The ninth dayes iourney, being Wednesday of the second weeke.

The next morning I left Hingham, not staying till I came to Barford-bridge, fiue young men running all the way with me, for otherwise my pace was not for footemen.

From Barford bridge I daunst to Norwich; but comming within sight of the Citty, perceiuing so great a multitude and throng of people still crowding more and more about me, mistrusting it would be a [let] to my determined expedition and pleasurable humour, which I long before conceiued to delight this Citty with (so far as my best skill and industry of my long trauelled sinewes could affoord them), I was aduised, and so tooke ease by that aduise, to stay my Morrice a little aboue Saint Giles his gate, where I tooke my gelding, and so rid into the Citty, procrastinating my merry Morrice daunce through the Citty till better opportunitie.

Being come into the Citty, [Master Roger Wiler the Maior], and sundry other of his worshipfull Brethren, sent for me; who perceiuing howe I intended not to daunce into the Cittye that nyght, and being well satisfied with the reasons, they allotted me time enough not to daunce in till Satterday after; to the end that diuers knights and Gentlemen, together with their wiues and children (who had beene many dayes before deceyued with expectation of my comming), might nowe haue sufficient warning accordingly by satterday following.

In the meane space, and during my still continuaunce in the Cittye afterwardes, they not onely very courteously offered to beare mine owne charges and my followers, but very bountifully performed it at the common charges: the Mayor and many of the Aldermen often times besides inuited vs priuately to theyr seuerall houses.

To make a short end of this tedious description of my entertainment; Satterday no sooner came but I returned without the Citty through Saint Giles his gate, and beganne my Morrice where I left at that gate, but I entred in at Saint Stephens gate, where one Thomas Gilbert in name of all the rest of the Cittizens gaue me a friendly and exceeding kind welcome; which I haue no reason to omit, vnlesse I would condemne my selfe of ingratitude, partlye for the priuate affection of the writer towardes me, as also for the generall loue and fauour I found in them from the highest to the lowest, the richest as the poorest. It followes in these few lynes.

Master Kemp his welcome to Norwich.

W With hart, and hand, among the rest,
E Especially you welcome are:
L Long looked for as welcome guest,
C Come now at last you be from farre.
O Of most within the Citty, sure,
M Many good wishes you haue had;
E Each one did pray you might indure,
W With courage good the match you made.
I Intend they did with gladsome hearts,
L Like your well willers, you to meete:
K Know you also they’l doe their parts,
E Eyther in field or house to greete
M More you then any with you came,
P Procur’d thereto with trump and fame.

your well-willer,
T. G.

Passing the gate, [Wifflers] (such Officers as were appointed by the Mayor) to make me way through the throng of the people which prest so mightily vpon me, with great labour I got thorow that narrow [preaze] into the open market place; where on the crosse, ready prepared, stood the Citty Waytes, which not a little refreshed my wearines with toyling thorow so narrow a lane as the people left me: such Waytes (under Benedicite be it spoken) fewe Citties in our Realme haue the like, none better; who, besides their excellency in wind instruments, their rare cunning on the Vyoll and Violin, theyr voices be admirable, euerie one of thē able to serue in any Cathedrall Church in Christendoome for Quiristers.

Passing by the Market place, the presse still increasing by the number of boyes, girles, men and women, thronging more and more before me to see the end; it was the mischaunce of a homely maide, that, belike, was but newly crept into the fashion of long wasted peticotes tyde with [points], and had, as it seemed, but one point tyed before, and comming vnluckily in my way, as I was fetching a leape, it fell out that I set my foote on her skirts: the point eyther breaking or stretching, off fell her peticoate from her waste, but as chance was, thogh hir smock were course, it was cleanely; yet the poore wench was so ashamed, the rather for that she could hardly recouer her coate againe from vnruly boies, that looking before like one that had the greene sicknesse, now had she her cheekes all coloured with scarlet. I was sorry for her, but on I went towards the Maiors, and deceiued the people by leaping ouer the church-yard wall at S. Johns, getting so into M. Mayors gates a neerer way; but at last I found it the further way about, being forced on the Tewsday following to renew my former daunce, because George Sprat, my ouer-seer, hauing lost me in the throng, would not be deposed that I had daunst it, since he saw me not; and I must confesse I did not wel, for the Cittizens had caused all the turne-pikes to be taken vp on Satterday that I might not bee hindred. But now I returne againe to [my Jump, the measure of which is to be seene in the Guild-hall at Norwich,] where my buskins, that I then wore and daunst in from London thither, stand equally deuided, nailde on the wall. The plenty of good cheere at the Mayors, his bounty and kinde vsage, together with the general welcomes of his worshipful brethren, and many other knights, Ladies, Gentlemen and Gentlewomen, so much exceeded my expectation, as I adiudg’d my selfe most bound to them all. The Maior gaue me fiue pound in Elizabeth [angels]; which Maior (faire Madame, to whom I too presumptuously dedicate my idle paces) [is a man] worthy of a singuler and impartiall admiration, if our criticke humorous mindes could as prodigally conceiue as he deserues, for his chast life, liberality, and temperance in possessing worldly benefits. He liues vnmarried, and childlesse; neuer purrchased house nor land, the house he dwels in this yeere being but hyred: he liues vpon marchandies, being a Marchant venturer. If our marchants and gentlemen wold take example by this man, Gentlemen would not sell their lands to become banckrout Marchants, nor Marchants liue in the possessions of youth-beguiled gentlemen, who cast themselues out of their parents heritages for a few out-cast [commodities]. But, [wit, whither wilt thou?] What hath Morrice tripping Will to do with that? it keeps not time wt his dance; therefore roome, you morral precepts, giue my legs leaue to end my Morrice, or, that being ended, my hands leaue to perfect this worthlesse poore [tottered] volume.

