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A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 12

Chapter 54: FOOTNOTES:
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About This Book

A chronological anthology of early English drama presenting comedies, pastorals, allegories, and masques alongside scholarly introductions and commentary that clarify authorship, performance history, and textual variants. Individual pieces range from light comedy to moral and allegorical forms, often given with dramatis personae and scene divisions, while editorial notes supply historical context, glosses, and variant readings from earlier editions. The arrangement and annotations aim to make rare and previously scattered plays accessible for reading and study, preserving original language while explaining archaic usage and contemporary stage practices.

Then our music is in prime,
When our teeth keep triple time;
Hungry notes are fit for knells.
May lankness be
No guest to me:
The bagpipe sounds when that it swells.
Chorus. May lankness, &c.

2. Bagshot.

A mooting-night[200] brings wholesome smiles,
When John-a-Nokes and John-a-Styles
Do grease the lawyer's satin.
A reading-day
Frights French away,
The benchers dare speak Latin.
Chorus. A reading, &c.

3. Rhymewell.

He that's full doth verse compose;
Hunger deals in sullen prose:
Take notice and discard her.
The empty spit
Ne'er cherish'd wit;
Minerva loves the larder.
Chorus. The empty spit, &c.

4. Christopher.

First to breakfast, then to dine,
Is to conquer Bellarmine:
Distinctions then are budding.
Old Sutcliff's wit[201]
Did never hit,
But after his bag-pudding.
Chorus. Old Sutcliffs wit, &c.
And. Most admirable! A good eating song!
Chris. Let's walk in and practise it; my bowels
Yearn till I'm in charity with all.
And. A christian resolution, good Sir Christopher!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Meanwell with a letter in his hand, Hearsay, Slicer.

Meanwell reads.

Sweet sir, I am most passionately yours,
To serve you all the ways I can: Priscilla.
Very well penn'd of a young chambermaid.
I do conceive your meaning, sweet Priscilla.
You see I have the happy fortune on't;
A night for nothing, and entreated, too.
Slicer. Thou dost not know how I do love thee. Let me
Make use of this; thou'lt have the like occasion.
Hear. Thou art the fawning'st fellow, Slicer! Meanwell,
Hark here.
Mean. For God's sake, be contented, sirs;
I'm flesh and blood as well as you. Lieutenant,
Think on your suburb beauties. Sweet intelligencer,
I will by no means bar you of your lady:
Your sin, I assure you, will be honourable. [Exit Meanwell.
Slicer. Pox o' your liquorish lips! If that she don't
After this sealing forty weeks, deliver
Something unto thee as thy act and deed,
Say I can't prophesy.
Hear. If I don't serve him
A trick he thinks not of——
Slicer. Didst mark how he
Did apply himself to the knight all dinner!
I am afraid he plays the cunning factor,
And in another's name wooes for himself.
Hear. Let it go on; let it work something farther:
'Tis almost ripe enough to crush. He hath not
Crept high enough as yet to be sensible
Of any fall.
Slicer. Now is the time, or never.
This night, you know, he and his doxy meet;
Let me alone to give them their good-morrow.
If that we carry things but one week longer
Without discovery, farewell London then:
The world's our own. He ne'er deserves to thrive
That doth not venture for it: wealth's then sweet,
When bought with hazard. Fate this law hath set;
The fool inherits, but the wise must get.

FOOTNOTES:

[176] [See Halliwell's Dictionary, v. Haro—the same word, and Littrè's French Dictionary. A case occurred a few years ago, in which the ancient Clameur de Haro was raised at Jersey, in the Presbyterian Church there. But the word is here employed as a mere ejaculation or exclamation, and, it must be added, without much propriety.]

[177] Faint.—T.

[178] Burning.—T.

[179] See notes to "Midsummer Night's Dream," act ii. sc. 1, [and "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," 1870, iii. 39 et seq.]

[180] Agreeable, pleasing.

[181] Disdainful.—T.

