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Full text of "Early English poetry, ballads, and popular literature of the Middle Ages ;"

fornia 
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This book is DUE on last date stamped below 



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■ O^ ANGELES, CALIF, 



EARLY ENGLISH POETRY, 
BALLADS, 

AND POPULAR LITERATURE 
OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 

EDITED FROM ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPTS 
AND SCAI^CE PUBLICATIONS. 

"i f) J i 

VOL. V. 



LONDON. 
PRINTED FOR THE PERCY SOCIETY, 
T?\ T ki(;hai:ji.s, sr ^t^r{TI^s [.\nk 



M.DCCC.XLI. 



P ^ \ \ 1 
V-5 



CONTENTS OF VOL. V. 



kind-heart's dream, by henry CHETTLE. 1592. 

EDITED BY E. P. KIMBAtILT, ESQ. FIl. O., F.S.A. ETC. 

A knight's conjuring. by THOMAS DEKKEE. 
1607 

KDITK1> BY K. F. RIMBAULT, ESQ. FH. D., F.S.A. ETC. 

THE MEETING OF GALLANTS AT AN 
ORDINARIE. 1604. 

EDllKD UY J. O. HAI.LIWF.LL, ESQ. P.B.S., F.S.A. ETC. 

THE TWO ANGRY WOMEN OF ABINGDON, BY 
H. PORTER. 1599. 

KDITKD HY TUK REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 



KIND-HEART'S DREAM. 



KIND-HEART'S DREAM: 



CONTAINING 



FIVE APPARITIONS WITH THEIR INVECTIVES 
AGAINST ABUSES REIGNING. 



HENRY CHETTLE. 
dfrom ii)t original Jjlach-lctter Cvact 

PRINTED (wiTHOtlT date) IN 1592. 



EDITED BY 



EDWARD F. RIMBAULT, ESQ. 



LONDON : 
REPRINTED FOR THE PERCY SOCIETY, 

BY C. RICHARDS, ST. MARTINS LANE. 
MDCCCXLI. 



COUNCIL 



Cf)e f eirp ^cici>tL>* 



President. 
The Et. Hon. LORD BRAYBROOItE, F.S.A. 

THOMAS AMYOT, Esq. F.RS. Tee as. S.A. 
WILLIAM HENRY BLACK, Esq. 
J. A. CAHUSAC, Esq. F.S.A. 
WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq. F.S.A. Treasurer. 
JOHN PAYNE COLLIER, Esq. F.S.A. 
T. CROFTON CROKER, Esq. F.S.A. M.R.l.A. 
REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, Esq. F.RS. M.R.l.A. 
G. P. R. JAMES, Esq. 

WILLIAM JERDAN, Esq. F.S.A. M.R.S.L. 
CHARLES MACKAY, Esq. 
T. J. PETTIGREW, Esq. F.R.S. F.S.A. 
E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq Secretary. 
JAMES WALSH, Esq. 
THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq. M.A. F.S.A. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Among the numerous reprints which from time 
to time have been presented to the pubhe, it is 
somewhat surprising that the following curious 
tract has hitherto escaped notice. Under the 
title of a " Dreame" the author has brought to- 
gether certain personages who describe with great 
spirit and humour the vices and hidden practices 
of various classes during the latter part of the 
sixteenth century. The interesting notices of 
Greene, Marlow, Tarlton, and our immortal poet, 
Shakespeare, will, no doubt, render it an accept- 
able present to all who take interest in the early 
dramatic history of this country. 

The original tract is of the greatest rarity, and 
does not appear in any of our great collectors'* 
catalogues. I am only aware of the existence of 
three copies — two at Oxford, in the Bodleian and 
Malone Collection ; and that from which the 
following transcript has been taken, in the King's 
Library, British Museum. 

Of the author, Henry Chettle, very little is 
known. He was a dramatic poet of some celebrity, 
and according to the list of plays given by Malone 



from Henslowc's Diary, was concerned between 
the years 1597 and 1603 in tlie production of 
forty plays, only four of which have come down 
to us." 

It is, however, more than probable that he was 
a writer for the stage at a much earlier period. 
Meres mentions him in his " Palladis Tamia," 
15.98, as one of "the best for comedy;" which he 
would hardly have done had Chettle just then 
commenced his dramatic career. We are ignorant 
of the time and place of his birth or death, and of 
the manner in which he obtained his living. It 
has been conjectured from a letter of his addressed 
to Thomas Nash, and printed by the latter in his 
" Have with you to Saffron- Walden," 1596, with 
the signature " your old compositor," that he was, 
at an early period of his life, a printer, and, from 
his connection with literary men in that capacity, 
first induced to turn his attention to authorship. 
This conjecture is worthy of some consideration, 
and derives additional support from the fact that 
in the year 1591 Chettle became a partner in the 
printing trade with William Hoskins and John 



* The list given by Malone might probably be extended. 
I am happy to see that it is the intention of the " Shakespeare 
Society" to print Hcnslowe's Diaiy entire, under the al)le super- 
intendence of Mr. Collier. A more acceptable volume could 
not be oHcred to its members. 



Danter,* but, having only found one work bearing 
his name in the imprint, in conjunction with those 
of his partners, I am induced to believe that he 
did not long continue in that occupation. 

In 1608 he published a tract upon the death of 
Queen Elizabeth, entitled " England's Mourning 
Garment," wherein he speaks of himself as having 
been "young almost thirty years ago," and as 
having been a witness of what passed at Court 
at that period. If, therefore, we suppose him to 
have been fifty when he wrote the above-mentioned 
work, he would have been five-and-twenty in the 
year 15 78; thus leaving some ground for Ritson''s 
conjecture that he was an author as early as that 
year ; although it must be borne in mind that a 
poetical tract assigned to him under that date is 
quite as likely to have been the production of 
Henry Constable, Henry Cheeke, or Henry Cam- 
pion, the initials of all being the same; and initials 
only attest the authorship. It may be remarked 
that in Webbe's "Discourse," 1586, and Putten- 
hanfs " Art of English Poesie," 1589, Chettle is 
not mentioned. 

Henslowe'slist of plays, as discovered and printed 
by Malone, begins in October 1597; and the 
first mention of our author's name is in Februarv 



* Seo Ames' Ti/poi/iaphical Aniiijidiies, 1>y Herbert, ii, 
1113. 



1 0.97-8 : between that date and March 1602-3, a 
period of little more than five years, he wi'ote, or 
assisted in writing, all the dramatic pieces with 
which his name is now associated. 

It is probable that Chettle died in or before the 
year 1607, when Dekker published his tract en- 
titled " A Knights Conjuring, Done in earnest. 
Discovered in Jest." He is there introduced in 
company with other dramatic poets in the Elysian 
fields. " Marlow, Greene, and Peele, had got 
under the shades of a large vyne, laughing to see 
Nash (that was but newly come to their colledge), 
still haunted with the sharpe and satyricall spirit 
that followed him heere upon earth : for Nash 
inveyed bitterly (as he had wont to do) against 
dry fisted patrons, accusing them of his untimely 
death, because if they had given his Muse that 
clierishment which shee most worthily deserved, 
he had fed to his dying day on fat capons, burnt 
sack and suger, and not so desperately have 
ventur''de his life, and shortend his dayes by 
keeping company with pickle herrings." He is 
asked "what newes in the world?" and " how poets 
and players agreed now?" Nash answers, "as 
phisitions and patients agree; for the patient loves 
his doctor no longer then till he get his health, 
and the player loves a poet so long as the sicknesse 
lyes in the two-pennie gallery, when none will 



XI 

come into it: nay (saves ho) into so lovvc a 
niiscrio, (if not contempt), is the sacred Arte of 
Poesie fahie, that tlio a wryter (who is worthy to 
sit at the table of the Sunne), wast his braines to 
carno applause from the more worthie spirits, yet 
when he has done his best, hee workes but like 
Ocnus, that makes ropes in hell ; for as hee twists, 
an asse stands by and bites them in sunder, and 
that asse is no other than the audience with hard 
hands. He had no sooner spoken this, but in 
comes Chettle, sweating and blowing, by reason of 
his fatnes; to welcome whom, because hee was an 
old acquaintance, all rose up, and fell presentlie 
on their knees, to drink a health to all the Lovers 
of Helliconr 

Independently of his dramatic productions, the 
works of our author are not very considerable, even 
if we give him full credit for all that bibliographers 
have thought proper to class under his name. 
According to Ritson, we are to consider as his 
earliest work, a translation of a poetical tract en- 
titled " The Pope"'s pittiful Lamentation for the 
Death of his deere Darling, Don Joan of Austria, 
and Death's Answer to the same. With an 
Epitaphe upon the Death of the said Don Joan. 
Translated after the French printed copy, by 
H. C" 1578. Mr. Haslewood has given a descrip- 
tion of this translation in the " Censura Litcra- 
ria," vol. x. p. 6, ed. 1815. 



In the library of the Society of Antiquaries, is 
preserved " A Dolefull Ditty, or Sorowfull Sonet, 
of the Lord Darly, Nevew to the Noble and Wor- 
thy King, King Henry the Eight ; and is to be 
song to the tune of Black and Yellowe." (Licensed 
March, 24th 1579). From the initials, H. C, at 
the end of this broadside, Ritson has included it 
in the list of Chettle's poetical works (Bibl. Poet. 
159). It has been reprinted by Mr. Park, in tho 
tenth volume of the " Harleian Miscellany," who 
also gives it to Chettle ; but it may with far greater 
likelihood be assigned to Henry Constable. 

A poetical volume of the same date, entitled 
" The Forest of Fancy, wherein is conteined very 
prety apothegraes, and pleasaunt histories, both in 
meeter and prose, &c,*" is also included in Ritson's 
list. Malone attributes it to Henry Cheeke, and 
Warton to Henry Constable; but it is quite as 
likely to be the work of some other hand. 

" Piers Plainnes Seaven Yeres Prentiship," 
1595, "England's Mourning Garment," 1603, and 
the tract now reprinted, are the only works (ex- 
cepting his dramatic ones) that can positively be 
identified as the productions of Henry Chettle, 
The first is of the greatest rarity, and will at some 
future time form a companion to the present re- 
print. Tho second, an extremely well written and 
interesting tract, containing notices of contempo- 



rary poets, has already been reprinted in the Har- 
leian Miscellany. The following pamphlet was 
printed without date; but we are enabled to fix 
the precise time of its publication from a passage 
in the address " To the Gentlemen Readers" — 
" About three moneths since, died M. Robert 
Greene." Greene died in September 1592, and 
before the close of the year "Kind Harts Dreame" 
was given to the public. 

We learn also from the same address, that 
Chettle was the editor of Greene's posthumous 
work " The Groats- Worth of Wit," which was 
printed in the interim between Greene's death* 
and the publication of the following work. It 
was given out by the public to be the production 
of the celebrated prose satirist Thomas Nash. 
Nash, however, appears to have been highly indig- 
nant at the report, and in his "" Pierce Pennilesse 
his Supplication to the Diuell," printed in the 
same year, exclaims, " Other newes I am aduer- 
tised of, that a scald, triuiall, lying pamphlet, cald 
Greene's Groats-wortJi of Wit, is given out to be 
of my doing. God neuer haue care of my soule, 
but vtterly renounce me if the least word or sil- 
lable in it proceeded from my pen, or if I were 



* It was entered in the Stationers' Registers for William 
Wiighte, on the 20th of Sejiteniber, 1592. — Chalmers' Sup- 
plemental Apoloyy, p. 272. 



XIV 



any way priuie to the writing or printing of it." 
Chettle also denies that he had any hand in the 
work, further than that of preparing it for the 
press." " I protest," he exclaims, " it was all 
Greene's, not mine, nor Maister Nashes, as some 
vnjustly have affirmed." This denial on his part 
was called for by the circumstance of " one or two 
persons," pointed at in the address " To those 
gentlemen, his quondam acquaintance, that spend 
their wits in making plays," feeling offended by 
the allusions to them, and suspecting that they 
were the forgeries of Greene's editor. Chettle 
furthermore says, "with neither of them that take 
offence was I acquainted, and with one of them I 
care not if I neuer be." This is supposed to 
allude to Marlow. The other, whose "demeanor" 
was " no lesse ciuill than he exclent in the qualitie 
he professes," can allude to no one but our im- 
mortal poet Shakespeare. 

Shakespeare was just then rising into notice; 
and we know from various sources that he was 
employed in adapting and altering the productions 
of Nash, Greene, and other unprincipled compa- 
nions — a circumstance which drew down upon 
him their hatred and abuse. The attack made 
upon him by the dissipated Greene, when on his 
dying bed, called forth the interesting testimony 
to his character, which appears in the following 



XV 



pages, — a testimony of great importance, when 
we consider that it came from one who, by his 
own account, was unacquainted with the object of 
his praise, and who coukl have had no motive for 
his assertion but a desire to do justice to him, 
to whom unknowingly he had given offence. 

Kind-Hart, the person employed to deliver the 
" Invectives" to the world, appears to have been 
an itinerant tooth-drawer frequently mentioned 
by writers of the period. Samuel Rowlands 
notices him in his humorous collection of satires 
and epigrams, entitled " The Letting of Humours 
Blood in the Head Vaine," 1600 : — 

" This is the Jew, alyed ueiy near 
Vnto the broker, for they both do beare 
Viidoubted testimonies of their kinne ; 
A brace of rascals m a league of sinne : 
Two filthy curres, that will on no man fawne, 
Before they taste the sweetnesse of the pawiie. 
And then the slaues will be as kind forsooth, 
Not as Kind-heart, in drawing out a tooth ; 
For he doth ease the patient of his paine. 
But they disease the borrower of his gaine." 

The stage-keeper, in the Induction to Ben Jon- 
son's " Bartholomew Fayrc," (first acted in 1614), 
when expressing his fear of the author's success, 
says ; — " Hee has ne're a sword and buckler man 
in his fayre, nor a little Dauy, to take toll o' the 
bawds there, as in my time ; nor a Kind-heart, if 



any bodies teeth should chance to ake in his play." 
He is also alluded to by Fletcher, in his " Maid 
in the Mill," 1623, and by Rowley, in his " New 
Wonder, a Woman never vext," 1632. 

The five apparitions who appear before the 
dreamer with their " invectives against abuses 
raigning," are Anthony Now Now, an itinerant 
fidler ; Dr. Burcot, a foreign physician ; Robert 
Greene, the dramatic poet ; Tarlton, the celebrated 
comedian ; and William Cuckoe, a noted juggler 
and professor of legerdemain. The "bills" are 
first offered by the apparitions to the "Carrier of 
Pierce Penniless packet to Lucifer," and after 
being refused by him, they are delivered into the 
hands of Kind-Hart^ who is charged to awake 
from his dream and publish them to the world. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

CONTEINING FIUE APPARITIONS WITH THEIR 

INUECTIUES AGAINST ABUSES RAIGNING. 

DELIUERED BY SEUERALL GHOSTS YNTO HIM TO 

BE PUBLISHT, AFTER PIERS PENILESSE POST 

HAD REFUSED THE CARRIAGE. 

Invitn Inuidi/p. 
By II. C. 



Imprinted at London for Willinm Wright. 



TO THE GENTLEMEN READERS. 



It hatli beene a custome, Gentlemen, (in niy mind 
commendable) among former authors (whose workes 
are no lesse beautified with eloquente phrase than 
garnished with excellent example) to begin an exor- 
dium to the readers of their time; much more conue- 
nient, I take it, should the writers in these daies (wherein 
that grauitie of enditing, by the elder exercised, is not 
obseru'd, nor that modest decorum kept which they 
continued) submit their labours to the fauourable cen- 
sures of their learned ouersecrs. For, seeing nothing 
can be said that hath not been before said, the sin- 
gularitie of some mens conceits (otherwayes excellent 
well deseruing) are no more to be soothed, than the 
peremptorie posies of two very suificient Translators 
commended. To come in print is not to seeke 
praise but to craue pardon : I am vrged to the 
one, and bold to begge the other ; he that offendes, 
being forst, is moi'e excusable than the Avilfull faultie ; 
though both be guilty, there is ditFerence in the guilt. 
To obserue custome, and auoid as I may, cauill, of)posing 
your fauors against my feare, He shew reason for my 
present writing, and after proceed to sue for pardon. 

b2 



About three moneths since died M. Robert Greene, 
leaning many papers in sundry Booke sellers hands, 
among other his Groats-worth of wit, in which, a letter 
written to diners play-makers, is offensiuely by one or 
two of them taken, and because on the dead they can- 
not be auenged, they wilfuUy forge in their conceites a 
liuing author : and after tossing it to and fro, no re- 
medy, but it must light on me. How I haue, all the 
time of my conuersing in printing, hindred the bitter 
inueying against schollers, it hath been very weU knowne, 
and how in that I dealt I can sufficiently prooue. 
With neither of them that take offence was I acquainted, 
and with one of them I care not if I neuer be : the 
other, whome at that time I did not so much spare, as 
since I wish I had, for that as I haue moderated the 
heate of liuing writers, and might haue vsde my owne 
discretion (especially in such a case) the author being 
dead, that I did not, I am as sory, as if the originall 
fault had beene my fault, because myselfe haue scene 
his demeanor no lesse ciuill than he exclent in the 
qualitie he professes : besides, diuers of worship haue 
reported his vprightness of dealing, Avhich argues 
his honesty, and his facetious grace in writting, that 
aprooues his art. For the first, whose learning I re- 
uerence, and, at the perusing of Greenes booke, stroke 
out what then, in conscience I thought, he in some 
displeasure writ : or had it beene true, yet to publish 
it was intoUerable : him I would wish to vse me no 
worse than I deserue. I had onely in the copy this 
share, it was il written, as sometime Greenes hand was 



none of the best, licensd it must be, ere it could bee 
printed, which could neuer be if it might not be read. 
To be briefe, I writ it ouer, and, as neare as I could, 
followed the copy, onely in that letter I put something 
out, but in the whole booke not a word in, for I protest 
it was all Greenes, not mine nor Maister Nashes, as 
some vniustly haue affirmed. Neither was he the 
writer of an Epistle to the second part of Gerileon, 
though, by the workemans error, T. N. were set to the 
end : that I confesse to be mine, and repent it not. 

Thus, gentlemen, hauing noted the priuate causes 
that made me nominate my selfe in print ; being, as 
well to purge Master Naslie of that he did not, as to 
iustifie what I did, and withall to confirme what M. 
Greene did : I beseech yee accept the publicke cause, 
which is both the desire of your delight and common 
benefite : for, though the toye bee shadowed vnder the 
title of Kind-hearts dreame, it discouers the false 
hearts of diuers that walie to commit mischiefe. Had 
not the former reasons been, it had come forth without 
a father : and then should I haue had no cause to feare 
offending, or reason to sue for fauour. Now am I in 
doubt of the one, though I hope of the other ; which 
if I obtaine, you shall bind me hereafter to be silent 
till I can present yee with some thing more acceptable. 

ITknrtk Chettle. 



KIND-HARTES DEDICATION OF HIS DREAME, 

TO ALL THE PLEASANT CONCEITED 

WHERSOEVER. 



Gentlemen and good fellowes, (whose kindnes hauing 
christened mee with the name of Kind-heart bindes 
me in all kind course I can to deserue the continuance 
of your loue) let it not seeme strange (I beseech ye) 
that he, that all dales of his life hath beene famous for 
di'awing teeth, should now, in drooping age, hazard 
contemptible infamie by drawing himselfe into print. 
For such is the foUy of this age, so witlesse, so auda- 
cious, that there ai'e scarce so manye pedlers brag 
themselues to be printers because they haue a bundel 
of ballads in tlieir packe, as there be idiots that think 
themselues artists because they can English an obli- 
gation, or write a true staffe to the tune of fortune. 
This foUy, raging vniuersally, hath infired me to write 
the remembrance of sundry of my deceased frends, 
personages not altogether obscure, for then were my 
subiect base, nor yet of any honourable carriage, for 
my stile is rude and bad : and, to such as I, it belongs 
not to iest with gods. Kind-hart would haue his com- 
panions esteeme of estates as starres, on whom meane 
men maye looke, but not ouer-looke. I haue heard of 



an eloquent orator, that trimly furnished with warres 
abiliments, had on his shield this motto, Bona fortuna : 
yet, at the first meeting of the enimy, fled without fight. 
For which being reprooued, he replied ; If I haue saued 
my selfe in this battell by flight, I shaU Hue to chase 
the enimy in the next. So, gentlemen, fares it with 
mee. If enuious misconsterers arme themselues against 
my simple meaning, and wrest euery lest to a wrong 
sense, I thinke it policy to fly at the first fight, tiU I 
gather fresh forces to represse their foUy. Neither 
can they, what euer they be, deale hardly with Kind- 
hart, for he onely deliuers his di-eame, with euery 
apparition simply as it was vttered. It's fond for them 
to fight against ghosts : it's fearefuU for me to liide an 
apparition: by concealing it I might doe myselfe harme 
and them no good ; by reuealing it ease my hart and 
doe no honest men hurt : for the rest (although I would 
not willingly moue the meanest) they must beare as I 
doe, or mend it as they may. Well, least ye deeme all 
my dreame but an epistle, I wiU proceed to that..vinth- 
out any further circumstance. 



THE DREAME. 



Sitting alone not long since, not far from Finsburie, 
in a taphouse of antiquity, attending the comming of 
such companions as might wash care away with carow- 
sing, Sleepe, the attendant vpon a distempred body, 
bereft the sunnes light by couering mine eies with her 
sable mantle, and left me in nights shade though the 
dales eie shinde ; so powerfull was my receiued potion, 
so heauie my passion : whence (by my hostisse care) 
being remoued to a pleasant parlox-, the windowes 
opening to the east, I was laid softly on a downe bed, 
and couered with equall furniture, where, how long I 
slept quietly I am not well assured, but, in the time I 
in+ .".ed to rest, I was thus by visible apparitions dis- 
turbd. 

P'irst, after a harsh and confused sound, it seemed 
there entered at once hue personages, seuerally attired, 
and diuersly qualified, three bearing instruments, their 
fauours pleasant; two appearing to be artists, their 
countenances reuerend. 

The first of the first three was an od old fellow, low 
of stature, his head was couered with a round cap, his 
body with a side skirted tawney coate, his legs and 
feete trust vppe in leather buskins, his gray haires and 



10 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

furrowed face witnessed kis age, his treble violl in liis 
hande assured me of his profession. On which (by 
his continuall sawing hauing left but one string) after 
his best manner, hee gaue me a huntsvp : whome, after 
a little musing, I assuredly remembred to be no other 
but old Anthony Now now. 

The next, by his sute of russet, his buttond cap, his 
taber, his standing on the toe, and other tricks, I knew 
to be either the body or resemblance of Tarlton, who, 
lining, for his pleasant conceits was of all men liked, 
and dying, for mirth left not his like. 

The third (as the first) was an olde fellowe, his beard 
milkewhite, his head couered with a round lowe crownd 
rent silke hat, on which was a band knit in many 
knotes, wherein stucke two round stickes after the 
juglers manner. His ierkin was of leather cut, his 
cloake of three coulers, his hose paind with yellow 
drawn out with blew, his instrument was a bagpipe, 
and him I knew to be William Cuckoe, better knowne 
than lou'd, and yet, some thinke, as well lou'd as he was 
worthy. 

The other two had in their countenances, a reuerent 
grace, the one which was the elder, seeming more se- 
uere, was in habite like a doctor, in his right liand hee 
helde a compendium of all the famous phisitions and 
surgions workes beelonging to Theorike, in his lefte 
hande a table of all instruments for mans health ap- 
pertaining to practise. 

At the sight of this doctor, you may thinke, gentle- 
men, Kind-hart Avas in a piteous case : for I verily be- 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 11 

leeued he had beene some rai-e artist that, taking me 
for a dead man, had come to anatomize me, but, taking 
comfort that my thrumde hat had hanging at it the en- 
signes of my occupation, like a tall fellow (as to me it 
seemed) I lookte him in the face and behelde him to 
bee Maister Doctor Burcot (though a stranger, yet in 
England for phisicke famous.) 

With him was the fifth, a man of indifferent yeares, 
of face amible, of body well proportioned, his attire 
after the habite of a scholler-like gentleman, onely his 
haire was somewhat long, whome I supposed to be 
Robert Greene, maister of Artes : of whome (liowe 
euer some may suppose themselues iniured) I haue 
learned to speake, considering he is dead, nill nisi ne- 
cessarium. 

He was of singuler pleasaunce, the verye supporter, 
and, to no mans disgrace bee this intended, the only 
comedian, of a vulgar writer, in this country. 

"Well, thus these fine appeared, and by them, in post, 
])ast a knight of the post, whome in times past I haue 
seen as highly promoted as the pillory: but, I haue 
heard since, he was a diuell that plaide the Cariar of 
Pierce Penilesse packet to Lucifer, and was now re- 
turning to contaminate the ayre with his pestilent 
periuries and abhominable false witnesse bearing. 

How Pierce his supplication pleased his patron I 
know not, but sure I take it this friend had a foule 
check for meddling in the matter : for, when all these 
fine before named had made profer of seuerall bills in- 
uoctiuc against abuses raigning, tliis deuclish messenger 



12 KIND-IIARTS DREAME; 

repvilsed them wrathfully, and bad them get some other 
to bee their packet bearer if they list, for he had almost 
hazarded his credit in heU by being a bi'oker betweene 
Pierce Penilesse and his lord: and so, without hearing 
their reply, flew from them like a whirle wind. "With 
that (after a small pause) in a round ring they com- 
passed my bed, and thrusting into my hand all their 
papers, they at once charged mee to awake and pub- 
lish them to the world. 

This charge seemed to mee most di-eadfuU of all the 
di'eame ,because, in that, the distinguishing of their se- 
ueraU voices was heard, farre from the frequent manner 
of mens speech. In fine, Cuckoe with his pipes, and 
Antony with his crowd, keeping equaU equipage, first 
left my sight ; Tarlton with his tabor, fetching two or 
three leaden friskes, shortly followed, and the Doctor 
and Maister Greene immediately vanished. 

With this (not a little amazed, as one from a trance 
reviued) I rouzd vp my selfe : when sodainly out of 
my hand feU the fiue papers, which confirmed my 
dreame to bee no fantisie. Yet, (for that I knew the 
times are daungerous) I thought good aduisedly to read 
them, before I presumed to make them publick. So 
by chance lighting first on Antony Nownowe, I found, 
on the outside, as follows on the other side. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 13 



THE FRIENDLY ADMONITION OF ANTHONIE NOW NOW TO MOPO 

AND PICKERING, ARCH-OUERSEERS OF THE BALLAD SINGERS, 

IN LONDON OR ELSE-WHERE. 

Anthony Now now, a God's blessing, to his louing and 
lining bretheren Mopo and Pickering, greeting: whereas, 
by the daily recourse of infinit numbers to the infernall 
regions, whose plaintes to be heard are no lesse lament- 
able, then their paines to be felt intollerable, I am 
giueu to vnderstand that there be a company of idle 
youths, loathing honest labour and dispising lawfuU 
trades, betake them to a vagrant and vicious life, in 
euery corner of cities and market townes of the reahne 
singing and selling of ballads and pamphletes full of 
ribaudi'ie and all scurrilous vanity, to the prophanation 
of God's name, and with-di-awing people from Chris- 
tian exercises, especially at faires, markets and such 
publike meetings ; I humbly desire ye that ye ioyne 
Avith another of your bretheren free of one citie and 
profession, that, alwaies delighting in godly songes, is 
now in his age betaken to his beads, and liueth by the 
dolefull tolling of Deaths bell warning. Deere frendes, 
I beseech you ioyntly to agree to the suppressing of 
the fore named idle vagabonds. And, that I right 
incite (as I hope) your forward effectes, I will particu- 
larize the difference betweene the abused times among 
you reputed, and the simplicity of the daies wherein I 
liued. Withall I wish ye to expect no greater matter 
then Anthonyes capacity can comprehend. When I 
was liked, there was no thought of that idle vpstart 



14 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

generation of Ijallad-singers, neither was there a prin- 
ter so lewd that would set finger to a lasciuious line. 
But I perceiue the times are changed, and men are 
changed in the times. For, not long since, a number of 
children were bolstered, by some vnworthy citizens and 
other free men in townes corporate, to exercise a base 
libertine life in singing anye thing that came to hand 
from some of the Diuels instruments, intruders into 
printings misterie, by whome that excelent art is not 
smally slandered, the gouernment of the estate not a 
little blemished, nor religion in the least measure hin- 
dred. And, to shut vp al in the last, is it not lament- 
able that after so many callings, so many blessings, so 
many warnings, through the couetous desire of gaine 
of some two or three, such a flocke of Run-agates 
should ouerspread the face of this land as at this time 
it doth. They that intend to infect a riuer poison the 
fountaine, the basiliske woundeth a man by the eie, 
whose light first failing, the body of force descends to 
darknes. 

These basilisks, these bad minded monsters, brought 
forth like vipers by their mothers bane, with such las- 
ciuious lewdnes haue first infected London, the eie of 
England, the head of other cities, as, what is so lewd 
that hath not there, contrary to order, beene printed, and 
in euery streete abusiuely chanted ! This error (ouer 
spreding the realme) hath in no small measure increased 
in Essex and the shires thereto adjoyning, by the blush- 
lesse faces of certaine babies, sonnes to one Barnes, 
most frequenting Bishops Stafford, The olde felloAV 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 15 

tlieir father soothing his sonnes folly, resting his crabbed 
limes on a crab-tree stafFe, was wont, and I thinke yet 
he vses, to seuer himself from the booth, or rather 
brothell, of his two sons ballad shambels: where the 
one in a sweaking treble, the other in an ale-blowen 
base, carowle out such adultrous ribaudry as chast 
eares abhore to heare, and modestie hath no tongue to 
vtter. 

While they are in the rutfe of ribaudrie, (as I was 
about to say) the olde ale-knight, their dad, breakes out 
into admiration, and sends stragling customers to 
admire the roaring of his sonnes : where, that I may 
showe some abuses, and yet, for shame, let slip the most 
odious, they heare no better matter but the lasciuious 
vnder songs of Watkins Ale, the Carmans WJiistle, 
Choping kniues, and Frier Foxtaile, and that with such 
odious and detested boldnes, as, if there be any one 
line in those lewd songs than other more abhominable, 
that with a double repetition is lowdly bellowed, as for 
example of the Frier and the Nunne. 

He u'hipt her with a foxes (aile, Barnes minor, 
And he whipt her with n foxes taile, Baknes maior. 

O braue boies, saith Barnes maximus. The father 
leapes, the lubers roare, the people runne, the diuell 
laughs, God lowers, and good men weepe. Nay, no 
sooner haue the godly preachers deliuered wholesome 
doctrine, but these impes of iniquitie, and such as imi- 
tate their order, draw whole heapes to hearken to their 
in([uinated cries, as if they were heardes of the Ger- 



16 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

gishites swine ready to receiue whole legions of sonle- 
drowning spirites. 

Stephen, Mopo, and Pickering, I muse you make no 
complaint to those worshipfull that haue authority to 
restraine such straglers, for this is to be proued, of 
whome soeuer they buy them, that these two Barnes 
vtter more licentious songs then all that part of Eng- 
land beside. 

Shamefull it is, (had they any shame) that men 
brought vppe to an honest handicraft, of which the 
realme more need then iygging vanities, should betake 
them to so impudent a course of life. The rogue that 
liueth idly is restrained, the fidler and plaier that is 
maisterlesse is in the same predicament, both these by 
the law are burned in the eare, and shall men more 
odious scape vnpunished ? 

It were to be wisht, if they will not be warnd, that as 
well the singers as their supporters were burned in the 
tongue, that they might rather be euer utterly mute, 
then the triumphers of so many mischiefes. Neither 
are these two alone in fault, though they stand worthely 
formost as Maloriim Duces, but besides them others, 
more then a good many, some as I haue heard say, 
taken to be apprentices by a wortlilesse companion (if 
it proue true that is of him reported) being of a wor- 
shipfull trade, and yet no stationer, who after a little 
bringing them vppe to singing brokerie, takes into his 
shop some fresh men, and trusts his olde seruantes of a 
two months standing with a dossen groates worth of 
l)allads. In which, if they prooue thrifty, hee makes 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 17 

them prety chapmen, able to spred more pamphlets by 
the state forbidden then all the bookesellers in London ; 
for only in this citie is straight search ; abroad, smale 
suspition, especially of such petty pedlers. Neither is 
he, for these flies only, in fault ; but the Gouerners of 
Cutpurse hall, finding that their company wounderfully 
inci'east, (howeuer manye of their beste workemen 
monthly miscaride at the three foot crosse) they tooke 
counsaile how they might find some new exercise to 
imploy their number. 

One of the ancieutest, that had beene a traueller, 
and, at Brainetree faire scene the resort to the stand- 
inges of the forenamed brethren, the sonnes of olde 
Barnes the Plummer ; chose out roaringe Dicke, Wat 
Wimbars, mim multis aliis of tune-able trebles that 
gathered sundry assemblies in diuers places; where, eyer 
a leaud songe was fully ended, some mist their kniues, 
some their purses, soome one thinge, soome another. 
And, alasse, who woulde suspecte my innocente youthes, 
that all the while were pleasinge rude people's eyes 
and eares with no les delectable noise then their 
ditties were delightsome : the one beeing too odious to 
bee read, the other too infectious to be heard. Well, 
howeuer they sung, it is like they shared ; for, it hath 
beene saide, they themselues bragge they gained their 
twenty shillinges in a day. Ah, brother Mopo, many 
a hard meale haue you made, and as many a time hath 
Curtell, your foure-footed traueiler, beene pincht for 
want of prouander, and yet at the weekes ende haue 
you hardly taken tenne shillinges. But, I persuade my 

c 



18 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

selfe, vovi gaine by your honest labour, aud they by 
legerdemaine. To teU you your owne miuries, by 
them eueiy whei-e oifered, neede not : to wish you to 
speake to them it bootes not. Therefore this is my 
counsaile, and let it be your course. Make humble 
suite to her majesties officers that they may bee hence- 
foorth prohibited : intreate the preachers that they in- 
uaye againste this vice, whiche, thoughe it seeme small 
to other abuses, yet, as a graine of mustard-seed, it 
encreases, and bringeth foorth more mischiefes then 
few wordes can expresse, or much diligence make 
voide. First, if there be any songes suffered in such 
publike sorte to be soong, beseech that they may 
either be such as yoiu* selues, that, after seauen yeares 
or more seruice, haue no other liuinge lefte you, out of 
pattent, but that poore base life, of it selfe too badde, 
yet made more beggerly by increase of nomber : or, 
at least, if any besides you be therto admitted, that it 
may be none other but aged and impotent persons : 
who, liuinge vpon charity, may the rather draw those 
that delight in good songs to liaue mercy on their 
neede. For, to sing publikely, is, by a kinde of toUera- 
tion, permitted only to beggai's, of which nomber it is 
not necessaiy to make them that haue scene no munber of 
yeares, nor are in the members of their bodies imperfect. 
Is it not absurde to see a long legd lubber pinned in a 
chayre, fedde with a dugge, dreste with a bibbe, and 
rockte in a cradle ? As vile it is that boyes, of able 
strength and agreeable capacity, should bee suffered to 
wrest fi-om the miserable asred the last refuge in their 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 19 

life (beggery excepted) the poore belpe of ballad-sing- 
ing. Many a crust bath old Anthony gotte by it, 
Mopo, beside other comfortes : but now, I heare, my 
blinde brother, that exercisde the base, is forced to lay 
his fiddle to pawne and trust onely to the two and 
thirtieth Psalme, and Job patience, for his poore belly- 
pinchinge pittaunce. Once againe I tourne raee, in 
your names, to the maiestrates and preachers of Lon- 
don, and, as to them, so to others else-where in the 
realme. Right-honorable, reuerend, or worshipfull, 
Anthony humbly desires you to looke into the leaud 
cause, that these wicked effects may fall. The people 
delighte to heare some new thinge : if these prophane 
ribauldi'ies were not, somewhat sauering of godlinesse, 
of policy, or, at the vtmost, of morrall witte, should be 
receiued. It is common that they Avhich haue capacitye, 
when they heare either diuinitye, lawe, or other artes, 
apply their memories to receiue them, and, as they haue 
conceiued they bringe foorth fruites : so fares it by the 
contrary, when they heare lasciuious surquedry, leud- 
nesse, impiety, they yeekl no other hariiest than they 
receiued seede : for who canne gather grapes of thornes, 
or figges of thistles ? It would bee thought the carman, 
that was woonte to whistle to his beastes a comfortable 
note, might as well continue his olde course, whereby 
his sound serued for a musicaU harmony in Gods eare ; 
as now profanely to follow jigging vanity, which can 
bee no better than odious before God, sith it is ab- 
hominable in the eares of good men. But all is one, 
they are suifrod, which makes tliem secure, and there 

c 2 



20 KIND -HARTS DUEAME. 

is no impietye but the baser flatter themselues in, 
because they are not more stricktly reprehended by 
their betters. If euery idle word shall be answeared 
for, how shall they escape that suffer whole dayes to 
bee consunide in abhominable brothelry. Well, at the 
handes of the sheapheard shall the flocke be challenged, 
there is a mercy that kisseth justice, euery other tol- 
leration is sinnefull and shamefuU. Heere Anthony 
now now ceases : knowing the superiours haue dis- 
cretion, vppon true information, to deale as beseemes 
them. I onely vrge my brother Mopo, S. P. and 
Pickeringe, to beseech that lasciuious singers may bee 
vtterlye supprest, as they will shew themselues to bee 
the men they should he; wherein if they faile, let them 
line euer in perpetuall pouertye, and fare at all tymes 
as harde as poore Mopo's cut did with his maister's 
countryman in Shorditch, till, by the force of his hin- 
der heeles, he vtterly vndid two milch maydens that 
had set vp a shoppe of Ale-di'apery. Subscribed 

Anthony now now a Gods blessing. 



Wlien I had read this I'abble, wherein I founde little 
reason, I laide it by, intendinge, at more time, to seeke 
out Mopo and his mentioned companions. The nexte 
paper I chaunced on, was that of Maister Doctor 
Burcot. 

The Siiperseription thus. 



KIND-HARTS UREA ME. 21 



TO THE IMPUDENT DISOREDITORS OF PHISICKES ART, EITHER 
SPEEDY AMENDMENT OR PUNISHJIENT. 

Iniurious enemies to arts, that liaue sought to make 
phisick, among common people, esteemed common, 
and chirurgeiy contemptible : to j^ou is this my breefe 
addressed, for, since I lefte the earth, commaunded by 
him that disposes of euery creature, I vnderstande 
soome greene-headed scoffers at my greene receipt, 
haue intennedled in matters more then they eonceiue, 
and, by that folly, effected much lesse than they pro- 
mised. It was lielde of olde for a principle, and not 
long since obserued as a custome, that, as the nightes 
battes, fore-runners of darknesse, neuer flickered in 
the streetes till the sunne was declinde, and then 
euery where blindly flapped in mennes faces ; so the 
owles of artes, blinde flinder-mise (as I may teanne 
them) confirming the old oracle : neuer shewe them- 
selues but in corners, giuing their rules for that they 
vnderstand not, to the losse of life, or man's dismem- 
bringe. Euery simple hath his vertue, euery disease 
his beginning : but the remedy riseth from the know- 
ledge of the cause. If any can (in naturall sencc) 
giue ease, they must be artistes that are able to search 
the cause, resist the disease, by prouiding remedies. 
How fares it then, blinde abusers of the blind, your 
blushles faces are so seasoned that you can in print, or 
publike writinges, open the skirtes of your shame, by 
promising sight to the blinde, sound ioyntes to the 
gowty, steady meml)ers to tlie })araletike, strong limmes 



22 KIND-IIAUTS DREAME. 

to the lame, quicke hearing to the deafe, sence to the 
franticke ? To begin with J. 0., one of your sight 
healers, was it not well handled by him Avhen a gen- 
tleman of good account, hauing onely a heate in one of 
his eies, hee like a kinde Christian perswaded the 
patient to recieve a water preseruatiue to the sound 
eie, that it miglit draw the humor from the first, when, 
in very truth, by his cunning hee so dealt, that not an 
eie was left in his head whereby hee might wel see, 
sauing that by the eye that was first sore he can with 
much adoo looke through a christall. Thus this cogging 
sight-giuer di-anke a hundred marke, and vtterly im- 
paired the paier's sight. 

O obscure knaue, worthy to bee so well knowne, 
that, thine eies being thrust out of thy head in a 
publike assembly, thou mighttest no more attempt to 
make blinde thy betters. There was a gentleman in 
the world troubled not long since with a paine in the 
foote; phisitions found it to be the gout; against which 
malady (promising no precise remedy, but onely to giue 
ease for the time) did their dailye indeuoicr, by defen- 
siues preuenting paine that would haue prooued ofien- 
siue. He, impatient of delay, forsooke all hopes of 
art, and deliuered ouer hys life into the hands of some 
of these trauelers that, by incision, are able to ease all 
atches. K a sensible man (conceiuing their tiranny 
on him vsed) should note their cuttings, drawings, 
corrosiuings, boxings, butcherings, they wold conclude, 
Non erat inter Siculos tormentu mattes. Yet, forsooth, 
who but these are welcome to diseased or endaungered 



KIND-llARTS DREAME. 23 

people ? The reason, they will vndertake to warrant 
Avhat no wise man can ; and if it happen, by strong 
coneeipt, some haue comfort, then, to the worlds Avonder, 
in olde wiues monuments are they remembered. Short 
tale to make, after many tortures, God gaue the gen- 
tleman ease by death. 

For the dead palsie there is a Avoman hath a des- 
perate drinke that either helpes in a yeare or killes in 
an hour. Beside shee hath a charme, that, mumbled 
thrice ouer the eare, together with oyle of Siiamnne 
(as she tearmes it) Avill make them that can heare but 
a little, heare in short time neuer a whit. But, aboue 
all, her medcine for the quartine ague is admirable : 
viz. A pinte of exceeding strong march beere, wherein 
is infused one drope of Aqua mirabiUs ; this, taken at 
a draught before the fit, is intollerable good ; and for a 
president let this serue. 

A gentlewoman about London, whose husband is 
heire of a right worshipful! house, was induced to take 
this drench from this Avise woman. For euery drop of 
that strong Avater she must haue twelue pence. A 
sponefull at the least was prizde at fortie shillings. 
Thus daily for almost a moneth she ministred. The 
gentlewoman, hauing still good hope, at last Avas put 
by her husband quite out of comfort for any good at 
this womans handes ; for he, by chance getting the 
deceiuers glasse, Avould needes poure out a spunefuU, 
Avhat euer he paid : she cried out, she could not spare 
it: all helpt not, he tooke it and tasted, and luuud it to 
be no other then fountaine water. 



24 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

There was one bond-man, or free-man (it skiles not 
much Avhether) that by wondrous ready meanes would 
heale madmen. Wliat expectations was of him, by his 
great promises, all London knowes ; howe lewdly hee 
delt, it can as well witnesse ; of him I will say little, 
because there is more knowne then I am able to set 
downe. 

Besides these run-agates, there are some of good 
experience, that, giuingthemselues to inordinate excesse, 
when they are writ vnto by learned phisitions to min- 
ister for the patients health according to their aduised 
prescription, negligently mistake. As, for example, a 
doctor directs to his poticary a bill to minister to a 
man, hauing an ulcerous sore, certaine pills for the 
preparing of his body; withall a receipt for the making 
a corrosiue to apply to the sore; hee (either witles, 
which is too bad, or wilfuU, which is worse) prepares 
the corrosiue in piUes, and formes the receipt for the 
pilles in manner of a playster. 

The partie receiues the corrosiue inwai'd ; his mawe 
is fretted, death foUowes. If there be such an apothe- 
cary that hath so done, let him repent his dealings, 
least the bloud of that man light on his head. 

It is said there was another skilfidl, no lesse ouer- 
seene, that hauinge a poore manne of a legge to dis- 
member, who had long time beene his patient, and, at 
the instant, more extreamely painde then before, 
which was cause of requii-inge his chirurgians im- 
mediate helpe ; this woorkeman, the poore patientes 
deathes-maister, in that pointe not to be tearmed his 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 25 

owne artes-maister, dismembred him, the sigiie beeinge 
in the foote. Whereof beeing tolde immediately after 
the deede, hee onely merited this praise, bj giuing 
councel to the murthered man to haue patience at his 
suddaine ende. 

But these accidentes amonge artistes happen as sel- 
dome as the proofe of a good cure amonge you that 
are vtterly ignoraunt in arte: for their faultes are 
committed by them rarely or neuer ; your trespasses, 
like a quotidian disease. So, of the one it may bee 
saide, wine is a mocker, and stronge drincke is raginge, 
and those that bee thei'eby deceiuqd are not wise. Yet 
of the other may directly bee concluded, to their single 
commendation, that, as no serpent is without his hidden 
stinge, or anie thing on earth without some blemish, 
so no purity of their impure profession can be equalled 
in imperfection, so impure is all, so vile, so daungerous. 

Therefore now returne I where I began, to you the 
excrementes of nature and monsters of menne, whose 
murders are no lesse common then your craftes, whiche 
are not so well knowne to the world as felt by them 
that leaue it : with two of you I will ende. The one a 
braggart of great antiquity, whose liuely image is yet 
to bee seen in King Luds Pallace, and his lining ghost 
at this time ministringe to the poore pensioners of that 
place. Sirra, nay it shall be in reuerence of your old 
occupation. I muse not a little what wonderfuU met- 
taline preparatiue it is ye boast on : by which, were 
men so mad to beleeue you, you are able to make anye 
manne not onely boldely to walke in ill ayres, and 



26 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

conuerse daye and nighte with infected companye, but 
also to receiue the strongest poison (like king Mithri- 
dates) into his body ? Tenne to one it is so strange 
as no man but yourselfe is able to name it. Yet giue 
mee leaue to gesse at it, without offence to your false- 
hoode. I remember I haue heard great talke, you 
haue beene both a caster of mettall and a forger, and 
it seemes you haue gotten the receipte which the tinne- 
melters wife ministred to breake her husbandes colde 
when he sate sleeping in his chaire, videlicet, two 
ounces of pure tinne, put in an iron ladle, melted in 
the fire, and poured at an instant downe the throat. 
If it be thus, I dare take your word for any poyson 
hurting that partie that so receiues it, for, as a simple 
fellowe (seeing foure or fine hanged for their offences, 
and hearing some speake bitterly of them beeing 
deade) saide. Well, God make them good men, they 
haue a faire warning : so I may say they that deale 
with your mettaline medicine haue a faire warrante 
against poison. Likewise may it be saide of your ad- 
mirable eie water, through the vertue of whiche you 
haue attained the worshipfull name of doctor put out : 
hauinge put out soome of their eies that deale with it. 
But if I haue varied from your metaline receipt before, 
I conclude it but a forgerie, and so blame you not 
greatly for followinge a parcell of your olde, and, to 
some, a hurtfuU trade. 

Another of your bretheren, as wel ouer scene in 
mineraUs as your selfe, lying in a good fellowes house 
not long since, being inonilesse, as ye are all but thred 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 27 

bai-e make-shiftes, perswaded his hoast to take phisicke 
for feare of infection; his laboui- he was content to giue, 
and nothing for their kindnesse would hee require but 
euen fiue marke, which he must pay for the very 
simples. His simple hoast, beleeuing him to bee honest, 
gaue him tlie money. If hee had lefte heere, though 
this had beene too lewd, it had beene farre better than 
to go forward as he did, for some what hee bestowed 
on purging simples, which unprepared he ministred, 
and, with the same, ministred the poore mans death. 

The lewd wretch cried out that hee had taken a 
great quantity of the purgation more than he appointed, 
which was in a window in his chamber : much adoe 
Avas made, and he would iustifie before any learned 
man his deed. But, trusting better to his heeles than to 
hazard a hanging, hee gaue them that night the slip, 
and is not yet taken. 

To be short, how euer ye differ in seuerall shiftes, 
yet agree you all in one manner of shifting ; cunning 
is the cloake to hide your cogging : money the marke 
for which ye play the makeshiftes, nay, the murtherers, 
not of the common enimie, but your owne countrymen, 
than which what can be more barbarous ? Common 
reason should perswade that much reading and long 
practise in euery art makes men expert. Per contra- 
rium, I conclude, you that haue neither read nor prac- 
tised must needs be egregiously ignorant. 

Assvire your selues, if you refraine not, iustice will 
stand vppe, and so restraine yee, as there shall be no- 
thing more noted thtiii your ignorant practises and 



28 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

imijudent courses. In my life I was your aduersary : 
in death I am your enimie. Beseeching the reuerend 
colledge of learned doctors and worshipfull company of 
experienst chirurgions to looke more straightly to your 
false deceites and close haunts, that there may be [no] 
sooner heard talke of such a rare obscure assurancer, 
to worke what not wonders in phisicke or chirurgirie, 
but he be rather lookt into or euer he begin, than suf- 
fred to begin, whereby any poore patient should suffer 
losse in triall of their blind skill : so shall your cou- 
senages be as open as your actes be odious 

Subscribed 

Bm-cof. 

This is something like (thought I) if he had said 
any thing against cousoning toothe drawers that from 
place to place wander with banners full of horse 
teeth, to the impairing of Kindharts occupation ; but I 
perceiue maister doctor was neuer a tooth drawer ; if 
he had, I know he would haue toucht their deceiuings. 
Since he hath let them jDasse, I greatly passe not ; and 
yet, in regard of the credit of my trade, I care not to 
haue a blow or two with them my selfe, before I looke 
any further. 

Sundry of them that so wander haue not to do with 
the means Kindliart vseth, but forsooth, by charmes 
they can at their pleasure fray away the payne, which 
Kindhart counts little better than witch-craft if it could 
doe good, and so to some of them haue I affirmed it. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 29 

But a proper slip-string, sometime a petty scliole- 
maister, now a pelting tooth-charmer, liauing no reason 
to defend his obscure rules, quite put me to silence 
before a well learned audience, the one a cobler, the 
other a carman, the last a collyer. These, beeing poore 
men, had I for pittie often eased of their payne, yet 
was the remedy I vsde somewhat painefull ; but not 
long since they are come acquainted with the charmer 
I told ye of; he, in charitable consideration of their 
greefe, promised to ease them, onely with writing and 
after burning a word or two. Trauelling to a gentle- 
man's not farre from London, I by the way chaunst to 
be calcl to conferre with him at the same verye instant, 
where, reproouing his opinion, hee put me downe with 
such a galliemafrey of Latine ends that I was glad to 
make an end. Yet got I a copy of his charme, which 
I will set downe that I may make it common. 



A CHARME. 

First, he must know your name, then your age, 
Avhicli in a little paper he sets downe. On the top are 
these words : In verbis, et in herbis, et in lapidibtts 
sunt virtutes : vnderneath he writes in capitall letters, 
AAB ILLA, HYRS GiBELLA, wliich lie swcarcs is j)ure 
Chalde, and the names of three spirites that enter into 
the bloud and cause rewmes, and so consequently the 
toothach. This paper must be likewise three times 
blest, and at last with a little frankincense burned, 
which being thrice vsed, is of poAver to expell the 



30 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

spirites, purifie the bloutl, and ease the paine, or else 
he lyes, for he hath practised it long, but shall approue 
it neuer. 

Another sort get hot wiers, and with them they 
burne out the worme that so torments the greened : 
these fellowes are fit to visit curst wines, and might, by 
their practise, doe a number of honest men ease if they 
would misse the tooth and worme the tongue. 

Others there are that perswade the pained to hold 
their mouths open ouer a basen of water by the fire 
side, and to cast into the fire a handfull of henbane 
seede, the which naturally hath in euery seede a little 
worme ; the seedes breaking in the fire, vse a kind of 
cracking, and out of them, it is hai'd, among so many, 
if no worme fly into the water: which wormes the 
deceiuers afiirme to haue fallen from the teeth of the 
diseased. This rare secret is much vsed, and not 
smaUy lyked. Sundry other could I set downe, prac- 
tised by our banner-bearers, but all is foppery, for this 
I find to be the only remedy for the tooth paine, either 
to haue patience, or to pull them out. 

Well, no more for mee, least I bee thought to speake 
too largely for myselfe. I had thought to haue had a 
fling at the rat-catchers, who, with their banners dis- 
played, beare no small sway, what I haue to saye to 
them they shall not yet heare, because I hope they will 
take warning by other mens harmes. Onely this I 
affirme, that as some banner-bearers haue in their oc- 
cupations much craft, the rat-catchers is nothing else 
but craft. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 31 

But stay, Kiiul-hart, if thou make so long a chorus 
betweene euery act, thy iests will be as stale as thy 
wit is Aveake. Therefore, leaning those vagabonds to 
repent their villanyes, lie bid adieu to uiaister doctor, 
and see who is our next speaker. 



32 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

ROBERT GREENE TO PIERCE PENNILESSE. 

Pierce, if thy carrier had beene as kind to me as I 
expected, I could haue dispatched long since my letters 
to thee : but it is here as in the world, Donum a dando 
deriuatur : where there is nothing to giue, there is 
nothing to be got. But hauing now found meanes to 
send to thee, I will certifie thee a little of my disquiet 
after death, of which I thinke thou either hast not 
heard or wilt not conceiue. 

Hauing, with humble penitence, besought pardon for 
my infinite sinnes, and paid the due to death, euen in 
my graue was I scarse layde, when Enuie (no fit com- 
panion for Art) spit out her poyson to disturbe my 
rest. Aduersus mortuos helium suscipere inhumanum 
est. There is no glory gained by breaking a deade 
man's skull. Pascitur in viuis liitor, jwsffata qidescit. 
Yet it appeares contrary in some, that, inueighing 
against my workes, my pouertie, my life, my death, 
my burial, haue omitted nothing that may seeme ma- 
litious. For my bookes, of what kind soeuer, I refer 
their commendation or dispraise to those that haue 
read them. Onely for my last labours affirming, my 
intent was to reproue vice, and lay open such villanies 
as had been uery necessary to be made knowne ; wherof 
ray Blacke Booke, if euer it see light, can sufficiently 
witnesse. 

Bvat for my pouertie, meethinkes wisedome would 
haue brideled that inuectiue ; for Ciuhts potest acci- 
dere, quod cuiquam potest. The beginning of my 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 33 

dispraisers is knowne, of their end tliey are not sure. 
For my life, it was to none of them at any time hurt- 
ful : for my death, it was repentant : my buriall like a 
Christian's. 

Alas that men so hastily should run, 

To write their onm dispraise as they haue done. 

For my reuenge, it suffices, that euery halfe-eyd 
humainitan may account it, Instar belluaruin immanis- 
simarum satiire in cadauer. For the iniurie offred 
thee, I know I need not bring oyle to thy fire. And 
albeit I would disswade thee from more inuectiues 
against such thy aduersaries (for peace is now all my 
plea) yet I know thou wilt returne answere, that since 
thou receiuedst the first wrong, thou wilt not endure 
the last. 

My quiet ghost (vnquietly disturbed) had once in- 
tended thus to haue exclaimd. 

Pierce, more witlesse, than pennilesse ; more idle 
than thine aduersaries ill imployde ; what foolish in- 
nocence hath made thee (infant like) resistlesse to 
beare whateuer iniurie Enuie can impose ? 

Once thou commendedst immediate conceit, and 
gauest no great praise to excellent works of twelue 
yeres labour : now, in the blooming of thy hopes, 
thou sufferest slaunder to nippe them ere they can 
bud : thereby approuing thy selfe to be of all other 
most slacke, beeing in thine owne cause so remisse. 

Colour can there be none found to shadowe thy 
fainting, but the longer thou deferst, the more greefe 

D 



Si KIND- HARTS DREAME. 

thou bringst to thy frends, and giuest the greater head 
to thy enemies. 

What canst thou tell, if (as my selfe) thou shalt bee 
with death preuented? and then how can it be but 
tliou diest disgrac'd, seeing thou hast made no reply to 
their twofold edition of inuectiues ? 

It may bee thou thinkst they will deale weU with thee 
in death, and so thy shame in tollerating them wUl be 
short. Forge not to thyself one such conceit, but 
make me thy president, and remember tliis olde adage : 
Leonem mortuum mordent catuli. 

Awake (secure boy) reuenge thy wrongs, remember 
mine : thy aduersaries began the abuse, they continue 
it ; if thou suffer it, let thy life be short in silence and 
obscuritie, and thy death hastie, hated, and miserable. 

All this had I intended to write, but now I wil not 
giue way to wrath, but returne it vnto the earth, from 
whence I tooke it ; for with happie soules it hath no 
harbour. 

Robert Greene. 



Had not my name beene Kind-hart, I would haue 
sworne this had beene sent to my selfe ; for in my life I 
was not more pennilesse than at that instant. But 
remembring the author of the Supplicati- 
on, I laid it aside till I had leysui*e 
to seeke him ; and taking vp 
the next I found 
written. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 35 



TO ALL MALIGNERS OF HONEST MIRTH, TARLETOX WISHETH 
CONTINUALL MELANCHOLY. 

Now, raaisters, what say you to a merrie knaue, that 
for this two years day hath not beeue talkt of. Wil 
you giue him leaue, if he can, to make ye laugh ? 
What all a mort ? no merrie countenance ? Nay, then 
I see hypocrisie hath the vpper hand, and her spirit 
raignes in this profitable generation. Sith it is thus, 
lie be a time-pleaser. Fie vppon following plaies, the 
expence is Avondrous ; vppon players speeches, their 
wordes are full of wyles ; vppon their gestures, that 
are altogether wanton. Is it not lamentable, that a 
man should spend his two pence on them in an after- 
noone, heare couetousness amongst them daily quipt 
at, being one of the commonest occupations in the 
countrey, and in liuely gesture see trecherie set out, 
with which euery man now adaies vseth to intrap his 
brother ? Byr lady, this would be lookt into ; if these 
be the fruites of playing, tis time the practisers were 
expeld. 

Expeld (quoth you) ? that hath been pretily per- 
formed, to the no smal profit of the Bouling-allyes in 
Bedlam and other places, that were wont in the after- 
noones to be left empty, by the recourse of good fellows 
vnto that vnprofitable recreation of stage -playing. 

And it were not much amisse, would they ioin with 
the dicing-houses to make sute againe for their longer 
restraint, though the sicknesse cease. Is not this well 
saide (my maisters) of an olde buttond cappe, that 

d2 



.•)6 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

hath most part of his life liu'd vppon that against which 
hee inueighs ? Yes, and worthily. 

But I haue more to say than this : is it not greate 
shame, that the houses of retaylers neare the townes 
end, should be, by their continuance, impouerished ? 
Alas ! good hearts, they pay great rentes, and pittie it 
is but they be prouided for. While playes are vsde, 
halfe the day is by most youthes that haue libertie, 
spent vppon them, or at least, the greatest company 
di-awne to the places where they frequent. If they 
were supprest, the flocke of yoong people would bee 
equally parted. But now the greatest trade is brought 
into one street. Is it not as faire a way to Myle-end 
by White-chappeU, as by Shorditch to Hackney? 
The sunne shineth as clearly in the one place as in the 
other ; the shades are of a like pleasure ; onely this is 
the fault, that by ouermuch heate sometime they ai'e 
in both places infectious. 

As well in this as other things there is great abuse ; 
for in euery house where the venerian virgins are 
resident, hospitalitie is quite exiled ; such fines, such 
taxes, such tribute, such customs, as (poore soules) 
after seuen yeares seruice in that vnhallowed order, 
they are faine to leaue their sutes for offerings to the 
olde Lenos that are shrine-keepers, and themselues 
(when they begin to break) are faine to seeke harbour 
in an hospitall ; which chaunceth not (as sometime is 
thought) to one amongst twentie, but hardly one 
amonsrst a hundred haue better endingr. And there- 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 37 

fore seeing they line so luirdly, its pitie players should 
hinder their takings a peny. 

I, marry; (saies Baudeamus, my quondam host) well, 
faire olde Dieke, that worde was well plac'd ; for thou 
knowst our rentes are so vnreasonable, that except wee 
cut and shaue, and poule, and prig, we must return 
non est iniientus at the (juarter day. 

For is not this pittifuU : I am a man now as other 
men be, and haue liu'd in some shire of England, till 
all the country was wearie of mee. I come vp to 
London, and fall to be some tapster, hostler, or cham- 
berlaine in an inn. Well, I get mee a wife ; with her 
a little money ; when we are married, seeke a house 
we must; no other occupation haue I but to be an ale- 
draper ; the landlord wil haue fortie pound fine, and 
twenty marke a yeare. I and mine must not lie in the 
street; he knows by honest courses I can neuer paye the 
rent. Wliat should I say ? Somwhat must be done ; 
rent must be paid, duties discharg'd, or we vndone. 
To bee short, what must be shall be : indeede some- 
times I haue my Landlordes countenance before a 
justice, to cast a cloake ouer ill-rule, or els he might 
seeke such another tenant to pay his rent so truly. 

Quaintly concluded (Peter Pandar) ; somewhat yee 
must bee, and a bawd ye will bee. I, by my troth, sir, 
why not I as well as my neighbors, since theres no 
remedy. And you, sir, find fault with plaies. Out 
upon them, they spoile our trade, as you your selfe 
haue proued. Beside, they open our crosse-bitinff, 
our conny-catching, our traines, our traps, our gins, 

4 f<!- .'J K»., , - 

4 ri 4 i 



38 KIND-HARTS DREAME, 

our snares, our subtilties : for no sooner haue we a 
tricke of deceipt, but they make it common, singing 
jigs and making iests of vs, that euerie boy can point 
out our houses as they passe by. 

Whither now, Tarlton ? this is extempore ; out of 
tiiae, tune and temper. It may well be said to me : 

Stiilte, quid hiBC faris, &c. 

Rusticus ipse, tuis malus es, tibi pessimus ipsi. 

Thy selfe once a player, and against players ! nay, 
turne out the right side of thy russet coate, and lette 
the world know thy meaning. Why thus I meane, 
for now I S2)eake in sobernes. 

Euery thing hath in itselfe his vertue and his vice : 
from one selfe flower the bee and spider sucke honny 
and poyson. In plaies it fares as in bookes ; vice can- 
not be reproued except it be discouered : neither is it 
in any play discouered but there foUowes in the same 
an example of the punishment. Now he that at a play 
will be delighted in the one, and not warned by the 
other, is like him that reads in a booke the descrip- 
tion of sinne, and will not looke ouer the leafe for the 
reward. 

Mirth, in seasonable time taken, is not forbidden by 
the austerest sapients. 

But indeede there is a time of mirth, and a time of 
mourning ; which time hauing been by the magistrats 
wisely obserued, as well for the suppressing of playes 
as other pleasures, so likewise a time may come when 
honest i*ecreation shall haue his former libertie. 

And lette Tarleton intreate the yoong people of the 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 39 

cittie, eithei" to abstaine altogether from playes, or at 
their comming'^thither to vse themselues after a more 
quiet order. 

In a place so ciuill as this cittie is esteemed, it is 
more than barbarously rude to see the shamefull dis- 
order and routes that sometime in such publike meet- 
ings are vsed. 

The beginners ai'e neither gentlemen, nor citizens, 
nor any of both their seruants, but some lewd mates 
that long for innouation ; and Avhen they see aduantage, 
that either seruingmeu or apprentices are most in 
number, they will be of either side ; though indeed 
they are of no side, but men beside all honestie ; wil- 
ling to make boote of cloakes, hats, purses, or what 
euer they can lay holde on in a hurley burley. These 
are the common causers of discord in publike j)]aces. 
If otherwise it happen (as it seldome doth) that any 
quarrell be betweene man and man, it is far from 
manhood to make so publike a place their field to fight 
in : no men will doe it, but cowardes that would faine 
be parted, or haue hope to haue manie partakers. 

Nowe to you that maligne our moderate merriments, 
and thinke there is no felicitie but in excessiue pos- 
session of wealth, with you I would ende in a song, 
yea, an extempore song on this theame, Nequid mimis 
necessarium : but I am now hoarse, and troubled with 
my taber and pipe ; beside, what pleasure brings mu- 
sicke to the miserable? Therefore, letting songes 
passe, I tell them in sadnes, howeuer, playes are not 
altogether to be connnended ; vet some of them do 



40 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

more hurt in a day than all the players (by exercising 
theyr profession) in an age. Faults there are in the 
professors, as other men ; this the greatest, that diuers 
of them, beeing publike in euerie ones eye, and talkt 
of in euery vulgar mans mouth, see not how they are 
seene into, especially for their contemjit, which makes 
them among most men most contemptible. 

Of them I will say no more ; of the profession so 
much hath Pierce Pennilesse (as I heare say) spoken, 
that for mee there is not any thing to speake. So, 
wishing the chearefull pleasaunce endlesse ; and the 
wilfuU sullen, sorrow till they surfet ; with a turne on 
the toe I take my leaue. 

Richard Tarleton. 



When I had done with this, one thing I mislikte, 
that Tarleton stoode no longer on that point of land- 
lords ; for lamentable it is (in Kind-harts opinion) to 
note their vnreasonable exaction. I my self e knewe a 
landlord, that beginning to inlarge a little tenement, 
was according to statute prohibited. Hee made hum- 
ble suite that the worke might go forward ; for, good 
man, he meant not to make thereby any benefite, but 
euen in charitie he would turne it into an almes-house. 
This godly motion was liked, and he allowed to goe 
forward with the building. The worke ended, in all 
the country there could not poore bee found worthy, 
or at least able to enter into the same. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 41 

To be short, it was turned into a tauerne, and with 
rent and fine in few monthes turnd the tenant out of 
doores. Yet it hath beene saide, the poore man did 
what he might, Cum vino et verier e, to continue his 
state ; but the landlord had made such a dent in his 
stocke, that with all the wit in his head it would not be 
stopt. I beshrew the card-makers, that clapt not a 
gowne about the knaue of hartes, and put him on a 
hat for a bonnet ouer his night-cappe ; then had not 
after age taken care for the image of this excellent 
almes-house builder, but in euerie ale-house should 
liaue beene reserued his monument, till Macke, Maw, 
Ruffe, Noddy, and Trumpe had beene no more vsde 
than his charitie is felt. 

Pitie it is such wolues are not shakte out of sheep's 
cloathing. Elder times detested such extremitie. The 
gospel's liberty (howsoeuer some libertines abuse it) 
gives no such licence: by their auarice religion is 
slandered, lewdnes is bolstered, the suburbs of the 
citie are in many places no other but dark dennes for 
adulterers, theeues, murderers, and euery mischiefe 
worker ; daily experience before the magistrates con- 
fii-mes this for truth. 

I would the hart of the cittie were whole ; for, 
both within and without, extreame cruelty causeth 
much beggerie ; Victa iacet pietas, and with pietie 
pittie. Selfe loue hath exiled charitie ; and as among 
beastes the lyon hunteth the wolfe, the wolfe deuoureth 
the goate, and the goate feedeth on mountaine hearbs ; 



42 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

SO among men the great oppresse the meaner, they 
againe the meanest, for whom hard fare, colde lodging, 
thinne cloathes, and sore labour is onelj allotted. 

To see how soone the world is chang'd. In my 
time I remember two men, the one a diuine, the other 
a cittizen ; it was their vse, at the time they should 
quarterly receiue their duties (for the first was well 
beneficed, the,latter a great landlord) when they came 
to anie poore creature, whome sicknesse had hindered, 
or mischaunce impaired, or many children kept lowe, 
they would not onely forgiue what they should receiue, 
but giue bountifully for the releefe of their present 
necessitie. 

The olde prouerbe is verefied, Seldome comes a bet- 
ter ; and they are possest, the poore of that comfort 
dispossest. 

