_Jaques._ ... So, to your pleasures;
I am for other than for _dancing measures_.
A similar play upon the word is in _Richard II._ III, iv, 6, where the
queen asks her ladies to propose some sport to drive away care.
_1 Lady._ Madam, we'll dance.
_Queen._ My legs can keep no _measure_ in delight,
When my poor heart no _measure_ keeps in grief:
Therefore, no dancing, girl.
See especially the following, which holds a whole string of quibbles.
_L.L.L._ V, ii, 184. Masked ball.
_King of Navarre._ Say to her, we have _measur'd_ many miles,
To tread a _measure_ with her on this grass.
_Boyet_ (to the ladies). They say, that they have _measur'd_ many
a mile,
To tread a _measure_ with you on this grass.
_Rosaline._ It is not so. Ask them how many inches
Is in one mile: if they have _measur'd_ many,
The _measure_ then of one is easily told.
_Boyet._ If, to come hither, you have _measur'd_ miles,
And many miles, the princess bids you tell,
How many inches do fill up one mile.
_Biron._ Tell her, we _measure_ them by weary _steps_.
And l. 209, _measure_.
Another dance that is frequently referred to is the Dump, the slow and
mournful character of which has already been explained in the notes on
_Lucrece_ 1127. As a serenade it is named in the _Two Gent._ III, ii,
83. The nature of the steps of this dance is not certainly known. Two
features, however, may be guessed at--viz., a tapping of the foot at
certain places, which may be inferred from the possible connection of
the word with 'Thump'; and secondly, an alternation of a slow sliding
step, interspersed with dead pauses, and a quicker movement, succeeded
again by the slow step. These last seem to be indicated by the music
of 'My Lady Carey's Dump,' part of which is given in the Appendix. The
character of the Dump has given us the modern expression of 'in the
dumps'--_i.e._, sulky; and this is also used commonly in Shakespeare.
In the next passage, Peter, Capulet's servant, speaks ironically of a
'merry' dump, and quotes verse 1 of Richard Edwards' song, 'When
griping grief.' For an account of that song see Section III., about
Songs and Singing. In Peter's quotation, the dumps are 'doleful.'
The quibbles on 'silver sound,' 'sweet sound,' 'sound for silver,' 'no
_gold_ for sounding,' are further examples of Shakespeare's fondness
for joking on musical matters. Peter's reply to the Third Musician,
'You are the singer; I will _say_ for you,' may be a just reflection
on Mr James Soundpost's lack of words, or perhaps indicates that the
pronunciation of singers even in that musical age was no better than
it is now.
The improvised names of the musicians are pointed enough; Simon
'Catling,' referring to the material of his viol strings; Hugh
'Rebeck,' the rebeck being the ancient English fiddle with three
strings. The 'smalé' Ribible, which Absolon, the parish clerk in
Chaucer, used to play 'songés' on, is supposed to be the same
instrument; and finally, James 'Soundpost,' which wants no explaining.
The final remark of Musician 2 is delicious, 'tarry for the mourners,
and stay dinner.'
_Rom._ IV, v, 96. After Juliet's apparent death.
_Exeunt Capulet, Lady C., Paris, etc._
_1 Musician._ 'Faith, we may _put up our pipes_, and be gone.
_Nurse._ Honest good fellows, ah! _put up, put up_;
For well you know, this is a pitiful _case_.
_1 Mus._ Ay, by my troth, the _case_ may be amended.
(See _H. 5._ III, ii, 42, about Bardolph and the lute case.)
_Enter Peter._
_Peter._ Musicians, O, musicians! "Heart's ease, Heart's
ease": O! an you will have me live, play "Heart's ease."
_1 Mus._ Why "Heart's ease?"
_Peter._ O, musicians, because my _heart itself_ plays--"My
heart is full of woe." O! play me some _merry dump_, to
comfort me.
_2 Mus._ Not a _dump_ we: 'tis no time to play now.
