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This book is DUE on last date stamped below 

MAR 3 1 ^«' 

OCT 2 8 1960 

REC'D M1.0 

JUH5 ^.98' 


4 Mr«niflB 










VOL. xxvir. 



Wo \ 
















€f)t |3crfj) ^oriftp. 







J. H. DIXON, Esq. 


J. M. GUTCH, Esq., F.S A. 


F.S.A., Acting Secretary. 
W. JERDAN, Esq. M.R.S.L. 
J. S. MOORE, Esq. 
T.J. PETTIUREW, Esq. F.R.S., F.S.A. 
THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq. .M.A., F S.A., Treasurer. 


The only introduction, to what was supposed to 
have been a lost play of Massinger's, that can be 
required from me on placing that entitled "Beleeve 
as you List " in the hands of the Members of the 
Percy Society, is a simple statement of the cir- 
cumstances under which the manuscript copy of 
it came into my possession. 

In the fourth volume of the Monthly Mirror^ 
(a periodical devoted to theatrical affairs and now 
scarcely remembered), New Series, p. 177, for 
September 1808, the following passage occurs 
with reference to the edition of Massinger's 
works produced by the late editor of the Quarterly 
Review. " On reading Mr. Gifford's preface to 
this author, I felt equally inclined with himself, 
and indeed every lover of the drama, to lament 
the destruction of those plays which were de- 
posited in the care of Mr. Warburton's cook. 
Among them is the title of one, Beleeve as yoib 
List, in relation to which Colley Clbber has a 
remark, vol. ii, p. 203, of the Apology for his 
Life. He affirms that he had seen it in manu- 


script, with the license of Lord Henry Herbert, 
May 6, 1631, and, as a proof of its having been 
represented, that it was properly marked through- 
out. From the mention of this latter circumstance, 
it is most probable that Gibber speaks of the play- 
house copy at Drury Lane, where he was then 
acting. Unless this were the one which fell 
into the hands of Mr. W., the manuscript may 
yet be in existence, and if so, could perhaps be 
traced by Mr. Gifford, with a result similar to 
that of the Parliament of Love, which appears in 
his valuable edition." 

Tower Hill* July 8, 1808. 

Mr. Gifford, however, failed in tracing the manu- 
script of " Beleeve as you List," and I have heard 
him (1819) more than once lament the circum- 
stance, and doubt its existence. The copy now 
first printed of that play, it has been ni}^ fortune 
to edit from the identical manuscript mentioned 
in the Montlily Mirror, which I received from 
Samuel Beltz, Esq., of Fulhani, nearly five years 
since, with the following note. 

Colehill Cottage, April 26th, 1844. 
My dear Sir, — In overlooking a short time ago 

* No (loulit the luivjilo uuirk of the wcll-kiiowii Tom Hill. 


some old papers in my possession, my attention 
was attracted to the enclosed remarkable manu- 
script. Massinger, you are aware, wrote at least 
thirty-seven plays for the stage, eleven of which 
were never printed, and have always been sup- 
posed to have shared the fate of some other 
valuable papers of Warburton, the co-temporary 
Somerset Herald, whose cook used them for the 
purpose of lighting her fires. The play called 
" Beleeve as you List," has been repeatedly de- 
scribed as being one of the lost pieces; but we 
have here a proof that the sins of the poor cook 
have been exawo-erated. 


I have reason to believe that the MS. was 
formerly in the hands of David Garrick, in whose 
time the merits of Massinger were not highly 
appreciated; and who might not, therefore, have 
had the same regard for the missing document, 
as it would subsequently have obtained from the 
late Mr. Gifford had it fortunately fallen into his 

It has unluckily suffered somewhat from time 
and carelessness ; but one leaf only seems to have 
been sacrificed in "SYarburton's kitchen, if it ever 
found its way at all into that den of iniquity. 
The title, at least, I believe to be in Massinger's 
own hand-writing; and the license, in that of Sir 
Henry Herbert, dated 6 May, 1631, proves its 

VI 11 

originality. It is well known from other sources 
that it was first acted on the following day. 

I do not know whether you will be disposed to 
read it throughout, which I confess I have not 
had sufficient patience to do- To an editor of the 
poet it would be acceptable, although the merits 
of the piece might be considered inferior to some 
of those which are already known to the public. 
At all events you will oblige me by giving it a 
place among your other curiosities. 

I am, my dear sir, yours faithfully, 

Samuel Beltz. 

Mr. Beltz subsequently wrote to me on the 6th 
June, as follows: — 

" Lest there should be any misconception about 
the history of the Massinger MS., I wish to 
explain tliat it is only from inference that I have 
supposed it was ever in Garrick's possession. My 
late brother was entirely unconscious of its 
existence. It was concealed in a vast mass of 
rubbish which was submitted to my inspection by 
a member of my family [)revious to its intended 
destruction ; and the discovery was made only a 
few days before I sent the document to you. 
The lumber, from which I selected that and other 
papers of less interest, liad accumulated in the 
course of years from many sources; the origin of 


some portions I have been wholly unable to 

The manuscript of the play of " Beleeve as you 
List", from its commencement to the termination 
of the license, was written on forty-eight pages of 
foolscap pajDcr in a small hand, sometimes not 
easy to be read. Of the second leaf only an in- 
considerable portion remains, and the top and 
bottom of the paper have been injured in some 
places by damj). In four additional pages after 
the license, the prologue, epilogue and property 
directions are preserved. The latter becomes 
peculiarly interesting from the researches of Mr. 
J. Payne Collier, whose " Memorials of the 
principal actors in the plays of Shakespeare", 
printed for the Shakespeare Society, have made us 
familiar, not only with the names, but the biogra- 
phies of Elyard, Swanston, Thomas Pollard, 
Joseph Taylor, Richard Robinson, John Low in, 
and Robert Benfeild. 

The manuscrijjt is stitched up in a parchment 
cover, which appears to have been a cancelled 
" Indenture, made the seventh dale of October 
in the seven and thirtieth yeare of the raigne of 

our Sovercigne L Ireland, 

Queen, defender of the faithe, &c. Between 
Nicholas Fuller, of London, Esquier — of the one 
parte, and Thomas " . . . .as may be after- 

wards gleaned, Jones and Judith (his wife) 
respecting a " tennament and plott of grounde, 
heretofore called Ramsey Corte, and nowe of 
late commonly called or knowne by the name of" 
. and it is presumed being in the parish 
of St. " Giles's without, Criplegate, in the 
suburbs of the citie of London." This holding, 
it further appears, was to be for thirty years, 
and for the payment of " Tenne shillinges." On 
the outside page of this parchment, or back of the 
cancelled indenture, is written the title, in what I 
agree with Mr. Beltz in regarding as Massinger's 
autograph, and of which I have had, under 
instructions from the Council of the Percy Society, 
a fac-simile carefully prepared. Although Mas- 
singer's name is tliere spelled Massenger, those 
who recollect the idle controversy about the 
spelling of the name of our immortal bard, his 
contemporary, will perhaps thank me for not 
saying one word upon the subject beyond merely 
calling attention to it, and following Mr. Gifford as 
my authority, that he did spell his name Massinger. 
If, however, I at once yield to the popular 
reading, or rather spelling, in this matter, I feel 
it to be my duty, as an honest editor, to retain 
the punctuation of the manuscript as far as I 
have been able to do so, being satisfied, from 
certain indications In the colour of the inks, and 


other circumstances, that Massinger himself must 
partially have punctuated it, or corrected and 
dictated the punctuation. To this nicety (as it 
may be called) my attention was not particularly 
directed until after p. 32 had passed from my 
hands into those of the printer ; when, upon for- 
warding the subsequent proof-sheet, I received a 
solemn protest from Mr. Richards, the very 
zealous, correct, and intelligent printer of all the 
books issued by the Percy, and other Archaeolo- 
gical Associations, to the effect, that he had 
found my " punctuation so much in opposition to 
all our modern rules," that he hesitated proceed- 
ing without specific directions for his guidance. 
I found myself, therefore, called upon to take 
" those vile characters," — as my old schoolmaster 
used to call them, and, most amusingly, abuse his 
pupils accordingly, under the names of stop, full 
stop, colon, semi-colon, and comma, — into very 
serious consideration. 

"The former sheets" (to d), observed Mr. 
Richards, "are punctuated as sense directs, but 
in the present case I conceive that you follow 
the manuscript. Do not all editors (Mr. Dyce, 
for example) assist the reader to the sense of 
their author ? No one but will imagine that 
such errors as full stops where commas are dic- 
tated, and vice-versa, originate in the printer''s 

ignorance. Two-and-twenty, printed two, and 
twe/iti/, is a blunder not worth retaining." 

Sincerely thanking Mr. Richards for his criti- 
cism, and after well weighing its probable results 
upon his sensitive desire to be considered a 
careful and accurate printer, with my own cor- 
responding balance as a faithful editor, I deter- 
mined to follow, after page 32, the punctuation 
of the manuscript, having previously adhered to 
the same course with regard to the spelling. 

For the punctuation, generally speaking, I am 
therefore alone responsible ; and I cannot perceive 
that it offers the slightest imj)ediment to the 
comprehension of the perfect sense ; while to my 
ear (but I may be mistaken) certain unfashionable 
pauses greatly enhance the value of the reading. 

The conjectural readings, which the injury the 
manuscript has sustained have tempted me to 
supply, are marked within brackets, [thus]. And 
in my transcript I have not thought it desirable 
to retain such ordinary contractions as w*^''. for 
which, comandcs for commands, and s"". for sir. 
Nor have the capital letters been strictly adhered 

As the Manuscript commences with " Actus 
primi, Scasna prima", p. 1, and there is no list of 
Dramatis Personw, they stand thus arranged, 
according to the order of tlieir aj)pcarance. 

Stoicque. ] 

S^^u^ r Ungrateful Slaves of Antiuc/u/s. 

Geta J 

Berecinthius, a Flamen. 

1 Merchant ] 

2 Mkkchant i Asiatics. 

3 Merchant j 

Flaminius, the Roman Ambassador to Carthage. 

Calistus ) n i- j * 
\ 2 rreeamen.* 
Demetrius J 

Amilcar, Prince of the Senate of Carthage. 

Hanno \ 

AsDRUBAL I Setiators of Carthage. 

Carthalo ) 





Metellus, a Proconsul of Liisitania. 


Sesipronius, a Centurion. 







Moorish Waiting- Woman. 

* So in the MS. ; but at p. 1.3 it has been erroneously 
altered to "Free-men." 


It only remains on my part to take this oppor- 
tunity of expressing to Mr. Beltz my deep and 
sincere gratitude for the distinction he has con- 
ferred on me, in confiding to my editorial care a 
lost ])lay of Massinger's. No one can be better 
aware than himself of the numerous and serious 
duties which have occupied my time and attention 
for the last ten or twelve years, which must plead 
as my apology for delay in placing so valuable a 
work beyond the risk of loss. 

T. C. C. 

3, Gloucester Road, Old Brompton. 

VecemberSOih, 1818. 

Actus Primi, Sc-^ina Prima. 

Antiochus — Stoicque (m Philosopher's habits) — 

Chrysalus [with a writing, opens [/<] accidenta\^l1i/']) 

— Syrus — Geta. 

Stoicque. You are now in sight of Carthage, that 

greate cittie, 
Which in her empires vastnesse rivalls Rome 
At her prowde height ; two howers will bringe you 

Make use of what you have learnde in your longe 

travayles ; 
And from the golden principles read to you 
In th' Athenian Academie ; stand resolvde 
For either fortune. You must now forget 
The contemplations of a private man ; 
And put in action that which may compile 
With the majestic of a monarch. 

Antiochus. How that title ? 
That glorious attribute of majestic, 
That troublesome, thowgh most triumphant robe, 
Designde mee in my birth, which I have worne 
With terror, and astonishement to others, 



Affirights meo now ! O raemorie ! memorie ! 

Of what I was once ! when the easterne worlde 

With wonder in my May of youth look'd on mee. 

Embassadors of the most potent kinges 

"With noble semulation contendinge 

To court ray freindship, their faire daughters ofFer'd, 

As pledges to assure it with all pompe 

And circumstance of glorie. Rome, her selfe, 

And Carthage, Eemulous, whose side I showlde 

Confirme in my protection. remembrance, 

With what ingenious crueltie, and tortures. 

Out of a due consideration of 

My present, lowe, and desperate condition, 

Do'st thou afflicte mee now, 

Stoicque. You must oppose 
(For soe the Stoicque discipline commandes you) 
That wisdome, with your pacyence fortcfi'd. 
Which holdes dominion over fate, against 
The torrent of your passion. 

Antiochus. I showlde ; 
I doe confesse I showlde, yf I cowlde drincke up 
That river of forgetfullnesse poets dreame of. 
But still in dreadfuU formes, (philosophic wantinge 
Power to remove 'em,) all those innocent spirits 
Borroweinge againe their bodies, gashde with woundes, 
(Which strowde Achaia's bloodie plaines, and made 
Rivolctts of gore) appeare to mee exactinge 
A stricte accomptc of my ambition's follye. 
For the exposinge of twelve thowsaiidc soules 
(Whoe fell that fatall day) to certaine ruine; 


Neither the counsaile of the Persian kinge 
Prewaylinge with mee, nor the grave advice 
Of my wise enemie, Marcus Scaurus, hindi-inge 
My desperate enterprise to late repented. 
Mee thinckes I now looke on my butcher'd armie. 

Stoicque. This is raeere melancholye. 

A7itiochus. O 't is more, sir ; 
Here, there, and every where, they doe pursue mee. 
The genius of my cuntrie, made a slave. 
Like a weepinge mother seemes to kneele before mee, 
Wringeinge her manacled handes ; the hopefull youth. 
And braverie of my kingdome, in their pale 
And ghastlye lookes lamentinge that they were 
To soone by my meanes forc'd from their sweete beeing: 
Old [ ]sper with his fierce beames noui-[ishing]e 
in value 

Their olives and 

Traynde up in all delights, or sacred to 

The chaste Diana's lites, compelde to bowe to 

The souldier's lusts, or at an outcrie solde 

Under the speare, like beasts to bee spurnde, and trod on 

By their prowde mistrisses the Roman matrons. 

O, sir ! consyder then, yf it can bee 

In the constancie of a Stoicque to indure 

What nowe I suffer. 

Stoicque. Two and twentye yeares 
Travaylinge ore the worlde, you have pay'd the forfeite 
Of this ingagement, shed a sea of teares 
In your sorrowe for it ; and now beeinge call'd from 
The rigour of a stricte philosopher's life, 



By the cries of your poore enntrie, you are bounde, 

With an obedient cheerefullnesse, to follow 

The path that you are enterd in, which will 

Guide you out of a wildernesse of horror, 

To the flourishinge plaines of safetie, the just gods 

Smoothinge the way before you. 

Antiochus. Thowgh I grant 
That all impossibilities are easie 
To their omnipotence, gieve mee leave to feare 
The more then doubtfuU issue. Can it fall 
In the corapasse of my hopes, the lordlye Romans 
Soe longe possessde of Asia, their plea 
Made good by conquest, and that ratefide 
With their relligious authoritie ; 
The propagation of the common welth. 
To whose increase they are sworne to, will ere part with 
A pray soe pretious, and deerelye purchasde ? 
A tigresse, circlde with her famish 'd whelpes. 
Will sooner yeelde a larabe, snatchde from the flocke, 
To the dumbe oratorie of the ewe. 
Then Rome restore one foote of earth that may 
Diminishe her wast empire, 

Stoicque. In her will 
This may bee granted ; but you have a title 
Soe stronge, and clcare, that there's noe colour left 
To varnishe Rome's pretences. Ad this, sir, 
The Asian princes, warn'd by your example 
And yet unconquer'd, never will consent 
That such a foule example of injustice 
Shall to the scandall of the present age, 


Hereafter bee recorded. They in this 
Are equallie ingag'd with you, and must, 
Thowgh not in love to justice, for their safetie, 
In policie assist, garde, and protecte you, 
And you may rest assur'd, neither the kinge 
Of Parthia, the Gauls, nor big bonde Germans, 
Nor this greate Carthage, growne ali'eadie jealous 
Of Rome's incrochinge empire, will crie ainie 
To such an usurpation, which must 
Take from their owne securitie. Besides, 
Your mother was a Roman ; for her sake. 
And the famelies from which shee is deriv'd. 
You must finde favour. 

A?itiochtis. For her sake, alas ! sir, 
Ambition knowes noe kinred ; right and lawful! 
Was never yet founde as a marginall note 
In the blacke booke of profit. I am suncke 
To lowe to be bouyde up, it beeinge helde 
A foolishe weakenesse, and disease in statists 
In favour of a weake man to provoke 
Such as are mightie .: the imperious waves 
Of my callamities [hav]e alreadie fallne 

[wi]ll unravell 

Note. — The bottom oF the first leaf of the MS. has been in- 
jured by damp. Page two ends here, and page one terminates 
with lines 15 and IG as printed in page three. The Editor is 
indebted to the perseverance and industry of Mr. Fairholt for 
the reading, so far as it has been accomplished, of these im- 
perfect lines. 


JVine previous lines appear to be icanting. 

Five lines wanting. 






Three lines scanting. 
Five lines wanting. 

Two lines wanting. 
Seven lines wanting. 


Syrus. Hav 
A k[inge] 

Chrysalus. A l<[ingc] 


In tr 
To ni 
This is 

Geta. Wee k 

Chrysalus. But w 
To bee 
Noe soon 
Shall for 
Hee's p 

Syrus. All that 

Geta. Humph. 

CIiTysaliis. And wher 
Your bu 

Geta. I am in 
And feele in 

Chrysalus. A bulls 
When you 
Make the cur 

Syrus. What wouldc 

Gctn. Or what doe yo 

Chrysalus. To save my se 
And what is mo 
Not one in supp 
Bee wantinge so 


Note. — Pages six and seven correspond with all that remains 
of page three of the MS., and pages eight and nine represent all 
that can be read of page four. The wanting lines are calculated 
by the space occupied in the wi'iting of the opposite page of the 


Note. — Thirty-eight lines appear to be wanting. — By a curious 
coincidence tlio last words on the torn page of the MS. are 
"Bee wantinge so;" and the opposite page of the MS., as pi*e- 
servod, has " the torne booke" as the termination of the last line. 

Five lines wanting. 

One line wanting. 


Tivo lines wanting. 

h forth 

Three lines wanting. 


Two lines wanting. 

nd malice 
(le you \exil Stoicque. 

One line wanting. 

vanishde ! 
One line wanting. 
is mischief 

is open 
the torne booke. 

The peu has been drawn through this word in the MS. 


opes despaire with sable winges 
ore ray head ; the golde with which 
us furnish'd mee to supplie my wants 
made my first apparence like my selfe 
s disloyall villaines ravish'd from mee, 
[Wr]etch that I was to tempt their abject mindes 
[Wijth such a purchase. Can I in this weede, 
[Wi]thout gold to fee an advocate, 
[To] pleade my royall title, nourishe hope 
[0]f a recoverie ? Forlorne majestic, 
Wantinge the outward glosse, and ceremonie 
To gieve it lustre, meetes noe more respecte 
Then knowledge with the ignorant. Ha ! what is 
Contaiude in this wast paper ? 'tis indors'de 
To the noe hinge Antiochus ; and subscribde, 
Noe more thy servant, but superior, Chrysalus. 
What am I falne to ? there is somethinge writ more. 
Why this small peece of silver ? what I read may 
Reveale the misterie — Forget thou wert ever 
Calld hinge Antiochus, with this charitie 
I enter thee a begger. — To towgh heart, 
Will nothinge break thee ? O, that now I stood 
On some high pyramid, from whence I might 
Be seene by the whole worlde, and with a voice 
Lowder then thunder, pierce the eares of prowd 
And secure greatenesse with the trewe relation 
Of my remarkeable storie, that my fall 
Might not bee fruitlesse, but still live the greate 
Example (jf man's rraylctie. 1, that was 


Borne and bred up a kinge, whose frowne or smile 

Spake death, or life, my will a law ; my person 

Environde with an armie ; now exposde 

To the contempt, and scorne of my owne slave ; 

Whoe, in his pride, as a god compar'd with mee, 

Bids mee become a begger. But complaynts 

Are weake and womanishe. I will, like a palme tree, 

Growe under my huge waight ; nor shall the feare 

Of death or torture, that dejection bringe. 

To make mee live, or dye, lesse then a kinge. Exit, 

Actus primi, Scena secunda. Berecinthius, a 
Flamen, 3 Asian Marchants. 

Ent. Berecinthius {ivilh 3 papers) and 3 Marchants. 

1 Marchant. Wee are growne soe contemptible hee 

To give us hearinge. 

2 Merchant. Keepes us of at such distance. 
And with his Roman gx^avitie declines 

Our sude for conference, as with much more ease 
Wee might make our approches to the Parthnen 
Without a present, then worke hym to have 
A feelinge of our grievances. 

3 Marchant. A statesman ? 

The divell I thincke, whoe onlye knowes hym truelye 
Can gieve his character. When hee is to determine 
A poynt of justice, his wordes fall in measure, 
Like plummets of a docke, observinge time 
And just proportion. 


1 Marchant. But when bee is 

To speake in any cawse concernes hym selfe, 
Or Rome's republicque, like a gusbinge torrent 
Not to be stopp'd in its full course, bis reasons, 
Deliver'd like a seconde Mercurie 
Breake in, and b[reak] d[owne] wbatsoever is 
Oppos'd against 'em. 

2 Marchant. Wben bee smiles, let such 
Beware as have to doe with byra, for then, 
Sa7is doubt, bee's bent to miscbeife. 

Berecinthius. As I am 
Cybele's flamen (whose most sacred image, 
Drawne thus in pompe, I weare upon my brest) ; 
I am priveledgde, nor is it in bis power 
To doe mee wronge, and bee shall finde I can 
Thank, and alowd to, wben I am not at 
Her altar kneelinge. Mother of the gods, what is bee ? 
At bis best but a patritian of Rome, 
Plis name, Titus Flaminius ; and speake mine, 
Berecinthius, Arcbflamen to Cybele, it makes as greate 
a sownde. 

3 Marchant. Trewc, but bis place, sir, 

And the power it carx'ies in it as Rome's legate, 
Gieves hym preheminence ore you. 

Berecinthius. Not an atome. 
Wben morall honestie and jus gentium faile 
To lende reliefe to such as are oppres'd, 
Relligion must use her strength. I am perfit 
In theis notes you gave mec. Doe they contayne at full 
Your grievances and losses ? 


Enter Flaminius, Calistus, Demetri. 

1 Marchant. Woulde they were 

As well redres'd, as they are punctuallie 
Deliver'd to you- 

Berec'mthius. Say noe more, they shall, 
And to the purpose. 

2 Marchant. Heere he comes. 
Bei'ecinthius. Have at hyra. 

Flaminius. Bio we away theis troublesome and im- 
portunate drones, 
I have embrious of greater consequence 
In my imaginations, to which 
I must gieve life and forme, not now vouchsafinge 
To heare their idle buzzes. 

2 Marchant. Note you that. 

Bereci7ithius, Yes, I doe note it ; but the flamen is 
Soe light to bee remov'd by a groome's breath ; 
I must, and will speake, and I thus confront hym. 

Flaminius. But that the image of the goddesse, which 
Thou wear'st upon thy brest, protects thy rudenesse. 
It had forfeyted thy life. Dost thou not tremble 
When an incensed Roman frownes ? 

Berecinthius. I see 
Noe Gorgon in your face. 

Flaminius. Must I speake in thunder 
Before thow wilt be awde ? 

Bereciyithius. I rather looke 
For reverence from thee, yf thou respectest 


The goddesse power, and in her name I charge thee 
To gieve mee hearinge. If theis lyons rore, 
For thy contempt of her especte a vengeance 
Sutable to thy pride. 

Flaminius. Thou shalt orecome : 
There 's noe contendinge with thee. 

3 Marchant. Hitherto, 
The flamen hath the better. 

1 Marchant. But I feare 
Hee will not keepe it. 

Berecinthius. Knowe you theis men's faces ? 

Flaminius. Yes, yes ; poore Asiaticqs. 

Berecinthius. Poore, they are made soe 
By your Roman tyrannic and oppression. 

\^Flaminius.'\ . . [deeds] 

Yf arrogantly you presume to take 
The Roman governement, your goddess cannot 
Gieve priveledge to it, and you'l finde and feele 
'Tis litle lesse then treason, flamen. 

Berecinthius. Truth, 
In your pride is soe interpreted; theis poore men, 
Theis Asiaticq marchants, whom you looke on 
[^Y]ith such contempt and scorne, are they to whom 
[Ro]me owes her braverie ; their industrious serch 
[T]o the farthest Inde, with danger to them selves, 
Bringes home securitie to you, to you unthanckcfull ; 
Your magazines are from their sweat supplide ; 
The legions, with which you friglit the worlde. 
Are from their labour pay'd ; the Tirian fislie. 
Whose blood dies your prowdc purple, in the colour 


Distinguishinge the senator's garded robe 
From a plebeian habit, their nets catch ; 
The diamonde hewde from the rocke, the pearle 
Divde for into the bottome of the sea ; 
The saphir, rubie, jacinth, amber, currall, 
And all rich ornaments of your Latian dames 
Are Asian spoyles ; they are indeede the nurses 
And sinnewes of your war, and without them 
What cowlde you doe ? Your handkercher. 

Flaminius, Wipe your face, 
You are in a sweat. The weather's hot, take heede 
Of meltinge your fat kidneys. 

Berecinthiiis. There 's noe heate 
Can thaw thy frozen conscience. 
Flammius. To it againe now ; 
I am not mov'd — 

Berecinthius. I see it ; yf you had 
The feelinge of a man, you wowlde not suffer 
Theis men, whoe have deserv'd soe well, to sincke 
Under the burthen of their wronges. Yf they 
Are subjects, why injoy they not the right 
And priveledge of subjects ? What defence 
Can you alleage for your connivence to 
The Carthaginian gallies, whoe forc'd from 'em 
The prize they tooke, belongeinge not to them 
Nor their confoederates ? 

Flaminius, With I'everence 
To your soe sacred goddessc, I must tell you 
You are growne presumptuous, and in your demandes 
A rash and sawcie flamen. Meddle with 


Your inglinge misteries, and keepe in awe 
Your gelded ministers. Shall I yeelde accompe 
Of what I doe, to you ? 

1 Marchant. Hee smiles in frowne. 

2 Marchant. Nay, then, I kuowe wliat followes. 

3 Marchant. In his lookes 
A tempest rises. 

Flaminius. How dare you complayne ? 
Or in a looke repine ? Our governement 
Hath bene to easie, and the yoke which Rome, 
In her accustomde lennitie, impos'd 
Upon your stubborne neckes begets contempt. 
Hath our familiar commerce, and tradinge, 
Almost as with our asqualls, tought you to 
Dispute our actions ? have you quite forgot 
What wee are, and you ought to bee ? Shall vassalls 
Capitulate with their lordes ? 

2 Marchant. I vow hee speakes 
In his owne dialecte. 

Flaminiiis. 'Tis to frequent wretches 
To have the vanquish'd hate the conqueror, 
And from us needes noe answer. Doe not I knowe 
How odious the lordlye Roman is 
To the despised Asian ? and that 
To gaine your libertie, you woulde pull downc 
The altars of your gods, and like the gyants 
Rayse a newe war gainst Heaven. 

1 Marchant. Terrible. 

Flaminius. Did you not give assurance of this, when 
Giddie Antiochus died? and lather tlien 


Accept US guardians of your orphan kingedome, 

When the victorious Scaurus with his sword 

Pleaded the Roman title, with our vote 

You did exclaime against us, as the men 

That sought to lay an unjust gripe upon 

Your territories ? nere remembringe, that 

In the brasse leav'd booke of fate it was set downe 

The eax'th showlde know noe soveraigne but Rome. 

Yet you repinde, and rather chose to pay 

Homage, and fealtie to the Parthian, 

Th' Egyptian Ptolomee, or indeede any, 

Then bow unto the Roman. 

Berecinthius. And perhaps 
Our governement in them had bene more gentle, 
Since yours is insupportable. 

Flaminius. Yf thou wert not 
In a free state, the tongue, that beloheth forth [not 
Theis blasphemies showlde bee sear'd. For you presume 
To trouble race heereafter. Yf you doc, 
You shall, with horror to your prowdest hopes, 
Feele reallie that wee have iron hamers 
To pulverize rebellion, and that 

Wee dare use you as slaves. Bee you to warn'd, sir, 
Since this is my last caution. I have scene 
A murmurer, like your selfe, for his attemptinge 
To rayse sedition in Rome's provinces, 
Ilang'd up in such a habit. Ex, Flaminius cum siiis. 

Berecinthius. I have tooke 
Poyson in at ray cares, and I shall burst 
Yf it come not up in my replie. 



1 Marchant. Hee's gone, sir. 

Berecinthhis. Hee durst not stay mee. Yf hee had, 
had founde 
I woulde not swallowe my spettle. 

2 Marchant. As wee must 
Our wronges and our disgi'aces. 

3 Marchant. O, the wretched 
Condition that we live in ! Made the anvile 

On which Rome's tyrannies are shap'd and fashion'd. 

1 Marchant. But our callamities there is nothinge 
left us, 

Which wee can call our owne. 

2 Marchant. Our wives and daughters 

Lye open to their lusts ; and such as showlde bee 
Our judges, dare not right us. 

3 Marchant. O, Antiochus ! 

Thrice happie were the men whom fate appointed 
To fall with thee in Achocias. 

2 Marchant. They have set 
A period to their miseries. 

1 Marchant. Wee survive 
To linger out a ta^dious life, and death : 
We call in vaine what flies us. 

Bcrecinthius. Yf relligion 
Bee not a meere worde only, and the gods 

Ent. Antiochus. 
Are just, wee shall finde a deliveric 
When least expected. 

1 Marchant. 'Tis beyonde all hope, sir. 

Berecinthhis. Ha ? wlioc is this ? 


Antiochus. Your charitic to a poore man, 
As you are Asians. 

2 Marvhant, Pray you, observe bym. 

3 Marchant. I am amazde ! 

1 Merchant. I thunderstrooke ! 
Bcrecinthius. What are you ? 
Ajitiochus. The kinge Antiochus. 

2 Marchant. Or some deitie 
That hath assumde his shape ? 

Bereciiithms. Hee only differs 
In the colour of his haire and age. 

Antiochus. Consider 
What two-and-twentye yeares of miserie 
Can worke upon a wretch ; that longe time spent to 
Under distant zeniths, and the change you looke on 
Will not deserve your wonder. 

1 Marchant. His ovvne voice ! 

2 Marchant. His verye countenance ! his forhead ! 
eies ! 

3 Marchant. His nose ! his very lippe ! 
Berecinthius. His stature — speech ! 

1 Marchant. \IIis verie hand, legye andfoote, on the 
lefte side shortur (hen on the riqht.'W t I^T'''", i"'"^''' 

•^ •■' ./ J ' IS struck out in 

2 Marchant. The moles upon '^'"" ^^^ 
His face and handes. 

3 Marchant. The scarrcs, causde by his hurts, 
On his right browe and head. 

Berecinthius. The hollownesse 
Of his under javve, occasion'd by the losse 
Of a tooth puU'd out by his chirurgit)n. 


1 Marchant. To confirme us, 

Tell us your cherurgion's name, when hee serv'd you. 

Antiochus. You all knewe hym, 
As I doe you ; Demetrius Castor. 

2 Marchant. Strange ! 

3 Marchant. But most infalliblie tre^v. 
Berecinthius. Soe many markes 

Confirminge us, wee faine in our distrusd 
A sacrifice for his safetie. 

1 Marchant. May Rome smile. 

2 Marchant. And Asia once more flourishe. 

3 Marchant. You the meanes, sir. 

Antiochus. Silence your showtes : I will gieve 
stronger proofes 
Then theis exterior markes when I appeare 
Before the Carthaginian senators, 
With whom I have helde more intelligence 
And private counsailes, then with all the kinges 
Of Asia, or AfTrique : I'le amaze them 
With the wonder of my storie. 

Berecinthius. Yet untill 
Your majestic bee furnishde like your selfe, 
To a neighbour village — 

Antiochus. Where you please : the omen 
Of this encounter promises a good issue : 
And our gods pleas'd, oppressed Asia, 
Wiicn ayde is least expected, may shake of 
The insultinge Roman bondage, and in mee 
Gayne, and injoy her pristine libertie. Exeunt. 


Actus Secundi, [ACT II.] Sc^na Prima. 
Etit. Flaminius and Calistus. 

Flaminius. A man that stiles liym selfe Antiochus, 
say you ? 

Calistus. Not alone stilde soe, but as such receav'd, 
And honor'd by the Asians. 

Flaminius. Two impostors, 
For their pretension to that fatall name, 
Alreadie have pay'd deere, nor shall this third 
Escape unpunnish'd. 

Calistus. 'Twill exact your wisdome 
AVith an Herculean arrae (the cause requires it) 
To strangle this new monster in the birth. 
For on my life hee hath deliver'd to 
The credulous multitude such reasons why 
They showlde beleeve hee is the trewe Antiochus, 
That with their gratulations for his safetie, " 
And wishes for his restitution, many 
Offer the hazarde of their lives and fortunes 
To doe hym service. 

Flaminius. Poore seduced fooles. 
However, 'tis a buisnesse of such waight 
I must not sleepe in't. Is hee now in Carthage ? 

Calistus. Noe, sir, remov'd to a grange some two 
miles of; 
And there the malecontents, and such whose wants 

K. Box. 


"With forfeyted credits make 'em wish a cliange 

Of the Roman governeraent, in troopes flocke to hym. 

Flamijiius. With one pufte, thus, I will disperse 
and scatter 
This heape of dust. Heere, take my ringe. By this 
Intreate my freinde Amilcar to procure 
A mandate from the Carthaginian senate 
For the apprehension of this impostor, 
And witli all possible speede. Howere, I knowe 

Exit Calistus. 
The rumor of Antiochus' death uncertaine. 

E7it. Demetrius. wm. Pattnt 

It much imports the safetie of great Rome 
To have it soe beleevde. 

Demetrius. There waite without 
Three fellowes I nere sawe before, whoe much 
Importune their accesse. They sweare they bringe 
Buisnesse alonge with 'em that deserves your eare, 
It beeinge for the safetie of the republicque, 
And quiet of the provinces. They arc full 
Of golde : I have felt their bountie. 

Flaminius. Such are welcome. 
Gieve them admittance. In this various play 

\Ent. Chrisalus, Geta, Syrus, Demetrius.] 
Of state and policie, there's noe propertie 
But may bee usefull. Now, freindes, what designe 
Carries you to mee ? 

Geta. My most honor'd lord 

Si/nts. iVlay it please your niightinessc 

Flaminius. Let one speake for all, 


I cannot brooke this discorde. 

Chrysalus. As our duties 
Commandes us, noble Roman, havinge discover'd 
A dreadfull danger witli the nimble vvinges 
Of speede aj^prochinge to the state of Rome, 
Wee houlde it fit you shoulde have the first notice 
That you may have the honor to prevent it. 

Flaminius. I thanke you : but instruct mee what 
forme weares 
The danger that you speake of. 

Chrysalus. It appeai'es 
In the shape of King Antiochus. 

Flaminius. How, is hee 
Rose from the dead ? 

Chrysalus, Alas, hee never died, sir. 
Hee at this instant lives, the more the pittie 
Hee showlde survive, to the disturbance of 
Rome's close and politicque counsailes, in the gettinge 
Possession of his kingedome, which hee woulde 
Recover, simple as hee is, the playne 
And downe right way of justice. 

Flaminius. Very likelye. 
But how are you assur'd this is Antiochus, 
And not a counterfaite ? Answer that. 

Chrysalus. I servde hym 
In the Achaian war, where, his armie routed, 
And the warlike Romans hot in their execution, 
To shun their furye hee and his mignions were 
(Havinge cast of their glorious armor) forc'd 
To hide them selves as dead with feare and horror 


Amonge the slawghterd carkasses. I lay by them, 
And rose with them at midnight. Then retiringe 

and 6 cfiTirs Unto their shippes, wee sayl'd to Corinth, thence 
To India, where bee spent many yeares 
With their gymnosophists. There I wayted on hym, 
And came thence with hym. But at length, tyr'd out 
With an unrewarded service, and affrighted 

Mr. Hobs Jii my iraagination with the dangers, 

call d up. JO o ' 

Or rather certaine ruines in pursuinge 

His more then desperate fortunes, wee forsooke hym. 

Flaminius. A wise and politicque fellow : gieve mee 
thy bande. 
Thou art sure of this ? 

Chrysalus. As of my life. 

Flaminius. And this is 
Knowne only to you three ? 

Chrysalus. There's noe man lives els. 
To witnesse it. 

Flaminius. The better ; but informe mee. 
And as you woulde oblige mee to you, truelye. 
Where did you leave hym ? 

Syrus. For the ptiyment of 
Our longe and taedious travaile, wee made bolde 
To rifle hym. 

Flaminius. Good ! 

Geta. And soe disablinge hym 
Of meanes to claime his right, wee hope despaire 
ITath made hym hange hymsolfe. 

Flavuidns. It had bene safer 
Yf you hud dunne it for hym. But as 'tis, 


You are honest men. You have reveal'd this secret 
To noe man but my selfe ? 

Chrysalus. Nor ever will. 

Flamiiiius. I will take order that you never shall. 
And since you have bene trew into the state 
He keepe you soe. I am ev'n now consyderiuge 
How to advance you. 

Chrysalus. What a pleasant smile 
His honor throwes upon us. 

Geta. Wee are made. 

Flaminius. And now 'tis founde out. That noe 
danger may 
Come neere you, showlde the robberie bee discover'd, 
Which the Carthaginian lawes you knowe call death, 
My howse shall bee your sanctuarie. 

Syrus. There's a favour ! 

Flaminius. And that our entertainment come not 
Of your deservinges, I commit you to 
My secretarie's care. See that they want not 
Amonge their other delicates 

Chrysalus. Marke that. 

Flaminius. a sublimated pill of mercuric. 

For sugar to their wine. 

Demetrius. I understande you. 

Flaminius. Attende theis honest men as yf they were 
Made Roman cittizens. And bee sure at night 
I may see 'em well lodg'd. — Dead in the vault, I meane. 
Their golde is thy rewarde. 


Demetrius. Beleeve it donne, sir. 

Flaminius. And when 'tis knowne bow I have 
(Though jou were trecherous to your owne kinge) 
The service donne to Rome, I hope that others 
"Will followe your example. Enter, freindes, 
I'le soe provide, that when you next come forth, 
You shall not feare who sees you. 

Chrysalus, Was there ever 
Soe sweete a temperd Roman ? 

Flaminius. You shall finde it. \_Exeunt,'\ 

Ha ! what's the matter ? doe I feele a stinge heere 
For what is donne to theis poore snakes ? my I'eason 
Will easilie remove it. That assures mee. 
That as I am a Roman, to preserve 
And propagate her empire, thowgh they were 
My father's sounds, they must not live to witnesse 
Antiochus is in beeinge. The relation 
The villaine made, in everie circumstance 
Appeer'd soe like to truth, that I began 
To feele an inclination to beleeve 
What I must have noe faith in. By my bii'tli 
I am bounde to serve thee, Rome, and what I doe 
Necessitie of state compells mee to. \_Exit.'\ 

(Actus Secundi, SciiNxV. Secunda.) 
Ent. Amilcar, Hanno, Asolrubal, Cartiialo, 

llioirlanil, Jf'm. Nago, Wick.'] 

Amilcar. To steerc a middle course twixt theis 
Exacts our serious care. 


Hanno, I knowe not which way 
I showlde incline. 

Amilear. The reasons this man urges 
To prove hymselfe Antiochus, are soe pregnant, 
And the attestation of his cuntriemen 
In every circumstance soe punctual!, 
As not to showe hym our compassion were 
A kinde of barbarous crueltie. 

Carthalo. Under correction. 
Gieve niee leave to epeake my thowghts. Wee are 

bounde to waigh 
Not what wee showlde doe in the poynt of honor, 
Swayde by our pittie, but what may bee donne 
With the safetie of the state. 

Asolrubal. Which is indeede 
The maine consyderation ; for, grant 
This is the trewe Antiochus, without danger, 
Nay almost certaine ruine, to our selves 
Wee cannot yeelde hym favour or protection. 

Ilunno. Wee have fear'd and felt the Roman power, 
and must 
Expecte, yf wee provoke hym, a returne 
Not limitted to the qualitie of the oifence, 
But left at large to his interpretation, 
Which seldome is confind. Whoe knowes not that 
The tribute Home receives from Asia is 
Her chiefe supportance. Other provinces 
Hardlye defray the charge by which they are 
Kepd in subjection ; they in name perhaps 
Render the Roman terrible ; but his strength 


And power to doe hurt without quaestion is 
Deriv'd from Asia. And can wee hope then 
That such as lende their aydes to foi'ce it from 'em 
Will bee helde for lesse then capitall enemies, 
And as such, pursude, and punnishde ? 

Carthalo. I cowlde wishe 
Wee were well rid of hym. 

Asolrubal. The surest course 
Is to deliver hym into the handes 
Of bolde Flaminius. 

Hanno. And soe oblige 
Rome for a matchlesse benefit. 

Amilcar. Yf my power 
Were absolute, as 'tis but titular, 
And that confinde to, beeinge by you elected 
Prince of the Senate onlye for a yeare, 
I woulde oppose your counsailes, and not labour 
With arguments to confute 'em : yet however, 
Thowgh a fellow patriot with you, let it not savour 
Of usurpation, thowgh in my opinion 
I crosse your abler judgements. Call to minde 
Our grandsires' glories, (thowgh not seconded 
With a due imitation), and remember 
AVith what expence of coyne, as blood, they did 
Maintaine tlieir libertie, and kepde the scale 
Of empire ev'n 'twixt Carthage and p^'oud Rome ; 
And thowgh the Punicque faith is branded by 
Our enemies, our confasderates and frcindes 
Founde it as firme as fate. And seaventeene kinges 
Our faedaries, our strengths upon the sea 


Exceedinge theirs, and our lande sowldiers 

In number far above theirs, thowgh inferior 

In armes and discipline (to our shame wee speake it), 

And then for our cavallerie, in the champaigne 

Howe often have they brake their piles and routed 

Theyr coward legions. 

Hanno. This I grant, sir, is not 
To bee contradicted. 

Amilcar. Yf soe, as wee finde it 
In our recordes, and that this state hath bene 
The sanctuary to which mightie kinges 
Have fled to for protection, and founde it, 
Let it not to posteritie bee tolde 
That wee soe far degenerate from the race 
Wee are deriv'd, as, in a servile feare 
Of the Roman power, in a kinde to play the bawdes 
To their ravenous lusts, by yeeldinge up a man 
That weares the shape of our confa3derate 
To their devouringe gripe, whose stronge assurance 
Of our integritie and impartiall doome, 
Hath made this seate his altar. 

Cathalo. I joine with you 
In this opinion, but noe farther then 
It paay bee donne with safetie. 

Asdrubal. In his mines 
To burye our selves, you needes must grant to bcc 
An inconsyderate pittie, noe way suitinge 
With a wise man's reason. 

Carthalo. Let us face to face 
Ileare the accuser and accus'd, and then, 


As either's arguments work on us, determine 
As the respecte of our securitie, 
Or honor shall invite ws. 

Amilcar. From the senate 
Intreate the Roman Titus Flaminius 
To assist us with his counsaile. 

Hanno. And let the prisoner 
Bee brought into the court. 

Fnt FtAMINIUS. Mr. Hobs, Row. 

cm. rLAJMllNlus. land, Mr. Balh. 

Amilcar. The gods of Carthage 
Directe us to the right way. 

Asdruhal. With what gravitie 
Hee does approch us. 

Carthalo. As hee woulde commande 
Not argue his desires. 

Amilca?'. May it please your lordship 
To take your place. 

Flaminius. In civill courtesie, 
As I am Titus Flaminius, I may tliancke you ; 
But sittinge heere as Rome's embassador. 
In which you are lionor'd, to instruct you in 
Her will, which you are boundc to serve, not argue ; 
I must not borrow, that were poore, but take 
As a tribute due to her, that's justlye stilde 
The mistrisse of this earthlye globe, the boldnesse 
To reprehende your slowe progression in 
Doeinge her greatnesse right. That shee bclceves, 
In race, that this impostor was subornde 
By the conquerd Asiaticqucs, in their hopes 
Of future libcrtie, to usurpe the name 


Of dead Antiochus, shoulde satisfie 

Your scrupulous doubts, all proofes beyonde this beeinge 

Meerelye superfluous. 

Carthalo. Mj lord, my lord, 
You trench to much upon us. 

Asdrubal. Wee are not 
Lead by an implicite faith. 

Hanno. Nor though wee vvoulde 
Preserve Rome's amitie, must not yeelde up 
The freedome of our wills and j udgements to 
Quit or condemne, as wee shall bee appointed 
By his imperious pleasure. 

Carthalo. Wee confesse not, 
Nor ever will, shee hath a power above us : 
Carthage is still her gequall. 

Amilcar. Yf you can 
Prove this man an impostor, hee shall sufFLi- 
As hee deserves; yf not, you shall perceive 
You have noe empire heere. 

Hanno. Call in the prisoner ; 
Then as you please confront hym. 

Flamiiiius. This neglecte 
Hearcafter will bee thowght on. 

Amilcar. Wee shall stand 
The danger howsoever. When wee did, 
His cause unheard, at your request commit 
This kinge or this impostor, you receav'd 
More favour then wee owde you. 

Officer (icilhin). Roorae for the prisoner. 

Enter Antiochus, habited like a kinge, Berk- 
ciNTUUS, the three Marchants, Garde. 


Antioehus. This shape that you have put mee in, 
suites ill 
With the late austcrenesse of my life. 

Berecinthus. Faire glosse 
Wrongs not the richest stuife, but sets it of; 
And let your language, high and stately, speake you, 
As you were borne, a kinge. 

Antioehus. Health to the Senate. 
Wee doe suppose your [ ]ties donne, sit still. 
Titus Flaminius, wee remember you ; 
As you are a publicque minister from Romp, 
You may sit cover'J. 

Flaminms. How ? 

Antioehus. But as wee are 
A potent kinge, in whose court you have waited 
And sought our favour, you betray your pride 
And the more then sawcie rudenesse of your manners; 
A bended knee, remembringe what wee arc 
Much better would become you. 

Flaminius. Ha ! 

Antioehus. Wee sayd it. 
But fall from our owne height to holde discourse 
With a tliinge soe fiir beneath us. 

Bereeinthus. Admirable ! 

Amilear. The Roman lookcs as hee had secne the 
How his confidence awes hym. 

Asdruhul. Bee hee what lice will, 
Hee bearcs hym selfe like a kinge; and T must t(!ll you 
I am amazd t(^. 


Antiochus. Are wee soe transformde 
From what wee were, since our disaster in 
The Graecian enterprise that you gaze upon us 
As some strange prodegie never scene in Aifricque. 
Antiochus speakes to you, the kinge Antiochus. 
And challenges a retribution in 
His entertainment, of the lov-e, and favours 
Extended to you. Call to memorie 
Your trewe freinde, and confederate, whoe refusde 
In his respect to you the j^roffer'd aniitie 
Of the Roman people, llath this vile inchanter 
Inviron'd mee with such thicke clowdes in your 
Erroneous beleefe, from his report 
That I was longe since dead, that beeinge present 
The beames of majestic cannot breake throwgh 
The foggie mists raysde by his wicked charmes 
To lende you light to kiiowe mee. I cite you 
My lord Ainilcar, now I looke on you 
As prince of the senate, but when you were lesse 
I have scene you in my court assisted by 
Grave Hanno, Asdrubal, and Carthalo, 
The pillars of the Carthaginian greatenesse 
I knowe you all. Antiochus nerc deserv'd 
To bee thus sleiglited. 

Ainilcar. Not soe. Wee in you 
Looke on the figure of the kinge Antiochus, 
But without stronger proofes then yet you liave 
Produc'd to make us thincke soe cannot heare you 
But as a man suspected. 

Aiitiochvs. Of what guilt ? 




Flaminius. Of subornation, and imposture. 

AntiocJms. Silence 
This fellowes sawcie tongue. O, majestie 
How soone a short eclipse hath made thy splendor 
As it had never shinde on theis forgotten. 
But you refuse to heare mee as a king 
Denie not yet in justice what you grant 
To common men, free libertie without 
His interruption (havinge heard what hee 
Objects against mee) to acquit my selfe 
Of that which in his malice I am charg'd with. 

Amilcar. You have it. 

Antiochiis. As my present fortune wills mee 
I thancke your goodnesse. Rise thow cursed agent 
Of mischiefe, and accumulate in one heape 
All engins by the divell thy tutor fashion'd 
To ruine innocence ; in poyson steepe 
Thy bloudied tongue, and let thy wordes as full 
Of bitternes, as malice labour to 
Seduce theis noble hearers. Make mee in 
Thy coyned accusation guiltie of 
Such crimes, whose names my innocence nere knewe. 
I'le stande the charge ; and when that thow hast shot 
All arrowes in thy quiver fether'd with 
Sclanders, and aimde with cruelt'e in vaine. 
My truth thowgh yet conceal'd, the mountaines of 
Thy glossed fictions in her strength remov'd, 
Shall in a glorious shape appeare, and showe 
Thy paynted mistrisse falshood, when stripp'd bare 
Of borrowed, and adulterale colours in 


Her owne shape, and deformitie. 
Berecinthius. I am ravishde ! 

1 Marchant. more then royall sir ! 
Amilcar. Forbeare. 

2 Marchant. The monster 
Pi'epares to speake. 

Berecinthius. And still that villainous smile 
Ushers his followeinge mischiefes. 

Flaminius, Since the assurance 
From one of my place, qualitie, and rancke, 
Is not sufficient with you to suppresse 
This bold seductori, to acquit our state 
■irratbonke: From the Icast tyrannous imputation 

■ Accompt 

ready. I will forget awhilc I am a Roman, 

Whose arguments are warranted by his sworde 

And not filde from his tongue. This creature heere 

That stiles hymselfe Antiochus, I knowe 

For an Apostata Jew, thowgh others say 

Hee is a cheatinge Greeke, call'd Pseudolus, 

And keepes a whore in Corinth. But I'le come 

To reall proofes, reports, and rumors beeinge 

Subjects unsutable with my gravitie 

To speake, or yours to heare. 'Tis most apparent 

The kinge Antiochus was slaine in Greece, 

His bodie at his subjects suite deliver'd, 

His ashes from the funerall pile rak'd up 

And in a golden urne preserv'd, and kep'd 

In the royall monument of the Asian kinges. 

Such was the clemeucie of Marcus Scaurus 

The Roman conqueror, whose triumphe was 


Grac'd only with his statue. But suppose 

Hee had surviv'd (which is impossible) 

Can it fall in the compasse of your reason 

That this impostor (yf he were the man 

Which hee with impudence affirmes hee is) 

Woulde have wander'd two, and twenty taedious yeares 

Like a vagabond ore the worlde, and not have tried 

Rome's mercie as a suppliant. 

Hanno. Shrowde suspitions. 

Flaminius. A mason of Callipolis heretofore 
Presumde as far, and was like this impostor 
By slavishe Asians follow'd, and a second 
A Cretan, of a base condition did 
Maintaine the like. All ages have bene furnish'd 
With such as have usurp'd upon the names 
And persons of deade princes. Is it not 
As evident as the day, this wretch instructed 
By theis poore Asians, (sworne enemies 
To the majestic of Rome) but personates 
The dead Antiochus. Hir'd to it by theis 
To stirre up a rebellion, which tliey call 
Deliverie or restoringe. And will you, 
Whoe for your wisdome are esteem'd the sages 
And oracles of Aifricke, meddle in 
Th' affaires of this affronter, which noe monarch, 
Lesse rashe, and giddic then Antiochus was 
Would undertake. 

Antiochus. Would I were dead indeede 
Rather then heare this livinge. 

Flaminius. I confesse 


Hee hath some raarkes of kinge Antiochus, but 
The most of 'em artificiall. Then observe 
What kinde of men they are that doe abett hym. 
Proscrib'd. and bannish'd persons, the ringe leader 
Of this seditious troope a turbulent flaraen 
Growne fat with idlenes. 

Berecinthius. That's I. 

Flaminius. And puff'd up 
With the winde of his ambition. 

Berecinthius. With reverence to 
[Thy place,] thou liest, I am growne to this bulke 
By beeinge 

Amilcar. I [kisse ?] your goddesse. Shee 
Defendes you from a whippinge. 

Hanno. Take hym of 
Hee does disturbe the court. 

Berecinthius. I shall finde a place yet 
Where I will rore my Avronges out. 

Exeunt officers with Berecinthius. 

Flaminius. As you have 
In the removinge of that violent foole, 
Gievn mee a tast of your severitie 
Make it a feast, and perfit your greate justice 
In the surrendringe up this false pretender 
To the correction of the law, and let hym 
Undergoe the same punnishement which others 
Ha^e justlye suffer'd that preceded hym 
In the same machination. 

Antiochus. As you wishe 

,1 .-: 'J U O 

4 '-) o J ^^ 


A noble memorie to after times 

Reserve one eare for my defence and let not 

For your owne wisdomes, let not that beleefe, 

This subtle fiende woulde plant, bee rooted in you 

Till you have heard mee. Woulde you know the truth 

And reall cause why poore Antiochus hath 

Soe longe conceal'd hymselfe ? Thowgh in the openinge 

A wounde in some degree by time closde up 

I shall poure scaldinge oyle, and sulphur in it 

I will in the relation of my 

To bee lamented storye, punctualie 

Confute ray false accuser. Pray you conceave, 

As far as your compassion will permit 

How greate the griefe, and agonie of my souie was 

When I consyder'd that the violence 

Of my ill reyn'd ambition had made Greece 

The fatall sepulchre of soe many thousands 

Of brave, and able men, that might have stood in 

opposition for the defence 
Of mine owne kingedom, and a readie ayde 
For my confoederates. After a\ hieh route 
And my retraite in a disguise to Athens 
The shame of this disgrace thowgh I then had 
The forheade of this man woulde have deter'd mee 
From beeinge ever scene where I was knowne 
And such was then my resolution. 

Amilcar. This granted, whither went you ? 

Antiochus. As a punnishment 
Imposde u])on my selfe and aTpiall to 
INIy wilful! follie gievinge ore the vvorlde 


I went into a desert. 

Flaminius. This agrees 
With the dead slaves' report but I must contemne it. 

Amilcar. What drewe you from that austere life ? 

Asolrubal. Cleere that. 

Antiochus. The counsayle of a grave philosopher, 
Wrought on mee to make knowne my selfe the man 
That I was borne. And of all potentates 
In Affricque, to determine of the truth 
Of my life and condition, I prefer'd 
The common welth of Carthage. 

Flaminius. As the fittest 
To bee abusde : 

Aiitiochus. This is not faire. 

Amilcar. My lord 
Yf not intreat I must commande your silence 
Or absence which you please. 

Flaminius. Soe pereraptorie. 

Antiochus. To vindicate my selfe from all suspition 
Of forgerie, and imposture. In this scrowle 
Writ with my royall hande you may peruse 
A true memoriall of all circumstances, 
Answers, despatches, doubts, and difficulties, 
Betwene my selfe, and your embassadors 
Sent to negotiate with mee. 

Amilcar. Fetch the recordes. 

Antiochus, 'Tis my desire you shoulde truth seekes 
the light. 
And when you have compar'd 'em yf you finde 'em. 

Enter Roioland with the boohe of Records. 
In any poynt of moment difleringe 


Conclude mee such a one, as this false man 
Presents mee to you. But yf you perceive 
Those private passages in my cabinet argude 
And but to your embassadors, and my selfe 
Conceald from all men, in each poynt agreeinge. 
Judge yf a cheatinge Greeke, a Pseudolus 
Or an Apostata Jewe coulde ere arrive at 
Such deepe, and waightie secrets. 