Pardon me, Madame, that I am thus tedious; I cannot chuse but cōmend sacred liberality, which makes poore wretches partakers of all comfortable benefits: besides the loue and fauour already repeated, [M. Weild the mayor] gaue me 40.s. yeerely during my life, making me a free man of the marchant venterers. This is the substance of al my iourney; therefore let no man beleeue, how euer before by lying ballets and rumors they haue bin abused, yt either waies were laid open for me, or that I deliuered gifts to her Maiesty. Its good being merry, my masters, but in a meane, and al my mirths, (meane though they be) haue bin and euer shal be imploi’d to the delight of my royal Mistris; whose sacred name ought not to be remēbred among such ribald rimes as these late thin-breecht lying Balletsingers haue proclaimed it.

It resteth now that in a word I shew what profit I haue made by my Morrice. True it is [I put out some money to haue threefold gaine at my returne]: some that loue me, regard my paines, and respect their promise, haue sent home the treble worth; some other at the first sight haue paide me, if I came to seek thē; others I cannot see, nor wil they willingly be found, and these are the greater number. If they had al usd me wel, or al ill, I would haue boldly set downe the true sum of my smal gain or losse; but I wil haue patience, some few daies lōger: at ye end of which time, if any be behinde, I wil draw a cattalogue of al their names I ventur’d with; those yt haue shewne thēselues honest men, I wil set before them this Caracter, H. for honesty; before the other [Bench-whistlers] shal stand K. for [ketlers and keistrels], that wil driue a good companion without need in them to contend for his owne; but I hope I shall haue no such neede. If I haue, your Honourable protection shall thus far defend your poore seruant, that he may, being a plain man, call a spade a spade. Thus fearing your Ladyship is wearier with reading this toy then I was in all my merry trauaile, I craue pardon; and conclude this first Pamphlet that euer Will Kemp offred to the Presse, being thereunto prest on the one side by the pittifull papers, pasted on euery poast, of that which was neither so nor so, and on the other side vrg’d thereto in duety to expresse with thankefulnes the kind entertainment I found.

Your honors poore seruant,
W. K.

Kemps humble request to the impudent generation of Ballad-makers and their coherents; that it would please their rascalities to pitty his paines in the great iourney he [pretends], and not fill the country with lyes of his neuer done actes, as they did in his late Morrice to Norwich.

To the tune of Thomas Delonies Epitaph.