* * * * *
_Peter._ Then will I lay the serving creature's dagger on
your pate. I will carry no _crotchets_: I'll _re_ you, I'll
_fa_ you. Do you _note_ me?
_1. Mus._ An you _re_ us, and _fa_ us, you _note_ US.
_2. Mus._ Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your
wit.
_Peter._ Then have at you with my wit.... Answer me like
men:
_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_?
_1 Mus._ Marry, sir, because silver hath a _sweet sound_.
_Peter._ Pretty!--what say _you_, Hugh _Rebeck_?
_2 Mus._ I say--"silver sound" because musicians _sound for
silver_.
_Peter._ Pretty too!--what say _you_, James _Soundpost_?
_3 Mus._ 'Faith, I know not what to _say_.
_Peter._ O! I cry you mercy; you are the _singer_: I will
_say_ for you. It is--"music with her silver sound," because
musicians have no _gold_ for sounding:--
Then music with her _silver sound_
With speedy help doth lend redress.
[_Exit._
_1 Mus._ What a pestilent knave is this same!
_2 Mus._ Hang him, Jack! [Peter's names evidently all
wrong.] Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, _and
stay dinner_.
[_Exeunt._]
The Hay, Hey, or Raye, seems to be mentioned only once--viz., in
_Love's Labour's Lost_, in the account of the preparations for the
Pageant of the Worthies. Constable Dull proposes to accompany the
dancing of the hay with a tabor, which may be taken as the common
practice. Holofernes says Dull's idea is 'most dull,' like himself.
The Hay was a Round country-dance--_i.e._, the performers stood in a
circle to begin with, and then (in the words of an old direction
quoted in Stainer and Barrett's Dict.) 'wind round _handing_ in
passing until you come to your places.' See the note on Arbeau's
Orchésographie for the steps and tune of the Haye.
Hawkins says (Hist. 705) that in an old comedy called the Rehearsal,
the Earth, the Sun, and Moon are made to dance the Hey to the tune of
Trenchmore, which is referred to in the above-quoted passage from
Selden, as a lively and even boisterous dance.
_L.L.L._ V, i, 148. Schoolmaster Holofernes & Co. arranging the
Pageant of the Nine Worthies.
_Dull._ I'll make one in a _dance_, or so; or I will _play_
_On the tabor_ to the Worthies, and let them _dance the hay_.
_Hol._ _Most dull_, honest Dull.
The Morrice Dance, or Morris, was very popular in England and other
countries in the 16th century.
Relics of it may still be seen in country places at certain times of
the year. The very meagre celebrations of May Day, which can be seen
in London even now, are a survival of the ancient customs with which
the Morrice-Dance was always associated. Hawkins gives this account of
the Morris; "there are few country places in this kingdom where it is
not known; it is a dance of young men in their shirts, with bells at
their feet, and ribbons of various colours tied round their arms, and
slung across their shoulders. Some writers, Shakespeare in particular,
mention a Hobby-horse and a Maid Marian, as necessary in this
recreation. Sir William Temple speaks of a pamphlet in the library of
the Earl of Leicester, which gave an account of a set of
morrice-dancers in King James's reign, composed of ten men or twelve
men, for the ambiguity of his expression renders it impossible to say
which of the two numbers is meant, who went about the country: that
they danced a Maid Marian, with a tabor and pipe, and that their ages
one with another made up twelve hundred years."
[Temple's own words are quite clear--viz., that there were _ten_ men
who danced; a Maid Marian (makes eleven); and a man to play the tabor
and pipe (makes twelve).]
The name Morrice means Moorish dance, or Morisco. Perhaps it was
called so from being accompanied by the tabor, for Drums of all sorts
are distinctly Eastern instruments.
Two tunes, one a Moresca by Monteverde, 1608, and the other an English
Morris, 1650, are given in the Appendix. Also see Note on
'Orchésographie' for a Morisque.
The first of the two following passages connects the morris with May
Day; the second with Whitsuntide, which is in May as often as not.