[182] [Tear.]

[183] See Stowe's "Survey of London," Strype's edition, 1720, vol. I. bk. ii. p. 18.

[184] Gate.

[185] The name of Chaucer's cock and hen.—Steevens.

[186] So that this play was written in 1634.—Pegge.

[187] These rings were sometimes made out of the handles of decayed coffins, and in more ancient times were consecrated at the ceremony of creeping [to] the cross, of which an account is given in a note on the "Merry Devil of Edmonton," with reference to the observations of Dr Percy on the "Northumberland Household Book," 1512.—Steevens.

Cramp-rings were formerly worn as charms for curing of the cramp. See Brookes's "Natural History," vol. i. p. 206.—Pegge.

Andrew Borde, in his "Book of the Introduction of Knowledge," 1542, says: "The kynges of Englande ... doth halowe every yere crampe rynges, the which rynges worne on ones fynger doth helpe them the whyche hath the crampe." Dr Percy, in his notes on the "Northumberland Household Book," speaking of these rings observes "that our ancient kings even in those dark times of superstition, do not seem to have affected to cure the king's evil; at least in the MSS. above quoted there is no mention or hint of any power of that sort. This miraculous gift was left to be claimed by the Stuarts: our ancient Plantagenets were humbly content to cure the cramp." I cite this passage merely to remark that the learned editor of the above curious volume has been betrayed into a mistake by the manner in which the cramp rings are mentioned in Mr Anstis's MSS. The power of curing the king's evil was certainly claimed by many of the Plantagenets. The above Dr Borde, who wrote in the time of Henry VIII., says, "The kynges of England, by the power that God hath given to them, doth make sicke men whole of a sickness called the Kynges Evyll." In Laneham's "Account of the Entertainment of Kennilworth Castle," it is said, "And also by her highness accustomed mercy and charitee, nyne cured of the paynful and dangerous diseaz called the King's Evil, for that kings and queens of this realm withoout oother medsin (save only by handling and prayer) only doo cure it." Polydore Virgil asserts the same, and William Tooker, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, [1597,] published a book on this subject. For the knowledge of this last book I am obliged to Dr Douglas's excellent treatise, called "The Criterion," p. 191, &c.

[188] Alluding to the old way of biting the wax, usually red, in sealing deeds.—Pegge.

The form usually was this—

"And to witness this is sooth,
I bite the wax with my wang tooth."

See Cowell's "Interpreter," 1607.

[189] Better.—T.

[190] Do.—T.

[191] An allusion to the effects of water on cloth ill-woven.

[192] [A proverb, or bye-word.]

[193] i.e., Those who write the customary verses during the Lent season at Oxford.—Steevens.

[194] i.e., Scraps of anything; ἀναλέγω, colligo. Every one has heard of the collectanea and analecta poetarum.—Steevens.

[195] [The reading of the old copy is humble, which does not appear to agree at all with the context, since the parson addresses Andrew in a half-satirical strain of respect.]

[196] Robert Wisdom, a translator of the Psalms. Wood ("Athenæ Oxonienses," vol. i., "Fasti," p. 57) says he was "a good Latin and English poet of his time, and one that had been in exile in Queen Mary's reign. He was also rector of Settrington in Yorkshire, and died in 1568, having been nominated to a bishopric in Ireland in the time of Edward the 6th." His version of the Psalms is ridiculed in the "Remains of Samuel Butler," 1759, p. 41—

"Thence, with short meal and tedious grace,
In a loud tone and public place,
Sings Wisdom's Hymns, that trot and pace
As if Goliah scann'd 'em."

Again, p. 230: "Besides, when Rouse stood forth for his trial, Robin Wisdom was found the better poet." [Further particulars of Wisdom are to be found in Warton's Poetry, by Hazlitt, iv. 131.]

[197] [Old copy, my.]