Hanno. To a sillable 
They are the same. 

Amilcar. It cannot bee but this is 
The trew Antiochus : 

Flaminins. A magitian rather 
And hath the spirit of Pithon. 

Carthalo. Theis are toyes. 

Atitiochus. You see hee will omit noe tritle that 
His malice can lay holde of to divert 
Your love, and favour to mee. Now for my death 
The firmest base on which hee buildes the strength 
Of his assertions, yf you please to waigh it 
With your accustom'd wisdome you'le perceive 
'Tis raeerely fabulous. Had they meant fairely 
And as a truth woulde have it soe confirmde 
To the doubtfull Asians. Why did they not 
Suffer the carkase they affirm'd was mine 
To bee view'd by such men as were intei-ressed 
In the groate cause, that were bred up with mee 
And were familiar witli the markcs I carried 
Upon my bodio, and not rclye upon 
Poore i)risnner5 taken in the wai", from whom 


In hope of libeitie, and rewarde, they drewe 

Such depositions as they knewe vvoulde make 

For their darke endes. Was any thinge more easie 

Then to suppose a bodie, and that, phic'd on 

A sollenine herse with funerall pompe to inter it 

In a rich monument, and tlien proclaime 

This is the bodye of Antiochus 

Kinge of the lower Asia. 

Flaminius. Rome's honor 
Is tax'd in this of practise, and corruption. 
rie heare noe more in your determinations 
Consyder what it is to holde and keepe her 
Your freinde or enemie. 

Amilcar. Wee wishe wee coulde 
Receave you as a kinge, since your relation 
Hath wrought soe much upon us that wee doe 
Incline to that beleefe. But since wee cannot 
As such protecte you but with certaine danger 
Untill you are by other potent nations 
Proclaimde for such. Our fittinge caution 
Cannot bee censur'd, thowgh wee doe intreat 
You would elswhere feele justice. 

Antiochus. Where? when 'tis 
Frighted from you by power. 

Amilcar. And yet take comfort 
Not all the threates of Rome shall force us to 
Deliver you. The short time that you stay 
In Carthage you ai'e safe. Noe more a prisoner 
You are inlarg'd. With full securitie 
Consult of your affaires, in what wee may 


"Wee are your freindes. Breake up the court. 
\_Exeunt Carthagiiiians.'] 

1 Marchant. Deere sir 

Take courage in your libertie, the worlde 
Lyes open to you. 

2 Marchant. Wee shall meete with comfort 
When most despair'd of by us. 

Antiochus. Never, never. 
Poore men thowgh falne may rise. But kings like mee 
If once by fortune slavde are nere set free, l^feunt the 

J enae oj ye 

Seconde Act. 


[ACT III.] Scene First. 

Eiit. Flaminius, with 2 letters, \_Calistus'\ Mr, Hobs 
[^Demetrius] and Mr. Rowland. 

Flaminius. You gave hym store of gold with the 
That I prescribde hym. 

Calistus. Yes my lord, and on 
The forfeiture of my credit with your honor 
Titus will doe his parts and dive into 
Their deepest secrets. 

Flaminius. Men of place pay deere 
For their intelligence it eates out the profit 
Of their iniployment. But in a designe 
Of such waight, prodigalitie is a vertue. 
The fellowe was of trust that you dispatch'de 
To Rome with the packetques ? 

Demetrius. Yes sir. Hee flies not rides. 
By this yf his accesse answer his care 
Hee is upon returne. 

Flaminius. I am on the stage 
And yf now in the scoene impos'd upon mee 
Soe full of change, nay, a meere labrinth 
Of politicque windinges, I showe not my selfe 
A Protean actor, varijnge everie shape 
"With the occasion, it will hardlye poyze 
The expectation. I'le soe place my netes 


That if this birde want winges to carrye hym 
At one flight out of AiFricque, I shall catch hym. 

Calistus. Sir. 

Flaminms. Gieve theis at Siracusa 
To the proconsull Marcellus. Let another post 
To Sardinia with theis. You have the picture 
Of the impostor ? 

Demetrius. Drawne to the life my lord. 

Flaminius. Take it alonge with you. I have com- 
In the senates name that they man out their gallies, 
And not to let one vessell passe without 
A striate examination. The sea 
Shall not protecte hym from mee. I have charg'd to 
The garrisons, that keepe the passages 
Ent. By lande, to let none 'scape, that come from Carthage 

Lcutuhis, J ^ i ' o 

Mr.noh: "Without a curious serch. fjE'w^fT Lentulus. 

Lentulus. I will excuse 
M}' visit without preparation, feare not. 

Flaminius. Whoe have wee heere ? 

Lentulus. When you have view'd mee better 
You will resolve your selfe. 

Flaminiui. My good lord Lentulus. 

Leiitulus. You name mee right. The speed that 
brought mee hither 
As you see accoutred, and without a trayne 
Sutablc to my rancke, may tell your lordship 
That the designe admits noe vacant time 
For coni[)lement. Your advertisements have bene read 


In open court. The consulls, and the senate 
Are full of wonder, and astonishenient 
At the relation. Your care is much 
Commended, and will linde a due rewarde 
When what yon have soe well begun, is ended. 
In the meane time with their perticular thanckes 
They thus salute you. You shall finde there that 
Their good opinion of mee (far above 
My hopes, or meritts) have appointed mee 
Your suceessor in Carthage, and commit 
Unto your abler trust the prosecution 
Of this impostor. 

FUiminius. As their creature ever 
I shall obey, and serve 'em. I will leave 
My freed man to instructe you in the course 
Of my proceedinges. You shall finde hym able 
And faithfuU on my honor. 

Lentulus. I receave hym 
At his due valewe. Can you ghesse yet whither 
This creature tendes ? ^y some passengers I met, 
I was tolde howere the state deines to yeelde hym 

Enter Titus. 

\_R. Baxt.-\ 

To our dispose, they will not yet incense us 
By gievinge hym protection. 

Flami/Hus. Ere longe 
I hope I shall resolve you. To my [wave ?] 
Heere comes my trew discoverer. Bee briefe, 
And labour not with circumstance to indeere 
The service thou hast donne mee. 


Titus. As your lordship 
Commanded mee in this Carthaginian habit 
I made my first approches, and deliver'd 
The golde was giv'n mee as a private present 
Sent from the lord Amilcar, for his viaticum 
To another cuntrie. For I did pretende 
I was his mseniall servant. 

Flammuis. Very well, 

Titus. 'Twas entertain'd almost with sacrifice 
And I as one most welcome was admitted 
Into their turbulent counsaile. Many meanes 
Were there propounded, whither, and to whom 
Their kinge Antiochus (for soe they stile hym) 
Shoulde flie for safetie. One urg'd to the Parthian, 
A seconde into Egipt, and a thirde 
To the Batavian. But in conclusion 
The corpulent flamen that woulde governe all, 
And in his nature woulde not gieve allowance 
To any proposition that was not 
The childe of his owne brayne resolv'd to carry 
Their May-game prince, cover'd with a disguise, 
To Prusias, Kinge of Bithinia. His opinion 
Carried it, and thither without pause, or stay 
To thancke my lord for his bountie, they are gone 
U[)on my ccrtaine knowledge for I r'd 
Two dayes, and nights aloiige that I might not builde 
Upon suppositions. By this they are 
At their journeys ende. 

Flaininius. With my thanckes thei-e's thy rcwarde. 
I will take little rest untill I have 


Sowr'd his sweete entertainment. You have bene 
In the court of this Prusias, of wliat temper is hee ? 

Lentulus. A well-dispos'd and noble gentleman, 
And very carefull to preserve the peace 
And quiet of his subjects. 

Flaminius. I shall finde hym 
The apter to bee wrought on. Doe you knowe whoe is 
His spetiall favorite ? 

Lentulus. One that was his tutor. 
A seeminge polititian, and talkes often 
The ende of his ambition is to bee 
A gentleman of Eome. 

Flaminius. I shall fit hym, feare not 
Youre travayles ended. Mine begins, and therefore 
I will take my leave. Formalitie of manners now is 
I longe to bee a horseback. [useless. 

Lentulus. You have my wishes 
For a ftxire successe. 

Flaminius. My care shall not bee wantinge. 


(Actus Tertii, Scjena Secunda.) 

Ent. Antiochus and three Marchants. 

1 Mar. This tasdious journey from your Majestie's 
Longe discontinuance of ridinge hard 

With wearinesse hath dull'd your spirits. 

2 Mdrchant. The tlamen 

His corpulencie consyder'd hath helde out 
Beyonde imagination. 


3 Marchant. As often as hee rode downe a hill I 
The chininge of his fork. [did expect 

Antiochus. I wonder more 
How mine sustain'd his burthen. Since the waight 
That sites on my more heavie heart would cracke 
The sinewes of an elephant. 

2 Marchant. 'Tis sayd 

That beast hath strength to carry six arm'd men 
In a turret on his backe. 

Atitiochus. Trewe but the sorrowe 
Of a wretched, and forsaken kinge like mee 
Ts far more ponderous. 

1 Merchant, O part not sir 
From your owne strength by yeeldinge to despaire 
I am most confident Berecinthius will 
From the greate kinge Prusias, in his goodnesse greate 
Bringe comfort to you. \_Florish. 

Antiochus. I am prepai-'d however 
Lower I cannot fall. 

Ent. Berecinthius. 

3 Marchant. Ila ! theis are signes 

Of a glorious entertainment, not contempt. 

Berecinthius. Beare up sir. I have donne you 
simple service, 
I thancke my eloquence, and boldnesse for it. 
Wiicn would a modest, silent foole effect 
What I have donne, but such men are not borne 
For gieat employments. The fox that woulde confer 
With a lyon, without fcare, must see hym often. 
O for a dozen of rubbers, and a batli 


And yet I neede noe tubbe since I drench my selfe 
In mine owne balsum. 

1 Marcliant. Balsamum ! it smells 
Like a tallow chandler's shoppe. 

Berecinthius Does it soe, you thinnegut ? 
Thou thinge without moysture. But I have noe time 
To answer thee. The gi'eate kinge (by my meanes sii' 
Ever remember that) in his owne person 
With his faire consort, and a gallant trayne [^Florish. 
Are come to entertaine you. 

\_Antiochus. Jove, yfthow art 
Pleas'd that it shall bee soe. 

Berecinthius. (Jhange not you Jove's purpose. 
In your slownesse to receave it. In your carriage 
Expresse your selfe. They come.'W t ^Tiiis passa^'e 

« -^ "^ -^ -J IS struck out in 

the MS.] 

Ent. Prusias, Queene, Philoxenes. 

(Rowh: Win. Ma'.jo : Mr. Balls : Nick: and La^li/.J 

Prusias. The stronge assurance 
You gave at Carthage to confirme you are 
The kinge Antiochus (for soe much from 
My agent there I have heard) commandes nice to 
Beleeve you are soe. And however they 
Awde by the Roman greatenesse durst not lende you 
Aide or protection ; in mee you shall finde 
A surer gard. I stande on mine owne bases : 
Nor shall or threates, or prayers, deter mee from 
Doeinge a good deed in it selfe rewarded. 
You are welcome to my bosom. 

Antiochus. All that yet 
I can rotnrne you sir is thanckes, expres'd 



In teares of joy, to find heere that compassion 
Hath not forsooke the earth. 

Queene. Alas ! good kinge 
I pittie hym. 

Pritsias. This ladye sir your servant 
Presents her dutye to you. 

Antiochus. Pray you forgieve mee 
Callamitie my to longe rude companion, 
Hath taught mee gratious madam to forget 
Civilitie, and manners. 

Queene. I were touch'd 
But the kinge my husband's lipps, (and as I live 
Hee kisses very like hym). 

Prusias. Heere is one 
I dare present to you for a knoweinge man 
In politicque designes. But hee is present 
I shoulde say more els. 

Antiochus. Your assistance sir 
To rayse a trod downe kinge will well become you 

Philoxenus. What man can doe that is fcimiliar with 
The deepe directions of Xenophon, 
Or Aristotle's politicques, besides 
Mine owne collections, which some prefer 
And with good reason as they say before 'em. 
Your highnes may expecte 

J'rusias. "Wee will at leasure 
Consyder of the manner, and the mcanes 
How to restore you to your owne. 

Queene. And till then 
Suppose your selfe in your owne court. 


Antiochiis. The gods 
Bee sureties for the payment of this debt 
I stande ingagde. Your bounties overwhelme mee. 
Florish. Exeunt Prusias, Antiochus, 
Queen, Philoxenus, Attendants. 

Berecintlnus. I marrie this is as it shoulde bee. Ila! 
After theis stornies raysde by this lloinan divell 
Titus Fhirainius, you knowe whom I nieane 
Are wee got into the port once. I must purge. 

1 Marchant. Not without cause. 

Berecintlnus. Or my increasinge bellie 
Will metamorphose mee into the shape 
Of a greate tortoyse, and I shall appeare 
A cypher, a rounde man, or what you will. 
Now jeere at my bulke, and spare not. 

1 Marchant. You are pleasant. 

Berecinthius. Farce thy leane ribbes with hope, and 
thow wilt growe to 
Another kinde of creature. When our kinge is 
Restor'd, let mee consyder, as hee must bee, 
And I the principall meanes, I'le first growe ricli, 
Infinite rich, and builde a strange newe temple 
To the goddesse that I worship, and soe binde her 
To prosper all ray purposes. 

2 Marchant. Bee not rap'd soe. 

Berecinthius. Prethee doe not trouble mee. First 
I will expell 
The Romans out of Asia. And soe breakinge 
Their reputation in the worlde, wee will 
Renewe our league with Carthage. Then drawe to 



Our partye, the ^giptian Ptolomee 

And greate Arsaies' issue. I will bee 

The Generall, and marche to Rome, which taken, 

I'le fill prowd Tibei* with the carkasses 

Of men, women, and children. Doe not persuade mee, 

I'le showe noe raercie. 

3 Marchant. Have the power to hurt first. 

Be)-eci?i(hius. Then by the Senators, whom I'le use 
as horses, 
I will bee drawne in a chariot made for my bulke 
In triumph to the Capitoll more admir'd 
Then Bacchus was in India. Titus Flaminius 
Our enemie lead like a dogge in a chaine, 
As I descende or re-ascende in state, 

Enter Flaminius and R. Baxter. 
Shall serve for my footestoole. [/ will conjure hijm, 
Yf revenue hath any spells A'] . + This passage 

•/ if cr I ^ js struck out in 

Flaminius. Commande the captaine ''^^ ^*^' 
To waite mee with his galley at the next port 
I am confident I shall fraught hym. \_Exit Demetrius. 

1 Marchant. You are conjuringe 
And see what you have raysde. 

Berecinthius. Cybele save mee. 
I doe not feare thee Pluto thowgh thou hast 
Assura'd a shape not to bee matchde in Cocytus. 
Why dost thou followe mee ? 

Flaminius. Art thow mad ? 

Berecinthius. Thow comest 
To make mee soe. How my jellie quakes .' avant 
What have I to doe with thee. 


Flaminius. You shall know at leasure 
The time is nowe to pretious. \_Exit Flaminius. 

Berecinthius. 'Tis vanish'd. 
Sure 'twas an apparition. 

1 Mar chant. I feare 
A fatall one to us. 

2 Marchant. Wee may easilie ghesse at 
The cause that bringes hym hither. 

Marchant. Now yf ever 
Confirme the kinge. 

1 Marchant. Against this batterie 

New workes are to bee rays'd, or wee are ruinde. 
Berecinthius. What thincke you of this rairipire ? 
'twill holde out 
And hee shall slioote throwgh and throwgh it, but 
I'le crosse him. [^Exeunt. 

Actus Tertii. Sc^na Tertia. 
Enter Flaminius and Philoxenus. 
Flaminius. What wee have say'd the ConsuUs will 
make good, 
And the glad senate ratefie. 

Philoxenus. They have soe 
Obligde mee for this favor, that there is not 
A service of that difficultie from which 
I woulde decline. In this rest confident 
I am your owne, and sure. 

Flaminius. You shall doe sir 
A noble office in it. And however 
Wee thancke you for the courtesie, the profit 
And certainc honors, the worlde's terror Rome 


In thanckefulnesse cannot but shower upon you, 
Are whoelye yours. How happie I esteeme 
My selfe in this imployment to meete \^ith 
A wise, and provident statesman. 

Philoxemts. My good lord. 

Flaminius. I tiatter not in speakinge truth. You are 
And in this prompt alacritie confirme it [soe 

Since a wise forecast in the managing 
"Worldlye affaires is the trewe wisdome, rashnesse 
The schoolemistrisse of idiots. You well knowe 
Charitie begins at home, and that wee are 
Neerest unto our selves. Fooles builde upon 
Imaginarie hopes, but wisemen ever 
On reall certainties. A tender conscience 
Like a gloweworme, showes a seeminge fire in darkenesse, 
But set neere to the glorious light of honor, 
It is invisible. As you are a statseman, 
And a master in that art, you must remove 
All rubbs (thowgh with a little wronge, sometimes) 
That may put by the bias of your counsailes, 
From the faire marke they aime at. 

Philoxenus. You are read well 
In wordlye passages. 

Flammivs. I barter with you 
Such trifles as I have. But yf you pleasde 
You could instruct mee, that philosophic 
And policie in states are not such strangers 
As men ore curious and precise would have 'em. 
But to the poynt. With speede get mee accesse 
To the kinge your pupil ; and 'tis well for hym 


That hee hath a such tuter. Kich Bithinia 
Was never soe indebted to a patriot 
And vigilant watchman for her peace and safetie 
As to your selfe. 

Philoxenus. Without boaste I may whisper 
I have donne somethinge that way. 

Flaminius. All, in all. 
Fame fiUinge her lowde trompe with truth proclaimes it. 
But when it shall bee understood you are 
The prineipall meanes, by which a dangerous serpent 
Warmde in your soveraigne's bosome, is deliverd 
To have his stinge, and venemous teeth pull'd out ; 
And the ruine in a willinge grant avoyded, 
"Which in detayninge hym falls on the kingedome. 
Not Prusias alone, but his sav'd people 
Will rayse your providence altars. 

Philoxenus. Let mee intreate 
Your pacyence some few minutes, I'le bringe the kinge 
In person to you. 

Flaminius. Doe, and this effected, 
Thincke of the ringe you are priveledgde to weare 
When a Roman gentleman, and after that 
Of provincies, and purple. I must smile now, 

\_Exit Philoxenus. 
In my consideration, with what glibnesse 
My flatteries oyld with hopes of future greatenesse 
Are swallow'd by this dull pate. But it is not 

Enter Prusias 07hI Philoxenus. 
Worth th' observation. Most of our seeminge statse- 


Are couglit in the same nooze. Return'd soe soone 
And the kinge with hym ? But his angrie forhead. 
Furrow'd with frownes. Noe matter I am for hym. 

Prusias. From the people of Rome ? soe quicke ! 
hath hee brought with hym 
Letters of credence, and authoritie, 
To treate with us ? 

Philoocenus. I read 'em. 

Prusias. What can hee 
Propounde, which I must feare to heare ? I woulde 
Continewe in faire tearmes with that warlike nation, 
Ever provided I wronge not my selfe 
In the least poynt of honor. 

Philoxenus. To the full 
Hee will instructe your majestic. 

Flaminius. Soe may 
Faslicitie as a page attende your person 
As you embrace tlie freindly counsaile sent you 
From the Roman senate. 

Prusias. With my thancks to you 
Their instrument, yf the advice bee such 
As by this preparation you woulde have mee 
Conceave it is, I shall, (and 'twill become mee) 
Reccave it as a favour. 

Flaminius. Know then Rome 
In her pious care, that you may still increase 
The happinesse you live in ; and your subjectes, 
Under tlie shadowe of their owne vines eate 
The fruite they yeeld 'em ; tlieir soft musicall feasts 
Continewinge, as they doe yet, unaffrighted 


With the harsh noyse of war, intreates as low 
As her knowne power and niajestie can descende 
You woulde retui'ne with due eequalitie 
A willingenes to preserve what shee hath conquer'd 
From change, and innovation. 

Priisias. I attempt not 
To trouble her nor ever will. 

Flaminius. Fix there 
Or yf for your owne good you will move farther 
Make Rome your thanckefuU debtor, by surrendringe 
Into her handes the false impostor that 
Seekes to disturbe her quiet. 

Prusias. This I look'd for 
And that I shoulde finde mortall poyson wrapde up 
In your candied pills. Must I because you say soe 
Beleeve, that this most miserable kinge is 
A false affronter ? whoe with arguments 
Unanswerable and neere miraculous proofes 
Confirmes hymselfe the trewe Antiochus. 
Or is it not sufficient that you Romans 
In your unsatisfied ambition have 
Seasd with an unjust gripe on halfe the worlde, 
Which you call conquest, yf that I consent not 
To have my innocence soylde with that pollution, 
You are willingelye smeard ore with. 

Flaminius. Pray you heare mee. 

Prusias. I will bee first heard. Shall I for your endes 
Infringe my princelye word ? or breake the lawes 
Of hospitalitie ? defeate myselfe 
Of the certaine honor to restore a kinsre 


Unto liis owne ? and what you Romans have 

Extorted, and keepe from hym ? Far bee it from mee 

I will not buy your amitie at such losse, 

Soe it bee to all after times remembred 

I held it not sufficient to live 

As one borne only for my selfe, and I 

Desii'e noe other monument. 

Flaminius. I grant 
It is a spetious thinge to leave behinde us 
A faire report, thowgh in the other world 
Wee have noe feelinge of it, and to lende 
A desperate, thowgh fruitlesse ayde, to such 
As fate not to bee alter'd hath mark'd out 
Examples of callamitie, may appeai-e 
A glorious ornament, but beer's a man 
The oracle of your kingedome that can tell you 
When there's noe probabilitie it may be 
Effected 'tis meere raadnesse to attempt it. 

Philoxemis. A trewe position 

Flaminius. Your inclination 
Is honorable but your power deficient 
To put your purposes into act. 

Prusias. My power ? 

Flaminius. Is not to bee disputed yf waigh'd truelye 
With the pettie kinges your neighbours but when 

With the globes and scepters of my mistris Rome 
Will but I spare comparisons. But you buildc on 
Your strength, to justifie the fact. Alas 
It is a feoblc recdc, and leaninge on it 


Will wouude your hancle much sooner then support you 
You keepe in pay 'tis true some peace trayn'd troopes 
Which awe your neighbours but consyder when 
Our egles shall display their sayle stretchde winges 
Hoveringe ore our legions, what defence 
Can you expecte from yours ? 

Philoxenns. Urge that poynt home. 

Flaminiiis. Our olde victorious bandes are ever readie, 
And such as are not our confa^derates, tremble 
To thincke where next the storme shall fall, with horror. 
Philoxenus knowes it. Will you to helpe one 
You shoulde contemne, and is not worth your pittie 
Pull it on your owne head ? your neighbour, Carthage 
Would smile to see your error. Let race paynt 
The danger to you ere it come. Imagine 
Our legions, and th' auxiliarie forces 
Of such as are our fieinds, and tributaries 
Drawne up, Bithinia cover'd with our armies. 
All places promisinge defence blockde up 
With our arm'd troopes ; the siege continewinge ; 
Famine within, and force without disablinge 
All opposition ; then the armie enter'd 
(As victorie is insolent) the rapes 
Of virgins, and grave matrons ; reverend old men 
With their last grones accusinge you, your cittie, 
And pallace sack'd — 

Philoxenus. Deere sir. 
Flamifiius. And you your selfe 
Captivde, and after that, chainde by the necke, 
Your matchlesse queene, your children, officers, freindes 


Waitinge as scornes of fortune to gieve lustre 
To the victor's triumjih. 

Philoxenus. I am in a fever 
To tbincke uppon't. 

Flaminius. As a freinde I have deliver'd 
And more then my commission vparrants mee 
This caution to you. But now peace, or war, 
Yf the first I entertaine it, yf the later 
rie instantlye defie you. 

Philoxenus. Pray you say peace sir. 

Prusias. On what conditions ? 

Flaminius. The deliverie 
Of this seductoi', and his complices 
On noe tearmes els, and suddainelye 

Prusias. How can I 
Dispense with my faith gieven. 

Philoxenus. I'le yeelde you reasons. 

Prusias. Let it bee peace then oh. Pray you call in 
The wretched man. In the meane time I'le consyder 
How to excuse myselfe. \_Exit Puiloxenus. 

Flaminius. While I in silence 
Triumph in my successe, and meditate 
On the reward that crownes it. A stronge armie 
Coulde have donne noe more then I alone, and with 

Enter Antiociius, Qdeene, Philoxenus, BEREcnsi- 
Tuius, the 3 Maucuants, Demetrius {R. Baxt.\ 
and Attendants. 

A little breath have effected. 

Antiochus. Goodnesse garde mee 


Whom doe I looke on. Sir come furtliei" from hym. 
Hee is infectious ; soe swolne with mischiefes 
And strange impieties ; bis language to 
Soe full of siren sorceries, yf you heare hym 
There is noe touch of morall honestie 
Though rampier'd in your soule but will flie from you. 
The mandrake's shrieks, the aspicq's deadly tooth 
The teares of crocodiles, or the basiliske's eie, 
Kill not soe soone nor with that violence 
As hee whoe in his cruell nature holds 
Antipathic with mercie. 

Prusias. I am sorrie. 

Antiochus. Sorrie ? for what, that you had an intent 
To bee a good, and just prince? are compassion, 
And charitie growne crimes ? 

Prusias. The gods can witnesse 
How much I woulde doe for you. And but that 
Necessitie of state — 

Antiochtts. Make not the gods 
Guiltie of your breach of faith, from them you finde not 
Trecherie commanded, and the state that seekes 
Strength from disloyaltie, in the quickesands which 
Shee trusteth in is swallow'd. 'Tis in value 
To argue with you. Yf I am condemnde 
Defences come to late. What doe you |)urpose 
Shall fall on poore Antiochus ? 

Prusias. For my 
Securitie, there being noe meanes left els, 
Against my will I must deliver you. \_Enter Carik. 

Antiochus. To whom ? 


Priisias. To Rome's embassador. 

A}}tiochus. the furies ! 
Exceede not hym in crueltie. Eemember 
I am a kinge. Your royall ghest. Your right hande 
The pawne, and pledge, that should defende mee from 
My bloodie enemie. Did you accuse 
The Carthaginian senite for denijnge 
Ayde, and protection to mee, gievinge hope 
To my despairinge fortunes ? or but now 
Eayse mee to make my fall more terrible ? 
Did you tax them of weakenesse, and will you 
Soe far transcende them in a coward feare 
Declaimde against by your owne mouth ? O sir 
Yf you dare not gieve mee harbor, set mee safe yet 
In any desert, where this serpent's hisses 
May not bee heard, and to the gods I'le speake you 
A prince both wise, and honorable. 

Priisias. Alas, it is not in my power. 

Antiochiis. As an impostor 
Take of my head then, at the least soe far 
Prove merciefuU ; or with any torture ease mee 
Of the burthen of a life, rather then yeelde mee 
To this politicque state hangeman. 

Flaminius. This to mee is 
A kind of ravishinge musique. 

Queene. I have liv'd 
For many yeares sir your obedient handmayde. 
Nor ever in a sillable presum'd 
To ciosse your purposes: but now with a soirow 
As grcate almost as this poore kinges, behouldinge 


Your povertie of spirit (for it does 
Deserve noe better name) I must put of 
Obsequiousnesse, and silence, and take to mee 
The warrant, and authoritie of your Queene, 
And as such gieve you counsaile. 

Prusias. You displease mee. [bitter. 

Queene. The phisicque promisinge health is ever 
Ileare mee. Will you that are a man, nay more 
A kinge of men, doe tliat forc'd to it by feare 
Which common men woulde scorne ? I am a woman, 
A weake, and feoblc woman, yet before 
I woulde deliver up my bondewoman 
And have it tolde I did it by constraynt 
I would indure to have theis hands cut of, 
Theis puU'd out — 

Prusias. I'le heare noe more. 

Queene. Doe you then 
As a kinge shoulde. 

Prusias. Away with her. 

Flaminius. My affaires \_Theij bears of the Queene. 
Exacte a quicke despatch. 

Prusias. Hee's yours. Conceave 
What I woulde say. Farwell. 

\_Exeu7it Prusias aiid Philoxenus. 

Antiochus. That I had bene 
Borne dumbe. I will not grace thy triumph tyiainie. 
With one request of favour. \_Exit At^tiochvs f/arded. 

Berecinthius. My good lord. 

Flaminius. Your will deere flamen ? 

Berecinthius. I perceave you are like 


To drawe a greate charge upon you. My fat bulke, 
And theis my lyons will not bee kepd for a little 
Nor woulde wee bee chargeable. And therefore, kissinge 
Your honor'd handes I take my leave. \^Enter Garde. 

Flaminius. By noe meanes 
I have bene busie, but I shall finde leasure 
To treate with you in another place. 

Berecinthius. I woulde not 
Put your lordship to the trouble. 

Flaminius. It will bee 
A pleasure rather. Bringe 'em all away. 

Berecinthius. The comfort is whither I drowne, or 
I shall not bee longe about it. I'le preserve 
The dignitie of my famelie. ^^j^^ ^^^ 

Flaminius. 'Twill become you. vdrdl'lct. 


Actus Quarti. ACT IV. Scjena Prima. 

Enter Metelus, a Procunsul of [^Lusitania], and 
Sempronius, a Centurion. 

Metellus. A revolt in Asia ? 

Sempronius. Yes on the report 
The longe thowght dead Antiochus lives. 

Metellus. I heard 
Such a one appear'd in Carthage, but suppresde 
By Titus Flaminius ray noble freinde 
Whoe by his letters promis'd mee a visit, yf his 

designes as I desire they may 
Succeeded to his wishes. 

Semprofiius. Till you behoulde hym 
I can bringe your honor yf you please, where you 
May finde faire entertainment. 

Metellus. From whom captaine ? 

Sernpronius. A new rigg'd pinnace that put of from 
And is arriv'd amonge us, tite, and yare 
Nor comes shee to pay custome for her fraught 
But to impose a tax on such as dare 
Presume to looke on her, which smocke gamesters offer 
Sooner then shee demandes it. 

Metellus. Some freshe courtezan 
Upon mine honor. 

Sempronius. You are i' the right my lord. 
Metellus. And there lies your intelligence. 



Sempronius. True my good lord 
'Tis a discoverie will not shame a captaine 
When hee lies in garrison. Since T was a trader 
In such commodities, I never saw 
Her equall, I was ravish'd with the object 
And woulde vou visit her I beleeve you woulde write 
Your selfe of my opinion. 

Metellus. Fye upon thee 
I am olde. 

Sempronius. And therefore have the greater use 
Of such a cordiall. All Medeas drugges 
And her charmes to boote that made old ^Eson younge 
Hubert below: Were nothiuge to her touch. Your viper wine 

ready to open , . ^ . . , , n i ii 

the trap door fio much in practise With gray bearded gallants 

for Mr. Taylor. 

But vappa to the nectar of her lippe. 

Shee hath donne miracles since shee came. A usurer 

Full of the gowte, and more diseases then 

His crowches coulde support, us'd her rare phisicque 

But one short night, and risinge in the morninge 

Hee dancde a lawolta. 

Metelh/s. Prethee leave thy foolinge 
And talke of somethinge els. 

Sempronius. The whole world yeeldes not 
Apter discourse. Slice hath all the qualities 
Conducinge to the sport ; singes like a syren ; 
Dances, as the grosse element of earth 
Had noe part in her ; her discourse, soe full 
Of eloquence and prevailinge, there is nothinge 
Shee askes to bee deni'd her. Had shee desir'd 
My ciiptaine's place T had rashier'd my selfe 


Ai.d shoulde shee begge your procunsulsliip, yf you 
heard her, \_Enter Flaminius. 

'Twere her's, upon my life. 

Metellus. Shee shoulde bee damnde first 
And her whole tribe. My lord Flarainius welcome 
I have longe bene full of expectation 
Of your greate designe, and hope a faire successe 
Hath crown'd your travaile, in your bringeinge in 
This dangerous impostor 

Flaminius. At the length 
I have hym, and his complices. 

Metellus. I'le not, now 
Inquire how you atchiev'd hym, but woulde know 
Since 'tis refer'd to you what pu'nnishement 
Shall fall upon hym. 

Flaminius. Yf you please in private 
I will acquaint you. 

Metellus. Captaine let mee intreate you 
To meditate on your woman in the next roome 
"Wee may have imployment for you. 

Sempronius. I had rather 
Shee woulde comraande my service. 

Metellus. Pray you sit. 

Flaminius. Now my good lord I aske your grave 
What course to take. [advice, 

Metellus. That in my j udgeraent needes not 
Longe consultation. Hee is a traytor 
And his processe fram'd must as a traytor suffer 
A death due to his treason. 

Flaminius. There's much more 



To bee consider'd. There beeinge a beleefe 
Disperscle almost tlirowgh Asia that hee is 
The trewe Antiochus, and wee must decline 
The certaine scandall it will drawe upon 
The Roman governement, yf hee dye the man 
Hee is by the most receav'd to bee, and therefore 
Till that opinion bee remov'd, wee must 
Use some quaint practise that may worke upon 
His hopes or feares to drawe a free confession 
That hee was subornde to take on hym the name 
Hee still maintaines. 

3IeteUus. That torture will wrest from hym 
I know noe readier way. 

Flaminius. Yf you had seene 
His carriage in Carthage and Bithinia, 
You woulde not thincke soe. Since I had hym in 
My power I have us'd all possible meanes that might 
Force hym into despaire and soe to doe 
A violence on hym selfe. Hee hath not tasted 
Theis three dayes any sustenance, and still 
Continewes fastinge. 

Metellus. Keepe hym to that dyet 
Some few howers more. 

Flaminms. I am of opinion rather 
Some competence offer'd hym, and a place of rest 
Where hee might spend the remnant of his dayes 
In pleasure and securitie, might do more 
Then feare of death or torture. 

Metellus. It may bee 
There are such natures, and now I thincke upon 't, 


I can helpe you to a liappie instrument 
To motion it. Your eare. 

Flaminius 'Tis wondrous well 
And it may pi'ove fortunate. 

Metellus. 'Tis but a triall 
However I will sende for her. 

Flaminius. Pray you doe 
Shee shall have my directions. 

Meiellus. What botches 
Are made in the shoppe of policie. 

Flaminius. Soe they cover 
Thenakednesse wee must conceale, it skills not. \_Exeunt. 

Actus Quarti. Sc^na Secunda. 

E7it. Jaylor ; (Wm. Penn,) with poinard and halter. 

Jaylor. Why should I feele compunction for that 
Which yeeldes mee profit ha ! a prisoner's teares 
Shoulde sooner pierce flint or ^Egiptian marble, 
Then move us to compassion. Yet I knowe not 
The sufferinges of this miserable man 
Worke strangelye on mee. Some say hee is a kinge 
It may bee soe, but yf they holde out thus 
I am sure hee is like to dye a begger's death, 
And starve for hunger. I am by a servant 
Of the lord Plaminius strictely commanded 
Before I have raysde hyra out of the dongeon 
To lay theis instruments in his viewe. To what end 
I am not to enquire but I am certaine, 
After his longe fast they are viands that 
Will hardlye beedigested. Doe you heare sir? 


Ant'i. (heloiv) Yf tliou art my death'sman welcome. 

Jaylor. I soe pittie you 
That I wishe I had commission as you rise 
To free you from all future miserie 
To knocke your braiues out. 

Antiochus. Would thou hadst 

Jaylor. You have 
The libertie to ayre your selfe, and that 
Is all I can affoord you. Fast, and bee merrie, 
I am els where call'd on. \_Exit Jaylor. 

Antiochus. Death as far as faintnesse 
Will gieve mee leave to chide thee I am angrie 
Thou comest not at mee. Noe attendance ? famine 
Thy meagre harbinger flatters mee with hope 
Of thy soe wish'd arrivall, yet thy comminge 
Is still defer'd. Why ? is it in thy scorne 
To take a lodginge heere ! I am a kinge 
And thowh I knowe the reverence that waytes 
Upon the potent scepter, nor the gardes 
Of faithfull subjects ; neither threates, nor prayers 
Of freinds, or kinred, nor yet walls of brasse. 
Or fire, shoulde their prowde height knocke at the moone 
Can stop thy passage, when thou art resolv'd 
To force thy entrance, yet a kinge in reason 
By the will of fate, sever'd from common men 
Shoulde have the privelcdge, and prerogative 
When hee is willinge to disrobe hym selfe 
Of this cobAveb garment life, to have thee readie 
To doe tliy fatall oihce. What liave wee heere ? 

Ent. Metellus, Flaminius, and Sempronius 


A poinard, and a halter. From the objects 
I am easilie instructed to what end, 
They were prepar'd. Either will serve the turue 
To ease the burthen of a wretched life 
Or thus, or thus in death. I must commende 
Tiie Roman courtesie. How, am I gronne 
Soe cheape, and vile in their opinion that 
I am denide an executioner ? 
< ,i!'',i{''iie ^Vi^l '^ot the losse of my life quit the cost ? 
''""'■ rare frugalitie I Will they force mee to 

Bee mine owne hangman, Everie slave that's guiltie 
Of crimes not to bee namde receaves such favor 
By the judges doorae, and is my innocence 
The oppresde innocence of a star cros'de kinge 
Helde more contemptible. My better augell 
Thowgh wantinge power to alter fate discovers 
Their hellishe purposes. Yes, yes, 'tis soe. 
My bodies death will not suffice, they aimde at 
My soules perdition, and shall I to shun 
A fewe bowers more of miserie betray her ? 
Noe shee is free still, and shall soe returne 
From whence it came, and in her pureness triumph 
Their tyrannic chainde, and fetterd. 

Flambiius. O the divell ! 
Thou art weake. This will not doe. 

Metelliis. Marke how hee'le stand 
The second charge. 

Enter Jailor (wifh hrovcne bread and a ivooddcn dishe 
of ivaier). 

Scmprotiius. The honor is reserv'd 
For the prettie temptinge friende I brought my life on't. 


Jaylor. Heere sir take this thowgh course it will kill 
It is your daylie pittance yet when you please 
Your commons may bee mended. 

Antiochus. Showe mee the way 

Jaylor. Confesse your selfe to bee a cousinnge knave 
The matter's feasible. But yf you will bee 
Still kinge of the crickets feede on this, and live ; 
You shall not say wee starv'd you. \_Exit Jaylor. 

Antiochus. Stay I beseech thee. 
And take thy cruell pittie backe againe 
To hym that sent it. This is a tyrannie 
That doth transcende all presidents ! my soule 
But even now this lumpe of clay her prison 
Of it selfe in the want of nourishement openinge, 
Had shooke of her sicke fethers, and prepar'd 
Her selfe to make a noble flight, as set 
At libertie, and now this reparation 
Againe immures. You for whose curious palats 
The elements are ransackde looke upon 
This bill of fare, by my penurious steward 
Necessitie, serv'd to a faniishde kinge. 
And warnde by my example, when your tables 
Cracke not with the waight, of deere, and far fctch'd 

Dispute not with heavn's bounties. What shall I doe ? 
Yf I refuse to touch, and taste these course. 
And homelye cakes, I hasten my owne fate. 
And soe with willingenes embrace a sinne 
I hitherto have fled from. Noe I'le eate. 
And yf at this poore rate life can continewe 


I will not throwe it of. 

Flaminius. I pine with envie 
To see his constancie. 

Metelhis. Bid your propertie enter. 

[ The lute strikes, and then the songe. 
And use her subtlest raagicque. 

Setnpronius. I have alreadie 
Acquainted her with her cue. The rausique ushers 
Her personall appearance. 

A song. 

Antiochus. From what hande, 
And voice doe I receave this charitie, 
It is unusuall at such a feast. \_Enter Courtezan. 

But I miscall it. 'Tis some newe fuuude cngin. 
Mounted to batter mee.. Ha. 

Courtezan. Yf I were not 
IMore harsh, and rugged in my disposition 
Then thy tormentors, theis eies had outstripp'd 
My tongue, and with a shower of teares had tolde you, 
Compassion bringes mee hither. 

Antiochus. That I coulde 
Beleeve soe much (as by my miseries 
And oth I dare not breake) I gladlye would. 
Pittie mee thinckes I knowe not how appeares 
Soe lonely in you. 

Courtezan. It beeinge spent upon 
A subject in each circumstance deservinge 
An universall sorrowe, though 'tis simple 
It cannot bee deform'd. May I presume 
To kisse your royall hande, for sure you are not 


Lesse then a kinge. 

Antiochus. Have I one witnesse livinge 
Dares only thin eke soe mutch ? 

Courtezan. I doe beleeve it 
And will dye in that beleefe, and nothinge more 
Confirmes it then your pacyence, not to bee 
Founde in a meaner man. Not all the trimme 
Of the majestic you were borne to, though set of 
With pompc, and glorious lustre, showde you in 
Such full perfection, as at this instant 
Shines rounde about you, in your constant bearinge 
Your adverse fortune, a degree beyonde 
All magncenimitie that ever was 
Canonisde by mankinde. 

Antiochus. Astonishment 
And wonder seases on mee. Pray you what are yon ? 

Courtezan. "Without your pittie neerer to tlie gravi; 
Then the malice of prevaylinge enemies 
Can hurrie you. 

Antiochvs. ]\Ty pittie ! I will part Avith 
Soe much from what T have ingros'd to mourne 
Mine owne afflictions, as I freelye grant it. 
Will you have mee weepe before I know the cause 
In which I may serve you. 

Courtezan. You alreadie have 
Spent to much of that stocke. Pray you first hcare nice 
And wronge not my simjdicitie with doubts. 
Of that T shall deliver. I am a virgin. 

Semproniifs. Yf J had not toyde Avith her my sclfe 
T sliouldo now Iiolcevc her. 


Courtezan. And though not of the egles brood, 
From a noble famelie. 

Sempronius. Her mother solde her 
To a Corinthian lecher, at thirteene 
As 'tis reported. 

Metellus. Bee silent I commande you. 

Antiochvs. To bee a virgin, and soe well deriv'd, 
In my opinion faire one are not thinges 
To bee lamented. 

Courtezan. Yf I had not falne 
From ray clere height of chabtetie I confesse it 
In my to forwarde wishes [and] that is 
A sinue I am guiltie of. I am in love sir 
Impotentlye mad in love, and my desires 
Not to bee stopp'd in their careere. 

Antiochus. With whom 
Are you soe taken ? 

Courtezan. With your owne deere selfe sir. 
Beholde mee not with such a face of wonder 
It is to sad a truth, the storie of 

Your most deplorable fortune at the first warmde niee 
With more then modest heates, but since I saw you 
I am all fire, and shall turne cyndars, yf 
You showe not raercie to mee. 

Antiochus. Foolishe creature 
Yf I coulde suppose this trevv, and met your wishes 
With equall ardoi-, as I am, what shadowe 
Of seeminge hope is left you to ari'ive at 
The port you longe for. 


Courtezan. If you will bee good 
Unto your selfe the voiage is accomplishde. 
It is but puttiuge of a poysond shirt 
Which in the weariuge eates into your flesh, 
And must against your will bee soone forc'd from you : 
The malice of your enemies tendringe to you 
More trew securitie and safetie then 
The violence of your freindes, and servants wishes 
Coulde heape upon you. 

Antlochus. 'Tis impossible. 
Cleere this darke misterie for yet to mee 
You speake in riddles. 

Courtezan. I will make it easie 
To your understandinge. And thus sweeten it offers to 

kiss hint. 

In the deliverie. 'Tis but to disclaime 
With the continuall cares that waite upon it 
The title of a kinge. 

Antiochus. Divell. Flaminius, 
I finde you here. [^riside. 

Courtezan. Why doe you turne away ? 
The counsaile that I offer, yf you please 
To entertaine it, as longe wish'd compagnions 
In her right hand bringes libertie, and a calmc 
After soe many stormes. And you noe sooner 
Shall to the worlde professe you were subornde 
To this imposture (though I still beleeve 
It is a truth) but with a free remission 
For the offence, I as your better Genius, 
Will lead you from this place of horror, to 
A paradise of delight, to which compar'd 


Thessalian Tempo, or that garden where 

Venus, with her reviv'd Adonis spende 

Their pleasant howers, and make from their embraces 

A perpetuitie of happinis 

Deserve not to bee nam'd. There in an arbor 

Of it selfe supported ore a bubblinge springe 

With purple hiacinths, and roses cover'd 

Wee will injoy the sweetes of life, nor shall 

Arithmeticque somme up the varieties of 

Our amorous dalliance. Our viandes such 

As not alone shall nourishe appetite 

But strengthen our performance. And when call'd for 

The quiristers of the ayre shall gieve us musicque ; 

And when wee slumber, in a pleasant dreame 

You shall beholde the mountaines of vexations 

Which you have heapd upon the Roman tyrannds 

In your free resignation of your kingdome, 

And smile at their afflictions. 

Antiochus. Hence you syren 

Courtezan. Are you displeas'd ? 

Antiochus. Were all your flatteries 
Aimde at this marke ? will not my vertuous anger 
Assisted by contempt and scorne, yeelde strength 
To spurne thee from mee ? But thow art some whore. 
Some common whore, and yf thou hast a soule 
(As in such creatures it is more then doubted) 
It hath its beeinge in thy wanton valines 
And will with thy expense of blood become 
Like that of sensuall beastes. 

Metclltis. This will not doe. 


Antiochus. How did my enemies loose themselves 
to thin eke 
A painted prostitute with her charraes coulde conquer 
What malice at the height coulde not subdue. 
Is all their stocke of malice soe consumde 
As out of penurie they are forcde to use 
A whore for their last agent. 

Courtezan. Yf thou wer'et 
Ten times a kinge thou liest. I am a ladie 
A gamsome ladie of the last edition 
And though I phisicque noblemen noe whore. 

Metelliis. Hee hath touchd her free hold. 

Sempronms. Now let her alone 
And sbee will worrye hym. 

Courtezan. Have I liv'd to have 
My courtesies refusde ? that I had leave 
To plucke thy eies out. 
Are you soe coy ? thou art a man of snowe 
And thy father got thee in tbe wane of the moone. 
But scorne raee not. 'Tis trew I was set on 
By the higher powers but now for all the wealth 
In Asia thou shalt not have the favour 
Though prostrate on the earth, thou wouldst implore it 
To kisse my shooestringe. 

Enter iwLo^, aiid others. {Roivl.) 

Flaminius. Wee loose time my lord. 
Courtezan. Foh how hee stinckes. I will not weare 
a ragge more 
'J'hut hee hath brcath'd on. \_Exit. 



Metellus. Without more acloe 
Let hym have his sentence. 

Flaminius. Dragge hym hence. 

Antiochus. Are you there ? 
Nay then. 

Flaminius. I will not heare hym speake. My anger 
Is lost why linger you ? 

Antiochus. Death ends all however. \^fiscit. 

Actus Quartx. Sc^na Tertia. 
Officers leadinge in Berecinthius, and the first 

Marchant, with halter. 
{Enter Berecinthius, and J. Hony, R. Baxt. and 
Berecinthius. What a skelliton they have made of 
mee. Starve mee first 
And hange mee after. Is there noe conscience extant 
To a man of my order. They have degraded mee, 
Tane away my lyons, and to make mee rore like 'em 
They have parde the fleshe of from my fingers ends 
And then laugh'd at mee. I have bene kep'd in 

Theis five longe dayes. Noe visitants but divells 
Or men in shapes more horrid commiuge at mee. 
A chafinge dishe of coles, and a butcher's knile 
I founde set by mee. And, inquiringe why ? 
I was tolde, that I had fleshe enough of mine owne 
And yf that I were hungrie I might freelye 
Eate mine owne carbonades, and bee croniclde 
For a cannibal never read of. 
Officer. Will you walke sir. 


Berecinthius. I shall come to soone though I creepe 
to such a breakefast. 
I ever use to take, my portion sittinge 
Hangeinge in the ayre 'tis not phisicle. 
Officer. Time flies away sir 

Berecinthius. Whie let hym flie sir. Or if you please 
to stay hym 
And binde up the bolde knaves winges, make use of 

my collar 
There is substance in it I can assure your worship. 
And I thancke your wisdome that you make distinction 
Betweene mee, and this starvelinge. Hee goes to it 
Like a grayhouude for killinge of sheepe in a two- 
penny slippe. 
But heeres a cable will waigh up an anchor. 
And yet yf I may have faire play ere I dye 
Ten to one I shall make it cracke. 
Officer. What woulde you have sir. 
Berecinthius. My ballace about mee I shall nere 
sayle well els, 
To the other worlde. My barke you see wants stowage 
But gieve mee halfe a dozen of hens, and a loyue of 

To keepe it steddie, and you may spare the trouble 
Of puUinge mee by the leggs, or settinge the knot 
Under mine eare. This drurame well brac'd, defies 
Such foolish courtesies. 

I Marchant. This mirth good flaraen 
Is out of season. Let us thincke of Elizium 
If wee dye honest men, or what wee there 


Shall suffer from the furies. 

Berecinthius. Thou art a foole 
To tliincke tliere are or gods, or goddesses, 
For the later yf that shee, had any power 
Mine beeinge the mother of 'em vvoulde have help'd mee 
They arc thinges wee make our selves. Or grant there 

shoulde bee 
A hell, or an Elizium, singe I cannot 
To Orpheus harpe in the one, nor dance in the other. 
But yf there bee a Cerberus yf I serve not 
To make three sopps for his three heades that may serve, 
For somthinge more then an ordinarie breakefost 
The cur is divelishe hungvie. Woulde I had 
Ran away with your fellowe marchants, I had then 
Provided for my fame. Yet as I am 
I have one request to make, and that my freindes 
Concernes my bodie which I pray you grant 
And then I shall dye in peace. 

Officer. What is it ? 

Berecinthius. Marrye 
That you woulde bee suitors to the proconsul for mee 
That noe covetous Roman after I am dead 
May bcgge to have my skinne flayde of, and stuife it 
With strawe like an aligator, and then showe it 
In faires, and markets for a monster, thowgh 
I knowe the sight will draw more fooles to gape on't 
Then a camell or an elephant, afore hande 
I tell you, yf you doe my ghost shall haunt you. 

Officer. You shall have buriall feare not. 

Berecmthms. And roomc enough 



To tumble in I pray you thowgh I take up 

More grave then Alexander. I have ill lucke 

Yf I stincke not as much as hee, and yeelde the wormes 

As large a supper. 

First Marchant. Ai-e you not mad to talke thus ? 

Berecinthius. I came crijnge into the worlde, and 
am resolvde 
To goe out merrilie, therefore despatch mee. \_Exeunt. 

Actus Quarti. Scena Quarta. 
Enter Metellus and Flaminius. 

MeteUus. There was never such coustaucie. 

Flaminius. You gieve it 
To faire a name, 'tis foolishe obstinancie 
For which hee shall without my pittie suffer. 
What wee doe for the service of the republicque 
And propagation of Rome's glorious empire 
Needes noe defence and wee shall wronge our j udgements 
To feele compunction for it. Have you given ower 
Accordinge to the sentence, that the impostor 
Ridinge upon an asse, his face turn'd to 
The hinder part, may in derision bee 
Brought through Calipolis. 

Metellus. Yes. And a paper 
Upon his head, in which with capitall letters 

[Enter Sempronius. 
Ilis faults inscribde, and by three trompeters 
Pj-oclaimde before hym, and that donne to have hym 
Committed to the gallies. Here comes Sempronius 
To whom I gave the charge. 


Sempronius. I have perform'd it 
In every circumstance. 

Flaminms. How doe the people 
Receive it ? 

Sempronius. As an acte of crueltie 
And not of justice. It drewe teares from all 
The sad spectators. His demeanor was 
In the whole progresse, worth the observation 
But one thinge most remarkeable. 
Metellus. What was that ? 

Sempronius. When the cittie clarke with a lowde 
voice read the cawse 
For which hee was condemnde in takinge on hym 
The name of a kinge, with a setled countenance 
The miserable man replied I am soe 
But when hee touch'd his beeinge a cheatingc Jewe 
His pacyence mov'd with a face full of anger 
Hee boldlye sayde 'tis false. I never saw 
Such magnanimitie. 

Flaminius. Frontlesse impudence rather. 
Sempronius. Or any thinge els you please. 
Flaminius. Have you forc'd on hym 
The habit of a slave ? 

Sempronius. Yes, and in that 
Pardon my weakenesse, still there does appeare 
A kinde of majestic in hym. 

Flaminius. You looke on it 
With the cies of foolishe pittie that deceaves you. 
Sempronius. This way hee comes, and, I beleeve 
when you see hym 

G 2 


You'll bee of my opinion. 

{Within.) Officer. Make way there. 

Enter Officers, leadinge in Antiochds, his head 
shavde in the habit of a Slave. 

Antiochus. Fate! 'tis thy will it shoulde bee thus, 
and I 
With pacyence obey it. "Was there ever 
In all precedent mappes of miserie 
Callamitie soe drawne out to the life 
As shee appeeres in mee ? In all the changes 
Of fortune such a metamorphosis 
Antiquitie cannot showe us. Men may read there 
Of kinges depos'd, and some in triumph lead 
By the prowde insultinge Roman. Yet they were 
Acknowledgde such, and died soe. My sad fate 
Is of a worse condition, and Rome 
To mee more barbarous then ere yet to any 
Brought in subjection. Is it not sufficient 
That the lockes of this oure royall head, are shav'd of, 
My glorious robes chang'd to this slavislie habit 
This hande that grasp'd a scepter manaclde 
Or that I have bene as a spectacle 
Expos'de to publicque frowne, yf to make perfit 
The cruell reckoninge I am not compelde 
To live beyonde this, and with stripes bee forc'd 
To stretch my shrunckc up sinnewes at an ore 
In the company of theeves, and murtherers. 
My innocence, and their guilt noe way distinguish'd, 
But ecjuall in our suffringes. 


Metellus, You may yet 
Redeeme all, and bee happie. 

Flaminius. But persistinge 
In this imposture thincke but what it is 
To live in hell on earth, and rest assur'd 
It is your fatall portion. 

Antiochus. Doe what you please. 
I am in your power but still Antiochus 
Kinge of the lower Asia, noe impostor 
That fower, and twenty yeares since lost a battaile 
And challenge now mine owne which tyrannous Rome 
With violence keepes from mee. 

Flammius. Stoppe his mouth. 

Antiochus. This is the vei-y truth, and yf I live 
Thrice Nestor's years in torture, I will speake 
Noe other language. 

Metellus. I begin to melt. 

Flanmiius. To the galley with hym. 

Antiochus. Every place shall bee 
A temple to my paenitence in mee. \_Exeunt. 


Actus Quinti. [ACT V,] Sc^na Prima. 

Ent. Mahcellus, rvith a letter, (pt-oconsul of Sici'ie) 
2 and 3 Marchant : Wm. Pen, Curt, and Attendants : 
Rowland, Mr. Balls, Xick. 
Marcellus. Upon your recantation this Gallerien 

"Was not Antiochus you had your pardons 

Signde by the senate ? 

2 Marchant. Yes my lorde 
Marcellus. Troth tell mee 

And freelie, (I am noe informer) did you 

Beleeve, and knowe hym such, or rays'd that rumor 

For private endes of your owne. 

3 Marchant. May it please your excellence 
To understand, the feare of death wrought on us 

All the swords "^^^ ^ kiude to tumc Apostatas : besides 
reiuhj. Havinge prov'd our testimonies coulde not helpe hym 

Wee studied our safeties. 

2 Marchant. A desire to 

Of the recoverie of our owne kepd from us 
With stronge hand by his violent pei'secutor 
Titus Flaminius, when hee was at Carthage 
Urg'd us to seeke redi'esse, nor was it fit 
Wee shoulde oppose greate Rome. 
Marcellus. In worldlye wisdome 
You are excusable. But — 

3 Marchant. Wee beseech your honor 
Presse us noe further. 


Marcellus. I doe not purpose it 
Doe you knowe what this containes? \_A letter. 

