and Morne, Of the bloody murther of Sir _John Barley corne_.

To the tune of, _Shall I lye beyond thee_.[F. 125]

As I went through the North Countrey [76.] I heard a merry greeting: A pleasant toy, and full of joy, two noble men were meeting.

And as they walked for to sport, upon a Sommers day, Then with another nobleman they went to make a fray.

Whose name was sir John Barley Corne, he dwelt downe in a dale; Who had a kinsman dwelt him nigh, they cal'd him Thomas Goodale.

Another named Richard Beere, was ready at that time Another worthy knight was there call'd sir William White Wine.

Some of them fought in a blacke Jacke some of them in a Can, But the chiefest in a black pot, like a worthy noble man.

Sir John Barley-corne fought in a Boule, who wonne the victorie; And made them all to fume and sweare that Barley-corne should die.

Some said kill him, some said drowne, others wisht to hang him hie, For as many as follow Barley-corne, shall surely beggers die.

Then with a plough they plowed him up and thus they did devise, To burie him quicke within the earth, and swore he should not rise.

With horrowes strong they combed him, and burst clods on his head; A joyfull banquet then was made when Barly-Corne was dead.

He rested still within the earth, till raine from skies did fall, Then he grew up in branches greene, which sore amaz'd them all.

And so grew up till Mid-sommer, which made them all afeard, For he was sprouted up on hie, and got a goodly beard.

Then he grew till S. _James_ tide, his countenance was wan, For he was growne unto his strength, and thus became a man.

With hookes and sickles keene into the field they hide[F. 126] They Cut his legs off by the knees and made him wounds full wide.

Thus bloodily they cut him downe from place where he did stand, And like a thiefe for treachery, they bound him in a band.

So then they tooke him up againe according to his kind; And packt him up in severall sackes, to wither with the wind.

And with a pitch forke that was sharpe they rent him to the heart, And like a thiefe for treason vile, they bound him in a cart.

And tending him with weapons strong unto the towne they hye, And straight they mowed him in a mow and there they let him lie.

Then he lay groning by the wals, till all his wounds were sore, At length they tooke him up againe, and cast him on the floore.

They hyred two with holly clubs, to beat on him at once, They thwacked so on Barly-corne, that flesh fell from the bones.

And then they tooke him up againe, to fulfill womens minde, They dusted him, and they sifted him, till he was almost blind.

And then they knit him in a sacke, which grieved him full sore, They steeped him in a Fat,[F. 127] God wot, for three days space and more.

And then they took him up againe, and laid him for to drie, They cast him on a chamber floore, and swore that he should die.

They rubbed him and they stirred him, and still they did him turne, The malt man swore that he should die, his body he would burne.

They spightfully tooke him up againe, and threw him on a kill [F. 128] So dried him there with fire hot and thus they wraught their will.

Then they brought him to the mill, and there they burst his bones, The Miller swore to murther him, betwixt a pair of stones.

Then they tooke him up againe, and serv'd him worse than that, For with hot scalding liquor store they washt him in a Fat

But not content with this, God wot, that did him mickle harme; With threatening words they promised to beat him into barme.

And lying in this danger deep, for feare that he should quarrell, They tooke him straight out of the fat, and tunn'd him in a barrell.

And then they set a tap to him, even thus his death begun; They drew out every drain of blood, Whilst any drop would run.

Some brought jacks[F. 129] upon their backs, some brought bill and bow, And every man his weapon had, Barly-Corne to overthrow.

When sir John Goodale heard of this he came with mickle might, And there he took their tongues away, their legs or else their sight.

And thus sir John in each respect so paid them all their hire, That some lay sleeping by the way, some tumbling in the mire.

Some lay groning by the wals, some in the streets downeright, The best of them did scarcely know what they had done ore night.

All you good wives that brew good ale God turn from you all teene,[F. 130] But if you put too much water in the devill put out your eyne.

FINIS.

London, Printed for _John Wright_,[F. 131] and are to be sold at his shop in _Guilt spurre_ Street at the signe of the Bible.

A very slight comparison with Robert Burns' poem on this subject will show how much he was indebted to this version, having plagiarised, almost verbally, in many parts.

[Footnote 125: For tune, see Appendix.]

[Footnote 126: Hied.]

[Footnote 127: Vat]

[Footnote 128: Kiln]

[Footnote 129: A thick leather coat; here used in another sense as a "black jack" or leather can.]

[Footnote 130: Sorrow.]

[Footnote 131: A John Wright at the Bible, near Newgate, published between 1624 and 1627; but a J. Wright in Giltspur Street published from 1670 to 1690. In the Roxburghe Ballads are three editions of this ballad, catalogued (?) 1650, 1690, 1730.]

_How_ Tarlton _tooke Tobacco at the first comming up of it_.

[77.] _Tarlton_, (as other Gentlemen used) at the first comming up of Tabacco, did take it more for fashion's sake than otherwise, & being in a roome, set between two Men overcome with Wine, and they never seeing the like, wondred at it; and seeing the vapour come out of _Tarlton's_ nose, cryed out Fire, fire, and then threw a Cup of Wine in _Tarlton's_ face. Make no more stirre, quoth Tarlton, the fire is quenched: if the Sheriffes come, it will turne to a fine, as the Custome is. And drinking that againe, Fie, sayes the other, what a stinke it makes, I am almost poisoned. If it offend, saies _Tarlton_, let's every one take a little of the smell, and so the savour will quickly goe: but Tobacco whiffes made them leave him to pay all.

_Dick_ had but two words to maintain him ever, [5.] And that was, Stand; and, after, stand--Deliver. But _Dick's_ in Newgate, and he fears shall never Be blest again with that sweet word, Deliver.

A tall Man void of wit, [12.] We may compare him fit To a House six Stories high at least; Where commonly we see That the upper Rooms be Worst furnish'd than any of the rest.