It is now time to turn to another aspect of this many-sided and, so to speak, ramified subject, and to consider a different phase of the vicissitudes and metamorphoses which this branch of literature not only has undergone, but preserves a constant tendency to undergo. It is the invaluable art of attiring the fresh hero or favourite in the disused habiliments of his predecessors. It affords a signal exemplification of the strange and unexpected fortunes which may attend an adventure or a witticism, as well as of the surprising diversity of uses to which a capable artificer may apply a single suit of motley. We are looking at the genealogical side of the question, the heraldic point of view.
No. 67 of the Hundred Merry Tales (1526) treats “of the Scholar of Oxford that proved by sophistry two chickens three.” In the Jests of Scogin we similarly encounter “How Jack by sophistry would make of two eggs three.” It is the identical invention lamely repeated, and a jest-book of the eighteenth century reproduces it once more as an episode in the life of the Merry Monarch, where he, Nell Gwynne, and the Duchess of Portsmouth are the actors, and the Duchess is made the sufferer.
Again, No. 57 of Merry Tales and Quick Answers discourses “of him that would give a song for his dinner,” reminding us of the popular farce, No Song, no Supper. Let us set before the reader the version, as it stands in the volume just quoted, side by side with a second which is better known. The parallel is curious; and I confess that I am sceptical as to the later text being more than a literary adaptation after Jonson’s time. If it was a veritable coincidence, it was an extraordinary one:—
| “There came a felowe on a tyme in to a tauerne, and called for meate. So, whan he had well dyned, the tauerner came to reken and to haue his money, to whom the felowe sayde, he had no money, but I wyll, quod he, contente you with songes. Naye, quod the tauerner, I nede no songes, I must haue money. Whye, quod the felowe, if I synge a songe to your pleasure, will ye nat than be contente? Yes, quod the tauerner. So he began, and songe thre or foure balades, and asked if he were pleased? No, sayde the tauerner. Than he opened his pourse, and beganne to synge thus: “‘Whan you haue dyned make no delaye, But paye your oste, and go your waye.’ Dothe this songe please you, quod he? Yes, marye, said the tauerner, this pleaseth me well. Than, as couenant was (quod the felowe), ye be paide for your vitaile. And so he departed, and wente his waye.” | “Ben Jonson, owing a landlord some money, kept away from his house. The vintner, meeting him by chance, asked him for what was owing to him; but at the same time told him, that if he would come to his house, and answer him four questions, he would forgive him the debt. To this proposal Ben very readily assented, and at the time appointed waited upon the landlord, who produced a bottle of wine, and then put to him these questions: ‘First, What pleases God? Secondly, What pleases the devil? Thirdly, What best pleases the world? And lastly, What best pleases me?’ ‘Well,’ says Ben, directly: “‘God is best pleased when man forsakes his sin; The devil’s best pleased when men persist therein; The world’s best pleased when you do draw good wine; And you’ll be best pleased when I pay for mine.’ “The vintner was so well pleased with this impromptu that he gave Ben a receipt in full for his debt, and treated him with a bottle into the bargain.” |
The details, it will be at once observed, are slightly varied; but the germ is the same, and the truth appears to be, that a copy of the Merry Tales had fallen in Jonson’s way, and that he wished to reproduce a drollery which tickled his fancy, and more or less suited his case.
To the same group may be thought to appertain Old Merrythought’s song in the Knight of the Burning Pestle:—
“For Jillian of Berry she dwells on a hill,
And she hath good beer and ale to sell;
And of good fellows she thinks no ill,