Part 12

Then stood forth _Envy_, and said to this effect: My Lord, I have known this man a long time, and will attest upon my Oath before this honorable Bench, that he is--

_Judge._ Hold! Give him life Oath.

So they sware him.

Then he said, My Lord, this man, notwithstanding his plausible name, is one of the vilest men in our Country. He neither regardeth Prince nor People, Law nor Custom; but doth all that he can to possess all men with certain of his disloyal notions, which he in the general calls Principles of Faith and Holiness. And in particular, I heard him once myself affirm _That Christianity and the Customs of our Town of Vanity were diametrically opposite, and could not be reconciled_. By which saying, my Lord, he doth at once not only condemn all our laudable doings, but us in the doing of them.

_Judge._ Then did the Judge say to him, Hast thou any more to say?

_Envy._ My Lord, I could say much more, only I would not be tedious to the Court. Yet if need be, when the other Gentlemen have given in their Evidence, rather than anything shall be wanting that will despatch him, I will enlarge my Testimony against him.

So he was bid stand by. Then they called _Superstition_, and bid him look upon the Prisoner. They also asked, what he could say for their Lord the King against him. Then they sware him; so he began:

_Super._ My Lord, I have no great acquaintance with this man, nor do I desire to have further knowledge of him; however, this I know, that he is a very pestilent fellow, from some discourse that the other day I had with him in this Town; for then talking with him, I heard him say, That our Religion was naught, and such by which a man could by no means please God. Which sayings of his, my Lord, your Lordship very well knows, what necessarily thence will follow, to wit, That we still do worship in vain, are yet in our sins, and finally shall be damned; and this is that which I have to say.

Then was _Pickthank_ sworn, and bid say what he knew, in behalf of their Lord the King, against the prisoner at the Bar.

_Pick._ My Lord, and you, Gentlemen all, This fellow I have known of a long time, and have heard him speak things that ought not to be spoke; for he hath railed on our noble Prince _Beelzebub_, and hath spoken contemptibly of his honorable Friends, whose names are the Lord _Old Man_, the Lord _Carnal Delight_, the Lord _Luxurious_, the Lord _Desire of Vain Glory_, my old Lord _Lechery_, Sir _Having Greedy_, with all the rest of our Nobility; and he hath said moreover, That if all men were of his mind, if possible, there is not one of these Noblemen should have any longer a being in this Town; besides, he hath not been afraid to rail on you, my Lord, who are now appointed to be his Judge, calling you an ungodly villain, with many other suchlike vilifying terms, with which he hath bespattered most of the Gentry of our Town.

When this _Pickthank_ had told his tale, the Judge directed his speech to the Prisoner at the Bar, saying, Thou Runagate, Heretick, and Traitor, hast thou heard what these honest Gentlemen have witnessed against thee?

_Faith._ May I speak a few words in my own defense?

_Judge._ Sirrah, sirrah, thou deservest to live no longer, but to be slain immediately upon the place; yet that all men may see our gentleness towards thee, let us see what thou hast to say.

_Faith._ 1. I say then, in answer to what Mr _Envy_ hath spoken, I never said ought but this, _That what Rule or Laws or Custom or People, were flat against the Word of God, are diametrically opposite to Christianity_. If I have said amiss in this, convince me of my error, and I am ready here before you to make my recantation.

2. As to the second, to wit, Mr _Superstition_, and his charge against me, I said only this, _That in the worship of God there is required a Divine Faith; but there can be no Divine Faith without a Divine Revelation of the will of God; therefore whatever is thrust into the Worship of God that is not agreeable to a Divine Revelation, cannot be done but by an human faith, which faith will not profit to Eternal Life_.

3. As to what Mr _Pickthank_ hath said, I say (avoiding terms, as that I am said to rail, and the like) that the Prince of this Town, with all the rabblement his attendants, by this Gentleman named, are more fit for a being in Hell, than in this Town and Country: _and so, the Lord have mercy upon me_....