2 3Iarchant. Noe, my good lord. 

3 Marchant. Perhaps [w]ee b[ ]nt for our [parjtes 
As 'tis sayde of Bellerophon, yet wee durst not 
Presume to open it. 

Marcellus. "Twas manners in you 
But I'le discharge you of that feare. There is 
Noe hurt intended to you. 

3 Alarchant. Wee thancke your lordship. 

Marcellus. How is the service of Flaminius spoke of 
In Rome ? 

2 Marchant. With admiration, and many 
Divine great honors to hym. 

Marcellus. The people's voice 
Is not oraculous ever. Are you sure 
The galley in which your suppos'd kinge is chainde, 
Was bounde for Siracusi ? 

3 Marchant. Shee is now 
In the port my lord. 

Marcellus. Titus Fhuninius in her ? 

3 Marchant. Upon my certaine knowledge. 

Marcellus. Keepe your selves 
Conceal'd till you are calde for. When least hop'd for, 
You shall have justice. 

2 Marchant. Your honor's vassalls ever. 

[^Exeunt Marchants. 

Marcellus. Here. Here it is apparent that the post 
Wrot truth though noe proofe els coulde bee alleag'd 
To make it good that though the heavens lay open 


To humane wishes, and the fates were bounde 

To signe what wee desire, such clowdes of error 

Involve our reason, wee still begge a curse 

And not a blessinge. How many borne unto 

Ample possessions, and like pettie kinges 

Disposinge of their vassals, sated with 

The peace, and quiet of a cuntrie life. 

Carried headlonge with ambition contend 

To weare the golden fetters of imployment. 

Presuminge there's noe happinesse but in 

The service of the state. But when they have tried 

By a sad experience the burthen of 'em. 

When 'tis not in their power at any rate 

They woulde redeeme their calme securitie 

Morgag'd in wantonesse. Alas what are wee 

That gov erne provinces but prayes expos'd 

To everie subtle spie, and when wee have 

Like spunges, suckde in welth, wee are squeez'd out 

By the rough hande of the lavve, and faylinge in 

\_^Enter Cornelia and a Moore woman waiting. 
Our sillable of our commission, with 
The losse of what wee got with toyle, wee drawe 
What was our owne in quotation. You come timelye 
To turne my tir'd thowghts from a sad discourse 
That I had with my sclfe. 

Cornelia. 1 rather feare sir 
I bringe an argument alonge with mee 
That will increase, not lessen such conceptions 
As I founde with you. 

Marcellus. Why swectc ? what's the nialtcr ? 


Curndin. Wlien I but name Antiocluis. Though 1 
To make a briefe relation how hee died, 
Or what hee is yf hee now live, a sigh. 
And seconded with a teare I know must fall 
As a due tribute to hym. 

Marcellus. Which I pay 
Without compulsion ; bnt why doe you 
Lance this old sore ? 

Cornelia. Th' occasion coramandes it 
And now I woulde forget it I am forcde 
In thanckefuUuesse to call to memorie 
The favours for which wee must ever owe hym. 
You had the honor in his court at Sardis 
To bee stilde his freinde an honor Rome, and Carthage 
Were ri vails for, and did deserve the envie 
Of his prime mignions, and favorites 
His naturall subjectes planted in his favour, 
Or rooted up, as your dislike or prayse 
Reported 'em ; the good kinge holdinge what 
You spake to bee oraculous, and not 
To bee disputed. His magnificent guiftes 
Confirm'd his trewe affection, which you were 
More wearie to receave then hee to gieve, 
Yet still hee studied newe ones. 
Marcellus. Pray you noe more. 

Cornelia. O 'tis a theme sir I coulde ever dwell 
But since it does offende you, I will speake 
Of what coneernes my selfe. Ilee did not blushe 


In the height. of his faelicitie, to confesse 

Fabritius, my lord, and father for 

His much lov'd kinsman, and as such observ'd hyra. 

You may please to remember to, when at 

A publicque sacrifice made to the gods 

After a longe infection, in which 

The Asian kinges, and queenes were his assistants 

With what respecte, and grace hee did receave mee ; 

And at a sollerane tiltinge, when hee had 

Put on the richest armor of the worlde, 

Smilinge hee sayde. His wordes are still, and shall bee 

"Writ in the tablet of my heart. Faire cousin 

Soe hee began, and then you thought mee faire to, 

Since I am turn'd souldier, 'twere a solecisme 

In the language of the war to have noe mistrisse, 

And therefore as a prosperous omen to 

My undertakings, I desire to fight 

(Soe you with willingenesse gieve suffrage to it) 

Under your gratious colours ; and then looseninge 

A scarfe tied to mine arme, hee did intreate mee 

To fasten it on his. O with what joy 

I did obey hym, rap'd beyonde myselfe 

In my imagination, to have 

Soe greate a kinge my servant. 

Marcellus. You had to 
Some private conference. 

Cornelia. And you gave way to it 
Withoute a signe of jealousie, and dispensde with 
The Roman gravitie. 

MarccUus, Woulde I coulde a^aine 


Grant you like opi)ort[unitie .... but . . . ] 
Is this remembred now ? 

Cornelia. It does prepare 
A suite I have wliich you must not denie mee 
To see the man, whoe as it is reported 
In the exterior parts nature hath drawne 
As his perfit coppic. There must bee somethinge in 

Remarkeable in his resembUmee only 
Of kinge Antiochus' features. 

Enter Flaminius and R. Baxt. 

Marcellus. 'Twas my purpose 
And soe much my Cornelia, Flaminius 
Shall not denie us. 

Flaminius. As my dutie bindes mee 
My stay here beeinge but short, I come unsent for 
To kisse your lordship's hands. 

Marcellus. I answer you 
In your owne language sir. And yet your stay here 
May bee longer then you thincke. 

Flamijiius. Most honor'd madam, 
I cannot stoope to lowe in tendringe of 
My humblest service. 

Cornelia. You disgrace your courtship 
In overactinge it my lord. I looke not 
For such observance. 

Flaminius. I am most unhappie 
Yf that your excellence make any scruple 
Of doubt you may commando mee. 

Cornelia. This assurance 


Gieves mee encouragement to intreate a favour 
In which ray lord beeinge a suitor with [me ?] 
I hope shall finde a grant. 

Flaminius. Though all that's mine 
Bee comprehended iu't. 

Marcellus. Your promise sir 
Shall not soe far ingage you. In respect 
Of some familiar passages betwene 
Kinge Antiochus when hee liv'd, and us, 
And though it needes it not, for farther proofe 
That this is an impostor, wee desire 
Some conference with hym. 

Flaminius. For your satisfaction 
I will dispense a little with the strictnes 
Of my commission. Sirrha will the captaine 
To bringe hym to the proconsul!. 

Cornelia. His chaines tooke of 
That I intreate to. Since I woulde not looke on 
The image of a kinge, I soe much honor'd 
Bounde like a slave. 

Flaminius. See this greate ladies will 
Bee punctuallie obeyde, \_Exit Demetrius. 

Marcellus. Your wisdome sir 
Hath donne the state a memorable service, 
In stranglinge in the birth this dreadfuU monster 
And though with some your crucll usage of liym 
(For soe they call your fit scveritie) 
Maj'^ finde a harslie int(M'[)i'etation, wise men 
In judgement must applaudc it. 

Flaminius. Such as are 


Selected instruments for deepe designes 
As things unwortliie of 'em, must not feele 
Or fa[vour]s, or affections. Though I knowe 
The ocean of your apprehensions needes not 
The rivolet of my poore cautions, yet, 
Bolde from my longe experience I presume 
(As a symbole of my zeale, and service to you) 
To leave this couusayle. When you are my lord 
Grac'd or distasted by the state, remember 
Your faculties are the state's, and not your owne. 
And therefore have a care the emptie souudes 
Of freind, or enemie sway you not beyonde 
The limits are assignde you. Wee with ease 
Swimme downe the streame, but to oppose the torrent 
Is dangerous, and to goe more or lesse 
Then wee are warranted, fatall. 
Marcellus, With my thanckes 
For your soe grave advice, I'le put in practise 
On all occasions what you deliver ^ 

And studie 'em as aphox'ismes. In the meane time 
Pray you accept such entertainment as 
Syracusa can present you. When the impostor 
Arrives, let us have notice. Pray you walke sir. 


Actus Quinti, Sc^na ultima. 

Enter Antiochus, Captaine ( JVm. Patt), and 

Captaine. Waite at the pallace gate, there is noe 
feare now 


Of bis escape. I'le bee my selfe his guardian 
'Till you beare furtber from mee. 

Antiochus. Wbat new engine 
Hatb crueltie founde out to rayse against 
Tbis poore demolisb'd rampire ? it is leveld 
Witb the eartb alreadie. Will tbey triumpb in 
Tbe mines tbey bave made ? or is tbere yet 
One masterpeece of tyrannie in store 
Beyonde that I bave sulfer'd ? yf tbere bee 
A viall of affliction not pourde out yet 
Upon tbis sinfull bead I am prepar'd, 
And will looke on tbe clowde before it breake 
"Without astonisbement. Scorne mee not captaine 
As a vaine bragart, I will make this good, 
And I bave strengthe to doe it. I am arm'd 
With such varieties of defensive weapons, 
Lent to mee from my passive fortitude. 
That there's noe torment of a shape soe horrid 
Can shake my constancie. Where lyes tbe scajne now ? 
Thowgh tbe bangeings of the stage were congeal'd gore 
Tbe chorus flintye executioners 
And the spectators, yf it coukle bee, more 
Inhumane tben Flaminius, the cue gieven 
The principall actor's readie. 

Captaine. Yf I durst 
I coulde shewe my compassion. 

Antiochus. Take beede captaine. 
Pittie in Ron^nn officers is a crime 
To bee punnishde more then murther in coldc blood. 
Beare up to tell mee where I am I take it 


la noe offence. 

Captaine. You are in Syracusa 
In the court of the proconsul. 

Antiochiis. Whoe ? Marcellus. 

Captaine. That noble Roman. By hyni you are 
se[nt for] 
But to what ende I am ignorant. 

Anliochus. Ha. Hee was 
My creature ! and in my prosperitie prowde 
To holde dependance of mee, though I grac'd hym 
With the title of a freinde, and his faire ladye 
In courtship stilde my mistrisse. Can they bee 

Filter Marcfxlus, Flaminius, Cornelia, Moore 
"Woman, ««</ Servants. 

\_R. Baxt : Roivl : and others ] 

Infected with such barbarisme, as to make mee 
A spectacle for their sport ? 

Captai?ie. They are heere, and soone 
They will resolve you, 

Marcellus. Bee reserv'd and let not 
The neere resemblance of his shape transport you 
Beyonde your selfe. Though I confesse the object 
Does much amaze mee. 

Cornelia. You impose my lord 
What T want power to beare. 

Marcellus. Let my example 
Though your fierce passions make war against it 
Strengthen your reason. 

Antiochus. Have you taken yet 
A full viewe of mee ? In what part doe I 


Appeare a monster ? 

Cornelia. His owne voice ! 

Marcellus. Forbeare. 

Antiochus. Though I were an impostor as this fellowe 
Labours you to beleeve, you breake the lawes 
Of faire humanitie in addinge to 
Affliction at the height, and I must tell you 
The reverence you shoulde pay unto the shape 
Of Kinge Antiochus may challenge pittie 
As a due debt, not scorne. Wise men preserve 
Dumbe pictures of their friendes, and looke upon 'em 
With feelinge, and aifection, yet not holde it 
A foolishe superstition. But there is 
In thanckefullnesse a greater tye on you 
To showe compassion. 

Marcellus. Were it possible 
Thow couldst bee Kinge Antiochus. 

Aiitiochus. What then ? 

Marcellus. I shoulde both say and doe 

Antiochvs. Nothinge for mee. 
(As far as my persuasion coulde prevent it) 
Not suitinge with the qualitie, and condition 
Of one that owes his loyaltie, to Rome. 
And since it is by the inscrutable will 
Of fiite determinde that the royalties 
Of Asia must bee confer'd upon her 
For what offence I knowe not, 'tis in vaine 
For men to oppose it. You expresse my lord 
A kinde of sorrow for mee, in which madam 
You seeme to bee a sharer. That you may 


Have some proofe to defende it, for your mirth sake 

I'le play the jugler, or more subtle gipsey 

And to your admiration reveale 

Strange misteries to you, which as you ai'e Romans 

You must receive for cunninge trickes, but gieve 

Noe farther credit to 'em. 

Flami7iius. At your perill 
You ma[y g]ieve hym hearinge. But to have faith 

in hym 
Neighbo[urs to] treason. Such an impudent slave 
Was never reade of. 

Marcellus. I dare stande his charmes 
With open eares. Speake on. 

Antiochus. Yf soe have at you. 
Can you call to your memorie when you were 
At Sardis with Antiochus, before 
His Grascian expedition, what hee 
With his owne handes, presented you as a favour 
Noe third man by to witnesse it ? 

Marcellus. Gieve mee leave 
To recollecte my selfe. Yes — sure 'twas soe 
Hee gave mee a faire sword. 

Antiochus. 'Tis trewe, and you 
Vow'd never to part from it. Is it still 
In your possession ? 

Marcellus. The same sword I have 
And while I live will keepe. 

A?ttiochus. Will you not say 
It beeinge fower and twentye yeares since you 
Were master of that guift, yf now I knowe it 



Arnonge a thousande others, that I have 
The art of memorie ? 

Marcellus. I shall receave it 
As noe common sleight. Sirrha. Fetch all the swordes 
For mine owne use in my armorie. And doe you heare? 
Doe as I gieve directions. 

Servant. With all care sir. \_Exit Servant. 

Aniiochus. To entertaine the time untill your servant 
Returnes. There is noe sillable that pas'de 
Betwene you, and Antiochus, which I coulde not 
Articulatelye deliver. You must still 
Be confident that I am an impostor, 

Enter Servant {M. Baxt.), ivith many swords. 
Or els the tricke is nothinge. 

Cornelia. Can this bee ? 

Aiitiochus. O welcome freind. Most choice and 
curious swordes 
But mine is not amonge 'em. 

Marcellus. Bringe the rest. 
Enter another Servant (Rowland) tvith more sivordes. 

Antiochus, I, this is it. This is the sword I gave you 
Before I went to Greece. Bee not amazde, 
Nor let this trifle purchase a belcefe 
I am Antiochus. Here is one will assure you 
Theis are but juglinge trickes of an affronter. 

Flaminiiis. They are noe more. A contract's scald 
The divell, and this seducer, at the price 
Of his damnde soule. And his familiar Dtemon 
Acquaints hym with theis passages. 


Marcellus. I knowe not 
But I am thunderstrooke. 

Cornelia. I can containe 
My selfe noe longer. 

Antiochus. Stay deare madam. Though 
Credulitie bee excusable in your sex, 
To take away all colour of guilt in you 
You shall have stronger proofes. The scarfe you 

gave mee, 
As a testimonie you adopted mee 
Into your service, I ware on mine armor 
When I fought with Marcus Scaurus. And mine eie 
Hath on the suddaine founde a pretious Jewell, 
You dainde to receave from mee. [The . 
Which you weare on your sl[eeve]. 

Cornelia. I acknowledge 
It was the Eange Antiochus guift. 

Antiochus. I will 
Make a discoverie of a secret in it 
Of which you yet are ignorant. Pray you trust it 
For Kinge Antiochus sake into my handes. 
I thancke your readines. Nay drie your eies, 
You hinder els the facultie of seeinge 
The cunninge of the lapidarie. I can 
Pull out the stone, and under it you shall finde 
My name, and cipher I then usde ingraven. 

Cornelia. 'Tis most apparent. Though I loose my 
life for't, 
Theis knees shall pay their dutye. 
Antiochus. By noe meanes. 


For your owne sake bee still incredulous 
Since your faith cannot save mee. I should knowe 
This Moorishe woman. Yes. 'Tis shee. Thou weret 
One of my laundrie, and thou wast calde Zanthia 
While thou weret mine. I am glad thou hast lighted on 
Soe gratious a mistrisse. 

Moore. Mine owne kinge ! 
O let mee kisse your feete. What cursed villaines 
Have thus transform'd you. 

Flaminius. 'Tis not safe my lord 
To suffer this. 

Marcellus. I am turn'd statue. Or 
All this is but a vision. 

Antiochus. Your eare madam 
Since what I now shall say is such a secret 
As is knowne only to your selfe, and mee 
And must exclude a third though your owne lord, 
From beeinge of the counsaile. Haviuge gaynd 
Accesse, and privacie with you, my hot blood 
(Noe freinde to modest purposes) prompted mee 
With pills of poysond language, candied ore 
With hopes of future greatenesse to attempt 
The mine of your honor. I inforc'd then 
My power to justefie the ill and presde you 
With mountainous promises of love, and service. 
But when the buildinge of your faith, and vertue 
Began to totter, and a kinde of grant 
Was offer'd. My then sleepinge temperance 
Began to rowze it selfe, and breakinge through 
The obstacles of lust, when most assurdc 


To iiijoy a pleasant hower I let my sute fall 
And with a gentle reprehension taxde 
Your forwarde pronenesse, but with many vovves 
Nere to discover it which lieav'n can witnes, I have 
and will keepe faithfuUie. 

Co7-nelia. This is 
The Kinge Antiochus, as sure as I am 
The daughter of my mother. 

Marcellus. Bee advisde. 

Flanimms. This is little lesse then treason. 

Cor?ielia. They are tray tors 
Traytors to innocence and oppres'd justice 
That dare affirme the contrarie. 

Marcellus. Pray you temper 
The violence of your passion. 

[ J 

C[or]Me//[«]. [ ] but expresse 

Your thanckefulnesse for his soe many [ ] 

And labour that the senate may restore liLym] 
Unto his owne. Tie dye els. 

Antiochus. Live longe madam 
To nobler, and more profitable uses 
I am a fallinge structure, and desire not 
Your honors shoulde bee buried in my mines. 
Let it suffice my lord you must not see 
The sun yf in the policie of state 
It is forbidden. With compassion 
Of what a miserable kinge hath suffer'd 
Preserve mee in your memorie. 

Flaminius. You stande as 


This sorcerer had bewitchde you. Dragge hym to 
His ore, and let his waightie chaines bee doublde. 

Marcellus. For my sake let the poore man have 
what favour 
You can affoord hym. 

Flaminius. Sir you must excuse mee. 
You have abusde the libertie I gave you. 
^^MartLntl "^^^ villaine you pay deere for 't. I will trust 
^s^^'^Ganie' '^^® cxecutiou of his punuishemeut 

To noe man but my selfe. His cries, and grones 
Shall bee my howerlye musicque. Soe my lord 
I take my leave abruptlye. 

Cornelia. May all plagues 
That ever foUow'd tyrannic pursue thee. 

Marcellus. Pray you stay a little. 

Flaminius. On noe termes 

Marcellus. Yeelde soe much 
To my intreaties. 

Flaminius. Not a minute, for 
Your govei'nement. 

Marcellus. I will not purchase sir 
Your company at such a rate. And yet 
Must take the boldncsse upon mee to tell you 
You must, and shall stay. 

Flaminius. How ? 

Marcellus. Nay what is more 
As a prisoner, not a ghest. Looke not soe high 
rie humble your prowde thoughts. 

Flaminius. You dare not doe this 
Without authoritie. 


Marcellus. You shall fincle I have 
Sufficient warrant with detayninge you 
To take this man into my custodie 
Thowgh 'tis not in my ])ower what ere you are 
To doe you further favour I thus free you 
Out of this divell's pawes. 

Antiochus. I take it as 
A lesseninge of my torments. 

Flaminius. You shall answer 
This in another place. 

Marcellus. But you shall here 
Yeelde an accompt without appeale, for wha[t] 
You have alreadie donne. You may perose Theuttfi: 

[Does it] 
Shake you alreadie ? doe [y]ou finde [I] have 
[The warran]t. Call in the Asian marchants. 

[ ]t- 

Enter the 2 Marchants and a Garde. 

[ ] now to bee hangde 

[ ]n hym that pities thee. 

[ ]cusers 

[ ] die and will prove that you tooke bribes 

Of the Carthaginian marchants ; to detaine 

Their lawfuU prize, and for your sordid endes 

Abusde the trust committed by the state 

To right their vassalls. The wise senate, as 

They Avill I'ewarde your good, and faithfull service 

Cannot in justice without punnishement 

Passe ore your ill. G uiltinesse makes you dumbe 

But 'till that I have leasure, and you finde 


Your tongue, to prison with hyra. 

Flaminms. I prove to late 
As heav'n is mercifull, man's crueltie 
Never escapes unpunnishde. [^Exeunt with Flaminius. 

Antiochus. How a smile 
Ljibours to breake fortli from mee. But what is 
Rome's pleasure shall bee donne with mee ? 

31arcellus. Pray you thincke sir 
A Roman, not your constant freinde that tells you 
You are confinde unto the Gyarse 

\_Entej' Garde agen. 
With a stronge garde upon you. 

Antiochus. Then 'tis easie 
To prophecie I have not longe to live 
Though the manner how I shall dye is uncertaine. 
Nay weepe not since 'tis not in you to helpe mee 
Theis showers of teares are fruitlesse. May my storie 
Teach potentates humilitie, and instructe 
Prowde monarchs, though theygoverne humane thinges 
A greater power does rayse, or pull downe kinges. 





[Soe] far our author is from arrogance, 

That he craves pardon for his ignorance 

In storie, if you pride whats Koman here 

Greacian, or Asiaticque, drawe to nere 

A late, and sad example, 'tis confest 

Hee's but an English stroller at his best, 

A stranger to cosmographie, and may erre 

In the cuntrie's names, the shape and character 

Of the person he presents, yet he is bolde 

In me to promise ; be it new, or olde. 

The tale is worth the hearinge, and may move 

Compassion, perhaps deserve your love. 

And approbation, he dares not boast 

His paynes, and care, or what books he hath tost 

And turnde to make it up, the rarietie 

Of the events in this strange historie 

Now offer'd to you, by his owne confession 

Must make it good, and not his weake expression 

You sit his judges, and like judges bee 

From favour to his cause, or malice free, 

Then whether hee hath hit the white or mist, 

As the title speaks, Beleeve you as you list. 



The end of Epilogues, is to inquire 

The conjure of the play, or to desire 

Pardon for what's amisse. In his intent, 

The maker vowes that hee is innocent. 

And for me and my fellowes I protest. 

And you may beleeve me, we have donne our best. 

And reason to wee should, but whether you 

Conceave wee have with care discharg'd what's due 

Reste yet in supposition, you may 

Yf you please resolve us, yf our fate this day 

Prove prosperous, and you to vouchsafe to give 

Some signe your pleasure is this worke shall live, 

Wee will finde out new wayes for your delight, 

And to our power nere faile to doe you right. 

[The Epilogue is perfect; but a quarter of the page has been 
cut away at the bottom.] 


\_Act 1 .] — A writing otit of the huoke irith a s)iiull peece nf 
silver for Mr. Sivamton. 

3 notes for Mr. Pollard. 

Act 2. — A writing for Mr. Taylor. 
Act 3.— A letter for Mr. Robinson. 

2 letters for Mr. Lowin. 
Act 5. — .4 letter for Mr. BenfeiliL 

Kli:lUltI>S, i-RlNTKU, 100, ST. MARTIN S LANK. 








" Pray thee, tell me, fashioner, what authors 
Thou read'st to help tliy invention ? Italian prints ? 
Or Arras hanpings ? They are tailors' libraiies." 

Bfn Jonson's Staple of Newes. 




€f)t ^3ercp ^on'etp* 







J. H. DIXON, Esq. 


J. M. GUTCH, Esq., F.S.A. 


F S.A., Acting Secretary. 
W. JERDAN, Esq. M.R.S.L. 
J. S. MOORE, Esq. 
T. J. PETTIGREW, Esq. F.R.S., F.S.A. 
THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq. M.A., FS.A., Treamrer. 


In reading history, the mind ahnost Instinctively 
clothes the personages discoursed of in some garb, 
even if it be as vague as Dr. Johnson's boyish 
remembrance of Queen Anne : — "a confused, but 
somehow a sort of solemn recollection of a lady 
in diamonds, and a long l)lack hood." In the 
same way we associate Queen Elizabeth with a 
monstrous farthingale and ruff; and her unfor- 
tunate cousin, Mary of Scotland, with an elegant 
cap, still known by her name. It is impossible 
to read at all without meeting frequent allusions 
to the fashions, transitory and otherwise, which 
have been adopted In various ages ; and our ap- 
preciation of satirical ])oints, and passing reflec- 
tions, made by our older poets and authors, 
must depend very greatly upon the knowledge 
we possess of costume. It was the intention of 
the Editor of this volume to exhibit this more 
clearly, by printing original quotations, descriptive 


of dress, from manuscripts and rare books, of 
the fourteenth to the nineteenth centuries inclu- 
sive, as an introduction to the ensuing collection ; 
but this has been abandoned, in consequence of 
the length to which the volume has already ex- 
tended. He had also intended to append a list 
of such caricatures as were particularly devoted 
to the subject, many of which are of great rarity 
and curiosity : and to show that even numisma- 
tology is susceptible of illustration from the same 
source, the coin known as "the Bonnet piece" 
of James V of Scotland, and the more modern 
tradesmen's tokens, frequently exhibit articles of 
costume. The architectural student meets, most 
frequently in the buildings of the middle ages, 
with corbels, and sculptured enrichments of va- 
rious kinds, which exhibit peculiarities (in head- 
dress particularly) enabling him to fix the date 
when they v/ere fabricated, by a knowledge of 
the prevailing fashions oP epochs alone. Nor is 
the literary antiquary less indebted to the same 
study, for his guide in dating his iiathor. 

Tlic ensuing collection is the result of an ex- 
amination oi' many hundreds of ballads, and almost 
as many books, while the Editor was engaged in 
com])iling a volume bearing the title, and de- 
scriptive of — Co?f'Uii/fi in Evaland. Although inci- 
dental notices of fashionable peculiarities are to 
be freciucntly nu't with, short poeujs, satires, and 

songs, expressly devoted to the subject, are far 
from common, and it will not be easy to add 
many to the selection the reader is here presented 
with. Some of them have claims on attention as 
pictures of times and manners long since past. 
Others are curious from the use that has been 
made of some article of dress as "a hinge to 
hane; a satire on*". Some illustrate the allusions 
of our great dramatic poets, Shakspere and Ben 
Jonson : others allude to historic events : but all 

" Catch the living manners as they rise." 

The virulence of satire, the ridicule of song, 
like the preaching of moralists, have, however, been 
in all instances vanquished by the fickle goddess. 
Fashion ; whose votaries have been faithful, al- 
though like their mistress, " ever changing, ever 
new.^' Perhaps their best excuse is in the words 
of one who has satirized fashionable follies rather 
severely. Gay, in his opera of Achilles. 1733, 
makes one of his female characters sing — 

'• Think of dress in every light, 

'Tis woman's chiefest duty ; 
Neglecting that, ourselves we slight, 

And undervalue beauty. 
That allures the lover's eye, 

And graces every action ; 
Besides, when not a creature's by, 

'Tis inward satisfaction." 

The wood-cuts which aj>pear in this volume 


have been selected chiefly to illustrate such 
jiassages as notes alone could not so clearly elu- 
cidate. The curious representation, in the title- 
page, of an Elizabethan tailor at work, is copied 
from a square of painted-glass in the old Tailors' 
Hall at Salisbury. 

To the 'personal friends who have kindly as- 
sisted him with communications, it is the Editor's 
pleasant duty to return his thanks. To Thomas 
Wright, Esq., for the communication of the early 
French satirical songs, which form so valuable a 
portion of the volume. To J. O. Halliwell, Esq., 
for many references to manuscript stores, and 
free access to his extensive and curious collection 
of chap-books. To T. Crofton Croker, Esq., for 
a similar access to his collection of Irish broad- 
sides ; and to Dr. Rimbault, for the communication 
of three songs, from his rare music books. 



THE MF.nrEK . • • • 


TllK WEAVBU . . . • 





















pride's FALL 

the ballad of the caps 

the ballad of the beard 

irish dress . . , 

jockey will prove a gentleman 

blew cap foe me . 

square-cap for me . 

to the ladyes of the new dresse 

the ladies answer . 

Corbet's reply 





DR. smith's ballet . 








UPON A gentlewoman's silke hoode . . . 173 


PRELATES ..... 170 

THE cloak's knavery .... 177 




FINE PHILLIS ..... 199 

THE beau's CHARACTER .... 201 



THE OLD CLOAK . . .211 

THE BAND ..... 214 

THE LIKE OF A BEAU ..... 217 



THE lady's gown ..... 225 

HAD AWa' FRAE MR, DONALD .... 226 

THE bead's RECEIPT FOR A LADy's DRESS . . . 230 

THE lady's RECEIPT FOR A BEAU's DRESS . . ■ 232 


ALA-MODE. 1754 ..... 236 






PALTRY FRIDB ..... 247 












ss . 

. 248 

. 260 

. 262 

. 254 

. 266 

. 268 

. 259 

. 261 


. 263 

. 266 



This very curious Song is hero reprinted with its translation, 
from Mr. Wright's Political Songs nf England, from the reign of 
John to that of Edward II, which forms one of the most valuable 
volumes published by the Camden Society. The original is in 
Harleian MS. 978, fol. 99, and is a production of the reign of 
Henry IH; a time when luxury in dress was much satirized, 
and not unfrequently commented upon by the clergy. 

In nova fert animus mutatas dlcere formas 
Corpora, dii cceptis, nam vos mutastis et illas, 
Aspirate mcis. 

Ego dixi, dii estis ; 
Qua3 dicenda sunt in festis 
Quare prajtermitterem ? 

Translation. — I have said, j'e are gods: why should I omit 
the service which should be said on fcs^tival davs? Gods ccr- 


Dii, rev era, qui potestis 
In figuram novce vestis 
Transmutare veterem. 

Pannus recens et novellus 
Fit vel capa vel mantellus, 

Seel secundum tempora 
Primum capa, post pusillum 
• Transmutatur haec in ilium ; 

Sic mutatis corpora. 

Antiquata decoUatur, 
Decollata mantellatur. 

Sic in modum Proteos 
Demutantur vestimenta ; 
Nee recenter est inventa 

Lex metaraorplioseos. 

Cum figura sexa mutant; 
Prius ruptam clam reclutant 
Primates ecclesise ; 

tainly ye ai'e, who can transform an old garment into the shape 
of a new one. — The cloth, while fresh and new, is made cither 
a cape or mantle ; but, in order of time, first it is a cape, after a 
little space this is transformed into the other : thus ye " change 
bodies." When it becomes old, the collar is cut off; when de- 
prived of the collar, it is made a mantle : thus, in the manner of 
Proteus, are garments changed ; nor is the law of metamorphosis 
a new discovery. — With their shape they change their sex ; the 
primates of the church privately close up again what was before 


Nec donatur, res est certa, 
Nisi prius sit experta 
Fortunam Tiresiaj. 

Bruma tandem revertente, 
Tost nut sur la chape ente 

Plerique capucium ; 
Alioquin dequadratur, 
De quadrato retnndatur, 

Transit in almucium. 

Si quid restat de morsellis 
Cgesi panni sive pellis, 

Non vacat officio : 
Ex hiis fiunt manuthecoe, 
Manutheca quidem Greece 

Manuum positio. 

Sic ex veste vestem formant, 
Engleis, Tyeis, Franceis, Normant, 
Omnes generaliter ; 

torn ; nor is it given, assuredl}', till it has first undergone the 
fortune of Tircsias. — When, at length, winter returns, many 
engraft immediately upon the cape a capuce ; then it is squared; 
after being squared it is rounded; and so it becomes an aurauce. — 
If there remain any morsels of the cloth or skin which is cut, it 
does not want a use : of these are made gloves : a glove is called 
in Greek " the placing of the hands." — This is the general man- 
ner they all make one robe out of another, English, Germans. 
French, and Normans, with scarcely an exception. Thus cape 

B 2 


Ut vix nullus excludatur. 
Ita capa declinatur. 
Sed mantellus aliter. 

Adhuc primo recens anno, 
Nova pelle, novo panno, 

In area reconditur ; 
Recedente tandem pilo, 
Juncturarum rupto filo, 

Pellis eircumeiditur. 

Sic mantellus fit apella ; 
Ci git li (trap, e la pel la, 

Post primum divortium ; 
A priore separata 
Cum secundo reparata 

Transit in consortium. 

Quid delictum dices maj us ? 
Istud palam est contra jus: 
Nam si nupsit alteri, 

is declined; but mantle otherwise. — In the first year, while it is 
still fresh, the skin and the cloth being both new, it is laid up in 
a box ; when, however, the fur begins to be worn ofF, and the 
thread of the seams broken, the skin is circumcised. — Thus the 
mantle is made a Jew ; here laj's the cloth, there the skin, after 
the first divorce : being separated from its former husband, after 
separation it passes in reparation to marriage with a second 
husband. — What will j'ou say is a greater crime? this is 
clearly against right ; for if she have married a second, the 


Conjugium est violatum, 

Dum fit novo copulatum 

Reclamante veteri. 

N^est de concille, ne de sene, 
Deus dras espuser a une pene, 

E si nus le juggium ; 
Permittunt hoc decreta ? non : 
Sed reclaniat omnis canon 

Non esse conjugium. 

Pannus primum circumcisus, 
Viduatus et divisus 

A sua pellicula, 
Jam expertus Judaismura, 
Emundatur per baptismum 

A quacumque macula. 

Circumcisus mundatusque, 
Est adeptus utriusque 
Legis testimonium ; 

marriage is broken, when a new conjunction is made in spite of 
the reclamations of the old partner. — It is neither canonic nor 
vise to marry two cloths to one fur, and so we judge it. Do 
the decretals permit this? No: on the contrary, every canon 
declares, tliat it is no marriage. — The cloth having been first 
circumcised, then widowed and separated from its skin, now 
having experienced Judaism, is cleansed by baptism, from every 
stain ((. e. it is dyed). — Being circumcised and cleaned, and 
having obtained the testimony of both laws, he whom baptism 


Quern baptismus emundavit, 
Cum secunda secundavit 
Pelle matrimonium. 

Pilis expers, usu fractus, 
Ex Esaii Jacob factus, 

Quant li peil en est ehaii, 
Inversatur vice versa, 
.Eursus idem ex converso 
Ex Jacob fit Esaii. 

Pars pilosa foris paret, 
Sed introrsus pilus caret 

Vetustas abscondita ; 
Datur tamen, Wil n'i eit perte, 
Servienti, pur deserte, 

Mantellus hypocrita. 

has cleansed, contracts a new marriage with a second skin. — 
Being devoid of hair, and worn by use, from Esau having become 
Jacob, when the hair is fallen from it, the process is inverted, 
and again conversely from Jacob it becomes Esau. — The hairy 
part is turned out, but the old part, concealed inwardly, is bare 
of hairs. Now the hypocritical mantle, in order that there may 
be notliing lost, is given to the servant for his wages. 



This remarkable catalogue raisoimee of " a dealer in small wares" 
of the thirteenth centur}', is reprinted from a rare pamphlet of 
thirty-two pages, privately published in Paris in 1834, entitled 
Fabliaux im'dits tin's du Matiuscrit de la Bibliotheque du Roi, 
No. 1830 ou 1 239, par A, C. M. Robert, Conservateur de la BiblioihI-que 
Royale de Sainte- Genevieve. I know of no old poem with greater 
claims upon the interest and attention of the lover of old usages; 
detailing, as it does, the entire " stock in trade" of one of the 
most popular of chapmen in the middle ages, and whom we may 
here imagine ourselves listening to, while he recounts his wares 
to an admiring crowd, in a country town, on a fair day. 


Moult a ^i bele compaignie, 
Merciers sui, si port mei'cerie 
Que ge vendisse volentiers, 
Quar ge ai besoing de deniers. 
S'or vos plaisoit a escouter, 
Bien vos sauroie deviser 
La mercerie que ge port ; 
Mais le fais sostenir m'est fort. 
J'ai les mignotes ceinturetes ; 
J'ai beax ganz a damoiseletes ; 
J'ai gaDz forrez doubles et sangles ; 

Translation. — Tliere is here a very fiiir company : I am a 
mercer, and carry mercery, which I would sell willingly, for I am 
in want of pence. Now, if it please you to listen, I can easily 
describe the mercery that I carry; but I find the weight of 
them very heavy. I have pretty little girdles ; I have fine 
gloves for little damsels; I have gloves fuiTcd double and single; 


J'ai de bones boucles a cengles : 

J'ai chainetes de fer beles : 

J'ai bones cordes a violes ; 

J'ai les guinples ensaffrenges : 

J'ai aiguilles encharnelees ; 

J'ai escrins a metre joiax ; 

J'ai borses de cuir a noiax ; 

Mais quant les voi pres que ne miiir, 

Tant les baz, les borses de cuir 

Trop ra'ont descreu mon chetel. 

J'ai vif argent, el mont n'a tel, 

Que ge mis en cuir de poisson, 

En un sac pelu de taisson. 

J'ai de bon loutre a peli5ons; 

J'ai bermines a siglatons, 

Et orle de porpors de mer. 

J'ai polain a secors orler ; 

J'ai les tres cointes aguilletes ; 

I have good buckks for girdles; I have fair httle chains of steel; 
I have good cords for viols; I have wimples dyed in saffron; 
I have needles enchased; I have cases for jewels; I have leather 
purses with buttons, but when I see ihem I am ready to die, 
I shake them so much, the leather purse has too much dimi- 
nished m}' goods. I have quicksilver, there is none such in the 
world, which I put in fishes-skin, in a hairy sack of barlger-skin. 
I have good otter-skin for pelisses, and ermine for siglatons,* 
and binding of sea porpoise. I have points for sewing; I have 
very genteel lace-tags; I have rasps for the skin; I have good 

* Gowns of rich stuffs, originally brought from the East. la 
the old romance of Purtenopex de Blois we arc told, " thence the 
Alexandrine furs come, and the good sir/laton." 


J'ai gratuises a peletes ; 
J'ai de bones trosses £i seles ; 
J'ai braiex et lasnieres beles ; 
J'ai les deex a costurieres ; 
J'ai les diverses ausmosnieres, 
Et de soie et de cordoan, 
Que ge veudroi encor oan ; 
Et si en ai de plaine toile ; 
Et si vendroie bien un voile 
A une nonain beneoite ; 
J'ai bons fers a metre en saiete j 
J'ai bons tornez a trecoers ; 
Boucletes a metre en solers ; 
Fermaillez a enfanz de peutre. 
J'ai beax laz a cbapeax de feutre ; 
J'ai beles espingues d'argent, 
Si en ai d'archal ensement, 
Que ge vent a cez gentix femes. 
J'ai beax cuevrechies a dames, 
Et coiffes laceites beles 
Que ge vendrai a cez puceles ; 
Et de soie par covenant 

trusses for saddles; I have good breeches and thongs; I have 
thimbles for sempstresses; I have all sorts of purses, both of silk 
and leather, which I would very willingly sell ; and I have some 
also of linen ; and I would gladly sell a veil to a blessed nun ; I 
havegoodiron points for arrows ; and good netting (?) instruments ; 
buckles to put on shoes; pewter clasps for children; fair laces 
for felt hats ; I have beautiful silver pins, as well as brass ones, that 
I sell to the pretty women ; I have handsome kerchiefs for ladies, 
with ties, that I shall sell to the pretty maids; and of silk to match 


A chapeax d'orfrois par devant ; 
S'en ai de li[n]g a daraoiseax, 
A floi'etes et a oiseax, 
Bien lichiees et bien polies, 
A coiffier devant lor amies. 
S'en ai de chanvre a cez vilains 
Et moffles a metre en lor mains. 
J'ai canpeneles de mostiers ; 
J'ai buleteax a bolangiers ; 
J'ai croissoei'es a gasteax. 
J'ai laz a sercoz a noiax, 
J'ai sonetes de trop beau tor. 
J'ai de bons flageus a pastor, 
J'ai cuillers de bois et de tremble 
Que j'achetai totes ensanble. 
J'ai cbauces de Bruges faitices, 
Argent-pel per meti*e en esclices. 
J'ai amecons a pescheor ; 
J'ai fers d'alenes a suors. 
J'ai les bacetes a scignier, 
J'ai les pignes a chief pignier, 

hats with gold embroidered fronts; I have also some of linen for 
young beaux, with flowers or birds, very smooth and well polished, 
to coif themselves in presence of their sweethearts ; I have also 
hempen ones for the clowns, and muffles for their hands. I 
have little bells for monasteries ; I have bolting-cloths for 
the bakers; I have rolling-pins for pastry; I have laces for 
surcoats with knots; I have little bells of good form; I 
have good flageolets for shepherds; I have common wooden 
and aspen-tree spoons, that I bought altogothor; I have well- 
made hose of Bruges; silver-leaf for putting on staves; I have 
fish-hooks for anglers; and awls for shoemakers; I have lancets 


J'ai le bon savon de Paris, 
J'ai bons coffres ou il est mis ; 
J'ai fei'maillez d'archal dorez ; 
Et de laiton sor argentez, 
Et tant les airae tax de laiton, 
Souvent per argent le meton. 
N'ai pas tote contee m'ensaigne : 
J'ai bon soffre a garir de taigne, 
J'ai couteax cbarteins et u pointes, 
Dont cil bacbeler se font cointes. 
J'ai beax clareins a metre a vacbes, 
J'ai beax freseax a faire ataclies 
A gros botons d'or et de sole : 
J'ai raainte ferree corroie 
Rouges et verz, blancbes et noires, 
Que ge vent moult bien a ces foires. 
Si ai bottes de mostier maintes 
Netes, polies, et bien paintes ; 
Si ai I'en^ans et ren9anssier, 
L'orcuel a. tote la cuiller. 

for bleeding, and combs for the head; I have good soap of 
Paris, and good boxes for putting it in ; I have brooches of brass 
gilt, and of latten silvered, and so much I like those of lattcn that 
we often substitute them for silver. I have not yet told all my 
stock: I have good sulphur for curing scald-heads; I have 
knives both blunt and pointed, which the young men are so 
vain of; I have nice bells for hanging to cows, and I have fine 
tassels for fixing with great buttons of gold or silk ; and I 
have store of stamped leather, red and green, white and black, 
that I sell readily at fairs; I have also boots for monasteries, 
very neat, polished and well shaped ; I have also incense and 


J'ai table, greffes et greffiers 

Dont ge re9ois de bons deniers 

De ces clers, de bones maailles. 

Si ai maintes riche toailles 

Que loient, a cez hautes festes, 

Sez gentix femes sor lor testes. 

Si ai tot rapareillement 

Dont feme fait formement, 

Easoers, forces, guignoeres, 

Escuretes et furgoeres, 

Et bendeax et crespiseors, 

Traineax, pignes, mireors, 

Eue rose dont se forbissent : 

J'ai quoton dont els se rougissent : 

J'ai blanchet dont els se font blanches : 

J'ai lacez a lacer lor manges : 

censers, with the vase and spoons; I have table,* style and 
style-case, for which I receive the good pence and half-pence 
of the clerks; I have also store of rich napkins, which genteel 
ladies wear on their heads at high feasts ; I have also all the 
utensils necessary for a lady's toilette, razors, forceps, looking- 
glasses, tooth-brushes and tooth-picks, and bandeaus and crisp- 
ing irons, traineaux, combs, mirrors, and rose water with which 
they furbish themselves ; I have cotton with which they rouge, 
and whitening with which they whiten themselves, and I have 

* The old memorandum books, with waxen, ivory, or skin 
leaves, upon which they wrote with a pointed style, and which 
continued in use till the time of P^lizubeth. " My tables: meet it 
is I set it down," says Hamlet. Chaucer's friar, in the " Somp- 
nouf's Talc," has 

"A pail- iillablfs all of ivory, 
Ami a piiiulel y-poljsheU f'etisly. " 


J'ai gingembre, j'ai garingaut, 
Qui fait ces clers chanter en baut, 
Figues, dates, et alemendes : 
J'ai saffren metre a en viandes, 
Que ge vent a cez daraoiseles 
A faire jaunes lor toeles : 
J'ai pomes genetes antieres ; 
Mais els me sanblent moult cberes, 
Et nepourquant g'es sai bien vendre, 
Ou I'argent ou le vaillant prendre. 
Autres espices ai-ge totes, 
Oignemenz a garir de goutes ; 
J'ai le poivre, j'ai le comin ; 
J'ai fil d'argent a raazelin, 
Et d'archal a ceuz de manieres 
Qui sont de lignaige a. civieres. 
J'ai dez du plus, j'ai dez du mains, 
De Paris, de Cbartres, de Rains, 
Si j'en ai ii, ce n'est pas gaz, 
Qui au hochier chieent sor as. 
J'ai fermaus d'arcbal et anieaus, 

laces for lacing their sleeves ; I have ginger, and sweet cyperus, 
which makes the clerks sing so clear, figs, dates, and almonds ; I 
have saffron for seasoning dishes, which I sell to the young 
ladies to make their napkins yellow ; I have pomegranates whole, 
but they seem to me very dear, nevertheless I can easily sell 
them, receiving either money or its worth ; I have also other 
spices, with ointments to cure the gout; I have pepper, and 
cummin ; I have silver-wire for goblets of maple-wood, and brass- 
wire for those of an inferior kind (?) ; I have large and small dice, 
from Paris, Chartres, and Rhcims; and I have two (I am not 
joking) which when tossed fall upon the aces. I have brass 


Et baudres et fallois moult beaus, 
Dont ge doig trois sous por i oef, 
II n'a gaires qu'il furent neuf ; 
J'ai beax museax a museler, 
J'ai beax pesteax a pesteler, 
Caboz, torneiz, et pelotes, 
Paternostres a ces viellotes. 

Ge ne sai mes que ge vos die, 
El monde n'a la mercerie 
Que home et feme achetei' puisseut, 
Que tot maintenant ne li truisse. 
Une pilote ai d pendue 
Grosse, pesant, et estendue, 
Que ge vendrai as chamberieres 
A piler en totes manieres. 
Bien la porrai vendre en pie vine 
Qu'il est du rachuel de I'eschine, 
Pilei'on a gros et fachuel, 
Qu'il est du neu et du rachuel : 
Si ne fait pas a aviller, 
Ainz ra'en doit-on mielz estimer. 

clasps and rings, and very fine belts and fallois, of which I 
give three sous for an egg, it is not long since they were new ; 
I have good muzzles for muzzling, and good pestles for pound- 
ing, whipping-tops, torneis, and pin-cushions, and pater nosters 
for the old women. I don't know what I should tell you 
more; in the world there is no mercery which men or women 
can buy which I cannot now find for them. I have got a pestle 
hung here, great, heavy, and large, which I will sell to the cham- 
bermaids, to bray in all manners; I could easily sell it, with the 
assurance that it is from the root of the spine, it has a great . 
; it is not to be despised, therefore I ought to be more 


Vcnez avant, dame, venez, 
Venez avant, si m'estrinez 
D'euf ou (le fer ou tie deniers : 
Si m'alegera cist paniers. 
Et vos, petites meschinetes, 
Poeiz revenir as piletes. 
Or n'a caienz nul si riche home 
Qui mielz n'amast une tel some 
De meicerie s'il I'avoit 
Et se bien garder la savoit. 
Mais ge n'en puis nul bien avoir ; 
Onques n'i conquis point d'avoir, 
N'onques en riens que ge portasse, 
Ne gaagnai que ge mengasse. 
Pour ce veuil jus le panier metre, 
Ge ne me vueil plus entremetre : 
Ainz revenrai a la bilete 
Dent ge mielz me sai entremete : 
Proiez Diex qu'en cbatel me mete. 


esteemed for it. Come forth, damo, come, come forth! pay 
with egg, or with iron, or with pence, and so you will lighten 
for me this pannier: and you, little maids, may return to 
your mortars. Now there is not here any man so rich who 
would not love better such a quantity of mercery, if he had it, 
and if he could keep it well : but I cannot obtain any good from 
it, I never could obtain any property with it, and never from 
any thing that I carried did I gain enough to eat. Therefore 
will I set my pack down, I will not meddle any more with it. 
Thus I return to the hikt* which 1 know better how to employ. 
Do you pray God that he will give me profit. 

* Some game of chance used in the middle ages. 



Another interesting example of a trade song, from a manuscript 
of the thirteenth century, in the Library at Berne, No. 3.54, 
published by M. Achille Jubinal in his Lettre au directeur de 
r Artiste (a journal so-named) on the subject of its contents, and in 
which he has printed five of these inedited poems. I\I. Jubinal's 
work is an octavo pamphlet of forty-eight pages (Paris, 1838) 
and is of great rarity, from the small number printed. 


Qui bien saroit et faire et dire 
Assez porroit trover matire 
Du plusor gent qui sont o mont ; 
Mais plusor i out dont je vos cont 
Graignor porfit et graignor bien 
Qui li autre, ce set-en bien. 
Cez qui font les meillors mestiers 
Doit-en araer et tenir chiers ; 
Li un font .i. et li autre el ; 
Mais je voi maint menestrier 
Qui sol lou cordoanier ; 
Car bien savez, n'est mie gas, 

Tkanslation. — lie who should know well how to compose or 
to recite would find sufficient matter concerning many people 
who are in the world : but there are man}^ of whom I tell, who 
are less profit and less good than the others, that is well known. 
Those who exercise the best trades one ought to love and cherish ; 
some exercise one trade and some another; but I see man3' a 
minstrel who praises the shoemakers alone; for you know well. 


II n'est nus hon ne haut nes bas, 
Tant soit ne eschars, ne avers, 
Que ne li coveigne solers, 
S'il n'est de tel relegion 
hermite, o sainz horn, 
Qui por Deu voille aler nuz piez : 
Que ja nus hom, s'il n'est cliaucie, 
Ne sambleroit gueres valoir. 
Se il avoit, a son voloir, 
Robe d'escarlate o de soie, 
S'il iert nuz piez enmi la voie, 
Ne seioit-il ne biax ne gent, 
Ne gaires prisiez de la jant. 
Hom san soliers ne vaut noiant ; 
En bataille ne en mellee, 
Tout ausi bien la teste armee 
Et tot lo cors desi qu'au piez 
Ne porroit, s'il n'est chauciez, 
Faire gaires de grant esfors, 
Tant fu grans ne hardis ne fors. 

it is no joke, there is no man, neither high nor low, however 
greedy or avaricious he may be, but he must have shoes, unless 
he is of such an order of monks, or hermit, or a holy man, who 
for the sake of God will go barefooted: for no man who is with- 
out shoes would ever carry with him the appearance of much 
worth. If he had, at his will, a robe of scarlet or of silk, if 
he should be barefoot in the middle of the way, whether he be 
handsome or genteel, he would not be valued at all by the 
people. A man without shoes is not worth anything; in battle 
or in meye, though he had his head armed and all his body 
down to his feet, if he had no shoes he could not do any great 



Ne cuidiez pas que je vous mante ; 

Ne ptiet aler sanz cbaucemante, 

Aler en plain ne en bochage, 

Ou en lointain pelerinage, 

A Saint- Jasque ou outre-mer : 

Et por ce doit-en a amer 

Et honoi'er et tenir cher 

Et suor et cordoanier. 

II, ont mestier k mainte gent ; 

II vaut moult mialz c'or ne argent ; 

Si vos dirai raison por quoi. 

II n'a sor ciel prince ne roi, 

Borjois, ne clerc, ne chevalier, 

Qu'il ne coviegne chancier 

O de cordoan o de vache ; 

Et si n'est preste qui en saiche, 

Arcediacre ne evesque, 

exploits, let him be ever so gi'eat, or so bold, or so sti'ong^. Do 
not believe that I am telling you a falsehood ; he cannot go 
without shoes, either in plain, or in wood, or in distant pil- 
grimage, to St. James or bej'ond sea: and therefore we ought 
to love, and honour, and cherish both souters and cordwainers.* 
They have to do with many people: he is much bettor than 
gold or silver, I will tell you the reason why. There is not 
under heaven prince or king, burgher, or clerk, or knight, who 
must not wear shoes, either of cordovan or cow's leather: nor is 

* Thus I have endeavoured to note the distinction the author 
makes between jfrac/es in shoemaking; the.sowfcr, is one who worked 
in common cow-leather; the cordwainer, one who employed the 
rnor(' costly leather (cordovan) procured from Cordova, in Spain ; 
froin (he use of wliicli lie obtain<'d his name. 


Ne chardonax, nc arcevesque, 
Ne moine blanc, ne raoine noir, 
Qui la osast, por nul avoir, 
Sacrement faire en sainte eglise 
Ne chanter messe en nule guise, 
Se il n'esteit chauciez ain9ois. 
Ne cuidiez pas ce soit gabois : 
La horn ira nuz piez la voie, 
N'ira seurement la voie ; 
Ne en guerre, ne en asaut 
Nuz hom nu piez gaire ne vaut. 
Ne porroie corliue aler, 
Ne apres lor seignor troter, 
Ne gaires loin aler a piez, 
Se il n'estoient bien chauciez. 
Ne chevaucher ne porroit 
Nus prodom s'il nuz piez estoit, 
Qui de plusor ne fust gabe 
Ainz qu'il fust gaires loin ale. 
Que j'ai veu, si com moi sanble, 

there priest who is known, archdeacon or bishop, or cardinal, or 
archbishop, or white monk, or black monk, who dare on any 
account perform the sacrament in holy church, or chant mass in 
any manner, if he had not first put shoes on. Don't imagine 
this is joking. If a man should go barefoot in the path he would 
not go his way in safetj' : neither in war nor in assault is any 
man worth anything barefoot. A courier could not go, nor trot 
after his lord, nor go far on foot, if he had not good shoes 
on. No gentleman could ride, if he were barefoot, without 
being laughed at by many before he had gone very far. For I 
have 5een, as it appears to me, when the people sit together, and 

c 2 


Qant cele gent sient ensanble, 

Que aucuns passe pai' la voie, 

Ja n'i aura nul qui la voie 

Qui ne I'esgart devers les piez 

Se il est bien ou mal chaucie. 

Por ce di-je, selon mon san, 

Que miaux vaudroit, si con je pans, 

Avoir un po mains vesteure 

Efc avoii' bone chauceure. 

Car ce sevent grant et petit, 

Que I'an dit pieca en resjirit : 

" Qui bien est chauciez n'est pas nuz." 

Jamais horn n'ert si bien vestuz, 

S'il est nu piez, qu'il soit a aise, 

S'il ne fait tel chaut qui li plaise 

Aler nu piez por refroidier ; 

Que sans solers ne porroit hom 

Durer ne faire grant beson, 

Ovrer, foir, ne laborer, 

Coper en bois, ne esarter, 

some one passes by the way, there will not be one there who 
sees him but he looks down towards his feet, to see if he bo well 
or ill shoed. Therefore, say I, according to my understanding, 
that it would bo better, as I think, to have a little less clothing 
and to have good shoos. For groat and little know this, that 
they used to say in proverb: " who is well shoed is not naked." 
No man will ever be so well clothed, that, if he be barefoot, he 
will be at his ease, if it is not so hot that he choose to go bare- 
foot to cool himself: for without shoes a man could not endure 
or do nmch need. We could not work, or dig, or till, or cut 
down wood, or clear underwood, plough the earth, or gain, or 


Terre arer, ne gaaignier, 
Ne bien semer, ne bien hercher, 
Ne pourroit-en sanz chaucemante. 
Ne cuidiez pas que je vos mante, 
Que je ne die de ce voir ; 
Et por ce doit-en chier avoir 
Et amer cez qui solers font, 
Car il servent a toz lo raont. 
Nuz ne deuroit sanz chaucemante 
En iver quant il noije et vante, 
Et i fait fort tans et i pluet, 
Que nus hom fors issir ne puet ; 
Lors puent bien apercevoir 
Li mau chaucie, se je di voir, 
Qant il vent patoiant la boe, 
Et par la noif et par la groe, 
Lors sevent-il, se Dex me saut, 
Que boenne chauceure vaut, 
Qui bien devroit panre en parfont. 
En devroit cez qui solers font 

sow seed well, or reap well, without shoes. Don't imagine that 
I tell you false, or that I do not say the truth in this ; and there- 
fore we ought to cherish and love those who make shoes, for 
they are of service to everybody. No one could endure without 
shoes in winter, when the snow falls and the wind blows, and it 
is tempestuous weather and rains, that no man can go out ; then 
those who have not good shoes are easily perceived, if I say 
true, when they go paddling in the mud, and through the snow 
and through the dirt, then they know, as God save me, what 
good shoes are worth, which ought to hang well below. We 
ought therefore to cherish and honour much those who make 


Moult chier servir et enorer, 
Que sanz aus ne puet-eii durer 
Nus horn qui soit ne pres ne loin. 
Chascun jor a-en d'ax besoin, 
Et dues et princes, roi et conte. 
Por ce que oil qui fist cest conte 
De toz coi'doaniers qui sont 
A toz suor prie et semont 
Qu'il soient vaillant et cortois ; 
Qant il orront lo servantois 
Dire, por Deu et por enor, 
Doignent aucune rien do lor, 
De coi il face refaitier 
Ses solers, s'il en a mestier. 


shoes, for without them no man could endure, far or near. 
Every day people have need of them, both dukes and princes, 
kings and earls. Because he, who made this story of all who 
are cordwainers, prays and requests of all souters that they 
be worthy and courteous: when they hear any one say satires 
against them, for the sake of God and for their honour, let them 
give him nothing of theirs with which he can cause his shoes to 
be mended, if he have need of it. 