[198] [Of these books the two former are not at present known by such titles. The third, the "Life of Mistress Katherine Stubs," by her husband, the celebrated Philip Stubs, was originally published in 1591, and went through many editions.] The Author observes, in the opening of the tract: "At fifteen years of age, her father being dead, her mother bestowed her in marriage upon one Master Philip Stubbes, with whom she lived four years and almost a half, very honestly and godly."

Richard Brome, in his play of "The Antipodes," act iii. sc. 2, mentions one of them in the following manner—

"A booke of the godly life and death
Of Mistress Katherine Stubs, which I have turn'd
Into sweet meetre, for the vertuous youth,
To woe an ancient lady widow with."

Again, Bishop Corbet in his "Iter Boreale," says—

"And in some barn hear cited many an author,
Kate Stubbs, Anne Ascue, or the Ladies Daughter."

[199] i.e., Been the mediator. The stickler now is called the sidesman. So in "Troilus and Cressida," act v. sc. 8—

"And, stickler-like, our armies separates."

Steevens.

[200] "Moot is a term used in the Inns-of-Court, and signifies the handling or arguing a case for exercise."—Blount.

For the regulations of Mooting and Reading-Days, see Dugdale's "Origines Juridiciales."

[201] This was Dr Matthew Sutcliff, Dean of Exeter, in the reign of King James I.; a person who had been one of the opponents of Parsons the Jesuit, in defence of the Reformed Religion. In the year 1616 he procured an Act of Parliament for incorporating himself and other divines to be provost and fellows of a college then founded at Chelsea, for promoting the study of polemic divinity, and vindicating the doctrines of the Reformation against all Popish writers. To carry this design into execution, he settled on the college four farms in Devonshire, of the value of £300 per annum, and the benefit of an extent on a statute, acknowledged by Sir Lewis Stukely, for £4000. By the Act of Parliament, the college was empowered to bring a stream of water from the river Lee for the use of the city of London a scheme similar to that then lately executed by Sir Hugh Middleton. This foundation, although patronised both by King James and his sons, Prince Henry and Charles I., yet fell to decay. One range of building only, scarce an eighth of the intended edifice, was erected by Dr Sutcliff, at the expense of £3000. After lingering some time, suits were commenced about the title to the very ground on which the college stood, and by a decree of the Court of Chancery, in the time of Lord Coventry, three of the four farms were returned to Dr Sutcliff's heir. See "The Glory of Chelsey Colledge Revived," by John Darly, 4o, 1662. Sutcliff's wit seems almost to have been proverbial. Beaumont, in his letter to Ben Jonson, says—

"'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliff's wit,
Lie where he will, and make him write worse yet."

ACT IV., SCENE I.

Credulous, Hearsay, Slicer.

Cre. My name's not Tribulation,
Nor holy Ananias:
I was baptiz'd in fashion,
Our vicar did hold bias.
Hear. What! how now, Master Credulous? so merry?
Cre. Come, let's be mad: by yea and nay, my son
Shall have the Turkish monarchy; he shall
Have it directly. The twelve companies
Shall be his kickshaws.
Hear. Bashaws, sir, you mean.
Cre. Well, sir, what if I do? Andrew the Great Turk?
I would I were a pepper-corn,[202] if that
It sounds not well. Does't not?
Slicer. Yes, very well.
Cre. I'll make it else great Andrew Mahomet,
Imperious Andrew Mahomet Credulous—
Tell me which name sounds best.
Hear. That's as you speak 'em.
Cre. Oatmealman Andrew! Andrew Oatmealman.
Hear. Ottoman, sir, you mean.
Cre. Yes, Ottoman.
Then, Mistress Jane, Sir Thomas Bitefig's daughter,
That may be the She-Great-Turk, if she please me.
Slicer. The sign o' th' half-moon, that hangs at your door
Is not for nought.
Cre. That's the Turk's arms, they say;
The empire's destin'd to our house directly.
Hang shop-books; give us some wine! Hey for a noise[203]
Of fiddlers now!
Hear. The Great Turk loves no music.
Cre. Does he not so? Nor I. I'll light tobacco
With my sum-totals; my debt-books shall sole[204]
Pies at young Andrew's wedding; cry you mercy,
I would say, gentlemen, the Great Turk's wedding.
My deeds shall be slic'd out in tailors' measures;
They all employed in making Mistress Mahomet
New gowns against the time. Hang dirty wealth!
Slicer. What should the Great Turk's father do with wealth?
Cre. 'Snigs, I would fain now hear some fighting news.