My notable Shakerags, the effect of my sute is discouered in the Title of my supplication; but for your better vnderstandings, for that I know you to be a [sort] of witles beetle-heads that can understand nothing but what is knockt into your scalpes, These are by these presentes to certifie vnto your block-headships, that I, William Kemp, whom you had neer hand rent in sunder with your vnreasonable rimes, am shortly, God willing, to set forward as merily as I may; whether I my selfe know not. Wherefore, by the way, I would wish ye, imploy not your little wits in certifying the world that I am gone to Rome, Jerusalem, Venice, or any other place at your idle appoint. I knowe the best of ye, by the lyes ye writ of me, got not the price of a good hat to couer your brainles heads: if any of ye had come to me, my bounty should haue exceeded the best of your good masters the Ballad-buiers, I wold haue apparrelled your dry pates in party coloured bonnets, and bestowd a leash of my cast belles to haue crown’d ye with cox-combs. I haue made a priuie search what priuate [Jigmonger] of your jolly number hath been the Author of these abhominable ballets written of me. I was told it was [the great ballet-maker T. D., alias Tho. Deloney, Chronicler of the memorable liues of the 6. yeomen of the west, Jack of Newbery, the ] [ Gentle-craft], and such like honest mē, omitted by Stow, Hollinshead, Graftō, Hal, froysart, and the rest of those wel deseruing writers; but I was giuen since to vnderstand your late generall Tho. dyed poorely, as ye all must do, and was honestly buried, which is much to bee doubted of some of you. The quest of inquiry finding him by death acquited of the Inditement, I was let to wit yt another Lord of litle wit, [one whose imployment for the Pageant was vtterly spent, he being knowne to be Eldertons immediate heyre], was vehemently suspected; but after due inquisition was made, he was at that time knowne to liue like a man in a mist, hauing quite giuen ouer the [mistery]. Still the search continuing, I met a proper vpright youth, onely for a little stooping in the shoulders, all hart to the heele, a penny Poet, whose first [making] was the miserable stolne story of Macdoel, or [Macdobeth], or Macsomewhat, for I am sure a Mac it was, though I neuer had the maw to see it; and hee tolde me there was a fat filthy ballet-maker, that should haue once been his Journeyman to the trade, who liu’d about the towne, and ten to one but he had thus terribly abused me and my Taberer, for that he was able to do such a thing in print. A shrewd presumption! I found him about the [bankside], sitting at a play; I desired to speake with him, had him to a Tauerne, charg’d a pipe with Tobacco, and then laid this terrible accusation to his charge. He swels presently, like one of the foure windes; the violence of his breath blew the Tobacco out of the pipe, and the heate of his wrath drunke dry two bowlefuls of Rhenish wine. At length hauing power to speake, “Name my accuser,” saith he, “or I defye thee, Kemp, at the quart staffe.” I told him; and all his anger turned to laughter, swearing it did him good to haue ill words of a [hoddy doddy], a [habber de hoy], a chicken, a squib, a [squall], one that hath not wit enough to make a ballet, that, by Pol and Aedipol, would Pol his father, [Derick] his dad, doe anie thing, how ill so euer, to please his apish humor. I hardly beleeued this youth that I tooke to be gracious had bin so graceles; but I heard afterwards his mother in law was eye and eare witnes of his fathers abuse by this blessed childe on a publique stage, in a merry Hoast of an Innes part. Yet all this while could not I finde out the true ballet-maker, till by chaunce a friend of mine puld out of his pocket a booke in Latine, called [Mundus Furiosus], printed at Cullen, written by one of the vildest and arrantest lying [Cullians] that euer writ booke, his name Jansonius, who, taking vpon him to write an abstract of all the turbulent actions that had beene lately attempted or performed in Christendome, like an vnchristian wretch, writes onely by report, partially, and scoffingly of such whose pages shooes hee was vnworthy to wipe, for indeed he is now dead: farewell he! euery dog must haue a day. But see the luck on’t: [this beggerly lying busie-bodies name brought out the Ballad-maker], and, it was generally confirmd, it was his kinsman: he confesses himselfe guilty, let any man looke on his face; if there be not so redde a colour that all the sope in the towne will not washe white, let me be turned to a Whiting as I passe betweene Douer and Callis. Well, God forgiue thee, honest fellow, I see thou hast grace in thee; I prethee do so no more, leaue writing these beastly ballets, make not good wenches Prophetesses, for litle or no profit, nor for a sixe-penny matter reuiue not a poore fellowes fault thats hanged for his offence; it may be thy owne destiny one day; prethee be good to them. Call vp thy olde Melpomene, whose straubery quill may write the bloody lines of the blew Lady, and the Prince of the burning crowne; a better subiect, I can tell ye, than your Knight of the Red Crosse. So, farewel, and crosse me no more, I prethee, with thy rabble of bald rimes, least at my returne I set a crosse on thy forehead that all men may know thee for a foole.

WILLIAM KEMP.

[3:1] Sion neere Brainford, and Mount Surrey by Norwich (Marg. note in old ed.).

[4:1] A great spoone in Ilford, holding aboue a quart (Marg. note in old ed.).

NOTES.

