John Aubrey

<While hiding from the bailiffs in 1671 at Broad Chalk, Aubrey (see i. 52) set himself to compose a comedy descriptive of country life as he had seen it, abating nothing of its grossness, and concealing nothing of its immorality. The rude draft of this comedy is found in MS. Aubrey 21, written in the blank spaces and between the lines of a long legal document.

Although few of the scenes are sketched, and fewer completed, it is possible to form an idea of the scope and plot of the piece.

The jumbling together of all classes of society in the rude merriment of a country wake was designed to bring out the follies and vices of them all. A few gentlemen and ladies of the old school, of courtly manners and decent carriage, were brought in to set out by contrast the boorishness, the insolence, and the mad drunken bouts of Aubrey's contemporaries. A mixed company of sow-gelders, carters, dairy-maids, gypsies, were to give evidence, in dialogue and song, of the coarse talk and the vile ideas of the vulgar. And a still more disreputable rout of squires who had left their wives and taken up with cook-maids, and of heiresses who had run away with grooms, was to exemplify the degradation of the gentry. In several cases, over the names of his Dramatis Personae, Aubrey has jotted the names or initials of the real persons he was copying.

The plot was to have a double movement; on the one hand, the innocent loves of a boy and girl of gentle birth, living in disguise as shepherd and dairy-maid, the 'Lord and Lady of the Maypole,' and, on the other hand, the fortunes of an adulteress, pursued by her husband, following her paramour in page's attire, jealous of his attentions to other women, ending in murder all round—'Raynes[1356] comes and invades Sir Fastidious Overween, and is slayne by him; and then Sir Fastidious neglects her; she comes and stabbes him, and then herselfe.'

The scene, on the title-page, is laid, for a blind, at 'Aldford in Cheshire, by the river Dee, St. Peters day, 1669'; but in act i, scene 1, Aubrey, laying pretence aside, places it on 'Christian Malford green' in his own district in Wiltshire, near Kington St. Michael, Draycot Cerne, etc.

Taken as a whole, both in what is written out and in the anecdotes collected to be worked into the plot, the comedy affords a terrible picture of the corruption of Aubrey's county and times. It may be compared with the society pictures in Anne BrontË's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.

Two scenes, of the less offensive ones, may serve to give a faint idea of this curious piece of seventeenth century realism.>

A faire roome. Enter Sir Eglamour, Lady Euphrasia, Lady Pamela: to them, Sir Eubule Nestor; then, squire Fitz-ale.

Sir J. Fitz-ale. Sir Eglamour, your most humble servant.

Sir Eglamour. Sir John Fitz-ale, the welcomest man alive.

Fitz-ale. Save you, ladies! I'm come to wayte on you at the famous revell here, to help celebrate the festivall of St. Peter.

Ladyes. Most kindly donne, Sir John! We heard you strictly kept his virgil last night at Justice Wagstaff's.

Fitz-ale. So strickt that none of us have been a-bed to-night, that's the trueth on't. I beleeve, since the Conquest, St. Peter had never a merrier eve observed.

Ladyes. Pray, Sir John, favour us to let us heare some of the mirth.

Fitz-ale. Why, ladies, yesterday we Cheshire gentlemen mett at a barrell of ale at the bull-ring where we sufficiently bayted both bull and barrell; and having well dranke there, staved and tayled, till 5 a-clock i' th' afternoon, wee were invited to the Justice's; where being come into the great hall wee mett for a good omen the servants labouring at heaving into the cellar a teirce of French wine, newly brought by the barge from Chester. Faith! we had a frolique, and voted it (nemine contradicente) to have itt sett abroach in the midest of the hall. To worke we goe, and we four knights mount the tierce, bestride it, like the quarter files[1358] d'Amond upon one horse. Then we dranke his Majestie's health, the Queen's, and the royall family: then, faire ladies, (he bowes) your two healths; then, our mistresses: then, God knows who—till the cooke knockt for supper. So the tierce was reprieved till after supper, a guard sett over it. As wee were going to sitt downe to supper in the parlour a sudden quarrell arose between Sir Fastidious Overween and Captain Quarelsome about precedency. To cuffs they fell, all in confusion; the ladies cryed out, Sir Fastidious' great periwig was throwne into the fire and made an abominable stinke.

Sir Eubule[1359]. Blesse me! What unheard of rudenesse! This to be donne at a gentleman's house and by gentlemen, senators, parliamentary justices of the peace!

