NOTE.

This 'Entertainment' has the additional interest of having been that

wherein "The Lottery" (pp. 87-95), was introduced. The reasons for our

giving the whole to Davies, we have stated in the Memorial-Introduction

(II. Critical: Minor Poems). Our text is from Nichols' Progresses of Q.

Elizabeth, Vol. III., pp. 586-94. G.

_Entertainment of Q. Elizabeth at Harefield by Countesse of Derby._

After the Queene entered (out of the high way) into the Deamesne

grounde of Harefielde, near the Dayrie howse, she was mett with

2 persons, the one representing a BAYLIFFE, the other

a DAYRIE-MAIDE, with the Speech. Her Majesty, being on

horsebacke, stayed under a tree (because it rayned) to heare it.

_B._ Why, how now, Joane! are you heere? Gods my life, what make

you heere, gaddinge and gazinge after this manner? You come to buy

gape-seede,[277] doe you? Wherefore come you abroade now I' faith can

you tell?

[Footnote 277: A pun on the open mouth of wonder and curiosity. G.]

_Joa._ I come abroade to welcome these Strangers.

_B._ Strangers? how knew you there would come Strangers?

_Jo._ All this night I could not sleepe, dreaming of greene rushes; and

yesternight the chatting of the pyes, and the chirkinge[278] of the

frisketts[279] did foretell as much; and, besides that, all this day my

lefte eare glowed,[280] and that is to me (let them all say what they

wil) allwaies a signe of Strangers, if it be in the Summer; marye, if

it be in the Winter, tis a signe of anger. But what make you in this

company, I pray you?

[Footnote 278: Imitative word, as the 'chirr' of the grasshopper. G.]

_B._ I make the way for these Strangers, which the Way-maker himself

could not doe; for it is a way was never passed before. Besides, the

Mrs. of this faire company, though she know the way to all men's

harts, yet she knowes the way but to few men's howses, except she love

them very well, I can tell you; and therefore I myselfe, without any

comission, have taken upon me to conduct them to the house.

_Jo._ The house? which house? doe you remember yourselfe? which way goe

you?

_B._ I goe this way, on the right hand. Which way should I goe?

_Jo._ You say true, and you're a trim man; but I' faith I'll talke noe

more to you, except you ware wyser. I pray you hartely, 'forsooth,

come neare the house, and take a simple lodginge with vs to-night;

for I can assuere you that yonder house that he talks of is but a

Pigeon-house, which is very little if it were finisht, and yet very

little of it is finisht. And you will believe me, vpon my life, Lady, I

saw Carpenters and Bricklayers and other Workmen about it within less

than these two howers. Besides, I doubt my Mr. and Mrs. are not at

home; or, if they be, you must make your owne provision; for they have

noe provision for such Strangers. You should seeme to be Ladies; and we

in the country have an old saying, that "halfe a pease a day will serve

a Lady." I know not what you are, nether am I acquainted with your

dyet; but, if you will goe with me, you shall haue cheare for a Lady:

for first you shall have a dayntie sillibub; next a messe of clowted

creame; stroakings,[281] in good faith, redd cowes milk, and they say

in London that's restorative: you shall have greene cheeses and creame.

(I'll speake a bould word) if the Queene herself (God save her Grace)

[were here] she might be seene to eat of it. Wee will not greatly

bragge of our possets, but we would be loath to learne to praise: and

if you loue frute, forsooth, wee haue jenitings,[282] paremayns,[283]

russet coates,[284] pippines, able-johns,[285] and perhaps a

pareplum,[286] a damsone, I or an apricocke[287] too, but that they are

noe dainties this yeare; and therefore, I pray, come neare the house,

and wellcome heartily, doe soe.

[Footnote 279: An unrecorded word. G.]

[Footnote 280: Folk-lore, as in Herrick, &c. G.]

[Footnote 281: = the last milk drawn from a cow in milking: same as

strippings. G.]

[Footnote 282: = rennets--a kind of apple? G.]

[Footnote 283: = another kind of apple: see Gerard's Herbal, p. 1459

(1636 edn.) G.]

[Footnote 284: A species of apple like 'rennets.' G.]

[Footnote 285: = apple-johns, as in 1, Henry IV., iii. 3: 2, Henry IV.,

ii. 4 (_bis_). G.]

[Footnote 286: Query, a peach? See Gerard, as before, (p. 1447).

Perse-boom is given as the Low-Dutch name of the peach. G.]

[Footnote 287: = Apricot. G.]

