"Full faire was mirth, full long and high,

A fairer man I never sigh:

As round as apple was his face,

Full roddie and white in every place,

Fetis he was and well besey,

With meetly mouth and eyen gray,

His nose by measure wrought full right,

Crispe was his haire, and eke full bright,

His shoulderes of large trede

And smallish in the girdlestede:

He seemed like a purtreiture,

So noble was he of his stature,

So faire, so jolly, and so fetise

With limmes wrought at point devise,

Deliver smart, and of great might;

Ne saw thou never man so light

Of berd unneth had he nothing,

For it was in the firste spring,

Full young he was and merry of thought,

And in samette with birdes wrought

And with golde beaten full fetously

His bodie was clad full richely.

Wrought was his robe in straunge gise

And all slitttered for queintise

In many a place, low and hie,

And shode he was with great maistrie

With shoone decoped and with lace,

By drurie and by solace

His leefe a rosen chapelet

Had made, and on his head it set."

He speaks in equally high terms of "Dame Gladnesse."

We can appreciate Chaucer's address to his empty purse--

"To you my purse, and to none other wight

Complaine I, for ye be my lady dere,

I am sorry now that ye be light,

For certes ye now make me heauy chere

Me were as lefe laid vpon a bere,

For which vnto your mercy thus I crie

Be heauy againe or els mote I die.

"Now vouchsafe this day or it be night

That I of you the blissful sowne may here,

Or see your colour like the sunne bright

That of yelowness had neuer pere;

Ye be my life, ye be my hertes stere

Queen of comfort, and good companie

Be heauy againe, or els mote I die.

"Now purse that art to me my liues delight

And sauiour, as downe in this world here,

Out of this towne helpe me by your might

Sith that you woll not be my treasure,

For I am shave as nere as any frere,

But I pray vnto your curtesie

Be heauy againe, or els mote I die."

Chaucer was very fond of allegory. This is especially visible not only

in the "Romaunt of the Rose," but in the "Court of Love," "Flower and

Leaf," the "House of Fame," and the "Cuckoo and Nightingale." In the

"Assembly of Fowls" we have a fable. Chaucer was attached to the service

of John of Gaunt, which may have led to his attacking the clergy, but in

his youth he was fined two shillings for beating a Franciscan friar in

Fleet Street. He favoured Wickliffe, and was for this reason eventually

obliged to flee the country; but he returned and obtained remunerative

appointments. It is said that on his death-bed he lamented the

encouragement which vice might receive from his writings, but their

indelicacy was not really great for the age in which he lived.

Henry Heywood has been called the "Father of English Comedy," and he was

certainly one of the first that wrote original dramas, representing the

ordinary social life of this country. His pieces, which all appeared

before 1550, were short and simple, and seem to us very deficient in

delicacy and humour. But in his day he was considered a great wit, and

as a court-jester drew many a lusty laugh from old King Hal, and could

even soothe the rugged brow of the fanatical Mary. One of his best

sayings was addressed to her. When the Queen told Heywood that the

priests must forego their wives, he answered. "Then your Grace must

allow them _lemans_, for the clergy cannot live without sauce." He was

called the epigrammatist, but the greater part of his jests seem to have

little point. Some of them have been attributed to Sir Thomas More.

One of the earliest English comedies written by Nicholas Udall, and

found entered in the books of the Stationers' Company in the year,

1566, is Royster Doister.

"Which against the vayne glorious doth invey

Whose humour the roysting sort continually doth feede."

The play turns on Ralph Royster Doister--a conceited fool--thinking

every woman must fall in love with him. Much of the humour is acoustic,

and depends on repetitions--

"Then twang with our sonnets, and twang with our dumps,

And hey hough for our heart, as heavie as lead lumps.

Then to our recorder with toodle doodle poope,

As the howlet out of an yvie bushe should hoope

Anon to our gitterne, thrumpledum, thrumpledrum thrum,

Thrumpledum, thrumpledum, thrumpledum, thrumpledum, thrum."

Royster is duped into sending Custance a love-letter, telling her that

he seeks only her fortune, and that he will annoy her in every way after

marriage. On discovering the deception, he determines to take vengeance

on the scribbler who wrote the love-letter for him:--

"Yes, for although he had as many lives

As a thousande widowes and a thousande wives,

As a thousande lyons and a thousande rattes,

A thousande wolves and a thousande cattes,

A thousande bulles, and a thousande calves

And a thousande legions divided in halves,

He shall never 'scape death on my sworde's point

Though I shoulde be torne therefore joynt by joynt."

Where he prepares to punish Custance and her friends for refusing him,

there is a play on the word "stomacke"--used for courage:

_Ralph Royster._ Yea, they shall know, and thou knowest I have a

stomacke.

_M.M._ A stomacke (quod you) you, as good as ere man had.

_R. Royster._ I trowe they shall finde and feele that I am a lad.

_M.M._ By this crosse I have seene you eate your meat as well.

As any that ere I have seene of, or heard tell,

A stomacke quod you? he that will that denie,

I know was never at dynner in your companie.

_R. Royster._ Nay, the stomacke of a man it is that I meane.

_M.M._ Nay, the stomacke of a horse or a dogge I weene.

_R. Royster._ Nay, a man's stomacke with a weapon mean I.

_M.M._ Ten men can scarce match you with a spoon in a pie.

"Gammer Gurton's Needle" was acted in 1552. It bears marks of an early

time in its words being coarsely indelicate, but not amatory. The humour

is that of blows and insults and we may observe the great value then

attached to needles. It is "a right pithy, pleasant and merry comedy"--a

country story of an old dame who loses her needle when sewing a patch on

the seat of her servant Hodge's breeches. The cat's misdoings interrupt

her, and her needle is lost. The hunt for the needle is amusing, and

Gammer Gurton and Dame Chat, whom she suspects of having stolen it,

abuse and call each other witches. Hodge, the man with the patched

breeches encourages Gammer Gurton, who seems little to require it.

"Smite, I say Gammer,

Bite, I say Gammer,

Where be your nails? Claw her by the jawes

Pull me out both her eyen.

Hoise her, souse her, bounce her, trounce her,

Pull out her thrott."

On some one giving Hodge a good slap, the needle runs into him, and is

thus happily found.

At the opening of the second act of Gammer Gurton there is a drinking

song, which deserves notice as it was the first written in English,--

"I cannot eat but little meat

My stomack is not good:

But sure I think that I can drink

With him that wears a hood.

Though I go bare, take ye no care

I nothing am a colde;

I stuff my skin so full within

Of ioly good ale and olde.

Backe and side go bare, go bare,

Booth foot and hand go colde;

But belly, God send thee good ale inoughe,

Whether it be new or olde;

"I love no rost, but a nut browne toste

And a crab laid in the fire;

A little bread shall do me stead

Moche bread I noght desire.

No frost, no snow, no wind I trowe

Can hurt me if I wolde.

I am so wrapt and throwly lapt

Of ioly good ale and olde.

Backe and side, &c.

"And Tib my wife, that as her life

Loveth well good ale to seeke,

Full oft drinkes shee, till ye may see

The teares run downe her cheeke.

Then doth she trowle to me the bowle

Even as a mault-worm sholde,

And saith 'sweet heart I tooke my part

Of this ioly good ale and olde.'

Backe and side, &c.

"Now let them drinke, till they nod and winke,

Even as good fellows should do;

They shall not misse to have the blisse

Good ale doth bring men to.

And al goode sowles that have scoured bowles,

Or have them lustely trolde,

God save the lives of them and their wives

Whether they be yong or olde.

Backe and side, &c."

CHAPTER IV.

ROBERT GREENE.

Robert Greene--Friar Bacon's Demons--The "Looking Glasse"--Nash and

Harvey.

One of the principal humorists at this time was Robert Greene, born at

Norwich about 1560. He was educated at Cambridge, and was generally

styled "Robert Greene, Maister of Artes." Early in life he became, as he

tells us, "an author of playes and a penner of love pamphlets." From the

titles of some of them, and from his motto, "_Omne tulit punctum qui

miscuit utile dulci_," it is evident that they were intended to be

humorous. Thus, his "Euphues" professes to contain "Mirth to purge

Melancholy;" his "Quips for an Vpstart Courtier" is "A Quaint Dispute

between Velvet-breeches and Cloth-breeches," and his "Notable Discovery

of Coosnage" has "a delightfull discourse of the coosnage of Colliers;"

his "Second and last part of conny-catching" has "new additions

containing many merry tales of all lawes worth the reading, because they

are worthy to be remembered. Discoursing strange cunning coosnage, which

if you reade without laughing, Ile give you my cap for a Noble." But in

all these works there is but little humour, and what we learn in reading

them is, that a very small amount of it was then thought considerable,

and that stories, which we should think slightly entertaining, appeared

in that simple age to be very ingenious and even comic. In the "Comicall

Historie of Alphonsus, King of Arragon," we do not find anything that

could have possibly been humorous, unless the speaking of a brazen head,

and the letting Venus down from Heaven and drawing her up again, could

have been so regarded. Greene is characteristic of his time in his love

of introducing magic and enchanters, and of characters from classic and

scripture history. In the "Looking-Glasse for London and England," in

which our metropolis is compared to Nineveh, we have angels and

magicians brought in. "A hand out of a cloud threateneth a burning

sword," and "Jonas is cast out of the whale's belly upon the stage."

Greene is fond of introducing devils. In "The Honourable Historie of

Frier Bacon and Frier Bongay," Ralph says, "Why, Sirrah Ned we'll ride

to Oxford to Friar Bacon. O! he is a brave scholar, sirrah; they say he

is a brave necromancer, that he can make women of devils, and he can

juggle cats into coster-mongers." Further on in the same play a devil

and Miles, Bacon's servant, enter.

_Miles._ A scholar, quoth you; marry, Sir, I would I had been a

bottle maker, when I was made a scholar, for I can get neither to

be a deacon, reader, nor schoolmaster. No, not the clerk of the

parish. Some call me dunce, another saith my head is full of Latin,

as an egg's full of oatmeal: thus I am tormented that the devil and

Friar Bacon haunt me. Good Lord, here's one of my master's devils!

I'll go speak to him. What Master Plutus, how cheer you?

_D._ Dost know me?

_M._ Know you, Sir? Why are not you one of my master's devils, that

were wont to come to my master, Doctor Bacon at Brazen-Nose?

_D._ Yes, marry am I.

_M._ Good Lord, Master Plutus, I have seen you a thousand times at

my master's; and yet I had never the manners to make you drink.

But, Sir, I am glad to see how comformable you are to the statutes.

I warrant you he's as yeomanly a man as you shall see; mark you,

masters, here's a plain honest man without welt or guard. But I

pray you Sir, do you come lately from hell?

_D._ Ay, marry, how then?

_M._ Faith, 'tis a place I have desired long to see: have you not

good tippling houses there? May not a man have a lusty fire there,

a good pot of ale, a pair of cards, a swinging piece of chalk, and

a brown toast that will clap a white waistcoat on a cup of good

drink.

_D._ All this you may have there.

_M._ You are for me, friend, and I am for you. But I pray you, may

I not have an office there?

_D._ Yes, a thousand; what wouldst thou be?

_M._ By my troth, Sir, in a place where I may profit myself. I know

hell is a hot place, and men are marvellous dry, and much drink is

spent there. I would be a tapster.

In one play Greene introduces a court-fool, and he mixes with the

stupidity and knavery of his clowns, a sort of artificial philosophy

and argumentative ingenuity, which savours much of the old jesters. In

"James the Fourth" Slipper says:--

O mistress, mistress, may I turn a word upon you?

