* The American giant refuses to come over to England this
summer, because the twenty-first of June is not long enough
for him to stand upright in! And the Kentucky dwarf is so
short that he has not paid his debts these five years!
** “Have you sanded the sugar, good Sandy,
And water'd the treacle with care?
Have you smuggled the element into the brandy?”
“Yes, master.”—“Then come in to prayer!”
Let them be content to rant in their rostrums, and peep over their particular timber, lest we pillory the rogues, and make them peep through it!
Father Rahére founded the Priory, Hospital, and Church of St. Bartholomew in Smithfield, at the instigation ('tis said) of the saint himself, who appeared to him in Rome, whither he had repaired on a pilgrimage. We learn from the Cottonian MSS. that he “of te hawnted the Kyng's palice, and amo'ge the noysefull presse of that tumultuous courte, enforsed hymselfe with jolite and carnal suavité: ther yn spectaclis, yn metys, yn playes, and other courtely mokkys and trifyllis, intruding he lede forth the besynesse of alle the daye.” He was a “pleasant witted gentleman,” and filled the post of minstrel to King Henry the First, which comprehended musician, improvisatore, jester, &c.; and Henry the Second granted to the monastery of St. Bartholomew (of which Rahére was the first prior) the privilege of a three days' fair for the drapers and clothiers: hence Cloth Fair. His ashes rest under a magnificent tomb in the church of St. Bartholomew the Great. This beautiful shrine is still carefully preserved. How different has been the fate of the desecrated sepulchre of the “moral Gower,” which the Beetian Borough brawlers would have pounded, with their Ladye Chapel, to macadamise the road!
“It is worthy of observation,” (says Paul Hentzer, 1598,) “that every year when the Fair is held, it is usual for the Mayor to ride into Smithfield, dressed in his scarlet gown, and about his neck is a golden chain, besides that particular ornament that distinguishes the staple of the kingdom. He is followed by the Aldermen in scarlet gowns, and a mace and a cap are borne before him. Where the yearly fair is proclaimed a tent is placed, and after the ceremony is over the mob begin to wrestle before them, two at a time, and conquerors are rewarded by them by money thrown from the tent. After this, a parcel of live rabbits are turned loose among the crowd, and hunted by a number of boys, with great noise, &c. Before this time, also, there was an old custom for the Scholars of London to meet at this festival, at the Priory of St. Bartholomew, to dispute in logic and grammar, and upon a bank, under a tree, (!) the best of them were rewarded with bows and silver arrows? Bartholomew Fair, until about 1743, was held a fortnight; and the spacious area of Smithfield was filled with booths for drolls and interludes, in which many popular comedians of the time performed, from the merry reign of Mat Coppinger to the laughing days of Ned Shuter. Sir Samuel Fludyer, in 1762, and Mr. Alderman Bull, (not John Bull!) in 1774, enforced some stringent regulations that amounted almost to an abolition.”
And now, my merry masters! let us take a stroll into the ancient fair of St. Bartholomew, vulgo Bartlemy, with John Littlewit, the uxorious proctor; Win-the-fight Littlewit, his fanciful wife; Dame Purecraft, a painful sister: Zeal-of-the-land Busy, the puritan Banbury man; and our illustrious cicerone, rare Ben Jonson.
In the year 1614, and long before, one of the most delicious city dainties was a Bartholomew roast pig. * A cold turkey-pie and a glass of rich malmsey were “creature comforts” not to be despised even by such devout sons of self-denial as Mr. Zeal-of-the-land Busy, who always popped in at pudding-time. ** But Bartholomew pig, “a meat that is nourishing, and may be longed for,” that may be eaten, “very exceeding well eaten,” but not in a fair, was the ne plus ultra of savoury morsels: therefore Win-the-fight Little wit, with a strawberry breath, cherry lips, and apricot cheeks, the better half (not in folly!) of one of “the pretty wits of Paul's,” shams Abram, and pretends to long for it, in order to overcome the scruples and qualms of Dame Purecraft and the Banbury man, who, but for such longing, would have never consented to her visiting the fair.
* “Now London's Mayor, on saddle new,
Rides to the Fair of Bartlemew;
He twirls his chain, and looketh big,
As if to fright the head of pig,
That gaping lies on every stall.”—Davenant. Shakspere, in
the First Part of King Henry the Fourth, speaks of an ox
being roasted at Bartholomew Fair.
** “I ne'er saw a parson without a good nose,—
But the devil's as welcome wherever he goes.”—Swift.
The Rabbi being called upon by the dame to legalise roast pig, proposes that it shall be eaten with a reformed mouth, and not after the profane fashion of feeding; and, that the weak may be comforted, himself will accompany them to the fair, and eat exceedingly, and prophesy!
Among the minor delicacies of Ursula's * cuisine—Ursula, “uglye of clieare,” the pig-woman and priestess of St. Bartlemy, “all fire and fat!”—are tobacco, colt's-foot, bottled-ale, and tripes; and a curious picture of Smithfield manners is given in her instructions to Mooncalf to froth the cans well, jog the bottles o' the buttock, shink out the first glass ever, and drink with all companies.
* “Her face all bowsy,
Comclye crinkled,
Wonderously wrinkled
Like a roste pigges eare,
Brystled Avith here.
Her nose some dele hoked,
And camouslye eroked,
Her skin lose and slacke,
Grained like a saeke
With a croked backe.”—Skelton.