Printed for C. Dennisson[F. 121] at the Stationer's Arms, within
Aldgate.
[Footnote 119: Eleanor, or Nell, Gwynne.]
[Footnote 120: Louise de Querouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth,
a mistress of Charles II. from whom are descended the Dukes
of Richmond, died November 1734, aged 88. This ballad was
evidently written soon after the king's death in 1685.]
[Footnote 121: He published from 1685 to 1689.]
It will be seen by the foregoing supposed portraits of Nell Gwynne
and the Duchess of Portsmouth (which, by the way, do plenty of duty
in other ballads) that the _patching_ of this age among women was in
somewhat fantastic form, such a patch as a coach and four not being
unknown; but few know that the mercers (or linen-drapers, as we now
call them) patched themselves in order to show the effect to their
fair customers. The annexed example shows one who holds a lady's
vizard, or mask, for they did not then wear veils, which are quite a
modern invention, together with a feather-fan and some ribands, or,
as the frontispiece of the book records, divulging the secrets of the
toilet.
[Illustration: Here be your new Fashions Mistris.]
Here's black Bags, Ribons, Copper Laces, [74.]
Paintings, and beauty spots for faces?
Masques, and Fans you here may have
Taffity Gownes and Scarfes most brave
Curled haire, and crisped Locks.
Aprons white, and Holland Smocks:
All sort of powders here are sold
To please all People young and old.
Then come my Customers touch and try,
Behold and see, draw forth and buy.
Unfortunately this little penny book is generally too broad in its
humour to be reprinted; but one extract, which may be reproduced,
will suffice to show its quality:--"Come who buys my new Fashion'd
Periwigs, if there be any manner of Single man, Widdower, or Batchelor
that thinks his owne naturall Haire not good enough for him, here
is _Jack in a box_, that will fit him to a haire, with all sorts of
Periwigs, and all sorts of colours and fashions, both long Haire, or
short Haire, Flaxen haire, or yellow haire, black, blew, red, tawny,
browne, or Abraham[F. 122] Colour, thats halfe Nits, and half Lice; or
if any bauld pated fellow among you that have lost his hair off from
his head, I have a Periwig for him of goodly long Haire, that will
hang downe and cover all his shoulders, and that may serve to cover
all his knavery: or, if any younger Brothers that desires to have
their naturall Haire that growes upon their heads Dyed of another
Colour? here are all sorts of powders, of several colours and
Fashions, that will doe the trick gallantly."
[Footnote 122: Nares thinks that _Abram_-coloured hair is a
corruption for _auburn_, but it is just possible that, being a
patriarch, very gray or white hair is meant.]
_To one that desired me not to name him._
Be safe, nor feare thy selfe so good a fame, [70.]
That, any way, my booke should speake thy name:
For, if thou shame, ranck'd with my friends, to goe,
I am more asham'd to have thee thought my foe.
[4.] A Scholar meeting a Countreyman upon the Road rid up very briskly
to him; but the Countreyman, out of respect to him was turning off his
Horse to give him the Road, when the Scholar, laying his Hand upon his
Sword, said, _'Tis well you gave me the Way, or I'd----_ _What wou'd
you have done?_ said the Countreyman, holding up his Club at him----
_Given it to you, Sir_, says he, pulling off his Hat to him.
[17.] One wondred there was so many Pick pockets about _London_,
seeing there's a Watch at every corner: _Pah_, says another, _they'd
as willingly meet with a watch as any thing else_.
_More dew_ the Mercer, with a kinde salute, [5.]
Would needs intreate my custome for a suit:
Here Sir, quoth he, for Sattins, Velvets call,
What e're you please, I'le take your word for all.
I thank'd, took, gave my word; say then,
Am I at all indebted to this man?
[61.] A mad young Gallant, having rid as he feared, out of his way,
overtook a blunt Country fellow, and asked him, which was the way to
_Salesbury_? The Country man, intending not only to set him right: but
withall to know whether or no he had committed any error in his way
thither, asked him as the manner is, from whence he came, to which the
surly Gallant answered, _Why what is that to you, from whence I came?_
_You say true Master,_ quoth the Bumkin, _It is nothing to me from
whence you come, nor whether you goe._ So he walkt away with his hands
coupled behind him, and left the gentle fool to study out his way to
_Salesbury_.
