Part 74
_Nota Bene_--You’ll please to observe that the day Of this grand bridal pomp is the thirtieth of May, When ’tis hop’d that the sun, to enliven the sight, Like the flambeau of Hymen, will deign to burn bright.
_Another Advertisement._
BRIDEWAIN.
There let Hymen oft appear, In saffron robe and taper clear, And pomp and feast and revelry, With mask and antic pageantry; Such sights as youthful poets dream, On summer eves by haunted stream.
George Hayto, who married Anne, the daughter of Joseph and Dinah Colin, of Crosby mill, purposes having a Bridewain at his house at Crosby, near Maryport, on Thursday, the 7th day of May next, (1789), where he will be happy to see his friends and well-wishers; for whose amusement there will be a variety of races, wrestling-matches, &c. &c. The prizes will be--a saddle, two bridles, a pair of _gands d’amour_, gloves, which, whoever wins, is sure to be married within the twelvemonths; a girdle (_ceinture de Venus) possessing qualities not to be described;_ and many other articles, sports, and pastimes, too numerous to mention, but which can never prove tedious in the exhibition.
From fashion’s laws and customs free, We welcome sweet variety; By turns we laugh, and dance, and sing; Time’s for ever on the wing; And nymphs and swains on Cumbria’s plain, Present the golden age again.
* * * * *
A GOOD EXCUSE.
In the Court of Session in Scotland, the judges who do not attend, or give a proper excuse for their absence, are, by law, liable to a fine; but it is common, on the first day of the session, for the absentee to send an excuse to the lord president. Lord Stonefield having sent such an excuse, on the president mentioning it, the late lord justice clerk Braxfield said, in his broad dialect, “What excuse can a stout fallow like him hae?” “My lord,” said the president, “he has lost his wife.” The justice, who was fitted with a Xanthippe, replied, “Has he? that is a gude excuse indeed; I wish we had a’ the same.”
* * * * *
EARLY RISING.
Buffon rose always with the sun, and he used often to tell by what means he had accustomed himself to get out of bed so early. “In my youth,” said he, “I was very fond of sleep; it robbed me of a great deal of my time; but my poor Joseph (his domestic) was of great service in enabling me to overcome it. I promised to give Joseph a crown every time that he could make me get up at six. The next morning he did not fail to awake and torment me, but he received only abuse. The day after he did the same, with no better success, and I was obliged at noon to confess that I had lost my time. I told him, that he did not know how to manage his business; that he ought to think of my promise, and not to mind my threats. The day following he employed force; I begged for indulgence, I bid him begone, I stormed, but Joseph persisted. I was therefore obliged to comply, and he was rewarded every day for the abuse which he suffered at the moment when I awoke, by thanks accompanied with a crown, which he received about an hour after. Yes, I am indebted to poor Joseph for ten or a dozen of the volumes of my work.”
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PUNCTUALITY.
“A QUARTER BEFORE.”
Industry is of little avail, without a habit of very easy acquirement--punctuality: on this jewel the whole machinery of successful industry may be said to turn.
When lord Nelson was leaving London on his last, but glorious, expedition against the enemy, a quantity of cabin furniture was ordered to be sent on board his ship. He had a farewell dinner party at his house; and the upholsterer having waited upon his lordship, with an account of the completion of the goods, he was brought into the dining-room, in a corner of which his lordship spoke with him. The upholsterer stated to his noble employer, that every thing was finished, and packed, and would go in the waggon, from a certain inn, at _six o’clock_. “And you go to the inn, Mr. A., and see them off.” “I shall, my lord; I shall be there punctually _at six_.” “A quarter _before_ six, Mr. A.,” returned lord Nelson; “be there a quarter _before_: to that _quarter of an hour_ I owe every thing in life.”
Vol. I.--26.