Enter Caster.

Slicer. There's one will furnish you, I warrant you.
Cas. Pox! plague! hell! death! damn'd luck! This 'tis!
The devil take all fortunes! Never man
Came off so: quite and clean defunct, by heaven!
Not a piece left.
Cre. What, all your ordnance lost?
Cas. But one to bear and lose it! All the world
Was, sure, against me.
Cre. 'Snigs, how many fell?
Cas. He threw twice twelve.
Cre. By'r Lady, a shrewd many!
Cas. The devil, sure, was in his hand, I think.
Cre. Nay, if the devil was against you, then——
Cas. But one for to be hit in all the time,
And that, too, safe enough, to any one's thinking:
'T stood on eleven.
Cre. 'Slid, a mighty slaughter;
But did he stand upon eleven at once?
Cas. The plague take all impertinences. Peace!
Cre. These soldiers are so choleric, there is
No dealing with 'em. Then they've lost the day?
Cas. 'Twas ten to one, by heaven, all the while.
Cre. And yet all kill'd at last! Hard fortune, faith!
What news from Brussels or the Hague? D' y' hear
Ought of the Turk's designs?
Cas. I'll make thee news for the Coranti, dotard.
Cre. Ay, the Coranti; what doth that say?
Cas. O hell! Thou foolish thing,
Keep in that tongue of thine; or——
Slicer. Good now, peace:
He's very furious when he's mov'd.
Hear. This 'twas.
You must be venturing without your fancy-man.
Cre. What officer's that fancy-man, lieutenant?
Some great commander, sure.
Cas. Pox! let it go;
I'll win't again: 'twas but the relics of
An idle hundred.
Cre. 'Snigs, and well-remember'd.
You did receive the hundred that I sent you
To th' race this morning by your man, my bailiff?
Cas. Take him away, his wine speaks in him now.
Cre. Godsnigs! the farm is mine, and must be so.
Slicer. Debate these things another time, good friends.

Enter Have-at-all.

Come, come, have patience. Od's my life, away!
There's Master Have-at-all is mad; he'll spit you
If he but know you are a usurer.
Cre. A plot, a plot, to take away my life and farm!

[Exit.

Have. Fight, as I live, with any one. Lieutenant,
Do not come near me now, nor yet thou, Caster:
It works, 'fore Mars, it works; I'll take my walk,
And if I do find any one, by Jove——

[Exit Have-at-all.[205]

Cas. What, 's he fox'd too? Some drunken planet reigns,
And works upon the world. Provide my fancy,
Good noble patron; I'll win soberly,
I itch till I have beggar'd all the city. [Exit Caster.
Hear. Till that you have undone yourself, you mean.

Enter Moth.

Moth. Ey save you both; for dern love sayen soothly
Where is thylk amebly franklin, cleped Meanwell?
Hear. He's gone abroad.
Moth. Lere me whylk way he wended.
Slicer. He is gone o'er the fields.
Hear. To the knight's house.
Moth. Why laugh you every dele? So mote I gone,
This goeth not aright; I dread some covin. [Exit Moth.
Slicer. Now will he meet with Have-at-all; there'll be
A combat worthy chronicle. Let's go,
And see how this grave motion[206] will bestir him. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Have-at-all: after a while, Moth; Slicer and Hearsay watching.

Have. What, no man yet march by? Whoe'er comes next,
I'll give him one rap more for making me
Stay here so long.

Enter Moth.