To review, or even to largely quote from the dramatists of the
seventeenth century is not within the scope of this work, but I cannot
refrain (because they are so scarce) from giving a sample of one of
the "Drolls," as they were called--short plays performed in booths
at the fairs, and very often abbreviated versions of the legitimate
drama, as "Bottom the Weaver," from _A Midsummer's Night's Dream_;
"The Humours of the Gravemakers," from _Hamlet_. In fact, as the
preface to the book [75.], whence the accompanying Droll is taken,
states, "The most part of these Pieces were written by such Penmen as
were known to be the ablest Artists that ever this Nation produced, by
Name, _Shake-spear_, _Fletcher_, _Johnson_, _Shirley_, and others; and
these Collections are the very Souls of their writings, if the witty
part thereof may be so termed: And the other small Pieces composed
by several other Authors, are such as have been of great fame in this
last Age, when the publique Theatres were shut up, and the Actors
forbidden to present us with any of their Tragedies, because we had
enough of that in earnest, and Comedies, because the Vices of the Age
were too lively and smartly represented; then all that we could divert
our selves with, were these humours and pieces of Plays, which
passing under the Name of a merry Conceited Fellow, called _Bottom the
Weaver_, _Simpleton the Smith_, _John Swabber_, or some such Title,
were only allowed us, and that by stealth too, and under pretence of
Rope-dancing, or the like; and these being all that was permitted us,
great was the confluence of the Auditors; and these small things were
as profitable, and as great get-pennies to the Actors[F. 123] as any
of our late famed Plays. I have seen the _Red Bull_[F. 124] Playhouse,
which was a large one, so full that as many went back for want of room
as had entred; and as meanly as you may now think of these Drols, they
were then acted by the best Comedians then and now in being; and I
may say, by some that then exceeded all now Living; by Name, the
incomparable _Robert Cox_ who was not only the principal Actor, but
also the Contriver and Author of most of these Farces. How have I
heard him cryed up for his _John Swabber_, and _Simpleton the Smith?_
In which he being to appear with a large piece of Bread and Butter, I
have frequently known several of the Female Spectators and Auditors to
long for some of it: and once that well known Natural, _Jack Adams_
of _Clarkenwel_, seeing him with Bread and Butter on the Stage, and
knowing him, cryed out, Cuz, Cuz, give me some, give me some; to
the great pleasure of the Audience. And so Naturally did he Act the
Smith's part, that being at a Fair in a Countrey Town, and that
Farce being presented, the only Master Smith of the Town came to him,
saying, well, although your Father speaks so ill of you, yet when
the Fair is done, if you will come and work with me, I will give you
twelve pence a week more than I give any other Journey-Man. Thus was
he taken for a Smith bred, that was indeed as much of any Trade.
... Thus were these Compositions liked and approved by all, and they
were the fittest for the Actors to represent, there being little Cost
in Cloaths, which often were in great danger to be seized by the then
Souldiers, who, as the Poet sayes, _Enter the Red Coat, Exit Hat and
Cloak_, was very true, not only in the Audience, but the Actors too,
were commonly, not only strip'd, but many times imprisoned, till they
paid such Ransom as the Souldiers would impose upon them; so that it
was hazardous to Act any thing that required any good Cloaths, instead
of which painted Cloath many times served the turn to represent Rich
Habits ... and this painting puts me in mind of a piece I once saw
in a Country Inn, where was, with the best skill of the Workman
represented King _Pharaoh_ with _Moses_ and _Aaron_, and some others,
to explain which figures, was added this piece of Poetry
Here _Pharaoh_ with his Goggle Eyes does stare on
The High Priest _Moses_, with the Prophet _Aaron_.
Why, what a Rascal
Was he that would not let the People go to eat the Phascal.
The Painting was in every wayes as defective and lame as the Poetry,
for I believe he who pictured King _Pharaoh_, had never seen a King in
his life, for all the Majesty he was represented with was goggle Eyes,
that his Picture might be answerable to the Verse."
We see by the above extract that much was not expected in a Droll;
and, verily, few could have been disappointed. To modern taste the
humour of the majority is too coarse; and, therefore, I have been
obliged to take, as an exemplar, the most innocent of its class.
[Footnote 123: It is a curious fact that both Nares and
Halliwell, in their glossaries, describe Drolls as being
_puppet_ shows, when, as is shown, they were acted by living
people.]
[Footnote 124: This theatre was in Clerkenwell, at the corner
of what is now Woodbridge Street, and here acted (in October
1617, if not again) Edward Alleyn, the founder of Dulwich
College. It is frequently mentioned in contemporary books,
notably by Prynne in his _Histrio Martix_, and by Pepys in his
Diary, 4th August 1660, and 23d March and 26th May 1662.]
The Humour of Bumpkin.
_Argument needless, It being a Thorow Farce very well known--_
[75.] _Actors Names._
Acteon, three Huntsmen, Bumpkin, three Country Wenches.
_Enter first Huntsman, and Bumkin._
_1. Hunt._ Why, what's the matter?
_Bump._ Nay, I know not; but every day my great Guts, and
my small Guts make such a Combustion in my belly, as passes,
and my Puddings, (like Lances) run a-tilt at my heart,
and make me queasie-stomacht.
_1 Hunt._ Canst thou not guess the reason of this trouble?
_Bump._ Yes, I think I can, and I'le be judged by thee,
if my case be not desperate. I have a horrible mind to be in love.
_1 Hunt._ With whom?
_Bump._ With any body; but I cannot find out the way how
to be in Love.
_1. Hunt._ Why? I'le instruct thee: Cans't thou be melancholly?
_Bump._ Yes, as a Dog, or a Hog-louse; I could even find
it in my heert to cry presently.
