In this chapter we can make a large use of contemporary literature. Thus, the first consideration in treating of the manners and customs of the people is naturally the position of the wife and the consideration shown to her. I do not think that in any country could either the position of the wife or the consideration for her surpass what was then in vogue in London. This point Emanuel van Meteren, writing in 1575, makes abundantly clear, even while he contends the exact opposite, viz. that the wife is entirely in the power of the husband. For he shows that whatever the law may be—he does not quote the law—the practice is that the wife has entire liberty; and custom, i.e. public opinion, against which no husband would dare to move, secures her that liberty. This is what he says:— “Wives in England are entirely in the power of their husbands, their lives only excepted. Therefore when they marry, they give up the surname of their father and of the family from which they are descended, and take the surname of their husbands, except in the case of duchesses, countesses, and baronesses, who, when they marry gentlemen of inferior degree, retain their first name and title, which, for the ambition of the said ladies, is rather allowed than commended. But although the women are entirely in the power of their husbands except for their lives, yet they are not kept so strictly as they are in Spain, or elsewhere. Nor are they shut up, but they have the free management of the house or housekeeping, after the fashion of those of the Netherlands and others their neighbours. They go to market to buy what they like best to eat. They are well-dressed, fond of taking it easy, and commonly leave the care of household matters and drudgery to their servants. They sit before their doors, decked out in fine clothes, in order to see and be seen by the passers-by. In all banquets and feasts they are shown the greatest honour; they are placed at the upper end of the table, where they are the first served; at the lower end they help the men. All the rest of their time they employ in walking and riding, in playing at cards or otherwise, in visiting their friends and keeping company, conversing with their equals (whom they term gossips) and their neighbours, and making merry If this was the ordinary life of the London merchant’s wife, the following is the contemporary ideal (Gervase Markham):— “Next unto her sanctity and holiness of life, it is meet that our English Housewife be a woman of great modesty and temperance, as well inwardly as outwardly; inwardly, as in her behaviour and carriage towards her husband, wherein she shall shun all violence of rage, passion and humour, coveting less to direct than to be directed, appearing ever unto him pleasant, amiable and delightful; and tho’ occasion of mishaps, or the mis-government of his will may induce her to contrary thoughts, yet vertuously to suppress them, and with a mild sufferance rather to call him home from his error, than with the strength of anger to abate the least spark of his evil, calling into her mind, that evil and uncomely language is deformed, though uttered even to servants; but most monstrous and ugly, when it appears before the presence of a husband; outwardly, as in her apparel, and dyet, both which she shall proportion according to the competency of her husband’s estate and calling, making her circle rather strait than large; for it is a rule, if we extend to the uttermost, we take away increase; if we go a hair’s breadth beyond, we enter into consumption; but if we preserve any part, we build strong forts against the adversaries of fortune, provided that such preservation be honest and conscionable; for as lavish prodigality is brutish, so miserable covetousness is hellish. Let therefore the Housewife’s garments be comely and strong, made as well to preserve the health, as to adorn the person, altogether without toyish garnishes, or the gloss of bright colours, and as far from the vanity of new and fantastick fashions, as near to the comely imitation of modest matrons. Let her dyet be wholesome and cleanly, prepared at due hours, and cook’d with care and diligence, let it be rather to satisfie nature, than To conclude, our English Housewife must be of chaste thoughts, stout courage, patient, untired, watchful, diligent, witty, pleasant, constant in friendship, full of good neighbourhood, wise in discourse, but not frequent therein, sharp and quick of speech, but not bitter or talkative, secret in her affairs, comfortable in her counsels, and generally skilful in the worthy knowledges which do belong to her vocation.” But to set against this is the testimony of the Elizabethan satirist Philip Stubbes. The principal occupation of the women, he tells us—their daily life—is to lie in bed till nine or ten in the morning; to spend two hours in dressing themselves; then to go to dinner; then, “their heads pretely mizzeled with wine,” they walk abroad for a time; or they sit at their open doors showing their braveries to passers-by; or they pretend business in the town and carry a basket, “under what pretence pretie concerts are practised.” Or again they have those gardens in the fields outside already alluded to, whither they repair with a boy and a basket and meet their lovers. A WOMAN’S DAY “Daily till ten a clocke a bed she lyes, And then againe her Lady-ship doth rise, Her Maid must make a fire, and attend To make her ready; then for wine sheele send, (A morning pinte), she sayes her stomach’s weake, And counterfeits as if shee could not speake, Vntill eleuen, or a little past, About which time, euer she breakes her fast; Then (very sullen) she wil pout and loure, And sit down by the fire some halfe an houre. At twelue a clocke her dinner time she keepes, Then gets into her chaire, and there she sleepes Perhaps til foure, or somewhat thereabout; And when that lazie humour is worne out, She cals her dog, and takes him in her lap, Or fals a beating of her maid (perhap) Or hath a gossip come to tell a tale, Or else at me sheele curse, and sweare, and rale, Or walk a turne or two about the Hall, And so to supper and to bed: heeres all This paines she takes; and yet I do abuse her: But no wise man, I thinke, so kind would vse her....” Stubbes, Anatomie of Abuses, Part ii. p. 274. In the streets a lady of condition was preceded by a lackey carrying a stick or wand. Gentlemen were followed by their servants carrying the master’s sword. The servants were dressed in blue with the master’s badge in silver on the left arm. The men kept on their hats indoors except in warm weather. In the morning the haunt of the gallants was St. Paul’s Cathedral. (See Appendix VIII.) They walked up and down the middle of the nave, called then the “Mediterranean,” exhibiting their new cloaks and their new feathers. After a few turns up and down, or when the clock struck eleven, they left the place and disappeared, going to some of the shops, the tobacconist’s, or the bookseller’s, where they took tobacco and talked about the new books. They then repaired to an ordinary and spent two or three hours over dinner, after which they went back to St. Paul’s and spent there the whole afternoon. The merchant had his Exchange; the citizen his tavern; the gallant had the apothecary’s shop, where he bought and smoked his tobacco. For daily discourse and business the scholar, the divine, the poet, the wit, had the bookseller’s shop. “He will sit you,” said Ben Jonson, “a whole afternoon in a bookseller’s shop, reading the Greek, Italian, and Spanish.” He would read, and he would talk. Remember that in the year 1590 or thereabouts the art of printing had only been in use a hundred years; all the books were new books; every poet was printed or translated for the first time; the booksellers’ shops contained editions, always new, of ancient classics; of living poets; of foreign writers; there was far greater interest in a new book than our age can understand: as we have seen there were in London alone at least 240 poets, known and acknowledged, whose names are still remembered, and whose poems still remain Anthologies, and there was interest among the reading world in every one of them. There may have been jealousies: poets have always been a jealous folk; but there was appreciation, and there was generosity. And the bookseller’s shop was the place where all who valued new books could meet and talk of books—what talk is more delightful? What criticism more sincere than that between those who themselves belong to letters in an age when literature knows not yet the meaning of the words exhaustion or decay? Mr. Ordish (Shakespeare’s London, p. 233) has compiled a list of Elizabethan booksellers from the title-pages of the Shakespeare quartos. Such a list was well worth making, though it cannot be considered more than a small instalment. Indeed, the literary output was so enormous during the latter half of the sixteenth century, that the number of booksellers must have been proportionately greater than at present. The following were some of the signs:— I. In St. Paul’s Churchyard— At the sign of the Angel, the Fox, the Flower de Luce and the Crown, the Greyhound, the Green Dragon, the Holy Ghost, the Gun (Edward White), the Pied Bull, the Spread Eagle. II. By St. Dunstan’s in the West— At the sign of the White Hart; at the shop under the Dial. III. In Paternoster Row— At the sign of the Sun. IV. Cornhill— At the sign of the Cat and Parrots. V. In Carter Lane, near the Paul Head. Plays and masques were performed on Sunday as well as any other day; the feeling, however, was growing rapidly in favour of a stricter attention to the Sunday, which was confused with the Sabbath. In other words, the Puritans were fast increasing in numbers and in importance. If amusement was wanted it might also be sought in the street, where the juggler with his music and his tumbler had his regular round. He was distinguished by his thin, coloured cloak and his yellow breeches trimmed with blue. For a modest fee he performed for any who summoned him. Another form of amusement, suitable to those who could not afford to pay the itinerant juggler, and had to consider the expenditure in candles, was to sit round the fire in the evening and tell stories. “... some mery fit Of Mayde-Marian, or else of Robin Hood.” As for the girls:— “Then is it pleasure the yonge maides amonge, To watch by the fier the winter-nights longe; And in the ashes some playes for to marke, And cover wardes for fault of other warke; To taste white shevers, to make prophet-roles; And, after talke, oft times to fille the boles.” In the private houses there was a great deal of whipping; gentlemen had their servants whipped in the porter’s lodge; to be whipped was no disgrace, but a natural part of servitude, no more to be deplored than the necessity of death;
As for the boys of the household, they either went to one of the City schools or they were instructed by a tutor at home. Probably the latter was unusual when schools were ready to hand. In country places the tutor was common, and his position was anything but pleasant. “Such is the most base and ridiculous parsimony of many of our Gentlemen (if I may so terme them) that if they can procure some poore Batchelor of Art from the Universitie to teach their children to say grace, will be content upon the promise of ten pounds a yeere at his first comming, to be pleased with five; the rest to be set off in hope of the next advouson (which perhaps was sold before the young man was born). Or if it chance to fall in his time, his lady or master tels him, ‘Indeed, Sir, we are beholden unto you for your paines; such a living is lately falne, but I had before made a promise of it to my butler or bailiffe, for his true and extraordinary service.’ Is it not commonly seen, that the most Gentlemen will give better wages, and deale more bountifully with a fellow who can but a dogge, or reclaime a hawke, than upon an honest, learned, and well qualified man to bring up their children? It may be, hence it is, that dogges are able to make syllogismes in the fields, when their young masters can conclude nothing at home, if occasion of argument or discourse be offered at the table.” Did the great City merchant ever maintain the domestic chaplain? I have found no instance of such a servant in the household of a citizen. Bishop Hall assigns the domestic chaplains to the country gentleman:— “A gentle squire would gladly entertain Into his house some trencher-chappelain; Some willing man that might instruct his sons, And that would stand to good conditions. First, that he lie upon the truckle-bed, While his young maister lieth o’er his head; Second, that he do, on no default, Ever presume to sit above the salt; Third, that he never change his trencher twice; Fourth, that he use all common courtesies; Sit bare at meals, and one half rise and wait; Last, that he never his young master beat; But he must aske his mother to define, How manie jerks she would his breech should line. All these observ’d he could contented be, To give five markes, and winter livery.” Joseph Hall, Satires. As regards the ’prentices, they were considered as servants not only in the shop and warehouse, but also at home, where they waited at dinner, and followed the ladies to church and when they went abroad in the evening, carrying a lantern and a stout cudgel. For the servants, properly so called, the following regulations will show the manner of their service (Drake, ii.):—
The London merchant’s house in the sixteenth century steadily improved in solid comfort and even in magnificence. No one will ever be able to restore completely, or even approximately, the London of that century. We do not know the numbers of the great houses; we know only in part their constitutions, their pictures; their art; their carved work. In the streets lying off the main avenues of retail trade, especially in those streets near the riverside, a house was frequently at once a place of residence and a warehouse. One may look upon a street in Hildesheim, for instance, and be reminded of Bishopsgate Street, Aldgate, or Leadenhall Street in the time of Queen Elizabeth. That is to say, the greater number of houses were timbered with tiled roofs; the fronts all covered with carvings painted and gilded; there were scattered here and there substantial stone houses; there were still many houses whose gateway opened from some narrow city lane upon a spacious court, above which stood the hall; the lady’s bower; the rooms for apprentices and servants; and, behind all, the garden. Such a house on a large scale was Gray’s Inn; on a lesser scale Barnard’s Inn and the smaller inns. The College of Heralds still shows the general size of the court; Doctor’s Commons until fifty years ago also illustrated the old fashion of building. Bricks were coming into use, but, in the City of London, slowly. There were still many narrow and noisome courts where the hovels were of wood—making a constant danger of fire and filled with all manner of decaying abominations—a constant cause of disease. By this time all the windows were provided with glass; many of the poorer sort, however, were furnished with the cheap glass which contained the round lumps called bull’s eyes. The shops in the market-places had glass in the upper part, but the lower part still remained open, and was shut at night with a shutter. The goods were exposed outside the window, and the ’prentices stood beside them bawling, “What d’ye lack? What d’ye lack?” In the more important houses the old custom of living in the great hall was still kept up. In all houses the servants and apprentices sat down with the master and his family. The floors were still strewn with rushes, but these, on account of the cost of renewing, were seldom changed, so that underneath them, as Erasmus discovered, lay unmolested an “ancient collection of beer, grease, fragments of fish, and everything that is nasty.” The furniture of the rooms was very different from that of our own times. The following account is taken from ArchÆologia (vol. xxx. p. 2):— “The Furniture of the different rooms is very similar, varying principally in number and quality of the articles; consisting of sets of hangings, tables with tressels, joined forms, joined stools, court-cupboards, carpets, cushions, and a few chairs; also andirons, and other fire utensils, and several pairs of virginals in different rooms, besides a pair of organs in the chapel, and ‘an instrument musicall’ in the chamber of presence. The carpets, which are numerous, would scarcely appear to have been used according to modern custom for the floors of the apartments, Hentzner having informed us, that the presence-chamber of Queen Elizabeth herself was strewed with hay (i.e. rushes) but they were principally coverings for the tables, stools, and court-cupboards; though they may have been occasionally used to cover some select part of a room, as in the presence-chamber, for instance, where a Turkey carpet is mentioned, five yards and a half long, and two yards and three-quarters broad. The court-cupboards, which are generally considered to have been moveable closets, answering the purpose of a sideboard, were frequently much ornamented, and such an article may still be seen in old mansions, and in collections of old furniture. They were covered with carpets or cupboard cloths, and set out with cups, salvers, and plate. Some of these carpets were very handsome. In one of the inventories in that valuable authority for researches of this nature, the History of Hengrave, is mentioned, ‘One carpet of black velvet, for the little bord, laced and fringed with silver and gould, lyned with taffita.’ Some of these carpets also had cloths to lay over them, probably, when not in use, in order to protect them. In the same Inventory cushions are mentioned which in richness exceed those of the Archbishop, as ‘two long cushions of plain black velvet, embroidered with roses, with gould and pearle all over, with tassels of gold and silk’; but the nature of his archi-episcopal office probably induced him to avoid too much splendour in his household. There is, however, in the chamber of presence a cushion of cloth of baudkin,[9] and in other apartments, several cushions of velvet and damask. The chair of cloth of gold and silver in the gallery was probably a State chair; and, indeed, from the paucity of these articles, they would seem to be intended only for persons of higher rank. From the ‘latten andirons’ in the chamber of presence being valued at forty shillings, it may be inferred that they were ornamented, and in some cases we know they were richly carved. Iachimo, describing the chamber of Imogen, says:— ‘Her andirons— I had forgot them—were two winking Cupids Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely Depending on their brands.’ The pictures are chiefly portraits of royal personages, the principal noblemen and officers of state, and the promoters of the Reformation, but the list is interesting to shew the Archbishop’s selection. In some of the bed-rooms are truckle-beds (trundle-beds as they are called in some of the inventories of this age); these would seem to have been small beds generally appropriated to attendants, and placed at the foot or side of the standing or principal bed, and occasionally made to run under it during the day. The Host in the Merry Wives of Windsor, in answer to an inquiry after Sir John Falstaff, says, ‘There’s his chamber, his house, his castle, his standing-bed and truckle-bed.’ Hudibras also makes the distinction:— ‘If he that in the field is slain, Be in the bed of honour lain. He that is beaten may be said, To lie in honour’s truckle-bed.’ In my Lord’s chamber the bed is a field-bed, but this sort of bed may have been We may supplement this account by Harrison’s description (Holinshed, i. 317):— “The furniture of our houses also exceedeth, and is growne in maner even to passing delicacie; for herein I doo not speake of the nobilitie and gentry onlie, but likewise of the lowest sort in most places of our south countrie, that have aniething at all to take to. Certes in noblemen’s houses it is not rare to see abundance of Arras, rich hangings of tapistrie, silver vessell, and so much other plate, as may furnish sundry cupbords, to the summe often times of a thousand or two thousand pounds at the least: whereby the value of this and the rest of their stuffe dooth grow to be almost inestimable. Likewise in the houses of knights, gentlemen, merchantmen, and some other wealthie citizens, it is not geson to behold generallie their great provision of tapistrie, Turkie worke, pewter, brasse, fine linen, and thereto costlie cupbords of plate, worth five or six hundred or a thousand pounds, to be deemed by estimation. But as herein all these sorts doo far exceed their elders and predecessors, and in neatnesse and curiositie the merchant all other; so in time past, the costlie furniture staied there, whereas now it is descended yet lower even unto the inferior artificers and manie farmers, who by vertue of their old and not of their new leases have for the most part learned also to garnish their cupbords with plate, their joined beds with tapestrie and silke hangings, and their tables with carpets and fine naperie, whereby the wealth of our countrie (God be praised therefore and give us grace to imploie it well) dooth infinetlie appeare. Neither doo I speak this in reprooch of anie man, God is my judge, but to showe that I do rejoise rather to see how God has blessed us with His good gifts; and whilest I behold how that in a time wherein all things are growen to most excessive prices, and what commoditie soever is to be had is daily plucked from the communaltie by such as looke into every trade, we do yet find the meanes to obtein and achive such furniture as heretofore hath beene unpossible. There are old men yet dwelling in the village where I remaine, which hath noted three things to be marvellously altered in England within their sound remembrance; and other three things too much increased. One is, the multitude of chimnies lately erected, whereas in their yoong daies there were not above two or three, of so many in most uplandish towns of the realme (the religious houses and manour The second is the great (although not generall) amendment of lodging, for (said they) our fathers (yea and we ourselves also) have lien full oft upon straw pallets, on rough mats covered onlie with a sheet under coverlets made of dagswain or hopharlots (I use their owne terms) and a good round log under their heads insteed of a bolster or pillow. If it were so that our fathers or the good man of the house, had within seven yeares after his marriage purchased a matteres or flockebed, and thereto a sacke of chaffe to reste his head upon, he thought himselfe to be well lodged as the lord of the towne, that peradventure laie seldom in a bed of downe or whole fethers: so well were they contented, and with such base kind of furniture: which also is not verie much amended as yet in some parts of Bedfordshire, and elsewhere further off from our southerne parts. Pillowes (said they) were thought meet onelie for women in childbed. As for servants, if they had anie sheet above them it was well, for seldom had they anie under their bodies, to keep them from the pricking straws that ran oft through the canvas of the pallet and rased their hardened hides. The third thing they tell of, is the exchange of vessell, as of treene[10] platters into pewter, and wooden spoones into silver or tin. For so common were all sorts of treene stuffe in old time, that a man should hardlie find foure peeces of pewter (of which one was peradventure a salt) in a good farmer’s house and yet for all this frugalitie (if it may so be justly called) they were scarse able to live and paie their rents at their daies without selling of a cow, or an horsse, or more, although they paid but foure pounds at the uttermost by the year. Such also was their povertie that if some one od farmer or husbandman had beene at the alehouse a thing greatlie used in those daies, amongst six or seven of his neighbours, and there in a braverie to show what store he had, did cast downe his pursse, and therein a noble or six shillings in silver unto them (for few such men then cared for gold bicause it was not so readie paiment and they were oft inforced to give a penie for the exchange of an angell), it was verie likelie that all the rest could not laie downe so much against it; whereas in my time, although peradventure foure pounds of old rent be improved to fortie, fiftie, or an hundred pounds, yet will the farmer as another palme or date tree thinke his gaines verie small toward the end of his terme, if he have not six or seven yeares rent lieng by him, therewith to purchase a new lease, beside a faire garnish of pewter on his cupbord, with so much more in od vessel going about the house, three or foure featherbeds, so many counterlids and carpets of tapistrie, a silver salt, a bowle for wine (if not an whole neast) and a dozzen of spoones to furnish up the sute.” Or, again, to take another contemporary authority (Hall, Society in the Elizabethan Age):— “The furniture of an Elizabethan House is illustrated by an inventory of the Household ‘stuffe, goodes and cattelles’ belonging to Sir Henry Parker knight (1557–60). This inventory shows two chairs only for the whole house; eight stools and forms; two square framed tables; one joined table to say mass on; a pair of ‘playing tables’; twelve bedsteads; tapestry and hangings; featherbeds; blankets; bolsters; testors; curtains; counterpoints (counterpanes); seven cupboards; three carpets; andirons, fire shovels, tongs; thirteen candlesticks; certain cushions of tapestry, velvet, white satin and ‘Brydges’ satin; three great chests; utensils for the kitchen; the Brewhouse and the Bargehouse. The Hall was hung round with tapestry; its permanent furniture consisted of two square tables and one great chair of black velvet in which the Justice of the Peace heard cases. When the tables were spread for dinner or supper, forms were brought in. The ‘Great Chamber,’ formerly called the Lady’s Bower, contained the forms used at meals in the Hall, one stool of black velvet for my Lady; and nothing else! In the bedrooms there were the beds and their blankets and nothing else; not a chair or a table; nothing but the bed—what does one want in a bedroom but the bed to sleep upon? For decorations one room had over the chimney a ‘steyned cloth with Marie and Gabriell.’ Another had curtains of sarcenet; another, of red and green say; another, ‘old tapestrye worke of imagery.’ In one chamber we find a bason and ewer of pewter—was this the only means of washing in the whole house? In the buttery were a dozen of fine trenchers ‘cased’; six glasses; six plates for fruits; a ‘garnish’ of pewter vessels; two pewter plates for tarts. Nothing is said of knives—did each person still carry his own? Even then there must have been carving knives. Forks were not as yet in common use, and nothing is said about spoons.” The inventory of a farmer’s goods about the same time, given in the same work, shows among the household gear, two pewter dishes, three pewter platters, two saucers, four trencher platters, six trencher dishes, two brass kettles, two candlesticks and a chafing dish, eight bowls of wood, twelve trenchers, and twelve trencher spoons; but still nothing about knives. Nor in any of the numerous inventories and accounts given in this book is any mention made of knives. We see, however, in the tables laid upon trestles, the single chair, the forms and stools, the fine tapestry of the Hall, the carpets of the Great Chamber, the testers and the curtains of the bed which stands alone in the bedroom, a compound of state and simplicity; of meanness and richness. Furniture in the modern sense had not yet appeared in the house. To quote from Shakespeare, Gremio, in the Taming of the Shrew, thus speaks of his furniture:— “My house within the city Is richly furnished with plate and gold; Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands; My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry; In ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns; In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, Fine linen, Turkish cushions boss’d with pearl, Valance of Venice gold in needlework, Pewter and brass and all things that belong To house or housekeeping.” Or take the following note of a lady’s room:— “Her bed-chamber was garnished with such diversities of sweete herbes, such varietie of fragrant flowers, such chaunge of odoriferous smelles, so perfumed with sweete odours, so stored with sweete waters, so beautified with tapestry, and decked so artificially, that I want memorie to rehearse it, and cunning to expresse it, so that it seemed her Chamber was rather some terresstriall Paradise, than a mansion for such a matelesse mystresse; rather a tabernacle for some Goddesse, than a lodging for such a loathsome carcase.” The Tudor age was strong in small points of ceremony and etiquette, which descended even to details of housework. For instance, the ceremony to be observed in making the King’s Bed, a thing which we might suppose left to a housemaid, was carefully laid down:— “Furste a groome or a page to take a torche and to goo to the warderobe of the kynges bedd, and brynge theym of the warderobe with the kynges stuff unto the chambr for makyng of the same bedde. Where as sught to be a gentylman-usher iiij yeomen of the chambr for to make the same bedde. The groome to stande at the bedds feete with his torche. They of the warderobe opennyng the kinges stuff of hys bedde upon a fayre sheets betwen the sayde groome and the bedds fote, iij yeomen or two at the lefte in every syde of the bedde. The gentylman usher and parte commaundyng theym what they shall doo. A yoman with a dagger to searche the strawe of the kynges bedde that there be none untreuth therin. And this yoman to caste up the bedde of downe upon that, and oon of theym to tomble over yt for the serche thereof. Then they to bete and tufte the sayde bedde, and to laye oon then the bolster without touchyng of the bedd where as it aught to lye. Then they of the warderobe to delyver theym a fusty and takyng the saye thereof. All theys yomen to laye theyr hands theroon at oone, that they touch not the bedd, tyll yt be layed as it sholde be by the commaundement of the usher. And so the furste sheet in lyke wyse, and then to trusse in both sheete and fustyan rownde about the bedde of downe. The warderoper to delyver the second sheete unto two yomen, they to crosse it over theyr arme, and to stryke the bedde as the ussher shall more playnly sheweun to theym. Then every yoman layeing hande upon the sheete to laye the same sheete Item, a squyer for the bodye or gentylman-usher aught to sett the kynges sword at hys beddes heede. Item, a squyer for the bodye aught to charge a secret groome or page to have the kepynge of the sayde bedde with a lyght, unto the tyme the kynge be disposed to goo to yt. Item, a groome or page aught to take a torche whyle the bedde ys yn makyng to feche a loof of brede, a pott with ale, a pott wyth wine for them that maketh the bedde, and every man. Item, the gentylman-ussher aught to forbede that no manner of man do sett eny dysshe uppon the kinge’s bedde for fere of hurtyng of the kyng’s ryche counterpoynt that lyeth therupon. And that the sayd ussher take goode heede, that noon man wipe or rubbe their handes uppon none arras of the kynges, wherby they myght be hurted, in the chambr where the kyng ys specially, and in all other.” The wealth of the English was not so much illustrated, as it was proved, by their immense stores of silver and silver-gilt plate. The people bought all the plate that they could afford; they put their savings, so to speak, in silver plate, as we put them in stocks and shares. Polydore Vergil says that there were few whose tables were not loaded with spoons, cups, and salt-cellars of silver. At the marriage feast of Prince Arthur there was in the great hall a cupboard five stages in height, set with plate valued at £1200, say £15,000 of our money; while in the chamber where the Princess dined there was a cupboard of gold plate valued at £20,000 or £240,000 in our money. Cardinal Wolsey must have spent Lastly, on the subject of furniture, let me quote from another paper in ArchÆologia, vol. xxxvi. p. 284:— “The furniture of the hall is excessively scanty and plain, consisting of but a single table and two forms, of the total value of 4s. 6d. In the parlour, however, is a much greater abundance of furniture, as, in addition to the main table, there is the side table and another small table, a chair and six stools with embroidered cushions, besides footstools; while for the decoration of the room we find a portrait of Henry VIII. and hangings of green saye, and, for the amusement of the family and guests, a pair of virginals, a base lute, and a guitar, with chess and backgammon boards for those not musically inclined. The children’s chamber, or nursery as we should call it, is comfortably provided with bedding and nursery requisites, and contains a cupboard, two coffers, and a great wicker hamper, as receptacles for the clothes, etc. The allowance of blankets appears but small, being only one pair to a bed, either in the nursery or in the bedroom of the master of the house. The latter room is provided with a walnut-tree bedstead, adorned with green fringe, and having a coverlet of tapestry, a walnut table, chairs and stools, curtains for the windows of green saye, a warming-pan, and, as a ready means of defence against thieves or intruders, a pole-axe. In an inner closet, leading out of this room, are four stills, for the use of the lady of the house. Sir William More’s own closet is so well appointed that it might almost serve as a model for the morning-room of a country squire of the present day. On the walls hang maps of the World, of France, of England, and of Scotland, and a picture of Judith, a little chronicle, and a perpetual almanac in frames. Among the accessories are a globe, a slate to write on, and a counterboard and cast of counters, with which to make calculations and cast accounts, in the manner then in vogue. On the desk are a pair of scales and a set of weights, a pair of scissors, a penknife, a whetstone, a pair of compasses, a foot-rule, a hammer, a seal of many seals, and an inkstand of pewter, with a pounce-box, and pens both of bone and steel. Around the room is a collection of about 120 volumes of books; among them are some of the best chronicles of the time, as Fabyan, Langton, Harding, Carion, etc.; translations from the classics, as well as some in their original language; for magisterial business there are the statutes of Henry VIII., Edward VI., and Mary, and all the statutes before, as well as the New Book of Justices, and other legal works; for medical use we find a Book of Physic, the Glass of Health, and a book against the Sweat, as well as a Book of Medicines for In the closet of the lady of the house are a few more books, principally of prayers, a large collection of trunks and boxes, a number of glass vessels of various forms and uses, and a few of enamel or china, with trenchers, knives, shears, graters, snuffers, moulds, brushes, and other miscellaneous properties of a good housewife.” Water was carried about the City from the conduits by water-carriers called “Cobbs,” who carried it in large tankards, each holding about three gallons. The palmy time of tobacco extended over the fifty years after its introduction. During this time the use of tobacco penetrated all ranks and classes of society. The grave divine, the soldier, the lawyer, the gallant about town, the merchant, the craftsman, the ’prentice, all used pipes. At the theatre the young fellow called for his pipe and for tobacco and began to smoke: presently he rose and walking over to the boxes presented his pipe to any lady of his acquaintance. People went to bed with tobacco box and pipe and candle on a table by the bedside in case they might wake up in the night and feel inclined for tobacco. After supper in a middle-class family, all the men and women smoked together. Nay, it is even stated that the very children in school took a pipe of tobacco instead of breakfast, the master smoking with them and instructing them how to bring the smoke through the nostrils in the fashion of the day. Tobacco was bought and sold in pennyworths. Every man carried a “tobacco box, steel, and touch.” Early in the seventeenth century there are said to have been 7000 tobacconists’ shops in London. This seems incredible; perhaps there were 7000 shops in which tobacco was sold. For instance, all apothecaries sold tobacco. Many of the tobacco shops were of handsome appearance. A tobacco shop had a maple block for cutting the leaf; tongs for holding the coals, and a fire of juniper at which the pipes were lighted. Tobacco was so cheap that a man might fill his pocket with it for twopence. Yet over £300,000 a year was spent in London on tobacco, while there were some—but this is impossible—who were reported to spend, habitually, £400 a year upon tobacco alone; that is, 48,000 pocketsful every year, or 130 pocketsful every day; which is absurd. Expletives and oaths are changed with every generation. The Elizabethans had, no doubt, a great many, of which the following represent but a few. The old Catholic oaths “By’r Lady,” “By the Mass,” and so forth, vanished with the Reformation. We now find a lot of meaningless ejaculations, such as “God’s Every merchant formerly carried a signet-ring, on which was engraved, not his coat-of-arms, but his mark or signet. Thus, a curious signet-ring was found lying in the bed of the river while digging the foundations of London Bridge. At first it was believed to be Sir Thomas Gresham’s, but that seems now to be impossible. It is engraved in The London and Middlesex Notebook (p. 195). The device contains the initials of the owner, with an arrangement of lines probably not intended to have any meaning except that they should be recognised as forming part of Sir Thomas Gresham’s signet. Armed with this ring as an introduction, a messenger could buy and sell for the merchant—it being presumed that the ring never left its owner save to be used as a letter of recommendation and introduction. Sometimes the signet-ring was worn on the thumb. Other merchants’ devices are figured in the “Notebook.” Foreigners have revealed to us some very curious and rather startling peculiarities of the custom of kissing as practised by our ancestors. Thus as early as 1466 a Bohemian nobleman named Leo von Rozmital visited England, and in the Journal of his Travel (1577) it is noted that “it is the custom there, that on the arrival of a distinguished stranger from foreign parts, maids and matrons go to the inn and welcome him with gifts. Another custom is observed there, which is that, when guests arrive at an inn, the hostess with all her family go out to meet and receive them; and the guests are required to kiss them all, and this among the English was the same as shaking hands among other nations.” Erasmus, in 1499, wrote a Latin letter from England to his friend Fausto Anfrelini, an Italian poet, exhorting him in a strain of playful levity to think no more of his gout, but to betake himself to England; for (he remarks) “here are girls with angels’ faces, so kind and obliging, that you would far prefer them to all your Muses. Besides, there is a custom here never to be sufficiently recommended. Wherever you come you are received with a kiss by all; when you take your leave you are dismissed with kisses; you return, kisses are repeated. They come to visit you, kisses again; they leave you, you kiss them all round. Should they meet you anywhere, kisses in abundance; in fine, wherever you move, there is nothing but kisses.” In 1527 Cardinal Wolsey was appointed Ambassador Extraordinary to France. He was accompanied by George Cavendish, his gentleman usher, who wrote a Life of the Cardinal. Cavendish had gone forward to prepare his lord’s lodging. He says: “And I being there (at the Sire de CrÉqui’s Castle at Moreuil, about twelve miles from Amiens) tarrying a while, my lady CrÉqui In Shakespeare’s Henry VIII., at the Cardinal’s banquet, the King says to Anne Bullen:— In dancing it appears to have been the customary fee of a lady’s partner. A further illustration of the custom may be seen. Foreigners of the male sex, and especially Frenchmen, are in the more frequent habit of kissing each other, and probably not the ladies. Misson, a Frenchman who travelled in England about 1697, says: “The people of England, when they meet, never salute one another, otherwise than by giving one another their hands, and shaking them heartily; they no more dream of pulling off their hats, than the women do of pulling off their headcloths.” The sin of great cities we may pass over; that of early marriage is still, as it was in Stubbes’ time, a very terrible evil; the sin of drunkenness is with us still, and is present in every country. The side of charity that consists in giving doles to the
As for the boys of this century, I have always thought their favourite haunt was the river, or the river-side. On the river they rowed about among the fishermen, and the swans above Bridge; the Queen’s Barge swept past them with its trumpets and its hangings gorgeous to behold; the Lord Mayor and the Companies were borne along before them in state and splendour such as we have forgotten—surely nothing could have been more splendid than these barges with their long lines of flashing oars and their bows gilt and carved, and the carved work of the covered seat of state, and the servants in their green and gold. Below Bridge, in the Port, they rowed in and out among the ships as boys will about Portsmouth Harbour now; the name of each ship with her port was written on her lofty stern. The figure-head of each was bright as paint and gold would make it. If they were allowed to go on board there were sailors full of yarns, with strange things to show as well as to tell. If they went as far down as Deptford, there was Drake’s ship, the ship which had gone all round the world—all round the world! If they stayed ashore, there were taverns in Wapping and St. Katherine’s, where they could snatch the fearful joy of seeing the sailors drink and fight, the foreign sailors and the English sailors, and the sailors from the North Country, and those of London and the Cinque Ports. The river and the river-side were famous schools to fill the minds of London boys with an ardour for adventure; a yearning for the way of war; a burning desire to cross the seas and visit far countries; and a thirst for geography; and all the London boys of every class regularly attended the classes of this Academy. The theatre, of course, offers a fine field for the Elizabethan satirist, Stubbes. He cannot find words strong enough to condemn the playgoer. Then there is that other source and fount of laughter, the Lord of Misrule.
