Transcriber's note
Variable, archaic or unusual spelling and punctuation have been retained
apart from minor punctuation inconsistencies which have been silently
corrected. A list of other changes made can be found at the end of the
book. Line numbers and sidenotes are placed within [square brackets].
For this text version, text in superscript is placed within curly
brackets preceded by a carat character like ^{this}. Diacritical marks
that cannot be represented in plain text are shown in the following
manner:
[=a] a with macron
Ligature [oe] is encoded as oe.
Mark up: _italics_
The Tudor Library.
NARCISSUS, A TWELFE NIGHT MERRIMENT.
_Five hundred copies of this Edition are printed._
A TWELFE NIGHT MERRIMENT.
ANNO 1602.
NARCISSUS
A TWELFE NIGHT MERRIMENT
PLAYED BY YOUTHS OF THE PARISH
AT
THE COLLEGE OF S. JOHN THE BAPTIST IN OXFORD, A.D. 1602
WITH APPENDIX
[Illustration]
NOW FIRST EDITED FROM A BODLEIAN MS.
BY
MARGARET L. LEE
OF S. HUGH'S HALL, OXFORD
[Illustration]
LONDON
PUBLISHED BY DAVID NUTT IN THE STRAND
MDCCCXCIII
CHISWICK PRESS:--C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE,
LONDON.
INTERLOQUUTORES.
1. TYRESIAS.
2. CEPHISUS.
3. NARCISSUS.
4. DORASTUS.
5. CLINIAS.
6. ECCHO.
7. LYRIOPE.
8. FLORIDA.
9. CLOIS.
10. THE WELL.
11. PORTER.
PREFACE.
IN editing the hitherto unpublished play of _Narcissus_, together with
the three speeches and the letter composed for Francis Clarke, porter of
S. John's, I have retained throughout the very irregular spelling of the
MS. The punctuation and use of capital letters have, however, been
modernized, the contractions employed for _the_, _which_, _with_,
_what_, and certain prefixes, expanded, and a few obviously scribal
errors corrected in the text, the notes supplying in every such case the
original MS. reading.
In bringing to its conclusion a work which now seems even less
satisfactorily performed than I once hoped it might be, there is at
least a pleasure in recording thanks to all those who have interested
themselves on my behalf, and aided me with suggestions and criticisms,
or--as in the case of the editors of the _N. E. D._--with valuable
references. Indeed, were it not for the direct and indirect help of
friends--and amongst those who have given me the former I must make
special and grateful mention of Professor Ker, Professor Napier, and Mr.
Madan--_Narcissus_ would have been left to find a worthier editor.
26, WARRINGTON CRESCENT,
MAIDA HILL.
INTRODUCTION.
SECTION I. NARCISSUS.
THIS play, which for want of a ready-made title I have called
_Narcissus_, dates from a period of peculiar interest in the history of
that class of dramatic composition to which it belongs.
So vast a phenomenon as the rise and fall of the complete English drama
could not but be attended by widely-spread symptoms of the popular love
for stage representation; a tendency which, though it would never have
produced a Shaksperian tragedy, yet alone rendered possible the work of
a Shakspere. These lesser manifestations of the feeling that pervaded
Elizabethan England may be compared to the small fissures on the side of
a volcano, through which the same lava as fills the molten crater
emanates in slender and perhaps hardly perceptible channels. It may
chance that the activity of these side-streams presages the final
eruption at the summit; yet afterwards they are scarcely noticed, and
their effects are too puny to attract attention. So it is with the
abortive forms of drama, heralding, accompanying, and in some cases
outliving, the culmination of English dramatic art under Shakspere. They
are not, as a rule, the product of those great intellects which helped
in the rearing of the main structure; but rather of such lesser writers
as were either possessed by the dramatic spirit while ignorant of the
formative and restraining rules of art, or else imbued with a desire to
follow those rules, as they had been drawn up by Aristotle and Horace
and exemplified in French and Italian literature, whilst themselves
wanting in originality, and oblivious of the superiority of a native
growth over the best of importations. The latter class of would-be
English dramatists, in especial, found a natural field for action
amongst the scholarly societies which constituted a mediæval university.
Though as early as 1584 and 1593 statutes are found enacting that no
players shall perform within five miles of Oxford, it must be remembered
that these refer to professional, not to academical actors, and that the
regulations controlling the former were of much greater stringency than
those which concerned the latter.
Nor were plays imitated from Greek and Latin writers the only ones to be
performed by undergraduates and others before select audiences in the
college halls. Youthful players would probably demand the introduction
of something more or less witty; and the fact that theatrical
representations generally took place on the occasion of a royal visit,
or at times of special rejoicing, accounts in some degree for the
casting aside of the strictly classical models, and the employment of
masques, or of such looser forms of comedy as were the outcome of
Heywood's _Interludes_, into either of which contemporary allusions and
jests could be readily introduced. Nevertheless, the majority of such
pieces continued to deal with subjects taken from Roman and Greek
mythology, the various anachronisms and absurdities which arose from
this method of treatment only contributing to heighten the amusement of
the spectators.
I have already implied that _Narcissus_ belongs to the class of
University plays, inasmuch as it was acted at S. John's College, Oxford,
on Twelfth Night, 1602. It does not, however, approximate in any way to
the classical form of comedy; it is rather to be regarded as a Christmas
piece, an imitation of the Yule-tide mummeries acted by disguised
villagers or townsfolk at the houses of such wealthier persons as would
afford them hospitality.
The following list of Oxford plays--compiled, with additions, from W. L.
Courtney's article in _Notes and Queries_ for December 11th, 1886, and
W. Carew Hazlitt's _Manual of English Plays_--may be of interest, as
showing the frequency of dramatic entertainments at the various colleges
between 1547 and the Restoration. The dates appended are in most cases
those of presentation; but when these are either unknown, or impossible
to distinguish from dates of entry at Stationers' Hall, I have
substituted the latter.