_Countess._ Friend, what wilt thou?

_Slipper._ O! what a happy gentlewoman be you truly; the world

reports this of you, mistress, that a man can no sooner come to

your house, but the butler comes with a black-jack, and says,

"Welcome, friend, here's a cup of the best for you," verily,

mistress, you are said to have the best ale in all Scotland.

_Countess._ Sirrah, go fetch him drink [_an attendant brings

drink._] How likest thou this?

_Slip._ Like it mistress! why this is quincy quarie, pepper de

watchet, single goby, of all that ever I tasted. I'll prove in this

ale, and toast the compass of the whole world. First, this is the

earth; it ties in the middle a fair brown toast, a goodly country

for hungry teeth to dwell upon; next this is the sea, a fair pool

for a dry tongue to fish in; now come I, and seeing the world is

naught, I divide it thus: and because the sea cannot stand without

the earth, as Aristotle saith, I put them both into their first

chaos, which is my belly, and so, mistress, you may see your ale is

become a miracle.

Further on Slipper again shows his readiness in dialogue--

_Sir Bartram._ Ho, fellow! stay and let me speak with thee.

_Slip._ Fellow! friend thou dost abuse me: I am a gentleman.

_Sir B._ A gentleman! how so?

_Slip._ Why, I rub horses, Sir.

_Sir B._ And what of that?

_Slip._ O simple-witted! mark my reason. They that do good service

in the commonweal are gentlemen, but such as rub horses do good

service in the commonweal, _ergo_, tarbox, master courtier, a

horse-keeper is a gentleman.

_Sir B._ Here is over much wit in good earnest. But, sirrah, where

is thy master?

_Slip._ Neither above ground nor under ground; drawing out red into

white, swallowing that down without chawing, which was never made

without treading.

_Sir B._ Why, where is he then?

_Slip._ Why in his cellar, drinking a cup of neat and brisk claret

in a bowl of silver. Oh, Sir, the wine runs trillill down his

throat, which cost the poor vintner many a stamp before it was

made. But I must hence, Sir, I have haste.

Sir Bertram intimates that he wants his assistance, and will pay him.

_Slip._ A good word, thou hast won me; this word is like a warm

caudle to a cold stomach.

_Sir B._ Sirrah, wilt thou for money and reward

Convey me certain letters, out of hand,

From out thy master's pocket?

_Slip._ Will I, Sir? Why were it to rob my father, hang my mother,

or any such like trifles, I am at your commandment, Sir. What will

you give me, Sir?

_Sir B._ A hundred pounds.

_Slip._ I am your man; give me earnest. I am dead at a pocket, Sir;

why I am a lifter, master, by occupation.

_Sir B._ A lifter! what is that?

Slip. Why, Sir, I can lift a pot as well as any man, and pick a

purse as soon as any thief in the country.

These humorous characters remind us a little of the slaves and parasites

in Roman comedy, of whom, no doubt, Greene had read. His amusing fellows

are free livers, and fond of wine like himself. In the "Looking-Glasse"

above mentioned, Nineveh represents London, and a fast being proclaimed,

we find Adam, a smith's journeyman, trying to evade it.

(_Enter Adam solus, with a bottle of beer in one slop (trouser) and

a great piece of beef in the other._)

_Adam._ Well, goodman Jonas, I would you had never come from Jewry

to this country; you have made me look like a lean rib of roast

beef, or like the picture of Lent, painted upon a red-herring's

cob. Alas! masters, we are commanded by the proclamation to fast

and pray! By my troth, I could prettily so, so away with praying,

but for fasting, why 'tis so contrary to my nature, that I had

rather suffer a short hanging than a long fasting. Mark me, the

words be these: thou shalt take no manner of food for so many

days. I had as lief he should have said, thou shalt hang thyself

for so many days. And yet, in faith, I need not find fault with the

proclamation, for I have a buttery and a pantry and a kitchen about

me; for proof, _ecce signum_! This right slop is my pantry, behold

a manchet; this place is my kitchen, for lo! a piece of beef. O!

let me repeat that sweet word again!--for lo! a piece of beef. This

is my buttery, for see, see, my friends, to my great joy a bottle

of beer. Thus, alas! I make shift to wear out this fasting; I drive

away the time. But there go searchers about to seek if any man

breaks the king's command. O, here they be; in with your victuals,

Adam.

(_Enter two Searchers._)

_1st Searcher._ How duly the men of Nineveh keep the proclamation!

how they are armed to repentance! We have searched through the

whole city, and have not as yet found one that breaks the fast.

_2nd Sear._ The sign of the more grace; but stay, there sits one,

methinks at his prayers; let us see who it is.

_1st Sear._ 'Tis Adam, the smith's man. How, now, Adam?

_Adam._ Trouble me not; thou shalt take no manner of food, but fast

and pray.

_1st Sear._ How devoutly he sits at his orisons! But stay, methinks

I feel a smell of some meat or bread about him.

_2nd Sear._ So thinks me too. You, Sirrah, what victuals have you

about you?

_Adam._ Victuals! O horrible blasphemy! Hinder me not of my prayer,

nor drive me not into a choler. Victuals? why heardest thou not the

sentence, thou shalt take no food, but fast and pray?

_2nd Sear._ Troth, so it should be; but, methinks, I smell meat

about thee.

_Adam._ About me, my friends? these words are actions in the case.

About me? no! no! hang those gluttons that cannot fast and pray.

_1st Sear._ Well, for all your words we must search you.

_Adam._ Search me? take heed what you do! my hose are my castles;

'tis burglary if you break ope a slop; no officer must lift up an

iron hatch; take heed, my slops are iron.

_2nd Sear._ O, villain! See how he hath gotten victuals--bread,

beef and beer, where the king commanded upon pain of death none

should eat for so many days, not the sucking infant.

_Adam._ Alas! Sir, this is nothing but a _modicum non nocet ut

medicus daret_; why, Sir, a bit to comfort my stomach.

_1st Sear._ Villain! thou shalt be hanged for it.

_Adam._ These are your words, I shall be hanged for it; but first

answer me this question, how many days have we to fast still?

_2nd Sear._ Five days.

_Adam._ Five days! a long time; then I must be hanged.

_1st Sear._ Ay, marry must thou.

_Adam._ I am your man, I am for you, Sir, for I had rather be

hanged than abide so long a fast. What! five days! Come, I'll

untruss. Is your halter, and the gallows, the ladder, and all such

furniture in readiness.

_1st Sear._ I warrant thee thou shalt want none of these.

_Adam._ But hear you, must I be hanged?

_1st Sear._ Ay, marry.

_Adam._ And for eating of meat. Then, friends, know ye by these

presents, I will eat up all my meat, and drink up all my drink, for

it shall never be said, I was hanged with an empty stomach.

It has been supposed that Greene was very indelicate in his language, as

well as reckless in his life. But we cannot find in his plays anything

very offensive, considering the date at which he wrote, and in the tract

called "Greene's Funeralls," we read:--

His gadding Muse, although it ran of love,

Yet did he sweetly morralize his song;

Ne ever gaue the looser cause to laugh

Ne men of judgement for to be offended.

Greene died in "most woefull and rascall estate" at the house of a poor

shoemaker near Dowgate. He had previously written his "Groat's-worth of

Wit bought with a Million of Repentance;" in which he warns his former

companions and "gentlemen who spend their wits in making playes," to

take warning by his fate. He could get none of his friends to visit him

at the last but Mistress Appleby, and the mother of "his base sonne

Infortunatus Greene." He gave the following note for his wife--whom he

had not seen for six years--to the shoemaker:

"Doll, I charge thee by the love of our youth, and by my soule's rest,

that thow wilte see this man paide; for if hee and his wife had not

succoured me, I had died in the streetes.

"ROBERT GREENE."

Gabriel Harvey writes, "My next businesse was to inquire after the

famous author who was reported to lye dangerously sicke in a shop neere

Dowgate, not of plague, but of a surfett of pickle herringe and rennish

wine."

Thomas Nash was one of Greene's jolly companions at this fatal banquet.

After Greene's death Harvey replied to some reflections made upon him by

Greene, and called him in accordance with the amenities of the times, "a

wilde head, ful of mad braine and a thousand crotchets; a scholler, a

discourser, a courtier, a ruffian, a gamester, a lover, a souldier, a

trauailer, a merchant, a broker, an artificer, a botcher, a pettifogger,

a player, a coosener, a rayler, a beggar, an omnium-gatherum, a

gay-nothing, a stoare-house of bald and baggage stuffe, unworth the

answering or reading, a triuall and triobular autor for knaves and

fooles," &c., &c.

Nash, although he seems to have forsaken Greene in his last distress,

became the defender of his character after his death, and answered this

vituperation by still coarser abuse and invective, saying, "Had hee

lived, Gabriel, and thou shouldest vnartifically and odiously libel

against him as thou hast done, he would have made thee an example of

ignominy to all ages that are to come, and driven thee to eate thy owne

booke buttered, as I saw him make an Appariter once in a tavern eate his

Citation, waxe and all, very handsomely served 'twixt two dishes.'"

From this he proceeds to caricature Gabriel's person. "That word

complexion is dropt forth in good time, for to describe to you his

complexion and composition entred I with this tale by the way. It is of

an adust swarth chollericke dye, like restie bacon, or a dried

scate-fish; so leane and so meagre, that you wold thinke (with the

Turks) he observed 4 Lents in a yere, or take him for a gentleman's man

in the courtier, who was so thin-cheeked, and gaunt, and starv'd, that

as he was blowing the fire with his mouth the smoke took him up like a

light strawe, and carried him to the top or funnell of the chimney, wher

he had flowne out God knowes whither if there had not been crosse barres

overthwart that stayde him; his skin riddled and crumpled like a piece

of burnt parchment; and more channels and creases he hath in his face

than there be fairie circles on Salsburie Plaine, and wrinckles and

frets of old age, than characters on Christ's sepulcher in Mount

Calvarie, on which euerie one that comes scrapes his name, and sets his

marke to shewe that hee hath been there; so that whosoever shall behold

him

"Esse putet Boreæ triste furentis opus,"

will sweare on a book I have brought him lowe, and shrowdly broken him;

which more to confirme, look on his head, and you shall find a gray

haire for euery line I have writ against him; and you shall have all his

beard white too, by that time he hath read over this booke. For his

stature, he is such another pretie Jacke-a-Lent as boyes throw at in the

streete, and lookes in his blacke sute of veluet, like one of these

jet-droppes which divers weare at their eares instead of a iewell. A

smudge peice of a handsome fellow it hath been in his dayes, but now he

is olde and past his best, and fit for nothing but to be a nobleman's

porter, or a knight of Windsor."

Nash was so full of invective and personal abuse that he scarcely

deserved the name of a satirist, and so great was the animosity with

which the quarrel between him and Gabriel Harvey was conducted, that the

Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop of London issued an order in 1599

that all such books "be taken wheresoever they be found, and that none

of the said books be ever printed hereafter."

His humour was remarkable, as it largely consisted of coining long and

almost unintelligible words. This he laid great store by, and he speaks

wrathfully of one who translated his "Piers Penniless," into what he

calls "maccaronical language." In his "Lenten Stuffe or Praise of the

Red Herring," _i.e._, of Great Yarmouth, he calls those who despised

Homer in his life-time "dull-pated pennifathers," and says that "those

grey-beard huddle-duddles and crusty cum-twangs were strooke with

stinging remorse of their miserable euchonisme and sundgery."

Peele was one of the gay play-writers to whom Greene addressed his

warning. They seem at this time to have united the professions of

dramatist and actor, and to have been infected with that dissipation

which has since been attributed with more or less justice to the stage.