The custom of church ales is described by Stubbes with his customary vigour:—
They pretend, he says, to repair their churches with money so got:—
Of wakes and feasts and “the horrible vice of pestiferous dancing” we need say little. Nor of music, “how it allureth to vanitie”; nor of cards, dice, tennis, and bowls, all of which we still practise; nor of the bear-baiting which we have now discontinued. Of the reading of bad books we may still complain after the manner of Stubbes. In a word, his Book of Lamentations would serve with slight alterations for to-day as well as his own age. On the exchange of English goods for foreign trifles, I find a note in Furnivall’s edition of Stubbes’ Anatomy:— “Thou must carry beside, leather, tallow, beef, bacon, bell-metal and everything: And for these good commodities, trifles into England thou must bring, As bugles to make bables, coloured bones, glass beads to make bracelets withal, For every day gentlewomen of England do ask for such trifles from stall to stall: And you must bring more, as amber, jet, coral, crystal, and every such bable That is slight, pretty, and pleasant: they care not to have it profitable. And if they demand wherefore your wares and merchandise agree, You must say ‘jet will take up a straw: amber will make one fat: Coral will look pale when you be sick, and crystal staunch blood,’ So with lying, flattering and glosing, you must utter your ware, And you shall win me to your will, if you can deceitfully swear. . . . . . . . Lucre. Then, Signor Mercatore, I am forthwith to send ye From hence to search for some new toys in Barbary and in Turkey; Such trifles as you think will please wantons best, For you know in this country ’tis their chiefest request. Mercatore. Indeed, de gentlewomans here buy so much vain toys Dat we strangers laugh-a to tink wherein dey have their joys.” The suppressing of the Religious Houses produced, for a time, a great deal of hardship and difficulty. For not only were the friars turned out into the streets, but all the people living upon the monasteries were deprived of their daily bread; many of these unfortunates took to the road and became tramps, vagabonds, masterless men and thieves; many took refuge in those parts of London which were outside the jurisdiction of the City. London, indeed, was the place which the masterless man regarded as a veritable Paradise. They flocked up to London from all quarters; they were constantly being turned out and as constantly coming back again. When Queen Elizabeth once drove out to the country cottage of Islington, she was mobbed by a gang of vagabonds who accosted her with clamours; they harboured in the brick kilns there. In some parts close to London, as Hyde Park Corner and Lincoln’s Inn Fields, no one would venture after dark. Men took arms into their bedrooms at night, ready for use. Generally it seems that they hung a drawn sword at the bedside. The ’prentices, however, were the best protectors to a house. They slept in the shop, if there were a shop; or if there were no shop they slept somewhere on the ground floor, as is evident from the edifying revelations of “Meriton Latron,” in which it is shown how easily the ’prentices could get out at night for these riotous and profligate meetings and drinkings. I suppose it matters nothing that this writer belongs to the next century. In such small matters the world is conservative. According to this authority, it was common for ’prentices to rob their masters, exchanging with each other or holding a kind of auction in their taverns at night. The time when the City was most free from crimes was when the men had been called out to follow the flag and fight. The worst time was after the war, when they all came back again to their old haunts, thirsting for their old amusements and more disinclined for work than ever. The manner and times of taking food under the Tudors may be summed up as follows:— For breakfast, those who made a meal before dinner at all, took, in the country, pottage, and, in town, “muskadel and eggs,” or bread-and-butter with a draught of small ale. The Princess Mary, in 1533, used to eat so much meat for breakfast that she terrified her physicians. It does not appear, however, that the workpeople took anything at all unless it were a draught of small ale before their dinner at ten. The hour of dinner varied during the century from ten till twelve. For children there was “nuntion” or luncheon before dinner and a “bever” or slight repast between dinner and supper. Venner recommends no breakfast at all, but to wait for dinner. If, however, one cannot wait, then he advises poached eggs, with salt, pepper, a little vinegar, bread-and-butter and claret. When Cosmo, Duke of Tuscany, came to the country he visited Colonel John Nevill, and had breakfast with him, drinking Italian wine. The dinners were plentiful and varied. A salad was served first, then the beef and mutton; next fowls, and fish; game followed, woodcock being the most plentiful; and pastry and sweets came last. Honey was poured over the meat. The most important part of the meal, however, was the “banquet” or dessert which followed: at this part of the dinner an amazing quantity of sweetmeats was taken; for this every one adjourned to another room in winter; to the garden in summer. In the winter fresh meat was not always to be had: most people laid in large quantities of beef in October and November, which they salted. The markets, however, made up for the absence of fresh meat by the abundance of all kinds of birds which were brought into London; they were trapped, or shot with sling and stone, in the marshes along the lower reaches of the Thames. Pork could be had all the year round. Fresh fish was generally plentiful, but it was sometimes dear. At such times the people fell back upon stockfish, which was often bad and the cause of much disease. Herrings were brought by sea from Yarmouth in barrels, The food of the sixteenth century was more stimulating than our own: the only drink was fermented and alcoholic, even the small beer which was the national beverage; there was no tea or coffee; vast quantities of wine were taken; there were nearly a hundred different kinds, more than half being French. Wine of Bordeaux was sold at 8d. the gallon; Spanish wine at 1s. In drinking sack, the cup was half filled with sugar. Indeed, sugar or honey was taken with everything: with roast meat, with wine, and in the form of sweetmeats; so that the teeth of most people were black in consequence. A diet so stimulating could not fail to produce its effects in causing the people to be more easily moved to wrath, to love, to pity, to jealousy—than a diet composed of tea and coffee. There can be no doubt whatever that all classes of men and women were far readier with hand and tongue than at present; swifter to wrath; more prone to sudden outbursts; more quick with dagger or sword. Their tables were set out on trestles for the dinner and removed after dinner. People sat on stools; the floor was strewn with rushes; the tables, not the floors, were covered with rich carpets. A piece of the table furniture which has long since disappeared was the Roundel. It is supposed to have been used for fruit. A set of Roundels, not quite perfect, is described in ArchÆologia (vol. xxxix.). They are circular and of wood, the upper side perfectly plain; the lower side is partly covered with black paint or dye and partly white. A legend, in rhyme, runs round the outer edge, and within is a figure with a number. The figure and letters are gilt. In this example nine trenchers out of the twelve represent the Courtier, the Country gentleman, the Lawyer, and so forth—characters of the time, the verses being taken from a book called The XII. Wonders of the World. It is pleasing to learn from Harrison of the reform introduced in his own time by the revival of the custom of taking vegetables of all kinds and plentifully. He says:— “Such herbes, fruits, and roots also as grow yeerlie out of the ground, of seed, have been verie plentifull in this land, in the time of the first Edward, and after his daies; but in processe of time they grew also to be neglected, so that from Henrie the fourth till the latter end of Henrie the seventh, and beginning of Henrie the eight, there was little or no use of them in England, but they remained either unknowne, or supposed as food more meet for hogs and savage beasts to feed upon than mankind. Whereas in my time their use is not onlie resumed among the poore commons, I mean of melons, pompions, gourds, cucumbers, radishes, skirets, parsneps, carrets, cabbages, nauewes, turneps, and all kinds of salad herbs, but also fed upon as deintie dishes at the tables of delicate merchants, The Flemings commenced the first market-gardens. Lettuce was served as a separate dish, and eaten at supper before meat. Capers were usually eaten boiled with oil and vinegar, as a salad. Eschalots were used to smear the plate before putting meat on it. Carrots had been introduced by the Flemings. Rhubarb, then called Patience, came from China about 1573. The common people ate turnip-leaves as a salad, and roasted the root in wood-ashes. Watercress was believed to restore the bloom to young ladies’ cheeks. They used mustard and horse-radish; they took anchovies with wine; they took olives with wine; they had boiled oysters; boiled radishes, artichokes raw or boiled; they poured honey or spread sugar over their beef and mutton; they served pork in many ways, but if roasted, then with green sauce of sorrel; salmon they stuck with cloves; they ate porpoises; turkeys were roasted with cloves; peacocks they roasted while they were still under a year old; pigeons they stuffed with sour grapes or unripe gooseberries; rabbits were cheap and plentiful; pies of all kinds were very popular. They made salad out of barberries in pickle or with lettuces as in modern fashion. In the ordinaries and taverns there were no wine-glasses: people drank out of green pots made of white clay. They took supper at six; this was a smaller meal than dinner, but yet a plentiful meal. In a word, the Elizabethan Englishman lived much as the modern Frenchman lives: he took two meals a day and no more. In the principal ordinaries and inns musicians attended; even in the cheaper ones a viol de gamba was kept for everybody who could play; men dined for choice at the ordinary, which was a great deal cheaper than the tavern; it was not customary for the ladies to appear at taverns. An inn was known by its painted lattice; all kinds of wine could be had at most taverns, but foreign wines were sold to the general public by apothecaries. Waiters wore aprons. In private houses, but not at ordinaries and taverns, the silver fork had been introduced. “The laudable use of forks, Brought into custom here, as they are in Italy, To th’ sparing o’ napkins.” And in Ben Jonson’s Volpone, “Then must you learn the use And handling of your silver fork at meals.” I have found inventories of household goods as late as the end of the seventeenth century without any mention of forks. I am inclined, therefore, to believe that they came into use very slowly, and that the old fashion of eating with a knife, fingers, and bread, lasted in country houses at least until the end of the seventeenth century. It is a survival of the old manner of eating which makes the lower class “eat with their knives.” Let me add that in my own recollection the practice has almost entirely disappeared. Forty years ago one could not take dinner at a tavern or an eating-house without seeing some of the company helping themselves with their knives. Here is the bill of a dinner given to the Lord Treasurer, the Chancellor, the Lord Chief Baron, and others not named, on 4th June 1573:—
Unfortunately these bills never contain the whole. It is of course impossible to believe that one shilling and fourpence represents the whole of the wine consumed on this occasion. Ben Jonson thus ridicules the care and thought expended upon feasting:— “A master-cook! why, he’s the man of men For a professor! he designs, he draws, He paints, he carves, he builds, he fortifies, Makes citadels of curious fowl and fish, Some he dry-dishes, some moats round with broths: Mounts marrow-bones, cuts fifty-angled custards, Rears bulwark pies, and for his outer works He raiseth ramparts of immortal crust; And teacheth all the tactics at one dinner: What ranks, what files, to put his dishes in: The whole art military. Then he knows The influence of the stars upon his meats, And all their seasons, tempers, qualities, And so to fit his relishes and sauces. He had nature in a pot, ’bove all the chymists, Or airy brethren of the Rosie-cross. He is an architect, an engineer, A soldier, a physician, a philosopher, A general mathematician.” And again in his dream of luxurious living:— “We will be brave, Puff, now we have the med’cine. My meat shall all come in, in Indian shells, Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies. The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels’ heels, Boil’d in the spirit of sol, and dissolv’d pearl, Apicius’ diet, ’gainst the epilepsy; And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber, Headed with diamond and carbuncle. My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calver’d salmons, Knots, godwits, lampreys: I myself will have The beards of barbels served instead of salads.” The Alchemist. And this for a more sober supper, yet not without its points of excellence:— “Yet shall you have to rectify your palate, An olive, capers, or some better salad Ushering the mutton; with a short legg’d hen, If we can get her full of eggs, and then, Limons, and wine for sauce; to these, a coney Is not to be despar’d of for our money; And though fowl now be scarce, yet there are clerks, The sky not falling, think we may have larks, I’ll tell you of more, and lie, so you will come: Of partridge, pheasant, woodcock, of which some May yet be there; and godwit if we can: Knat, rail, and ruf too, howsoe’er, my man Shall read a piece of Virgil, Tacitus, Livy, or of some better book to us, Of which we’ll speak our minds, amidst our meat; And I’ll profess no verses to repeat. To this, if aught appear, which I not know of, That will the pastry, not my paper, show of. Digestive cheese, and fruit there sure will be; But that which most doth take my muse and me, Is a pure cup of rich Canary wine, Which is the Mermaid’s now, but shall be mine: Of which had Horace or Anacreon tasted, Their lives, as do their lines, till now had lasted. Tobacco, nectar, or the Thespian spring, Are all but Luther’s beer to this I sing.” The greatest attention was paid to the service of the table: not only, for instance, must the carving be performed in manner peculiar to each kind of creature, but each creature had its own verb signifying its carving. The terms used for carving are curious and now completely forgotten:— “Breke that deer; lesche that brawn; rere that goose; lyfte that swanne; sauce that capon; spoil that hen; fruche that chekyn; unbrace that mallard; unlace that conye; desmembre that heron; display that crane; dysfygure that pecocke; unjoint that byterrne; untache that curlewe; allay that desande; wynge that The way in which the table was to be served was presented, in general terms, as follows:— “Slow be the servers in serving, alwaye, But swift be they after, taking meate away; A special custom used is them amonge, No good dishe to suffer on borde to be longe. If the dishe be pleasante, whether fleshe or fishe, Ten hande at once swarme in the dishe; And if it be fleshe, ten knives shalt thou see Mangling the fleshe, and in the platter flee; Put there thy hands in peryl without fayle Without a gauntlet or a glove of mayle.” Antiquary’s Portfolio, p. 130. And next in minute detail. Thus including the reception of a guest. Let us first remember that the plates were commonly of bread, but sometimes of wood. When they were of bread, the loaves were first carefully pared; then the butler placed the salt-cellar before the principal guest, and in front of the salt-cellar, upon the carving knives, he was to place the bread. But before Grace this was to be removed, and replaced in thick slices one upon the other.