Here finishes about the Shoemakers. 



Another curious trade song, reprinted from tho saint' colieetioii 
as the preceding one. 


Tel gent i a qui oient, 

Et entandeut et oient, 

Et si ne sevent quoi j 

Mais cist qui ot et voit, 

N'an rien ne se conoist, 

Ne en ce ne an quoi, 

Cist s'an vaut autrctant 

Com oil qui chace et rien ne prent. 

Mais jo icho senefie. 

Que garde me sui pris 

De mainte gent qui sont, 

Que par droit estovoir 

Vos doi faire savoir 

Cez qui plus de bien font. 

Je di, selon mon sen, 

Translation. — There are some people who hear, and under- 
stODd, and see, and yet do not know what ; but he who hears, 
and sees, and is knowing in nothing, neither in one thing or the 
other, he is worth just about as much as he who goes liunting 
and catches nothing. But this I mean that I have made observa- 
tion of many that exist, that by right duty I ought to make you 
know those who do most good. 1 say according to my under- 


Que de 9! jusqu'au San 
Ne porroit-on trover 
Jant qui aient mestier 
Plus grant que li tissier. 
Je le voldrai prover 
Par raison, se je puis, 
Que nule home ne truis, 
Due, ne prince, ne roi, 
Qui de dras ne se veste 
A haut jor et a feste, 
Tant soit plain de desjoi. 
Je di que li tissier 
Ont lo plus bel mestier 
Que horn faire lo poroit ; 
Et avoec la biaute 
A-il tant de bonte, 
Nus dire ne 1' porrroit ; 
Car je di, par les dras 
Est un horn haut et bas, 
Quant il en a plante. 
Ja home est chier tenuz, 
Ou que qui soit venuz, 

standing, from here to the Seine one could not find people who 
are more necessary than the weavers. I will prove it by argu- 
ment, if I can, that I find no man, duke, or prince, or king, who 
does not dress himself in clothes on high days and feasts, be he 
ever so full of sorrow. I say that the weavers have the most 
beautiful avocation that any man could exercise; and as well as 
beauty it has so much goodness, as no one could recount, for I 
say that by clothes is a man high or low, according as he has 
plenty of them. A man is ever cherished, let him be sprung from 


Qui de dras ait laste. 
II n'a nul si prodome 
De si j usque en Rome, 
S'il estoit ore nuz, 
Et fust en leu venuz 
Oh ne fu coneuz, 
Qui ja fust chier tenuz 
Lk Oil ne vindroit rien. 
Nonains et abeesses, 
Raines et contesses, 
Ne puent sans drapiax ; 
Clercs, borjois, ne vilain, 
San dras, soient certains, 
Ne seroit gaires biax. 
Si sai a esciant, 
N'a si boen marcheant 
De 9i jusques a Troies, 
Si en voit samedi 
Ou marchie, ce vous di, 
enmi cele voie, 
Nuz piez o san soler, 
Ne fust mal conreez ; 

where he may, if he be well furnished with clothes. There is 
no so great gentleman between here and Rome, that if he were 
naked, and were come into a place where he was not known, 
would ever be cherished where he should go without any thing. 
Nuns and abbesses, queens and coimtesses, could not be without 
clothes ; clerks, burghers, or peasants without clothes, you may be 
sure, would not be very handsome. I know for certain there is no 
merchant ever so good, between here and Troyes, if he should 
go on a Saturday to market, this I tell you, or in the public way, 


Si bargnignast avoir, 
Se j a- home trovast 
Qui biau li apelest, 
Don lo poez savoir. 
Et soiez bien certain, 
N'a si mauvais vilain 
Ne si endureste, 
Se il avoit biaux dras, 
Chascuns ne I'apelast 
Et diroit : " achetez." 
Por ce les tissiers pris. 
Lor mestier met en pris, 
Que je ne voi chenoigne, 
Ne randu, ne nul moine 
De nul relegion, 
Ne hermite, ne preste, 
Qui de dras ne se veste. 
Tant soit ores sainz horn. 
Nus prodom ne porroit 
Aler, se dras n'avoit, 
A marchie n'a mostier, 
Ovrer ne laborer, 

barefoot, or without shoes, but he would be ill rewarded; if he 
bargained for goods he would not find a man who would give 
him a fair word; of this you may be sure. And you may be 
very certain that there is no peasant so wretched, nor so clownish, 
but if he Jiud beautiful clothes every one would call to him, and 
would say: "buy." For this reason, I value the weavers, and I 
hold their avocation in esteem, because I see neither canon, nor 
lay -brother, nor any monk of any order, nor hermit, nor priest, who 
does not dress himself in clothes, however holy a man ho may be. 
No honest man could go without clotiies lo market or to church, 


Ne foil" ne ovrer, 
Ne faire nul raestier. 
Nus horn ne dureroit, 
S'il drap vestu n'avoit. 
En iver par les froiz. 
Quant il pluet et il noye, 
Et i vahte et il grele, 
Qui li tanz est destroiz. 
Cil qui sont en chemise 
Au vent et a la bise, 
Se Dame Diex me saut, 
Puent bien percevoir, 
S'il ont tant de savoir, 
Que boene robe vaut. 
Nus horn ne puet savoir 
Que robe puet valoir 
Que toz jors a en aise ; 
Mais cil lo sevent bien 
Qui mainte foiz n'ont rient, 
Ainz ont eu mesaise. 
Je di que li tisiers 
Ont si tres baut mestiers, 

to work or to till the ground, or to dig, or to do any other 
labour, or to do any business. No man would endure if ho had 
not clothes to put on in the cold in winter, when it rains and 
snows, and the wind blows, and the hail comes down, that the 
weather is wretched. They who are in their shirt in the wind 
and the gale, as God may save me, may well pei'ceive, if they 
have any power of perceiving, the worth of a good robe. No 
man can know what a robe may be worth who is always at his 
ease: but they know" it well who are often destitute of every 
thing, and thus arc ill at ease. I say that the weavers have 


Soz ciel n'a roi ne conte, 
Ne nul si haut seignor, 
Qui do drap n'ait enor, 
Ne nus horn qui peust 
Tant faire qu'il seust 
A dire n'a contev 
La gent qui de tissier 
Ont mainte foiz mestier. 
Moult les doit-en amer 
Et roi et due et conte ; 
De toz tissier qui sont, 
Por Deu, lor dit et cont, 
Et lor pri et semont, 
Por Dieu et por enor, 
Aucune rien dou lor ; 
Venuz est li mestiers, 
Car je ne sai aler 
Ne tolir ne enbler 
Autrement sanz tisier. 


such very high avocation, that under heaven there is neither 
king nor saint, nor any so high lord veho does not derive honour 
from their cloth, nor any man who could do so much as to be 
able to tell and to relate the number of people who have often 
need of the weaver. People ought to love them much, both 
king, and duke, and earl. Of all who are weavers, for God's 
sake, I tell and relate to them, and pray and ask them, for God 
and for honour, something of theirs: my need is come, for I can 
neither go, nor take, nor steal without a weaver. 

Here finishes of (he Jl'eavcrs, 



This very curious satire is taken from a manuscript in the 
Bibliothtque Royale at Paris, written, as M. Paiilin-raris informs 
us, within the first ten years of the fourteenth century. It is here 
printed from M. Jubinal's work, entitled Jongleurs et Trouvires, 
ou choix de Saluts, Epitres, Reveries, et autres pieces legeres, des xiii 
et xiv siecles. Paris, 1835. Jehan de Meun, who completed the 
Romance of the Rose, speaks of this fashion: he describes the 
gorget, or neck-cloth, as being twisted several times round the 
neck, and pinned up to the horns — his words are; — 

" La gorge et li goitions sont hors tie la touelle, 
Ou U n'a que .iij. tours u la towne-bouelle ; 
Mais il y a d'espingles plus de demie escuelle 
Fichiees es .ij. conies et entoui- la rouelle."* 

After observing, that these horns appear to be designed to 
wound the men, he adds: — 

" Je ne say s"on appelle potences ou corbiaux 
Ce qui soustient leurs cornes, que tant tienneul a biaux ; 
Mais bien vous ose dire que sainte Elysabiaux 
N'est pas en Paradise pour porter tiix babiaux. 

Eneores y font elles xm grant haiTibourras, 
Cai- eutre la touelle, qui n'est pas de bouiTas, 
Et la temple et les comes, pourroit passer un ras 
Ou la greigneur moustelle qui soil jusques AiTas."+ 

• Tlie breast and the throat lu-e out of the towel (gorget), where there are 
but three tvims (some texts have trous, i. e., tliree holes) to the neck-kerchief; 
but there is more than half a basin full of pins stuck in the two horns and 
about the circular pai-t. 

+ I know not whether they call gibbets, or corbels, that whicli sustains 
their horns, which they consider so Hue ; but I ventui'e to say that St. Eliza- 
beth is not in Paradise for having cairied such baubles. Moreover they 
moke a gi-eat iiicuinbrancc ; for between the towel (gorget), which ia not of 
coarse linen, and the temple and the horns, may pass a rat, or tlie largest 
weasel on this side Arras. 



This fashion of wearing the hair was also alluded to as " le 
bossu;" and it is the resemblance that these bosses, at each side 
of the head, bore to the close-curled horns of a ram, that made 
the Bishop of Paris incite persons, by promise of pardon for 
sin, to .cry, " Hurte, belier," and "push, rami" as described in the 
ensuing satire. The head here engraved 
from an effigy of a lady of the Ryther family, 
in Ryther church, Yorkshire, is a good illus- 
tration of this fashion; great pads of false 
hair appear on each side of her head; and it 
"is hooped, with a band," as described in the 
ensuing satire. The gorget also appears 
pinned up to it, as Jehan de Meun describes 
it; allowing a space between that and the 
bosses for a rat to creep. The way in which 
the heads were bandaged and secured in a 
golden net-caul, termed, crestine, creton, crespine, 
and crespinette, maj' be seen in our second cut, from a drawing in 
Royal MS., 15, D. 2 (temp, Edward I). This preposterous 
fashion took a more extravagant turn, after suffering a short 
decadence, and in the reign of Henry IV reappeared with the 
horns pointed like a crescent over the forehead, which increased 
as the fashion grew older, until the reign of Henry VI, when an 
enormous pair of horns rose on each side the head of a lady. 
We must refer to Lydgate's Satire, on a future page, for the 
illustration of this fashion. 


Li evesques parisiena 
Est devins et naturieds, 
Si se prcnt garde 

Translation.— The Bishop of Paris is a theologian and a 
philosopher; he observes that a woman is too foolish a Inissey 


Que fame est trop fole musarde, 
Qui forre son chief et se farde 

For plere au monde. 
Fame n'est pas de pechie monde, 
Qui a sa crine noire ou blonde 

Selonc nature, 
Qui i met s'entente et sa cure 
A ajouster .i. forreure 

Au lone des treces. 
L'evesques connoist lor destreces ; 
De lor orgueil de lor nobleces 

Si les chastie, 
Et commande par aatie, 
Que cliascun " liurte, belin" die. 

Trop i tardon ; 
" Hurte, belin" por le pardon. 
Se des fames ne nous gardon, 

Ocis serommes. 
Cornes ont por tuer les honimes. 
D'autrui cheveus portent granz somraes, 

Desus lor teste. 

who puts a false hair on her head and paints herself to please 
the world. A woman is not free from sin, who has her hair 
dark, or blonde, according to nature, when she places her in- 
tention and care in fixing the false hair along on her tresses. 
The bishop knows their failings, and he chastises them for their 
pride in their finery; and commands, in scorn, of them that 
each person cry out: "push, ram." "We are too slow about it; 
" Push, ram," for the pardon. If we do not take care of ourselves 
from the women we shall be slain. They have horns to kill the 
men ; they carry great masses of other people's hair upon their 


L'en doit bien redouter tel beste ; 
II n'est ne foudre ne tempeste 

Que je tant doute, 
Qu'ele art et point, et fiert et boute : 
Tout le plus sage n'i voit goute 

A s'en deffendre. 
Des lors vout fame a nial entendre 
Qu'ele fist en enfer descendre 

Le premier pere. 
Fame qui ainsi son chief pere, 
Ne cuidiez pas que ne I'compere 

S'el ne s'amende. 
N'ai pas paor que teste fende, 
Qui est ferree de tel bende 

Et de cerciaus, 
Et si ont fet cols toz noviaus. 
Sor lor cols metent lor joiaus, 

Et lor crespines : 

We may well be afraid of such a beast; there is neither thun- 
der nor tempest which I fear so much, when she fumes, and 
pricks, and strikes, and pushes : the wisest man that is does not 
see at all how to defend himself against them. Woman began 
to turn herself to evil from the time she caused our first father 
to descend into hell. A woman who thus adorns her head, 
don't you believe but what she will pay for it, if she does not 
amend herself of it. I have no fear of a head splitting which is 
hooped with such a band and with circles : and thcj' have made 
collars quite new; on their necks they put their jewels and their 
crespines.* And they make collars of the end of the eschines, 

* Golden neUwurk; llius in the Lay of Sir Latm/al, we are tuld of two 

ladies that — 

" Their kerchevys were well schyre 
Arrayed with ryche gold wyre. 


Et font cols du bout des eschines, 
Et font cornes de lor poitrines. 

C'est grant viltance 
Que fame est de tel contenance. 
Je n'ai point de bone esperance 

En tel posnee. 

Robe ainsinques escoletee 
Semble le treu d'une privee, 

Ne plus ne mains ; 
L'en lor puet bien veoir es sains, 
L'en i metroit bien ses .ij. mains 

Ou une miche. 
Tels bobanz ne vaut pas la briche. 
II n'est si bele ne si riche, 

Ne tant soit fiere, 

and they make horns of their breasts.* It is a great shame 
that a woman is of such behaviour. I have no liope in such 

A robe also open at the neck seems like the hole of a privj'; 
neither more nor less. One may easily see into their breasts; 
and one might easily put there his two hands, or a small loaf. 
Sucli pride is not worth any thing. There is not one so fair, 
nor so rich, nor proud as she may be, that if she were to-morrow 

* This passage, which is in some degree obscure, may mean : 
"they stiffen their collars with whalebone, which makes the 
breast project like a horn." At the commencement of the next 
st.anza we are told that a loaf might be hidden in the open space 
thus formed, 



S'ele estoit demain en la biere, 
Que Tea besast pas en la cbiere, 

Ce set-on bien, 
Plus que Ten feroit .i. mort cbien. 
Tout ce boban ne vaudra rien 

Apres la mort. 
Pole est fame qui s'i amort. 
Tel cointise maint homme a mort 

Et deceu. 
L'evesque I'a aperceu ; 
Si ne s'en puet estre teu, 

Ainz en sermone, 
Et a toz eels .x. jors pardone, 
Que crieront a tel personne, 
" Hurte belin !" 

on her bier, one would kiss her in the face (it is well-known), 
more than one wonld do it to a dead dog. All this pride will 
be worth nothing after death. The woman is mad who bites at 
it. Such quaint fashions* have brought many a man to death, 
and deceived him. The bishop perceived it, and he could not 
keep silence, but he preached about it, and he gives ten days 
pardon to all those who will cry out at such a person, " push, ram." 

* Cointise, or queintise: literally signifying, anything quaint or 
fanciful in dress; is used in that sense by Chaucer, who de- 
scribes the dress of one of the characters, in his translation of 
The Bomaunt of the Rose, thus: — 

" Wroufilit was his robe in stni.ipe guise, 
And al to-slyttered {cut to pictes) for quentyse." 
The scarf worn on the heads of ladies was, in the fourteenth 
centur\-, termed a coiniolsc, and also that worn by knights on 
their tilting helmets ; the edges being frequently cut and jagged, 
and, sometimes, taking the shape of a series of leaves. 


Foi que je doi saint Mathelin, 
De chanvre oiivre ou de lin 

Se font cornues, 
Et contrefont les bestes mues, 
Qui vuelent estre conneues 

Des preudes dames. 
Miex lor venist pensser des ames, 
Ansi com font les preudes fames, 

De simple afere, 
Qui ne se vuelent pas deffere, 
Ne lor char monstrer por atrere 

Les lecheors. 
Qui font les hommes trop piors, 
Trop plus fols et plus pecheors, 

Par lor atret ; 
La fole contenance atret 
Tel qui s'en fust ore retret, 

Je n'en dout mie. 
Si croi, se Diex me beneie, 
Que fame qui ainsi se lie 

Et se desguise 

By the faith I owe St. Mnthurin! they make themselves 
horned with worked hemp, or flax, and counterfeit dumb beasts; 
who will be known for worthy ladies. It would be more to 
their advantage to think of their souls ; as do the worthy women 
of simple manners, who will not make a display of themselves, 
nor shew their flesh, to attract libertines. Tiiey make men 
much worse, greater fools, and greater sinners, by their entice- 
ment; this foolish behaviour entices those who would, long ago, 
have kept out of temptation, I do not doubt. And I believe, as 
God may bless me, that a woman who thus decorates herself, 

c 2 


Et son chartois tant aime et prise, 
N'est pas de grant bonte esprise 

Dedenz le cuer. 
Je ne le croiroie a nul fuer, 
S'ele ert ma cousine ou ma suer, 

Que ne fust fole. 

De lor cornes est grant parole, 
Gehz s'en gabeut, n'est pas frivole, 

Parmi la vile. 
Tel cointise est a Dieu trop vile : 
C'est aussi voir comme evangile, 

Et n'est pas fable ; 
Mes je croi bien que le deable 
Les veut asseoir a sa table. 

Qui leur ensaingne 
Que n'i ait nule qui se faingne 
De porter de pechie I'ensaingne 

Desus son chief. 
ITurte, belin, tout de rechief, 

and disfigures herself, and loves and values so much her flesh, 
is not much occupied with goodness within her heart. I would 
not believe, on any terms, even if she M^ere my cousin, or my 
sister, but that she is a foolish woman. 

There is great talk about their horns ; people mock them (I 
am not joking) throughout the town. Such a foolish whim is 
too vile in the sight of God — it is as true as gospel, and no 
fable: but I believe well that the devil intends to seat them at 
his table ; who teaches them so, that there is not one who docs 
not hasten to carry the standnrd of sin above her head. Push, 

POEMS ON costump:. 37 

Por le pardon. C'est grant meschief 

Que la vermine 
Mengera ce que je devine, 
Et que tres bel pel d'ermine 

Cuevre et aorne ; 
Et Tame sera triste et morne 
En enfer, dont nus ne retorne 

Tant en i voise. 
C'est uns leus ou nus ne s'envoise ; 
N'i a fors plains et criz et noise, 

Paine et dolor. 
Celes n'en ont pas grant solor 
Qui tant vuelent metre du lor 

En fol usage, 
Et enluminent lor visage, 
Et nous font tendre le musage 

Por esgarder. 

ram, immediatdy for the pardon.* It is a very lamentable thing 
that vermin will eat I know what, which a very fair skin of ermine 
covers and adorns; and the soul will be sad and sorrowful in 
hell, from which no one returns when they have once gone 
there. It is a place where no one enjoys himself; there is 
nothing there but complaints, and cries, and noise, suffering 
and grief. Those women have no great consolation iu view, 
who will put so much of their property in foolish use, and make 
bright their countenance, and lay out snares for us to look at 

* A sudden ejaculation by the poet; who cries: "Hurte 
belin," for the promised pardon of the Bishop of Paris, when 
speaking of the ladies' follies; and his condemnation of them. 


II les en venist miex garder ; 
Moquier s'en font et regarder 

En mainte place. 
II n'est pas dx-oiz, ja Dieu ne place, 
Que tel cointise honor lor face 

Mes grant despit. 
N'iront pas, je les en respit, 
Ou repos qui tout sanz respit 

Est otroie 
A celes qui bien emploie 
Ont lor tens, et ont Dieu proie 

For lor pechie 
Et ont si lor clieveus trechie, 
Qu'autre chose n'i ont drecie 

Ne ajouste. 
Mult a or le monde ajute 
Cele, qoi qu'il li ait couste. 

Qui puet venir 
El repos qui est sanz fenir. 
For ce se fet-il bon tenir 

De bobancier, 

It would be more profitable for them to take better care; 
they cause themselves to be mocked and despised in many a 
place. It is not right, now may God please, that such quaint 
fashions should do them no honour, but rather great despite. 
They will not go, I promise them, to the repose which, without 
any doubt, is given to those who have well employed their time, 
and who have prayed God for their sin, and have dressed their own 
hair, and have not decorated it, or added to it any other thing. 
Now the world has been very profitable to her, whatever it may 
have cost her, who may be able to arrive at the repose, which 
is without end. Therefore it is good to refrain from finery. 


Et de jengler et de tencier, 
Mes je croi bien que vendengier 

Se veut et vendre 
Fame qui ainsi veut entendre 
A soi cointir, por plus esprendre 

Cil qui la voit ; 
La cointise les genz de^oit, 
Et tout le cuer de I'omme trait. 

Lors si chancele, 
Et si pensse, j'amerai cele, 
Tout ne soit-ele mie bele, 

S'est-ele cointe. 
Ainsi li fols la fole acointe, 
Et ceste biaute est ajointe 

Contra reson. 
Atant des fames nous teson, 
Et fin en cest ditie feson. 


and from squabbling, and quarrelling. But I believe well, that 
a woman wishes to make a harvest of herself, and offer herself 
for sale, who is thus employed in making herself gay, to catch 
the attention of him who sees her. These quaint fashions de- 
ceive people, and seduce a man's heart; then he wavers, and 
he thinks, I will love her, although she may not be handsome, 
yet she is gay. Thus the foolish man joins himself to the foolish 
woman, and this beauty gets the better of his reason. Now let 
us say no more about women, and let us make an end of this 



The following song appears to be dii'ected against the gay 
fashions in ladies' clothing, which had become so prevalent as to 
be aped by the middle and lower classes. In occurs in the 
Harleian MS. No. 2253, and is here reprinted from Mr. Wright's 
PoUticul Songs of England, p. 153; published by the Camden 
Society. He considers it a production of the reign of Edward I. 
The satire is chiefly directed against the ladies' head-dresses, 
and the illustrations given on p. 30 will sufficiently illustrate the 
fourth stanza ; the bout and harhet, noticed in the following one, 
are not so clear ; but the latter may be the barbe, or linen covering 
for the neck and chin, visible in one of the cuts just alluded to : and 
which became, idtimately, an exclusive fashion, adopted only by 
widows as mourning, or by religious women in the cloister. 

Loud that lenest us lyf, ant lokest ucli an lede, 
For te cocke with knyf nast thou none nede ; 
Bothe wepnion ant vvyf sore niowe drede, 
Lest thou be sturne with strifj for bone that thou bede, 
in wunne 

That monku[n]ne 

Shulde shilde hem from sunne. 

Translation.— Lord, that givest us life, and rcgardest every 

people, — to with knife thou hast no need; — bolli man 

and woman sorely may dread, — lost thou be stern with wrath, 
for the boon that thou askedst, — in joy — that mankind — should 
shield themselves from sin. 


Nou hath prude the pris in everuche plawe ; 
By mony wyramon un-wis y sugge mi .suwe, 
For 3ef' a lady lyne is leid after hawe, 
Uch a strumpet that ther is such drahtes wil drawe ; 
in prude 

Uch a screwe wol hire shrude 

Thah he nabbe nout a smoke hire foule ers to hude. 

Furmest in boure were boses y-broht, 
Levedis to honoure ichot he were wroht ; 
Uch gigelot wol loure, bote he hem habbe soht ; 
Such shrewe fol soure ant duere hit hath a-boht ; 
in helle 

With develes he shule duelle, 

For the clogges that cleveth by here chelle. 

Nou ne lacketh hem no lyn boses in to bereu ; 
He sittetli ase a slat swyn that hongeth is eren. 

Now pride hath the prize in every play ; of many unwise 
women I say my saw, — for if a lady's linen is laid after law, — 
every strumpet that there is such draughts will draw; — in pride 
— every shrew will clothe herself, — though she have not a smock 
to hide her dirty tail. 

Fii'st in bower were bosses brought, — to honour ladies I wot 
they were wrought; — every giglot will lour, unless she have 
them sought ;— such shrew full sourly and dearly hath bought 
it; — iu hell — with devils they shall dwell, — on account of the 
clogs which hang by their jowls. 

Now they want no linen to bear bosses in ; — they sit like a 
slit swine which hangs its cars.— Such a justling contrivance 


Such a joustynde gyn uch wrecche wol vveren, 
Al hit Cometh in declyn this gigelotes geren ; 
upo lofte 

The devel may sitte softe, 

Ant holden his halymotes ofte. 

jef ther lyth a loket by er outher eje, 
That mot with worse be wet for lat of other 1636 ; 
The bout atid the barbet wyth frountel shule feje ; 
Habbe he a fauce filet, he halt hire lied heje, 
to shewe 

That heo be kud ant knewe 

For strompet in rybaudes rewe. 

every wretch will wear, —that these giglots' gear all comes to 
nothing ; — on high — the devij may sit soft, — and hold his sab- 
baths often. 

If there lies a locket by ear or eye, — that may with worse be 
wet, for lack of other lye ; the but and the barbel with frontlet 
shall quarrel ; — if she have a false fillet, she holds her head high, 
— to snow — that she is famous and well known— for a strumpet in 
the ribalds' ranks. 



This curious poem, wi-itten in the latter part of the fourteenth 
century, is given from a copy in Harleian MS. No. 536. Another 
is in MS. No. 941, the variations in which are given as foot-notes 
in italics. The allusion to the long pointed toes, which came into 
fashion in the extravagant reign of the foppish and weak 
monarch Richard II, is sufficient to fix the date of this composi- 
tion. These long toes were termed cracoives, from the city of 
Cracow, from whence they were originally im- 
ported; and they were sometimes fastened to 
the knees of the wearer with chains of gold and 
silver. A curious manuscript in the Royal Col- 
lection, marked 20. B. 6., represents the uncles 
of Richard II with such fashionable inconveni- 
ences, which if bent upward would certainly 
reach to the knee; and there is the appearance of a chain, for 
securing them, hanging from the garter of one of these noblemen, 
here engraved of the same size as the original. This fashion 
continued to the middle of the reign of Edward IV, notwith- 
standing sumptuary laws to restrain their length. They were 
stuffed with tow and moss, to make them curl upwards, soon 
after their introduction; probably to prevent inconvenience in 
walking, and thence wore termed "Devil's claws," by the 
satirists. Mr. C. R. Smith has, in his Museum of London 
Antiquities, some of these shoes of the time of Edward IV, and 
the toes of others six inches in length, with stamped ornaments 
upon them; they are stuffed with moss, as described by con- 
temporary writers, and were discovered in excavations at White- 
friars. For the convenience of such fashionables a long -toed 
patten was introduced ; and I must refer to my volume on 


Costume in England, pp. 190, 194, 449, 450, for engravings illus- 
trative of all the varieties tben worn. 

Syng I wolde, but, alas! descendunt piospera grata; 
In Ynglonde sunityme was regnorum gemma vocata ; 
Of manhode the flowre ihi quoque quonda^nfioruit omnis; 
Now goo* is that tour, traduntur talia sompnis. 
Lechery, slouthe, and pride, hii sunt quibus Anglia jMret ; 
Sith trouthe is set asyde^f die qualiter Anglia staret. 
Whiche oure frendis were, nostri fient inimici, 
"With bowe, sheld, and spere, potenmt en talia did. 
Ofte tymes have we herd mala nobis esse futura ; 
But ever weij: desired a nobis coiiimercia plura. 
Lo! within oure lond insurgunt undique guerre; 
But God put to his hond, Jiet destructio terre. 
On water and on londe, que quondam, nos timuerant. 
Now many a thousand nos parvo per mare querunt. 
The drede of God is went,§ humanus sed timer astat; 
Who seyt|| trowthe is shent,^ regnum riolencia vastat ; 
Rowners* and flaterers, /;// regno sunt nocituri ; 
Wolde God soche claterers sua subdant coll a securi. 
Ingelonde, awake now, consurgimt jugiter hostes, 
And good hede take thow,/rtc hostia, dirige posies. 
The ryche rnakef mery, sed vulgus collacrimatur ; 
The people is wery, queferme depopulatur. 
The chirche is greved, quia spiritualia cadunt: 

* Gone. "f Scthyii tnnveth teas sttl o .sz/ilc. J We have. 

§ Want. II S(ii/l/i the. ^ Confouniled. * Whisperers, 
t Malath. 


Som bethe* myschevyd, pli(f> dampnl crescere crednnt. 
Inlond goitli to noughte, plus fecit homo viciosus ; 
To lust man is broughth, nimis est homo deliciosus. 
Goddis| halydays nan ohservantur honeste, 
For untliryfty pleyis| i)i eis regnant manifeste. 
Unthrifte and worabe§-joye, steriles et luxuriosi, 
Jentelys,|| gromys,^ and boyes, socii sunt atqiie gulosi. 
Sojettys* and sovereyns uno quasi fune trahuntur ; 
Put thei be to peyne, in eos quicunque loquuntur. 
At Westmynster lialle legis sunt valde scientes ; 
Nevertheles for hem all,! ihi vincuntur jura potentes ; 
That never herd the caas,1l. juramento tunc meditahiint, 
Than the mater woll thei lace, etjiistum dampnificahnnt. 
And an obligacion, de jure satis valitura, 
Thurgh§ cavelacion| erit effectum caritura. 
His owne caas many a man jam judicat et moderatur ; 
Lawe helpith not hem,^ ergo heu ! lex evacuatur. 
Manslawghter and thefte crucis ad votum redimuntur ;* 
Ware| of evel-spon waste, quia pravos prava sequuntur. 
Jurrourswith peynted slevys, inopes famuli dominorum , 
This hurtyth and grevyth, novit Deus ipse deorum. 
Gret hurt to this londe est usurpata pot est as ; 
Tlierfore put to his hond regis metuenda majestas 

* And some bene. t God ys dere. 

X An alhision to the performance of mysteries and miracle 
plays, on Corpus Christi, and other gi-eat feasts. § Womhes. 

II Gentlefolks. ^ Grooms. * Subjects. f ^"oy^^t ellys 
before thayme all. J Case. § Thrnyh afals. || Cavelling. 

^ Then. * This means, that bribery was used; and the 

phrase, redemption by the cross, alludes to the cross that univer- 
sally appeared on tlie reverse of the coinage. "f Be wun-c. 


For barmes that mow* falle nonmdla statuta 2icirantur ; 
The kyng knowith not alle, non sunt qui vera loquuntur. 
Hee and hee seyth welle, et sermo jilcicere videtur ; 
The cattes necke to the bellej hie et ille ligare veretur. 
What is the cause of this? vera violencia legis ; 
Amende that is amys, j^oterit demencia regis. 
Now without a jacke ^Jrt?<ci metuiint remanere ; 
Som hath hem on here backe, sed bursa malhnit habere. 
Good Jacke, where is John ? idyi gratia nunc requiescit? 
Jacke, now grace is gon, ad regna remota recessit. 
Jacke noble with him is, iter insimul arri2meriint ; 
Of bothe is gret mys, illos multi modo qiia:runt. 
Galauntes purs penyles _/J^r vicos esse vagantur : 
Yf it be as I gesse, male solvent quod mutuantur. 
Oon wit anodir anon satagit convertere guerram ; 
Now is here, now goon, destruxit ut advena terrain. 
Freshest| of the newe towche, incedunt ridicidosi, 
Lytel or noM'th in beer pouch, i^ascunt deliciosi. 
Brodder than ever God made humeris sunt arte tumentes; 
Narugh thei be, though thci, seme brod, nova sunt 

f actio gentis. 
Thei bere a new faccion,§ humeris i7i pectore tergo ; 
Goddes plasmacion|| non illis complacet ergo. 
Wydc colors^ and hygh, gladio sunt colla parata : 

* Will. f The medieval fable, modernized by La Fontaine, 
of the rats in council, proposing to hang a bell round the neck of 
the cat, is here alluded to. It w as very popular in the middle 
ages; but is nowhere better told than in Piers Plowmans Vision; 
which must have contributed greatly to spread the knowledge 
of this excellent satire in this country. J Frcshe and. 

§ Fashion, || INIaking, creating. ^f Collars. 


Ware* the prophecy contra tales rccitata. 
Long sporresf on here heles, ct rostra fovent ocriarum; 
Thei thinke it doith welle, nan sicut re(fida Sarum. 
A strecte bende| hath the hose, laqueantur a corpore 

crura ; 
Tliei may not, I soppose, curvare genu sine cura ; 
Whan other § kneelis, pro Christo vota ferentes, 
Thei stonde on here hells, sed nan curvare valentes. 
For hurtyng of here hose, non incUnare lahorant ; 
I trow, for her longe toes, dum stant fcrkditer orant. 
Many men|| thei lette et turhant ad sacra stando ; 
Cristes curse thei gete, nisi Deus instat alitptando, 
Wantoiinly^ brestes procedimt arte jn-ophana ; 
Prechour ne prestes p)ossunt hac jwJIere vana. 
With poyntes full stronge calicias de more sigiUant, 
Now shorte and now longe, ut venter ecce vacillant. 
Now* knokelyd elbowes manace laqueant lacerate ; 
In frost andf snowes, lit aves spectant laqueatce. 
Whan frost awakis, et stringunt frigore gentes, 
Than ther teth quakis, sed se quasi concutientes. 
Ful ofte tyraes, i-wys, gelido fervent i)i amore, 
Ther special when thei kis, distUlaut nasus in ore. 
Huf a galaunt thee atowch,! unguentum stillat amoris, 
I wold ful were here pouche tanti dulccdine roris ! 
Lo! this for a gret nede, sua nujssent ora Uhenter, 
Whosoever take hede, manet loquor irrevcrenter. 
" Vive la bele!" thei cri, fragrantia vira hihentes, 

* Wlier'er. t Spurs. % Strayt. bond. 

§ Other men. \\ A man. ^ Womonli/ * Theyer. 

f And ill. J If a gallant toiic-li tliee. 


Thei drynke til thei* drye, lingua sensuque carentes. 
Thei crye, " fille the boUesIf honits est liquor, hie 

manenmuf; '. 
For al cristyn soulys, dum dnrant rasa, bibamus !" 
Whan men reste takis, noctis sompno recreati, 
Suche felowes wakis, ad dampna jjotranda parati. 
Armes, sydis, and blode, honnn qiiidam recitahit ; 
Yit whan he is most wode, Juoic sermo hhotdus domabit. 
Paraventure at an houre poscunt hii tempora plausis, 
A contre tenourij: cantabit carcere clausis. 
Of the chirchethat I write, non forte pilacet sibi psahnus ; 
Now§ sey I, for this dispite, si me Dens adjuvat alnms, 
Alas, and wele away ! dccus ecclesia tenebrassit ; 
Lyght Avol fayle, I dar say, sanctus nunc spiritus assit. 
Syraon, the that fals man decus nocet ecclesiarum ;\\ 
Moche sorue^ he began, virus dijfudit amaruni : 
And than, false avarise, satis ecclesiam laqueasti. 
With many* evyl vice Christi sponsam riolasti. 
Here myght I more sey,"]" tamen ordo vetat seriarum ; 
Of soche moi'e se ye may in libris ecclesiarum. 
The lanterne of lyght non fulget luce serena ; 
Yt is not al aryght, populus Mbit ecce venena. 
Oure kyng and oure lord servet, regat, et teneatur ; 
God that with his honde ccbIuvi terrain moderatur ; 
In age as hee growith, sua crescat gratia fructu ; 
Fnl litle hee knowith, quanto dolet Anglia luctu. 

* Thei/ he. f Bowls. t Coniitcr -tenor. 
§ Nof/ht. II Alhuling: to simony. % Sorrow. 

• Other. I Here wehyl more myght I sny. 




The baselard was a kiiifc, with an ornamental handle, and a 
decorated sheath, worn in the centre of the girdle in the four- 
teenth century, and which continued in use until the reign of 
Elizabeth. That it was worn by those more remarkable for their 
foppery than their courage the ensuing satirical ballad seems to 
siiow. It is given from ISloane MS., No. 2593 (compiled in 
the reign of llenr}' V, or earlier) ; it possesses much humour, 
and shows how unchangeable human nature has ever been with 
swaggering fashionables. The love that all young fellows had 
for such decorative portions of costume is alluded to in the old 
French song, on p. 11. Priests were strictly forbidden their use; 
yet so strong was their love for such articles that Piers Plowman, 
speaking of Anti-christ, says: — 

" Prouile preestes coome ■with hym 
Mo tlian a thousand, 
In paltokes and pyked shoes, 
And pisseiis longe knyves." 

The paltocks being short clokes, unfitting the gravity ol men of 
religion; the peaked shoes, an extravagant folly of the day ; anil 
the knives, still more untitting the clerical character ; the same 
author advises them to carry a pair of beads in their hands, 
instead of their baselardes, for now he adds : 

" Sire Johan and sire Geffrey 
Hath a gii-del of silver, 
A baselard, or a biUlok-kiiyl', 
Witli botons over gilte." 

The following song has been printed by Mr. Wright in his little 
volume of Sotigs andCuroh, published by Pickering, 1836. 


Prenegard, j^renegard, thus here 1 myn baselard. 
Lestenit,* lordyngs, I you beseke,f 
Ther is non man worth a leke, 
Be he sturdy, be he meke, 

But:]: he here a baselard. 
Myn baselard hath a shethe of red, 
And a clene loket of led, 
Me thinkit I may here up myn hed. 

For I here myn baselard. 

My baselard hath a wrethen hafte,§ 
Quhan I am ful of ale cawte,! 
It is gret dred of man slawte,1[ 

For then I here, &c. 
My baselard hath a sylver schape,* 
Therfore I may both gaspe and gape, 
Me thinkit I go lyk non knape,t 

For I here a baselard. 

My baselard hath a trencherj kene, 
Fayr as rasour scharp and schene, 
Evere me thinkit I may be kene, 

For I here, &c. 
As I gede up in the streete, 
With a cartere I gan mete ; 
" Felaw," he seyde, " so mot I the,§ 

Thou shalt foreoll thi baselard." 

* Listen. t Beseech. J Unless. 

§ Twisted; iilattcd. || Caught. t Slaughter. 

* C/ia/?c, the cross-bar, or guai'd. t Lad; clown. 
J Blade. § So may I tiirivc. || Let go 


The cartere Lis qwyppe* began to take, 
An al myn fleycht began to qwake, 
And I was lefe| for to escape, 

And there I left myn baselard. 
Quan I cam forth onto myn damme§ 
Men hed was brokyn to the panne, || 
Che seyde I was a praty nianne, 

And wel cowde bere myn baselard. 



This satirical production of "Dan John Ljdgate," tiie chief 
poet of the reij^n of Henry V ; one of the most prolific of versi- 
fiers, and, as Warton observes, "not only the poet of his 
monastery, but of the world in general" ; is given from MS. 
Oxon. Laud. t>. 31, N. 683, Bernard, 798, as printed in Mr, 
Halliwell's Selection from Lydgate's Minor Poems. The fashion 
satirized by our poet was one that had previously called for con- 
demnation, as this volume already proves; but we meet with no 
pictured instance then, equalling the monstrosity of those now 
worn ; and of which an example is given from an illumination in 
the Royal MS. 15, e. iv. ^lonstrelet notices, in his Chronicles, 
that a certain friar, named Thomas Conecte, carried his opposi- 

* Whip. j Flesh. t Glad. 

§ Dame. || Tlie hrain-p.m, an old term for the skull. 

K 2 


tion to this fashion so far, as to travel through Flanders, preach- 
ing against it: "he was so vehement against them, that no 
woman thus dressed dared to appear in his presence ; 
for he was accustomed, when he saw any of them 
with such dresses, to excite the little boys to tor- 
ment and plague them, giving them certain days of 
pardon for so doing, and M-hich, he said, he had the 
power of granting. He ordered the boys to shout 
after them, au hennin, au hennin! even when the 
ladies were departed from him, and from hearing 
his invectives ; and the boys pursuing them, endeavoured to pull 
down these monstrous head-dresses, so that the ladies were 
forced to seek shelter in places of safety. Many altered their 
head-tire," he says, " and others gave them to the preacher to 
burn before his pulpit; but this reform lasted not long, for like 
as snails, when any one passes by them, draw in their horns, 
and when all danger seems over put them forth again, — so these 
ladies, shortly after the preacher had quitted their country, for- 
getful of his doctrine and abuse, began to resume their former 
colossal head-dresses, and wore them even higher than before." 
It will be observed that this enthusiastic preacher adopted the 
plan of the Bishop of Paris, mentioned on p, .30, in nick-naming 
the head-dress, and promising pardons to all who insulted the 
wearers. It is impossible to suppose that Lydgate's Satire could 
have had more effect than Conecte's preaching. 


Off God aiid kynde proceditli al bewte ; 

Crafft may sliewe a foreyn apparence ; 
But nature ay must have the sovereynte. 

Thyng countirfeet hath noon existence. 
Tween gold and gossomer is greet dyfierenee ; 

Trevve nietalle requeryth noon allay ; 
Unto i)urpos by cleer experyence, 

Bcutc wol shewe, thogh hornys wer away. 


Ryche attyres of stonys and perre, 

Charbonclys, rubyes of moost excellence, 
Shewe in darknessc lyglit where so they be, 

By ther natural hevenly influence. 
Doublettys of glass yeve a gret evydence, 

Thyng counterfeet wol fayler at assay ; 
On this mater concludyng in sentence, 

Beute wol shewe, thogh homes were away. 

Aleyn reraembreth, his compleynt who lyst see, 

In his book of famous elloquence ; 
Clad al in flours and blosmes of a tre 

He sauhe nature in hir moost excellence, 
Upon hir hed a kerche of Valence, 

Noon other richesse of counterfet array ; 
T'exemplyfie by kyndely provydence, 

Beute wol shewe, thogh homes were away. 

Famous poetis of antyquyte, 

In Grece and Troye renomed of prudence, 
Wrot of Queen Heleyne and Penelope, 

Of PoUycene, with hir chast innocence ; 
For wyves trewe calle Lucrece to presence ; 

That they wer faire ther can no man sey nay ; 
Kynde wrouht hem with so gret dyllygence, 

Ther beute kouth hornys wer cast away. 

Clerkys recorde, by gret auctoryte, 

Homes wer yove to bestys for dyffence ; 

A thyng contraiye to femynyte, 
To be maad sturdy of resysteuce. 


But arche wives, egre in ther vyolence, 

Fers as tygres for to make affray, 
They have despit, and ageyn concyence, 

Lyst nat of pryde, then homes cast away. 

Noble princessis, this litel schort dyte, 

Rudely compyled, lat it be noon offence 
To your womanly mercifulle pyte, 

Though it be rad in your audyence ; 
Peysed every thyng in your just advertence, 

So it be noon dysplesaunce to your pay ; 
Under support of your pacyence, 

Yeveth example homes to cast away. 

Grettest of vertues ys humylyte, 

As Salamon seith, sonne of sapyence, 
Most was accepted onto the Deyto, 

Taketh heed herof, yevethe to his wordis credence, 
How Maria, whiche hadde a premynence 

Above alle women, in Bedlem whan she lay, 
At Crystys birthe no cloth of gret dispence, 

She wered a kovercheef, homes wer cast away. 

Off birthe she was hihest of degrc, 

To whom alle angellis dyd obedyence ; 
Of Davidis lyne wicli sprang out of Jesse, 

In whom alle vertues by just convenyenoC; 
Maad stable in God by gostly confydence. 

This rose of Jericho, ther grewh non siiyche in May, 
Pore in sph-it, parfit in pacyence, 

In whom alle homes of pride wcr put away. 


Modyr of Jhesu, myrour of cbastyte, 

In woord nor tlioubt that nevere dyd oifence ; 
Trewe examplire of virgynyte, 

Hed spryng and welle of parfit contynence ; 
Was never clerk by retboryk nor scyence 

Koude all bir vertues reberse onto tbis day ; 
Noble pryncessis of meek benyvolence, 

Be example of bir your bornes cast away. 


From Harleiaa MS. No. 372. It is written on a little slip of 
paper, and was composed about the middle of the fifteenth cen- 
tury, says Strutt, in his History of Dress. Mr. Planche, in his 
Notes to the last edition of that work (vol. ii, p. 140) says, " that 
from the mention of the high caps, and letting the hair grow 
into the eyes, the date should not be later than 1467," when 
Monstrelet notes this change in costume; and Paradin says: 
" they suffered their hair to grow after the Nazarene fashion ; 
and to such a length as to obstruct their sight, and cover the 
greater part of the face." The lines which commence this ballad 
are evidently paraphrased from those which the Scots made in 
the reign of Edward III, and which ran thus : — 

" Lonp beirds hertiless, 
Peynted hood witless, 
Gay cotes praceless, 
Maketh Eiiglonde thriftlcsse." 


And which are said to have been chaimted in their derision, 
and affixed to the door of St. Peter's church, at Stangate. The 
excesses of the clergy met with many notices from the writers 
of medieval times, who attack them for their, fondness for the 
fashionable fopperies of the laity. The luxuriousness of the 
church apparel, rivalling that of royalty, was not to them so ex- 
ceptionable as their love for short dresses, cut and trimmed at 
the edges into the form of leaves; for jewelled girdles and daggers 
at their side; for hawks, hounds, and sports unsuited to decorum 
or their sacred character. Chaucer's Miller is loud in his 
condemnation, and so is Piers Plowman, see p. 49 ; and Staunton, 
in his Visions of Purgatory, describes vain prelates, who had worn 
such clothing, tormented with serpents, snakes, and other 
reptiles, to which the "jagges and dagges" of their vain- 
glorious clothing had been transformed for their punishment. 

Ye prowd galantts hertlesse, 
With your hygh cappis witlesse, 
And your scbort gownys thriftlesse, 
Have brought this lond in gret hevynessc. 

With your long peked shone, 
Therfore your thrifte is almost don ; 
And your longe here in to -your eyen, 
Have brought this lond to gret pyne. 

Ye poope holy* prestis full of presomcion, 
With your wyde fueryd hodes,t voyd of discrecion ; 
Un to your owyn prechyng of contrary condition, 
Whech causeth the people to have lesse devocion. 

"■ Hypocritical. + Furred hoods. 


Avauncid by syniony in cetees and townys, 

Make shorter your taylis, and broder your crownys, 

Leve your short stuffede dowblettes and your pleytid 

And kepe your owyn howsyng, and passe not your 


Repreve not other men, I shall tell you whye, 
Ye be so lewyd your selfe there setteth no man you bye. 
Yt is not but a schame, ye wold be called holly,* 
For worse dysposyd people levyth not under the skye. 

Ffirst make fre yourselfe, that now to synef be bounde, 
Leve syne and drede, than may ye take on hande 
Other to repreve, and that I understonde. 
Ye may amende all other, and bryng pese to londe. 



From Sloane MS. No. 1584; a small thick volume, partly paper, 
and partly parchment, containing a heterogeneous mass of sub- 
jects; some considerably older than others. Ritson has printed 
it in his Ancient Songs, p. 91, and says that the book was the 
manual of a priest in the time of Henry VIII, who wrote many 
of the pieces. The ensuing song appears to be as old as the 
reign of Edwai-d IV. The burthen was exceedingly popular, 

* Holy. t Sin. 


and is mentioned in the Vision of Piers Ploiuman as a country 

" And thanne seten hemme, 

And songen at nale, 

And holpen ere this half acre 

With hey, ti-olly lolly." 

So well ys me be gone. Troly, lole lo. 

Well ys me be gone. Troley, loley. 
Off servyng men I wyll begyne. Troley, loley. 
For they goo mynyon trym. Troley, loley. 
Off mete, and drynk, and feyr clothyng. Troley, loley. 
By dere God I want none. Troley, loly. 
His bonet is of fyne Scarlett. Troly, loley. 
With here as black as geitt.* Troly, lolye. 
His dublett ys of fyne satyne. Troly, lolye. 
Hys shertt well mayd and tryme. Troly, lolye. 
Hys coyttf itt is so tryme and rownde. Troly, loly. 
His kysse is worth a hundred pounde. Troly, lolye. 
His hoyssej of London black. Troly, lolye. 
In hyme there ys no lack. Troly, lolye. 
His face yt ys so lyk a man. Troly, lolye. 
Who can butt love hym than. Troly, lolye. 
Whersoever he be he hath my heart. Troly, lolye. 
And shall to deth depart. Troly, lolye. 

So well ys me be gone, Troly, loly. 

So well ys me be gone. Troly, lolye. 

* Jet. t Coat. X Hose. 




This elegant poem is given from the Ancient Scottish Poems, 
published from the manuscript of George Bannatj'ne, 1568, 
(edited by Lord Hailes, Edin. 1770); it is the work of one of the 
most graceful of the minor Scottish poets, Robert Ilenrysoun, 
who flourished about the middle of the fifteenth century, but of 
whom little more is recorded than that he was a preceptor of 
youth in the Benedictine convent, at Dunfermling; and is 
alluded to by Dunbar, in his Lament for the deth of the Makkuris 
(or poets); whore, speaking of death, he says: — 
" In Dunfermliiig be has tane Broun, 
With gvide Mr. Robert Hemysoun." 
He appears to have deserved the epithet affixed to his name by 
his brother poet, equally with " the moral Gower." His works 
have much of beauty and simplicity in them, and are free of the 
licentiousness too often indulged in by his contemporaries. He 
is best known to English readers by his beautiful pastoral 
"Robin and Makyne," in Percy's Reliques, Lord Hailes, in his 
notes on the following poem, calls it " a sort of paraphrase of 
1 Tim. ii, 9-1 i." Ellis, in his Specimens of the Early English 
Poets, says that the idea was previousl}' conceived by Olivier 
de la Marcho, who, in a poem entitled, Le triomphe ou Pavement 
des Dames (Vhonneur, recommends to the ladies, slippers of humi- 
lity, shoes of diligence, stockings of perseverance, garters of 
determination, a petticoat of chastity, a pincushion of patience, &c. 


Wald my gud lady lufe me best, 

And wirk after my will, 
I suld ane garment gudliest 

Gar mak hir body till.* 

* Cause to be made for her. 


Of he* honour sulclf be her hu<l,| 

Upoun hir heid to weir, 
Garneist§ with governance so gud, 

Na demyng suld hir deir, || 

Hir sark^ suld be hir body nixt, 

Of chestitie so quhyt,* 
With schame and dreid togidder mixt, 

The same suld be perfyt.f 

Hir kirtill suld be of clene constance,| 

Lasit with lesum lufe,§ 
The mailyeis|| of continwance^ 

For nevir to remufe. 

Her gown suld be of gudliness, 

Weill ribband with renowne, 
PurfiUit* with plesour in ilkf place, 

FurritJ with fyne fassoun.§ 

Hir belt suld be of benignitie, 

About her middill nieit ; 
Her mantill of humilitie, 

To tholl|| bayth wind and weit. 

* High, t Should. J Hood. § Garnished. || No opinion 
should dismay her; i. e., she should have no cause to fear censure. 
t Siiift. * White, f Pcrfuct. J Constancy. § Loyal love. 
II Net-work; Fr.hcre it means the eylet-holes forlacinghcrkirtle. 
^ Continence. * rurfllc; Fr. fringed, or bordci-ed. t Each, 
t Furred. § Fashion. || Bear. 


Ilir hat suld be of fair having, 

And her tipat* of trewth, 
Hir pateletf of gude pansing^ 

Hir hals-ribbane of rewth. § 

Hir slevis suld be of esperance, 

To keip hir fra dispair ; 
Hir gluvis|| of the gud govirnance, 

To hyd hir fyngearis fair. 

Hir schone suld be of sickernes,^ 

In syne that scho nocht slyd ; 
Hir hois* of honestie, I ges, 

I suld for hir provyd. 

Wald schof put on this garmond gay, 

I durst sweir by my seill,| 
That scho woir§ nevir grene nor giay 

That set hirll half so weill. 



From Laiiig's edition of the poems of William Dunbar, (bom 
about 1460, died about 1520) 2 vols., 8vo., Edin., 1834; in his 
" Justis lietuix the Tailyeour and SovTtar," he hud treated both 

* Tippet. t I^artolet; a neckerchief, or gorget. 

t Thinking. § Her neck-ribbon of truth. 

II Gloves. % Security: steadiness. * Hose. 

t She. % Felicity. § Wore. || Became lur. 


trades with sarcasm. This poem occurs both in the Bannatyne 
MS., written in 1568, and the Maitland MS., nearly coeval. 
Mr. Laing remarks, that "the old Scottish poets seem to have 
had an especial antipathy to the two professions of tailor and 

Betuix twell liouris and ellevin, 
I dremed ane angell came fra lievin, 
With plesand stevin, sayand on hie, 
Tailyeouris and sowtaris, blist be ye. 

In hevin hie ordand is your place, 

Aboif all Sanctis in gret solace, 
Nixt God, gi-ittest in dignitie : 
Tailyeouris and sowtaris, blist be ye. 

The cause to yow is nocht unkend, 

That God mismakkis ye do amend, 
Be craft and grit agilitie : 
Tailyeouris and sowtaris, blist be ye. 

Sowtaris, with schone weill maid and meit, 

Ye mend the faltis of ill maid feit. 

Quhairfoir to hevin your saulis will flie : 
Tailyeouris and sowtaris, blist be ye. 

Is nocht in all this fair a flyrok,* 

That has upoun his feit a wyrok,f 

KnowU tais,| nor mowlis,§ in no degrie, 
But ye can hyd thame : blist be ye. 

* Deformed person. f Corn, or bony excrescence on the foot. 
I Toes swelled at joints § Chilblains. 


And tally eouris with weil maid clais, 
Can mend the worst maid man that gaiss, 
And mak him semely for to se : 
Tailyeouris and sowtaris, blist be ye, 

Thocht God mak ane misfassonit man, 

Ye can him all schaip new agane, 
And fassoun him better be sic thre : 
Tailyeouris and sowtaris, blist be ye. 

Thocht a man half a broken bak, 

Haif ye a gude crafty tailyeour, quhat-rak, 

That can it cuer with craftes slie ! 

Tailyeouris and sowtaris, blist be ye. 

Off God grit kyndness may ye claime, 
That helpes his peple fra cruke and lame, 
Supportand faltis with your supplie : 
Tailyeouris and sowtaris, blist be ye. 

In crd ye kytli sic mirakilles heir, 

In hevin ye sal be Sanctis full cleir, 
Thocht ye be knaves in this cuntre : 
Tailyeouris and sowtaris, blist be ye. 