[Page 1, line 2], Mistris Anne Fitton, Mayde of Honour to ... Queene Elizabeth.]—A Mary Fitton, daughter to Sir Edward Fitton, of Gawsworth, and maid of honour to Queen Elizabeth, is mentioned by Ormerod, Hist. of Cheshire, iii. 293; and “Mrs. Fitton” is noticed as holding that office in several letters of Rowland Whyte, printed among the Sydney Papers. It seems unlikely that the Queen should have had two maids of honour called Fitton; and yet we can hardly suppose that Kemp mistook the Christian name of his patroness. I may add, that an examination of Sir E. Fitton’s will in the Prerogative Court has proved to me that his daughter was named Mary.

[P. 1, l. 6], sort.]—set, band.

[P. 1, l. 11], Kery, mery, Buffe.]—Compare Nash’s Haue with you to Saffron-walden, 1596, “Yea, without kerry merry buffe be it spoken,” &c. Sig. F. 4; and Middleton’s Blurt Master Constable, “Tricks, tricks; kerry merry buff.” Act i. sc. 1; Works, i. 235, ed. Dyce.

[P. 1, l. 14]. Trenchmore.]—a boisterous sort of dance to a lively tune in triple time.

[P. 2, l. 2], Jigges.]—See Introduction.

[P. 2, l. 8], I could flye to Rome (at least hop to Rome, as the olde Proverb is) with a morter on my head.]—So in Fletcher’s Fair Maid of the Inn, “He did measure the stars with a false yard, and may now travel to Rome with a mortar on ’s head, to see if he can recover his money that way,” Act v. sc. 2, Works, ix. 498, ed. Weber; and in Middleton and Rowley’s Spanish Gipsy, “A cousin of mine in Rome, I[’ll] go to him with a mortar,” Act ii. sc. 2, Middleton’s Works, iv. 135, ed. Dyce.

[P. 2, l. 11], huntsup.]—a tune played to rouse the sportsmen in a morning.

[P. 3, l. 10], Thomas Slye.]—A relation, probably, of William Slye, the actor.

[P. 3, l. 15], bel-shangles.]—A cant term, which is also used by Nash: “Canonizing euerie Bel-shangles the water-bearer for a Saint.”—Haue with you to Saffron-walden, 1596, Sig. I.

[P. 4, l. 18], Bauines.]—small faggots.

[P. 4, l. 30], hey-de-gaies.]—a kind of rural dance: the word is variously written.

[P. 6, l. 9], dy-doppers.]—didappers, dabchicks.

[P. 6, l. 13], a noted Cut-purse, such a one as we tye to a poast on our stage, for all people to wonder at, when at a play they are taken pilfring.]—Mr. Collier, who has cited the present passage, observes, that this method of treating cutpurses, when detected at theatres, is no where else adverted to by any writer.—Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poet. iii. 413.

[P. 6, l. 18], Trenchmore.]—See [note, p. 25].

[P. 6, l. 22], companions.]—scurvy fellows—a play on the word.

[P. 7, l. 7], Sir Thomas Mildmay, standing at his Parke pale.]—Sir Thomas Mildmay, Knt., of Moulsham-hall. He married the Lady Frances, only daughter, by his second wife, of Henry Ratcliffe, Lord Fitzwalter and Earl of Sussex; from which marriage his descendants derived their title and claim to the Barony of Fitzwalter. He died in 1608.—Morant’s Hist. of Essex, ii. 2; Dugdale’s Baron. ii. 288.

[P. 7, l. 9], points.]—tagged laces.

[P. 7, l. 9], being my ordinary marchandize, that I put out to venter for performance of my merry voyage.]—This “marchandize” was instead of a deposit in money: but we learn from a passage towards the end of the tract (p. 19), that our Morrice-dancer had also “put out some money to have threefold gain at his return,”—it being then a common custom for those who undertook expeditions to put out sums of money on condition of receiving them back trebled, quadrupled, or quintupled, at the completion of the voyages or journies. Kemp (ibid.) complains that the greater number of those with whom he had deposited money would not “willingly be found:” compare A Kicksey Winsey, or, A Lerry Come-twang; Wherein John Taylor hath Satyrically suted seuen hundred and fifty of his bad debtors, that will not pay him for his returne of his iourney from Scotland. Taylor the Water-poet’s Workes, 1630, p. 36.

[P. 7, l. 26], bels.]—“The number of bells round each leg of the morris-dancers amounted from twenty to forty. They had various appellations, as the fore-bell, the second bell, the treble, the tenor, the base, and the double-bell. Sometimes they used trebles only; but these refinements were of later times. The bells were occasionally jingled by the hands, or placed on the arms or wrists of the parties.”—Douce’s Illust. of Shakespeare, ii. 475. The same writer mentions that in the time of Henry the Eighth the Morris-dancers had “garters to which bells were attached,” 473.