After the dinner was eaten what remained was taken down for the servants, and whatever was left over when these had finished was bestowed upon the poor who sat outside the doors waiting their turn. The drink was served in silver cups and bowls, or else in goblets of Venetian glass from Murano; the poorer sort had pots of earthenware bound or set in silver and perhaps pewter. As a rule not more than two or three dishes were served at a gentleman’s table where there was no company. This, however, was not the case when a feast was provided, or by the merchants for themselves. Then such meat as is killed and provided by the butcher was rejected as not worthy of the occasion.
Every kind of wine was served at these banquets, e.g. the fifty-six various kinds of “small wines” as Claret, White, Red, French, etc.; but also of the thirty kinds of Italian, German, Spanish, Canary, etc. And besides these here were the artificial drinks such as Hypocras and Wormwood wine, besides ale and beer. The craftsman lived in great plenty: his diet was commonly beef, mutton, veal and pork; besides which he had brawn, bacon, pies of fruit, fowls, cheese, butter and eggs. At weddings, purifications, and so forth, the friends contributed each a dish of some kind, and the feasting that went on was incredible. At table the custom among the gentry and better sort was to observe great silence during the dinner, and on no account to show any sign of being the worse for the wine they had taken. Enough grain was grown in the country to supply it with bread; a good deal of bread was made of oats and rye; in times of dearth beans, peas, and lentils were ground up. Of home-made drinks besides ale and beer there were cider, perry, and, especially among the Welsh, mead or metheglin.
An oyster feast in the morning seems unusual and unexpected in a town of working men. We may read, however, how, on 30th July 1557, a company of citizens met in the cellar of Master Smyth and Master Gytton in Amber Lane, at eight o’clock in the morning. They devoured between them half a bushel of oysters, sitting upon hogsheads by candlelight; the oysters were accompanied by onions—was there no bread, or bread-and-butter? Only onions? And they drank with their oysters and onions copious bowls of red ale, claret, muscadel, and malmsey. It hardly seems a good beginning of the day so far as concerns work. In these degenerate days a repast of oysters and onions, with ale and muscadel, claret and malmsey, would prove a fatal feast indeed. Walker & Cockerell. Here is a note on an Elizabethan ordinary:—
The following is contemporary evidence. It is taken from the Antiquarian Repertory (vol. iv. p. 512), 1558:—
A few more notes on food. They drank brewis, that is, the pot liquor with bread in it; they were fond of pigs’ faces washed and dressed by the housewife; they bought tripe in Eastcheap, and poultry in Gracechurch Street; they drank wines with strange names: Pedro Ximenes, Charnico, Eleatica. The clerks took their dinner at the cooks’ shops by messes of so many; the portion of the whole mess was served in a dish and one divided the food, after which they helped themselves by seniority; a yeoman’s fare was bread, beef, and beer. The poor man was served from the basket which stood in the hall and received broken meats. The Sheriffs sent such baskets and other food to the prisons. The citizens’ proverbial Sunday dinner was neck of beef. In the Elizabethan age, the poet, satirists, and preachers are so full of the subject of feminine fashions that it becomes of great importance. The increase of wealth and the growing power of the middle class give a greater prominence to women’s dress, while the improvement in the streets and the roads, the introduction of coaches and the development of outdoor amusements, theatres, shows, masques, gardens, and water-parties bring the wives and daughters of London more into the open. It was a time of great expenditure upon clothes; the fashions were rich and costly; the custom was to make what we should call an ostentatious display of wealth. Ben Jonson and the dramatists are full of the extravagance of City madams. Not only did the ladies wear rich dresses; they prided themselves upon possessing a great number—as many as they could afford; in every house At the beginning of her reign the Queen, who set the fashion, wore a small ruff, with a kerchief about her neck; a kind of coat of black velvet and ermine fastened at the throat only; with a waistcoat and kirtle below of white silk or silver embroidered with black; on the shoulders were humps, and the sleeves were large. Stubbes abuses the fashion because it is “proper only to a man, yet they blush not to wear it.” The cap or coif was adorned with strings of pearls. Lawn and cambric ruffs came in shortly after Elizabeth’s accession. A Flemish woman named Van der Plasse came over and set up as a starcher of ruffs. The mere mention of starch made Stubbes furiously angry; the ruff was a “master devil”; the devil himself invented starch. The custom of wearing whalebone to imprison the figure down to the hips also began early in the reign; a long stomacher descended in front, and from the hips stood out the farthingale, horizontally; a hideous thing which was perpetuated in the hoop for two hundred years. As for the gowns they were made, to the Their stockings were made of the finest cloth, yarn, or worsted; silk stockings were presented to the Queen in her third year; knitted worsted stockings were introduced from Italy; the stockings of the fine ladies were “curiously indented in every point with quicks, clocks, and open seams.” They wore cork shoes made, like the petticoats and kirtle, of anything that was costly and rare and could be embroidered. The fashions of wearing the hair were endless. It was curled in innumerable curls; it was crisped; it was built up over a cushion; it was laid out over the forehead; it was ornamented with jewels, gold, wreaths of silver and gold, and kept in place with hairpins; the women wore over their hair French hoods, “The cappe on hyre heade Is lyke a sowes mawe; Such another facion I thynke never Jewe sawe. Then fyne geare on the foreheade After the newe trycke, Though it coste a crowne or two, What then? They may not stycke. If theyr heyr wyl not take colour, Then must they buy newe, And laye it out in tussocks; This thynge is too true, At each syde a tussocke As bygge as a ball. Hyr face faire payned To make it shine bright And her bosom all bare, Hyr mydle braced in As small as a wande; And some buy water of qyre At the paste wyf’s hande.” As for the merchants’ wives, their dress is described in the following lines:— “You wore Satin on solemn days, a chain of gold, A velvet hood, rich borders, and sometimes A dainty miniver cap, a silver pin, Headed with a pearl worth threepence.” It was a common practice to entice little children into private places and unfrequented courts there to cut off their long hair to be made up into false hair for women. Long and beautiful hair was in great request by the fashionable dames of the time. Brides especially went to the altar with flowing locks, the longer the better. “Come, come, my Lord, untie your folded thoughts, And let them dangle loose as a bride’s hair.” In a word, the Elizabethan fine lady was very fine indeed; much more artificial than her grandmother, and much less beautiful therefore. She painted her face; she dyed her hair, sometimes changing the colour from time to time, a practice which explains the different colour of the hair in Queen Mary’s portraits. She used perfumes copiously; she carried a large feather fan with a costly handle of silver or ivory. She also carried a mirror hanging from her girdle with which to contemplate the thing she loved best—her own face, made up, painted, and set in the frame of ruff and cap; strings of pearls were round the cap and a gold chain round the throat. And she frequented, but secretly, the wise women—there were scores of them in the city—who knew secrets ineffable—secrets that were like magic; perhaps they were magic—for the FOR LADIES’ COMPLEXIONS “Wit. They have Water of gourds, of radish, the white beans, Flowers of glass, of thistles, rose-marine, Raw honey, mustard seed, and bread dough baked, The crums of bread, goat’s-milk, and whites of eggs, Camphire, and lily-roots, the fat of swans, Marrow of veal, white pigeons, and pine-kernals, The seeds of nettles, purseline, and hare’s-gall: Lemons, thin-skinn’d—— Lady E. How her ladyship has studied All excellent things! Wit. But ordinary, madam: No, the true rarities are the alvagada And argentata of queen Isabella. Lady T. Ay, what are their ingredients, gentle madam? Wit. Your allum scagliola, or pol di pedra: And zuccarino: turpentine of Abezzo, Wash’d in nine waters: soda dilevants, Or your fern ashes: benjamin di gotta: Grasso di serpe: porceletto marino: Oils of lentisco: zucche mugia: make The admirable varnish for the face, Gives the right lustre: but two drops rubb’d on With a piece of scarlet, makes a lady of sixty Look as sixteen. But above all, the water Of the white hen, of the lady Estifania’s. Lady T. O, ay, that same, good madam, I have heard of: How is it done? Wit. Madam, you take your hen, Plume it, and skin it, cleanse it o’ the inwards: Then chop it bones and all: add to four ounces: Of carravicins, pipitas, soap of Cyprus, Make the decoction, strain it: then distil it, And keep it in your gallipot well gliddered: Three drops preserves from wrinkles, warts, spots, moles, Blemish, or sun-burnings: and keeps the skin In decimo sexto, ever bright and smooth, As any looking-glass: and indeed is call’d A ceruse, neither cold or heat, oglio reale: And mix’d with oil of myrrh and the red gilliflower, Call’d cataputia, and flowers of rovistico, Makes the best muta or dye of the whole world.” The stuffs worn by gentlemen were taffeta; mockado—an inferior velvet; grogram—a cheaper taffeta; quellio for the ruff; tamin; sendall; and many others which are now mere words. The poorer women, not to be outdone more than was necessary, bought the same clothes, made in the same style, of the fripperer, or Men were never so affected and so splendid in their dress as in the sixteenth century. They wore earrings; they wore costly brooches in their hats; the great nobles wore strings of pearls; they had thumb rings; they carried jewelled daggers; they carried a case of toothpicks with them; they carried their own napkins to the taverns; they had a favourite lock of hair, which they curled and treated tenderly, tying a rose to it or a bunch of ribbons; they wore their hair and their beards in fantastic ways, either after the French, Italian, or Spanish manner. As for the younger men, they played the usual tricks. That is to say, they tried to make the waist small; they wore “grulled calves”; they “bleached their hands at midnight, gumming and triding their beards.” Sleeves were slashed; girdles were hung with mirrors; the head was set in a ruff; high-heeled shoes raised the stature; men’s cloaks were of velvet trimmed with lace; buttons, buckles, and clasps were of gold; the hats were adorned with feathers. Tavern life in the time of the Tudors was picturesque and pleasant. The taverns were frequented not only by gallants and merchants, but by ladies. Suppers, it is true, were given to bona robas; the viol de gamba played for The City Trained Bands were gorgeous in white doublets, with the City arms before and behind; the men-servants wore gorgeous liveries. Dress to a certain extent indicated class. Law and Divinity wore black. Furred gowns and satin sleeves marked the Sheriff or the Alderman. The plain citizen wore a cloak of brown or chocolate colour; the craftsman wore a doublet of cloth, or leather, with a leather belt, and in winter an overcoat down to the knees or the ankles. The following is the description of a runaway page:—
’Prentices wore a dress very much like that of the Blue Coat Boys, but with a flat cap. A citizen’s servant wore a blue livery. Knots of ribbons were tied on the shoes. The women gathered round the conduit and the bakehouse for gossip. The tradesmen issued their own tokens which passed current. Girls who served in the shops were taken on Sundays by their sweethearts to Islington or Pimlico. Shops were furnished with cudgels for the use of ’prentices in case of a fight. The cudgels were called by various endearing names, but the favourite name was a “Plymouth Cloak.” Clothes were washed at the riverside on wood or a flat stone. The love of fine dress is charged as a fault of the fair Londoners. Why they should be blamed for desiring what all men desire, viz. the appearance of bravery and splendour, is hard to understand. The sumptuary laws which were passed from time to time appear to have been intended not so much to prevent the gratification of this instinctive desire as to make different classes proclaim their rank and station by their dress. A tradesman, in fact, must not appear as a gentleman; nor a craftsman as a master. In a word, there was a constant feeling that rank should be indicated by outward apparel, and that every one should proclaim his station by his garments. Thus the Act of 1464 ordered
To those who take the worthy Philip Stubbes quite seriously and literally, the Elizabethan age will appear more than commonly wicked and unscrupulous; to
Marriages took place at an earlier age than is now common, both for men “Twenty winters have I seen, And as many summers greene, ’Tis long enough to breed despaire So long a maidenhead to beare; ’Tis a burden of such waight That I would faine be eas’d of’t straight; But alasse! I am afraid I shall live and die a maid.” The betrothal took place forty days before the wedding:— “A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands, Attested by the holy close of lips, Strengthened by interchangement of your rings; And all the ceremony of this compact Seal’d in my function, by my testimony.” To make the betrothal binding there were, therefore, four points to be observed: (1) The joining of hands; (2) the exchange of kisses; (3) the exchange of rings; (4) the testimony of witnesses. After the betrothal, the wedding:—
The wedding customs were very pretty. The bride, like all unmarried women, wore a dress which exposed a portion of her bosom—you may see how far the exposure went by looking at any portrait of Queen Elizabeth; she wore her hair flowing. Some girls married very early, even at fifteen, which was considered quite old enough to undertake the duties of a wife. On the way to and from the church, wheat was thrown on the head of the bride, just as rice is thrown now, as a symbol of fruitfulness to follow. The wedding guests wore scarves, gloves, and favours; cake—the bride-cake—was taken to the Church and distributed after the ceremony; brooches were also given to the young men and maidens present. Then the cup of wine was sent round: the “knitting” cup, or the “contracting” cup; and then, carrying in her hand a piece of gilt rosemary, the bride led the way home, where, for three days, festivities, masques, mumming, music, dancing, feasting, and drinking were carried on. In some of the churches special pews were provided for newly married couples, who sat in In 1584 the Puritans got in a Bill permitting to marry at all seasons and on every day of the year. It had been the endeavour of the Bishops to keep Lent as a season in which there was to be no marrying or giving in marriage. Meantime, the keeping of Lent remained, if only as an outward sign of revolt against the Puritans. When there was a christening it was conducted in the mother’s bedroom. After the service, the sponsors presented “Postle Spoons”; then, of course, they sat down to a solid feast, or, at least, a drink—nothing could be done without a drink; comfits were handed round with the wine, and it was not unusual for some of the guests to go away royally drunk. An example of a marriage feast is that of one Coke, citizen, with the daughter of Mr. Nicolls, Master of London Bridge. My Lord Mayor and all the Aldermen, with many ladies and other worshipful men and women, were present at the wedding. Mr. Bacon, an eminent divine, preached the wedding sermon. After the discourse the company went home to the Bridge House to dinner, where was as good cheer as ever was known—Stow says so, and he knew very well—with all manner of music and dancing, and at night a masque till midnight. But this was only half the feast, for next day the wedding was again kept at the Bridge House with great cheer. After supper more mumming, after that more masques. One was in cloth of gold, the next consisted of friars, and the third of nuns. First the friars and the nuns danced separately, one company after the other, and then they danced together. At a funeral the mourners first assembled at the house where lay the coffin. Here the clergyman made a speech on the virtues of the deceased. On the Master Flammock, grocer, who died in 1560, was apparently a Puritan. Many gowns were bestowed by his executors; he was taken to the church without singing or clerks, and was buried with a psalm, “after Genevay,” and a sermon. Lady Dobbes, the wife of Sir Richard Dobbes, was buried with a pennon of armes and four dozen and five escutcheons; many black gowns were given. “Master Recherdson mad the sermon, and the clarkes syngyng and a dolle of money of xx nobulles, and a grete dinner after and the compane of the Skynners in ther leverey.” Master Hulson, scrivener, was one of the Masters in Bridewell; so the Masters of Bridewell attended his funeral with green staves in their hands, and all their children, “and there was great syngyng as ever was heard.” And when we have added that after most of these notes occur this passage, “And all dune to the place, fir there was a great dener,” we have said all that need be said about a civic funeral. One detail is not mentioned by Machyn. This is the custom observed till quite recently in Yorkshire, of hanging a garland or wreath of ribbons in the chancel of a church when a girl died unmarried. This custom had many forms, one or other of which was certainly observed in London. It was considered unlucky to carry away a piece of ribbon; if the wreath dropped to pieces, all the pieces were buried in the churchyard. Persons of distinction continued to be buried within the walls of the church. Some Companies and some parish churches still preserve funeral palls which have been presented to them at various times for the use of the members and parishioners. Thus, in May 1848, Mr. William Wansey, Prime Warden of the Fishmongers’ Company, exhibited a funeral pall of most beautiful and elaborate workmanship, formed of cloth of gold richly embroidered.
