Part 2

"Et verbis favet ipsa suis, egressaque silvis Ibat, ut injiceret sperato brachia collo. Ille fugit, fugiensque manus complexibus aufert."

which leads on to and explains the next speech of Narcissus:

"'Ante' ait 'emoriar, quam sit tibi copia nostri.'"

rendered in the English by:

"Let mee dye first ere thou meddle with mee."

This terminates the interview; Echo does not seem to make any appearance on the stage. The few lines which, in Ovid, describe the effect of her hopeless love, are partly followed in ll. 740-747 of the English play.

_Scene XI._ Dorastus and Clinias abuse, fight with, and finally kill each other.

_Scene XII._ Narcissus enters, _fleeing from Echo_ (a connecting touch not found in Ovid). His speech, on discovering the well, is a mixture of the description of his transports in the _Metamorphoses_, and of the soliloquy there attributed to him. ll. 697-707 of the _Narcissus_ correspond word for word to _Met._ iii. 442-450.

It is remarkable that the use of the name of the goddess of corn instead of bread itself ("Cereris," l. 437) should have suggested to the English writer a similar metaphorical use of the names of Morpheus and Bacchus. Another small point worthy of note is the introduction of a jest into the midst of this mournful scene; Ovid's:

"Et, quantum motu formosi suspicor oris, Verba refers aures non pervenientia nostras"

being irreverently rendered by:

"And by thy lippes moving, well I doe suppose Woordes thou dost speake, may well come to our nose; For to oure eares I am sure they never passe."

Ovid's Narcissus discovers his own identity with the vision (_Met._ iii. 463), which the English version ignores; while, on the other hand, the prophecy of ll. 730-731:

"I, which whilome was The flower of youth, shalbee made flower againe"

finds no counterpart in Ovid.

Many of the reflections and entreaties ascribed to Narcissus in the Latin version are omitted in the English; neither is there any mention of the beating of the breast (_Met._ iii. 480-485). The final conversation with Echo is given thus by Ovid:

Eheu! Eheu! Heu frustra dilecte puer! Heu frustra dilecte puer! Vale! Vale!

The English writer somewhat amplifies this, Echo being always a favourite stage-character. The rising up of Narcissus after death is an English expedient; so is Echo's return to give a final account of herself, the matter of which is suggested, as has been said, by _Met._ iii. 393-401.

So much for the classical basis of the play; it remains to notice briefly the points in which it resembles an English comedy, or shows traces of the influence of other English writers. Most remarkable in the latter connection is the frequent coincidence of expressions between the _Narcissus_ and Shakspere's _Henry IV._ (Part 1.). Amongst these are the following:

L. 78. Ladds of metall. Cf. 1 _Henry IV._, ii. 4, 13. 80. No vertue extant " ii. 4, 132. 111. I tickle (them) for " ii. 4, 489. 422. Never ioyd (it) since " ii. 1, 13. 575. Kee (= quoth) pickpurse " ii. 1, 53. 734. (My) grandam earth " iii. 1, 34.

See also the notes on ll. 282, 396, and 683.

As _Henry IV._ was entered at Stationers' Hall February 25th, 1597, and the first quarto appeared in 1598, it is quite possible that these may be direct borrowings on the part of the writer of the _Narcissus_.

A common trick of English burlesque at this time (cf. _Midsummer Night's Dream_, v. 1, 337, etc.) was the inversion of epithets, producing nonsensical combinations; an expedient which, if we condemn it as poor wit, we must at least allow to fall under the definition of humour as "the unexpected." A good example of this occurs in ll. 360, 361:

"So cruell as the huge camelion, Nor yet so changing as small elephant."

And another in ll. 677, 678:

"But oh, remaine, and let thy christall lippe No more of this same cherrye water sippe."

Sarcastic allusions are also not wanting; see, for instance, the cheerful inducement held out to Narcissus:

"As true as Helen was to Menela, So true to you will bee thy Florida."

And cf. the notes on ll. 337, 342.

There are several facetious mistakes in the forms of words, such as _spoone_ for moon (l. 350), _Late-mouse_ for Latmus (l. 279), and _Davis_ for Davus (l. 400); of which the first recalls Ancient Pistol's "Cannibals" (2 _Henry IV._ ii. 4, 180), or the contrary slip in _Every Man in his Humour_, iii. 4, 53, and the two latter, Bottom's "Shafalus" and "Procrus," and the blunders of Costard.