A BALLAD with this titlo was given in the first volume published 
by the Percy Society — T!ie Old Ballads, edited by Mr. Collier. 
It was thence reprinted by the Rev. A. Dyce, in his edition of 
The Poetical Works of John Skelton, vol. i, p. 148; but, in a note 
vol. ii, p. 199. he says: "In giving this poem a place among our 
author's undoubted productions, I now apprehend that I deferred 
too much to the judgment of my friend, Mr. J. P. Collier, who 
had recently reprinted it, without suspecting its genuineness. It 
may, after all, be Skelton's ; but at any rate it is only a rifacimento 
of the following verses, — found in MS. Sloaue, 747, fol. 88 (the 
Register of the Abbey of Missenden, Berks), and very difficult 
to decipher." It may be worth remarking, that the concluding 
speech in Skelton's Speke Parrot is conceived in a similar strain. 
The Sloane MS. may be a corrupt version of Skelton's poem, it 
is, certainly, the work of a bungler. The " Generall Satyre," 
of the old Scottish poet, Dunbar, is evidently the prototype of 
the following lines, which are conceived in a similar strain, even 
to the phraseology adopted. 

So propre cappes, 
So lytic luittes, 
And so false hartes, 

Saw y never. 
So wyde gownes, 
In cytees and townes, 
And so many sellers of broinys, 

Say I never. 


Suche garded huoes,* 

Suche playted shoes,t 
And suche a pose, 

Say y never. 
Dowbletes not ( ?) syde, 
The syde so wyde, 
And so moche pryde, 

Was never. 
So many ryven shertes,| 
So well appareld chyrches, 
And so many levved clerkes, 

Say I never. 
So fayre coursers, 
So godely trappers. 
And so fewe foluers, 

Say y never. 
So many fayere suerdes, 
So lusty knyghtes and lordes, 
And so fewe covered hordes, 

Say I never. 
So joly garded clokes, 
So many dyppers of grotes, 
And go vntyde be the throtes. 

Say I never. 

* Uosc, trimmed with lace or binding. Stubbes, in the reign 
of Elizabeth, speaks of " Gaily hosen, made very large and wide, 
reaching down to the knees, only with three or four guardes 
a-piece, laid down along either hose." 

t It was customary to wear shoes at this time very broad at 
the toes, and pleated and slashed like the doublet, showing the 
coloured ho;~e within, | Ornamcnttd with slashes. 



So many wyde pu(r)ces, 
And so fewe gode horses, 
And so many curses, 

Say I never. 
Suche bosters and braggers, 
And suche new facyshyont daggers, 
And so many cursers, 

Say I never. 
So many propere knyffes,* 
So well apparelld wyfes, 
And so evyll of there lyfes, 

Say I never. 
The stretes so swepynge, 
With wemen clothynge, 
And so moche swerynge. 

Say I never. 
Suche blendynge of legges, 
In tounes and hegges, 
And so many plegges, 

Say I never. 
Of wymen kynde, 
Lased be hynde,! 
So lyke the fcndo, 

Say I never. 

* Knives which were worn at tlio girdle; sometimes in richly 
chased scabbards of goldsmith's work. 

■f This fashion of lacing the gown behind appears to have 
come into use in the reign of Henry VII. I must refer to my 
work on Costume, p. 236, for a good engraved example. 


So many spyes, 

So many lyes, 

And so many thevys, 

Say I never. 
So many wronges, 
So few mery songges, 
And so many ivel tonges, 

Say I neuer. 
So raoche trechery, 
Symony and vsery, 
Poverte and lechery, 

Say I never. 
So fevve sayles. 
So lytle avayles. 
And so many jayles, 

Sawe y never. 
So many Esterlynges, 
Lombardes and Flemynges, 
To bere away our wynynges, 

Sawe I never. 
Be there sotyll weys, 
All Englande decays, 
For such false Januayes, 

Sawe I never. 
Amonge the ryche, 
Where frenship ys to seche, 
But so fayre glosynge speche, 

Sawe I never. 
So many poore, 
Comynge to the dore, 

F 2 


And so litle socour, 

Sawe I never. 
So prowde and say (gay?), 
So joly in aray, 
And so little money, 

Sawe I never. 
So many sellers. 
So fewe byers, 
And so many Marchaunt Taylors, 

Sawe I never. 
Executores, havynge mony and ware. 
Than havynge so little care. 
How the pore sowle shall fare,* 

Sawe I never. 
So many lawersf vse 
The truthe to refuse. 
And such falsehed excuse, 

Sawe I never. 
Whan a man ys dede, 
His wiffe so shortely wed. 
And havynge suche hast to bed, 

Sawe I never. 
So many maydens blamed, 
Wrongefully not defamed, 
And beyengc so lytle ashamyd, 

Sawe I never. 

* For !i curious illustration of tliis stanza I must n.lVr to my 
notes to Barclay's Eclogue (Percy Society, 1847), p. 45. 
f Lawvers. 


Relygiouse in cloystere closyd, 
And prestes and large* losed, 
Beyenge so evyll disposyd, 

Savve I never. 
God save our sovereynge lord the kynge, 
And all his royal sprynge, 
For so noble a prince reyny(n)ge, 

Sawe I never. 




In contemptioun]" of SydeJ Taillis, and Mussalit faces. 

Sir David Lyndesay of the Mount, Lord Lyon king-at-arms, 
was born, says Chalmers, probably about 1490, and was alive in 
1555, but he believes he died about 1557, though some say he 
lived till 1567. The satire here reprinted is given, with the 
notes, from Chalmers' edition of his works, vol. ii, p. 190, and is 
remarkable for its rude strength, in condemnation of that super- 
tiuity of cloth in dress which had again become fashionable in 
the reign of Richard II, and is incorrectly said by Camden, to 

* Query, "at large?" but it is by no means certain that 
" large" is the reading of the manuscript, 
t Contempt. 
X Sydf, side, in the A. S. of Somner is long, large. 


have been introduced by his queen, Anne of Bohemia; but the 
fashion was much older, and maj' be traced to the Normans. 
During the reign of Edward I, a monkish satirist gave us the 
following story "of a proud woman" (here translated from Mr. 
Wright's Collection of Latin Stories, published by the Percy 
Society) — " I have heard of a proud woman, who wore a white 
dress, with a long tail;* which trailing behind her, raised a 
dust, even as far the altar and the crucifix. But, as she left the 
church, and lifted up her train on account of the dirt, a certain 
holy man saw a devil laughing; and having adjured him to tell 
why he laughed, the devil said: 'a companion of mine was just 
now sitting on the train of that woman, using it as if it were his 
chariot, but when she lifted her train up, my companion was 
shaken off into the dirt: and that is why I was laughing.'" The 
custom continued until the reign of Edward IV, when the ladies 
even exceeded their previous doings, and an enormous quantity 
of cloth was used to widen and lengthen the gown. Chalmers 
says: — "The parliament of James II did all that men could do 
to regulate dress, and to I'estrain the tails of women, as we know 
from Robertson's Parliamentary Records. Dimbar drew his 
sharpest pen against the ladies' /ar^/tinjfai'ffis; and reproves with 
wittiest indignation — 

' Sic fowl taillis to sweep the calsay clene; 
The dust upskaillis mony a fillock.' 

Lyndesay seems to have had his eye on this sumptuary' satire 
of Uunbar, when he sat down to pen his ' Supplication against 
Syde Taillis.' Yet, did our poet express his contemption in vain. 
In his ' Monarchies' he again attacks female fashions; he arraig-ns 
the ladyis with a sort of profane mixture of seriousness and 
levity, at the judgment-seat of final rttribution: — 

' Ye wantoun ladyis, and bwgis wyvis, 
That now for sydest taillis stryvis : 
Flappaud the filth amang your feit, 

* Cauda — literally tuih; the tails of a gown. 


Raising the dust into the strcit ; 

Thiit (Uiy, for iJl your pomp and pryde, 

Your taillis sail nocht yoiu' hipi^es hyde.' 

' The Supplication against Syde Taillis' seems to have been written 
during the year 1538." 

ScHiR, thocht your grace lies put gret ordour, 

Baitli in the hielancl, and the bordour ;* 

Yit mak I supplicatioun, 

Till have sum reformatioun 

Of ane small fait, quhilk is nocht tressoun, 

Thocht it be contrarie to ressoun : 

Because the mater bene so vyle, 

It may nocht have ane ornate style : 

Quhairfor, I pray your excellence, 

To heir me with greit patience : 

Of stinkand weidis maculate,f 

Na man may make ane rois chaiplate.^ 

Soverane I mene of thir syde taillis, 

Quhilk throw the dust, and dubbis§ traillis. 

Three quarteris lang behynd thair heillis,|l 

* This reform took place in 1529. 

I Maculate ; stained, tainted. The English have the verb, to 
maculate, but not the adject, or subst. maculate. Shakespeare has 

" I will throw my glove to death himself, 
That there's no maculation in thy heart." 
t Rose chaplet. 
§ Mire, dirt. Dub ; a pool of water, says Kersay. 

II The tails trailed three-quarters of a yard behind their heels, 
against the good of the community. 


Express agane all common weillis. 

Thocht bischoppis, in thair pontificallis, 

Have men for to beir up thair taillis, 

For dignitie of thair office ; 

Richt so ane quene, or ane emprice ; 

Howbeit thay use sic gravitie, 

Conformand to thair majestic, 

Thocht thair robe royallis be upborne, 

I think it is ane verray scorne. 

That every lady of the land 

Suld have hir taill so syde trailland ;* 

Howbeit thay bene of hie estait, 

The quene,t thay suld nocht counterfait: 

Quhare ever thay go, it may be sene, 

How kirk, and calsay, thay soup clene,| 

The imagis into the kirk 

May think of thair syde taillis irk :§ 

For quhen the wedder bene maist fair, 

The dust fleis hiest in the air, 

And all thair facis dois begarie,|| 

Gif thay culd speik, tliay walde thame warie,! 

To se I think ane plesand sicht, 
Of Italic the ladyis bricht, 
In thair clething maist tryumphand, 

* Trailing so long behind them. 

t The queen must have been Mary of Guise, the consort of 
James V. 

f The kirk, and cause}', the sweep clean. 

§ Irk means pain, uneasiness: it is here inappropriately used 
for the rhyme. || Besmear. ^ Revile. 


Above all other Cbristin land : 

Yit, quhen thay travell throw the townis, 

Men seis thair feit beneth tluiir gownis, 

Four inche aboue thair proper heillis, 

Circular about, als round as quhcillis.* 

Quhare throw thare dois na poulder ryis, 

Thair fair quhyte lymmis to suppryis : 

Bot, I think maist abusioun, 

To se men of religioun, 

Gar beir thair taillis throw the streit, 

That folkisf may behald thair feit, 

I trow Sanct Bernai'd, nor Sanct Blais, 

Gart never man beir up thair clais,! 

Peter, nor Paule, nor Sanct Androw, 

Gart never beir up thair taillis, I trow : 

Bot, I lauch best to se ane nun. 

Gar beir hir taill aboue hir bun,§ 

For no thing ellis, as I suppois, 

Bot for to schaw lillie quhyte hois,|[ 

In all thair rewlis, thay will nocht find 

Quha suld beir up thair taillis behind : 

Bot I have maist into despyte, 

Pui-e claggokis^ cled in roploch quhyte,* 

* As round as wheels. 

■f Folkis; folk: Lyndsay gives plurals to colloctive nouns. 

t Clothes. 

§ Cause bear her tail .ibovo her bum: bun. for the rhyme. 

II Lilly-white hose. 

^ Draggle tails. * Cloth made of wool in its natural colour. 


Quhilk hes skant twa markis for thair feis,* 
Will have twa ellisf beneth thair kneis ; 
Kittock,! that clekkit was yestrene,§ 
The morne, will counterfait the quene : 
Ane mureland Meg,l| that milkis the yowis, 
Claggit with clay abone the howis,l[ 
In barn, nor byir, scho will nocht byde, 
Without hir kirtill taill be syde : 
In burrowis, wantoun burges wyvis, 
Quha may have sydest tailis stryvis,* 
Weill bordourit with velvoitf fyne, 
But following thame it is ane pyne : 
In somer quhen the streittis dryis, 
Thay rais the dust abuve the skyis, 
Nane may ga neir thame at their eis, 
Without thay cover mouth and neis,j: 
Frome the powder to keip thair ene, 
Consider gif thair cloiffis be clene. 
Betwixt thair cleving, and thair kneis, 

* Who have barely two marks for their yearly wages; 26s. 8d. 
Scots money, during the reign of James V, were equal to 8«. 8d. 
at present. — Rud. Introd. Dipl. Scotia. 

f Two ells ; i. e., two yards and two inches. 

J Kittock; a wench. With the hittock of the Scottish poetry, 
and the French catin, there seems to be a near connection. — 
Diet. Comitjue, in vo. § That was hatched last night. 

II A Moorland Meg; Peg, the familiar name of Margaret. 

^ Bedraggled above the houghs. 

* He again, in the fourth book of Monarchies, attacks the 
wanton burges' wives; for striving wlio may have sydest, or 
longest tails. f Velvet. X Nose. 


Quha micht behald thair sweitie thcis, 

Begairit* all with dirt and dust. 

That wer aneuch to stanche the lust 

Of any man, that saw thame naikit, 

I think sic giglottisj are hot glaikit:! 

Without profite to have sic pryde, 

Hailand thair claggit taillis so syde§: 

I wald thae borrowstounis barnis had breikkis,|| 

To kcip sic mist fra Malkinnis cheikkis : 

I dreid that Malkin die for drouth, 

Quhen sic dry dust blawis in hir mouth. 

I think maist pane after ane rane, 

To se thame tukit up agane ; 

Than, quhen thay step furth throw the streit, 

Thair faldingis flappis^ about thair feit, 

Thair laithlie lyning furthwart flypit,* 

Quhilk hes the muk, and midding, wypit.f 

Thay waist mair claith, within few yeiris, 

Nor wald cleith fyftie score of peiris :* 

Quhen Marioun from the midding gois, 

* Besmeared. 

t Giglet, and kittock, equally signify a romping wench : yUilet 
is often used by Shakespeare: — 

" Young Talliot was not born 

To be the pillage of a (/ijiht wenoh." 
% Foolish. § Dragging their clotted tails so long. 

II He wishes, that the towns-women had breeches, to prevent 
the effect of the dust. % Foldings flap. 

* Their loathsome lining outward turned, 
t Which has the dirt and diing-hill wiped. 

% This is the complaint of the parson in Chaucer. 


Frome hir morneturne,* scho strypis the nois, 
And all the day, quhare ever scho go, 
Sic liquour scho likkith up also : 
The turcumisf of hir taill, I trow, 
Mich be ane supper till ane sow. 
I ken ane man, quhilk swoir greit aithis, 
How he did lift ane kittokis claithis, 
And wald have done, I wat nocht quhat ; 
But sone remeid of lufe he gat, 
He thocht na scliame to mak it wittin,| 
How hir syde tayle was all beschitten, 
Of filth sic flewer straik till his hart, 
That he behovit for till depart ; 
Quod scho, gude schir, me think ye rew ; 
Quod he, your taill makis sic ane stew, 
That, be Sanct Bryde, I may nocht byde it,§ 
Ye war nocht wyse, that wald nocht hyde it. 
Of taillis I will no more indyte. 
For dreid sum duddroun|| me dispyte: 
Nochtwistanding, I will conclude, 
That of syde taillis can cum na gude, 
Syder nor may thair hanclethis hyde,^ 
The remanent proceidis of prydc, 
And pryde proceidis of tlie devill, 
Thus alway they proceid of evill. 
Ane uthcr fault, schir, may be sene, 

* Morn darg in Sibbald. | Collections, gathorinf^s. 

:|: Known. § I cannot abide it. || Slut. 

^ Ijonger than is required to hide their ancles. 


Thay hycle thaii* face all bot the ene, 
Quhen gentill men biddis tbame giule day, 
Without reverence thay slyde away, 
That none may knaw, I yow assure, 
Ane honest woman, be ane hure, 
Without thair naikit face I se, 
Thay get no mo gude dayis of me. 
Hail* ane Frence lady quhen ye pleis, 
Scho wil discover mouth, and neis ; 
An with ane humill countenance, 
With visage bair, mak reverence. 
Quhen our ladyis dois ryde in rane, 
Suld no man have thame at disdane, 
Thocht thay be coverit mouth and neis. 
In that case thay will nane displeis, 
Nor quhen thay go to quiet places, 
I thame excuse, to hyde thair faces, 
Quhen thay wald mak collatioun. 
With any lustie companyeoun, 
Thocht thay be hid than to the ene, 
Ye may considder quhat I mene ; 
Bot, in the kirk, j and market placis, 

* Hail; salute. 

t The sumptuary of James II ordains: — "That na woman 
cum to the kirk, nor mercat, with her face mussaled, that scho 
may nocht be kend, under the pane of escheit of the 
curchie." A muffler of the time of Heury VIII is 
here given, from the paintings of his French expedi- 
tions, formerly at Cowdray. They are noticed in 
The Cobkr's Prophesie, 1594, where the variable 


I think thay suld nocht hide thair facis : 

Without thair faltis be sone amendit, 

My flyting, schir, sail never be endit ; 

Bot wald your grace my counsall tak, 

Ane proclamatioun ye suld raak, 

Baith throw the land, and borrowstounis, 

To schaw thair face, and cut thair gounis, 

Nane suld fra that exemptit be, 

Except the quenis majeste, 

Because this mater is nocht fair, 

Of rethorik it maun be bair : 

Wemen will say, this is na bourdis,* 

To wryte sic vyle and filthie wordis ; 

Bot, wald thay clenge thair filthy taillis, 

Quhilk ovir the myris, and middingis taillis ; 

Than, suld my wryting clengit be. 

None other mendisf thay get of me ; 

The suithj suld nocht be haldin clos, 

Veritas non qiierit a/ngulos. 

I wait gude v/emen that bene wyse, 

This rurall ryme will nocht dispryse ;§ 

None will me blame, I yow assure. 

Except ane wanton glorious hure, 

nature of women's fashicns are ridiculed: — 

" Now is she harefacej to l)c seen, straipht on lier muffler goes ; 
Now is she liutft up to tlie croune, sti-aight muslcil to the nose." 

Such a muffler, it will be remembered, forms a very essential 

part of Falstaft's disguise as " the fat woman of Brentford." 

* Jests. -f Satisfaction. % The truth. 

§ Dispraise. 


Quhais flyting I feir nocht ane fle : 
Fair weill ! ye get na mair of me. 

Quod Lyndesay, in contempt of the syde taillis, 
That duddrounis, and duntibouris* throw the dubbis 



From Sloane MS. No. 189G; a collection of moral poems, and 
narrative ballads, " written by Robert Smith and others, sufferers 
in Queen Mary's days," mixed with some of later date.")" The 
following appears to be a production of the early part of Eliza- 
beth's reign. I believe it to be the very ballad alluded to by 
Ben Jonson, in his comedy of Bartholomew Fat/re (act ii, sc. 4); 
where Nightingale, the ballad-singer, rehearsing the titles of his 
wares, mentions three of these moralizations: — 

" A dozen of divine points, ami the (jodly yarters, 
The fairing qfgood coitncell, of an ell and three quarters." 

The fondness which the puritans ultimately imbibed for such 
far-fetched conceits may be illustrated from a passage of Jasper 
Mayne's play. The City Match, 1639, from which it appeal's they 

'* Sluts and harlots. 

t A poem written by the Earl of Essex, late deceased, 1;)7G, is 
among them. 


literally moralized dress, by working religious sentences upon it: 

" Nay, sir, she is a Puritan at her needle too : 
Slie works religious petticoats ; for flowers 
She'll make church histories: besides 
My smock-sleeves have such holy embroideries. 
And are so learned, that I fear in time 
All my appai-el will be quoted by 
Some pure insti'uctor. " 

Nor is this a solitary notice of the custom, for in Beaumont and 
Fletcher's Custom of the Country, Rutilio says of another c^on- 
tleman: — 

"Having a mistress, sure you should not be 
Without a neat historical shirt." 

As I on a new yeares day 

Did walcke amidst the streate, 
My restlesse eyes for you, my hart, 

Did seke a fayring mete. 
I sercht throughout the faire, 

But nothing coulde I fynde: 
No, no, of all ther was not one 

That would content my mynde. 
But all the boothes were filled 

With fancyes fond attyre, 
And trifling toyes were set to sale, 

For them that would recjuyre. 
Then to myselfe quoth I, 

AVhat meanes theise childish knacks ; 
Is all the faire for children made, 

Or fooles that babies lackes ? 
Are theise the goodly gifts, 

Tlie new yeare to bcginne ; 


Which friends present unto their friends, 

Their fayth and love to winne ? 
I se I came in vayne, 

My labour all is lost, 
I will depaite and kepe my purse, 

From making any cost. 
But se my happy chaunce, 

Whilest I did hast away : 
Dame Vertue doth display her booth, 

My hasty feete to stay. 
I joyfull of the sight. 

Did preace* unto the place, 
To se the trickef and trimmed tent. 

For suche a ladyes grace. 
And after I had viewed 

Eache thing within her seate, 
I found a knotte of peerlesse pointsij: 

Beset with posyes§ neate. 

* Press ; go hastily. t Neat, elegant. 

X Metal tags, at the end of ribbons, used for securing the dif- 
ferent parts of dress: "his points being loosened, down fell his 
hose." — Shakespere's Henry IV, part i, act ii, sc. 4. 

§ Short rhyming sentences, most usually inscribed on rings, 
but sometimes on brooches, and even on stirrups. In Wits 
Becreations, 1 640, are many of these couplets, such as : — 
" May God above 
Encrease our love." 
And similar innocent jingles. Cokes, in Ben Jonson's Bartho- 
lomew Fayre, speaking of the " delicate brooches for the bride- 
men," ho will prepare for his wedding, says: — '-'I'le ha' this 
poesie put to 'em: /or the best grace, meaning mistress Grace— my 
ivedding poesie!" 



Theise points in number twelve, 
Uid shew them selves to be : 

The sence wherof by poets skil, 
I will declai-e to the. 

1 . With meate before the set, 

Suffise but nature's scant ; 

2. Be sure thy tongue at table tyme, 

Noe sober talke doe want. 

3. Let word, let thought, and dede, 

In honest wise agree : 

4. And loke the pore in tyme of nede. 

Thy helping hand may see. 

5. When foes invade the realme, 

Then shew thy might and strength ; 

6. Tell truth in place wher thou dost corjie, 

For falshed failes at length ; 

7. Be fast and firme to freinde, 

As thou wouldest him to be : 

8. Be shamefast there wher shamfuU dedes, 

Be offred unto the. 

9. Weare not suche costly clothes, 

As are not for thy state : 

10. Heare cache man's cause as thoh he wer 

In wealth thine equall mate. 

11. In place thy nianers shewe. 

In right and comly wyse : 

12. From the let peace and quietnesse. 

And wars from others ryse. 
With theise twelve vertuous points, 
Se thou do tye thee round, 


And lyke and love this simple giAe, 

Till better may be found. 
Yet one point thou dost lacke, 

To tye thy hose before : 
Love me as I love the, and shall, 

From hence for evermore. 






From a collection of papers on various subjects originally be- 
longing to John Stow (Harleiau MS., No. 367). The fashion 
satirized was the extravagant one of stuffing the breeches with 
wool, tow, or hair, to make them of a most prepostei'ous size. 
In Harleian MS., No. 980, is the following: — "Memorandum, 
that over the seats in the parliament house there were certain 
holes, some two inches square, in the walls; in which were 
placed posts, to uphold a scaffold round about the house within, 

* The original word for the modern breeches, which being 
originalh' in one piece to the ancle, became separated in the six- 
teenth century: the upper part being termed hose; the lower, or 
leg covering — nether stock, or stocking; and what we should 
now term breeches and stockings, being called the " upper stock 
and neathcr," as in Thjnne's Dtlutc between Pride and Lowliness; 
and "to stock the hose," was sinijily to affix the lower part, oi- 
stockings, to the breeches above. 

G 2 



for them to sit upon who used the '^caring of great breeches, 
stuffed with hair like wool-sacks; which fashion being left the 
eighth year of Elizabeth, the scaffolds were taken down, and, 
never since put up." Bulwer, in his Arfificiall Changeling, 1653 
gives the accompanying representa- 
tion of them; saying: — "At the time 
when the fashion came up of wearing 
trunk hose, some young men used so 
to stufte them with rags, and other 
like things, that you might find some 
that used such inventions to extend 
them in compasse, with as great 
eagcrnesse as the women did take 
to weare great and stately verdin- 
gales, for this was the same affectation, being a kind of verdin- 
gale breeches." He then goes on to tell of a gallant, in mIiosc 
immense hose a small hole was torn by a nail of the chair he sat 
upon, so that, as he turned and bowed to pay his court to the 
ladies, the bran poured forth as from a mill; and of a thief who 
carried off an immense quantity of linen, and other things, con- 
cealed in the same spacious receptacle. Wright, in his Passions 
of the Minde, 1601, says: — "they are almost capable of holding a 
bushel of wheate; and if they be of sack clolh they would serve 
to carr}' mawlt to the mill." They were sometimes wrought 
with needlework, or overlaid with lace, until they became very 
expensive, and justify the remark of Harrison, in his Description 
of Britain :—" we, men, doe seeinc to bestowe most cost upon 
our a 's, and much more than upon all the rest of our bodies." 

Who so d(jtli longe and lyst to here 

What newes I bringe to towne 
Shall under Stan de that as of late 
1 walked up and doune, 


Alone my self to recreate, 

JMy stutlye cast asyde, 
I hardc a voj^ce which me aniased, 

A suddaynelye I spyed 
A silly wretche in poore araye, 

And bai'e for to behoulde ; 
"Who cryed, alas! now dye I shall, 

For hunger and for coulde ; 
Because noe meate nor clothe I have, 

My neade for to sustayne ; 
But woo worthe them that art the cause 

Of this my pytius payne. 
For proude and paynted parragones 

And monstrus breched beares, 
This realme almost hath cleane distroyed. 

Which I reporte with teares. 
The greater sorte doth so delyte 

To paynte there bodyes gaye, 
With howses fayre, and curyus chere, 

That eateth all awaye. 
Of chymneyes choise, noe smoke therein, 

There howses fare and w-ide ; 
Noe menne, noe meate, noe place at all, 

For poore men to abyde. 
The meaner sorte as servinge men. 

And those that lyves by arte. 
Do still consume there wealth with pryde. 

The pore can have noe parte. 
And chefely those of cache degree 

Who moustruse hose delyghte. 


As mounsters fell have clone to vs 

Most grevus huvte and spyte ; 
For they doc not so grevus wronge 

In wastinge those alone, 
Althoughe thearein they fare exceade 

Seinge the poore have none. 
As now of late in lesser thinges. 

To furnyshe forthe theare pryde ; 
Withwoole, with flaxe, with hare also, 

To make thear bryches wyde. 
What hurte and damage doth ensew 

And fall upon the poore. 
For want of well and flax of late 

Which mounstrus hose devore, 
I will not speake, for that I think 

Eache man doth knowe the same. 
And cheafely thouse that till the growend, 

The husband menne by name. 
But heare* hath so possessed of late 

The bryche of every knave, 
That nout one beast nor horse can tell 

Whiche waye his tale is savfe. 
For now in cuntrey rownde aboute, 

Noe geldinge, horse, nor mare, 
Nor other beast of any pryse, 

Put forthe all nyght wee dare. 
Nothinge so fearde we are of thcves, 

Whiche ofte are layde in jayles, 

* Hair. 


As now we are of mycliinge knaves,* 

That cut of horses tayles. 
This niarchandies is growen so great, 

And doth require suche speade, 
That ropers all and hearre makers,f 

And others shall have neade. 
Who use with heare to make suche thinges 

As wee see commonlye ; 
The husbanraen, and other cake, 

Are wont to occupye, 
For all the heare of killnes decayd 

Cannot be well repared, 
Ffor from twoo pence, to twelfe a pouiidc, 

The pryce of heare is rased ; 
So that the foresayd ropers all, 

And heare makers eaclie one, 
And niault makers, may well geve up 

There occupacion. 
Wheareas before one tyme of yeare 

Ffor suche necessyte, 
The husbanmen weare wont to cutt 

Theare horses maynes onlye, 
But now noe maync, nor tayle of beaste. 

Can longe time here abyde, 
Therefore great neade wee have in time 

Some healpe for to provide. 

* Sly, skulking thieves. " How like a micher he staiides, as 
though he had trcwanted from honesty." — Lilly's Mother Bombie, 
1594. Falstaft" asks: "Shall the blessed son of htaven prove a 
micher, and eat blackberries?" — Henry IV, part i, act ii, sc. 4. 

t Ilair-makers. 


And that with speade, to take awaye 

Great bryches, as the cause 
Of all this hurte : or ealse to make 

Some sharpe and houlsome lawes 
To remydye theise earksome illes, 

Eare that the tyme be past ; 
Or elsse our horse and mayres shal be 

All taylesse at the last. 
0, that the selye beasts coulde speake, 

As' Izop made them all ; 
Then, doute I not, they wolde complayne, 

And still for justice call. 
Ffor now the horse hath noe defence 

Agaynst the furyus flye, 
Who doth assault the sely beast 

Wheare ever he doth lye ; 
And also in the winter time, 

The horse sustaynes moche liarme, 
His jorney done, his tayle untyed, 

Was wonte to keape him war me, 
Besydes theise thinges which him conserves 

His master hath a payne, 
Ffor when the horse defaced is 

Abated is the gayne. 
Ffor that a horse both bryght of blee,* 

And furnished a ryght, 
His tayle cut off, a curtail is, 

And for a jade is dight. 

* Good-lookiiif!;; tlu." plirnsc, '•' that bird so brij^ht of blco," is 
oflcii npjilicd to the hei'oiuc of medieval romances. 


So that the losse is very great, 

Sustayned many vvayes ; 
As well of" horse as other beast, 

In theise our dulfuU dayes. 
As wee of layte have often seene, 

And perfyte proufe have hadd ; 
Ffor when a drover came this way, 

His harte was made full sadd, 
To see his beastes whiche over nyght, 

He leafte in perfyte state, 
And in the morninge to see them cutt 

And shoi'ne in ruthfull rate ; 
So that when as he mayde his counte 

Of his harde gotten gayne, 
Noe lesse then losse of twentye poundes 

Hereby he did sustayne. 
Alasse ! good man, his happe was hardde. 

Thus comynge out of Wayles, 
Wheare he had hasarded his beaffes. 

And here to lose theare tayles ! 
And all to stuffe and furnyshe forthe 

Our foule disgeysed hose. 
Which never ganed any manne, 

But niakethe nianye lose ; 
Vnlcsse that Tyburne have the gayne, 

Wheare on dooe many ryde, 
Ffor stcalynge to mayntayne theare hose. 

As tyme full well hath tryde. 
Which facion fyrst the devill deviaud 

As many doe suppose, 


For that so fowle enormytes 

Onely by them arose. 
Fur fyrst the spoyle of clothe they make, 

Wliich pynche and powie the poore, 
And then the lylchinge of the heare 

Doth vexe them more and more. 
So that in tyme the charytie 

Whiche chrysten men shoulde have, 
By dyvers wayes is blemyshed 

To boulster breaches brave. 
But now^ for that noe remydye 

As yet cann wel be fouude, 
I wolde that suche as weare this heare, 

Weare well and trewly bounde 
With every heare a louse to have, 

To stuflfe theare breyches oute ; 
And then I trust they wolde not weare 

Nov beare suche baggs aboute. 


SATiiU': ON Tin-: toun i.adyes. 

Sir Richard Maitlaml of Lethiiigton, the autlior of the ensuing 
satire, was born in 1496, and died in 158G, at the age of ninety. 
I'inkerton, who has printed the cnsninj^ poem in his Ancient 
Scottish Poems, vol. ii, p. 326, says: "he does not seem to have 


vritten a line of poetry till he had reached his sixtieth year." 
To him we are indebted for the largest and most curious col- 
lection of ancient Scottish poems in existence, known as the 
Maitland MSS. ; from these Pinkerton compiled the two volumes 
above-named, and says of them: — "The prodigious influ- 
ence, and great and universal ac({uaiutance of Sir Richard 
Maitland, joined to his being a tolerable poet, and a man of 
curiosity and taste iiimself, affoided his collection every possible 
advantage," This collection passed from Maitlard's family into 
that of Pepys, whose diary has made him immortal; and from 
him to the Pepysian Library at Cambridge. 

Sum wyfis of the burroustoun* 
Sa wondir vane ar, and wantoun, 
In uurld tliay wait not qiiliat to weir ; 
On claythis thaj wair nionye a crouii ; 
And all for nevvfangilnes of geir. 

Thair bodyes bravelie thay attyir, 
Of carnal lust to eik the fyir, 
I fairliet quhy thai have no feir 
To gar men deime quhat thay desyre ; 
And all for newfangilnes of geir. 

Thair gouns [fou] coistlie trimlie traillis ; 
Barrit with velvous,f sleif, nek, taillis. 
And thair foirskirt of silkis seir : 
Of fynest caniroche§ thair fuk saillis ; 
And all for nevvfangilnes of geir. 

* The borougli town. t Wondir. J Velvet. 

§ Cambric. 


And of fyne silk thair furrit cloikis, 
With liingeand slevis, lyk geill poikis,* 
Na preiching will gar tliame foirbeir 
To weir all thing that sinne provoikis ; 
And all for newfangilnes of geir. 

Thair wylie coitsf man weill be hewit,i 
Broudrit riclit braid, with pasments§ sewit. 
I troWj quha wald the matter speir, 
That thair gudmen had cans to rew it, 
That evir thair wyfes wair sic geir. 

Thair wovin hois of silk ar schawin, 
Burrit abone with tasteis drawin :|| 
With gartens^ of ane new maneir ; 
To gar thair courtlines be knawin ; 
And all for newfangilnes of geir. 

Sumtyme thay will beir up thair gown, 
To schaw thair wylecot hingeand down ; 
And suratyme bayth thay will upbeir, 
To scaw thair hois* of blak or broun ; 
And all for newfangilnes of geir. 

Thair collars, carcats,t and hals beidis| ! — 
AV'ith velvet hats heielit§ on thair heidis, 

* Jolly bags. t Under-potticoats. % Cut. 

§ A kind of lace. || GatluTtd in biinclies, with tassols. 

^ GartiTs. ♦ lloso. f Careanets; necklaces. 
X Tiiroat-bcads. § liaised. 


Coii'dit* with gold lyik ane younkicr, 
Brouditf about with goldin threidis ;| 
And all for newfarigilnes of geir. 

Thair schone of velvot, and thair muilli£§ ! — 
In kirk thai ar not content of stuillis, 
The sermon quhen thay sit to heir ; 
Bot caryis cuschings|| lyik vaine fuillis ; 
And all for newfangilnes of geir. 

I raein of nane thair honour dreidis. — 
Quhy sould thay not have honest weidis, 
To thair estait doand effeir ?^ 
I mein of thame thair stait exceidis ; 
And all for newfangilnes of geir. 

For sumtynie wyfes sa grave lies bein, 
Lyik giglets* cled wald not be sein. — 
Of burges' wyves thoch I speik heir, 
Think weil of all wemen I mein 
Of vaneties that waistis geir. 

1'hay say wyfes ar so delicat 
In feiding, feisting, and bankat, 
Sum not content ar with sic choir 
As Weill may suifice thair estait, 
For newfangilnes of cheir, and ereir. 

♦ Corded. f Embroidered. -^ { Threads. 

§ Embroidered slippers; mules, Fi: || Cushions. 

^ Appearauce. * Giddy, worthless women. 


And sum will spend mair, I heir say, 
In spyice and droggis, on ane day, 
Nor wald thair mothers in ane yeir. 
Quhilk will gar monye pak decay, 
Quhen tliay sa vainlie waist thair geir. 

Thairfoir, young wyfis speciallie, 
Of all sic faultis hald yow frie : 
And moderatly to leif now leir 
In meit, and clayth accordinglie ; 
And not sa vainlie waist your geir. 

Use not to skift athort the gait ; 
Nor na mum chairtis, air nor lait. 
Be na dainser,* for this daingeir 
Of Yow be tane an ill con fait 
That ye ar habill to waist geir. 

Hant ayt in honest cumpanie ; 
And all suspicious places flie. 
Lat never harlot cum yow neir ; 
That wald yow leid to leicherie, 
In houp to get thairfoir sum geir. 

My counsell I geve gcnerallie 
To all wemen, quliat ever thay be ; 
This lessoun for to quin per queir ;| 
Syne keip it wcill continuallie, 
Tietter nor onye warldlie geir. 

* Dancer. f J''^'^''' '>'^'- t I'' i>'''> *" »'"• 


Leif, burges men, or all be loist, 
On your wyfis to mak sic cost, 
Quhilk may gar all your bairnis bleir. — 
Scho that may not want wyne and roist. 
Is abill for to waist sum geir. 

Betwene tharae, and nobils of blude, 
Na difference, bot ane velvous hiiid !* 
Tbair camroche curclieisf ar als deir ; 
Tair uther claythis ar als guid ; 
And thai als coistlie in uther geir. 

Bot, wald grit ladyis tak gud held 
To thair honour, and find remeid ;| 
Thai suld thole na§ sic wyfes to weir, 
Lyk lordis wyfis, lady's weid. 
As dames of honour in ther geir. 

I speik for na despyt trewlie, 
(Myself am not of faultis frie,) 
Bot that ye sould not perseveir 
Into sic folische vanitie, 
For na newfangilnes of geir. 

Of burges wyfes thoch I speik plaine, 
Sum landvvart|| ladyis ar als vain, 
As be tliair clething may appeir ; 
Werand gayer, nor thanie may gain ; 
On ouir vaine claythis waistand geir. 

* Velvet liood. I Cambric licrcliiifs. 

X Remody. § SiiiVer not. || Country. 



From " a Handfull of Pleasant Delites, containing sundrie new 
Sonets, and delectable histories, in divers kinds of meeter; by 
Clement Robinson, and divers others." London: printed by 
Richard Jhones, etc., 1584. It embraces a capital description of 
the wardrobe of a lady in the time of Elizabeth; and is directed 
"to be sung to the new tune of greensleves;" a tune which 
acquired an extraordinary de2,ree of popularity, and which is 
alluded to by Shakespeare in his Merry Wives of Windsor, act v, 
sc. 5. The music is given in Chappell's Old Ejiglish Melodies. 

Greensleevks was all my joj^, 
Greensleeves was my delight : 

Greenslecves was iny hart of gold, 
And who but Lady Greensleeves. 

Alas, my love, ye do me wrong. 

To cast me off discoui-teously : 
And I have loved you so long, 

Delighting in your company ! 
Greensleeves, &c. 

I have been ready at your hand, 

To grant whatever you would crave ; 

I have both waged life and lan<l. 

Your love and good-will for to have. 

Greensleeves, &c. 


I bought three kerchers to thy head, 
That were wrought fine and gaUaiitly : 

I kept them, both at board and bed, 
Which cost my purse well-favour'dly. 

Greensleeves, &c. 

I bought thee petticoats of the best. 
The cloth so fine as fine might be : 

I gave thee jewels for thy chest ; 
And all this cost I spent on thee. 

Greensleeves, &c. 

Thy smock of silk both fair and white, 
With gold embroider'd gorgeously : 

Thy petticoat of sendall* right ; 
And this I bought thee gladly. 

Greensleeves, &c. 

Thy girdle of gold so red, 

With pearls bedecked sumptuously. 

The like no other lasses had : 

And yet thou wouldest not love me ! 

Greensleeves, &c. 

Thy purse, and eke thy gay gilt knives,! 
Thy pin-case, gallant to the eye : 

* A thin silk. See Du Cange, voce cendalum. 

t Purses have been worn, by ladies, at the girdle from the 
earliest times; knives were added in the sixteenth century, and 
were contained in chased and jewelled cases of much value. 
Dr. Dibdia has engraved the very beautiful knife and case of 



No better wore the burgess' wives : 

And yet thou wouldest not love me ! 
Greensleeves, &c. 

Thy crimson stockings, all of silk, 

With gold all wrought above the knee ; 

Thy pumps, as white as was the milk : 
And yet thou wouldest not love me ! 

Greensleeves, &c. 

Thy gown was of the grassy green, 
Thy sleeves of satin hanging by ;* 

Which made thee be our harvest queen : 
And yet thou wouldest not love me ! 

Greensleeves, &c. 

Diana of Poitiers; andDoucecontributedap:ipertothe^rc7i(co/o,9/o, 
vol. xii, noticing the custom of presenting brides with thena, as 
illustrative of Juliet's threat, to use her's should the poison fail. 
" Sec, at my girdle hang my wedding knives," 
cx(;lainis the hul}' in Dekker's play of Match 
me in Lovdon, 1599; and Bellafront, in the 
Honest Whore, threatens to stab her servant 
with one she wears. In Ross Church, Here- 
fordshire, is a monument of a lady of the Ruddle 
family, temp. Henry VIII, and she wears the 
purse and knives, here engraved from a sketch 
I recently made there. 
* Sleeves were anciently a separate article of dress, of another 
colour and quality, frequently, than the garment to which they 
were attached. " A paire of trunckc sleeves of redde clolh of 
gold," arc mentioned in an inventory of Henry Vlirs wardrobe, 
as well as many other " pairs of sleeves." They were affixed by 
points, or laces, with aiguillettes. 


Thy garters fringed with the gold, 

And silver aglets* hanging by ; 
Which made thee blithe for to behold : 

And yet thou wouldest not love me ! 
Greensleeves, &c. 

My gayest gelding I thee gave, 

To ride wherever liked thee ; 
No lady ever was so brave : 

And yet thou wouldest not love me ! 
Greensleeves, &c. 

My men were clothed all in green, 

And they did ever wait on thee ; 
All this was gallant to be seen : 

And yet thou wouldest not love me ! 
Greensleeves, &c. 

They set thee up, they took thee down, 

They serv'd thee with humility ; 
Thy foot might not once touch the ground : 

And yet thou wouldest not love me ! 
Greensleeves, &c. 

For every morning, when thou rose, 

I sent thee dainties, orderly ; 
To cheer thy stomach from all woes : 

And yet thou wouldest not love me ! 
Greensleeves, &o. 

* Aiglets (aiguilktte), a lace with tags. 

H 2 


Thou couldst desire no earthly thing, 
But still thou hadst it readily. 

Thy music, still to play and sing : 
And yet thou wouldest not love me ! 

Greensleeves, &c. 

And who did pay for all this gear. 

That thou didst spend when pleased thee ? 

Even I that am rejected here, 
And thou disdainest to love me ! 

Greensleeves, &c. 

Well ! I will pray to God on high, 
That thou my constancy mayst see. 

And that, yet once before I die, 
Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me ! 

Greensleeves, &c. 

Greensleeves, now farewel ! adieu ! 

God I pray to j^rosper thee ! 
For I am still thy lover true : 

Come once again and love me ! 
Greensleeves, &c. 



From John Dowland's Second Booke of So7igs or Ayres, 1600. 
The resemblance Autolycus's song in the Winter s Tale (acted, 
Mr. Collier believes, in the summer of IGll), bears to it, will 
interest the reader; this, of a more philosophic kind, was probably 
sung in a court-mask. Dowland was celebrated for his skill 
by Fuller, who calls him " the rai'est musician that his age did 
behold": but it is to Shakespeare's notice that he owes his chief 
immortality, who thus mentions him in his Passionate Pilgrim, 

" Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 
Upon the lute, doth ravish human sense. * 

In his Second Book of Songs, 1600, he styles himself " Lutenist 
to the King of Denmark" (Christian IV); who had taken a 
liking to him, when visiting James I in England, and at whose 
request the English monarch most unwillingly parted with 
Dowland, who is supposed to have died at Copenhagen, in 1615. 

Fine knacks for ladies, cheape, clioise, brave, and new, 
Good pennivvorths, but mony cannot move ; 

I keepe a faier, but for the faier to view, 
A beggar may bee liberall of love, 

Though all my wares be trash the hart is true. 

* Mr. Collier, however, conceives it "more than likely that 
the sonnet in which this passage is found was by Barnfield, and 
not by Shakespeare." 


Great gifts are guiles, and looks for gifts againe ; 

My trifles come, as treasures from my minde ; 
It is a precious jewell to bee plaine ; 

Sometimes in shell the orienst pearles we finde, 
Of others take a sheafe, of mee a graine. 

Within this packe, pinnes, points, laces, and gloves, 
And divers toies, fitting a country faier ; 

But my hart, where duety serves and loves, 

Turtels and twins, courts brood, a heavenly paier, 

Happy the hart that thincks of no removes.* 



From Ayeres, or Phantastlque SpirHes,for three voices, made, and 
newly puLUshed by, Thomas Weelhes, 1G08. The affectation of 
wearing ladies favors, alluded to in the ensuing song, is fre- 
quently noticed by other authors and satirists of the Elizabethan 

* Pedlars' songs were very popular: here is one from "Catch 
that catch can, or a choice collection of catches, rounds, and 
cannons, for three or four voyces," 1652, which more closely 
resembles that of Autolycus. 

" Come, pretty maytlens, what is't you buy? 
See, what is t you lack? 
If you can find a toy to your mind. 

Be so kind view the pedlar's pack: 
Here be laces, and masks for youi- faces ; 

Cornll,.jet, and amber. 
Gloves made of thread, and toyes for your head, 

And ridi i)erfumes for a ladies chamber. 
Come and buy, come buy for your lovinj,' bony. 
Some pretty toy 
To please the boy, 
I'll sell you worth your money." 


era. During the middle ages thoy were frequently attached to 
the knightly helmet iu the tournament; a custom alluded to by 
Marlow, in his Edward II, 1599: — 

" Nodding and shaking of tby spangled crest, 
■RTiere women's favors hung like labels down." 

Shakespeare's Prince Henry boasts that he will " pluck a glove 
from the commonest creature, and fix it in his helmet"; and 
Drayton, in his Battle ofAgincourt, describes: — 

" The noble youth, the common rank above. 
On their coiu-vettiug coiusers mounted fail-; 

One wore his misti-ess garter, one her glove. 
And he a lock of his deii" ladys hair; 

And he her coloui-s whom he most did love — 
There was not one but did some favor weai\" 

Lord, when I thinke, what a pahry thing 

Is a glove, or a ring, 
Or a top of a fan, to brag of; 

And how much a noddy 

Will triumph in a buske point,* 
Snatch'd with the tagge of; 

Then I say, 

Well fai'e him, 
That hath ever used close play. 

And when I see what a pittifuU grace 
Hath a frowne in the face, 

* Lace-tags, securing the end of the busk, or principal support 
of the stays in front. 


Oi" a no in the lips of a lady, 

And when I had wist, 

Shee would be kist, 
"When she away did go. 

With hey hoe, 

I end so, 
Never trust any woman more then you know. 


From "The third and fourth booke of Ayres: composed by 
Thomas Campian," London (1612). The word composed does 
not in this instance relate only to the music; as Campian, in his 
" address to the reader," saj^s, the words are all " mine own." — 
See Kimbault's Billiotheca Madrigaliana, 1847, p. 36. 

Kv'ry dame affects good fame, 

What ere her doings be ; 
But true prayse is A^'ertues bayes. 

Which none may weare but she. 
Borrow'd guise fits not the wise, 

A simple look is best : 
Native grace becomes a face. 

Though ne'er so rudely drest. 
Now such new-found toyes are sold 

These women to disguise. 
That before the yeare growes old 

The newest fashion dyes. 


Dames of yore, contended more 

In goodnesse to exceede, 
Then in pride to be envi'd 

For that which least they neede : 
Little lavvne then serv'd the pawne,* 

If pawne at all there were ; 
Home-spun thread and household bread 

Then held out all the yeare : 
But th' attyres of women now 

Weare out both house and land, 
That the wyves in silkes may flow. 

At ebbe the good-men stand. 

Once agen, Astrasa, then, 

From heav'n to earth descend, 
And vouchsafe, in their behalfe, 

These errours to amend : 
Aid from heav'n must make all eev'n, 

Things are so out of frame ; 

* Nares, in his Glossary, does not notice the signification of 
the word pawn. But he quotes a curious poetical dialogue, 'Tis 
merry when gossips meet, 1 609 ; in which the wife says : — 
" In troth (kind cousse) my eomming's from ihe pawne, 
But I protest I lost my labour there : 
A gentleman promist to give me lawne, 

And did uot meet me, which he well shall heare." 

The Rev, A. Dyce, in his edition of Webster's Works (vol. iii, 
p. 35), appends this stanza, in a note, to the phrase, " you must 
go to the pawn, to buy lawn"; adding, "I believe it is not known 
what, or where, the pawn was." It was, probabh', a place where 
articles of apparel were sold, similar to those for the disposal of 
the " unredeemed pledges" of our own day. 



For let man strive all he can, 
He needes must please his dame. 

Happy man, content that gives. 
And what he gives enjoy es ; 

Hajjpy dame, content that lives, 
And breakes no sleepe for toyes. 




merchant's proud wife, at GENEVA. 

Tune of — " All you that love good fellows ." 

Autolycus's celebrated admouitory ballad, " to a very doleful 
tune, how a usurer's wife was 
brought to bed of twenty money- 
bags at a burden; and how she 
longed to eat adders heads, and 
toads carbonadoed"; is not more 
absurd than the ensuing one, which 
was compiled, in all seriousness, to 
warn the proud against excess in 
apparel. In order to give the 
narrative greater reality the ac- 
companying picture of the monster 
was cut on wood, and headed the 
ballad ; of which there are three 
cojiies in the British Museum. It 
is in black-letter, and is "printed 
l)y and lor W. O. (William Onley), 


and sold by J. Blare, at the Looking-glass, on London Bridge." 
Blare was living there in 1688; but this ballad (with its cut) is evi- 
dently a production of the time of James I, and the copies 
alluded to, but reprints of what appears to have been a very 
popular " warning-piece." 

England's fair dainty daraes, 

See here the fall of pride, 
Wantounness leave in time, 

That God may be your guide : 
I was a Dutch-land frow, 

Shining in beauty bright ; 
And a brave merchants wife 

In whom he took delight. 

All things I had at will, 

]My heart could wish or crave ; 
My diet, dainty fare. 

My garments, rich and brave ; 
No wife in Germany, 

Where I in pleasure dwell'd, 
For golden bravery 

My person so excell'd. 

My coaches richly wrought, 

And deckt with pearl and gold, 

Carried me up and down, 
Whereas my pleasure would: 


The earth I deem'd too base 

My feet to tread upon ;* 
My blooming crimson cheeks 

Felt neither wind nor sun. 

My beauty made me think 

Myself an angel bright, 
Framed of heavenly mould, 

And not an earthly wight. 
For my soule's happiness 

God's holy Bible book, 
I had my looking-glass, 

"Wherein I pleasure took. 

There was no fashion found. 

That might advance my pride. 
But in my looking-glass 

My fancy soon espy'd : 
Every vain foolish toy 

Changeth my wanton mind ; 
And they best pleased me 

That could new fashions find. 

* The use of coaches, in the early part of the seventeenth 
centurj', met with so much reprobation that they were popularly 
termed " hell carts," and were most violently hated b}' the populace ; 
they were declared to obstruct the streets of London, hinder busi- 
ness, and endanger tlie lives and limbs of passengers; and in 1631 
the inhabitants of Blackfriars petitioned the Privy Council against 
the number resorting to the theatre there. To understand the 
virulence of the feeling excited against them we must refer to 
John Taylor's " World runnes on Wheeles," or to the ballad, 
called "The Coaches overthrow," in Collier's noxburf/hc Ballads. 


Yet all these earthly joys 

Yielded me small content, 
In that dame Nature had 

Ne'er a child to me sent ; 
That makes my heart to bleed, 

For which offence to God, 
He hath most greviously 

Scourged me with His rod. 

And in my tender womb, 

Of so pure flesh and blood, 
Created He, strange to see, 

A most deformed brood ; 
That women of wanton pride 

May take example by, 
How they in fashion fond 

Offend the Lord on high. 

When the babe came to light, 

And I brought to my bed, 
No cost was spared that night. 

To stand me in my stead ; 
My nurses, young and fair. 

Fit for a royal queen. 
Gave all attendance there, 

As it was daily seen. 

Never had merchant's wife 
Of ladies such a train 

That came in gentle sort, 
At the hour of my pain : 



But when my swelling womb 
Yielded up nature's due, 

Such a strange monster then, 
Surely man never knew. 

For it affrighted so 

All the whole company, 
That ev'ry one said in heart, 

Vengeance now draweth nigh. 
It had two faces strange, 

And two heads painted fair, 
On the brows, curled locks. 

Such as our wantons wear. 

One hand held right the shape 

Of a fair looking-glass, 
In which I took delight. 

How my vain beauty was : 
Right the shape of a rod. 

Scourging me for my sin. 
The other seem'd to have 

Perfectly seen therein. 

These womcns wantonness, 

And their vain foolish minds, 
Never contented are 

With that thing God assigns : 
Look to it, London dames, 

God keepeth plagues in store ; 
And now the second part 

Of fhis soncr sheweth more. 



Grief and care kills my heart, 

Where God offended is, 
As the poor merchant's wife 

Did worldly comforts miss : 
Strange were the miseries 

That she so long endur'd, 
No ease by womens help 

Could be as then procur'd. 

Hereupon speaks the child, 

With a voice fearfully, 
" Mother, your wanton pride 

Brings this your misery ; 
Let your life soon amend, 

Or else the mighty God 
Will scourge your wantonness, 

With a more sharper rod." 

About his neck a flaunting ruff. 
It now had gallantly, 

Starched with white and blew,* 
Seemly unto the eye : 

* Yellow starch was that most used in England; and it greatly 
excited the wrath of the satirists. Philip Stubbes, in his Anatomy 
of Abuses, 1588, is particularly indignant at " the liquor which 
they call starch, wherin the devil hath willed them to dye theix* 
ruftes ; and this starch they make of divers colours and hues ; 
white, red, blue, purple, and the like." 


With laces long and broad, 

As now are womens bands,* 
Thus heavy, wanton pi'ide 

First in God's anger stands. 

The breast was plated ore, 

As still the merchants be, 
Now as lewd women wear, 

To hide adultery : 
Every part, every limb, 

Had not true nature's frame, 
But to shew to the world, 

This, my great sin and shame. 

From the head to the foot, 

Monster-like was it born, 
Every part had the shape 

Of fashions daily worn : 
On the feet pinkedf shooes. 

Insteps had roses red, J 
Which in silk now is us'd. 

So vainely are we led. 

* The band is the broad, flat collar of linen, or cambric, edged 
with lace, and worn by the monster at the head of this ballad, 
on the right side of its neck; the pleated riiif, on the left side, 
will sufficiently mark its distinctive appearance. 

t The edges of the upper leather cut into ornamental forms. 

J The ties of the shoes, which were of silk, edged with rich 
lace, were spread out lilte a rose, until they nearlj-^ covered the 
foot. This expensive fasliion is alluded to by Taylor, the Water 
Poet, when speaking of those who 

"Wear n rurm in sliiu-slviiiRs edgi d with golil." 


Thus hath my flesh aud blood 

Nourisht now near my heart, 
Put me in mind of sin, 

And bid me now convert: 
let all women then, 

Take heed of wanton pride. 
Angels have fallen from heaven. 

And for that sin have dy'd. 

No sooner brought to light 

Was this fruit of my youth. 
But to the counsel-house 

It was brought for a truth : 
When to the magistrates. 

In a most fearful sort. 
It began aloud to speak, 

And these wordes did report : 

" I am a messenger 

Now sent from God on high, 
To bid you all repent, 

Christ's coming draweth nigh ; 
Repent you all with speed. 

This is a message sure. 
The world seems at an end, 

And cannot long endure. 

Pride is the prince of sin. 
Which is our chief delight, 

Mankind repent with speed. 
Before the Lord doth smite : 


This is my last adieu, 

Repentance soon provide." 

Tliese were his latest words, 
And so the monster dy'd. 

