He was a person of such importance, that in 1716 Vincent Bourne composed a long Latin poem in praise of one of the fraternity: "Ad Davidem Cook, Westmonasterii Custodem Nocturnum et Vigilantissimum," a translation of which runs thus, in the last few lines:
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Should you and your dog ever call at my door, You'll be welcome, I promise you, nobody more. May you call at a thousand each year that you live, A shilling, at least, may each householder give; May the "Merry Old Christmas" you wish us, befal, And your self, and your dog, be the merriest of all! |
At Christ-tide it was their custom to leave a copy of verses, mostly of Scriptural character, and generally very sorry stuff, at every house on their beat, with a view to receiving a Christmas box; and this was an old custom, for Gay notices it in his Trivia (book ii.) written in 1715:
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Behold that narrow street which steep descends, Whose building to the slimy shore extends; Here Arundel's fam'd structure rear'd its frame, The street, alone, retains the empty name; Where Titian's glowing paint the canvass warm'd, And Raphael's fair design, with judgment, charm'd, Now hangs the bellman's song, and pasted here The coloured prints of Overton appear. |
Another ante-Christmas custom now falling into desuetude is the waits, who originally were musical watchmen, who had to give practical evidence of their vigilance by playing on the hautboy, or flageolet, at stated times during the night. In the household of Edward IV. there is mentioned in the Liber niger Domus Regis, "A Wayte, that nightely from Mychelmas to Shreve Thorsdaye, pipe the watch within this courte fowere tymes; in the Somere nightes three tymes, and maketh bon gayte at every chambre doare and offyce, as well for feare of pyckeres and pillers."[25]
These waits afterwards became bands of musicians, who were ready to play at any festivities, such as weddings, etc., and almost every city and town had its band of waits; the City of London had its Corporation Waits, which played before the Lord Mayor in his inaugural procession, and at banquets and other festivities. They wore blue gowns, red sleeves and caps, and every one had a silver collar about his neck. Ned Ward thus describes them in his London Spy (1703).
"At last bolted out from the corner of a street, with an ignis fatuus dancing before them, a parcel of strange hobgoblins, covered with long frieze rugs and blankets, hooped round with leather girdles from their cruppers to their shoulders, and their noddles buttoned up into caps of martial figure, like a Knight Errant at tilt and tournament, with his wooden head locked in an iron helmet; one, armed, as I thought with a lusty faggot-bat, and the rest with strange wooden weapons in their hands, in the shape of clyster pipes, but as long almost as speaking trumpets. Of a sudden they clapped them to their mouths, and made such a frightful yelling that I thought he would have been dissolving, and the terrible sound of the last trumpet to be within an inch of my ears.... 'Why, what,' says he, 'don't you love musick? These are the topping tooters of the town, and have gowns, silver chains and salaries for playing Lilli-borlero to my Lord Mayor's horse through the City.'"
That these Corporation Waits were no mean musicians we have the authority of Morley, who, in dedicating his Consort Lessons to the Lord Mayor and Aldermen in 1599, says:
"As the ancient custom of this most honourable and renowned city hath been ever to retain and maintain excellent and expert musicians to adorn your Honours' favours, feasts and solemn meetings—to these, your Lordships' Wayts, I recommend the same—to your servants' careful and skilful handling."
These concert lessons were arranged for six instruments—viz. two viols (treble and bass), a flute, a cittern (a kind of guitar, strung with wire), a treble lute, and a pandora, which was a large instrument, similar to a lute, but strung with wire in lieu of catgut.