The folio of four pages, happy work! Which not even critics criticize.--_Cowper._
A venerable old man is, as the reader of a newspaper, still more venerable; for his employment implies that nature yet lives in him;--that he is anxious to learn how much better the world is on his leaving it, than it was when he came into it. When he reads of the meddlings of overlegislation, he thinks of “good old times,” and feels with the poet--
But times are alter’d; trade’s unfeeling train Usurp the land and dispossess the swain; Along the lawn where scatter’d hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose; And ev’ry want to luxury ally’d, And ev’ry pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that ask’d but little room; Those healthful sports that grac’d the peaceful scene Liv’d in each look, and brighten’d all the green; These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more.
He reads of proposals for extending the poor-laws to one part of the United Kingdom not yet cursed with that sure and certain means of increasing the growth of poverty--he reads of schemes of emigration for an alleged surplus of human beings from all parts of the empire--he reads of the abundance of public wealth, and of the increase of private distress--and he remembers, that
A time there was, ere England’s griefs began, When ev’ry rood of ground maintain’d its man: For him light labour spread her wholesome store. Just gave what life requir’d, but gave no more: His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
The old man, who thus reads and recollects, has seen too much of factions to be a partisan. His only earthly interest is the good of his country. A change in the administration is to him of no import, if it bring not blessings to the present generation that entail a debt of gratitude upon posterity. Alterations in public affairs, if violently effected, he scarcely expects will be lasting, and loves human nature too well to desire them; yet he does not despair of private undertakings on account of their novelty or vastness; and therefore he was among the earliest promoters of vaccination, and of Winsor’s plan for lighting the streets with gas. He was a proprietor of the first vessel navigated by steam, and would rather fail with Brunel than succeed at court.
The old man’s days are few. He has discovered that the essential requisites of human existence are small in number; and that in strength itself there is weakness. He speculates upon ruling mankind by the law of kindness; and, as a specimen of the possibility, he kindles good-will with the materials of strife.
*
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~Garrick Plays.~
No. XXIII.
[From the “Downfall of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon,” an Historical Play, by T. Heywood, 1601.]
_Chorus; Skelton, the Poet._
_Skelton_, (_to the Audience_). The Youth that leads yon virgin by the hand As doth the Sun the Morning richly clad, Is our Earl Robert--or your Robin Hood-- That in those days was Earl of Huntingdon.
_Robin recounts to Marian the pleasures of a forest life._
_Robin._ Marian, thou see’st, tho’ courtly pleasures want, Yet country sport in Sherwood is not scant: For the soul-ravishing delicious sound Of instrumental music, we have found The winged quiristers, with divers notes Sent from their quaint recording pretty throats, On every branch that compasseth our bower, Without command contenting us each hour. For arras hangings and rich tapestry, We have sweet Nature’s best embroidery. For thy steel glass, wherein thou wont’st to look, Thy chrystal eyes gaze in a chrystal brook. At Court a flower or two did deck thy head; Now with whole garlands it is circled: For what we want in wealth, we have in flowers; And what we lose in halls, we find in bowers. _Marian._ Marian hath all, sweet Robert having thee; And guesses thee as rich in having me.
_Scarlet recounts to Scathlock the pleasures of an Outlaw’s life._
_Scarlet._ It’s full seven years since we were outlaw’ first, And wealthy Sherwood was our heritage. For all those years we reigned uncontroll’d, From Barnsdale shrogs to Nottingham’s red cliffs. At Blithe and Tickhill were we welcome guests; Good George-a-green at Bradford was our friend, And wanton Wakefield’s Pinner loved us well. At Barnsley dwells a Potter tough and strong, That never brook’d we brethren should have wrong. The Nuns of Farnsfield, pretty Nuns they be, Gave napkins, shirts, and bands, to him and me. Bateman of Kendal gave us Kendal green, And Sharpe of Leeds sharp arrows for us made. At Rotherham dwelt our Bowyer, God him bliss; Jackson he hight his bows did never miss.
_Fitzwater, banished, seeking his daughter Matilda (Robin’s Marian) in the forest of Sherwood, makes his complaint._
_Fitz._ Well did he write, and mickle did he know, That said “This world’s felicity was woe, Which greatest states can hardly undergo.” Whilem Fitzwater in fair England’s Court Possest felicity and happy state, And in his hall blithe Fortune kept her sport; Which glee one hour of woe did ruinate. Fitzwater once had castles, towns, and towers; Fair gardens, orchards, and delightful bowers; But now nor garden, orchard, town, nor tower Hath poor Fitzwater left within his power. Only wide walks are left me in the world, Which these stiff limbs will hardly let me tread: And when I sleep, heavn’s glorious canopy Me and my mossy couch doth overspread.