Some landlords, hauing turnd an old brue-house, 
bake-house, or dye-house, into an alley of tenements, will 
either themselues, or some at their appointment, keepe 
tipling in the fore-house (as they call it) and their 
pooi-e tenantes must bee inioinde to fetch bread, drinke, 
wood, cole, and such other necessaries, in no other 
place ; and there, till the weekes ende, they may haue 
any thing of trust, prouided they lay to pawne their 
holiday apparell. Nay, my land-lady will not onely 
doe them that good turne, but, if they Avant money, 
she Avill on Munday lend tliem, likewise vppon a pawne, 
eleuen pence, and in meere pittie aske at the weekes 
end not a penny more than twelue pence. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 43 

O charitable loue, liappy tenants of so kinde a land- 
lady ! I Avarrant ye this usurie is within the statute ; 
it is not aboue fine hundred for the loane of a hundred 
by the yeare. 

Neyther will they doe this good to their tenantes 
alone, but they will deale with their husbandes ; that, 
for a little roome with a smokie chimney, (or ])erchaunce 
none, because smoake is noysome) they shall pay at the 
least but fortie shillings yeerly. 

Fie vpon fines, thats the vndooing of poore people : 
weele take none (say these good creatures); marry, for 
the keyAvee musthaue consideration, that is, some angell 
in hand ; for verely the last tenant made vs change 
the locke. Neither thinke we deale hardly, for it 
stands in a good place, quite out of company, where 
handicraft men may haue leysure to get their lining, 
if they knew on what to set themselues a worke. 

Now, for all this kindnesse, the land-lord scarce 
asketh of the tenant thankes (though hee deserue it 
well) for (as I saide) his wife is all the dealer; so plaies 
the parson (the person, I should say, I would bee 
loath to be mistaken) that I tolde yee before builded 
the almes-house. The care of rentes is committed to 
his wife ; he is no man of this world, but as one meta- 
morphizd from a saint to a deuill. 



44 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

How now, Kindhart, shall we neuer haue done with 

these landlordes ? It seemes well thou hast as little 

land as Avitte ; for while thou liuest they will not mend, 

and therefore its as good to make an end, as Avaste 

winde. Well, all this Avas of good Avill to helpe 

Tarleton out Avith his tale. Now let me 

see Avhat note Cuckoe sings, 

for tis his lucke to 

be last. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 45 



WILLIAM CUCKOE TO ALL CLOSE JUGLERS WISHETH THE DIS- 

COUERY OF THEIR CRAFTS, AND PUNISHMENT 

FOR THEIR KNAUERIES. 

RooME for a craftie knaue, cries "William Cuckoe. 
Knaue, nay, it will neare hand beare an action. Bones 
a mee, my trickes are stale, and all my old companions 
turnd into ciuill sutes. I perceiue the worlde is all 
honestie, if it be no other than it lookes. Let me see, 
if I can see; beleeue mee tlieres nothing but iugling in 
euery corner ; for euery man hath learned the mysterie 
of casting mysts, and though they vse not our olde 
tearms of hey-passe, re -passe, and come aloft, yet they 
can bypasse, compasse, and bring vnder one another as 
cunningly and commonly as euer poore Cuckoe coulde 
command his Jacke in a boxe. 

Yet, my maisters, though you robde me of my trade, 
to giue recompence, after death I haue borrowed a 
tongue a little to touch their tricks. 

And now, sir, to you that was wont, like a subsister, 
in a gown of rugge, rent on the left shoulder, to sit 
singing the counter-tenor by the cage in Southwarke, 
me thinkes ye should not looke so coyly on olde Cuckoe. 
What, man, it is not your signe of the ape and the 
urinall can cai'ry away our olde acquaintance. 

I trust yee remember your iugling at Newington 
with a christall stone, your knaueries in the wood by 
Wansteed, the wondrous treasure you would discouer 
in the Isle of Wight, al your viUanies about that peece 
of seruice, as perfectly known to some of my friends yet 



46 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

lining as their Pater noster, who cui'se the time you 
euer came in their creed. 

But I perceiue you fare as the fox, the more hand 
the better hap. I wonder what became of your fami- 
liar, I meane no deuill man, but a man deuil. And 
yet I need not wonder ; for since my descending to 
vnder earth, I heard say he was hangd for his knauerie, 
as you in good time may be. Amen, Amend, I should 
say, but I thinke yee meane it not ; the matter is not 
great, for (thanks be to God) how euer you mend in 
manners, the world is wel amended with your man 
and you. 

I pray ye, was that hee which was your instrument 
in Nottingam-shire, to make your name so famous for 
finding things lost ? It may be you forgot that one 
fetch among many; and, least it should bee out of your 
heade, lie helpe to beate it into your braines. 

Your raasterhip vpon a horse, (whose hire is not paid 
for,) with your page at your stirrop, like a Castilian 
caualier, lighted pennilesse at a pretie inne, where that 
day sate certain justices in commission. Your high 
hart, carelesse of your present neede, would needes for 
your selfe share out one of the fairest chambers. 
Your page must be purueyer for your diet, who in the 
kitchin found nothing for your liking. Beefe was 
grosse, veale flashy, mutton fulsome, rabbets, hens, and 
capons common. Wild foule for Will Foole, or he 
will fast. 

Well, at your will ye shall be furnisht. But now a 
jugling tricke to pay the shot. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 47 

My impe, your man, while mistrisse, men, and maids 
were busied about prouision for the justices that sate, 
slips into a priuate parloui', wherein stood good store 
of plate, and conueying a massy sault vnder his ca- 
pouch, little lesse woorth than twentie marke, got 
secretely to the back -side, and cast it into a filthie 
pond ; which done, he acquaints your knaueship with 
the deed. 

By then your diet was drest, the sault was mist, the 
good wife cryde out, the maydes were ready to runne 
madde. 

Your man (making the matter strange) inquired the 
cause: which when they tolde, O (quoth hee) that my 
maister would deale in this matter ; I am sure he can 
do as much as any in the world. 

Well, to you they come pitifully complaining, when 
very wrathfully (your clioler rising) you demaund 
reason why they should thinke yee bee able to deale in 
such cases. Your kind nature (bent alwaies to lenitie) 
yeelded at the last to their importuning ; onely wisht 
them to stay till the nexte da}^, for that you would not 
deale while the justices were in the house. 

They must do as your discretion a^^points. Next 
day, calling the good-man and wife to your bedside, ye 
tell them the salte was stolne by one of their familiars, 
whom he had forced by art to bring it backe againe to 
the house, and in such a pond to cast it ; because he 
would not have the partie knowne, for feare of trouble. 

As you direct them, they search and find. Then 
comes your name in rare admiration ; the host giiies 



48 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

you foure angels for a reward, the hostesse two french 
crowns ; tlie maydes are double diligent to doe you 
seruice, that they may learne their fortunes ; the whole 
towne talks of the cunning man, that indeed had 
onely conny-catcht his host. 

If that slip-string bee still in your seruice, I aduise 
you to make much of him ; for, by that tricke, he prou'd 
himselfe a toward youth, necessary for such a maister. 
This iugling passes Cuckoes play. Well, I aduise 
you play least in sight in London ; for I haue sette 
some to watch for your comming that will iustifie all 
this and more of your shifting life. 

Returne to your olde crafte, and play the pinner ; 
although it be a poore life, it is an honest life : your 
fallacies will one day faile ye. 

There is another iugler, that beeing well skild in the 
Jewes trumpe, takes vpon him to be a dealer in mu- 
sicke ; especiall good at mending instruments : he 
iugled away more instrumentes of late than his bodie 
(being taken) will euer be able to make good. 

Tut, thats but a plaine tricke. How say ye by some 
iuglers that can serue writs without any original, and 
make poore men dwelling farre off compound with 
them for they knowe not what ? I tell you, there bee 
such that, by that trick, can make a vacation time 
quicker to them than a terme ; who, troubling three- 
score or fourescore men without cause, get of some a 
crowne, of others a noble, of diners a pound, beside 
the ordinarie costes of the writ, to put off their ap- 
pearance, when no such thing was toward. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 49 

Fie vpon these juglers, tliey make the lawes of the 
realme be ill spoken of, and are cause that plaine peo- 
ple thinke all lawyers like them : as appeares by a 
poore old man by chance comming into one of the 
worshipful Innes of the Court, where sundiy ancients 
and students, both honorable and worshipfiUl, sate at 
supper. The poore man, admiring their comely order 
and reuerent demeanor, demaunded of a stander by, 
what they were ; Gentlemen (said hee) of the Innes of 
Court. Lord blesse hem (quoth plaine Coridon) beene 
they of Queen's Court ? No, said the other, but of the 
Innes of Com*t. Wliat doon they, quoth the countrey- 
man, wotten yee ? The other answered that they were 
all lawyers and students of the lawe. Now, well a 
neere, cries plaine simplicitie, wee han but one lawyer 
Avith vs, and hee spoyles all the parish ; but heere been 
[e]now to marre the whole shire. His simplenes was by 
the hearers well taken, and the lawier's name inquird ; 
who prou'd no other but one of these pettifogging 
juglers, that hauing scraped vp a few common places, 
and, by long sollicitership, got in to be an odd atturney; 
was not long since disgraded of his place (by pitching 
ouer the barre) yet promoted to looke out of a wodden 
window, cut after the done hole fashion, with a paper 
on his suttle pate, containing the iugling before shewed. 
So fortune it to his fellowes ; and let their misery come 
cito pede. Law is in it selfe good, the true professors 
to be highly esteemd. But, as in diuinity it sometime 
fares that schismatikes, heretikes, and such like make 
scripture a cloake for their detested errors, and by 

E 



50 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

their practises seeke to make the reuerend diuines 
contemptible ; so a sort of conny-catchers (as I may 
call them) that haue gathered vp the gleanings of the 
law, onely expert to begin controuersies, and vtterly 
ignorant of their end, perswade the simple that if they 
will foUow their rules, thus and thus, it shaU chance to 
their speedy quieting ; and that atturneys, counseUers, 
and serieants are too costly to bee dealt with simply, 
but by their mediation ; who are able to speake when 
counseU failes, and giue more ease in an lioure than 
the best benchers in a yeare, when, God wot, they doo 
no more good than a drone in a hiue. These juglers 
are too cunning for Cuckoe, and in the end will prone 
too crafty for themselues. Other iuglers thex'e bee, 
that hauing fauour from authority to seeke something 
to themselues beneficiaU, and to the conunon-wealth 
not preiudiciall, vnder colour of orderly dealing haue 
hookt into their hands the whole lining to a number 
poore men belonging. These, when they were com- 
plaind on, immediately tooke an honest coiu-se, and 
promist large rehefe yeerely to them they wrong. But 
euery promise is either broke or kept, and so it fares 
with them. I protest, if their jugling were set downe, 
it would make a prety volume ; but I wil let them 
passe, because there is hope they wiU remember them- 
selues. To set downe the iughng in trades, the crafty 
tricks of buyers and sellers, the swearing of the one, 
the lying of the other, were but to tell the worlde that 
which they well knowe, and, therefore, I will like- 
wise ouerslip that. There is an occupation of no long 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 51 

standing about London, called broking, or brogging, 
whether ye will ; in which there is pretty jugling, 
especially to blind law, and bolster usury. If any man 
be forst to bring them a pawne, they will take no in- 
tei'est, not past twelue pence a pound for the month : 
marry; they must haue a groat for a monthly bill, which 
is a bill of sale from month to month ; so that no ad- 
uantage can be taken for the usui'ie. I heare say it's 
well multiplied since I died ; but I beshrewe them, for, 
in my life, many a time haue I borrowed a shilling on 
my pipes, and paid a groat for the bill, when I haue 
fetcht out my pawne in a day. 

This iugling exceeds Cuckoes gettings, and sundry 
times turnd poore William to his shifts. Indeede I 
deny not but, in their kind, some of them deale well, 
and wil preserue a mans goods safe, if he keep any 
reasonable time ; these are not so blameable as they 
that make immediate sale. If euer I haue opportu- 
nity to write into the world againe, I will learne who 
abuse it most, and who vse it best, and set ye downe 
their dwelling places. 

Now I will draw to an end, concluding with a mas- 
ter jugler, that he may be well knowne if he be got 
into any obscure corner of the countrey. This shifter, 
forsooth, carried no lesse countenance than a gentle- 
man's abilitie, with his two men in blue coates, that 
serued for shares, not wages. Hee, being properly 
seated in a shire of tliis realme, and by the report of 
his men bruted for a cunning man, grew into credit 
by tJiis practise. 

e2 



52 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

His house beeing in a village through which was no 
thorough fare, his men, and sometime his mastershippe 
in their company, at midnight woulde goe into their 
neighbours seuerall grounds, being farre distant from 
their dwelling houses, and oftentimes driue from thence 
horses, mares, oxen, kine, calues, or sheepe, what euer 
came next to hande, a mile perchaunce, or more, out 
of the place wherein they were left. 

Home would they return, and leaue the cattel stray- 
ing. In the morning, sometime the milke-maids misse 
their kine, another day the plough-hinds their oxen, 
their horses another time ; somewhat of some woorth 
once a weeke lightly. Whither can these poore people 
go but to the wise mans worship ? Perchaunce, in a 
morning, two or three come to complaine and seeke 
remedie, who, welcommed by one of his men, are seuer- 
ally demaunded of their losses. If one come for sheepe, 
another for other cattell, they are all at first tolde that 
his maistership is a sleepe, and till hee himselfe call 
they dare not trouble him. 

But very kindly he takes them into the hall, and 
when his worship stirs promises them they shall speake 
with him at liberty. Now, sir, behind a curtaine in 
the hall stands a shelfe garnisht with bookes, to which 
my mate goes vnder to take one downe, and, as he takes 
it down, puUeth certain strings which are fastened to 
seuerall small bels in his maisters chamber, and, as the 
bels strike, hee knowes what cattell his neighbors come 
to seeke ; one bell being for oxen, another for kine, 
another for swine, &c. A while after he stamps and 



KIND-IIARTS DREAME. 53 

makes a noyse aboue ; the seruingman inti*eats the su- 
ters to go vp, and hee, hearing them comming himselfe, 
kindly opens them the dore, and ere euer they speake 
salutes them, protesting for their losse great sorrowe, 
as if he knew their griefes by reuelation, comforts 
them with hope of recouery, and such like wordes. 
They cry out, Jesu blesse your mastership, what a gift 
haue you to tel our mindes and neuer heare vs speake ! 
I, neighbors, saith he, ye may thanke God, I trust, I 
am come among ye to doe ye all good. Then, knowing 
which way they were driuen, hee bids them goe either 
east-ward, or south-warde, to seeke neere such an 
oake, or rowe of elmes, or water, or such like marke 
neere the place Avhere the cattell were left ; and hee 
assures them that by his skiU the theeues had no power 
to carry them fai'ther than that place. They runue 
and seek their cattle, which when they find, O admir- 
able wise man, the price of a cow we wiU not sticke 
with him for, happy is the shire where such a one 
dwels. Thus doe the pore cousoned people proclaime, 
and so our shifter is sought too, far and neere. I 
thinke this be iugling in the highest degree : if it be 
not, Cuckoe is out of his compasse. Well, the world 
is fiUl of holes, and more shiftes were neuer practisde. 
But this is Cuckoes counsell, that yee leaue in time, 
lest being conuicted, like my boast of the Anchor, ye 
l^ine yom-selues in prison to sane your eares from the 
piUory; and end too good for j ugiing shifters and co- 
sening perim-ers. 

William Cuckoe. 



54t KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

Ha, sirra, I am glad we are at an end; Kindhart 
was neuer in his life so weary of reading. Beshrew 
them for me, they haue wakened me from a good sleepe, 
and weried me almost out of my wits. Here hath 
beene a coile indeede with lewd song singers, di-ench 
giuers, detracters, players, oppressors, rent-raisers, 
bawdes, brothel-houses, shifters, and juglers. But, 
sith they haue all done, turne ouer the leafe, and heare 
how merrily Kindhart will conclude. 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 55 



KINDHARTS CONCLUSION OF HIS DREAME, AND HIS CENSURE ON 
THE APPARITIONS SEUERALLY. 

For memories sake, let me see what conclusion we 
shall forme. Antthony tolde a long tale of runnagate 
song-singers, inueighing especially against those las- 
ciuious ballads that are by authority forbidden, priuily 
printed, and publikely solde. In whiche I finde no 
reason (as before I saide) because I beleeue none are 
so desperate to hazard their goods in printing or selling 
any thing that is disallowed. Or, if there be some such, 
I pei'swade my selfe the maiestrates diligence is so 
great they would soone be weeded out. But now let 
mee sound a little into Anthonies meaning : hee com- 
plaines not that these lasciuious songes howe ever in 
London they beginne, are thei-e continued, but thence 
they spread as from a spring ; and, albeit they dare not 
there be iustified, yet are they in every pedlers packe 
sent to publike meetings in other places; where they are 
suffered because the sellers sweare they are published 
by authoritie, and people farre off thinke nothing is 
printed but what is lawfully tollerated. Such knaues 
indeede would be lookt into that are not content with 
corrupting the multitude but they must slaunder the 
maiestrates. If Mopo and his mates bee such men that 
I may meete with, I will not onely deliver them An- 
thonies minde, but vi-ge them to exaspei'ate the matter. 
For master doctors motion, I doubt not but those 
which hiixG charge theretoo to looke, will be verie care- 
ful! to discharge their ductics. My selfe Avill not be 



56 KIND-HARTS DREAME. 

slacke against vvandring tooth -drawers. Besides, I haue 
a coppie of the confederacie betweene Don Mugel 
prince of rats, and the graund caualier of the rat-catchers, 
wliich I will publish, if he dissolue not the league, to 
the vtter ouerthrowe of his standerd, being thi'ee rats 
and a paii'e of shackells, draw en in a white field, cheurnd 
with Newgate chaine, (in memorie of his long commu- 
nitie therewith) and loftily borne on a broome staffe. 
Neither wiU I alone against them inueigh, but gener- 
ally against all such banner -beai'ers, whether they be of 
teeth, of stone cutting, or of rat-catching. Nay, Kinde- 
heart will not spare the ensigne -bearer of Robert the 
Rifler. What though hee bee one of the head burgesses 
of knaues-borough ; and sometime hath two bearwards 
seruing vnder his colours, and they marshalled with 
Turkes, bowes, arrowes, skoyles, and nyne-holes ? And 
though Kind-hart will not meddle wyth those sports that 
are lawfuU, yet, it may bee, shortly hee will speake of 
their lawlesse abusers. 

With Robin Greene it passes Kind-hai'ts capacity to 
deale ; for, as I knowe not the reason of his vnrest, 
so will I not intermeddle in the cause : but, as soone as 
I can, convey his letter where it should be deliuered. 

For olde Dicke Tarlton, that madde companion, I 
haue helpt him out with liis inuectiue against wi'inging 
landlords, and commend his commendation of honest 
mirth. But I vnderstand, how euer hee speakes well 
of players, there is a graue widow in the world complains 
against one or two of them for denying a legacie of 
fortie shillings summe. Pittie it is (poore soule) beeing 



KIND-HARTS DREAME. 57 

turncl to their shifts, they should hinder her of her por- 
tion; for had she that, shee intendes to set vp an aj^ple- 
shop in one of the innes. If they pay her, so it is ; if 
not, she hath sworne neuer to be good, because tliey 
haue beguilde her. 

For Cuckoe I haue somewhat to adde to his jugling. 

It happened, within these few yeeres, about Hamp- 
shire there wandered a walking mort, that went about 
the countrey selling of tape; shee had a good voice, and 
would sing sometime to serue the turne : she would 
often be a leach, another time a fortune teller. 

In this last occupation wee will now take her, for 
therefore was she taken, hauing first ouer-taken an 
honest simple farmer and his wife in this manner. 

On a summer's evening by the edge of the forest, she 
chaunst to meete the forenamed farmer's wife : to whom 
Avhen she had offered some of her tape, she began 
quickly with her to fall in talke. And, at the first 
staring her in the face, assures her shee shall have such 
fortune as neuer had any of her kinne : and, if her 
husband were no more vnlucky than she, they shoidd 
be possest of so infinite a sum of hidden treasure as no 
man in England had ever seene the like. 

The plain woman tickled with her soothing, intreated 
her to go home, which she, at first making somewhat 
strange, v/as at last content: there had she such cheare as 
farmer's houses affbord, who fare not with the meanest. 

Shortly the good man comes in, to whom his wife 
relates her rare fortune, and what a wise woman shee 



^5 KIND-HARTS DKEAMK. 

had met with. Though the uiau were very simple, yet 
made he some question what learning she had, and how- 
she came by knowledge of such things. O sir (said she) 
my father was the cunningst jugler in all tlie countrey, 
my mother a gipsie, and I haue more cunning than any 
of them both. Wliere lies the treasure thou taJkst on ? 
said the farmer: within this three myles (quoth she.) 
I wonder thou thy selfe getst it not (saide the man) but 
liuest (as it seemes) in so poore estate ? My pouertie 
(answered this coosner) is my chiefest pride : for, such 
as we cannot our selues be rich, though wee make 
others rich. Beside, hidden treasure is by spirits possest, 
and they keepe it onely for them to whome it is des- 
tinied. And more (said shee) if I haue a seuerall roome 
to my selfe, hangd round about with white linnen, with 
other instruments, I will, by morning, tell ye whether 
it be destined to you. 

The goodman and wife, giuing credite to hii- words, 
fetcht foorth their finest sheets, and garnished a cham- 
ber as she appointed : seuen candles she must haue 
lighted, and an angell she would haue laide in every 
candlesticke. Thus furnisht, she locks her selfe into 
the roome, and appointes them two onely to watch, 
without making any of their servants pi-ivie. Where, 
vsing suntMe mvunbHng fallacies, at last shee cald the 
man vnto her, whome she sadled and brideled, and 
hauing seuen times rid him about the roome, causd him 
to arise and call his wife, for to her belongd the treasure. 

Both man and wife being come, in verie sober man- 



KIND-HARTS DREAME, 59 

ner she tokle tliem, that they alone must attend in that 
place, while she foi'st the spirits to release the treasure 
and lay it in some convenient place for them to fetch : 
but in any wise they must not reueale about what shee 
went, neither touch bread nor drinke till her returne. 
So, taking vp the seuen angels, away shee went, laugh- 
ing to her selfe how she had left them waiting. 

All niglit sate the man and his wife attending her 
coraming, but she was wise inough. Morning came, 
the seruants mused what their maister and dame meant, 
that were wont with the larke to be the earliest risers : 
yet, sith they heard them talke, they attempted not to 
distm-be them. Noone drawing on, the farmer feeling 
by the chimes in his belly twas time to dine, was by 
his wife counselled to stay till the wise woman's returne. 
^Vliich he patiently intending, on a sodaine the sent of 
the plough-swaines meate so pierced his senses, that 
had all India beene the meede of liis abstinence, eate he 
will, or die he must. His wife, more money wise, 
intended rather to starve than loose the treasure : till, 
about evening, one of their neighbors brought them 
news of a woman coosener that by a justice was sent to 
Winchester for many lewd pranks. The man would 
needes see if it were the same, and, comming thither, 
found it to be no other; where, thinking at least to ha\e 
good words, she impudently derided him, specially 
before the bench : who, asking liir ^vhat reason she had 
to bridle and saddle him: faith (saide shee) onely to 
see how like an asse hee lookt. 



60 KIND-HARTS DREAME, 

A number of sucli there be, whom I wil more 

narrowly search for in my next circuit, 

and if my di-eame bee accepted, 

sette them out orderly. 



NOTES. 



Kind-Hartes Dedication, Sec. 1. 13 — "to the tune oi for- 
tune." One of the most popular of om* old ballad tunes. It 
may 1)e found in Queen Elizabeth's Virginal Book, MS. in 
the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge ; William Ballet's Lute 
Book, MS. in the library of Trinity College, Dublin (D. i. 21); 
Le Secret des Muses, Le Second Livre, Amsterdam, 1616; 
and Neder-Landtsche Gedenck-clank, Haerlem, 1626. The 
last-named collection contains a number of old English tmres, 
some of which are mentioned liy Shakespeare and other 
dramatists. It seems probable that they were carried into 
Holland by one of our companies of actors, who, we know, 
visited Germany, and parts of Holland, in the early part of 
the seventeenth century. The fact of English airs being 
printed at Haerlem and Amsterdam at so early a period is 
curious, and well merits the attention of those antiquaries who 
have time and ability to pursue the inquiry. 

Eitson, who gives an account of this tune in his " Remarks 
Critical and Illustrative on the Text of (Steevens') Shake- 
speare," 1783, says: "It is more than once mentioned by 
Beaumont and Fletcher, and from a passage in The Rump, 
or Mirrour of the Times, an old comedy by John Tatham, 
it should seem to have been a common dance tune ; which 
may seiTe to show that the old dances were much more grave 
and solemn than those now in use, the tune being a veiy slow 
movement — as the reader will immediately recollect, when he 
is infoiTOed that it is the identical air now known by the song 



62 NOTES. 

of ' Death and the Lady,' to which the metrical lamentations 
of extraordinary criminals have been usually chanted for 
upwards of these two hundred years." It is seldom that 
Ritson hazards a conjecture respecting an old tune, and it 
woidd have been better had he refrained in the present in- 
stance. The air of Death and the Lady is totally different 
from that of Fortune my foe, the one is in the major, and the 
other in the minor key : a comparison may easily be made, 
as both the airs in question are printed in Mr. Chappell's 
Collection of " National English Tunes," 4to. 1840. 

Archdeacon Nares was not aware of the existence of the 
original ballad. He says {Glo.tsary in v.) : " It does not appear 
that any complete copy of it is extant" ! This is a mistake : 
a printed copy is preser^'ed in one of the volumes of old 
ballads collected by John Bagford, and now deposited in the 
British Museum (643. m). 

The passage in the text affords probably the earhest men- 
tion of this once popular time. 

The Dreame, p. 9, 1. 4. — " Sleepe, the attendant vpon a 
distempred body." The original stands thus : " Sleepe, the 
attendant vpon a distempred bodies." 

P. 10, 1. 4. — " after his best manner, hee gave me a hunts- 

vp." A hunt is up, or hunt's up, used as a substantive, was 

a sort of generic tenn for morning songs. 

" Maurus last morn at's mistress window plaid 
An hunt's up on his lute ; but she (it's said) 
Threw stones at him : so he, like Orpheus, there 
Made stones come flying his sweet notes to heare." 

Wit's Bedlam, 1617. 

" And now the cock, the morning's trumpeter, 
Play'd hu7it's up for the day-star to appear." — Drayton. 

Cotgrave defines the word " Resreil," as " A Hunt's up, or 
Morning Sony for a new nianied wife, the day after the 



NOTES. 63 

inan'iage;' and in A Quest of Emjiiirie, 1595, is "A Jigge 
for the Ballad-Mongers to sing fresh and fasting, next their 
liearts cverie morninff, insted of a new hunt's up." 

P. 10, 1. 6. — " Anthony Now now." Anthony Munday is 
supposed to be ridiculed in the character of " Old Anthony 
Now now," an itinerant lidler frequently mentioned by our 
old writers. The following curious notice of him is to be 
found in The Seamd Part of the Gentle Craft, by Thomas 
Deloney, 1598. 

" Anthony cald for wine, and drawing forth his fiddle 
began to play, and after he had scrapte halfe a score lessons, 
he began thus to sing : 

" When should a man shew himselfe gentle anil kinile ? 
When should a man comfort the sorrowful minde ? 

O Anthony, now, now, now, 

O Anthony, now, now, now. 
When is the hest time to drinke with a friend ? 
M'hen is the meetest my money to spend ? 

O Anthony, now, now, now, 

O Anthony, now, now, now. 
When goeth the king of good fellows away, 
That so much delighted in dancing and play ? 

O Anthony, now, now, now, 

O Anthony, now, now, now. 
And when should I bid my good master farewell, 
Whose bounty and curtesie so did excell ? 

O Anthony, now, now, now, 

O Anthony, now, now, now. 

" Loe yee now (quoth hee) this song have I made for your 
sake, and hj the grace of God when you are gone, I will sing 
it every Sunday morning vnder your wiues window. * * 
* * Anthony in his absence sung this song so often in 
S. Martins, that thereby he pm-chast a name which hee neuer 
lost till his dying day, for euer after men cald him nothing 
but Anthony nmv nnu\" 

In Catch that Catch can, or The Musical Companion, 



64 NOTES, 

page 71, edit. 1667, is the following verse, set to music by 

Mr. White. 

" The king he went to Dover, 
Anil so by sea went over, 
And landing came to Bullen, 
And made the French men bow 
Like the three kings of Cullen, 
O Anthony, now, now, now." 

This, with some variations, is the first verse of a l)alla(l 
piinted at the end of Le Prince d' Amour, 1660 ; also in Rit- 
son's Ancient Sonc/s, p. 270, edit. 1790. 

P. 10, 1. 9. — " Tarlton." The earliest notice of the cele- 
brated comic actor Richard Tarlton, is in 1570, when his 
name appears as the author of a ballad on The Floods of 
Bedfordshire. (See Mr. Collier's Old Ballads, printed for the 
Percy Society). He died in September, 1588. 

Bastard, in his Chrestoleros, 1598, has an epigram to 
" Richard Tarlton, the Comedian and Jester ;" and in Nash's 
Almond for a Parrot, he is praised for having made folly 
excellent, " and spoken of as being extolled for that which 
all despise." 

An exceedingly rare little volume, entitled Joannis Strad- 
lingi Epigrammatum Libri Qtmtuor, Lond. 1607, informs us 
that Tarlton was celebrated for his tragic as well as comic 
acting. This fact has been no-where mentioned but by the 
Rev. A. Dyce (see his elegant edition of Greene's Drain. 
Works, vol. i. p. xlvii). Chettle's description of his appear- 
ance accords with that of the anonymous writer of Tarlton s 
Newes out of Pim/atorie. The author, feigning a dream, says 
he saw the ghost of Tarlton, dressed as he usually was upon 
the stage, " in russet, with a buttond cap on his head, a great 
bag by his side, and a strong bat in his hand, so artificially 
attired for a clowne as I began to call Tariton's wonted shape 
to remembrance." 



NOTES. ■ 05 

Among the Harleiau MSS. (No. 3885) is preserved a care- 
ftilly executed likeness of Tarlton, by one John Scottowe, 
temp, of Elizabeth. He is clad in russet, with a bag- or 
pouch at his side, performing " a Jig," to the music of his 
pipe and tabor. The artist has carefully preserved the well- 
known peculiarity of his flat nose, and it is in all probability 
an excellent likeness. 

The music to " Tarleton's Jigge," is preserved in a MS. in 
the Public Library, Cambridge (D d. 14,24). The manuscript 
here referred to is one of six, containing a number of old 
English tunes, collected and arranged for the lute by the 
celebrated John Dowland. They were first pointed out by 
Mr. Halliwell. See his Cambridge Manuscript Rarities, S\o. 
1841, pp. 8, 14,31. 

P. 10, 1. 19. — " William Cuckoe." Chettle's description of 
the dress and appearance of this old itinerant juggler is 
interesting, and his introduction into the " Dreanie" probably 
affords us the only memorial of his existence. 

The ait of juggling appears to have been practised, par- 
ticularly at the end of the sixteenth century, by the lowest 
orders of society. An early and curious work was printed, 
with the following title, Legerdemaine, an Art of Slight of 
Hand, which, although capable of affording much innocent 
delight and astonishment, is left, in this country, to the practice 
of the loivest Iteneranis, 1584 (Watt, Bibl. Brit, in v.). It 
is indeed probable that Cuckoe may be one of the persons 
alluded to in The Anatomy of Legerdemaine, 1634. The 
author, Hocus Pocus, Junior, speaks of one " whose father 
while he lived was the greatest jugler in England, and used 
the assistance of a familiar ; he lived a tinker by trade, and 
used his feats as a trade by the by ; he lived, as I was 
informed, alwayes betattered, and died, for ought I could 



66 NOTES. 

hear, iu the same estate. I could here as I have instanced 
in this man, so give you his name, and where he liveth, but 
because he hath left the bad way, and chose the better, 
because he hath amended his life, and betook himself to an 
honest calling, I will rather rejoyce at his good, than do him 
any the least disgrace by naming him to be such a one." 

P. 11,1.6. — " Maister Doctor Burcot." Notwithstanding 
Chettle's testimony that Doctor Burcot was " in England for 
phisicke famous," I have not been able to find any particidars 
concerning him. Mr. Halliwell has kindly furnished me 
with the following passage, which shows that Burcot's name 
was well known. 

" A stoiy that goes upon one Dr. Burcott's wife, was not 
ti*ue by her but by one Dr. Matthias his wife, a Gennan 
and famous physitian, that liv'd in Noi-wich," ^c. — MS. Harl. 
6395, Xo. 315. 

P. 11, 1. 10. — "his haire was somewhat long." This pecu- 
liarity of Greene's is noticed by other writers. Harvey speaks 
of " his fonde disguisinge of a Master of Arte with ruffianly 
haire." — Fotir Letters and Certaine Sonnets, Sec. 1592. 

And Nash infonns us, that " a ioUy long red peake like the 
spire of a steeple hee eherisht continually without cutting, 
whereat a man might hang a Jewell, it was so shai-p and pen- 
dant." — Strange Aeires, kc. 1592, sig. E. 4. 

P. 11,1. 17. — "the only comedian, of a vulgar writer, in 
this cotmtry." Chettle thus places Greene above aU his con- 
temporaries. Mr. Collier adduces this passage, coupled with 
another from the Groatswi.rth of Wit, to prove that up to 
the end of the year 1592, Shakespeare had not acquired repu- 
tation as an original dramatic poet. " Om' author's words," 



NOTES. 67 

says Mr. Collier, " do not mean that Greene was an applauded 
actor, but that he was a comic play-writer of the highest popu- 
larity. " — Hist, of Dram. Poet. ii. 436-7. 

P. 11, 1. 20. — " Knight of the post." A person employed 
to give false evidence. A curious tract was printed in 1.597, 
entitled The Discouerie of the Knu/hts of the Po.<ste ; or the 
Knifjhtes of the Post, or common bai/lers neirli/ discried, &:c. 
By E. S. 4to. 

P. 11,1.2(5. — "How Pierce his supplication pleased his 
patron I know not." Pierce Pennilesse his Supplication to 
the Deuill, was one of the most celebrated and popular pro- 
ductions of the satirist Thomas Nash, and he himself infonns 
us that it went through six impressions before he published 
his Have with yoti to Saffron-walden. It first appeared in 
1592, during which year (see Collier's Bridf/ewatcr-House 
Catalogue, p. 209) it reached a third edition. 

P. 12, 1. 14.—" crowd," i.e. fiddle. 

P. 13. — " The friendli/ admonition of Anthonie Now now 
to Mopo and Pickering, arch ouersecrs of the ballad .nngers," 
&c. Mopo was, most likely, a nickname given to some well- 
known ballad vender of the sixteenth centuiy, the identity of 
whom it would now be difficult to prove. William Pickering 
was a publisher of ballads to a considerable extent, and, 
according to Herbert, an original meml)er of the Stationers' 
Company, and the first person on the list who obtained a 
license to print. Between the years 1577 and 159fi, he 
appears to have been active in supplying the market with 
" proper new ballads," and in the collections of the curious 
we recognise the colophon, " Imprinted at London for Wil- 

F 2 



68 NOTES. 

Ham Pickering at St. Magnus Coiner," more frequently 
perhaps than any other. 

P. 13, 1. 14. — " I humbly desire ye that ye ioyne with ano- 
ther of yom- bretheren free of one citie and profession. Sec." 
Perhaps this passage alludes to the early opponent of the 
stage, Stephen Gosson. The expressions that he has " now 
in his age betaken to his beads, and liueth by the dolefull 
tolling of deaths bell warning," evidently alludes to one that 
had taken holy orders. We know that Gosson was in the 
Church previous to the year 1598, for in that year he printed 
a semion, called The Trumpet of War, styling himself on 
the title-page " Parson of Great Wigborow in Essex ;" and 
it is more than probable, fi'om other circumstances, that he 
was in holy orders in 1592. 

P. 14, 1. 26. — " This error (oner spreding the realme) hath 
in no small measure increased in Essex," &c. The error, as 
Anthony calls it, of ballads becoming known in countiy towns, 
after they had been " abusively chanted" in the streets of Lon- 
don, is noticed by Brathwait : " Stale ballad-newes, like stale 
fish when it begins to smell of the panyer, are not for queasie 
stomacks. You must therefore imagine that by this time they 
are cashier 'd the citie, and must now ride poast for the coun- 
trey, where they are no less admired than a grant in a pageant, 
till at last they grow so common there too, as every poore 
milk maid can chant and chirpe it under her cow, which she 
useth as an hannlesse channe to make her let down her milke." 
— Character of a Ballad Monger, in Whimzie'i, or a neiv Cast 
of Characters, 12mo. 1631, sig B 4, rev. 

P. 15, 1. 5. — " the one in a sweaking treble, the other in 
an ale-blowen base." Siceahiiu/ is probably a misprint for 



NOTES. 69 

aqueakinij. Bratliwait, speaking of one of the l)allad-sing- 
ing generation, thus describes his qualifications : " Now he 
counterfeits a natiu"al base, then a perpetual treble, and ends 
with, a counter-tenure. You shall heare him feigne an artfidl 
straine through the nose, purposely to insinuate into the atten- 
tion of the purer brother-hood." — Whimzies, sig. B 5. 

P. 15, 1. 15.—" Watkins Ale." The ciu-ious old tune of 
" Watkins Ale" is preserved in Queen Elizabeth's Virginal 
Book, in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, and in Chap- 
pell's Collection, Ike. before referred to. A copy, probably 
unique, of the original ballad is in the possession of George 
Daniel, Esq. It is entitled : 

" A ditty delighlt'iill of Mother Watkins Ale, 
A warning wel wared, tbough counted a tale." 

Chettle again alludes to it in a letter (with the signature 
T. N. to his good friend A. M.) prefixed to Munday's transla- 
tion of Gerileon of England, The Second Part, 1592. " I 
shoidd hardly be perswaded that any professor of so excellent 
a science (as printing), would be so impudent to print such 
odious and lasciuious ribauldrie as Watkims Ale, The Carmans 
Whistle, and sundrie such other." 

P. 15, 1. 15. — " the Carmans Whistle." The air of the 
Carman's Whistle is traditionally reported to have been a great 
favourite with Queen Elizabeth : it is contained in her Vir- 
ginal Book, with harmony and variations by W.Byrd, and has 
been recently printed in Mr. Chappell's C(dlection of National 
English Airs, 4to. 1840. Mr. J. Payne Collier is in posses- 
sion of a black-letter ballad, entitled The Courteous Carman 
and the Amorous Maid ; or, the Carman's Whistle, which is 
probably the original. The camien of the sixteenth and seven- 
teenth centuries appear to have been far more musical than those 



70 NOTES. 

of a later age. FalstafTs description of Justice Shallow is, that 
" he came ever in the rear-ward of the fashion, and sung those 
tunes to the over-scutched huswives that he heard the carmen 
tchistle, and sware they were his fancies or his good-nights." — 
Henry the Fourth, Part ii. act iii. so. 2. Again, in Ben Jonson's 
Bartholovieiv Fair, 1614, act i. sc. 1, Waspe says : " I dare not 
let him walk alone, for fear of learning of vile tunes, which 
he will sing at supper, and in the sennon times ! If he meet 
but a cannan in the street, and I And him not talk to keep 
him ofif on him, he will whistle him and all his tunes over at 
night in his sleep." Taylor, the water poet, in his tract called 
The World runnes on Wheeles, 1635, says, " And if the car- 
man's horse be melancholy or dull with hard and heavy labour, 
then will he (the cannan) like a kinde piper, whistle him a fit 
of mirth to any tune, from above Eela to belowe Gammoth, 
of which generosity and com'tesie yom" coachman is altogether 
ignorant, for he never whistles, but all his musicke is to rap 
out an oath." Honest John Playford, speaking of the great 
benefit of music to all classes, exclaims, " Nay, the poor la- 
bouring beasts at i)low and cart are cheer 'd by the sound of 
miisick, though it be l)ut their master's whistle." — Introduction 
to the Skill of Mustek, 8vo. edit. 1679, preface. 

P. 15, 1. 20.—" the Frier and the Nunne." The ballad 
here alluded to is not known. Friars have been the frequent 
subject of ridicule to ballad makers — I may instance the fol- 
lowing : " The Maid peep'd out of the Window, or the Fryar 
in the Well : 

" A pretty jest that once befel. 
How a maid put a friar to cool in a well," 

preserved in the Museum Collection (643 m) ; and " The 
Fryar and the Maid," in D'Urfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy, 
vol. iii. p. 325, edit. 1719. The original tune to the l)allad 



NOTES. 71 

mentioned in the text, is to be found in an exceedingly rare 
little volume, entitled Musick's Delight on the Cithren, 1666. 
The same volume also contains many airs of great interest, 
several of which are mentioned by Shakespeare. 

P. 16, 1. 12. — " The rogue that liueth idly is restrained, 
the tidier and plaier that is maisterlesse is in the same pre- 
dicament, both these by the law are burned in the eare." An 
allusion to the statute against rogues and vagabonds. John 
Stephens, in his Essayes and Characters, 1615, says of " a 
common player," that " the statute hath done wisely to 
acknowledge him a rogue errant, for his chiefe essence is 
a daily enimterfeit. He hath beene familliar so long with 
out-sides, that he professes himself (lieing vnknowne) to be 
an apparent gentleman. But his thinne felt and his silke 
stockings, or his foule linnen and faire doublet, do (in him) 
bodily reueal the broker : so being not sutable he proues a 
motley : his mind, obseruing the same fashion of his body, 
doth consist of parcell and remnants, but his minde hath 
commonly the newer fashion and the newer stuffe ; he would 
not else hearken so passionately after new tunes, new tricks, 
new deuises." 

P. 17, 1. 1. — "chapmen." The term chapman is now only 
used for a purchaser, one who l)argains for purchase, but 
anciently signified a seller also, being properly ceapman, 
market man, or cope man, one who barters with another. 
See Nares {Gloss, in v.) The following passage from The 
Pleasant and stately Morall of the Three Lordes and Three 
Ladies of London, 1590, will perhaps not be out of place. 

" Wea. What wares do ye sell ? 

" Sim. Truely child I sel Ballades : soft — whose wares are 
these that are up already? I paid rent for my standing, and 



i 'I NOTES. 

other folkes wares shall be placed al'oie mine ? this is wise 
indeed ! 

" Wit. O the finenes of the wares (man) deserue to have 
good place. 

" Sim. They are fine indeed, who sels them, can ve tell ? 
Is he free ? 

" Wit. Our maisters be : we wait on this ware, and yet we 
are no chapmen. 

" Sim. Chapmen, no that's true, for you are no men, neither 
chapmen, nor chopmen, nor chipmen, nor shipmeu, but if ye 
be chappers, choppers, or chippers, ye are but chapboyes, and 
chapboyes ye are double." — Sig. B. 4. 

P. 17, 1. 8.— "the three footcrosse," i. e. the gallows. 

P. 17, 1. 28. — " cmtell." A curtal, says Nares, {Gloss, in v.) 
is a docked horse, but not necessarily a small one, as some 
have asserted. Banks's famous horse is often called his 
cmtall, to which therefore the passage following most pro- 
bably alludes : 

" And some there are 
Will keep curtal to show juggling tricks, 
And give out 'tis a spirit " — Webster's White Devil, 1613. 

P. 19, 1. 4. — " my blinde brother that exercisde the base." 
Anthony's blinde brother could have been no other than " Old 
Mooue :" they are frequently mentioned together in old plays. 

" Sirrah wag, this rogue was son and heire to Antony 
Nowe now, and Blind Moone: and hee must needs be a 
scur^-j- musition that hath two fidlers to his fathers." — Wilkins' 
Miseries of Inforcst Marrimje, Sig. A, 2, 1607. 

" Heavenly consort better than old Moone s." — Dekker and 
Webster's Northward Hoe, 1607, Act ii. sc. 3. 

P. ID, 1. 20. — " surquedrj'," i.e. pride or presumption. 

" Surquedrie is thilke vice 
Of pride, whiche the thirde office 



NOTES. 73 

Hath in his coiirte, and will not knowe 
The truth." — Gower's Confessio Amantis. 

The word is also used by Spenser, Marston, Drayton, and 
others. 

P. 19, 1. 27. — "to follow jigging vanity." Read "to follow 
a jigging vanity." 

P. 20, 1. 16. — " cut." A familiar appellation for a common 
or laboming horse. See Nares {Gloss, in v.) 

P. 22, 1. 19. — " phisitions found it to be the gout," &c. 
Whetstone, in the first book of his English Myrror, 1686, 
tells us that " a gentleman of Vennis (Venice) one a time 
supping with a phisition in Padua, marueiled that the phi- 
sitions, who in shorte space finde a remedie for the most 
violent newe disease that raigneth, can not cure as well as giue 
ease to the gowt, an auncient maladie. Wliich doubt, the 
doctor thus pleasauntly resolued. O sir, ((juoth hee) the gowte 
is the proper disease of the riche, and wee Hue not by the 
poore ; it may suffice that they find ease ; but to prescribe a 
ciu'e to beggar our faciUtye, were a great follye." 

P. 23, 1. 10. — " oyle of Suamone." I have not been able to 
find any description of this precious oil. John Hester's Key 
of Philosophie, 1596, gives a list of almost every oil in use, 
but not the one in question. 

P. 23, 1. 20. — "this wise woman." Middleton speaks of 
" the unse woman in Do-little Lane." Bp. Earle, in depicting 
the character of " A meer dull physician," says : " His two 
main opposites are a mountebank and a good woman, and he 
never shews his learning so much as in an invective against 
them and their l)oxes." — Minocosmography, 1650. edit. Bliss, 
p. 12. 



74 NOTES. 

P. 23, 1. 30. — " no other then fountains water." It appears 
to have been a common practice mth quacks, to administer 
to the ignorant pure water, disguised under some attractive 
name. Thus Dekker, " Some quack-salver or other, either by 
the help of Toioer-hill v^ater, or any other physical or chunr- 
gicaU means." — A Kniyhts Conjuring, 1607. 

P. 24, 1. 18. — "fonnes the receipt for the pilles in man- 
ner of a playster." Chettle seems to have had good reason 
for his complaint against the apothecaries. In 1584, Christo- 
pher Langhton published " A Letter, sent by a learned phi- 
sitian to his friend, wherein are detected the manifold errors 
vsed hetherto of the Apothecaries in preparing Condites, Con- 
serves, Pills, Potions, Electuaries, Losinges, &c." — Andr. 
Maunsell's Catalogue of English Printed Bookes, 1585. 

P. 25, 1. 1. — "dismembred him, the signe beeinge in the 
foote." An allusion to a class of practitioners, who adminis- 
tered medicines and performed surgical operations under the 
guidance and supposed indications of the planetaiy system. 
See The Glass of Health, printed by Robeit Wyer. This 
passage might easily be illustrated from old plays : 

" I am thiniing where the sigyi is. 
Ha ! 'tis in Capricomus ; I'll go let 
Mvself blood i' the knees." 

Shirley's ^!(7?ioi(roMs Courtier, 16i0, Act v. sc. 1. 

P. 25, 1. 27. — " I muse not a little what wonderfull met- 
taline preparatiue it is ye boast on." Basil Valentine, who 
lived at the end of the sixteenth century, ranks among the 
first who introduced metallic preparations into medicine, and 
is supposed to be the first that used the word antimony. He 
published a singidar work, entitled Curras Triuniphalis Anti- 
monii ; where, after setting forth the chemical preparations 



NOTES. 75 

of that metal, lie enumerates their medicinal effects. Accord- 
ing to the prevailing custom of the age, he boasts of super- 
natural assistance ; and his work furnishes a good specimen 
of the controversial disputes between the chemical physicians, 
and those of the school of Galen ; the Ibrmer being attached 
to active, and the latter to mere simple and inert remedies. 

P. 26, 1. 2. — " King Mithridates." The reputed inventor 
of an antidote against infection. Dekker, in his Guls Horn 
Book, 1609, speaks of drugs "which 3Iithndates hoiled to- 
gether ;" and in The Knujht of the Burning Pestle, sign. C 2, 
edit. 1635, Rate exclaims : " But what brave spirit could be 
content to sit in his shop, with a flapet of wood before him, 
selling Methridatum and dragons water to visited houses." 
In the year 1585 was printed, A Discourse of the Medicine 
called Mithridate, declarimj the first beginning, the tempere- 
ment, the noble vertues, and the true x^se of the same. Dr. 
Nott informs us (Kepr. Gull's Horn Book, p. 52) that the 
celebrated compound of the royal quack of Pontus, or some- 
thing nearly similar, held a place in our London Phaiinaco- 
pasia till as late as 1787, when it was deservedly expunged. 

P. 26, 1. 20. — " your admirable eie water, through the ver- 
tue of whiclie you haue attained the worshipfuU name of docter 
put out : hauing put out soome of their eies that deale with it." 
William Clowes, the author of A Briefe and Necessarie 
Treatise touching the Cure of the Disease called Morbus Gal- 
licus, 1585, speaking of " the notorious cosinage and lewde 
craft of one Valentine Rarsworme, of Smalcald, a straunger 
borne," says that " he promised to cure one Master Castelton, 
then being a scoller of Cambridge, of an impediment in his 
eyes ; he had stnne sight thereof, that he was able to discerne 
many things, when this Valentine Rarswonne tooke him in 



76 NOTES. 

cure, but within a very short time after, Valentine, by his rus- 
tical dealings, put out his eyes cleane, and so depriued him of 
all his sight." Castleton, compelled to put up with the loss of 
his eyes, did not feel inclined to lose his money also ; he 
therefore arrested this impudent quacksalver, while displaying 
" his banners and wares" in the Royal Exchange, and reco- 
vered back the money he had paid in the hopes of his cure. 

P. 27, 1. 20. — " cogging," i. e. lying, cheating. " But when 
shoidd the children of lyes, coggeries, and impostures believe, 
if they should not believe their father the grandfather of lyes." — 
A Declaration of Egregious Popish Impostures, 4to. Sig. Y 2. 
1603. 

P. 28, 1. 15. — " cousoning toothe drawers, that from place to 
place wander with banners full of horse-teeth." Richard 
Banister, an ocidist of the early part of the seventeenth cen- 
tury, speaking of one Dr. Allot, says : — " A brother of his 
(Dr. Allot's) was at Lin with a garland of teeth about his neck." 
— A Treatise of One Hundred and Thirteene Diseases of the 
Eyes, 12mo. 1622. It was no doubt customaiy also to exhibit 
banners of teeth. William Clowes, in his treatise on the 
Morbus Gallicus, 1585, tells us that " Quacksalvers and 
mountebanks are as easy to be knowne as an asse by his 
eares, or the lyon by his pawes, for they delight most com- 
monly to proclaime their dealings in the open streets and 
market places, by prating, bragging, lying, with their labells, 
banners, and wares, hanging them out abroade." The author 
gives a cmious wood-cut of a mountebank exhibiting in an 
open space, surrounded by banners, inscriptions, and all the 
umnerous paraphernalia calculated to impose on a credulous 
mob. Another wiiter of the sixteenth centmy informs us that 
" in the yeare 1587, there came a Fleraming into the cittie of 



NOTES. / / 

Gloceter [Gloucester] named Wolfgang Frolicke, and there 
hanged forth his pictures, his flagges, his instruments, and 
his letters of marte, with long la1>ells, great tassels, broad 
scales closed in boxes, with such counterfeit showes and knackes 
of knauerie, coesining the people of their monie, without 
either learning or knowledge. — A most excellent and compen- 
dious 3Iethod of curing Wounds, ^-c. translated by John 
Read, 8vo. 1588. 

P. 29, 1. 18.^ — "A Charme." The following chann for the 
tooth-ache is from Reginald Scot's Discoverie of Witchcraft, 
p. 244, edit. 1585. " Scaritie the gums in tlie greefe with the 
tooth of one that hath been slaine. Otherwise ; galhes galhat, 
guides galdat. Otherwise ; A ah hur hus, &c. Othei-wise ; 
at saccaring of Masse, hold your teeth together and say, O 
nan commennetis ex eo. Otherwise ; Strigiles falsesque dentata 
dentium dolorem persauate ; O horsse combs and sickles that 
haue so many teeth come heale me now of my tooth-ache." 
A MS. receipt for the tooth-ache on a fly leaf at the end of 
the Musemn copy of John Hester's Pearle of Practise, 1594, 
says, " The tooth of a dead man carried about a man, presently 
suppressed! the paine of the teeth." 

P. 32, 1. 10. — " euen in my graue was I scarse layde, when 
Enuie (no fit companion for art) spit out her poyson to disturbe 
my rest." Greene had been dead but a short time, when the 
pen of Gabriel Harvey endeavoured to blacken his memoiy in 
a work, the fierce malignity of which has left an indelible 
stain upon the character of its author. " He might (says Sir 
Egerton Brydges) have spared the dead : and have buried the 
malignant ovei-flow of his passions in his pitiable opponent's 
early grave ! But, coward as he was, he sought out the cham- 
ber of death amid the haunts of poverty and disease, not that 



78 NOTES. 

he might cast flowers on the coffin of genius, but that he might 
gather libellous stories, with which he might sink in the same 
grave his posthumous fame." See the best account of Greene 
in the Introduction prefixed to the Rev. A. Dyce's beautiful 
edition of his Dramatic IVnrks, 8vo. 1831. 

P. 32, 1. 24. — " my Blacks Bookc, if euer it see light." 
It was afterwards printed under the following title — "The 
Blacke Bookes Messenger. Laying open the Life and 
Death of Ned Brown one of the most notable cutpiuses, cros- 
biters, and connycatchers that euer lined in England. Herein 
hee telleth verie pleasantly in his owne person, such strange 
prancks and monstrous villanies by him and his consortes per- 
formed, as the like was yet neuer heard of in any of the fonner 
bookes of conny-catching. Read and be warnd, laugh as you 
like, judge as you find. Nascimur pro Patria. By R. G. 
Printed at London by John Danter for Thomas Nelson, dwell- 
ing in Siluer-street, neere to the signe of the Red Crosse. ' 
4to. 1692. , 

P. 34, 1. 12. — " Awake (secure boy) reuenge thy wrongs," 
&c. Sir Egerton Biydges (repr. Groats-tvorth of Wit, p. 19) 
has misprinted this passage thus : — "Awake, sweet boy," &c. 

P. 35, 1. 10 — " Is it not lamentable that a man should spend 
his two-pence on them in an afternoon ?" Two-pence was the 
common charge of admission to the upper gallery of our an- 
cient theatres. All that can now be collected concerning the 
prices of admission in former times, may be seen in Collier's 
Hist, of Dram. Poet, and the Stage, iii. p.p. 341-53. 

P. 35. 1. 16. — " Byr Lady." A conniption of By our 
Lady. 



NOTES. 79 

P. 35, 1. 20. — " the boiUing-alleys in Bedlam." Frequently 
mentioned by writers of the period. 

" At Bedlam bowling-alley, late 
Where cittizens did bet." 

S. Rowland's Knave of Cluhs, 1612. 

P. .35, 1. 25. — " make sute againe for their longer restraint 
though the sicknesse cease." Alluding to the custom of closing 
the theatres dm-ing the time of sickness. When this tract 
was published, in 1592, the plague was raging in London. 
See Collier's Memoirs of Allcyn, p. 23. 

P. 37, 1. 29.—" crosse-biting," i. e. cheating. S. Rowlands, 
who particidarly describes the precise meaning of the term, 
tells us that one " Lawrence Crosbiter, or long Lawrence," was 
" the first inventor of crosbiting." See Martin Mark- All, Bea- 
dle of Brideivell, 4to. 1010, Sig. G 2. 

P. 37, 1. 30. — " conny-catching," i. e. cheating, deceiving. 
The tricks of the conny-catchers, or sharpers, with whom Lon- 
don used to abound, were described by R. Greene in several 
pamphlets. See the full titles of them in the Rev. A. Dyce's 
edition of his Dramatic Works, vol. i. p. cvi. 

P. 38, 1. 2. — " singing jigs and making jests of vs." A jig 
was the common conclusion to the amusements of the theatre 
in the days of our ancestors, and the passage in the text has 
been adduced to prove that there was singing in them. Many 
others might be quoted. Lupton, in his London and the 
Countrey Carbonadoed and Quatred into seuerall Characters, 
8vo. 1632, says, " Most commonly when the play is done, you 
shall haue a jig or a dance of all treads : they mean to put 
their legs to it as well as their tongues." Tarlton acquired 
great celebrity in them ; and from a passage in Tarlton s 



80 NOTES. 

News out of Purgatory, it would appear that they lasted for 
an hour : the author says that the pamphlet is " only such a 
jest as his [Tarltou's] jig, fit for geutlemeu to laugh at an 
hour." 

Kemp was also famous for his performance of jigs. The 
music to many of them is preserved in John Dowland's MSS. 
before alluded to, in the Public Library, Cambridge. 

P. 40, 1. 15. — "one thing I mislitte, that Tarletou stoode 
no longer on that point of landlords." In the curious satirical 
tract, entitled Marocms Extaticus, or Bankes Bay Horse in 
a trance, 1595, the horse is thus made to speak of the practice 
of landlords: — " O master, miserable landlords are the cause of 
all this mischiefe. Tis he that because he will haue an vnrea- 
sonable rent, will vpholde anie villanie in his tenant : a slaue 
to monie, a pander to the baud, a piller, nay, a pillow and a 
bolster, to all the roguerie committed in his houses. And yet 
will this filthie felow sit at his doore on a Sonday, in the high 
street, and my mistres his wife by him, aud there forsooth 
talke so saint-like of the sennon that day, and what a good 
peece of worke the young man made, and what a goodly gift 
of vtterance he had, but not the value of a pound of beefe will 
he giue hira were his gift of \-tterance comparable to S. Augus- 
tines, or Chrisostomes eloquence. Sweare he will and forsweare 
vpon the worke day as anie. And if percase he sit in place of 
authoritie, O how seuere wiU he ])e in all his proceedings against 
a yong or good fellow in anie trifling matter. , Then he takes 
vpon him not a little : Sir (sayes hee) what did you in such a 
house.'' Wlierefore came you thither? And laie the lawe, 
and the prophetes too, and so rate a gentleman well descended, 
meerely priuiledged with a fm'd gowne and a nightcap ; when 
in deede his bringing vp hath been in beggerie and slauerie 
illiberally, liauing spent his time in conference with the water 



NOTES. 81 

tankard at the Conduit, lying miserably, and for sparing of 
wood, loding his gowne sleeve with fuell from the haberdashers, 
and wearing his handes in a frostie morning by the fugitive 
flames of a few waste papers ; a naturally enemie to all learn- 
ing and liberalitie." 

P. 41, 1. 7. — " beshrew the card -makers, that clapt not a 
gowne about the knave of hartes, and put him on a hat for a 
bonnet ouer his night-cappe." Samuel Rowlands was the 
author of three curious tracts upon the subject of cards. The 
following extract from The Knave of Harts, haile fellow, well 
Viet, 4to. London, edit. 1613, may not be inappropriate. 

THE KNAVE OF HARTS HIS SUPPLICATION TO CAED MAKERS. 

" Wee are abused in a great degree, 
For there's no knaues so wronged as are we 
By those that chiefly shoukl be our part-takers. 
And thus it is my maisters, you card-makers ; 
All other knaues are at their owne free will 
To brave it out, and follow fashion still 
In any cut, according to the time. 
But we poore knaues (I know not for what crime) 
Are kept in pie-bald suites, which we liaue worne 
Hundred of yeares: this hardly can be borne. 
The idle-headed French deuis'd vs first, 
Who of all fashion-mongers is the worst ; 
For he doth change farre oftner than the moone, 
Dislikes his morning suite in th' after-noone. 
The English is his imitating ape, 
In euery toy the tailers sheares can shape 
Comes dropping after, as the diuell entices, 
And putteth on the French-mans cast deuises. 
Yet wee (with whom thus long they both hano plaid) 
Must weare the suites in which we first were made. 
It is no maruell euery base consort, 
^^'hen he hath lost his money, \\ill report 
All ill of vs, and giueth these rewards: 
A poxe \'pon these scuruy, lowsie, cardes 
How can we choose but haue the itching gift, 
Kept in one kinde of cloaths, and neuer shift ? 
Or to be scurvy how can we forbeare 
That neuer yet had shirt or band to weare ? 
How bad I and my fellow Diamond goes ? 
We neuer yet had garter to our hose, 

G 



82 NOTES. 

Nor any shooe to put vpon our feete, 
AVith such base cloaths, 'tis e'en a shame to see't. 
My sleeues are hke some morris-tlauncing fellow ; 
My stockings ideot-like, red, greene, and j^eallow ; 
My breeches like a pau'e of hite-pins be, 
Scarse buttocke roome, as euery man may see : 
Like three-penie watch men, three of vs doe stand, 
Each with a rustle brownebill in his hand. 
And clubs, he holds an arrow, like a clowne, 
The head-end vpward, and the feathers downe. 
Thus are we wrong'd, and thus we are agrieu'd, 
And thus long time we haue beene vnrelieu'd ; 
But, card-makers, of you Harts reason craues, 
Why we shovild be restrain'd aboue all knaues 
To weare such patched and disguis'd attire ? 
Answere but this, of kindnesse we require. 
Shew vs (I pray) some reason how it haps 
That we are euer bound to weare flat-caps, 
As though we had vnto a cities trade 
Bin prentises, and so were freemen made. 
Had we blacke gownes, vpon my life, I sweare. 
Many would say that we foure Serjeants were ; 
And that would bring card-play in small request 
With gallants that were fearefull of arrest, 
For melancholy they would ever be 
A Serjeants picture in their hands to see. 
Others, that clubs and spades apparell notes, 
Because they both are in side-garded coates 
To arme them two vsurers, villanous rich. 
To whom the diuell is beholden much, 
And loues tlieir trade, of getting gold, so well. 
They shall be welcome to his flames in hell. 
Others say, if we had white aprons on 
We would be like unto " a non, a non, 
What is it gentlemen you please to drinke ?" 
And some, because we haue no beards, doe thinke 
We are four panders, with our lowsie lockes. 
Whose naked chinues are shauen with the poxe, 
Diuers opinions there be ; other sliowes, 
Because we walke in jerkins and in hose, 
Without an vpper garment, cloake, or gowne, 
We must be tapsters running vp and downe 
With Cannes of beere (malt sod in fishes broth), 
And those, they say, are fil'd with nick and froth. 
Other auouch we are of the smoky crew, 
A trade that stinckes, although it be but new ; 
Such fellowes as sit all the day in smother, 
And drinke, like diuels, fire to each other. 
Thus are we plaid vpon by each base groome : 
Nay, let a paire of cards lye in a roome 



NOTES. 83 

Where any idle iellow comnietli in, 

The knaues heo'll single out, and thus begin : 

Here are lour millers, for their honest dealing! 

Or tailers, for the gift they hane in stealing ; 

Or brokers, for their looking threw a hole ; 

Or colliers, for not filling of their sackes : 

Thus we are plaid vpon by sawcy jackes. 

And therefore if perswasions may but winne you, 

Good card makers (if there be any goodnes in j'ou) 

Apparell vs with more respected care ; - 

Put vs in hats, our caps are worne threadbare ; 

Let vs haue standing collers in the fashion 

(All are become a stilfe-necke generation), 

Rose hat-bands, with the shaggedragged-rufTc, 

Great cabbage shooe strings (pray you bigge enough), 

French dublet, (and the Spanish hose to breech it). 

Exchange our swords, and take away our bils, 

Let vs haue rapiers (knaues loue fight that kils), 

Put vs in bootes, and make vs leather legs, 

This Hiirts, most humbly, and his followes begs." 

P. 41, 1. 12.— "Macke, Maw, Ruffe, Noddy and Triunpe." 
Names of pojjular games at cards. Macke, it is coiijectured, 
was the same as the old French game Jeu de Macao. See 
Singer's Researches into the History of Playing-Cards. p. 261 . 

Maive was played with a piquet pack of thirty-six cards, and 
any number of persons from two to six formed the party. 
The game had a variety of strict rules and technical terms, 
which it would be tedious to recapitulate. 

Ruff and new coat is mentioned in Heywood's play of A 
Woman Killed with Kindness, 1617. Mr. Douce and other 
writers have imagined that the terms Ruff and Trumj) were 
synonymous, but several passages might be adduced to show 
that they were distinct games. " And to confounde all, to 
mend their badde games, having never a good carde in their 
handes, and leaving the ancient game of England (Trumpe), 
where eveiy coate and sute are sorted in their degree, are 
running to Ruffe where the greatest sorte of the sute carrieth 
away the game." — Martins Months Minde, 1589. Epistle to 
the reader. 

Noddy was probably the same game we now call cribbage. 



84 NOTES. 

It appears from the Complete Gamester, 1682, 2nd edition 
p. 76, that Knave Noddy was the designation of the knave in 
playing that game. 

Trump, which was probably the triunfo of the Italians and 
the triomphe of the French, is perhaps of equal antiquity in 
England with Primero ; and, at the latter end of the sixteenth 
centmy, was veiy common among the lower classes. See 
Singer's Researches, Sec. p. 269. 

P. 41, 1. 19. — "the suburbs of the citie are in many places 
no other but dark dennes for adulterers, theeues, &c." " How 
happy therfore were cities if they had no suburbs, sithence 
they seiTe but as caves where monsters are bred up to devour 
the cities themselves. Would the deviU hire a \Tllaine to spill 
blood ; there he should find him. One to blaspheme ; there he 
hath choice. A pander that woidd turne nis ovra father- a 
begging; he is there too. A harlot that would murder her 
new bom infant; she lives in there." — English Villanies Seven 
several times Prest to death bif the Printers, ^c. [1637.] Sig. 
F 3. rev. 

P. 45, 1. 9. — "hey-passe, re-passe." Common terms used by 
juglers. See Ady's Candle in the Dark, 1656, Sig. F 3. 

P. 45, 1. 9. — "come aloft." Signifies to vault or play the 
tricks of a tumbler. From the following quotations it appears 
that apes were also taught their tricks. 

" But if this hold, I'll teach you 
To come aloft, aud do tricks like an ape." 

Massing ee's Bondman, 1624, act iii. sc. 3. 

" AMiich he could do with as much ease, as an ape carrier ■with his 
eye makes the vaulting creature come aloft." — Ga.yios's Festivimis Notes 
on Do/i Quixote, 1654, p. 113. 

P. 45, 1. 16. — "like a siibsister in a gowneof rugge, rent on 
the left shoulder, to sit singing the counter-tenor by the cage 
in Southwarke." A subsister was probably a tenn for a poor 



NOTES. 85 

prisoner. The description of his dress, "a gowne of rugge 
rent on the left shoulder," can only apply to one in the lowest 
state of poverty. Singing the counter-tenor is frequently men- 
tioned in connection with the name of a prison, by old writers ; 
very often as a pun upon the word coinpter. Thus in the fol- 
lowing passages : " For the compters, they teach wandering 
nightingales the way unto their nests, and learn them to sing 
the counter-tenor." — Lupton's London and the Country, &c. 
1632. Again, " This number is since, by tract of tyme, much 
lessened and impayred ; but howsoeuer, sm'e I am that libera- 
litie, as I sayd before, is eyther quite dead, banished, or els 
playes least in sight, as bancki'outes, that walkes naiTow lanes, 
or keepes them out of the libertie, least they should sing the 
counter-tenor, or at Ludgate, for the Lord's sake." A Health 
to the Gentlemanly Profession of Serving men, by J. M. 4to. 
Londen, 1598, Sig. E i. 

P. 45, 1. 22. — " your iugling at Newington with a christall 

stone." " The Beril, which is a kind of christal, hath a weak 

tincture of red in it. Among other tricks of astrologers the 

discoveiy of past and futiu'e events was supposed to be the 

consequence of looking into it. See Aubrey's Miscellanies, p. 