So, so, here he is; how shall
I do to know whe'r he be a gentleman,
Or yeoman, or servingman. I think
I'd best suppose him all, and beat him through
Every degree; and so I shall not wrong him.
What? Who goes there?
Moth. Waes-heal,[207] thou gentle knight.
Have. Waes-heal, thou gentle knight? Speak, what art thou?
Speak quickly do. Villain, know'st thou not me?
Moth. Now, by my troth, I know not your name;
Whider I shall call you my Lord Dan John,
Or Dan Thomas, or Dan Robert, or Dan Albon.
I vow to God thou hast a full fair chine.
Upon my faith, art some officer.
Have. Have you the pox, sir? speak.
Moth. No.
Have. No, nor yet
An ache in your bones?
Moth. No.
Have. No! why then you are
No gentleman; Lieutenant Slicer says so.
This cudgel then serves turn.
Moth. You will not foin,[208]
Have. I will not foin, but I will beat you, sir.
Moth. Why intermete[209] of what thou hast to done;[210]
So leteth me alone, 't shall be thy best.
Have. I fanci'd you a beating; you must have it.
You shall not say but I will show you favour:
Choose whether you will be hacked with my sword,
Or bruis'd by my battoon.
Moth. Dre not thy true
And poynant[211] morglay[212] out of shete. Lo, thus
Eftsoons, sir knight, I greet thee lowting low.
Have. Down lower yet.
Moth. Reuth[213] on my grey haires.
Have. Yet lower. So, then, thus I do bestride thee.
Moth. Tubal the sonne of Lamech did yfind
Music by knocking hammers upon anviles.
Let go thine blows; thylke art is no compleat.[214]
Have. Dost thou make me a smith, thou rogue? a Tubal?
Moth. Harrow[215] alas! Flet, Englond, flet, Englond!
Dead is Edmond.
Have. Take that for history.
O brave lieutenant, now thy dinner works!
Moth. I nis not Edmond Ironside, God wot.
Have. More provocation yet? I'll seal thy lips.
Moth. A twenty-devil way! So did the Saxon[216]
Upon thylke plain of Sarum done to death
By treachery the lords of merry Englond,
Nem esur Saxes.
Have. Villain, dost abuse me
In unbaptized language? Do not answer: [Moth entreats by signs.
If that thou dost, by Jove, I'll strangle thee.
Do you make mouths, you rascal, thus at me?
You're at dumb-service now. Why, this is more
Unsufferable than your old patch'd gibberish:
This silence is abuse. I'll send thee to
The place of it, where thou shalt meet with Oswald,
Vortigern, Harold, Hengist, Horsa, Knute,
Alured, Edgar, and Cunobeline. [Slicer, Hearsay step in.
Thus, thus I sheathe my sword.
Slicer. Redoubted knight
Enough: it is thy foe doth vanquish'd lie
Now at thy mercy. Mercy not withstand;
For he is one the truest knight alive,
Though conquer'd now he lie on lowly ground.
Have. Thou ow'st thy life to my lieutenant, caitiff:
Breathe and be thankful.
Moth. I rech[217] not thine yeft;[218]
Maugre[219] thine head; algate[220] I suffer none.
I am thine lefe, thine deere, mine Potluck Joan.

SCENE III.

Andrew, Priscilla.

And. Fairest of things, tralucent creature—Hang me,
If I do know what's next.
Pris. This meant to me?
And. Fairest of things, tralucent creature, rather,
Obscured deity—'Tis gone again.
Lady, will you eat a piece of gingerbread?
Pris. You might have better manners, than to scoff
One of my breeding.
And. Hark! Indeed I love you.
Pris. Alas!
And. I vow, I burn in love, as doth
A penny fagot.
Pris. Heigho!
And. And I shall
Blaze out, sir reverence, if ye do not quench me.
Pris. Indeed now?
And. Though I say't that should not say't,
I am affected towards you strangely.
Pris. Now,
Who'd have thought it?
And. There's a thing each night
Comes to my bed's head, and cries, Matrimony,
Matrimony, Andrew.
Pris. God forbid!
And. It is
Some spirit that would join us.
Pris. Goodly, goodly.
And. Then do I shake all over.
Pris. Doth it so?
And. Then shake again.
Pris. I pray you now.
And. Then cry,
Fairest of things, tralucent creature, rather,
Obscured deity, sweet Mistress Jane,
I come, I come.
Pris. Sweet sir, you are deceiv'd;
I'm but her woman. Here she comes herself.