The naïve devices by which the players seem to have made up for some paucity of accoutrements and stage appliances, and their direct appeals to the intelligence of the audience to excuse all defects, are highly edifying. There is, as I have before remarked, no indication of any scenery; and the only characters whom we know to have worn a special dress are Tiresias and Liriope. The prophets of classical history were often converted into bishops by English writers; so, for example, Helenus, son of Priam, in the fourteenth century alliterative _Gest Hystoriale of Troy_. This is why Tiresias wears a bishop's rochet. It is unfortunate that the collection of robes now in the possession of St. John's College does not include a garment of this description.

Liriope has a symbolical costume, which she very carefully interprets to Narcissus:

"And I thy mother nimphe, as may bee seene By coulours that I weare, blew, white, and greene; For nimphes ar of the sea, and sea is right Of coulour truly greene and blew and white. Would you knowe how, I pray? Billowes are blew, Water is greene, and foome is white of hue."

Cephisus is content to carry the emblems of his origin, which he emphasizes at the same time by representative action:

"Thy father I, Cephisus, that brave river Who is all water, doe like water shiver. As any man of iudgment may descrye By face, hands washt, and bowle, thy father I."

In the same way Narcissus, rising up after his supposed death, bears a daffodil as a sign of his metamorphosis, addressing the audience after a manner more brusque than polite:

"If you take mee for Narcissus y'are very sillye, I desire you to take mee for a daffa downe dillye; For so I rose, and so I am in trothe, As may appeare by the flower in my mouthe."

Echo gives her reasons somewhat confidentially:

"But ho, the hobby horse, youle think't absurde That I should of my selfe once speake a woord. 'Tis true; but lett your wisdomes tell me than, How'de you know Eccho from another man?"

And at the conclusion of the play she kindly directs the imagination of the spectators into the right channel:

"Now auditors of intelligence quicke, I pray you suppose that Eccho is sicke"----

and craves their applause by a skilful ruse.

Tiresias makes his exit at an early stage in the play, addressing congratulations to himself:

"Goe, thou hast done, Tyresias; bidd adieu; Thy part is well plaid and thy wordes are true."

As a last instance of this naïve custom, Florida's words at the end of the short part assigned to herself and Clois may be cited:

"Looke you for maids no more, our parte is done, Wee come but to be scornd, and so are gone."

Both the songs contained in the play have a considerable amount of vivacity and vigour, though they fall short of actual lyrical beauty. The first and longer of the two is a drinking-song with a refrain of eight lines, written in a lively and irregular, but not ill-handled metre; the second, a hunting-song of five stanzas, with the chorus "Yolp" in imitation of the cry of the dogs. Besides these, which may very possibly have been in existence before the play was written, the effusion of Dorastus on meeting Narcissus ("Cracke eye strings cracke," l. 305) is lyrical in character.

Taken as a whole, it will be seen that the comedy of _Narcissus_ is rather interesting for its quaintness, its humour, and its apparent borrowings from, and undoubted resemblances to, Shakspere, than for any intrinsic literary value. In spite of this, I cannot but hope that those who now study it for the first time, though they may have "seene a farre better play at the theater," will not find reason to condemn it as wholly dull and unprofitable.

SECTION II.

It only remains to say a few words with regard to the four pieces which I have included in the present volume.

These occur in the same MS. as the _Narcissus_, and taken with it appear to form a united group, by virtue of their common connection with S. John's College. It is true that the Porter who acts so prominent a part in the admission of the supposed players reveals to us only his Christian name, Frances (see last line of Epilogue), but it is hardly possible to doubt his identity with the Francke (or Francis) Clarke, the porter of S. John's, to whom the remarkable productions above-mentioned are attributed. After several vain attempts to discover the record of this man's tenure of office, I have chanced upon his name in Mr. A. Clark's _Register of the University of Oxford_, vol. ii. (1571-1622), pt. 1, p. 398, where it occurs in the list of "personæ privilegiatæ," a term including, in its widest sense, all persons who enjoyed the immunities conferred by charter on the corporation of the University, but technically used to describe certain classes to whom these immunities were granted by special favour; as, for example, the college servants, of whom the manciple, cook, and porter or janitor, were amongst the chief.