165, edit. 1721." — Reed. Samuel Rowlands describing a 

dabler in magic, says — 

" He can transforme himselfe unto an asse, 
Shew you the diuell in a christall glasse." 
The Letting of Humours Blood in the Head vainc, 1600, Sat. 3. 

MS. Sloane, 6848, contains " an experyment to see most 
excellent and certainlye in a chiistall stonne what secrette 
thou wilt." 

P. 46, 1. 4. — "I wonder what became of your familiar." 
John Ady, in his Candle in the Dark, 1656, has a chajjter 
exposing the tricks of jugglers, from which I extract the 
following passages relating to the employment of a fomiliar. 
" A Jugler knowing the common tradition, and foolish opi- 



86 NOTES. 

iiioii that a familiar spirit in some bodily shape must be 
had for the doing of strange things beyond the vulgar capa- 
city ; he therefore carrieth about him the skin of a mouse 
stopped with feathers, or some lite artificial thing, and in the 
hinder part thereof, sticketh a small springing wire of about a 
foot long, or longer, and when he begins to act his part in a 
fayr, or a market, before vxdgar people, he bringeth forth his 
impe, and maketh it spring from him once or twice upon the 
table and then catcheth it up again saying ; would you be 
gone? I will make you stay and play some tricks for me 
before you go? and then he nimbly sticketh one end of the 
wire upon his waste, and maketh his impe spring up three or 
four times to his shoulder, and nimbly catcheth it, and pulleth 
it down again, every time, saying; would you be gone? in 
troth if you would be gone I can play no tricks or feats of 
activity to day, and then holdeth it fast in one hand, and 
beateth it ^nth the other, and slily maketh a squeeking noysc 
with his lips, as if his impe cried, and then putteth liis impe 
in his breeches or in his pocket, saying ; I will make you stay ! 
would you begone ? Then begin the silly people to wonder and 
whisper, then he sheweth many slights of activity, as if he did 
them by the help of his familliar, which the silliest sort of 
beholders do verily beleeve." 

P. 48, 1. 3. — " the whole town talks of the cunning man, 
that indeed had onely conny-catcht his host." The same 
stoiy, differently told, is applied to one " Doctor Pinch-backe 
a notaljle makeshift," at the end of Greenes Ghost haunting 
Cony-catchers, by S. R. 4to. 1626. 

P. 48, 1. 17. — " Jewes trumpe," i.e. Jew's harp, derived from 
jeu trompe, toy trumpet. It is called Jetv trump by Beaiunout 
and Fletcher, Jciv's harp by Hacluyt, and by Bacon jeu trnmpe. 
There is a curious stoiy of one " Geilles Duncan" a noted per- 



NOTES. 87 

foniier on the Jew's harp, whose performance seems not only 
to have met with the approval of a numerous audience of 
wtches, but to have been repeated in the presence of royalty, 
by command of his majesty king James VI. — Agnes Sampson 
lieing brought before the king's majesty and his council, con- 
fessed ' that upon the night of All-Holloweven last, shee was 
accompanied as well with the persons aforesaid, as also with a 
great many other witches, to the number of two-hundreth ; 
and that all they together went to sea, each one in a riddle or 
cive, and went into the same very substantially, with flaggons 
of wine, making merrie, and drinking by the way, in the same 
riddles or cives to the Kirk of North Barrick in Lowthian ; 
and that after they had landed, tooke handes on the lande 
and daunced this reill or short daunce, singing all with one 

voice, 

Commer goe ye before, commer goe ye ; 
Git" ye will not goe before, commer let me. 

At which time, shee confessed that this Geillis Duncan (a 
servant girl) did goe before them playing this reill or daunce 
uppon a small trumpe called a Jewes trump, untill they entred 
into the Kirk of North Barrick. These confessions made the 
king in a wonderfull admiration, and sent for the saide Geillis 
Duncan, who upon the like trumj) did play the saide daunce 
before the kinges majestic ; who in respect of the strangenes 
of these matters, tooke great delight to be present at their 
examinations." — N ewes from Scotland, &c. 1591. 

P. 51,1. 26. — " his two men in blue coates." The common 
livery of the serving-men of the period. 

P. 56,1. 10. — " against all such banner-bearers, whether they 
be of teeth or stone cutting," Ike. George Baker, in his ti'ea- 
tise on The Composition or Makinc/ of the most precious Oil, 
called Oleum Magistrale, 1574, devotes a chapter to " the 
abuses of the runners about, called cutters for the stone and 
ruptors." 



88 NOTES. 

P. 56, 1. 16. — " skoyles." Skoyles appears to be a corrup- 
tion of kayles. It is written also cayles and keiles, derived 
from tlie French word quilles. It was a game played witli 
pins, and is supposed to have been the origin of the modern 
game of nine-pins ; though primitively the kayle-pins do not 
appear to have been confined to any certain number. Strutt 
gives several representations of the game from ]MSS. of the 
fomteenth century {Sports and Pastimes, p. 271, edit. 1830). 

In Wager's curious play, The longer thou livest the more 
foole thou art, a dunce boasts of his skill " at skales, and the 
playing with a sheepes-joynte." The playing with a " sheepes- 
joynte" was probably the game of knuckle-bones. 

P. 56, 1. 16. — " nyne holes." Strutt mentions it as a boyish 
game played at the beginning of the seventeenth centiuy 
{Sports and Pastimes, p. 274, edit. 1830). It is alluded to 
with other games in the fomth satu-e of Samuel Rowlands, 
Letting of Humours Blood, &c. 1600. 

" To -nrestle, play at stooleball, or to runne , 
To pick the barre, or to shoote ofl' a gunne ; 
To play at loggats, nine holes, or ten pinnes ; 
To try it out at foot-ball by the sMnnes." 

P. 56, 1. 20. — " With Robin Greene it passes Kind-harts 
capacity to deale." Greene used to be called familiarly Robin ; 

" Our moderne poets to that passe are driuen, 
Those names are curtal'd which they first had giiien ; 
And, as we wisht to haiie their memories drown'd, 
We scarcely can aflbrd them halie their sound. 
G^reene, who had in botli academies ta'ne 
Degree of master, yet could ueuer gaine 
To he caU'd more than Sohin : who, had he 
Profest ought saue the muse, seni'd, and been free 
After seuen yeares prentiseship, might haue 
(With credit too) gone Robert to his graue." 

Heywood's Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, 1635, p. 200. 



C. RICHAnDS, PUINTEU.ST. MAKllN S LANE. 



A KNIGHT'S CONJURING, 

ETC, 



KNIGHT'S CONJURING: 

Wont in IBarncst, biscobtrelr in ^tst 



THOMAS DEKKER. 



FROM THE ORIGINAL TRACT PRINTED IN 1607. 



EDITED BY 



EDWARD F. RIMBAULT, ESQ. F.S.A. 



LONDON : 
REPRINTED FOR THE PERCY SOCIETY, 

BT T. RICHARDS, FOR THE EXECUTORS OF THE LATE 

C. KICHARDS, 100, ST. MARTIN'S LANE. 
JIDCCCXLII. 



COUNCIL 



Cf)e ^erty Society* 



President. 
The Rt. Hon. LORD BRAYBROOItE, F.S.A. 

THOMAS AMYOT, Esq. F.R.S. Treas. S.A . 

WILLIAM HENRY BLACK, Esq. 

J. A. CAHUSAC, Esq. F.S.A. 

WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq. F.S.A. Treasurer. 

J. PAYNE COLLIER, Esq. F.S.A. 

T. CROFTON CROKER, Esq. F.S.A. M.R.I.A. 

REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

G. P. R. JAMES, Esq. 

WILLIAM JERDAN, Esq. F.S.A. MRS L. 

CHARLES MAC KAY, Esq. 

T. J. PETTIGREW, Esq. F.R.S. F.S.A. 

E. F. RIMBAULT, Esa Y.'S>.^.- Secretary. 
JAMES WALSH, Esq. 

THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq. M.A. F.S.A. 



INTRODUCTION. 



The pamphlets and plays of Dekker abound with 
interesting local allusions, admirable sketches of 
character, and satirical hits at prevailing fashions. 
It has been truly remarked, that they alone would 
furnish a more complete view of the habits and 
customs of his contemporaries, than could easily 
be collected from all the grave annals of the time. 
The exact period of Thomas Dekker"'s birth and 
decease has not descended to us. He is chiefly 
regarded as a writer of the time of James the 
First ; but as his name occurs no less than fifteen 
times in the poetical miscellany entitled " Eng- 
land's Parnassus," which was printed in 1600, it 
is quite evident that he was a poet of consider- 
able note in the reign of Elizabeth : besides, by 
Philip Henslowe"'s papers (now about to be made 
accessible to the world) it appears that he wrote 
either the whole or part of twenty-eight plays 
prior to the year 1603, when James ascended the 
throne. He is., moreover, mentioned by Meres, in 
his oft-quoted " Palladis Tamia, or Wifs Trea- 



VUl 



sury," 1598, as among those in England who were 
considered the best for tragedy. 

Like many of the dramatic writers of the period 
in which he lived, Dekker appears to have been 
always miserably poor, and to have spent half his 
life within the walls of a prison. In the year 
1598, one year after we first hear of him in con- 
nexion with dramatic literature, he was in con- 
finement for debt, in the Poultry Compter. Hens- 
lowe appears to have stood his friend on this 
occasion ; and the following item, from the mana- 
ger's book of accounts, establishes the fact : " Lent 
vmto the company the 4 Febreary, 1598, to dis- 
charge Mr. Dicker out of the cownter in the 
Poultry, the some of fortie shillings, I say dd. 
(delivei-ed) to Thomas Downton xxxxs." 

Oldys, in a MS. note to Langbaine\s " Dra- 
matick Poets," says, " He (Dekker) was in the 
King's Bench Prison from 1613 to 1616, and 
how much longer I know not." This fact is partly 
confirmed in Mr. ColHer's " Memoirs of Alleyn," 
recently published by the Shakespeare Society. 
At page 131, may be seen a letter from Dekker 
to Alleyn, dated "King's Bench, Sept. 12, 1616," 
enclosing some verses " in praise of charity," and 
in celebration of the erection of Dulwich College, 
then fast approaching to completion. " Dekker," 
remarks Mr. Collier, " was a poet of ability, and 



IX 

a prose writer of great variety : he always ' scrib- 
bled for bread," and has left behind him much 
that is utterly worthless in point of literary merit ; 
but much also that well deserves preservation. 
It is to be regretted that his tribute to Alleyn 
has shared the fate of many things he and his 
contemporaries composed. We need entertain 
little doubt that Alleyn took steps to relieve his 
old friend's necessities ; and as it is stated that 
Dekker was released from prison in the very year 
his letter bears date, it may not be too much to 
suppose that Alleyn had a hand in his liberation." 
It does not, however, appear that Dekker was 
released from prison in the year in which he wrote 
to Alleyn. Far from it ; Oldys"' words, before 
quoted, are, " He (Dekker) was in the King's 
Bench Prison from 1613 to 1616, and hoio much 
longer I know notT At page 186, of the same 
work, may be seen another letter from Dekker to 
Alleyn, recommending a party to his favour. We 
learn from this letter (which is, unfortunately, with- 
out a date) that Dekker was again an inhabitant 
of a prison. An expression which occurs in the 
course of the letter, " I give you thanks for the 
last remembrance of your love," warrants the con- 
clusion that the benevolent Alleyn had more than 
once relieved the vvants of the needy poet. 

Perhaps the most prominent feature in Dck- 



ker's life was his celebrated quarrel with Ben 
Jonson, about the beginning of the seventeenth 
century. What the grounds of disagreement be- 
tween the dramatists were, cannot now be clearly 
ascertained ; but we have no cause to regret it, 
since it occasioned the " Poetaster" of the latter, 
and the " Satiro-Mastix " of the former. Jonson 
satirized Dekker as Demetrius, introducing Mars- 
ton the dramatist as Crispinus ; and Dekker 
amply repaid the affront by sketching his oppo- 
nent in the character of Horace junior. 

In 1603 Dekker had the honour of writing 
" The Magnificent Entertainment given to King 
James, Queen Anne his wife, and Henry Frede- 
rick the Prince, vpon the day of his Maiesties 
Triomphant Passage (from the Tower) through 
his Honourable Citie (and Chamber) of London, 
being the 15 of March, 1603." Two editions of 
this entertainment were printed, one by E. Allde, 
and the other by J. C. for Thomas Man, both 
in the following year. 

In 1629 Dekker was employed to write the 
lord mayor"'s pageant, " London's Tempe, or the 
Field of Happiness," to celebrate the mayoralty 
of James Campbell. It was produced at the sole 
cost of the Ironmonger's Company ; and a full 
description of it, with the items of expenditure, 
printed from the books of the company, may be 



XI 



seen in Malcolm's " Londinium Redivivum,"'"' ii. 
43. Dekker had some time previously been em- 
ployed as a city poet, and wrote the pageant for 
1612. In a passage of the dedication to the play 
of " Match me in London," 1631, our author thus 
complains of his decline : "I have been a priest 
in Apollo's temple many years, my voice is decay- 
ing with my age." Dekker''s latest publication 
bears date 1638, in which year Oldys tells us 
"he was full three score years of age;" and it 
may be conjectured, as we do not hear of him 
after, that he did not long survive that period. 
From these circumstances, and the fact of his 
connexion with the stage before the year 1598, we 
may conclude that he was much advanced in years 
at the time of his decease. 

Dekker's miscellaneous pamphlets are very nu- 
merous : a complete list would certainly be a 
desideratum, but his prolific pen so frequently 
employed the press that it would now be almost 
impossible to supply it. A considerable list may be 
seen in Dodsley's " Select Collection of Old Plays," 
iii. 216, edit. 1825, and in the Introduction to 
Dr. Notfs reprint of the " Gull's Home-book," 
1812. Two tracts are however omitted in both, 
which are undoubtedly Dekker's, and among the 
scarcest of his works. One is entitled " The 
Double PP ; a Papist in Amies, bearing ten 



seuerall Shields, encountered by the Protestant at 
ten seuerall Weapons, a Jesuite marching before 
them. Printed for John Hodgets^l^Q^y This is 
ascribed to Dekker upon the authority of a pre- 
sentation copy existing with his autograph. The 
other is an unique poem, entitled " Warres, 
Warres, Warres, Arma Virumque cano. 

Into the field I bring 
Souldiers and battailes, 
Boeth their fames I sing. 

Imprinted at London for I. C. 1628."' It is de- 
scribed in the " Bibliotheca Heberiana," part iv. 
as " dedicated to the Right Honourable Hugh 
Hamersley, Lord and Colonell of the Artillery 
Garden, and to Sir Maurice Abbot and Mr. Henry 
Garroway, Sheriffs." 

The tract reprinted in the following pages is 
an answer to one of the most popular produc- 
tions of the sixteenth century, Thomas Nash"'s 
" Pierce Pennilesse his Supplication to the Diuell" 
(originally printed in 1592), and is not an un- 
happy imitation of the style of that admirable 
prose satirist. In " A private Epistle to the 
Printer," originally prefixed to the second edition 
of " Pierce Pennilesse," the author says : " If 
my leysure were such as I could wish, I might 
haps (halfc a yeare hence) write the returne 
of the Knight of the Post from Hell, with the 



Xlll 



Diuels answere to the Supplication." — Sig. A 2, 
ed. 1595. Nash, however, from want of time or 
incHnation, failed to keep his promise. After his 
decease, a writer, who professed to have been his 
" intimate and near companion," put forth " The 
Returne of the Knight of the Post from Hell, 
with the Divels Answere to the Supplication of 
Pierce Penilesse, with some relation of the last 
Treasons. Printed hy John Windetfor Nathaniel 
Butter" 1606. This tract, although professing 
to be an answer to " Pierce Pennilesse," is but 
a poor, dull effusion, and was evidently suggested 
by the gunpowder plot, then fresh in the minds 
of the people. In the same year Dekker pub- 
lished a tract, entitled " Newes from Hell, brought 
by the Diuells Carrier. Printed hy R. B. for 
W. Ferebrand, and are to he sold at his shop in 
Popes Head Alley, neere vnto the Royal Exchaunge^'' 
the running- title of which is " The Diuels An- 
swere to Pierce Pennylesse." In the address 
" To the Reader" he denies all knowledge of the 
writer of the previous tract upon the same subject, 
and ridicules his style by supposing that the 
Devil's answer must have been sent " in the 
morning ; for he strives to speak soberly, gravely, 
and like a puritan." The address is so intimately 
connected with the subject of the following pages, 
that I quote it entire : 



XIV 



" To come to the presse is more dangerous then 
to be prest to death, for the payne of those tor- 
tures last but a few minutes, but he that lyes 
vpon the rack in print hath his flesh torne off by 
the teeth of Enuy and Calumny, euen when he 
meanes no body any hurt, in his graue. I think 
therefore twere better to make ten challenges at 
all manner of weapons then to play a schollers 
prize vpon a book-sellers stall, for the one draws 
but bloud, by the other a man is drawne and 
quartred. Take heed of criticks : they bite, like 
fish, at anything, especially at bookes ; but the 
Diuell being let loose amongst them, I hope they 
will not exercise their coniurations vpon him : yf 
they doe they are damb'd. In despite of Brontes 
and Steropes, that forge arrowes of ignorance 
and contempt to shoote at learning, I haue ha- 
merd out this engine that has beaten open the 
infernall gates, and discouerd that great tobaco- 
nest, the prince of smoake and darkness, Don 
Pluto. A supplication was sent to him long 
since by a pooro fellow, one Pierce Pennylesso ; 
but the Diuel, being ful of busines, could neuer 
til now haue leasure to answere it. Mary now 
(since Christmas) he has drawne out some spare 
howres, and shot 2 arrowes at one mark in 2 
seuerall bowes, and of two contrary flights ; 
wherein hee prooues himselfe a damb'd lying 



Cretan, because liee's found in two tales about 
one matter. But it may be the first answere that 
hee sent by the post was in the morning (for he 
striues to speake soberly, grauely, and like a 
puritane). The other (sure) in the afternoone, 
for hee talkes more madly. But so farre from 
those fantasticall taxations, S^c. which the gentle- 
man that drew that forenoones piece (whom I 
know not), seemes aloofe off; (like a spy, to dis- 
couer that euen in the most triuiall and merriest 
applications there are seria locis :) howsoeuer it 
bee, sithence wee both haue had to doe with the 
Deuill, and that hee's now (by our meanes) brought 
to the barre ; let him plead for himselfe. Yf his 
answers be good, tis strange, because no goodnes 
can come from him : Yf bad, and like thee not, 
thou hast the amends in thine owne hands : neuer 
rayle at him, for the Diuell (like a drunkard) 
cares for nobody." 

Bibliographers seem not to be aware that the 
tract reprinted in the following pages is the same 
as the " News from Hell." It is merely an 
alteration and improvement of the latter, by the 
addition of a new beginning and ending, and by 
the division of the whole into chapters, with four 
introductory lines of poetry to each ; the main 
portion of the tract remaining the same. A 
curious paragraph, in praise of Thomas Nash, is, 



XVI 



however, omitted in the present version ; which, 
together with other minor variations, are given in 
the notes. 

Two editions of the " Knights Coniuring" were 
printed, one dated 1607, and the other without 
date. From a comparison of the two, I am con- 
vinced that they are both of the same impression. 
It has been stated that a copy is in existence of a 
much earlier date, but from internal evidence of 
the tract itself, and from other circumstances, I 
do not believe that it could have been printed 
before 1607. 

No apology is necessary for offering the present 
reprint to the members of the " Percy Society." 
Independently of the interest attached to it in 
connexion with one of the most popular produc- 
tions of the sixteenth century, it contains an 
amusing and highly wrought picture of manners 
and passing events, together with incidental no- 
tices of Chaucer, Spencer, Watson, Kid, Marlow, 
Greene, Peele, Nash, Chettle, and other of our 
poets and dramatic writers ; — a sufficient passport 
for its appearance in the present shape. 



KNIGHTS CONIURING 



DONE IN EARNEST : 



DISOOUERED IN lEST. 



THOMAS DEKKER. 



LONDON: 

Printed by T. C. for William Barley, and are to be solde at his 
Shop in Gratious streete. 



TO TliE VERIE WORTHY GENTLEMAN 
SYR THOMAS GLOUER, KNIGHT. 

Sir, the loue I owe your name for some fauours by 
mee receiued from that noble-minded gentleman (your 
kinseman, who is now imploied vpon an honourable 
voiage into Turky) makes my labours presume they 
shal not be vnwelcome to you. If you please to read 
me ouer, you shall find much morall matter in words 
merily set down : and a serious subiect inclosde in 
applications that (to some, whose salt of iudgement is 
taken off) may appeare but triuiall and ridiculous. 
The streame of custome (which flows through al king- 
doms, amongst schollers, in this fashion) beares mee 
forward and vj) in this boldnes : it being as common 
to seeke patrons to bookes, as Godfathers to children. 
Yet the fashion of some patrons (especially those that 
doate more vpon mony, who is a common harlot, then 
on the Muses, wdio are pure maides, but poore ones) is 
to receiue bookes with cold hands and hot liuers : they 
giue nothing, and yet haue red cheekes for anger, 
when anything is giuen to them. I take you, Sir, to 
be none of that race : the world bestowes vpon you a 
more worthy caracter. If the art of my pen can (by 
any better labour) heighten your name and memory, 
you shall find my loue. 

Most readie to be all yours. 

Trio. Dekker. 
b2 



TO THE READER. 



An epistle to the reader, is but the same propertie 
that a linck is to a man walking home late : he hopes 
by that, and good words (tho he be examined) to passe 
without danger ; yet when he comes to the gates, if hee 
meete with a porter that is an asse, or with a constable 
that loues to lay about him with his stafFe of authoritie 
more then he needes, then let the partie that stumbles 
into these prouinces or puddels of ignorance bee sure 
either to bee strucke downe with barbarisme (which 
cutteth worse then a browne bill) or to be committed and 
haue the seuerest censure laide vpon him ; let him bee 
neuer so weU and so duilly bound vp in faire behauiour: 
though hee be a man euen printed in the best comple- 
ments of courtesie ; though he giue never so many, 
and so sweet languages, yea and haue all the light of 
vnderstanding to lead him home; yet those spirits of the 
night will hale him away, and cast him into darke- 
nesse. In the selfe-same scuruey manner doe the 
world handle pooi'e bookes : when a reader is intreated 
to bee curteous, hee growes vnciuil ; if yovi sue to his 
worship, and giue him the stile of cattdido lectori, then 
hee's proud, and cries mew. If you write merily, he 
cals you buffon ; seriously, he swears such stuffe can- 



VI 

not be yours. But the best is that in Spaine you 
shall haue fellowes for a small peece of siluer take 
the strappado, to endure which torture another man 
could not be hyrde with a kingdome; so they that 
haue once or twice lyen vpon the rack of publicke 
censure, of all other deaths doe least feare that vpon 
the presse. Of that wing I hold my selfe one : and 
therfore (reader) doe I once more stand at the marke 
of criticisme (and of thy bolt) to bee shot at. I haue 
armour enough about mee that warrants mee not to bee 
fearefull, and yet so well tempered to my courage that 
I will not bee too bolde. Enuie (in these ciuill warres,) 
may hit me, but not hurt mee. Calumny may Avound 
my name, but not kill my labours ; proude of which, 
my care is the lesse, because I can as proudly boast 
with the poet, that Non norunt Jkec monumenta mori. 

Tho. Dekker. 



A KNIGHTS CONIUEING. 



CHAP. I. 

To enlarge golde, thercs a petition wi'it, 
The diuell knowes not how to answer it : 

He chafes to come in print : in which mad straine, 
(Roaring) he headlong runnes to Hell againe. 



In one of those mornings of the yere wherin the 
earth breathes out richer perfumes then those that 
prepare the wayes of princes, by the wholsomnesse of 
whose sent the distempered windes (purging their 
able bodies) ran too and fro, whistling for ioye through 
the leaues of trees ; whilst the nightingale sate on the 
branches complaining against lust ; the sparrow cherp- 
ing on the tops of houses, proude that lust (which he 
loues) was maintained there : whilst sheepe lay nibling 
in the valleys, to teach men humility ; and goates 
climbing vp to the tops of barren mountaines, browzed 
there vpon weedes and barkes of trees, to shew the 
misery of ambition : just at that time when lambes were 
Avanton as yong wiues, but not lasciuious : when shep- 
herds had care to feede their flockes, but not to fliece 
them ; when the larke had with his musicke calld vp the 



8 A KNIGHTS CONJURING. 

suiij and the sun with his light, started vp the husband- 
man : then, euen then, when it was a morning to tempt 
loue to leap from heauen, and to goe a wenching ; or to 
make wenches leaue their softe beds, to haue greene 
gownes geuen them in the fields : Behold on a sudden 
the caues, where the most vnruly and boisterous windes 
lay imprisoned, were violently burst open : they being 
got loose, the waters roard with feai-e of that insur- 
rection ; the element shot out thunder in disdayne of 
their threatning : the sturdiest oakes were then glad 
to bow and stand quiuering ; onely the haw-thorne 
and the bryer for their humblenes were out of danger : 
so dreadfull a furie lead forth this tempest, that had 
not the rainebowe beene a water marke to the world, 
men would haue looked for a second deluge : for 
showres came downe so fast as if aU clowdes had 
bin distild into water, and would have hid their curled 
heads in the sea, whilst the wanes (in scorne to see 
themselues so beaten downe) boylde vp to such heigth 
as if they meant that all men should swarm in heauen, 
and shippes to sayle in the skie. To make these 
terrors more heauie, the sun puUd in his head, and 
durst not be scene, darknes then in triumph spred 
her pitchie wings, and lay vpon all the earth: the 
blacknes of night was doubled vpon high noone : beasts 
(beeing not wont to beholde such sightes,) beUowed 
and were mad : women ran out of their wits, children 
into their mothers bosomes : men were amazed and 
held vp their hands to heauen, yet were verilie per- 
swaded that heauen was consumde to nothing, because 



A KNIGHTS CONJURING. 9 

they could not see it : but to put them out of that 
error, loue threwe downe his forked dartes of light- 
ning so thickly, that simple fellowes swore there could 
bee no more fire left in heauen : so that the world shewd 
as if it had bin halfe drowning, and halfe burning : the 
waters striuing to haue victory ouer the flames, and 
they sweating as fast to drink drie the waters. To 
conclude, this tragedie was so long a playing, and was 
so dismall, the scene was so turbulent and was so 
atfrighting : this battaile of elements, bred such another 
Chaos, (that not to bee ashamde to borrow the wordes 
of so rare an English spirit.) 

Did not God say, 
Another fiat, it had n'ere been day. 

The storme beeing at rest, what buying vp of 
almanacks was there to see if the weather-casters had 
playd the doctors to a haire, and told this terrible 
disease of nature right or no : but there could be found 
no such matter : the celestiall bodies for any thing 
star-catchers knew, were in very good health : the 
twelve signes were not beaten downe from any of the 
houses in heauen : the sun lookt with as cherry cheekes 
as euer he did : the moone with as plump a face : it 
could not be found by all the figures which their 
prognostications cast vp their accounts by, that any 
such heauy reckoning was due to the wickedues of 
the world : whervpon all men stood staring one in 
anothers face, not knowing how to turne this hard 
matter into good English. At length the gun-powder 
Avas smelt out, and the trayne discouered. It was 



10 A KNIGHTS CONIURING 

knowne for certain, that (tho there was no plate lost) 
there was coniuring abroad, and therefore that was 
the dambd diuell in the vault that digd vp all this 
mischiefe. But wherabouts, think you, was this con- 
iuring ? Mary it goes for currant all ouer Powles 
church-yard (and I hope there comes no lies) that this 
coniuring was about a knight. It was not (let me 
tell you) a knight of worship, or a knight that goes by 
water, or rides by land to Westminster : but it was 
a Westminster-hall knight, a swearing knight, or (not 
to allow him that honor, for hee is no true knight that 
cannot sweare) this was a knight forsworne, a poore 
knight, a periurde knight, a knight of the post. This 
yeoman of both counters had long agoe bin sent with 
a letter to the Deuill, but no answere could euer be 
heard off: so that some mad fellowes layd their heads 
together, and swore to fetch him from Hell with a 
vengeance, and for that cause kept they this coniuring. 
The occasion of sending the letter grew thus : the 
temple of the Muses (for want of looking to) falling to 
decay, and many (that seemd to hate barbarisme and 
ignorance) being desirous to set workmen about it 
and to repaire it, but hauing other buildings of their 
owne in hand, vtterly gaue it ouer. A common 
councell was therfore call'd of all those that liu'de by 
their Avitts, and such as were of the liuery of learning, 
amongst whom, it Avas found necessarie, (sithence 
those that had mony enough were loath to part from 
it,) that to ease the priuate purse, a generall subsidy 
as it were, should be leuyed through all the worlde. 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 11 

for the I'aizing of such a competent summe as might 
maintaine the saicle abiies-house of the Nine Systers, in 
good fashion, and keepe it from falling. The collectors 
of this money labourde till they swette, but the haruest 
would not come in, nothing could bee gathered. Gen- 
tlemen swore by their bloud, and by the tombs of 
their ancestors they would not lay out a peny : they 
had nothing to doe (they said) with the Muses, they were 
meere strangers to them, and why should they be assessed 
to paye any thing towards the reliefe of such lazy com- 
panions ? there was no wit in it. A number of noble 
men were of the same opinion. As for lawyers, they 
knew there was no statute in anie kings time could 
compell them to disburse; and besides they were 
euery day purchasing themselues, so that it were folly 
to looke for any mony from them. Soldiers swore by 
their armes (which were most lamentablie out at 
elbowes) that they would be glad of mony to buy 
prouant : peace, they said, had made them beggers, 
and suffered them almost to starue in her streetes, 
yet some of them went vpon lame wodden legs because 
their country might goe sound and vpright vpon their 
own : they (pore wretches) wanted action, and yet had 
a number of actions against them, yea and were ebbed 
so lowe that captens gaue ouer their charges and 
were lead by serieants, no siluer therefore could be 
coynde out of them. Schollers coidd haue found 
in their hearts to haue made mony of their bookes, 
gownes, corner caps, and bedding, to haue payde 
their share toward,'? this worke of charitie, but men 



12 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

held all that was theirs (howe good soeuer,) in such 
vile contempt, that not euen those who vpon a good 
pawne will lend money to the Diuell, (I meane brokers) 
would to them part with any coyne, vpon any interest, 
so much did they hate the poore wenches and their 
followers. 

This matter beeiug openly complainde vpon at the 
parliament of the Gods, it was there presently enacted 
that Apollo (out of whose brayne wisemen come into 
the world) shidd with all speed descend, and preuent 
this mischiefe: least sacred knowledge, having her 
inteUectuall soule banished from the earth, hauing 
no house to dwel in there, the earth should (as of 
necessity it would) turne into the first Chaos, and men 
into gyants, to fight againe with the Gods. Mercury 
likewise, for the same purpose, was forthwith sent 
from the whole synode as embassadour to Plutus 
(who is money maister of those Lowe Countreyes of 
Lymbo) to perswade him, by all the eloquence that 
Hermes could vse, that gold might be suffred to haue 
a little more liberty : and that schollers, for want of 
his sweete and royall company, might not be driuen 
to walk in thread-bare cloakes, to the dishonor of 
learning ; nor goe all their life time with a lanthorne 
and candle to find the philosophers stone (out of which 
they are able if they could hit it, to strike such sparks 
of gold that all the world should be the warmer for 
it, nay to begger the judges) yet, in the end, to die 
arrant beggers themselues. For you must vnderstand, 
that tho the Muses are held of no reckoning here vpon 



A KNIGHTS CONIUEING. 13 

earth, but are set below the salt, when asses sit at the 
vpper eude of the table, yet are they borne of a 
heauenlie race, and are most welcome guests euen to 
the banquets of the Gods. 

The diuine singer (Apollo) according to the decree 
of the coelestiall vpper house, is now aliue come vpon 
earth : the fountaines of science flowe (by his influence) 
and swell to the brim : baye trees to make garlandes 
for learning are newe set, and alreadie are gTcene, 
the Muses haue fresh cullours in their cheekes ; their 
temple is promised to be made more faire : there is 
good hope that ignorance shall no longer weare sattin. 
But for all this. Mercury, with all his coniuring, 
cannot raise vp the yellowe spirit of gold out of Hell 
so perfectly as was expected : he puts vp his bright 
and amiable face aboue ground, and shrincks it downe 
againe ere one can catche him by the lockes. Which 
mockery the world taking note of, a mad Greeke 
that had drunk of the holy water, and was full of the 
diuine furie, taking a deep bowle of the Helliconian 
liquor in his hands, did in a brauery write a suppli- 
cation in the behalfe of gold for his enlargement, 
vowing that he would spend all his bloud into yncke, 
and his braines to cotton, but he would haue an 
answere, and not, according to the manner of suiters, 
bee borne off with delayes. 

The petition being ingrossed, he thought none 
could run faster to hell, nor be sooner let in there, 
then either a pander, a broker, or a knight of the 
post : [he] had made choice therfore of the last, because 



14 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

of his name, and sent it by him, who belike hauing 
much to doe with the Diuell, could not of a long time 
be heard of, and for that cause was all that coniuring, 
which I spoke of before. 

Wherevpon (entring into consideration what shifts 
and shapes men run into, what basenes they put on, 
through what dangers they venture, how much of 
their fames, their conscience, their lines, yea of their 
houses, they will laye out to purchase that piece of 
heavenly earth, golde,) the strange magick of it 
draue me straight into a strange admiration. I per- 
ceiu'de it to be a witchcraft beyond mans power to 
contend with : a torrent whose winding creekes were 
not with safety to be searcht out : a poyson that had 
a thousand contrarie workings on a thousand bodies : 
for it tm-nes those that keepe it prisoner in chests, 
into slaues, and idolaters ; they make it their god and 
worship it; and yet euen those that become such 
slaues vnto it doth it make soueraine commanders 
oner a world of people : some for the lone of it would 
pluck downe heauen, others to ouertake it runne quick 
to heU. But (alas) if a good head hammer out these 
irons with skill, they are not so hard: it is not so 
monstrous a birth to see gold create men so deformed : 
for this strompet the world hath tricks as wanton as 
these : he that euery night lyes by the sides of one 
fairer then Vulcans wife hath been taken the next morn- 
ing in the sheetes of a blackamore : nay euen in those 
currants that run fullest of ceremony theres a flowing 
ouer of apishnes and folly : for (like riders of great 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 15 

hoi'ses) all our courses are but figures of eight : the 
end of one giddie circle is but a falling into a worse, 
and that to which on this day we allow a religious 
obseruance to morrowe doe we make the selfe-same- 
thing ridiculous. For you see at the end of great 
battailes wee fall to burie the dead ; and at the end of 
burialls wee sit downe to banquets : when banquets 
haue beene playd about, drinking is the next weapon ; 
from the fire of drinking flames out quarreU ; quarrell 
breakes forth into fighting, and the streame of fighting 
runnes into bloud. 

This forrest of man and beast (the world) beeing then 
so wilde, and the most perfect circles of it di*awne so 
irregualler awrye, it can be no great sawcines in me, 
if, snatching the contables stafie out of his hand, I take 
vpon mee to make a busie priuy search in the suburbs 
of vSathan for the supplication-caryer, and to publish 
the answer to the world that should come with him. 
Into the which troublesome sea I am the more desper- 
ately bold to lanch forth, and to hoyst vp the full 
sailes of my inuention, because (as rumor goes gossiping 
vp and downe) great wagers were laid in the worlde, &c. 
that when the supplication was sent it would not be 
receiued, or if receiued, it M'ould not be read over, or if 
reade ouer, it would not be answered : for Mammon 
beeing the God of no beggers, but burgomasters and 
rich cormorants, was worse thought of then he deserued. 
Euery man that did but pass through Pauls church- 
yard, and had but a glance at the title of the petition, 
would haue betted ten to fiue that the Diuell would 



16 A KNIGHTS CONIURING, 

hardly, (like a laAvyer in a busy terme) be spoken with, 
because his client had not a penny to pay fees, but 
sued in forma jmiiperis. 
„, ^. „ Had it bene a challensre, it is cleare he 

Tlie diuell ^ ' 

the best would haue answered it : for hee was the first 
very apt to *^^* ^^P^ ^ fcncc schoolc, when Cayn was 
quarrel). aliue, and taught him that embrocado by 
which he kild his brother ; since which time, he hath 
made ten thousand free schollers as cunning as Cayn. 
At sword and buckler, little Dauy was nobody to 
him, and as for rapier and dagger, the Germane may 
be his iourneyman. Mary, the question is, in which 
of the playhouses he would have performed his prize, 
if it had growne to blowes, and whether, the money 
being gathered, hee would haue cozende the fencers 
or the fencers him, because Hell beeing vnder euerie 
one of their stages, the players (if they had owed 
him a spight) might with a false trap-dore haue slipt 
him down, and there haue kept him as a laughing 
stock to all their yawning sjiectators. Or had his 
Infernalship ben arrested to any action how great 
soeuer, all the lawe in Westminster hall could not 
haue kept him from appearing to it (for the Diuell 
scornes to be nonsuited) he would haue answered that 
He can set too. But the mischiefe would haue beene 
plead for ^l^^re should he haue got- anie that would 
^™- haue pleaded for him ? who could have endured 

to see such a damnable cliant euery morning in his 
TT , chamber ? what waterman ( for double his 

He keepes ^ 

no water- fare) would haue landed him at the Temple, 
but rather have strucke in at White Fryers, 



A KNIGHTS CONJURING. 17 

and left him there ashore with a poxe to him? Tush: 
there was no such matter ; the streame hee was to enter 
into was not so daungerous, this coyner of light angels 
knewe well enough how the exchaunge went, he had 
but bare words lent vnto him, and to pay bare wordes 
againe (though with some interest) it could be no losse. 
He resolued therefore to answere his humble orator: 
but being himselfe not brought vp to learning (for the 
diuell can neither write nor reade) yet he has ben at 
all the vniuersities in Christendom, and throwne damn- 
able heresies (like bones for dogges to gnaw vpon, 
amongst the doctors themselues ;) but hauing no skiU 
but in his owne Horne-hooke, it troubled his mind 
where he should get a pen-man fit for his tooth to 
sci'ibble for him, all the scriueners i' th' towne he had 
at his becke, but they were so set a worke „ . 

' •' Scriueners 

with making bonds betweene vsurerers and are so Ml 

, .(, , -, 1 ofbusiness, 

vnthriity neyres, betweene marchants and ^jjg dgum 
trades-men, (that to couzen and vndoe others, ^"™selie 

^ will not 

turne bank-rowtes themselues and defeate meddle 
creditours) and with drawing close conuey- 
ances betweene land-lordes and bawdes, that nowe sit 
no longer vpon the skyrtes of the cittie, but iette vp 
and downe, euen in the cloake of the cittie, and giue 
more rent for a house, then the prowdest London 
occupyer of them all, that Don Lucifer was loath to 
take them from their nouerints, because in the ende he 
knewe they were but his factors, and that he should be 
a part-owner in their lading himselfe; lawiers clarks 
were so durtied vp to the hammes, with trudging vp 

c 



18 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

and downe to get pelfe, and with fishing for gudgeons, 
and so wrung poore ignorant clyents purses, with ex- 
acting vnreasonable fees, that the paye-maister of per- 
dition would by no meanes take them from their wide 
lines, and bursten -belly ed straggling ffs, but stroking 
them vnder the chinnes, call'd them his white boyes, 
and tolde them he would empty the ynke-pot of some 
others. 

Whether then marches Monsieur IMalefico ? Mary 
to all the wryting schoole-maisters of the towne ; he 
tooke them by the fists, and lik'de their handes exceed- 
ingly (for some of them had ten or twelue seuerall 
hands, and could counterfeit anything) ; but perceiuing 
by the copies of their countenances, that for all their 
good letters, they writ abominable bad English, and 
that the world would thinke the Diuell a dunce if there 
came false orthographie from him (though there be 
no truth in his budget) away hee gallops from those 
tell-tales (the schoolmaisters), damning himself to the 
pit of Hell, if any scribbling petition-wryter should 
euer get a good word at his hands. 

I hearing this, and fearing that the poore suppliant 
should loose his longing, and be sent away with si nihil 
attuleris, resolued to doe that for nothing, which a 
number would not for any mony. 

I fell to my tooles, (pen, ink, and paper) I'oundlie, 
but the head-warden of the horners (Signor Beco 
Diauolo) after hee had cast vp what lay in liis stomack, 
suspecting that I came rather as a spie to betraye him, 
then as a spirit to runne of his errands, and that I was 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 19 

more likely to liaue him to Barber Surgeons Hall, 
there to auatomize him, then to a barbers shop to trimme 
him neately, would by no means haue the answere go 
forward. Notwithstanding hauing examined him vpon 
interrogatories, and thereby sifting him to the very 
bran, I swore by Hellicon, (which hee could neuer 
abide) that because t'is out of fashion to bring a Diuell 
vpon the stage, he should (spite of his spitting fire and 
brimstone) be a Diuell in print. Inraged at which, he 
flung away in a furie, and leapt into Barathrum, whilst 
I mustred aU my wits about mee, to fight against this 
captaine of the damned crewe, and discouer his strata- 
gems. 



CHAP. II. 

Don Lucifers acquaintance soone is got, 
At London or at Westminster : i(\hei'e not? 

Hells map is drawne, in which it doth appeare, 
Where Hell does lye, and who they are, line there. 



Wonder is the daughter of ignorance; none but fooles 
will maruell, how I and this grand sophy of the whore 
of Babilon came to be so familiar together, or how we 
met, or howe I knewe where to find him, or what 
charmes I carried about mee whil'st I talkt with him, 
or where (if one had occasion to vse his diuellship) a 
porter might fetch him with a wet finger. 

c 2 



20 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

Tush, these are silly inquisitions ; his acquaintance 
The Diuells is more cheape, then a common fidlers ; his 
reiueuous. jQ^jgij^g jg ^ore knowne then an English 
bawdes, a midwiues, or a phisitions ; and his walkes 
more open to all nations, then those vpon the Exchange, 
where at euery step a man is put in mind of Babell, 
there is such a confusion of languages. For in the 
terme time, my Caualliero Cornuto runs sweating vp 
and downe between Temple Barre and Westminster 
Hall, in the habite of a knight errant, a swearing 
knight, or a knight of the postc. All the vacation 
you may either meet him at the dyeing ordinaryes, 
like a captaine, at cockpits, like a young countrey 
gentlemen ; or else at bowling-alleys in a flat cap, like 
a shop keeper : euery market day you may take him 
in Cheap-side, poorely attyi'de like an ingrosser, and 
in the afternoones, in the two-peny-roomes of a play- 
house, like a puny, seated cheek by iowle with a punke. 
In the heate of somraer hee commonlie turnes intelli- 
gencer, and carries tales betweene the arch-duke and 
the graue. In the depth of winter, he sits tipling 
with the Flemmings in their townes of garrison, 

Hauing therefore (as chamber-maides vse to doe for 
their ladies faces ouer night) make ready my cullors, 
the pencell being in my hand, my carde lined, my 
needle (that capers ouer two and thirty pointes of the 
compas) toucht to the quicke, east, west, north, and 
south, the foure trumpetters of the worlde, that neuer 
blowe themselues out of breath, like foure droi)sie 
Dutch captaines standing centinells in their quarters, I 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 21 

will ingenuously and boldely giue you the map of a 
country that lyes lower then the 17. valleys of Belgia, 
yea lower than the cole-pits of Newe castle, is farre 
more darke, farre more dreadfull, and fuller of knauerie, 
then the colliers of those fire-workes are. 

The name of this straunge countrey is Description 
Hell ; in discouery of which, the quality of °^ Hell, 
the kingdom, the condition of the prince, the estate of 
the people, the traffique thither, (marie no transporting 
of goods from thence) shall be painted to the life. It is 
an empire that lyes vnder the torrid zone, and by that 
meanes is hotter at Christmas then t'is in Spaine or 
France (which are counted plaguy hotte countreyes) 
at Midsommer, or in England when the dogge-daies 
bite sorest : for to saie truth (because t'is sinne to belye 
the Diuell) the vniuersall I'egion is built altogether 
vppon stoues and hotte-houses ; you cannot set foote 
into it but you haue Sijieri facias seru'de vpon you ; 
for like the glasse-house furnace in Blacke-friers, the 
bone-fires that are kept there neuer goe out, insomuch 
that all the inhabitants are almost broyld like carbona- 
does with the sweatting sicknes ; but the best is, (or 
rather the worst) none of them die on't. 

And such dangerous hot shottes are all the women 
there, that whosoeuer meddles with aine of them is sure 
to be burnt. It stands farther off then the Indies ; yet, 
to see the wonderfuU power of navigation, if you haue 
but a side-winde, you may saile sooner thither than a 
married man can vpon St. Lukes day to Cuckolds 
hauen from »St. Katherins, which vpon sound expe- 



22 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

rience, and by the opinion of many good mai-riners, 
may be done in lesse than halfe an hower. If you 
trauell by land to it, the wayes are delicate, euen, 
spatious, and very faire, but toward the ende very 
fowle: the pathes are beaten more bare then the liuings 
of Church-men. You neuer turne when you are 
trauelling thither, but keepe altogether on the left 
hand, so that you cannot lose your selfe vnlesse you 
desperately doe it of purpose. 

The miles are not halfe so long as those betweene 
Colchester and Ipswich in England, nor a quarter so 
durty in the wrath of Winter, as your French miles 
are at the fall of the leafe. 

Some say it is an Hand, embrac'de about with cer- 
taine ;riuers called the waters of Sorrowe. Others 
proue by infallible demonstration that t'is a continent, 
but so little beholding to Heauen that the sunne neuer 
comes amongst them. 
-..n. . Ti Howe so euer it be, this is certaine, that 

What Per- ' ' 

sons are t'is exceeding rich ; for all vsurers, both lewes 
and Christians, after they haue made away 
their soules for money here, meete with them there 
againe. You haue of all trades, of all professions, of all 
states some there: you haue Popes there as well as 
here : Lords there as well as here : Knights there as 
well as here : Aldermen there as well as here : Ladies 
there as well as here : Lawyers there as well as here : 
Souldiers marche there by myUions, so doe Citizens, so 
doe Farmers : very fewe poets can be suffered to line 
there, the Colonell of Coniurers dryues them out of his 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING, 23 

circle because hee feares they'le write libells against him: 
yet some pittifull fellowes (that haue faces like fire- 
drakes, but wittes colde as whetstones, and more blunt) 
not Poets indeed, but ballad makers, rub out there, and 
write infernalls. Marrie, players swarme there as they 
doe heere, whose occupation beeing smelt out by the 
Cacodasmon or head Officer of the Countrey to be lucra- 
tive, hee purposes to make vp a companie and to be chiefe 
sharer himselfe ; de quihiis suo loco, of whose doings you 
shall heare more by the next carrier. But heeres the mis- 
chiefe, you may find the waye thither though you were 
blinder then Superstition ; you may be set ashore there 
for lesse then a scullers fare. Any vinteners boye 
that has beene cup-bearer to one of the 7 deadly sinnes 
but halfe his yeeres ; any Marchant of maiden-heads, 
that brings commodities out of Virginia, can direct you 
thither. But neither they, nor the weather beatenst 
cosmographicall starre-catcher of em all, can take his 
oath that it lyes iust vnder such an horizon ; whereby 
manie are brought into a Fooles Paradice, by gladlie 
beleeuing that either ther's no such place at all or els 
that t'is built by inchauntment, and stands vpon Fayrie 
ground, by reason such pinching and nipping is known 
to be there, and that how well-fauoured soeuer wee 
depart hence, we are turn'd to changelings if we tarry 
there but a minute. 

These territories, not\vithstanding, of Tai'tarie, will 
I vndermine and blowe vp to the viewe of all eyes ; the 
blacke and dismall shores of this Phlegetontickc Ocean 
shal be in ken as plainly as the white (now vnmaidend 



24 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

brests of our own Band). China, Peru, and Cartagena, 
were neuer so rifled : the winnings of Cales was no- 
thing to the winning of this Troy that's all on fire : 
the veiy bowels of these infernal Antipodes shal be 
ript vp and pull'd out before that great Dego of 
DiueUs his own face : Nay, since my flag of defiance 
is hung forth, I wiU yeelde to no truce, but with such 
Tambui-laine-like furie march against this gi'eat Turke 
and his legions, that Don Beelzebub shall be ready to 
damme himselfe and be horne-mad : for with the con- 
iuring of my pen, all Hell shall breake loose. 

Assist mee therefore, thou Genius of that ventrous 
but jealous Musicion of Thrace (Euridice's husband,) 
who, being besotted on his wife, (of which sin none but 
cuckoldes should be guiltie) went aliue (with his fiddle 
at's backe) to see if hee could bail her out of that Ada- 
mantine prison ; the fees he was to pay for her were 
jigs and countrey daunces : he paid them : the forfeits, 
if he put on yellow stockings and look't back vpon 
her, was her euerlasting lying there without bayle or 
mayne-prize : the louing coxcomb could not choose 
but looke backe, and so lost her, (perhaps hee did it, 
because he would be rid of her.) The morall of which 
is, that if a man leaue his owne busines and haue an 
eye to his wiues dooings, sheele giue him the slip 
though she runne to the Diuell for her labour. Such 
a iourney (sweet Orpheus) am I to vndertake, but 
loue forbid my occasion should be like thine ! for, if 
the Marshall himselfe should rake HeU for wenches, he 
could not find worse, (no nor so bad) there, as are 



A KNIGHTS CONIURTNG. 25 

heere vpon earth. It were pitie that any woman 
should be damn'd, for she would haue trickes (once in 
a moone) to put the Diuell out of his wits. Thou 
(most cleare throated singing man), with thy harpe, 
(to the twinckling of which inferior spirits skipt like 
goates ouer the Welsh mountaines) hadst priuiledge, 
because thou wert a fiddler, to be sawcy, and to passe and 
repasse through euery roorae and into euery nook of the 
Diuells wine-celler. Inspire mee therefore with thy cun- 
ning that carryed thee thither, and thy courage that 
brought thee from thence, teache mee which way thou 
went'st in, and howe thou scapt'st out, guide me in true 
fingering, that I may strike those tunes which thou 
plaid'st (euery dinner and supper) before that Emperor 
of Lowe Germanie and the brabbling states vnder 
him : Lucifer himselfe danced a Lancashire Horne-pipe 
whil'st thou wert there. If I can but harpe vppon thy 
string, he shall now, for my pleasure, tickle vp the 
Spanish Pauin. I will call vppon no midwiues to help 
me in those throws which, (after my braines are fallen 
in labour) I must suffer, (yet midwiues may be had vp 
at all howers,) nor vpon any coniurer, (yet coniurers 
thou know'st are feUowe and" fellow -like with Moun- 
sieur Malediction, as Puncks are, who raise him like- 
wise vp continually in their Circean Circles) or as 
brokers are, who both day and night studie the blacke 
arte. No, no, (thou M^ of thy musicall companie,) I 
sue to none (but to thee, because of thy prick-song :) 
For Poetrie (like Honestie and olde Souldiers) goes 
vpon lame feete vnlesse there be musicke in her. 



26 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

But the best is, Facilis descensus Auerni, it's but 
slipping downe a hill, and you shall fall into the Diuells 
lappa presently. And that's the reason, (because his 
Sinfulnesse is so double diligent as to be at your 
elbowe with a call, wherein he giues good examples to 
drawers if they had grace to followe his steppes) that 
you swallow downe that newes first, which should be 
eaten last : For you see, at the beginning, the Diuell 
is readie to open his mouth for an answere before his 
howre is come to be set to the baiTe. 

Since therefore, a tale of the whole voyage would 
make any liquorish mouth'd news-monger like his 
lippes after it, no mans teeth shaU water any longer ; 
hee shall haue it ; for a very briefe cronicle shaU be 
gathered of aU the memorable occurrents that pre- 
sented themselues to the view of our wandring knight 
in his iorney, the second part of Erra Paters Almanack, 
whose shooes Platoes cap was not worthie to wipe, 
shall come forth, and without lying, as you calender- 
mongers vse to doe,) teU what weather wee had all the 
way he went, to a di-op of raine : wee will not loose 
him, from the first minute of his lumping a ship-board 
to the last of his leaping a shore and arriuall at Tamor 
Chams court, (his good lord and maister) the Diuell. 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 27 



CHAP. III. 

Hells Post through London rydes : by a mad crewe, 
Hees calld into a Tauerne : In which view 

They drinke and raile : each of them by the Post 
Sends a strange message to his Fathers Ghost. 



The Post therefore, hauing put up liis packet, blowes 
his home and gallops all the way like a citizen, so 
soone as euer hee's on horse-back, downe to Billings- 
gate ; for he meant, when the tide serude, to angle for 
soules and some other fresh fish in that goodly fish- 
pond the Thames, as he passed ouer it, in Grauesend- 
barge: that was the water-coach he would ride in, 
there he knewe he should meet with some voluntaries 
that would venture along with him. In this passage 
through the citty, what a number of Lord Mayors, 
Aldermens, and rich Commoners sonnes and heires 
kept hollowing out at Tauern windows to our knight, 
and wafted him to their Gascoigne shores, with their 
hats only (for they had molten away all their feathers) 
to haue him strike sayle, and come vp to them : he 
vaild, and did so : their phantastick salutations being 
complemented with much intreatie (because hee stood 
vppon thornes) hee was aduaunc'd (in regard of his 
knighthood) to the vpper end of the boord : you must 
take out your writing tables, and note, by the way, 



28 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

that euery roome of the house was a cage full of such 
wilde fowle, Et crimine ah vno discs omnes, cut vp one 
cut vp all; they were birdes all of a beake, not a wood- 
cocks difference among twenty douzen of them ; euery 
man had before him a bale of dice, by his side a brace 
of punks, and in his fist a nest of bowls. It was 
spring-tide sure, for aU were full to the brimmes with 
French, beeing turn'd into English, (for they swam vp 
and downe the riuer of Burdeux) signified thus much, 
that dyeing, drinking, and drabbing, (like the three 
seditious lewes in Jerusalem,) were the ciuU plagues 
that very vnciuily destroied the sonnes (but not the 
sinnes) of the cittie. 

The bloud of the grape comming vp into their 
cheeks, it was hard to iudge whether they blushed to 
see themselues in such a pickle, or lookt red with anger 
one at another : but the troth is their faces would take 
any dye but a blush-colour, and they were not made of 
the right mettle of courage to be angry, but their wits 
(like wheeles in Brunswiclc clocks) being all wound vp 
so farre as they could stretch, were all going, but not 
one going truely. 

For some curst their byrth, some their bringing vp, some 
rayled vpon their owne nation, others vpon strangers. 
At the last, one of these Acolasti, playing at doublets 
with his pue-fellowe (which they might well doe, being 
almost di'iuen to their shyi-tes,) and hearing vpon what 
theame the rest sung ex tempore, out-di-aws his pony- 
ard, and stabbing the tables as if he meant to haue 
murder'd the thirty men, swore he could find in his 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 29 

heart to goe presently (hauing drunk vpsy Dutch,) and 
pisse euen vppon the curmudgion his fathers graue : for, 
sayes hee, no man has more vndone me than hee that 
has done most for me ; ile stand too't, it's better to be 
the sonne of a cobler then of a common councell man : 
if a coblers sonne and heyre run out at heeles the 
whoreson patch may mend himselfe ; but wee, whose 
friendes leaue vs well, are like howre-glasses turn'de 
vp, though wee be neuer so full wee neuer leaue run- 
ning till we haue emptied our selues, to make vp the 
mouthes of slaues, that for gayne are content to lye 
vnder vs like spaniels, fawning, and receive what falls 
from our superfluity. Who breedes this disease, in our 
bones ? Whores ? No, alack let's doe them right, 
t'is not their fault but our mothers, our ,,.. 

>\ ISC mothers 

cockering mothers, who for their labour make foolish 
make us to be call'd Cockneys, or, to hit it 
home indeed, those golden asses our fathers. 

It is the olde man, it is Adam that layes a curse 
vppon his posteritie. As for my dad, t'is well knowne 
hee had shippes reeling at sea, (the vnlading of which 
giues me my loade nowe, and makes me stagger on land,) 
hee had ploughes to teare vp dere yeres out of the guts 
of the earth i'th countrey ; and yeomens sonnes, north 
countrey men, fellowes (that might have been yeomen 
of the guard for feeding) great boyes with beards, 
whom he tooke to be prentizes, (mary neuer any of 
them had the grace to be free,) and those lads (like 
sarieants) tore out mens throates for him to get money 
in the citie: hee was richer then Midas, but mox'e 



80 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

wretched then an alchumist : so couetous that in gard- 
ning time, because hee would not be at the cost of a 
loade of earth, hee par'de not his nailes for seuen yeeres 
together, to the intent the durte that hee filch't vnder 
them should serue for that purpose : so that they hung 
ouer his fingers like so many shooing-hornes : doe but 
imagine how farre euer any man ventred into hell for 
money, and my father went a foote farder by the 
standard : and why did he this, thinke you ? he was so 
sparing, that hee would not spend so much time as 
went to the making vp of another childe, so that all 
was for mee ; he cozen'd young gentlemen of their land, 
onely for mee, had acres morgag'd to him by wiseacres 
for 3 hundred pounds, payde in hobby-horses, dogges, 
bells, and lute-strings, which, if they had bene sold by 
the drum or at an out-rop, with the crye of No man 
better ? would neuer haue yielded 50 li. and this hee 
did only for mee ; he built a pharos, or rather a block- 
house, beyond the gallows at Wapping, to which the 
blacke fleete of coal-carriers that came from Newcastle, 
strooke saile, were brought a bed, and discharg'de their 
great bellies there, like whores in hugger-mugger, at 
the common price, with twelue pence in a chauldern 
ouer and aboue, thereby to make the common-wealth 
blowe her nayles tiU they ak'de for colde vnlesse she 
Miserable gauB money to sit by his fire, onely for 
wretThe'd ^ ^^^ * *^® poorc curst him with bell, booke, 
sonnes. ^nd candle, till he lookt blacker with their 

execration then if he had bin blasted, but he car'de 
not what dogges bark't at him, so long as they bit 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 3i 

not mee : his hous-keeping Avas worse then an Irish 
kernes, a rat could not commit a rape vpon the paring 
of a moldy cheese but he died for't, only for my sake ; 
the leane iade Hungarian would not lay out a penny 
pot of sack for himselfe, though he had eaten stincking 
fresh herring able to poyson a dog, onely for me, be- 
cause his son and heire should drink egges and muska- 
dine when he lay rotting. 

To conclude, hee made no conscience to run quicke 
to the Diuel of an errand, so I had sent him. Might 
not my father haue been begg'd (thinke you) better then 
a number of scuruy things that are begd ? I am per- 
swaded fooles would be a rich monopolie if a wise man 
had em in hand : would they had begunne with him, 
He be sworne he was a fat one : for had he fild my 
pockets with siluer, and the least corner of my cox- 
comb with wit how to sane that siluer, I might haue 
beene cald vpon by this ; whereas now I am ready to 
giue vp my cloake. Had he set me to grammer- 
schoole, as I set myselfe to dancing- schoole, instead of 
treading carontoes, and making fidlers fat with rumps 
of capons, I had by this time read homilyes and fed 
vpon tith-pigs of my owne vicaridge ; whereas now, I 
am ready to get into the Prodigals seruice and eat 
loue's nuts, that's to say acorns with swine. But men 
that are wisest for officers are commonly arrand wood- 
cocks for fathers. He that prouides lining for his 
child, and robs him of learning, turnes him into a 
beetle, that flies from pei'fumes and sweet odours 
to feed on a cow-sheaixl ; all such rich mens darlings 



32 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

are either christened by some left-handed priest, or els 
born vnder a threepenny planet, and then they'le neuer 
be worth a groat though they were left landlords of 
the Indies. I confesse, when all my golden veines 
were shrunk vp and the bottome of my patrimony came 
within 200. pound of vnraueling, I could, for all that, 
haue been dub'd : but when I saw how mine vncle 
plaid at chesse, I had no stomack to be knighted. 
Why, sayes the Post ? Mary quoth he, because, when 
I prepar'd to fight a battaile on the chesse-board, a 
knight was alwaies better then a pawne : but the vsurer 
mine vncle made it playne that a good pawne nowe 
was better then a knight. 

At this the whole chorus summos mouere cachinnos, 
laught tiU they grind agen, and call'd for a fresh gallon ; 
all of them falling on their knees and di-awiug out 
siluer and guilt rapiers, the onely monuments that were 
left of hundreds and thousands in pecunijs niimeratis, 
swore they woulde drinke vp these in deepe healthes 
to their howling fathers, so they might be sure the 
pledging should choake them, because they brought 
them into the inne of the world but left them not 
enough to pay their ryotous reckonings at their going out. 
The knight was glad he should carry such welcome 
newes with him, as these, to the clouen-footed syna- 
gogue, and tickled with immoderate ioye to see the 
world runne vpon such rotten wheeles. Wberevpou, 
pleading the necessity of his depai-ture, he began first 
to run ouer his alphabet of congees, and then, with a 
Fx'ench basilez, slipt out of their company. 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 33 

But they knowing to what cape he was bound, hung 
vpon him, like so many beggers on an ahnoner, im- 
porting, and coniuring him, by the loue he did owe 
to knight-hood, and armes, and by his oath, to take vp 
doun-cast ladies whom they had there in their com- 
panyes, and whom they were bound in nature and 
humanity to relieue : that hee wold signify to their 
fathers how course the threed of life fell out to be nowe 
towards the fagge ende ; therfore, if any of them had 
(in th' daies of his abomination and idolatry to money) 
bound the spirit of gold by any charmes, in caues, or 
in iron fetters vnder the ground, they should for their 
own soules quiet, (which questionlesse would whine vp 
and down ) if not for the good of their children, release 
it, to set vp their decay 'd estates. Or if ther had bin 
no such coniuring in their life times, that they wold 
take vp money of the Diuel (thogh they forfeyted their 
bondes) and lay by it for euer; or els get leaue, with a 
keeper, to trie how much they might be trusted for 
among their olde customers vppon earth, thogh within 
two dayes after they proued bankrupts by proclamation. 
The Post-maister of Hell plainly told them that if any 
so seditious a fellow as Golde were cast in prison, 
their fathers would neuer giue their consent to haue 
him ransom'd: because ther's more greedines among 
them below, then can be in the Hyeland-countreys 
aboue : so that if all the Lordships in Europ were 
offred in morgage for a quarter their value, not so 
much as 13 pence half-penie can be had from thence, 
though a man would hang himselfe for it : and as for 



34 A KNIGHTS CONJURING . 

their fathers walking abroad with keepers, alas they lye 
there vpon such heauy executions, that they cannot 
get out for their soules. Hee counsells them therefore 
to drawe arrowes out of another quiuer, for that those 
raai'kes stand out of their reache, the ground of which 
counsell they all vow to trauerse : some of them 
resoluing to cast out liquorish baits, to catch old, (but 
fleshly) wealthy widdowes, the fire of which sophysti- 
cated loue they make account shal not go out so long 
as any drops of gold can be distill'd from them : others 
sweare to liue and dye in a man of warre, though such 
kinde of theeuery be more stale then sea-beefe: the 
rest that haue not the hearts to shead bloud, hauing 
reasonable stockes of wit, meanes to employ em in the 
sinnes of the suburbs, though the poxe lyes there as 
deaths legyer: for since man is the clocke of time, 
they'le all be tymes sextens, and set the dyall to what 
howres they list. 

Our vaunt' currer applauded the lots which they 
drew for themselues, and oflred to pay some of the 
tauern items : but they protesting he should not spend 
a baw-bee, as hee was true knight consedere duces, 
they sate downe to their wine, and he hasted to the 
water. 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 35 



CHAP. nil. 

Hells post lands at Graues-end : sees Dunkirk, France, 
And Spayne: then vp to Venice does aduance: 

At last hee comes to the banck-side of Hell : 

Of Charon and his boate strange newes doth tell. 



By this time is he landed at Grauesend, (for they 
whom the Diuell dryues, feele no lead at their heeles,) 
what stufFe came along with him in the barge was so 
base in the weauing, that 'tis too bad to be set out to 
sale : it was onely luggadge, therefore throwe it ouer- 
boord. From thence hoysting vp saile into the maine, 
he strucke in among the Dunkerks, where hee encoun- 
tred such a number of all nations, with the dregs of 
all kingdomes' vices dropping vpon them, and so like 
the blacke-gentleman his maister, that hee had almost 
thought himselfe at home, so neere do those that lye 
in garrison there resemble the desperuatoes that fill 
vp Plutoes muster-booke : but his head beating on a 
thousand anuiles, the scolding of the cannon drew him 
speedily from thence : so that creeping vp along by 
the ranke Flemmish shores (like an eues dropper) to 
whisper out what the brabbling was, he onely set 
downe a note for his memorie that the states, sucking 
poyson out of the sweet flowers of peace, but keeping 
their coffers sound and healthfull by the bitter pills of 

d2 



36 A KNIGHTS CONIURING, 

warre, made their countrey a pointing stocke to other 
nations, and a miserable anatomie to themselues. 

The next place he call'd in at was France, 

Fashions ■, i ^ i p 

borne in where the gentlemen, to makes apes oi 
France, & Englishmen, Avhom they tooke daylie prac- 

sent to be ° ' "^ . 

nurst in tising all the foolish tricks of fashions after 
°^ *° ■ their Mounsieur-ships, with yards insteede of 
leading staues, mustred all the French taylors together, 
who, by reason they had thin haire, wore thimbles on 
their heads instead of harnesse caps, euery man being 
armed with his sheeres and pressing iron, which he 
call's there his goose (many of them beeing in France): 
all the crosse-caperers beeing plac'd in strong rankes, 
and an excellent oration cut out and stitch't together, 
perswading them to sweat out their braines in deuising 
new cuts, newe Fi-ench collers, new French cod-peeces, 
and newe French panes in honour of Saint Denhys, 
only to make the gyddi-pated Englishman consume his 
reuenewes in wearing tlic like cloathes, which on his 
backe at the least, can shew but like cast sutes, beeing 
the second edition, whil'st the poore French peasant 
lets vp and down, (like a pantaloun) in the olde theed- 
bare cloake of the Englishman, so that wee buy fashions 
Pryde, the ^^ them to feather our pride, and they bor- 
Spanyards j-owe rags from vs to couer their begerery. 

bastard, ° °° •' 

kept here. The Spanyard was so busy in touching 
heauen with a launce, that our knight of the burning 
shield could not get him at so much leysure as to eat 
a dish of pilchers with him. The gulfe of Venice hee 
purposes shall therefore swallowe a fewe howres of his 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 37 

obseruation, where hee no sooner sets footing on shore, 
but he encounters with lust so ciuilly suted as if it 
had bene a marchants wife : whore-mongers i^„st, the 
there may vtter their commodities as law- i*^'''*'** . 

'' mistns, IS 

fullie as costermongers here ; they are a now com- 
company as free, and haue as large priuiledges the En- 
for what they doe as any of the twelve gii*Tnan. 
companyes in London. In other countreys lecherie 
is but a chamber-mayde : here a great lady : shee's 
a retaylor, and has warrant to sell soules and other 
small wares vnder the scale of the cittie : damnation 
has a price set vpon it, and dares goe to lawe for her 
owne : for a curtizans action of the case will hold as 
well as a vsurers plea of debt, for ten'th hundred. If 
Bride-well stood in Venice, a golden key (more easilie 
then a picklocke) would open all the doores of it : for 
lechery heere lyes night and day with one of Prides 
daughters (Liberty,) and sofarreis the infection of this 
pestilence spredde, that euery boye there has much 
harlot in his eyes : religion goes all in changeable silkes, 
and weares as manie maskes as she do'es colours : 
churches stand like rocks, to which very fewe approach 
for feare of ship-wrack. 