1547. _Archipropheta_, sive _Joannes Baptista_, by Nicholas Grimald,
in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1566. _Marcus Geminus_, by (?) in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1566. _Palæmon and Arcyte_, by Richard Edwards, in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1566. _Ariosto_, by Geo. Gascoigne, at Trin. Coll.
1566. _Progne_, by Dr. James Calfhill, in Ch. Ch. Hall.
? 1580. _Ulysses Redux_, by William Gager, in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1581. _Meleager_, by William Gager, in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1582. _Supposes_, translated from Ariosto, by Geo. Gascoigne, at
Trin. Coll.
1582. _Julius Cæsar_, by Dr. Geddes, in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1583. _Rivales_, by William Gager, in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1583. _Dido_, by William Gager, in Ch. Ch. Hall.
? _Tancred_, by H. Wotton, at Queen's Coll.
? _Kermophus_, by George Wild (?) at (?)
1591. _Kynes Redux_, by William Gager, in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1592. _Bellum Grammaticale_, sive _Nominum Verborumque Discordia
Civilis_, by (?) at Ch. Ch.
? 1602. _Hamlet_, by W. Shakspere, at (?).
1602. _Narcissus_, by (?) at S. John's College.
1605. _Ajax Flagellifer_, by (?) at (?).
1605. _Alba_, by (?) in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1605. _Vertumnus_, sive, _Annus Recurrens Oxonii_, by Dr. Matthew
Gwinne, in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1606. _The Queen's Arcadia_, by Samuel Daniel, in Ch. Ch. Hall.
1607. _Cæsar and Pompey_, by (?) at Trin. Coll.
1607. _The Christmas Prince_, by divers hands, at S. John's Coll.
1608. _Yule-tide_, by (?) at Ch. Ch.
1614. _Spurius_, by Peter Heylin, at Hart Hall.
1617. _Technogamia_, by Barten Holiday, at Ch. Ch.
1617-8. _Philosophaster_, by R. Burton, at Ch. Ch.
1631. _The Raging Turk_, by Thomas Goffe, at Ch. Ch.
1632. _The Courageous Turk_, by Thomas Goffe, at Ch. Ch.
1633. _Fuimus Troes_, by Dr. Jasper Fisher, at Magd. Coll.
1633. _Orestes_, by Thomas Goffe, at Ch. Ch.
? 1634. _The Sophister_, by R. Zouch, at (?).
1634-5. _Euphormus_, sive, _Cupido Adultus_, by Geo. Wilde, at S. John's
Coll.
1636. _Stonehenge_, by John Speed, at S. John's Coll.
1636. _The floating Island_, by William Strode, at Ch. Ch.
1636. _Love's Hospital_ (or, _The Hospital of Lovers_), by Geo. Wilde,
at S. John's Coll.
1636. _The Royal Slave_, by William Cartwright, at Ch. Ch.
1637. _The Converted Robber_, by Geo. Wilde, at S. John's College.
? 1640. _Pharamus_, sive, _Libido Vindex_ (also published under the
title of _Thibaldus_, sive _Vindictæ Ingenium_), by Thomas
Snelling, at (?).
1648. _Stoicus Vapulans_, by (?) at S. John's Coll.
1648. _Amorous War_, by Jasper Maine, D.D., at (?).
? _The Scholar_, by Richard Lovelace, at Gloucester Hall.
(Prologue and Epilogue appear in _Lucasta_, 1649.)
1651. _The Lady Errant_, by William Cartwright, at (?).
1653. _The Inconstant Lady_, by Arthur Wilson, at Trin. Coll. (?)
1654. _The Combat of Love and Friendship_, by Robt. Mead, at Ch. Ch.
1660. _The Christmas Ordinary_, by W. R., M.A., at Trin. Coll.
1660. _The Guardian_, by (?) at "new dancing-school against S.
Michael's Church." (Wood, iii. 705.)
1663. _Flora's Vagaries_, by Richard Rhodes, at Ch. Ch.
This catalogue does not, of course, pretend to be exhaustive. An
examination of the various college archives would doubtless afford
further material. There exists, for instance, the record of performances
at Merton; cf. G. C. Brodrick's _Memorials of Merton College_ (Oxford
Hist. Soc., 1885), p. 67: "In January and February, 1566-7, two dramatic
performances were given in the Warden's lodgings by members of the
foundation ... the one being an English comedy, and the other Terence's
_Eunuchus_.... Again, in 1568, a play of Plautus was acted in the hall."
It will be seen that of the above-mentioned plays six, besides
_Narcissus_, were performed at the College of S. John the Baptist, the
first recorded being the _Christmas Prince_ in 1607, the succeeding ones
taking place after an interval of twenty-six years; and to these we
should very probably add _Pharamus_, the writer of which, Thomas
Snelling, "became Scholar of S. John's in 1633, aged 19, and afterwards
fellow ... and was esteemed an excellent Latin poet." (Wood, _Ath. Ox._,
vol. iii., p. 275.)
A passage from Wake's _Rex Platonicus_ (ed. 1, p. 18) is also worthy of
note in this connection: "Quorum primos jam ordines dum principes
contemplantur, primisque congratulantium acclamationibus delectantur,
Collegium Diui Iohannis, nobile literarum domicilium (quod Dominus
Thomas Whitus Prætor olim Londinensis, opimis reditibus locupletârat)
faciles eorum oculos speciosæ structuræ adblanditione invitat; moxque et
oculos & aures detinet ingeniosâ nec injucundâ lusiunculâ quâ
clarissimus præses cum quinquaginta, quos alit Collegium studiosis,
magnaque studentium conuiventium cateruâ prodeuns, principes in transitu
salutandos censuit.