Peele is as fond as Greene of surprises and miraculous interventions. In

the "Arraignment of Paris" a golden tree grows up, and in the "Old Wives

Tale," the most humorous of his works, the head of Huanebango rises from

a well. He is fond of dealing in phonetic words Latinisms and

barbarisms; in one place he makes Corebus say:

"O _falsum Latinum_

The fair maid is _minum_

_Cum apurtinantibus gibletis_ and all."

Peele was very popular in his day, and was often called upon to write

pieces for the Lord Mayor and for royal receptions. He sometimes used

Hexameter lines such as:

"Dub, dub-a-dub bounce, quoth the guns with

a sulphurous huff shuff."

Gabriel Harvey first introduced this metre into English, and he tried to

induce Spenser to adopt it. Nash calls it "that drunken staggering kind

of verse which is all vp hill and downe hill, like the way betwixt

Stamford and Beechfeild, and goes like a horse plunging through the mire

in the deep of winter, now soust vp to the saddle and straight aloft on

his tip-toes."

CHAPTER V.

Donne--Hall--Fuller.

Already we have seen that some of our earliest humorists were

ecclesiastics, and it would be unfitting that we should here overlook

three eminent men, Donne, Hall, and Fuller. Pleasantry was with them

little more than a vehicle of instruction; the object was not to

entertain, but to enforce and illustrate their moral sentiments. Hence

their sober quaintness never raises a laugh, much less does it border

upon the profane or indelicate.

Donne was born in 1573, in London, and was educated, as was not then

uncommon, first at Oxford, and then at Cambridge. His ability in church

controversy attracted the attention of James, and he was made chaplain

to the King. He became preacher at Lincoln's Inn, and afterwards was

made Dean of St. Paul's. He lived to be fifty-eight.

His sermons are full of antitheses and epigrammatic diction. There is

an airy lightness in his letters and poems, but he scarcely ever

actually reaches humour. The following poem, an epistle to Sir Edmund

Herbert at Juliers, will give an idea of his style.

"Man is a lump, where all beasts kneaded be,

Wisdom makes him an ark where all agree;

The fool in whom these beasts do live at jar,

Is sport to others, and a theatre.

Nor scapes he so, but is himself their prey,

All which was man in him is eat away,

And now his beasts on one another feed,

Yet couple in anger, and new monsters breed.

How happy's he, which hath due place assigned

To his beasts, and disaforested his mind!

Empaled himself to keep them out, not in,

Can sow, and dares trust corn where they've been;

Can use his horse, goat, wolf, and every beast,

And is not ass himself to all the rest."

Bishop Hall was born in 1574, and commenced his extensive literary

labours by writing when twenty-three years of age, at Emmanuel College,

Cambridge, three books of satires called Virgidemiæ. These books he

calls "_Toothless_ Satyres, _poetical_, _academical_, _and moral_," and

he attacks bad writers, astrologers, drunkards, gallants, and others.

Alluding to the superabundance of indifferent poetry in his days, he

says:--

"Let them, that mean by bookish business

To earn their bread, or holpen to profess

Their hard-got skill, let them alone for me

Busy their brains with deeper bookery.

Great gains shall bide you sure, when ye have spent

A thousand lamps, and thousand reams have rent

Of needless papers; and a thousand nights

Have burned out with costly candle-lights."

In the following year, he produced three books of "Byting Satyres." In

these he laughs at the effeminacy of the times--the strange dresses and

high heels.

"When comely striplings wish it were their chance

For Cænis' distaff to exchange their lance,

And wear curled periwigs, and chalk their face

And still are poring on their pocket-glass;

Tired with pinned ruffs and fans and partlet strips

And busks and verdingales about their hips;

And tread on corked stilts, a prisoner's pace,

And make their napkin for a spitting place,

And gripe their waist within a narrow span,

Fond Cænis that wouldst wish to be a man!"

The most severe is against the Pope:--

"To see an old shorn lozel perched high

Crossing beneath a golden canopy;

The whiles a thousand hairless crowns crouch low

To kiss the precious case of his proud toe;

And for the lordly fasces borne of old

To see two quiet crossed keys of gold;

But that he most would gaze and wonder at

To the horned mitre and the bloody hat,

The crooked staff, the cowl's strange form and store

Save that he saw the same in hell before;

To see the broken nuns, with new shorn heads

In a blind cloister toss their idle heads."

Although Bishop Hall wrote learnedly and voluminously on theological

subjects, this light medley is now more esteemed than his graver works.

He claimed upon the strength of it to be the earliest English satirist,

and perhaps none of our writings of this kind had as yet been of equal

importance. The work was one of those condemned to the flames by

Whitgift and Bancroft.

Fuller was born in Northamptonshire, in 1608. He became a distinguished

man at Cambridge, where he obtained a fellowship at Sidney Sussex

College. He was also an eminent preacher in London, and a prebendary of

Salisbury. In the Civil War, being a stanch Royalist, he was driven from

place to place, and held at one time the interesting post of "Infant

Lady's Chaplain" to the Princess Henrietta. In his "Worthies of

England," Fuller not only enumerates the eminent men for which each

country is distinguished, but gives an account of its products and

proverbs. "A Proverb is much matter decocted into few words. Six

essentials are wanting to it--that it be short, plain, common,

figurative, ancient, true." The most ordinary subject is enlivened by

his learned and humorous mind. Thus, in Bedfordshire, under the head of

"Larks," he tells us, "The most and best of these are caught and

well-dressed about Dunstable in this shire. A harmless bird while

living, not trespassing on grain, and wholesome when dead, then filling

the stomach with meat, as formerly the ear with music. In winter they

fly in flocks, probably the reason why _Alauda_ signifieth in Latin both

a lark and a legion of soldiers; except any will say a legion is so

called because helmeted on their heads and crested like a lark,

therefore also called in Latin _Galerita_. If men would imitate the

early rising of this bird, it would conduce much unto their

healthfulness."

Fuller abounds with figures and illustrations in which learning and

humour are excellently intermingled. "They that marry where they do not

love, will love where they do not marry." "He knows little, who will

tell his wife all he knows." Speaking of children, he says that a man

complained that never father had so undutiful a child as he. "Yes," said

the son, "my grandfather had." Alluding to servants, and saying that the

Emperor Charles the Fifth being caught in a tempest had many horses

thrown overboard to save the lives of the slaves--which were not of so

great market-value--he asks, "Are there not many that in such a case had

rather save Jack the horse than Jockey the keeper?" Of widows' evil

speaking he observes, "Foolish is their project who, by raking up bad

savours against their former husbands, think thereby to perfume their

bed for a second marriage." Of celibacy he says, "If Christians be

forced to run races for their lives, the unmarried have the advantage of

being lighter by many ounces!"

Speaking of the "Controversial Divine," he says, "What? make the Muses,

yea the Graces scolds? Such purulent spittle argues exulcerated lungs.

Why should there be so much railing about the body of Christ, when there

was none about the body of Moses in the act kept betwixt the devil and

Michael, the Archangel?" On schoolmasters he wrote, "That schoolmaster

deserves to be beaten himself, who beats Nature in a boy for a fault.

And I question whether all the whipping in the world can make their

parts, that are naturally sluggish, rise one minute before the hour

Nature hath appointed."

The following are some good sayings that have been selected from his

works by an eminent humorist:--

_Virtue in a short person._ "His soul had but a short diocese to

visit, and therefore might the better attend the effectual

informing thereof."

_Intellect in a very tall one._ "Oft times such, who are built four

storeys high, are observed to have little in their cock-loft."

_Mr. Perkins, the Divine._ "He would pronounce the word Damn with

such an emphasis, as left a doleful echo in his auditor's ears a

good while after."

_Memory._ "Philosophers place it in the rear of the head; and it

seems the mine of memory lies there, because men there naturally

dig for it, scratching it when they are at a loss."

To this we may add something from his "Holy State,"--a pleasant and

profitable work, in which Fuller is happy in making his humour subserve

the best ends:--Of "The Good Wife," he says, "She never crosseth her

husband in the spring-tide of his anger, but stays till it be

ebbing-water. And then mildly she argues the matter, not so much to

condemn him as to acquit herself. Surely men, contrary to iron, are

worst to be wrought upon when they are hot, and are far more tractable

in cold blood. It is an observation of seamen, 'That if a single meteor

or fire-ball falls on their mast, it portends ill-luck; but if two come

together (which they count Castor and Pollux) they presage good

success.' But sure in a family it bodeth most bad when two fire balls

(husband's and wife's anger) both come together." In speaking of good

parents, he says, "A father that whipt his son for swearing, and swore

at him while he whipt him, did more harm by his example than good by his

correction."

CHAPTER VI.

Shakespeare--Ben Jonson--Beaumont and Fletcher--The Wise Men of Gotham.

Greene, in his admonition to his brother sinners of the stage, tells

them that "there is an vpstart crow beautified with our feathers an

absolute Johannes factotum, in his own conceyt the onely Shake-scene in

a countrey," and in truth these olden writers are principally

interesting as having laid the foundations upon which Shakespeare built

some of his earliest plays. The genius of our great dramatist was

essentially poetic, and some of his plays, which we now call comedies,

were originally entitled "histories." How seldom do we hear any of his

humorous passages quoted, or find them reckoned among our household

words! From some of his observations we might think he was altogether

averse from jocosity. Henry V. says

"How ill gray hairs become a fool--a jester!"

In "Much ado about Nothing," Beatrice speaks as follows--

"Why, he is the Prince's jester; a very dull fool, only his gift is

in devising unprofitable slanders; none but libertines delight in

him, and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his villany,

for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they laugh at him

and beat him."

But notwithstanding all this condemnation Beatrice is herself the

liveliest character in Shakespeare, and her lady's wit is some of the

best he shows--

_Beatrice._ For hear me, Hero; wooing, wedding, and repenting is as

a Scotch jig, a measure and a cinque-pace; the first suit is hot

and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding

mannerly-modest, as a measure full of state and ancientry; and then

comes repentance, and with his bad legs, falls into the cinque-pace

faster and faster, till he sinks into his grave.

_Leonato._ Cousin, you apprehend shrewdly.

_Beat._ I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church, by daylight.

In the "Merchant of Venice" Lorenzo thus answers Launcelot--

"How every fool can play upon the word. I think the best grace of

wit will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable

in none but parrots."

Again Lorenzo--

"Oh, dear discretion, how his words are suited,

The fool hath planted in his memory

An army of good words: And I do know

A many fools that stand in better place

Garnished like him, that for a tricksie word

Defie the matter."

Comedians from Aristophanes downwards have been wont to complain in one

place of that which they adopt in another--their object not being to

adopt fixed principles so much as to show the varying shades of human

thought. Shakespeare required something light to bring his deep

reflections into bolder relief, and therefore frequently had recourse to

humour. We are not surprised that he had no very high estimate of it,

when we find him so much dependant upon "the alms-basket of words."

There is so much of this in his plays, that it is almost superfluous to

quote, but a few instances may be taken at random. Falstaff to Poins--

"You are straight enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees

your back--call you that backing your friends? A plague upon such

backing; give me a man who will face me."

Falstaff to Prince Henry. Act I. Scene II.

I prythee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as God save thy

grace--majesty, I should say, for grace thou wilt have none--

_P. Hen._ What! none?

_Fal._ No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to

an egg and butter.

In Love's Labour Lost. Act I. Scene II.

_Armado._ Comfort me, boy. What great men have been in love?

_Inoth._ Hercules, master.

_Arm._ Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more;

and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.

_Inoth._ Samson, master; he was a man of good carriage, for he

raised the town gates on his back like a porter, and he was in

love.