The seuen deadly sinnes are there in as Dronken- 
great authoritie as the seuen Electors in iies^"*}^'^^- 

° ce d Irom 

Germany, and women in greater then both : the Low 

, , , 1 • 1 Countries 

m so much as drunkennesse, which was once ■^^^f^ ^^^^ 
the Dutch-mans head-ake, is now become Bnttaine. 
the Englishmans : so ielouzy that at first was whipt 
out of Hell because she toi-mented euen Diuels, lies now 



38 A KNIGHTS CONIURTNG. 

eiiery howre in the Venetians bosom: euery noble 
man grows there like a beeche tree, for a number of 
beasts couche vnder his shade : euery gentleman aspires 
rather to be counted great then good, Aveighing out 
good works by pounds, and good deeds by drams: 
their promises are Eeues, their performances hollidayes, 
for they worke hard vpon the one, and are idle on the 
other. Three thinges there are dog-cheap, learning, 
poore mens sweat, and oathes ; farmers in that countrey 
are pettie tyrants, and landlords tyi-ants ouer those 
farmers ; epicures grow as fat there as in England, for 
you shall haue a slaue eat more at a meale then ten 
of the guard, and di'ink more in two dales then all 
Maning-tree does at a Whitsun-ale. Our rankiyder 
of the Stygian borders seeing how weU these pupils 
profited vnder their Italian school-master, and that 
all countreyes liu'de obedient to the Luciferan lawes, 
resolu'd to change post-horse no more, but to conclude 
his peregrination : hauing seene fashions, and gotten 
table-talke enough by his traueU. In a few minutes 
therefore is hee come to the banck-side of Acheron, 
where you are not bayted at by whole kennels of 
yelping watermen as you are at Westminster-bridge, 
and ready to be torne in peeces to haue two pence 
rowed out of your purse : no, shipwrights there could 
hardlie line, there's but one boate, and in that one 
Charon is the onely ferry man, so that if a Cales knight 
should bawle his heart out, hee cannot get a paire of 
oai'cs there to doe him grace with " I ply'de your 
worship first," but must be glad to goe with a sculler : 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 39 

by which meanes, though the fare be small, (for the 
watermans wages was at first but a half-peny, then it 
came to a peny, 'tis now mended, and is growne to 
three halfe pence ; for all thinges wax deere in Hell as 
well as vpon earth, by reason t'is so populous) yet the 
gaynes of it are greater in a quarter then ten westerns 
barges get in a yeere : Datchet ferry comes nothing 
neere it. 

It is for all the world like Graues-end barge : and 
the passengers priuiledged alike, for there's no regard 
of age, of sexe, of beauty, of riches, of valor, of learning, 
of greatnes, or of birth : hee that comes in first, sits no 
better then the last. 

Will Sommers giues not Richard the Third the 
cushions, the Duke of Guyze and the Duke of Shore- 
ditche haue not the bradth of a benche betweene them, 
Jane Shore and a gold-smiths wife are no better one 
then another. 

Kings and clownes, souldiers and cowards, ,, 

° Mors scep- 

church-men and sextons, aldermen and cob- tra, legion- 
lers are all one to Charon : for his naulum '^ ' ' 

Lucke (the old recorders foole) shall haue as much mat 
as Syr Launcelot of the Lake: he knowes. The water. 
though they had an oar in euery mans boat in '"'*" . "' 
the world, yet in his they cannot challenge so cburiisb a 
much as a stretcher : and therefore (though ^^^^ ^-ater- 
hee sayles continually with wind and tyde) ™'=°- 
he makes the prowdest of them all to stay his leasure. 
It was a comedy to see what a crowding (as if it had 
bene at a newe play) there was vpon the Acheronticque 



40 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

Strond, (so that the poste was faiue to tarry his turne, 
because he could not get neere enough the shore); he 
purpos'd therefore patiently to walke vp and downe 
till the coast was cleare, and to note the condition of 
all the passengers. Amongst whom there were cour- 
The pas- tyers, that brought with em whole truncks 
sengers. q£ apparell which they had bought, and large 
pattents for monopolies which they had beg'd : lawyers 
laden with leases and with purchas'd lordships, church- 
men so pursy and so windlesse with bearing three or 
four church linings that they could scarce speake: 
marchants laden with baggs of golde, for which they 
had rob'd their princes custom : schollers with Ai-istotle 
and Ramus in cloake-bags (as if they ment to puU 
down the Diuel in disputation, being the subtillest 
logician, but full of sophistrie) : captains, some in 
guilt armour (vnbattred), some in buffe jerkens plated 
o're with massy siluer lace, (raiz'd out of the ashes of 
dead pay,) and banckrupt citizens in swarms like 
porters, sweating basely vnder the burdens of that for 
which other men had sweat honestly before. All which 
(like burgers in a Netherlands towne taken by free- 
booters,) were compelld to throwe downe bag and bag- 
gage before they could haue pasporte to be shipt into 
the Flemmish hoye of Hell. For if euery man should 
be sufferd to carry with liim out of the world that 
which he took most delight in, it were enough to drown 
him and cast awaye the vessell he goes in ; Charon 
therefore strippes them of all, and leaues them more 
bare then Irish beggers. And glad they were (for all 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 41 

their howling) to see themselues so fleec'd, that for 
their siluer they could haue waftage ouer. In there- 
fore they thrung, some wading vp to the knees, and 
those were young men : they were loth to make too 
much haste, swearing they came thither before their 
times. 

Some vp to the middles, and those were women, they 
seeing young men goe before them, were asham'd not 
to ventui'e farder than they : Others waded to the 
chin, and those were old men; they seeing their gold 
taken from them, were desperate, and would haue 
drown'd themselues : but that Charon, slipping his 
oare vnder their bellies, tost them out of the water 
into his wherry. The boate is made of no- The stuffe 
thing but the worm eaten ribs of coffins, t*]je^herr' 
nailed together with the splinters of fleshlesse >« made, 
shin-bones dig'd out of graues, being broken in pieces. 
The sculs that he rowes with are made of sextons 
spades, which had bin hung vp at the end of some 
great plague ; the bench he sits vjion, a rank of dead 
mens sculs, the worst of them hauing bin an Emperor 
as great as Charlemaine : and a huge heape of their 
beards seruing for his cushion. The mast of the boat 
is an arme of an yew-tree, whose boughs (instead of 
rosemary) had wont to be worne at burials ; the sayle 
two patcht winding sheetes, wherein a broker and an 
vsurer had bin laid : for their linnen will last longest, 
because it comes commonly out of lauender and is 
seldome worne. 



42 A KNIGHTS CONIURING 

What man- ^^^ waterman himselfe is an olde grisly 
ner of fellow fac'd fellow : a beard filthier then a bakers 

the sculler 

is. mawkin that he sweepes his ouen, which 

hung full of knotted elf-locks, and serues him for a 
swabber in fowle weather to dense his hulk : a payre 
of eyes staring so wide (by beeing blear'd with the 
wind) as if the lidds were lifted vp with gags to keep 
them open : more salt rewmaticke-water runnes out of 
them then would pickle all the herrings that shall come 
out of Yarmouth : a payre of hands so hard and scal'd 
ouer with durte that passengers thinke hee weares 
gauntlets, and more stinkingly musty are they then the 
fists of night -men, or the fingers of bryberie, which 
are neuer cleane. His breath belches out nothing but 
rotten damps, which lye so thicke and foggie on the 
face of the waters that his fare is halfe choak't ere 
they can get to land: the sea-coale furnaces of ten 
brew-houses make not such a smoke, nor the tallowe 
pans of fifteene chaundlers (when they melt) send out 
such a smell. Hee's dreadfull in looks, and currish in 
language, yet as kinde as a courtyer where he takes. Hee 
jjjg sits in all stormes bare headed, for if hee had 

appareil. ^ cap he would not put it off to a Pope. A 
gowne gyrt to him (made all of wolues skinnes) tanned, 
(figuring his greedynesse) but worne out so long that 
it has almost worne away his elbowes. Hee's thicke 
of hearing to them that sue to him, but to those against 
whose willes hee's sent for, a fiddler heares not the 
creeking of a windowe sooner. 

As touching the riuer, looke howe Moore-ditche 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 43 

shewes, when the water is three-quarters out, and by 
reason the stomack of it is ouer-laden, is readie to fall 
to casting; so does that, it stincks almost worse, is 
almost as^ poysonous, altogether so muddie, altogether 
so blacke: in taste very bitter, yet (to those that knowe 
howe to distill these deadly waters) very wholesome. 



CHAP. V. 

The post and Charon talke, as Charon rowes, 
He fee's Hell's porter, and then on hee goes : 

Sessions in Hell : s(jules brought vnto the barre, 
Arraign'd and iudg'd, a catalogue who they are. 



Charon hauing discharged his fraight, the packet- 
carryer (that aU this while wayted on the other side, ) 
cry'de, "a boat, a boat" : his voice was knowne by the 
tune, and (weary though hee were,) ouer to him comes 
our feriy-man. To whom (so soone as euer he was 
set) Charon complaines what a bawling there has beene, 
with what fares hee has bene posted, and how, much 
tugging, (his boat being so twackt) he has split one of 
his oares and broken his bid-hook, so that he can row 
but lazily til it be mended. And were it not that the 
soules payes excessiue rent for dwelling in the body, 
he sweares (by the Stygian Lake) hee would not let 
em passe thus for a trifle, but raise his price : why 
may not he doe it as well as puncks and trades-men ? 



44 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

Herevpon hee brags what a number of gallant fellows 
and goodly wenches went lately ouer with him, whose 
names he has in his booke and could giue him, but 
that they earnestly intreated not to haue their names 
spred any farther (for their hey res sakes,) because most 
of them were too great in some mens books already. 
The only wonder (says Charon) that these passengers 
driue mee into is to see how strangely the world is 
altred since Pluto and Proserpina were married : for 
where as, in the olde time, men had wont to come into 
his boate all slash't, (some with one arme, some with 
Miscent neucr a leg, and others with heades like 
aconita no- (.jjues cleft to their shoulders, and the mouths 

uercae. 

Filiusante of their Very wounds gaping so wide as if 
triTinqiX t^^y "^^^'6 crying, "a boat, a boat,") now 
lit in anno, contrary-wise, his fares are none but those 
that are poyson'd by their wiues for lust, or by their 
heires for liuing, or burnt by whores, or reeling into 
Hell out of tauerns : or if they happen to come bleeding, 
their greatest glorie is a stab vpon the giuing of a lye. 

So that if the three destinies spin no finer threds 
then these, men must eyther (like .^sculapius) be 
made immortaU for meere pittie sake, and be sent vp 
to Juj)iter, or else the Land of Black-amoores must bee 
made bigger : for the great Lord of Tartaric wil 
shortlie haue no roome for all his retayners, which 
would be a great dishonour to him, considering hee's 
now the only hous-keeper. 

By this time, Charon looking before him (as water- 
men vse to doe) that's to say, behinde him, spied he 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 45 

was hard at shoare : wherevppon seeing hee had such 
dooings (that if it held still) hee must needs take a 
seruant, (and so make a paire of oares for Pluto) he 
offered great wages to the knight passant to be his 
iourney-man: but hee, being onely for the Diuells land 
service, told him he could not giue ouer his seruice, 
but assuring him hee would enforme his Mr. (the king 
of Erebus,) of all that was spoken, hee payde the boate 
hyre fitting his knighthood, leapt ashore, and so parted. 
The wayes are so plaine, and our traueUers on foote 
so famyliar with them, that hee came sooner to the 
court gate of Auernus then his fellowe (the wherry- 
man) could fasten his hooke on the other side of Ache- 
ron : the porter (though he knew him weU xhe porter 
enough, and fawn'd vppon him,) would not of Hell, 
let him passe till hee had his due : for euery officer 
there is as greedy of his fees, as they are here. You 
mistake if you imagine that Plutoes porter is like one of 
those big fellowes that stand like gyants at lordes gates 
(hauing bellyes bumbasted with ale in lambs-wool 
and with sacks) and cheeks strutting out (like two 
footeballes, ) beeing blowen vp with powder beefe and 
brewis : yet hee's as surly as those key-turners are, but 
lookes a little more scuruily ; no, no, this doorekeeper 
waytes not to take money of those that passe in to 
beholde the infernall tragedies, neither has he a lodge 
to dyne and sup in, but onely a kennell, and executes 
his bawling ofiice meerely for victuals : his name is 
Cerberus, but the household call him more properly, 
the Black dog of Hell : he has three heads, but no hayre 



46 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

vpon them, (the place is too hot to keep hayre on); for 
instead of hayre they arc all curl'd ouer with snakes, 
which reach from the crownes of his three heads alongst 
the rigde of his back to his veiy tayle, and that's 
wi'cathed like a dragons taile : twentie couple of hounds 
make not such a damnable noyse when they howle, 
as he does when he barks : his propertie is to wag his 
taile when any comes for enterance to the gate, 
and to licke their hands ; but vpon the least offer to 
scape out he leapes at their throates ; sure hee's a mad 
dog, for wheresoeuer he bites it rankles to the death : 
his eyes are euer watching, his cares euer Ustning, his 
pawes euer catching, his mouthes are gaping : in-so- 
much that day and night he lyes howling to be sent 
to Paris garden, rather then to be vs'de so like a curre 
as he is. 

Bribes in The post, to stop his throat, threwe him 
^^^^- a sop, and whil'st hee was deuouring of that 

hee passed through the gates. No sooner was he 
entred but he met with thousands of miserable soides, 
pyneond and dragd in chaines to the barre where they 
were to receiue their tryall, with bitter lamentations 
bewayling (all the way as they went) and with lowd 
execrations cursing the bodies with whom they some- 
times frolickly kept company for leading them to those 
impieties, for which they must now (euen to their vtter 
vndoing) deerly answer: it was quarter sessions in Hel, 
and though the post-master had bin at many of their 
arraignments, and knew the horrour of the executions, 
yet the very sight of the prisoners struck him now into 
an astonishable amazement. 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 47 

On notwithstanding he goes, with intent to deliuer 
the supplication, but so busy was Bohomath (the Prince 
of the Diuels) and such a prease was within the court 
and about the barre, that by no thrusting or shoul- 
dring could hee get accesse ; the best time for him 
must be to watch his rising at the adiourning of the 
sessions, and therefore hee skrewes hiraselfe by all the 
insinuating art he can into the thickest of the crowd, 
and within reach of the clarke of the peaces voyce, to 
heare all their inditements. 

The judges are set, (beeing three in num- sessions in 
ber) seuere in look, sharp in iustice, shrill "^''^• 
in voyce, vnsubiect [to] passion : the prisoners are souls 
that haue committed treason against their creation : 
they are cald to the bar, their number infinit, their 
crimes numberlesse : the jury that must passe ginue is 
vpon them are their sinnes, who are impa- *^® '^^^^' 
nel'd out of the seuerall countries and are sworn to 
find whose conscience is the witnes, who Conscience 

giues in 

vpon the booke of their hues, where all their emdence. 
deedes are written, giues in dangerous euidence against 
them, the Furies (who stand at the elbow of their 
conscience) are there ready with stripes to make them 
confesse, for eyther they ai'e the beadels of Hell that 
whippe soules in Lucifers Bridewell, or else his exe- 
cutioners to put them to worse torments. The indite- 
ments are of seuerall qualities, according to 

The seue- 

the seuerall offences ; some are arraigned for rail inditc- 
ambition in the court ; some for corruption '"^^ ' 
in the church ; some for crueltie in the cainpe ; some 



48 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

for hoUow-hartednes in the citie ; some for eating men 
aliue in the countrey, euery particular soule has a 
particular sinne at his heeles to condemne him, so 
that to pleade not guiltie were foUj : to beg for mercy, 
madnesse : for if any should doe the one, hee can put 
himselfe vpon none but the Diuel and his angels, and 
they (to make quick worke) giue him his pasport : if 
do the other, the hands of ten kings vnder their great 
scales will not be taken for his pardon. For though 
Conscience comes to this court, poore in attire, diseased 
in his flesh, wretched in his face, heauy in his gate, 
and hoarse in his voice, yet carries hee such stings 
within him to torture himselfe if he speake not truth, 
that euery word is a iudges sentence, and when he has 
spoken, the accursed is suffred neither to plead for 
himselfe, nor to fee any lawier to argue for him. 
The miserie ^^ what a lamentable condition therefore 
of a priso- gtaiids the vnhappic prisoner; his inditement 

ner in that 

iury. is implcadablc, his evidence irrefutable, the 

fact impardonable, the iudge impenitrable, the judge- 
ment formidable, the torments insufferable, the manner 
of them invtterable : he must endure a death without 
dying, tormentes ending with worse beginnings; by his 
shrikes others shall be affrighted, himselfe afflicted, by 
thousands pointed at, by not one amongst milions pitied, 
hee shall see no good that may help him, what he most 
does loue shall be taken from him, and what hee most 
doth loath shal be powred into his bosome. Adde 
herevnto the sayde cogitation of that disraall place to 
which he is condemned, the remembrance of which is 



A KNIOHTS f'ONlITRING, 49 

almost as dolorous, as the punishments there to be en- 
durefl. In what colours shall I lay dovvne the true 
shape of it ? Assist my inuention. 

Suppose that being gloriously attired, deliciously 
feasted, attended on maiestically, musicke charming 
thine eare, beautie thine eye, and that in the very 
height of al worldly pompe that thought can aspire to, 
thou shouldest be tumbled downe from some high 
goodly pinnacle (builded for thy pleasure) into the 
bottome of a lake, whose depth is imineasurable and 
circuit incomprehensible : and that being there, thou 
shouldest in a moment be ringed about with all the 
murtherers that euer have bin since the first foundation 
of the world, with all the atheists, all the church- 
robbers, al the incestuous rauishers, and all the pol- 
luted villaines that ever suckt damnation from the 
breastes of black impietie ; that the place itselfe is 
gloomy, hideous, and inaccessible, pestilent by dampes 
and I'otten vapors, haunted with spirits, and pitcht all 
oner with cloudes of darkenes so clammy and palpable 
that the eye of the moone is too dull to pierce thi'ough 
them, and the fires of the sun too weake to dissolue 
them: then that a sulphurous stench must stil strike vp 
into thy nosthrils; adders and toads be still crawling on 
thybosome; mandrakes and night rauens still shriking in 
thine eares; snakes euer sucking at thy breath; and which 
way soeuer thou turnest, a fire flashing in thine eies, yet 
yeelding no more light than what with a glimse may shew 
others how thou art tormented, or else shew vnto thee the 
tortures of others, and yet the flames to be so deuouring 

E 



50 A KNIGHTS CONIURING, 

in the burning that should they but glowe vpon nioun- 
taines of iron, they were able to melte them Kke moun- 
taines of snow. And last of aU, that aU these horrors 
are not wouen together, to last for yeeres, but for ages 
of worlds, yea for worlds of ages ; into what gulfe of 
desperate calamity would not the poorest begger now 
throwe himselfe head-long rather then to tast the least 
dram of this bitterness, if imagination can giue being 
to a more miserable place then this described ? Such 
a one, or no worse then such a one, is that into which 
the guiltie soules are led captiue, after they haue this 
condemnation. 

And what tongue is able to relate the grones and vlu- 
lations of a wretch so distressed ? a hundred pennes of 
Steele would be worne blunt in the description, and yet 
leaue it vnfinished. 



CHAP. VI. 

The writ for Gold's enlargement now is read, 
And by the Prince of Darkness answered: 

The Diuell abroad Ms commendations sends, 
All traitors are his sonnes, brokers his friends. 



Let vs therfore, sithence the iufernall sessions are 
rejourned and the court breaking vp, seeke out his 
knightship, who hauing wayted all this while for the 
Diuell, hath by this time deliuer'd to his paws the sup- 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 51 

plication about Goltle, and so Maluolio his secretary is 
reading it to him, but before he was vp to the middle oi' 
it, the work-maister of witches snatched away the paper 
and thrust it. into his bosome in great choUer, rayling at 
his letter carryer, and threatning to haue him lasht by 
the Furies for his loytriug so long, or cauteriz'de with 
hotte Irons for a fugitiue. But Mephistophiles dis- 
coursing from point to point what paines hee had taken 
in the suruey of euery countrey, and how hee had 
spent his time there, Serjent Sathan gaue him his 
blessing, and told him that during his absence the 
wryter that penn'd the SiippUcation had ben landed 
by Charon, of whom he willed to enquire witliin what 
part of their dominion hee had taken vp his lodging : 
his purpose is to answere euery worde by word of 
mouth : yet, because he knowes that at the returne of 
his Post-ship and walking vpon the Exchange of the 
Worlde, (which he charges him to hasten for the good 
of the Stygian kingdome, that altogether stands vpon 
quicke trafficque) they will flutter about him, crying 
what newes? what newes? what squibs or rather what 
peeces of ordinance doth the M. Gunner of Gehenna dis- 
charge against so sawcie a suitor, that by the artillerie of 
his Secretaries penne hath shaken the waUes of his king- 
dome, and made so wide a breache that anie Syr Giles 
may looke into his and his officers dooings: to stop theii" 
mouthes with something, stop them with this : that 
touching the enlargement of Gold, (which is 
the first branch of the petition :) so it is, that auswere to 
Plutus his kinsman (being the onely setter vp 

e2 



52 A KNIGHT8 CONIURING. 

of tempting idolles) was borne a cripple, but had his eye 
sight as faire as the daye, for hee could see the faces 
and fashions of all men in the world in a twinkling. 
At which time, for all he went vpon crutches, hee 
made shifte to walke abroad with many of his friends; 
marrie they were none but good men. A. poet, or a 
philosophei", might then haue sooner had his company 
than a justice of peace: vertue at that time went in 
Goldatthe good cloaths, and vice fed vpon beggery. 
.irit was ^jjjgg baskets, honestie, and plaine dealing, 

'ame and ' ' r o^ 

went vp had all the trades in their owne handes, so 
^\itii good that vnthrifts, cheaters, and the rest of their 
men, but faction, (though it were the greater ) were 

now nee is v >-i o / 

blinde and borne downe, for not an angell durst bee scene 
what fools to drink in a tauerne with them : wherevpon 
leades him j-^gy were all in danger to be famisht : which 
enormity Jupiter wisely looking into, and seeing Plutus 
dispersing his giftes amongst none but his honest bre- 
thren, strucke him (either in anger orenuie) starke blind, 
so that euer since hee hath play'de the good fellowe, for 
now euery gull may leade him vp and downe like Guy to 
make sports it any drunken assemblie, now hee regards 
not who thrusts his handes into his pockets, nor how 
it is spent, a foole shall haue his heart nowe as soone 
as a physition : and an asse that cannot spell goe laden 
away with double duckets from his Indian store-house, 
when Ibis Homere, that hath layne sick seuenteene 
yeeres together of the vniuersitie plague, (watching 
and want), only in hope at the last to find some cure, 
shnll not for an hundred waight of good Latine receiue 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 53 

a two-penny waight in sillier; his ignorance (arising 
from his blindenes) is the onely cause of this Comedie 
of Errors: so that vntill some quack-saluer or other 
(either by the help of Tower Hill water, or any other 
either physical! or chirurgicall meanes) can picke out 
that pin and webbe which is stucke into both his eyes 
(and that will very hardly be.) It is irreuocably set 
downe in the admantine booke of fate that Golde 
shall be a perpetuall slaue to slaues, a drudge to fooles, 
a foole to make woodcocks mery, whils't wise men 
mourne : or if at any time he chance to brealv prison, 
and flie for refuge into the chamber of a courtier, to a 
meere hawking country gentleman, to a young a curse laid 
student at the lawe, or to any trados-mans ''P°" ^°^'^- 
eldest sonne that rides forth to cast vp his fathers reckon- 
ings in fortified tauerns, such mighty searche shall be 
made for him, such hue and crie after him, such mis-rule 
kept vntill he be smelt out, that poore Gold must be glad 
to get him out of their companie; castles cannot protect 
him, but he must be apprehended, and suffer for it. Nowe 
as touching the seauen leaned tree of the deadly sinnes, 
which in the Supplication are likewise requested to be 
heawen downe, his suite isvnreasonable; for that growes 
so rancke in euery mans garden, and the flowers of it worne 
so much in euery womans bosome, till at the ^.. 

•' sinnebeares 

last generall autumnian quarter of the dread- fruit all the 
full yeare, when whole kingdomes (like scare " 
and sap-lesse leaues) must be sliaken in pieces by the 
consuming breath of fire, and all the fruits of the earth 
be raked together by the spirit of stormes, and burnt 



54 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

in one heap like stubble ; till then, it is impossible to 
eleere the oaken forehead of it, or to loppe off any of the 
branches and let this satisfy itching newes-hunters; for so 
much of mine answere to the poore fellowes Supplication 
as I meane to haue publish't to the world ; what more 
I haue to vtter shall be in his eare, because he was 
more busie in his prating then a barber with thee my 
seruaunt about my houshold affaires, and therfore it is 
to be doubted hee lurkes in our Cimerian prouinces but 
as an intelligencer, which if it be prooued, hee shall 
buy it with his soule : dispatch therefore (my faithful! 
incarnate Diuell!) proclame these thinges to the next 
region aboue vs. 

The Diuell Goe and deliuer my most harty condem- 
commeuda- J^atiois to all those that steal subiects hearts 
tions. from their soueraigns ; say to all those, they 

shall haue my letters of mart for their pyracie : factious 
guyzards, that lay trains of sedition to blow vp the 
common-wealth, I hug them as my children: to all those 
churchmen that bind themselues together in schismes, 
like bundles of thornes, only to prick the sides of reli- 
gion till her heart bleede, I will giue them new orders. 
To all those that vntyle their neighbours houses, that 
whil'st storms are beating them out, they them- 
selues may enter in, bestowe vpon such officers of mine 
a thousand condemnations from their maister, tho they 
be sitting at king Arthur's table : when thou doest thy 
message, they shall haue tenements of me for nothing 
in HeU. 

In briefe, tell all the brokers in Long-Lane, Houns- 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 55 

ditch, or else wher, with all the rest of their colleagued 
suburbians that deale vppon ouervvorne commodities, 
and whose soules are to vs impawned, that they lye 
safe enough and that no cheater can hook them out of 
our hands; bid them sweate and sweare in their voca- 
tion, (as they doe hourely;) if thou, beeing a knight of 
the post, canst not helpe them to oathes that may 
make them get the Diuell and all, they haue a sound 
carde on their sides, for I myselfe will. Abi in malum, 
goe and minde thy businesse. 



CHAP. VII. 

A vsurer describ'de : his going downe to Hell : 
The post to him a strange discourse doth tell : 

Hee teaches him the waye, and doeth discouer 
What rivers the departed soules goe ouer. 



His warrant beeing thus sign'de, the mes- The picture 

of a vsurer. 

Sanger departs, but before hee could get to 
the vttermost ferrie, he met with an old, leane, meagre 
fellowe, whose eyes was sunke so deepe into his head 
as if they had beene set in backward, his haire was 
thinner then his cheeckes, and his cheekes so much 
worne away that, when he spake, his tongue smoak't, 
and that was burn't blacke with liis hote and valiant 
breath, was scene to mooue too and fro so plainely, 
that a wise man misht haue taken it for the snuffe of 



56 A KNIGHTS COMURING. 

a caudle in a Muscouic lant-horne, tlie barber surgion» 
had beg'd the body of a man at a sessions to make an 
anatomic, and that anatomy tliis wretched creature 
begged of them to make him a body. Charon had but 
newley landed him : yet it seem'd he stood 

How TSU- 

rers get into in pittyfuU fear, for his eyes were ne bigger 
^ ■ then piuues heads with blubbring and howl- 

ing, keeping a coile to haue some body shew him the 
nearest way to Hell, which he doubted he had lost ; the 
other puts him into a pathe that would directlie bring 
him thither, but before he bid him farewell our blacke 
knight inquired of him what bee was : who answered, 
that he was sometimes one that liued vpon the lechery 
of mettalls, for hee could make one hundi'ed pound 
be great with child and be delivered with another in 
a very short time ; his mony (like pigions) laid euery 
month, he had bin in vpright teai'mes an vsurer : and 
vnderstanding that he fel into the hands of the Hell- 
post, he offered him after a penny a mile between that 
and the townes end hee was going too, so he would be 
his guide. 

Which mony, when the watermen came to rifle 
him, he swallowed downe and rakte for it afterwards, 
because hee knevve not what neede hee should haue, 
the waies being damnable : but the goer of the Diuels 
errands told him, if he would allow him pursiuants 
fees, he durst not earne them ; he would doe him any 
knights seruice, but to play the good angells part and 
guide him, he must pardon him. Doctor Diues request 
him (in a whining accent) to tell him if there were any 



•A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 57 

rich men in Hell, and if by uny base Jrutlgery which 
the Diuell shall put him too, and which heele willingly 
moile in, he shuld scrape any muck togither; whether 
he may set vp his trade in Hel, and whither there be 
any brokers there, that with picking straw es out of 
poore thatcht houses to build nestes, where his twelwe 
pences should ingenner, might get fethers to his backe, 
and their owne too. To all which questions the vant 
cui'ier answers briefly, that he shall meete a number 
there who once went in blacke veluet coats and welted 
gownes, but of brokers, theres a Longer lane in Hell 
than there is in London. Many for opening shops, 
and to keep a bawdy house for lady Pecunia, Iwc si 
fata negant. If the bayliffe of Barathrum denye that 
priuiledge to those that liaue served twice seuen yeeres 
in the freedome, theres no reason a forrayner should 
taste the fauour. 

This news tho it went coldly down, yet as those that 
are troubled with the tooth ache enquyre of others 
what the payne is, that haue had them drawn out, and 
think by that means they lessen their owne ; so it is 
some ease to Syr Timothy Thii'tie per centum, to bar- 
ken out the worst that others haue endured : he desires 
therfore to know how far it is from the earth to HeU ? 
and being told that Hel is iust so many miles from 
eai'th, as eai'th is from Heauen, he stands in a brown 
study, wondring, sithens the length of the iournies 
were both alike to him, how it should happen that he 
tooke rather the one i)ath then the other. But then 
cursing himself that euer he fell in louc with mony., 



58 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

and (that which is contraiy to nature) hee euer made 
a crakt French crowne beget an English angell, he 
roar'de out, and swore that gold sure woidd dambe 
him. For sajes hee, my greedinesse to feed mine 
eye with that, made me starue my belly, and haue 
vndone those for sixe pence that were readie to starue. 
And into such an apoplexie of soule fell I into, with the 
lust of money, that I had no sense of other happinesse : 
so that whil'st in my closet I sat numbring my bags, the 
last houre of my life was told out, before I could tel 
the first heap of gold; birdlime is the sweat of the oake 
tree, the dung of the blackbird falling on that tree, 
turnes into that slimie snare, and in that snare, is the 
bird herselfe taken. So fares it me ; mony is but the 
excrement of the earth, in which couetous wretches 
(like swine) rooting continually, eate thorowe the earth 
so long, till at length they eate themselues into Hell. 
1 see therefore, that as harts, being the most cowardly and 
hartlesse creatures, haue also the largest homes, so we, 
that are drudges to heapes of drosse, haue base and leane 
consciences, but the largest damnation. There appeared 
to Tirnotheus, an Athenian, Demonii vmbra, and that 
gaue him a net to catch cities in, yet for all that he 
died a begger. Sure it was vnihra dcemonis that taught 
me the rule of interest : for in getting that, I haue lost 
the principall (my soule). But I pray you tel me, 
sales my setter vp of scriueners, must I be stript thus 
out of all ? Shall my fox-furd gownes be lockt vp 
from me ? Must I not haue so much as a shirt vpon 
me ? Heers worse pilling and polling then amongst 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 59 

my countrey men the vsurei's, not a rag of linnen about 
me to hide my nakednesse. 

No, sayes the light horse-man of Lymbo, no linnen 
is worne lieere, because none can bee wouen strong 
enough to hold, neither doe any such good huswiues 
come hither as to make cloath, onely the Destinies are 
allowed to spinne, but their yarne serues to make 
smockes for Pi'oserpina. You are now as you must 
euer bee ; you shall neede no cloathes, the aire is so 
extreame hot ; besides, there be no tailors sufferd to 
Hue here, because (they as well as players) haue a Hell 
of their owne, (vnder their shopboard) ; and their lye 
their tottered soules, patcht out with nothing but rags. 
This careere being ended, our lansquenight of 
Lowe-Germanie was i-eadie to put spuri'es to his horse, 
and take leaue, because he saw what disease hung vppon 
him, and that his companion was hard at his heeles, 
and was loth to proceede in his iourney. 

But he, qui nummos admiratur, the pawn-groper, 
clingde about his knees like a horsleech, and coniurde 
him, as euer he pittied a wretch eaten to the bare 
bones by the sacred hunger of gold, that he would 
either bestowe vpon him a shoi-t table (such a one as 
is tide to the tayle of most almanacks) chalking out 
the hye-waies, be they neuer so durtie, and measuring 
the length of all the miles betweene towne and towne, 
to the breath of a hayre, or if this geographicall request 
tooke vp too much conceald land to haue it granted, 
that yet (at last) he would tell him whether he were 
to passe ouer any more riuers, and what tlio name of 



60 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

this filthy puddle was, ouer which hee was lately 
brought by a dogged waterman, because si thence he 
must runne into the Diuels mouth, hee would runne the 
nearest way, least hee wearied himselfe. 

Of this last request, the lacquy of this great leuia- 
than promisde he should be maister, but he would not 
bring him to a miles end by land, (they were too many 
to meddle with). You shall vnderstand therefore (sales 
The ri- o^r wild Irish footeman) that this first water 
uerswlncb (-^jjigii jg jiqw cast behind you) is Acheron ; 
passes. it is the water of trouble, and works like a 
sea in a tempest (for indeede this first is the worst), 
it hath a thousand creekes, a thousand windings and 
turnings, it vehemently boyles at the bottome (like a 
caldron of molten leade,) when on the top it is smoother 
then a stiU streame : and vpon great reason is it calde 
Remem- the river of molestation, for when the soule of 
brance of ^^^ jg yp^jj ^j^q point of departing from the 

the smnes, '^ ^ j. o 

the first shores of life, and to be shipt away into ano- 

w&tei* 

ther world, she is vext with a conscience, and 
an anxious remembrance of all the parts that euer she 
plaid on the vnruly stage of the world : she repeats not 
by roate, but by heart, the iuiuries done to othei'S, and 
indignities wrought against herselfe : she turnes ouer 
a large volume of accountes, and findes that shees runne 
out in pride, in lustes, in riots, in blasphemies, in irre- 
ligion, in wallowing through so many enormous and 
detestable crimes, that to looke back vpon them, (being 
so infinite,) and vpon her own face (being so fowle,) 
the very thought makes her desperate. She neuer 



A KNIGHTS CONIURTNG. 61 

spake, or delighted to heare spoken, any bawdie lan- 
guage, but it now rings in her care; neuer lusted after 
luxurious meates, but their taste is now vpon her 
tongue ; neuer fed the sight with any licentious obiect, 
but now they come all into her eye ; euerie wicked 
thought befoi'e, is now to her a dagger ; euery wicked 
word a death ; euery wicked act a damnation : if shoe 
scape falling into tliis ocsean, she is miraculosly saued 
from a shipwracke ; hee must needs be a churlish but 
a cunning watermen that steeres in a tempest so dan- 
gerous : this first river is a bitter water in taste, and 
vnsauoury in sent ; but whosoeuer drinks downe but 
halfe a draught of his remembred former foUies, oh it 
cannot cliuse but be amarulentum jwculum ; gall is hony 
to it : Acheron like is a thicke water; and howe can it 
otherwise choose, being stirred with so many thousand 
fighting perturbations ? 

Hauing past ouer this first riuer (as now you arc) 
you shall presently haue your waie stopt with another: 
its a little cut by land thither, but a tedious and dan- 
gerous voyage by water. 

Lies there a boat redie (quoth my x*ich lew of Malta) 
to take me in so soone as I cal ? No, saies the other, 
you must wait your mariners leisure; the same wrang- 
ling fellowe that was your first man is your last man ; 
marry you shall lie at euery hauens mouth for a wind, 
til Belzebubs hale you: for Acheron (after many cir- 
cumgirations) fals into the Stigian Lake (your second 
riuer carries that name); it is the water of Loathing of 
loathsomnes, and runnes with a swifter cur- ^^^ ^"""nd 
rent then the former : for when the soule ^^'er 



62 A KNIGHTS CONJURING. 

sees deaths barge tarrying for her, shee begins to be 
sorie for her ante-acted euils, and then shees say ling 
ouer Acheron; but when she drawes the curtaine, and 
lookes narrowly vpon the pictures which her own hand 
drew, and findes them to be vgly, she abhorres her 
own work-manship and makes haste to hoyste vp more 
sayles and to bee transported swiftlie ouer the Stygian 
torrent, whose waters are so reuerend, that the gods 
haue no other oath to sweare by. 

Repentance The third ryuer is Cocitus, somewhat 
?y' clearer then both the other, and is the water 

sinnes, the ' 

third water, of repentance, beeing an arme of Styx : 
many haue heere bene cast away, and frozen to death, 
when the riuerhath waxen cold, (as oftentimes it doth,) 
neyther ai*e all sortes of soules sufFred to saile vpon it, 
for to some (as if the water had sense, and could not 
brooke an vnworthy burden,) it swells vp into tem- 
pests, and drownes them ; to others more loue cannot 
appeare in dolphins to men, then in that does smoothnes. 
Besides these, there are Phlegeton and 
saile^Tafel" Pyi'iphlcgeton that fall in with Cocytus ; 
over the (burning rivers,) in which (though they be 

waters of 

repentance, dreadful! to looke vppon,) are no vtter dan- 
you are in -^ ^j^^ ferry-niau waft you safelie ouer 

danger to ^3 ' -^ '' 

be drownd the watcrs of repentance, otherwise those 

in dispaire. 

bote liquors will scalde you. 
But what a traytor am I, (to the vndiscouered king- 
domes,) thus to bring to light their dearest treasury ! 
sworne am I to the imperiall state infernall, and what 
dishonour would it bee to my knight-hood, to be found 
forsworne I 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 63 

Seale vp your lips therefore I charge you, and drinke 
downe a full bowle of this Lethaean water which shall 
wash out of you the remembrance of any thing I haue 
spoken : be proude, thou grand-child of Mammon, that 
I haue spent these minutes vppon thee, for neuer shall 
any breathing mortall man with tortures wring out of 
mee so much againe. There lyes your way : fare well. 

In such a strange language was this vltinmm vale 
sent forth, that Monsieur Money-monger stood onely 
staring and yawning vpon him, but could speake no 
more ; yet at the last (coniuring vp his best spirits,) he, 
onely in a dumb shew, with pittifidl action, like a 
player (when hee's out of his part,) made signes to 
haue a letter deliuered by the carryer of condemnation 
to his Sonne, (a young reveller, prick't downe to stand 
in the Mercers bookes for next Christmasse,) which, in 
a dumbe shewe likewise beeing receyved, they both 
turn'de backe, the vsurer looking as hungrilie as if he 
had kist the post. 



CHAP. VIII. 

Hells sculler and the pui'siuant of Heauen, 

Cast mery rcckonnings vp, but growe not eucii 

Till a plague falls ; soldiers set out a throato 
For Charon ; Eps comes mangled to his boatc. 



At the banck ende, when Plutoes pursiuant Ludim in 

came to take water. Mercuric, (that rinis of 

all the errands betweene the gods) hauing bin of a 



C)i A KNIGTTTS CONIURING. 

message from Ceres to her daughter Proserpine (the 
queen of lower Affrica,) finding Charon idle in his boat, 
because (as if it had bene out of terme time) no fares 
was stirring, fel to cast vp old reckonings between 
himselfe and the weather beaten sculler, for certain 
tryffling money layd out about Charons businesse. So 
that the knight, slipping in like a constable to part a 
fray, was requested to be as arbitrator. 

The first item that stood in his bill, was, 

For nayles to mend your wherrie, when twoo Dutch- 
men, comming drunck from the Renishwinehouse, split 
three of the boards with their club fists, thinking they 
had cal'd for a reckoning : iiij. pence. 

Those butter-boxes (sayes Charon) owe me a peny 
vpon the foote of that account : for I could distill out 
of them but onely three poore drops of siluer for the 
voyage, and all my losse at sea. Whats next ? 

Item, laid out for pitch to trim your boat about the 
middle of the last plague, because she might go tight 
and yare, and do her labour cleanly : xj. pence. 

I am ouer-reckoned that odde penny, quoth Charon, 
and He neuer yeeld to pay it, but vi et armis, that's to 
say, by lawe. I disburst it (by my caduceus, sayes the 
herald); nay sayes Charon, if thou wilt defile thy con- 
science with a penny-worth of pitch, touch it still : on. 

Item, for glew and whipcord, to mend your broken 
oar: iij. d. 

That's reasonable ; yet I haue caryed some in my 
wherie that haue had more whip-cord ginen them for 
nothino; : on. 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 65 

Item laid out for iuni[)er to perfume the boate, when 
certain Frenchmen were to go by water: j. ob. 

I, a pox on them, who got by that ? on. 

Item lent to a company of countrey-players, being 
nine in number, one sharer, and the rest iourneymen, 
that with strowling w^ere brought to deaths door: xiij. 
d. p.] ob. vpon their stocke of apparell, to pay for boat 
hyre, because they would tiye if they might be suffered 
to play in the Diuels name, which stock afterwardes 
came into your clawes, and you dealt vpon it : xiij. ob. 

They had his hand to a warrant (quoth Charon) but 
their ragges served to make me swabbers, because they 
neuer fetcht it againe, so that belike hee proued a good 
lord and master to them, and they made new perge 
mentiri. Tickle the next minikin. 

Item, when a cobler of poetry, called a playe patcher, 
was condemned with his catte to be duckt three times 
in the cucking-stoole of Pyriphlegeton, (beeing one of 
the scalding riuers,) till they both dropt again, because 
he scolded against his betters, and those whom hee 
lined vppon : laid out at that time for straw, to haue 
caried pusse away if she had kittend, to auoyd anie 
catterwalling in Hell, j. pennie. 

Mew, they were not both worth a pennie : on. 

Item, for needle and tlu'ced to darne vp aboue two 
and fiftie holes in your sailes, and to a botcher for 
halfe a dayes worke about it : vij. pence. 

That botcher I preferd to be Lucifers tailer, because 
he workes with a hot needle and burnt threede, and 



66 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

that seueii pence he gaue me for my good will, why 
should not I take bribes as well as others, I will clip 
that money and melt it. Not for my bill (sayes the 
herald of the gods) lor it went out of my purse ; the 
tayler may pay it backe againe, it is but stealing so 
much the more, or cutting out 5. quarters to a garment. 
Nay, Mercuric, you shall filch for vs both, for all the 
gods know you are a notable pick-pocket, as the knight 
of the post here can take his oath : but what is your 
summa totalis? quoth Charon. Summa totalis, answeres 
the other, comes to three shillings and a pennie. The 
sculler told him hee was now out of cash, it was a hard 
time, he doubts there is some secrete bridge made ouer 
to Hell, and that they steale thither in coaches; for 
euery iustices wife, and the wife of euery cittizen must 
bee iolted now. 

But howsoeuer the market goes, beare with me 
(quoth Charon) till there come another plague, or tiU 
you heare of such another battaile as was at Newport, 
or till the Dunkirks catch a hoy of Hollanders and 
tumble them ouer-boord, or till there be more ciuiU 
wars in France, or if Parris garden would but fall 
downe againe I should not onely wipe off this olde 
score, but hope to make mee a new boat. Mercury 
seeing no remedy (tho he knew well enough he was 
not without mony), tooke his wings, and away went he 
to Olympus. The postes iorney lay nothing neere that 
path, but, inquiring whether one Pierce Pennilesse came 
not ouer in his ferry, and vnderstanding because hee 
could not pay his fare, he was faine to goe a great 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 67 

way about to Elizium, tliither in an Irish gallop is our 
swearing knight gone. 

Scarce was hee out of kenne, but on the ,.,.„. 

William 

Other side of the riuer stoode a companie Eps his 
crying out lustily, "a boat, hey, a boat, hey!" 
and who should they be but a gallant troope of English 
spirits (all mangled) looking like so many old Romans, 
that for ouercomming death in their manly resolutions, 
were sent away out of the field, crowned with the 
military honour of armes. The foremost of them was 
a personage of so composed a presence, that nature and 
fortune had done him wrong if they had not made 
him a souldier. In his countenance there was a kinde 
of indignation fighting with a kind of exalted ioy, 
which by his very gesture wei'e apparantly descipher- 
able, for he was iocond that his soule went out of him 
in so glorious a triumph ; but disdainfully angry that 
she wrought her enlargement through no more daun- 
gers : yet were there bleeding witnesses inow on his 
breast, which testified he did not yeelde till he was 
conquered, and was not conquered till there was left 
nothing of a man in him to be ouercome. For besides 
those mortui et nmti testes, which spake most for him 
when he himselfe was past speaking, (thogh their 
mouthes were stopped with scarres), he made shift to 
lay downe an ouer-plus of life, (when the debt was dis- 
charged at one mortall payment before) onely to shew 
in what abiect account he held deathes tyranny. Cha- 
ron glowring vpon him demanded who he was ; but hee 
skorning to be his owne chronicle, and not suffering 

f2 



68 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

any of the rest to execute the office, they all leaped 
into the ferry. Amongst whome, one that sate out of 
his hearing, but within the reach of the waterman, 
(to shorten the way) discoursed all, thus : 

England (quoth hee)gaue him breath; Kent education; 
he was neuer ouer-maistered but by his own affections; 
against whom, wherisoeuer he got the victorie, there 
was a whole man in him : he was of the sword, and 
knewe better how to ende quarrels then to beginne 
them : yet was more apt to begin, then other (better 
bearded) were to answer ; with which some (that wei'e 
euer bound to the peace) vpbraided liim as a blemish. 
His country barring him (for want of action) of that 
which he was borne to inherit, (fame), he went in quest 
of it into the Low Countries, where (by his deare earn- 
ings) hee bequeathed that to those of his name, which 
nothing but his name seemed to depriue him of in 
England. Ost-end beeing besieged, hee lost one of 
his eyes whilst hee looked ouer the walles ; which first 
storme did rather driue him on to more dangerous ad- 
uentures, though to the hazard euen of a shipwracke, 
then (like a fearefull merchant) to ruune his fortunes and 
reputation on ground, for the boysterous threatnings 
of euery idle billow. So this his resolution set vpon 
his rest ; to leaue all the remainder of his body to that 
countrey, which had taken from him one of the best 
ie wells of his Kfe: since it had a peece of him, he would 
not so dishonor the place as to carry away the rest 
broken. Into the field therefore comes he, the fates 
putting both his eies into one, (of purpose) because he 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 69 

should looke vpon none but his enemies : where, a 
battaile being to be fought, the desert aduanced him 
to aduance the colours ; by which dignitie he became 
one of the fairest markes which was then to be shot at, 
and where a great part of that dales glory was to be 
wonne ; for the Regent that followed his ensigne (by 
being hardly set to) gluing ground, and the enemies' 
ambition thirsting after his colours, threw at all in 
hope to winne them. But the destinies (who fought 
on their side) mistooke themselues, and in steede of 
striking the coloui's out of his hand, smote him : in so 
much that hee was twice shot, and twice runne through 
the body, yet wold not surrender his hold for al those 
breaches, but stripping the prize for which they stroue 
off from the staflfe that helde it vp, and wrapping his 
dying bodie in it, drewe out his weapon, with which, 
(before his collours could bee called his winding sheete) 
he threwe himselfe into the thickest of danger : where 
after he had slaine a horseman and two others, most 
valiantlie, hee came off, halfe dead, halfe aliue, brauely 
deliuering vp his spirit in the armes of none but his 
friendes and fellow souldiers. 

So that (as if Fortune had beene iealous of her own 
wauering,) death, at her intreatie, tooke him away, in 
the noon-tide of a happinesse; lest anie blacke euenings 
ouercasting should spoyle it with alteration. He was 
mai-ried to the honour of a fielde in the morning, and 
died in the armes of it the same day, before it was 
spoyled of the mayden-head: so that it went away 
chaste and vnblemishable. To conclude, (father sculler) 



70 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

because I see wee are vppon landing, heere is as much 
as I can speake in his praise : he dyed auncient in the 
veiy middest of his youth. 

Charon hum'de and cryde "well;" and hauing rid 
his boat of them, dyrected them to those happie places 
which were alotted out to none but martiahsts. 



CHAP. IX. 

The fieldes of ioye describ'de : None there must dwell 
But pui'ged soules, and such as haue done well : 

Some soldiers there : and some that dye'd in lone, 
Poets sit singing in the baye-tree groue. 



Whil'st the ferry-man was plying his fares and follow- 
ing his thrift, the wandring knight, (Syi' Dagonet), 
hauing dispatch't with the Diuell, and vnderstanding 
that hee vpon whose businesse hee went was iust at 
that time walking in one of the Elizian gardens, hee 
meant to take that in his waye. But the infernall lawes 
barring him from entrance into those sacred palaces, he 
w^afted the other to him, and then related (verbatim) 
his maisters answere and resolution : which the suppliant 
receiues (considering he was now where he would be) 
with as fewe words as hee was wont to carry pence in 
his purse. The post hauing as little to say to him, 
cast onely a sleight eye vppon all the Elizian courtiers 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 71 

(much like to a disdainfull phantasticke French-man 
when he comes into a straunge countrey, as though he 
trauelled rathei" to be seen then to obserue) and vp liee 
leapes vpon one of the Diuells hackneys ; and away he 
rides, to follow his other worldly busines : about which 
whilst hee is damnably sweating, let mee carrie you 
into those insula fortunatm, ordained to be the abydings 
for none but blessed soules. 

The walles that incompasse these goodly habitations 
are white as the forehead of heauen ; they glyster like 
poUisht iuorie, but the stuiFe is fyner : high they are, 
like the pillers that vphold the court of loue ; and strong 
they are, as towers built by enchauntment ; there is 
but one gate to it all, and thats of refined siluer : so 
narrowe it is, that but one at once can enter : round 
about, weai'es it a gyrdle of waters, that are sweet, 
redolent, and christalline : the leaues of the vine are not 
so pretious, the nectar of the Gods nothing so delicious. 

Walk into the groues, you shall heare al sorts of birds 
melodiously singing: you shall see swaynes defly piping, 
and virgins chastly dancing. Shepheards there Hue as 
merily as kings, and kings are glad to be companions 
with shepheardes. The widow there complains of no 
wrong : the orphan slieads no teares, for couetousnes 
cannot carrie it away with his Gold, nor crueltie with 
the swaye of greatnesse ; the poore client needs fee no 
lawyer to pleade for him, for theres no iurie to con- 
demne him, nor iudges to astonish him ; there is all 
mirth, without immodestie : all health without base 
abusing of it : all sorts of wines without intemperance : 



/2 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

all riches without sensualitie : all beauty without paint- 
ing: all loue without dissimulation. Winter there play es 
not the tyrant, neither is the sonimers breath pestilent: 
for spring is all the yere long tricking vp the boughes: 
so that the trees are euer flourishing, the fruites euer 
groAving, the flowers euer budding : yea, such cost and 
such arte is bestowed vppon the arbours, that the very 
benches (whereon these blest inhabitants sit) are sweet 
beds of violets : the beds whereon they lye bancks of 
muske-roses: their pillows hearts ai'e hearts-ease, 
their sheetes the silken leaues of willow. 

Neither is this a common inne to all trauellers, but 
the very pallace wher happines herself maintaines her 
court; and none are allowed to foUowe her, but such as 
ai'e of merit. Of jdl men in the world landlords dare 
not quarter themselues here, because they are rackers 
of rents : a pettifogger, that has taken brybes, wil be 
dambd ere he come neei^e the gates. A fencer is not 
allow'd to stand within 12 score of the place: no more is 
a vintner, nor a farmer, jior a taylor, vnlesse he creep 
through the eye of his needle : no, and but fewe gen- 
tlemen vshers. Women (for all their subtil tie,) scarce 
one amongst fiue hundred has her pewe there, especially 
old myd-wiues, chamber-maides, and way ting -wenches: 
their dooings are too well knowne to be let into these 
lodgings. No, no, none can be free of these liberties 
but such as haue consciences without ci'acks ; hands not 
spotted with vncleannesse ; feete not worne out with 
walking to mischiefe; and hearte? that neuer were 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 73 

lioUowe. Listen therefore, and I will tel you what 
passengers haue a licence to land vpon these sliores. 

Young infants that dye at the brest, and haue not 
suckt of their parents sinnes, are most welcom thither 
for their innocency. Holy singers whose divine an- 
themes haue bound soules by their channes, and whose 
Hues are tapers of virgin waxe set in siluer candle- 
sticks, to guide men out of errors darknes; they knowe 
their places there, and haue them for their integrity. 

Some schollers are admitted into this societie, but 
the number of them all is not halfe so many as are in 
one of the colledges of an universitie ; and the reason 
is, they eyther kindle firebrands (in the sanctified 
l)laces) by their contention ; or kill the hearts of others 
by their coldnes. 

One field there is amongst all the rest set round 
about with willows, it is call'd the field of mourning, 
and in this (vpon bancks of flowers that wither away, 
euen with the scorching sighes of those that sit vppon 
them,) are a band of malecontents : they looke for all 
the world like the mad-folkes in Bedlam, and desire 
(like them) to be alone, and these are forlorn louers : 
such as pyn'de aAvay to nothing for nothing : such as 
for the loue of a wanton wench haue gone crying to 
their graues, whilst she in the mean time, went (laugh- 
ing to see such a kinde coxcombe) into auothers bed : 
all the ioye that these poore fooles feed vpon, is to sit 
singing lamentable ballades to some dolefuU tunes : for 
tho they haue chang'de their olde Hues, they cannot 
forget their young loues ; they spend their time in 



74 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

making of myrtle garlands, and shed so much water 
out of their eyes, that it hath made a prettie little riuer, 
which lies so soaking continually at the roots of the 
willow trees, that halfe the leaues of them, are almost 
washt into a whitenes. 

There is another piece of ground, where are incamped 
none but soldiers : and of those, not all sortes of soldiers 
neither, but onely such as haue died noblie in the 
warres : and yet of those, but a certain number too ; 
that is to say, such that in execution were neuer bloudy : 
in their countries reuenge, seuere, but not cruell : such 
as held death in one hand, and mercy in the other : 
such as neuer rauisht maidens, neuer did abuse no 
widowes, neuer gloi'ied in the massacre of babes : were 
neuer druncke of purpose before the battaile began, 
because they would spare none ; nor after the battaile 
did neuer quarrell about pledging the health of his 
whoare. Of this garrison, there are but a few in pay, 
and therefore they line without mutiny. 

Beyond all these places is there a groue, which stands 
by itselfe like an iland ; for a streame (that makes mu- 
sicke in the running) claspts it round about like a 
hoope girdle of christall: lawrells grew so thicke on all 
the bankes of it, that lightning itselfe, if it came thither, 
hath no power to pierce through them. It seems 
(without) a desolate and vnfrequented wood, (for those 
within are retyrde into themselues) but from them 
came forth such harmonious sounds that birdes build 
nests onely in the trees there to teach tunes to their 
young ones prettily. This is called the Groue of Bay 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 75 

trees, and to this consort-rome resort none but the 
children of Phrebus, (poets and miisitions :) the one 
creates the ditty, and giues it the life or number, the 
other lends it voyce and makes it speake musicke. 
Wlien these happy spirits sit asunder, their bodies are 
like so many starres, and when they ioyne togither in 
seuerall troopes, they shew like so many heauenly con- 
stellations. Full of pleasant bowers and queint arboures 
is all this walke. In one of which, old Chaucer, reue- 
rend for prioritie, blythe in cheare, buxsome in his 
speeches, and benigne in his hauiour, is circled round 
with all the makers or poets of his time, their hands 
leaning on one anothers shoulders, and their eyes fixt 
seriously vpon his, whilst their eares are all tied to his 
tongue, by the golden chaines of his numbers ; for 
here (like Euanders mother) they spake all in verse : 
no Atticke eloquence is so sweete : their language is so 
pleasing to the goddes, that they vtter their oracles in 
none other. 

Graue Spencer was no sooner entred into this chap- 
pell of Apollo, but these elder fathers of the diuine 
furie gaue him a laAvrer, and sung his welcome : Chau- 
cer call'de him his sonne, and plac'de him at his right 
liand. All of them (at a signe giuen by the whole 
quire of the muses that brought him thither,) closing vp 
their lippes in silence, and tuning all their eares for 
attention, to heai'e him sing out the rest of his fayrie 
queenes praises. 

Tn another conipanie sat learned Watson, industrious 
Kyd, ingenious Atchlow, and(tho hee had bene a player, 



76 A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 

molded out of their pennes) yet because he had bene 
their louer, and a register to the Muses, inimitable 
Bentley : these were likewise carowsing to one another 
at the holy well, some of them singing Paeans to Apollo, 
som of them hymnes to the rest of the goddes, Avhil'st 
Marlow, Greene, and Peele had got vnder the shades 
of a large vyne, laughing to see Nash (that was but 
newly come to their coUedge,) still haunted with the 
.sharpe and satyricall spirit that followed him heere 
vpon earth : for Nash inueyed bitterly (as he liad wont 
to do) against dry-fisted patrons, accusing them of liis 
vntimely death, because if they had giuen his muse 
that cherishment which shee most worthily deserued, 
hee had fed to his dying day on fat capons, burnt sack 
and sugei-, and not so desperately haue ventur'de his 
life, and shortend his dayes by keeping company with 
pickle herrings : the rest ask'thim "what newes in the 
world?" hee told them that barbarisme was now growne 
to bee an epidemiall disease, and more common then 
the tooth-ache : being demaunded how poets and players 
agreed now ; troth sayes hee, as phisitions and patients 
agree ; for the patient loues his doctor no longer then 
till hee get his health, and the player loues a poet so 
long as the sicknesse lyes in the two-penie gallery; when 
none will come into it : nay (sayes he) into so lowe 
a miserie (if not contempt,) is the sacred art of poesie 
falne, that tho a wryter (who is worthy to sit at the 
table of the Sunne,) wast his braines to earne applause 
from the more worthie spirits, yet when he has done his 
best he workes but like Ocnus, that makes ropes in 



A KNIGHTS CONIURING. 77 

Hell ; tor as hee twists, an asse stands by and bites 
them in sunder, and that asse is no other than the 
audience with hard hands. He had no sooner spoken 
this, but in comes Chettle sweating and blowing, by 
reason of his fatnes ; to welcome whom, because hee 
was of olde acquaintance, all rose vp, and fell pre- 
sentlie on their knees, to drinck a health to all the 
louers of Hellicon : in dooing which, they made such a 
mad noyse, that all this coniuring which is past, 
(beeing but a dreame,) I suddenlie started vp, and am 
now awake. 



FINIS 



NOTES. 



The Dedication to this tract exposes the common practice of 
the time in obtaining money from those who did not object 
to figure in the fore-fronts of ephemeral publications. 

" To the Reader," 1. 10, — " a browne MIL" A sort of pike with 
a hooked point. They were anciently the weapons of the 
English foot-soldiers, and were afterwards used by watch- 
men. 

P. 9, 1. 29, — " At length the gunjwwder was smelt nut, and the 
trayne discouered." Is there an allusion here to the dis- 
covery of the gunpowder plot ? 

P. 10, 1. 13, — '■^knight of the post." A cant term, signifying 
a hireling evidence, or a person hired to give false bail in 
case of aiTest. The knight of the post to whom Pierce 
Pennilesse entrusted his Supplication, describes himself 
to be " a fellow that wil sweare you any thing for twelue 
pence, but indeed I am a spirit in nature and essence, 
that take vpon me this humane shape onely to set men 
together by the eares, and send soides by millions to hell." 
— Piei-ce Pennilesse, Sec. sig. n, ed. 1595. 

P. 11,1. 29, — " corner caps." The same as are still worn in our 
universities. In The Returne of the Knight of the Paste, 



80 NOTES. 

1606, the hero, describing his various qualifications, says: 
" I am sometimes an attm'ney, sometimes a 2>roctor, very 
often a panator ; I haue wome a barristers gowne, and 
when neede requires a cornerde cappe." — Sig. c, 3 rev. 

P. 12, 1. 19,—" Lpnbo" i.e. hell. 

P. 13, 1. 1, — "set belotv the salt." The salt-cellars of our an- 
cestors, which were of portly size, served as boundaries, 
by which the diflferent qualities of their guests were 
divided. To be placed below the salt was a mark of in- 
feriority. Anthony Nixon, in his Strange Foot-Post with 
a Packet full of Strange Petitions, 1613, has the follow- 
ing passage, describing the miseries of a poor scholar : 
" Now for his fare, it is lightly at the cheefest table, but 
he must sit under the salt, that is an axiome in such 
places : then having drawiie his knife leisurably, unfoulded 
his napkin mannerly, after twice or thrice wiping his 
beard, if he have it, he may reach the bread on his 
knife's point, and fall to his porridge, and betweene eveiy 
spoonefiU take as much deliberation as a capon cramiug, 
lest he be out of his porridge before they have buried part 
of the first course in their bellyes." — Sig. f 5. 

P. 15, 1. 22, — " great iragers ivere laid in the tvorlde,'' &c. 
Dekker's News from Hell, which was afterwards altered 
and extended by its author, under the title of A Knights 
Comuring (vide Introduction), commences with this pas- 
sage. 

P. 15, 1. 28, — " Euery man that did but pass through Pauls 
church-yard," &c. The locality of St. Paul's was as 
famous in the sixteenth and seventeenth centm-ies for 



NOTES. 81 

booksellers' shops as it is at the present time. One edition, 
if not more, oi Pierce Pennilesspvi^^ " Printed for Nicholas 
Ling, and are to he sold at his shop at the nnrlhwest 
doore of S. Paidex, 1595." 

P. 16, 1. 10, — " At sword and buckler little Dauy teas nobody 
to him." This may be the same " little Davy" alluded to 
by Ben Jonson : " Hee has ne're a sword and buckler 
man in his fay re, nor a little Dauy to take toll o' the 
bawds there, as in my time." — Bartlinlomew Fayre. ( In- 
duction.) 

P. 16, 1. 11, — "for rapier and dagger the Germane may he his 
iourneyman." This person seems to have been " a master 
of fence," or common challenger. Dekker alludes to him 
in the Oivles Almanacke, 1618: "Since the German 
fencer cudgelled most of our English fencers now about 
5 moneths past." — p. 6. And again in The Seuen deadly 
Sinnes of London, 1606 : " I woidd faine see a prize set 
up, that the welted usm-er and the politick bankrupt 
might rayle one against another for it. O it would beget 
a riming comedy: the challenge of the Germai/ne against 
all the masters of the noble science, would not bring in 
a quarter of the money."— p. 10. Other allusions to him 
may be found in Beaumont and Fletcher's Knight of the 
Burning Pestle; Works, vol. i. p. 515, ed. Weber; in 
Shirley's Opportunity, — Works, vol. iii. p. 407, ed. Gif- 
ford ; and in Middleton's Roaring Girl, — Works, vol. ii. 
p. 466, ed. Dyce. 

P. 19, I. 7, — '■'■'tis out of fashion to bring a Diuell vpnn the 
stage." One of the gossips in Ben Jonson's Staple of 
Newes, exclaims : " My husband (Timothy Tatle, God 

G 



82 NOTES. 

rest his pooie soule) was wont to say, there was no play 
without a foole and a Diuell in't ; he was for the Diuell 
still, God bless him. The Diuell for his money, would 
hee say, I would faine see the Diuell." — Intermeane after 
the first Act, ed. 1631, p. 20. Dekker was the author of 
a play entitled If it he not good, the Divel is in it, 1612. 

P. 19, 1. 10, — " Barathrum," i.e. abyss, bottomless gulph. 

P. 19, 1. 24, — " with a wet finger." A figurative phrase for 
obtaining anjlhing with ease. It is frequently used by 
GUI' author ; see Dr. Nott's reprint of Dekker's Chills 
Home Book, T^^. 160-1. 

P. 20, 1. 12, — " the dyeing ordinaryes." In Dekker's days, 
and long after, gambling was carried on at ordinaries. 
In a curious tract, attributed to Francis Thynne, entitled 
Newes from the North, othenvise called the Conference 
between Simon Certain and Pierce Plowman, 1585, is 
the following passage : " A freend of mine would needs 
giue mee my dinner at an ordinaiy table, where wee fared 
very daintely, but I promise you for mine owne parte, I 
haue thought my self better at ease many a time and oft 
with bread and cheese in other company. So, sir, in 
the name of God when dinner was doon, insteed of grace, 
to dice they went on eueiy side upon proper square tables, 
fit I wan-ant j'ou for the purpose." — Sign. f. Gambling 
in ordinaries it fully described by om- own author in his 
English Villanies Seven several Times Prest to Death hy 
the Printers, Sec. 1632. 

P. 20, 1. 14, — "m aflat cap, like a shopkeeper." An allusion 
to the citizens, who, according to a statute of Elizabeth 



NOTES. 83 

in behalf of the trade of cappers, wore on sal)bath days 
and holidays flat caps made of wool. See the notes of 
the commentators on " Well, better wits have worne plain 
statute caps." — Shakspeare's Love's Labours Lost, Act v. 
sc. 2. 

P. 20, 1. 17, — " In the two-peny ronmes of a playhouse," Sec 
Dekker in his Belman's Night Walkes, a lively description 
of London about two centm'ies and a half ago, says " pay 
thy two pence to a player in his gallerie, there thou shalt 
sit by an harlot." For every infonnation concerning the 
prices of admission to our old theatres, see Collier's Hist, 
of English Dramatic Poetry, iii. 341 et seq. 

P. 21, 1. 29,—" Cuckolds hauen." " A little below Rotherhithe 
is a spot, close on the river, called Cuckold's Point ; it is 
distinguished by a tall pole with a pair of horns on the 
top. Tradition says, that near this place there lived in 
the reign of King John a miller who had a handsome 
wife: that his Majesty had an intrigue with the fair 
dame, and gave liim, as a compensation, all the land on 
that side, which he could see from his house, looking 
down the river ; he was to possess it, however, only on 
the condition of walking on that day (the 18th of October) 
annually to the farthest bounds of his estate, with a pair 
of buck's horns on his head ; that the miller, having 
cleared his eyesight, saw as far as Charlton, and enjoyed 
the land on the above-mentioned tenns. (In several 
books which condescend to notice this story, we are told 
that the miller lived at Charlton, and saw as far as 
Cuckold's Point ; but the version of it which I have given 
is what the watermen on the Thames even now repeat.) 
Horn fair is still held at Charlton, on the 18th of October, 

g2 



84 NOTES, 

ill commemoration of the event. In A Discovery by Sea, 
&c. by Taylor, tlie watev-poet {Works, folio, p. 21, 1630), 
are the following lines : 

" ' And passing further, I at first observ'd 

That Cuckold' s-Haven was but badly serv'd : 

For there old Time hath such confusion wrought, 

That of the ancient place remained nought. 

No monumentall memorable horn, 

Or tree, or post, which hath those trophies bonie. 

Was left, whereby posterity may know 

Where their forefathers crests did grow, or show, 

' Why then for shame this worthy post manetaine, 
Lets have our tree and horns set up againe ; 
That passengers may shew obedience to it, 
In ])utting off their hats, and homage doe it. 
But hollo, Muse, no longer be offended, 
'Tis worthily repair'd and bravely mended. 
For which great meritorious worke my pen 
Shall give the glory unto Greenwitch men, 
It was their onely cost, they were the actors 
Without the helpe of other benefactors. 
For which my pen their prayses here adornes. 
As they have beautifi'd the hav'n with homes' 

The custom here alluded to, of doing homage to the 
pole burns, is not yet obsolete among the vulgar." — Note 
of the Rer. A. Dyce (Webster's Works, iii. 197-8.) A 
version of the story, humorously told, may be found 
in a rare little work, entitled Ingenii Fructus, or the Cam- 
bridge Jests, n. d. 