“By an Act of Parliament, 27 Henry II., 1181, called ‘An Assize of Arms,’ confirmed and enlarged by 13 Edward I., 1285, every man, according to his estate and degree, was obliged to provide a determinate quantity of such arms and armour as were then in use.[11] Constables were provided to see that their arms were correct, and proper persons, at stated periods, were appointed to muster and train them. There was an ancient and time-honoured march, known as the “old English march,” which fell into disuse some time before the accession of Charles the First, when Sir Edward Cecil, Lord Wimbledon, persuaded the King to issue a warrant, ordering it to be revived. The point raised is extremely interesting. The Warrant runs thus—it is dated 7th Feb. 1632:—“Whereas the ancient custome of Nations hath ever bene to use one certaine and constant forme of march in the warres, whereby to be distinguished one from another: and whereas the march of this our About the time of Henry the Seventh we first find mention made of coat- and conduct-money, a clothing allowance and subsistence for men on joining the army, which was sometimes advanced by the counties where the men were raised, to be afterwards repaid by the Government. These charges varied according to the times. In 1492 the conduct-money was calculated at the rate of 6d. for every twenty miles each soldier should march, to be reckoned from his residence to the place of joining the army; each soldier to swear to the number of the miles marched by him. In 1574 it was fixed at a halfpenny per mile. In 1627, coat-money to have been settled at 12s. 6d., and conduct-money at 8d. per diem, accounting twelve miles for a day’s march. In 1640 it was 8d. per diem, but the day’s march was not less than fifteen miles. In dress and weapons armour had not yet disappeared, but it was much less cumbrous. The corselet, with a morion, or open head-piece, and thigh guards were still in general use; but plates of armour were frequently fastened to any Musters of the citizens were frequent in the reign of Henry the Eighth and Queen Elizabeth.[12] A history of the muster of the citizens on the 8th of May 1539, the 31st of Henry the Eighth, is given at length in the Records of the Corporation, Journal 14, folio 166. “They marched from Mile end to Whitehall, and from thence to Leadenhall, Sir Wm. Forman, Knt., Lord Mayor was in bright harness, whereof the curass, the maynsers, gaunteletts and other parts were gilt upon the crests and bordures, and with that he had a coat of black velvet with a rich cross embroidered, and a great massy chain of gold about his neck, and on his head a cap of black velvet with a rich jewel, he had a goodly jennett richly trapped, with embroidery of gold set upon crimson velvet. About him attended 4 foot men, all apparelled in white satin hose and all puffed over with white sarcenet.” In 1559, July 2 and 3, according to Stow’s Chronicle, edit. 1615, p. 639, “the Citizens mustered before Queen Elizabeth in Greenwich Park, 1400 men being present; 800 pikemen in fine corselets; 400 harquebuts in shirts of maile, with morins; and 200 halberters in Alman rivets.” A large number of the citizens were also present. The price of armour at this date, as given in several records, was for “a Corslett, 30s.; Harquebus complete, 8s.; a Murrion, 6s. 8d.; Almaine rivette, 10s.; a musket, flask, touch-box and tassels, 17s. 6d.; Gunpowder, 12d. per pound.” Here, for instance (ArchÆologia, vol. xxxii. p. 32), is an account of a muster before Henry the Eighth.
It will thus be seen that military array had arrived at a new and quite another kind of splendour. Armour had not gone out, but it was less cumbrous, and people believed less in its value. It availed to a certain extent against sword and pike, but not at all against bullet. The pikemen who carried pikes eighteen or twenty feet in length wore a breastplate; the billmen had lighter armour, their weapon was a hook or a staff. Both pikemen and billmen were employed in covering field-guns against cavalry. Watchmen also carried bills. The firearms were the harquebus or arquebus; the small petronel; the culverin; the long petronel and the musket. The larger kinds were fired with the barrel resting on a fork stuck in the ground. Swords and daggers were, of course, carried, and gentlemen wore expensive chain and plate armour. Henry VIII. had a wonderful suit of armour made in Germany. It was engraved with illustrations from the lives of martyrs and saints, some of which are reproduced on p. 382, from the illustrations given in ArchÆologia. This chapter is inserted in the Tudor period because the ’Prentice in that century arrived at the height of his power and importance, chiefly as a disturber of the peace. The following pages sum up the regulations on the subject from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century, both inclusive. The importance of the apprentice system caused many ordinances and regulations to be passed from time to time. Thus in 1406 no persons were allowed to put out their children as apprentices who had not land to the value of 20 shillings a year, a regulation intended, in a populous town, to keep up the status of trades and crafts. The Act was, however, found impossible to work, and was repealed in 1429 “to the great satisfaction of the citizens.” Later on, in 1486, another attempt was made to restrict the Freedom of the City, and to keep out “mean and improper” persons by an ordinance that no apprentice should be taken nor freedom given except to such as were “gentlemen born”—this is Maitland’s statement—“agreeable to the clause in the oath given to every freeman at the time he was made free, in these words, ‘Ye shall take none apprentice but if he be freeborn: that is to say, no Bondman’s son, nor the son of any alien.’” It does not appear, however, from the oath, that the freeman was required to be a gentleman unless every freeborn person is a gentleman. How could a blacksmith or a journeyman saddler be a gentleman? In 1527 the Common Council passed a stringent rule as to the treatment of Apprentices:—
To which was added an admonition to the Apprentices:—
The history of “Evil May Day” (p. 24) is an illustration of the growing turbulence of the ‘Prentices and the relaxation of order and discipline in the City generally. The wards, in fact, had become too thickly populated for the old and simple rule of a peripatetic alderman and his sergeants: the turbulence was a sign of their weakness; yet three hundred years were to pass before an efficient night and day police could be established as the only remedy. In the year 1582 an ordinance concerning the apparel of the ‘Prentice shows still more clearly that he was getting out of hand. It was enacted by the Lord Mayor and Common Council:—
Maitland, after praising this wise ordinance, laments that in his time, the middle of the eighteenth century, there could not be some such good law passed to restrain the “more destructive practices of our modern Apprentices,” viz. keeping mistresses, keeping horses, frequenting tavern clubs and playhouses, and “their great excesses in clothes, Linen, periwigs, gold and silver watches, etc.” He does not tell us where they got the money for these expensive luxuries, but in the Confession of Latroun Meriton (1650) the way is fully explained: it was, namely, by robbing their masters. In the year 1595 there were more troubles caused by the ’Prentices. The Queen ordered sharp measures to be taken:—
Sir Thomas Welford, accordingly, was appointed Provost-Marshal. He patrolled the streets with a number of horsemen armed with pistols: he arrested many of the rioters, who were tried at the Guildhall. Five of them were executed on Tower Hill, and the rioting ceased. Of the Apprentices’ riot against the Spanish Ambassador in 1641 we have heard in another place (London in the Time of the Stuarts, p. 38). The Lord Mayor had a good deal of trouble in appeasing the Ambassador, who said that he “hardly knew how to call that a City or even a Society of rational creatures which was seemingly divested both of Humanity and Government.” At the outbreak of Civil War the ’Prentices were on the side of the Parliament and enjoyed many opportunities of demonstrating their views and opinions, not only without reproach, but rather with the approbation of the Parliamentary party, the leaders of which encouraged the young fellows to enlist in their army, as, for example, by the following Proclamation:—
In 1647 two Petitions of the “Young men and apprentices” were drawn up and presented to the House of Lords by the two factions in the City, that in the interest of the King being signed by 10,000 hands, instigated, says Maitland, by their masters. The action and attitude of the City on this occasion belong to its general history. The custom and practice as concerns apprentices in the eighteenth century are laid down by Strype in his account of the duties and rules of the Chamberlain’s Court.
As regards the ancient costume of an Apprentice, I again quote Stow and Strype:—
The question in 1628 arose, and was solemnly argued, whether an Apprentice, who is certainly bound to obedience, who must perform servile offices, who is corrected by his master, clothed by his master, and fed by his master, is or is not in a state of bondage or a bondsman. The question was resolved by Philipot, Somerset Herald, to the effect that he could not be considered a bondsman. The reason we may pass over. But Strype’s remarks are interesting:—
Apprentices in certain cases ought to be discharged:—
The decay of order among Apprentices may finish these notes on the class:—
The town was full of inns; more especially they were established without the gates and in the Borough. A great change had come over the Inns: formerly the inn was a place of lodging; some of them, as the Inns of Court, Barnard’s Inn, Gray’s Inn, Staple Inn, were colleges of residence; the business of providing food and drink belonged to the tavern and the cook’s shop. We have now come to the time when the inn itself provided food. Fortunately, there remain two very useful descriptions of the Inns of this time. One of them is by Harrison in Holinshed, and the other by Fynes Moryson. First, let us take that of Harrison:—
Concerning the customs in English Inns, Fynes Moryson thus writes:—
And further:—
The list of Elizabethan taverns might be compiled at great length, but the following signs celebrated in verse will suffice:— “Through the Royal Exchange as I walked where gallants in sattin did shine: At midst of the day they parted away at several places to dine. The gentry went to the King’s Head, the nobles went unto the Crown: The knights unto the Golden Fleece and the plowman to the Clown. The clergy will dine at the Miter, the vintners at the Three Tuns: The usurers to the Devil will go, and the fryers unto the Nuns. The ladies will dine at the Feathers, the Globe no captain will scorn: The huntsmen will go to the Greyhound below, and some townsmen to the Horn. The plummer will dine at the Fountain, the cooks at the Holy Lamb: The drunkards at noon to the Man in the Moon and the cuckolds to the Ram. The rovers will dine at the Lyon, the watermen at the Old Swan: The bawds will to the Negro go and the whores to the Naked Man. The keepers will to the White Hart, the mariners unto the Ship: The beggars they must take their way to the Eg-shell and the Whip. The farier will to the Horse, the blacksmith unto the Lock, The butchers to the Bull will go, and the carmen to Bridewell-Dock. The fishmongers unto the Dolphin, the bakers to the Cheat-loaf: The Turners unto the Tabel will go where they may merrily quaff. The taylors will dine at the Sheers, the shoo-makers will to the Boot: The Welshmen they will take their way and dine at the sign of the Goat. The hosiers will dine at the Leg, and drapers at the sign of the Brush: The fletchers to Robin Hood will go, and the spendthrift to Beggar’s Bush. The pewterers to Quart Pot, the coopers will dine at the Hoop: The coblers to the Last will go, and the bargemen to the Scoop. The carpenters will dine at the Axe, the colliers will dine at the Sack: Your fruiterer he to the Cherry-tree good fellows no liquor will lack. The goldsmiths to the Three Cups, their money they count as dross: Your puritan to the Pewter Can, and your papist to the Cross. The weavers will dine at the Shuttle, the glovers will into the Glove: The maidens all to the Maidenhead, and true lovers unto the Dove. The sadlers will dine at the Saddle, the painters to the Green Dragon: The Dutchman will go to the sign of the Vrow, where each man may drink his flagon. The chandlers will dine at the Scales, the salters at the sign of the Bag: The porters take pain at the Labour-in-vain, and the horse-courser to the White Nag. Thus every man to his humour, from the north unto the south: But he that hath no money in his purse, may dine at the sign of the Mouth. The swaggerers will dine at the Fencers: but those that have lost their wits, With Bedlam Tom let there be their home, and the Drum the drummer best hits. The cheater will dine at the Chequer, the pick-pocket at the Blind Ale-house: Till taken and tride, up Holborn they ride, and make their end at the gallows.” In a black-letter poem called “News from Bartholomew Fayre” occurs the following short list of taverns:— “There hath been great sale and utterance of Wine, Besides Beere, and Ale, and Ipocras fine, In every country, region, and nation, But chiefly in Billingsgate at the Salutation; And at the Bore’s Head near London Stone; The Swan at Dowgate, a tavern well knowne; The Miter in Cheape, and then the Bull Head; And many like places that make noses red; The Bore’s Head in Old Fish Street; Three Cranes in the Vintry; And now, of late, St. Martin’s in the Sentree; The Windmill in Lothbury; the Ship at th’ Exchange; King’s Head in New Fish Street, where roysterers do range; The Mermaid in Cornhill; Red Lion in the Strand; Three Tuns in Newgate Market; Old Fish Street at the Swan.” Heywood (1608) writes:— “The Gentry to the King’s Head, The Nobles to the Crown, The Knights unto the Golden Fleece, And to the Plough the Clown. The churchman to the Mitre The shepherd to the Star, The gardner hies him to the Rose, To the Drum the man of war; To the Feathers, ladies you; the Globe The seaman doth not scorn; The usurer to the Devil, and The townsman to the Horn. The huntsman to the White Hart, To the ship the merchants go, But you who do the Muses love, The sign called River Po. The banquerout to the World’s End, The Fool to the Fortune Pie, Unto the Mouth the oyster-wife, The fiddler to the Pie. The punk unto the Cockatrice, The Drunkard to the Vine, The Beggar to the Bush, then meet, And with Duke Humphrey dine.” It was the custom at Taverns to send presents of wine from one room to another with compliments. The taverns were to the sixteenth century what the coffee-houses were to the eighteenth. Every man frequented his tavern: clubs were held in the taverns; men of the same trade met in the taverns for evening discourse; bargains and business affairs were conducted in taverns; there were good and bad taverns; those like the Boar’s Head, East Cheap, bore a bad character; that is to say, they were laden down by the character of Doll Tearsheet; others, again, where Doll and her friends were not admitted, were frequented by the most respectable merchants and divines. Music was going on in most of them all day long; and all day long the waiters, clad in blue and wearing white aprons, ran about with flasks of wine and cups, and tobacco and pipes, calling “Anon, Anon!” and stopping to chalk a score upon the wall. It is strange that Stow mentions neither the Boar’s Head, East Cheap, which must have been a well-known tavern, or Shakespeare would not have chosen it for the haunt of the Prince and Falstaff; nor the Mermaid, the haunt of Ben Jonson and the poets. Presumably the worthy antiquary would not have felt at home in the company of the wits. The Boar’s Head stood in that part of East Cheap now swept away. The statue of King William IV. marks the site. It was not an ancient tavern. There were no taverns formerly in East Cheap according to Stow; the first mention of it is in the year 1537. The courtyard was large enough for the performance of plays; at the back it looked out upon St. Michael’s churchyard. The Mermaid Tavern stood between Friday Street and Bread Street, with an entrance from Cheapside as well. The tavern has been immortalised by a poet of the seventeenth and one of the nineteenth century. Francis Beaumont, the former, writes to Ben Jonson:— “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 whence 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; then when there hath been thrown Wit able enough to justify the town For three days past; wit that might warrant be For the whole city to talk foolishly Till that were cancelled; and when that was gone, We left an air behind us, which alone Was able to make the two next companies (Right witty, though but downright fools) more wise.” And Keats, the latter, writes:— “Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host’s Canary wine?” Or, as Fuller says of Shakespeare:—
Lists of old taverns are, as a rule, without interest; there are, however, a few of the London taverns of historic importance. Two have been mentioned. Thus, the Nag’s Head, at the corner of Friday Street, was the pretended scene of the consecration of Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury in 1559. At the north-west of St. Paul’s Churchyard was an ancient tavern known as the Mitre. Here were given the concerts of the Society of Musicians; and their arms, representing the lyre of Apollo, with the crest of the Swan, being put up in the front of the house, caused the original sign to be jocularly transformed into that of the Goose and Gridiron. The Swan with Three Necks, meant originally the Swan with three “nicks” or marks to denote ownership. The Belle Savage was originally the Bell, but its landlord being a man named Savage, the house was emblazoned with a bell and a savage man beside it. The Elephant and Castle became the Pig and Tinder Box; the “Caton Fidele”—the Governor of Calais—became the Cat and Fiddle. Fleet Street had many well-known taverns: like those in the City they were mostly approached by narrow alleys leading out of the street, as the Rainbow, Dick’s, and the Mitre. Dick’s stands on the site of the printing office of Richard Tottle, law stationer in the reign of Henry VIII. The Cock, later moved across the road, was one of the most famous of the Fleet Street taverns. The “Devil” Tavern, however, was more famous even than the Mermaid. Ben Jonson drew the company from the latter tavern to the Devil; he lived at Temple Bar in order to be near the tavern. Here he founded the Apollo Club and wrote his famous rules in Latin, which were translated into English by one of his “sons,” Brome. Near the door was placed a gilt bust of Apollo with a “Welcome” in flowing lines:— “Welcome all who lead or follow To the oracle of Apollo: Here he speaks out of his pottle, Or the tripos, his tower bottle; All his answers are divine, Truth itself doth flow in wine. Hang up all the poor hop-drinkers, Cries old Sim, the king of skinkers; He the life of life abuses That sits watering with the Muses. Those dull girls no good can mean us; Wine—it is the milk of Venus, And the poet’s horse accounted: Ply it, and you all are mounted. ’Tis the true Phoebian liquor, Cheers the brains, makes wit the quicker; Pays all debts, cures all diseases, And at once three senses pleases. Welcome all who lead or follow To the oracle of Apollo!” The merchants conducted their business in the Royal Exchange, but the tavern was the place where the lesser traders, and the shopkeepers, and the people who came up from the country met, to arrange bargains and business of all kinds over a flask of Canary. The latter half of the sixteenth century presents a remarkable development of the Drama and of the Theatres in London. This development was like the rising tide: it advanced with a force that was irresistible. The Mayor and Aldermen did their best to drive out plays and players from their boundaries; they went, but they established themselves beyond the limits of the City jurisdiction. Preachers denounced the theatre; moralists wrote pamphlets against it; yet it flourished more and more. John Stockwood, preaching at Paul’s Cross, says:—