"Fabulæ ansam dedit antiqua de Regia prosapia historiola apud
Scoto-Britannos celebrata, quæ narrat tres olim Sibyllas occurrisse
duobus Scotiæ proceribus Macbetho & Banchoni, & illum prædixisse Regem
futurum, sed Regem nullum geniturum, hunc Regem non futurum, sed Reges
geniturum multos. Vaticinii veritatem rerum eventus comprobavit:
Banchonis enim è stirpe Potentissimus Iacobus oriundus. Tres
adolescentes concinno Sibyllarum habitu induti, è Collegio prodeuntes, &
carmina lepida alternatim canentes, Regi se tres esse illas Sibyllas
profitentur, quæ Banchoni olim Sobolis imperia prædixerant, jamque
iterum comparere, vt eâdem vaticinij veritate prædicerent Iacobo, se
iam, & diu regem futurum Britanniæ felicissimum & multorum Regum
parentem, vt ex Banchonis stirpe nunquam sit hæres Britannico diademati
defuturus. Deinde tribus Principibus suaves felicitatum triplicitates
triplicatis carminum vicibus succinentes veniamque precantes, quòd
alumni ædium Divi Iohannis (qui præcursor Christi) alumnos Ædis Christi
(quo tum Rex tendebat) præcursoriâ hâc salutatione antevertissent,
Principes ingeniosâ fictiunculâ delectatos dimittunt; quos inde vniversa
astantium multitudo, felici prædictionum successui suffragans, votis
precibusque ad portam vsque civitatis Borealem prosequitur."
* * * * *
The _Christmas Prince_ is, properly speaking, not a single play, but a
collection of performances consequent on the revival of the old custom,
left in abeyance since 1577, of choosing a prince, or master of the
revels, who should exercise undisputed authority during the festive
season, and in whose honour the company at large should indulge freely
in various sorts of pastimes. The account given of this revival, in
1607, seems to imply that there had been of late years no Christmas
festivities at S. John's. In 1602 the college porter, pleading for the
admission of players on Twelfth Night, could say:
"Christmas is now at the point to bee past;
'Tis giving vp the ghost and this is the last;
And shall it passe thus without life or cheere?
This hath not beene seene this many a yeere."
Without laying too much stress upon a single allusion, it is safe to
assert that the discovery of the comedy of _Narcissus_, played five
years earlier than the performances of which an account is given in the
_Christmas Prince_, must be of considerable interest in the history of
S. John's, and indeed in that of Oxford play-acting generally.
The MS. containing this comedy is one of the Rawlinson collection, now
in the possession of the Bodleian Library. The volume, which is 5½ × 4
inches in size, with 156 leaves, appears to have been the commonplace
book of an Oxford man. It contains a variety of English poems and prose
pieces, written at the end of the sixteenth and beginning of the
seventeenth century; amongst them several pages of extracts from the
essays of Bacon and of his less-known contemporary Robert Johnson. Sir
H. Wotton's poem, "How happy is he borne or taught," also finds a place
in the collection. But the majority of the contents are of small
literary value, and, so far as I am aware, have never been published.
Perhaps the most interesting pieces in the volume are certain "English
Epigrammes much like Buckminster's Almanacke ... calculated by John
Davis of Grayes Inne ... 1594" of the character of which the following
lines, occurring early in the series, may give some idea.
_Of a Gull._
"Oft in my laughinge rimes I name a gull,
But this new tearme will many questions breed,
Therefore at first I will describe at full
Who is a true & perfect gull indeede.
"A gull is hee that weares a velvett gowne,
And when a wench is brave dare not speake to her;
A gull is hee that traverseth the towne,
And is for marriage knowne a common wooer.
"A gull is hee that, when he proudly weares
A silver hilted rapier by his side,
Endures the lye and knocks about the eares,
Whilst in his sheath his sleepinge sword doth bide.
"A gull is hee that hath good handsome cloaths,
And stands in presence stroking vpp his haire,
And fills vpp his imperfecte speech with oathes,
But speaks not one wise woord throughout the yeere.
But, to define a gull in tearms precise,
A gull is hee that seemes, and is not, wise."
That the play now under consideration is the work of some member or
members of the college of S. John's there can be no doubt. It is, as the
Prologue affirms, "Ovid's owne Narcissus," _i.e._, the story of
Narcissus as told in the third book of the _Metamorphoses_, which forms
the basis of the plot; and the resemblance to the Latin is in parts so
close as necessarily to imply a knowledge of that language on the part
of the writer. There is, indeed, one passage of literal and yet graceful
translation (see ll. 494-505) which especially betokens a scholarly
hand.
But it has been already hinted that the chief interest of the comedy
lies in another direction. The arrangement and methods are those of the
rough-and-ready English stage of the period; and as in the Pyramus and
Thisbe interlude of the _Midsummer Night's Dream_, and the Nine Worthies
of _Love's Labour's Lost_, the writer imitates and ridicules that naïve
realism which appertained to native comedy in its rude embryonic forms.
The absurdities with which the _Narcissus_ abounds are obviously
intentional; it is, in fact, a burlesque, not skilful nor humorous
enough to take its place beside the immortal parodies of Shakspere,
which in aim and scope it resembles, but a good average specimen of its
class, doubtless provocative of intense delight in the minds of a
contemporary audience. It is, of course, with a view to heightening the
reality of the effect that the Porter is made to plead on behalf of
certain "youths of the parish," who are waiting, armed with their
wassail-bowl, for admittance into the hall, and who, besides a song,
have "some other sporte too out of dowbt" for the delectation of the
assembled guests. Then follows, first the song, and afterwards an
altercation in prose between the Porter and the Players, who assume an
air of bashfulness when called upon to exercise their dramatic talent.
Finally, the Prologue enters, and the play is begun; the general
smoothness of the versification standing out in contrast to the
intentional doggerel of the Porter's introductory speech and epilogue.
The mention of "youths of the parish" is probably not serious; but as an
allusion to a real play of the kind here imitated, the following extract
from the _Christmas Prince_ (ed. 1816, p. 25) may be of interest: "S.
Steevens day was past over in silence, and so had S. John's day also;
butt that some of the princes honest neighbours of S. Giles presented
him with a maske or morris, which though it were but rudely performed,
yet itt being so freely & lovingly profered it could not but bee as
lovingly received."