[P. 7, l. 26], the olde fashion, with napking on her armes.]—“The handkerchiefs, or napkins, as they are sometimes called, were held in the hand, or tied to the shoulders.” Douce, ubi supra, 475.

[P. 8, l. 8], The hobby-horse quite forgotten.]—When the present tract was written, the Puritans, by their preachings and invectives, had succeeded in banishing this prominent personage from the Morris-dance, as an impious and pagan superstition. The expression in our text seems to have been almost proverbial; besides the well-known line cited in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Act iii. sc. 2, (and in his Love’s Labours Lost, Act iii. sc. 1.)

“For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot,”

parallel passages are to be found in various other early dramas. As the admirable scene in Sir Walter Scott’s Abbot, I. ch. xiv. (Wav. Novels, xx.) must be familiar to every reader, a description of the hobby-horse is unnecessary.

[P. 8, l. 23], plash.]—pool.

[P. 10, l. 15], blee.]—complexion, countenance.

[P. 10, l. 27], hey de gay.]—See [note, p. 26].

[P. 11, l. 25], the Lord Chiefe Justice.]—Sir John Popham: he was appointed Chief Justice of the King’s Bench in 1592.

[P. 12, l. 13], Sir Edwin Rich.]—Third son of Robert Lord Rich, was knighted at Cadiz in June 1596: see Account of the expedition to Cadiz in Hakluyt’s Voyages, I. 617. ed. 1599 (where, by mistake, he is called Sir Edmund), and Stow’s Annales, p. 775. ed. 1631. About three years after, he purchased the manor of Mulbarton in Norfolk from William Gresham, Esq. In 1604, when Sir Anthony Shirley went as ambassador from the Emperor of Germany to the King of Morocco, in his suite was Sir Edwin Rich, “whose behauiour was good, and well spoken of in euery place where he came,” &c. He married Honora, daughter of Charles Worlick, Esq.; and died, and was buried (I know not in what year) at Hartlepool. A monument is erected to his memory, and to that of his sons, Robert and Sir Edwin, in Mulbarton church. Collins’s Baron. III. P. ii. 592. ed. 1741; Le Neve’s Mon. Angl. Suppl. 113; Purchas’s Pilgrimes, Sec. Part. p. 863. ed. 1625; Blomefield’s Hist. of Norf. III. 52.

[P. 13, l. 5], began withall this, blessing, &c.]—Old ed. “began with. All this: blessing,” &c.

[P. 13, l. 26], He was a man, &c.]—Warton thinks that this description of the Innkeeper at Rockland, “which could not be written by Kemp, was most probably a contribution from his friend and fellow player Shakespeare [?]. He may vie with our Host of the Tabard.” Hist. of Eng. Poet. IV. 63, ed. 4to.

[P. 13, l. 28], Welcome.]—“coming,” apud Warton (ubi supra, 64,) by mistake.

[P. 13, l. 31], What wonders once in Bullayne fell.]—At the siege of Boulogne: on the 14th of Sept. 1544, it surrendered to Henry the Eighth, who entered it in triumph on the 18th of the month.

[P. 14, l. 1], Turwin and Turneys siedge were hot.]—After the Battle of the Spurs, which took place August 16th, 1513, Terouenne surrendered to Henry the Eighth on the 22nd of that month, and on the 27th its defences were razed to the ground: Tournay surrendered to the English monarch on the 29th of the ensuing September. Historians differ somewhat as to the dates of these events: I have followed Lingard.

[P. 14, l. 3], Kets field.]—The battle near Norwich, August 27th, 1549, when the Earl of Warwick routed Ket and the Norfolk rebels.

[P. 14, l. 3], Muscleborough fray.]—The battle of Pinkey, in which the Protector Somerset defeated the Scots with great slaughter, September 10th, 1547.

[P. 14, l. 10], poating sticke.]—Or poking-stick, an instrument for setting the plaits of ruffs. Poting-sticks were originally made of wood or bone; afterwards of steel, that they might be used hot.

[P. 14, l. 11], Cutting Dicke.]—Is thus mentioned by Wither:

“Yet this is nothing; if they looke for fame,
And meane to haue an everlasting name
Amongst the Vulgar, let them seeke for gaine
With Ward the Pirat on the boisterous maine;
Or else well mounted keepe themselues on land,
And bid our wealthy trauellers to stand,
Emptying their full-cram’d bags; for that’s a tricke
Which sometimes wan renoune to Cutting Dicke.”

Abvses Stript and Whipt, Lib. II. Sat. 2. Sig. P. ed. 1613.

