December 25.
CHRISTMAS-DAY.
Bellman’s Verses, 1707,
Upon Christmas Day.
To the Shepherds.
Go, happy shepherds, leave your flocks and hie
To Bethlem, where your infant Lord doth lie:
And when you’ve view’d his Sacred Person well,
Spare not aloud what you have seen to tell.
Write volumes of these things, and let them bear
The title of the Shepherd’s Calendar:
This I assure you never shepherds knew
With all their studies half so much as you.[555]
Whitehaven Customs.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Whitehaven, 4th Sept. 1826.
Sir,—You furnished your readers last Christmas with a dish, greatly up-heaped, of information regarding the manner in which it was kept in various parts of the kingdom. I enclose herein a printed copy of the play, which is said, or rather sung, at and about that time, by numbers of boys in this town. The comedians, of which there are many companies, parade the streets, and ask at almost every door if the mummers are wanted. They are dressed in the most grotesque fashion; their heads adorned with high paper caps, gilt and spangled, and their bodies with ribbons of various colours, while St. George and the prince are armed with ten swords. The “mysterie” (query?) ends with a song, and afterwards a collection is made. This is the only relic of ancient times which exists in this town, excepting, indeed, it be the Waites—a few persons who parade the streets for a fortnight or three weeks before Christmas, and play upon violins one or two lively jig tunes, and afterwards call upon the inhabitants for a few pence each. The same persons, when they hear of a marriage, or of the arrival from abroad of a sea-faring man, regularly attend and fiddle away till they raise the person or persons; and for this they expect a trifling remuneration.
I am satisfied you will join me, in surprise, that for so great a number of years, such a mass of indecent vulgarity as “Alexander and the king of Egypt,” should been used without alteration.
Upon the death of any individual, poor or rich, in this town, and the day before the funeral, the parish clerk, or the clerk of the church in whose church-yard the corpse is to be interred, goes round the town, with or without mourning as the case may be, and rings a bell, like a bellman, and thus announces his purpose: “All friends and neighbours are desired to attend the corpse of A. B. from Queen-street to St. James’s church to-morrow afternoon at four o’clock.”
Some of these hints may be of use to you—if so I shall rejoice; for a kinder-hearted publication than yours I never perused.
For the present I am, Mr. Hone,
Yours, most respectfully,
An Admirer of your Every-Day Book.
The tract accompanying the preceding communication is entitled “Alexander and the King of Egypt; a mock Play, as it is acted by the Mummers every Christmas. Whitehaven. Printed by T. Wilson, King-street.” Eight pages, 8vo. An opportunity is thus obligingly afforded of making the following extracts:
Act I. Scene I.
Enter Alexander
Alexander speaks
Silence, brave gentlemen, if you will give an eye,
Alexander is my name, I’ll sing a tragedy;
A ramble here I took the country for to see,
Three actors I have brought, so far from Italy.
The first I do present, he is a noble king,
He’st just come from the wars, good tidings he doth bring;
The next that doth come in he is a doctor good,
Had it not been for him I’d surely lost my blood.
Old Dives is the next, a miser you may see,
Who, by lending of his gold, is come to poverty;
So, gentlemen, you see, our actors will go round,
Stand off a little while more pastime will be found.
Act I. Scene II.
Enter Actors
Room, room, brave gallants, give us room to sport,
For in this room we wish for to resort,
Resort and to repeat to you our merry rhyme,
For remember, good sirs, this is Christmas time.
The time to cut up goose-pies now doth appear,
So we are come to act our merry Christmas here,
At the sound of the trumpet and beat of the drum
Make room, brave gentlemen, and let our actors come.
We are the merry actors that traverse the street;
We are the merry actors that fight for our meat;
We are the merry actors that show pleasant play,
Step in thou King of Egypt, and clear the way.
K. of Egypt. I am the King of Egypt as plainly doth appear,
And Prince George he is my only son and heir,
Step in therefore, my son, and act thy part with me,
And show forth thy fame before the company.
