Merrie England In The Olden Time - free ebook by George Daniel

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Merrie England In The Olden Time

George Daniel

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37 chapters

In Two Volumes. Vol. I.

In Two Volumes. Vol. I.

“Merrie England in the Olden Time” having found favour with the Public in “ Bentley's Miscellany ,” puts forth new attractions in the present volumes. It has received numerous and important corrections and additions; the story has been illustrated by those eminent artists Messrs. Leech and Robert Cruikshank; and fac-similes, faithfully executed by that “cunninge” limner Mr. Thomas Gilks, of rare and unique portraits of celebrated Players, Jesters, Conjurers, and Mountebanks, (preserved only in t

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INTRODUCTION.

INTRODUCTION.

Y outh is the season of ingenuousness and enjoyment, when we desire to please, and blush not to own ourselves pleased. At that happy period there is no affectation of wisdom; we look only to the bright and beautiful: we inquire not whether it be an illusion; it is sufficient that fairy land, with its flowers of every hue, is the path on which we tread. To youth succeeds manhood, with its worldly prudence: then we are taught to take nothing, not even happiness, upon trust; to investigate until we

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CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER I.

D ost thou think because thou art virtuous there shall be no more cakes and ale?” was the admirable reply of Sir Toby Belch to Malvolio when he would have marred his Christmas * merrymaking with Sir Andrew and the Clown. And how beautiful is Olivia's reply to the self-same precisian when the searching apophthegms of the “foolish wise man, or wise foolish man,” sounded like discords in his ears. “O, you are sick of selflove, Malvolio, and taste all with a distempered appetite. To be generous, gui

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CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER II.

“The flow'ry May , who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.” 'Tis Flora's holiday, and in ancient times the goddess kept it with joyous festivity. Ah! those ancient times, they are food for melancholy. Yet may melancholy be made to “discourse most eloquent music,”— “O why was England 'merrie' called, I pray you tell me why?— Because Old England merry was in merry times gone by! She knew no dearth of honest mirth to cheer both son and sire, But kept it up o'er wassa

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THE LAST OF THE PIGTAILS.=

THE LAST OF THE PIGTAILS.=

“When I heard she was married, thinks I to myself, I'm now an old bachelor laid on the shelf; The last of the Pigtails that smok'd at the Sun, My Dora has done me, and I am undone! I call'd at her lodgings in Dean Street, Soho; My love's gone for ever! alas! she's no go. A nip of prime Burton shall warm my cold blood, Since all my enjoyments are nipp'd in the bud! The picture of famine, my frame half reduced; I can't eat a quarter the vittles I us'd! O dear! what can ail me? I once was so hale—

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“A MIRTHFUL PAGEANT OF THE BULL-FEATHERS TO THE HORNS AT HIGHGATE.

“A MIRTHFUL PAGEANT OF THE BULL-FEATHERS TO THE HORNS AT HIGHGATE.

“The ancient brethren of Bull-Feathers-Hall were a club of warm citizens; 'rich fellows enough! fellows that have had losses, with everything handsome about them.' Their place of rendezvous was the Chequer-Yard in Whitechapel, every Tuesday and Thursday at seven o'clock. The intent of their meeting was to solace themselves with harmless merriment, and promote good fellowship * among neighbours. The president, arrayed in his crimson satin gown, with his cap furred and surmounted by a pair of antl

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MR. BOSKY'S L'ENVOY,=

MR. BOSKY'S L'ENVOY,=

From childhood he rear'd me, how fondly my heart Forgets not, nor lets not my tongue silent be; But whispers, while sweet tears of gratitude start, A blessing and pray'r for his kindness to me! I'll breathe not his name, though its record is deep In my warm beating bosom, for fear he should frown, Go read it where angels their register keep Of the gifted and good, for 'tis there written down. The conversation now took a more lively turn. Mr. Bosky fired off his jokes right and left; and if there