Enter Mistress Jane.

And. Now, as my father saith, I would I were
A cucumber, if I know what to do.
Jane. Why, how now, Pris.? Who's that that useth you
So lovingly?
And. Fairest of things—'tis one
Tralucent creature—'tis—ay, that it is,
One——
Pris. That would willingly run out of doors,
If that he had but law enough.
And. I say——
Jane. Nay, ben't afraid; here's none shall do you harm.
And. 'Tis one that brought his pigs to the wrong market.
You keep your woman here so fine, that I
Had like t' have made a proper business on't,
Before I was aware. If anything
Do prove amiss, indeed, la, you shall be
The father on't. But know, tralucent creature,
I am come off entire, and now am yours,
Whole Andrew Credulous, your servant's servant.
Jane. Methinks you contradict yourself: how can you
Be wholly mine, and yet my servant's servant?
And. I do but compliment in that (I see
Downright's the best way here); if thou canst love,
I can love too. La, thee there, now! I'm rich.
Jane. I use not to look after riches; 'tis
The person that I aim at.
And. That is me:
I'm proper, handsome, fair, clean-limb'd—I'm rich.
Jane. I must have one that can direct and guide me:
A guardian rather than a husband; for
I'm foolish yet.
And. Now see the luck on't, lady;
So am I too, i' faith.
Jane. And whoe'er hath me,
Will find me to be one of those things, which
His care must first reform.
And. Do not doubt that;
I have a head for reformation:
This noddle here shall do it. I am rich.
Jane. Riches create no love: I fear you mean
To take me for formality only;
As some staid piece of household stuff, perhaps,
Fit to be seen 'mongst other ornaments:
Or, at the best, I shall be counted but
A name of dignity; not entertain'd
For love, but state; one of your train; a thing
Took to wipe off suspicion from some fairer,
To whom you have vow'd homage.
And. Do not think
I've any plots or projects in my head.
I will do anything for thee, that thou
Canst name or think on.
Pris. Pray you try him, mistress.
By my virginity, I think he'll flinch.
And. By my virginity (which is as good
As yours, I'm sure)—by my virginity,
If that we men have any such thing (as
We men have such a thing), I do believe
I will not flinch. Alas! you don't know Andrew.
Jane. Can you obtain but so much respite from
Your other sovereign's service, as to keep
Your eye from gazing on her for awhile?
And. If I do look on any woman—nay,
If I do cast a sheep's eye upon any
But your sweet self, may I lose one of mine!
Marry, I'll keep the other howsoe'er.
Jane. I know not how I may believe you: you'll
Swear you ne'er cast a glance on any, when
Your eye hath baited at each face you met.
And. Blind me, good, now: being you mistrust, I will
Be blinded with this handkerchief; you shall
See that I love you now. So, let me have
But any reasonable thing to lead me home,
I do not care, though't be a dog, so that
He knows the way, or hath the wit t' inquire it.
Jane. That care, sir, shall be mine. [Exeunt Jane and Priscilla.
And. I doubt not but
I shall be in the Chronicle for this,
Or in a ballad else. This handkerchief
Shall be hung up i' th' parish church, instead
Of a great silken flag to fan my grave:
With my arms in't, portray'd in good blue thread,
With this word underneath—This, this was he
That shut his eyes because he would not see.
Hold, who comes there?

Enter Meanwell, Shape.