The Londoners might change their religion, but they were not going to change their sports. They were Protestant instead of Catholic; but they kept up their bear-baiting, their bull-baiting, their archery, their wrestlings, their fencing, their quarter-staff play, their running at the quintain, their feats of tumbling, their Morris dances and mummings, their plays and interludes. But the Reformation killed the Miracle Play. The play of modern manners, or the tragedy, or the farce, took the place of the religious play. And instead of acting on a stage in a churchyard, the players now began to act in the broad and ample courtyard of the inn, whose galleries afforded room for people to look on. The authorities looked on the play from the beginning with eyes of disfavour: the actor was considered a masterless man; he had no trade; he was a strolling vagabond; he lived upon the largesse of those who looked on at his performance; he was a buffoon who would assume any character at will to make the people laugh and cry; he must be able to dance and posture like the tumblers on the road. Again, all the idle people in the City assembled to see the play; all the vicious people crowded to take advantage of the throng; in the theatre every day arose disorders and brawls; young men of sober parentage were seduced into becoming players. Witness the words of Prynne:—
The Queen at the beginning of her reign issued a proclamation to prevent players performing without license, and from handling politics or religion. In
In 1574 the first steps were taken towards the regulation of players and plays. The preamble to the ordinances is set forth by Maitland, with the ordinances themselves, as follows:—
Since the players could act no more in the City, there was nothing for them but to go outside. In 1574, James Burbage and some of the Earl of Leicester’s Company obtained the Queen’s license to act plays in any part of England. After receiving this license Burbage proceeded to build the first theatre, the house called The second theatre of London was that called The Curtain. It is a fact which illustrates the popularity of Finsbury Fields as a place of resort that there should have been a second theatre erected so close to the first. The Curtain Theatre was built on the south side of Holywell Lane, Shoreditch. In the house, too, feats of arms, sword-play, quarter-staff, and other games took place. The third theatre (if we count The Globe as a continuation of The Theatre) was The Fortune, built near Golden Lane, Cripplegate. The strongest charge against the theatres was the license allowed to the clowns or jesters, who between the pieces, or between the Acts, played “jigs” or “drolls” accompanied by songs and dances, and impromptu jokes which were topical, and, as may be imagined, broad and coarse. We may easily imagine that the civic authorities, the preachers, and the pamphleteers, who were always assailing the player and driving him from place to place, were not spared when the Clown had the stage all to himself, with hundreds of grinning faces in front of him, all of whom were egging him on with laughter and applause to say or do something more outrageous still, and loved nothing so much as to see before them acted to the life some sour Puritan who could see only “filthie and beastlie” stuff in the noblest play by Shakespeare, or in any sport. Another favourite place of resort for the citizens, especially for the more riotous sort, was Southwark, with its raised river-wall or Bankside; its numerous inns and taverns; its low-lying fields and its various amusements. There were amphitheatres for bear- and bull-baiting; in the High Street itself there was a ring for the bull; in Paris Gardens, on the east side of Blackfriars Bridge, were kept bears and dogs for the favourite, almost the national, amusement; there At one end of Bankside stood the ruins of the Monastic House and the Clink Prison; then followed a single row of houses, at the back of which were the Bull-Baiting Ground and the Bear Garden; then the theatres already mentioned; also the Falcon Tavern, and Paris Gardens. All these places were built on a low-lying and marshy ground planted thickly with trees, intersected with ponds, ditches, and running streams—for instance, the Pudding Mill stream ran round two-thirds of Paris Gardens. For an account of the interior of a theatre and the presentation of a play I quote an imaginary account, in my own words:—
In addition to the foregoing, or as confirming and supplementing that account, I quote the following from Drake’s Shakespeare and his Times:—
There were no fewer than fourteen companies of players, under private patronage, who contributed to exhilarate the people of London and the country. Of these, Drake furnishes a chronological enumeration. “Soon after the accession of Elizabeth appeared Lord Leicester’s company, the same which, in 1574, was finally incorporated by royal licence; in 1572 was formed Sir Robert Lane’s company; in the same year Lord Clinton’s; in 1575 companies were created by Lord Warwick, and the Lord Chamberlain, the name of Shakspeare being enrolled among the servants of the latter, who, in the first year of the subsequent reign, became entitled to the appellation of His Majesty’s servants; in 1576, the Earl of Sussex brought forward a theatrical body, and in 1577, Lord Howard another, neither of which, however, attained much eminence; in 1578 the Earl of Essex mustered a company of players, and in 1579, Lord Strange, and the Earl of Derby, followed his example; in 1591 the Lord Admiral produced his set of comedians; in 1592 the Earl of Hertford effected a similar arrangement; in 1593 Lord Pembroke protected an association of actors, and at the close of Her Majesty’s reign the Earl of Worcester had in pay also a company of theatrical performers.” As regards the management of his property in the play the author had the choice of two methods. He might sell the copyright to the theatre. In this case, to which authors frequently had recourse in the age of Shakespeare, the dramatist sold outright the whole rights of the piece, so that the proprietors of the theatre secured its performance exclusively to their own company. If it was a popular piece, of course, they were not anxious to publish it. If, however, the author kept the piece in his own hands, he not only had the right of publication, but he had, likewise, a claim upon the theatre for a benefit. This, towards the termination of the sixteenth century, took place on the second day, and was soon afterwards, as early indeed as 1612, postponed to the third day. The price of a drama, when disposed of to the public players, was twenty nobles, or six pounds, thirteen shillings, and fourpence; but private companies would sometimes give more than that sum. The price of a play when published was sixpence, and the poet received about forty shillings of an honorarium for a dedication. It has been stated, however, that Shakespeare received but five pounds for his Hamlet.
Hentzner, the German traveller, thus speaks of the theatres:—
The entertainment offered to the French Ambassador at the Court of Henry VIII. at Greenwich shows that acting and dressing formed part of a courtly entertainment. They began with tournaments and contests on foot and horse; they went on to an interlude in Latin, the altars being all richly dressed. “This being ended,” says the author of the Life of Wolsey, “there came a great company of ladies and gentlemen, the chiefest beauties in the realm of England, being as richly attired as cost could make, or art devise, to set forth their gestures, proportions, or beauties, that they seemed to the beholder rather like celestial angels than terrestrial creatures, and in my judgment worthy of admiration, with whom the gentlemen of France danced and masked; every man choosing his lady as his fancy served; that done, and the maskers departed, came in another masque of ladies and gentlewomen, so richly attired as I cannot express; these ladies maskers tooke each of them one of the Frenchmen to dance; and here note, that these noblewomen spoke all of them good French, which delighted them much to hear the ladies speak to them in their own language. Thus triumphantly did they spend the whole night from five of the clock at the night into two or three of the clock in the morning; at which time the gallants drew all to their lodgings to take their rest.” There was a kind of show called a Prolusion. This appears to have been a representation of some well-known event or legend. Thus in 1587 there was a Prolusion set forth by Hugh Offley, merchant-adventurer and leather-seller, one of the Sheriffs of the year 1588. It represented King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. He chose 300 good archers, personable men; and he dressed them in black satin doublets and black velvet hose; every man carried a bow of yew and a dozen waxed arrows. They marched in goodly array from Merchant Taylors to Mile End Green. Queen Elizabeth in her chariot passed them, and stopped in order to see the show. “In her whole life,” she said, “she had never seen a finer company of archers.” They all fell on their knees and prayed God to prosper and preserve Her Majesty. She thanked them and passed on her way, while the archers proceeded to attack the sham forts which had been set up, after which those who shot best took prizes, and Master Hugh Offley provided a banquet for all. It is interesting to remember that the Theatre had to contend for the place of honour with the stately and courtly Masque. All that artist could do for decoration, “Yet everye Sondaye They will surelye spende One penye or two The bearwardes lyvyng to mende. At Paryse Garden eche Sondaye A man shall not fayle To fynde two or three hundreds For the bearwardes vaile. One halpenye a piece They use for to give When some have no more In their purse, I believe.” You shall read contemporary accounts of bear-baiting and bull-baiting. “Some,” says John Houghton in 1694, “keep the bull on purpose for the sport of baiting, cutting off the tips of his horns, and with pitch, tow, and such like matter, fasten upon them the great horns of oxen, with their tips cut off, and covered with leather, least they should hurt the dogs. Because these papers go into several other countries, I’ll say something of the manner of baiting the bull, which is, by having a collar about his neck, fastened to a thick rope about three, four, or five yards long, hung to a hook, so fastened to a stake that it will turn round; with this the bull circulates to watch his enemy, which is a mastiff dog (commonly used to the sport) with a short nose, that his teeth may take the better hold; this dog, if right, will creep upon his belly, that he may, if possible, get the bull by the nose, which the bull as carefully strives to defend, by laying it close to the ground, where his horns are also ready to do what in them lies to toss the dog; and this is the true sport.” But if more dogs than one come at once, if they are cowardly and come under his legs, he will, if he can, stamp their guts out. I believe I have seen a dog tossed by a bull thirty, if not forty foot high; and when they are tossed either higher or They commonly lay sand about, that if they fall upon the ground it may be the easier. Notwithstanding this care, a great many dogs are killed, more have their limbs broke, and some hold so fast, that by the bull’s swinging them their teeth are often broke out. To perfect the history of bull-baiting, I must tell you, that the famed dogs have crosses or roses of various coloured ribbon stuck with pitch on their foreheads, and such like the ladies are very ready to bestow on dogs or bull that do valiantly; and when ’tis stuck on the bull’s forehead, that dog is hollowed that fetches it off, though the true courage and art is to hold the bull by the nose ’till he roars, which a courageous bull scorns to do. Often the men are tossed as well as the dogs; and men, bull, and dogs, seem exceedingly pleased, and as earnest at the sport as if it were for the lives or livelihoods. Many great wagers are laid on both sides, and great journeys will men and dogs go for such a diversion. I knew a gentleman that bought a bull in Hertfordshire on purpose to go a progress with him, at a great charge, into most of the great towns in the West of England. This is a sport the English much delight in; and not only the baser sort, but the greatest lords and ladies.” And here is Laneham on the sport of bear-baiting:—
We have already heard Hentzner on theatres, he has a word to say also on baiting:—
But besides these cruel forms of so-called “sport,” there were more legitimate pleasures such as archery. “During the holy days in summer,” Fitz Stephen says, “the young men exercise themselves in the sports of leaping, archery, etc.” The practice of archery was maintained in the City after the longbow had to give way before gun and cannon. As a pastime of the citizens only, no account of London would be complete without reference to archery. There were, as every one knows, two kinds of bow: the longbow and the crossbow. The former, for various reasons—its superiority in readiness of handling, lightness in carrying, range of flight and sureness of aim, caused it to be much more generally adopted in our armies than its rival. At Cressy, for instance, our men were armed with longbows, and the French with crossbows; when the rain fell the longbows could be easily covered up, the crossbow could not, so that the strings were wetted and the power of the weapon greatly injured. Edward the First, who had a great opinion of the longbow as the superior weapon, ordered, on the threat of war with France, every sheriff of a county to provide 500 white bows and as many bundles of arrows. Edward the Third issued repeated proclamations ordering the practice of archery. It would seem as if the word archery in the fourteenth century included the crossbow as well as the longbow, for Edward the Second, in 1314 (Riley, Memorials, p. 124), commanded the City of London to furnish 300 arbalesters “more powerful for defence,” and to provide them with “haketons, bacinets, collerettes, arbalests and quarels.” (The haketon was a jacket of quilted leather; the bacinet was a headpiece; the collerette, an iron collar for the protection of the throat; the arbalest is the crossbow; the quarel was the bolt.) Richard the Second ordered that every man in his household should exercise himself as occasion should permit in archery. And in 1392 an Act was passed obliging all servants to practise archery on holydays. In 1417 Henry V. ascribed his victory at Agincourt chiefly to his archers, and orders the Sheriffs of the counties to pluck from every goose six wing-feathers for the improvement of the arrow. These feathers were the second, third, and fourth of each wing. Edward IV. ordered that Englishmen in Ireland and every Irishman living with Englishmen In the nineteenth year of Henry VII. the King finally decided for the longbow against the crossbow, because “the longbow had been much used in this realm, whereby honour and victory had been gotten against outward enemies; the realm greatly defended; and much more the dread of all Christian Princes by reason of the same.” Henry VII. himself shot at the butts. There were at least five statutes issued by Henry VIII. ordering the practice of archery, but forbidding the crossbow. The London Archers continued to hold their yearly contests in the month of September, in spite of the fact that henceforth there would be no use for the longbow in warfare. They formed a very fine corps, had they been of any use; meantime, the City has always loved a show, and a very fine show the Archers provided. Their captain was called the Duke of Shoreditch; the captains of the different Companies were called the Marquesses of Clerkenwell, Islington, Hoxton, and the Earl of Pancras,[13] etc.; in the year 1583 they assembled at Merchant Taylors Hall to the number of 3000 all sumptuously apparelled, “nine hundred and forty-two having chains of gold about their necks.” They were escorted by whifflers and bowmen to the number of 4000, besides pages and footmen; and so marching through Broad Street, where the Duke of Shoreditch lived, they proceeded by Moorfields and Finsbury to Smithfield, where, after performing their evolutions, they shot at the target for glory. The Finsbury Archers continued to exist and to hold their meetings till well into the eighteenth century. Mr. Daines Barrington, writing for the Society of Antiquaries in 1787, mentions that there were still living two old men who had obtained prizes in these contests as late as 1753, when they ceased. The same writer gives a map of the butts or archers’ marks in Finsbury Fields as they were standing in the year 1787. The distance between the marks varies from 120 feet to 300 feet. It may be assumed that 200 feet was a fairly average distance for an arrow. The proper weight for an arrow was considered to be one ounce only; it was to be winged by three feathers: two white being plucked from the gander, and The Artillery Company or Finsbury Archers, predecessors of the present Artillery Company, enjoyed certain privileges as to dress, as to shooting at birds, and immunity from the charge of murder should any one be killed by these arrows, especially after they had cried “Fast!” as a warning. It appears that bows and arrows were employed long after they left the field of battle for shooting rabbits and crows, partly because gunpowder was dear, but chiefly because the arrow makes no noise to frighten the game away. The London Archers continued, in spite of the fact that henceforth there would be no use of the longbow in warfare, to hold their yearly contests in the month of September. The Honourable Artillery Company, before it received its letters patent, had been in the habit of practising archery in the fields of Islington, Hoxton, and Shoreditch. In these fields targets or butts were fixed to shoot at. Two of these butts or targets were still in existence in 1860: one at the end of Dorchester Street, Hoxton, on the east side of the New North Road near the Canal Bridge, and the other in the brickwork of the Canal Bridge above the towing-path. Two others had been destroyed about the year 1845: one in the Britannia Fields, and the other in the ground now called Wellington Square. That standing at the end of Dorchester Road was called “Whitehall.” A drawing of it is given in the L. and M. Arch. Society (vol. ii. p. 15). The other sports, feasts, and festivals of the City remained in the sixteenth century much as they had been before the change of Faith with certain exceptions, such as the Boy Bishop, the Feast of All Fools in the Church, and the Miracle Play with its profanity and coarseness. These vanished. There remained the Feasts of Christmas and Easter; the celebration of May Day; the Vigils of St. John, St. Peter, and St. Paul; and the Midsummer Watch. There were also Shrove Tuesday, Hocking Day, Whitsuntide, and Martinmas, with some others. The ceremonies of a Christmas banquet are preserved in Gerard Leigh’s Accidence of Armory, and have been reproduced by Nichols. The feast was that of the year 1561. The place was the Temple. The person called Palaphilos was the Constable and Marshall, Dudley, Earl of Leicester.