In the musicians scene, in Romeo and Juliet, Act IV. Scene V. we find--

_Musician._ Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

_Peter._ Then have at you with my wit. I will dry beat you with my

iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like:

When griping grief the heart doth wound,

And doleful dumps the mind oppress,

Then music with her silver sound--

Why _silver_ sound? Why music with her silver sound? What say you,

Simon Catling?

_First Mins._ Marry, Sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

_Peter._ Pretty. What say you, Hugh Rebeck?

_Sec. Mins._ I say "silver sound," because musicians sound for

silver.

_Peter._ Pretty, too! What say you, James Soundpost?

_Third Mins._ Faith! I know not what to say.

_Peter._ O! I cry for mercy; you are the singer; I will say for

you. It is music with her silver sound, because musicians have no

gold for sounding.

We may here observe that the puns of Shakespeare are never of the

"atrocious" class; there is always something to back them up, and give

them a shadow of probability. The tournaments of humour which he is fond

of introducing, although good in effect upon the stage, are not

favourable for any keen wit. Such conflicts must be kept up by artifice,

cannot flow from natural suggestion, and degenerate into a mere

splintering of words. One cause of the absence of "salt" in his writings

is that he was not of a censorious or cynical spirit; another was that

his turn of mind was rather sentimental than gay. Shakespeare evidently

knew there might be humour among men of attainments, for he writes,--

"None are so surely caught, when they are catched,

As wit turned fool; folly is wisdom hatched,

Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school

And wits' own grace to grace a learned fool."

But with him, those who indulge in it are clowns, simpletons, and

profligates. Few of his grand characters are witty. Perhaps he was

conscious of the great difficulty there would be in finding suitable

sayings for them. Indelicacy and hostility would have to be alike

avoided, and thus when the sage Gonzalo is to be amusing, he sketches a

Utopian state of things, which he would introduce were he King of the

island on which they are cast. He would surpass the golden age.

Sebastian and Antonio laugh at him, and cry "God save the King," Alonzo

replies "Prythee, no more, thou dost talk nothing (_i.e._ nonsense) to

me." Gonzalo replies that he did so purposely "to minister occasion to

those gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they

always use to laugh at nothing." They retort that they were not laughing

at his humour, but at himself. "Who," he replies, "in this merry fooling

am nothing to you" meaning, apparently, that he is acting the fool

intentionally and out of his real character.

Hamlet, when his mind is distraught, "like sweet bells jangled," is

allowed to indulge in a little punning, and Biron is humorous, for which

he is reproached by Rosalind, who tells him that he is one

"Whose influence is begot of that loose grace

Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools;"

that only silly thoughtless people admire wit, and that

"A jest's prosperity lies in the ear

Of him that hears it--never in the tongue

Of him that makes it."

Here the variable character of humour is recognised, but it is not to be

supposed that Rosalind's arguments were intended to be strictly correct.

Very much must depend upon the form in which a jest is produced, and

without the tongue of the utterer, it cannot exist though the sympathy

of the listener is required for its appreciation.

In Shakespeare's plays, and in most comedies we find humour in the

representation of ludicrous characters. Words, which would be dull

enough in ordinary cases, become highly amusing when coming from men of

peculiar views. Sometimes people are represented as perpetually riding

their hobby, or harping on one favourite subject. We have an instance of

this in Holophernes and his pedantry; and the conversation between the

two gravediggers in Hamlet, is largely indebted for its relish to the

contrast between the language of the men and their occupation. In the

same way, the ignorance and misrepresentations of rustics in play

acting, which Shakespeare had probably often observed in the

provinces--gives zest to the exaggerated caricature in "Midsummer

Night's Dream."--

_Bottom._ There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe

that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill

himself, which ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?

_Snout._ By'r lakin a parlous fear.

_Starveling._ I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is

done.

_Bottom._ Not a whit. I have a device to make all well. Write me a

prologue, and let the prologue seem to say, we will not do harm

with our swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed; and for the

more better assurance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus,

but Bottom the weaver; this will put them out of fear.

* * * * *

_Snout._ Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?

_Sta._ I fear it, I promise you.

_Bottom._ Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves to bring

in--God shield us! a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing;

for there is not a more fearful wildfowl than your lion living, and

we ought to look to it.

_Snout._ Therefore another prologue must tell, he is not a lion.

_Bottom._ Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be

seen through the lion's neck; and he must himself speak through,

saying thus, or to the same effect--"Ladies," or "Fair ladies, I

would wish you," or "I would request you," or "I would entreat you

not to fear, nor to tremble: my life for yours. If you think I come

hither as a lion, it were pity of my life: no, I am no such thing.

I am a man as other men are," and there then let him name his name

and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.

When the play comes on for performance and Snug the joiner roars "like

any sucking dove," the Duke Theseus remarks--

A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.

_Demetrius._ The very best as a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.

_Lysander._ This lion is a very fox for his valour.

_Theseus._ True, and a goose for his discretion.

_Demetrius._ Not so, my lord, for his valour cannot carry his

discretion, and the fox carries the goose.

_Theseus._ His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour, for

the goose carries not the fox.

The enigmas and logical quibbles, which he occasionally intermingles

with his verbal conceits, remind us of the old philosophic paradoxes.

Sometimes a riddle is attempted; thus, he asks--"What was a month old at

Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old now?" Answer--"The Moon."

Taken generally, there is such a remarkable uniformity in Shakespeare's

humour as must acquit him of all charge of plagiarism in this respect,

and may go some way towards proving the general originality of his

plays. Certainly, verbal conceits were then in high favour, and the

character of Shakespeare's humour is only one of many proofs that

pleasantry had not at this time reached its highest excellence.

To Shakespeare's kindness and discretion Ben Jonson owed his first

introduction to dramatic fame. The young poet had presented "Every Man

in his Humour," to one of the leading players of the company to which

Shakespeare belonged, and the comedian upon reading it, determined to

refuse it. Jonson's fate was trembling in the balance; he was a

struggling man, and, had he been unsuccessful, might have eventually,

returned to his bricklayer's work, but he was destined to be raised up

for his own benefit and that of others. Shakespeare was present when his

play was about to be rejected, asked to be allowed to look over it, and,

at once recognising the poet's talent, recommended it to his companions.

From that moment Jonson's career was secured. But he was never destined

to acquire the lasting fame of Shakespeare. With him the stream of

Comedy was losing its deep and strong reflections, and beginning to flow

in a swifter and shallower current, meandering through labyrinths of

court and city life. Perhaps, also, his large amount of humorous

illustration, which must have been mostly ephemeral, tended to cut short

his fame. The best of it is interwoven with his several designs and

plots, as where, in "The Alchemist," a gentleman leaves his house in

town, and his housekeeper fills it with fortune-tellers vagabonds, who

carry on their trade there; and in "The Fox" a rich and childless man is

courted by his friends, from whom he obtains presents under the pretence

that he will leave them his property. In this last play a parasite is

introduced, and in general these plays abound with classical allusions,

sometimes very incongruously intermixed with modern concerns. An

indiscriminating admiration of ancient literature and art was as much

one of the features of the day, as was its crude humour--a cleverness

joined to folly and attributed to boobies and simpletons. Much of this

jocosity scarcely deserves the name of humour, and we may remark that in

Jonson's time it did not receive it. With him humour is thus defined--

"To be a quality of air or water,

And in itself holds these two properties,

Moisture and fluxure.... Now thus far

It may by metaphor apply itself

Unto the general disposition:

As when some one peculiar quality

Doth so possess a man, that it doth draw

All his affects, his spirits, and his power."

The social peculiarities of the day are frequently alluded to by Jonson.

In "Every Man out of his own Humour," we have complete directions for

the conduct of a gentleman of the time. Smoking, then lately introduced,

is especially mentioned as one of the necessities of foppery. Cob, a

water-bearer says, "Ods me, I marle what pleasure or felicity they have

in taking this roguish tobacco. It's good for nothing but to choke a

man, and fill him full of smoke and embers: there were four died out of

one house last week with taking of it, and two more the bell went for

yesternight; one of them they say will never 'scape it: he cast up a

bushel of soot yesterday."

In Cynthia's Revels a courtier is thus described--

"He walks most commonly with a clove or toothpick in his mouth: he is

the very mint of compliment, all his behaviours are pointed: his face is

another volume of essays, and his beard is Aristarchus. He speaks all

cream skimmed, and more affected than a dozen waiting women. The other

gallant is his zany, and doth most of these tricks after him, sweats to

imitate him in everything to a hair, except his beard, which is not yet

extant."

But the stamp of the age is especially prominent in the constant

recurrence of verbal conceits. Jonson was fond of coining words, and of

using such as are long and little known. He evidently found this a

successful kind of humour, and may have partly imitated Plautus--

Lady Politick Would-be, to Volpone, supposed sick--

Seed pearl were good now, boiled with syrup of apples,

Tincture of gold, and coral, citron pills,

Your elicampane root, myrobalanes--

_Volpone (tired with her talk)_ Ah me! I have ta'en a grasshopper

by the wing.

In "The Alchemist" Subtle says to Face,

Sirrah my varlet, stand you forth and speak to him

Like a philosopher: answer in the language,

Name the vexations and the martyrizations

Of metals in the work.

Face. Sir, putrefaction,

Solution, ablution, sublimation,

Cohabation, calcination, ceration and

Fixation.

From "Every Man out of his Humour."

_Macilente._ Pork! heart! what dost thou with such a greasy dish? I

think thou dost varnish thy face with the fat on't, it looks so

like a glue-pot.

_Carlo._ True, my raw-boned rogue, and if thou wouldst farce thy

lean ribs with it too, they would not like rugged laths, rub out so

many doublets as they do; but thou knowest not a good dish thou. No

marvel though, that saucy stubborn generation, the Jews, were

forbidden it, for what would they have done, well pampered with fat

pork, that durst murmur at their Maker out of garlick and onions?

'Slight! fed with it--the strummel-patched, goggle-eyed,

grumbledones would have gigantomachized.--

The following extracts will give a slight idea of Ben Jonson's varied

talent. At the conclusion of a play directed against plagiarists and

libellers, he sums up--

"Blush, folly, blush! here's none that fears

The wagging of an ass's ears,

Although a wolfish case he wears.

Detraction is but baseness varlet

And apes are apes, though clothed in scarlet."

From "The Alchemist."

_Tribulation._ What makes the devil so devilish, I would ask you.

Sathan our common enemy, but his being

Perpetually about the fire, and boiling

Brimstone and arsenic?...

_Fastidious._ How like you her wit.

_Macilente._ Her ingenuity is excellent, Sir.

_Fast._ You see the subject of her sweet fingers there (_the viol_)

oh, she tickles it so that--she makes it laugh most divinely--I'll

tell you a good jest just now, and yourself shall say it's a good

one. I have wished myself to be that instrument, I think a thousand

times, and not so few by heaven.

The two following are from "Bartholomew Fair."

_Littlewit._ I envy no man my delicates, Sir.

_Winwife._ Alas, you have the garden where they grow still. A wife

here with a strawberry breath, cherry lips, apricot cheeks, and a

soft velvet head like a melicotton.

_Lit._ Good i' faith! now dulness upon us, that I had not that

before him, that I should not light on't as well as he! Velvet

head!...

_Knockem._ Sir, I will take your counsel, and cut my hair, and

leave vapours. I see that tobacco and bottle ale, and pig and whit,

and very Ursula herself is all vanity.