_B._ Goe to, gossip; your tongue must be running. If my Mrs. should

heare of this, I' faith shee would give you little thankes I can tell

you, for offeringe to draw so faire a flight from her Pigeon-house (as

you call it) to your Dayrie-house.

_Jo._ Wisely, wisely, brother Richard; I' faith as I would vse the

matter, I dare say shee would giue me great thankes: for you know my

Mrs. charged me earnestly to retaine all idele hearvest-folkes that

past this way; and my meaning was, that, if I could hold them all this

night and to-morrow, on Monday morning to carry them into the fields;

and to make them earne their entertaynment well and thriftily; and to

that end I have heere a _Rake_ and _Forke_, to deliver to the best

Huswife in all this company.

_B._ Doe soe then: deliver them to the best Huswife in all this

company: for wee shall haue as much vse of her paines and patience

there as here. As for the dainties that you talke of, if you have any

such, you shall doe well to send them; and as for these strangers, sett

thy hart at rest, Joane; they will not rest with [thee] this night, but

will passe on to my Mr[s.] house.

_Joa._ Then, I pray, take this _Rake_ and _Forke_ with you; but I am

ashamed, and woe at my hart, you should goe away soe late. And I pray

God you repent you not, and wish yourselves here againe, when you finde

you haue gone further and fared worsse.

When her Maiestie was alighted from her horse, and ascended 3 steeps

neare to the entering into the house, a carpet and chaire there sett

for her; PLACE and TIME present themselves, and vsed

this Dialogue:

PLACE _in a partie-colored roabe, like the brick house_.

TIME _with yeollow haire, and in a green roabe, with a hower

glasse, stopped, not runninge_.

_P._ Wellcome, good _Time_.

_T._ Godden, my little pretie priuat _Place_.

_P._ Farewell, godbwy _Time_; are you not gone? doe you stay heere? I

wonder that _Time_ should stay any where; what's the cause?

_T._ If thou knewest the cause, thou wouldst not wonder; for I stay

to entertaine the Wonder of this time; wherein I would pray thee to

ioyne mee, if thou wert not too little for her greatnes; for it weare

as great a meracle for thee to receive her, as to see the Ocean shut up

in a little creeke, or the circumference shrinke vnto the pointe of the

center.

_P._ Too little! by that reason shee should rest in noe _place_, for

no _place_ is great ynough to receive her. Too little! I have all this

day entertayned the Sunn, which, you knowe, is a great and glorious

Guest; hee's but euen now gone downe yonder hill; and now he is gone,

methinks, if Cinthia her selfe would come in his place, the place that

contaynde him should not be to little to receave her.

_T._ You say true, and I like your comparison; for the Guest that wee

are to entertaine doth fill all places with her divine vertues, as

the Sunn fills the World with the light of his beames. But say, poore

_Place_, in what manner didst thou entertaine the Sunn?

_P._ I received his glory, and was fill'd with it: but I must confesse,

not according to the proportion of his greatnes, but according to the

measure of my capacitie; his bright face (methought) was all day turned

vpon mee; nevertheless his beames in infinite abundance weere disperst

and spread vpon other places.

_T._ Well, well; this is noe time for vs to entertaine one another,

when wee should ioine to entertaine her. Our entertaynment of this

Goddesse will be much alike; for though her selfe shall eclipse her

soe much, as to suffer her brightnes to bee shadowed in this obscuere

and narrow _Place_, yet the sunne beames that follow her, the traine I

meane that attends vpon her, must, by the necessitie of this _Place_,

be deuided from her. Are you ready, _Place_? _Time_ is ready.

_P._ Soe it should seeme, indeed, you are so gaye, fresh, and

cheerfull. You are the present _Time_, are you not? then what neede you

make such haste? Let me see, your wings are clipt, and, for ought I

see, your hower-glasse runnes not.

_T._ My wings are clipt indeed, and it is her hands hath clipt them:

and, tis true, my glasse runnes not: indeed it hath bine stopt a longe

time, it can never rune as long as I waite upon this Mris. I [am] her

_Time_; and _Time_ weare very vngratefull, if it should not euer stand

still, to serue and preserue, cherish and delight her, that is the

glory of her time, and makes the _Time_ happy wherein she liueth.

_P._ And doth not she make _Place_ happy as well as _Time_? What if she

make thee a contynewall holy-day, she makes me a perpetuall sanctuary.

