SIR EDWARD HOBY _for a Lease of the custodie of_ MILTON _and_ MARDEN.
The Queene’s Ma’tie by warrant of the late Lord Treasourer the sixt daye
of July, in the xiijth Yeare of her Raigne, did graunt Custodia of the
Mannor of Milton, and the Hundred of Milton, and Marden, &c. vnto Thomas
Randolphe for Threescore years, yieldinge 120_li._ yearly rent and vjs.
viijd increase of the rent. Prouiso semper q’d si aliquis alius plus
dare voluerit de incr’o per Annum pro Custod. predict sine fraude vel
malo ingenio Quod tunc idem Thomas Randolphe tantum pro eadem soluere
teneatur si Custod. voluerit her’e sup’dict.
The Lease is by meane conveyance colorably sett over vnto one Thomas
Bodley, but the interest is in one Richard Potman, Attorney towards the
Lawe.
Sr Edward Hoby knight the xxvjth of Maye xlmo Regine nunc, before the
nowe Lord Treasourer and the Barons of the Exchequer did personally cum,
and in wrytinge under his hande, Offer, sine fraude vel malo ingenio, to
increase the Queene’s rent 100li. yearly, which sayd Offer was accepted
and attested, with Mr. Baron Clarke’s hande redy to be inrolled.
Whereupon the sayd Sr Edward Hoby doth humbly praye that Yor Lo’pp
wilbe pleased to gyve warrant for the inrowlinge thereof accordingely,
and that a scire facias maye presently be awarded agaynst the Leasee, to
shewe cause whye the former Pattent shoulde not be repealed, and the
custody aforesayd graunted to the sayd Sr Edward Hoby.
_Note._
The lyke tender was heretofore made xxxijdo Regine Elizabeth by Richard
Varney Esquyer, agaynst Gregory Wolmer Esquyer, for the Mannor of
Torrington Magna: beinge in extent to her Ma’tie for the dett of
Phillipp Basset, and leased with the like Prouiso, and thereby obteyned
a newe Lease from her Ma’tie.
* * * * *
The preceding documents are so far interesting, as they connect sir
Edward Hoby with the hundred of Milton and Maiden, beyond his public
office of vice admiral of the former place, and show the underletting of
the crown lands in the reign of Elizabeth, with something of the means
employed at that time to obtain grants.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XVI.
[From “Tottenham Court,” a Comedy, by Thomas Nabbs, 1638.]
_Lovers Pursued._
_Worthgood, Bellamie, as travelling together before daylight._
_Worth._ Come, my Delight; let not such painted griefs
Press down thy soul: the darkness but presents
Shadows of fear; which should secure us best
From danger of pursuit.
_Bell._ Would it were day!
My apprehension is so full of horror;
I think each sound, the air’s light motion
Makes in these thickets, is my Uncle’s voice,
Threat’ning our ruins.
_Worth._ Let his rage persist
To enterprise a vengeance, we’ll prevent it.
Wrapt in the arms of Night, that favours Lovers,
We hitherto have ’scaped his eager search;
And are arrived near London. Sure I hear
The Bridge’s cataracts, and such-like murmurs
As night and sleep yield from a populous number.
_Bell._ But when will it be day? the light hath comfort:
Our first of useful senses being lost,
The rest are less delighted.
_Worth._ Th’ early Cock
Hath sung his summons to the day’s approach:
Twill instantly appear. Why startled, Bellamie?
_Bell._ Did no amazing sounds arrive thy ear;
Pray, listen.
_Worth._ Come, come; ’tis thy fear suggests
Illusive fancies. Under Love’s protection
We may presume of safety.
(_Within._) _Follow, follow, follow._
_Bell._ Aye me, ’tis sure my Uncle; dear Love Worthgood?
_Worth._ Astonishment hath seiz’d my faculties.
My Love, my Bellamie, ha!
_Bell._ Dost thou forsake me, Worthgood?
(_Exit, as losing him._)
_Worth._ Where’s my Love?
Dart from thy silver crescent one fair beam
Through this black air, thou Governess of Night,
To shew me whither she is led by fear.
Thou envious Darkness, to assist us here,
And then prove fatal!