* * * * *
I shall now pass on to the consideration of the play itself, and, first,
of the characters which make up the list of _dramatis personæ_. Five of
these, namely, Tiresias, Cephisus, Narcissus, Echo, and Liriope, appear
in the story of Narcissus as told by Ovid. Cephisus, son of Pontus and
Thalassa, and divinity of the river whence he derives his name, is the
father of the hero; the nymph Liriope is his mother. Tiresias, the blind
prophet of Thebes, and Echo, the unhappy victim of the anger of Juno and
the contempt of Narcissus, are well-known figures in classical
mythology. Neither Dorastus and Clinias, who attend Narcissus as
youthful friends, nor Florida and Clois, nymphs enamoured of his beauty,
have any actual counterparts in the _Metamorphoses_.
Most curious and interesting is the inclusion of "The Well" in the list
of characters. We have here no mere stage property, or piece of scenery,
but an actual personification of an inanimate object, closely resembling
that of Wall and Moonshine in Peter Quince's company. Just as Moonshine
carries a lantern to represent more vividly the actual moon, so the
personage called The Well aids the imagination of his audience by the
visible sign of a water-bucket. The fact of his being enumerated amongst
the _dramatis personæ_ shows that the part was played by a separate
artist, and not doubled with that of any other character. Of the Porter,
Francis, more will be said in Section II.
* * * * *
The play of _Narcissus_, though it can boast of no artificial divisions,
falls naturally into twelve different portions, which for want of a
better term I will call scenes. Whilst using this word it is necessary
to bear in mind that no change of _scenery_ is implied, and probably
none was intended.
_Scene I._ reveals Cephisus, Liriope, and Narcissus, awaiting the
prophet Tiresias. It consists of 132 lines, amplified from _Met._ iii.
341, 346-348:
"Prima fide vocisque ratæ tentamina sumsit
Cærula Liriope ...
... De quo consultus, an esset
Tempora maturæ visurus longa senectæ
Fatidicus vates--'Si se non viderit' inquit."
The introduction of Cephisus, the conversation between Narcissus and his
parents, the telling of the youth's fate _by the aid of chiromancy_, and
Liriope's scornful comment on the prophecy, are the materials used by
the English writer to form an effective scene.
_Scene II._ is wholly an interpolation. Dorastus and Clinias also try
their fate with Tiresias; he prophesies their early death, and they jest
upon the subject.
_Scene III._, in which Dorastus and Clinias flatter Narcissus for his
beauty, has no counterpart in Ovid. Probably, however, it was suggested
by _Met._ iii. 353-355:
"Multi illum juvenes, multæ cupiere puellæ;
Sed fuit in tenera tam dira superbia forma;
Nulli illum juvenes, nullæ tetigere puellæ."
_Scene IV._ pursues a like theme; the nymphs Florida and Clois are in
their turn repulsed by the scornful youth, and relate their woes to
Dorastus and Clinias.
The hint for this is given in _Met._ iii. 402:
"Sic hanc, sic alias undis aut montibus ortas
Luserat hic Nymphas."
And likewise the suggestion of Florida's revengeful wish:
"Inde manus aliquis despectus ad æthera tollens
'Sic amet ipse licet, sic non potiatur amato!'
Dixerat."
_Scene V._ Echo enters, and gives an account of herself, amplified--with
a very free use of the English vernacular--from _Met._ iii. 356-368.
_Scene VI._, which has no counterpart in Ovid, consists of a spirited
hunting-song in five stanzas, sung (presumably) while Narcissus,
Dorastus, and Clinias chase a supposed hare over the stage.
_Scene VII._ introduces the "one with a bucket," _i.e._, The Well. The
first twelve lines of his speech are a literal and smoothly-versified
translation of _Met._ iii. 407-412. In Ovid, however, this description
of the well comes after the conversation between Echo and Narcissus, and
the account proceeds at once (l. 413) with:
"Hic puer, et studio venandi lassus et æstu,
Procubuit."
It is doubtful why the English writer should have preferred to introduce
the Well thus early. With Ovid's lines may be compared those in the
translation of the _Romaunt of the Rose_ attributed to Chaucer:
"----Springyng in a marble stone,
Had nature set the sothe to tel
Under that pyne tree a wel.
* * * * *
Aboute it is grasse springyng
For moyste so thycke and wel lykyng,
That it ne may in wynter dye
No more than may the see be drye.
* * * * *
For of the welle this is the syne,
In worlde is none so clere of hewe,
The water is euer fresshe and newe
That welmeth vp with wawes bright."
_Scene VIII._ consists of a dialogue between Dorastus and Echo.
_Scene IX._ continues the same theme, Clinias being substituted for
Dorastus. Both these scenes are interpolations, introduced evidently for
the amusement of the audience rather than for any bearing on the main
plot.
_Scene X._ Here Narcissus delivers himself of a soliloquy, suggested by
_Met._ iii. 479:
"Forte puer, comitum seductus et agmine fido,
Dixerat"--
He is answered by Echo, who wishes to proffer him her affection. The
conversation, gathered from Ovid, runs as follows:
"Ecquis adest?
Adest.
Veni!
Veni!
Quid me fugis?
Quid me fugis?
Huc Coëamus!
Coeämus!"
This, with various amplifications, is followed in ll. 602-630 of the
_Narcissus_.
Here, however, there is no reproduction of Ovid's account:
"Et verbis favet ipsa suis, egressaque silvis
Ibat, ut injiceret sperato brachia collo.
Ille fugit, fugiensque manus complexibus aufert."
which leads on to and explains the next speech of Narcissus:
"'Ante' ait 'emoriar, quam sit tibi copia nostri.'"
rendered in the English by:
"Let mee dye first ere thou meddle with mee."
This terminates the interview; Echo does not seem to make any appearance
on the stage. The few lines which, in Ovid, describe the effect of her
hopeless love, are partly followed in ll. 740-747 of the English play.
_Scene XI._ Dorastus and Clinias abuse, fight with, and finally kill
each other.