Then went the Jury out, whose names were, Mr _Blind-Man_, Mr _No-good_, Mr _Malice_, Mr _Love-lust_, Mr _Live-loose_, Mr _Heady_, Mr _High-mind_, Mr _Enmity_, Mr _Lyar_, Mr _Cruelty_, Mr _Hate-light_, and Mr _Implacable_; who every one gave in his private Verdict against him among themselves, and afterwards unanimously concluded to bring him in guilty before the Judge. And first among themselves, Mr _Blind-man_ the Foreman, said, _I see clearly that this man is an Heretick_. Then said Mr _No-good_, _Away with such a fellow from the earth_. _Ay_, said Mr _Malice_, _for I hate the very looks of him_. Then said Mr _Love-lust_, _I could never endure him_. _Nor I_, said Mr _Live-loose_, _for he would always be condemning my way_. _Hang him, hang him_, said Mr _Heady_. _A sorry Scrub_, said Mr _High-mind_. _My heart riseth against him_, said Mr _Enmity_. _He is a rogue_, said Mr _Lyar_. _Hanging is too good for him_, said Mr _Cruelty_. _Let us dispatch him out of the way_, said Mr _Hate-light_. Then said Mr _Implacable_, _Might I have all the world given me, I could not be reconciled to him; therefore let us forthwith bring him in guilty of death_. And so they did; therefore he was presently condemned to be had from the place where he was, to the place from whence he came, and there to be put to the most cruel death that could be invented.

They therefore brought him out, to do with him according to their Law; and first they Scourged him, then they Buffeted him, then they Lanced his flesh with Knives; after that they Stoned him with stones, then pricked him with their Swords; and last of all they burned him to ashes at the Stake. Thus came _Faithful_ to his end.

Brave _Faithful_, bravely done in Word and Deed; Judge, Witnesses, and Jury have instead Of overcoming thee, but shewn their Rage: When thou art dead, thou'lt live from Age to Age.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 97: From "The Pilgrim's Progress."]

[Footnote 98: From "The Pilgrim's Progress."]

[Footnote 99: From "The Pilgrim's Progress."]

JOHN DRYDEN

Born in 1631, died in 1700; educated at Cambridge; originally a Parliamentarian, but vent over to the Royalists; made poet-laureate in 1670; converted to Catholicism in 1686; his life written by Samuel Johnson; his works collected in 1808 in eighteen volumes by Sir Walter Scott.

OF ELIZABETHAN DRAMATISTS[100]

To begin, then, with Shakespeare. He was the man who, of all modern, and perhaps ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. All the images of nature were still present to him, and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily. When he describes anything, you more than see it--you feel it too. Those who accused him to have wanted learning, give him the greater commendation. He was naturally learned; he needed not the spectacles of books to read nature; he looked inwards, and found her there. I cannot say he is everywhere alike; were he so, I should do him injury to compare him with the greatest of mankind. He is many times flat, insipid; his comic wit degenerating into clenches, his serious swelling into bombast. But he is always great when some great occasion is presented to him; no man can say he ever had a fit subject for his wit, and did not then raise himself as high above the rest of poets.

Quantum lenta solent inter viburna cupressi.

The consideration of this made Mr. Hales of Eton[101] say, that there was no subject of which any poet ever writ, but he would produce it much better done in Shakespeare; and however others are now generally preferred before him, yet the age wherein he lived, which had contemporaries with him Fletcher and Jonson, never equalled them to him in their esteem. And in the last king's court, when Ben's reputation was at highest, Sir John Suckling, and with him the greater part of the courtiers, set our Shakespeare far above him....