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EUGENIO'S SONG.=

EUGENIO'S SONG.=

“Sweet is the breath of early morn That o'er yon heath refreshing blows: And sweet the blossom on the thorn, The violet blue, the blushing rose. When mounts the lark on rapid wing, How sweet to sit and hear him sing! No carols like the feathered choir, Such happy, grateful thoughts inspire. Here let the spirit, sore distress'd, Its vanities and wishes close: The weary world is not the rest Where wounded hearts should seek repose. But, hark! the lark his merry strain, To heav'n high soaring, sing

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THE BALLAD SINGER'S APOLOGY FOR GREENWICH FAIR.=

THE BALLAD SINGER'S APOLOGY FOR GREENWICH FAIR.=

Up hill and down hill, 'tis always the same; Mankind ever grumbling, and fortune to blame! To fortune, 'tis uphill, ambition and strife; And fortune obtain'd—then the downhill of life! We toil up the hill till we reach to the top; But are not permitted one moment to stop! O how much more quick we descend than we climb! There's no locking fast the swift wheels of Old Time. Gay Greenwich! thy happy young holiday train Here roll down the hill, and then mount it again. The ups and downs life has bri

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THE METRICAL, MUSICAL, COLD, AND COMICAL HUMOURS OF FROST FAIR.=

THE METRICAL, MUSICAL, COLD, AND COMICAL HUMOURS OF FROST FAIR.=

Open the door to me, my love, Prithee open the door,— Lift the latch of your h'gant thatch, Your pleasant room, attic! or what a rheumatic And cold I shall catch! And then, Miss Clark, between you and your spark 'Twill be never a match! I've been singing and ringing, and rapping and tapping, And coughing and sneezing, and wheezing and freezing, While you have been napping, Miss Clark, by the Clock of St. Mark, Twenty minutes and more! Little Jack Frost the Thames has cross'd In a surtout of frie

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THE OLD HARPER'S SONG.=

THE OLD HARPER'S SONG.=

Sound the harp! strike the lyre!—Ah! the Minstrel is old; The days of his harping are very nigh told; Yet Shakspere, * sweet Shakspere! thy name shall expire On his cold quiv'ring lips—Sound the harp! strike the lyre! Its music was thine when his harp he first strung, And thou wert the earliest song that he sung; Now feeble and trembling his hand sweeps the wire— Be thine its last note!—Sound the harp I strike the I've wander'd where riches and poverty dwell; With all but, the sordid, thy name w

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“THE PEDLAR'S PACK.=

“THE PEDLAR'S PACK.=

“Needles and pins! Needles and pins! Lads and lasses, the fair begins! Ribbons and laces For sweet smiling faces; Glasses for quizzers; Bodkins and scissors; Baubles, my dears, For your fingers and ears; Sneeshing for sneezers; Toothpicks and tweezers; Garlands so gay For Valentine's day; Fans for the pretty; Jests for the witty; Songs for the many Three yards a penny! I'm a jolly gay pedlar, and bear on my back, Like my betters, my fortune through brake and through briar; I shuffle, I cut, and

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“THE TABARD.

“THE TABARD.

“Old Tabard! those time-honour'd timbers of thine. Saw the pilgrims ride forth to St. Thomas's shrine; When the good wife of Bath Shed a light on their path. And the squire told his tale of Cambuscan divine. From his harem th' alarum shrill chanticleer crew, And uprose thy host and his company too; The knight rein'd his steed, And a f Gentles, God speed!' The pipes of the miller right merrily blew. There shone on that morning a halo, a ray, Old Tabard I round thee, that shall ne'er pass away; Wh

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THE QUAKER DUET.=

THE QUAKER DUET.=

O Tabitha, in truth, I'm a sober Quaker youth; Then Hymen's knot, the pretty girls, to spite'em, tye. My heart is in your trap; you've crimp'd it, like your cap; And much the spurrit moves me—hum!—to— Poll.......Tye turn tye! And when the knot is tyed, and you're my blushing bride, The damsels will (for leading apes must fright'em,) tye The rosy bands with speed. O yes, they will, indeed! And the chorus at our meeting will be— Poll.......Tye tum tye! I cannot hear you sigh, ah! I will not see yo