_Busy._ Only pig was not comprehended in my admonition--the rest

were: for long hair, it is an ensign of pride, a banner: and the

world is full of those banners--very full of banners. And bottle

ale is a drink of Satan's, a diet-drink of Satan's devised to puff

us up, and make us swell in this latter age of vanity; as the smoke

of tobacco to keep us in mist and error: but the fleshly woman,

which you call Ursula, is above all to be avoided, having the marks

upon her of the three enemies of man--the world, as being in the

Fair, the Devil, as being in the fire;[53] and the flesh as being

herself.

Ben Jonson has a strange, and I believe original conceit of introducing

persons to explain their plays, and make remarks on the characters.

Sometimes many interruptions of this kind occur in the course of a

drama, affording variety and amusement to the audience, or the reader.

In "Midsummer's Night's Dream" we have the insertion of a play within a

play. The following taken from Jonson's epigrams have fine complexity,

and show a certain tinge of humour.

THE HOUR GLASS.

"Consider this small dust here in the glass,

By atoms moved:

Could you believe that this the body was

Of one that loved;

And in his mistress' flame, playing like a fly,

Was turned to cinders by her eye:

Yes; and in death as like unblest,

To have't exprest,

Ev'n ashes of lovers find no rest."

MY PICTURE.--LEFT IN SCOTLAND.

I now think Love is rather deaf than blind,

For else it could not be

That she,

Whom I adore so much, should so slight me,

And cast my suit behind;

I'm sure my language to her was as sweet,

And every close did meet

In sentence of as subtle feet,

As hath the youngest, he,

That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree.

Oh! but my conscious fears

That fly my thoughts between

Tell me that she hath seen

My hundreds of gray hairs,

Told seven and forty years,

Read so much waste, as she cannot embrace

My mountain belly, and my rocky face,

And all these through her eyes have stopt her ears.

Although fond of indulging in strong language, Jonson is scarcely ever

guilty of any really coarse allusion--he expresses his aversion from

anything of the kind, and this in the age in which he lived, argued

great refinement of feeling.

In Fletcher we mark a progress in humour. Ben Jonson was so personal

that he made enemies, and was suspected of attacking Inigo Jones and

others, but Fletcher was general in his references, and merely ridiculed

the manners of the age. The classic element disappears, and quibbling

and playing with words--so fashionable in Shakespeare's time--is not

found in this author, whose humour has more point, and generally more

sarcasm, but of a refined character.

The name of Fletcher is invariably connected with Beaumont. The two

young men lived together in the same house, and it is even said wore

each other's clothes. But Beaumont only lived to be twenty-nine, and has

left little in comparison with the voluminous works of Fletcher. They

were both born in a good position, and, mingling in the fashionable

society of their day, filled their pages with love intrigues, in colours

not then offensive. Fletcher never married, and those who look for

contrasts between fathers and children may learn that his father, who

was Bishop of London, was suspended by Elizabeth for taking a second

wife. Our author is said to have been himself a comedy, and his death,

if we can believe the story, was consistent with his gay life, for we

are told that, through waiting in London for a new suit of clothes, he

died of cholera, which was raging there at the time.

Here is a specimen of his sketches--the character of a rich usurer--

_Sanchio._ Thou'art very brave.

_Cacafogo._ I've reason; I have money.

_San._ Is money reason?

_Cac._ Yes, and rhyme too, captain.

If you've no money you're an ass.

_San._ I thank you.

_Cac._ You've manners! ever thank him that has money.

_San._ Wilt thou lend me any?

_Cac._ Not a farthing, captain; captains are casual things.

_San._ Why, so are all men:

Thou shalt have my bond.

_Cac._ Nor bonds, nor fetters, captain:

My money is my own; I make no doubt on't.

_Juan._ What dost thou do with it?

_Cac._ Put it to pious uses--

Buy wine--

_Juan._ Are you for the wars, Sir?

_Cac._ I am not poor enough to be a soldier,

Nor have I faith enough to ward a bullet;

This is no living for a trench, I take it.

_Juan._ You have said wisely.

_Cac._ Had you but money

You'd swear it, colonel. I'd rather drill at home

A hundred thousand crowns, and with more honour,

Than exercise ten thousand fools with nothing;

A wise man safely feeds, fools cut their fingers.

The prurient coarseness of Fletcher is due to the peculiar

licentiousness of the period. In his plays, although kissing is

sometimes provocative of jealousy, it is generally regarded, even by

persons of rank, as of less importance than it is now by boys and girls,

who play "Kiss in the ring." In "Rule a wife and have a wife" Margarita

says to the Duke

"I may kiss a stranger,

For you must be so now."

This lady is desirous of obtaining a very easy husband, who will let her

do whatever she likes. A friend says she has found one for her in Leon,

who is forthwith introduced. Margarita puts some questions to him to

ascertain his docility, and then says--

"Let me try your kisses--

How the fool shakes!--I will not eat you, Sir.

Beshrew my heart, he kisses wondrous manly!

You must not look to be my master, Sir,

Nor talk i' th' house as though you wore the breeches,

No, nor command in anything. . . You must not be saucy,

No, nor at any time familiar with me;

Scarce know me when I call not."

After trying and approving his kisses again, she tells him that he is

not to start or be offended if he sees her kissing anyone else. He is to

keep in the cellar, when not wanted. The proposed husband promises to be

most obedient and accommodating in everything, but as soon as he is

accepted and the ceremony performed, he appears in a totally different

character. He informs his wife, in whose magnificent house he goes to

live--

You've nothing to do here, Madam,

But as a servant to sweep clean the lodgings,

And at my farther will to do me service.

_Margarita_ (_to her servants._) Get me my coach!

_Leon._ Let me see who dare get it

Till I command; I'll make him draw your coach

And eat your couch, (which will be hard duty).

On Cacafogo making some slighting remark, this gentle individual

exclaims--

"Peace! dirt and dunghill!

I will not lose mine anger on a rascal;

Provoke me more,--I will beat thy blown body

Till thou rebound'st again like a tennis-ball."

In "Monsieur Thomas" we have the following jovial passage--

_Francisco._ What hast thou there? a julep?

_Hylas._ He must not touch it;

'Tis present death.

_Thomas._ You are an ass, a twirepipe,

A Jeffery John Bo-peep! Thou minister?

Thou mend a left-handed pack-saddle? Out! puppy!

My Friend, Frank, but a very foolish fellow.

Dost thou see that bottle? view it well.

_Fran._ I do, Tom.

_Tho._ There be as many lives in it as a cat carries;

'Tis everlasting liquor.

_Fran._ What?

_Tho._ Old sack, boy.

Old reverend sack; which for ought that I can read yet

Was the philosopher's stone the wise King Ptolomus

Did all his wonders by.

_Fran._ I see no harm, Tom.

Drink with a moderation.

_Tho._ Drink with sugar,

Which I have ready here, and here a glass, boy.

* * * * *

Hang up your juleps, and your Portugal possets,

Your barley broths and sorrel soups; they are mangy

And breed the scratches only: Give me sack!

The devil now becomes a constant resource for humour. In "The Chances"

Antonio has lost his jewels. His servant suggests that the thieves have

"taken towards the ports."

_Ant._ Get me a conjurer,

One that can raise a water-devil. I'll port 'em.

Play at duck and drake with my money? Take heed, fiddler,

I'll dance ye by this hand: your fiddlestick

I'll grease of a new fashion, for presuming

To meddle with my de-gambos! get me a conjurer,

Inquire me out a man that lets out devils.

Beaumont and Fletcher were great conversationalists, their racy raillery

is said to have been as good as their plays. They were members of the

celebrated Mermaid Club in Fleet Street, a centre where the wits of the

day sharpened their humour in friendly conflict. In his epistle to Ben

Jonson, Beaumont writes--

"What things have we seen

Done at the 'Mermaid!' heard words that have been

So nimble and so full of subtle flame,

As if that every one from whom they came

Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest,

And had resolved to live a fool the rest

Of his dull life."

Here it was that Shakespeare and Jonson often contended, the former like

"a light English man-of-war" the latter like "a high-built Spanish

galleon."

To some portion of the seventeenth century, we must attribute those

curious stories called "The Merry tales of the Wise Men of Gotham"

although by some they have been attributed to Andrew Gotham, a physician

of Henry VIII. They are said to have been suggested by a circumstance

which occurred in the time of King John. He intended to pass through

Gotham, a village in Northamptonshire, but the inhabitants placed some

difficulties in his way. On his expressing his determination to carry

out his project, and sending officers to make inquiries about the

opposition offered, the inhabitants were seized with a panic and

pretended to have lost their senses. This was the tradition upon which,

in after-times, these tales were founded, and being unobjectionable they

are well adapted for the nursery, but being mere exercises of ingenuity

they afford but very slight pleasure to older minds. Although aimless,

there is something clever in them. The Wise Men determine to hedge round

a cuckoo to keep it in so that it should sing all the year. The bird

seeing the hedge flies away. "A vengeance on her," say the Wise Men, "we

made not the hedge high enough." There is the story of the young man,

whose mother told him to throw sheep's eyes at his sweetheart, and who,

literally, performed her bidding. One Good Friday the Men of Gotham

consulted what to do with their red herrings, and other salt fish, and

agreed to cart them into a pond that the number might increase next

year. At the beginning of the next summer they drag the pond, and only

find a great eel. "A mischief on him," they say, "he hath eaten up our

fish." Some propose to chop him in pieces, but the rest think it would

be best to drown him, so they throw him into another pond. Twelve men of

Gotham go to fish, and some stand on dry land, and some in the water.

And one says "We have ventured wonderfully in wading; I pray that none

of us come home drowned." So they begin to count, and as each omits

himself he can only count eleven, and so they go back to the water, and

make great lamentation. A courtier, who meets them, convinces them of

their mistake by laying his whip on each of them, who calls out in turn

"Here's one," until twelve are counted. The minister of Gotham preaches

that men should not drink in Lent. A man, who comes for absolution, and

confesses to having been drunk in Lent, replies that fish should swim.

"Yes," returns the priest, "but in water." "I cannot enjoin your

prayer," he adds, "for you cannot say your Paternoster. It is folly to

make you fast because you never get meat. Labour hard, and get a dinner

on Sunday, and I will come and dine with you."

CHAPTER VII.

Jesters--Court of Queen Elizabeth--James I.--The "Counterblasts to

Tobacco"--Puritans--Charles

II.--Rochester--Buckingham--Dryden--Butler.

Professed fools seem to have been highly appreciated in the time of

Shakespeare. They do not correspond to our modern idea of a fool,

because there was intention in their actions, and yet we could not have

considered them to be really sensible men. Nor had they great talent,

their gifts being generally lower than those of our professed wits.

Addison observes that, "when a man of wit makes us laugh, it is by

betraying some oddness or infirmity in his own character," and at the

present day, not only do those who indulge much in humour often say

things approaching nonsense, and make themselves in other ways

ridiculous, but their object, being entirely idle diversion and

pleasantry, appears foolish and puerile. Those who cultivate humour are

not generally to be complimented on their success, and a popular writer

has thus classified fools--"First, the ordinary fool; secondly the fool

who is one, and does not know it; thirdly, the fool who is not satisfied

with being one in reality, but undertakes in addition to play the fool."

Thus, to a certain extent we may always regard a professed wit as a

silly fellow, but still at the present day the acts or sayings of an

absolute idiot or lunatic, would be depressing and offensive, and could

afford little amusement in any way except accidentally.[54] They would

resemble the incongruities in dreams which although strange are not

generally laughable. And if we are not amused with a fool, neither are

we with a man who imitates him, although Cicero says that humour

consists in a man who is not a fool, speaking as though he were one.