P. 21, 1.30, — " *S'/. Katherins." Situated near the Tower. 
The ancient hospital of St. Katherine was founded in 
1148, by Matilda, consort of King Ste2)hen. When the 
ancient chmch was demolished, to make room for the 
present docks, many of the old carvings, together with 



NOTES. 85 

the pulpit (carved on its eight sides with representatiuns 
of the ancient hospital), were removed, and now adorn 
the present church and hospital of St. Katherine, in the 
Regent's Park. 

P. 23, 1. 14, — " one of the 7 deadly sinnes." Dekker was the 
author of an interesting tract, entitled " The Seuen 
Deadly Sinnes of London : drawne in Seven seuerall 
Coaches through the Seuen Several Gates of the Citie, 
bringing the Plague with them. Printed hy E. A. for 
Nathaniel Butter, &c. 1606. At the end of the epistle 
" to the reader" are " the names of the actors in this old 
Enterlude of Iniquitie: — 1. Politike Bankeruptisme ; 
2. Lying; 3. Candle-light; 4. ^ Sloth ; 5. Apishnesse ; 
6. Shauing ; 7. Crueltie. Seuen men may easily play 
this, hut not without a Diuell." 

P. 24, 1. 8, — " Tamburlaine-like furie." An allusion to the 
bombastic character of the hero in Marlowe's play of 
Tamhurlaine the Greate, printed in 1590, but acted an- 
terior to 1587. Middleton alludes to this character in 
Father Hubburds Tales, 1604, " the ordnance playing 
like so many Tamburlaines." — Dyce's Middleton, v. 588. 

P. 25, 1. 16, — " a Lancashire horne-pij)e." Again, in 21ie 
Witch of Edmonton (printed in 1658, but probably acted 
soon after 1622), Act iv. sc. 2: — "There's a Lancashire 
hornpipe in my throat ; hark how it tickles it, with doodle, 
doodle, doodle !" The dance or tune " hornpipe" is so 
called from the instrument upon which it was played. 
Chaucer mentions the pipes made of " grene corne ;" and 
the author of the Comjilaynt of Scotland speaks of the 
" corne pipe." Probably the earliest tunc so called is that 



86 NOTES. 

preserved in a manuscript of Hemy the Eighth's time, 
in the King's Library, British Museum (Bib. Reg. Ap- 
pend. No. 58), but it differs considerably from the horn- 
pipe of the present day. Thomas Weelkes, " Batchelor 
of Musicke," &c. published, in the year 1608, Ayres, or 
Phantasticke Spirits for three voices ; one of these 
describes with some humour the perfonnance of the 
hornpipe. I quote it from a contemporary manuscript in 
my own possession. 

" .Tocke}-, thine home-pipe's dull ; 
Giue wind, man, at full : 
Fie vpon such a sad gull, 
I>ike an hoody doody. 
All too moody, 

Tootle, tootle. 

" Pipe it vp thicker, 
He tread it the quicker ; 
Wliy then, ahout it roundly. 
And I will foote it soundly : 
He take my steps the shorter, 
As it' I trampled mortar." 

One Thomas Mai-sden published, about the year 1697, 
A Collection of Original Lancashire Hornpipes, but it 
has now become so exceedingly rare, that I have not 
been able to meet with a copy in any collection, public 
or private. 

P. 25, 1. 18-19, — "<Ae Spanish Pauin" In Middleton's 
Bhirt, Master Constable, 1602, Act iv. sc. 2, " The 
Spanish pauin" is directed to be " played within ;" and 
in Ford's 'Tis pity she's a Whore, 1633, Act. i. sc. 2, one 
of the characters says, " I have seen an ass and a mide 
trot the Spanish pauin." Anthony Munday wrote the 
tenth song in his Banquet of Daintie Conceits, 1588, to 



NOTES. 87 

"the note of the Spmiish Pavin." Many other notices 
of this popular tune might l)e given, but I shall merely 
add, that those who are curious in such matters may see 
the air itself at page 256 of Queen Elizabeth's Virginal 
Booke, in the Fitzwilliam Museum, arranged by that 
famous " Master of Musicke" Dr. John Bull. Directions 
to dance a pavan may be seen in MS. Hai'l. 367, fol. 
178. 

P. 25, — " vnless there be musicke in her." A singular passage 
in praise of Thomas Nash, follows this passage in the 
Neirs from Hell, which Dekker thought proper to omit 
in the altered version of that tract. It is as follows: 
" And thou, into whose soule (if euer there were a Pi- 
thagorean metempsuchosis) the raptures of that fierie 
and inconfinable Italian spirit were bounteously and 
boundlesly infused ; thou, sometimes secretary to Pierce 
Pennylesse, and master of his requests, ingenious, fluent, 
facetious T. Nash, from whose abundant pen hony flow'd 
to thy friends, and mortall aconite to thy enemies : thou 
that madest the doctor a flat dunce, and beatst him at 
two sundry tall weapons, poetrie and oratorio ; shaqjest 
satyre, luculent poet, elegant orator, get leaue for thy 
ghost to come from her aliiding, and to dwell with me 
awhile till she hath carows'd to me in her owne wonted 
ful measm'es of wit, that my plump braynes may swell 
and burst into bitter inuectiues against the Lieftennant of 
Lymbo, if he casheere Pierce Pennylesse with dead pay." 

P. 26, 1. 17, — " Erra Paters Almanack." An allusion to a 
popular little book, originally printed by Robert Wyer, 
with the following title : " A Prognostication for ever of 
Erra Pater., a Jeice home in Jewrgr, and Doctoure in 



88 NOTES. 

Astronomye and Phisirke. Projitahle to kept the Bodye 
in Health. And aho Ptholemeus saith the same, ii. d. 
It is again alluded to by Shirley in his Gamester, 1(537, 
Act ii. sc. 2 : 

" My Almanack says 'tis a good day to woo in, 
Coniinned by Erra Pater, that honest Jew, too." 

Butler has immortalized our hero in the well-known 

distich : 

" lu inatliematics he wa.s greater 
Tliau Tycho Brahe, or Erra Pater." 

Hudibras, Canto i. 

Dr. Nash, in a note upon the above passage, says : " A 
httle, paltrj' book of the rules of En-a Pater is still vended 
among the vulgar. {Hudibras by Nash, 1835, vol. i. p. 14.) 
He alludes to The Book of Knowledge, but no edition 
has, I believe, been printed within the last seventy years. 

P. 28, 1. 20, — " like ivheels in Brunswick clocks." An allusion 
to the cumbrous and complicated machinerj' of our first 
clocks, which came from Gennany. See Gilford's note, 
Jonson's Works, vol. iii. p. 432. 

P. 28, 1. 25, — ^^ playing at doublets." " He is discarded for a 
gamester at all games but one and thirty, and at tables 
he reaches not beyond doublets." — Bp. Earle's Micro- 
cosmography, 1628, edit. 1811, p. 62-3. Doublets was 
one of the moves in the game of backgammon, or tables, 
as it was formerly called. 

P. 29, 1. 1, — '• vpsy Dutch." These words occiu in Ben Jon- 
son's Alchemist : 

" I do not hke the duhiess of your eye, 
It hath a heavy cast, 'tis npsee Dutch." 

Act iv. sc. 6. 



NOTES. 89 

P. 30, 1. 15,— "■sold by the drum," Sec. The Dutch public 
criers make use of a drum, and our public sales, perhaps, 
were fonnerly announced in the same manner. The ciy 
of " No man better ?" was probably equivalent to " No 
man bid higher?" 

P. 30, 1. 22, — " hugger-mwjyer." In secresy or concealment. 
"So these perhaps might sometimes have some furtive 
conversation in hugger-mugger." — Coryat's Crudities, ii. 
251, repr. 

P. 30, 1. 27, — the poor curst him with bell, buoke, and candle." 
In the solemn form of excommunication used in tho 
Romish Church, the bell was tolled, the book of offices 
for the purpose used, and three candles extinguished, with 
certain ceremonies. 

P. 31,1. 1-2, — ^^ an Irish kernes." The uncivilized inhabitants 
of Ireland were in Dekker's time called wood-karnes. 

P. 31, 1. 21, — " carontoes," i.e. corantoes, lively dances in quick 
time. Specimens of the music may be seen in Elizabeth 
Rogers' Virginal Booke (Add. MSS. Brit. Mus.) and in 
the various editions of Playford's Apollo's Banquet. 

P.36, 1. 5. — '■'■ daylie practising all the foolish tricks of fashion." 
Robert Green, in his Farewell to Folly, 1591, alluding 
to the well-known sign of Dr. Andrew Borde, describes 
the taste of his counti-jinen when he wrote with respect 
to dress : " Time hath brought pride to such perfection 
in Italic, that we are almost as fantasticke as the English 
gentleman that is painted naked, with a paire of shceres 
in his hande, as not being resolved after what fashion to 



90 NOTES, 

have his coat cut. In truth, quoth Farneze, to digresse 
a little from your matter, I have seene an English gen- 
tleman so defused in his sutes, his doublet being for the 
weave of Castile, his hose for Venice, his hat for France, 
his cloak for Geiinanie, that he seemed no way to be an 
Englishman but by the face." — Sig. c 3, rev. And 
Dekker, in his Seauen Deadly Sinnes of London, 1606, 
also alluding to the same engraving, says, " Wittie was 
that painter, therefore, that when hee had limmed one of 
euerj' nation iu their proper attyres, and beeing at his 
wittes endes howe to drawe an Englishman, at the last 
(to giue him a quippe for his follie in apparell) drewe 
him Starke naked, with sheeres iu his hand, and cloth on 
his anne, because none could cut out his fashions but 
himselfe. For an English-mans suite is like a traitors 
bodie that hath beene hanged, drawne, and quartered, 
and set vp in seuerall places : his codpeece is in Denmarke, 
the collor of his dublet and the beUy in France ; the 
wing and narrow sleeue in Italy ; the short waste hangs 
ouer a Dutch botchers stall in Vtrich ; his huge sloppes 
speakes Spanish ; Polonia giues him the bootes ; the 
blocke for his head alters faster then the feltmaker can 
fitte him, and thereupon we are called in scorne block- 
heads. And thus we that mocke euerie nation for keep- 
ing one fashion, yet steale patches from euerie one of 
them to peece out our pride, are now laughing-stocks to 
them, because their cut so scuruily becomes vs." — pp. 31-2. 

P. 37, 1. 27, — " drunkennesse, which ivas once the Dutch-mans 
head-ake, is now become the Englishmans." " I know it, 
and am ashamed to tell thee that Drunkennesse reeles 
euery day vp and down my streetes. FeUowes there are 
that follow me, who in deepe bowles shall di"owiie the 



NOTES. f)1 

Dutchman, and make him lie vnder the table. At his own 
weapon of vpsie freeze will they dare him." — Westmin- 
sters Speech to London, in Dekker's Dead Tearme, 1608, 
sig. A 5. 

P. 38, 1. 13, — " drink more in two daies then all Maning-tree 
does at a Whitsnn-ale." Manningtree appears to have 
been celebrated for its merrjnnakings and stage-plays. 
Heywood, in his Apologi/ for Actors, 1612, says, "to this 
day in divers places in England there be townes that 
hold the priviledge of their faires, and other charters, by 
yearely stage-playes, as at Manningtree in Suffolke, 
Kendall in the North, and others." Dekker, in his Seuen 
Deadly Sinnes of London, 1606, says, "it is acted, like 
the old morralls at Maningtree, by trades-men." — p. 40. 

P. 38, 1. 27, — " a Cales knight," i.e. a knight of Cadiz. On 
the taking of the city of Cadiz (June 21, 1596), in a 
descent made on the coast of Spain, under the command 
of Lord Howard admiral, and the Earl of Essex general, 
the latter knighted not fewer than sixty persons, which 
gave rise (says Bp. Percy) to the following sarcasm : 

" A gentleman of Wales, a knight of Cales, 
And a laird of the north country : 
But a yeoman of Kent with his yearly rent 
Will buy tliein out all three." 

P. 39, 1. 14, — " Will. Sommers," the celebrated jester to King 
Henry VlIT, and one of the most renowned of his class. 
Very little is known of his actual biography. In 167(> 
was published (perhaps not for the first time), A Pleasant 
History of the Life and Death of Will. Soniers, a great 
part of which is taken from Andrew Borde's collection of 



92 NOTES. 

The Merry Jests and Witty Shifts of Scoygin. A por- 
trait of Sommers and his royal master may be seen in an 
illiuninated Psalter in the British Museum (MS. Reg. 
2 A, xvi) ; also in Holbein's jiicture of Henry VIII and 
his family, fomierly in the meeting room of the Society 
of Antiquaries, and now in the Palace at Hampton 
Court. 

P. 39, 1. 29, — " It was a comedy to see what a crowding (as if 
it had bene a newe play)." New plays seem to have 
attracted large audiences. One of the characters in 
Marmyon's Fine Companion, says, " a new play, and a 
gentlemen in a new suit, claim the same privilege — at 
their first presentment their estimation is double." — See 
Collier's Hist, of Dram. Poet, iii. 408. 

P. 42, 1. 30, — " Moore-ditche." Dekker again alludes to the 
filthy state of Moorditch in his Guls Horn-Book, 1609 : 
" The ground that has of late years been called Moor- 
fields, together with the adjoining manor of Finsbmy, or 
Fensbury, extending as far as Hoxton, was in the four- 
teenth century one continued marsh, passable only by 
rude causeways here and there raised upon it. Moor- 
fields, in the time of Edward the Second, let but for four 
marks per anum, a sum equal in value to six pounds 
sterling. In 1414, a postern gate, called Mooryate, 
ivas opened in London Wall by Sir Thomas Fauconer, 
mayor, affording freer access to the city for such as crossed 
the Moor; and water-courses from it were begun. In 
1511, regular dikes, and bridges of communication over 
them, were made for more effectually di'aining this fenny 
tract, during the mayoralty of Sir Robert Atchely ; which 
draining was gradually proceeded upon for about a cen- 



NOTES. 93 

tury, till, in Dekker's day, it would appear that the waters 
were collected in one great ditch. In 1614, it was to a 
great degree levelled, and laid out into walks. In 1732, 
or between that and 1740, its level was perfected and the 
walks planted with elms. After this, the spot was for 
years neglected, and Moorfields became an assemblage 
of petty shops, particularly booksellers', and of ironmon- 
gers' stalls ; till, in the year 1790, the handsome square 
of Finsbury completed arose upon its site." — Note of 
Dr. Nott to his reprint of the Guls Home-Book, p. 48. 

P. 46, 1. 15, — " Paris garden' was situated on the Southwark 
side of the water, and according to Blount's Glossographia 
derived its name from Robert de Paris, who had a house 
and grounds there in the reign of Richard II. It appears 
to have been used for bear-baiting as early as the 17th 
of Heniy VIII. — See Collier's History of Dramatic 
Poetry, iii. 278. 

P. 51, 1. 11, — " during his absence the wri/ter that penn'd the 
Supplication had been landed by Charon. Nash died, 
in all probability of the plague, about the middle of the 
year 1604. In Middleton's Blacke Booke, 1604, he is 
described as living in a state of the most abject wretch- 
edness ; and in the same author's Father Hubbards Tales, 
printed later in the same year, he is spoken of as dead. 
Nash's earliest known production is dated 1587, and his 
latest 1600. The compiler of the fourth part of the 
Bibliotheca Heberiana, noticing a curious tract entitled 
Newesfrom Graves-end ; sent to Nobody (printed in 1604), 
says : " A curious Dedicatory Epistle to Syr Nicholas 
Nemo, alias Nobody, is prefixed to this poetical tract, 
very much in the semi-humorous and satirical style of 



94 NOTES. 

Thomas Nash, who was dead at the close of the year 
1604, but who might have lived to publish this produc- 
tion." He also adds : " it woiUd be a strange coincidence 
if his (Nash's) last work related to the disorder which 
proved fatal to him." 

P. 52, 1. 21, — " leade him vp and doivne like Guy" &c. Is 
there an allusion here to the effigy of Guido Fawkes being 
paraded through the streets, "to make sports in any 
drunken assemblie" ? If so, it is an early allusion to the 
custom. 

P. 53, 1. 2, — " this Cnmedie of Errors." This may be an 
allusion to Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors ; but it is 
immaterial. 

P. 54, 1. 30, — " tell all the brokers in Long Laiie, Houndsditch, 
or elsewher." Middleton, in his Blacke Booke, 1604, 
says: "let brokers become whole honest then, and remove 
to heaven out oi Hounsditch." — Dyce's Middleton, v. 510. 
Dekker again speaks of the brokers of Hounsditch in his 
Seauen Deadly Sinnes, 1606, p. 36 ; and Sam. Rowlands, 
in his Letting of Humours Blood in the Head-vaine, 
1611, speaks of going "into Hounsditch to the Brokers 
roe." Long Lane was perhaps equally notorious, for 
Nash in his Pierce Pennilesse speaks of " swords and 
bucklers" being pawned in " Long Lane." 

P. 60, 1. 9, — " ivild Lish footeman." It w'as customaiy, at the 
period when Dekker wrote, for the nobility to retain 
" wild Irish footmen" in their service. So in Cupid's 
Whirligig, ed. 1616, "Come, thou hast such a rmniing 



NOTES. 95 

wit, 'tis like an Irish foote boy'' — Sig. e 3. In Brath- 
vvait's Strappado for the Diiiell, 1615, 

" For see those thin hreech Irislt lackies run " — p. 191. 

And in Dekker's English Villanies six several times prest 
to death by the Printers, &c. 1632, "The Demlsfoote- 
man was very nimble of his heeles, for no wild Irish-man 
could outrunne him." — Sig. B 4. 

P. 61, 1. 22, — "my rich lew of Malta." An allusion to Mar- 
lowe's tragedy of The Rich Jew of Malta. It was 
entered for publication on the Stationers' books in 1594, 
but was not printed until 1633, when it was edited by 
Thomas Heywood. — Vide Collier's History of Dramatic 
Poetry, iii. 137. 

P. 65, 1. 4, — " but to a company of countrey -players, being 
nine in number, one sharer, and the rest ionrney men" ^c. 
The items conveyed in Charon's account of expenses, 
place country players in no very enviable light. " Sharers, 
half-sharers, and hired men, are mentioned in the old 
satirical play Histriomastix, 1610. In one scene, the 
dissolute perfonners having been arrested by soldiers, one 
of the latter exclaims, ' Come on, players ! now we are 
the sharers, and you the hired men ;' and in another scene, 
Clout, one of the characters, rejects with some indigna- 
tion the offer of ' half a share.' In the same production 
we also meet with the term ' master sharers ;' they are 
spoken of by an officer as more substantial men : ' you that 
are master-sharers must provide you your own purses.' " — 
See Collier's History of Dramatic Poetry, iii. 427 et seq. 

P. 65, 1. 15, — " Tickle the next minikin." " One touches the 



9() NOTES. 

bass, and the other tickles the minikin." — Midclletcin's 
Family of Love, Act i. sc. 3. " Minikin," says Nares 
{Glos. in v.), " seems sometimes to have meant treble 
in music." It also meant a fiddle : " A fidler when he 
hath crackt his minikin." — Jacke Drums Entertainment, 
sig. E 3, ed. 161(1. 

P. 66, 1. 14, — " steale thither in coaches." " In the year 1564, 
Guylliam Boonen, a Dutchman, became the queene's 
coachmanne, and was the first that brought the use of 
coaches into England. And after a while, divers great 
ladies, with a great jealousie of the queene's displeasure, 
made them coaches, and rid in them up and downe the 
countries to the great admiration of all beholders ; but 
then, by little and little, they grew usual among the no- 
bility and others of sort, and within twenty years began 
a great trade of coachmaking. And about that time 
began long wagons to come into use, such as now come to 
London from Caunterbury, Norwich, Ipswich, Gloucester, 
-Sec. with passengers and commodities. Lastly, even at this 
time, 1605, began the ordinaiy use of coaches." — Stowe's 
Annales, 1615, fol. 867. Barnaby Rich, in his curious 
tract entitled The Honestie of this Age, &c. 1614, ex- 
claims : " and howe are coache makers and coach-men 
increased, that fiftie yeares agoe were but fewe in number ; 
but nowe a coach-man and a foot-boy is enough, and 
more than euery knight is able to keepe." — Sig. d 3, ver. 

P. 66, 1. 20, — " Dunkirks," i.e. privateers of Dunkirk. So 
Shirley, — "was ta'en at sea by Dunkirks." — Works, vol. 
ii. p. 428. ed. Dyce. 

P. 66, 1. 22,—" if Parris f/arden would but fall downe againe." 



NOTES. 97 

This fatal accident occurred on Sunday, January 13th, 
1582-3. The loss of life was not, however, so great as 
might have been expected, considering the number of 
persons assembled. Stow, describing the calamity, says 
that eight lives were lost, and adds, as the cause of the 
accident, that the scaffolds were " old and unpropped." 
A worthy zealot, by name John Field, who published A 
Godly Exhortation on the occasion, says, that about 
a thousand people were collected together when the 
accident happened, and that five men and two women 
were killed, and more than a hundred and fifty persons 
seriously injured. 

P. 70, 1. 2, — " he dyed auncient in the middest of his youth." 
This is a powerful and interesting description of the 
death of a gallant English soldier. Ostend, where it 
appears he lost his life, was taken by the Marquis 
of Spinola on the 8th of February 1604, after it had 
held out three years and ten weeks. Full particulars of 
the siege may be found in A True History of the 
memorable Sieye of Ostend, mid what passed on either 
Side from the heginniny of the Siege unto theyeelding up 
of the Towne. Translated out of French into English 
by Edward Grimesten, 1604. William Eps is not there 
mentioned by name, but it is possible he may be one of 
those alluded to as having performed heroic actions. 

P. 70. The News from Hell ends with some slight variations 
at the end of chapter viii. The last chapter is added to 
this edition. 

P. 70, 1. 13, — " Syr Dagonet" the squire of King Arthur, in 
the old romance of Murte Arthur. 



98 NOTES. 

P. 71, ]. 20, — " swaynes defly piping." In the Neu^s from 
Hell, this passage stands "swaynes deftly piping." I 
had not observed it till too late, or I should have altered 
it in the text." 

P. 75, 1. 29, — " learned Watson." Thomas Watson, celebrated 
for his elegant sonnets, was styled by Meres the English 
Petrarch. He died between the publication of his Tears 
of Fancie in 1593, and 1596, when Nash speaks of him 
in his Have with you to Saffron Walden, as a man " whom 
he dearly lov'd and honor'd, and for all things hath left 
few his equalls in England." 

P. 75, 1. 30, — " industrious Kyd." Thomas Kyd was a dra- 
matic author of no mean merit. His Spanish Tragedy 
went through more editions than perhaps any play of the 
time. See Collier's History of Dramatic Poetry, iii. 205. 

P. 75 1. 30, — " ingenious Atchlow." Thomas Achelly, 
Acheley, or Achlow, for his name is variously spelt, is 
mentioned by Nash, in his address to " Gentlemen 
Students" prefixed to Greene's Arcadia, as having " more 
then once or twice manifested his deepe-witted scholler- 
ship in places of credite." He is called by Meres the 
English Boccaccio, probably for his translation of " A 
most lamentable and tragicall Historic, conteyning the 
outragious and horrible Tyrannic whiche a Spanishe Gan- 
tlewoman named Violente executed vpon her Lover, be- 
cause he espoused another, being first betrothed vnto her. 
Imprinted at London by John Charleivood for Thomas 
Butter, 1576. He was also a contributor to England's 
Parnassus, and has some commendatory verses " to 
the author" prefixed to Watson's EKATOMRAeiA, or 
Passionate Centime of Love (1581). In all prol)ability 



NOTES. 99 

be was the author of a poem called The Massacre of 
Money, printed in 1602. 

P. 7(>, 1. 2, — " inimitable Bentley." Nash thus notices Bentley 
in his Pierce Pennilesse : " If I euer write any thing in 
Latin (as I hope one day I shall), not a man of any 
desert here amongst vs but I will haue vp: Tarlton, 
Ned Allen, Knell, Bendy, shal be made knowne to 
France, Spaine, and Italy ; and not a part that they 
surmounted in more than other but I will there note 
and set downe, with the manner of their habites and 
attyre." — Sig. o, ed. 1595. Heywood, in his Apology for 
Actors, 1612, celebrates " Knell, Bentley, Mils, Wilson, 
Crosse, and Laman," as players who " by the report of 
many juditiall auditors" peifonned many parts " so ab- 
solute, that it were a kind of sinne to drowne their worths 
in Lethe, and not commit their (almost forgotten) names 
to eternity." — (Shakespeare Society's reprint, p. 43.) John 
Bentley is mentioned by Ritson {Bibl. Poet.) as the 
author of a few short poems in an ancient MS. belonging 
to Samuel Lysons, Esq. 

P. 76, 1. 6.—" Marloiv." " The story of Marlow's death has 
been differently related, but it seems now ascertained 
that he was killed by his rival in love : Marlow found his 
rival with the lady to whom he was attached, and rushed 
upon him ; but his antagonist, l)eing the stronger, thrust 
the point of Marlow's own dagger into his head. This 
e\'ent probably occurred at Deptford, where, according 
to the register of St. Nicholas' Church, Marlow was 
buried, on June 1st, 1593, and it is also there recorded 
that he was ' slain by Francis Archer.' " — Collier's History 
of Dramatic Poetry, iii. 144. 



100 NOTES. 

P. 76, 1. 6, — " Greene." Robert Greene died in September 
1592, of a fatal i^ness occasioned by eating and drink- 
ing immoderately of red herrings and Rhenish wine. 
See the best account of Greene prefixed to the Rev. A. 
Dyce's edition of his Dramatic Works. 

P. 7(), 1. ti, — " Peele." George Peele, the dramatist, is sup- 
])osed to have been born about 1552. The date of his 
death is unknown, but that it occurred in or before 1598 
is certain, as Meres, in the second part of Palladis Tamia, 
or Wit's Treasury, published in that year, infoiins us of 
the cause. See the Memoir of Peele prefixed to the 
Rev. A. Dyce's elegant edition of his Works, 3 vols. 1829. 

P. 7ti, 1. It), — '•'■ keepiny company tvith pickle herrings." The 
Rev.A.Dyce asks, " Is there an allusion here to the banquet 
of ' pickled herrings' which proved fatal to poor Green, 
and at which Nash was present?" Undoubtedly there is. 

P. 77, 1. 4, — " Chettle." See the Introduction to Kind Harts 
Dreame (reprinted by the Percy Society) for an account 
uf this author. In addition to the facts there collected, 
I am now enabled to add the following inscription (pro- 
balily upon a child of Chettle's), formerly in the church of 
St. John, New Windsor, and preserved in Ashmole's 
Antiquities of Berkshire, 1719, iii. 75. It was kindly 
pointed out to me by the Rev. Joseph Hunter. 

" Here lyeth the Body 

of Mary Cliettle, 

The Daughter of Henry Chettle ; who 

dy'd the 2d of 

September 1695, ^tatis sua; 12. 

In Memory of whorae, Robert Gwine, 

Yeoman of the Guai-d, 

juith caiis'd this to be done." 



THE 

MEETING OF GALLANTS 

AT AN ORDINARIE: 

OR, 

THE WALKES IN POWLES. 

dTvom an tiniijue l)Iacfe4cttci' Copp 

IX THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY. 



EDITED BY 

JAMES OKCHARD HALLTWELL, ESQ. 



LONDON : 
REPRINTED FOR THE PERCY SOCIETY, 

BY C. RICHARDS, ST. MARTIN'S LANE 



MDCCCXLI. 



COUNCIL 



Cfie ^eit|) ^omt|)* 



President. 
The Rt. Hon. LORD BRAYBROOItE, F.S.A, 

THOMAS AMYOT, Esq. F.R.S. Treas. S.A. 

WILLIAM HENRY BLACK, Esq. 

J. A. CAHUSAC, Esq. F.S.A. 

WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq. F.S.A. Treasurer. 

JOHN PAYNE COLLIER, Esq. F.S.A. 

T. CROFTON CROKER, Esq. F.S.A. M.R.I.A. 

REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, Esq. F.R.S. M.R.I.A. 

G. P. R. JAMES, Esq. 

WILLIAM JERDAN, Esq. F.S.A. M.R.S L. 

CHARLES MACKAY, Esq. 

T. J. PETTIGREW, Esq. F.R.S. F.S.A. 

E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq Secretary. 

JAMES WALSH, Esq. 

THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq. M.A. F.S.A. 



PREFACE. 



The following curious tract is now, for the first time, 
reprinted from the only copy known to exist, pre- 
served, among other black-letter rarities, in Malone's 
Collection in the Bodleian Library. It has, however, 
other claims on our notice of much more importance 
than any rarity could impart, for it affords us a curious 
picture of a very eventful occurrence in the history of 
our great metrojDolis, besides the illustrations which it 
gives to the works of Shakespeare and contemporary 
writers. 

I refer to the plague of London in 1603, which 
raged so violently between the months of May and 
jQecember, and may well be compared in its effects to 
the pestilence which was afterwards emphatically termed 
" the great plague." The pamphlet now reprinted was 
Avritten at the commencement of the following year ; 
and among the numerous works Avhich appeared on the 
subject of the plague, I have not met with any which 
gives so curious and interesting an insight into the 
domestic life of the inhabitants of the metropolis during 
its continuance, as the one now printed. The name of 
the author is not known, and T have not succeeded 
in discovering any clue to it. The books of the 



VI PREFACE. 

Stationers' Company may perhaps supply us with the 
information ; and pity it is that such inquiries should 
be obstructed by the difficulties which are thrown in 
the way of obtaining access to those registers. 

It is a singular circumstance that De Foe, in his 
pleasant fiction of the " History of the Plague," should 
have given a tale in substance the same with that re- 
lated in the following tract, at p. 25. I will extract 
from De Foe the anecdote to which I refer, so that 
the reader may compare the two together : — 

" It was under this John Hayward's care, and 
within his bounds, that the story of the piper, with 
which people have made themselves so merry, hap- 
pened, and he assured me that it was true. It is said 
that he was a blind piper : but, as John told me, the 
fellow was not blind, but an ignorant, weak, poor 
man, and usually walked his rounds about ten o'clock 
at night, and went piping along from door to door, 
and the people usually took him in at public-houses 
where they knew him, and would give him drink and 
victuals, and sometimes farthings; and he, in return, 
would pipe and sing, and talk simply, which diverted 
the people ; and thus he lived : it was but a very bad 
time for this diversion, while things were as I have 
told ; yet the poor fellow went about as usual, but was 
almost starved : and when anybody asked how he did, 
he would answer, — the dead-cart had not taken him 
yet, but that they had promised to call for him next 
week. 

" It happened one night that this poor fellow, 
whether somebody had given him too much drink 



PREFACE. VU 

or no, John Hayward said lie had not drink in his 
house, but that they had given him a little more 
victuals than ordinary at a public-house in Coleman 
Street: and the poor fellow having not usually had 
a belly-fuU, or, perhaps, not a good while, was laid 
all along upon the top of a bulk or stall, and fast 
asleep at a door in the street near London "Wall, 
towards Cripplegate ; and that upon the same bulk 
or stall, the people of some house, in the alley of 
which the house was a corner, hearing a bell whicli 
they always rung before the cart came, had laid a 
body really dead of the plague just by him, thinking 
too that this poor fellow had been a dead body, as the 
other was, and laid there by some of the neighbours. 

"Accordingly, when John -Hayward, with his bell 
and the cart, came along, finding two dead bodies lie 
upon the stall, they took them up with the instrument 
they used, and threw them into the cart, and all this 
while the piper slept soundly. 

" From hence they passed along, and took in other 
dead bodies, till, as honest John Hayward told me, 
they almost buried him alive in the cart ; yet all this 
while he slept soundly ; at length the cart came to 
the place where the bodies were to be thrown into 
the ground, which, as I do remember, was at Mount - 
mill ; and as the cart usually stopped some time before 
they Avere ready to shoot out the melancholy load they 
had in it, as soon as the cart stopped, the fellow 
awaked, and struggled a little to get his head out 
from among the dead bodies, when raising himself 
up in the cart, he called out : ' Hey ! where am I ?' 



Vlll PREFACE. 

This frighted the fellow that attended about the work, 
but after some pause, John Hayward recovering him- 
self, said : ' Lord bless us ! there is somebody in the 
cart not quite dead !' So another called to him, and 
said : ' Who are you ?' The fellow answered . •' I am 
the poor piper ; where am I ?' ' Where are you ?' 
says Hayward, ' why, you are in the dead-cart, and 
we are going to bury you.' ' But I arn't dead though, 
am I ?' says the piper, which made them laugh a little, 
though, as John said, they were heartily frighted at 
first; so they helped the poor fellow down, and he 
went about his business. 

" I know, as the story goes, he set up his pipes in 
the cart, and frighted the bearers and others, so that 
they ran away ; but John Hayward did not teU the 
story so, nor say anything of his piping at aU ; but 
that he was a poor piper, and that he was carried 
away as above I am fully satisfied of the truth of." 

There is, of course, no necessity for believing that 
De Foe was acquainted with " The Meeting of Gal- 
lants," but it satisfactorily proves that he was not the 
inventor of all the tales in the celebrated " History of 
the Plague ;" and gives us fair ground for conjectur- 
ing that he most probably adopted many of them from 
the oral anecdotes which had come floating down to his 
time on the stream of popular tradition. 

J. O. H. 

35, Alfred Place, London. 

Translation of St. Edward, 1841. 



THE 



MEETING OF GALLANTS 



AT AN ORDINARIE 



OE, 



THE WALKES IN POWLES. 



LONDON : 

Printed hy T. C. and are to be solde by Mathew La we, 
dwelling in Paules Cluircli-vard. 



1604. 



A DIALOGUE BETWEENE WARRE, FAMINE, 

AND THE PESTILENCE, BLAZING 

THEIR SEUERALL EUILLS. 



THE GENIUS OF AVARRE. 

Famine and Pestilence, Cowards of Hell, 
That strike in peace, when the whole world's vnai'mde ; 
Tx'ipping vp soules of Beggars, limblesse wretches, 
Hole-stopping Prisoners, miserable Catchpoles, 
Whom one vocation stabs, dare you Furies 
Confront the Ghost of crimson passing Wai-re ? 
Thou bleake-cheekt wretch, one of my plenteous wounds 
Would make thee a good coleur. 

FAMINE. 

I Defye, 

Thy blood and thee, 'tis that which I destroy, 

lie starue thee War re for this. 

WARRE. 

Alasse weake famine ; 

Why, a Taylor is the faridest man thou kilst 
That lines by bread, thou darst not touch a farmer, 
No nor his griping Sonne-in-lawe that weds 
His daughter with a dowry of stuft Barnes, 

b2 



4 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

Thou runst away from these, such makes thee flye, 
And there thou lightst vpon the Labourers mawe, 
Breakst into poore mens stomackes, and there driuest 
The sting of Hunger like a Dastard. 

FAMINE . 

Bastard, 

Peace Warre, least I betray thy monstrous birth : 

Thou knowest I can deriue thee. 

PESTILENCE. 

And I both. 

WAKRE. 

And I repugne you both, you hags of Reahnes, 
Thou Witch of Famine, and Drab of plagues : 
Thou that makest men eate slouenly, and feeds 
On excrements of Beasts, and at one meale 
Swallow a hundred pound in very Doues-dung, 

FAMINE. 

Therein thou tellst my glory and rich power. 

WARRE. 

And thou. 

PESTILENCE. 

Beware Warre how thou speakest of me, 

I haue friends here in England, though some dead 

Some stiU can showe, where I was borne and bred ; 

Therefore be wary in pronouncing mee : 

Many haue tooke my part, whose Carcases 

Lye now tenne fadome deepe : many aUue 



AT AN ORDINARIE. 5 

Can .showe tlieir skars in my contagious Quarrell : 

Warre, I sui'passe the fui-ie of thy stroake, 

Say that an Ainny foi'tie thousand strong, 

Enter thy crimson lists, and of that number, 

Perchance the fourth part falls, markt with red death ? 

Why, I slay foi'tie thousand in one Battaile, 

Full of blew wounds, whose cold clay Bodies looke 

Like speckled Marble. 

As for lame persons, and maimed Souldiers 

There I outstrip thee too ; how many Swarmes 

Of bruised and crackt people did I leaue. 

Their Groines sore pier'st with pestilentiall Shot : 

Their Arme-pits digd with Blaines, and vlcerous Sores, 

Lurking like poysoned Bullets in their flesh ? 

Othersome shot in the eye with Carbuncles, 

Their Lids as monstrous as the Sarazens. 



Thou plaguy woman, cease thy infectious brags, 
Thou pestilent strumpet, base and common murdi'esse, 
What men of mai'ke or memory haue fell 
In they poore purple Battaile, say thou'st slayne 
Foure hundred Silkweauers, poore Silk-wormes, vanisht 
As many Tapsters, Chamberlaines, and Ostlers, 
Barest thou contend with me thou freckled-Harlot, 
And match thy durty Glories, with the Splendor 
Of kingly Tragedies acted by me ? 
When I haue dyed the greene stage of the field, 
Red with the blood of Monarchs, and rich states, 
How many Dukes imd Earles, hau(} I drunke vp 



6 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

At one couragious Rows ? O Summer Diuell, 
Tliou wast but made as Rats bane to kill Bawde, 
To poyson Drunkards, vomiting out their Soules 
Into the Bulke of HeU, to infect the Corps 
Of Pewter -buttonde Serieants, such as these 
Venome whole Realmes : and as Phisitians say, 
Poysons with poyson, must be forest away. 

PESTILENCE. 

Warre, twist not me with double damned Bawdes, 
Or prostituted Harlots, I leaue them 
For my French Nephewe, he raignes ouer these : 
Ee show you both how I excell you both. 
Wlio euer read that Usurers dyed in Warre 
Grasping a Sword, or in an yron yeare, 
Languisht with famine ? but by me surprizde 
Euen in their Counting-houses, as they sate 
Amongst then- golden Hills : when I haue changed 
Their Gold into dead tokens, with the touch 
Of my pale-spotted, and infectious Rodde, 
When with a suddaine start and gastly looke. 
They haue left counting Coyne, to count their flesh, 
And summe vp their last vsury on their Brests, 
All their whole wealth lockt in their bony Chests. 



Ai-e Usurers then the proudest Acts thou playdst ? 
Pack -Penny fathers, Couetous rooting Moles, 
That haue their gold thrice higher then their soules 
Is this the Top of all thy glorious Laughters, 



AT AN ORDINARIE. 



To ayme them at my princely Massacres ? 
Poore Dame of Pestilence, and Hag of Famine, 
I pittie your weake furies. 



Oh I could eate you both, 

I am so torne with Hunger, and with Rage : 

What is not flinty famine, gasping Dearth, 

Worthy to be in ranke weth dusty Warre ? 

And little Pestilence, are not my Acts 

More stony -pittilesse then tliine, or thine ? 

What ist to dye stampt fuU of di'unken wounds, 

Which makes a man reele quickly to his Graue, 

Without the sting of Torments, or the sence 

Of chawing Death by peecemeale ? vndone and done, 

In the forth part of a poore short Minute ? 

Tis but a bloody slumber, a read dreame. 

Not worthy to be named a torturing Death, 

Nor thine thou most infectious Citty dame, 

That for thy Pride art plagued, bearst the shape 

Of running Pestilence, those which thou strikest 

Were death within fewe dayes vpon their hearts, 

Or else presage amendment : when I raigne, 

Heauen puts on a brasse, to be as hard in blessing, 

As the earth fruitlesse in increasing. Oh, 

I rack the vaines and Sinewes, lancke the lungs. 

Freeze all the passages, plough vp the MaAve : 

My torment lingers like a sute in Lawe, 

Wliat are you both to me insolent Euills ? 

Joyne both your fnncs. they waigli light to mine. 



8 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS. 

Aiid what art thou AV^arre, that so wantest thy good '. 
But like a Barber- Sui-giou that lets blood. 

WAKRE. 

Out Lenten Harlot. 

PESTILENCE. 

Out on you both, and if all matter failes, 
He showe my glorie in these following Tales. 



MEETING OF GALLANTS AT AN ORDINARIE. 

WHERE THE FATTE HOST TEIXES TALES AT THE VPPER 
ENDE OF THE T.UJLE. 



SIG. SHUTTLECOCKE. 

What Signior Ginglespiir, the first Gallant I mette in 
Powles, since the one and thirtie dale, or the decease 
of July, and I may fitly call it the decease, for there 
deceast aboue three hundred that daye, a shrcAvde 
Prologue marry to the Tragedie that followed : and yet 
I speake somewhat improperly to call it a Prologue, 
because those that died were all out of their Partes; 
What dare you venture Sig. at the latter ende of a 
Fraye now ? I meane not at a Fraye with swordes and 
Bucklers, but with sores and Carbunckles : I protest 
you ai'e a strong Metalde Gentle-man, because you do 
not feare the dangerous Featherbeds of London, nor to 
be tost in a perilous Blancket, or to lie in the fellowes 
of those sheetes that two dead Bodies were wrapt in 
some three monethes before. Naye I can tell you, there 
is many an honest house in London wel stockt before 
with large linnen, where no\v rcmaines not aboue two 
sheetes and a halfe, and so tlie good man of the house 
di'iuen to lye in the one sheete for shift, till the payre 
be washt and dried : for you knowe tenne wound out 



10 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

of one house, must for shame carry fiue payre of sheetes 
with them, being cofSnd and put to boord-wages, the 
onely Knights policy to saue charges in victualles. 
But soft Signior, what may he be that stalkt by vs now 
in a ruinous sute of apparell, with his Page out at 
Elbowes ? 'tis a strange sight in Powles Signior, mee 
thinkes, to see a broken Page follow a seamerent 
Maister. 

SIG. GINGLESPURRE. 

What doe you wonder at that sight now ? 'tis a Limbe 
of the fashion, and as commendable to goe ragged after 
a plague, as to haue an Antient full of holes and Tatters 
after a Battaile : And I haue seene fiue hundred of the 
same rancke in appareU, for most of your choyce and 
curious Gallants came vp in cloathes, because they 
thought it very dangerous to deale with Sattin this 
plague-time, being Diuell ynough without the plague : 
beside there hath bene a great Dearth of Taylors, the 
propertie of Avhose deathes were Avonderfull, for they 
were tooke from Hell to Heauen : All these were 
Motiues sufficient to perswade Gentlemen as they loued 
their lines, to come vp in their old sutes, and be very 
respectiue and carefull how they make tliemselues new- 
ones, and to venture vppon a Burchen-lane Hose and 
Doublet, were euen to shunne the villanous Jawes of 
Chai-ibdis, and fall into the large swallow of Scylla, the 
deuouring Catch-pole of the Sea : for their bombait is 
wicked ynough in the best and soundest season, and 
there is as much periU betweene the wings and the 
skirts of one of their Doublets, as in all the liberties of 



AT AN ORDINARIE. ] 1 

London, take Saint Tooles Parish, and all the most 
infected places of England. 

Well, I haue almost mard theii* market, for Gentle- 
men especially, those that loue to smeU sweete, for they 
are the worst Milliners in a kingdome, and their sutes 
beare the mustiest perfume of anything breathing, 
vnlesse it were an Usurers Night-cappe againe : And 
indeed that sents worse then the strong breath of Aiax, 
where his seuenfold shield is turnde to a Stoole with a 
hole in it. But see yonder, Signior Stramazoon and 
Signior Kickshawe, now of a suddaine allighted in 
Powles with their durtie Bootes, lets encounter them 
at the fift PiUar, in them you shall finde my talke 
verified, and the fashion truly pictured. What Sign- 
ior, both well met vppon the old worne Brasse, the 
Moone hath had aboue sixe great Bellies since wee 
waUvt here last togethei", and layne in as often : Mee 
thinkes Signiors, this middle of Powles lookes strange 
and bare, like a long-hayrde Gentleman new poAvlde, 
washt and shaued, and I may fitly say shaued, for there 
was neuer a lusty Shauer scene walliing here this halfe 
yeare : especially if he loued his life, hee would reuolt 
from Duke Humfrey, and rather bee a Wood-cleauer 
in the Countrey, then a chest -breaker in London : But 
what Gallants march vp a pace now, Signiors ; how 
are the high waies fild to London ? 

SIG. SHUTTLECOCKE. 

Euery mans head here is full of the Proclamation, 
and tlic lioiK.'st: blacke Gentleman the Tearme, hath 



12 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

kept a great hall at Westminster againe: all the 
Tavei-nes in Kings-streete will he Emperors, Innes and 
Alehouses at least Marquesses a piece: Now Cookes 
hegin to make more Coffins than Carpenters, and burie 
more whole meate then Sextons, fewe Bells are heard 
a nights beside old John Clappers, the Bellmans : And 
Gentlemen 'twas time for you to come, for I know 
many an honest Tradesman that would haue come 
dowue to you else, and set vp their shops in the Coun- 
try, had you not venturde vp the sooner ; and he that 
would haue brande it, and bene a vaine-glorious silken 
Asse all the last Sommer, might haue made a Sute of 
Sattin cheaper in the plague-time, then a Sute of 
Marry-muffe in the Tearme-time ; there was not so 
much Veluet stirring, as would haue bene a Couer to 
a little Booke in Octauo, or seamde a Lieftenants Buffe- 
doublet ; A French-hood woidd haue bene more won- 
dred at in London, then the Polonians with their long- 
tayld Gaberdines, and which was most lamentable, 
there was neuer a Gilt Spur to be seene all the Strand 
ouer, neuer a Feather wagging in aU Fleetstreete, 
vnlesse some Country Forehorse came by, by meere 
chaunce, with a Raine-beaten Feather in his Costrill ; 
the streete looking for all the world like a Sunday 
morning at sixe of the Ciocke, three houres before 
seruice, and the Bells ringing all about London, as if 
the Coronation day had bene halfe a yeare long. 

SIG. STRAJMAZON. 

Trust mc Gentlemen a very sore discourse. 



AT AN ORDINARIE. 13 

SIG. SHUTTLECOCKE. 

I could tell you now the miserable state and pittifull 
case of many Tradesmen whose wares lay dead on 
their hands by the burying of their seruants, and how 
those were held especially very dangerous and perilous 
Trades that had any woolen about them, for the 
infection being for the most part a Londoner, loued to 
be lapt warme, and therefore was saide to skip into 
wollen cloathes, and lie smothring in a shag-hayrde 
Rugge, or an old fashionde Couerlid : to confirme 
which, I haue hard of some this last Sommer that would 
not venture into an Upholsters shoppe amongst dan- 
gerous Rugges, and Feather-bed-tikes, no, although 
they had bene sui*e to haue bene made Aldermen when 
they came out .againe : such was their infectious con- 
ceyte of a harmelesse necessary Couerlid, and would 
stop their foolish Noses, when they past through Wat- 
ling-street by a Ranke of Woolen Drapers. And this 
makes me call to memory the sti-ange and wonderful! 
dj-essing of a Coach that scudded through London the 
ninth of Augvist, for I put the day in my Table-booke, 
because it was worthy the registing. 

This fearefuU pittifull Coach was all hung with Rue 
from the top to the toe of the Boote, to keepe the 
leather and the nayles from infection; the very Nosthrills 
of the Coach -horses were stopt with hearb -grace, that 
I pittied the poore Beasts being almost windlesse, and 
hauing then more Grace in their Noses, then their 
Maister had in aU his bosome, and thus they ran through 
Cornewell iust in the middle of the street, with such a 
violent Trample as if the Diuell had bene Coachman. 



14 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

SIG. KICKSHOW. 

A very excellent Folly, that the name of the Plague 
should take the wall of a Coach, and driue his Worship 
downe into the Chanell. 

But see how we haue lost our selues, Powles is 
changde into Gallants, and those which I saw come vp 
in old TaiFata Doublets yesterday, are slipt into nine 
yardes of Sattin to day. 

SIG. STRAMAZON. 

And Signiors, wee in especiall care haue sent our 
Pages to enquire out a payre of honest cleane Taylors, 
which are hard to be found, because there was such a 
number of Botchers the last Sommer : and I thinke it 
one of Hercules labours, to finde two whole Taylors 
about London, that hath not beene plagued for their 
stealing, or else for soAving of false seeds, which peepe 
out before their Seasons. 

SIG. GINGLESPUR. 

But what, dare you venture to an Ordinarie? harke, 
the Quarter- Jackes are vp for a Leauen ; I know an 
honest Host about London, that hath barreld vp newes 
for Gallants, like Pickled Oysters, marry your Ordin- 
arie will cost you two shillings, but the Tales that lie 
in Brine will be worth sixpence of the money : for you 
know 'tis great charges to keepe Tales long, and 
therefore he must be somewhat considered for the 
laying out of his language : for blinde Gue you know 
has six -pence at the least for groping in the Darke. 



AT AN ORDINARIE. 15 

SIG. STRAMAZON. 

Yea ; but Signior Gingle-spur, you see we are 
altogether vnfurnished for an Ordinarie till the Taylor 
cut vs out and new mould vs : and to rancke amongst 
Gallants in old Apparel, why their very Apish Pages 
would breake Jests vpon our Elbowes, and dominere 
ouer our worne doublets most tyrannically. 

SIG. GINGLE-SPUR. 

Pixh. Signior Stramazoon, you turne the Bias the 
wrong way, you doubt where there is no doubt, I will 
conduct you to an Ordinarie where you shall eate 
priuate amongst Essex Gentlemen of your fashioned 
rancke in Apparell, who as yet waite for fresh Cloathes, 
as you for new Taylers, and account it more commend- 
able to come vp in seamerent Suites, and whole Bodies, 
then to haue infectious torne Bodies, and sound Suites. 

SIG. KICKSHAW. 

K it be so, Signior, (harke a Quarter strikes) wee 
are for you, we will follow you, for I loue to heare 
Tales when a merrie Corpulent Host bandies them out 
of his Flop-mouth ; but how far must we march now 
like tottred Souldiers after a Fray, to their Nuncions ? 

SIG. SHUTTLECOCKE. 

Why, if you throw your eyes but a little before you, 
you may see the signe and token that beckens his 
Guest to him : do you heare the Clapper of his Tongue 
now? 

SIG. STRAMAZOON. 

Stoote, the mad Bulchin squeakes shriller then the 
Saunce Bell at Westminster. 



16 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

SIG. SHUTTLECOCKE. 

Nay, now you shall heare him ring lustily at our 
entrance, stop your eares if you loue them, for one of 
his words wil run about your braiues louder then the 
Drum at the Beare-garden. 

Entring into the Ordinarie. 

HOST. 

What Gallants are you come, are you come? welcome 
Gentlemen ; I haue newes enough for you all, welcome 
againe, and againe : I am so fatte and pursie, I cannot 
speake loude inough, but I am sure you heare mee, or 
you shall heare me : Welcome, welcome Gentlemen, I 
haue Tales, and Quailes for you ; seate your selues 
Gallantes, enter Boyes and Beardes with dishes and 
Platters ; I will be Avith you againe in a trice ere you 
looke for me. 

SIG. SHUTTLECOCKE. 

Now Signiors how like you mine Host ? did I not 
tell you he was a madde round knaue, and a merrie 
one too : and if you chaunce to talke of fatte Sir lohn 
Old-castle, he wil tell you, he was his gi'eat Grand- 
father, and not much vnlike him in Paunch, if you 
marke him well by all descriptions ; and see where hee 
appeares againe. Hee told you he would not be longe 
from you, let this humor haue scope enough I pray, 
and there is no doubt but his Tales will make vs laugh 
ere we be out of our Porridge : Howe now mine Host? 

HOST. 

O my Gallant of Gallants, my Top and Top Gallant, 



AT AN ORDINARIE. 17 

how many Horses bast thou kilde in the Countrie with 
the hunting of Harlottries ; goe too, was I Avith you, 
you madde wagges ? and I haue beene a merrie knaue 
this tbre and fortie yeares, my BuUyes, my Boyes. 

SIG. KICKSHAW. 

Yea, but my honest -larded Host, Avhere be these 
Tales now ? 

HOST. 

I haue them at my tongues end my Gallant Bullyes 
of flue and twenty, my dainty liberall Landlords I 
haue them for you : you shall neuer take me vnprouided 
for Gentlemen, I keepe them like Anchouises to rellish 
your di'inke wel : stop your mouths gallants, and I wil 
stuffe your cares I warrant you, and first I begin with 
a Tipsie Vintner in London. 

OF A VINTNER IN LONDON, DYING IN A HUMOUR. 

This discoui'se that followes, Gentlemen-Gallants, is 
of a light-headed Vintner, who scorning to be onely 
di'unke in his owne Seller, would get vp betimes in the 
morning, to bee downe of his Nose thrice before euening: 
he was a man of all Tauernes, and excellent Musitian 
at the Sackbut, and your onely dauncer of the canaries: 
this strange Wine-sucker had a humour this time of 
infection, to faine himselfe sick, and indeed he had 
swallowed downe many Tauerne -tokens, and was in- 
fected much with the plague of drunkennes : but how- 
soeuer, sick he would be, for the humour had possessed 
him, when to the comforting of his poore heart, he 

c 



18 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

powrde downe a leauen shillings in Rose of Solace, 
more then would haue cheerde all the sick persons in 
the Pest-house : and yet for all that he felt himselfe ill 
at his stomacke afterAvards, wherefore his request was, 
reporting himselfe very feeble, to haue two men hired 
with sixpence a piece, to transport him ouer the way 
to his friends house : but when he saw he was deluded, 
and had no body to carry him, he flung his Gowne 
about him very desperatly, tooke his owne legges, and 
away he went with himselfe as coragiously, as the best 
stalker in Europe: where being allighted, not long 
after, he rounded one in the eare in priuate, and bad 
that the great Bell should be towld for him, the great 
Bel of all, and with all possible speede that might be : 
that done, he gagged open the Windowes, and when 
the Bell was towling, cried, lowder yet ; I heare thee 
not Maister Bell : then strutting vp and downe the 
chamber, spake to the Audience in this wise. 

1st possible a man should Avalke in such perfect 
memory and haue the Bell towle for him ? sure I neuer 
heard of any that did the like before mee. 

Thus by towling of the great Bell, all the Parish 
rang of him, diuerse opinions went of him, and not 
without cause or matter to worke vpon : In conclusion, 
within fewe dayes after, he was found to be the man 
indeed, whose part he did but play before ; his Pulses 
were angry with liim, and began to beate him ; all his 
Pores fell out with him ; the Bel towld for him in sadnes, 
rung out in gladnes, and there was the end of his 
drunken madnes ; such a ridiculous humour of dying 



AT AN ORDINARIK. 19 

was neuer heard of before : and I hope ueuer shall be 
againe, now he is out of England. 

SIG. STRAMAZON. 

This was a strange fellow mine Host, and worthy 
Stowe's Chronicle. 

HOST. 

Nay Gallants He fit you, and now I will serue in 
another as good as Vineger and Pepper to your Roast- 
beefe. 

SIG. KICKSHAWE. 

Lets haue it ; lets taste on it mine Host, my noble 
fat Actor. 

HOW A YONG FELLOW WAS EUEN BESPOKE AND lESTED 
TO DEATH BY HARLOTS. 

There was a company of intollerable light Women 
assembled together, who all the time of infection, lined 
upon Citizens seruants : yong Nouices that made their 
Maisters Baggs die of the Plague at home, whilst they 
tooke Sanctuarie in the Coimtrie. Mistake me not, I 
meane not the best rancke of seruants : but vnderlings, 
and bogish Sottes, such as haue not witte to distinguish 
Companies, and auoyde the temptation of Harlots, 
which make men more miserable then Dericke. These 
light-heelde Wagtailes who where armde (as they 
tearme it) against all weathers of Plague and Pesti- 
lence ; carrying alwaies a French Supersedies about 
them for the sicknesse, were determined being halfe 
Tipsie, and as light now in their Heads, as any where 

c 2 



20 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

else : to execute a Jest vpon a yong vnfruitfull Fellow 
which should have had the Banes of Matrimonie asked 
betweene him aud a woman of their Religion, which 
would haue proued Bane indeede, and worse then 
Rattes-bane, to haue beene coupled with a Harlot : 
But note the euent of a bespeaking Jest, these women 
gaue it out that he was dead, sent to the Sexton of the 
Church in all hast to haue the Bell rung out for him, 
which was suddainly heard, and many comming to 
enquire of the Sexton, his name was spread ouer all 
the Parish, (hee little dreaming of that dead report 
being as then in perfect health and memorie,) on the 
morrow as the custome is, the Searchers came to the 
house where he laye to discharge their office, asking for 
the dead Bodie, and in what Room it lay, who hearing 
himself named, in such a cold shape almost strucke 
dead indeede with their words, replyed with a hastie 
Countenance (for he could play a Ghost well,) that hee 
was the man : At which the Searchers started, and 
thought hee had beene new risen from vnder the Table; 
when vomiting out some two or three deepe-fetch 
Oaths ; hee askt what villaine it was which made that 
Jest of him : but whether the conceit strucke cold to 
his heart or whether the strumpets were Witches I 
know not, (the next degree to a Harlot is a Bawde, or 
a Witch,) but this yongster daunced the shaking of 
one sheete within fewe dales after, and then the Search- 
ers lost not their labours, and therefore I conclude thus. 

" That Fate lights suddaine that's bespoke before, 
A Harlots tongue is worse then a Plague-sore." 



AT AN ORDINARIE. 21 

Well rimde, my litle round and thicke Host, haue 
you any more of these in your fatte Budget ? 

I haue them, my Gallant Bullies, and here comes 
one fitly for sawee to your Capon. 

OF ONE THAT FELL DRUNKE OFF FROM HIS HORSE, 
TAKEN FOR A LONDONER DEAD. 

In a certaine country-towne not fai're of, there was 
a boone companion lighted amongst good fellowes, as 
they call good fellowes now a dayes, which are those 
that can drinke best, for your excellent di'unkard, is 
your notable Gallant, and he that can passe away cleare 
without paying the Host in the Chimney-Corner, he is 
the king of Cannes, and the Emperour of Ale-houses, 
this fellow tying his Horse by the Bridle vpon the red 
Lattis of the window, could not bridle himselfe so well, 
but afterward proued more Beast then his Horse, being 
so ouenvhelmed with whole Cans, hoopes, and such 
drunken deuices, that his English Crowne weighed 
lighter by ten graines at his comming forth, then at his 
entering in : and it was easier now for his Horse to get 
vp a Top of Powles, then he to get vp upon his Horse, 
the stirrup plaide mock-holy-day with him, and made 
a foole of his foote : at last with much udoe he fell 
flounce into the Saddle, and away he scudded out at 
townes end, where he thought euery Tree he saw had 
bene rising vp to stop him : so strangly are the sences 
of drunkards tost and transported, that at the very 
instant they thinke the worlds di'ownd againe ; so this 
staggering Monster imagined he was riding vppon a 



22 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

Sea-marc : but before lie was Tenne Gallops from the 
towne-side, bis briane plaide him a Jades trick, and 
kickt him ouer, downe he fell. ^Vhen the Horse soberer 
then the maister stood still and wonderd at him for a 
Beast ; but durst not say so much ; by and by Passingers 
passing to and fro, beholding his lamentable downefall, 
cald out to one another to view that pittifull Spectacle, 
people flockt about him more and more, but none durst 
venture within two Poles length, nor some within the 
length of Powles : euery one gaue vp his verdit, and 
all concluding in one that he was some coward Londoner, 
who thought to fly from the sicknes, which as it seemed, 
made after him amayne, and strucke him beside his 
horse : thus all agreed in one tale, some bemoning the 
death of the man, othersome, wishing that all Curmud- 
gins, Pennifathers, and fox-furd Usurers were serued 
of the same sauce : who taking their flight out of 
London, left poore Silke-weauers, Tapsters, and Water- 
bearers, to fight it out against sore enemies. In a 
word, all the towne was in an vprore, the Constable 
standing aloofe'off, stopping his Nose like a Gentleman- 
vsher, durst not come within two stones cast by no 
meanes : no, if he might presently haue bene made 
Constable in the hundred: Euery Townsman at his 
wise Non-plus, nothing but looking and wondering, 
yet some wiser then some, and those I thinke were 
the Watch-men, told them flatly and plainly, that the 
body must be remoued in any case, and that Extempore : 
it would infect all the Ayre round about else. These 
horesons seemed to haue some wit yet, and their politick 



AT AN ORDINARIE. 23 

counsell was tooke, and embracst amongst them, but 
all the cunning was how to reinoue him without taking 
the winde of him : wherevpon two or three weather 
wise Stinkards pluckt vp handfulls of Grasse, and tost 
them into the Ay re, and then whoopeing and hollowing, 
told them the winde blew sweetly for the purpose, for 
it stood full on his Back -part, then all agreed to remoue 
him with certaine long Instruments, sending home for 
hookes and strong Ropes, as if they had bene pulling 
downe a house of Fyre : but this was rather a Tilt- 
boate cast away, and all the people di-owned within : to 
conclude, these long deuices were brought to remoue 
him without a writ ; when by meere chaunce past by 
one of the wisest of the Towne next the Constable, for 
so it appeared afterwards, by the homes of his deuice, 
who being certified of the storie, and what they went 
about to doe, brake into these words openly. 

Why my good fellowes, friends and honest neighbours, 
trow you what you venture vppon, will you needs 
drawe the plague to you, by liooke or by crooke, you 
will say perhaps your poles are long ynough. Why 
you neuer heard or read that long deuices take soonest 
infection, and that there is no vilder thing in the world, 
then the smell of a Rope to bring a man to his end, 
that you all know. 

Wherefore to auoid al farther inconueniences, dan- 
gerous and infectious, hearken to my exployt : If you 
drag him along the fields, our hounds may take the sent 
of him, a very dangerous matter : if you burie him in 
the fields, a hundred to one but the ground will be 



24 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

rotten this winter ; wherfore your onely vraj must be 
to let him lie as he doth, without mouing, and euer j good 
fellowe to bring his Ai"me-full of straw, heape it vpon 
him, and round about him, and so in conclusion burne 
out the infection as he lies : euery man tlirew vp his 
old Cap at this. Straw was brought and throwne vpon 
him by Ai'me-fuUs; aU this while the drownd fellow lay 
stiU without moving, dreaming of full Cannes, Tapsters, 
and Beere-barrells, when presently they put fire to the 
strawe, which kept such a bragging and a cracking, 
that vp-staited the drunkard, like a thing made of fire- 
workes, the flame playing with his Nose, and his Beard 
looking like flaming Apolloes, as oirr Poets please to 
tearme it, who burst into these reeling words when he 
spied the fire hizzing about his pate. 

What is the Top of Powles on fire againe ? or is 
there a fire in the Powle-head ? why then Drawers, 
quench me with double Beere. The folkes in the 
Towne all in amaze, some running tliis way, some that 
way, knew him at last by his staggering tongue, for he 
was no dweller, though they imagined he had dwelt at 
London, so stopping his Horse which ran away from 
the fierie Planet his Maister, as though the Diuell had 
backt him, euerie one laught at the Jest, closed it vp 
in an Alehouse, where before Euening the most part 
of them were all as di-unke as himselfe. 

Sit you merrie stdl. Gentlemen Gallants, your Dish 
of Tales is your besj cheere, and to please you my 
noble Bullies, I would doo that I did not this thirtie 
yeares, Caper, Caper, my Gallant Boyes, althougli I 



AT AN ORDINARIE. 25 

cracke my Shins, and ray Guts sinke a handfull lower. 
He doote, my lustie Lads, lie doote. 

With that the Host gaue a lazie Caper, and broke 
his Shins for Joye, the Reckoning was appeazed, the 
Roome dischai-ged, and so I leaue them in Powles 
where I founde them. 

HOST. 

And noAv I returne to more pleasant Arguments, 
Gentlemen Gallants, to make you laugh ere you be 
quite out of your Capen : this that I discourse of now 
is a prettie merrie accident that happened about Shore- 
ditch, although the intent was Sad and Tragicall, yet 
the euent was mirthfull and pleasant : The goodman 
(or rather as I may fitlier tearme him, the bad-man of 
a House) being sorely pesterd with the death of seruants, 
and to auoyde all suspition of the Pestilence from his 
house aboue all others, did very craftily and subtilly 
compound with the Maisters of the Pest-cart, to fetch 
aAvay by night as they hast by, all that should chance 
to die in his house, hauing three or foure seruants 
downe at once, and told them that he knew one of them 
would be readie for them by that time the Cart came 
by, and to cleare his house of aU suspition, the dead 
body should bee laide upon a stall, some fine or sixe 
houses of: where, there they should entertaine him 
and take liim in amongst his dead companions : To 
conclude, night di-ewe on-ward, and the seruant con- 
cluded his life, and according to tjieir appointment was 
enstalde to be made Knight of tlie Pest-cai't. But here 
comes in the excellent Jest, Gentlemen -Gallants of hue 



26 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

and twentie, about the dai'ke and pittifull season of the 
night: a shipwracke drunkard, (or one drunke at the 
signe of the Ship,) new cast from the shore of an Ale- 
house, and his braines sore beaten with tlie cruell 
tempests of Ale and Beere, fell Flounce vpon a lowe 
stall hard by the house, there being little diiference in 
the Carcasse, for the other was dead, and he was dead- 
drunke, (the worse death of the twaine) there taking 
vp his di-unking Lodging, and the Pest-cart comming 
by, they made no more adoo, but taking him for the 
dead Bodie, placed him amongst his companions, and 
away they huiTed with him to the Pest-house: but 
there is an oulde Prouerbe, and now confirmed true, a 
Druncken man neuer takes harme : to the Approbation 
of which, for all his lying with infectious Bedfellowes, 
the next morning a little before he should be buried, 
he stretcht and yawnde as wholesomly, as the best 
Tinker in all Banburie, and returned to his olde Vomit 
againe, and was druncke in Shoreditch before Euening. 

GINGLE-SPUR. 

This was a prettie Commedie of Errors, my round 
Host. 

HOST. 

O my Bullies, there was many such a part plaide 
vppon the Stage both of the Cittie and the Subburbs. 

Moreouer my Gallants, some did noble Exployts, 
whose names I shame to publish, in hiring Porters and 
base Vassales to carrie their seruants out in Sackes to 
White-chappell, and such out places to poore mens 



AT AN ORDINARIE. 27 

houses that worke to them, and therefore <Uirst doo no 
otherwise but receiue them, though to then* vtter mines, 
and detestable noysomnesse, fearing to displease them 
for their Reuenge afterwardes, as in putting their 
worke from them to others for their vtter vndoing : 
how many such prankes thinke you haue beene playde 
in the same fashion onely to entertaine Customers, to 
keepe their shops open, and the Foreheads of their 
doores from (Lord haue mercy vpon vs) many I could 
set downe heere and publish them to the woiid, together 
with all their strange shiftes, and vncharitable deuices. 
"VVliereof one especially, notable and politicke may 
euen leade you to the rest and driue you into Imagina- 
tion of many the like : for one to burie foure or fiue 
persons out of his house, and yet neither the Sexton of 
the same Parish, nor any else of his Neighbours in the 
streete where hee dwelles in to haue intelligence of it, 
(but all thinges be they neuer so lurking, breake forth 
at the last) this being the cunning aud close practise ; 
politickly to indent with the Sexton of some other 
Church (as dwelling in one Parish) to see the Sexton 
of another by a pretie peece of Siluer, to burie all that 
die in the same house in his Churchyard, which voide 
all suspition of the Plague from his shop, which may 
be at the least some sixe or seuen Pai'ish Churches off; 
or at another to practise the like ; nothing but com- 
pounding with a rauenous Sexton that Hues vpon dead 
Carcasses, for no Trades were so much in vse as Cof- 
finmakers and Sextons, they were the Lawers the last 
Vacation, and had there bountifull Fees of their Graue- 



28 THE MEETING OF GALLANTS 

clients : wherefore they prayed as the Countrie-folkes 
at Hartford did, (If report be no lyar) very impiously 
and barbarously, that the sicknesse might last till the 
last Christmas ; and this was theii* vncharitable mean- 
ings, and the vnchristian effect of their wishes : that 
they might haue the Tearme kept at Hartford, and the 
Sextons there Tearme still here in London ; but Win- 
chester made a Goose of Hartfoid, and ended the 
strife : Thus like Monsters of Nature they wisht in 
their Barbai'ous hearts, that their desires might take 
such effects: and for the greedy Lucre of a fewe priuate 
and nieane persons, to sucke vp the life of thousands. 