Sir J. Fitz-ale. In this scuffle the chiape of Capt. Quarelsome's sword hitcht in the cubboard of glasses: downe came all the glasses of the butler with a most dreadfull esclate. But this is not all—the cross-bar[1360] of Sir Fastidious' sword hitchd in my old ladie's vaile and pluckt it off, together with her periwig, and showed her poor bald old death's head.

Sir Eubule. Lord blesse me!

Sir J. Fitz-ale. The Justice and I struck in between 'em and parted 'em, and, with something more trouble then staving and tayling dog and bull[1361], they were reconciled and sate down opposite to each other. To a noble supper we sate downe.

After supper desert was brought. My country gentlemen catcht and snatchd like schoolboies and gobbt up the sweetmeats like ducks, and.... And being very drunke, some putt even marmalade into their pocketts. A noble carpet in the parlour trayled on the ground, which with their dirty bootes they made the faire edge and bordure as dirty as a woman's saddlecloth.

Supper being ended, faith! the justice would have the tother bout at the butt for a confirmation of friendship[1362] between the two antagonists. I could not refuse to help carry on such a good worke of charity. So we drank friendly on till 2 a-clock i' th' morning. By that time you may well thinke our braines were well warmd. We sung[1363], hooped, hallowd, jubilled—set the cennell of hounds all in a larum. We had the wenches and all the servants of the house to participate in the great jubilee.

Well, about daybrake 'twas the generall vote for the unhinging of the cellar dore and throwe it from the precipice of the cliffe into the Dee. The good old dore, that haz turnd on his hinges for these two centuries of yeares in the dayes of his hospitable ancestors, was taken downe, and by four tall fellowes borne to the cliffe. Hautboies[1364] loud musique playd before; the bearers followed; and then came the chiefe mourners, the butler, brewer, and pantler, weeping with blubbered eies for the decease of that had turnd out and doubled in the dayes of his hospitable ancestors:—'it was an ill omen[1365] of the fall of that ancient family.'

Sir Eubule. And they sayd well. I knew their Justice's grandfather and great grandfather too. <They> kept 12 men in blew coates and badges. We had no such doings in their daies. They were sober, prudent; kept good well-ordered hospitality. We are like to have a fine world when Parliament men and Justices shall give such lewd example....

Fitz-ale. Well! after the mourners, we came with our levetts[1366] and clarions. Then the rest. We had the sowgelder there, who loud performes the thorow-base. The dogges tooke it in turne too along the river into Chester, and sett all the dogges there barkeing.

Ladies. I warrant the country people thought you mad—

(Sir Eubule[1367]: And well they might, by my troth!)

—or that there was an insurrection of the fanatiques.

Fitz-ale. My tall lads[1368] hand downe the dore, and committ it from the cliff to the deepe. Downe, downe, it falls; but yet with severall bounds it made as with disdaine to be at last so servd for's long and faithfull service. Into the river Dee down dash it[1369] fell and away towards Chester swimmes, but seemed to give a[1370] mournefull je n' scay quoy

Lady Euphrasia. I swear, Sir John, you have made a very poetical[1371] description of it.

Sir J. Fitz-ale. Ah! I steepd[1372] my muse last night in Aganippe.

Sir Eubule Nestor. Ah! the Justice now may well be said to keepe an open howse.

Sir J. Fitz-ale. Sir Eglamour, the Justice intends to wayte on any ladies come and dine with you. Sir Fastidious and the Captaine comes with him; as also the bull-bayters, his old companions of the tappe; neither witt nor learning; impudent swearers; bestiall drinkers, a peck at a draught; hacking blades; huge colosses, with long swords, horse-skin belts; old reformados of Charles the first; sad wretches; old cinque-quaters; bacon[1373]-fac't fellowes; centaures that looke as if they could not prove the Christian; downe their beardes[1374] ... and dyed with mundungus[1375]. Now, ladies, looke to yourselves, for every one will have a smack at your lipps with their unsanctified mustaches.

Ladies. Bless us! I'le not come neer 'em, if they be such.

Fitz-ale. The Justice and's myrmidons are to drinke up 1000 of ale at mother Mackerell's.

Sir Eubule—drinke as in the dayes of Pantagruel.

Fitz-ale. Plato saies perpetuall drunkennesse is the reward of virtue.

An alehouse bower. Enter Mris. Maquerell, Justice Wagstaffe, Sir John Fitz-ale, Captain Exceptious Quarrellsome, Sir Fastidious Overween, the sowgelder, and Sir Hugh the vicar, myrmidons.