_1. Hunt._ Canst thou sleep well?
_Bump._ I cannot tell, I never saw myself sleep.
_1. Hunt._ Is't possible that thou so long been an attendant
upon my Lord Acteon, shoulds't be to learn the way to
be in love.
_Bump._ I would it were not possible, on the condition thou
wert hang'd and quartered.
_1 Hunt._ I thank you, Sir. But _Bumpkin_ list to me; This
day thou knows't the Maids and Young men meet to sport, and revel it
about the May pole: Present thy self there, tell thy cause of grief,
and I dare warrant thee a Sweet-heart presently.
_Bump._ If thou cans't do that, Ile marry her first and learn to
love her afterwards.
_1 Hunt._ Hast hither, _Bumpkin_ I'le go on before (_Exit_)
_Bump._ And I will follow thee a dog trot. Is it not a pitty:
that a man of Authority as I am, having been chief Dog-Keeper
to my Lord Acteon this five years, being a man so comely of person,
and having such a pure complexion, that all fair Ladies may be
ashamed to look on me, and that I should be distressed for a
Sweet-heart? Maypole I come.
And if the Wenches there encrease my pains
And scorn to love, i'le beat out all their brains.
(_Exit_)
_Enter Huntsmen with three Country Wenches._
_2. Co. Wench._ Is it possible would _Bumpkin_ be in love?
_1 Hunt._ Yes, if he knew but how, and for that sickness I have
undertaken to become his Doctor: For at the May Pole meeting 'tis
decreed, a Sweet-heart must be purchast, come what will on't.
_3. Co. Wench._ Nay, if he be distressed, twenty to one he may
find charitable persons there. Come, strike up a _Farewel
to Misfortune_. (_Exit_)
_Enter Bumpkin._
_Bump._ That is a Dance that I could never hit of: pray desist
a woile, and hear my doleful Tale.
_1. Co. Wench._ He'l make us cry sure.
_Bump._ Be it known unto all men by these presents----
_2. Co. Wench._ An Obligation, we will be no witnesses.
_Bump._ Why then I'le hang my self.
_3. Co. Wench._ We will be witness then.
_Bump._ What, to my hanging? O' my Conscience, if I should
woo my heart out, I should never be the fatter for it.--Where's
your promise now?
_1. Hunt._ You have not yet exprest yourself; be plain, tell
them your grief; a remedy will follow.
_Bump._ If that be all, 'tis an easy matter, pray take notice that
I am in love--with somebody.
_2. Co. Wench._ Would I were she.
_Bump._ Why, so you are, if you have a mind to it.
_2 Co. Wench._ Why then, you are my own.
_3. Co. Wench._ Pardon me, Sister, I bespake him yesterday.
(_They all hang about him_)
_Bump._ Yes, marry did she (Goes to her).
_1. Co. Wench._ But I was she that won him at the May pole.
_2. Co. Wench._ Was that the Cause you strove so for the
Garland.
_Bump._ What's that to you? (_Goes to her._)
Would I had any of them in quietness.
_3. Co. Wench._ But yet I must have share.
_1. Co. Wench._ So must I too. (_All pull him_)
_2. Co. Wench._ I will not part without the better half.
_Bump._ Then who shall have me whole? what--are you mad?
_3. Co. Wench._ Theres reason for a madness in this Case.
_1. Co. Wench._ I will not loose my right. Let go, I say.
_2. Co. Wench._ He shall be mine, or else he shall be nothing.
_Bump._ Away you burrs, why do you stick so on me? Now
by this hand, if nothing can perswade you, I'le drown
myself for spight, that you may perish. (_Horn_)
_1. Hunt._ Hark, hark, my Lord _Acteons_ warning piece; That
Horn gives us intelligence he doth intend to Spend this
day in hunting: _Bumpkin_ why stay you? the hounds
will quarrel with you: we'l come after.
_1. Co. Wench._ Will you not stay, my Love?
_Bump._ I'le see you hang'd first, and by this hand, ere I will
be in love again, I will feed my hounds with my own
proper Carcase. (_Exit_)
_2. Co. Wench._ Now he is gone, our dancing may go forward.
_2. Hunt._ My Lord Acteon stays, be quick, I pray.
_3. Co. Wench._ Quick as you will; the doing of it quick, makes
it shew the better. (_A Country Dance. Then Exeunt._)
_Enter Acteon and Bumpkin._
_Acteon._ Be nimble, Sirrah.
_Bump._ Nimble? yes, as a bear that hath been lug'd to
purpose: if Love be such a troublesome Companion I
will entreat him to keep out of my Company.
_Acteon._ We consume the day.
_Bump._ They have saved me a labour.
_Acteon._ Fie, what mean you? The glory of the day calls us
to action.
_1. Hunt._ Sir, you may please to know, that yesternight I lodged
a boar within the neighbouring Forest.
_Bump._ Yes, Sir, and I lodged a Fox at a house hard by.
A pleasant new Ballad to sing both Even and Morne,
Of the bloody murther of Sir _John Barley corne_.