Beaumont and Fletcher, of whom I am next to speak, had with the advantage of Shakespeare's wit, which was their precedent, great natural gifts, improved by study; Beaumont especially, being so accurate a judge of plays, that Ben Jonson, while he lived, submitted all his writings to his censure, and 'tis thought, used his judgment in correcting, if not contriving, all his plots. What value he had for him, appears by the verses he writ to him, and therefore I need speak no farther of it. The first play that brought Fletcher and him in esteem was their "Philaster"; for before that they had written two or three very unsuccessfully: as the like is reported of Ben Jonson, before he writ "Every Man in his Humor." Their plots were generally more regular than Shakespeare's, especially those which were made before Beaumont's death; and they understood and imitated the conversation of gentlemen much better; whose wild debaucheries, and quickness of wit in repartees, no poet before them could paint as they have done. Humor, which Ben Jonson derived from particular persons, they made it not their business to describe; they represented all the passions very lively, but above all, love. I am apt to believe the English language in them arrived to its highest perfection: what words have since been taken in, are rather superfluous than ornamental. Their plays are now the most pleasant and frequent entertainments of the stage; two of theirs being acted through the year, for one of Shakespeare's or Jonson's: the reason is, because there is a certain gaiety in their comedies, and pathos in their more serious plays, which suits generally with all men's humors. Shakespeare's language is likewise a little obsolete, and Ben Jonson's wit comes short of theirs.

As for Jonson, to whose character I am now arrived, if we look upon him while he was himself--for his last plays were but his dotages--I think him the most learned and judicious writer which any theater ever had. He was a most severe judge of himself, as well as others. One can not say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it. In his works you find little to retrench or alter. Wit, and language, and humor also in some measure, we had before him; but something of art was wanting to the drama, till he came. He managed his strength to more advantage than any who preceded him. You seldom find him making love in any of his scenes, or endeavoring to move the passions; his genius was too sullen and saturnine to do it gracefully, especially when he knew he came after those who had performed both to such a height. Humor was his proper sphere; and in that he delighted most to represent mechanic people. He was deeply conversant in the ancients, both Greek and Latin, and he borrowed boldly from them; there is scarce a poet or historian among the Roman authors of those times whom he has not translated in "Sejanus" and "Catiline." But he has done his robberies so openly that one may see he fears not to be taxed by any law. He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets, is only victory in him. With the spoils of these writers he so represents old Rome to us, in its rites, ceremonies, and customs, that if one of their poets had written either of his tragedies, we had seen less of it than in him.

If there was any fault in his language, 'twas that he weaved it too closely and laboriously, in his comedies especially: perhaps, too, he did a little too much Romanize our tongue, leaving the words which he translated almost as much Latin as he found them; wherein, tho he learnedly followed their language, he did not enough comply with the idiom of ours. If I would compare him with Shakespeare, I must acknowledge him the more correct poet, but Shakespeare the greater wit. Shakespeare was the Homer, or father of our dramatic poets: Jonson was the Virgil, the pattern of elaborate writing: I admire him, but I love Shakespeare. To conclude of him: as he has given us the most correct plays, so, in the precepts which he has laid down in his "Discoveries," we have as many and profitable rules for perfecting the stage, as any wherewith the French can furnish us.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 100: From the "Essay on Dramatic Poetry."]

[Footnote 101: John Hales, "the ever-memorable" canon of Windsor and author of "Golden Remains," born in 1584, died in 1656.]

SAMUEL PEPYS

Born in 1633, died in 1703; son of a London tailor, educated at Cambridge; a clerk in the Admiralty in 1660, becoming finally Secretary; conducted the entire administration during the great plague, when he alone remained in London; assisted in checking the great fire in 1666; elected to Parliament in 1678; President of the Royal Society in 1684-86; gave his library of three thousand volumes to one of the colleges at Cambridge; his "Diary," first published in 1825, was written in cipher, without intent of publication.

I

OF VARIOUS DOINGS OF MR. AND MRS. PEPYS[102]

_August 18, 1660._--Towards Westminster by water. I landed my wife at Whitefriars with £5 to buy her a petticoat, and my father persuaded her to buy a most fine cloth, of 26_s._ a yard, and a rich lace, that the petticoat will come to £5; but she doing it very innocently, I could not be angry. Captain Ferrers took me and Creed to the Cockpit play, the first that I have had time to see since my coming from sea, _The Loyall Subject_, where one Kinaston, a boy, acted the Duke's sister, but made the loveliest lady that ever I saw in my life. After the play done, we went to drink, and, by Captain Ferrers' means, Kinaston, and another that acted Archas the General, came and drank with us.