The entry is as follows:

"8 May 1601, S. Jo., Clark, Francis; Worc., pleb. f., 24; 'janitor.'"

From this we gather that Francis Clark had not been long appointed to his office; that he was twenty-four years of age, a Worcestershire man, and of humble birth.

Judging by the internal evidence of the MS. now under consideration, we may very naturally suppose that the porter, a worthy possessed of a shrewd wit and somewhat combative temperament, enjoyed high favour amongst the undergraduates, though often in disgrace with their superiors; and that for his benefit (in the case of the first and fourth pieces), and for their own (in the case of the third), the wags of the college composed certain apologies, which Francis Clarke was clever enough to commit to memory, and confident enough to pronounce before the Head in the character of a privileged humourist. The last of the pieces seems to have been written down and delivered as a letter; and some or all may be the products of the same pen as wrote the _Narcissus_. That they were not written by the porter himself is evident; for over and above the mere improbability that a college servant would be capable of such frequent reference to Lilly, we have the testimony of the headings, two of which bear mention of "a speech _made for_ the foresaid porter," and "a letter _composed for_ Francke Clarke." It is very possible that the porter's part in the _Narcissus_ may have been specially designed for, and entrusted to, the worthy Francis.

* * * * *

Of these four pieces, the apology addressed to "Master President, that had sconc't him 10 groates for lettinge the fidlers into the hall at Christmas," occurs next to the play in the MS., and was probably the result of some mock trial and sentence forming a part of the Christmas festivities. If we could suppose the "fidlers" to have been the same as the players, a still closer connection would be established between this speech and the comedy; but there is no mention of any dramatic entertainment in the circumstantial account of their entrance and exit given by the porter.

The other pieces have no apparent connection with Christmas time, and the last, being addressed to Laud during the year of his proctorship, fixes its own date as 1603-4. The speech _To the Ladie Keneda_ is the most puzzling of the group, inasmuch as it bears no reference to collegiate life, and deals with a subject of some obscurity. _Kennedy_ was the family name of the earls of Cassilis; and the fifth earl, then living, had married in 1597 Jean, daughter of James, fourth Lord Fleming, and widow of Lord Chancellor Maitland. But whether she is the "Ladie Keneda" to whom Francis Clarke pleads on behalf of her cook Piers, it is impossible to say. Neither have I found out anything concerning the annual holiday for cooks, to which allusion seems to be made. Here, however, as in the other speeches, a wide margin must be allowed for euphuism, and bare facts are difficult to deduce.

I have refrained from supplying references to the numerous classical quotations with which the speeches are embellished, for the simple reason that a contemporary edition of Lilly's Grammar will be found to include them all. Doubtless the youthful composers derived a special delight from the process of making "Lilly leape out of his skinne," with a "muster of sentences" of which the porter's supposed use and interpretation is, if not always scholarly, at least decidedly ingenious.

A TWELFE NIGHT MERRIMENT.

ANNO 1602.

_Enter the_ Porter _at the end of supper._

_Porter._

MASTER and Mistris with all your guests, [F. 81v rev.] God save you, heerin the matter rests; Christmas is now at the point to bee past, 'Tis giving vp the ghost & this is the last; And shall it passe thus without life or cheere? This hath not beene seene this many a yeere. If youl have any sporte, then say the woord, Heere come youths of the parish that will it affoord, They are heere hard by comminge alonge, Crowning their wassaile bowle with a songe: [10] They have some other sport too out of dowbt, Let mee alone, & I will finde it out. I am your porter & your vassaile, Shall I lett in the boyes with their wassaile? Say: they are at doore, to sing they beginne, Goe to then, Ile goe & lett them in!

_Enter the wassaile, two of them bearinge the bowle, & singinge the songe, & all of them bearing the burden._

_The Songe._

Gentills all Both great & small, Sitt close in the hall And make some roome, [20] For amongst you heere At the end of your cheere With our countrey beare Wee ar bold to come. Heers then a full carowse, Let it goe about the house, While wee doe carrye it thus 'Tis noe great labour. Heave it vpp merilye, [F. 81r rev.] Let care & anger flye, [30] A pinne for povertye; Drinke to your neighbour.

