[The reader will easily supply for himself appropriate stage-directions.]
But of all these comic characters none developed so excellent a genius for winning laughter as the Shepherds who 'watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground'. To see them at their best we must turn to the Wakefield (or Towneley) Miracle Play and read the pastoral scene (or, rather, two scenes) there. Here we come face to face with rustics pure and simple, downright moorland shepherds, homely, grumbling, coarsely clad, warm-hearted, abashed by a woman's tongue, rough in their sports. The real old Yorkshire stock of nearly six hundred years ago rises into life as we read.
In the first scene a beginning is made by the entrance of a single shepherd, grumpy, frost-bitten, and growling rebelliously against the probably widely resented practice of purveyance whereby a nobleman might exact from his farm-tenantry provisions and service for his needs, even though the farmer's own land should suffer from neglect in consequence. Thus he says,
No wonder, as it standys, if we be poore,
For the tylthe of oure landys lyys falow as the floore,
As ye ken.
We ar so hamyd[27],
For-taxed[28] and ramyd[29],
We ar mayde hand-tamyd,
Withe thyse gentlery men.
Thus they refe[30] us oure rest, Oure Lady theym wary[31]!
These men that ar lord-fest, thay cause the ploghe tary.
That men say is for the best we fynde it contrary.
Thus ar husbandys opprest, in pointe to myscary,
On lyfe.
By way of excuse for his grumblings he adds in conclusion,
It dos me good, as I walk thus by myn oone,
Of this warld for to talk in maner of mone.
The second shepherd, who enters next, has other grounds for discontent. He, poor man, has a vixen for a wife.
As sharp as thystille, as rugh as a brere,
She is browyd lyke a brystylle, with a sowre loten chere;
Had she oones well hyr whystyll she couth syng fulle clere
Hyr pater noster.
She is as greatt as a whalle
She has a galon of galle.
Conversation opens between the two, but rapidly comes to a dispute. Fortunately the timely arrival of a third shepherd dissipates the cloud, and they are quite ready to hear his complaints—this time of wide-spreading floods—coupled with further reflections on the hard conditions of a shepherd's lot. By this time the circle is complete, and a good supper and song are produced to ratify the general harmony. But now enters the element of discord which forms the pivot of the second scene. Mak, a boorish fellow shrewdly suspected of sheep stealing, joins them, and, after some chaffing, is allowed to share their grassy bed. In the night he rises, picks out the finest ram from the flock, drives it home, and hides it in the cradle. He then returns to his place between two of the shepherds. As he foresaw, morning brings discovery, suspicion and search. The three shepherds proceed to Mak's home, only to be confronted with the well concocted story that his wife, having just become the mother of a sturdy son, must on no account be disturbed. On this point apparently a compromise is effected, the search to be executed on tip-toe, for the shepherds do somewhat poke and pry about, yet under so sharp a fire of abuse as to render them nervous of pressing their investigations too closely. Thus they pass the cradle by, and all would have gone well with Mak but for that same warm-heartedness of which we spoke earlier. They are already out of the house when a true Christmas thought flashes into the mind of one of them.
1st Shepherd. Gaf ye the chyld any thyng?