Sir Thomas Bitefig, Meanwell, Constable, Watchmen.
[Exit Officer.
Enter Moth and Potluck, as man and wife.
[As the Watchmen go in and out about the
rooms, Hearsay, Slicer, and Shape,
mingle themselves with them, being accounted
watchmen, and so pass without discovery.
Enter 1st Watchman and Hearsay.
Enter 2d Watchman and Slicer.
Enter Constable and other Watchmen, and Shape among 'em, bringing in Credulous and Caster.
[Exit Officer.
Enter Have-at-all.
Enter Officers with Andrew, Priscilla, and the four that were taken at the window singing.
[Exeunt Credulous, Andrew, and Priscilla.
Enter Jane.
[Exeunt all but Shape, Hearsay, and Slicer.
Shape, Slicer, Hearsay.
[226] Adultery.
[227] See Note to "The Antiquary" [act iv., vol. 13].
[228] [i.e., All fours.]
[229] Change.
[230] Plenty, abundance.
[231] The story here alluded to is told in an old play, entitled "The Famous Chronicle of King Edward the first, sir-named Edward Longshankes, with his returne from the holy land. Also the life of Llevellen rebell in Wales. Lastly, the sinking of Queene Elinor, who sunck at Charing cross, and rose againe at Potters hith, now named Queene-hith. By George Peele." 4o, 1593, 1599. See also a ballad on the same subject in Evans's "Old Ballads," vol i. p. 237. [Peele's play is, of course, printed in his works by Dyce.]
[232] [The Constable's ideas had become confused, and he thought that Credulous, was taxing him with having been circumcised.]
[233] Take hold of him.—T.
[234] Decorated or adorned [in the forehead or brow.] So in Milton's "Penseroso"—
—Steevens (altered).
[235] Quick reward. [But it may be doubted, perhaps, if Cartwright did not intend blithe, i.e., glad or joyful.]
[236] i.e., A nuptial ditty: from Fescennia, or Fescennium, a town in Italy, where these kinds of songs were first practised.—Steevens.
[237] To bray, to pound, or grind small—
"Except you would bray christendom in a mortar, and mould it into a new paste, there is no possibility of a holy war."—Bacon. See Johnson's Dictionary, v. Bray.
It also means only to stamp with the feet: thus in Fortescue's "Foreste of Histories," 1571, fol. 68: "When Apelles his horse was brought into the place the other began to braie and stirre, as is their common usage."—Collier.
[238] This is intended to ridicule the Puritans of the times, who, on account of the severe censures of the Star Chamber, the greatness of the fines there, the rigorous proceedings to impose ceremonies, the suspending and silencing ministers for not reading in church "The Book of Sports," and other grievances, sold their estates, and settled in New England. The emigrations, on these accounts, at length became so general, that a proclamation was put forth in 1635 to stop those who had determined to follow their friends. It is remarkable that amongst those who were actually on shipboard, and prevented by the proclamation from proceeding on their voyage, were the patriot Hampden and his cousin Oliver Cromwell.
The London Chaunticleers. A Witty Comoedy, full of Various and Delightfull Mirth. Often Acted with Great applause, and never before Published. London, Printed for Simon Miller, at the Star in St. Pauls Churchyard. 1659. 4o.
This amusing and peculiar play has never hitherto been re-published from the original edition. It is a performance, as the title-page partly intimates, considerably older than the date of publication. Mr Halliwell ("Dictionary of Old Plays," 1860, p. 144) observes: "This piece is rather an interlude than a play; but it is curious, the characters being London criers.
"From a passage in the prologue we may perhaps infer that the production originally appeared during a visitation of the plague at London, and that it was first presented (the machinery required being simple enough) on some suburban or provincial stage. The metropolis was ravaged by pestilence in 1636, which is a not unlikely date for the composition and original presentation of 'The London Chanticleers.'"
The allusions to old usages, with the mention of many well-known ballads, and of some known no longer, contribute to give the present piece an interest and value of its own.
THE LONDON CHANTICLEERS.
Enter Heath, a broom-man.
Heath. Brooms, maids, brooms! Old boots or shoes! Come, buy my brooms!
Come, buy my broom, maids! Maids, did I say? Sure, there are none i' th' city; or, if there be any, they have forsworn my custom. All the brooms I have sold to-day would not sweep half the ground I have gone; and the money I have got will scarce buy ale enough to moisten my mouth after one cry. Sure, all the city are turned dustmen, and the whole corporation are of the company of Grobians. Women sweep their houses with their long coats, and men their shops with their scrubbed beards. There's no use of a besom now but to make rods of and sweep the children's backsides. 'Tis better killing men for eightpence a day, or hanging of 'em for thirteenpence halfpenny apiece, than follow this poor and idle life; 'tis easier canting out, A piece of broken bread for a poor man, than singing, Brooms, maids, brooms: come, buy my brooms! I should e'en go hang myself now if I were worth a halter; but who will spend a groat on't, when he may be hanged at free cost? I'll go rob the sheriff, and not leave him enough to hire an executioner for me; steal the judge's gown, that he may not come to the assizes, and poison the jury, that they may not bring me in guilty.
Enter Bristle.
Bris. Buy a save-all, buy a save-all; never more need. Come, buy a save-all! Buy a comb-brush or a pot-brush; buy a flint, or a steel, or a tinder-box.
Heath. O Bristle, welcome! I perceive by thy merry note, that there's music in thy pocket. What, dost jingle?
Bris. And I perceive by thy heavy countenance thy purse is light. Dost want coin?
Heath. Dost thou doubt that? Dost thou not see I'm sober? Do I swear or kick for asking, if I want money?