Some mistake supposed to be made by an ordinary man is what amuses us,

and although humorous sayings originated in an imitation of ludicrous

things, and Quintilian's observation sometimes holds good that the same

things, which if they drop from us unintentionally are foolish, if we

imitate them are humorous; still humour is not confined to this; there

is generally no such imitation, and the witty sayings of the present day

are seldom representations of such things as anyone would utter in

earnest, whether he were a fool or not.

We must not confuse folly and wit, though they may exist in the same

person and in close relationship. The latter requires intelligence and

intention. If a humorous man ever purposely enacts the dullard, the

impersonation is always modified--he is like Snug, the joiner, who does

not "fright the ladies." There is always some peculiar point in his

blunders; if he acted the fool to the life we should not laugh with him.

We always see something clever and admirable in him, and to be

successful in this way, a man should possess considerable mental gifts,

and be able to gauge the feelings of others. Still we can hardly assent

to the proposition that "it takes a wise man to make a fool." A man may

be witty without having any constructive power of mind. It is easier to

find fault than to be faultless, to see a blemish than to produce what

is perfect--a pilot may point out rocks, but not be able to steer a safe

course.

At the time of which we are now speaking, the double character of the

court fool corresponded with that early and inferior humour which was

always on the verge of the ludicrous. The connection thus established,

long remained and led to witty observations being often spoken of as

"foolerie." Upon this conceit or confusion Shakespeare founded the

speech of Jaques in "As you like it."

Act II. Scene IV.

_Jaques._ A fool! a fool!--I met a fool i' the forest,

A motley fool:--a miserable fool!--

As I do live by food, I met a fool:

Who laid him down, and basked him in the sun,

And railed on Lady Fortune in good terms.

In good set terms--and yet a motley fool.

"Good morrow, fool," quoth I. "No, Sir," quoth he,

"Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune."

And then he drew a dial from his poke,

And looking on it with lack lustre eye,

Says very wisely, "It is ten o'clock;"

"Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags;

'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,

And after one hour more t'will be eleven,

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,

And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,

And thereby hangs a tale."

There is nothing very laughable in the above reflections, but they

contain a deep satire, and afford a beautiful example of Shakespearian

complexity. From the mixture of wisdom and folly compounded in the

"fool" of the day--who was then, it must be remembered, the monitor of

the great--it is here implied that in his awkward way he sometimes

arrived at truth better than the sage. As supremely wise men are often

regarded as fools, so what seems folly may be the highest

wisdom--"motley's your only wear."

The fool is generally represented in Shakespeare as saying things which

have a certain wit and shrewdness.

_Clown._ God bless thee, lady.

_Olivia._ Take the fool away.

_Clo._ Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

* * * * *

Good Madonna, why mournest thou?

_Oli._ Good fool, for my brother's death.

_Clo._ I think his soul is in hell, Madonna.

_Oli._ I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

_Clo._ The more fool, Madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul

being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

In King Lear.

_Fool._ Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter

fool and a sweet one?

_Lear._ No, lad, teach me.

_Fool._ That lord that counselled thee

To give away thy land,

Come place him here by me--

Do thou for him stand:

The sweet and bitter fool

Will presently appear,

The one in motley here,

The other found out there.

_Lear._ Dost thou call me fool, boy?

_Fool._ All thy other titles thou hast given away that thou wast

born with.

_Kent._ This is not altogether a fool, my lord.

The fact was that wit was now gradually improving, and was being wielded

by so called fools in such a way that it could not be confounded with

fatuity. The time was approaching when the humour manufactured by

professed jesters would not be appreciated. Something higher and keener,

such as Shakespeare has here shadowed forth would be required. This was

not reached in Ben Jonson's time, but fools and their artifices are by

him discarded for something more natural, for country bumpkins and

servants, ludicrous in their stupidity, knavery and drunkenness. As

civilization advanced, jugglers and clowns were relegated to country

fairs.

Henry the Eighth, at the commencement of his reign was a great patron of

men of wit and learning, and probably the humour of More, as well as his

virtue, recommended him to the King. We read that at Cardinal Morton's

entertainments of his Christmas company, the future Chancellor, then a

boy, would often mount the stage and extemporize with so much wit and

talent as to surpass all the professional players. During his university

course, and shortly afterwards, he wrote many neat Latin epigrams of

which the two following rough translations will give some idea--

"A thief about to be accused, implored

Advice, and sent his counsel many a pound,

The counsel, when o'er mighty tomes he'd pored,

Replied, 'If you'd escape, you must abscond.'

"Once in the loving cup, a guest saw flies,

Removed them, drank, and then put back a few.

And, being questioned, sagely thus replies,

'I like them not--but cannot speak for you.'"

He was to the last fond of pleasantry and kept a jester.

The daughter of Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn[55] could scarcely have

been deficient in mirthfulness, and we find that the dangers through

which she passed in her youth were not able to extinguish Elizabeth's

love of humour. According to the custom of the day she exhibited this

not only in her sayings, but, as comedians were then often received in

great houses, she ordered in 1583 that twelve of them should be made

grooms of the chamber, be sworn the Queen's servants, and be arrayed in

her livery. The most remarkable of these was Tarlton. He came of humble

origin. Fuller says that, while tending his father's swine, a servant of

Robert, Earl of Leicester, passing by was so pleased with his _happy

unhappy_ answers that he took him to court. But Tarlton's humour was

often that of the common fool, and depended generally upon action, look,

and voice. His face was in this respect his fortune, for he had a flat

nose and squinting eyes. Nash mentions that on one occasion he "peept

out his head," probably with a grimace, at the audience, which caused a

burst of laughter, and led one of the justices, who did not understand

the fun, to beat the people on the bare pates, inasmuch as they, "being

farmers and hinds, had dared to laugh at the Queen's men." He was

celebrated for his jigs, _i.e._ extempore songs accompanied with tabor

and pipe, and sometimes with dancing.

Fuller says he had great influence with Elizabeth, and could "undumpish"

her at pleasure. Her favourites were wont to go to him to prepare their

access to her, and "he told the Queen more of her faults than most of

her chaplains, and cured her melancholy better than all her physicians."

Bohun says that, "at supper she would divert herself with her friends

and attendants, and if they made no answer she would put them upon mirth

and pleasant discourse with great civility. She would then also admit

Tarlton, a famous comedian and pleasant talker, and other men to divert

her with stories of the town, and the common jests or accidents, but so

that they kept within the bounds of modesty." Tarlton, on one occasion,

cast reflections upon Leicester; and said of Raleigh, "the knave

commands the Queen," at which she was so much offended that she forbade

any of her jesters to approach her table.

The jests of Scogan, or rather those attributed to him, were very

popular in Elizabeth's time. This man was court-fool to Henry VII., and

is said to have been "of pleasant wit and bent to merrie devices." He

was fond of practical jokes, and often attacked the clergy. Elizabeth

seems to have had a natural gift of humour, and we read of many of her

witty sayings. On one occasion, upon an archbishop finding fault with

some of her actions, and quoting Scripture to prove she had acted more

as a politician than a Christian. "I see, my lord," she replied, "that

you have read the scriptures, but not the book of Kings." She was so

well acquainted with proverbs, that on being presented with a collection

of English aphorisms, and told by the author that it contained them

all, she answered, "Nay, where is 'Bate me an ace, quoth Bolton.'"

Among the sayings, good for the period, which have been attributed to

her, we read that when the Archduke raised the siege of Grave, the Queen

who heard of it before her secretary, said to him, "Wot you that the

Archduke is risen from the Grave." When at Lord Burleigh's she promised

to make seven knights, and the gentlemen to be so honoured were placed

in a line as the Queen was going out. The least worthy of them, however,

were through interest with Lord Burleigh placed first, so that they

might have precedence of creation. But the Queen passed down the row and

took no notice of them; but when she had reached the screen, turned, and

observing, "I had almost forgotten my promise," proceeded to knight from

the lower end. On one of her Privy Council saying "Your Majesty was too

politic for my Lord Burleigh," she replied, "I have but followed the

scripture--'the first shall be last and the last first.'"

The cares of sovereignty, and the opposition of her Roman Catholic

subjects led Elizabeth's humour to assume a somewhat severe complexion.

Her thoughts gradually became more earnest, and her jests cynical.

Moreover, as seen in Shakespeare, the age in which she lived was

reflective, and the budding activity of mind was directed towards great

interests. There was not that impression of the vanity of all things,

which grows up with the extension and maturity of society, and attracts

the mind to more fanciful and less grave considerations. A good contrast

between Elizabeth's position, and that of James I. may be seen in the

following occurrences. When Henry IV. had given the order of St. Michael

to Nicolas Clifford and Anthony Shirley, she commanded them to return

it. "I will not," she said, "have my sheep follow the pipe of a strange

shepherd;"[56] but when James I. was told that several noblemen of his

court and council, received pensions from Spain, the King replied that

he knew it well, and only wished the King of Spain would give them ten

times as much, as it would render him less able to make war upon him.

James was a man of a very eccentric and grotesque fancy, combined with a

considerable amount of intelligence and learning. He was particularly

fond of religious controversy, and wrote what he considered to be an

important work on "Demonologie." From one passage we might suppose that

he thought it sinful to laugh, as he says that man can only laugh,

because he can only sin. But he kept two clowns for his amusement, and

also appreciated Ben Jonson, to whom he gave the direction of the Court

Masques. He occasionally made some caustic remarks, which have come down

to us, such as, "Who denys a thing he even now spake, is like him that

looks in my face and picks my pocket." "A travelling preacher and a

travelling woman never come to any good at all."

Sir Henry Wooton told him how the Prince of Condé sued for the title of

Altesse from the Synod of Venice. The King replied, "The Prince had good

reason to sue for it, and that the Seigniory had done ill to deny it

him, considering that the world knew how well he deserved it; it being

his custom to raise himself upon every man's back, and to make himself

the higher by every man's tail he could get upon. And for that cause he

hoped to see him elevated by the just Justice of God to as high a

dignity as the gallows at last."

James the First's writings were mostly of a religious character, and

some of them were sufficiently ludicrous. But in his "Counterblaste to

Tobacco," his indignation is often mixed with humour. He observes that

smoking came from the Indians, and continues--

"And now, good countreymen let vs (I pray you) consider what honour or

policy can move vs to imitate the barbarous and beastly maneres of the

wilde, Godlesse and slavish Indians, especially in so vile and stinking

a custome? Shall wee that disdaine to imitate the manners of our

neighbour France.... Shall wee, I say without blushing abase ourselves

so farre as to imitate these beastly Indians, slaves to the Spaniards,

refuse to the world, and as yet aliens from the Holy Covenant of God?

Why doe wee not as well imitate them in walking naked as they doe? in

preferring glasses, feathers, and such toyes to gold and precious

stones, as they doe? Yea, why do wee not deny God, and adore the divel

as they doe?"

He proceeds to combat the theory, "That the braines of all men beeing

naturally cold and wet, all drie and hote things should be good for

them." "It is," he says, "as if a man, because the liver is hote, and as

it were an oven to the stomache, would therefore apply and weare close

upon his liver and stomache a cake of lead; he might within a short time

(I hope) bee susteined very cheape at an Ordinarie, besides the clearing

of his conscience from that dreadful sinne of gluttonie."

Towards the end he gives some medical testimony--

"Surely smoke becomes a kitchin farre better than a dining chamber, and

yet it makes a kitchin also oftentimes in the inward parts of men,

soyling and infecting them with an vnctuous and oily kind of soote, as

hath been found in some great tobacco takers, that after their death,

were opened."