And here is a note from Stow on Christmas Customs:—
Let us pass on to the great Festival of May Day. “Forth goeth all the court both most and lest, To Fetch the floures fresh, and braunch and blome— And namely hauthorn brought both page and grome And than rejoysen in their great delite; Eke ech at other throw the floures bright, The primerose, the violete, and the gold. With freshe garlants party blew and white.” Philip Stubbes says:—“Against Maie, Whitsondaie, or some other tyme of the yeare, every parishe, towne, and village assemble themselves together, bothe men, women, and children; and either goyng all together, or deviding themselves into companies, they goe some to the woodes and groves, some to the hilles and mountaines, some to one place, some to another, where they spend all the night in pleasant pastymes, and in the mornyng they returne bringing with them, birch, bouwes, and braunches of trees to deck their assemblies withal. But their chiefest jewel they bring from thence is their Maie poole, which they bring home with greate veneration, as thus:—They have twentie or fortie yoke of oxen, every oxe havyng a swete nosegaie of flowers tyed on the tippe of his hornes, and these oxen drawe home the Maie poole (this stinckyng idoll rather), which is covered all over with flowers and hearbes, bounde rounde aboute with stringes from the top to the bottome, and sometyme painted with variable colours, with two or three hundred men, women, and children followyng it with greate devotion. And thus being reared up, with handkerchiefes and flagges streamyng on the toppe, they strawe the grounde aboute, binde greene boughs about it, sett up sommer halles, bowers, and arbours hard by it; and then fall they to banquet and feast, to leape and daunce aboute it, as the heathen people did at the dedication of their idolles.... I have heard it credibly reported,” he sarcastically adds, “by men of great gravity, credite, and reputation, that of fourtie, three score, or a hundred maides goyng to the wood over night, there have scarcely the third parte of them returned home againe as they went.” (The Anatomie of Abuses, 1836 edition, p. 171.) Herrick says:— “Get up ... and see The dew bespangling herbe and tree; Each flower has wept, and bow’d toward the east, Above an hour since; ... it is sin, Nay profanation, to keep in; When as a thousand virgins on this day, Spring sooner than the larks to fetch in May! Come, my Corinna, come; and comming marke How each field turns a street, each street a parke Made green and trimmed with trees; see how Devotion gives each house a bough, Or branch; each porch, each doore ere this, An arke or tabernacle is, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove, As if here were those cooler shades of love. Can such delights be in the street, And open fields, and we not see’t? Come, we’ll abroad; and let’s obey The Proclamation made for May, And sin no more, as we have done, by staying. There’s not a budding boy, or girle, this day But is got up, and gone to bring in May; A deale of youth, ere this, is come Back, and with white-thorn laden home. Some have dispatcht their cakes and creame, Before that we have left to dreame; And some have wept, and woo’d, and plighted troth, And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth; Many a green gown has been given; Many a kisse, both odde and even; Many a glance too has been sent From out the eye, Love’s firmament; Many a jest told of the keyes betraying This night, and locks pickt, ye w’are not a Maying!” Of the festive appearance of the streets in summer, and the hospitality of the citizens, and the setting of the Midsummer Watch, Stow speaks at length (Thoms’s edition, p. 39):—
Drawn by Grignon, photographed by Dr Diamond J. Hale Keur Sr. At Whitsuntide 1900 I was at Treves. It is the custom on Whit Sunday to hold a great procession in which, apparently, the whole population takes part through the principal streets to the Cathedral. The girls are dressed in white with white flowers in their hair; the younger girls carry baskets filled with white flowers; men, women, and children are all chanting as they go; groups of priests, boys in scarlet, beadles and other ecclesiastical selections, adorn the procession. If that were all I should not notice it in this place. But in addition every street through which the procession passed was decorated with branches. And here for the first time I understood the lines already quoted, how “Each field turns a street, each street a parke Made green and trimmed with trees; see how Devotion gives each house a bough, Or branch; each porch, each doore, ere this, An arke or tabernacle is, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove.” For the decking of the house did not consist of a branch or a bunch over a porch or a window, but the whole ground-floor of every house was covered with great boughs closely placed side by side so as to look like a lane of trees. Herrick did not exaggerate. Stow goes on to speak of the Marching Watch:—
As for dancing, never was there a time when it was more popular. Everybody danced: the Queen at Whitehall danced the brawl; the kitchen-maid in the street danced the ney. They danced the solemn pavane, the Cassamezzo galliard, the canary dance, the Coranto, the Cavolta, the jig, the galliard, the fancy, and the Ney, and perhaps many more. They played cards: they played at primiero, trumpe, gleek, gresso, new cut, knave out of doors, ruff, noddy, most and pace; they got through the long winter evenings mainly with the help of cards. Bowling was a summer amusement; tournaments belonged to the Court; hunting was an amusement for the richer sort; the people also fought cocks, wrestled, practised archery, and played quarter-staff. The old Among the amusements of the people must not be forgotten the common custom of telling stories. The long evenings when the family gathered round Another amusement was that of reading. We have already seen what an immense field was opened up for those who loved books, by the shoals which during Elizabeth’s reign were issued from the press. The first Lottery was set on foot in the year 1559. The drawing took place at the west door of St. Paul’s, and continued daily from the 11th of January to the 6th of May following. The Lottery did not gain its full power until the eighteenth century. It is sufficient here to record the first appearance of this baleful institution, fruitful mother of crime. Harrison says that there are “four kinds of poor: the poor by impotence, as the fatherless child, the blind man, and the incurably sick man; the poor by casualty, as the wounded soldier; the thriftless poor, as the rioter that hath consumed all; the vagabond that will abide nowhere; and, finally, the rogues and strumpet which are not possible to be divided in sunder.” As regards the last sort. Harrison’s description tells everything that is wanted.
The great increase of rogues and vagabonds of all kinds led in the year 1561 to a proposition for a House of Correction. The plan or scheme of which was drawn out at full length, is published in ArchÆologia (vol. xxi. p. 451). The House was to be strong and in two divisions: one for the men and the other for the women. It was to be built and furnished by the alms of the people where it was put up—in this case Westminster was proposed. In furnishing, care must be taken that everything should be simple, because “it is to be considered beforehand that ye shall have to do with the most desperatest people of the earth, geven to all spoyle and robbery and soch as will break from you and steale.” For work, it must be of a kind that they cannot steal or destroy. A Mill, therefore, for the men, or a Lime Kiln; and for the women a Wheel for cotton wool or woollen yarn. Of officers there must be six Masters: a clerk; a porter and keeper; two beadles, and a miller. The rations for the inmates were to be as follows:—To every four women, at every meal, one pound of beef, potage, bread and drink. To every two men working in the mill, double this allowance. The allowance of bread was to be sixteen ounces a day. The allowance of beer was to every four women one “pottell” of single beer a day, but to the men double that quantity. On fast days an equivalent of butter, cheese, herrings, “pescodes,” and such like. There were to be two pairs of stocks and shackles for the refractory. The Matron was to be a strong woman—the Elizabethan female of the baser kind did not weaken her muscles and her nerves with tea; and, which is very significant, it is added, “ye must be careful of fyer, for the people are desperate and care not what mischief they do.” I do not know whether this proposed House of Correction was erected or not. The present seems the best place and time to speak of systematic attempts at Poor Relief. The relief of the poor was a duty enjoined on all men. Almsgiving was The custom of giving indiscriminately to any vagrant who demanded alms, created a class of “masterless” men who would do no work and wandered about the country. It took some centuries of this growing evil before men could be brought to connect vagrancy with indiscriminate almsgiving. At first the efforts made to repress vagrancy were directed towards compulsory work. No one dared to maintain, perhaps no one dared to think, that it was wrong to give alms to a beggar merely because he was a beggar; but every one understood that the labourer must somehow be made to work. Had the Clergy and the Monastic Houses perceived the truth, vagrancy might have been reduced to a few companies of outlaws and marauders. But we cannot blame the clergy of the thirteenth century for failing to understand what the clergy of the present century are still unable to understand. When the law interfered, the situation was wellnigh desperate. The Black Death of 1348–50 had made labour scarce and wages high. The necessity of suppressing able-bodied begging and of sending the able-bodied beggar back to his native place and his proper work was forced upon the Government. The Labour Statutes endeavoured to force men to work and to keep down wages. In the fourteenth century, just as to-day, there was a natural limit imposed upon wages by the price of grain and food. The rustic who understood nothing about this limit, naturally desired higher and still higher wages; if he could not get this increase in his own parish, he went elsewhere: he begged his way; he found food at the monastery; he tasted the joys of food which was got without any work for it; he therefore easily dropped into the condition of the masterless man and the able-bodied beggar. In 1349 the law stepped in. No one must give alms, money, or food to the able-bodied, so that for lack of bread they might be compelled to work. The rustics, in order to escape the terrors of this law, ran about the country from place to place. They pretended to be lame, blind, dumb, paralysed; in this disguise they wandered about begging with impunity unless they were detected. They pretended (case of impostor—Riley) to go on pilgrimage: they joined companies of pilgrims, begging by the way, and so got along for a time without The citizens of London were especially severe on masterless men. The law, at the same time, recognised the duty of relieving the impotent, and the deserving poor, and the right of these to demand relief. Wherever they were found they were compelled to go back to the place to which they belonged by birth. Nothing could be better or more effectual than these laws if they could have been enforced. But how were they to be enforced? Where were the police who might patrol the roads? How were the villagers disposed towards laws which made them accept whatever wages the Lord of the Manor chose to give them? In the City of London what were the opinions of the working class, of the craftsmen? And how could the Alderman in his ward ascertain that every man was following his own craft? No doubt the power of arresting, punishing, and sending to their own villages the wandering rustic, had the effect of keeping down the number of the beggars. In a short time, too, the natural increase of the population relieved the scarcity of labour. Moreover the relief of the poor by each parish was ordered by the setting aside of a portion of the tithe for their benefit (a revival of the Saxon law); and in those cases where the tithes went to a monastic house, the same portion should be payable by the monks or nuns. The jealousy with which the religious Orders were already regarded is shown by the enactment of this provision by Richard II. and its confirmation by Henry IV. If the laws against grants of the fourteenth century had been enforced there would have been an end of the evil. Unfortunately, they could not be enforced. In the country there was no kind of Police; in London the City had outgrown the old government by Aldermen and Ward, and the people were overflowing the City boundaries and were beyond the jurisdiction of the Mayor. Now the control of the county would not be very effective, say, at Wapping or at Bermondsey, when the people began to settle there. During the whole of the fifteenth century the demand for able-bodied men for the war in France first, and the Civil wars next, was so great that there seem to have been few vagrants in the country. Indications, however, are by no means wanting of a “masterless” element in London. The cessation of the wars threw a large number of men out of employment; The evil grew continually during the whole of the sixteenth century. Early in the sixteenth century the City of London began to pass regulations against vagrants. They forbade able-bodied vagrants to beg and citizens to give money to unlicensed beggars: in other words, they revived and enforced the old laws. Great strictness was ordered. Vagrants had the letter V fastened on their breasts, and were driven through Cheapside to the music of a basin ringing before them. Four surveyors were appointed to carry out these instructions. There was also an officer appointed, called “Master and Chief Avoyder and Keeper out of this City and the liberties of the same all the mighty vagabonds and beggars and all other suspected persons, except such as wear upon them the badge of the City.” The vagrants, when apprehended, were whipped at the cart’s tail; they also had to wear collars of iron about their necks. Those who were allowed to beg had tokens of tin given to them by the Aldermen. As for the relief of the deserving poor, there were the “Companies’ stores,” granaries of wheat provided for emergencies; alms were asked for every Sunday at the church doors; the old hospitals were suppressed at the Reformation until St. Bartholomew’s and St. Mary of Bethlehem were granted to the City by Henry VIII. and reopened as hospitals. The City did not show to advantage in giving money to the poor; we must remember that for many centuries charity had been understood as indiscriminate alms given by the Church and by rich men. What private persons gave was for the advantage of their souls. Latimer and Lever thundered in vain. Latimer says:—
Lever said:—
Then St. Thomas’s Hospital and Bridewell were obtained from the King. The latter was designed as a House of Instruction and Correction. It was to receive the child “unapt for learning”; the “sore and sick when they be cured”; and persons who have lost their character and either cannot work or cannot find any who will employ them. The children were to be made to work; the others were to be taught certain trades. They were to be such as would not interfere with the crafts carried on in the City. The treatment of the poor began by being the work of the towns, each town working out its own experimental methods. This was followed by legislation in Parliament. The Act of 1573, of which we have read Harrison’s account, enjoined boring through the ear and whipping, and at the third offence death. The Middlesex Sessions Rolls show that these sentences were actually carried out. Between 6th October and 14th December 1591, 71 vagrants were sentenced at the Sessions to be branded and whipped. Who were vagrants? They were defined as proctors or procurators; persons pretending to knowledge in “Phisnomye, Palmestrye, and other abused Scyences,” masterless men; “fencers, bearewardes, players, minstrels,”—not belonging to some noble lord; jugglers, pedlars, tinkers, chapmen; labourers refusing customary wages; counterfeiters of passes; scholars of Oxford and Cambridge who beg without license; sailors not licensed; discharged prisoners without license; impotent poor. But of these, players, bearwards, and pedlars were allowed to carry on their calling subject to license. In every parish the Justices of the Peace were to make a register of the names of the poor. Every month they were to search for strange poor. Justices in the country and Mayors in London were to assess and tax the people In 1597 there was great discussion in the House of Commons on the whole subject of poor relief. Finally an Act was passed by which the relief of the poor was placed in the hands of church-wardens and four overseers of Poor elected every Easter. They had to teach children and bind them apprentice; they provided work for the adult; they relieved the impotent; they built hospitals; they levied rates; they made Houses of Correction; they resorted to more whipping and to banishment, with death for return. Next there is the interference of the Privy Council ordering the Justices of the Peace to look after the vagrants and to report. Here is a brief summary.