_Scene XII._ Narcissus enters, _fleeing from Echo_ (a connecting touch
not found in Ovid). His speech, on discovering the well, is a mixture of
the description of his transports in the _Metamorphoses_, and of the
soliloquy there attributed to him. ll. 697-707 of the _Narcissus_
correspond word for word to _Met._ iii. 442-450.
It is remarkable that the use of the name of the goddess of corn instead
of bread itself ("Cereris," l. 437) should have suggested to the English
writer a similar metaphorical use of the names of Morpheus and Bacchus.
Another small point worthy of note is the introduction of a jest into
the midst of this mournful scene; Ovid's:
"Et, quantum motu formosi suspicor oris,
Verba refers aures non pervenientia nostras"
being irreverently rendered by:
"And by thy lippes moving, well I doe suppose
Woordes thou dost speake, may well come to our nose;
For to oure eares I am sure they never passe."
Ovid's Narcissus discovers his own identity with the vision (_Met._ iii.
463), which the English version ignores; while, on the other hand, the
prophecy of ll. 730-731:
"I, which whilome was
The flower of youth, shalbee made flower againe"
finds no counterpart in Ovid.
Many of the reflections and entreaties ascribed to Narcissus in the
Latin version are omitted in the English; neither is there any mention
of the beating of the breast (_Met._ iii. 480-485). The final
conversation with Echo is given thus by Ovid:
Eheu!
Eheu!
Heu frustra dilecte puer!
Heu frustra dilecte puer!
Vale!
Vale!
The English writer somewhat amplifies this, Echo being always a
favourite stage-character. The rising up of Narcissus after death is an
English expedient; so is Echo's return to give a final account of
herself, the matter of which is suggested, as has been said, by _Met._
iii. 393-401.
So much for the classical basis of the play; it remains to notice
briefly the points in which it resembles an English comedy, or shows
traces of the influence of other English writers. Most remarkable in the
latter connection is the frequent coincidence of expressions between the
_Narcissus_ and Shakspere's _Henry IV._ (Part 1.). Amongst these are the
following:
L. 78. Ladds of metall. Cf. 1 _Henry IV._, ii. 4, 13.
80. No vertue extant " ii. 4, 132.
111. I tickle (them) for " ii. 4, 489.
422. Never ioyd (it) since " ii. 1, 13.
575. Kee (= quoth) pickpurse " ii. 1, 53.
734. (My) grandam earth " iii. 1, 34.
See also the notes on ll. 282, 396, and 683.
As _Henry IV._ was entered at Stationers' Hall February 25th, 1597, and
the first quarto appeared in 1598, it is quite possible that these may
be direct borrowings on the part of the writer of the _Narcissus_.
A common trick of English burlesque at this time (cf. _Midsummer Night's
Dream_, v. 1, 337, etc.) was the inversion of epithets, producing
nonsensical combinations; an expedient which, if we condemn it as poor
wit, we must at least allow to fall under the definition of humour as
"the unexpected." A good example of this occurs in ll. 360, 361:
"So cruell as the huge camelion,
Nor yet so changing as small elephant."
And another in ll. 677, 678:
"But oh, remaine, and let thy christall lippe
No more of this same cherrye water sippe."
Sarcastic allusions are also not wanting; see, for instance, the
cheerful inducement held out to Narcissus:
"As true as Helen was to Menela,
So true to you will bee thy Florida."
And cf. the notes on ll. 337, 342.
There are several facetious mistakes in the forms of words, such as
_spoone_ for moon (l. 350), _Late-mouse_ for Latmus (l. 279), and
_Davis_ for Davus (l. 400); of which the first recalls Ancient Pistol's
"Cannibals" (2 _Henry IV._ ii. 4, 180), or the contrary slip in _Every
Man in his Humour_, iii. 4, 53, and the two latter, Bottom's "Shafalus"
and "Procrus," and the blunders of Costard.
The naïve devices by which the players seem to have made up for some
paucity of accoutrements and stage appliances, and their direct appeals
to the intelligence of the audience to excuse all defects, are highly
edifying. There is, as I have before remarked, no indication of any
scenery; and the only characters whom we know to have worn a special
dress are Tiresias and Liriope. The prophets of classical history were
often converted into bishops by English writers; so, for example,
Helenus, son of Priam, in the fourteenth century alliterative _Gest
Hystoriale of Troy_. This is why Tiresias wears a bishop's rochet. It is
unfortunate that the collection of robes now in the possession of St.
John's College does not include a garment of this description.
Liriope has a symbolical costume, which she very carefully interprets to
Narcissus:
"And I thy mother nimphe, as may bee seene
By coulours that I weare, blew, white, and greene;
For nimphes ar of the sea, and sea is right
Of coulour truly greene and blew and white.
Would you knowe how, I pray? Billowes are blew,
Water is greene, and foome is white of hue."
Cephisus is content to carry the emblems of his origin, which he
emphasizes at the same time by representative action:
"Thy father I, Cephisus, that brave river
Who is all water, doe like water shiver.
As any man of iudgment may descrye
By face, hands washt, and bowle, thy father I."
In the same way Narcissus, rising up after his supposed death, bears a
daffodil as a sign of his metamorphosis, addressing the audience after a
manner more brusque than polite:
"If you take mee for Narcissus y'are very sillye,
I desire you to take mee for a daffa downe dillye;
For so I rose, and so I am in trothe,
As may appeare by the flower in my mouthe."
Echo gives her reasons somewhat confidentially:
"But ho, the hobby horse, youle think't absurde
That I should of my selfe once speake a woord.
'Tis true; but lett your wisdomes tell me than,
How'de you know Eccho from another man?"
And at the conclusion of the play she kindly directs the imagination of
the spectators into the right channel:
"Now auditors of intelligence quicke,
I pray you suppose that Eccho is sicke"----
and craves their applause by a skilful ruse.
Tiresias makes his exit at an early stage in the play, addressing
congratulations to himself:
"Goe, thou hast done, Tyresias; bidd adieu;
Thy part is well plaid and thy wordes are true."