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APOTHEOSIS OF UNCLE TIM'S BRAN NEW BUTTONS AND BLUE.=

APOTHEOSIS OF UNCLE TIM'S BRAN NEW BUTTONS AND BLUE.=

If I had my widow or maiden's whim— I know who—I know who It should be! Why, Uncle Tim, In his bran new buttons and blue. Tim's a middle ag'd gentleman sleek, With a laughing eye and a cherry cheek! He loves a good joke Like other blythe folk; A Christmas carol, A cup from the barrel, And a glass of old wine seven days in the week! Hear him sing, and hear him talk, The veriest merriest cock of the walk; Daintily dress'd Like a buck in his best! Loyal and true As his holiday blue! With black silk

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CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER IX.

G entle Reader! we promised thee at the outset of our journey pleasant companions by the way, and as an earnest of that promise, we have introduced Benjamin Bosky and Uncle Tim. We would now bespeak thy courtesy for others that are soon to follow. In passing happily through life, half the battle depends upon the persons with whom we may be associated. And shall we carry spleen into the closet?—grope for that daily plague in our books, when it elbows and stares us in the face at every turn? To ch

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CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER X.

G ive me a woman as old as Hecuba, or as ugly as Caifacaratadaddera, rather than Mrs. Flumgarten! Were the annoyance confined to herself , I should cry, 'Content,'—for she who sows nettles and thorns is entitled to reap a stinging and prickly harvest. Ill temper should ride quarantine, and have a billet de santé , before it is let loose upon society.” These were among the ruminations of Uncle Timothy as he sauntered homeward through the green fields. Two interesting objects lay before him: the v

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CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XI.

R ailly, Master Jackimo, I'm quite ashamed on your laziness! you only gits up to lie down, and only lies down to git up! and, instead of making your bow to the ladies and gentlemen, and holding out your cap to catch the coppers, you are everlastingly a-doing o' nuffin but pulling up your shirt-collar, and cracking o' nuts. Havn't I treated you more like a relation than a monkey—giving you the best of advice? But if ever I find you at your old fun ag'in, as sure as my name's Blinking Billy, I'll

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THE BOAR'S HEAD.=

THE BOAR'S HEAD.=

Sir Toby. Because some folks are virtuous, Sir John, shall you and I Forswear our wassail, cakes and ale, and sit us down and sigh? The world is still a merry world, and this a merry time; And sack is sack, Sir John, Sir Jack! though in it tastes the lime. The watery eye of Sir John Falstaff twinkled with exquisite delight as he filled himself a cup of sack and responded, There's nothing extant, Sir Toby, but cant. A plague of all cowards! Here, Bardolph, my Trigon! You and I will repent, And ke

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THE JOVIAL PRIOR OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW!=

THE JOVIAL PRIOR OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW!=

Sons of the fair, to Father Rahêre Chant a stave in a hollow mew; Hosier Lane shout back the strain Through the cloisters of holy Bartholomew. Saunders, Gyngell, merrily mingle; Richardson join in the choir: Two-legg'd dancers, four-legg'd prancers, You can't cry nay (neigh?) to the Prior. Now fire away in full chorus!— Peace to the soul of the bald-pated droll! Sound him a larry-cum-twang! Toss off a toast to his good-humour'd ghost, And let it come off with a bang!” We were passing by those an

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THE INQUISITIVE FARMER, OR HARLEQUIN HANGMAN.=

THE INQUISITIVE FARMER, OR HARLEQUIN HANGMAN.=

Harlequin, taking a journey to Bath, Put up at an inn with his dagger of lath. He supp'd like a lord,—on a pillow of down He slept like a king, and he snored like a clown. Boniface said, as he popp'd in his head, “In that little crib by the side of your bed, As honest a farmer as e'er stood in shoes, (My chambers are full) would be glad of a snooze.” The farmer began, as in clover he lay, To talk of his clover, his corn-rigs, and hay, His bullocks, his heifers, his pigs, and his wife; Not a wink

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CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER I.