Those that are wise, Doe knowe that with spice God Bacchus his iuyce Is wholsome & good. It comforts age, It refresheth the sage, It rebateth rage, And cheereth the bloud. [40] Heeres then a full, &c.

Take it with quicknes, Tis phisicke for sicknes, It driveth the thicknes Of care from the harte; The vaynes that are empty It filleth with plenty, Not one amongst twenty But it easeth of smarte. Heers then a full, &c. [50]

Are you sadd, For fortune badd, And would bee gladd As ever you were, If that a quaffe Doe not make you laffe, Then with a staffe Drive mee out of dore. Heers then a full, &c.

To tell you his merritts, [60] Good thoughts it inherites, It raiseth the spirritts And quickens the witt; It peoples the veyns, It scoureth the reynes, It purgeth the braines And maks all things fitte. Heers then a full, &c.

It makes a man bold, It keepes out the cold; [70] Hee hath all things twice told Vnto his comforte, Hee stands in the middle, The world, hey dery diddle, Goes round without a fiddle To make them sporte. Heers then a full carowse, &c.

_Por._ Why well said, my ladds of mettall, this is [F. 80v rev.] somwhat yett, 'tis trimlye done; but what sporte, what merriment, all dead, no vertue extant? [80]

_Pri[mus]._ Pray, sir, gett our good Mistris to bestowe something on us, & wee ar gone.

_Por._ Talke of that _tempore venturo_; there's no goinge to any other houses now, your bowle is at the bottome, & that which is left is for mee.

_Sec[undus]._ Nay, good Master Porter.

_Por._ Come, come, daunce vs a morrice, or els goe sell fishe; I warrant youle make as good a night of it heere as if you had beene at all the houses in the towne.

_Ter[tius]._ Nay, pray letts goe, wee can doe nothinge. [90]

_Por._ Noe! What was that I tooke you all a gabling tother day in mother Bunches backside by the well there, when Tom at Hobses ranne vnder the hovell with a kettle on's head?

_Pri._ Why, you would not have a play, would you?

_Por._ Oh, by all meanes, 'tis your onely fine course. About it, ladds, a the stampe, I warrante you a reward sufficient; I tell you, my little windsuckers, had not a certaine melancholye ingendred with a nippinge dolour overshadowed the sunne shine of my mirthe, I had beene I pre, sequor, one of your consorte. But [F. 80r rev.] [100] wheres gooddy Hubbardes sonne--I saw him in his mothers holliday cloaths eennow?

_Sec._ Doe you heere, Master Porter, wee have pittifull nailes in our shooes; you were best lay something on the grounde, els wee shall make abhominable scarrs in the face on't.

_Por. Rem tenes_; well, weele thinke on't.

_Ter._ It is a most condolent tragedye wee shall move.

_Por. Dictum puta; satis est quod suffocat._ [110]

_Sec._ In faith, I tickle them for a good voice.

_Por. Sufficiente quantitate_, a woord is enough to the wise.

_Pri._ You have noe butterd beare in the house, have yee?

_Por._ No, no, trudge, some of the guests are one the point to bee gone.

_Sec._ Have you ere a gentlewomans picture in the house, or noe?

_Por._ Why? [120]

_Sec._ If you have, doe but hange it yonder, & twill make mee act in conye.

_Por._ Well then, away about your geere.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter Prologue._

Wee are noe vagabones, wee ar no arrant Rogues that doe runne with plaies about the country. Our play is good, & I dare farther warrant [F. 79v rev.] It will make you more sport then catt in plum tree. Wee are no saucye common playenge skipiackes, But towne borne lads, the kings owne lovely subiects.

This is the night, night latest of the twelve, [130] Now give vs leave for to bee blith & frolicke, To morrow wee must fall to digg & delve; Weele bee but short, long sittinge breeds the collicke. Then wee beginne, & lett none hope to hisse vs, The play wee play is Ovid's owne Narcissus.

CEPHISUS, LYRIOPE, NARCISSUS.