P. George. I am Prince George, a champion brave and bold,
For with my spear I’ve won three crowns of gold,
’Twas I that brought the dragon to the slaughter,
And I that gain’d the Egyptian monarch’s daughter.
In Egypt’s fields I prisoner long was kept,
But by my valour I from them escap’d;
I sounded loud at the gate of a divine,
And out came a giant of no good design,
He gave me a blow which almost struck me dead,
But I up with my sword and cut off his head.
Alex. Hold, Slacker, hold, pray do not be so hot,
For in this spot thou know’st not who thou’st got,
’Tis I that’s to hash thee and smash thee as small as flies,
And send thee to Satan to make mince pies.
Mince pies hot, mince pies cold,
I’ll send thee to Satan ’ere thou’rt three days old;
But hold, Prince George, before you go away,
Either you or I must die this bloody day,
Some mortal wounds thou shalt receive by me,
So let us fight it out most manfully.
Act II. Scene I.
Alexander and Prince George fight, the latter is wounded and falls.
King of Egypt speaks.
Curs’d Christian, what is this thou hast done?
Thou hast ruin’d me by killing my best son.
Alex. He gave me a challenge, why should I him deny?
How high he was, but see, how low he lies.
K. of Egypt. O Sambo, Sambo, help me now,
For I was never more in need,
For thee to stand with sword in hand,
And to fight at my command.
Doctor. Yes, my liege, I will thee obey,
And by my sword I hope to win the day;
Yonder stands he who has kill’d my master’s son,
And has his ruin thoughtlessly begun,
I’ll try if he be sprung from royal blood,
And through his body make an ocean flood,
Gentlemen, you see my sword’s point is broke,
Or else I’d run it through that villain’s throat.
K. of Egypt. Is there never a doctor to be found,
That can cure my son of his deadly wound?
Doctor. Yes there is a doctor to be found,
That can cure your son of his deadly wound.
K. of Egypt. What diseases can he cure?
[The doctor relates in ribald lines his various remedies, and the scene ends.]
Act II. Scene II.
Prince George arises.
Prince George speaks.
O horrible! terrible! the like was never seen,
A man drove out of seven senses into fifteen,
And out of fifteen into four score,
O horrible! terrible! the like was ne’er before.
Alex. Thou silly ass, that liv’st on grass, dost thou abuse a stranger?
I live in hopes to buy new ropes, and tie thy nose to a manger.
P. George. Sir, unto you I bend.
Alex. Stand off thou slave, I think thee not my friend.
P. George. A slave! Sir, that’s for me by far too base a name,
That word deserves to stab thine honour’s fame!
Alex. To be stabb’d, sir, is least of all my care,
Appoint your time and place, I’ll meet you there.
P. George. I’ll cross the water at the hour of five.
Alex. I’ll meet you there, sir, if I be alive.
P. George. But stop, sir, I’ll wish you a wife both lusty and young,
Can talk Dutch, French, and the Italian tongue.
Alex. I’ll have none such.
P. George. Why don’t you love your learning?
Alex. Yes, I love my learning as I love my life,
I love a learned scholar, but not a learned wife;
Stand off, &c.
K. of Egypt. Sir, to express thy beauty I’m not able,
For thy face shines like the very kitchen table,
Thy teeth are no whiter than the charcoal, &c.
Alex. Stand off thou dirty dog, or by my sword thou’lt die,
I’ll make thy body full of holes, and cause thy buttons to fly.
Act II. Scene III.
King of Egypt fights, and is killed.
Enter Prince George.
Oh! what is here? oh! what is to be done?
Our king is slain, the crown is likewise gone;
Take up his body, bear it hence away,
For in this place no longer shall it stay.
The Conclusion.
Bouncer Buckler, velvet’s dear,
And Christmas comes but once a year,
Though when it comes it brings good cheer,
But farewell Christmas once a year.