Many other maruellous euents happened, both in the 
Citty and else where. As for example, In dead mans 
place at Saint Mary-ouerus ; a man servant being 
buried at seuen of the clocke in the morning, and the 
graue standing open for more dead Commodities, at 
foure of the clocke in the same euening, he was got vp 
aliue againe by strange miracle : which to be true and 
certaine, hundi-eds of people can testifie that saw him 
act like a country Ghost in his white peackled Sheete. 
And it was not a thing vnknowne on the other side, 
that the Countries were striken, and that veiygrieuously, 
many dying there: many going thither likewise fell 
downe suddainly and dyed, men on Horsebacke riding 
thither, strangely striken in the midst of ther iourneys, 
forest eyther to light off, or fall off, and dye : and for 
certain and substantial! report, many the last yeare 
were buried neare vnto hye-waies in the same order, 
in their cloaths as they were, booted and spurd ; euen 



AT AN ORDINARIE. 29 

as they lighted off, rowld into Ditches, Pits and Hedges 
so lamentably, so rudely, and vnchristianlike, that it 
would haue made a pittifuU, and remorcefuU eye blood 
shot, to see such a ruthfuU and disordered Object: 
and a true heart bleed outright, (but not such a one as 
mine. Gallants, for my heart bleeds nothing but Ale- 
gant,) how commonly we saw here, the husband and 
the wife buried together, a weeping Spectacle containing 
much sorrow : how often were whole households emptied 
to fill vp Graves ? and how sore the violence of that 
stroake was, that strooke tenne persons out of one 
house, being a thing dreadfull to apprehend and thinke 
vpon; with many maruellous and strange Accidents. 
But let not this make you sad. Gallants : sit you mery 
stil : Here my dainty Bullyes, He put you all in one 
Goblet, and wash all these Tales in a Cup of Sack. 



NOTES. 



P. 4, 1. 25. — Lye note tennefadome deepe. This expression 
is not uncommon in conterapoiaiy writings. The reader will 
call to mind the exquisite song of Ariel, in Shakespeare's 
Tempest^ commencing, " Full fathom five thy father lies. " 

P. 5,1.8. Their groines sore pier st. The following account 
of the symptoms of the plague, is taken from a tract entitled A 
new treatise of the Pestilence, hy S. H., 4to. Loud. 1603; — 
" The signes to know when the body is infected, are for the 
most part an apostum or tumor about the eare, necke, under 
the arme holes, or flancke, with a fever, and sometimes there 
ariseth in some other parts of the body a darke greene or evill 
coloured sore. These signes for the most part doth appeare, 
but not alwaies ; but for the more certainty, we must consider 
these sjTutomes or signes that follow. There hapneth after 
infection a great pricking and shooting in the body, and 
especially in the necke, armeholes, and flanckes, also extreame 
heate within the body, and in the hands, knees, and feete very 
cold, so that there is joyned with the same a shivering as in a 
fever : also there is heavines of the head, diynesse of the mouth, 
with extreame thirst ; also a drowsinesse and great desire to 
sleepe: some againe are so watchfull that they cannot sleepe, 
so that they rave as though they were in a phrensie: there 
happeneth also great paine in the head, faintnesse, sluggish- 
nesse, weaknesse of the limme, pensivenesse, no desire of meat, 
with often vomiting, the matter being bitter and of divers 
colours, &c." See also Lodge's Treatise of the Plague, 4to. 
Lend. 1603, cap. iii. 



32 NOTES. 

P. 5, 1. 11. — Othersnme. This word is not inserted in the 
glossaries to Shakespeare, and yet it is frequently used by him 
and other poets in preference to the other double fonn. So 
in the Midsunimer Night's Dream, Act, i. sc. 1, — 
" How happy some o'er otliersome can be." 

P. 6, 1. 14. — Their gold into dead tokeiis. A play upon 
words. A token, as it is almost unnecessary to say, was a 
small coin struck by private individuals to pass for a farthing, 
before the government issued those pieces. A token signified 
also macula pestilens, a spot on the body denoting the infection 
of the plague. 

P. 7, 1. 10. — In the forth part of a poore short minute. A 
similiar expression occurs in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's 
Dream, Act, ii. sc. 3. 

P. 9, 1. 8. — / mag fitlg call it the decease. The month of 
July was the most destructive during the continuance of the 
plague. According to Stow, Chron. by Howes, fol. Loud. 
1631, p. 827, eight hundred and fifty-seven persons died in 
London of the plague dming the week ending on July 24th, 
1603. 

P. 9, 1. 17. — The dangerous featherbeds. This is perhaps 
an humorous allusion to a tale related by Lodge in his Trea- 
tise of the Pestilence, 4to. Lond. 1603, " of one that was sicke 
of the plague in Venice, which kept the venome seaven yeares, 
and the first that slept upon the same at the end of the same 
teiTue were sodainly surprised with the plague." The story is 
taken from Alexander Benedictus. 

P. 9, 1. W.—Sheetes that two dead bodies ivere wrapt in. 
The following is extracted from a pamphlet by James Bamford, 



NOTES. 33 

entitled, A short Dialogue concerning the Plagues infection, 
12mo. Lond. 1603, p. 14 : — " It hath heeiie proued that clothes 
of infected persons layed vp and not well ayied, being opened, 
though a yeere or more after, haue instantly renewed the plague. 
Againe, we perceiue by the smell that gannents will retaine 
the sent of Wonnewood or Muske for a long timfe : the cause 
is not in tlie sent by itselfe considered, but in the ayie which 
is the subiect of the sent. The plague in a gamient is a 
poysoned aire, being according to the natiu'e thereof, called 
by the learned the Death of the Ai/re, proceeding from the 
partie infected, and infecting the gamient, though not per- 
ceiued by smell : as the open, cleere and wholesome ayre of 
the heauens is healtlifull for the body, though not perceiued 
by smell." It may be worth while to mention that the copy 
of this rare little book, in the librai-y of the Koyal Society, from 
which I have taken the above extract, was a presentation copy 
from the author to his son, having the following autographical 
memorandum on the fly-leaf: " Samuel Bamfordes booke of 
his father's gifte." 

P. 10, 1. 17. — Being divell ynough without the plague. 
This is of course a pun on the word " Sattin" in the previous 
passage. 

P. 11,1. 22. — Hee ivould reuolt from Duke Humfreij. One 
of the aisles in St. Paul's was then called Duke Humphrey's 
Walk. The expression "to dine with Duke Hximphrey," 
which is alluded to afterwards, was applied to persons, who, 
being unable either to procm-e a dinner by their own money 
or from the favoiu- of their friends, walk and loiter about 
during dinner time. See Dugdale's "History of St. Paul's 
Cathedral," edited by Sir Henrj- Ellis, p. 107. "Sundry 
fellowes in their silkes shall be appointed to keepe duke 



34 NOTES. 

Humfrye company in Poules, becan.se they know not where 
to get their dinners ahroad." — A u-onderfid, strange, and 
miraculous Prognostication, by Nash, 4to. Lond. 1591. Hall 
also alludes to the same in one of his satires, edit. 1602, 
p. 60.— 

" Tis Ruffio : Frowst thou where he diii'd to day ? 
In sooth I saw him sit with duke Huinfray : 
Manie good welcoms, and much gratis cheere, 
Keeps he for everie stragling cavaliere ; 
An open house haunted with greate resort, 
Long service mixt with musicall disport." 

P. 11, 1. 28. — Full of the proclamation. There were so 
many proclamations issued concerning the plague, that it 
would be difficult to say for certainty which one is here meant. 
One entitled " Orders to be observed against the Infection of 
the Plague," is preserved in the British Musemn. 

P. 13, 1. 25. — The very nosthrills of the coach horses. It 
was supposed that the infection which was communicated 
through the nose, was of the most dangerous nature. " The 
infection taken at the nostiills is more dangerous then othei-wise, 
because there are two organes or passages that lead to the 
heart from thence, more then from the mouth." — A new booke, 
intitled, I am for you all ; by James INIanning, 4to. Lond. 
1604, p. 9. 

P. 16, 1. 4, 5. — Louder then the drum at the Beare-garden. 
A favomite place of amusement at this period, and the ' drima' 
appears to have touched the musical senses of others, besides 
the author of the present tract. " Sound base in mine eares 
like the Beare-garden drum," TTie Black Booke, 4to. Lond. 
1604, p. 3. The common saying of making as much noise 
" as a bear-garden" perhaps owes its origin to the same cir- 
cnmstance. 



NOTES. 35 

P. 16, 1. 20.— Fatte Sir John Ohlcaxtle. The whole of this 
passage is valuable, as affording an argument for the long 
disputed tradition, handed dow^l to us by Rowe, respecting 
the original name of Shakespeare's famous fat knight, Sir John 
Falstaff. I have recently discussed the subject at length in a 
little work " On the character of Sir John Falstaff, as originally 
exhibited by Shakespeare in the Two Parts of King Heniy 
IV.," 8vo. Lond. 1841 (Pickering.) 

P. 17, 1. 14. — Cares. So in the original, but probably a 
mistake of the compositor for the word earcs. 

P. 17, 1. 21. — Excellent Musitian at the Sackbvt, and your 
onely dauncer of the canaries. A similar play upon words 
occms in the Merry Wives of Windsor., Act iii. sc. 2. 

P. 19, 1. 'i.— Worthy Stowe's Chronicle. The first edition 
of Stows " Summarie of Englysh Chronicles," appeared in 
1561, of which the only copy known, is in the collection (says 
Lowndes) of the Right Hon. Thomas Grenville. The work 
here alluded to, was probably " The Chronicles or Annals of 
England from Bmte," 4to. Loud. 1580, 1592, and 1600. 

P. 19, 1. 23. — More miserable then Dericke. This was the 
name of the common hangman at this time. He is very fre- 
quently alluded to by contemporaiy writers. 

P. 21, 1. 14. — Vpon the red lattis of the windoiv. The ale- 
houses at this time were invariably distinguished by red lat- 
tices, and were often known by this latter title. Falstaff, in 
the Merry Wives of Windsor, Act ii. sc. 2, addressing Pistol, 
says, " I myself sometimes, leaving the fear of heaven on the 
left hand, and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am fain 



36 NOTES. 

to shuffle, to hedge, and to lurch : and yet you, rogue, will en- 
sconce your rags, yoiu- cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice 
phrases, and your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your 
honour !" 

P. 21, 1. 20. — Easier noiv for his horse to get vp a top of 
Powles. An allusion to Bankes's celebrated " dancing horse," 
so often mentioned by contemporary Aviiters. See Maloue's 
edition of Shakespeare, by Boswell, vol. iv, p. 299. 

P. 23, 1. 9. — As if they had beene pulling downe a house of 
fyre. It may not be out of place to mention that the first idea 
of our present fire-engines was given in a curious work, called 
A treatise named Lucarsolace, by Cyprian Lucar, 4to. Lond. 
1590, p. 157, where maybe foimd an account, with an en- 
graving, of " a sfiuiit which hath bene devised to cast much 
water upon a burning house, wishing a like squirt and plenty 
of water to be alwaies in a readinesse where fire may do 
harme." 

P. 24, 1. 10. — Is the to]) of Powles on fire againei* This 
may perhaps allude to the destructive fire in the year 1561, 
when the whole steeple was destroyed, and which created a 
great sensation at the time. An account of this unfortunate 
occmience was published under the title of " The true report 
of the burajnig of the stepl and chm'che of Powles in London," 
12mo. Lond. 1561, which is reprinted in the Archceologia, 
vol. xi. p. 74. See Dugdale's " History of St Paul's Cathe- 
di-al," edited by Sir Henry EUis, p. 96, Decker, however, in 
his Wonderfull Yeare, 4to. Loud. 1603, speaks of " the toppe 
of Powles, which vpon my knowledge hath bene burnt twice 
or thrice." Our author more probably, therefore, refers to 
some more recent occurrence. 



NOTES. 37 

P. 25, 1. 29. — Made Knight of the Pest-car:. Between the 
time of King James's anival at Bei-wick in April, l(i03, and 
the second of May, he made, according to Stow, two himdred 
and thuty-seven knights ; and in the July following, between 
three and four- hmidied. This may then perhaps be said in 
ridicule of an order which had become so common. Mrs. 
Page, in the Merry Wives of Windsor, Act ii. sc. 1. says, 
" these Knights will hack," and therefore advises Mrs. Ford 
not to " alter the article of her gentry" by accepting the fat 
knight's invitation. 

P. 26, 1. 21. — This ivas a prettie Commedie of Errors. 
This may or may not be an allusion to Shakespeare's comedy, 
and the decision of the question is of little moment, as we 
know that play was written long before the publication of the 
present tract. Chalmers, Supjdeiuental Apology, p. 279, sug- 
gests that " before the decease of Shakespeare, it had become 
proverbial to give this appellation to different ckamas of a 
comic kind. " I have observed many passages in contemporary 
writers which confirm this conjectm'e. Anton, in his Philoso- 
phicall Satyres, 4to. Loud. 1616, p. 51, exclaims — 

" What Comedies of Errors swell the stage !" 

which appears to be a general and not particular allusion. 

P. 27, 1. 9. — Lord haue mercy vpon vs. This was the in- 
scription put upon the door of the houses infected with the 
plague. Biron, in Love's Labour's Lost, Act v. sc. 2, compares 
the love of himself and his companions to this, — 

" Soft, let us see; — 
Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three; 
They are infected, in their heai'ts it lies; 
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes : 
These lords are visited ; you are not free, 
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see." 



38 NOTES. 

So, also, in More Fooles yet, 4to. Lend. 1610, by Koger 
Shar2)e, there is another allusion to the same practice, — 

" But by the way he saw and much respected 
A doore belonging to a house infected, 
Whereon was plac'd (as "tis the custom still) 
The Lord have mercy on us: this sad bill 
The sot perus'd." 

And in Sir Thomas O^erbuiy's Characters, 1632, — " Lord 
have mercy on us may well stand over their doors, for debt is 
a most dangerous city pestilence." 

P. 29. I will here extract a curious passage from Decker's 
Gulls' Hornhook, edited by Dr. Nott, in the chapter entitled 
" How a gallant should behave himself in Patil's Walks," 
because, although the work is readily accessible to the reader, 
it affords good illustration of the foregoing tract. " Now for 
yom' ventming into the walk. Be circumspect and wary what 
pillar you come in at ; and take heed, in any case, as you love 
the reputation of your honour, that you avoid the semng- 
man's log, and approach not within five fathom of that pillar ; 
but bend youi' com-se directly in the middle line, that the 
whole body of the church may appear to be yoiu's ; where, 
in view of all, you may publish your suit in what manner you 
affect most, either with the slide of your cloak from the one 
shoulder ; and then you must, as 'twere in anger, suddenly 
snatch at the middle of the inside, if it be taffeta at the least ; 
and so, by that means, your costly lining is betrayed, or else 
by the pretty advantage of complunent. But one note by the 
way do I especially woo you to, the neglect of which makes 
many of om- gallants cheap and ordinary, that by no means 
you be seen above four turns ; but in the fifth make yourself 
away, either in some of the semsters' shops, the new tobacco- 
office, or amongst the booksellers, where, if you cannot read, 
exercise your smoke, and inquire who has writ against this 



NOTES. 39 

divine weed, Sec. For this withdrawing yourself a little will 
much benefit your suit, which else, by too long walking, 
would be stale to the whole spectators : but howsoever if 
Paul's jacks be once up with their elbows, and quarrelling 
to strike eleven ; as soon as ever the clock has parted them, 
and ended the fray with his hammer, let not the Duke's 
gallery contain you any longer, but pass away apace in open 
view ; in which departure, if l)y chance you either encounter 
or aloof off throw your inquisitive eye upon any knight or 
squire, being your familiar, salute him not by his name of 
Sir such a one, or so ; but caU him Ned or Jack, &c. This 
will set off yom" estimation with great men : and if, though 
there be a dozen companies between you, 'tis the better, he 
call aloud to you, for that is most genteel, to know where 
he shall find you at two o'clock ; tell him at such an ordinarj', 
or such ; and be sure to name those that are deai'est, and 
whither none but your gallants resort. After dinner you 
may appear again, having translated yourself out of your 
English cloth cloak into a light Turkey grogram, if you 
have that happiness of shifting; and then be seen, for a 
turn or two, to correct your teeth with some quill or silver 
instrument, and to cleanse yoiu* gums with a wrought hand- 
kerchief: it skills not whether you dined or no ; that is best 
known to yom- stomack ; or in what place you dined ; though 
it were with cheese, of yom* own mother's making, in your 
chamber or study. Now if you chance to be a gallant not 
much crost among citizens ; that is, a gallant in the mercer's 
books, exalted for satins and velvets ; if you be not so much 
blest to be crost; as I hold it the greatest blessing in the 
world to be great in no man's books, yom- Paul's walk is 
your only refuge : the Duke's tomb is a sanctuary ; and will 
keep you alive from worms, and land rats, that long to be 
feeding on your carcass : there you may spend yom* legs in 



40 NOTES. 

winter a whole afternoon ; converse, plot, laugh, and talk 
auji;hing ; jest at your creditor, even to his face ; and in the 
evening, even by lamp-light, steal out ; and so cozen a 
whole covey of abominable catchpolls." — pp. 95 — 9. 



FINIS. 



C. RICHARDS, PRINTER, ST. MARTIN S LANE 



THE 



TWO ANGRY WOMEN 
OF ABINGTON, 



HENRY PORTER. 



EDITED BY 



THE REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 



LONDON : 
REPRINTED FOR THE PERCY SOCIETY, 

BY C. RICHARDS, ST. MARTIN'S LANE. 



MDCCCXLt. 



COUNCIL 



€i)t ^eitp ^otut^* 



President. 
The Rt. Hon. LORD BRAYBROOKE, F.S.A 

THOMAS AMYOT, Esq. F.R.S. Treas. S.A. 

WILLIAM HENRY BLACK, Esq. 

J. A. CAHUSAC, Esq. F.S.A. 

WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq. F.S.A. Treasurer. 

JOHN PAYNE COLLIER, Esq. F.S.A. 

T. CROFTON CROKER, Esq. F.S.A. M.R.I.A 

REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, Esq. F.R.S. M.R.I.A. 

G. P. R. JAMES, Esq. 

WILLIAM JERDAN, Esq. F.S.A. MR.SL. 

CHARLES MACKAY, Esq. 

T. J. PETTIGREW, Esq. F.R.S. F.S.A. 

E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq Secretary 

JAMES WALSH, Esq. 

THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq. M.A. F.S.A. 



The Pleasant Historie of the two angrie women 
of Ahinfjton. With the humorous mirthe of Dick 
Coomes and Nicholas Proiierhes, two Seruincimen. 
As it was lately playde hy the right Honorable the 
Earle of Nottingham, Lord high Admirall, his 
seruants. By Henry Porter Gent. Imprinted at 
London for Joseph Hunt, and William Ferhrand, 
and are to he solde at the Corner of Colman-streete, 
neere Loathburie. 1599. 4to. 

Another 4to., printed for Ferbrand alone, was 
published during the same year. 



The text of the former 4to,, which is, I appre- 
hend, the earlier impression, has been adopted in 
the present reprint, except where the readings of 
the other edition have been occasionally preferred, 
and where obvious typographical errors have been 
rectified. Every minute particular in which the 
second 4to. differs from the first, I have thought 
it unnecessary to note. The absurd punctuation 
and faulty metrical arrangement of the old copy 



VI 



have not been followed; and I must be allowed 
to add, that I have retained the original spelling 
only in accordance to the decision of the Percy 
Council . 

Though Henry Porter was a dramatist of con- 
siderable reputation, all his productions, except 
the comedy now reprinted, appear to have utterly 
perished; and, I believe, the only materials to be 
found for his biography are the subjoined memo- 
randa in the Diary of Henslowe.* 

" Pd this 23 of Aguste 1597 to Harey Porter to 
carye to T. Nashe now at this tyme in the fflete for 
wiTtinge of the eylle of Dogges ten shellinges to bee 
jiaide agen to me when he canne I say ten shillinges 

Lent unto the company the 30 of Maye 1598 to bye 
a boockef called Love 'prevented the some of fower 
powndes dd. to Thomas Dowton, Mr. Porter 

Lent mi to the company the 18 of Aguste 1598 to^ 
bye a Booke called Hoote Anger sone cowld of Mr. I ]{ 
Porter, Mr. Cheattell and bengemen Johnson in full vj 
payment, the some of 

Lent imto Thomas Do\\ton the 22 of Desember 
1598 to bye a boocke of Harey Porter called the 2 pte 
of the 2 angrey Wemen of Abengton 



li 

iiij 



* For these I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. J. P. 
CoUier, who is now editing Henslowe's Diaiy for the Shake- 
speare Society. The portions of it which \^ ere i)ublished by 
^lalone are veiy incorrectly given. 

i Book in these entries means — play. 



Lent unto Harey Porter at the retiiiest of tlie com^ 
pany in earnest of his booke called ij merey u-nmen of 
ahington the some of forty shellings and for the resayte 1 
of that money he gave me his faythfidl promise that / xl 
I should have aUe his bookes which he writte ether 
him selfe or with any other which some was dd. the 
28th of febreary 1598[-0]. J 

Lent imto Harey Cheattell the 4 of Marcli 1598[-9]' 
in eanieste of his boocke which Harey Porter and he 
is a writtinge the some of — called the Spencers. 

Lent Harey Porter the 11 of Aprell 1699 the some) s d 
of ' I ii vj 

Lent Hai-y Porter the 16 of Aprell 1599 the some) d 
of I xij* 

Lent Harey Porter the 5 of Maye 1599 the some) s d 
of " " I ij ^j 

Lent Harey Porter the 15 of Maye 1599 the some | s d 
of ' " I " ^'J 

Be it knowne nnto all men that I Henrj' Porter do owe 
unto Phillip Henchlowe the some of xs of lawfull money of 
England which I did borrowe of hjnn the 26 of Maye a°. dom. 
1599 Henry Porter.f 

Thi' Two Angty Women of Abington is thus 
noticed by the late Charles Lamb : " The pleasant 
comedy, from which these extracts are taken, is 
contemporary with some of the earliest of Shake- 
speare's, and is no whit inferior to either the 



* This entry is struck through, the money having been 
repaid. 

f This entry is in Porter's own handwriting. 



Comedy of Errors, or the Taming of the Shrew, 
for instance. It is full of business, humour, and 
merry malice. Its night-scenes are peculiarly 
sprightly and wakeful. The versification unen- 
cumbered, and rich with compound epithets."* 

A. D. 



Spec, of Engl. Dram. Poets, ii. 185, ed. 1835. 



THE 

TWO ANGRIE WOMEN OF ABINGTON. 



THE PROLOGUE. 



Gentlemen, I come to yee like one that lackes and 
would borrow, but was loth to aske least he should be 
denyed : I would aske, but I would aske to obteine ; 

would I knew that manner of asking ! To beg were 
base, and to cooche low and to carrie an humble shew 
of entreatie were too dog-like, that fawnes on his 
maister to get a bone from his trencher : out, curre ! 

1 cannot abide it ; to j^ut on the shape and habit of this 
new worlds new found beggars, mistermed souldiers, 
as thus ; ' Sweet gentlemen, let a poore schoUer implore 
and exerate that you would make him riche in the 
possession of a mite of your fauours, to keepe him a 
true man in Avit, and to pay for liis lodging among the 
Muses ! so God him helpe, he is di'iuen to a most lowe 
estate : tis not vnknowne what seruice of words hee 
hath beene at ; hee lost his limmes in a late conflict 
of floute ; a braue repulse and a hotte assault it was, 
he dooth protest, as euer he sawe since he knew what 
the report of a voUey of iests were ; he shall therefore 
desire you ' A plague vpon it, each beadle dis- 
dained would whip him from your company. Well, 
gentlemen, I cannot teU how to get your fauours 
better then by desert : then the worse lucke, or the 
worse wit, or somewhat, for I shall not nowe deserue it. 
Well, then,* I commit myselfe to my fortunes, and 
your contents ; contented to die, if your seuere iudge- 
ments shall iudge me to be stung to death with the 
adders hisse. 



Well, then~} Sec. ed. " Welcome then." 

b2 



THE NAMES OF THE SPEAKERS. 



M. [aster] Gourset. 

Mist.[ress] Goursey. 

M. [aster] Barnes. 

Mist.[ress] Barnes. 

Franke Goursey. 

Phlllip [Barnes] 

Boy. 

MaxI/ Barnes. 

Dick Coomes. 

Hodge. 

Nicholas Prouerbs. 

Sir Raph Smith. 

[Lady Smith.] 

Will, Sir Raphes man. 

[^ Other Attendants. 1 



The names of the xpeahers] From the sec. ed. Not in first ed. 



THE PLEASANT COMEDY 

OF THE 

TWO ANGRIE WOMEN OF ABINGTON. 



Enter Maister Goursey and his wife, and Maister 
Barnes and his xoife, with their two sonnes, and their 
two seruants. 

Maister Goursey. Good maister Barnes, this enter- 
taine of yours, 
So full of courtesie and riche delight. 
Makes me misdoubt my poore abilitie 
In quittance of this friendly courtesie. 

M. Bar. O maister Goursie, neighbour amitie 
Is such a iewell of high reckoned worth, 
As for the attaine of it what would not I 
Disburse, it is so pretious in my thoughts ! 

M. Go\u'\r. Kinde sir, neere dwelling amitie indeed 
Offers the hearts enquirie better view 
Then loue thats seated in a farther soile, 
As prospectiues* thef neerer that they be 



* prospectiues] i.e. prospects, views, scenes in sight ; a meaninsj 
of the word which is found in much later writers, 
f the'] So sec. ed. First ed. " he." 

* 



6 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Yeeld better iudgement to the iudging eye ; 
Things seene fai-re off ai'e lessened in the eye, 
Wlien their true shape is seene being hard by. 

M. Bar. True, sir, tis so ; and truly I esteeme 
Meere* amitie, familiar neighbourhood, 
The cousen germaine vnto wedded loue. 

M. Go[ii]r. I, sir, thers surely some aliance twixt 
them, 
For they haue both the off-spring from the heart : 
Within the hearts bloud ocean still are found 
lewels of amitie and iemmes of loue. 

M. Bar. I, maister Goursey, I haue in my time 
Seene many shipwracks of true honestie ; 
But incident such dangers euer are 
To them that without compasse saile so farre : 
Wliy, what need men to swim when they may wade ? 
But leaue this taike, enough of this is sayd : 
And, maister Goursey, in good faith, sir, welcome ; — 
And, mistresse Goursey, I am much in debt 
Vnto yovir kindnes that would visit me. 

Mis. Gou. O maister Barnes, you put me but in 
minde 
Of that which I should say ; tis we that are 
Indebted to your kindnes for this cheere : 
Wliich debt that we may repay, I pray lets haue 
Sometimes your company at our homely house. 

Mis. Bar. That, mistresse Goursie, you shaU surely 
haue ; 

* Meere] i.e. absolute, perfect. 



OF ABINGTON. 7 

Heele* be a bould guest I warrant yee, 

And boulder too with you then I would haue him. 

3Iis. Gou. How do ye meane he wiU be bould with 
me? 

Mis. Bar. Why, he wiU trouble you at home, forsooth. 
Often call in, and aske yee how yee doe ; 
And sit and chat with you all day tiU night. 
And all night toof, if he might haue his will. 

M. Bar. I, wife, indeed, I thanke her for her kindnes; 
She hath made me much good cheere passing that way. 

Mis. Bar. Passing wel done oiF her ; she is a kind 
wench. — 
I thanke yee, mistresse Goursey, for my husband ; 
And if it hap your husband come our way 
A hunting or such ordinary sports, 
Ee do as much for yours as you for mine. 

M. Gou. Pray do, forsooth. — Gods Lord, what 
means the woman ? 
She speakes it scornfully : i faith I care not ; 
Things are well spoken, if they be weU taken. — \_Aside.'\ 
What, mistresse Barnes, is it not time to pai't ? 

Mis. Bar. Wliats a clocke, syrra ? 

Nicholas. Tis but new strucke one. 

M. Gou. I haue some busines in the towne by three. 

M. Bar. Till then lets walke into the orchard, sir. 
Wlaat, can you play at tables ? 

M. Gou. Yes, I can. 

* Heele] Read, for the metre, " He will." 
f too] So sec. ed. First ed. " to." 



8 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

M. Bar. What, shall we haue a game ? 

M. Gou. And if you please. 

M. Bar. I faith, content ; weele spend an hower so. — 
Sjrrra, fetcli the tables.* 

Nich. I wiU, sir. Exit. 

Phil. Sirra Franke, whilst they are playing heere, 
Weele to the greene to bowles. 

Fra. Phillip, content. — Comes, come hether, sirra: 
WTien our fathers part, call vs vpon the greene. — 
Phillip, come, a rubbers^, and so leaue. 

Phi. Come on. Exeunt [Phillip and Francis]. 

Comes. Sbloud, I do not like the humor of these 
springals ; theil spend all their fathers good at gam- 
ming. But let them trowle the bowles vppon the greene ; 
De trowle the bowles in the buttery by the leaue of 
God and maister Barnes: and his men be good fellowes, 
so it is ; if they be not, let them goe sneik vp.| Exit. 

Enter Nicholas with the tables. 

M. Bar. So, set them downe. — 
Mistresse Goursey, how do you like this game ? 
Mis. Gou. Well, sir. 



* Syrra, fetch the tables'] The audience were to suppose that 
the stage now represented an orchard ; for he it remembered that 
there was no moveable painted scenery in the theatres at the 
time when this play was produced. 

•f- rubbers'] Sec. ed. " rubber :" but the other form is common 
in our old writers. 

J sneik vp] Or, as the sec. ed. reads, " snick vp," — equivalent to 
— be hanged. 



OF ABINGTON. 9 

M. Bar. Can yee play at it ? 

Mis. Gou. A little, sir. 

M. Bar. Faith, so can my wife. 

M. Gou. Wliy, then, maister Barnes, and if you please, 
Our wiues shall trie the quarrell twixt vs two, 
And weele looke on. 

31. Bar. I am content.- What, women,* will you play ? 

Mis. Gou. I care not greatly. 

Mis. Bar. Nor I, but that I thinke sheele play me 
false. 

M. Gou. lie see she shall not. 

Mis. Bar. Nay, sir, she will be sure you shall not see. 
You of all men shall not marke her hand; 
She hath such close conueyance in her play. 

M. G6[u~\r. Is she so cunning growne ? Come, 
come, lets see. 

Mis. Gour. Yea, mistris Barns, wil ye not house 
your iests, 
But let them rome abroad so carelesly? 
Faith, if your iealious toung vtter another, 
lie crosse yee with a iest, and yee were my mother. — 
Come, shaU we play? \_Aside.~\ 

Mis. Bar. I, what shall we play a game ? 

Mis. Gour. A pound a game. 

M. Gour. How, wife ? 

Mis. Gour. Faith, husband, not a farthing lesse. 

M. Gour. It is too much; a shilling were good game. 

* ivomen] Sec. ed. " woman ;" which is probably right : see 
afterwards, p. 11, and (where both eds. have "woman ") p. 13. 



10 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Mis. Gour. No, weell be ill huswiues once ; 
You haue beene oft iU husbands : lets alone. 
M. Bar. Wife, will jou play so much ? 
Mis. Bar. I would be loath to be so francke a 
gaimster 
As mistresse Goursey is ; and yet for once 
lie play a pound a game as well as she. 
M. Bar. Go to, youle haue your will. 

[^ Offer to go from them. 
Mis. Bar. Come, ther's my stake. 
Mis. Gour. And ther's mine. 
il[f[w]. Bar. Throw for the dice. HI luck ! then they 

are yours. 
M. Bar. Maister Goursey, who sayes that gamings 
bad, 
When such good angels* walke twixt euery cast? 
M. Gour. This is not noble sport, but royaU play. 
M. Bar. It must be so where royals* walke so fast. 
3Iist. Bar. Play right, I pray. 
3Iist. Gour. ^Vhy, so I doe. 
Mis. Bar. \Vliere stands your man ? 
Mis. Gour. In his right place. 
3Iis. Bar. Good faith, I thinke ye play me foule an 

ase. 
M. Bar. No, wife, she playes yee true. 
Mis. Ba. Peace, husband, peace ; Ue not be iudgd 
by you. 

* angels. . . royals'] Gold coins. The words give occasion to 
innumerable puns in our early dnimas. 



OF ABINGTON. 11 

Mis. Gou. Husband, maister Barnes, pray both go 
walke ; 
We cannot play, if standers by doe talke. 

M. Gou. Well, to your game ; we will not trouble 
ye. Go from them. 

Mis. Gou. Wliere stands your man now ? 

Mis. Bar. Doth hee not stand right ? 

Mis. Gou. It stands betweene the poynts. 

Mis. Bar. And thats my spight. 
But yet me thinkes the dice runnes much vneuen. 
That I throw but dewes ase and you eleuen. 

Mis. Gou. And yet you see that I cast downe the hill* 

Mis. Bar. I, I beshrow ye, tis not with my will. 

Mis. Gou. Do ye beshrow me ? 

Mis. Bar. No, I beshrow the dice, 
That turne you vp more at once then me at twise. 

Mis. Gou. Well, you shall see them turne for you 
anon. 

Mis. Bar. But I care not for them when your game 
is don. 

Mis. Gou. My game ! what game ? 

Mis. Bar. Your game, your game at tables. 

Mis. Go[?/]. Wei, mistresse, wel, I haue red ^sops 
fables. 
And know your morrals meaning well ynough. 

Mis. Bar. Loe,you'lbeangrienow ! heres*goodstuffe. 

M. Gou. Hownow, women ?f who hath won the game? 



* heres] Read, for the metre, " here is." 

■f- wometi] Sec. ed. " woman :" see note, p. 9. 



1 2 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Mis. Gou. No boclie yet. 

31. Bar. Your wife's the fairest for't. 

Mis. Bar. I, in your eye. 

Mis. Gou. How do you meane ? 

Mis. Bar. He holds you fairer for't then I. 

Mis. Gou. For what, forsooth ? 

Mis. Bar. Good gamester, for your game. 

M. Bar. Well, trie it out ; 'tis all but in the bear- 
ing.* 

Mis. Bar. Nay, if it come to bearing, she'l be best. 

Blis. Gou. Why, you'r as good a bearer as the rest. 

Mis. Bar. Nay, that's not so ; you beare one man 
too many. 

Mis. Gou. Better do so then beare not any. 

M. Bar. Beshrow me, but my wifes iestes growe 
too bitter ; 
Plainer speeches for her were more fitter :| 
Malice lies imbowelled in her tongue, 
And new hatcht hate makes euery iest a wrong. 

[Aside.^ 

Mis. Gou. Looke ye, mistresse, now I hit ye. 

Mis. Bar. Why, I, you neuer vse to misse a blot,| 
Especially when it stands so faire to hit. 

Mis. Gou. How meane ye, mistresse Barnes ? 

Mis. Bar. That mistresse Gourse's in the hitting 
vaine. 



* bearing'] A term of the game. 

f Jitter'] Eds. " better," — the eye of the original compositor 
having caught the word above. 
J blot] A term of the game. 



OF ABINGTON. 13 

Mis. Gou. I hot* your man. 

Mis. Bar. I, I, my man, my man; but, had I knowne, 
I would haue had my man stood nearer home. 

Mis. Gou. Wliy, had ye kept your man in his right 
place, 
I should not then haue hit him with an ase. 

Mis. Bar. Right, by the Lord! a plague vpon the 
bones ! 

Mis. Gou. And a hot mischiefe on the curser too ! 

M. Bar. How now, wife ? 

M. Gou. Why, whats the matter, woman ? 

Mis. Gout. It is no matter: I am 

Mis. Bar. I, you are 

Mis. Gou. Wliat am I ? 

Mis. Bar. Why, thats as you will be euer. 

Mis. Gou. That's euery day as good as Barneses wife. 

Mis. Bar. And better too : then what needs al this 
trouble ? 
A single horse is woorse then that beares double. 

M. Bar. Wife, go to, haue regard to what you say; 
Let not your words passe foorth the veirge of reason. 
But keepe within the bounds of modestie. 
For ill report doth like a bailiffe stand, 
To pound the straying and the wit-lost tongue 
And makes it forfeit into follies hands. 
Welf, wife, you know it is no honest part 
To entertaine such guests with iestes and wrongs : 



* hot] i.e. hit. 



14 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

What will the neighbring countrie vulgar say, 
When as they heare that you fell out at dinner? 
Forsooth, they'l call it a pot quarrell straight; 
The best they'l name it, is a womans iangling. 
Go too, be rulde, be rulde. 

Mis. Bar. Gods Lord, be rulde, be rulde! 
What, thinke ye I liaue such a babies wit. 
To haue a rods correction for my tongue ? 
Schoole infancie ; I am of age to speake. 
And I know when to speake : shall I be chid 
For such a 

Mis. Gou. What a ? nay, mistresse, speake it out ; 
I scorne your stopt compares : compare not me 
To any but your equals, mistresse Barnes. 

M. Gou. Peace, wife, be quiet. 

M. Bar. O, perswade, perswade ! — 
Wife, mistresse Goursey, shall I winne your thoughts 
To composition of some kind effects ? 
Wife, if you loue your credit, leaue this sti'ife, 
And come shake hands with mistresse Goursey here. 

Mis. Bar. Shal I shake hands ? let her go shake her 
heeles ; 
She gets nor hands, nor friendship at my hands : 
And so, sir, whUe I liue I will take heed. 
What guests I bid againe vnto my house. 

M. Bar. Impatient woman, will you be so stifFe 
In this absurdnes ? 

3Iis. Bar. I am impatient now I speake ; 
But, sir. He tell you more another time : 
Go too, I will not take it as I haue done. Eocit. 



OF ABINGTON. 15 

Mis. Gou. Nay, she might stay ; I will not long be heere 
To trouble her. Well, maister Barnes, 
I am sorrie that it was our happes to day. 
To haue our pleasures parted with this fray : 
I am sorrie too for all that is amisse, 
Especially that you are moou'de in this ; 
But be not so, 'tis but a womans iarre, 
Their tongues are weapons, words there blowes of war; 
'Twas but a while we buifetted you saw, 
And each of vs was willing to withdraAV ; 
There was no harme nor bloudshed you did see : 
Tush, feare vs not, for we shall well agree. 
I take my leaue, sir. — Come, kind harted man, 
That speakes his wife so faire, I, now and than ; 
I know you would not for an hundi'eth pound 
That I should heare your voyces churlish sound ; 
I know you haue a farre more milder tune 
Then ' Peace, be quiet, wife ' ; but I haue done. 
Will ye go home ? the doore directs the way ; 
But, if you wlU not, my dutie is to stay.* 

M. Bar. Ha, ha ! why, heres a right woman, is 
there not ? 
They both haue din'de, yet see what stomacks they haue ! 

M. Gou. Well, maister Barnes, we cannot do with all:f 
Let vs be friends still. 



* sta^/^ Here probably Mistress Goursey should make her 
exit. 

f we cannot do with alQ i.e. we cannot help it : " with all" should 
of course be " withal". 



16 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

M. Bar. O, maister Goursey, the mettell of our minds, 
Hailing the temper of true reason in them. 
Affoordes* a better edge of argument 
For the maintaine of our familiar loues 
Then the soft leaden wit of women can ; 
Wlierefore with aU the parts of neighbour loue 
I impart f myselfe to maister Goursey. 

M. Gou. And with exchange of loue I do receiue it : 
Then here weeU part, partners of two curst wiues. 

M. Bar. Oh, where shall wee find a man so blest that 
is not ? 
But come ; your businesse and my home affaires 
Makes me deliuer that vnfriendly word 
Mongst friends, farewell. 

M. Gou. Twentie farewels, sir. 

M. Bar. But harke ye, maister Goursey ; 
Looke ye perswade at home as I will do : 
What, man ! we must not alwaies haue them foes. 

M. Gou. If I can helpe it. 

M. Bar. God helpe, God helpe ! 
Women are euen vntoward creatui'es stil. Exeunt. 

Enter Philip, Francis, and his Hoy, from bowling. 

Phil. Come on, Franke Goursey : you haue had 
good lucke 
To winne the erame. 



* Affnnrdes'] So sec. ed. First ed. " Affoorde." 
f / imparti The author probably wrote, " / do impart :" com- 
pare the next line. 



OP ABINGTON. 17 

Frail. Wliy, tell me, ist not good, 
That neuer playd before vpon your greene ? 

Phil. 'Tis good, but tliat it cost me ten good crownes ; 
That makes it worse. 

Fran. Let it not greeue thee, man ; come ore to vs; 
We will deuise some game to make you win 
Your money backe againe, sweet Philip. 

Phil. And that shall be ere long, and if I Hue: 
But tell mee, Francis, what good hoi-ses liaue yee, 
To hunt this sommer? 

Fra. Two or three iades, or so. 

Phil. Be they but iades? 

Fran. No, faith; my wag string here 
Did founder one the last time that he rid, 
The best gray nag that euer I laid my leg ouer. 

Boy. You meane the flea bitten. 

Frail. Good sir, the same. 

Boy. And was the same the best that ere you rid on? 

Fran. I, was it, sir. 

Boy. I faith, it was not, sir. 

Fran. No! where had I one so good? 

Boy. One of my colour, and a better too. 

Fran. One of your colour! I nere remember him; 
One of that colour ! 

Boy. Or of that complexion. 

Fran. Wliats that ye call com])lexi<)n in a horse? 

Boy. The colour, sir. 

Fran. Set me a colour on your icst, or 1 will — 

Boy. Nay, good sir, hold your hands! 

Fran. What, shal we haue it? 

c 



18 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Boy. Wlij, sir, I cannot paint. 

Fran. Well, then, I can; 
And I shall find a pensill lor yee, sir. 

Boy. Then I must finde the table, if you do. 

Fran. A whoresen, barren, wicked vrchen ! 

Boy. Looke how you chafe ! you would be angry more, 
If I should teU it you. 

Fran. Go to, He anger ye, and if you do not. 

Boy. Why, sir, the horse that I do meane 
Hath a leg both straight and cleane. 
That hath nor spauen, splint, nor flawe. 
But is the best that euer ye saw; 
A pretie rising knee, O knee! 
It is as round as round may be; 
The full flanke makes the buttock round: 
This palfray standeth on no ground 
When as my maister's on her backe, 
If that he once do say but, ticke ;* 
And if he pricke her, you shall see 
Her gallop amaine, she is so free; 
And if he giue her but a nod. 
She thinkes it is a riding rod; 
And if heel haue her softly go. 
Then she trips it like a doe ; 
She comes so easie with the raine, 
A twine thred turnes her backe againe; 
And truly I did nere see yet 
A horse play proudlier on the bit: 

* ticke'] Qy. " tacke" .' 



OF ABINGTON. 19 

My maister with good managing: 

Brought her first vnto the ring;* 

He likewise taught her to coruet, 

To runne, and suddainlie to set; 

Shee's cunning in the wilde goose race, 

Nay, shee's apt to euery pace; 

And to prooue her colour good, 

A flea, enaniourd of her blood, 

Digd for chanels in her necke. 

And there made many a crimson specke i 

I thiuke theres none tliat vse to ride 

But can her pleasant trot abide; 

She goes so euen vpon the way, 

She will not stumble in a day; 

And when my maister — 

Fran. What do I? 

Boy. Nay, nothing, sir. 

Phil. 0, fie, Franke, fie! 
Nay, nay, your reason hath no iustice now, 
I must needs say; perswade him first to speake. 
Then chide him for it! — Tell me, prettie wag. 
Where stands this prawncer, in what inne or stable? 
Or, hath thy maister put her out to runne, 
Then, in what field, what champion"]" feeds this courser, 
This weU paste, bonnie steed that thou so praisest? 



* Brought her first vnto the ring'] i.e. taught her to tread the 
ring, — to perform various movements in different directions 
within a ring marked out on a piece of ground : see Markham's 
Cheape and good Husbandry, &c. p. 18, sqq. ed. 1631. 

f champior>'\ A form of champaign common in our early writers. 

c 2 



20 THE TWO ANGRTE WOMEN 

Boy. Faith, sir, I thinke — 

Fran. Villaine, what do ye thinke? 

Boy. I thinke that you, sir, haue bene askt by many. 
But yet I neuer heard that ye tolde any. 

Phil. Well, boy, then I will adde one more to many, 
And aske thy maister where this iennet feeds. — 
Come, Franke, tell me, nay, prethie, tell me, Franke, 
My good horse maister, tell me — by this light, 
I will not steale her from thee; if I do, 
Let me be held a felone to thy loue. 

Fran. No, Phillip, no. 

Phil. What, wilt thou were a poynt* but with one tag? 
Well, Francis, well, I see you are a wag. 

Enter Comes. 

Com. Swonds, where be these timber turners, these 
trowle the bowles, these greene men, these — 

Fran. What, what, sir? 

Comes. These bowlers, sir. 

Fran. Well, sir, what say you to bowlers? 

Comes. Why, I say they cannot be saued. 

Fran. Your reason, sir? 

Com. Because they throw away their soules at euery 
marke. 

Fran. Their soules! how meane ye? 

Phil. Sirra, he meanes the soule of the bowle. 



* wilt thou were a poynt, &c.] i. e. wilt thou wear, &c. : point 
means one of the tagged laces which were used in dress, — to 
attach the hose or breeches to the doublet, &c. 



OF ABINGTON. 21 

Fran. Lord, how his wit holds bias like a bowle! 

Com. Well, which is the bias? 

Fran. This next to you. 

Com. Nay, turne it this way, then the bowle goes 
true. 

Boy. Rub, rub! 

Com. AVlay rub? 

Boy. Wliy, you ouercast the marke, and misse the 
way. 

Com. Nay, boy, I vse to take the fayrest of my play. 

Phil. Dicke Comes, me thiukes thou art* verie 
pleasant : 
Whenf gotst thou this merrie humor? 

Com. In your fathers seller, the merriest place in 
th' house. 

Phil. Then you haue bene carowsing hard? 

Co. Yes, faith, 'tis our custome when your fathers 
men and we meete. 

Phil. Thou art very welcome thither, Dicke. 

Com. By God, I thanke ye, sir, Ithanke ye, sir: by 
God, I haue a quart of wine for ye, sir, in any place of 
the world. There shall not a seruingman in Barkeshire 
fight better for ye then I wiU do, if you haue any 
quai'rell in hand: you shall haue the maiden -head of 
my new sword; I paide a quarters wages for't, by 
lesus. 

Phil. Oh, this meate failer Dicke! 
How well t'as made the apparell of his wit, 

* thort nrf\ 80 sec. cd. First ed. " th'art." 
t Whe7i\ Qy. "Wher"? 



22 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

And brought it into fashion of an honor ! — 
Prethe, Dicke Comes, but tell me how thou doost? 

Comes. Faith, sir, like a poore man of seruice. 

Phil. Or seruingman. 

Comes. Indeed, so called by the vulgar. 

Phil. Why, where the diuell hadst thou that word? 

Comes. Oh, sir, you haue the most eloquenst ale in 
all the* world; our blunt soyle affoords none such. 

Fran. Philip, leaue talking with this di'onken foole. — 
Say, sirra, where's my father? 

Comes. ' Marry, I thanke ye for my very good 
cheare.' — ' Lord, it is not so much worth.' — ' You 
see I am bold with ye.' — ' Indeed, you are not so 
bolde as welcome; I pray ye, come oftner.' — Truly, I 
shall trouble ye.' — All these ceremonies are dispatcht 
between them, and they are gone. 

Fran. Are they so? 

Comes. I, before God, are they. 

Fran. And wherefore came not you to call me, then? 

Com. Because I was loth to change my game. 

Fran. What game? 

Co. You were at one sort of bowles, as I was at an- 
other. 

Phil. Sirra, he meanes the buttrie bowles of beere. 

Com. By God, sir, we tickled it. 

Fran. Wliy, what a swearing keepes this di'unken 
asse ! — 
Canst thou not say but sweare at euery word? 

* in all the\ So sec. ed. First ed. " in the" 



OP ABINGTON. 23 

Phil. Peace, do not marre his humour, prethie, 
Franks. 

Com. Let him alone ; hee's a spi'ingall, he knows not 
what belongs to an oath. 

Fra. Sirra, be quiet, or I do protest — 

Comes. Come, come, what do you protest? 

Fra. By heauen, to crack your crowne. 

Comes. To crack my crowne! I lay yee a crowne of 
that, laye it downe, and yee dare ; nay, sbloud, lie venter 
a quarters wages of that. Cracke my crowne, quotha! 

Fran. Will yee not yet be quiet ? will yee vrge me? 

Comes. Vrge yee, with a pox! who vrges yee? You 
might haue said so much to a clowne, or one that had 
not been ore the sea to see fashions : I haue, I teU yee 
true; and I know what belongs to a man. Crack my 
crowne, and yee can. 

Fra. And I can, yee rascaU! 

Phil. Holde, haire braine, holde ! doost thou not see 
hees drunke? 

Comes. Naye, let him come: though he be my mais- 
ters Sonne, I am my maisters man, and a man is a man 
in any ground of England. 
Come, and he dares, a comes vpon his death: 
I will not budge an inche, no, sbloud, will I* not. 

Fran. Will yee not? 

Phil. Stay, prithe, Franke.--Comes, doost thou heere? 

Comes. Heere me no heeres: stand away, lie trust 
none of you all. K I haue my backe against a cart 
wheele, I would not care if the diuell came. 

* /] So sec. ed. Not in first ed. 



24 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Phil. Why, yee foole, I am your friend. 

Comes. Foole on your face! I haue a wife. 

Fra. Shees a whore, then. 

Comes. Shees as honest as Nan Lawson. 

Phil. Whats she? 

Comes. One of his whores. 

Phil. Why, hath he so many? 

Comes. I, as many as there be churches in London. 

Phil. Why, thats a hundred and nine. 

Boy. Faith, he lyes a hundred. 

Phil. Then thou art a witnesse to nine. 

Boy. No, by God, lie be Avitnesse to none. 

Comes. Now do I stand like the George at Colbrooke. 

Boy. No, thou standst like the Bull at S. Albones. 

Comes. Boy, yee lye — the homes.* 

Boy. The bul's bitten; see how he buts! 

Phil. Comes, Comes, put vp;f my friend and thou 
art friends. 

Comes. lie heere him say so first. 

Phil. Franke, prethe do; be friends, and tell him so. 

Fra. Goe to, I am. 

Boy. Put vp, sir, and yee be a man, put vp. 

Comes. I am easily perswaded, boye. 

Phil. Ah, yee mad slaue! 

Comes. Come, come, a couple of whore -maisters I 
found yee, and so I leaue yee. Exit. 

Phil. Loe, Franke, doost thou not see hee's drunke, 
That twits thee$ with thy disposition? 

* the homes] Perhaps " the Horups," — see what pi-ecedes. 
f put vp] i. e. sheathe your sword. 
X thee] Eds. " me." 



OF ABINGTON. 25 

Fran. Wliat disposition? 

Phil. Nan Lawson, Nan Lavvson. 

Fra. Nay, then — 

Phi. Goe to, yee wag, tis well: 
If euer yee get a wife, i faith lie tell. 
Sirra, at home we haue a seruingman; 
Hees* not humord bluntly as Comes is. 
Yet his conditionf makes me often merry: 
He tell thee, sirra, hees a fine neat fellow, 
A spruce slaue; I warrant yee, heele| haue 
His cruell garters crosse about the knee, 
His woollen hose as white as the di'iuen snowe, 
His shooes dry leather neat and tyed with red ribbins, 
A nosegay bound with laces in his hat, 
Bridelaces, sir, his hat, and all greene hat, 
Greene couerlet for such a grasse greene wit. 
' The goose that graseth on the greene,' quoth he, 
' May I eate on when you shall buryed be ! ' 
All prouerbes is his speech, hee's prouerbs all, 

Fra. Why speakes he prouerbes? 

Phil. Because he would speake trueth, 
And prouerbes, youle confesse, are ould said sooth. 

Fran. I like this well, and one day I will see him : 
But shall we part? 

Phil. Not yet, Be bring yee somwhat on your way, 
And as we go, betweene your boye and you 
Be know where that braue praunser stands at leuery. 



* Hees] Head, for the iii(>tri', " lie is." 
f cnnditian] i. i\ (luality, disposition. 
\ lieele] Read, for the metre, " he will." 



26 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Fran. Come, come, you shall not. 

Philip. I faith, I wiU. Exeunt. 

Enter Maister Barnes and his Wife. 

M. Bar. Wife, in my minde to day you were to 
blame, 
Although my patience did not blame yee for it: 
Me thought the rules of loue and neighbourhood 
Did not direct your thoughts; all indirect 
Were your proceedings in the enterteine 
Of them that I inuited to my house. 
Nay, stay, I doe not chide, but counsell, wife. 
And in the mildest manner that I may: 
You neede not view me with a seruants eye. 
Whose vassaile* sences tremble at the looke 
Of his displeased maister. O my wife. 
You ai'e myselfe! when selfe sees fault in selle, 
Selfe is sinne obstinate, if selfe amend not: 
Indeed, I sawe a fault in thee myselfe. 
And it hath set a foyle vpon thy fame, 
Not as the foUe dooth grace the diamond. 

Mis. Bar. "VXHiat fault, sir, did you see in me to day? 

31. Bar. O, do not set the oi'gan of thy voice 
On such a grunting key of discontent ! 
Do not deforme the beautie of thy toung 
With such mishapen answers. Rough wrathfull words 
Ai-e bastai'ds got by rashnes in the thoughts: 
Faire demeanors are vertues nuptiall babes, 

* vassaiU^ Eds. " vassailes." 



OF ABINGTON. 27 

The off-spring of the well instructed soule; 
O, let them call thee mother, then, my wife! 
So seeme not barren of good coui-tesie. 

3Iis. Bar. So; haue yee done? 

M. Bar. I, and I had done well. 
If you would do what I aduise for well. 

Mis. Bar. Whats that? 

M. Bar. Which is, that you would be good friends 
With mistresse Goursey. 

Mis. Bar. With mistresse Goursey! 

M. Bar. I, sweete wife. 

Mis. Bar. Not so, sweete husband. 

M. Bar. Could you but shew me any grounded cause. 

Mis. Bar. The grounded cause I ground because I 
wil not. 

M. Bar. Your will hath little reason, then, I thinke. 

Mis. Bar. Yes, sir, my reason equaUeth my will. 

M. Bar. Lets heere your reason, for your will is 
great. 

Mis. Bar. Why, for I will not. 

M. Bar. Is all your reason ' for I will not,' wife? 
Now, by my soule, I held yee for more wise, 
Discreete, and of more tempratui-e in sence. 
Then in a sullen humor to affect 
That womans* wiU borne, common, scholler phrase: 
Oft haue I heard a timely mai'ried girle, 
That newly left to call her mother mam, 
Her father dad, but yesterday come from 

* u'omans^ So sec. ed. First ed. " womens." 



28 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

' Thats my good girle, God send thee a good husband !' 

And now being taught to speake the name of husband, 

Will, when she would be wanton in her will. 

If her husband askt her why, say ' for I will.' 

Haue I chid men for* vnmanly choise, 

That would not fit their yeares? haue I seene thee 

Pupell such greene young things, and with thy counseU 

Tutor their wits? and art thou now infected 

With this disease of imperfection? 

I blush for thee, ashamed at thy shame. 

Mis. Bar. A shame on her that makes thee rate 



me so 



M. Bar. O black mouthd rage, thy breath is boys- 
terous. 
And thou makst vertue shake at this high storme! 
Sheesf of good report ; I know thou knowst it. 

Mis. Bar. She is not, nor I know not, but I know 
That thou doost loue her, therefore thinkst her so; 
Thou bearst with her, because she beares Avith thee. 
Thou maist be ashamed to stand in her defence: 
She is a strumpet, and thou art no honest man 
To stand in her defence against thy wife. 
If I catch her in my walke, now, by Cockes| bones, 
He scratch out both her eyes. 

M. Bar. O God! 

Mis. Bar. Nay, neuer say ' God' for the matter: 



*/»-]Qy. "/"-an"? 

f Shees] Read, for the metre, " She is." 

% Caches] A corruption ot^ — God's. 



OF ABINGTON, 29 

Thou art the cause; thou baclst her to my house, 
Onely to bleare the eyes of Goursie, didst not? 
But I will send him word, I warrant thee, 
And ere I sleepe to;* trust vpon it, sir. Exit. 

M. Bar. Me thinkes this is a mightie fault in her; 
I could be angrie with her: O, if I be so, 
I shall but put a linke vnto a torche, 
And so giue greater light to see her fault, 
lie rather smother it in melanchoUy: 
Nay, wisdome bids nie shunne that passion; 
Then I will studie for a remedie. 
I haue a daughter, — now, heauen inuocate. 
She be not of like spirit as her mother ! 
If so, sheel be a plague vnto her husband, 
If that he be not pacient and discreete. 
For that I hold the ease of all such trouble. 
Well, well, I would my daughter had a husband, 
For I Avould see how she would demeane her selfe 
In that estate; it may be, ill enough, — 
And, so God shall helpe me, well remembred now ! 
Franke Goursey is his fathers Sonne and heyre, 
A youth that in my heart I haue good hope on ; 
My sences say a match, my soule applaudes 
The motion: O, but his lands are great, 
Hee will looke hygh; why, I will straine my selfe 
To make her dowrie equall with his land. 
Good faith, and twere a match, 'twould be a meanes 
To make their mothers friends. He call my daughter, 

* to'] i. e. too. 



so THE TWO ANGRIE AVOMEN 

To see how shees dispose! to marriage, — 
Mall, where are yee? 

Enter Mall. 
Mali. Father, heere I am. 
M. Bar. Where is your mother? 
Mall. I saw her not, forsooth, since you and she 
Went walking both together to the garden. 

M. Bar. Doost thou heere me, girle? I must dispute 

with thee. 
Mall. Father, the question, then, must not be hard, 
For I am very weake in argument. 

M. Bar. Well, this it is; I say tis good to marry. 

Mall. And this say I, tis not good to marry. 

M. Bar. Were it not good, then all men would not 

marry; 
But now they do. 

Mall. Marry, not all; but it is good to marry. 
M. Bar. Is it both good and bad? how can this be? 
Mall. Why, it is good to them that marry well; 
To them that marry ill, no greater hell. 

M. Bar. If thou mightst marry well, wouldst thou 

agree? 
Mall. I cannot tell; heauen must appoint for me. 
M. Bar. Wenche, I am studying for thy good, indeed. 
Mall. My hopes and dutie wish your thoughts good 

speed. 
M. Bar. But tell me, wenche, hast thou a minde to 

marry ? 
Mall. This question is too hard for bashfidnesse; 



OF ABINGTON. 31 

And, father, now yee pose my modestie. 

I am a maide, and when yee aske me thus, 

I like a maide must blushe, looke pale and wan, 

And then looke pale* againe; for we change colour 

As our thoughts change. With true fac'te passion 

Of modest maidenhead I could adorne me. 

And to your question make a sober cursey, 

And with close dipt ciuilitie be silent; 

Or els say ' no, forsooth,' or ' I, forsooth.' 

If I sayd ' no, forsooth,' I lyed, forsooth : 

To lye vpon my selfe were deadly sinne, 

Therefore I will speake trueth, and shame the diuell. 

Father, when first I heard yee name a husband. 

At that same very name my spirits quickned. 

Dispaire before had kild them, they were dead: 

Because it was my hap so long to tany, 

I was perswaded I should neuer marry; 

And sitting sowing, thus vpon the ground 

I fell in traunce of meditation ; 

But comming to my selfe, ' O Lord,' said I, 

' Shall it be so? must I vnmarryed dye?' 

And being angrie, father, farther said, 

' Now, by saint Anne, I will not dye a maide ! ' 

Good faith, before I came to this ripe groath, 

I did accuse the labouring time of sloath ; 

Me thought tlie yeere did rvuine but slowe about, 

For I thought each yeere ten I was without. 

Being foreteene and toward the tother yeere, 

* paki Ou^ht surply to be " red :" sec M^hat precedes. 



32 THE TWO ANGRIE AVOMEX 

Good Lord, thought I, fifteene will nere be heere! 

For I haue heard my mother say that then 

Prittie maides were fit for handsome men: 

Fifteene past, sixeteene, and seuenteene too, 

What, thought I, will not this husband do? 

Will no man many me? haue men forsworne 

Such beauty and such youth? shall youth be worne, 

As rich mens gownes, more with age then vse? 

Why, then I let restrained fansie loose, 

And bad it gaze for pleasure; then loue swore me 

To do what ere my mother did before me; 

Yet, in good faith, I haue beene very loath. 

But now it lyes in you to saue my oath: 

If I shall haue a husband, get him quickly, 

For maides that weres coi'ke shooes may step awrie. 

M. Bar. Beleeue me, wench, I do not repprehend* 
thee. 
But for this pleasant answere do commend thee. 
I must confesse, loue dooth thee mightie wrong. 
But I will see thee haue thy right ere long ; 
I know a young man, whom I holde most fit 
To haue thee both for lining and for wit: 
I will goe write about it presently. 

Mall. Good father, do. Exit [Barnes]. 

O God, me thinkes I should 
Wife it as fine as any woman coidd! 
I could carry a porte to be obayde, 



* repprehend~\ Eds. "apprehend," — hut certainly Mall hud 
spoken with sufticient plainness. 



OF ABINGTON. 33 

Carry a raaistering eye vpon my maide, 

With ' Minion, do your businesse, or lie make yee,' 

And to all house authoritie betake me. 

O God, would I were marryed! by my troth. 

But if I be not, I sweare lie keepe my oath. 

Enter Mis. Barnes. 

Mis. Ba. How now, minion, wher haue you bin 
gadding? 

Mall. Forsooth, my father ealled me foorth to him. 

Mis. Bar. Your father! and what said he too yee, 
I pray? 

Mall. Nothing, forsooth. 

Mis. Bar. Nothing! that cannot be; something he 
said. 

Mall. I, somthing that as good as nothing was. 

Mis. Bar. Come, let me heare that somthing no- 
thing, then. 

Mall. Nothing but of a husband for me, mother. 

Mis. Bar. A husband! that was somthing: but what 
husband? 

Mall. Nay, faith, I know not, mother: would I did! 

Mis.Bar. I, 'would yee did'! ifaith, are yee sohastie? 

Mall. Hastie, mother ! why, how olde am I ? 

Mis. Bar. Too young to marry. 

Mall. Nay, by the masse, ye lie. 

Mother, how olde were you when you did marry? 

Mis. Bar. How olde so ere I was, yet you shall tarry. 

Mall. Then the worse for me. Harke, mother, harke ! 
The priest forgets that ere he was a clarke : 

D 



8-i THE TAVO ANGRIE WOMEN 

When you were at my yeares, He holde my life, 
Your minde was to change maidenhead for wife. 
Pardon me, mothei', I am of your minde, 
And, by my troth, I take it but by kinde.* 

Mis. Bar. Do yee heare, daughter ? you shall stays 
my leasure. 

Mai. Do you heai'e, mother ? would you stay from 
pleasure 
When yee haue minde to it ? Go to, there's no wrong 
Like this, to let maides lye alone so long : 
Lying alone they muse but in their beddes 
How they might loose their long kept maiden heads. 
This is the cause there is so many scapes, 
For women that are wise will not lead apes 
In heU : I teU yee, mother, I say true ; — 
Therefore, come, husband, maiden head, adew ! Exit. 

Mis. Bar. Well, lustie guts, I meane to make ye stay, 
And set some rubbes in your mindes smothest way.f 

Enter Philip. 

Phil. Mother — 

Mis. Bar. How now, sirra, where haue ye beene 

walking ? 
Phil. Ouer the medes, halfe way to INIilton, mother. 
To beare my friend Franke Goursey companie. 

Mis. Bar. Wher's your blew coate,^ yom- sword and 
buckler, sir? 



* kindvA i.e. nature. 

f waif\ So sec. fed. First ed. '• nay." 

\ hhu- cnate] The coinnion dress of a servinji-man. 



OF ABINGTON. 35 

Get you sucli like habite for a seruingman, 
K you will waight vpon the brat of Goursey. 

Phil. Mother, that you are moou'd, this makes mee 
wonder, 
VVlieu I departed I did leaue ye friends : 
What vndigested iarre hath since betided ? 

Mis. Bar. Such as almost doth choake thy mother, boy, 
And stifles her with the conceit of it ; 
I am abusde, my sonne, by Gourseys wife. 

Phil. By mistresse Goursie ! 

Mis. Bar. Mistresse flurt, yon* foule strumpet, 
Light a loue, shorte heeles ! Mistresse Goursey 
Call her againe, and thou wert better no. 

Phil. O my deare mother, haue some patience ! 

Mis. Bar. I, sir, haue patience, and see your father 
To rifle vp the treasure of my loue, 
And play the spendthrift vpon such an harlot ! 
This same Avill make me haue patience, will it not ? 

Phil. This same is womens most impatience : 
Yet, mother, I haue often heard ye say 
That you haue found my father temperate, 
And euer free from such affections. 

Mis. Bar. I,tiU| my too much loue did glut his thoughts. 
And make him seek for change. 

Phil. 0, change your minde ! 

* yon'] Eds. "you," — which, perhaps, is therisjht reading, some 
word ha\ing dropt out after it. Qy. thus ; — 
'• Mix. Bar. ]Mistresse flurt, you iiwaii, 
Foule strumpet, light a loue, short heeles ! Mistresse Goursey 
Call her," &c. 

t till'] So sec. ed. First ed. " tell." 

I> 2 



36 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

My father beares more cordiall loue to you. 

Mis. Bar. Thou liest, thou liest, for he loues Gour- 
seys wife, 
Not me. 

Phil. Now, Isweai'e, mother, you are much too blame; 
I durst be sworne he loues you as his soule. 

Mis. Bar. Wilt thou be pampered by affection ? 
WiU nature teach thee such vilde* perim'ie ? 
Wilt thou be sworne, I, forsworne,f carelesse boy ? 
And if thou swearst, I say he loues me not. 

Phil. He loues| ye but too weU, I sweare, 
Vnlesse ye knewe much better how to vse him. 

Mis. Bar. Doth he so, sir ? thou vnnaturall boy ! 
'Too well,' sayestthou? that word shall cost thee§ 

somewhat : 
O monstrous ! haue I brought thee vp to this ? 
' Too well' ! vnkinde, wicked, and degenerate. 
Hast thou the heart to say so of thy mother ? 
Well, God will plague thee fort, I warrant thee : 
Out on thee, viUaine, fie vpon thee, wretch ! 
Out of my sight, out of my sight, I say ! 

Phil. This ayre is pleasant, and doth please me well. 
And here I will stay. 

Mis. Bar. Wilt thou, stubborne villaine ? 

Enter M. Bar. 
M. Bar. How now, whats the matter ? 

* vilde] i.e. yiXe. 

f forsworne] Eds. " forlorne." 

J He loues] Qy. " Mother, he loues" ? 

§ thee] So sec. ed. First ed. " the." 



OF ABTNGTON. 37 

Mis. Bar. Thou setst thy sonne to scoffe and mocke 
at mee : 
1st not sufficient I am wrongd of thee, 
But he must be an agent to abuse me ? 
Must I be subiect to my cradle too ? 

