EDWARD I.
intended progress of his Majesty, wherein Sir John Paston is urged to warn William Gogney and his fellows “to purvey them of wine enough, for every man beareth me in hand that the town shall be drank dry, as York was when the King was there.”
And coming down to Henry VIII. again, it appears that he was often intoxicated, and found pleasure in keeping the lowest company. And, as it has been observed, “his right hand, Wolsey, was actually put in the stocks by Sir Amias Powlett, when he was rector of Lymington, for drunkenness at a neighbouring fair.”
The consort of Queen Mary soon found out the favourite English drink, and for the first time he drank some ale at a public dinner, remarking that he had come to England to live like an Englishman. Elizabeth seldom drank anything but common beer, “fearing the use of wine, lest it should cloud her faculties.” And Leicester writes to Burleigh that at a certain place in her Majesty’s travels “there was not one drop of good drink for her, ... he were fain to send forthwith to London, and to Kenilworth, and divers other places where ale was; her own ale was so strong as there was no man able to drink it.” But, abstemious and temperate as her Majesty was, exception has been taken to the costly extravagance displayed at the Kenilworth pageant, when, it is stated, no less than 365 hogsheads of beer were drunk, in addition to the daily complement of 16 hogsheads of wine.
James I. was fond of drink, and reference has already been made to the visit of his jovial brother-in-law, which led to one more scene of inebriety. His partiality was for “sweet rich wines,” and Coke tells us that he indulged “not in ordinary French and Spanish wines, but in strong Greek wines.” Even when hunting he was attended by a special officer, who constantly supplied him with his favourite beverages. On one such occasion Coke’s father managed to obtain a draught of the royal wine, which, writes his son, “not only produced intoxication, and spoiled his day’s sport, but disordered him for three days afterwards.”[15] It is said, however, that James would next day remember his excesses, “and repent with tears;” and as Mr. Jesse adds, “the maudlin monarch weeping over the recollections of the last night’s debauch must have been an edifying sight to his courtiers.”
Whatever the failings of Charles I. might be, he could not be accused of that indulgence in strong drinks which had caused so much scandal in previous reigns. Thus Lord Clarendon writes: “As he excelled in all other virtues, so in temperance he was so strict, that he abhorred all debauchery to that degree, that at a great festival solemnity where he once was, being told by one who withdrew from thence, what vast draughts of wine they drank, and that there was one earl who had drunk most of the rest down and was not himself moved or altered, the King said that he deserved to be hanged; and that earl coming shortly after into the room where his Majesty was, in some gaiety, to show how unhurt he was from that battle, the King sent one to bid him withdraw from his Majesty’s presence; nor did he in some days after appear before him.”
But the same could not be said of Charles II., concerning whose revels many curious anecdotes have been told. At a supper given by the Duke of Buckingham he tried to make his nephew, the Prince of Orange, drunk. The Prince was somewhat averse to wine, and at the period in question was paying his addresses to his future consort, the Princess Mary. However, having been induced to join in the evening’s debauch, he became the gayest and most frolicsome of the party. On their breaking up, the Prince even commenced smashing the windows of the maids-of-honour, and “would have forced himself into their rooms had he not been timely prevented.”[16]
An account of one of Charles’s debauches after a hunting party in 1667 is amusingly told by Pepys,[17] who heard it from Sir Hugh Cholmely, an eye-witness. “They came,” he says, “to Sir G. Carteret’s house at Cranbourne, and there were entertained, and all made drunk; and being all drunk, Armerer did come to the King and swear to him: ‘By G—, sir,’ says he, ‘you are not so kind to the Duke of York of late as you used to be.’ ‘Not I?’ says the King; ‘why not?’ ‘Why,’ says he, ‘if you are, let us drink his health.’ ‘Why, let us,’ says the King. Then he (Armerer) fell on his knees and drank it; and having done, the King began to drink it. ‘Nay, sir,’ says Armerer, ‘by G—, you must do it on your knees.’ So he did, and then all the company: and having done it, all fell a-crying for joy, being all maudlin and kissing one another; the King the Duke of York, and the Duke of York the King, and in such a maudlin pickle as never people were.”
On another occasion Charles was dining with Sir Robert Viner, during his mayoralty, when he rose to depart. The good Mayor, however, had indulged rather too freely in his own wines, and taking hold of the King, he swore that he should remain and have another bottle. Charles, it is said, “looked kindly at him over the shoulder, and repeating with a smile a line of the old song—