_He discovers Robin Hood sleeping; Marian strewing flowers over him._
_Fitz._--in good time see where my comfort stands, And by her lies dejected Huntingdon. Look how my Flower holds flowers in her hands, And flings those sweets upon my sleeping son.
_Feigns himself blind, to try if she will know him._
_Marian._ What aged man art thou? or by what chance Camest thou thus far into the wayless wood? _Fitz._ Widow, or wife, or maiden, if thou be; Lend me thy hand: thou see’st I cannot see. Blessing betide thee! little feel’st thou want; With me, good child, food is both hard and scant. These smooth even veins assure me, He is kind, Whate’er he be, my girl, that thee doth find. I poor and old am reft of all earth’s good; And desperately am crept into this wood, To seek the poor man’s patron, Robin Hood. _Marian._ And thou art welcome, welcome, aged man, Aye ten times welcome to Maid Marian. Here’s wine to cheer thy heart; drink, aged man. There’s venison, and a knife; here’s manchet fine.-- My Robin stirs: I must sing him asleep.
_A Judgment._
_A Wicked Prior. Servingman._
_Prior._ What news with you, Sir? _Serv._ Ev’n heavy news, my Lord; for the light fire, Falling in manner of a fire-drake Upon a barn of yours, hath burnt six barns, And not a strike of corn reserv’d from dust. No hand could save it; yet ten thousand hands Labour’d their best, though none for love of you: For every tongue with bitter cursing bann’d Your Lordship, as the viper of the land. _Prior._ What meant the villains? _Serv._ Thus and thus they cried: “Upon this churl, this hoarder up of corn, This spoiler of the Earl of Huntingdon, This lust-defiled, merciless, false Prior, Heav’n raineth judgment down in shape of fire.” Old wives that scarce could with their crutches creep, And little babes that newly learn’d to speak, Men masterless that thorough want did weep, All in one voice with a confused cry In execrations bann’d you bitterly. “Plague follow plague,” they cried; “he hath undone The good Lord Robert, Earl of Huntingdon.”
* * * * *
[From “Phillis of Scyros,” a Dramatic Pastoral, Author Unknown, 1655.]
_True Love irremovable by Death._
_Serpilla. Phillis._
_Serpilla._ Thyrsis believes thee dead, and justly may Within his youthful breast then entertain New flames of love, and yet therein be free From the least show of doing injury To that rich beauty which he thinks extinct, And happily hath mourn’d for long ago: But when he shall perceive thee here alive, His old lost love will then with thee revive. _Phillis._ That love, Serpilla, which can be removed With the light breath of an imagined death, Is but a faint weak love; nor care I much Whether it live within, or still lie dead. Ev’n I myself believ’d him long ago Dead, and enclosed within an earthen urn; And yet, abhorring any other love, I only loved that pale-faced beauty still; And those dry bones, dissolved into dust: And underneath their ashes kept alive The lively flames of my still-burning fire.
_Celia, being put to sleep by an ineffectual poison, waking believes herself to be among the dead. The old Shepherd Narete finds her, and re-assures her of her still being alive._
_Shepherd._ Celia, thou talkest idly; call again Thy wandering senses; thou art yet alive. And, if thou wilt not credit what I say, Look up, and see the heavens turning round; The sun descending down into the west, Which not long since thou saw’st rise in the east: Observe, that with the motion of the air These fading leaves do fall:-- In the infernal region of the deep The sun doth never rise, nor ever set; Nor doth a falling leaf there e’er adorn Those black eternal plants. Thou still art on the earth ’mongst mortal men, And still thou livest. I am Narete. These Are the sweet fields of Scyros. Know’st thou not The meadow where the fountain springs? this wood? Enro’s great mountain, and Ormino’s hill; The hill where thou wert born?