As a last instance of this naïve custom, Florida's words at the end of
the short part assigned to herself and Clois may be cited:
"Looke you for maids no more, our parte is done,
Wee come but to be scornd, and so are gone."
Both the songs contained in the play have a considerable amount of
vivacity and vigour, though they fall short of actual lyrical beauty.
The first and longer of the two is a drinking-song with a refrain of
eight lines, written in a lively and irregular, but not ill-handled
metre; the second, a hunting-song of five stanzas, with the chorus
"Yolp" in imitation of the cry of the dogs. Besides these, which may
very possibly have been in existence before the play was written, the
effusion of Dorastus on meeting Narcissus ("Cracke eye strings cracke,"
l. 305) is lyrical in character.
Taken as a whole, it will be seen that the comedy of _Narcissus_ is
rather interesting for its quaintness, its humour, and its apparent
borrowings from, and undoubted resemblances to, Shakspere, than for any
intrinsic literary value. In spite of this, I cannot but hope that those
who now study it for the first time, though they may have "seene a
farre better play at the theater," will not find reason to condemn it as
wholly dull and unprofitable.
SECTION II.
It only remains to say a few words with regard to the four pieces which
I have included in the present volume.
These occur in the same MS. as the _Narcissus_, and taken with it appear
to form a united group, by virtue of their common connection with S.
John's College. It is true that the Porter who acts so prominent a part
in the admission of the supposed players reveals to us only his
Christian name, Frances (see last line of Epilogue), but it is hardly
possible to doubt his identity with the Francke (or Francis) Clarke, the
porter of S. John's, to whom the remarkable productions above-mentioned
are attributed. After several vain attempts to discover the record of
this man's tenure of office, I have chanced upon his name in Mr. A.
Clark's _Register of the University of Oxford_, vol. ii. (1571-1622),
pt. 1, p. 398, where it occurs in the list of "personæ privilegiatæ," a
term including, in its widest sense, all persons who enjoyed the
immunities conferred by charter on the corporation of the University,
but technically used to describe certain classes to whom these
immunities were granted by special favour; as, for example, the college
servants, of whom the manciple, cook, and porter or janitor, were
amongst the chief.
The entry is as follows:
"8 May 1601, S. Jo., Clark, Francis; Worc., pleb. f., 24; 'janitor.'"
From this we gather that Francis Clark had not been long appointed to
his office; that he was twenty-four years of age, a Worcestershire man,
and of humble birth.
Judging by the internal evidence of the MS. now under consideration, we
may very naturally suppose that the porter, a worthy possessed of a
shrewd wit and somewhat combative temperament, enjoyed high favour
amongst the undergraduates, though often in disgrace with their
superiors; and that for his benefit (in the case of the first and fourth
pieces), and for their own (in the case of the third), the wags of the
college composed certain apologies, which Francis Clarke was clever
enough to commit to memory, and confident enough to pronounce before the
Head in the character of a privileged humourist. The last of the pieces
seems to have been written down and delivered as a letter; and some or
all may be the products of the same pen as wrote the _Narcissus_. That
they were not written by the porter himself is evident; for over and
above the mere improbability that a college servant would be capable of
such frequent reference to Lilly, we have the testimony of the headings,
two of which bear mention of "a speech _made for_ the foresaid porter,"
and "a letter _composed for_ Francke Clarke." It is very possible that
the porter's part in the _Narcissus_ may have been specially designed
for, and entrusted to, the worthy Francis.
* * * * *
Of these four pieces, the apology addressed to "Master President, that
had sconc't him 10 groates for lettinge the fidlers into the hall at
Christmas," occurs next to the play in the MS., and was probably the
result of some mock trial and sentence forming a part of the Christmas
festivities. If we could suppose the "fidlers" to have been the same as
the players, a still closer connection would be established between
this speech and the comedy; but there is no mention of any dramatic
entertainment in the circumstantial account of their entrance and exit
given by the porter.
The other pieces have no apparent connection with Christmas time, and
the last, being addressed to Laud during the year of his proctorship,
fixes its own date as 1603-4. The speech _To the Ladie Keneda_ is the
most puzzling of the group, inasmuch as it bears no reference to
collegiate life, and deals with a subject of some obscurity. _Kennedy_
was the family name of the earls of Cassilis; and the fifth earl, then
living, had married in 1597 Jean, daughter of James, fourth Lord
Fleming, and widow of Lord Chancellor Maitland. But whether she is the
"Ladie Keneda" to whom Francis Clarke pleads on behalf of her cook
Piers, it is impossible to say. Neither have I found out anything
concerning the annual holiday for cooks, to which allusion seems to be
made. Here, however, as in the other speeches, a wide margin must be
allowed for euphuism, and bare facts are difficult to deduce.
I have refrained from supplying references to the numerous classical
quotations with which the speeches are embellished, for the simple
reason that a contemporary edition of Lilly's Grammar will be found to
include them all. Doubtless the youthful composers derived a special
delight from the process of making "Lilly leape out of his skinne," with
a "muster of sentences" of which the porter's supposed use and
interpretation is, if not always scholarly, at least decidedly
ingenious.
A TWELFE NIGHT MERRIMENT.
ANNO 1602.
_Enter the_ Porter _at the end of supper._
_Porter._
MASTER and Mistris with all your guests, [F. 81v rev.]
God save you, heerin the matter rests;
Christmas is now at the point to bee past,
'Tis giving vp the ghost & this is the last;
And shall it passe thus without life or cheere?
This hath not beene seene this many a yeere.
If youl have any sporte, then say the woord,
Heere come youths of the parish that will it affoord,
They are heere hard by comminge alonge,
Crowning their wassaile bowle with a songe: [10]
They have some other sport too out of dowbt,
Let mee alone, & I will finde it out.
I am your porter & your vassaile,
Shall I lett in the boyes with their wassaile?