Bris. These are infallible signs indeed that thou dost want it.
Heath. I have been up this two hours, and have not visited one alehouse yet.
Bris. Nay, I am fully satisfied; but canst thou want money whilst thou hast fingers to tell it?
Heath. Why, wouldst have 'um made of loadstones, to draw all that comes nigh 'em?
Bris. Canst thou be poor, and have a tongue Nay, then, 'tis pity but thou shouldst be sent to the Mint thyself, and be stamped into farthings, to be bestowed on beggars! I'd dig to the Antipodes with my nails, but I'd find a mine; and, like the cripple, run up Paul's steeple, but I'd get the silver cock.
Heath. He had no legs to break if he had fallen, nor weight enough to crack his neck.
Bris. Nor thou wit enough to be hanged. Thou hadst rather be starved than break open a cupboard, and die a good poor man or an honest beggar, than a rich thief or a gentleman rogue. Thou thinkest it more commendable, I warrant, to be carried in a chair from constable to constable, with a warrant from the churchwardens; that thou art a poor man, and desirest their charity; that thou art willing to work, but art almost starved; hast half a dozen children, the eldest not above three years old, their mother having been dead this eight year; and such pitiful complaints, with as many tears as would drown all the victuals thou eat'st, than ride a mile or two in a cart, with the sheriff attending on thee! Thou believ'st that more may be gotten with a Good your (non-sense) Worship to every Jack than a Sirrah, deliver your purse to the best lord i' th' land; and all this grounded upon that precise axiom, "A little with honesty is better than a great deal with knavery."
Heath. Thanks, good Bristle, for thy counsel. I mean to be as perfect a pickpocket, as good as ever nipped the judge's bung while he was condemning him. Look to thy purse, Bristle, lest I practise on thee first. The fairies can't creep through a lesser keyhole than I. O, for a dead man's hand now! 'Tis as good as poppy-seed to charm the house asleep; it makes 'um as senseless as itself. Come, shall we turn knight-errants? Name the first adventure. Dost thou know no enchanted castle, no golden ladies in distress or imprisoned by some old giant usurer?
Bris. Stay a little, Heath. I have a design in my head that will outgo Don Quixote or Palmerin as far as they did the giants they overcame—a trick that shall load us with money without any fear of th' cart.
Heath. I'll be thy squire, though I fare no better than Sanch Pancha, and am tossed in a blanket.
Bris. Come, follow me. [Exeunt.
Enter Nancy Curdwell.
Curd. I have fresh cheese and cream; I have fresh cheese and cream. Heigho! But one suitor yet? Must my sheets lie smooth till I am wrinkled? Nay, then, I see beauty is not a cable-rope, to draw men's hearts after it, nor our mouths a mouse-trap, our tongues a lure, and lips a gin; our hairs are not fishing-lines, nor our noses hooks. These gudgeons will not swallow the bait that hangs there. Nay, we cannot catch these mermen, though our smocks were made of network, and we hung all o'er with looking-glasses. No, no; I see, when these buzzards look after mates, they wink and choose. I think I must have my nose turned into a bill, and write upon it, Here is a house to be let. I am but six-and-twenty years old, and that's young enough to play with a baby. O, how like the picture of Charity should I look with two sucklings at my breast!
Enter Budget, a tinker.
Bud. Have you any work for a tinker? Old brass, old pots, old kettles. I'll mend them all with a tara-tink, and never hurt your metal.—Here she is! Methinks she looks very smug upon me. Now to my 'ration. Most beautiful, fair and virtuous mistress, whose face is a burning-glass, and hath set me on fire. My sugar-plum and stewed-prune lady, whose fine sharp nose, like Cupid's darts, hath pricked me to the heart! Whiter than the curds thou sell'st, softer than the silk thou wearest, milder than the four-shilling beer thou drink'st! Venus, I believe, was a fresh cheese and cream woman, and, letting fall her pail, made the Milky Way, but yet came as far short of thee, my sweet, honey Nancy, as whey of butter-milk or skimmed milk of cream! O, that I were a worm to crawl on that face of thine, or a flea———
Curd. He'd bite me, sure?
Bud. To slip about thy neck. Do not, I pray, tread on me with the foot of disdain, lest thou crush my heart as flat as a pancake.
Curds. Pray, leave off your suit; I have no mind to marry; I'll always live a virgin.
Bud. What, and lead apes in hell? What pity would it be to see you chained to a monkey!
Curds. Or tied to you! [Aside.
Bud. O, do not frown! Each wrinkle is a grave to me, and angry look a death's-head. Do not despise me 'cause I am black and you so white; the moon wears beauty-spots, and the fairest ladies black patches. White petticoats are wrought with black silk, and we put black plums into white puddings.
Curd. But black-and-white ribbons are worn only at burials, never at weddings: and I would be loth my wedding-sheet should be my shroud, and my bed a grave. Therefore, pray, be gone, and come when I send for you.
Bud. Sweet sugar-candy mistress, grant me one thing before you go.
Curd. What is't?
Bud. Give me leave to vouchsafe one kiss on those sweet silken parchment-lips.
Curd. Take your farewell, you shall never kiss 'um again. [Kisses her, and blacks her mouth.
Bud. Thanks, pudding-pie Nancy. [Exit.
Curd. Faugh, how he stinks of smoke! Does he think I'll be his trull, and that he shall smutch my face thus with his charcoal nose? No, I'll see him burnt first! Out upon him, beggar, burnt-arse rogue, devil-tinker! I am afraid his ugly looks have soured my cream, and made all my cheese run to whey; but if he come to me again thus, I'll make him blue as well as black.
Enter Hanna Jenniting.