“1645, July 19. Buried Edward, sonne of Mephibosheth Robins.”—St. Peter, Cornhill.
“1660, Nov. 5. Buried Jehostiaphat (sic) Star.”—Cant. Cath.
“1611, Oct. 21. Baptized Zipporah, d. of Richard Beere, of Wapping.”—Stepney.
The “Chancery Suits” of Elizabeth contain a large batch of such names; and I have already enumerated a list of “Pilgrim Fathers” of James’s reign, whose baptisms would be recorded in the previous century.
But compare this with the fact that the leading men in England at this very time were recognized only by the curtest of abbreviated names. In that very quaint poem of Heywood’s, “The Hierarchie of Blessed Angels,” the author actually makes it the ground of an affected remonstrance:
“Marlowe, renowned for his rare art and wit,
Could ne’er attain beyond the name of Kit,
Although his Hero and Leander did
Merit addition rather. Famous Kid
Was called but Tom. Tom Watson, though he wrote
Able to make Apollo’s self to dote
Upon his muse, for all that he could strive,
Yet never could to his full name arrive.
Tom Nash, in his time of no small esteem,
Could not a second syllable redeem.
········
Mellifluous Shakespeare, whose enchanting quill
Commanded mirth or passion, was but Will:
And famous Jonson, though his learned pen
Be dipped in Castaly, is still but Ben.”
However, in the end, he attributes the familiarity to the right cause:
“I, for my part,
Think others what they please, accept that heart
That courts my love in most familiar phrase;
And that it takes not from my pains or praise,
If any one to me so bluntly come:
I hold he loves me best that calls me Tom.”
It is Sir Christopher, the curate, who, in “The Ordinary,” rebels against “Kit:”
“Andrew. What may I call your name, most reverend sir?
Bagshot. His name’s Sir Kit.
Christopher. My name is not so short:
’Tis a trisyllable, an’t please your worship;
But vulgar tongues have made bold to profane it
With the short sound of that unhallowed idol
They call a kit. Boy, learn more reverence!
Bagshot. Yes, to my betters.”