_Thyrsis, upbraided by Phillis for loving another, while he supposed her dead, replies--_
_Thirsis._ O do not turn thy face another way. Perhaps thou thinkest, by denying thus That lovely visage to these eyes of mine, To punish my misdeeds; but think not so. Look on me still, and mark me what I say, (For, if thou know’st it not, I’ll tell thee then), A more severe revenger of thy wrongs Thou canst not have than those fair eyes of thine, Which by those shining beams that wound my heart Punish me more than all the world can do. What greater pain canst thou inflict on me, Than still to keep as fire before my face That lovely beauty, which I have betray’d; That beauty, I have lost?
NIGHT _breaks off her speech_.[234]
NIGHT.--But stay! for there methinks I see the Sun, Eternal Painter, now begin to rise, And limn the heavens in vermilion dye; And having dipt his pencil, aptly framed, Already in the colour of the morn, With various temper he doth mix in one Darkness and Light: and drawing curiously Strait golden lines quite thro’ the dusky sky, A rough draught of the day he seems to yield, With red and tawny in an azure field.-- Already, by the clattering of their bits, Their gingling harness, and their neighing sounds. I hear Eous and fierce Pirous Come panting on my back; and therefore I Must fly away. And yet I do not fly, But follow on my regulated course, And those eternal Orders I received From the First Mover of the Universe.
C. L.
[234] In the Prologue.
* * * * *
~The Drama.~
The following communication from “a-matter-of-fact” correspondent, controverts an old dramatist’s authority on an historical point. It should be recollected, however, that poets have large license, and that few playwrights strictly adhere to facts without injury to poetical character and feeling. The letter is curious, and might suggest an amusing parallel in the manner of Plutarch, between the straightforward character and the poetical one.
KING JOHN AND MATILDA.
_To the Editor._
Sir,--Having been in the country during the publication of the first parts of the _Table Book_, I have but now just bought them; and on perusing them, I find in part 1, col. 112 et infrâ, Mr. C. Lamb’s first specimen of the Garrick Plays, called “King John and Matilda;” wherein the said Matilda, the daughter of the _old_ baron Fitzwater[235] is supposed to be poisoned by King John’s order, in a nunnery. She is especially entitled therein as “immaculate”--“Virtue’s white _virgin_,”--and “_maid_ and martyr.” Now, sir, I presume it to be well known, that in the best legends extant of the times of Richard I. and John, this identical Matilda, or Maud Fitzwater, is chronicled as the _chère amie_ and companion of the outlawed Robert Fitzooth, earl of Huntingdon, whom, as “Robin Hood,” she followed as “_Maid_ Marian;” and with whom, on his restoration to his honours by king Richard, (to his earldom and estates,) she intermarried, and became countess of Huntingdon, and was in _every_ respect a wife, though we have no records whether she ever became a mother; and that when by king John the earl was again outlawed, and driven to the wilds of Sherwood forest, his countess also again shared his misfortunes, and a second time took the name of “_Maid_ Marian,” (then rather a misnomer,) as he did that of “_Robin Hood_.”
During the _first_ outlawry of Robin Hood, and while Marian, or more properly Matilda, was yet a _maid_, John (then prince John, Richard being in Palestine) made overtures to the old baron Fitzwalter for his daughter as a mistress, and being refused, and finding she was in the society of Robin Hood and his merry men, attacked them, and a bloody fray ensued; during which, John and Matilda (in the _male_ costume of forest green) met, and fought: John required her to yield, and she as resolutely desired him, in a reproachful taunt, to _win_ her first; and so stoutly did she belabour him, as the rest of the foresters did his party also, that he was constrained to yield, and to withdraw from a contest in which nothing was to be got but blows.
We hear nothing more of any attempts of John’s to molest her or her party till after the death of Richard, and his own accession to the throne, when he spitefully ousted the earl and countess from their honours and possessions, and confiscated all to his own use; and thus this unfortunate pair, as I have above stated, were again constrained to quit the castle for the forest.