Doth not the presence of a Prince make a Cottage a Court, and the

presence of the Gods make euery place Heauen? But, alas, my littlenes

is not capable of that happines that her great grace would impart vnto

me: but, weare I as large as there harts that are mine Owners, I should

be the fairest _Pallace_ in the world; and weere I agreeable to the

wishes of there hartes, I should in some measure resemble her sacred

selfe, and be in the outward frount exceeding faire, and in the inward

furniture exceeding rich.

_T._ In good time do you remember the hearts of your Owners; for, as

I was passing to this place, I found this _Hart_,[288] which, as my

daughter _Truth_ tould mee, was stolne by owne[289] of the Nymphes

from one of the seruants of this Goddesse; but her guiltie conscience

enforming her that it did belong only of right vnto her that is Mrs.

of all harts in the world, she cast [it] from her for this time; and

_Oportunity_, finding it delivered it vnto me. Heere, _Place_, take it

thou, and present it vnto her as a pledge and mirror of their harts

that owe thee.

[Footnote 288: A Diamond.]

[Footnote 289: = one. G.]

_P._ It is a mirror indeed, for so it is transparent. It is a cleare

hart, you may see through it. It hath noe close corners, noe darkenes,

noe unbutifull spott in it. I will therefore presume the more boldly

to deliver it; with this assurance, that _Time_, _Place_, _Persons_,

and all other circumstances, doe concurre alltogether in biddinge her

wellcome.

_The humble Petition of a guiltlesse Lady, delivered in writing vpon

Munday Morninge, when the [robe] of rainbowes was presented to the Q.

by the La._ WALSINGHAM.

Beauties rose, and vertues booke,

Angells minde, and Angells looke,

To all Saints and Angells deare,

Clearest Maiestie on earth,

Heauen did smile at your faire birth,

And since, your daies have been most cleare.

Only poore St. _Swythen_ now

Doth heare you blame his cloudy brow:

But that poore St. deuoutly sweares,

It is but a tradition vaine

That his much weeping causeth raine,

For S^{ts} in heauen shedd no teares:

But this he saith, that to his feast

Commeth Iris, an vnbidden guest,

In her moist roabe of collers gay;

And she cometh, she ever staies,

For the space of fortie daies,

And more or lesse raines euery day.

But the good St., when once he knew,

This raine was like to fall on you,

If S^{ts} could weepe, he had wept as much

As when he did the Lady leade

That did on burning iron tread:

To Ladies his respect is such.

He gently first bids Iris goe

Unto the Antipodes below,

But shee for that more sullen grew.

When he saw that, with angry looke,

From her her rayneie roabes he tooke,

Which heere he doth present to you.

It is fitt it should with you remaine,

For you know better how to raine.

Yet if it raine still as before,

St Swythen praies that you would guesse,

That Iris doth more robes possesse,

And that you should blame him no more.

At her Maiesties departure from Harefield, PLACE, attyred in

black mouringe aparell, vsed this farewell followinge:

_P._ Sweet Maiestie, be pleased to looke vpon a poore Wydow, mourning

before your Grace. I am this _Place_, which at your comming was full

of ioy; but now at your departure am as full of sorrow. I was then,

for my comfort, accompanied with the present cheerful _Time_; but now

he is to depart with you; and, blessed as he is, must euer fly before

you: But, alas! I haue no wings, as _Time_ hath. My heauiness is such,

that I must stand still, amazed to see so greate happines so sone

bereft mee. Oh, that I could remoue with you, as other circumstances

can! _Time_ can goe with you, _Persons_ can goe with you; they can

moue like Heaven; but I, like dull Earth (as I am indeed) must stand

vnmouable. I could wish my selfe like the inchanted Castle of Loue,

to hould you heere for euer, but that your vertues would dissolue all

my inchauntments. Then what remedy? As it is against the nature of an

Angell to be circumscribed in _Place_, so it is against the nature

of _Place_ to haue the motion of an Angell. I must stay forsaken and

desolate. You may goe with maiestie, joy, and glory. My only suyte,

before you goe, is that you will pardon the close imprisonment which

you haue suffred euer since your comminge, imputinge it not to mee,

but St. Swythen, who of late hath raysed soe many stormes, as I was

faine to prouide this _Anchor_,[290] for you, when I did vnderstand

you would put into this creeke. But now, since I perceaue this harbour

is too little for you, and you will hoyse sayle and be gone, I beseech

you take this Anchor with you. And I pray to Him that made both _Time_

and _Place_, that, in all places where euer you shall arriue, you may

anchor as safly, as you doe and euer shall doe in the harts of my

Owners.

[Footnote 290: A Jewell.]