Farewell, farewell, adieu! friendship and unity,
I hope we have made sport, and pleas’d the company;
But, gentlemen, you see we’re but actors four,
We’ve done our best, and the best can do no more.
Hornchurch.
For the Every-Day Book.
On Christmas-day, the following custom has been observed at Hornchurch, in Essex, from time immemorial. The lessee of the tithes, which belong to New College, Oxford, supplies a boar’s head dressed, and garnished with bay-leaves, &c. In the afternoon, it is carried in procession into the Mill Field, adjoining the church-yard, where it is wrestled for; and it is afterwards feasted upon, at one of the public-houses, by the rustic conqueror and his friends, with all the merriment peculiar to the season. And here it may be observed, that there is another custom, at this place, of having a model of an ox’s head, with horns, affixed on the top of the eastern end of the chancel of the church. A few years ago it had been suffered to fall into decay; but in the year 1824 it was renewed by the present vicar. This church formerly belonged to the convent on Mount St. Bernard in Savoy; and it has been suggested, that the ox’s head, with the horns, may perhaps be the arms or crest of the convent, and that the custom, as well as the name of the place, originated from that circumstance. I shall be happy to be informed whether this suggestion be founded on matter of fact; and if not, to what other cause the custom can be assigned.
Ignotus.
Of the ancient doings of Christmas, there is a bountiful imagining, by a modern writer, in the subjoined verses:—
The great King Arthur made a sumptuous feast,
And held his Royal Christmas at Carlisle,
And thither came the vassals, most and least,
From every corner of this British Isle;
And all were entertained, both man and beast,
According to their rank, in proper style;
The steeds were fed and littered in the stable
The ladies and the knights sat down to table.
The bill of fare (as you may well suppose)
Was suited to those plentiful old times,
Before our modern luxuries arose,
With truffles and ragouts, and various crimes;
And therefore, from the original in prose
I shall arrange the catalogue in rhymes:
They served up salmon, venison, and wild boars
By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores.
Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard,
Muttons, and fatted beeves, and bacon swine;
Herons and bitterns, peacocks, swan, and bustard,
Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and in fine
Plum-puddings, pancakes, apple-pies, and custard
And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine,
With mead, and ale, and cider of our own;
For porter, punch, and negus, were not known.
All sorts of people there were seen together,
All sorts of characters, all sorts of dresses;
The fool with fox’s tail and peacock’s feather,
Pilgrims, and penitents, and grave burgesses;
The country people with their coats of leather,
Vintners and victuallers with cans and messes;
Grooms, archers, varlets, falconers, and yeomen,
Damsels and waiting-maids, and waiting-women.
Whistlecraft.
Subterranean Christmas Bells.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Dear Sir,—Near Raleigh, in Nottinghamshire, there is a valley, said to have been caused by an earthquake several hundred years ago, which swallowed up a whole village, together with the church.
Formerly, it was a custom for people to assemble in this valley, on Christmas-day morning, to listen to the ringing of the bells of the church beneath them! This it was positively asserted might be heard by putting the ear to the ground, and harkening attentively. Even now, it is usual on Christmas morning for old men and women to tell their children and young friends to go to the valley, stoop down, and hear the bells ring merrily.
I am, &c. C. T.
Christmas at Christ’s Hospital.
In an Essay on Christ’s Hospital, “Let me have leave to remember,” says Mr. Lamb, “the festivities at Christmas, when the richest of us would club our stock to have a gaudy day, sitting round the fire, replenished to the height with logs; and the pennyless, and he that could contribute nothing, partook in all the mirth, and in some of the substantialities of the feasting; the carol sung by night at that time of the year, which, when a young boy, I have so often laid awake from seven (the hour of going to bed) till ten, when it was sung by the older boys and monitors, and have listened to it in their rude chanting, till I have been transported to the fields of Bethlehem, and the song which was sung at that season by the Angels’ voices to the shepherds.”