Addison, speaking of James' love of jesting, observes:--"The age in

which the pun chiefly flourished was in the reign of King James the

First. That learned monarch was himself a tolerable punster, and made

very few bishops or privy-councillors that had not sometime or other

signalized themselves by a clinch or a conundrum. It was therefore in

this age that the pun appeared with pomp and dignity. It had been before

admitted into merry speeches and ludicrous compositions, but was now

delivered with great gravity from the pulpit, or pronounced in the most

solemn manner at the council-table." Verbal humour continued to be

admired for its ingenuity in the reign of Charles I. The childish taste

of the time in this respect is prominently exhibited in the "Fames

Roule," written by a Mrs. Mary Fage, in honour of the royal family and

principal peers of the realm. It consists of short poems, and each one

forms an acrostic, and commences with an anagram of the name.

The following will give specimens of this ridiculous composition:--

"To the high and mighty. Princesse Mary,

Eldest Daughter of our Soveraigne Lord King Charles.

MARY STVARTE.

Anagramma.

A MERRY STATV.

"M irth may with Princes very well agree,

A Merry Statv then faire Madam be;

R ightly 'twill fit your age, your vertues grace;

Y eelding A Merry Statv in your face.

"S mile then, high Lady, while of mirth write I,

T hat so my Muse may with alacrity,

U nto your Highness sing without all feare,

A nd a true Statv of your vertues reare:

R eaching whereto, that she may higher flee,

T hus humbly beg I on my bended knee,

E ver A Merry Statv be to me."

GEORGE MANNERS.

Anagramma.

NOR AS GREEN GEM.

"G reat honoured Peere, and _Rutland's_ Noble Earle,

E ven in vertue shining like a Pearle

O ver all _Europe_, adding to your birth,

R adiant bright beames of your true honoured worth:

G em great and precious, see you are remaining

E ver the rayes of vertue's beames retaining.

"M aking all _Europe_ stand amazed quite,

A nd wonder much at _Rutland's_ glorious light,

N or _as_ a _green gem_ let your lustre be,

N o, _greenness_ here betokens _levity_,

E ver more as a precious gem remain you,

R ed or some orient colour still retaine you;

S o _nor as green gem_, will the world proclaime you."

The jester still remained in office in Charles the First's reign and

Archee assumed the old prerogative of the motley in telling home truths

to his master. On one occasion he was ordered by the King to say grace,

as the chaplain was away, upon which the jester pronounced it, "All

glory be to God on high, and little Laud to the devil." At which all the

courtiers smiled, because it reflected upon the Archbishop of

Canterbury, who was a little man. The King said he would tell Laud, and

what would he do then? "Oh!" said Archee, "I will hide me where he will

never find me." "Where is that?" asked the King. "In his pulpit,"

answered Archee, "for I am sure he never goes there."

The rebellion against Charles the First and the success of the Puritans

led to a remarkable development of religious feeling. Men seemed for the

moment to think more of the next world than of the present, seasoned

their language with texts, and from Scripture adopted new names suitable

to a new life. Their usual tone of conversation is thus humorously

described by Harrison Ainsworth.

Captain Stelfax pays Colonel Maunsel a domiciliary visit, and an old

Royalist retainer tells the redoubtable Roundhead that he looks more

like a roystering Cavalier than a Puritan, to which the latter replies--

"Go to, knave, and liken me not to a profane follower of Jehoram. Take

heed that thou answerest me truthfully. Thou art newly returned from

the battle-field whereat the young man Charles Stuart was utterly

routed, and where our general, like Pekah the son of Remaliah slew many

thousands of men in one day, because they had forsaken the Lord God of

their fathers. Didst thou bear arms in the service of Ahaz?"

One Increase Micklegift soon afterwards fell into the captain's bad

graces--

"I begin to suspect it was by thy instrumentality that he hath escaped."

"How could that be seeing I was with thee in the closet." Micklegift

rejoined.

"It might easily be, since it was by thy devise that I was led into the

snare. Bitterly shalt thou rue it, if I find thee leagued with the

Amalekites."

All this affords a good idea of the phraseology of these men, some of

whom indulged in such names as "Nehemiah, Lift-up-Hand" and

"Better-Late-than-Never," and it must be remembered, to their credit,

that there never was a more orderly army than that of Cromwell. In

accordance with the sentiments then entertained all theatrical

exhibitions were prohibited. Such austerity and self-denial could not be

of long continuance--it was kept up by an effort, and led to an

inevitable reaction, and so we find that the court of the "Merry

Monarch" became notorious in history for its dissipation. Humour

proportionally changed from what it had been under Charles I., and we

read that that the old Earl of Norwich, who had been esteemed the

greatest wit, was now quite out of fashion.

Barbarous nations have little idea of delicacy of any kind; and

civilisation finds it hard entirely to change nature, so that

where-ever the ground is allowed to lie fallow, the old weeds appear in

their noisesome rankness. Hence from time to time we find indelicacy

springing up, and made to serve the purposes of those who know that the

evil plant is not radically extirpated. One of the most offensive men in

this respect was Peter Aretinus, an Italian adventurer, who became a

great favourite with the Emperor Charles V. He is said to have died from

falling back over his chair in a fit of laughter, on hearing some

indelicate joke. But modes of death have often been invented to accord

with the lives of those who suffered them, just as dithyrambic Anacreon

is said to have been choked by a grape stone.

Louis XI. was also addicted to this jesting which is not convenient. We

read that he told Edward IV. in a jocose way that he was right glad to

see him at Paris, and that if he would come and divert himself with the

gay ladies there, he would assign for his confessor, the Cardinal of

Bourbon, who, he knew, would grant him easy absolution for peccadilloes

of love and gallantry. Edward was much pleased with this raillery, for

he knew the Cardinal was a gay man. Louis was afterwards in great alarm

upon Edward's acceptance of his invitation.

The humour of Charles II. and his court consisted more of jollity than

wit. The king was always ready to laugh outright, even in church at the

sermon. He encouraged and led the way in an indelicate kind of jesting,

which he seems to have learned during his travels in France. On his

telling Lord Shaftesbury, "I believe Shaftesbury, that thou art the

wickedest dog in England," the statesman humbly replied, "May it please

your Majesty, of a subject, I believe I am." We should not expect too

much from the son of Henrietta Maria. It is related that one morning

when at Exeter, pressing her hand to her head she said to her physician,

"Mayerne, I am afraid I shall go mad some day." "Nay," he replied, "your

Majesty need not fear _going_ mad; you have been so some time."

But Charles owed much to his gay and easy manner. Notwithstanding his

faults "he was so pleasant a man that no one could be sorrowful under

his government." He sometimes dined at the annual civic banquet, and one

of the company present on the occasion when Sir Robert Viner was Lord

Mayor, refers to it as follows. "Sir Robert was a very loyal man, and if

you will allow the expression, very fond of his sovereign, but what with

the joy he felt at heart for the honour done him by his prince and

through the warmth he was in with continual toasting healths of the

royal family, his lordship grew a little fond of His Majesty, and

entered into a familiarity not altogether so graceful in so public a

place. The king understood very well how to extricate himself in all

kinds of difficulties, and with a hint to the company to avoid ceremony,

stole off and made towards his coach which stood ready for him in

Guildhall yard. But the Mayor liked his company so well, and was grown

so intimate, that he pursued him hastily and catching him fast by the

hand, cried out with a vehement oath and accent, 'Sir, you shall stay

and take t'other bottle.' The airy monarch looked kindly at him over his

shoulder, and with a smile and graceful air (for I saw him at the time

and do now) repeated this line of the old song 'He that's drunk is as

great as a King,' and immediately turned back and complied with his

request."

Tom Killegrew was the last of his cloth; forced and constant jesting

becoming less and less appreciated. As the jesters approached their end,

they had more of the moralist and politician in them than of the

mountebank. We may judge of Killegrew's wit, when we read that one day

on his appearance Charles said to his gay companions, "Now we shall hear

our faults." "No," replied the jester, "I don't care to trouble my head

with that which all the town talks of."[57] Killegrew must have had fine

scope for his sarcasm. In these times the character of the monarch gave

the tone to society, and was reflected in the dramatists. Thus we find

the earnestness of Elizabeth in Shakespeare, the whimsicality of James

in Jonson, and the licentiousness of Charles II. in the poets of the

Restoration. The deterioration of men and of humour in the last reign is

marked by the fact that ridicule was mostly directed not against vice as

in Roman satire, but against undeserved misfortunes. Even virtue and

learning did not afford immunity; Bishop Warburton writes: "This weapon

(in the dissolute times of Charles II.) completed the ruin of the best

minister of that age. The historians tell us that Chancellor Hyde was

brought into his Majesty's contempt by this court argument. They

mimicked his walk and gesture with a fire-shovel and bellows for the

mace and purse."

The indelicacy of which Charles and his companions was guilty, was not

of a primitive and ignorant kind, but always of an amatory character,

and at the expense of the fair sex; jests formerly so common as to

obtain the name of "japes." The writers of that day are objectionable

not merely for coarseness of this kind, but for the large amount of it,

as one artiste in complimentary attire might be tolerated where a crowd

of seminude performers could not. The poems of Sedley and Rochester are

as abundant in indelicacy as they are deficient in humour. The epigram

of Sedley to "Julius" gives a more correct idea of his character than of

his usual dullness.

"Thou swearest thou'll drink no more; kind Heaven send Me such a

cook or coachman, but no friend."

Rochester might have produced something good. His verses have more

traces of poetry and humour than we should expect from a man who out of

the thirty-four years of his life, was for five of them continually

drunk. He nearly always attunes his harp to the old subject, so as to

become hopelessly monotonous. Inconstancy has great charms for him, and

he consequently imputes it also to the ladies--

"Womankind more joy discovers

Making fools, than keeping lovers."

Again:

"Love like other little boys,

Cries for hearts as they for toys,

Which when gained, in childish play,

Wantonly are thrown away."

He seems to have been oppressed by a disbelief in any kind of good in

the world. His philosophy, whenever he ventured upon any, was sceptical

and irreverent. His best attempt in this direction was a poem "Upon

Nothing," which commences:

"Nothing! thou elder brother ev'n to shade,

That had'st a being 'ere the world was made,

And (well fixt) art alone of ending not afraid.

Ere Time and Place were, Time and Place were not,

When primitive Nothing, Something straight begot,

Then all proceeded from the great united--What?"

Sometimes he amused himself writing libels on the king, and some of his

satires contain more or less truth, as--

"His father's foes he does reward,

Preserving those that cut off's head,

Old Cavaliers, the crown's best guard,

He lets them starve for want of bread.

Never was a King endued

With so much grace and gratitude."

Buckingham does not appear to have agreed with Rochester about Charles,

for he writes, "He was an illustrious exception to all the common rules

of physiognomy, for with a most saturnine and harsh sort of countenance,

he was both of a merry and merciful disposition." Buckingham's humour

was of a very poor description, but he wrote a Comedy "The Rehearsal,"

which was highly approved, mostly, however, because aimed at Dryden, and

the heroic drama. From one passage in it, we observe that he noticed the

difference between the effect of humour in the plot, and in the dialogue

of the play--

_Prettyman._ Well, Tom, I hope shortly we shall have another coin

for thee; for now the wars are coming on, I shall grow to be a man

of metal.

_Bayes._ O, you did not do that half enough.

_Johnson._ Methinks he does it admirably.

_Bayes._ I, pretty well, but he does not hit me in't, he does not

top his part.

_Thimble._ That's the way to be stamped yourself, Sir, I shall see

you come home like an angel for the king's evil, with a hole bored

through you.

_Bayes._ There he has hit it up to the hilt. How do you like it

now, gentlemen? is not this pure wit?