Great was the fear of those 

That these same speeches heard, 
God grant all christians may 

Have their minds well prepar'd, 
With a true repentance 

God's mercy to implore, 
That never womankind 

May bring such fruit forth more. 

And you, fair English dames. 

That in pride do excel, 
This woful misery. 

In your hearts print full well . 
Let not pride be your guide, 

For pride will have a fall ; 
Maid and wife, let my life 

Be a warning to you all. 




IIeprinted from Collier's Book of Roxburghe Ballads, 1847 ; 
who says of it: — "This spirited and humorous song seems to 
have been founded, in some of its points, upon the 'Pleasant 
Dialogue, or Disputation, betweene the Cap and the Head,' 
which prose satire went through two editions, in 1564 and 1565 
(see the Bridgwatei- Catalogue, p. 46). It is, however, more 
modern, and certainly cannot be placed earlier than the end of 
the i-eign of Elizabeth. It may be suspected, that it underwent 
some changes, to adapt it to the times when it was afterwards 
reprinted; and we finally meet with it, but in a rather corrupted 
state, in a worlc, published in 1656, called Sportive Wit: the 
ITtises Merriment, a new Spring of lusty Drollery, etc' The 
broadside we have used was one of the many 'printed for John 
Trundle,' but it has no date." It is also printed in D'Urfey's 
collection, entitled " Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melan- 
choly;" the variations in them being printed as foot-notes, in 
italics, some of them being improvements. Our cut exhibits the 
principal caps alluded to in the ballad. No. 1 is the Monmouth- 
cap, as worn by the 
celebrated soldier, Sir 
William Stanley,temp. 
Henry VIII. No. 2, 
the physick-cap, from 
a cut of a physician 
154L No. 3 is the 
lawyer's-cap, from the 
effigy of Richard 
Harper, one of the 
Justices of Common- 
Pleas, temp. Ed w. VI, 


in Swarkestone Church, Derbyshire. No. 4 is " the cap divine," 
from a portrait of Cranmer. The jester's-cap may be seen in 
Deuce's, or any illustrated Shakespeare; the London "cap of 
maintenance" is equally familiar. No. 5, "the sickly-cap," is 
copied from a cut dated 1641 ; and a rude representation of the 
devil, " fallen sick, by reason of this present parliament," pub- 
lished at the same time, exhibits his Satanic majesty in the same 
head-dress. No. 6, "the furred and quilted cap of age," is 
worn by a figure, emblematic of old age, in an engraving after 

The wit hath long beholding been 
Unto the cap to keep it in, 
But now the wits file out amaine, 
With praise to quit the cap againe : 
The cap, that owns the highest part, 
Obtain'd that place by due desert : 
For any cap, whate're it be, 
Is still the signe of some degree. 

The cap doth stand, each man can show, 

Above a crown, but kings below : 

The cap is neerer heaven than we, 

A greater sign of majestic. 

When off the cap we chance to take 

Both head and feet obcysancc make ; 
For any cap, whate're it bee, 
Is still the signe of some degree. 

The Monmouth-cap, the saylors thrum, 
And that wherein the tradesmen* come, 

* This is D'Urfcy's reading. It reads sailors in Mv. Collier's 
book, which is evidently a mistake of the old printer. 


The physick, lawe, the cap divine, 

The same* that crowns the muses nine, 

The cap that fools do countenance, 

The goodly cap of maintenance, 
And any cap, whate're it bee, 
Is still the signe of some degree. 

The sickly cap, both plaine and wrought. 

The fuddling-cap, however bought ; 

The quiltedjf furr'd, the velvet, satin, 

For which so many pates learn latin, 

The crewell cap, the fustian pate. 

The perriwig, the cap of late ; 

And any cap, whate're it bee, 
Is still the signe of some degree. 

The souldiers that the Monmouth wear, 

On castle-tops their ensignes rear. 

The saylors with their thrums doe stand 

On higher place than all the land ; 

The tradesman's cap aloft is born. 

By 'vantage of| (some say) a horn. 
Thus any cap, whate're it bee. 
Is still the signe of some degree. 

The physick-cap to dust may bring. 
Without controull the greatest king ; 
The lawyei''s cap hath heavenly might, 
To make a crooked cause aright ; 

* And that which. f Worsted. J A stately. 


Which, being round and endless, knows 
To make as endless any cause.* 
So any cap, whate're it bee, 
Is still the signe of some degree. 

Both east and west, and north and south, 
Where'er the Gospel findsf a mouth, 
The cap divine doth thither look ; 
'Tis square, like scholars and their booke : 
The rest are round, but this is square, 
To shew that they!}: more stable are : 
For any cap, whate're it bee. 
It still the signe of some degree. 

The motley-man § a cap doth weare, 
Which makes him fellow to|| a peere, 
And 'tis no slender partH of wit, 
To act the fool where great men sit ; 
For folly is in such request 
That each man strives to do his best.* 
Thus any cap, whate're it bee, 
Is still the siene of some decree. 

* "To make a crooked action straight; 

And if you'll line him in the fist. 
The cause he'll warrant as he list." 

I If nth. X Their wits. 

§ The Jester he. \\ For. ^ Piece. 

* " But, oh, the cap of Lottdon toicn, 

I wis, 'tis like a goodly crown." 


The sick man's cap, not wrought with silk, 
Is like repentant, white as milk ; 
When hats in church cbop off in haste. 
This cap ne'er leaves the head uncaste.* 
The sick man's cap, if wrought, can tell. 
Though he be ill, his state is well.t 
So any cap, whate're it bee, 
Is still the signe of some degree. 

The fuddling cap, by Bacchus' might, 
Turns night to day, and day to night ; 
Yet spenders it prefer to more, 
Seeming to double all their store. 
The furr'd and quilted cap of age, 
Can make a musty proverb sage ;J 

And any cap, whate're it bee. 

It is the signe of some degree. 

Though fustian-caps be slender ware. 
The head is of no better gear. 

* '• The sickly-cap, tho' tvrought with silk. 

Is like repentance, white as milk; 

When caps drop off at health apace, 

The cap doth then your head uncase." 
I " Tho' he be sick, his cap is well." 

X The last four lines are thus in D'Urfey : — 

" We know it makes proud hearts to bend, 

The lowly feet for to ascend; 

It makes men richer than before. 

By seeiny doubly all their store" 


The crewell cap is knit like hose, 

For them whose zeale takes cold i' th' nose ; 

Whose purity doth judge it.meete, 

To clothe alike both head and feete. 

This cap would faine, but cannot bee, 
The onely cap of no degree. 

The satin and the velvet hive, 

Unto abishoprick doe drive; 

Nay, when a file of caps you're seen in, 

A square cap this, and then a linen, 

This treble cap may raise some hope, 

If fortune smile, to be a pope.* 

Thus any cap, whate're it bee, 
May raise a man to some degree. 

The perriwig, oh! that declares 
The rise of flesh, though fall of hairs ; 
And none but graduatesf can proceede 
In sinne so far till this they neede. 

* The two stanzas are thus condensed by D'Urfey: — 
" Thefurrd and quilted cap of age, 
Can make a mouldy proverb sage; 
The sattin and the velvet hive, 
Into a bishoprick may thrive; 
The triple-cap may raise some hope, 
If fortune serve, to be a pope. 

For any cap, whate're it bee. 
Is still the siytie of some degree.'" 
■f Gransirs. 


Before the Prince none covered are, 
But those that to themselves go bare :* 
This cap, of all the caps that bee, 
Is now the signe of hijrh deerree. 



This very curious ballad is reprinted from the collection of 
poems, entitled Ze Prince cT Amour, 1660; but it is evidently a 
production of the time of Charles I, if not earlier. The varied 
form of beard, which characterized the profession of each wearer, 
is amusingly descanted on, and is a curious fact in the chronicle 
of male fashions, during the first half of the seventeenth century. 
Taylor, the Water Poet, has alluded to the custom at some 
length; and other writers of the day have so frequently men- 
tioned the same thing, as to furni^li materials for a curious (pri- 
vately-printed) pamphlet, by J. A. Eepton, F.S.A., on the 
various forms of the beard and mustachio. The beard, like 
"the Roman T," mentioned in the following ballad, is exhibited 
in our cut — Fig. 1, from a portrait of G. Raigersperg, 1649, in 

" Before the king, who cover' d are, 
And only to themselves are bare." 


Mr. Repton's book. The Stiletto-beard, as worn by Sir Edward 
Coke, is seen Fig. 2. The needle-beard was narrower and 
more pointed. The soldier's, or spade beard, Fig. 3, is from a 
Dutch portrait, also in Mr. Repton's book. The stubble, or 
close-cropped beard of a judge, requires no pictorial illustration. 
The bishop's-beard. Fig. A, is given from Randle Holmes' Heraldry, 
who calls it " the broad, or cathedral beard, because bishops, and 
grave men of the church, anciently did weare such beards." 
Cranmer, Knox, and others, are seen with them. " The beard 
of King Harry" may be seen in any portrait of liing Henry VIH, 
and the amusing accuracy of the description tested. The 
clown's-beard, bushy, and not subject to any fashionable trimming, 
is sufficiently described in the words of the song. 

The beard, tliick or thin, on the lip or chin, 

Doth dwell so near the tongue, 
That her silence in the beard's defence, 

May do her neighbour wrong. 

Now a beard is a thing that commands in a king, 

Be his sceptres ne'er so fair : 
Where the beard bears the sway, the people obey. 

And are subject to a hair. 

'Tis a princely sight, and a grave delight. 

That adorns both young and old ; 
A well thatcht face is a comely grace, 

And a shelter from the cold. 

When the piercing north conies thundering forth. 

Let a barren face beware ; 
For a trick it will find, with a razor of wind, 

To shave a face tliat's bare. 


But there's many a nice and strange device, 

Tliat doth the beard disgrace ; 
But he that is in such a foolish sin, 

Is a traitor to his face. 

Now of the beards there be such a company, 

And fashions such a throng, 
That it is very hard to handle a beard, 

Tlio' it be never so long. 

The Roman T, in its bravery, 

Doth first itself disclose. 
But so high it turns, that oft it burns 

With the flames of a torrid nose. 

The stilletto-beard, oh ! it makes me afeard. 

It is so sharp beneath, 
For he that doth place a dagger in's face, 

What wears he in his sheath ? 

But, methinks, I do itch to go thro' stitch 

The needle-beard to amend. 
Which, -without any wrong, I may call too long. 

For a man can see no end. 

The soldier's-beard doth march in shear'd. 

In figure like a spade. 
With which he'll make his enemies quake, 

And think their graves are made. 


The grim stubble eke on the judge's cheek, 

Shall not my vevse despise ; 
It is more fit for a nutmeg, but yet 

It grates poor prisoners' eyes. 

What doth invest a bishop's breast 

But a milk-white spreading hair ? 
Which an emblem may be of integrity, 

Which doth inhabit there. 

I have also seen on a woman's chin 

A hair or two to grow, 
But, alas, the face it is too cold a place, 

Then look for a beard below. 

But, oh ! let us tarry for the beard of King Harry, 

That grows about the chin. 
With his bushy pride, and a grove on each side, 

And a champion ground between. 

Last, the clown doth rush, with his beard like a bush, 

Which may be well endur'd ; 
For tho' his face be in such a case, 

His land is well manur'd. 




From D'Urfcy's Wit and Mirth, vol. iv, p. 199, where the tune is 
given. It is called "The Irish Ilallaloo"; and appears to be 
one of those party songs which do no credit to anybody. With 
regard to the peculiarities of Irish costume, given in this song, 
it may be sufficient to notice that Walker, in his History of the 
Irish Bards, has engraved the barrad, or Irish 
conical-cap, mentioned in stanza two, as worn by 
O'More, a turbulent Irish chieftain, copied from a 
map of the taking of the Earl of Ormond, in 1600. 
Our cut is copied from the head of an Irishman 
given in Bulwer's Artificiall Changeling, 1653. 
The high-topped English boots, mentioned in stanza four, would 
seem to fix the date of this ballad to the early part of the seven- 
teenth century; the brogues, with which they are contrasted, 
were a peculiar manufacture; for information on which subject, 
and for a cut of one, I must refer the reader to Hall's Ireland, 
vol. i, p. 189, or to Mr. Crofton Croker's Kerry Pastoral, vol. vii 
of the Percy Society's publications. 

Instead of our buildings, and castles so brave, 
Into our caverns we're forc'd for to crave. 
When we are driven along the bogs, 
We root up potatoes like the wild hogs. 

Instead of their beavers, and castors so good,* 
In their picked caps they are forc'd to the wood : 

* Beaver hats were considered as an extravagant luxury in 
the time of Elizabeth. Stubbes speaks of them in terms of in- 


And when they are driven along the passes, 
Thej 've nothing but tatters to hang on their 

Instead of their mantles lined with plush, 
They're forced to seek rags off every bush ; 
When they have gotten a very good cantle,* 
They go to the botchers, and there make a mantle. 

Instead of their boots, with tops so large, 
I'm sure they are rid of that same charge ; 
Now they have gotten a thin pair of brogues, 
And into the woods among the wild rogues-t 

dignation, and says they cost twenty, thirty, and forty shillings 
each, " and were fetched from beyond the seas, from whence a 
great sort of other vanities do come besides." In a curious col- 
lection of household documents, formerly belonging to Nell 
Gwj-nne, now in the possession of Mr. Crofton Croker, is the sub- 
joined hatter's bill, which shows the price of these articles at 
that time. The page seems to have owned the castor. 
Sould to Maddam Gwin, April ye 24, 1675. 
Imp. for 5 French hatts, for ye footmen, at 10s. a-piece 2 10 
It.for4Englishhatts,foryeothermen,at 7s.&G(/.a-piece 1 10 
It. for a bl. castor, for ye page - - - 10 

It. for buttons and loopcs for tiiem - - - 3 

4 13 

* A roughly dissevered piece. 

t The last verse, alluding to their cattle and wives, has been 
omitted, on account of its witless indelicacy. 



Reprinted from The Archaologist, a journal of antiquarian 
science, edited by Mr. Halliwell, who prefaces this ballad by 
saying: — "This satire was, doubtlessly, levelled against the 
numerous train of Scotch adventurers who wisely emigrated to 
England, in the time of James I, in the full expectation of being 
distinguished by the particular favour and patronage of their 
native sovereign. The realization of these hopes, and perhaps 
some disappointment of his own, excited the gall of the unknown 
satirist, and produced this effusion. It is of extreme rarity, and 
Mr. Evans printed a copy of it, from the only one then known, 
in his Old Ballads, vol. i, p. 107-9. Sanderson, however, in his 
diary, in the British Museum, MS. Lansd. 241, has preserved a 
more complete copy, and a much better version, which we insert 
here, as being well worthy of publication. Ritson, at one time, 
questioned its existence." Evans's version has some consider- 
able variations from the following one. 

A songe of a fine Skott, given me by Sir H. Boyce. 

How now, Joky, whither away ? 
A wourd or twoe, T pray thee stay, 
For thou art, in thy rich aray, 
Most like a gallant, fresh and gay ! 

By my fay and by Saint Ann, 

Joky will prove a gentillnian. 

Thy showes* thow had when thow went to plowe, 
Was made of the hide of some ould cowe, 

* Shoes. 


Is turnd to Spanish lether nowe, 
Bedect with roses, I knowe not howe. 
By my fay, 8cc. 

Thy stockynges made of the northern hew, 
Which scarce cost xijfZ. beinge newe, 
Is turned nowe to silken blewe, 
"Which semeth strange unto my vewe. 
By my fay, &c. 

Thy garters made of the list full gray, 
Which thou frome the taylour didst steale each day, 
Is turned nowe to silke full gay, 
With tassells of gould and silvre, I say. 
By ray fay, &c. 

Thy hose and thy dublett which were full plaine, 
Wherof great store of lice containe. 
Is turned nowe ; well fare thy brain e, 
That can by begginge this maintayne [ 
By my fay, &c. 

Thy jerkin made of the northernc gray. 
Which thow hast wore this many a day, 
Is turned nowe to spruce full gay. 
More sweeter then the flowres in May. 
By my fay, kc. 

Thy gcrdill made of the whitt lether whange,* 
Which thow has wore God knawes howe longc, 

* " White-leather thong." — Evans. A whang, is a thin slice 
of any thinf^. 


Is turned nowe to velvet imbrethered* strange, 
With gould and pearle amange. 
By my fay, &c. 

Thy band which thow did use to weare, 
Which Avas scarce washd iij. times a yeare, 
Is turnd nowe to cambricke cleare, 
With broad bouelace up to the eare. 
By my fay, &c. 

Thy blewe bonnett when thow came hether, 
"Which kept thy pate from wind and wether, 
Is throwne away, and who can tell whether ? 
And thowe art in thy bever and fether. 
By my fay, &c. 

Thy breakfast thowe gott every day 
Was but pease bread and kel] full gray, 
Is turned nowe to chere full gay, 
Served to thy table in riche aray. 
By my fay, &c. 

Thy diner thow [ate] at xij. a clock. 
For wante of meat went twise to the pott, 
Is turned now ; most happy lott 
That suche good lucke lightes one a Skott ! 
By my fay, &c. 

* Embroidered. t Kail; broth made of crocns. 


When supper time did come at night, 
Thou went to bed with stomake light ; 
But nowe a second couerse in sight 
Is sene uppon thy table right. 
By my fay, &c. 

But yf thy hap doe still iadure, 
Ingland at length will growe full poore : 
Therefere, good Kinge, graunt them no more, 
For it afflicts thy subjectes sore ! 

Yf this be trewe, by swete Ann, 
Joky wil be no gentillman. 




A Scottish lasso her resohite chusing, 

IShee'l have bonny Blew-cap, all other refusing. 

This song, so humorously descriptive of the costume of many 
nations, is printed in Evans' Old Ballads, vol. iii, p. 245, from a 
black-letter copy, printed by T. Lambert, and is directed to be 
sung " to a curious new Scottish tune, called Blue-cap," which 
appears to have been very popular. The ballad seems expressly 
designed as an antidote to the last, and a compliment to Scotsmen. 

Come hither, the merriest of all the Nine, 

Come sit thee down by me, and let us be jolly, 

And in a full cup of Apollo's wine 

We'll drown our old enemy, mad Melancholy ; 


Which when we have done, we'll between us devise 
A dainty new ditty with art to comprise ; 
And of this new ditty the matter shall be ; 
Gif ever I have a man, Blew-cap for me. 

There lives a blith lass in Faukeland town, 

And she had some suitors, I wot not how many ; 
But her resolution she had set down, 

That she'd have a Blew-cap, gif ere she had any. 
An Englishman, when our good king was there, 
Came often unto her, and loved her dear : 
But still she replied, " Sir, I pray let me be ; 
Gif ever I have a man, Blew-cap for me." 

A Welchman that had a long sword by hur side, 

Red pritches, red tublet, red coat, and red peard, 
Was make a great shew with a great deal of pride, 

And tell hur strange tale that the like was ne'er heard. 
Was reckon her pedigree, long before Prute, 
No body was by hur that can her confute : 
But still she replied, " Sir, I pray let me be ; 
Gif ever I have a man, Blew-cap for me." 

A Frenchman that largely was booted and spurr'd, 
Long lock't with a ribbon,* long points and breeches, 

* An allusion to the long lock of hair allowed to hang upon 
the breast, ornamented with a ribbon, and which was termed a 
French lock; it having originated in that country. In Green's 
Quip for an Upstart Courtier, 1592, a barber asks, "will you be 
Frenchified, with a lovc-loek down to your shoulders, in which 
you may weave your mistress's favour." 


He's ready to kiss her at every word, 

And for further exercise his fingers itches : 
" You be pritty wench, raitris, par ma foy ; 
Begar me doe love you, then be not you coy :" 
But still she replied, " Sir, I pray let me be ; 
Gif ever I have a man, Blew-cap for me." 

An Irishman, with a long skeane in his hose,* 

Did think to obtain her it was no great matter, 
Up-stairs to her chamber so lightly he goes, 

That she ne'er heard him until he came at her : 
Quoth he, " I do love you, by fate and by trote, 
And if you will have me, experience shall shote ;" 
But still she replied, " Sir, I pray let me be ; 
Gif ever I have a man, Blew-cap for me." 


A dainty spruce Spaniard, with hair black as jet, 
Long cloak with round cape, a long rapier and 
He told her, if that she could Scotland forget, 

He'd shew her the vines as they grow in the vineyard. 
*' If thou wilt abandon this country so cold, 
I'll shew thee fair Spain, and much Indian gold." 
But still she replied, " Sir, I pray let mc be ; 
Gif ever I have a man, Blew-cap for me." 

* The skeane was a peculiarly national Irish weapon, and is 
alludud to by Froissart. It was a Ion";, pointed dagger, sharp 
on both edges, witli wliich Irish wonion arc said to have been 
armed, as well as the men. 


A haughty high German of Hamborough town, 
A proper tall gallant, with mighty mustachoes : 

He weeps if the lass upon him do but frown, 

Yet he's a great fencer that comes to o'ermatch us. 

But yet all his fine fencing could not get the lass ; 

She denied him so oft, that he wearied was : 

For still she replied, " Sir, I pray let me be ; 

Gif ever I have a man, Blew-cap for me." 

A Netherland mariner there came by chance. 

Whose cheeks did resemble two roasting pomwaters;* 

To this canny lass he his suit did advance, 

And as taught by nature he cunningly flatters : 

" Jack will make thee," said he, " sole lady o' the sea ; 

Both Spaniards and Englishmen shall thee obey :" 

But still she replied, " Sir, I pray let me be ; 

Gif ever I have a man, Blew-cap for me." 

These sundry suitors of several lands. 

Did daily solicit this lass for her favour, 
And every one of them alike understands. 

That to win the prize they in vain did endeavour ; 
For she had resolved (as I before said) 
To have bonny Blew-cap, or else die a maid. 
Unto all her suppliants still replied she, 
" Gif ever I have man, Blew-cap for me." 

At last came a Scottish man (with a blew cap). 
And he was the party for whom she had tarried, 

* A kind of apple. 


To get this blith bonny lass 'twas his gude hap, 

They gang'd to the kirk and were presently married; 
I ken not weel whether it were lord or leard, 
They caude him some sike a like name as I heard, 
To chuse him from all she did gladly agree, 
And still she cried, " Blew-cap, th' art welcome to me." 



From The Cambridge University Garland, 12mo. n. d., iu the pos- 
session of J. O. Plalliwell, Esq. This ballad is constructed after 
the model of that last given; but intended as a special compli- 
ment to university -men. Its author was the celebrated royalist 
John Cleveland. 

Come hither, Apollo's bouncing girl. 

And in a whole Hippocrene of sherry 
Let's drink a round till our brains do whirl. 

Tuning our pipes to make ourselves merry. 
A Cambridge lass, Venus-like, born of the froth 
Of an old half-filled j ug of barley broth ; 
Tho' she's my mistris, her suitors are many. 
But shee'U have Square-cap, if e'er she have any. 

And first, for the plush-sake, the Monmouth-cap* comes, 
Shaking his head, like an empty bottle. 

See the "Ballad of tlie Caps," pnpo 115. 


With his new-fangled oath, " by Jupiter's thumbs," 

That to her health he'll begin a pottle. 
He tells her, that, after the death of his grannum. 
He shall have two hundred pounds per annum. 
But still she replies, " Good sir, la-bee ;* 
If ever I have a man, then Square-cap for me." 

Then calotf leather-cap strongly pleads, 

And fain would derive the pedigree of 's fashion ; 

The Antipodes wear their shoes on their heads, 
And why may not we in their imitation ? 

Oh ! how this foot-ball noddle would please, 

If it were but well tost on St. Thomas his lease ?J 

But still she replies, " Good sir, la-bee ; 

If ever I have a man. Square-cap for me." 

Next comes the Puritan, in a wrought cap, 

With a long-waisted conscience towards a sister, 

And making a chapel of ease of her lap : 
First he said grace, and then he kiss'd her. 

" Beloved," quoth he, " thou art my text" ; 

Then falls he to use, and application next. 

But then she reply'd, " Your text, sir, I'll be. 

For then, I'm sure, you'll nere handle me." 

But see, where Satin-cap scouts about. 

And fain would this wench in his fellowship marry ; 

* A contraction for " let mc be." 
t A kind of skull-cap, or any plain coif.— Nares. 
J An allusion to the custom of foot- ball playing on St- 
Thomas's day, December 21. 


He told her how such a man was not put out, 

Because his wedding he closely did cai'ry. 
He'll purchase Induction, by Simony, 
And offers her money, her incumbent to be. 
But still she replies, " Good sir, la-bee ; 
If ever I have a man. Square-cap for me." 

The lawyer's a sophister, by his round-cap, 
Nor in their fallacies are they divided ; 

The one milks the pocket, the other the tap, 
And yet this wench he fain would have brided, 

" Come leave these thread-bare scholars," quoth he, 

" And give me livery and seizi7i of thee." 

" Peace, peace, John a Nokes, and leave your oration, 

For I never will be your hnpropriation. 

I pray you, therefore, good sir, la-bee ; 

For if ever I have a man. Square-cap for me !" 





This and the two followinjz; poems are by the witty Dean Corbet 
(born 1582, died 103.")), and are here given from the edition of 
his works, by Octavius Gilchrist, F.S. A., 1807. 

Ladi'es, that weare black cipress-vailes. 

* Cipress was a fine Idnd of crape, or gauze. 


Turn'd lately to white linnen-rayles ;* 
And to your girdle weare your bands,f 
And shew your arraes, instead of hands. 
What can you doe in Lent so meet 
As, fittest dress, to weare a sheet ? 
'Twas once a band, 'tis now a cloake, 
An acorne one day proves an oke : 
Weare but your linnen to your feet, 
And then your band will prove a sheet. 
By which devise, and wise excesse, 
You'l doe your penance in a dresse ; 
And none shall know, by what they see. 
Which lady's censur'd, and which free. 


(Had. MS. No. 6396.) 

Blacke Cypresse vailes are shroudes on night. 
White linnen railes are raies of light, 
Which, though we to the girdles weare, 
We've hands to keep your hands off there. 

* The rayle was the neckerchief; "Ruyle for a woman's 
necke; crevechief, en quarttre doubles." — Palsgrave. The gorget 
was so very similar that the terms are nearly synonymous. 

\ Alluding to the great length of the falling hand, which was 
allowed to hang down upon the shoulders, and was not supported 
by any underprops, as is the band seen in the cut on p. 106. 


A fitter dresse we have in Lent, 

To shew us trewly penitent. 

Whoe makes the band to be a cloke, 

Makes John-a-style of John-an-oake. 

"We weare our garments to the feet, 

Yet need not make our bandes a sheet : 

The clergie weare as long as we, 

Yet that implies conformitie. 

Be wise, recant what you have writt, 

Least you do pennance for your witte ; 

Love's charm hath power to weare a stringe, 

To tye you as you tied your rings ;* 

There by love's sharpe, but just decree. 

You may be consured, we go free. 

* In a ludicrous ballad, describing James I's visit to Oxford 
and Woodstock, in 1621, when Corbet, in his office of chaplain, 
preached before the king, he is thus spolcen of: — 

" Tlie reverend dean, 

With his band staicli'd clean, 
Did i)veach before the king; 

A ring was liis pride, 

To his band-strings tied, 
Was not tliis a ))rotty thing? 

" Tlie ring, without doubt, 

Was the thing i)ut him out, 
And made him forget what was next ; 

For every one there 

Will say, I dare swcai', 
He handled it more than his text." 



(Aslimole's Museum, A. 38, fol. 66.) 

Yff nouglit but love-cliarmes powers have 

Your blemisht creditt for to save ; 

Then know your champion is blind, 

And that love-nottes are soon untwinde. 

But blemishes are now a grace, 

And add a lustre to your face ; 

Your blemisht credit for to save, 

You needed not a vayle to have ; 

The rayle for women may be fitte, 

Because they daylie practice ytt. 

And seeing counsell can you not reforme. 
Read this reply — and take it not in scorne. 


From Heywood's Rape q/'/.ttcrcce (fifth edition, 1638). 

O YES, room for the cryer, 
Who never yet was found a liar. 

O ye fine smug country lasses, 

That would for brooks change crystal glasses, 


And be transhap'd from foot to crown, 
And straw beds change for beds of down 
Your partlets* turn into rebatoes,f 
And stead of carrots eat potatoes ; 
Your frontlets lay by, and your rails,! 
And fringe with gold your daggl'd tails. 
Now your hawk-noses shall have hoods 
And billenients§ with golden studs : 
Straw hats shall be no mox-e bongraces,|| 
From the bright sun to hide your faces, 
For hempen smocks to help the itch, 
Have linen sewed with silver stitch ; 
And wheresoe'er they chance to stride, 
One bare before to be their guide. 
O yes, room for the cryer. 
Who never yet was found a liar. 


From the same play as the preceding song. The fondness of 
the English for adopting new fashions, had long before this 
been satirized, and Andrew Borde, in his Introduction to Kiwiv 
ledcje, has given the quaint cut here copied, witii the foUowing 
satirical verses: — 

" I am an EiiKlislinian, and naJceil I stiiml licrc, 
Musinge in my mymlc, what rayment I sliall were, 
For now I will were this, and now I will were that, 
Now I will were I cannot tell wliat." 

* Ruffs. t Falling collars. J Cloaks, or loose gowns. 

§ Ilahilinicnfs. || Projecting bonnets to defend the complexion. 



The whimsical traveller, Coryat, in his Crudities, observes : — 
" We weare more fantastical 
fashions than any nation under 
the sun doth, the French only 
excepted ; which hath given oc- 
casion to the Venetian, and other 
Italians, to brand the English- 
man with a notable mark of levit}', 
by painting him stark naked, 
with a pair of shears in his hand, 
making his fashion of attire 
according to the vain conception 
of his brain-sick head, not to comeliness and decorum.' 

The Spaniard loves his ancient slop, 
The Lombard his Venetian, 
And some like brcechless women go, 
The Russ, Turk, Jew, and Grecian : 
The thrifty Frenchman wears small waist. 
The Dutch his belly boasteth, 
The Englishman is for them all, 
And for each fashion coasteth. 

The Turk in linen wraps his head, 
The Persian his in lawn too. 
The Russ with sables furs his cap, 
And change will not be drawn to : 
The Spaniard's constant to his block, 
The French inconstant ever, 
But of all felts that can be felt, 
Give me your English beaver. 


The German loves his coney-wool, 

The Irishman his shag too. 

The Welch his Monmouth loves to wear. 

And of the same will brag too. 

Some love the rough, and some the smooth. 

Some great, and others small things ; 

But, oh, your lecherous Englishman, 

He loves to deal in all things. 

The Russ drinks quass ; Dutch, Lubeck beer. 

And that is strong, and mighty ; 

The Briton he metheglin quaffs. 

The Irish aqua vita3 ; 

The French affects the Orleans' grai>e. 

The Spaniard tastes his shei'ry. 

The English none of these can 'scape. 

But he with all makes merry. 

The Italian in her high chopine,* 
Scotch lass, and lovely Frow too, 
The Spanish Donna, French Madam, 

He will not fear to go to ; 

Nothing so full of hazard dread. 

Nought lives above the centre. 

No fashion, health, no wine, nor wench. 

On which he dare not venture. 

* These were shoes elevated " as high as a man's leg," says 
Xlaymoiid in his Voyage through Italy, 1648. They arc mentioned 
by Slialispcix! (Hamkt, act ii, scene 2), and wore occasionally 
worn in England, hut not of so great an altitude. See Doucc's 
J/liislrulions of S/ui/ispcrc. 




From A New Spring of Divine Poetrie, by James Day, 1637. A 
thin quarto of melancholy morality and pointless attempts at 
religious wit, after the fashion of Quarles. For example, he ends 
his " meditation on a windmill,"' with the lines — 

" Lord drive me with thy spii-it, then lie be 
Thy windmill, and will grind a grist for thee." 

Ske how some borrow 'd ofF-cast vaine attire, 

Can pufF up pamper'd clay and dirty mire : 

Tell me, Avhence hadst thy cloaths that make thee fine, 

Was't not the silly sheep's before 'twas thine ? 

Doth not the silk-worm, and the oxe's hide. 

Serve to maintain thee in thy cheefest pride ? 

Do'st not thou often with those feathers vaile 

Thy face, with which the ostridge hides her taile? 

What art thou proud of, then ? me thinks 'tis fit 

Thou shouldst be humble for the wearing it : 

Tell me, proud madam ; thou that art so nise, 

How were thy parents clad in Paradise? *^ 

At first they wore the armour of defence. 

And were compleatly wrapt in innocence : 

Had they not sin'd, they ne're had beene dismaid. 

Nor needed not the fig-tree's leavy ayde ! 

Whatever state, O Lord, thou place me in. 
Let me not glory in th' eflect of sin. 



First printed in 3Iusarum DeUcicB, 1655, and afterwards in Wit 
Restored, 1658, where it was " supplied of what was left out in 
Musaruni Delicice," and which consisted of the sixth, eleventh and 
thirteenth stanzas. It was evidently written during the I'eign of 
Charles I. But I am unable to fix its date precisely, or to say 
who "Will Bagnall" was ; but from the familiarity with which 
he is named, he was no doubt a gay and well-known frequenter 
of the court, and mixed with the wits of the day. Edmund 
Gayton, the author of Festanous notes to Don Quixote, etc., wrote a 
tract called " Wil BagnaVs Ghost, or the Merry Devil of Gadmanton, 
in his perambidation of the Prisons of London, a poem, with 
characters of a prison," quarto, 1655 ; a work not mentioned in 
Bliss's account of books descriptive of character, appended to his 
edition of Hall's 3Iicrocosinograj)hy ; nor have I seen a copy of it. 
In Spence's Anecdotes of Books and Men, p. 22, Bagnall is mentioned 
as the author of the once famous poem The Counter Scuffle. 

A BALLET, a ballet ! let every poet, 

A ballett make with speed : 
And lie that has wit, now let him shew it, 

For never was greater need : 
And I that never made ballett before. 
Will make one now, though I never make more. 
Oh women, monstrous women. 
What do you mean to doe ? 

It is their pride, and strange attire. 
Which binds me to this taske ; 


Wliicli king, and court, did much admire, 

At the last Christmas maske, 
But by your entertainment then. 
You should have smal cause to come there agen. 
Oh women, &c. 

You cannot be contented to go, 

As did the women of old : 
But you are all for pride and show. 

As they were for weather and cold. 

women, women ! fie, fie, fie, 

1 wonder you are not ashamed, I. 

Oh women, &c. 

Where is the decency become 

Which your fore-mother had ? 
With gowns of cloth, and capps of thrum,' 

They went full meanly clad. 
But you must jett it in silkes and gold ; 
Your pride, though in winter, is never a cold. 
O women, &c. 

Your faces trick'd and painted bee. 
Your breasts all open bare ;* 

* The fondness of ladies for painting their faces and exposing 
the bosom, was severely reprimanded by the divines and 
satirists in the early part of the seventeenth century. Dr. John 
Hall, in an appendix to his small volume against long hair, 
discoursed in immeasured terms on " the vanities and exorbitances 
of many women, in painting, patching, spotting, and blotting 



So farr that a man may almost see 

Unto your lady ware: 
And in the church, to tell you true, 
Men cannot serve God for looking on you. 
women, &c. 

And at the devill's shopps you buy, 

A dresse of powdered hayre,* 
On which your feathers flaunt and fly ; 

But I'de wish you have a care, 
Lest Lucifer's selfe, who is not prouder. 
Do one day dresse up your haire with a powder. 
women, &c. 

themselves," declaring it to be " the badge of an harlot ; rotten 
posts are painted, and gilded nutmegs are usually the worst." 
The portraits of noble ladies, in the reign of James I, which 
may be seen in Nicholls' account of the Progresses of that monarch, 
will sufficiently show how obtrusively immodest the fashion of 
exposing the naked breast had become. While a ruft", or band, 
of immoderate size stretched forth from the neck, the front of the 
dress was cut away immediately beneath it, nearly to the waist; 
which made the fashion more noticeable, as all the other part of 
the bust was ovor-cloathcd, while the bosom was perfectly bare. 
* This is a curious and rather early notice of hair powder, 
which, although used by the Romans and Saxons, docs not appear 
to have prevailed in the middle ages, until the ladies began to 
use false hair in great quantities at the time when this ballad was 
written. The greatest use of powder was during the reign of 
Charles 11, for the enormous wigs of the beaux. Blue hair- 
powder was worn in the time of George II. (See a notice of 
Fox's juvenile dress in the Monthly Mirror for 1806). 


And many there are of those that go 

Attyr'd from head to heele, 
That them from men you cannot know* 

Unlesse you do them feele ; 
But, oh, for shame, though they have none, 
'Tis better believe, and let them alone. 
O women, &c. 

Both round and short they cut their hayre. 
Whose length should women grace ; 

Loose, like themselves, their hatts they weare ; 
And when they come in place, 

Where courtshipp and complements must bee, 

They do it like men with cappe and knee. 
O women, &c. 

They at their sides, against our laws. 

With little ponyards go ;f 
Which surely is, I thinke, because 

They love men's weapons so ; 
Or else it is they'le stabb all men, 
That do refuse to stabb them agen. 
O women, &c. 

Doublets, like to men, they weare. 
As if they meant to flout us, 

* Alluding to tlio doublets and vests worn with the petticoat 
in riding and walking, 
t (See note at p. 97.) 

L 2 


Trust round with poynts,* and ribbons fayre, 

But, I pray, lett's look about us ; 
For since the doublett so well doth fitt 'um. 
They will have the breeches, and if they can get'um. 
women, &c. 

Nor do they care what a wise man saith, 

Or preachers in their defame, 
But jeer, and hold him an asse ; but i' faith 

They'd blush if they had any shame : 
For citty and countrey do both deride 'em, 
And our king, God blesse him, cannot abide 'em. 
O women, &c. 

And when the maske was at the court, 

Before the king to be showne, 
They got upon seats to see the sport, 

But soon they were pull'd down ; 
And many were thrust out of dores. 
Their coats well cudgel'd, and they call'd whores. 
O king, rclligious king, 
God save thy majestic. 

And so with prayers to God on high, 

To grant his highnesse peace, 
Wee hope we shall finde remedie 

To make this mischiefe cease : 

yec note at p. 81. 


Since he in court hath tane so good order, 
The citty leave to the maior and recorder. 

O king, relligious king, 

God bless thy majestic. 

And women, all whom this concerns. 

Though you offended be ; 
And now in foule and rayling tearras 

Do swagger and scold at me ; 
I tell you, if you mind not your waies, 
The devil will fetch you all, one of these days. 
O women, monstrous women, 
What do you mean to do ? 



This "ballet" is the offspring of the preceding one, and also first 
appeared in the Musarum Delicm. Dr. Smith " had so great a 
hand in that book," says Anthony Wood, " that he is esteemed 
the author of almost half of it." He was a great writer of light 
poetry, and lived intimately with the poetical wits of the early 
part of the seventeenth century, by whom he was much esteemed, 
most particularly by Philip Massinger, who called him his son. 
He and Sir John Mennis were also engaged together on the other 
volume of Facetia, already noticed, — Wit Restored, " which book," 
says Wood, " is mostly of our author Smith's composition." He 
was matriculated as a member of Christ Church, Oxford, in Lent 
term, 1622, at the age of eighteen years. He became chaplain 


to the Earls of Holland and Cleaveland, held a benefice in 
Lincolnshire, and ultimately settled at King's Nimphton, in 
Devonshire, " where he resided during all the changes of govern- 
ment, by compliance with the power that was uppermost." On 
the king's return he got many promotions, and died at his 
rectory, at Alphyngton, Devon, June 20th, 1667. His writings 
are remarkably free, in the fullest acceptation of the term, but 
Lascivia est nobis payina, vita proha est : he lived in cheerless times, 
when mirth was considered sin, and he must occasionally have 
had much trouble to conform with the stringent sourness of those 
in power. The. editor of Longman's reprint of these poems (1817), 
remarks, " it is strange that he had the hardihood to publish his 
poems during the usurpation ; but the restoration was at hand, 
when such a muse could breathe freely, in an atmosphere 
perfectly congenial to her." 

"Will women's vanities never have end, 

Alack, what is the matter ! 
Shall poets all their spirits spend, 

And women yet never the better ? 
"Will Bagnall's ballet hath done no good 
To the head that is hid in the tafFety hood. 
Which makes the vertuous chew the cud. 

And I till now their debtor. 

I once resolved to be blinde, 

And never set pen to sheet, 
Though all the race of womankinde 

Were mad, I would not see't. 
But now my heart is so big it struts, 
And hold I cannot for my guts ; 
With as much ease as men crack nuts 

My rimes and members meet. 


And first I will begin to touch 

Upon their daubing paint ; 
Their pride that way it is so much, 

It makes my muse grow faint. 
And when they are got into a new suit, 
They look as though they would straight go to't. 
The divell's in't, and 's dam to boot, 

'Twould anger any saint. 

Their soaring thoughts to book advance, 

'Tis odds, it may undoe 'um. 
For ever since dame Eve's mischance, 

That villainous itch sticks to 'um. 
And when they have got but a little smack. 
They talk as if nothing they did lack. 
Of Withers, Drayton, or Balzack : 

'Twould weary a man to wooe 'um. 

Their faces are besmear'd and pierc'd. 

With severall sorts of patches,* 
As if some cuts their skins had flead 

With scarres, half-moons, and notches. 
Prodigious signes there keep their stations. 
And meteors of must dreadfuU fashions ; 
Bookerf hath no such prognostications : 

Now out upon them, wretches ! 

With these they are disguised so, 
They look as untoward as elves, 

* See cut on p. 160. f The famous Almanac-maker. 


Their husbands scarce their wives can know, 
Nor they sometimes themselves. 

And every morn they feed their chaps, 

With caudles, broths, and honey-sops : 

And lap it up as thick as hops, 
Ne're think on him that delves. 

Sometimes I thinke them quite subdu'd. 
They let me use such freedome, 

And by and by they call'd me rude, 
And such a word makes me dumbe ; 

They are so fickle and shy, God save 'um. 

That a man can never tell where to have 'um ; 

I would we were all resolv'd to leave 'um, 
While we hearafter need 'um. 

Their kind behaviour is a trap 
For men, wherein to catch 'um, 

With sugared words they lye at snap. 
But rie be sure to watch 'um ; 

And when with every quaint devise, 

They get us into fooles paradise, 

They laugh, and leave us in a trise ; 
The fiend will one day fetch 'um. 

Sometimes they in the water lurk. 

Like fish with silver finns ; 
And then I wish I were a Turk, 

And these my concubines. 


But to tell you the truth without any erring, 
They are neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring : 
And when so'ere you find them stirring, 
They will put you in minde of your sins. 

A Syren once had got a drone, 

And she began to chatter ; 
Quoth she, " Sweet-heart, I am thine own," 

But i' faith 'twas no such matter. 
But when he thought her as sure as a gun. 
She set up her tail and away she run. 
As if she did mean to outstrip the sun j 

The devil could never have set her. 

Or if some women mean good sooth, 

And purpose lawfuU marriage, 
'Tis ten to one they have ne're a tooth, 

And then poor man must forage. 
Who is so sped, is matcht with a woman. 
He may weep without the help of an onyon. 
He's an oxe, and an asse, and a slubberdeguUion, 

That wooes, and does not bar age. 

Your zealous lecturers often preach. 

And homilies eke expound. 
But women, as if they were out of their reach, 

Persevere, and stand their ground. 
They may preach as well to the walls, or roof. 
There's not one amongst ten that are sermon proof, 
Their hearts are as hard as a horse's hoof. 

And as hollow, but not so sound. 


And when do you think this geare may mend, 

And come to a better passe ? 
In truth, I thinke it will never have end. — 

What, never ? then, out, alas ! 
They hold such wicked counsells between 'um. 
We can doe little else but make ballads against 'um, 
Ten thousand furies I think are in 'um. 

Is not this a pittiful case ? 

I think it were not much amisse, 

To bring them into a play, 
There's matter enough, and enough I wisse, 

And I'le have the second day ; 
Where some shall be attir'd like pages, 
The rest shall be as they are, baggages ; 
He that sets them a work will pay them their wages. 

Troth that's tlie only way. 

And now we have brought them upon the stage. 

All sorts of people among ; 
I'le there expose them like birds in a cage. 

To be gap'd on in midst of the throng. 
Nay, now I have got them within my clutches, 
I'le neither favour lady, nor dutches. 
Although they may think this over-much is, 
They are no more to me then those that goe on 

1 made this staffe too longe. 

Now Lord preserve our gracious queen, 
That gives her cautions ample, 


Yet they, as if it never had been, 

On all good precepts trample. 
But here's the spite, it would anger a stone, 
That a woman should go to heaven alone : 
But it will never be by hope, that's bred in the bone 

They'l never mend by example. 



" In wearing the fashions 
Of severall nations. 
With good exhortations 
Against transmutations." 

From the Roxhurghe Collection of Ballads, now in the British 
Museum, volume i. It is " printed for Thomas Lambert," and 
directed to be sung " to the tune of women, monstrous, §*c." 
The song in page 144, seems to have originated the following, 
which is little more than its ampUfication, by an author who 
wished to rival " Will Bagnall's Ballet." 

Audience, audience, gallants all. 

For here, as on a stage, 
rie shew the postures admirall 

Of this phantastick age, 
Wherein both sexes are grown strange, 
And, Phebe-like, they often change. 
O monsters, 
Neutrall monsters, 
Leave these foolish toyes. 


Charaelion-like, themselves they change, 

To any colour scene ; 
How many severall fashions strange 

Hath here observed beene 
Within the circuit of few yeares, 
As by experience truth appeares. 
O monsters, &c.* 

An English man or woman now, 

(I'le make excuse for neither,) 
Composed are, I know not how. 

Of many shreds together : 
Italian, Spaniard, French, and Dutch, 
Of each of these they have a touch. 
O monsters, &c. 

The German, and the drunken Dane, 

The Persian, and Polonian ; 
The sun-burnt Ethiopian, 

The Russian, and Slavonian ; 
Our English imitate in cloathes, 
In drinking, drabbing, and strange oathes. 
O monsters, &c. 

When meeknesse bore in England sway. 

And pride was not regarded, 
Then vertue bore the bell away. 

And goodnesse was rewarded ; 

* The burden is the same to the eml, except that " foolish 
toyes" is changed into "apish toyes" throughout. 


Now our phautastick innovations, 
Doe cause prodigious transmutations. 
O monsters, &c. 

Our men were in precedent dayes 

To manly actions bent, 
They did not seek their names to raise 

By cloathes, and complement. 
Now he's the man whose brave apparel 
Defends him in a taverne quarrell. 
O monsters, &c. 

Mee thinks the taylors should not chuse 

But grow exceeding rich, 
Yet from them I heare no such newes, 

Though they goe thorow stitch : 
The reason's this, new cloathes are made 
Before the old bill is defraide. 
O monsters, &c. 


Now many of both sexes goe 

Each afternoone to'th' play. 
Their rich acoutremeuts to shew. 

And doe even what they may ; 
To note, if they can any spy. 
That put them down in bravery. 
O monsters, &c. 


The women will not be at quiet, 
Their mindes will still be crost, 

Til husbands, friends, or fathers buy it, 
What ever price it cost. 

Thus wide mouth'd pride insatiately, 

Devoures all thoughts of piety. 
O monsters, &c. 

And men that should more wisdom have 

Then the frayle female sex, 
As many fond inventions have, 

Nay, rather they'l annexe 
Unto the story of their shame, 
A higher style than women claime. 
O monsters, &c. 

Ungirt, unblest, the proverb sayes, 
And they to prove it right. 

Have got a fashion now-a-dayes. 
That's odious to the sight, 

Of those who love civility. 

And hate this idle foppery. 
O monsters, &c. 

Like Frenchmen, all on points they stand, 

No girdles now they weare, 
To spread this fashion thro' the land 

The hangman, as I hearc, 


When at foure gates hee hang'd foure men, 
Did weare just such a dublet then.* 
O monsters, &c. 

If any thing may give them light 

To see their vanity, 
In my conceit that object might 

Make wise men to defie 
A fashion that is held so base, 
Worne by the hangman in disgrace. 
O monsters, &c. 

Nowe to conclude, with all my heart 

I wish that every one 
Would study on some better art, 

And let vaine pride alone : 
Be as your good forefathers were, 
And let not vice thus domineere. 
O monsters, &c. 

* A humorous poetical version of this story, by S. Rowlands, 
is given in the introduction to that writer's Four Knaves, published 
by the Percy Society, 1843, as follows : 

" A giddy giJlant tlial beyond the seas 
Sou^'hl lashions out, his idle pate to please, 
In uavelling did meet upon the way 
A fellow that was suited richly gay ; 
No lesse than crimson velvet did him grace, 
All garded and re-garded with gold lace. 
His hat was t'eather'd like a laiiy's fan, 
Wliich made the gallant think him some great man. 
And vayl'd unto him with a metk salute, 
In reverence of his gilded velvet sute. 
'Sir,' quoth his man, 'your worship dotli not know 
What you have done, to wrong your credit so ; 
This is the bewle in Dutch, in English plain 
The rascal hangman, whom all men disdain ; 
I saw him tother day, on Castle-gieen, 
Hang four as proper men as e'er were seen.' " 



What you profusely doe let fly, 
In pride, in drink e, and gaine ; 

Spend in good hospitality, 
'Twill elevate your fame : 

The prayers and prayses of the poore 

Shal cloathe your mindes for evermore. 
O monsters, &c. 


This curious semi-political satire on the fashions and times, is 
also from Wit Restored, in severall select poems jiot formerly publish't, 
(1658). It is very likely to be the production of Dr. James 
Smith, whose style and feeling it embodies. 

The many allusions throughout to various articles of costume 
sold at the mercer's shop, who, after the first stanza, appears to be 
addressing his customer, invest this ballad with interest, even 
when viewed in the light of an illustration of manners alone. 
In the Roxburghe Ballads, is a woodcut representing a mercer in 
his shop, addressing his 
customers ; which, as it 
affords a curious illustration 
of the ballad before us, is 
copied on a reduced scale. 
He holds a black mask 
edged with lace in his right 
hand ; a black lace scarf is 
hung over his arm. Over his 
left arm is a hank of laces, 
and in that hand a feather 
fan. The many patches of 



fanciful form exhibited on his ftice, will explain the allusions 
to these fantastic ornaments in the ballad. Bulwer, in his 
Artificiull Changeling, 1653, says, "Our ladies here have lately 
entertained a vaine custome of spotting their faces, out of an 
affectation of a mole, to set off their beauty, such as Venus had, 
and it is well if one black patch will serve to make their faces 
remarkable, for some fill their visages full of them, varied into 
all manner of shapes and figures." 

We will go no more to the Old Exchange^ 

There's no good ware at all : 
Their bodkins, and their thimbles too, 

Went long since to Guildhall. 
But we will go to the New Exchange, 

Where all things are in fashion; 
And we will have it henceforth call'd 
The Burse of Eeforraation,* 

Come lads and lasses, what do you lack ? 

Heare is wcare of all prices ; 
Here's long and short, here's wide and straight; 
Here are things of all sizes. 

Madam, you may fit yourselfe 

With all sorts of good pin us, 
Sirs, here is jett, and here is hayre, 

Gold and cornelian rings ; 

* " Brittain's Burse " was the name first given by EUzabeth to 
Greshara's building. The New Exchange was erected in 1608 
on the site of the stabling of Durham House, in the Strand. 



Here is an English conny furr, 

Rusliia hath no such stuffe, 
Which for to keep your fingers warme, 

Excells your sable muffe. 

Come lads, &c. 

Pray you madam sitt, i'le show good ware, 

For crowding nere fear that, 
Against a stall, or on a stool, 

You'l nere hurt a crevatt, 
Heer's childrens bawbles, and men's too, 

To play with, for delight. 
Heer's round-heads, when turn'd every way 

At length will stand upright. 
Come lads, &c. 

Heer's dice and boxes, if you please 

To play at in and in ; 
Heer's homes for brows, and browes for homes, 

Which never will be seen. 
Heer is a sett of kettle pinns. 

With bowle at them to rowle : 
And if you like such trundling sport 

Here is my ladyes hole. 

Come lads, &c. 

Heer's shaddow'd ribbon, of all sorts, 

As various as your mind ; 
And heer's a wind-mill, like your selfe, 

Will turn with every wind. 


And beer's a church of the same stufle, 

Ciitt out in the new fashion ; 
Hard by is a priest, stands twice a day, 

Will serve your congregation. 
Come lads, &c. 

Hecr are some Presbyterian things, 

Falne lately out of ftishion ; 
Because we hear that Prester John 

Doth circumsize his nation. 
And heer are Independent knacks, 

Rais'd with his spirits humor ; 
And heer's cheap ware was sequestred 

For a Malignant tumor. 

Come lads, &c. 

Heer patches are of every art. 

For pimples, and for scarrs ; 
Heer's all the wandring planett signes, 

And some o' th' fixed Starrs, 
Already gumm'd, to make tbem stick, 

They need no other sky. 
Nor Starrs, for Lilly for to vew, 

To tell your fortunes by. 

Come lads, &c. 

To eject powder in your hayre, 

Here is a pritty puff; 
Would for clister case serve too, 

Were it fil'd with such stuffe. 

M 2 


Madam, here are pistachie nutts, 

Strengthening oringo roots ; 
And heer's a preserv'd apricock, 

With the stones pendant too't. 
Come lads, &c. 

Here are perriwiggs W-11 fit all hayres. 

False beards for a disguise ; 
I can helpe lasses which are bare 

In all parts, as their thighs. 
If you'l engage well, here you may 

Take up fine Holland smocks ; 
"We have all things that women want, 

Except Italian locks. 

Come lads, &c. 

Here are hot boyes have backs like bulls, 

At first sight can leap lasses ; 
And bearded ladds hold out like goats ; 

And here are some like asses. 
Here are gallants can outdo 

Your usher, or your page ; 
You need not go to Ludgate more 

'Till threescore yeares of age. 
Come lads, &c. 

Madam, here is a Politicus 
Was Pragmaticus of late ;* 

* Mercurius Politicus, and Mercnrius Pragmaticus, were news- 
papers, both of which emanated from a famous journalist, 


And here is an Elentichus,* 
That fallacies doth prate. 

Here is the Intelligencer too,t 
See how 'bout him they throng ! 

Marchmont Needham. In his Pragmaticus he had exposed 
Charles I, and had suffered a short imprisonment for that offence ; 
but having made most humble submission to the court, he changed 
sides, and galled the Presbyterians in his paper by ridicule of 
the most unmerciful Icind. When the king's fortunes failed, 
Bradshaw found little trouble in purchasing his ready pen ; and 
he began the Mercurius PoUtkus, abandoning his old paper and 
its politics, and becoming a still more virulent Fresbjterian, lashing 
the lioyalist party so unmercifully, that, upon the Restoration, 
he deemed it safest for his neck to fly to Holland, until he 
could purchase a pardon through the venality of a court favourite; 
when he returned to England, but was much despised. 

* Mercury was the favourite prenoaien for the newspapers of 
those times, with another to indicate the party from whom each 
emanated. No. 1 of Mercurius Elcnticus, contained news from 
January 31 to February 7, 1648, "communicating the un- 
paralleled proceedings at Westminster, the head quartets, and 
other places, discovering their designs, reproving the crimes, and 
advising the kingdom." Its politics may be judged from the 
following stanzas printed in it : — 

" To kill the king ei-jht yeai-s agon, 
Was counted highest treason : 
But now 'tis deemed just, and done 
As consonant to reason. 

Both prince and jieoiile lived in peace, 

The land with wealth abounded : 
But now the^e liles!.inf;s Cad'' and cease, 

Thankes to llie curaed Koiind-head. " 

t There were several newspapers bearing the name of Jn- 
telligencers at this time ; taking their titles, as The Swedish 
Intelligencer, §-c., from the countries whose news they priufipally 
furnished. The Kingdom's Intelligencer, commenced in 1062, bore 


Whilst Mellancholicus alone* 
Walkes here to make a song. 
• Come lads, &c. 