19. (Lord's Day.)--This morning Sir W. Batten, Pen, and myself, went to church to the churchwardens, to demand a pew, which at present could not be given us; but we are resolved to have one built. So we staid, and heard Mr. Mills, a very good minister. Home to dinner, where my wife had on her new petticoat that she bought yesterday, which indeed is a very fine cloth and a line lace; but that being of a light color, and the lace all silver, it makes no great show.

_March 2, 1667._--After dinner, with my wife, to the King's house to see _The Maiden Queene_, a new play of Dryden's mightily commended for the regularity of it, and the strain and wit; and, the truth is, there is a comical part done by Nell Gwynne, which is Florimell, that I never can hope ever to see the like done again, by man or woman. The King and Duke of York were at the play. But so great performance of a comical part was never, I believe, in the world before as Nell do this both as a mad girl, then most and best of all, when she comes in like a young gallant; and hath the motions and carriage of a spark the most that ever I saw any man have. It makes me, I confess, admire her.

_October 5._--To the King's house; and there, going in, met with Knipp, and she took us up into the tireing-rooms: and to the woman's shift, where Nell was dressing herself, and was all unready, and is very pretty, prettier than I thought. And into the scene-room, and there sat down, and she gave us fruit: and here I read the questions to Knipp, while she answered me, through all her part of _Flora Figarys_, which was acted to-day. But, Lord! to see how they were both painted would make a man mad, and did make me loath them; and what base company of men comes among them, and how lewdly they talk! and how poor the men are in clothes, and yet what a show they make on the stage by candle-light, is very observable. But to see how Nell cursed for having so few people in the pit, was pretty; the other house carrying away all the people at the new play, and is said, now-a-days, to have generally most company, as being better players. By and by into the pit, and there saw the play, which is pretty good.

_December 28._--To the King's house, and there saw _The Mad Couple_, which is but an ordinary play; but only Nell's and Hart's mad parts are most excellent done, but especially hers: which makes it a miracle to me to think how ill she do any serious part, as, the other day, just like a fool or changeling; and in a mad part do beyond imitation almost. It pleased us mightily to see the natural affection of a poor woman, the mother of one of the children, brought on the stage; the child crying, she by force got upon the stage, and took up her child, and carried it away off of the stage from Hart. Many fine faces here to-day.

_February 27, 1667-8._--With my wife to the King's house, to see _The Virgin Martyr_, the first time it hath been acted a great while: and it is mighty pleasant; not that the play is worth much, but it is finely acted by Beck Marshall. But that which did please me beyond anything in the whole world was the wind-musick when the angel comes down, which is so sweet that it ravished me, and indeed, in a word, did wrap up my soul so that it made me really sick, just as I have formerly been when in love with my wife; that neither then, nor all the evening going home, and at home, I was able to think of anything, but remained all night transported, so as I could not believe that ever any musick hath that real command over the soul of a man as this did upon me: and makes me resolve to practise wind-musick, and to make my wife do the like.

_May 26, 1667._--My wife and I to church, where several strangers of good condition come to our pew. After dinner, I by water alone to Westminster to the parish church, and there did entertain myself with my perspective glass up and down the church, by which I had the great pleasure of seeing and gazing at a great many very fine women; and what with that, and sleeping, I passed away the time till sermon was done. I away to my boat, and up with it as far as Barne Elmes, reading of Mr. Evelyn's late new book against Solitude, in which I do not find much excess of good matter, tho it be pretty for a bye discourse.

_August 18._--To Cree Church, to see it how it is: but I find no alteration there, as they there was, for my Lord Mayor and Aldermen to come to sermon, as they do every Sunday, as they did formerly to Paul's. There dined with me Mr. Turner and his daughter Betty. Betty is grown a fine young lady as to carriage and discourse. We had a good haunch of venison, powdered and boiled, and a good dinner. I walked towards Whitehall, but, being wearied, turned into St. Dunstan's Church, where I heard an able sermon of the minister of the place; and stood by a pretty, modest maid, whom I did labor to take by the hand; but she would not, but got further and further from me; and, at last, I could perceive her to take pins out of her pocket to prick me if I should touch her again--which, seeing, I did forbear, and was glad I did spy her design. And then I fell to gaze upon another pretty maid, in a pew close to me, and she on me; and I did go about to take her by the hand, which she suffered a little and then withdrew. So the sermon ended.