_Smith._ 'Tis snip snap, Sir, as you say, but methinks not pleasant

nor to the purpose, for the play does not go on. The plot stands

still.

_Bayes._ Why, what the devil is the plot good for but to bring in

fine things.

Dryden could scarcely be expected to remain silent under the blow here

aimed at his plays. An opportunity for revenge soon presented itself,

when he undertook to compose a political satire upon Monmouth and his

intrigues. Some say that this remarkable poem was written at the command

of Charles. It had a great success, five editions being sold within the

year--one cause of its popularity being its novel character. The idea of

introducing Scriptural impersonations into a poem was new or nearly so,

and very successful. Monmouth had already been called Absalom, and as

the King (David) was very fond of him, it was desirable to place his

shortcomings to the account of his advisers, represented by Achitophel.

The way in which Dryden handled his adversaries may be understood from

such passages as:--

"Levi, thou art a load: I'll lay thee down

And show rebellion bare, without a gown;

Poor slaves in metre, dull and addle-pated

Who rhime below e'en David's psalms translated."

Doeg is another enemy:--

"'Twere pity treason at his door to lay

Who makes heaven's gate a lock to its own key.

Let him rail on, let his invective muse

Have four and twenty letters to abuse,

Which, if he jumbles to one line of sense

Indict him of a capital offence."

This satire led to some replies, which Dryden crushed in his "Mac

Flecnoe," a poem named after an Irish priest--an inferior poet--who, but

for this notice, would never have been known to posterity. Shadwell was

the man really aimed at; Mac Flecnoe exclaims:--

"Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he

Who stands confirmed in full stupidity,

The rest to some faint meaning make pretence

But Shadwell never deviates into sense."[58]

After much in the same strain, he finishes with:--

"Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame

In keen iambics, but mild anagram.

Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command

Some peaceful province in acrostic land,

There thou mayest wings display and altars raise,

And torture one poor world ten thousand ways."

Dryden calls this kind of satire Varronian, as he weaves a sort of

imaginary story into which he introduces the object of his attack. He

was under the impression that this was the first piece of ridicule

written in heroics, and his claim seemed correct as far as England was

concerned, but Boileau and Tassoni had preceded him. Willmot says,

"Dryden is wanting in the graceful humour of Tassoni, and exquisite

power of Boileau. His wit has more weight than edge--it beat in armour,

but could not cut gause." The greater part of Dryden's satire could not

cut anything, nor be distinguished from elaborate vituperation. He

wrote an essay on Satire, in which he shows a much better knowledge of

history than of humour. His best passages are in the "Spanish Friars,"

but they are weak and mainly directed against the profligacy of the

Church. The servant says of the friar, "There's a huge, fat religious

gentleman coming up, Sir. He says he's but a friar, but he's big enough

to be a Pope; his gills are as rosy as a turkey-cock's; his great belly

walks in state before him like an harbinger, and his gouty legs come

limping after it. Never was such a ton of devotion seen."

Samuel Butler affords one of the many examples of highly gifted literary

men who have died in great poverty. His works, recommended by Lord

Dorset, were read largely, and even by the King himself; but there was

then no great demand for books, and authors had to look to patrons, and

eat the uncertain bread of dependence. We may suppose, however, that he

was an improvident man, for during his life he held several offices, and

was at one time steward of Ludlow Castle.

Butler possessed a real gift of humour, and an astonishing fertility of

invention. To us there seems to be still too much indelicacy in his

writings, though less than heretofore, and there is a considerable

amount of bear-fighting, both in the literal and metaphorical sense.

This rough and cruel pastime was very common in that day. We read of

bear-baiting at Kenilworth to amuse Queen Elizabeth, and Alleyn, the

munificent founder of Dulwich College, was not only a dramatic author

and manager, but "Master of the bears and dogs," which seems to have

been a post of honour. To the present day, a ring for such sports is to

be seen outside the principal gate of Battle Abbey.

We have already observed that the drama of Spain became the model for

that of modern Europe, and we are not therefore surprised to find that

the main design in Sir Hudibras is to produce an English Don Quixote.

All the accessories of the work point to this imitation; there is a long

account of his arms, his Squire, and horse. But beyond this, he aimed at

several well-known rogues of his day, especially those pretending to

necromancy and prophetic powers, who seem to have been numerous.[59]

This gave the poem an interest at that day which it cannot have now, and

it was increased by the amusing hits he makes at the Puritans, who had

lately convulsed the State, and whom he had been able to gauge when he

was employed by Sir Samuel Luke.[60] The lines are well known in which

he speaks of the time:--

"When pulpit, drum, ecclesiastic,

Was beat with fist, instead of a stick;"

and the general outcry against dignitaries is thus represented:--

"The oyster women locked their fish up

And trudged away to cry 'No Bishop';

Botchers left old clothes in the lurch,

And fell to turn and patch the church;

Some cry'd the Covenant, instead

Of pudding, pies, and gingerbread!"

Sir Hudibras is a Presbyterian "true blue."

"Such as do build their faith upon

The holy test of pike and gun;

Decide all controversies by

Infallible artillery:

And prove their doctrine orthodox

By apostolic blows and knocks.

"Rather than fail, they will defy

That which they love most tenderly;

Quarrel with minced pies, and disparage.

Their best and dearest friend, plum porridge;

Fat pig and goose itself oppose,

And blaspheme custard through the nose."

Sir Hudibras was learned in controversy:--

"For he a rope of sand could twist

As tough as learned Sorbonist

And weave fine cobwebs fit for skull

That's empty when the moon is full,

Such as take lodgings in a head

That's to be let unfurnished."

He had been at the siege of "Bullen," by Henry VIII., and his breeches

were lined

"With many a piece

Of ammunition, bread and cheese,

And fat black puddings, proper food

For warriors that delight in blood.

For as he said he always chose

To carry victual in his hose,

That often tempted rats and mice

The ammunition to surprise."

Hudibras speaking of men fighting with an unworthy enemy, says:--

"So th' Emperor Caligula

That triumphed o'er the British sea,

Took crabs and oysters prisoners,

And lobsters 'stead of cuirassiers;

Engaged his legions in fierce bustles

With periwinkles, prawns, and mussels,

And led his troops with furious gallops

To charge whole regiments of scallops;

Not like their ancient way of war,

To wait on his triumphal car;

But, when he went to dine or sup,

More bravely ate his captives up."

Butler begins one canto with

"Ah me! what perils do environ

The man that meddles with cold iron."

His political views are seen in the following:

"For as a fly that goes to bed

Rests with its tail above its head,

So in this mongrel state of ours

The rabble are the supreme powers.

That horsed us on their backs to show us

A jadish trick at last, and throw us."

Several minor poems have been attributed to Butler, but most of them

have been considered spurious. Some, however, are admitted--one of which

is a humorous skit against the Royal Society, who were supposed at that

day to be too minutely subtle. It is called "An Elephant in the Moon."

"Some learned astronomers think they have made a great discovery, but it

is really owing to a mouse and some gnats having got into their

telescope."

The light, short metre in which Butler composed his comic narrative was

well suited to the subject, and corresponded to the "swift iambics" of

Archilochus. Dryden says that double rhymes are necessary companions of

burlesque writing. Addison, however, is of opinion that Hudibras "would

have made a much more agreeable figure in heroics," to which Cowden

Clarke replies, "Why, bless his head! the whole and sole intention of

the poem is _mock_ heroic, and the structure of the verse is burlesque,"

and he also tells us that Butler's rhymes constitute one feature of his

wit. Certainly he had some strange terminations to his lines. Hudibras

speaking of hanging Sidrophel and Whackum says:--

"I'll make them serve for perpendiclars

As true as e'er were used by bricklayers."

One of the bear-baiting mob annoys Rapho's steed, who

"Began to kick, and fling, and wince,

As if he'd been beside his sense,

Striving to disengage from thistle

That gall'd him sorely under his tail."

Again we have:--

"An ancient castle that commands

Th' adjacent parts, in all the fabric

You shall not see one stone, nor a brick."

The astrologers made an instrument to examine the moon to

"Tell what her diameter per inch is;

And prove that she's not made of green cheese."

By the interchange which often takes place between the poetical and

ludicrous, this roughness of versification, then allowable, appears now

so childish, that Lamb and Cowden Clark mistook it for humour. But we

might extract from the writers of that day many ridiculous rhymes,

evidently intended to be serious.

The humour of Butler was in his time more popular than the sentiment of

Milton, but he obtained no commensurate remuneration. Wycherley kindly

endeavoured to interest Buckingham on his behalf, and had almost

succeeded, when two handsome women passed by, and the Duke left him in

pursuit of them. John Wesley's father has written Butler's epitaph in

imperishable sarcasm:--

"See him when starved to death and turned to dust,

Presented with a monumental bust;

The poet's fate is here in emblem shown,

He asked for bread, and he received--a stone."

CHAPTER VIII.

Comic Drama of the Restoration--Etherege--Wycherley.

The example set by Beaumont and Fletcher seems to have been much

followed by their immediate successors. Decker wrote conjointly with

Webster and Middleton, and it is sometimes difficult to distinguish his

work. His power of invective was well known; and in his humour there is

such straining after strong words and effective phrases, as to seem

quite unnatural. His "Gull's Hornbook" is written against coxcombs, and

he says their "vinegar railings shall not quench his Alpine

resolutions."

Etherege and Wycherley ushered in the comic drama of the Restoration.

They were both courtiers, and the successful writers of this period took

their tone from that of "the quality."

George, (afterwards Sir George) Etherege was born in 1636. He was known

as "Gentle George" or "Easy Etherege," and it is said that he was

himself a fop, and painted the character of Dorimant in Sir Fopling

Flutter from himself. In his principal plays there is very little

humour, though he gives some amusing sketches of the affectations of the

metropolis.

_Mistress Loveit._ You are grown an early riser, I hear.

_Belinda._ Do you not wonder, my dear, what made me abroad so soon?

_Lov._ You do not use to do so.

_Bel._ The country gentlewomen I told you of (Lord! they have the

oddest diversions) would never let me rest till I promised to go

with them to the markets this morning, to eat fruit and buy

nosegays.

_Lov._ Are they so fond of a filthy nosegay?

_Bel._ They complain of the stinks of the town, and are never well

but when they have their noses in one.

_Lov._ There are essences and sweet waters.

_Bel._ O, they cry out upon perfumes they are unwholesome, one of

'em was falling into a fit with the smell of these Narolii.

_Lov._ Methinks, in complaisance, you should have had a nosegay

too.

_Bel._ Do you think, my dear, I could be so loathsome to trick

myself up with carnations and stock-gilly flowers? I begged their

pardon, and told them I never wore anything but Orange-flowers and

Tuberose. That which made me willing to go was a strange desire I

had to eat some fresh nectarines.

Wycherley was the son of a Shropshire gentleman who being a Royalist,

and not willing to trust him to the Puritans, sent him to be educated in

France. He became a Roman Catholic, but afterwards recanted.

Wycherley was remarkable for his beauty, and stalwart proportions, he

was called "manly" or "brawny" Wycherley; and the notorious Duchess of

Cleveland was so captivated by his appearance, that she made his

acquaintance when passing in her carriage by jocosely calling out at him

some abusive epithets. Afterwards, we are told that she often visited

Wycherley at the Temple, disguised as a country girl in a straw hat,

with pattens on her feet, and a basket on her arm. Later, he had the

misfortune to make the acquaintance of the Countess of Drogheda on the

Pantiles at Tunbridge Wells, and by secretly marrying her incurred the

King's displeasure. He was finally reduced to great distress, but James

II., recognising his talent, gave him a pension, and saved him from

destitution in his old age.