M y friends,”—continued Mr. Bosky, after an approving smack of the lips, and “ Thanks , my kind mistress! many happy returns of St. Bartlemy!” had testified the ballad-singer's hearty relish and gratitude for the refreshing draught over which he had just suspended his well-seasoned nose, *—“never may the mouths be stopped— —(except with a cup of good liquor) of these musical itinerants, from whose doggrel a curious history of men and manners might be gleaned, to humour the anti-social disciples

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CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER II.

I t would require a poetical imagination to paint the times when a gallant train of England's chivalry rode from the Tower Royal through Knight-rider Street and Giltspur Street (how significant are the names of these interesting localities, bearing record of their former glory!) to their splendid tournaments in Smithfield,—or proceeding down Long Lane, crossing the Barbican (the Specula or Watch-tower of Romanum Londinium), and skirting that far-famed street * where, in ancient times, dwelt the

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CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER III.

W ith the fullest intention to rise early the next morning, without deliberating for a mortal half-hour whether or not to turn round and take t' other nap, we retired to a tranquil pillow. But what are all our good intentions? Vexations, vanities, inventions! Macadamizing what?—a certain spot, To ears polite” politeness never mentions— Tattoos, t' amuse, from empty drums. Ah! who time's spectacles shall borrow? And say, be gay to-day—to-morrow— When query if to-morrow comes. To-morrow came; so d

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CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER IV.

H ad we been inclined to superstition, what a supernatural treat had been the discourse of Mr. Merripall! His tales of “goblins damned” were terrible enough to have bristled up our hair till it lifted our very hats off our very heads. His reminiscences of resurrection men * were extensive and curious; he knew their “whereabouts” for ten miles round London. We mean not to insinuate that Mr. Merripall had any share in bringing his departed customers to light again. He was a virtuoso, and his cabin

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CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER V.

I n the narrowest part of the narrow precincts of Cloth Fair there once stood a long, rambling, low-roofed, gable-fronted hostelrie, with carved monsters frightfully deformed, and of hideous obesity, grinning down upon the passengers from every side. Its exterior colour was a dingy yellow; it had little antique casements, casting “a dim,” if not a “religious light,” within; the entrance was by a low porch, with seats on each side, where, on summer days, when leaves are green, the citizen in the

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CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VI.

T he world is a stage; men and women are the players; chance composes the piece; Fortune (blind jade!) distributes the parts; the fools shift the scenery; the philosophers are the spectators; the rich occupy the boxes; the powerful, the pit; and the poor, the gallery. The forsaken of Lady Fortune snuff the candles,—Folly makes the concert,—and Time drops the curtain! In a half sportive, half melancholy mood, we record this description of the tragi-comedy of human life. To weep, like Heraclitus,

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CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VII.

A nd so, Mr. M'Sneeshing, you never heard of the ingenious ruse played off by Monsieur Scaramouch?” said the Lauréat, as he refreshed his nostrils with a parsimonious pinch from the mull of sandy-poled Geordie, conchologist and confectioner, from the land o' cakes. And while Deputy Doublechin was busy admiring a grotesque illumination in Uncle Timothy's Merrie Mysteries , Mr. Bosky favoured the company with Monsieur Scaramouch, sharp-set enough, At a Paris dépôt for tobacco and snuff, Accosted t

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CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER VIII.

A nd hail to the living,” exclaimed Lieutenant O'Larry, the Trim of the Cloth Quarter,—“To them give we a trophy, time enough for a tomb!” And having knocked out the ashes of his pipe, he tuned it, and (beating time with his wooden leg) woke our enthusiasm with And was it not the proudest day in Britain's annals bright? And was he not a gallant chief who fought the gallant fight? Who broke the neck of tyranny, and left no more to do?— That chief was Arthur Wellington! that fight was Waterloo! O,

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CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER IX.