Then lett's no more to the Old Exchange, 

There's no good ware at all ; 
Their bodkins, and their thimbles too, 

AYent long since to Guildhall.f 
But we will to the New Exchange, 
Where all things are in fashion ; 
And we will have it henceforth call'd 
The Burse of Reformation. 

Come lads and lasses, what do you lack ? 

Here is weare of all prises ; 
Here's long and short, here'swide and straight; 
Here are things of all sizes. 

tlie most resemblance to a modern paper, being the first to give 
notices of law courts, proceedings in parliament, obituary, &c. 

* Mercurius MellancJiolicus ; or news from Westminster, was first 
published in September, 1647 ; it was a Royalist paper, and its 
name denoted the unfortunate aspect the king's cause was taking 
and its effect on loyal minds ; il has this strong couplet in its 
first number : — 

" Woe is me, undone, witli blasts the flowers doe fade, 
The chrystal springs by swine are puddle made." 

f An allusion to the general contribution of plate towards 
aiding the Parliamentary army. The poorer persons brought 
many trifling articles, like those mentioned in this ballad, which 
gave reason for its being named " the thimble and bodkin army." 



"We will go no more to the New Exchange, 

Their credit's like to fall, 
Their money and their loyalty 

Is gone to Goldsmiths' Hall.* 
But we will keep our Old Exchange, 

Where wealth is still in fashion, 
Gold chaines and ruffes shalt beare the bell, 
For all your reformation. 

Look on our walls, and pillars too, 
You'l find us much the sounder : 
Sir Thomas Gresham stands upright, 
But Crook-back was your founder. 

There you have poynts, and pinns, and rings, 

With such -like toyes as those. 
There patches, gloves, and ribons gay. 

And our money goes. 
But when a faramily is sunck, 

And titles ai'e a-fading, 
Some merchant's daughter setts you up, 

Thus great ones live by trading. 
Look, &c. 

Marke the nobility throughout, 

Moderne and antient too ; 
You'l see what power the citty had, 

And how nuicli it could do. 

* The place appointed for tlie reception of tines imposed upon 
the Royalists; and for loans, etc., to the ruritanic part}'. 


Not many houses you'l observe 
Of honour, true or seeming, 

But have received from the Burse 
Creation oi* redeeming. 
Look, 8fc. 

Our wonted meetings are at twelve, 

Which all the world approves, 
But you keep oiF till candle-time, 

To make, your secret loves. 
Then you come flocking in amaine. 

Like birds of the same feather, 
Or beasts repayring to the arke, 

Uncleane and cleane together. 
Look, &c. 

Wee strike a bargaine in the Exchange, 

But make it good elsewhere ; 
And your proceedings are alike, 

Though not so good, I fear. 
For your commodities are nought. 

However you may prize them ; 
Then corners, and darke holes are sought, 

The better to disguise them. 
Look, &c. 

We walke o're cellars richly fiird 

With spices of each kind, 
You have a tavei'ne underneath, 

And so you're undermin'd. 


If such a building long endure 

All sober men may wonder, 
When giddy and light heads prevaile. 

Both above ground and under. 
Look, &c. 

Wee have an office, to ensure 

Our shipps and goods at sea : 
No tempest, rock, or pyrat, can 

Deprive us of that plea. 
But if your ladies spring a leake. 

Or boarded be, and taken, 
Who shall secure your capitoll, 

And save youre heads from aking ? 
Look, 8fc. 

Then we'll go no more to the New Exchange, 

Their credit's like to fall. 
Their money and their loyalty 
Is gone to Goldsmiths' Ilall. 
But we will keep our Old Exchange, 

Where wealth is still in fashion, 
Gold chaines and ruffes shall bear the bell, 
For all your reformation. 

Look on our walls and pillars too, 

You'l find us much the sounder : 
Sir Thomas Gresham stands upright, 
But Crook-back was your founder. 



This characteristic dialogue, a parody on a popular amatory 
poem, is printed from a copy in Harleian MS., No. 6396. 

The great outward distinction between the Puritans and 
Cavaliers, was the length of hair indulged in by the latter, and 
the close cropping of the former, who from that obtained the 
name of round htads, A song printed in 1641, entitled TTie 
Character of a Roundhead, commences thus : — 

" What creature's this ? with his short hairs, 
His little band, and huge long ears, 
That this new faith has founded? 
The Pui'itans were never such, 
The saints themselves had ne'er so much, — 
Oh such a knave's a Rjundhead ! " 

It is recorded that these men guessed the morality of a man by 
the length of his hair, as Butler describes them to have done by 
his cap. 

" black caps overlaid with white. 

Gave outward sign of inward light." 

The rigid Puritans, who left this country for America in the 
early part of the reign of Charles I, published a manifesto against 
long hair in their new colony, in which they call it " an impious 
custom, and a shameful practice, for any man who has the least 
care for his soul to wear Jong hair"; and they therefore enact 
that it shall bo rigidly cropped, and not allowed to bo worn in 
churches, so that "those persons, who, notwithstanding these 
rigorous prohibitions, and the means of correction that shall be 
used on this account, siiall still persist in this custom, shall have 
both God and man at the same time against them." 


C. L. Ask me no more why I do waire 
My luure so I'ai- below mine eare ; 
For the first man that e'er was made 
Did never know the barber trade. 

A. S. Aske me no more where all the day, 
The foolish owle doth make her stay ; 
'Tis in your locks, for, tak't from me, 
She thinks your haire an ivy-tree. 

C. L. Tell me no more that length of haire, 
Can make the visage seem less fair ; 
For know, howe'er my hair doth sit, 
I'm sure that yours comes short of it. 

A. S. Tell me no more men wear long haire 
To chase away the coldest ayre ; 
For by experience we may see, 
Long hair will but a backwind be. 

C. L. Tell me no more that long hair can 
Argue deboystness in a man ; 
For 'tis religious, being inclined. 
To keep the temples from the wind. 

A. S. Tell me no more that roarers waire 
Their hair extent below their ear: 
For having morgaged theyr land 
They'd faine obscure th' api)caring baud. 


C. L. Ask me no more why hair may be, . 
Th' expression of gentility ; 
'Tis that which, being largely grown, 
Derives its pedigree from the crown. 



From Ashmole's MS., 36, 37, art. 97. It appears to have been 
occasioned by some Puritanic objection to the wearing of the 
blue riband in hat or shoe roses, that being " the king's colour." 

Alas, what take you pepper in your noses, 
To see K. Charles his coUour woi'ne in roses ? 
'Twas but an ornament to grace the hat, 
Yet must w^e have an ordnance 'bout that ! 
Oh ! serious worthyes, how could you dispence 
With soe much tyme to draw a grcvance hence ? 
But you doe very well to make it knowne, 
When others loyaltyes surmounts your owne ; 
You can, and will suppresse it ; well, you may 
Doe what you list, when we must needes obey. 
I hope youlc shortly take the taylors trade, 
And vote how our apparrell must be made ; 
So women may by your brave orders see, 
How wide their smocks and pettycoatcs must be ; 
For 'tis all one, to tell us what we wearc, 


And what, we must not, this is pretty geare. 

Yf it contynue, faith, be harbors too, 

And cutt our hayres to that same length you doe 

You ovvne, and make it noe less cryme then treason, 

To weare, or doe, or els speake ought with reason. 

As for the king, hees king youle say, 'tis true ; 

But he would rule himself, and not let you. 

Wliat, would he soe ? hees very much to blame, 

And meritts your displeasure for the same ; 

He will not graunt that you, his friends, 'tis true, 

Should rule two kingdoms as the third rules you.* 

Least from a ribbon there should spring a faction, 

'Twas wisely done to stopp its growth to action ; 

Yet in despight of him that dares controU, 

I'le weare my soveraignes collours in my soule. 



From the same MS. as the preceding ; art. 169. Hollar's four 
female half-lengths, emblematic of the seasons, and engraved 
in 1641, exhibit the fashions alluded to in the following poem, 
to the minutest point. 

Is there a sanctity in love begun, 

That every woman veyles, and turnes lay nun ? 

* An allusion to the great influence the Scotch possessed over 
the army and the Parliament, in the earlj' part of the civil 


Alas ! your guilt appeares still through this dresse, 
You doe not soe much cover as confesse ; 
To me 'tis a memoriall, I beginne 
Forthwith to thinke on Venus and the ginne, 
Discovering in these vayles, soe sutely sett, 
At least the upper parts caught in a nett. 
Tell me, whoe tought you to give soe much light, 
As may entice, not satisfie the sight ? 
Betraying what may cause us to admire, 
And kindle only, but not quench desire. 
Among your other subtiltyes, this is one. 
That you see all, and yet are scene of none. 
'Tis the darke lanthorne to the face, oh ! then 
I may conclude there's treason against men ; 
"Whiles thus you only doe expose the lippes, 
'Tis but a faire and wantoner ecclipps ; 
Mean't how you will, at once to shew and hide, 
At best is but the modesty of pride ; 
Either unvayle you then, or veyle quite or'e. 
Beauty deserves not so much, foulenesse more ! 
But I profaine, like one whose strange desires 
Bringe to Love's altar foule and drossie fires ; 
Sinke those words to your cradles, for I know, 
Foule as you are, your byrth came from below. 
My fancie's now all hallowed, and I finde 
Pure vessells in my thoughts, priests in my minde. 
Soe Jove appeares, when breaking out his Avay, 
From the darke chaos, he first sheds the day; 
Newly awak'd out of the budds, soe shewcs. 
The lialfe scene, halfe hidd, glory of the rose, 


As you doe through your vayles ; and I may sweare, 

Viewing you soe that beauty doth budde there. 

Soe truth lay under fables, that the eye 

Might reverence the mystery, not discrye ; 

Light being soe proporcioned that noe more 

Was seene, but what might cause them to adore. 

Thus is your dresse soe ordered, soe contrived, 

As 'tis but only poetry revived. 

Such doubtful! light had sacred groves, whear rodds 

And twiggs at last did shoote up into gods. 

Wheare then a shade darkens the beauteous ftice. 

Shall not I pay her reverence to the place. 

Soe under water glymering starrs appeare, 

As those, but neerer starrs your eyes doe heere ; 

Soe deityes darkened sitt, that we may finde, 

A better way to see them in our minde. 

Noe bold Ixion then, be heei*e allow'd, 

Where Juno dares her selfe be in the cloude. 

Me thinks the first age comes againe, and we 

See a revival of symplicitye. 

Thus lookes the country virgin, whose browne hew 

Hoods her, and makes her shew even vyle as you. 

Bless them, that checks our hopes and spurres our feare, 

Whilst all doth not lye hid, nor all appeare ; 

O feare you noe assaults from bolder men. 

When they assayle be this your ai'mor then ; 

A silken helmet may defend those parts. 

Where softer kisses are the only darts. 




From Ashmole's MS., No. 48, art. 73. The Reformed Church 
retained but little of the symbolic dress of the priesthood, and 
that little was much opposed by the Calvinistic party, and 
upheld by Laud. The following short poem, descriptive of the 
dress of a Protestant prelate, was probably written to shew how 
little there was to object to in its siguificatiou. 

The albe and surplisse white doth note, 

A life withouten stayne or spot ; 

The horned miter represents, 

Full knowledge in both testaments ; 

The gloves that beene all newe and white, 

Handlinge the sacraments arighte ; 

The crosyer staffe most playnly showes, 

Redusinge of their strayed ewes ; 

The crosse, books, scripture, do portend, 

Of men's desires the doubtfull end. 

Behold what trust and dcepe devises 
Theis prelates have in their disguises. 



This capital old soii}^, to the equally good old tune of " Pagging- 
ton's Pound," is a loyal effusion of the reign of Charles II ; 
satirically descriptive of the doings of the Protectorate. It is 
j)rinted in D'Urfey's Wit and Mirth. A copy, with the music, 
occurs as a broadside in the Roxburghe collection. The allusion to 
the popish plot in the last stanza, will help to fix its date. But as 
the copy alluded to is said to be " reprinted, corrected, revised, 
and enlarged by the author," it very probably made its original 
appearance in an abbreviated form some years earlier. Thomas 
Jordan, the city poet laureate, has, in " a poetical parley mth 
a threadbare cloak," (reprinted in Nicjiols's Select collection of 
Poems, 1781, vol. vii, p. 62), concluded with some lines which 
may have suggested the ballad : — 

" these are no times for thee, 

Thick cloaks are only fit for knavery: 

The only cloaks that now are most in fashion, 

Are Liberty, Religion, Reformation; 

All these are fac'd with zeal, and button'd down 

With jewels dropp'd from an im; erial crown 

How canst thou hope for entertainment when 
Women make cloaks even of committee-men." 

Come buy my new ballet, 

I have't in my wallet, 
But 'twill not, I fear, please every pallat ; 

Then mark what ensu'th, 

I swear by my youth, 
That every line in my ballet is truth : 



A ballet of wit, a brave ballet of worth, 
'Tis newly printed, and newly come forth. 

'Twas made of a Cloak that fell out with a gown, 
That crampt all the kingdom, and crippl'd the crown. 

I'll tell you in brief, 

A story of grief. 
Which happen'd when cloak was commander-in-chief; 

It tore common prayers, 

Imprison'd lord mayors, 
In one day it voted down prelates and players : 
It made people perjur'd in point of obedience. 
And the covenant did cut off the oath of allegiance. 

Then let us endeavour to pull the Cloak down. 

That cramp'd all the ki ngdom and crippl'd thecrown. 

It was a black Cloak, 

In good time be it spoke, 
That kill'd many thousands, but never struck stroke ; 

With hatchet and rope. 

The forlorn hope, 
Did joyn with the devil to pull down the pope : 
It set all the sects in the city to work, 
And rather than fail 'twould have brought in the Turk. 

Tlien let us endeavour, &c. 

It seiz'd on the Tow'r guns. 
Those fierce demi-Gorgons, 
It brought in the bagpipes, and pull'd down theorgans; 
The pulpits did smoak. 
The churches did choak, 


And all our religion was turn'd to a cloak ; 
It brought in lay-elders could not write nor read, 
It set public faith up, and pull'd down the Creed. 
Then let us endeavour, &c. 

This pious impostor, 

Such fury did foster, 
It left us no penny, nor no pater noster ; 

It threw to the ground 

Ten Commandments down. 
And set up twice twenty times ten of its own : 
It routed the king, and villains elected 
To plunder all those whom they thought disaffected. 

Then let us endeavour, &c. 

To blind peoples eyes, 

This Cloak was so wise. 
It took off ship-money, but set up excise : 

Men brought in their plate. 

For reasons of state, 
And gave it to Tom Trumpeter, and his mate : 
In ])amphlets it writ many specious epistles. 
To cozen poor wenches of bodkins and whistles. 

Then let us endeavour, he. 

In pulpits it moved. 

And was much approved. 
For crying out — Fiyht the Lord's battles, beloved; 
It bobtayl'd the gown, 

Put prelacy down, 

N 2 


It trod on the mitre to reach at the crown : 
And into the field it an army did bring, 
To aim at the council, but shot at the king. 
Then let us endeavour, &c. 

It raised up states, 

Whose politick pates 
Do now keep their quarters on the City gates ; 

To father and mother. 

To sister and brother, 
It gave a commission to kill one another : 
It took up men's horses at very low rates, 
And plunder'd our goods to secure our estates. 

Then let us endeavour, &c. 

This Cloak did proceed 

To a damnable deed, 
It made the best mirror of majesty bleed ; 

Tho' Cloak did not do't, 

He set it on foot, 
By rallying and calling his journeyman to't ; 
For never had come such a bloody disaster 
If Cloak had not first drawn a sword at his master. 

Then let us endeavour, &c. 

Though some of them must hence, 
By sorrowful sentence. 
This lofty long Cloak is not mov'd to repentance ; 
But he and his men, 
Twenty thousand times ten, 


Are plotting to do their tricks over again : 
But let this proud Cloak to authority stoop, 
Or Dull* will provide him a button and loop. 
Then let us endeavour to pull the Cloak down, 
That basely did sever the head from the crown. 

Let's pray that the king. 

And his Parliament, 
In sacred and secular things may consent ; 

So righteously firm, 

And religiously free, 
That papists and atheists suppressed may be ; 
And as there's one Deity doth over-reign us. 
One faith, and one form, and one church may con- 
tain us. 

Then peace, truth, and plenty, our kingdom will 

And all popish plots, and their plotters shall down. 

* The name of the hangman at this period. He was succeeded 
by one who bequeathed his name to that oHicer until the present 
day ; and of whom the earliest notice I can lind is in the follow- 
ing title, " The Plotter's Ballad ; being Jack Ketch's iucom- 
parable receipt for the cure of traytorous recusants. Licensed 
December the 2ud, 1678." 



In a MS. copy of a comedy called The Humorous Lovers, by the 
Duke of Newcastle, among the Harleian MSS., 7367, the follow- 
ing song, (not given in the printed copy of the play, 1677) 
occurs at the beginning of the fourth act. 

I CONJURE thee, I conjure thee, 
By the ribands in thy hatt, 
By thy pretty lac'd cravat, 
By the ribands I'ound thy bum, 
Which is brac'd much like a drum, 
By thy dangling pantaloons. 
And thy ruffling port cannons,* 
By thy friezeld perriwigge, 
Which does make thee look so bigg. 
By thy sword of silver guilt, 
And the riband at thy hilt ; 
Apeare, apear. 

* Cannons are so called because they are like cannons of 
artillery, or cans or pots — Minshieu. Nares calls thorn " boot hose 
tops"; they were single or double rolls of piifVi'd ribbons sur- 
rounding the knee. 




This very curious satirical poem was published as a quarto 
tract of twenty-two pages in 1690. I know of no equally minute 
description of the contents of a lady's boudoir, and the fanciful 
names given to the various articles of dress. To it is appended 
a Fop- Dictionary, describing the derivation and character of them 
all, which have been appended as foot-notes to our reprint, to 
which some few more explanatory ones have been added. The 
author, in his Preface, gives a striking picture of the simplicity 
of ladies in the " good old times," contrasting it with the extra- 
vagance and affectation of those in his own day; and he says 
he has compiled this poem, that all those who would venture on 
the voyage of matrimony, may see what equipments modern 
luxury had then made necessary. 

He that will needs to Marry-land 
Adventure, first must understand 
For 's bark, what tackle to prepare, 
'Gainst wind and weather, wear and tare: 
Of Point d'Espagne a rich cornet,* 
Two night-rails, I and a scarf beset 

* The upper Pinner, dangling about the cheeks like hound's ears. 

f A body dress, uncoufined at the waist and closed only round 

the neck — literally night gowns, — which the ladies adopted as a 


With a great lace, a coUeret.* 

uioriiing drt'Ss. Wulker, in his Historical Memoirs of the Irish 
Bards, 1818, says : " Amongst other ridi- 
culous fashions wliich prevailed in this 
country, since the reign of Queen Anne, 
vas that of the ladies wearing bed gowns 
in the streets, about forty years ago. The 
canaille of Dublin were so disgusted with 
this fashion, or perhaps deemed it so 
prejudicial to trade, that they tried every 
expedient to abolish it. They insulted in 
the streets and public places those ladies 
who complied with it, and ridiculed it in 
ballads. But the only expedient that 
proved effectual, was the prevailing on an 
unfortunate female, who bad been condemned for a murder, to 
appeal" at the place of execution in a bed gown." A very rare 
print in the editor's collection of such as illustrate costume, 
represents a lady placed in the stocks for wearing one: beneath 
is inscribed : — 

" The night Kaile, 'tis a cunning subtle Uiing, 
In summer its coole, in winter heat doth biiug. 
What same thing hot and cold ; strange Paradox, 
Can that be thick that's thin, 'tis heterodox, 
Yet will this lady have it orthodox ; 
Wherefore wce'l fairly put her in the stocks. 
Ladies beware .' from pride this errour came, 
So sure as chalk and cheese are not the same." 
In front of the lady stands a little girl, whose figure is en- 
graved above, as it exhibits this ptculiar fashion so well. The lady 
appeals to her; " Little miss, what say'you?" She is too young to 
conceal discomfort for fashion's sake, and honestly answers : 
" Madam, my night-raih' gives no hcate, 
You say yours does, 'tis but a clieate, 
Therefore, pray Madam, keep your scat." 

A sort of gorget. 


One black gown of rich silk, which odd is 
AVithout one colour'd, embroider'd bodice : 
Four petticoats for page to hold up, 
Four short ones nearer to the crup : 
Three manteaus, nor can madam less 
Provision have for due undress ; 
Nor demy sultane,* spagnolet,t 
Nor fringe to sweep the Mall forget : 
Of under bodice three neat pair 
Embroider'd, and of shoos as fair : 
Short under petticoats pure fine, 
Some of Japan stufi", some of Chine, 
With knee-high galoon| bottomed, 
Another quilted white and red ; 
With a broad Flanders lace below : 
Four pair of bas de soy§ shot through 
With silver, diamond buckles too. 
For garters, and as rich for shoo. 
Twice twelve-day smocks of Holland fine. 
With cambric sleeves, rich point to joyn, 
(For she despises colbertine). || 

* A gown trimmed with buttons and loops. 

I A kind of narrow -sleeved gown, a TEspagnole. 

X A kind of worsted lace ; the pattern of which was after- 
wards adopted in richer materials for the gentry. 

§ Silk stockings with gold or silver thread wove into the clock. 

II A lace resembling net-work, of the fabric of Monsieur 
Colbert, superintendent of the French king's manufactories. 
Randle Holme describes it as "an open lace with a square 
grounding." It ultimately became cheap, and consequently 


Twelve more for night, all Flanders lac'd, 
Or else she'll think herself disgrac'd : 
With same her night-gown must adorn, 
The two point wastcoats for the morn : 
Of pocket mouchoirs, nose to drain, 
A dozen lac'd, a dozen plain : 
Three night-gowns of rich Indian stuff. 
Four cushion-cloths are scarce enough, 
Of point, and Flanders, nor forget 
Slippers embroidered on velvet : 
A manteau girdle, ruby buckle, 
And brillant diamond rings for knuckle : 
Fans painted, and perfumed three ; 
Three muifs of sable, ermine, grey ; 
Nor reckon it among the baubles, 
A palatine also of sables.* 
A saphire bodkin for the hair, 
Or sparkling facet diamond there : 
Then turquois, ruby, emrauld rings 
For fingers ; and such petty things 
As diamond pendants for the ears, 
Must needs be had ; or two pearl pears, 
Pearl neck -lace, large and oriental, 
And diamond, and of amber pale ; 
For oranges bears every bush, 
Nor values she cheap things a rush. 
Then bracelets for her wrists bespeak, 

* Formerly called sables, or tippet, because made of the tails of 
that animal. 


(Unless her heart-strings you will break) ; 
With diamond croche* for breast and bum, 
Till to hang more on there's no room. 
Besides these jewels you must get 
Cuff buckles, and an handsom set 
Of tags for palatine, a curious hasp 
The manteau 'bout her neck to clasp : 
Nor may she want a ruby locket. 
Nor the fine sweet quilted pocket ; 
To play at ombre, or basset, 
She a rich pulvilf purse must get, 
With guineas fill'd, on cards to lay, 
With which she fancies most to play ; 
Nor is she troubled at ill fortune, 
For should the bank be so importune. 
To rob her of her glittering store, 
The amorous fop will furnish more. 
Pensive and mute, behind her shoulder 
He stands, till by her loss grown bolder. 
Into her lap rouleau J conveys, 
The softest thing a lover says : 
She grasps it in her greedy hands, 
Then best his passion understands ; 

* The hook to which are chained the ladies watch, seals, 
intaglios, &c. 

f The Portugal term for the most exquisite powders and 

X Rouleau is forty-nine guineas made uj) in a paper roll, which 

Monsieur F , Sir J , and Father B lend to losing 

gamesters, that are good men, to have fifty in return. 


"When tedious languishing has fail'd, 

Rouleau has constantly prevail'd. 

But to go on where we left off. 

Though you may think what's said enough ; 

This is not half that does belong 

To the fantastick female throng : 

In pin-up ruffles now she flaunts, 

About her sleeves ai'e engageants :* 

Of ribbon, various echelles,| 

Gloves trimm'd, and lac'd as fine as Nells. 

Twelve dozen Martial, :|: whole, and half, 

Of jonquil, tuberose (don't laugh), 

Frangipan, orange, violett, 

Narcissus, jassemin, ambrett : 

And some of chicken-skin for night. 

To keep her hands plump, soft, and white :§ 

Mouchesil for pushes, to be sure, 

From Paris the tre-fine procure, 

* Deep double ruffles hanging down to the wrists. 

t A pectoral, or stomacher laced with ribbon, like the rounds 
of a ladder. 

f The name of a famous French perfumer, emulating the 
Frangipani of Home. 

§ Chicken gloves were of the most deUcate materials and 
thinnest skin, and were worn iu bed to keep the hands white, as 
late as the middle of the reign of George III, even by gentlemen 
as well as ladies. To perfume gloves was a common practice 
from the time of Elizabetli ; and it was not until gloves became 
cheap and in common use tiiat it was discoutinuod. 

II Flies, or, black patches. 


And Spanish paper," lip, and cheek, 
With spittle sweetly to belick : 
Nor therefore spare in the next phxce. 
The pocket sprunking"* looking-glass ; 
Calembuc'^ combs in pulvil case, 
To set, and trim the hair and face : 
And that the cheeks may both agree. 
Plumpers'' to fill the cavity. 
The settee, '^ cupee,^ place aright, 
Frelange,^ Fontagne,'' favorite ;' 
Monte la haut,J and palisade,'' 
Sorti,' flandan,™ (great helps to trade) 

" " A beautiful red colour, which the ladies, &c., in Spain paint 
their faces withal." It was made up into little books, and a leaf 
was torn out, and rubbed upon the cheeks, the vermillion powder 
which covered it being transferred to the face. It was in use at 
the end of the last century. 

** A Dutch term for pruning, tiffing, trimming, and setting 
out, by the glass, or pocket mirror. 

•= A certain precious wood, of an agreeable scent, brought from 
the Indies. 

^ Certain very thin, round, and light balls, to plump out and 
fill up the cavities of the cheeks, much used by old court- 

^ The double pinner. ^ A kind of pinner. 

s Bonnet and pinner together. 

^ The top knot, so called from Mademoiselle Fontange, one of 
the French king's mistresses, who first wore it. 

' Locks dangling on the temples. 

J Certain degrees of wire to raise the dress. 

^ A wire sustaining the hair next to the dutchess, or first knot. 

• A little knot of small ribbon, peeping out between the pinner 
and bonnet. ™ A kind of pinner joining with the bonnet. 


Burgoigne,* jardine,'' cornett, 

FrilaF next upper pinner set, 

Round which it does our ladies please 

To spread the hood call'd rayonnes :"* 

Behind the noddle every baggage 

Wears bundle choux," in English cabbage. 

Nor cruches^ she, nor confidents,^ 

Nor passagers,"" nor bergers' wants ; 

And when this grace nature denies. 

An artificial toui-^ supplies ; 

All which with meurtriers^ unite, 

And creve-coeurs' silly fops to smite, 

Or take in toll at park or play ; 

Nor holy church is safe, they say. 

* The first part of the dress for the head next the hair. 

'' The single pinner next the bourgogne. 

^ Borders of ornamental ribbon ; it is still preserved in the 
vulgar saying of dressing with " fine /u/-/aZs." 

•^ An upper hood, pinned in a circle, like the sunbeams. 

^ The great round boss, or bundle of hair, worn at the back of 
the head, and resembling a cabbage, from whence the French 
gave it that name. 

^ Certain smaller curls, placed on the forehead. 

K Smaller curls near the ears. 

•* A curled lock next the temples. 

1 A plain small lock (a la shepherdessc) turned up with a pu(TF. 

J An artificial dress of hair in the forehead. 

^ Murderers, a certain knot in the hair, which tics and unites 
the curls. 

1 Heart-breakers, the two small curled locks at the nape of the 


Where decent veil was wont to hide 
The modest sex religious pride : 
Lest these yet prove too great a load, 
'Tis all corapris'd in the commode ;* 
Pins tipt with diamond, point and head, 
By which the curls are fastened, 
In radiant firmamentf set out. 
And over all the hood sur-tout. 
Thus, face that e'rst near head was plac'd 
Imagine now about the wast, 
For tour on tour, and tire on tire. 
Like steeple Bow, or Grantham spire. 
Or Septizonium,! once at Rome, 
(But does not half so well become 
Fair ladies head) you here behold 
Beauty by tyrant mode controll'd. 
The graceful oval, and the round, 
This horse tire does quite confound ; 
And ears like satyr, large and raw, 

* A frame of wire, covered with silk, on which the whole 
head-tire is adjusted at once upon a bust, or property of wood 
carved to the breasts, like that which perruque makers set upon 
their stalls. 

"{■ The firmament was an encircling ornament for the hair, of 
diamonds or other precious stones, heading the pins which they 
stick in the tour, and hair, like stars. 

X A very high tower in Rome, built by the Emperour Severus, 
of seven ranks of pillai's, set one upon the other, and diminishing 
to the top, like the ladies new dress for their heads, which was 
the mode among the Roman dames, and is exactly described by 
Juvenal in his sixth satyr. 


And bony face, and hollow jaw ; 
This monstrous dress does now reveal 
Wliich well plac'd curies did once conceal. 
Besides all these, 'tis always meant 
You furnish her appartement. 
With Moreclack tapistry,* damask bed. 
Or velvet richly embroidered : 
Branches, brasero,t cassolets,:}: 
A cofre fort,§ and cabinets, 
Vasas of silver, porcelan, store 
To set, and range about the floor : 
The chimney furnitui*e of plate, 
(For iron's now quite out of date :) 
Tea-table, skreens, trunks, and stand, 
Large looking-glass richly japan'd, 
An hanging shelf, to which belongs 

* A manufactory of tapestry was founiled at Mortlake, in 
Surrey, by Sir Francis Crane, in 1619, under the patronan;e of the 
king, who gave ,£2,000 towards it. Francis Cleyne, the Flemish 
artist, was engaged to furnish designs, and was granted a pension 
of £100 per annum and a house to live in. The works were 
seized by the Parliament, but on the Restoration were again set 
going by Charles II, who engaged Verrio to furnish designs; 
but the manufactory was soon discontinued. The corrupt mode 
of spelling the name of Mortlake in our text, gives a clue to the 
real locality of Armin's play, The two 3Iai<les of Morc-clache. 

•f A largo vessel, or moving hearth of silver for coals, trans- 
portable into any room, much used in Spain. 

X Perfuming pot or censer. 

§ A strong box of some precious or hard wood, &c., bound 
with gilded ribs. 


Romances, plays, and amorous songs ; 

Repeating clocks, the hoiu" to show 

When to the jjlay 'tis time to go, 

In pompous coach, or else sedan'd 

With equipage along the Strand, 

And with her new beau foppling manii'd. 

A new scene to us next presents, 

The dressing-room, and implements. 

Of toilet plate, gilt and emboss'd, 

And several other things of cost : 

The table mii-oir, one glue pot, 

One for pomatum, and what not ? 

Of washes, unguents, and cosnieticks, 

A pair of silver candlesticks ; 

Snuffers, and snuff-dish, boxes more. 

For powders, patches, waters store. 

In silver flasks, or bottles, cups 

Cover'd, or open, to wash chaps ; 

Nor may Hungarian queen's* be wanting, 

Nor store of spirits against fainting : 

Of other waters rich, and sweet, 

To sprinkle handkerchief is meet ; . 

D'Ange, orange, mill-fleur, myrtle, 

"Whole quarts the chamber to bequirtle : 

Of essence rare, and le mcilleure 

From Rome, from Florence, Montpellier, 

In filgran casset,t to repel 

* Hungary ivater was a famous perfume and restorative, much 
used at this period. 

t A dressing box o\\filligree, or " silver wire-work." 


When scent of gousset does rebel, 
Though powder'd allom be as good 
"Well strew'd on, and well understood ; 
For vapours that offend the lass, 
Of sal-armoniack a glass : 
Nor brush for gown, nor oval salver, 
Nor pincushion, nor box of silver. 
Baskets of fil' gran, long and round, 
Or if japonian to be found. 
And the whole town so many yield, 
Calembuc combs by dozens fiU'd 
You must present, and a world more. 
She's a poor miss can count her store. 
The working apron too from France, 
With all its trim apurtenance ; 
Loo masks,* and whole, as wind do blow, 
And miss abroad's dispos'd to go : 
Hoods by whole dozens, white and black, 
And store of coiffs she must not lack. 
Nor velvet scarfs about her back, 
To keep her warm ; all these at least 
In amber'd skins, or quilted chest 
Richly pei'fum'd, she lays ; and rare 
Powders for garments, some for hair, 
Of Cyprus, aad of Corduba, 
And the rich polvill of Goa ; 

* Loo masks arc half masks, covering the face to the nose 
only ; and were worn in calm, as whole masks were in windy 


Nor here omit the bob of gokl 

Which a pomander* ball does hold, 

This to her side she does attach 

With gold crochet, or French pennache,| 

More useful far then ferula. 

For any saucy coxcomb's jaw : 

A graceful swing to this belongs, 

Which he returns in cringe, and songs, 

And languishings to kiss the hand, 

Tliat can perfumed blows command. 

All these and more in order set, 

A large rich cloth of gold toilet 

Does cover, and to put up rags, 

Two higli embroidered sweet bags, 

Or a large perfum'd Spanish skin, 

To wraf) up all these trinkets in. 

But I had almost quite forgot, 

A tea and chocolate pot. 

With molionet,! and caudle cup. 

Restoring breakfast to sup up : 

Porcelan saucers, spoons of gold. 

Dishes that refin'd sugars hold : 

Pastillios de Bocca§ we 

In box of beaten gold do see, 

* The pomander was a perforated ball of precious metal, con- 
taining scent, which hung to the girdle, and was first used by 
the nobility in the sixteenth century. 

■f Any bunch or tassel of small ribbon. 

X The instrument used to mingle chocolate with tlie water, 

§ Perfumed lozenges, to improve the breath. 

o 2 



Inchasd with diamonds, and tweeze 
As rich and costly as all these, 
To which a bunch of onyxes, 
And many a golden seal there dangles, 
Mysterious cyphers, and new fangles. 
Gold is her toothpick, gold her watch is, 
And gold is every thing she touches ; 
But tir'd with numbers I give o're, 
Arithmetick can add no more, 
Thus rigg'd the vessel, and equipp'd, 
She is for all adventures shipp'd, 
And portion e're the year goes round, 
Does with her vanity confound. 


This ballad, " to the tune of London Top Knots," is reprinted 
from a small collection of songs consisting of four leaves only, 
in the three volumes of old ballads pre- 
served in the British Museum. It is enti- 
tled, " Musick a-la-mo(le : or the Young Plaid's 
Delight; containingfive excellent new songs, 
sung at the drolls in Bartholomew-fair. 
London, printed in the year 1691." There 
is a small wood-cut in the title-page, here 
copied of the orij;inal size, representing a 
lady with a commode, and in the fashion- 
able dress of the da}' ; with a fan in one 
hand and a black mask in the other. In 


the Camhrid(je Jests, tliose monstrous iK-ad-flressPS, which wore 
also called Towers, are thus allmled to: — "A Cantabrigian 
being one day deeply engaged in discourse with a gentlewoman, 
who condemned the weakness of her sex; 'No, madam,' replied 
the scholar, ' not so, for if I mistake not, it is easy to prove your 
sex stronger than ours, for Sampson being the strongest, carried 
only the gates of the city away ; but now-a-days, every female 
stripling carries a tower on her head.' " 

The fops and the fools, like silly night-owls, 

They prate, and they talk of our top-knots: 
We are their discourse, when they drink oif their bowls, 

And make themselves drunk with their dram-pots. 
Their hats were once higher than now are our tow'rs, 

Because they were then in the fiishion ; 
Then they were more rogues tlian now we are w 's, 

Then lot them lay by their fond passion. 

The fair queen of Egypt she wore a commode, 

On the top of it was a lac'd Amber, 
Which caused Mark Anthony, tho' it was odd. 

At night to come to her bed-chamber : 
Our masks, and our vails, with our bonny night rails. 

Which all our deformities covers. 
Make us frisk up our tails, and hoise our fine sails. 

And anchor at night with our lovers. 

The cuckolds wear horns, with i)ates that are bare, 
There's manj^ such beasts in the nation ; 


Why may we not likewise make use of our hair, 

And raise it in their imitation. 
Our laces and rings, with other such things, 

We use to obtain the affection 
Of all, but of kings, for riches take wings. 

But a husband's a woman's protection. 

The fumbling old fellows of threescore and ten, 

They perriwigs wear to our sorrow : 
We take them and wed them, and think they're young 

Which makes us oft instruments borrow. 
Why may we not then (for where is the odds) 

Tiappan an old fool in his folly ? 
And make him believe that old Joan, in commodes, 

Is young, to divert melancholy. 

There's many short women that could not be match'd, 

Until the top-knots came in fashion ; 
Tho' they wore their shoes high, both painted and patch 'd, 

And humour'd the tricks of love's passion : 
But now by the help of our rousing commodes, 

They wheedle young men to come nigher ; 
For a wench that is short, in bed, cfiii make sport, 

As well as one twenty yards higher. 

Then silly old fops, that kiss but like pofies, 

And call us night walkers and farics, 
Go fumble old Joan, and let us alone, 

And never come near our canary's : 


We'll wear our breasts bare, and curl up our hair, 
And shew our commodes to the people ; 

But, as I'm a w , if that you talk more, 

We'll raise them as high as Bow-steeple.* 



From Fine Phillis's Garland, 12mo., Sheffield, 1745, in the 
possession of J. 0. Halliwell, Esq. The ballad is evidently much 
earlier than this date, and as old as the preceding one. 

Of a fine young lady 

'Tis my meaning to tell : 

Her name it is Phillis, 
As is known well. 

Of all her gay toys 
Here I'll make known, 

* T7ie Virghts complaint for want of a Husband, in the same rare 
collection, commences with an allusion to this fashionable 

costume : — 

" I'm a lass boUi brisk and fair, 
Spai'klintr eye, auii coal-black hair ; 
Vme lac'd shoes, and toji-knots rare, 
Yet no man comes to woo me." 
In D'Urfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy, is a song called Deil tak 
the Wars, in which a girl says : — 

" On my head a hupe commode sat stickiuj;, 
Which made me shew as tall again." 


When she stares at the boys 
All over the town. 

She's a fine lady, 

When she's got her things on : 
On the top of her head 

Is a fine htn-gogon* 
A crutchf then on the side, 

To show her off neat, 
And two little co7ijidant.s,\ 

To make it compleat. 

Her shabbai'ons§ next I'll show, 

Her sortie,|| and patches of black — 
Her pinners, and commodes^ so fine, 

Of nothing she's got any lack. 
No tower, or peruke has she, 

But a very fine colleret,* 
And her gloves so shiny look. 

The best of all she can get. 

But how did she get 

These things so fine, 
Her sparkling dress 

Fit for the nine ? 

* Bourgoigne, sec note at p. 190. t Critche, sec note at p. 190. 

I See note at p. 190. 

§ A corruption of Chujicron, tlie hood. 

II A liood to wear in wnlking-. 

1| See note at p. 191. * Sec nolo at p. 184. 


She got all these toys, 

Here I'll make known, 
To please the bad boys 

All over the town. 


From D'UrtVy's Wit and Mirtti ; or. Pills to Panje Melaiichohj, 
vol. V, p. 206 ; whore it is described as " sot and sung by Mr. 
Ramondoi), in the comedy called Hampstead Ifeatfi," which was 
written by Mr. Thomas Baker, and published in 1706. 

A WIG that's full, 

An empty scull, 
A box of burgamot ; 

A hat ne'er made 

To fit his head,* 
No more than that to plot. 

A hand that's white, 

A ring that's right, 
A sword-knot, patch and feather ; 

A gracious smile, 

And grounds and oyl,. 
Do very well together. 

* It was the fashion at this lime for the beaux to wear the 
iuit under the arm, so that the largo powdered perriwig might 
be uniniurod. 


A smatch of French, 

And none of sense, 
All conquering airs and graces ; 

A tune that thrills, 

A leer that kills, 
Stol'n flights and borrovv'd phrases. 

A chariot gilt. 

To wait on jilt, 
An awkward pace and carriage ; 

A foreign tour, 

Domestick wh , 

And mercenary marriage. 

A limber ham, 

G d ye, m'am, 

A smock -face, tho' a tann'd one ; 

A peaceful sword, 

Not one wise word, 
But state and prate at random. 

Duns, bastards, c 's. 

And am'i'ous scraps 
Of Ccelia and Amadis ;* 

Toss up a beau. 

That grand ragou, 
That hodge-podge for the ladies. 

* Two fii.sliionablc French roinaiicus, as mucli read and 
(liiotcd at this period, as were the Arcadia and Euplmvs in tho 
reitru of EHzabeth. 

roKMS ON COSTUMli 203 


This song is by Tom D'Urfey, and was set to music by Dr. 
Croft, and sung in the third act of his comedy called The modern 
Prophets; or, New Wit for an Husband, (quarto, 1709). The 
Companion to the Plaijhouse, 1764, speaking of the play, says: 
"this piece is an excessive bad one; having no kind of merit 
but the exposing, with some little humour, a set of absurd en- 
thusiasts, who made their appearance at this time under the title 
of the French prophets." He has published both song and 
music in his extensive collection, Wit and Mirth: or, Pills to 
Purge Melancholy (six vols. 12mo. Lond. 1719). The Prologue 
to his comedy of the French Coquet, contains the following excel- 
lent picture of the fashionables of the day. Speaking of French 
fops he says: — 

" lu apish modes they naturally shine, 
Which we ape alter them to make us fme, 
The late blue feather was chai'maute, divme ; 
Next then the slouching sledo, and our huge button, 
And now our coats, fianck broad, like shovilder mutton ; 
Fac'd with fine colours, scailet, green and sky, 
With sleeves so large, they'll give us wings to tly ; 
Next year I hope they U cover nails and all. 
And every button like a tennis ball." 

The enormous wigs which became fashionable after the 
Kestoration, and point the satire in the ballad annexed, are 
constantly alluded to by writers of the end of the seventeenth 
and beginning of the eighteenth century. In D'Ui'fey's collection 
above noticed (vol. i, p. 5), is an allusion to the fashionable 
haunters of theatres. 

" beau's that in boxes 

Lye smuggling their doxies, 
With wigs that hang do^vn to theii- bums." 

And it was the custom with them to comb and arrange their 


wigs at all public places in order to attract attention. In 
Wycherley's play, Love in a Wood, or St. James's Park, 1672; 
an exquisite says, " If she has smugg'd herself up for me, let 
me prune, and frounce my perruque a little for her ; there's ne're 
a young fellow in the town but will do as much for a mere 
stranger in a play-house." In act i, scene 3, of Killigrew's 
Parsons Wedding, 1663, the stage direction for a group of 
fashionable gentlemen, is, " they comb their heads and talk." Tom 
Brown, in his Letters from the Dead to the Living, has given an 
excellent description of a beau, who " made a most magnificent 
figure: his perriwig was large enough to have loaded a camel, 
and he bestowed upon it, at least, a bushel of powder, I warrant 
ye!" A curious satirical work, attributed to the same author, 
An Essay in defence of the Female Sex, 1696, has for a frontispiece 
an amusing picture, the complete beau under the hands of his barber, 
to which I must refer the reader, as an excellent example of the 
costume of the day : his wig reaches literally to his waist, and 
he is adjusting it at the glass while the barber powders it. 

I HATE a fop that at his glass 

Stands prinking half the clay; 
With a sallow, frowzy, olive-colour'd face, 
With a powder'd peruke hanging to his wast, 
Who with ogling imagines to possess. 
And to shew his shape doth cringe and scrape, 

But nothing has to say ; 
Or if the courtship's fine, 
He'll only cant and whine, 
And in confounded poetry. 
He'll goblins make divine ; 
I love the bold and brave, 
I hate the fawning slave. 



That (luakes, and cvyes, 
And sighs, and lyes, 
Yet wants the skill. 
With sence to tell 
What 'tis he lonjis to have. 


The battle of Ramilies, fought on the 23rd of May, 1706, gave 

name to a new fashioned wig, invented by some entei-prising 

maker, which immediately became the height of fashion. It was 

worn bushy at the sides, with a plaited tail, which was tied with 

a large bow at top, and another at bottom, and 

was the origin of the pig-tail. The hat had a 

particular turn of brim, known as the llamilie 

cock. Our illustration shews one of these, 

as exhibited in Hogarth's Modern Midnight 

Conversation, hanging against the wall. The 

muffetees were small muffs (which appear to 

have been dyed of various colours), and which 

were carried by beaux at this period. The 

following ballad is called The Ladies' Answer to one ridiculing 

their " black hats and capuchins," or large hoods. This ballad 

I have been unable to meet with. The ensuing is pi'iuted from 

The Muffetees Gnrland, one of the many in the curious collection 

of J.O. Ilalliwell, Esq. 

I WONDER what the men can mean, 

To trouble their heads with our capuchins, 


Let 'em mind their ruffles and muffetees. 
Pray, what harm in our black hats is found, 
To make them so much with scandal abound ? 
Why can they not let the women alone, 
"When idler fashions they have of their own ? 

With ramelie wigs and muffetees. 

For the finical beaux we care not a fig, 
At us the fribbles may strut and look big, 

In their spencers, bobs, and ramelics ; 
Their wigs alter their fashion as well as our hats, 
Which shews they are full as fantastical fops ; 
Then cease at the women any longer to rail, 
As your whimsical notions are often frail, 

With ramelie wigs and muffetees. 

He is a blockhead that cannot fare well, 
And be contented, but must kiss and tell. 

With ramelie wigs and muffetees: 
Men for kissing girls are blam'd, 
But a woman, if once her virtue is stain'd. 
Is afterwards slighted, and held in scorn, 
By that very deceiver who made her forlorn, 

With his wheedling words and muffetees. 

We'll not mind the beaux altho' they look big, 
And strut along in their i*amelie wigs, 

With their long ruffles and muffetees. 
And we, in our turn, will laugh at them, 
To see such fops and finical men ; 


And see them folded up like a letter, 
And strutting forth like a crow in a gutter, 
With their long ruffles and muffetees. 

The gii'ls can't have a bit of fun, 

But your game on them you must run. 

With your scarlet and saxon-green muffetees ; 
Talking in private was never a crime, 
But when we are catch'd it is the first time ; 
If he that deceived us should us disdain, 
We quickly pass for good maids again, 

And marry some fop with his muffetees. 



This song was composed on occasion of one of the most heroic 
acts of conjugal love and fidelity, and one of tlie most cleverly 
conducted and successful escapes on record. William Maxwell, 
Earl of Nithsdale, the descendant of a family who had always 
been celebrated for unshaken fidelity to the house of Stewart, 
joined the rebel forces in 1715; he was taken prisoner at Preston, 
tried, and sentenced to decapitation: — but by the extraordinary 
ability and admirable skill of his countess, he escaped out of the 
Tower on the evening before his sentence was to be executed, and 
died at Rome in 1744. A circumstantial account of his escape 
was afterwards written by the countess to her sister, Lady Lucy 
Herbert, abbess to the Au};ustine nuns at Bruges, dated Palais 
Royal de Rome, 16th April, 1718, which in 18U> was in the 



possession of Constable Maxwell, Esq., a descendant of the noble 
house of Nithsdale, and was published entire in the Appendix to 
Ci'omek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Songs (8vo., Lond. 
ISIO). It was also edited by Sheffield Grace, Esq., and privately 
printed in royal 8vo. 1827. The countess, despairing of saving 
her husband's life, visited the Tower the night before his exe- 
cution was appointed to take place, and taking two female 
friends, she adroitly managed to change the dress of one, and 
put her in clothes conveyed by the other to the prison, while 
the earl dressed in those she wore, and passed outsafel}'; the 
countess soon after, appearing to take her farewell, shutting the 
prison door, and getting away unobstructed. The large hoods 
worn by the ladies at this time, and one of which was worn by 
Mrs. Mills, the lad}' whom the earl per- 
sonated, contributed in no small degree to 
def}' detection, and the interest which the 
public took in this extraordinary adventure 
induced them to apply to this article of 
dress the name N^itkisdale for some time 
after. Our representation of one of them 
is copied from a print of tlie period. 

This song is reprinted from D'Urfcy's Wit and Mirth, 1719 
(vol. ii, p. 320), where it has the following title:— "The Nithis- 
dale: vulgarly call'd a Riding Hood. A poem, on the sudden, 
timely, and incomparable purpose of the Countess of Nithisdale; 
who frustrated the dreadful judgment and sentence of the Lord 
High Steward, and sav'd her husband's neck from the block, 
February 2r)th, 1715." 

Oh every tuneful bard tliat sings, 
Oriadi<!.s wits and ladies things ; 
Of moulding face, or teeth, or hair, 
Design'd to make 'em young and fair ; 


Let iron hoops not made for show, 
Nor whalebone fardingales below, 
No more in praise be understood, 
But now exalt the Riding-hood. 

Our hats with feathers they inclose, 
Our coats they wear, and ride like beaus, 
Our breeches too they'll quickly find, 
And set up then to ape mankind : 
But since to take they are so bold 
Our cloaks, that shade from rain and cold, 
I'll study now the nation's good, 
And thus expose the Riding-hood. 

It first does cleanliness decay. 
And proves a thousand sluts a-day ; 
TTieir linnen too all ill may be, 
They hide it so as none can see ; 
Then let the husband, who with strife 
Perceives a gallant loves his wife, 
Think 'tis for cuckold-making good. 
No cover like a Riding-hood. 

Thus in our days of life 'twill raise 
A hundred tricks a hundred ways ; 
And now my story to pursue. 
You'll see what it in death can do : 
'Tis call'd a NUhisdctle, since fame 
Adorn'd a countess with that name ; 
Whose wit surmounting, firmly stood 
All creatures with a Riding-hood. 


Her lord for treason all deter, 
Who had been dead were't not for her ; 
King, lords, and commons doom'd his fate, 
The Tower his gaol, the warders set, 
Petitions could no mercy draw, 
And ladies tears impeach'd the law ; 
All this the heroine withstood, 
And baffled by a Riding-hood. 

Saturnia gave, with closing light, 
The criminal his last good night. 
When th' sprightly countess did the deed, 
She weep't, she had all in her head. 
She dress'd her lord, inform'd his mind. 
Made soldiers dumb, and warders blind ; 
And all the nation prais'd her mood. 
For the inchanted Riding-hood. 

In spite of ears, in spite of eyes. 
Of power and wealth, that crowns our joys, 
This rarity of women's moukl, 
. With feraahi Jerking then controwl'd 
The great lieutenant bold and gay, 
That has good judgment as some say. 
Must think his prudent pai't not good, 
Out-witted by a Riding-hood. 

Observe this rule, you that have i)ower, 
From Newgate's mansion to the Tower, 
No more ingage with female wit. 
Nor seek to find out their deceit; 


For take this grave advice from me, 
You shall not hear, you shall not see, 
'Till they their rare designs make good, 
As now they've done the Riding-hood. 

Let traitors against kings conspire. 
Let secret spies great statesmen hire, 
Nought shall be by detection got, 
If women may have leave to plot : 
There's nothing clos'd with bars or locks, 
Can hinder nightrayls, pinners, smocks, 
For they will every one make good, 
As now they've done the Riding-hood. 

Oh thou, that by this sacred wife 

Hast saved thy liberty and life. 

And by her wits immortal pains, 

With her quick head hast sav'd thy brains : 

Let all designs her worth adorn. 

Sing her anthem night and morn. 

And let thy fervent zeal make good, 

A reverence for the Riding-hood. 



This satirical ballad is upon a similar plan to that given on 
page 177, — but it belongs to Irish history , and is one of those 
political songs of which so many wore published in the early part 

p 2 



of the last century ; and to which Dean Swift contributed not a 
few. It is obtained from the large and curious collection of these 
broadsides now in the pes 

session of T. Crofton Croker, 
Esq., who believes it to have 
been originally formed by the 
Dean himself. The dates of 
the purchase of the ballads 
have been put in by the ori- 
ginal owner, and this is so 
dated 1728. It has a wood- 
cut of the cloak, which is here 
reduced in size, but in no 
other way altered. The two short lines, which commence our 
reprint, are in the original printed beneath this cut, and form 
the only title of the song. 

A merry new joke, 

On Josephs old Cloak. 
This cloak was cut in old Oliver's clays. Fa, la, &c. 
When zeal and religion were lost in a maze. Fa. 
'Twas made by an elder of Lucifer's club. Fa. 
Who botch'd on a shop-board, and whin'd in a tub. Fa. 
'Twas vampt out of patches, unseemly to name. Fa. 
'Twas hem'd with sedition, and lin'd with the same. Fa. 
This cloak to no party was yet ever true. Fa. 
The inside was black, and the outside was blue. Fa. 
'Twas smooth all without, and rough all within. Fa. 
A shew of religion, a mantle to sin. Fa, la, &c. 
When virtue was ravish'd, and honesty baffled, 
And Charles was led like a lamb to the scaffold. Fa. 


When treason was high, and loyalty low, 

This cloak was a screen to the damnable blow ; 

When nothing but anarchy then was in vogue, 

And he was most pious that most was a rogue ; 

When Charles the Second retreated to France, 

And zeal and religion Avere left in a trance ; 

The gowns and the cassocks w'cre broken to shreds, 

And politick cloaks set up in their steads : 

This cloak was as apt as the rest of the cloaks, 

To stifle religion, and blind-fold the folks ; 

The owner w^ould pass for a Moses or Aaron, 

Tho' falser than Judas, and fouler than Charon ; 

Tho' Judas despair'd, we find he repented, 

But none ever heard that this traytor relented. 

When the king was restor'd, and the kingdom in peace, 

And traytors and villains found favour and grace ; 

He then thought it proper to varnish his crimes, 

And alter his cloak to agree with the times. 

New trimmings he straight got, to make up a suit, 

And chang'd his long cloak to a double sur-tout : 

He flatter'd and cog'd, to be thought of the king's side, 

And turn'd his blue doublet from out-side to in-side : 

Yet all was not able to wash off the guilt, 

The treason he wrought, and the blood he had spilt ; 

For that was beyond his fanatical study, 

His fore-head was black, and his doublet was bloody ; 

This doublet, when dying, demurely he throws off, 

And so he bequeaths it unto his son Joseph : 

When Joseph receiv'd it the fashion he broke, 

And so he converts it asrain to a cloak, 


Which now, by the vamping and turning, did grow as 
Short as that old cloak which Paul pledg'd at Troas. 
When Joseph betook unto him then a wife, 
The cloak he bestow'd unto her for her life. 
As being too short, not reaching his ankle. 
And so she converted the cloak to a mantle. 

This mantle when dying she left Father Chop 

As being but little, and here let it stop. 

When Ch -n receiv'd it, to mend the abuse, 

He converts it again to its primitive use ; 
The synod approv'd on't, and so did the godly, 
But the cloak was too little, and he lookt but oddly ; 
At which, being fretted, he ript out the stitches, 
Resolving to have it cut out into breeches ; 

The breeches were made, but too short for his a , 

Which turn'd all the matter again to a farce ; 
At last he concluded to make it a bonnett, 
'Twas made, and it fitted, and I end my sonnet. 