_May 11, 1667._--My wife being drest this day in fair hair did make me so mad, that I spoke not one word to her, tho I was ready to burst with anger. After that, Creed and I into the Park, and walked, a most pleasant evening, and so took coach, and took up my wife, and in my way home discovered my trouble to my wife for her white locks, swearing several times, which I pray God forgive me for, and bending my fist that I would not endure it. She, poor wretch, was surprised with it, and made me no answer all the way home; but there we parted, and I to the office late, and then home, and without supper to bed, vexed.

12. (Lord's Day.)--Up and to my chamber, to settle some accounts there, and by and by down comes my wife to me in her night-gown, and we begun calmly, that, upon having money to lace her gown for second mourning, she would promise to wear white locks no more in my sight, which I, like a severe fool, thinking not enough, begun to except against, and made her fly out to very high terms and cry, and in her heat, told me of keeping company with Mrs. Knipp, saying, that if I would promise never to see her more--of whom she hath more reason to suspect than I had heretofore of Pembleton--she would never wear white locks more. This vexed me, but I restrained myself from saying anything, but do think never to see this woman--at least, to have her here more--and so all very good friends as ever. My wife and I bethought ourselves to go to a French house to dinner, and so inquired out Monsieur Robins, my perriwigg-maker, who keeps an ordinary, and in an ugly street in Covent Garden, did find him at the door, and so we in; and in a moment almost had the table covered, and clean glasses, and all in the French manner, and a mess of potage first, and then a piece of boeuf-a-la-mode, all exceeding well seasoned, and to our great liking; at least it would have been anywhere else but in this bad street, and in a perriwigg-maker's house; but to see the pleasant and ready attendance that we had, and all things so desirous to please, and ingenious in the people, did take me mightily. Our dinner cost us 6_s._

_November 30, 1668._--My wife, after dinner, went the first time abroad in her coach, calling on Roger Pepys, and visiting Mrs. Creed, and my cosen Turner. Thus ended this month with very good content, but most expenseful to my purse on things of pleasure, having furnished my wife's closet and the best chamber, and a coach and horses, that ever I knew in the world; and I am put into the greatest condition of outward state that ever I was in, or hoped ever to be, or desired.

_December 2._--Abroad with my wife, the first time that ever I rode in my own coach, which do make my heart rejoice, and praise God and pray Him to bless it to me and continue it. So she and I to the King's playhouse, and there saw _The Usurper_; a pretty good play, in all but what is designed to resemble Cromwell and Hugh Peters, which is mighty silly. The play done, we to Whitehall; where my wife staid while I up to the Duchesse's and Queene's side, to speak with the Duke of York: and here saw all the ladies, and heard the silly discourse of the King, with his people about him.

_April 11, 1669._--Thence to the Park, my wife and I; and here Sir W. Coventry did first see me and my wife in a coach of our own; and so did also this night the Duke of York, who did eye my wife mightily. But I begin to doubt that my being so much seen in my own coach at this time may be observed to my prejudice; but I must venture it now.

II

ENGLAND WITHOUT CROMWELL[103]

_July 12, 1667._--Up betimes and to my chamber, there doing business, and by and by comes Greeting and begun a new month with him, and now to learn to set anything from the notes upon the flageolet, but Lord! to see how like a fool he goes about to give direction would make a man mad. I then out and by coach to White Hall and to the Treasury chamber, where did a little business, and thence to the Exchequer to Burges, about Tangier business, and so back again stepping into the Hall a little, and then homeward by coach, and he with me to the Excise Office, there to do a little business also, in the way he telling me that undoubtedly the peace is concluded; for he did stand where he did hear part of the discourse at the Council table, and there did hear the King argue for it.