[_Cep._] Open thine eares, my sonne, open I bidd To heare the sound saw which the sage shall reed, I meane the sage Tyresias, my ducke, Which shall lay ope to thee thy lott, thy lucke. Thy father I, Cephisus, that brave river [140] Who is all water, doe like water shiver. As any man of iudgment may descrye By face, hands washt, & bowle, thy father I.

_Lyr._ And I thy mother nimphe, as may bee seene By coulours that I weare, blew, white, & greene; For nimphes ar of the sea, & sea is right Of colour truly greene & blew & white; Would you knowe how, I pray? Billowes are blew, Water is greene, & foome is white of hue.

_Cep._ Wee both bidd the, Narcisse, our dearest child, [150] With count'nance sober, modest lookes & milde, To prophett's wisest woords with tention harken; [F. 79r rev.] But Sunne is gonne & welkin gins to darken, Vulcan the weary horses is a shooinge, While Phebus with queene Thetis is a doinge: Prophett comes not, letts goe both all & some, Wee may goe home like fooles as wee did come.

_Lyr._ O stay deare husband, flowe not away bright water, The prophett will come by sooner or later.

_Cep._ Why stand wee heere, as it were cappes a thrumming, [160] To look for prophett? Prophett is not comminge.

_Nar._ Sweete running river which Cephisus hight, Whose water is so cleare, whose waves so bright, Gold is thy sand and christall is thy current, Thy brooke so cleare that no vile wind dare stirre in't; Thou art my father, & thou, sweetest nimphe, Thou art my mother, I thy sonne, thy shrimpe. Agree you in one point, to goe or tarrye, Narcissus must obey, aye, must hee, marye.

_Cep._ Gush, water, gush! runne, river, from thy channell! [170] Thou hast a sonne more lovinge then a spanniell; With watry eyes I see how tis expedient To have a sonne so wise & so obedient. Most beauteous sonne, yet not indeede so beautifull As thou art mannerly & dutifull!

_Lyr._ See, husband, see, O see where prophett blind In twice good time is comming heere behind.

_Cep._ O heere hee is, and now that hee's come nye vs, Lye close, good wife & sonne, least hee espye vs.

_Enter_ TYRESIAS.

All you that see mee heere in byshoppes rochett, [F. 78v rev.] [180] And I see not, your heads may runne on crotchett, For ought I knowe, to knowe what manner wight In this strange guise I am, or how I hight; I am Tyresias, the not seeing prophett, Blinde though I bee, I pray lett noe man scoffe it: For blind I am, yea, blind as any beetle, And cannot see a whitt, no, nere so little. Heere ar no eyes, why, they ar in my minde, Wherby I see the fortunes of mankind; Who made mee blind? Jove? I may say to you noe; [190] But it was Joves wife & his sister Juno. Juno & Jove fell out, both biggest gods, And I was hee tooke vpp the merrye oddes. You knowe it all, I am sure, 'tis somewhat common, And how besides seven yeares I was a woman; Which if you knowe you doe know all my state: Come on, Ile fold the fortune of your fate.

_Lyr._ Tremblinge, Tyresias, I pray you cease to travell, And rest a little on the groundy gravell.

_Tyr._ Who ist calls? Speake, for I cannot see. [200]

_Cep._ Poore frends, sir, to the number of some three.

_Tyr._ What would you have?

_Cep._ Why, sir, this is the matter, To bee plaine with you & not to flatter; I am the stately river hight Cephise, Smoother then glasse & softer farre then ice; [F. 78r rev.] This nimphe before you heere whom you doe see Is my owne wife, yclipt Lyriope. Though with the dawbe of prayse I am loath to lome her, This Ile assure you, the blind poett Homer [210] Saw not the like amongst his nimphes and goddesses, Nor in his Iliads, no, nor in his Odysses. Thinke not, I pray, that wee are come for nought; Our lovely infant have wee to you brought. The purple hew of this our iolly striplynge I would not have you thinke was gott with tiplinge; Hee is our sonne Narcisse, no common varlett, Nature in graine hath died his face in skarlett. Speak then, I pray you, speake, for wee you portune That you would tell our sunnfac't sonne his fortune. [220]

_Lyr._ Doe not shrink backe, Narcissus, come & stand, Hold vpp & lett the blind man see thy hand.