Say: they are at doore, to sing they beginne,
Goe to then, Ile goe & lett them in!
_Enter the wassaile, two of them bearinge the bowle, & singinge the
songe, & all of them bearing the burden._
_The Songe._
Gentills all
Both great & small,
Sitt close in the hall
And make some roome, [20]
For amongst you heere
At the end of your cheere
With our countrey beare
Wee ar bold to come.
Heers then a full carowse,
Let it goe about the house,
While wee doe carrye it thus
'Tis noe great labour.
Heave it vpp merilye, [F. 81r rev.]
Let care & anger flye, [30]
A pinne for povertye;
Drinke to your neighbour.
Those that are wise,
Doe knowe that with spice
God Bacchus his iuyce
Is wholsome & good.
It comforts age,
It refresheth the sage,
It rebateth rage,
And cheereth the bloud. [40]
Heeres then a full, &c.
Take it with quicknes,
Tis phisicke for sicknes,
It driveth the thicknes
Of care from the harte;
The vaynes that are empty
It filleth with plenty,
Not one amongst twenty
But it easeth of smarte.
Heers then a full, &c. [50]
Are you sadd,
For fortune badd,
And would bee gladd
As ever you were,
If that a quaffe
Doe not make you laffe,
Then with a staffe
Drive mee out of dore.
Heers then a full, &c.
To tell you his merritts, [60]
Good thoughts it inherites,
It raiseth the spirritts
And quickens the witt;
It peoples the veyns,
It scoureth the reynes,
It purgeth the braines
And maks all things fitte.
Heers then a full, &c.
It makes a man bold,
It keepes out the cold; [70]
Hee hath all things twice told
Vnto his comforte,
Hee stands in the middle,
The world, hey dery diddle,
Goes round without a fiddle
To make them sporte.
Heers then a full carowse, &c.
_Por._ Why well said, my ladds of mettall, this is [F. 80v rev.]
somwhat yett, 'tis trimlye done; but what sporte, what merriment,
all dead, no vertue extant? [80]
_Pri[mus]._ Pray, sir, gett our good Mistris to bestowe something on
us, & wee ar gone.
_Por._ Talke of that _tempore venturo_; there's no goinge to any
other houses now, your bowle is at the bottome, & that which is left
is for mee.
_Sec[undus]._ Nay, good Master Porter.
_Por._ Come, come, daunce vs a morrice, or els goe sell fishe; I
warrant youle make as good a night of it heere as if you had beene
at all the houses in the towne.
_Ter[tius]._ Nay, pray letts goe, wee can doe nothinge. [90]
_Por._ Noe! What was that I tooke you all a gabling tother day in
mother Bunches backside by the well there, when Tom at Hobses ranne
vnder the hovell with a kettle on's head?
_Pri._ Why, you would not have a play, would you?
_Por._ Oh, by all meanes, 'tis your onely fine course. About it,
ladds, a the stampe, I warrante you a reward sufficient; I tell you,
my little windsuckers, had not a certaine melancholye ingendred with
a nippinge dolour overshadowed the sunne shine of my mirthe, I had
beene I pre, sequor, one of your consorte. But [F. 80r rev.] [100]
wheres gooddy Hubbardes sonne--I saw him in his mothers holliday
cloaths eennow?
_Sec._ Doe you heere, Master Porter, wee have pittifull nailes in
our shooes; you were best lay something on the grounde, els wee
shall make abhominable scarrs in the face on't.
_Por. Rem tenes_; well, weele thinke on't.
_Ter._ It is a most condolent tragedye wee shall move.
_Por. Dictum puta; satis est quod suffocat._ [110]
_Sec._ In faith, I tickle them for a good voice.
_Por. Sufficiente quantitate_, a woord is enough to the wise.
_Pri._ You have noe butterd beare in the house, have yee?
_Por._ No, no, trudge, some of the guests are one the point to bee
gone.
_Sec._ Have you ere a gentlewomans picture in the house, or noe?
_Por._ Why? [120]
_Sec._ If you have, doe but hange it yonder, & twill make mee act in
conye.
_Por._ Well then, away about your geere.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter Prologue._
Wee are noe vagabones, wee ar no arrant
Rogues that doe runne with plaies about the country.
Our play is good, & I dare farther warrant [F. 79v rev.]
It will make you more sport then catt in plum tree.
Wee are no saucye common playenge skipiackes,
But towne borne lads, the kings owne lovely subiects.
This is the night, night latest of the twelve, [130]
Now give vs leave for to bee blith & frolicke,
To morrow wee must fall to digg & delve;
Weele bee but short, long sittinge breeds the collicke.
Then wee beginne, & lett none hope to hisse vs,
The play wee play is Ovid's owne Narcissus.
CEPHISUS, LYRIOPE, NARCISSUS.
[_Cep._] Open thine eares, my sonne, open I bidd
To heare the sound saw which the sage shall reed,
I meane the sage Tyresias, my ducke,
Which shall lay ope to thee thy lott, thy lucke.
Thy father I, Cephisus, that brave river [140]
Who is all water, doe like water shiver.
As any man of iudgment may descrye
By face, hands washt, & bowle, thy father I.
_Lyr._ And I thy mother nimphe, as may bee seene
By coulours that I weare, blew, white, & greene;
For nimphes ar of the sea, & sea is right
Of colour truly greene & blew & white;
Would you knowe how, I pray? Billowes are blew,
Water is greene, & foome is white of hue.
_Cep._ Wee both bidd the, Narcisse, our dearest child, [150]
With count'nance sober, modest lookes & milde,
To prophett's wisest woords with tention harken; [F. 79r rev.]
But Sunne is gonne & welkin gins to darken,
Vulcan the weary horses is a shooinge,
While Phebus with queene Thetis is a doinge:
Prophett comes not, letts goe both all & some,
Wee may goe home like fooles as wee did come.
_Lyr._ O stay deare husband, flowe not away bright water,
The prophett will come by sooner or later.