Then followed a double method—relief and repression undertaken by the parish and municipal authorities together. The vagrants were taken to Bridewell, where the sick were picked out and sent to St. Thomas’s and St. Bartholomew’s—thence returned to Bridewell—and made to work for their diet. The parish looked after the rest of the poor. The children were sent to Christ’s Hospital. The impotent were relieved. It seems as if so strict a system must have been successful. But it was not. In 1601 the Act of 1579 was reconsidered and slightly altered. 1610. An Act for building one or more Houses of Correction in every county was brought in. The supply of corn for the markets occupied Parliament a great deal between 1610 and 1630. There were bad harvests, and general distress. The Privy Council tried to prevent scarcity, to find work for the poor, and to regulate trade in the interests of the working classes. Against times of scarcity of fuel, a coalyard was established in London for the poor. Watchmen were provided in time of plague. More almshouses existed then than now for the old and impotent. It is customary to speak of the time immediately following the Reformation as especially hard-hearted and uncharitable. For instance, here is a certain passage, one of many, in Stubbes’s Anatomie, which is certainly strong evidence of a lack of charity. It is as follows:—
I would again call attention, however, to a point which has already been mentioned in these pages. Before the suppression of the Religious Houses these places had taken over and held in their own hands the whole management of the poor, the sick, and the disabled, save those whom the City Companies took under their own care. For centuries, therefore, the people had been taught to regard the care of the sick and old, and in a great manner the feeding of the poor, as belonging especially to the Religious. It is part of the mediÆval mind that the poor do so belong to the monastic orders and not to the laity. When, therefore, the Houses were suppressed, the modern spirit of Charity had to be actually created in the hearts of the people. It was then that the education in philanthropy began which has been going on ever since. This outburst of Stubbes is a first lesson in brotherly love. Another part of the same lesson is his tirade against hard-hearted creditors, which is quoted here, because it applies especially to the citizens of London, tender and compassionate in some respects, but flinty-hearted as regards the poor prisoners who cannot pay their debts:—
The charities of London consisted of Hospitals for the sick, almshouses, schools, and doles for the poor. It was customary for great men, ecclesiastics, and Religious Houses, to give every day large quantities of food to the poor, whereby they were encouraged to remain poor. Stow records many instances of this mischievous and promiscuous charity. Henry II., for instance, to show his repentance for the death of the Archbishop, fed every day 10,000 persons from the first of April till the harvest, a time of year when food is dearest and scarcest. Let me follow Stow’s list of Foundations in chronological order. 1. In very ancient times the Hospital of St. James for leprous women. 2. In 1197 Domus Dei, or St. Mary Spital, outside Billingsgate. 3. In 1247 the Hospital of St. Mary Bethlehem turned afterwards into a lunatic asylum. 4. 1322 Elsing Spital for 100 poor men. 5. 1337 The College of St. Laurence Poultney. 6. 1358 The Almshouses of Stodies Lane. 7. 1367 John Lofken’s Hospital at Kingston-on-Thames. 8. 1384 John Philpot’s Almshouses for 13 poor people. 9. 1400 Thomas Knoles bequeathed his house as an almshouse. 10. Whittington’s College (1421), an almshouse for 13 poor men. 11. John Carpenter, almshouse for 4 poor men. 12. Robert Chicheley money for a dinner to 2400 poor men and twopence each on his “minde day.” 13. Philip Malpas, numerous benefactions to prisoners, poor folk, girls’ marriage portions, etc. 14. Richard Rawson, girls’ marriage portions. 15. Henry Keble, girls’ marriage portions and seven almshouses. 16. John Colet, St. Paul’s School, 353 poor men’s children. 17. John Tate enlarged and increased St. Anthony’s House and Almshouses. 18. George Monox, almshouses for 13 poor people at Walthamstow. 19. John Milbourne, almshouses for 14 poor people. 20. John Allen left rents for the use of the poor. 21. Andrew Judd, almshouses. 22. Richard Hills, the Merchant Taylors’ School. 23. Sir Thomas Gresham, almshouses. 24. Sir Thomas Rowe, almshouses. 25. Ambrose Nicolas, almshouses. 26. John Fuller, almshouses. 27. Dame Agnes Foster, enlargement of Ludgate Hill Prison. 28. Avice Gibson, almshouses. 29. Margaret Danne, money to be lent to young men beginning as ironmongers. 30. Dame Mary Ramsay, endowment of Christ’s Hospital. The following are later endowments. Thus Sir Thomas White, citizen and Merchant Taylor, Mayor, purchased Gloucester Hall at Oxford; he founded St. John’s College there; he erected schools at Bristol and Reading; to Bristol he gave £2000 for the purchase of lands. This would produce £120 a year, which was to be administered by the Mayor of Bristol. He gave £800 to be lent to 16 poor Clothiers at £50 apiece as security for ten years, and after that the money to pass to other towns, i.e.
He gave to the City of Coventry £1400 with which to purchase lands to the annual value of £70. Twelve poor men to have 40s. each free alms; then four young men were to have loans of £10 for nine years. He did the same thing for Northampton, for Leicester, and for Warwick. A worthy benefactor, indeed! In 1560 Richard Hills gave £500 towards the purchase of a house called the In 1568 Sir Thomas Rowe gave the City a new burial-ground by Bethlehem Hospital; he also endowed a sermon every Whit Monday; gave £100 to be lent to eight poor men; and founded an endowment for the support of ten poor men, giving them four pounds a year. William Lambe was a benefactor to the City in the sixteenth century. He was a cloth worker by trade. In the year 1543, on the suppression of the Religious Houses, he obtained possession by purchase of the smallest of them all, the Chapel or Hermitage standing at the corner of the wall at the end of Monkwell Street. It was called St. James’s in the Wall, and was endowed by Henry the Third. Lambe repaired or rebuilt the Chapel, and placed in the former garden or in the ancient buildings certain almshouses for bedesmen. In 1577 he died, leaving this foundation and other sums of money to the Clothworkers. The Great Fire spared a part of Lambe’s Chapel and Almshouses. Lambe also drew together several springs of water near the present Foundling Hospital to a head, called after him Lamb’s Conduit, though the name is now spelt without the “e.” He then conveyed the water by leaden pipes to Snow Hill, where he rebuilt a ruinous conduit and laid in the water.
It will be seen that the building of almshouses was the favourite method of charitable endowment. Schools were occasionally endowed but not so commonly as almshouses. The sight of an old man broken down, unable to earn his bread, is one which appeals to the most hard-hearted. The necessity of educating the young was less understood, for the simple reason that the children of the working class were regarded as simply growing machines for labour, just as their fathers were regarded as machines in active working order whose opinions or wishes were never so much as asked, while any effort on their part to express an opinion was put down at once. This view of the working classes, which lasted till the middle of the nineteenth century, explains a great deal of what we now consider apathy on the part of those who should have known better; it explains among other things the opposition to reform, and the jealousy and dread of the working class; and it explains why so few schools were endowed in comparison with the number of almshouses. The divers kinds of punishment and the laws are set forth by Harrison (Holinshed, vol. i.):—
Felony was involved in various kinds of crime: such as breach of prison; disfiguring the person; robbery in disguise; rape; conspiracy against the prince;
Among the punishments mentioned above was that of boiling alive. One unfortunate, named Rose, a cook in the house of the Bishop of Rochester, poisoned eighteen persons, of whom two died. He seems to have done this wilfully. He was boiled to death. This fearful punishment was inflicted by lowering the criminal slowly, inch by inch, affixed to a post into a deep caldron full of boiling water. How long the torture lasted before the heart stopped is not recorded. The penalty for bloodshed in the King’s Court was the loss of the right hand. The ceremony observed for such a punishment made a ritual of a remarkable and imposing ceremony. The offender, to quote Pike (History of Crime, vol. ii. p. 83), “was brought in by the Marshal, and every stage of the proceedings was under the direction of some member of the royal household. The first whose services were required was the Serjeant of the Woodyard, who brought in a block and cords, and bound the condemned hand in a convenient position. The Master Cook was there with a dressing knife, which he handed to the Serjeant of the Larder, who adjusted it, and held it ‘till the execution was done.’ The Serjeant of the Poultry was close by with a cock, which was to have its head cut off on the block by the knife used for the amputation of the hand, and the body of which was afterwards to be used to ‘wrap about the stump.’ The Yeoman of the Scullery stood near, watching a fire of coals, and the Serjeant Farrier at his elbow to deliver the searing-irons to the surgeon. The chief Surgeon seared the stump, and the Groom of the Salcery held vinegar and cold water, to be used, perhaps, if the patient should faint. The Serjeant of the Ewry and the Yeoman of the Chandry attended with basin, cloths, and towels for the surgeon’s use. After the hand had been struck off and the stump seared, the Serjeant of the Pantry offered bread, and the Serjeant of the Cellar offered a pot of red wine, of which the sufferer was to partake with what appetite he might.” Pickpockets, still called cutpurses, abounded. They formed a distinct profession; there was even a school for them. This educational establishment was carried on by a certain man named Wotton, at a house near Billingsgate, in the year 1585. Purses were worn at the girdle, attached by a chain or by a leathern string, and the pickpocket could be known by the horn thimble worn on the right thumb to protect it from the knife with which he cut the purse. Maitland says (p. 269):—
Among the many additions to Literature made during the Elizabethan age we have as detailed a description of the rogues, vagabonds, and the criminal class in London as we can desire. Their tricks and cheats; their way of living; their language or slang, can all be read in books of the time. Harrison, already quoted, furnishes a great deal; more may be read in Awdeley, Harman and Rowlands, Dekker, etc. To spare the curious reader a great deal of trouble, he is referred to Furnivall’s Rogues and Vagabonds of Shakspere’s Youth. Harman’s account of these cheats and rogues is full of entertaining anecdotes. For instance, there is the story of the robbery of his cauldron by the “Upryght men,” and how he recovered it:—
The Hooker or Angler was one who by day walked about the streets, observing the windows and what was kept in them. At night he carried a stick fitted with a hook. He opened the window from the outside, and by means of his hook got out what he wanted. Once, says Harman, the Hookers dragged from a bed, in which lay asleep a man and two boys, the blankets and upper sheets, leaving them in their shirts. The Rogue professed a part and dressed up to it. Harman tells a story of two rogues who wanted to break into a house but could not, because it was of stone, with the mullions of the windows too close for them to creep in. They had, however, a “horse-lock.” They woke up the tenant, who had with him only an old woman, and begged for alms. He opened the window and held out his hand with a penny in it. They seized his hand: he naturally thrust out the other to succour the first; they seized that as well, and clasped the two into the horse-lock, so that he was a prisoner until he gave up all the money in the house. The “wild” Rogue is a variety distinguished by greater courage. Harman quotes one as a beggar by inheritance. “His grandfather was a beggar; his father was one; and he must needs be one by good reason.” The “Prygger of Prauncers” was a horse-stealer; the Pallyard of Clapperdogen was one of the counterfeit sick men; he knew how to raise blisters, and to create a sore place by means of spearwort or ratsbane. The former raises a blister which passes away in a night; the latter a sore place that is incurable. The Frater—in the name we seem to catch a memory of the extinct Friar—carried at his girdle a black box, in which there was a licence (forged) to beg. The Abram man was one who feigned to have been mad, and to have been kept in Bedlam for a term of years. The Freshwater Mariner or Whipjack was a beggar who pretended to be a sailor on his way to get a ship; or who had recently been shipwrecked; or who had been robbed by pirates; and who showed a forged writing signed, as it seemed, by men of substance and position confirming his story. The Counterfeit Crank was a pretended epileptic. He carried a piece of white soap, which he put into his mouth to represent the epileptic foam. Harman draws a lively picture of such a man. He begged about the Temple, his face covered with blood and his rags with mud and dirt. At noon he repaired to the back of Clement’s Inn, where in a lane leading to the fields he renewed the blood on his face from a bladder which he had with him, and daubed his jerkin and hose again with mud. A certain printer watched him: in the evening he took a boat across the river; the printer followed him and caused him to be taken up in St. George’s Fields as a common beggar. They took him to the Constable’s house, where they stripped off his rags, showing him to be a healthy and comely man with no sign of any disease; in his pockets they found the sum of thirteen shillings, three pence, and a halfpenny; they gave him an old cloak of the Constable’s, in which he sat by the fire and drank three quarts of beer; after which he threw off the cloak and ran away naked. But they found out where he lived, viz. in a “pretty house, well stuffed, with a fair joined table, and a fair cupboard garnished with pewter.” So they took him to Bridewell, where they painted him, first in his disguise, and next in his proper attire. Then they whipped him through London and brought him back to Bridewell, where he stayed till they thought fit to let him go. The Dommerar pretended to be dumb: he carried a forged licence, and generally pretended to have lost his tongue. One of them was, unluckily for himself, caught by a surgeon, who proved that he had a tongue though he had neatly folded it away somewhere; and as the fellow still would not speak, the surgeon tortured him till he did. This done, they haled him before the magistrate, who administered the usual medicine. The Drunken Tinker’s career may be dismissed; so may that of the Pedlar; the Jackman made false writings and forgeries. The “Demander for Glymmar” was a woman who pretended to have been burned out, and carried a begging licence. The Basket women carried laces, pins, needles and girdles for sale. They bought coney skins and they stole linen from the hedges. The “Autem Morte” and the “Walking Morte” were also pedlars, and of evil repute. The Doxy was the companion and the confederate of the Upright Man. The Dell, the Kynchen Morte, and the Kynchen Cove were boys and girls in training for the life of the vagabond. Queen Elizabeth was fond of driving into the country as well as going upon the river. One summer evening she rode out from Aldersgate, along the road now called Goswell Road, towards the village of Iseldon or Islington. Just outside the town she was surrounded and beset by a number of beggars, to her great annoyance. Wherefore she sent her running footman, Stone, to the Mayor and to the Recorder complaining of this nuisance. The Recorder sent out warrants that same night to the quarters complained of, and into Westminster, with the result that seventy-four beggars were apprehended and sent to Bridewell, where they were “punished” (i.e. soundly flogged). Some of them were found to be very rich and usurers. The mob under Elizabeth did not venture in assemblies on acts of violence. One or two exceptions must be made. Once an armed company, headed by gentlemen, attacked Bridewell. Seeing that their object was the release of certain unrepentant women whose profession concerned the gentlemen only, it is probable that the whole of the rioters were gentlemen. On another occasion the ’prentices rose against foreigners. Instances of hatred between Spanish residents and citizens of London are common in the pages of Machyn. Thus on October 15, 1554, a Spaniard killed a servant of Sir George Gifford without Temple Bar. The cause of the quarrel is not stated. Ten days afterwards the unfortunate foreigner was hanged at Charing Cross. On the 4th of November following there was a great fray at Charing Cross between Spaniards and English. Not many were hurt, and those who began it were arrested, especially a blackamoor. In January another Englishman was murdered by three Spaniards, two of whom held him while the other ran him through. In April was hanged a certain person, servant to a poulterer. He robbed a Spaniard in Westminster Abbey, and for the offence was condemned to be hanged for three days, and then to be buried under the gallows. He was hanged in a gown of tawny frieze, and a doublet of tawny taffeta, with hose lined with sarcenet. Before being turned off he railed at the Pope and the Mass. Of street violence there was still a great deal, but not so much as formerly. The following letter speaks for itself.
The cucking-stool, trebucket, or tumbril, for the ducking of a scold, was commonly found in every village. There were several kinds of it. One was a chair set at the end of a braser which acted on a see-saw principle; one a stump put into the ground at the edge of the water. Another was a “standard” fixed at the entrance of a pond. To this was attached a long pole, at the extremity of which was fastened the chair. Such an one stood almost within the memory of man at the great reservoir in the Green Park. Another kind was a sort of cart on four wheels, with a braser, at the end of which was the chair. All over Oxford these things are found, also at Wootton Bassett, Broad Water Worthing, Leominster, Marlborough, Newbury, Scarborough, Warwick, Ipswich. In 1777 a woman was ducked at Whitchurch. The trial of Ben Jonson, an account of which has been recovered by Mr. John Cordy Jeafferson for the Middlesex County Record Society, began with the inquest on the body of one James Feake, held in Holywell Street, St. Leonard’s Shoreditch, in the thirty-ninth year of Queen Elizabeth, and on the 10th day of December. The said James Feake was killed in a brawl by one Gabriel Spencer, who struck him with his sword in its scabbard in the right eye, so that he fell down, and after languishing for three days, died of the wound. What was done to Gabriel Spencer does not appear. Perhaps the case was treated as one of self-defence. However, Gabriel Spencer presently met with his reward. For in the month of September following, viz. in 1598, the said Gabriel fell to quarrelling with a young man named Ben Jonson, in Shoreditch, or Hoxton Fields; from words they quickly came to blows, and Gabriel was pierced by Ben Jonson’s sword through the right side, so that he died immediately. Jonson was thrown into prison and was tried for manslaughter, not for murder. He pleaded guilty; he also pleaded his clergy, read his “neck-verse,” and was released in accordance with the statute 18 Eliz. c. 7, after being branded in the hand with what the London people called the Tyburn T. I have found one instance, the earliest, of a kind of transportation. Among Frobisher’s Company were six men condemned to death. Their sentence was The story of Thomas Appletree: his terrible accident; his deadly peril; his repentance; and his pardon, is pathetic. I suffer Stow to tell it in his own words:—
One of the last cases of ordeal by battle belongs to the year 1571.
“Tristia sanguinei deuitans praelia campi”
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