But it is certain, that long before John became king, Matilda, alias Maud, alias Marian, had ceased to be a maid; and we have no account of any attempts whatsoever made by _king_ John upon or against the quondam Matilda Fitzwalter, afterwards alternately Maid Marian and countess of Huntingdon. Indeed all the legends of Robin Hood’s life present “Maid Marian” as having lived with him unmolested by any such attempts during the whole of his _second outlawry_, and as having survived Robin’s tragical end; though of _her_ subsequent fate they are all silent, expressing themselves indeed ignorant of what was her destiny. Certainly she may then have retired into a nunnery, but at all events not as Matilda Fitzwalter; for she had been legally married and formally acknowledged by Richard I. as countess of Huntingdon; and as she spent the last part of her fellowship with her husband in Sherwood forest under her romantic forest appellation, it is scarcely probable that she would resume her title on entering into a nunnery. I would presume, therefore, that however and wherever she ended her days, it must have been under the cognomen of “_Maid_ Marian.” And as her husband lived for some years in the forest after the accession of John, I should think it scarcely likely that after such a great lapse of time, and after the change which had taken place in Matilda both as regards her worldly station and age, and I should presume person, (from such a continued exposure to the air and weather,) John should renew any attempt upon her. I should therefore feel exceedingly gratified if either yourself or Mr. C. Lamb could adduce any historical facts to reconcile all these discrepancies, and to show how the facts, as supposed in the play of “King John and Matilda,” could, in the natural course of events, and in the very teeth of the declarations made in the history of Robin Hood and his consort, have taken place.
Mark this also;--the historians of Robin Hood and Maid Marian (and their history was written, if not by contemporaries, yet in the next generation; nor is it likely that such a renowned personage should be unnoticed in chronicles for any space of time) all declare that they could not ascertain the fate of Marian after the death of Robin. _His_ death and burial are well known, and the inscription to his memory is still extant; but _she_ was lost sight of from the time of his decease. How comes it then that Robert Davenport, in the 17th century, should be so well informed, as to know that Matilda ended her days in a nunnery by poison administered by order of king John, when there is _no tradition extant_ of the time or manner of _her_ decease? We have no other authority than this of Davenport’s tragedy on the subject; and I should therefore be inclined to think that he was misinformed, and that the event recorded by him never happened. As to its being _another_ Matilda Fitzwalter, it is highly preposterous to imagine. Is it likely that at the same time there should be two barons of that name and title, each having a daughter named Matilda or Maud? Davenport calls his baron the _old_ baron Fitzwater; and the father of Maid Marian is described as the _old_ baron: both must therefore have lived in the reign of Richard I., and also in that of John till their death. Indeed we have proof that the baron was alive in John’s reign, because Richard I. having restored him at the same time that he pardoned Fitzooth, _John dispossessed them both_ on his accession.
I think it therefore highly improbable that there should have been so remarkable a coincidence as _two_ barons Fitzwalter, and _two_ Matildas at the same time, and both the latter subject to the unwelcome addresses of John: consequently I cannot give credence, without _proofs_, to the incident in Davenport’s play.
I am, Sir,
respectfully yours,
“THE VEILED SPIRIT.”
_May 17, 1827._
P.S.--Since writing the above, my friend F. C. N. suggests to me, that there was a baron Fitzwalter in John’s reign, proprietor of Castle Baynard, whose daughter Matilda John saw at a tourney, and being smitten with her charms, proposed to her father for her as his mistress, (precisely the events connected with Maid Marian;) and being refused, he attacked Castle Baynard, and ultimately destroyed it. However, for the reasons I have before stated, I am decidedly of opinion, that if such a baron was proprietor of Castle Baynard, it must have been the father of Maid Marian, as I cannot suppose that there were _two_. I cannot precisely remember, nor have I any thing at hand to refer to, but I believe it was at a tourney somewhere that _prince_ John first saw _Maud_.
[235] This is an error of the poet’s. His real name was Fitz-Wa_l_ter, i. e. _the son of Walter_.
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_For the Table Book._
THE PHANTOM LIGHT
What phantom light from yonder lonely tower, Glimmers yet paler than the pale moon beam;-- Breaking the darkness of the midnight hour,-- What bodes its dismal, melancholy gleam?