Eugenio.—“'Tis said that he died penitent.” Uncle Tim.—“I hope he did. I hope all have died penitent. I hope all will die penitent. Alas! for the self-complacent Pharisees of this world; they cannot forgive the poor player:' little reflecting of how many, not laughing but crying sins they will require to be forgiven. The breath of such hearts would wither even the flowers of Paradise.”
Could we sit at the Tabard, and not remember the Globe, * with its flag floating in the air, the Boar's Head, and the Falcon!
* “Each playhouse,” says W. Parkes, in his Curtain-drawer
of the World, 4to. 1612, “advaneeth its flag in the air,
whither, quickly, at the waving thereof, are summoned whole
troops of men, women, and children.” And William Rowley, in
“A Search for Money, 1609,” whilst enumerating the many
strange characters assembled at a tavern in quest of “The
Wandering Knight, Monsieur L'Argent,” includes among them
four or five flag-falne plaiers, poore harmlesse merrie
knaves, that were now neither lords nor ladies, but honestly
wore their owne clothes (if they were paid for.)
In 1698 an unsuccessful attempt was made by the puritanical
vestry of Saint Saviour's to put down the Globe Theatre, on
the plea of the “enormities” practised there. But James the
First, when he came to the throne, knocked their petitions
on the head by granting his patent to Shakspere and others
to perform plays, “as well within their usuall house called
the Globe, in Surry,” as elsewhere. It was what Stowe calls
“a frame of timber,” with, according to John Taylor, the
water-poet, “a thatched hide.” Its sign was an Atlas bearing
a globe. It was accidentally burnt down on St. Peter's day,
June 29, 1613. “And a marvaile and fair grace of God it
was,” says Sir Ralph Win wood in his Memorials, “that the
people had so little harm, having but two little doors to
get out.”
Sir Henry Wootton's relation of this fire is exceedingly
interesting. “Now, to let matters of state sleep, I will
entertain you at the present with what hath happened this
week at the Banks side. The King's players had a new play,
called All is true, representing some principal pieces of
the raign of Henry 8 which was set forth with many
extraordinary circumstances of pomp and majesty, even to the
matting of the stage, the knights of the order, with their
Georges and garters, the guards with their embroidered
coats, and the like: sufficient, in truth, within a mile to
make greatness very familiar, if not ridiculous. Now King
Henry making a masque at the Cardinal Woolsey's house, and
certain canons being shot off at his entry, some of the
paper, or other stuff wherewith one of them were stopped,
did light on the thatch, where, being thought at first but
an idle smoak, and their eyes more attentive to the show, it
kindled inwardly, and ran round like a train, consuming
within less than an hour the whole house to the very ground.
“This was the fatal period of that vertuous fabrique,
wherein nothing did perish but wood and straw, and a few
forsaken cloaks; only one man had his breeches set on fire,
that would perhaps have broyled him if he had not, by the
benefit of a provident wit, put it out with bottle-ale. The
rest when we meet.”—Reliquio Woottonio.
Suddenly the strings of a harp were struck. “Listen!” said Uncle Timothy, “that is no everyday hand.”
The chords were repeated; and, after a symphony that spoke in exquisite tones a variety of passions, a voice melodious and plaintive sang—
THE OLD HARPER'S SONG.=
Sound the harp! strike the lyre!—Ah! the Minstrel is
old;
The days of his harping are very nigh told;
Yet Shakspere, * sweet Shakspere! thy name shall expire