_All's Well_ II, ii, 20.
_Countess._ Will your answer serve fit to all questions?
_Clown._ As fit as ... a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a
_morris_ for _May-day_....
_H. 5._ II, iv, 23.
_Dauphin._ And let us do it with no show of fear;
No, with no more, than if we heard that England
Were busied with a _Whitsun morris-dance_;
The Pavan has been mentioned before, as the dance in Duple time which
preceded the Galliard which was in a triple rhythm. It was a stately
dance, with a stately name, for the derivation is most probably from
_Pavo_, a peacock, with a reference, no doubt, to the majestic strut
and gay feathers of that bird. It was _de rigueur_ for gentlemen to
dance the Pavan in cap and sword; for lawyers to wear their gowns,
princes their mantles; and ladies to take part in the fullest of full
dress, the long trains of their gowns being supposed to correspond in
appearance and movement to the peacock's tail.
The only Pavan mentioned by Shakespeare is the _Passy-measures pavin_,
otherwise known as Passing-measures-pavin, or Passameso, or _Pass e
mezzo_, which last is the earliest form of the word.
Praetorius (_b._ 1571), however, says the Passe mezzo is so called
because it has only _half as many steps_ as a Galliard. Thus the name
is inverted, mezzo Passo. Hawkins helps to confuse the matter by
explaining that the Galliard has _five bars or steps_ in the first
strain, and that the Passamezzo has just half that number, and thus
gets its name. No Galliard ever had an uneven number of bars in any of
its strains, so this account is difficult to reconcile.
However, Pass e mezzo, 'step and a half,' is the most trustworthy form
of the name, and the Note on the Orchésographie of Arbeau (1588) makes
all quite clear.
The Passamezzo (or passy-measures pavin) tune in the Appendix has a
similar construction to the ordinary pavan, the form of which has been
explained earlier in this section--_i.e._, it consists of regular
'strains,' which in their turn contain a certain _even_ number of
semibreves, or 'bars.' In the case given, the strains consist of
_eight_ bars each. This must be borne in mind, in connection with Sir
Toby's drunken fancy about the surgeon, in the following passage:--
_Tw._ V, i, 197.
_Sir To._ [Drunk, and with a bloody coxcomb]--Sot, didst see
Dick surgeon, sot?
_Clo._ O! he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were
_set at eight_ i' the morning.
_Sir To._ Then he's a rogue, and a _passy-measures pavin_.
Toby being only moderately sober, naturally feels indignant at the
doctor's indiscretions in the same kind; and, quite as naturally, the
Clown's remark about the latter's eyes brings this fantastic
comparison into his head. The doctor's eyes were set _at eight_, and
so is a Pavan set 'at eight.' It is easy to see Sir Toby's musical
gifts asserting themselves, confused recollections reeling across his
brain, of that old rule in Morley about the right number of semibreves
in a strain, 'fewer then _eight_ I have not seen in any _Pavan_.'
'Also in this you must cast your musicke by _foure_: ... no matter how
manie _foures_ you put in your straine.' Bull's Pavan, 'St Thomas
Wake,' has two strains of _sixteen_ bars each--_i.e._, two 'eights.'
[Appendix.]
The last passage given here shows clearly that the Lavolta and Coranto
were considered exotic in England in Shakespeare's time.
The French ladies here recommend their runaway husbands and brothers
to cross the Channel and try to earn a living by teaching French
dances to the stately English. Probably the "English dancing-schools"
in those days would think the solemn walk of the Pavan quite as lively
an amusement as good society could allow. There are other passages too
which show that Shakespeare (or his characters) had a fine 'insular'
feeling against these 'newfangled' fashions from France.
_H. 5._ III, v, 32.
_Bourbon_ (Speaks of the mocking French ladies).
They bid us to the _English dancing-schools_,
And teach _lavoltas high_, and _swift corantos_;
Saying, our grace is only in our heels,
And that we are most lofty runaways.