_Cep._ Why stand wee heere, as it were cappes a thrumming, [160]
To look for prophett? Prophett is not comminge.
_Nar._ Sweete running river which Cephisus hight,
Whose water is so cleare, whose waves so bright,
Gold is thy sand and christall is thy current,
Thy brooke so cleare that no vile wind dare stirre in't;
Thou art my father, & thou, sweetest nimphe,
Thou art my mother, I thy sonne, thy shrimpe.
Agree you in one point, to goe or tarrye,
Narcissus must obey, aye, must hee, marye.
_Cep._ Gush, water, gush! runne, river, from thy channell! [170]
Thou hast a sonne more lovinge then a spanniell;
With watry eyes I see how tis expedient
To have a sonne so wise & so obedient.
Most beauteous sonne, yet not indeede so beautifull
As thou art mannerly & dutifull!
_Lyr._ See, husband, see, O see where prophett blind
In twice good time is comming heere behind.
_Cep._ O heere hee is, and now that hee's come nye vs,
Lye close, good wife & sonne, least hee espye vs.
_Enter_ TYRESIAS.
All you that see mee heere in byshoppes rochett, [F. 78v rev.] [180]
And I see not, your heads may runne on crotchett,
For ought I knowe, to knowe what manner wight
In this strange guise I am, or how I hight;
I am Tyresias, the not seeing prophett,
Blinde though I bee, I pray lett noe man scoffe it:
For blind I am, yea, blind as any beetle,
And cannot see a whitt, no, nere so little.
Heere ar no eyes, why, they ar in my minde,
Wherby I see the fortunes of mankind;
Who made mee blind? Jove? I may say to you noe; [190]
But it was Joves wife & his sister Juno.
Juno & Jove fell out, both biggest gods,
And I was hee tooke vpp the merrye oddes.
You knowe it all, I am sure, 'tis somewhat common,
And how besides seven yeares I was a woman;
Which if you knowe you doe know all my state:
Come on, Ile fold the fortune of your fate.
_Lyr._ Tremblinge, Tyresias, I pray you cease to travell,
And rest a little on the groundy gravell.
_Tyr._ Who ist calls? Speake, for I cannot see. [200]
_Cep._ Poore frends, sir, to the number of some three.
_Tyr._ What would you have?
_Cep._ Why, sir, this is the matter,
To bee plaine with you & not to flatter;
I am the stately river hight Cephise,
Smoother then glasse & softer farre then ice; [F. 78r rev.]
This nimphe before you heere whom you doe see
Is my owne wife, yclipt Lyriope.
Though with the dawbe of prayse I am loath to lome her,
This Ile assure you, the blind poett Homer [210]
Saw not the like amongst his nimphes and goddesses,
Nor in his Iliads, no, nor in his Odysses.
Thinke not, I pray, that wee are come for nought;
Our lovely infant have wee to you brought.
The purple hew of this our iolly striplynge
I would not have you thinke was gott with tiplinge;
Hee is our sonne Narcisse, no common varlett,
Nature in graine hath died his face in skarlett.
Speak then, I pray you, speake, for wee you portune
That you would tell our sunnfac't sonne his fortune. [220]
_Lyr._ Doe not shrink backe, Narcissus, come & stand,
Hold vpp & lett the blind man see thy hand.
_Tyr._ Come, my young sonne, hold vp & catch audacitye;
I see thy hand with the eyes of my capacitye.
Though I speake riddles, thinke not I am typsye,
For what I speake I learnde it of a gipsye,
And though I speak hard woords of curromanstike,
Doe not, I pray, suppose that I am franticke.
The table of thy hand is somewhat ragged,
Thy mensall line is too direct and cragged, [230]
Thy line of life, my sonne, is to, to breife,
And crosseth Venus girdle heere in cheife,
And heere (O dolefull signe) is overthwarte
In Venus mount a little pricke or warte. [F. 77v rev.]
Besides heere, in the hillocke of great Jupiter,
Monnsieur la mors lyes lurking like a sheppbiter;
What can I make out of this hard construction
But dolefull dumpes, decay, death, & destruction?
_Cep._ O furious fates, O three thread-thrumming sisters,
O fickle fortune, thou, thou art the mistres [240]
Of this mishapp; why am I longer liver?
Runne river, runne, & drowne thee in the river.
_Tyr._ Then sith to thee, my sonne, I doe pronounce ill,
It shall behove thee for to take good counsell,
And that eft soone; wisdoome they say is good,
Your parents ambo have done what they coode,
They can but bringe horse to the water brinke,
But horse may choose whether that horse will drinke.
_Lyr._ Oh say, thou holy preist of high Apollo,
What harme, what hurt, what chaunge, what chaunce, will [250]
followe,
That if wee can wee may provide a plaster
Of holsome hearbes to cure this dire disaster.
_Tyr._ If I should tell you, you amisse would iudge it;
I have one salve, one medecine, in my budgett,
And that is this, since you will have mee tell,
If hee himselfe doe never knowe; farewell. [_Exit_ TYR.
_Lyr._ Mary come out, is his ould noddle dotinge?
Heere is an ould said saw well woorth the notinge;
Shall hee not know himselfe? Who shall hee then? [F. 77r rev.]
My boy shall knowe himselfe from other men, [260]
I, & my boy shall live vntill hee dye,
In spight of prophett & in spight of pye.
It is an ould sawe: That it is too late
When steede is stolne to shutt the stable gate;
Therfore take heed; yet I bethinke at Delph,
One Phibbus walls is written: Knowe thyselfe.
Shall hee not know himselfe, and so bee laught on,
When as Apollo cries, gnotti seauton? [_Exeunt._
DORASTUS. CLINIAS.
Come, prethy lett vs goe: come, Clinias, come,
And girt thy baskett dagger to thy bumme; [270]
Lett vs, I say, bee packinge, and goe meete
The poore blind prophett stalking in the streete:
Lett us be iogginge quickly.
_Cli._ Peace, you asse,
I smell the footinge of Tyresias.
_Enter_ TYRESIAS.