God, God amend it ! \_Eicit.'] 
M.Bar. Why,hownow,PhUlip? isthistrue,mysonne? 
Phil. Deare father, she is much impatient : 

Nere let that hand assist me in my need. 
If I more said then that she thought amisse 
To thinke that you were so licentious giuen ; 
And thus much more, when she inferd it more, 

1 swore an oath you lou'de her but too well : 
Li that as guiltie I do hold my selfe. 

Now that I come to more considerate triall : 

I know my fault ; I should haue borne with her : 

Blame me for rashnesse, then, not for want of dutie. 

M. Bar. I do absolue thee; and come hether, Philip: 
I haue writ a letter vnto maister Goursey, 
And I will tell thee the contents thereof; 
But tell me first, thinkst thou Franke Goursey loues thee? 

Phil. If that a man denoted to a man, 
LoyaU, religious in loues hallowed vowes, 
If that a man that is soule laboursome 
To worke his owne thoughts to his friends delight, 
May purchase good opinion with his friend. 
Then I may say, I haue done this so well, 
That I may thinke Franke Goursey loues me well. 

M. Bar. Tis well; and I am much deceiued in him, 
And if he be not sober, wise, and valiant. 

Phil. I hope my father takes me for tlius wise. 



88 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

I will not glew myselfe in loue to one 

That hath not some desert of vertue in him : 

Wliat ere you thinke of him, beleeue me, father, 

He will be answerable to your thoughts 

In any qualitie commendable. 

M. Bar. Thou eliearst my hopes in him ; and, in 
good faith, 
Thoust* made my loue complete vnto thy friend : 
PhilHp, I loue him, and I loue him so, 
I could affoorde him a good wife I know. 

Phil. Father, a wife ! 

M. Bar. Phillip, a wife. 

Phil. I lay my life, my sister. 

M. Bar. I, in good faith. 

Phil. Then, father, he shall haue her; heshall, Isweare. 

M. Bar. How canst thou say so, knowing not his 
minde ? 

Phil. Als one for that; I will go to him straight. 
Father, if you would seeke this seuen yeares day, 
You could not find a fitter match for her ; 
And he shall haue her, I sweare he shall ; 
He were as good be hanged as once denyf her. 
I faith. He to him. 

M. Bar. Hayrebraine, hayrebraine, stay ! 
As yet we do not know his fathers minde : 
Why, what will maister Goursey say, my sonne. 
If we should motion it without his knowledge ? 
Go to, hees a wise and discreet gentleman, 

* Tlwust] So sec. erl. First, ed. " Thaust." 
j *«(/] i.e. refuse. 



OF ABINGTON. 39 

And that expects from me all honest pai'ts ; 
Nor shall he faile his expectation ; 
First I do meane to make him priuie to it : 
Phillip, this letter is to that effect. 

Phil. Father, for Gods* sake send it quickly, then : 
lie call your man. — Wliat, Hugh ! wheres Hugh, there, 
ho? 

M. Bar. Phillip, if this would prooue a match, 
It were the only means that could be found 
To make thy mother friends with Mis[tresse] Gou[rsey]. 

Phil. How, a match ! lie warrant ye, a match. 
My sister's faire, Franke Goursie he is rich ; 
Herf dowrie too will be sufficient ; 
Franke's young, ij; and youth is apt to loue ; 
And, by my troth, my sisters maiden head 
Stands like a game at tennis, — if the ball 
Hit into the hole, or hazard, farewell all ! 

M. Bar. How now, where's Hugh ? 

\_Enter Nicholas.] 

Phil. Why, what doth this prouerbial with vs ? 
Why, where's Hugh? 
M. Bar. Peace, peace. 
Phil. Wliere's Hugh, I say ? 
M. Bar. Be not so hastie, Philip. 
Phil. Father, let me alone, 



* Gods'] So sec. ed. First ed. " Gads." f Her] Eds. " His." 
X Franke s young'] Qy. " Franke lie is ijowu/"? compare the pre- 
ceding line but one. 



40 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

I do it but to make my selfe some sport. 

This formall foole,your man,speakes nought but prouerbs, 

And speake men what they can to him, hee'l answere 

With some rime rotten sentence or olde saying, 

Such spokes as the ancient of the parish vse, 

With, ' neighbour, tis an okle prouerbe and a true. 

Goose giblets are good meate, okle sacke better then new'; 

Then saies another, ' neighbour, that is true'; 

And when each man hath drunke his gallon round, 

A penny pot, for thats the olde mans gallon, 

Then doth he licke his lippes, and stroke his beard 

Thats glewed together with his slauering droppes 

Of yestie ale, and when he scarce can trim 

His goutie fingers, thus hee'l philUp it, 

And with a rotten hem say, ' hey, my hearts, 

Merrie go sorrie ! cocke and pye, my hearts !' 

But then their sauing pennie prouerbe comes, 

And that is this, ' they that will to the wine, 

Berladie* mistresse, shall lay their pennie to mine.' 

This was one of this penny-fathersf bastards. 

For, on my life, he was neuerj begot 

Without the consent of some great prouerb-monger. 

M. Bar. O, ye are a wag. 

Phil. Well, now vnto my businesse. 
Swounds, will that mouth, thats made of old sed sawes 
And nothing else, say nothing to vs now ? 

Nick. O maister Philip, forbeare ; you must not 

* Berladie'] i.e. By our lady. 

f penny-fathers] i.e. miserly person's. 

I was 7ie7ier'\ The author probably wrote " neuer was." 



OF ABINGTON. 41 

leape ouer the stile before you come at it ; haste makes 
waste ; softe fire makes sweete malt ; not too fast for 
falling ; there's no hast to hang true men.* 

Phil. Father, we ha'te, ye see, we ha'te. Now will 
I see if my memorie will serue for some prouerbs too. 
O, — a painted cloath were as wel worth a shilling as a 
theefe woorth a halter ; wel, after my heartie commen- 
dations, as I was at the making hereof ; so it is, that I 
hope as you speed, so you're sure ; a swift horse will 
tier, but he that trottes easilie will indure. You haue 
most learnedly prouerbde it, commending the vertue 
of patience or forbearance, but yet, you knowe, for- 
bearance is no quittance. 

Nich. I promise ye, maister Philip, you haue spoken 
as true as Steele. 

Phil. Father, theres a prouerbe well applied. 

Nich. And it seemeth vnto me, I, it seemes to me, 
that you, maister Phillip, mocke me : do you not know, 
qui mocat mocabitur"? mocke age, and se how it will 
prosper. 

Phil. Why, ye whoreseu prouerb-booke bound vp 
in follio, 
Haue ye no other sence to answere me 
But euery word a prouerbe ? no other English ? 
Well, lie fulfill a prouerb on thee straight. 

Nich. What is it, sir ? 

Phil. Ee fetch my fist from thine eare. 

Nich. Beare witnesse he threatens me ! 

* true. mcn'\ i.e. honest moii. 



42 THE TWO ANCRIE WOMEN 

Phil. Father, that same is the cowards common 
prouerbe. — 
But come, come, sirra, tell me where Hugh is. 

Nich. I may, and I will ; I need not except I list ; 
you shall not commaund me, you giue me neither 
meate, di'inke, nor wages ; I am your fathers man, and 
a man's a man, and a haue but a hose on his hed ; do 
not misuse me so, do not ; for thogh he that is bound 
must obay, yet he that will not tarrie, may* runne away, 
so he may. 

M. Bar, Peace, Nicke, lie see hee shall vse thee well; 
Go to, peace, sirra : here, Nicke, take this letter, 
Cari'ie it to him to whom it is directed. 

Nich. To whom is it ? 

M. Bar. Wliy, reade it : canst thou read ? 

Nich. Forsooth, though none of the best, yet meanly. 

M. Bar. Why, doost thou not vse it ? 

Nic. Forsooth, as vse makes perfectnes, so seldome 
seene is soone forgotten. 

M. Bar. Well said: but go; it is tomaister Goursey. 

Phil. Now, sir, what prouerb have ye to deliuer a 
letter ? 

Nich. What need you to care ? who speakes to you ? 
you may speake when ye are spoken to, and keepe 
your winde to coole your pottage. Well, well, you are 
my maisters sonne, and you looke for his lande ; but 
they that hope for dead mens shooes, may hap go 



nij'] So sec. ed. First eel. " ma." 



OF ABINGTON. 43 

barefoote : take heed ; as soone goes the yoiig sheep to 
the pot as the okle. I pray God saue my maisters life, 
for sildome comes the better ! 

Phil. O, he hath giuen it me ! Farewell, prouerbes, 

Nich. Farewell, frost.* 

Phil. Shall I fling an olde shooe after ye ? 

Nich. No; you should say, God send faire weather 
after me ! 

Phil. I meane for good lucke. 

Nich. A good lucke on ye ! Exit. 

M. Bar. Alas, poore foole, hee vses al his wit ! 
Phillip, in faith| this mirth hath cheered thought, 
And cussend it of his right play of passion. 
Go after Nick, and, when thou thinkst hees there, 
Go in and vrge to that which I haue writ : 
Ee in these meddowes make a cerckling walke, 
And in my meditation coniure so. 
As that samet fend§ of thought, selfe-eating anger, 
Shall by my spels of reason|| vanish quite : 
Away, and let me heare from thee to night. 

Phil. Tonight ! yes, that you shal: but harkeye, father; 
Looke that you my sister waking keepe. 
For Franke I sweare shall kisse her ere I sleepe. 

Exetini. 



* Farewell, frost'\ Ray has " Fareivell frost, Nothing gi 
nothing lost." Proverbs, p. 189. ed. 1768. 
f in faitK] So see. ed. First ed. ^'^ faith in." 
% same'] Eds. some. § /e»«^] i.e. fieud. 

I] rmson\ Eds. " treason." 



44- THE TAVO ANCfRIE WOMEN 

Enter Franke and Boy. 

Frank. I am very drie with walking ore the greene. — 
Butler, some beere ! — Sirra, call the butler. 

Boy. Nay, faith, sir, we must haue some smith to 
giue the butler a drench, or cut him in the forehead, 
for he hath got a horses desease, namely the staggers ; 
to night hees a good huswife, he reeles al that he 
wrought to day; and he were good now to play at dice, 
for he castes* excellent well. 

Fran. How meanst thou ? is he di'unke ? 

Boy. I cannot tell ; but I am sure he hath more 
liquor in him then a whole dicker of hydes ; hees 
sockt throughly, i faith. 

Fran. Wei, go and call him ; bid him bring me 
di'inke. 

Boy. I will, sir. Exit. 

Fran. My mother powtes, and will looke merrily 
Neither vpon my father nor on me : 
He sales she fell out with mistresse Barnes to day ; 
Then I am sure they'l not be quickly friends. 
Good Lord, what kind of creatures women are ! 
Their loue is lightlyf wonne and lightly lost ; 
And then their hate is deadly and extreame : 
He that doth take a wife betakes himselfe 
To all the cares and troubles of the world. 
Now her disquietnesse doth greeue my father, 
Greeues me, and troubles all the house besides. — 



* castes\ i.e. vomits : a common pun in old dramas. 
I l\rjhtly\ i.e. easily. 



OF ABINGTON. 45 

What, shall I haue some drinke? \_Horn sounded 

ivithbi^ — How now ? a home ! 
Belike the drunken knaue is falue asleepe, 
And now the boy doth wake him with his home. 

Enter Boy. 
How now, sirra, wheres the butler ? 

Boy. Marie, sir, where he was euen now, a sleepe ; 
but I wakt him, and when he wakt, hee thought hee 
was in maister Barnses butterie, for he stretcht him- 
selfe thus, and yauning said, ' Nicke, honest Nicke, 
fill a fresh bowle of ale ; stand to it, Nicke, and thou 
beest a man of Gods making, stand to it' ; and then 
I winded my home, and hees horne-mad. 

Enter Hodge. 

Hod. Boy, hey ! ho, boy ! and thou beest a man, 
draw. — 0, heres a blessed mooneshine, God be thanked! 
— Boy, is not this goodly weather for barley ? 

Boy. Spoken like a right maulster, Hodge: but 
doost thou heare ? thou art not drunke. 

Hod. No, I scorne that, i faith. 

Boy.* But thy feUow Dicke Coomes is mightily 
drunke. 

Hod. Drunke ! a plague on it, when a man cannot 
Carrie his drinke well ! sbloud. He stand to it. 

Boy. Hold, man ; see and thou canst stand first. 

Hodg. Drunke ! hees a beast, and he be di'unke ; 

* Boy'] Eds. ''BuC 



46 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

thers no man that is a sober man will be drunke ; he's 
a boy, and he be drunk. 

Boy. No, hees a man as thou art. 

Hodge. Thus tis when a man will not be rided by 
his frends: I bad him keepe vnder the lee, but he 
kept downe the weather two bowes ; I tolde him he 
woidd be taken with a plannet, but the wisest of vs all 
may fall. 

Boy. True, Hodge. Boy trips him. 

Hodge. Whope ! lend me thy hand, Dicke, I am 
falne into a well ; lend me thy hand, I shall be di-owned 
else. 

Boy. Hold fast by the bucket, Hodge. 

Hod. A rope on it ! 

Boy. I, there is a rope on it ; but where art thou, 
Hodge ? 

Hod. In a well ; I prethie, draw vp. 

Boy. Come, giue vp thy body ; wind vp, hoyst. 

Hod. I am ouer head and eai'es. 

Boy. In aU, Hodge, in all. 

Fran. How loathsome is this beast mans shape to me, 
This mould of reason so vnreasonable ! — 
Sirra, why doost thou trip him downe, seeing hees drunke ? 

Boy. Because, sir, I would haue drunckards cheape.* 

Fran. How meane ye ? 

Boy. Why, they say that, when any thing hath a 
fal, it is cheap ; and so of drunkards. 

* chfnpe'\ So sec. ed. First cd. "cehape." 



OF ABINGTON. 47 

Fran. Go to, helpe him vp \_Knockmg without^ : 
but, liarke, who knockes ? 

[Boy goes to the door, and retur?is.^ 

Bo>/. Sir heeres one of maister Baniesies men witli 
a letter to my okle maister. 

Fran. Which of them is it? 

Boi/. They call him Nicholas, sir. 

Fran. Go, call him in. \^Fxit Boy]. 

Enter Coomes. 

Cooin. By your leaue, ho ! How now, young mais- 
ter, how ist ? 

Fran. Looke ye, sirra, where your fellow lies ; 
Hees* in a fine taking, is he not ? 

Coom, Whope, Hodge ! where art thou, man, where 
art thou ? 

Hodge. O, in a well. 

Co. In a well, man ! nay, then, thou art deepe in 
vnderstanding. 

Fran. I, once to day you were almost so, sir. 

Com. Wlio, I ! go to, young maister, I do not like 
this humor in yee, I tell ye true ; giue euery man his 
due, and giue him no more : say I was in such a case ! 
go to, tis the greatest indignation that can be offered to 
a man ; and, but a mans more godlier giuen, you were 
able to make him sweare out his heart bloud. What 
though that honest Hodge haue cut liis finger heere ? 

* He.es] KcatI, for tlio inotrp, "He is." 



48 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

or, as some say, cut a feather? what though he be 
mump, misled, blind, or as it were ? tis no consequent 
to me : you know I haue drunke all the ale-houses in 
Abington drye, and laide the taps on the tables when I 
had doone : sbloud, He challenge all the true rob-pots 
in Eui'ope to leape vp to the chinne in a barreU of beere, 
and if I cannot drinke it downe to my foote ere I 
leaue, and then set the tap in the midst of the house, 
and then turne a good turne on the toe on it, let me 
be counted nobody, a pingler,* — nay, let me be^ bound 
to drinke nothing but small beere seauen yeeres after ; 
and I had as leefe be hanged. 

Enter Nicholas. 

Fran. Peace, sir, I must speake with one. — Nicholas, 
I thinke, your name is, 

Nich. True as the skin betweene your browes. 
Franke. Well, how dooth thy maister ? 
Nich. Forsooth, Hue, and the best dooth no better. 
Fran. Where is the letter he hath sent me ? 
Nich. Ecce, signum ! heere it is. 

* pingler] Equivalent to — poor, contemptible fellow : but I must 
leave the reader to determine the exact meaning of this term of 
reproach. As pingle signifies a small croft, Nares (citing a passage 
from Lilly's Euplmes) says that pingler is "probably a labouring 
horse, kept by a farmer in his homestead." Gloss, in v. — In 
Brockett's Gloss, of North Country Words is " Pingle, to work 
assiduously but inefficiently, — to labour untQ you are almost blind." 
In Forby's Vocal, of East Anglia we find, " Pingle, to pick ones 
food, to eat squeamishly:" and in Moor's Suffolk Words is a 
sunilar explanation. See also Jamieson's Et. Diet, of Scott. Lang. 

f ie] So sec. ed. Not in first ecL 



OF ABINGTON. 49 

Fran. Tis right as Philip said, tisafinefoole[^«6fe]. — 
This letter is directed to my father ; 
lie carry it to him. — Dick Coomes, make him drinke. 

Exit. 

Coomes. I, Ee make him drunke*, and he will. 

Nich. Not so, Richard ; it is good to be merry and 
wise. 

Dick.-\ \^Coomes'] Well, Nicholas, as thou art Nicho- 
las, welcome ; but as thou art Nicholas and a boone 
companion, ten times welcome. Nicholas, giue me thy 
hand : shall we be merry ? and we shall, say but we 
shall, and let the first word stand. 

JVich. Indeed, as long lines the merry man as the 
sad ; an ownce of debt wiU not pay a pound of care. 

Coomes. Nay, a pound of care wiU not pay an 
ounce of debt. 

Nich. Well, tis a good horse neuer stumbles : but 
who lyes here ? 

Coom. Tis our Hodge, and I thinke he lyes asleep : 
you made him drunke at your house to day ; but He 
pepper some of you for't. 

Nich. I, Richard, I know youle put a man ouer the 
shooes, and if you can ; but he's a foole wil take more 
then wil do him good. 

Coom. Sbloud, yee shall take more then wiU do yee 
good, or lie make yee clap vnder the table. 

Nich. Nay, I hope, as I hauc temperance to forbeare 
drinke, so haue I patience to endure drinke : He do as 

* drunke^ So sec. ed. First ed. " drinke." 
f IHck'] So sec. ed. First ed. " Nich." 

E 



50 THE TAVO ANGRIE WOMEN 

company dooth ; for when a man doth to Rome come, 
lie must do as there is done. 

Coomes. Ha, my resolued Nicke, froligozene ! Fill the 
potte, hostesse ; swounes, you whore ! Harry Hooke's 
a rascall. Helpe me but carry my fellow Hodge in, 
and weele crushe it, i faith. Exeunt. 

Enter Phillip. 

Phil. By this, I thinke, the letter is deliuered, 
And twill be shortly time that I step in. 
And wooe their fauours for my sisters fortune : 
And yet I need not ; she may doe as well. 
But yet not better, as the case dooth stand 
Betweene oiu' mothers ; it may make them friends ; 
Nay, I would sweare that she would do as well, 
Were she a stranger to one qualitie. 
But they are so acquainted, theil neere part. 
Wliy, she will floute the diuell, and make blush 
The boldest face of man that ere man saw ; 
He that hath best opinion of his wit, 
And hath his brainepan fraught with bitter iests 
Or of his owne, or stolne, or how so euer. 
Let him stand nere so high in his owne conceit. 
Her wit's a simne that melts him downe like butter. 
And makes him sit at table pancake wise. 
Flat, flat, God knowes, and nere a word to say ; 
Yet sheele not leaue him then, but like a tyrant 
Sheele persecute the poore wit beaten man. 
And so bebang him with drie bobs and scoffes, 
Wlien he is downe, most cowardlike, good faith, 
As I haue pittyed the poore patient. 



OF ABINGTON. 51 

There came a farmers sonne a wooing to hei', 
A propper man, well landed too he was, 
A man that for his wit need not to aske 
What time a yeere twere good to sow his oates 
Nor yet his barley, no, nor when to reape, 
To plowe his faUowes, or to fell his trees. 
Well experienst thus each kinde of waye ; 
After a two moneths labour at the most. 
And yet twas well he held it out so long. 
He left his loue, she had so laste* his lips 

He could say nothing to her but ' God be with yee'! 

Why, she, when men haue dinde and call for cheese, 

Will straight maintaine iests bitter to disgest ;! 

And then some one will fall to argument, 

Who, if he ouer maister her with reason, 

Then sheele begin to buffet him with mockes. 

Well, I do doubt Fraunces hath so much spleene, 

Theil neere agree ; but I will moderate. 

By this time tisj time, I thinke, to enter : 

This is the house ; shall I knock? no ; I will not 

Waite while§ one comes out to answere ; 

lie in, and let them be as bolde with vs. Exit. 

Enter maister Goursey, reading a letter. 
M. Gou. If that they like, her dowrie shall be equall 

* laste'} i.e. laced. 

•f- disgest'] A form of digest, commou in our early writers. 

J tis] Eead, for the metre, " it is." 

§ while'] i.e. until. — Ought not the passage to stand as follows?— 

" no, I will not ; 
Xor waite while one comes out to answere me," &c. 

e2 



52 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

To your sonnes wealth or possihilitie : 

It is a meanes to make our wiues good friends, 

And to continue friendship twixt vs two. 

Tis so, indeed : I like this motion, 

And it hath my consent, because my wife 

Is sore infected and hart sick with hate ; 

And I haue sought the Galen of aduice, 

Which onley tels me this same potion 

To be most soueraigne for her sicknes cure. 

Enter Franke and Phillip. 

Heere comes my sonne, conferring with liis friend. — 
Fraunces, how do you like your friends discourse ? 
I know he is perswading to this motion. 

Fra. Father, as matter that befits a friend, 
But yet not me, that am too young to marry. 

M. Gour. Nay, if thy minde be forward with thy 
yeares, 
The time is lost thou tarriest. Trust me, boy. 
This match is answerable to thy birth ; 
Her bloud and portion giue each other grace ; 
These indented lines promise a summe, 
And I do like the valew : if it hap 
Thy liking to accorde to my consent. 
It is a match. Wilt thou goe see the maide ? 

Fra. Nere trust me, father, the shape of mariage. 
Which I doe see in others, seeme* so seuere, 
I dare not put my youngling libertie 

* seeme] Qy. " seemes " here ? or in the preceding line 
" shapes" ? 



OF ABINGTON. 53 

Vnder the awe of that instruction ; 

And yet I graunt the limmits of free youth 

Going astraye are often restraind by that. 

But mistresse wedlocke, to my schoUei* thoughts, 

Will be too curst, I feare : O, should she snip 

My pleasure ayming minde, I shall be sad, 

And sweare, when I did marry, I was mad ! 

M. Gou. But,boye,letmyexperienceteach thee this — 
Yet, in good faith, thou speakst not much amisse; — 
When first thy mothers fame to me did come. 
Thy grandsire thus then came to me his sonne. 
And euen my words to thee to me he sayd. 
And as to me thou saist to him I said, 
But in a greater huffe and hotter bloud, — 
I tell yee, on youthes tip-toes then I stood : 
Sayes he (good faith, this was his very say), 
' When I was young, I was but reasons foole, 
And went to wedding as to wisdomes schoole ; 
It taught me much, and much I did forget. 
But, beaten much, by it I got some wit ; 
Though I was shackled from an often scoute, 
Yet I would wanton it when I was out ; 
Twas comforte, olde acquaintance then to meete. 
Restrained libertie attainde is sweete.' 
Thus said my father to thy father,* sonne. 
And thou maist do this to,f as I haue doone. 

Phil. In faith, good counseU, Franke : what saist 
thou to it ? 

* father] So sec. ed. First ed. " fathers." 
f to] i.e. too. 



54 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Fra. Phillip, what should I say ? 

Phil. Wliy, eyther I or no. 

Fra. O, but which rather ? 

Phil. Why, that which was perswaded by thy father. 

Fra. Thats I, then,* I : O, should it fall out ill. 
Then I, for I am guiltie of that ill ! 
lie not be guiltie, no. 

Phi. What, backward gone ! 

Fra. Phillip, no whit backward ; that is, on. 

Phil. On, then. 

Fra. O, staye ! 

Phil. Tushe, there is no good luck in this delaye : 
Come, come, late commers, man, ai*e shent. 

Fra. Heigh ho, I feare I shaU repent ! 
Well, which waye, Phillip ?j" 

Phil. Why, this way. 

Fran. Canst thou teU, 

And takest vpon thee to be my guide to hell ? — 
But which waye, father ? 

M. Gour. That way. 

Franke. I, you know. 
You found the way to sorrow long agoe. 
Father, God boye yee :| JOVl haue sent your sonne 
To seeke on eai'th an earthly day of doome. 
Where I shall be adiudged, alack the nithe, 
To penance for the follies of my youth ! 



* tlieii] So sec. ed. First cd. " than." 
t Phillip'] Eds. " Franke." 
\ boye yee] i.e. be wi' ye. 



OF ABINGTON. 56 

Well, I must go ; but, by my troth, my minde 
Is not loue capable to* that kinde. 

0, I haue lookt vpon this mould of men, 
As I haue doone vpon a lyons den ! 
Praised I haue the gallant beast I saw, 

Yet wisht me no acquaintance with his pawe : 

And must I now be grated with them ? well, 

Yet I may hap to prooue a DanieU ; 

And, if I do, sure it would make me laugh. 

To be among wilde beasts and yet be safe. 

Is there a remedy to abate their rage ? 

Yes, many catche them, and put them in a cage. 

1, but how catche them ? marry, in your hand 
Carry me foorth a burning fier brand, 

For with his sparkling shine, olde rumor sayes, 
A fier brand the swiftest rimner frayes : 
This I may do ; but, if it prooue not so, 
Then man goes out to seeke his adiunct woe. 
Phillip, away ! and, father, now adew ! 
Li quest of sorrow I am sent by you, 

M. Gou. Returne the messenger of ioy, my sonne. 

Fran. Sildome in this worlde such a worke is done. 

Phi. Nay, nay, make hast, it will be quickly night. 

Fra. Why, is it not good to wooe by candle light ? 

Phil. But, if we make not hast, theile be abed. 

Fran. The better, candels out and curtans spred. 

Exeunt [Francis awt? Phillip]. 

* to] Qy. "unto"? 



56 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

M. Gou. I know, though that my sonnes years be 
not many, 
Yet he hath wit to wooe as well as any. 
Here comes my wife : I am glad my boye is gone 

Enter Mistresse Gtoursey. 

Ere she came hether. — How now, wife ? how ist ? 
What, are yee yet in charitie and loue 
With mistresse Barnes ? 

Mis. Gou. With mistresse Barnes ! why mistris* 
Barnes, I pray ? 

M. Gou. Because she is your neighbour and 

Mis. Gou. And what ? 
And a iealious slandering spitefull queane she is, 
One that would blur my reputation 
With her approbrious mallice, if she could ; 
She wrongs her husband, to abuse my fame : 
Tis knowne that I haue lined in honest name 
All my life time, and bin your right true wife. 

M. Gou. I entertaine no other thought, my wife, 
And my opinion's sound of your behauiour. 

Mis. Gou. And my behauiour is as sound as it ; 
But her ill speeches seekes to rot my credit, 
And eate it with the worme of hate and mallice. 

31. Gou. Why, then, preserue it you by patience. 

Mis. Gou. By patience ! would ye haue me shame 
myselfe, 

* mistris] So sec. ed. First ed. " maistor." 



OF ABINGTON. 57 

And cussen myselfe to beai'e her iniuries ? 
Not while her eyes be open will I yeelde 
A worde, a letter, a siUables valew, 
But equaU and make euen her wrongs to me 
To her againe. 

M. Gou. Then, in good faith, wife, ye are more to 
blame. 

Mis. Gour. Am I too blame, syr? pray, what letters 
this ? [ Snatches the letter.^ 

M. Gou. There is a dearth of manners in yee, wife, 
Rudely to snatch it from me. Giue it me. 

Mis. Gou. You shall not haue it, sir, tiU Ihaue read it. 

M. Gour. Giue me it, then, and I wiU read it to you. 

Mis. Gour. No, no, it shall not need: lam aschoUer 
Good enough to read a letter, sir. 

M. Gour. Gods passion, if she knew but the contents, 
Sheele seeke to crosse this match ! she shall not read 

it. — \_Aside.'\ 
Wife, giue it me ; come, come, giue it me. 

Mis. Gour. Husband, in very deed, you shall not 
haue it. 

M. Gou. What, will you mooue me to impatience, 
then ? 

Mis. Gour. Tut, tell not me of your impatience ; 
But since you talke, syr, of impatience. 
You shall not haue the letter, by this light, 
Till I haue read it ; soule, ile burne it first ! 

M. Gour. Go to, yee mooue me, wife ; giue me the 
letter ; 
In troth, I shall growe angrie, if you doe not. 



58 THE TAVO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Mis. Gour. Growe to the house top with your anger, 
sir ! 
Neare tell me, I care not thus much for it. 

M. Gour. Well, I can beare enough, but not too much. 
Come, giue it me ; twere best you be perswaded ; 
By God — yeemake me sweare — now God forgiue me! — 
Giue me, I say, and stand not long vpon it ; 
Go to, I am angrie at the heart, my very heart. 

Mis. Gour. Harte me no hearts, you shall not haue 
it, sir, 
No, you shall not; neere looke so big, 
I will not be afFraid at your great lookes; 
You shall not haue it, no, you shall not haue it. 

M. Gour. Shall I not haue it? in troth. He trye that: 
Minion, He hau'te ; shall I not hau'te ? — I am loath — 
Go too, take pausment, be aduisde — 
In faith, I wiU ; and stand not long vpon it — 
A woman of your yeares ! I am ashamde 
A couple of so long continuance 

Should thus — Gods foote — I crye God hartely mercy ! — 
Go to, yee vexe me ; and lie vexe yee for it ; 
Before I leaue yee, I will make yee glad 
To tender it on your knees ; heare yee, I will, I will. 
What, worse and worse ! stomack true, i faith ! 
Shall I be crost by you in my olde age ? 
And where I should haue greatest comfort to,* 
A nursse of you ? — nursse in the diuels name ! — 

* to] i.e. too. 



OF ABINGTON. 59 

Go to, mistris ; by Gods pretious deere. 
If yee delay — 

Mis. Gour. Lord, Lord, why, in wliat a fit 
Ai-e you in, husband ! so inrag'd, so moou'de, 
And for so slighte a cause, to read a letter ! 
Did this letter, loue, conteine my death. 
Should you deny my sight of it, I would not 
Nor see my sorrow nor eschew my danger, 
But willingly yeeld me a patient 
Vnto the doome that your displeasure gaue. 
Here is the letter ; not for that your incensment 

[ Gives hack the letter\ 
Makes me make offer of it, but your health. 
Which anger, I do feare, hath crasd,* 
And viper like hath suckt away the bloud 
That wont was to be cheerefull in this cheeke : 
How pale yee looke! 

M. Gou. Pale ! can yee blame me for it ? I tell you true, 
An easie matter could not thus haue mooued me. 
Well, this resignement, and so foorth — but, woman, 
This fortnight shall I not forget yee for it. — 
Ha, ha, I see that roughnes can doe somewhat ! 
I did not thinke, good faith, I could haue set 
So sower a face vpon it, and to her, 
My bed embracer, my right bosome friend. 
I would not that she should haue scene the letter, 
As poore a man as I am, by my troth, 
For twenty pound : well, I am glad I haue it. — \_AsMe] 

* crasil} Some word most pi'obably has dropt out from the line. 



GO THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Ha, heres adoe about a thing of nothing ! 

Wliat, stomacke, ha! tis happy your comedowne. Exit. 

Mis. Gou. Well, craftie* fox, lie hunt y ee, by my troth : 
Deale yee so closely? Well, I see his drift: 
He would not let me see the letter, least 
That I should crosse the match ; and I will crosse it. — 
Dicke Coomes! 

Enter Coomes, 

Coom. Forsooth. 

Mis. Gou. Come hether, Dicke; thou art a man I loue, 
And one whom I haue much in my regarde. 

Coom. I thanke yee for it, mistris, I thanke yee for it. 

Mis. Gou. Nay, heeres my hand, I will do very much 
For thee, if ere thou standst in need of me ; 
Thou shalt not lack, whilst thou hast a day to liue, 
Money, apparrell 

Coom. And sword and bucklers ? 

Mis. Gour. And sword and bucklers too, my gallant 
Dick, 
So thou wilt vse but this in my defence. 

Coomes. This ! no, faith, I haue no minde to this ; 
breake my head, if this break not, if we come to any 
tough play. Nay, mistres, I had a sword, I, the flower 
of Smithfield for a sword, a right foxf, i faith ; with 
that, and a man had come ouer with a smooth and a 
sharpe stroke, it would haue cried twang, and then, 
when I had doubled my poynt, traste my ground, and 



* craftie] So sec. ed. First cd. " craft." 

f fox'] A familiar term for the old English broad sword. 



OF ABINGTON. 61 

had carried my buckler before me like a garden but, 
and then come in with a crosse blowe, and ouer the 
picke* of his buckler two elles long, it would haue 
cried twang, twang, mettall, mettall : but a dogge hath 
his day; tis gone, and there are fewe good ones made 
now. I see by this dearth of good swords thafj" dearth 
of swoord and buckler fight begins to grow ont|: I am 
sorrie for it ; I shall neuer see good manhood againe, 
if it be once gone ; this poking fight of rapier and 
dagger wUl come vp then ; then a man, a tall§ man, 
and a good sword and buckler man, will be spitted 
like a cat or a conney ; then a boy wH be as good as 
a man, vnlesse the Lord shewe mercie vnto vs ; well, 
I had as lieue bee hang'd as Hue to see that day. Well, 
mistresse, what shall I do ? what shall I do ? 

Mis. Gou. Why, this, braue Dicke. Thou knowest 
that Barnses wife 
And I am foes : now, man me to her house ; 
And though it be darke, Dicke, yet weell haue no light. 
Least that thy maister should preuent om' iourney 
By seeing om* depart. Then, when we come. 
And if that she and I do fall to words, 
Set in thy foote and quarrell with her men. 
Draw, fight, strike, hurt, but do not kill the slaues, 
And make as though thou strukst|| at a man. 



* picke] i.e. the sharp point in the centre of the buckler. 

f that\ So sec. ed. First ed. " and." 

J out] Eds. " out." 

§ tair\ i.e. brave." 

II strukst] Read, for the metre, " strukost." 



62 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

And hit her, and thou canst, — a plague vpon her ! — 
She hath misvsde me, Dicke : wilt thou do this ? 

Coomes. Yes, mistresse, I will strike her men ; but 
God forbid that ere Dicke Coomes should be scene to 
strike a woman ! 

Mis. Gou. Why, she is mankind ;* therefore thou 

majest strike her. 
Coom. Mankinde! nay, and she haue any part of a 
man, lie strike her, I warrant. 

Mis. Gou. Thats my good Dicke, thats my sweet 
Dicke! 

Coom. Swounes, who would not bee a man of valour 
to haue such words of a gentlewoman ! one of their 
woordes are more to me then twentie of these russet 
coates cheese-cakes and butter makers. "Well, I thanke 
God, I am none of these cowards ; wel, and a man 
haue any vertue in him, I see he shall bee regarded. 

\^Aside.^ 
Mis. Gou. Art thou resolued, Dicke ? wilt thou doo 
this for me ? 
And if thou wilt, here is an earnest penny 
Of that rich guerdon I do meane to giue thee. 

\^Gives money. ^ 

Coo. An angell,f mistresse! let mee see. Stand you 

on my left hand, and let the angell lie on my buckler 

on my right hand, for feare of loosing. Now, heare 

stand I to bee tempted. They say, euery man hath 



* mankind^ i.e. manlike, masculine. 
I angeV] See note, p. 10. 



OF ABINGTON. 63 

two spirits attending on him, either good or bad; now, 
I say, a man hath no other spirites but eyther his 
wealth or his wife : now, which is the better of them ? 
why, that is as they are vsed ; for vse neither of them 
well, and they are both nought. But this is a miracle 
to me, that golde that is hcauie hath the vpper, and a 
woman that is light doth soonest faU, considering that 
light thinges aspire, and heauie thinges soonest go 
downe : but leaue these considerations to sir John ;* 
they become a blacke coate better then a blew.f AVell, 
mistresse, I had no minde to day to quarrell ; but a 
woman is made to bee a mans seducer ; you say, 
quarreU. 

Mis. Gou. L 

Coom. There speakes an angell : is it good ? 

3Iis. Gov. I. 

Coom. Then, I cannot do amisse ; the good angell 
goes with me. Exeunt. 

Enter Sir Raphe Smith, his Lady, and Will, 
\_and Attendants]. 

Sir Rap. Come on, my hearts : i faith, it is iU lucke, 
To hunt all day, and not kill any thing. 
What sayest thou, ladie ? art thou weai'ie yet ? 

La. I must not say so, sir. 

Sir Ra. Although thou art. 



* Sir Johri] i.e. theparson: Sir was a title applied to clergymen, 
■f blew'] Sec note, p. 34. 



64 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Wil. And can you blame her, to be foorth so long, 
And see no better sport ? 

Ba. Good faitli, twas very hard. 

Lad. No, twas not iU, 
Because, you know, it is not good to kill. 

Sa. Yes, venson, ladie. 

Lad. No, indeed, nor them ; 
Life is as deere in deare as tis in men. 

Rap. But they are kUd for sport. 

Lad. But thats bad play, 
When they are made to sport their Hues away. 

Hap. Tis fine to see them runne. 

La. What, out of breath ? 
They runne but ill that runne themselues to death. 

Rap. They might make, then, lesse hast, and keep 
their wind. 

La. Why, then, they see the hounds brings death 
behinde. 

Rap. Then, twere as good for them at first to stay. 
As to runne long, and runne their Hues away. 

La. I, but the stoutest of you aU thats here 
Would runne from death and nimbly scud for feare. 
Now, by my troth, I pittie those poore elfes. 

Ra. Well, they haue made vs but bad sport to day. 

La. Yes, twas my sport to see them scape away. 

fVill. I wish that I had beene at one buckes fall. 

La. Out, thou wood-tyrant ! thou art woorst of all. 

Will. A woodman,* ladie, but no tyrant I. 

* woodman'] i.e. forester. 



OF ABINGTON. 65 

La. Yes, tyrant-like thou louest to &ee Hues die. 

Ra. Lady, no moi-e : 1 do not like this lucke. 
To hunt all day, and yet not kill a bucke. 
Well, it is late ; but yet I sweare I will 
tStay heere all night but I a bucke will kill. 

La. All night ! nay, good sir Raph Smith, do not so. 

Ra. Content ye, ladie. — Will, go fetch my bow : 
A berrie* of faire rooes I saw to day 
Downe by the groues, and there lie take myf stand, 
And shoot at one; God send a luckie hand! 

La. Will ye not, then, sir Raph, go home with me ? 

Rap. No, but my men shall beare thee company. — 
Sirs, man her home. — Will, liid the huntsmen couple, 
And bid them well reward their hounds to night. — 
Ladie, farewell. — Will, hast ye with the bow; 
He stay for thee heere by the groue below. 

Wil. I will ; but twill be darke, I shall not see : 
How shall I see ye, then ? 

Ra. Why, hollow to me, and I will answere thee. 

Will. Enough, I will. 

Raph. Farewell. Exit. 

La. How willingly doost thou consent to go 
To fetch thy maister that same killing bow! 

Wil. Guiltie of death I willing am in this, 
Because twas our ill happes to day to misse : 
To hunt, and not to kill, is hunters sorrow. 
Come, ladie, weell haue venson ere to moiTOw. Exeunt. 



* herrie] Seems to be used here for herd -, an unusual meaiiinj. 
of the word. 

f mi/'] So sec. ed. First ed. " me." 

F 



6(y THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Enter Phillip and Franke \^and Boy]. 

Phil. Come, Franke, now are we hard by the* house: 
But how now, sad ? 

Fran. No, to studie how to woe thy sister. 

Phil. How, man ? how to woe her ! why, no matter how ; 
I am sure thou wilt not be ashamed to woe. 
Thy cheekes not subiect to a childish blush, 
Thou haste a better warrant by thy wit ; 
I knowe thy oratorie can vnfold 
Quicke inuention, plausible discourse, 
And set such painted beawtie on thy tongue, 
As it shall rauish euery maiden sence ; 
For, Franke, thou art not like the russet youth 
I tolde thee of, that went to woe a wench, 
And being full stuft vp with fallow wit 
And meddow matter, askt the prettie maide 
How they solde corne last market day with them. 
Saying, ' Indeed, twas very deare with them.' 
And, do ye heare, ye| had not need be so, 
For she^ will, Francis, throwly§ trie your wit ; 
Sirra, sheel bo we the mettall of your wits. 
And, if they cracke, she will not hold ye currant ; 
Nay, she will way your wit as men way angels, || 
And, if it lacke a graine, she will not change with ye. 
I cannot speake it but in passion. 



* <Ae] So sec. ed. First ed. " th'." 

f ye] Eds. "he." 

J sAe] So sec. ed. First ed. " thee." 

§ throwly'\ So sec. ed. First ed. " thoi'owly." 

II angels] See note, p. 10. 



OF ABINGTON. 67 

Shee is a wicked wench to make a iest ; 
Aye me, how full of flouts and moekes she is ! 

Fran. Some aqua vitce reason to recouer 
This sicke discourser ! Sound* not, prethie, Phillip. 
Tush, tush, I do not thinke her as thou sayest : 
Perhappes sheesf opinions darling, Phillip, 
Wise in repute, the crowes bird. O my friend, 
Some iudgements slaue themselues to small desart, 
And wondernize the birth of common wit. 
When their owne| straungenesdo but make that strange, 
And their ill errors do but make that good : 
And why should men debase to make that good ? 
Perhaps such admii-ation winnes her wit. 

Phil. Well, I am glad to heare this bold prepare 
For this encounter. Forward, hardy Franke ! 
Yonders the window with the candle int ; 
Belike shees putting on her night attire : 
I told ye, Franke, twas late. Well, I will call her, 
Marie, softly, that my mother may not heare. — 
Mall, sister Mall ! 

Enter Mall in the tvindotv. 

Mai. How now, whose there ? 
Phil. Tis I. 

Mat. Tis I ! who I ? I, tpioth the dogge, or what ? 
A Christ crosse rowe I§ ? 

* soMwd] i.e. swoon, 
f shees'\ Read, for the metre, " she is." 
J owne'] Eds. " wone." 

§ A Christ crosse rowe /] i.e. an r "f the C^hrist-cross row or 
alphabet. 

f2 



68 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Phil. No, sweete pinckanie.* 

Mai. O, ist you, wilde oates ? 

Phil. I, forsooth, wanton. 

Mai. Well said, scape thrift. 

Fran. Phillip, be these your vsuall best salutes ? 

Phil. This is the harmlesse chiding of that doue. 

Fran. Doue ! one of those that drawe the queen of 
loue? 

Mai. How now ? whose that, brother ? whose that 
with ye ? 

Phil. A gentleman, my friend. 

Mai. Beladie,f he hath a pure wit. 

Fran. How meanes your holy iudgement ? 

Mai. O, well put in, sir ! 

Frail. Vp, you would say. 

Mai. Well clymd, gentleman ! 
I pray, sir, tell me, do you carte the queene of loue ? 

Fran. Not cart her, but couch her in your eie. 
And a fit place for gentle loue to lie. 

Mai. I, but me thinkes you speake without the booke, 
To place a fower J wheele waggon in my looke : 
Where will you haue roome to haue the coachman sit? 

Fran. Nay, that were but small manners, and not fit: 
His dutie is, before you bare to stand, 
Hauing a lustie whipstocke§ in his hand. 

* pinckanie^ A term of endearment, formed, perhaps, from 
pink, to wink, to contract the eye-lids. 

f Beladie] i.e. By lady, — -by our Lady. 

J fower'] Eds. " sower." 

§ a lustie tchipstocke^ i.e. a good whip {whipstock is properly the 
stock or handle of a whip). 



OF ABINGTON. 69 

Mai. The place is voyde; will jou prouide me one? 

Fran. And if you please, I Avill supply the roome. 

Mai. But are ye cunning in the carmans lash ? 
And can ye whistle well ? 

Fran. Yes, I can well direct the coach of loue. 

Mai. Ah cruell carter, would yovi whip a doue ? 

PJii. Harke ye, sister — 

Mai. Nay, but harke ye, brother ; 
A\Tiose white boy* is that same ? know ye liis mother? 

Phil. He is a gentleman of a good house. 

Mai. Wliy, is his house of gold ? 
Is it not made of lyme and stone like this ? 

Phil. I meane, hees well descended. 

Mai. God be thanked ! 
Did he descend some steeple or some ladder ? 

Phil. Well, you will stiU be crosse: I teU ye, sister. 
This gentleman by all your friends consent 
Must be your husband. 

3Ial. Nay, not all, some sing another note ; 
My mother will say no, I hold a groate. 
But I thought twas somewhat, he would be a carter ; 
He hath beene whipping lately some blinde beare. 
And now he would ferke the blinde boy here with vs. 

Phil. "Well, do you heare, you, sister, mistresse 
would haue? 
You that do long for somewhat, I know what — 
My father tolde me — go to. Be tell all, 



* white hoy'\ A teTin of endoaniu'iit, whicli often occurs in our 
early dramatists. 



70 THE TWO ANTiRIE WO^NIEN 

J£ ye be crosse — do ye heare me ? I haue labord 
A yeares worke in this afternoone for ye : 
Come from youi- cloystei-, votarie, chas[t]e nun, 
Come downe and kisse Franke Gourseis mothers sonne. 

3Ial. Kisse him, I pray ? 

Phil. Go to, stale maidenhead ! come downe, I say. 
You seuenteene and vpward, come, come downe ; 
You'l stay till twentie else for your wedding gowne. 

Mai. Nun, votarie, stale maidenhead, seuenteen and 
vpward ! 
Here be names ! what, nothing else ? 

Fran. Yes, or a faire built steeple without belles. 

Mai. Steeple ! good people, nay, another cast. 

Fran. I, or a well made shippe without a mast, 

3Ial. Fie, not so big, sir, by one part of foure. 

Fran. Why, then, ye are a boate without an oai'e. 

Mai. O, well rode* wit I but whats your fare, I pray? 

Fran. Your faire selfe must be my fairest pay. 

Mai. Nay, and you be so deare, lie chuse another. 

Fran. Why, take your first man, wench, and go no 
further. 

Phil. Peace, Francis. — Harke ye, sister, this I say : 
You know my mind ; or answere, I or nay. 
Wit and iudgement hath resolude his mind. 
And he foresees what after he shall finde : 
If such discretion, then, shall gouerne you. 
Vow loue to him, heele do the like to you. 

* rode\ i.e. rowed. 



OF ABINGTON. 71 

Mai. Vow loue ! who would not lone such ji comely 
feature, 
Nor high nor lowe, but of the middle stature ? 
A middle man, thats the best syze indeed ; 
I like him well : loue gi-aunt vs well to speed ! 

Fran. And let me see a woman of that tallnesse. 
So slender and of such a middle smalnesse, 
So olde enough, and in each part so fit, 
So faire, so kinde, endued with so much wit. 
Of so much wit as it is held a wonder, 
Twere pittie to keepe loue and her asunder; 
Therefore go vp, my ioy, call downe my blisse ; 
Bid her come seale the bargaine with a kisse. 

Mai. Franke, Franke, I come through dangers, 
death, and harmes, 
To make loues patent* Avith thy seale of amies. 

Phil. But, sister, softly, least my mother heare. 

Mai. Hush, then ; mum, mouse in cheese,f cat is 
neare. Exit Mal. 

Fran. Now, in good faith, Phillip, this makes me smile. 
That I haue woed and wonne in so small while. 

Phil. Francis, indeed, my sister, I dare say. 
Was not determined to say thee nay ; 
For this same tother thing, calde maiden-head. 
Hangs by so small a haire or spiders thread. 
And worne so too^ with time, it must needs fall. 
And, like a well lur'de hawke, she knowes her call. 



* patent] Eds. " patient." 

f cim'.se] So sec. eel. First od. " cliecsse." 

J too] yo sec. ed. F^irst od. " to." 



72 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

[Enter Mall.] 

Mai. Whist, brother, whist ! my mother heard me 
tread, 
And askt, Wliose there ? I would not answere her ; 
She calde, A light ! and vp shees gone to seeke me : 
There when she fiudes me not, sheel hether come ; 
Therefore dispatch, let it be quickly done. 
Francis, my loues lease I do let to thee. 
Date of my life and tliine : what saiest thou to me ? 
The entring, fine, or income thou must pay, 
Are kisses and embrases euerie day ; 
And quarterly I must receiue my rent ; 
You know my minde. 

Fran. I gesse at thy intent : 
Thou shalt not misse a minute of thy time. 

Mai. Wliy, then, sweet Francis, I am onely thine. — 
Brother, beare witnesse. 

Phill. Do ye deliuer this as your deed ? 

Mai. I do, I do. 

Phil. God send ye both good speed ! Gods Lord, 
my mother ! 
Stand aside, and closely too, least that you be espied.* 

[Enter Mistressb Barnes.] 

3Iis. Bar. Wliose there ? 
Phil. Mother, tis I. 

* God send you both good speed ! &c.] Some word, or words, 
have dropt out here. The lines ought to be arranged thus : 

" God send ye both good speed I — 
Gods Lord, my mother ! — Quickly stand aside, 
And closely too, least that you be espied." 



OF ABINGTON. 73 

Mis. Bar. You disobedient ruiFen, carelessc wretch, 
That said your father loude me but too well ! 
He thinke on't when thou thinkst I haue forgot it : 
Whose with thee else ? — How now, minion ? you ! 
With whom? with him! — Why, what make you here, sir, 
And thus late too ? what, hath your mother sent ye 
To cut my throate, that here you be in waight ? — 
Come from him, mistresse, and let go his hand. — 
Will ye not, sir ? 

Fran. Stay, misti'esse Barnes, or mother, what ye 
will ; 
Shees* my wife, and heere she shall be still. 

Mis. Bar. How, sir ? your wife ! wouldst thou my 
daughter haue ? 
lie rather haue her married to her graue.f 
Go to, be gone, and quickly, or I sweare 
He haue my men beate ye for staying here. 

Phil. Beat him, mother ! as I am true| man. 
They were better beate the diuell and his dam. 

Mis. Bar. What, wilt thou take his part ? 

Phil. To doe him good. 
And twere to wade hetherto vp in blood. 

Fran. God a mercy, Philip! — But, mother, heere me. 

Mis. Bar. Calst thou me mother ? no, thy mothers 
name 



* Shees} Read, for the metre, " Shee is." 

f He rather haue her married to her gra%ie~\ A recollection, per- 
haps, of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, act. ill. sc. 5. ; 
" I would the fool were married to her grave !" 
\ truc'\ i.e. honest. 



74 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Carryes about with it reproche and shame. 
Giue me my daughter : ere that she shall wed 
A strumpets sonne, and haue her so mislead, 
He marry her to a carter ; come, I say, 
Giue me her from thee. 

Fra, Mother, not to day, 
Nor yet to morrow, till my Hues last morrow 
Make me leaue that which I with leaue did borrow : 
Heere I haue borrowed lone, lie not denaie* it. — 
Thy wedding night's my day, then He repay it. — 
Till then sheele trust me. — Wenche, istf not so ? 
And if it be, say I, if not, say no. 

Mall. Mother, good mother, heare me! O good God, 
Now we are euen, what, would you make vs odde ? 
Now, I beseech yee, for the loue of Christ, 
To giue me leaue once to do what I list. 
I am as you were when you were a maide ; 
Gesse by your selfe how long you would haue staide. 
Might you haue had your will : as good begin 
At first as last, it saues vs from much sinne; 
Lying alone, we muse on things and things. 
And in our mindes one thought another brings : 
This maides life, mothei", is an idle life. 
Therefore He be, I, I will be a wife ; 
And. mother, do not mistrust^ my age or power, 
I am sufficient, I lacke neere an houre ; 
I had both wit to graunt when he did woe me, 

* denaie\ i.e. deny. 

f hf\ Read, for the metre, " is it." 

X m\strust\ So sec. ed. First ed. " mistrurst." 



OF ABINGTON. 75 

And strength to beare what ex'e hee can doe to me. 

Mis. Bar. Well, bold-face, but I meane to make 
yee stay. 
Go to, come from him, or He make yee come : 
Will yee not come ? 

Phil. Mother, I pray forbeare ; 
This matche is for my sister. 

3Iis. Bar. VUlaine, tis not ; 
Nor she shall not be so matcht now.* 

Phil. In troth, she shall, and your vnrulie hate 
Shall not rule vs ; weele end all this debate 
By this begun deuise. 

Mist. Bar. I, end what you begun ! Villaines, 
theeues, 
Giue me my daughter ! wil yee rob me of her ? — 
Helpe, helpe ! theil rob me heere, theil rob me heere ! 

Enter Maister Barnes and his men. 

M. Ba. How now ? what outcry is heer ? why, how 

now, woman ? 
Mis. Bar. Why, Gourseys sonne, confederatef with 
this boye, 
Tliis wretch vnnaturall and vndutifuU, 
Seekes hence to steale my daughter: wiU you sutfer it? 
Shall he, thats sonne to my arche-enemie, 
Enioy her ? haue I brought her vp to this ? 
O God, he shall not haue her, no, he shall not ! 



* now~\ Qy. " 710W, I swear"? 

f confedemte] Eds. " confcdcraLos." 



76 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

M. Ba. I am soitj she kuowes it. [^Aside"] — Harke 
yee, wife, 
Let reason moderate youi* rage a little. 
If you examine but his birth and lining, 
His wit and good behauiour, you will say. 
Though that ill hate make your opinion bad, 
He dooth deserue as good a wife as she. 

Mis. Bar. Why, will you giue consent he shall 

enioy her ? 
M. Bar. I, so that thy minde would agree with mine. 
Mis. Bar. My minde shall neere agree to this agree- 
ment. 

Enter Mistresse Gouesey and Coomes.* 

31. Ba. And yet it shall go forward : — but who's 
heere ? 
Wliat, mistresse Goursey ! how knew she of this ? 

Phil. Franke, thy mother. 

Fran. Sownes, where ? a plague vpon it ! 
I thinke the diuell is set to crosse this match. 

Mis. Gou. This is the house, Dick Coomes, and 
yonders light : 
Let vs go neere. How now ? me thinkes I see 
My Sonne stand hand in hand with Barneshis daughter. — 
Wliy, how now, sirra ? is this time of night 
For you to be abroad ? what haue we heere ? 
I hope that lone hath not thus coupled you. 

* Enter Mistresse Goursey and Coomes'] Occurs somewhat earlier 
in eds. (to warn the actors to be in readiness for coniinoj on the 
stage). 



OF ABINGTON. 77 

Fra. Loue, bjmy troth, mother, loue: she loucs me, 
And I loue her ; then we must needs agree. 

Mis. Bar. I, but He keepe her sure enough from thee. 

Mis. Gou. It shall not neede, He keepe him safe 
enough ; 
Be sure he shall not graft in such a stock. 

Mis. Bar. ^^Hiat stock, forsooth? as goodastocke as 
thine : 
I do not meane that he shall graft in mine. 

Mis. Gou. Nor shall he, mistresse. — Harke, boy ; 
th'art but mad 
To loue the branch that hath a roote so bad. 

Fran. Then, mother, Ee graft a pippin on a crab. 

Mis. Gou. It will not prooue well. 

Fra. But Be prooue my skill. 

Mis. Bar. Syr, but you shall not. 

Fi-a. Mothers both, I wil. 

M.Bar. Harke, Phillip: send away thy sister straight; 
Let Frauncis meete her where thou shalt appoint ; 
Let them go seuerall to shunne suspition. 
And bid them goe to Oxford both this night ; 
There to morrow say that we will meete them, 
And there determine of their mariage. 

Phil. I will : though it be very late and darke. 
My sister will cndui-e it for a husband. 

M. Bar. Well, then, at Cai'folkes,* boy, I meane to 
meet them. 

* Carfolkes'] i.e. Carfax, — a well-known part of Oxford. "The 
principal street is the High-Street, running from Magdalen 
Bridge to Carfax Churcli," &e. New Oxford Guide, p. 3. 8th ed. 



78 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Phil. Enough. Exit [Master Barnes]. 

Would they would begin to chide ! 
For I would haue them brawling, that meane while 
They may steale hence, to meete where I appoint it. 

{_Aside']. — 
^Miat, mother, will you let this match go forward ? — 
Or, mistresse Goursey, will you first agree ? 

Mis. Gou. Shall I agree first ? 

Phil. I, why not ? come, come. 

Mis. Gou. Come from her, sonne, and if thou lou'st 
thy mother. 

Mi[_s~\. Bar. With the like spell, daughter, I coniure 
thee. 

Mis. Gour. Francis, by faire means let me win thee 
from hir. 
And I will gild my blessing, gentle sonne, 
With store of angels.* I w^ould not haue thee 
Check thy good fortune by this cusning choise : 
O, doe not thrall thy happy libertie 
In such a bondage ! if thou'lt needs be bound, 
Be, then, to better worth; this wortlilesse choise 
Is not fit for thee. 

3Iist. Bar. 1st not fit for him? wherefore ist not fit? 
Is he too brauef a gentleman, I pray? 
No, tis not fit ; she shall not fit his turne : 
K she were wise, she would be fitter for 
Three times his better. — Minion, go in, or He make yee; 
He keepe ye safe from him, I warrant yee. 



* angels] See note, p. 10. 
f brave] i.e. fine. 



OF ABINGTON. 79 

Mis. Gon. Come, Fraiiucis, come fVcii her. 

Fran. Mothers, with both hands shone I hate from 
loue, 
That like an ill companion wonld infect 
The infant rainde of our affection : 
Within this cradell shall this minuts babe 
Be laide to rest; and thus lie hug my ioy. 

Mis.Gou. Wilt thou be obstinate, thou selfe wild boy? 
Nay, then, perforce lie parte yee, since yee will not. 

Coom. Doe yee heere, mistresse ? praye yee giue 
me leaue to talke two or three colde words with my 
young maister. — Harke yee, syr, yee are my maisters 
Sonne, and so foorth ; and indeed I beare yee some 
good will, partly for his sake, and partlye for your 
owne; and I do hope you doe the like to me, — I should 
be sorry els. I must needs say, yee are a yong man; 
and for mine owne part, I haue scene the world, and I 
know what belongs to causes, and the experience that 
I haue, I thanke God I haue traueld for it. 

Fra. Wliy, how farre haue yee traueld for it ? 

Bo>/. From my maisters house to the ale-house. 

Coom. How, sir? 

Boy. So, sir. 

Coom. Goe to. — I pray, correct your boye ; twas 
neere a good world, since a boye would face a man so. 

Fra. Go to. — Forward, man. 

Coomes. Well, sir, so it is, I would not wish ye to 
maiTy Avithout my mistris consent. 

Franke. And why ? 

Coomes. Naye, theres neere a why but there is a 



80 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

wherefore; I haue knowne some haue done the like, 
and they haue daunst a galliard at Beggers hush* for it. 

Boy. At Beggers hush ! — Heere him no more, 
maister ; he doth hedawhe yee with his durty speeche. 
— Do yee heere, sir ? how farre stands Beggers bushe 
from your fathers house, syr? Wliy, thou whorson 
refugef of a taylor, that Avert prentise to a taylor halfe 
an age, and because if thou hadst serued ten ages thou 
wouldst prooue but a botcher, thou leapst from the shop 
board to a blew coate,| dooth it become thee to vse 
thy termes so ? well, thou degree aboue a hackney, 
and ten degrees vnder a page, sowe vp your lubber 
lippes, or tis not your sworde and bucklar shall keepe 
my poynard from your Ijrest. 

Coomes. Do yee heere, sir ? this is your boye. 

Fra. How then ? 

Coomes. You must breech him for it. 

Fra. Must I ? how, if I will not ? 

Coomes. Wliy, then, tis a fine world when boyes 
keep boyes, and know not how to vse them. 

Fra. Boye, yee rascall ! 

Mis. Gour. Strike him, and thou darst. 

Coomes. Strike me ! alas, he were better strike his 
father! — Sownes, go to, put vp your bodkin. § 

Fra. Mother, stand by; He teach that rascaU — 

* at Beggers lushl A common proverbial expression : " Beggers- 
bush," says Ray, " being' a tree notoriously known, on the left- 
hand of the London road from Huntington to Caxton." ProverLs, 
p. 244. ed. 1768. 

f refuge'] i.e. refuse. J blew coate'] See note, p. 34. 

§ bodkin] Is a common term for a small dagger, but here it 
seems to be used in contempt ; see the next speech of Coomes. 



OF ABINGTON. 81 

Coomes. Go to, giue me good words, or, by Gods 
dines,* Ee buckle yee for all your bird-spit. 
Fra. Will you so, sir ? 

Phi. Staye,Franke,this pitclie of frensey willdefile tliec ; 
Meddle not with it: thy vnreprooued valour 
Should be high minded; couche it not so lowe. 
Doost heere me? take occasion to slip hence, 
But secretly, let not thy mother see thee: 
At the backe side there is a cunnie greene;f 
Stay there for me, and Mall and I will come to thee. 

Fra. Enough, I will. — Mother, you doe me wrong 
To be so peremptorie in your commaund, 
And see that rascall to abuse me so. 

Coomes. Rascall ! take that and take all ! Do yee 
heare, sir? I doe not meane to pocket vp this wrong. 

BoT/. I know why that is. 

Coomes. Why ? 

Boy. Because you haue nere a pocket. 

Com. A whip, sira, a whip! — But, sir, prouide your 
tooles against to morrow morning; tis somewhat dai'ke 
now, indeede: you know Dawsons close, betweene the 
hedge and the pond ; tis good euen ground ; He meete 
you there j and I do not, call me cut;| and you be a 
man, showe yourselfe a man ; weele haue a boute or 
two ; and so weele part for that present. 

Fra. Well, sir, well. 



* Gods dines] The origin of thi.s corriiptcd oath is, I believe, 
unknoAvn. 

I cunnie-grcene] i.e. rabljit-lmrrow. 
+ ftdl nw ruf] i.e. call mo liorse. 

G 



82 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Nich. Boye, haue they appointed to fight ? 

Boy. I, Nicholas ; wilt not thou go see the fraye ? 

Nich. No, indeed ; euen as they brew, so let them 
bake. I will not thrust my hand into the flame, and 
neede not ; tis not good to haue an oare in another 
mans boate ; little said is soone amended, and in little 
medling commeth great rest ; tis good sleeping in a 
whole skin ; so a man might come home by Weeping 
Crosse*: no, by lady, a friend is not so soone gotten as 
lost ; blessed are the peace-makers ; they that strike 
with the sword, shaU be beaten with the scabberd. 

Phil. Well said, prouerbes : nere another to that 
purpose ? 

Nich. Yes, I could haue said to you, syr. Take heede 
is a good reede.f 

Phil. Why to me, take heed? 

Nich. For happy is he whom other mens harmes do 
make to beware. 

Phi. O, beware, Franke ! — Slip away, Mall. — You 
know what I told yee. He hold our mothers both in 
talke meane while. — Mother, and mistresse Barnes, me 
thinkes you should not stand in hatred so hard one 
with another. 

3'Ii[_s'\. Bar. Should I not, sir? should I not hate a 
harlot. 
That robs me of my right, vildeij: boye ? 



* come home hy Weeping Crosse\ A not uncommon proverbial 
expression. Nares (^Gloss. in v.) mentions three places which 
still retain the name, — one between Oxford and Banbury, another 
close to Stafford, the third near Shrewsbury. 

•f reedc'] i.e. counsel, ad^-ice. J vikk^ i.e. vile. 



OF ABINGTON. 83 

Mis. Goitr. Tliat title I returne vnto thy teeth, 

\_Exeunt Francis a?«rfMALL.] 
And spit the name of harlot in thy face. 

Mis. Bar. Well, tis not time of night to hold out chat 
With such a scold as thou art ; therefore now 
Thinke that I hate thee as I do the diuell. 

Mis. Gour. The diuell take thee, if thou doost not, 
wretch ! 

Mis. Bar. Out vpon thee, strumpet ! 

Mis. Gou. Out upon thee, harlot ! 

Mis. Bar. Well, I will finde a time to be reuengd ; 
Meane time lie keepe my daughter from thy sonne. — 
Where are yee, minion ? how now, are yee gone ? 

Phil. She went in, mother. 

Mis. Gour. Francis, where are yee ? 

Mis. Bar. He is not lieere. 0, then, they slipt away, 
And both together ! 

Phi. lie assure yee, no ; 
My sister she went in, into the house. 

Mis. Bar. But, then, sheeleoutagaineatthebackedoore, 
And meete with him : but I will search about 
All these same fields and paths neere to my house ; 
They are not far I am sure, if I make hast. P.rit 

Mis. Gour. O God, how went he hence, I did not 
see him? 
It was when Barnses wife did scolde with me ; 
A plague on* her ! — Dick, why didst not thou looke to 
him ? 

* on'] So sec. ed. First ed. " vpon." 

G 2 



84 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Coom. What should I looke for him ? no, no, I looke 
not for him while* to morrow morning. 

Mis. Gou. Come, go with me to helpe me looke him 
out. 
Alas, I haue nor light, nor lincke, nor torche ! 
Though it be darke, I will take any paines 
To crosse this matche. I prithee, Dicke, away. 

Cooms. Mistresse, because I brought yee out, Ee 
bring yee home ; but, if I should follow, so hee might 
haue the law on his side. 

Mi[s']. Gou. Come, tis no matter ; prithee, go with 
me. 

Exeunt [Mistress Goursey and Coomes.] 

M. Bar. Pliillip, thy mothers gone to seeke thy sister, 
And in a rage, i faith : but who comes heere ? 

Phil. Okie maister Goursey, as I thiuke, tis he. 

M. Bar. Tis so, indeed. 

l^Enter Master Goursey.] 

M. Gour. A\"ho's there ? 

M. Bar. A friend of yours. 

M. Gou. What, maister Barnes! did yee not see my 

wife ? 
M. Bar. Yes, sir, I saw her ; she was heere euen 

now. 
31. Gou. I doubted that ; that made me come vnto 

you: 
But whether is she gone ? 

* while'] i.e. till. 



OF ABINGTON. 8o 

Phil. To seeke your sonne, who slipt away from her 
To meete with Mall my sister in a place 
Wliere I appointed ; and my mother too 
Seekes for my sister ; so they both are gone : 
My mother hath a torche ; mary, yowY wife 
Goes darkling vp and downe, and Coomes before her. 

M. Gou. I thought that knaue was with her ; but 
tis well : 
I pray God, they may come by nere a light, 
But both be led a darke daunce in the night ! 

Hod. Why, is my fellow Dick in the darke with my 
mistres ? I praye God, they be honest, for there may 
be much knauerie in the darke : faith, if I were there, 
I would haue some knauery with them. [_Aside.'\ — Good 
maister, will ye carry the torche yourselfe, and giue me 
leaue to play at blind man bufFe with my mistresse ? 

Phil. On that condition thou wilt doo thy best 
To keepe thy mistresse and thy fellow Dicke 
Both from my sister and thy maisters sonne, 
I will entreate thy maister let thee goe. 

Hodge. 0, I, I warrant yee, lie haue fine tricks to 
cousen them. 

M. Gour. Well, sir, then, go your wayes ; I giue 
you leaue. 

Hodge. O braue ! but where about are they ? 

Phi, About our cunny green they surely are. 
If thou canst find them. 

Hodge. O, let me alone to grope for cunnies. Exit. 

Phil. Well, now wiU I to Franke and to my sister. 
Stand you two hearkning neere the cunny gi-eene. 



86 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

But sure your light in you must not be seeue ; 
Or els let Nicholas stand afar off with it, 
And as his life keepe it from mistres Goursey. 
Shall this be doone ? 