Fkom tlio same collection as the preceding song. It is stated to 
be " printed at Silver-court, in Castle-street," (1728). It alludes 
to the introfluction in Ireland of the new English fashion of 
wearing plain lands, or neckcloths, in place of the old laced 
cravat ; and which, being brought over by one of the court party, 
was of course unpopular on the other side ; and made odious in 


a song called The Band Ballad, which imputed a want of national 
love to all who adopted the i'ashion. The present song, An 
Answer to the Band Ballad; hy a Man Milliner, shews the folly 
of making the thing a party question to quarrel about. The 

J n B s, of the third stanza, who introduced the fashion, 

was John Bowes (afterwards Baron Bowes of Clonlyon, Lord 
Chancellor of Ireland). Serjeant at Law, 4th May, 1727^ 
Solicitor General^ 23rd October, 1730. Attorney General, llth 
September, 1739. Chief Baron, L5th January, 1742. Lord 
Chancellor, 6th February, 1761. He died at his house near 
Drumcondra, 22nd July, 17G7. He appears to have been a 
fashionable man, for in a ballad entitled A View of the Irish Bar, 
Dublin, printed in the year 1729-30. The fourth verse runs 
thus: — 

'■ There's B s , a great beau, 

That here makes a shew, 
And thinks all about him are fools, sir ; 

He winks and he speaks, 

His brief and fee takes, 
And quotes for it Emjlish rules, sir." 

The town is alarra'd and seems at a stand, 
As if both the pope and the devil would land, 
To devour this whole isle in the shape of a band. 
Which nobody can deny, deny, which nobody can deny. 

In a lawyer's band too, it is dreaded they'll come, 
But I've heard it alhrm'd, most devoutly, by some, 
That they will with great art the whole lawyer assun.e. 

Which, eU. 


Thus it oftentimes has been proclaim'd very loud, 
By priest-ridden women, and fools in a crowd, 
That their Chevalier St.* would come in a cloud. 

Which, &c. 

But if you would know whence their clamour arose, 
And why a plain band has met many foes, 
'Tis because it was first iutroduc'd by J — n B — s. 

Which, &c. 

Why should we exclaim against him in a passion, 
And his judgment arraign, for beginning a fashion, 
Since he fairly appeals in them both to the nation. 

Which, &c. 

When liberty reigns, then justice takes place. 
And true merit never will sink in disgrace, 
Nor affection or favour e'er vary the case.' 

Which, &c. 

This pretty new fashion indulge him to wear. 
There's no law in bands, I may venture to swear. 
But they set off an old fashion face I declare. 

Which, &c. 

All men who impartially judge must despise 
A dwarf, who with gyants presumptuously vies. 
And with a false glare would dazzle their eyes. 

Which, &c. 

* The Chovalier St. George, " the old I'retender," and son of 
King James II. 


The commonest prudence most plainly commands 
Our tongues to be silent, and peaceful our hands, 
Least instead of soft cambricks we wear harder bands. 

Which, &c. 

If at English examples 'tis our duty to spurn, 

We must wear our old brogues, and our shoes we 

must burn, 
Damn dear eighty-nine, and savages turn. 

Which, &c. 

Or if you'd be reckon'd tight Irish lads. 
Throw off your cravats and bands, and tie on your gads,* 
And then you'll resemble your primitive dads. 

Which, &c. 

We may fret, foam, and bellow, with powerfuU sense, 
Like bulls in a bull-ring, which cost us some pence. 
But our bulls against lyons can make no defence. 

Which, &c. 


From the dramatic performance by the Rev. J. Miller, callecT 
The Coffee House, produced at Drury Lane Theatre in 1737. The 
play met with bad success, as it was believed that the author 
intended to satirize a pai'ticular coffee-house keeper and her 

* " A withe, twisted twig, or osier." O'Beillys Irish Dictionary. 


customers ; this song was, however, more popular, and was set 
to music by Harry Carey, forming one of the curious illustrated 
sheets in Bickham's Musical Entertainer. It was sung by the 
famous Kitty Clive, who played the part of Kitty, and introduced 
the song with " O foh ! I hate a beau — a smooth, insipid, tawdry, 
humming, loitering, do-nothing thing ! He would be only fit to 
be set up in one's chamber like a china-image for show." 

How brim-full of nothing's the life of a beau ! 
They've nothing to. think of, they've nothing to do ; 
Nor they've nothing to talk of, for — nothing they know : 
Such, such is the life of a beau. 

For nothing they rise, but to draw the fresh aii- ; 
Spend the morning in nothing but curling their hair ; 
And do nothing all day but sing, santer, and stare : 
Such, such is the life of a beau. 

For nothing at night to the playhouse they croud, 
For to mind nothing done there they always are proud. 
But to bow, and to grin, and talk — nothing aloud : 
Such, such is the life of a beau. 

For nothing they run to th' assembly and ball ; 
And for nothing at cards a fair partner call, 
For they still must be beasted who've — nothing at all : 
Such, such is the life of a beau. 

For nothing on Sundays at church they appear, 
For they've nothing to hope, nor they've nothing to fear. 
They can be nothing no where, who— nothing are here : 
Such, such is the life of a beau. 



This "moral ballad," from a broadsheet of musio and words 
published in the year 1 737, resembles in sentiment the last of our 
songs; and it shews how continually coffee houses were fre- 
quented by the beaux of the day. They were the general ren- 
dezvous for the idle and the quid-nunc, for proof of which I may 
refer to the curious song, The Coffee House, in The Civic Garland, 
published by the Percy Society. 

A coFEEE-HOUSE, a parrot-cage, 

Holds many a glaring bird, 
That prattles all its trifling age 

Without a meaning word. 

A chaos of disjointed things, 

Still roving in its brain, 
Now talks of countesses and kings ; 

Of asses milk and Spain. 

Of fashions, France, and Flanders mares, 

Assemblys, cards, and plays ; 
Of setting dogs, and solitaires,* 

Intrigues, and wedding days. 

* The solitaire was a broad baud of ribbon or silk, worn loosely 
round the neck, and which continued in fashion for half a century. 
Anstey notices it in his JVew Bath Guide : — 

" Bag-wig, and laved raffles, and black solitaire. 

« * • • • 

Wliat can a man of true fashion denote, 

Like an ell of good ribbon tied under the throat ?" 


Ah ! pretty prattling, empty thing, 

Neglect thy gaudy dress, 
Adorn thy mind the more within, 

And prune thy person less. 

Boast not that thus you outward shine, 
At Folly's vain expense ; 

Lament the fate that made thee fine, 
And did not give thee sense. 

Then wisely learn thyself to know, 
Past, trifling hours recall, 

And let thy talk from reason flow, 
Or do not talk at all. 


Gay has celebrated this portion of female costume in one of his 
poems. But the ballad-makers made it the subject of many of 
their effusions. One of the earliest of these songs, written about 
1733, thus commences: 

" What a fine thing have I seen to-day ! 
O mother, a hoop ; 
I must have one, you cannot say nay ; 

O mother, a hoop ! 
For husbands are gotten this way to be sure, 
Men's eyes and men's hearts they so neatly allure, 
O mother a hoop, a lioop, O mother, a lioop ! " 

The hoop may be considered as the legitimate descendant of 
the farthingale of the days of Elizabeth ; and /luops are mentioned 



by Gosson and others as early as 1598. About 1711 they re- 
appeared ; and gave the ladies' gown an appearance similar to a 
bell or pyramid. About 1745 they increased enormously, and 
attracted universal attention. Both satirists and caricaturists 
ridiculed the fashion to the ut- 
most, but without effect. There 
is a curious print, called The 
Review, published at this time, 
from which we select a figure, 
as a good specimen of this 
fashion. The print exhibits the 
inconvenience of the hoop petti- 
coat in a variety of ways, and 
how to remedy it. One of the 
most ingenious, is that of a coach 
with a moveable roof, and a 
frame and pullies to drop the 
ladies in from the top, to avoid decomposing the hoop, which 
necessarily attended their entrance by the door. Our ballad is 
reprinted from a collection named The Female Fancy's Garland, in 
the possession of J. 0. Hallivvell, Esq., and is entitled, "The 
wonderful vertues and comical eonvenioncies of the new fashion 
hoop'd petticoats " — to the tune of Oh .' brave Pojxry, §-c. 

You beautiful ladys, that follows the mode, 
Where ever you live, or take up your abode, 
Pray what is the reason you wear such a load 
As hoop'd petticoats ; monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids ? 

Black patches, and towers of powdered hair, 
Which long time you have been accustom'd to wear, 


I think on my conscience could never compare 
"With hoop'd petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

So strange and fantastick young ladys are grown, 
Not only miss Madam, but Gillian and Joan, 
They must have such petticoats never was known ; 
Large hoop'd petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

"When ever they walk thro' the streets or the fields. 
Supported along by a light pair of heels, 
Their coats takes the compass of coach or cart-wheels; 
Large hoop'd petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

I cannot compare this new mode of the town, 
To nothing more like, tho' I know they will frown, 
Than to a large hog-tub that's turn'd up-side down ; 
Large hoop'd petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

When ever they pass through the midst of a throng, 
The people cries out, least they suffer much wrong, 
Make room for the madams now trudging along, 
"With hoop'd petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

Now some of the vulgar are apt to reproach 
Those ladies, tho' young, and as sound as a roach, 


With wonder, how they can crowd into a coach, 
With hoop'd petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

When men have said all by the way of abuse, 
They shall not be left quite without an excuse ; 
Hoop'd petticoats they are of excellent use, 
Large hoop'd petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

I tell you they was not invented for pride, 
For when a young miss has a chub by her side, 
Should there come a search, straight her spark she 

can hide 
Under her petticoats ; oh, the hoop'd petticoats, mon- 
sterous petticoats, maids. 

The bodys of men they are button'd and loop'd, 
Thus in their strong coats they are lustily coop'd : 
Women are weak vessels, and ought to be hoop'd. 
In large petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

As they are weak vessels, and subject to crack, 
They are of great use, therefore stand to the tack. 
For why should young women such petticoats lack ; 
Large hoop'd petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 


There's Madam Trugmallion, of Mock Beggars Hall,* 
She sets her hoop'd petticoats under a wall, 
And lets it sometimes for a cobler's stall ; 
Oh, rare petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

Two bailiffs one morning pursu'd little Will, 
He whipt under one, and was glad to lye still, 
As safe and secure as a thief in a mill ; 
Oh, brave petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

This "Will was a barber, distressed and poor, 
He got from the bailiffs, they've ne'er seen him more. 
These are the best petticoats ever were wore ; 
Oh, brave petticoats, monsterous petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids. 

These was not fbundout in our forefathers days, 
But finding them useful in sundry ways. 
Pray let us all sing in the petticoats praise, 
Large hoop'd petticoats, delicate petticoats, bouncing 
hoop'd petticoats, maids ! 

* This was a fanciful name for the residence of thoughtless 
prodigals. In Collier's Roxburghe Ballads is a curious satirical 
song, entitled " Mock -beggar's Hall, with its situation in the 
spacious country called Anywhere." 




This humorous exhibition of vanity in a Scottish country farmer's 
wife, is printed in Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs of the 
North of Scotland, vol. ii, p. 225. It seems to belong to the 
middle of the lastcentury, vrhen hoops of extraordinry dimensions 

I'll gar my gudeman trow 

That I'll sell the ladle, 
Cause he winna buy to me 

A gude riding saddle, 
To ride to the kirk, and frae the kirk, 

And even thro' the town ; 
Then stan' about, ye fisher jades. 

And gie my gown rowm. 

I had a bonny branit cow. 

That gae a cann o' milk ; 
And I hae saul' my branit cow, 

And bought a gown o' silk. 
There's three raw o' fringes up, 

And three raw down ; 
Then stan' a little you by, 

And gie my gown rowm. 

Syne I'll gar my gudeman trow 

That I hae taen the flings, 
Because he winna buy to me 

Sax gowd rings ; 


Ane on ilka finger, 

And twa upo' my thum ; 

Then stan' a little you by. 
And gie my gown rowm. 


This excellent sample of Highland courtship, including an 
inventory of articles then considered as desirable for per- 
sonal adornment, is given from Herd's Ancient and Modern 
Scottish Songs, vol. ii, p. IGl, Edinburgh, 1776. The first edition 
-was published in 1760. The dates of the original composition 
of the ballads in the volumes are not given, but this one is 
certainly as old as our preceding song, if not older. No notes, 
glossarial or otherwise, assist us to the meaning of the phraseology 
of the song here printed, but a Highland friend, R. Mac Ian, Esq. 
says, " it is evidently written by a lowlander, who has put liis 
version of what he considers to be Gaelic, into the mouth of his 
highlander. I can make this apparent by pointing out the 
curious mistakes which even Sir Walter Scott has made upon 
similar occasions; for instance, in Rob Roy, when the assembled 
highlandors are wailing for the supposed apprehension of their 
chief, Scott makes them cry Ochone a Righ, which being trans- 
lated, means " Woe's me for the king" instead of making them 
say Ochone a chridhe, or " woe's my heart." Again, he calls the 
Duke of Argyle Maccallum More, or the son of Malcolm the 
great, instead of Mac Caillain More, the son of Colin the great." 
The ensuing song presents difficulties of the same kind ; the 
notes, however, have been carefully collected to obviate errors 
as much as possible. 


O WILL you hae ta tartan plaid, 

Or will you hae ta ring, Mattam ? 
Or will you hae ta kiss o' mo ? 

And dats ta pretty ting, IMattam. 
Plad aw a', bide aw a', 

Had awa' frae me, Donald ; 
I'll neither kiss nor hae a ring, 

Nae tartan plaids for me, Donald. 

O see you not her ponny progues,* 

Her fecketf plaid, plew, creen, Mattam ? 
Her twa short hose, and her twa spoigs,J 

And a shoulter-pelt apeen5§ Mattam ? 
Had awa', bide awa', 

Had awa', frae me, Donald ; 
Nae shoulter-belts, nae trinkabouts, 

Nae tartan hose for me, Donald. 

Hur can peshaw a petter hough |1 

Tan him wha wears ta crown, IVfattam ; 
Hersell hae pistol and claymore 

To file ta lallant lown,^ Mattam. 
Had awa', had awa'. 

Had awa' frae me, Donald ; 
For a' your houghs and warlike arms, 

You're no a match for me, Donald. 

* Tlio Iiighland brogue was made of the untanned hide with 
tho hair outside, and drawn over the foot with thongs, t Chcekod. 
J Spniys are *' foot, claws, or ugly li'gs." § Above. 

II I can shew a hotter thigh. ^ To scare the lowland loon. 



Hursell hae a short coat pi pote, 

No trail my feets at rin, Mattam ;* 
A cutty sark of good harn sheet,t 

My mitterj he be spin, Mattam. 
Had awa', had awa', 

Had awa' frae me, Donald ; 
Gae hame and hap your naked houghs, 

And fash nae mair wi' me,§ Donald. 

Ye's neir pe pidden|| work a turn 

At ony kind o' spin, Mattam, 
But shug your lenno in a scull. 

And tidel highland sing, Mattam.^ 
Had awa', had awa'. 

Had awa' frae me, Donald ; 
Your jogging sculls and highland sang 

Will sound but harsh wi' me, Donald. 

In ta morning when him rise 

Ye's get fresh whey for tea, Mattam ; 

Sweet milk an ream,* as much you please, 
Far cheaper tan pohea, Mattam. 

* I have bought a short coat that will not entangle my feet in 

t Short shirt of strong linen. % Mother. 

§ Trouble yourself no more with me. || Told to. 

^ 'J'his may mean sug (suckle) your leanahh (child) in the 
sgail (shade), and sing a highland song to amuse it. 

* Cream. 


Had awa', had awa', 

Had awa' fiae me, Donald ; 
I winna quit my morning's tea, 

Your whey will ne'er agree, Donald. 

Haper Gallic* ye's be learn, 

And tats ta ponny speak, Mattara ; 
Ye's get a cheese, an putter-kirn, 

Come wi' me kin ye like, Mattam. 
Had awa', had awa', 

Had awa' frae me, Donald ; 
Your Gallic and your highland chear 

Will ne'er gae down wi' me, Donald. 

Fait ye'se pe ket a silder proch 

Pe pigger than the moon,f Mattam ; 
Ye's ride in curroch| stead o' coach, 

An wow put ye'll pe fine, Mattam. 
Had awa', had awa'. 

Had awa' frae me, Donald ; 
For a' your highland rarities 

You're not a match for me, Donald, 

What's tis ta way tat ye'll pe kind 
To a protty man like me, Mattam ? 

* Lochaher Gaelic, the best spoken. 

f These large circular brooches of silver arc still worn in the 
Highlands, and are of great antujuity as a female adornment. 

J The curroch is a light boat of wicker work, covered with a 
hide, which was used for traversing the lochs, before roads were 
made in the Highlands. 


Sae langs claymore pe 'po my side, 
I'll nefer marry tee, Mattam. 

come awa'j run awa', 

O come awa' wi' me, Donald ; 

1 wadna quit my highland man ; 

Frae lallands* set me free, Donald. 



This excellent epitome of fasliionable costume iu 1753, first ap- 
peai'ed in the Salisbury Journal of that year, and was copied 
thence into the Magazines. It was also printed as a song in 
stanzas of four lines each, and sung " to the tune of Berry Down." 
A copy of this, and the answer ensuing, is preserved in the 
Roxburghe collection of ballads. 

Hang a small bugle cap on, as big as a crown, 
Snout it off with a flower vuUjo diet, a pompoon •,'\ 
Let your powder be grey, and braid up your hair 
Like the mane of a colt, to be sold at a fair. 
A short pair of jumps, half an ell from your chin. 
To make you appear just like one lying-in ; 

* Lowlanders. 

■f Pompoons were globular flowers formed of floss silk, or 
feathers, and frequently worn in the hair. 


Before, for your breast, pin a stomacher-bib on. 
Ragout it with cutlets of silver and ribbon. 
Your neck and your shoulders both naked should be, 
Was it not for Vandyke,* blown with chevaux-de-frize ; 
Let your gown be a sacqiie,^ blew, yellow, or green, 
And frizzle your elbows with ruffles sixteen ; 
Furl off your lawn apron, with flounces in rows, 
Puff, and pucker up knots on your arms and your toes; 
Make your petticoats short, that a hoop eight yards wide 
May decently show how your garters are ty'd ; 
With fringes of knotting your Dickeij cabod,| 
On slippers of velvet, set gold a-la-daube ; 
But mount on French heels§ when you go to a ball, 
'Tis the fashion to totter, and shew you can fall ; 
Throw modesty out from your manners and face, 
A-la-mode de FraiK^ois, you're a bit for his Grace. 

* Jagged edgings, or fringes to the dress, of a triangular form, 
which were a revival of a fashion occasionally seen in Vandyke's 
portraits, from which they were named. 

f The sacque was a silken appendage to a gown of the same 
material, which fell from the neck behind to the ground and 
formed a train ; the gown being worn open in front to show the 

J Edge your Dicky ; or habit shirt. 

§ The high small heels which were cut away to an inch 
breadth beneath the foot. 




This answer to the foregoing satire, is from the London Magazine 
of 1753. 

Since, sir, you have made it your study to vex, 
And audaciously laugh at the dress of our sex, 
Pray don't be so blind to the faults of your own, 
But let 'em, I say, in the next lines be shewn. 

Instead of small caps, you must add small wigs. 
The tail of which mostly resembles a pig's ; 
Put a hat upon that, and point it up high, 
As if 'twas an arrow that's aim'd at the sky. 

At the corner of which, I pray don't forget. 
Hang a tassel of silver, to make it complete ; 
Let the stock be well plaited, in fanciful forms, 
Whilst a fine diamond heart the shirt bosom adorns. 

Let the sword-hilt be cover'd with ribbon, good store, 
Lest the roughness around make the tender hand sore; 
Tho' there's no need for that, for they'll certainly fly 
The place where they think any danger is nigh. 

Ilis coat is to be but a foot from his waist, 
And fix'd as tight too, as if it were lac'd ; 
In his pockets a housewife and pincushion place. 
Not forgetting a glass to admire his sweet face. 


With stockings of silk, nothing less can such please, 
Bind his legs round with silver an inch above knees, 
Hang a tassel to that, or else it won't do. 
And in length it must x'each half way to his shoe. 

His bright 'buckles of stone, of five guineas price, 
To'adoi'n Hs neat feet, and make him quite nice : 
Thus drest and equipt, 'tis plain to be seen, 
He's not one jot better than Monsieur Pantin.* 



A satirical effusion on the male fashions, also elicited by 

The Beaus Receipt, and which is here reprinted from the 

London Magazine of 1753. 

Take a creature that nature has form'd without brains, 
Whose skull nought but nonsense and sonnets contains; 

* A pantin was a puppet of pasteboard strung together, so that 
by pulling a string it was thrown into a variety of grotesque 
attitudes. From 1748, when it was first introduced into England, 
until after the period of our song, it was in vogue among the 
beau monde as a diverting plaything ; which was the subject of 
many satirical ballads and caricatures. They are still sold under 
other names at the toy shops, but are now properly confined to 
very young children. 


"With a mind where conceit with folly's ally'd, 
Set off by assurance and unmeaning pride ; 
With common-place jests for to tickle the ear 
"With mirth, where no wisdom could ever appear ; 
That to the defenceless can strut and look brave, 
Although he to cowardice shews he's a slave. 
And now for to dress up my beau with a grace, 
Let a well frizzled wig be set off from his face ; 
With a bag quite in taste, from Paris just come. 
That was made and ty'd up by Monsieur Frisson ; 
With powder quite grey, then his head is complete ; 
K dress'd in the fashion, no matter for wit ; 
With a pretty black beaver tuck'd under his arm, 
If plac'd on his head, it might keep it too warm ; 
Then a black solitaire his neck to adorn. 
Like those of Versailles by the courtiers there worn ; 
His hands must be cover'd with fine Brussels lace, 
With a sparkling brilliant his finger to grace ; 
Next a coat of embroidery from foreigners come, 
'Twou'd be quite unpolite to have one wrought at home; 
With cobweb silk stocking his legs to befriend. 
Two pair underneath, his lank calves to amend ; 
With breeches in winter would cause one to freeze. 
To add to his height, must not cover his knees ; 
A pair of smart pumps made up of grain'd leather ; 
So thin he can't venture to tread on a feather ; 
His buckles like diamonds must glitter and shine. 
Should they cost fifty pounds they wou'd not be too fine; 
A repeater by Graham, which the hours reveals, 
Almost over-balanc'd with knick-knacks and seals ; 


A mouchoir with musk his spirits to chear, 

Though he scents the whole i*oom, that no soul can 

come near ; 
A gold-hilted sword with jewels inlaid, 
So the scabbard's but cane, no matter for blade ; 
A sword-knot of ribband to answer his dress, 
Most completely ty'd up with tassels of lace ; 
Thus fully equipp'd and attir'd for show, 
Observe, pray, ye belles, that fam'd thing call'd a beau. 


A-LA-MODE. 175*. 

This clever desci'iptiou of a lady's most fashionable costume, 
is from the Universal Magazine for 1754, 

TuE dress in the year fifty-three that was worn 

Is laid in the grave, and new fashions are born ; 

Then hear what our good correspondents advance, 

'Tis the pink of the mode, and 'tis dated from France; 

Let your cap be a butterfly, slightly hung on. 

Like the shell of a lapwing just hatch'd, on her crown; 

Behind, like a coach horse, short dock'd, cut your hair. 

Stick a flower before, screw, whift", with an air ; 

A Vandyke in frize your neck must surround. 

Turn your lawns into gauze, let your Brussels be blond, 


Let your stomacher reach from shoulder to shoulder, 
And your breast will appear much fairer and bolder ; 
Wear a gown, or a sacque, as fancies prevail, 
But with flounces and furbelows ruffle your tail ; 
Set your hoop, show your stockings and legs to your 

And leave men as little as may be to guess : 
For other small ornaments do as before, 
Wear ribbands a hundred, and rufiies a score ; 
Let your talk, like your dress, be fantastick and odd. 
And you'll shine at the Mall; 'tis taste a-la-mode. 



Waller, Denham and Marvel have made use of the above title 
to construct a satire, and so made the mode popular. This capital 
description of female costume, is from the London Magazine 
for July 1755. It originally appeared in the Salisbury Journal; 
as an " imitation of the twenty -eighth ode of Anacreon, by Oxon." 

Best of painters, shew thy art, 
Draw the charmer of my heart, 
Draw her as she shines away 
At the rout and at the play ; 
Carefully each mode express ; 
Woman's better part is dress. 


Let her cap be mighty small, 
Bigger just than none at all ; 
Pretty, like her sense ; and little ; 
Like her beauty, frail and brittle. 
Be her shining locks confin'd, 
In a three-fold braid behind ; 
Let an artificial flower 
Set the frisure off before ; 
Here, and there, weave ribbon pat in, 
Ribbon of the finest sattin. 
Circling round her ivory neck, 
Frizzle out the smart Vandike ; 
Like the ruff that heretofore 
Good Queen Bess's maidens wore ; 
Happy maidens, as we read, 
Maids of honour, maids indeed ! 
Let her breast look rich and bold, 
With a stomacher of gold ; 
Let it keep her bosom warm, 
Amply stretch'd from arm to arm ; 
Whimsically travers'd o're. 
Here a knot, and there a flow'r, 
Like her little heart that dances, 
Full of maggots, full of fancies. 
Flowing loosely down her back, 
Draw with art the graceful sack : 
Ornament it well with gimping, 
Flounces, furbelows, and crimping ; 
Let of ruffles many a row. 
Guard her elbows, white as snow ; 


Knots below, and knots above ; 
Emblems of the tyes of love. 
Let her hoop, extended wide, 
Shew what petticoats should hide; 
Garters of the softest silk. 
Stockings whiter than the milk ; 
Charming part of female dress, 
Did it shew us more, or less. 
Let a pair of velvet shoes 
Gently press her pretty toes. 
Gently press, and softly squeeze ; 
Tott'ring like the fair Chinese, 
Mounted high and buckled low, 
Tott'ring every step they go. 
Take these hints, and do thy duty, 
Fashions are the tests of beauty : 
Features vary and perplex, 
INIode's the woman, and the sex. 



From tlio London Magazine, August 1755. 

Painter, once more shew thy art; 
Draw the idol of my heart; 
Draw him as he sports away. 
Softly smiling, sweetly gay ; 


Carefully each mode express, 
For man's judgment is his dress. 

Cock his beaver neat and well, 
(Beaver size of cockleshell) ; 
Cast around a silver cord, 
Glittering like the polish'd sword. 
Let his wig be thin of hairs, 
(Wig that covers half his cars.) 

Be his frock quite alaraode ; 
Short, lest his steps it incommode : 
Short as his waistcoat was of yore, 
When dull men long garments wore. 

Let the ruffle grace his hand, 
Ruffle, pride of Gallic land ; 
Be his waistcoat blue or yellow, 
That befits a pretty fellow ; 
Let it be well trimm'd with lace, 
Adding lustre, adding grace. 

Make his breeches of nankein, 
Most like nature, most like skin ; 
Let a ribband deck the knees, 
Dangling ribbands always please ; 
With stockings of the finest silk, 
Soft and shining, white as milk. 

Let him wear the nice-made shoes. 
Buckling just above the toes; 
Buckles of a fashion new, 
Bigger almost than the shoe ; 
Thus equipt he'll far excel 
Every beau, and charm each belle, 





This clever poem, styled " A Kepartee," is from the 
London Magazine, April 1762. 

Says Beauty to Fashion, as they sat at the toilette, 

" If I give a charm, you surely will spoil it ; 

When you take it in hand, there's such murth'ring and 

'Tis so metamorphos'd by your fiddling and fangling. 
That I scarce know my own, when I meet it again, 
Such changelings you make, both of women and men. 
To confirm what I say, look at Phryne, or Phillis, 
I'm sure that I gave 'em good roses and lillies : 
Now what have you done ? — Let the world be the 

Why you daub 'em all over with cold-cream and rouge. 
That, like Thisbe in Ovid, one cannot come at 'em. 
Unless thro' a mud-wall of paint and pomatum. 

And as to your dress, one would think you quite 
From the head to the heel 'tis all masquerade ; 
With your flounces and furbelows, sacks, trollopees, 
Now sweeping the ground, and now up to your knees. 
Your pinking, and crimping, and chevaux de frize, 
And all the fantastical cuts of the mode. 
You look like a bedlamite, ragged and proud ! 

Then of late, you're so fickle that few people mind you ; 


For raj part, I can never tell where to find you ; 
Now drest in a cap, now naked in none, 
Now loose in a mob, now close in a Joan ; 
Without handkerchief now, and now buried in rulF, 
Now plain as a Quaker, now all of a puff; 
Now a sha[)e in neat stays, now a slattern in jumps, 
Now high in French heels, now low in your pumps ; 
Now monst'rous in hoop, now trapish, and walking 
With your petticoats clung to your heels, like a raaulkin; 
Like the cock on the tower, that shews you tlie weather, 
You are hardly the same for two days together." 

Thus Beauty begun, and Miss Fashion reply 'd : 
" Who does most for the sex ? — Let it fairly be try'd, 
And they that look round 'em will presently see. 
They're much less beholden to you than to me ; 
I grant it, indeed, mighty favours you boast. 
But how scanty your favours, how scarce is a toast ? 
A shape, a complexion, you confer now and then. 
But to one that you give, you refuse it to ten ; 
In one you succeed, in another you fail. 
Here your rose is too red, there your lilly's too pale ; 
Or some feature or other is always amiss : 
And pray, let me know when you finish'd a piece 
That I was not oblig'd to correct, or touch over. 
Or you never would have either husband or lover ? 
For 1 hope, my fair lady, you do not forg(!t. 
Though you find the thread, that 'tis I make the net ; 
And say what you please, it must be allow'd. 
That a woman is nothing unless a-la-mode ; 
Neglected slie lives, and no beauty avails, 



For what is a ship without rigging or sails : 

Like the diamonds when rough, are the charms you 

But mine is the setting and polishing too. 
Your nymphs, with their shapes, their complexious, 

and features, 
What are they without me, but poor awkward creatures? 
The route, the assembly, the playhouse will tell, 
'Tis I form the beau, and I finish the belle ; 
' Tis by me that these beauties must all be siipply'd ; 
Which time has withdrawn, or which you have deny'd ; 
Impartial to all, did not I lend my aid. 
Both Venus and Cu])id might throw up their trade, 
And even your ladyship die an old maid." 


From a collection of songs called The Mountain of Hair's Garland, 

in the possession of J. O. Halliwcll, Esq. About 17G0 the 

fashion of dressing the head in a quantity of large curls, and 

gradually elevating it, was introduced, and 

for twenty years it continued on the increase, 

until in 1782 it reached the extraordinary 

size depicted in our engraving. In consisted 

of a heap of tow and pads, over which false 

hair was arranged, and hung with ropes of 

pearls, gauze-trimming, ribbons, feathers, 

and artificial flowers; until it added two or 

throe feet to the stature of the fair wearers. 


Such heads, requiring so elaborate and expensive a mode of 
decoration, were dressed only once a month: and as there was a 
quantity of pomatum and powder used, insects bred in it, and 
the description of " opening a lady's head," when it would " keep 
no longer," given in the magazines of the day, are anything but 
pleasant, but that they were true is abundantly proved by the 
recipes, given in works on hair-dressing at this time, for killing 
insects. Satire and caricature were levelled at this fashion most 
unsparingly : in one instance the head is laid out like a dustman's 
ground; a heap of cinder sifters occupy the summit, a sow and 
pigs nestle in the curls, and the dust-cart " winds its slow way 
along" the side. In another instance a Ridotto alfresco is going 
on, as if in an ornamental garden, and lovers are enshrined in the 
ample bows, as if in so many green-houses.* The American 
war offered new subjects, and in 1776 some caricatures were 
published representing the battle of Bunker's Hill (converted 
into Bunters Hill) and other engagements; with each upper lock 
of the hair turned into a fortress, the level part in front covered 
with tents, soldiers marching with cannon in ambuscade up the 
curls, and ships ensconced in the club behind. 

You maids, wives, and widows of Britain draw near, 
I'll sing you a ditty will tickle your ear ; 

* A lady friend informs me that these things were really 
worn; and are not such fanciful satires as I had imagined them. 
She perfectly remembers her mother's wearing a sow and pigs 
in the curls of her high head-dress. They were made of blown- 
glass, and all sorts of strange things of the kind were stuck upon 
the hair of that material. Mr. Adey Repton, in his curious 
paper on head-dresses in the Arch<eologia, mentions " a coach," 
and " a chair and chair-men," worn upon a lady's head as an 
ornament, and gives an engraving of one who carries a waggon 
in place of a cap. 

R 2 


How maids, wives, and widows now fashion their hair, 
With fine lappets behind, and mountains of hair. 

Fa, la, &c. 

Mj lady she goes to the ball and the play. 
She rambles all niglit and she sleeps all the day. 
And then in the evening to church does repair. 
With her lappets behind, and mountains of hair. 

And Miss Sally also, her own servant-maid, 

Who keeps up the jest to keep up her trade ; 

She shews her white breast, and her bosom quite bare. 

With her fine lappets behind, and mountains of hair. 

There's millers', bakers', and shopkeepers' wives, 
They'll have their hair dress'd to keep up their pride, 
The landlady sits dress'd up in a chair. 
Her head she can't move for the weight of her hair. 

Then in comes the farmer's wife 'mongst all the rest, 
" A barber this minute, my hair must be drest ; 
And if you don't dress it a yard high, I do swear, 
The devil may pay you for dressing my hair." 

Then in comes the butchei''s wife, greasy and fat, 
She will have her hair dress'd and what of all tliat ; 
A fine leg of mutton, or shoulder, I swear, 
She gives to the barber for dressing her hair. 


Miss Jenny, they tell me, is breeding a child, 

And Molly is left in the same state I find, 

And when the young babes comes into their care. 

They'll curse their lappets, and d their false hair. 

Behold the smart quaker that looks in the glass, 
Her hair doth all other companions surpass ; 
You deform your sweet faces, I vow and declare, 
You should cut off your lappets, and burn your false hair. 

Believe me, dear ladies, you're all in the wrong, 
I tell you : and that makes an end of the song ; 
When your hair's finely dress'd, I plainly do see, 
You look like an owl in an old ivy-tree. 


From the Universal Magazine of 1768. 

Have ye never seen a net, 

Hanging at your kitchen door, 

Stuff'd with dirty straw, beset 
With old skewers o'er and o'er ? 

If ye have, it wonder breeds 

Ye from thence should steal a fashion, 
And should heap your lovely heads 

Such a deal of filthy trash on. 


True, your tresses wi'eath'd with art 
(Bards have said it ten times over) 

Form a net to catch the heart 
Of the most unfeeling lover. 

But thus robb'd of half your beauty, 
Whom can ye induce to sigh ? 

Or incline for love to sue t'ye 
By his nose, or by his eye ? 

When he views (what scarce I'd credit 
Of the sex so sweet and clean, 

But that from a wench I had it 
Of all Abigails the queen), — 

When he views your tresses thin, 
Tortur'd by some French friseur, 

Horse-hair, hemp, and wool within, 
Garnish'd with a di'mond skewer. 

When he scents the mingled steam 

Which your plaster'd heads are rich in, 

Lard and meal, and clouted cream, — 
Can he love a walkin": kitchen ? 

Poems on costume. 217 



This " new song" is from a collection of ballads in the possession 
of J. M. Gutch, Esq. of AVorcester; and is "printed by J. Buttei' 
of High Street" in that city. It is a good specimen of a popular 
country satire on the enormity of London fashions, so constantly 
the subject of provincial nioralization. 

Good people of England give ear 

To what I'm going to relate, 
Concerning these ladies' high heads, 

They are got to a terrible rate ; 
There's pomatum and powder you see, 

A great bag of hair hangs behind, 
And curtains all over their faces, 

Just like a horse with the blinds. 

There's Mrs. Nancy you see, 

She has a most delicate air, 
The devil can't touch her for pride, 

As she walks thro' the streets, I declare 
Tho' she is but fourteen years old, 

She thinks herself fit for a man ; 
" Come wed me, young Jemmy," she says, 
" And my dear I will do what I can." 

There's the ladies of fashion you see, 
They'll all have a turn at this pride, 

They must have cork rumps, I declare, 
And a head as big as a bee-hive, 


With a gi'eat tod of wool on each hip, 
To make them look much in the fashion, 

And a bag hanging down to their waist, 
I think the devil ought to fetch them. 

The farmers' young daughters you see, 

In every village beside, 
They must have a great deal of hair. 

On purpose to keep up their pride ; 
And when to the market they come. 

They cut a most terrible show, 
With a bonnet as big as a hay-rick ; 

We pay for this pride you must know. 

Now to make an end of my song. 

To tell you the truth I do mean, 
I'm sure 'tis a damnable shame. 

That tlieir pride should be maintain'd ; 
For so much as the street-walking hussies 

They will have their hair drest you see. 
And when they are powder'd and curl'd 

They look like an owl in a tree. 



Tuis satirical descriplion of male follies in dress is from the 
Gentkman's Magazine for December 1772. 


To DESCRIBE, in its dressing, the taste of the time, 
(To answer your purpose, and fill up ray rhime) 
Your choice must be made, for a figure exemplar. 
Of a captain, a cit, maccaroni, or templar. 

Let his figure be slender, and lounging, and slim. 
Confoundedly formal, and awkwardly trim. 

Hang a hat on his head, let it squint fiercely down. 
And be cut, slash'd, and scoUop'd, and par'd to the crown. 
Behind this strange head a thick queue you must tye on, 
Like a constable's bludgeon, or tail of a lion ; 
And before, when you try to embellish his hair. 
Let your fingers be quick, and your powder be fair ; 
Be-friz it, and paste it, and cut it, and curl it. 
Now slope it in ranges, in rollers now furl it. 
For the head of a fribble or beau (without doubt) 
Having nothing within, should have something without. 

For a coat, give him something so outr6 in shape. 
So awkward, so strange — 'twould disfigure an ape ; 
A thing, nor a coat, nor a frock, nor a jacket — 
All waist to the bottom, at bottom all pocket ; 
What the brain of a Frenchman alone could produce, 
Without grace, without ornament, beauty, or use. 

For taste, if you mean to display your regard. 
Let his breeches be spotted like panther or pard : 
Which will prove what old ^sop oft us'd to express, 
That an ass may look fierce in a — masquerade dress, 
Nor forget that his breeches be roomy between 'em : 
'Twill shew that a great deal is wanting within 'em. 
Let his shoes be cut forward as far as his toe ; 
And his buckles be small, and as round as an O. 



Thus equipp'd, turn him out to the park or the street, 
He will toss with his head, he will sprawl with his feet, 

Be as arrant a puppy as S n or Rolli, 

And vie with the blockheads at Arthur's in folly. 


The Macaronis were a class of fops who introduced a particular 
style of dress in the year 1772. A number of young men of 
fashion, who had visited Italy, formed an association called the 
Macaroni Club, in contradistinction to the Beefsteak Club of 
London. As the fashion at this time was to wear long waistcoats, 
and coats with wide and heavy skirts, 
they wore theirs exceedingly short; and 
the whole dress of very close cut. Their 
wigs were remarkable for an enormous 
club, or turned-up bunch of hair behind. 
They had little cocked hats; swords 
dangling about their heels at the end of 
long straps, and sticks with large tassels. 
Their stockings were covered with co- 
loured spots; and their dress generally 
piebald in the same manner. In 1772-3 
an alteration took place in their dress, 
consisting chiefly in elevating the hair 
to an enormous height, with large curls 
ranged on each side of it; and wearing 
immense bunches of flowers at the breast. Tliey attracted much 
attention during the few years of their existence. Our specimen 
of the genus is copied from a print published in 1773, — our song 
from a sheet of music, " the words by Mr. Oakraan," printed in 


Ye belles and beaus of London town, 

Corae listen to my ditty ; 
The muse, in prancing up and down, 

Has found out something pretty, 
With little hat, and hair dress'd high, 

And whip to ride a pony ; 
If you but take a right survey, 

Denotes a Macaroni. 

Along the street to see them walk. 

With tail of monstrous size, sir. 
You'll often hear the grave ones talk. 

And wish their sons were wiser ; 
With consequence they strut and grin, 

And fool away their money. 
Advice they care not for, a pin, — 

Aye; — that's a Macaroni ! 

With boots, and spurs, and jockey-cap. 

And breeches like a sack O ; 
Like curs, sometimes they'll bite and snap, 

And give their whip a smack O ; 
When this you see, then think of me, 

My name is Merry Crony ; 
I'll swear the figure that you see 

Is call'd a Macaroni. 

Five pounds of hair they wear behind, 

The ladies to delight, O ; 
Their senses give unto the wind 

To make themselves a fright, O ; 



This fashion who does e'er pursue 

I think a simple-tony, 
For he's a fool, say what you will, 

Who is a Macaroni. 


The introduction of the Macaroni style of costume was quite the 
rage with the town. Every thing that was fashionable was a la 
Macaroni. Even the clergy had their wigs combed, their clothes 
cut, "their delivery refined," a la 
Macaroni. The shop windows were 
filled with caricatures, and other prints 
of this new tribe: there were portraits 
of " Turf Macaronis," " Parade Ma- 
caronis," with "Macaroni Parsons," 
and " Macaroni Scholars," and a vari- 
ety of other species of this extensive 
genus. Ladies set up for female 
Macaronis; and our cut represents 
one, from a print dated 1772. Their 
costume was scarcely so striking and 
distinctive as that of the men ; it was 
chiefly known b}' the high head-dress, 
and large bunch of flowers, and an 
exceedingly wide and spreading sleeve, hanging 
ruffles from the elbow. 

with deep 


Thalia, leave the tree-topp'd hill, 

And kindly lend your aid ; 
Let Humour guide the grey goosequill, 

While Folly is display'd ; 
Among the modern fair we'll stray, 

And mark the dress in fashion. 
For at each auction, ball, or play. 

Each shews her darling passion. 

No ringlets now adorn the face, 

Dear nature yields to art ; 
A lofty head-dress must take place. 

Absurd in ev'ry part. 
Patch, paint, perfume, immodest stare. 

You find is all the fashion ; 
Alas, I'm sorry for the fair 

Who thus disgrace the nation. 

In days of yore, as I have heard, 

The ladies' chiefest pride 
Was still, with prudence and with care, 

What could provoke to hide ; 
But now, — a different mode prevails 

Most singularly new. 
The females, with top-gallant sails, 

Bring all they can to view. 

But let not censure wait the fair. 

Old England's joy and pride, 
Whose charms may with the best compare. 

E'en all the world beside. 



A hint may serve : — from one, their friend, 
To those more sweet than honey, 

Or they'll be laugh'cl at in the end. 
Each female Macaroni. 



From Garriek's musical farce called May-day, or the Littk Gypsey, 
acted at Drury Lane in 1775. It embodies a countryman's ideas 
of London enormities in fashion. 

What 's a poor simple clown 

To do in the town ? 
Of the freaks and vagaries I'll none ; 

The folks I saw there 

Two faces did wear, 
An honest man ne'er has but one. 
Let others to London go roam, 

Whilst I and my neighbour 

Can sing and can labour 
To me there is nothing like country and home. 

The ladies I vow, 

I cannot tell how, 
Were now white as curd, and now red. 

Law, how you would stare 

At the huge crop of hair, 
'Tis a hay-cock at top of their head. 

Let others, &c. 


Then 'tis so 'dizend out, 

And with trinkets about, 
With ribbands and flippets between ; 

They so noddle and toss, 

Just like a fore horse, 
With tassels and bells in a team. 

Let others, &c. 

Then the fops are so fine. 

With lank-waisted chine. 
And a skimp bit of a hat. 

Which from sun, wind, or rain, 

Will not shelter their brain, 
Though there's no need to take cai-e of that. 

liCt others, &c. 

Would you these creatures ape, 

In looks, or in shape, 
Teach a calf on his hind legs to go. 

Let him waddle in gait, 

A skim dish on his pate, 
And he'll look all the world like a beau. 

Let others, &c. 

To keep my brains right, 

My bones .whole and tight, 
To speak nor to look would I dare ; 

As they bake they shall brew — 

Old Nick and his crew, 
At London keep vanity fair. 

Let others, &c. 




From the Universal Magazine, July 1776. 

Muse begin the comic lay, 
Sing the female of to-day, 
Yet to person be confin'd, 
Do not meddle with her mind, 
Lest the strange investigation 
Cause thee trouble and vexation. 

'Twere to seek, alas-a-day ! 
Needles in a stack of hay ; 
Void of talents, sense, and art. 
Dress is now her better part. 
Sing her daub'd with white and red ; 
Sing her large terrific head, 
Nor the many things disguise. 
That produce its mighty size ; 
And let nothing be forgot, 
Carrots, turnips, and what not ; 
Curls and cushions for imprimis. 
Wool and powder for the finis ; 
Lace and lappets, many a flag, 
IMany a party-colour'd rag, 
Pendent from the head behind, 
Floats and wantons in the wind ; 
Many a gem, and many a feather, 
A fine farrago all together, 
By whose wool and wire assistance 
(Formidable at a distance, 


As the elephants of yore 

A fam'd queen to battle bore) 

They with terror and surprise 

Strike the poor beholder's eyes. 

What a quantity of brain 

Must he think such heads contain ! 

Tho' it pi'ove a false alarm, 

Feather brains can do no harm ; 

Hats that only shew the chin, 

And the mouth's bewitching grin, 

As intended for a shield 

To the caput thus conceal'd : 

Surely 'tis an useful art 

Well to guard the weakest part. 

Shoes that buckle at the toe ; 

Gowns that o'er the pavement flow, 

Or festoon'd on either side. 

With two yellow ribbons ty'd : 

While a peak-like pigeon's rump 

Shews behind she's not too plump ; 
Heels to bear the precious charge. 
More diminutive than large, 

Slight and brittle, apt to break. 

Of the true Italian make ; 

For women of bon ton, observ'ye, 

Like sugar-loaves turn'd topsy-turvy, 

(As their heaviest part 's o'top) 

Rest upon a feeble prop, 

And, that all mankind may know it, 

This about their heads to shew it. 



This "Humorous Description of a modern head-dress" is by 
Anstey, the witty author of the New Bath Guide, and was pub- 
lished in 1776. He had ridiculed the fashiott in the work just 
named; but in The Election Ball he- very humorously describes 
the mode in which a country girl supplied herself n'ith one of 
these fashionable monstrosities. Her father, who is supposed to 
be relating the circumstance, says, — she 

" With presence of mind flying up to the garrett, 
Brought do^yn my old wig, that's as red as a caiTot, 
And to it she went, dear, ingenious sweet soul, 
Drawing up the old caul tUl it fitted her poll. ' 

Then with dripping and flour did so baste it and frizzle,- 
The hair all became of a beautiful grizzle ; 
Those cui-ls, which a barber would \iew with despair, 
She did coax, twist, and twine, with such skill and such care, 
With combs, pins, and paste, make such frequent attacks on. 
She triumph'd at length, and subdu'd the old caxon; 
Which done, she the front in a cushion did wrap, 
'TUl the fore top stood up like a grenadier's cap." 

The whole is concluded by seizing the dunghill cock, and ob- 
taining from his tail the plunje to crown the ingenious erection ! 
Absurd as all this seems, it is little less so than the fashion it 

A CAP like a bat, 

(Which was once a cravat) 
Part gracefully platted and pinn'd is ; 

Part stuck upon gauze, 

Resembles mackaws, 
And all the fine birds of the Indies. 


But above all the rest, 

A bold Amazon's crest 
Waves, nodding from shoulder to shoulder ; 

At once to surprise. 

And to ravish all eyes, 
To frighten and charm the beholder. 

In short, head and feather, 

And wig all together, 
A\ ith wonder and joy would delight ye ; 

Like the picture I've seen, 

Of th' adorable queen 
Of the beautiful blest Otaheite. 

Yet miss at the rooms 

Must beware of her plumes, 
tor, if Vulcan her feather embraces, 

Like poor Lady Laycock, 

She'll burn like a hay-cock. 
And roast all the loves and the graces. 



This clever satire tirst appeared in the London Mmjazine for 1777. 
It was afterwards copied into nearly every magazine and 
periodic.ll of the day. It was sung at places of amusement, and 
appeal's under the title of " Ladies' head and tail dress" in a col- 


lection of songs called Summer's Amusement, or SoJigs sung at 
Vauxhall and Ranelagh ; the name, Chloe, being altered to Betty, 
and the words adapted to a popular air. 

Give Cliloe a bushel of horse-hair and wool, 

Of paste and pomatum a pound, 
Ten yards of gny ribbon to deck her sweet skull, 

And gauze to encompass it round. 

Of all the bright colours the rainbow displays 
Be those ribbons which hang on her head, 

Be her flounces adapted to make the folks gaze, 
And about the whole work be they spread. 

Let her flaps fly behind, for a yard at the least ; 

Let her curls meet just under her chin; 
Let these curls be supported, to keep up the jest. 

With an hundred, instead of one pin. 

Let her gown be tuck'd up to the hip on each side ; 

Shoes too high for to walk, or to jump ; 
And, to deck the sweet creature complete for a bride, 

Let the cork-cutter make her a rump. 

Thus finish'd in taste, wliile on Chloe you gaze. 
You may take the dear charmer for life ; 

But never undress her — for, out of her stays 
You'll find you have lost half your wife.* 

* The above attack upon the ladies produced, as usual, a 




From " The Nightingale, Part I, being a choice collection of 
songs printed and sold in Aldermary Churchyard"; without date, 
but evidently the production of the latter part of the eighteenth 
century. It is iu the large collection of these popular garlands 
and chap books formed by J. O. Halliwell, Esq. 

Ye beaus and ye belles of the city, 

Who strive for to ogle the taste, 
Give ear to a comical ditty, 

In which Lady Fashion is plac'd. 
For I'll show you some taste a-la-inode, 

So we'll term it a lecture on heads ; 
And step into Steeven's road, 

In spite of all critical dreads. 

rejoinder; and the following appeared in tlic supplement to the 
Universal Mayazine for the same year. 


Two tUDs of pride and impudence, 
One scruple next of modesty and sense, 
Two grains of U-uth; of falsehood and deceit. 
And insincerity, im hundred weight. 
Infuse into the skull, of flashy wit 
And empty nonsense quantum sufficit. 
To make the composition ijuite complete. 
Throw in the appearance of a grand estate, 
A lofty cane, a sword with sUver hilt, 
A ring, two watches, and a snufl'.box gilt, 
A gay eflemiuale embroider'd vest. 
With suitable attire. Probatum est 


First observe the good lady of fashion, 

Pray mark but her porcupine head, 
With her brains she can settle the nation, 

While the poor are a-starving for bread. 
Observe but her turkey cock'd-hat, 

Pray see how it dwells on her nose, 
Which makes her as blind as a bat, 

And behind all for nothing she shows. 

Miss Polly, just come from her school, 

In the fashion must cut a strange figure. 
For no more she'll be reckon'd a fool, 

When her head it is made something bigger. 
And stay-making John play'd his part, 

For he's so well fitted her shape. 
So she's fairly resign'd him her heart, 

And has borrow'd the form from an ape. 

Next a man of Bob Derry comes in. 

For he, sir's a man of the town, 
W^ith an eagle court mark'd on his chin, 

And at Dutf — elds all dulness he'll drown. 
With a wig of the bull forehead kind. 

Whereon Stevens once made a comment. 
And opened the eyes of the blind, 

And sold wit at twenty per cent. 

Pray look at the tub-bottom hat, 
See the vertues of Wetherby there, 

For the lamp-breaker's magics in that, 
You may sec it quite plain, I declare. 


But leave off, my good, trusty Robin, 

For with taste you are always intriguing, 

Or by chance you may get a good mobbing, 
Uy the help of young master O'Figgin. 



Froji a collection of eight pages 12mo., printed at Glasgow by 
J. and M. Eobertson, Saltmarket, 1801, This ballad, which is 
devoted to a fashion which was the principal novelty at the 
close of the last century, alludes to the sudden change made in 
ladies' waists in 1794, which from reaching nearly to the hips 
were now carried to the arm-pits; and a caricatuie represents a 
lady suckling her baby beneath the waist. The popular ballad 
of the " Banks of Banna" was parodied with 

" Shepherds I have lost tny waist, 
Have you seen my hotly." 

Ye lads and ye lasses of country and city, 
I pray you give ear to my humorous ditty, 
Concerning the fashion just come from town, 
A whimsical dress call'd the short body'd gown. 

This humorous dress that's now call'd the mode, 
Surpasses all fashions that e'er was in vogue. 
There's not a young miss in the country all round, 
But must be stuff'd up in a short body'd gown. 


Last Midsummer-day Sally went to the fair, 
For to sell her yarn. Oh, how she did stare ! 
Both wives, maids, and widows, in every shop round. 
They all were dress'd up in a short body'd gown ! 

So home in the evening Miss Sally she hies. 
And told it her mother with greatest surprize. 
Saying, " Two hanks a-day I will spin the week round, 
Until I can purchase a short body'd gown." 

The mother surpriz'd, only thought it a jest, 
Saying, " Sally, your old fashion'd gown fits you best. 
So leave this new fashion to folks in the town, 
And don't waste your cloth in a short body'd gown." 

" O mother, you are a bad judge of the size, 
The length that it takes, it would you surprize, 
For the breadth of the waste is three inches all round ; 
That's just the full size of a short body'd gown." 

There is Nancy Towlsack, that lives at the Mill, 
She told her old mother she would try her skill ; 
So on her grey mare she rode into the town. 
And there got a man in her short body'd gown. 

Both maids, wives, and widows, you'd think were all wild, 
And all look as if they were got with child ; 
Ncitlser baloons, nor turbans, or all fashions round, 
AVill fit them, unless they've a new body'd gown. 




This general satire, on the ladies' fashions at the close of the last 
eentnry, is given from a small collection of popular songs, 
printed at Glasgow in 1805 by J. and M. Robertson, who were 
great printers of ..penny merriments and popular chap-books ; 
they were the Pitts and Catnachs of Scotland; and supplied 
hawkers with these welcome "wee buiks" for the peasantry. 
The short-waisted gowns were fertile sources of satire; which 
was sometimes not of the most refined nature ; and the spencers 
(worn bj' both sexes) came also in for a fair share of ridicule. 
In March, 1796, a caricature was published representing a group 
of persons wearing spencers, looking at some dancing dogs simi- 
larly dressed, the master of whom exclaims: — 

" Don't tliink my puppies stand almip ; 
If you will make the search, sir, 
Puppies at the bar you'll find, 
And puppies in the church, sir .' 

Halt-coat pups, and booted pups, 

And pups without their hair, sir ; 
Puppies deck'd in square-cut coats, 

And puppies light as air, sir. 

Then dance away, my little dogs. 

Of mirth the gay dispensers, 
Cock your tails at brother pups, 

And sport your little spencers." 

The Modesty, mentioned in stanza four, was a gauze neckerchief, 
made to come close round the neck, and set out roimd the bnasi 
like " a pouting pigeon." 

Good people all, I pray draw near, 

In country and in town, sir, 
For pride is got to such a pitch. 

The world's turn'd upside down, sir ; 


They are contriving ever day, 

Tiieir pretty shapes to spoil, sii-. 
Since short vvaisted gowns they all do wear, 
Tlieir hump-backs for to hide, sir. 
So ladies of the fashion now, 
Adhere unto my censures, 
I have short waisted gowns to sell; 
And very pretty spencers. 

The servant girls they imitate 

The pride in every place, sir, 
And if they wear a Hovv'red gown, 

They'll have it made short waist, sir; 
They'll have it rumped all behind, 

It hangs just like a wallet. 
With a scull-cap on their heads. 

Just like a Scotchmaa's bonnet. 

It was in London you shall hear, 

Upon a certain day, sir, 
A lady she was dressed up. 

And going to tlie play, sir. 
The blust'ring winds did blow so hard. 

Blew off her cap and wig, sir, 
With her muff and tippet round her neck, 

She look'd like a hairy pig, sir. 

Those low-heel'd slippers they do wear. 

Their gouty legs to shew, sir ; 
Their petticoats are fringed round, 

They cut a lenipling shew, sir ; 


And when their bosoms you do view, 

The truth I do decUire, O, 
A modesty they all must have, 

If ne'er a smock they wear, O. 

The farmers' daughters every where, 

The truth I do lay down, sii", 
They dress as gi-and, I do declare, 

As ladies, of renown, sir : 
A cap and feather they must have, 

And mask all o'er their faces, 
Let's hope their pride it will come down, 

To linsey woolsey dresses. 



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