As it were a strumpet or a giglot.[[305]]
Doubtless such a sobriquet as ‘Richard le Fytur,’ that is ‘Fighter,’ would be but representative of the same. The country folks were not slow, too, to copy their masters, and in the friendly joust the former, ‘Thomas le Justere’ or ‘Robert le Justure,’ would brace himself amid the excited ring to unseat his fellow-swain, affording much sport to the on-looking wags.
By the maypole you may see the conjuror, or ‘Wiseman,’ as he was generally termed, battening himself upon the superstitious minds of the assembled hinds. In the Hundred Rolls he figures as ‘Wysman’ and ‘Wyseman.’ A little further on our ‘Players’ would be enacting their mummery. The great crowd there in the corner are watching the showman with his dancing bear, a yearly treat the younger holiday-seekers always appreciated. What a change has come over our English habits with regard to this animal. Dancing was the least cruel of the sports connected with it. Time was when every noble of position had his bears and his bearward, when even royalty could boast a master of the king’s bears, and when as a pastime the bear-baiting took an easy pre-eminence in the eyes of all holiday folk. A skit on the Earl of Warwick, banished to the Isle of Man, written 1399, says:—
A bereward found a rag:
Of this rag he made a bag:
He dude in gode entent.
Thorwe the bag the bereward is taken;
All his beres have hym forsaken.
Thus is the berewarde schent.[[306]]
In one of our earlier rolls I find several names that bear relation to this familiar sport. Of such are ‘Geoffrey Bearbaste’ and ‘Alexander Bearbait.’ More common to us in the present day, however, are the descendants of the more simple ‘Berward’ (‘Michael le Berward,’ H.R.) and ‘Bearman,’ or ‘Berman’ (‘Ralph Bareman,’ H.R.). In ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ mention is made of—