From the following entry by Henslowe we learn that this worthy figured in a play: “Pd. unto Thomas Hewode, the 20th of september [1602], for the new adycions of Cutting Dick, the some of xxs.” Malone’s Shakespeare, (by Boswell,) III. 333.

[P. 14, l. 12], ’tis a world.]—Equivalent to—it is a wonder.

[P. 14, l. 27], Lack ye? what do you lack, Gentlemen?]—The usual address of the London tradesmen to those who passed by their shops, which were formerly open like booths or stalls at a fair.

[P. 15, l. 2], sort.]—set, band.

[P. 15, l. 15], let.]—hindrance.

[P. 15, l. 23], Master Roger Wiler the Maior.]—An error, it would seem, not of the author, but of the printer, for afterwards (p. 18), the name is given more correctly, Weild. In the list of Mayors of Norwich during Elizabeth’s reign, drawn up by Blomefield, we find—

“1598, Francis Rugg, 2.
1599, Roger Weld.
1600, Alex. Thurston.”

Hist. of Norf. ii. 252.

[P. 17, l. 1], Wifflers.]—Persons who clear the way for a procession: see Douce’s Ill. of Shakespeare, I. 506. I may just notice that when Grose compiled his Prov. Gloss., the word whifflers had not become obsolete in the city of which Kemp is now speaking.

[P. 17, l. 4], preaze.]—press.

[P. 17, l. 17], points.]—tagged laces.

[P. 18, l. 2], my Jump, the measure of which is to be seene in the Guild-hall at Norwich, &c.]—It is hardly necessary to inform the reader that no memorial of Kemp is now extant in that building.

[P. 18, l. 10], angels.]—Gold coins, worth about 10s. each.

[P. 18, l. 11], is a man.]—Old ed. “as a man.”

[P. 18, l. 22], commodities.]—goods, in which needy prodigals took either part or whole of the sum they wanted to borrow, and for which they gave a bond: these commodities (sometimes consisting of brown paper!) they were to turn into ready money. Our early writers have innumerable allusions to the custom.

[P. 18, l. 22], wit, whither wilt thou?]—A kind of proverbial expression, by no means unfrequent: see, for instance, Shakespeare’s As you like it, Act iv. sc. 1.

[P. 18, l. 26], tottered.]—tattered.

[P. 18, l. 30], M. Weild the mayor.]—See [note, p. 29].

[P. 19, l. 8], I put out some money to haue threefold gaine at my returne.]—See [note, p. 26].

[P. 19, l. 19], Bench-whistlers.]—perhaps, sottish idlers on ale-house benches; see Gifford’s note in B. Jonson’s Works, i. 103.

[P. 19, l. 19], ketlers and keistrels.]—The first of these terms I am unable to explain; but it occurs in Middleton’s Black Book, “So, drawing in amongst bunglers and ketlers under the plain frieze of simplicity, thou mayest finely couch the wrought velvet of knavery;” and in his Father Hubburd’s Tales, we find “like an old cunning bowler to fetch in a young ketling gamester:” see Middleton’s Works, v. 543, 589, ed. Dyce. Keistrels are hawks of a worthless and degenerate breed.

[P. 20, l. 3], pretends.]—intends.

[P. 20, l. 9], sort.]—set, band.

[P. 20, l. 24], Jigmonger.]—ballad maker.

[P. 20, l. 26], the great ballet-maker T. D., alias Tho. Deloney, Chronicler of the memorable liues of the 6. yeomen of the west, Jack of Newbery, the Gentle-craft.]—Thomas Deloney succeeded Elderton as the most popular ballad-writer of the time: for an account of his poetical pieces, see Ritson’s Bibl. Poet. and Collier’s Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poet. iii. 100. The pleasing ballad of Fair Rosamond, reprinted in Percy’s Rel. of An. Engl. Poet. ii. 143. ed. 1794, is probably the composition of Deloney, as it is found in more than one of his publications. In 1596, had he not eluded the search of the Mayor of London, he would have been punished for writing “a certain Ballad, containing a Complaint of great Want and Scarcity of Corn within the Realm ... bringing in the Queen speaking with her People Dialogue-wise, in very fond and undecent sort,” &c., Stow’s Survey, B. v. 333. ed. 1720, where he is described as “an idle Fellow, and one noted with the like Spirit in printing a Book for the Silk Weavers, wherein was found some such like foolish and disorderly matter.” Nash terms him “the Balletting Silke-weauer,” Haue with you to Saffron-walden, 1596, Sig. N. 3. Deloney was no less celebrated among the vulgar for his prose-romances than for his ballads. Thomas of Reading, or the sixe worthie Yeomen of the West, is noticed in the present passage as a well-known work, and was dramatized in 1601 (Malone’s Shakespeare, by Boswell, iii. 325-6; Collier’s Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poet. iii. 99), but no impression has been discovered earlier than the fourth, 1612, 4to: this tale is reprinted in Thoms’s Early Prose Rom. i. Of The pleasant Historie of John Winchcomb, in his younguer yeares called Jack of Newbery, the famous and worthy Clothier of England; declaring his life and loue, together with his charitable deeds and great Hospitalitie, &c., the earliest edition extant is the eighth, 1619, 4to: its entry in the Stationers’ Books stands thus:

“7 Maii [1596].
“Tho. MillingtonEntered for his copie a book called Jack of Newbery So that he haue yt lawfully aucthorised vid.”

(Liber C. fol. 19)

The Gentle Craft, A most merry and pleasant History, not altogether vnprofitable, nor any way hurtfull: very fit to passe away the tediousnes of the long winters euenings, in Two Parts, 1598, 4to., is probably the first edition, for the following entry in the Stationers’ Books seems to relate to it:

“19o Octobris [1597]
“Raphe BloreEntred for his copie vnder thande of Mr. Dix and Mr. Man a booke called The gentle crafte intreatinge of Shoomakers.... vid.”

(Liber C. fol. 25.)

Verses of various kinds are inserted in these novels.

[P. 21, l. 7], one whose imployment for the Pageant was vtterly spent, he being knowne to be Eldertons immediate heyre.]—An allusion to Anthony Munday. During a long life he figured in various capacities,—as a player, an apprentice to Allde the printer, a retainer of the Earl of Oxford, a Messenger of her Majesty’s Chamber, Poet to the City, dramatist, writer in verse and prose, and draper. He also excited considerable attention, and drew much trouble on himself, by his efforts in detecting the treasonable practices of the Jesuits. According to the inscription on his monument in the church of St. Stephen, Coleman Street, he died in his 80th year, August 10th 1633. (Stow’s Survey, B. iii. 61. ed. 1720.) For a fuller account of Munday and his writings, see Chalmers’s Biog. Dict., Collier’s Supplementary volume to Dodsley’s Old Plays, Warton’s Hist. of Engl. Poet., iii., 290, seq. ed. 4to., Ritson’s Bibl. Poet., and Lowndes’s Bibl. Man. His Downfall of Robert Earl of Huntington, and Death of Robert, &c. (in the latter of which, if not in the former, he was assisted by Chettle) are reprinted by Mr. Collier in the volume just mentioned; his English Romayne Life; Discovering the Lives of the Englishmen at Rome, the orders of the English Seminarie, &c. and his Banquet of daintie Conceits, &c. may be found in The Harl. Miscell. VII. 136, IX. 219, ed. Park; his Triumphes of Reunited Britania, Metropolis Coronata, and Crysanaleia, the Golden Fishing, are included in Nichols’s Prog. of K. James, i. 564, iii. 107, 195; and extracts from his translations of various romances are given in Sir E. Brydges’s Brit. Bibl. i. 225, 135, ii. 561.

Gifford thinks it probable that most of the annual pageants from 1591 to the death of Elizabeth were produced by Munday (Note on B. Jonson’s Works, vi. 328). Though Kemp declares here that his “imployment for the pageant was utterly spent,” yet Anthony furnished the city shows for 1605, 1611, and (in spite of an attack made on him by Middleton in 1613—see my ed. of Middleton’s Works, v. 219, note), for 1614, 1615, and 1616.

Except a “Song of Robin Hood and his Huntesmen” in Metropolis Coronata, I am not aware that any of Munday’s ballads are extant—unless indeed the “ditties” in The Banquet of daintie Conceits may be regarded as such; but there is no doubt that they were numerous, and hence, in the present passage, he is termed the “immediate heyre” of William Elderton. This personage,—who is said to have been, at different periods of his life, an actor, the master of a company of players, and an attorney in the Sheriff’s Court, London,—obtained great notoriety by his ballads. See a list of his pieces in Ritson’s Bibl. Poet.: vide also Warton’s Hist. of Engl. Poet. iv. 40, ed. 4to. His song “The God of love,” &c. (of which a puritanical moralization still exists) is quoted in Shakespeare’s Much ado about Nothing, act v. sc. 2. His Verses on the Images over the Guild-hall Gate may be read in Stow’s Survey, B. iii. 41, ed. 1720; his ballad of The King of Scots and Andrew Browne, in Percy’s Rel. of An. Engl. Poet. ii. 207, ed. 1794; his New Yorkshyre Song, in Evans’s Old Ballads, i. 20, ed. 1810; and his Newes from Northumberland, The Dekaye of the Duke, The daungerous Shooting of the Gunne at the Court and A moorning Diti upon Henry Earl of Arundel, in The Harl. Miscell. X. 267, seq. ed. Park. Elderton appears to have ceased pouring forth his doggrel about the time that Deloney began to write. In 1592 he was dead: see Nash’s Strange Newes, Of the intercepting certaine Letters, &c., 1592, Sig. D. 4. He was nearly as famous for drinking as for rhyming: of two epitaphs on him, preserved by Camden, I subjoin the first:

“Hic situs est sitiens, atque ebrius Eldertonus;
Quid dico, hic situs est? hic potius sitis est.”

Remaines—Epitaphes, 56, ed. 1605.

[P. 21, l. 11], mistery.]—art, trade.

[P. 21, l. 14], making.]—poetical composition.

[P. 21, l. 15], Macdobeth.]—This mention of a piece anterior to Shakespeare’s tragedy on the same subject has escaped the commentators.

[P. 21, l. 21], the bankside.]—In Southwark, where the Globe and other theatres were situated.

[P. 21, l. 29], hoddy doddy.]—A term of contempt, which occurs in B. Jonson’s Every Man in his Humour, Act iv. sc. 8, Works, i. 141, ed. Gifford, and is used by a comparatively recent writer, Swift. See Richardson’s Dict. in v.

[P. 21, l. 30], habber de hoy.]—“A Hober-de-hoy, half a man and half a boy.” Ray’s Proverbs, p. 57, ed. 1768.—The word is variously written: see Jamieson’s Et. Dict. of Scot. Lang. in v. Hobbledehoy.

[P. 21, l. 30], squall.]—probably, poor effeminate creature. Taylor, the water-poet, describes the rich foolish gallant calling his harlot,

“Ducke, Lambe, Squall, Sweet-heart, Cony, and his Doue.”

A Whore, p. 112.—Workes, 1630.

and Middleton, who employs the word several times, seems to use it in the sense of wench: see his Works, iii. 55, v. 575. ed. Dyce.

[P. 21, l. 32], Derick.]—hang,—the name of the common hangman when this tract was written: he is frequently mentioned in our old plays.

[P. 22, l. 6], Mundus Furiosus.]—Mundi Fvriosi sive P. A. Iansonii Narra[tio]nis Rervm Tota Europa Gestarum, Continvatio ab Anno 1597 vsque ad annum præsentem 1600. Coloniæ, 1600, 8vo.

[P. 22, l. 7], Cullians.]—scoundrels.

[P. 22, l. 13], this beggerly lying busie-bodies name brought out the Ballad-maker.]—Kemp, I conceive, alludes here to Richard Johnson, who is still remembered by his Famous Historie of the Seuen Champions of Christendome, in two Parts, of which the earliest extant edition (what edition the title-page does not indicate) was printed in 1608, 4to. Ritson remarks that this celebrated romance is mentioned in Meres’s Palladis Tamia (fol. 268), 1598. Observ. on Warton’s Hist. of Engl. Po et. p. 23; but I can produce a notice of it anterior to that date from the Stationers’ Books:

“20 Aprilis [1596]
“Jo DanterEntred for his copie vnder thande of the Wardens, A booke Intituled the famous Hystory of the Seven Champions of Christiandom, St. George of England, St. Dennys of Fraunce, St. James of Spayne, St. Anthony of Italy, St. Andrewe of Scotland, St. Patrick of Irland, and St. David of Wales, vid.”
“6 Sept. [1596]
“Cuthbert BurbyEntred for his copie by assigment from John Danter, Twoo bookes, viz. the first pte and second pte of the vii Champions of Christiandom. Reservinge the workmanship of the printinge at all tymes to the said Jo Danter.... viid.”

(Liber C. fol. 10 b., fol. 13 b.)

Johnson’s Nine Worthies of London: Explaining the honourable Exercise of Armes, the Vertues of the Valiant, and the memorable Attempts of magnanimous Minds, &c. (a poem somewhat resembling the Mirror for Magistrates,) is reprinted in The Harl. Miscell. viii. 437, ed. Park. He was also the compiler, and probably in part the author, of The Crown Garland of Golden Roses, &c. See Ritson’s Bibl. Poet.

LONDON: J. B. NICHOLS AND SON, PRINTERS, 25, PARLIAMENT STREET.