M. Bar. Phillip, it shaU. 

Phil. God be with ye ! He be gone. Exit. 

M. Bar. Come on, maister Goursey : this same is a 
meanes 
To make our wiues friends, if they resist not. 

M. Gout. Tut, syr, howsoeuer it shall go forward. 

M. Bar. Come, then, lets do as Phillip hath aduisd, 

Exeujit. 
Enter Mall. 

3Iall. Heere is the place where Phillip bad me stay 
Till Francis came ; but wherefore did my brother 
Appoint it heere ? why in the cunny borough ? 
He had some meaning in't, I warrant yee. 
"Well, heere He set me downe vnder this tree. 
And thinke vpon the matter all alone. 
Good Lord, what pritty things these cunnyes are ! 
How finely they do feed till they be fat. 
And then what a sweete meate a cunny is ! 
And what smooth skins they haue, both blacke and 

graye ! 
They say they runne more in the night then day : 
Wliat is the reason ? marke ; why, in the light 
They see more passengers then in the night; 
For harmfuU men many a haye* do set, 



* haye] i.e. a kind of net for catching rabbits, — iisually stretched 
before their holes. 



OF ABINGTON. 87 

And laugh to see tliem tumble in the net ; 
And they put ferrets in the holes, — fie, fie ! — 
And they go vp and downe where conneies lie ; 
And tliey ly still, they haue so little wit : 
I maru'le the warriner will suffer it ; 
Nay, nay, they are so bad, that they themselues 
Do giue consent to catch these prettie elfes. 
How if the warriner should spie me here ? 
He would take me for a conny I dare sweare. 
But when that Francis conies, what will he say ? 
' Looke, boy, there lies a conney in my way I ' 
But, soft, a light ! whose that ? soule, my mother ! 
Nay, then, all hid : i faith, she shall not see me ; 
He play bo peepe with her behind this tree. 

[_Enter Mistresse Barnes.] 

Mis. Bar. I maruell where this wench doth* hide 
her selfe 
So closely ; I haue searcht in many a bush. 

3Ial. Belike my mother tooke me for a thrush. 

l^Aside.^ — 
Mis. Ba. Shees hid in this same warren, lie lay 

money. 
Mai. Close as a rabbet suckerf from an olde conney. 

\_Asicle.'\ 
Mis. Bar. O God, I would to God that I could find 
her! 



* (hth'\ So sec. cd. First cd. " do." 

f rubbel sucker^ i.e. a sucking, a j'Ouiig, nibhit. 



88 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

I would keepe her from her loues toyes yet. 

Mai. I, so you might, if your daughter had no wit. 

\_Aside.'] 
Mis. Bar. What a vilde* girle tis, that would hau't 



so young 



Mai. A muiTen take that desembling tongue ! 
Ere your ealues teeth were out, you thought it long. 

\_Aside.'\ 

Mis. Bar. But, minion, yet De keepe you from the 
man. 

Mai. To saue a lie, mother, say, if you can. \^Aside.'] 

Mis. Bar. Well, now to looke for her. 

3Ial. I, theres the spight : 
What tricke shall I now haue to scape her light? \_^Aside.'] 

Mis. Bar. Whose there? what, minion, is it you? — 
Beshrew her heart, what a fright she put me to ! 
But I am glad I found her, though I was afraide. 

\_Aside.'] 
Come on your waies ; you aref a handsome maide ! 
Why [steal] you foorth a doores so late at night ? 
Why, whether go ye ? come, stand still, I say. 

3Ial. No, indeed, mother ; this is my best way. 

Mis. Bar. Tis not the best way ; stand by me, I tell ye. 

Mai. No; you would catchme, mother, — O, I smellye! 

Mis. Bar. Will ye not stand still ? 

Mai. No, by ladie, no. 

Mis. Bar. But I will make ye. 



* vilde] i.e. ^dle. 

f you are] So sec. ed. First cd. " you'r." 



OF ABINGTON. 89 

3Ial. Nay, then, trip and go. 

3Iis. Bar. Mistresse, He make ye Avcarie ere I hauc 

done. 
Mai. Faith, mother, then, lie trie how you can runne. 
3Iis. Bar. WiU ye ? 
Mai. Yes, faith. Exeunt. 

Enter [Franke and Boy.] 

Fran. Mai, sweet heart, Mai ! what, not a word ? 

Boy. A little further, maister ; call againe. 

Fran. Why, Mai! I prethie, speake; why, Mai, I say! 
I know thou art not farre, if thou wilt* speake ; 
Wliy, Mall !— 

But now I see shees in her merrie vaine. 
To make me call, and put me to more paine. 
Well, I must beare with her ; sheel beare with me : 
But I will call, least that it be not so. — 
Wliat, Mai ! what. Mall, I say ! — Boy, are Ave right ? 
Haue we not mist the way this same darke night ? 

Boy. Masse, it may be so : as I am truef man, 
I haue not seen a cunny since I came ; 
Yet at the connyborow we should meete. 
But, hai'ke ! I heare the trampling of some feete. 

Fran. It may be so, then ; therefore lets lie close. 

\Enter Mistresse Goursey and Coomes.] 
Mis. Gou. Wliere art thou, Dicke ? 



* «•(■//] Sec. ed. " wilt not." 
f trw'~\ i.o. hoiio.st. 



90 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Coom. Wliere am I, quoth a! marie, I may bee wliere 
any bodie will say I am; eytlier in France, or at Rome, 
or at Jerusalem, tliey may say I am, for I am not able 
to disprooue them, because I cannot tell where I am. 

3Iis. Gou. O, what a blindfold walke haue we had, 
Dicke, 
To seeke my sonne ! and yet I cannot finde him. 

Coom. Why, then, mistresse, lets go home. 

3Iis. Gou. Wliy, tis so darke we shall not finde the 
way. 

Fran. I pray God, ye may not, mother, till it be day! 

\_Aside.'\ 

Coom. Sbloud, take heed, mistresse, heres a tree. 

Mis. Gou. Lead thou the way, and let me hold by 
thee. 

Boy. Dicke Coomes, what difference is there between 
a blind man and he that cannot see ? 

Fran. Peace, a poxe on thee ! 

Coom. Swounds, some bodie sjDake. 

Mis. Gou. Dicke, looke about ; 
It may be here we may finde them out. 

Coom. I see the glimpse* of some bodie here. — 
And ye be a sprite, lie fraie the bugbeare. — 
There a goes, mistresse. 

Mis. Gou. O sir, haue I spide you ? 

Fran. A plague on the boy ! twas he that descriedf 
me. Exeunt. 

* glimpse] Eds. " glimpes" (the two last letters transposed by 
mistake). 

f descried] i.e. gave notice of, discovered. 



OF ABINGTON. 91 

[^Enter Philip.] 
Phil. How like a beauteous ladie maskt in blackc 
Lookes that same large cercumference of heauen ! 
The skye, that was so faire three houres ago, 
Is in three houres become an Etheope ; 
And being angrie at her beauteous change, 
She wiU not haue one of those pearled starres 
To blab her sable metamorphesis :* 
Tis veiy darke. I did appoyut my sister 
To meete me at the cunnie berrief below, 
And Francis too ; but neither can I see. 
Belike my mother hapned on that place, 
And fraide them from it, and they both are now 
Wandi-ing about the| fields : how shall I finde them ? 
It is so darke, I scarce can see my hand : 
Wliy, then. He hollow for them — no, not so ; 
So will his voyce betray him to our mothers 
And if he answere, and bring them where he is. 
Wliat shall I, then, do ? it must not be so — 
Sbloud,§ it must be so ; how else, I pray ? 
Shall I stand gaping here all night till day, 
And then be nere the neere[|? — So ho, so ho ! 

\_Enter Will.] 
WiU. So ho ! I come : ^vhere are ye ? where art 
thou ? here ! 

* metamorphesis] So sec. ed. First od. " motainoi'phesie." 

•]• cunnie berrie'] i.e. cony-burrow. 

J the] So sec. ed. First cd. " Uicso." 

§ Sbloud] So sec. ed. First ed. " Sblould." 

II weere] i.e. nearer. 



92 THE TV/0 ANGRIE WOMEN 

Phil. How now, Franke, where hast thou* beene ? 

Will. Franke ! what Franke ? sbloud, is sir Eaph 
mad? [^Aside.'\ — Heres the bow. 

Phil. I haue not bin much priuate with that voyce : 
Me thinkes Franke Goursies talke and his doth tell me 
I am mistaken ; especially by his bow ; 
Franke had no bow. Well, I will leaue this fellow. 
And hollow somewhat farther in the fields. \_Aside.'\ — 
Doost thou heare, fellow ? I perceiue by thee 
That we are both mistaken : I tooke thee 
For one thou art not ; likewise thou tookst mee 
For sir Raph Smith, but sure I am not hee : 
And so, farewell ; I must go seeke my friend. — 
So ho ! lErit.'] 

Will. So ho, so ho! nay, then, sir Raph, so whore! 
For a whore she was sure, if you had her here 
So late. Now, you are sir Raph Smith ;f 
Well do ye counterfeit and change your voyce, 
But yet I know ye. But what should be that Francis? 
Belike that Francis cussend him of his wench. 
And he conceals himselfe to finde her out ; 
Tis so, vpon my life. Well, I will go 
And helpe him ring his peale of so ho, so ho ! \_Exit.'\ 

Enter Franke. 

Fran. A plague on Coomes! a plague vpon the boy! 
A plague too — not on my mother for an hundreth pound! 
Twas time to runne ; and yet I had not thought 

* ;Aom] So sec. ed. Not in first ed. 

f Sir Baph Smith'] Qy. " Sir Raph Smith, I luiow." 



OF ABINGTON. 93 

My mother could haue followed me so close, 

Her legges with age I thought had foundered ; 

She made me quite runue through a quickset hedge, 

Or she had taken me. Well, I may say, 

I haue runne through the briers for a wench ; 

And yet I haue her not, — the woorse lucke mine. 

Me thought I heard one hollow here about ; 

I iudge it Phillip : O, the slaue will laugh 

When as he heares how that my mother scarde me! 

Well, heere lie stand vntill I heare him hollow, 

And then He answere him ; he is not farre. 

[Enter Sir Raph Smith.] 

Rap. My man is hollowing for me vp and downe. 
And yet I cannot meete with him. — So ho! 

Fran. So ho ! 

Rap. Why, what, apoxe, wert thou so neereme, man, 
And wouldst not speake ? 

Fran. Sbloud, ye're very hot. 

Ra. No, sir, I am colde enough with staying here 
For such a knaue as you. 

Fran. Knaue ! how now, Phillip ? 
Art mad, art mad ? 

Ra. Wliy, art not thou my man 
That went to fetch my bowe*? 

Fran. Indeed, a bowe 
Might shoote me ten bowes downe tlie weather so : 
I your man ! 

* That went in fetch mtj bow'] So sec. ed. These words are 
wantino- in first ed. 



94 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Rap. What art thou, then ? 

Fran. A man : but whats thy name ? 

Ra. Some call me Raph. 

Fran. Then, honest Raph, farewell. 

Ra. Well said, familiar WiU ! plaine Raph, i faith. 
\^Hollow within Phillip and Will.* 

Fran. There calles my man. 

Ra. But there goes mine away ; 
And yet He heare what this next call will say. 
And here He tarrie tiU he call againe. \_Retires.y\ 

\_Enter Will.] 

Wil. So ho! 

Fran. So ho ! where art thou, Phillip ? 

Wil. Sbloud,! PhiHp ! 
But now he calde me Francis : this is fine. {^Aside] 

Fran. Why studiest thou? I prethie, tell me, Phillip, 
Where the wench § is. 

Wil. Euen now he askt me Francis for the wench. 
And now he asks|| me Phillip for the wench. \_Aside] — 
Well, sir Raph, I must needs tell ye now, 
Tis^ not for your** credit to be foorth 

* Holhw within, §-c.] This stage-direction occurs somewhat 
earlier in eels. 

■(■ Retires] I am not sure that this stage-direction, whicli I have 
added, is the right one. It would seem, however, that Sir Ralph 
Smith remains on the stage, and is supposed not to overhear the 
dialogue which ensues between Francis and Will. 

X SMoud] Eds. "Sblould." 

§ wench'] So sec. ed. First ed. " whench." 

II asks] Eds. "askt" and " aske." 

^ Tis] Read, for the metre, " It is." 

** i/our] So sec. ed. Not in first ed. 



OF ABINGTON. 95 

So late a wenching in this order.* 

Fran. Wliats this? so late a wenching, doth he say? 

S^Aside\ — 
Indeed, tis true I am thus late a wenching, 
But I am forc'st to wench without a wench. 

Wil. Wliy, then, you might haue tane your bow at 
first. 
And gone and kilde a buclve, and not haue been 
So long a drabbing, and be nere the neere.f 

Fran. Swounds, what a pussell am I in this night ! 
But yet He put tliis fellow farther [question. Aside\ — 
Doost thou heare, man ? I am not sir Raph Smitli, 
As thou doost thinke I am ; but I did meete him, 
Euen as thou saiest, in pursuite of a wench. 
I met the wench too, and she askt for thee, 
Saying twas thou that wert her loue, her deai'e, 
And that sir Raph was not an honest knight 
To traine her thether, and to vse her so. 

Wil. Sbloud, my wench ! swovuids, were he ten sir 
Raphes — 

Fran. Nay, tis true, looke to it ; and so, farewell. 

Exit. 

Wil. Lideed, I do loue Nan, our darie maide : 
And hath he traine[d] her foorth to that intent. 
Or for another ? I carrie his crossebow, 
And he doth crosse me, shooting in my bow. 
A\Tiat shaU I do ? lExifW 

* orrfer] Qy. " order here"? 

•(• neere^ i.e. nearer. 

if ExW] Perhaps he oiii^ht only to retire. 



96 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Enter Phillip. 

Phil. So ho! 

Raph. So bo ! 

Phil. Francis, art thou there ? 

Ra. No, heres no Francis. Art tliou Will, my man? 

Phil. Will foole your man, Will gose* your man ! 
My backe, sir, scornes to weare your liuerie. 

Raph. Nay, sir, I niooude but such a question to you, 
And it hath not disparegd you, I hope ; 
Twas but mistaking ; such a night as this 
May well deceiue a man. God boye,f sir. \_Exit.~\ 

Phil. Gods will, tis sir Raph Smith, a vei'tuous knight ! 
How gently entertaines he my hard answere ! 
Rude anger made my tongue vnmannerly : 
I crie him mercie. Well, but all this while 
I cannot finde a Francis. — Francis, ho ! 

[Enter Will.] 

JVil. Francis, ho ! O, you call Francis now ! 
How haue ye vsde my Nan ? come, tell me, how. 

Phil. Thy Nan ! what Nan ? 

Wil. I, what Nan, now ! say, do you not seeke a 
wench ? 

Phil. Yes, I do. 

JVil. Then, sir, that is she. 

Phil. Art not thou [he] I met withaU before ? 

Wil. Yes, sir ; and you did counterfeit before, 
And said to me you were not sir Raph Smith. 

* gose] i.e. goose. — So sec. ed. First ed. " as^o e." 
f boi/e'] i.e. be wi' ye. 



OF ABINGTON. 97 

Phil. No more I am not. I met sir i?;ipli Smitli ; 
Eiien now he askt me if I saw his man. 

Wil O, fine ! 

Phil. Why, sirra, thon art mucli deceiucd in me : 
Good faith, I am not he thou thinkst I am. 

Wil. What are ye, then ? 

Phil. Why, one tliat seekes one Francis and a wench. 

Wil. And Francis seekes one Phillip and a wench. 

Phil. How canst thou tell ? 

Wil. I met him seeking Phillip and a wench. 
As I was seeking sir Raph and a wench. 

Phil. Why, then, I know the matter: we met crosse, 
And so we mist ; now here we linde our losse. 
Well, if thou wilt, we two will keepe togither, 
And so we shall meet right with one or other. 

Wil. I am content : but, do you heare me, sir ? 
Did not sir Raph Smith aske ye for a wench ? 

Phil. No, I pi'omise thee, nor did he looke 
For any but thy selfe, as I could gesse. 

WH. Wliy, this is straunge: but, come, sir, lets away; 
I feare that we shall walke here till it be day. Exeimt. 

Enter Boy. 
\_Boy.'\ O God, I haue runne so farre into the winde, 
that I haue runne myselfe out of winde ! They say a 
man is neere his end when he lackes breath ; and I am 
at the end of my race, for I can run no farther : then 
here I be in my breath bed, not in my death bed.* 

* death hefl~\ It would sooni that soinetliinu,- is wanlinG,- after 
this speech : unless we are to suppose that here the Roy lies 

H 



98 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Enter Coomes. 
Coom. They say men moyle and toyle for a poore 
lining ; so I moyle and toyle, and am lining, I thanke 
God ; in good time be it spoken. It had been bettei' 
for me my mistresse angell* had beene light, for then 
perhappes it had not lead mee into this darknesse. WeU, 
the diueU neuer blesses a man better, when hee purses 
vppe angelles by owlight : I ranne through a hedge to 
take the boy, but I stuck in the ditch, and lost the 
boy. \_Falls.'] Swounds, a plague on that clod, that 
mowlhil, that ditch, or what the diuel so ere it were, 
for a man cannot see what it was ! Well, I would not 
for the prize of my sword and buckler any body should 
see me in this taking, for it would make me but cut oflF 
their legs for laughing at me. Well, downe I am, 
and downe I meane to be, because I am wearie ; but 
to tumble downe thus, it was no part of my meaning : 
then, since I am downe, here lie rest me, and no man 
sliall remooue me. 

Enter Hodge. 

Hodge. O, I haue sport in cony, i faith ! I haue* al- 
most burste myselfe witli laughing at mistresse Barnes. 
She was following of her daughter; and I, hearing her, 
put on my fellow Dickes sword and buckler voyce and 
his swounds and sbloud words, and led her such a 



down and falls asleep, and that he wakens on the second entrance 
of Hodge, — where, however, the eds. distinctly mark "Enter 
Hodge and Boy"; see p. 106. 
* angeir\ See note, p. 10. 



OF ABINGTON. 99 

dance in the darke as it passes.* ' Heere shee is,' 
quoth I. ' AVliere'? quoth she. ' Here,' quoth I. O, 
it hath been a bi'aue here and there night ! but, O, 
what a soft natured thing the durt is ! how it would 
endure my hard treading, and kisse my feete for ac- 
quaintance ! and how courteous and mannerly were 
the clodsf to make me stumble onely of purpose to 
entreate me lye downe and rest me ! But now, and I 
could find my fellow Dicke, I would play the knaue 
with him honestly, i faith. Wei, I wiU grope in the 
darke for him, or lie poke with my stafFe, like a bhnde 
man, to preuent a ditch. 

He stumbles\ on Dick Coomes. 

Coom. Wliose that, with a poxe ? 

Hod. Who art thou, with a pestilence ? 

Coom. Why, I am Dicke Coomes. 

Hod. What, haue I found thee, Dicke ? nay, then, 
I am for ye, Dicke. \_Aside.~\ — Where are ye, Dicke ? 

Coom. Wliat can I tell where I am ? 

Hod. Can ye not teU ? come, come, yee waiglit on 
your mistresse well ! come on your waies ; I haue sought 
you till I am wearie, and calde ye till I am hoarse : 
good Lord, what a iaunt I haue had this night, hey§ ho! 

Coom. 1st you, mistresse, that came ouer mee ? 
sbloud, twere a good deed to come ouer you for this 
nights worke. I cannot affoorde all this paines for an 



* passes] i.e. excels. 

f clods'] So sec. ed. First ed. " clovvdes." 

% He stumbles, Sec'] So sec. ed. Not in first ed. 

§ fiei/'] So sec. ed. First ed. " ho." 

h2 



100 THE TWO ANCiRIE WOMEN 

angell : I tell yee true ; a kisse were not cast away 
vppon a good fellow, that hath deserued more that way 
then a kisse, if your kinduesse would afFoorde it him : 
what, shall I hau't, mistresse ? 

Hod. Fie, fie, I must not kisse my man. 

Coom. Nay, nay, nere stand ; shall I, shall I ? uo- 
bodie sees : say but I shall, and Ee smacke it* soundly, 
i faith. 

Hod. Away, bawdie man ! in trueth. He tell your 
maister. 

Coom. My maister ! go to, nere tell me of my 
maister : he may pray for them that may, he is past 
it ; and for mine owne part, I can do somewhat that 
way, I thanke God ; I am not now to learne, and tis 
your part to haue your whole desire. 

Hod. Fie, fie, I am ashamed of you : would you 
tempt your mistresse to lewdnesse ? 

Coom. To lewdnesse ! no, by my troth, ther's no 
such matter in't, it is for kindnesse ; and, by my troth, 
if you like my gentle ofifer, you shall haue what cour- 
teously I can aifoorde yee. 

Hodge. Shall I indeed, Dicke ? I faith, if I thought 
nobody would see — 

Coomes. Tush, feare not that ; swones, they must 
haue cattes eyes, then. 

Hodge. Then, kisse me, Dick. 

Coomes. A kinde wenche, i faith ! \_Aside.'\ — Where 
are ye, mistresse ? 

* ;V] Sec. ed. " yee." 



OF ABINGTON. 101 

Hodge. Heere, Dick. O, I am in tlic tlarke ! Dick, 
go about.* 

Coom. Nay, lie tlirowef sure : where are yee ? 

Hodge. Heere. 

Coom. A plague on this poast ! I would the car- 
penter had bin hangd that set it vp, for me.\ — Where 
are yee now ? 

Hodge. Heere. 

Coom. Heere! O, I come. \_Exit.'] A plague on it, 
I am in a pond, mistres ! 

Hod. Ha, ha ! I haue led him into a pond. — Where 
art thou, Dick ? 

Coomes. \_within.~\ Vp to the middle in a pond ! 

Hodg. Make a boate of thy buckler, then, and swim 
out. Are yee so hot, with a pox ? Avould you kisse my 
mistresse ? coole yee there, then, good Dick Coomes. 
O, when he comes foorth, the skirts of his blew coate§ 
will di'op like a paint-house ! O, that I could see, 
and not be scene, how he would spaniell it, and shake 
himselfe when he comes out of the pond ! But He be 
gone ; for now heele fight witli a flye, if he but buz|| in 
his eare. Exit. 

Enter Coomes. 
Coom. Heeres sohoing v.ith a plague! so hang, and 



* Diek,goabout\ Qy. is this a stage-direction crept into the text? 
f throwe] Sec. ed. " grope." 

I for me] Sec. ed. " su." 

§ blew eoute] Soc note, p. 34. 

II hnz'] So sec. od. First cd. " buzc." 



102 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

yee will, for I haue bin almost di-ownd. A pox of your 
stones,* and ye call this kissing ! Yee talke of a 
di'ownd rat, but twas time to swim like a dog ; I had 
bin seru'd like a di-owned cat els. I would he had digd 
his graue that digd the pond ! my feete were foule in- 
deed, but a lesse pale then a pond would haue serued 
my turne to washe them. A man shall be serued thus 
alwayes, when hee followes any of these females ; but 
tis my kind heart that makes me thus forward in kind- 
nes vnto them : well, God amend them, and make them 
thankfull to them that would doe them pleasure. I am 
not drunke, I would yee should weU know it ; and yet 
I haue drunke more then will do me good, for I might 
haue had a pumpe set vp with asf good Marche beere 
as this was, and nere set v|) an ale-bush for the matter. 
Well, I am somewhat in wroth, I must needs say; and 
yet I am not more angrie then wise, nor more wise 
then angrie ; but He fight with the next man I meet, 
and it be but for lucke sake ; and if he loue to see him 
selfe hurt, let him bring light with him ; He do it by 
darkling els, by Gods dines, if WeU, heere will I walke, 
who soeuer sayes nay. 

Enter Nicholas. 

Nich. He that worse may, must holde the candle ; 
but my maister is not so wise as God might haue made 



* stones'] Sec. ed. " lips." 

")• / might haue had a pumpe set rp leith as] So sec. ed. First ed. 
" I haue had a Pumpe set vp, as gf)od." 
1 Gnrls dines] See note. p. 8 1 . 



OF ABINGTON. 103 

him. Hee is gone to seeke a hayre in a liennes nest, 
a needle in a bottle of liaye, which is as sildome seene 
as a blacke swan : hee is gone to seeke my young mis- 
tresse ; and I thinke she is better lost then found, for 
who so euer hath her, hath but a wette eele by the 
taile. But they may do as they list ; the law is in their 
owne hands ; but, and they would be ruld by me, they 
should set her on the leland, and bid the diuell split 
her; beshrew her fingers, shee hath made me Avatch 
past mine hower ; but He watch her a good turne for 
it. 

Cooms. How, whose that? Nicholas ! — So, first come, 
first seru'd; I am for him \_Aside~\. — How now, pro- 
uerbe, prouerbe ? sbloud, how now, prouerbe ? 

Nich. My name is Nicholas, Richard ; and I knows 
your meaning, and I hope yee meane no hai'me: I 
thanke yee, I am the better for your asking. 

Coom. Wliere haue you been a whoring thus late, 
ha? 

Nich. Maister Richard, the good wife would not 
seeke her daughter in the ouen vnlesse she had been 
there her selfe: but, good Lord, yovi are knuckle deepe 
in durte ! — I warrant, when he was in, he swore Wal- 
singham,* and chafte terrible for the time \_Aside~\. — 
Looke, the water drops from you as fast as hops. 

Coomes. What needst thou to care, whipper-ienny, 
tripe-cheekes ?| out, you fat asse ! 

* sivore Walsinghani\ i.e. (perhaps) swore by our Lady of Wal- 
singham, — in Norfolk. 

f tripe-cheekes'] So sec. eel. First ed. " Tripe-cheeke." 



104 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Nich. Good wordes cost nought, ill words corrupts 
good manners, Richard, for a hasty man neuer wants 
Avoe ; and I had thought you had been my friend; but 
I see aU is not golde that glisters ; ther's falshood in 
fellowship ; amicus certiis in re certa cernittir ; time 
and trueth tryes all ; and tis an olde prouerbe, and not 
so old as true, bought wit is the best ; I can see day at 
a little hole ; I know your minde as well as though I 
were within you ; tis iU halting before a criple : goe to, 
you seeke to quarrell; but beware of had I wist*; so 
long goes the potte to the water, at length it comes 
home broken ; I know you are as good a man as euer 
drew sword, or as was ere girt in a girdle, or as ere 
went on neats leather, or as one shall see vpon a sum- 
mers day, or as ere lookt man in the face, or as ere 
trode on Gods earth, or as ere broke bread or drunke 
drinke; but he is propper that hath propper conditionsf; 
but be not you like the cowe, that giues a good sope of 
znilke, and casts it downe with her| heeles ; I speake 
plainely, for plaine dealing is a iewell, and he that vseth 
it shal dye a beggar ; weU, that happens in an hower, 
that hapj)ens not in seauen yeares ; a man is not so 
soone whole as hurt ; and you should kill a man, you 
would kisse his — Avell, I say little, but I thinke the 
more. — Yet He giue him good words ; tis good to hold 
a candle before the diuell ; yet, by Gods me, lie take 



* had I wist'] i.e. had I known the consequences : a common 
pro\erbial expression of repentance, 
t conditions] See note, p. 25. 
^ her] So sec. ed. First ed. " his." 



OF ABINGTON. 105 

no Avrong, if hee had a head as big as Brasse,* or lookt 
as high as Poules steeple. \^Aside.^ 

Coom. Sirra, thou grashoper, that slialt skip from 
my swoi'd as from a sithe; He cut thee out in collops, 
and egges, in steakes, in sliste beefe, and fiye thee 
with the fyer I shall strike from the pikef of thy 
buckler. 

Nich. I, Brags a good dog; threatned folkes Hue long. 

Coomes. What say yee, sir ? 

Nich. Why, I say not so raiTch as How do yee? 

Coom. Do yee not so, sir ? 

Nich. No, indeed, what so ere I thinke; and thought 
is free. 

Coomes. You whoreson wafer-cake, by Gods dines,J 
lie cruslie yee for this ! 

Nich. Giue an inche, and youle take an elle ; I will 
not put my finger in a hole, I warrant yee: what, man! 
nere crowe so fast, for a blinde man may kill a hayre ; 
I haue knowne when a plaine fellow hath hurt a fen- 
cer, so I haue : what ! a man may bee as slowe as a 
snaile, but as fierce as a lyon, and hee bee mooued ; 
indeed, I am patient, I must needes say, for patience in 
aduersitie brings a man to the Three Cranes in the 
Ventree. 

Coomes. Do yee heere ? set downe your torche ; 
di'awe, fight, I am for yee. 



* Brasse] Qy. a proverbial allusion to the famous Bi'azeu-head? 

f pike\ See note, p. 61. 

J hy Gods dines'] See note, p. 81. 



106 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Nich. And I am for yee too, though it be from this 
midnight to the next morne. 

Coomes. Where be your tooles ? 

Nich. Within a mile of an oke, sir ; hee's a proud 
horse will not carry his owne prouender, I warrant yee. 

Coom. Now am I in my quarrelling humor, and now 
can I say nothing but Sownes, draw ! but He vntrus, 
and then haue to it. \_Aside.'] 

Enter [^severally'] Hodge and Boye. 

Hodge. Whose there? boye! honest boye, well met: 
where hast thou bin ? 

Boy. O Hodge, Dicke Coomes hath been as good as 
a crye of hounds, to make a breathd* hayre of me ! but 
didst thou see my maister ? 

Hodge. I met him euen now, and he askt me for 
thee, and he is gone vp and downe, whoing likef an 
owle for thee. 

Boy. Owle, yee asse ! 

Hodge. Asse ! no, nor glasse, for then it had bin 
Owleglasse| : but whose that, boye ? 

Boy. By the masse, tis our Coomes and Nicholas; 
and it seemes they are prouiding to fight. 

Hodge. Then, we shall haue fine sport, i faith. Sirra, 
lets stand close, and when they haue fought a bout or 

* breathd] So sec. ed. First ed. " breath." 

f like] So sec. ed. Not in first ed. 

J Owleglasse] The hero of a popular German jest-book (Eulen- 
spiegel), which was translated into English at a very early period : 
see Gifford's note on Jonson's Works, iv. 60, and Nares's Gloss. 



OP ABINGTON. 107 

two, weele runne away with the torche, and leaue them 
to fight darkling ; shall we ? 

Boy. Content ; He get the torche : stand close. 

Coomes. So, now my backe hath roome to reache: I 
doe not loue to bee last* in, when I goe to lase a rascaU. 
I pray God, Nicholas prooue not a silly :| it would doe 
me good to deale with a good man now, that wee might 
haue halfe a dozen good smart stroakes. Ha, I haue 
scene the day I could haue daunst in my fight, one, 
two, three, foure, andfiue, on the head of him; six, sea- 
uen, eyght, nine, and ten, on the sides of him; and, if I 
went so far as fifteene, I warrant I shewed^ him a 
trick of one and twentie ; but I haue not fought this 
foure dayes, and I lacke a little practise of my warde; 
but I shall make a shift : ha, close \_Aside\. — Are yee 
disposed, sir? 

Nicli. Yes, indeed, I feare no colours: change sides, 
Richard. 

Coomes. Change the gallowes ! lie see thee hangd 
first, 

Nich. Well, I see the foole will not leaue his bable§ 
for the Tower of London. 

Coom. Foole, yee roge ! nay, then, fall to it. 

Nich. Good goose, bite not. 

Coomes. Sbloud, how pursey I am ! Well, I see 
exercise is all : I must practise my weapons oftner ; I 



* /««<] i.e. ]acecl. 

f silly'] Sec. ed. " fly." 

J shewed'] So sec. ed. First cd. " shew." 

§ lidh/e] i.e. biuible. 



108 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

must haue a goale or two at foote-ball before I come to 
my right kinde \_Aside']. — Giue me thy hand, Nicholas: 
thou art a better man then I tooke thee for, and yet 
thou art not so good a man as I. 

JVic/i. You dwell by ill neighbours, Richard ; that 
makes yee praise your selfe. 

Coomes. Wliy, I hope thou wilt say I am a man ? 

Nich. Yes, He say so, if I should see yee hangd. 

Coomes. Hangd, yee roge ! nay, then, haue at yee. 
[ While they fight, exeunt Hodge, and Boy ivith the 
torch.'\ Sownes, the light is gone! 

Nich. O Lord, it is as darke as pitche ! 

Coomes. Well, heere lie lye, with my buckler thus, 
least striking vp and downe at randall,* the roge might 
hurt me, for I cannot see to saue it, and lie holde my 
peace, least my voyce should bring him where I am. 

\_Aside.~\ 

Nich. Tis good to haue a cloake fpr the raine; a bad 
shift is better then none at all ; lie sit heere, as if I 
were as dead as a doore naile. \_Aside.y\ 

Enter M. Baknes and M. Goursey. 

31. Gou. Harke ! theres one holloes. 
31. Bar. And theres another. 



* randaW] i.e. random. 

f a doore naile \^Aside'\. Here again I do not understand the 
stage-arrangement. Has something dropt out ? Before the en- 
trance of Barnes and Goursey, the two serviugmen ought surely 
to make their exeunt. 



OF ABINGTON. 109 

M. Gou. And eueiy wliere we come, I heere some 
hollo, 
And yet it is our haps to meete with none. 

M. Bar. I maruell where your Hodge is, and my man. 

M. Gou. I, and our wiues ; we cannot meete with 
them. 
Nor with the boye, nor MaU, nor Franke, nor PhiUip, 
Nor yet with Coomes, and yet we nere stode stiU. 
Well, I am very angry with my wife, 
And she shall finde I am not i^leasd with her, 
If we meete nere so soone : but tis my hope* 
She hath had as blind a iourney ont as we ; 
Pray God, she liaue, and worse, if worse may be ! 

M. Bar. This is but short liu'de enuie,f maister 
Goursey : 
But, come, what say yee to my pollicie ? 

M. Gou. I faith, tis good, and we will practise it ; 
But, sir, it must be handeled cunningly, 
Or all is mard ; our wiues haue subtill heads. 
And they will soone perceiue a di'ift deuise. 

Enter Sir Raphe Smith. 

Raphe. So ho ! 

M. Gou. So ho ! 

Raph. Whose there ? 

M. Bar. Heeres on or two. 

Raph. Is* Will there ? 

* hope'\ Eds. " liap." f crinie'] i.e. ill will. 



They hollo ^vithin. 



110 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

M. Bar. No. Phillip ? 

M. Gour. Franke? 

S. Raph. No, no. — 
Was euer man deluded thus like me ? 
I thinke some spirit leads me thus amisse, 
As I haue often heard that some haue bin 
Thus in the nights. 

But yet this mases me ; where ere I come, 
Some askes me still for Franke or Phillip, 
And none of them can teU me where WiU is. \_Aside.'\ 

Will. So ho! 

Phil. So ho! 

Hodge. So ho ! 

Boye. So ho ! 

Raph. Sownes, now I heere foure hollo at the least ! 
One had a little voice ; then thats the wench 
My man hath lost : well, I will answerc all. \_Aside.'\ — 
So ho ! 

\_Enter Hodge.] 

Hodge. Wliope, whojje ! 

Raph. Whose there ? Will ? 

Hodge. No, sir; honest Hodge : but, I pray yee, sir, 
did yee not meete with a boye with a torche ? he is 
runne away from me, a plague on him ! 

Raph. Hey day, from Franke and Phillip to a torche. 

And to a boye! nay, sownes, then, hap as twill. \_Aside.'\ 

\_Exeunt Sir Raph and Hodge severally^ 

M. Gour. Who goes there ? 

{^Enter Will.] 
Will. Gesse heere. 



OF ABINGTON. ] 1 1 

M. Bar. PhiUip ? 

Will. Phillip ! no, faith ; my names "Will, — ill will, 
for I was neuer worse : I was euen now with him, and 
might haue beene still, but that I fell into a ditch and 
lost him, and now I am going vp and downe to seeke 
him. 

M. Gour. What wouldst thon doo with him ? 

Will. Why, I would haue him go with me to my 
maisters. 

M. Gou. Whose thy maister ? 

Will. Why, sir Raphe Smith ; and thether he pro- 
mist me he would come ; if he keepe his worde, so tis. 

M. Bar. Wliat was a* doing when thou first foundst 
him ? 

Will. Why, he holloed for one Frauncis, and Fraun- 
cis hollod for him ; I hallod for my maister, and my 
maister for me ; but we mist still, meeting contrary, 
Phillip and Francis with me and my maister, and I and 
my maister with Phillip and Franke. 

M. Gour. Why, wherefore is sir Raphe so late 
abroade ? 

Will. Why, he ment to kill a bucke, — lie say so 
to saue lais honestie, but my Nan was his marke 
\_Aside.'\ — and he sent me for his bow, and when I 
came, I hollod for him ; but I neuer saw such lucke to 
misse him, it hath almost made me mad. 

31. Bar. Well, stay with vs; perhaps sir Raphe and he 
Will come anon : harke ! I do heere one hollo. 

* a] Sec. ed. " he «": but a is a common contraction for he. 



112 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Enter Phillip. 

Phil. Is this broad waking in a winters night ? 
I am broad walking in a winters night, — 
Broad indeed, because I am abroad, — 
But these broad fiekls methinks are not so broad 
That they may keepe me foorth of narrow ditches. 
Heers a hard world \ 

For I can hardly keep myself vpright in it : 
I am maruellous dutifull — but, so ho ! 

Will. So ho! 

Phil. Whose there ? 

Wai Heeres WiU. 

Phil. What, Will ! how scapst thou ? 

Will. What, sir ? 

Phil. Nay, not hanging, but drowning : wert thou 
in a pond or a ditche ? 

Will. A pestilence on it ! ist you, Phillip ? no, foith, 
I was but durty a little : but heeres one or two askt 
for yee. 

Phil. Who be they, man ? 

M. Bar. Philip, tis I and maister Goursey. 

Phil. Father, O father, I haue heard them say 
The dayes of ignorance are past and done ; 
But I am sure the nights of ignorance 
Ai'e not yet past, for this is one of them. 
But wheres my sister ? 

M. Ba. Why, we cannot tell. 

Phil. Wheres Francis ? 

M. Gour. Neither saw we him. 

Phil. Wliy, this is fine. 



OF ABINGTON. 118 

What, neither he nor I, nor she nor you, 

Nor I nor she, nor you and I, till* now. 

Can meet, could meet, or ere, I thinke, shall meete ! 

Call ye this wooing ? no, tis Christmas sport 

Of Hob m^n blind,! all blind, all seek to catch, 

All misse : — but who comes heere ? 

Enter Franke and his Boye. 

Fra. O, haue I catcht yee, sir ? it was your dooing 
That made me haue this pretty dance to night ; 
Had not you spoake, my mother had not scard me : 
But I will swinge ye for it. 

Phil. Keepe the kings peace ! 

Fra. How ! art thon become a constable ? 
Why, Phillip, where hast thou bin all this while ? 

Phil. Why, where you were not : but, I pray, whers 
my sister? 

Fran. Why, man, I sawe her not; but I haue sought 
her 
As I should seeke. 

Phil. A needle, haue yee not ? 
Why, you, man, are the needle that she seekes 
To worke withall. Well, Francis, do you heei'e ? 
You must not answere so, that you haue sought her ; 
But haue yee found her ? faith, and if you haue, 
God giue yee ioy of that ye found with her ! 

Fra.'j^ I saw her not : how could I finde her ? 



* tiW^ Ho sec. ed. First, ed. " tell."' 
f Hob man blind] i.e. Blind-man's-bufl". 
J Fra] So sec ed. Not in first ed. 



114 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

31. Gou. Wliy, could yee misse from maister 
Barnses house 
Vnto his cunnybeiTj ? 

Fran. "Wliether I could or no, father, I did. 
Phil. Father, I did! well, Frauke, wilt thou beleeue 
me. 
Thou doost not know how much this same doth greeue me : 
Shall it be said thou mist so plaine a way. 
When as so faire a wenche did for thee stay ? 
Fra. Sownes, man ! 

PJd. Sownes, man ! and if thou hadst bin blinde. 
The cunny-borow thou needst must finde. 
I tell thee, Francis, had it bin my case, 
And I had bin a woer in thy place, 
I would haue laide my head vnto the ground. 
And sented out my wenches way, like a hound ; 
I would haue ci'ept vpon my knees all night. 
And haue made the flint stones linckes to giue me light; 
Nay, man, I would. 

Fran. Good Lord, what you would doe ! 
Well, we shall see one day how you can woe. 

M. Gou. Come, come, we see that we haue all bin 
crost ; 
Therefore lets go, and seeke them we haue lost. Exeunt. 

Enter Mal. 

\_Mal.'\ Am I alone ? doth not my mother come ? 
Her torch I see not, which I well might see, 
If any way she were comming towerd me : 
Why, then, belike shees gone some other way ; 
And may she go till I bid her turne ! 



OF ABTNGTON. 115 

Farre shall her way be then, and little faire, 

For she hath hindered me of my good turne ; 

God send her wet and wearie ere she turne ! 

I had beene at Oxenford, and to moi-row 

Haue beene releast from all my maidens sorrow, 

And tasted ioy, had not my mother bin ; 

God, I beseech thee, make it her woorst sinne ! 

How many maides this night lies in their beddes, 

And dreame that they haue lost their maidenheads ! 

Such dreames, such slumbers I had to* enioyde. 

If waking mallice had not them destroyde. 

A starued man with double death doth die, 

To haue the meate might saue him in his eye. 

And may not haue it : so am I tormented, 

To starue for ioy I see, yet am preuented. 

Well, Franke, although thou woedst and quickly wonne, 

Yet shall my loue to thee be neucr done ; 

He runne through hedge and ditch, through brakes and 

briers. 
To come to thee, sole lord of my desires : 
Short woeing is the best, an houre, not yeares. 
For long debating loue is full of feares. 
But, hai-ke ! I heare one tread. O, wer't my bi-otlier, 
Or Franke, or any man, but not my mother ! 

\Enter Sir Raph Smith.] 

S. Rap. O , when will this same yeare of night haue 
end? 
Long lookt for daies sunne, when wilt thou ascend ? 



ui] i.e. too. 

i2 



116 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Let not this theefe friend, mistie vale of night, 
Incroach on day, and shadow thy faire light, 
Whilst thou com'st tardie from thy Thetis bed, 
Blushing foorth golden haire and glorious red ; 
0, stay not long, bright lanthorne of the day. 
To light my mist way feete to my right way ! 

Mai. It is a man, his big voyce tels me so, 
Much am I not acquainted with it tho ; 
And yet mine eare, sounds true distinguisher, 
Boyes* that I haue beene more familiar 
With it then now I am : well, I do iudge, 
It is not enuies fellon,f not of grudge ; 
Tlierefore Be plead acquaintance, hier his guiding. 
And buy of him some place of close abiding. 
Till that my mothers malice be expired. 
And we may ioy in that is long desired \_Aside']. — 
Whose there ? 

Ra. Are ye a maide ? — No question this is she 
My man doth misse : faith, since she lights on me, 
I do not meane till day to let her go ; 
For what she is my mans loue I will know \_Aside].- 
Harke ye, maide, if maide, are ye so light 
That you can see to wander in the night ? 

Mai. Harke ye, true| man, if ti-ue, I tell ye, no ; 
I cannot see at all which way I go. 

Ra. Faire maide, ist so ? say, had ye nere a fall ? 

Mai. Faire man, not so ; no, I had none at all. 

* Boyes] i.e. (I suppose) Buoys. 
t/t'//o«] Qy. "fellow'? 
J trve'\ i.e. honest. 



OF ABINGTON. 117 

Ra. Could you not stumble on one man, I pray ? 
3Ial. No, no such blocke till now came in my way. 
Ra. Am I that blocke, sweete tripe? then, fall and trie. 
3Ial. The grounds too hard a feather-bed ; not I. 
Ra. Why, how and you had met with such a stumpe? 
Mai. Wliy, if he had been your height, I meant to 

iuhipe. 
Ra. Are ye so nimble ? 
Mai. Nimble as a doe. 
Ra. Backt in a pie. 
Mai. Of ye. 

Ra. Good meate ye know. 
Mai. Te hunt sometimes ? 
Ra. I do. 

Mai. What take ye ? 
Ra. Deare. 

Mall. You'l nere strike rascall*? 
Ra. Yes, when ye are there. 
Mai. Will ye strike me ? 
Rap. Yes : will ye strike againe ? 
Mai. No, sir ; it fits not maides to fight with men. 
Ra. I wonder, wench, how I thy name might know. 
Mai. Wliy, you may finde it, sir, in the Christcrosse 

row.f 
Rap. Be my schoolemistresse, teach me how to spell it. 
Mai. No, faith, I care not greatly if I tell it ; 
My name is Marie Barnes. 

Ra. How, wench ? Mall Barnes ! 

* rascalf] i.e. a deer lean and out of season, 
f the Christcrosse row'] i.e. the alphabet. 



118 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Mai. The verie same. 

Rap. Why, this is straunge. 

Mai. I pray, sir, whats your name ? 

Rap. Why, sir Raph Smith doth wonder, wench, at 
this ; 
Why, Avhats the cause thou art abroad so late ? 

Mai. What, sir Raph Smith! nay, then, I will disclose 
All the whole cause to him, in him repose 
IMy hopes, my lone : God him, I hope, did send 
Our loues and both our mothers hates to end. \_Aside~\.- — 
Gentle sir Raph, if you my blush might see, 
You then would say I am ashamed to be 
Found, like a wandi'ing stray, by such a knight, 
So farre from home at such a time of night : 
But my excuse is good ; lone first by fate 
Is crost, controlde, and sundered by feU hate. 
Franke Goursey is my loue, and he loues me ; 
But both oui' mothers hate and disagree ; 
Our fathers like the match and wish it done ; 
And so it had, had not our mothers come ; 
To Oxford we concluded both to go ; 
Going to meete, they came ; we parted so ; 
My mother followed me, but I ran fast. 
Thinking who went from hate had need make haste ; 
Take me she cannot, though she still pursue : 
But now, sweete knight, I do repose on you ; 
Be you my orator and plead my right. 
And get me one good day for this bad night. 

Rap. Alas, good heart, I pittie thy hard hap ! 
And lie employ aU that I may for thee. 



OP ABINGTON. 119 

Franke Goursey, wench ! I do commend tliy choyse : 

Now I remember I met one Francis, 

As I did seeke my man, — then, that was he, — 

And Philip too, — belike that was thy brother : 

Why, now I find how I did loose myselfe. 

And wander* vp and downe, mistaking so. 

Giue me thy hand. Mall : I will neuer leaue 

Till I haue made your mothers friends againe, 

And purchaste to ye both your hearts delight, 

And for this same one bad many a good night. 

Twill not be long ere that Aurora will, 

Deckt in the glorie of a golden sunne. 

Open the chi-istaU windowes of the east. 

To make the earth enamour de of her face. 

When we shall haue cleare light to see our way : 

Come; night being done, expect a happie day. Exeunt. 

Enter Mistresse Barnes. 

Mis. Bar. O, what a race this peeuish girle hath 
led me ! 
How fast I ranne, and now how wearie I am ! 
I am so out of breath I scarse can speake, — 
What shall I do ? — and cannot ouertake her. 
Tis late and darke, and I am far from home : 
May there not theeues lie watching here about, 
Intending mischiefe vnto them they meete ? 
There may ; and I am much afraide of them. 
Being alone without all companie. 

* wander'\ So sec. cd. First cd. " wandring." 



120 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

I do repent me of my comming foortli ; 
And yet I do not, — ^tliey had else bene married, 
And that I would not for ten times more labour. 
But what a winter of colde feare I thole,* 
Freesing my heart, least danger should betide me ! 
Wliat shall I do to purchase companie ? 
I heare some hollow here about the fields : 
Then here He set my torch vpon this hill, 
Whose light shall beacon-like conduct them to it ; 
They that haue lost their way, seeing a light. 
For it may be scene farre oif in the night. 
Will come to it. Well, here Ee lie vnseene. 
And looke who comes, and chuse my companie : 
Perhaps my daughter may first come to it. 

\_Enter Mistresse Goursey.] 

Mis. Gou. Where am I now ? nay, where was I 
euen now ? 
Nor now, nor then, nor where I shall be, know I. 
I thinke I am going home : I may as well 
Be| going from home ; tisj so very darke, 
I cannot see how to direct a step. 
I lost my man, pursuing of ray sonne ; 
My Sonne escapt me too : now, all alone, 
I am enforst§ to wander vp and downe. 



* tMe] i.e. suifer, endure. Eds. " stole." 

f £«] So sec. ed. First ed. " Being/' 

\ f(s] Read, for the metre, " it is." 

§ enforst'] So see. ed. First ed. " enforc'st." 



OF ABINGTON. 121 

Barnses wife's* abroad : pray God, that she 

May haue as good a dauiice, nay, ten times woorse ! 

Oil, but I feare she hath not ; she hath light 

To see her way, O, that somef bridge would breake, 

That she might fall into some deepe digd ditch, 

And eyther breake her bones or drowne her selfe ! 

I would these mischiefes I could wish to her 

Might light on her ! — ^but, soft ; I see a light : 

I will go neere ; it is comfortable, 

After this nights sad spirits dulling darknesse. 

How now ? what, is it set to keepe it selfe ? 

Mis. Bar. A plague ont, is she there? \_Aside.'\ 

Mis. Gou. O, how it cheares and quickens vp iny 
thoughts ! 

3Iis. Bar. O, that it were the basseliskies fell eye, 
To poyson thee ! [^Aside.^ 

3Iis. Gou. I care not if I take it, — 
Sure none is here to hinder me, — 
And light me home. 

Mis. Bar. I had rather she were hangd 
Then I should set it there to do her good. \_Asid€.^ 

Mis. Gou. I faith, I will. 

Mis. Bar. I faith, you shall not, mistresse ; 
He venture a burnt finger but lie haue it. \_Aside.'\ 

Mis. Gou. Yet Barnses wife would chafe, if that 
she knew 
That I had this good lucke to get a light. 



* wife's^ Read, for the metre, " wife is." 
f soinc'] So sec. ed. First cd. " same." 



122 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Mis. Bar. And so she dotli ; but praise your* lucke 

at parting. \_Aside.'] 
Mis. Gou. O, that it weref her light, good faith, 

that she 
Might darkling walke about as well as I ! 

3Iis. Bar. O, how this mads me, that she hath her 

wish! \_Aside.'\ 
Mis. Gou. How I would laugh to see her trot about! 
Mis. Bar. Oh, I could crie for anger and for rage ! 

\^Aside.^ 
Mis. Gou. But who should set it here, I maru'le, a 

Gods name. 
Mis. Bar. One that will hau'te from you, in the 

diuels name. \^Aside.^ 
Mis. Gou. lie lay my life that it was Barnses son. 
Mis. Bar. No, forsooth, it was Barnses wife. 
Mis. Gou. A plague vpon hei-, how she made me 

start ! l^Aside."] — 
Mistresse, let go the torch. 
Mis. Bar. No, but I will not. 
Mis. Gou. lie thrust it in thy face, then. 
Mis. Bar. But you shall not. 
Mis. Gou. Let go, I say. 
Mis. Bar. Let you go, for tis mine. 
Mis. Gou. But my possession saies, it is none of thine. 
Mis. Bar. Nay, I haue holde too. 
Mis. Gou. Well, let go thy hold. 



* your'] Sec. ed. " you." 

■f were] So sec. ed. First ed. " weerc." 



OF ABINGTON. 1 23 

Or I will spiirne thee. 

Mis. Bar. Do ; I can spurne thee too. 
Mis. Goii. Canst thou ? 
Mis. Bar. I, that I can. 

Enter Maister Goursie and Barnes, [Philip, 

Frank, (§•<?]. 

31. Gou. Why, how now, women ? how vnlike to 
women 
Are ye both now ! come, part, come, part, I say. 

M. Bar. Wliy, what immodestie is this in you ! 
Come, part, I say; fie, fie. 

Mis. Bar. Fie, fie ! I say, she shall not liaue my 
torch. — 
Glue me thy torch, boy : — I will runne a tilt, 
And burne out both her eyes in my encounter. 

Mis. Gou. Giue roome, and let us haue this hot 

carerie. 
M. Gou. I say, ye shall not: wife, go to, tame your 
thoughts 
That are so mad with furie. 

M. Bar. And, sweete wife. 
Temper your rage with patience ; doe not be 
Subiect so much to such misgouernment. 

Mis. Bar. Shall I not, sir, when such a strumpc^t 

wrongs me ? 
M. Gou. How, strumpet, mistresse Barnes ! nay, I 
pray, liarke ye : 
I oft indeed haue heard ye call her so, 
And I haue thought vpon it, why ye should 



124 THE TWO ANGRIE AVOMEN 

Twit her with name of strumpet ; do you know 
Any hurt by her, that you terme her so ? 

M. Bar. No, on my life; rage onely makes her say so. 

M. Gou. But I would know whence this same rage 
should come ; 
Whers smoke, theres fier ; and my heart misgiues 
My wiues intemperance hath got that name ; — 
And, mistresse Barnes, I doubt and shrewdly* doubt, 
And some great cause begets this doubt in me. 
Your husband and my Avife doth wrong vs both. 

M. Bar. How! thinke ye so? nay, maister Goursey, 
then, 
You runne in debt to my opinion. 
Because you pay not such aduised wisedome 
As I thinke due vnto my good conceit. 

M. Gou. Then still I feare I shall your debter prooue. 

\_M. Bar.^ Then I arrest you in the name of loue ; 
Not bale, but present answere to my plea; 
And in the court of reason we will trie 
If that good thoughts should beleeue ielousie. 

Phil. Why, looke ye, mother, this is long of you. — 
For Gods sake, father, harke ! why, these effects 
Come still from womens malice : part, I pray. — 
Comes, Wil, and Hodge, come all, and helpe vs part 

them ! — 
Father, but heare me speake one word, no more. 

Franke. Father, but heare himf speake, then vse 
your Avill. 

* shrewdly^ So sec. ed. First ed. " shrewdly." 

f him'] Sec. ed. " me" — wrongly, as appears from Avhat follows. 



OF ABINGTON. 125 

Phil. Crie peace betweene ye for a little while. 

Mis. Goii. Good husband, heai'c him speake. 

Mis. Bar. Good husband, heare him. 

Coom. Maister, heare him speake; hees a good wise 
young stripling for his yeares, I tell ye, and perhaps 
may speake wiser then an elder bodie ; therefore heare 
him. 

Hodg. Maister, heare, and make an end ; you may 
kill one another in iest, and be hanged in earnest. 

M. Gou. Come, let vs heai-e him. — Then, speake 
quickly, Phillip. 

M. Bar. Thou shouldst haue don ere this ; speake, 
Phillip, speak. 

Mis. Bar. O Lord, what hast you make to hurt 
your selues ! — 
Good Phillip, vse some good perswasions 
To make them friends. 

Phil. Yes, Be do what I can. — 
Father, and maister Goursey, both attend. 
It is presumption in so young a man 
To teach where he might learne, or to* derect 
Where he hath had direction ; but in dutie 
He may perswade as long as his perswase 
Is backt with reason and a rightfull sute. 
Phisickes first rule is this, as I haue learned. 
Kill the effect by cutting oif the cause : 
The same effects of ruffin outrages 
Comes by the cause of malice in your wiues ; 

* to'] Eds. "be." 



126 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Had not they two bene foes, you had been friends, 
And we had beene at home, and this same warre 
In peacefull sleepe had neai'e beene dreamt vpon. — 
Mother, and mistresse Goursey, to make them friends, 
Is to be friends your selues : you are the cause, 
And these effects proceed, you know, from you ; 
Your hates giue hfe vnto these killing strifes, 
But die, and if that enuye* die in you. — 
Fathers, yet stay. — O, speake ! — O, stay a while ! — 
Francis, perswade thy mother. — Maister Goursey, 
If that my mother will resoluef your mindej 
That tis but meere suspect, not common proofe. 
And if my fatlier sweare hees innocent. 
As I durst pawne my soule with him he is, 
And if yoiu' wife vow trueth and constancie, 
Will you be then perswaded '^ 

M. Gou. Phillip, if thy father will remit 
The wounds I gaue him, and if these conditions 
May be performde, I bannish all my wrath. 

M. Bar. And if thy mother will but cleere me, 
PhiUip, 
As I am readie to protest I am, 
Then maister Goursey is my friend againe. 

Phil. Harke, mother ; now you heare that your 
desires 
May be accomplished ; they will both be friends. 
If you'l performe these easie articles. 

* envye] i.e. ill-will. 

■f resolue] i.e. satisfy, convince. 

J minde] Eds. " mindes." 



OF ABINGTON. 127 

Mis. Bar. Shall I be friends with such an enemie ? 

Phil. Wliat say you* vnto my perswase ? 

Mis. Bar. I say sheesf my deadly enemie. 

Phil. I, but she will be your friend, if you reuolt. 

Mis. Bar. The words I said ! Avliat, shall I eate a 
trueth ? 

Phil. Why, harke ye, mother. 

Fran. Mother, what say you ? 

Mis. Gou. Wliy, this I say, she slaundered my cjood 
name. 

Fran. But if she now denie it, tis no defame. 

Mis. Gou. What, shall I thinke her hate will yeeld 
so much ? 

Fran. Why, doubt it not ; her spirit may be such. 

M. Gou. Why, will it be ? 

Phil. Yet stay, I haue some hope. 
Mother, why, mother, why, heare ye|: 
Giue me your hand ; it is no more but thus; 
Tis easie labour to shake hands with her : 
A§ little breath is spent in speaking of faire words, 
When wrath hath violent deliuerie. 

M. Bar. What, shall we be resolu'd ? 
3Iis. Bar. O husband, stay ! — 
Stay, maister Goursey : though your wife dooth hate 

me. 
And beares vnto me maUice infinite 
And eudlesse, yet I will respect your safeties ; 

* yow] Qy. "yoM, mother"? 
f shees'l Read, for the metre, "she is." 
\ heart: ijt\ Something has dropt out here. 
§ A] Ought probably to be omitted. 



128 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

I would not haue you perish by our meanes : 

I must confesse that onely suspect, 

And no proofe els, hath fed my hate to her. 

Mis. Gou. And, husband, I protest by heauen and 
earth 
That her suspect is causles and vniust, 
And that I nere had such a vilde* intent ; 
Harme she imaginde, where as none was ment. 

Phil. Loe, sir, what would yee more ? 

31. Bar. Yes, Phillip, this ; 
That I confirme him in my innocence 
By this large vniuerse. 

M. Gou. By that I sweare, 
lie credit none of you, vntill I heere 
Friendship concluded straight betweene them two : 
If I see that they willingly will doe. 
Then He imagine all suspition ends ; 
I may be then assured, they being friends. 

Phil. Mother, make full my wish, and be it so. 

Mis. Bar. What, shall I sue for friendship to my foe? 

Phil. No : if she yeeld, wiU you ? 

Mis. Bar. It may be, I. 

Phil. Why, this is well. The other I will trie. — 
Come, mistresse Goursey, do you fii'st agree. 

Mis. Gou. What, shall I yeeld vnto mine enemie ? 

Phi. Why, if she will, will }'Ou ? 

Mi[s.'] Gou. Perhaps I will. 

Phil. Nay, then, I finde this goes well forward still. 

* f/We] i.e. ^ile. 



OF ABINGTON. 129 

Mother, giue me your hand, — giue me yours to ;* — 

Be not so loath ; some good thing I must doe ; 

But lay your torches by, I like not them ; 

Come, come, deliuer them vnto your men : 

Giue me your hands. — So, now, sir, heere I stand. 

Holding two angrie women in my hand : 

And I must please them both ; I could please tone,| 

But it is hard when there is two to one, 

Especially of women ; but tis so. 

They shall be pleasd whether they will or no. — 

Which will come first? what, both giue back ! ha, neither ! 

Wliy, then, yond may helpe that come both together. 

So, stand still, stand| but a little while. 

And see how I your angers will beguile. 

Well, yet there is no hurt ; why, then, let me 

loyne these two hands, and see how theil agree : 

Peace, peace ! they crie ; looke how they friendly kisse ! 

Well, all this while there is no harme in this : 

Ai-e not these two twins ? twins should be both alike, 

If tone speakes faire, the tother should not strike : 

lesus, these warriours will not offer blowes ! 

Why, then, tis strange that you two should be foes. 

0, yes, youle say, your weapons are your tongues ; 

Touch lip with lip, and they are bound from wrongs : 

Go to, imbrace, and say, if you be friends. 

That heere the angrie womens quarrels ends. 

Mils']. Gour. Then heere it ends, if mistres Barnes 
say so. 



to'] i.e. too. t tone'] i.e. the one. 

I stand] Qy. " stand still'"? 

K 



130 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Mis. Bar. If you say, I, I list not to say, no. 
M. Gour. If they be friends, by promise we agree. 
31. Bar. And may this league of friendship euer be ! 
Phil. Wliat saist thou, Franke ? doth not this fall 

out weU ? 
Fra. Yes, if my Mall were heere, then all were well. 

Enter Sir Raphe Smith with Mall. 

Raph. Yonder they be. Mall : stay, stand close, and 
stur not, 
VntiU I call. — God saue yee, gentlemen ! 

M. Bar. What, sir Raphe Smith ! you are a wel- 
come man : 
We wondred when we heard you were abroad. 

S. Raph. Why, sir, how heard yee that I was abroad? 

M. Bar. By your man. 

Raph. My man ! where is he ? 

If ill. Heere. 

Raph. O, yee are a trustie squire ! 

Nich. It had bin better, and he had said, a sure carde. 

Phil. Why, sir ? 

Nich. Because it is the prouerbe. 

Phil. Away, yee asse ! 

Nich. An asse goes a foure legs ; I go of two, Christ 
crosse. 

Phil. Hold your tongue. 

Nich. And make no more adoe. 

M. Gou. Go to, no more adoe. — Gentle sir Raphe, 
Your man is not in fault for missing you. 
For he mistooke by vs, and we by him. 



OF ABINGTON. 131 

Raph. And I by you ; which now 1 well pereeiue. 
But tell me, gentlemen, what made yee all 
Be from your beds this night, and why thus late 
Are your wiaies walking heere about the fields :* 
Tis strange to see such women of accoumpt 
Heere ; but I gesse some great occasion. 

M. Gou. Faith, this occasion, sir: women will iarre; 
And iarre they did to day, and so they parted ; 
We knowing womens mallice let alone 
Will, canker like, eate farther in their hearts, 
Did seeke a soddaine cure, and thus it was, — 
A match betweene his daughter and my sonne : 
No sooner motioned but twas agreed, 
And they no sooner saw but wooed and likte : 
They haue it sought to crosse, and crosse it thus. 

Raph, Fye, mistresse Barnes, and mistresse Goursey 
both ; 
The greatest sinne wherein your soules may sinne, 
I thinke, is this, in crossing of true loue : 
Let me perswade yee. 

Mis. Bar. Sir, we are perswaded. 
And I and mistresse Groursey are both friends ^ 
And, if my daughter were but found againe. 
Who now is missing, she had my consent 
To be disposd off to her owne content. 

Raph. I do rejoyce that what I thought to doe, 
Ere I begin, I finde already done : 

* JicJds'] So sec. ed. First cA. " filt-ds," 



132 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Why, this will please your friends at Abington. — 
Franke, if thou seekst that way, there thou shalt fiiide 
Her, whom I holde the comfort of thy minde. 

3Iall. He shall not seeke me ; I will seeke him out, 
Since of my mothers graunt I need not doubt. 

Mi\_s~\. Bar. Thy mother graunts, my girle, and she 
doth pray 
To send vnto you both a ioyfull day ! 

Hodge. Nay, mistresse Barnes, I wish her better ; 
that those ioyfull dayes may be turnd to ioyfull nights, 

Coomes. Faith, tis a pretty wench, and tis pitty but 
she should liaue him. 

Nich. And, mistresse Mary, when yee go to bed, 
God send you good rest, and a peck of fleas in your 
nest, euery one as big as Francis ! 

Phil. Well said, wisdome: God send thee wise 
children ! 

Nich. And you more mony. 

Phil. I, so wish I. 

Nich. TwiU be a good while ere you wish your skin 
full of ilet holes. 

Phil. Franke, harke ye : brother, now your wooings 
doone. 
The next thing now you doe is for a Sonne ; 
I prithe, for, i faith, I should be glad 
To haue myselfe called nunckle,* and thou dad. — 
Well, sister, if that Francis play the man, 

* nunchle] A common, fumili:ir contraction of mine uncle. 



OP ABINGTON. 133 

My mother must be grandam, and you mam. — 
To it, Francis, — to it, sister ! — God send yee ioy ! 
Tis fine to sing, dansey, my owne sweete boye ! 

Fran. Well, sir, iest on. 

Phil. Nay, sir,* do you iest on. 

M. Bar. Well, may she prooue a happy wife to him ! 

M. Gou. And may he prooue as happy vnto her ! 

S. Raph. Well, gentlemen, good hap betide them both ! 
Since twas my hap thus happily to meete. 
To be a witnesse of this sweete contract, 
I doe reioyce ; wherefore, to haue this ioye 
Longer present with me, I do request 
That all of you will be my promist guests : 
This long nights labour dooth desire some rest, 
Besides this wished end ; therefore, I pray, 
Let me deteine yee but a dinner time : 
Tell me, I pray, shall I obtaine so much ? 

M. Bar. Gentle sir Raphe, your coui'tesie is such 
As may impose commaund vnto vs all ; 
We will be thankfuU bolde at your request. 

Phil. I pray, sir Raph, what cheare shall we haue ? 

S. Rap. I faith, countrie fare, mutton and veale, 
Perchance a ducke or goose. 

Mai. Oh, I am sicke ! 

All. How now. Mall ? whats the matter ? 

Mai. Father and mothei', if you needs would know, 
He nam'd a goose, which is my stomackes foe. 

* sirl^ Sec. cd. " He." 



134 THE TWO ANGRIE WOMEN 

Phil. Come, come, she is with childe of some od iest, 
Aud now shees sicke till that she bring* it foorth. 

Mai. A iest, quoth you ! well, brother, if it be, 
I feare twill prooue an earnest vnto me. — 
Goose, said ye, sir ? Oh, that same very name 
Hath in it much varietie of shame ! 
Of all the birds that euer yet was scene, 
I would not haue them graze vpon this greene ; 
I hope they will not, for this crop is poore, 
And they may pasture vpon greater store : 
But yet tis pittie that they let them passe, 
And like a common bite the Muses grasse. 
Yet this I feare ; if Franke and I should kisse, 
Some creeking goose would cliide vs with a hisse : 
I meane not that goose that sings it knowes not what ;f 
Tis not that hisse when one sales, ' hist, come hither' ; 
Nor that same hisse that setteth dogges together; 
Nor that same hisse that by a fier doth stand. 
And hisseth T. or Y.\ vpon the hand; 
But tis a liisse, and He vnlace my cote. 
For I should sound § sure, if I heard that note. 
And then greene ginger for the greene goose cries, 
Serues not the turne, — I turn'd the white of eyes. 
The rosa-solis yet that makes me liue 
Is fauour|| that these gentlemen may giue ; 

* bring'] So sec. ed. Fii'st ed. " brings." 

f not what] A line, which rhymed with this one, has dropt out. 

J T. or F.] i.e. Traitor or Felon. 

§ sound] i.e. swoon. 

II fatiour] Sec ed. " fauours." 



OF ABINGTON. 135 

But if they be displeased, then pleas'd am I, 

To yeeld my selfe a hissing death to die : 

Yet I hope heres* none consents to kill, 

But kindly take the fauour of good will. 

If any thing be in the pen to blame, 

Then here stand I to blush the writers shame : 

If this be bad, he promises a better ; 

Trust him, and he will prooue a right true debter. 



Im-es'] Read, for the metre, " hove is," 



( . RICHARDS, PRINTKR.ST. MAUTIJJ S LANE. 



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