Q uite at home ” is a comfortable phrase! A man may be in his own house, and “not at home or a hundred miles away from it, and yet “quite at home.” Quite at home” denotes absence of restraint (save that which good breeding imposes), ostentatious display, affected style, and the petty annoyances of your small gentry, who clumsily ape their betters. Good entertainment, congenial company, pleasant discourse, the whole seasoned with becoming mirth, and tempered with elegance and refinement, make a m

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CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER X.

I n the year 1776,” continued the Lauréat, “Mr. Philip Astley * transferred his equestrian troop to the 'Rounds.' To him succeeded Saunders, ** who brought forward into the 'circle' that 'wonderful child of promise,' his son, accompanied by the tailor riding to Brentford! To thee, Billy Button! and thy 'Buffo Caricatto,' Thompson, the tumbler, we owe some of the heartiest laughs of our youthful days. Ods 'wriggling, giggling, galloping, galloway,' we have made merry in St. Bartlemy!” There were

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CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XI.

M r. Merripall, having gathered that the tale was of a ghostly character, would not suffer the candles to be snuffed, but requested his mutes to sprinkle over them a pinch or two of salt, that they might burn appropriately blue. He would have given his gold repeater for a death-watch; and when a coffin bounced out to him from the fire (howbeit it might be carrying coals to Newcastle!) he hailed it as a pleasant omen. Messrs. Hatband and Stiflegig, catching the jocular infection, brightened up am

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CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XII.

A chubby young gentleman, a “little Jack Horner eating his Christmas pie,” abutting from “ The Fortune of War ,” at Pie-Corner, marks the memorable spot where the Great Fire of London concluded its ravages. The sin of gluttony , * to which, in the original inscription (now effaced,) the fire was attributed, is still rife; a considerable trade in eatables and drinkables being driven, and corks innumerable drawn, in defiance, under the chubby young gentleman's bottle nose. A Bartlemy Fair shower o

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CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIII.

P ut out the light!” exclaimed Mr. Bonassus Bigstick, with a lugubrio-comic expression of countenance that might convulse a Trappist, to a pigeon-toed property-man and a duck-legged drummer, who were snuffing two farthing rushlights in the Proscenium. “ Put out the light! ” and straightway he pocketed the extinguished perquisite. We were retiring from the scene of Mr. Bigstick's glory in company with two lingering chimney-sweeps, who had left their brushes and brooms at the box door, when our pr

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CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XIV.

T he sentinel sleeps when off his post; the Moorfields barker enjoys some interval of repose; moonshine suffers a partial eclipse on Bank holidays among the omnium gatherem of Bulls and Bears; the doctor gives the undertaker a holiday; Argus sends his hundred eyes to the Land of Nod, and Briareus puts his century of hands in his pockets.—But the match-maker, ante and post meridian, is always at her post! “The News teems with candidates for the noose:—A spinster conjugally inclined; a bachelor de

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CONCLUSION.

CONCLUSION.

T hus, gentle reader, we have led thee through a labyrinth of strange sights, of land-monsters and sea-monsters, many of man's own making, others the offspring of freakish nature, of Jove mellow with nectar and ambrosia. If the “proper study of mankind is man,” where can he be studied in a greater variety of character than in the scenes we have visited? The well-dressed automaton of a drawing-room, (a tailor made him!) fenced in with fashions and forms, moving, looking, and speaking but as etiqu

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APPENDIX.

APPENDIX.

Well might Old England * have been called “Merrie,” for the court had its masques and pageantry, and the people their plays, ** sports, and pastimes. There existed a jovial sympathy between the two estates, which was continually brought into action, and enjoyed with hearty good-will. Witness the Standard in Cornhill, and the Conduit in “Chepe;” when May-poles were in their glory, and fountains ran with wine. A joyous remnant of the olden time was the coart-fool. “Better be a witty fool than a fo

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