(_Within._) _Follow, follow, follow._
_Worth._ Silence your noise, ye clamorous ministers
Of this injustice. Bellamie is lost;
She’s lost to me. Not her fierce Uncle’s rage,
Who whets your eager aptness to pursue me
With threats or promises; nor his painted terrors
Of laws’ severity; could ever work
Upon the temper of my resolute soul
To soften it to fear, till she was lost.
Not all the illusive horrors, which the night
Presents unto th’ imagination,
T’ affright a guilty conscience, could possess me,
While I possess’d my Love. The dismal shrieks
Of fatal owls, and groans of dying mandrakes,
Whilst her soft palm warm’d mine, were music to me.--
Their light appears.--No safety does consist
In passion or complaints. Night, let thine arms
Again assist me; and, if no kind minister
Of better fate guide me to Bellamie,
Be thou eternal.
(_Within._) _Follow, follow, follow._
* * * * *
_Bellamie, alone, in Marybone Park._
_Bell._ The day begins to break; and trembling Light,
As if affrighted with this night’s disaster,
Steals thro the farthest air, and by degrees
Salutes my weary longings.--O, my Worthgood,
Thy presence would have checkt these passions;
And shot delight thro’ all the mists of sadness,
To guide my fear safe thro’ the paths of danger:
Now fears assault me.--’Tis a woman’s voice.
She sings; and in her music’s chearfulness
Seems to express the freedom of a heart,
Not chain’d to any passions.
_Song, within._
What a dainty life the Milkmaid leads!
When over the flowery meads
She dabbles in the dew,
And sings to her cow;
And feels not the pain
Of Love or Disdain.
She sleeps in the night, tho’ she toils in the day
And merrily passeth her time away.
_Bell._ Oh, might I change my misery
For such a shape of quiet!
[From the “Duchess of Suffolk,” an Historical Play, by T. Heywood,
1631.]
_A Tragic Pursuit._
_The Duchess, with her little child, preparing to escape by night from
the relentless persecution of the Romanists._
_Duch._ (_to the Nurse_) Give me my child, and mantle;--now
Heaven’s pleasure:
Farewell;--come life or death, I’ll hug my treasure.
Nay, chide not, pretty babe; our enemies come:
Thy crying will pronounce thy mother’s doom.
Be thou but still;
This gate may shade us from their envious will.
(_Exit._)
(_A noise of Pursuers. She re-enters._)
_Duch._ Oh fear, what art thou? lend me wings to fly;
Direct me in this plunge of misery.
Nature has taught the Child obedience;
Thou hast been humble to thy mother’s wish.
O let me kiss these duteous lips of thine,
That would not kill thy mother with a cry.
Now forward, whither heav’n directs; for I
Can guide no better than thine infancy.
Here are two Pilgrims bound for Lyon Quay,[175]
And neither knows one footstep of the way.
(_Noise again heard._)
_Duch._ Return you? then ’tis time to shift me hence.
(_Exit, and presently Re-enters._)
_Duch._ Thus far, but heav’n knows where, we have escaped
The eager pursuit of our enemies,
Having for guidance my attentive fear.
Still I look back, still start my tired feet,
Which never till now measured London street:
My Honours scorn’d that custom; they would ride;
Now forced to walk, more weary pain to bide.
Thou shalt not do so, child; I’ll carry thee
In Sorrow’s arms to welcome misery.
Custom must steel thy youth with pinching want,
That thy great birth in age may bear with scant
Sleep peaceably, sweet duck, and make no noise:
Methinks each step is death’s arresting voice.
We shall meet nurse anon; a dug will come,
To please my quiet infant: when, nurse, when?
* * * * *
_The Duchess, persecuted from place to place, with Berty, her Husband,
takes comfort from her Baby’s smiles._
_Duch._ Yet we have scaped the danger of our foes;
And I, that whilom was exceeding weak
Through my hard travail in this infant’s birth,
Am now grown strong upon necessity,
How forwards are we towards Windham Castle?
_Berty._ Just half our way: but we have lost our friends,
Thro’ the hot pursuit of our enemies.
_Duch._ We are not utterly devoid of friends;
Behold, the young Lord Willoughby smiles on us:
And ’tis great help to have a Lord our friend.